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liz-allyn ¡ 17 hours
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@blooming-violets I owe you so many reblogs with my thoughts, but as soon as I opened tumblr on my phone this came up. Coincidentally (or is it?) I rewatched most of “When God Was Love” today and I had forgotten about my soft bby in his big man suits and cowboy hat that’s a tad too big.
Enough about that—here are my best thoughts before I have to go fold 100 baby things
1. You make amazing, deep, complex women. Your original characters are rich in personality and story and I fall in love a little with all of them. Daisy seems like chaos in a bottle and I love her.
2. Thank you for reminding me why I hate Rebecca. But also, thank you for reminding me why I hate Jeb. Hate is a strong word. Thank you for reminding us that Rebecca is another complex character. You could’ve just written her off as “that bitch,” but instead you went the extra mile. I love your brain for that.
3. Girl dad Jeb is the balm for my soul. His devotion to his kids and the “raising daughters in a world that hates men” just leaves me shook. I’d like to imagine that this is what he sacrifices for them. He doesn’t get to be a good Mormon, or a good husband, but above all else—he gets to be a good dad. You did a great job of keeping that in the back of our minds.
4. Your storytelling structures are becoming more like diamonds every time I read one of your works. I know sometimes you feel like you don’t know where you’re going with stories and you feel like you lose your aim, but I see a complete circle with call-back themes.
5. Okay I feel stupid it took me a long time to remember where I knew the name “daisy buchanan” and then I was like “OH THE GREEN LIGHT.” Bitch don’t be trying to confuse me with your educated references (affectionate).
6. Thank you for the fantasy dirty talk! I feel like I got 3 for the price of 1. That’s more sinful Jeb for the spank bank!
7. I am equally inspired by and jealous of all the ways you say vagina. I want whatever she’s having.
8. How dare he take her name in vain.
9. “Depending on how hard he rammed into her, she'd even let out little shrieks. He liked those sounds best. They made him fuck her harder, dragging out his full length, then smacking back into her. Possessing her body. Over and over and over.”
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10. Please tag me forever in every story you write.
ily
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Saints and Sinners || Under the Banner of Heaven
[Jeb Pyre x fem!Reader]
Summary: Jeb falls prey to his darkest temptations while working a case.
Warnings: adult graphic smut, a cheating fic, heavy LDS religious themes and traumas, brief mentions of the murder of sex workers, light fem!dom/male!sub roles but nothing too crazy, brining it back to the religious trauma stuff - a lot of strong feelings of being trapped in a family/religion you don't feel like you belong in, if you are someone who feels offended with merging religion and sexual themes then this is not the fic for you
Note: "Reader" is nicknamed Daisy as her stage name as a stripper/sex worker. She has no physical descriptions apart from having female anatomy/a human body and wearing a sun dress. She can look however you'd want her to which is what makes her a reader character. Apart from that, she is her own character.
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Jeb Pyre considered himself to be a decently good man. 
He was well groomed. He was respectful. He loved his family. He gave his job 100% and loved his neighbors. 
He was a devout son of the Heavenly Father. 
Or, at least, he used to be. 
He had been hiding his true self for his family's sake. He was trying, but failing, to keep up his appearance of perfection. Every day was a new struggle to keep up his flawless Latter-day smile. Docile and submissive. Never making waves. Never voicing questions. Day after day, trapped in his own mind, slowly being eaten alive by his ever growing doubt. It was only a matter of time before he cracked. 
She was his forbidden fruit. The temptress sent straight from the devil to corrupt his soul. The snake in his garden. 
His latest case had led him straight to her doorstep. There were sex workers in the city being murdered. A killer who vowed to cleanse his city from their filth. Jeb hadn’t even known there were sex workers living in his area. He’d never even seen a strip club before he was forced to step inside one to investigate. It was a terrifying world he wasn’t sure how to navigate. 
She had taken his hand and led him through the darkness. 
Daisy. That’s what she called herself. Her stage name. She had told him it was after Daisy Buchanan. The paragon of perfection for men to lust after but hiding a sardonic, amoral soul. It seemed to fit. She was the kind of woman he’d leave a green light on for but never be able to obtain. He knew her real name for his investigation but she refused to have him call her by such. She claimed only the people who truly loved her were allowed to utter her true name. To everyone else, she was just Daisy. 
He used to believe that all sex workers were women who needed saving. They had lost their way from God. They were impure. Drug addicts. Abused. Lost souls desperate to be saved. 
But she fit none of those roles. 
She was strong and sure. A business woman. A homeowner. She didn’t need a man to provide for her. Everything she owned was achieved through her own tenacity. When he looked at her, he saw someone who truly enjoyed their job. He struggled to wrap his head around that fact. A woman shouldn’t enjoy having sex for a living. She shouldn’t enjoy selling her body to perverted men. She should remain pure and devout until marriage. He often wondered what her future husband would think of her lewd, depraved acts. 
And then he remembered that she never wanted to marry. 
What an absurd thought. A woman with no desire for a husband? Utterly bizarre. 
She was unlike any woman he had ever met and he was tempted by the wickedness of her world. He knew he shouldn’t be. He knew better than to dance with the devil. Yet, here he was. Allowing her to occupy every existing thought in his brain. She was the one he thought about late at night. She was the name he moaned into his pillow in the early hours of the morning while his wife slept beside him. She was the one he dreamed of being able to touch. 
The one thing he couldn’t have, was the one thing he truly coveted. For Jeb Pyre was a sinner. He wasn't a devout man. He didn’t believe in the Heavenly Father. 
And he hated the life he was forced to be living. 
Everything was an act and he was tired of playing his part. 
So, when a killer murdered two of her work acquaintances, and put her in his targets, Jeb decided to personally oversee her protection. After all, she had been such a help to the investigation thus far. He needed to keep his best informant alive. 
Even if that meant risking everything he had to spend the night in her arms.
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Jeb parked his car on the street directly outside of her house. From out here, one would never know what kind of person she was. It looked no different than any other house on the block. He wondered if her neighbors had any idea. He couldn’t imagine if they knew, they would let her stay in the neighborhood without a fight. They’d blame it on the guise of protecting their innocent children from the evil whore but the truth was that they hated anyone who dared to step outside their carefully crafted circle. They hated those different from them. 
But who were her clients then, if not the men who claimed to hate everything about her? 
Everything was a facade. He was so used to hearing people say one thing but act the opposite. The men who would run her from their neighborhood if they knew the truth, were the same men who would cash out their family’s credit card to spend a night with her. Publically, they would denounce her. Privately, they would take whatever they desired from her.
He was no different from them. The perverse thoughts inside his head were just as bad, if not worse. He had seen too much in this job. It had twisted his core. His mind was polluted. He was lusting down paths he could never travel. 
Jeb rapped three, strong knocks on her door. It was later in the evening. He knew she wasn't at the strip club because he had a copy of her schedule in his car glove box. There were other women he had to keep an eye on, too, but she was the one he chose to personally protect. She was the one he feared to lose the most. It was irrational, he knew that. She had no notion of his fantasies keeping him up at night. To her, he was just the lead detective on a case. 
He caught her peeking out the top window of her front door, standing on her tiptoes to reach, and he gave a friendly wave. At least she was smart. She wasn’t opening her door to just anyone. 
He listened to the clicks of two different locks and smiled as she opened to him, “Good evening, ma’am. Detective Jeb Pyre, remember me?” 
She forced a tight smile in return, “Of course I remember you. Do you think I have the memory of a goldfish?” 
He let out a half hearted laugh. She was beautiful but she was scared. Women she had worked with were dying. It was supposed to be his job to keep them safe.
He tried to take a subtle glance down her body. She was wearing a sundress and nothing else. Warm yellow with tiny white flowers dotting the sleek fabric. One of the thin straps was sliding down her shoulder. The dress clung tightly around her torso to highlight her stunning cleavage and flared out over her hips whenever she moved. Women around here never wore clothes like that unless they also donned a buttoned up cardigan and tights. To see her display her body so openly caught his breath in his throat. He had to shift on his feet to readjust himself. He refused to allow her to see how excited his body was reacting to hers.
It was unprofessional. Wrong. 
“Not at all. Do you have a moment to chat?” He asked, doing his best to keep his voice level. 
She gave a sharp inhale, “Is everything okay? Did someone else get hurt?” 
Jeb shook his head, “No, no. Nothing like that. I just wanted…”
What did he want? He wanted to commit a sin. He wanted to see her naked. He wanted to kiss her entire body. He wanted to slide his cock between her beautifully plump lips. He-
He was going to hell. 
“I just wanted to stop in and let you know that I’ll be stationed outside your house for the rest of the night. With everything going on, I thought it would be best to station some people at various hot spots around town to keep an eye on things.” 
Her eyes narrowed, “My house is a hot spot?” She shook her head in disbelief. “I’m sorry, Detective Pyre, but I don’t do business out of my own home. No one knows where I live. I use a stage name at work. No one there knows my real name. I’m not a street walker, I’m a stripper who occasionally takes up extra clients in the vip rooms when the money is good enough. My house isn’t a revolving door for men to come and go whenever they please like some brothel. I’ve taken some time off work for the next week to lay low, anyway. A lot of the other girls are doing the same. I think I’ll be alright.” 
Jeb chewed awkwardly on his bottom lip, feeling like he had offended her, “I didn’t mean to imply…anything…” 
This was not going how he intended. He wasn’t used to women talking back to him. He wasn’t sure how to respond. 
“You being stationed out in your car all night, in front of my house, is only going to cause more eyes to look at me. My neighbors already think I’m some crazy heretic for not attending their church. I don’t need them looking further into my life. Thank you for stopping by and offering your support but I don’t need it.” 
As she started to close the door, Jeb stuck his foot between the crack, wincing as it slammed into his shoe. He felt immediate guilt for doing such a strong handed act with her. He just couldn’t bear the thought of being turned away. He couldn’t spend another night laying in a bed next to a wife he no longer loved. 
“I’m sorry,” he quickly added when he saw her look of outrage. “I don’t think you understand how dangerous the man we are hunting is. He could have already followed you home. He probably already knows where you live. I wouldn’t put it past him to break in. I’ve seen it before.” He gave a quiet sigh, nearly begging for her approval. “Please. Let me watch over you tonight. I won’t be able to live with myself if something happened while I was supposed to be here.”
Her shoulders dropped in defeat. He watched her peer side to side down the street, taking in her surroundings for anything unusual. 
“Fine,” she huffed. “But do you have to be parked in the street? Can’t you pull your car into my garage so no nosy neighbors will see and spend the night inside? I have a perfectly adequate couch for you to hang out on.” 
Jeb smiled, relieved, “I can do that. Thank you.” 
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He shouldn’t be this excited about being inside her home. 
As he slowly walked through her place, he took note of the items she owned. Her house looked like any others he might enter. There were pictures of her with friends hanging on her refrigerator, a television in the corner of the living room, a brick fireplace with a little ceramic frog on top of the mantle. A cozy, hand knit blanket was draped over the back of the couch. Everything looked normal. He felt stupid for imagining her living inside of sex dungeon. Whatever that might look like. He still had a lot of biases he had to work on.  
She walked into the living room after him with a glass of ice water, offering it to him, “The bathroom is the first door on the left down the hall. My bedroom is the last door. There’s a spare room to the right where I do my step aerobics. I have a basement with some empty rooms down there but I don’t really use them. Then there’s the kitchen and, obviously, living room. The front door and the basement door are the only doors into the house besides the garage. It’s a pretty small house with thin walls so you should be able to hear anything if there’s a break in.” 
Jeb smiled politely in thanks. He knew what he was doing would be considered nefarious in his community. A married man spending the night in a single woman’s home, a stripper, no less, would be the gossip of the town. It wouldn’t matter if he was a detective keeping watch on someone who could be in danger. He was still a man alone with a woman. The first night he was ever alone with his wife was their wedding night. It was no wonder Daisy wanted him to park in the garage so people wouldn’t talk. She probably had a hard enough time as it was. 
“I won’t take up much room,” he said. “I don’t want to be a burden. Only trying to help to keep everyone safe.”
“Isn’t this usually the type of job you give to the rookies?” She asked, taking a seat in an armchair across from the couch. She crossed her legs at the ankles like a respectable lady should and, somehow, she still looked like a seductress doing so. “Does the lead detective usually make overnight house calls?” 
The skirt of her dress was short. It bunched up around her thighs as she sat. He willed himself to only look at her face and keep his eyes from wandering. 
Jeb blushed and perched on the edge of the couch cushion, “We don’t have too many men at the station. I volunteered to lend an extra hand.” 
She leaned back, eyeing him up with a type of bold, observant intelligence he wasn’t used to seeing, “What does your wife think of you spending the night with a whore?” 
He anxiously twirled his wedding band around his finger. She spoke with such brashness it caught him off guard.
“I told her I was spending the night at the office,” he wasn’t sure why he willingly answered so honestly and without hesitation. 
She had that kind of spell over him. He wanted to protect her. Wanted to give her things. Wanted to tell her all his secrets. She was a siren luring him to his destruction and he was willing to sail his ship straight into the rocks if it made her happy.  
A smirk tugged up the corner of her lips, “Ah, I see. So you’re a liar. What else are you lying to her about?”
Jeb choked on the water he was sipping. His eyes widened. 
“I’m not-what-I’m not-” he sputtered out.
She laughed quietly to herself, “Calm down, detective. I was only joking. An LDS man telling his wife a lie? That’s never been heard of before.” Sarcasm dripped from her words. 
He ran the back of his hand over his lips to hide his smile. He liked her. He liked her sass. She didn't care what he thought of her. She wasn’t playing a game like everyone else he knew. It made him want to tell her the truth. Every truth. Everything he had been holding in for the past year. 
He hated his wife. He didn’t just not love her anymore, he despised her. 
Her words had been echoing in his ears for over a year now, “I love you but I can’t struggle through this with you.”
She had left him when he needed her the most. She chose her faith over him. He should have known. He had married her because of how devout she was. Her love for Heavenly Father was what drew him towards her in the first place. Now, it’s what cast him away. 
If he didn’t pretend, Rebecca would take everything from him. She would leave him for nothing if he didn’t keep on impersonating a saintly man. As if they hadn’t spent an entire lifetime together. As if he hadn’t devoted everything to his family. She would rather jump ship than dare to stand by his side when he needed her most. He would have never left her if she had been in his place. He would have held her hand and walked her through her doubts but she couldn’t do the same. Her love was conditional. 
He hated her for that. 
He hated himself for hating her. 
Rebecca’s faith was what kept her moving forward. It was all she ever knew. She lives in the LDS belief that Jeb, with his priesthood, is the one who must usher her through the veil when she passes so she can enter the highest form of heaven. Without him, without his beliefs, she was fucked. 
Jeb smiled to himself. He liked that word. 
Fucked. 
Fuck, fuck, fuck. 
That was his life.
A big fucking lie. A pile of steaming bullshit. 
He had just met Daisy five days ago and she had already pegged him for exactly the kind of man he was. A liar. A stripper knew more about him than his own wife. She could see straight through the fabricated, bullshit act he put on and he had only been inside her home for five minutes. Five fucking minutes and she could already see the depravity leaking out of him. 
God, he was pathetic. 
“I don’t believe in a God,” he blurted out, shocking even himself with the outburst. 
She gave him a few, stunned blinks in response, “...Okay.” 
Jeb cleared his throat, his face heating with embarrassment, “I don’t know where that came from. I deeply apologize.” 
If he was with anyone else, his confession would have been met with gasps of horror. With her, it was nothing more than a passing sentence. 
She was perfect. He wanted her. Badly. That sundress was only working to fuel his indiscretion. 
She leaned her head into the palm of her hand as she rested it on the arm of the chair, “Is this…something you’d like to discuss further, detective? Men seem to enjoy emptying their traumas onto me. I’ve consoled many men over the years. I’ve been told I’m a very good listener.” 
“I-” he stammered, his ear heating up in shame for his actions. “No. I’m sorry. Again.”
She wasn’t his therapist. He didn’t have a therapist. Only crazy people had therapists. And he wasn’t crazy. 
Or maybe he was. 
Life might be easier if he was crazy. 
“I love my wife,” he stated. He only said that to try and convince his brain to stop lusting after the woman he was meant to be protecting. He was here to make sure no one broke in. He was working a case. He was not here to turn to sin. 
She nodded her head, pretending to follow along with whatever obvious breakdown was going on inside his mind, “That’s good. A lot of men love their wives. A lot of men don’t. That’s a part of life.” 
“I love…no…” Jeb sighed. Fuck it. The rant was coming out. He couldn’t stop it. He was already too far gone to keep it repressed any longer. “I don’t love my wife. I hate her. Every time I look at her, all I feel is animosity. I think she’s the dumbest woman I’ve ever met and I know that’s wrong to think. I know that makes me a terrible man. I’m an awful husband. It’s just that she blindly follows whatever the profit says. Whatever a bishop tells her to do, she’d do it without a second thought. They could tell her to get on her knees and suck them off because Heavenly Father commanded it so and she would do it. She doesn’t see anything further than her own nose. She follows and never questions. And, I understand, because I used to be the same. I used to believe because that’s what I was taught to do. Blindly believe. That’s all there ever was. 
“She’s never seen true evil. Not like I have. Because she refuses to look even though it’s all around her. I see it everywhere. She puts on her little Mormon blinders and never dares to take them off. So, she follows. And she makes my girls follow. And she makes me follow or else she will take the girls away from me. I am raising my daughters in a world that hates women. My wife is letting them be preyed upon. She’s happy to let them be squashed into submission. Keep sweet. Pray and obey. Learn to worship your future husband. Never think for yourself.” He closed his eyes and took a deep, shaking breath, feeling himself losing it. His voice cracked. “If I give up, is there no hope for my daughters? Who will protect them if not me? My wife would marry again, quickly, so she can still get into the celestial kingdom when she dies. She’ll marry someone who won’t waver in their beliefs. Another man would raise my girls. He won’t care about them. Not like I do. They’ll be sold off to the first Mormon boy they fancy. They’ll be married at 18. Never attend college. Never think for themselves. Never get a job. Because I won’t be there to inspire them to reach for more. I’ve seen what kind of men are out there. My daughters won’t be safe unless I play the part my wife created for me.”
He opened his eyes to look over at the woman across from him. Her face was neutral but her eyes were burning with an eagerness to know more. His sudden outburst of lament had stricken something deep inside of her. He had captured her interest like he was a strange bug forced under a microscope that she wanted to dissect. His spiel may have exploded out of nowhere but she was already on board to follow along. She seemed like someone who enjoyed a feisty debate. He needed someone who wouldn’t hold back. 
“You claim your wife is the dumb one, yet, here you are, spewing a load of shit all over my living room,” she mused, giving him a snarky grin. 
Jeb’s jaw dropped. He forced himself to quickly regain his composure and took another swig of cold water. The fire behind her eyes was enticing. He desperately wished his wife could show that kind of passion once in her fucking life. He hated the docile, sweet act. He craved raging forest fires not babbling brooks. He licked his lips, ready to swallow anything she threw back at him. This is what he wanted. Someone to argue with. Someone he could express himself with without fear of rejection. He wanted this fierce lioness to eat him alive. 
He just wanted something that felt real for once. 
She stood up to pace around the room in front of him while she spoke, “Do you realize your wife is like that because she knows nothing else? That is her way of survival. She chooses to believe instead of question because questioning is terrifying. Questioning means losing everything and everyone you’ve ever loved. Your entire world crumbles under your feet if you dare to question. Want to ask me how I know?” She stopped her aggravated pacing to shoot him a look of annoyance. “You’re a man. You have so many options still available should you fumble. If she were to question her faith, she would lose her family. Her mother, father, sisters, brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles, friends. She loses them all. And then she is left with what, exactly? I doubt your wife works? Does she have her own career? Skill sets? Does she have her own income? Does she have her own car? Bank account? She dares to question, she is left with nothing. But you know that already. Obviously. Because you are just as scared to speak your truths out loud. You’re no better than her.”
She stopped momentarily to catch her breath, flipping a strand of hair from off her forehead. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the way her hips swayed when she walked. He adored her temper. It felt so natural. Real. She wasn’t holding herself back to placate him. She acted on her own accord without worrying about how others perceived her. 
He wanted to toss her onto this couch and take her right here. He could only half listen to her rant through his ever growing desires. 
“How do you know your wife doesn’t think the same thoughts as you? How do you know she doesn’t hide her truths locked up deep inside her mind and never dares to speak them? It’s fine to voice your opinions when you’re in the safety of my house. To you, I am nothing, I’m just a stripper. A prostitute. Hooker. Harlot. Whore. Whatever you want to call me. I pose no threat to you because, to you, I am so far below you that my voice does not matter. You feel safe to speak freely inside these walls because you face no real consequences here. You’ve seen evil? Well I’ve lived evil. You’re here because of the evil that wants to be inflicted upon me. Because I think differently from you. Because I use my body as a tool. Because I don’t subscribe to your values. Someone out there thinks I deserve death simply because I exist in a way he doesn’t approve of. You want to blame your wife for your problems. Blame yourself because you’re no better than her. You’re all a part of the same system.” 
Jeb sat there in silence. The condensation from the glass of ice water clutched in his hand dripped down his wrist. His heart thumped wildly in his chest as he took it all in. He was torn between fully digesting her words and imagining her naked, writhing body under him as he dragged the ice cube from his glass down her stomach. 
“I don’t,” he whispered. “I don’t think you’re a whore.” 
He didn’t even like saying that word out loud. He felt a dark cloud of shame rain down around him. But was she wrong?  
He had never imagined his wife in the scenario currently playing in his head. He saw Daisy as a sex object willing to be exploited to his darkest temptations.  
She stopped in front of him. She placed her finger under his chin and lifted his head up to look at her. His wide, pleading, brown eyes took her in, silently begging for some kind of clarity to fix his entire life.
“Tell me what you think of me, detective. Tell me the truth. When you look at me, what is it you truly see?” She murmured down at him. “Why are you really here? It’s not to discuss your lapse of faith, or your wife, and it’s not to keep me safe. I can see it in your eyes. Tell me what it is you truly want? Don’t you lie to me.”
The way his world saw it, Rebecca was pure, because she had remained a virgin until marriage. She lived and breathed by the Book of Mormon. Daisy was a condemned sinner, because she sold her body for sex. She was beyond saving. Even the outfit she wore was considered taboo. Modest clothing was the foundation stone to sustaining abstinence. She was the sinner. 
But so was he. 
Jeb was no saint despite the role he was trying to play. 
He took a deep breath and recited the scripture, “He that looketh on a woman to lust after her, or if any shall commit adultery in their hearts, they shall not have the Spirit, but shall deny the faith and shall fear.”
Her eyes flicked with curiosity and a smile tugged at her lips. She caressed her thumb over his cheek, “You lust, Jeb Pyre? For me?”
He licked his drying lips, gently pushing her hand away from his face, “Yes.” 
She nodded, knowingly, “You don’t know what you want. Your mind is in one place but your actions keep you in another. I am not the answer to your problems. Many men have tried but all have failed. The answer is never found between the legs of a whore. Unless, that is, what you say is true and you don’t think of me that way. Something tells me, though, that you’re lying to us both.” She gave him a wink, turning on her heels with her dress spinning out around her, and swayed down the hallway towards her bedroom. “Have a good night on the couch, detective. I’ll be retiring to my bedroom should you decide you need me.” 
She let those last few words linger in the air, the weight of them settling down around him, as the door closed behind her.
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The cuckoo clock hanging on her wall let him know that midnight was here. The sudden sound breaking the peaceful silence had caused him to jump up from his spot on the couch and reach for the gun at his hip. Jeb rolled his eyes in the clock's direction and lowered his hands back to his side. He might still have some residual PTSD from his former cases…  
Her house was dark and quiet. 
He liked it that way. Sometimes he missed the quiet. She hadn’t left her bedroom since she entered. Without her in his sights, he could better attempt to control his impulses. He was too weak to be trusted around her. If she hadn’t left when she did, he would have given in. It had taken everything in him to not follow her blindly into that bedroom like a dog on a leash. 
Jeb ran a ragged hand over his face. He wasn’t tired. Late nights were where he thrived best. He hadn’t felt this alive in a long time. She’d awoken his mind in a way he thirsted for. Even just being in her house, prowling silently down her hallway, gave him a thrill. He felt like a naughty school boy getting into mischief after class. He longed to feel something more. His life was full of boredom and she offered him the keys to adventure. He longed to find solace in the arms of a stripper. 
A soft light illuminated from under her door to let him know that she was still awake down there. He wondered what she was doing hidden away out of his sight. She had invited him to join her. She had invited him to relish in his sins. It would be a line that, once he crossed, he would never be able to erase. The second he gave in to her, he wouldn't be able to stop. He was already past the point of saving. One little push was all it would take for him to delve into the madness. That glowing light under her door beckoned him to her like the light of God calling him home.  
He slipped into her bathroom instead. 
He ran cold water out of her orchid pink sink to splash over his heated face. His eyes sought his reflection in the mirror to stare deeply into his own battered soul. This was his crossroads. Whichever path he took would alter the rest of his life. He had already committed adultery in his mind. It was now the act to see if his body would follow or not. 
The sight of a black and golden lipstick sitting on the edge of her sink caught his eye. Jeb reached for it, popping off the cap, and twisting it up. A deep, berry red. A color housewives wouldn’t be caught dead wearing. He brushed his thumb over the top to coat his skin with the color of her lips. The bottom of the stick was engraved with the name of the shade. Walk of Shame. He smiled a wicked smile to himself. 
He knew what road he was going to take. He would take that walk of shame. 
Jeb placed the stick back where he found it. He twisted his wedding ring around his finger, mulling over his decision, then carefully plucked it off his body. He placed the ring around the lipstick, listening to it rattle against the ceramic sink, and gave a long, soft sigh. A weight had been lifted from him. He quickly exited the bathroom and allowed his feet to lead him straight to her door. He stood outside, silent, listening. 
Soft moans floated under the door. Little whines. Whimpers. 
His eyes slipped closed and his lips parted. He knew those sounds. She was putting on a show for him. All he had to do was raise the curtain and let her perform. His hand hovered over her door knob. 
It was okay. She had invited him in. 
“-should you need me.”
He needed her. He hadn’t engaged in sex with his wife in over eight months. He needed her now more than ever. 
He slowly and silently turned the knob. Inch by inch. Until he was able to push open the door. Just a crack. Just enough to peek through. He had to make sure she was safe behind those walls. After all, that was his job. 
She laid across the bottom of her mattress. Her sundress was gathered around her hips. Her legs were parted wide, aimed straight at the door, as if she knew he would show up. He was that predictable. Through her half closed, dreamy lids, her long, elegant fingers drew delicate circles through her glistening flower. His breath caught in his throat when he watched her dip a finger deep inside of her. His cock sprang to life, begging to be touched, pushing at the loose fabric of his dark gray suit pants. 
He should close the door. He should leave. 
This was wrong. He needed to repent. 
“I see you watching me, detective,” she whispered to him as he hid away in the dark hallway, lurking in the shadows like a predator. She let out a soft whine, dragging her soaked finger in circles around her clit. “I know you’re there.” 
Jeb swallowed. She was the devil. A demon. He had no power over her. Heat flushed through his veins. His breath was already coming out in heavy pants. He was chained to the doorway, captivated by her seduction. He couldn’t move away even if he wanted to. 
“Have you ever seen a woman masturbate, Brother Pyre?” She moaned. “Have you ever seen a woman touch herself like this?” 
His fingers wrapped around the edge of the door, gripping tightly onto the wood for support. No. He hadn’t. It would shock him if he found out his wife secretly masturbated in private. She was so well behaved. Masturbation was a sin. She would never dare allow anyone else besides him to touch her, not even herself. 
“Do you like to watch me?” She whimpered, sinking her finger back inside of her. “I was hoping you would come. I know you, detective. I see through you. Your mind is just as perverted as the rest of us. You want to give in. You want to taste what is forbidden to you. It’s okay. I won’t tell.” 
She looked hotly up into his eyes, staring straight into his corrupted soul. He was too weak. He had no resolve. The devil looked too appetizing. The sins of the flesh were tempting him forward as he let the door push open to reveal himself in all his shame. 
She gave him a warm smile, taking in the sight of the bulge below his belt. Her fingers swept through her folds, slippery with her arousal. With the expertise of someone with diligent practice, she used two fingers to part the outer petals of her womanhood to reveal to him the hot, sinking abyss he craved to explore. 
Enraptured, he could not tear his eyes from the slender digit plunging into her soaking depths. His mouth opened and closed, silently, begging to seek a taste of such a treasure. He watched in a starving trance as she anointed her needy pearl, bathing it in her honey, tending to it like a precious garden. Her eyes locked with his, burning, tempting him to join her in her display of debauchery. 
Oh, lord, he was tempted. 
Through heavy, ragged breaths she spoke, “Watch me, detective. Gaze upon the kind of life you were kept from. Look at what you could have been given. See what you missed out on.” 
He was watching. His eyes were padlocked to her dancing fingers. She was beautiful. His heart sought to hold her in his arms while he touched her with a wild abandon. 
“Do you like what you see, Jeb?” She moaned out his name extra low and tantalizing. 
He almost came in his pants at the sound of his name in her mouth. A shudder ran through his tightly wound body. 
“Answer me!” She demanded from him.
He gasped, “Yes.” 
A smile spread across her lips, “Good boy. Men like you work so hard, don’t they? You give and give and give but who ever takes care of you? Let yourself relax, detective. Let yourself give in. Let me care for you. Let someone else take control for once.”
Her eyes closed, lost in the rhythmic tones of her own words, casting her enchantment over them both. She had known he would come seek her out. She had known he would watch. She wanted him here. All he craved was to feel wanted again. 
He took a tentative step into her bedroom, closing the door behind him, and sealing his fate with the click of the lock. 
“That’s it, baby,” she cooed. “Come a little closer. Take a look at your new toy. All for you.”
Jeb held his breath, shuffling slowly forward a few more paces. His heart was racing. His skin was on fire. His mind was made up. 
“Why don’t you let Daisy see what her Gatsby is working with, hmm? Take your belt off. Unzip your pants. Show me.” It wasn’t a request but a demand. 
He swallowed, his nerves sending him into a frenzy, as he undid his belt, lost in her trance. His eyes stayed glued to her hypnotic fingers casting circles of magic around her clit. Subconsciously, his tongue dated out to lick his lips, desperate for a taste. 
His hot, heavy cock fell out into the palm of his hand. He listened to her sharp inhale at the sight. It was followed by a purr of approval. 
“I want you to touch yourself but keep your eyes on my pussy, detective. Watch what I’m doing. Watch how wet you’re making me. Listen.” Two fingers sunk into her, squelching and sloppy, as she pumped them in and out. 
His eyes rolled into the back of his head at the sound and a growl rumbled in the back of his throat. With the tip of his thumb, still stained with her lipstick, he smeared around his own wetness leaking from his tip. He worked it down his shaft, slowly pumping himself through his fist. 
“I’ve been dreaming of this moment since the day I met you,” she breathed, keeping him in her watchful sights, each of them working to build their own pleasure. “I saw you then like I see you now. A lost man in need of guidance. I dreamed of you touching me. That first day, when you called me into your office. I imagined spreading my legs for you as I sat on top of your desk, throwing papers to the floor, while you ate me out in front of the large window. I dreamed of you finding me at my work, paying extra to take me to the back rooms, making me suck your cock while you grabbed my hair and prayed to your pathetic God.” He wanted to eat that arrogant smirk straight off her face. “You like watching me, don’t you, pretty boy? You like hiding here, away from the world, where only you and I can bear witness to the blasphemy of your true self. Show me who you really are.” 
He whimpered, tugging on his cock a little harder. He was a sinner. An adulterer. A pervert. A heretic. A liar. 
“Tell me what you want to do to me, detective? Tell me all the ways you’ve dreamed of fucking me while you slept next to your frigid wife.” 
Jeb stuttered over his words, trying to force them out his tightening throat, “I’ve-I’ve…dreamt of dragging you to temple, b-bending you over the sacrament table, and fucking you in front of the congregation so they could all see what kind of dirty whore you are.” 
Tears pricked in his eyes as the shame battled it out with the unbridled lust. He had never spoken like that in his life. A sense of vitality flowed through him. It made his cock twitch in his hand and he stroked it more fervently. 
She licked her lips, letting out a light, amused laugh, “Such a naughty boy, detective. I know there’s more darkness in you. I want to hear it all. What else do you dream of?” 
“Taking you into my home. F-fucking you-” he stumbled over the word “fucking” as it still felt so forgein on his lips to openly talk this dirty. “In my bed. On my wife’s side. Forcing her to watch while I make you unravel on my tongue. Showing her exactly what she is missing out on. Showing her what kind of man I could be if she’d only open herself up to experiment more.”
He couldn’t believe the filth he was allowing himself to admit. These were his private thoughts. They were never meant to be exposed to anyone. She had that effect on him. His skull was cracked open and his most shameless self was laid bare. 
“You’re poor, poor wife,” she mewled. “She deserves to have someone tend to her needs, too. I know she wants it. All women do. You’ve just never pushed her far enough because you’re weak, Jeb Pyre.” She removed her fingers from her pussy and sat up, letting her dress fall back over her hips. She stared him down with her possessive gaze. “Get on your knees,” she ordered. 
He didn’t even hesitate. He released his hand from his cock and knelt down before her. She slowly got to her feet to take a stand directly in front of him. She was so close he could smell her sex clinging to her skin. 
“Men like you are always searching for something to worship.You told me you don’t believe in God. You told me you’ve lost your way. You have nothing to hold onto.” She trailed her finger, still glistening with her slick, over his bottom lip. “If you’ve lost your God then worship me instead. I’m your new God now, detective. Open your mouth and worship me. Cleanse my fingers with your tongue.” 
His lips parted and she slipped two fingers over his tongue. He closed around her, bathing her clean, tasting the remnants of her devine pussy. She slid her fingers down his throat causing him to gag. 
“Good boy,” she murmured her praises to him. “Sing me your devotions. Relax your throat. Soften your tongue. Take it like a man.” 
Jeb reached up to gently take hold of her wrist. He showered her hand in soft kisses, trailing up her arm and back down again, lapping at the tips of her fingers with his tongue, sucking them into his mouth, moaning as she glided down his throat. 
“Look at how hard you are. Desperate to be touched. Desperate to follow directions. Desperate to pray to anything that will have you.” 
She jerked her hand away from him, leaving him feeling empty and cold. She grabbed his chin in her grasp. Her nails dug into his cheeks. 
“Who’s your God, Jeb Pyre?” She asked. 
“You,” he replied. 
“Prove it. Pray at your altar.”
She lifted the skirt of her dress to expose herself to him. Her foot rested on the edge of the mattress so he could get an eye to eye look with his new lifeline. Jeb let out a shaky breath. His hands extended to wrap around her waist, drawing himself closer to her. He tilted his head to bring his quivering breaths to her heated core. She draped the hem of her dress over his head to curtain him the darkness where he belonged. In the dark, he could worship in secrecy.
His head pushed between her thighs to force her legs to widen for him. Her salty musk filled his senses, hooking him in like a drug. His eyes slipped closed at the first taste of the almighty. She was the bread of life. Honey flowed from the darkness and he relished in every drop. His tongue probed at her entrance, burying between her warmth, reaching deeper depths with lapping rolls. Teasing. Tantalizing. Tasting. He suckled at her clitoris, nibbling softly at the sensitive flesh, swirling her with his tongue. The sounds of her coos were all the praises he craved. He didn’t need practice to know how to please her. Surrendering to her was as natural to him as breathing. 
“A virtuous woman is the crown to her husband,” she moaned, quoting the scripture. “And, yet, your sinning whore is the one who sits upon your head like a crown.”
He shivered at the debauchery of her words. He smiled against her pussy and took his time to savor his meal. She was a blessing bestowed upon him. A crown upon his head. His tongue thrust up inside of her, fucking her slowly and tenderly. He tightened his grip around her waist to hold her closer, a desperate man clinging to his lifesaver, moaning against her heated skin. The way she ground herself against him, thrusting herself deeper against his tongue, was enough to trigger his own needs. He humped his hips into the air, thrusting into nothing. 
“Oh, sweet thing,” she hummed. “Is my favorite detective in need of some more attention? When was the last time you’ve had that gorgeously thick cock buried inside someone’s cunt?” 
He whimpered, not letting up on his assault of her pussy, and clung tightly onto her waist. Eight months. Eight torturous months. 
“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” she murmured, her voice thick with lust from trying to control her building orgasm. “I’ll take good care of you. I don’t want you getting too drunk off my pussy. Can’t have you completely let go before I’ve had my fun. Come here.” 
She slid out from his grasp by pulling herself up onto the mattress. Her eyes were glazed over with a needy passion. Glassy and wet. 
“Take your pants off,” she ordered. “I want to see you fully.” 
They were already half way down his thighs. With a little push, they pooled around his ankles, pulled down quickly by the weight of his gun belt. He kicked off his nice dress shoes and stepped out of his pants to leave only his temple garments. 
She smirked at the sight and hopped off the bed to take a step closer. Her hand wrapped around his tie to pull him down to her level. Her lips trailed over his as his eyes fluttered close. She glided her tongue across his lips, cleaning herself from them, with a gentle hum of approval. 
“Who tastes better? Me or your wife?” She asked. 
Jeb flustered in her question, “I-I wouldn’t know. She won’t let me. She believes it’s a form of sexual transgression.”
“Did you think about her?” She questioned. “When your tongue was buried inside of me, did she ever cross your mind?”
Guilt filled him, “Not once.”
She smiled, releasing his tie from her grasp, and began to work on extracting him from his perfectly crisp, white button up until he was left in nothing but his sacred garments. 
She slowly eyed him up and down, “Keep the top on. I want you to remember exactly what your betraying as you fuck me.” 
She sank to her knees, pulling down his underwear with her. His cock sat against his left thigh, hard and in need of attention. Her nails dragged along his sensitive, delicate skin. When she reached the tip of his cock, she carefully pushed a nail into the soft flesh while he hissed in pain. She left a crescent moon imprint behind which she quickly leaned down to kiss better. It was her harsh reminder that even if she was on her knees for him, she was still the one calling the shots.
He quite liked how the pain made him feel but he was too nervous to ask for more.
Her throat relaxed as she slipped him between her lips. He skimmed over her warm tongue with little jerking movements from his hips to push himself deeper into her. He wanted to reach out and grab her hair but was afraid to touch her. Instead, he balled his hands up at his side, digging his nails into his palm to try and elicit a bit more pain. It wasn’t the same as when she inflicted it. 
Her head bobbed with an expertise that could only be brought from years of practice. It made his own oral skills seem novice and weak in comparison. His head leaned back as he stared at the ceiling, looking straight through it, and up into the heavens. There was no celestial kingdom up there. There was no God looking down on him. His heaven was right here in this room. His God was on her knees with her lips wrapped around his cock. This was the true meaning of life.
Jeb moaned out her name. Not Daisy. Not her stage name. Her real name. The one he kept locked up in a file in his desk. The name he would slowly stroke his finger over as he spent his late nights searching through his notes. The name only people who loved her were allowed to use. 
She froze. 
His cock fell from her lips and she stared up at him with a playful vengeance. 
“What was that, detective?” She asked, her voice low and dangerous, but hiding an impish undertone. “I know I didn’t hear what I think I just did.”
He ran a hand over his face, too overwhelmed to be thinking straight, “Daisy. I meant Daisy.”
“You think you know me?” She got to her feet, wiping her bottom lip with her thumb. “You think you know the real me? Because I know the real you, Jeb, but do you know me?”
A heated red tint blushed across his cheeks, “I…don’t know…” 
“Of course you don’t. Are you ever sure about anything in your life?” She raised a curious eyebrow at him. “I’m sure of most things that I do and say and believe. Can you say the same?”
He shook his head, “No. I can’t.”
She flashed him a poignant smile, “Name one thing you are 100% sure of right this very second.” 
Jeb licked his lips. He knew.
“I am certain that I want to kiss you. Certain that I want to tear that dress from your body. And I’m certain that I want to throw you over this bed and fuck you like you deserve.” 
“Then let go, detective. Give in. Become the animal you’ve always repressed. What are you waiting for?”
It was all the release he needed. 
His fingers wrapped around her wrist to drag her against his body. His lips crashed down onto hers as he held her in his arms with a steellike grip. She didn’t kiss him back, so much as, surrendered her mouth to him. Her body went nearly limp and he kept her on her feet with his own strength. Her surrender brought forth a rush of devoted emotions and blind, sexual desire turning him into the beast he longed to become. He seized at her hair, tugging, pulling, wildly gripping, and attacked her mouth like it was the holy spirit he sought to believe in. She shuddered before his onslaught and melted into him. The more he reached for, the more he stole, the more she wanted it. She was driving him insane with an unrestrained passion of pure lust. He pitied any man who didn’t fall to his knees to worship her like the goddess she was. Her mouth was a sin that he wanted to violate. 
Jeb violently grabbed at the straps of her sundress, nearly ripping them off, as he tore them down her body. The dress thumped to the floor to leave her completely naked and exposed. She didn’t flinch away. She didn’t try to hide and play with her coy modesty. She stood proudly before him exactly how a goddess should hold herself before a mortal man. 
He slid his hands up her sides, grazing over the swell of her breasts, feasting on them with his eyes. He ran his thumbs over her nipples, pinching and flicking, while he attacked her mouth once more. She parted her lips to submit his tongue into her depths, sucking on it and twirling it around her mouth. Whenever he pinched her gorgeous nipples between his fingers, she would let out the most delicious moan and thrust her chest against his palms. His heart was racing with a pace that might kill him if he didn’t force himself to breath. His head was spinning in a dizzying whirlwind of thrill. 
Jeb sank down and lowered his head to capture her nipple between his teeth, lashing at it with his tongue, listening to the gospel choir of whimpering moans coming out of her. She had shoved her nail into the head of his cock so he took a mouthful of her flesh, just under her beautifully darkened areola, and bit down hard. He had never bitten his wife in his life. He liked the way it felt as he tumbled deeper into his own carnal depravity. He wanted to defile her body and join her in their mutual corruption. 
She arched her back, letting out a gasping shriek and letting it tumble down into a slurry of cooing whimpers, “Oh, Jeb. Yes. Yes.” 
A circle of intended teeth marks, glistening with his saliva, shone proudly back at him. He liked marking her skin, claiming her as his own. It felt animalistic. Primal. A growl ripped from his throat, he was sick with lust, feverish and sweaty, panting with need. He grabbed at her hips and spun her around, pushing his hand between her shoulder blades to shove her face first into the mattress. Her ankles spread wide to allow him to have easy access. 
He took a stumbling step back to admire the sight. Her pussy was glistening and spread open in wait for him. Beads of sweat dotted along her back down her spine. Her ass was sticking upwards, parted, so he could see her tight, little hole. She looked more ready to be fucked than anyone he’d ever seen. His wife had never presented herself to him like this. He imagined her splayed out in this same position and gave a breathless laugh. He could hardly even create a mental picture in his mind, it was so improbable. 
“Something funny back there, asshole?” 
Jeb gave a dark laugh in response, “Just the neverending joke that is my life.” 
He lined the head of his cock up to her pussy, coating the tip in her slick, and bumping it back and forth over her clit. 
Murder. Denying the Holy Spirit. Adultery. 
Three of the worst things a good Mormon man could ever commit.
He’d already knocked denying the holy spirit off his list…might as well add another. 
He sunk his cock into her. Steady and true. She let out an exhale and he watched her head tilt back to enjoy the sensation. So hot. So tight. Perfection. She was here to be fucked. Here to take his cock.
“That’s it,” he breathed. 
He felt no shame. It was unusual for a Mormon not to feel shame but, tonight, buried balls deep in this woman, he felt nothing but relief. This was everything his body needed. He wanted fast and rough. He wanted to take her from behind with a feral abandon. He wanted to do all the things he wasn’t allowed to do until he was gripped with satisfaction. 
Jeb grabbed her hips for leverage and began his awakening. Tonight, he was becoming a new man. He fucked her with quick, short thrusts that slammed into her. Her ass slapped against his stomach with each pound. She filled the room with the sounds of her gasps and erotic moans. Depending on how hard he rammed into her, she’d even let out little shrieks. He liked those sounds best. They made him fuck her harder, dragging out his full length, then smacking back into her. Possessing her body. Over and over and over.
He didn’t even care that he wasn’t wearing a condom. Those were problems for later Jeb. Present Jeb had everything he could ever need. 
Sweat dripped down his forehead. Ragged, heavy, heaving breaths tumbled from his lips. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, jerking her upwards, so he could feel her body against his. She arched her back with her head rolling against his. He inhaled the scent of her hair fusing with the musk of their sex. He fumbled his hands around to capture her breasts, feeling the weight of them in his hands, her rock hard nipples dragging across his palm. She reached an arm around the side of his head to hold her steady from the onslaught of vigor his hips were causing her. 
“Oh, fuck, Jeb!” She cried. “You needed this, baby. You needed this to happen. Let go. Let it all out. Give me everything you’ve got. Don’t hold back.”
Jeb whimpered out a sob in response, sounding pathetic even to his own ears. All he wanted was someone to listen, someone to take care of him, someone to understand. 
He tumbled them both against the side of the mattress, falling on top of her. Her head turned, leaning against the covers, so he could shower the side of her face with wet, tear stained kisses. He nibbled on her earlobe, lapped his tongue at the corner of her lips, and dragged his teeth along the edge of her jaw. She was made to be devoured. His hips hammered with an agonizing precision into her heat. They were trapped in a hurricane, holding onto each other for dear life, as the maelstrom of building emotions swept them away. 
He could feel her clenching down around him. He knew she was close. He was, too, but he wanted her to cum first. His goddess deserved to reach euphoria before he did. His hand slipped down her side and wedged itself between her hips and the mattress to find a home between the slick fire of her lips. She whined, bucking her hips, the moment he found her clit, tormenting it with his fingers. 
“Cum for me,” his raspy, lust drunk voice growled in her ear. “Let me feel you unravel on my cock.”
Her body shook. Waves rippled over her skin with each hard pound of his cock into her. He could feel her tightening. Clenching. Gripping. A mangled yelp tore from her throat. When she orgasmed, she gave him everything. Her entire body surrendered to him. It burst from her with everything she could give. Her eyes widened, her mouth parted in a silent shriek, her spine arched. Like a demon possessing her body, she writhed under him with jerking, frantic thrusts. He wrapped his arms around her, collecting her tightly against him, to try and hold her together so she didn’t combust into the flames of Hell. 
He let out a whimper as he desperately tried to hold off his own orgasm. He wanted to let her ride out her ecstasy on cock without him cumming inside of her. 
Her legs gave out and she sunk onto her knees, letting him slip out of her, “I got you, baby. I’wan’taste you. Use me.” 
Without missing a beat, she ushered him straight out of her pussy and into her wet, waiting mouth. His eyes closed as his head fell back. He let out a long, drawn out moan. His hand found her hair, no longer feeling nervous to touch her or manipulate her how he pleased. He helped push her forward to take more and more of him. He wasn’t going to last much longer. 
She let him slide down her throat, relishing his cock with her tongue, tasting herself on his tender flesh. He balled a fistful of her hair into his grasp. 
“I’m-I’m-I” he stuttered out, not able to finish the sentence, but she got to the hint. 
Her pace quickened. Her suction around him tightened. He felt himself tense up before an explosion of dopamine flooded his brain with a loud cry of pleasure. 
She straightened her back, moaning softly, as she swallowed down the hot spurts of his semen. Her fisted hand continued to massage his shaft while her mouth tended diligently to his crown. 
Jeb’s mouth hung open, tears flowed freely down his face, and he eventually managed to stumble backwards away from her. He crashed into the back wall and slid down to his ass, shaking. 
She crawled across the floor to drape herself into his lap. His arms snaked around her, thankful for having something to hold onto. His mind felt like he was floating away. His body felt amazing but his emotions were in turmoil. She stroked her fingers through his hair and left soft kisses along his neck. 
He had done it. There was no going back now. 
“It’s okay, baby,” she murmured against his sweat stained skin, as if reading his mind. “You did what you had to do. Sometimes your body knows better than your brain. It was telling you what it needed. It’s just like taking a spoonful of medicine to fight off a cold. There are times when you need to give in and give your body what it craves.” 
He craved her. Daisy. And everything that she represented. Even at this moment, after he had already had her, after he had given in, he should be feeling horror, disgust, shame, but he only wanted more of her. That’s why the tears were freely flowing. Not because he was humiliated by his sins but because he wanted more. 
This was the life he wanted to live. He had gotten a taste, a spoonful, of the other side. A side he could never have. A side he would always be reaching for but never able to obtain due to the religion he was trapped in. His priorities had to remain elsewhere. He had family to care for. Children to raise. He was their only hope for a different future. He would never allow Rebecca to take his kids from him. He would do whatever he needed to keep her docile and oblivious. He could save his children from the inside, even if that meant selling his soul to a God he didn’t believe in. 
Everything was so clear to him now. There was no more confusion. No more doubt. 
Daisy and his green light. 
The inability to ever reach what he truly desired. 
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A/N: If you dare to ask me to write a part two and you don't reblog detailing in great detail everything you liked and enjoyed about this story, then I will curse your entire family and block you. No one gets to ask for a part two without doing their damn part and reblogging first xoxo
Tagging some people who seemed like they might be interested in this smutty lil fic: @moonyslove78 @raindropsandteaandtears @withahappyrefrain @lxinesux @liz-allyn (i dont care if youre hardly on tumblr anymore liz i will tag you in everything i do until the end of time deal with it)
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liz-allyn ¡ 27 days
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I feel this deeply
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Andrew please, come out of your cave, we miss you 🥺😭
(X)
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liz-allyn ¡ 1 month
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sugar and vice, pt. 2
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liz-allyn ¡ 2 months
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You both are the wind in my hair
love on the brain: sugar & vice, vol 2 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!OC]
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summary: You didn’t think it was going to be easy, did you? AKA The night Peter and Honey reunited—Four. Months. Later. [mob!peter parker x oc!MJ] 
words: 11.8k (omfg)
NSFW/MINORS DNI - ABANDON ALL CHASTITY, YE WHO ENTER HERE (detailed warnings below)
extended warnings (spoilers): p^rn with plot, detailed smut, really just... filthy and deranged. slightly dubcon parts (although consent is clearly confirmed), no Y/N...ever, arguing, anger, jealousy, physical violence (slapping, scratching, throwing objects), almost hate sex, fem!reader with a vagina and breasts and wears a dress, oral (f! receiving), P in V, rough!dom Peter, sub!reader, possessive!peter, mirrors, titty!worship, shame and slight degradation, use of emojis, f! being restrained, discussion of masturbation, slight breeding kink, non-consensual voyeurism, moderate BDSM kink, “punishment” play (spanking, edging) bratty reader, peter parker being a dunce around women, mob!au, furniture harmed in the making of this
names used: daddy, princess, baby, babygirl
A/N: This is a one-shot standalone story that takes place immediately after the Epilogue of Vol 1. And serves as the official beginning of Vol. 2. If you haven’t read Vol.1, you really should. The main OC is AFAB and goes by the name “Honey.” You’ll need to read Vol. 1 to know why.  I try to be loose with my descriptions for people who prefer a Reader-Insert. But I’m not perfect. In this canon, Honey has a Latina heritage (as do I). Take that as you will. Thanks to @moonyslove78 and @blooming-violets for cheering me on through this very long hiatus. 
This is 18+ AF. And if you think the term ‘AF’ shows how old and out of touch you are, then you’re probably not old enough to read this.
This version of TASM Peter Parker is not canon. The relationships here are not healthy and the characters need therapy. Don’t date a mob boss IRL.
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#1 - Love on the Brain
>>> heya boss. how’s your trip? 😜
Peter arched a brow as he peeked down at the text message.
>>> ⋯ >>> your trip to pound town? 🍆🍑 
He rolled his eyes, swallowing back an irritated snort.
Real mature, Felicia. 
He almost tapped out a haughty reply but stopped. Corners of his mouth turned down, he found himself unable to respond.
“So many choices. I just don’t know what I want.”
An understatement.
The girl of his dreams sat across from him in the quaint East Harlem Cuban restaurant. They were crammed together at a bistro table near the kitchen. The enormous menu took up the entire surface, and she had spent the last 25 minutes reading the items aloud. 
It was nearly 11 p.m., and they had yet to pick an appetizer. 
The woman he’d called ‘his Honey’ sweetly sighed with a shrug. “Now that we’re here, I just can’t make up my mind.” 
Her voice had a singsong tune to it, purposefully careless. Blissfully ignorant of the fact that Peter was starving.
“Maybe I’m just not feeling Cuban food tonight,” she shrugged, nonchalant.
Peter swallowed hard. Tried to rid his expression of any hint of impatience or irritation. 
“Oh,” he remarked delicately, thinking of all the different dinner reservations he’d made for tonight. It didn’t matter what magazine talked it up, didn’t matter how many “tire awards” it had won. 
Honey was unimpressed. 
“M’surprised,” he said, as emotionlessly as possible. “Thought you had your heart set on this place.”
The place was one of those hole-in-the-wall joints that had less than 10 tables, which made takeout the most popular choice. 
On this night however—a Tuesday— the restaurant was nearly empty, except for the overdressed couple and the loathsome kitchen staff, who didn’t expect to be subject to “este cabrón” and his picky girlfriend strolling in 30 minutes before closing. 
While Peter could feel the heat of their ire over the oven, Honey avoided it. She explained to the manager that Peter was “un ricacho que tiene demasiado dinero.” And with that, they were seated.
When Peter approached her earlier that afternoon in the park, he’d expected a much worse welcome. He nearly died of a panic attack when he spotted her on the park bench. It had been four long months since he’d attempted to communicate with her, and he half-expected her to throw her iced coffee in his face. 
Actually, he had no idea what to expect from her. Terrifyingly.
Peter had lamented to Felicia— “There’s no card that says, ‘Sorry, I ghosted you for a few months while attempting to shake the heat off my back.’ Which flowers say, ‘I apologize that the last conversation we had, I called you a whore in front of a room full of cops’?”
The true challenge came when Peter actually looked into her eyes. He didn’t expect that one look would render him useless. 
She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Ethereal. Glowing. The human equivalent of a bouquet of sunflowers, with happy round cheeks and her hair tied back in a ponytail. She was the color of rainbows, and summer, and sunshine. She was the cherries of her red lip stain and the golden rays of her yellow linen sundress.
God, that dress. 
Peter planned for everything—but not that dress. 
His carefully rehearsed speech went out the window when he saw her in that dress: a cotton ruched-waist, tea-length gown in a yellow gingham pattern. It featured a sweetheart neckline that cradled her breasts perfectly between the halter tie-back straps. 
He had no idea where that dress came from, but it was the most perfect piece of fabric ever to grace a woman’s body. He would buy her twelve more of them, no matter the cost. He’d buy every last one.
He’d give her the sun, the ocean, Hawai’i, and all the stars in the sky— if only she’d forgive him. He was ready to throw himself on a bed of hot coals as long as it meant that she would take him back. If she would come back home.
Truthfully, he needed her to come home.
Not to get ahead of himself, he started by taking her to dinner. 
That was Felicia’s advice—women love dinner. solves everything. the fancier, the better, with lots of red meat—u know how they say food is the way to a man’s heart? dinner is the way to the ovaries. works every time.
Actually, Felicia gave Peter lots of advice. For once, he was more than grateful to accept it. 
>>> make her feel like you can’t take your eyes off her. but don’t stare. like a creeper  >>> be a gentleman, but not a pushover. you wanna be the good guy. soft YA novel boyfriend type
Followed quickly by—
>>> but not too soft! don’t be a little bitch. if she plays hard to get, you play offense.  >>> and defense.
Peter had no idea what she was talking about. But he knew when it was wise to trust the advice of more intelligent creatures than men.
Five restaurants later...
“I thought going to dinner was your idea?” Honey asked with pursed lips.
“It was; it was my idea,” he nervously replied. “Six hours ago—it was my idea.”
She narrowed her eyes to slits. “Hmm. Six hours. Long time to wait.” Her eyes fell down to the menu again. Her lack-of-sympathy said everything.
Peter’s pocket buzzed again, and he glanced down at the incoming text message from Felicia.
>>> ...???? 
He rolled his eyes. Tapped out a response.
<<< Not great.
“Am I interrupting something?” Honey asked with a clipped tone.
Peter jumped, pocketing his phone immediately. “No, just... just something... silly,” he muttered. “How ‘bout we get a few plates in, yeah? I’m gonna just order some stuff—”
“Like what?” she questioned skeptically.
“I don’t know,” Peter shrugged, his stomach twisting. “One of everything.”
“That’s wasteful,” Honey said, judgment sharpening her gaze. “Food waste is bad enough as it is in this city.”
“Well, at this point,” he snapped with an exasperated sigh, “I might be able to eat two of everything.” The words floated away from him, and he bit the inside of his cheek, wishing they would come back. Hesitantly, he made eye contact with Honey.
She peered at him disgustedly from over the top of her menu. She scoffed, crossing one leg over the other, and dropped the leather-bound book closed. 
“Don’t let me slow you down,” Honey said icily. “I’m not that hungry anyway.”
Peter’s eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. His pocket buzzed again. 
>>> the fuck? what do you mean?  >>> she was in love with you b4... how hard can it be to take her on a date?  >>> christ. did you fuck this up, parker?
He shoved the phone back in his jacket, nearly punching through the silk fabric. 
“If I’m wasting your time, tell me,” Honey sharply retorted. She crossed her arms even tighter across her chest. He had to force himself to look away from the way it plumped her breasts together. “I’d hate to keep you from something important.”
Felicia was right. He was fucking this up. Before he could open his mouth—
“Excuse me, señorita,” a masculine, smoky voice crooned at them. 
Peter and Honey glanced up to see a chiseled man in his 30s approach the table with a hurricane glass of ice. He was a specimen of Latin American art—a bronzed statue, with carved muscles that bulged out of his floral shirt. Deep brown eyes—no, hazel eyes— fixed on Honey as he reached across the table with rolled-back sleeves. The corded muscles in his arm, toned by long hours of hard labor, flexed gracefully as he gently set a cocktail in front of her. 
A frosted, colorless liquid speckled with crushed mint leaves filled the glass. Honey blinked with delighted surprise.
“Our compliments,” the young, disgustingly attractive waiter explained with a sultry smile and a thick accent. “In case you found yourself thirsty while browsing the menu.” 
A blush colored her skin as she glanced up at their handsome waiter. The sparkle in her smile was as blinding as ever, and she graciously looked back between the glass and the server.  The waiter— no way in hell this fuckin’ guy is a waiter— beamed back at her, enamored. 
“Oh, wow!” she gasped, reaching for the glass with dainty fingers. “Is this a mojito? That’s my favorite! How did you know?”
The waiter graciously chuckled. “Lucky guess. You look like a woman of refined taste.”
Peter felt his blood pressure rising.
Honey didn’t even look at her date, as if he was suddenly invisible. “Thank you,” she grinned, self-satisfied. “I mean, I do know my way around a Bacardi bottle.” The waiter chuckled, maybe too hard, at her silly joke.
“We want you to enjoy your evening with us,” the waiter added politely, sparing Peter a glance but keeping all his attention on Honey. “We are honored to have you as our guest.” 
The waiter spoke gentlemanly as he splayed his long fingers across his chest. “Please, take as much time as you need. No need to feel rushed. It is my pleasure to serve you.” 
Peter could feel a twitch behind his eye. Could have been the fire shooting out of his eyes. Fuck this prick, probably another Broadway reject or somethin’, couldn’t buy himself a decent shirt—His mind churned along with his anger.
Oblivious, Honey beamed up at him with a golden smile. “Thank you so much for saying that,” she replied, endearingly sweet. “You are too kind, um... I’m sorry, what was your name again?” 
“Pedro.”
Honey’s brows shot to her hairline. “Pedro?” she repeated, absolutely delighted. She glanced over at Peter. “Isn’t that something?”
The mob boss’ lip curled mirthlessly. “Oh, it’s somethin,’ alright.” 
Peter continued to burn his stare—fuck his stupid accent— into the side of the aloof waiter’s head. He wondered if Pedro’s handsome, chiseled jawline was sharp enough to cut through a noose.
Buzz..
>>> you’re keepin’ your cool, right?  >>> remember what i said.  >>> anything she wants. no questions asked! >>> don’t get all crazy possessive either
The joyful sound of her laughter ripped his attention away from his phone and back towards his charmed date. 
“Pedro,” she sweetly preened. “Can you give us a recommendation?” She briefly flashed her eyes at Peter before looking back at her new friend. “My date’s clearly distracted. He has no idea what I like.” 
Oh? Peter raised a brow at that. And lost his appetite.
Peter followed Honey down the hallway to his hotel suite while storm clouds swirled in his gut. Lighting crackled with each footfall. Tension clogged the atmosphere, and they shuffled in a silent fog to the door.
Despite Felicia’s advice about controlling his inner beasts, Peter’s hackles were raised, and his stomach growled. Now, he was hungry for more than just food. And simultaneously, he’d never felt so powerless. 
Peter noted how tightly she wrapped her arms around herself. Her face suggested she was deep in thought. He wondered if she was just as tightly wound as he was. Wondered if she could break his heart with just a look.
He was flailing. Pathetic.
Peter’s fist clenched his keycard tight. He had to be careful not to snap the card in half between his fingers. Was it from excitement or terror? Desire or rage? 
He had to focus, to make this work. He had nothing if he didn’t have her. 
Rigidly, Peter pushed the door open and stood to the side of the frame to let her enter. 
She paused briefly, lips tight, as she gazed into the rotunda entryway of the lavish suite. They hadn’t spoken in the car, and he hadn’t had the chance to explain the location. 
Letting out a steady breath, she strode through the threshold and stopped. Her body blocked the doorway. She turned to look up at Peter, defiant eyes flashing.
“This is as far as you go.” 
Peter blinked, looking at her in confusion.
Her tone was curt. Icy. He recognized that sound. It was the tone of voice she used when she wanted to draw blood, and it never failed to inflict pain. Her voice. Her eyes. Even her tongue was razor-sharp.
Peter curled a brow upwards. “Sorry?” 
Honey narrowed her eyes. “Not yet, you’re not.” 
He took a step back, blinking owlishly. 
“What did you think was going to happen tonight, Peter?” The ire of Honey’s question sliced through him. “Did you think you were gonna shave your face, take me to a fancy dinner, and then I’d just... open my legs for you?”
A literal ellipsis formed in his mind. 
Peter swallowed hard. “Uhhh—?”
“‘I’ll wait for forever, Honey,’ she parroted his earlier admission mockingly. “Is that all you have to say to me? You left me! For four months!”
Peter nodded his head, not sure exactly why or when he began. “I know, I know...”
“You know!?”
The walls of etiquette and politeness between them began to crack.
“How many times I gotta tell ya? I was tryin’ to protect ya, Honey—”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
It stung like a snake bite. Rage filled her eyes, disdain bubbling out of her mouth. She had only just begun. 
“You buy me all this expensive bullshit!” she scolded. “And you dress up in your ridiculous designer suits and parade me to all these fucking pretentious places! Like I’m some kind of accessory! Like you own the whole fucking city and everyone in it!”
He replied with a string of noises. Or, at least, he thought so.
“Big bad mob boss—all that power—and yet, you couldn’t just talk to me? You had me wait around for you like a stray dog! You can just come and go as you please, but you—you expect me to follow you around on a leash?”
“Honey, please. Let me explain—”
“I don’t want to hear it, Peter!” her voice echoed through the rotunda and down the hall of the hotel. “I don’t want to hear a single one of your lame excuses! I don’t want a fancy dinner, or a new Porsche, or a mansion, or whatever else makes your dick hard!”
Peter blinked rapidly, stunned. His body responded as if she had just kicked him in the place she referenced, “Jus’lemme—”
“And I sure as hell don’t want another apology!” she asserted definitively. “I don’t want you anywhere near me!” 
Peter’s jaw hung open, tongue dead in his mouth. The woman who barely stood at his collarbone stared down at him, making him feel inches tall. 
“Now, I’m going to bed. Exactly as I have been for the last four months.” Her voice thundered, “Alone!”
With that, the door slammed in his face, rattling inches from his nose. The echo reverberated through the empty hallway and inside his chest, emphasizing the deep crack that formed.
Peter let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. The shock subsided slowly, and his heart sank. The ache soon sizzled into a burn, boiling his blood. At the same time, the sting of her rejection was raw. Unbearable.
Unbelievable.
Absolutely unacceptable. 
He should break down the fucking door. Throw her over his shoulder and tie her up. Gag her—Anything to get her to listen.
Haplessly, Peter’s eyes fell on his expensive shoes—his Valentinos. Or maybe these were the Tom Ford’s? He had no clue. Just more bullshit.
Fuck—He was going to cry. Maybe he should let himself just do it. Lean into it. Drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness. Shoulders slumped, he squeezed his eyes closed. 
He was a little bitch.
Peter pictured a door closing on a rocket or an airplane. Whatever it was, it was leaving him behind. He was falling back to Earth, having placed too much faith in miracles. This was his punishment for flying that close to the sun—
The door swung open. 
Two hands grabbed Peter’s jacket, pulling him forward off his heels. It was a surprisingly fluid motion; his heartbreak had reduced the mass of his bones to nothing. 
Honey’s nails practically pierced his lapels. She yanked him through the doorway into the suite, slamming the door behind him, and slamming him into the door right after.
Before Peter could open his mouth to speak, she was on him like a viper.
A sharp, biting kiss swallowed him whole, stealing the oxygen from his lungs. The heat was as intense as he had remembered. This time, they didn’t melt into one another. Honey was like a wildfire, her touch scalding him. 
His skin flushed from the sudden unbearable heat. Before he could react, her lithe fingers started tugging the edges of his jacket. Clumsily, she tried pushing it back over his broad shoulders. As soon as he knew of her intent, he eagerly obliged, shrugging the garment off and to the floor. 
Her hands went to his throat, ebony-painted nails leaving trails on his skin. Buttons popped as she yanked on his clothes. Her goal could have been to draw blood with her kiss.
Every time her teeth tore at his lips, he responded with a groan into her mouth.
Clumsy, he fumbled with his fingers—reaching up to grip her by the hair. Finally, he wrenched her head back, detaching her bite from his face.
Immediately, he was met with an open-palmed slap on the cheek.
Sharp gasps cut through them, and they jumped backward a few feet. Tension and shock reverberated in the chasm they created. Like the barometric pressure plunging before a storm, an eerie calm settled over them. 
Honey blinked at him, jaw agape and her palm throbbing. 
Peter glared at her in silence. He looked a mess—hair unkempt, the top buttons of his shirt torn open to reveal jagged crimson scratch marks across his milky skin.
His heartbeat steadily increased as he gently dabbed his fingertips at the ache in his jaw. The exquisite lines of his face were stained pastel pink, flushed by arousal or anger. His eyes were black as night, so it could have been either one.
She looked just as wrecked. Dress askew, her hairstyle half-unraveled. Goosebumps dotted her skin. She looked shocked at the violence she was capable of, surprised and possibly guilty at her own strength. As the seconds passed, the feelings faded.
Peter watched her, pupils dilating, blood pressure rising. The shadow of a smile curved his mouth. His features darkened into something primal. Something familiar.
There’s my girl.
Slowly, he lowered his hand, studying her threatening look until his own expression began to match.
Physically, his senses were haywire. Danger, excitement, and a sick sort of pleasure rattled his bones and labored his breathing. The hairs on his skin stood on end. Alarms blared in his head. The sound of his own blood was almost deafening to him, thumping like a kick drum. 
Peter could hear her heart, too. Fast. Like a rabbit. He was a wolf in pursuit. 
Maybe the pain of her slap triggered him, a preemptive action against further attack.
She got one in, Peter mused mockingly. He knew she was no match. Not as Peter’s night vision sharpened. Not while he could taste the salt from her perspiration on his tongue. Most intoxicating of all, Peter could smell her desire. Like a rose bursting open.
In another blink, they switched positions. Peter snatched her by her shoulders and slammed her back into the wall, pinning her there. She went feral—hissing and raging at her entrapment.
Not a rabbit. A honey badger, then.
“Get off of me!” Honey spat.
“Shut up,” he ordered. Quiet and fierce.
Fingers gripping her forearms tight, he attacked her lips, teeth colliding. The ferocity stunned her. For a moment, it seemed like she finally submitted to him before she wriggled her mouth free.
“Mmffucker—Let me go!”
His body might as well have been a brick wall. His face was stonelike, eyes just as cold. 
“No.” 
Honey’s brow scrunched up like a petulant child throwing a tantrum. “I’ll scream!” she countered.
Peter smirked, the hickory in his eyes igniting. “Baby. You have no idea.”
Peter’s guarantee sent a shiver down Honey’s spine. He saw the gears turning in her mind as she carefully considered pushing him further. 
He hoped she would. 
His fingers tightened around her forearms. He crucified her under his gaze. And yet, despite the danger anyone else would have felt... A glimmer of curiosity flickered in her eyes.
It set his mind reeling. A tiny sign of weakness to temptation made Peter’s stomach trapeze. He zeroed in on it, licking his chops. 
Not to make it easy, Honey brought her knee up, attempting to make contact with his groin. There was nearly a foot of difference between their heights, and she paid it no mind.
Brave girl. 
Peter admired her tenacity. She had balls. Smart, too, he pleasantly recognized. Honey went for the weak spot first. Good call. 
Pointless, though. 
Nothing below Peter’s belt was weak when she was around.
Unfairly, Peter picked up on her attack before her leg was even bent. He snatched her above the knee, lifting her toes off the ground and prying her thighs open. 
He pictured the bruises on her skin that his fingertips would leave behind. Just the thought made him rock hard. 
A year ago, Peter would have been ashamed. He would have shied away from her, for fear of repulsing her, and took out his frustration by himself in the shower. 
Grinding his teeth at those memories, he pressed Honey’s hips into his waist, forcing her legs around him, and—Fuck—her heat.
Peter’s brain nearly short-circuited. She was like a bonfire against his belly. His cock pushed against his trousers, straining for her warmth. He secured her hips to his with a tight grip, which only pissed her off more. She thrashed, enraged. 
She really needed to stop doing that. It only made the burn worse. 
A few months ago, Peter would have been ashamed of the rush he felt from manhandling her. Ashamed of how his cock ached and twitched at her fruitless tantrums.
“Fucking asshole!” Honey sneered.
“Yeah?” he said with a bitter laugh. “You're a spoiled little brat!”
“Fuck you!”
“See what I mean?” Peter scoffed, holding her tighter. He breathed hotly into the shell of her ear. “Not even a ‘please.’” 
His pride was short-lived. Inexplicably, Honey arched her neck and buried her teeth into his shoulder. He roared—“Fuck! What the fuck!!??” —surprised she didn’t bite through the silk of his collared shirt.
Apparently, he wasn’t the only beast in the room.
They tumbled down ungracefully. Peter landed hard on his back, with Honey crashing on top of him. She collapsed on his lungs, knocking the wind from his chest. Sputtering, he reached out to grab her, his fingertips barely missing the hem of her dress. The small woman scrambled to her hands and knees, then to her feet. 
Honey dashed into the suite while Peter’s voice echoed—“Goddamnitareyacrazy!?”—after her. 
Padding on her toes, she ran into a darkened living room with vaulted ceilings that might have been large enough to fit her entire apartment. Outside glass walls, the Midtown skyline surrounded her. The Metlife and Empire State Buildings glittered proudly in a breathtaking view.
The room was situated in the corner of the building. Velvet curtains framed the floor-to-ceiling windows, providing an unobstructed view of the city. The Dark Academia-Meets-Glam aesthetic seating area featured a sleek, modern leather sectional and mod velvet chaise lounge chat set. 
Without time to admire any of it, she scrambled to the first piece of furniture she could reach. She grabbed the first thing her fingers could find—a designer fruit bowl centerpiece made of polished stainless steel and brass pomegranates. 
It was exquisite and expensive. 
Honey spun on her heel and flung the heavy metal at Peter.
He dipped deftly, his spine bowing back, narrowly missing the bowl as it whipped past him. The object barreled through a crystal chandelier, glass shattering like raindrops as they came down.
“Hey—!” he scowled, facing her with an indignant glare.
A moment later, he quickly shielded his face from another flying object: an asymmetrical crystal-and-Riverstone candelabra that crumbled against his forearm. It might as well have been a brick, with ceramic shards tumbling off of his shoulder. 
Peter bristled in aggravation, brushing the pieces off. Now, she was really pissing him off.
He glanced up just in time to see a glass vase containing two dozen roses—meant to be her gift—hurtling towards his head. Reflexively, he snatched it from the air with one hand, water and all. He palmed the crystal vase like catching a baseball. Didn’t spill a drop. 
His quick reflexes stunned the both of them. Peter’s jaw went slack—partially at his ability to save the flowers, but mostly with indignation that Honey had somehow destroyed $1,000 worth of the hotel’s tchotchkes in a few seconds. 
“Enough!” Peter barked, carefully setting the vase down. Ignoring him, the woman darted toward another side table, already reaching for another expensive object to throw at him. 
Suddenly, Honey’s ankle was caught in a sticky grip. Both legs pulled out from beneath her. She flattened immediately with an ooof—her belly dropping to the wool carpet. 
Dazed, she glanced back at her legs with a crease in her brow. With a jolt, she was pulled along by a stringy, spongy substance on her ankle. It felt the way canned compressed air feels when shooting skin at close range. 
Her nails dug into the carpet fibers as she was dragged back. “Agghhh! What the—Getitoff!” 
As soon as the pulling stopped, Honey was on her back again, gazing up at the sharp lines of Peter’s cold gaze. He towered over her, even on his knees, as he mounted her hips. Protesting, she pelted him tirelessly with her fists.
The smell of sweat loomed in the air as he finally restrained her. He caged her in, pinning her wrists to the floor. Nerves buzzing and tempers flaring, she continued to writhe and wrestle with him to no avail. Peter quickly overpowered the more petite woman, fomenting her anger. 
“You’re hurting me!” she sneered breathlessly, teeth gritted. 
Peter was unimpressed. “Liar.”
“M’not lying—!”
He glared back, barely breaking a sweat. “You’re so full of shit—!”
“Fuck you! What do you know—?”
“I know you, Honey!” he charged, silencing her. 
She went still, subdued beneath his dark gaze. Peter loomed over her like a stormcloud. “I know the games you like to play,” he said—both teasing and sinister, toying with his prey. He lowered his lips until they breathed the same air. 
Honey’s focus was split between Peter’s intense stare and glistening, kiss-ravaged mouth. She tried not to notice the sensation of her nipples brushing against the fabric with each labored breath. He could easily reach down and touch her. Tried not to focus on how solid his chest felt against hers, like carved marble. Tried not to focus on the dark chocolate of his eyes melting in the heat of their gaze. 
Just as intensely, Peter watched her watch him—zeroing in on the idle way her tongue darted to wet her lips. The tiny action shot electricity down his spine, straight to his groin. 
Honey felt that, too. A tiny gasp escaped her, her lashes fluttering. The fight suddenly left her arms as she noticed the heavy bulge against her hip. 
He was hot. Not just figuratively. Feverishly hot. He was so hard, too—and just for her. The lewd image of him splitting her open on his cock made her insides clench. 
Peter eyed her dangerously, his voice a dark abyss. “Think you can hide it from me, eh?” The teasing smile on his lips bordered on a snarl. “Gonna sit here an’tell me... that if I were to reach down between your legs right now...” Her heart hammered in her chest, hanging on every word. In her mind, she was begging him to follow through with the threat. “...Those panties won’t be soaked?” 
Honey failed to swallow back a little mewl as he leaned down closer.
“Ya think I can’t feel ya, huh?” he mumbled, lips ghosting the curve of her throat. “Think I can’t smell how wet you are right now?” Another wanton exhale left her belly as she leaned into the heat of his breath on her skin. “Y’know I can already taste you on my tongue, babygirl.”
Honey’s mouth and legs seemed to part further at his vulgar words. She shivered at the sensation of his slick tongue traversing her pulse point.
“You’re... an asshole...” she murmured breathlessly. She sounded half-asleep.
Peter hissed, “And you’re a needy little slut, aren't’cha?” 
The sudden ferocity made her eyes unintentionally roll back. A second later, Peter’s fingers collared her, choking off the small mewl in her throat. He turned her by the chin, wrenching her attention to him. 
“Hey—Eyes on me,” he commanded.
Mesmerized, Honey blinked up at him like a fawn.
“How ‘bout that little stunt you pulled with the waiter?” he prodded. There was an icy edge on the last word. Her throat bobbed while she kept her face neutral. The bright amber of his glare penetrated her. Peter continued accusatorily, “Those flirty little giggles while he gave ya fuck-me eyes? Y’think I didn’t see that?”
Honey sniffed, stiffening her upper lip. This was a power move; she knew better than to back down. “Look who's jealous,” she scoffed. 
With a jolt, she again attempted to wrench her wrists free. He simply held on tighter, closing his talons as she twisted like a snake.
“Jealous?” Peter repeated calmly, narrowing his eyes into slits. “Me? Nah.” His hands suddenly seized her hips as he forcibly jerked her up off the floor. A slew of profanities spilled from her mouth, bucking against him as he carried her.
In a few strides, he was at the edge of a dining table. With little regard for his barbarity, he plopped Honey on the surface, shoving her flat on her back. Peter arched over her as if to dominate her, spine bowing until he filled her periphery with his fierce gaze. 
Honey’s eyes sparkled, cheeks colored from the rush. “Threatened, then!”
Peter’s face softened inexplicably. Blinked at her for a moment, head tilting. Then, he landed an open-palmed smack against her ass. 
It was a surprisingly heavy blow, as close as he’d ever come to intentionally inflicting pain on her. Honey yelped, hissing from the sting on her upper thigh. Right after the strike, Peter’s fingers began kneading her flesh, soothing the welt that was bound to form.
“See, if I were a jealous man,” he noted with an evil sneer, “I woulda gouged his eyes out with a salad fork.” 
Peter swallowed up her gasp with a forceful kiss. A few moments later, he broke away.
“If I felt threatened?” he added breathlessly, “I woulda bent you over the table and fucked you dumb. Let everyone in the Five Boroughs hear you beg for my cock.”
Once the filth rolled off his tongue, Peter went back to using it to lash against hers. Honey was overwhelmed by the soft, wet muscle invading her mouth. Not only that, the violent edge to his words felt like standing in a river and grabbing a livewire. A shiver racked through her body, a current of pent-up anger and desire sending blood rushing to her core.
As if on cue, Peter’s fingertips made contact with the lace fabric between her thighs. She tremored at his touch, heart skipping. He toyed with the soft, stretchy material. Snapped it lazily against her flesh.
His voice was hypnotizing. “I woulda shoved these dirty panties down his throat just to never hear his stupid fuckin’ accent again.”
Honey felt drunk off of the vitriol he poured into her ear. It was violent and possessive... and it shouldn’t have made her so horny, and yet—
Honey trembled with anticipation, panting like a bitch in heat. “I-I... can’t... ugh, fu—” 
The pads of his fingers ran firmly along her seam. She let out an embarrassing whine. Peter's prediction was spot-on. A shameful amount of wetness coated the inside of her thighs. He played with the soaked fabric and smeared her mess across her skin with a smug smirk.  
“Think I don’t know what you like?” he muttered darkly, echoing her earlier jab. 
RIP!
The lace bunched at her waist. Honey’s wet skin felt particularly chilled being exposed to the air. She quivered with anticipation. Her head was spinning, pussy throbbing. She felt worshiped and simultaneously defiled. 
Peter pressed his forehead into hers, skin-to-skin. She stared into the black of his eyes in suspended silence, like the pornographic thoughts in his head were being projected into her mind.
Her own pupils were blown black. “Fuckin’ hate you so much—”
“I don’t care.”
“—re’such an asshole—”
“I don’t care,” he repeated more firmly. Then, “You belong with me.”
“You left me!” she fired back.
The sharpness of her tone sobered him a little. He blinked and sighed. “I couldn’t leave you. I didn’t leave you.”
She attempted to sit up, trying to lift her shoulders unsuccessfully. She writhed with spite, “Fuckin’ selfish prick, I outta cut off—”
“What was my drink order?”
He blurted the last sentence out with a mind-blowing level of calm. At once, their bodies went still. Still pinned to the table with a hummingbird beneath her breast, Honey stared up at him in confusion. 
Her brows pinched together. “Huh—?”
“My drink order,” Peter repeated, his expression void of the aggression he had the previous moment. 
It was like a mask had fallen away, and the man on top of her transformed into a different person. Maliciousness evaporated, replaced by eagerness. Desperation. 
Peter stared at her, intently searching her gaze. “At the shop,” he whispered, eyes soft. “What you used to make for me every time I came t’see you..?” The words fell away as he stared at her expectantly. 
She arched a brow. 
It had been black coffee, bitter and dark. Just like Peter’s entire world. How it had always been. Until—
“You said I should try something new,” he added, with urgency like reminding her of a forgotten dream. “So you made something for me—something... special.”
Peter’s heart swelled through his eyes at the last word. Honey stared up at him, perplexed. He was looking for the answer on the tip of her tongue:
Honey and Lavender. 
Confusion ceded to aggravation. A line formed between Honey’s brows.
“You remember, right?” he asked, hopeful.
She did. He knew she did. He could see it at the corners of her eyes, pooling behind her eyelids. Sobering memories flooded her, cooling the heat between them. A different sort of ache settled in.
Reluctantly, she nodded.
He took a breath, relieved but still anxious. “Say those words,” he said, “if you really want me to stop.”
Her damp lashes fluttered as Honey blinked up at him in surprise. Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, he swallowed dryly. His stomach lurched at the thought of being sent away like this. 
Still, it was a risk he had to take. 
“I can let go, walk away,” he offered tenderly. “Right now. No questions asked.” Each word felt like sticking needles through his tongue. He gave her an out, needing confirmation that her reciprocated lust wasn’t imagined. 
“Say the words,” Peter whispered in lament, “and I’ll leave you alone.”
That word settled like a boulder crushing his chest.
Despite Peter’s heart telling him her rejection would be unbearable, the thought of truly harming her was more so. 
Honey studied him with thoughtful eyes, contemplative and curious. He had won. He subdued her. Restrained her. She remembered when he threw a piano like a toddler throwing a toy truck. 
She could do little to stop him if he wanted to force her. And yet—
There he is. 
This was the man she remembered. The one that was ready to die for her. To die by her hand, if that’s what she wanted. 
“Two words,” Peter sighed, his nose brushing against hers. It was a sweetly affectionate gesture. “Say the words, and this can end right n—”
Honey captured his lips, stealing his breath like it was her only source of oxygen. Static filled Peter’s ears, his body tensing and relaxing simultaneously. He was soaring and plummeting. Rising and falling. 
Her tongue slipped past his lips, dragging along the pad of his mouth. Soon enough, the sweetness melted off in their flames. 
Honey pulled her mouth away, barely able to get out her plea. “Touch me, Peter. Make me feel it.”
And she dove right back in. This time, Peter plunged with her, deep beneath the waves of lust. He sank into her current, dragging her with the tide of desire.
Peter’s hands were frantic travelers. Flitting from her wrists to her shoulders. To gently cup her face. To smooth over the mounds of her breasts. To dig his fingers into the linen fabric of the sweetheart neckline.
“Love this dress,” he idly mumbled between kisses, abusing the neckline. “Mmm—where’d ya say ya got it?”
“Oh…uhm—?”
The question caught her off guard. She blushed, brain foggy with lust. Her instinct was to say something like ‘thank you,’ but her tongue fumbled the words. “Uh... it was, I think, Old Navy—?”
A ripping sound shocked her. She squeaked as a flurry of cotton fibers burst from the top of the dress. 
Peter yanked the linen bodice apart like tissue paper, his tongue chasing away any protest from her lips. Gooseflesh broke out as her skin was exposed to the air. Driven by lust, he shoved the ruined material down to her waist. 
“Fuck, Peter...” she gasped, scandalized.
“Sorry,” he muttered, not sorry.
It was his turn to be greedy. Peter dug his hands beneath the cups of her bra, toying with the peaks of her breasts. 
With a snap, the bra was torn in half. The strength in Peter’s long fingers stunned her. Puzzling her as much as it turned her on.
He laved at her left breast with his tongue, drawing an obscene moan from her. His hand pinched sadistically at her right nipple. The delectable sting traveled from her chest to her cunt. She arched—”ughhh, god”—her spine bowing beautifully.
He held the cleft of her left breast delicately in his hand while lapping at the ridges of her peaked flesh. Warm tongue caressed the tip, drawing shapes and discovering pathways to her pleasure. Every little flick inspired something new. She cooed and twitched beneath him. He was desperate to memorize her taste. 
Languidly, he massaged each of her tits inside his mouth, his cock aching as he imagined licking her pussy with the same fervor. It was almost unbearable. A strangled moan vibrated through his chest at the picture in his mind. 
Her reaction to the sound came out as an agonized mewl. 
Oh.
He needed more of that sound.
Peter felt her push on his shoulders. Trying to wriggle away from his mouth. 
This time, he had no tolerance for misbehavior. He grabbed both wrists and forced them above her head. Honey yanked back, stunned at being glued down to the table surface by his palms. 
The peach of his pouty lips curved upward as his eyes took a turn ravishing her. She was a sight of wicked debauchery. Her hair was a mess, and her nearly-naked body lay across the table like a feast. Her thighs locked around his hips.
He used one hand to rub circles into the delicate skin of her restrained forearms. The other hand mischievously dipped lower and lower, sliding through her wet heat. Calloused, dexterous fingers spread her lips open, playing in her slick and prodding her tight hole. 
Honey was finished. Ruined. Past the point of no return. Unconditionally surrendered. Helpless and eager to subjugate herself to her conqueror. Filthy sounds filled the room, punctuated by weak cries from his new loyal subject.
“So pretty,” he sighed breathlessly as he coated his fingers in her cream. “All this for me, princess?” He cooed at her, edging on cruel.
A broken gasp fell from her lips, her chest pulsing involuntarily. 
“Aww, what’s the matter? Does this little pretty pussy ache, baby?”
A vortex formed deep in her belly, dragging her in. He licked his dry lips, salivating at the image.
“I know it hurts, baby, I know. I know,” he teased. “It’s been hard playin’ all by yourself, huh?” The sunniness of his voice was eclipsed. “All alone. Screamin’ out my name into your pillow. Fingers buried deep in your wet cunt.”
Honey’s eyes snapped open. Before she could respond, the breadth of his middle fingertip penetrated her. She gasped as his finger speared her open. All the while, he wore a devil’s smile.
“Ain’t that right? Only for me.” Entranced, he watched her every twitch and shudder. “This pussy belongs to me, doesn’t it?”
It was a question feigning the need for her confirmation. She couldn't answer. Couldn't breathe. 
No, that can’t be right—had he been watching her masturbate in her apartment? Was he watching her the entire time he was gone? 
The possibility enraged her. Ten orgasms from the King of New York’s Underworld couldn’t even quell that fire.
Peter smiled wickedly, playing with her pussy. Taking his time toying with her flesh. He was a tyrant-king, dominating her pleasure. With a calloused hand, he held onto her cunt like it belonged there.
But she was his wild colt. Difficult to break.
“Oh-n—ohh god,” she gasped. Unbeknownst to him, an evil plot bloomed in her brain. Her lips curled into a smile.
“Fuck—gah—ohhhhh…”
He licked up each broken syllable.
“Yes! Oh, god, yes! Oh—” 
Sweat beaded on her chest, sin oozing through her pores.
“...Pedro.”
Halt.
Brakes squealing. Full stop. Not only in the physical world between them but also in Peter’s living fantasy.
Mischievously, Honey’s grin widened. 
She got him, alright. 
Flawless victory.
Dark eyes flashing, Peter withdrew his fingers from her. “Fuckin’ brat…”
In one fluid motion, Peter flipped her over to her belly, stunning her. He followed with another forceful slap to her ass cheek. This one was more punishing than the last, drawing a puppy-like yelp. His voice was ice. Eyes black. 
Now, she was in trouble.
“Think that’s funny?” he said through gritted teeth.
Peter manipulated her limbs like a rag doll. He maneuvered her forward until her cheekbone pressed against the table. She panicked for a moment at being in such a compromising position. 
The chill of the air across her wet pussy made her shiver. At the same time, she clenched at his roughness.
Peter kneaded her sides, pressing fingerprint bruises on her waist. He yanked her hips towards him until her knees were on the table’s edge. Honey’s face burned, stricken with modesty and flustered by how he hoisted her ass in the air. 
Her hips were propped up like a rack of lamb, and he licked his lips at the sight. It was too vulnerable, being bared to him like this. Obscene, on display, inches from his face. 
For a half second, she considered using the safe words. 
She squirmed uncomfortably while her mess dripped down the inside of her thighs. Peter denied any attempt to escape, eventually gathering her limbs and pulling her hands behind her back. 
Short puffs of breath fogged the glass surface of the table. Her heart pounded beneath her. Honey had only witnessed this side of him a few times—and never directed toward her. 
She was in trouble. But was she in danger?
The buckle of his belt clinked as it came free. Honey quivered at the sound, pussy aching in anticipation.
And if she was in danger, why did that make her wet?
“Pete—” Honey muttered, a scream bubbling at the back of her throat. Leather nipped at her forearms as he used his belt to tie her hands behind her back. 
“Ple-please—“
He fisted her hair, rearing her head back. Her neck arched beautifully, her chin dangling above the table surface.
“Listen to me, princess,” Peter snarled, hot in her ear. Spite peppered his tone. “If you ever call out another man’s name when I’m inside ya again— I’ll make ya wear nothin’ but my cum for the next week.” 
The savage tone contrasted with the glow of his eyes. 
It was always opposites with him.
This was the same man who coddled and worshiped her. The same one who kidnapped her, drugged her, blindfolded her, and gagged her. 
He forced her, a willing participant, into his bed—by asking her permission. 
Peter was more than capable of keeping her chained to his bedpost if he wanted it. 
Or… if she wanted it.
Peter snickered at her expression. “Ooh, yeah… Betchu’d like that, huh?” He taunted her like she was broadcasting her dirty thoughts. “Such a needy little slut for me, ain't that right?” 
Honey felt his warmth leave her back, like being plunged into the Hudson in winter. His hands reappeared at the back of her thighs, and her first instinct was to try to close her legs. 
That was a mistake and an impossible endeavor. 
He split her thighs like opening a book. Grinned at the sight as if he stumbled across gold.
“Fuck, babygirl, you’re soaked. Just talkin’ about it and look at the mess you made…”
Embarrassment and want ravaged her. The conflicting experiences had her ovaries twisted into knots. Honey bit her tongue, unsure if she was going to scream or moan. 
Instead, it came out like a pathetic mewl. “Pe-Peter, please—”
Then he open-palm-smacked her cunt, fingers landing directly on her labia. 
The wet sound it made was humiliating, and the sensation triggered all of the reactions above. She squealed at the sting on her folds. This was a delectable torture. For Peter, it was an appetizing sight. 
“Ya like that?” he grinned over the sound of her whimpers. He already knew the answer.
Another slap to her cunt made her whole body shake. 
“Like bein’ my kept girl? Tryin’ so hard to get my attention. Drivin’ me nuts. Well, you got it now, Honey.” 
Slap. 
A third strike had her pussy clenching. Honey had never experienced such an erotic rush before. She shuddered with embarrassment, afraid she’d cum from this—
Slap! Slap! Slap!
Honey gasped for air, a scream breaking through her voice. She was drowning in sick pleasure, tears in her eyes.
The mob boss gripped her thighs again, pulling her knees off the table and lifting up the weight of her lower half. The action was as easy as lifting a sheet of paper. 
God, his strength was impossible. She struggled to comprehend it while picturing herself being broken apart by it. A slew of tiny pleas fell from her lips. She didn’t even know what she was begging for—his mercy or punishment.
“Shh, shh, babygirl,” he purred with a candy voice. Brought his lips to where she was split, equal parts seductive and sinister. “Be still for me. I gotcha.” He wore a Cheshire grin. “Lemme kiss it better.” 
Slowly, he licked a line from her clit to the entrance of her cunt. She shuddered, followed by a lewd wail. She bucked her hips as he let the tip of his tongue toy with her. 
“Mmmf—so fuckin’ sweet,” Peter mumbled between languid strokes around her vaginal gate. His grip was inescapable. “Can’t help myself, s-sooo hungry…”
Honey felt an evil smile against her skin before his mouth went back to work on her. Tiny, stinging nips and kitten licks tormented her flesh. With her hips locked in place, he lashed her clit with his tongue.
Honey squirmed against the leather belt, her nails digging into the grain. She wanted to be bound like this forever. 
Peter had no intention of letting her go any time soon. 
With her thighs spread open, he dragged her toward the edge of her ecstasy. As soon as he felt her body begin to shake, he pulled away. The punishment ended with another smack to her swollen clit.
Honey cried out in frustration at having her release snatched away. 
Oh, yes—He was weak for that sound.
“What’s’a matter, baby?” he smirked with a dark chuckle. This was becoming his favorite pastime. “You mad now that you’re not the only one who can play games?”
“Gahh—Peter… fuck, plea—don’t tease—!”
Peter’s fingers slipped inside with a squelch, shutting her up. Simultaneously, he lapped at her juices while massaging her walls. Soon, he settled into an unbreakable focus.
Each kiss to her nether lips sizzled with passion. Fueled by devotion usually only reserved for a wedding day. 
“—mmmm, tastes so pretty,” he murmured into her flesh, “my pretty girls...” 
In her dazed state, Honey wondered with a pang of jealousy who the ‘she’ he was referring to was. 
“—sooo sensitive; she likes it when I kiss her like that, yeah?—” He said, in between languid, open-mouth kisses to her slit.
Jesus Fucking Christ, he’s talking about my pussy? In the third person? 
Honey gasped, scandalized at the preposterous thought. It was the most deliciously erotic moment of her life. Enraptured tears budded her eyes, the coil in her belly nearly suffocating her.
“—Fuck, oh god, Peter, don’t stop, don’stop, donstop, donstah—”
Preoccupied with his own intoxicating thoughts, Peter was eager with his tongue and steady with his hands. The room filled with the filthy, wet sounds of his carressing and French kissing of her cunt. He pleasured her with his fingers and mouth, passionately— reverently— as if making love to two different brides. 
Soon, Honey’s pleas were barely more than breathless whining. He smiled like the devil, lips coated with her slick. 
“Patience, Honey,” he admonished, sing-song and patronizing. “If you’re a good girl, maybe I might let you get to taste Her, too.”
Fuck—she was going to come from this. 
The more perverse his words were, the closer she was. So, so close—
Then, another sharp slap. 
Honey wailed, fingers digging into the leather of her restraints. Her whole body protested. The cycle repeated so many times she lost count—until her flesh was puffy from his torture. 
“Please, don’t—please, Peter, don’t tease,” she frantically begged, tears streaming. “No more— Please, I wanna come so bad—” 
He sucked on her clit.  “Yeah?”
“God, yes, please—Nyahhh-need you—Need you... inside—“
Peter hissed behind his teeth, struggling to keep his pace even as his cock jerked at her pleas. He flashed an evil smile. “S’at right?”
“Pl-please, f-feels so good, ple—gah-I need it—!”
He was in no hurry. It was almost greedy, the way he ravaged her. His fingers pressed Merlot bruises into her hips and waist while his mouth left raspberry welts on her thighs. 
Honey cried out around a moan as she felt his fingers deepen. His loving touches to her sensitive spots turned wicked, reminding her this was also a penalty for her bratty transgressions. She wept and squirmed, practically drooling on the table.
He simply grinned.
“—Mmmhm, that’s it—scream for me, princess—”
Honey’s tiny little hip thrusts fit easily in his palm as he groped her. He found it adorable, really.
“Mmm...m’sorr—ow—agh!”
“Sorry’s not gonna cut it,” he panted, eyes blown black. Shadow returned to his voice. “You’re mine now, ya hear?” His eyes traveled to where his fingers were buried to the knuckles. “Gonna fuck you every way I want—”
“Pleasepleasepleaseyes—it’syoursit’syoursallyours—”
His eyes swam over her body, drunk with lust.
All mine. 
The sinfulness of his thoughts tugged his insides into a vortex. This was wrong, he reasoned. Not how he wanted this to go. Poor girl sounded brainless, begging to be fucked.  He wasn’t much better off. This wasn’t how he planned this to go. 
But he was willing to pivot.
Hands shaking, he fumbled with his fly. It wasn’t until his cock bobbed free, glistening with precum, that he felt any sort of relief. Peter grabbed her hips and lifted them off of the table, repositioning her so he was lined up with her slit.
“Fuckin’ need you so much, Honey—” he muttered mindlessly, focused on pushing the swollen, leaking crown of his cock against the silk of her pussy. 
Her hips’ weight rested easily in his hands, and she keened at the sensation of his head pressing against her entrance. 
And god, she'd forgotten he was thick.
Honey tensed up, even as her pussy throbbed with want. It was as if all her muscles were reaching for him, heart included.
It was too much. Mascara trailed faintly down her cheeks. Her heart soared. And ached. She felt spoiled with pleasure, delighting in this penance.
More. She wanted more.
“Fuck—wanted ya so bad,” Peter mumbled, watching his cock slip through her lips. He sounded airy, hypnotized by the view. “Wanted t’crawl through your window like the goddamn—ahh— boogeyman... fuck ya in your own bed. Wanted t’take’ya home with me and keep ya there— Never let you leave.”
Honey swallowed back a sob. Then why did you send me away? 
He paused. 
Uh-oh. Did she say that out lo—?
“Because I’m an idiot,” Peter huffed, his voice fragile. 
He leaned forward and lovingly kissed up her spine, each tender press of his lips an apology. 
“I’m a stupid fuckin’ fool.” The heat of his breath ghosted across her back. “So stupid—Thought I could protect ya if I kept you away. Thought I could somehow live like that—without you.” He shook his head. “Goddamn fool.”
Peter felt the sting of tears flooding his vision. Instinctively, he squeezed his eyes shut to keep them out. “I can’t live without ya,” he nearly whimpered. “There is no life for me if you’re not in it.”
“Peter,” she said, feeling her heart lurch. Her spirit was a ship being tossed in a hurricane. One more wave, and she would break. Honey’s voice trembled, “St-stop t-talking—”
“Not until I’ve said what I shoulda said—!”
“If you don’t shut up and fuck me in the next five seconds—”
Peter cut her off by pulling her up by the shoulders and standing her upright. Honey fought it—because, of course, she did—desperately clutching the steel armor around her heart. 
Overpowering her again, he tugged the naked woman closer until her back lined up to his chest. It was an awkward position with her bound arms crushed behind her against his abs. He towered over her, eyeing her face from the side, seeking her gaze. Hooked a finger beneath her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. 
Always the fighter, Honey tried to wrench herself from his hold. Peter’s body was like a Greek god’s, with pillar-like arms and marble fingers keeping her from wriggling away. But his soft, soulful eyes are what pinned her in place. 
As soon as she peered into their oaken color, she was trapped again. 
“No,” she sneered, shaking her head. The tears weren’t from pleasure anymore. “Don’t—”
“‘Honey and Lavender,’” he whispered, featherlike. “Those are the words. All you gotta do is say ‘em, and I’ll stop.”
She gritted her teeth, bucking against his sweetness. His arms wrapped around her torso, pulling her in.
“I thought you wanted to fuck me!” she revolted, voice getting weaker by the second. “What the hell do you want from me, Peter?!” 
His features softened. Serenity pressed between his lips. “I want all of you, Honey,�� he answered with resolve. “Body and soul. Wanna spend the rest of my life with ya. If you don’t kill me first.” 
He said the ‘if’ part with a teasing lilt in his tone and a half-smile. The same smirk that she loathed—and fell in love with. 
Honey squeezed her eyes shut. Peter’s thumb came up gently, wiping a messy tear from her cheek. That loving and pure act was worse than any torture he could inflict.
Walls tumbling down, her body loosened. She went slack against his arms, instead fighting to keep more tears from flowing.
“I love you,” he whispered, pouring his soul into each word. “Forever. Remember? No matter what.” 
Peter waited for her eyelids to peel back, revealing glossy eyes and a weary expression. They stayed still for eons. Nothing but their breaths and heartbeats between them, eyes locked on each other.
“Even if you’re mad as hell at me,” he added. “Even if you hate me—I want it all.”
Her lower lip wobbled. “And what then, Peter? What now?”
A moment passed. He leaned around her shoulder, bringing her chin close, and answered her with a kiss. Gentle at first, his tongue explored hers as she relaxed against him. She felt her toes leave the ground before she realized what was happening.
Peter broke the kiss. “Now?” he breathed into her hairline. “I’m gonna show you what it means to be mine.”
One of his hands left her torso—borrowed to push the head of his cock into her gate. An overwhelming burn erupted between her legs. She arched her back away from his abs as best she could while being split open.
Honey wailed brokenly, voice shattered, as he bottomed out. Peter’s hand instinctively came up to cover her mouth. She let the scream out into his palm, just as he’d promised.
Peter hissed, letting his head fall back in agonized ecstasy. His eyes drifted shut, feeling both relief and torment buried to the hilt in her warmth. 
He barely ground out, “Shh-shhh, s’alright... that’s it, s-so good, so good for me...”
His Honey was already writhing on his cock, and he hadn’t even begun to move. She was so goddamn tight he wasn’t sure he wanted to move at all.
Still, he couldn’t help indulging himself. Never could, around her.
The arm bracing Honey’s torso snaked back across her body. His hand, burning hotter than a branding iron, stretched out and smoothed over the curvature of her belly. Her pussy clenched tighter as his palm found the trophy he was looking for—an obscene bulge in her lower stomach.
A slow, sinful curve played upon his lips. “Fuck, babygirl. Look at you.” When he uncovered her mouth, her roars had quieted down to a wanton purr. He gently tilted her head downwards so she could witness the depravity herself. “Just look at how you take my dick, Honey.” 
She shuddered at the sight, nodding rapidly, unable to speak. She wondered if this was just more teasing, but she couldn’t think beyond the penetration. 
“God, you look so beautiful like that,” he muttered breathlessly. His amber eyes were fixated on the sinful spectacle beneath her waist, unable to avert his gaze. “So pretty with my cock stuffed up inside your tummy...” 
Peter sounded unhinged, even to himself. His abs twisted into knots. Vile, perverse images eclipsed his sense of decency—her body naked and wrecked, with his seed spilling from her holes. Then, her belly round with his children. Just the thought devolved him like his civilized nature was sucked back into a black hole.
Wordless whimpers poured from her lips as her taut muscles succumbed to his girth. Calloused fingertips reached further down, brushing against the hood of her clit. She jolted in his arms with the slightest touch.
At that moment, Honey’s world disappeared. Nothing existed but the exquisite ache between her legs. 
The conquerer inside him preened. “Is that the spot? Is that where it hurts, baby?” he purred into her ear with a filthy, predatory voice. Her body answered him, rewarding him with a delicious squeeze around his shaft. “That’s it,” Peter groaned, insatiable. “Good girl. So good for me.” 
His praise, even if it was teasing, was too much. Peter’s affirmations, paired with his ministrations, tightened the coil in her stomach. Exhaustion crept up on her body even as the bubble of desire swelled.
Ever so slowly, his hips pitched back and then forward. He bottomed out again at the end of the languid stroke. A shattered mewl burst from her lips, pussy pulsating around his dick.
She was magnificent. 
”Fuck, baby. Feels s-so fuckin’ good—ahh, I missed this tight pussy so much. Wanted to play with her so bad…”
Peter’s hips moved of their own accord. They were a pornographic masterpiece in the decorative mirrors situated around the room. He stole a greedy glance at the couple’s reflection. Smiling wickedly, he turned her head, making her see what he was seeing.
Honey’s stomach fluttered at the sight of her body—glistening and restrained—slotted against him. Her head bobbed as Peter gripped her hips and fucked into her like a sex doll. 
Perverse. Debauched. Divine. It made her lightheaded.
Slowly, he increased the pace of his thrusts, panting into her ear. At some point, she started muttering. Broken and embarrassingly desperate pleas and pet names tumbled unwittingly out of her mouth.
One of them must have caught his attention. But she honestly couldn’t remember what she had said.
“Ugh—I lose my fuckin’ mind when you call me that name,” he growled, throwing his head back. “Ya know that, precious? Such a good girl for me. Good girls get spoiled.” 
Honey’s body thrummed at his baby talk. In all its depravity, she started to suspect what she must have said in all its depravity. Slowly, she was losing the ability to be ashamed.
The slick-coated pad of Peter’s thumb circled her clit, before traveling down further. He curiously prodded where they were joined—“Fuck, look at how good ya open up for me.” — His fingers trailed the outline of her stretched hymen wrapped around his cock.
Honey closed her eyes and turned away, blushing from his praise. Timid about how she relished in the filth. Peter brought his lips to her ear as if there was a secret the two of them shared.
“Don’t worry, baby. I gotcha—Daddy’s gonna make the ache go away.”
The spring snapped. She was nearly knocked over by the wave of pleasure that followed. Her pussy fluttered around his cock with no warning, body trembling and toes curling. Her cream gushed down his shaft. 
He snickered as if he’d won a prize. 
Honey could vaguely recognize her pathetic voice through the bells in her ears. She squealed and cried out over his repetitive, patronizing chants — “Awwgoodgirl, fuckin’ so-so perfect— squeezin’ me so tight” — while he fucked her through her orgasm.
It felt like several moments of pure pink haze, herself a willing victim to his delicious, relentless pull. 
“Shit, sweetie, did you just come all over my cock?” he asked, exasperated.
Embarrassment flooded her despite her persistent mewling. 
“Don’t cry, baby. Don’chu worry,” he murmured affectionately, himself obsessed with the cavern of her divine flesh. “When I said I was gonna make you my toy, I meant it.” She whimpered, nodding her head as it rested back against his shoulder. “M’not finished with you,” he said, dropping an octave. “Not by a long shot.”
Time ceased to have true meaning. Peter rammed into her steadily.
“Please don’stop, please use me, please, wan’more—” She yelped like a puppy.
He smiled against her sweaty skin. “Yeah? Ya like bein’ a good girl? My good girl?”
“I’llbegoodI’llbegoodm’yours—fuck—yoursyoursyours—”
“That’s right, sweetheart,” he groaned, with another curse beneath his breath. Eyes drifted shut. “Good, good girl.”
All he could think of was more. 
More of that sound. More of her juices. More of her staccato breaths as he fucked her tits into a steady bounce on her chest. More of her whining, whimpering like a bitch in heat.
“All mine, all mine…”
Peter needed more of her. He needed to watch her fall apart on his cock again. Honey was so close already; he could feel it. He’d give her another orgasm, one that leaves her in tears. Then another. He was going to fuck her into submission atop the throne he built for her. She was already his queen. 
Then—He’d make her his whore.
Flip her on her back against the table—or couch— countertop—fuck, maybe the bed if he could remember where it was. Whatever he could reach first. 
Then he’d split her open again on his cock. That way, he could see the enraptured awe on her face. The neediness. Big, round, wet eyes pleading for his touch, calling him filthy names, as his cock bulges below her pubic bone. Begging him to rearrange her guts.
It was heavenly to witness. Peter loved watching her come. And he would, over and over. Once he relocated her to his bed—as soon as he remembered where it was— he could tie her to it.
Not that Honey was fighting at the present. There was no fight in her body, except maybe the will to keep conscious. With every strike against her cervix, she spread herself wider for him. 
But Peter knew she would like it. Honey wanted his unforgiving ecstasy. To take out the mounting frustration of the last few months on her wet pussy. 
“M’gonna fuck you so good, babygirl, m’gonna use your body like my fucktoy—make me feel s-sogood, don’worry—“ 
Honey full-body shuddered with a sob, her head thrown back against his shoulder. 
“S’okay, baby, you can scream if y’want, makes it feel better, doesn’t it, huh—”
Cock-drunk, she nodded, her words coming out as puffs of air.
“Don’stop—don’stop—please, fuck— fuckmehardDaddyIneedit—“
Oh. 
More. Of. That.
“M’not lettin’ you get away again…” he muttered, voice emerging from beneath his twitching abdominal muscles. With possessed eyes, he was glued to where they joined. “Never—never gonna let you go again… All mine now, Honey—you’re all mine…”
Her arms came up to circle the back of his neck as she panted into his throat. “My-my pussy is yours…”
“Everything,” he corrected.
“Everythi—god—I’m yours, Pete—ahh!”
Peter was getting close. No matter. He’d let himself come inside her soon. There was plenty more to follow. 
He barely recognized his own wrecked voice. “’m not leavin,’ baby. I’m not leavin’ ever.”
A gust of wind followed him as the front door to the suite slammed shut. Peter stood alone in the hotel hallway wearing a sheen of sweat... and nothing else. 
He flushed pink, fumbling to cover himself behind his hands. The cool air made the task easier.
Peter sighed. He’d need to talk to maintenance about better insulation up here.
But not right now. Not while Peter Parker stood ass-naked outside of his door, having been kicked out like a cheap fuck. 
Which might have been Honey’s point, he recognized.
The evidence of their past hour together made his skin sticky. She’d tousled his hair and etched into his back with her nails. He felt sore in places he hadn’t felt in years.
Peter also looked thoroughly fucked. A mixture of pain and relief surged through his muscles. His brain was branded with erotic images of her. He wanted them there.
The door opened again, lifting his hopes. He only caught a fleeting glimpse of Honey, wrapped sloppily in a bathrobe. The rest of her didn’t look much better than Peter. She wore a sour yet adorable scowl on her face.
With a huff, Honey hurled a tight wad of fabric at his nuts, unintentionally intentional in her aim. 
Peter oofed, doubling over to catch the ball of his clothes. At the same time, an Italian leather shoe smacked him in the head. Probably his Tom Ford’s. He heard the door slam closed again, rattling against the frame.
Perplexed, Peter gazed at the molding of the door and the gleaming golden script marking the room number. 
He wondered. 
Would she open the door again to throw him the other shoe? 
Or perhaps the slacks that went along with the dress shirt covering his balls?
Unlikely.
He marveled. 
The nerve of this woman. This goddess-barista who served him his soul in a paper cup. Who held the keys to his heart, his home, and presently, his hotel room. Who somehow managed to kick him out of the penthouse suite of his own hotel. 
Within the confines of his ruined dress shirt, Peter felt another buzz. He fumbled with the shirt, reaching the smartphone concealed inside.
>>> have you moved onto the main course? >>> or are you still tossing the salad? >>> pouring ranch on her hidden valley
Felicia. Peter’s eyes nearly rolled out of his head. With a sigh, he tapped out a reply.
<<<  Kitchen’s closed.  <<< Need clothes. And a new room.
He saw the ellipsis bubbling up on his screen. 
<<< Not another word.
As soon as the message was sent, Peter took another glance at his empty surroundings. Haplessly, he looked toward the closed door. A river of memories flooded him. It surged, swelled, and finally, came to a low simmer.
This was never going to be easy. Nothing ever was with her.
Nothing worth waiting for ever is.
“See you at breakfast,” he whispered aloud lips curled into a smile. “Sleep tight.”
Holding her breath and her ear to the door, Honey waited until Peter’s footsteps faded. When she could no longer hear them, she sighed with exasperation, overcome with exhaustion. Eyes falling closed, Honey leaned back against the door, body aching in places she would feel for days.
After taking a moment, she heard a buzzing sound further in the suite. Honey jumped with alarm, then stumbled on Fawn’s feet to reach the source.
Quickly, Honey waddled to the remains of her yellow dress, fishing out the buzzing object: a 10-year-old smartphone with a black glittery hard case. A holographic cat sticker was fixed to the back, shimmering in the dim light. 
Not just any cat.
She unlocked the phone to see the latest message.
>>> how’d it go? u give him hell?
The heaviest exhale left Honey’s chest, shame creeping up her chest. With her thumb, she scrolled up to review the text messages sent to her. The oldest of which dated back almost four months.
Weeks of correspondence and reassurance from Felicia, not to mention very clear instructions about Peter Parker and how to play his game. 
There was the one from last month:
>>> don’t let him think for one second that you’re gonna let him get off easy!
Then one from last week:
>>> make him suffer. make him grovel. make him lay down in a puddle so you can cross
And these:
>>> go to dinner, but don’t eat anything. order wine, the most expensive one, take one sip and refuse the rest. you pick the restaurant. if he picks the restaurant, hate everything about it >>> play hard to get— but don’t be too cold >>> be flirty. but not slutty.  >>> give him bedroom eyes, but don’t let him stare at you too long.
Finally, there was a clear instruction sent earlier today.
>>> under no circumstances >>> no matter what >>> you need to remember this >>> DO NOT FUCK HIM!!1
Honey frowned as she gazed at Felicia’s text message bubble, sent with so much hope and good intention. A notion soundly defeated. A truly hopeless endeavor, if there ever was one.
Biting her lip, Honey tapped out a reply to her confidant:
<<< Sure did.
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Thank you for everything you do. Please keep fanfic healthy and support my writing with a reblog.
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liz-allyn ¡ 2 months
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WhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAaaaaaaAht?
When I say I literally threw everything off of me when I checked my phone and saw that you updated this. KATIEEEEE!
I went back and read all four previous chapters at once (btw don’t forget to link Part Five to the jump at Part Four) and I’m so excited.
By the way, that dramatic scene in the woods between Peter and Aylin was so well written. And every location you write I just wanted to live there.
I haven’t stopped thinking about these two since last year. You very kindly mentioned to me so graciously that reading someone’s work and getting wrapped up in that tale is a gift. Thank you for this gift!
That scene with Cal and Sergei was tense AF. I know how dark your beautiful brain can get and I literally can’t wait to see what happens next!
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CREATURE LIKE ME || CHAPTER FIVE (part one): YOU'RE IN A CULT
[TASM Peter Parker!Werewolf AU]
Story Summary: Kraven and his guild of hunters have been tracking and quelling the werewolf population for centuries. The time has come for Aylin to complete her first solo hunt to prove herself to the guild. It was supposed to be simple. One wolf, one death, one victory. She never expected to end up with a secret hostage on her hands.
Chapter Five Warnings (spoilers): mild sexual exhibitionism (fondling an exposed breast) in front of an unwilling person, being unknowingly drugged
[link to chapter index]
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The familiar scent of pine soothed her worried soul as she stepped through the threshold of her home. 
Their little, brown cabin, with its sturdy fireplace of stacked, gray stones, and pine needle covered roof gave off the illusion of a safe haven. She might be back in her guild’s territory but this was her house. Her home. Here, she could find respite. 
It was quiet as she stood in her cozy living room. Everything was still. By mid day, her mother would have been in the communal kitchen preparing meals for anyone who might want to stop by for a free lunch. Their guild supported their members and made sure no one would ever go hungry. They functioned as a bunch of tiny parts all moving in unison to form a single, powerful behemoth. They worked on the bartering system and the good will of their neighbors. If something was taken, something else would always need to be given. 
Mrs. Harkner, down the road, gave her time to teach the children academics, in return, the children would pick the crops from her garden so her focus could be spent on lesson planning. Mr. Jacobson, at the other end of town, couldn’t aim a gun to save his life, but was an expert in construction and could fix any housing issue that arose. In return, the hunters would make sure he was always provided with fresh game and a well stocked freezer. Eight year old Christopher Lennings would sell freshly made apple juice from the apple tree in his front yard every Saturday morning and all it would cost was the coolest looking rock you could find. Everyone had a job and everyone was taken care of. 
As long as they followed the rules. 
Aylin had formulated a plan during her five mile hike back home. She knew she would have the house to herself at this time. If she could quickly pack her car full of gear, staying out of sight, then she could head back to Peter for the next few days. During that time, she would get every bit of information she could about Kat’s pack. When she finally returned back to the guild, she could trade that information as an apology for not completing her ritual to become a full time hunter. Trading was how their guild functioned. Information could be traded for a lighter sentencing. Sergei would be more focused on taking action against an entire pack than dealing out punishments for her defiance. She could right all the wrongs before the situation got too out of hand. 
It wasn’t a perfect plan but it would have to do.
The old floorboards creaked under foot to alert the only available member of the household to her presence. Her large, sleek black cat lazily rose his head off the sofa to see who dared to disturb his nap. When he caught sight of Aylin, his ears perked up and he gracefully leapt to the floor to greet her by weaving between her legs. He gave a piercing whine, begging for attention. 
“Yes, yes. I missed you, too, Kedi.” Aylin bent down to scoop him into her arms where he proceeded to be carried like a baby up the stairs to her bedroom loft. “Has mom been worried about me? Have you been looking after her?” 
Kedi purred, his golden eyes squinting up at her. It was a rarity to find him inside their cabin. He preferred to be out hunting for his next meal or clawing his way up the highest tree. Finding him willingly behind walls meant that he knew something was wrong. He had probably spent the night curled up next to Nesrin. Sometimes Aylin swore that he was actually a person trapped inside the body of a cat. She imagined him to be a grumpy, old man who would yell at innocent children to get off his lawn but secretly loved the attention they gave him. He was fearless, tenacious, and a ferocious serial killer of all rodents. 
A family of killers. Is that all they were?
Peter’s words from this morning still buzzed around her thoughts like an annoying gnat that refused to leave her personal space. 
“We’re not in a cult, right? I’d know if I was in a cult,” she mused down at the cat in her arms. 
He responded with a deep, guttural purr that vibrated his entire body. 
“Sergei isn’t Jim Jones or Charles Manson. He has a reason behind what we’re doing. There’s a purpose. A meaning. We’re helping people. We’re…” She paused and gave a long sigh. “My father wouldn’t have been best friends with a cult leader. He was smarter than that. He was a good man. Peter’s wrong. He doesn’t know us, does he, Keds? He’s a stupid, low life, pathetic, disgusting werewolf. He’s-” 
She stopped to listen to the words falling from her lips. No one was around to hear them and she was still holding deep prejustice for a man who had done nothing but show her kindness and grace despite her attitude. 
Lycans. That’s what Peter referred to himself as. Not a werewolf. A lycan. A person with the ability to shift into a wolf. 
A person. Not a monster.
Good and bad people. That’s what Peter had said. There were always good and bad people regardless where you stood in the world. 
Which one was she? 
Aylin carefully dropped Kedi onto her bed so she could pack a bag, trying to pull her thoughts away from Peter’s grasp and focus them back onto the task at hand. Some extra clothes, camping supplies, her crossbow, and more food would be on her list of needed items. She quickly changed out of her dress and into something more practical for forest living. She began tossing clothes out of her drawer and into the waiting duffle bag. As she turned around to pack them more neatly, she stopped to see Kedi curled up under the growing pile. 
“You’re not helping, Ked. You’ll suffocate under there if I zip it up,” she smiled softly down at the stubborn cat who merely squinted back at her. He was always able to lift her mood. “Okay fine, you can stay but I’m going to keep packing around you.” 
She grabbed an unopened pack of spare toothbrushes and ripped it apart. Carefully, she glanced over the colors, selecting a red and blue striped one for Peter. She felt like he would suit those colors…and he really needed to brush his teeth. It had probably been a while since he had a toothbrush of his own. 
With some basic grooming items taken care of and a duffle full of spare clothes, Aylin shooed Kedi out of the way to finish her getaway bag. He followed as she made a handful of trips from the house to her car, filling the trunk with everything her and Peter might need to survive for the next few days. She slammed the full trunk closed, tucking her keys into her pocket, and put her hands on her hips. A sense of determination settled over her. 
“There! We have a camping stove, some canned food, extra water…I think we should be all set for a couple days,” she spoke down to the cat waiting patiently at her feet. “If you would like to come with me, Keds, I would be more than happy to bring you. I don’t think Peter would mind the extra company.” 
Kedi’s fur raised along his back, his ears flattening, and he gave a long hiss before darting to the safety of the darkness under her car. 
“Wha- he’s not that bad, jeeze,” she frowned at his sudden change of attitude, wondering what had set him off, when she heard the crunching of footsteps making their way up her dirt driveway. 
“Going somewhere, Aylin?” The familiar baritone voice caused her skin to erupt in goosebumps. Her heart leapt into her throat as a wave of nausea overtook her. She suddenly felt faint.
She wasn’t fast enough.
The only other time she had seen Kedi display fear like that was when a black bear broke through their screened in porch one afternoon to try and grab a bite of his cat food. Even then, he had darted back out from under the safety of a chair to claw the bear across the snout before running away again. Today, he stayed hidden. 
Aylin straightened her back, attempting to fix a warm smile onto her lips, and turned around to face Sergei standing in the middle of her driveway. He was dawning his signature werewolf pelt draped over his shoulders and giving her a grin that was stretched far too thin to be anything but forced. The sight of the pelt made her sick to her stomach when she thought about the person who it once was ripped from. Barbaric. He might as well be wearing a pelt of human flesh.
Where was she going? She tried to steady her fluttering heart as a million potential answers swirled around her panicked thoughts. 
“I’m planning on going to the Catskills to hike along the Devil’s Path like I do every year,” she lied, thinking quickly. With the way her trunk was currently packed, it easily resembled a hiking trip. She could fake this scenario. 
“Isn’t it a little early for that?” He raised his scraggly brow at her. He was starting to get flecks of silver among his dark hair. The silver stood out more prominently against the midday sun and made him look closer than usual to his age. It was rare to catch signs of him aging. He seemed to always be in his prime despite how many years have passed. “Don’t you typically do that hike closer to the summer?” 
Aylin shrugged, trying to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal, “Last summer was too hot. Thought I’d go early this year.” 
“In the rainy season, I imagine parts of the hike would be really dangerous?”
She held firmly onto her bluff, knowing he was trying to break her, and kept her eyes locked with his to help sell the lie, “Sure, but isn’t that part of our training? To overcome difficult feats despite the challenges that face us? Besides, it’s not called the Devil’s Path for nothing. It’s meant to keep you on your toes. I think I could use a good challenge. ” 
Sergei squinted at her with a hard glare, “Yes. About that. I think we need to have a talk about exactly what challenges are facing you. Something seemed to bother you the other night, did it not?” 
She could tell from his tone that he was carefully keeping his voice steady. Under the surface, he was boiling. He wanted her to pay for the other night. There had to be consequences. Aylin had not only gone against his direct orders but, in her defiance, belittled his authority in front of the guild. If there’s one thing to never do to Sergei, it would be to embarrass him. She was now caught in an unwanted game of cat and mouse and she was terrified of losing. 
She widened her eyes like it was a shock to hear that and not a conversation she had been dreading, “Oh? You mean when I ran from the ceremony? I’m so sorry about that. Really. I must have eaten something weird. Probably undercooked meat. I got really sick. I spent the night on the toilet. I had to run before I had an accident in front of everyone. You know how it is. When you gotta go, you gotta go.” 
He took a step closer, a dreadful smile flicked at the corner of his lips, “Really? I stopped by your house to check on you later that night. I wanted to make sure you were okay after that shameful display you pulled in front of everyone. Your mother told me you weren’t home. Poor woman was worried sick about you. She thought you might have run off and done something stupid.” He paused, closing the gap between them. The cold metal of her car door pushed against her back as he towered over her. He propped an arm against the roof of her car to pin her in place. “Well? Did you? Do something stupid, I mean.” 
Her stomach flipped with nerves as she shook her head. She was going to lose this game. The cat was ready to pounce and she had nowhere to hide, caught in place, forced to face her demise. Sergei went in for the kill, sensing he was gaining the upper hand in their silent standoff, and threw a heavy arm around her shoulders. He had her locked tightly in place against his side and gave a loud, dark laugh as if that would expel the thick tension between them. She couldn’t run. Couldn’t hide. He had her exactly where he wanted. 
“Why don’t you come take a walk with me, Aylin?” He started to drag her down the driveway. “Cal made rabbit stew earlier. We can have some tea and lunch and discuss our futures. I have a proposition for you. What do you say, kid?” 
Despite his question, there was no choice to be had. She was going to be coming with him even if he had to throw her over his shoulder and carry her there. 
“Uh, yeah, I guess that’s okay. I should go leave a note for my mom so she knows where I’m at when she gets back…” Aylin tried to dig her heels into the dirt but got shuffled along like she weighed nothing. Any resistance would be futile. She had lost the game. The cat had caught the mouse and was now boastfully parading her squirming body down the road as he carried it proudly between his salivating jaws. 
“That won’t be necessary. I’ll inform her exactly where you are should she come asking. There’s nothin’ to worry about. You’re safe with me. You know that.” The weight of his words hung over her like a rapidly approaching storm. There wasn’t a single ounce of truth behind anything he said. 
It was only a matter of time before the cat clamped down, piercing her flesh with his razor sharp teeth. 
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The Kravinoff residence was the largest house in their town. A two story cabin with breathtaking floor to ceiling windows to let in all the natural light. The eaves of the red gabled roof were decorated with ornate wooden details. They had been handcarved by Sergei Sr. when he rebuilt the Kravinoff home many years ago before his passing; his final gift to his spoiled son.
Their kitchen was larger than the floor plan of her entire house with brightly painted, red cabinets to match the color of their roof. A pot of yellow sunflowers brightened up the room to soften the red and create an inviting atmosphere. Calypso lounged against the double wide, walnut island wearing nothing more than a skimpy, silk robe. Her dark, tight curly hair haloed around her head and she flashed Aylin her infamous, pointy toothed grin. 
“Ah, the weakling has returned, I see,” she slinked over to the younger woman, standing tall in front of her. “Such a disappointment you gave the guild last night, was it not? I don’t know why Sergei holds you in such high regards. You don’t look like much to me.” 
Sergei placed a possessive hand over Aylin’s shoulder, “Now, now, Cal. Enough teasing. Everyone makes mistakes. She says she wasn’t feeling well. Ate some bad meat. Happens to the best of us. Aylin is our guest and should be treated as such. She’s here for a chat over drinks. Why don’t you make us some of your special tea?” His eyes flashed into his wife, giving her a silent command. “The kind we save for our very important guests. Aylin needs to be reminded how much her community values her.” 
Calypso smiled and bowed her head, “Of course, dear.” 
Aylin was led into the dining room with the sounds of Calypso rustling through the cabinets following her out the door. A long, black cherry dining table, lined with tall chairs, greeted them. At the head of the table was a throne, carved out of the trunk of a tree and adorned with giant wolf claws at the end of the legs. Kraven sank down onto the pelt covered seat. He looked like a true king of his castle. He waved a large hand for her to sit in one of the normal chairs beside him. 
She took a hesitant seat, having stayed quiet this whole time, terrified that speaking the wrong words would get her further into trouble. It was better to play defense with Sergei. Let him take the lead so she could match his energy. 
“It’s been a while since you’ve been in our home,” he mused, lazily scratching at his beard. “You used to visit all the time with your father. I believe the last time you stepped foot inside these walls was when you were merely 16 years of age.” 
After Samuel and Emir’s funeral. 
Sergei had held a repast at his home after the burial service. Everyone in town had attended, each bringing a dish of food or drinks, to show their support for the fallen members. Nesrin was too busy weeping in the bathroom to know her daughter was getting wasted off some stolen liquor. Aylin had snuck away from the guests with her bottle in hand to hide in one of Segei’s guest rooms. The rest of the night was a blur but she distantly remembered him finding her tucked away in the corner behind a bed and holding her while she cried. Everything after that was dark. That entire year had been dark. 
She remembered a time when she felt protected in his arms. His presence used to come with a warm safety. Now, it came with a foreboding sense of danger, like stumbling upon a sleeping rattlesnake. If she was careful enough, she might get away without a fight. If she took one wrong step, all it would take was a mere second for the snake to strike. 
“Things got bad after-” She stopped. She didn’t need to say anything else. 
Sergei gave a solemn nod, “Yes. I can imagine. Sam was my good friend. He was an important, valuable member of our guild. It was hard for everyone.” 
He was studying her face, trying to read every micro expression she held, but she kept her features stiff. She should have left sooner. Maybe if she hadn't spent so much time doting on Kedi, she would have escaped before Sergei arrived. She wished she was already back with Peter and wondered how long he would stay in her trailer before he started to wonder if she’d ever return. 
“Who’s Peter?” Sergei asked with an air of innocence, as if he had directly read her mind, but kept a close eye on how she responded. He was carefully studying her every move. 
Aylin’s eyes widened in shock for only a split second before she softened her face but there was no doubt that Sergei had caught it. Had he read her mind? There was no other way he could possibly know about Peter…was there? Her stomach churned with nerves at the question but she raised her eyebrows in feigned confusion, “What do you mean?” 
He shifted on his throne, leaning towards her, and placing his arm on the table, “When I came to pick you up, I heard you say ‘I don’t think Peter would mind the extra company.’ So, who’s Peter?”
That’s what she got for speaking out loud to a cat. She should have kept her mouth shut. 
“He’s my friend,” she lied, thinking on her feet. “Works at the gas station a few miles out. He works nights. I’ve met him a few times and we got to talking. He enjoys hiking as much as me. He was planning a trip of his own so I invited him on mine. I thought we could both use the company.” 
“Is he your boyfriend?” Sergei’s tone was light but his tense shoulders gave off the impression of a possessive, jealous lover. Aylin was beginning to see him as an overgrown child who refused to share his toys with others. She felt like she was nothing more than his property. 
She repressed a gulp, refusing to let her eyes wander from his, “No. He’s a friend.” 
He ignored her statement. “After Leah Rivera, I thought you might not be not interested in men. It’s good to know you appreciate both sides,” Sergei leaned back to give off the illusion of someone who was casually lounging instead of someone fishing for information. They were both playing a difficult game of chess, each crafting their next move, while simultaneously trying to find their opponents weakness to exploit.  “Cal swings both ways, too.” 
“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just someone who enjoys hiking as much as me,” Aylin’s jaw tightened, giving him a stiff reply. She desperately hoped the heat burning behind her cheeks wasn’t outwardly noticeable. Her racing heart spiked at the mention of Leah. That was a name she hadn’t heard spoken aloud in years. “I don’t swing any way. Leah was nothing more than a friend, too.” 
Liar. Leah was more than a friend. She was Aylin’s childhood best friend, her favorite person, her first crush, her first love. Leah used to be her everything. 
Until she was nothing. 
“Right, right,” he chuckled. “Cal and I were just friends once. I get it. But, Aylin, you know how this guild feels about outsiders. You can not trust them. It’s best you let that friendship drift away before it’s too late. I don’t want you going on a trip with that boy. It’s too dangerous. Cancel it. Stop seeing him. There’s more than enough eligible men here for you to attach yourself to. I can think of at least three off the top of my head who would love a chance. Stay within the guild.” 
She had tried to stay within the guild until Sergei caught on about her and Leah’s relationship. She remembered his eyes flaring with hatred when he saw them share a quick kiss behind the school house one afternoon. Neither of the girls could understand why he would care what a couple of sixteen year olds got up to. It wasn’t long after that Leah’s entire family disappeared in the middle of the night. One day they were there, the next they were gone. Banished. No explanations given. No goodbyes said. Their empty house was demolished, as per tradition, whenever someone leaves the guild. Erase everything and build back up from scratch without the tainted memories. They were to never speak about the Rivera’s again. Every ounce of Leah’s existence in Aylin’s life was gone overnight until it was almost as if she never existed at all. If it wasn’t for the pictures hidden in a shoebox in the back of her closet, sometime’s Aylin might wonder if she dreamed up the entire thing. First, her best friend disappeared, then, her father and brother were slaughtered by wolves. Sixteen had not been kind to her. 
But that was years ago. Leah was gone and so was the person Aylin used to be. She didn’t want Peter to become another pained memory added to the ever growing pile of forgotten people. She would protect this one. She wouldn’t let him be another soul for Sergei to steal from her. 
Even if that made her a traitor. 
She fixed a pleasant smile onto her face, “You’re probably right. I don’t know him that well anyway. I was just looking for a hiking buddy. Not a big deal and I’d better be safe than sorry. You never really know what those outsiders are like. Although, I do think I would be able to overtake him if it ever came to that. I’ve taken down werewolves. I think I can manage to get the upper hand on a random gas station employee. You’ve trained us well.” She threw Sergie her best attempt at a cheeky wink despite the anxious tightening of her throat. Her desperation for him to believe her was suffocating. 
Outsiders. Traitors. Banishment. 
Maybe Peter was right. She might be in a cult. 
The truth hit her hard. She forced a smile onto her face despite wanting to slide under the table and crawl away. 
Canceling fake plans with an imaginary boyfriend was easier than the truth of her deception. Outsider Peter was better than Werewolf Peter. One was a simple mistake at the hands of a lovestruck young woman. The other was direct treason against everything she ever knew. 
He didn’t look impressed with her response.
Earthy, herbal smells wafted out from the kitchen door. She caught notes of lavender and chamomile mixed with some kind of sharp spice she was unfamiliar with. Sergei noticed her analyzing the scent. 
“It’s not something we grow here in the mountains,” he remarked, blatantly ignoring her attempts to butter him up. “Calypso has family in Haiti. They send her all sorts of home grown products she can’t get here. She likes to think of herself as a bit of an alchemist when she’s in the kitchen. She makes the most wonderful tea. You’ll love it.”
As if on cue, Calypso burst through the doorway with a tray in hand. A clear teapot was placed on the table in front of them. Bits of loose herbs floated around inside the amber liquid. Skinny, swirling trails of hypnotizing white steam rose from the spout. She lifted the pot to pour out the delicious smelling tea into the delicate china cups. Aylin was handed the first one. 
“For our guest,” Calypso smirked. “Made with love.” 
Aylin ignored the snarky edge to her words and gave a polite smile. She took a small sip, happy for the distraction. It burned her tongue but slid smoothly down her throat. It was like nothing she’d ever had before. Warm and cozy with a sharp tang of spice as a lingering aftertaste. She took another big gulp as it gave her something to do with her fidgety hands. 
Calypso perched on the thick arm of Sergei’s throne as she watched her guest drink, “How is it?” 
“It’s wonderful. Thank you,” she feigned a smile. She wasn’t lying. It was delicious. She just struggled to make her voice sound genuine when her and Peter’s lives hung on her every word. 
“Pleased to hear it.” 
Sergei patted his wife’s thigh, “Aylin was just telling me about her gas station boyfriend. An outsider. They’re already planning a trip together.” 
Calypso leaned against him, running her fingers through his hair, “A gas station boyfriend? Even she can do better than that.” 
“He’s not my bo-” She was cut off by Sergei. 
“I already told her that it would be best to let that relationship fade away. I think we could find her someone better. One of us. I would be doing Sam a disservice if I let his daughter run away with an outsider.” 
Aylin bit her tongue and refused to mention that her mother was once an outsider. The longer they stayed on the topic of her lie, the more anxious she became. She didn’t want to have to keep thinking on her feet. It was exhausting her psyche. 
“I said I would. It’s not a big deal,” she huffed, taking another sip of her tea. “He means nothing to me. I just thought it might be fun to have someone to hike with but I prefer being on my own anyway.” 
Calypso smirked, “That’s what I like to hear. Outsiders are nothing. They don’t deserve your time of day. You have everything you need right here.” She shifted her body to lean forward, her deep brown eyes penetrating into Aylin’s very soul. “We’re all you need.” 
She was most definitely in a cult. How could she have ever been so oblivious? 
She might be the stupidest person alive. 
This would be her downfall. The people she loved and fought to protect were the one’s holding the knife. They would be the ones to fatally stab her. Not the Lycans. 
Before the realization could overtake her, Calypso’s loose robe had fallen open when she moved and her right breast had pushed its way out from the silky material. The sight of the woman’s freshly exposed skin caused her spiraling mind to halt. Sergei’s arm wrapped around his wife to grasp onto her breast, absentmindedly flicking her dark nipple with his thumb, as they both stared in her direction. Aylin’s ears heated up with a mixture of disbelief and horrific embarrassment. She quickly averted her gaze to the table. She got uncomfortable watching people kiss in public. Watching someone blatantly fondle his wife in front of her made her want to claw out of her own skin. They had always been overly affectionate with each other but it had never been as in her face as it was now. This was different. New. It was like they were challenging her. Like this was some kind of sick test she’d have to pass. From the moment Sergei showed up behind her, she was being tested. Her every move was stuck under a microscope and picked apart with a watchful eye. 
These were not the people she once thought they were.  
A new found hatred wrapped around her like a warm blanket. They were toying with her. Teasing her. Playing with her. They were getting off on watching her squirm. They liked this. 
This was who they really were. 
Aylin focused on her tea to keep herself distracted. She heard Calypso stifle a laugh under her breath. They were getting off on her discomfort. Her head was starting to feel dizzy and her heart felt like it was pounding in her ears. She suddenly felt very sweaty like there was a fire igniting in her stomach and spreading up her chest towards her throat. She hated them. That much was clear to her now. The guild was not a safe place. It never was. It had only felt that way because she was drinking the Kool Aid along with everyone else just like Peter said. Her whole life she had been fed a lie which she happily lapped down. Her world was crumbling down around her. Piece by piece it fell with deafening crashes and she was beginning to suffocate on the smokey rubble filling her lungs. 
A headache was rapidly growing and her vision blurred for a millisecond before she blinked it back into focus. 
“Ms. Aylin was just about to tell me what happened last night,” Sergei spoke, still massaging Calypso without any hint of embarrassment. His tone had flipped, losing the fake lightheartedness from earlier. He was serious. There was no more time for games. “She was going to explain exactly why she refused to kill a wolf in front of her entire guild.” 
She was?
“For someone who claims to have killed two on her own, without any proof, you’d think a malnourished, caged bitch would be easy,” Calypso remarked. “It sounds to me like there might be a little white lie hiding somewhere in your story, dear girl. Don’t worry, darling, you can tell us. We won’t judge. We just want the truth.”  
She took another sip of the tea to avoid having to answer them right away. Was she the only one drinking? Neither of them had touched the stuff. 
Aylin didn’t want to look in their direction to check. She didn't want to watch what they were doing. They were making her uncomfortable on purpose. A power play. A way to prove that she was nothing but inferior to them. She didn’t want to be here. Her head felt like it was swimming with a million thoughts but none of them were making it to her lips. Her body was refusing to function. She couldn’t make her mouth and brain work as one. 
“I, uh,” she stuttered over her words. “I…” 
Her mind was starting to feel like it was slowly filling with sand. An hourglass at the verge of tipping. Her mouth felt dry so she downed the rest of her cup. 
“That girl- she…she…was just…so…so young…” Aylin gave a slow blink, her chin bobbing down to her chest before quickly steadying her head back upright. “I…feel…”
She was suddenly exhausted. The empty tea cup slipped from her hand to shatter into pieces across the floor. She finally turned her attention to the couple, fearing that she was coming down with an illness. She was seeing double. Their forms wavered like rain in a puddle. 
“Something’s not right,” she whispered.
“That would be the tea,” Sergei spoke, his voice steady. “Don’t worry, my dear. You’ll be fine.” 
He pushed himself up from his throne to walk over to her. Aylin slumped into his arms, feeling paralyzed, as he easily lifted her to his chest. He cradled her there while he moved through his house, each room flashing slowly before her lagging eyes, until he stopped in front of a large bookcase. 
“Wha-” she tried to speak but words were useless to her. 
Sergei kicked his foot at something hidden against the side of the bookcase, tucked away from view, where the wall meets the floor. 
With a low grumble, the bookcase slid slowly to the right to reveal a set of wooden steps leading underground. They creaked underfoot as he carried deeper into the abyss. 
The musty smell of mildew and copper hit her nose. 
“No…” Aylin managed to whisper, in a last ditch effort to protect herself before the drugs completely captured her mind. 
“Sleep now,” Calypso purred over Sergei’s shoulder. “We have some important business to discuss. You’ll need your strength. Shh, drift off, little one. We’ll keep watch over you. Sleep.” 
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[CHAPTER FIVE (part two)]
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Tag List: @theorgansarerotting @lxinesux @lazyxsquirrel @sincericida @pfannkuchen07 @amethyst-silk @thisloserlovespeterparker @its-crystalli @moonyslove78 @liz-allyn @dreamsarecloserwithyou @fav-fanficssss
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all good fics come from broke college girls or bad bitches who are 30+
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love on the brain: sugar & vice, vol 2 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!OC]
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summary: You didn’t think it was going to be easy, did you? AKA The night Peter and Honey reunited—Four. Months. Later. [mob!peter parker x oc!MJ] 
words: 11.8k (omfg)
NSFW/MINORS DNI - ABANDON ALL CHASTITY, YE WHO ENTER HERE (detailed warnings below)
extended warnings (spoilers): p^rn with plot, detailed smut, really just... filthy and deranged. slightly dubcon parts (although consent is clearly confirmed), no Y/N...ever, arguing, anger, jealousy, physical violence (slapping, scratching, throwing objects), almost hate sex, fem!reader with a vagina and breasts and wears a dress, oral (f! receiving), P in V, rough!dom Peter, sub!reader, possessive!peter, mirrors, titty!worship, shame and slight degradation, use of emojis, f! being restrained, discussion of masturbation, slight breeding kink, non-consensual voyeurism, moderate BDSM kink, “punishment” play (spanking, edging) bratty reader, peter parker being a dunce around women, mob!au, furniture harmed in the making of this
names used: daddy, princess, baby, babygirl
A/N: This is a one-shot standalone story that takes place immediately after the Epilogue of Vol 1. And serves as the official beginning of Vol. 2. If you haven’t read Vol.1, you really should. The main OC is AFAB and goes by the name “Honey.” You’ll need to read Vol. 1 to know why.  I try to be loose with my descriptions for people who prefer a Reader-Insert. But I’m not perfect. In this canon, Honey has a Latina heritage (as do I). Take that as you will. Thanks to @moonyslove78 and @blooming-violets for cheering me on through this very long hiatus. 
This is 18+ AF. And if you think the term ‘AF’ shows how old and out of touch you are, then you’re probably not old enough to read this.
This version of TASM Peter Parker is not canon. The relationships here are not healthy and the characters need therapy. Don’t date a mob boss IRL.
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#1 - Love on the Brain
>>> heya boss. how’s your trip? 😜
Peter arched a brow as he peeked down at the text message.
>>> ⋯ >>> your trip to pound town? 🍆🍑 
He rolled his eyes, swallowing back an irritated snort.
Real mature, Felicia. 
He almost tapped out a haughty reply but stopped. Corners of his mouth turned down, he found himself unable to respond.
“So many choices. I just don’t know what I want.”
An understatement.
The girl of his dreams sat across from him in the quaint East Harlem Cuban restaurant. They were crammed together at a bistro table near the kitchen. The enormous menu took up the entire surface, and she had spent the last 25 minutes reading the items aloud. 
It was nearly 11 p.m., and they had yet to pick an appetizer. 
The woman he’d called ‘his Honey’ sweetly sighed with a shrug. “Now that we’re here, I just can’t make up my mind.” 
Her voice had a singsong tune to it, purposefully careless. Blissfully ignorant of the fact that Peter was starving.
“Maybe I’m just not feeling Cuban food tonight,” she shrugged, nonchalant.
Peter swallowed hard. Tried to rid his expression of any hint of impatience or irritation. 
“Oh,” he remarked delicately, thinking of all the different dinner reservations he’d made for tonight. It didn’t matter what magazine talked it up, didn’t matter how many “tire awards” it had won. 
Honey was unimpressed. 
“M’surprised,” he said, as emotionlessly as possible. “Thought you had your heart set on this place.”
The place was one of those hole-in-the-wall joints that had less than 10 tables, which made takeout the most popular choice. 
On this night however—a Tuesday— the restaurant was nearly empty, except for the overdressed couple and the loathsome kitchen staff, who didn’t expect to be subject to “este cabrón” and his picky girlfriend strolling in 30 minutes before closing. 
While Peter could feel the heat of their ire over the oven, Honey avoided it. She explained to the manager that Peter was “un ricacho que tiene demasiado dinero.” And with that, they were seated.
When Peter approached her earlier that afternoon in the park, he’d expected a much worse welcome. He nearly died of a panic attack when he spotted her on the park bench. It had been four long months since he’d attempted to communicate with her, and he half-expected her to throw her iced coffee in his face. 
Actually, he had no idea what to expect from her. Terrifyingly.
Peter had lamented to Felicia— “There’s no card that says, ‘Sorry, I ghosted you for a few months while attempting to shake the heat off my back.’ Which flowers say, ‘I apologize that the last conversation we had, I called you a whore in front of a room full of cops’?”
The true challenge came when Peter actually looked into her eyes. He didn’t expect that one look would render him useless. 
She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Ethereal. Glowing. The human equivalent of a bouquet of sunflowers, with happy round cheeks and her hair tied back in a ponytail. She was the color of rainbows, and summer, and sunshine. She was the cherries of her red lip stain and the golden rays of her yellow linen sundress.
God, that dress. 
Peter planned for everything—but not that dress. 
His carefully rehearsed speech went out the window when he saw her in that dress: a cotton ruched-waist, tea-length gown in a yellow gingham pattern. It featured a sweetheart neckline that cradled her breasts perfectly between the halter tie-back straps. 
He had no idea where that dress came from, but it was the most perfect piece of fabric ever to grace a woman’s body. He would buy her twelve more of them, no matter the cost. He’d buy every last one.
He’d give her the sun, the ocean, Hawai’i, and all the stars in the sky— if only she’d forgive him. He was ready to throw himself on a bed of hot coals as long as it meant that she would take him back. If she would come back home.
Truthfully, he needed her to come home.
Not to get ahead of himself, he started by taking her to dinner. 
That was Felicia’s advice—women love dinner. solves everything. the fancier, the better, with lots of red meat—u know how they say food is the way to a man’s heart? dinner is the way to the ovaries. works every time.
Actually, Felicia gave Peter lots of advice. For once, he was more than grateful to accept it. 
>>> make her feel like you can’t take your eyes off her. but don’t stare. like a creeper  >>> be a gentleman, but not a pushover. you wanna be the good guy. soft YA novel boyfriend type
Followed quickly by—
>>> but not too soft! don’t be a little bitch. if she plays hard to get, you play offense.  >>> and defense.
Peter had no idea what she was talking about. But he knew when it was wise to trust the advice of more intelligent creatures than men.
Five restaurants later...
“I thought going to dinner was your idea?” Honey asked with pursed lips.
“It was; it was my idea,” he nervously replied. “Six hours ago—it was my idea.”
She narrowed her eyes to slits. “Hmm. Six hours. Long time to wait.” Her eyes fell down to the menu again. Her lack-of-sympathy said everything.
Peter’s pocket buzzed again, and he glanced down at the incoming text message from Felicia.
>>> ...???? 
He rolled his eyes. Tapped out a response.
<<< Not great.
“Am I interrupting something?” Honey asked with a clipped tone.
Peter jumped, pocketing his phone immediately. “No, just... just something... silly,” he muttered. “How ‘bout we get a few plates in, yeah? I’m gonna just order some stuff—”
“Like what?” she questioned skeptically.
“I don’t know,” Peter shrugged, his stomach twisting. “One of everything.”
“That’s wasteful,” Honey said, judgment sharpening her gaze. “Food waste is bad enough as it is in this city.”
“Well, at this point,” he snapped with an exasperated sigh, “I might be able to eat two of everything.” The words floated away from him, and he bit the inside of his cheek, wishing they would come back. Hesitantly, he made eye contact with Honey.
She peered at him disgustedly from over the top of her menu. She scoffed, crossing one leg over the other, and dropped the leather-bound book closed. 
“Don’t let me slow you down,” Honey said icily. “I’m not that hungry anyway.”
Peter’s eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. His pocket buzzed again. 
>>> the fuck? what do you mean?  >>> she was in love with you b4... how hard can it be to take her on a date?  >>> christ. did you fuck this up, parker?
He shoved the phone back in his jacket, nearly punching through the silk fabric. 
“If I’m wasting your time, tell me,” Honey sharply retorted. She crossed her arms even tighter across her chest. He had to force himself to look away from the way it plumped her breasts together. “I’d hate to keep you from something important.”
Felicia was right. He was fucking this up. Before he could open his mouth—
“Excuse me, señorita,” a masculine, smoky voice crooned at them. 
Peter and Honey glanced up to see a chiseled man in his 30s approach the table with a hurricane glass of ice. He was a specimen of Latin American art—a bronzed statue, with carved muscles that bulged out of his floral shirt. Deep brown eyes—no, hazel eyes— fixed on Honey as he reached across the table with rolled-back sleeves. The corded muscles in his arm, toned by long hours of hard labor, flexed gracefully as he gently set a cocktail in front of her. 
A frosted, colorless liquid speckled with crushed mint leaves filled the glass. Honey blinked with delighted surprise.
“Our compliments,” the young, disgustingly attractive waiter explained with a sultry smile and a thick accent. “In case you found yourself thirsty while browsing the menu.” 
A blush colored her skin as she glanced up at their handsome waiter. The sparkle in her smile was as blinding as ever, and she graciously looked back between the glass and the server.  The waiter— no way in hell this fuckin’ guy is a waiter— beamed back at her, enamored. 
“Oh, wow!” she gasped, reaching for the glass with dainty fingers. “Is this a mojito? That’s my favorite! How did you know?”
The waiter graciously chuckled. “Lucky guess. You look like a woman of refined taste.”
Peter felt his blood pressure rising.
Honey didn’t even look at her date, as if he was suddenly invisible. “Thank you,” she grinned, self-satisfied. “I mean, I do know my way around a Bacardi bottle.” The waiter chuckled, maybe too hard, at her silly joke.
“We want you to enjoy your evening with us,” the waiter added politely, sparing Peter a glance but keeping all his attention on Honey. “We are honored to have you as our guest.” 
The waiter spoke gentlemanly as he splayed his long fingers across his chest. “Please, take as much time as you need. No need to feel rushed. It is my pleasure to serve you.” 
Peter could feel a twitch behind his eye. Could have been the fire shooting out of his eyes. Fuck this prick, probably another Broadway reject or somethin’, couldn’t buy himself a decent shirt—His mind churned along with his anger.
Oblivious, Honey beamed up at him with a golden smile. “Thank you so much for saying that,” she replied, endearingly sweet. “You are too kind, um... I’m sorry, what was your name again?” 
“Pedro.”
Honey’s brows shot to her hairline. “Pedro?” she repeated, absolutely delighted. She glanced over at Peter. “Isn’t that something?”
The mob boss’ lip curled mirthlessly. “Oh, it’s somethin,’ alright.” 
Peter continued to burn his stare—fuck his stupid accent— into the side of the aloof waiter’s head. He wondered if Pedro’s handsome, chiseled jawline was sharp enough to cut through a noose.
Buzz..
>>> you’re keepin’ your cool, right?  >>> remember what i said.  >>> anything she wants. no questions asked! >>> don’t get all crazy possessive either
The joyful sound of her laughter ripped his attention away from his phone and back towards his charmed date. 
“Pedro,” she sweetly preened. “Can you give us a recommendation?” She briefly flashed her eyes at Peter before looking back at her new friend. “My date’s clearly distracted. He has no idea what I like.” 
Oh? Peter raised a brow at that. And lost his appetite.
Peter followed Honey down the hallway to his hotel suite while storm clouds swirled in his gut. Lighting crackled with each footfall. Tension clogged the atmosphere, and they shuffled in a silent fog to the door.
Despite Felicia’s advice about controlling his inner beasts, Peter’s hackles were raised, and his stomach growled. Now, he was hungry for more than just food. And simultaneously, he’d never felt so powerless. 
Peter noted how tightly she wrapped her arms around herself. Her face suggested she was deep in thought. He wondered if she was just as tightly wound as he was. Wondered if she could break his heart with just a look.
He was flailing. Pathetic.
Peter’s fist clenched his keycard tight. He had to be careful not to snap the card in half between his fingers. Was it from excitement or terror? Desire or rage? 
He had to focus, to make this work. He had nothing if he didn’t have her. 
Rigidly, Peter pushed the door open and stood to the side of the frame to let her enter. 
She paused briefly, lips tight, as she gazed into the rotunda entryway of the lavish suite. They hadn’t spoken in the car, and he hadn’t had the chance to explain the location. 
Letting out a steady breath, she strode through the threshold and stopped. Her body blocked the doorway. She turned to look up at Peter, defiant eyes flashing.
“This is as far as you go.” 
Peter blinked, looking at her in confusion.
Her tone was curt. Icy. He recognized that sound. It was the tone of voice she used when she wanted to draw blood, and it never failed to inflict pain. Her voice. Her eyes. Even her tongue was razor-sharp.
Peter curled a brow upwards. “Sorry?” 
Honey narrowed her eyes. “Not yet, you’re not.” 
He took a step back, blinking owlishly. 
“What did you think was going to happen tonight, Peter?” The ire of Honey’s question sliced through him. “Did you think you were gonna shave your face, take me to a fancy dinner, and then I’d just... open my legs for you?”
A literal ellipsis formed in his mind. 
Peter swallowed hard. “Uhhh—?”
“‘I’ll wait for forever, Honey,’ she parroted his earlier admission mockingly. “Is that all you have to say to me? You left me! For four months!”
Peter nodded his head, not sure exactly why or when he began. “I know, I know...”
“You know!?”
The walls of etiquette and politeness between them began to crack.
“How many times I gotta tell ya? I was tryin’ to protect ya, Honey—”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
It stung like a snake bite. Rage filled her eyes, disdain bubbling out of her mouth. She had only just begun. 
“You buy me all this expensive bullshit!” she scolded. “And you dress up in your ridiculous designer suits and parade me to all these fucking pretentious places! Like I’m some kind of accessory! Like you own the whole fucking city and everyone in it!”
He replied with a string of noises. Or, at least, he thought so.
“Big bad mob boss—all that power—and yet, you couldn’t just talk to me? You had me wait around for you like a stray dog! You can just come and go as you please, but you—you expect me to follow you around on a leash?”
“Honey, please. Let me explain—”
“I don’t want to hear it, Peter!” her voice echoed through the rotunda and down the hall of the hotel. “I don’t want to hear a single one of your lame excuses! I don’t want a fancy dinner, or a new Porsche, or a mansion, or whatever else makes your dick hard!”
Peter blinked rapidly, stunned. His body responded as if she had just kicked him in the place she referenced, “Jus’lemme—”
“And I sure as hell don’t want another apology!” she asserted definitively. “I don’t want you anywhere near me!” 
Peter’s jaw hung open, tongue dead in his mouth. The woman who barely stood at his collarbone stared down at him, making him feel inches tall. 
“Now, I’m going to bed. Exactly as I have been for the last four months.” Her voice thundered, “Alone!”
With that, the door slammed in his face, rattling inches from his nose. The echo reverberated through the empty hallway and inside his chest, emphasizing the deep crack that formed.
Peter let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. The shock subsided slowly, and his heart sank. The ache soon sizzled into a burn, boiling his blood. At the same time, the sting of her rejection was raw. Unbearable.
Unbelievable.
Absolutely unacceptable. 
He should break down the fucking door. Throw her over his shoulder and tie her up. Gag her—Anything to get her to listen.
Haplessly, Peter’s eyes fell on his expensive shoes—his Valentinos. Or maybe these were the Tom Ford’s? He had no clue. Just more bullshit.
Fuck—He was going to cry. Maybe he should let himself just do it. Lean into it. Drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness. Shoulders slumped, he squeezed his eyes closed. 
He was a little bitch.
Peter pictured a door closing on a rocket or an airplane. Whatever it was, it was leaving him behind. He was falling back to Earth, having placed too much faith in miracles. This was his punishment for flying that close to the sun—
The door swung open. 
Two hands grabbed Peter’s jacket, pulling him forward off his heels. It was a surprisingly fluid motion; his heartbreak had reduced the mass of his bones to nothing. 
Honey’s nails practically pierced his lapels. She yanked him through the doorway into the suite, slamming the door behind him, and slamming him into the door right after.
Before Peter could open his mouth to speak, she was on him like a viper.
A sharp, biting kiss swallowed him whole, stealing the oxygen from his lungs. The heat was as intense as he had remembered. This time, they didn’t melt into one another. Honey was like a wildfire, her touch scalding him. 
His skin flushed from the sudden unbearable heat. Before he could react, her lithe fingers started tugging the edges of his jacket. Clumsily, she tried pushing it back over his broad shoulders. As soon as he knew of her intent, he eagerly obliged, shrugging the garment off and to the floor. 
Her hands went to his throat, ebony-painted nails leaving trails on his skin. Buttons popped as she yanked on his clothes. Her goal could have been to draw blood with her kiss.
Every time her teeth tore at his lips, he responded with a groan into her mouth.
Clumsy, he fumbled with his fingers—reaching up to grip her by the hair. Finally, he wrenched her head back, detaching her bite from his face.
Immediately, he was met with an open-palmed slap on the cheek.
Sharp gasps cut through them, and they jumped backward a few feet. Tension and shock reverberated in the chasm they created. Like the barometric pressure plunging before a storm, an eerie calm settled over them. 
Honey blinked at him, jaw agape and her palm throbbing. 
Peter glared at her in silence. He looked a mess—hair unkempt, the top buttons of his shirt torn open to reveal jagged crimson scratch marks across his milky skin.
His heartbeat steadily increased as he gently dabbed his fingertips at the ache in his jaw. The exquisite lines of his face were stained pastel pink, flushed by arousal or anger. His eyes were black as night, so it could have been either one.
She looked just as wrecked. Dress askew, her hairstyle half-unraveled. Goosebumps dotted her skin. She looked shocked at the violence she was capable of, surprised and possibly guilty at her own strength. As the seconds passed, the feelings faded.
Peter watched her, pupils dilating, blood pressure rising. The shadow of a smile curved his mouth. His features darkened into something primal. Something familiar.
There’s my girl.
Slowly, he lowered his hand, studying her threatening look until his own expression began to match.
Physically, his senses were haywire. Danger, excitement, and a sick sort of pleasure rattled his bones and labored his breathing. The hairs on his skin stood on end. Alarms blared in his head. The sound of his own blood was almost deafening to him, thumping like a kick drum. 
Peter could hear her heart, too. Fast. Like a rabbit. He was a wolf in pursuit. 
Maybe the pain of her slap triggered him, a preemptive action against further attack.
She got one in, Peter mused mockingly. He knew she was no match. Not as Peter’s night vision sharpened. Not while he could taste the salt from her perspiration on his tongue. Most intoxicating of all, Peter could smell her desire. Like a rose bursting open.
In another blink, they switched positions. Peter snatched her by her shoulders and slammed her back into the wall, pinning her there. She went feral—hissing and raging at her entrapment.
Not a rabbit. A honey badger, then.
“Get off of me!” Honey spat.
“Shut up,” he ordered. Quiet and fierce.
Fingers gripping her forearms tight, he attacked her lips, teeth colliding. The ferocity stunned her. For a moment, it seemed like she finally submitted to him before she wriggled her mouth free.
“Mmffucker—Let me go!”
His body might as well have been a brick wall. His face was stonelike, eyes just as cold. 
“No.” 
Honey’s brow scrunched up like a petulant child throwing a tantrum. “I’ll scream!” she countered.
Peter smirked, the hickory in his eyes igniting. “Baby. You have no idea.”
Peter’s guarantee sent a shiver down Honey’s spine. He saw the gears turning in her mind as she carefully considered pushing him further. 
He hoped she would. 
His fingers tightened around her forearms. He crucified her under his gaze. And yet, despite the danger anyone else would have felt... A glimmer of curiosity flickered in her eyes.
It set his mind reeling. A tiny sign of weakness to temptation made Peter’s stomach trapeze. He zeroed in on it, licking his chops. 
Not to make it easy, Honey brought her knee up, attempting to make contact with his groin. There was nearly a foot of difference between their heights, and she paid it no mind.
Brave girl. 
Peter admired her tenacity. She had balls. Smart, too, he pleasantly recognized. Honey went for the weak spot first. Good call. 
Pointless, though. 
Nothing below Peter’s belt was weak when she was around.
Unfairly, Peter picked up on her attack before her leg was even bent. He snatched her above the knee, lifting her toes off the ground and prying her thighs open. 
He pictured the bruises on her skin that his fingertips would leave behind. Just the thought made him rock hard. 
A year ago, Peter would have been ashamed. He would have shied away from her, for fear of repulsing her, and took out his frustration by himself in the shower. 
Grinding his teeth at those memories, he pressed Honey’s hips into his waist, forcing her legs around him, and—Fuck—her heat.
Peter’s brain nearly short-circuited. She was like a bonfire against his belly. His cock pushed against his trousers, straining for her warmth. He secured her hips to his with a tight grip, which only pissed her off more. She thrashed, enraged. 
She really needed to stop doing that. It only made the burn worse. 
A few months ago, Peter would have been ashamed of the rush he felt from manhandling her. Ashamed of how his cock ached and twitched at her fruitless tantrums.
“Fucking asshole!” Honey sneered.
“Yeah?” he said with a bitter laugh. “You're a spoiled little brat!”
“Fuck you!”
“See what I mean?” Peter scoffed, holding her tighter. He breathed hotly into the shell of her ear. “Not even a ‘please.’” 
His pride was short-lived. Inexplicably, Honey arched her neck and buried her teeth into his shoulder. He roared—“Fuck! What the fuck!!??” —surprised she didn’t bite through the silk of his collared shirt.
Apparently, he wasn’t the only beast in the room.
They tumbled down ungracefully. Peter landed hard on his back, with Honey crashing on top of him. She collapsed on his lungs, knocking the wind from his chest. Sputtering, he reached out to grab her, his fingertips barely missing the hem of her dress. The small woman scrambled to her hands and knees, then to her feet. 
Honey dashed into the suite while Peter’s voice echoed—“Goddamnitareyacrazy!?”—after her. 
Padding on her toes, she ran into a darkened living room with vaulted ceilings that might have been large enough to fit her entire apartment. Outside glass walls, the Midtown skyline surrounded her. The Metlife and Empire State Buildings glittered proudly in a breathtaking view.
The room was situated in the corner of the building. Velvet curtains framed the floor-to-ceiling windows, providing an unobstructed view of the city. The Dark Academia-Meets-Glam aesthetic seating area featured a sleek, modern leather sectional and mod velvet chaise lounge chat set. 
Without time to admire any of it, she scrambled to the first piece of furniture she could reach. She grabbed the first thing her fingers could find—a designer fruit bowl centerpiece made of polished stainless steel and brass pomegranates. 
It was exquisite and expensive. 
Honey spun on her heel and flung the heavy metal at Peter.
He dipped deftly, his spine bowing back, narrowly missing the bowl as it whipped past him. The object barreled through a crystal chandelier, glass shattering like raindrops as they came down.
“Hey—!” he scowled, facing her with an indignant glare.
A moment later, he quickly shielded his face from another flying object: an asymmetrical crystal-and-Riverstone candelabra that crumbled against his forearm. It might as well have been a brick, with ceramic shards tumbling off of his shoulder. 
Peter bristled in aggravation, brushing the pieces off. Now, she was really pissing him off.
He glanced up just in time to see a glass vase containing two dozen roses—meant to be her gift—hurtling towards his head. Reflexively, he snatched it from the air with one hand, water and all. He palmed the crystal vase like catching a baseball. Didn’t spill a drop. 
His quick reflexes stunned the both of them. Peter’s jaw went slack—partially at his ability to save the flowers, but mostly with indignation that Honey had somehow destroyed $1,000 worth of the hotel’s tchotchkes in a few seconds. 
“Enough!” Peter barked, carefully setting the vase down. Ignoring him, the woman darted toward another side table, already reaching for another expensive object to throw at him. 
Suddenly, Honey’s ankle was caught in a sticky grip. Both legs pulled out from beneath her. She flattened immediately with an ooof—her belly dropping to the wool carpet. 
Dazed, she glanced back at her legs with a crease in her brow. With a jolt, she was pulled along by a stringy, spongy substance on her ankle. It felt the way canned compressed air feels when shooting skin at close range. 
Her nails dug into the carpet fibers as she was dragged back. “Agghhh! What the—Getitoff!” 
As soon as the pulling stopped, Honey was on her back again, gazing up at the sharp lines of Peter’s cold gaze. He towered over her, even on his knees, as he mounted her hips. Protesting, she pelted him tirelessly with her fists.
The smell of sweat loomed in the air as he finally restrained her. He caged her in, pinning her wrists to the floor. Nerves buzzing and tempers flaring, she continued to writhe and wrestle with him to no avail. Peter quickly overpowered the more petite woman, fomenting her anger. 
“You’re hurting me!” she sneered breathlessly, teeth gritted. 
Peter was unimpressed. “Liar.”
“M’not lying—!”
He glared back, barely breaking a sweat. “You’re so full of shit—!”
“Fuck you! What do you know—?”
“I know you, Honey!” he charged, silencing her. 
She went still, subdued beneath his dark gaze. Peter loomed over her like a stormcloud. “I know the games you like to play,” he said—both teasing and sinister, toying with his prey. He lowered his lips until they breathed the same air. 
Honey’s focus was split between Peter’s intense stare and glistening, kiss-ravaged mouth. She tried not to notice the sensation of her nipples brushing against the fabric with each labored breath. He could easily reach down and touch her. Tried not to focus on how solid his chest felt against hers, like carved marble. Tried not to focus on the dark chocolate of his eyes melting in the heat of their gaze. 
Just as intensely, Peter watched her watch him—zeroing in on the idle way her tongue darted to wet her lips. The tiny action shot electricity down his spine, straight to his groin. 
Honey felt that, too. A tiny gasp escaped her, her lashes fluttering. The fight suddenly left her arms as she noticed the heavy bulge against her hip. 
He was hot. Not just figuratively. Feverishly hot. He was so hard, too—and just for her. The lewd image of him splitting her open on his cock made her insides clench. 
Peter eyed her dangerously, his voice a dark abyss. “Think you can hide it from me, eh?” The teasing smile on his lips bordered on a snarl. “Gonna sit here an’tell me... that if I were to reach down between your legs right now...” Her heart hammered in her chest, hanging on every word. In her mind, she was begging him to follow through with the threat. “...Those panties won’t be soaked?” 
Honey failed to swallow back a little mewl as he leaned down closer.
“Ya think I can’t feel ya, huh?” he mumbled, lips ghosting the curve of her throat. “Think I can’t smell how wet you are right now?” Another wanton exhale left her belly as she leaned into the heat of his breath on her skin. “Y’know I can already taste you on my tongue, babygirl.”
Honey’s mouth and legs seemed to part further at his vulgar words. She shivered at the sensation of his slick tongue traversing her pulse point.
“You’re... an asshole...” she murmured breathlessly. She sounded half-asleep.
Peter hissed, “And you’re a needy little slut, aren't’cha?” 
The sudden ferocity made her eyes unintentionally roll back. A second later, Peter’s fingers collared her, choking off the small mewl in her throat. He turned her by the chin, wrenching her attention to him. 
“Hey—Eyes on me,” he commanded.
Mesmerized, Honey blinked up at him like a fawn.
“How ‘bout that little stunt you pulled with the waiter?” he prodded. There was an icy edge on the last word. Her throat bobbed while she kept her face neutral. The bright amber of his glare penetrated her. Peter continued accusatorily, “Those flirty little giggles while he gave ya fuck-me eyes? Y’think I didn’t see that?”
Honey sniffed, stiffening her upper lip. This was a power move; she knew better than to back down. “Look who's jealous,” she scoffed. 
With a jolt, she again attempted to wrench her wrists free. He simply held on tighter, closing his talons as she twisted like a snake.
“Jealous?” Peter repeated calmly, narrowing his eyes into slits. “Me? Nah.” His hands suddenly seized her hips as he forcibly jerked her up off the floor. A slew of profanities spilled from her mouth, bucking against him as he carried her.
In a few strides, he was at the edge of a dining table. With little regard for his barbarity, he plopped Honey on the surface, shoving her flat on her back. Peter arched over her as if to dominate her, spine bowing until he filled her periphery with his fierce gaze. 
Honey’s eyes sparkled, cheeks colored from the rush. “Threatened, then!”
Peter’s face softened inexplicably. Blinked at her for a moment, head tilting. Then, he landed an open-palmed smack against her ass. 
It was a surprisingly heavy blow, as close as he’d ever come to intentionally inflicting pain on her. Honey yelped, hissing from the sting on her upper thigh. Right after the strike, Peter’s fingers began kneading her flesh, soothing the welt that was bound to form.
“See, if I were a jealous man,” he noted with an evil sneer, “I woulda gouged his eyes out with a salad fork.” 
Peter swallowed up her gasp with a forceful kiss. A few moments later, he broke away.
“If I felt threatened?” he added breathlessly, “I woulda bent you over the table and fucked you dumb. Let everyone in the Five Boroughs hear you beg for my cock.”
Once the filth rolled off his tongue, Peter went back to using it to lash against hers. Honey was overwhelmed by the soft, wet muscle invading her mouth. Not only that, the violent edge to his words felt like standing in a river and grabbing a livewire. A shiver racked through her body, a current of pent-up anger and desire sending blood rushing to her core.
As if on cue, Peter’s fingertips made contact with the lace fabric between her thighs. She tremored at his touch, heart skipping. He toyed with the soft, stretchy material. Snapped it lazily against her flesh.
His voice was hypnotizing. “I woulda shoved these dirty panties down his throat just to never hear his stupid fuckin’ accent again.”
Honey felt drunk off of the vitriol he poured into her ear. It was violent and possessive... and it shouldn’t have made her so horny, and yet—
Honey trembled with anticipation, panting like a bitch in heat. “I-I... can’t... ugh, fu—” 
The pads of his fingers ran firmly along her seam. She let out an embarrassing whine. Peter's prediction was spot-on. A shameful amount of wetness coated the inside of her thighs. He played with the soaked fabric and smeared her mess across her skin with a smug smirk.  
“Think I don’t know what you like?” he muttered darkly, echoing her earlier jab. 
RIP!
The lace bunched at her waist. Honey’s wet skin felt particularly chilled being exposed to the air. She quivered with anticipation. Her head was spinning, pussy throbbing. She felt worshiped and simultaneously defiled. 
Peter pressed his forehead into hers, skin-to-skin. She stared into the black of his eyes in suspended silence, like the pornographic thoughts in his head were being projected into her mind.
Her own pupils were blown black. “Fuckin’ hate you so much—”
“I don’t care.”
“—re’such an asshole—”
“I don’t care,” he repeated more firmly. Then, “You belong with me.”
“You left me!” she fired back.
The sharpness of her tone sobered him a little. He blinked and sighed. “I couldn’t leave you. I didn’t leave you.”
She attempted to sit up, trying to lift her shoulders unsuccessfully. She writhed with spite, “Fuckin’ selfish prick, I outta cut off—”
“What was my drink order?”
He blurted the last sentence out with a mind-blowing level of calm. At once, their bodies went still. Still pinned to the table with a hummingbird beneath her breast, Honey stared up at him in confusion. 
Her brows pinched together. “Huh—?”
“My drink order,” Peter repeated, his expression void of the aggression he had the previous moment. 
It was like a mask had fallen away, and the man on top of her transformed into a different person. Maliciousness evaporated, replaced by eagerness. Desperation. 
Peter stared at her, intently searching her gaze. “At the shop,” he whispered, eyes soft. “What you used to make for me every time I came t’see you..?” The words fell away as he stared at her expectantly. 
She arched a brow. 
It had been black coffee, bitter and dark. Just like Peter’s entire world. How it had always been. Until—
“You said I should try something new,” he added, with urgency like reminding her of a forgotten dream. “So you made something for me—something... special.”
Peter’s heart swelled through his eyes at the last word. Honey stared up at him, perplexed. He was looking for the answer on the tip of her tongue:
Honey and Lavender. 
Confusion ceded to aggravation. A line formed between Honey’s brows.
“You remember, right?” he asked, hopeful.
She did. He knew she did. He could see it at the corners of her eyes, pooling behind her eyelids. Sobering memories flooded her, cooling the heat between them. A different sort of ache settled in.
Reluctantly, she nodded.
He took a breath, relieved but still anxious. “Say those words,” he said, “if you really want me to stop.”
Her damp lashes fluttered as Honey blinked up at him in surprise. Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, he swallowed dryly. His stomach lurched at the thought of being sent away like this. 
Still, it was a risk he had to take. 
“I can let go, walk away,” he offered tenderly. “Right now. No questions asked.” Each word felt like sticking needles through his tongue. He gave her an out, needing confirmation that her reciprocated lust wasn’t imagined. 
“Say the words,” Peter whispered in lament, “and I’ll leave you alone.”
That word settled like a boulder crushing his chest.
Despite Peter’s heart telling him her rejection would be unbearable, the thought of truly harming her was more so. 
Honey studied him with thoughtful eyes, contemplative and curious. He had won. He subdued her. Restrained her. She remembered when he threw a piano like a toddler throwing a toy truck. 
She could do little to stop him if he wanted to force her. And yet—
There he is. 
This was the man she remembered. The one that was ready to die for her. To die by her hand, if that’s what she wanted. 
“Two words,” Peter sighed, his nose brushing against hers. It was a sweetly affectionate gesture. “Say the words, and this can end right n—”
Honey captured his lips, stealing his breath like it was her only source of oxygen. Static filled Peter’s ears, his body tensing and relaxing simultaneously. He was soaring and plummeting. Rising and falling. 
Her tongue slipped past his lips, dragging along the pad of his mouth. Soon enough, the sweetness melted off in their flames. 
Honey pulled her mouth away, barely able to get out her plea. “Touch me, Peter. Make me feel it.”
And she dove right back in. This time, Peter plunged with her, deep beneath the waves of lust. He sank into her current, dragging her with the tide of desire.
Peter’s hands were frantic travelers. Flitting from her wrists to her shoulders. To gently cup her face. To smooth over the mounds of her breasts. To dig his fingers into the linen fabric of the sweetheart neckline.
“Love this dress,” he idly mumbled between kisses, abusing the neckline. “Mmm—where’d ya say ya got it?”
“Oh…uhm—?”
The question caught her off guard. She blushed, brain foggy with lust. Her instinct was to say something like ‘thank you,’ but her tongue fumbled the words. “Uh... it was, I think, Old Navy—?”
A ripping sound shocked her. She squeaked as a flurry of cotton fibers burst from the top of the dress. 
Peter yanked the linen bodice apart like tissue paper, his tongue chasing away any protest from her lips. Gooseflesh broke out as her skin was exposed to the air. Driven by lust, he shoved the ruined material down to her waist. 
“Fuck, Peter...” she gasped, scandalized.
“Sorry,” he muttered, not sorry.
It was his turn to be greedy. Peter dug his hands beneath the cups of her bra, toying with the peaks of her breasts. 
With a snap, the bra was torn in half. The strength in Peter’s long fingers stunned her. Puzzling her as much as it turned her on.
He laved at her left breast with his tongue, drawing an obscene moan from her. His hand pinched sadistically at her right nipple. The delectable sting traveled from her chest to her cunt. She arched—”ughhh, god”—her spine bowing beautifully.
He held the cleft of her left breast delicately in his hand while lapping at the ridges of her peaked flesh. Warm tongue caressed the tip, drawing shapes and discovering pathways to her pleasure. Every little flick inspired something new. She cooed and twitched beneath him. He was desperate to memorize her taste. 
Languidly, he massaged each of her tits inside his mouth, his cock aching as he imagined licking her pussy with the same fervor. It was almost unbearable. A strangled moan vibrated through his chest at the picture in his mind. 
Her reaction to the sound came out as an agonized mewl. 
Oh.
He needed more of that sound.
Peter felt her push on his shoulders. Trying to wriggle away from his mouth. 
This time, he had no tolerance for misbehavior. He grabbed both wrists and forced them above her head. Honey yanked back, stunned at being glued down to the table surface by his palms. 
The peach of his pouty lips curved upward as his eyes took a turn ravishing her. She was a sight of wicked debauchery. Her hair was a mess, and her nearly-naked body lay across the table like a feast. Her thighs locked around his hips.
He used one hand to rub circles into the delicate skin of her restrained forearms. The other hand mischievously dipped lower and lower, sliding through her wet heat. Calloused, dexterous fingers spread her lips open, playing in her slick and prodding her tight hole. 
Honey was finished. Ruined. Past the point of no return. Unconditionally surrendered. Helpless and eager to subjugate herself to her conqueror. Filthy sounds filled the room, punctuated by weak cries from his new loyal subject.
“So pretty,” he sighed breathlessly as he coated his fingers in her cream. “All this for me, princess?” He cooed at her, edging on cruel.
A broken gasp fell from her lips, her chest pulsing involuntarily. 
“Aww, what’s the matter? Does this little pretty pussy ache, baby?”
A vortex formed deep in her belly, dragging her in. He licked his dry lips, salivating at the image.
“I know it hurts, baby, I know. I know,” he teased. “It’s been hard playin’ all by yourself, huh?” The sunniness of his voice was eclipsed. “All alone. Screamin’ out my name into your pillow. Fingers buried deep in your wet cunt.”
Honey’s eyes snapped open. Before she could respond, the breadth of his middle fingertip penetrated her. She gasped as his finger speared her open. All the while, he wore a devil’s smile.
“Ain’t that right? Only for me.” Entranced, he watched her every twitch and shudder. “This pussy belongs to me, doesn’t it?”
It was a question feigning the need for her confirmation. She couldn't answer. Couldn't breathe. 
No, that can’t be right—had he been watching her masturbate in her apartment? Was he watching her the entire time he was gone? 
The possibility enraged her. Ten orgasms from the King of New York’s Underworld couldn’t even quell that fire.
Peter smiled wickedly, playing with her pussy. Taking his time toying with her flesh. He was a tyrant-king, dominating her pleasure. With a calloused hand, he held onto her cunt like it belonged there.
But she was his wild colt. Difficult to break.
“Oh-n—ohh god,” she gasped. Unbeknownst to him, an evil plot bloomed in her brain. Her lips curled into a smile.
“Fuck—gah—ohhhhh…”
He licked up each broken syllable.
“Yes! Oh, god, yes! Oh—” 
Sweat beaded on her chest, sin oozing through her pores.
“...Pedro.”
Halt.
Brakes squealing. Full stop. Not only in the physical world between them but also in Peter’s living fantasy.
Mischievously, Honey’s grin widened. 
She got him, alright. 
Flawless victory.
Dark eyes flashing, Peter withdrew his fingers from her. “Fuckin’ brat…”
In one fluid motion, Peter flipped her over to her belly, stunning her. He followed with another forceful slap to her ass cheek. This one was more punishing than the last, drawing a puppy-like yelp. His voice was ice. Eyes black. 
Now, she was in trouble.
“Think that’s funny?” he said through gritted teeth.
Peter manipulated her limbs like a rag doll. He maneuvered her forward until her cheekbone pressed against the table. She panicked for a moment at being in such a compromising position. 
The chill of the air across her wet pussy made her shiver. At the same time, she clenched at his roughness.
Peter kneaded her sides, pressing fingerprint bruises on her waist. He yanked her hips towards him until her knees were on the table’s edge. Honey’s face burned, stricken with modesty and flustered by how he hoisted her ass in the air. 
Her hips were propped up like a rack of lamb, and he licked his lips at the sight. It was too vulnerable, being bared to him like this. Obscene, on display, inches from his face. 
For a half second, she considered using the safe words. 
She squirmed uncomfortably while her mess dripped down the inside of her thighs. Peter denied any attempt to escape, eventually gathering her limbs and pulling her hands behind her back. 
Short puffs of breath fogged the glass surface of the table. Her heart pounded beneath her. Honey had only witnessed this side of him a few times—and never directed toward her. 
She was in trouble. But was she in danger?
The buckle of his belt clinked as it came free. Honey quivered at the sound, pussy aching in anticipation.
And if she was in danger, why did that make her wet?
“Pete—” Honey muttered, a scream bubbling at the back of her throat. Leather nipped at her forearms as he used his belt to tie her hands behind her back. 
“Ple-please—“
He fisted her hair, rearing her head back. Her neck arched beautifully, her chin dangling above the table surface.
“Listen to me, princess,” Peter snarled, hot in her ear. Spite peppered his tone. “If you ever call out another man’s name when I’m inside ya again— I’ll make ya wear nothin’ but my cum for the next week.” 
The savage tone contrasted with the glow of his eyes. 
It was always opposites with him.
This was the same man who coddled and worshiped her. The same one who kidnapped her, drugged her, blindfolded her, and gagged her. 
He forced her, a willing participant, into his bed—by asking her permission. 
Peter was more than capable of keeping her chained to his bedpost if he wanted it. 
Or… if she wanted it.
Peter snickered at her expression. “Ooh, yeah… Betchu’d like that, huh?” He taunted her like she was broadcasting her dirty thoughts. “Such a needy little slut for me, ain't that right?” 
Honey felt his warmth leave her back, like being plunged into the Hudson in winter. His hands reappeared at the back of her thighs, and her first instinct was to try to close her legs. 
That was a mistake and an impossible endeavor. 
He split her thighs like opening a book. Grinned at the sight as if he stumbled across gold.
“Fuck, babygirl, you’re soaked. Just talkin’ about it and look at the mess you made…”
Embarrassment and want ravaged her. The conflicting experiences had her ovaries twisted into knots. Honey bit her tongue, unsure if she was going to scream or moan. 
Instead, it came out like a pathetic mewl. “Pe-Peter, please—”
Then he open-palm-smacked her cunt, fingers landing directly on her labia. 
The wet sound it made was humiliating, and the sensation triggered all of the reactions above. She squealed at the sting on her folds. This was a delectable torture. For Peter, it was an appetizing sight. 
“Ya like that?” he grinned over the sound of her whimpers. He already knew the answer.
Another slap to her cunt made her whole body shake. 
“Like bein’ my kept girl? Tryin’ so hard to get my attention. Drivin’ me nuts. Well, you got it now, Honey.” 
Slap. 
A third strike had her pussy clenching. Honey had never experienced such an erotic rush before. She shuddered with embarrassment, afraid she’d cum from this—
Slap! Slap! Slap!
Honey gasped for air, a scream breaking through her voice. She was drowning in sick pleasure, tears in her eyes.
The mob boss gripped her thighs again, pulling her knees off the table and lifting up the weight of her lower half. The action was as easy as lifting a sheet of paper. 
God, his strength was impossible. She struggled to comprehend it while picturing herself being broken apart by it. A slew of tiny pleas fell from her lips. She didn’t even know what she was begging for—his mercy or punishment.
“Shh, shh, babygirl,” he purred with a candy voice. Brought his lips to where she was split, equal parts seductive and sinister. “Be still for me. I gotcha.” He wore a Cheshire grin. “Lemme kiss it better.” 
Slowly, he licked a line from her clit to the entrance of her cunt. She shuddered, followed by a lewd wail. She bucked her hips as he let the tip of his tongue toy with her. 
“Mmmf—so fuckin’ sweet,” Peter mumbled between languid strokes around her vaginal gate. His grip was inescapable. “Can’t help myself, s-sooo hungry…”
Honey felt an evil smile against her skin before his mouth went back to work on her. Tiny, stinging nips and kitten licks tormented her flesh. With her hips locked in place, he lashed her clit with his tongue.
Honey squirmed against the leather belt, her nails digging into the grain. She wanted to be bound like this forever. 
Peter had no intention of letting her go any time soon. 
With her thighs spread open, he dragged her toward the edge of her ecstasy. As soon as he felt her body begin to shake, he pulled away. The punishment ended with another smack to her swollen clit.
Honey cried out in frustration at having her release snatched away. 
Oh, yes—He was weak for that sound.
“What’s’a matter, baby?” he smirked with a dark chuckle. This was becoming his favorite pastime. “You mad now that you’re not the only one who can play games?”
“Gahh—Peter… fuck, plea—don’t tease—!”
Peter’s fingers slipped inside with a squelch, shutting her up. Simultaneously, he lapped at her juices while massaging her walls. Soon, he settled into an unbreakable focus.
Each kiss to her nether lips sizzled with passion. Fueled by devotion usually only reserved for a wedding day. 
“—mmmm, tastes so pretty,” he murmured into her flesh, “my pretty girls...” 
In her dazed state, Honey wondered with a pang of jealousy who the ‘she’ he was referring to was. 
“—sooo sensitive; she likes it when I kiss her like that, yeah?—” He said, in between languid, open-mouth kisses to her slit.
Jesus Fucking Christ, he’s talking about my pussy? In the third person? 
Honey gasped, scandalized at the preposterous thought. It was the most deliciously erotic moment of her life. Enraptured tears budded her eyes, the coil in her belly nearly suffocating her.
“—Fuck, oh god, Peter, don’t stop, don’stop, donstop, donstah—”
Preoccupied with his own intoxicating thoughts, Peter was eager with his tongue and steady with his hands. The room filled with the filthy, wet sounds of his carressing and French kissing of her cunt. He pleasured her with his fingers and mouth, passionately— reverently— as if making love to two different brides. 
Soon, Honey’s pleas were barely more than breathless whining. He smiled like the devil, lips coated with her slick. 
“Patience, Honey,” he admonished, sing-song and patronizing. “If you’re a good girl, maybe I might let you get to taste Her, too.”
Fuck—she was going to come from this. 
The more perverse his words were, the closer she was. So, so close—
Then, another sharp slap. 
Honey wailed, fingers digging into the leather of her restraints. Her whole body protested. The cycle repeated so many times she lost count—until her flesh was puffy from his torture. 
“Please, don’t—please, Peter, don’t tease,” she frantically begged, tears streaming. “No more— Please, I wanna come so bad—” 
He sucked on her clit.  “Yeah?”
“God, yes, please—Nyahhh-need you—Need you... inside—“
Peter hissed behind his teeth, struggling to keep his pace even as his cock jerked at her pleas. He flashed an evil smile. “S’at right?”
“Pl-please, f-feels so good, ple—gah-I need it—!”
He was in no hurry. It was almost greedy, the way he ravaged her. His fingers pressed Merlot bruises into her hips and waist while his mouth left raspberry welts on her thighs. 
Honey cried out around a moan as she felt his fingers deepen. His loving touches to her sensitive spots turned wicked, reminding her this was also a penalty for her bratty transgressions. She wept and squirmed, practically drooling on the table.
He simply grinned.
“—Mmmhm, that’s it—scream for me, princess—”
Honey’s tiny little hip thrusts fit easily in his palm as he groped her. He found it adorable, really.
“Mmm...m’sorr—ow—agh!”
“Sorry’s not gonna cut it,” he panted, eyes blown black. Shadow returned to his voice. “You’re mine now, ya hear?” His eyes traveled to where his fingers were buried to the knuckles. “Gonna fuck you every way I want—”
“Pleasepleasepleaseyes—it’syoursit’syoursallyours—”
His eyes swam over her body, drunk with lust.
All mine. 
The sinfulness of his thoughts tugged his insides into a vortex. This was wrong, he reasoned. Not how he wanted this to go. Poor girl sounded brainless, begging to be fucked.  He wasn’t much better off. This wasn’t how he planned this to go. 
But he was willing to pivot.
Hands shaking, he fumbled with his fly. It wasn’t until his cock bobbed free, glistening with precum, that he felt any sort of relief. Peter grabbed her hips and lifted them off of the table, repositioning her so he was lined up with her slit.
“Fuckin’ need you so much, Honey—” he muttered mindlessly, focused on pushing the swollen, leaking crown of his cock against the silk of her pussy. 
Her hips’ weight rested easily in his hands, and she keened at the sensation of his head pressing against her entrance. 
And god, she'd forgotten he was thick.
Honey tensed up, even as her pussy throbbed with want. It was as if all her muscles were reaching for him, heart included.
It was too much. Mascara trailed faintly down her cheeks. Her heart soared. And ached. She felt spoiled with pleasure, delighting in this penance.
More. She wanted more.
“Fuck—wanted ya so bad,” Peter mumbled, watching his cock slip through her lips. He sounded airy, hypnotized by the view. “Wanted t’crawl through your window like the goddamn—ahh— boogeyman... fuck ya in your own bed. Wanted t’take’ya home with me and keep ya there— Never let you leave.”
Honey swallowed back a sob. Then why did you send me away? 
He paused. 
Uh-oh. Did she say that out lo—?
“Because I’m an idiot,” Peter huffed, his voice fragile. 
He leaned forward and lovingly kissed up her spine, each tender press of his lips an apology. 
“I’m a stupid fuckin’ fool.” The heat of his breath ghosted across her back. “So stupid—Thought I could protect ya if I kept you away. Thought I could somehow live like that—without you.” He shook his head. “Goddamn fool.”
Peter felt the sting of tears flooding his vision. Instinctively, he squeezed his eyes shut to keep them out. “I can’t live without ya,” he nearly whimpered. “There is no life for me if you’re not in it.”
“Peter,” she said, feeling her heart lurch. Her spirit was a ship being tossed in a hurricane. One more wave, and she would break. Honey’s voice trembled, “St-stop t-talking—”
“Not until I’ve said what I shoulda said—!”
“If you don’t shut up and fuck me in the next five seconds—”
Peter cut her off by pulling her up by the shoulders and standing her upright. Honey fought it—because, of course, she did—desperately clutching the steel armor around her heart. 
Overpowering her again, he tugged the naked woman closer until her back lined up to his chest. It was an awkward position with her bound arms crushed behind her against his abs. He towered over her, eyeing her face from the side, seeking her gaze. Hooked a finger beneath her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. 
Always the fighter, Honey tried to wrench herself from his hold. Peter’s body was like a Greek god’s, with pillar-like arms and marble fingers keeping her from wriggling away. But his soft, soulful eyes are what pinned her in place. 
As soon as she peered into their oaken color, she was trapped again. 
“No,” she sneered, shaking her head. The tears weren’t from pleasure anymore. “Don’t—”
“‘Honey and Lavender,’” he whispered, featherlike. “Those are the words. All you gotta do is say ‘em, and I’ll stop.”
She gritted her teeth, bucking against his sweetness. His arms wrapped around her torso, pulling her in.
“I thought you wanted to fuck me!” she revolted, voice getting weaker by the second. “What the hell do you want from me, Peter?!” 
His features softened. Serenity pressed between his lips. “I want all of you, Honey,” he answered with resolve. “Body and soul. Wanna spend the rest of my life with ya. If you don’t kill me first.” 
He said the ‘if’ part with a teasing lilt in his tone and a half-smile. The same smirk that she loathed—and fell in love with. 
Honey squeezed her eyes shut. Peter’s thumb came up gently, wiping a messy tear from her cheek. That loving and pure act was worse than any torture he could inflict.
Walls tumbling down, her body loosened. She went slack against his arms, instead fighting to keep more tears from flowing.
“I love you,” he whispered, pouring his soul into each word. “Forever. Remember? No matter what.” 
Peter waited for her eyelids to peel back, revealing glossy eyes and a weary expression. They stayed still for eons. Nothing but their breaths and heartbeats between them, eyes locked on each other.
“Even if you’re mad as hell at me,” he added. “Even if you hate me—I want it all.”
Her lower lip wobbled. “And what then, Peter? What now?”
A moment passed. He leaned around her shoulder, bringing her chin close, and answered her with a kiss. Gentle at first, his tongue explored hers as she relaxed against him. She felt her toes leave the ground before she realized what was happening.
Peter broke the kiss. “Now?” he breathed into her hairline. “I’m gonna show you what it means to be mine.”
One of his hands left her torso—borrowed to push the head of his cock into her gate. An overwhelming burn erupted between her legs. She arched her back away from his abs as best she could while being split open.
Honey wailed brokenly, voice shattered, as he bottomed out. Peter’s hand instinctively came up to cover her mouth. She let the scream out into his palm, just as he’d promised.
Peter hissed, letting his head fall back in agonized ecstasy. His eyes drifted shut, feeling both relief and torment buried to the hilt in her warmth. 
He barely ground out, “Shh-shhh, s’alright... that’s it, s-so good, so good for me...”
His Honey was already writhing on his cock, and he hadn’t even begun to move. She was so goddamn tight he wasn’t sure he wanted to move at all.
Still, he couldn’t help indulging himself. Never could, around her.
The arm bracing Honey’s torso snaked back across her body. His hand, burning hotter than a branding iron, stretched out and smoothed over the curvature of her belly. Her pussy clenched tighter as his palm found the trophy he was looking for—an obscene bulge in her lower stomach.
A slow, sinful curve played upon his lips. “Fuck, babygirl. Look at you.” When he uncovered her mouth, her roars had quieted down to a wanton purr. He gently tilted her head downwards so she could witness the depravity herself. “Just look at how you take my dick, Honey.” 
She shuddered at the sight, nodding rapidly, unable to speak. She wondered if this was just more teasing, but she couldn’t think beyond the penetration. 
“God, you look so beautiful like that,” he muttered breathlessly. His amber eyes were fixated on the sinful spectacle beneath her waist, unable to avert his gaze. “So pretty with my cock stuffed up inside your tummy...” 
Peter sounded unhinged, even to himself. His abs twisted into knots. Vile, perverse images eclipsed his sense of decency—her body naked and wrecked, with his seed spilling from her holes. Then, her belly round with his children. Just the thought devolved him like his civilized nature was sucked back into a black hole.
Wordless whimpers poured from her lips as her taut muscles succumbed to his girth. Calloused fingertips reached further down, brushing against the hood of her clit. She jolted in his arms with the slightest touch.
At that moment, Honey’s world disappeared. Nothing existed but the exquisite ache between her legs. 
The conquerer inside him preened. “Is that the spot? Is that where it hurts, baby?” he purred into her ear with a filthy, predatory voice. Her body answered him, rewarding him with a delicious squeeze around his shaft. “That’s it,” Peter groaned, insatiable. “Good girl. So good for me.” 
His praise, even if it was teasing, was too much. Peter’s affirmations, paired with his ministrations, tightened the coil in her stomach. Exhaustion crept up on her body even as the bubble of desire swelled.
Ever so slowly, his hips pitched back and then forward. He bottomed out again at the end of the languid stroke. A shattered mewl burst from her lips, pussy pulsating around his dick.
She was magnificent. 
”Fuck, baby. Feels s-so fuckin’ good—ahh, I missed this tight pussy so much. Wanted to play with her so bad…”
Peter’s hips moved of their own accord. They were a pornographic masterpiece in the decorative mirrors situated around the room. He stole a greedy glance at the couple’s reflection. Smiling wickedly, he turned her head, making her see what he was seeing.
Honey’s stomach fluttered at the sight of her body—glistening and restrained—slotted against him. Her head bobbed as Peter gripped her hips and fucked into her like a sex doll. 
Perverse. Debauched. Divine. It made her lightheaded.
Slowly, he increased the pace of his thrusts, panting into her ear. At some point, she started muttering. Broken and embarrassingly desperate pleas and pet names tumbled unwittingly out of her mouth.
One of them must have caught his attention. But she honestly couldn’t remember what she had said.
“Ugh—I lose my fuckin’ mind when you call me that name,” he growled, throwing his head back. “Ya know that, precious? Such a good girl for me. Good girls get spoiled.” 
Honey’s body thrummed at his baby talk. In all its depravity, she started to suspect what she must have said in all its depravity. Slowly, she was losing the ability to be ashamed.
The slick-coated pad of Peter’s thumb circled her clit, before traveling down further. He curiously prodded where they were joined—“Fuck, look at how good ya open up for me.” — His fingers trailed the outline of her stretched hymen wrapped around his cock.
Honey closed her eyes and turned away, blushing from his praise. Timid about how she relished in the filth. Peter brought his lips to her ear as if there was a secret the two of them shared.
“Don’t worry, baby. I gotcha—Daddy’s gonna make the ache go away.”
The spring snapped. She was nearly knocked over by the wave of pleasure that followed. Her pussy fluttered around his cock with no warning, body trembling and toes curling. Her cream gushed down his shaft. 
He snickered as if he’d won a prize. 
Honey could vaguely recognize her pathetic voice through the bells in her ears. She squealed and cried out over his repetitive, patronizing chants — “Awwgoodgirl, fuckin’ so-so perfect— squeezin’ me so tight” — while he fucked her through her orgasm.
It felt like several moments of pure pink haze, herself a willing victim to his delicious, relentless pull. 
“Shit, sweetie, did you just come all over my cock?” he asked, exasperated.
Embarrassment flooded her despite her persistent mewling. 
“Don’t cry, baby. Don’chu worry,” he murmured affectionately, himself obsessed with the cavern of her divine flesh. “When I said I was gonna make you my toy, I meant it.” She whimpered, nodding her head as it rested back against his shoulder. “M’not finished with you,” he said, dropping an octave. “Not by a long shot.”
Time ceased to have true meaning. Peter rammed into her steadily.
“Please don’stop, please use me, please, wan’more—” She yelped like a puppy.
He smiled against her sweaty skin. “Yeah? Ya like bein’ a good girl? My good girl?”
“I’llbegoodI’llbegoodm’yours—fuck—yoursyoursyours—”
“That’s right, sweetheart,” he groaned, with another curse beneath his breath. Eyes drifted shut. “Good, good girl.”
All he could think of was more. 
More of that sound. More of her juices. More of her staccato breaths as he fucked her tits into a steady bounce on her chest. More of her whining, whimpering like a bitch in heat.
“All mine, all mine…”
Peter needed more of her. He needed to watch her fall apart on his cock again. Honey was so close already; he could feel it. He’d give her another orgasm, one that leaves her in tears. Then another. He was going to fuck her into submission atop the throne he built for her. She was already his queen. 
Then—He’d make her his whore.
Flip her on her back against the table—or couch— countertop—fuck, maybe the bed if he could remember where it was. Whatever he could reach first. 
Then he’d split her open again on his cock. That way, he could see the enraptured awe on her face. The neediness. Big, round, wet eyes pleading for his touch, calling him filthy names, as his cock bulges below her pubic bone. Begging him to rearrange her guts.
It was heavenly to witness. Peter loved watching her come. And he would, over and over. Once he relocated her to his bed—as soon as he remembered where it was— he could tie her to it.
Not that Honey was fighting at the present. There was no fight in her body, except maybe the will to keep conscious. With every strike against her cervix, she spread herself wider for him. 
But Peter knew she would like it. Honey wanted his unforgiving ecstasy. To take out the mounting frustration of the last few months on her wet pussy. 
“M’gonna fuck you so good, babygirl, m’gonna use your body like my fucktoy—make me feel s-sogood, don’worry—“ 
Honey full-body shuddered with a sob, her head thrown back against his shoulder. 
“S’okay, baby, you can scream if y’want, makes it feel better, doesn’t it, huh—”
Cock-drunk, she nodded, her words coming out as puffs of air.
“Don’stop—don’stop—please, fuck— fuckmehardDaddyIneedit—“
Oh. 
More. Of. That.
“M’not lettin’ you get away again…” he muttered, voice emerging from beneath his twitching abdominal muscles. With possessed eyes, he was glued to where they joined. “Never—never gonna let you go again… All mine now, Honey—you’re all mine…”
Her arms came up to circle the back of his neck as she panted into his throat. “My-my pussy is yours…”
“Everything,” he corrected.
“Everythi—god—I’m yours, Pete—ahh!”
Peter was getting close. No matter. He’d let himself come inside her soon. There was plenty more to follow. 
He barely recognized his own wrecked voice. “’m not leavin,’ baby. I’m not leavin’ ever.”
A gust of wind followed him as the front door to the suite slammed shut. Peter stood alone in the hotel hallway wearing a sheen of sweat... and nothing else. 
He flushed pink, fumbling to cover himself behind his hands. The cool air made the task easier.
Peter sighed. He’d need to talk to maintenance about better insulation up here.
But not right now. Not while Peter Parker stood ass-naked outside of his door, having been kicked out like a cheap fuck. 
Which might have been Honey’s point, he recognized.
The evidence of their past hour together made his skin sticky. She’d tousled his hair and etched into his back with her nails. He felt sore in places he hadn’t felt in years.
Peter also looked thoroughly fucked. A mixture of pain and relief surged through his muscles. His brain was branded with erotic images of her. He wanted them there.
The door opened again, lifting his hopes. He only caught a fleeting glimpse of Honey, wrapped sloppily in a bathrobe. The rest of her didn’t look much better than Peter. She wore a sour yet adorable scowl on her face.
With a huff, Honey hurled a tight wad of fabric at his nuts, unintentionally intentional in her aim. 
Peter oofed, doubling over to catch the ball of his clothes. At the same time, an Italian leather shoe smacked him in the head. Probably his Tom Ford’s. He heard the door slam closed again, rattling against the frame.
Perplexed, Peter gazed at the molding of the door and the gleaming golden script marking the room number. 
He wondered. 
Would she open the door again to throw him the other shoe? 
Or perhaps the slacks that went along with the dress shirt covering his balls?
Unlikely.
He marveled. 
The nerve of this woman. This goddess-barista who served him his soul in a paper cup. Who held the keys to his heart, his home, and presently, his hotel room. Who somehow managed to kick him out of the penthouse suite of his own hotel. 
Within the confines of his ruined dress shirt, Peter felt another buzz. He fumbled with the shirt, reaching the smartphone concealed inside.
>>> have you moved onto the main course? >>> or are you still tossing the salad? >>> pouring ranch on her hidden valley
Felicia. Peter’s eyes nearly rolled out of his head. With a sigh, he tapped out a reply.
<<<  Kitchen’s closed.  <<< Need clothes. And a new room.
He saw the ellipsis bubbling up on his screen. 
<<< Not another word.
As soon as the message was sent, Peter took another glance at his empty surroundings. Haplessly, he looked toward the closed door. A river of memories flooded him. It surged, swelled, and finally, came to a low simmer.
This was never going to be easy. Nothing ever was with her.
Nothing worth waiting for ever is.
“See you at breakfast,” he whispered aloud lips curled into a smile. “Sleep tight.”
Holding her breath and her ear to the door, Honey waited until Peter’s footsteps faded. When she could no longer hear them, she sighed with exasperation, overcome with exhaustion. Eyes falling closed, Honey leaned back against the door, body aching in places she would feel for days.
After taking a moment, she heard a buzzing sound further in the suite. Honey jumped with alarm, then stumbled on Fawn’s feet to reach the source.
Quickly, Honey waddled to the remains of her yellow dress, fishing out the buzzing object: a 10-year-old smartphone with a black glittery hard case. A holographic cat sticker was fixed to the back, shimmering in the dim light. 
Not just any cat.
She unlocked the phone to see the latest message.
>>> how’d it go? u give him hell?
The heaviest exhale left Honey’s chest, shame creeping up her chest. With her thumb, she scrolled up to review the text messages sent to her. The oldest of which dated back almost four months.
Weeks of correspondence and reassurance from Felicia, not to mention very clear instructions about Peter Parker and how to play his game. 
There was the one from last month:
>>> don’t let him think for one second that you’re gonna let him get off easy!
Then one from last week:
>>> make him suffer. make him grovel. make him lay down in a puddle so you can cross
And these:
>>> go to dinner, but don’t eat anything. order wine, the most expensive one, take one sip and refuse the rest. you pick the restaurant. if he picks the restaurant, hate everything about it >>> play hard to get— but don’t be too cold >>> be flirty. but not slutty.  >>> give him bedroom eyes, but don’t let him stare at you too long.
Finally, there was a clear instruction sent earlier today.
>>> under no circumstances >>> no matter what >>> you need to remember this >>> DO NOT FUCK HIM!!1
Honey frowned as she gazed at Felicia’s text message bubble, sent with so much hope and good intention. A notion soundly defeated. A truly hopeless endeavor, if there ever was one.
Biting her lip, Honey tapped out a reply to her confidant:
<<< Sure did.
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heat of the moment, pt 1 [tasm!peter x reader x groundhog day au]
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A/N Here it is: the first part of my ONLY ASK prompt, that I've been working on for a thousand years, because it came from @spidervee and because she's written 500 spidey fics and just gives and gives
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a/n And because I can't do anything normal, this inspired something bigger than a short blurb.
summary: you ever feel stuck in a moment that you can't get out of? angst; fluff; humor; final destination vibes; and yes this is in tribute to my favorite episode of television ever written - "mystery spot"
words: 3.3k
warnings: death. a lot of it. repeatedly.
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Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6.
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TUESDAY, 7:00am
Your eyes popped open as you were viciously ripped away from the darkness. Music invaded your ears, your senses assaulted by a toe-tapping tune.
“It was the HEAT of the MOMENT
Tellin’ me.  what.  my. HEART meant
The HEEEAT of the MOMENT…
Showed in your EYEEEES…”
You slapped a hand on your face and groggily dragged it down with a tired groan. Your eyes just barely began to adjust to the sunlight. In a zombie-like state, you turned to your side and glared at your boyfriend’s rather retro alarm clock radio, set to a local station that boasted the greatest hits of the 80s. “Greatest” was certainly subjective.
Why couldn’t the man just use his phone like every other human alive right now, that cocky, hipster son of a bi—
“Mornin’, Sunflower!” the devil in question rang out from your en suite bathroom. A moment later, Peter Parker’s head poked around the corner. Despite being half dead, your heart fluttered at the sight of him—a glowing freckled face, his sparkling amber eyes, a beautifully mischievous smile, and a messy crown of brunette hair. To add to the stunning sight, you were pleased to find him shirtless and wearing a towel low around his waist, his hipbones peeking out and accenting his perfectly-sculpted V.
By contrast, you looked like ass.
But the way he looked at you, you were as captivating as the Milky Way. 
“How’d you sleep, bug?” he beamed, wiping any residual toothpaste away with a hand towel.
“Great,” you sighed, exhaustion evident in your voice. You yawned, gazing up at the ceiling, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “I was having a wonderful dream. And then I was assaulted.”
“Oh,” he replied, sauntering over to the bed. “Like in a sexy way? By me, I hope.” He teased as he leaned over you, wiggling his eyebrows salaciously, one hand on either side of your head
“No,” you pouted, rolling your eyes, “by Asia.”
He tilted his head, considering. “That got weird, fast.” He smirked as he eyed you suspiciously, “You been readin’ fanfiction again?”
You barked with laughter. “I mean my ears, dumbass!” Grinning like a fool, he kissed you and you nuzzled his cheek. You felt the dampness of the towel sink into you through the bedsheets. You didn’t mind. “Could you please just use your phone alarm like everybody else?” you whiningly pleaded.
“But bug, this is the perfect soundtrack for today!” Peter replied, pressing more kisses on the side of your neck beneath your ear and down to your shoulder. He smiled against your flesh. “It’s going to be a wonderful day.” You wriggled beneath him, his light stubble and soft lips tickling your sensitive skin. “Patrol kinda kicked my ass yesterday, so I was thinking about taking a day off. Spending it with my girl.” He pushed up and gazed down at you with eyes that could force you to agree to anything. “So how ‘bout it, huh?”
“Mmm, I’d love to,” you hummed, rubbing your hands over the firm breadth of his chest and arms, admiring him the way one would admire a Michelangelo. “But I can’t,” you lamented.
“What?” he whimpered in protest. “Noo, c’mon… We live together and I feel like I haven’t seen you since last week.” His lips were back on you, leading you towards temptation.
“And whose fault is that, Spider-Man?” you teased. He sulked like a toddler. “I can’t,” you frowned, exaggerating the disappointment in your voice in solidarity with his own. “Today’s super important. If I don’t finish drafting those plans by 4, I’m screwed.”
“Look at it this way,” Peter replied, with a wolfish twinkle, “you stay in bed with me, you’re still screwed either way.” He dipped down for a slower kiss, more lustful than before. “This method is a lot more fun, I promise.”
You smiled against his lips, unable to contain the way your stomach fluttered. “You are such a perv, Parker,” you chided him with a half-smirk on your face. “But seriously, I can’t.” His head rolled back with an anguished sigh as his defeat sunk in. “But hey, walk me to work? I’ll skip the train today.”
He peered down at you with an unsatisfied pout. “Okay,” he muttered. He pushed himself up, still straddling you. “But can we at least stop for coffee and a bagel on the way?”
“Absolutely,” you agreed. “I’m starving.”
“What a surprise,” Peter answered, tilting his head. “So am I.” He suddenly lifted the bedsheets up and disappeared beneath them. 
“Peter!” you squirmed and giggled, scandalized, as you felt his fingertips scurry for the waist of your panties. “You’re absolutely awf—ahhhh!”
You felt a buzz in your pocket and retrieved your phone to glance at the caller ID: Mom.
You flicked your eyes upward in a reflexive eye roll, then declined the call and pocketed the device. 
“Who was that?” Peter asked, trying not to sound suspicious.
“Just an old boyfriend of mine:” you teased with a demure smile that gave you away, “I call ‘em ‘Potential Spam.’”
“Hmm, too clingy?” 
“Yeah, but not in the way I prefer,” you flirted as you reached again for his palm. He smirked and planted a kiss on your knuckles.
Hand-in-hand, you stepped down the broken concrete of the sidewalk, deftly avoiding oncoming pedestrians. The heels of your boots scuffed the ground at a hurried pace. You didn’t ever slow down, not even to sip coffee from the disposable cup warming your free fingers. 
Peter looked over at you and the way your tiny legs carried you a nose ahead of his pace. “Bug, why’ya walkin’ so fast?” he asked, sidestepping to let a woman with an overenthusiastic corgi on a leash rush past you. 
You scoffed with an amused side-eye, “Well, if somebody hadn’t made me late for work—”
“What?” he shrugged incredulously as he gazed off innocently, taking a sip from his cup. “And miss the most important meal of the day?”
You slapped him on the shoulder with a blushing gasp, “Peter!” He cracked a devious grin. 
Your eyes scanned his face and the gait of his walk. You’d always considered your boyfriend to be good-looking—beautiful, even, but there was something particularly dashing about him this morning. Perhaps it was how the golden rays of sunlight illuminated his face added a glow to his whiskey irises, or how the crisp air tinted his fair cheeks. The sight of him reeled you in like a gravitational pull.
“What’s gotten into you today?” you eyed him curiously.
He glanced at you innocently, failing to hide a smile behind tight lips. “What?” he said with a light laugh. His mood was infectious, and the longer you stared into his warm eyes, the more you felt like you were going back in time. Years were falling away from you, and soon you’d be chasing him around like a young child free of the shackles and pomp of adulthood.
You couldn’t help but return the smile. “I’m serious! You seem… lighter.”
Peter glanced around at the busy street around you, shrugging his shoulders as if it was obvious. “I mean—look around,” he gestured with his coffee in hand. “The sun is shining. Birds are chirping. It’s not too cold, not too humid and gross. It’s like, a perfect day.”
You followed his gaze and scanned the area. A thick haze of smog invaded the air. Horns blared over the roar of the engines of traffic speeding past. Mechanical whirs and rattles of new construction echoed off the buildings around you. The faint smell of sewage and roasting hot dogs filled your nostrils as you walked by a food vendor cart. 
“Yep,” you agreed, with a not-so-subtle hint that you actually disagreed. “A splendor to behold, for sure.” 
With your next step, a nearby pigeon took flight right in front of you. Startled, you stumbled for a moment on an uneven slab of sidewalk. Peter gripped your arm to steady you, but your other arm sloshed your cup of coffee. You felt the hot, sticky substance coat your chest, soaking your blouse.
“Shit!” you hissed under your breath, feeling the hot liquid drip down your skin.
“Babe! Are you okay?” Peter flinched, brows furrowed with concern. “You didn’t burn yourself, did you?”
“No,” you groaned, biting back your irritation, “but this shirt is ruined.” You searched around for something in your bag to wipe off the mess, finding nothing.
“I can run home and bring you some clothes,” Peter offered, a sour look on his face as if this was somehow his fault. “Or, you know. Swing.”
You huffed, curtly, “Nah, don’t waste your time.” 
“I feel bad,” he replied. “Didn’t think you’d be wet again this soon.” You glared at him, unamused. “Sorry,” he immediately added, holding his hands up to placate your annoyance. “Last one, sorry.”
“Don’t worry about me,” you glowered sarcastically, landing eyes on a convenience store nearby. “I’m going in for napkins.” You looked both ways before crossing the street, tossing your nearly empty cup in the garbage. Peter followed closely behind you into the shop.
The environment inside the store was much more subdued. You stopped in the doorway to survey the inside: A bored, pepper-haired, pitted-faced man with bushy brows slumped over the cash register, not bothering to end his side of the conversation on a Bluetooth ear piece. A thin, chalky young woman with flaxen stringy hair and clothes that hung off her bones stood listlessly, gazing at a display of cleaning supplies. A birdlike, blemished teenage boy with a broad forehead and copper curls lugged a cardboard box of snacks towards a shelf for restocking. 
You felt Peter’s warmth at your back as he entered the store, the bell above the door chiming as it swung open. He gently placed a hand on your forearm, letting his eyes rove around the aisles, tuning his senses to anything amiss. Even out of the costume, he was never not Spider-Man. He was never fully at rest, and never not diligent about the safety of a situation, especially if you were involved. While it may have annoyed you early-on in the relationship, especially before you knew about his alter ego and his history, his instinctually guarded nature was predictable now.
Your eyes found the coffee bar right as Peter’s phone began to ring. He glanced down at the cracked screen and looked up at you apologetically. “Uh, it’s May,” he explained, pointing a thumb outside the door. “I gotta take this.” 
“Go ahead,” you shrugged, already making your way towards the coffee bar. “Meet you outside.” He turned and put the phone to his ear as he left. As the door swung back, two chatty uniformed police officers sauntered in with reusable coffee tumblers in hand. 
You scanned over the bar until you found a container of napkins, grabbing a handful and dabbing at your chest. Standing on your toes, you looked around for a restroom, hoping to get a better handle on the mess with some tap water. As you considered having Peter go back for a new shirt after all, a hand grasped your shoulder.
Your body went rigid as you were pulled backward and up against a warm body. You felt a sharp point at your neck.
“Don’t move,” a soft, timid voice ordered. You could barely hear the feminine voice over the pounding of your heart. Your eyes went wide as you spotted your reflection in the glass door of a refrigerator case. The lanky young woman who looked barely strong enough to withstand the wind had her thin arms wrapped around your shoulders and a box cutter pressing against your throat. Suddenly, you counted every breath as a laborious, death-defying stunt, especially with the blade held so tightly. 
“Don’t try anything,” she threatened. There was a darkness that weighed down her vocal cords, pulling them a little too taut. You held eye contact with her, opening your palms gently, holding them away from your body. Even through the glass, the girl looked tired. Her eyes were bloodshot, with deep bags underneath. There was a tremor in her hands, one that shook all the way down her spine. 
You were having trouble forming words. Your eyes darted quickly in front of you, but there was nothing within your reach, except for crumpled up balls of paper towels. Your eyes began to sting with building tears; your body was flooded with adrenaline and a wave of emotions: confusion, anger, terror. 
“Hey!” a male voice rang out. Both you and your captor flinched, the blade drawing a drop of blood from your neck. 
Your eyes glanced to the side, careful not to move your neck too much, to spot the two police officers squaring off. You could tell one of the two men was older, while the other was younger, but all of their features were a blur. Everything else froze. The cashier stopped talking. The stocking boy came to an abrupt stand, dropping his armful of bagged peanuts on the ground. He spotted the box cutter in the girl’s hand, then glanced around frantically for his own, realizing that she had taken it while his back was turned.
“Put the knife down!” one of the two officers ordered. It was the younger of the two. 
“Just take it easy, kid,” the more subdued voice coming from the older officer said.
The girl sniffed, and from her proximity you could feel her lip quivering. “Nobody move!” she shrieked. It was a feral, heart-wrenching cry from deep in her chest. You felt the heat of the blade and of your own blood trickle down your neck. You squeezed your eyes closed and attempted to steady your breathing, if only to lessen the chance of being injured further.
“Shhh, it... s’okay,” you stuttered, barely able to comprehend what was happening. “Do-don’t... do—”
“Shut up!” she screamed, her voice shattering like glass. You could feel the convulsions move through her body, the heat of her lungs wafting across your cheek. “I-I swear to-to god, I’ll kill her!” Your breath caught in your throat, your fists clenching tightly. She was no longer the only one trembling.
“Pl-please...” you whimpered.
“Drop the weapon!” the young officer shouted.
The bell of the shop door rang again. Your eyes landed on Peter as he stared, wide-eyed and jaw agape, at the awful scene. The color drained from his face. His expression destroyed you. Hot tears began to stream down your cheeks as you watched him balk at the horror of all of his nightmares becoming a reality. He was stunned, ghost-like and motionless. 
You silently mouthed his name, a helpless apology. You didn’t even know what you were apologizing for.
The unstable young woman must have sensed Peter as a threat. “Take another step and I’ll kill her!” she screeched, yanking your body closer to her chest. 
“Stop—!”
A shot rang out. The box cutter fell from the girl’s limp fingertips. Her heat was behind you, then suddenly gone. Her entire being—gone, crumpling to the ground. You felt a hot sticky substance spray across your face. You gasped at the feeling of her blood dripping from your chin.
In front of you, the younger officer stood with his weapon drawn, the gun still billowing smoke. His partner was frozen beside him, arm raised out towards you. They looked like statues—wax figures, or the mummified remains encased in ash beneath Pompeii. Expressions of terror forever cemented on their faces.
By far, the most nightmarish of visions was the dread you saw in Peter’s eyes. You watched as the light of them was swallowed up by fear and drowned in anguish, like black holes ripping galaxies apart. The cold darkness left behind would be void of life for all eternity.
You were getting warmer. And colder. You followed his line of sight down and gaped at a whirlpool of crimson torn through your chest. You watched your life force drain out of you, spilling onto your feet and across the floor. 
You don’t know how long you were holding your breath, but the next inhale feels like a flaming sword through the heart. You stare at the red—an ocean of red—as it crests and floods the ground below. You’re falling. Maybe through space, maybe through reality, dropping straight into hell. It must be perdition with all the pain you’re in.
And then you stop before you hit the ground. Your eyes open. Labored breaths. Peter’s face above you, fat tears spill from his eyes. Beautiful doe eyes. Tragic, betrayed. He looked like a little boy to you. You wonder what his boy will look like.
The fear grips your heart as you realize you’re not going to find out.
The sounds are rushing to your ears, and reverberating off of the cavern of your body left behind by a fleeting soul. You’re struggling to hear the sounds. You don’t want the quiet. You don’t want the darkness.
Peter’s screaming, you think. He clutches you tightly. He feels so warm and you feel so cold. You remember how he held you. Tightly wrapped in the stark white safety of your bright room and silk bed sheets. You want to go back to bed.
Your eyes are wide and terrified as you fight the darkness. Your lips are moving, but no sounds will come out. You’re trying to scream that you want to go back to bed. You’re begging Peter with all of your heart.
Please take me home. I want to go home.
Peter's lips are moving and you think you can hear his voice from the bottom of the well. He’s begging you not to go. You’re begging him to take you home. You’re not ready to go. 
It’s getting dark. The love of your life is begging you to stay. You’re fighting to keep your eyes open. You want to remember every freckle on his face, even as they’re drenched in tears. Darkness settles in anyway. It’s hard to see how beautiful he is in the dark. 
It was beautiful today. And now, darkness. This is how it ends, you think. But you’re wrong. 
It’s just the beginning. You hear Peter call out your name.
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TUESDAY, 7:00am
Your eyes popped open as you were viciously ripped away from the darkness. Music invaded your ears, your senses assaulted by a toe-tapping tune.
“It was the HEAT of the MOMENT
Tellin’ me.  what.  my. HEART meant
The HEEEAT of the MOMENT…
Showed in your EYEEEES…”
You gasped suddenly, shooting straight up out of bed. Your eyes were wild, shooting around your clean, peaceful bedroom. You remembered where you’d been and realized you weren’t where you were—the jarring discrepancy confusing and overwhelming you. 
You were dead. You were bleeding out on the floor of a convenience store, breathing your last breath. 
But now you’re alive, so blessedly alive that you could feel every goosebump on your skin.
Sitting up in your bed, brought your hand to your chest where the entrance wound of the fatal gunshot had been. Nothing. No pain. No blood. No death.
But you were dead… it was so real. The sticky warmth of your blood was real. The smell of gunpowder and singed flesh. The terrified look on the faces around you. You shuddered at the thought. That cruel, horrible, gut-wrenching look of anguish on Peter’s face.
“Mornin’, Sunflower!” the devil in question rang out from your en suite bathroom. A moment later, his head poked around the corner. His expression serenely naive of the gory last moments spent with you in his arms.
His smile was beautiful. Today had been beautiful… and it—somehow—was once again? So… it was a nightmare, then. A surreal, too-real nightmare. And this is how it ends, with you waking up safely in bed.
Or so you think. But you’re wrong. It’s just the beginning. 
Today is the first day of the end of your life.
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Continue to Part 2
A/N *spooky bitch vibes* Did you enjoy this fic? If so, please support a sistah and reblog with a comment to tell me what you liked or hated. Thank you for supporting fandom writers by reblogging and commenting on our work! It truly is the best way to pay it forward...
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liz-allyn ¡ 2 months
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No, for real. It’s coming this week.
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liz-allyn ¡ 2 months
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I am crying right now. Literally opened this app for the first time in a minute, read this, and burst into tears.
I love sugar and vice, but I love that HOTM stayed with you like that. It stays with me too, through all eras of grief, all seasons of beauty, and every Groundhog’s Day.
Okay that’s an exaggeration because I feel like it’s only been a little over one year and a half since I wrote that so it’s literally just 1 or 2, but you know.
Thank you, Katie, for sharing this with me.
Heya!! so I don't know if you know it but there is this fic I read awhile ago. Heat Of The Moment by lizz-the-bizz on ao3 (about 40k words) and it is so good!!! I don't really remember the details of it anymore because it's been some time since I've read it, but basically it's a peter x reader/oc. And oc is trapped in a timeloop, and it has the usual time loop fic tropes you can think of, like depression, manic oc who tries everything to get out of time loop, death, grief, and so so much angst, whump, and hurt/comfort. Just Peter being the bestest boyfriend he could be and suuuch a good characterisation. I love him so much here. I've read it twice and sometimes still think back on it. Like the ending climax??? It was so dramatic (like car crashes, tunnels falling down, water traps, Peter maybe dying??) AND THE HAPPY END. Also it has some supernatural easter eggs, which is always fun (if you couldn't tell by the title). ANYWAY SO GOOD. LITERALLY EVERYTHING ONE NEEDS IN A FIC. I'm so glad I found it back than, it really might be one of my alltime favs. :3
Just wanted to share my love with this (and maybe get some more ppl to read it hehe).
I also love everything you write, and hope you have a nice day! ♡
THIS IS MY NUMBER ONE FAVORITE FIC I HAVE EVER READ. And that is saying a lot because @liz-allyn also wrote Sugar and Vice and that was a true masterpiece buuuut Heat of the Moment altered my entire brain chemistry and changed my life (I'm not even being dramatic). The way she wrote the tunnel scene will literally live on in my brain forever as what I strive to achieve whenever I write intense, gut wrenching moments. Like that's the goal. That's perfection. That's top tier and what I dream of creating some day. I dream of being that damn talented and my friend Liz did ALL THAT WITH THIS FIC
And you are correct, everyone needs to go read it if they haven't already because it's worth every second.
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liz-allyn ¡ 2 months
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We'll create these lines.
TASM!Peter x Suicidal reader
Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, suicidal ideation.
A/N: Currently feeling some strong emotions. Needed to chuck some comfort into the world.
Please, if you're in the same boat, reach out to someone. Somebody always cares.
Easier said than done, I know, but don't do what I'm doing and send yourself hurtling down a hole of believing no one gives a fuck. I'm hoping that this provides some catharsis to anyone feeling similar.
-
“I just don’t want to be alive right now.”
You’re numb enough to not feel the words bleeding over your lips. Truthfully, you haven’t wanted to be alive for a great many years. Hell, you wonder if you’ve ever cared for the whole arduous fucking ordeal. And by the look on Peter’s face, you imagine that he knows that. Or you know he knows that. Like he knows everything. The same way he knows the map of every line of those bloody lips. The lips that now fan breath across his face.
The puffs of grief-filled air hit the broken strands framing his forehead. They blow back, the same way this feeling has knocked you back, into this bed, under this blanket, where you wish the creases and woolly waves would carry you out to sea, and deposit you into the silent depths.
But Peter is with you there. He’s a rope, or a buoy, or whatever other shitty metaphors there are. He’s not letting you drown. It’s terribly hot under this blanket.
His face is three inches from yours. You counted them. Measured them according to the length of Peter’s fingers. That feeling of them massaging your scalp is one of few sensations keeping you grounded to the shore. Absently you count the number of moles on his cheeks, then a second time, to verify the result. You love his moles. You love the lines around his eyes, too. Lines telling the sun that this soul has been kissed by joy. You want to be the one to kiss them. You want to kiss the lines into his face.
You don’t realise it, but he’s inched closer. He presses a kiss over your murky eye, then the other. “I want you to.” So small. Closed the gap between your lips that he just chased for contact. “I want you here.”
You want him to be kissed by age. Joyous age. No pain, ever. You wish death upon yourself. To never have to witness his pain. But you must witness his bliss. You live for his life. You have to.
“Why…” The lone syllable is lead in your throat.
And he’s speechless. Losing the sand in between his toes. Watching it erode away. He might lose the grip on the rope. How could he tell you what that means? What you mean, to him?
“My world would go with you.”
You may live to create his lines.
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liz-allyn ¡ 2 months
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Committed to the Cause (Part 2) - TASM! Peter Parker / Fem! Reader
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Summary: Spider-Man keeps on showing up to check on you, as annoying as he is you can’t help to find his presence comforting.
Word count: 7,623
Warnings: Mentions of blood, injury, swearing and alcohol.
Your arm was feeling numb again in that unmoving angle, the cast made your skin itchy but you couldn’t even scratch it, it almost made you go insane at times. 
Jerry had finally left and you were doing the best you could to collect the dirt from your large table, leaving everything clean for the next morning.
It was probably past nine when you managed to close the store, a message from your dad, reminding you about the big wedding on Friday, you had to stay overnight on Thursday to make all the arrangements for the tables in time and… well and you were frustrated because without an arm it was double effort. 
The commute back home served you enough to awake, you still had stuff to do to prepare for tomorrow’s long day. Feeling instantly more relaxed when you got in your building, the keys fell at your feet when you went to unlock your apartment’s door. It had happened at least once a day since you got that broken arm, you grunted, still a little upset with Spider-Man. Of course you didn’t attack him back when he visited you that night at the hospital because you thought it was a good act of kindness, showed that he cared and that he was sorry for what he did. And you were kinda loopy on meds.
However you were upset, and maybe not with him but for the way you felt so useless most of the time. Working on the bouquets was twice as hard and they weren’t as pretty as when you arranged them with both hands, you couldn’t chop anything and you always poured your coffee over your shirt. This could help you be ambidextrous but it was hard, and you had not the patience for it.
Percy didn’t welcome you when you got in. You huffed. Great, now your dog didn’t want you either. Turning the lights on, your bag plopped on the floor.
“FUCK!” You squealed, back resting on the door.
“I should’ve announced myself, sorry again.”
Spider-Man was sitting in your living room, Percy on his lap, tail whipping his leg. This was the most bizarre thing you’ve seen in your life. 
“You can’t be—jeez you want me at the hospital again? Oh god,” you were panting.
You didn’t hear him approach but Percy was soon jumping at your feet demanding attention. As you hovered over to try and catch your breath your line of vision became red spandex feet.
He squatted down to be eye level with you, he waved your way. You felt a bubble bursting in your insides and you wanted to punch his face, poke his big white bug eyes and you also wanted to cry until you fell asleep.
“You’re upset.” He pointed.
“Well of course! I came home after a very long day and my dog doesn’t welcome me and then you almost killed me with your bug-ish presence in my couch, like how did you expect me to react!” You reincorporated, sighing. 
“Right, sorry my bad…again.” Spider-man’s hands went up, clearly taking the blame.
Eyes glancing at him, Spider-Man was not paying attention to you, he was looking around, not touching anything, and Percy somehow was following him around. Annoying.
“Anyway, what are you doing here?” you went to the kitchen to grab some water. 
Spider-Man popped in. “I just wanted to see how you were doing… it’s been two weeks, and—“ he went silent, it made you turn around.
He was leaning on the door frame, arms crossed, eyes staring. A shiver ran down your spine, it was weird to be observed so intently and not be able to read the expression of the other person.
“And?”
“Nothing, just wanted to see how you were, okay? I’m gonna go now. I see you are not in the mood.” 
He backed out and you sighed, resting your only good arm on the sink. Why was he so annoying?
“I had a bad day okay, sorry If I’m taking it against you.”
From the living room you heard him grunt or chuckle or whatever.
“I get that,” 
“You can go do your hero stuff, it’s fine. Thanks for checking on me.”
You took a long sip of the too cold water, wincing you felt it drop in the depths of your belly. 
Not even surprised when you accidentally knocked a cup off the counter while you tried to wash the dirty dishes on the sink. 
Your eyes instantly closed, another cup down, this was the sixth one in two weeks, without counting the dishes and glasses. 
Spider-Man appeared next to you in a second. 
“Um, do you need help? With… anything?”
You stared at him and felt your nose tingle, eyes prickled. 
“No, thanks.” With a wet hand you moved away from him, noticing how close he was now. You gathered the broom and the dustpan, ready to clean your mess when a red gloved hand took it from you.
“Y/n, let me help you.” 
You sniffed, not letting the emotions win. “I can do it, really.”
“I insist.” and that was the end of it. 
Spider-Man cleaned the floor, washed the dishes and even put the kettle on to make tea. The feeling eased a little as you watched him do it, ever so often insisting on doing it yourself all for him to wave his hand at you, dismissing your words.
“Aren’t you supposed to be looking out for the New-yorkers.” You said putting a green tea bag—that Spider-Man helped take out from the package—in your chipped cup filled with hot water.
“I am,” he exclaimed, sitting opposite you on the small kitchen table, hands resting on his lap, fingers intertwined. “Am I not?”
You couldn’t see it but you heard the sardonic tone. “but I’m not in danger.” 
You hid your tiny smile behind the cup lingering on your lips.
“No, but you could be, shattered glass can be deadly, I know from experience.”
You scoffed. “I’m trying my best not to destroy what’s left of my tableware, thank you.”
Hands up in the air again. “okay, but you could burn yourself with the tea, burn injuries are pretty awful—“
“You know from experience too?” you pulled in your lips trying not to laugh.
“Hey! I know you’re making fun of me but yeah, and it’s not pretty.” 
“Fine,”
Percy came running into the kitchen, he laid down right at Spider-Man’s feet, you frowned.
“Percy, you betrayed me!”
Spider-Man laughed. “See, at least someone likes having me around.”
You noticed his laugh for the first time and it was boyish, carefree and contagious. Now that you were thinking about it, it felt less weird to have him there, yes it was weird from all the angles you could look at the situation but it felt somewhat comfortable. 
Silence landed heavy in the room, your mind was restless to find words to say, to express how you felt; tired and also grateful for this unexpected visitor, you wanted to tell him something meaningful but you didn’t find the words. He just kept petting the dog and looking at you occasionally.
“You always work late?” he asked suddenly.
“No, but it’s been busy weeks, you know, the holidays and there’s this wedding on friday and they need like twelve bouquets for the tables and another four for the bridesmaids so tomorrow I’ll be in the shop until I finish.” You scrunched your nose. “it’s fun, I usually don’t complain but it’s been hard to try and do things with your less skillful hand.”
“And it’s all my fault,” you glanced up at him through your lashes, he was looking somewhere up your ceiling.
“Yeah but it’s done, you can’t do anything about it.”
His big shiny white eyes focused on you. “I could,”
“It’s enough by having you here making tea for me.”
He sighed.
The sound of sirens went louder as they ran down the street. Spider-Man stood up fast, Percy almost jumped on his spot.
“Uh, do you mind if I—?” he pointed to your window.
“No, go ahead.”
“Cool, thanks. I’ll… see you around, right?” 
Weird, your stomach felt weird. “Yeah, why not!”
“Great, okay I’ll go now, job can be a pain in the ass.” He chuckled and with a flick of his wrist he went out flying. You stood on the door frame looking at the open window when something smacked on the class and in a fast movement it closed, you started laughing. 
In awe you ran to the window, the air instantly made the web freeze and shine under the moonlight. 
•••
Your back was aching with every tiny little move you made. Feeling the muscles and nerves squeeze and stretch made you wince. You were finally done, the clock said four in the morning, body screaming for bed. At least you didn’t have to deliver them too, you had no bike either way. That was Jerry’s job for once.
A light drizzle was falling as you tried to wrap your scarf around your neck as well as you could with your good hand. The shop was closed and the padlocks were in place. You still needed to walk two blocks to get to the subway.
In there were only people that had to work too early or people that were finally off their night shift, the subway was for once silent. Sitting down, your eyes spotted a pair of black converses almost in front of you. Your eyes slowly looked up, a black coat, a red beanie in place and earphones on, eyes closed. 
You squinted to give the person a better look, those eyes opened. You tried but the effort was futile, brown eyes found you looking and you simply gave him a lipped smile as a way to hide the embarrassment, your red cheeks gave you away anyway.
The boy put one earphones off and gave you a soft smile. “Hey” he greeted.
“Hi,” damn now you made him uncomfortable and forced him to talk. He leaned on, resting his elbows on his knees as he typed something on his phone, the one he put away only a second later. 
There, you were staring again.
“Thanks for the flowers by the way, you shouldn’t have done it but thanks I appreciate it.”
Oh, right, he was the daisies’ guy, that’s why he looked familiar. “It’s fine, you can always come back and buy another bouquet from us.”
He laughed. “yeah, you’re right, I should do that.”
You smiled and both traded looks, the whole scene was a bit weird, too tired to process things, too early to be on the subway chatting with a boy.
“Were you working? Because it is a bit late” you pointed, playing with the cuff of your sweater.
“Is it? It could also be pretty early” you chuckled at that. “But yeah it was a late shift… I had a few difficulties with my ride so I had to take the good ol’ sub.” He said but you notice one of his hands wrapped his wrist absentmindedly.
Scratching his cheek he rested his back on the backrest, eyes on his hands. You only nodded. “Yeah same,”
Silence for a bit, you could feel his eyes staring.
“Are you doing okay?”
You furrowed. “What?”
His arm went up to show you what he meant. “Your arm,”
“Oh yes… it’s mostly fine now. Still need to wait a few more weeks to take it off but,” you shrugged, “could’ve been worse”
“Sure, must suck though.” You caught real anguish in the way he said it.
“It does.” 
Your face went deeper in your scarf as the boy looked at his fidgety hands.
The urge to speak was down on you, you hated awkward silences.
“What’s your-“
“You live-“ 
Both said at the same time and grins appeared on your faces. His smile was nice and it made his eyes twinkle. 
“Go ahead please,” the boy quickly said with a hand gesture.
“Er, I was gonna ask you what your name was.”
“Oh” he scratched the top of his covered head. “Peter…Parker?”
You chuckled. “You sure?” He cocked a brow. “You don’t seem very convinced.”
He let out a low laugh. “Right no yeah, it is Peter Parker… sorry yeah or just Peter it’s fine!”
“Okay,” you smiled. “I’m y/n”
“Cool… cool name” he avoided your eyes and you smirked. You usually didn’t make boys feel nervous, this was fun.
Peter looked around and abruptly stood up, making you jump slightly. 
“This is my stop… I’ll see ya later?” 
Your eyebrow quivered for a second, the tone reminded you of someone. “Sure, get home safe”
“You too…” doors slid open just in time and… he took a step out still facing you. 
Peter waited for the doors to close to wave at you as the subway moved. You beamed… that was definitely weird. 
•••
Peter felt incredibly stupid doing this, but there was something about being near you that caused his brain to make stupid decisions. He’d try to mask them as “apologetic actions”. He had no webs left, he forgot to put his emergency cartridges in and now he was back at his apartment, backpack filled with cartridges. A quick breakfast and a shower later he had his Spider-Man suit on, under his clothes and there he went out into the wild.
He walked around his neighborhood for a few minutes to try and deceive his incoherent ideas, yet there was this urge of seeing you again popping out of nowhere. Peter had been fighting it harder lately, so he opted to go to work. Stark Industries helped him focus on other things, like perfecting his web fluid and explosive web balls. Sometimes he still sent images to the Bugle to keep gossip at bay, now more than ever after his little incident it was to try and calm the waters. 
That served him well until he had to head out. Peter’s mind went back to basics.
Grabbing coffee and putting his casual clothes in his bag, he gave in rather easily. Swinging—now full Spider-Man out— around buildings with two cups of coffee and a blueberry muffin in a bag. Three days in the same week, he was heading back to you.
You are going unhinged with these apologies Peter.
Balcony window slid open and there it was, Percy instantly jumping at his feet, begging for a belly scratch. Spider-Man sighed, comfort wrapped him as his nose caught the scent of coconut. Scanning the room he found a new batch of daisy poms and roses.
“Is someone home?” he said loudly, not wanting to scare you again. 
“Hello little Percy, here I didn’t forget about you.” Peter put the coffees on the coffee table as he scattered inside his backpack, a little tupper of fruit appeared on the dog’s line of vision. It made the furry thing go crazy when he tasted a piece of red apple.
Peter’s eyes caught movement and you appeared on the door frame of your room, a towel on the top of your head, a big pink sweater on, tired eyes but you were smiling at him. 
“Hey” Peter said, waving a hand. He quickly grabbed the tray with the coffees. “I brought you something.” 
Your eyes grew big. “Oh, thank you. What are you doing here?” 
Good question. “I was in the neighborhood, wanted to—“
“Check on me… again?” you smirked.
“Yeah, is that wrong?” 
Your head shook. “I suppose it isn’t, but it still is a bit weird if you ask me.” 
“Thought we were friends or something.” 
Taking steps closer to him you grabbed your coffee, taking a sip, Peter watched under his mask, expectantly.
“We aren’t friends but we are definitely something.” 
He felt the smile spread on his face. “That’s what I’m saying.” 
It was funny how he made himself at home, sitting on the couch, as he fed Percy tiny pieces of fruit, you disappeared in your room only to appear minutes later with your hair down and damp.
“How are you going to drink your coffee?” you asked him with a funny look.
Peter noticed then what you meant. “Um I don’t know, you can leave the room and let me drink it and then you can come back… my identity needs to stay secret.” 
You chuckled. “yeah of course, that would be so inconvenient for me, you are in my house.”
“I know but how else would I drink it then?” Percy barked, as if giving Peter the reason.
He smiled when he saw you roll your eyes at him. “Just put the mask up to your mouth, don’t think I can recognize someone just by looking at their chin.”
“I don’t know, can you?” 
You shrugged. “Anyway, you need to stop being so nice with Percy, he’s been a little punk since you fed him, it’s like he has fallen in love with you.” 
“Not my fault that I’m so lovable. He has good taste, right Percy.” 
The tiny dog only blinked and jumped on the edge of the couch for attention. 
“See? He reacts to your voice so easily. Must be some kind of animal connection.” 
Peter scoffed. “I am slightly offended, I am not an animal, woman.” The sharp look you threw him made him snort. “Just have spider-like abilities, wait— do you actually think I am like some hybrid creature, half spider half human?” he let out a long loud laugh when you diverted your gaze.
“Don’t laugh, it is kind of common sense, you shoot webs and fly and climb walls,” 
Peter couldn’t breath, that was rich, no one had actually asked him if he had more than two eyes or if he had fangs or fur covering his skin.
He saw the cushion flying from the corner of his eyes, it landed with a low thud on his head. 
“Stop it!” you squealed. “How could I know you are indeed a normal looking human?”
Peter’s belly hurt from laughing. “I could show you,” 
You looked at him with big eyes. “Don’t lie, you wouldn’t show me”
He chuckled. “Yeah… maybe one day, who knows.” he laid his back on the couch, the cushion you threw him now on his lap. “Wow that was— you are very funny.” 
“Ha ha yeah and you are rude.” 
“I am definitely not,” 
A sigh escaped him, his body felt light and relaxed. He tried to think of another time where he’d felt this at ease. 
Nothing came to mind.
“You didn’t go to work?” Peter said after clearing his throat, he felt a flutter in his stomach.
“I didn’t… Jerry is taking care of the arrangements with one of his brothers, and because I stayed until pretty late…well—”
“Or early,” Peter mumbled.
“What was that?”
“Uh, nothing…” 
“Well… they gave me the day off to rest.”
“Cool, so… do you have plans? As in right now?” 
This could either go splendidly well or horrendously wrong. 
“No… Just want to have some food… why?” 
Peter noticed how your mind was trying to figure out where his question was going. 
“I could go get us pizza? Or sushi? Maybe thai?” he shrugged. He was playing it cool, he was surprised at how casual his voice sounded, the complete opposite happened inside his body where everything was on alert, ready to be rejected.
“um…” your eyes landed on his face, Peter felt his whole head grow hot, what was his purpose with this? He wondered. “Sure, yeah that’d be nice… but are you gonna eat? Don’t want to be eating pizza while you just watch.”
Your face was a combination of emotions; a smile, flushed cheeks and furrowed eyebrows, Peter felt the urge to pinch your cheeks.
“Of course! I’m not inviting you to eat something just to watch you, not my kind of kink.” 
This made you snort, he smiled. 
“Okay then, just no pepperoni.”
“Pizza it is, be right back.” He stood up in a swift jump.
“Wait, let me give you money.” You grabbed his wrist. 
“Nope, my treat.” 
Peter didn’t let you say more, the next thing he knew he was smiling, swinging through buildings and screaming feeling alive and jolly. For once he felt happy back in his world. Not an ounce of regret or the thought of his other Peter variants in mind.
•••
Eating pizza with Spider-Man was not on your bingo card, not in your wildest dreams thought you’d have him on your couch half mask up, eating pizza and drinking beer while you two watched New Girl.
“I’m gonna admit that this show is pretty funny, I was not expecting it.” Spider-Man said, munching on his food. You saw his little smile as he reacted to something Schmidt had said. 
More than watching the show—the one you’ve watched and re-watched several times—you were mainly focused on the arachnid hero at your side. He seemed to be so immersed in the whole thing that he didn’t notice your staring. 
You found yourself smiling when he did so, or when he absentmindedly scratched his cheek or the top of his head. And you wondered how weird it was for him to be living a secret life as well as a heroic one. You wanted to know who was under the mask as well, because just these little snippets of normalcy between you and Spider-Man—even though he was a bit annoying—felt so normal. You liked his personality, he was a good company after all. The man under the mask as a matter of fact had to be just as nice.
“Who is your favorite character?” He asked, fully looking at you, mask back down. He caught you looking.
Trying to act unsurprised, you took a bite of your now cold slice of pizza. “All of them, have a soft spot for Nick but they’re all amazing, that’s what makes the show so good.”
“Hmm… yeah well I don’t know, after two episodes all I can say is that the girl with the bangs,”
“Cece,”
“Yeah, Cece, is going to end up with the guy with the tip jar.” 
“Schmidt.” 
“That’s what I said.” 
It made you smirk that even now you could sense when he was smiling under his mask, it was in the way he spoke that told you he was happy.
“I’m not saying anything, you need to watch it,” 
“Fair enough.” He hugged a cushion against his chest and threw you a look. “Put the next one, come on woman.”
“Wow, see! Rude.”
“Sorry,” he squeezed your arm. “I just want to see if I’m right.”
That’s basically how it started, New Girl was a bonding method you found really rewarding, lots of laughs and nods. Spider-Man left only twenty minutes later when his phone started buzzing, with an apologetic gesture he exited the apartment through the window. 
The next time you saw him was a week later, he carried a bag full of Chinese food, and you kept on watching season 4 where finally Nick and Jess get together. 
Percy got a new toy, which ironically was a tiny Spider-Man stuffed toy, it made you laugh and Spider-Man felt quite proud of the joke. These late date nights became not a daily thing but a regular occasion, never on the same day but most of them around ten at night. 
Five weeks later you were trying to come up with a way to wrap a fairly big wedding bouquet with a baby pink ribbon with just one arm. It was a hard task, Jerry left for lunch and to deliver a few stuff, you were not expecting him to come back until probably two more hours. That left you with no more option than to wait in the store.
Until you heard the bell chime, announcing a new customer. Leaving the flowers slowly on the table you sighed in defeat when the bouquet lost form without your holding them.
“Peter Parker!” you said gleefully stepping into the actual shop.
His smile and dreamy eyes caught you off guard. “Hey y/n”
And there’s something about hearing your name coming out of a cute guy that made you feel special, and stupid.
“The usual I suppose.” 
“Yes,” he nodded and you disappeared into your station again. “How you’ve been?”
“All right, I’m counting the days until I get this damn thing off my arm, but besides that everything’s been good.” 
The flowers you picked for Peter were always the most beautiful, the ones with the brightest colors with the freshest steams and even when you were giving him a variation of daisies, you didn’t dare to charge him full price. 
“How about you, how’s work?” 
His visits had been twice a week, and you liked having little chats with him, he told you the other day that he was working on a secret project at Stark industries and that he couldn’t tell you more because it was indeed a secret. 
“Peachy, remember the project?” 
“Yes,”
“It’s going pretty great, actually we could have a few tryouts within the next few days, so I’m pretty stoked about it.”
“That’s cool, even though I don’t know what’s that about but I trust you. You’re the future of science mister Parker.” you said with a chuckle as you appeared on the counter. 
A slight cherry color was staining his cheeks, adorable. “I am not, I just like to—you know… help.”
“Uh huh, very heroic of you.”
He frowned. “Not heroic enough, it’s nice of you to say, though.”
“Could you help me wrap them, you know the drill already.” 
“Of course,” 
He knew pretty well, you’ve been asking him for help wrapping the bouquets whenever he showed up when Jerry wasn’t around, which was pretty often, as if he knew when Jerry took his break. 
Peter held the paper in place as you placed the flowers, then he simply followed your instructions into twisting and folding the right corners until he had a pretty perfectly wrapped bouquet of rainbow like daisies. 
“I don’t want to abuse your kindness but can you help me with another bouquet? I’ve been trying to wrap it but I just can’t find a way”
Peter blinked, a small smile on his lips. “Yeah no problem, always nice to be of help.”
You let Peter in, your station was a mess but it was all part of it, he looked around as you told him to hold the flowers up for you to see and rearrange them properly. White gardenias, and white roses filling the air with their sweet aroma, you were very concentrated in doing your job, instructing Peter to hold the tip of a cream color ribbon with his thumb.
“Like this?” he asked, and you nodded.
“Okay so now I am going to surround the stems with the ribbon and you need to hold it on every round, okay?” 
Your eyes went up to find his already on you, the way he was gazing at your eyes and your nose and your lips made you suddenly very shy. 
“Peter?” Voice came out as a mumble.
Quickly he shook his head and nodded. “Yeah I got it!” voice going slightly high pitched.
You did your best to not touch him much, but it was inevitable to not brush your hand against his skin or his covered chest, his sweater was soft and now the scent of flowers mixed with his aftershave. 
It was… nice, something within you churned. You gulped.
“Done,” a sigh escaped you, this had been a bit harder than you thought…. Not talking exclusively about the bouquet.
Your eyes found his and both of you smiled, it wasn’t uncomfortable yet there was a slight shift in the atmosphere.  
With a blink Peter instantly turned around and walked away from you. “How much I owe you?”
“Same as always,” 
Peter handed you the money, he crusty and you scrunched your nose, he caught you doing so
“That was… I didn’t mean to curtsy,” he laughed, ears turning bright red. “I’ll just go. Er thank you!”
With a chuckle you returned an exaggerated curtsy. “Bye, sir Peter.”
“You are so annoying, you know that?” He said pushing the door open, he waved at you through the window display.
•••
It was past eleven, and Spider-man didn’t show up again, it’s been four days now, you were worried, only slightly, you should have known better than worry about an actual hero, he must’ve been doing pretty important stuff, he didn’t owe you and yes you were friends… or something but it was odd to not have him around, not even a note or a quick stopping by as he had done before.
Percy had been looking through the window every night to see if his favorite human appeared, yes Spidey had taken your place which was unfair considering you fed and played with the doggy all the time.  
Huffing you snuggled deeper into your mattress and duvet, your feet were cold, this impeded you to reconcile sleep, but eventually your whole body fell into slumber. Thoughts and the images of a weird dream started to take shape and form an incoherent plot. Yet the barks of Percy made you jump out of your skin in an instant.
Sitting in bed with your heart palpitating so fast you felt it coming out of your chest any second. Holding an empty vase near your bedside table you walked out of your room, Percy instantly coming to meet you. 
“What is it?” you asked him in a whisper, to which Percy only ran away straight to the living room.
Shuffling and grunts echoed in the apartment. You gulped, the grip on the vase tighter. Mind came up with a plan in seconds, that was adrenaline acting up. If you ran, turning the lights on and then throwing the vase to whoever was in there you could gain enough time to hold Percy and run away.
Yeah, that was as good as it could get, shaking your head you did it, no overthinking just running, switch on and you almost tripped on your feet.
“HOLY FUCK!” you shouted, the vase fell on the couch, dammit you were about to ruin a pretty great vase for this.
“Sorry, I am really sorry. I swear it wasn’t my intention, just Percy here, little snitch.”
Spider-Man was holding his chest, as he was sprawled on the floor, the window slightly open cold winter air swirling in.
“What… are you okay?” you saw the splash of darker red on his suit. 
Oh no.
“I… yeah. Sure, Just need a sec to catch my breath, promise you if I had somewhere else to go I wouldn’t have bothered you but… oh” His hand went up , as if he was examining it. “Shit that’s lots of blood.”
Instinctively, you approached the wounded man in your living room. Kneeling by his side the blood was creating a small pool of crimson liquid, the metallic smell made you want to gag.
“Jesus, er I, okay I’m— I need to see what you have there, can you move? Are you dizzy?” 
“Yes, I am very dizzy and… I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to move.” 
“Of course, okay but I still need to see your wound, let me just get my scissors, there’s no way I’m letting you die in my living room Spider-Man.”  
At this time you weren’t sure where the scissors were, but how could you, you were panicking, you had zero to no experience in wounds. 
A knife and scissors and towels, water, aspirins, you grabbed everything you found remotely useful and let it fall at Spider-Man’s feet. He chuckled and grunted all together.
“Okay, let me see.” You went to grab his suit but he caught your hand mid-way, warm and gooey with his own blood.
“No, I can take it off, this suit” grunt. “Believe it or not it costs a fortune, well no, it doesn’t but it cost me a lot of time to make.”
You were looking at him unblinkingly, how on earth was he able to joke. “Whatever, just let me see!!”
“Jeez y/n chill I won’t die… at least I hope not.”
You grimaced just by looking at him struggling with his suit, slowly but surely you waited and helped as much as a girl with one functional arm could.
His chest was like a work of art, splashes of red angry hits, purple fresh bruises as well as yellow-y spots where starting to disappear to leave space for the new ones. Near his ribs there were three wounds, you couldn’t tell if those were deep or not but blood was seeping out of them, your whole body tensed.
“It’s not as bad as it looks, those will heal in a couple of hours.” Spider-Man affirmed, mumbling. Percy was licking his naked arm, you heard the man let out a low laugh. “Thank you Percy I knew you’d understand.”
“Who did this to you?” you gasped, feeling your eyes prickle. 
“Bad men, they usually use guns so I was not ready to be attacked by…um sharp… objects…”
“Those are knife wounds?” 
“Not exactly but you could say so, yeah.” Spider-Man winced.
Ok, that was your cue, you needed to figure out a way to fix him. “I don’t know what I’m doing but we got this Spider-Man,”
Your only hand available was shaking heaps as you pressed the towel against his wounds. “Add pressure and I’ll start cleaning the rest.”
You demanded and Spidey obeyed. 
His mask was still on so you had no clue if he was looking at you or just resting his eyes. Either way you cleaned his torso as best as you could. Unfortunately the towel started to stain red, and you had to run to get another one, no time to wash or rinse. Percy followed you like his presence was doing something to help you.
When you came back only one of his wounds was dripping, the other two were bright red.
“See? We are getting there.” Spider-Man said in a chuckle probably because of your expression, total awe.
“Yeah, I see now… but still I’m gonna wrap you in these.” You put up some tights and baby pink towels. 
“Uh?”
“I know these are not bandages but it’s what I have, okay, so I’m putting the towel there and then wrapping it in place with the tights.” 
Spider-Man had no other option so he sighed, giving you green light. 
The wrapping ended with various grunts and low cursing coming mostly from him but you also collaborated with a few big heavy words as it wasn’t an easy job to do but it got completed, your forehead had pearls of sweat at the end of it.
Sitting beside Spider-Man you felt the warmth coming from his body, unexpectedly his thumb came to caress the side of your forehead, right up your temple, you looked at him moving your head away just a little. 
“You have blood there.” He simply mumbled but made no effort to move his hand. You kind of didn’t want him to.
“It’s fine,” hand went flying up your face, clumsily touching Spider-Man’s on the way, it was probably the adrenaline still running up your veins that caused the almost electroshocking reaction inside you. 
Spider-Man’s hand fell on his lap and Percy quickly ran to nuzzle against his fingers.
“All right then.“ He said as he scratched the dog’s ear. “You know how to be adorable and make me feel better.” 
“Hey, I did all the hard work” of course you were going to complain. 
“And I’ll forever be grateful for it, but Percy is adorable, look at that face.” 
You instantly notice he felt better, that was a big relief.
“You are adorable too. Is that what you wanted me to say?” 
You scoffed. “No, but I am indeed very adorable and also very intimidating.”
Now it was his turn to scoff. “Absolutely not, you are small and cute. Not one hair of intimidation in your body, y/n come on let’s be for real now.” 
The weariness made you laugh at that. “You are such a pain in the ass Spider-Man, I fucking patched you up and you are making fun of me, that’s not the way to go man,”
You tried to ignore the fact that he had called you cute, that had caused your belly to do a flip. 
He went silent, you instantly went to look at him, he couldn’t die now, right?
“You okay? And be honest, please.” Jokes aside, you were still worried.
He nodded eagerly. “I do feel better, a little bad that I ruined your towels and the floor will need a good scrub later.”
“Don’t worry about it, I can charge people to come see the spot and become a billionaire.”
Your smirk made him chuckle. “Funny, but I’d ask for my share.” 
“No way, it’s my apartment and you came for help, that’s how you pay me for ruining the floor.”
“Oh so you do care about me ruining the floor with my blood.”
You gasped, offended. “You are truly the worst, just for the record I don’t care, the idea seems like a good way of making easy money.”
“At my expenses.”
“Yeah, but you owe me.” Your broken arm went up to remind him, he shook his head.
“I thought I covered that up already… I see how things are now.”
You laughed, and he mirrored you, only that his laugh was followed by winces. 
“Let me get you some water… Are you hungry?” you got up, noticing now that your pajama had dark red spots spattered.
“Your look is very Carrie.” 
“Thanks to you,”
“Always happy to provide.” 
Again, a pain in the ass this masked boy was. “Want a sandwich?” 
“That’d be great actually, thanks.” 
As you prepared sandwiches and tea, you had the unsettling feeling that Spider-Man would either disappear or die right after you dared to divert your gaze for even a millisecond, him lying there in the still fresh pond of blood. The gears kept on running inside your brain, making you peek through the door every couple of minutes to see him and calm your unsettled self. He was still in place, Percy with now pinkish fur sprawled on Spider-Man’s lap where he was brushing the tiny dog’s head. 
Warm and toasty bread was all there was to smell in the apartment. You put the plates on the coffee table, one at a time, then the tea and then you went to gather bed sheets to put on the couch.
“Sit up here, you will be more comfortable.” You didn’t ask, your tone pretty much demanding,
Spider-Man didn’t argue with you but he complained about the obviously painful wounds. You were wary about every move, every deep breath and sigh he made, you observed him, your sandwich rested cold on the plate, opposite to Spider-Man he was devouring the simple meal you made for him, you offered him your own food and he looked at you, and even though he had that stupid red mask on, you could feel the intensity of his eyes, those white big bug eyes that made you wonder what their real color was. 
Spider-Man had thin lips, not too thin but they weren’t plush, they were pink even with all the blood lose, that gave you some relief; his jaw was strong and sharp, a little stubble was resurfacing form the skin and he had a kind smile, you liked how he smiled at you.
“Stop looking at me like that, I’m not going to die… at most I’m gonna finish all the food you have in the apartment.” He said munching on the last bit of sandwich. 
Warmth crept through your neck. “Sorry, I’m a bit worried…”
“I—yeah, right it was all my fault sorry. You would be sound asleep if it wasn’t for me.” 
He moved, almost ready to leave the place but his body refused, he grunted and plopped back on the couch.
“Shit,” he said, mask down again.
“You can say as long as you need.” You went on to collect the dirty dishes and somehow you expected the hero to protest or try to help you but he simply sighed. 
You didn’t make the effort to wash dishes, instead you did what it was a necessity now. More towels and the mop, a bucket with a bunch of cleaning products got translated to the crime-scene-looking-spot in your living room.
“Whoa! Hey, I am definitely not letting you clean that.” Spider-Man quickly got up and after a moment of dizziness he kneeled beside you. “Give me that.” 
“Hell no, you just sit there, you really need to rest. I have this under control, and it’s my apartment so you just stay put, watch tv, or even better get some sleep and stop bothering me.”
“But it’s unfair, I—I caused this.” 
“Yeah but you can’t clean it, you can pay for it later.”
He got up and sat on the couch. “Just because I’m really not feeling well I’ll let it pass… but it hurts me to see that you’re getting rid of that art work.”
“Uh huh, it was a great gift to humankind but I don’t think people would come see it either way, no one would believe me it’s your blood.”
You bit the inside of your cheek to hide a smile. The words caused the reaction you wanted when you heard the boy gasp.
“You only said people would pay to see it to make me feel better?” eyes found his body, he had a hand on his chest, clearly taking the offense to a dramatic level. “So low of you y/n, I trusted you.”
“What can I say Spidey,”
You heard him chuckle after that and your chest felt funny. 
“Has anyone ever told you you are too nice? Like seriously, any other person would’ve kicked me out or would’ve called the police but you… you are insane, woman.”
The laugh you let out made him react the same way. “I just accepted you because you brought coffee and bought me pizza, and because you like New Girl just as much as me now.”
“How convenient.” 
“That’s just the truth.” at least you tried to convince yourself of it.
“Well… thank you.”
“No need, you’d do the same for me.” The spot of crimson liquid was now gone, a light stain remaining. Your brows knitted. “You wouldn’t let me die in your living room, right?”
“Of course not, I’d leave you in an alley.” 
“Ha ha funny.”
Both of you kept silent but only for a brief moment because Spider-Man made sure you heard him.
Web fluid took the mop from your hand, making you look his way. 
“Y/n I promise you that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe… look what I’ve done now; condemning you to a friendship after I broke your arm and you saved my life, I think we are stuck together.” 
The way your smile only grew into a beam after those words, being attached to Spider-Man didn’t sound bad at all. 
“I like that promise,”
You weren’t sure how but you knew that the boy hidden inside that suit was beaming at you the same way you did. 
The floor got mopped, the air smelt fresh and Spider-Man was lightly snoring on your couch as Percy finally laid on his fluffy bed, after seeing his pink painted paws you made a mental note to shower him. 
Carefully you sat back on the free space on the couch, trying your best to not wake the boy there. Eyes scanned every inch of his body several times, making sure his chest was moving and his body wasn’t tense. Your mind was running wild thinking of having him there at all times, to have someone to talk to, someone who could help you cook or take Percy for a walk. And it was creepy to think about such things when you had no idea who was the boy sleeping on your couch, yes it was Spider-Man but who was he really.
The night swallowed your thoughts and wonders, making your eyes flutter, each blink slower, until you couldn’t resist it anymore, you were sure he was fine now so no worries were keeping you from resting. Still somewhere in your subconscious you were on alert, and the moment you felt the shifting on the couch you woke. Spider-Man was ready to go, you knew, it was all in the way he was standing.
“Go back to sleep,” he whispered as if someone would hear him.
“Stay,” you mumbled, feeling the slumber heavy in your eyelids and body.
“Can’t… I have to go now, but I’ll come back tomorrow, okay?”
You barely heard him whisper this to you, but you nodded your head. A breeze made you snuggle between the cushions, noticing a blanket over your curled body, soon you were dreaming of being able to drive your bike, to wash dishes with both hands, to finally shower properly.
Part 1 - Part 3
117 notes ¡ View notes
liz-allyn ¡ 2 months
Text
Pleading Through The Bathroom Door
--genre + trope: hurt/comfort, college!au, angst, slight fluff.
--pairing: college!tasm!peter parker x college!f!reader
--word count: 1.9k
--summary: after ignoring Peter's suggestion not to go out tonight, you run into a situation that makes you wish you heard him out.
--warnings: alcohol, language, throwing up, violence, creepy drunk guy, descriptions of a minor injury, reader wears makeup, angst, a little bit of fluff at the end, peter just wants to help:((.
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--gif credits: @marlosrph
As you make your way back home through the brisk air of New York City in the fall, you pray to whoever was up there that Peter won’t be home when you get there. You loved him so much, but the thought of him seeing you in this ruffled state made you want to turn around and head back to the dinghy club you came from. Even though that was the last place you wanted to be, coming face-to-face with your boyfriend seemed worse. 
He begged you not to go out tonight, and you ignored him. One of your friends, Mariah, was having a hard time with her now ex-boyfriend, and what kind of friend would you be if you didn’t help her take her mind off of things? 
The night started well, after a few tears shed by your friend, she was ready to party. It was her night to call the shots, you were just the moral support in the background. Because it was just the two of you, she never left your sight, especially in the state she was in. Her body was moving so carelessly. With her messy dancing and a drink in her hand, the last thing on her mind was the shitty breakup she endured. You were happy for her, for letting go and enjoying herself. 
As the night progressed, her body language was clearly betraying her words. She told you over and over again that she was fine, and that she swore she was okay. Just a few moments after those slurring sentences, she was pushing her way through the crowd to hunch over and empty her stomach into the nearest trash can. Making your way next to her, you bunch her hair into a ponytail and rub her back as she continues to hurl. She turns her face to look at you, tears spilling out of her eyes, “I’m so sor-sorry, (Y/N).”
“Hey babe,” slowly lifting her back up, “It’s okay, it happens to the best of us. C’mon, let’s go home.” 
Her apartment was not even three blocks away, so you decided to walk there. She seemed to have sobered up quite a bit after she threw up, and the water from the corner market you stopped by helped as well. The walk home was uneventful, you two were mostly silent but picked up conversation when you were getting closer to her apartment. As you make it to the front steps, you watch her walk in and close the door behind her. A sigh of relief leaves your mouth, knowing that she made it home safe was enough to lift a slight weight off your shoulders.
That moment of peace is quickly stolen from you when you realize you have to get yourself home safe too. It’s only a few blocks away, so it should be fine. Moving your feet towards the direction of your apartment, you suddenly feel a presence behind you. Picking up the pace and turning a corner, you realize that there is someone behind you. A taller man, definitely bigger than you, makes direct eye contact with you as you look over your shoulder, an ugly grin rising to his face. Your entire body went rigid as you picked up the pace. Reaching a hand towards your purse, you pull out your phone, hoping to call Peter. What you’re met with is a black screen, it’s completely dead. Placing your phone back into your purse, you start to make unnecessary turns, hoping that the man tailing behind you was just some sick coincidence, you hoped that he was just headed home as well. 
The footsteps behind you become louder, and before you can comprehend the distance between you and him, a calloused hand grabs your arm and pulls you to the ground. Stalking his way towards you, you quickly get back on your feet and walk backward as quickly as you can. “C’mon sugar,” his words slurring, “come with me back to my place…you’ll have a good time, I promise.” He’s evidently wasted, so wasted to the point where he’s swaying where he stands. He reaches out to you again, trying to grab you by the arm again to drag you to God knows where. This was all you needed for you to reach for the pepper spray Peter got you a few months ago. At the moment, it seemed silly. Your boyfriend, Spider-Man, was giving you an obnoxious-colored can of pepper spray to defend yourself. Now standing in front of a drunken idiot about to lunge at you, it didn’t seem silly anymore. 
He was more than close enough for you to spray the liquid at him, and as soon as you did, he hunched over, doubling in pain as he shouted profanities towards you. You took this as your opportunity to run as fast as you could, and you did. The overwhelming fear of being handled again coursing through your veins remained as a motivation to keep moving.
 You’re still a little drunk as the feeling of paranoia heightens every time you look back behind you. One more glance over your shoulder was all it took when a piece of uneven pavement caught your toe, and you came face to face with the concrete once again. There’s a burning pain on the palms of your hands, along with a pulsing feeling spreading its way from the open wound on your knee. 
Trying to recollect how you got into this situation in the first place plagues your mind and keeps you occupied until you’re met with the front door of your apartment. As you make your way up the stairs, the possibility of Peter being home ignites a wave of anxiety through your bones. There’s a slight hesitation when you come face to face with your front door, you take a deep breath in before you grab your keys and unlock the door. 
Peering in, there are no signs of Peter, a breath of relief and a wave of sadness overcome you. A part of you wishes he was here to help you, his mere presence was always enough to make the worries of the day leave your system. 
Turning on the harsh light of the bathroom, your eyes strain at the sudden burst of cool light. You try not to make eye contact with yourself in the mirror as you reach down for the medical supplies box under the sink. After you have placed everything on the small bathroom counter, you set yourself down on the lid of the toilet. With shaky hands, you open the container and pick out some things you need to fix yourself. As you reach for the box, you notice a discoloration on your arm, roughly the same size as the man’s hand. 
As if right on cue, you hear the god-awful sound of the creaky window open, followed by a soft thud of Peter hopping down to the floor. “Fuck,” you curse to yourself as you run to the door and lock it quickly. 
Walking towards the kitchen, Peter can see the light in the bathroom is on, signifying that you made it home before him. “Hey baby, you’re back early,” he reaches for the handle to find that it’s locked. His brows furrowed in confusion.
You clear your throat, “Ye-yeah, Mariah wasn’t feeling too good, so we left early.” You shake your head in defeat, even after clearing your throat, your voice still shaking. 
Peter’s senses picked up on your unease and he reached for the handle for the second time, twisting it this time, “You alright, (Y/N)?”
A spark of panic, he knows something’s up. You ditch patching yourself up, messily putting the supplies back into the box. There’s no grace while you put everything away, you just need to clean up as fast as possible. While reaching for the gauze, you knock over the bottle of rubbing alcohol, “Shit, no I-I’m good. I’ll be out in a second!”
After hearing more clatter, Peter starts to worry, “Bug? Open the door.”
You’re overwhelmed, understandably, after everything that happened tonight along with the pressure to come outside, you break down in tears. “Peter, I swear I’m fine,” a broken sob escaping your shaking form, “I got it.”
“Please open the door, baby,” he pleads, in the softest voice imaginable. 
Finally giving in, you unlock the door and pull it open. The first thing Peter sees is the state you’re in. You’re hunched over on the floor on all fours, trying to clean up the mess you made. The makeup he watched you apply, is now smeared across your face as fat tears run down your cheeks. The second thing he notices is the bruise forming on your arm, a silent worry lost in his throat. He very slowly makes his way to you, not wanting to panic you any further, and gently lifts you from the floor, grabbing the supplies as well. Guiding you to sit on the bed, he places himself crouched in front of you, still in his suit. Not saying a word. 
Your breath is labored, and your shoulders are slumped. Not daring to make eye contact with him. Taking a look at your knees first, he grabs a cloth to start cleaning the angry raw skin. What scares you the most is that Peter is not speaking. Breaking the silence, you mumble, “I’m sorry.” 
Peter’s head snaps up to look at your face, still looking down at your hands, “Hey…What are you apologizing for?”
“You told me not to go out,” you take a wavering inhale, “and then I ignored you. Then this happened!” Your voice raises, and you’re getting upset with yourself. 
“I don’t know what happened, and you don’t have to tell me right now, but whatever happened tonight was not your fault. I only told you not to go because it’s way too cold outside to go out, bug. And never ever am I going to play the ‘I told you so game’ with you.”
You didn’t know what else to say, or even if you were able to say anything. What you knew was that you needed to be around Peter. Before another second passes, you lunge into Peter’s arms, wrapping your own around his neck. The sheer force of your hug would have sent both of you to the ground, but Peter balanced himself before you ever touched the ground. 
You both stay there for a while, eventually, Peter’s hand reaches up to rub up and down on your back, calming you into a relaxed state. “Can we go shower,” you ask, “I have that gross club smell on me.”
A relieved laugh leaves Peter, “Of course we can, smelly.”
You playfully hit his shoulder, as he lifts the both of you off the ground. As you make your way to the same bathroom you were crying in just a few minutes prior, you know that everything’s going to be alright, as long as Peter is by your side.  
You fell asleep that night to the warm comforter surrounding your figure, along with Peter’s heartbeat fluttering in your ears. The thoughts surrounding tonight could wait, at least until morning. 
--author's note: hi guys!! needed a little hurt/comfort because the weather is getting chilly, and it's getting darker outside:I...im currently working on the asks you guys have been sending me, and they're smutty as hell. you guys are horny asf, DAMN. don't forget to support your writers by liking, commenting, and reblogging!! my asks/inobx is open, so send me anything!!! ok, bye ily<33.
727 notes ¡ View notes
liz-allyn ¡ 2 months
Note
hi so I have no idea if ur still writing and taking requests but if u r could you write a blurb with tasm!peter and reader who has a nightmare? absolutely love ur writing
honey i’m literally so so sorry this has taken so long i lowk fell off the face of the earth but i hope this is what u wanted <3
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A litter of dark curls were spread on the pillow beside you, his mouth open as he snored gently. Your heart, thumping quickly in your chest just a moment ago, seemed to slow down at the sight of him, his peace seeping into you. You don’t remember what happened in your dream fully, as you often don’t, just that a deep sense of fear poured into your chest as a result of it and it had something to do with Peter.
Your face was sticky. With tears, was what you realized a moment later, the salt water leeching at the moisture in your skin. The itch was something for tomorrow, you decided, sliding back under the covers and into Peter’s arms.
It was sweet though, the way he stirred when he noticed the movement on your side of the bed. His eyes opening and wandering the room before settling on your face.
“Angel girl,” he murmurs, a smile played at the corner of his lips. It was then that he noticed the streaks under your eyes, barely there in the dim light filtering in through the blinds, but there none the less. “You alright?”
You nod, pressing your ear to his chest.
“You were gone,” little bits and pieces came back to you as you whispered. “didn’t know what to do.”
“I’m here,” he frowned, pressing his lips to your forehead.
“I know,” you whispered.
-
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