#pete brenner au

[lilacevans]

𝑚𝑦 𝑎𝑑𝑣𝑖𝑐𝑒? 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑝 𝑏𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑦 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑝𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒'𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑑𝑜.

requested by @vellicore ✧.*

it's opening night at pete's place! | — pete’s place🤎

[delicatebarness]

caught in the storm | prologue

Summary: As your life faces unexpected changes, you must make difficult decisions for the future of the life inside you. Ultimately, finding yourself torn between love and the need for a better life.

Warning: Substance & Alcohol Abuse. Domestic Violent. Toxic Relationships. Pregnancy. Paranoia. Jealousy. Child Birth.

Word Count: 4757

Spotify Playlist | Support: Ko-FI

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

A/N: This man will not get out of my head, so here you go. Again, this is another part of Prologue season so if you want to know what happens 15 years after this, you gotta let me know :D - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @mrsnikstan | @lanabuckybarnes

DAY ONE

The relentless bass thumped through your veins as the music pounded with your racing heart–flashes and flickers of neon lights cast erratic shadows over the crowded room. A red plastic cup was clutched in your hand, weaving through the gathering of people and its contents sloshing close to the rim. Alcohol and cocaine coursed through your system, heightening your senses, everything seeming sharper, louder, and more vibrant. 

A possessive arm was slung over your shoulders. Pete, who at twenty had a reckless confidence that came from his daily mixture of youth and drug abuse. With his wild and unfocused eyes, he leaned in close, muttering something incoherent into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. With a smile plastered across your face, you nodded. 

Stumbling into the kitchen, the countertop was littered with bottles, cans, and an assortment of substances. You heard someone call Pete, offering him a line, and he eagerly leaned over, snorting it up with practiced ease. You watched him, remembering the edge he had been on lately. His temper became more volatile, and his jealousy more intense. Shaking it off, you focused on the moment– his smile, the deeper shade of blue in his eyes. 

As you navigated back through the party, you felt the lingering eyes on you, leading to an instinctive, reassuring squeeze of Pete’s hand. The guys eyed you openly, and Pete noticed every single one. He clenched his jaw tightly, and though you tried to calm him with a hand to his chest, it was too late. He had already begun spiraling. 

“Oh my god, I love this song!” you exclaim, pulling Pete into a dance, trying to distract him. He barely heard you. His gaze darted around the room, and paranoia set in. You could sense it, the storm that brewed beneath the surface. 

“Who the fuck are you looking at?” Pete growled, his voice low and dangerous, directed to a guy nearby. You open your mouth to reassure and answer him, but with an iron grip on your wrist, he begins to pull you away from the crowd.

Before you know it, Pete is shoving you into a bathroom and slamming the door shut behind you. The noise of the party faded into a muffle, leaving the two of you in a tense silence. His eyes were now bloodshot with blown-wide pupils. His expression twisted into a mask of anger and fear. 

“Do you think I’m stupid?” he spat, pacing back and forth in the small bathroom. “Do you think I don’t see the way they look at you? The way you look at them?” 

“Pete, please,” you begin, trying to keep your voice calm and steady in an attempt to diffuse the situation. “No one’s looking at me. It’s just a party, it’s nothing.” 

“Bullshit!” he shouts, his fist coming into contact with the wall, making you flinch. The sharp tang of cleaning chemicals filled the air as it grew thicker with tension. You tried reaching out, tried to touch him, and ground him, but he swatted your hand away. His breathing ragged. 

“I can’t stand it,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “I can’t stand them looking at you, wanting you. You’re mine.” 

“I am,” you insist, tears welling your eyes. “I’m yours, Pete. Only yours… I love you.” 

Stopping, he started at you, and the anger in his eyes flickered. Something raw and desperate, replacing it. He took a step closer, cupping your face in his rough but tender hands.

“Prove it,” he whispered, a slight crack in his voice. “Prove you love me.” 

Nodding, you knew what he needed, what you both needed to keep the fragile peace between you. Lifting on your toes, you pressed your lips to his. The kiss was fierce, a declaration of your devotion. 

He responded hungrily, pulling your face closer. The storm was clearing as the kiss grew more intense. Your bodies pressed against each other in the confined space of the bathroom, the outside party fading further away. It was just the two of you locked in that moment of desperate passion. Pete’s hands moved to roam everywhere, rough and insistent, as if to claim every inch of your skin.

Yanking his shirt over his head, your fingers trembled over his skin. With an almost violent, raw need he teared at your clothes, hurried and uncoordinated. Suddenly, your back hit the cold tiles, making you gasp, but Pete’s lips swallowed your sounds as they met yours again. 

“Mine,” he growled against your lips, his fingers dug into the skin of your hips. “You’re mine.” 

“Yours,” you moan, tugging at his jeans. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he lifted you, pinning your body against the wall. You didn’t care about the pain from the force of his body pressing into you; you needed this. He fumbled with his jeans, pulling them down enough to free himself. 

You guided him inside you, and his moves became instantly frantic, a punishing rhythm. The roughness made you cry out, but a cry of pleasure. His hands tightened their grip on your hips, you knew there would be bruises in the morning. But it didn’t matter. With equal fervor, you met his thrusts, digging your nails into his back. Little red trails left in their wake. 

“Tell me you love me,” he demanded with a harsh whisper against your ear. “Tell me you’re mine.” 

“I love you, Pete Brenner,” you gasp, your voice breaking. “I’m yours.” 

Your words seemed to drive him, his movements became even more intense, jolts of pleasure being sent through you with each thrust. Clinging to him, your bodies moved in a desperate dance for each other. The tension built, coiling tighter until it snapped. 

With a cry, you came apart, your body shuddering against his. A few short moments later, he followed. His nails dug into your soft skin as he let out a low, guttural groan. After a moment, he lowered you to the floor. You both stood panting, trembling. He rested his forehead against yours, desperate eyes searching yours for reassurance. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice broken. “I just can’t stand the thought of losing you.” 

“You won’t,” you promised, tracing patterns along his chest. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Helping each other dress, you stole rough, urgent kisses– almost as if you were trying to reassure each other that you were still there, still together. Stepping out of the bathroom, the noise crashed back around you but Pete held onto you.

For now, you had each other, and that was enough.

~

TWO WEEKS LATER

The harsh fluorescent light made everything feel surreal. Your usual mess cluttered the small space: makeup, hair products, and a full range of skincare items scattered around the sink. But at that moment, it all felt inconsequential compared to the little plastic stick on the floor next to you. 

You hadn’t been feeling well for a few days– nauseous, tired, and unable to focus. Firstly, you chalked it up to being the usual post-party hangover. Yet, when the symptoms didn’t leave, a gnawing worry took root in your mind. You picked up a pregnancy test at the drugstore on a whim, thinking it was only to rule out the possibility. Now, as you sat on the cold floor, waiting for the results, you realized how much hinged on that tiny piece of plastic. 

The second began to feel like an eternity, and your heart pounded in your chest. You noticed your reflection in the full-length mirror, anxiety etched on your face. It was supposed to be just another fun night, another ride with Pete. But, if the test was positive…

The timer on your phone buzzed, jolting you back to reality. Taking a deep breath, you felt a knot of dread tighten in your stomach. Slowly, you picked up the test, your hands trembling. 

Two lines. 

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered. A thousand thoughts raced within your mind, colliding all at once. You’re pregnant. You. Pregnant. The reality hit you like a freight train, you felt breathless and dizzy. 

Standing on shaking legs, your gaze shifted back to the counter, where lines of coke had neatly been arranged. A small reminder of the life you’ve been living for the last year; the parties, the highs, the reckless abandon. Now, everything was different. You were no longer just responsible for yourself. 

You reached out, your hand hovering over the rolled-up dollar bill. The temptation was strong, a familiar need, desperation to escape and numb the overwhelming emotions surging through you. Then, something stopped you. The thoughts of what damage it could do, not just to you, but to the tiny life inside you. 

Tears welled in your eyes as you pulled your hand back. This wasn’t about you anymore. You had to be stronger, better– for the baby. 

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Thinking of Pete, his wild eyes, his tight grip, his temper. How would he react? What will this mean for both of you? Wiping your tears, you carefully clean away the lines of coke, flushing the remnants down the toilet. A small step, but an important one. 

~

EIGHT WEEKS LATER

In a blur of secrets and growing anxieties, the weeks pass. You had stopped drinking and snorting coke, opting for water at the parties, and trying to stay away from the substance tables. Thankfully, Pete had yet to notice. Too wrapped up in his own constant highs and the cycle of coke and chaos managed to keep him distracted. Under loose clothing, a small curve of a bump was just beginning to show, and it wouldn’t be much longer until it was undeniable. 

That night was no different– another party in full swing, with loud music and dim lights. By now, you had perfected an art of blending in, a red cup filled with water in one hand, and making small talk. All the while you tried to keep a wary eye on Pete, who was already high as a kite as he moved through the crowd. 

You felt his eyes on you, a sense of unease creeping in while you chatted with a friend. Turning slightly to see him watching you, you noted the dangerous glint in his eyes and his jaw clenched. And, before you could react, he was by your side, gripping your arm with a bruising force.

“Come on, Princess,” he growled, pulling you away from the crowd. His grip tightened as you tried to protest, but you knew better than to argue in front of others. Leading you out the back door, the cool night air hit you, and once again the sounds of the party faded. You were left alone with him, under the stars.

With shaky hands, Pete pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Taking a deep drag, his eyes never left yours. “What the fuck is going on with you?” he demanded, his voice low. 

“Nothing, Pete,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, stopping your hand instinctively resting on your stomach. “I’m just trying to enjoy the party.” 

“Fuck you,” he snapped, blowing smoke into the night. “You’ve been acting weird for months. You’ve avoided me, you’re drinking water. What’s going on?” 

You had been dreading this moment, but there was no turning back. Taking a deep breath, you sighed. “I need to tell you something,” you say with a trembling voice. 

He narrowed his eyes, suspicion and anger flickered across his face. “Who is he?” Pete’s accusation hung in the air. His eyes bore into yours, searching for any hint of betrayal. 

“What? No! Pete, it’s not what you think,” you stammered. You could see the storm, beginning to once again brew within him. His fist clenched and unclenched, his body tensing as if ready to lash out. “There’s no one else, Pete. I swear.” 

Taking another drag of his cigarette, the ember glowed ominously in the dark. “What what is it? What the fuck are you hiding from me?” 

You searched for the right words, your heart pounding in your chest. A ticking time bomb and you weren’t sure how much time you had before it exploded. “I-I’m pregnant.” 

The words spilled out, and at that moment, the world seemed to stop. You could almost see the gears turning in Pete’s mind, he stood frozen, his eyes widened: Disbelief, shock, and then anger. 

“What?” his voice was barely above a whisper, but you did not miss the lace of venom. “You’re pregnant?” Another drag. “You’re fucking with me,” he continued, his voice carrying a coldness, now. “This is just another bullshit excuse.” 

“I’m not lying, Pete,” you insisted. “I’m pregnant, and I didn’t know how to tell you.” 

Shaking his head, he threw the cigarette onto the ground, grinding it under his heel. His eyes locked back onto yours as he stepped closer, nicotine, alcohol, and anger mingling in the air between you. “Prove it,” he demanded, anger and desperation rising in his voice. 

Your hands trembled as you reached for the hem of the oversized t-shirt, you took from his wardrobe. The fabric suddenly felt heavy in your grip. And slowly, you began to lift it, revealing the soft curve. The night sky barely illuminated the slight swell, the small sign of the life growing. His gaze flickered down.

Instead of the recognition or understanding that you had hoped for, his expression hardened. “You just look bloated,” he spat, his words sharp, cutting into the fragile moment. 

“Pete, please,” you whispered, tears beginning to well in your eyes as you lowered the shirt. “It’s real. I’m pregnant, I’ve got the tests to prove it.” 

His gaze remained locked on your midsection. “Show me,” again, he demanded, the venom dripped from his lips. 

Once back in your dorm room, you could feel Pete’s eyes burning into your back. The room was small and cluttered, college life evident in the clothes strewn and textbooks piled. Opening your closet, you pulled out a small shoebox hidden under sweaters. 

Turning back, Pete’s expression was a mixture of skepticism and curiosity as you took a seat next to him on the bed. Setting the box on the bed, you opened it and revealed a collection of pregnancy tests. Each one was marked with the unmistakable mixture of two lines, plus signs. 

“I’ve been taking them over the last couple of weeks,” you said, avoiding his gaze. “I needed to be sure. I needed to know it wasn’t a hallucination, not just an effect of the drugs.” 

Pete stared at the tests. Picking one after another up, his face went pale and his hands began to shake. “This is real?” he muttered, questioning himself. “This is happening?” 

“I’m scared, Pete,” you admitted, tears spilling down your cheek. “It’s real, and I’m terrified.” 

Finally looking up at you, you met his gaze, his eyes wide and vulnerable. You had never seen this in him before. “I’ll be better,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’ll stop it all, I promise. I’ll be here.” 

At that moment, you believed him. Clinging to him, the warmth of his broad body was a small comfort against the uncertainty. Yet, there was still a seed of doubt remaining deep down. 

~

FIFTEEN WEEKS LATER

There was a glimmer of hope, you witnessed Pete trying to cut back on the drinking drugs. Yet, as the months went by, his promises faded. The allure of the high was too strong, and his habits quickly resurfaced. He went back to the parties, and in doing so, his fits of jealousy and anger returned. Your heart sank every time you saw him with a bottle or a line. 

You found him one night in the very bathroom where your unborn child was conceived, a line of coke on the counter. His eyes were red and haunted. A knot of dread tightened in your stomach as he met your gaze. “What’s your problem?” he snapped before snorting the line. “Why are you always watching me?” 

“You promised, Pete,” you say, trying to keep your voice calm.

“Yeah, well, it’s not that easy,” he growled, sniffing and wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “You don’t get it.” 

“I do get it,” you say, running a hand through your hair. “You have to think about our baby, Pete.” 

Scoffing, he stepped closer, trapping your body between him and the cold tiled wall. “You and that fucking baby,” he muttered, his body looming over yours. “I can’t deal with this right now.” 

After that night, Pete passed out in a drunken stupor in his apartment. You decided you couldn’t keep doing this. You couldn’t keep holding onto the hope he’d change when it was clear he had no real intentions to. You had to think about your future and the future of your child; with or without him. 

You packed a bag that night, quietly moving while your heart pounded. Afraid of him waking up and stopping you. Writing a note, your hands shook: “I’m sorry, Pete. I love you, but I need to think about our baby. I’ve got to leave and go back to my parents’ house. I hope one day you can find the strength to change. X” 

Slipping out of his apartment, the weight of your decision pressed down on you. The city lights blurred through your tears as you took a cab back to your parents’ house. As you pulled up outside your childhood home, your mom opened the front door, her face etching with concern. 

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” she asked, wrapping her arms around you, and pulling you into an embrace. 

You broke down, tears flowing freely. “I can’t do it anymore, Mom.” you sobbed. “I-I left Pete, I need help.”

~

NINE WEEKS LATER

Your stomach grew rounder as you settled into a new sense of peace at your parents’ house. And, with it, your determination to provide a better life for your baby. Contact with Pete had been cut completely, you ignored his calls and messages. Only sending him relevant information like when your scans were, in case he wanted to be there. He never came. 

One afternoon, your mom threw you a baby shower brunch. Your friends and family gathered in the backyard, laughter and the smell of fresh flowers filled the air. Surrounded by people who loved and supported you, and their excitement for your baby was contagious. 

Suddenly, there was a knock at the front door. Looking around, the sound immediately sent your heart racing. Something in your gut knew it was him before you even opened the door. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice low but urgent as you stepped out onto the front porch, closing the door behind you. 

There was a mixture of desperation and something else, something almost broken in his wide eyes. His eyes roam from your shoes and up your legs, and then they linger for a moment on your stomach before meeting your eyes. “Can we talk?” his voice hoarse. 

“Pete,” you glanced back through the glass on the door, your heart pounding. “This isn’t a good time.” 

“When is a good time? You haven’t answered my calls in two months,” his voice cracked, and you could see the raw emotions in his eyes, the plea in every fiber of his being. “Please, Princess, just five minutes.” 

You shook your head, the lingering feelings you had for him had you torn between the fierce protectiveness you felt for your unborn child. “I-I can’t, Pete, it’s not a good idea.” 

“What do you want me to do? Get down on my knees? I will, I’ll get down on my knees for you,” he says, his voice trembling with desperation. And, before you could stop him, he’s on his knees. 

Right there, on your parents’ front porch, Pete Brenner had his hands clasped in front of him as if in prayer. “I will change, Princess. I promise, you,” he pleaded. 

Panic rose as you looked around, checking to make sure no one was watching this. The last thing you needed was for your family and friends to see Pete like this– coked up and on his knees. “Please, get up, Pete,” you whispered urgently, glancing back toward where everyone was gathered. “I’ll listen, Pete, please just get up off the floor.” 

He didn’t move, tears brimming in his bloodshot eyes as they locked onto yours. “I’ll change,” he repeated, his voice barely audible. “I need you, I just need you.” 

“Pete, you’re coked up right now,” you said, your heart aching even as your voice hardened. 

Your words caused him to flinch, but he didn’t break eye contact. “I had to see you,” he replied, his voice shaking. “I just needed the courage to get here.” 

“And yet you thought, the best way to do that was to snort that shit and then show you at my fucking baby shower?” your words caught in your throat. 

Pete finally stood, unsteady on his feet as you both stared at each other. The tension between you grew thick, as the air mixed with emotions that neither of you could fully articulate. 

His eyes searched yours desperately. “I just– I just want to talk,” he repeated once again. “To know… I’m still a part of this.” 

“You haven’t been a part of anything, you missed every scan,” you snapped, the hurt and anger you managed to bury for months started to bubble to the surface. “You never showed up. Not once, Pete.” 

“I know, I know,” he quickly said, running a hand through his grown disheveled hair. “I fucked up. But, I’m here now. I want to make this right.” 

The front door swung open before you could respond, and Michelle, your best friend stepped out. Her expression immediately hardened when she saw Pete and his state. 

“Oh great, crackhead is here,” she snaps, crossing her arms, and glaring at him.

“Michelle, as charming as ever,” Pete scoffed, his voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Fuck off, Pete,” Michelle snapped back, stepping closer. She placed herself between the two of you, her body language reflecting her protectiveness. 

“Mich–” you started, trying to diffuse the situation, but she cut you off.

“She doesn’t want you here, dipshit,” Michelle said coldly, her eyes narrowing at Pete.

“She doesn’t, or you don’t?” Pete fired back, his anger rising the longer he remained in her presence. 

“Both, now leave,” her tone left no room for argument, as she stared him down. 

He took a step forward, his jaw set tight, and fists clenched to his side. “Or what? What are you going to do if I don’t?” he challenged, his low voice threatening. 

“Will both of you just stop, please?” you finally shouted, your voice broken through their standoff. You had been trying to keep your emotions in check, yet the stress of the situation all came spilling out. “This isn’t helping anyone, especially not the baby.” 

Turning to you, Michelle’s face softened slightly. “Be honest, do you want him here?” 

Your gaze locked with Pete’s, his eyes filled with desperate hope. “Princess…” 

The truth was, a part of you did want him there. This moment was one you had imagined countless times– Pete by your side, the two of you figuring parenthood out together. But another part of you, the part that endured the pain and disappointment, knew that this wasn’t the time for children’s fairy tales. 

“Please, Pete, just go,” you sighed, a slight tremble in your voice. “I promise, I’ll call you later. Just… please let me have this one day.” 

Pete’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and he took a step back, his eyes never leaving yours. “Boy or girl?” he softly asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What?” you asked, thrown by the sudden question. 

“What is my baby’s gender?” he repeats, sorrow filling in his eyes, cutting right through you. 

Swallowing hard, the lump in your throat made it difficult to speak. “I-I don’t know, I didn’t find out. It didn’t feel right to find out without… you.” 

For a silent moment, his gaze lingered on your stomach. His eyes flickered with sorrow and hope as they glanced back toward yours. “Promise me, you’ll call me?” 

“Pete,” you began, your tone softer as you tried to balance the tenderness you felt and the boundaries you had to maintain. “I promise you, once this is over and everyone leaves, I’ll call you.” 

“Tonight?” His voice cracked, desperation still clinging to his words.

“Yes, tonight,�� you assured him, your voice firm even though your heart raced. 

Seemingly to accept your promise, he nodded slowly, yet you could see the struggle in his eyes. He turned and began walking down the driveway, each step heavy with the reality of his situation. Upon reaching the gate, his hand rested on it for a moment, as though he was gathering the strength to leave. 

Before he stepped through, he turned back toward you, his voice remained low. “I love you,” he spoke, the words hung in the air, raw and real. 

“Pete…” you started, but the words caught in your throat. You couldn’t find the courage to say it back– not now, not like this. Instead, your eyes bore into his, neither of you moving. 

~

SIX WEEKS LATER

In the throes of labor, the room was bright and sterile. There was a beeping from a machine, constantly reminding you of the life about to enter the world. Your mom was by your side, holding your hand as she whispered encouraging words. Waves of contractions made you grit your teeth, but yet even through the intense pain, your thoughts kept drifting back to Pete.

“Has anyone got a hold of Pete?” you asked between breaths, worry filled your eyes as you looked up at your mom. 

Squeezing your hand, her face was a mask of calm. “I don’t know, Sweetie. I told your father to contact him, but I can’t be sure.” 

Nodding, you tried to focus. You believed Pete had a right to be there, but the uncertainty around if he would show gnawed at you. Minutes turned into hours, and your labor dragged on, exhaustion settling in. With every passing moment, your hope diminished. 

“What if he’s not coming?” you whispered, as tears mingled with your sweat. 

“You’re doing amazing, Sweetie,” your mom said gently, brushing your hair back. “Keep focus on the baby.” 

Just as you were about to give up hope, the door to the delivery room burst open. Disheveled and out of breath, Pete rushed in, his eyes wide with fear and determination. “I’m here!” he exclaimed, looking around frantically until his eyes landed on you. 

“Pete?” you gasped, relief and surprise flooded through you. 

Rushing to your side, he took your other hand in his. “I’m so, so sorry I’m late, Princess,” he said, his voice catching as he tried to catch his breath. “I came as fast as I could.” 

In that instant, the tension between you melted away, and the only thing that mattered to you was that he was there. Leaning in closer, he rested his forehead against yours as he whispered, “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” 

As another contraction hit, you squeezed his hand hard, a cry forcing its way out of your throat. Pete didn’t flinch; he stayed holding onto you, grounding you in ways you hadn’t expected. 

Finally, the moment came. One last agonizing push and the room was filled with the sharp, piercing cry of your baby. Relief, joy, and exhaustion hit you all at once. You collapsed back against the bed, tears and sweat continuing down your face, 

“It’s a boy,” the doctor announced, holding up the tiny, squirming bundle. 

As you looked at your son for the first time, your breath hitched. Pete’s grip tightened as he stared at him with wide eyes, awe, and disbelief mixed in his expression.

“You did it, Princess,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as the nurse brought your son over, placing him gently on your chest. The warmth of his body against yours, you could feel his tiny heartbeat, and the reality of what you had gone through started to sink in. 

Pete leaned in, and his other hand reached toward your baby’s tiny fingers. “Welcome to the world, little guy,” he said, his voice full of wonder.

And in that moment, everything was perfect.

---

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

[hansensgirl]

‧₊˚. 𝐅.𝐇: 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑.

caution! — minors, do not interact! 18+ only, just like my blog. do not plagiarize, copy, translate, repost, copy or recreate my writing on any other public platforms. heed the warnings, and remember you are responsible for your media consumption.

NAVIGATION. ␥ @hansensfics. ␥ NEON PALM. ␥ C.EVANS, CO.

✧ — smut | ❥ — dark/taboo | ☾ — angst | ୨୧ — dd/lg

fics about mr. brenner will be written and added!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

I Knew Your Were Trouble When You Walked In 8

Warnings: non/dubcon, medical procedures including dialysis and chronic illness, dry humping, violence, threats, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Pete Brenner, short!reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“Come on, sweetheart. You’re not gonna lay on the couch all day, are you?” Pete stands above you as you hug a pillow. 

A clammy sheen coats your body as your insides ache. As much as you want to scrape his touch off of you, it lingers. The humiliation is as boiling as the fever. Your body aches through and through. Your stomach is empty but sickened and your head just keeps pounding. 

You whimper, “please.” 

“Now, why are you acting like this when I just treated you all nice.” He bends over you and lowers his voice, “we both felt that.” 

“No, please,” you croak and cover your head. “I... I need to call the clinic.” 

“You’ll go in a few days for your next appointment. Let old Pete take care of you.” He hooks an arm under you and halls you up. You cry out at the agony. “What’re you being so pathetic for? I didn’t even ask you to suck it yet.” 

You push on his chest as your legs shake under your weight. “You don’t...get it. I’m sick. I could die.” 

“You’re not gonna die, sweetheart.” He grabs you by the chin and lets you dangle. “You’re going to learn your lesson.” 

You whimper and latch onto him. You can barely stand. You haven’t felt like this in so long. You hate it. It reminds you of when you were helpless. When you were tied to a hospital bed and waiting for the end. 

“Don’t you go crying. That doesn’t do nothing for anyone, does it? What you do is you say, ‘I’m sorry, Pete. I’ll be your good girl.’” He jerks you meanly. 

You sniffle and flutter your lashes, “Pete. P-Pete. I’m sorry.” Your throat tightens around each syllable, “I’ll be a good... girl.” 

“No, no, say it right.” 

“I’ll... be your good girl.” You whine. “Please call the clinic, please.” 

“Shhhh,” he snakes his hand around your neck and bends to hook his other arm around you. He scoops you up and the world tilts around you. “I got you, sweetheart. I got my good girl.” 

He snickers and winks as he carries you across the apartment. You lean into him. You can’t do much else but let him do what he wants.  

He takes you into the bedroom and lays you on the bed. You groan and melt into the mattress. He looms over you, hands on his hips, and tuts. 

“See, I can be nice. I’m not even gonna make you do nothing. You can watch.” 

You babble dumbly. You don’t understand. You can hardly think straight. Your head lolls as you watch him move around the room. 

He goes to the dresser and pulls open the top drawer. You blink and stare as he reaches inside. He sifts around before plucking out a pair of your panties. He turns back and struts up to the bed, his other hand tugging at his pants. 

He pulls his dick over the top of the fabric and wraps your panties around his length. You stammer senselessly as he pumps himself slowly. He moans into a snicker. 

“I just gotta imagine how the real thing feels, huh? I don’t need you all dopey headed as I’m scrambling your guts.” He growls and speeds up, his breath harrying with his motion. “Just a little preview for my good girl.” 

He strokes himself, his head poking out above the rumpled panties. Your eyes glaze and you turn your head up. He snarls and grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him. He leans a knee on the bed as he keeps going. 

He hisses and huffs. You feel the tension in his grip. He grunts and spasms, gritting his teeth as he leans over you. 

“Open up, sweetheart.” He squeezes until your squeal and part your lips.  

He pushes his tip against your mouth and twitches. He cums in a fit of tremours, his low voice droning around you. You nearly gag on the taste of him, just as nauseated by your own helplessness. 

He slows and smears the slick mess around your lips with his swollen head. He shivers and cups his balls as he sighs. He lets you go and gently taps your cheek. 

“See, I knew you could be good for me.” 

[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

Same as it ever was Masterlist

Summary: Between your home life and work, you just can’t catch a break. Especially after you draw the ire of your boss.

Status: In Progress

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

[dc418writes]

Fool Me Once…

✨Pairing✨: Ari Levinsonxblackreader, Pete Brennerxblackreader

Summary🪄: who knew grudges could be so deadly?

🚨: 18+ NO MINORS!!, kidnapping/abduction, very slight torture, choking, brief violence (man-woman, man-man), gunshot wounds (slightly descriptive), mention of blood, language, death, implied nudity, mention of bullying

A/N🎤: hello🌸! This is my submission to @witchywithwhiskey ‘s Slasher Summer Writing Challenge! I hope yall like what I came up with, and that you please check out the other works submitted for this challenge as well☺️💕!

*DISCLAIMER!: I DO NOT CLAIM OWNERSHIP of pictures used as they were found via Pinterest*

Location: Lake House

Trope: Kidnapping

Quote: “I know how much you guys like games”

“You’re only gonna make things worse.”

If Ari had to guess, five minutes had passed of Pete yanking and toying with the shackle attaching his ankle to the brick wall. He swore if he could hit that small opening on the link just right, he’d be free.

“At least I’m tryin to do something rather than sit there with my thumb up my ass,” Pete retorts still yanking and jingling. “Don’t see you with any ideas.”

It was going on nearly a whole day of them being chained in the unknown basement. A cell-like barred gate keeping them enclosed from the other half of the space like animals at the zoo. The single light overhead dim, adding to the creepy appeal of the room.

“Because I’m still thinking of how to get out and not tip her off in the process,” Ari angrily responds.

Both men pause turning towards the basement door when the “her” in question begins to turn the knob. Two plates of food perfectly balanced on the tray in your hands as you descend the creaky steps smiling as bright as the sun both men wished so desperately to see again.

“Hi boys!” Pete already thought you were crazy, but from your bubbly mood acting as if this is just a get together among friends, he’d deem you certifiably insane. “I figured you were hungry so I brought sandwiches. Ham and cheese for you Pete and PB&J for Ari. I remembered you don’t eat pork.”

Sliding the tray through the small opening under the gate, both men suspiciously eye their plates - prettily set with sandwiches cut diagonally along with carrot and celery sticks - before Ari dares to bend down for his.

“Are you crazy?!,” Pete whispers. It’s no use though with you only a few feet away sitting crisscross on a wooden chair and able to hear everything being said.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t do anything to it. Can’t get rid of you before the fun silly!”

“And what would that be exactly?,” Ari asks sounding as serious as a judge.

“I know how much you like games, so I was thinking Never Have I Ever. Simple, but fun right?! ”

“As fun as a root canal with no meds,” Pete mutters under his breath. You ignore his words eagerly holding up your hand while you try to think of a good one. Your eyes tightly closed in deep concentration. He’s surprised to see Ari slowly hold up his free hand immediately quirking his brow to which Ari just shrugs.

“Just play along,” he simply mouths.

“Oh! Never have I ever been stuck in an elevator.”

Rolling his eyes, Pete begrudgingly raises his hand to bend his thumb down leaving him with four fingers left. “Your turn Pete!”

He sighs, “Never have I ever abducted innocent people. Huh looks like that’s two for you sweetheart.”

For the first time since either man met you, - two separate occasions of chance meetings and a simple drink - a flash of..something darkens your brown eyes. “Alright then,” you begin, slowly bending your pinky and ring finger, “Never have I ever hurt someone.”

“This isn’t hurting someone?!,” Pete retorts motioning to the shackle he jingles around his ankle.

“More specifically, never have I played a cruel prank on someone and embarrassed them in front of the whole freshman class!” Pete might be confused at your outburst, but Ari remembers that day vividly. The shy hope that soon turned to sorrow realizing the love letter was fake. How foolish you felt. He admits he should’ve done more in those days after when classmates would tease you about it, but like any high school boy his concern was himself and his budding popularity.

Leave it to Pete to keep getting him into trouble all these years later.

“…Wha- What are you-?”

“You really still don’t remember..” your laugh isn’t a humorous one as you stand with arms crossed over your chest beginning to slowly pace back and forth. “I shouldn’t be surprised seeing as though you only cared about yourself then and clearly still do now.”

“Or maybe I have more important things to do than sit around harboring some dumb, juvenile grudge from high school. Actually have a successful job like a grown adult.”

“You made high school hell for me! If it wasn’t your snide comments anytime I’d answer a question in algebra, you were messing with me in the hall for no reason!” A lone tear falls down your heated cheek that you quickly wipe away. “Then you just had to make things worse with that letter pretending to be Ari. Claiming how he liked me and wanted to meet in the alcove after-,”

“Wait..” Leaning against the gate, his cerulean eyes partially squint as if he was finally seeing who you were. Maybe even realizing the error of his ways for once. “The alcove where-,”

“You sent both me and Ari under different guises. When I told him about the letter, he had no idea what I talking about and then enter you with half the freshman class.”

“Aww looks like someone was rejected by her crush,” young Pete laughed along with the rest of your peers that surrounded. “And would ya look at that, she even had a little present for you Levs!” You couldn’t care less about your floral picture - now crumpled and stained with dirt - running through the crowd just wanting to get away. Needing solace anywhere but there to cry as freely as you wanted feeling your heart shatter.

“Why, huh?,” you quietly ask. “What did I do that made you hate me so much?”

A sigh passes his pink lips raking his fingers through his almond strands no longer in that perfect comb over like that night you met him at the bar. His gaze sympathetic; opening his mouth once, but failing to immediately produce any words as if his throat was glued shut.

“N-Nothing, you did nothing okay? I was just a…a dumb kid doing stuff I thought was funny, but they weren’t. I’m sorry I did that all those years ago and…I’m sorry for not apologizing sooner.”

Admittedly, you weren’t expecting to ever get an apology from Pete. Egotistical and self centered, you wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t know what a genuine apology was. But hearing those words, you feel that decades long wound slowly begin to close.

“Forgive me?,” he asks holding out his larger hand between the bars of the metal gate. As expected, you’re apprehensive taking turns looking him in the eyes and at his outstretched hand. “I understand if you can’t or won’t, but I still want to try and make things right.”

Part of you doesn’t want to, but you know the righteous thing to do is to let that pain and bitterness go. For your mentality’s sake at least.

The moment your palm touches his, a squeak falls from your lips as you’re yanked in closer - nearly crashing against the bars of the gate - before Pete’s hands wrap around your neck squeezing as hard as he can.

“Let her go!,” Ari yells trying to pull the man back with his muscular arm around his neck, but he’s quick to headbutt his childhood friend causing him to stumble backwards. Ari’s nose pulsing from the impact as he checks for blood. “You’re gonna kill her!”

“Better her than us!,” he responds tightening his grip. You try to claw and punch at his hand, but every second your brain doesn’t get its needed oxygen, it’s hard to focus. Your eyes beginning to droop and movements slowing as Pete simply chuckles without remorse.

“At first, I wanted you in the looney bin. Now, I think it’s best I get rid of you. Just to make sure you don’t do this again, yea?”

A pop and sharp pain to his leg is what finally has Pete loosening his grip as he howls in pain and you fall to the wooden floor regaining consciousness. “What the fuck?!,” he shouts clutching at the gunshot wound to his calf turning to see his friend holding a black hand gun. “You had that the whole time?!”

“I told you to let go.”

“Let go? She’s the psycho that took us!”

“And you’re the conniving liar that’s stolen money from too many people to count. Including my family,” Ari states still keeping his gun trained on the bleeding man in front of him.

It didn’t take much convincing on Ari’s part to get his parents to invest in Pete’s business. They practically saw him as a second son, so of course they’d do anything they could to help.

Time went by and they never saw any money though.

“These things take time man, just..trust the process!,” Pete responded when Ari brought it up. So he did, until his father became ill. The hospital bills kept coming and coming giving him no choice but to go to Pete again.

Except this time he couldn’t be found. His phone no longer in service anytime he’d try to call. There were rumors he’d moved out of state; some even said out of the country. Either way, it was as if he’d disappeared leaving Ari and his mother struggling to pay for the funeral let alone the remaining hospital payments.

From the pale and clammy tint to his skin, Ari knows he needs a doctor. He can’t seem to care though daring to step on his injury making Pete scream.

“Where’s the money?”

“What money?!”

“Don’t play dumb!,” Ari practically growls stepping a bit harder on the hole in Pete’s leg.

“Ari stop!” At the hoarse voice, both men turn to look at you still on the group gripping your bruised throat. And the way his Adam’s apple bobs gazing at you with eyes full of concern, Pete shakes his head realizing what was in front of him all along.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he chuckles to himself. “Her?! Of all people!”

“Shut up,” Ari grits bringing his attention back to the bleeding man.

“Way I see it, you should be thanking me then. I practically brought you together, although I’d rather not take the credit for setting up my best friend with scary spice.”

In one swift movement, Ari has the gun pointed to Pete’s head. His lower leg still oozing crimson red as he winces from the removal of Ari’s boot covered foot.

“A-Ari just let him go,” you plead. “He needs help.”

“Not until he gives me what he owes.”

“Jesus you two really are perfect together..”

“You really wanna play around with this gun to your head?!,” Ari asks pressing the metal against Pete’s temple. “Money. Now!”

“The money’s been gone!,” Pete shouts back at him. “Businesses have expenses a-and then you grow and others come along-,”

“You never meant to give that money back,” Ari mutters.

After all this time he had a feeling. Basically hearing it confirmed though still has a pang of hurt and guilt expanding in his chest. His mother was near homeless - trying to do whatever she could to keep their house - and it was his fault for trusting his so called best friend.

“Look alright we can work something out!,” Pete bargains with that charismatic smile too many have fallen victim to. “I can try to find something for you around the office or-,”

“No need,” Ari responds lowering the gun to aim for Pete’s chest and pulling the trigger once. The loud pop making you scream as you cover your ears to stop the ringing.

“Oh nonono..,” you whisper to yourself watching more red pool from Pete’s lifeless body. “T-That wasn’t part of the plan!”

“I’ll take care of it. Just go upstairs.”

“Maybe he’s still alive? Y-Yea we could call 911 and get them to help! Just say it was an accident-,”

Amid your panicked rambling, you don’t notice Ari release himself from his shackle before unlocking the barred gate to get to you. His hands gripping your arms so you’d look at him and clearly hear his words.

“No! No 911 or anybody else alright? I’ll take care of it.” Although still afraid, you simply nod letting Ari tilt your head so he could look at your neck marked by Pete’s hands. If he wasn’t already dead he’d kill him for that alone. “It hurt?”

You gently shake your head. “N-No, just a little sore.”

“Good. Now I need you to go upstairs. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

“But-,”

“Upstairs, now baby.” That quiet, demanding tone always has your body listening as if solely controlled by his voice. Your shaky legs turn towards the basement stairs leading to the main floor of the lake house not daring to let you look back when you hear dragging and muted thuds.

Numb is the best way to describe you striding to your shared bedroom, then the bathroom. Turning on the warm water of the shower head before shedding your clothes to let the droplets caress your skin. The only thing you can seem to think of is Ari pulling the trigger without a second thought and Pete’s eerily still form. His eyes solely gazing at Ari even after the light had left.

You figure you’ll always have that image plaguing your memories. Unable to truly, and happily, live in the present as your past involvement haunts you.

A cold hand to your shoulder has you jumping deeper under the water raining down overhead. You would’ve nearly fell had Ari not secured your body to his.

“Just me sweetheart. You’re alright.”

As he leans past you to grab the washcloth, you notice the red staining his hands. Those same hands that just killed and disposed of a dead body now so gently washing you with the shower gel he loved to smell on you.

His lips leave chaste pecks along your neck while the cloth runs along your chest, stomach, then your arms one by one. “I love you.”

At this moment, you struggle to say the same. The man behind you wasn’t the same man who reached out that random spring day wanting to make amends for his part in your pain along with genuinely wanting to catch up. He wasn’t the same man who made you fall in love with him all over again bringing back those feelings you thought you left in high school. The man who swore no one would get hurt in this perfect plan for revenge he created.

Nevertheless, turning to meet those soft, near-crystalline eyes, you can’t deny the patter of your heart. How it still yearned for his touch, his being, and sought him out for comfort. Your fingers gently scratch along his beard before leaning up to let your lips press along his.

“I love you too Ari,” you whisper.

[paperweight91]

We’ve been teasing and scheming all week, now it is time to announce our full AU. We’re All Monsters will be co-written by @krirebr and me! Kris will be handling our Vampires and I will be handling our Werewolves. But don’t worry that doesn’t mean they all won’t be meeting each other throughout this AU. As for how? Well you’ll just have to wait and see.

This will be building off of Kris’ Psycho Killer AU and will feature some of, if not all the CE characters we know and love.

We’ve outlined the reader pairings and nicknames below, we hope you’re as excited as we are to delve into the supernatural with us!

Andy Barber - Runner

Ari Levinson - Queenie

Curtis Everett & Jake Jensen - Angel

Frank Adler & Pete Brenner - Dove

James Mace - Sneak

Johnny Storm - Cutter

Lloyd Hansen - Snipe/Spitfire

Ransom Drysdale - Little Rabbit

Steve Rogers - Sunshine

[chasingmidnights]

Poker Face

"I wanna roll with him, a hard pair we will be A little gamblin' is fun when you're with me (I love it) Russian roulette is not the same without a gun And baby, when it's love, if it's not rough, it isn't fun (fun)..."

(How fun would a Casino AU be with these 4?)

[fandomfluffandfuck]

*Distant screaming*

S!!! I HAD ANOTHER IDEA.

Okay we all know the sweet (very sad) baby bunny that is TJ Hammond. We know how his love life hasn’t been too fantastic. But!!!! What if he finds a new guy that makes him happy? A sweet guy from the Boston suburbs with a nice job and an even nicer body. Maybe he meets Mr. Barber at a bar or maybe a group therapy session or also maybe he gets into some legal trouble. And suddenly he finds himself going home with this guy who makes him want to do things that his mother’s PR team would not approve of. Maybe it’s the first time he’s been really treated with love, where it’s clear that he’s adored just as much as he adores Andy. He’s head over heels, and so when things go to shit he finds himself on Andy’s doorstep.

“TJ? Sweetheart, are you alright?��� Andy asks, worry in his voice.

TJ can’t even talk, he just lets the tears fall and shakes his head. He’s quickly ushered in and hugged tightly, where he promptly breaks down. Sobbing into Andy’s shoulder, hanging onto him like a lifeline. Andy just keeps holding him, kissing the top of his head and whispering sweet words.

“Oh, darling… It’s okay, baby, you’re okay. I’m here, you’re safe. Won’t let anything bad happen to my angel.” He whispers, and TJ just melts further.

TJ can’t imagine being more loved. Slowly, he dries his eyes and looks up at the older man. He smiles for what feels like the first time in a week, and is met with a kiss to his forehead.

“I love you, TJ. Always.” Andy says, and the kiss that TJ gives him is nothing short of perfect.

you can also imagine TJ with Pete Brenner, and how much of a smutty trainwreck that would be. TJ would definitely call Pete daddy, and Pete would totally call TJ his bunny. They’d end up worse than they started, but I can’t stop thinking about how TJ would totally end up drunk/high out of his mind and pissed at Pete, storming into his office and exposing him to everyone.

“You just fucking wanted power, didn’t you, Daddy?!”

“TJ, this isn’t the time…”

“Fuck you!”

I know it’s a bit of a weird pairing, but it’s stuck in my head and now I’m gonna stick it in yours >:)

Hello again!

Oh. My. God.

I love this. I love both of these. A pairing for every fucking mood.

A comforting, loving (maybe even overprotective, nearly smothering sometimes, I'm looking at you, Andy 👀) pair.

And a train-wreck pair.

Andy would give TJ the best, best hugs when he's upset and in need of comfort--the kind of hugs that engulf TJ in warmth and come with an endless supply of soothing back rubs, that man is so empathetic he's basically just a big teddy bear. Plus, with Andy's (relatively) normal life (assuming this outside of or before the Defending Jacob timeline, lol), he's the breath of fresh air TJ needs. I bet they meet when TJ gets a DUI, maybe he injures himself or someone else in the car with him, nothing huge, just a mild crash that was his fault, and he needs a lawyer for. Andy is there. Andy is kind. Andy can see he didn't do it on purpose--he's just hurting, and he needs someone. It's frightening how badly Andy wants, no, needs to be that someone for this sweet kid.

Absolutely Pete would do TJ dirty, assisting him in his downward spiral, able to get him both money and drugs fast. Rapidly, TJ discovers more drugs and more vices to make him feel better, if only for a little while, all at Pete's insistence. Anything he wants, Pete can get him, no questions asked. Plus, they move fast as a couple, too; they meet during a night out, not knowing each others names before they're pushing and shoving their way into the sleazy club's bathroom with TJ on his knees in some filthy stall, then, that same night, TJ dismisses any lose security detail he had to go back to the apartment of this stranger, buzzed and high. His phone is dead. He doesn't care. And it's obvious that Pete doesn't either. It's reckless. It's intense. And it overpowers them both, unraveling completely.

Thank you for the thoughts!!

[babyjakes]

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

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summary | welcome to the private practice of dr. levinson and dr. hansen. please have a seat in the waiting area. your providers will be with you shortly. a collection of medfet stories and scenarios, featuring a dynamic cast of well-trained professionals.

characters - meet the treatment team below! | doctor!ari levinson, doctor!lloyd hansen, caregiver!andy barber, medical engineer!pete brenner, nurse!steve rogers, nurse!jake jensen, nurse!ransom drysdale, fem!reader insert

warnings | smut. dark elements: non/dubcon. nsfw age regression/ddlg dynamics. various medfet elements and scenarios. specific warnings included in each chapter.

[lilacevans]

𝟑 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝟏 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬! ✧˚ · .

Puppy play + Petey please? 😵‍💫

absoutely!!!!!

word count: 084 | warnings: puppy play, oral

it’s opening night at pete’s place!

''Such a good puppy,'' Pete drawled out, head tipping back, the wooden chair creaking as widened the spread of his legs to allow you to get closer. ''Keep giving those pretty kisses, angel, fuck.''

You hummed in agreement as you placed another languid lick over the tip of his cock, swiping the bead of precum from the slit. Your hand came up to position his length better but your hand was quickly swatted away.

''Now, puppies don't have hands now, do they, angel?''

[hansensgirl]

❆ 𝑭.𝑯: 𝑫𝑨𝑹𝑲 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑪𝑬𝑷𝑻𝑺 (𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑)

psstt! — minors, do not interact! 18+ only, just like my blog. do not plagiarize, copy, translate, repost, copy or recreate my writing on any other public platforms. heed the warnings, and remember you are responsible for your media consumption.

info. — in honour of the holiday season, mr. hansen has decided to open requests! how kind is he? they will be posted in the next week or so, and will be written by me (sab). if you ask nicely, the man himself will even make an appearance!

format. — the requests will be submitted to this form. you will select one character, one AU (if desired), one dialogue prompt, and one kink/key element. all concepts will be dark, no matter what. there is an option for you to leave your username so i can tag you when i post your request. you may always remain anonymous. all prompts were created by me, please don’t use them without my permission.

time. — concepts will be written and posted as fast as possible. by january 7th, 2024, they should all be completed. please bear with me, as i can be quite a slow writer. thank you for your patience.

note. — concepts that are bolded and have three asterisks (***) will be turned into full fics. the list can be found under the ‘read more’ cut, along with all the drabbles i’ve posted.

the form is now closed. thank you for all the submissions! requests will be posted in the next two weeks.

show mr. hansen your gratitude by sending a request! isn't he such a sweet man?

NAVIGATION. ❆ @hansensfics. ❆ NEON PALM.

Andy Barber + Yandere + “Think an old man like me can keep up?” + conditioning/grooming.

Andy Barber + Roommate/Tenant + “Isn’t it beautiful? Bullet proof, too.” + dumbification.

Andy Barber + Bookstore + “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” + kidnapping.

Natasha Romanoff + Neighbours + “I’ll always love you, even if you don’t feel that way. But you will.” + sex pollen.

Johnny Storm + Sugar Daddy + “The night’s still young.” + obsession.

Jake Jensen + Step-brother + “C’mere. I can’t see you from all the way over there.” + thigh riding.

Steve Rogers + Stepfather + “Don’t you think you’re a little too old to be playing this game?” + face-sitting.

Natasha Romanoff + Mob boss + “I think I like you better when you’re gagged and crying on my dick.” + humiliation.

Steve Rogers + Boyfriend’s dad + “You’re so cute when you’re struggling like that.” + cum-play.

Lloyd Hansen + Yandere + “I’ll always love you, even if you don’t feel that way. But you will.” + sir kink.

Ari Levinson + Dad’s best friend + “I dreamt of you last night. Every night.” + daddy kink.

Andy Barber + Professor + “You want something from me? You gotta ask nicely.” + abuse of power.

Andy Barber + Dad’s best friend + “I just want to take care of you.” + daddy kink.

Steve Rogers + no AU + “Don’t be a brat.” + manhandling.

Lloyd Hansen + Sugar Daddy + “Merry fucking Christmas, princess.” + captivity.

Steve Rogers + Mob boss + “I just want to take care of you.” + stockholm syndrome.

Curtis Everett + Boxer + “C’mere. I can’t see you from all the way over there.” + dom/sub.

Lloyd Hansen + No AU + “Merry fucking Christmas, princess.” + daddy kink.

Lloyd Hansen + Sugar Daddy + “That’s no way to speak to your future husband.” + daddy kink.

Robert Pronge/Mr. Freezy + Amnesia + “Don’t you love it when I touch you like this?” + stockholm syndrome.

Pete Brenner + Camgirl + “I can’t help it, I love you too much.” + dumbification.

Lloyd Hansen + Mob boss + “I love hearing you beg. You’re much sweeter that way.” + pet play.

Lloyd Hansen + Mob/mafia + “You have no idea what you do to a man like me.” + overstimulation.

Andy Barber + Boyfriend’s dad + “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” + cheating.

Ransom Drysdale + Step-brother + “Don’t you love it when I touch you like this?” + innocence.

Steve Rogers + Yandere + “You know what I hate more than broken promises? Liars.” + kidnapping.***

Pete Brenner + Camboy + “You ask too many questions. Just relax.” + drugging.

Lloyd Hansen + Maid + “Where do you think you’re going?” + abuse of power.

Johnny Storm + College/University + “I thought you hated me.” + stalking.

Ari Levinson + Stepfather + “Don’t be a brat.” + vaginal sex.

Steve Rogers + Fake Marriage + “What did you just say?” + sex pollen.***

Jake Jensen + Neighbour + “I had to—you gave me no other option.” + obsession.

Lloyd Hansen + Sugar Daddy + “Isn’t this so pretty? It reminded me of you.” + daddy kink.

Lloyd Hansen + Neighbour + “The least you could do is be grateful.” + humiliation.

Ransom Drysdale + Yandere + “Merry fucking Christmas, princess.” + captivity.

Ari Levinson + Soulmate + “Don’t fight me. You’ll only make it worse for yourself.” + overstimulation.

Steve Rogers + Boyfriend’s dad + “You have no idea what you do to a man like me.” + cheating.

Natasha Romanoff + Camgirl + “C’mere. I can’t see you from all the way over there.” + scissoring.

Ransom Drysdale + Step-brother + “You ask too many questions. Just relax.” + drugging.

Ari Levinson + Dad’s best friend + “You ask too many questions. Just relax.” + corruption.

Andy Barber + Dad’s best friend + “Can’t you see I’m trying?” + cum-marking.

Ari Levinson + Mob boss + “You want something from me? You gotta ask nicely.” + innocence.***

Robert Pronge/Mr. Freezy + Neighbour + “The least you could do is be grateful.” + drugging.

Steve Rogers + Mob boss + “You ask too many questions. Just relax.” + corruption.

Ari Levinson + Camboy + “Isn’t this so pretty? It reminded me of you.” + innocence.

Lloyd Hansen + Boyfriend’s dad + “I think I like you better when you’re gagged and crying on my dick.” + creampie.

Natasha Romanoff + Yandere + “You’re so cute when you’re struggling like that.” + mommy kink.

Natasha Romanoff + Boyfriend’s mom + “You’re shaking so much, honey… Just wait until I get my tongue on you.” + obsession.

Lloyd Hansen + no AU + “Where do you think you’re going?” + pet play.

Natasha Romanoff + CEO + “Go on. Let’s see how far you’ll make it.” + mommy kink.

Natasha Romanoff + Sugar Mommy + “You want something from me? You gotta ask nicely.” + begging.

Lloyd Hansen + Mob boss + “You have no idea what you do to a man like me.” + choking.

Ransom Drysdale + Sugar Daddy + “You’re so cute when you’re struggling like that.” + abuse of power.

Ari Levinson + Amnesia + “Take you home? This is home. You aren’t going anywhere.” + obsession.

Natasha Romanoff + Dad’s best friend + “You have no idea what you do to a woman like me.” + creampie.

Curtis Everett + Mob + “Don’t be a brat.” + squirting.

Andy Barber + Mob/Mafia + “Take you home? This is home. You aren’t going anywhere.” + stockholm syndrome.

Ransom Drysdale + Soulmate + “That’s no way to talk to your future husband.” + captivity.

Andy Barber + Professor + “Take you home? This is home. You aren’t going anywhere.” + finger-sucking.

Lloyd Hansen + Boss + “Aw, are you gonna cry?” + overstimulation.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Same as it ever was 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as neglect, bullying, manipulation, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Between your home life and work, you just can't catch a break. Especially after you draw the ire of your boss.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen ft. Pete Brenner

Note: Hope yall like this one!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Everyone knows to keep their head down when Mr. Hansen walks through the department. As often as he already has a gripe in his belly, he is just as likely to be looking for a victim to accost. You keep your head down as you sense him trawling the bullpen, his figure a speck at the corner of your eye.

You keep an ear pricked, call it paranoia, but you've witnessed the sort of suffering he can rain down on the unexpecting. You browse the spreadsheet, carefully inputting numbers cell by cell. You withhold a sigh, not wanting to give away any clue of your existence.

"Kendra," he leans on the blonde's desk, his other hand on his hip, "pretty name…"

She thanks him. The new girl is always his favourite novelty. It's these moments that make you even more thankful for the obscurity that comes with age. And more disgusted by the unchanging behaviour of creepy men.

"There's this conference next month, good experience for a temp," he offers, "what about it, sweetheart?"

If it was any other man, you might clear your throat to let him know you can hear him. To remind him of professionalism. Too dangerous. You feel a twinge of pain at letting the twentysomething flounder against his undeniable proposal.

"Far away so… we'd have to fly out," he continues and you shift in your chair unthinkingly. You can't help it, you've been there, you've had to smile and fawn, to pretend your skin isn't crawling. "...pack something pretty."

Your elbow hits your pen and it rolls off the edge of your desk. You wheel back to grab and dare a peek over at Mr. Hansen in his predatory posturing. His eyes are drawn to you and he squints as he rolls his tongue behind his lower lip. Shit.

You sit up quickly, repressing a groan at the pang in your lower back, and roll up to your desk. You cradle your face, hiding behind your hand as you scroll and pretend to be enraptured by your screen. You doubt you're enough to distract him from the beautiful blonde.

"They got room service up in Gaines," he continues, "think about it."

He taps two fingers on her desk as he pushes off. You expect him to strut back to his office but continues his walk of the floor. You shrink down and curl your shoulders, looking at your cold coffee in desperation. A good excuse to get away from your desk but you can already hear him rebuking you for getting up just for another cup.

You click to the next sheet in the file as he nears. You stiffen as he comes behind you, holding your breath as you wait for him to pass. You feel him pause and hear the subtle scuff of his sole. You nearly jump as he puts his hands on your shoulders.

He leans in, his overpriced cologne tickling at the migraine in the back of your brain. You select a cell and pull up a report for comparison. He watches you work without a word, hands firmly on your cardigan.

He shoves away suddenly and claps his hand as he twists on his heel.

"Alright team, back to work," he demands as if the whole floor must be rapt by his presence, "no fucking around."

You let out a breath of relief. You glance over at Kendra as she gives a cringe at his back. You want to commiserate but you'd hate to make her feel more awkward.

You wait until you're certain Hansen is in his office and take your half-finished coffee to the kitchen. You rinse it out and dry it before placing it on the tray of the machine. You put a pod in and select the size, standing back with crossed arms to watch it brew.

You hear someone behind you but don't look over. The shadow approaches the fridge and pulls it open, taking out a container seemingly at random. You turn your head and blanch at Mr. Hansen as he cracks the communal carton of milk meant for coffee and drinks directly from it. You try not to show your disgust.

"Morning," he swipes the back of his hand across his mustache, "want some?"

He offers the carton as you grab your mug and shake your head, "no, thank you, sir."

"On a diet? Keeping the dairy low?" He wonders before taking another gulp then looks at the label. "Ugh, who the fuck ordered skim?" 

You muster an awkward smile. You've never been good at office politics, you don't pander, you just mind your business and so your work. A good day is when no one bothers you.

He puts the carton back without closing it. You retreat slowly, realising he's between you and the door. You try to sidle past as he reaches into the fridge again. He steps back, nearly into your path and examines the tupperware. You stop short as you recognise the worn teal lid; it's your leftovers from the night before, your name clearly labelled on the top.

"Huh," he peels back the lid and smells the chili, "smells delish…" he dips his fingers to your shock and sucks it off shamelessly, "hell of a cook." He says, a tinge of red in his mustache.

"Uh, thanks, I should–"

"You should?" He arches a brow, "you should… keep your nose out of my conversations and focus on your own work, right?"

"I don't know what you mean–"

"I saw you. Squirming like a caterpillar," he snaps the lid back into place and tosses the whole container on the bin beside the fridge, "look, I know at your age, there’s not much excitement but it doesn't mean you needa eavesdrop on matters that don't concern you."

"I didn't–"

"I get it, you're jealous, your ass blew up after the kids and your husband hasn't looked at you in years–"

"Sir," you say affronted but more stung by the accuracy, "please, I wasn't–"

"Oh, yes, you weren't listening because you have a deadline," he steps closer and wraps his hand around your mug. He wiggles it free of your grasp and you let him, "I moved the budget review to tomorrow morning so…" he pauses and swigs the coffee while snapping his fingers with his other hand, "snap, snap on those expense reports."

You stand, stunned and shamed. He spins nonchalantly and strides out, still sipping your fresh coffee. You let your head fall back and groan. Not only are you out the extra caffeine boost but you have to call the babysitter.

🗄️

You don't mourn your lunch as you likely wouldn't have the time to eat. You spend it outside, below the awning of the building as rain pours over the edge. You have your phone in hand and a needling in your skull. This sort of weather always gives you a headache.

On the fifth try, Pete picks up and you swallow a sigh, "hey," you say abruptly, checking your watch.

"Hey, what's up? I had to leave a meeting," he hisses low, out of breath.

"I'm sorry, I just need to know what time you're expecting to be home. The sitter can only stay until seven but I have to stay late–"

"Late? Honey, you know I can't guarantee I'll be there. I'm working my ass off tryna get this thing off the ground. Grinding–"

"I know, I know, but we could use the overtime and… I don't really have a choice."

"Can't you do tomorrow?"

"Pete, it's one night–"

"One night? It's a call I'm not making–"

"Please," you beg, "we need the money, you know we do."

He puffs and blows a raspberry, "shoulda told that sitter to stick around…" he grumbles.

"We can't even afford to pay her for the extra," you mutter.

"I fucking know–"

"Don't swear at me," you warn, "if you hadn't bought that damn corvette–"

"Not doing this again. I'll be home at seven. Happy?"

You roll your eyes, "yeah," you lie. Happy, no, that's not something you feel anymore.

"Pete," a female voice purrs and he hushes them.

"Got it, Anita," he clears his throat, "tell them I'm on my way back."

"Sorry to keep you," you chew your lip, "I'll let you go."

"Sure," he scoffs.

"See ya tonight," you soften your tone, "love ya."

Click. The call ends and you're left dangling. You pull your phone away and look at the screen. No point in using up the last of your break, you might as well just go back to your desk.

🗄️

Your vision glosses as you stare at the messily painted portrait of a house and tree. The sitter sent a picture of Simone's latest artwork and tugs on your impatience to get out of there. You wish you could be there to pick up your kids and hear all about their day. 

Most times you spend the hours after work cooking, cleaning, and trying to rein them in. You're not fun like Emma, their sitter, you're always the voice of reason, the strict ruler of discipline. You send back a heart and black the screen.

Another person packs up for the day, once more tightening the chain that attaches you to your desk. You lean forward, your head pulsing as the brim of your vision blurs. The advil did nothing against your migraine.

You hold your forehead as you squint at the numbers. This is going to take forever. Pushing a budget meeting up one week surely is a personal attack. You need to work on your poker face, you can't do this again. You're too old and tired.

You yawn and fight to keep your eyes open. Maybe Pete can do bath time. You almost snort at that. Right, and hippos are bright pink and friendly.

You shake your head and lean back, trying to stretch out the kinks. You hear the elevator. Eventually you'll get there. 

You look around, realising the desolation of your predicament. Not too many people left, at least not those without offices. You roll each ankle, arches achy just from your low heels.

Your phone buzzes and you ignore it. It's six-thirty. You let it go to voicemail and save your file for good measure.

You think of having another coffee but that will only make your head throb and your night sleepless. Well, more than usual. 

Your cell starts to jitter again. You're agitated as you snatch it up. It's 7:03. Emma's number greets you in blaring white digits. Dammit, you already know what's going on.

You answer, saving again as you wheel the chair back and reach into the drawer to fish out your purse. You keep the phone to your ear as you say 'hi' and struggle to get your jacket on. Pete!

"Hi, um, I'm still waiting for someone to show up–"

"I'm so sorry, Em," you shut off the monitor without bothering to boot down, "Pete said he'd be there. I'm on my way now."

You step around your chair, nearly tripping over it and push it in behind you. You rush across the office in a clomping gait, half-running as you weigh coming in at 4am and convincing security to let you up early. You continue to apologise to Emma as you promise to be home as soon as you can.

You hang up and dial Pete. As you near the elevator, his voicemail plays and you sneer, hitting end and dialing out again. You poke the down button several times and wait for an answer.

"Pick up!" You growl to no one.

"All done for the night?" A lilting taunt brings you around to face Mr. Hansen as he runs a small comb through his mustache, "you work fast."

"Mr. Hansen, I… I have an emergency–"

"Ah, so you're not done," he tuts, "I figured you'd be used to working fast. I'm sure the old man only last about five seconds, huh?"

"Sir," you bite back your offence, "my kids–"

"Aw, mommy's running late for supper. Let me guess, the dead beat can't even boil water."

You want to shriek. Can this man not shut up? This day just won't end and it's really all his fault. You're welling up and about to explode.

"Please," you utter.

"Oh, come on, you got exactly what you wanted, didn't you? Kids, a husband, the whole nine yards," he tucks the comb into his front pocket, "didn't anyone ever tell you they stop fucking you once you pop at a couple watermelons?"

You gulp. What is happening? Your throat tightens up and your eyes glaze. It shouldn't bother you, he's a gross old pervert but what are you? A bitter and sad old woman.

"You're not going to cry, are you? A strong working lady like yourself? Nah, you can hold it in, for the kids. You got a daughter don't ya, you wouldn't want her to see you break–"

You take a step towards him and stop yourself, palm itching to smack him. You raise your chin and bat your lashes. 

"I'll finish the reports at home. I need to go take care of me kids," you fight to keep your voice steady.

"That's the thing about you moms, always the martyr, always looking for special treatment cause you let a guy drop a load indoors," he sneers, "and you're just gonna raise a couple of brats to go off and live the same boring lives."

"Stop," you croak.

"If you're gonna cry, just do it," he goads, "huh, maybe it's menopause kicking in early? All that stress–"

"Good night, Mr. Hansen," you say curtly and face the elevator just as the doors slide apart, "I'll have the numbers done. I promise."

"Oh, I know you will," he snickers, "but you still owe me. For being such an understanding boss, you know?"

You turn around and grimace in confusion. Owe him? He winks and smirks back, "say hi to the kiddos for me."

The doors shut and you close your eyes, hanging your head in defeat. You're going to be up all night, less than ready for the review and certainly unprepared for Mr. Hansen. You can only hope by then he finds a new target.

[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

Unmanageable Masterlist

ONGOING

Part 1 🌲 Part 2 🌲Part 3

AU MASTERLIST

[georgiapeach30513]

All That Glitters Masterlist

Leaving behind your baby daddy, you are desperate to find a job you are introduced to the nightlife of an exclusive club. The Moonstone Lounge offers you more money than you realized. Coming into contact with Pete Brenner on the first night, and it didn’t go well. Will his attempt to make it up to you, and remove you from the menu for other men to devour work? Will you allow him to dress you, tell you when you should eat, what you should wear, accompany him to his business parties, and even how you greet him? Everything has a price, and Pete's credit card have no limit with you.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

A/N: this story will have themes of age gap, sugar baby, prostitution, drug use, baby daddy drama, degradation, and so much more. Read warnings on every part. Minors DNI

[the-iceni-bitch]

All My Girls With Their Lace and Their Crimes

Relationship: Pete Brenner (pookie) x stripper!fem!reader (candy) Poison Paradise AU

Words: ~2.1k

Summary: Pete done fucked up… again.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (f receiving oral sex, begging, body worship), reader is the biggest brat on the planet, Pete is pussy whipped, adultery, allusion to crime, SMUT!! 18+ ONLY!!

A/N: Poison Paradise has a new couple! Fucked up in a whole new kind of way. She’s a brat, he’s a lech, it’s all filthy fun.

I am no longer doing taglists so if you want to stay up to date on my fics, follow @the-iceni-library and turn on notifications!

“Wait… baby!” Pete practically whined when you shoved him out of the dressing room and into the alley, trying not to look too abashed when Lucas and Chris were right there taking a smoke break. “Gentlemen… shit!”

“Take your stupid fucking flowers!” You were screeching at him, but that wasn’t anything new. “Get the fuck out! I can’t fucking believe you actually came here!”

He winced when you started beating him with the bouquet he had shown up with, sighing to himself as he just stood there and took your abuse while the other men gave him a pair of bemused expressions. This was far from the worst they had seen, you tended to get worked up pretty often. Especially when he flaked out on plans he had made with you.

“Candy, it’s not like I knew my in-laws were coming to town!” He spluttered when he got a face full of chrysanthemums. “Sweetheart, I said I was sorry!”

“Go back to your wife!” You threw the ruins of the bouquet to the ground and stamped your feet, growling at him before turning on your heel and storming back into the club. “I have to go dance. I don’t want to see you again, you fucking asshole!”

“She’ll come around,” Pete did his best to look unperturbed as he brushed the copious flower petals from his suit, accepting the cigarette Lucas offered him and bending to let him light it. “She always comes around.”

“She sure does, buddy,” Chris clapped him on the back, chuckling softly around his own cigarette when Pete leaned back against the wall looking exhausted and defeated.

Sure, it usually took a hell of a lot of groveling, but you did come around. Mostly. It’s not like he tried to piss you off on purpose. But his wife would have him by the fucking balls if they got a divorce, or if she thought he was cheating. He had to do his best to appease the bitch. The frigid, uptight, snooty bitch. Damn he hated her.

Pete considered going in to watch you dance, but then he remembered the last time he did that when you had just thrown a tantrum. There was still a scar on his thigh from where you tried to stab him with your heel. So he just decided to slink to the bar and nurse his wounds. Nothing like a good half a bottle of bourbon to drown the way pissing you off made him feel like a kicked puppy. Besides, it wasn’t like he could go home to his wife. He needed you.

After four hours and perhaps a little bit more than half a bottle of bourbon he needed you even more. Like, damn he needed you bad. He was pouting like a little bitch when he hailed down a cab, groaning and mumbling about how much he wanted your pussy under his breath while they drove to the apartment he paid for. When he remembered it was a walk up he cursed, slipping into the door when someone else came out so he didn’t have to buzz you and sighing before starting to climb the stairs to your place. By the time he got there he felt even more needy, leaning against your door and pounding on it with a prayer that you were home.

“Candy!” His voice was so loud, but when he saw the light under your door come on he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Candy, open the door! C’mon baby, please!” Someone screamed at him to shut the fuck up and he screamed back, determined to get you to let him in because he was aching. “Candy! Candy, let me in, sweetheart! Lemme see my girl! Candy!”

“Fuck, Pete!” You looked so beautiful when you opened the door. And mad. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Baby,” he huffed at you shoving him away when he tried to kiss you, playing with the hem of your nightie for just a moment until you slapped his hand away. “Baby, don’t be like that. I missed you…”

“Yeah, you fucking missed me,” you snorted and turned away from him, knowing that he was going to follow you without having to look back. “You missed me, you’re sorry. That’s not gonna stop you from ditching me to play house with your cunt wife. We were supposed to have a whole weekend.”

“I know,” Pete caught up to you and managed to kiss your bare shoulder before you pulled away from him. “I wanted to treat you like you deserve. Show you off on my arm like the gorgeous thing you are. I feel so bad, babygirl. Lemme make it up to you…”

“Make it up to me,” you rolled your eyes and turned to face him, sitting down on the foot of your bed and watching him closely when he stopped in your bedroom doorway. “Well? Get to it.”

Pete dropped to his knees immediately, whimpering as he crawled to you on all fours and tried not to lose it when you uncrossed and recrossed your legs so he got just a peek of your bare pussy. His mouth was full of saliva as he gazed at you with pure devotion, the desperation he was feeling blatantly obvious. As soon as he reached you he bent lower to kiss along the arch of your foot, his eyes fixed on your face as you continued to stare at him disdainfully. There was the barest flicker of approval from you when he licked each of your toes and he seized on that, cupping your heel in his hand and sucking your big toe into his mouth with a low groan to try to coax you towards a more magnanimous mood.

You tutted at him when he started to kiss his way up your calf, nudging his shoulder with your other foot until he gripped it gently and ran his tongue along your arch nice and slow. A soft sigh escaped from your lips when he bit the pad of your big toe gently, giving him his cue to start mouthing at your calf with a moan.

“Mm, I’m so sorry,” Pete sucked against the inside of your knee and melted when you rewarded him with a whine. “Missed my Candy so much. Hated being away from you and your precious little pussy.”

“Pookie…” you gasped when he nibbled up your inner thigh until his face was buried in the crease of your hip. “You promise you’ll take me to Atlantic City next weekend?”

“I’ll take you for a whole week, Candy baby,” he kissed every inch of your mound before burying his face in your cleft and inhaling deeply. “Buy my babygirl that tennis bracelet you’ve been wanting for so long.”

“Thank you, pookie,” you ran your hand through his hair when he flung your legs over his shoulders. “Lick my pussy now.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice, a groan escaping from him when he swiped his tongue over your slit. Tasting you was the sweetest thing in the damn world, he could never get enough of it. He kissed every inch of your puffy lips before licking you again, slower this time, the heavy drag of his tongue making your eyes flutter and his chest swell with pride at pleasing you. Pete took a moment to savor the flavor of your delicious cunt before diving back in, circling your swollen bud with the tip of his tongue until he felt you shiver then sucking it firmly between his lips with a heady grunt. Two of his fingers slipped between your petals until they were engulfed in the slick warmth of your perfect pussy. He immediately sunk them knuckle-deep and curled them against the front wall of your cunt, stroking that ultra-sensitive spot inside you fervently and flicking his tongue over your clit in a effort to bring you as much pleasure as possible.

The sound of you gasping in ecstasy had him growling against your heated flesh, giving a few shakes of his head to press his face as deep in your folds as possible. When you started to writhe shamelessly against his face he felt like he was in heaven, the movement of his fingers growing frantic when he felt your inner muscles starting to ripple around them. He never wanted to stop feasting on you, your taste flooding his senses until he felt even more drunk and his cock throbbing painfully against his fly.

You collapsed back against the mattress when you felt your core growing tight, burying your hands in his hair and kicking your feet against his back. Your movements grew desperate, shuddering violently, bucking your hips, basically riding his face as he railed you with his fingers. “Oh… oh, fuck yes! Eat my pussy just like that, pookie! Nngh, I’m so close!” He added a third finger and you were so close to losing it you were almost in pain. Sobs of pleasure were ripped from your chest over and over, your thighs closing tightly around his head and holding him in place while you undulated on top of his pistoning fingers. You couldn’t even remember why you had been pissed at him. “Ah, fuck it’s coming! Don’t you dare stop sucking my clit! Fuck fuck fuck… I’m coming!”

Pete doubled his efforts, attacking your clit with even greater fervor, sucking and tonguing it frenetically as he pumped his fingers so fast and deep the wet sounds coming from your cunt grew even more obscene. “Yes, please baby… pookie wants your cream so bad,” He pressed the flat of his tongue directly against your swollen nub and massaged it with quick flicks, burying his fingers to the knuckle and rubbing your g-spot aggressively. His free hand slid up your body so he could palm your bouncing tits, plucking at your stiff nipples and squeezing your curves gently until your breath caught and your back arched violently.

Your scream rattled the windows. Every muscle in your body spasmed violently as your orgasm crashed over you, your inner walls fluttering madly around Pete’s fingers while you squirted a flood of sweet juices all over his lower face until the collar of his shirt was soaked. It was so intense your vision whited out and you forgot how to breathe for a few seconds. By the time you came down he was still kneeling between your thighs, looking appropriately obsequious as he gently kissed every inch of your still quivering flesh.

“Come here and kiss me, pookie,” you smiled at him as he crawled up your body. “Lemme taste how good your apology was.”

The sight of you lying splayed out on the bed, your nightie in disarray and the neon lights from the street outside your window making your messy pussy glisten for him, it was enough to drive him to insanity. Pete groaned as he crawled up your body, making sure to kiss your stomach and breasts and neck so not a single inch of your body felt neglected. But you were impatient, grabbing him by his hair and smashing your lips against his. He groaned into your mouth as you stroked his tongue with yours, cradling your face in his hands and grinding his aching cock against your stomach.

“Mmm, you did so good, pookie,” you pecked him on the lips a few more times before rolling onto your side. “Okay, g’night!”

“Wait, baby!” He was so fucking hard and his balls were throbbing, there was no way he was going to be able to sleep. “Candy, I need you sweetheart, please…”

“Well I’m tired, and still annoyed,” you just huffed as you reached out to turn off the lamp on your nightstand, scowling at him over your shoulder when he whined and pressed his bulge against your hip. “You can wait to get that thing wet until the morning. I think it’ll do you good to go without, pookie. Give you time to think about your priorities.”

Pete just blinked at you, whimpering under his breath before flopping onto his back and staring at the ceiling fan. If he had to wait for the morning he would just sleep with blue balls. It wouldn’t be the first time. Loving you was torture, but damn it was sweet.