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onlyjjong · 14 hours ago

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엔하이픈 --- EMAILS I NEVER MEANT TO SEND (PART 4)

　　 박성훈　 x　 fem!reader　x 　심재윤 　　┊　　a very late and long birthday gift for jennifer!! :> 　　┊　　 wc 2.7k

GENERE　┊ 　!oneshot, !nonidol , !fluff , !hints of angst , !high school, !childhood best friends to lovers , !best friend's brother , !love triangle , !hockey player sunghoon , !basketball player jake , !academic weapon reader

DISCLAIMER 　┊ 　depictions may be inaccurate , contains swear words, mentions of hospital and sickness, y/n is lee heeseung's sister , sunghoon calls y/n 'princess' , y/n calls jake 'jaeyun' , mentions of ocs and random characters here and there.

⟡ 📩 𑁋 TAGGING : @a-dream-bookmark , @/k-labels , @k-nets , @k-films , @en-diaries

To: [email protected] From: sincerely/[email protected]

Dear Sunghoon,

I’m so nervous. On Tuesday, we’ll have the orchestra concert—and Miss Jeon, this morning, had suddenly told me that I have to replace Gaeul as concertmaster as she had an accident, broke her leg and was hospitalised, so she can’t play. I went to visit Gaeul just now, and she told me not to feel bad because I’m replacing her, but rather that I should feel proud because Miss Jeon knows that I’m capable enough to be a good concertmaster.

I don’t know… I don’t know if I’ll play well enough.

Sent 10:12 AM, 20th October.

You adjust your sitting posture, taking a deep breath of the fresh air around you. You had walked over to the park to clear your thoughts. The concert that you’re going to play in as concertmaster is coming in less than two days, and since it is the biggest concert you’ve ever played in, you’re more nervous than you ever were.

The weather is getting colder and colder with each passing day as winter approaches—so, even though your panicking thoughts prevented you from dressing as warmly you wished you did, you did at least wear one of Heeseung’s hoodies.

Though, you kind of regret not grabbing a thicker coat.

“Y/N!” you hear Jake’s voice, and as you look up, he’s already making his way towards you.

“Hi,” he smiles as he greets you. “What are you doing out here alone? Without a coat, too.”

You shove your hands into the pockets of the hoodie, grinning sheepishly. “It’s okay, it’s not too cold.”

“You okay?” he asks as he takes a seat next to you. Jake looks a tad bit reluctant to do so, but the tension present in his features relaxes a little as you give him a reassuring smile. “You look a little off right now—I-I mean, like, you don’t have that kind of confidence I’d always see in your eyes, and your smile is less enthusiastic too–”

You laugh, patting Jake’s arm. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

Jake looks at you, his eyes filled with adoration. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s October, but lately, he’s constantly thinking about you. Recently, all he’s curious about is if you’ve eaten, if you’re taking good care of yourself, if you’re feeling okay.

Though, Jake knows that he’s just a friend. Jake knows, perfectly enough, that he’s just your deskmate, who you talk to only out of courtesy or when Sunghoon’s away.

October is the month of plot twists and surprises, and for Jake, it is wishing that you would see him as something more.

“I’m just wondering,” you begin, “if I’ll do good enough for the concert. I’m really, really nervous. I feel like my heart’s about to burst.”

“Oh?” Jake tilts his head slightly. “I think you’ll do okay.”

You lower your head. “I don’t think ‘okay’ is enough. I need this to be perfect—it’s my last orchestra concert, and-and I don’t think I’ve been practising as much as I wanted to, with all the studying–”

Jake grabs your hand and places it on his racing heart. Lub dub. Lub dub. Lub dub. “Here. Can you feel it?”

Too flustered—both from the sudden form of intimacy and the feeling of Jake’s heartbeats—to form any words, you simply nod.

“This is how I feel every single time a basketball match is about to start, or whenever I’m with someone I enjoy being around,” Jake continues, “it’s as if my heart is running faster than I do… but anyway, my point is that it’s okay to feel nervous, even when you’re doing something you’ve done so many times. You’ve worked hard for this concert, right?”

Jake looks at you, directly in the eye, and he gives you a gentle smile. It’s reassuring and comforting, conveying to you more than his words did.

“Yeah,” you mumble.

“Then, you don’t have to be afraid,” Jake says, “you’ll do well—just like you always do. If you don’t believe in that, it’s okay. Just know that I believe in you. A lot of people do.”

“Thank you, Jaeyun,” you sigh, after taking a few minutes to process Jake’s words—and the fact that you’re sitting there, with him, hand in hand.

It gives you tingles, exciting your nerves—Jake’s presence is gentle and warm, even if it’s a little sudden and abrupt. You enjoy being around him, and seeing another side to the well-known basketball talent—who’s always seen as someone who is carefree and laid-back. Honestly, you’re surprised to find out that the caring side of Jake was so much more than just smiling frequently at people. You’re surprised to find that Jake is a soul made out of compassion and kindness, and you’re ever so grateful to befriend someone like him.

“My pleasure,” he replies, squeezing your hand once. “I’m-I’m glad to be of help.”

You let go of his hand, standing up. “I’m going to go home and practise some more,” you tell Jake, who’s listening to you attentively. “I’ll see you later?”

“Alright—you don’t want me to walk you home?”

You shake your head, “it’s okay, I can manage.”

Jake nods, and waves you goodbye.

To: [email protected] From: sincerely/[email protected]

Today’s the day of the concert. I’m very scared, but I’ll try to shrug it off. I woke up super early today, despite not being able to sleep that well last night. I’m all dressed, I did my hair and makeup for school; I even have the dress for the concert all ready. I already double checked my violin and memorised my music sheets (even though I’ll be having them on display for the concert later)... but I just still feel so anxious.

Help me, Sunghoon, I don’t know what to do.

Sent 6:32 AM, 22nd October.

“Hi, Y/N,” Jake greets you, knocking you out of your train of thought. You look to your side and see him hopping off his bicycle, pushing it slowly to match your walking pace. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” you smile back, your cheeks itching due to the insincerity of the smile. “Where’s Danielle?”

“She’s still at home,” Jake answers, “we don’t live too far away, so she’s always out at around half past seven.”

You nod, aware of what he’s talking about. “I see. Why are you out so early, though? It’s only seven o’clock.”

Jake chuckles. “Well I figured I had to start out early to catch up with you. Turns out my timing is perfect today. I always catch you at school already.”

“Yeah,” you give him a courteous smile. “I noticed that too.”

“So, how’ve you been doing?” Jake asks, after around five minutes of silence.

“I’m fine,” you simply say. You’re lying, as who would be absolutely fine when they’ve got an extremely important and big event coming up in a few hours? Though, you didn’t feel the need to explain to Jake.

“Are you?” he counters, an eyebrow raised in the following. “I’m really amazed if you truly are, considering that you’ve been balancing studying for midterms and national entrance exams—which at the same time, you’ve also been practising violin.”

You choke out some laughter. “You’ve been observant of me, huh? Don’t think that’s a little creepy?”

Satisfaction and a little bit of guilt washes through you as you delightfully watch Jake’s eyes widen. “I-oh my,” he stumbles over his words the same way he’s tripping on air out of pure embarrassment. He quickly catches up with you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come off as a creep, Y/N. I’m just quite… observant, that’s all.”

You chortle, feeling in the mood to tease the five feet nine inches dude walking beside you. “Are you?” you tease, mimicking his accent and the way he said it to you earlier, “then, Jaeyun, tell me what are the ten enzymes in the glycolysis process?”

Jake’s jaw drops wide open. “I-I mean–”

You burst out laughing, clutching your stomach to prevent it from bursting. “Gotcha. Knew you weren’t thoroughly observant.”

“Hey! That isn’t fair, you’re asking me about biology,” Jake pouts. “Who on earth would pay attention in Mrs Nelly’s class?”

“Y/N would.”

You pause in your tracks, shock sending chills throughout your body as you feel Sunghoon’s voice to your right. You look in his direction, and he’s already walking in synchronisation of your tempo. Sunghoon slides his arm around your shoulder, giving you a grin. “Good morning, princess,” he says casually.

You clear your throat, your cheeks coloured pink at the close vicinity. “Good morning, Hoon.”

“Good morning, Sunghoon,” Jake says plainly.

“Oh, Jake?” Sunghoon tilts his head, giving the basketball jock a taunting yet innocent look—as if he’s just noticed his presence. “G’morning.”

You manage to catch a glimpse of Sunghoon’s smug face: his left eyebrow raised and his slight smile was evidently one-sided—directed straight to Jake.

“Have you eaten breakfast, princess?” Sunghoon asks, turning back to you.

You shake your head, flexing your shoulders to adjust the position of both your backpack and your violin case backpack. “I don’t have the appetite.”

Both Sunghoon and Jake form a perplexed look simultaneously. Sunghoon smacks the back of your head feebly, rolling his eyes. “Yah! What did I tell you? Eat your breakfast!” he scolds, “do you want me to die?”

“What does my breakfast have to do with you dying?” you retort.

“Well–” your best friend of 13 years pauses. “It doesn’t matter, but, c’mon,” he changes the topic, grabbing your hand. He glances at Jake, who’s biting his lips shut, before dragging you away. “Let’s get to school early so we can grab some breakfast.”

“Oomf–” you manage, stumbling. “See you later, Jaeyun!” you give Jake a wave with your free hand. Jake forms a smile upon seeing it, and in return, he waves.

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

“ARE YOU NERVOUS?” SUNGHOON ASKS AS THE TWO OF YOU ARE PACKING YOUR BAGS AT THE END OF THE DAY’S LESSONS.

“Well, if you can’t tell,” you joke, zipping your school backpack shut. “Yes.”

Sunghoon runs a hand through his hair, smiling meekly. “I mean, you’re so good at the violin, so I didn’t think you’d be nervous.”

“Are you insane?” you gasp, smacking the 12th grader’s head. He blocks your hit effortlessly with his arm. “It’s my biggest concert as a freaking concertmaster!”

Sunghoon grins. “So? You’re going to ace it either way,” he grabs you, and before you could react, puts you in a headlock. “Won’t you?”

“Hey!” you scream, frantically pulling yourself away from him. Luckily for you, his grip is purposefully loose, so you quickly stand back on your feet. “What was that for?”

Sunghoon merely smiles—it’s gentler and comforting this time—as if he’s silently reassuring you that everything will go just fine.

“Y/N,” Jake calls, shattering the moment you’re having with Sunghoon. You quickly turn to face him, unaware of the grim change in Sunghoon’s expression. Jake hands you a canned ice lemon tea. “Here, um, I don’t know if you like lemon tea or not–”

“I do!” you animatedly beam. Jake sighs in gratitude.

“–thank God. anyway, um, I got these for you… my grandma said that tea’s good for calming your nerves down,” Jake continues.

“The sugar will make her energetic anyway,” you hear Sunghoon mutter grumpily behind you. You’re not sure if Jake hears it, because the smile on his face is unwavering.

“Thanks,” you say. Jake nods, and before he can say anything in reply, Sunghoon snatches the can of ice lemon tea in your hand.

“This looks good,” he muses, his smirk evident. You turn towards him, confused. What is he really trying to do? “I’m gonna have some, eh?”

You wear your backpack, shrugging. “You do you, Park Sunghoon. I’m going to go now, I’ve got to get ready for the concert.”

“Wait up!” Sunghoon exclaims, running after you.

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

SUNGHOON RUNS INTO THE WAITING AREA, 15 MINUTES BEFORE THE CONCERT STARTS. He tries to spot you—or simply anyone he knows to help him find you. He sees plenty of people: a group of violinists, another group of people tuning their cellos and violas. His eyes scan through the crowd, and spots you in a corner, pacing here and there to calm yourself down.

“Y/N,” he says, a little softer than he intended. You turn around—the ankle-length black skirt creating a flower around you as it swirls, your hair gently hitting your face. Sunghoon clears his throat in an attempt to drive away the fluttering butterflies in his stomach.

“Oh, you look beautiful,” he blurts out, leaving you wide-eyed and as flustered as he is.

“T-thanks,” you manage.

Sunghoon takes a deep breath, hesitating at the last minute. He brings out his arms and pulls you into a hug, embracing you in his warmth; at the same time stepping over the line he’s placed between himself and you. He lingers around longer than you expect him to, and when he finally pulls away, the tip of his ears are flushed red.

“You’ll do great,” Sunghoon whispers, squeezing your shoulders in hopes of channelling the confidence he has in your ability, to you. “I know that.”

You smile warmly at him.

This is why you can’t stop falling in love with him—Park Sunghoon—your own best friend. He knows you so well, probably even more than you know yourself. He knows exactly when you need anything, and perfectly how you need things. He makes you feel like it’s so easy to befriend you—like loving you is the easiest thing in the world, even if it was platonic.

Everything is simple and easy when you’re with Sunghoon.

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

To: [email protected] From: sincerely/[email protected]

Dear Sunghoon,

I hope you’re doing okay. National state exams are coming in less than a week, and I’m a total nervous wreck. I’ve been studying every single day, but I don’t know… I wish I planned things out better. I don’t know if I’ve memorised everything, if I’ve reviewed everything, and if I’ve done enough practice questions.

I’m laughing at myself right now. So ironic, right? I’m Decelis Academy’s prodigy, the so-called “academic weapon” of our school, but I can’t even get studying right.

I haven’t been studying properly these past few days. I can’t even open my eyes… my head hurts and nothing makes sense. I don’t know, Sunghoon. I wish burnout didn’t exist. And I sincerely hope that you’re not going through the same thing as me.

Sent 12:48 PM, 9th November.

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

To: [email protected] From: sincerely/[email protected]

Hoon,

Why am I like this? Why can’t I study properly? Every passing minute I feel more like a failure. Why can’t I memorise anything? I’m so dumb. So stupid.

I don’t know anymore.

Sent 8:03 AM, 10th November.

Sunghoon grabs a coat and quickly heads out of his house, desperate to get fresh air. Studying has gotten his head clogged, and for the first time in a while, he believes that burnout is real. He hasn’t even been to two weeks of hockey practice, and that is significant for someone like Sunghoon.

He grabs his smartphone out of his pocket and opens one of the only pinned contacts in his messages—you. He’s worried; you haven’t texted him back in three days. And knowing you, Sunghoon guesses that you probably forgot to respond to him due to your intense studying.

Since he’s already out and about to talk a walk, he might as well grab a refresher or two and visit you. Sunghoon stops by a cafe near your school, one that he specifically knew to always have your favourite strawberry danish. He buys two of them along with two cups of lemon sprite, swiftly catching a taxi to arrive at your house faster.

After sitting down, Sunghoon texts you.

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ hey, have you had lunch?

And to his surprise, he gets a response within three minutes.

Though, it wasn’t from you.

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ sunghoon, this is heeseung

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ y/n’s in the hospital

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ she collapsed

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ the doctor said it’s bc she hasn’t eaten the past few days

Sunghoon feels his heart stop for a split second. His world starts spinning as his eyes widen in shock. His hands start to shake, making it hard for him to type a response to Heeseung. Fear starts to creep up on him, and malicious thoughts fill his brain.

Sunghoon shakily calls out to the driver to change the route and bring him to the hospital—his heart banging loudly against his chest every second of it.

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kemistre · 4 hours ago

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hiii !!! rlly enjoyed revealing (the first time seeing them shirtless one!) and was hoping u cld write it for other characters? would be great if u cld include oikawa & ushijima & anyone else u wld like!! tysm and have a nice day <3

εïз┊𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 — feat. oikawa tooru, ushijima wakatoshi, kuroo tetsurou, akaashi keiji, miya osamu

synopsis. seeing your other half shirtless is a normal part of a relationship, but how do they react when it’s your first time seeing him without his shirt on?

— content warnings. fem!reader, suggestive!, shirtless 2D men (oikawa might just be naked bc i love him <3), pet names (angel, honey, beautiful, pretty girl, darling), written at like 2am and haven't written in months <//3 — word count. 1.2k

εïз┊author's note. ofc nonnie!! i love writing for oiks and writing for ushigushi for the first time what super fun! i know it's been so long since this request <//3 i just felt like writing this today ig😭

εïз┊o. tooru

you looked at your phone, messages pulled up on the screen as you re-read the texts from your boyfriend. 'meet me after practice angel, i'll treat you do a special dinner after~' a sigh fell from your lips as you entered the empty gym. he was always a romantic, and you couldn't say you hated it. "tooru?" your voice was hushed but loud enough for him to hear. Your eyes glanced around the building as you wandered around, the sound of your footsteps mixing in with the echo of your voice. "i'm in here angel, it's just me~" his voice came from the men's locker room, it was teasing, playful, it only made you wonder what he was planning. you pushed open the door slowly before walking in, the sound of running water catching your attention "angel~" as you turned your head, you were greeted by your boyfriend's naked body, water dripping down him as he leaned against wall underneath the running shower. your breath caught in your throat as your eyes raked over his sculpted form. a smirk weaved its way onto his lips at your reaction, closing the distance between the two of you as he put his hands on your hips. "flustered, are we?" he cooed, pulling the bag off of your shoulder and setting it down on the bench. he softly grabbed your wrists, placing them on his chest. "don't be afraid to explore now," he leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours. "and not just my chest either~"

εïз┊u. wakatoshi

an uncomfortable groan fell from his lips as he rolled his shoulders. the two of you cuddled on his couch, watching your favorite show together. practice had been stressful on him recently, especially with such important competitions coming up. today was the only day you could convince him to not practice. "toshi?" you sat up, concern laced your soft voice. he shook his head, a small smile on his lips. "just sore, that's all honey." he placed a kiss on your forehead. you bit your lip as an idea popped in your head. "let me give you a massage." his eyes widened as heat made its way to his cheeks. "c'mon, it'll feel good" he sighed as you practically begged him. mumbles of agreement fell from his throat before tugging at the bottom of his shirt and pulling it over his head. his face felt hot, a stark contrast to the cold air on his now exposed torso. he laid down on the couch as you kneaded the muscles of his back, a satisfied sigh falling from his lips. "feel good?" he hummed, his body relaxing into your touch. although, his brows furrowed as he spoke. "it's not fair if i'm the only one feeling this good." his voice was deep as he shifted where he laid, his eyes dark, half-lidded. "take your shirt off honey..i'll make sure you're in the clouds by the time i'm done with you."

εïз┊k. tetsurou

he stretched his muscles before bending down into the hood of his car, music playing in the background through his speaker in the garage. sweat dripped down his bare chest as the hot summer heat invaded his garage. "tetsu?" you sweet voice made him raise his head, a smirk plaguing his lips. he watched as you realized his half-naked state, his shorts not leaving much to the imagination either. "why hello there beautiful," he grabbed you by your hip, pulling you close and placing a kiss on your lips. he watched as your eyes trailed down his body, all the way down to... "didn't think you'd be here so soon." his hand snaked up to cup your cheek, making you look at him as his eyes darkened. "oh," you hesitated. "i just wanted to see you." your eyes drifted down again, breath caught in your throat. he guided his hands down to your hips once more, slowly moving you to cage you in between him and his car. your eyes found his, half-lidded and filled with desire. his hands trailing up your shirt over your soft skin. "C'mon pretty girl, let's get this off you." he whispered, his lips brushing against yours.

εïз┊a. keiji

his jaw clenched as his arms raised in the air, puffs of white flour spreading on his black hoodie. he blew a stray hair from his vision before attempting to wipe some of the flour off, only to make it worse. he was trying to bake you something special before you came over that night, however, tonight was the night he figured out he was way better at cooking than baking. a sigh fell from his lips as he washed his hands, flicking the water into the sink before pulling his hoodie over his head. his sweatpants sagged on his hips as he walked to his bedroom, throwing the dirtied piece of clothing into his hamper. it wasn't long before he heard the squeak of his front door. "keiji~" your cheerful voice echoed through the small apartment. his eyes glanced at his watch, it was much later than he thought it was. you peaked your head into his room, a smile on your lips. "hey-" he turned towards you, his face instantly flushed. "woah," you stared at him in awe. "so this is what you've been keeping under those hoodies?" his eyes widened slightly as you walked over to him, slowly tracing your fingers along his abs. he looked everywhere but at you, his heart pounded against his chest. although, he couldn't say he didn't love your touch.

εïз┊m. osamu

you laid on your towel as the sand beneath you molded to the shape of you. today was the day where you and 'samu could finally relax with your old high school friends. So, what else to do than go to the beach and play volleyball together? your skin soaked up the sun in your swimsuit as the boys played their game, 'samu still changing in the beach's communal bathroom. it wasn't long before you heard his voice call out to his friends as he rushed over to them. he immediately caught your eye as your lips parted, propping yourself up on your elbows. your boyfriend, messy hair, shirtless, and his v-line very much visible made your face flush. you realized you'd never seen him so...exposed before and he hadn't seen you in the same way. you watched as he talked among his brother and friends, your heart racing in your chest at the sight of beads of sweat raced down his body. "what is it darlin? yer face is red." your breath hitched, eyes wide as you stared at him knelt down next to you. you didn't even realize he had come over to check on you before playing with the boys. his head tilted as you averted your eyes, realization of your expression. "hey," he spoke softly, using his finger to tilt your face towards him once more. "ya like me in a swimsuit that much?" a smirk grew on his lips, his eyes half-lidded and clouded over. "well, if we're bein' honest," he leaned in close his breath hot against your ear sending shivers down your spine. "darlin', i wanna rip this pretty suit o' yers right off ya," he placed a kiss on your ear, nipping at your earlobe. "t's not fair yer the only one that gets to see me without a shirt.."

taglist :: @cemeiia + send me a message if you wanna be added!!

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moonyslove78 · 2 years ago

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@liz-allyn

Soooo I was looking through my AG pics on my phone and I found this beauty deep within… And the first thing that popped into my mind (because of the backdrop in the photo) was…

Oh this could totally have been a photo Honey snapped of Peter at the coffee shop during one of her ‘slow shifts’ where they were just standing around talking and messing around. And she likes it so much, she makes it her Lock Screen.

She forgets about it until she gets handed a new ‘Spider Phone’ and Peter tells her Peni said that she was able to transfer all of her pictures and videos from her old personal phone to the new spider phone. And when she turns it on, this is her Lock Screen still. She’s like “Oh! I forgot about that!” and shows Peter.

He kinda has a dumbfounded giddy smile on his face and she’s like “Whaaaat? What’s that look for?” And his reply was “You really had my picture as your wallpaper?”

And while he’s still got that smile she can’t help but wrap her arms around him and kiss him silly and say “Of course I did! Who wouldn’t wanna look at that face everytime they open up their phone?”

😅😅😅

Thank you for your attention with my obsessive thoughts! You can go ahead with your day now! 💙😂

#💬 sugar and vice #mob!tasm peter parker #Peter Parker x Honey Imagines #yessss I did actually make it my Lock Screen #my love for these two characters runs deep

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moonyslove78 · 2 years ago

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Holy fuck @liz-allyn ! 😳🤯 I may actually be rendered speechless here!

Just kidding, you know I can't let a chapter (especially THIS chapter) slide by without spilling the entirety of my heart and soul out in review form. So, I'll immediately apologize for how long this is... but here we go!

First, I'd like to address this...

heavy chapter warnings for S&V John Walker

Because that absolutely is the best possible trigger warning you can give for that asshole, dickhead, bitchass mother fucker, pathetic abusive son-of-a-bitch, CUNT!

Yeah, I think it's safe to say I have a severe hatred for John Fucking Walker.

So the beginning of the chapter already had me in tears…

The obvious solution was to trim her nails. She had to. It had to be done. They didn’t own a pair of nail clippers, Honey knew that. But it was on her to fix things. She was in charge. So she took a pair of kitchen scissors and tried her best.

This tore my heart into shreds. 💔😢 It's the "tried her best" that got me good, because it shows the weight of the world on her shoulders already, at such a young and impressionable age. I just couldn't imagine the pain she went through growing up in the household that she did. And it breaks my fucking heart.

“You know. In case you ever have to hide a dead body.” It was a joke. Until it wasn't. John changed that.

Ouch... one hurt a lot to read. The wound is still fresh with this one and it's awful that it had to be THIS tragedy that made it become "not a joke" anymore. And then the realization following this statement that the only thing left of him was the blood she was covered in, so she didn't want to wash it away... UGH! I seriously miss him already and I'm gonna cry and be salty about it for a moment... so you'll have to excuse me here.

You know my ass was cheering for her (better late than never, IMHO) when she glared at that fucking phone before tossing it in the toilet bowl! I know it's not even important to THEM now, but in my eyes, this was a turning point for her. She needed this to be able to move on....and hopefully forgive herself for the decisions she made because of it.

Ben and May’s wedding rings. Tarnished. Stained with blood. He quickly reached for the towel.

😭😭😭

This killed me just as much as the part about Honey cutting infant Gabby's nails with kitchen scissors. He wasn't at all triggered by his appearance and pain he was feeling physically. But he did NOT want Ben and May's rings to be tainted by the blood that stained them. My heart broke for him all over again. Because all I was picturing was a young heartbroken and rageful Peter Paker pulling their wedding bands off their cold, bloody hands and cleaning the blood off of them, just to put them in a safe place until he could find a better place for them... next to his heart. 💔 Ugh! My feels!

Perfect for concealing weapons. After all, he was dressing for a funeral.

Yes, and that funeral shall be a JOYOUS one! (Seriously, fuck John Walker...)

“Thought you were getting some sleep.” Peter’s tone was flat. His eyes flicked back to his reflection as he tugged on the lapels of his blazer.

Not when you're dressed like that and I know what's happening! I think not! I am attending the same funeral, you can bet on that! And boy am I glad she stood her ground! When he asked her "And what, ya think killing him is gonna fix it?" My mind was totally screaming, "YES! YES, it definitely will help, at least!" Her response was even better though.

“I don’t care about feeling better!” she barked back. He neatly flinched at the sharpness of her tone. Fury bubbled beneath her skin. “The only thing I care about is that he suffers.”

I couldn't have said it better myself, Honey! 👏 (I couldn't help but use this gif here because I needed some kinda comic relief in the moment. 😅)

The fact that she knew immediately, by just the short statement of "Too many people have already gotten hurt." that this meant he was going after John without telling anyone else blew me away. To me, that spoke volumes of not only his character, but her knowledge of such. She knows him so well now, that she knew just by those words alone, he wasn't risking informing anyone else of what he was doing because he knew they wouldn't let him go in without backup. And he wasn't going to lose anyone else.

“Rollins, don’t you dare bring the car around!” she commanded, blocking Peter’s path and skewering him with a defiant glare.

YES!!! I loveeeeee that she was taking charge of the situation here. The fact that in the beginning I would've never thought I'd see the day where she demanded something of Peter's "employees" (I will now use that term loosely for asshole Rollins... I fucking knew this fucker couldn't be trusted... but that's for another part of this review) Let alone when it is going against a command that Peter gave them. And I am living for it!

There was sooooo much about the next part of the chapter that completely blew me away. First, her saying "You're not doing this for us, Peter!" made my heart clench! Because in other words, she was saying that if he was thinking about them he wouldn't be risking his life. That he wouldn't be selfish about the revenge factor and would realize what Peter being in danger would be doing to her. To everyone.

“If I were doing this for Eddie,” he said, “I’d make ‘em watch me kill everything he ever loved, ya feel me? ‘Course, I highly doubt you were ever on that list, so you’ve got nothin’ to worry about.” She barked a bitter laugh. “So this is, what, payback? Your stupid, dick-measuring way of defending my honor?”

This was such a formidable statement. It literally gave me chills reading it. Though, I almost feel like John doesn't have anything/anyone he's ever loved... he's that much of a heartless spineless-- I'm gonna stop myself before I go off the rails again, or else we'll be here all week. 😂

But her response threw me! I was NOT expecting that. 👀

“No,” he said, deathly grave. “For what he did to you—I would keep him alive for as long as I possibly could.”

Talk about chills.

The fact that he wouldn't outwardly say the words "somebody else I love." But she already knows he does....makes his next words even more heartwrenching.

“I need to do this, Honey,” he whispered ruefully. He had calmed slightly, swallowing back his rage. The only thing left behind was a tiny, heartbroken remark. “It’s the only thing I’m good at.” The corners of his mouth turned down sharply.

💔💔💔

The fact that he truly believes this to be true hurts so much. I just wanna wrap him in a big hug and sob that he is so much more than that. That he is better than just that. 😢

The admissions that he knew that she was running from something in her past, that there was a reason "the feds"/John had her doing their dirty work, that it absolutely did hurt him when she lied to him, that it wasn't just "business"/him using her as he tried to make himself believe at first and that all along he was afraid to ask her to tell him the truth, not only because he was afraid of what he would do when he found out... but that he thought that he was the reason for all of it, when all along John just wanted a way to get to her and he knows that he led him to her... This confession was something I'd definitely wondered about before. Wondering exactly how much he knew... It was slightly confirmed when Felicia mentioned knowing some of that information in the last chapter, but now knowing why he didn't push the subject makes it even more profound. He really believed deep down that she could never love him because that's what John wanted... it just makes me hate that dickhead even more. I should probably breathe before I go off on another tangent about how much he deserves to rot.

But no matter what, the fact that Peter was willing to risk everything to make sure she was free... free of all of it. He was determined to make sure she never had to live in fear. Running and hiding to save herself. That was fucking beautiful. ��❤️

And then, he was there... And his fucking traitorous henchmen!

Fucking Rollins... and the other two dicks. I can't say I didn't expect there to be an insider (besides Honey) but this just cemented the fact that John didn't need to involve her at all, much less in the threatening way he had. And in the moment Peter realized this, the betrayal ran even deeper.

Yet, his ability to produce the amount of blatant sarcasm and heat in his replies was pure perfection.

John’s humorless gaze turned into a cold glare. “I don’t know if you’ve heard,” he added vindictively, “but that’s my wife you have behind you.” His eyes lightened, and a callous smirk formed on his lips. “You mean that’s ‘your wife’ I’ve had beneath me,” Peter sneered lewdly.

This probably shouldn't have sounded as hot as it did, coming from Peter in this moment. But fuck if it didn't... 🥵🔥

“Yeeaah,” Peter chuckled mockingly, fueling John’s anger. “She told me all about you. Short story. If ya catch my drift.”

😅😅😅

This killed me! Just as much as the rest of his insult following. 👏😂 And what was better was that it gave him the reaction he was looking for. Of course, he wouldn't John Walker if he didn't go for the killing blow right out of the gate. He couldn't be a man and face his "foe" head on. He had to bring Honey down to make himself feel more powerful.

Though Peter wasn't having any of that. It was the “Anyone touches her, and I’ll send ya back home to your families in garbage bags.” that did it for me. Apparently for John, too. Since the "bringing Honey down" option didn't work in his favor, he figured bringing Gwen up would. And he knew that he hit a nerve with his words there, so why not test out the Honey theory for a second time. His willingness to say anything to make Peter doubt her, as well as himself, is such a John thing to do. Yet, all it did was make Peter hate the asshole even more. This was very evident in the way he replied with "Gloat all you want, asshole... She still dumped you."

And I was so relieved when she finally spoke up, the second the lie about him "pleasuring her on their date"! I was so worried that he was going to keep spewing lies upon lies because she wasn't in the right frame of mind to refute them.

And their, although ultimately in vain, thinking/working together to try to gain some kind of upper hand. Without a word being spoken between them, besides his words of "reassurance" that this was their chance... was something I didn't know I needed until I read it.

I am certainly glad our man Peter has a high pain tolerance and heightened healing abilities... This poor guy's been through the ringer physically in the last few months but more specifically the last couple days. SOMEONE (yes, I chose that color specifically for a reason 👀) will have to be sure to take good care of him later... *wink wink nudge nudge* 😂😅

I was saying while reading that next part "Can someone pleeeease come help Peter!" Like, I have all the faith in the world that had A. John not had Anti-Venom living inside him or B. Peter still had Venom inside him, that he could've handled shit on his own. But in his condition, with the deck stacked against him, I was just glad to see him holding his own in the moment. Surviving.

What I didn't expect was for Honey to take the reigns and throw herself at John's mercy. (when we all know, her more than anyone, that he hasn't got an ounce of it) I almost had a moment of "oh shit, this is actually about to happen... and Peter may possibly be in no place to prevent it... which is going to kill them both even more..."

But, Honey came through like the absolute badass we knew she is!

Or should I say Maricella now? 😍😍😍

THIS was an ultimate MJ moment if I've ever seen one! You don't know how much I wanted her to be "MJ" and you completely blew my expectations, for not only her name itself, but the reveal out of the water!

Her command that she was none of the names John's called her... and that she will not allow him to have that power over her any longer. THIS IS WHAT I CAME HERE FOR! (Well that and the beautiful love story that played out with it... and the smut in the future... okay, so I'm here for multiple reasons, but this is one of the main ones... 😂

“My name is Maricella Jimenez,” she hissed, sounding out each syllable carefully. “And you will remember it.”

Having this being the finality of her statement was completely poetic. Before she FINALLY was able to, and in the most perfect way, exact her revenge on (I like the way Peter worded it best) that "pathetic… wife-beating sack of shit"!

When we asked for justice to be served, that's exactly what we got. And though I know Peter had wished it could've been him to finish this. I am so glad it was her! This was what needed to be done. And how you did it, couldn't have been more perfect.

And thank goodness she had some "practice" with aim & shoot in the last few hours because she made those last few bullets count. Along with yet another moment of Peter and Honey synchronizing their attack. Even if not purposely.

There's soooooo much I could say about the next few parts but I've already taken up a LOT of characters and a ton of your time. So I'll just say that I was holding my breath the entire time. Waiting for the pin to drop. Hoping and praying that it wouldn't be her disassociating that would be his downfall.

He let go. Let go of his rage. Of his vendetta. Of his grief. Of his fantasies. He let go of the idea of Honey. From the depths of his bitter heart, he gave her his unconditional love. "What I want..."

It was in that moment that my heart simultaneously died and was jump started again.

That kiss was magic, Liz! 😍

The more I read, the more giddy I got! I mean, I know they've shared kisses before, but something about this one... okay, EVERYTHING about this one, screamed perfection on both parties side's. And I cannot WAIT to see what that "What I want... is for you to touch me." statement leads to! 😮‍💨

I am so excited to read the next part, I can't even deal! I just hope I'm not at work when you post it because I don't know how I'll ever be able to get any work done! 😅😂

And knowing that this amazing series is nearly over... I don't know how to feel about that! It's definitely going to be a bittersweet moment. Because I obviously (as well as, I'm sure, all of your loyal readers) hope to see a beautiful, long awaited growth, love-filled, happy ending... I also am very attached to these characters you've created and will hate to see it end.

You're truly brilliant, Liz! There are some fantastic writers here in this fandom, but I've not yet read a series with writing quite like yours. And the fact that you're such an amazing person, is just the cherry on top!

I will continue to shout it from the rooftops and in my abnormally LONG chapter reviews. (Like may as well be a novel long 😅) But it's nothing but the truth.

This work of art deserves a damn book deal!

sugar and vice, pt. 20 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader-oc]

summary: no more running. no more cages.

words: 10.7 k

chapter warning: heavy chapter warnings for S&V John Walker (it's a warning), SA, de@th, g0re, g!uns, vi0lence!

series warnings: mob-typical bang bang violence, wh-mp. hurt/comfort. s-xu-l situations. spousal ab-se. family trauma. dr-g use. coercion. manipulation. kidnapping. gore. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

Don't date a mob boss.™️

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you don't know these TWs by now, then don't go here.

Back to Part 19.

Note: your comments and notes keep me alive, but please be careful to use section breaks and spoiler tags!

Part 20

Once when she was a little girl, she cut her baby sister’s nails. She had to. It was something that their mother would have done—should have done—but she hadn’t been home in several days. Her older sister had the most experience, but she was stuck working a double shift. Rebecca had been sick with a cold for days, and Selena was just a toddler.

After all, it was her job to look after her younger siblings.

So that left Honey in charge.

Poor Gabriella. The infant couldn’t stop scratching her face. Red lines marked up her round cheeks like tiger stripes. Honey knew if any of the children had too many marks, people would start to notice. Then something bad would happen, her mother assured her. People would come and take Gabriella away.

She tried everything to prevent the baby from digging her tiny claws into her own skin. She tried rolled socks as makeshift mittens. She tried using a bath towel as a swaddle, but that turned out to be an awful idea once the infant realized she was stuck and didn’t like being restrained.

By contrast, being tied up wasn’t something that ever bothered Honey.

After that, she was never okay with the sight of blood.

It used to bother her tremendously. She’d become agitated for a few days out of every month. Her other sisters would joke about it. ‘She must be on her period.’ They were right.

As a teenager, the smallest knick from shaving her legs in the shower would send her into a dizzy spiral. Over time, it got better. John changed that.

Mrs. Walker became an expert at cleaning up blood. She learned to ignore the smell or at least put a dab of Vicks beneath her nose to block the stench.

The only helpful thing she learned in high school chemistry was how blood cells expanded when coming in contact with warm water. Thus, her teacher told her, cold water was best for removing blood stains.

“You know. In case you ever have to hide a dead body.”

It was a joke. Until it wasn’t.

John changed that.

She sat on the tiled floor of her bathroom, shoulders slumped and expression blank. Now, it was impossible to get rid of the blood on her hands. She could strip off her clothes and burn them, but she felt it on her skin. She could shove an entire eucalyptus tree up her nose, but the scent would linger.

She was stained in rust colors, starkly contrasting the pristine ivory of her bathroom. Silently, she gazed at how the blood crusted on her skin, following the ridges of her pores like brush strokes in oil paint. The cotton hoodie and joggers she’d been wearing were soaked through. There had been so much carnage and death she didn’t even know whose blood she was wearing.

Helen’s. Johnny’s. Her own, probably. Blood from ‘that’ guy, whose scalp was torn off.

Eddie’s blood.

All that was left of his life stained her skin. She should be nauseous by now. She should be at least a little woozy. But, instead, the thought of just washing him away made her want to die inside.

She would wear it, then. Needed to wear it—she had to. On her arms and face. On her neck. On her chest, like a scarlet letter. Irreversably stained.

Is this what it means to be desensitized to gore?

Indeed, she felt nothing at all.

What happened, happened. The Bunker was in shambles. It would take months to repair. Would have if Peter hadn’t instructed them to burn everything left.

Every piece of incriminating evidence, every tool at their disposal, and every chapter of their history was on fire underground. Nothing would be left, no matter when the fire department showed up. Johnny had re-routed the gas lines years ago. With the flip of a switch, everything would go up in flames. Nothing could be salvaged. It would be an empty cave filled with useless, charred artifacts from an irrelevant time.

On second thought—she considered—that’s what she felt.

It was as good of a description as any.

After that morning’s attack, she was dropped off at the Penthouse. Peter would follow soon after, they told her. She shouldn’t wait up.

She had limped into her bathroom to clean off the remnants of the massacre. There she remained, for over an hour. Couldn’t get up off the floor. Couldn’t force herself to get in the shower.

At this rate, she may never be clean again.

Her eyes wandered to the smartphone beside her, tucked near her thigh.

John’s phone.

This was the weapon that killed Eddie Brock.

The second she had entered her room, she pulled the cursed object out from the box spring. She wanted to hand it over quickly so that Peni could analyze it. Could... study it, or whatever it is that tech nerds do. Honey would do anything to fix things.

But nobody cared about the phone. It was as good as a gun without bullets. A time bomb, two seconds too late. It was of no consequence.

She picked up the smartphone, glaring down at it with contempt. Sticky red fingerprints covered the cracked screen. Her blood. Their blood.

Eventually, she came to a stand. Then, bitterly, she dropped the phone into the toilet bowl, submerging it in water.

Peter was finally home. But it didn’t feel like home.

His home was on fire, riddled with bullet holes. Just like the home he grew up in.

He stood before the full-length mirror in his wardrobe and wiped the blood stains away with a damp, pink-tinged towel. His flesh was now rubbed raw. The cotton fabric felt like sandpaper against his tender skin.

The obvious solution was to take a proper shower. But he didn’t have time. He only needed to get enough blood off to pass in broad daylight without someone calling the cops if they saw him. He wouldn’t get very far if he looked like an ax murderer.

With all the rage he held inside, an ax was unnecessary. Overkill. And yet, not enough ‘kill.’

He had redressed in clean clothes, wearing a pair of midnight-navy trousers with creased edges that were sharp enough to cut. He paused midway through buttoning a crisp, white dress shirt, momentarily taking in the gruesome sight of himself.

His torso was a canvas splashed with deep purples and reds, stretched over a frame of broken ribs and pinched nerves. His eyes rested on the delicate box chain around his neck, which held two gold wedding bands near his heart.

Ben and May’s wedding rings. Tarnished. Stained with blood.

He quickly reached for the towel.

Minutes later, he carefully shrugged on a matching double-breasted blazer, wincing as he pulled it over his shoulders. Every part of him felt broken, in every possible way. But physical pain hadn’t stopped him yet, not when something more important was driving him.

He regarded his reflection with tight lips. He didn’t wear this jacket too often. It was a tuxedo cut and hung looser than he was accustomed to, making his frame appear boxy. A little too retro, maybe.

Perfect for concealing weapons. After all, he was dressing for a funeral.

His skin prickled. He was familiar with the sensation. He recognized it instantly, like an earthy scent before a rain shower. Honey’s reflection came into view as she approached the doorway behind him.

The sight of her covered in blood made his stomach clench. He reminded himself that it wasn’t all her blood, and only then did the tension in his chest release. But not entirely.

“Thought you were getting some sleep.” Peter’s tone was flat. His eyes flicked back to his reflection as he tugged on the lapels of his blazer.

He didn’t say it as a question; rather, he stated it as an expectation.

She stared back, unfazed, wearing a stone expression. “What are you going to do?”

Similarly, it wasn’t a question. More like a demand.

He briefly glanced at her before returning to the mirror. His jaw set firmly. “You don’t wanna know.”

She marched into the room. “You’re going after John. I want to help.”

“Help me?” he repeated with a scoff. “I don’t think so.”

Her forehead creased, offended. “Look, I can help—”

“Just what do you think is about to happen right now?” he snapped. He squinted his eyes, turning on his heel to face her. “Ya think we’re just gonna pull up on ‘em and that’s it? Ya think he’s just sittin’ around at home watching TV?”

“No,” she said. Her tone was unwaveringly resolved. “I think he’s expecting you to come after him.”

“No shit,” Peter sighed with frustration. “I’m expecting to be expected.” He fixed a stern gaze on her, tension pulling at his vocal cords. “Only difference is I don’t care if he knows I’m comin’, or how many cops are in my way. There’s only one way this ends, and it ends bloody. And you don’t want any part of it.”

He brushed past her and stomped towards his bureau. Her eyes followed each movement, crackling with lightning bolts. “Fuck you, telling me what I want!” she hissed. “This is my mess, too!”

He pivoted toward her. “And what, ya think killing him is gonna fix it?” His face went grim, sorrow etched into his features. Remorse welled in the bottom of his eyes. “Think it gets easier after that? Ya think it’ll make you somehow feel better—?”

“I don’t care about feeling better!” she barked back. He neatly flinched at the sharpness of her tone. Fury bubbled beneath her skin. “The only thing I care about is that he suffers.”

Peter contemplated her for a quiet moment. “Well,” he said, voice soft. His melancholy briefly overshadowed his rage. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

He didn’t meet her eye. Instead, he studied the grain of the wood beneath his feet, letting his shoulders deflate. He looked beyond tired, deep lines creasing his features and flecks of gray in his beard. Yet, when he lifted his chin, his eyes were resolute. He arched his path to avoid her.

Unsatisfied, she trailed him with fire in her eyes. “How will you know where to find him?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Who’s going with you?”

“Stop asking questions, Honey.”

She grasped him by the shoulder and yanked him around to face her. “Jesus Christ! The phone is gone, you unbelievable asshole! Do you really think I’d tell anyone—?”

“You’re not getting involved,” he stated firmly.

“Not involved? Are you fucking serious?!”

“Too many people have already gotten hurt.”

“Holy shit,” she blanched, freezing in place. Her eyes widened in horror. “You’re not telling the others, are you?”

He paused, for eons, she thought. Peter tried to keep his face neutral, but it was useless under her scrutiny. His eyes were ablaze with stubborn resolve, lips in a line. He turned his back and continued down the staircase.

Blinking rapidly, she watched him walk away. She felt dizzy, but not from weakness. Instead, rage pulsed through her veins, each blood cell embedded with fear. She rushed after him, hot on his heels.

“You’re going in alone?” she growled, her nose crinkled. “That’s your fucking genius plan? Go in, guns blazing, and hope you don’t get yourself killed?!”

“I have no intention of getting killed,” Peter said. “Not unless I’m taking him with me.”

His reaction enraged her further as they approached the base of the stairs. “Who does that work out for, huh?” she spat.

Ignoring her, he marched on. Peter spotted one of the guards standing watch outside his office door. “Rollins!” he ordered, voice booming. “Bring the car ‘round.”

“Yes, sir—”

“Rollins, don’t you dare bring the car around!” she commanded, blocking Peter’s path and skewering him with a defiant glare. It was as if she dared him to move her. His dark eyes flashed angrily as he clenched his jaw. He looked as if he was considering it.

Rollins stared at the two of them, back and forth. Frozen with indecision.

Enraged by his sudden hesitancy, Peter’s nostrils flared. He shot a dangerous glare at the guard before glancing down at the young woman with ire.

He lifted his gaze back to his man, narrowing his eyes. “Rollins...” Through gritted teeth, his guard’s name sounded more like a declaration of war.

Rollins sprang into action. “On it, sir.”

As his guard disappeared, she kept her feet rooted to the floor like a mythical beast guarding a castle. She breathed flames from her mouth and conjured curses and plagues with her gaze.

“You asshole—you’re in such a hurry to kill yourself!” she said viciously. “Who for, huh?! You think this is about the others? For Miles? You’re not doing this for us, Peter! And you’re not doing it for Eddie, either!”

“You’re damn right, I’m not!” he snapped indignantly, jabbing his finger into his bruised sternum. “I’m not doing this for anybody but myself!”

Heat radiated from him in waves, like steam from a hot spring. He bent his neck, leering over her. Volume dropped low, his voice thickened into a threatening rumble. “If I were doing this for Eddie,” he said, “I’d make ‘em watch me kill everything he ever loved, ya feel me? ‘Course, I highly doubt you were ever on that list, so you’ve got nothin’ to worry about.”

She barked a bitter laugh. “So this is, what, payback? Your stupid, dick-measuring way of defending my honor?”

“This isn’t about you, Honey,” he said, dark as night. He leaned down until his lips were inches from her forehead, eyes as cold and sharp as a jagged iceberg. “If it was—knowing what I know now,” he added breathily, “I promise you—it wouldn’t be anything like this.”

A misleading smirk formed on his lips, betraying the brutality staining his thoughts. She felt the heat of his rage in each whispered word.

“No,” he said, deathly grave. “For what he did to you—I would keep him alive for as long as I possibly could.”

The unabashed, murderous smile on his lips sent a shiver down her spine. Her discomfort didn’t faze him this time. He didn’t care how scared she was of him. If anything, the more afraid she was, the better.

“He’s a disease,” Peter ranted, directing his frustration back towards himself, “that I’ve allowed to spread. He’s a threat to everything I give a damn about! And I will not let him hurt somebody else I lo—”

Blinking, he cut the sentence short, just millimeters from a leap he wasn’t willing to take. She stared intently up at him, unaware that she was holding her breath.

He pursed his lips, eyes heavy with regret. He looked away, avoiding her gaze while he composed himself. Finally, he took in a slow, tense breath. “I need to do this, Honey,” he whispered ruefully. He had calmed slightly, swallowing back his rage.

The only thing left behind was a tiny, heartbroken remark. “It’s the only thing I’m good at.” The corners of his mouth turned down sharply.

She didn’t hesitate. “Even if that were true, you don’t need to do it alone.”

He shook his head in frustration. “Why are you so desperate to know what it’s like to kill somebody?”

A vicious yell burst out of her mouth. “I already have killed somebody!” she shouted, as if it were obvious. Her voice echoed off the walls while anguish pooled in her eyes. “It’s my fault Eddie is dead! I know it is—”

He shook his head again. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine—”

“Of course, it’s your fault!” she roared. “It’s both of our faults!”

The comment stunned him, only slightly less than the bitterness of her tone. He snapped his mouth closed, taken aback.

Despair twisted her face, and anger lit up her eyes. “Don’t you get it?” She was green with sickness, spitting out words like they were poison. “This is what he does! He turns people against each other!”

Peter stayed quiet as he observed her intensity. Her feet were rooted while her whole body raged, “He turns you against yourself! He twists you up until you can’t even trust your own instincts! Until you hate yourself enough to feel like you had it coming!”

A dam had broken, and a river of acid spilled through her lips. Resentment from years of abuse writhed in her chest like a tsunami, threatening to flood every street in New York. Her fingers itched to wrap around the collective necks of the city and drown it in her devastation.

She pointed at Peter, eyes flashing furiously. “You’re willing to get yourself killed because you feel responsible for every bad thing that’s ever happened!” She jabbed her thumb back at herself. “I’m willing to suffer in silence because I feel responsible for every bad thing that’s happened!”

“Meanwhile,” she added, with a livid hiss, “John Mother Fucking Walker—who is actually responsible for all of this—feels Nothing. At. All! Because he is a fucking psychopath!”

Peter blinked, contemplating her in silence. Her firm eyes narrowed on him. “That’s how he beats us, Peter!” she exclaimed. “Fear! Guilt! That’s how he wins!”

The frustration in her voice reverberated off of the walls, sending a tremor that penetrated the bedrock. Peter observed her, stoic save for the sorrow in his gaze.

Her chest heaved as unshed tears dampened her lashes. Exhausted, she sighed heavily. “I am tired of letting him win,” she said in exasperation. She was more composed but no less grave. “And if you think you’re gonna do what I think you’re gonna do—which is go after him alone—then that’s exactly what will happen.”

Peter’s eyes glistened, red-rimmed and raw. His silence stretched on forever until she was nearly inclined to choke him for a response. Eventually, he simply bowed his head, casting his eyes down.

“What if fear and guilt are the only things I have left?” It was a meek, feeble reply from someone so powerful. She blinked up at him, watching as he chewed on his lower lip. “Wish it wasn’t that way. I wish I had—”

He stopped, leaving the thought unfinished.

“Doesn’t matter what I wish, does it?” he said. “Doesn’t matter what coulda been.”

A crease formed between her brows. Her face softened. “Peter—”

“Just let me say this, please,” he blurted out with urgency as if the words would claw their way from his chest. “I need to.” She regarded his desperate gaze, and eventually, she bobbed her head gently.

He gazed down at her. His lower lip twitched for a moment. “I had my suspicions about your past,” Peter explained mournfully. “Knew something bad happened, but... bad shit happens to everyone, though. First, I thought it was your mother. Then after Pym, I... I figured it was some old boyfriend, some jerk who treated you like trash.”

Her face flushed red. When she looked back at him, his glazed eyes were fixed on her. Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. With shards of glass on his tongue, he murmured, “I-I didn’t know... wh-what he—”

“I don’t blame you, Peter, if that’s what you think—”

“I didn’t wanna know,” he firmly replied, silencing her. Guilt weighed down his features. “Didn’t wanna ask, if I’m bein’ honest.” He gulped, nearly choking on his words like a razor blade stuck in his throat. “I was afraid of what I would do if I knew the truth.”

She felt warmth sting her eyes, tears budding at the corner of her lids.

“I thought, I guess—” Peter’s voice tremored before he pressed on. “I-I thought I could save you. From what, I didn’t even know. Maybe that was my mistake all along.”

He raked his fingers through his hair, eyes heavy with shame. “I was so stupid. I’m the one that let him in. I let this act—this dance between us—I let it go on.” He sniffed with a bleary gaze. “He played me against me,” he declared with finality. “My fear. My doubt, self-hatred—whatever you wanna call it. Whatever voice in my head that tells me... th-that you... You could never love somebody like me.”

She flinched at that. Her resolve to remain stoic buckled under her feet.

His eyes dropped to his feet. “I told myself this was just business, and that if the Feds could use you, so could I.” Vulnerability poured from his eyes as they met hers. “I pretended it didn’t kill me every time you looked me in the face and lied.”

Despite his apology, her stomach twisted with shame.

“And each time it happened,” he explained, “I couldn’t figure out what they had on you. Something awful, I figured. Something that scared the shit out of you.”

Peter looked at her somberly, lower lip wobbling and eyes dark with regret. “I thought it was me.”

Her face crumpled at his admission, grief seizing her at last. She bit down on her lip to keep a sob from escaping.

“It’s like he already won,” he said, with a broken soul. “I thought I was the one he wanted.” He sniffed, peeking down at her through wet lashes. Deep, raw heartache thickened his voice. “Turns out, it was you all along. And I led him straight to you.”

Her vision flooded with tears at his admission. It sounded like a confession from a dying man. After a few gut-wrenching moments, Peter lifted his chin and met her eyes, resolved. “That’s why I’m doing this without you, Honey. This is my mistake to fix.”

Overwhelmed with grief, she stared up at him in a daze. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she gently shook her head to protest.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” she said. It sounded like a eulogy.

His eyes glistened as he nodded, love and loss in their depths. “Me too.”

He gazed at her, the coffee color of his irises shining bittersweet. She stared up at him in adoration and agony. She debated whether she should wrap her arms around him and cry or kiss him dizzy.

He paused, letting his eyes linger, then turned away and trodded down the hall. “I’m gonna fix this, Honey,” he said. “I promise. You’re free.”

Perplexed, she darted after him. “Wh-what—?”

“No more running, no more cages,” he resolutely replied. She followed closely as he approached the oak doors to his office. “Won’t hafta be afraid of anyone comin’ after you. Not Fisk. Not me. And not some asshole ex. ‘Cos win or lose...I’m ending this. Tonight.”

She fluttered her lashes with concern, following him blindly into the room.

“Why wait?”

Honey stopped short in her tracks like her feet had been fused to the floor. Peter froze. Swayed dizzily. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck didn’t just prickle, as they had been since the beginning of their conversation. It inverted, the sensation feeling like his skin had peeled off and been turned inside out.

John Walker coolly watched them come to a sudden stop. He lounged back casually in the executive desk chair with a devil-may-care expression and his leather oxfords up on the tabletop. Stunned, they stared at the lithe man with growing alarm. The icy blue of his eyes twinkled with delight at their fear, fixing them with a Cheshire smile.

“Why don’t we do this right now?” he shrugged nonchalantly.

Each bruised muscle in Peter’s body went rigid. In a matter of moments, he was hit with a surge of emotion that he barely managed to contain beneath his skin. Pupils dilated, fingers shaking, heart pounding—fury washed over him, and all Walker had to do was smile.

Over the sound of blood rushing, Peter registered the fluttering palpation of her heart.

His Heart.

His Honey.

She was terrified.

It reminded him of the moment she walked in on the meeting between him and “Steve,” only this time it was worse.

An arctic chill surrounded her from the ice running through her veins. She paused mid-breath, rendered motionless, eyes wide with horror. For a moment Peter worried if she would ever start breathing again.

His palms began to tingle. He kept his attention straight ahead, while he fought between the urge to comfort her and the visceral need to tear John’s face from his skull.

Before he could do either, another warning sensation—sharp and jagged, like his name being carved into a chalkboard with a steak knife—sliced through his brain.

After having been suppressed, ignored, and nearly incapacitated by the Symbiote, his senses were in overdrive. Every cell in his body alerted him to impending danger, which came in the form of footsteps.

He turned quickly, dragging Honey behind his back, as he laid eyes on the new threat. Three of his guards, Malick, Ward, and Rollins—fucking Rollins—stepped into the room. Ward and Malick were vigilant with their weapons drawn, but Rollins sauntered at a leisurely pace. He glanced over at his boss, unworried, and a malicious grin widened his lips.

Peter’s shoulders slumped as he realized that their bullets were meant for him. He frowned sourly, betrayed. “Jack,” Peter coldly muttered, hiding his disappointment beneath the threat in his tone. “Wha’cha up to?”

Rollins simply shrugged. “Sorry, Boss,” he smirked. “‘S’just business.”

Peter’s eyes darkened as he observed Gideon Malick aim his pistol at Honey, while Grant Ward slammed the office door closed, locking them in. With Rollins drawing his sidearm, three guns were now trained on him and the shaking woman behind him.

Peter couldn’t see her face but didn’t need to. He could feel her fear radiating through his fingertips. Her body became both lighter and heavier as if her bones had turned to water. He sensed her increasing dissociation, barely tethered to the Earth and dangling at the end of his reach. Only terror cemented her feet in place. She was sluggish as he pushed her closer into his back as if he could somehow hide her there.

“I have to say, Pete,” John called to him matter-of-factly. Peter split his attention between his backstabbing guards and the monster seated behind his desk. “At first, I was impressed with your organization. But it seems like you have a few serious issues with staff retention to sort out.” John spoke with a self-satisfied smirk, kicking his feet off of the desk and coming to a relaxed stance. “You should think about setting up a meeting with H.R.”

“Believe me,” Peter glowered at John, briefly glancing at Rollins with clenched teeth. “It’s a priority.”

John took an unrushed stroll to the front of the desk before leaning back on the corner’s edge. He moved through the office as if it was his home. It was unnerving for Peter to consider how many times he might have been there without his knowledge, with his treacherous guards granting him access to anything he wanted.

“‘Course, I always thought you shoulda gone into human trafficking,” John said, with a mockingly sincere tone. A crease split Peter’s brow, his face twisting with revulsion. “You would’ve made a very lucrative pimp.”

Peter glared at him, disgusted, as he chuckled softly at his own joke. The laugh faded, as did the humor in John’s ice-blue eyes. They narrowed with contempt, looking beyond Peter to the trembling girl behind him.

“Lord knows you got the world’s biggest whore right behind you,” he sneered maliciously. “With a mouth like hers, you’ll get anything you want. If you throw in an extra five-thousand dollars, of course.”

Peter felt her bristle at the jab, and he reached back further to steady her.

“Don’t look at her,” he ordered coldly, never breaking eye contact. “You don’t get to look at her. Ever.”

The blonde snickered, licking his lips scandalously. “Oh, I’ve done a whole lot more than just look.”

Peter’s jaw tensed at that.

John’s humorless gaze turned into a cold glare. “I don’t know if you’ve heard,” he added vindictively, “but that’s my wife you have behind you.”

Despite his own outrage, Peter kept a straight face. He listened intently, studying how Walker’s nostrils flared and how his pulse sped up at the sight of the couple embracing.

Good, he thought. He needed every second of time he could get.

Peter took a step backward with her, slowly approaching the wall.

His eyes lightened, and a callous smirk formed on his lips. “You mean that’s ‘your wife’ I’ve had beneath me,” Peter sneered lewdly.

The remark splintered beneath John’s skin. Peter watched with satisfaction at how the blonde’s brow twitched. He could smell the agitation leaking out through his pores.

“Yeeaah,” Peter chuckled mockingly, fueling John’s anger. “She told me all about you. Short story. If ya catch my drift.”

Peter took another step backward, bumping her along, teeth flashing with amusement. “In fact,” he parried, matching John’s sardonic tone, “maybe you should talk to a doctor about your little problem. You know, instead of torturing women.”

John glowered with his lower lip curled. “Well. Since we’re sharing.” He tilted his head with a predatory grin, while his eyes shot daggers at them. “I wouldn’t trust everything she says. The girl’s a freak. She tell ya about all of her filthy rape fantasies, too?”

Her breath hitched. A tiny shiver racked through her body. It was barely noticeable to the other men, but to Peter, it felt like a tectonic movement. He could hear the way her stomach shifted, her nausea roaring in like a rising tide.

“She likes it rough,” John snarked. “It’s practically the only thing that gets her off. Pretty fucked up, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you.” Inwardly, Peter seethed, resentment darkening his gaze.

“‘Course not. Why take my word for it?” John laughed, having momentarily taken the upper hand. He glanced around at the other traitors mirthlessly before turning back to Peter. “Why don’t we just find out for ourselves?”

Peter’s anger spiked at the insinuation, rage stuttering his heartbeat. He watched as John glanced at Rollins and the other men with a menacing grin. Cruel laughter trickled from the traitors that made his blood boil further.

He took a measured breath. “I know you boys don’t know me that well,” Peter remarked calmly. “But lemme be very clear.” He slid his eyes over and leveled a threatening glare at the men behind Rollins. “Anyone touches her, and I’ll send ya back home to your families in garbage bags.”

Peter’s men dropped their smiles suddenly. He heard a stutter in the heartbeats coming from that direction as they attempted to suppress their reaction. “Don’t take my word for it,” he said directly to Rollins with a murderous gaze. “You know what I’m capable of, Jackie.”

“Is that what you did to Gwen?”

Peter’s anger spread through him like epinephrine as John carelessly spat out his deceased wife’s name. His shoulders tensed, and the cords in his neck pulled tautly.

“You send her back to her daddy in a body bag?” John snickered. “Sure—Call me a shitty husband. But at least my wife never took a swan dive off of the Brooklyn Bridge.”

The fresh swell of rage in Peter’s belly twisted him into knots. A gentle press from a tiny palm on the middle of his back was the only thing that anchored him.

“Oof. Hit a nerve, did I?” John grinned with satisfaction at how the color drained from Peter’s eyes and complexion. “What else did you two lovebirds talk about?” he said. “She tell ya about our little talks late at night?” He grinned salaciously. “Lotsa juicy stuff.”

Peter swallowed hard, unflinching.

“She told me everything,” Walker continued. “Her plan to seduce you. To pretend she cared about you. How much she despised you.” John tilted his head, musing. “How’d you put it, Peach? You could ‘never love a monster like him’?”

He heard a soft gasp from behind him. As strong as their resolve was, the remark punctured its armor. Honey clenched the fabric of his jacket, her touch pleading for forgiveness. Steadfast, Peter took another careful step backward, keeping her close.

“‘Course, that’s no big surprise,” John continued ruthlessly. He could see through Peter’s indifference, knowing each word cut into him like a jigsaw. “‘Everyone that ever loved you is dead.’ Ain’t that right?”

Honey gripped Peter’s shoulder tighter, a swell of nausea creeping up her esophagus. Her vocal cords were paralyzed, with nothing but a whimper escaping her lips. “No...” she muttered breathlessly, stunned and enraged by the twisting of her words.

“Poor, pitiful Peter Parker,” John said in a sing-song voice. “Sad, psychotic little orphan boy. No mommy. No daddy. His aunt and uncle both turned into swiss cheese.” He punctuated each word with viciousness, spitting them out like curdled milk. “Clinging desperately onto the memory of his dead whore.”

Nostrils flaring, Peter glowered at John, dipping his chin. Another step backward nearly had the woman behind him up against the wall, backing her carefully up to a marble-top bar. “Gloat all you want, asshole,” Peter mumbled with disdain. “She still dumped you.”

John’s eyes flashed red with a serpentine hiss sliding off his forked tongue. “And yet, I’m the one that finger-fucked your girl while you were on your little date! Greedy slut was wetter than a swamp when I touched her—”

“Liar!” she screamed, voice cracking like shattered glass.

She lunged forward but Peter blocked her. He practically shoved her back, her spine hitting the edge of the bar. A chorus of chuckles erupted, with Rollins, Ward, and Malick joining in on John’s amusement. She stumbled backward, using her hands to steady herself until she came in contact with a metal object on the bar top.

A camera.

Peter’s old camera. On top of the box disguised as a book.

Both items were out of place.

Presented out in the open, where they shouldn’t have been.

Honey’s eyes darted back up to the front.

“S’okay, Honey,” Peter muttered, his glare still trained on Walker. He held his arms behind his back as if to hide her from view. It formed a ‘cage,’ concealing her movements as she stealthily shifted the camera, keeping her eyes forward. “The longer this clown talks, the more desperate he sounds.”

John’s eyes flashed with malice. “Oh, you wanna hear what desperate sounds like? How ‘bout I push your little bitch off the roof, huh? Have your men make you watch me turn another woman you love into Humpty Dumpty. She’ll be runny eggs on the sidewalk in a matter of seconds—”

“Why are you all still smiling?” Peter sharply cut him off. He shifted his glare from John to his snickering accomplices. “Is it ‘cos you're scared? Or are ya just that stupid?” The laughing ceased immediately as Peter fixed John with a cold gaze. “Either way, you’re about to be a dead man.”

With her hands behind her back, she blindly fumbled to lift the lid of the box. Her fingers scavenged across the bottom, expecting to find a weapon of some kind, or a knife, or perhaps even—

“Lookin’ for this?” John said. The bang of a gunshot deafened her.

A splatter of wet, hot liquid covered her cheek and she flinched at the sound of an agonized cry. She screamed. At the gunshot. At the blood. And at the sight of Peter dropping forward to his knees in excruciating pain.

“No! No! No!”

She could hear her own shrieking in the distance as she grasped at him. Groaning, he writhed in agony. His hand, once again bloody, clutched a bullet hole piercing his upper right shoulder. She threw her already-stained palms over his, adding his blood to the fresco decorating her flesh.

Tears spilled down her cheeks. Lip wobbling, she glanced up with wide eyes as John pointed Peter’s pistol at them menacingly.

“Did ya really think I wasn’t gonna search this place for weapons?” he scoffed in offense, glaring at them through slitted eyes.

Nostrils flaring and teeth clenched tight, Peter breathed through the pain. He scowled up at John feeling like a flaming sword had severed his arm at the shoulder. His heart hammered as he watched John raise the pistol again, this time aiming between his brows.

“Please, don’t!” Honey sobbed. “John, please! I’m begging you!” She wrapped her arms around Peter as if she could shield him.

The smile faded from John’s lips. Contempt radiated from his blue eyes, turning them into blackened sapphires. “C’mon, Peach. We both know you can beg better than that.”

Peter shoved her away from him, jumping to his feet. He charged and knocked John’s aim off target. Another shot rang out and pierced the wall next to her.

Shrieking, she dropped to the floor and cowered down.

With one bloody hand on John’s wrist, Peter smashed him in the abs with his injured arm. He put his back muscles into the punch, snarling as the bruised flesh burned like his body was on fire.

His rage partially numbed the pain as Peter advanced forward. He shoved John back into the desk. The injuries made each move sluggish, but Peter managed to land another hit, this time to John’s face. With his other hand clenching the gun, he slammed it into the tabletop, loosening John’s grip. With another vicious whack, the weapon fell from his hand and clattered out of reach.

Amped with adrenaline, Peter reared his uninjured arm back. Balling his fist into a cannonball, he drove it down hard enough to break through concrete.

Right into John’s palm.

He blinked, stunned. Looked up at John. His face twisted with confusion, as the supposedly weaker man grinned smugly up at Peter.

“Oh, yeah,” John smiled with red teeth, slowly crushing Peter’s hand like an empty aluminum can. “And then there’s that.”

With a flick of John’s wrist, he inverted Peter’s arm and tossed his body like a garbage bag. Peter collided with the wall and toppled to the ground, sending plaster and drywall raining down.

John straightened up, taking labored breaths as he adjusted his light blue collar, now dotted with tiny spots of crimson. He fixed Peter with a wry smile. “I know about your little science experiments, too,” he smirked. “Your buddy Eddie stole the outdated model. Say ‘hello’ to Anti-Venom.”

John rolled his shoulders, tipping his head to crack his neck. As his joints popped, he rolled his eyes back into his skull—literally. Honey gaped with horror as she watched her ex-husband grin at them with a demonic stare, pure white engulfing his eyeballs. The milky, opaque clouds in his eyes seemed to part in the middle, like a crocodile opening an inner set of eyelids, revealing the dilated pupils of his sadistic stare.

Peter struggled to get on his hands and knees as John stalked towards him, feet heavy with malice. Honey screamed with almost no breath, “Peter, look out—”

In a flash, John was on him, jabbing his elbow into his back. Peter gasped at the stab to his spine, feeling another rib snap. The force slammed him chest-first back to the floor. With dazed eyes, he glanced blearily at the secret box, now tossed to the ground a few feet away. Photos of May and Ben were scattered about, among the shards of broken glass, chunks of wood, and twisted metal.

Weakened from the fall, the gunfight, and now the beating, Peter strained to reach for the box but was stopped short. Walker’s steel fingers clamped on his shoulder, yanking him to his feet. He jabbed a boulder-like fist into Peter’s sternum, violently ejecting the air from his lungs.

Honey sprang to her feet, grabbing a chunk of wood and charging toward them. Rollins and Ward were there instantly, scooping her up and restraining her.

She writhed desperately, screeching as they twisted her arms back. The sound of her attack vexed Peter, as he straightened his back, landing an upward thrust of his fist into John’s chin.

“Get off of her!” he hissed at Rollins and Ward, but John intercepted him.

Like thrashing wild animals, they pummeled each other until sweat and blood coated the floor. Yet, with every hit, John seemed unfazed. Whatever was running through his body was just as formidable as the Symbiote that had once possessed Peter. Both men tossed each other about, but Peter was at a disadvantage.

“Stop!” Honey cried out painfully in a shrill voice, which wrenched Peter’s heart. “John, don’t do this! Stop it!”

Peter swayed with cloudy eyes as he felt John hook his fist into his jaw. It felt like being hit in the face with a brick. Right after, John landed another jab with the opposite hand. And then a third. And a fourth.

“No, John! Please stop! Just stop! Please!”

His vision blurring, Peter jabbed left, only to have his wrist caught in John’s grip. With a twirl, John wrenched Peter’s arm out of its socket. He doubled over and howled in agony, his dislocated arm hanging limply at his side.

“John, stop it, stop it, please, stop!”

“When I’m done with you,” John whispered in Peter’s ear, “Fisk will have to scoop up what’s left of you with a shovel.”

Fighting to stay conscious, Peter met the man’s vindictive glare. John’s piercing blue eyes locked onto his. “Yeah. Wilson Fisk. I said his name. Wilson. Fisk. Meanwhile, you’re running around, afraid to say it like he’s Bloody Fucking Mary.”

Peter was on the floor again, launched into a glass console table. Unable to break his fall, the glass and metal crunched under the momentum of his body, shattering in all directions. He rolled, coughing up blood, his face covered in bruises and cuts. His vision swam, gaze darting across the room until he spotted the secret box.

With one arm limp, he dragged himself forward with the shoulder that had been shot, inching closer to the overturned box. He flicked the container away, his eyes landing on a delicate watch-like device. He reached for it.

John’s foot came down hard, stomping on his web shooter and crushing it beneath his foot. Peter choked back a frustrated scream, having another weapon fall short of his grasp.

“John, please! I’ll do anything you want! Just please don’t do this!”

John lifted his foot and slowly brought the sole down onto Peter’s wrist. He cried out, grimacing at the crushing pressure of the grown man standing on his forearm.

“You know what else I call ‘em?” John said, ogling Peter as if to gloat. It was a victorious stance. He was like a giant about to crush an insect. A bloody half-smile hung on his chiseled face as he waited for Peter to make eye contact. When he finally did, John provided an answer.

“Sir.”

A crease formed between Peter’s brows as he gazed up at John, panting with shallow breaths. His face paled with realization.

“Yeah,” the blonde crooned with an evil smile. “That’s right.” A horrifying picture emerged from Walker’s self-satisfied expression. "Arrogant little prick. Did you think that you could beat the Kingpin?”

John crouched down low, leering over Peter like a vulture about to peck on its prey while it was still living.

“Did you think changing your name and hiding underground would stop him from wiping you off the face of the Earth if he really wanted to?” Walker sneered in disgust. “You’re only still alive because he allows it!”

Honey sobbed with tears streaming down her face as John revealed his hand to them. Beside her, Rollins chuckled darkly, relishing in his boss’ despair.

“You have the audacity to run your mouth all over town,” John hissed, pouring putrid waste into Peter’s ear, “like you’re gonna walk him right up to the Pearly Gates! Like you’re judge, jury, and executioner! The monster at the end of his book!”

Peter pressed his lips into a thin line, rage boiling beneath his battered flesh. John reached down, gripping him by his thick tuft of hair and wrenching it back. The action forced Peter to gaze up at him; his neck bent backward and vulnerable. The way Walker glared at him, he half-expected the man to grow fangs and bury them in his throat.

“Well, I got news for ya, Peter Parker,” John spat out each word mockingly as he narrowed his eyes. “Mr. Fisk doesn’t give a shit what you call yourself.” He fixed Peter with a beaming grin made up of pure, sadistic evil. “He doesn’t even know who you are.”

He let the words hang in the air as if they were going to carve themselves into Peter’s headstone. For his part, despite his physical agony, Peter held himself steady. Kept his eyes fixed on John’s. Kept his jaw set firm. Anger pooled beneath his chest, cleansing him as it spread through his body.

“Guess you’ll have to explain it to ‘em next time you see ‘em,” Peter muttered, his lip curled into a snarl. “Might be curious to know who it was that killed him.”

The smile dropped from John’s eyes as a fresh wave of fury overtook him. He glared down at Peter, who fixed him with an insolent smirk.

“And for the record,” the beaten man glowered in defiance, his gaze glittering with spite, “I’m not walkin’ him to the Pearly Gates—I’m takin’ him straight to hell. So you be sure to save him a seat... you pathetic... wife-beating sack of shit!”

John growled and pulled his arm back. Drawing on the power of the entity inside him, he envisioned putting his fist through Peter’s skull and not stopping until he hit the concrete beneath their feet.

“I won’t fight you.”

The men froze at the tiny whimper, the voice carrying it shattered and frail.

John glanced over to see his ex-wife hanging limply in the hold of the two guards. Her eyes were empty, her face colorless and ashen. The woman swayed like a bedsheet in the wind.

“You can do whatever you want with me,” she spoke meekly, her spirit detached from her body. “I won’t fight back. I won’t run away.”

Hopelessness marked her features as nausea threatened to choke her. She wished that it would. Drowning in her own bile was a better fate than witnessing the grin form on John’s face.

“Please,” she mewled desperately, eyes red and glossy. “You’ve already won. He doesn’t matter anymore. Let Fisk finish him off.” Her voice trembled, quivering in her throat. “You can have me. However you want me.”

The silence that followed was deafening. John leered, foaming at the corners of his mouth. Lecherous eyes appraised her from head to toe. His chest heaved with short pants, like a rabid animal in heat.

“Atta girl,” he murmured with satisfaction before tossing Peter aside like a rag doll.

Peter coughed raggedly, choking on his red-tinged saliva, and rolled to one side. Gripping his wrist and using his foot for leverage, he wrenched his shoulder back in place with a sickening pop. An agonized whimper squeaked out, despite his best efforts.

John crossed the room in a few strides and gripped the woman by the throat. “No,” Peter gasped through bloody lips, exhausted and breathless from fear. “No...nono...please—”

“Where the fuck are you goin’, Boss?” Malick barked as Peter struggled to stand. The guard stalked forward, gun trained on him.

Ward joined him, grabbing Peter by his wounded shoulder and kicking his shin out from under him. Their boss was on his knees again, held steady at gunpoint, with Ward pushing the barrel of his weapon into Peter’s temple.

When Peter looked up, John was dragging Honey by the back of her neck, scruffed at the nape like an animal. She stumbled as he forced her behind Peter’s desk, kicking the chair away. He shoved her forward. The veneer stung her cheek when she collided with it, and she let out a whimper.

“Let her go!” Peter writhed desperately. Ward whacked him over the back of the head, driving him forward. He put his foot on Peter’s spine while Malick twisted his wounded arm behind his back. With his chin scraping the floor, he peered up through the fringe of his lashes. “Don’t fuckin’ touch her! You hear me?”

“Get ‘em up,” John ordered coldly. “He’s gonna wanna see this.”

With a hand on his hair and his arms locked in place, Peter’s men yanked him to his feet. He pulled himself forward, only to have Ward dig his fingers into the bullet hole, tearing at his flesh. They pulled him back down on his knees, driving a foot into his calf. Helplessly, Peter writhed, thrashing against their hold a few mere yards away from the terrified girl.

John sauntered up behind Honey, a smug grin plastered on his face. The woman lay motionless like a possum, bent over the edge of the desk. She stared at the mess of objects on Peter’s desk, shards of the battle. They shifted in and out of focus as her glossy eyes welled with tears. She let her mind take flight, drifting off to a cabin in the mountains.

“No!” Peter felt his voice crack and a scream lodge in his throat. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you, Walker! Ya, hear me? Look at me, you sonuvabitch! I’ll rip ya apart, sweartogod—”

John glanced at Rollins who kept careful watch over his boss. “If he makes a move, put a bullet in his back. That way he can still watch me snap her neck like a toothpick.”

Panic surged through Peter at the order, his amber eyes bright with terror. “I’m the one you want, yeah?” he pleaded, chest heaving. “Fight me like a man, you fuckin’ coward!”

John ignored him. He pressed his hips up against the seat of Honey’s joggers. He gripped the collar of her zip-up hoodie, tearing it down her shoulders.

She was elsewhere. Watching Peter’s fingers dance across the ivory keys of a piano. She liked being wherever she was. It was always easier for her to go there. Always easier for her to run away.

John ran his greedy hands down her spine and back up again beneath the filthy camisole she wore. His touch felt like a centipede crawling across her skin. A shudder racked through her as vomit climbed up her throat.

“Somebody’s excited,” John chuckled sadistically.

She breathed out a silent sob. She climbed the limbs of the maple tree in her backyard. Picturing the home she would make there one day.

John leaned down, pressing a rough kiss to the back of her shoulder. “Just like old times. Ain't that right, Peach?”

It was like being shocked by electricity. Letting her fingertips brush against the metal of a wall plug while still in the outlet. Every muscle in her body tensed. Her eyes darkened. Pupils blown wide.

“I don’t like that.”

John paused as his hands reached the waistband of her sweats. He glanced up at her, still amused, eyeing the back of her head. “What’d you say?”

She blinked. Her vision sharpened. “That’s not my name.”

His brow furrowed, his agitation spiking. “You’re gonna have to speak up.”

“I said ‘that’s not my name.’” Her volume grew louder, every syllable coming out sharper and more jagged. Her teeth ground together as she fixed her gaze forward, focusing on the grain of the wood.

“My name isn’t Peach,” she hissed. Molten-hot fury filled her while her tone hardened like rapidly cooling lava. “I’m not your Peach. I’m not your Kitten.”

Each word punctuated with a twitch in her eye and a tremor in her voice.

“I’m not your Doll Face. Or your Whore. Or your Pawn.”

Acid rolled off her tongue as she trembled with anger. Her rage was so thick she nearly choked on it, barely able to form words. Slowly, she pushed herself up off the desk, her spine turning to steel even as he towered over her.

“And I’m not your fucking wife,” she gritted her teeth, eyes black with hatred. “Not anymore.”

She turned her head to glance back at John, leveling him with a vengeful look.

“My name is Maricella Jimenez,” she hissed, sounding out each syllable carefully. “And you will remember it.”

The hand positioned on the desk sprang forward at his face so fast that John could barely see it. His head whipped back and all he could register was white-hot, piercing pain shooting through his skull.

John roared, reaching up with one hand to cover his face while the other hand dragged her off the desk to the ground. The guards jumped with shock, mouths agape, trying to discern what just occurred.

“Aggghhh!” John cried out with an agonized scream. Enraged, he clawed at his face, growling like a mildly-wounded grizzly bear. His thirst for blood compounded.

“Fucking bitch!” he roared, the creature inside of him twisting his vocal cords. When he straightened, half his face was covered in blood. His fingers shook as he struggled to see the damage she had done.

His men gazed at him with dumbfounded stares. Which he could only half see.

With a four-inch shard of broken glass from the console table lodged in his left eye socket, he’d never see anything out of that eye again.

“You fucking bitch!” he sneered, practically drooling with outrage. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you, you fuckin’ bitch!”

The sight of John’s face was nausea-inducing. Not only had the glass pierced his eye, but it sliced clean through, with half of his eyeball dangling from the nerve ending on his cheek.

“Holy shit!” Ward gasped at the ghastly sight.

Rollins hissed at other men, their jaws still gaping wide. “Don’t just stand there! Do something, goddamnit!”

“You screwed up now, you slut!” John raged with ragged breath. “You know what you did? You assaulted a Federal Agent!” He wheeled around to spot her cowering on the floor behind the desk. He stomped toward her, murder in each footfall. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Do you have any idea who I am???”

John grabbed her by the forearm, wrenching her up. She faced him with fire in her eyes. In her free hand, her finger curled around the trigger of Peter’s gun.

“Who gives a fuck?” she sneered.

Looking John in the eyes, she pulled the trigger, watching as his forehead imploded. The bullet ripped through his brain, tearing it apart and exploding out the back of his skull. From there, his brain matter splattered like a microwaved tomato, spraying across the room.

“Oh shit!” The guards cried out in horror, swallowing back sickness as fragments of John’s skull rained down on them.

Rollins lunged forward, his weapon still drawn. He took three steps to the edge of the desk.

“No!” Peter howled.

Another shot rang out. Honey held the gun firmly in her grip, shooting at the first human form that approached her. Rollins grunted, eyes wide with panic, as the bullet tore through his throat. He clutched his neck as hot liquid spilled out of his severed carotid artery. His look of agony was only matched by his look of astonishment.

Peter knocked Ward’s gun away from his temple, grabbing his wrist and directing the barrel at Malick. With Ward still clutching the gun, Peter pulled the trigger and shot Malick in the side.

Malick doubled over, releasing his hold on Peter’s wounded shoulder. Ward strained to regain control of his weapon. They struggled briefly before Peter reached behind Ward’s suit jacket and yanked a combat knife out of its sheath. He buried the blade into Ward’s ribs, before ripping it out and plunging it in again and again. With a few quick jabs, the traitor’s torso was carved up into wet spaghetti.

Malick stumbled, struggling to recover from the bullet wound. Peter’s brain buzzed as Malick attempted to shoot him. He pivoted out of the way, using Ward’s body to block the shot.

Honey fired the gun in her hand again, the bullet hitting the ceiling, but it was enough to distract Malick away from his target.

In a few blinks, Peter was on his feet and gripping Malick by the arm. Before the treacherous guard could fire his weapon, Peter skewered him with the hunting knife, driving it into the soft flesh behind the man’s chin.

Malick’s eyes went wide as the blade impaled his mouth, piercing his tongue. Peter snatched the back of the man’s head with a steel grip, even as his hands trembled with rage. He glared into Gideon’s eyes with bloodlust, pushing the knife up further—slowly—watching Malick squirm until the blade was buried to the hilt.

The man went limp in his hold. Once Peter watched the light fade from his eyes, he released him, finally sated.

The sirens in his head quit blaring as soon as the threat was eliminated. The intense pressure dissipated as if a boulder had been lifted off Peter’s skull.

He let out a long, ragged breath, his body broken and yet still pulsating with adrenaline. His eyes darted to the desk. He spotted the traumatized woman that held his heart standing behind it. His face softened. Took a step towards her.

She pivoted, still clutching the gun. Aimed it at him.

Peter went still. Fawn-hued eyes went wide. He glanced down the barrel, then back up at her.

She was astral. Her soul was only tethered to her body by a thin wire. She was a kite, tossed about the atmosphere, observing the scene outside the plane of time.

She stared at him. Barely able to breathe. Her hand shook from the weight of the gun.

“Whoa...” he whispered, his voice soft. He lifted his hands outward in a placating gesture.

Her eyes were glazed over. Staring right through him.

He watched, heart pounding, as she turned her gaze downwards to the river of blood that leaked from Rollins’ corpse. Heart going cold, all that was left of his life leaked out of him like a broken faucet. No more damaging than a spilled glass of wine.

Lips sealed tight, her eyes darted over to the body closest to her.

John’s body.

Her monster lay slain at her feet. His jaw hung open in a disturbing grimace, a permanent final expression. The top of his head was now a concave shell. The image of him imprinted on her, burrowing in her memories.

She had never seen so much blood in her life. It was everywhere. Beneath her fingernails. In the tiny valleys of her skin. Dripping from her hair. It stained everything.

“Honey...” She looked only vaguely aware of Peter as he cooed gently at her, growing more apprehensive the longer her silence stretched on. “...Honey...?” he repeated slowly, his tongue going dry.

This time, she brought her attention back to the front, her eyes finally finding his. Peter looked sick with worry, terrified of the irony that this was the exact same position they were in less than 48 hours before.

Honey held her arm outstretched, fingers tremoring around the handle of the pistol, as she fixed Peter with an unreadable expression. He felt his heart thumping up into his throat. His growing alarm threatened to strangle him.

Her legs were rigid even as she trembled like a tightrope walker stranded between skyscrapers. She gazed at him with a look of dread, shock seizing her body.

Peter mumbled her name desperately, chanting it like a prayer. “Honey, Honey, Honey, look at me. Look at me. Okay? Look—”

He took a step forward and she responded with a step backward, positioning him at the end of the barrel. He blinked, going still once again. His eyes misted over as he gazed at her with empathy.

“S’okay,” he softly said, closer to a plea. “Everything’s gonna be okay. You’re safe—”

“Stop telling me that.” She was firm, her eyes cold.

Peter felt silent, eyes darting back and forth between her and the gun. Her breaths were short, nostrils flaring. His shoulders curved into a slump. Carefully, he lowered his hands. “I meant what I said before,” he delicately replied. “No more cages.” Her eyebrows furrowed sharply. “I made you a promise. You’re free.”

She blinked wide eyes, motionless in every other way. Warily, he glanced down at the gun. “You don’t hafta do anything—”

“Shut up!” she hissed, voice shaking. He shut his mouth immediately. Her gaze wandered, her mind spiraling out of control. She flicked her sights on the four corpses stretched out around them. Her tongue tasted like metal. The gunshot was still ringing in her ears.

“Get on your knees,” she commanded. Unlike the last time she said it, there was no sense of control in her tone. No sense of pleasure to be gained. Instead, she sounded desperate.

Peter closed his eyes, heart sinking in his chest. “Okay.” Reluctantly, he slowly sank down until both knees were on the ground.

Her eyes flashed wildly as she glared, holding the pistol tighter in her hand.

“S’okay,” Peter whispered out a lament. “S’okay, Honey. You’re gonna be okay.” With every repeated phrase, he relinquished more of his hope. Her eyes may have been unreadable, but her position was not.

They were on opposite sides of the room. A continent apart. He was exiled to the unfortunate end of the barrel, along with the other men who used her as a means to an end. This was where he belonged.

A lump formed in his throat as he gazed up at her with wet eyes. “Everything is going to be okay now,” he said with a bittersweet curve of his mouth. “You have all the power, remember? Always did.” His eyes landed on the gun, then back up to hers. “No one’s gonna hurt you again.”

He watched as a tear rolled down her cheek. Fear weighed heavily on her, dragging her down into its depth. Her eyes shined like glass. The glisten in his gaze was a mirror reflection of her sorrow and regret.

“Whatever you gotta do,” Peter assured her. But it was more than reassurance. It was a gentle promise made to a frightened girl that the monsters were all gone now. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

He hesitated to speak the true meaning of his implication. Instead, his eyes shined brightly on her like rays of moonlight, as if he could illuminate her path through the dark. A sincere apology sparkled at the bottom of their bourbon glow, but also, he offered forgiveness. He fixed her with a look of compassion before closing his eyes.

He let go.

Let go of his rage. Of his vendetta. Of his grief. Of his fantasies.

He let go of the idea of Honey.

From the depths of his bitter heart, he gave her his unconditional love.

“What I want...”

He stirred at the closeness of her voice, his eyes snapping open to find her standing inches over him. The gun rested at her side until she let it fall from her grasp. She stared into his eyes, her tears cresting over the ridges of her heart-aching smile.

She surged forward in the blink of an eye, crashing her lips into his. Her arms crossed behind his shoulders as she collapsed into his embrace. Her tongue breached his mouth, and with it, he felt like his heart would leap out of his chest. She breathed him in, relishing in the taste of his devotion, responding to it with love letters written on her lips. It was like her whole body was on fire, and only he could control the flame.

His hands wrapped around her lower back as he worshiped each twist of her tongue. Her kiss was better than morphine, numbing his body and heart to every injury he’d ever suffered.

Only when they were both dizzy and out of breath did she break the kiss. She gazed down at him with eyes that could scorch.

“What I want... is for you to touch me.”

To be continued...

[back to masterlist]

A/N: I want to say thank you for the incredible support you all have shown me in this last break. Part 21 is already finished and will be released this week. Real compassion exists even on the internet and I just can't even deal...

Part 23 will be the end.

#holy shit #I really do apologize for how long this was #it took me like 5 hours to write it 😅#totally worth it #💬 sugar and vice #andrew garfield #peter parker #spider man #lizzy writes.#review angels 💜#mob!tasm peter parker #now I need a drink and some patience while I wait for the next chapter #my love for these two characters runs deep

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sskk-manifesto · 2 months ago

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What a good episode. Maaaaaan

#I can't even start I'd be here forever #It did take me in fact like one hour total to watch it lmoa. It sooooo good!!! The animation is very good #(albeit it's awfully low on brightness at times. But such seems to be the sin of lot of recent media unfortunately)#but I'm not even going to dwell on that. The plot / storytelling is so good. Sooooo god. I adore this arc.#Love the symbolism. I've been saying this for almost two years now (is it really been that long ever since these episodes came out... ) but #I want to write an analysis on the op & ed so baddd. The emphasis on the twilight this episode!!#Like the sun was setting on the detective agency. I love love love the hd. They're so cool in this episode and they're so cool in general.#I ADORE Jouno. I don't feel particularly strongly for sue/giku yet their scenes are so cute and funny. I see why people ship them.#Even Tetchou I don't usually care much about is so !!!!! I love all the hd so much fr!!!!!!!!!!#I love love love Jouno. Like much like it is for Akutagawa I'm very weak for characters that aren't really good people.#But they're still trying to be a better person than they were. And oftentimes they end up doing a terrible job!!#But the fact alone that they're //trying// has me ougheueueueu. Here in this episode you can see Jouno–#sliping very easily in his cruel / sadistic habits. But he is trying to be a person that cares for others! He made good actions in the past #and he will again in the future even though right now he's acting like this! Because improvement isn't linear! I love him tonsss #And DON'T get me started on the ada. Yosano's “Welcome” scene. I love women. I love women. Yosano please one chance #KENJI'S SCENE God I needed this. How could I forget the way this literllyyyyy rewinded my brain when I read the manga for the first time.#That scene is so deep and poignant and so so meaningful I. Oughhh #I am going to run out of tags am I not #Kyouka saving Atsushi!!!!!!! That scene is one of my all time favourites. It makes me soft to remember when the s4 trailer dropped–#I was so overjoyed for that bit of them holding hands :') Rightfully so!!! It's so cute.#Her coming back to save Atsushi. The “don't worry– I didn't kill them” direct towards Atsushi–#that is so so Akutagawa and it sends me insane hhhhhhgggggggggg #Kunikida!!!!! His “I'm not leaving anyone behind”!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm not precisely Kunikida's first fan but aaaaaahhh he makes me feel–#so much for him in this scene!!!!! Mmmhhh one last note would be. It bugs me a little how the ada is defined terrorist by the military–#forces starting this episode? I don't have space to elaborate properly but. An action to be considered terrorism must have clear political–#orientation and goal. Violence alone isn't enought to be defined terrorism. It's an incorrect use of the word #Up to the next episode!!! Can't wait to see more Atsushi 🥰🥰#random rambles #It's late now and probably most are asleep rn... Then I'll be queing my posts for tomorrow probably

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torchstelechos · 2 years ago

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SVSSS has infected my brain, it really scratches that AroAce part of my brain to an insane degree

#SVSSS #scum villian self saving system #I dont know man its something about two characters hopelessly devoted to each other but one side doesnt realize how deep the feelings run #and even if its not the same feelings the other has they still clearly love eachother and accept the other #its the relationship and knowing that one of them though unsure of themselves stilling loving the other #Its love doesnt need to be the same colour to be just as important to the other #do I think SQQ and LBH are soulmates and utterly obsessed with the other to an unhealthy degree? Yes #do I also think that SQQ is an the AceAro spectrum? also yes #do I think that changes anything story wise? no #its just me and my silly lil hcs lol

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rattinahatt · 10 months ago

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favorite character from any media BUT it has to be a woman. in the tags now go (pls talk to me about your favorite fictional women pls pls pls pls)

#frye onaga #splatoon #i ADORE her #shes an eel charmer and uses her eels to fight alongside her in her boss fight #shes also very very agile and dances the ENTIRE TIME you fight her #shes both very approachable and very intimidating and out of her shiver and big man shes easily the most competent #plus all of her outfits are just so prettyyyyy #shes got my favourite design out of any splatoon character ever and all her outfits are genuinely stunning #she didnt win the leader splatfest but she seems to tend to lead deep cut whenever theyre out banditing #because shes the one who first stops you and leads the entire conversation #she has absolute audacity and i love that about her #she also loves her siblings so much she has two younger twin sisters and a brother #and during a big run that took place in a mall she said how sad she was that she couldnt take her sisters out on a shopping spree #i fucking love frye so much shes one of my favourite characters of all time out of any media ever

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thalassophobixodius · 16 days ago

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Rewatching the entirety of digimon (and watching series I didn't fully know existed?? HELLOOO?? I'm so fucking excited??) Finally FINALLYYY again so that I can properly script the #1 DR for me I've been grasping for ever since like... Age 5

And yes I'm going to be a 'mon, not human, what do you expect of me if not Be Magical Creature?

#legitimately i can feel the autistic energy surging through me omfg........#this may might have possibly been a dormant special interest this entire time #this feels wayyyy more exciting than any other hyperfix. this shit runs deep.. i heart digitalr monmstmers...#gonna script my favorite character to NO T fcuking die in 3 eps/days though!!! justice for him!! he was literally so important and #mysterious and cool and and :((( wizar.....#wizardmon 🤝 prince fluff ; the two biggest characters of mine that i love autistically and will die on the hill of “they deserved better #and deserved SO much more space and deserved to have their importance to their story much more better shown.#+ magical brooding cool-colored mfers with star motifs hell yeah“#let me just causally vomit autism into the tags again #flying.fish🌌#irl isekai #casually adds this tag onto every post ive made that it can apply to....

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chososrightnipple · 4 months ago

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❝𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲.❞

: ̗̀➛ overview: telling various anime characters you want a baby.

: ̗̀➛ tw; afab!reader w/no gendered language. mentions of pregnancy and getting pregnant, first scenario is nsfw (w/ lowk breeding kink) but the rest are sfw. intentional lowercase!

── დ ──

he pauses, glancing over to you. there's a certain change in his expression that you can't decipher. something in the way his feet shuffle and his shoulders tense, in the way his eyes just barely squint and his tongue darts out to lick at his lips.

"you want a.. baby?" he repeats. the last word comes out strained, as if he was choking on the idea. the idea of you staring down at a positive pregnancy test, the idea of you waddling around the house, the idea of you carrying his child.

you nod, eyeing his form in the kitchen. when your eyes meet his, he looks away and back down to the dishes in front of him. "i want your baby," you correct, almost shyly.

he audibly gulps, setting down the dish he was washing with a dull thump of glass against sink. his hands grip at the granite counter and he tilts his head backward. a long exhale escapes him. there's a pause in the air, only for a few seconds. you, sat on the couch, face flushed and wondering if your confession was a mistake, and him standing silent in the kitchen.

"my baby." he repeats. tasting the way the words sit on his tongue. toying with the implications, the ideas floating around in his head. for a brief moment, a vision of you fucked out and actually dripping with his cum flashes before his eyes.

the man shudders visibly and forces himself to take a deep breath. in, then out, and in again.

he turns around and leans against the granite counter, crossing his tense arms over his chest. this time, when you go to meet his eyes, you find his gaze is already boring into yours. there's an air of certainty around him, something that leaves you feeling strangely breathless. hooded eyes never leaving yours, jaw ticking and lips turning upwards, almost smugly.

he brings a shaky hand up to run through his hair. pushing back stray strands and ruffling. you can't tell if the action is out of nerves or if he's just struggling that hard with holding himself back.

"hm. guess i'll have to make you one then."

↳ (jjk) toji fushiguro, geto suguru, gojo satoru, (mha) keigo takami, dabi, aizawa shouta, shigaraki tomura, (kny) sanemi shinazugawa, tengen uzui

── დ ──

you can feel his entire body tense behind you after you blurt the words out. the arms around your waist tightening their hold, the legs entangled with yours going rigid. even the small breaths that fan your neck momentarily pause, and you suddenly feel cold.

"sweetheart?" you whisper out, wondering if you had made some kind of mistake admitting your desire for a baby. that maybe you guys aren't ready for that conversation, yet.

from behind you, he exhales sharply, a small noise escaping his throat. then, the hands on your waist are suddenly gripping into your skin, and he's haphazardly maneuvering you until your face to face with him. no longer spooning, but rather brushing noses and sharing breaths.

"what did you just say?" the words are muttered, whispered like a secret only you two share.

he's staring at you with such a look that every nerve under your skin begins to burn. it's more than affection, more than desire, more than love. like he never wants to look away, like he can stand witness to the expansion of the universe just from looking into your eyes.

you swallow harshly, a hand coming up to play with the back of his hair. something to ground you back to reality. he preens at the touch, and you can feel a shiver rack through him.

"i said i want to have a baby." you hum, soft and sweet.

his eyes fall shut and he leans his forehead against yours. the grip he has on your waist tightens, his other hand beginning to run up and down your back. as if he's struggling to keep his head out of the clouds just as much as you are.

"really? you wanna start a family with me?" he chokes the words out, as if the utter idea of it seems impossible. as if you'd never want him, want the life he's also been daydreaming about.

you cusp at his cheek, thumbing at the soft skin. something warm fills you, every inch of your body, tingling at your fingertips. you think about it all over again- him, a father, running around a fenced in yard, chasing a giggling toddler, the smell of lunch cooking in the background. and you, watching it all from a swing on the porch. how could you not want that?

you smile, "honey, i want to start a life with you."

↳ (jjk) yuta okkotsu, megumi fushiguro, nanami kento, choso kamo, (mha) natsuo todoroki, toshinori yagi, (kny) obanai iguro, tomioka giyuu, rengoku kyujuro

── დ ──

the car tires squeal as he briefly loses control of the wheel, jerking it to the left and just barely missing the concrete lane divider. your grip onto your seatbelt, and the only reason you don't go flying forward is the arm of your lover jutting out in front of you. with a small curse, he straightens out the car and hits the brakes.

the car behind you beeps angrily, though he only waves them off through the window before focusing back on the road. it's silent for a few seconds, the two of you catching you breaths and trying to quiet the loud heartbeat of adrenaline. you begin to think that blurting out your want for a baby while on the road wasn't the brightest idea.

the man sitting beside you finally speaks up a few moments later. his words come out breathless and high pitched. "a baby?! like... a real one?"

you snap your head towards him and, in irritation, begin to slap at his shoulder and arm. "are you kidding!? you almost kill us and that's the first thing you say to me?! i'm being serious! i want a baby!"

he whines, weakly fending off your attacks with his other hand. "oka- okay! stop hitting me, jesus!" he groans, attention diverted between the green light in front of him and your pouting face.

you finally relent after one final slap and huff in annoyance. crossing you arms and slouching against the passenger seat like a toddler who hasn't been given their way.

he eyes you from the drivers seat with a wobbly lip. trying desperately to hold back the laugh brewing inside of him, knowing it'll only serve to annoy you further. he seems to have a special talent at that.

"stop pouting, c'mon now. look at me, love." he coos, taking one of his hands off the wheel and instead using it to caress your cheek. tapping at your nose, twirling at your hair, then gripping your chin and tilting it toward him.

he spares a brief glance toward you, not wanting to take his eyes off of the road for too long. "you really want a baby? i'll give you one, yeah? i'll trash the condoms myself as soon as we get home. how's that sound?"

you roll your eyes, but he can see the amusement cracking through your expression bit by bit. then, finally, you smile. small at first, before it splits wide across your lips. he awes audibly, pinching at your cheeks before you slap his hand away.

yeah, he doesn't think he'd mind a baby with you. not if they got your pretty little smile (and, hopefully, something of his, too).

↳ (jjk) yuji itadori, gojo satoru, ino takuma, (mha) keigo takami, hizashi yamada, mirio togata, (kny) tengen uzui

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hxney-lemcn · 7 months ago

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First Kiss — Housewardens x gn! reader

summary: your first kiss with your lover.

tw: none.

a/n: teehee. Its hard for me to pick what character I wanna daydream about. Also, can you tell who my fav is? *cough* Vil *cough*

wc: 2.1k (~250 each character)

Master List

❥ Riddle Rosehearts

The warm sun gently warmed you both. A refreshing breeze softly caressed you, Riddle’s red hair swaying gently as he took a sip of his tea. You felt more than content as Riddle’s gray-blue eyes watched you intently as you rambled about whatever carried your fancy. It was a side of Riddle that few others saw, and you were grateful that he allowed you to, that he was willing to listen to whatever nonsense you spouted. The warmth in your heart burst as he nodded, giving his two cents about the book you spoke of. By the sevens did you want to just give him a little peck. You two were dating, so there was no harm in asking…right? Although the two of you had been dating for a bit, the question had caused him to fluster greatly. Cheeks a bright red, mouth gaping, chest heaving. You should’ve expected such a reaction, it took quite a bit for him to hold your hand without shutting down. To your surprise, he gave you his consent. Leaning over, you couldn’t help but find him absolutely adorable. Eyes closed expectantly, lips pursed, cheeks red. You closed the gap, leaving a chaste kiss against his lips before pulling away. When you pulled away he seemed to look both in awe and slight disappointment.

“As my partner, you are allowed to show me your affection in such ways, I only ask you to keep it between us. Other’s do not need to witness such acts.”

❥ Leona Kingscholar

You were bored. Your phone could no longer hold your attention and you just wanted to do something different. Too bad you had a whole ass lion using you as his personal body pillow. You stared at the familiar ceiling of his room, contemplating on a possible way to sneak out. You loved Leona, really, you did…but your limbs were sore and you felt antsy. So, what better than poking the bear, err…lion. You found yourself brushing his hair with your hands, scratching his scalp every so often. When that no longer kept you entertained, you lightly scratched at the base of his ears. His ear twitched, but you continued with your ministrations, a smirk pulling at your lips as a deep rumble was pulled out of him. You only paused when one of his eyes glared at you. When you mentioned you were merely bored and your legs felt like needles were constantly pricking them he only rolled his eyes. Quicker than you could comprehend, he pinned you down below him with a slight huff. His green eyes stared at you for a few moments, as if he was seeking permission, and when you didn’t push him away or fight him, he leaned down, connecting your lips in a harsh kiss. He didn’t stop until you were breathless, a smug smirk filling his features.

“Is this what you wanted, herbivore? If you want to ruin my sleep then you’ll have to compensate me.”

❥ Azul Ashengrotto

You felt like you were going crazy. Azul would take you out on fancy dates, offering you discounts (is it really a discount if you were basically eating for free?) at the Mostro Lounge, and shower you in light forms of affection (kissing the back of your hand, guiding you with a hand on your back, gentlemanly shit), yet you haven’t kissed him? Preposterous! It was proving to be a difficult task, as even though you both had been dating for a while, Azul would shy away at any form of affection you showered him with. The good news was that he had become more receptive to it, the key was you both had to be completely alone and it could only be small gestures. A small squeeze of his hand, brushing back a stray hair, hell even giving him a compliment no longer caused him to run away. Sadly, you started to feel greedy, his pink lips always seemed to taunt you, an open invitation to lean over and place your own over his. But you didn’t want to overstep any boundaries, you understood how kissing could be a big deal. There was one night, the dim lights highlighting Azul’s beautiful face as he watched you expectantly. He had you taste a new dish that he wanted to add to his menu and it just so happened to be your favorite food. As thanks, you asked him to come closer, a mischievous glint in your eyes. He did so hesitatingly, and felt himself burn up when you placed a kiss on his cheek. Then he felt like he was going to pass out as you pouted stating that you ‘missed’. Against his better judgment, he gave into your pleading, enchanting eyes, leaning in closer as you silently asked for permission. When your lips met his, he thought he was ascending to heaven.

“A-ahem, I-I’m glad to see that the d-dish was to your l-liking. I-if there’s anything else I could provide, p-please do not be afraid to ask.”

❥ Kalim Al-Asim

It's a wonder you two haven’t kissed yet. You felt so spoiled with how much care and affection Kalim showered you with. He never failed to warm you heart whether it be from his hugs, his solutions if anything ever concerned you, or even just his smile. He was a beaming ray of sunshine, and it kind of intimidated you. Contrary to popular belief, you felt shy under Kalim’s love. You weren’t sure if you’d ever get used to the way your heart skipped a beat as he kissed your cheek or refused to let you go. Oh and not to mention the spoiling. You knew you'd never stop the prince from lavishing you with golden jewelry and gems you didn’t even want to guess how much they were worth. Honestly, it wasn’t good for your poor heart…or consciousness. So when Kalim noticed your slightly downtrodden expression at the new ring he slipped on your finger he worried. Was it not to your liking? Was the color wrong? Don’t worry! He’ll find you ten more rings that you’ll love! …why did you look even more scared at that suggestion? You deserved all this and more! Poor Kalim, he doesn’t know a world without it being at his fingertips, he can’t understand your concern. Your heart hurt at his frown, his sad eyes reminded you of a poor puppy that was kicked. With a sigh you relented, it did compliment you nicely. And so, hoping to right the wrong of making Kalim feel sad, you leaned over and gently pecked his lips. It was like nothing had occurred at all as he stared with sparkles in his eyes.

“Could we do that again? How about another? Just one more, pleeeeease~ Haha! I’m sorry, I just love you so much!”

❥ Vil Schoenheit

It wasn’t fair how pretty and charming your boyfriend was. You wouldn’t tell him this, but he could run you over and blame you for being in the way and you’d apologize. Yeah, you were a major simp, but you really tried to be normal about it. Honestly, you weren’t sure how you managed to bag him, something about how your stupidity was frustratingly charming…in which you showed him your B in potions but he simply rolled his eyes. Aparatenly that proved his point somehow. Anyways! It was one of those rare moments of peace, the two of you watching a movie that Vil had deemed a classic. As much as you tried to pay attention (you know how annoying it is when someone scrolls on their phone during a movie you love), you kept glancing at Vil to see his reactions. You weren’t being sneaky by any means, and he wasn’t sure if he should be happy you couldn’t take your eyes off of him or annoyed that you clearly missed the symbolism that was important to understanding the plot. Yet when you pointed out something even he missed…he was secretly proud. Perhaps you were a better multitasker than you seemed because he had watched that movie plenty of times and missed such a simple thing you pointed out on first view. His heart warmed as you pointed out more details that you liked, and others you didn’t completely understand, such a simple moment, yet one he would cherish. And now he was becoming the bad one, eyes straying to your lips while trying to listen to your rambling. He truly wanted your first kiss to be romantic, in a garden with fairy lights or over a fancy dinner, but perhaps this was just as, if not more so romantic. Gently lifting your head up, your words died on your tongue as Vil’s purple eyes stared at you so lovingly. As he inched his face closer to yours, he softly asked if he could kiss you, nearly sending your heart into cardiac arrest. As his soft lips met yours, you felt true bliss for the first time, and as he pulled away with a self assured smirk, cheeks a light pink, you questioned how you managed to achieve a dream like scenario.

“It seems like you’re becoming a bad influence, dear. You want another? Perhaps I can oblige if you can actually focus on the next movie.”

❥ Idia Shroud

Where do I begin? You had been with Idia for nearly a year. You both were on the shy side, getting used to such intimate touches slowly. You can successfully say that you can now hug Idia without him freaking out. In fact, he seemed to seek out your affection, albeit in a backwards way. He’d act like he hated any form of affection and then proceed to stare daggers at you like he was trying to telepathically ask you to play with his hair. True cat behavior. You showed him the joy of affection and now you had to pay the crime (you did so happily). Idia was laying on your chest playing on his handheld console, you were mindlessly playing with his hair and your eyes kept drifting from your phone to your boyfriend. He was so pretty, you never understood how he thought otherwise. From his fiery blue hair, his yellow determined eyes, to his blue tinted lips. He may be a loser otaku, but that just happened to be your type. Your hand trailed from his bright hair to his pale face, gently caressing his cheeks. He looked over at you, his cheeks turning a light pink, no matter how much love you showered him with he would never get used to the way you made his heart want to rip itself out of his chest. And…oh sevens, were you staring at his lips? Just what was going on in that mind of yours? Did…did you just ask to kiss him?! Hair burning pink and hiding his face in your neck, he felt like his brain was melting. He’s dreamt of kissing you, how soft your lips may be, the flavor of your chapstick…but actually doing it?! Was your intimacy meter high enough? His charm stats are rock bottom, would he even kiss you right? Wait! H-he didn’t say no! Please kiss him… Oh, that’s a lot better than when he practiced kissing his body pillow. Great, you’ve got him hooked all over again.

“C-could we do that…again…I-I n-need to grind to get my charm s-stats up.”

❥ Malleus Draconia

For Vil you were the simp, well now the turns have tabled. Malleus is straight up courting you, letting you progress the relationship as you’d like. You’re only comfortable with holding hands? That’s alright, he is more than happy to oblige your requests. You enjoy being hugged? Be prepared for dragon hugs, you can’t escape. He would never push you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with. Honestly, he was expecting your first kiss to be at the altar of your wedding…yeah he’s a bit of a traditionalist. So don’t expect him to make the first move, he’s content with any and all affection you're willing to give. And poor you, you constantly found yourself with cute aggression when you’re with your boyfriend. He was just so cute! You wanted to squish his cheeks and squeeze him as tightly as possible (he wouldn’t mind, it's not like you could hurt him). You found yourself once again with a wave of cute aggression as Malleus pouted at the phone he currently held. You were teaching him how to use it and it was a bit harder than you realized. I mean even your mom got the concepts quicker than him…but you suppose your mom wasn’t a century year old fae. The feeling became so strong you couldn’t stop yourself from smushing his cheeks, causing his bright green eyes to stare at you in surprise that quickly turned into fondness. Letting your instincts fully take over, you brought his face closer, pressing your lips together. You had tried to pull away, but Malleus followed you, taking over and kissing you possessively. He wasn’t letting you go anytime soon.

“I apologize, child of man. I can’t seem to hold myself back when it comes to you.”

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moonyslove78 · 2 years ago

Text

@liz-allyn

okay! So, I think I’ve FINALLY compiled some of my favorites to listen to and daydream of Peter & Honey.

Like I said when I mentioned sending it to you, I know some of them are from straight up head cannons I’ve had so a few may not make sense. And some may be my wishful thinking of the “end game”, but I wanted to include ALL of them because I love them all and I figured maybe you’d be able to find something you may like one here as well!

I’ve also included a few that I could totally picture P&H getting “down and dirty” to, cause I’m a damn sucker for sexy time music. 🫣🤣

I hope you enjoy! 🥰

#💬 sugar and vice #mob!tasm Peter Parker #peter parker #my sugar & vice spotify playlist #my love for these two characters runs deep #i’m addicted to them #Spotify

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moonyslove78 · 2 years ago

Text

@liz-allyn

G’dammit Liz! I changed clothes once already before I started reading… now I gotta change the fuckers again! 🥵🤯

Okay, I have a little bit to unpack here sooooo… here’s the tea…

First and foremost;

But I fucking love it and I’m deceased. 😵

Now secondly;

I love Miguel. I will want retribution for whomever ambushed him, but more so because his being ambushed interrupted one of the HOTTEST mutual masterb*tions I’ve EVER read!

I absolutely lived for this scene period. The praise/encouragement wasn’t just turning Honey on… 🥵

And the fact that he referred to himself as ‘Daddy’. Like holy fuck… 😵‍💫

Though they have a LONG way to go, I feel like these little moments are a step in the right direction for their relationship. Maybe I’m reading too far into it but I feel like these may be moments she’s shameful of in after the fact but maybe she’ll look back on them as more than what it was. This was her, yes maybe slightly manipulated, opening up to him. And not just in the dirty sense, but her soul bared as well. The most vulnerable positions to be put in and she initiated that!

Peter opening up about listening to her when she’s pleasuring herself was equally as dirty and vulnerable too though. Admitting to her how hard it is for him not to make a move and just be pinning Peter Parker with his hand on his dick…. 😅 someone stop me! I told you this scene was fucking phenomenal!

Next on the agenda;

Wtf John?? 😡

Can someone just kill this douchebag abusive asshole already!?

…I’ll gladly volunteer to be the perpetrator! 🙋🏻‍♀️👀

Just when I thought I couldn’t hate him anymore he goes and pulls those stops! Fucking dickhead makes it easy to wanna destroy him, that’s for sure! And I feel like this means he either has the whole penthouse wiretapped/bugged with hidden cameras… or there’s another rat besides Honey that they didn’t know was aware of what was going on on that couch…

Well, maybe strike the ‘another rat’ part. I refuse to believe she’ll continue to go through with this, and am praying eventually she gains the courage to be honest with Peter with John’s threats or at the very least stop John herself by feeding him the wrong information and throwing him off track… then when he comes after her to punish her for doing so, Peter can kill his ass then…but maybe I’m going out too much on a whim there…

I feel like things with Mr. Walker are about to get messier than what we all assume and tbh it terrifies me! I just want them to communicate with each other better and obviously Honey does too, but like how could she tell Peter the truth after all that has happened that she’s “to blame for” because of this Asshole’s threats and blackmail over her!

I also would love to know if Peter knows about John. Like I doubt he KNOWS about John in the sense that he’s puppeteering Honey to do his dirty work while he sits by sending idle threatening messages and pictures her way. But like, in the sense of him knowing she had an abusive past with her ex and that he’s still around to do damage to her mentally and physically?

I say this because I feel like his “Y’know I’ll protect you…” comments weren’t just directed at the fact that she had a run in with Danny the night before or that she has a toxic relationship with her mother. Or that he flashed back to her asshole of a boss that he did away with before he even had her to hisself. I felt like there was something underlying in his affectionate yet sharp toned admission that he cares for her more than anything and he’d protect her against anyone.

Which gave me chills and made me want to sob all at the same time, btw. 😫 I just wanted to hug him there and tell him how pure yet terrifying he sounded under the circumstances.

I know your warning was to NOT date a mob boss. But Peter is my exception to the rule because I just wanna wrap him up in a blanket and hold him when he’s going through it, while simultaneously wanting him to go feral and bend…. Well you get the idea… 💡

Whooooops! My wishful thinking made me put that there… I swear! 😬 (as well as maybe my unhealthy obsession with wanting to read about Peter and Honey finally being physically intimate… 🫣)

And Lastly;

Though I’m working on my fourth cup of coffee for the day, and it’s midnight, I think my brain is awake enough for me to put my feelings into words… so here it goes…

I’ve said this many times before, and I’ll probably say it again and again before you end this series… these two people maybe deeply flawed. They may have been burned one too many times and have massive issues with trust, communication, anger and many others. They may both have some highly toxic traits that reverberate off each other in waves due to the previous mentioned issues… but the one thing that is plain to see and I think they’re both beginning to see it too… they both care quite deeply. Not just in general, but about each other.

Peter telling her that she’s worth fighting for and that he wants her to see and understand that was one of those times that as someone who has survived an abusive/toxic relationship, I yearned to hear yet when I was finally presented with, I fought so hard to believe fully. That I was worth anything, really. He genuinely just wanted her to know that she has him. But he knows that she needs to believe that she deserves that, because he needs the same thing.

This whole series you’ve written these two so beautifully. So precise to their traumas and issues. And those little sneak peeks of one of them understanding what the other is going through and needs, shows just how accurately you’ve done that.

I know I say a lot about wanting to see what their happy ending (cause goddddd, I pray it’s a happy one! 😩) will be, but in all honesty I’m just excited to see their character development and growth from beginning to end. Because for as deeply flawed and toxic as they have been, I feel like that’s just an indication of how much they’re falling for each other and how damn hard they’ll love each other in the end. (I hope… 😅

Oh, and one more thing;

Pleaseeee let them fuck ASAP…. 🙏🏼 - signed Kacie’s Brain’s unhealthy obsession with needing this to happen

Also, I love you! ❤️ Please continue doing what you’re doing because you’re absolutely fucking killing it!! This whole series and specifically this chapter was just MWAAAAHH 😚🤌🏻 *chefs kiss*

🌕✨

sugar and vice, pt. 13 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: Peter teaches Honey a lesson.

words: 9.5 k

chapter warning: smutty dubcon spicyness (masturb*tion), references to drug use, manipulation, more john walker, graphic but brief reference to animal cruelty

series warnings: mob-typical violence, bang bang shoot shoot, whump. hurt/comfort. sexual situations. spousal abuse. family trauma. drug use. coercion. manipulation. kidnapping. gore. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

Don't date a mob boss. Please. For real.

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but butterfly hair clips and stretchy plastic chokers are not a new trend and if you did not know that, this isn't the right time for you.

Back to Part 12.

Part 13

A vibration stirred Honey awake. She had been sitting on the floor of her room, back against the bed, and must have fallen asleep. Still wearing the bathrobe from the night before, she rubbed the drool from her mouth, only feeling slightly better than the first time she’d woken up that morning.

Slowly, more pieces of the previous night were clearing up. She couldn’t remember the details or the context of what was said, but what she could remember terrified her. And that’s before she saw Peter shooting up in his office like a heroin addict. The sight deeply frightened her. Considering she was trapped in the penthouse with no one else, she did the only thing she could think of.

Hide.

Another vibration jolted her into action. The sound itself made her panic, as she thought she had silenced any possible notifications coming into her contraband phone. She didn’t get texts often. Most of the conversations were one-way, her divulging sensitive information so that John could steadily build a case against Peter. Or maybe even get him killed.

It made her sick to think about.

Even worse, if John was texting her, that only meant one thing. He was angry.

She dug her fingers beneath the mattress, in the gap inside the box spring. Once she pulled the device out, she glanced down at the screen. Her eyes were alert, blinking through the blurriness.

> u up?

She scoffed. “Gross.”

Before she could toss the phone, another message popped up on screen.

> someone had a wild night last night.

A chill shot down her spine. Instantly, her list of fears was renumbered, threats reprioritized in the correct order. John Walker was always at the top.

> of course i know. don’t be so surprised, peach. I know everything

> you looked like you were having a good time.

She swallowed back shards of glass as she gazed down at the taunting blue and white screen.

> don’t forget. you have a job to do.

Her eyes burned. Tears built up behind her eyelids. ‘A good time,’ he called it. It was an amazing experience, unlike any she’d ever had. She couldn’t remember a time she had ever felt so carefree. She recalled the blissfully warm memory as an overwhelming sense of peace. A feeling of euphoria. Of power, even.

What a joke. She had no power. Never did.

> where was eddie brock last night?

A knock at her door almost threw her into cardiac arrest. “Honey?”

She dropped the phone immediately, the device clamored to the hardwood floor. She shot up, coming to a hurried stand, as the doorknob twisted.

The door opened. Peter was in the gap, having changed clothes into a different suit.

He looked better than he did earlier when she spied on him in his office. ‘Better’ meant he didn’t look demonic. The whites of his eyes were visible again. The ‘tattoos,’ or whatever they were, had vanished. However, he didn’t look healthy; his skin was dull, an unusual milkiness to it, save for the dark shadows that carved out his eyes. His cheeks were sunken in, like he’d hadn’t eaten in days. The once-amber hue of his irises was faded, charred into blackened ash.

The sight of him pulled a slight gasp from her lips. She could’ve played it off as simply being startled. Truthfully, she was horrified; the mad fluttering of her heart gave her away. Not just at his presence, but at the phone hidden behind the bed, resting on the hardwood at her feet.

She clenched her fists as her sides. He eyed her with confusion. “What’re you doin’ on the floor?” he asked.

Rigidly, she dared not blink or avert her eyes. “Um... I... I don’t feel good.” That much was obvious, based on her appearance. Red-eyed, dehydrated, skin clammy. She fretted at her nose, finally breaking her unblinking stare. “Sorry, I... I’m still, um, I’m a little hungover. From last night. I think.”

When she looked back at him, a deep crease formed between his brows. He looked away, chewing his lower lip between his teeth. Nodded silently. “You need anything?” he asked, still not really making eye contact.

“Um... no,” she said, shoulders relaxing a bit. “I’ll be fine. I think I’ll just—”

“Need you downstairs,” he replied with a flat tone. It was like all of the affection she felt budding between them had disappeared. Sprouts frozen and stagnated by a cold snap overnight.

“Oh.” Her stomach felt like it was made of rocks.

His eyes were fixed on the doorknob, ever once reaching hers. “Get dressed. We have to talk.” Without waiting for a reply, he disappeared from the doorway, the door vibrating as it slammed closed again.

It felt like she was 12 years old, being told that if she couldn’t keep up with her chores she didn’t get to eat with the rest of the family. Or to eat at all.

Physically, the reaction was identical. She bit down to keep her lower lip from wobbling, dread twisting her insides. A loud rattle at her feet spooked her. It was louder than a cymbal crash in her anxious state.

She dropped to the floor again to silence her phone, getting a look at the two new messages waiting for her.

> stop me if you’ve heard this one before...

> what sound does a bitch make in the microwave?

Heart thudding steadily, she gazed at the phone with confusion. “What?” she whispered, beneath her breath. Brows furrowed. Is this a joke? What kind of weird joke—?

> give up?

She had no time to reply. But that was the point he was trying to make.

> poor old mrs. nimitz could tell you.

It took less than two seconds for her to derive his cruel meaning, and her stomach lurched at the implication. She slapped her hand over her mouth, feeling bile crawling up. A shiver racked her whole body, budding tears spilling down her cheeks.

Peace. What a joke.

Walking through the penthouse was eerie. All of the motorized blackout shades outside of her room had been drawn shut, turning the day into night. The entire space was cast into a dark shadow with only dim lamp lights to guide the path. She had the urge to tiptoe, like she was sneaking around a funeral home.

As she approached the doorway to Peter’s office, her stomach began to clench with trepidation. She could hear two voices.

“You keep forgetting,” she heard a deep voice that was not Peter’s say, “the Rand name still holds weight. Now you’ve got the Meachums coming after you. They already had the club shut down, got the alcohol license revoked in record time—”

“I don’t care about that,” Peter’s voice responded, heavy with guilt. “I care about what happens to Miguel and Jessica. I didn’t know there was a gun.”

Creeping closer to the door, she spotted two figures in the lounge area of the dark office.

Peter stood with head lowered and arms crossed, eyes downcast. Across from him, seated on a nailhead leather sofa, was a suited, brown-haired man wearing rounded sunglasses. The sunglasses were an odd choice to her, considering the room was so dark. As soon as she spotted the white cane in his left hand, it made sense.

Honey didn’t recognize the man, but Peter looked comfortable in front of him. The man wore a wine-colored, slim-fit tailored suit (Ralph Lauren, Purple Label, probably—she was getting better at this) with a black skinny tie, and a champagne silk pocket square.

“We can argue it was self-defense,” the blind stranger replied.

“It was self-defense,” Peter answered firmly. “Miguel’s not a killer. Not like—” He swallowed hard, dropping the sentence. “They wouldn’t have fired unless they were firing back.”

“Doesn’t matter, Pete,” he answered. “There was a shooting inside of a nightclub packed with people, the sound of which triggered a crowd rush. People got hurt. One of Rand’s bodyguards was murdered. DA’s not gonna see it any different. He’ll try to come down hard on this. Not to mention, you have a friend at the police station with a personal vendetta—”

Peter spun on his heel, simmering with rage. “If he wants it, he can come and take it!” he boomed like a crack of thunder. His voice echoed in the large office, and she gasped beneath her breath. The blind man stayed quiet despite the outburst.

Cooling his temper, Peter paced anxiously in front of the man. “Alright, what’s the hold up on the bail situa—”

The man on the couch gently lifted his free hand, bringing up his outstretched palm. Peter observed the gesture as ‘stop’, and he ceased his conversation. And then both men could hear it.

Her heartbeat raced just outside the door. “S’alright,” Peter announced, his back to the doorway. “Come in, Honey.” Her limbs locked up immediately, unsure how he could even see her. Regardless, her feet were already carrying her forward through the threshold, as if a whistle had been blown.

She might as well have a collar around her neck, she thought. She crept in, tail between her legs, her eyes flicking anxiously between her master and the stranger.

Peter looked up at her for the first time, and she had to fight to keep herself from shaking. “This is Mr. Murdock. He’s a good friend of mine.”

A pleasant smile had replaced the stranger’s grim expression as he came to a quick stand. “Call me Matt, please,” he declared, dripping with suaveness. He gracefully extended his open hand in her direction. She stared at it blankly before quickly moving across the room to return the gesture.

“Um, hi...” There was a squeakiness to her own voice that she loathed.

Matt nodded warmly, taking her hand and giving her a firm handshake. “Very nice to meet you, Miss.... uh...?”

“—Honey,” she answered, muscles rigid.

Peter’s head tilted in her direction, and she briefly caught a glance of his eyes before he turned away. She clarified, feigning confidence, “‘Honey’ is fine.”

Matt raised his brows with surprise. “Honey,” he repeated, considering the response with curiosity. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Matt’s a lawyer,” Peter muttered, pocketing his hands, as he faced his body toward the window shades. “Best in town.”

Matt blushed at the praise. “Please. We at Nelson, Murdock & Page have been fortunate, that’s all.”

Nelson, Murdock & Page. She recognized the name from the billboards. Subway ads. TV commercials. And the 52-story building on 8th Avenue, overlooking Hell’s Kitchen, where the names of the partners were lit up by 25-foot letters. The name was synonymous with success, she had once overheard someone say so while working at the coffee shop.

If Peter was a friend, all the law firm’s success came with a cost. Matt Murdock looked like he could afford to cover the bill and then some.

“What happened to Miguel?” Honey questioned warily. “Is he okay?”

Matt pursed his lips.

Peter answered her, “He’s fine. He and another friend of ours... just had a little misunderstanding with the cops.”

Honey spotted the way Matt shifted at the response.

“But we’re on it,” Peter added. “Nothin’ to worry about. He’s safe.”

Matt twitched again, gripping the head of his cane firmly. Honey didn’t need to see this action to know it was a lie.

She glanced between the two men, unsatisfied. “What’s going on?” she asked nervously. “Is this about last night? About... that guy?”

Tight-lipped, Peter looked away, pacing towards the window. Honey dug her thumbnail into her palm, wringing her hands anxiously. “If-If he wants me to apologize or something, I can—”

It was like he was shocked with a cattle prod. Peter snapped his head in her direction, eyes stern.

“I-I mean, if he’s pressing charges or something,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean to-to make a fuss.”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” He spat out each of his words like rotten fruit, glowering at her.

The irate tone of his voice was familiar, but not from him. She wanted to swallow her tongue, staring back at him with wide eyes. “I... I don't want anyone to get in trouble—”

Brows pinched together, he stared incredulously at her for what felt like forever, jaw clenched tight. Subtly, she began to squirm under his hardened glare. “Matt,” Peter said softly, “could you excuse us?”

“Of course,” he said without hesitation, buttoning up his maroon suit jacket. He turned to Peter, “I have a car waiting for us outside. I’ll be ready when you are.” With a friendly bow of his head towards Honey’s direction, he took the cane and strode out of the room.

Peter was dead silent until long after he disappeared from view. Moments before, he couldn’t (or wouldn't) look at her. Now, he roasted her with his gaze.

“Um,” Honey cleared her throat when the tension was too much. “Look, I-I want to say—”

“What do you remember about last night?” The question was thrown at her like she was in an interrogation.

There were flashes of memories, some vivid, others blurry. Most of the words were cloudy. But the emotions were there, and they terrified her.

She gulped. Took a few shallow breaths. “I-I… I remember having a few drinks. And… and then I made Eddie give me something to-to take the edge off because there were so many people... and-and too many sounds, and I just don’t—I mean, I’m not making excuses. That’s—It’s my fault. Eddie didn’t want to, and I made him—”

“I’m not talkin’ about the drugs,” Peter snipped her sentence short, an edge of agitation returning. “I don’t care about the fact that you got high. I don’t care about any of that.” He fixed her with an intense gaze. “What do you remember about what happened next?”

She blinked, her heart beating hard enough to feel in her throat.

What happened next?

A hurricane of blurry images, punctuated by heartwrenching emotion. Like the fading outline of a nightmare.

Which nightmare did he want to hear about first?

Was it her overwhelming guilt from spying on Peter? Was it the terror, like she was walking a tightrope across the Grand Canyon, every time her phone buzzed? Or the urge to run to the nearest church and pray away whatever evil possessed him when he stuck that needle in his arm?

Was it confusion about what her heart wanted, one hand reaching out for him while the other sought to stab him in the back? Half wanted to dunk him in holy water, the other half of her wanted to reach out and touch—

A gasp caught in her throat. Another distinct memory came to light.

Lust. Heated, unapologetic debauchery. It left a filthy sensation, a film congealing on her surface, like she’d spent a week locked in a room watching nothing but porn. Sin oozed from her brain, spinning her dizzy, bending her over, and presenting her cunt in the air to be fucked hard by any willing passerby.

She had wanted it to be Peter.

Her face felt like it was on fire. He must have noticed because he broke his gaze, eyes suddenly downcast. A tidal wave of shame crushed her.

“Do you remember,” he asked, more gently, “when you were assaulted?” She blinked, observing the concern in his gaze when he looked back at her. “When Rand put his hands on you?”

She blinked a few more times. Yes, she remembered that. Clear as day. She remembered the sudden urge to scream, cry and vomit all at once. She remembered Peter punching Danny and how scared and disgustingly satisfied it made her feel. She remembered Peter ordering his crew to protect her like she was Helen of Troy—not a slutty, mob mistress fucked-up on a little THC.

Her lower lip began to quiver. “I… I shouldn’t have been in there. I-I was out of my mind, and if I hadn’t—”

“Don’t,” his voice cracked like thunder. He sucked in a breath to silence himself, face contorting into a grimace. “Don’t finish that sentence. I swear to god, if you tell me that nothing woulda happened to you if you hadn’t been in there—”

“I’m sorry!”

“What are you sorry for?!”

His voice echoed, crackling with ire. She flinched at the noise, tears welling up in her eyes. He fumed, and as if he spit acid in her face, he sealed his mouth with his palms. Spun on his heel and paced madly. The wolf was back, hackles up, canines dripping with aggression.

Her heart thrummed in her throat, her eyes like saucers. When he looked back at her, his face was twisted sourly. Exhausted. Heartbroken. He dragged his fingers through the scruff of his beard, and stepped towards her.

“Why don’t you get it, huh?” he said, quiet and grim. Eyes desperate. “Why can’t you see it?”

As he leaned into her, she instinctively leaned back. Tears budded at the corners of her eyes. “I don’t—I don’t know what—”

He held up both hands, silencing her. She hiccuped in distress. “Honey,” he said, calmly attempting to bite back his frustration, “when are you gonna learn that you’re worth fighting for?”

Her breath hitched. His dark gaze was fixed on her.

“Why can’t you understand that there’s nothing on this Earth that I care more about? That I would do anything to protect?”

She stared up at him, wordlessly. He inched closer until she was within arm’s length.

“I’ll fight for you. I’ll protect you. But Honey…” he sighed heavily, “I can’t save you from yourself.” Pity marked his features, eyes glistening. “I can’t fight the bad guys and the voice in your head. The one that tells you it’s okay for some prick to grab you and get away with it. For some asshole boss, your crazy mother, or anyone else to talk down to you. To make you feel unworthy of common fucking decency.”

Despite the affection of his words, all she could focus on was the way he hissed at the end of the statement.

Her eyes fell to the floor in shame. Hot tears pooled behind her lids. “Did Miguel shoot someone?” she murmured mournfully.

He nodded. “Yes.”

Wiping a tear from her cheek as it fell, she sniffed back her anguish, voice lined with disdain. “Because of me? Because I freaked out?” She sounded so small. Powerless. She hated the sound. “I don’t even remember what happened. Maybe nothing happened at all, maybe he didn’t even touch me—”

Like a thunderbolt, Peter slammed his fist on the edge of the couch. She let out a squeak as the pine frame cracked beneath his hand. She jolted upright and then ducked her head immediately. He fumed silently. Glared down at the floor. Nostrils flaring. Rooted in place for ages.

The sound of his heavy exhale compelled her to peek up at him beneath her lashes. He lifted his chin, eyes cast downwards, and tensely declared, “You can lie to yourself all you want. But I told you. Don’t ever lie to me.”

She hugged herself tightly, restraining a tremble. Mouth agape. Tongue twisted uselessly. He didn’t wait long for a response.

“I-I gotta go,” he said. Peter rubbed the back of his hand across his chapped lips. He looked disoriented, overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. He tugged on the edges of his slate-gray sportcoat, eyes focused on everything but her. “Won’t be back for a while. M’goin’ to the precinct.”

She tensed, eyes wide. “You’re going to the cops?”

Still, he kept his eyes down. She wasn’t sure whether it was defensiveness or disgust that prevented him from looking at her.

“Don’t wait up for me.”

Without any room for discussion, he marched out of the room. Stopping for nothing. Leaving her alone.

Stupefied, she stood in his office feeling like the ground was trembling beneath her feet, and she’d be sucked into a sinkhole at any moment.

Despite this, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

They were supposed to have a date.

Peter felt like he was sweating all over. Never mind the fact that it was a bitterly cold day. He shuffled from the elevator towards a blacked-out SUV idling in the underground garage. Every step was shaky, like he was balancing upright on a plank in the middle of the Atlantic. An ache radiated from his organs. Could’ve been starvation or salmonella. Never in his life had he ever been so ravenous and so wrecked by nausea.

One of his guards was already at the back passenger door, opening it for him as he approached. With little more than a tense nod, he crawled into the backseat where Matt was waiting.

“You feelin’ okay?” Matt asked. His tone was light amidst the heavy circumstances. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you smell like a gym locker room.”

“M’fine.” The car lurched forward. Bile scaled up his tongue. Peter crouched in on himself, eyes fixed on the window.

“Yeah,” Matt scoffed. “Sure.”

He murmured coldly, “You let me worry about me.”

“Hey, you called me,” Matt frowned teasingly, tossing his hands gently in surrender. “And for the record, I advised you not to go through with this.”

“Not gonna leave them to rot—”

“I’m saying we need to be strategic, is all. Chances are, we can get Jessica released today. Miguel is another story.”

Peter acknowledged that Matt was very good at his job. He could smell guilt. He could hear the pulse pattern of a lie. There was no hiding anything from the man, and it created a completely transparent relationship that Peter clung to. It was rare.

An uncomfortable silence fell between them as Peter contemplated his reflection in the glass.

The lawyer spoke after a few moments, clearing his throat. “So. That’s her, I assume?”

There was an ominous inflection in his voice. The idea of Matt’s attention being called to the woman in his penthouse made his skin prickle. Felt clammy. He squirmed in his seat, rolling his neck and shoulders.

“Yeah.”

A pause. “She seems sweet.”

“She is.”

“That’s good. Great.”

Another stretch of silence followed with Matt holding his tongue between his teeth. They both could sense each other’s distress, in the air and in their ears. Peter debated further attempts to conceal his fluctuating heartbeat. He needed to save up his energy.

It was hopeless cause anyway. Matt saw everything.

The lawyer let out a heavy exhale, weighed by grim reality. “You know she’s hiding something from you, right?”

Peter didn’t react. Brows furrowed, he simply stared into space.

Matt was very good at his job.

“Yeah. I know.”

Honey was making lists again. Montgomery. Juneau. Phoenix. Little Rock.

State capitals. Alphabetical by state. Sacramento. Denver. Hartford. Dover.

Fifty cities for fifty states. She counted to fifty and repeated the action, over and over, until she could sing them to a tune she composed.

It didn’t do anything to ease the dread in her belly.

The rest of the afternoon since Peter left her alone went by agonizingly slow. She purposely avoided her bedroom, where her phone was well hidden. She avoided the bed she shared with Peter. Avoiding any intimate space whatsoever.

The standard crew contracted to clean and maintain the condo came and left, as they did three times a week. Though she tried, the language barrier made having a conversation with anyone impossible.

The more she thought about it, she wondered if the staff was capable of conversation all along, but they’d been instructed not to talk to her. The guards certainly didn’t, even as they lurked in the hallways like ghosts.

The best conversationalist in the entire house was Rex.

She spent a good deal of time cleaning and rearranging the bearded dragon’s terrarium, despite the task having already been completed by a housekeeper.

Honey felt like she’d seen him grow a few inches since she arrived. Peter explained that it was unlikely, he probably reached full size years ago, but she felt strongly about it. The reptile’s length spanned her entire forearm, from tip to elbow, and she was certain that it was an improvement.

She needed to believe that something had been made better by her prescence.

Rex was having an emotional time as well. He had always been on the large size for his species, but he had put on a few grams in the last few weeks, no doubt caused by the stress in their household.

Honey wasn’t there to judge. She helped him get some exercise outside of the tank, letting him explore her arms and lap. His scaly embrace brought tears to her eyes. Rex was the only one she could actually care for. The only thing she had the power to protect. Perhaps the only unconditional love she’d ever experienced.

Maybe the only love she deserved.

On a lighter note, Rex was a real riot once you got to know him.

That evening, Honey and Rex were enjoying a late night snack in the kitchen when she heard a crashing sound echoing from another part of the condo. She paused for a moment, trying to determine the source of the noise, curiosity stirring her chest.

Putting Rex safely back in his terrarium, she padded up the staircase towards the source of the noise. Just as she was ascending the stairs, one of the faceless guards rushed past her without a glance. Another one followed soon after, and she got the feeling that they were running from something. Like how rats scurry away before a train passes by. Or right before an earthquake.

Another sound—this one was just as sharp, but different. More animalistic. A roar. She tensed mid-step, jaw clenched tight, as she realized where the noises were coming from.

Peter’s office.

Her instincts told her to run and hide, and incomprehensively, to go forward. Whatever it was, it was in pain. Or it was causing pain. Was Peter in pain?

Bracing herself, she crept to the solid oak door and gently pushed it open.

Like much of the penthouse, Peter’s office had floor-to-ceiling views of Lower Manhattan’s breathtaking skyline. Typically. On this night, the only thing outside the window was a terrace, which stretched around the condo, and a solid wall of fog at its border. Beyond the rain-streaked glass, it was nearly impossible to see through the black cloud. The haze made her feel trapped, suffocated. Blindfolded when an atomic monster could be lurking just outside of the windows.

The probability of a monster outside was steadily increasing. Despite the sounds she’d heard, concerningly, the inside of Peter’s office was empty.

Swallowing hard, she wandered inside with her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She approached the center with bated breath, eyes darting towards each corner.

She jumped at the sound of a clamour coming from the terrace. Searching from edge to edge, she couldn’t see the source, but didn’t need to wait for it. She glanced around the office, narrowing in on Peter’s desk. She darted behind the asymmetrical, functional piece of art, searching frantically for something that could be used as a weapon.

Her fingers roved around the furniture, pulling open hidden drawers and extending pieces in search of something sturdier than a Bic pen. As she slid her fingertips beneath the table surface to search for a handle of some kind, she brushed over a latch.

A pressurized spring popped open to reveal a sliding compartment. Hidden. Secret.

She stilled, mind struggling to comprehend what she was looking at.

She obviously recognized that it was a handgun. A pistol built of black soulless metal. It looked fully assembled, as far as she knew. Another thing that holds bullets—a magazine?— was nestled tightly next to it.

Her fingers twitched, curled into balls. Her cells urged her to reach out and touch. With arms firmly at her sides, she gazed down at the weapon. Swallowed hard.

This was a tool. A gift, perhaps. A new puzzle piece. Biting her lip, she debated how to use it, and if she even could, and fuck I don’t know how to hold a gun much less shoot somebody, and are you ready for that? Would you actually shoot someone?

As quickly as she could, she slapped the hidden compartment closed, obstructing the weapon from her view.

“Somethin’ I can help you find, kitten?”

She snapped her head around to see Peter standing near the windows, concealed in shadow. Her breath caught in her throat, and while her mind was spinning because where did he come from how did he get in here how did he get up here how long as he been there—

—and what the fuck did he just call me?

When Peter stepped out of the shadows, he looked like a different person. He was wearing the same face, even the same clothes (although they were drenched and clung to his skin as if he’d just come in from the rain). He looked alien to her, a skinwalker. Like his body had been stolen by an otherworldly entity that puppeted his movements as he prowled towards her.

Instinctively, she took a step backwards. He crept like the drizzle outside—languid, chilly and deceptive of the violence capable within.

Honey opened her mouth to speak, but no words would come out.

“I asked you a question, sweetheart.” The lilt in his voice made her shiver. Peaceful rage. Gentle malace. It was like an unharmonius song to her ears, full of opposites and contradictions.

She had no idea when her lips started moving. “I... I... was...um... I-I heard...”

“Why is it every time I come home I catch you creepin’ around in here?” he replied, like words whispered between lovers. He loomed closer. “Curious little kitten, aren’t you?”

Cold sweat beaded at her brow. Her voice was thin. “I-I... don’t like that.”

“Don’t like what?”

“I don’t like you calling me that.”

“What would you like me to call you then, huh?” He sauntered nearer, a few strides away from her rigid stance. “You were never clear on that.”

She stood helplessly, frozen in the lights of his gaze, as he stalked towards her. She tensed her muscles, bracing for impact, expecting to be splattered across the floor. In a split second, she lunged forward.

Throwing her arms around his shoulders, she pulled him into a tight embrace. Heart thrumming loudly, she held him close to her body. The wet clothes soaked through her sweater. His fluttering heart tapped against her cheek.

Holding him was exhilarating and terrifying and terrible all at once. He went rigid underneath her touch, and she couldn’t see whether it was from rage or shock. She pressed her cheek firmly into his chest, stifling tears.

“I’m worried about you,” she whispered. His body was tense and his skin cold, corpse-like. “’M’afraid, Peter. Afraid something bad is gonna happen.”

It was like embracing a statue. She couldn’t even feel him breathe.

“What happened to you?” she trembled with despair, her lip quivering. Despite the overwhelming confusion in her heart, her concern was genuine. She was afraid for him. She knew that. It just wasn’t the only thing she was afraid of.

After several more moments of silence, she finally felt him soften. Her shoulders slumped, feeling the slightest relief at the gradual rise and fall of his chest. With his next breath, his muscles loosened a bit more. Soon, he felt human again.

His Adam’s apple bobbed against the top of her head. “Y’know I’ll protect you, right?” he said. The sentence was feather-soft. And just as hollow. “From anything.” He didn’t embrace her in return.

Her eyes burned and glistened. “I know.”

She pushed away from his chest, staring up at his face. The action forced him to meet her eyes. The color was missing from his irises, giving them an inky black appearance. But other than that, there was a glimmer of the man she knew looking back at her.

“I... I want to protect you too,” she said, biting her lip. Clenching her jaw tight, she let her hands travel up the wet fabric of his shirt. She ran her fingers gently over the expanse of his chest, gulping at the feeling of marble beneath.

When she met his eyes again, torment was etched onto his face. He was in pain, and he’d let her see it. That glimmer of vulnerability opened a gateway to the shy boy beneath her fingers. The charming young prince who stumbled over his words, and whose bright smile magnetically yanked her feet out from under her.

While she gazed up at him and felt his defenses slip away, a voice in the back of her mind drew crosshairs in her eyes. She looked at him like peering down the scope of a rifle. The devil on her shoulder urging her to go in for the kill.

Her whisper was breathless. Soft, like a butterfly teasing a flower. “Tell me what I can do... to help you feel better.” The lilt in her voice carried a suggestiveness that she watched spread like an ink stain through his mind.

He stared down at her intently, turning her inside out, pulling her apart in his gaze. His scrutiny unnerved her, but she forced her body to remain calm. To charm. She ran her fingers across the scruff of his beard, bringing her hand gently up to rest at his cheek. Felt the cords in his neck tighten as he resisted the urge to nuzzle her palm. She gazed up into the darkness of his eyes, heart aching, and vowing devotion.

His expression was hard to read, even for her. Regardless, she felt the air around her get inexplicably colder.

“Yeah?” he breathed, his eyes glazing over. His mind was drifting somewhere else, listening to more voices than just hers. Unsettlingly, he stared down at her, inches from her face, and yet she got the feeling that he was simultanously looking at her from an outside window. “You wanna make me feel good?”

The sound of him shifted. The sinfully-deep timbre of his voice sent heat rushing to her core. Ebony eyes half-lidded, swirling with lust, he trapped her in his gaze. Pinning her with just a look. She steeled herself timidly, restraining a tremor. Tension stretched her belly, as she pinched her lip and nodded.

“Say it.”

The heat of his breath, combined with his scorching eyes that explored hers and suggested wicked thoughts, made her dizzy. Body and voice both firm against her.

“Say you wanna make me feel good.”

Her mouth felt dry. She gulped. “I... I wanna make you feel good.”

As he peered down lechorously at her lips, she kept herself from buckling beneath his gaze. He was panting, lips slightly parted, projecting lewd images of that mouth into her brain.

His lips curved into a slight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Go put on that pretty dress I got ya.”

He said it suggestively, although it was far from a suggestion. Her heart began to beat faster. “Um... which—”

“You know exactly which one.”

It was a declaration. A challenge. A warning. She swallowed dryly at the intensity of his stare.

“Go on.”

Her instincts screamed at her again. Begging her to turn around and run. Instead, she stepped away slowly. Her retreat was tense, controlled and calculated, like walking on a tight rope. She willed her muscles to move, forcing herself to turn her back to him.

“Good girl.”

She stopped. Trembled in the heat of his stare. Then, she complied.

When she returned to his office, she was wearing the lavender babydoll set, including the matching soft lace bikini-cut panties beneath. The open fireplace had been lit, casting him in a flickering, orange glow. When he glanced up from his desk, glass of bourbon in hand, the look he gave her stripped her naked.

Her body shook. Biting her lip, she felt heat pooling between her thighs.

Despite how much she disliked his new nickname, she regrettably saw how it fit her in this circumstance. Tight-lipped, she tiptoed through the threshold like a frightened cat. His gaze hunted her figure as much as it admired her, studying her every move.

On his part, he looked just as sinful. His slate-gray, houndstooth-plaid patterned blazer had been discarded somewhere, leaving only the wrinkled, damp, white dress shirt behind. He’d rolled the sleeves up to his elbow, collar loose with the top buttons undone. His hair was still damp around the edges, wildly sticking out in a rogue style.

It wasn’t just sinful. He was the Devil incarnate, hiding behind an angelic face and doe eyes.

He lounged back in his chair, knees shoulder width apart. His posture spawned just as many lewd thoughts in her mind. He peered at her sideways, his eyes roving unabashedly over her body. It was almost too much when she connected with his eyes, her face heating with embarassment. He wore a shameless smirk, as if boldly daring her to object to his ogling. Challenging her to deny him access to whatever he wanted.

“There she is.” He sounded gentle. Sing-song.

She stopped several paces away from the desk, but it was all posturing.

There was no amount of distance she could put between them that he wouldn’t cross. No obstacle. No line. No mercy.

She gulped anxiously. “Wha-what... What did you, um... need help with?”

He watched her silently. Intensely. “You said that we were interested in the same hobby,” he answered dryly. “Figured I’d get back into it.” Setting the glass down on the table, he came to a stand. He sauntered around the desk towards her, a hidden object in his grip.

His old film camera.

Her stomach dropped out at the sight. Images of the ethereal blonde woman in Peter’s photos, strewn out salaciously in pornographic poses, flooded her mind. She knew nothing about Gwen. Except that she is the woman of Peter’s dreams, and didn’t want to lose her, and now he keeps her hidden in a box.

At least they had that in common.

“No better way to learn about photography than to experience what it’s like to be on both sides of the lens.” She wrapped her arms tightly around herself as he stalked towards her, gazing crawling across her small form. “Want you to be a model for me.”

The blood drained from her face, weighed down by dread. It must have been recognizable, because after a moment, Peter’s voice softened. “It’s okay to be shy,” he said placatingly. She shyly peered up at him from beneath her lashes. “But you don’t have to be. Just me here. Nobody else.” His eyes lingered as they brushed up her thighs, dragged across the curve of her breasts, and caught her mousy gaze. “Nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

The kindness in his voice would’ve been soothing in any other circumstance. In this scenario, she felt like she was basking in the warm glow of an angler fish hunting prey.

“I... I don’t know, Peter, I can’t— I’m-I’m not a model.”

“Nonsense.”

“I’m... I’m nervous,” she explained with a pleading voice. “I don’t even know what to do—”

“You do exactly what I say,” he answered, matter-of-fact. The words were soft but made the imprint of a demand. “We had a deal. Won’t even touch you. Not unless you want me to.”

She blinked several times, shrinking at his dominance. A warm smile stretched his lips.

“Just relax,” he cooed, a hot knife slicing through butter. “Now come on. You wanna help me relax, don’cha? Be a good girl. Stand over by the desk.”

Her muscles felt stiff. Like a rusted axel on a locomotive lurching forward, she forced her legs to move. Slowly, she padded towards the front of the desk. He glided away from her, backing into the shadows.

“Put your back against the edge.”

Hesitantly, she did.

“Palms flat.”

She pursed her lips. Wiggled into position. Awkwardly. Slightly leaning her weight back on her palms, so her chest protruded outwards.

“Look at me.” As if there was a choice.

Click.

His gaze was ravenous. “That's it...”

Click. Click. Click.

“Perfect—”

Her mouth felt cotton dry as she glanced idly at the doorway.

Click. Click. Click—

The rattle of the shutter ceased, and her eyes darted back to him. He gazed at her through slitted lids. Suspicious, but pointedly unconcerned. He paused the photo session as he drifted to the doorway. She watched apprehensively as he reached for the door, closed it, and locked it tight.

Her stomach clenched at the action. “There.” He looked back at her, self-satisifed. “No more distractions.” Her breaths came out short, teetering on panic, as he loomed closer with the camera raised. “Now—”

She sucked in her lower lip. “Peter, just wait, I can’t—”

Click. Click.

“Do that again. That thing with your lip.”

Click. Click. Click.

She swallowed hard. Whimpered. “Peter, please stop. Please, I—I’m scared.”

Either the phrasing or the vulnerability in her voice nudged him out of his focus. He glanced up at her outside of the viewfinder. Her shoulders were straight. Back like an iron rod. Her fingers were white-knuckled, clawing the wood veneer.

“What’s the matter?”

She sniffed, trying to steady her voice. “I-I’m afraid.”

He tilted his head curiously. “Why are you afraid?” He spoke delicately, like chanting a nursery rhyme. “You think something bad is gonna happen to you? I told you. I’ll never let that happen. You believe me, right?”

“It’s not that—”

“You trust me, don’t you?”

“Please—”

“Please, what?” His sentence was punctuated with force, all of his patience worn thin.

She gazed at him, wide-eyed and flustered, babbling like she spoke a different language. His expression urged her to just speak, to tell him what she wanted.

All she wanted was to tell him the truth. She wanted to take a knife to the suffocating balloon of lies that bubbled up in her lung, letting it all spill free. But she didn’t speak. Couldn’t. She held her breath. Held his gaze. Hung her mouth open uselessly.

He pursed his lips, letting out a frustrated huff. “Just say what you’re gonna—”

“I’m afraid of you, Peter!”

He leaned back at the outburst, shutting his mouth closed. She fought to steady her breathing, lowering her volume back to normal.

It was the truth, and the truth should feel good. But all she felt was trepidation.

“I’m-’m afraid of what you’re capable of. Afraid... I’m afraid that you’ll hurt me. Just like—”

She bit her tongue to stop it from moving. Terror sealed off her throat.

Peter gazed at her expectantly, brows pinched.

She drew her lips into a hard line, jaw locked tightly in place. “Just like everyone else.”

He studied her closely and silently, until his shoulders slumped. He stayed quiet for far too long. When he broke the silence, his tone was firm. “I’m a lot of things. I’ll admit that.” He fixed his contemplative gaze on her. “But I promise. I’m nothing like everyone else.” She swallowed, gulping at the implication. “Trust me. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Heart thrumming, she eyed him back. Never before had the words ‘trust me’ been so ambiguous. The two sides of him were in clear view. Two lives. Two halves. Two wolves staring right back at her.

One of them was desperate for her affection. Had an evolutionary imperative that drove him to win her over, to court her, to provide for and to protect her. To make her want to be his for life.

The other looked like he wanted to eat her.

“Don’t fight it,” he whispered, in a tone low enough to slide beneath her skin. It was soft, secretive. The way he crawled into bed with her at night. “Don’t be ashamed. Don’t be scared.”

He said that, but the sound of his voice had the opposite effect. His words chilled her, she felt her stomach tumble with trepidation. Simultaneously, the heat of his voice roasted her alive. She must have been melting from the inside out. Dripping into a puddle. That could be the only logical explanation for the sensation between her thighs.

He leaned into her, his proximity alone could be felt. Gooseflesh broke out across her body. As if his presence could touch her without lifting a finger, with eyes that probed her flesh, breath that licked over her curves. Desire that radiated from him and forced its way through her supple lips.

“Relax,” he said. “Just let me take control of your body.”

She went light-headed, hyponotized and under his spell. Her breath caught in her throat, and her muscles fluttered as if she were freefalling through the atmosphere. She saw him step away from her. Physically, he put distance between them, she was sure of it. But being locked in his gaze felt like being restrained in his grip. He licked his lips, and his hands brought the camera back up back up to his face, finger on the shutter-release, and fuck how would those fingers feel wrapped around her throat—

“Just like that,” she heard him murmur darkly, voice heavy with desire. “God—you look so pretty like that—”

Click. Click. Click.

The shuffling of the shutter faded into a rhythm. A hypnotic drum beat matched only by the fluttering pace of her heart. Entranced, she set her fear aside, just as he’d wanted. The soft crooning of his voice, gentle gasps between gulps that he took in of her visage, drifted into her ears like a sacred chant. She fell under his spell, swaying to his song. Guided by his words alone.

Lift your chin... lean back, all the way... show me your throat... that’s it... good, bend your elbow... sit up on the desk...turn your hips the other way... bring up your knee... put your hand right there....

She was a puppet. Maybe she had always been. He pulled her with soft demands and invisible strings, making her dance for him. But unlike a marionette, she didn’t feel hollow. She felt whole.

It felt good. Maybe it was residual from the drug taken the night before. Maybe she was cured. Maybe she was broken.

She was a rose blossoming beneath his lens. Bathing in his praise.

Fuck, that’s perfect... so good... such a good girl... lie on your stomach right there, bring your arms up... yeah, just like that... fuck that’s it... gorgeous... look at me... yes... arms above your head... so good for me... so good at this... lie on your back now, bring up your knee, spread them apart just a little bit... hmm, you look so precious... your body was made for this...

Time passed. She no idea of how much. Could’ve been a few minutes, or a few hours. Under his lens, she felt microscopic and rare. A new species waiting to be discovered. A strange fruit waiting to be tasted.

Slow it down, leave your fingers soft... good, good girl... yeah, just a gentle touch... curl your fingers... feel that?... so perfect...

He drew in air steadily, rate increasing, and soon they were both breathing in short, soft gasps.

Eyes on me... That’s it, that’s good... that’s—

They both froze, but his gaze was fixed on her shoulder. She followed his line of sight until she saw that the right strap of the lingerie had fallen loosely across her upper arm. Her hand darted towards it, compelled with a modest urge to fix the strap.

“Leave it,” he said with a throaty whisper and ragged breath. She stilled, a startled fawn. Slowly, he shifted his position to a different angle, this time entranced on a view of her chest. The lace brushed across her cleavage innocently. He licked his lips at the sight. “Look at me.”

She did, and oh—

He could not look at her that way.

He wasn’t going to eat her. He was going to devour her.

She wouldn’t be mated. She would be bred.

Her flesh was burning hot. Scorched. Melting beneath that look.

And in the back of her mind, over his soft demands, his gentle orders—arch your back...fuck, so beautiful... spread your thighs, wider... that’s it... god, so sexy, so perfect—she was also aware of the sound of her own breathless gasps and sharp, enraptured exhales.

She felt the tickle of lace sliding back up her legs the more she angled her body. The delicate French chantilly lace of the skirt—treacherous snake—teased a view of the tops of her thighs. She felt her bare legs prickle in the cold air, despite the sweat beading on the nape of her neck. The hem of the dress drifted backwards into her lap, and his artful eye roved across her body, admiring the masterpiece of her form.

And when she heard his breath hitch, she knew exactly where his gaze had landed.

The paper-thin, lavender lace covering her core was now darkened a deep plum color. The delicate fabric was slick with her arousal, clinging to her flesh. She was dripping wet, moreso than she’d been in years. She didn’t need to look down to see what he was seeing. She knew. She could feel it. Smell it. Taste her tangy sweetness on her own tongue.

The way his ravaged-red lips parted as his eyes darkened, she knew he was thinking the same thing.

Breathlessly, she gasped, “Peter...”

He looked down at her, eyes dazed as he braced himself on the edge of the desk. Possessed. A man driven mad by hunger. A rabid wolf, muscles tense, mouth watering at her scent.

No one had ever looked at her the way he looked at her. Like he was prepared to worship her and defile her in the same night, every night, for the rest of eternity.

His gaze was intoxicating, his wrecked apperance was exhilarating. She was drunk off of it. High off of it. Basking in it, with caution thrown to the wind.

Unbidden, her her left hand sailed across the sea of fabric, smoothing over the lace, until it reached the hem of her panties. He watched her, eyes blown out with lust. Her hand drifted down past her waist. Fueled by an electric arousal and drugged with desire, her fingertips dipped beneath the waist of her panties, slipping through her wet folds.

He clenched his teeth, swallowing hard, eyes fixated on her hand as set a pace with her fingers. He snapped his eyes shut for a moment, as if processing what he was seeing. Or debating what to do about it.

She watched his face intently, eagerly waiting for his eyes to open back up. She wanted to see the look in his eye as she came undone.

Every time the pads of her fingertips brushed over her clit, sliding shamefully through her slick, her chest fluttered in short gasps. The melody of her gentle whimpering was too much to handle, ripping his eyelids back open to look. The lewd sight matched with wet sounds twisted his insides into a thin wire. His dick jolted at the debauchery.

“Perfect,” he breathed as he drank her in.

Licking his lips, his eyes found hers. The heat of his gaze was relentless.

“Y’like that?” he whispered, like a secret. One meant for the two of them. “You like playin’ with yourself?” She stifled back a moan, biting her lips to clamp them down. “Betchu do. Like playin’ with me, too, yeah? Playin’ filthy little games...”

She heard the clink of metal. The sound of his belt unbuckling. Her neck and chest flustered with heat. She was stricken with fear that he would facefuck her on the table, thrusting his cock through her lips at any moment. At the same time, the crude thought made her quiver with excitement, and she bit down into a desperate mewl.

He locked his eyes on her. She heard the rustling of fabric, but the sight dreadfully obscured by her position as she lay back on the desk. He covered her with his gaze, the hypnotic flick of her wrist, her thighs twitching wide. He ground his teeth. “You think I can’t hear you through the walls?”

She gasped, her hand going still. Her chest heaved from the growing pressure in her body, thrust into vertigo from her humiliation and sinful hunger.

“Naughty girl. You think I can’t hear you when you touch yourself? But I can.”

Her cunt fluttered at his words as her fingers jolted to soothe the ache. She clenched her jaw, dragging in each breath like crawling across a coral reef.

He grinned lecherously, a challenge buried in his eyes. “I hear it. Every time.”

He shoulder jerked as his arm jolted into a steady pace. He winced painfully, grunting into each thrust. The sight alone could’ve been her undoing. Like being struck by lightning, her wrist sprang to life, rubbing tiny circles across her clit.

A gutteral groan rose out of his chest, his eyes darting between her hand and her dizzied gaze.

“Drives me crazy, y’know,” he hissed as his jaw fell open. “Like p-pheromones... Like-like you're taunting me...”

Tight lipped, he moaned beneath his words. She mewled at the sound. He clenched his jaw, picking up the pace. His hips jerked of their own accord, beginning to thrust into his palm.

“Like you’re daring me... to come in and take what’s mine.” His breaths were ragged and dry, dragging behind the pace of his hips.

Her jaw fell open at the sight, the coil in her belly twisting up. She was close.

“I can’t help it,” he groaned, jaw tight. “I touch myself every time I hear you.”

His words ravaged her womb further, pulling her strings tight. She cried out at the pain. A hundred pornographic and sacreligious pictures flooded her mind, corrupting her thoughts. Peter was tied to every one of them.

“S’that it, huh, baby? You want me to fuck you like an animal?”

Her blood raced towards her core as she edged over the peak of the rollercoaster, dangerously near the drop. It’s like he knew exactly where she was, and with one raspy whisper, he pushed her over the edge.

“That’s it, baby. Come for Daddy.”

The cable snapped as she hurtled over the peak, plummeting through the air at breakneck speed. She cried out, back arching, tears budding in the corners of her eyes. Her climax shattered her. Wrung her body out as euphoria gushed from her core. She writhed desperately, a slave to the newfound pleasure spilling through her folds.

Needing it. Willing to work for it. To sell her soul for it.

Over the disembodied sounds of her orgasm, she could hear him breaking down inches away from her.

“fuckfuckfuck that’s it, that’s it—”

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

The door rattled. Everything came to a grinding halt at the sound of a heavy-handed fist pounding on the door. “Sir! Are you in there?”

Brakes squealing, sparks flying, everything stopped. Peter jerked at the sound of the guard’s voice, like a dog whiplashed at the end of a leash. Honey gasped in horror, face filled with humiliation. He bit back an agonized cry, his finish ripped away from him by harsh reality.

“Sir, we have an urgent situation that needs your immediate attention.”

Peter squeezed his eyes closed, as the words collided with him like a bucket of ice water. Chest heaving, he heard Honey scramble to sit up, while he remained doubled over with a painfully hard erection.

“Sir!”

“Yes!” he snapped, his voice taut with anger. He stepped away, pulling together his pants, stomping towards the door. Concealing himself and obstructing any view into the room, he tore the door open, nearly ripping it from the hinges.

His face was flushed with rage. “Swear to god—”

“It’s O’Hara, sir.”

Peter went still, brows pinched together.

“He got ambushed in lockup. He’s in an ambulance as we speak.”

At once, his body went numb. Flesh made stone. Limbs into rigid, frozen steel.

Peter said something wordless to the guard, and closed the door. As soon as it snapped into place, his head fell forward against the drain. Weariness and exhaustion overtook him. His legs felt like rubber, threatening to buckle beneath him. Limbs shaking.

When he turned back towards his office, he was shaken by the sight. It was Honey, but now his vision was sharp. Cleared of the fog of lust. The thrill of limitless power.

The young woman he kidnapped trembled up on his desk, legs pressed tightly together, her dress askew. She folded her arms around herself, shame filling her eyes, sweat cooling her skin. Her thighs caked with her cum. Next to her, a roll of film in Peter’s camera was filled with images of her that he forced her to take, leading up to, and including her finger-fucking herself in front of him while he crudely jerked himself off.

He sealed his eyes closed, feeling his stomach turn inside out beneath his skin. The back of his eyes burned, pain contorting his face.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, voice nearly breaking beneath the weight. He swallowed hard, feeling more dead than alive. Empty. Soulless. Hopeless.

Mournfully, he locked glistening eyes with her for as long as it was possible. “I need you to go back to your room.”

To be continued...

[back to masterlist]

A/N I hope you enjoyed this chapter! And if not, CALM YOUR TITS they FUcK WheN I SAY THeY'RE READy 2 FUCK OK???? leave me a note, comment, or anonymous ask! I can't tell you how incredibly grateful I am for everyone's support, not just of this fic, but of me as a person, and I thank you wholeheartedly.

Remember, to be added to this series' tag list, all you have to do is REBLOG. Only reblogs will be tagged in the future!

love you!!! 💜

#💬 sugar and vice #review angels 💜#my love for these two characters runs deep #I’ll wait as long as you want to see them fuck finally ;-)#lizzy writes.#lizzy writes! sugar and vice #mob au #mob!tasm #peter parker smut

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alatusprinz · 1 year ago

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when you call him good boy .

characters: wanderer/scaramouche, kaedehara kazuha, albedo, xiao

genre: smut, (warning of explicit words choice)

Scaramouche/Wanderer sneers at you mockingly when the words fall from your mouth. His grip on your hips tightened as he snapped his hips into your behind roughly, deliberately thrusting in so deep so your back arches with your face buried into the pillow. He hated when your needy moans were silenced when it wasn’t on his accord, making him reach out to grip onto your hair roughly to pull your body up while holding onto your neck with his other hand, forcing you to find balance in an awkward position with your knees on the mattress and back against his chest. His hips never halted one bit, still thrusting in relentlessly into your drenched walls as your mind blanked out from the dizzying stimulation. Tightening his grip on your neck, he leans into your ear, almost purring in a sickeningly sweet voice.

"Fuck, you like that don't you? Like being used like a little dolly for me?" You whimpered weakly as your scalp slightly burned from his tight grip, your body moving to meet his slams involuntarily from the force of his each thrust. It always felt like this, almost too good, too overwhelming from the borderline ruthless way he fucked you. As your broken moans persisted and he wanted to see you break down more, let go of your hair with a satisfied smirk and instead held onto both your wrists to pull your body back to meet his hips, manhandling you and taking you as he pleased.

His grip on your wrists tightened as pulled them back to slam your ass to his hips over and over, your cunt almost sore and aching from how he used you like a toy for his pleasure.

“Yeah? Fuck, call me that again, let me know how much of a good boy I am being.”

Kazuha’s gaze was always starstruck and almost drunk in love when he was staring at you as he slipped into your snug walls over and over. He was so hypnotized by you, completely allured more every second you two spent together. And he never knew he could fall even deeper until you looked at him with that sultry gaze, mouth open and making the prettiest sounds for him, and called him your good boy. Your good boy. An infatuated smile blossoming on his face, his cock pressed in deep, then he moved in a grinding motion slightly as you squirmed and mewled in pleasure. He was looking at you with heart in his eyes, completely enchanted and greedy to see more of your beauty. Nobody could ever compare or hold a candle to how beautiful you looked under him when he made love to you.

That’s right- he almost whimpers at your word as his hold on your waist tightened, immediately pressing his lips onto yours. His kiss was needy, desperate to feel you in his arms, if there was anything in this world that he couldn’t lose ever, it would undoubtedly be you. Kazuha’s heart feels like it would leap out any moment now as he rolls his hips into yours, trying his best to go sensual and slow although his patience was running thin every time your breathy moans graced his ears. His lips lowered to your neck, warm breath tickling your skin, and he whispered.

“All yours my love, all yours… Your good boy, yours…”

A soft moan leaves Albedo’s mouth in pleasant surprise at the praise he hears from you. His inquisitive gaze never leaves your face, in fact his sight never seemed to focus on anything else other than your pretty expressions when he made love to you. The way your eyes fluttered shut when his tip brushes over your sensitive spot (one he knows all too well by now), the differences in your moans when he grinds into you, slowly pushes as deep as he can to drag upon your tender spot, or when he sometimes indulge his greed and slams into you harder and faster as your nails scratched into his back- all of your precious reactions are recorded in his mind like a rewound tape.

You called him good boy- his pupils dilated visibly if you had half the mind to notice, and suddenly he was all the more determined to please you more. His mouth latched onto your nipple, one hand gripping onto your waist as he rutted inside your warm walls, pleasured groans leaving his lips while he sucked on harder. You swore sight blurred as his other hand was suddenly rubbing over your clit, circling and flicking the way he knew you moaned the prettiest for him. He knew your body better than you did by now, Albedo took silent pride in that fact. And he intended on being a good boy for you every day and night, whenever you desire him.

- Xiao almost gets too pleasure-driven from the moment your lips are on his more sensually, from the second your touches turn suggestive. His eyes are always clouded over with lust, desire and admiration towards you, he is hardly even lucid when he finally pushes into your eager walls, he can never control himself fully once he had a taste of you- all that mattered to him was you, your moans, and your face twisting in pleasure. That’s why when you first called him your good boy, he didn’t even hear it. His one hand was pressing yours to the mattress, fingers entwined as he rammed inside needily, it felt so good, he wanted to be buried inside your snug walls forever- this insatiable lust transfers over to his actions because as much as he tries, he can’t seem to be too gentle and from the way you moan sharply each time he slams in and his cock rubs against your insides just right, Xiao couldn’t find it in him to slow down anyways.

His fingers laced with yours on one hand, indirectly holding you down in place with how with each thrust made your linked hands sink down onto the sheets, and his other holding onto your hip so tight it felt like it would bruise,. You muttered out a weak “good boy” once more- this time he heard it all too well. He groaned in pleasure at your words, at your beauty or your tight cunt he couldn’t tell, all he knew was he had to give you more, make you take more of him. His lips are on your neck and his sharp teeth sank down on the side, his lustful panting and deep moans ringing in your ear. Your wince of pain was drowned out in the high-pitched whiny moan when his claws unintentionally dug onto your hips as he forced your walls to take all of him, slamming his hips to yours desperately like he would die if he didn’t engrave the feeling of your warmth around him inside his mind. Your sweet moans always made his heart flutter, his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he bit down harder on your neck, rutting into you as though to remind you that you’re all his, and he’d be your ‘good boy’ always and forever.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact smut #xiao x reader #xiao x reader smut #xiao smut #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche smut #scara smut #scaramouche x reader smut #kazuha x reader #kazuha x reader smut #kazuha smut #albedo x reader #albedo x reader smut

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greengoblinswifey · 29 days ago

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Between Takes- Nicholas Chavez x Actress!Reader

summary— you and Nicholas Chavez navigate a tumultuous on-screen rivalry that evolves into a passionate off-screen romance. amidst teasing banter and sizzling tension, a rehearsal kiss blurs the lines between acting and reality.

warnings— enemies to lovers, unprotected sex, oral(f receiving), L bombs, fluff, established relationship.

You and Nicholas play rivals in a popular Netflix show. Your characters are constantly butting heads, with heated confrontations in almost every scene. The fans love the tension, and it’s one of the key dynamics of the show. Behind the scenes it’s the same, but there’s an undeniable spark between the two of you, though neither of you admits it. You’ve developed a bit of a love-hate relationship on set, filled with teasing, sharp comments, and banter that everyone assumes is just your way of staying in character though sometimes it gets overbearing.

One day, after a particularly intense scene, you find yourself doing an interview for a popular entertainment magazine. Sitting across from the interviewer, you try to maintain your composure, but the thoughts of Nicholas linger.

“So, how’s your chemistry with your co-star, Nicholas?” the interviewer asks, a teasing glint in her eye.

You chuckle, rolling your eyes slightly. “Honestly, working with him is like wrestling a bear. He’s arrogant, sometimes late, and way too confident for his own good. The edits are getting to his head.”

The interviewer laughs, and you realize you might have said a bit too much. But it’s all in good fun, right?

“And what about those heated confrontations you have on screen? Are they as fiery off-screen?”

You smirk. “Oh, absolutely. We love to argue. I think it’s half the reason the show is so popular and we’re able to make the show as real as possible.”

The interview ends, and as you step out, you see Nicholas leaning against a wall, arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

“So, I heard your little interview. Arrogant, huh?” he teases, raising an eyebrow.

You cross your arms, feigning indifference. “What can I say? It’s a talent of yours.”

“And what about that kiss scene we have to rehearse today? Think you can handle it?” His voice drops lower, a challenge hanging in the air.

You raise an eyebrow, feeling a rush of excitement. “Please. I’m not the one who needs to worry about handling it.”

As the day progresses, you can’t shake the tension in the air. During a break, Nicholas corners you in the hallway. “You know, I didn’t appreciate what you said in the interview,” he says, his voice low and serious.

You smirk. “I thought we were just having fun. Can’t handle a little friendly competition?” His gaze sharpens, and he steps closer. “It’s not just competition, is it? There’s something more.”

“Like what? A deep-seated desire to kiss my rival?” you reply, your voice laced with sarcasm.

But beneath the teasing, you both feel it, an electricity that has been building over time.

“You might just find out how good I am at kissing,” he says, smirking again, and your heart races at the thought.

The real shift happens during a major storyline arc where your characters have to share a kiss, something neither of you expected. As you both prepare for the rehearsal, the tension is palpable.

When it’s time to kiss, the world around you fades away. The rehearsal kiss is intense, full of the chemistry that’s been simmering beneath the surface. Your heart races as his lips touch yours, igniting something deep within. It’s a spark you’ve both tried to ignore, but now it feels undeniable.

As the kiss breaks, you both stand there for a moment, breathless. “Well, that was, unexpected,” Nicholas says, running a hand through his hair, his usual confidence wavering.

“Yeah, I didn’t think it would feel like that,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Nicholas takes a step closer, the air thick with unspoken words. “So, does this mean we’re not just bitter ‘enemies’ anymore?”

You chuckle softly, a smile creeping onto your face. “I guess it depends on how we handle the rest of the season.”

Nicholas smirks, leaning in slightly. “I can handle a lot, trust me.”

“Oh, I bet you can,” you reply, your voice playful but laced with flirtation.

The banter continues, but the teasing has a new edge to it now, hinting at the deeper connection you've both begun to acknowledge. The lines between acting and reality blur, transforming your playful rivalry into something far more passionate.

As you navigate your way through the show, the tension between you escalates both on and off the screen. The two of you find excuses to be near each other, whether it’s rehearsing lines or grabbing coffee between takes. Each moment feels charged, filled with unsaid words and lingering glances.

One evening, after a long day on set, you find yourselves alone in your trailer. Nicholas is leaning against the door, a mischievous grin on his face.

“You know, I think the show would be much better if we had more moments like that kiss,” he says, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“What are you suggesting? We start kissing off-camera too?” you shoot back, your heart racing at the thought.

He steps closer, closing the distance. “Maybe we should. I mean, it’s not like anyone’s watching.” You feel your breath hitch as he inches closer, the teasing in his eyes replaced by something deeper.

“Okay, then. Show me what you’ve got,” you challenge, heart pounding.

Nicholas leans in, capturing your lips again, and this time it’s not just for the cameras. It’s heated, passionate, and everything you’ve both been holding back. In that moment, you both know that the rivalry has turned into something much more complicated, and exciting. As you pull away, breathless and wanting more, you can’t help but wonder what this means for both of you moving forward.

A couple of weeks pass, and while your relationship deepens, it remains primarily physical with lots of kissing but no further progression. As the season approaches its finale, excitement and uncertainty linger in the air.

The end of filming party is at a lively club, filled with cast and crew celebrating the end of a successful season. Music pulses through the air, laughter and chatter surround you as you enjoy the night. You and Nicholas are together, and the playful touches become more frequent. He brushes his fingers against your arm as you talk, igniting warmth in your skin.

As the night goes on, you find yourselves in a corner booth, drinks in hand, laughter spilling between you. Suddenly, Nicholas pulls you closer, his hand resting on your thigh.

“I can’t believe we actually made it through that entire season without killing each other,” he jokes, his voice low and teasing. You lean in, a smirk on your lips. “I think I’ve managed to tolerate your presence.”

He raises an eyebrow, his expression playful yet serious. “Tolerate? Is that all? Because I think we both know it’s more than that.”

In a moment of spontaneity, you lean forward, capturing his lips in a heated kiss. The atmosphere around you dims, and all you can focus on is the way his hands grip your waist, pulling you closer. Gasps and laughter surround you, but you’re lost in the moment, oblivious to the eyes of the other guests.

When you finally pull away, both of you are breathless, and a mixture of surprise and excitement dances in the air.

“Looks like we’re the talk of the party,” you say, glancing around at the surprised expressions on your co-stars’ faces.

“Let them talk. I don’t care,” he replies, his eyes dark with desire.

You share a lingering look, and before you know it, the night wraps up and you’re making your way back to your hotel room together. On the way, Nicholas receives a call for a quick interview about the season’s finale.

“I just have to say a few things. You good with that?” he asks, glancing at you.

“Yeah, go ahead,” you reply, your heart racing as he steps aside to take the call.

As he speaks, you catch snippets of what he’s saying.

“I just want to take a moment to say how much I admire my co-star,” he says, his tone sincere. “She’s incredibly driven, intelligent, and truly talented. I feel honored to have shared the set with someone as smart and passionate as her.”

You can’t help but smile, warmth spreading through your chest at his words. He finishes up the call, walking back toward you, a proud grin on his face.

“What did I miss?” he asks, wrapping his arm around you as you walk into the hotel.

“Just a little praise from your biggest fan,” you tease, leaning against him.

You both enter your hotel room, and the atmosphere shifts again, the earlier tension returning.

“I really appreciate what you said in that interview,” you admit, your voice softening.

Nicholas steps closer, a serious look in his eyes. “I meant every word. You’ve impressed me in ways I didn’t expect.”

Without another word, you lean in, kissing him deeply. The kiss ignites something fierce between you, and suddenly, he’s all over you, hands roaming, breath hot against your skin.

“I want you so bad,” he murmurs against your lips, his desire palpable. “I’ve been aching for you.”

Your heart races as you pull back slightly to meet his gaze, desire burning in your eyes. “Then let’s not waste any more time.”

Nicholas pulls you in for another kiss, his hands gripping your waist as he backs you against the wall. The kisses become frantic as you lose yourselves in the moment, and soon enough, you’re moving to the bed.

Clothes are shed in a frenzy, and as you tumble onto the soft sheets, Nicholas takes his time exploring every inch of your body. He kisses a path down your stomach, sending shivers down your spine. When he reaches your core, he takes his time, skillfully working you to the edge. “You taste so good,” he whispers, his breath warm against you.

You’re surprised at how skilled he is with his tongue and he makes sure to use it to plunge inside you, drawing the sweetest moans from your lips. Your hands grip his hair and you grind against his face, his groans against your pussy making you shiver and squirm. The world melted around you, all you could focus on was the pleasure he was making you feel,

You feel the wave of pleasure building, and as you climax, you gasp his name, feeling your body quake beneath his touch.

Afterward, you’re both a tangle of limbs, breathless and glowing. Nicholas wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you catch your breath.

Once the haze of passion begins to settle, he looks deep into your eyes. “I want you to be my girlfriend,” he says, sincerity etched in his features. You smile, feeling a rush of happiness. “I’d love that.”

After a passionate night together with Nicholas eating you out, you both navigate your way through the press runs filled with playful touches and stolen kisses. Finally, the season premiere arrives, and excitement buzzes in the air.

As you both prepare for the red carpet, butterflies flutter in your stomach. You glance at Nicholas, who looks stunning in a tailored suit. He catches your gaze and smirks, making your heart race.

“Ready to blow everyone’s minds?” he asks, his confidence radiating. You roll your eyes playfully. “As if I’d let you steal the spotlight.”

The two of you step onto the red carpet, and a hush falls over the crowd as cameras flash. The buzz is palpable as reporters and fans whisper, remembering the long-standing rumors that you and Nicholas didn’t get along.

You strike a pose together, your bodies instinctively leaning into one another. “You both look amazing!” a reporter shouts. “Can you tell us about your chemistry?”

Nicholas glances at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. “It’s just as fiery off-screen as it is on-screen. Isn’t that right?” You nod, smirking. “Let’s just say it’s been a wild ride, but we make it work.”

As the cameras continue to flash, Nicholas takes your hand, pulling you closer. Suddenly, he leans in and kisses you, catching everyone off guard. Gasps and cheers erupt from the crowd, and the whispers of shock turn to delight.

“What’s this? Are you two an item now?” another reporter calls out, excitement in their voice.

You break the kiss, breathless but grinning, and glance at Nicholas.

“Guess we just made it official,” he says, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You both continue down the red carpet, posing and kissing, basking in the spotlight as the rumors of your on-set rivalry dissolve into cheers of support.

During interviews, the two of you take turns praising each other, the chemistry undeniable. “She’s incredibly talented,” Nicholas says, his voice full of admiration. “I’m lucky to have her as my co-star.”

You blush at his words, feeling warmth spread through you.

“Nicholas has this incredible drive. It’s inspiring to work alongside him,” you reply, your smile wide.

Then the moment of truth arrives during a live interview when a reporter asks Nicholas how he feels about this new development in your relationship.

“I feel... I feel amazing. She makes me happy,” he says, his expression earnest. Then, almost as if he’s caught up in the moment, he blurts out, “I love her.”

Silence falls for a split second before your eyes widen in surprise. He blinks, realizing what he just said. “Uh, yeah, I love you,” he repeats, a mix of disbelief and affection in his voice.

“You do?” you ask, your heart racing. He nods, sincerity flooding his gaze. “Yeah, I really do.”

You’re momentarily taken aback, but then a smile spreads across your face, and you lean in, capturing his lips in a kiss as the crowd coos and cheers.

“I love you too,” you whisper against his lips, and everyone around you erupts in “Awws!”

The premiere ends on a high note, filled with excitement and love. As you both head back to the hotel, the energy is electric.

Once inside your hotel room, the door closes behind you, and Nicholas pulls you in for a passionate kiss.

“You have no idea how beautiful you are tonight,” he murmurs against your lips, his hands caressing your waist.

You shiver at his touch, feeling desire surge through you. “And you’re absolutely irresistible.”

Nicholas grins, his eyes dark with hunger. “I want you, all of you.”

With urgency, you both shed your clothes, losing yourselves in the heat of the moment. As he pulls you onto the bed, he worships your body with soft kisses and sweet words.

His pumps his cock a few times before rubbing the glistening tip on your wet pussy before slowly pushing in.

“You feel so good,” he breathes, his lips trailing down your neck. “You’re everything I’ve wanted.”

You moan softly, feeling the heat rise between you.

“And you’re all mine,” you reply, looking into his eyes with fierce determination.

You gasp his name as he starts to rut into you softly, his forehead on yours and you stare into each other’s eyes. He was your entire world, everything faded away as you felt his cock brush you cervix and his fingers reached between your bodies, rubbing your clit slowly.

With a shared understanding, you both fall into a rhythm of passion, bodies moving in perfect harmony. His hands explore your curves as he whispers sweet nothings, making you feel cherished and desired.

“You’re so so beautiful baby, I love you, you’re everything to me.”

The words almost bring you to tears but the constant brushing of his cock against your g spot made you focus more on the pleasure you were feeling. “Fuck I’m gonna cum baby, I need you to cum with me, cum around my cock okay?” You nodded frantically feeling the overwhelming feeling of being near your release.

As you reach your climax, everything around you fades, and all you feel is him, his voice, and the intimacy of the moment.

Afterward, you lay entwined, breathless and content. Nicholas brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, his gaze softening.

“You’re incredible. I’m so lucky to have you,” he says, kissing your forehead.

You smile, feeling a deep sense of love and belonging. “And I’m lucky to have you.”

In that moment, you both realize that you’re not just co-stars anymore; you’re partners, and this is just the beginning of your journey together.

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