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chelseeebe · 1 year ago

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and i never (saw you coming)

summary: coming back from college for the summer, you never would have expected to meet someone in your tiny town. and you most definitely would not have expected that someone to be steve fucking harrington.

a.n: so this is a henderson!readerxsteve BUT there are absolutely zero descriptors and no mention of being blood relatives or anything so please take the sibling relationship however you would like!! this is also a part one to a lil two part thing. set in s4 but i've changed it to be summer break rather than spring and i am finally writing canon material wherein the UD exists (part two) shout out to miss swift for the title xx

wc: 6k+

no smut but there may be in part two and as a baseline, i am an 18+ blog so please respect that. mentions of weed, drinking and sex. no use of y/n!

‎♡‧₊˚

Steve doesn’t usually make the effort to get out of his car to collect Dustin. But he had honked his damn horn five times now and was getting frankly sick of waiting for the petulant boy.

He races up the gravel path, cursing under his breath about not being a fucking taxi and how he shouldn’t take him for granted. Steve’s sure there’s smoke coming out of his ears as he pounds on the door, prepared to give the boy an earful.

His mouth is open when the door creaks open, “Dustin I have told you-,” it’s only then that he realises that Dustin isn’t the one behind the door. It’s you.

“Excuse me?” you start, frowning at this apparent grown man who seemed to have a problem with your younger brother. As much as he got on your last nerve, you’d defend him to the moon and back.

“You’re not- um, is Dustin home?” he asks sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck in utter shame. Dustin had mentioned you a few times and he was sure he remembered you from school but never really took much notice.

“Why?” you ask pointedly, scowling at the man. He was from school, you knew that much. One of the basketball players that absolutely would have sniggered about you in the halls.

“I’m giving him a ride to uh- to the movies,” he nods, realising that he sounded like an utter weirdo.

“Aren’t you a little old to be hanging out with my brother?”

Steve hesitates because yes, he probably was too old to admit that your little brother was his friend. Let alone the fact he considered him a best friend.

“Uh.. I could see why you think that but mentally I’m probably more his age than mine,” smiling at you, genuinely not seeing an issue with his statement.

Your eyes narrow, brows knitted together. You knew he wasn’t some dodgy old pervert but he had absolutely not helped his case there. “Right.. well, no. He’s not back yet so…”

“Oh, well I’ll just.. wait in my car,” he nods, slowly turning to jump back into his car. Eager to not make himself look any stupider in front of you.

You sigh, “you can wait inside,” opening the door wider for him, you wouldn’t hear the end of it from Dustin if you made his dear friend wait outside.

He tiptoes into the house, eyeing the quirky decorations your mom had covered the house in. It was clear now why Dustin was so.. eccentric. He’s like a stray dog, hovering around the couch, too scared to sit down.

You resume your spot, attempting to pay attention to whatever movie is on the TV but struggling knowing he’s still just standing awkwardly above you.

“You can sit down, you know?” you bark, not bothering to look at him.

He does almost immediately, running his sweaty palms along his knees. God, why was this making him so flustered?

“You’re Dustin’s sister then?” the words falling out of his mouth without much thought. He wants to fall into the floor. Obviously you were his sister. Fuck.

“Yup.”

“Cool.. I haven’t really seen you before.. I’m uh-,” sticking his hand out for you to shake, “Steve.. Steve Harrington,” smiling as you glance at his outstretched hand, hesitantly shaking it.

The mention of his name makes everything click into place. This is the infamous Steve that Dustin didn’t shut up about. You were in the same grade at school and had shared a few classes but had never really spoken. That might’ve been something to do with him being a gigantic prick the entire five years you were in school.

“Oh,” you nod, trying to mask your apprehensions, “I remember you,” hoping that didn’t give too much of your distaste away.

“Yeah.. I’m not like.. that anymore,” picking up on your obvious distrust. It’s not surprising that so many people still hold reservations about him, even he could admit that he wasn’t exactly a saint.

You hum in response. You can mostly believe him because there was no way in hell Dustin would’ve ever become friends with someone like King Steve. In fact, knowing your little brother, he probably would’ve detested the kind of boy he was in school.

“So.. you go to college?” he asks, trying desperately to change the subject.

“Yeah.. uh, Chicago, I didn’t wanna go too far yanno?” not that you really could’ve. College was a last minute, fuck it kind of decision and you hadn’t really even planned on staying past the first week. But you had, and had even found yourself liking it.

“That’s cool.. what do ya’ do? If you don’t mind me asking,” shifting in his seat, eyes dead set on you.

“Language studies, it’s not cool or exciting at all but I enjoy it,” shrugging as you pick at the loose thread on your shorts, avoiding any direct eye contact.

Despite Steve Harrington being a changed man, he still made you incredibly nervous and you felt like suddenly you were back in high school. He just had this aura to him and the way he carries himself, even now, was just intimidating.

“No, that is cool? I wish I was smart enough for college,” chuckling nervously, “I bet it’s crazy out there.”

Your definition of a crazy night meant smoking with Julia, your roommate, and eating a stupid amount of shit food. His definition of crazy definitely included some frat party and hooking up with some stranger in a crowded house.

“Hah.. not really, I think maybe we have different definitions of crazy.”

“Well, what’s your idea of crazy then?”

You look around on the off chance Dustin and your mom had somehow snuck into the house completely silently, “getting high and eating a bunch of junk food.. not exactly the kinda shit you imagined.”

“How d’you know what I imagined? Maybe I think that’s a crazy night too,” laughing at your assumptions, evidently he was still hanging onto that King Steve persona.

“Nah.. you’re thinking of getting black out drunk at some party and then having sex with some girl you’ll never speak to again,” raising your brows, smug that you’d sussed him out completely.

“Is that what you think of me?” jokingly placing his hand over his heart, shaking his head, “I don’t even like parties that much anymore and actually I think you’re right, that would be a crazy night,” smiling to himself.

Because to him that did sound like a great night, and he’d kill to be able to do that with Robin and if it wasn’t for the fact that she got so intensely paranoid that one time they’d smoked together, they’d probably do it more often.

“Oh, well.. you’ve surprised me,” giving him a small smile. You still had your reservations about him, but if he was good enough for Dustin, you were sure you could come to perhaps tolerate him.

“Yeah, I do a lotta that nowadays.”

“Well are you surp-,” you’re cut off by Dustin barging through the front door, nearly taking the damn thing off its hinges.

“Steve? We’re gonna be late! C’mon!” he yells into the living room as if he wasn’t the one who had shown up fifteen minutes late. He’s huffing and puffing with his hands on his hips, clearly something inherited from your mother.

“Woah dude, chill out,” he looks at his watch and jumps up out of his seat, “okay shit- sorry uh, oops let’s go,” rushing over to Dustin. He turns at the last second, waving at you over his shoulder, “it was nice to meet you,” a genuine grin on his face.

“You too,” you call back, watching as your brother drags him out of the house. Muffled voices arguing over what time the movie started and how dare Steve enter his house without him present.

Dustin’s still going on in the car after much push back from Steve that actually he was early and Dustin was the one who was late.

“Your sister’s pretty cool,” Steve blurts out, driving along the bumpy road. He wants to rescind his sentence almost immediately after Dustin glares at him from the passenger’s seat.

“Absolutely not. No, Steve. No.”

“What?” flabbergasted that Dustin had so brazenly assumed he had some ulterior motive. He hadn’t even said anything. Not yet anyway.

“Just no. I know you and I know what you’re thinking and I’m putting a stop to it now,” Dustin cringes, mentally perturbed by the thought of you and Steve even speaking.

“Wha- dude, I was just saying.. you barely speak about her.. that’s all,” tapping on the leather steering wheel, playing it off rather smoothly, he thinks.

“I know my sister’s cool.. way too cool for you, okay? So you should forget about it because it will never ever happen.”

“I wasn’t even gonna.. you’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

Steve’s sat in the booth, opposite what must be the worst date of his life. Dear God, Tammy Thompson was hot but holy shit was she annoying. Her voice agitating his ear drums with every word, irritating and nasally as she rambled on about her singing ‘career’. It wasn’t much of a career, Steve thought. Singing the national anthem in your high school gym was hardly a career. He thought it was quite sad actually.

He nods along to her bullshit, maybe she would sound better when he got her into the back of his beemer. Well, he was hoping anyway.

“You guys finished?” the familiar voice rings out across the table, his eyes darting from Tammy to find you standing at the end of the table with a fake grin plastered on your face.

“I didn’t know you worked here,” he sounds confused, attention fully shifted from the blonde in front of him to you. Surely Dustin could’ve had the courtesy to let him know that you worked at his favourite date spot.

“Uh.. yup, so you’re done?” still in customer service mode, trying desperately to ignore the awkwardness.

“Oh, yeah.. thank you,” he smiles, pushing the empty plates toward you “how long have you worked here.. I’ve never seen you,” positively baffled but happy nonetheless.

You shrug, “like sophomore year,” confused why he seemed to care so much, “I’m just doing part time over the summer..” stacking the plates as quickly as possible, wanting nothing more than to get far away from the awkward date you had stumbled upon.

“That’s cool, I mean, I’m here a lot so..”

Both you and Tammy flash him a look, granted hers was far more annoyed than yours. You mutter a small nice before scurrying off to the kitchen, relieved to be far from the impending disaster that was waiting to implode.

Something’s not right.

Even with Tammy practically climbing over the centre console to get to him, fully willing and eager.. he’s just not feeling it. Something or someone rather stuck in his head. They had been since last week and no matter how much he’d tried to shake it.. nadda.

He pulls away from Tammy, sighing pathetically, “I’m sorry.. d’you mind if I just take you home? I don’t feel great..” he hopes it’s at least half-convincing.

“Are you fucking serious Steve?” Tammy whines, staring across the car in utter disbelief.

He offers an apologetic smile, shuffling in his seat to get away from her, “yeah.. must be something I ate.. sorry,” grimacing at this incredibly awkward moment. He couldn’t exactly tell her the truth, could he?

“Whatever,” crossing her arms over her chest, frowning as she re-buckles her seatbelt, starting straight ahead.

He starts the car with a sigh. She was a nice enough girl, but she just wasn’t.. well, she just wasn’t Dustin Henderson’s mysterious older sister who just hadn’t let this mind since you’d met last week. That was the problem.

She doesn’t say a word as she gets out of the car, making sure to slam the door in his face when he leans over to say goodnight. He’s sure she’ll tell all her bitchpack friends who’ll vow to ignore him until he smiles at them over the Family Video counter and they’ll forget all about it.

Why couldn’t that just work on you?

You don’t see Steve for another week. Dustin normally runs out of the house the second he hears Steve’s car in the driveway meaning you don’t cross paths.

But now he’s sat in the exact same booth as last week, this time alone with a half empty cup of coffee in front of him.

Your legs sort of work on their own, carrying your body over to the booth. It’s only when you’re stood at the end of the table do you realise you have no idea what you should even say to him.

“Who’s the unlucky lady this week?” your mouth blurts out without second thought, startling him from staring out the window. His lips curling into a smile the second he realises it’s you.

“No lady this week, flying solo,” internally dying from his choice of words. Yeah, that totally made him look cool.

“Oh,” pulling the dirtied plate across the table, “Tammy Thompson didn’t work out then?” Why are you even asking? You shouldn’t care about who he dates.

“Nah.. we didn’t really..” he mashes his hands together, “vibe,” smiling up at you from the seat. He obviously wasn’t heartbroken over it.

“Well if it’s any consolation, I always thought she was a massive bitch,” and she was. One of those girls that prowled the halls waiting for somebody to humiliate. Bare in mind, Steve was too, he just picked on the weird boys rather than the girls.

Steve chuckles, “yeah, she was.. or is.. I don’t know,” he’s sure that in her opinion, he was the bitch that didn’t want to hook up with her because his ‘stomach hurt’, and really that was a fair enough assertion.

You give him a quick smile before picking up the plate, beginning to walk away when his voice calls out from behind, “what time do you get off?”

“Nine.. why?” apprehensive as you answer. Spinning on your heel to face him.

“I can give you a ride home? I mean, if you want?”

You pause just before you reach the counter. It seriously would beat walking home in the summer heat. Dustin would certainly have a few choice words when you showed up at home in Steve’s BMW, but who cares?

“Okay, yeah that’d be great.. thanks,” giving him a tight lipped smile, “you gonna sit there for the whole four hours?”

“I- wh.. no,” laughing awkwardly because he hadn’t exactly planned what he was going to do until nine but he had assumed it’d be fine if just hung out here. “I’ve gotta go uh.. pick Robin up from work,” lie. He and Robin had worked the morning shift and she was off at some family dinner she had complained about all week.

“Robin Buckley?” you ask, slightly confused as to how the two of them even knew each other.

“You know her?” he perks up.

“Eh.. kinda, we were in band together.. how do you know her?”

He’d love to tell you that they had become inseparable after nearly dying in a Russian basement with your little brother last summer. But he doesn’t. Because you, like the majority of Hawkin’s residents, were still blissfully unaware of the weird underworld that lived beneath your town.

“We worked together last summer and now we’re best friends I guess,” it sounded far too simple as he said it out loud.

He was an asshole in school and was well aware of that fact, someone like him would never have become friends with someone like Robin if it weren’t for the Upside Down. But he was grateful nonetheless, and telling you the shortened story was much easier than opening the can of worms that was the Upside Down.

“Oh..” you nod slowly, “you really have changed, huh?” thinking back to Dustin’s constant appraisal of the new Steve and how you didn’t really believe any of it.

“Yeah.. I don’t..” he clears his throat, “I don’t know if I was an asshole to you in school but if I was then.. I’m sorry,” looking sheepish as his head hangs low. In all honesty, he couldn’t really remember you ever being at Hawkins High but felt an apology was due either way.

You nod, accepting the apology though the worst he’d ever done to you was the time he sat there and cackled as Carol Perkins knocked the pile of books out of your arm.

“You want another cup of coffee or d’you have to go?” still clutching onto his dirty plate.

He checks his watch, not that the time actually mattered as he’d leave here and probably end up driving around until it was socially acceptable to come back in. “I could do one more.. thank you,” grinning softly.

You slip into the kitchen, questioning the warm, fuzzy feeling that had settled in your chest. Convincing yourself that it was only because he was being nice to you. Nothing more.

Steve strolls in again at 8:40 after driving around the entire town, ending up parking in town and just watching the tiny clock in his dash until it turned 8:30 and he could slowly make his way back to the diner.

It’s empty, has been pretty much all night bar the few regulars that seemed to spend their lives here. You’re sat behind the counter flicking through the Hawkins Post someone had left behind, reading about the upcoming bake sale. Riveting stuff, really.

“You’re early,” you point out, looking at the clock that had moved incredibly slow all day.

“I had nothing else to do so thought I’d try and squeeze one more cup of coffee from you,” he grins cheekily, testing the boundaries of this incredibly new.. friendship?

You roll your eyes, motioning over to the pot, “help yourself,” sending one of the clean coffee mugs over the counter so he could do your job for you.

The clock slowly ticks over to nine and you do one last check around the place to make sure you’d done everything needed. Javie, the cook, had gone home already, thankfully cleaning the kitchen before disappearing. Begging you not to tell Kevin he’d slipped off early with a promise of whatever you wanted to eat on your next shift.

You turn the key in the door as Steve stands behind with his hands shoved in his pockets, “are you normally the only one in there at this time?” walking beside you to his car.

“No, Javie normally finishes when I do but he had a date or some shit so he left early,” shaking your head. It would’ve been useless to make him stay anyway.

Steve jumps in front of you, grabbing the handle before you got the chance, pulling the door open, “Oh.. good, yeah that’s good,” closing the door and clambering into his own side. He wants to believe that he’s not sure why the mention of Javie’s name made him feel so funny.

“You sound disappointed.. were you planning on robbing me?” chuckling to yourself.

“No! No.. what? It just seems unsafe for you to be there on your own so late..”

“It’s nine pm Steve.”

“Yeah I know but.. there are a lotta weirdos in Hawkins yanno?” starting the car as quick as possible, not wanting to stick his foot in his mouth any further.

You smile, it was very kind of him to look out for you after all. “Yeah.. I’m in the car with one right now,” glancing at him with a shit eating grin.

“Oh ha ha.. you’re so funny,” rolling his eyes in jest though his lips twitch into a small smile.

“I know that actually,” turning to watch the trees as they disappear behind you. The air is perfect, reminiscent of the summers you had here as a child.

Steve takes the opportunity to look over at you admiring the night sky. Sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, this was going to be the death of him.

Well, you were.

Steve’s itching to just ask him, get it out while he’s driving so Dustin can’t run away.

“So.. I have a question for you,” testing the waters before fully committing.

“Uhh.. what could you possibly have to ask me?” Dustin asks, curious.

“Well.. I need you to ask your sister if she’d maybe wanna come to the movies with me,” he holds up his hand to preemptively stop Dustin’s inevitable reaction, “I accidentally bought two tickets and I don’t wanna let it go to waste, so don’t start.”

“Steve, I already told you that that is not happening.”

“It’s not a date Dustin,” Steve hisses, “you said she liked horror movies so.. I thought she might wanna come.. that’s all.”

Dustin looks incredulous, “since when do you like horror movies?”

“Uh.. since forever?” lying through his teeth. Steve hated horror. Would point blank refuse to watch anything even remotely scary when Robin suggested it.

“You’re a bad liar,” Dustin frowns, he’d had many of his own movie suggestions shot down by Steve for being inappropriate and too scary.

He rounds the corner, pulling up onto your drive. He was running out of time to convince Dustin to do this for him. And see, he’d do it himself but that would mean he’d undoubtedly end up a bumbling idiot in front of you and that was not what he was aiming for.

“Can you- will you please just ask her?” he begs, pleads even.

“Fine,” Dustin rolls his eyes, sliding out of the car. His feet dragging along the pavement as he walks into your house, not bothering to give his usual wave to an idling Steve.

He slinks up the stairs, banging on your bedroom door. Get it out of the way and then he could mourn the loss of both his sister and his best friend as quickly as possible.

“Yeah come in,” you call from the other side, closing the notebook.

“Steve asked me to ask you if you wanted to go and see some movie with him, he also wants me to tell you that he accidentally bought two tickets instead of one but I think you and I are both smart enough to know that isn’t true,” your brother rolls his eyes, perched in your doorway.

You smile to yourself, rolling your eyes. It was childish but admittedly endearing, “tell him to ask me himself and I’ll think about it.”

Dustin nods, frowning as he walks over to your bedroom window, leaning out of it to holler at Steve who was still sat in his car awaiting your answer, “she told me to tell you to ask her yourself,” sticking his middle finger up at him before storming off into his own room.

You watch him leave, open mouthed before going to the window to find Steve looking up to your window. He points towards the door, shrugging. This really wasn’t how he’d have liked this to go.

The door swings open and you blink at him, allowing him the opportunity to go first. This was his question after all.

“D’you wanna come to the movies with me? I- Dustin mentioned that you like horror movies and I don’t wanna waste this ticket.. it’s cool if not,” Christ, he really needed to stop hanging around Robin so much. She had a knack for being completely defeatist before even receiving her answer and it was clearly starting to rub off on him.

“Yes, I’ll go to the movies with you,” smiling softly at him. He really was light years away from the dickhead you once despised, now just some shy guy trying to ask someone out on not-date-date.

“Okay,” he responds with far too much enthusiasm, “great.. Friday! I mean- I’ll pick you up on Friday.. eight o’clock,” cheesing as he walks back to his car. Throwing up a thumbs up before realising how stupid he looked and rushing to get into his car. Heart fluttering out of his chest.

You’re shitting it.

It wasn’t a date. No really, it wasn’t.

But you couldn’t help the nerves bubbling up in your stomach as you wait for him to pick you up.

“I think this is disgusting by the way,” Dustin pipes up, scowling as he paces the hallway. Desperately trying to conjure up a plan to stop you from going. He couldn’t think of anything worse than his sister and his best friend dating. He shudders at the mere thought of it.

“Well it’s a good thing I didn’t ask for your opinion,” rolling your eyes, peering out of the window to see if his car had pulled up yet.

“Why can’t you date any of the other losers in this town? Or someone at college? Why does it have to be Steve?” his shoulders slump, frown evident as he skulks into the living room.

“Oh my God Dustin, stop it. Yanno, the more you complain about it, the more I’m going to make sure it happens,” letting go of the blind and giving him a smug smirk. For his sake, it probably would just be a movie.

You weren’t exactly Steve’s usual type so you were certain that the second someone from school spotted you together he’d probably get embarrassed and drop this little crush. But hey, you could entertain the idea for the summer and perhaps you also had a tiny, smidgen of a crush on him too.

The doorbell rings out and Dustin lets out a ghastly wail, rushing to answer the door before you could. “You never come to the door for me!” he pouts, glaring at Steve who stood nervously on the front porch.

“Because I don’t like you,” Steve jokes, attention quickly pulled from your younger brother as you appear behind him. “You look.. nice,” smiling as Dustin’s eyes ping pong between the two of you.

“Thank you.. so do you,” barging past Dustin who looks positively distraught, “don’t cry too hard,” you call out, walking down the path beside Steve. The door slams when you reach his car and you share a look with Steve, giggling as he opens the door for you.

The second you sit, the nerves come spilling over. This was no longer just a silly thing you could tease Dustin about anymore, it was actually happening and you were here and he was here and you were about to go on a not-date-kinda-date.

You’re both fairly quiet on the ride to the cinema, exchanging small talk about your days and the movie you were about to watch. It was fairly obvious that he’d bought these tickets specifically with you in mind, because Steve Harrington would not willingly watch Friday the 13th, especially not on his own.

“So you accidentally got two tickets, huh?” eyeing him from across the car.

His cheeks flush, bottom lip trembling as he attempts to come up with something to explain his bullshit story, “I- fuck, no.. I didn’t,” looking bashful as he pulls into the parking lot, “I didn’t actually think you’d say yes.”

“Why?”

Steve sighs as he turns off the ignition, “I don’t know.. you’re like cool and in college and I’m just some loser from high school,” shrugging half-heartedly, finally meeting your eyes.

“You’re not a loser.. you were a loser but, I think you’re pretty cool now.”

His eyes widen, his smile fighting to come out, “I think most people would say the opposite,” he certainly didn’t hold the same level of prestige he had in school anymore. In fact, he’d sorta lost it in senior year when he’d decided that people like Tommy H and Carol were not the type he wanted to associate with.

And it wasn’t like he’d lost it all, girls still fawned over him and the basketball team would still get excited to see him but he had kinda just slipped into the background. Another guy who had peaked in high school that was destined to stay in this dead end town with a dead end job and a wife he’d grow to loathe. At least, that’s what he had always pictured.

“Yeah well, I’m not most people,” climbing out of the car. Not once in your life had you ever thought you would be telling Steve Harrington that you thought he was cool. Much less getting out of his car to go see a movie together.

You’re met with a genuine smile from over the roof of the car, he doesn’t need to speak for you to know that he appreciates your words.

For a moment you forget where you are until his eyes linger a little too long and your heart begins to pound again. Pulling your own gaze away and mumbling something about missing the trailers.

It’s unfortunate and a little sickening but you can hardly focus on the film and even though it’s dark, you can feel his eyes shift to your face every few minutes, distracting you from the movie. You don’t look back of course, keeping your eyes firmly glued to the screen.

His hand shifts suspiciously close to your knee, stopping just before he makes contact. You’re trying your hardest not to overthink it. He’s just.. moving his hand. That’s all.

Fuck.

You were fucked.

Your hands are practically trembling as you sit there. Finally gaining enough courage to look back at him the next time his eyes wander.

Steve’s not like you, see. He’s a little nervous of course but he’s had years of experience with girls, knows all the tricks in the book to get them falling for him. And when it really came down to it, he could unleash his moves to have you right where he wanted. His eyes don’t flicker back to the screen, they lower, gazing at your lips instead. He wants to do it. He does. Urging himself to just lunge forward and close the distance between you.

But you’re not like that. You wouldn’t have even looked at him twice in high school, immediately and rightfully passing him off as the dickhead that he was. These tricks were futile on you.

“Watch the movie,” you whisper despite not watching it yourself, blinking rapidly as you feel your cheeks heat up. Praying that the dark of the cinema would shroud your flushed face.

His lips twitch before slowly pulling his eyes away, nodding to himself as an acknowledgement to be on his best behaviour.

It takes every single fibre of your very being to get through the rest of the movie without looking at him again.

“Well I actually enjoyed that,” he professes loudly, walking out of the theatre a few paces behind you.

“Oh? I’m surprised you actually saw any of it,” walking to his car in the pitch black parking lot.

“I wasn’t talking about the movie,” grinning as he lays on that signature charm. It’s shameless and you feel like a fool for even falling for it.

“Shut up,” you mutter, pulling on the door handle as his car remains locked. He sidles up to the passenger side, one side of his mouth curled into a small smile.

“How tired are you on a scale of one to ten?” mere inches from your face.

“Hmm.. a five.”

“Great, get in,” leaning closer to open the door for you, outstretched arm keeping you between his body and the car. You swallow harshly, slipping past him and into the car.

You’re not sure if you like this version of Steve, the one that had the confidence to make you a bumbling fool for him.

“Where are we going?” you eventually pipe up, bewildered that you had just let this boy drive you to this mysterious location without any contest.

“You’ll see.”

The very second he turns onto the darkened road you groan, knowing exactly where he had taken you, his motivations becoming increasingly clear.

“Fucking skull rock?” you exclaim. Everyone had heard the rumours in school, this was his spot and girls were to be extremely appreciative if he brought them here. You should’ve known really, he hadn’t changed a bit.

“Well yes, but that’s not why we’re here.. I swear,” only now realising how scummy this looked but the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind until it had yours.

Your arms wrap over your chest, jutting your bottom lip out, “then why are we here?” you sounded disgusted with him. How could you have been so stupid?

“Because I-,” the car stops in the tiny lookout spot, “wait, get out of the car,” he instructs, hopping out of his side.

You don’t move a muscle, refusing to fall for his tricks once again. So he walks around the car, opening up your door, “look, I wanna show you something,” his tone is desperate and it makes you ever so slightly believe him.

There was no chance he was that eager to make out with you surely.

Your nostrils flare as you get out of the car, immediately wrapping your arms back around yourself. “What? What could you possibly have to show me out here?”

“Just look,” pointing towards the sky. It was littered with stars, bright and twinkling with the view of Hawkins in the distance. It was breathtakingly beautiful, a sight you couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

He chuckles, “I come here sometimes.. just to think and stuff,” scuffing his shoes on the loose stones, “I thought you’d appreciate something like this,” hands shoved into his pockets, gazing at you as you gaze at the sky.

“Wow.. you can see everything from here,” still marvelling in the absolute beauty, blissfully unaware that he was doing the same, just not at the same beauty you were seeing.

“I thought you’d like it,” dragging his feet along to the bonnet of his car, leaning back against the maroon metal. “I’m a little offended that you just assumed that I was tryna get you here for any other reason though,” laughing softly, what more could he do to prove that he was no longer that meathead jock from school?

You finally break your gaze, looking at him as you join him on the bonnet. Heart pounding as your elbow brushes against his as you shuffle further up the car. It’s so silly, you feel like a fool, trying your hardest to contain your flushing cheeks.

“I’m sorry..” admitting that perhaps you were a little harsh, “but can you blame me? We’ve all heard the stories,” purposely knocking your elbow into his arm, wiggling your brows. Turning your attention back to the picturesque view in front of you.

“Yeah yeah.. that was a long time ago, I told you, I’m not like that anymore..” it’s only a tiny lie. He still made out with girls in his car and took them to darkened corners of your tiny town. But see, the difference was that he was actually trying to date these girls, mindless sex was no longer his goal.

“Yeah I can see that now..” your shoulders slump, relaxing as your guard comes down, “thank you, this is a really cool spot and I’m grateful you chose to share that with.. me,” smiling softly.

“You’re like the second girl I’ve ever shown this to.. by the way.”

“Second?” poking fun at him.

“Robin came first, obviously,” choosing to ignore your little dig.

You had wondered why he wasn’t just dating Robin, he was a changed man now and obviously the pair got on like a house on fire so why wouldn’t he have tried it with her? Maybe he had and she’d shut him down. She seemed cool enough in band, definitely not someone that would ever be interested in Steve, no matter how much he had changed.

“Ahh.. obviously,” trying desperately not to sound jealous.

“So you like it?” watching your face instead of the sky once again.

When you pull your eyes away from the sky to look at him, you’re taken aback to find him already staring back. “I love it,” the way the moon illuminated his face left you breathless, struggling to contain your heart in your chest.

“Good..” he smiles before descending into some ramble about the stars and how he had discovered it.

You weren’t interested. Focused on one thing and one thing only. Deciding against your better judgement to just do it. It was utterly reckless and someday you might live to regret it but you’d regret it tomorrow if you didn’t.

Pressing your lips to his, quietening his little tangent. It takes him a moment to register what was happening and you doubt yourself, wanting to pull away and run through the woods hoping to never see him again. But it finally clicks and he springs into action, masterful hand snaking its way through your hair, resting on the back of your head. Keeping you right there, pressed to him just like this forever.

Your hand nervously finds his cheek, brushing over the slight stubble that adorned his jaw. There’s no urgency, no ulterior motives. Pure and simple, only a desperate need to stay like this forever.

You pull away, lips still lingering over his. A small giggle erupts from your throat, crumbling under his stare. “Sorry..” you mutter, still trying to catch your breath, “you were saying something..”

“Sorry?” he exclaims, keeping his hand intertwined in your hair, “don’t ever be sorry for doing that.. like ever,” the stars reflecting off of his chestnut eyes back into yours, his features intricately lit up by the sky.

“Okay..” laughing slightly, “okay.. I’ll keep that in mind,” shying away from his eyes, dipping your head.

There was not one part of you that would have ever guessed that you would be the one to make a move on him first. Or that he could ever be so sweet, so kind and thoughtful and you feel awful for ever just assuming the worst of him without even giving him a chance.

You’re pulled out of your head when his head dips down to match yours, “can we do that again?” thumb tracing back and forth along your neck. You nod quickly, chest bubbling with excitement as his lips connect with yours once more.

It must’ve been gone three by the time you sneak back into your house. Praying that Dustin is already asleep as you sneak back up the creaking stairs.

It’s too late. You’ve been caught.

“Come here,” he whispers harshly, peeking out of his bedroom door, his brows furrowed.

You oblige, slipping into his room and shutting the door quietly, “you gonna give me a lecture?”

“No,” he sits cross-legged on his bed, “I was going to ask if you had a good time,” willing to put his pride behind him for the sake of his dear sister's happiness.

Your frown turns into a grin, joining him on his bed, “I did.. he’s really nice, Dusty,” moving the deconstructed lego set from his duvet so you could scoot closer. “If you really don’t like it.. I can tell him that we can just be friends,” smiling earnestly at your little brother, it would suck but after all, he was Steve’s friend first.

He sighs, swallowing his disgust, “you don’t have to do that..” this is hard for him to even get out, “if you’re happy then.. I’m happy,” giving you his brotherly blessing.

You beam at him, “but, I have some rules that you’re both gonna have to agree to,” setting his boundaries for your budding relationship.

“Shut up,” you giggle, ruffling his mop of curls before collapsing back onto his bed.

You’re happy. Genuinely happy and you’re not sure anything could happen to change that.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve stranger things #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x henderson!sister

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https-lawrenceslittleone · 9 months ago

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Saw a post about you wanting welcome home requests. Dont know how old it is but.

What would wally be like as a CG???

Feb,20,2024

Caregiver Wally Darling!

A/N: OMG YAY!!! I already have a shorter more general version of this on my blog, so I’m gonna repeat myself a bit here, but that’s okay because I love this man and I really wanna talk about him.

He is such a good caregiver, I think. Like…he struggles a bit at first but he eventually gets the hang of it and does really well!

I mean. He is quite literally the host of a children’s TV show. He knows how to take care of and entertain kids.

He likes taking you out on little play dates and adventures. One of his favorite things to do is take you to the park, and you often see Julie and Sally there, so you play with them a lot. :)

He paints you a lot. You’re his muse. ❤️

Speaking of painting, if you’re down for it, he’d be happy to paint with you! Finger paint, watercolor, anything! And if not, that’s okay too! He’s fine with just using you as inspiration.

He actually made a deco paci for you one time (if you use pacifiers)! It was for your birthday. You have loved and cherished it ever since.

If you ever draw or color something for him, it immediately gets hung up on the fridge or on a wall somewhere.

He does better with calmer littles. If you’re like me and you get very sleepy randomly or very easy, he has no problem with cuddling you while you sleep if you want. He doesn’t try to sleep with you; because he can’t, and his “I’m sleeping” chant gets a lil annoying.

Barnaby is Wally’s go to babysitter, as you probably expected. Barnaby is basically your uncle. He’s the cool, fun uncle who loads you up on sugar before sending you back to your parents. And that is exactly what he does!

He is VERY cautious and protective. He baby proofs the hell out of everything.

He also does most things for you. You need to tie your shoes? He’s got it! Wanna refill your sippy cup or your bottle? That’s his job, sweetheart, don’t worry about it.

He will love any nickname you give him, “dad/daddy/dada”, “papa”, “baba”, etc.

He loves them all.

He canonically goes limp when you hug him but I’d like to think that he eventually gets the hang of it and becomes a really good cuddler. 😭

He has so much apple juice. And apples in general. Does not understand apple pie or anything with apple filling in it, though…where are the apples…where did they go?? 😥

His voice is super monotone and his face kinda is too, so he actually does super well with autistic littles. Cuz like. He gets it. Also I know Wally isn’t CANONICALLY autistic but. Erm. Yeah he is. In my mind he absolutely is.

He doesn’t do too well with tantrums. He’ll try his best to calm you down, but if that doesn’t work, he usually has to call Barnaby for help. He always feels so bad, though. He’s your caregiver, he’s supposed to know how to help…

All in all, 10/10 caregiver. Would recommend.

#age regression #agere #welcome home #Wally darling #wally darling x reader #welcome home x reader #welcome home agere #Wally darling agere

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averagetmntfan · 10 months ago

Text

MASTERPOST!

(yeah I copy pasted it from the other acc, don’t sue me)

wassup! Finally, a master post! Am I right?

(TC*ST AND PROSH*PPERS DNI!!)

hi there! I’m Jayah! You can call me jj tho. Or mike! I’m really ok with anything :D

I’m js here to post a bunch of fun art and maybe some animation stuff? And occasionally, fan fiction >:). I am GenderFluid, and I go by all pronouns. And my sexuality is lesbian!

and my lil gay ass miiiiiiight be possibly maybe simping for someone rn..?? (*cough* a literally drawing)

I also have 12 roleplay blogs! @leontheluxuriousone , @wrecking-it-raphie @gayass-blueberry-mugman, @bendy-the-dancing-doofus, @koi-the-cosplay-boy, @improv-master-mikey , @ask-miss-maple-leaf ,@blue-masked-simp , @mikey-the-magnificent , @no-ditches-no-bitches , @candy-for-the-win and @ask-olive-huchers

PLUS: @ask-adi-huchers @candy-for-the-win @neon-of-the-leon (new ROTTMNT leo acc) @ask-miss-maple-leaf @ask-christopher-harrison

my current hyper fixations are: rottmnt, tadc, TBT(trolls: band together/trolls 3), The great north, bobs burgers, the cuphead show, moon girl and devil dinosaur, amphibia, the owl house, tmnt 12, cuphead and mugman in General, KREW, poppy playtime, and a SHIT TON MORE-

btw I swear quite a lot on this, so if that isn’t ur thing, u should click off.

and here’s my sona ref!

DISCLAIMER: please don’t send me werid asks, or gross inappropriate content. I’m a minor.

100 DTIYS!

• FANART!!: •

Leo goober(@ghosty-0w0)

PRINCESS KOI FR (@mikey-rottmnt)

MY BABIES- (@allyheart707)

MY SONS<333 (@mikey-rottmnt)

YOU MADE ME LOOK SO PRETTY RAAHHH (@mikey-rottmnt)

• ROTTMNT FICS!!!: •

The sand.

shopping day! (discontinued)

1 2 3

The 4 servants Au:

Chapter 1 (ongoing)

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 pt.8 pt.9 pt.10 pt.11 pt.12 (currently on hiatus)

The 4 turtles work peacefully at a competing hotel with the battle nexus, with their beloved father. But one day, everything spirals out of control! And their worlds get flipped upside down! Follow Leo, Donnie, Raph & Mikey on the journey of a life time! And who knows, they might meet some friends along the way, or maybe more…

• DOODLES: •

Pissed off peeps >:[

brace face!!

• FICS: •

Colour theory thingy sorta??

• RANDOM STUFF: •

Leo being a dumb-dumb

• ANSWERED ASKS: •

what do the bros do outside of the hotel??

Mikey needs a hug

does raph break stuff often?

Do the bros like Lou Jitsu movies?

How do they feel about working there?

Time beats a dead man

(Collab au w/ @mikey-rottmnt!!)

Pt.1

A silly cuphead and mugman au Abt uh..a lot of stuff. (Heavily inspired by babtqftim)

• FICS/ INCORRECT QUOTES: •

picky eater

get served! ..or, maybe later..

portals gone wrong!! 1 2 3

Secret admirer<3

…?

the struggles of school

Is it salad?

THATS NOT WHAT I MEANT!!!

• HC’S that are canon in this silly au: •

Mugs

Cups and mugs (cups are not Canon)

How to hug the gang!!

• DRAWINGS: •

Human mugs doodles

chip and Dale!!

Koi and mugs being gay

KOI CANON IN TCHS?!

Rock paper scissors

• some lore: •

mugs lore

Hs! Mugs and euro…

Mug and cup lore

Main crews fav ice cream!!

cup lore (belongs to Ari)

Favourite drinks!

Pipsqueak!

(Coming soon..?)

“Small turtle, and even bigger problems.”

#<3 #tmnt 2018 #rottmnt mikey #save rottmnt #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt #rottmnt leo #rottmnt raph #rottmnt au #the 4 servants au #T4S #pipsqueak AU!#tbadm au

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a-big-apple · 12 days ago

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pls can we get your most niche tlt headcanons/ canon points you think are too overlooked or unappreciated/ fanon you see too often mistaken for canon/ juicy background bits on the babytrap or skater AU or otherwise.. the ppl are starving

omg this is exactly the treat i deserve after doing so many chores today, im gonna hit all these categories just for funsies

niche tlt headcanon: this is maybe more a theory than a pure headcanon but i think someone in Camilla's direct family line, either a parent or a grandparent, was from outside the Houses. Hect is an arithmonym, but it's not Sixth, it's a prefix meaning 100. as there's no 10th (or 100th) House, i like to think this is meant to indicate that someone in her recent family tree was an outsider! also she's hot enough for the Alexandrites, which suggests at least one of her bio parents or grandparents was hot enough for the Nireids and perhaps scored some out-of-House genetic material to spice up the Sixth's diversity. also Silas questions her eligibility to be cav primary, and since she's brilliant and badass and the Sixth don't base these things on bloodline/inheritance, there's no reason for even a prig like Silas to disqualify her other than some kind of citizenship issue. anybody with at least one Sixth parent is considered Sixth, that's their whole deal, but maybe the Eighth take a dimmer view?

smaller but purer headcanon that has no basis in anything except my gut: i think the "very silly" description of herself that Dulcie sent to Pal and Cam, and the drawing Cam sent back (mentioned in TUG), is a reference to this classic of ancient tumblr

overlooked/underappreciated canon moment: at this point i dont think there's anything i have noticed that i haven't seen at least one person blog about, but one of the tiny little things that gives me shrimp emotions is Gideon in the pool scene, after she's had this intense thing with Harrow, and then Harrow starts waxing about her beloved in the Tomb: "[Harrow's] voice had the quality of someone in a long dream. She stared through Gideon without looking at her, and Gideon gently took her hands away from Harrow's jaw. Instead she sat back in the water, buoyed by the salt, her eyes starting to sting from it." she's suddenly being told that Harrow is into someone else, she assumes these feelings she's been slowly catching are doomed before she can even really examine them, she pulls back from the very intimate position they've just been in, and she has a quiet lil cry about it that she won't even acknowledge in the narration. BUT I KNOW WHAT THAT SALT STINGING YOUR EYES IS GIDEON NAV

fanon you see too often mistaken for canon: GIDEON ISN'T STUPID T^T she's not a himbo jock, she's just a jock who doesn't care about necromancy! she also can't sense it, so she naturally has less information than Harrow about what's going on in GtN. she has a baller vocabulary, she's strategic, she's observant, she's super good at what she does, and she adapts to a completely novel situation VERY quickly.

also? i understand why it's visually more appealing to draw Kiriona with her chussy out, or modern au Gideon showing a lot of skin, i dig it, im hot for her too. but Gideon is canonically shy. she doesn't even take off her robes to duel in GtN, and is so constantly hooded that nobody even knows she's a redhead until halfway through the book. Kiriona is buttoned up to the point of wearing a goddamn ascot to cover her neck hole. i definitely understand au situations where her upbringing was different and so she's a little different, that's part of a good au for me, but it still always crosses my mind when i see her with her shirt wide open or her tummy out or in booty shorts or something. she's hot and she wants everyone to think she knows it, but deep down she does not know it and doesn't really flaunt it, except those guns

juicy background bits on babytrap or skater au: hmmmmm. Kiriona would deny it's the reason she hasn't named the baby, but she IS waiting for Harrow. she doesn't feel like she has the right, and she has complex feelings about both the names her own parents gave her. she has a deep-seated sense that Harrow, who is smart and cares a lot about doing things the right way, will be better suited to this responsibility.

in the figure skating au...a minor character from early in the story is going to be very important in the sequel fic, i think.

#this was wicked fun ty ty ty <3 #the locked tomb #i have so many thoughts and this got so long

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t-lostinworlds · 2 years ago

Text

I Spy, No Spy | Peter Parker

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

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

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

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

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

✘ MOODBOARD

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

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ PETER PARKER MASTERLIST ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

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

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

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

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

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

"Good morning, Peter."

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

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

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

Well, so much for his plans to relax.

"Got it, FRIDAY."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were incredible.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hi, Pete."

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

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

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

"After you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peter couldn't stop his smile.

He always found your thinking face adorable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thanks," Peter hummed, smiling.

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

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

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

"You got the spirit," Peter chuckled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And the card?" Peter asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, Captain."

•••

The hotel suite was fancy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Need help?"

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

Wow.

Oh wow you looked gorgeous in red.

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

"Wow."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But oh did the pride bubble in his chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's beautiful."

"It looks even more beautiful on you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Let's."

•••

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

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

"I'm not—"

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

Right. Fake identities.

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

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

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

"Thank you, my love," you giggled.

My love.

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

It's pretend. Get a grip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Future husband.

God how Peter wished for that to be true.

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

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

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

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

Not too far off from reality.

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

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

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

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

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

Peter was so sure his face had gone so red.

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

You smiled. "Of course."

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

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

Peter's heart quickened.

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

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

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

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

He gulped, nodding before letting out a shaky breath.

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

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

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

•••

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peter nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Parker, can you hear me?"

"Aye, aye, Captain," he muttered.

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

"My, aren't you two cute."

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

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

Peter's heart fluttered at that.

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

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

"Aye, aye, Captain."

"Jesus Christ."

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

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

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

•••

Peter was so far out of his element.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was what he told himself, anyway.

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

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

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

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

So that's your fake name.

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

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

Halbert? What kind of name is that?

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

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

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

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

"Why, thank you, monsieur."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Have a lovely night, madem—"

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

So…he didn't quite think this through.

Peter had no idea how to dance.

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

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

Peter cleared his throat, "Something wrong?"

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

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

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

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

Peter believed it was both.

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

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

Peter blushed.

Jealous. Not angry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peter blinked. "Really?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, he felt bold, confident.

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

Perhaps it was everything all at once.

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

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

Peter reveled in the way your smile got shy.

"You've said that already."

"Once will never be enough."

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

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

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

"Ahem."

You both jerked back, eyes wide with surprise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You just had to cockblock—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Cheesy, but it works," he finished.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You look parched, my darling."

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

But she likes your accent more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Lucas Reid."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peter gulped as he leaned back.

"O-Oh, uh—"

"Lucas."

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

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

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

"You must be Amelia," Greta interrupted.

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

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

Interesting…

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

Peter short circuited.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was making him slightly nervous.

"Is everything okay?"

You ignored him.

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

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

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

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

Oh you were pissed.

"Did I do something?"

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

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

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

Flirting? Woo girls?

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

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

Because you weren't angry.

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

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

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

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

It told Peter everything he needed to know.

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

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

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

"Yes ma'am."

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

•••

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peter laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Since when did movies become tutorials?"

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

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

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

"Got it?"

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

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

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

Rookie mistake.

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

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

He groaned in utter embarrassment when you laughed.

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

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

Yeah. I saw.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which didn't take too long.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peter stared at you, mouth agape.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was failing, though. Miserably so.

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

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

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

"My boobs are clean, by the way."

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

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

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

Focus. You got this.

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

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

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

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

"Great job, Pete."

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

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

You beamed and held out your palm.

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

"Are you putting this in your boobs again?"

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

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

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

"We don't know that—"

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

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

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

He groaned, "Is this becoming a thing?"

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

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

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

And personality, obviously.

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

Peter sighed in defeat.

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

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

•••

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"In here!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Listen," you whispered.

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

"The guards have been knocked out."

"Nothing is missing in the room."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?" Peter asked, confused.

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

"I'm sorry."

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

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

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

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

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

Peter felt like he was about to faint.

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

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

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

Peter didn't want to lose you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your soft moan just about made his knees buckle.

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

It was intoxicating.

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

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

It was addicting.

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

It was too much, yet he needed more.

You were so close, but not close enough.

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

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

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

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

"Y/N, I—"

"Like you, too."

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

Oh boy he was flustered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God this felt like a dream come true.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You let out a sweet, hearty laugh.

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

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

You giggled.

But what you said next did anything but help.

"Yes, sir."

•••

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

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

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

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

Peter stopped when he found no sign of you.

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

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

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

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

"Hi."

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

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

Always ten steps ahead of him.

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

"Now, how'd you get that?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, you just lost your highest bidder!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peter pouted.

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

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

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

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

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

•••

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

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

Then, a flash of gold appeared on the stage.

Peter immediately knew who they were.

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

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

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

And no, he wasn't biased.

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

Yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It took Peter a moment.

"I was not looking at her boobs."

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

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

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

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

"Don't tempt me to punch you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It helped him calm down a little.

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

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

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

"What signal?"

You stood up, gun raised.

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

Chaos erupted then.

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

But Peter was still staring at you in shock.

"Go!"

He snapped out of it, taking long strides towards the stage, reaching the twins just in time before they could even manage to escape.

"Mr. Reid," Halbert chuckled darkly, pushing Greta right behind him before pulling out a revolver. "You should've bought a gun."

"Well, good thing I did," Peter quipped, reaching inside his holster only to find nothing. He looked up, eyes wide. "Shit. I dropped it."

"Oh my God—" Peter heard you groan in disappointment, and he could practically hear that eye roll.

He would've found the time to be embarrassed if Halbert hadn't started shooting at him. He dodged every bullet easily. His enhanced reflexes paired with how inaccurate this guy's aim was, it wasn't really much of a challenge.

And no, he wasn't showing off.

Okay, maybe a little bit.

Peter couldn't stop his chuckle when he heard the familiar clicking of an empty cylinder.

"Well, looks like I didn’t even need one," he bragged as he stalked towards Halbert, yanking the gun out of his hold before hitting him on the side of the head with the butt of his own gun, rendering him unconscious. He turned to Greta with a mocking tut, "Your twin isn't the wisest, isn't he?"

"No," she scoffed, smile widening as she glanced over his shoulder. "But he bought us time."

Peter saw the entryway clear of civilians, the armed guards swiftly invading the theater.

"Shit."

A flash of red caught his eye, your sharp heels clicking rapidly before you slid on the floor, picking up the gun Peter dropped. You knelt on one knee, gun in each hand, aiming it toward the guards and raining hell on them motherfuckers.

You didn't miss a shot.

He shook his head in awe, "And you said to hold it with two hands!"

"I've fired guns since I was twelve!" you said, tilting your head to throw him a smirk. "I think I can be an exception."

How could he argue with that?

Peter swerved to the right, heart thumping as the glint of a knife covered his periphery. He grabbed their wrist, pulling him forward in one swift motion and throwing the culprit towards the seats.

"Who brings a knife to a gunfight?" he huffed as he kicked away the knife that fell out of their hand.

Peter's attention got stolen by your growl.

His eyes landed on you just in time to see you grab a man's forearm from behind, using all your body weight and the right momentum to throw him over your shoulder, a pained scream when you undoubtedly dislodged his arm, the knife clinking onto the floor. You kicked the guy on the head, his eyes rolling back as he turned limp. You stepped on the knife's handle to fling it into the air, catching it with your left hand before flipping to your right, holding your skirt taught before cutting a new slit on your skirt. Then, you spun, red dress flowing with the motion as you kicked the guy running towards you on the side of his throat.

If Peter wasn't in love before, he sure as hell was now.

"What?" you panted when you caught his gaze, brows furrowed.

"That was so hot," Peter breathed out, your eyes rolling for the umpteenth time before they suddenly widened.

"Down!"

He ducked as you threw the knife, the blade soaring past him and landing into the guy's shoulder, the gun that was aimed at Peter's distracted ass dropping onto the floor.

He looked back at you in absolute wonder.

And did his pants grow a little tighter?

"Will you marry me?"

"Jesus—focus!"

"Is that a 'no'?!" he called out teasingly, elbowing one guy on the chin before hurling his unconscious body toward his allies. He called it the bowling move. Taking a gun from the floor, he turned to you with a pout. "Can't believe you'd reject me, babe!"

"Kinda in the middle of something here!" you yelled back, shooting a guy on the leg before knocking him out with the butt of your gun. You stood straight with a deep breath, tilting your head with your lips pursed before nodding behind him. "How about you help me get those codes first?"

Peter turned, seeing Greta dragging her twin towards the side exit.

"Oh yeah, right," he chuckled sheepishly before going after her. "My bad!"

Fully catching him off guard, Peter flew forward and landed on his chest when Greta swiped his legs. He rolled onto his back, narrowly avoiding the six-inch heel she dug into the floor where his head was supposed to be.

"So you can fight," he breathed out, doing a kip up to get back on his feet.

"I bite too," she hummed, winking. "And I've been wanting to sink my teeth into you, pretty boy."

"Uh, thanks?" he chuckled dryly, face scrunched up. He swerved the knife she threw at him, looking back only to see she got two more, one on each hand. He sighed, "Great. You throw knives."

"What?" she asked, tone mocking as she flipped one in the air, catching the blade in between her fingers with ease. "You don't like knife play?"

"That doesn't sound like fun," he grumbled, running towards her, swiftly ducking as she kicked her leg before grabbing her by the ankles.

Greta fell on the floor with a thud, yet she was quick to kick his knee with her other foot, Peter hissing as her sharp heel dug into his skin. She used this slim window to pull her leg forward, dragging Peter with it and making him land right on top of her.

"Quite a handsome face. Maybe we can go out for dinner sometime," she purred, running her tongue over her lip as she traced his jaw with a knife, sharp tip teasing his throat. "The real party happens later in the night, of course."

"Yeah, no thanks," he breathed out, pulling his head back and quickly grabbing her arms, flipping her onto her stomach in one swift motion. Peter pinned her down using his body weight as he knocked the knives out of her hands. He pulled her wrist towards her back, his knees tight on either side of her hips as he sat up. Holding her wrists with one hand, he undid his necktie with the other, tying her up securely before letting go.

"Kinky," she huffed out a giggle.

Peter rolled his eyes, pulling her up by the shoulders until she was seated on the floor. He walked around, dusting off his suit and adjusting his glasses—they got sticky tape on the sides to not let them fall off during fights. He thought about this ahead, thank you very much—as he stood in front of her.

"I guess it's true what they say about the quiet ones," she said, head tilted as she shamelessly ran her eyes down his body before meeting his eyes. "You're a different kind of man, Lucas Reid."

"The name's Parker," he said with a deep voice as he buttoned up his jacket with the utmost seriousness on his face. "Peter Parker."

You scoffed loudly.

Peter immediately spun, his landing eyes on your figure standing behind him, your jaw tight, arms crossed over your chest, a scowl on your pretty face with that fiery glare to match.

Oh you were pissed.

But Peter had a feeling it wasn't at him.

"You've been itching to do that the whole night, have you?"

"Maybe," he chuckled.

You rolled your eyes, nodding towards Greta.

"Just take the codes."

Peter stared at you like you'd grown a second head.

"What?" you asked, voice taut, so clearly getting annoyed.

"You take the codes."

"Why can't you do it?"

"Because I respect women?"

You blinked a few times before dropping your head with an exasperated groan.

"What? You know where it's hidden!" he exclaimed in defense, gesturing towards the bound woman. "I'm not just slipping my hand in there!"

"I have a feeling she won't mind," you muttered to yourself, but thanks to his enhanced hearing, he heard you loud and clear. "You've practically been humping each other."

Peter decided to keep quiet, scared that you'd actually punch him this time.

Though the glare you shot him was proof that you knew he heard you.

You shook your head, another eye roll before you walked over to Greta, bending at the waist until your face was level with hers.

"Let’s make this quick. Left or right?" you asked.

"Dégage, salope," she hissed.

You gasped, hand over your mouth in feigned shock. "Now, that's not nice."

"Wait, what did she say?" Peter asked as he stood by the sidelines, not too close but not too far. He was giving you the space to do your thing.

"She called me a bitch," you cooed, pouting condescendingly. "Fine. Since you don't want to make this easier for us—"

Before Peter could even question what you were about to do, you stomped on a knife, catching the handle mid-air and straight up slashing the blade in front of Greta.

"Woah!"

Peter downright expected you to have chopped her whole head off—okay, maybe slit her throat because the knife wasn't that big.

But nothing happened.

No chopping, no slicing, no blood, nothing.

Well, not until a split second later when Greta gasped, the top half of her—really expensive, he assumed—dress sliding down her body.

Peter looked away immediately, face hot as he screwed his eyes shut, turning his back on her for good measure.

"Jesus Christ, Y/N," he muttered, taking his glasses off to rub his face with his palm.

But he couldn't wipe his smile off.

Peter knew you could take the codes without having to cut her dress. You were simply being petty. And it was safe to assume it had something to do with the way Greta had been shamelessly flirting with him for the whole night.

Your jealousy fed his ego a little bit.

"You can look now," you said, tone low. "She's covered."

"Are you sure?"

You scoffed, "It's not like you don't want to see it, anyway."

Peter swiftly turned, only catching a glimpse of Greta now wearing Halbert's jacket with the matching gold tie gagging her mouth.

He immediately turned to you who was standing to the side, looking anywhere else but at him. He walked over, rubbing up and down your arms until you uncrossed them. He pulled you closer by the waist, nudging your nose while mirroring your pout.

"Don't be mad."

"I'm not mad."

"Then why did you do that?"

"I had to get the codes."

"Yeah, but it didn't have to involve boobage exposure."

"Boobage exposure," you snorted, the corner of your lip twitching as you finally met his eyes. "I feel like that's something you enjoy."

"I didn't even look!" he defended, his smile widening when you tried your best to hide yours. "I promise. I didn't want to, either."

You shook your head, sighing, "You're such an annoying dork."

"Your annoying dork."

That made your smile appear.

"My dork, huh?" you hummed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

Peter smiled, pulling you closer, tip of his nose brushing yours. "Well, if you'll have me, that is."

"Have you as what, exactly?"

"Your boyfriend," he said, slightly surprised by his own boldness. But then again, you two had already established what you felt for each other. The fear of rejection wasn't there anymore. Shaking his head with a smile, he added, "Wait, answer that on our date this Friday?"

"Love the newfound confidence, Agent Parker," you said, giggling. "And yes, to both questions,"

"I really like the sound of Agent Parker," he hummed, wiggling his eyebrows at you. "Am I a certified spy now?"

"Eh, if you don't drop your gun next time, then sure."

"Come on," he sighed, pouting. "I could use a name change, you know, like Spy-Dork-Man."

Peter burst out laughing when you physically cringed.

"Tell me one good reason why I shouldn't kick you because of that god awful pun."

"Because I'm your dork now, bad puns included, so you're going to have to get used to it from early doors."

"Touché," you laughed.

Peter looked at you adoringly, but just as he was about to kiss you, a sudden ruckus of applause made you both jump, stance on defense reflexively.

It was the team, right in front of the stage, clapping and wolf-whistling like a bunch of assholes.

Peter groaned, hiding his face in the crook of your neck as he wrapped his arms around you.

"About time you two solved this…tension you have," Wanda said as she reached the stage, gesturing at the two of you before she held her hand out to Bucky. "Hand it over, Super Soldier. She technically kissed him first,"

"Maybe I shouldn't have held Sam back from unmuting the line in the closet," Bucky sighed, pulling out his wallet and handing over twenty dollars.

"You had a bet?" you gaped at the two of them.

Peter turned to Sam. "You tried to interrupt us again?"

"I wouldn't have to if you guys didn't constantly forget that your comms aren't reserved for the two of you only," the Captain chuckled.

"You guys were so cute, though," Wanda said with a smile.

"The smooching sounds were a bit much." Bucky grimaced.

"Don't forget the abundant talk about boobs and ass," Harley laughed, appearing from behind everyone with a bag in hand. "Good thing you finally grew those balls though, Parker. I've grown really tired of hearing you whine about your obsession—sorry, I mean, crush on her."

"Shut up, man," Peter groaned, burying his face back on your shoulder to hide.

"Leave him alone," you laughed, rubbing his back in comfort.

"I wished I could've hacked the cams earlier so it would've been like watching a James Bond movie meets rom-com live," Harley said. "But the audio was good, popcorns still definitely enjoyed."

"Lives were on the line and you guys enjoyed popcorn," you deadpanned.

Sam laughed as he patted both of your backs. "Nah, we just knew you two got it handled."

"What are you guys doing here then?" Peter countered, glaring at them.

"Clean up," Wanda said, cracking her fingers before adding, "I also need to erase your faces off of people's memories because blowing your covers wasn't exactly part of the plan."

"And this guy practically gave out his real name," Bucky chuckled, patting Peter's shoulder before moving over to the unconscious men lying on the floor.

"I couldn't let the opportunity slip!" Peter protested. "It's probably going to be my only James Bond moment, I had to take it."

"That was pretty stupid," you said, scrunching your face at him with a laugh.

"I know that now, thanks," he grumbled.

"Here." Harley tossed him his web shooters and mask, and Peter felt a sense of comfort as he snapped them onto his wrists.

"Pete, you think you can swing us home?" you asked, slipping your fingers into his.

"Yeah, of course," he chuckled, squeezing your hand. He could definitely get used to feeling your affectionate touch constantly.

"Right, we're going to leave this to you guys, now bye!" you called out before you all but dragged him towards the exit, Peter's groan and your laugh echoing down the hall when Sam yelled,

"Use protection!"

•••

You both were honestly too tired to even attempt and continue what started in the closet.

Well, you did try to.

When you landed back at the compound, you both decided to go to your separate rooms and take much-needed hot showers first. But getting to your quarters in itself probably took around ten minutes, all because Peter simply couldn't help but stop every couple of meters down the halls, pressing you against the nearest wall to kiss you senseless.

It took you shutting the door on his face for you both to finally wash off the sweat and grime of the day.

After he was all cleaned and clothed, he didn't waste any time making his way out of his room. But when he opened the door, you were already standing there, fist in the air, mid-knock.

Peter chuckled as he grabbed your waist and pulled you into his room, giggles and satisfied sighs bouncing off his walls as his lips covered your own. He grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you with ease, a murmured comment from you about him showing off his super strength as he carried you to his bed.

But the second you both hit the mattress, it was simply far too comfy and soft that the intense heat of the kiss gradually simmered into a mellow warmth. His body was covering yours, fingers intertwined, lips moving slowly, lazily yet just as sweet.

And after a few more moments of you two languidly kissing, you ended up settling with cuddles for the night.

Now, here you were, being the little spoon with your back pressed against his chest, limbs tangled, bodies warm and snug under the covers. He was drawing lazy circles on your stomach, his eyes growing heavier with each rise and fall of your chest, the steady beat of your heart lulling him.

Peter thought you were already fast asleep. And he was just about to follow suit until you spoke up,

"Are your hands cold?"

"Not really," he murmured, voice a little rough. "Why?"

"You can always use my boobs in case you need to warm them up."

He groaned, burying his face onto your shoulder. "Are you ever going to let this go?"

"What?" you giggled softly. "You just seemed so interested in their warmth earlier. I'm allowing you to quell your curiosity."

Peter lifted himself a little, just so he could get a clear view of your face.

"Is this a genuine invitation for me to cup your boobs?"

"Only if you wanna," you said, turning to him with a soft smile, eyes half-lidded. "No playing, though."

He nodded with a laugh, settling behind you and gently sneaking his hand under your shirt, no pressure or anything so that you'll be able to move away whenever you wanted to. Then again, you were skilled enough to break his wrist, anyway.

But you didn't do that, not at all.

Instead, you shifted in your place, providing more space for his arm to fully wrap around your torso until he was cupping a boob in his hand.

You sighed, body melting into the mattress even more, your back warmly pressed against his chest as you nosed his pillow.

"They are really warm," he hummed, his whole body relaxing as he let his hand just…be there, without any malice whatsoever. "This is oddly comforting."

"Yeah," you mumbled, a loud yawn following suit. "Like stress balls."

Peter chuckled, "That's one way of describing it."

You hummed, yawning out a soft, "Good night, Pete."

Peter smiled. "Good night, angel."

The next response he got was your soft snores as you finally drifted off to sleep,

Peter didn't expect his night to end with you sleeping in bed with him, all cuddled up in his arms, let alone, with him cupping your boob—which he surprisingly found comforting and adorable rather than anything else.

But he did expect to fall asleep with a huge smile on his face.

And then later in the morning, the thing that would wake him up wouldn't be the sunlight anymore, it'd be your warmth, tickling his skin as you cuddle closer to him. A tired, yet satisfied smile would curl on his lips as he would bury his nose into your hair, breathing in your sweet scent. It was much more comforting, hearing your little snores and sighs, or even your occasional mumbles about whatever it was you were dreaming about.

It was new, but definitely something he could get used to.

It was going to be a peaceful Sunday morning with you, and Peter really loved that.

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ♛ *.

↬ reblog & leave a comment if you enjoyed! feedback is always appreciated!

✉ NO TAGLIST: go follow @t-lostinlibrary and turn on notifications to get updated on my works!

© t-lostinworlds, 2023 ✘ I do NOT give any permission to repost, translate, & use any of my works (writings, gifs, dividers, etc.) on any platform, with credit or otherwise. Please respect that. Thank you.

#isns #peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker oneshot #peter parker imagine #peter parker x female reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker one shot #peter parker reader insert #spider-man fanfiction #spider-man x reader #spider-man one shot #spiderman x reader #spiderman fanfiction #tom holland #my writing

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z-v06instance · 3 months ago

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" NO ONE HOME, BUT THE VOID IS LOUD " a z-v06 (pressure, roblox) ask blog

you've been in blacksite long enough to confidently say you know how this place works. you learn more and more with every painful retry of the same mission: gather the crystal. so, yes, you can confidently say you understand this place, that you know how each of the creatures that lurk the halls of blacksite function. or so you think, for in front of you sits an open locker. you've seen these lockers, infested and plagued by that sickly darkness that you can feel the gaze of lingering on you. it preys upon the ones who are more idiotic than others; the ones who see its eyes and still run to it for safety. you've seen this before - you've seen all of this before. you've looked the void in the eyes, and it has felt like death. yet here you are, looking the open locker in the eyes, waiting for the suction cups of those octopus-like tentacles to latch onto you and pull you in. yet it does not try to grab you. it does not try to harm you. it simply watches you. for the first time you call out to the void. the void answers back.

for your first visit to this blog, it is recommended that you look under the cut. please note: currently this blog is on an indefinite hiatus. i apologise.

" THE VOID BREAKS US, THEN RESHAPES US. " the following sections are ooc ;; dividers by @/saradika

📼 ⎯ hey hey heyy welcome to my lil rp askblog :3 this is like. my first askblog in 5-6 years im rusty as fuck n barely remember shit. 🎬 ⎯ im the mun, itris, but haley works too! after seeing all the pressure askblogs pop up i decided to be a so called "free thinker" and make one myself. 📼 ⎯ how old am i? what's my main? what are my pronouns? what are you, a cop? i'm not tellin' you that! (all jokes aside, i only feel comfortable answerin one of these: just use it/its or ey/em!) 🎬 ⎯ considering there's like jack shit regarding the lore of the void-mass puddles (afaik), a lot of this blog will be headcanon heavy! (..mun is also neurodivergant and that may slip through so mun is sorry if it does. muse is not intended to be neurodivergant) 📼 ⎯ english is not my first language and i have dislexia so. im so sorry if shit i say doesn't make sense or my spelling is wackers 🙏 i also make up words sometimes without realising it. i am so sorry 🎬 ⎯ i dont usually use tonetags, so ask me if you need me to clarify my tone! 📼 ⎯ aaalright i think this is enough rambling. ya think it's time for us to hop onto the actual muse info?

" PLEASE, PULL ME FROM THE VOID. " this section is about the askblog. it includes muse info, rules, and anything i think is neceserry.

* buckle in, this section may be long. as if this entire thing wasnt already longer than i intended...

BLOG INFO

🌌 ⎯ this blog will contain profanity and mentions of canon typical death/violence. other possibly triggering topics may come up along the way, so please, view this blog with caution. feel free to ask me to tag things. 🔮 ⎯ please, and i mean PLEASE, no sexual stuff (i know why some of you people like tentacles). mun isnt interested in rp-ing that. the only exception are sexual jokes as long as they don't go too far. threaten to fuck the void's mom if you want! (i am not going to question how you'd be able to do that) 🌌 ⎯ ANY interaction is fine by me! feel free to interact as any muse, whether that be an oc, another pressure character, or someone from a whole other fandom! 🔮 ⎯ feel free to claim any anons and ill make a special tag for you (if you aren't on anon ill give you one too)! i may forget to tag some posts tho so if i ever do just. lemme know LMFAO 😭 🌌 ⎯ if im uncomfortable with an ask, ill delete it. but honestly there's not really much that im against. 'nd also lemme know if i ever do somethin that makes ya uncomfortable too!! 🔮 ⎯ unless stated otherwise, anyone who sends an ask will be treated as an expendable ! :3 actually on the topic of asks pls make it clear if ur ask is towards me and not the z-v06 instance otherwise ill answer ic 😭 🌌 ⎯ im alright w/ m!a's i fucking LOVE m!a's 👍 🔮 ⎯ if i randomly stop posting one day assume the void got me.

MUSE INFO [written ic, but not as the z-v06 instance]

🔮 ⎯ this instance of z-v06 answers to anything you use to refer to it. it has no sense of identity, therefore does not have a name or pronouns. it is up to you to call it whatever you'd like. though, i'm not sure if it has the ability to care. ...note to self, see if the verbal z-v06 instance is capable of emotions and feelings. 🌌 ⎯ fascinating.. the instance you've stumbled upon appears to be showing no signs of hostility. though, i'm sure that, just like the rest of the monsters that roam blacksite, if you provoke it, it may become more violent. 🔮 ⎯ it seems to be capable of remembering things you tell it. perhaps it can remember faces too.. 🌌 ⎯ not much else can be said. i suppose you'll have to interact with it in order to find out more about it.

TAGS

( OOC )⠀ ⠀||⠀ MUN HALEY ( ANON )⠀ ⠀||⠀ UNNAMED (^ the "unnamed" will be replaced by the anon name if there is one provided) ( BLOG )⠀ ⠀||⠀ [INSERT WHATEVER BLOG NAME HERE] ( IC )⠀ ⠀||⠀ WITHIN THE VOID WE ARE UNDONE ( ASK ANSWERED )⠀ ⠀||⠀ THE VOID ANSWERS BACK

tws will be tagged as 'tw [triggering thing]'

i prolly forgot some tag ideas or whatever the word is tbh so expect this to be edited 👍

LAST EDITED: 17TH SEPTEMBER 2024

#( OOC )⠀ ⠀||⠀ MUN HALEY #( ANON )⠀ ⠀||⠀ UNNAMED #( IC )⠀ ⠀||⠀ WITHIN THE VOID WE ARE UNDONE #( ASK ANSWERED )⠀ ⠀||⠀ THE VOID ANSWERS BACK #;;#pressure #roblox pressure #pressure roblox #pressure rp #pressure roleplay #roblox pressure roleplay #roleplay blog #rp blog #ask blog #pressure voidmass #puddles of void-mass #pressure puddles of void-mass #pressure puddles of void mass

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sasukeless · 3 months ago

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Can I rant a lil in your inbox… sorry I absolutely love Sasuke he’s my favorite character but I’ve never understood why people interpret him as this communist guy. Not that there’s anything wrong with that tbh but I’ve seen people say that Sasuke should’ve succeeded in his plan and been the hokage because he was gonna distribute the power to the people and I’m like…. what?!?!? His entire goal in the end is to do the exact opposite of that. Idk, I love Sasuke and the idea that the shinobi world needed revolution wasn’t wrong, but he was very driven by the trauma of being “weak” to do anything for his family and by seeing his brother go through what he did. I like Sasuke but even his fans misinterpret him sometimes even if it’s not in a negative way

ajsjsjjw dw you’re safe here

the thing is, i can understand why sasuke is the voice of reason for many reason but more specifically because 1) sasuke is ultimately one of the few characters that sees there’s something wrong with the shinobi system itself in a media where 99% of characters are blind. 2) the villanization of victims of genocide is just infuriating (see cases like jet and hama from atla). and while yes i argue sasuke is made more sympathetic people like to admit, he’s still framed as if being in the side that questions the status quo is wrong because kishimoto’s nationalist propaganda. thus i get why ppl go “sasuke was right” because he was.

but also i also agree sasuke being a communist/anarchist/the “right” choice is just. projection. because if you actually read his goals and the way he’s written, he’s none of those and i like that! personally it makes him more interesting to me. he’s flawed and so are his politics and it makes sense when you look at his background and his character growth, he’s very consistent but still manages to change in a way that makes sense in a manga where 90% of the cast stays in just one box. his ultimate goals make me crazy because it’s literally once again all about itachi and honoring his wishes even if it’s through different methods so it’s really funny when ppl that hate itachi and his goals want sasuke’s vote2 goals to succeed when he’s following itachi’s will in a way. sasuke has been defined for his relationship with itachi from beginning to end. but whatever. yes, many sasuke stans on this app mischaracterize him as well because they project their own politics to him yet complain about others like shippers mischaracterizing him (which if u look at my blog i also agree) so it’s hard to find ppl that actually like canon sasuke to talk imo

#ask #it’s just hard beca an ACTUAL fan of the source material and not headcanons and fanon that has been passed over the years as a #sasuke/narusasu fan. i learned that over time #being an*

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irradiblebullshark · 3 months ago

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⊹ [ Intro // Interactions Encouraged ] ⊹

The stirring of water can be heard outside the grand window, and a beam of viridescence spilled into the reinforced glass. multiple eyes stare unblinkingly at you. The stygian shark is softly illuminated, and the metal hook sunken through its dorsal fin is glistening in the light. The speakers crackle to life, and you hear someone speaking to you. a familiar voice speaking unfamiliar words... " You seem to be up to your eyes in trouble... why not sit by the window for a while? a break may do you some good, fish food. " //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Welcome to my Eyefestation Pressure RP Ask Blog! nice to meet you, my name is Wyvern! Now as is necessary, here's some bits of information to get you started. 1. NO ASKS ARE OFF THE TABLE, but if i am uncomfortable, i will let you know ooc (out of character)! ✦. Note, If it wasn't clear already, Scopophobia warning for my blog!! 2. Interactions are encouraged!! also this bozo is genderfluid (haha) so use any set of pronouns you wish (mod uses He/They/It) ✦. Note, interactions even from different fandoms are welcome :3 3. (This) Eyefestation, while still hostile, is more passive than canon for sake of interactions. might also be a bit stupid /pos ✦. Note, yes, headcanons will be used for this goober so i can have more fun with it 4. Whenever I appear in a post, my text will be colored in red, and the tag "wyvern speaks" will be present! please, can i win (have fun with this lil shark freak /pos) also tone tags are recommended but not enforced :) (if anything i do makes you uncomfortable, let me know !!) > This section is for topics/things I'm uncomfortable with < ////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// Nothing exists here yet!

#roblox #eyefestation #pressure roblox #roblox pressure #pressure #pressure rp #pressure roleplay #ask blog #roleplay blog #rp blog #character ask blog #pressure ask blog

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slowmo-yo-yo · 12 days ago

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Pondering chuckwill during spooky season BC ITS THAT TIME OF THE YEAR!! I remember spending like a good bit of time just thinking abt chuckwill couples costumes last year and I didn’t rlly land on anything and realized it’s because as cute as it sounds I don’t think they’d be the type of couple to go all out with halloween coustumes on their own (cause they’re lame and old and would rather spend halloween at home eating candy and cuddling then getting plastered in a stupid costume at a stuffy bar). The few times they do try to do some kind of couples coustume, they’re either peer pressured by the guys or I’m picturing much later post canon, Billy’s kids urge them to dress up and go trick or treating with them and they relent cause they love them to death. Like they need to be peer pressured.

I’m sure they did a fair bit of trick or treating as kids with Morgan and Billy, running around with bed sheets over their heads or an old Micheal Myers mask, etc, rounding up candy with pillow cases and hitting neighborhoods in Boston that handed out bigger and better candy. Will having nothing to wear because it’s not like any of his foster homes kept any kind of Halloween costume and Chuckie, in typical chuckie fashion, lends him an older costume from his attic to wear so he’s not left out. Eventually they grow out of it, as one does, and it just becomes ‘that thing we did back then’. I can see the guys in in canon in their 20s just buying a bag of candy, sitting at the bar, getting wasted and eating handfuls of it to the point where they’re throwing up outside the bar and leaving with a strong distaste for any and all candy. But in terms of costumes they’re not going all out unless it’s demanded of them.

I also think they’re big fans of less is more, so they’re always on the lookout for coustumes that are just like some guy in a jacket in jeans cause again they’re a lil lazy like that. I DO SEE THEM HOWEVER going all out ONE year. It’s super random and no one sees it coming but they do some kind of big jaw dropping couples costume that blows everyone’s socks off. They don’t tell anyone but it’s specially for one of Billy’s kids who requested they dress up and of course being the cool awesome uncles they are blow it out of the park. They decorate their front porch, they carve pumpkins with the McBrides, handing out candy at the door and making sure they buy the big bars too because they can do that now and it feels good to be the house with the big candy bars that all the kids flock to, be the change you want to see the world and all that.

I also just think that it’s another reminder of how far they’ve come together that they can really celebrate this holiday. Past halloweens being spend just trying to keep eachother safe and alive while Will was still in foster care, not being able to celebrate halloween because financial stability is a luxury that not all kids laying brick in Boston can afford. Flash forward 20 years, they somehow they managed to confess the painfully obvious as sweaty, gross, flustered Bostonians in love with eachother and promptly started building a life together. Married and sharing their lives, celebrating a holiday that they typically overlook with their closet friends and family because despite EVERYTHING, despite all the world threw at them, they finally made it, and they made it as one.

Hopping on the sap train BC THIS IS MY BLOG, and I know I always somehow find a way to circle back to the whole “middle aged chuckwill does thing and it means a lot because they couldn’t have done thing when they were kids but now they can afford to spoil eachother and celebrate holidays cause they’re happy and settled” BUT I CANT HELP IT😿 I feel like every major holiday spent together post them tying the knot is just one big sob fest because they’re both sentimental idiots and they realize the importance of something like spending a holiday together without having to worry about how they’re gonna get by, because they’re ok and they’ve never been better.

THINKING ABOUT THIS RESPONSE FROM SNAIL FROM A MILLION YERS AGO because it makes my heart melt and it’s very relevant to the theme of this post lolz😋 older chuckwill will always have a place in my heart forever:))

#started as a Halloween post ended in sap #typical slowmo chuckwill rant if I do say so myself #anyway they may not dress up as often as they should but when they do no one can possibly compete with them #I also feel like chuckwill help make some of the McBride kids coustumes by hand #getting and sewing and gluing everything on they’re own and surprising them with they’re dream coustumes #cause that’s what cool gay uncles do:))#Chuckie would do deranged things for a bag of candy corn and Will can only have a few before he’s gagging #will can carve a mean pumpkin and chuckie almost breaks his back falling off a ladder after trying to hang a decorative witch on #a branch of the tree in their yard #I STILL DONT KNOW WHAT THEY’RE COOL COUPLES COUSTUME WOULD BE so if you have any ideas plz lmk #chuckwill #good will hunting #halloween

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gothcsz · 6 months ago

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𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter VIIII.

GIF CREDIT

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: After months of dancing around their emotions, Javier and Paloma finally address the tension between them head-on.

WORD COUNT: ~9.2k

RATING: 18+ Mature topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: smuttt, bulge riding, dry humping, protected p in v sex, dirty talk, javi being an asshole, angst, crime talk (if it's not accurate don't @ me), descriptions of violence against women, vomit mention, slut shaming(?), detective!javi is very gorgeous ME, other things that I'm probably forgetting.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized, including the usage of the song(s) that Paloma will perform throughout the story.

A/N: we did it… we did it joe !! javi and OFC finally [REDACTED] !! thank u to everyone who has been keepin up w this foolery so far, it makes my lil heart happy to see engagement < 3 also wanna say that years of watching criminal minds is finally starting to pay off and i rly hope u guys are enjoying the crime aspect of the plot because i'm havin A LOT of fun writing and developing it !! shit is gonna get twisted and intricate so brace yourselves for where we're about to go !!! the smut in this chapter is heavily inspired by touch it by ariana grande so i def recommend giving that a listen bc i feel like it just fits their vibe so well (i may or may not have used some of the lyrics in the dialogue.. oop!) last thing sooo irrelevant but mayor abbott looks like jonathan bailey (bridgerton hive RISE!!) in my head so take that as u will xoxo always feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or ao3. i'd really appreciate it <3

♰ read on ao3. ♰

♰ playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

As the sun casts its golden rays over the quiet outskirts of town, a grim discovery awaits the two men. The body of Jessica Valdez, the young girl reported missing from their neighboring town, lies lifeless in a shallow ditch. Javier stands beside Sheriff Leighton, their expressions grave as they survey the scene before them.

Reporters and curious onlookers have gathered, drawn by the spectacle of flashing lights and the somber atmosphere. A small group of people whisper amongst themselves, their hushed tones mingling with the distant sound of camera shutters clicking.

Romeo’s authoritative presence looms beside him, a pillar of strength in the face of another tragedy. His eyes narrow as they push through the gathered crowd, commanding respect and order in the chaotic scene.

They duck beneath the yellow crime scene tape, ignoring the questions being hurled at them by the press.

“Are there any indications of a motive for this murder?”

“Is this connected to the similar incidents in the area recently?”

“Is there anything the public can do to assist with the investigation?”

Javier’s stomach churns with sorrow as he takes in the sight. The body lies face down and sprawled in the dirt. He clenches his jaw, steeling himself against the wave of frustration threatening to overwhelm him.

Another failure on their behalf and all he can think about is the kiss shared between him and Paloma.

“Talk to us, Cecelia.”

“Well, at first glance: the body is still fairly warm so she was alive a few hours ago. It looks like she was held captive somewhere due to the bruising on her wrists and ankles. There are signs of malnourishment and she has smaller injuries scattered throughout her body. I won’t know more details until I do the autopsy.” The coroner answers before continuing,” Her chest is completely slashed through, just like all the others. Still our guy. Or girl–– you never know nowadays.”

Javier’s jaw flexes out of exasperation, mirroring the heavy sigh that escapes the sheriff’s lips. The weight of this repeated revelation settles over them like a suffocating blanket, casting a shadow over their efforts to uncover the truth.

Despite their tireless pursuit of justice, they find themselves no closer to catching the culprit or unraveling the mystery shrouding these towns. It’s fucking infuriating.

Amidst the tangled threads of his personal life, Javier has momentarily lost sight of his purpose for being here. He has been too immersed in his own character transformation and entanglement with Paloma, overlooking the harrowing reality unfolding around him: innocent women continuing to fall victim to brutal, senseless violence.

The gravity of his oversight has a mixture of guilt and despair settling deep within his chest.

Javier prides himself on his prowess, his ability to navigate the most intricate of cases and weather the toughest of storms. As a seasoned field agent with a string of accolades to his name (some undeserved, others very well deserved), he’s faced down challenges that would make others quiver.

Yet here he stands, feeling utterly impotent in the face of this whodunit in the confines of a sleepy town.

It gnaws at him, this sense of inadequacy, like a persistent itch he can’t scratch. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, a humbling reminder of the unpredictable nature of crime and the limits of his own expertise.

He needs to be better.

“What’s interestin’, though, is this,” She stands, motioning for the two men to follow her and they share a look before wordlessly complying. Cecelia hands them both a pair of latex gloves, instructing them to put them on.

They make it a few feet away from Jessica’s body and that’s when Javi sees it.

“Is that vomit?”

Cecelia nods, “It is. I’m betting it’s hers. The interestin’ bit isn’t that she vomited–– but the contents. Take a look. Tell me what you see.”

Javier is the first to kneel with Romeo looking over his shoulder. He eyes the evidence, pushing his aviators to the top of his head, making out the larger chunks in the grossly colored bile.

He can’t discern what it is right away and Cecelia encourages him to use his hands, which has him looking at her ludicrously and muttering how gross this shit is in Spanish before doing as suggested.

Poking his latex clad fingers in the mess, Javi analyzes the contents and that’s when he sees a symbol marked in ink on one of the scraps.

“It’s flesh. Human flesh.”

Shit. He sees it now, the mark is a tattoo and he quickly barks out an order to have one of the lingering deputies come take pictures of it.

“Son of a bitch is feedin’ people… people. Would explain Nina Thorton’s missin’ leg. What the fuck is goin’ on here?” The sheriff sounds defeated and Javier just remains silent as he mulls over all this new information that’s been revealed.

Kidnapped, held hostage, fed human flesh, murdered, dumped.

All the other victims up until now have only been taken then killed. None of them held captive for long. Not all of them consuming flesh.

But then there’s Nina and her postmortem severed leg.

Fuck, the answer is right there, interwoven in the intricacies and lack of details in the cases.

No more fucking around, no more helping girls sneak back inside their homes, no more distractions. He has to focus on doing his job.

He will catch who did this, he will prove himself to be qualified to do what he was brought here to do.

Javier remains kneeled and deep in thought as Romeo and Cecelia continue on with their observations. He looks around to study their surroundings, wondering if there is anything else that is right in front of him that he cannot see.

“Three outta five have been brunettes around the same age. I think that’s something worth considering now,” Javier breaks up the conversation betweens the sheriff and coroner, both of them turning to look at him as he stands from his kneeled position and begins to take off the gloves,” Seems like they found their type. There’s got to be a purpose for the consistent victimology.”

They’ve migrated over to Jessica’s body now, both men doing last minute look overs before she is transported back to her hometown for her parents to identify and for Cecelia to preform the autopsy.

When a deputy comes over to take the last bits of photo evidence, he looks sickly but Javier ignores it. It’s not until her body is turned upright, exposing her mauled chest, that has the younger officer hurling over and throwing up, some of it landing on Romeo.

“God fuckin’ damn it, Andrews, spew that shit elsewhere. Fuck, not only are you contaminatin’ the crime scene but you got it all over my damn pants.”

The sheriff goes on a tangent, chewing the officer out and threatening to suspend him for two weeks with no pay. It’s harsh, Javier will admit, but he doesn’t say anything, remaining stoic with his arms crossed against his chest as he watches it unfold.

Eventually, everyone trickles out. Even the nosey reporters and townies. Javier wants to stay, walk around the area to see if anything else was left behind. Maybe something was dropped or buried nearby, and while they had assured him that others have already done a thorough search–– he’d feel more comfortable if he did it himself.

“Ya mind stoppin’ by my place so I can change? Kid ruined these.” Romeo’s gruff voice has Javier losing his train of thought, too engrossed in looking out into the vast area of the woods as the sun slowly begins to set.

Right, they arrived together, driving from the station in Javier’s cruiser.

“Sure.” He replies plainly. His plans for the evening now include getting Romeo situated so that he can come back here and investigate all on his own. He might even drive to Fayette to retrieve the autopsy from Cecelia as soon as she completes it.

With the Leighton home being on the other side of town, this gives the two men time to talk the case over; going over all that they know and all that they’ve discovered. Romeo confides in Javier about feeling inadequate about the way he’s doing his job and, in a turn of events, Javier does the same. In his own way.

The mutual understanding is a relief, though the guilt of his kiss with Paloma is palpable and it makes Javi feel like a fraud.

Across from him is a man who has extended nothing but kindness and trust, offering camaraderie and a sense of belonging. Yet, despite this, Javier found himself drawn to his daughter in a way that was both exhilarating and forbidden.

It feels wrong, achingly so. A bitter realization that despite their mutual longing, their connection can never be fully realized. It’s a harsh wake up call: if he truly wants to better himself, he must shed his bad habit of losing himself in women and distance himself from her.

What a discomforting prospect, the inevitable separation. But he knows it’s the only way forward. He understands that in time, they will both resign themselves to the reality of their infatuation.

It’s a familiar ache, this sense of inevitability that haunts his romantic endeavors like a relentless specter. Javier knows the drill all too well; it’s not his first rodeo in navigating the treacherous terrain of severing emotional ties.

His love life feels like a series of missteps, a cursed labyrinth from which there’s no escape. Despite the initial allure of each new romance, he’s come to anticipate the eventual descent into disappointment. No matter how promising the beginning, the journey always seems to lead to the same desolate destination.

With him hurting them beyond measure.

Fuck the idea of reinventing himself here. He can find peace and monotony anywhere else.

Javier will follow through with his responsibilities, and the second he’s able to peel out of Seminary–– he will, leaving her behind as a bittersweet memory. A beautiful yet unattainable dream that he will carry with him for years to come.

As they pull in to the Leighton residence, he sees the woman that lives in his head perched up on the fence that surrounds the immediate area. Her baggy jeans are hanging low, exposing the sheer fabric of her underwear. She turns as she hears the sound of a car approaching, and her lips pull into a smile once she sees who it is.

Paloma fully expected to wake up the following day filled with regret and plagued by a hangover. The only thing she experienced was the latter, but it had quickly been nursed by a greasy breakfast and some yard work.

Javier had kissed her back, that was enough to feed into her delusions that he does want her. All inhibitions have been dropped, she’s prepared to lay herself out for him–– to tell him that she’s wanted him since the moment they met.

It might seem premature, an impulsive plunge into the uncertainty of his reaction to her feelings, but the tender memory of their shared kiss eclipses all rational thought. She finds herself irresistibly drawn to the possibility of something more, unable to resist the pull of her emotions.

His touch still lingers on her skin. His hands tracing the curves of her body with a hunger that left her breathless. She can still feel the way he had grabbed her ass then gripped onto her hips, pulling her closer to him.

But it was his mouth that left the strongest impression. His tongue had explored the depths of hers, tasting and teasing her with a ferocity that made her feel alive.

In that moment, she had felt desired, cherished, and wanted. It was a feeling that she hadn’t realized she craved so badly until last night. She knew that she would never be able to forget that kiss and the way it had made her feel.

She’s giddy, her excitement bubbling up like fizzy soda, reminiscent of the first time she ever kissed a boy. Except Javier isn’t a boy–– he’s a man. A man whose expertise and skill are a potent aphrodisiac, heightening her arousal to levels she never thought possible.

She’s been hot for him all day, even touched herself to the memory of his soft lips, the tickle of his mustache, against hers then imagining them everywhere else. The mere thought of it is enough to send her heart racing, and she knows that nothing will satisfy her until she has him in her arms again.

Romeo gets out the car, muttering that he’d be right back and Javi opts to stay put. He does not want to speak to her, knowing that the second he gazes into those beautiful brown eyes–– he’d buckle. He needs to build animosity between them; it’s the only way for them to definitively be able to separate from one another.

But she doesn’t make it easy, of course. Because the second her father is inside, she’s practically skipping over to the driver’s side of the cruiser.

“Hello officer. Here to bring me in for all those crimes I committed last night?” She teases as she leans her forearms against the rolled down window, the cowgirl hat perched on her head complimenting her so well.

Javier swallows thickly, taking a lengthy drag of the familiar cigarette between his lips. He can’t outright ignore her so he decides to be short instead.

“M’not here for games, Paloma.”

She’s taken aback by his tone, her smile faltering.

“Well excuse me for tryin’ to make conversation. Wasn’t aware that you’re in a mood today.”

There’s a pause despite her attempt to add a teasing tone to her words to lighten him up. It falls flat.

“And I’m not looking to have a conversation. You can go.”

Her brows cinch together at his dismissal, this is not how she was expecting for this to go.

“What’s goin on’? Is this because we… because of the kiss last night?” She lowers her voice towards the end, red blooming across her cheeks but she keeps her composure.

“Jesus,” Javier chuckles humorlessly, shaking his head. It sends a sharp pang through her heart.” Why do you always think that’s the fuckin’ problem whenever I don’t want to talk to you? For someone who claims to be a grown woman all the time, you sure as shit don’t act like it.”

She stills, the buoyant confidence that had propelled her toward him evaporating in an instant, replaced by a wave of hurt at his unexpected chilliness. What has gotten into him?

“Drop it and move on, Paloma. We just found Jessica Valdez’s body dumped out in a ditch. S’not the time to be hung up on a damn kiss.”

The sound of the screen door shutting close breaks her away from him and the trance she’d seemingly gone into. Another victim, another tragedy to confront… and here she is acting like a smitten teenaged girl.

The urge to cower and crawl into herself, to surrender to the overwhelming embarrassment and sorrow, threatens to engulf her entirely. She remains silent, fighting back the surge of frustrated, angry tears as she pushes off the car and trudges back toward the house.

Javier exhales heavily once she strides away without a word, feeling a weight settle on his shoulders. He had braced himself for a snide remark or some form of verbal retaliation, but her silent departure was far more impactful.

“I’ll be home late. Don’t wait up.” Her father murmurs as he passes her, planting a tender kiss atop her head. He lingers there for a moment but she doesn’t question it, knowing it’s because of what they found today and she doesn’t even mind that he hasn’t told her about it.

As he breaks away, she conjures up a semblance of a genuine smile, masking her turmoil, and nods before he affectionately pinches her nose and continues on his way.

She doesn’t look back, she doesn’t cry or go inside–– instead she picks up her discarded gardening gloves and proceeds to channel her energy into the simple act of mowing the grass.

She finds herself alone at the open bar as the party continues in full swing. It’s been days since Jessica’s death, and the tense conversation she had with Javier still lingers in her mind.

“Drop it and move on, Paloma.”

Unlike the last time they went without speaking, there is much more tension between them now. The worst part about it is having to act as if nothing is wrong in the presence of her father.

No daddy, everything’s fine! It’s not like I threw myself at your co-worker not once, but twice and both times he made me feel like a fucking idiot!

She lets out a disdainful sigh, her fingers curling around the glass containing her coveted cherry root beer since she’s decided to part ways with alcohol and any other substance for the time being.

The two men are busy mingling with other guests and have been since the moment they arrived. Despite her efforts to divert her gaze elsewhere, her eyes keep involuntarily drifting towards Javier’s broad figure.

The event had called for formal attire, so when he strode in wearing a meticulously tailored all-black suit, her breath caught in her throat. The sharp lines of his outfit, coupled with the crispness of his button-down and the matching tie, made her momentarily forget why she was so upset with him. He looked too damn handsome.

It’s brutal how the things we desire most often seem to radiate the brightest when they’re just out of reach.

Observing him mingle effortlessly with others is entertaining. Contrary to her expectations, he appears completely at ease in this bustling social setting, a far cry from the disdain he expressed for large gatherings that morning in his kitchen.

He’s acting a lot more extroverted and… smile-y. It pisses her off as much as it melts her heart.

They make their way over to her and she makes a point to not even look in his direction. Though now she’s caught between her father and Javier as they order another round of drinks.

It really doesn’t help that they’re shoulder to shoulder. The heady aroma of his cologne, laced with the familiar tang of cigarette smoke and the faint hint of whiskey, infiltrates her senses, making it impossible to outright ignore him.

Javier Peña is like a blazing beacon and she’s the foolish moth drawn inexplicably closer to his flame. But she knows all too well the danger of getting too close, like a moth singed by the heat, the allure of his brightness can be killer.

Javier had assumed that with news of Jessica being found dead, their attendance to this party wouldn’t be mandatory.

Well, he thought wrong. It is a cruel reminder of how life goes on, even when tragedy strikes.

Another dead girl, another over-the-top party.

Which is why he’ll give it an hour–– tops–– to shake whoever’s hand and meet whoever else, then he’d leave. It’s a simple plan, the only thing making it difficult for him is his proximity to the woman he’s desperately trying to cut ties with.

She looks so beautiful tonight, donning a calf length simple black dress that hugs all her curves just right.

“There they are! My Law and Order! Y’all keepin’ the townsfolk in line?” The boastful voice of Mayor Jonah Abbott draws near and Javier suppresses the urge to roll his eyes.

Foolish of him to think he wouldn’t have to interact with the titular birthday boy tonight.

He greets both men with a firm handshake, and when his attention turns to her; Javier has to drown the subtle spark of frustration with his drink at the way his eyes rake over her body.

“And of course, Miss. Paloma. They say a smile is worth a thousand words, but yours? It’s worth a million dreams.” He brings her hand up to his lips to plant a kiss against her knuckles and all she does is offer him a polite smile. Here we go…

“Mr. Abbott—”

“Jonah, sweetheart. Been tellin’ you to call me that for years now.”

Her smile threatens to twitch out of annoyance, “Jonah. Happy Birthday. Thank you for invitin’ us to your home.”

“Always a pleasure to have you ’round. I heard about your performance up in Dallas. Shame I missed it. Woulda loved to hear that beautiful voice of yours and seen you up on that stage.”

Javier can’t help the subtle grunt he emits at the mayor’s overt flirtation, causing for her to just briefly glance up at him with a bemused flash crossing her stare.

The familiarity of Jonah’s behavior strikes a chord within him. Once upon a time, Javier was just like this–– an arrogant charmer with a penchant for flirting with anything in a skirt. Standing here amidst the other man’s smooth talk, he sees through the facade with clarity born of experience.

It’s a performance, an act to charm his way in between Paloma’s legs, though Javi can clearly see that she’s not falling for it. Does Romeo notice it too, he wonders? Or is he blinded by the mayor’s charisma, unable to see that this man clearly wants to sleep with his daughter.

Then again, Javier’s opinion on this is irrelevant and invalid since he too has been in the same predicament since meeting her. At least he didn’t do it blatantly in front of the sheriff’s face.

Or, in a turn of events, perhaps Romeo doesn’t give a damn. Jonah Abbott presents himself as a viable candidate to be with his daughter; a young politician with deep pockets and a keen interest in her.

Javier can’t shake off the mental picture of the man’s wedding ring adorning her finger, of her transforming into the perfect, submissive wife, tending to the household and filling this place with snot nosed kids. But such a scenario doesn’t align with her fiery and headstrong nature. She’s far too independent and spirited to succumb to the confines of domesticity, particularly for a man like Jonah.

Then again, why the fuck does he care?

“Well as you know, I do two shows every weekend at The Whiskey Fox. Could always stop by and see me and the band.”

“A busy man like myself always has a full schedule. Though I reckon I should make some time to be out in the community. Wouldn’t hurt to stop by for dinner and a show.”

He winks at her and of course he does it when her father turns to order himself another drink. Javier’s jaw flinches.

“Now Romeo, why have you been keepin’ this badass motherfucker hidden from me? I knew we had someone new joinin’ the force but I didn’t think it’d be the Javier Peña. A goddamn American hero— right here in Seminary, Texas!”

As Jonah begins his praises, pairing them with a harsh slap to his shoulder, Javier remains cool and calculating. He refuses to be swayed by empty compliments.

Meanwhile, she breathes a silent sigh of relief as the spotlight shifts away from her, and she finds it amusing at how everyone seems to talk about Javier.

A hero. A true patriot. Such a brave soul for fightin’ the war on drugs on Uncle Sam’s behalf.

If only they knew the truth––if they had even a glimpse of the darkness he’s had to face, they wouldn’t be so quick to idolize him.

The label of hero, bestowed upon him since the demise of Escobar, sits uneasily on his shoulders. The adulation feels like a burden he never asked for, a title he never wanted. It’s a reminder of the complexities of his past, the mistakes he’s made, and the ghosts that continue to haunt him. Javi despises the word, resenting the way it overshadows his true self and the countless sins he harbors in silence.

“Gotta keep ’em humble. Keeps the head on straight.” Romeo banters back, pulling one of those haughty, rich men laughs from the mayor.

She cringes at the pretentiousness echoing in the air.

The men break out into small talk leaving her feeling awkward as she swirls the almost fully melted ice around the empty cup. It’s not until Jonah is getting ready to move on to a new set of guests that the attention is turned back to her.

“And you, pretty girl, owe me a song. Specifically that one Linda Ronstadt song from the Fourth of July barbecue last year. Remember? S’only fair… consider it a birthday gift from you to me.”

Despite her inner discomfort, she maintains a face of cheerfulness, though her stomach sinks with apprehension at his request. Memories of the barbecue flood her mind, vivid recollections of his relentless pursuit despite her repeated, albeit polite, refusals.

The word ’no’ is on the tip of her tongue, but knowing all too well the persistence he’s exhibited before; she succumbs to the weight of the occasion—his birthday—and the anticipation in his eyes.

“Blue Bayou, I remember. Does the band know it?” She inquires, her gaze flickering towards the live band stationed near the open area of the dance floor where a throng of people sway to the music.

She’s secretly hoping that they don’t, but the song is very popular so her hope dwindles.

“If they don’t, they will. I’ll introduce you when it’s time.”

With a tight and forced smile gracing her lips, she simply replies, “Okay,” accompanied by a subtle nod. His wicked grin spreads larger, almost daring Javier to react by punching him square in the jaw.

Regardless of how he feels towards her and their situation, it irks him to no end how this man blatantly disregards her boundaries.

Her body language screams apprehension, evident to anyone observant enough. However, Mayor Abbott is too fixated on persuading her to comply with his wishes to take notice. It’s apparent that he’s not accustomed to hearing the word ’no’.

Javi just holds his tongue, an insult threatening to slip out, as he finishes his drink with a practiced air of nonchalance.

The mayor finally says his goodbyes before walking away and her shoulders drop instantly.

“Guess I owe ya twenty bucks.” Romeo mutters, digging into his suit pocket for his wallet.

The laugh she gives, though slight, simultaneously soothes and torments his heart.

Damn it all— this is going to be torture but he must endure.

“She bet that he was gonna pull somethin’ like this before leavin’ the house. I was dumb enough to think he wouldn’t.” He explains to Javier as he slips his daughter the twenty dollar bill which she slyly stuffs under the fabric of her dress by her chest.

The action, seemingly simple, is so hot to him.

“How many times do I have to say m’not a damn show pony that does tricks whenever it’s asked? He’s so lucky that I’m polite and that it’s his birthday— If not I woulda told him to shove it—-” She doesn’t finish her sentence as they’re approached by a group of people that she doesn’t recognize nor care for.

She feels like an afterthought as they bombard the men with questions about the recent cases and other related topics, so she takes that as her cue to leave, ordering another mocktail before slipping away towards the dance floor.

She is fully prepared to turn her brain off to enjoy some semblance of normalcy before she’s thrown back in to the confusing pit that is her current status with the former DEA agent.

Attempting to convince herself that she’s enjoying the moment, she sways to the lively rhythm of the music, lost in her own solitary dance. A few partygoers approach her asking to join her which she declines; peeved by all the unwanted attention she’s getting.

This isn’t even her party. She holds no merit here.

Javier only catches glimpses of her from his peripheral, engrossed in a conversation with a man who remembers him from his sheriff days in Laredo, before he left for Colombia. The discourse drones on, punctuated by forced laughter and idle pleasantries. Each word falls flat, devoid of substance, yet Javier remains steadfast. Anything to keep him and his mind away from her.

Suddenly, the screeching sound of microphone feedback reverberates off the opulent walls of the ballroom-style space and she winces at noise.

“Excuse me, sorry–– I’m not very good with these things.” The man of the hour apologizes, his voice crackling through the speakers. She inwardly curses, anticipating what’s to come next. Setting her now-empty glass down on one of the nearby tables, she smooths her hands along the velvety fabric of her dress, ironing out any wrinkles, and hastily fixes her hair as best as she can without a mirror.

With a deep breath, she pushes down her nerves, summoning a smile to face the adversity when he introduces her. She steps onto the stage, the room erupting into scattered applause as she approaches the microphone.

♫

Midway through the song, to her surprise, Jonah joins her on stage, transforming the solo performance into an unexpected duet. Despite her inner discomfort, Paloma maintains a composed expression and tries to conceal any hint of surprise in her body language as he draws nearer.

Her unease heightens when he pulls her close against him, the heat of his body against hers as they sway to the rhythm of the music during the instrumental interlude of the country song. She reluctantly complies, her compliance more a result of avoidance of potential consequences than genuine willingness to dance with him.

The sight of his possessive grip on her waist, pulling her into an unwelcome dance, ignites a surge of vexation within Javier. He feels the tension in his muscles coil tighter with each step they take, their bodies moving in sync to the rhythm of the music. It’s unbearable to watch, the image of Paloma in Jonah’s arms twisting like a knife in his gut.

Without a word, Javier makes his escape, his strides purposeful as he navigates through the crowded room. He mutters a vague excuse to Romeo, the urgency in his voice betraying his need to flee from the suffocating scene unfolding before him.

Finally stepping out into the cooler night air, Javier takes a deep breath to soothe his frazzled nerves. He makes his way towards a gazebo that’s right by the large pond, putting as much distance as he can between himself and the party inside.

Leaning against the railing of the structure, he retrieves his trusty pack of cigarettes from his pocket, hands trembling slightly as he lights one. Each drag offers a fleeting moment of respite from the turmoil brewing inside him.

Inside, the song ends and she wastes no time in descending the stage, a sense of urgency propelling her movements. She refuses to linger, her mind consumed with the dread of another unwanted encounter with the mayor. Surveying the crowded room, she searches in vain for her father or Javier, but they’re nowhere to be found amidst the sea of faces.

Determined to escape the party atmosphere, Paloma makes a beeline for the exit, craving the solace of the summer night air. Stepping out onto the back porch, she inhales deeply, the breeze offering a welcome reprieve from the stifling heat of the event.

The night is alive with subtle sounds—toads croaking in the distance, the distant murmur of conversation—but it’s the solitary figure in the distance that captures her attention. With a sense of inevitability, Paloma finds herself drawn towards the silhouette, her heels clicking softly against the pavement as she descends the steps leading to the gazebo.

When she approaches, Javier remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the tranquil expanse of water before him. The rhythmic puff of his cigarette punctuates the silence, a tangible barrier between them. Despite the tension hanging in the air, Paloma presses forward, her resolve unyielding as she closes the distance between them.

“We need to talk.”

He stands like a statue, the weight of her words are heavy, yet he remains resolute in his silence, hoping that she’ll simply give up and leave him be. But Paloma is nothing if not persistent, her frustration bubbling over as she confronts him.

“Fuck, Javier will you at least look at me?! Acknowledge that I’m standin’ here tryin’ to speak with you?!” Her voice crackles with pent-up emotion, her southern accent thick as each word is laden with an intensity that he can’t ignore.

Reluctantly, he turns his head slightly, his gaze skimming over her figure with resignation. It’s a small concession, but it’s enough to stoke the fire of her frustration to new heights.

“I dunno why you’ve decided to be such a jerk to me all of the sudden,” she continues, her tone laced with a raw edge of hurt and confusion. “You’re tellin’ me that I’m bein’ childish a-and that I need to move on from the kiss but we both know it’s so much bigger than that. We’ve been dancin’ around it since the moment we met and I’m tired of pretendin’ like I don’t want you.”

His eyes close briefly, a fleeting moment of vulnerability before he retreats behind his stoic facade once more. His fingers find their way to the bridge of his nose, pinching tightly as he struggles to find the right words to respond. But before he can form a coherent thought, she presses on, her voice trembling with the weight of her confession.

“I told myself I wouldn’t care if you didn’t feel the same way,” She admits, her voice growing softer now, tinged with a hint of desperation. “But that was before I got to know you. Before you somehow wriggled your way into my heart and overtook my mind entirely. We became friends, and I-I didn’t want to screw that up. But then we kissed, and in that moment, I knew you wanted me just as badly…”

She draws closer, her hand reaching out tentatively to rest on his shoulder, the touch sending a jolt of tension through his body. It’s a silent plea, a manifestation of her vulnerability, and it’s all he can do to keep his composure still as her words wash over him like a hurricane.

“Every time I see you I don’t want to behave, Javi. I’m tired of being patient, so let’s pick up the pace and finally give in.”

He flicks his finished cigarette out into the water, the ember trailing like a shooting star before disappearing into the dark abyss below.

Slowly, he turns to face her fully, the summer air crackling with tension as he takes in her determined stance. His hand shoots out, grabbing hold of the wrist that had just been resting on him, his dark eyes boring into hers in an act of intimidation.

But Paloma doesn’t back down, her gaze unwavering as she meets his stare head-on. Instead, she brings her free hand up to rest against his chest, the heat of her touch seeping through the fabric of his shirt as she steps closer, closing the gap between them until his dress shoes are toe-to-toe with her pointed heels.

He doesn’t make an effort to step away or decline her advances, his resolve crumbling in the face of her determination. Her words have jumbled him up completely, the sudden revelation of her feelings catching him off guard and leaving him reeling. The direct mention of what they’ve been indulging in for the past few months digs into his achilles’ heel—his tendency to fall in love in the damndest of times.

He stares down into her eyes, a storm of conflicting emotions raging wildly. The lust swirling in her gaze stirs something primal and raw within him. Any rational part of his brain seems to shut down in that moment, his thoughts consumed by the overwhelming desire to kiss her again, to lose himself in the exhilarating whirlwind of emotions that she evokes from him.

“It’s obviously insane, m’not a fucking idiot I understand the repercussions…. but we both know what we want, so why don’t we…” She whispers, tilting her head up until their lips brush against one another.

“Why don’t we fall in love?”

It’s not clear who makes the first move, but their lips are interlocked in a passionate kiss—a fierce collision of desire and pent-up longing that surpasses the one they had previously shared. Paloma’s hand on his chest clenches the fabric of his shirt while Javier relinquishes his grip on her wrist, his own hands rising to cradle her jaw in his palms.

The taste of the lingering cigarette smoke mingles with the faint bitterness of alcohol on his breath, a heady combination that heightens her desire. She moans softly into his mouth, her tongue intertwining with his in a desperate attempt to savor every fleeting moment before it inevitably slips away.

Javier, consumed by the intoxicating sensation, slowly walks her back until her back is against the sturdy pillar of the gazebo, his movements now possessive and urgent. He deepens the kiss, molding his body against hers as if to merge their souls into one.

Her touch is addicting, a bittersweet symphony that resonates in the depths of his bones. Despite the warnings screaming in the recesses of his mind, urging him to stop and pull away, he finds himself unable to resist the magnetic pull she exerts over him.

Breaking the kiss, Javier’s lips trail down the side of her mouth, blazing a trail of heated kisses along her jawline before descending to her neck. His teeth graze her delicate skin, resisting the urge to leave a trail of marks in their wake as his tongue traces a path along her neck and up to her earlobe, where he bites down gently.

“Is this what you wanted, nena? For me to shower you in my fucking attention?” He husks, his voice thick with desire and a hint of frustration. His words swim between them, a question laced with layers of longing and palpable need, as he continues to lavish attention upon her neck, each kiss and caress fueling the flames of their mutual desire.

Paloma just whines, arching herself into him as her thighs rub together to relieve the tension of arousal that is assaulting her core.

“Yes, Javi, that’s all I want. I want you to talk to me, to touch me, to make me feel good.”

Her hands are now against his broad shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his suit jacket as she feels the muscles beneath tense at her touch. A low, guttural groan escapes his lips in response to her words, a primal sound that sends shivers down her spine.

“I can make you feel good, hermosa. Better than any fucking culero (asshole) in this town.” He murmurs, his voice dripping with possessiveness. With deliberate intent, Javi begins to hike up her long dress, the fabric yielding easily to his touch until it’s gathered at the top of her thighs, exposing her black, lacey panties. His hands roam lower, trailing a path of electricity along her skin until they find purchase behind her thighs, gripping the soft skin firmly as he effortlessly lifts her into his arms.

She wraps her legs around his waist, anchoring herself to him as he hoists her up against the solid pillar of the gazebo. She feels his hardness pressing up against her clothed cunt and it has a sharp pang of pleasure sprouting at her core, igniting a fierce heat to course through her entirely. His touch is addicting, sending waves of ecstasy rippling through her body as she surrenders to the intrinsic urgency of their shared horniness.

The pure conviction in his tone only adds to the intensity of the moment. She wants nothing more than to be completely ruined by this man. She wants to be his, and his alone.

Javier grinds his hips up, the friction between them firing up every nerve ending. Her pussy throbs with need, aching for more of his touch. She can feel every inch of him pressing against her, his hard cock straining against his pants, begging to be released.

As their bodies move in perfect harmony, she wraps her fingers in his hair, tugging at it lightly. His lips move from her neck and crash against hers, a wild, passionate kiss that leaves them both panting for air. It grows more frenzied, their teeth clashing together in a desperate and selfish need for more. She moans into his mouth, the sound sending a jolt of electric arousal straight to his cock. He grinds harder against her, his hips moving in rhythm with hers.

She can feel her orgasm building, a fierce heat blossoming at her pussy. Her whimpers turn to animated moans as she writhes against him. The last time she dry humped someone to completion had been way back in high school and that had been an overall embarrassment so it’s never something she revisited.

Not until now, with Javier who is making her feel like she’s the only girl in the fucking world.

His fingers expertly cup her breast, teasing her hardened nipple through the fabric of her dress. She arches her back, pressing her chest into his hand, silently begging for more. He takes the hint, groping her and squeezing it gently, relishing in the way she shudders.

Her eyes close in ecstasy as he continues to knead her tit. His other hand trails along her inner thigh, inching closer and closer to the heat between her legs. When he finally reaches her core, she gasps, her body trembling with need. He doesn’t touch her, instead he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of her thigh.

“If this is what you wanted so fucking bad then go ahead and take it, needy girl. Go on, make yourself cum by grinding that wet pussy all over me.”

She mewls, throwing her head back as she feels her orgasm building. She’s such a sight to bear witness to, how her swollen lips part and his name slips from her tongue like a hymn, making his cock twitch.

Her wetness seeps through her flimsy thong, leaving a damp spot on the fabric of his dress pants. He can feel it seeping through the material and it drives him mad. He needs to be inside her, to feel her walls fluttering around his cock as they finally give in to each other…

But first, he wants to watch her unravel just like this.

“I’m close, Javi…” His lips hungrily devour the tender flesh of her neck again, making her eyes roll back as their hips continue to move at a sensual pace. The metallic zipper of his pants brushes against her sensitive clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her body. She can’t help but cry out in sweet surrender, her voice louder than before.

His large hand clamps over her mouth, preventing her screams from echoing out.

“Don’t get us caught, chiquita. Wouldn’t want your daddy comin’ out here and findin’ you like this–– all cockdrunk and begging to be fucked.”

His dirty and abrasive words are like fuel to the flames of her impending climax, sending her spiraling out of control. Her rhythm stutters, her body writhing uncontrollably as she bites down on the skin of his palm as the orgasm overtakes her entirely.

All that can be heard is their heavy, shared pants. His hand falls from her mouth as she falls limp in his arms, her body jolting every now and again with the aftershock of her intense orgasm.

She peppers tender kisses along the bare expanse of his jaw, silently berating him for having his shirt buttoned up for once and the pesky tie restricting her from licking and biting against the tantalizing skin of his neck and collarbone.

“Need… need to feel you, Javi, please.” She whines against his ear, her hands trailing down from his broad shoulders, over his chest, then down to his belt buckle. She can still feel the swell of him pressed up against her sopping cunt and despite just coming hard; she’s craving to feel all of him.

This is the pivotal moment where he knows he should exercise restraint, where the noble path of virtue beckons him to rise above the consuming tide of desire. To explain to her that they can and never will be anything but an unattainable fantasy.

But he doesn’t, instead Javi lets her untuck his dress shirt from his pants and helps her with unbuckling his belt.

“We shouldn’t do this, Paloma…” Is all he can say in an attempt to keep it from happening but she shushes him, her hand slipping beneath his boxers as she wraps her manicured fingers around his girth and begins to pump him slowly.

“Mierda,” He curses in Spanish, his forehead falling gently against hers as his eyes flutter close at the overwhelming feeling of her softer, smaller hand jerking him off. Her thumb glides over the tip, spreading his excessive precum over the length of his cock.

“But we want to… oh you’re so big Javi. Gonna be feelin’ you for days…” She sounds like something out of a wet dream and he simply can’t hold back any longer.

He instructs her to grab his wallet from his suit pocket and to retrieve the condom he keeps in there, receiving a playful eye roll from her but she doesn’t push her luck–– she needs him badly and she’d go absolutely feral if he decided to deny them both the pleasure of fucking.

His strong hold on her keeps them secure against the pillar, she rips the small package with her teeth then pushes his pants down enough to release his erection, rolling the latex on easily.

There’s a moment where suspension hangs in the air, both of them staring into each other’s lust blown eyes.

“Don’t think about it too much, please. Just fuck me.”

Her insistence is such a turn on, spurring him into reaching down to ball up the thin layer of her panties before he yanks them off, the sound of the fabric tearing apart causing her to gasp. Stuffing the ruined material into his back pocket, he readjusts his hips so that the thick head of his cock presses up against her exposed and puffy folds.

“Such an impatient little thing, hermosa. I shouldn’t even give you what you want. Should just walk away and leave you here a desperate and wet mess.”

Gripping onto the base of his cock with his free hand, Javier nudges it between her slit and teases her, the head repeatedly brushing against the pearl of her clit.

Her breath hitches, rolling her hips to entice him into entering her, “Please, Javi, I’ll do whatever you want just plea–– oh f-fuck!”

He sinks into her pussy, leaning forward to bite down on her shoulder to keep his own sounds of pleasure at bay as he feels the way her fleshy walls contract around his cock, stretching her with how thick he is.

Her fingers return to intertwine themselves in his hair as he begins to set a delicious pace, fucking into her with a passion that’s making her see stars. The feeling of his teeth digging into her skin is an added stimulant to the already immense pleasure.

“Damn it you’re so tight. Feel so good wrapped around my cock, pretty girl. You satisfied now that I’m giving you what you want, huh?” He grunts out, nipping at her jawline as all she does is keen and moan, too overwhelmed with how good he’s making her feel. “Spoiled little thing, gonna fuck that right out of this tight little body. So you can learn, fuck, learn how not to be such a fucking pain in my ass.”

She’s too wrapped up in the feeling of him brushing up against her cervix to fully process what he is saying against her skin. Their lips slant over each other as they kiss messily, the way he fucks her making her brain melt.

There’s no thoughts up there, just the feeling of him as he continues to break her open with his delicious cock.

His hands fall down to her waist, holding on tightly as he goes from languid thrusts to a quicker, more brutal pace as they chase their orgasms.

She’s glad that they’re far away enough to where no one can interrupt this moment, though the idea of there being an onlooker does entice her more than she’d ever admit.

Her legs tighten around his waist, the pointed heel of her shoes digging into his backside as she feels a knot forming at the pit of her stomach, indicating that she isn’t far from coming undone.

“C’mon nena, be a good girl and let go,” His thumb finds itself being pressed against her soft lips and immediately she opens her mouth, licking around then sucking the digit and maintaining eye contact through it all. It has Javier grunting out a few expletives before letting his saliva coated thumb drop between them, rubbing tight circles against her clit.

This has her clenching around him and crying out, which causes a smirk to tug at his lips as he puts more pressure onto her clit.” Tan bonita así, toda lista para mi. (So pretty like this, all ready for me)”

She tugs harshly at his hair at the sound of his Spanish, her arousal topples over and her second orgasm hits her like toppling bricks. She squeezes his cock tightly inside her, her legs an iron grip on his waist as she bites down harshly on her bottom lip, almost drawing blood, to keep her intense whimpers and moans from spilling out and drawing attention to them.

Satisfied that he’s made her unravel on him, Javier fucks her through her orgasm relentlessly until he’s spilling into the condom, burying his face in her neck, right where he can feel her pulse, and grazing the skin with his teeth. He wants to leave a mark, for her to walk around with evidence of him on her body but that’d be a wrong move atop of all the other wrong moves he’s made tonight.

Paloma breathes heavily, mind hazy as she tries to recollect herself from the throes of passion bestowed upon her by Javier Peña. They stay there, embraced in one another before he pulls out of her with a grunt and she whines at the loss of him.

Her legs unwrap from his waist as he tentatively sets her down, discarding of the condom into the water as he tucks himself back into his pants and she pulls her dress down, not even bothered by the fact that he ripped her underwear right off of her.

“That was a mistake.”

His statement cuts through the night air and she’s already struggling to catch her footing on wobbly legs, the effect of being fucked hard and good.

“Javi––”

“No, Paloma, I’m fucking serious.” He asserts, his voice taking on a sharp edge, landing like a heavy blow on her already rattled nerves.

“All that sentimental bullshit you were saying before… it means nothing to me. You’re just a distraction–– a pretty face that’s been keeping me from doing my damn job. Now, there’s another life lost, and instead of finding answers, I’m too busy babysitting you.”

“Don’t you dare pin your incompetence on me, Javier,” She shoots back, her tone tinged with anger and frustration,” I’ve seen my father struggle with this bullshit for months now–– it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with you. S’not my fault you’re not as clever as everyone thinks you are. All the praise you get for being such a fuckin’ hero and yet… look at you. Unable to meet the expectations.”

She adjusts the thin straps of her dress back up her shoulder, wincing slightly as she brushes against the bite mark he accidentally left against her skin, knowing that she’s going to feel that atop of the soreness between her legs after this.

She braces herself for the inevitable discomfort that will follow, both physically and emotionally.

Javier’s jaw tightens, muscles rippling beneath his skin as he fights to maintain his composure. He knows better than to let her words get to him the way that they are.

This is exactly what they need, some intense fight to fully shatter the illusion of their involvement.

“Look at you, Paloma,” He sneers, his words dripping with contempt as he levels a scornful gaze at her. “Throwing yourself at me every chance you get like a whore. I used to pay for shit like this, but you? Oh, I didn’t spare a fucking dime. Giving it all up for free.”

Her jaw drops, a surge of anger and indignation flooding her senses as his words cut through her like a knife. She raises her hand instinctively, intent on delivering a stinging rebuke in the form of a slap across his jaw. But before she can make contact, his grip tightens around her wrist, arresting her movement with an iron grip.

“Don’t be stupid, querida,” He mocks her, his voice laced with disdain as he delivers each word like a venomous dagger. “Now that I fucked you one good time: Leave. Me. Alone. How ’bout you go back inside and fraternize with the mayor. I’m sure he’s eager to give you all the male validation you’re clearly chasing after.” He tilts his head, glaring at her in contempt. “Better yet, run off to your junkie, criminal boyfriend; won’t be long before he knocks you up and you’re stuck living in a run down trailer park in this shitty fucking town.”

Paloma’s heart shatters at his callous words, tears welling up in her eyes and streaming down her cheeks unchecked. She gazes up at Javier, but the man before her is no longer the sweet, charming figure she thought she knew. His eyes, once warm and inviting, now glint with coldness and malice, rendering him unrecognizable to her.

“Fuck you,” She spits, wrenching her hand free from his grip with a mixture of anger and hurt flashing in her eyes. Despite the tears welling up, she summons every ounce of defiance to shoot him a disdainful glare. “You’re a piece of shit, Javier Peña.”

With those final words, ones he’s heard a plethora of times before, she whirls around, her footsteps echoing loudly on the wooden stairs as she races to the nearest bathroom.

Ignoring the throbbing ache between her legs, she finds solace in the confines of the lavish restroom, allowing herself to unleash the torrent of tears pent up inside. Feeling foolish and utterly used, she wonders how she could have ever fallen for a man like him.

Meanwhile, Javier is left grappling with the sight of her heartbreak now etched into his memory. Pushing aside his own conflicted emotions, he knows he can’t afford to let their tangled affair distract him any longer.

This is what you both needed. He reminds himself, looking out into the water as the silver moonlight reflects off of the surface. Harsh, but she’ll get over it.

With a resigned sigh, he retrieves another cigarette, the familiar ritual offering a fleeting sense of calm amidst the storm raging about.

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