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lokisgoodgirl · 1 year

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The Legend of Long-Dong Laufeyson [Pirate!Loki x Fem.Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: A stranger with a mysterious legend in tow visits your tavern. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut (Multi) Ridiculous HC lore. Language. Abandon canon all ye who enter here (w/c 4.8k) A/N: I quite clearly used elements of POTC for inspiration, I hope you enjoy this little piece of nonsense. Poss part of a larger thing, we'll see.

“Do you know who that is?” Scarlett whispered, her eyes wide. You had seen her scoot over from the other side of the tavern with mischief in her stride, and something else; fear. None of the patrons seemed in the mood for a fight this evening but still, something was...off. You set two overflowing tankards of ale down before turning towards her with an aggravated smile. “Who?” She nodded towards the bar, where several bedraggled pirates lay slouched in various stages of consciousness. “I doubt even they know their own names.” you snorted, starting to turn before she grabbed your forearm, jolting you further around. “No, him.”

As she said it, your eyes found the tall figure shrouded in half-shadows leaning against the wall. The brim of a triangular hat covered his eyes, wisps of wild hair fluttering in the evening breeze from the open doorway. “That’s Long-Dong Laufeyson.” Scarlett hissed. “Don’t be a fool” you spat, “Long-Dong hasn’t been seen in years. He’s a fugitive, wanted for that business with the-” Scarlett nodded feverishly. “-with the governor's daughter, yes.”

The figure swirled the tankard in his grip, staring at it intently. You could just make out his infamous jawline beneath the shadows; cheekbones sharp and curved like the bow of a ship.

He wore a dark waistcoat, trimmed with gold thread and heavy buttons. A linen shirt hung low on his chest, the sliver of taut skin drawing your eye before falling to the loose ruffles hanging from billowing sleeves. The outline of his biceps were visible beneath the voluminous fabric; altogether too white to belong to anyone sleeping in hog barns or cargo holds. The leather waistcoat nipped in to his thick torso, the buttons straining lightly. The shirt was casually tucked into the waistband of his tight trousers. Too tight for climbing up mast-lines. Your analytical eyes ran from the leather strap diagonally buckled to his torso to the knee-high boots which glinted in the candlelight. He was clean. Too clean. This was no fugitive. And no pirate, either. Scarlett leant closer. “They say he can only come on land once every five years...” You scoffed, batting her away and offering a brief curtsey and a leer down your cleavage to the men seated at the table. “It’s true!” Scarlett whined, tugging the back of your apron as you padded over the cobbled floor towards the bar. “I have work to do.” you mumbled, trying not to look at the mysterious figure in the corner. She pulled your apron again, making you spin with a warning growl. “They say his night spent on land...that he picks one woman and…” she trailed off. “And what?” you snapped, folding your arms.

Scarlett’s eyes flickered to the side, checking for eavesdroppers. Her hand grasped your wrist again, pulling you both to lean on the bar. One of the comatose drunks stirred, foam drooling from his open lips. You’d never seen her so worked up, and considering penchant for the dramatic; you were impressed. “That he picks one woman, and fucks ‘er mad.” You snorted, a relieved smile stretching across your face. “Ai, Scarlett. You shouldn’t believe the tall tales men tell. Especially these men.” You cast an elbow behind you, hitting one of the drunk pirates shoulders. He raised his head, a mess of hair like a birds nest; eyes rolling. “Ehy-my quarterdeck ye lowly biscuit-eater...cleave him to the brisket..” he slurred, before his head fell back to the wood with a thump. “Besides” you continued. “He won’t find any governor's daughters in this shithole if that’s his type.” Scarlett was staring over your shoulder, entranced. “Look...look” she hissed. “The medallions wound in ‘is hair. Solid gold, they say. And every one, a woman’s soul.” You rolled your eyes, as she continued in hushed tones. “They say that when the poor bitch he’s fuckin’ is having’ her last climax...you know, the one that addles her mind...she can hear the voices of all the other ladies howlin’ his name as their sanity melts with pleasure...” A roar of raucous laughter erupted from the other side of the tavern. Your stare narrowed at the near-hysterical girl in front of you. “We need to get back to work, Lottie. It’s busy tonight.” She nodded reluctantly, before the colour drained from her face.

Her wide eyes were focused over your left shoulder, fingers pulling at the tuck of your apron. “Go.” you murmured. Years as the owner of a place like this had taught you when you were being approached from behind, however soft the footsteps. She scuttled away, immediately busying herself with the group of lively men at the rear of the tavern. “Can I help yo-” The question evaporated on your tongue as you spun to face the infamous Long-Dong Laufeyson. The tricorn hat had been pushed upwards slightly, the angles of his exquisite bone structure a chasm of shadows in the candlelight. “Am I to understand you are the proprietor of this establishment?” You snorted, flexing your fingers in a fist. This man is no pirate, you thought again; letting the breathe that had caught in your throat settle. He was too well spoken, the heavy English accent as dark and deep as dead man’s trench. It was too unassuaged by drink and hardship and rough sea air. In other words, too perfect. “Who wants to know?” He let out a measured chuckle. “I think you know. Your wench gave my introductions, did she not?”

You felt your cheeks heat, taking a defiant step towards him. “Strangers are always welcome in my tavern, sir.” you said, firmly. “But brutishness will not be tolerated.” His deep blue eyes searched yours, looking to discover any untruth in your words. Seemingly, he found none. “Of that I am certain, Madam.” he purred, reverently. You stared at him, lips pursed; breathing through your nostrils. The pulse in your neck was fast. Heavy. “You think it lies?” he murmured, pinching a curl which fell over your collarbone and swiping it backwards. “My...legend?” “When you work in my business long enough, you realise most everything is lies.” you said coldly, tilting your chin up as all your concentration focused on slowing your breaths. “And I’ll thank you not to touch me.” The man leant on the bar, the bend of his elbow creasing the leather of his waistcoat across his wide chest. He removed his hat. “Captain Laufeyson, at your service.” he murmured knowingly, tossing the headpiece on the counter. It was impossible now not to notice the tiny gold medallions woven into the lengths of his hair, linked in strands and dispersed throughout the dark mane like embers in the night sky. Like stars, you thought; trying to count them. “Nineteen.” he noted quietly, before taking a sip of mead. “Don’t you need a ship to be a captain?” you sniffed, mirroring his stance on the bar. “I haven’t seen any new bodies in the harbour.” He released a mirthless chuckle. “I have a ship, my lady. Your next question?” His face tilted towards you, making your breath hitch. The Captain’s dark lashes framed entrancing almond eyes, his alabaster skin smooth and seemingly untouched by abrasive ocean air and burning sun. “There’s a rumour about you. Abducting women and driving them mad. Pretty disgraceful even for a pirate.” you sneered, swiping a trail of mead from the counter-top. “Seduction, Madam...not abduction.” he hummed calmly while you scoffed. “And I prefer the term freedom, to madness.” He took another sip with his eyes fixed on you. Foam gathered on his top lip as he lowered the tankard, his keen stare glinting as he watched you observe his tongue flick out and lick it away. “You are a woman of the world, and no virgin I’d wager…” he murmured, narrowing his eyes playfully. “But I would wager also that you know such myths among the folk do not simply appear from thin air.” He twirled a coin in his fingers, before making it vanish beneath his thumb. “Do you believe in magic, I wonder...” he purred, making your breath hitch as his eyelashes fluttered upwards.

You could have sworn you saw the greenish blues of his irises ripple. “No.” you said plainly, watching his lip tug upwards in a clandestine smirk. Suddenly you noticed that a hush had descended over the tavern, and that more eyes than were safe had fallen on you both. “You should get out of here, there’s still a bounty on your head.” you snipped, seeing his smile stretch wider.

“Ah, so the Governor discovered us then.” he chuckled. You folded your arms. “She ran away before the wedding to her betrothed, and not before she told her father all about what you did.” you spat. The Captain raised an eyebrow expectantly. “Ran away, you say?” he pondered quietly. “Good for her.” “That was a smart match. You ruined that poor girl…” you chided, running your eyes down the maddening leather strap hanging sluttishly across his chest. He adjusted the ruffles of his cuffs, before placing the tricorn hat back on its jaunty angle. “You say ruin, I say...liberated.” he coyed, leaning forward.

His breath was sweet and warm, a tang of sea salt hanging on the rough edges of his curls. “I spared her from a life of misery, and you know it.” he whispered. “Now, enough of these inane pleasantries...come and see my vessel.” You raised an eyebrow, dumbstruck by his proposition. The man leant closer, the scent of leather and spices filling your nostrils.

“I recognise the yearning inside you. The resolute and unyielding need.” he hummed, making your thighs squeeze together. “The one that craves adventure away from these…” he cast a glance over his shoulder to the pirate now hanging dangerously over the edge of the counter-top; “...cretins.” he finished with a sneer. You snorted. “I’ve seen enough vessels in my time, Sir. I am certain yours is nothing special.” you scoffed, an awkward laugh making it’s way between the words. Your stomach flipped as the candle on the bar between you flickered, warmth nestling in the shallow of his cheekbones.

“Good lady...” he purred deeply, trailing off as he dipped one wide fingertip in the pooling wax. You watched it harden in seconds, feeling your heart beat faster beneath your corset. He rubbed his thumb against the smooth white cap cupping the long digit, a smile curling at his lips. “I can assure you, that you have never boarded a vessel like mine.”

A wisp of cloud webbed the moon as you walked with the stranger to the harbour. There was no sound save the eery lapping of water at the helm of the barges tethered close to the side of the stone jetty. You pulled the shawl tighter around your arms, a barrier to the unseasonal chill. Your companion’s boots thudded against the rough walkway, clunking buckles punctuating every purposeful stride. The soft jingle of the golden medallions in his hair was soothing, if you didn’t think too much about what Scarlett had said. You shivered. “So, what do I call you?” you muttered, scouting around at the ships dotted further out in the basin. The stranger chuckled, saying nothing. “Long-Dong?” you scoffed, as a gust of sea air skated up your long skirts. “Captain? Allegedly…” you grumbled, casting another look around the port. You had reached the end of the jetty, passing the final ship at anchor. Crossing your arms, you stopped. This had gone on long enough. “And what kind of name is Laufey-son anyway? That sounds a fiction too, like the rest of it.” “Long-Dong, Captain, Laufeyson…all correct, Madam. All very much...verifiable.” he smarmed, turning with a flourish at the very edge of the jetty. You scoffed, a reluctant smile twitching. He was mad, of course; but weren’t they all.

“Close your eyes.” he murmured, skirting his hands beneath the open tunic to rest on his hips. It was your turn to chuckle. “I wasn’t born yesterday Long-Dong.” you sneered, seeing him shrug.

“Merely trying to save your sanity, darling.” he said coyly, before spreading his palm; waving it gracefully in a practised half-crescent. You gasped, eyes widening as a huge frigate vessel painted itself into the air before you, moving from left to right. Its mammoth form rippled across the ocean below it, as still as glass. Barnacles clung to the black hull, rigging rising to the moon as it assembled itself like a mirage dwarfing the smaller ships around you. Six huge sails unfurled theatrically with a deafening roar, catching against the breeze; flickering, before the vision settled. Muted thumps sounded as a dozen canons came into view, slotting against shadowed gunports carved into the side. A flag blew proudly at the bow, despite the lack of strong wind. You squinted, making out a skull with two daggers through the eyes bathed in the bright light of the moon. Your mouth hung open, before you felt the pirate’s fingers nudge it closed. “You haven’t seen anything yet, Madam.” he whispered, as a gangway appeared by your feet. “Who a-are you?” you choked, feeling your feet drawn up the narrow walkway of their own accord. The man said nothing, following behind with a hand lightly clasped to your waist. You drew your skirts up, stepping onto the deck with trepidation. The air was eerily still, a warm calm infusing the air like static. The Captain’s heavy steps came to a stop, his breath fanning your cheek. The only sound was the light jingle of the gold woven into his hair; melodic and ghostly. “Come.” he murmured, winding his fingers through yours. The cool metal of his rings stung against your skin, clasping tightly. He led you across the ship to the steps up towards the quarterdeck.

“Where are the crew?” you questioned quietly, seeing the man shoot a glance over his shoulder with a coy smile as he led you up the steep steps to the next level of the boat. His eyes caught yours, dark in the shadow of the moon, before fluttering downward. “Do you wish me to open your mind this night, Madam?” the figure purred, releasing you with a flourish, making you stumble against the helm.

Your fingers wrapped around the raised wooden nodules, making the wheel sway with your weight. “I think...you have already..I don’t know what you are but-and why do you only show up every five years...what is this?” The pirate placed a finger on your lips, pressing his hips to yours. The heavy buttons of his tunic dug against your ribs as he lifted his hat and threw it to the wooden slats below. “I have other business to attend to during my absences, which does not concern you.” he said sharply. “Your little corner of this world offers...freedom. And I enjoy bestowing it on those like yourself. Constrained, but yearning for more...” he muttered, sliding the finger under your chin and raising it to meet his gaze. Those piercing eyes searched yours, hunting for resistance. He found none. The ruffles of his sleeves scraped your cheeks as he cupped your face in his palms, pressing his mouth to yours in a dirty kiss. The pirate’s warm tongue slipped around your own, deep moans rumbling from his chest as the heavy protrusions from the ship’s wheel pressed into your back.

You ran your hands beneath the waistcoat. The baggy shirt tucked into his leather trousers came away with a tug, allowing your wandering fingers to brush against his lower back. He pressed his tongue deeper as your fingernails scraped down, hips rocking into your body.

For the first time, you felt something hard and furious press against you, a ravenous pillar of flesh ready to ruin what was left of any innocence you might have. The legend itself. “W-where...where are your crew?” you panted slowly as you both broke for breath. His hair hung in messy tendrils around his jaw, medallions glinting in the cool light. A condescending smirk tugged at his lips as his eyes narrowed playfully. “My dear, they’re already here. Can’t you feel them?” he hummed, making a violent shiver roll down your spine. A low whistle sounded from the starboard, followed by another lower pitched call in response from the crows nest. Your head whipped back and forth, trying to track the fleeting noises. Another low, long whistle. And then another. Bodies began to appear like smoke in the darkness, shapes forming from shadows turned flesh. Your breaths became short as figures appeared leant on barrels; hung against rigging, stood on the very planks you had trod only minutes before.

His crew were dressed in seafaring garbs, scarves wound around their heads, ribbons holding back dark locks or falling in salt-clumped wisps. In their hands they held their work, seeming to have stopped their ghostly duties in mid-stride. Every set of keen eyes was trained on you; pinned helplessly by their captain at the ship’s wheel. There were dozens of them, all different and yet-

Him. They were all him. “Sir…” you whispered, fear washing over you as another warm breeze rolled across the quarterdeck. The Captain let out a mirthless laugh, rubbing his long cock against your thigh through the rough fabric. “They will not harm you, they are under my command.” he whispered in your ear, a clutch of medallions in his hair nestling in the hollow of your collarbone. “But they do like to watch.” “W-who...what are you?!” you gasped, as one of his hands slid firmly down your waist, grasping at the lengths of your skirts. “So many questions, and yet so little capacity to truly understand.” he murmured, finding purchase on the soft flesh of your thigh. In a moment of panic, you slapped him. He rubbed the skin, stepping backwards with a smirk. You grabbed a fistful of the skirts at your thighs, barrelling down the stairs to the main deck; pushing past the ghostly figures you soon discovered were all too real. You jumped as one appeared to the gangway, reclining shirtless across the gap to the exit with a bottle of rum swinging between lightly clasped fingers. Another gasp escaped you, seeing his carved stomach muscles clenching in the soft Caribbean moonlight. This figure’s hair was tied back in a faded silk ribbon, the pantaloons wrapped around his bare midriff fluttering in the breeze. Stumbling backwards, you tripped on a raised grate. You screamed, visions of unceremoniously breaking your neck on the deck of an impossible ghost-ship flashing through your mind in freefall before feeling the wind knocked out of your lungs.

A strong arm had wrapped around your waist, swinging you upwards into the endless starry night.

One of the Captain’s identical minions clasped you to his chest with his other hand wound around a long-line of rope from the mast-line. His wild hair whipped backwards, exposing familiar jagged cheekbones set in a grimace as you screamed into the night. You buried your face in his neck, feeling a soft chuckle radiate through his shoulder.

Squeezing your eyes shut, your stomach flipped as the two of you swung backwards; landing with a heavy thump on the quarterdeck at the Captain’s feet. “Thank you.” their leader muttered, pacing calmly in a circle with his hands clasped behind his back. The crewman nodded, his boots thumping softly as he descended the staircase back to his post. “Madam, I told you; you are under no obligation to me. You are free to go if that is what you wish, you only have to say the words. But I must insist that etiquette is observed. No brutishness, as you say, will be tolerated.” You looked up, hair sticking to your lips and strewn across your forehead. The man’s angular face was ethereal against the night sky; his fairness luminescent as he extended his hand in front of your wide-eyed stare. “Adventure.” he murmured knowingly, making a thrill race through you. Had you not known that the legends were true? Is that not why you had come? “Show me…” you whispered, rising to your feet with your head held high. “Show me why they talk of you the way they do.” “Madam, I thought you would never ask.” he purred. He stepped towards you, making you automatically shuffle backwards. Your spine met the mizzenmast with a thud, the boning of your corset sitting tight against the thick wooden pole as he pressed closer. Your fingers flew to the cords of the trousers, untying them frantically as he hissed above. His hair fell around your downturned face, the two of you watching his mighty cock released from the confines of the leather. The hem of the billowing shirt fell messily around his hips, the sight making your breath hitch. “As I said. Verifiable, Madam.” he chuckled, echoing your earlier scepticism of his moniker. A whimper slid past your parted lips as you wrapped your whole palm around the girth. “You will always remember the night you were fucked by Long-Dong Laufeyson, I promise you.” he murmured solemnly into your groan of anticipation, long fingers digging into the soft flesh at the back of your thighs. With the smallest of jumps, your calves were bound tight around his hips; the long skirts of your dress falling obediently to the sides. His wide tip slid across your messy entrance, nudging inward. “Are you ready to be freed, pet?” he hummed. A series of pants and gasps of approval were all your could muster as he began to squeeze his thick cock inside your tight heat, every inch making your eyes roll back further as you arched against the mast. “C-captain…” you keened, relishing the shudder of desire racing up his body as he bottomed out with a guttural moan. One of his hands steadied your hips against his own, the thick metal of his rings digging into the curve while the other found it’s way to the mast above your head.

His hips pumped upwards in slow, devastating thrusts; circling methodically as his length dragged against every pocket of pleasure buried deep inside. “G-gods..” he stammered nonsensically, the scrape of his fingernails on the wood above your head making you buck into him. His moans were primal, the tilt of his jaw to the sky drawing you forward to suck the irrisitable pulsing vein on his neck. You wound your hands in his hair, catching on the golden medallions woven through it. He hissed as you tugged gently, the jingling of the metal punctuating every measured mount of his cock into your soaking pussy.

“More…” you whispered between high pitched whimpers of pleasure. You could see several of his crew members out the corner of your eye leaning observantly against the side of the boat, silently watching their Captain at work. “More?” he growled, “My Lady…you are a mischievous one, aren’t you?” You whimpered again, feeling the crest of climax swelling.

“One for me, then one for them. Do we have an accord?” he purred knowingly, squatting lower before pumping upwards. The movement shoved you higher on the mast with a cry of pleasure, your hands flying above your head around the thick column of wood. The Captain’s grip pinned you in place, fucking you mercilessly over the precipice with a garbled moan of curses to the night sky. You saw stars behind your eyelids as he hummed approvingly, milking the leaking arousal from your core onto his manhood with slow thrusts before letting you slide gently to meet the solid deck below. “Gentleman.” the Captain commanded, a casual wave of his hand summoning two of his duplicates from their positions lounged at the side of the ship. A third appeared ascending the steps to the quarterdeck, the shirtless crewman who had blocked your earlier misguided escape attempt. The Captain slid his manhood from between your legs, his hand immediately taking the place of where your pussy had gripped it moments before. You watched in heady awe as the shirtless duplicate lay down on his back upon the deck, propped up on his elbows just below the ship’s wheel. The moonlight caught every ripple of muscle across his clenched abdomen, raven hair falling in tendrils from its silk tie. He raised his knees, eyebrow arching as he ran a lustful gaze over your bedraggled form. His two fellows stood to either side, waiting for their orders. “I think they wish to see what’s beneath those pretty skirts, darling. Indulge them, won’t you?” the Captain coyed, beginning to unlace the corset bound to your chest with the hand not slowly palming along his length. You followed his lead, divesting yourself of the layers of clothing that seemed unfitting in this maddening harbour of sexual impossibility. The skirts and corset pooled around your ankles, before you kicked them to the side. You stood naked in the low light of the clear night sky, moonlight bathing every inch of your body for the eyes that stared rapturously from all sides; coveting every curve. The man lying down beckoned. Your eyes flew to the Captain, now perched against a barrel. His cock was stiff with furious desire, the slow drag of his calloused fingers up the length of velvet flesh making your thighs clench. He nodded.

Silently, you made your way to his double lying on the ground; standing with your feet on either side of his torso. He made a twirling motion with his finger, and you obediently turned to face his feet before sinking down to meet his bare chest. The slick of your cum glided against his cool skin, making you rock deeper before feeling familiar hands cup your hipbones and pull you backwards. You gasped, feeling his warm tongue nestle between your folds. It flicked your clitoris, working around the delicate flesh as he discovered each curve and valley of your sex. Your hands curled against his hard stomach, grasping for purchase before a shadow covered the moon above you. Another double of the Captain sank to the deck, straddling his fellow crewman’s abdomen. He pulled you into a deep kiss, the rough cotton of his shirt catching beneath your fingertips as you ran your hands greedily over his shoulders. Fingers toyed at your hardened nipples as the form between your thighs lapped at your dripping pussy. His flattened tongue massaged and swept with delicious enthusiasm, every lick accompanied by a muffled groan of pleasure that left you desperate to flood his open mouth. But not yet, you thought desperately. Fuck, please not yet. You groaned like a whore as the crewman in front of you palmed your naked breasts, sucking needy kisses into your neck accompanied by low growls. He wanted you. They all did. He pulled you forward lightly, positioning you further on all fours. You whimpered at the loss of contact from the pirate beneath you; before his wet ministrations began again; neck craned upwards. You glanced down, seeing the clench of his abdominal muscles straining from the effort. A breathy moan from deep in your throat filled the air, making the duplicates chuckle in synchronicity. The Captain hand-fucking himself to the side was the loudest of all. “My mischievous wench…” their leader groaned, before biting his lip. His eyes were fire, the smouldering embers flickering in shadow. “You look so beautiful thus, being pleasured in the moonlight by my loyal crew...” You tore your eyes from his and glanced over your shoulder, seeing a third copy of the Captain dressed in a worn tunic and loose pants sink to his knees. Hair fell loose around his jawline, a deep scar running down one cheek. The one with his tongue slipping inside your wet heat rested back on the third’s thighs, pulling your hips back onto his flattened muscle with a strangled moan. Your vision began to blur, your disbelieving mind struggling to catch up as the new addition brought a finger to his lips and coated it liberally. His lust-filled eyes narrowed as he drew the digit out with agonising slowness, sucking in the hollow of his cheekbones. You felt climax surging, before the vision in front of you nudged your head back to face him. His tongue slid inside your mouth, caressing your nipples as tendrils of unrestrained pleasure curled through your veins. The newest member of your party began to tease at your asshole, the slippery digit massaging the forbidden entrance. You clenched, feeling the crewman between your thighs let out a grunt of anticipation as your head fell back, lips parted as whines of pleasure bounced between the sails fluttering above. A finger slid gently inside the tight entrance, curling gently against the curve of your body. His face burrowed into your neck, releasing deep moans as he pleasured you slowly to the knuckles.

The man in front sank down, latching his lips to one of your nipples and beginning to suck while rolling the other with his thumb. Shallow pants from the Captain broke through your haze, opening your eyes to meet his. His enormous cock was leaking over the tight fist slowly gliding up and down; a wet slick glistening under the light of the full moon as he watched. You raised one hand to pull the head of the man behind you further into the crook of your neck, the other winding in the dark curls of the crewman latched to your breast. Their Captain’s brow furrowed, his jaw slackening as he mirrored your expression. The grip of the crewman pleasuring your pussy tightened, his laps becoming messy and ravenous as he pushed you further to the brink.

All three worked in tandem, rocking you towards your undoing. Orgasm rose and blossomed like a tropical storm in your belly. The lustful pants of the three men were music, each a perfectly mistimed cacophony of pure sex.

With a howl of pleasure, you came undone in a mess of endless, juddering spasms. Your thighs tightened around the midriff of the man beneath you, knuckles turning white on the fists gripping the hair of the other two as they made your world disintegrate with their mouths and fingers. Through it all, your eyes never left the smouldering gaze of the Captain; the steady pace of his grip around his mighty cock never faltering. His fingers uncurled from the thick length between his thighs, before giving two short claps. You gasped as the three crewman vanished, leaving you a dripping naked mess strewn on the boards. Looking around, there was no trace of them; the eery silence of the ship returning in the pale blue light bouncing from the ocean. You looked up at the pirate captain stalking forwards, every pace of his heavy boots making unleashed desire thunder in your heart. He extended his hand, still warm from friction. The stranger pulled you to his chest as soon as your fingers met his own, a growl of desire rumbling as he ran his hands wantonly over your naked curves. A shudder ran down your spine as he gripped your ass, the sudden realisation of knowing that you would never be the same. “Who are you…?” you whispered to the breeze, expecting the same silence that had greeted you the many times before. “I am Loki, of Asgard” he murmured darkly, before placing a wet suck over the bruises appearing on your neck. You could feel the blood breaking through the vessels as he marked you with a black spot of remembrance. A curse, perhaps. You smiled against his hair, hearing the golden jangling of the medallions as he rubbed his length possessively against your mound. “I think I preferred Long-Dong...” you gasped through a giggle, before he threw you over his shoulder and turned towards a pair of ageing doors; kicking them open with a heavy thud.

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bun-z-bakery · 16 days

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(Repost from my abandoned account) these are just my personal head canons for dogday. this is a survivor au

(All characters are over 18 btw)

-dogday sometimes has dog like tendencies, like growling, barking etc.

-he doesn't remember a lot about his life as a worker but will share stories he remembers of his human life once you two become close.

-man is like a love sick puppy. First you save him? Give him legs? AND a home?! And his friends are here too?! You really are his angel.

-he's very protective of his angel. He can't have anyone take them away or even hurt them. Plus all those years locked away, he can't loose you, you're his hope.

-this man will most certainly plan his confession, script and all. Maybe you're away at work and this is something he's been working on for a while. He's always bringing you little gifts on his hunting trips (depending on if you like to collect rocks and such) but this dude went out of his way to find the best of the best. Even somehow found flowers beautiful enough to almost rival your beauty, keyword: almost.

-he enjoys spending time with you, poppy and kissy, he enjoys playing outside with you three, even if you guys have been out of the factory for years already. They still enjoy the outside world.

-I know bro is huge, like dude is taller than an American door way (according to some measurements fans have made, hes 9'5) if you're a shorty (like me 5 feet even😭) he will most definitely pick you up and carry you like a dogtoy. He likes the feeling of carrying his angel, it gives him a sense of pride doing so. Even if you accidentally hit the ceiling or he needs to really get down so you don't hit the top of the doorframe, he will always apologize or joke about it.

-he's a cuddler, he LOVES cuddling! He has his own giant dog bed in your shared room, but he prefers to sleep on your shared bed. If you're away from work and he's eepy, he'll pass out on your bed because it smells like you. Your scent keeps him at bay until you come home. Poor guy will shoot up and push anyone out of his way to be the first to get to you! He sits there on the floor waiting for his mandatory headpats and kisses as soon as he hears your keys.

-it takes his brain a few minutes to properly turn on. After all those years he finally gets proper sleep, I can imagine you waking up first and getting ready for the day to prepare breakfast for the group and you poke him, trying to wake him. He'll mumble some random stuff about not letting rats do taxes then fall back asleep only to be woken again by your pokes still talking nonsense. I can also see him sometimes waking up confused, you know like when you wake up your parents and they're mad for no reason asking what's wrong while gasping for air? (Just me?) I can see him being THAT dead asleep bhahsha

-my take on the survivor au is more of a modern take (as in yes the factory closed years also but reader is possibly in early to late 20s sometime in 20xx / non specified year) so they weren't an employee but probably knew someone like a family member who worked there or was dared to enter the factory (we'll see if I ever post my fanfic haha as these hcs kinda tie into that story) so dogday being alive in the 80s or 90s he probably has like the old school idea of love and attempts to swoon you as such. The flowers, cheesy pick up lines.

-I can imagine because he's not up to date with the newer terms and he might be confused while trying to seem cool haha. "Angel what does rizzler mean?" (Poor peepaw)

- Personally I love the theory that DogDay is an ex worker aka Rich. Which is probably why he was the leader of the smiling critters. Because he was mature enough to make sure everyone was in line/well behaved, I also think some other workers were turned into the mascots too (obviously) but maybe they trusted Rich more so they just threw him into the dance circle and hope that he'd be a good leader.

- this one ties into the first one btw! I like the think that maybe he was one of the mascots when he worked there. Like a guy in the costume who worked with the kids (hence the zipper, how else would the workers get into the bigger body suits?)

- I like to think DogDay likes when Angel calls him by his old human name. Maybe once he opens up more about his human life (or at least bringing up some of the memories he still has) he just randomly brings up his name when talking about a memory and hearing Angel repeat his name back, he'd probably like hearing it. It might make him feel like less of a monster in a sense. Granted I think he wouldn't care about what Angel calls him but he would most definitely prefer for them to alternate. Like you know when someone makes you mad and you use their real name instead of their nickname? He'd hate for his Angel to get mad, especially at him. But when living with 3 other people it can get a bit hectic.

"DogDay! Did you bring mud into the house?!"

"N-No!... "

*silence*

"RICH, WHERE ARE YOU?!"

*footsteps are heard and DogDay bolts out the door*

- Now this head canon I have can go either one of two ways, right? Hear me out. Listen up, listen carefully, and listen closely. (Lmk if you got that reference) ok so back to the zipper! I think the zipper just opens to his organs tbh like the zipper was just left functional in case he needed to be "repaired internally". BUT another thought, I also can see there being some sort of barrier! You know those stuff animals who have their stuffing blocked by a barrier so it doesn't fall out but the zipper opens to a compartment where you can store items? I kinda think that's whats there tbh, I mean it makes sense. What if one of the kids opened the zipper by mistake? Surely there would be a barrier just in case.

- as I mentioned in the last hc post, I can see him trying to swoon Angel in the old romantic type of way. I can see him pinning after Angel hard, at first they wouldn't get the hint, they'd probably think he's thinks he's indebted to them for rescuing them and giving the 3 of them a better and new life. But quickly they realize bro is in love. Of course poppy teases him about it too at some point lol. He doesn't really try to hide it either. I can see poppy and kissy thinking it's sweet and first then they get annoyed once you're the only thing he talk about lol.

- You're married. That's all! No but I can see in his mind you two are basically married. He'd probably want to have new custom star collars made for both of you or maybe even a ring for you and a matching collar or something for him to wear and propose. Of course it will bother him a bit because he can't go out with you, take you on dates or show you off but he trusts you (even though he gets jealous when you smell like someone else) he basically tries his best with what you guys have (If only there was a holiday that came once a year where you guys could go out dressed in customs without looking like freaks).

- He looks like the type of guy who would love pasta. I'm not sure why or how this even came into mind but I just feel like that's what he often wants for dinner. Poppy would probably eat fruit for dinner, kissy isn't really picky, but Dogday would probably be asking for either pasta or meat. Also I think Angel would be hesitant to feed certain foods to Dogday because you know, he's a dog (not really but hear me out) but because he acts like one at times I could see Angel being like haha nope you can't eat this!

*Angel eating chocolate cookies*

"May I have some?" *cutely pouts*

"I don't want you dying, love."

"You know I'm not actually a dog...right?"

ok ok you got me there" (they just really didn't wanna share lol)

- tbh this is more of a general head canon for the toys but I seeing as they had to resort to c*nnibalism. They clearly need food and water to survive. I think catcap was probably keep Dogday alive as a "lol now look at you now, look at me" (yes that's a BP reference) moment but only feeds him when he felt like it, since food is basically scarce in that place. I think that their human organs were transferred over but little things like veins, teeth, tongue, blood vessels basically anything that's not a major organ was made artificially and connected in a sense to those major organs making them function as such.

Yeah that's kinda it lol, there might be some more parts to this if I can think of anything else! But yeahhh that's kinda my hc and rambles lol (I tend to ramble a lot especially when I have to give context, I apologize!)

#dogday #poppy playtime #poppy playtime x reader #dogday x reader #dogday x y/n #sunnyangel #bun z writes

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reve-writes · 1 year

Text

—why are you at the wake? [2]; leon kennedy.

ʚ leon kennedy x reader | resident evil | 2,4k words. ʚ chapter one. | he wishes he can hate you, but when push comes to shove, he can't help but come to your aid anyway. ʚ non-canon timeline, loosely based on leon's mission to save ashley but most of the details are made-up; injuries; violence; profanity; reader is morally grey (?); suicidal ideation. ʚ a/n long notes from me at the end if you want to read through it.

“We can rest up here. Wait for evac.”

Leon closes the door behind Ashley after she enters. The room is not too big—enough to have space for himself, but also small enough for him to keep an eye on the President's daughter. There are windows for quick escape, covered by grimy curtains that shield them from view, just in case any infected villagers wander this far out.

“Are we safe, Leon?”

The blond girl is shivering. The two of them are drenched from head-to-toe. The rain outside doesn't look like it's letting up anytime soon, too. They're alive. A little cold, but alive. That's all that matters to Leon for now.

“Yeah. We're fine.”

A beat barely passes after he finishes reassuring her when the door swings open with a hard thud. Ashley lets out a startled shriek. Leon has his handgun ready and aimed at the figure stumbling inside. He curses under his breath, already standing to shield Ashley from the doorway.

You slump forward to the floor, the door closes behind you with a quiet click. Breathing heavily, you look up, thinking that you've stepped one foot into death's door. Maybe you've chosen the wrong house. Maybe you've stumbled into a hostile and they're ready to hack you down with an axe.

You blink the rainwater out of your eyes. It doesn't take longer than a second for you to recognise him.

Your posture loosens, shoulders slumping as you heave against the door. Your pistol clatters from your hand, freeing it to push against the blooming red wound on your side.

“Hey,” you stutter out, breathing still very laboured, but you try to sound casual, as if you're not potentially bleeding out to death on some filthy hardwood floor. “Just—give me a second. I'll get out of your hair.”

“Who are you?”

You don't recognise the girl. You assume she's his mission.

“It's okay,” Leon answers for you. His gun is returned to its holster. “We know each other.”

Know is an understatement. You know each other, yes, but also so much more than that. You know the brand of shampoo he has in his bathroom. He knows how you like to take your beverage. You cut the bread crust from his toast for breakfast. He lets you take the olives from his dish because you love them. You haven't eaten an olive in years because it reminds you of him.

“Co-worker?” the girl asks.

“Was.”

Past tense.

“Hi.” You wave meekly towards the girl and tell her your name. She tells you to call her Ashley. You dart your eyes to Leon. Even though he's silent, you can sense the anticipation in his pose, as if he's expecting you to just go and shoot Ashley the way you did to Tracy.

Sighing, you kick your pistol towards him. It skids surprisingly smoothly over the floor, landing just beside his boots. “Calm down, Leon. I don't intend to kill her.”

He stares at the pistol for a second, recognising the carving along its grip. Your initials. He remembers being the one who scratched them into the wooden material. His glare returns to you.

You're a walking contradiction. You left him back then, bid him farewell so coldly without much of an explanation. There was so much blood. The blood of the one he was supposed to protect—the two of you were supposed to protect. He didn't understand until he was told that your loyalty had defected.

He still doesn't understand why you changed your mind as easy as turning the palms of your hand. Doesn't understand why you abandoned him. It frustrates him. That frustration bears fruits of anger. The anger burns with so much hatred for you.

He realises that he, too, is a walking contradiction. He hates you for what you've done. He hates you for what you didn't do. The hatred grows everyday, but it grows along with the longing to see you again. It tries and fails to grow over all the love he has for you. All the love he doesn't know where to put now.

“Do you have a death wish?” Leon sneers. “I told you to stay away. You can't help yourself, can you? Always so stubborn.”

Ashley looks taken aback by the hostility. For all the time she's known him, he has been nothing but kind. A reassuring presence.

“If I had known you were in here,” you hissed. “I wouldn't have entered. Believe me, I'm not purposely trying to seek out the person who wants me dead.”

You inhale, tightening your jacket around you. “I'll take my leave.”

“That's what's best for the both of us.”

You push yourself off the ground, despite the tremble in your legs. A surge of light-headedness wash over you and you fall, barely catching yourself with your hands. Leon doesn't even think before he surges towards you, already placing a hand on your shoulders. His eyebrows knit together.

“Fuck,” you curse, swallowing hard. Your face is blanched. You clench your eyes shut in an attempt to recenter yourself.

“What's wrong?” His voice is gentle. His eyes scan over you to analyse the situation. “Dammit, ___. What's wrong?”

“Fine,” you breathe out, biting your lip. “Nothing's wrong.”

“Something is clearly fucking wrong,” he mutters, tugging on your jacket, noticing the unmistakable slick red of blood. “Jesus, ___. What happened?”

You lean back against the door, letting him tug the jacket off of you. You huff out a laugh. “You used to ask before taking my clothes off.”

He doesn't laugh. Not even a snicker. “What happened? — Ashley, can you find any medical supplies?”

Ashley immediately starts moving around the room, pulling out drawers haphazardly.

“Come on, it was funny.”

He says your name with a heavy emphasis. “I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong.”

“You don't want to help me, Leon,” you sigh out. “I killed Tracy, remember?”

This is pathetic. You've accepted your death way before it happens. Maybe, years ago, you would be more willing to put up a fight, struggle like hell for just one more day. But you're tired. So fucking exhausted of the missions and the guilt slowly eats you alive.

Leon pushes up your shirt slightly, trying to locate the source of the wound. He's so angry at you for giving up that his hands shake. He's biting down on his teeth so hard his jaw is starting to hurt. You can't die. He won't let you, even when you're so willing to walk yourself to your grave. He won't let that happen. He can't.

What will he do with all this hatred then? All this love?

His hand is smeared with your blood when he places them under your chin, turning your face towards him.

“Tell me what happened right now.” His eyes frantically search your face. “Or — or I'll never forgive you. Not if you die right here, right now. I won't ever forgive you.”

His voice shakes. He's making a demand but it comes out as a desperate plea instead. Ashley kneels beside you, setting down a tin box cramped with medicines and first-aid supplies.

You let out a scoff. “You of all people know I deserve to die right here, right now.”

“Stop wasting time, ___.” He's begging now. Panic sinks into his bones as all the colour drains drom your face. “Let me — You have to let me save you. I can't—”

His vision blurs. He takes a deep breath and blink the pooling tears away. “Please.”

Stop. You want to yell at him. If anyone should be pleading for anything, it was you. With your heart in your throat, you whisper, “Okay.”

“Okay,” he clears his throat. “Okay, what's the damage?”

“Knife,” you wheeze out. “A cut, I think, on my side. There — Stop looking at me like that. It's not as bad as it looks. I've just been bleeding out for a while, trying to get away.”

He's capable. It's not a handful of times he's ever had to patch himself or you up from various injuries. His hand works swiftly, disinfecting and suturing the laceration, ignoring your little quips and sounds of protest. He keeps his focus, even when everything feels so unsteady around him.

It's not until your wound is dressed in bandages and the bleeding ceases that he lets out a relieved sigh. The tension in his shoulders melts away.

“You really do have a death wish.”

One corner of your lips quirks up. “You have no idea.”

“Don't die, ____. Let me hate you in peace. You owe me at least this much.”

“You can still do that when I'm six feet under.”

“I can't do that, so” —his jaw tenses— “don't die.”

You only hum in response.

“I mean it.”

You roll your eyes, biting back a smile. “I'll try not to.”

He moves around the room, gathering blankets and cushions to bring towards where you're seated. He's unsure if he can move you without reopening your wound and he doesn't want to risk it. Not when you've lost so much blood. The silence stretches long, accompanied by the constant pitter-patter of the rain splattering on the roof over your head.

“Where's Ashley?”

“Other room,” Leon replies. “She looked like she was going to throw up.”

“Understandable.”

It's silent againt. He props a pillow behind you and spreads a blanket over you. You scrunch your nose.

“Smells like shit.”

“Half the smell is your fault.”

You roll your eyes, trying to focus in the earthy soaked-dirt scent the rain brings instead of the metallic tang left behind or the stench of the old blanket covering you.

“Thank you, Leon.”

“Why did you do it?”

He blurts the question out as you're expressing your gratitude. The room is quiet enough that you still catch his question. His gaze falters, moving to scan over the wall to your right instead of directly looking at you.

“Does it matter?” You ask, tasting bitterness on your tongue. “The reason doesn't change the fact that I still did it.”

“That's the thing.” Leon walks over to where your gun lies on the floor to pick it up. “It doesn't seem like you want to do it. Hell, if there's one damn thing I know, it's that you cared for her. So, help me understand this. Why did you do it?”

His thumb traces over the wooden grip, turning the pistol over in his hand as he walks up to you. He stops at the ridges of your initials, turning to look at you questioningly.

You gulp. “It's — It's the same one.”

The same one he gave you all those years ago. The same one that got you out of Raccoon City. The same one you kept using mission after mission since then.

“This is what I mean.” Leon sets the pistol down by you, taking his place to sit next to you, facing you. “If it didn't matter to you, you wouldn't have kept this.”

Your throat feels dry.

“I keep running it over in my head, trying to pick out what's real and what's fake,” he admits, grabbing your hand in his. His calloused fingers rub over your hand, “and I can't. Everything feels real.”

Because it is real. Can you tell him, though? You don't want to put that on him—the burden of someone's life.

“From Raccoon City. Then, everything that we were after that up until—” He lets it hang in the air. Your ultimate betrayal. “You can't tell me everything was a fucking act and expect me to believe it.”

You want to reach out, desperate to smooth the creases on his forehead, brush your thumb over the plump of his lips. He's so close—the closest he's ever been in the past five years.

He's not stupid. You know he's not. He knows none of this adds up. You were with him for over a year since your faithful meeting in Raccoon City. You were recruited by the government together. You survived together. You even—

It was never official, but you had something. He had told you he loved you and you had said it back.

Then, you left. You said you were working for someone else. Always had the whole time. It didn't make sense.

“They made me choose.”

Your answer comes after a long silence. Too long that Leon has already given up and gotten lost in his own head. He's not sure if he's hearing you correctly, not sure if you've even spoken in the first place. He blinks, searching your eyes.

You clear your throat. “Either they kill you or i kill her.”

“What are they going to do? Huh?” He scoffs. “I would've been able to—”

“That's not a risk I wanted to take,” you retort. “You're capable, yes, but you can't expect me to gamble on your life.”

“You shouldn't have made that choice for me,” he snaps, swallowing harshly. “She died because you were a coward.”

“Yes.”

“Her death is on me, too.”

“I pulled the trigger.” You're reliving it now and it does nothing but worsen your headache. “It's on me.”

There's no taking it back now. You'll have to tell him the whole truth and so you did. How your employer 'recruited' you as you were escorting Tracy Miller, how they threatened your life, and when it didn't work, they threatened his instead. You've been stuck working with them since. Being labelled a traitor by the government. It's not ss if you have much of a choice.

You're blinking away tears as you close out your explanation. “They sent me here to investigate whatever's happening here. I didn't know you were here until I landed. If I'd known—”

His attentiveness spurs you on as you're stringing sentence after sentence together frantically, spilling out everything that has gone unsaid the past five years.

“Do you regret it?” He asks after a beat of silence passes.

“Every single day, but I would make the same choice again.”

He sighs. “We were a team, you know. Maybe we could have done something if you had talked to me.”

You bite your lip. “I'm sorry.”

“I know you are.” He tilts your chin up towards him. “Just don't ever do that again. Don't put my life above anyone else's.”

You pull back, turning away from his gaze. “I'll try.”

He grabs your hand. “It's okay. It'll be okay. Let's just — leave this all behind, yeah?”

Your eyes widen, some of the weight on your shoulders suddenly sloughing off. “What are you saying?”

“We should go. Somewhere Asia, maybe? Disappear from this mess,” he says it with too much certainty. It sounds easier than it actually is. “Leave this all to rot. It'll just be us.”

“Can we?”

He nods resolutely.

[ ]

i'm the first to admit there are so many plotholes in this fic and the timeline is confusing, but basically: raccoon city incident > one year into government recruitment is when reader's forcefully recruited & ordered to kill tracy > for 5 years after that. reader works for the same people who recruited them still. > six years since raccoon city, reader crosses path with leon (who's trying to save ashley graham). reader met leon during raccoon city incident and they were inseparable ever since, becoming lovers. also obviously sherry isn't really a part of this bc leon joined the secret agent to protect her. the ending won't work if she exists. ive been sitting on this for a couple of days because i don't know how to properly end fics?? i imagine reader and leon packing things up (after getting ashley home) for a rural town far far away from all the resident evil chaos, living their best domestic life, trying to heal themselves from their past. i realise i shouldve planned this better because having the reader murder someone is SUPER HARD to justify when writing this part. i wrote myself into a corner. i kept thinking that there's no way in hell reader would get forgiveness??? the titles for the two part are taken from taylor swift's my tears ricochet. it's an angsty song about betrayal. that's it from me. thank you for reading!

#leon kennedy x reader #—ki writes 🍯

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liz-allyn · 3 months

Text

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.

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exquisitesimp · 8 months

Text

Celebrating PM's victory with Mori Ogai

A/N: Hello to everyone reading this! This is my first NSFW story here and it's going to be about the reader (F) and Port Mafia's leader Mori Ogai, filled with velvet sensuality. Now BEFORE YOU COME AT ME, I know there is a lot of controversy surrounding this character (he is canonically twisted), but S4 altered my brain chemistry…I’m a simp after all, I kinda had to… And yes I will be discussing this with my therapist…Thank you so much for reading, it means so much to me! Stay healthy, eat well and drink plenty of water (and also go to therapy now that you’re here)! - Sam

Tags: Bungo Stray Dogs, Mori Ogai, smut, NSFW, 👀

Warnings: Mori (obviously), alcohol consumption, manipulation(?), fingering, vaginal sex

Word Count: 5.5k approx.

Ability: Granting indestructibility for 7 minutes, either to self or another individual. Could be applied to many individuals at a time, but the more individuals involved, the more energy is required from the user.

Condition: The user must have access to a DNA sample of the individual they use it on.

Ever since you discovered your ability, you’ve been doing everything within your power to keep it a secret. You were an orphan jumping from foster family to foster family, so it’s not like you had anyone to share it with. After reaching adulthood, you were completely abandoned, and you resorted to all sorts of misdemeanors in order to survive. Unfortunately, the nature of your ability was not particularly helpful in that regard.

A couple months ago, you happened to stumble upon “Mori’s corporation”, where you were invited for an interview. It was later on that you found out that this seemingly ordinary corporation was a front cover for the Port Mafia, an underground criminal organization run by ability users just like you. It was then obvious that you weren’t just randomly invited; they had been tracking you down for a while, after figuring out you were an ability user they could use to their advantage.

Your first reaction was to decline. These guys were too dangerous to even be around, and entering such an organization with zero battle experience was just like having a death wish. However, they kept reaching out, pressuring you – on the verge of threatening, actually – more and more with each time. And they were offering you a good amount of money too.

Eventually you realized that you didn’t have much of a choice, so you agreed, making the following deal; you would work for them, but you would not join the members in battles. Instead, you would stay at the headquarters during attacks and you would activate your ability upon request to any members that needed it, after taking a DNA sample from all of them.

Once you started working for the Port Mafia, your life instantly took a turn upwards. You were no longer this hungry, homeless kid struggling to survive. You had, instead, transformed into a healthy, dignified woman, who was valuable and could now take care of herself. And you were no longer alone, since you were surrounded by all sorts of people you had a lot of things in common with. In some sense, it felt like everything had fallen into place.

Each of your coworkers was interesting in their own ways, but Mori Ogai, the head of the Port Mafia, was especially hard to go unnoticed. He openly displayed particular feelings of favour towards you, always congratulating you and offering you gifts to reward you for following his orders. You’ve been asking him to stop, since you’re only doing your job, but he never seems to listen. That, as well as the way he treats Elise, you found quite… weird, to say the least. But he’s your superior after all, and it was in your best interest to maintain his preference for you.

Today the Port Mafia was facing a very challenging battle, and you were called to intervene with your ability quite a number of times. Once everybody made it back to the headquarters safe and Mori congratulated you with great zeal, you were dismissed and you made your way up to your room.

Upon closing the door behind you, you jumped at your bed and took a moment to rest from all the ability using and the stress of being alert all day. It was after a couple of minutes that you took notice of a moderately sized black box, waiting on your nightstand. Without thinking too much, you were quite sure what this was about.

You reached for it and removed its lid. It contained what looked like a dress, which you laid out on your bed, so you can have a better look. It was a long, satin, maroon dress, and it seemed to be pretty expensive.

You were quite impressed. Mori was generally extravagant with his gestures towards you, but this exceeded anything he has done in the past. Coming from a pretty poor background, such a luxurious gift felt a little out of place, but it was still a very welcome surprise.

“Wait, am I smiling? Because of that dress?”, you wondered. “No, I can’t be, it’s weird…”, you reassured yourself, trying to brush it off.

On the bottom of the box, there was a note in a little envelope. The note inside it read:

“Congratulations, Y/N.

Once again, the Port Mafia couldn’t have made it without you. This is your reward for doing such a wonderful job. I had it tailored to your measurements.

Please join me for some wine in my room after the sun sets. I’d also like you to wear your gift.

I’ll be waiting for you,

Mori.”

At this point you were at a loss for words, feeling very confused. You knew for a fact that he favored you, but for things to go that far…that you weren’t expecting it that soon. It’s not like his behavior didn’t give it away; quite the contrary, it was obvious that there was some sort of… sentiment on his part. You just didn’t think he’d make such a request yet.

Of course, you didn’t fail to notice your train of thought trying to go around certain words; “attraction”, “date”… And that worried you even more, because what could all this avoidance possibly mean…? You’d be lying if you said that Mori wasn’t a physically attractive man. And lying was exactly what you did.

“Nope, nope. He’s my superior”,you denied. “Not gonna happen. I’m not gonna go.”

You turned to look at the beautiful dress, which was still laid out in your bed. You took a breath, trying to reset your mind and stop it from rushing.

“What is wrong with me? How old is this man? And why is he treating Elise so weird…? It’s disgusting. HE’s disgusting for thinking I’d go. God, I know exactly what he’s expecting to do if I go… I’m not going. End of story.”

You looked at the dress again.

“Is this it? Is an extravagant gift all it takes for someone to get me to think about them? I don’t recognize myself… Oh what am I saying? Of course this is not just about the gift…”

You started pacing around your room, trying to sort out the thoughts that were bombarding your head.

“But he’s my superior! And he’s so much older! This is so wrong… But if it’s so wrong, why am I feeling… whatever this is?”

You spent a good amount of time going back and forth, all these “what-if”s coming one after the other, making you even more confused about the situation. You continued your inner conflict as you were showering, being moral and righteous one moment, then playing devil’s advocate the next.

You stepped out of the bathroom and tried on the dress he got you. And oh boy did it look stunning on you! The fabric was beautifully draped over your body, totally complimenting your figure and bringing out your best features. Its back was open, and there was a slit on the side. While it did remind you of what his intentions behind the gift were, every thought was suddenly overshadowed by a huge wave of self-confidence.

“You know what? I’m tired of this! I’m gonna shut my brain off and go. And if I change my mind, I’ll just get up and leave. What is he gonna do about it? He needs me. The Port Mafia needs me. I got this!”

The sun was already starting to set, so you went straight for your makeup, which was just mascara and a red lip, matching the shade of the dress. You sprayed some perfume on and made your way to the staircase that led up to his room. With every step you took, you consciously silenced every negative thought telling you to stay in your room, while also making sure that nobody else from the Port Mafia saw you on your way there - you didn’t want them to get the wrong idea…

When you arrived, you took a deep breath and reminded yourself, once again, that you could leave any time if you saw that things were going in a direction you didn’t want them to.

You knocked and waited for what felt like forever before you heard his smooth voice from behind the dark wooden door say “Come in, please”.

You slowly opened the door and quickly inspected his room, which was much more spacious than that of a regular Port Mafia member. It had a king-sized sky bed, and the walls were decorated with a petrol, patterned tapestry. A heavy, large, antique clock with roman numerals was hanging on one of the walls. In front of a huge window that took up the majority of the wall it was adjacent to, there was a small table and two armchairs, identical to the scarlet, velvet one in his office. They were facing each other, and Mori was already seated on one of them.

He turned his head to look at you walking towards the empty chair, a smirk gradually forming on his lips.

“My, my… look who’s here. Please have a seat”

“You literally invited me here…”, you responded.

“I doubted you’d show up”, he said, his eyes following you as you took a seat and crossed your legs.

“Well, here I am, I guess…”, you responded, briefly questioning whether it’s right for you to be there.

“You look mesmerizing in that dress”, he commented as he removed his gloves and placed them on the table between the two of you.

You just noticed that this was the first time you’ve seen his hands without gloves. You spaced out while looking at his fingers getting slowly revealed, but quickly snapped back to reality and regained focus.

“Well, you got it for me, what else would you say…” you replied sarcastically, causing Mori to slightly giggle, just like he does every time you talk to him that way.

“The tailor did a great job, it fits you perfectly”

“What can I say, it’s a lovely dress indeed”, you sighed, thinking that taking a compliment wouldn’t be that bad after all.

“It’s only fabric without the beautiful woman wearing it”, he said, and you hated yourself for getting nervous after hearing that. You had to collect yourself.

“So poetic…”, you responded, looking away and towards the window.

“Where there’s no wine, there is no poetry”, Mori said, getting up from his chair and his fingers holding on to the arms of the armchair for support, “I’ll get the best red for us” and he exited the room.

During the few minutes he was gone, you took turns glancing at his gloves, and then at his bed. Deep down you knew how this was gonna play out should he have his way, but you still didn’t know whether that was something you’d want. Something like that… it would definitely complicate things.

You heard his footsteps and turned your head to face the door. He walked in with a bottle of wine in one hand, and two wine glasses on the other. This time he returned without his coat, wearing only a white button-up on the top, with his plum tie loosely tied around his collar. Seeing him like this really had you questioning whether it would be prudent to have even a single drop of alcohol in your system.

“So, where were we?” he asked as he sat back down and placed the glasses on the table and started pouring wine on yours first.

“I wasn’t really planning on drinking tonight, actually…”, you commented slightly too late.

“Oh come on, Ms. Y/N, just a glass to rejoice the Port Mafia’s victory, our victory”, he whined. “Just one, for me”

You sighed. You didn’t want to drink and increase your chances of acting recklessly, but the man got you such an expensive gift - apart from the special treatment - it would be a shame to not even have a glass of wine with him. Besides, it wasn’t him you felt threatened by. What was truly scaring you was your blindness to your own feelings towards him.

“I guess one glass can do no harm…”, you said, reaching for yours.

“That’s it”, he said, raising his, “To our victory, and to you”

You raised your glass, clinged his and took a good sip while trying to hide the smile that almost took control of your face.

Time flew by, and the colors of the sky faded to a subdued crimson before you even realized. The conversation was flowing pretty naturally, with him showing a great interest in your past and asking you questions he hadn’t asked during your undercover interview for the mafia. You tried to reciprocate, but the topic very masterfully turned back to you almost every time as he masterfully avoided most of your questions.

The wine was incredible, better than any wine you’ve ever tasted before. The bottle was soon empty, since every time he made you nervous, you took a sip. Mori had just as much as you, but neither of you were fazed at all.

As much as you hated it, there were moments when your hard, cold exterior broke, and you were warming up to him. But it was getting late, and you thought it’d be wise to call it a night.

“Well I think it’s time for me to go now”, you said, getting up from your chair. “Thanks for the wine, I had a great time”

“Oh no, Y/N”, Mori said, getting up from his seat as well, “Why don’t you stay a little longer?”

“I’d really love that”, you said as you slowly started walking towards the door, “but it’s getting late, and we both had our fair share of wine”

You reached for the door handle, but before you could open the door, you felt Mori’s warm hand completely wrapping your wrist. Before you could turn around to look at him, his voice from behind you made your body freeze and your mind go blank.

“Please stay…”

He gently moved his hand up your arm, all the way to your shoulder. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, as your fingers relaxed and eventually let go off the handle a few seconds later.

Mori took a step closer to you, his chest was almost touching your back. He touched both your shoulders with his hands, and slowly brought them down to your wrists again.

“Why are you scared?”

“I’m not scared…”

“Every time you give me a sarcastic comment and play it cool, I know it’s because you’re scared”

You really wanted to prove him wrong, but it didn’t take much thought to realize that what he said was true. That was quite uncalled for, you couldn’t think of anything to say to him to deny it.

“Is it me, or is it your own feelings?”

“I don’t know…”

“It’s so scary how you’re interested in me”, he said, bringing his hands on your waist and moving them up and down your sides, “you never thought you’d find yourself attracted to someone like me, did you? You almost feel ashamed”

Your heart was beating faster and faster.

“Truth is”, he whispered, letting his hands glide along the fabric of your dress, down to your hips, “there is nothing to be ashamed of. There is no shame in being attracted to someone and enjoying their attention. Everybody wants to feel special, wanted, desired…”

He paused for a little.

“At the end of the day, the door is in front of you, and the choice is yours” he said, taking a step back and making the distance between you bigger. “You’re free to go if you wish to”

He placed his fingertips on your nape and softly traced a line down the entire length of your bare back.

“But…if you choose to stay, I’ll take it as a ‘yes’ to proceed”, he warned, fiddling the zipper of your dress in his fingertips.

You felt your throat tighten, as if some invisible rope was wrapped around it. It was obvious to you what his intentions were for the night, and you couldn’t pretend not to understand anymore. His words were true, you really wanted him, even though you’d rather die than ever openly admit it to him — or anybody really.

As you felt time slow down in the room that was only minimally lit by then, you thought that maybe, it was time to let go of the shame. Maybe shame was the only thing holding you back from taking pleasure in something ridiculously simple; the fact that you were just two people that were attracted to each other. And maybe, everything else was nothing more than just complications you came up with to indulge in your self-disgust.

This was all becoming too much to process. It was about time you made things a little easier for yourself just once, it was about time you shushed your brain and let things take their natural course.

You stood there, but the tension you previously felt left your body like dirt getting washed away by the water, and you bet that Mori noticed that subtle change within you.

“That door you were about to walk out of”, he said, and you could hear his grin through his voice, “how about you lock it instead?”

You did as he asked and slowly turned the key that was already in the keyhole, while he was still playing with the zipper of the dress.

“Good…”

You wanted to turn around, but before you could even finish that thought, Mori had already taken care of that for you, and as he held your hips, your body mindlessly followed his hands’ commands.

Just as swiftly, he pulled you closer and buried his lips in yours with such desperation and hunger, as if he could only sustain himself and wait for you to fall into his arms for so long.

Your eyelids grew heavier as you gave in to the kiss, and once you were completely sunk in it, you wrapped your arms around his neck.

A few moments later, you found yourself pushed against the wall, where Mori’s knee was between your legs and a strap of your dress was patiently hanging off your shoulder. His hungry mouth was all over yours, and his teeth were pulling and biting on your needful lower lip.

His hands were wandering all over your curves in self-pleasure, until his fingers slithered through the slit of your dress and started brushing the hem of your underwear. He slowly pulled it down and moved his knee, so it could fall on the floor and get out of his way.

Your stomach tensed up as he grazed two fingers over your outer lips. It was as if everything suddenly went silent, and the only thing you could hear was your own heartbeat. What was going on? Were the two of you really about to take things to the next level? Was this really the right thing you were doing? God knows how much you’re gonna hate yourself afterwards.

He started rubbing your sensitive clit in circles, but he didn’t fail to notice that there was something bothering you, something that held your true reaction back. His hand stopped, and he brought his head next to your ear.

“Just let it go… there’s no need to be afraid anymore…”, he whispered and then resumed the movement of his fingers, while he reached down to kiss your delicate neck.

Waves of delight grew within you as he nibbled on your skin and as he gradually increased the speed and the pressure in his fingers. Mori was very amused by the sinful sounds that escaped your mouth as his fingers moved from your clit to your entrance and made their way inside you.

You felt a bit of pain at first, a pain which then marvelously melted into an immense feeling of pleasure, leaving you moaning and wanting more every time he pushed his fingers in.

“I don’t think you feel so guilty anymore…”, he smirked, keeping his hand moving at the same, unhurried pace, “mhm?”

“No”, you uttered in between strained breaths “no…”

“Beautiful… because we have all the time in the world”

Deeper and deeper moans emerged from your throat, causing Mori to slow down and eventually withdraw his fingers, because of course he wouldn’t want you to finish so fast. As you started catching your breath, you looked at him with a silent plea in your eyes, as if voicelessly asking him why he had to stop there.

His intense gaze was cast upon you, in a manner that reassured you that you were about to feel very good in just a little while. He took your hand and led you away from the door and towards the edge of the bed, where he embraced you in a passionate kiss once again. Undoubtedly, things were just about to get very interesting.

You reached for his belt and rapidly unbuckled it, moving on to the lower buttons of his shirt.

“You’re in… such a rush”, he chuckled in the middle of the kiss, as he loosened his tie with his index finger and took it off.

Normally you’d come up with some smart-ass response for this, but now you were clearly occupied with the noble job of taking off his shirt. Mori was fascinated by your impatience, so he let you have your way and assisted in your undressing too. That zipper that had been pleading to be undone since before this entire embroilment even began, he finally pulled it down, letting your dress graciously fall off your body.

As your lips got separated, he placed a hand on your shoulder and gently pressed it down, so that you lay on the mattress with your entire figure exposed before him for the first time. His eyes lingered over you as he spoke under his breath.

“Finally…”

Mori keenly climbed on top of you, and his eyes lit up with a sparkle you’d never seen in them before. He brushed your hair away with the knuckles of his fingers, so that he could easily kiss on your jawline. In the meantime, you made sure that his pants found themselves on the pile with all of your clothes on the floor, and shortly after, you let the entirety of his hair free to decorate the sides of his face.

After adjusting himself a little bit better on top of you, he brought both of his legs between yours and eventually positioned himself nicely above you. You could feel his erection rub against your sensitive area, and a certain type of agitation grew within you.

As he slowly started penetrating you, you experienced a thawed pain, a pain which you haven’t felt in quite a while. Ever since you joined the Port Mafia, you hadn’t gotten together with anybody, and sleeping around was definitely not part of your plans.

You swallowed the saliva down your throat and clenched your jaw while taking it in and getting used to the feeling. His breathing next to your ear grew heavier every time he went deeper, until it resolved into a seraphic, resonant groan once his full length made its way inside you.

He reached for your leg and brought it bent beside his hip, where he caressed your thigh and your calf. His other arm was wrapped around you, holding on to the back of your head. Soon enough, his lips found yours again in the fire of another long lustful kiss, as he started moving his pelvis again.

Your arms were wrapped around his shoulders, and your fingertips were digging into his pale skin. The pain you felt had already transformed into a rich delight as his painstakingly slow pace started growing moderate, but still remained as profuse. The heat of his body fully embracing yours turned your mind hazy, and both your moans fused beautifully in each other’s mouth.

After a while, you brought your other leg up as well and then wrapped them both around his waist, pushing him down deeper inside you. Sensing your neediness, Mori’s lips caressed yours with even greater zest, while his other hand slid underneath your waist and pulled it closer to him. As the intoxicating sensation overpowered you, you brought one hand on his head and entangled your fingers in the roots of his hair, clenching your fist with every ripple of electrifying bliss.

Slowing down and eventually pulling out, he broke the kiss and with his purple orbs staring into your soul, he whispered:

“Turn around for me”

You complied with his request and lied on your stomach, turning your head so that your cheek touched one of the silky pillows and letting your hands rest beside each of your shoulders. He brushed your hair to the side, and with a mischievous smile, he uttered:

“Good girl…”

His smooth, honeyed voice saying these words made your heart skip a beat. You felt his ardent breath just below your head as he planted kisses on your nape, while his hands softly moved up and down your sides. His mouth kept traveling downwards, leaving a trail of moisture all the way down to your spine.

Soon after, he wrapped one arm around your waist and lifted your hips slightly higher, while his other arm held on to the black, metal bedpost for support. As he pushed himself inside you once again, a pulsating, drawn-out grunt escaped his mouth.

“Ugh, fuck…”

You couldn’t help but moan in ecstasy when he resumed the movement of his hips. Watching you quiver underneath him and mercilessly grab the soft fabric of the bed covers, he enjoyed the moment just as much as you did. He loved seeing you in a state of complete frenzy, knowing that he was the one who got you into it.

For a brief moment as he was looking at you from above, you slightly turned your head further to the side so that your eyes met his. The expression in your face was making it clear to him that you felt great, but that you also needed a little more: just a little bit more before he could have you climax.

Without exiting you, Mori lowered his body closer to you, his chest pressing against your back and the heat of his burning skin completely engulfing your upper body. He pushed your legs a little further open with his knees and took his arm from your waist, slowly pushing your hips with his all the way down so that they touch the mattress.

He brought his elbows outside yours and let his palms glide over your forearms and your wrists. Once they completely covered yours, he intertwined his slender fingers between yours and gave your hands a long, firm squeeze. His head was leaning next to yours, and he was licking and biting on your ear, from your earlobe all the way to your helix.

Everything about the situation was so overwhelmingly hedonic. His weight above you, his breathing against your ear, the sweet amber scent of his cologne filling up your nostrils in the most delightful way… it was all so much to take in. His thrusts were getting harder and deeper, and you succumbed all the more to this excessive, unyielding sensation and getting closer and closer.

Your mewls had become ever so profound and intense by the time you reached your limit. Mori followed a few seconds after he slowed down his pace, pulling out and releasing his thick, hot liquid all over your lower back. Even many seconds after it was all over, it felt as if his final silvery sounds of overindulgence were still echoing inside that bedroom.

After you both took a moment to catch your breaths, he rolled over to his nightstand and got a tissue to wipe his residue off your body. It was just about then that you were just starting to come back to your senses, and you silently wondered:

What the hell just happened?

As you were lying naked on your boss’s bed, all these thoughts were hovering in your head again, and it suddenly hit you: things can’t go back to how they were. Such confusion…on one hand, you couldn’t even in the slightest predict how it would all be from now on. You felt as though all control had been lost now that this happened, and guilt was creeping up inside you once again.

But on the other hand, you kept getting distracted by the fact that it was nothing like the way you thought it would be. You expected the calm, cold head of the Port Mafia to be rough and vicious in a setting like this. Especially the way he was trying to lure you in this entire time, the way he convinced you to stay… You couldn’t possibly imagine that there would be such a sensual and erotic side to him…

You quickly put a stop to these thoughts, knowing that nothing good could ever come out of you viewing your boss that way. Besides, you were absolutely sure that this was just a one-time thing, and that it would never happen again. And as your sense of time was slowly kicking in again, you took a look at the clock on the wall.

It read 12:20.

Time had flown by so fast, you couldn’t believe it. All of a sudden a sense of panic grew within you. What if someone was looking for you late at night, but found your room empty? What if they’ve noticed that Mori is not in his office either? What would they assume then? You had to get out of there as soon as possible.

You pushed yourself up from the mattress and rolled towards the side of the bed to make your way out, but you felt an arm wrapping your waist from underneath.

“Tsk tsk tsk, where do you think you’re going?”, Mori asked mischievously as he pulled you closer to himself.

“The Mighty Leader of the Port Mafia wants to spoon”, you chuckled, “now if that’s not a surprise…”

“You’re so cruel…”, he whined as he caressed your cheek from behind and lathered soft kisses all over the crook of your neck. Your body momentarily relaxed as he wrapped his other arm around your waist as well, feeling a mellow warmth that you haven’t experienced in so, so long.

“I have to go”, you sighed, “it’s past midnight…”

“So what?”, he asked and kissed your shoulder. “Spend the night here”

“So…” you said, your voice going slightly higher as you were thinking of what to say next, “someone might need me…”

Mori quietly laughed, and you felt his bare chest gently pump against your back a couple of times. “At midnight!”

“Uhh, yeah…?” you responded as if it was so obvious, but deep down you knew your excuse was pretty weak to begin with.

“Do you get bothered a lot at midnight?” he mocked.

“Ugh please, just-“ you said, rolling your eyes and lifting up his arm to get up. Mori’s eyes widened in surprise at what you just did, but they quickly relaxed as a sly grin morphed into his face.

“That’s no way of treating your superior, you know…”, he remarked as he was closely watching you put your clothes back on.

“Back to being my superior, huh?”, you mumbled, cocking an eyebrow, but without looking at him.

“Nothing changes that, my dear…” he answered in a gentle tone.

“You see, here’s the thing…”, you said as you put the straps of your dress and adjusted them on your shoulders, still avoiding eye contact, “Just because this happened once, doesn’t mean I’m ‘your dear’ or anything…”

“Of course…”, he responded with a chuckle, “Don’t be surprised that I’m still your superior then…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, you asked, snapping your head towards him.

“Oh, nothing…” he said and paused for a while, slightly getting on your nerves, “Congratulations once again for today, you did a very good job”

“It’s literally all I do every single time”, you replied nonchalantly as you zipped yourself up and reached for your shoes.

“That doesn’t make you any less valuable ”, he said.

You didn’t really know how to respond to that, so you just remained silent. Whenever he talked about value, he was always referring to your work, but not you as a person… Could that mean something changed, or were you just overthinking it?

“Anyway…”, you muttered awkwardly after a short pause, “I’ll excuse myself…”

“As you wish”, he answered, watching you walk all the way to the door and unlock it. “Perhaps we’ll have wine again soon…” he added in a slightly louder voice, making sure you heard him from across the room.

“Perhaps…” you responded as you opened the door, “Goodnight, boss”

“Goodnight Y/N”, you heard his soft voice moments before you shut the door behind you.

You took a deep breath before you started walking quietly like a cat, all the way back to your room. Once you made it inside and locked the door, you threw yourself on your bed and stared at your empty ceiling. With all these thoughts in your head and everything that just happened, this was about to be a very long, sleepless night…

A/N: If you made it here, thank you so much for reading once again! I tried to make it as realistic as I could considering the whole… situation. Please don’t unfollow me, I promise I’m normal and I’ll be posting normal content again very soon! But yeah, if Mori p3rv3rt, why sexy…?

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #not sfw #mori ogai #mori ogai x reader #anime #bungo stray dogs #anime community

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dragonwritersblog · 27 days

Text

I’m looking for an artist to collab with for an AU

Hello! If you don’t know me already, my name is Dragon, the author of the TADC fics 5+1 and Royally Screwed (and also a funnybunny shipper). However, I am coming up with a totally new AU, something similar to the carnival and freakshow au as well as inspiration from Bendy and the Ink Machine, Poppy Playtime and Amanda the Adventurer.

I call it ‘The Amazing Digital REDACTED’ au.

In this au, you ‘the player’ play as Jax, an ex-employee of C&A returning to the abandoned building in order to find the rest of your work employees after a mysterious incident years ago. With hidden knowledge that he must enter the game in order to find them, Jax does just that while managing to retain his memories. Along with his accomplice Bubble (a helpful AI who wants to free the rest of the trapped souls) and some help from his friend Winter (yes Winter from 5+1 will be in this but that fic isn’t canon to this au) on the outside, Jax tries to fix his past mistakes and save everyone – especially a particular jester he loved and lost long ago.

Yup that’s right, Jax will be the main character of this au and you will be playing as him. Let me explain, there is a feature on AO3 that allows you to make multiple choices on how you want the story to play out, like a telltale video game if you understand what I’m saying. You will get to pick and choose how Jax goes about his adventure and receive more than one ending (with a canon ending as well). And yes, this au’s main ship is funnybunny as I believe that it deserves more recognition and I find that these two in this au are very interesting to explore (especially with their past).

However, this fic is going to take quite a long time to make and is going to be bigger than anything else that I have written in the past. That is why I want to team up with a fellow TADC/funnybunny artist (since I am not an artist and do better with writing and characters) and create a separate blog for this au to come up with comics and art together. If you’ve seen the blogs for the Carnival and Freakshow au’s, you know that with their comics and art they explore more of the world, drop some lore, do character sheets and explain the pasts of the characters. This is what I’m hoping for if I team up with an artist. This au will mostly be on tumblr however if it does well I might add it to twitter as well since I’m putting this post on twitter as well.

Here are what I have pictured for the characters so far.

Jax: Past name; Jack. Ex employee of C&A, main character and who you the player will be playing as. Before the ‘incident’, Jax used to work at C&A as part of a coding team, to make sure that there were no bugs before any games were released. While C&A wasn’t on his list of jobs to pick, it was the only one that seemed best due to the pay and the fact that they could pay for schooling for those with children. Since Jax has a little sister named Jane, and has no parental figures in his life, he takes the job in order to help pay for the both of them and to make sure that Jane gets a good education. Unlike his canon TADC counterpart, Jax is more quiet, tired and while sarcastic, isn’t all out cruel to everyone unless they are bad people (think Mike from the FNAF movie especially with his relationship with his younger sister). He becomes quite close with his boss’s daughter however, Penny (Pomni) with him starting to develop feelings for the shy girl. However, after the day of the ‘incident’ Jax is left with nothing but guilt since he knew things that contributed to that day. Now he has a chance to make things right and save everyone, and Pomni.

Pomni: Past name; Penny. Ex employee of C&A and daughter of the CEO Abel, Pomni is an extremely introverted and socially awkward person, due to being traumatised by her mother’s death. She and her father don’t have a good relationship, with reasons that will become clearer later. She was quite close to the past version of Ragatha, but other than her father, she doesn’t really have a relationship with anyone. She likes to work alone to focus on the numbers and accounting part of her job (she understands numbers more than people) until she meets Jack. Though Jack is usually a bit standoffish, he is sweet to Penny due to her shy nature and helps keep an eye on her throughout their jobs so that she doesn’t feel too overwhelmed. Overcome by his sudden kindness and protectiveness, Penny starts to develop feelings for Jax. However, after the day of the ‘incident’ she is now trapped in the game, forever a jester trapped in a box…until Jax shows up.

If you’d like to be an artist for this au and collab with me, you can send me a DM or @ me. Do either of these and a sketch of the characters and I will reach out to you and confirm that you can be my partner for this project.

Here are some visuals on how I envision the characters.

Jax:

Sans the goggles, think of Jax wearing this over his grey and dirty overalls, he could also be holding a makeshift weapon like a bat or a stick so that he can fight off enemies. This version of Jax is much more serious and he is ready to fight in order to get the job done.

Pomni:

(on the last pic, focus on the makeup rather than the outfit)

Overly baggy and childish, with blue and black instead of blue and red. This design is a reminder of her past trauma and as so, is implemented into her circus features. Due to it being too big for her, it makes it hard for her to run and escape, and the ridiculousness of it all is a huge slap in the face that this is her new life now and is fully erased of her past. Even the makeup covers up any kind of normalcy on her face.

Well that’s it for now, I hope you guys take this into consideration and I hope you all have a lovely day/afternoon/night.

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k4katsujin · 5 months

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HIIIII MLLL! I would love if you could write a Mike x reader following the FNAF plot? I haven’t ppl write anything like that! Maybe the reader being forced to go with Abby when Freddy comes to get her and Mike saving them and being protective? Smth angst WITH A FLUFF ENDING BC AHHHV I LOVE FLUFF WITH SOME ANGST! (also nothing with smut bc everyone’s been writing Mike smut and it feels so ooc for him 😔)

HAIIIII THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR REQUEST <33

you're so real asexual mike canon!!

also the angst part is a bit rushed i'm sorry i'm slowly getting out of writer's block and it truly ain't shit 🤧🤧 BUUTTT HERE WE AREE

gender neutral reader!!

wc: 1141 🦦

find the fic on ao3 here! || link to my ao3 profile 🦇

“Give me the vest.” Mike tried to command to his sister, but it was to no use.

“No. Me and Y/N are coming with you.” Abby replied on a taunting tone.

“ Are we?” you said, looking up from your book, and the death stare Abby gave you left you no choice but to follow her.

“Please.” Abby begged, doing her signature puppy eyes.

“No.” Mike replied sternly.

"What?! You can't say no to her, especially not with those puppy eyes!!" you chimed in, doing puppy eyes as well, hoping it would persuade him.

“Fine” he sighs, and you and Abby exchanged a hearty high five. “But only if you come with us as well, Y/N.”

“Fine by me!” you reply with an eager smile. “Come on Abby, let’s get ready!”

The happy trio then found itself impatiently sitting in the car, while the radio was silently playing Talking in your sleep.

A few moments later, you all three arrived n front of the abandoned pizzeria.

“Don’t get your hopes up, okay?” Mike warned as you were entering the building. “Just… Do whatever while I’m watching the cameras. Y/N? (you turn your head to look at him) I’m counting on you, you’re the adult, you take care of Abby, okay ? (you nod) And you, Abby, don’t be too much of a trouble, okay?”

“Mhm!” she agreed excitedly.

A few moments later, you and Abby found yourselves discovering all the oddities of the ancient pizzeria, but one in particular caught your eyes.

“Look at that muffin!” you say to Abby as you point your flashlight towards a muffin with a pink icing and some gloomy yellow eyes. “Imagine if it started chasing you here, what would you do?”

“I sure wouldn’t want that to happen” Abby chuckled as you switched rooms, not paying attention to the now moving muffin.

On the other hand, boredom seemed to have gotten the best of Mike. After all, if nothing tragic happened in this pizzeria in over 30 years, the bite of 87 aside, why would it change now?

That’s how our dear camera monitor ended falling asleep, the soft noise of the cameras’ static slowly lulling him, but he shouldn't have…

You and Abby kept on exploring the various and numerous rooms, and found a room full of blanket of pillows and blankets.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” you ask Abby as you give her a mischievous look.

“If you’re thinking about building a pillow fort, then totally!!” Abby replied cheerfully. “We should do it in the main plaza!”

“Yes!! Start off with bringing these there, I’ll take the rest!” you say as you hand her a few blankets.

A few moments later, you and Abby started running out of blankets, so you decided to take the ones who were covering some oddly tall figures.

“What the- oh my god this is awfully terrifying” you say as you uncovered a strange purple bunny looking animatronic.

Should you have left? Of course. But you somehow couldn’t take your eyes off of the strange creature before your eyes. Its red eyes were staring back at yours, and something felt off, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. It’s as if the creature in front of you was…

Alive.

“Help!!” you tried to scream, but nobody could hear you.

Strange, Mike thought as he noticed one of the cameras stopped working. I should check what’s going on there.

“Abby?” he asked as he headed towards the main plaza. “Do you know where is Y/N?”

“They’re in the storage room, we are going to build a pillow fort!” Abby replied cheerfully.

Mike then rushed to the storage room where he thought you were, where he noticed you silently studying the purple robot-looking bunny.

As you tilted your head in curiosity, the robot did the same, and you couldn’t help but to find it endearing.

"Oh my God, I thought something bad happened to you," Mike sighed, relieved to see you alive and well. "Are you the one who screamed earlier?"

“Yes” you admit with a sheepish smile. “That’s because he didn’t want to put me down.”

“Okay...” Mike replied, slightlty doubtful.

“By the way,his name is Bonnie! Bonnie, this is Mike, my best friend!” you said with a smile. “He can be of good use for taking all the pillows we need to the plaza!”

A few hours pass as the night comes to an end, and time to head back home arrived.

Both you and Abby fell asleep in the car, lulled by the smooth roaring of the car.

“Y/N?” Mike called you after Abby went to sleep. “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure, but what’s with the serious face?” you ask him, starting to get worried.

“Nothing I just…” Mike sighed. “I’m just glad you’re safe. The animatronics can get dangerous at times.”

“There’s something you’re not telling me.” You point out. “Whatever it is, you can tell me, I’m your best friend, I won’t judge.”

Mike sighed deeply before saying:

“If I got so worried about you, it’s because I thought I would lose you. And I couldn’t bear losing the one I love.”

“Is that… A confession?” you ask, not wanting a misunderstanding.

“What else do you want it to be” he replied, smiling awkwardly.

“Well” you chuckle, “I’m surprised you beat me to it. It’s been a while since I wanted to confess as well.”

“Wait, really??” (you nod with a soft smile) “So, does that mean that we’re, you know, dating?”

“I don’t know” you chuckle softly, “We’ll have plenty time to disscuss it later, okay? Let’s just say we’re lovers for now, okay?”

#fnaf #fnaf movie #fnaf movie x reader #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #fnaf mike schmidt #x reader #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson #five nights at freddy's #creative writing #writers on tumblr #writers on ao3 #queer writers

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miraculouslbcnreactions · 5 months

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Saw a post about how disappointing it is that Marinette never asked Adrien out (accurate) and had a thought: is Kagami the only girl who ever asks a guy out? Because I think she is and, if so, then yikes.

For a "feminist" show, it's certainly a choice to have a girl ask out a guy and have him accept just because he wants to move on/be loved. I remember being told to not ask guys out for exactly that reason. "He'll only say yes because he thinks you're easy" and stuff like that. This isn't a gender specific behavior, anyone can enter a relationship for "the wrong" reasons, but the stereotype is heavily gendered and Kagami is the only girl who ever got the guts to break the standard "guys ask the girls" mold, which is why Adrigami's writing is an issue. If your single piece of representation fits some very negative stereotypes, then you done goofed. Unless you're trying to teach little girls to never ask a guy out?

These are all of the hetero relationships that I can think of where we basically see the couple get together:

Ivan and Mylene - Ivan asks her out/writers her a song, longest lasting teen couple in the show. Consistently depicted as loving, supportive, and healthy.

Luka and Marinette - Luka asks her out and Marinette legitimately tries to date him/get over Adrien. Luka is incredibly supportive and understanding of the fact that she likes him, but still has Adrien brainrot. They probably would have stayed together if not for the Ladybug thing.

Adrien and Marinette - Adrien asks her out in Chat Blanc, Ephemeral, and the Kwami's Choice, each of which results in a relationship. The first two seemed healthy and loving and the writers sure seem to think that the current one is, too. Marinette obviously tries to ask him out a lot, but never manages to do it, so we don't know how that would have gone.

Nino and Alya - unclear, possibly mutual, but Alya certainly didn't ask him and their relationship is reasonably solid, ignoring Nino's terrible writing in season 5 which is clearly not meant to be seen as the lead-in to a breakup (good boyfriends do not reveal their girlfriend's secret identities unless they have a very good reason to do so!)

Kagami and Adrien - Kagami has to do all the work for their dates and Adrien continues to flirt with Ladybug in a non-playful, I'm-still-totally-interested way as opposed to the playful flirting he does with characters like Rena Rouge and Purple Tigress. He canonically only thinks about Kagami when Ladybug isn't available. I think it's fair to say that this relationship wouldn't have lasted even if Chat Noir wasn't a thing and Adrien just had a crush on a civilian. I don't think I've seen anyone who was happy with how Adrien was written here. Same goes for Kagami who suddenly only like her image of Adrien and not the real person, a thing that came from nowhere as far as I can tell. It also gets abandoned real quick with Kagami's crush returning in season five and her being one of the only people who can see that Adrien is sad during the season four final.

Felix and Kagami - does kidnapping count as asking someone out? I guess it does in this show, in which case, Felix did the asking. He certainly was the only one who confessed! They're our dramatic thespian couple who will do anything to be together because they love each other that much. I think they're here to stay, so it's a good thing that Kagami learned to wait for the man to ask. Now she can have her happily ever after!

#ml writing salt #ml writing critical #ml season 5 salt #kagami deserves better #let me know if I missed a case where the girl asked the guy and it actually went well #For a show that's supposed to empower little girls they really don't like empowering girls do they?#I'm usually a fan of mutual confessions where it's unclear who asked out who #but this is making me want to write something where it's explicitly the girl asking as the guy swoons

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sneakyblinders · 1 year

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this line of work pt 3

A/N: Read pt 1 here and pt 2 here! there will be one final part after this one! please drop me an ask or comment on this one if you want to be added to the tag list! warnings: this one is dark but the light comes back by the end :) sexual themes, language, kidnapping, ptsd, violence, raging jealousy and possessiveness, alluding to smut but no smut, not canon. a part of my tommy & his darling wife!au 7.3k words. I take no credit for the gif!

Bee got ready under the watchful eye of her husband, who busied himself with reading the morning’s paper just outside of the bathroom while she bathed, pinned her hair back and dressed.

When she was satisfactorily dressed, she came out of their room, seeking his approval on her choice of outfit. He had just swallowed a dose of medicine, his head beginning to pound again.

His eyes softened as she exited the room in a deep olive colored dress that hugged her figure almost sinfully. She wore patent leather black heels and had a clutch to match it. She had no jewelry.

He walked over to her, abandoning his paper and pulled her head into his hands. She trembled beneath his touch, lip quivering. He eyed her carefully before gently pressing his lips to hers.

“Thomas,” she breathed, pushing him away from her slightly, breaking the kiss. “Thomas, I can’t just forget what you did.”

He swallowed the bile and anger rising in his throat. “I did what was best for you,” he said, grabbing her left wrist and reaching into his suit pocket. “Now,” he held her rings in his hand. “Put these back on,” he demanded, sliding her wedding band on her ring finger, her hands trembling. “I don’t want to fight in front of the children,” her engagement ring. “And I never want to see you without these again, eh?” he said, eyes piercing into her as he slid the emerald band on top. “Eh?” he said, tilting her chin roughly up to meet his eyes when she didn’t respond. She nodded. “Good,” he mumbled. “Let’s go. You handle the baby and I’ll keep an eye on Peter.”

The Shelby Institute was a beautiful building for orphaned children in the city of Birmingham. A noble cause with an evil undercurrent. The family stood outside the building for a picture, none of Tommy’s siblings meeting her eyes, not knowing what to say to her or how to say it.

“Bee,” Ada said gently, catching her elbow as they moved to walk inside. “Bee I am so sorry,” she began.

“Ada,” Bee said, jaw clenched. “Don’t. Don’t make excuses for him.”

“I’m not,” Ada continued. “I just wanted to tell you if you ever want to get away, you’re always welcome in London,” she said with a sympathetic smile as Karl tugged on her hand.

“Thank you,” Bee said. Tommy had stopped at the entrance, looking over his shoulder, Peter on his hip, waiting for her. “I’m coming!” she said cheerily to him, a facade.

He smiled at her, walking behind her as she entered the building.

After the dedication of the building and Tommy’s speech, they all moved to an all purpose room for refreshments, for the sponsors to mingle with the family.

Women flocked to Tommy, telling him of their gratitude for this noble cause, asking him what they could do to help.

“It’s so wonderful to see a man not afraid to be with his child in public!” one older woman gushed, eyeing Peter who was holding Tommy’s hand, his other hand fisted in Tommy’s pant leg.

“This is my Daddy!” Peter beamed up at them.

Tommy smiled down at his son, ruffling his dark hair. “Oh that’s just darling! Do you love your Daddy, Peter?” the woman asked.

“Yes! Daddy is my hero!” Peter gushed, a smile a mile wide on his face. A dagger drove through Tommy’s heart at his son's words.

“Oh, that’s so sweet! Mr. Shelby, your little girl looks just like you, and your wife is a doll!” the lady gushed again.

“My wife is an angel,” Tommy smiled, looking over his shoulder, where Bee was conversing with another family.

“Mr. Shelby! We had this made for you!” Another woman came over to him, holding a statue of his favorite horse they had made. “We’d like to get a picture made with you, if that’s alright!”

“Yes, yes. Peter,” Tommy knelt down to his son. “Go over with Mummy for now, please.”

Tommy heard Katherine begin to cry from the other end of the room. Her hungry cry. Bee nervously looked around the room, and a maid came over to her as Peter tugged on the hem of Bee’s dress. “Mrs. Shelby,” the maid said. “If you come with me, there is a private room where you can nurse if you need to.”

“Oh, that would be lovely, thank you!” Bee said, smiling at the woman. With Tommy preoccupied, she took the chance to get away from him. It was for the baby, he would understand, after all.

The woman led her down the hallway and down the steps. The last thing Bee remembered was a thick bag covering her face, someone wrestling the baby from her, and Peter’s screams as she was rendered unconscious.

Tommy had finished with the photos and was just about finished mingling when he looked around the room for his family. “Ada, where’s Bee?” he asked.

“Oh, I think she went to go nurse Katherine. She had Peter with her. A maid took her downstairs I think,” Ada told him, brow furrowed.

Tommy approached a maid. “Where is a private room where a woman would nurse a baby?” he asked.

The woman's response was a furrowed brow. “We don’t have any private rooms for anything like that, Mr. Shelby.”

The blood drained from his face. “John! Arthur!” he called to his brothers, who came to his side in an instant. “Lock down the building, no one is to leave!”

“What’s going on?” Arthur asked, eyes wide.

“I can’t find Bee and the children,” he said, racing for the doors.

They searched the building high and low and couldn't find a trace of them. “Tommy! Tom!” Arthur ran to him outside the front of the building, holding his brother in his arms. “Tom, they took Bee and the babies,” Arthur told him, holding his head in his hands, as Tommy has done for him many times before. “They’ve got her. We’re gonna shut down all the major roads, call Moss right away. You gotta get back to the office. And, brother!” Arthur struggled against Tommy’s strength as he tried to wrangle free of Arthur’s hands. “Brother, look at me,” Arthur said, snapping Tommy’s eyes to his. “What you did to Bee, that wasn’t right. This medicine, the alcohol, the cocaine and opium, it’s–it’s not mixing well. You’re not yourself. We need you sharp. We need you fast, Tom. We can’t do this without you. Bee needs you. The babies need you.”

Tears were streaming down Tommy’s face as Arthur held him up. “Bee needs you, Tom. None of what’s happened the last six months has changed that.”

“I’ve ruined everything,” he sobbed, memories of Tatiana flooding his mind. Memories of Bee and how he’d hurt her, potentially irreparably over the last few weeks.

“With a love like what you’ve got,” Arthur rasped. “Nothing is unable to be fixed, eh? Gotta find her first though, Tom.”

Tommy nodded as John pulled the car around to the front. “Come on! We’ve gotta go!”

“Go to the office and wait, Tom,” Arthur told him.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll wait,” Tommy nodded.

Tommy simmered and stewed, Polly driving him back to the office. He smoked the whole way, knee bouncing, worry and anger coursing through his body.

“You’ll get them back, Tommy,” Polly assured him, eyeing him out of the corner of her eye.

Tommy didn’t reply, choosing to light another cigarette instead.

As they entered the Watery Lane office, Tommy raced to the phone, dialing Sergeant Mosses number. “Get me Moss,” he barked into the phone.

“We’re sorry, Sir, but he’s gone.”

“Gone? Gone where?” He demanded of the individual on the other end of the phone.

“I—I can’t say, Sir—“

The voice on the other end of the line was silenced as Tommy slammed the receiver of the phone down on the desk before hurtling the entire phone across the room, against the wall.

“Thomas, are you sure she hasn’t run away?” Polly asked as he went to the other side of the room, pacing back and forth. “After what you did?”

“It’s them,” he mumbled. “It has to be them,” he repeats, his medicine wearing off, thoughts becoming clearer despite the pounding in his head, the ache in his heart.

“Tommy!” Ada called, walking in the door. “Tommy, there’s someone here for you, a priest!”

Tommy’s eyes widened, heart racing. Polly stood to follow him, but he waved her off. “Stay. Don’t do anything!” He demanded.

He walked out the door towards the car that was idling a few yards away from the front door. The car was black, and he could see that bastard of a priest inside. Rage coiled itself around his lungs, his belly, his mind.

“We have your wife,” the priest rasped as Tommy was patted down by the priest's men. “Get in the car.”

Tommy was soaking wet from the rain, droplets of water falling into his face from his hair. He tried desperately to regulate his breathing. “First,” he rasped. “Is she safe? Are my children safe?”

“Of course the children are safe. All children are dear to me,” the priest said with a smirk.

“And my wife?” He asked, nervously twisting his wedding band around his finger.

“Aah, the wife you betrayed for a night with a duchess,” the priest made a tsk sound. “She’s fine for now, but I cannot guarantee she won’t become a plaything for some of the men who work for me soon. She is a thing of beauty, Mr. Shelby.”

“You hold all the cards,” Tommy said, shoulders trembling. “Tell me what you need me to do, and I will do it.”

The priest gave Tommy his orders, all of which Tommy agreed to, mentally jotting down every word Father Hughes said. “I want my wife and children returned to me without a scratch,” Tommy told him, not wanting to meet the priest’s eyes.

“Well,” Father Hughes began. “I cannot deliver your wife to you without scratches as she has already been roughed up a bit. Fiery woman, your wife. She didn’t want to obey. But—you know all about that, don’t you, Mr. Shelby?”

Tommy fought the rage that was building in his throat, threatening to spill out of his mouth. “But, I have another thing I need from you, Mr. Shelby,” Father Hughes said, a smirk on his face. “We hear you have a tunnel you’re creating, under the Wilderness Hills,” Tommy’s blood ran cold. “I am told there is a faberge egg in the strong room, a Lily of the Valley Egg. One of my colleagues wants the egg for his wife, and wants to give it to her. All of the jewels you retrieve will come to us,” Tommy nodded his head. “We need them in twenty four hours.”

Tommy shook his head. “No, no I cannot get it to you that quickly, the tunnel has hit clay.”

“If you do not get us what we have required,” the priest sneered. “By five AM on the day of the robbery, your wife will be given to my men as a reward for a job well done, and your children shipped off somewhere where you will never find them,” Tommy’s breathing was ragged, the pounding in his head worsening every second. “Now get out of my fucking car.”

When Bee woke up, she was in an unfamiliar room, on a cold, stone floor. She could hear Peter sniffling. “Mummy,” he whispered, crawling on his hands and knees over to her. “Mummy,” he said softly, his little hand on her face.

“Peter,” she whispered. “Where’s your sister?”

“She’s—one of the girls has her,” he said, terror in his ice blue eyes.

“Where’s Daddy?” Bee asked her son as he curled into her chest. Her head pounded, vision blurry from being hit on the back of the head earlier.

“They’ve been talking about him,” Peter says, nuzzling her neck. “Mummy, I’m scared,” he says, tears falling onto her skin.

“I know, son, I know,” she tells him, closing her eyes. “I am too, but, you remember how,” she took a breath. “You remember how you said Daddy was your hero earlier?” She asked him and he nodded against her skin. “Daddy is going to save us, okay? He will. He’s coming back for us.”

“Even though you’ve been fighting?” He asked, looking up at her.

Her heart shattered. “Oh, my boy,” she clutches her son against her chest. “Daddy and Mummy have been having a terrible go of it, I’m so sorry,” she pressed kisses to the top of his little head. “But I love your Daddy more than life, and although he hasn’t been himself lately, he’ll come back for us. I know he will. He loves us, he loves you.”

“I hope he comes soon, Mummy,” Peter says, gently crying against his mother.

The next day, Tommy had gone to Johnny Doggs’ camp, stirring him out of his late afternoon nap. “Johnny!” Tommy called, slamming the door of his car.

“Tommy! Tommy, what're you doing?” Johnny Doggs asked, confused at Tommy’s arrival. Tommy began to unbutton his shirt, his braces already long removed and discarded behind him.

“Everything’s changed, they have my family. They have Bee,” he said, out of breath. “The tunnel has to be finished before midnight or they’re all gone,” he threw his shirt at Johnny before disappearing into the tunnel.

Horror filled his mind, coming at him from every angle as he became covered in mud and clay. His hands cracked and bled, the knees of his pants were cut from various rocks and shells that were buried deep in the earth. His back ached, shoulders screaming in agony as he held himself up with one elbow, the other arm desperately picking away at the clay with his pickaxe. The earth trembled around him and his men, men he respected and trusted with his life.

Several men had to be carried back out of the tunnel, their shellshock from France too great for them to carry on any further. It was just Tommy and William Letso. The earth groaned. “Thomas, it’s too wet! Everything is sludge!” William called out to Tommy.

“We have to go on! Make it safe! I’ll go!” Tommy yelled back.

William shook his head in disbelief. “Yes, Sargeant,” he said out of habit as Tommy continued trudging on through the clay.

Scenes of the last week had replayed in his mind constantly. How he had treated his beloved. How he had yelled, screamed at her. How he had abandoned his promise to keep her safe—to be faithful, loyal, kind and tender. The anger he felt towards himself propelled him forward faster, moving the earth out of his way.

He thought of how she unselfishly spent months by his side at the hospital. Holding his hand, allowing him to squeeze it to the point of bruising when his pain was too unbearable. How she helped him bathe for the first time after he’d been in the hospital. How she’d carefully wipe the sweat from his face when the shakes began. How she spoon fed him broth. How she had gently carded her delicate fingers through his hair, pressing soft kisses to his forehead to calm him down. How she’d shaved him every morning when he couldn’t see to do it himself. She’d read him the paper every morning from front to back, curled up next to him in the tiny hospital bed. She’d made up little stories to help put him to sleep at night, helping him dream of better places, better times when all of this would be behind them. She’d lulled him to sleep with her arms around him, his head on her chest, falling asleep to her heartbeat.

Tears poured down his cheeks, his entire body aching and exhausted, but his anger was his strongest weapon.

He reached the end of the tunnel in the Knick of time, setting up the lines for the dynamite against the brick walls of the strong room. He quickly crawled backwards through the tunnel to the opening before lighting them, ears ringing once they exploded through the brick.

He crawled back through the tunnel, through smoke and dust and dirty water running down the self made walls of the tunnel, dripping on him. His hands were cut and his chest was scratched all to hell, body covered in dirt, clay, blood, tears and snot.

He quickly entered the strong room, shoving every bit of jewels he could get his hands on into bags, his hands shaking. He fought his stomach heaving, overwhelmed from the work he had done, terrors grip on him strengthening, terrible memories from France resurfacing. He shoved each memory back down into his mind as he shoved the last of the jewels into the bags, climbing back into the tunnel and up the ladder to safety, collapsing on the ground in the fresh air, chest heaving as he rolled over and threw up bile.

Bee and Peter trembled in their jail cell, sitting on the floor away from the door, splitting a piece of bread Father Hughes had brought them a few moments ago. They were both cold, the stone of the floor and walls leaking cold from the earth around them. “Mrs. Shelby, your husband has always spoken of how beautiful you are, but,” the priest dragged a finger over her cheek. “He never told us how beautiful your children were.”

Bee fought back tears, willing Tommy to come and save them quickly. He had left the room as quickly as he had come, locking it behind him.

A few moments later, Bee heard footsteps, followed by an animalistic roar. Peter jumped, burying his face in his mothers side, whimpering in fear. Bee clutched him closer.

“Bee?” A familiar voice called out—Michael. “Let her speak, I need to know she’s okay!” Michael roared.

“Speak!” Father Hughes barked.

“I’m okay Michael!” Bee squeaked out.

There was a scuffle of bodies on the other side of the door. Bee couldn’t bring herself to imagine what was happening until she heard a strangled cry followed by an exhausted gasp from Michael.

She heard no more struggle after that. Keys jingled as the familiar clack of shoes—shoes like Tommy’s—came to the door, unlocking it. Michael was soaked in blood, his eyes full of rage and no remorse. “Come on, Tommy’ll want to talk to you,” he said, breathing heavily.

“Where’s Katherine?” Bee asked.

“Right here,” Bee heard Polly’s voice. Her hands were bloody, but the baby was safe in her arms. Bee picked up Peter and walked out of the cell, towards the door.

“We’ve got to get you home, if Thomas doesn’t hear from you in thirty minutes of us getting you, he’s going to literally lose his mind,” Polly said, shuffling Bee and Peter into the backseat.

“Where is he?” Bee asked, holding Peter in her lap.

“He’s been moving heaven and earth to get you back. Literally,” Polly said, exasperated as she held the baby in her lap, Katherine’s head against Polly’s chest. “Now, I know it’s going to take a lot of time to forgive him, if that is what you choose to do, but Bee,” Polly paused, biting the inside of her cheek. “He has been a wreck. Try to be gentle with him?”

Tears welled in Bee’s eyes. “That’s the thing, Pol,” she shook her head. “No matter how angry I am with him, no matter how terribly he has treated me, I cannot imagine being anything but gentle to him. Not after this ordeal. If that makes me weak, then I guess I am a weak fool for my husband.”

Polly smiled gently at her as the car lurched forward, towards the Shelby Manor.

Tommy pushed his Bentley to the brink, speeding as quickly as he could to get to the nearest pay phone on the road, sliding coins in the slot and dialing his home number. “Bee? Bee? Let me speak to Bee, Mary,” he panted, body shaking from fear, adrenaline, exhaustion.

“Yes, Mr. Shelby, she’s coming through the door now,” Mary said. He could hear the faint click of Bee’s shoes on the hardwood, Katherine’s cry and Peter’s wailing.

“Thomas?” Bee’s voice came over the phone.

“My love? My love, are you okay?” He asked, tears in his eyes.

“Yes, yes I’m alright, I’m home. Thomas, where are you? Are you alright?” She asked and his heart swelled in his chest. Of all the horror she had endured and the first thing out of her mouth was asking if he was alright.

“Yes, Darling, I’m—I’m on my way home. Where’s Peter?” He asked.

“He’s right here, he’s very scared. Peter,” Bee said, her lips away from the receiver. “It’s Daddy, do you want to talk to Daddy?” He heard Peter scream yes.

“Daddy!” Peter said into the phone, jarring Tommy’s eardrums from how loud he was speaking. “Daddy I’m scared. Mummy and I—we—we need you!” He cried into the phone.

“I know, my boy, I know. I am coming home now. I’ll be there and we’ll all be safe, eh? We’ll all be safe together. You, Mummy, your sister and I. Daddy will keep you safe, son,” Tommy said, tears streaming down his face.

“Okay, okay, Daddy,” Peter cried, sniffling.

“Can I talk to Mummy again?” Tommy asked.

“Thomas, hurry home, please,” Bee said, voice cracking on the other end of the line.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, Sweetheart, I promise. I’m coming now. I love you, Bee!” He called into the receiver.

“I know,” was all she said before the line went dead.

Before he climbed back in his car, Tommy made one more phone call.

“Yes, Mr. Shelby?” The thick Russian accent drawled on the other end of the line.

“I have what you want,” he rasped. “But I’m going to see my family first.”

Bee decided while she waited for Tommy to come back, she would clean Peter up and get him down to the kitchen for dinner. He was hungry and tired. She bathed him quickly before getting him into his warm, soft pajamas and slippers. “Okay, Peter, let’s go down and get something to eat, I know you’re hungry.”

“No!” He said, stomping his little foot. “I want to wait for Daddy with you!” He said.

She sighed. “Okay, I’ll have Sara bring your dinner to the sitting room, okay?” She asked and he nodded in approval.

They were getting ready to walk down the stairs when they heard the front doors slam shut, followed by Tommy’s voice. “Bee? Peter? Where are you?” He yelled.

“Up here, Daddy!” Peter said, running towards the bannister.

Tommy ran up the steps, nearly tripping over his own two feet. He was covered in mud and dried blood, his eyes were red and what little clothes he had on were either wrinkled or torn.

“My son,” Tommy breathed, sinking to his knees and pulling Peter into his chest, sobs wracking his body.

“You’re dirty, Daddy,” Peter said, his fingers accidentally ending up in a clump of clay that had stuck to Tommy’s hair.

“Yes, son, I am. But I’m glad you’re safe. Where—where’s your mother?” Tommy asked. Peter pointed behind Tommy’s shoulder at his mother, who stood in the archway of the corridor that led to their room. “Peter,” Tommy said, chin trembling, eyes not leaving his wife. “Go see Sara, okay? Mummy and I will be down in a little bit, okay? I need to—get cleaned up.”

Peter nodded, dashing down the steps, leaving Tommy and Bee alone. “Thomas,” Bee said stoically, tears running down her face.

“My love, my darling,” Tommy nearly crawled on his hands and knees to her. “My beautiful angel,” he cried, his forehead pressed to her feet.

She winced as he soaked her feet with his tears, hands wrapped around her ankles. “Thomas,” she said softly, causing him to look up at her. “You’re a mess,” He let out a breath, a small laugh leaving his lips. “Stand up,” she demanded and he obeyed, willing to do anything she asked until the end of time if it meant she would forgive him. “Come on, I’ll draw a bath.”

They sat in an uncomfortable silence while the bath ran. Bee ran his hands under warm water, trying her best to remove the dirt and grime from his hands, his arms. She ran a soft cloth under water and softened the caked on dirt and clay on his face. He eyed her lovingly, not understanding the depths of her love.

Once the bath was warm and filled enough, she led him to it. He sunk into the water, hissing as the hot water instantly soothed his aching body, warming him to his very core.

She asked him to dunk his whole body under the water, and he obeyed, murky water running into his eyes when he came back to the surface. She lathered shampoo in her hands before massaging at his scalp, cleaning his hair. Soft, gentle moans left his lips at his wife’s work.

“Why are you doing this?” He asked once she began to lather another soft cloth to clean his shoulders and back with.

“Because, Thomas,” she began, gently working at the taut muscles of his shoulder and the back of his neck, running the warm cloth over him until no dirt was left on his skin. “Despite all the awful things you’ve done to me,” she seethed, and a dagger was driven into his already shattered heart. “Our love is still strong,” she continued, running the cloth down his strong arms. “I’m not going to thank you for getting me out of that prison, because it was your fault I was in there in the first place,” she said and he nodded.

“I—I don’t expect you to thank me,” he said, voice shaking.

“I’m not going to let you anywhere near me without my clothes on until every ounce of my trust has been rebuilt,” she continued, and he nodded. “I’m not going to sleep in the same room with you, and for the foreseeable future,” she moved to washing his chest. “I do not wish to be alone with you past this encounter, right here, right now.”

A whimper left his lips. “What—whatever you want me to do, Darling, I’ll do it. I swear I will. I won’t complain.”

He felt her move closer to him. She was sitting on a stool behind the tub, his back to her. Her right hand moved to his throat and he let out a small gasp. “Do you remember what you said to me before you killed the doctor that kissed me?” She asked, her lips to his ear. He nodded. “About how you had to teach someone a lesson about what happens when they try to come in between us? In between this love we have?” She asked. He nodded again, her grip on his throat tightening. “There is still someone who needs to be dealt with, Thomas,” she sneered. His mind raced in a panic. “And I want to be the one to deal with her. Just as much as I belong to you,” she whispered. “You belong to me.”

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat but her grip on him was too strong. The water was making him sleepy, lethargic, muscles sore and aching still, he was too tired to fight against her wrath. “Tell me how you want to do it,” he croaked. “And I’ll let you do it.”

She laughed maniacally, releasing the grip on his throat as he gasped for air. “From now on, Thomas,” she said, getting up and walking in front of him. “You’ll let me do anything I ask.”

He nodded furiously, shifting in the bath to be close to her again, murky water sloshing over the sides. “Yes, yes, anything you want, Darling,” he reached a wet hand out to her, to which she backed away from, further making his heart shatter. “Your son wants to see you,” she said, coldly folding her arms across her chest and walking out of the bathroom, leaving him alone.

Later that afternoon, as the sun was setting, Tommy drove to meet Tatiana in their designated meeting place. He could hear his heart pumping in his ears, the finality of all this hitting him all at once. He had fought back tears the entire drive, thinking of how coldly Bee looked at him. How much he craved her to touch him, cradle him against her chest. The guilt was overwhelming.

He pulled on the countryside road and pulled the vehicle to a stop a few yards back from where the Duchess and her jeweler stood. Tommy got out of the car with the bags of jewels and walked silently over to them, slamming the bags down on the table where the jeweler sat.

“Mr. Shelby,” Tatiana said, a smile on her lips. “How’s your wife?”

He clenched his fists at his side. “Mad as hell but she’s safe,” he said, reaching for a cigarette, standing in the line of sight between Tatiana and the car.

“Has she forgiven you yet?” she asked. “I know you told her, I can tell by that guilty look on your face,” she smirked as the jeweler inspected each piece individually.

“No,” Tommy cleared his throat. “I suspect I will grovel at her feet for the next decade.”

Tatiana let out a snort. “If you ever need a sexual release, Mr. Shelby, look me up. I’ll be in Austria.”

“I wouldn’t lay another hand on you if my life depended on it,” he sneered.

“Confirmed,” the jeweler said, laying his magnifying glass down. “The original collection, Miss Petronova.”

Tatiana smiled, picking up the suitcase at her feet and handing it over to Tommy. He raked the jewels into the jeweler's lap before throwing the suitcase down on the table, and popping open the latches. All the cash was in the suitcase, as discussed.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Shelby,” Tatiana smiled.

The jeweler asked for a pen for Tatiana to sign the bill of sale as Tommy turned his back to walk towards the car, nodding at Bee, who was crouched low in the front seat of the car. She emerged silently from the car, gun in her hand.

Tatiana’s eyes were set on the jeweler, her weapon in her hand as Tommy stepped out of the line of fire; Bee firing a bullet into the Duchess’ chest, just offset from her heart.

She hit her target, and Tatiana crumpled to the dirt in a heap, her own gun clattering to the dusty road. Tommy raced back towards Tatiana, kicking the weapon out of her reach as Bee walked over to them. Tatiana clutched her chest as Bee hovered over her, the weapon still in her hand.

“Mrs. Shelby–” Tatiana croaked, looking over at Tommy–his expression stone cold as he watched his wife.

Bee her foot on the Duchesses throat, just enough pressure to cut off the air supply to her lungs. “This is what happens when people come in between my husband and I,” Bee rasped before firing another bullet into her skull.

The jeweler trembled in fear as Tommy pointed Tatiana’s gun at him and fired directly into his brain. He fell to the dirt. Tommy removed his handkerchief from his pocket, wiping the handle of Tatiana’s gun off and putting it back in her hand.

Bee had begun to shake, the reality of her actions hitting her. “Thomas,” she trembled.

“Here,” he said softly, walking over to her, taking the gun from her hand and tucking it in the waistband of his pants. “We’re going to throw it in the cut, Darling, come on,” he said gently, putting an arm around her shoulders. “You did well, Darling,” he told her, holding her close as they approached the car.

He opened the passenger door for her, closing it gently behind her. He walked to the other side of the car, getting in on the drivers side. “Thomas,” she said, looking at him with tears in her eyes.

“Yes?” he asked softly.

“Did I do the right thing?” she asked, fear in her eyes.

He pulled her close to him, his arms wrapped around her small frame. She nuzzled her face against his neck. “Even if you didn’t, my Darling, I will protect you from everything, eh?”

“No more mistresses, Thomas?” she asked, her dark eyes looking up at him.

“Never,” he promises, lips ghosting over hers. “I swear to you.”

“Thomas,” she whispers before he tenderly captures her lips in a kiss. A kiss full of emotion, of desire, sorrow, regret, adoration. His hands are on her back, pressing her against him closer, closer, closer. His hands are in her hair and their kisses become more rough, hungry as she slides in his lap, straddling him.

“Love,” he breathes, breaking their kiss as she grinds down against him. “Love, what do you want?” he asks as she moves to unbutton and unzip his trousers.

“I need you, Thomas,” she breathed. “Need to know what we had is still there,” she says, kissing the side of his neck.

“It’s there,” he breathes, gently tugging at her hair so their eyes meet. “It’ll never go away, Darling.”

“Make love to me, Thomas,” she demands.

“I thought you didn’t want me anywhere near you with your clothes off,” he breathed.

“I’m not taking anything off,” she smirked, hiking her skirts up around her waist and moving her panties to the side.

“Woman,” he growled, sinking his teeth into her neck. “You’ll be the death of me,” he rasped.

He made love to her slowly in the car, driving the most obscene noises from her mouth. She clung to him as he brought them both to their release, each of them swallowing the others moans down.

They sat against each other in silence for a few moments, their foreheads pressed together. “Is it still there?” he asked nervously, licking his lips.

She nodded. “Yes. Right where I can feel it,” she said, moving his hand to her heart. “Right here,” they sat with their foreheads against one anothers, regulating their breathing. “Thomas,” she breathed. Tommy let out a ‘hmph’ of acknowledgement. “Tell me you love me. If you still love me.”

He let out a soft snort. Disbelief. “My angel,” he breathed, hands pulling her close. “I love you. I love you for all eternity. I love you with all I am.”

And when he said it aloud she knew. She knew it was still there.

That evening, the Shelby family was arrested, save Bee and Thomas, for their various crimes they had committed across the span of the last four-or-so years. Bee watched in horror as the family she had begun to love as her own was taken from the grounds of their home in the backs of trucks, handcuffed and bound.

Her anger from this act of atrocity her husband committed against his family was enough to make her not speak to him for a week and a half. She wouldn't look at him–wouldn’t acknowledge his presence in a room. Ada called Bee one day and begged her to just have dinner with Tommy. That he was dying inside. He’d do anything for her. Bee knew it and dammit if Ada’s words didn’t tug at her heart.

He brought a bouquet of flowers and a new pair of pearl earrings to dinner, and that was the beginning of it all again.

With the family away in prison, Tommy’s focus shifted largely from work to his family. Getting the family he was born into out of prison, and redeeming himself to the one he had created.

He began to take Bee on dates, taking her to the finest restaurants and pubs, nightclubs and dress makers. He had taken her out into their fields one chilly fall evening and pitched a tent, creating a fire. They slept under the stars that night–the first night she’d allowed him to fall asleep next to her in months.

One afternoon, she knew Tommy had a particularly draining day. He had called her halfway through the day to ask after her and the babies, and she could hear the stress in his voice. She had wandered down to the kitchens to make him a pie.

He came home earlier than she expected, interrogating the maids as to his wife’s whereabouts. “She’s in the kitchens, Mr. Shelby,” Frances told him, a twinkle in her eye.

Tommy dashed down the steps and nearly lost his breath when he saw her dusting icing sugar over the top of a beautiful pumpkin pie. Cookies were cooling on racks on the table and his senses were overwhelmed by what he saw, smelled, felt.

“It smells lovely,” he said softly, causing her to turn and face him.

“I made it just for you,” she said, a girlish grin on her face that made him wild.

“All of this,” he rasped, walking over to her. “Just for me, eh?” he asked as she giggled. She turned her back towards him as he walked her towards the counter, rucking his cold hands up her skirts. She yelped in surprise.

“Thomas!” she giggled as he pressed kisses to the back of her neck. “Your hands are like ice!”

“It’s a good thing my wife is a hearth then, hm?” he rasped, hands on her hip bones, crushing her backside against his crotch. She let out a little moan before she turned around to face him. She had a giggly smile on her face and he wondered what this was all about. “If I were a man with less self control, I’d take you right here, right now,” he smirked.

She laughed. “Oh, Tommy Shelby, a man who has self control where his wife is concerned. That’s a good one, lovey,” she giggled as he hugged her against him, his hands roughly grabbing at her backside.

“When can I indulge in these wonderful baked goods, hm?”

“After we talk. After dinner,” she said.

A confused look spread on his face. “Talk, hm?”

She nodded. “Yep. You and me, Mr. Shelby.”

After they had successfully gotten both of the babies to sleep, Bee led Tommy to what was once their shared room. She guided him to sit in the chair opposite hers in the sitting room off of the bedroom. His heart beat in his chest nervously. No one had the power to make him nervous like she did. Wicked woman that she was, she knew it and used it to her advantage.

“Thomas,” she said, sitting down, folding her hands in her lap. “I’m ready to hear you say it,” she said, looking him in the eyes.

Tommy swallowed the nerves that had just jumped into his throat. The whole time he had worked to gain her trust back, she had not once allowed him to utter the words he so desperately needed to say. The need to unburden his mind, his heart, with the knowledge of his infidelity weighed heavily on him the last few months. But she didn’t want to hear what he had to say before she was ready to hear it and accept his apology.

In one long stride he was standing in front of her. Not breaking their eye contact, he got on both of his knees in front of her, holding her hands in his.

“My love,” he began, mind whirring, trying to recall all the words he had so eloquently practiced in his office by himself. “I know I cannot take back the atrocity I committed against you, against our love, against this family we have created,” he began, his eyes searching for something, anything within hers. She remained stoic and cold. “And I have felt nothing but remorse and guilt ever since I made those decisions. But Darling,” he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “You mean more to me than I could ever express in words, in action, in thought, even if I spent the rest of my miserable existence trying,” his eyes turned sorrowful. “My love, I will continue to do everything in my power to gain your trust. To redeem myself in your eyes. Bee,” tears stung at his eyes. “I am sorry for everything I have put you through,” her chin was trembling, tears in her eyes. “Will you forgive me?”

She threw her arms around his neck, tears falling from her eyes. “Yes, Thomas,” she gasped. “Yes, I forgive you.”

He pried her away from his neck and pressed his lips fully to hers, his hand at the nape of her neck, his other hand roaming across her back hungrily. She tumbled from her chair, knocking him on his back, his hands now free to explore her body more freely. Her hands cupped his face as his hands tore at her skirt, pulling it up her legs, hands grabbing at the tender flesh of her ass, her thighs. A knee on either side of his waist, she sat up on her knees to pull her blouse over her head.

He marveled at his wife, breathless atop him, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. He bucked his hips up against her, groaning at the sight of her. “I need you,” he growled as she smirked, making a show of removing her bra.

He pulled her legs around his waist, making her yelp in surprise, her arms wrapping around his neck. He stood up and carried the two of them to their bedroom, closing the door behind him with his foot.

Somewhere around midnight they found themselves laughing with one another, feeding each other bites of cookies and pie in bed. Tommy had his whiskey and Bee had her wine. Her legs were thrown over his, his fingers running up and down them, biting his lip. She giggled at him.

“Mr. Shelby,” she smiled. “Are you alright?”

He shook his head, a smirk on face as he turned on his stomach to crawl towards her. “Mrs. Shelby,” he drawled, hovering above her. “Do you know what these legs do to me?” he asked, hand reaching to hitch a leg over his hip, grinding against her.

She giggled again. “I can feel it,” she squirmed underneath him.

“The first thing I saw was your fucking legs,” he rasped, kissing her shoulder. “I knew it from that first second I was gone for,” she giggled again. “All I thought about that night after I walked you home was these fucking legs,” he kissed her collarbones. “How they’d feel wrapped around my waist,” she let out a little gasp. “How they’d feel with my face buried between them.”

“Thomas!” she gasped as he continued to kiss down her body.

“It’s your favorite, you know it,” he smirked.

And dammit if it weren’t.

“Before I begin,” he said, a smirk on his face, kissing her inner thigh. “Where’d you learn to shoot like that?” he asked.

She blushed. “Arthur and John taught me. When you were attacked when Peter was born. They asked which weapon I’d prefer. I told them, and they taught me.”

He smiled, pressing more kisses to her thighs. “Remind me to thank them when I free them from prison, eh?”

1957

Tommy and Bee let out a shudder, remembering those terrible months that almost pulled them apart. Almost did irreparable damage to their love–to their life together.

Tommy sighed, head hanging between his shoulders. “So,” he began, breaking their long silence. “Do we tell her?”

Bee sighed, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “I think we have to.”

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