#the night agent x reader

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

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

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

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

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

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

Word count — 1161

Warnings — tooth rotting fluff non sexual nudity

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t have to—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” he whispers against your hair.

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

[itsnesss]

𝐧𝐨 𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞 | peter sutherland × fem!reader

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

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

word count | 2.3 k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But something has changed," you whisper.

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

The truth you had feared to admit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[igotanidea]

Strictly professional: Peter Sutherland x reader

A/N: I am so - so - SO sorry for not writing the previous request, but this story has been stuck in my head since I've finished reading "the night agent" book and since I've had a literal dream about as follows!

***

He had read the case.

He had memorised the whole case, letter by letter.

And what was nothing short of shocking was that nowhere in the whole file appeared the name of the person who he was assigned to protect.

Being thorough as he always was, Peter immediately started thinking that this was suspicious, but despite his better judgement, decided to let it go. At least for the moment.

For the very short moment that took getting from the office to the so-called crime scene.

And then it all became painfully clear.

They knew.

Of course they knew.

That was why they wiped out even the single letter of her name from the documents.

Y/N.

Never in his wildest dreams, he wouldn't think that such a blessing (or a curse, or maybe both) will happen to him.

Y/N. his Y/N. The one who got away. Or - more likely - the one he let slip through his fingers despite having such intense emotions about.

Sitting in the ambulance, shaking a little from the shock, with a blanket on her shoulders and being tended to by the paramedics.

Peter was rooted to the ground, keeping the distance until he would be able to keep things professional, but even from afar he could see the scope of her injuries.

Bruises on the cheek, a shot wound to her shoulder, scratches on her arms and some cuts and minor bleedings on her legs.

At that moment, agent Peter Sutherland stopped being a pacifist.

Though he could not stand in the bushes forever.

"Agent Peter Sutherland. I will take it from here." he flashed his badge towards the paramedic but truly, it did not make the impression he was hoping for. At least not with the medic.

"Peter?"

"Y/N."

"Didn't know you''d be here."

"Well me neither. Funny huh?" it sounded way harsher than intended, definitely lacking the humor, and he flinched involuntarity as a flash of hurt reflected in her eyes. She's been through hell and he was acting like an asshole.

"Well, let the record show I did not do this to get your attention." Despite the circumstances she was still able to produce a sarcastic joke.

Peter cracked a crooked half-smile.

"It's good to see you though. In spite of -" she didn;t have to finish that sentence, and to be honest, neither of them wanted to hear the other half of it.

"How bad does it hurt?" he kneeled in front of her, cupping her chin to take a close look at her face, using one of manipulating skills to prevent her from trying to fool him. She was capable of messing around with people's heads, but he was the exception to the rule.

"I've had worse-"

"Y/N."

"I'll live."

"Not what I asked about."

"God, you didn;t change a single thing. still so dramatic--"

"How bad?"

"6/10."

"You're coming with me."

"What-- wait, what?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but we are not done with --" the paramedic tried to intervene but his will of fight suddenly decreased when Peter stood up towering over the little man.

"From what I see, she is all patched up. And from what I can judge, the last thing she needs is a fuss being made over her. I'm taking her with me."

"Peter, what-"

"Seriously, Y/n/n, we don;t have time for this. Now, are you coming or would you rather expose yourself to the FBI vultures who are just waiting to pounce on you asking for details of the events?"

"Aren;t you the FBI vulture as well?"

"No."

"No? So you won;t be asking me every detail I might have noticed?"

"I will. But with me, you won;t be locked in the deposition room."

"Tempting."

Peter barely held back from rolling his eyes.

"Ok, enough, you jokester. Up."

"You cannot command me and - Peter!"

"Sir! Careful! her injuries-"

"I got her."

He picked her up effortlessly, like a kid and carried back to the black SUV, placing on the passenger seat, fastening the belts, letting his fingers linger by her waist for a moment too long.

"So much for being discreet, right?"

Peter did not respond, taking the driver's seat and kicking the engine. His eyes were focused on the road and the surroundings making sure that whoever hurt her - whoever stalked her - was not in sight. The only sign of emotions buzzing in him were slightly clenched jaw and hands squeezing the steering wheel.

"Peter-"

"Don't.

She sighed. So many unspoken words were filling the space between them that it became almost crowded.

But what was to say?

Nice to see you? I missed you? We made a mistake?

God knows they both did miss each other, but admitting that out loud was way too dangerous given the circumstances.

It was like giving the greatest asset out to the enemy, whoever the enemy may be.

"Where are we going?"

"My place."

"Your place?!"

Mistake. Her little outburst made him turn his eyes on her and just for a second she saw a little too much than needed and wanted. Just for a brief moment, before his eyes lost the vulnerable, adoring gleam and became sharp and focused again.

"Yes. You got something against it?"

"What? No, no, not a single thing. Good as any other place, right?"

It wasn't like every square inch of this apartment was filled with memories of them.

This was going to be a long, long night.

And a long, long time since this case would be over.

but this was not a romcom.

It was scrictly professional, with no feelings involved.

At all.

to be continued

[faithschaoschronicles]

Please kindly give us some Peter S/Reader shower action?

Steamy||Peter Sutherland x fem!reader

Word count —1177

Warnings — shower smut unprotected sex p in v

A/n — finally got motivated to finish this 😭😭

The bathroom was already fogged up, steam curling against the mirror as the hot water cascaded down in a steady rhythm. The hum of the shower filled the space, mingling with the soft rustle of clothes being discarded one by one.

Peter stood beneath the stream, his hands running through his wet hair, droplets sliding down the ridges of his toned chest. His muscles tensed slightly as he turned to face you, his eyes darkened with something deeper than just desire.

“Come here,” he murmured, voice husky from want.

You stepped in, the heat of the water instantly enveloping you, but it was nothing compared to the way Peter’s hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him. His skin was slick, hot under your fingertips as you traced the lines of his chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken beneath your palm.

His lips found yours without hesitation—slow at first, teasing, his breath warm against your mouth before his tongue brushed against yours, deepening the kiss. The water streamed between you, but it did nothing to cool the heat building between your bodies.

Peter’s hands roamed, one gripping the back of your neck to keep you close, the other sliding down to your hip, fingers pressing possessively into your skin. When he pulled away just enough to catch his breath, his forehead rested against yours, water dripping from his lashes as he whispered, “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His mouth traced along your jaw, down the column of your throat, kissing, nipping, tasting. Your hands explored him in return, nails skimming along his back, feeling the tension in his muscles as he held himself together—barely.

The shower was relentless, heat wrapping around you both as he pressed you against the cool tile, lips never leaving your skin. There was nothing hurried about the way Peter touched you—it was deliberate, intense, a slow burn that made your knees weak.

He lifted your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his, his thumb tracing along your lower lip. “I need you,” he admitted, voice rough, eyes dark with hunger.

You barely had time to respond before his mouth was on yours again, stealing your breath, claiming every inch of you like you were the only thing that mattered in this moment.

Your back pressed against the shower wall, the porcelain cool against your back, the only point of contrast to the scalding heat of the water as Peter's body pressed up against yours, trapping you in a cage of muscle and desire, his large frame crowding you in.

His lips left yours, and began a slow, wet path down the column of your neck, stopping briefly to suck at the sensitive skin of your pulse point, nipping lightly. His hands remained planted on your hips, his grip almost bruising in intensity.

“So damn beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot against you as his teeth continued their journey, grazing along the slope of your shoulder, leaving a trail of small red marks in their wake.

You arched against him, a gasp escaping you as he found a particularly sensitive spot just above your collarbone, his tongue laving over it before biting down lightly once more. His teeth scraped the area, his lips seeking yours again as he kissed you hard, tongue invading your mouth in a possessive kiss.

His hands left your hips, fingers trailing up your body, along your side, leaving goosebumps in their wake before settling under your thighs. He hoisted you up in one fluid movement, your legs immediately wrapping around his waist, the new position pulling you even closer as he ground his hips into yours.

You could feel his arousal, pressing against your core. It was an almost maddening tease, the need for more growing with each touch and kiss. His hands gripped your thighs, keeping you balanced against him, the hot slide of his body against yours driving you both wild with want.

Your breath caught in your throat as Peter pressed closer, the thick heat of his arousal rubbing against your slick folds, your body already trembling with anticipation. The way he looked at you—like he was starving, like nothing else existed but your skin against his—made your heart hammer in your chest.

“Peter…” you breathed, barely able to form the word as your fingers dug into his shoulders.

He growled low in his throat, grinding his hips harder against you. “Tell me what you want, baby,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear. “I need to hear you say it.”

“I want you,” you gasped. “Now. Please.”

That was all it took. In one smooth thrust, he pushed into you, filling you completely. The sudden stretch stole your breath, your back arching as your nails clawed down his back. Peter groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he held still for a beat, giving you a moment to adjust.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he rasped, voice thick with restraint as your walls clenched around him. “So perfect. Made for me.”

Your legs tightened around his waist, urging him on. He began to move, slow at first—long, deep strokes that had you gasping against his mouth, each thrust sending jolts of pleasure through your trembling frame. The slick heat of the water, the sound of skin against skin, the breathy moans echoing off the tile—it all blurred into one dizzying, delicious haze.

Peter’s pace quickened, each roll of his hips hitting deeper, harder, your moans growing louder with every thrust. His mouth claimed yours again, desperate and wet, teeth scraping your lip before dragging down your neck to suck another mark into your skin.

“Can’t get enough of you,” he panted against your throat. “I could stay buried inside you forever.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling just enough to draw a groan from deep in his chest. He responded by angling his hips just right, hitting that perfect spot inside you that made your entire body jolt.

“Oh my—Peter!”

“Right there?” he smirked, voice rough with satisfaction. “Yeah, I know.”

You were close, the pressure building fast, your body trembling from head to toe. He felt it too—his grip on you tightened, his movements becoming more erratic as he chased his own release, eyes locked on yours.

“Come for me,” he growled, thrusts deep and relentless. “Let me feel you.”

Your body obeyed, crashing over the edge with a sharp cry, your climax tearing through you like fire. You clenched around him, dragging him over with you, and he cursed as he came, hips snapping once, twice more before stilling, buried deep inside you.

For a moment, the only sounds were your heavy breaths and the rush of water around you.

Peter leaned his forehead against yours again, smiling breathlessly. “Shit,” he laughed softly, brushing wet hair from your face. “We might need another shower after that.”

You laughed too, still wrapped around him. “Only if you promise to get me just as dirty again.”

His smirk turned wicked. “Oh, baby. That was just round one.”

[lovelytsunoda]

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sunday in heaven ,, jake seresin 🌹

jake’s favourite afternoons were spent with his fiancée and his dog, with hot drinks and a good book. nice and calm, different from his every day. but tell anybody that and he’d have to kill you.

uptown girl ,, mickey garcia🌹

she would do anything for her nerd boy. except maybe meet his friends in a crowded bar with a pool table where she can make a fool of herself in front of all of her boyfriend's friends. it's a good thing that mickey is a good teacher.

the sixth sense ,, jake seresin (cosy collection 2024)🌹

after a car accident totals her car and leaves her with the ability to see ghosts, an anxious police desk sergeant learns to live with the ghosts haunting her home, and the crush she has on the hot pilot who lives next door

beautiful girl (stay with me) ,, jake seresin (kinktober 2024)🌹🍑

the three lit jack-o-lanterns in their bay window shouldn't have been the lightscape to their sweetest, purest intimate moments, but hey, what happens on halloween stays on halloween.

love, actually ,, robert floyd (the christmas collection 2024)🌹

recently appointed admiral robert floyd feels overwhelmed in his new position, and unprepared to fill the shoes of the late admiral thomas kazansky. when he inherts the job, he also inherits tom's old secretary. cue the romance. inspired by hugh grant's storyline in love, actually

birthday girl ,, mickey garcia (smutmas 2024) 🍑

used to feeling like an afterthought on her birthday (mostly due to its proximity with christmas), mickey sets out to make sure that his sweet lover girl feels treasured and loved

love is a losing game ,, jake seresin (SERIES) 🌹🌩

When her old boss from homicide shows up on her doorstep and tells her that her husband may be involved in multiple ongoing homicide investigations, Jessica Seresin realizes she might have to fight tooth and nail to keep her life from falling apart.

let me go ,, jake seresin (the coastal collection 2025) 🌩

jake is twenty years old and about to ship off for his first assignment in the us navy. he thinks his girlfriend deserves better, but she's here to tell him just how wrong he is

marvel

you've got me under your spell ,, eddie brock (the cozy collection 2024) 🌹

the then's and now's of halloween in the brock household.

shake it! ,, holland!peter parker (the coastal collection 2025)

dc comics

don't let the sun go down on me ,, bruce wayne (bale!batman)

usually she's the one begging bruce to take a break. not tonight, though. tonight, bruce thinks mrs. wayne deserves to rest

[gel-electrophoresislab]

The Gala

Peter Sutherland x reader fic

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

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

————————————————————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"For what?"

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

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

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

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

[baestruly]

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

( 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 )  peter sutherland x fem!reader

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

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 - fluff

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

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

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

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

“every day you say this.” 

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

“have you eaten?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 masterlist peter sutherland masterlist

[jks1uv]

𝐴𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐻𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠 ; peter sutherland | one-shot |

summary: the hours after peter's night shift are definitely better than the hours during.

pairing: shygf!fem!reader x teasingbf!peter sutherland.

trope: established relationship.

genre: fluff + romance.

warnings‼️: suggestive (kissing, making out, touchy feely while kissing, etc.) but still sfw.

word count: 1,149.

random disclaimerrr: been on this train since 2023 😝 HE GOT EVEN FINER HELP 😭😛 he got me jumpin’ like boom shaka-laka boom shaka-laka ohhh 😛 happy reading! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ ♡ © 2025 @jks1uv

You’re in that baby pink silk set he likes. It’s nothing fancy; just a spaghetti strapped cami top with a lacy outline and a pair of matching shorts.

He likes it because of how you look in it.

The baby pink brings out your skin, makes it appear glowy. Your eyes pop out and contrast with the shiny material nicely.

All claims of pure flattery but it’s all for you.

Color theory is real and Peter is living proof of that.

You lean against the doorframe with your arms crossed, watching your boyfriend wearing that outfit you like.

A tight-fitted navy blue long-sleeved shirt paired with the softest grey sweatpants ever.

His hair is dried up from the shower he took earlier and you can still smell the hotel citrus mixed with hints of his Polo cologne.

You think about how good he looks; a clean shave giving him the softest, smoothest face. He's currently manspreading on a chair, looking over some documents placed in his lap.

His biceps entice you to look, to stare and admire.

His strength has always captivated you. The attraction is deeply rooted in the way he makes you feel safe.

The tattoos decorating his arms fuel your fascination.

His sleeves are pulled up a bit, revealing a taste of his forearms and its veins. Peter rakes a hand through his hair and rubs the back of his neck, deep in thought.

The muscly arms make another appearance and you can't take it anymore.

You walk over and hike yourself up on the table, right beside his pile of papers.

“I was wondering when you were gonna stop staring at me creepily and say what’s on your mind.” He comments without looking up from the file.

You look down and play with the hem of your top, growing shy at his observation. A small smile lines your lips and you don't dare meet his gaze when he sighs and sets the file down beside you.

He stares at you for a moment before continuing. “Penny for your thoughts?”

���I'm good on pennies, actually. But, thank you.” You murmur.

Peter slides his chair in front of you and you don't miss the way his legs are still far apart, like he's expecting you to step down and sit down any moment now.

He’s leaned back all nice and comfortable, watching your every move.

He notices your eyebrows twitch up a bit when he fills your line of sight. He doesn’t miss the way you’re still fiddling with the hem of your top, trying to occupy your mind. Peter sees the way your wandering eyes light up when he’s giving you attention.

He decides not to tease you anymore and leans forward. His hands are on your knees, pushing them apart so he can stand in between them.

Your spine straightens itself and you slowly breathe in when he brings his face closer.

You’re acutely aware of his hands being on either side of you, caging you in.

You blink up at him and meet those chocolate eyes.

“Don’t go all shy on me now.” He’s soft with his teasing.

You smack your teeth and can’t help the grin that graces your lips. Your head tilts back a bit but he’s persistent; he tracks its movements.

Peter bumps his nose into yours, provoking you to meet him all the way.

You want to kiss him but you’re too shy to make the first move.

If only you were a telepath.

“You gonna kiss me or what?” He’s bold with his demands.

You pretend to mull over the thought, shrugging slightly and humming in uncertainty.

“Uh huh.” He says, obviously not buying it.

Testing the waters, Peter leans in just a bit to keep you guessing.

You have your gaze set on his plush lips and you think about how soft they look. Inviting, too.

You lean in thoughtlessly and he can’t find it in himself to deny you.

He finally kisses you and you sigh in relief.

You blindly wrap your legs around him and pull him in, your fingers run through his hair and he groans at the contact.

The vibrations make your lips tingle a bit and you meekly chuckle, breaking this kiss.

“I can’t stand you.” Peter breathlessly admits.

You both know he’s all bark and no bite but you’re curious.

“Why not?” You ask.

“You’re so…” He looks back and forth at your eyes and is captivated by your honey flavored lips.

“Distracting.” He settles on this but you are, and you know it.

“You’re wearing that set that you know I like,” He rubs the soft material against his thumb.

“And the chapstick.”

“What about it?”

It’s a Burts Bees moisturizing lip balm but with a new flavor: honey. You knew he’d like it but you didn’t expect this reaction from him.

“It’s nice.” He whispers before pressing a chaste kiss to your soft, sweet lips.

He grips your waist and lifts you up, you resume your previous position and wrap yourself around him; cocooning your body into his.

He steps backwards and plops down on the bed, worshipping you.

His touch is electric, fingers dip under your shirt and sprout goosebumps in their wake. His knuckles gently caress your hips before squeezing them with affection.

Your heart flutters at his actions and you’re putty in his hands. Your eyes close involuntarily and you sigh and gasp as the last bits of consciousness whither away at his touch.

His forehead presses against yours and you feel his silent notions of care and adoration for you. Peter kisses down your jaw and can’t control the sparks of devotion that lick into your skin.

You’re overwhelmed with emotion by his affection, by his kisses. By him.

It’s as if a heavy weight is set on your chest and can’t be lifted unless you speak.

You take charge of the moment by tilting your head back and angle his face away from your neck.

His pupils dilated to the max combined with his rosy cheeks makes for a pretty sight.

“What’s wrong?” He whispers.

Peter adjusts you in his lap and the way he handles you with such care and strength has you craving for more.

“Nothing, I just…”

You leave the ghost of a trail on the apples of his cheeks and his warm hand comes up to envelop it. He kisses the side of your palm and it makes you giddy inside.

“I just really like you. A lot.”

He blinks as a warm smile spreads over his face. He stares up at you for a second before gently pushing you down onto the bed.

Your excitement shows in your squeals and giggles as he leaves kisses all over your face and holds you close to him.

The hours after his night shift are the best hours of his life, he thinks.

[whorxology]

I got a request for Peter Sutherland

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

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

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

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Sleep Tight ❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

PAIRING: Peter Sutherland x Reader

WARNINGS: Established Relationship, not proof read

W.C: 0.7K

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

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

“Yea its me” 

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

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

Except tonight.

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

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

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

"Not tonight."

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

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

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

You gave him yet another look that screamed “bullshit”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he slept.

[underoospeterparker]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[yelenasbraid]

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 — 𝒑𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅

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

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

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

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

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

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

the catch was, you weren’t expecting them.

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

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

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

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

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

“really, y/n?”

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

~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“and?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

No easy job||Peter Sutherland x fem!reader

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

Word count—644

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

Until now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” he deadpanned.

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

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

[itsnesss]

𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐰𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 | peter sutherland × fem!reader

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

warnings | temporary separation, emotional tension, mild angst

word count | 1.8 k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[purestxblood]

𝗥𝗨𝗡 𝗧𝗢 𝗬𝗢𝗨, 𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"𝐒𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was easy. 

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

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

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

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

“You were off tonight.”

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

“I don’t work nights anymore.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[igotanidea]

Too easy : Peter Sutherland x reader

Part 1 : Strictly professional

Any other person in the car and they would probably feel the awkwardness sipping through every pore. Instead however the feeling that seemed to be suppressing any other was … a strange sense of peace. Almost as if the attempted murder  didn’t happen. Almost as if the bad breakup, the past 3 years and multiple mysterious hung up phone calls evaporated.

Almost.

She was putting on a brave face, looking outside the window, doing nothing to fight his iron decision to take her to their his place, but once more falling into the same trap of thinking she could fool him.

If anything, it was the other way round.

There was no option to hide her pale face and slight trembling and the fact that she closed eyes to not let him see the vastness of emotions behind them. 

“So-“

“Don’t.”

“Fine.“

And so they drove in silence. Two stubborn people, bound by circumstances once again.

And fate is a twisted invention indeed.

***

Nothing has changed in his apartment.

Well maybe except those slightly dried plants, since obviously he didn’t put much effort into watering them since Y/N left.

But other than that, not much was different.

Even that stupid charger she was looking for, for a few weeks before finally giving up and buying a new one.

Even the framed photo of them at the fair, eating candy cotton and having stupid fun. A picture that brought a little smile on her face.

“I didn’t have time to clean up.” He muttered, seeing how her eyes moved across the all too familiar four walls. Shockingly when it came to him, those words came out as more of an justification rather than simple statement.

“Sure.”

“Do you want to-“

“I’m tired. I don’t want to talk.”

“Not what I was going for.” Peter moved to the wardrobe and throw her a towel and his old hoodie, knowing well enough she’ll catch it.

“Isn’t it a bit cliché?” she rolled her eyes, seeing his choice.

“I don’t know, Y/N. Is it?”

“I swear to God, you should change that FBI job. 3 years later and you’re still answering the questions with questions. Agency looks freaking good on you.”

“It’s simple fact stating. You’re here and you have none of your stuff, so unless you’d rather sleep naked-“

“Bet you’d hate that wouldn’t you?”

Peter shrugged, being way to well trained to not show even an inch of an emotion, even if behind the indifferent surface there was like a volcano of them.

“Just go take a shower, Y/N. And for god’s sake stop pretending. You’ve been through a lot tonight, you are allowed to feel weak.” His hand found a way to her shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly, in a way a friend would.

“Allowed? Well, thank you very much for such generosity….” Her voice actually came out weak and vulnerable.

“Sure.” Peter smiled with that little smile that may have been hard to notice for someone who didn’t know him that well, but also the one that lit up his eyes. “Now go, I’ll make something to bite.”

“Since when do you cook?”

“Since now. Now go.”

***

It wasn’t cliché.

It wasn’t awkward.

It felt… safe.

Standing under the warm spray of water, washing away the fear and pain and knowing in the back of her head, that Peter was just a wall away, ready to break down the door If she did as much as call his name.

Just like the old times.

Even that stupid bathroom carried memories and shadows of the past. It was like Y/N was simultaneously in the two time planes, both having a shower and laughing with Peter while brushing teeth.

Reliving one of those rare moments when he wasn’t sitting by the phone in the literal basement of the white house, waiting for the call that was better not happening at all.

Waiting for his chance to prove himself and actually do something substantial and worthy of his skills and instincts.

Dear God, she was always too invested in this relationship from the very beginning and it looked like it didn’t stop even after the breakup.

And worse – she was now trapped in a glass cage build on the debris of something that was once so precious and sacred. Hence those feelings was about to haunt her at least till the morning.

No way to get out.

***

“No way to get out.” – Peter thought, trying to keep his thoughts occupied with the simple act of making sandwiches and prevent them from drifting to the woman in his bathroom.

Standing in the same kitchen he was preparing sandwiches for the last three years without such treacherous ….. forming in his tired brain.

Funny how one second in a life can act in a way similar to asteroid that once hit the earth and changed the course of a history just because of an almost non-existent change in the angle of flight curve.

Lost in his head, he didn’t miss the silent sound of opening and closing the bathroom door, followed by the scent of the body wash hitting his nostrils like a smell of a burning wood and having almost the same effect on his mentality.

“You need help with that?” she appeared behind him like a ghost, almost trying to not occupy to much space and shrink herself without causing disturbance. She knew he really didn’t want her here and she was nothing more than a job that was supposed to be performed well to please his superior and maybe deserve a gold star  next to his name.

Once a scout boy, always a scout boy.

The reason of the downhill their relationship went.

People pleaser! The harsh words, he didn’t deserve echoed in her head, making her lose her usual sarcasm and attitude, becoming a little softer, calmer.

Cause he may not want her here, but still did the right thing, be it from duty or the actual care.

“I’m done.” His response was calm, slightly reserved but deprived of hardness and it took her a second to figure out he actually meant the sandwiches and not everything including the situation they found themselves in.

“Oh.”

“Come on. Sit. Eat.”

“Thanks…”

Y/N instinctively took “her” place by the table, accidentally bring out another wave of memories. She had been sitting on the chair, swinging legs back and forth, sipping her tea and cracking jokes, trying to provoke him to laugh, doubling and tripling the efforts, agitated by the poker face he seemed to kept at all times.

Though it was all in his eyes that were the first sign of affection and attention and actual deep feeling.

“You uped your game.”

“Hm?”

“With the sandwiches.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Told you it’s cliché.”

“You just have to have the last word, don’t you?”

Y/n rolled her eyes and actually chuckled, throwing crumbs around.

“Messy.” He pointed out

“As if this place could get any worse-“

“not when you’re here.”

Oh.

Oh, wow.

Those words were one hundred percent real and one hundred percent honest, cause if anything Peter Sutherland never in his life had said anything that wasn’t well-thought.

“Peter-“

“I mean it. Don’t go overanalyzing it. It’s just better for my head knowing you’re being kept an eye on and not running around, bumping into accidental criminals.”

“Peter Sutherland! Did you just crack a joke!?”

“You’re a bad influence.” Right corner of his lips lifted and she responded with the same.

It was almost easy.

Too easy for it to not come bite them both in the asses.

@batsratswrites

@gel-electrophoresislab

[hederasgarden]

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

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

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