#mob!hollands

[m4tthewmurd0ck]

COMING SOON!!!

Mob!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Ballerina Reader

(I do my best to be as non-descriptive as possible, but I do use she / her and mention that reader is a ballerina)

Inspired by the question: Have you ever tried to eat at a restaurant, which happened to be a mafia / mob front, but you didn’t know that, and everyone inside just stared as you walked in because nobody actually eats there?

I FINALLY decided what I want my first piece back to be and I’m so excited shdiznejfns it’s very funny if I do say so myself. Once I got the idea I rushed and typed it on my phone and I already KNOW there are so many spelling errors because I have auto correct turned off and right now it looks like shit hahdndisfn. BUUUUT I just need to give it a quick read through / fix errors on my laptop and we’ll be good to go! Full preview below the cut :)

It had been Bucky’s idea to name the restaurant Tony’s. After their dear friend who had given his life in a war that should’ve never been fought.

It had been Peter’s idea to ‘open a restaurant’. He pointed out that it would be the perfect realistic cover, though Steve argued that they didn’t really need one. Everyone in Brooklyn and the neighboring cities knew who they were, why did they need to put up any sort of front?

In the end, Bucky sided with Peter. They needed a place to talk shop and handle business, and it had to be somewhere that the outside wouldn’t attract any trouble (aka law enforcement). A warehouse was too obvious and was practically begging to be raided. He agreed with Steve, though, in that everyone knew who they were and what their business really was. He pointed out that it was actually a good thing. It would be pretty obvious that the restaurant wasn’t a restaurant, and they wouldn’t attract actual customers. But they’d make it legit, so that they couldn’t be shut down. Like Peter said, they needed a realistic cover.

Within a month, Tony’s was up and running. Running, as in the lights were on during what would be deemed normal business hours. The door was kept locked, but that didn’t matter because as Bucky predicted, no one tried to actually eat there.

Until one day when rehearsal ran nearly 2 hours late. You were tired, exhausted mentally and physically, and you just wanted some comfort food before heading back to your apartment to enjoy the next 2 days off. Still somewhat new to the city, you decided to get off of the subway one stop earlier, and find a restaurant on your way home.

Luckily for you, a neon sign reading TONY’S caught your eye. Unbeknownst to you, there was a meeting going on inside, and someone had forgotten to lock the front entrance.

As you pushed the door open, you had no idea the events that were about to unfold.

💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫

IF YOU’D LIKE TO BE TAGGED WHEN I POST FOR BUCKY, LET ME KNOW!!

[peterdarlingg]

Bloody promises

Pairing:Mob!tom holland x reader

Synopsis: it’s your first date with Tom in a long time. Though things don’t go as planned.

Warnings: mentions of injuries, blood, pain meds, angst. (I think that’s it let me know if I’m missing something.)

A/n: hope you enjoy! I love hearing feedback (nicely<3)

It was wrong place wrong time. You and Tom had planned to go out on a date that night, seeing as it’s been months since you both had spent quality time together.

You decided to just keep it simple and take a walk and eat some ice cream from your favorite place in London.

Taking a stroll all the while Tom is telling you about his day, how horrible it was, how someone owed him tons of money and how much he missed you.

You always took his mind off of his work. Looking back, you knew what you were getting into when you started dating.

After all, you yourself had come from the second most powerful mob in London. Your father though kept you in the dark about a lot of the bad and the ugly, seeing as he wanted to protect you but now this is your life permanently. Though Tom always tries to protect you from everything and anyone.

Many always tried to take down Tom and his mob and all were unsuccessful. That meant he always had full protection on the mansion and on you specifically. You always had a target on your back since you were considered Tom’s weakness and your father had his own powerful mob as well. So you thought who would dare go against the top two mobs in London?

Tom looking back now, was regretting not having his personal guard with him on your guys’ date. You specifically asked today, that it would just be you and him and that you were tired of having someone follow the both of you around and how you just wanted today to be private. “Please T. For me?”

“Things have been really stressful for the both of us and I just want to spend this time together. I know it would be good for us. Please. Just this once?” You begged him to be alone together. You had literally not once gone out wheather with or without Tom, without having protection. Just you and Tom.

He couldn’t say no to you.

~~~

“Tom, T-Tom please,” you cried out.

“We’re almost there darling, stay with me,” he strained, choking back his sobs.

“I can’t, I c-ca-an’t,” you choked out in pain.

Tom stepped on the gas and held your hand and kissed your knuckles and putting pressure on your wound on your side.

“Hey-hey, y/n, stay with me, stay awake okay, we’re almost home!” You could hear Tom faintly talking to you but it wasn’t really registering over your heavy breathing at this point. But you could feel the anxiety radiating from him. “Harrison!” Tom yelled bursting into the house with you in his arms, looking for his second in command. His yell echoed eerily through the house and just seconds later Harrison came running down the hallway, face panicked and alert.

“Get Claire here now!” He barked. Claire was a doctor and he pays her a hefty amount of money to work for him and the only one Tom trusted at that. Harrison opened his mouth just before Tom yelled “Ask questions later haz, now!” He ran down stairs to the med bay Area and put you in the bed. You were yelling in pain begging him for relief.

“Please make it stop,” you shouted voice straining in pain. “Make it stop,” you muttered, sobbing quietly. “Please..” you begged him. “Shhh” Tom whispered between your cries of help, tears searing down his face, holding you in his arms rocking you back and forth gently, arm wrapped around your head cradling it gently while his other hand continues putting pressure elbow deep in your blood.

You whimpered as he put generous pressure to stop the blood from flowing further. “Shhh, I’m so sorry sweetheart, I’m so sorry, it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay love,” face buried in your hair, pressing his lips to your temple. “It hurts Tommy,” you muttered. “I know, I know my darling, it’s okay we’re going to get you fixed up okay?” He rasped. His heart hurt hearing the absolute agony in your voice. His mind kept going back to your date and how he could’ve saved you from this pain.

“You doing okay love?”, he noticed you were very quiet. You were sitting together on a bench in the park at night after having a mouth watering dinner. Not from those fancy restaurants Tom went for his formal meetings though.

You had always loved getting the greasy, mouth watering food from your favorite diner that had been around for forever. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” He asked while looking at you with all the admiration in the world. It was just you and him.

“Yeah.” You smiled softly at him. “I was just thinking that I don’t remember the last time we went out together, you know I just-“

Tom was brought back when he heard footsteps coming inside and he saw Claire. “What’s the damage?”, She asked Tom. You tuned them out, you felt heavy but on the clouds at the same time. Tom was holding your hand and still putting pressure on with his other. You didn’t look so good. Your face was white as a sheet and you were sweating profusely. Your body was shaking and shuddering. Claire was already going to work. “How much blood has she lost?”, she asked him. Tom let out a shaky breath, his anxiety overflowing. “A lot. A bunch of it…too much,” his voice barely above a whisper. “I-I-I’m-m cold-d.” You whispered. You were breathing rapidly, Your body shaking, curling up into you self as you tried to get warm.

“She’s going into shock,” Claire announced and she started working as fast as she could. “Get that blanket from the chair over there and wrap it around her shoulders. Now.” She ordered Tom while she continued working on you and pushing some fluids into an IV into your arm and hooked you up to various machines that made you look so fragile beneath them. In just a few seconds, Tom came back next to you and started covering you with the blanket and tucking it around your shoulders very effectively. He then proceeded to rub up and down your shaky arms continuously trying to comfort you and keep you as warm as possible.

He stood at the head of the bed and watched Claire starting to work on you. She had given you some anesthesia and pain meds so you were slowly getting knocked out at this point. Your eyes fluttered shut looking up at Tom, his fingers tangled in your hair, hand rubbing up and down your arms and leaned down and kissed your hair. He was the last thing you saw before you saw black.

~~~

You woke up to annoyingly loud beeps. Attempting to open your eyes was a struggle it was like they were glued shut. You felt a pang of pain down your side that came and went. Finally coming to it your eyes slowly fluttered open and you realized you were in the med bay in your home. Suddenly you heard muffled voices coming from the other side of the door. The voices got gradually louder and that’s when you realized it was Tom arguing with Harrison. You looked around the room and found evidence of Tom staying here by your side. His phone, cups of coffee and blankets and other clutter. The door opened abruptly and Tom walked in.

“Sweetheart, you’re awake!” Tom tried to look happy but you could see the concern and sadness clear as day in his eyes. “Yeah,” You croaked your throat scratchy and dry. You coughed harshly, wincing in pain from your side. Tom rushed to get you some water.

“Here, here darling, drink baby” he held up a cup of water to your mouth helping you sip, his hand cupping your head for support. The cold water felt incredible, like you hadn’t had a drink in weeks.

“More water?” He gently asked. You shook your head no. “No thank you.” You whispered head falling back from a sudden dizziness. “You okay, love?” “How are you feeling?” He gently probed, gently running his hand over your hair. “I’m okay I think, just a little lightheaded. “It’s probably the meds they got you on. It’s gonna go away in a bit don’t worry.” He said softly, sitting beside you on the edge of your bed.

“It’s okay it’s kinda sick actually, it’s like I’m drunk,” you giggled, turning into a full blown laugh. Tom started laughing as well seeing you all high and silly from the meds was very interesting to say the least. “Why were you yelling?” You softly asked him after coming down from your laugh attack. “What?” “I heard you and Harrison arguing out in the hall,” you told him. “Oh..I- I’m just so- I just can’t believe I let tonight happened. It’s all my fault and I’m not gonna stop till I find out who did this to you. I’m so sorry darli-“ “T, stop, take a breath.” You stopped his rambling. “It’s not your fault.” “Please don’t ever think that. It’s not.” You shook your head looking him in the eye. “You saved me.” Voice cracking, you smiled sadly at him, tears welling in your eyes. “No but I shouldn’t have had to save you from anything or anyone, you don’t get it.” He shook his head, getting worked up now. “I could’ve lost you tonight.” His voice cracked, eyes teary. ‘I could’ve lost you, I was loosing you.” His eyebrows furrowed a pesky little tear escaping his eye. You slowly cupped his face, gently wiping his tears with your thumbs, kissing his forehead.

“I’m here,” you whispered in the cold empty room. Just you and him. “I’m here Tom, I promise I’m not going anywhere.” You pressed your forehead against his, eyes closed breathing each other in as time stood still, just you and him. “I love you,” he whispered. “I love you most.” you whispered back. He smiled gently. You don’t know who leaned in first but it didn’t matter you felt his soft warm lips on yours.

He Feverishly kissed you like you’d disappear and slip out of his arms at any moment. His fingers tangled in your hair and your hands around his neck. He was holding onto you so tightly but so gently at the same time. He deepened the kiss and held you tighter somehow if that was even possible. Both your limbs entangled and you couldn’t see where your arms began and ended. He was being so gentle and tender with you like you were made of glass, he never forgot that you were still freshly, badly injured.

Coming up for air both of you panting, you rested your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes enjoying being in his arms and in his warmth and presence. “Please don’t blame yourself my love.” You told him, voice soft. “I don’t blame you and I don’t believe that what happened was in any way shape or form your fault.” “If anything I’m the one to blame, cause you told me it’s best to have protection with us and I said no and-“ “hey-hey, no, you’re not to blame for this. At all.” He backed away to look at you.

“You just wanted it to be me and you.” “And that’s valid.” “I know you’ve been stressed lately. And I know I haven’t been making it better with me always looking over my shoulder. But I promise you right here, right now I’ll do better by you. I swear it.” He looked at you intensely, eyebrows furrowed. “Pinky promise?” You lightly laughed, trying to lighten the mood, raising your pinky.

He chuckled and held up his own. “pinky promise.” He intertwined his pinky with your own. Then hugged your head firmly to his chest, kissing your hair.

[moon-fics]

headcanons about mob!tom holland × female!reader with the trope grumpy × sunshine where she is extremely agitated and hyperactive which drives him crazy sometimes because she can also be quite impulsive but he loves her more than anything else

A/n: Love the Mob!Tom requests! AHHHHH😍

Tom is always busy with work and keeping things quiet

Which sometimes means he's tired and just wants peace and quiet

So when he comes home to you rambling about your day he has to stay quiet and listen

It's not that he doesn't enjoy listening to you talk because it's one of his favorite pastimes

However, sometimes he just needs to close his eyes and relax in silence

You can easily catch one when it's one of those days and you'll happily trade talking for cuddles

During your time together he'll shut off his phone and if he forgets he'll scold anyone on the other line for calling him

He often has to talk you out of bad ideas right before you do them

A lot of people think he finds you annoying because he refuses to smile in front of his colleagues

He'll just be standing behind you with a frown while you smile at every person you pass by

The truth is he's happy every second he gets to be with you and you're close enough to know that

If anyone tries to tell you otherwise they'll have to deal with his frustrations

Although he doesn't like PDA too much he'll gladly kiss you if you ever ask

But if anyone tries to tease him about it he'll pout for a while

He'll stop once he wraps his arms around you

[charkyzombicorn]

Found family that is this specifically

[maple-the-awesome]

Prettiest One In The Room || Part 2/2

Pairing: Mob! (any) Peter Parker x Reader

Words: 4,488

Overview: After being the victim of cruel remarks and snide laughter from others, you decide to take your husband's generous offer in proving just how much he loves his new wife. Warning: Smut, +18, oral (fem. receiving), gentle dom!Peter, sub!Reader, virgin!Reader, vaginal sex, multiple orgasms, hint of overstimulation, breeding kink if you squint, husband kink (because Peter loves being married to you😉), some dirty talk (but mostly praise because Peter worships you😍).

Marvel Masterlist 🖤 Fandom Masterlist 🖤 Requests

PART ONE

You would shiver at the feeling of the cold marble counter brushing against your exposed thigh, however you're a little too distracted by Peter attacking your neck to complain. Addicted to the soft touch of your skin against his lips, he presses a trail of kisses as far north as your jaw and as far south as your collarbone, each as messy and wet as the last. Sometimes he hits the same place twice before finally deciding to give into temptation and nip you there; never enough to draw blood nor hurt, but plenty to make you whimper in anticipation. This is only the beginning after all.

You can feel Peter's calloused hands dust over your curves as they slide back downwards to your legs. After spreading them apart, he shamelessly positions himself in between which allows him better access directly to you. Personal space is further reduced by guiding your legs around his waist while his arms snake around your torso, pulling you chest-to-chest where he can successfully tower over you. This forces you to keep your head cranked backwards especially when his lips finally meet yours.

You're not sure what's more surprising: his clear desire for his wife that he's amazingly kept hidden until now or the fact that he's somehow deaf to the rapid pounding of her heart. It's almost nauseating paired alongside your wavering nerves and wild thoughts that all seem so out of place. You planned for this. You want this especially after finally laying to rest your worries of being a shame to your husband...So why do you feel so anxious right now?

"...Princess?" Peter only barely pulls away, his breath still warm against yours.

You give a hum for it's all you can muster.

"Do you not want this? I've told you time and time again: I won't be mad if you don't, but I'm not a mind reader, love. You have to be honest with me-" Crap, he isn't deaf after all.

"-I don't know what to do with my hands," you blurt pathetically, cheeks feeling as hot as the sun while you refuse to meet his eyes.

It's true. Your trembling hands have been clenching the edge of the counter in an iron grip, too busy debating their possible options to actually commit to one. Should you be hugging him back? Running your fingers through his slicked back hair? Maybe move them lower down his body until-

-A deep chuckle rumbles in Peter's chest, muffling itself against another quick kiss," this isn't a test, sweetheart, and don't you dare worry about me. Just do whatever makes you feel right."

Giving it some more thought paired with his encouraging words, you finally move your arms around him, wrapping them delicately over his shoulders where your fingertips can be tickled against the longer hair at the back of his head. Your bashful smile melts against his when he resumes work, this time biting your lower lip until you open your mouth only a crack. You soon open much wider however, when his tongue forces its way inside.

Dizzy from this deep kiss, your attention is only stolen away by the feeling of your dress being rolled up. All night you've been tugging at its ends trying to keep it from riding up too far yet here you are now, eagerly shifting your weight to help Peter swiftly move it upwards until exposing your full lower half.

You're taken aback by the animalistic growl he gives once looking you over, a sound that affects you in an almost embarrassing way that goes directly to your core. He has no guilt in staring, in fact he even goes as far as to lick his lips while plucking at the band of your new black lingerie," have you been hiding these pretty things the whole night, princess? 'makes me think someone was planning this, hmm?"

He must've truly been joking again, because you notice a very brief flash of surprise in his eyes when you look away shyly. Of course, it's gone by the time he blinks and replaced by a mischievous glimmer instead as he twiddles the ribbon against his finger, leaning towards you closer with a whispered voice that tickles your ear," usually I don't appreciate anyone being one step ahead of me, but for you, my sweet princess...I'm willing to make an exception."

Both of Peter's hands grasp your hips, giving them a squeeze as he pecks your lips before promptly moving along your jawline towards more important places," tell me, did you pick these out specifically for me?"

You hum your reply, each featherlight kiss leading down to the very crook of your neck.

"I bet you spent hours trying to find the perfect match. Which hug your figure best..."

You whimper when his large hands cup your ass as a perfect fit. His wedding ring is cold to the touch and judging on his grip, you wouldn't doubt a temporary imprint or two of it against your soft skin.

"...Which would make me hard for you..."

You bite your lip as you feel one of his hands move too slowly to reach your inner thigh, tracing a line from just above your knee up to the very place you can't wait to have him at.

"...Which would feel like utter heaven to wear while I shower you in all my love..."

You finally give a moan as Peter suddenly sucks the most sensitive skin of your neck harshly.

"Which you'll never be able to so much as look at again without remembering the time I tore into you, my beloved wife; the prettiest woman to ever live."

"P-Peter, you're going to leave marks," you warn, your concern overshadowed by pleasure as your husband continues to ignore your statement, deciding to fulfill it instead by giving you another suck slightly higher.

"That's the plan. 'have to set it straight with everyone else out there: you're mine and I have no shame in worshiping you."

It'll be impossible to hide all the marks Peter decorates you in right now, but maybe that's not a bad thing. While your cheeks burn with heat, there's a candle of excitement within your chest at the thought of leaving this bathroom arm-in-arm with your husband, covered in his lovely hickeys while wearing a smug smile upon your smeared lips. No one will be able to deny it then: you're his and he'd never have it any other way.

Peter's hands move again, only barely grazing over your upper thighs where they hesitate so that his fingers may pluck gently at the band of your lingerie.

"May I?"

It feels like a dream to have Peter push you further back onto the counter after you nod, removing your legs from his waist and placing them in a bent position over his shoulders once he kneels down. You must've been holding your breath for it, watching intensely as he carefully pulls off your panties to leave your bottom half completely exposed to him and only him. It's not until his thumb- roughly compared to his previous touch- brushes against your wet clit that your breath is released in a shaky gasp.

"So wet already, princess...and I've barely even touched you. How are you possibly going to make it through the night?" He doesn't remove his thumb from your clit, rather he continues rubbing circles against it which have your toes curling inside your heels.

"That feels good, doesn't it? Do you like when I touch you there, princess?"

You hum, tossing your head back.

"Words, princess."

"Y-Yes...It feels heavenly!" You fail to suppress the moan by chewing on your inner cheek. That task is impossible as Peter's finger dips into your soaking folds where it then dances over your opening.

Pleased by your previous answer, he smirks," you're the only person in the world I'll ever get down on my knees for, you know that?"

You dare to look down, curiosity getting the best of you when you feel his warm breath against your pussy, however you can only get a brief glance at the sight before your head is thrown back again, an unrestrained cry filling the air as Peter's lips attach themselves to your clit. Before you can even fully process the feeling of his tongue against your nerves, he uses it as a distraction to push his long finger into you.

Both actions are foreign in feeling. Sure, you've experimented with yourself a little as a horny teenager and you'd be lying to say you haven't secretly touched yourself even after marrying Peter. Once growing comfortable around your new husband, the next natural step was to fuck your own fingers while imagining the touch to belong to him as a fruitless attempt in reaching a proper orgasm much to your own frustration. Luckily, you don't think that's going to be a problem after tonight.

Peter's finger disappears to his knuckle as he pumps into your pussy, his tongue swirling over your sensitive bulb in the meantime. He doesn't bother being dignified about it nor is he afraid of the echo of his own slurping as he practically eats you alive like a starved man.

One finger then two, stretching you out in a way that's only a taste of what's to come. They burn at first, yet the more he moves inside your tight pussy, scissoring and curling against your wet walls, the more that pain transforms into a pleasure that has your mouth hung open, droll barely kept from dripping in the corners.

Never have you been able to make yourself feel this way. Where you'd normally lose strength just as your legs began to shake, Peter shows resistance, merely smirking while keeping at it. As your moans increase in volume with his name being torn from your throat in the form of a prayer, he only temporarily moves away from your pussy, his voice unforgivably deep.

"Are you gonna cum, princess? Go ahead then...Show your husband that he's doing his job well. 'show him how much you love it when he eats you out."

You're certain your grip on the counter is white at this point, any words you try to speak broken against your own moans until the feeling is overwhelming. You weren't sure how much longer you could last, however the answer is quickly provided when Peter gives another powerful suck while curling his fingers inside.

Crying out his name, you feel yourself finally come undone over his fingers and face. Your body shakes and you can't help lifting your hips into him in weak thrusts. He doesn't stop right away, instead catching your hips in his hands and pulling you into his face where he can easily kitten lick his share of your juices even if it leaves you whimpering.

It isn't until Peter stands to his feet that you can see what you've done, his jaw shining in the lights hanging above you both. Smirking, he shamelessly sticks his fingers into his mouth one at a time, sucking them off before kissing you again which allows you to taste yourself on his lips, too.

"Mmm, you taste wonderful, princess," he hums, pecking your forehead," but I'm ready for the main course, how about you? You took my fingers so well. 'think you can do that to my cock, too?"

"Please."

Peter chuckles before undoing his belt, letting his pants fall and pool at his ankles. His erection is clear in his boxers, a bit of precum visibly leaking onto the fabric. When he pulls this last remaining barrier of clothing down, his cock finally springs free and slaps his stomach.

You gulp, both out of desperation and slight worry. It's one thing to imagine what he looks like down there as you pump yourself with a measly two fingers, but it's a very different effect to see him in person like this. He's long and lean yet far bigger than just two fingers. A part of you wants to worry over this size, fearing the pain that will come from it regardless of what he's already done to make you slick. Of course, that's the quieter side of your head. Regardless of such silent worries, you lick your lips, dying for a taste.

With his cock in hand, Peter gives it a few pumps to prepare while caging you against the counter with his free hand. Despite the current situation including all the dirty things that have been said and done leading up to now, his voice is soft as he whispers in your ear," do you still want this, princess? We can keep it down to just you if you want."

"And leave you like that?" You whisper back, shivering at the sound of his cock sliding in his hand at a steady pace, and that's just it being coated in his own precum! What sinful sounds is it going to make pushed deep inside your slick?

"I could always finish myself off if-"

"-But I want you," you complain, placing a hand on the back of his head. Your fingers tangle in his hair, not applying any pressure but assuring he doesn't get any ideas of moving away," I want you inside me now. I want you to officially make me yours; all of me."

Peter moans lowly and you can feel his smooth tip barely poke against your folds," all of you, hmm? You want me to fuck your little pussy then?"

The tip pushes through only enough to run up and down through your folds, coating itself in leftover juices which makes you shiver again,"...break you open and pump you full of my big cock? Would you like that, princess?"

"Yes, I would, Peter. Please just fuck your wife already!" All he has to do is lean a little forward and he'll be in. Why must he tease like this?

"Atta girl."

You both moan when Peter finally pushes forward, his cock slipping into your pussy at a leisurely pace. Just as you expect, it burns a lot despite his fingers having already loosened you up. Such a feeling fills your eyes with tears which Peter brushes away with his thumbs kindly.

Whispering sweet words of encouragement along the way, he takes his time slowly sinking in until his balls reach your entrance, forbidding him from going any further," don't rush yourself, darling...Take your time and relax for me."

You whimper, your breath increasing as your pussy tries to adjust to his size, although it takes longer to get comfortable than you would like. Nevertheless, you listen to Peter's urges, waiting not so patiently for most of the stinging to subside before moving forward with the part you desire most.

Your husband groans when you weakly try to roll your hips against him, taking it as a sign to begin moving himself. Pulling out, he leaves just his tip in before slamming back into you again causing you to cry out in pleasure. With this, he begins the task of pumping into you as promised, starting out slow just to get you accustomed to the process.

With practice, your whines of discomfort become moans of pleasure ripped from the very depths of your lungs. Both of your arms wrap around him, digging into the back of Peter's suit which will more than likely need a special trip to the dry cleaners to get ironed out after the way you've been gripping onto the fabric (not that he minds one bit). Meanwhile, he keeps his own arms tightly around you to prevent you from being pushed too far back onto the counter by the force of his strong thrusts, instead keeping you trapped securely right where he can please you best on the edge.

"You're so damn tight, princess...So tight for me and only me. Does it feel good having your husband finally claim your pussy?

"Just." Thrust...

"Like." Thrust.

"You." Thrust!

"Planned!" THRUST!

Your nails scratch his skin with the same amount of pressure that your teeth bite into your lower lip with, trying to suppress the shameful smile his dirty words give," oh yes!"

Suddenly Peter stops and, for a split second, you fear that's a sign he came already, however before you can feel too disappointed over that, you realize the true reason for his pause.

"We're fucking busy!" He shouts angrily as the bathroom door only just begins to creak open.

 This makes your heart leap both due to his livid tone and the fact that someone almost caught the two of you, although you're sure the woman probably feels worse given how quickly she slams the door with a horrified gasp. Surely she put two and two together hearing moans then a man's voice coming from inside the women's bathroom...Oh well.

You might've let the interruption ruin this otherwise perfect moment if not for Peter lifting you off the counter and, in one swift movement, bending you over it with your bare ass in the air towards him.

"Hands on the counter, princess," Peter orders and you happy oblige," now unless you have any objections, I'd like to continue where we left off from here."

While you eagerly slap your palms against the smooth surface, keeping yourself upright with your back purposefully arched in a beautiful way, your prepared posture falters immediately when Peter pushes into you roughly from behind.

No longer facing him, you must watch from the mirror in front of you to see just what your husband's up to back there (not that this is a bad sight). His eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, sweat beading on his forehead as he holds your hips into place with a powerful grip. A mix of swears and praises fall from his satisfied smirk, his lustful eyes drifting from the sight of his cock disappearing into your deep pussy then to the mirror where he can check on your own expression.

Honestly you're a complete mess; absolutely breathtaking. You can barely keep your eyes open let alone keep yourself upright on the counter, falling over nearly every time Peter thrusts into you. It isn't probably not all that ladylike to have so much drool dripping from your mouth which hangs open and sings admirations for the man doing this to you, but he's touched to hear such songs.

"Peter-!" You go to shout, shutting your mouth quickly to muffle the sound in fear of someone else hearing. Even assuming that woman didn't go spread the news about Peter Parker currently fucking the soul out of his wife in the bathroom, others are bound to know the difference between an angry wife and a very happy one when they hear it themselves. 

Despite your thoughtfulness towards keeping this show private, Peter seems to have a different idea, reaching forward to pull your hair. It might've been his idea of being dominant, however it feels more like he's running his hand through your hair instead of actually pulling it. Damn him and his caring nature right now!

"Don't be shy. Tell them exactly who's fucking you, princess. 'make them regret ever doubting you."

You whimper.

"You about to cum again already, sweetheart? Damn, do you love your husband's thick cock that much that you can barely last?" Peter mocks, his thrusts getting harder," come on, princess. You deserve this. Cum for your husband and let everyone hear you do it!"

"PETER, MMM!" You don't need to be told twice. By the time Peter finishes his sentence, you're already letting loose over his cock. You both moan, you for the feeling of being so full and loved while Peter moans for the feeling of your tight pussy hugging around him so delicately; a perfectly fit just as he imagined you'd be for him.

Crossing your arms against the counter, you use them as a pillow to rest your head on as you sigh pleasantly. Once catching your breath, you glance over your shoulder with a tired smile in preparation to praise Peter, however that apparently has to wait.

Before you can process it, he's sneaking one of his hands around your front, his fingers searching blindly for something which he knows he's found by the way you raise your head against with a loud gasp.

"Peter, what are-?"

"-One more time, princess. I want you to cum one more time for me, please," his leans completely over your arched back, pressing against you until his teeth are able to nibble your ear lobe.

"I-I don't know if I can-can," you mewl, unable to help the movement of your legs as they prance in place. You're still so sensative from your last two orgasms yet Peter wants a third?

Thinking about it now, you're certain those first two orgasms were your strongest ever. Hell, maybe you've never actually orgasmed before if it's supposed to feel like that. Never have you felt anything near those powerful waves of pleasure when playing with yourself, so if Peter's feeling anything like you right now, you can understand why he's suddenly addicted, but can you really survive a third?

"You can do this, sweetheart. It'll be quick. Just one more so that I can cum with you this time. Don't you want to learn what it's like to have a man's stuff himself inside you?"

So dirty. 

"...But if you're really that tired, you can rest. I can finish myself like I said earlier. Just tell me what you prefer."

Hmm, so many options? Try for another orgasm, let him finish himself off and possibly cum elsewhere on your body. Hell, you're not against the idea of blowing him either.

"I'm waiting for the green light, princess."

You moan at his breath in your ear," go-go ahead...b-but I can't guarantee I'll be able to walk out of here."

"I'll carry you then," Peter smirks before mercilessly playing with your swollen ball of nerves, swirling around it with his thumb while slowly starting his thrusts up again.

You can't bother to keep your head up this time, resting it on your arms while allowing Peter to do as he pleases. He deserves it anyways with how good he's been making you feel for your first time.

He uses his free arm to wrap around your stomach, pulling you into him until there's no space left. Your back is completely pressed to his, his pelvis smacking against your ass as his cock buries itself into your slick folds at a rapid rate that has you screaming his name in no time.

You're so sensitive, your pussy feeling stretched to its limit while your clit's overwhelmed, but you don't want it to end. If you could, you'd stay like this the entire night, however realistically, you won't be able to last too much longer from now. Peter won't either. Soon, his own moans are matching the volume of yours, his grip tightening over you yet his naughty hand losing its persistent rate rubbing your blub.

Letting his head fall forward, Peter bites then kisses your shoulder sobbly," you-you feel that, princess? My cock...twitching inside you? I'm getting close...Mmm...'can't last much longer..."

Oh, you feel it alright. Even if you didn't, you could tell just by the way his face is screwed in the mirror. Peter's unraveling, reaching his own breaking point just as you are.

"I-I'ma...too," using whatever strength you have left, you push your ass against him, giving weak thrusts to help him along as you feel yourself beginning to cum once more. This time you have tears in your eyes, enough to roll down your cheeks as you shout into the air without any regard as to who might hear it," PETER! F-FUCK!"

The deep groan behind you is the only warning you have a split second before you shiver at the feeling of something foregin filling your insides. It's warm and thick, coating your walls beautiful if only you could see it.

Peter's thrusts shutter, both of his hands hurrying to steady himself by grabbing hold of your hips. He holds you to his leaking cock, giving it a few good thrusts to make sure he fills you completely, pushing his seed deep inside. You feel cold and empty when he finally pulls out with a sigh, although there's some satisfaction in his hand covering your entrance immediately afterwards.

"Such a good girl...So full of my cum," Peter whispers happily, using his fingers to push back in any of his thick liquids that seep out of your aching folds. If it weren't for your birth control, something tells you you'd definitely be pregnant after this, but if the process is this nice, maybe that's not a terrible idea someday.

You refuse to let go of the counter, using it as support to turn around and face your husband while still catching your breath. The first thing you do is look down, confirming for yourself that beads of white cum cover your pussy's entrance even around his hand. As for his cock, it's already starting to rise again despite being slick in your juices and his own cum along the sides.

"How...-" You inhale tiredly with a teasing smile,"-are you still hard after all that?"

"That's what happens when you have such a gorgeous wife. I could go all night if she asked," Peter leans forward, wrapping his arms tightly around you and pressing a needy kiss to your lips. Judging on how desperatly he claims your mouth, one would think he hasn't kissed you in ages and defintely didn't just get done fucking the life out of you.

His cock presses against your inner thigh, something that would've made you wet again if not for your three orgasms having turned your legs into jelly. There's no way you can go for more when you can barely stand straight on your own.

"Lift me onto the counter?" You ask into the kiss, Peter happily obliging.

You can't tell if it feels better to be sitting down with how much your pussy and lower back burn, however at least you're steady enough as you wrap your arms around Peter's shoulders, pulling him into another kiss.

He's the one to eventually pull away, his hands covering your cheeks as he carefully looks your face over with a hint of worry in his eyes," I didn't get too rough, did I?"

"Not at all. I loved it," you confirm, pecking his lips," I love you."

Peter smiles at this, letting his hands fall back around you," I love you, too, princess...and I hope you know that now without a doubt. Never let anyone make you think differently."

"And what if I want another lesson to prove it?"

"Sweetheart, you can have this without the 'lesson' part anytime you desire."

"...Then how about more tonight? I need some rest, but I'm not against the idea of taking care of you in the car ride back- if you want that is," you offer against his ear, running a hand down Peter's chest while giving his necktie a suggestive tug in the process.

Needing no other options, Peter makes quick work in lifting you up bridal style and demanding the first guard he crosses outside of the bathroom to start the car. It might not be exactly as you planned earlier, but you're certain tonight is going to be even better than what you dreamed.

[huntergatherercreator]

Liar: Part 4

Pairing: Mob!Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: You find out what Tom does for a living.

A/N: It's been a while since part 3, if anyone is tagged that doesn't want to be anymore let me know 🙂

Part one | Part two | Part three

1,851 words

The minute you'd landed at the airport the press of unfamiliar humid air had settled on your chest making it difficult to breathe. You'd expected to be filled with relief and have the tension of the last day melt away. You'd expected to feel free. Instead, the sudden feeling of loss was almost crippling as you stared out at the foreign streets. Not only had you lost the man you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with, you’d lost your life. Your friends, your family, your home. All gone in a matter of minutes.

You silently cursed him. For pursuing you, for being so attentive and caring, for making you fall so hard for him. For keeping secrets, for lying, for being a killer for hire and not thinking you deserved to know exactly who you were getting involved with. But most of all you cursed yourself. For being so blinded by him in every way that you didn’t even suspect something was amiss until it was too late.

While the sun beat down relentlessly on the palms you stood at the exit doors with frustration swirling in your gut. What were you doing here? How had things gone so wrong so quickly? Tears prickled behind your eyes but you held them back. Now wasn’t the time. You had to work out your next move before he realised you were gone, if he hadn’t already. His warning about the mafia lingered above your head like a guillotine waiting to drop. You’re a liability to them now. A chill swept through you despite the overbearing heat of the city.

If you were going to survive and stay hidden you had to become someone else. Someone untraceable.

***

Tom

The early morning sun bathed the room in golden light. It spilled over her. Caressed the bare skin of her back as she slept peacefully. Shrouded her in a warm glow that made his breath catch. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever get used to this. Waking up next to her always felt like a sneak peek of heaven. One he didn’t deserve given he was definitely not on that guest list anymore. Not after everything he’d done. When he looked at her though, none of that mattered. He’d redo his sins a hundred times over knowing their path would lead to her.

He brushed his fingertips down her spine unable to hold back from touching her any longer. She stirred slightly with a soft contented sigh. He pressed his lips to her shoulder. Her neck. Her jaw. Each kiss as gentle as possible. He didn’t want to wake her but he couldn’t help himself. A small smile tugged the corner of her mouth.

‘Is this your subtle way of saying you’re ready for another round?’ The husky sleep laced tone of her voice was like honey to his ears. Sweet and hard to resist. Speaking of hard...

‘It wasn’t, but since you insist,’ he moved to gently cover her back with his body, his evident interest in her idea pressed firmly against her. ‘I’m more than happy to oblige.’

A laugh that had his heart stuttering.

‘Is that a no?’ He asked softly, leaning in to graze her neck with his teeth. She wriggled back against him with a gasp.

‘You’re insatiable’ she muttered, faux exasperated. Rolling over she finally opened her eyes to gaze up at him. God, he could get lost in those eyes. The depth of them consumed him. The way they lit up around him with sparks of joy, admiration, lust. He wished he could be exactly how she saw him. Unstained and pure. He never wanted her to stop looking at him like she was at that very minute. He already knew he needed to tell her everything, preferably before he got in any deeper than he already was. He just had to find the right time. Her lips brushed against his, her hands trailing down his chest. Later, he resolved as he kissed her back languishing in the contentment that came with her touch. He’d tell her later.

His brothers voice broke him from his reverie and he reluctantly returned his attention to the men filling the conference room.

“There’s nothing new to report. The Miller incident was handled. I have men still tracking Newman.” His voice sounded flat even to his own ears. His brother cleared his throat uncomfortably before jumping in with information of his own.

Eyes drifting back to the reports in front of him, Tom stared at them unseeing. The confrontation in your apartment had left him hollow. He’d been so sure you would see the situation the way he did, as a necessary part of his job and nothing more. Instead your reaction haunted him in the dark endless hours of the night.

That goddamned lunch date. Guilt wormed through him at what you’d walked in on. If he had paid attention to his phone more closely, or held off interrogating that creep for even ten more minutes you'd still be together. You were never supposed to see that side of him. What he did for a living was exactly that, it wasn’t personal. His hands may not be the cleanest, he’d done things that made other men flinch at the mere thought, but he’d never brought that darkness anywhere near you. You were his safe haven. The tether that kept him grounded even on his worst days.

Staying away from you caused a deep ache in his chest but you’d asked for space and no matter how long it took he’d wait. That didn't mean he wouldn’t keep checking up on you. He’d spent most of his nights parked up outside your apartment staring at the darkened windows praying for a glimpse of you to keep him sane. He wasn’t surprised you hadn’t contacted him, though it hurt more than he could put into words. He meant everything he’d said to you. He would be by your side through everything and anything that happened. There was nothing that could make him love you any less than he did.

As the meeting wrapped up he fled the room before he could get pulled into any conversations. The peace of his office was all he wanted until it was late enough to leave and head to your apartment. The anticipation of almost seeing you was all that got him through the afternoons anymore.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he was half way to his desk before he realised he wasn’t alone. He reflexively went for his gun.

“It’s me!” his brothers voice cracked in surprise as he rose from the leather armchair, hands up to ward him off. Tom froze, the weight of the gun in his hand burned as he realised what he’d been about to do.

“Stop sneaking about like that, Harry!” he snapped. He quickly holstered his gun and fisted his hands to hide their slight tremble.

“Me? Get your head out of your arse. You’re the one blowing off jobs, blowing off your family to sit in a dark car all night.”

Tom froze. His brother raised an eyebrow at him. “You didn’t honestly think no-one had noticed?”

Tom moved to sit at his desk. The seconds he had his back turned he tried to school his features. Had he really not noticed someone tailing him? Unsettled he shuffled his files, deliberately avoiding eye contact.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he eventually answered when he was sure he had a hold of his emotions.

“Bullshit.” Harry stalked over to the desk and glared down at him with folded arms. “You need to stop. I don’t know what happened between the two of you but she’s not coming back.”

Ice slipped into his veins freezing him in place as he slowly processed his brothers words.

“What did you just say?” Tom’s voice was barely above a whisper but the warning tone had Harry tensing.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but she’s gone. Its time to get your shit together. You’ve been moping about for too long. People are starting to notice.”

Tom’s heart kicked hard against his ribs. His brother couldn’t be saying what he thought he was. There was no way.

“What do you mean she’s gone?” He was barely able to keep the slow rise of panic at bay as his mind raced. He hadn’t told anyone what happened. Even if Harry assumed you’d broke up he'd be giving Tom the ‘get over it by getting under someone’ speech, not saying what he was saying.

When Harry took too long to answer, Tom kicked his chair back and stalked over to him.

Harry straightened, surprise widening his eyes but he held his ground.

“What do you mean?” he half growled. His fingers itched to grab his brother by the shirt front and shake the answers out of him.

“How long has it been since you saw her?”

“Three weeks,” Tom reluctantly shared. Three weeks, 2 days and 8 hours. In other words, too damn long.

Harry hesitated again and Tom almost swung for him. “Tell me what the fuck is going on!”

“I honestly thought you knew, Tom,” Harry ruffled a hand through his hair uncomfortably. “She’s been MIA since then. She hopped on a red eye and Intel says there’s been no activity on her cards since she landed.”

Harry kept talking but the words were drowned out by the blood roaring in Tom’s ears. The edges of his vision wavered for a long second as he struggled to pull in a breath. You were gone. You’d left him.

His brothers hands were suddenly on his shoulders, fingers gently digging in to get his attention. When that failed he pushed Tom down into the nearest chair and a glass of whiskey appeared. He downed it without hesitation. It stung his throat and pooled in his empty stomach with a burn that did nothing to thaw the ice trapping his heart.

Fingers tangling in his curls he stared into his empty glass. Where had you gone? When would you be back? How could you leave without telling him? A million more questions raced through his mind as he tried to reconcile everything. How had he not noticed when he’d sat outside your apartment for so long each night?

With a jolt he realised that if Intel had told Harry about you leaving then you were on their radar already. A new wave of worries and anxiety took over as he silently questioned how long they’d been keeping tabs on you.

After what felt like an eternity he glanced up to find his brother sat opposite him, elbows resting against his knees as he nursed his own glass. The sympathy radiating off him set Tom on edge.

All promises to give you time no longer applied. He had to find you before his boss realised why you’d ran.

“Where is she?”

“She landed in Miami,” Harry’s jaw worked for a second before he surprisingly added, “I’ll book your flight.”

------

Taglist:

@loxbbg

@rosie-posie08

@woahmrstark

@a-mj-a

[coconutmall-ed]

these two are the same kind of loser i can’t explain it it’s just true

[mrs-hollandstan]

You & mob Tom fell out over you not wanting to move in with him or being part of his mafia crew

I changed this a lillll bit to fit one of my fave tropes of leaving when y/n is pregnant and Tom doesn’t know sooooo I hope you still enjoy hehe

You tried your best to pretend you didn't see him but he demanded all attention. Especially with that gaze directed towards the little girl in your arms. You'd seen Harrison around recently and you just knew that your baby girl looked just like her father and that he'd reappear, demanding you finish the conversation you refused to have nearly three years ago, settling instead, for walking out and never looking back. He'd never been fine with the decision, but now he was upset about the decision, seeing as your shared little girl was here and he'd known nothing about her. 

You'd only told him you didn't want to move in and that you didn't enjoy his career. He'd just shrugged it off, but what hurt was when you'd collected your things and disappeared in the night, blocking his number and moving out of town. But he'd found you anyways. He approaches, your eyes hooded as you stare at him, hoisting the three year old higher on your hip. He licks his lips, 

"So… when were you gonna tell me?" 

"I wasn't. And that right hand man of yours had no business doing it either." You spit. He hums, 

"Right… because it's totally acceptable to keep my daughter from me." The urge to fight him, tell him she's not his is strong, but you ignore it. You look to Evelyn, 

"You're staying with me." You scoff, 

"Yeah. I'll pass." He shoots daggers,

"Would you like me to take full custody Y/N?" He threatens. You swallow as he turns to you, staring down into your eyes, "Give me a reason to take my daughter from you." He growls. The whimper you release, at least, isn't loud enough for him to hear. He grips your arm, dragging you after him while you cradle your daughter to your hip. He practically shoves you into his car, a car seat being slid in before he climbs in beside you. He gestures to it, 

"Teach me how to use it." You don't necessarily do as you're told, you just buckle her into it, glancing up when she's settled. His eyes linger on her for a moment before they flick up to you ans then ahead at the road. You buckle yourself in, sitting quietly as his driver drives you back to the mansion you escaped from years ago. You sigh as you stare up at the dismal house, quickly unbuckling Ev from her carseat the second the car is parked. Tom moves around the car, pressing a hand to your lower back, leading you towards the front door. He gestures up the stairs once you're inside, 

"New stuff in the guest bedroom for the both of you. If you need anything, let me know." 

"Yeah, extra bedsheets and a basket." You murmur. He frowns, 

"Yeah… I'd love to see your daughter from a third-story window." He grumbles back. He turns on his heel and heads for the kitchen while you head upstairs. You inspect the guest bedroom, smiling as Evie immediately gasps and goes for the drawing table in the corner. It's easy to lose time when you're watching her create things like she always does, and before you know it, Tom comes into the room, glancing down at the little girl in the corner, 

"Look at that… didn't need the basket after all." You roll your eyes as he sits beside you, shrugging his suit jacket off. He sighs, 

"She's beautiful Y/N." He murmurs, leaning his elbows on his knees. You nod, 

"I know. She looks just like you and you've always been beautiful." He smiles,

"And yet I can't seem to keep you around." You glare at him, 

"And yet here I am being held hostage." He gestures to the door,

"I didn't lock you in. You could've strung your sheets together and made a run for it into the forest. But yet here you are, watching her have the time of her life." Glancing back at Evelyn, you chew the inside of your lip, 

"Yeah… I always seem to do that." There's a moment of silence before he speaks again, 

"I could've helped you." You shake your head, 

"I was not subjecting her to the same fate I had." You mutter. He frowns, 

"What's that supposed to mean? You let me get you pregnant. I couldn't have been that bad." 

"It wasn't you Tom, it's the fucking job. It would have killed me to have her used against us so your goddamn enemies could've gotten to you." You tell him. He frowns, 

"So… you don't hate me…" You shake your head, 

"No." He scoffs,

"You still fucking love me." 

"That doesn't matter anymore-"

"Of course it matters! I spent all this time thinking you hated me. Ans then Harrison finds out you have this little girl and I was heartbroken. That," he gestures to Evelyn, so much vulnerability in his eyes, "That's my little girl. I don't even know how she became this person because you left me." He has tears in his eyes now as you stare up at him. You swallow, 

"I can't have her used against me-" 

"I can give you a detail. Protection 24/7. I just… I hated feeling like the one person I was supposed to trust was double crossing me. I thought you hated me. Please… please, don't take her from me again. You think I liked not having you around? I fucking loved you." He explains. You blink up at him, 

"I'm scared." 

"You don't have to be. Trust me." He tells you. Glancing at Evelyn, you swallow, 

"I just don't wanna lose her." He takes your hands, 

"I… have you both." Finding his eyes, you sigh after a moment and nod, 

"Fine… but the second something happens to her, that's it. I'm done." He nods,

"You're not gonna have to worry. Anyone that touches either of you… dead on the spot." He tells you. You sigh, 

"And I don't wanna stay in this house. I've always hated this house." You admit. He nods, 

"Done." Moving in, he drags you in, his lips covering yours in a searing kiss. He drags you into his lap, stroking your hair back, 

"Fuck I missed you." He grumbles." You smile, staring down at him. He swallows, 

"What'd you name her?" Glancing over your shoulder, you smile,

"Evelyn Nicole." You admit. He smiles, 

"My mum will be… you've just inflated my mum's ego so hard." You giggle, 

"She's the best part of you." He shrugs, 

"She was… that little girl over there is the new best part." You stroke curls from his forehead, 

"This is true. Hence the name. Passing it from one to the other." He smiles, 

"She deserves the world." 

"And you know what… her father can give it to her." He nods, 

"And he intends to do so." You smile down at him, "starting now." He practically dumps you onto the couch, moving towards your daughter. When he crumbles onto the floor next to her, crossing his legs beneath him, you remember why you've loved him for so long. 

[msclaritea]

"Biopics of massively famous musicians are rarely very good, often because they stumble at the question of whom exactly they’re being made for. Are you making a movie for the already initiated die-hard fans yearning to see the life and times of their hero reflected back at them in exacting detail? Or is your movie a welcome mat for novices, a breezy jukebox of greatest hits aimed at cultivating new generations of fans, goosing streaming tallies and catalog sales in the process? Most musician biopics never manage to resolve this tension, in part because they’re usually also serving a third master, namely the musician’s estate, which tends to hold its own, very specific ideas about on-screen depiction.

Bob Marley: One Love, the new movie about the late reggae superstar that’s produced by Marley’s widow, Rita, along with some of his children, is a biopic that does seem to know whom it’s for, which isn’t a point in its favor. The film is directed by Reinaldo Marcus Green (King Richard) and stars Kingsley Ben-Adir as Marley, who does his best with the role despite not really looking or sounding much like the real Marley. (Within the past four years Ben-Adir has played Malcolm X, Barack Obama, and Bob Marley, quite the triptych of historical figures.) Lashana Lynch plays Rita and steals the film in every scene she’s in, even if the movie’s script fails to elevate her character past the archetypical suffering-yet-supportive wife of a genius.

Rather than taking a cradle-to-grave approach to Marley’s life, One Love instead focuses on a single period of Marley’s career, his self-imposed exile to England in the aftermath of the 1976 attempt on his life at his home in Kingston, during which time he recorded Exodus, the 1977 LP that marked his full breakthrough into global superstardom. The film opens with the assassination attempt, after which we’re quickly whisked to London, where the film depicts Marley writing most of Exodus’ songs in a cloying series of “eureka!” moments that tend to populate movies of this kind. Snippets of Marley’s classic “Redemption Song” surface as a recurring musical motif in the film, and in one of the last scenes, we see Marley performing the song for his awestruck family in a sappy flourish that’s also anachronistic. (By most accounts, Marley didn’t write “Redemption Song” until 1979.) Periodically we’re treated to a series of flashbacks of the singer’s earlier life, a clichéd device that this movie could have used more of: Brief forays into Marley’s conversion to Rastafarianism are surprisingly well done, and a scene of a teenage Marley and the Wailing Wailers performing “Simmer Down” at Coxsone Dodd’s Studio One is the best moment in the film.

One Love is an inspirational tale about a Great Man who used music to unite the world, one that reduces one of the most consequential and complicated artists of the 20th century to a walking fount of genial aphorisms, the guy who suggested we all get together and feel all right. As such, the film indulges a decadeslong public appetite for a particular imagining of Marley that his estate now seems depressingly eager to feed. It’s been 42 years since Marley died of a rare form of melanoma at age 36, and I’m not sure there’s a musician who’s more literally iconic: Go to any commercial district in any part of the world and within minutes you’ll find an opportunity to buy something bearing Marley’s likeness. In the United States, Marley has been a staple of dorm-room walls for generations: The casual and underinformed co-optation of Marley by American bro culture has even inspired a recurring meme in which Marley’s name is erroneously affixed to an image of Jimi Hendrix.

To a certain brand of musical cynic, Marley has become the embodiment of a musician whom people own posters and T-shirts of but don’t actually listen to, which isn’t totally fair to most of the owners of those posters and T-shirts. Some of Marley’s music is still enormously popular: His 1984 greatest hits compilation Legend is currently enjoying its 820th week on the Billboard 200, a position it will likely maintain for the foreseeable future given One Love’s early, strikingly robust box-office projections. The only album that’s spent longer on the chart is Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon.

But in the pop-cultural imagination, Legend has completely eclipsed everything else Marley ever released. The album has sold more than 15 million copies in the United States alone, while no other Marley LP has sold even 1 million stateside. From a purely mathematical standpoint, this would indicate that for many fans, Legend is the first and only Marley album they’ll ever listen to. I’m not sure there’s another greatest hits compilation that has played such an outsize role in the public definition of an artist.

Legend is a fine little collection, but the idea that it’s some sort of one-stop synopsis of Marley’s career is absurd. For starters, 10 of its 14 tracks date from the period of 1977–80, a four-year time frame that represents the height of Marley’s global popularity but is a relatively minuscule cross section of a staggeringly prolific, nearly two-decade-long recording career. (Five of Exodus’ 10 tracks are included on Legend, which I suspect is one reason that One Love is so invested in the album’s significance.)

This period also coincides with a time when Marley’s music seemed to take a step back from revolutionary politics, a tack that may have been driven at least in part by the aforementioned assassination attempt. The Marley canonized on Legend is not the Marley who sang “I feel like bombin’ a church/ Now that you know that the preacher is lyin’ ” or who called for “burnin’ and a-lootin’ tonight … burnin’ all illusion tonight” or declared that “Rasta don’t work for no CIA.” The dominance of Legend in the U.S. is particularly striking when one considers that Marley’s highest-selling album in this country during his lifetime was 1976’s Rastaman Vibration, which peaked at No. 8 on the Billboard 200 and includes such overtly political tracks as “Crazy Baldhead,” “Rat Race,” and “War.” Legend doesn’t include a single track from Rastaman Vibration, instead opting for romantic fare like “Is This Love” and “Waiting in Vain” and feel-good anthems like “One Love/People Get Ready” and “Jamming.” (For an excellent deep dive into the history and legacy of Legend, I recommend this article from the Ringer earlier this week.)

One Day’s Director Has No Regrets About the Movie’s Controversial Ending

Legend’s preeminence has helped turn Marley into the musical equivalent of a tourist destination, at which One Love is just one more cozy attraction. This is worse than a shame, because the real Bob Marley was one of the most remarkable musical talents of the 20th century. As a songwriter, he was so prolific that music seemed to pour out of him, a quality that has sometimes led to a naturalization of his gifts that veers into exoticizing primitivism. (One Love certainly partakes in this.) But rather than being some carefree savant, Marley was a fiercely disciplined and ambitious artist from the very beginning. He wrote and recorded his first single, “Judge Not,” in 1962 at the age of 16, and it remains an astonishing debut, an effortlessly catchy melody sung by a voice that sounds both nervous and supremely confident in a way that only a teenager can manage.

By the time he signed to Island Records in 1972 and began his ascent to international superstardom, Marley had already written a lifetime’s worth of great songs. He had a preternatural ear for hooks and crafted songs that were ready-made hit records, three-minute gems of perfectly crystalized musical ideas. As a singer, his indelible tenor rasp and thrillingly improvisational style were the byproducts of an extraordinarily well-honed sense of intonation and time. And during the 1970s, he fronted what might have been the best band on the face of the earth, grounded in the peerless rhythm section of drummer Carlton Barrett and bassist Aston “Family Man” Barrett, the latter of whom died earlier this month at age 77. (Aston’s son and namesake, an accomplished musician in his own right, plays his father in the film.)

One Love doesn’t know how to begin exploring this artist and his art in any way that even begins to be interesting. Instead it just feeds back the same sanitized and saccharine idea of Bob Marley to the same audience who has been eating that up for generations. It’s a movie about a poster. Over the end credits of One Love, archival performance clips of Marley flash onto the screen, and for a few moments we’re treated to sounds and images that are infinitely more magnetic and thrillingly alive than anything we’ve seen over the preceding 100-ish minutes. That Bob Marley, and the extraordinary body of music he left behind, is still out there for those who go listening for it, but this movie isn’t where you’ll find him."

[peterdarlingg]

On a completely different note here’s a sneak peak of a series I’m working on :)

Thoughts, opinions?

Pairing: Mob!tom holland x reader

~~~~~

You suddenly felt a hand on knee and instinctively recoiled, letting out a sob choking you. “Hey, hey it’s okay,” you heard a soft voice say. Well as soft as a voice can be in a bar. But the lump In your throat was too big to reply to it. Loud sobs racking through your body when someone tried to touch you again on the shoulder.

“No, don’t touch me, please don’t touch me, please, please just…” you panicked. “Same thing happened when I tried talking to her, she wouldn’t talk to me,” Harrison told Tom. Tom glanced over to Haz from his crouched position in front of you. “Okay darling, I won’t touch you again okay?”

“Can you please just look at me?” “I just want to help,” Tom explained calmly. “No, I-I-no-“ you stuttered unable to catch your breath. “Shh, hey look me darling it okay, you’re okay,” you stared to look up slowly but surely until you faced the person owing the soft, calming voice. “That’s it darling,” “Hi, my name is Tom” “can you tell me what your name is?” He asked gently with a smile.

“You we’re still taking harsh breaths but calmed a bit looking into his eyes. “I-I don’t remember,” you mumbled, looking down, almost ashamed. “You don’t remember your name?” Tom asked skeptically. “I don’t remember anything,” you cried.

[moon-fics]

A/n: I love this request because I love mafia AUs!! I sadly couldn't come up with any ideas as an actual fic, so I made headcanons for you to enjoy anyway!

Request: Hii, I hope you are having a good day! Can I request one with the mob! tom holland × reader where tom is really protective of his private life and everyone thinks he is non-committal and only hooks up for one night but actually, he has been with the same girl since he was 15 and they just get more in love every day 🥺🫶

Tom HATES sharing his personal life with the public

He will do everything in his power to keep his life private, especially from the newspaper

He only does it because anything can and will be used against him by many people who could easily take him down

So, even though the public yearns for details about him, nothing is really confirmed

There have been rumors that he sleeps around or can't keep a girl for more than a week

That's far from true bc this man has one love and it is you

He's been in love with you since high school before he became the powerful man he is today

Even though he can be intimidating and brutal, you know he's still the same dork that you met back in freshman year

He will do anything for you and only you

He refuses to let the tabloids know about your connection to him

He absolutely adores you in every way to the point where he won't denounce the rumors just to keep your identity hidden

He honestly doesn't mind being called a player because you both know he's far from it

At some point, the rumors about him sleeping around did bother you, but he quickly assured you that they'll never be true

Now, him keeping your private does not mean he's never in public with you

Quite the opposite, he's almost always in public with you

He just has people on the inside of the newsroom who do everything to stop headlines from running

This may seem like it's the opposite of privacy, but the public only gets information about him through the news

He hires people to block any photos that contain you and him, even at premieres or dinners

Not one paparazzi has successfully gotten a photo of him and you together

Even though he worries for your safety he would never lock you up and keep you inside

He enjoys going out with you, knowing he has other people keeping your identity safe

Not to mention his bodyguards admire you and are just as dedicated to protecting you

At the end of the day, you laugh at the rumors with him, pretending to catch him cheating and acting out dramatic scenes you saw in movies

[euphoricdreamsidreamabout]

A Dance with Death (Mob!Tom Holland X reader)

Teaser

Being enemies as well as allies with the best mob leader out there had to result in random, unwanted run-ins and conversations, at least for you, the daughter of the biggest Mob leader in London. However, when both of your mobs are at risk ,you wouldn’t let some decade old feelings take over, right ? But can hating someone so much lead to love ?

[maple-the-awesome]

Prettiest One In The Room || Part 1/2

Pairing: Mob! (any) Peter Parker x Reader

Words: 4,678

Overview: Given your family's history, you should've expected judgment from those of higher wealth in whom you've unfortunately been more exposed to given your new 'position'. Luckily, while you may be hurt by the cruel remarks and snide laughter of others, Peter Parker will never stand for anyone insulting his new wife.

Warning: Bullying and suggestive content, but nothing too serious nor detailed (yet)

Is this one of my longest one-shots? Am I writing a smutty part 2? Yes, yes to both 😏

Marvel Masterlist 🖤 Fandom Masterlist 🖤 Requests

You hate the color red.

You hate how much attention it draws to your eyes, acting as a glittery highlight that outshines the sharp black point painted over your eyelids. You hate the way it contrasts against your bare skin, parting mere inches down your thigh in a way that would expose your whole leg if you stand too widely. Most importantly of all, you hate its chill against your chest, sinking through what was once a bearable shade to create a darker stain dipping down from your breasts to nearly your stomach in a splotch that's impossible to hide nor fade no matter how much you scrub at it.

At this point, you've managed to ruin two innocent white towels whose only crimes were being folded into a pleasant stack in between each ceramic sink. The second proved just as useless as the first, somehow absorbing the stain without doing anything to actually rid of it from your dress. The soft fabric which is only comparable to the fur of a rabbit offers little comfort to your swirling nerves nor does it pacify your distressed sobs as you clench this towel in hand and bow your head in shame in front of the mocking mirror before you.

The once perfect makeup that Mary Jane had spent well over an hour applying to your face has long been smeared, the black eyeliner and mascara inseparable as it traces your tears down your cheeks which further creates damage to whatever blush and foundation your maid had picked out. The only makeup that has somehow remained intact throughout the night is your far too bright lipstick, although that's only because you've gone through extreme lengths to preserve it, refusing drinks or snacks for that purpose alone; not that it matters anymore...

Why is it that life loves to throw you off your feet the second everything's finally going well? You don't even use that word lightly or to any extreme. 'Well' as in you weren't dreading every second or breath. 'Well' since you genuinely smiled at some jokes thrown into the conversation. 'Well' because for once, you didn't feel any need to shy away from your husband's touch, instead letting his hand rest comfortably on your hip as he tugged your body against his.

Happy moments are a rare find; they always have been. Born into a poor family knee deep in debt thanks to your parents' gambling addictions, you've grown up fully aware that you could never ask for much. While other little girls dreamed of finding their prince or princess in shining armor, you had never been so foolish. Perhaps you always knew deep down where your life could possibly lead, however that didn't waiver the absolute shock you felt once those fears had actually been confirmed.

While your parents have always been cruel and selfish, you never imagined it going as far as to quite literally sell you off. Even that doesn't feel like a proper description for what exactly happened. Really, they could've sold you off to plenty of other men, ones with petty criminal records, sure, but nothing to the extent of what your husband holds in his own hands.

A mob boss. You almost laughed at the thought that that's actually a real job, although the sound quickly became bitter by the stone expressions your parents stared at you with. Your hand in marriage in exchange for paying off every loan shark with your parents on speed dial; a fair trade in their eyes, but not yours.

The only comfort you’ve felt after your parents' betrayal isn't one they can claim. Instead, that prize belongs solely to your husband because despite his cruel reputation and ever crueler line of work, he is, very shockingly, a respectable gentleman at least towards you.

Peter Parker had only barely turned sixteen when he took over the family business from his late uncle. Wanting to respect a memory, he's worked hard to teach a lesson to anyone who laughed at the scrawny teenager living within a shadow and in no time at all, he rose out of that shadow, becoming arguably the most feared man in New York by utilizing the same strategies taught to him by his beloved uncle. Of course, how to run a successful mob wasn't the only lesson Benjamin Parker passed down to his nephew. Apparently, he had taught a great deal about how to respect women, too.

While sour about the marriage yourself, you must admit Peter has been nothing but sweet and understanding towards your discomfort (again, shocking given his job). By the time you first moved into his luxurious mansion, he already had a room set up specifically for you. Painted in your favorite color with the softest of bed covers, the room was more than anything you've ever owned with tons of books, art supplies, make-up, and about anything else a young woman might enjoy, but just in case he had guessed wrong or forgotten something, Peter made sure to provide an unlimited credit card for you to use at your disposal.

If the room hadn't been enough, Mary Jane had been hired since your husband figured you'd have better luck being comfortable around a woman your own age and from a similar background. Every morning, she greets you with a smile while bringing you breakfast accompanied by a freshly picked rose and handwritten letter she assures are gifts from Peter's hand alone.

Then for the rest of the day, you're allowed to go and do as you please in the mansion, Peter’s only request being that you don't leave without proper security and that you always share dinner with him at six thirty sharp every night. Sometimes you sit in silence, sometimes you tell him about your day, sometimes he tells you about his (outside of work matters, of course); never does he push you out of your comfort zone.

You respect Peter for all of that. He could easily do as he pleases with you at any point and, as arguably the most powerful man in New York City, who would ever stop him? Instead, he is, daresay, a model husband who dotes on his wife so much that despite all prior judgment, she actually started falling in love with him.

Peter has upheld his role flawlessly throughout the last seven months, thus you've felt bold in wanting to raise up to yours at last. Slowly yet surely, you've managed to open up to him: visiting him in his office when home, joking at the dinner table, and even requesting date nights (you swear he looked like a child on Christmas when you first shyly asked).

Tonight was meant to be the cherry on top. Peter had mentioned a dinner party off hand earlier in the week, not truly expecting you to willingly volunteer to go with him. Honestly, you actually surprised yourself with the request, too, not usually being one for fancy get-togethers especially those attended by hordes of rich socialites, politicians, and who knows what other criminals, but it’s worth a good date, isn’t it?

In preparation for said date, you had gone out with Mary Jane (and your ten security guards) to pick out the perfect outfit which ended up being a red slip dress that hugs your body flawlessly, stretching down to nearly the floor with a gap in fabric over your thigh. Although not a dress you'd normally be comfortable wearing, you felt excitement choosing it solely because of your desire to capture Peter's eye while wearing something sexy tailored to his favorite color. This paid off, too. All night, you've felt his eyes linger on you, often dropping a bit lower than appropriate, but you are his wife and his gaze is only fair. If only he knew what you're wearing underneath.

Tonight you didn't just want to tease your husband. No, your plan went deeper than that. You want him; dearly so. You wanted him to be enhanced by your beauty, barely able to keep his hands off of you on the car ride home where he would finally have freedom to ravish you for the first time. That's why you agreed to this date and went on that shopping trip with Mary Janes. It's why you've been so nervous yet giddy, replaying her advice in your head in hopes of finally utilizing it…Unfortunately, there's always a miscalculation to every plan.

Everything was going well at first. Despite your initial discomfort regarding your revealing outfit, you soon began to feel just as sexy as you looked thanks to Peter's praises which seemed constant throughout the night. Every time a businessman or friend turned their attention away, your husband's mouth was against your ear, whispering another compliment which, unknowingly to him, sent heat to more places than just your cheeks. He was perfectly within your grasp, hooked to your string and all you had to do was reel him in the second this stupid party finishes…Then trouble found its way to you.

Much to your dismay, your husband isn't the only one here who knows your story. When the Big Bad Peter Parker got married, news spread fast within his social circle. Even if someone managed to miss it then, they would’ve learned it by now since it's rather difficult to miss the way he hugs a random girl to his side all night, not to mention his hand is absent of all his normal, extravagant rings because ever since the wedding, only the single golden band around his finger has truly mattered.

Now, it would be one thing for Peter Parker to get married, however the reaction changes depending on the bride. No one could comprehend how someone like him would 'settle' for a poor girl with a last name known by practically every loan shark in New York, therefore your existence at this party has made quite a strong appearance in party gossip.

Originally, you didn't hear any of it, only feeling the burning stares behind your head yet choosing to dismiss them as your imagination, after all, Peter hadn’t shown any sign of hearing or seeing anything, thus it must not have actually occurred, right? You’re just a little uneasy given the crowd is all.

Then Peter left. It wasn’t meant to be long, only a quick chat with a man who begged for his time to finish an urgent business deal. Although Peter refused at first, you stupidly convinced him to reconsider.

“It seems important, so you should go.”

“Don’t worry about me, I can manage on my own just fine”.

You assured him that you’d wait patiently in place for his return, a promise sealed by the quick peck he gave to your cheek before going off. It should’ve been an easy wait from there. As the party’s natural outcast, you didn’t think anyone would care to approach you then, but it proved to be quite the contrary, unfortunately.

Four women took the golden opportunity to stroll over, presenting themselves as friendly while asking about your dress and wondering about your husband. You answered each as if being quizzed, doing your best to awkwardly laugh at their ‘jokes’ which held poorly hidden jabs towards you. Needless to say, it didn’t take you long to realize this group’s true intentions, but too cowardly to disappear into the sea of people to escape them, you remained as their punching bag, fruitlessly ignoring the pain of their insults which only grew more direct.

“A poor, ugly slut who managed to blackmail Parker into marrying her so that he could be her sugar daddy! How pathetic!”

That's one of things they said about you anyways. How they managed to make such a mean spirited sentence roll of their tongues like it’s just friendly banter is beyond you, however it still brought a sting to your eyes.

“What do you have on him, huh? Did you dig up dirt on him and threaten to hand it over to the police?”

“Did your family trick him? Make you wear a veil until the vows were done? Oh, I bet he was pissed!”

“She’s probably one of his hookers who decided to fake a pregnancy or something!”

Each woman listed the many rumors they've heard throughout the night, making sure you understand the bottomline of what everyone else has been thinking: you don't belong with Peter. Whatever reason he had for marrying you, it wasn't for you because who in their right mind would do that?

"How foolish are you to think Parker would actually be attracted to an ugly slut like you?" That was the last of it which came as a literal splash when the woman threw her red wine over the front of your dress followed by a chorus of her peers’ wicked laughter.

You were understandably horrified and embarrassed by the situation. It felt like every soul in the room was staring and laughing with them, mocking you for having such a childish dream of actually believing your husband might love you. Now how will he be enhanced by your beauty or even think of touching you on the car ride home? Why would he feel an ounce of desire in ravishing you ever let alone tonight? He can barely stand looking at you as it is!

Your violent sobbing halts quickly when you hear the door of the bathroom open. A chilled panic runs down your spine, worrying that the women have returned to bully you further. The difference would be the lack of witnesses. In theory, they could do whatever they wish while you have zero protection.

Instead of hearing their snickering, you hear your name whispered breathlessly yet somehow, that's worse to hear, causing your grip to tighten over the towel as you fight unsuccessfully to stop your tears.

"Princess, what happened? Who did this to you?" Peter shows no regard towards this being the women's bathroom, his only concern being to rush to your side and immediately begin examining the damage. A red wine stain drenching the front of your body, your make-up having encountered a tsunami of tears, your breathing uneven...This was not how he left you fifteen minutes ago.

"Who did this?" He repeats his question when you don't answer the first time, cupping your cheeks in his large hands and forcing you gently to look into his eyes. There's a hateful glimmer in them, one that promises trouble the second you mumble a name, but you refuse to.

"I-It's nothing-"

"-I return to the party to find my wife gone, hidden in the bathroom clearly distraught with wine spilled all over her-"

"-I spilled it myself-"

"-Bullshit," Peter curses with narrowed eyes which silences you instantly," you haven't had a single drink all night. I refuse to believe you conveniently retrieved one and spilled it over yourself within the short time that I was away. I'm smarter than to believe that. Damn it, I only left your side for ten minutes."

Peter's furious, but not towards you. He’s furious with himself if anything. Given his line of work, the number one rule he lives by is to never trust even those working alongside you. Anyone can hold a knife behind their back, preparing for the opportunity to strike the second it’s presented, thus Peter's always sure to never provide that change be it regarding his business or his personal affairs. It's what Ben always warned him about. Ben never left May out of his sight when attending social gatherings or going out in public because it would be too easy for someone to target her to get to him.

Peter should've been like Ben. He shouldn't have left your side especially when you're so new to all of this. You aren't May. You haven't spent decades by Peter's side yet, learning the ins and outs of his work along the way to form your own thick skin and survival instincts. You've only been married for seven months. Hell, you hadn’t even begun seeing Peter as a husband until last month and he's already fucked it up!

"...It doesn't matter what happened, Peter, so...let's not start a fuss," your words are sweet, attempting to makehim feel better in this situation instead of yourself. Your thoughtfulness would make him smile if not for how much his blood boils right now.

With a sigh, Peter runs his thumb against your mascara stained cheek softly," a fuss? I don't cause 'fusses', sweetheart, although that's what whoever did this to you can hope for once I find them out...and I will find them out whether you're the one to tell me or not, so out with it. I'll ask this one last time before I run my own investigation: Who. Did. This. To. You?"

Biting your lip, you want to deny it further, however you give into Peter's intense stare by directing your own to the tile floor," just a group of women...I don't know their names…”

"What were they wearing?"

"Peter-"

"Describe them to me," he lifts your chin with his ring finger, staring into your eyes with a whisper," I won't hurt them. I'll even forgive them for you if you ask nicely, but they still need to understand what they did wrong. 'just a friendly little warning for what happens when they upset my beloved."

Briefly, you wonder what ‘friendly’ might mean to Peter. His knuckles are rough, scarred from all the beatings he’s delivered over the years. While you’d like to think he’d show a bit more restraint than to physically harm anyone over something so silly as hurt feelings and a wine stain, even a ‘friendly’ car ride to the docks doesn’t seem outside the realm of possibilities for your husband.

Nevertheless, you have observed his habits well enough to understand one thing for certain: Peter’s too persistent and stubborn for his own good. Since he’s clearly already set his mind to it, you aren’t going to win this argument, therefore you must give in, telling him the descriptions of the four women from earlier.

Once you begin talking, Peter steps away from you and pulls out his phone, promptly texting someone who you assume to be one of his security guards scouting the ballroom outside. All the while you wait patiently, hugging your bare arms which are beginning to feel cold. Actually, they’ve been cold for a while, however you had elected to ignore it until now for the sake of making this dress work.

Peter speaks your name again, letting it roll off his tongue like sugar. This beckons you to lift your gaze, meeting his eyes when he looks away from his phone," is that all they did to you?"

"Um..." You toy with the idea of nodding and allowing this situation to end on an early note, but seeing as you’ve already hesitated aloud, Peter will no doubt notice the lie," they...said some cruel things, too.”

"Like what?" He steps closer to you, but stops immediately when you step back into the counter as a response,"...like what, sweetheart?"

"They, um..." you swallow, cursing yourself for that returned feeling of needles pricking your eyes. You can’t cry again, not in front of Peter. What would he possibly think of a wife who can’t handle simple words? You must be stronger than this!

"They just couldn't believe that you married me. They thought my family might've blackmailed you or something because...because I'm not fit for you."

"Not fit for me?" Peter echoes only the last part, moving his shoe against the ground yet suppressing his desire to step towards you again. It wouldn’t be a wise move given how uncomfortable you already are," why wouldn't you be fit for me? I mean - I suppose if anything - a devil shouldn't be married to an angel...but that isn't what they meant, was it?"

Your lip tugs slightly, wanting so desperately to believe he sees you as an angel. Alas, you shake your head,"...Peter, just look at me."

"I am looking at you. I've been looking at you all night, my princess - if you haven't noticed."

"I'm not pretty or anything-”

"-Now that's bullshit," Peter tilts his head with a crooked smile, attempting to gain a better view of your face despite how much you avoid him at every angle," because the way I see it, you've been the prettiest one in that room all night. As I said, I've barely been able to take my eyes off of you…That dress; it’s gorgeous on you. ‘fits like a glove, not to mention red is my favorite color; even more so when it’s on you."

"...So, you like it?" You dare to ask, looking up at him fully with a hint of a hopeful smile. You're pleased to see him nod eagerly.

"Of course! In fact, I’m buying you a new one first thing tomorrow; one that isn’t stained in wine so that you may wear it more often. Hell! I wouldn’t be against the idea of you casually wearing something like that just around the house," Peter smirks when adding," you look sexy, if I may say."

"That was the goal."

"Was it now?"

You nod shyly,"...I knew you like red and I wanted to look good for you tonight."

"Then count me as the luckiest man alive," at last, Peter steps forward, watching your reaction to ensure you’re comfortable with the movement. It only takes him two steps to be directly in front of you, his hand brushing your arm as he takes this quiet moment to think,"...I did marry you as a business deal."

You frown at his sudden confession, your heart skipping a beat, however before you can let it crack, Peter continues.

"But it was a deal set up on my own accord with my own terms. No, you weren't given to me nor was I backed into a corner by your family and forced to marry you. I chose you. I saw your picture by chance yet it was love at first sight; I wanted you to be mine. My only problem was your parents.

“You know, believe it or not but despite all their dull-witted habits, your folks can apparently grow brain cells once they realize they actually have the one up on someone for once and that’s exactly what they had on me. I wanted you, their daughter, thus they suggested a deal: I could be with you so long as I settle all their debts while I am. As long as they controlled you, they could keep us both under their thumb. ‘guess they thought they were pretty clever with that logic. ‘didn’t notice the small writing at the end of their own pen till it was too late to revise.”

“And what was that?” You gulp, feeling small under Peter’s stare. Have you ever gotten this close to him before; close enough to see every change in shade to his eyes where his irises get lighter closer to his pupils? They’re beautiful…

“The deal only worked in their favor as long as you were theirs to control - their property. Now, I simply refuse to sit around as anyone’s puppet let alone theirs which is why I jumped right to the vows instead of a more formal relationship to start. Once you became my wife, you became mine, not theirs; according to the contract at least.

“…I know it’s fucked up. I was selfish and I apologize for that. I also apologize for your treatment as an object in this case. I promise, I intended no harm to you, my love; not an ounce. I had only hoped that we could let our relationship grow while never feeling the stress of them holding the strings…I want us to be happy, owing them absolutely nothing; not money, not obedience, not even communication if we desire it.”

"Is that why they looked so upset at the wedding?" You remember the bitterness your family clearly held that day, not that you cared to ask them about it then. Instead, you felt satisfied seeing it, figuring it was very much deserved. Even now, you feel the same; let them be bitter for treating you as a bargaining tool.

Peter trails his touch up your arm, fixing the strap of your dress onto your shoulder with a chuckle,"...none were pleased, but I’ll have it be known that I did at least settle the debts that they had at the time, thus I wasn’t as much of an asshole as I could’ve been.”

“A part of me wishes you had been.”

Peter’s eyes glimmer at your harsh remark, although he decides to move along with his point rather than gush over your attractive feistiness,” you’re my wife based on choice, regardless of what others have tried to tell you. I love you, princess.

“I love how beautiful you look without even trying- even after just rolling out of bed with your hair a mess. I love how you keep standing, never letting the world beat you too low because deep down, I think you know your own worth. That's why you kept me fighting for you in the first place, right? You kept your distance until I gained your respect. A lot of girls try falling into my arms, you know? They don't get it, but you do: love is something to be earned and shared.”

Pausing momentarily, Peter's hand brushes against yours blindly until it runs against your diamond ring- one worth a dizzying amount to you yet to him, it's only a small fraction of what he believes you're truly deserving of. If he could have it his way, he'd have a literal star built into that gem on your finger.

"This is a commitment," his breath is gentle, blowing against the crook of your neck as he hovers there. Ever so softly, his hands grasp both of yours," you are my wife; my greatest treasure not for just your body or looks, but for you as a person. 'doesn't matter how anyone else sees it…and I'm willing to prove that to you in any way, too.”

Honestly, Peter only says this as a means to tease you. His laughter is held right on the tip of his tongue, prepared to announce he's only joking around to lighten the mood, however he's ill-prepared for the shock that is you giving a nervous smile. It's small, barely noticeable to the eye, especially given the way you stare at the floor in embarrassment while providing your own reply.

"I would like you to," you curse yourself for such a pathetic response. Based on your husband's wide eyes as he stares at you in amazement, he clearly meant the question as rhetorical and not at all in the way you decided to imply, but unfortunately, the words have already left your mouth along with the damage.

"...I'm sorry. I-"

"-Do you really want me to?" Peter sounds so childish, looking the part, too. He practically glows, so eager to hear your answer yet watching you carefully to study your reaction more closely this time because apparently, as it's just now come to his attention, he doesn't know his wife as well as he had previously thought.

"I mean...I, um..." You, as a great contrast, stumble over your words, needing time to create this answer he so desperately waits for.

While shy to admit such an embarrassing thing, you’ve worked so hard preparing for this moment. Okay, admittedly this isn’t entirely loyal to the perfect image you’ve been holding mentally. You had expected to be sinking into the fluffy covers of either Peter’s or your bed, pushed down by the man in question as he showers in love while blanked in the darkness of a room deprived from any possible distractions.

A bright, public women’s bathroom where anyone could walk in at any given moment to destroy your private and intimate deeds wasn’t originally within your realm of possibilities nor is it ideal…but wouldn’t it be a shame to deny Peter when he’s quite literally inches away from you, happy to accept that precious thing you’ve been saving just for him? If anything, you’ve earned it after all you’ve been put through tonight!

Taking in a breath, you look at your husband confidently with a quick nod despite the unwanted quiver in your voice," w-well, if you're offering, I would like that very much..."

PART 2 ➡️

[evermorx89]

some recs of mob!tom holland series or mcu! peter parker? thankss

[peterdarlingg]

Mob!tom holland one shot is almost done as I promised!

Ngl i’m kinda scared to post it but I will anyway!

[urfav-wife]

This is Chef kisses

 leiasfanaccount648.tumblr.com you did amazing!!

Pointe Before You Shoot [Masterlist]

Single Dad!Tom x Fem!Dance Teacher!Reader (Mob!AU)

Summary: No matter where you come from, everything you were taught since you were young was for a reason. Whether it was pointing your feet in dance class or learning how to properly shoot a gun. Either way, your past seemed to define you. Can you fix the aftermath enough to shape your future into what you want it to be? Or will someone end up on the wrong side of the trigger?

Word Count: 70.4k

Warnings/Contains: Angst, fluff, cursing, violence, character death, usage of guns and knives, blood, talks of human trafficking, usage of drugs and alcohol, mob work (specified in chapters), minors committing crimes, car crashes, dance termonology (keep in mind that everything dance related is based on what I was taught as a competitive dancer).

Completed on Sept. 21st, 2020 | Edited on Jan. 7th, 2022

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