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[moonyslove78]

I’m so excited to read this! 😍 but while I’m over here up to my neck in flea & tick bath treatments for my animals, I suggest you give it a read, as well!



A little rant first. I wish I was on tumblr more often but I literally only come here to read a certain few users’ posts. Katie being one of them!

I have been aware of the fact that the porn blogs/bots have just gotten worse and run rampant but then you have people like Katie who work so hard to write a fic, create a header for the content and then when posted, she’s getting censored because of a small gif that honestly was probably the least offensive one I’ve seen on tumblr lately. I just hope that this gets better and that, if they’re going to censor, it be for the right reasons!

In the meantime, enjoy this! Because even if I haven’t read it yet, anything Katie creates is always perfection! 😍

The Exhibit

[tasm!Peter Parker x fem!Reader]

Warnings: use of pet names such as Daddy/Princess/Babygirl, BDSM in the form of dom/sub, bondage/spanking/blindfolds/nipple clamps/a bit of masochism, anal play, exhibitionism/voyeurism

WC: 8K

A/N: This was an anon request for window smut off of this prompt list but tumblr said a big no no to (what I'm assuming) was one of the gifs I used for the graphic and hid the post so I had to delete it. I'm reposting it again minus the very bad so naughty terrible gif I used. Porn bots can run free and terrorize the tags with their tits and wide open pussy on display but how dare a smut writer use a tastefully erotic, black and white, gif of a blurry couple making sweet, sweet love against a far away window. So naughty. Such a bad girl.

The elevator chimed with a pleasant musical melody as the doors slid open to their floor. There were only four rooms in this hallway. Behind each door held a luxury suit overlooking the busy streets of Florence. 

Peter had gone all out for their honeymoon. 

They’d spent the last week in Sardinia, making love on the beaches, drinking wine, making love on sailboats, drinking more wine, making love in their hotel room in the early morning with the windows open to enjoy the breeze…more wine…more sex…

They were struggling to keep their hands off of each other. Even now, as Peter guided her towards their room, his hand was slipped under her vibrantly red sundress and fingering the elastic waist of her cotton underwear. 

They left the beaches of Sardinia to come to Florence specifically to see the art but she wondered if they would ever actually make it out of their room with the way Peter’s hands teased her. She was surprised that he wasn’t sick of her yet. Seven straight days of love making and he was still as rowdy as ever. 

He let her admire the suite, watching her as he leaned against the wall, more interested in eying her legs in that dress than the luxury accommodations he had provided for them. 

“Peter,” she whispered, eyes wide as she took it all in. “This is gorgeous.”

Their beachside Sardina resort had a more airy and cool feel whereas this room screamed of sophistication and class. She knew Peter had been working like crazy leading up to their wedding but she had no idea this was why. 

“Like it?” He asked with an arrogant smirk toying at his lips. “A room fit for a queen.” 

She dropped her bag beside the bed and kicked off her shoes, flopping backwards onto the bed to stare up at the arched ceiling with thick, exposed wooden beams. Even the ceiling was stunning. 

She felt the bed sink as Peter crawled on top of her. 

His white, loose button up had the first few buttons undone so his athletic chest peeked through. She loved the sight of his chest hair being exposed. He looked so relaxed, laid back, and blissful with life. Filled with wine, good food, and love. The perfect blend of medicine for him to simply shine. 

He placed a soft kiss against her lips, humming appreciatively, “You look sleepy, babe. Why don’t you take a nap while I unpack our things. I’ll be quiet as a mouse.” 

A nap sounded wonderful after traveling between hotels. She rolled onto her side. It was warm enough that she didn’t need to snuggle under the covers. Peter ran his hands up her bare leg and slipped under her sundress to take one last squeeze of her ass before she slept. 

She awoke to light kisses tickling her stomach. Peter was laid over her legs, her dress rolled up under her breasts so he could let his lips roam over her belly.

She stretched, a sleepy smile growing on her face, as she peered down at him. 

“What time is it?” She mumbled through the lingering sleep. 

“Time to wake up and play,” he said. He blew a raspberry on her belly with his mouth, making her laugh. “It’s about 4 in the afternoon. You slept all morning. I missed you too much to let you keep sleeping. Wake up and play with me. I’m bored.” 

He had his shirt completely unbuttoned and was stripped down to his boxers to get more comfortable while he lounged around waiting for her. 

Judging by the state of his hair, he looked like he might have gotten in an hour or so of sleep, too.

“Alright, alright,” she giggled. “I’m up. Let me go freshen up and then we can go explore the city.”

Peter pulled her up to her feet and gave her a quick spank as she walked off into the bathroom. That man always needed to have a hand on her ass in some way. 

By the time she came back out, she was surprised to see that he had yet to get dressed and had actually lost an item of clothing.

His shirt was now thrown onto the bed, cast aside without a care.  

“Underwear is a bold choice to go walking around Italy in but I admire your confidence,” she said with a teasing smile.  

Peter didn’t smile back. He had a look in eyes. A look that she knew very well. 

It wasn’t the “making love” look. 

It wasn’t the “quickie” look. 

It was dark, ravenous, and screaming of dominance. 

He had yet to give her that look on their honeymoon. So far, he'd been more playful and loving. This evening, he had other plans. 

They were not leaving this hotel room any time soon. 

A shiver of excitement shook off whatever sleep might have still been clinging to her mind. 

She blinked and he was pouncing on top of her. 

Her back hit the wall but his hand slipped protectively behind her head before it slammed, instead, falling into the cushion of his palm. 

Her breath exhaled from her lips at the force but, before she could catch it, he was attacking her lips with hungry, demanding kisses. His tongue pushed possessively into her mouth at the same time he slid a hand over her breast to fondle her over her dress. 

Taking what was his. 

“‘Can’t stand the sight of you in this dress.”

He moaned into her open mouth. 

“Makes me want to rip it straight off your body.”

He grabbed at her breasts, aggressive and horny, rutting his hips against her. 

“Do you know how hard it was not to fuck you while you slept?”

Her hair was being violently pulled, head crashing against the wall, her mouth falling open into a cry.

“Laying there, all innocent, legs spread open and begging for me to touch them.”

He clawed down her bare legs. Nails dragged against her skin. Feeling like she was getting attacked by a raging bear with the force of power behind each of his movements. 

“Teasing me even in your sleep. A foxy, little minx, aren’t you?”

She shuddered, lowering her voice to a whisper, ready to play along, “I picked this dress just for you. I knew what it would do to you.” 

He grabbed her wrists, slamming them above her head against the wall, and holding them in place. He let out a groan, grinding his stiff cock into her thigh. 

“Daddy knew his babygirl was a little tease.” 

A trickle of wetness soaked into her panties at the use of her favorite pet name for himself. 

What had started out as a joke early in their relationship, quickly became a genuine kink to turn them on. 

With that name on his lips, she could guess what kind of torture was held in store for her. It was going to be a dizzying whirlwind of fast, hard pleasure. 

Peter’s voice lowered to a near growl. 

“Pretty, little thing like you shouldn’t be traipsing around in a dress like that. You don’t know who might snatch you up.”

With both her wrists bound tightly in his one hand, he lifted her off the ground, dragging her up the wall, blatantly showing off his inhuman strength so she knew exactly what he could do to her if he wanted. 

To him, she weighed nothing. This was a man who had stopped moving trucks with his bare hands and thrown cars around like a kid with a ball. 

He let go and she dropped the few inches back to her feet with a surprised yelp. 

“You’re lucky you have me to protect you. Daddy won’t let anything bad happen to his little princess, will he?” 

She was shoved straight back against the wall, getting off on the feeling of being handled so roughly. 

He nipped at her ear lobe, sucking it into mouth the sounds of her tumbling whimpers. 

“Do you like to show off when you wear dresses like this? Do you like having men look at you? Do you like that they imaging fucking you when you walk by?”

“I only want you to fuck me. Only you,” she whined, trying to free her hands from the hold he had on her.

“Of course I’m the only who will ever fuck you, princess.” 

He tugged her hand back down to flash her newly placed wedding ring in front of her face. 

“That right there means that my cock is the only one that will ever split you open again. But that doesn’t mean others can’t look. People have eyes. They can see what I’ve got hanging off my arm.”

He brushed her hair away from her neck so he could lean down to graze his lips along her pulse points, murmuring against her heated skin as he continued to taunt her with his words. 

“How do you expect anyone to keep their thoughts pure when you’re walking around in this?” He pulled at the bottom of her sundress. “You’re putting on a show for them, babygirl.” 

“I didn’t mean to,” she cried. “It's hot out! I wanted to stay cool.”

Strong arms twisted her around so she was facing the wall, cheek shoved against the rough wallpaper. The force knocked the air from her lungs. 

He bent both her arms behind her back and a strong, sticky substance shot out to bind them in place. She knew the feel of those webs well and a smile danced on her lips. 

She loved being bound.

The pressure of being restrained was like a tiny slice of heaven.  

“Daddy doesn’t like it when you show off, princess.”

He flipped up the back of her dress to palm at her rounded cheek, giving it a harsh slap to the sounds of her delicious yelp. 

“Do you look at other men, too, when they’re looking at you? Do you imagine yourself with them?” 

She gasped in horror at the thought, “Of course not! I would never!”

No other man could ever compare to her husband. Not even in the game they were playing. There was always only Peter.  

He hummed like he disapproved of her answer, “Well…just to be certain...I think we need to make sure you can’t let those eyes wander.”

Something smooth slipped over her eyes, leaving her in the darkness, while he tied the blindfold tightly behind her head. 

Leather. 

She smelled leather. 

She couldn’t remember them ever owning a leather blindfold before. It must have been something Peter picked up when they arrived here but she couldn’t recall a time when he left her sight. 

She liked how heavy it felt against her eyelids. There was no way she could peek through this one. 

“There,” he whispered. “Perfect. Blind to my advances. Lost in the dark. Never knowing when or where I will touch.” 

He gripped her hips and spun her back around to face him. 

A wave of dizziness over took her and she swayed on unsteady, bare feet. 

“Careful, babe,” he whispered with a tenderness to his voice, breaking his haughty charade, and reaching out a hand to steady her. “I got you.”

Peter teased a finger under her chin, leaning down, to kiss her again. Soft and gentle, filled with the love and joy only a newly married man on his honeymoon could give. 

A coil of tension spread throughout her stomach as she melted into him. 

Her mouth opened to willingly accept his tongue past her worshiped lips to kiss him with all the passion she could muster with her hands bound behind her. 

Peter’s own hands couldn’t stay still for long before they began to wander. 

He squeezed her breasts through her dress, molding them to his palm, and rutting his hips into her. 

She moaned, long and drawn out, leaning her head back against the wall so he could attach his lips to her neck. He sucked on her pulse points like a vampire draining blood and she wished he had fangs so she could feel the sting of pain as he sank into her flesh. 

And then he was gone. 

She stumbled forward, nearly losing her footing without him to push against. 

Her head whipped around in the dark to try and find him through sound. 

It was useless. 

He was as silent as a spider.

“Look at the sight of you,” he chuckled, his voice dark and deep, dripping with desire. From the sound of his voice, he was across the room near the window. 

“You have no idea what you look like right now, do you? Don’t fret, I’ll describe it for you.

He was moving. Pacing back and forth down the length of the room against the far wall.

“The strap of your dress is halfway down your arm. The nipple of your left tit keeps poking over the fabric, desperate to be sucked upon. Your hair is already a damn mess and I’ve barely touched it. Your mouth keeps parting like it’s just waiting for a cock to fill it up. A horny little thing, aren’t you?” 

“Mmm,” she moaned, only getting more turned by his descriptions. “Peter. Come back. Touch me.”

“That’s not my name, princess,” he shot back.

His voice sounded different now, like he was up on the ceiling. 

“Daddy,” she begged, craning her blind head upwards toward the sound. “Touch me, Daddy.”

He gave a quiet laugh, “Come get me then.”

He was back on the floor. In a different corner by the bed. Jumping around the room. Silent. With only his voice to guide her. 

She took an unsteady step forward, blindfolded with her hands bound behind her. She didn’t know this hotel room very well. He knew that. 

Which was why he kept moving. Teasing her. Making her work for his love. 

She kept inching ahead, little by little. 

“Tick tock, princess. Daddy doesn’t have all day.” 

Behind her. 

She gasped, whirling around, stumbling back the way she came only to find nothing but air. 

With another step, her body bounced against the wall he had pinned her to and she staggered backwards. 

She tried to spin back to the way she started but was getting all turned around. 

He laughed at her pitiful efforts. 

In front of her again.

Near the windows.

Or maybe the beds? 

Was he at the door? 

She was spinning in circles. Getting disoriented. 

This wasn’t a fair game and she was getting frustrated. Her foot stomped angrily against the rug with a grumpy whine to accompany it. 

“Is my poor princess getting dizzy?”

She had half the thought to plop herself onto the floor and stay there until he came to her. 

But she didn’t want to lose the game. 

She was too stubborn to give up. 

“Watch out,” he warned. Still by the window. At least…she thought that was the direction she was facing. “If you move any more, you’ll run straight into the side of a table. Wouldn’t want my baby girl to get hurt.” 

The table. She remembered where that was in the room. 

He was by the windows. He was close. 

Excitement tumbled around in her stomach as she tasted her nearing victory. 

She shuffled to the left, feeling the table at her hip, and kept going towards the last place she heard his voice. 

Blind and bound until she heard his soft breaths directly in front of her, thankful that he hadn’t moved again. 

“Good girl, you made it,” he whispered. A soft kiss was placed on her lips as a prize. “As a special reward, Daddy’s going to take your dress off, okay, baby? He’ll be really gentle even though he wants to rip it to shreds.” 

She felt him snake an arm around her waist to rip through the webs binding her wrists. She immediately went to reach for him but he slapped her hands away. 

“Hands at your side or else I’ll spank you,” he ordered. “I’m taking my time. I’m in Florence. I’m here to admire the art. Don’t rush me.” 

The zipper at her side slowly inched down until it rested at her hip. 

His big, warm hands slipped under her straps, fingers scraping along her shoulder, as he pushed them down her arms. His head fell down to kiss her shoulder, dragging his lips across her heated skin. 

Her breasts held the dress up but the moment he gave a light tug to the bottom, it yielded quickly and pooled around her ankles on the floor. 

His shuddered breath told her that he was enjoying the view. Bare chested, nipples taut, and in nothing but her underwear and blindfold. 

The underwear didn’t last long. 

Peter slid them down straight after the dress until she was completely nude. 

“More beautiful than The Birth of Venus. We should put you in a frame and have tourists come to gaze upon that instead. Maybe I should dangle you from the wall…all tied up with nowhere to go…I’ll start my own museum right here since you love to be such a tease. I’ll put you on display and have everyone see the kind of beauty I married.” 

She was surprised to feel a wave of appreciative tears dampening her lashes. There was genuine love and admiration behind his words. 

Married. They were married. Finally. 

Her husband. 

She loved that she got to call him that now. 

Cool air breezed against her throbbing clitoris, halting the tears, to remind her how horny he had made her before she was chasing him around the room. She was too hot and eager to think about where that breeze was coming from. Drunk on her love for him. She bucked her hips to try and find some kind of friction for her to grind on. 

She squeezed her thighs together, rubbing them back and forth. 

“What’s the matter, baby?” Peter teased. “Need a hand?” 

“Please,” she gasped. 

“Hmm,” he pretended to think about it. 

She wished she could see him. 

She hated that he was so close but she couldn’t see exactly where. 

“I don’t know. With the way you were strutting around in that dress, showing off to the boys, I don’t know if you deserve my touch. Maybe you deserve to be punished instead? What do you think?”

He didn’t wait for any answer. 

Thwip!

Her left wrist was encased in a sticky, impenetrable substance and she jumped in surprise. 

She was yanked forward until she felt the cool breeze against her bare chest. 

The wind was softly blowing. 

She could feel it rustling through her hair and dragging up the goosebumps along her flesh. 

For the first time, she questioned exactly where in the room she was. 

Why did it feel like outside when they were inside?

“Pete?” Her voice wavered. “What are you-”

Her arm was dragged out to her side and lifted high above her head as she gave a yelp of fright. 

“Not my name, princess,” he chastised from up on the ceiling above her. 

Thwip! 

The same treatment was done to her right arm until she was bound, outstretched, and helpless. 

Her fingers wrapped around the thick web, holding onto it for purchase, as her toes just barely scraped along the floor. 

Peter chuckled to himself in amusement at her struggles, the sound coming from the ground behind her.

Always so damn silent. 

“You look like a sexier version of Jesus on the crucifix. I want to drive nails through those dainty little hands of yours and listen as you cry out for mercy.”

If her eyes weren’t confined under heavy leather, she would have rolled them in response to his dirty talk. 

“That sounds very appealing. Thank you,” her voice was dry and full of sarcasm, refusing to take him seriously.

Slap!

Her entire body jerked forward from the force of his blow against her ass. 

Strong. Stinging. 

Done with direct intention to cause pain. 

Punishing her for the sarcasm. 

She shrieked, mostly from the shock than the hurt, but immediately felt a trickle of wetness run down her thigh. 

“Won’t you be a good girl and remind me of my favorite rule?” 

His hand spread out over the stinging, hot skin of her cheek, giving her swift, hard pats to make sure the pain didn’t disappear too quickly as he spoke. 

She shivered under his touch, “Don’t talk back to Daddy. Ever.”

“Good girl,” he cooed. “Next time use that pretty, little brain of yours and think before you speak.”

Her hair was tangled in his large hand as he shook her head back and forth to further his point. 

“Otherwise, I’ll be forced to ball gag you.”

Fingers slipped between her thighs. 

She parted her legs the best she could for him to get better access to her core. 

A squelching of wet, soaked squishing sounds followed as two long fingers sunk inside of her. 

A low, deep moan of approval rumbled out his throat at the sounds. 

“You are absolutely drenched, my little whore. Something tells me you liked the pain. Maybe you were using that brain after all. Did you like it when Daddy spanks his naughty girl?” 

Her tumbling whines followed as nimble, expert fingers stroked at her pussy, drowning out any worded response she might give. 

Coaxing her to life. 

Waking up all her senses. 

She tried her best to hold her legs open for him despite feeling unsteady in her web binds. She wanted him to give her as much pleasure as he could and that meant letting him have easy access. 

“Does my baby like the pain?” He asked again, running the hand not buried inside of her against her still stinging ass cheek. “Come on, I asked you a question, use your words, pretty girl.”

“Mmm, yes, Daddy. I like it. I like it!”

Smack!

She yelped, throwing her head back as waves of arousal washed over her. The pain from the spank mixed with the pleasure of his touch was enough for another gush of fluids to soak into his hand. 

“Look at how hard your nipples have gotten,” he gave a dreamy sigh. “Oh wait, you can’t. My sweet, blind baby. All lost in the dark with nothing to look at.”  

Her breathing was becoming ragged in her ears. Her body swayed against the webs. 

Knowing hands wrapped around her stomach, leaving the warmth of her cunt, much to her displeasure. 

They trailed upwards, through the valley of her breasts, until they gripped around her neck. 

Her mouth opened in a silent gasp. 

“Guess where I went today?” His voice was nothing more than a low, darkening whisper. 

She couldn’t respond. His hand had tightened around her, softly squeezing, using a mere feather touch of his strength but still able to restrict her air flow. 

“While my princess was napping, Daddy slipped out to buy you some presents. Found myself a little sex shop. You would have loved it,” he mused. “They had vending machines full of toys. Picked myself up a few fun gadgets to play with.” 

He released his hand from around her neck, never wanting to hold her there for too long, and admired the way she gasped for breath. 

Fingers tweaked at her nipples. He hadn’t been lying before, they really were rock hard. She could feel how tight they were from his rough menstruations.

She could hear him rummaging around behind her when something cold dragged across her breasts. 

“Deep breath, princess.” 

Following his warning, the cold, grooved metal clamped down over her left nipple. 

She let out a genuine cry, her back arching from the pain. 

It gripped her tighter than his teeth ever had, dragging her nipple out from her body, and squeezing down painfully hard. 

The groves made it feel like little razors digging into her sensitive flesh. 

Peter huffed out a laugh in a sadistic amusement at her reaction, “You know, when the woman running the store saw these come out of the vending machine, she looked over with a nod and said something like ‘molto doloroso’. Now, I don’t speak much Italian but I’m going to assume it translates to ‘Those hurt like a bitch and your pain whore of a wife will love them.’ Am I right?”

She choked out a sob, squirming uncomfortably against the webs, “Ow. It hurts…too much…hate ‘em.”

“Oh, don’t worry, there’s another one right here! It’ll help balance out the pain so both those beautiful tits get a turn.” 

Another agonizing clamp bit down against her other nipple. The sharp, grooved metal felt like it might rip her nipple straight off her breast. 

The nipple clamps they had at home were capped with a smooth rubber. These were bare and ready to grip on to her tender skin with the strength of a fucking bear trap. 

She let out a full scream the moment it bit down, thrashing her body in an attempt to get away from the clamps. Crocodile tears rolled down her cheek from under the blindfold. 

“Shh, shh, shh!” 

A heavy hand cut off her cries by wrapping around her mouth. His breath was against her ear, hushing her, soothing her, running his lips over her forehead with quick kisses.

“Not so loud, baby,” he whispered. “You’ll draw a crowd with those cries.” 

“What?” She gasped through heavy, pained breaths. “Crowds?”

Peter’s hands reached up to slide the blindfold up off her eyes and tossed it onto the floor. 

He took a step to the side, watching her blink in confusion, as her tear blurred sight came back into focus. 

She had forgotten about the breeze. 

He had distracted her. 

Kept her mind occupied so she wouldn’t ask questions. 

She was tied up, stark naked, and splayed out directly in front of the arched floor to ceiling window overlooking the streets of Florence. 

The top half of the glass was pushed open, letting in the cool evening summer breeze, and making sure nothing muffled the sounds of her screams. 

And she had been screaming. 

“Peter!” She cried in horror, paranoid that anyone could look up and see her. They weren’t that high up in the hotel. Any curious person who decided to glance upwards would certainly catch her out in all her glory. 

Wack!

The sound of her sore ass being slapped filled her ears. 

Nothing could hurt more than her breasts at the moment and she welcomed the familiar pain his hands brought. 

She also couldn’t deny that growing, aching pressure happening between her legs. Her masochistic tendencies had yet to fail her. 

“Not my name,” he scolded. 

She whined, bouncing her leg against the floor in protest, and trying to tug at her bindings. 

“Let me down!”

She knew full well that those webs would never give but it didn’t stop her from giving it a shot. 

He leaned against the wall beside the open window, arms crossed, a prideful smirk sitting on his smug face, watching her struggle. 

“I told you I was going to put you on display.”

She never thought he meant it literally. 

Tears burned in her eyes at the wave of shame at being so exposed.

At least the shock helped to dull the pain in her breasts.

She scanned the tight streets below and was thankful to see that no one was stopped and staring. 

Yet. 

Her watchful eyes followed Peter as he pushed off from the wall and moved behind her.

Breath caught in her throat as his fingers found a home back inside of her drenched pussy. 

“Still as wet as ever, I see,” he noted. “You can cry and beg and plead all you want but Daddy knows the truth. He sees behind your tears.” 

Slick fingers circled around her aching clit. 

Toying with it. 

Teasing her. 

“You like being held up on a pedestal.”

A long, skinny middle finger sunk inside of her. 

Her head rolled back. Eyes closed. 

“You like people hearing you cum.”

His thumb on her clit. 

Brushing. Stroking.

Building her pleasure. 

“You like having others watch as your Daddy pleasures his princess.” 

In and out. 

Slowly penetrating her with his finger. 

Tending dutifully to that tiny bundle of nerves.

“You like the pain.”

He flicked at her nipple clamps. 

Sending shots of pain throughout her breasts.

Electrifying her. 

Soothing it over with those wonderful ministrations at her pussy. 

“You love me and you’ll let me do anything I want to your gorgeous body…isn’t that right?”

She whimpered. 

Eyes closed tight. 

Feeling that build of orgasmic pleasure rising. 

“I love you,” she breathed back, tears in her eyes. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He practically purred in her ear. 

Or maybe it was a growl. 

Whatever it was, the noise caused her cunt to gush in reply. 

He chucked, “That’s it baby, you’re so close. I can feel you tightening around my fingers. What do you say we give the people a show?”

He was gone. 

Leaving her empty. 

Dripping. 

Pathetically whining and begging for a finish. 

“Don’t worry, princess,” he called from the other end of the room. “Daddy bought some more toys. He’s going to treat his baby tonight.” 

She listened to the zipping of a bag as he rustled through to find what he was looking for. 

Her chest rose and fell in anticipation. Each breath brought back the dulling sting from her nipples. She tried to keep still, terrified more movement would draw attention upwards toward the window. 

She gave a quiet shudder at the thought and tried to imagine what she would look like from down below. 

The image brought a glint of a wicked smile to her lips. 

Something small and chilly brushed against her back door and she yelped in surprise. 

Slap!

“Hold still!” He scolded. 

The sound of a bottle squirting caused her to try to careen her head around to see what he was doing behind her.  

She managed to catch a glimpse of the butt plug he held in his hand. 

It looked a bit bigger than the small one they used at home but had the same metal teardrop shape. A red jewel flattened out the end. 

“Figured this was the next size up from your old friend. You leveled up from girlfriend to wife. Time to level up in other areas, too.”

Lube smeared over her tight hole as the cold, rounded point pushed against it. 

Not even a warm up with his fingers first. 

Peter really was in a dominant, pent up mood.

Her eyes slipped closed and her head fell back against her arched spine. She let out a deep breath, relaxing her body as much as she could, so it could slide in easier. 

“Ah, ow,” she gasped, hissing in pain. “Oh, fuck.”

Slow and steady he sunk it into her. 

He held it there, stopped in place, over the thickest part of the teardrop. Forcing her body to stretch to the foreign object. 

She tried to control her whines from being too loud. Her thighs trembled under her. Her face contorted into pain and her jaw clenched. 

More lube trickled down between her crack to help the little device along as Peter took note of her tensing body. 

“There you go, baby,” he encouraged. “Nice and easy. Breathe through it.”

He teased it through her ass, pushing it in a little ways and pulling it back out, making her continue to take on the thickest part of the plug just to keep up to torture a bit longer. 

“Please, Daddy,” she whimpered. “Just put it in. Please.”

“Aww, does my sweet baby need her ass filled? You’re Daddy’s little fuck toy. Daddy’s going to have any hole he wants. You have no say in where he ends up.” 

He refused to move it past the diameter, holding it steady. 

“Did you happen to catch the color of that tacky, little jewel they stuck on the end?” 

He pulled it back out. 

Teasing just the tip.

Exciting the bundle of sensory nerves around her anus and making her wriggle around. 

“Spider-Man red. Just for you.”

Finally, he eased the entire thing inside of her. 

“Ahhh!” She wailed. “Fuck!”

Filling her up. 

Swallowing the plug. 

Feeling it heavy inside of her. 

“So you’ll always remember who owns this ass.” 

Smack!

His hand came down hard against her bruising cheek. 

Ecstasy coursed through her veins at the sting. 

She was so full. Stretched and heavy. Uncomfortably aroused. 

An arm snaked up her own outstretched one to brush his fingers over her wedding ring, lacing his fingers with hers.

His bare chest pressed against her back, grinding his hips over her ass.  

His face fell against her neck, inhaling her scent, nuzzling his nose against her.

“My beautiful wife,” he breathed. “All tied up. Horny for her husband. Put out on display for all of Florence to see.”

Fingers wrapped around her waist to dip through her pubic hair, finding her heated crevice, needy for his touch. 

Palming. Flicking. Penetrating. 

“Nipples clamped. Ass filled. My name, cursed forever on your lips. All you need now is a cock to fill that empty cunt.” 

He fished it from the confines of his boxers. 

Dragging it along her soaked valley. 

Feeling it pulsate against her waiting lips. 

“No!” She gasped, staring down at the people below. 

She knew once he started to fuck her she couldn’t keep quiet. Her voice would soar out the open window and onto the people below. 

They would look. 

They would see her. 

“What if-” Her breath quickened. “What if someone looks up? They’ll hear me. They’ll look. I know they will.”

She didn’t need to see his face to know Peter had a cheshire cat grin growing. The sound of his voice was enough to hear his rising libido. 

“Then they’ll see a little princess fucking herself on her Daddy’s cock.” 

The bulbous head of his thick rod pressed between her folds. 

Sinking in. 

Stretching her out. 

He hesitated there. Stilling behind her. 

“Go on, baby. Fuck yourself. Let everyone see what a whore you can be.”

She almost didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to give in. She could play games, too. 

Her breath held in her lungs. Closing her eyes. Biting down on her bottom lip. 

Peter waited. 

The crown of his manhood nestled patiently in her pussy, being squeezed by her heated walls, kissed by her slick. 

Letting her throw her silent tantrum. 

She hung there, counting the seconds, fighting the urge to move, trying to breathe through her body’s desires.

Her legs were trembling. Her toes ached from holding her weight. 

It would be so easy to just…ease back…impale herself on his sword…give up. 

She could hear his labored breaths behind her. Smelled his cologne. Felt him twitching inside of her. 

“Close the windows,” she struggled to whimper out through her held breaths. “Let’s go to the bed. Take me there. Fuck me there. I’ll let you do anything you want. Just…not…not in front of the window.”

Peter tutted his tongue, “Since when has Daddy ever let you make the demands, hmm?”

He reached his hands up to her shoulders and gave a gentle push, getting tired of her defiance, “When I tell you to fuck yourself, you fuck yourself. I’m not going to do it for you.” 

Even the smallest of shoves from her shoulders was enough for her tiptoed feet to give out. She stumbled back, feeling his cock sink deeper. 

She let out a strangled cry. 

“No! On the bed. Bring to me to the bed!”

Her eyes were squeezed shut, refusing to see the window in front of them, torn between finding it extremely arousing and positively mortifying. 

“I’m sorry, princess. The bed is for good girls. The bed is for well behaved women who don’t wear little dresses and shake their ass as they walk for all the men to stare at. The bed is for lovers.” His hand gripped around her hair and shoved her face towards the window. “The window is for whores who get off on pain and love the attention their Daddy gives them.”

His voice lowered into a commanding, deep tone, “Open your fucking eyes and look at your audience.”

She blinked through the flow of overly emotional tears clinging to her lashes and forced her eyes open. 

People lined the tight, winding streets, walking lazily to their destination. Not one glanced up at them. Not one seemed to notice her out on display, front and center, above their heads. Peter was protected behind her body. She would be the one they see. 

Framed by the window. 

Art. 

That’s what he called her earlier. 

She was art and Peter, the artist. 

Helpless to whatever ways he wanted to exhibit her 

Little by little she sunk back onto his cock. Taking him into her. Eyes rolling back. Submitting to his demands until he bottomed out.

His chorus of pleased moans let her know he had won. 

She let her body get used to him inside of her. Her pussy knew his cock well by now but she liked to reacquaint them carefully every time they would meet. 

Peter was always a bit of a stretch. 

With the girthier plug shoved in her ass, her arms bound and outstretched, and her nipples screaming in pain, she felt the need to move a little slower with her pussy today. 

Gradual, small movements, easing herself up off his cock and then impaling herself back down. 

Slow and steady. 

She shifted on her toes, rocking her hips back and forth, taking him with longer and longer strides as her shameful whimpers grew into desperate cries. 

“There you go,” he murmured, brushing her hair back off her shoulder to nip at her skin with his teeth. “Ride Daddy’s cock, babygirl. Show everyone how good you can take it.”

Her own slick coated his shaft, making it slip through her without resistance.

He stayed fairly still behind her apart from making sure his hips were pressed forward enough for her to have easy access to his body. 

She was getting into a rhythm. Starting to get lost in the feelings. 

But, the harder she fucked herself, the more her breasts would sway. 

The more they moved, the more pain the clamps created as they bit down like they might cut clean through her flesh. 

It was getting to the point where it might be too much pain for her to enjoy and ruining her momentum on his cock. 

She hissed, biting down on her lip, trying to endure it the best she could manage. 

Peter shifted behind her, bringing his lips to her ear, and whispering for reassurance, “Color?”

She swallowed, trying to decide exactly what she was feeling, “G-green?”

He stilled her by gripping onto her hips, keeping himself buried inside her warmth, but moving his head around in an attempt to better see her face. 

“You sure? You don’t sound sure.”

She nodded, breathing heavily, “Almost yellow. Not quite though. But almost.”

“Which part?” He trailed loving kisses of safety along her neck, wrapping his arms around her waist to hug her sweetly from behind. 

“The clamps.” When she saw his hands immediately move to take them off her, she hurried to add. “Not yet! I…still like them…but soon, okay?”

“Soon,” he agreed, giving her one more adoration infused kiss to her cheek, before slipping back into character. “Daddy never told his little princess to stop, did he?” 

To shove her back into the role, he slapped her ass with three hard, lashing blows of his open palm. 

Each slap caused her breasts to bounce, sending shooting shocks of pure, agonizing pain through her body and a rush of warmth to her cunt. 

Pain and pleasure. Her favorite combination. 

“Looks like the sweet little angel is getting quite the bruise back here. If you keep misbehaving, you won’t be able to sit down for our breakfast tomorrow. Then everyone will know what a bad, little whore you’ve been.”

She whined in response, bucking her hips backwards to find his cock again, needing more pleasure to balance out the scales. 

“Eager little thing, aren’t you?”

He soothed his hands over her shoulders, pushing her down, sinking her onto his length.

“My pain hungry baby.” 

It wasn’t difficult to fall back into her previous rhythm. Her cunt was soaked and starving for its lover to come back home. 

“Fuck yourself on Daddy’s cock. Let those people down there know how much you love me. Be louder, princess. I want them to hear.”

She whimpered out a tiny cry. 

Her motions grew frantic the more he continued to talk dirty in her ear. 

That tiny cry grew into loud, unadulterated, guttural moans. 

The sounds of a whore taking her favorite cock. 

She struggled against the webs binding her. Her shoulders were starting to ache. Her arms were losing feeling. 

Her body was stretched tight. Nipples crying. Ass sore. The weight of the plug was even more noticeable with his cock pushing in and out of her. 

It felt like it was bouncing inside of her each time he pushed under it. 

Her toes hurt from being hung up on such an unsteady height. 

“Peter- Daddy,” she gasped. “Daddy, please…” 

She didn’t know what she was asking for.  

Some kind of relief. 

Something steadier. Something more concrete. 

“Shh, baby, it’s okay, Daddy’s got you.” 

He reached around to her chest with both hands, simultaneously unclamping her nipples from their prison. 

Fire erupted in its place as the blood rushed back. 

A new kind of pain bloomed. 

Searing and hot. 

Her breasts were in flames. 

She cried out. Loud and sharp. 

At the same moment, Peter ripped her down from the webs, still embedded on his cock as he wrapped her up in tight arms and pushed her flat against the window. 

Her hips pressed against the cool glass but her torso nearly bent out the opening. 

Her anguished nipples happily sought out the cool breeze. Soothing over the sting. Settling her inflamed body. Not caring who looked up. 

Peter gripped onto her hips so he could better ram into her. Her job was over. She had done what he wanted. 

Now it was his turn to take over. 

Her body surrendered to him. 

“Ugnnn,” she whined. “Fuck!!” 

Her hands clenched into fists against the glass. Her back arched. 

Eyes wide. 

Taking his thrusts with near drooling moans. 

His rigid shaft drove into her, surging deep up inside, stretching her walls and drawing out the most luscious rumbles of pleasure. 

His balls slapped up against her. The sound echoing around their vaulted ceiling. 

Filling her. Stuffing her full.

Both holes used and defiled. 

She couldn’t stop the noises she was making. Throaty moans, shrieking cries, babbling coos.

He was getting it all out of her.  

Someone was watching. Looking at them. Spying them from down below. 

A young couple.

“Daddy!” She sobbed. “They’re-”

“Shh,” he hushed her. “I know, baby. I see ‘em, too. They like what they see. They’re talkin’ about us. Enjoyin’ it.” 

A broken cry fell from her lips and she stared down through her tears at the couple. 

Her eye sight wasn’t the greatest. She couldn’t make out their faces very clearly but neither of them looked horrified. 

They looked…giggly…

The woman was running her hand along her partner's arm. His hand disappeared behind her back and traveled down to her ass. 

Harder and harder Peter slammed. 

She was being ravaged by his strength. Losing the ability to make any noise. 

Nothing but silent, open mouthed gasps and a raining of tears were all that came out. 

“Too-” He grunted, crashing into her again. “Hard?” 

Through a shuddering, gasping breath, she managed to choke out, “Don’t you fucking stop.”

As long as Peter was fucking her like this, he could do it any way he wanted. He could drag her out onto the streets and fuck her at that nosy couples feet if he pleased. 

It was his art show. He held the control. 

He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Didn’t pause. 

His finger marks would be bruised into the soft flesh of her hips for the upcoming days with how tightly he gripped them. 

She held eye contact with the watching woman down below. Stared straight at her. Sizing her up, silently challenging her to get as good a fuck from her partner as she was from Peter.

She wanted to make her jealous. Or horny.

Either was fine as long as the woman was thinking of her.  

“Yes, Daddy!” She cried, loud enough for her voice to carry down below. “Feels so good! Making your little girl feel so good!” 

She knew damn well Peter’s face was cast in the shadows behind her. The idea of this couple truely thinking she was being fucked by her own father made her laugh under her breath.

“Somethin’ funny, princess?” His voice was getting strained and she knew that meant he was getting closer to his release.

“Just enjoying my fans,” she gasped back. “They love what you’re doing.”

Her eyes were wild as she breathed in the fresh air. 

She felt free. 

She was married and in love. They were on their honeymoon in Italy. 

She was getting absolutely pounded by her husband in full view of a watching, interested couple.

She should be embarrassed, ashamed. 

But all she felt was bliss. 

That plunging, relentless cock, massaging her channel, thick veins grazing over that tender g-spot whenever she angled her body correctly, the weight of the plug in her ass, her aching nipples…

Everything was pushing her straight towards her final hurdle. 

Without much warning, it suddenly became all too much. No build up. 

Just explosions.  

A wave of ferocious, intense pleasure roared over her, sweeping her up, taking her by surprise. 

She came hard and fast. 

Sheiking. Crying out. 

Thrashing against the window, leaning half way out of it, trying to gasp for air. 

Peter grabbed at her hair to yank her back inside like he was terrified of losing her over the edge. 

“Fuck, princess,” he grunted. “Where ya goin’?” 

Her ears defended under the rush of blood swelling to her head but she was certain she was screaming in ecstasy from the way Peter’s hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her sounds. 

She contracted tightly around his cock, squeezing him, using him to further her explosion of pleasure, still feeling the stinging pain of her breasts to only shove her deeper into subspace. 

On and on her orgasm went. Unstoppable. As Peter kept driving into her and furiously rubbing his fingers over her clit. 

He kept her heightened. Overloaded. Knowing that it would destroy her.

She had the brief sensation of feeling him cumming inside of her. Feeling the spurt of warmth. Feeling full. 

But her agonizing long orgasm only served to weaken her rational thinking. She no longer existed. She was no longer on solid ground. 

Floating. Drifting through space. 

Lost amongst the stars. 

Finally, her body gave up. 

Finally, the orgasm came to a simmering hault. 

She was done. 

She hung limply against the window pane. Eyes rolling in her head. Twitching and whimpering. 

Peter scooped her into his protective arms, cradling her against his chest, peering his face to see their onlookers. 

“Shows over!” He called down to them. “Fuck off!”

Without his raging, pent up, sexual energy to seize control of his brain, he no longer liked the idea of anyone getting to view his naked wife besides him. His protective nature spiked to replace his dwindling arousal and he turned his back to the window to shield her with his body. 

He carried her away from their stares back into the safety of privacy where she belonged.  

She made no protests or struggles as their game finished. Her head hung limp against his shoulder. 

“My sweet girl,” he murmured in her ear. She was being placed on their bed. “Daddy’s going to clean you up. Wait here.”

Time wasn’t real. 

She blinked and he reappeared holding a warm, wet cloth to her legs. 

Over her thighs. 

Spreading her open. 

Cupping it against her used and battered sex. 

Gently cleaning away their mess. 

“There,” he whispered. “All better.”

Peter crawled into bed in front of her, wrapping an arm over her waist and kissing at the tip of her nose. 

Gradually, she returned to her body, her mind drifting slowly back into her skull. 

“Mmmm,” she groaned. “Everything hurts. Think you broke me.”

He chuckled to himself, soothing a hand over an abused nipple, “Sweet girl. I’ll try to find you some ice in a minute. But, right now, I’m not leaving your side until you fully wake up. Rest, baby. You’re safe. I’ve got you.” 

When she adjusted herself on the bed, sliding a leg through his, she took note of the fact that the plug was still snuggly lodged inside of her. 

Their night was only just beginning. 

He had left it there on purpose. 

She kind of liked it. 

Maybe she would wear it out to dinner…

[moonyslove78]

I need to check tumblr more often 😔 I am reading all of these when I get home!

My headcanon for frat peter is that he joined one after gwen dies to distract himself and as a bandaid fucks everything that movies and gains a reputation oc / reader is his best friend very similar to dancing on my own ik but anyway she tries supporting him but peter is really unhealthy and she leaves for a while how do you think peter would feel about the hole she leaves behind cause she used to basically do all his emotional heavy lifting on hard days

He acts like he's fine. He's learned not to show his emotions especially around the guys. They were never big fans of her, anyway. It takes him about two weeks to finally notice that she's gone. It happens the day he's set to touch up his blonde roots. Usually he heads on over to her dorm, sneaking into the women's bathroom, while she does his hair for him. During those times are when he typically feels more free to speak his mind. They shared a lot of heart to hearts over those moments of the two of them, giggling alone in the bathroom, while he enjoys the feeling of her fussing over his hair. He feels the weight of the world leaving his shoulders for a short time whenever she's around.

This time, though, she doesn't come when he calls.

All his texts go unanswered. At first, he's worried she's hurt. He immediately thinks the worst. It's in his nature to assume that the people he loves will end up dead. Taken too early. It's not until he sees her walking around campus he's able to feel a sense of relief.

He jogs up to her, big, cocky grin on his face, and falls in step next to her. He expects her to open up like usual. Expects her to play along with his teasing. When he only receives a cold shoulder and the silent treatment, he reacts with anger.

Peter's been so angry lately. He's been struggling to feel many emotions but anger is one that always seems to make it through his closed off walls. They say that anger is a massive part of the grieving process but it's one he hasn't been able to shake.

They get into a huge, blow out fight in middle of campus over how he treats her now vs before and how he let's his friends treat her like shit. She's sick of his behavior and only using her whenever he needs something. It's never the other way around. Peter no longer shows up for her like she does for him. She can't take their one sided friendship anymore. This isn't the Peter she grew up loving.

It draws a crowd. People are watching them like they're today's entertainment. It ends with her crying, running back to her dorm, and Peter cursing out the crowds and stalking back to his frat house.

He mourns her loss in his life like he mourned for Gwen.

Denial.

It was her fault. She was being stupid. He had done nothing wrong. So what if his frat brothers teased her from to time. It was her fault she couldn't take a joke. He turned a blind eye to their behavior. He let them get inside his head. He didn't need her. He had lines of women waiting to throw themselves at his feet. What was the loss of one, stupid, annoying girl he knew as a kid? According to his brothers, she refused to put out, anyway. It was no loss to him. He didn't need her.

He buried his hurt by sleeping around more often than usual. A new woman every night. Sometimes two in the same day. He even slept with her best girl friend just to extra piss her off and get back at her.

He wanted her to hurt as much as him.

Anger

He was already the king of anger. He felt its power invade his every pore. It lived deep in his bones and consumed his every waking thought. He was getting into multiple fist fights every week. Not even as Spider-Man, just as Peter Parker.

He fought his frat brothers, he fought guys at the bar, he fought dudes on the street, he even fought his own reflection in the mirror. That one left him covered in blood and surrounded by shattered glass. He needed stitches to close up the wound. He couldn't stand the sight of his own face. He despised the man who stared back at him.

He didn't know this person. He didn't know Peter anymore.

Maybe she was right. Maybe had lost himself.

Bargaining

If he could just see her again...

If he could just see her one time. Hear her voice. That's all he wanted. He could watch her anytime he felt like it. He could overhear her talking to friends whenever he spied on her. He was Spider-Man. He was the master of stealth and shadows. But that wasn't enough. He wanted her voice to be directed at him. He didn't care what she said to him as long as she was talking. All he wanted was a fraction of her attention.

He would trade it all to get her back in his life. Just one conversation. That's he wanted. One, little talk just like old times.

She refused.

He couldn't blame her. He was a destroyer of lives. Anyone he touched crumbled around him. Whether they were killed in a plane crash, shot in the street, fell from a building, or were shoved away...they all left him in the end.

It was his fault. It was always his fault.

Depression

When he lost everything, he used to turn to sex. Now the thought of touching a woman who wasn't her only made him sick to his stomach. Alcohol was too risky. It fucked too much with his emotions. Made him reckless.

Pot was the cure.

It calmed him. Made him forget for a while. Allowed him to just relax and zone out.

He stopped going to his classes. Stopping talking to his brothers. Stopped answering his texts. It was just him, a strong joint, and the quiet of cave of his bedroom. In here, he could wallow in peace.

Peter Parker was not someone who could be trusted in the real world. He deserved to be locked up like an animal. No one needed him. He was better off alone.

This was where he would stay. In the dark. Where he belonged.

Acceptance

The state of his hair told him how much time had passed. It was back to brown. Greasy and unkempt. Shaggier than he typically liked it but he didn't care enough to get it fixed. The only person he ever wanted to touch his hair again was her.

And she deserved an apology.

He had been reading about grief online. There were five stages, so the internet says. There is no specific time period for each and they can jump between the stages whenever they feel like. He liked to hang out in the anger stage more often than the others. It was where he felt most at home. At least he understood anger. Anger made sense to him. Smoking helped quell the raging beast. That was a vice he didn't want to give up. Not yet. He wasn't ready for that step.

The world was an angry place and he fit right in.

But he was learning where to put that anger. It didn't belong on her. That was misguided. She had done nothing wrong. All she had ever done was love him. Anger was okay as long as it was placed in the right direction. He knew that now. Spider-Man could use anger to his advantage. Bad guys deserved anger. His frat brothers deserved his wrath for how they treated others. He, himself, deserved the anger. But not her.

And he needed to make amends. Even if she didn't fully forgive him, he needed to try, because she deserved to hear it, and he deserved to say it.

All it took was one text. After months of no contact. One text and she replied.

Coffee. 9am. Just the two of them.

One, little talk...just like old times.

I LOVED THIS!

It is very Dancing On My Own coded. I think what some people don't fully grasp in that story is that Peter was severely grieving through the later half of it. Gwen died because he couldn't catch her in time. He lost the love of his life because he wasn't good enough at the ONE thing he was supposed to be good at. He fully blames himself for her death. Do people not realize how seriously fucked that would make someone?? I think that's why I like to write dark!Peter so much. Because TASM Peter would be dark after that. He would not be normal. He would not be able to go back to being friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. It would ruin him. We saw that in NWH. It's still eating him alive like a decade later. The college days of Dancing On My Own took place a year after Gwen's death. The boy is fucked up.

Grief makes you do stupid things. Anger and reckless behavior is part of grief. Obvious that doesn't mean that it's okay but to completely write someone off as a monster undeserving of love just because they're hurting doesn't sit right with me. Not that you did that, I'm just going off the comments and complaints I've gotten on the fic that always low key piss me off.

And maybe I'm just not the greatest writer so that didn't come off as well as I wanted it to in DOMO but I tried my best haha. Maybe I shouldn't have ended it where I did and allowed them to grow a bit more after but I really thought that kind of stuff would just be assumed by the reader because it made sense in my head that that's how grief and healing and forgiveness go. But no one lives in my head but me so that's my fault for not executing my intentions properly!

I lovelovelove exploring grief and the different places it can take a person. Grief/depression/anger/angst are my favorite topics. Always have been since I was young. Like how Peter in this story feels most comfortable hanging out in his anger, I feel most happy in my angst and darkness. Sad people sometimes do bad things. Hurting people sometimes hurt other people. Even people they love very much. Does that make them completely incapable of change? Does that make them forever unlovable or not worthy of forgiveness? Sometimes people think too much in black and white and forget that the world is full of all sorts of grays.

Not that this was even about DOMO and I'm completely going on a tangent I know I'm so sorry haha but it's close enough to domo because it's dealing with Peter's grief and hurting of a close friend.

Here's some of my favorite pages from my favorite children's book (Michael Rosen's Sad Book) that talks about grief and the loss of someone you loved very much that's meant to teach children how to better understand their sadness and hurt and that even if you do bad things sometimes it doesn't mean that you are a bad person who doesn't deserve love and forgiveness:

ANYWAY

I just wanted to say that I love this and I love when people come to me with headcanons. That's what fandoms are supposed to be about. We're all supposed to be pestering each other 24/7 with our ideas and creating stories together and collaborating and building shit that we all love. Always send me your ideas. No matter how unhinged you might think they are bc I'm sure I've got equally as crazy ideas to play along with you!

[moonyslove78]

One of my favorite scenes! 🥵

Andrew Garfield and Maya Hawke Mainstream (2020) dir. Gia Coppola

[moonyslove78]

How do I request that Rebecca Yarros releases an entire extra book where we get the full recovered correspondences that she puts on the beginning of each chapter? The recovered letters and such…let me read the FULL letters from Liam to sloane, the handwritten notes from xaden to Violet. I would like to see them all

[moonyslove78]

This man 🥵😍

ANDREW GARFIELD in the studio for Audible Adaptation of George Orwell's '1984'.

[moonyslove78]

🙏🏻🙌🏻🛐

ANDREW GARFIELD in UNDER THE BANNER OF HEAVEN | 1.01 (2022)

[moonyslove78]

ANDREW GARFIELD in the studio for Audible Adaptation of George Orwell's '1984'.

[moonyslove78]

❤️❤️❤️

ANDREW GARFIELD holds hands with Dr. Kate Tomas - new girl - on double date with Phoebe Bridgers and Bo Burnham.

(source)

[moonyslove78]

I’ve been anxiously awaiting this since you let me peek at it and I’m SO ready to dive head first now! 😍😍😍

But you probably will have my texts to deal with for the next 45 minutes to an hour 🫣 so prepare yourself now, my lovely! 😈🤣

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.

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.

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.” 

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.

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. 

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)

[moonyslove78]

Fuccck yes!! Maybe even a wood burning stove?? 🥹😍

Omg imagine him making a homemade stuff in his wood burning oven/stove! 🥰

ANDREW GARFIELD

and mystery woman was spotted grocery shopping in Malibu.

Here we go, the thing changed figure.

(source)

[moonyslove78]

I swear this man looks like a precious piece of art 🖼️ 😩

Andrew Garfield 🤎

[moonyslove78]

[moonyslove78]

I can’t believe it’s heeeeerrrre!!

🥹🥹

No one better bug me for the next 20ish minutes as I read & scream text Katie! 😁🥰

CREATURE LIKE ME || CHAPTER NINE: BLOOD DRUGGED

[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 Nine Warnings (spoilers): 1 - This chapter contains smut and uses graphic, descriptive imagery to describe said smut. 2 - It dabbles a bit in the "sex-pollen" trope where one character is under the influence of a substance which causes them to have a heightened sex drive towards the other (which is considered dubious consent but I believe this would have happened regardless of the "sex pollen" aspect). 3 - There is also a scene depicting the sexual assault of a man (Peter) at the hands of a woman (Kat). 4- Mentions of past torture are described/talked about, including being burned, being chained, and whipped. 5 - There are mentions of blood and blood sharing. This is a fantasy story, don't share blood with people. I don't think I need to say that but, ya know, just in case.

[link to chapter index]

Never in her life did Aylin think she would be lying topless on a motel bed while a Lyan slits his wrist to drip blood into her open wounds. 

Never in her life did she think she would be willingly sharing blood with another person, as if that was a totally normal thing that people do. 

But here she was.

Quietly awaiting the rush of overwhelming senses to come hit her once more. 

“I think that should do it,” Peter muttered under his breath. 

Aylin gave a loud, content sigh, ready to accept her fate, “And you’re certain this won’t make me turn into a wolf?” 

Peter chuckled to himself, “Not like this, no. However, if I gave you my blood as a human and then I turned into a wolf and bit you in the same spot, mixing human blood and wolf saliva together, that would turn you. It’s a two step process.” 

“What happens if Kat suddenly bursts through this door and bites me right now? I’ll turn then?” She asked. 

He grabbed some large gauze pads while he spoke, laying them carefully over the worst parts of her back, “Firstly, I would sense her coming before that happened and I would stop her before she got in. Secondly, no, you wouldn’t. It has to be from the same Lycan. The only way you’d be able to turn now would be if I shifted and bit you. Which I am not planning on doing. So you’re fine.” He finished up the last of the pads and reached for the bandage wrap. “Okay, all set. You’re ready to wrap up your back.” 

Aylin glanced behind her, a small smirk forming, and she sat up with her back facing him. She could hear his breath catch in his throat, knowing that he received an eyeful of innocent side boob when she moved. She reached her hand behind her and wiggled her fingers in his direction. 

“Bandage, please.”

Peter silently placed it in her hand and took a few shuffled, mortified steps away from the bed. She heard him spin around to face the wall. 

“What's the matter?” She asked, sweetness dripping from her voice. “Never seen a woman topless before?” 

Aylin placed the wrap at her side and started slowly moving it around her torso, letting it climb further up her stomach with each spiral. She was someone who usually valued her privacy and modesty. She wasn’t sure where her new found confidence sparked from but she desired to tease him. Flirt with him. Touch him. There was a sizzling fire inside her heart that yearned to have him as close as she could physically get. 

Maybe it was the fact that he was still here despite all the odds. Every chance he had to run, he chose to stay. With her. 

He chose her over everything else. Loyalty was a quality she valued, especially in times like these when her entire world was flipping on its axis.  

“I-I,” he sputtered out. “I…no…wait, I mean, I have! I was just…giving you some privacy. That’s all. You did your best to give me my privacy after…ya know…I just…wanted to repay the favor…” 

Her smile spread wider as a fluttery feeling of warmth blossomed in her stomach and sprouted flowers throughout her cracks in her soul, “You’re cute. I like you. Think I’ll keep you a little longer.”

She could almost smell the blood rushing to his cheeks. Her eyes slipped closed as the sound of his steady heart beat drummed in her ears. Every breath he took felt like it was coming directly out of her own lungs. She could feel him spreading throughout her veins like a warm summer morning. 

“Whoa,” she whispered. 

He wasn’t kidding. This stuff worked a hell of a lot faster when it went directly into her bloodstream. 

“Are you alright?” He asked. She could pick up on the subtle twinge of worry hidden under his easygoing tone. 

Aylin nodded, then spoke, unsure if he was looking at her or still had his back turned, “Yes. A little dizzy all of a sudden, is all. Could you get me a shirt out of the bag I left in the bathroom? Anything you grab first is fine.” She had finished snuggly wrapping her back, opting to keep her breasts free from the constraints, not wanting to feel as tied and constricted as when Calypso had done it. If she was going to experience a heightened state of being, she’d want to be as comfortable as possible. 

A white tank top came sailing over her shoulder and she snatched it out of the air without looking as if her hand instinctively knew where to grab the incoming projectile.  

“I see my blood is already taking effect,” he mused, leaning against the bathroom doorway. “It’ll work quickly. Try not to overwhelm yourself. Remember to stay calm and don’t fixate on any emotion for too long.”  

Aylin shimmied into the top and scooted around on the bed to stare back at him. His patchy beard from her terrible attempt to trim it a few days ago had already grown back in. It scruffed up his face and softened his edges. The dark chocolate browns of his hair were highlighted with lighter shades of hickory tipped at his ends. She adored the way the warm browns stood out against his pale skin. The apples of his cheeks were sunkissed with dusts of blushed pink from laying out in the hammock all day. Every time she saw him, he seemed to grow stronger. There was no longer a gauntness to his sunken eyes. His chest was starting to fill in the sweater he was wearing. She could see the bulge of muscles reforming in his biceps every time as he crossed his arms. He had healed quickly and she hoped, with his help, she could do the same. 

She extended her leg with the sun branded onto it to get a proper look at the damage that had been done to her inner thigh. A few of the rays had developed perfectly smooth, ballooned up blisters. The rest of the sun was enraged with scarlet red lines and peeling skin. The sight of it made her sick to her stomach. With every small move her leg made, it ached with a dull, throbbing pain. At least with his blood, she could already feel the worst of the pain disappearing. With Peter around, she’d never need ibuprofen again. A hit of his blood was better than anything she could get at a pharmacy. He had all the answers right there inside of him. He was the ideal man. A perfect mate. 

And, good lord, he was beautiful to look at. His outsides were as flawless as his insides.

She could stare at him for hours. Everytime she glanced in his direction, she’d get sucked into his sights, unable to look away. He was mouthwatering and positively delicious. A hungry ache was beginning to form in the pit of her stomach the longer she stared at him. A stifling heat spread throughout her body and she had to urge strip from her clothes. 

He noticed her outstretched leg and shuffled over to take a better look at the burn.

“Can I see it?” He asked, squatting down at her knees.

Aylin moved her leg a little wider to allow him access. He could climb between her legs any time he wanted. The thought of his head buried between her thighs…gripping tightly onto his shaggy hair…spreading herself for him to… 

What the hell was happening to her? 

She cleared her throat, choking on her own saliva in the process, trying to regain control of her libido, “Is it hot in here? Is there a temperature thingy to turn some air on?”

Peter glanced up with a befuddled expression and shook his head, oblivious to her rapidly growing desires, “I didn’t see one? It feels okay to me. Lycan blood runs hot. Just relax and you should be fine in a bit.”

That was easier said than done when he was crouched in front of her, so close, so tempting…

He scooted between her parted knees to get a better look, quietly studying the state of her burn, while she did everything in her power not to shove his head into her crotch. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair. She wanted his lips on hers. She wanted to feel the weight of him on top of her. Her toes curled as she focused all her energy into controlling herself.

Deep breaths.

Inhale, four seconds. Hold it, seven seconds. Exhale, eight seconds.

Peter looked up to give her a small smile when he noticed her doing his breathing exercises. She prayed to the Sun that he couldn’t sense how excited her body’s reaction was to him being so close. He made her feel more alive, wide awake, than she had ever in her entire life. It was like she had been asleep for 21 years and suddenly she could see clearly for the first time. 

And all she saw was Peter. 

His smile was so beautiful she could cry. 

“Are you cooling down?” He asked, none the wiser to whatever flourishing obsession was taking over her every thought.  

No. 

“Yeah,” she mumbled back.  

Peter held out his forearm, pushing up his sleeve, and rested it on top of her leg. Before she could get too excited about him physically touching her, her sights were diverted to the marks scarring his skin. A line of perfectly circular burn scars dotted down from his wrist to the inside of his elbow. They were in various stages of healing with the ones closest to his hand being almost completely healed scars. A red drip of blood, still oozing from the careful knife cut at his wrist he had used to heal her, rolled down the side of his arm and dripped onto her leg. She quietly watched the color stain into her skin. She liked how she looked in his color of red. Even the sight of his blood was captivating. Everything about him was impeccable. 

“Do you remember that white wolf that you killed? Lorina? She liked to smoke cigars after she killed someone. Sometimes I think she murdered hikers just for fun. She’d come find me after a kill to smoke and brag as she told me all the shitty details. I was her favorite ashtray. Hey, at least you’ll get a cool scar out of yours,” he joked. 

Aylin allowed herself to smile freely to mirror him. No matter what he was speaking about, his voice sounded like a choir of angels. She wanted to make him feel better. She wanted to heal his wounds. Her fingers reached up to trace down the length of his arm, counting each circular burn. He was so close. So perfect. All she wanted was to touch him. His eyes closed at the whisper of her touch and she listened to his quiet inhale of breath through his parted lips. He was enjoying their soft contact as much as she was. She wanted to hold him forever. 

“There’s eight burn marks. You could pretend they’re the eight phases of the moon,” she offered him, sounding more breathless than she intended. “It’s very fitting for someone like you.” 

Peter opened his eyes to look up at her with a burning curiosity, “You know how many phases of the moon there are?” 

Her finger tip grazed up to the first mark, feeling the need to show off in an attempt to impress him, “New moon.” She moved her finger down to the next with each passing phase. “Waxing crescent, first quarter, waxing gibbous, full moon, waning gibbous, last quarter, and finally-” She circled around his last and most recent mark. “Waning crescent.” 

“I figured the sun worshiping freaks wouldn’t care much about the moon,” he whispered under his breath, too caught up in what she was doing to properly enunciate his words. He kept his sights set on watching in a hypnotic trance as her fingers trailed tiny circles over the open palm of his calloused hand like a snake charmer charming her cobra. She was reeling him in. She could almost taste him. 

She knew his lips would be a taste of heaven.  

Aylin grinned, she leaned forward to push her face closer to his, wanting to feel him against her, drugged and wrapped up in his magic, “This freak has spent a lot of time laying on the roof of her camper and admiring the night sky. My favorite phases are the quarter ones. I like when it looks like the moon has been split perfectly down the middle. Half dark, half light. Two halves of the same moon, each cast in a different light.” 

His eyes flicked up to meet with hers, catching her in his gaze and keeping her trapped in his gravitational pull. She wanted him. No. Needed him. All of him. He was everything and she was nothing. Her life would cease to exist without him in it. 

“I love you.” 

The words fell from her lips before she even realized what she was saying. Her eyes widened in response and she yanked her hand away from his, shocked by the betrayal of her own words as they snapped her out of her trance. She didn’t love him. She cared about him but it certainly wasn’t love.  

“I don’t know why I said that,” she hurried to add, blinking rapidly in confusion. “I didn’t mean…that wasn’t…I- uh-”  

Peter gave her a wistful, knowing smile. He stood up to move away from his spot between her legs to give her some room.

“It’s okay. It’s not you. It’s the blood talking. I told you, it’s making me a part of you for a little bit which is making your brain get disoriented. It’s struggling to separate yourself from me. I promise you, you won’t feel that way once it’s out of your system. Don’t worry. That feeling won’t last forever. You’ll be back to normal by tomorrow.” 

Aylin caught a flash of a disappointed sadness shadow across his face before he quickly wiped it back into a tight smile. She chewed on her bottom lip, feeling guilty for allowing those words to slip out her mouth. She hadn’t meant to upset him by it. She never meant to say that in the first place.  

With a deep breath, she turned towards the first aid kit on the ground, desperate to change the subject, “Uh, do you think you could find me a bandage large enough to cover this sun? And some normal sized bandaids, as well. For my fingernails…or lack thereof. I don’t want to keep looking at them.” 

He nodded, ready to busy himself with anything beside the air of awkwardness that settled between them. It made her feel even more liable for putting him in that position. He was too sweet to have his emotions toyed with. He was upset. She could sense him trying to conceal his lament. It was the short, quick sound of each breath he took, the flutter of his heart, and the way his shoulders were haunched up closer to his ears as if he were trying to box himself in. She had cut into something deep inside him with those three words.

She was so stupid. 

Why would she have even said that? Stupid, stupid girl.   

Aylin reached for the Neosporin to apply it to the sun. There was hardly any pain left now. She pushed her finger harder against the burn to try and elicit some kind of pain to punish herself with but Peter had saved her from the sting just like he had saved her from so much prior to this. He saved her from a lifetime of being forced to give her body to Kraven. She’d never be able to repay him for that. Instead she had tried to banish him, force him away, and then apparently confessed her love to him which only hurt him more. He claimed it was because of the blood but he had told her that it only enhanced what she was already feeling. That meant there had to be love for him already inside of her. She hurt his feelings. She’d seen the sorrow grace his face. He tried to cover it up but she saw it. Her words had cut him deeper than he was showing. She had hit a nerve, brought up old wounds, reignited pain from his past.

She wasn’t a good person. Good people don’t hurt the ones who care about them. 

She could feel her mind starting to spiral with self doubt the more she thought about her strange confession to him. She had no control over herself. Her body and mind were disconnected. Peter was the only thing left she had to cling onto. Her mother was gone. She had nowhere to live. She had no money saved up. She was a murderer. There was blood on her hands. 

Her eyes landed on the drying drop of blood which had slipped out of Peter’s healing cut and landed on her leg. It acted as a physical representation of what she could see in her future. 

She would have Peter’s blood on her hands too if she wasn’t careful. 

Her breath hitched in her throat. She was a bad person. Selfish. He wasn’t leaving because he knew she needed him. He was doing her a favor. It was her fault he would put himself in danger. He didn’t deserve her. He should have left. She was going to get him killed. Peter couldn’t die. He was too pure to die. He needed to live. Kraven would kill him and it would be her fault. 

Peter would be dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

The bubbling panic attack hiding under her surface began to cause gasping, quick breaths from Aylin as she clutched tighter onto the bedspread. It balled up into her fists as she stared, wide eyed and terrified, at the back of his head. 

When Peter turned around, he tossed the box of bandages at her hip, and took a quick seat in front of her, immediately sensing her frantic energy, “Hey. It’s okay. I promise.” Worry etched into the wrinkles at his forehead. “You have to keep your heart calm, remember? Don’t let yourself get too worked up. That’s the blood. It’s heightening everything you feel. I know you didn’t mean what you said. It’s not a big deal. I’m not bothered by it. You’re working yourself up over nothing. It’s okay. Just breathe through it. Keep yourself relaxed.” 

“I-” she took a gasping breath. “I don’t know if I can.” 

“Yes, you can,” he reassured her. “Because you have no other choice. Breath.” 

Inhale, four seconds. Hold it, seven seconds. Exhale, eight seconds. 

“Again,” he whispered. 

Inhale, four seconds. Hold it, seven seconds. Exhale, eight seconds.

“Once more.”

Inhale, four seconds. Hold it, seven seconds. Exhale, eight seconds.

Her ears were beginning to pick up conversations from the pair two doors down as her senses started going haywire. There was no one in the rooms on either side of them. She would have been able to hear them if there were. A man was speaking angrily to a woman. He wanted his money back. She was trying to argue that he had given it to her fairly. She earned it for her services. 

“Can you hear them, too?” Aylin asked, her eyes wide, sounding breathless. 

Peter listened and then nodded, “Only if I force myself to tune into them. You learn to block things out over time and focus on what’s important. They’re not important. They mean nothing to us. Don’t let yourself listen to them. Control your body. You are in control, not the blood. Focus on something else. Listen to the sound of my heart. I know you can hear it.” 

He gently took her hand in his and placed her palm over his chest, splaying out her fingers with his own, and keeping her held over his heart. Aylin closed her eyes, trying to fight the panic still gripping at her throat. Her self doubt was trying to take over. 

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

The steady beat of his heart settled around her. She let it consume her. Focus on what’s important. She let the sound push out the voices from the other guests. She let it push out her worries. She let it take over everything until his heart was beating in perfect sync with her own. Peter was important. He was what mattered. 

“Good,” he whispered, taking note of her relaxing. “If you start to feel overwhelmed again just listen in on that. Nothing else. It’ll be the easiest sound to find right now because the blood pumping my heart is the same blood running through your veins.”

The avocado green of the curtains looked brighter when she opened her eyes. More vivid. Uglier. Garish. It clashed with the red rug and horrid, floral bedspread. She turned her sights to Peter staring anxiously back at her. Amongst the ugly, he was beautiful. 

“Sunglasses and earplugs work well, too, if we ever need to do this again,” he spoke softly, keeping his tone calm and level for her sake. “What do you usually do when you’re having a boring evening? Something that keeps your blood pressure down and your mind busy but not overwhelmed.” 

Aylin thought about it as she begrudgingly slipped her hand away from his chest. She reached for the large bandage at her hip and ripped it open to cover her sun. The sound of tearing paper reverberated in her ears and made her flinch. 

“I don’t know. Read? I read a lot. We don’t have any books, though. Watch my mom knit? We don’t have my-” She paused, unable to finish that sentence. “Sometimes she braids my hair and we listen to the local radio station.”

They didn’t have a television back home. She realized now that it was just another way to isolate them further from the outside world. 

Peter perked up at the last option, “I can braid your hair. We can turn on the tv, keep the volume real low, and I’ll braid it.” 

Aylin raised a skeptical brow in his direction. She finished patting down the bandage on her thigh and sat cross legged at the end of the bed. Seeing him show enthusiasm towards her despite her unwarranted confession helped block out some of her guilt. His smile made her yearn for more. She longed to capture the radiance of his essence and bottle it up in a jar to keep by her side forever. She reached up to run her fingers over her scalp. Her wet hair was starting to dry. It would look nice if it dried in a braid. She always liked the wavy look it gave her. Besides, she’d agree to anything he asked of her. Blood drugged or not, she was in his dept. 

“Got a brush in my bag,” she offered. 

Peter smiled. He bounded off to get the brush and did a running jump back onto the bed behind her, rolling into the middle, and flopping onto his back. His jump startled awake the cat who was sleeping peacefully on top of the pillows. Kedi hissed, swiping a paw at Peter’s face, before leaping off the bed to make himself comfortable on the cool bathroom tiles instead. 

“I think he hates me,” he said as they both watched the cat slink off. He gave a goofy, lopsided grin up at her with his head lulling to the side of the mattress.

Perfection. 

He was perfection.

She desperately wanted to lean down and kiss him. If she hadn’t said what she did earlier, they could have been headed in that direction. At least she felt a little better seeing him smile. She just wanted him to be okay.   

“Kedi hates dogs, what can I say?” She gave him a wink to show she was only teasing.

Peter chuckled under his breath and scooted up behind her with the brush in hand. The television lit to life. A show about how potato chips were made was playing. Piles of wet potatoes were shuffled up a conveyor belt and pushed through heavy machinery. The subtle shades of brown and tan were easy on her eyes. There wasn’t too much clashing color unlike the room they were in. The tv was still on silent from earlier, too, which she was thankful for. Any other noise would have been too much. It was an ideal program for her to zone out to. 

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

The sound of his heart still soothed her. She tried to keep her attention on the show instead of him. The closer he got, the more electric her skin felt. He was the life source her body needed to survive. 

“Tell me if it’s too much stimulation,” he muttered and brought the brush to her head. 

The bristles clung to her hair as he gently brushed through the long, dark locks. She wasn’t prone to tangles after showering so there was nothing for the brush to get caught on. It slipped through smoothly. 

She let her eyes close as she relaxed into the feeling.  

It reminded her of her mother fussing over her daughter’s hair after a long day. 

She forced herself to banish that thought from her mind. She could already feel the sadness and worry creeping in. If she wasn’t careful, the Lycan blood would heighten those emotions until it was all she could feel. She had to remain calm. Focus on what was important right this very moment. 

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

The sound was familiar. Safe. It felt like an old friend, someone she knew her entire life, reaching out and saying hello. Peter was someone she hadn’t known very long but someone she already felt more connected to than any other person in her life. He was supposed to be here. He was meant to be a part of her.  

She loved him. 

No. No. 

That was the blood. She couldn’t love someone she’d known for less than a week. 

But, what if she could? 

Neither of them were normal. They weren’t two people just casually meeting in a park and going on a couple of dates. Trauma has a tricky way of skipping over all the bullshit and getting straight to the depths of the heart. She loved him, she decided. She wasn’t sure how that love would manifest itself yet but there was love inside of her that was meant just for him. And that wasn’t just the blood. That was her. He was her loyal friend and she loved him for that.  

Aylin opened her eyes, feeling satisfied with her discovery, and reached for the smaller bandaids. While Peter brushed through her hair, she busied herself by wrapping up the three fingers missing nails, and watching the monotonous images of potatoes sorting through a spinning blade to come out the other end in thin slices.

“That’s a lot of potatoes,” she quipped. “We never had a television when I was growing up.”

“We didn’t either,” Peter replied. “I don’t think there’s very good reception out in the deep forests.” 

That sparked her interest, “Did you grow up in a cave?” It seemed like a place wolves would sleep. 

His laugh made her smile even though he was clearly making fun of her ignorance. It was deep and from his stomach. 

And bewitching.

She wanted to hear it again.   

“No, we’re not wild animals, Aylin. I grew up in a cabin kind of like yours. It was my aunt and uncle’s house.” 

“Did your parents live there, too?” She asked, curious to find out more about his family.

“Nah,” Peter was scraping her hair back with the brush and gathering it into his hand. “I don’t actually know what happened to my parents. Probably dead. I grew up with my Aunt May and Uncle Ben. Ben was a Lycan like me. The wolf gene runs in my father’s side of the family. It usually passes down to any kids a Lycan has.”

Aylin tilted her head, her inquisitive nature needing more details about his life, “What about your aunt? She wasn’t Lycan?”

“Nope,” he said. “I’m sure Ben would have changed her if she asked but she was human. She liked being human. She used to joke that she was the only reason we never went feral. They never had kids of their own. It was only me and them until Ben decided to start taking in the strays he found. Then it was me, them, and about five other losers who I loved very much. ” 

She chewed on her bottom lip, afraid to ask the next question but not able to stop herself, “Did Kraven kill them?”

Peter gave a heavy sigh, “Not May and Ben. They were gone before I ever met Kraven. May got sick. Cancer. Lycan blood can cure flesh wounds but not something that invasive. At least it could help manage her pain. She lived a few more years after her diagnosis but it eventually got her in the end. Ben died shortly after that. When a Lycan relationship is a true mating bond, when one dies, the Lycan left alive tends to follow soon after.”

“That’s sad,” she mumbled. “Tragic.” 

“I think it’s sort of romantic,” he shrugged. She could feel the braids being tightened against her scalp as he worked. He was quiet for a brief moment. She listened in on his soft, labored breaths and the sound of his heart as he concentrated on the braid. 

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

“I-” he hesitated as if he was afraid of what he was going to say next. “I thought I would die once. When Gwen died. I thought…I thought we had a true bond.” His voice hushed, “I guess it wasn’t as strong as I thought.”

Aylin could feel his immense grief explode inside her own chest like a sinking anchor tugging down her heart. A wave of overwhelming, bittersweet sadness tried to drown her. She clutched at her chest as the tightness of sorrow squeezed her insides. 

A vision of a beautiful, smiling woman with silky, blonde hair and a sprinkle of freckles across her nose wavered at the edges of Aylin's memory. 

The woman vanished as quickly as she arrived. It was a blurry image like looking at yourself in the mirror as the hot shower slowly steams it up. 

But she was definitely there. 

Aylin had never seen this woman in her life but somehow she knew. She didn’t know how she knew but she did. That was Gwen. She had felt Peter’s sharp stab of grief so suddenly and without warning that she had stolen a memory straight out of his head. It felt invasive. Wrong. Like she had done something she wasn’t supposed to. 

She rubbed at her eyes and tried to shove out the uneasy feeling tumbling in her stomach. 

“I think,” she whispered to him, terrified to actually say it outloud. “I think I just saw- I think you just showed me-”

Peter was tugging at her hair, oblivious to the mystified experience she was currently having, “Hmm?” 

“Nothing. Never mind,” she swallowed. It was too absurd a thought to verbalize. She didn’t know who she saw. It would have been impossible to know what Gwen looked like. It could have been anyone. It was just some random woman from her memory. Nothing to work herself up about. 

Even as she tried to convince herself otherwise, Aylin knew it was a lie. His blood was stronger than either of them realized.  

The tug of her hair ebbed her back to what he was doing. Peter was nowhere near as gentle as her mother when he braided but she liked how it felt. Each pull of her hair was like a little alarm clock jolting awake up her senses and distracting her from the grief and confusion subsiding from her mind. 

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

His heart beat kept her tethered to him. She closed her eyes and focused in on the sound, letting her senses seek him out. With a deep inhale, she smelled his musk wrap around her. It clung to her brain and rooted itself into her matter. Intoxicating her every sense. Earthy with a warm, natural, grounded aroma. Hints of pine mixed with sweat. The scent of a man who spends most of his time outdoors. Hardworking and rugged. 

She wanted to nestle her face against his neck and inhale every last bit of him. The way he pulled at her hair brought a wave of that familiar warmth back into her lower regions. Thoughts of him filling her, taking over, using her, rushed back to the forefront of her desires. Any time his hands brushed against her body, she had to refrain from moaning. He was clueless to the spell he was casting over her. 

She could hear him slipping the hair band off the handle of her brush and tangling it around the bottom of her hair as her head jerked backwards with each pull. She forced herself to bite down on her bottom lip to keep from making any lewd sounds by accident. Her eyes rolled back open, her mind still half dazed in her daydreams about his skin. She draped her hair over her shoulder when he was finished, running her fingers over the braid, surprised to see that it was a fishtail instead of the simple three strand braid. 

“You did a good job,” she spoke softly. “I’m impressed.”

“I used to braid my friend Felicia’s hair when she was too lazy to move her arms,” he mused.

Aylin turned around, sitting cross legged in front of him. She liked having him so close. There was a deep seated grief behind his eyes but she couldn’t feel this one as strongly as she did before. She didn’t need to ask to know that Felicia was dead along with Gwen. She gave him a sympathetic smile, leaning in a little closer, wanting to be nearer to those beautiful eyes. She could make him feel better. She could give him anything he wanted. 

His heart fluttered. 

She caught the subtle change as it sped up. He was inches away from her. She could feel his warm breath on her cheek. She could hear his every inhale and every pounding beat of his heart. His scent blanketed around her and drew her in closer. Her heart was desperate to have him near. If it didn’t get what it wanted, it might crack straight down the middle just like a quarter moon.

Fire seared across her flesh and ignited her soul the moment their skin touched as her hand reached for his.

“Peter,” she breathed. “Peter…please…”

His eyes fluttered close and his lips parted as her forehead grazed across his own. She brushed her nose over his, silently begging for him to kiss her. She needed to feel him. Needed to taste him. She had to take care of him. He was in her veins. He had taken over her every thought. He was a part of her, stealing over both her body and mind. All she needed was to feel him on her. She needed her body pressed tightly to his. The only way she could ever satiate her craving was for her to feel him everywhere. Body, mind, and soul. She needed him to fill her every gap until there was nothing left but him. 

When she only received hesitation, Aylin forced herself up onto her knees, scooting closer until she was practically on top of him. Her legs hitched over his to straddle his lap as she listened to his quiet gasp. If he wouldn’t take control, she would. 

“Please,” she begged. “My body feels so hot. I’m burning up. I need…I need you. Touch me.” 

His hands lifted to her sides, ghosting over her hips, but never making contact, “I can’t.” He placed his hands gently on her shoulders to keep her at length. Tempted but ultimately resisting. “It’s not you who wants this. It’s the blood that’s making you want me. Not you. I can’t. I’m sorry.” 

Aylin vehemently shook her head, “I don’t care. It’s not the blood. It’s me. I want this. Please, Peter. Feel me.”  A pathetically needy whine fell from her lips and she gripped desperately onto the front of his sweater. “Please. You can’t leave me like this. If I don’t have you, I’m going to die. My heart feels like it’ll give out without you. Let me have you. Just this once. It’s okay. I want it.” 

She tried to throw herself forward to kiss him but he quickly turned his head. Instead, she landed against his neck, nuzzling into him and leaving trails of sloppy kisses up to his jaw. He tasted so sweet. She wanted more. Her perfectly delicious vice. He was the answer to all of her problems. 

“Mm, Peter,” she moaned. “Yes. More.”

Peter squeezed his eyes close, trying to fight her advances, “It’s the blood, Aylin. That’s all it is. You don’t want this. Not really. You’ll regret it in the morning. You’ll…you’ll hate me if I give in…you have to stop. Do your breathing exercises. This isn’t what you want.”

The wetness pooling between her thighs said otherwise. Heat radiated throughout her body. It made her feel like she might explode if she didn’t get the relief she was searching for. Now that he was under her, she no longer could stop on her own.

“Does this feel like someone who doesn’t want it?” She whispered in her ear. 

Her hand grabbed at his and forced it between her thighs. Before he could actually reach anything of value, he tugged away, gently tossing her off of his lap onto the mattress and backing up until he hit the wall. 

“It’s not you,” he reiterated. “I won’t take advantage of you like this. You’ll have to figure it out yourself. I should…go for a walk…or something…and you can do whatever it is you have to do to calm down. Me being here isn’t helping. I’m only making things worse.” 

“No!” She shouted, scaring even herself with the level of rage that came out of her. “Don’t you dare fucking leave me. I can’t breathe without you here. I can’t-” She gasped for breath, pulling anxiously at her top. “Everything is so hot. I can’t make it stop. I can’t breathe. I-I-” Her eyes widened with a mix of lust and fear, pleading for him to give in. “Help.”

“I can’t. This isn’t right. It’s just a side effect from the blood. It’s-”

She cut him off, “It’s not just the blood, you idiot! You told me that it only heightens what you’re already feeling! I want you. That’s what my body is telling me. I want you, Peter. I wanted you even before I got a drop of your blood. When I was locked up all I could think about was you. I suffered so much just to keep you safe. To keep you a secret. I didn’t tell them anything. I kept you safe. I kept you safe so that I could find my way back to you and I’d get to see you again. The thought of us, together at the camper, the rainy morning, watching you lay on the hammock as nature surrounded us…that’s what kept me alive. I wanted you to be able to experience that again. I wanted to experience that again. I wanted us to both be able to find that kind of peace. Together. I let Kraven touch his filthy hands all over me. I let him inside of me. I let him do whatever the fuck he wanted, for you! I did it all for you!” 

Tears burned in her eyes, leaving hot, angry, desperate streaks down her cheeks. Peter stood speechless against the wall. His brows knitted together while he processed what she was saying. 

“Don’t let him be the last person to touch me,” she whispered, pleading to him. “Don’t let Kraven stay on my skin any longer than he has to. Let me have you instead. Please.” 

His brows softened in a look of surrender, “Aylin…I…I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine,” she sighed, her shoulders sagging in defeat, the fight leaving her. All that was left was a nagging ache between her thighs and a thwarted heart reaching for him. “It’s okay. You don’t have to. I don’t want you to feel forced. That’s not right. I shouldn’t have- You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. ‘M sorry.”

Peter crossed the room in two short strides. His large hand cupped her cheeks, engulfing her face between them, and his lips crashed down onto hers. Sparks exploded in her stomach. Fireworks shot off in her brain. She scrambled up onto her knees to push herself closer to him with her arms wrapping tightly around his neck. Bandaged fingers tangled into the curling hair at the nape of his neck. She breathed him in like he was the only life force her lungs desired. 

“I want this,” he panted against her lips. “But only if you do. How can I be certain you’d want this if my blood wasn’t pushing you closer to me?”

She gave a satisfied, peaceful sigh, toying with his hair as she nuzzled her face against his, “We can’t know until tomorrow, I guess, but I can’t wait that long. I want you, Peter. I want to feel you everywhere. I want you to touch me. I’m saying yes. I’m giving myself to you. All you have to do is take it.”  

“Are you sure?” He whispered, fighting his own unseen demons.

Aylin let out a breathless laugh, “Peter, shut the fuck up and kiss me.” 

Warm, soft lips possessively sought out her own. Her tongue glided along his bottom lip until he welcomed her in. They gently tangled together in a wet, gliding dance. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head at the taste she had so desperately craved finally being served to her. His fingers ghosted over her back, careful not to touch her too harshly, until they fingered over the hem of her shorts. He bunched up the nylon in his grasp as he grabbed at her ass, lifting her closer to him, and drawing her against his hips. The clear evidence of his desire for her was pressed tightly between them.

Aylin’s mouth fell open into a silent gasp as she lifted her hips to rub against him. The sweatpants he was wearing did little to hide what he was feeling for her. Her needs were growing more passionate and frantic by the second. Her arms tugged him closer, trying to urge him to get onto the bed, and fall on top of her. 

Instead, Peter wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her into his arms. Her legs wrapped around him, feeling the heat of his bulge through her thin shorts. He easily maneuvered them both onto the bed so his back rested against the headboard with her tucked safely in his lap over him. He didn’t want her to have to lay on her back in her condition. He didn’t want to do anything that could cause her pain or reopen her wounds. 

She smiled against his lips, unsure how she knew that, almost as if he had deposited the concern directly into her own brain. 

“Thank you,” she mumbled in response to his unspoken act, leaving appreciative kisses over his beard.  

“Mm,” he closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of her kissing along his jaw. “For what?” 

“Helping me get out. Out of that basement, out of a cult, out of Kraven’s grasp. Taking care of me when you had every right to run as far as you could. Healing me. Trusting me to make my own decisions over my body.” 

He could have left her crying, hot, and needy for him but he didn’t. She owed him everything. Her beautiful Peter. She knew his blood was only enhancing the beauty in his face and was pushing her into his arms but she didn’t care. She felt nice. Her body felt complete, wrapped up in his embrace. He had let her make the call on what she wanted and she wanted him. 

Aylin reached up to cup her good hand against his cheek. Her thumb brushes over the dark circles under his eye and she leaned down to pepper kisses over his perfect nose. 

“Is it selfish of me that I knew my blood would have an effect on you and I was curious to see what it would do?” He asked with a guilty air to him, peering at her nervously through his long lashes. “I truly didn’t know which way it would go. It could have amped up your hatred of me. You could have tried to kill me. I was ready for that. I didn’t think…”

She gave him a soft smile, closing her eyes as she rested her forehead to his, “You didn’t think it would make me confess my apparent undying love for you.” A breathless laugh escaped her lips. “There is love in here for you, Peter. It’s not all my drugged up mind. I don’t know what kind of love it is, yet, but there’s love. How could I not? You’re my only friend.” 

His smile brought her a joy unlike any she’d ever felt before, “You’re my only friend, too.” 

Aylin placed a gentle, light, kiss against his lips then pulled away to tug at the hem of his sweater, “Take this off. I think I like you best when you’re shirtless.” 

He chuckled and tossed the sweater over his head. She took a moment to admire the sight. Her hand reached out to graze over chest. She could feel him react to her touch, tightening his muscles, and then allowing them to relax. It had been a long time since someone touched him with a gentle kindness. She wanted to make him feel good. He deserved to remember what love could feel like. He had forgotten how pleasant it could feel to connect to another person who didn’t want to inflict pain.  

“Elaine, chain him between the beds. I don’t care if you don’t want to touch the silver cuffs! It’s the only thing that will hold him! Pick it up with a towel or something, for fucks sake. Lorina, you board up the windows. We finally have him. I don’t want to fuck this up. I’ve been waiting too long for him to get away.”

The words floated across her memory as if they were a part of something she, herself, had experienced. She could smell the oaky floors of a dusty cabin and feel the old wood scraping under her knees as she was being dragged along the floor. 

Aylin shook her head to shake out the noise, confused, “What did you just say?” 

That was a woman’s voice, not Peter’s, but he was the only other one in the room with them. 

Peter shuttered under her touch, only half listening to her, “Hm? I didn’t say anything…you okay?”

She slowly nodded, whispering, “I thought I heard something.” 

“Probably still picking up other people in the motel. ‘S okay. Don’t focus on it.” 

It hadn’t sounded like it came from outside. It felt like she was hearing someone speaking directly in her memories.

She’d been in that cabin before. She remembered that smell. 

One of those names sounded familiar, too… 

Her warm hand on Peter’s broad, naked chest, skin to skin, was so electric that she refused to ask more questions. It was as if a jolt of lightning shot straight up her arm and zigzagged through the rest of her body, leaving her desperate for more, ignoring everything else. His heart was beating fast with each passing moment. The sound reassured her, continuing to ground her, and keep her tethered in a direct line to him. He didn’t have much chest hair for someone who turns into a fury beast. She liked how it looked. He felt smooth and delicate under her touch. 

Now that she finally had him, she wanted to take her time with him.  

Peter was someone who needed to be savored. 

His hands explored up her sides until they tickled the swell of her breasts. They were bare under her white tank top and she was certain he could see how hard her nipples had grown for him through the light material. The back of his hand grazed against the side of her breast and she held her breath in wait. Ever so gingerly he bumped his knuckles over her stiffened nipple, teasing it, but never pushing further. He clearly wasn’t in any rush either as they slowly got comfortable with each other’s bodies. 

Aylin closed her eyes, mouth hanging open, as heat flooded her core. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned forward to press her chest against his, hiding her face in the crook of his neck, with little kisses decorating his bare skin. 

“How long are you going to keep him, Kat? It’s been six months. He doesn’t look good. I think he’s sick.” 

Aylin froze. Sierra’s voice sounded off in her ears. She knew that voice too well. It had been clinging to her dreams ever since she took the Lycan’s life. 

The image of Sierra standing in front of her flashed behind her eyes. Aylin’s arms were chained out wide and strung up between two bunk beds. A heavy blanket was hanging over the one window in the small, stuffy room. The same blanket Aylin grabbed off the wall to cover Peter’s naked body with when she first rescued him. She was inside Peter’s memory. Inside his head. Those weren’t her arms chained up, they were his. 

A tall woman with broad shoulders and perfectly straight posture approached from behind him. Her long, sleek black hair tumbled down her back and her piercing, icy blue eyes looked down at Peter with a bored hatred. 

Kat. 

“I’ll keep him until he gives me what I want. He took my son from me. He will give me another. I’ll use him up until there’s nothing left. Don’t feel bad for him. All men are the same. He’s nothing but a tool to get what I need. You’re welcome to him, as well. Everyone can take a turn if they want it. Got to get their frustrations out somewhere.” 

Sierra gave a wary, doubtful glance at her leader and then gave a sad, sympathetic smile down to Peter. 

Aylin’s lips faltered for only a moment before she kept on pressing kisses to Peter’s neck. The memories tingled in the back of her brain and faded as quickly as they appeared, like moving the rabbit ears of an old television to keep the picture clear but only catching glimpses of the program between the static. She was aware they were happening. She was aware that she was somehow invading through Peter’s mind and was collecting information that he wasn’t willingly giving out. But her body was too preoccupied with the way he was making her feel for her to stop to ponder too long on what exactly was happening between them. If anything, it only served to make her feel more connected to him. It made her feel needier than she ever thought possible. Just like she had wanted, he was seeping in through every open crack and taking over every inch of her. She would show him how needed he was. She would prove to him exactly how wrong Kat was and heal him through her touch. 

She liked how hot her legs felt wrapped around his waist. He was so warm. He felt so good even when was doing nothing but letting her snuggle against him. She could feel her weight settling on top of him the more relaxed she became. She felt like she was floating on his breaths with each exhale of his chest. He was inside of her brain, inside of her veins, now all she needed was for him to be inside of her aching core. She wouldn’t be satisfied until he filled her completely. 

He trailed fingernails over her scalp, running her braid through his pinched fingers, and tickling down her neck and back. He had no idea he was sharing more than just his body with her. She could feel him tracing lightly over her bandages until he reached down to the elastic waist of her shorts. He bumped over them to feel over the swell of her bottom, digging his fingers into the toned flesh, and kneading her cheeks in palms. It felt so lovely to be touched so delicately that she practically purred in response, nipping at his earlobe to give her mouth something to do. 

It took three women to hold him down while he thrashed his weakened body against the chains. Kat hovered over him. She was naked from the waist down. Peter’s body was dirty and covered in dried blood. Time was passing between the memories. Everything was filthy except for his genitals.They had been cleaned to a level of perfection that made it shockingly obvious how dirty the rest of his body was. No one was caring for him. All that mattered was the use of his cock. 

“No!” He roared, trying to shake off the stronger women holding him down. He was so weak. He hadn’t eaten anything in almost a week. It was only because of Sierra sneaking him sips of water in the dead of the night that he hadn’t died of dehydration yet. His body couldn’t give Kat what she wanted. He couldn’t do it. “Please,” he begged up at Kat. “Please. Not again. I can’t. Not again. Please. Don’t make me. I don’wan’it.” Hot tears spilled down his cheeks as his cries went ignored and Kat lowered her hips to straddle herself onto him. Forcing him to give her everything he could.

Taking, taking, taking. That’s all she ever did. 

A flushing sensation spread warmth throughout Aylin’s veins. He was touching her outsides but she could feel him deep inside of her, too. His memories were nothing more than a buzzing mosquito compared to the mighty wolf touching her. With each squeeze of her ass, she felt herself melting into him. She listened to the steady drumming of his heart and felt each rise and fall of his heavy breaths as she clung to his chest. She tried to shake off his whispering, buzzing memories being deposited into her skull. They weren’t meant for her. She tried to ignore them, even as her rage for Kat melded together with her desperate need to be touched, to fuel her fiery lust flooding her system. It only made her want to please him more. It made her want to care for him and give him what he wanted.

She would give, not take. 

Aylin sighed to herself and shifted slightly on his lap. The move caused her to rub against the bulge in his pants. She felt his cock twitch and grow a little bit harder under her, nestled between her legs, pulsating through the cotton joggers. She angled her hips to grind once against it and relished in the sound of his sharp inhale. This was what he wanted. He wanted her. 

“Do I make you feel good, Peter?” She asked, a teasing smile playing on her lips. 

He groaned out a mumbled response of gibberish which made her laugh. 

She took that as a ‘yes’.

A damp spot was soaking through his gray pants where the tip of his cock leaked with anticipation for her. She could tell by the wetness forming in her underwear that she was equally as ready to be played with. 

Aylin slid back onto his legs and placed her palm over the cotton imprint of his dick. Her fingers brushed against the wet patch and her palm massaged into his shaft. Peter’s head fell back, slamming against the headboard, as his eyes rolled to a close.  

“Oh, fuck yes,” he whispered. His hand fell on top of hers to hold her in place so she couldn’t steal her arm away too quickly. He wanted her there. 

She could feel him twitching under her hand and his hips pushed himself tighter against her with little bucking movements. He deserved to be pampered. She would give him everything he could ever covet. 

“You’re so hard, Peter,” she mewled. She pulled down the waist of his pants, slowly and teasingly, until the sight of his cock made its first appearance. 

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight and she instinctively licked her lips, “So big.”  

She placed a delicate hand to his heat and wrapped it around his shaft. She moved her fingers to rub around the domed head and drag his precum over his base to lubricate his length while she began to hypnotically pump him through her loose fist. It felt like fire in her grasp. Hot and thick with every bulging vein gliding over her soft palm. 

Aylin scooted down his legs to bend her head over his lap. Her tongue darted out to taste along the smooth, hot flesh of his cock. She flicked her tongue up to the underside of his crown, swirling over the head, tasting the salty stickiness, then carefully taking him into her salivating mouth. The moan that rumbled deep in his chest reminded her of a growling animal. But Peter was no animal. All those horror stories she’d grown up with, all the tales of blood soaked fur and gnawing, sharp teeth, stealing children from their beds in the night to rip them apart, all the stories meant to terrify her so she could grow up with learned hatred, they were only stories. Peter wasn’t an animal. He was just a man different from her people.

Her lips popped off him, pumping him slowly through her fist, while she admired the erotic moans falling from his open mouth. She liked how deep and guttural they sounded compared to having sex with a woman. There was something primal about fucking a man and bringing him to his knees with nothing but her charms. She wanted more of it. 

Aylin licked her lips to rehydrate them before she leaned back down to guide her prize into her waiting mouth. She rolled her tongue over him, feeling every bump of a vein, taking him slowly deeper, wanting to learn the shape and size of him by her tongue alone. Her hand wrapped around the base of his cock to gently massage what parts of him she couldn’t always have in her mouth. She worked at him feverishly, eager to show him how good she could make him feel, and remind him what sex was supposed to feel like. They both deserved to be reminded. 

“You think that’s funny, Lorina? You think taking someone’s life, torturing them, is funny to you?” Peter spat in disgust up to a pig tailed, strawberry blond haired woman as another memory forced its way in. 

She wore a baby pink t-shirt with a white playboy bunny logo on the front. A lit cigar hung from between her teeth. 

“Everything is funny, if you can laugh at it,” she quipped back, quoting Alice in Wonderland. 

Peter’s head hung low, his arms numb and turning blue from being stretched out to his side for too long. Four circular burn marks already dotted down his left arm. He knew soon there would be a fifth. 

Lorina leaned down in front of him, grabbing a fistful of his long hair, to jerk his face up to stare at her. Kat had lost herself to the darkness but Lorina was born from the shadows. She was a woman lacking empathy and unable to connect to anything outside of her beloved literature. 

“You are alone and miserable, Peter Parker.” She hummed down at him. “Do you know the rest of that quote? It feels quite fitting for someone like you. I’ll give you a hint. Mary Shelley. Frankenstein. Come on, you remember. Need a little memory boost?” When she got no response out of him, she brought the tip of her lit cigar down onto his forearm. She held it there for about five, long, agonizing seconds before lifting it again. 

He didn’t even scream this time. He was too tired. Broken. The stench of his burned flesh filled his nostrils. He grimaced through a clenched jaw.  

He knew the quote she was asking about, not being the first time she had thrown it in his face, and begrudgingly recited it back to her, “‘I am alone and miserable. Only someone as ugly as I am could love me.’”

She gave a wicked smile, “Exactly. Remember that. For it is what you are. Alone and miserable. Only someone as hideous as yourself could love such a deplorable creature like you.”

Aylin slowed her movements as the words echoed in her ears. She lazily pumped his cock through her fist, lost in thought, as she furrowed her brow. 

“As ugly as I am,” she murmured to herself. 

Peter’s eyes snapped open. He reached down to steady her hand with his own. 

“What did you just say?” He asked, his voice dangerously low. 

Aylin looked up at him, releasing him from her grasp, and crawling up back into his lap to seek comfort. Her hand tangled in his hair as she quietly spoke, “I am alone and miserable. Only someone as ugly as I am could ever love me. Lorina made you say that to her after she burned you. It’s from Frankenstein.” 

Peter froze, a look of confusion crossing his face, “How could you know that?” 

She swallowed, “You showed me. I think. The closer you let me get, the more memories I’m starting to remember…like…as if they’re my own. Except I’m you. In your head. Seeing out your eyes.” 

“What else have you seen?” His voice sounded panicked. 

She should have told him before his cock was in her hand and dripping with her saliva. She should have told him the second she saw Gwen. 

“First, when you were talking about your girlfriend dying. I felt your grief as if it was my own. It hit me so hard that her face wavered in front of my eyes. Sort of…fleeting…like staring at your reflection in a still pond. She was beautiful. Light, blond hair cropped at her shoulders. Freckles. Green eyes. A big, toothy smile like she was smiling with her entire face.” 

Tears welled up behind his eyes but they never fell, “What else?”

“I saw Kat’s pack capturing you. Very briefly. Like a little flash. Then I saw her-” Aylin sighed. “I saw her forcing herself onto you. It’s strange because the memories were happening at the same time as everything else. Like background noise. I could see them but only vaguely. I just knew that they were there but I couldn’t stop to really think about them. Then I saw that white wolf I killed. Lorina. That’s it…” 

Peter licked his drying lips, leaning his forehead against her to show he wasn’t angry that she hadn’t told him sooner, and closing his eyes, “May told me once that when she was younger, before I was around, she had burned her hand on the stove. Ben dripped some of his blood onto the burn. That night she said that she could see flashes of his childhood like it happening to her in her own memoires.” He paused to take a deep breath. “I’ve heard that can happen when a Lycan feels strongly enough about someone, when they willingly share their blood with someone they care about, that sometimes they share more than they intended.”

Someone he cared about. 

Aylin lightly pressed her lips to his, “I care about you, too.” She was as ugly as him. Lorina wasn’t the only one who had read Frankenstein. She could quote the novel, too. “‘I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend. Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous.’ You’re not alone anymore, Peter. I can make you happy. At least, I can try. And I don’t think Lorina really understood the message behind Frankenstein and the monster. Anyone with half a brain can throw around novel quotes but that doesn’t mean they understand the purpose behind them.” 

He laughed, tangling his hands around her head to draw her in close, “You blew out her half a brain when you killed her so I think you got your revenge on my behalf.” 

She smiled against his lips, “Yeah but I didn’t know how sweet it could have tasted at the time.” Her brows raised as a smirk spread across her face. “Almost as sweet as this.”

Aylin slid back down to recapture his cock in her hand, trailing her tongue down his shaft to the sound of his pleased hiss. 

“Do me a favor,” she mumbled against his heated skin. “Stop fucking ruining my moment by sending me your traumatic memories. Let me just enjoy this, please.”

He chuckled quietly to himself and settled himself back against the headboard, “Yes, ma’am.”

Aylin wasted no time in returning to her previously scheduled program. Her body still ached with lust for him. Every touch of his skin against her was electric and locked her in like a magnet. She could spend all day nestled between his thighs with his cock between her lips. He would never be alone or miserable again as long as she was around. 

She worked at him feverishly, eager to please the lonely monster. With every descent, she tried to take him just a little further each time, toying with him, letting him enjoy the moment. With every withdrawal, she would lavish him with her tongue, bathing his flesh with saliva. She sucked with her lips and gently squeezed with her fist, rolling around his base, as her lips closed over his tip to meet with a kiss. She poured every ounce of affection she had burning in her veins into tending to his manhood. His low, rolling growls spiraling into pitiful whimpers were music to her ears as his hips involuntarily bucked to push himself deeper down her throat. His nails grazed over her back and down to her ass, tugging at her shorts. 

“Take them off,” his gravelly, ragged voice commanded. “Please. I want to touch you.” 

She could have cum simply from that statement alone. Aylin wasted no time pushing both her shorts and underwear down her legs and kicking them off the bed. She knelt up to strip herself of her top, too, while Peter shimmied out of the sweats hanging around his knees, until they were both naked. 

His ravenous eyes locked onto her breasts but, before he could even attempt to latch onto them, she was crouching back down to continue her sucking of his cock. She couldn’t get enough. It felt so wonderful sliding down her throat and gliding over her tongue. His taste was like no other. She could feel herself becoming addicted to the way he felt inside her mouth. She understood what Kraven meant when he said Lycan blood was addicting. She felt his power surging in her veins and worshiping his body only made her stronger. If she could live every second of her life with Peter’s blood filling her and his cock between her insatiable lips, then she could die happy. 

Peter grumbled when she denied him her breasts, vexed by her refusal to let him have more of her body besides her mouth. He leaned down to reach for her leg, wrapping a large, possessive hand around her toned calf, and dragged her around up onto his stomach. He slid down so his head fell to the pillows and tugged her by her hips up to his face so her thighs could wrap around his head, manipulating her to get what he wanted. 

Aylin gasped, dropping his cock from her mouth, as his hot breath hit her most needy desires, “Oh.” 

She could feel him leaving delicate kisses against the bandage covering her sun before smothering his face between her thighs. A soft tongue parted her dripping folds to sneak his first taste of her. The rumble of approval in his chest vibrated her hips as he dove in deeper. He had tasted the forbidden fruit and now he needed to devour the entire tree.

Her breath halted. Her heart ceased to keep beating. The most intense, glorious pleasure spread fiery heat throughout her, consuming her entire soul. All that begging, all the pleading, all that build up was worth it for this. His nails dug into the meaty flesh of her ass cheeks as he pried them apart to bury his face deeper, lapping his tongue across her overly sensitive clit and dragging it upwards to find a home inside of her. He cut off her lewd, guttural moans by reaching down to grip onto the back of her head and shove her face down to his cock again, silently commanding her to resume what she had started. She’d unlocked the beast and was ready to become his willing prey. 

Having lost her momentum due to the delicious assault happening to pussy, she tried to refocus on the task she was given despite the expert tongue lashing her clit was currently receiving. Her mouth latched back onto his cock, having lost the gentle, slow teasing ministrations from before and instead sucked him in with a greedy need. She gagged as she took him straight down to his base, her nose tickling against the soft flesh of his balls and her chin nestling in his coarse pubic hair, but she kept him there for as long as she could hold her breath. When she resurfaced for air, a line of thick drool attached from her bottom lip to the crown of his cock, and she smiled at the sight before pulling him back in. Obscene sounds of sloppy, wet slurping and dirty moans of pleasure filled the room as they each tried to one up the other’s attack. 

He wanted to make her cum first. 

His thought shoved its way in her mind. 

She’d take on that challenge. She could get him to orgasm before herself.

As if he could read her mind, too, he slid adept fingers to glide over her thighs to sink past her lips to squelch into her tight hole. She heard him give a breathless laugh at the sound her sopping cunt made the deeper he pushed his finger in. 

“Fuck, Aylin,” he growled. “Hungry, little one, aren’t you?”

She let out a long whine in response, bucking her hips back into him, her mouth hanging open in shock at hearing him talk dirty. 

Alright, nevermind, maybe he’d win the ‘who could make the other cum first’ challenge…because she was already hanging on the edge and about to drop. 

“So wet, so needy, desperate for my attention,” He whispered into her pussy, darting out a tongue to flick over her clit to the sounds of her cries. “Of all the things you could have felt, of all emotions tumbling around inside of you, this was the strongest. This is what my blood enhanced. Oh, you poor, poor thing. Don’t worry, little hunter, let the big bad wolf make you feel better. Let me take the ache away.”

Aylin whined with a long, drawn-out moan as his mouth once again returned to torment her. The shy, tortured, depressed Peter she had come to know was no longer present. He had been taken over by the hungry wolf inside of him at the scent of her arousal. She liked this Peter. She wanted more of him. 

She was determined to return the energy and pleasure he was giving her but was rapidly losing focus. He was going to win the cumming battle between them. She was useless to his advances. Her heart raced as she tried to concentrate on working at his cock but it was impossible. His tongue and fingers worked a magic that she was unable to break. All she could manage was to loosely pump him through a lazy fist while her lips drooled and gave panting cries at his crowned tip. Her body was coming alive with the coiled spring heating up in the depths of her cunt. It wasn’t something she could slow. Her orgasm was approaching faster than a building avalanche, destined to bury her under the weight. 

“Peter,” she gasped. “Oh…oh…Peter…I-I…oh…”

“Shh, baby,” he mewled into her. “Relax. Let it happen. Let me make you feel good.”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and soaked her lashes. She melted in his grasp, her toes curling by his ears, as her thighs tightened around the side of his head. That delicious heated ball in her stomach burned with an impossible heat. 

Peter never let up, tasting how close she was, his mouth tormenting her as he focused primarily on her tender bud, worshiping her clit with his tongue. Two fingers rocked in and out of her as she rolled her hips with the motion. Her nails clawed into his thighs and she dragged them down towards his hips, leaving skinny red lines in her wake. It took everything not to leap across the room, away from his face, as her body surrendered to her thundering orgasm. 

She cried tears of joy, letting a tangled scream rip from her throat, while his arms snaked around her ass to force her tighter to his lips. She pushed herself up with her hands to kneel back, suffocating him under her, as she let her primal urges take over, humping herself frantically against his mouth. 

She’d never felt so alive as the electric bliss took over. 

Peter held her there, tightening his grip, forcing her to ride out the entire tsunami without being able to pull away from the forces crashing down on her. Forced to endure what seemed like an eternity of climax that he refused to let up. Licking her passionately and urging on that wild drive she was unable to contain. It grew like a tempest raging in her stomach and coiled down to the very source where his hot breath made contact with her most intimate parts. 

Aylin balled the covers of the bedspread up in her fists, beads of delicate sweat breaking out along her forehead. Her thigh muscles shook, quivering over him, as it became almost too much for her to handle. Every continued lap of his tongue felt like a rain of sparks igniting over her skin. Her clenching muscles gripped tighter around his fingers, sucking him in, as he dragged out every last bit of her orgasm he could manage, until her body collapsed back over him in a balled up heap of shivering, sweaty flesh. 

He slowly eased his fingers out of her, sucking her juices off each one, and then diving back in to clean up her mess with a few more greedy licks of his tongue, sending rippling aftershocks jolting through her body. 

She couldn’t move. Her cheek rested against his hip, making eye contact with his neglected cock, and her fingers brushed over the warm, velvety flesh as an apology for her failure. Peter hadn’t just won the battle but he had soared to victory without much of a fight from her end. 

Carefully, he extracted his head from the cage of her thighs and pushed them over to the side, reaching for her wrist to help urge her back up to face him. 

“Com’ere,” he mumbled. “Let me see you.” 

Aylin groaned, scooting around to flop onto his chest, letting her forehead crash onto his. Her slick glistened on his chin and coated his lips. He tangled a fist into her hair and attacked her lips with his, wanting to feed her a taste of herself still lingering on his tongue. When he pulled away, he stared up at her with an intensity she’d never seen before. His calloused fingertips trailed softly over her cheekbone and around her ear to cup her head in his palm. 

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he whispered. 

Heat rose to her cheeks. She had seen his cherished image of Gwen. She was no match to that kind of pure beauty. Aylin’s reddened eyes were encircled with dark, puffy bags. Her body was cut up and painted with bruises. Her right hand was mangled with tortured horrors hidden under bandages and splints. She was down a tooth. She’d never in her life smiled as brightly as Gwen had in his memory. She was sullen and broken. He was lying when he said those words. 

Aylin reached a hand down between their hips. She refused to acknowledge his lies. She’d drown them out by fucking him until he forgot he ever dared to utter such foolish claims. 

Her fingers wrapped around his stiff cock to guide him along her thoroughly abused lips. He hissed in appreciation when he felt them slowly connect, his unclaimed words of adoration hanging in the air around them. Leisurely and deliberately, she guided him into the one place she’d been craving for him to fill most. His thick, hard cock split her open as she sank down on top of him. She had only made it about half way down his length before she had to pause to remember to breathe. 

For a moment, they stilled, relishing in the erotic pleasures captivating them as their two bodies joined for the first time. Aylin’s hands rested on his shoulders, holding herself above him, afraid to move any further. She tried to calm her ragged breathing, the Lycan blood working overtime to amplify her sex drive. 

Gently, Peter reached up his hands to pull at her wrists, wrapping them around his neck. He hooked his arm around her waist and smoothly flipped them over. She could see his eyes watching carefully for any discomfort she might feel at being on her back. He knew that by now the blood would have taken away all her pain but he still wanted to be sure. He brushed a tender hand over the loose strands of hair that had fallen from her braid. 

“You are beautiful,” he murmured against her lips. “I know you think I’m lying. I’m not. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve seen.” He reiterated his statement from before. “I’ve never met someone like you. Such a strange girl. Full of mystery. Full of hidden beauty just waiting to be found. I want to be the one to find it all.” 

Methodically, he began to test her body, not waiting for her to respond. His hips worked to slowly drive himself deeper with small, controlled thrusts until he had bottomed out to his hilt. Aylin let out a long, drawn out moan of approval, turning her face away from him to hide it against the pillows. 

“No,” he ordered. Peter gripped her chin between his strong grasp and forced her head to turn back to him. “I want to see you. I want to see your eyes as I take you. I never want to stop looking at your eyes.” 

Her body wasn’t nearly close to recovering from her first orgasm and the hungry fire was already eating her alive. The moment Peter drew back his hips and steadily shoved into her, another memory seared across her brain. 

He wanted to die. 

It should have happened months ago. A normal man would have already succumbed to his injuries but his Lycan blood was keeping him living. A curse. 

Rain pounded at the roof of the cabin. The sound reminded him of the night they all died. It was raining then, too. 

He hated the rain. 

It was his fault they were all dead. He hadn’t been paying enough attention. Ben would have never let this happen. 

His entire pack was gone, everyone he loved, brutally ripped apart in front of him. When he closed his eyes, he could still hear the terrified snarls of young Miles, fighting in his Lycan form, as Kraven pried his wolf jaws apart with such force that he snapped the boy’s jaw in half and left him to a die slow, agonize death at his feet. He could hear the howls of Felicia as arrows rained down into her, piercing her flesh, until his childhood friend was nothing but a pincushion gasping for her final, wheezing breaths. He couldn’t see Wade or Johnny among the carnage but knew they were meeting a similar fate.

Not one of them had expected the raid. Not one of them was prepared as they were attacked in the night. 

His sweet, gentle Gwen.  

She hadn’t even been able to turn before Kraven found her. Her wiggling, choking body, legs kicking desperately to free herself as his massive hand wrapped around her neck and held her above his head, dangling her over the cliffs edge. Rain soaked through her blonde hair and left it sticking across her face. Her silky pink nightgown blew in the howling wind like it was waving goodbye to her lover before she disappeared over the side. 

Kraven was no normal man. That kind of strength was abnormal for a typical Silver Colt. He was something else. There was more to him than he was letting on.

It didn’t matter. 

Peter would never see that man again. Kat had made sure of that. Peter would never see the sunlight, he would never feel the fresh air or hear the birds sing, he would never experience freedom. His life was behind these cabin walls, giving himself to Kat, with no results for his efforts. 

He should just turn. 

His body was so weak. If he turned now, it would kill him. That’s what he wanted. He didn’t want revenge. He wanted to be with his friends. He wanted death. 

Too pathetic and weak to even do the one thing that could save him from this everlasting prison. 

“My legs! I can’t feel my legs! I can’t move them. Please. Help! Someone help!”

Sierra’s frantic, terrified pleas drew him out of his wallowing. He turned his head towards the sound but could move no further than that. He tried to tug at the chains, knowing it was useless, but feeling the need to go towards the cries for help. 

Out of Kat’s entire pack, he liked Sierra the most. He would help her if he could. There was a time in life when he enjoyed saving people. 

Now, he was useless. 

A gun shot rang out, the sound echoing off the trees, making him flinch. Sierra was dead. Another life he could add to his growing list of people he failed to save. 

There was a clicking at his door. A rustling of keys. The sound of the rain grew louder as the door swung open. Creaking floorboards. 

Finally. This could be the end he was dreaming of. Whatever had killed Sierra was coming for him. Quiet footsteps snuck up behind him. 

“What have they done to you?” A soft, feminine voice floated over his shoulder and he closed his eyes, hoping that would be the last voice he ever heard. Her heart was beating fast. She was scared. Hesitant. He could smell the scent of wet dirt and blood clinging to her clothes. 

The whites of her dark eyes seemed to glow, highlighted by the dark, rogue cowl mask she wore to hide her face. There was a tentative, unsure craving behind her eyes. A need for knowledge mixed with her adamant disgust at the sight of him. He was captivated by them, unable to tear his gaze from his new lifeline. 

She reached out a cold hand to place against his cheek, reaching out to touch the beast despite her better judgment. He inhaled the scent of her coconut lotion, applied hours ago, but still clinging to her skin. It was intoxicating. It had been so long since he’d been touched with softness. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, Peter.” 

Peter. His name sounded heavily in her voice. 

When she tugged down the cloth covering the lower half of her face, his breath caught in his throat. A fearsome beauty like none he’d ever witnessed. Dangerous. Dark. Forbidden. 

She held the keys to the entire world in her eyes. 

“My name is Aylin. I am a hunter but not to you. You no longer belong to these sadistic people. Now, you belong to me.”

He did. 

He belonged to her. 

Her skin was a live wire, casting sparks in all directions, as he rocked her steadily against the mattress. She fought off the tears that were clawing at her sights. 

He was hers. 

From the moment she freed him, he always had been, she’d just never taken the time to look past her hatred to see him clearly. 

She saw him now. 

He smiled down at her, bunny kissing his nose against hers, and leaving soft kisses at her lips. Her body offered no resistance, eagerly accepting him into the deepest recesses of her being. Body, mind, and soul. Just like she wanted. He was hers to keep. 

She clung tighter onto him, letting him get lost in the neverending pools of her eyes, while they made love. 

Aylin surrendered herself to him wholly. Laid bare, nothing left to hide, she belonged to him. He worked at her with a gentle urgency. His rhythm was meant to deliver deep, long strokes to cause her body to clench around him. Her body was his and he wasn’t going to waste it. He was going to savor every moment he had with her. They each knew better than anyone that their time on this Earth was fleeting. They were never guaranteed a tomorrow. There was only today. Only right now.

She was chained to the passion at which he gazed down at her. A lover, forced to be a fighter. A traumatized man searching blindly for a kind hand to lean into. They were two halves of the same moon. Light and dark. Reaching for each other to feel whole again. 

His breathing was becoming labored. His skin burned under her touch. She shook with every impact of his rocking thrusts, his body filling her, splitting her open, taking every inch, with each pass. They were moving as one. Clinging tightly to each other. Her mind couldn’t conceive anything else but him.  

Aylin traced down the scars along his spine, one’s that would soon mirror her own. With every crack from the whip, she longed to erase those memories from his mind and replace them with her tender kisses instead. Kat and her pack had hurt him. They had tortured him like Kraven had done to her. She had felt his pain. She understood. They needed to die. They all needed to die. 

No one would ever dare to lay a hand against her Lycan again. She would personally see to that. 

She shoved her hand against his shoulder and used his strength in her veins to roll him onto his back, climbing on top of him to regain their previous position. No one would ever hurt him. He was safe here under her. 

She leaned down to graze her teeth across his bottom lip, nipping lightly at the soft, pink skin, “You belong to me, Peter Parker.” 

A dominating, possessive, rumbled growl of her own vibrated in the back of her throat. He was under her protection now. The thought of anyone hurting him forced her more aggressively down on his cock. He let out a whimper of submission. Her hunger was building and he was the perpetrator driving her mad with lust. 

She rocked her hips fervently against him, providing the perfect thrusting motion inside of her, making her mewl with delight. Turning from an agitated tiger to a purring kitten all from the motion of his thick cock stretching her to her limit. His hands came up to reach around her neck and draw her back to his waiting lips. Their lips locked in an embrace of devotion, his tongue yearning to find hers. Her world was filled with the erotic sensations of his touch, his heat, and his intoxicating musk all tumbling together to give her the best high of her life. 

She was in charge of their rhythm. While Peter opted for long, tantalizing strokes, hers were needy and impatient. He relented over his control for her to take, knowing she needed it more than he did in this moment. 

After all, he belonged to her. 

She listened to his moans as her frantic efforts began to drive him towards the edge she had failed to give him with her mouth. He was a beautiful creature to listen to in throws of ecstasy. She could love a creature like him. She could make his whines and his gasps the soundtrack to her life. Fast and deep. She would give him everything he desired. 

His fingers were tangled in the back of her hair, untangling her braid with each clutch of his fist, and holding her closer to him. Inhaling her, bathing her in his sights, capturing this moment forever in his memories. She clung to him tightly, grazing her nipples over his chest, grabbing fistfuls of his hair, raking her teeth over his shoulder, tangling her tongue with his. 

They were so close. They could come together. 

Their songs of passion crescendoed as their symphony spiraled into its inevitable climax.

Droplets of dewy rain clung to her long, dark hair. They settled over the sleepy friz like a glistening halo under the golden, morning sun. She stood at the water's edge of the pond, taking in the quiet morning with a peace he had yet to see settle on her usually tight features. There was no permanent crease between her dark brows. Her forehead was void of any frowning wrinkles. Her brown eyes were soft. The sun illuminated their shine. Swirling hot chocolate with dashes of hazelnut, sweet enough to drown in. There was nothing dangerous behind those eyes out here in these woods.Thick, dark lashes fluttered to a close, letting herself feel the warmth of the sun's rays on her tanned skin. This camper, this pond, these trees, they were her security blanket for her to cling to when the world became too much. Out here, she didn’t have to mask herself. Out here, she could be free. 

And she brought him here.

So he could be free, too. 

“The morning sun looks nice in your hair,” he whispered over to her, afraid to disturb the sounds of the singing birds. Sounds he thought he might never hear again. Sounds she allowed him to witness once more. “It softens you. Makes you look less scary.” 

The blush rising against her cheeks was worth breaking the silence for. She was beautiful. This was the real Aylin. This was who she meant to be. She was stripping away her armor and showing him what she was hiding underneath. 

She was so much more than a Silver Colt. 

“‘M not scary,” she grumbled back at him. 

The top of her nose scrunched up in distaste. He could admire that view forever. She was right. She wasn’t scary. 

She was terrifying. 

And he wanted more. 

He wanted all of it. The good, the bad, he wanted it all. 

A droplet of lingering rain rolled off a leaf and landed against her cheek as her face upturned to the sky. He watched it with a mesmerizing fascination, admiring the elegance of the single drop, catching the sunlight, coating down her perfect skin. He was jealous of the water for getting to caress her cheek before he could. 

The crown of dew settled on top her head was starting to melt into her hair, soaking it through, letting it cling to her face. Instead of seeing Gwen, struggling in the rain, her final moments before death…he only saw her. Her beauty. The way the rain hugged her close. The way it made the corners of her mouth turn up into a scarce smile. Such a rare sight to see a smile from her. She was radiant. 

He didn’t hate the rain. 

He loved it. 

Peter’s hand ran down her back, clutching to her hips, needing to hold on as she clenched around him with an impossible tightness. She felt his muscles start to spasm under her as he gave in. She clung onto his neck with a grip not even Kraven could tear away. His memories of her flooded her brain, swirling around behind her eyes to meld together with his look of devotion, and combine to heighten the orgasm seizing her. 

She had never seen herself like that before. She had never seen herself look so beautiful from someone else’s eyes. That’s what Peter saw when he looked at her. He saw her for who she truly was. He saw behind the Silver Colt facade. He saw her for her. 

Her eyes filled with sparkling, euphoric tears. 

Her body shook in waves of aftershocks as her orgasm subsided. She could feel the flood of heat explode inside of her and she gave her hips a few, lasting thrusts to help him relinquish every drop. She wanted it all, too. All of him. 

His arms ensnared her in their iron clad grasp, securing her tightly to his chest, as he softened inside of her. He brushed fingers through the fallen strands of hair framing her face. He sought out to remember every detail with enamored eyes. 

She tilted his chin so she could better grace her lips with his. 

Soft and sweet. 

Peter smiled against her lips, closing his eyes with a satisfaction he thought he’d never feel again.

“Yours,” he whispered up to her. 

Aylin gave a soft smile in return, resting her cheek against his shoulder, “Mine.”

[CHAPTER TEN]

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TagList: @theorgansarerotting @sincericida @moonyslove78 @lazyxsquirrel @101maverick @ssecret @wanderlustaflame @thisloserlovespeterparker (tumblr doesn't want to let me properly tag you!! idk why! imsorry)

A/N: Please remember that writers love to listen to every tiny, little thought you’ve had about their work. If you liked something in particular, let us know! We love to hear it!

We're finally over the main hump of this story! My guess is there should be about two to three more chapters depending on how long they get and how I decide to split them up. And then probably an epilogue. But the end is finally in my sights! ahh

[moonyslove78]

I know!! 😭😭😭 it makes it so hard to watch any of them cause I either am bawling cause his love dies or he does! (Or he ends up a villainous character at the end 🫣 aka mainstream)

Andrew Garfield and Katie Lyons Boy A (2007) dir. John Crowley

[moonyslove78]

Damn it I love this movie 😍😍

Also, can I lay in a bathtub full of bubbles and have him take silly sexy pics of me?! 🥺😭

Andrew Garfield and Katie Lyons Boy A (2007) dir. John Crowley

[moonyslove78]

😂😂😂

Somehow this does NOT surprise me!

👬🏻 I love their friendship 😂 (29 February 2024)

[moonyslove78]

🤣🤣🤣

Thats so funny because I saw this meme (the actual twilight meme though) and instantly thought of Aylin and Peter!!

>Werewolf!Peter Parker ……I know what you are.