#tasm peter parker x oc!mj

[liz-allyn]

cw: real life tragedy, immediately followed by fake spiciness

It’s been a long time since I posted anything original. But I’m trying.

I have a ridiculously long peter x honey smut tale about 90% complete. I started writing it in July. Real life is getting in the way.

A friend of mine died a week before Halloween.

My dog died three days after my birthday.

My family’s dog died on Christmas.

Almost a week ago, I found out that my estranged biological mother passed away in a hospice clinic. A medical examiner gave me the news six days after she died. I think the last time I spoke to her was 2017.

All this is to say, I’m having a rough time. That’s a shit ton of unfortunately timed trauma.

But I’m still here, trying to get through one day at a time. One paragraph at a time.

Speaking of which, a sneaky peaky… please enjoy.

@sincericida @moonyslove78 @blooming-violets @withahappyrefrain @mrshipsmcgee @rae-gar-targaryen @p3mybeloved @drew-garfi

A sharp, biting kiss swallowed him whole, stealing the oxygen from his lungs. The heat was as intense as he had remembered. This time, they didn’t melt into one another. She was like a wildfire, her touch scalding him.

Her hands then went to his throat, ebony-painted nails leaving red trails on his creamy skin. Buttons popped as she yanked on his clothes. Her goal could have been to draw blood with her kiss. Her teeth tore at his lips, and he groaned into her mouth.

Clumsy, he fumbled with his fingers—reaching up to grip her by the hair. Finally, he wrenched her head back, detaching her bite from his face.

Immediately, he was met with an open-palmed slap on the cheek.

Sharp gasps cut through them, and they jumped backwards a few feet. Tension and shock reverberated in the gap they created. An eerie calm settled over them, like the barometric pressure plunging right before a storm.

Honey blinked at him owlishly, mouth open and her palm throbbing.

Peter glared at her in silence. He looked a mess; hair unkempt, the top buttons of his shirt torn open to reveal jagged crimson scratch marks across his milky skin. His heartbeat steadily increased as he gently dapped his fingertips at the ache in his jaw. The exquiste lines of his face were stained pastel pink. His eyes were black as night.

Peter watched her, pupils dialating, blood pressure rising. The shadow of a smile curved his mouth. His features darkened into something primal. Something familiar.

There’s my girl.

[multiverseprincesswatching]

i really wanna write but I'm like super sensitive to criticism and am an attention whore so like- what do I do? where do I start?

[gredandforgeweatherby]

The Girl One Floor Below

Apartment 3C

Summary: Peter Parker helps a girl move in

WC: 1.3K

warnings: A singular swear word, talk of Gwen's death and its effect on Peter (recurring theme throughout the chapters) Not edited because I wanted to pot it today and written over the course of one day so my crappy writting. Takes place after NWH so spoilers if you haven't seen it.

If you haven't seen it go watch it right now, like literally close tumblr and go watch it. It's life changing.

      Peter Parker was tired.

       He was tired of the project Jameson had made him redo multiple times (4 and counting!), despite the fact that he thought it was perfectly fine. He was tired from his multiversal travel, even though he has been back in his own universe for three months now. And he was tired of being alone.

     Now don't get him wrong, he was totally fine with living alone – he had for several years now. He was fine with maybe not getting out as much as he used to or seeing people outside of his work (willingly). The thing that bugged him was – well, it was a combination of things.

Landing in another universe changed him for the better. Seeing the two others Peter’s living their lives happily, or as happily as they could being a superhero, with someone sparked a bit of hope in his heart. They had time for Spider-Man, and they had time for Peter Parker. He hadn’t. Ever since that night in the clocktower, once he managed to drag himself out of the pit of despair, depression, and guilt that Gwen’s death had catapulted him into, he didn’t make time to be Peter Parker. Just Peter Parker. He left the city on its own for a while, and came back more brutal than before. He was the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, but he’s afraid he lost that title years ago.

Gwen was his one – his soulmate, his person, the one he was destined to spend forever and longer with. That’s what he thought at least. But he was older now, twenty-seven going on twenty-eight, and he no longer believed in that. He believed he was meant to fall in love with Gwen, become enamored by her, and then have her ripped away from him in the most gut wrenching way he could have possibly imagined (if he ever imagined it, which he didn’t), and then spend the rest of his life living with that knowledge. The knowledge that as every year passes, he grows a year older while Gwen is forever nineteen. That he lives with the guilt and pain about what happened that night. He believes he was meant to be alone, that the universe wanted to give him a taste of what a wonderful life he could have had if maybe he had never been bitten, or been so selfish, or maybe hadn’t been born with the name of Peter Benjamin Parker. 

The universe could be a real bitch.

But part of him, a small part of him, had been healed when he saved his younger brother’s MJ, preventing him from living the life he had for almost eight years. Peter had found solace knowing that he prevented the youngest Peter from losing his twin flame, and that helped him heal. That had been the first true step in his healing journey, he realized, as nothing he had done before had really helped. The burning pain he once held in his heart and head had become a dull ache spread across his entire body over the years, but a trip to another universe had helped that ache subside just a bit. And for that, he was thankful.

Nine months out from a quick trip of meeting two other versions of him, he was healing. He was getting better. Peter blamed himself less than he had for Gwen’s death, the dull ache had subsided more, and although he knows it will never be fully gone, he’s glad it can become duller and duller until it’s almost absent. He was taking better care of himself, stopping in to see May more and staying longer for visits. Jameson finally accepted the project that had been causing him a substantial amount of grief since he had come back. (He had to do it over five times before Jameson finally deemed it acceptable, although at that point Peter had gotten tired of his shit and just submitted his first version again and Jameson didn’t even know.) He was trying to leave his apartment a bit more for things that weren’t work or errand related, and began decorating his apartment a bit nicer to hopefully bring some light into his life. He was on his way back from the bugle, and was only a few steps away from the elevator of his apartment building when he took a quick look to his left. 

A few feet from his left was a woman close to the same age as him. She was obviously moving in as she had two moving boxes with her, although she was slightly struggling to get a hold on both of them. Her hair was short; dark brown cut to sit a bit above her shoulder, yet most of it was up in a ponytail, the rest sitting against the base of her neck, lightly damp with sweat. She was wearing a tank top and shorts, as it was now July and the heat was brutal, and he could see small beads of sweat collecting at her hairline. Nonetheless, Peter thought she was beautiful.

Looking at her made his heart race, made him feel nervous like he was back in highschool talking to Gwen again. He noticed his palms beginning to sweat and wiped them on his jeans as he debated going over to talk to her. He had almost decided on no when he had thought back to what the eldest of the Peters had told him.

He was going to make time for Peter Parker.

With that thought, he wiped his palms on his pants once more before going over to her.

“Uh, hi.” He greeted her with a small smile and wave before clearing his throat because he knows he sounds like a prepubescent teenager talking to his crush, and continued. “Hi, I was passing and saw you were moving without any help and was wondering if I could offer some.” He internally cringed at how he was talking to her, he was admittedly out of practice.

She smiled lightly while nodding her head. “That would be great actually. I’ve been struggling with these boxes for a bit, thank you.”

Peter nodded at her in response before picking up one of the boxes. “Lead the way.”

────────────────────────────────────────────

They made their way to the third floor before she stopped, put her box down, pulled out her keys and unlocked her door. She stepped out of the way to let Peter inside first before making her way inside with her last box.

“You can put it anywhere, obviously I’m not very particular about box placement.” She placed her box on the kitchen counter as she voiced this to Peter, and he made his way over to her and put his next to it.

He looked back at the various boxes scattered about the room before speaking. “Did you move all of these up here by yourself?”

Letting out a light laugh she responded. “Yeah, I didn’t have anyone helping me so it has taken me way too long. I was planning on unpacking some tonight but that is not gonna happen now.”

“I could help if you wanted.” Peter offered, part of him hoping she’d say yes, but another part hoping she’d say no.

“Oh no it’s okay. I feel bad I even took up the whole six minutes of your time already so you’re free to go.”

She and Peter walked to the door and he noticed the number emblazoned on the door. “3C, I’m one floor above 4C if you ever need anything. I know it’s always nice to have someone just in case when you’re moving in. I didn’t have that, all I had was this crotchety old woman who hated my guts so..” he trailed off while looking away, really wishing a hole would just swallow him up on the spot for being so awkward. But instead of grimacing or cringing, the woman smiled and thanked him.

“I’m Peter, by the way.” He stuck out his hand.

“I’m Marilyn.” She took his hand and shook it, before saying goodbye and seeing him off.

Marilyn.

Peter never thought a name would ever sound so sweet on his tongue.

series masterlist

[railingsofsorrow]

RAILINGSOFSORROW'S FIC RECS (0.2)

2nd part of the recommendation list from my fav fics! (i had to split in two because tumblr was being a nightmare) have it in mind that they can either be on tumblr or ao3.

the (+) means it has a smut masterlists: [0.1] [0.2]

↯

━━ OBX 

↬ little village by @thegreatestofheck (jj x routhledge!oc) 

best thing that's ever happened to me.

↬ whipped by @ptersparkers (jj x reader) 

↬ wake by @obxsummer (jj x reader) 

↬ aftermath by @maybaenk (jj x reader) 

↬ once a cheater... by @sl-ut (s.cameron x fem!kook!reader; t.thornton x platonic!reader) 

↬ lucky by @↑ (k.carrera x f!reader) 

↬ two of the same by @jjmaybud (k.carrera x f!reader) 

i, too, want to get married with kiara carrera.

↬ skin by @↑ (p.heyward x reader) 

↬ kie loves you... but you're not hers by @infictionalwonderland (k.carrera x f!reader; jj x f!reader)  

↬ angels like you by @cryonme (p.heyward x reader) 

↬ the 7 times he realises he loves you by @fandomtravels (I can't tag this acc :/ it's glitching) (r.cameron x reader) 

彡 

━━ MCU 

↬ one heart by @ichorai (tasm!single parent!p.parker x single parent! x reader) (major angst!) 

ok so I stumbled upon this while I was in class and I was bored so I thought let's give it a go until I get to go home. terrible idea because I was holding my cries, can you believe it? this fic stole my heart and it's so well-written, I don't think there's anything like it, it talks about loss and grieving in the most realistic way possible, I almost felt inserted into the story. plz go read it it will be so worth it.

↬ on thin ice by @leahsficemporium (peter parker x reader)

learning how to skate with peter <3

↬ like slow-slipping redemption by artist_artists (ao3) (tasm!p.parker × male mj) 

I don't understand how this one doesn't have more recognition. I was craving for a bi!peter fic and I found it's the best piece of work I've read, it played with my emotions and left me of the edge of my seat. it's set on a post-no way home universe and it features tasm!peter x male mj. it's a happy ending!!! plus it's not long, only 3 chapters.

↬ getting old by @kiss-inthekitchen (husband!tasm!p.parker x reader)  

↬ peter parker can't flirt by @curseofaphrodite (tasm!p.parker x marauder!reader)

it's a crossover btw marauders era + the amazing spiderman universe.

彡

━━ TVD/T.O 

↬ apotheosis by atriums (klaus mikaelson x reader) 

it's finished and it has a sequel called alkaline.

↬ familia supra omnia by IAMiniquity (poly!mikaelsons x oc) (currently being updated) 

the best thing I've read in the originals universe, spent less than month reading it and I keep craving for more.

↬ treading on thin ice by @fitzs-trained-monkey (kol mikaelson x reader)

they write the best kol fics istg.  

↬ wasteland, baby! by trustsalvatore (kol mikaelson x oc) 

incomplete since 2020 :(((

彡

↬ coming home by @acourtofwhatthefuck (azriel x reader) (series)

━━ MISC 

↬ troublemaker by @itsapeterthing (druig x avenger!reader)  

I will tell you one thing: I wasn't into a court of thorns and roses until I stumbled upon this one. yk when the writing grips you and chains you in a way that you can't leave? that's what happened to me. I was so addicted I read this whole series in three days at most. then I proceeded to read all of their work, you should do the same, you won't regret it it's so good. 

↬ resident healer by @15-dogs (newt scamander x reader)  

↬ no one knows by @pillow-titties (billy russo x reader) +

↬ no one knows p.2 by @↑ + 

↬ by your side by @alaynes-writings (paul atreides x reader)  

↬ stormy nights by @marvelmusing (aleksander mozorova x reader)  

[prettylittlewrites]

Time Aligns

TASM!Peter Parker x OC

Returning back to his universe after leaving his new found brothers Peter was hopeful. But nothing changed. Gwen was still gone, Harry was still in custody, the bad guys hadn’t been fixed. Nothing had changed. But what if time was finally aligning in his universe to match the other Peters?

It had been a week since Peter had returned home from the other universe. It had been a week since he left the other Peter’s at the Statue of Liberty after curing all of the villains. Peter had come back with the hope that it would be different now that Maxx and Dr. Connors had been cured and maybe Gwen was alive and waiting for him in his little one-bedroom apartment in Queens.

But that wasn’t the case. Everything and everyone was exactly how he left them. The only difference was he didn’t feel the weight on his chest anymore. The crushing pressure since he lost Gwen, was lighter.

It wasn’t fully gone. It never would be. Losing your first love, feeling, and hearing their heart stop, he would always carry that with him.

But he felt lighter, he had been able to save MJ. His little brother's first love. He had been able to save her in a way he hadn’t been able to save his own. He felt like he could finally move on. He finally felt closure after 8 years.

He went back to patrolling the streets. Pulling his punches as he put away criminals, his wit had come back full force and he was back to having a skip in his step whenever something good happened. He was beginning to feel normal again.

It was around 2 am when Peter stumbled into a 24/7 coffee shop. His jaw a bruising red and his knuckles slightly raw from stopping a burglary just up the street but they would heal in an hour or two.

The coffee shop was deserted besides one girl behind the bar and a cook in the back. The soft jazz music played in the background and the yellow stained lights gave the quiet shop a warm, cozy feeling. One that Peter desperately needed, as the winter storm raged on outside.

The girl behind the counter looked up, her eyes drifted to him from the textbook on the counter. Peter nodded his head as he strolled up to the cash register as the girl slid behind it on the other side.

Peter took a second to run his eyes over the girl. She was younger than him, at least by a couple of years. She was on the shorter and curvier side. She had brown almost black hair that stopped at her shoulders and bright blue eyes. She was cute, and her friendly smile caused him to smile back despite the aching of his jaw.

“Hey Honey, what can I get ya.” Her slight southern accent startled him, he was used to the distinct accent of New York and New Jersey so hearing the draw of a southerner had him blinking at the girl for a split second.

“Uh, just a, just a cup of coffee, please. Black.” Peter stuttered as he nodded his head and tapped his fingers on the counter.

“Okay. That’ll be $3.48. Can I get a” The girl trailed off abruptly. Almost like she was about to say something she shouldn’t have. Peter smiled slightly nodding his head and pulled out a crumpled $5 from the front pocket of his backpack.

“Peter” he gave her a knowing look and her cut off of her memorized check out script. “and ah, Keep the change.” His eyes flew to the name tag on her apron. “Maddison.” The girl smiled brightly at him in thanks for not making her muscle memory awkward, as she got to work on his coffee. Peter took a step back and let his eyes run over the quaint place.

The booths looked slightly lumpy but there were outlets stationed at every table, and posters for Columbia, Empire State, NYU, FIT, Juilliard, and just about every college in the state of New York hung on the walls. The coffee bar wasn’t far from NYU so Peter assumed it was a popular study spot.

Peter quickly pulled out his cracked phone from his back pocket and sent off a quick message to Aunt May letting her know he was done with his route for the night and would be back in his apartment soon.

“Peter, Your coffee is ready” Maddison called out softly pushing a red paper cup on the counter towards him. Peter quickly grabbed the cup and took a seat on one of the many bar stools that overlooked where they made the coffee. Maddison whipped up the counter before pulling her textbook over to where she was standing in front of Peter.

“What are you studying?” Peter asked as his eyes caught sight of a color-coded diagram of the human brain.

“Oh, well this is for my Child Developmental class. But I’m Majoring in Psychology, and minoring in Criminal Justice. I’m a senior at NYU.” Maddison responded, tapping her blue highlighter against her book. Secretly relieved for an excuse to not study. Peter felt his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“Well, I think you are in the right city for criminal justice,” Peter muttered as he took a sip of his coffee, allowing the scalding liquid to burn his tongue and throat.

Maddison chuckled lightly and opened up her mouth to respond when the sound of a bang startled both Peter and Maddison. Both heads whipped towards the front door and as it burst open and a baby-faced boy walked in.

“Maddison!” the boy yelled with a wide smile on his face.

“Thomas,” Maddison called back, significantly less excited. As the boy made his way over to the kitchen door disappeared, scoffing and rolling his eyes dramatically as he went.

Peter gave Maddison a look but she just rolled her eyes and shook her head. There was a loud clatter from the back followed by yelled cursing.

“Ignore him. He likes the attention, the more you give him the worse he gets. He’s a bit of a drama queen.” Maddison looked at Peter with a small smile on her lips. Peter smirked in return hearing the boy's dramatic gasp from the back before bursting through the doors.

“How dare you call me a drama Queen! I react a perfectly fine amount of drama!” He declared with an appalled look on his face. “And I’ve told you before, I don’t like my government name MJ.” He popped back into the back before sticking his head out again. “Also I’m covering for Luke btw little Addy’s first day of daycare is today.” Thomas disappeared back into the back again for good. Clocking in and beginning to work on breakfast prep.

The nickname MJ rang loud in Peter’s ears. His mind flashes back to the Younger and Older Peter. Both of them had an MJ. Was this his MJ?

“Sorry about him.” Maddison blushed slightly, looking apologetic before turning back to her book.

“MJ?” Peter finally gained the courage to question the brunette, his face had gone pale and his words sounded choked up.

“Yeah. It’s my nickname. There were like 5 Maddisons in my kindergarten class. My middle name is June. Being one of the last letters in the alphabet all the other girls got to pick the cute nicknames. I didn’t wanna be called June or my last name Walker so my teacher suggested MJ. And it’s stuck ever since then.” She explained, her eyes distant as she reminisced on her younger years. But Peter couldn’t stop his mind from running into overdrive.

Was this supposed to be his version of MJ? Or was it just a coincidence? Was he meant to be with her, all the other Peters were in love with their MJs. But there also wasn’t a 4 or 5 year age gap with them.

Peter began to feel panic at the thought of being in another relationship. Sure it had been 8 years and he’s had a couple flings, but nothing serious. Besides Aunt May and the other Peter’s he really didn’t have anyone. Not even a best friend anymore. Not after Harry at least. He couldn’t afford to trust people like that anymore. The panic caused him to convince himself to leave abruptly.

“I like it. MJ is cool.” Peter half-smiled at the girl chugging the rest of his lukewarm coffee before standing up. “It was nice meeting you MJ. But I gotta get home. Have a nice night.”

“You too Peter!” MJ waved goodbye at the slightly older man and cleared his cup from the counter. Peter waved goodbye before stepping out into the freezing New York air. His mind stuck only on Maddison and her infamous nickname.

[prpfs]

21+. She/Her. Looking for some Marvel/Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) roleplays with a big desire for Daredevil at the moment (note: I'm in the process of watching that show and am almost finished with season 2). ⭐️

I can write on Discord or through Tumblr messages. I like to plot on Tumblr but, if that's a no-go for you, we can move over to Discord sooner. I write in third person, past tense. My usual length is 2-4 paragraphs. Sometimes more. Rarely less. It all depends on how much I have to work with. I can't guarantee daily replies because I work full-time during the week. My usual response time is ~2-3 days. I like communicative writing partners. That means, when we're plotting, I'd like to hear back within 2-3 days so plotting doesn't take weeks to do. When writing, I'm fine with as little as one reply a week. Ideal wait time, though, is no more than 3-5 days. If it's going to take you longer to get back to me, please let me know. I'll do the same.

I'm mostly interested in canon x canon pairings (MxM or MxF). I might be talked into some canon x OC ones (MxM only). I like canon or canon divergent plots the most or straying off the path with our own unique plots that still fit well within the Marvel universe. I lean towards romantic ships and writing smut. Those aren't requirements, however. If we keep things clean, I'm okay with writing with 18+. If you'd like smut, please be 21+.

All characters will be 18+!

I'll be listing the characters I'm most interested in writing as (there are more I can write) and some of my favorite ships. I'm open to discussing others.

For the ships: Bold = I'd like to write as that character ; Italics = I have a slight preference for that character ; Nothing = No preference

My Muses:

Bruce Banner

Bucky Barnes

Eddie Brock

Frank Castle

Harry Osborn (James or Dane's versions)

Helmut Zemo

Loki Laufeyson

Matt Murdock

Nathan Summers/Cable

Norman Osborn (Dafoe!Norman only)

Peter Parker (Andrew!Peter only)

Tony Masters/Taskmaster

Tony Stark

Vladimir Ranskahov

Wade Wilson

Yon-Rogg

My Favorite Ships:

Bruce x Loki

Bruce x Tony

Bruce x Thor

Bruce x Natasha

Bucky x Zemo

Bucky x Steve

Eddie x Andrew!Peter

Eddie x Wade

Eddie x Venom

Frank x Matt

Frank x Karen

James!Harry x Tobey!Peter

Dane!Harry x Andrew!Peter

Loki x Taskmaster

Loki x Wade

Loki x Mobius

Loki x Thor

Matt x Andrew!Peter

Matt x Taskmaster

Matt x Wade

Matt x Vladimir

Matt x Foggy

Matt x Wade x Andrew!Peter

Matt x Elektra

Cable x Wade

Norman x Otto

Andrew!Peter x Taskmaster

Andrew!Peter x Wade

Andrew!Peter x Tobey!Peter

Andrew!Peter x Gwen

Andrew!Peter x the male MJ Andrew wanted if TASM 3 had happened

Taskmaster x Wade

Taskmaster x Sandi

Taskmaster x Eric

Tony x Tom!Peter

Tony x Strange

Tony x Pepper

Wade x Logan/Wolverine

Wade x Dopinder

Wade x Weasel

Wade x Vanessa

Yon-Rogg x Carol

If interested in working something out, please like this and I'll get back to you as soon as I can.

Please only like this if you intend on getting back to me!!!

Leave a like, and anon will get back to you!

[findroleplay]

21+. She/Her. Looking for some Marvel/Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) roleplays with a big desire for Daredevil at the moment (note: I'm in the process of watching that show and am almost finished with season 2).

I can write on Discord or through Tumblr messages. I like to plot on Tumblr but, if that's a no-go for you, we can move over to Discord sooner. I write in third person, past tense. My usual length is 2-4 paragraphs. Sometimes more. Rarely less. It all depends on how much I have to work with. I can't guarantee daily replies because I work full-time during the week. My usual response time is ~2-3 days. I like communicative writing partners. That means, when we're plotting, I'd like to hear back within 2-3 days so plotting doesn't take weeks to do. When writing, I'm fine with as little as one reply a week. Ideal wait time, though, is no more than 3-5 days. If it's going to take you longer to get back to me, please let me know. I'll do the same.

I'm mostly interested in canon x canon pairings (MxM or MxF). I might be talked into some canon x OC ones (MxM only). I like canon or canon divergent plots the most or straying off the path with our own unique plots that still fit well within the Marvel universe. I lean towards romantic ships and writing smut. Those aren't requirements, however. If we keep things clean, I'm okay with writing with 18+. If you'd like smut, please be 21+.

All characters will be 18+!

I'll be listing the characters I'm most interested in writing as (there are more I can write) and some of my favorite ships. I'm open to discussing others.

For the ships: Bold = I'd like to write as that character ; Italics = I have a slight preference for that character ; Nothing = No preference

My Muses:

Bruce Banner

Bucky Barnes

Eddie Brock

Frank Castle

Harry Osborn (James or Dane's versions)

Helmut Zemo

Loki Laufeyson

Matt Murdock

Nathan Summers/Cable

Norman Osborn (Dafoe!Norman only)

Peter Parker (Andrew!Peter only)

Tony Masters/Taskmaster

Tony Stark

Vladimir Ranskahov

Wade Wilson

Yon-Rogg

My Favorite Ships:

Bruce x Loki

Bruce x Tony

Bruce x Thor

Bruce x Natasha

Bucky x Zemo

Bucky x Steve

Eddie x Andrew!Peter

Eddie x Wade

Eddie x Venom

Frank x Matt

Frank x Karen

James!Harry x Tobey!Peter

Dane!Harry x Andrew!Peter

Loki x Taskmaster

Loki x Wade

Loki x Mobius

Loki x Thor

Matt x Andrew!Peter

Matt x Taskmaster

Matt x Wade

Matt x Vladimir

Matt x Foggy

Matt x Wade x Andrew!Peter

Matt x Elektra

Cable x Wade

Norman x Otto

Andrew!Peter x Taskmaster

Andrew!Peter x Wade

Andrew!Peter x Tobey!Peter

Andrew!Peter x Gwen

Andrew!Peter x the male MJ Andrew wanted if TASM 3 had happened

Taskmaster x Wade

Taskmaster x Sandi

Taskmaster x Eric

Tony x Tom!Peter

Tony x Strange

Tony x Pepper

Wade x Logan/Wolverine

Wade x Dopinder

Wade x Weasel

Wade x Vanessa

Yon-Rogg x Carol

If interested in working something out, please like this and I'll get back to you as soon as I can.

Please only like this if you intend on getting back to me!!!

-

[bisexualbumblebee-writes]

Multiverses Part 2- TASM! Peter Parker x OC

TASM! Peter Parker x Maeve Nadine

Description: Things only get weirder after Maeve, Rosemary, Ned and MJ find the other two Peters, but their Peter is their top priority. That doesn’t stop Maeve from staying beside Peter 3. 

Word Count: 2.3k

Once Maeve and the new Peter entered Ned’s grandmother’s house, a relieved sigh left Rosemary’s lips and she surged forward to pull Maeve into a hug. While they embraced, both Ned and MJ stared at the new Peter in shock, sizing him up. 

“Who’s this?” Upon pulling away, Maeve glanced at Peter. 

“This is Peter Parker, he’s from another universe” she explained. “Peter, these are our Peter’s friends, MJ, Ned and Rosemary.” The boy offered them an awkward wave which made her hold back a smile as she faced the others. 

“He’s from the same universe as Electro and the Lizard, but from what I understand, not the same one as Doc Ock, Green Goblin and Sandman. Which means there’s probably a third Peter Parker in New York-” 

“Maeve, have you been crying?” Rosemary asked worriedly, cutting off her rant. “What happened?” The girl stared at her for a moment, then promptly remembered that they didn’t know yet. 

“Uh, yeah…” she trailed off, voice much softer. “May… I don’t know what happened, but Happy’s apartment was practically in pieces. May’s dead, and now I don’t know where those villains or our Peter are.” The room became deathly silent once she explained. Peter’s friends could only stare at her in shock, and she had to take a deep breath in order not to cry again before clearing her throat. 

“We need to find him, I don’t know what he’s gonna do now that she’s dead,” she continued. “Who opened Strange’s portal?” 

“Uh, I did,” Ned answered softly. 

“Any way you can do it again?” She asked hopefully. 

“I can definitely try,” the younger boy responded before turning away. He held up his hands as MJ and Rosemary moved to either side of him, offering him reassurances. Maeve watched intently as Ned began moving his hand in wide circles. 

“Find Peter Parker,” he instructed. The new Peter tapped Maeve’s shoulder. 

“What’s that thing on his hand?” He whispered. 

“Long story,” the girl answered before shushing him as Ned continued his instruction several times before another portal appeared. On the other side was a silhouette covered by shadows, and the group watched as it stepped through the portal. It was a man, a little older than Maeve and Peter, who wore civilian clothes. 

“Great,” Ned huffed. “It’s just some random guy.” 

“Hello,” the new person waved. “Um, I hope it’s okay I just came through this-” he paused upon glancing back at the portal, only to see it close. 

“Oh, it just closed.” 

“You’re Peter Parker?” Maeve questioned, silently happy that her theory had been correct. The older Peter nodded, then waved at Ned’s Lola, who blushed and waved at him, before his eyes finally landed on the other Peter. Both Peters eyed each other, sizing the other up silently. The rest of the group had no time to say anything before the two began shooting webs at each other, dodging every attack from the other. Then, they flipped into the air simultaneously before the older Peter shot a web at the other’s web slinger, which made him nod at the man, impressed. 

“Uh, guys, as awesome as that was, we don’t really have a lot of time here,” Maeve mentioned awkwardly. It was then that Lola pointed around the room, giving a long speech entirely in Tagalog that Ned translated afterwards. 

“My Lola is asking if you could clean up the webs you just shot?” The Peters nodded and apologized, then began cleaning up while she went to bed. Once they were done, the older Peter walked up to Maeve, Ned, MJ and Rosemary. Uh, this might seem kinda weird, but... I’ve been trying to find your friend ever since I got here. I just have this sense that... that he needs my help,” he explained as gently as he could. 

“Our help,” the other Peter corrected, earning a nod from the others.

“He does,” Rosemary answered.

“We don’t know where he is,” Ned added. 

“And um... honestly, right now, we’re all he really has left,” Maeve concluded somewhat distantly, images of May’s lifeless body flashing through her mind. She only snapped back to her senses when she felt the other Peter’s hand on her arm. They shared a weak smile as the older Peter spoke. 

“Well, uh, is there some place that he might go that has meaning to him? Like a place where he would go to just-”

“Get away from everything?” The other Peter concluded, followed by a glance of acknowledgment between the two. 

“For me, it was the top of the Chrysler building,” older Peter explained further. 

“Empire State. It’s just... it’s a better view,” added the other Peter. 

“That is a sweet view,” the older Peter agreed.

“Yes,” Rosemary answered for the others. “Yeah. I... I think I know exactly where that would be. The high school.” 

“What are we waiting for?” Maeve asked before looking at Ned. “Think you can manage one more portal?”

“Sure,” the boy shrugged before lifting his hands again. It didn’t take him as long to conjure another portal, and everyone was quick to step through it. On the other side was the roof of the high school, just as they’d expected. Before the Peters could take another step forward, Maeve stopped them. She glanced back at the others. 

“You guys go ahead,” she instructed, waiting until they’d done so before facing the other Peters. “I think they should see him first because his comfort comes first and foremost, he needs to see his friends first.” The boys nodded at her explanation, then the other Peter rested a hand on her shoulder and spoke. 

“You go ahead then. We’ll give you a minute,” he said. The girl nodded and offered him a small smile, removing her hand from her shoulder and giving it a quick squeeze before jogging over to her Peter. As soon as the younger boy noticed her, he all but fell into her arms as sobs wracked his body. 

“I’m so sorry, Peter,” she whispered into his ear, rubbing his back soothingly. She let him cry into her shoulder for a minute before pulling back. 

“Peter, there’s... there’s some people here,” she started softly. Peter was confused by her words, but then he suddenly jumped up. As if on cue, the other two Peters appeared on the school’s tower, staring down at him. He took a protective stance, as if he were readying to guard his friends, then the other two swung down. Naturally the younger boy was both surprised and confused, but he calmed down after one look at Maeve. 

“Yes, we’re... you,” the older Peter said before shooting him a sympathetic look. “Sorry... about May.” 

“Yeah, sorry,” the other Peter added. “I’ve got some understanding of what it-” 

“No, no, no... please don’t tell me that you know what I’m going through,” young Peter interrupted as he shook his head with a sniffle, which made the boy nod. “She’s gone. And it’s all my fault. She died for nothing. So I’m gonna do what I should have done in the first place.” He reached for the box that MJ held, but was stopped by the other Peters. 

“Peter-”

“Please, don’t!”

“You don’t belong here, either of you,” the boy retorted emotionally. “So I’m sending you home. Those other guys are from your worlds, right? So you deal with it. And if they die, if you kill them... that’s on you. It’s not my problem. I don’t care anymore. I’m done.” He paused with a sincere expression, then sighed. 

“I’m really sorry that I dragged you into this. But you have to go home now. Good luck,” he concluded, once again reaching for the box. MJ pulled it back, shaking her head. 

“Just hear them out,” Rosemary begged softly. “Please.” Young Peter didn’t look happy about it, but he faced the other two. 

“My uncle Ben was killed,” the older Peter admitted softly. “It was my fault.”

“I lost…” the other Peter’s voice caught in his throat, as if he was holding back tears. “I lost Gwen. My, um...she was my MJ, or my Rosemary. I couldn’t save her. I’m never gonna be able to forgive myself for that. But I carried on, tried to, um... try to keep going, try to keep being the uh... that ‘Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man,’ ‘cause I knew that’s what she would have wanted. But at some point, I just-- I stopped pulling my punches. I got rageful. I got bitter. I just don’t want you to end up like... like me.” Maeve’s heart broke at his confession. All she wanted to do was comfort him, but she restrained herself for the time being while older Peter spoke. 

“The night Ben died, I hunted down the man who I thought did it. I wanted him dead. I got what I wanted. It didn’t make it better. It took me a long time to learn to get through that darkness.” Young Peter looked surprised by their words, and a sense of recognition flashed in his eyes. 

“I want to kill him,” he admitted quietly. “I want to tear him apart. I can still hear her voice in my head. Even after she was hurt, she said to me that we did the right thing. She told me that with great power-” 

“Comes great responsibility,” older Peter concluded. The three of them looked between each other. Younger Peter was even more shocked that he seemed to know what he was talking about. 

“Wait, what? How do you know that?” 

“Uncle Ben said it,” other Peter answered, followed by the older one. 

“The day he died.” The three of them stared at each other once again, all looking considerably overwhelmed by this uncanny connection. 

“Maybe she didn’t die for nothing, Peter,” older Peter said softly. 

Before Maeve knew it, she was following the others into one of the chemistry labs of the high school. Once inside she, along with Rosemary, MJ and Ned moved off to the side as the Peters looked over the broken cures. 

“Okay so, uh... Connors, Marko, Dillon, and um…” young Peter hesitated, then set aside the cure for the Green Goblin. “Uh, look, I think that I can repair the devices for Dillon and Marko, but the others-” 

“Oh, I got Connors. I’ve already cured him once, so no big deal,” other Peter explained before noticing the other Peters’ incredulous looks. “What? It’s no big deal.”

“Great,” the older Peter ultimately said. “I think I can make an anti-serum for Dr. Osborn. Been thinking about it a long time. We gotta cure all of ‘em, right?” He added, noticing younger Peter’s conflicted look. 

“Right,” the boy answered slowly. 

Later that night Maeve was watching the other Peter as he worked on mixing the chemicals that would eventually go into a metal water bottle. There were several times that he would look over and their eyes met, which made her blush and avert her gaze. She tried to tell herself that she was just interested in the chemical reaction. Her gaze was suddenly broken when Ned suddenly rolled over to older Peter, who stood at the desk right beside the other Peter’s desk. She listened to them interact, then giggled at Ned’s apprehension when he learned that older Peter’s best friend died in his arms after he tried to kill him. The laugh broke other Peter’s concentration and he looked at her with a small smile. 

“You have a nice laugh,” he mentioned softly. The randomness made another blush coat her cheeks and she looked down coyly. 

“Oh, thank you,” she responded in a shy tone. After a few minutes she gathered the courage to look at him again, only to see his gaze fixed on something else. She followed his line of sight and he realized that he was watching young Peter and Rosemary. The young couple were sitting facing each other, the boy’s face cradled in her hands while their foreheads rested against each other’s silently. At that moment Maeve remembered other Peter mentioning Gwen, and how he couldn’t save her. A wave of sympathy coursed through her, and she faced the boy once again. 

“You have someone?” She asked softly. Other Peter snapped out of his stupor and he looked at her. 

“No. I got no time for uh, Peter Parker stuff, you know?” He answered, earning a nod from the girl. “Do you?” 

“Oh, no,” Maeve responded while shaking her head. “Surprisingly, not a lot of people are eager to date a superhero whose life always seems to be in danger. Besides, I don’t think they’d be able to keep up with me. She was half joking in her last sentence, and she was happy that it got a laugh out of him. 

“I wouldn’t give up, though,” she continued. “I think that there’s always someone willing to make it work. Just look at them.” She nodded to young Peter and Rosemary. “Both of their lives became a living hell but they’ve found comfort in each other. If that doesn’t give you hope then I have no idea what to tell you.” When she faced him once again, he was already looking at her with a look that she couldn’t quite place. 

“I think I’m starting to get it,” he said softly. His tone was what made her blush for the third time in an hour. It was soft yet there was passion behind it, and it had a sort of fond undertone to it. She merely offered him a small smile in response, then watched as he went back to work with a renewed interest so she could pretend not to notice the light blush that dusted Peter’s cheeks.

[itzagothamcitysiren]

His MJ, Master list

After being roommates for nearly a year now, MJ grew accustomed to Peter Parker’s weird antics, like using windows over doors to enter their apartment at night. He was a great guy, paid his half of the rent on time, and he wasn’t too hard on the eyes. 

But there were still moments were even his good looks couldn’t get a pass from her.

“You’re my MJ.” 

His muttering of the phase repeated, his eyes continued to stare at her as if he just saw a ghost, as if he wasn’t sitting on their couch, face and body all bruised up after going missing for almost two days. 

MJ looked at him, his words echoing in her own head, as she fretted over him. 

His MJ, 

Chapter 1- Her Weird Roommate, Peter Parker

Chapter 2- the Mary-Janes

Chapter 3- This is Why Multiverse’s are Confusing,...

Chapter 4- Coming Soon....

tag list:

@cosmistake @ashley13s​ @jasontoddthezombie @bitch—stillabitch  @polireader  @xbriix​ @ impossibelle 

[mitraavrs]

MJ weds Peter

yes, its a south indian wedding because mj is south indian in my fic because im south indian , kerala weddings are beautiful <3

[saturnville]

another shot at love.

pairing: tasm!peter parker x black!oc

warnings: nwh spoilers. fluff, angst, kinda lengthy.

content: peter decides to take advice from the wiser version of himself.

divider by @firefly-graphics

There was an eerie silence that surrounded him. So quiet, yet so loud. The stillness grabbed him by the throat and squeezed tight, exhausting him indefinitely. A horrid cough crawled from his throat. He longed for a noise, a sound, a bump, a squeak. Still, he was met with silence.

He despised the drip drip drip of the liquid IV pumping fluids through his weak body, the creaking of opening and closing doors, the muffled voices of doctors using words a common Joe wouldn't comprehend, and the blinding lights that shone on the pasty walls.

He craned his head to the right, slowly and with precision to not aggravate the broken bones of his collarbone. The view outside was drastically depressing. A blanket of gray covered New York City, but wasn't instrumental in providing warmth. People sulked the streets in thick coats and hats and gloves. Red faces and chattering teeth, spilled hot chocolate cups, and sprints to the nearest place of warmth. He'd only assumed it was because the sun wasn't out, his sun wasn't out.

No longer did her rays brighten the world, provide warmth and growth to those around her. Instead, she'd been dimmed, tucked six feet under gravel and filth, unable to return. The thought alone made him sick to his stomach...again. Part of him felt bad for his nurses, having to clean up such a repetitive accident. He shrugged to himself and sniffed.

It'd been twelve hours and it felt like twelve years. Her face haunted him and he was sure it would haunt him forever. The striking blues that cried out when her mouth couldn't. The God-awful sound that emitted when her head cracked against the concrete. The blood that seeped from her button nose. He shook himself.

It was over and done with. She was dead, lifeless, and cold. He was alive, and he hated it. There was nothing to do about it now.

Somehow, he was thrust into a universe different than his own. There was no Gwen, no Uncle Ben, rather than an MJ and an Aunt May, who’d unfortunately lost her life.

He’d been asked by an…older sibling, he’d prefer to say, if there’d been a someone. He despised the flashbacks that clouded his visions. The striking blues that cried out when her mouth couldn't.

“You can try again…in due season. Whenever you’re ready or whenever the world senses you are.”

When he’d returned back to his universe by the hands of Doctor Strange, he attempted to have a more open and accepting attitude toward it all. He didn’t expect love to fall out of the air and into his lap, but he also didn’t expect it to come either. However, he struggled with it all.

All over again, everything reminded him of Gwen. From the blue skies that were dull in comparison to her eyes to the sunflowers that’d recently blossomed. They were her favorite.

Sunday mornings in New York were the ones he preferred. The streets were empty and the shops were bare. Most people spent time in their homes sleeping off the atrocities from the weekend and preparing for the upcoming week.

Peter took slow, deliberate steps toward the coffee shop around the corner from his apartment. With a book clutched in his palm, he pulled back the glass door and stepped inside.

The intense smell of caffeine swirled through his nostrils. He breathed in heavily and eyed his surroundings. The coffee shop was fairly empty, save for two baristas and a handful of customers; a young student cramming for an exam on the left side of the cafe, and an elderly couple splitting a pastry to his right. He found himself trying to smile and the view.

He ordered his usual—a black coffee with two creams and three sugars. Gwen told him his choice of black coffee by itself was "ungodly." He chuckled to himself at the memory.

Peter perched himself by a nearby window. The view of the wind blowing a garden of flowers just across the street was a view he'd appreciated. Much better than the horrors and terrors he'd witnessed over and over in the past.

In the other universe, MJ recommended a book to him. The Song of Achilles. She said it'd stroke the piece of him infatuated with mythology and magic. He found it in a local library and decided to spend his days diving into it. It was a fascinating story, he reveled. So addicting that he hadn't realized he'd managed to read half of the book in one sitting.

His coffee had lost its warmth and was only half drunken. Peter pushed his glasses further upon the bridge of his nose and turned the next page anxiously.

"That's a good book, very well worth the read."

Peter raised his head quickly, meeting the eyes of an unfamiliar individual. He lowered the book slowly. Before him was a woman he'd never seen before, but she was prettier than anything he'd seen before.

She was tall. He was sure they'd be eyelevel if he stood to his feet. She had a rich complexion that glistened beneath the winter sun. There were no long tresses of hair that flowed with the wind, rather than thick, dark coils that sat just below her chin. Thick eyebrows, doe-like brown eyes covered by almond shaped eyelids and full cheeks caressed by long lashes. Full lips, pretty full lips painted in brown gloss.

"Uh, yeah, i-it is," Peter stammered, ultimately in awe of the woman in front of him. "A friend suggested it."

"That friend has good taste. Mind if I sit?" He had no chance to respond before she pulled out one of the matte black chairs and sat. Peter whispered out an "of course" anyways.

"My name is MJ, by the way," she introduced. Peter's ears perked up and he looked at her with full blown eyes. MJ raised an eyebrow. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course. Sorry, I, uh, I have a friend named MJ, Michelle Jones."

"I bet she's dope, especially if she was the one who recommended that book. But, specifically, my name is Mariah Joy, preferably MJ."

"I'm Peter Parker."

MJ smiled and nodded. She had a beautiful smile, he noted, very pretty. "Nice to meet you, Peter Parker."

They spoke for hours, up until the little coffee shop closed for the evening. It was around five in the evening when they parted ways, the sun long gone and the moon replacing it as the provider of light.

"I haven't spoken to someone like that in a long time. You're a great conversationalist," Peter commented with a small chuckle. MJ laughed and nodded. That was true; she told him light details about her childhood, her college days, and the adventures she'd went on as child in exchange for hearing childhood stories about his parents and his love for science.

"I appreciate that. You are too, Parker."

A silence fell over them for a few moments before Peter spoke up. "It's getting dark, can I walk you to where you need to go?" MJ smiled softly and nodded, informing him her apartment was only five minutes away.

They walked together in silence, one that was comfortable. Their hands brushed against each other as they pittered down the cracked concrete sidewalk with minimal space between them. When they arrived at her building, Peter couldn't help but feel saddened that she had to go.

"Thank you for walking me, I appreciate it."

Peter waved her off and smiled shyly. "It's no problem. Thanks again for today, I needed it more than I'd like to admit."

"You and me both, Peter."

"Um," Peter cleared his throat. "I planned on going back tomorrow if you wanna maybe come with? Or meet there, whatever..."

"Are you asking me out, Peter Parker?"

A series of stammers and stutters came from him and MJ smiled like it was the most entertaining thing she'd ever witnessed, from the tint in his cheeks to his hardly being able to meet her eyes. "...yes."

"Pick me up at 12?" MJ pushed open the lobby door. Peter nodded fervently. "Great, see you then." She pressed a small kiss on his cheek and swiftly entered her building.

"See you then..." he replied breathlessly.

Quietly, those words rang through his ears, “You can try again…in due season. Whenever you’re ready or whenever the world senses you are.”

[liz-allyn]

love on the brain: sugar & vice, vol 2 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!OC]

summary: You didn’t think it was going to be easy, did you? AKA The night Peter and Honey reunited—Four. Months. Later. [mob!peter parker x oc!MJ] 

words: 11.8k (omfg)

NSFW/MINORS DNI - ABANDON ALL CHASTITY, YE WHO ENTER HERE (detailed warnings below)

extended warnings (spoilers): p^rn with plot, detailed smut, really just... filthy and deranged. slightly dubcon parts (although consent is clearly confirmed), no Y/N...ever, arguing, anger, jealousy, physical violence (slapping, scratching, throwing objects), almost hate sex, fem!reader with a vagina and breasts and wears a dress, oral (f! receiving), P in V, rough!dom Peter, sub!reader, possessive!peter, mirrors, titty!worship, shame and slight degradation, use of emojis, f! being restrained, discussion of masturbation, slight breeding kink, non-consensual voyeurism, moderate BDSM kink, “punishment” play (spanking, edging) bratty reader, peter parker being a dunce around women, mob!au, furniture harmed in the making of this

names used: daddy, princess, baby, babygirl

A/N: This is a one-shot standalone story that takes place immediately after the Epilogue of Vol 1. And serves as the official beginning of Vol. 2. If you haven’t read Vol.1, you really should. The main OC is AFAB and goes by the name “Honey.” You’ll need to read Vol. 1 to know why.  I try to be loose with my descriptions for people who prefer a Reader-Insert. But I’m not perfect. In this canon, Honey has a Latina heritage (as do I). Take that as you will. Thanks to @moonyslove78 and @blooming-violets for cheering me on through this very long hiatus. 

This is 18+ AF. And if you think the term ‘AF’ shows how old and out of touch you are, then you’re probably not old enough to read this.

This version of TASM Peter Parker is not canon. The relationships here are not healthy and the characters need therapy. Don’t date a mob boss IRL.

#1 - Love on the Brain

>>> heya boss. how’s your trip? 😜

Peter arched a brow as he peeked down at the text message.

>>> ⋯ >>> your trip to pound town? 🍆🍑 

He rolled his eyes, swallowing back an irritated snort.

Real mature, Felicia. 

He almost tapped out a haughty reply but stopped. Corners of his mouth turned down, he found himself unable to respond.

“So many choices. I just don’t know what I want.”

An understatement.

The girl of his dreams sat across from him in the quaint East Harlem Cuban restaurant. They were crammed together at a bistro table near the kitchen. The enormous menu took up the entire surface, and she had spent the last 25 minutes reading the items aloud. 

It was nearly 11 p.m., and they had yet to pick an appetizer. 

The woman he’d called ‘his Honey’ sweetly sighed with a shrug. “Now that we’re here, I just can’t make up my mind.” 

Her voice had a singsong tune to it, purposefully careless. Blissfully ignorant of the fact that Peter was starving.

“Maybe I’m just not feeling Cuban food tonight,” she shrugged, nonchalant.

Peter swallowed hard. Tried to rid his expression of any hint of impatience or irritation. 

“Oh,” he remarked delicately, thinking of all the different dinner reservations he’d made for tonight. It didn’t matter what magazine talked it up, didn’t matter how many “tire awards” it had won. 

Honey was unimpressed. 

“M’surprised,” he said, as emotionlessly as possible. “Thought you had your heart set on this place.”

The place was one of those hole-in-the-wall joints that had less than 10 tables, which made takeout the most popular choice. 

On this night however—a Tuesday— the restaurant was nearly empty, except for the overdressed couple and the loathsome kitchen staff, who didn’t expect to be subject to “este cabrón” and his picky girlfriend strolling in 30 minutes before closing. 

While Peter could feel the heat of their ire over the oven, Honey avoided it. She explained to the manager that Peter was “un ricacho que tiene demasiado dinero.” And with that, they were seated.

When Peter approached her earlier that afternoon in the park, he’d expected a much worse welcome. He nearly died of a panic attack when he spotted her on the park bench. It had been four long months since he’d attempted to communicate with her, and he half-expected her to throw her iced coffee in his face. 

Actually, he had no idea what to expect from her. Terrifyingly.

Peter had lamented to Felicia— “There’s no card that says, ‘Sorry, I ghosted you for a few months while attempting to shake the heat off my back.’ Which flowers say, ‘I apologize that the last conversation we had, I called you a whore in front of a room full of cops’?”

The true challenge came when Peter actually looked into her eyes. He didn’t expect that one look would render him useless. 

She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Ethereal. Glowing. The human equivalent of a bouquet of sunflowers, with happy round cheeks and her hair tied back in a ponytail. She was the color of rainbows, and summer, and sunshine. She was the cherries of her red lip stain and the golden rays of her yellow linen sundress.

God, that dress. 

Peter planned for everything—but not that dress. 

His carefully rehearsed speech went out the window when he saw her in that dress: a cotton ruched-waist, tea-length gown in a yellow gingham pattern. It featured a sweetheart neckline that cradled her breasts perfectly between the halter tie-back straps. 

He had no idea where that dress came from, but it was the most perfect piece of fabric ever to grace a woman’s body. He would buy her twelve more of them, no matter the cost. He’d buy every last one.

He’d give her the sun, the ocean, Hawai’i, and all the stars in the sky— if only she’d forgive him. He was ready to throw himself on a bed of hot coals as long as it meant that she would take him back. If she would come back home.

Truthfully, he needed her to come home.

Not to get ahead of himself, he started by taking her to dinner. 

That was Felicia’s advice—women love dinner. solves everything. the fancier, the better, with lots of red meat—u know how they say food is the way to a man’s heart? dinner is the way to the ovaries. works every time.

Actually, Felicia gave Peter lots of advice. For once, he was more than grateful to accept it. 

>>> make her feel like you can’t take your eyes off her. but don’t stare. like a creeper  >>> be a gentleman, but not a pushover. you wanna be the good guy. soft YA novel boyfriend type

Followed quickly by—

>>> but not too soft! don’t be a little bitch. if she plays hard to get, you play offense.  >>> and defense.

Peter had no idea what she was talking about. But he knew when it was wise to trust the advice of more intelligent creatures than men.

Five restaurants later...

“I thought going to dinner was your idea?” Honey asked with pursed lips.

“It was; it was my idea,” he nervously replied. “Six hours ago—it was my idea.”

She narrowed her eyes to slits. “Hmm. Six hours. Long time to wait.” Her eyes fell down to the menu again. Her lack-of-sympathy said everything.

Peter’s pocket buzzed again, and he glanced down at the incoming text message from Felicia.

>>> ...???? 

He rolled his eyes. Tapped out a response.

<<< Not great.

“Am I interrupting something?” Honey asked with a clipped tone.

Peter jumped, pocketing his phone immediately. “No, just... just something... silly,” he muttered. “How ‘bout we get a few plates in, yeah? I’m gonna just order some stuff—”

“Like what?” she questioned skeptically.

“I don’t know,” Peter shrugged, his stomach twisting. “One of everything.”

“That’s wasteful,” Honey said, judgment sharpening her gaze. “Food waste is bad enough as it is in this city.”

“Well, at this point,” he snapped with an exasperated sigh, “I might be able to eat two of everything.” The words floated away from him, and he bit the inside of his cheek, wishing they would come back. Hesitantly, he made eye contact with Honey.

She peered at him disgustedly from over the top of her menu. She scoffed, crossing one leg over the other, and dropped the leather-bound book closed. 

“Don’t let me slow you down,” Honey said icily. “I’m not that hungry anyway.”

Peter’s eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. His pocket buzzed again. 

>>> the fuck? what do you mean?  >>> she was in love with you b4... how hard can it be to take her on a date?  >>> christ. did you fuck this up, parker?

He shoved the phone back in his jacket, nearly punching through the silk fabric. 

“If I’m wasting your time, tell me,” Honey sharply retorted. She crossed her arms even tighter across her chest. He had to force himself to look away from the way it plumped her breasts together. “I’d hate to keep you from something important.”

Felicia was right. He was fucking this up. Before he could open his mouth—

“Excuse me, señorita,” a masculine, smoky voice crooned at them. 

Peter and Honey glanced up to see a chiseled man in his 30s approach the table with a hurricane glass of ice. He was a specimen of Latin American art—a bronzed statue, with carved muscles that bulged out of his floral shirt. Deep brown eyes—no, hazel eyes— fixed on Honey as he reached across the table with rolled-back sleeves. The corded muscles in his arm, toned by long hours of hard labor, flexed gracefully as he gently set a cocktail in front of her. 

A frosted, colorless liquid speckled with crushed mint leaves filled the glass. Honey blinked with delighted surprise.

“Our compliments,” the young, disgustingly attractive waiter explained with a sultry smile and a thick accent. “In case you found yourself thirsty while browsing the menu.” 

A blush colored her skin as she glanced up at their handsome waiter. The sparkle in her smile was as blinding as ever, and she graciously looked back between the glass and the server.  The waiter— no way in hell this fuckin’ guy is a waiter— beamed back at her, enamored. 

“Oh, wow!” she gasped, reaching for the glass with dainty fingers. “Is this a mojito? That’s my favorite! How did you know?”

The waiter graciously chuckled. “Lucky guess. You look like a woman of refined taste.”

Peter felt his blood pressure rising.

Honey didn’t even look at her date, as if he was suddenly invisible. “Thank you,” she grinned, self-satisfied. “I mean, I do know my way around a Bacardi bottle.” The waiter chuckled, maybe too hard, at her silly joke.

“We want you to enjoy your evening with us,” the waiter added politely, sparing Peter a glance but keeping all his attention on Honey. “We are honored to have you as our guest.” 

The waiter spoke gentlemanly as he splayed his long fingers across his chest. “Please, take as much time as you need. No need to feel rushed. It is my pleasure to serve you.” 

Peter could feel a twitch behind his eye. Could have been the fire shooting out of his eyes. Fuck this prick, probably another Broadway reject or somethin’, couldn’t buy himself a decent shirt—His mind churned along with his anger.

Oblivious, Honey beamed up at him with a golden smile. “Thank you so much for saying that,” she replied, endearingly sweet. “You are too kind, um... I’m sorry, what was your name again?” 

“Pedro.”

Honey’s brows shot to her hairline. “Pedro?” she repeated, absolutely delighted. She glanced over at Peter. “Isn’t that something?”

The mob boss’ lip curled mirthlessly. “Oh, it’s somethin,’ alright.” 

Peter continued to burn his stare—fuck his stupid accent— into the side of the aloof waiter’s head. He wondered if Pedro’s handsome, chiseled jawline was sharp enough to cut through a noose.

Buzz..

>>> you’re keepin’ your cool, right?  >>> remember what i said.  >>> anything she wants. no questions asked! >>> don’t get all crazy possessive either

The joyful sound of her laughter ripped his attention away from his phone and back towards his charmed date. 

“Pedro,” she sweetly preened. “Can you give us a recommendation?” She briefly flashed her eyes at Peter before looking back at her new friend. “My date’s clearly distracted. He has no idea what I like.” 

Oh? Peter raised a brow at that. And lost his appetite.

Peter followed Honey down the hallway to his hotel suite while storm clouds swirled in his gut. Lighting crackled with each footfall. Tension clogged the atmosphere, and they shuffled in a silent fog to the door.

Despite Felicia’s advice about controlling his inner beasts, Peter’s hackles were raised, and his stomach growled. Now, he was hungry for more than just food. And simultaneously, he’d never felt so powerless. 

Peter noted how tightly she wrapped her arms around herself. Her face suggested she was deep in thought. He wondered if she was just as tightly wound as he was. Wondered if she could break his heart with just a look.

He was flailing. Pathetic.

Peter’s fist clenched his keycard tight. He had to be careful not to snap the card in half between his fingers. Was it from excitement or terror? Desire or rage? 

He had to focus, to make this work. He had nothing if he didn’t have her. 

Rigidly, Peter pushed the door open and stood to the side of the frame to let her enter. 

She paused briefly, lips tight, as she gazed into the rotunda entryway of the lavish suite. They hadn’t spoken in the car, and he hadn’t had the chance to explain the location. 

Letting out a steady breath, she strode through the threshold and stopped. Her body blocked the doorway. She turned to look up at Peter, defiant eyes flashing.

“This is as far as you go.” 

Peter blinked, looking at her in confusion.

Her tone was curt. Icy. He recognized that sound. It was the tone of voice she used when she wanted to draw blood, and it never failed to inflict pain. Her voice. Her eyes. Even her tongue was razor-sharp.

Peter curled a brow upwards. “Sorry?” 

Honey narrowed her eyes. “Not yet, you’re not.” 

He took a step back, blinking owlishly. 

“What did you think was going to happen tonight, Peter?” The ire of Honey’s question sliced through him. “Did you think you were gonna shave your face, take me to a fancy dinner, and then I’d just... open my legs for you?”

A literal ellipsis formed in his mind. 

Peter swallowed hard. “Uhhh—?”

“‘I’ll wait for forever, Honey,’ she parroted his earlier admission mockingly. “Is that all you have to say to me? You left me! For four months!”

Peter nodded his head, not sure exactly why or when he began. “I know, I know...”

“You know!?”

The walls of etiquette and politeness between them began to crack.

“How many times I gotta tell ya? I was tryin’ to protect ya, Honey—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

It stung like a snake bite. Rage filled her eyes, disdain bubbling out of her mouth. She had only just begun. 

“You buy me all this expensive bullshit!” she scolded. “And you dress up in your ridiculous designer suits and parade me to all these fucking pretentious places! Like I’m some kind of accessory! Like you own the whole fucking city and everyone in it!”

He replied with a string of noises. Or, at least, he thought so.

“Big bad mob boss—all that power—and yet, you couldn’t just talk to me? You had me wait around for you like a stray dog! You can just come and go as you please, but you—you expect me to follow you around on a leash?”

“Honey, please. Let me explain—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Peter!” her voice echoed through the rotunda and down the hall of the hotel. “I don’t want to hear a single one of your lame excuses! I don’t want a fancy dinner, or a new Porsche, or a mansion, or whatever else makes your dick hard!”

Peter blinked rapidly, stunned. His body responded as if she had just kicked him in the place she referenced, “Jus’lemme—”

“And I sure as hell don’t want another apology!” she asserted definitively. “I don’t want you anywhere near me!” 

Peter’s jaw hung open, tongue dead in his mouth. The woman who barely stood at his collarbone stared down at him, making him feel inches tall. 

“Now, I’m going to bed. Exactly as I have been for the last four months.” Her voice thundered, “Alone!”

With that, the door slammed in his face, rattling inches from his nose. The echo reverberated through the empty hallway and inside his chest, emphasizing the deep crack that formed.

Peter let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. The shock subsided slowly, and his heart sank. The ache soon sizzled into a burn, boiling his blood. At the same time, the sting of her rejection was raw. Unbearable.

Unbelievable.

Absolutely unacceptable. 

He should break down the fucking door. Throw her over his shoulder and tie her up. Gag her—Anything to get her to listen.

Haplessly, Peter’s eyes fell on his expensive shoes—his Valentinos. Or maybe these were the Tom Ford’s? He had no clue. Just more bullshit.

Fuck—He was going to cry. Maybe he should let himself just do it. Lean into it. Drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness. Shoulders slumped, he squeezed his eyes closed. 

He was a little bitch.

Peter pictured a door closing on a rocket or an airplane. Whatever it was, it was leaving him behind. He was falling back to Earth, having placed too much faith in miracles. This was his punishment for flying that close to the sun—

The door swung open. 

Two hands grabbed Peter’s jacket, pulling him forward off his heels. It was a surprisingly fluid motion; his heartbreak had reduced the mass of his bones to nothing. 

Honey’s nails practically pierced his lapels. She yanked him through the doorway into the suite, slamming the door behind him, and slamming him into the door right after.

Before Peter could open his mouth to speak, she was on him like a viper.

A sharp, biting kiss swallowed him whole, stealing the oxygen from his lungs. The heat was as intense as he had remembered. This time, they didn’t melt into one another. Honey was like a wildfire, her touch scalding him. 

His skin flushed from the sudden unbearable heat. Before he could react, her lithe fingers started tugging the edges of his jacket. Clumsily, she tried pushing it back over his broad shoulders. As soon as he knew of her intent, he eagerly obliged, shrugging the garment off and to the floor. 

Her hands went to his throat, ebony-painted nails leaving trails on his skin. Buttons popped as she yanked on his clothes. Her goal could have been to draw blood with her kiss.

Every time her teeth tore at his lips, he responded with a groan into her mouth.

Clumsy, he fumbled with his fingers—reaching up to grip her by the hair. Finally, he wrenched her head back, detaching her bite from his face.

Immediately, he was met with an open-palmed slap on the cheek.

Sharp gasps cut through them, and they jumped backward a few feet. Tension and shock reverberated in the chasm they created. Like the barometric pressure plunging before a storm, an eerie calm settled over them. 

Honey blinked at him, jaw agape and her palm throbbing. 

Peter glared at her in silence. He looked a mess—hair unkempt, the top buttons of his shirt torn open to reveal jagged crimson scratch marks across his milky skin.

His heartbeat steadily increased as he gently dabbed his fingertips at the ache in his jaw. The exquisite lines of his face were stained pastel pink, flushed by arousal or anger. His eyes were black as night, so it could have been either one.

She looked just as wrecked. Dress askew, her hairstyle half-unraveled. Goosebumps dotted her skin. She looked shocked at the violence she was capable of, surprised and possibly guilty at her own strength. As the seconds passed, the feelings faded.

Peter watched her, pupils dilating, blood pressure rising. The shadow of a smile curved his mouth. His features darkened into something primal. Something familiar.

There’s my girl.

Slowly, he lowered his hand, studying her threatening look until his own expression began to match.

Physically, his senses were haywire. Danger, excitement, and a sick sort of pleasure rattled his bones and labored his breathing. The hairs on his skin stood on end. Alarms blared in his head. The sound of his own blood was almost deafening to him, thumping like a kick drum. 

Peter could hear her heart, too. Fast. Like a rabbit. He was a wolf in pursuit. 

Maybe the pain of her slap triggered him, a preemptive action against further attack.

She got one in, Peter mused mockingly. He knew she was no match. Not as Peter’s night vision sharpened. Not while he could taste the salt from her perspiration on his tongue. Most intoxicating of all, Peter could smell her desire. Like a rose bursting open.

In another blink, they switched positions. Peter snatched her by her shoulders and slammed her back into the wall, pinning her there. She went feral—hissing and raging at her entrapment.

Not a rabbit. A honey badger, then.

“Get off of me!” Honey spat.

“Shut up,” he ordered. Quiet and fierce.

Fingers gripping her forearms tight, he attacked her lips, teeth colliding. The ferocity stunned her. For a moment, it seemed like she finally submitted to him before she wriggled her mouth free.

“Mmffucker—Let me go!”

His body might as well have been a brick wall. His face was stonelike, eyes just as cold. 

“No.” 

Honey’s brow scrunched up like a petulant child throwing a tantrum. “I’ll scream!” she countered.

Peter smirked, the hickory in his eyes igniting. “Baby. You have no idea.”

Peter’s guarantee sent a shiver down Honey’s spine. He saw the gears turning in her mind as she carefully considered pushing him further. 

He hoped she would. 

His fingers tightened around her forearms. He crucified her under his gaze. And yet, despite the danger anyone else would have felt... A glimmer of curiosity flickered in her eyes.

It set his mind reeling. A tiny sign of weakness to temptation made Peter’s stomach trapeze. He zeroed in on it, licking his chops. 

Not to make it easy, Honey brought her knee up, attempting to make contact with his groin. There was nearly a foot of difference between their heights, and she paid it no mind.

Brave girl. 

Peter admired her tenacity. She had balls. Smart, too, he pleasantly recognized. Honey went for the weak spot first. Good call. 

Pointless, though. 

Nothing below Peter’s belt was weak when she was around.

Unfairly, Peter picked up on her attack before her leg was even bent. He snatched her above the knee, lifting her toes off the ground and prying her thighs open. 

He pictured the bruises on her skin that his fingertips would leave behind. Just the thought made him rock hard. 

A year ago, Peter would have been ashamed. He would have shied away from her, for fear of repulsing her, and took out his frustration by himself in the shower. 

Grinding his teeth at those memories, he pressed Honey’s hips into his waist, forcing her legs around him, and—Fuck—her heat.

Peter’s brain nearly short-circuited. She was like a bonfire against his belly. His cock pushed against his trousers, straining for her warmth. He secured her hips to his with a tight grip, which only pissed her off more. She thrashed, enraged. 

She really needed to stop doing that. It only made the burn worse. 

A few months ago, Peter would have been ashamed of the rush he felt from manhandling her. Ashamed of how his cock ached and twitched at her fruitless tantrums.

“Fucking asshole!” Honey sneered.

“Yeah?” he said with a bitter laugh. “You're a spoiled little brat!”

“Fuck you!”

“See what I mean?” Peter scoffed, holding her tighter. He breathed hotly into the shell of her ear. “Not even a ‘please.’” 

His pride was short-lived. Inexplicably, Honey arched her neck and buried her teeth into his shoulder. He roared—“Fuck! What the fuck!!??” —surprised she didn’t bite through the silk of his collared shirt.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only beast in the room.

They tumbled down ungracefully. Peter landed hard on his back, with Honey crashing on top of him. She collapsed on his lungs, knocking the wind from his chest. Sputtering, he reached out to grab her, his fingertips barely missing the hem of her dress. The small woman scrambled to her hands and knees, then to her feet. 

Honey dashed into the suite while Peter’s voice echoed—“Goddamnitareyacrazy!?”—after her. 

Padding on her toes, she ran into a darkened living room with vaulted ceilings that might have been large enough to fit her entire apartment. Outside glass walls, the Midtown skyline surrounded her. The Metlife and Empire State Buildings glittered proudly in a breathtaking view.

The room was situated in the corner of the building. Velvet curtains framed the floor-to-ceiling windows, providing an unobstructed view of the city. The Dark Academia-Meets-Glam aesthetic seating area featured a sleek, modern leather sectional and mod velvet chaise lounge chat set. 

Without time to admire any of it, she scrambled to the first piece of furniture she could reach. She grabbed the first thing her fingers could find—a designer fruit bowl centerpiece made of polished stainless steel and brass pomegranates. 

It was exquisite and expensive. 

Honey spun on her heel and flung the heavy metal at Peter.

He dipped deftly, his spine bowing back, narrowly missing the bowl as it whipped past him. The object barreled through a crystal chandelier, glass shattering like raindrops as they came down.

“Hey—!” he scowled, facing her with an indignant glare.

A moment later, he quickly shielded his face from another flying object: an asymmetrical crystal-and-Riverstone candelabra that crumbled against his forearm. It might as well have been a brick, with ceramic shards tumbling off of his shoulder. 

Peter bristled in aggravation, brushing the pieces off. Now, she was really pissing him off.

He glanced up just in time to see a glass vase containing two dozen roses—meant to be her gift—hurtling towards his head. Reflexively, he snatched it from the air with one hand, water and all. He palmed the crystal vase like catching a baseball. Didn’t spill a drop. 

His quick reflexes stunned the both of them. Peter’s jaw went slack—partially at his ability to save the flowers, but mostly with indignation that Honey had somehow destroyed $1,000 worth of the hotel’s tchotchkes in a few seconds. 

“Enough!” Peter barked, carefully setting the vase down. Ignoring him, the woman darted toward another side table, already reaching for another expensive object to throw at him. 

Suddenly, Honey’s ankle was caught in a sticky grip. Both legs pulled out from beneath her. She flattened immediately with an ooof—her belly dropping to the wool carpet. 

Dazed, she glanced back at her legs with a crease in her brow. With a jolt, she was pulled along by a stringy, spongy substance on her ankle. It felt the way canned compressed air feels when shooting skin at close range. 

Her nails dug into the carpet fibers as she was dragged back. “Agghhh! What the—Getitoff!” 

As soon as the pulling stopped, Honey was on her back again, gazing up at the sharp lines of Peter’s cold gaze. He towered over her, even on his knees, as he mounted her hips. Protesting, she pelted him tirelessly with her fists.

The smell of sweat loomed in the air as he finally restrained her. He caged her in, pinning her wrists to the floor. Nerves buzzing and tempers flaring, she continued to writhe and wrestle with him to no avail. Peter quickly overpowered the more petite woman, fomenting her anger. 

“You’re hurting me!” she sneered breathlessly, teeth gritted. 

Peter was unimpressed. “Liar.”

“M’not lying—!”

He glared back, barely breaking a sweat. “You’re so full of shit—!”

“Fuck you! What do you know—?”

“I know you, Honey!” he charged, silencing her. 

She went still, subdued beneath his dark gaze. Peter loomed over her like a stormcloud. “I know the games you like to play,” he said—both teasing and sinister, toying with his prey. He lowered his lips until they breathed the same air. 

Honey’s focus was split between Peter’s intense stare and glistening, kiss-ravaged mouth. She tried not to notice the sensation of her nipples brushing against the fabric with each labored breath. He could easily reach down and touch her. Tried not to focus on how solid his chest felt against hers, like carved marble. Tried not to focus on the dark chocolate of his eyes melting in the heat of their gaze. 

Just as intensely, Peter watched her watch him—zeroing in on the idle way her tongue darted to wet her lips. The tiny action shot electricity down his spine, straight to his groin. 

Honey felt that, too. A tiny gasp escaped her, her lashes fluttering. The fight suddenly left her arms as she noticed the heavy bulge against her hip. 

He was hot. Not just figuratively. Feverishly hot. He was so hard, too—and just for her. The lewd image of him splitting her open on his cock made her insides clench. 

Peter eyed her dangerously, his voice a dark abyss. “Think you can hide it from me, eh?” The teasing smile on his lips bordered on a snarl. “Gonna sit here an’tell me... that if I were to reach down between your legs right now...” Her heart hammered in her chest, hanging on every word. In her mind, she was begging him to follow through with the threat. “...Those panties won’t be soaked?” 

Honey failed to swallow back a little mewl as he leaned down closer.

“Ya think I can’t feel ya, huh?” he mumbled, lips ghosting the curve of her throat. “Think I can’t smell how wet you are right now?” Another wanton exhale left her belly as she leaned into the heat of his breath on her skin. “Y’know I can already taste you on my tongue, babygirl.”

Honey’s mouth and legs seemed to part further at his vulgar words. She shivered at the sensation of his slick tongue traversing her pulse point.

“You’re... an asshole...” she murmured breathlessly. She sounded half-asleep.

Peter hissed, “And you’re a needy little slut, aren't’cha?” 

The sudden ferocity made her eyes unintentionally roll back. A second later, Peter’s fingers collared her, choking off the small mewl in her throat. He turned her by the chin, wrenching her attention to him. 

“Hey—Eyes on me,” he commanded.

Mesmerized, Honey blinked up at him like a fawn.

“How ‘bout that little stunt you pulled with the waiter?” he prodded. There was an icy edge on the last word. Her throat bobbed while she kept her face neutral. The bright amber of his glare penetrated her. Peter continued accusatorily, “Those flirty little giggles while he gave ya fuck-me eyes? Y’think I didn’t see that?”

Honey sniffed, stiffening her upper lip. This was a power move; she knew better than to back down. “Look who's jealous,” she scoffed. 

With a jolt, she again attempted to wrench her wrists free. He simply held on tighter, closing his talons as she twisted like a snake.

“Jealous?” Peter repeated calmly, narrowing his eyes into slits. “Me? Nah.” His hands suddenly seized her hips as he forcibly jerked her up off the floor. A slew of profanities spilled from her mouth, bucking against him as he carried her.

In a few strides, he was at the edge of a dining table. With little regard for his barbarity, he plopped Honey on the surface, shoving her flat on her back. Peter arched over her as if to dominate her, spine bowing until he filled her periphery with his fierce gaze. 

Honey’s eyes sparkled, cheeks colored from the rush. “Threatened, then!”

Peter’s face softened inexplicably. Blinked at her for a moment, head tilting. Then, he landed an open-palmed smack against her ass. 

It was a surprisingly heavy blow, as close as he’d ever come to intentionally inflicting pain on her. Honey yelped, hissing from the sting on her upper thigh. Right after the strike, Peter’s fingers began kneading her flesh, soothing the welt that was bound to form.

“See, if I were a jealous man,” he noted with an evil sneer, “I woulda gouged his eyes out with a salad fork.” 

Peter swallowed up her gasp with a forceful kiss. A few moments later, he broke away.

“If I felt threatened?” he added breathlessly, “I woulda bent you over the table and fucked you dumb. Let everyone in the Five Boroughs hear you beg for my cock.”

Once the filth rolled off his tongue, Peter went back to using it to lash against hers. Honey was overwhelmed by the soft, wet muscle invading her mouth. Not only that, the violent edge to his words felt like standing in a river and grabbing a livewire. A shiver racked through her body, a current of pent-up anger and desire sending blood rushing to her core.

As if on cue, Peter’s fingertips made contact with the lace fabric between her thighs. She tremored at his touch, heart skipping. He toyed with the soft, stretchy material. Snapped it lazily against her flesh.

His voice was hypnotizing. “I woulda shoved these dirty panties down his throat just to never hear his stupid fuckin’ accent again.”

Honey felt drunk off of the vitriol he poured into her ear. It was violent and possessive... and it shouldn’t have made her so horny, and yet—

Honey trembled with anticipation, panting like a bitch in heat. “I-I... can’t... ugh, fu—” 

The pads of his fingers ran firmly along her seam. She let out an embarrassing whine. Peter's prediction was spot-on. A shameful amount of wetness coated the inside of her thighs. He played with the soaked fabric and smeared her mess across her skin with a smug smirk.  

“Think I don’t know what you like?” he muttered darkly, echoing her earlier jab. 

RIP!

The lace bunched at her waist. Honey’s wet skin felt particularly chilled being exposed to the air. She quivered with anticipation. Her head was spinning, pussy throbbing. She felt worshiped and simultaneously defiled. 

Peter pressed his forehead into hers, skin-to-skin. She stared into the black of his eyes in suspended silence, like the pornographic thoughts in his head were being projected into her mind.

Her own pupils were blown black. “Fuckin’ hate you so much—”

“I don’t care.”

“—re’such an asshole—”

“I don’t care,” he repeated more firmly. Then, “You belong with me.”

“You left me!” she fired back.

The sharpness of her tone sobered him a little. He blinked and sighed. “I couldn’t leave you. I didn’t leave you.”

She attempted to sit up, trying to lift her shoulders unsuccessfully. She writhed with spite, “Fuckin’ selfish prick, I outta cut off—”

“What was my drink order?”

He blurted the last sentence out with a mind-blowing level of calm. At once, their bodies went still. Still pinned to the table with a hummingbird beneath her breast, Honey stared up at him in confusion. 

Her brows pinched together. “Huh—?”

“My drink order,” Peter repeated, his expression void of the aggression he had the previous moment. 

It was like a mask had fallen away, and the man on top of her transformed into a different person. Maliciousness evaporated, replaced by eagerness. Desperation. 

Peter stared at her, intently searching her gaze. “At the shop,” he whispered, eyes soft. “What you used to make for me every time I came t’see you..?” The words fell away as he stared at her expectantly. 

She arched a brow. 

It had been black coffee, bitter and dark. Just like Peter’s entire world. How it had always been. Until—

“You said I should try something new,” he added, with urgency like reminding her of a forgotten dream. “So you made something for me—something... special.”

Peter’s heart swelled through his eyes at the last word. Honey stared up at him, perplexed. He was looking for the answer on the tip of her tongue:

Honey and Lavender. 

Confusion ceded to aggravation. A line formed between Honey’s brows.

“You remember, right?” he asked, hopeful.

She did. He knew she did. He could see it at the corners of her eyes, pooling behind her eyelids. Sobering memories flooded her, cooling the heat between them. A different sort of ache settled in.

Reluctantly, she nodded.

He took a breath, relieved but still anxious. “Say those words,” he said, “if you really want me to stop.”

Her damp lashes fluttered as Honey blinked up at him in surprise. Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, he swallowed dryly. His stomach lurched at the thought of being sent away like this. 

Still, it was a risk he had to take. 

“I can let go, walk away,” he offered tenderly. “Right now. No questions asked.” Each word felt like sticking needles through his tongue. He gave her an out, needing confirmation that her reciprocated lust wasn’t imagined. 

“Say the words,” Peter whispered in lament, “and I’ll leave you alone.”

That word settled like a boulder crushing his chest.

Despite Peter’s heart telling him her rejection would be unbearable, the thought of truly harming her was more so. 

Honey studied him with thoughtful eyes, contemplative and curious. He had won. He subdued her. Restrained her. She remembered when he threw a piano like a toddler throwing a toy truck. 

She could do little to stop him if he wanted to force her. And yet—

There he is. 

This was the man she remembered. The one that was ready to die for her. To die by her hand, if that’s what she wanted. 

“Two words,” Peter sighed, his nose brushing against hers. It was a sweetly affectionate gesture. “Say the words, and this can end right n—”

Honey captured his lips, stealing his breath like it was her only source of oxygen. Static filled Peter’s ears, his body tensing and relaxing simultaneously. He was soaring and plummeting. Rising and falling. 

Her tongue slipped past his lips, dragging along the pad of his mouth. Soon enough, the sweetness melted off in their flames. 

Honey pulled her mouth away, barely able to get out her plea. “Touch me, Peter. Make me feel it.”

And she dove right back in. This time, Peter plunged with her, deep beneath the waves of lust. He sank into her current, dragging her with the tide of desire.

Peter’s hands were frantic travelers. Flitting from her wrists to her shoulders. To gently cup her face. To smooth over the mounds of her breasts. To dig his fingers into the linen fabric of the sweetheart neckline.

“Love this dress,” he idly mumbled between kisses, abusing the neckline. “Mmm—where’d ya say ya got it?”

“Oh…uhm—?”

The question caught her off guard. She blushed, brain foggy with lust. Her instinct was to say something like ‘thank you,’ but her tongue fumbled the words. “Uh... it was, I think, Old Navy—?”

A ripping sound shocked her. She squeaked as a flurry of cotton fibers burst from the top of the dress. 

Peter yanked the linen bodice apart like tissue paper, his tongue chasing away any protest from her lips. Gooseflesh broke out as her skin was exposed to the air. Driven by lust, he shoved the ruined material down to her waist. 

“Fuck, Peter...” she gasped, scandalized.

“Sorry,” he muttered, not sorry.

It was his turn to be greedy. Peter dug his hands beneath the cups of her bra, toying with the peaks of her breasts. 

With a snap, the bra was torn in half. The strength in Peter’s long fingers stunned her. Puzzling her as much as it turned her on.

He laved at her left breast with his tongue, drawing an obscene moan from her. His hand pinched sadistically at her right nipple. The delectable sting traveled from her chest to her cunt. She arched—”ughhh, god”—her spine bowing beautifully.

He held the cleft of her left breast delicately in his hand while lapping at the ridges of her peaked flesh. Warm tongue caressed the tip, drawing shapes and discovering pathways to her pleasure. Every little flick inspired something new. She cooed and twitched beneath him. He was desperate to memorize her taste. 

Languidly, he massaged each of her tits inside his mouth, his cock aching as he imagined licking her pussy with the same fervor. It was almost unbearable. A strangled moan vibrated through his chest at the picture in his mind. 

Her reaction to the sound came out as an agonized mewl. 

Oh.

He needed more of that sound.

Peter felt her push on his shoulders. Trying to wriggle away from his mouth. 

This time, he had no tolerance for misbehavior. He grabbed both wrists and forced them above her head. Honey yanked back, stunned at being glued down to the table surface by his palms. 

The peach of his pouty lips curved upward as his eyes took a turn ravishing her. She was a sight of wicked debauchery. Her hair was a mess, and her nearly-naked body lay across the table like a feast. Her thighs locked around his hips.

He used one hand to rub circles into the delicate skin of her restrained forearms. The other hand mischievously dipped lower and lower, sliding through her wet heat. Calloused, dexterous fingers spread her lips open, playing in her slick and prodding her tight hole. 

Honey was finished. Ruined. Past the point of no return. Unconditionally surrendered. Helpless and eager to subjugate herself to her conqueror. Filthy sounds filled the room, punctuated by weak cries from his new loyal subject.

“So pretty,” he sighed breathlessly as he coated his fingers in her cream. “All this for me, princess?” He cooed at her, edging on cruel.

A broken gasp fell from her lips, her chest pulsing involuntarily. 

“Aww, what’s the matter? Does this little pretty pussy ache, baby?”

A vortex formed deep in her belly, dragging her in. He licked his dry lips, salivating at the image.

“I know it hurts, baby, I know. I know,” he teased. “It’s been hard playin’ all by yourself, huh?” The sunniness of his voice was eclipsed. “All alone. Screamin’ out my name into your pillow. Fingers buried deep in your wet cunt.”

Honey’s eyes snapped open. Before she could respond, the breadth of his middle fingertip penetrated her. She gasped as his finger speared her open. All the while, he wore a devil’s smile.

“Ain’t that right? Only for me.” Entranced, he watched her every twitch and shudder. “This pussy belongs to me, doesn’t it?”

It was a question feigning the need for her confirmation. She couldn't answer. Couldn't breathe. 

No, that can’t be right—had he been watching her masturbate in her apartment? Was he watching her the entire time he was gone? 

The possibility enraged her. Ten orgasms from the King of New York’s Underworld couldn’t even quell that fire.

Peter smiled wickedly, playing with her pussy. Taking his time toying with her flesh. He was a tyrant-king, dominating her pleasure. With a calloused hand, he held onto her cunt like it belonged there.

But she was his wild colt. Difficult to break.

“Oh-n—ohh god,” she gasped. Unbeknownst to him, an evil plot bloomed in her brain. Her lips curled into a smile.

“Fuck—gah—ohhhhh…”

He licked up each broken syllable.

“Yes! Oh, god, yes! Oh—” 

Sweat beaded on her chest, sin oozing through her pores.

“...Pedro.”

Halt.

Brakes squealing. Full stop. Not only in the physical world between them but also in Peter’s living fantasy.

Mischievously, Honey’s grin widened. 

She got him, alright. 

Flawless victory.

Dark eyes flashing, Peter withdrew his fingers from her. “Fuckin’ brat…”

In one fluid motion, Peter flipped her over to her belly, stunning her. He followed with another forceful slap to her ass cheek. This one was more punishing than the last, drawing a puppy-like yelp. His voice was ice. Eyes black. 

Now, she was in trouble.

“Think that’s funny?” he said through gritted teeth.

Peter manipulated her limbs like a rag doll. He maneuvered her forward until her cheekbone pressed against the table. She panicked for a moment at being in such a compromising position. 

The chill of the air across her wet pussy made her shiver. At the same time, she clenched at his roughness.

Peter kneaded her sides, pressing fingerprint bruises on her waist. He yanked her hips towards him until her knees were on the table’s edge. Honey’s face burned, stricken with modesty and flustered by how he hoisted her ass in the air. 

Her hips were propped up like a rack of lamb, and he licked his lips at the sight. It was too vulnerable, being bared to him like this. Obscene, on display, inches from his face. 

For a half second, she considered using the safe words. 

She squirmed uncomfortably while her mess dripped down the inside of her thighs. Peter denied any attempt to escape, eventually gathering her limbs and pulling her hands behind her back. 

Short puffs of breath fogged the glass surface of the table. Her heart pounded beneath her. Honey had only witnessed this side of him a few times—and never directed toward her. 

She was in trouble. But was she in danger?

The buckle of his belt clinked as it came free. Honey quivered at the sound, pussy aching in anticipation.

And if she was in danger, why did that make her wet?

“Pete—” Honey muttered, a scream bubbling at the back of her throat. Leather nipped at her forearms as he used his belt to tie her hands behind her back. 

“Ple-please—“

He fisted her hair, rearing her head back. Her neck arched beautifully, her chin dangling above the table surface.

“Listen to me, princess,” Peter snarled, hot in her ear. Spite peppered his tone. “If you ever call out another man’s name when I’m inside ya again— I’ll make ya wear nothin’ but my cum for the next week.” 

The savage tone contrasted with the glow of his eyes. 

It was always opposites with him.

This was the same man who coddled and worshiped her. The same one who kidnapped her, drugged her, blindfolded her, and gagged her. 

He forced her, a willing participant, into his bed—by asking her permission. 

Peter was more than capable of keeping her chained to his bedpost if he wanted it. 

Or… if she wanted it.

Peter snickered at her expression. “Ooh, yeah… Betchu’d like that, huh?” He taunted her like she was broadcasting her dirty thoughts. “Such a needy little slut for me, ain't that right?” 

Honey felt his warmth leave her back, like being plunged into the Hudson in winter. His hands reappeared at the back of her thighs, and her first instinct was to try to close her legs. 

That was a mistake and an impossible endeavor. 

He split her thighs like opening a book. Grinned at the sight as if he stumbled across gold.

“Fuck, babygirl, you’re soaked. Just talkin’ about it and look at the mess you made…”

Embarrassment and want ravaged her. The conflicting experiences had her ovaries twisted into knots. Honey bit her tongue, unsure if she was going to scream or moan. 

Instead, it came out like a pathetic mewl. “Pe-Peter, please—”

Then he open-palm-smacked her cunt, fingers landing directly on her labia. 

The wet sound it made was humiliating, and the sensation triggered all of the reactions above. She squealed at the sting on her folds. This was a delectable torture. For Peter, it was an appetizing sight. 

“Ya like that?” he grinned over the sound of her whimpers. He already knew the answer.

Another slap to her cunt made her whole body shake. 

“Like bein’ my kept girl? Tryin’ so hard to get my attention. Drivin’ me nuts. Well, you got it now, Honey.” 

Slap. 

A third strike had her pussy clenching. Honey had never experienced such an erotic rush before. She shuddered with embarrassment, afraid she’d cum from this—

Slap! Slap! Slap!

Honey gasped for air, a scream breaking through her voice. She was drowning in sick pleasure, tears in her eyes.

The mob boss gripped her thighs again, pulling her knees off the table and lifting up the weight of her lower half. The action was as easy as lifting a sheet of paper. 

God, his strength was impossible. She struggled to comprehend it while picturing herself being broken apart by it. A slew of tiny pleas fell from her lips. She didn’t even know what she was begging for—his mercy or punishment.

“Shh, shh, babygirl,” he purred with a candy voice. Brought his lips to where she was split, equal parts seductive and sinister. “Be still for me. I gotcha.” He wore a Cheshire grin. “Lemme kiss it better.” 

Slowly, he licked a line from her clit to the entrance of her cunt. She shuddered, followed by a lewd wail. She bucked her hips as he let the tip of his tongue toy with her. 

“Mmmf—so fuckin’ sweet,” Peter mumbled between languid strokes around her vaginal gate. His grip was inescapable. “Can’t help myself, s-sooo hungry…”

Honey felt an evil smile against her skin before his mouth went back to work on her. Tiny, stinging nips and kitten licks tormented her flesh. With her hips locked in place, he lashed her clit with his tongue.

Honey squirmed against the leather belt, her nails digging into the grain. She wanted to be bound like this forever. 

Peter had no intention of letting her go any time soon. 

With her thighs spread open, he dragged her toward the edge of her ecstasy. As soon as he felt her body begin to shake, he pulled away. The punishment ended with another smack to her swollen clit.

Honey cried out in frustration at having her release snatched away. 

Oh, yes—He was weak for that sound.

“What’s’a matter, baby?” he smirked with a dark chuckle. This was becoming his favorite pastime. “You mad now that you’re not the only one who can play games?”

“Gahh—Peter… fuck, plea—don’t tease—!”

Peter’s fingers slipped inside with a squelch, shutting her up. Simultaneously, he lapped at her juices while massaging her walls. Soon, he settled into an unbreakable focus.

Each kiss to her nether lips sizzled with passion. Fueled by devotion usually only reserved for a wedding day. 

“—mmmm, tastes so pretty,” he murmured into her flesh, “my pretty girls...” 

In her dazed state, Honey wondered with a pang of jealousy who the ‘she’ he was referring to was. 

“—sooo sensitive; she likes it when I kiss her like that, yeah?—” He said, in between languid, open-mouth kisses to her slit.

Jesus Fucking Christ, he’s talking about my pussy? In the third person? 

Honey gasped, scandalized at the preposterous thought. It was the most deliciously erotic moment of her life. Enraptured tears budded her eyes, the coil in her belly nearly suffocating her.

“—Fuck, oh god, Peter, don’t stop, don’stop, donstop, donstah—”

Preoccupied with his own intoxicating thoughts, Peter was eager with his tongue and steady with his hands. The room filled with the filthy, wet sounds of his carressing and French kissing of her cunt. He pleasured her with his fingers and mouth, passionately— reverently— as if making love to two different brides. 

Soon, Honey’s pleas were barely more than breathless whining. He smiled like the devil, lips coated with her slick. 

“Patience, Honey,” he admonished, sing-song and patronizing. “If you’re a good girl, maybe I might let you get to taste Her, too.”

Fuck—she was going to come from this. 

The more perverse his words were, the closer she was. So, so close—

Then, another sharp slap. 

Honey wailed, fingers digging into the leather of her restraints. Her whole body protested. The cycle repeated so many times she lost count—until her flesh was puffy from his torture. 

“Please, don’t—please, Peter, don’t tease,” she frantically begged, tears streaming. “No more— Please, I wanna come so bad—” 

He sucked on her clit.  “Yeah?”

“God, yes, please—Nyahhh-need you—Need you... inside—“

Peter hissed behind his teeth, struggling to keep his pace even as his cock jerked at her pleas. He flashed an evil smile. “S’at right?”

“Pl-please, f-feels so good, ple—gah-I need it—!”

He was in no hurry. It was almost greedy, the way he ravaged her. His fingers pressed Merlot bruises into her hips and waist while his mouth left raspberry welts on her thighs. 

Honey cried out around a moan as she felt his fingers deepen. His loving touches to her sensitive spots turned wicked, reminding her this was also a penalty for her bratty transgressions. She wept and squirmed, practically drooling on the table.

He simply grinned.

“—Mmmhm, that’s it—scream for me, princess—”

Honey’s tiny little hip thrusts fit easily in his palm as he groped her. He found it adorable, really.

“Mmm...m’sorr—ow—agh!”

“Sorry’s not gonna cut it,” he panted, eyes blown black. Shadow returned to his voice. “You’re mine now, ya hear?” His eyes traveled to where his fingers were buried to the knuckles. “Gonna fuck you every way I want—”

“Pleasepleasepleaseyes—it’syoursit’syoursallyours—”

His eyes swam over her body, drunk with lust.

All mine. 

The sinfulness of his thoughts tugged his insides into a vortex. This was wrong, he reasoned. Not how he wanted this to go. Poor girl sounded brainless, begging to be fucked.  He wasn’t much better off. This wasn’t how he planned this to go. 

But he was willing to pivot.

Hands shaking, he fumbled with his fly. It wasn’t until his cock bobbed free, glistening with precum, that he felt any sort of relief. Peter grabbed her hips and lifted them off of the table, repositioning her so he was lined up with her slit.

“Fuckin’ need you so much, Honey—” he muttered mindlessly, focused on pushing the swollen, leaking crown of his cock against the silk of her pussy. 

Her hips’ weight rested easily in his hands, and she keened at the sensation of his head pressing against her entrance. 

And god, she'd forgotten he was thick.

Honey tensed up, even as her pussy throbbed with want. It was as if all her muscles were reaching for him, heart included.

It was too much. Mascara trailed faintly down her cheeks. Her heart soared. And ached. She felt spoiled with pleasure, delighting in this penance.

More. She wanted more.

“Fuck—wanted ya so bad,” Peter mumbled, watching his cock slip through her lips. He sounded airy, hypnotized by the view. “Wanted t’crawl through your window like the goddamn—ahh— boogeyman... fuck ya in your own bed. Wanted t’take’ya home with me and keep ya there— Never let you leave.”

Honey swallowed back a sob. Then why did you send me away? 

He paused. 

Uh-oh. Did she say that out lo—?

“Because I’m an idiot,” Peter huffed, his voice fragile. 

He leaned forward and lovingly kissed up her spine, each tender press of his lips an apology. 

“I’m a stupid fuckin’ fool.” The heat of his breath ghosted across her back. “So stupid—Thought I could protect ya if I kept you away. Thought I could somehow live like that—without you.” He shook his head. “Goddamn fool.”

Peter felt the sting of tears flooding his vision. Instinctively, he squeezed his eyes shut to keep them out. “I can’t live without ya,” he nearly whimpered. “There is no life for me if you’re not in it.”

“Peter,” she said, feeling her heart lurch. Her spirit was a ship being tossed in a hurricane. One more wave, and she would break. Honey’s voice trembled, “St-stop t-talking—”

“Not until I’ve said what I shoulda said—!”

“If you don’t shut up and fuck me in the next five seconds—”

Peter cut her off by pulling her up by the shoulders and standing her upright. Honey fought it—because, of course, she did—desperately clutching the steel armor around her heart. 

Overpowering her again, he tugged the naked woman closer until her back lined up to his chest. It was an awkward position with her bound arms crushed behind her against his abs. He towered over her, eyeing her face from the side, seeking her gaze. Hooked a finger beneath her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. 

Always the fighter, Honey tried to wrench herself from his hold. Peter’s body was like a Greek god’s, with pillar-like arms and marble fingers keeping her from wriggling away. But his soft, soulful eyes are what pinned her in place. 

As soon as she peered into their oaken color, she was trapped again. 

“No,” she sneered, shaking her head. The tears weren’t from pleasure anymore. “Don’t—”

“‘Honey and Lavender,’” he whispered, featherlike. “Those are the words. All you gotta do is say ‘em, and I’ll stop.”

She gritted her teeth, bucking against his sweetness. His arms wrapped around her torso, pulling her in.

“I thought you wanted to fuck me!” she revolted, voice getting weaker by the second. “What the hell do you want from me, Peter?!” 

His features softened. Serenity pressed between his lips. “I want all of you, Honey,” he answered with resolve. “Body and soul. Wanna spend the rest of my life with ya. If you don’t kill me first.” 

He said the ‘if’ part with a teasing lilt in his tone and a half-smile. The same smirk that she loathed—and fell in love with. 

Honey squeezed her eyes shut. Peter’s thumb came up gently, wiping a messy tear from her cheek. That loving and pure act was worse than any torture he could inflict.

Walls tumbling down, her body loosened. She went slack against his arms, instead fighting to keep more tears from flowing.

“I love you,” he whispered, pouring his soul into each word. “Forever. Remember? No matter what.” 

Peter waited for her eyelids to peel back, revealing glossy eyes and a weary expression. They stayed still for eons. Nothing but their breaths and heartbeats between them, eyes locked on each other.

“Even if you’re mad as hell at me,” he added. “Even if you hate me—I want it all.”

Her lower lip wobbled. “And what then, Peter? What now?”

A moment passed. He leaned around her shoulder, bringing her chin close, and answered her with a kiss. Gentle at first, his tongue explored hers as she relaxed against him. She felt her toes leave the ground before she realized what was happening.

Peter broke the kiss. “Now?” he breathed into her hairline. “I’m gonna show you what it means to be mine.”

One of his hands left her torso—borrowed to push the head of his cock into her gate. An overwhelming burn erupted between her legs. She arched her back away from his abs as best she could while being split open.

Honey wailed brokenly, voice shattered, as he bottomed out. Peter’s hand instinctively came up to cover her mouth. She let the scream out into his palm, just as he’d promised.

Peter hissed, letting his head fall back in agonized ecstasy. His eyes drifted shut, feeling both relief and torment buried to the hilt in her warmth. 

He barely ground out, “Shh-shhh, s’alright... that’s it, s-so good, so good for me...”

His Honey was already writhing on his cock, and he hadn’t even begun to move. She was so goddamn tight he wasn’t sure he wanted to move at all.

Still, he couldn’t help indulging himself. Never could, around her.

The arm bracing Honey’s torso snaked back across her body. His hand, burning hotter than a branding iron, stretched out and smoothed over the curvature of her belly. Her pussy clenched tighter as his palm found the trophy he was looking for—an obscene bulge in her lower stomach.

A slow, sinful curve played upon his lips. “Fuck, babygirl. Look at you.” When he uncovered her mouth, her roars had quieted down to a wanton purr. He gently tilted her head downwards so she could witness the depravity herself. “Just look at how you take my dick, Honey.” 

She shuddered at the sight, nodding rapidly, unable to speak. She wondered if this was just more teasing, but she couldn’t think beyond the penetration. 

“God, you look so beautiful like that,” he muttered breathlessly. His amber eyes were fixated on the sinful spectacle beneath her waist, unable to avert his gaze. “So pretty with my cock stuffed up inside your tummy...” 

Peter sounded unhinged, even to himself. His abs twisted into knots. Vile, perverse images eclipsed his sense of decency—her body naked and wrecked, with his seed spilling from her holes. Then, her belly round with his children. Just the thought devolved him like his civilized nature was sucked back into a black hole.

Wordless whimpers poured from her lips as her taut muscles succumbed to his girth. Calloused fingertips reached further down, brushing against the hood of her clit. She jolted in his arms with the slightest touch.

At that moment, Honey’s world disappeared. Nothing existed but the exquisite ache between her legs. 

The conquerer inside him preened. “Is that the spot? Is that where it hurts, baby?” he purred into her ear with a filthy, predatory voice. Her body answered him, rewarding him with a delicious squeeze around his shaft. “That’s it,” Peter groaned, insatiable. “Good girl. So good for me.” 

His praise, even if it was teasing, was too much. Peter’s affirmations, paired with his ministrations, tightened the coil in her stomach. Exhaustion crept up on her body even as the bubble of desire swelled.

Ever so slowly, his hips pitched back and then forward. He bottomed out again at the end of the languid stroke. A shattered mewl burst from her lips, pussy pulsating around his dick.

She was magnificent. 

”Fuck, baby. Feels s-so fuckin’ good—ahh, I missed this tight pussy so much. Wanted to play with her so bad…”

Peter’s hips moved of their own accord. They were a pornographic masterpiece in the decorative mirrors situated around the room. He stole a greedy glance at the couple’s reflection. Smiling wickedly, he turned her head, making her see what he was seeing.

Honey’s stomach fluttered at the sight of her body—glistening and restrained—slotted against him. Her head bobbed as Peter gripped her hips and fucked into her like a sex doll. 

Perverse. Debauched. Divine. It made her lightheaded.

Slowly, he increased the pace of his thrusts, panting into her ear. At some point, she started muttering. Broken and embarrassingly desperate pleas and pet names tumbled unwittingly out of her mouth.

One of them must have caught his attention. But she honestly couldn’t remember what she had said.

“Ugh—I lose my fuckin’ mind when you call me that name,” he growled, throwing his head back. “Ya know that, precious? Such a good girl for me. Good girls get spoiled.” 

Honey’s body thrummed at his baby talk. In all its depravity, she started to suspect what she must have said in all its depravity. Slowly, she was losing the ability to be ashamed.

The slick-coated pad of Peter’s thumb circled her clit, before traveling down further. He curiously prodded where they were joined—“Fuck, look at how good ya open up for me.” — His fingers trailed the outline of her stretched hymen wrapped around his cock.

Honey closed her eyes and turned away, blushing from his praise. Timid about how she relished in the filth. Peter brought his lips to her ear as if there was a secret the two of them shared.

“Don’t worry, baby. I gotcha—Daddy’s gonna make the ache go away.”

The spring snapped. She was nearly knocked over by the wave of pleasure that followed. Her pussy fluttered around his cock with no warning, body trembling and toes curling. Her cream gushed down his shaft. 

He snickered as if he’d won a prize. 

Honey could vaguely recognize her pathetic voice through the bells in her ears. She squealed and cried out over his repetitive, patronizing chants — “Awwgoodgirl, fuckin’ so-so perfect— squeezin’ me so tight” — while he fucked her through her orgasm.

It felt like several moments of pure pink haze, herself a willing victim to his delicious, relentless pull. 

“Shit, sweetie, did you just come all over my cock?” he asked, exasperated.

Embarrassment flooded her despite her persistent mewling. 

“Don’t cry, baby. Don’chu worry,” he murmured affectionately, himself obsessed with the cavern of her divine flesh. “When I said I was gonna make you my toy, I meant it.” She whimpered, nodding her head as it rested back against his shoulder. “M’not finished with you,” he said, dropping an octave. “Not by a long shot.”

Time ceased to have true meaning. Peter rammed into her steadily.

“Please don’stop, please use me, please, wan’more—” She yelped like a puppy.

He smiled against her sweaty skin. “Yeah? Ya like bein’ a good girl? My good girl?”

“I’llbegoodI’llbegoodm’yours—fuck—yoursyoursyours—”

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he groaned, with another curse beneath his breath. Eyes drifted shut. “Good, good girl.”

All he could think of was more. 

More of that sound. More of her juices. More of her staccato breaths as he fucked her tits into a steady bounce on her chest. More of her whining, whimpering like a bitch in heat.

“All mine, all mine…”

Peter needed more of her. He needed to watch her fall apart on his cock again. Honey was so close already; he could feel it. He’d give her another orgasm, one that leaves her in tears. Then another. He was going to fuck her into submission atop the throne he built for her. She was already his queen. 

Then—He’d make her his whore.

Flip her on her back against the table—or couch— countertop—fuck, maybe the bed if he could remember where it was. Whatever he could reach first. 

Then he’d split her open again on his cock. That way, he could see the enraptured awe on her face. The neediness. Big, round, wet eyes pleading for his touch, calling him filthy names, as his cock bulges below her pubic bone. Begging him to rearrange her guts.

It was heavenly to witness. Peter loved watching her come. And he would, over and over. Once he relocated her to his bed—as soon as he remembered where it was— he could tie her to it.

Not that Honey was fighting at the present. There was no fight in her body, except maybe the will to keep conscious. With every strike against her cervix, she spread herself wider for him. 

But Peter knew she would like it. Honey wanted his unforgiving ecstasy. To take out the mounting frustration of the last few months on her wet pussy. 

“M’gonna fuck you so good, babygirl, m’gonna use your body like my fucktoy—make me feel s-sogood, don’worry—“ 

Honey full-body shuddered with a sob, her head thrown back against his shoulder. 

“S’okay, baby, you can scream if y’want, makes it feel better, doesn’t it, huh—”

Cock-drunk, she nodded, her words coming out as puffs of air.

“Don’stop—don’stop—please, fuck— fuckmehardDaddyIneedit—“

Oh. 

More. Of. That.

“M’not lettin’ you get away again…” he muttered, voice emerging from beneath his twitching abdominal muscles. With possessed eyes, he was glued to where they joined. “Never—never gonna let you go again… All mine now, Honey—you’re all mine…”

Her arms came up to circle the back of his neck as she panted into his throat. “My-my pussy is yours…”

“Everything,” he corrected.

“Everythi—god—I’m yours, Pete—ahh!”

Peter was getting close. No matter. He’d let himself come inside her soon. There was plenty more to follow. 

He barely recognized his own wrecked voice. “’m not leavin,’ baby. I’m not leavin’ ever.”

A gust of wind followed him as the front door to the suite slammed shut. Peter stood alone in the hotel hallway wearing a sheen of sweat... and nothing else. 

He flushed pink, fumbling to cover himself behind his hands. The cool air made the task easier.

Peter sighed. He’d need to talk to maintenance about better insulation up here.

But not right now. Not while Peter Parker stood ass-naked outside of his door, having been kicked out like a cheap fuck. 

Which might have been Honey’s point, he recognized.

The evidence of their past hour together made his skin sticky. She’d tousled his hair and etched into his back with her nails. He felt sore in places he hadn’t felt in years.

Peter also looked thoroughly fucked. A mixture of pain and relief surged through his muscles. His brain was branded with erotic images of her. He wanted them there.

The door opened again, lifting his hopes. He only caught a fleeting glimpse of Honey, wrapped sloppily in a bathrobe. The rest of her didn’t look much better than Peter. She wore a sour yet adorable scowl on her face.

With a huff, Honey hurled a tight wad of fabric at his nuts, unintentionally intentional in her aim. 

Peter oofed, doubling over to catch the ball of his clothes. At the same time, an Italian leather shoe smacked him in the head. Probably his Tom Ford’s. He heard the door slam closed again, rattling against the frame.

Perplexed, Peter gazed at the molding of the door and the gleaming golden script marking the room number. 

He wondered. 

Would she open the door again to throw him the other shoe? 

Or perhaps the slacks that went along with the dress shirt covering his balls?

Unlikely.

He marveled. 

The nerve of this woman. This goddess-barista who served him his soul in a paper cup. Who held the keys to his heart, his home, and presently, his hotel room. Who somehow managed to kick him out of the penthouse suite of his own hotel. 

Within the confines of his ruined dress shirt, Peter felt another buzz. He fumbled with the shirt, reaching the smartphone concealed inside.

>>> have you moved onto the main course? >>> or are you still tossing the salad? >>> pouring ranch on her hidden valley

Felicia. Peter’s eyes nearly rolled out of his head. With a sigh, he tapped out a reply.

<<<  Kitchen’s closed.  <<< Need clothes. And a new room.

He saw the ellipsis bubbling up on his screen. 

<<< Not another word.

As soon as the message was sent, Peter took another glance at his empty surroundings. Haplessly, he looked toward the closed door. A river of memories flooded him. It surged, swelled, and finally, came to a low simmer.

This was never going to be easy. Nothing ever was with her.

Nothing worth waiting for ever is.

“See you at breakfast,” he whispered aloud lips curled into a smile. “Sleep tight.”

Holding her breath and her ear to the door, Honey waited until Peter’s footsteps faded. When she could no longer hear them, she sighed with exasperation, overcome with exhaustion. Eyes falling closed, Honey leaned back against the door, body aching in places she would feel for days.

After taking a moment, she heard a buzzing sound further in the suite. Honey jumped with alarm, then stumbled on Fawn’s feet to reach the source.

Quickly, Honey waddled to the remains of her yellow dress, fishing out the buzzing object: a 10-year-old smartphone with a black glittery hard case. A holographic cat sticker was fixed to the back, shimmering in the dim light. 

Not just any cat.

She unlocked the phone to see the latest message.

>>> how’d it go? u give him hell?

The heaviest exhale left Honey’s chest, shame creeping up her chest. With her thumb, she scrolled up to review the text messages sent to her. The oldest of which dated back almost four months.

Weeks of correspondence and reassurance from Felicia, not to mention very clear instructions about Peter Parker and how to play his game. 

There was the one from last month:

>>> don’t let him think for one second that you’re gonna let him get off easy!

Then one from last week:

>>> make him suffer. make him grovel. make him lay down in a puddle so you can cross

And these:

>>> go to dinner, but don’t eat anything. order wine, the most expensive one, take one sip and refuse the rest. you pick the restaurant. if he picks the restaurant, hate everything about it >>> play hard to get— but don’t be too cold >>> be flirty. but not slutty.  >>> give him bedroom eyes, but don’t let him stare at you too long.

Finally, there was a clear instruction sent earlier today.

>>> under no circumstances >>> no matter what >>> you need to remember this >>> DO NOT FUCK HIM!!1

Honey frowned as she gazed at Felicia’s text message bubble, sent with so much hope and good intention. A notion soundly defeated. A truly hopeless endeavor, if there ever was one.

Biting her lip, Honey tapped out a reply to her confidant:

<<< Sure did.

Thank you for everything you do. Please keep fanfic healthy and support my writing with a reblog.

[gredandforgeweatherby]

The Girl One Floor Below

Marilyn Jean

series masterlist

Summary: Peter is awkward while trying to talk to Marilyn

WC: .9k

Warnings: talk of Gwen, kinda rushed writing

Authors Note: I know it's been forever but I was so blocked on this story. Hopefully this short chapter will help me!

Peter hadn’t seen Marilyn again.

Granted, it had only been six days since he had helped her move in. He was sure she was up to her neck in unpacked boxes and messily placed items; he knew he was when he moved in. Hell, Peter's apartment had been filled with boxes for a month after he had first moved in, him not being able to find time to unpack between his new job at the bugle, wallowing in self-pity, his spider-man duties, and trying to maintain his own survival. He knew it would take some time for her to settle in and maybe, he thought, he could be of assistance.

You know, to be neighborly.

But Peter just could not gain the courage to knock on her door and once again offer his help. Each time the idea would pop into his head, his own mind would give him a reason as to why he shouldn’t, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that his mind was right.

Another eight days had passed (no, Peter totally wasn’t counting) and he still hadn’t talked to her. Not only that, but he hadn’t seen her at all. He knew it was irrational for him to worry, as the amount of time he spent passing between the halls and lobby was very small, but still, he was. I mean, had she even left her apartment? When Peter was moving in he wanted to be in his apartment as little as possible, but that might just be his wish to not be alone with his thoughts combined with the procrastination to not unpack. Still, he was worried that this girl he had met already found a terrible end because of her acquaintanceship with him. 

Could he call them acquaintances?

Anyway, Peter was worried that the woman had met her end just because she met him.

This worry was what finally got Peter one floor below.

He found himself in front of apartment 3C, slightly jittery, building up the strength to raise his fist and knock. Finally, he found himself quietly rapping on the door, part of him hoping it was too quiet for her to hear or that she wasn’t home but was soon face to face with her.

“Oh, hey Peter. How’re doing?” She greeted him with a smile.

“I'm doing great, I actually came by to see how you were doing. You know, settling in and everything?”

The small she greeted him with widened a bit before she answered. “Yeah. It’s a little annoying to unpack, there’s a huge part of me that to just say “That’s future me's problem” and stop but,” she paused, shrugging her shoulders and clicking her tongue, “unfortunately I really can’t.”

With that information swimming around his head, Peter spoke. But, it seemed his mouth and brain were detached, as the words that spilled out of his mouth were not in his head, and like his speech had a mind of its own.

“Well, I could help…” Peter trailed off realizing what came out of his mouth. “... if you want. I could help if you want.” Peter wanted to smash his head into the wall.

“I appreciate that, but I was actually gonna turn in for the day, get cleaned up, maybe eat something, but thank you,” Marilyn replied, a slight chuckle escaping her lips at the look on Peter’s face. She had a small feeling he didn’t mean to offer his help.

Yeah,” Peter started nodding his head (maybe a bit too rapidly). “Yeah okay, well, uh, you’re welcome. The offer will stand tomorrow, and the day after, just,” he paused, trying not to ramble while Marilyn stood in front of him with a small smile dancing on her lips, “You know where to find me.”

Marilyn nodded, “I do, thank you, Peter. I appreciate it.”

Bidding her a quick goodbye, Peter made his way back up to his apartment. Once inside, he stooped his head, heaving a quick sigh at himself before moving toward the kitchen.

───────────────────────────────────────────

A few days had passed since Peter offered his help. Part of him was a bit sad she hadn’t come up to his apartment and asked for it, while another part was a bit grateful. After that interaction, Peter stood at his kitchen counter for a few minutes, staring down at it and zoning out. He replayed their conversation in his head, cringing at how he responded. He had certainly lost his touch.

It wasn't that Peter ever really knew how to talk to girls, he just wasn’t the suave man that was able to seduce a woman. He was charming and charismatic, he knew that because if he wasn’t he never would have been able to get with Gwen.

Gwen.

After Gwen, Peter lost whatever touch he had. He had gone on about three dates since her death, and any time he’s tried to talk to a girl he failed to do so. He flubs, and stutters, and says things that he didn’t even think were floating around in his head. Marilyn was just another example of that.

Peter shook his head to clear his thoughts, though when that didn’t work he went with something he knew would. He rushed to his room and hastily stripped himself of his clothes before quickly putting on his suit–well, as quickly as one could pull on a spandex suit while also beginning to sweat from the sudden movement and exertion. Pushing up his window and climbing onto the fire escape, he swung into action, thanking the universe that he had the day off.

Taglist:

@whatareyouhidingpeter

[punchdrunkdoc]

Given To Fly

Chapter 14: The Girl On The Other Side Of The World

Masterlist here

TASM! Peter Parker x Original female character

Summary: After the events of Spiderman: No Way Home, Peter 3 is determined to make some changes to his life. It starts with a new job, and a chance meeting with a beautiful stranger in a bar.

Notes: The lonely, somewhat tortured TASM!/Andrew Garfield version of Peter Parker in Spiderman: No Way Home broke my heart a bit. This is my attempt to give him his happy ending.

I can’t say too much, as there’s a mystery at the heart of this tale that I don’t want to spoil.

But I can say this will be an 18-part story with a slow burn, enemies-to-lovers romance with an OC character (the x reader format doesn’t work for this particular story - sorry!)

Also available on AO3

5 months later…

MJ sat in the small boutique and stared out at the rain-streaked city between the wedding dresses displayed in the window. 

The scene beyond the warm, cozy store was a patchwork of grey.  Dark clouds blocked the anaemic sun and belched rain onto the dreary concrete streets below. The people passing by the window huddled from the weather under black coats and black umbrellas. 

The world was dark and miserable. 

She felt right at home. 

“What do you think?” Mel’s bright voice interrupted her maudlin thoughts. MJ turned away from the window and plastered a fake smile on her face. This was a big day. Wedding dress shopping with her little sister. 

She had to make an effort to share in Mel’s joy.

Seeing her sister’s beaming face as she modelled the first dress made the effort a little less…effortful. Her smile turned real, her mood lightening a bit as appraised the gown. The white silk was unadorned. Simple, but elegant. And the bias cut provided the illusion of curves on her sister’s still too-thin frame. 

The serum had worked its promised miracle. The first injection had brought Mel’s out of her coma. The second injection had given her the strength to leave hospital. The third had helped her regain all the power in her legs, restored the damaged neurones in her brain and completely reversed all the effects of the genetic disease. 

She was completely cured. 

Mel did a twirl - showing off the daring back of the dress - and repeated her question. “Well, do you like this one, Emmy?” She asked, using her childhood nickname. 

MJ swallowed and suppressed the tears gathering in her eyes. She got choked up every time she compared this new version of her sister - the healthy, glowing one, so full of vitality and life - with the one she’d discovered five months ago on her return to England. 

She’d stumbled into the ICU bay straight from the airport, the precious vials of serum concealed in the luggage she dragged behind her. She’d passed a fast-asleep Jack in the corridor outside, meaning her sister was alone when she found her. Tape covered her eyes; a breathing tube was secured to her face and multiple lines wove around her to connect to the machines standing guard. Instead of an excited ‘hello’ she was greeted by the beeps and hisses from that machinery, her sister silent and near death-

“Earth to Emmy!” Mel called, hands now on her hips in frustration. 

MJ cleared her throat and banished the memory of that night. “You look amazing, Melly,” she said, truthfully. “It’s a winner.”

Mel rolled her eyes. “It’s only the first one! I’m not going to buy the first one I try on, not after waiting so long for this. When I didn’t think…” Her voice trailed off and her smile dipped. 

‘When I didn’t think I’d ever get this chance.’ MJ finished the sentence in her head. She rose from her seat and joined Mel in the little fitting area. She took her sister’s hands and squeezed them tightly. “Then we’ll go to every shop in this city and you can try on every dress they have until you find the one.”

Mel nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“What are sisters for?”

 ———

 Later that day, exhausted from dress shopping and full from dinner at one of their favourite restaurants, they collapsed on the sofa. 

“Dessert may have been a mistake,” Mel said, rubbing her stomach. 

“It didn’t look like a mistake when you were wolfing it down earlier,” MJ teased, bringing her slipper-covered feet up on the couch. 

“I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I can’t seem to stop eating.” 

“You’re making up for lost time. You never had much of an appetite these last few years.” MJ explained. “Either that, or you’re knocked up.”

Mel threw a cushion at her. “Don’t even joke about that! My friends all think I’m crazy getting married so young, let alone becoming a mum.”

MJ broached the subject she’d been skirting around ever since the engagement was formally announced. “Are you sure? About the getting married part? I know you love Jack, but you guys talked about marriage when you were sick and-“

“And now there’s no expiration date on it?” Mel finished, nodding. 

“You’ve got your whole life ahead of you now - you could do anything.”

“And I will do anything. And everything. With Jack.” She shrugged. “He’s the one for me.”

“You sound so sure.”

Mel plucked at a stray thread on the cushion in her lap. “I don’t have a lot of memories of Maman and Papa, but I remember how they used to be around each other. That connection they had. How in sync they always were, finishing each other’s sentences, and having whole conversations with one look. They were like a fairytale Prince and Princess to me, and I remember always hoping to find that myself. And I have, with Jack.” She shrugged again. “We complete each other.”

MJ nodded, lost in her own memories of her parent’s relationship. It really had been something special…

“Emmy?” Her sister’s voice was hesitant. 

“What?”

“Will you tell me? About Peter?”

She shook her head - the motion instinctual and automatic. But Mel persisted. “Please? I think you need to. You’ve been so depressed since you came back-“

“I haven’t been depressed. I’m so happy for you, and I love seeing you so healthy. It was all worth it.”

She’d told her sister everything a few months ago. Well, almost everything. She’d told her about her powers. About the real reason she’d been in New York. About how she stole the serum and how Allard was now out of their lives. 

Mel leaned over to grasp her hands. “You have no idea how grateful I am. All those things you went through over the past year…living that double life, being so alone, putting yourself in danger…and it was all for me. I can never repay you-“

“You don’t have to repay me. I did it because you’re my sister and I love you.”

“Well, you’re my sister and I love you, and I want you to be happy. And I think Peter makes you happy.”

Peter had made her happy - deliriously so. She’d only known him a matter of months, but she felt that connection Mel spoke of. That he was the only one meant for her. Meeting him had felt like a moment of clarity and revelation. As if she’d been waiting to find him her whole life. As if everything that came before him was just a prelude. 

Her life could be divided into ‘before Peter’ and ‘after Peter’.

And the ‘after Peter’ part really, really sucked.

But she didn’t deserve him. He was better off without her. 

MJ shook her head and smiled sadly. “He did make me happy. But it’s over, Mel.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” her romantic, overly optimistic sister replied. “If you just explain everything to him-“

“He already knows. I told him everything - about you, the serum, my powers. But it was too little, too late. I lied to him for so long.”

“But there were extenuating circumstances!” Her sister cried, becoming frustrated. “If he knew the kind of person you really are, the person you were before all this-“

MJ laughed bitterly. “That person doesn’t really exist anymore, Melly. The last year changed me. The things I had to do, the choices I made…they changed me.”

Mel looked on the verge of tears. “I feel so responsible. You did it all for me-“

“Yes, and I don’t regret it. I don’t want you to feel guilty, ever. I made those choices because I’m selfish. I just… I couldn’t lose you too. It’s not your fault, OK?” 

Mel nodded, looking somewhat reassured. 

And MJ realised she felt a bit better too. Maybe Mel was right - she did need to talk about Peter. She’d been bottling this all up for so long…

“I showed Peter the real me all along,” she explained. “I may have had different faces and names, but I was always me. I never put on an act with him. The problem is, he doesn’t believe that. He thinks I’m a stranger now.” 

“So convince him he’s wrong.” 

She shook her head. “He doesn’t trust me anymore, Mel. I don’t think he ever will. I deceived him too much, about too many things.”

Mel sat up straight, her stubbornness kicking in. “Well, you’re never going to change his mind all the way over here.”

“My life is here,” she protested.

“What life?” Mel scoffed. “You’re bunking in my spare room. You have no friends except me and Jack and you do nothing but go to work, eat and sleep.”

“Hey!” She lightly punched her sister’s arm. “I’m just trying to work out what I want to do now. I feel like…”

“What?”

“That I want to do more with these abilities. Somehow. I was inspired seeing how Pe-“ she caught herself just in time - that wasn’t her secret to share. “Spider-man helped people. He was gifted with unexpected powers too-”

“Yeah, but his helps him fight crime. You can just heal yourself and change your face. Speaking of which….” She looked excited now. “When do you think my powers will kick in?”

MJ laughed. “It took a while, so don’t get too ahead of yourself.”

“I can’t believe you kept it from me all these years,” she said, punching her back. 

“I didn’t want to rub it in your face!” 

The sisters teased each other and laughed for the rest of the night before turning in. MJ’s smile was real as she hugged her sister good night, feeling a respite from the numb detachment she’d felt since returning to England. 

But she dreamed of Peter. 

Of the hurt on his face and the pain in his voice during their confrontation.

Of him leaving her. Swinging away into the distance.

And when she woke…the world was grey again.  

 ———

 Peter wearily trudged up the stairs to his Aunt’s house, trying to ignore the twinges of pain from his middle back. He pulled the door handle, grumbling under his breath when the door swung open. “May!” he called walking down the hallway. “Why is the door unlocked? You know its not safe.” 

“Don’t take that tone, young man,” she replied as he entered the kitchen. “I knew you were on your way. It would be locked otherwise.”

Abashed, he bent down to kiss her cheek in greeting. “Hi.”

She caught him by the shoulders and inspected his face for a long moment. “You look terrible.”

“Lovely to see you too,” he joked. But she was right - he looked like crap. Every time he glanced in a mirror, the lines on his face seemed more ingrained, the circles under his eyes darker. It had gotten to the stage that he avoided his reflection as much as possible. 

“Peter…” She sounded worried, so he tried to reassure her. 

“I just haven’t been sleeping much lately. It’ll get better.”

“Honey, its been almost six months since Jane-“

“Its got nothing to do with Jane,” he snapped. “I’ve just been busy with Spider-man stuff.”

It was true. He’d been spending more time in the suit lately than out of it. Hence, the back pain. 

But why not? It’s not like ‘Peter’ had much of a life to keep him occupied. No job, save the occasional freelance photography gig; no friends; no girlfriend…He’d even been avoiding his weekly dinners with May, until she’d put her foot down and insisted he show up tonight. “And her name is MJ, remember?”

“I remember,” May said harshly, taking a casserole out the oven. She hadn't taken the news of MJ's lies well. “But whatever her name is, you obviously miss her and-”

“No,” he said firmly. “MJ is a stranger to me, and Jane was a figment of someone else’s imagination. I can’t miss someone I never knew.” 

He was trying hard to stay deep in the denial stage of grief over the end of their relationship…and he didn’t appreciate his Aunt’s attempts to drag him out of it. “How’s work going?”

May frowned at him. “We can change the subject after I get one thing off my chest.”

He sighed in resignation. There was no stopping her in this mood. “Go on.”

“After Gwen died, you were a shadow of your former self. For years. There was always this darkness hanging over you. Jane - or MJ, or whatever she was called - lifted that darkness. You were so happy with her…it was like I’d gotten my Peter back.”

“May…” Peter said, not sure he wanted to hear this. 

She carried on. “I don’t want you to retreat back to that darkness. I can see the signs of it - the bruises on your face, the fact that you’re out as Spider-man all hours of the day and night…and it scares me.”

“May, I’m OK.”

“You’re not okay,” she said, taking his hand. “I was so proud of you for opening yourself up and taking another chance on love-“

“Yeah, and look where it got me,” he said, bitterly. 

She sighed. “Please, don’t be like that. I want you to be open like that again in the future.  You deserve to be happy, Peter. 

He looked away and tried to tug his hand free, but her grip was tight. 

“No, Peter. Look at me.” 

He did, and saw the sorrow in her eyes. “Don’t use this experience as an excuse to shut yourself away again. Learn from it, and move on from her. I know you’ll find the perfect person for you one day. Someone better. And-”

“I thought there was just gonna be ‘one more thing’?” He joked, trying to lighten the mood.  

“Well, maybe if you came to visit more often I wouldn’t have to save all these things up!” 

He managed a chuckle and gave her a contrite look. “I’m sorry.”

She nodded. “All I was going to say was, please be careful out there. I don’t like the idea of you putting yourself in danger when you’re not in the right headspace.”

Peter smiled and pulled her into a hug. “I am being careful, I promise.”

She seemed placated by that and they enjoyed a relaxed dinner together, with her doing most of the talking. He didn’t stay long afterwards, making an excuse to leave earlier than usual. May waved to him goodbye as she stood on the stoop and he smiled in return as he walked to the subway.

But the moment he was out of sight, his smile dropped and he sighed. 

He hated lying to his Aunt. 

But that’s what he’d done. 

 ———

 The truth was…he wasn’t being as careful as he should be as Spider-man. 

Often these days, his actions were bordering on the down right reckless. In the pursuit of pushing his body into the exhausted state he needed to quiet thoughts of MJ…he wasn’t being as vigilant or cautious as he should-

Peter’s head snapped to the side as the punch connected. 

Case in point.

These assholes should not have been able to get the drop on him. 

He was on the trail of the bus bomber he’d encountered the previous summer. Since that day, the bomber had successfully hit two more cities across the country, killing several people in explosions after first being paid ransom money. 

But now law enforcement were on to him, and the ransoms had stopped. 

So the bomber had upped his game. 

Director Fury had contacted Peter a few weeks ago to warn him. SHIELD suspected the bomber had gotten hold of some chemical material, so Fury had asked him to keep a look out and report any suspicious activity in New York. 

But Peter wasn’t used to working as a team, his brief foray into the multiverse not withstanding, and when he’d caught sight of some “suspicious activity” by the docks, he’d investigated himself. And discovered that an old fishing trawler was serving as the bomber’s base. 

So tonight he’d snuck aboard. 

His footsteps light on the ladder, Peter had descended to the lower decks, his senses alert for any crew-slash-gang members. Because, as he’d also discovered, the bomber had a following - acolytes in his mission of chaos. 

An eerie glow had greeted Peter as he reached the floor level, and it led him to the cargo hold. Instead of bomb-making equipment, he'd found dozens of canisters secured to wire shelves.  Each contained a bright purple gas that swirled and shifted inside the glass tube. 

Well that’s not ominous at all, he thought to himself.

Peter surveyed the scene with dismay. There were too many canisters for him to carry out safely. And he couldn’t destroy them without knowing what they contained...

He would have to call Fury after all. He turned to leave and suddenly ducked, his spidey-sense alerting him to the tire iron being swung at his head. He spun in a crouch, seeing three guys in front of him.

And they were wearing yellow Hazmat suits. 

No, not ominous AT ALL.

“I know you guys are evil henchman, but don’t you think the minion costumes are a little on the nose?” Peter quipped.

The hulking brute on the right - the one clenching the tire iron - came charging. Peter backflipped out of the way and that’s when the fourth member of the gang - the one who’d appeared from behind the shelves - sucker-punched him.

Peter’s head snapped to the side but he recovered in seconds, knocking the guy unconscious with his return punch. Tire Iron Guy swung again but Peter caught the weapon with a web and sent it flying. He heard it clatter to the concrete floor as he strung up the brute with more webs. With him incapacitated, Peter launched a web at the ceiling and swung, using the momentum to kick the other two in the head, taking them both down simultaneously. 

He grabbed a canister - evidence for SHIELD - and raced back up the ladder. He sprinted down the deck, the gangway off of the ship getting closer and closer. But just as he reached it, a shot rang out. The canister in his hand exploded into a plume of glass and purple vapour. The wind whipped the gas up and right into his face. 

He leapt away from the toxic fumes, back towards the centre of the boat. The gunman descended slowly from the flight deck and Peter recognised his face from SHIELD’s dossier. 

It was the bomber. 

“I have to do everything myself around here,” the man muttered.

Peter opened his mouth to reply, planning to stall for time while he sorted out his exit strategy…but what emerged was a wet-sounding cough. The copper-rich taste of blood flooded his mouth as he staggered to his knees. 

“What you’re experiencing,” the bomber explained, stopping a safe distance away, “is the first stage of acute radiation poisoning. The symptoms normally take a couple of hours to manifest, but I devised a way to accelerated the effects. You’re a dead man swinging, Spider-man.” He chuckled at his own pathetic joke.

Peter collapsed to the ground. Pain ripped through his chest, his lungs on fire.  

“What should we do with him, boss?” One of the recovered henchman asked. It was the one who’d sucker-punched him. 

“Push him overboard. We need to leave in case that gas drew any attention.” The bomber motioned to the purple mist which was now dissipating in the air. 

Peter’s vision blurred as the Hazmat suit came closer. He tried to crawl away from him but he had no strength in his limbs. He felt a hard kick in his side and it propelled him off the deck. 

The shock of the freezing water temporarily revived him, the fog of pain clearing for a brief moment.

And that clarity brought only one person to mind. 

MJ.

Then agony reared its head again and took him under. 

 ———

 “And finally, Bed 2 needs a new cannula.” 

MJ finished the handover from her night shift and left the doctor’s office, dragging her feet down the corridor to the changing room.  She couldn’t wait to swap her scrubs for her jeans and get the hell out of this place. She was coming off the back of a series of nights and she was wiped. She could have used her abilities to boost her energy…but the energy that would take would defeat the purpose. 

She’d have to recover like a normal person - with a greasy breakfast and a lot of sleep. 

She had no one else to blame for her exhaustion. She was working as a locum doctor and controlled how many and what kinds of shifts she volunteered for. And she’d chosen to volunteer for all of them. Work kept her busy, and busy was good.

Busy was safe. 

When she was busy, she didn’t think about him as much.  She didn’t wonder how he was doing and if he was being safe and if he was thinking about her and-

She shook her head, trying to dispel the thoughts.

It had been six months. She needed to move on. Get her shit together, and her life in order. 

It was true what she’d told Mel - she did want to use her gifts more. To make a difference, like Spider-man. Like Peter. 

But it was easier said than done. Each shift she would try to use her abilities to heal someone on the ward, like she had with Peter. 

But she could never get it to work. She could never manage to forge that connection between her mind and someone else’d body.

Why could she only do it with Peter?

She was still a good doctor, regardless - there wasn’t a physician dead or alive who had more of an understanding of how the body worked on a cellular and molecular level. But she couldn’t heal anyone. 

It was so frustrating. 

She wanted to use these powers for good. To atone for what she’d done in New York, to Peter and to others. The people she’d tricked and used. 

The poor victims of Allard’s illegal trials, whom she’d allowed to suffer while she waited for the right moment to take Allard down. 

They haunted her the most. 

During the odd moments where she was feeling charitable to herself she tried to reason that she couldn’t have saved them all. It had taken her a long time to amass enough evidence on Allard. But that reasoning never stuck. Because there had come a point when she had enough evidence to hand over to the authorities…and still she’d waited. Because she needed the serum first. 

When she saw her sister - the spark of life in her eyes, and the healthy glow to her skin - it felt like the ends justified the means. But living with those means on her conscience was hard. 

MJ glanced up at the large TV screen in the waiting area as she passed, the giant red ‘Breaking News’ banner catching her eye. Then she jerked to a halt, her heart lurching in her chest as she saw the shaky phone camera footage on screen.  

It was of Spider-man on the deck of a ship. 

Being engulfed in purple gas…

…falling to his knees…

…being pushed into the sea…

…and swallowed up by the inky-black water.

She gripped the back of the chair in front of her, her legs weak with terror.  She tried to focus on the news anchor’s words through the buzzing in her ears. “That shocking footage was taken by an eye witness to Spider-man’s poisoning. New York’s famous superhero was engaged in a fight with Benson Shepherd - the mastermind behind the recent spate of bombings across the country - when he as exposed to a radioactive substance. He was rescued from the water shortly after and transported to a medical facility in the city, where he is reported to be in a coma due to the effects of acute radiation syndrome. Shepherd’s boat was commandeered by the US Coastguard minutes later and he was taken into custody by….”

MJ dropped to her knees and sobbed with relief. 

Peter was alive. 

He was alive. 

“Are you alright, Dr Watson?” A gentle hand landed on her shoulder.

MJ glanced up at one of the porters that worked on the ward. She wiped her eyes and got to her feet. “Yes, thank you, Sam. I’m just a bit tired.”

Sam looked at her sceptically but nodded and continued on his way.

MJ turned back to the TV screen, and read the updated banner: ‘Spider-man in coma.’

He was in a coma.

She knew first hand how advanced his healing abilities were. For him to be comatose, the situation must be dire. 

And there was no treatment for radiation sickness. No cure.

No cure…except for her.

She needed to go to New York.

NOW.

CHAPTER 15

[whentheresnosuchthingastime]

i’m sorry, what?

~2.3k, tasm!peter x oc, set a few weeks after the events of nwh, warnings: mentions of fire and death but it’s mostly just banter and emotions

kind-of-starving artist and chronic overthinker maria jeanquart runs into an old acquaintance in possibly the most unexpected of ways.

(and yes of course i’d love andrew’s mj to be a guy, this is just a product of college tiredness and the need for escapism)

maybe i’ll write more of this who knows!!

By the time her brain had stopped screaming long enough to actually take in her surroundings, only one thought could squeeze through:

If I was on a TV show, they’d freeze-frame this moment and throw in a “yep, that’s me. You’re probably wondering how I ended up in this situation.”

One second, she’d been eating a box of mac and cheese straight out of the pot; her mind must have shut off out of panic after the first scream of “fire”, because she barely remembered a thing between then and now. Now, the next moment, during which she was whipping through the New York sky, watching as her floormates and the other residents-having presumably also been saved by the masked boy she was currently clinging tightly to, the man she’d thought was a tabloid myth-ran to safety.

Her brain may have stopped screaming, but she didn’t realize until she was set on a rooftop that her voice had kept right on going until she was finally stable.

“...Sorry about that.”

“It’s no problem,” the apparent Spider-Man responded. “That was an impressively solid E flat, by the way.”

She laughed, attempting a mock bow-wait I still don’t have equilibrium not a good idea NOT A GOOD IDEA-and managed to catch herself before she fell.

“Well, thank you. For the whole, uh…saving lives thing. Just-where exactly are we?”

“The top of-well, I’m pretty sure this is a library-”

“Oh, good,” she interrupted, looking around to get her bearings. “I think I remember this now; I used to work here in high school. There’s a way to get down into the building from here.”

“Great,” he said, walking backwards toward the edge of the rooftop. “In that case, I think I’m gonna go.”

“Wonderful, thanks. Have, uh…have a good day.”

I’m really talking to someone who saved my life as if he’s offering me a coupon at a grocery store…but there’s some sort of weird familiarity. Well, this was definitely an interesting encounter. I’ll have a story for sure.

But he hadn’t actually left yet. He’d been looking out at the city, seeming about to swing off of the roof, but stopped for a moment, his head cocked to the side.

“What is it?”

He turned for a moment, lost in thought, and shook his head.

“Nothing, it’s just-I could swear I recognize your voice,” he said.

Her heartbeat was finally starting to slow back to normal, and she caught her breath as the conversation-along with a realization-gradually caught up to her.

There was a reason he didn’t seem like a stranger.

“...And I could swear I recognize yours.”

Peter Parker.

At her words, the eyes of the suit almost seemed to widen as if comically saying I shouldn’t have said anything. Stepping further backwards with a wave, he rambled something about how he really should be going just as a flock of birds flew directly in his way. He stumbled forward, trying to make the movement seem intentional, and looked at her again.

“Yeah, that’s-then-that’s probably because I’ve talked on the news sometimes, you know, trying to help the city and all that-but, uh, are you a singer or something? Because that’s probably why-”

“Kind of,” she said with a smile. “I was lucky to get an off-Broadway job a year out of college, and since then it’s been the whole show-to-show, not-completely-starving-artist thing. I did a lot of theatre in school, too.”

“That’s probably it, then,” he said offhandedly. “I don’t really get out much otherwise.”

As she gave a nod of understanding, a slight smile started to make its way onto her face.

…I’m gonna figure this out.

“Yeah, high school was really something,” she sighed, sitting on the edge of the rooftop and patting the space next to her, where he sat after a moment of consideration. “I went to, uh, Midtown Science High. Not exactly well-known for its arts programs, obviously, but it didn’t have that name until my sophomore year, and by then I was kind of stuck.”

“Stuck?”

“Yeah, my family couldn’t have afforded any of those big performing arts schools. I wish I could have just enjoyed the ‘teenage experience’ more, but I used to watch the Jimmy Awards on TV and cry because I wasn’t there,” she said with what was almost a laugh, staring out over the city before remembering why she was telling him this in the first place. “Sorry if that’s a bit too personal.”

“No, believe me, I’ve heard stories a lot more personal than that,” he said. “I get it, though. That feeling of not wanting to waste your youth, yet knowing there’s something else calling you?”

“...Exactly.”

A short yet strikingly comfortable silence passed, and she looked at him intently.

Even if this isn’t who I think it is, at least I kind of made a friend today.

It’s nice, the chance to be reminded that I can understand someone.

“But you were good in those shows,” Spider-Man said, “at least, I’m sure you were.”

“Judging by my previous screams?”

“Yeah, definitely,” he laughed. “How was, uh, what was that high school theatre experience like?”

Okay, this is how I find out. I’m sure I’ll be able to tell his reactions through that mask…somehow.

“Well, it was definitely chaotic. Lots of stories, lots of memories, lots of long rehearsals.”

She looked over to see that he was nodding, staring straight ahead into the sky as if overthinking every word of the conversation.

Here we go.

This is…not at all how I used to imagine telling him, but here we go.

“I always looked forward to, uh, photo call rehearsals the most.”

His head turned sharply toward her, and it took every ounce of her years of acting training to keep back a smirk.

“Why is that?”

“There was this boy they often sent over from the yearbook.”

…Yeah, there’s no point in trying to study his face. He’s expressive, but there’s only so much one can tell with a mask.

I guess that’s the point.

Anyway.

“He’d literally come skateboarding down the aisles to get the best shots, camera in hand, and the director used to stop rehearsal to yell at him,” she recalled fondly, dropping the act and nearly allowing herself to slip into the memory.

“Tell me, uh-tell me more about this guy.”

“Well, he was very awkwardly eloquent, and he had these big, soulful brown eyes, and I never told anyone, but I had such a crush on him. Didn’t do anything about it, though. We were acquaintances, talked a few times, but generally ran in different circles-not to mention that he had a girlfriend by senior year, of course, this fantastically smart blonde who’s probably out somewhere kicking ass with sciency stuff. I haven’t thought about all of this in so long-I should look her up, see what she’s doing now,” she mused, pulling her phone out of her pocket.

Okay, Google search results, what have you got for me-

Gwen Stacy.

Gwen Stacy valedictorian.

Gwen Stacy future career.

Gwen Stacy death.

…Oh, my God.

She stared unblinkingly down at her phone as she clicked through articles, feeling like the wind was knocked out of her all over again.

Gwen, brilliant Gwen, the girl she never knew well but who was genuinely kind to every single person, the girl she’d always admired and even envied, the girl who’d cried with her once in the school bathroom during college applications near the end of junior year. They’d talked about their parents, about the endless pressure and expectations; that one conversation, that one assurance that she wasn’t alone, had carried her until graduation.

And now that assurance, that radiance…

Now she was gone.

“Peter, I…I’m so sorry.”

She lifted her head for the first time in what felt like ages and looked over at Spider-Man, who seemed to have been slightly deflated.

His voice came out in a whisper.

“Peter? I don’t know who-I don’t know what you’re-I’m sure she must have been very nice, but…goddamnit.”

He stood up without looking at her and moved toward a crevice in a metal structure on the roof, somewhere he couldn’t be seen, and she followed him without quite knowing why. Once safe from the outside, he pulled off his mask, revealing those amber eyes that she recognized in an instant.

All she could do was whisper through her tears.

“Peter.”

“Maria Jeanquart,” he said with half a smile, meeting her gaze for the first time.

She practically melted at the sound of her name, launching into a panicked explanation and apology.

“I am so sorry. I really didn’t know, I should have tried to keep in touch with her, and I should have known, but I was trying so hard to get away from high school, and-and I shouldn’t have brought any of this up at all, my brain wasn’t quite present because, you know, my apartment caught on fire, but that’s not an excuse, and I was excited and I thought it was you and I shouldn’t have pushed you and-oh, God, you must think I’m so insensitive-”

“Hey, hey,” he said, cautiously bringing his hand to her arm. “That’s another reason I recognized you. You’re always apologizing.”

She blinked, slightly struck.

“You’re not wrong.”

More silence passed, understandably a bit more fraught this time, and she watched as he stared upward, trying to blink away a few of his own stray tears.

“I’m really…” she began and trailed off before clearing her throat, “My deepest sympathies for your loss.”

He nodded, still looking at the sky.

“Yeah,” came his voice after a moment, pensive with a slight rasp of emotion. “It’s been a few years. And it’s been hard, really hard, but recently…”

She tilted her head to the side, a compassionate curiosity taking hold as he continued.

“Recently I got the chance to redeem myself, and I finally took it.”

“What do you mean, redeem yourself?” she asked softly.

Even more silence fell, followed by a deep breath from Peter before he spoke again.

“I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t save Gwen, and it’s because of me she was in danger in the first place. That’s why I try-key word, try-not to tell anyone anymore, that’s the real purpose of the whole secret identity thing, but-whatever. A while ago, a similar situation was about to happen to someone who was practically my brother; he was about to lose someone he cared deeply for. And I…I was able to save her.”

He paused for a moment, blinking away the last of his tears.

“Along with the very fabric of the universe, but that was really more of a group effort.”

A fully unexpected laugh burst out of her, and it was joined for a beautifully cathartic moment before dying down again.

“Well, that’s good.”

“Yeah. It feels like I’m…getting back to myself.”

“Good.”

If this was still a TV show, the title of the episode would be some sort of pun relating to prolonged silences…

“Do you want to get a coffee sometime?”

…and the subtitle of the episode would be something to do with surprised blinking.

“Um-actually?”

“Yeah, I mean-yeah. Like I said, the last thing I want to do is put anyone else in danger, it’s part of my responsibility as Spider-Man, but the thing is, I…”

Seems we both ramble too much.

“You want to try being Peter again?”

He nodded, a very real smile hinting to break through. For a moment, she was almost transported back a few years, and she allowed herself only the slightest flutter of excitement before responding to the initial question.

“Of course. I’d love to hear about the very fabric of the universe.”

“And I about your off-Broadway escapades.”

“Basically super equal experiences.”

“Both extremely exciting.”

“Absolutely.”

Although his tone was light, there was something so earnest in the way he talked, something that almost convinced her that he was equally as genuinely interested.

The very fabric of the universe had been at stake, and now they were going to get a coffee sometime.

“I do have to get going,” he said as he put his mask back on, and she nodded.

“Gotta get back to saving the world, I’m sure.”

“All in a day’s work.”

“And, look, I really am sorry about everything I said-”

“Maria.”

…God, having this name never gets old.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned-well, scratch that, if there’s one of a million things I’ve learned over the past few years, it’s that what we perceive as our failings don’t define us.”

“Right, yeah,” she said as they made their way to the edge of the rooftop. “And what really matters is what we do with it. How we make things right.”

“How we take responsibility,” he finished, a jokingly pompous accent masking the genuine wisdom he’d grown into.

“Spoken like a true hero,” she said with a lopsided, still slightly disbelieving smile.

“And where are you off to next?”

She let out a breath as she looked around the city once more.

“Well, it’s just at this moment hitting me that I don’t have a home right now.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. We’re not that far away, it looks like the firefighters have long since put the thing out by now; if you want, I could swing you over there and try to help with the damage, you could see how much of your stuff was salvaged, etcetera.”

“That would probably be best, thanks.”

“Okay, hang on.”

It was a blur how she’d grasped onto him the first time, given that most of her brainpower was put towards not being consumed in flames, but now there was a bit of awkward awareness in the close proximity, and she could almost sense his smile through the mask.

“Tell me again how you had such a crush on this photographer?”

“Oh, shut up,” she grinned, the last word sharply upticking in pitch and turning into a whoop as they took off and swung into the skyline.

[gredandforgeweatherby]

The Girl One Floor Below Masterlist

TASM!Peter Parker x MJ!oc, post NWH

Apartment 3C: Peter helps a girl move in.

Marilyn Jean: Peter is awkward while trying to talk to Marilyn.