Tarzinnia - If You Come To A Fork In The Road; Pick It Up... - Tumblr Blog

@blooming-violets with the *hopefully* now-in-the-thoughts plotline swirling through the little gray cells for a new story with emotionally vulnerable Peter and a sociopath with just the manipulative skills to ensnare him in her honeypot. Poor little Poohbear! All he wanted was some sweetness in his life....

Kudos to @sincericida who always keeps her head in a crisis when it comes to the latest AG news and I agree with you, the nickname is rather inspired.

A thought about the Raya thing…

Didn’t we get a People magazine article about Andrew and Kate a few days ago? From what I’ve heard, People is one of the main sources celebrity publicists/teams use to announce news (meaning if it comes from People, it’s legit and “official”). You’d think that since People had an article about them dating, the relationship is somewhat serious.

If it’s true he’s been on Raya super recently, then I wonder why the People article was posted at all. Someone in a serious relationship wouldn’t be on a dating app, would they?

But like others have said, maybe it’s actually casual.

Also, thank you for being so patient with all of our relationship questions, I’m sure it gets tiresome sometimes. I don’t want to be nosy, but this man’s personal life is really fascinating. Love him but he’s a mystery 😂

I also don’t see any sense in being in a dating app if you’re in a relationship with someone. But he could be in a non-monogamous relationship with the luxury crook. Maybe the fan base is taking his relationships more seriously than he is.

It really is indecipherable and fascinating.

The question regarding the book rec (for fans of 1984) got my attention as AG does appear to enjoy reading as do I. Discussing books and/or movies, plays, etc over a meal is something I find quite appealing.

ANDREW GARFIELD talking about playing Winston Smith in Audible Adaptation of George Orwell's '1984'.

From the clips of Garfield as well as Andrew Scott that I've heard thus far, it sounds like a wonderful version of Orwell's 1984. Another actor who does a splendid job with audio books is Dan Stevens (also from England). He has a lovely voice and cadence as well.

Reading and listening to novels is a great way to spend time!

ANDREW GARFIELD talking about playing Winston Smith in Audible Adaptation of George Orwell's '1984'.

Oh, Reader (or should I say BB?!) has got it baaaaad for him. Not that I blame Reader, but her inner thoughts went from he's cute, to he's cute and hot, to I hope he stays awhile and then backtracks because those inner thoughts are taking over, hehe. Trying to watch him without looking like she's watching him. Had me kicking my heels, because that's so real and flush worthy when someone kinda sorta likes someone after meeting them.

I love Ian. You have a nice hand at developing secondary characters and making them multi-dimensional and interesting with backgrounds and personalities of their own that complement the story in a variety of ways. Whether it's the shoulder to cry on, the taste-tester, or the what are you crazy, he's mad for you and you should jump in his lap advice-giver, these supporting roles are such an asset.

Now Peter's all but sighing with relief that Reader doesn't have some fancy pants Brit boyfriend that calls her pet names before he, Peter, even gets a chance to shoot his shot with the beautiful barista. Something tells me that coffee maker is going to stay broken....

Wonder what's coming up next for these two?

If Peter somehow has a croissant tossed at him (ala No Way Home) I will absolutely lose it.

*Also, I love to bake and cinnamon rolls are a favorite when taken in and shared at work. Your food descriptions are always a highlight!

Of Coffee and Cinnamon Rolls - Chapter 2

Pairing: TASM! Peter Parker x F!Reader

Rating: T

Story Summary: Peter's coffee maker has broken, leaving him in need of a caffeine fix. Luckily, there's a new coffee shop right by the Daily Bugle... With a beautiful barista inside.

Warnings/Tags: Meet-Cute, Coffee Shops, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Dual, Alternating PoVs between Peter and Reader, minimal use of Y/N

Word Count: ~4k (this chapter got LONG)

A/N: It's taken me freaking FOREVER, but here we finally are with chapter 2! Hopefully future updates won't take me as long.

Tagging @tarzinnia since they've been patiently waiting for an update!!!

Ok, what else needs to be done? you thought to yourself as you bustled around the kitchen in your shop. You had worked your ass off to make your dream of owning your own business a reality, and today that dream was finally coming true, so needless to say... You were nervous.

You grabbed your to-do list off of the prep table and gave it a quick scan. Cookies are bagged, cake pops are finished, muffins are good to go, croissants are ready, banana bread is sliced, cinnamon rolls are done…  

You glanced at the clock. You had way more than enough time to shower and then relax for a bit before things would get busy again.

You made sure your oven was off before heading upstairs to your apartment above the shop. 

You hurried through a shower before changing into something nice enough to wear for your interview and photos, but still comfortable enough to work in.

And speaking of photos...

You grinned. Not only had you been pleasantly surprised to see the hot skater boy-esque customer from the morning come back into the shop in the afternoon right as you had decided to close, but you had been even more pleasantly surprised to find out that he worked for the Bugle and had been the one to suggest that they cover the opening for the paper. 

You had made a flimsy excuse to give him your number and was surprised to receive an incoming text from an unknown number right as you had finished prepping dough for the next morning’s baked goods and popping it in the fridge to chill overnight.

Hi, Y/N. This is Peter.

Peter Parker. 

From the Daily Bugle?

You had quickly washed your hands then sent a reply, a wide smile spreading across your face. Yes, Peter, hi, it's good to hear from you. What's up? :)

Sorry to bother you, but I just thought I'd text you so you'd have my number in case you had any questions about the interview tomorrow.

Oh it's not a bother at all. You've got perfect timing, actually. I just finished prepping dough.

Oh, what are you making?

Well for the opening we're going to have cookies and cake pops in addition to the regular baked goods, which'll be croissants, muffins, banana bread, and of course, cinnamon rolls. I was just trying to get a head start on the dough since I'll be making extra goodies for the grand opening.

Oh man, that all sounds amazing. I'm going to want to try everything.

Lol, I'll be sure to set one of each aside for you. It's the least I can do as thanks for the free publicity.

So what are you up to?

About to attempt to fix my coffeemaker before I have to head out for my other job.

I'll let you get to that then. Good luck!

Thanks. 

You glanced at the clock. You still had an hour and a half until your interview, but maybe Peter was up and wouldn't mind you texting him?

Morning, Peter! you typed. Any luck fixing your coffeemaker?

A few minutes later your phone lit up. 

Peter had sent you a photo of what you assumed was his coffee maker, except it was in pieces. It was captioned, Are there supposed to be leftover parts?

You laughed before sending your reply. Definitely not that many, lol.

You bit your lip. You know, you're more than welcome to come by early if you need a caffeine fix. 

...Only if you want to, of course.

No pressure.

You nervously chewed on your lip as you waited for his answer. After what seemed like the longest 10 seconds of your life, Peter's reply came through. I'd love to. Be there in 15?

You grinned. Sounds good. See you soon.

You set your phone down on your bathroom counter so you could fix your hair, then took another look at yourself in the mirror. Guess this is as good as it's gonna get.

You headed back downstairs to the shop, fixing yourself a cup of coffee before sitting at a table to wait for Peter.

You looked around, smiling to yourself. You had chosen decor that you thought made the shop feel open and welcoming while still somewhat whimsical and hoped that your customers felt the same.

Suddenly there was a tap on the door.

You looked over and grinned when you saw Peter waving at you. 

He was dressed similarly today as he had been the day before, in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt with a buttoned-up flannel over it. His hair was styled in what you assumed was a purposely messy, just-rolled-out-of-bed look and he was wearing black plastic-framed glasses. Damn, he is *hot*.

You waved back before getting up and walking over to the door to let him in. "Peter, hey. Come on in."

"Hi." Peter stepped inside and waited for you to lock the door behind him. "How's it going? All set for the opening?"

You nodded. "Yeah, actually. I live above the shop and couldn't sleep so I went ahead and got everything ready, but I've now found myself with an extra hour to kill."

You gestured to the table where your coffee sat. "Have a seat and I'll get your coffee ready."

You moved behind the counter as Peter set his bag down at the table. "Want anything to eat?" you asked.

Peter shook his head. "No thanks, I warmed up a cinnamon roll before I left."

You nodded and the machine to brew. "So how are you this morning?"

Peter shrugged. "Had a bit of a long night at my second job, but I'm good."

"Glad to hear that, despite the long night." You waited until the machine shut off and brought Peter his coffee. “Here you go.”

Peter smiled at you. “Thanks.”

You sat across from him and took a sip of your own beverage. "So what is the second job, if you don't mind me asking? Wait, let me guess... Private investigator?"

Peter laughed. "No, what gave you that idea?"

You shrugged, unable to help but smile at his adorable chuckle. "I dunno, it's the first thing that popped in my head that required a camera besides being a photojournalist."

Peter shook his head. "Actually, it has nothing to do with photography. I'm a security guard."

"Oh ok, that's neat. Where at?" You grimaced. Ugh, way to sound like a stalker.

You shook your head. "Wait, I'm sorry. I realize that sounds extremely nosy. I just meant that I'm planning on being down here late most nights doing prep for the next day, so… I mean, if you happen to work nearby you're welcome to drop in for a cup of coffee or some leftover pastries."

Peter shrugged. "It's fine. I just kind of fill in wherever I'm needed, which usually makes for a pretty flexible schedule but also long days, hence my immense and near-constant need for caffeine." 

He took a sip of his coffee. "But, uh, yeah. If I happen to find myself in the neighborhood I'll text you, if you don't mind?"

You smiled with relief. "Yeah, that'd be great."

The next hour flew by as you and Peter continued talking. Peter told you about growing up with his aunt and uncle, about his love of science, and about how he had gotten interested in photography, and in turn you told him about your own childhood and what had led you to want to open your own coffee shop.

"My grandmother taught me how to bake," you explained. "And she always added a splash of coffee to the wet ingredients for whatever we were making. 'The coffee is the secret ingredient,' she would always tell me. ‘But the true secret can only come from within’."

"So what is the true secret?" Peter asked, seemingly intrigued.

You shrugged. "I don't know. She said I would figure it out when the time was right."

Peter huffed out a laugh. "Well if you haven't figured it out yet I can't wait until you do. Your cinnamon rolls are excellent as is."

Your face heated. "Thanks."

Suddenly there was a knock on the front window.

You looked up in surprise then smiled brightly when you spotted your best friend, Ian, waving at you. You had made plans to go out to dinner with him that evening to celebrate the grand opening of Bean There, so you were pleasantly surprised to see him now. 

You stood. "Oh, sorry, hold on a second.”

You went over to the door and unlocked it, letting Ian in.

"Hello, love," Ian said in his crisp British accent before giving you a kiss on the cheek.

"Hey, sweetheart," you replied. "What a surprise, I thought I wasn't seeing you until tonight."

Ian shook his head. "I just wanted to stop by on my way into the office to wish you good luck on your opening today."

You smiled. Ian had been your biggest supporter while you had been working to procure the space for your shop and had helped you with choosing the furniture and decor. "Aww, thank you, honey, you're so sweet."

Ian glanced over at Peter, curiosity evident in his eyes. "I tried texting you, but I guess you were busy.”

You patted at your pockets, realization dawning on you that your phone was still sitting on your bathroom counter. "Oh shoot, I must've forgotten my phone upstairs."

Ian shook his head. "It's fine, darling, no big deal. I'm just glad I got to see you."

"Me too." You turned towards Peter. "By the way, this is Peter Parker, the photojournalist from the Bugle . Peter, this is Ian."

"Nice to meet you," Ian said, walking over and shaking Peter's hand.

"Same to you," Peter replied.

"Want anything before you go, sweetheart?" you asked Ian.

Ian grinned in reply. "Oh, darling, you know I can't resist your banana bread." 

"Peter, you want some more coffee?"

Peter looked hesitant, as if he felt bad about accepting your offer. "Uh, sure."

You picked up Peter's cup and walked back over to the coffee machine, grabbing a fresh to-go cup for Ian and putting 2 pumps of strawberry rose syrup and 1 pump of white chocolate syrup in it before programming the machine to brew both his and Peter's coffee simultaneously.

"Have you tried Y/N's banana bread?" you heard Ian ask Peter.

You looked over at them as Peter shook his head. "I've only had her cinnamon rolls."

Ian let out a pleased sound. "It's incredible, mate. Then again, everything she makes is incredible, and trust me, I've tried it all."

"Ian was kind enough to be my taste tester while I was perfecting my recipes for the shop," you explained to Peter, your face warming at Ian's praise as you steamed some milk to add to his coffee.

"Anything to support my girl," Ian said with a wink. “And to get free pastries.”

You finished making Ian's latte then boxed up 2 slices of banana bread for him to take with him. "That reminds me, though..." 

You brought everything back over to the table. "Peter, I boxed up a sample of everything for you. Remind me to give it to you before you leave."

You handed Ian's banana bread and coffee to him. "Here you go, sweetheart. Just like you like it."

Ian took a sip and nodded. "Mmm, perfect as always. Thanks, love."

He gave you another kiss on the cheek then whispered in your ear, “You go, girl. He is gorgeous.”

You giggled and nodded. "I agree."

Ian straightened. "Bye, darling, love you." 

"Love you too. See you tonight."

Ian turned towards Peter. "Nice meeting you."

Peter gave him a slight wave. "Yeah, you too."

You followed Ian to the door so you could lock it back behind him.

You walked back over to Peter and sat once again. “Sorry about that.”

Peter shrugged and cleared his throat. "It's okay. So, how long have you been together?"

Your brow furrowed. "Who, me and Ian?”

Peter nodded, a slightly confused look blooming across his face. “Yeah.”

You shook your head. “Oh no, Ian's not my boyfriend." 

"Oh, he's not?" Peter's cheeks pinkened adorably. "My bad, I just assumed..."

"It's fine, it's a really common misconception. Ian and I have been best friends since 4th grade so we're super close, but it's not in a romantic way at all." 

You and Ian had met on Ian's first day as a new student in your class. You had invited him to sit with you at lunch and had been inseparable since, including spending summers together in England to visit his mom when she had moved back after his parents had divorced while the two of you were in high school and living together as roommates in college.

You let out a light laugh. “Besides, I don't think Ian's husband would be too pleased if I made a move on him, especially since I not only introduced them, but also was Ian's best woman at their wedding.”

Peter laughed. "Yeah, that might make things a bit awkward."

You bit your lip. "I'm, um, I'm actually not seeing anyone at the moment. Been too busy focusing on my career and trying to open my shop. Kinda difficult to find time to date when you're constantly working, you know?"

Peter nodded.  "Yeah, I get that."

You took a sip of your coffee, trying to come off as nonchalant. "So what about you? Seeing anyone?"

"Oh, um, no, I'm not seeing anyone either right now." Peter hesitated momentarily. "Uh, like you said, too busy with work and stuff."

"Yeah."

Peter jumped slightly as his phone rang. He reached into his pocket to pull it out, briefly looking at the screen before swiping to answer the call. “Excuse me a minute. Hey, Betty, what's up?”

You stood, not wanting to eavesdrop on Peter’s conversation.

Peter glanced up at you. "Oh, uh, actually, I'm already here. Uh huh, yeah, sure. No problem. See ya."

He hung up. "Betty said she'll be here soon. She tried to call you."

You nodded. "I should probably go get my phone in case my employee is also trying to reach me. I'll be right back, okay?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah, that's fine. If Betty gets here before you get back, you want me to let her in?"

"Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks."

You got up and headed behind the counter to wash your cup then ran upstairs to grab your phone, taking a moment to breathe before returning downstairs to find Peter talking to the reporter who had set up the interview with you the day before. 

You smiled. "Miss Brant, good morning."

"Hi," Betty replied.

"Can I get you some coffee?"

“Yes, that would be great, thank you.”

"Something to eat? We have croissants, muffins, banana bread, and cinnamon rolls, along with cookies and cake pops for the grand opening."

"Sure, I'll take a cinnamon roll. Thank you."

"Peter? Sure you don't want anything?"

Peter thought for a second. "Well, maybe a piece of banana bread?"

You nodded with a smile. "Coming right up."

Peter pulled out his camera as you walked over to the display case. "Mind if I take a few pictures? I want to get some test shots in before the official opening."

You shook your head. "That's fine."

You plated Betty and Peter's baked goods along with a croissant for yourself and made Betty's coffee while Peter took a few photos.

You slid Peter's slice of banana bread over to him. "Here you go."

Peter took a bite of his banana bread as you carried Betty's coffee and cinnamon roll and your croissant to the table. "Mmph, this really is delicious."

You smiled, pleased that he liked it. "Thanks."

"Okay," Betty said, turning on a digital recorder. "I'd like to get started, if that's okay with you."

You nodded. "Sure."

Betty cleared her throat. "This is Betty Brant with the Daily Bugle interviewing Y/F/N Y/L/N, proprietor of Bean There, Done That. So, Ms. Y/L/N…"

"Y/N, please," you interrupted.

"Y/N," Betty corrected. "Tell me a bit about yourself."

You told Betty much of what you had already told Peter, about baking with your grandmother as a child and how she had left you enough money to start your bakery. "I really miss her," you said, "but I know she's watching over me."

"And how did you come up with the name of your shop?" Betty asked.

You grinned. “My best friend Ian actually suggested that name. I wanted something catchy and memorable so he and I bounced around ideas until we arrived at ‘Bean There, Done That’.”

Betty smiled. "Care to share any of the rejected names?"

"Oh gosh, there were so many, and they got more and more ridiculous as we went on. Let's see, there was 'Caffeinated Bliss', 'Let's Get Roasted', 'Java the Time?', 'Espresso Yourself', and 'The Daily Grind', to name a few." 

You and Ian had drank several bottles of wine at his kitchen table together while coming up with the perfect name for your shop so several of the rejected names had been hilariously inappropriate. “I also considered naming the shop after my grandmother but ultimately decided against it.”

Betty nodded. "I see."

She asked you several more questions while Peter took a few more photos of both you and the shop, then finally turned off her recorder. "Okay, I think that's all the questions I have for you. Thanks for your time."

You nodded and stood. "Thanks for your time as well."

You walked over to the counter and picked up a couple of bakery boxes you had packed while you were getting everything set up. "Here, I packed some baked goods for you and the Bugle staff."

Betty nodded. "Thanks. I'm sure everyone will appreciate it."

She turned to Peter. "Peter, I'll see you at the office later."

Peter nodded. "Yeah, see ya later."

You walked Betty to the door. “Thank you again for your time.”

“You too,” Betty replied. “I'll email you a link to the article once it's live.”

You nodded. “I'd appreciate that.”

"Is there anything else you need to do before the opening, anything I can help you with?" Peter asked once Betty had left.

You shook your head. "Nope, I think everything is set."

Your phone rang, Olivia’s name flashing across the screen. "Oh, sorry, one second. Hello?”

“Hi, Y/N,” Olivia replied over the phone’s speaker. “It's Liv.”

“Oh, yeah, Liv, hi.” You had hired Olivia, who was working her way through college and thankfully had experience as a barista, part-time for weekday mornings but had asked her to come in today for the grand opening since you weren't sure how busy you would be.

“Just letting you know that I'm on my way and will be there in a couple of minutes.”

“Okay, great. I'll see you in a few then.”

“See you soon. Bye.”

“Okay, bye.”

You hung up. "Sorry about that. That was my employee, Olivia. She was just letting me know that she'd be here in a minute so I could open the door for her."

You checked your watch then grabbed your outdoor chalkboard sign, on which you had written ‘Grand Opening! Free samples inside!’. "Actually, it's close enough to 8 to where I think I can just go ahead and open."

Peter walked over to the door. "Here, I'll get the door for you."

You smiled at him as he held it open for you. Hot and a gentleman too. Swoon. "Thanks."

Peter shrugged. "Of course. Oh, that reminds me, I need to get some posed shots of you out in front of the building before you get too busy."

You nodded as you set the sign out front. "Oh, yeah, sure. Where do you want me?"

"Let's see…" Peter stepped back a bit. "How about here next to the sign?"

You moved to stand beside it. "Here?"

Peter shook his head. “Maybe a bit closer?”

You stepped sideways a bit. “How about now?”

Peter checked the shot. "Yeah, that's perfect."

He took a few photos, then checked to make sure they were okay. "Alright, we're good."

You grinned. "Great. Thanks, Peter."

"No problem."

The two of you headed back inside, you pausing to flip the sign on the door from closed to open. “I need to go grab the first batch of samples. One second.”

You went to the kitchen, where you had set up individual bite-size portions of everything on two large, round trays covered with clear domes. 

You brought them out and set them down on the counter before putting a little tag in front identifying what each tray held. “Okay, now I think we're all set.”

A minute later, the bell above the front door chimed and Olivia walked in. 

“Morning, Y/N,” she said with a friendly smile.

“Morning, Liv,” you replied. “Thanks for coming in today.”

Olivia nodded. “No problem. Happy to help out.”

You gestured to Peter. “This is Peter Parker. He's taking photos of the opening for the Bugle. Peter, this is Olivia.”

“Nice to meet you,” Olivia said as she grabbed her apron off of a hook by the door to the kitchen area.

Peter nodded. “Yeah, you too.”

You rubbed your hands together. “Okay, Liv, if you take the coffee machine, hopefully we'll start getting some customers in soon.”

“Are you expecting a lot?” Peter asked.

“Fingers crossed. I know that this area is busier during the week than it is on the weekend -- which is why we're only open for four hours on Saturday -- but we sent out a mailer advertising the grand opening with a coupon good for a free baked good with purchase of a coffee today only, so hopefully we get a good turnout.” You looked towards the door as the bell chimed, butterflies fluttering around your stomach in both excitement and nervousness. “And actually, there's my first customer! Let me get to it.”

You and Olivia spent the next two hours serving customers and refilling both the display case and sample trays while Peter took photos. 

“Thank you, come again!” you said to what felt like your millionth customer as the shop finally emptied. “Phew.”

You turned towards Olivia. “Liv, you wanna grab you something to eat and take like a 15-minute break? I'll call you up if I need you.”

Olivia nodded. “That sounds great, Y/N. Thanks.”

“Okay,” Peter said, quickly scrolling through his photos as Olivia left to go take her break. “I think I have everything I need.”

You nodded. “I really appreciate you suggesting that the Bugle cover the opening.”

Peter shrugged. “It's not a problem. Always happy to help out a new business, especially one with such delicious treats.”

“Oh, that reminds me.” You grabbed the bakery box full of goodies you had set aside for him. “Don't forget your samples.”

Peter nodded and took the box. “Oh yeah, thanks. I really appreciate it.”

You pointed towards the coffee machine. “Did you want a coffee for the road? I mean, since your coffee maker at home is still broken.” Not since I'm enjoying having you around and am trying to delay you leaving, even if it's just by a minute or two.

“Yeah, I'd love one.”

“Okay, 1 sec.”

You brewed his coffee, resolutely trying to ignore his eyes on you, then brought it over to him. “Let me know how you like the pastries.”

“Will do. Thanks.” Peter glanced at the door as a couple of customers entered. “So I'll… see you around then?”

You nodded. “That’d be great.” 

“Great.” Peter stepped out from in front of the register so you could help your customers. “Thanks again for the coffee and stuff.”

“No problem.”

You watched as he left, taking advantage of your customers being distracted by studying the menu board to wistfully sigh to yourself. Hopefully I'll see him again soon.

Ditto. I find screen and stage entertaining and I appreciate the dedication and effort it takes both in front of and behind the scenes to bring stories to life. The study, the technology, the art, the craft---these are the elements that have been a part of the human experience for centuries. But the artist? That is the part that for the viewer must remain somewhat a mystery unless we have been involved in some intimate way--through familial relationships, friendships, collegial interactions, etc.

I'm appreciative of the interviews (even the somewhat mundane scripted ones) that reveal some of their thoughts about characters, techniques, preparation because I find it a fascinating insight into a career that is outside the realm of my own. And also because some of them just seem like funny and interesting thoughtful people. But just like people I know personally, they are human and they deserve consideration as such. To live and to be just as we would wish. We might argue that they chose this career path, this celebrity fame, but we don't have to indulge every aspect of microscopic examination either. As you state, if they do not harm others, then their life is their own to live.

Heh heh, I step away from the platform for awhile and return to chaos with Mr. Garfield at the center of the maelstrom.

I'm cautious with respect to the latest furor regarding the tarot card philosopher accompanying AG for several reasons.

First, he's a friendly guy and going out for a meal with others and holding hands and all that is part of his personality, or at least the part of his personality he's chosen to reveal to the public. Beyond that, no one except the relevant parties really know.

Second, as you and others have pointed out, Mr. Garfield has faced some of the same life changing moments and ups and downs many of us have and that can make us seekers in many different ways. We look for understanding, we process grief or disappointment, we reach out for solace and comfort and try and comprehend the questions, "what is my purpose?" or "why am I here?" or "what makes me happy?" Through prior interviews, AG has intimated that he is contemplative about such topics and he has also expressed enthusiasm for astrology, so I don't find it particularly surprising that he might be intrigued by someone who advertises as a spiritual mentor etc. He's explored 'mainstream' religion in the past, and perhaps he considers the chakra stone spiritualist part of his journey.

Third, this is the part where I have to just admit: I really don't know this person (Andrew Garfield) beyond his public and professional life and while it's normal to want the best for those we admire (even from afar) and even if I give a slight side-eye to choices those others make, I'm not really in a position to offer help or concern or guidance as close family and friends would. And even then, I've watched people a while lot closer to my own circle go down a road and have had to stand by and let it happen because it's not my decision nor my life. Frustrating and sometimes tragic, but there it is.

Finally, for all of the above plus AG confessing that he is "rather intense" when he is preparing himself for a role and I'm going to place some hope in the thought that he's turned forty and is looking for some answers to those questions I mentioned earlier and he's giving this type of "mentoring" a try in a rather intense way. I suppose it could be a deception on the part of the "mentor," but that goes back to the idea that it's not something one can easily know, although warning signs can sometimes (as others point out--isolation, etc) be present. But in this case, correlation does not always equal causation, thus my caution.

I wish Mr. Garfield the best.

I also wish you the best, as you've tried to keep everyone updated and informed on a genuinely talented, hard working, and not unfortunate looking actor.

Peace!

Dear friend, wishing him the best and wishing him wisdom is the only thing we can do.

You put together two people who have not been put together before. Sometimes it is like that first attempt to harness a hydrogen balloon to a fire balloon: do you prefer crash and burn, or burn and crash? But sometimes it works, and something new is made, and the world is changed. Then, at some point, sooner or later, for this reason or that, one of them is taken away. And what is taken away is greater than the sum of what was there. This may not be mathematically possible; but it is emotionally possible.

— Julian Barnes

Mr. Garfield, his dapper self dappering per usual. Do wish he could break that phone addiction though....

ANDREW GARFIELD at the Zegna Spring/Summer 2024 Fashion Show during the Milan Fashion Week menswear.

Our Garfy overdose ❤️

Yorgos Lanthimos rolling out another film with a solid cast.

KINDS OF KINDNESS Trailer (2024) Emma Stone

Yeeeah, I'm going to bath myself in the tomato based pasta sauce with guanciale, onion, garlic, and pecorino romano topped off with too much wine to remember why the hell I bought the kale in the first place. Maybe I can use it as a napkin to wipe that little bit off of the corner of the mustaches.

J/K: Kale is alright but it's nice to have a cheat night with the pasta, wine, and firelight once in awhile. Bella luna!

ANDREW GARFIELD

and mystery woman was spotted grocery shopping in Malibu.

Here we go, the thing changed figure.

(source)

The cast! (gasps happily) The costume designs! (gasps happily)

Now the long wait until release. (sigh)

Wicked | Vanity Fair | March 21, 2024 | 📷 Sophy Holland

Mr. Gosling is having a moment and it's well deserved. Range, charm, and some serious acting chops whether it's drama, comedy, or the old song and dance. (No slight on Ms. Blunt, she's also worthy of accolades as well). Looking forward to this film and hope it lives up to the hype.

Ryan Gosling and Emily Blunt grace the new covers of Total Film.

Congratulations and perhaps, based on your comments: consolations, as no one looks forward to trainwrecks.

On a related note, is it weird that one half of me anticipates spring break as being a break from the usual, and enjoying spring and spring weather and the novelty of whatever the new year brings prior to summer and yet the other half is rather like a literal coiled spring that has been unbound and hurtles through the air with a million different ideas, activities, and the unharnessed energy that I cannot quite corral in order to accomplish them in the one week that has been allotted? That's what it's like in my brain in March.

I MADE IT TO SPRING BREAK

I may have to move grade levels and potentially work with a Trainwreck of a team next year and have also been applying to non teaching jobs but other than that, I made it to spring break!!!!

So very good that these two talents were cast in these roles. Riveting and I am so looking forward to the release. Insane to think that the original Orwell novel was published in 1949, 75 years ago and yet is just as compelling as it ever was.

RadioTimes.com has an exclusive 6 minute clip of Andrew Scott and Andrew Garfield from the upcoming Audible Original adaptation of 1984

Prepare to hear George Orwell's 1984 like you've never heard it before, with a new adaptation coming to Audible – and RadioTimes.com has an exclusive first listen!

Winston (played by Garfield) is in the torture chamber in the Ministry and is being put through a harrowing ordeal by O'Brien (played by Scott).

George Orwell's 1984: An Audible Original adaptation – Enter Room 101...

Actors act! Great to see Mr. Garfield back at work in his chosen profession...

GUYS, ANDREW GARFIELD IS ALIVE AND FILMING!

He’s filming a mystery project in LA | March 20, 2024

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Very solid performance here by Andrew Garfield. The topic was on point and timely, taking the large picture of the recession and distilling the spirit to focus on one man's dilemma and the choices he must make and/or rationalize. Mr. Garfield excels at roles such as these; the inner torment of what should I do. We see it on his face in every scene.

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The category this year was, as it often is, competitive and congratulations to Emma Stone on her award. The last words in this edit: I hope we get to keep doing more together...I do, too. Talented group of women who've entertained us, made us thoughtful about ideas and situations and perspectives that we may have not previously considered. They've made us laugh, too...and cry...and rage against injustices in the world. The world is a chest of riches and those multi-faceted treasures are its people. Cherish each other, love each other, entertain each other.

Emma Stone wins 'Best Actress in a Leading Role' for 'Poor Things' 96th Annual Academy Awards (March 10, 2024)

Brilliant and funny, quirky and memorable, a charming movie all around.

I cannot be the only cinemaphile anticipating the summer release of We Live In Time, the John Crowley directed drama starring Florence Pugh and Andrew Garfield in the lead roles. The talented duo have Academy Award nominations, and the buzz from the Irish Mirror via MSN is that perhaps director Crowley has made a film that could earn him consideration as well.

Here's a blurb from the article written by Ruairi Scott Byrne:

"John Crowley's film Brooklyn was in the running for Best Picture at the 2016 Academy Awards but the Dublin filmmaker narrowly missed out on a Best Director Oscar nomination. That could change this year thanks to his latest release, the upcoming romance drama We Live in Time. The film stars Andrew Garfield and Florence Pugh, both Oscar nominees, and while plot details have not been revealed, production company StudioCanal describes the drama as a “funny, deeply moving and immersive love story”. The film has been picked up by renowned US distributors A24, who were behind Oscars juggernaut Everything Everywhere All at Once, with We Live in Time expected to be given a strong awards push ahead of next year's Oscars."

Link to full article here: https://www.msn.com/en-ie/entertainment/movies/oscars-2025-the-irish-actors-and-filmmakers-who-could-be-in-the-running-at-next-years-academy-awards/ar-BB1jLxoe

Thank you so much for responding! Yes, yes, and yes on the adorable and the feel good vibes. You are so talented a writer at both the extreme emotional-tragic-dark-heart hurt fictions AND the softer, kinder, head-over-heels stories. Sometimes I am fragile enough that the latter is just what I need to keep the light of hope burning inside so thank you for that.

A sequel? I'd like to know more, a lot more, of the bookstore romance from the moodboard story, Echo Your Name. Has the owner any secrets beyond thinking Peter is captivating, quiet, and handsome? Was the store started by the owner? An inheritance from a family member? A collector of unwanted unloved tomes that need loving homes? What's going on in Peter's head as he runs his fingers along the spines? Is he imagining the owner's skin under his fingers? Tell me more, please?

Ooooooh that's one I haven't thought of in a long time and I love it!

Echo Your Name

I was imagining a family owned book store that has a small town feel to it and is full of used books. Maybe it's been in her family for a few generations. They're trying to stay afloat in today's world where the internet has taken over and less and less people are searching for physical books. Which is why she probably gets in trouble for giving Peter so many discounts.

The first day Peter went in there was to find a specific sci-fi book that he's been searching for. I always headcanon him to be a thrifter type person and always go for the used options over brand new. So, naturally, he'd seek out a used bookstore to find what he's looking for. The first time he went in was for a book. Every other time he's walked in, it's always to see if she's working and to "browse" the books, picking things at random, just so he can talk to her. And even though he's picking books out without much thought, he does read them all! He wants to widen his book knowledge so he can get closer to her, thinking that it'll impress her.

I also like to think that there's a small coffee shop attached to the bookstore. It's probably where they actually get most of their business. Grab a book, buy a coffee and pastry, and curl up on a comfy couch for an hour or so to enjoy. That's where they would have their first date. They would talk books and Peter would ask a million questions about her life and the bookstore. Any time she'd try to ask questions about him, he'd flip it on back to her, always being the secretive type. It would become a weekend tradition for them. Sometimes they would just read quietly side by side, other times they would talk for hours, occasionally he'd help her organize the books and clean up.

The most adorable and soft "fall in love at a bookstore" vibes ever.

Side Note

These are some pics from my favorite independent bookstore that is located in an old mill building that I used to go to all the time when I was a teenager:

Those are very similar vibes to what I was imagining. Old wooden floors, beat up chairs and benches, used books everywhere, big windows, little coffee shop to sit and chat

Welp, I was going to reblog and comment on this superb sequel but suffice it to say, @blooming-violets with the best play-by-play/kiss-by-kiss review pretty much eclipsed anything and everything with such excellent descriptions I will simply applaud and say very well done and welcome back--to both of you! Honey is hands down a character with depth and emotion and fight and all the good stuff I can't stop reading.

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

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

words: 11.8k (omfg)

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

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

names used: daddy, princess, baby, babygirl

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

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

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

#1 - Love on the Brain

>>> heya boss. how’s your trip? 😜

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

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

He rolled his eyes, swallowing back an irritated snort.

Real mature, Felicia. 

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

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

An understatement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Honey was unimpressed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, that dress. 

Peter planned for everything—but not that dress. 

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

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

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

Truthfully, he needed her to come home.

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

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

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

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

Followed quickly by—

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

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

Five restaurants later...

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

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

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

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

>>> ...???? 

He rolled his eyes. Tapped out a response.

<<< Not great.

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

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

“Like what?” she questioned skeptically.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peter felt his blood pressure rising.

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

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

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

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

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

“Pedro.”

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

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

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

Buzz..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was flailing. Pathetic.

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

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

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

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

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

“This is as far as you go.” 

Peter blinked, looking at her in confusion.

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

Peter curled a brow upwards. “Sorry?” 

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

He took a step back, blinking owlishly. 

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

A literal ellipsis formed in his mind. 

Peter swallowed hard. “Uhhh—?”

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

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

“You know!?”

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

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

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

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

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

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

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

“Honey, please. Let me explain—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unbelievable.

Absolutely unacceptable. 

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

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

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

He was a little bitch.

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

The door swung open. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s my girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not a rabbit. A honey badger, then.

“Get off of me!” Honey spat.

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

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

“Mmffucker—Let me go!”

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

“No.” 

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

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

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

He hoped she would. 

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

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

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

Brave girl. 

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

Pointless, though. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking asshole!” Honey sneered.

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

“Fuck you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was exquisite and expensive. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peter was unimpressed. “Liar.”

“M’not lying—!”

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

“Fuck you! What do you know—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey—Eyes on me,” he commanded.

Mesmerized, Honey blinked up at him like a fawn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

RIP!

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

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

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

“I don’t care.”

“—re’such an asshole—”

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

“You left me!” she fired back.

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

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

“What was my drink order?”

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

Her brows pinched together. “Huh—?”

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

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

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

She arched a brow. 

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

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

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

Honey and Lavender. 

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

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

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

Reluctantly, she nodded.

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

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

Still, it was a risk he had to take. 

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

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

That word settled like a boulder crushing his chest.

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

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

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

There he is. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh…uhm—?”

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

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

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

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

“Sorry,” he muttered, not sorry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

He needed more of that sound.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But she was his wild colt. Difficult to break.

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

“Fuck—gah—ohhhhh…”

He licked up each broken syllable.

“Yes! Oh, god, yes! Oh—” 

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

“...Pedro.”

Halt.

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

Mischievously, Honey’s grin widened. 

She got him, alright. 

Flawless victory.

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

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

Now, she was in trouble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was in trouble. But was she in danger?

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

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

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

“Ple-please—“

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

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

The savage tone contrasted with the glow of his eyes. 

It was always opposites with him.

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

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

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

Or… if she wanted it.

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

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

That was a mistake and an impossible endeavor. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another slap to her cunt made her whole body shake. 

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

Slap. 

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

Slap! Slap! Slap!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, yes—He was weak for that sound.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck—she was going to come from this. 

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

Then, another sharp slap. 

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

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

He sucked on her clit.  “Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

He simply grinned.

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

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

“Mmm...m’sorr—ow—agh!”

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

“Pleasepleasepleaseyes—it’syoursit’syoursallyours—”

His eyes swam over her body, drunk with lust.

All mine. 

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

But he was willing to pivot.

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

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

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

And god, she'd forgotten he was thick.

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

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

More. She wanted more.

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

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

He paused. 

Uh-oh. Did she say that out lo—?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was magnificent. 

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

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

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

Perverse. Debauched. Divine. It made her lightheaded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He snickered as if he’d won a prize. 

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

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

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

Embarrassment flooded her despite her persistent mewling. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

All he could think of was more. 

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

“All mine, all mine…”

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

Then—He’d make her his whore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. 

More. Of. That.

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

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

“Everything,” he corrected.

“Everythi—god—I’m yours, Pete—ahh!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wondered. 

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

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

Unlikely.

He marveled. 

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

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

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

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

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

He saw the ellipsis bubbling up on his screen. 

<<< Not another word.

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

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

Nothing worth waiting for ever is.

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

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

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

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

Not just any cat.

She unlocked the phone to see the latest message.

>>> how’d it go? u give him hell?

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

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

There was the one from last month:

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

Then one from last week:

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

And these:

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

Finally, there was a clear instruction sent earlier today.

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

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

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

<<< Sure did.

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

Tragic tragic plot but well done. I think this was the movie where Eva Mendes and Ryan Gosling developed a relationship that has since continued. Two talented artists with wide range and commitment to producing good work.