#mob peter parker

[liz-allyn]

sugar and vice, pt 1 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: I have a meet-cute in a coffee shop. but for mob!peter.

words: 5.5k

warnings: Shameless TASM mob!daddy Peter fantasies, including, but not limited to, kidnapping, knives, bang bang shoot shoot, pining, eventual smut

Part 1

“Just a coffee, black. Biggest ya got.”

Wearily, yet still wired, Peter tapped his fingers on the stainless steel counter. It was late. Or early. Streetlamps still blazed in unholy darkness outside. It had been a long night. But he had felt like he’d been up for years. 

Across from him, a young woman wearing overalls and a daisy-yellow bandana gave him a heavy nod. “Sure,” she replied, gravely. “I have to warn you, though. We over-roast our beans. It’s bitter as hell.”

He blinked at her, not expecting such honesty. She had a trusting face. Pretty eyes. 

“Ya wanna sweeten it up for me?”

He could hear the lame pickup line of a younger version of himself. One that wore a confident smirk, walked with bravado. One that hadn’t lost what he had lost. The older Peter of today brushed that voice away. “I like bitter.”

He glanced up at her eyes and saw sympathy. “Oof, tragic,” she frowned, shaking her head teasingly, her coyness peeking through. She retrieved a paper cup and filled the dark liquid to the brim. 

The personalness of it threw him off. Peter had wandered in like a zombie. He only briefly heard her ask for his order and his name, both of which he gave, and he expected nothing in return but the coffee. He watched her carefully, shifting uncomfortably. He was the only customer in the shop at this hour, but he didn’t expect to be seen. 

“Here you go,” she declared, handing the cup over. “One large black graveyard dirt, extra tears.”

It wasn’t so much the joke, rather the way she beamed when she said it. It was like sunlight peeking through the curtains just right, casting a familiar space in an ethereal glow. 

She glowed.

Seeing it awakened his senses. He felt the way flowers must feel, desperately reaching their petals out toward the sun after they’d been neglected through a long, dark winter. 

Before he knew it, he was smiling back. Teeth bared, eyes crinkled, grinning like a fool. He thought his muscles couldn’t remember what smiling felt like. It ached.

She reached out, extending the cup towards him. But it was so much more than that.

His gaze darted from her sparkling eyes, to the curve of her mouth, back to the apples of her cheeks—

“Thanks for stopping by, Ben!”

The illusion vanished, as did his smile. He pulled away, staring at the stainless steel countertop for a moment. He thanked her and took the cup from her hand, dropping a couple of bucks in the jar. He didn’t spare her another glance as he turned on his heel. 

For a moment there, he felt free. He’d forgotten what he was underneath the leather gloves, thick cashmere coat, the bitter coffee, and the fake name.

His hand found the door, the winter chill penetrating his glove. Just as he began to push it open, he heard a shout.

“Wait!” 

He did, glancing back at her, against his better judgment.

“I forgot to tell you,” she said, almost shrinking into herself with a sheepish expression. She blushed at the eagerness and volume of her own voice. “To have a great day.”

He blinked, brow creased.

“It’s, uh, sorry— it’s stupid,” she rolled her eyes, slapping her palm across her forehead. “But I’m… I’m supposed to say ‘have a great day’ and I always forget, maybe ‘cos I’m a little ADHD, and my boss always reminds me that I need to say it every time, but that’s awkward, right? Like it needs to come up in conversation, I can’t just blurt it. I mean, I can. Like, I just did. But that was weird, right? It was weird. And sometimes, I’m thinking about the next 3 things I have to do, or the thing I just did and I get… I don’t know, a little lost in the moment, and then it passes, and then I felt like I missed out, y’know?”

He stared. “No?”

“On saying what I want really to say,” she said with a voice full of warmth—gentle and genuine in tone. Her babbling ceased as she emphatically declared. “I really hope you have a great day. You deserve it.”

There it was again. That smile. Sincerity and kindness sliced through him like a razor. He was a child again, getting a kiss on the cheek from his mother. Her cheerful gaze lit him up inside, like setting off a roman candle beneath his ribs. It wrapped him in a firm embrace, filling him, shielding him, and grounding him all at once.

This time, he couldn't look away. Didn't want to. He waited until he could hear the flutter in her heart. He was smiling again.

“Thank you. I think I will.”

And as if she’d cast some sort of spell, he did. The way she enchanted him, he was certain if they lived 400 years ago they might accuse her of witchcraft. He always had a good day when he saw her. No matter how painful, or dirty, or bloody. She became his good luck charm. His ability to ‘have a good day’ became entirely dependent on seeing her.

He shouldn’t go back there. He should try the Starbucks down the street. But he couldn’t help it.

She’d pour him basic drip coffee, announcing aloud to the whole shop as she handed it to him. “Here you go! Extra large, extra-hot dark roast, with extra-darkness and a splash of angst.” There was affection in her gaze despite the sarcasm of her voice.

“One extra large coffee, black as the devil’s soul.” She’d whisper to him privately, gifting him with a good-luck smile, even when the coffee shop was full of people during the morning rush. In those moments, she made him feel like they were the last two people on the planet. And it always made something in his belly flutter.

“I have an extra-black ‘Fault in Our Stars,’ with a shot of ‘The Road’ for my friend in the suit!” 

Her friend. He couldn’t help but blush. How could he come to this place every day, stand in line, and feel like he was coming home? She was magic.

The coffee really was awful.

“Let me know if you ever want me to sweeten that up for you,” she graciously suggested, as the cup left her fingers. The brush of her fingertips against his felt like wildfire. Her comment was innocent, but his mind wasn’t. “I think I can make it taste better—I have some window cleaner left.”

He was smiling again. It blossoms into something reciprocal. That should be enough. He shouldn’t be greedy. He should walk away now. He should run. 

“What would you suggest?” he asked coyly. It was the first time he had ever done so.

A million saccharine-infused terms of endearment flowed through his mind—sweetness, sugar, gumdrop, sweetheart, sweetie, cookie, peach, muffin, angelcake—most of them were trash. (Really, Parker? What is this, high school? Whaddya doin’? You ever talk to a woman before? Why do you sound like somebody’s grandpa? Such a creepy —

Some of them weren’t appropriate between friends. None of them appropriate coming from a stranger.

That’s what he was, deep down. God, this precious girl—she was so trusting. Was she friendly like this with everyone? No, he had noticed as time went on. She’s warm and kind to everyone she meets. But not like this. Not the way she is for him.

“Ooh, getting adventurous, are we?” she teased him, stars in her eyes. 

For him. All he could do was stare back in awe at the Milky Way in her gaze. He would follow them and venture on any journey where they may lead.

“How do you feel about lavender and honey?”

Flowers and sugar for Brits and fancy people. He quirked his brow at the concept. “In coffee?”

Her eyes twinkled with excitement, as she spun around and began her concoction. 

For him.

He needed to leave. But he followed the length of her arms, the delicacy of her fingers, the way her hips moved as she danced around her workstation. He was hypnotized again. 

He imagined dancing with her. Letting her body flow and wrap around his like curtains billowing in the breeze. He barely registered that she was holding a new cup out toward him. While he was daydreaming, she had written his name on the cup and drew a little heart next to it.

He stared at it. It’s not exactly his name. But it’s the one he’d given her. And in return, she had given him so much.

He took the cup from her hand and couldn’t help but feel like he was undeserving of her kindness. Or her attention. Or her heart.

“Don’t make that face,” she softly admonished as if she could read his mind, or she might have read his sad look as disproval of her efforts. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

She gave him a smile. She gave and gave and gave. Gave him a reason to keep living. She didn’t even know.

He took a sip. It warmed his tongue, his throat, his heart. It ached.

“S’good,” he hummed, honestly surprised. He was telling her the truth. He reached for his wallet with his free hand, retrieving a wad of bills. He always paid in cash.

She waved him off, mock offense on her face. “No, silly. That’s not how gifts work!” Her laugh sounded like church bells. 

She was a gift. For him. His flower. His Honey.

“This one’s on the house,” she assured him, as he hesitantly lowered his wallet. She whispered low, in a tone that burned him up inside. “It’ll be our secret.” His mind felt like it was rebooting. She said it innocently, but he was anything but. She scoffed with a flippant laugh, “Just don’t tell my boss, okay?”

Her boss. He knew about her boss. Tod. With one ‘D’. 

Some mornings, particularly Monday through Thursday, he’d see the pencil-like man stiffly pacing the back of the bar while she and another young girl kept up with demand. Hawkish eyes, always watching. Always judging. Rarely picking up a milk jug himself.

He dominated the register. Peter hated handing him cash. His face reminded him of a cheese grater if it could look unhappy. “Are you sure you don’t want a pastry?” he offered the ‘add-on’ with what was supposed to be a smile. 

Peter’s eyes shot over to his Honey as she was artfully pouring foam, adding her magic to someone else’s cup. She refused to look at Peter and he hated it. It reminded him of a defense tactic. Don’t look at the thing you don’t want to be taken away. As if he was a prized possession that she wanted to hide away from Tod, who might accuse her of having ‘favorites.’

It stirred wild emotions to be thought of that way, especially by her. 

How dare her boss accuse her of any wrongdoing. How dare he threaten her.

“I’m fine,” said Peter, with a chill he hoped Tod could feel. 

He needed to leave. 

He needed to take his Honey and his Lavender Latte and just go. 

He shook his head. His brain was lagging again. He turned away from the straight-backed scarecrow before a robotic ‘thank you for being a customer’ could be responded to. 

Peter waited. Eyes on the floor. Eyes on the exit. Eyes on the windows. Eyes on her, but only briefly. He waited and daydreamed bitterly, waiting for her to call out a name that wasn’t his. 

“Honey Lavender Latte,” his enchantress called out. Hearing her voice caught him from his downward spiral. He made eye contact with her as he took the cup from her hands. Warmth radiated from her eyes, although muted. It was enough to soothe and comfort him. 

She blushed, sheepishly, unable to contain the smile in her voice. “Have a lavender-ly day.”

His mood lifted. Such a silly girl. Witchcraft, indeed. “Thanks, Honey,” he replied, without thinking.

Her big eyes widened for a moment, and her heart quickened. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked away, unsuccessfully hiding her teeth.

Peter would call her that a million times in a row if it would elicit that reaction.

“Have a great day,” Tod interrupted, murdering the moment.

Poor girl. She cowered slightly, like a dog hearing the word ‘no.’ She took a breath and put on a smile, turning back towards her work. 

Tough girl. She didn’t need Peter to defend her. 

He glanced over at Tod with a deadpan expression, and walked out of the shop before he did or said anything else stupid.

The world was full of Tods. It was also full of monsters. Sometimes Peter was one of them. No Tod was truly worth his attention.

Except for that one time. 

A Tuesday morning in the middle of the holiday shopping season. Peter stood in line patiently, arms crossed, gritting his teeth. He glowered behind the bar at Tod, standing too close to his Honey. She gazed up at her boss helplessly, watching him turn red in the face, as the flagpole of a man waved his arms wildly. Clearly agitated, he kept his volume low but his body language screamed at her. 

“What I need your help with is this,” Tod hissed as he towered over her. “I need you to tell me what is the best method for getting information into your head. How can I communicate with you in a way that you’ll understand?” His voice was soft although he flailed like a wavy-arm inflatable man in a car lot. 

“Tell me honestly,” he sneered, dressing her down in front of a line of customers. At this point, Peter didn’t need any superpowers to be able to hear the conversation. She visibly fought the urge to cry. “Do I need to write it down? Do I need to scream at you? Do I need to throw something? Do I need to take you aside and have an hour-long conversation?” She kept her eyes on the ground as he kept pelting her with icicles. “Tell me your preference here. What is it that you’ll respond to?”

The scene came to an abrupt end when the glass of the shop window shattered. The sound silenced him finally. The front door swayed limply, having been yanked off its hinges and slammed into its frame. His Honey glanced around the shop with concern. 

Peter was no longer there.

He didn’t come back that day. 

Neither did Tod.

Some sort of accident, his Honey told him the following week, although he already knew the details. She explained to him why the shop had a new manager, a well-composed woman named Leyla. By the airiness of her mood, he could tell she greatly preferred Leyla’s managerial style.

She was happy, and that made him happy. 

And that should be enough. 

He should leave. He should run. Get as far away from her as possible.

But he was intoxicated by her. Drunk on her sweetness and her Honey Lavender Lattes.

He looked at her like she was the queen of the hive. He’d let her take that crown, any anything else she could ever want, if he had the chance. He’d worship her. He already looked at her like she was a goddess. The devotion in his honey-tinted eyes was clear to anyone who bothered to look.

“Peter Parker!”

Hearing his real name while he stood grinning like a fool in front of his Honey one afternoon made him flinch, sending a shiver up his spine. He turned around, yanked from his reverie, watching three men stroll into the shop. 

He positioned his body in front of her, obscuring her from their view. His hands were tight balls at his sides.

Peter was familiar with two of the faces, but razor-sharp focused on the mountain in a suit they called Filch. He’d seen that greasy face more times than he’d want to admit, shrouded in darkness and cigar smoke. Seated at the hand of Wilson Fisk.

His jaw locked in place.

Filch looked overjoyed to see him. Like they were old friends. Like Peter didn’t know that Wilson Fisk was plotting to move against him. 

“I thought that was you!” he brightly exclaimed. He strolled through the shop, like a cheetah stalking prey. Removing a hat and revealing what little hair he had left underneath. “Long way from Queens. Fancy finding ya all the way out here, eh?”

Peter knew better. The only surprise in this situation was intended for Peter. He’d been followed here. Watched.

His spine went rigid, shoulders into stone. 

Don’t look at the thing you don’t want to be taken away.

He could hear her heart flutter faster behind him. As if she could sense the way he bristled when they arrived. Trouble in her kingdom. A disturbance to the delicate sanctuary she had built, like all of her totems and protection spells were wearing out.

Peter kept his back to her. He kept his eyes trained on the three men, who spread out in a familiar pattern. They were scoping the place. Checking for cameras, other patrons, and all possible exits. 

Don’t look at the thing you want—

“Hey, Sugar, it’s cold outside,” Filch called out, with all the grace of flagging down a hooker. “Whaddya got to warm us up?”

Peter stared straight ahead. Glaring. Fuming.

“Might I suggest the coffee?” his Honey answered. “Just made a fresh pot of the dark roast. It’s good.”

He might have cracked a smile if he wasn’t busy envisioning a scenario where he’d have to kill the three men in the room with just the tools available in a coffee shop.

“Pour me a cuppa that,” Filch replied, his eyes never leaving Peter’s.

Peter only slightly relaxed when he felt her presence back away behind the bar. She grabbed a paper cup and filled it with steaming-hot tar. She set the cup down on the counter and backed away, minding her workstation. “That’ll be $2.50.”

Good girl, Peter thought. He saw Filch go for his breast pocket. 

“I gotcha,” Peter cut in before Filch could move closer. He grabbed the cup and handed it over to his rival’s lapdog. “‘S’on me.”

Filch eyed Peter cautiously, reaching out where both hands could be visible. He took the cup with exaggerated gratitude. “No, I couldn’t possibly—”

“I said I gotcha,” Peter firmly cut him off, the cords in his neck going tight. Peter retrieved a few bills from his coat pocket, never breaking eye contact with his opponents. “We good here?” 

Too many seconds passed with no response. He could feel the twitch of his pulse in his throat. Filch’s eyes drifted back behind the counter. He was too close to her. He studied her in a way that was far too intimate. It made Peter’s skin crawl.

“We’re good,” Filch replied. A smile curved his lips. He held the cup up, toasting him. “Have a great day.” 

Peter swallowed hard as the three men sauntered out. He watched them go, his stomach sinking, bile rising. 

They’d been watching him alright. Who knows how long. He’d been a patron of this shop and he would order from this girl and stare at her with doe-eyes and hearts swirling around his head, out in the open where anyone could see. And they did see. He showed his hand and now the game was over.

“Who’s Peter?” he heard her voice softly ask. 

The illusion was shattered. He turned his head, but couldn’t bear to look at her. He felt sick. Empty. Furious. Petrified.

The monsters were gone now. But they’d be back.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could say, as he walked out of the door.

They’d be back. He’d be there first.

She watched her favorite customer disappear into the night, her eyes wide with longing as she followed him. He disappeared in a few blinks of her eyes.

Something unsettling crawled beneath her skin. Maybe it was longing, but she was familiar with longing. This was new.

Her hands were shaking and she wasn’t sure how that happened either. One minute she was staring into his dreamy, honey-hued eyes, then the next he was running in the other direction. Not unlike their first meeting, a scene which she replayed over and over again in her head, trying to figure out what made him go so rigid.

Who’s Peter?

Peter Parker.

Peter Parker.

She repeated his name in her mind, reciting it like a mantra. She wasn’t great with names, but he told her his name was Ben on that first morning so many months ago, and she made a point to remember his name, and to say his name, because people liked it when you said their name, it made them feel closer to you and she wanted more than anything to be close to him.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Her wheels were spinning again. She used her thumb to push down hard on the center of her opposite palm. The dull pain grounded her back to reality. 

When she opened her eyes, she half expected him to be there. He always seemed to show up when she least expected it. He was a bright spot in her day, despite his gloomy demeanor. He could be dark as a raincloud, but she loved dancing in the rain. 

Or as her co-worker Nasrin teased her one day, he was her “tall, dark, hot cup of coffee.” She hid her face in her hands as Nasrin got to the “sucking him down with a straw” part of the analogy. She was incredibly grateful that he had been standing by the door, and there’s no way he could’ve heard that.

Now she had a first name and a last name and a... another name? And a place — you’re a long way away from Queens. A quick Google search of the names in question pulled up too many generic results. There was a dated article about a Ben Parker who was killed in an armed robbery, but her tall, dark friend couldn’t have had anything to do with that.

It twisted her stomach when she considered the fact that she really didn’t know him. She didn’t know who those guys were, and by the looks of things, she didn’t want to know. She should just drop it.

She did the best she could to keep busy, but there weren’t any more customers after that. She sent a quick text to her new manager that she wasn’t feeling well, and closed the shop early. She took the subway home. 

Once she got on the train, she didn’t make it back to the platform. It was late, but the subway car was still unusually empty, save for a couple of randos sitting at the opposite end of her car. Any other night, the near-solitude would’ve been a blessing. Tonight, something felt off.

Twenty minutes into her ride, just as the train was about to cross the river, it jerkily slowed to a stop. Her cessation of movement stirred her. Her head popped up from the glow of her phone screen curiously. She worried her lower lip as she glanced at the doors and windows, as if she could somehow see whatever it was that was stopping the train. 

She jolted as she felt a hand clamp down on her upper arm. Startled, she looked up at the two other occupants of the train car, now standing inches behind her. Two men that had been seated quietly, also seemingly distracted by their phones. 

“Come on, sweetie pie,” one of them said, towering over her. “It’s time to go.” She didn’t recognize either of them, but her instincts reminded her of the altercation in the coffee shop. These two had the same ‘goonlike’ look.

She tried wrenching her arm away, but the stranger held tight. “Get off,” she hissed. His partner on the left took her other arm, albeit more gently.

“Hey, take it easy,” the other man admonished. “No need to be rude.”

“Yeah, we’re friends,” the first man added, with a greasy smile. Her eyes darted around frantically. Panic set in as she realized she was alone in the subway car. The doors slid open, but there was no platform. Instead, the doors opened to building rooftops. The train had stopped on an elevated track above the street.

“Let’s go,” the gruffer man beckoned, grabbing her arm more tightly. He dragged her through the doorway, on a dark walkway next to the tracks. As soon as he lifted her, she erupted into a fit of screams. She kicked her legs, shrieking for help, but no reply came. She didn’t know if no one could hear her, or if people knew better not to respond.

“Keep it down,” one of the goons ordered coldly, dragging her along. She desperately resisted, letting her legs drop out beneath her. 

She heard a hiss and pop as the subway train sprang back to life behind them. She watched helplessly as it pulled away. 

“A wild one, aren’cha?” the red-haired roughneck tutted, yanking her back up to her feet. “Be a good girl or I’ll throw ya over my shoulder.”

She tried jerking away again, but halted as she faced the edge of the walkway. The dizzying height stunned her into submission. Her knees began to lock up, trembling with fear. 

“Take it easy, Katz,” the man’s partner chided him, albeit insincerely. The two of them practically carried her down the walkway. “You’re scarin’ her.” 

They arrived at an old set of metal stairs leading to the street below. The sharp, steep grade of the steps made her vertigo even worse. 

“No, help! Somebody help!” she hollered, wrapping her fingers in a death grip around the banisters and anything else she could reach. 

“Keep your mouth shut!” the red-head called Katz snapped at her. He reached around and tried to put his beefy hand on her mouth, but she bit down on his flesh the second his fingers reached her lips.

“Ow!” he roared. “Bitch!”

She saw him rear back his fist. Then she saw nothing.

When she came to, her whole body ached. Every muscle throbbing, like she’d been twisted into a pretzel. Her eyelashes fluttered open. Flickering flourescents stung her eyes. Bleary, she gazed around in a dreamlike state until her senses slowly started to awaken. 

She tasted glue. And blood. Took heavy humid breaths through her nose. She was on her side, on a concrete floor in a garage she didn’t recognize. The smell of motor oil and cleaning solution stabbed her nostrils. She gazed up at the shadowy, filthy undercarriage of a Rolls Royce lifted high up above her. Loud bangs jarred her out of slumber further. She faintly wondered who would be jackhammering—

Loud pops. Gunfire.

Her body went rigid, then sprung to life in terror. Attempting to open her mouth to scream, she realized that it was taped shut. Even slight movements of her jaw stung her flesh. She tried to sit up. Her arms tingled, like her limbs had fallen asleep. When she tried to move them she felt a sharp sting on her wrists. 

Alarm started to take hold. She couldn’t move her arms or legs. She glanced down and passed her dirty, blood-stained shirt to the duct tape wrapping her ankles. It might as well have been iron. Her wrists were also firmly bound behind her. Trying to pull them on them felt like ripping off her own skin. She whimpered excruciatingly.

The sounds were getting closer. She glanced around, eyes begging for help. Searching frantically for any reprieve amidst the scattered car parts and junk. 

The gunfire was getting closer.

She scooted, inching her way across the floor until she reached a work table. She was lining her spine up against the table leg when the garage door rattled open. She was out of time. A spill of light from outside lamps flooded in, blinding her. She could only vaguely recognized her own shrieks behind the wall of duct tape.

A group of people stood at the garage doors with their backs to the light. She watched their imposing silhouettes with horror.

A tall, male form approached her, his long black coat trailing behind him. Tears that she couldn’t contain sprang from her eyes. She was trapped, terrified, like a rabbit staring down a wolf. All she could focus on was the gun in the man’s hands as he stalked toward her. She squeezed her eyes closed, waiting to hear a final shot that would end her life.

“Easy, easy,” a familiar, deep, and soothing voice rolled over her. “Shh, don’t be scared, Honey.”

Her breath hitched. Eyes popped open.

Crouched down to her eye level was her tall, dark, and bitter friend. Ben—Peter—whatever his name was— the moment she recognized his soft chocolate eyes and the scattering of a peppery beard on his otherwise boyish face, she felt a wave of relief. 

His leather glove still held firmly onto a pistol. The sight of it dropped her back to reality. Like a bucket of ice water being poured over her body. She shuddered as he scooted closer.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” he placated with a calm voice. “You’re okay.”

She wanted to believe him. He set his gun down on the concrete floor and reached for her with both hands. Another sound of a distant gunshot made her jolt. She recoiled away from his touch, shrinking herself up against the table leg. 

He flinched at her reaction with a pained expression, as if she’d stabbed him. His hands faltered for a moment.

A man’s voice rang out from the group lingering behind, a youthful tone from someone barely older than a teenager. “Boss, we gotta go!” 

A deeper voice called out in response, “C’mon, Pete. The calvary’s on the way. Get her on her feet! ”

Her eyes widened, tears streaming down her face. He stared back at her, his expression turning grim. She gazed up at her savior to realize that this was no true rescue. 

A sickly feeling crept over her as she put the pieces together. Whatever this was, whatever was happening, whatever had happened to her—it was because of Peter. 

Her tall, dark, and dangerous stranger. He grabbed her by the hips, scooting her closer. She wailed as he scooped her body up in her arms, dizzy with how fast and effortless it seemed. He carried her like a toddler having a tantrum, except she was restrained already. 

Peter said nothing as he carried her out of the garage, barely looking at her, as he marched towards an idling, blacked-out SUV. She barely had time to spot the driver, a gorgeous woman with long silver hair. 

She smirked at her, eyes sinister.

When the SUV finally came to a halt, all she knew is that they were in an underground parking garage. Her limbs felt heavy, the assault of adrenaline starting to take its toll. Few words were spoken during the car ride, and none to her. Thick tension filled the air.

She was on the floorboard, her cheek pressed up against the carpet. She gazed at the feet of two men seated in the back. One of them was the fresh-faced teenager she heard calling Peter ‘Boss.’ His name was Miles, she had heard. The other was a rugged, haunted-looking man, with large dark eyes fixed on the windows, ever watchful. Miles called him Miguel, before the older man shot him a look to stay quiet.

“That’s the unifying issue with the men in this car,” the woman driving the SUV snarked. “You all talk too much.”

Her heart hammered at the glint of a knife. Miguel opened a switchblade, grabbing her ankles. 

“Whoa, hang on,” Miles talked to her—the first one to do so. “He’s gonna cut the tape, just so you can move your legs, okay?”

She gazed up at his soft dark eyes, her own still welling with tears. She felt the release on her legs give way as she kicked the rest of the tape off.

“Lights out,” a cold, distant voice ordered. The sound came from the front passenger seat, where Peter sat in tense silence.

Both Miles and Miguel seemed to hesitate, glancing at each other.

“You sure?” Miles questioned.

“He didn’t stutter,” the silver-haired woman replied, definitively. There was a bite in her voice, but it carried with it a tiredness filled with frustration. She sounded more like an older sister jabbing a younger sibling.

The woman popped open her door to get out. “Let’s go, boys. We got groceries inside.” 

The world went black again. A dark hood was thrown over her head, obscuring her view. 

Continue to Part 2

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[maple-the-awesome]

Prettiest One In The Room || Part 2/2

Pairing: Mob! (any) Peter Parker x Reader

Words: 4,488

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

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PART ONE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"May I?"

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

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

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

You hum, tossing your head back.

"Words, princess."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please."

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

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

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

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

"I could always finish myself off if-"

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

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

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

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

"Atta girl."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just." Thrust...

"Like." Thrust.

"You." Thrust!

"Planned!" THRUST!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whimper.

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

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

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

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

"Peter, what are-?"

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

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

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

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

So dirty. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader smut #mcu peter parker #tom holland #toby maguire #andrew garfield #spiderman #x reader #peter parker smut #mob peter parker #mob au #marvel #marvel x reader #tasm peter x reader smut #tasm #spiderman x reader #toby maguire x reader #tom holland x reader #andrew garfield x reader #sam raimi spider man

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The Angel In The Garden of Evil | Epilogue: Not Another Envelope

Summary: We say goodbye to our favourite couple in a similar manner we said hello to them, with an envelope on the dining room table, a secret hidden inside.

Warnings: 18+ Only, genre typical content, references to the demise of characters in previous chapter, fluff, a surprise, implied smut, daddy/mommy kink (if that doesn't give away the surprise I don't know what will)

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: The final authors note *begins weeping*. This is it, the end. I have had the most wonderful time writing this series and sharing it with you all. A big thanks to @sincericida and @tarzinnia for your continued support and reblogging and leaving your thoughts all over this series, they honestly kept me going and helped so much. Another big thanks to @liz-allyn if it wasn't for your Sugar + Vice series inspiring me, Angel would never have happened. I hope this Epilogue ties up this series in a nice bow for everyone and we can all go away with a fuzzy feeling in our tummies with hope for the future. I will be having a Q & A session to wrap up any final questions and talk further about all our favourite bits in the series, so be sure to fill up my inbox with your Q's and best bits. And before anyone asks as we haven't come back to him in a bit, Miles is doing good. His leg healed and Angel moved him to work more on F.E.A.S.T operations full time. He is very happy and healthy. Anyway, let's say goodbye shall we.

EPILOGUE

She hadn’t felt this nervous since she had first walked back into this house 10 months ago. Her stomach turned as she tried to breathe deeply and keep calm. ‘I can do this,’ she thought to herself, as she crouched down to check the food in the oven for the 5th time in the last 10 minutes.

“Come on Pete, where are you?” she muttered as she tapped her foot absentmindedly on the harlequin tiled kitchen floor.

After everything had happened there had been quite a few changes. They had left Hobie in charge of cleaning up as they went on a well needed second honeymoon. Peter had hired a yacht for them to sail around the coast of Italy for two weeks; of course stopping off in the little town she had lived in for the near three years they were separated, so that Angel could introduce her husband to Maria and her magic meatballs.

When they came back Peter signed the entire business over to Angel. There was a small amount of teething room, Peter playing mediator between allies as he announced the change in management; but given her family history, most of them were satisfied with the change.

With Angel now in charge of the business, Peter started going back out in the suit. He’d occasionally help out with paperwork or running certain errands, especially when it came to the Huntsman and F.E.A.S.T, but mostly spent his days patrolling the city and helping keep it crime free (well apart from his wife’s business that was).

They had sold her Father’s old house and everything inside it for a hefty amount, which they donated to the city to help with the clean up after the explosion down in Chinatown. They also gave payouts to the local businesses that had been affected as both a thank you for helping during the blast; but also apologise for the inconvenience of it all. The new centre had been reopened two months ago, with a special ribbon cutting from the city’s one and only Spider-Man, and had been thriving again ever since.

Peter had been worried about donning the suit again. Worried what everyone would think after all this time. But if the gang fighting had provided one thing, it was the city’s need for a hero. A need to hope once more. And nothing said hope apparently like a guy in red and blue spandex swinging through the city- much to George Stacy’s dismay.

They had started going to couples counselling once a week so they could talk through all their lingering issues. The Felicia thing. Their issues with her Dad. The forced three year separation. There was still a long way to go, but talking about it with a mediator helped.

Harry’s body was found in a freezer inside a storage container that was offloaded in Belfast Ireland three months after the night at the warehouse. Toomes’ body, which had been dumped in the river, was never found.

She checked the oven again as she chewed on her lip. She wasn’t even sure she was gonna be able to stomach this, despite having spent the last hour and a half cooking it. There came a thud from upstairs. He was home. She closed her eyes, taking one last deep breath in, before she began to take the chicken out of the oven.

“Mmmm, smells good Mrs Parker.” his voice rang out as he ran downstairs. 

“You better not have just left your suit dumped on the floor up there.” she chastised as she began plating up the food.

“Of course not.” he said with a sheepish grin as he came and wrapped his arms around her from behind, placing a kiss on her cheek. She knew him too well.

“Can you put the cutlery on the table?” she asked as she turned her head to give him a kiss on the lips, her stomach doing butterflies, she thought she might vomit.

“Yeah of course, no problem.” he said, patting her hip before he moved to slide open the cutlery drawer, humming to himself as he went.

She braced herself against the edge of the counter as she heard him make his way over to the table. There was the sound of metal hitting the wooden table as he began to place the cutlery down, still humming away, until he wasn’t. There was a pause before he spoke.

“Baby, what’s this?” he said, lifting an envelope off of the table. Peter grew nervous, the moment feeling all too familiar.

“Sit down.” she said, as she finally turned to face him, the food now sitting forgotten on the counter.

Peter didn’t move. “Baby, what is this?” he pressed her. He saw the frozen look of terror on her face and his stomach lurched as he raced to open it, fearing the worst. He pulled out the paperwork inside, scanning over it confused. “Angel, what is-”

“I’m pregnant.”

Peter stared at her. The longer the statement hung in the air, the more confident she grew as she slowly stepped across the room towards him. “You’re?” Peter couldn’t even say the word. He tried but it didn’t feel real on his tongue. She just nodded as she reached a hand out to his hip, the other pointing at a particular box on the page that said ‘positive’.

“I’ve known for a few weeks now.” she tried to explain. “I didn’t want to say anything until I’d had it confirmed by the doctor. I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

“That really bad food poisoning you had. I thought it was from the Thai food we had, but I ate the same thing and I was fine and-” he rambled as he tried to put all the signs together he knew he should have gotten.

“Pete?” She said his name tentatively.

“And then last Sunday when you fell asleep on May’s sofa in the middle of the afternoon. I thought you were just tired from work-”

“Peter.”

“Oh and when we went out for breakfast the other week, you had mushrooms on your breakfast. You hate mushrooms-”

“Peter!”

“What?”

“Does this mean you’re okay with it?” she asked sceptically.

“Okay with it? Okay with it. Why wouldn’t I be okay with it!” He beamed as he suddenly wrapped her in his arms. “We’re having a baby!” He said excitedly. “I’m gonna be a Daddy- oh!” he said as a realisation hit him. “This means I get to start calling you Mommy.”

“No. Nope!” she squealed and giggled as he held her tightly, turning his head to gently gnaw at her skin like he was trying to eat her.

“Fine, fine.” he said as she finally broke free of his arms. “But I know you’ve been itching to call me Daddy for years.”

“Noooo.” she giggled, but she knew he had her pegged.

“Yeeesss.” he dragged out the word with an exaggerated smile.

“I’m not gonna say it.” she giggled as he began to chase her round the lower section of the house.

“Oh yes, you are.” he joked, stalking her as she moved around the kitchen island.

“Pete, the dinner.” she tried to reason.

“I don’t care. Not until you say it.”

“Noo!” she squealed as she made a run for it, narrowly slipping past him and running into the living room.

“Oh you’re gonna say it.”

“No.”

“Say it!” he called out as he lunged for her, wrapping his arms around her and wrestling her gently to the floor, pinning her with his body. She laughed. “Say it.” he said again as he looked down at her.

“Fine.” she huffed in defeat. “Can we go eat dinner now Daddy?” she cooed in her most sultry voice.

He moved his head from side to side as if he were thinking about it, before saying, “I don’t know what you’re talking about Mommy, my dinner’s right here.” He gave her a devilish smile before shimmying his body down so his face was the same height as her crotch.

“Noo! Peter!” she squealed in delight, pretending to push him away as his fingers reached for the waistband of her trousers, her giggles ringing out throughout the house.

-----------------------------------------

Thank you so much for reading The Angel In The Garden of Evil. If you have enjoyed the story don’t forget to tip me like you would your waiter by reblogging and leaving feedback and letting me know what you think! By reblogging you also help to keep this story alive for just a little bit longer allowing new people to keep finding it for days, months, weeks and years to come. Whenever this story find you, I hope it brings you joy.

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#peter parker x reader #peter parker #andrew!peter parker #peter parker imagine #the angel in the garden of evil #spider-man #andrew!peter x reader #mob!peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #mob!peter #mob peter parker #mob!au #tasm!peter parker #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker imagine #tasm!peter #andrew peter parker #andrew garfield peter parker #tasm peter parker #mob spiderman #spiderverse #miguel o'hara #hobie brown #harry osborn #eddie brock #felicia hardy #miles morales #peter parker x fisk daughter #fisk reader #fisk daughter

[reaperintheroses]

Why, what do you want to know?

This is a mob au where all of the avengers are alive and well, but are definitely not earth mightiest heroes. In This City Masterlist previous chapter ~ next chapter Eventual Peter Parker x Reader Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: Angst, implied murder, panic attacks, swearing, missing sibling, trauma, break ins, gang violence, stalking, guns A/N: This took me the longest to write so far at about 9 hours. At this point fighters block needs to be considered a co-author with the amount I’ve used that site for motivation. I hope y’all enjoy! I do not give permission for my fics to be posted or translated to anywhere other than @reaperintheroses on tumblr and AO3. Reblogs, comments, and notes, however, are greatly appreciated.  Consider being a beta reader for me, I’d really appreciated it!! (send me a dm for more information!)

The snow outside your window was starting to thaw, along with the walls around your heart. The more you saw Peter and the more you guys talked, the safer you felt. He introduced you to his friend, MJ, and she finally replaced that coffee from so many months ago. It's crazy how time flies when it feels like there’s finally stability in your life. You had saved Peter's number to your phone in case you ever needed it. After about two weeks of it going untouched in your contacts, you texted him one day out of the blue asking to get another coffee. The next day, he bought you an overpriced latte and let you grill him about his life instead. You asked him almost everything you could think of. Who his best friend was (MJ), did he have any other tattoos (yes, like twelve more), What his life was like growing up (short, but happy), what his favorite book was (Harry Potter), and tons of others. He always entertained your thoughts, and you’d started to have some sort of tradition with the man, even though neither of you really acknowledged it.

  Today was one of the days you asked to meet up for coffee. You wanted to show Peter some pictures you took of a bar yesterday, and he wanted to see you for the first time in over two weeks. That’s how you ended up in your current position, standing in line right next to Peter, excited to sit down and get off your feet. You both ordered and almost ended up in a fist fight as he pulled out cash to pay for both of your drinks. You knew he could probably afford to buy the whole coffee shop, but every single time he brought out his wallet to pay, you felt bad, like you now owed him something. He constantly reassured you that you could pay him back in pictures and let him ask you questions. You sat down at your normal table. Peter followed you a few minutes later with both of your coffees in hand. He placed your coffee in front of you, and you took a deep sip, closing your eyes as the bitter flavor flooded your tastebuds. "Okay, show me the pictures." Your face broke out into a huge smile as you chuckled slightly. No one had ever been interested in your work before. You pulled out your camera and found your pictures from yesterday, showing him the bar you found in Brooklyn. "Did you edit that at all?" He sounds surprised as he takes your camera from you to take a closer look at the picture. "Nope, the neon provided great lighting." His face moved as he looked at the other pictures from the bar. "Can you send me this so I can print it out?" With a smile, he hands you back your camera. "Totally, I can put all the pictures on a flash drive for you and you can pick your favorites." He looked overjoyed at the idea. "Do you mind?" You smiled as you turned off your camera and placed it to the side. "Peter, it's kind of my job." If I minded, I wouldn't do it. " He chuckled before taking a sip of his latte. "I'll bring you money next time we meet up." You nodded and turned all of your focus back to him.

  "So, what's new with you this week?" His smile almost disappeared for a moment before he replaced it with a much faker one that didn’t reach his eyes. "Work has been a little tough, but I'm muscling through." You guys had an unspoken agreement that you knew he was involved with the mob and he knew you knew, but you guys never talked about it directly. It gave him an escape from his everyday life, and you weren't technically a witness should he ever get into legal trouble. You nodded in understanding, silent confirmation that he didn't have to continue if he didn't want to. My boss has just been on my ass lately because of an independent assignment I've been doing. He began to chew on his lip as he thought about it, relaying his issues with his boss and how this assignment was super important to him, but his boss felt like he was using company resources for personal reasons. You stopped trying to read in between the lines of his words, figuring your mind would wander and you would start to get nervous about Peter. He seems to be occupying so many of your thoughts recently. You no longer thought of the sparrows from your pictures before you went to bed, just his kind eyes and steadying voice. You also stopped actively seeking out sparrow haunts to take pictures of. You decided it was safer to look for your brother in other ways. Peter said he would help you find a personal investigator to help you look into his disappearance if you wanted. You'll feel a lot better not having any more pictures to add to your flash drive.

"What about you? What have you been up to this week? " You grinned. It was nice to have someone who cared about your day-to-day life again. "Well, I've been photographing a ton of bars," he nodded along as you talked about the different places you'd visited and the amount of miles you'd put on your car, "Oh and I also replaced the locks on my door to sturdier ones like you suggested." His shoulders seemed to drop slightly with relief. "That's good. I feel a lot better about you living in that building now." You had told Peter about how much your apartment and your neighbors sucked in terms of safety. He had constantly been bugging you about getting new locks instead of the old ones that came with your apartment. It made you feel special that he thought about you outside of when you texted. "Oh, you have to see a picture of a dog I saw a few days ago," Peter reached for his phone, and you laughed at his sudden change in mood, as if he was burying something he wanted to ask you.You let him bury whatever it was. It wasn’t your place to pry. You laughed at the picture of the dog, cackling at his stories and telling some of your own. Eventually, you decided that if you wanted to beat traffic for the day and make it uptown before one pm, you had to leave in the next twenty minutes. Peter seemed to notice you checking your phone and looking out the door to where your car was parked. "Do you need to leave?" He checked his own watch before looking back up at you. "I planned to head up to Hell's Kitchen to take pictures of a neighborhood for some realtors' website today," you trailed off, debating how long it would take you to get there if you just sat a little longer. "Oh then you need to leave. Traffic is going to be a bitch if you don't hit the road in like twenty minutes." You nodded, glad he understood. He stood up and stretched. You momentarily cursed the polite dress code for making him tuck in his shirt tails and hide what you were sure was a small sliver of abs carved from marble. He grabbed both of your cups and threw them in the trash before coming back over to you. "It was good to see you. Don't feel like you need to be a stranger." You laughed at his statement as you grabbed your camera and your car keys, gesturing for him to lead the way out.

  He held open the door for you, and you waited for him to come up next to you before you crossed the street. You unlocked your car and giggled when he opened the driver's side door for you. "I'll text you." He grinned as you placed your camera in the passenger seat and placed your key in the ignition. "I'd like that," you said, biting your lip slightly, fighting a smile as you turned the key, starting your car. He slammed your door for you as you placed your car in drive and waved to him as you pulled out of your parking spot. He watched your car as it drove away, smiling the same way you were as you drove towards Manhattan, excited for the day ahead of you and all of the coffee dates to come. Who knows? Maybe if you play your cards right, one day you will muster enough courage to ask him out on an actual date. Mob business and legal advice aside, He made you happy, and that was a feeling you had not felt in a long time.

  That night, as you got home, you drove your key into your new lock and twisted it open, throwing open the door and tossing your keys into the bowl you had put in your entryway. You walked further into your apartment and placed your camera on the island counter, making your way over to your fridge, trying to decide what to make for dinner tonight. You bent down to open your freezer and grab a bag of frozen french fries, deciding that tonight would be uninteresting and low-maintenance. You reach down into the cabinet by your stove to pull out a cooking sheet and begin to press buttons on your oven when you hear a metal rustle. You look towards the sound from the corner of your eye before continuing to preheat your oven, dismissing it as one of your neighbors getting home from work. You laid the French fries across the sheet before you heard the noise again. Your lips pulled into a tight frown as you had a mental battle about whether it was worth investigating when the noise sounded again. This time it sounded as if it came from your door. You moved suddenly, making your way to your door, flipping open the peephole. You were greeted by the same two men from five months ago. Your breath seemed to escape you, stuck halfway through a gasp. You looked down to back away from the door and use the fire escape again when you realized that you left the door unlocked. Your hand shot up from your side, but you were too late. The doorknob twisted and all of a sudden, the bubble of safety you had worked so hard to build for yourself had burst.

  You watched in frozen horror as the door opened and they were suddenly in your apartment. You turned on your heel and ran into the kitchen, looking around for anything to defend yourself with. The flash drive felt like a ton of bricks in your pocket, burning your skin. Listen, we can either do this the easy way or the hard way. We both know you have something that wasn’t meant for your eyes. Hand it over and no one has to get hurt. " You almost laughed at the cliché line. You turned around as they slowly walked into your kitchen. "Just give us the pictures and we’ll leave you alone." Your mouth parted with your shallow breaths as you looked around. Did you not hear me? I said, "Ach!" You threw the bag of frozen French fries at his head, catching him by surprise. "I don’t know what the hell you're talking about!" You circled around the island and backed your way into the living room. You turn around to face them from your place behind your couch and are greeted with both of their guns drawn. You immediately put your hands in the air, willing yourself not to beg for your life straight off the bat. "See now, I really hate liars," You look down for a moment, deciding between your life and this flash drive. So I’ll say it one more time before I get a little snappy. Give us the flash drive and no one has to get hurt. " You nodded and lowered your right hand. "It’s in my pocket," you whispered. You reached into the fabric of your jeans and felt the plastic. You're about to pull it out when you hear your door hit the wall.

  Peter walks in, gun drawn and MJ follows directly behind with fire in her eyes. "Don’t fucking move," you felt a buzzing in your ears and a weight in your chest. You were still struggling to breathe. You heard your name being called a few times, but it sounded like it was coming from underwater. "Hey!" MJ called out to you, gesturing at you with her hand. You walked over to her in a daze, your body on autopilot. She grips your hand with her own and leads you out into the hallway. You stared at her hair, the brown curls spilling over her shoulders like a waterfall. You focused on counting the coils until you heard the elevator bell ding.

  The two of you walked into the elevator, MJ letting go of your hand to press the button for the lobby. A sudden gasp escaped you as your knees buckled and your back slid down the wall of the elevator. A tear escaped your eye. Holy shit, you could’ve died. You heard the ding of the first floor as MJ looked down at you with a sad glance. You raised your hands and wiped off your tears. You braced a hand against the wall and stood up. You let go of your breath and faced the door as it opened to the lobby. You walked through the lobby with your head held high, refusing to let them see inside you. You pushed the doors open and made your way out onto the street, waiting for MJ to lead the way. She checked to make sure you were following her before walking across the street to a parked black car.

  MJ opened the back seat door for you. For once, you practically crawled in and bunched your knees up to your chest, not caring how nice anything was. The buzzing had returned to your ears and you faintly heard a popping sound as MJ steeled her face and turned the car on. Your head turned as the car door opposite of you opened and Peter slid inside, adjusting his cufflinks. He turned to look at you, and his head tilted as his face morphed into one of worry. He moved towards you and cupped your cheeks in his hands, turning your head from side to side. "You're okay now. You're okay." A tear slipped down your face and the back seat of the car became a tangle of limbs as you practically crawled into Peter's lap and he pushed you into his chest, smoothing his hand up and down your back. He shushed you and whispered sweet nothings into your hair, mouthing "you're safe now, it’s okay," over and over. Some part of you believed him, believed that you were finally safe. That was the push you needed to fall into a very deep sleep.

  You felt strong arms underneath your knees and your arms. You jostled for a moment at the sudden flutter of noises, but you heard Peter's voice and settled back against his chest, letting the dark blanket of sleep overcome you again. The first thing you noticed when your eyes finally opened was that you were definitely not at home anymore. The second thing you noticed was that the bed sheets you were laying on were super soft. The third thing you noticed was that the photograph across from the bed was one of yours. You tried to blink the sleep away from your eyes as you looked around. You looked up and saw Peters' sleeping form on a couch across the room from the bed. You sat up and looked around you. "Did you sleep okay?" his voice called from the couch. He sounded like he had swallowed the rising sun. "Where the hell am I?" 

"You fell asleep on the ride back from Queens. You're in the Stark Tower. " You shut your eyes as you placed a hand on your head, trying to smother the oncoming headache. "Why is there a bedroom in Stark Tower?" You looked up again at Peter, who looked like he was chewing over his words. "I live here," you nodded, as if it were a natural thing to say."Do you want to get anything to eat? It’s five am, so it’ll be easier to avoid everyone. " You nodded and swung your feet around, noticing that you weren’t wearing your shoes anymore. In fact, you weren’t wearing any of your own clothes anymore. "MJ put you in some of her stuff last night. Don’t worry, the flash drive is on my dresser in my closet. We can grab more stuff from your apartment later today. " You nodded. As long as he didn’t see you half naked, you didn’t care if they dressed you in a full-body chicken suit.

  You walked down the hall next to Peter, slightly behind him, so you didn’t get lost. "Okay, so you can’t go back to your apartment for a few days." We have people cleaning up the mess the sparrows left, but the bright side is you won’t even be able to notice it happened. " You pulled your lips together, not wanting to question anything. "You can either stay here or we can find a hotel for you. It’s completely your choice." You cleared your throat, "I think I’ll feel safer if I stay here." Peter smiled at your verdict before making a sharp right turn. "Okay then, I should probably prepare you for the rest of the people who live in the tower." You raised your eyebrows.

"So you already know MJ and I." There’s Mr. Stark. He’s my boss and owns the tower. Hence it’s name. There’s Steve. He’s a very patriotic guy. type of person who asks questions and shoots later He’s tall and blonde; you’ll know him when you see him. His best friend, Bucky, is a dark, beefy brunette. A "shoot first, ask questions later" type of person. There's Natasha. She’s a redhead who you never see coming. She’s super nice once you get to know her, though. There’s Bruce, one of the sweetest people you’ll ever meet. He’ll geek out with you about almost anything. But you get him angry, and he gets angry. There’s Clint. He’s pretty quiet and he won’t bother you unless you bother him first. There’s Thor. He’s super loud but the human personification of a teddy bear. Oh, and there's Wanda. I swear it's the best food you’ll ever have, I swear on my first edition of The Empire Strikes Back."

  Your brain short-circuited for a moment as you absorbed all of that information. "Sorry, I know it’s a lot." You waved off his concern as he made one final turn into the kitchen. "Sit down and I’ll make us something to take back to my room." We can eat, and then you can go back to sleep if you want. " You dipped your head as you walked over to one of the bar stools and sat down to watch Peter make toast and eggs. You fell into a sort of trance as he moved around the kitchen, plating the toast and sprinkling salt and pepper over your eggs. You snapped out of it as he tilted his head, both plates in hand, towards the way you came from. You tried memorizing the way from the kitchen back to his room; your eyes watched Peter's feet. He gestured for you to go into the room first. He was about to follow you when his body stopped halfway through the door. You turned around to ask him what was wrong when he handed you a plate with a fork. "Hey, I need to talk to Mr. Stark for a second. I’ll be right behind you." You nodded as he shut the door, saving for a small sliver of space. "Hey, Mr. Stark, can I ask you a question?" You felt weird listening to the conversation, but you couldn’t help yourself. "Sure, kid, what’s up?" Your fingers drummed on the bottom of your plate. You turned to walk away, knowing this was wrong when you heard Peters' reply. "Do you know of someone named Jack?" Your ears perked up at the sound of your last name, "Why, what do you want to know?" The buzzing returned to your ears.

Why, what do you want to know about where your brother was?

Why, what do you want to know about why he disappeared?

Why do you want to know if he still misses you?

Why, what do you want to know about Jack?

#in this city #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x yn #spiderman x reader #spiderman x you #spiderman x yn #mob peter parker #peter parker angst #peter parker imagines #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fanfic

[mangysah]

Starting to see a pattern here

#mp100 #spiderverse #mob psycho 100 #across the spiderverse #reigen arataka #peter b. parker #miles morales #shigeo kageyama #spiderverse fanart #mp100 fanart #birb does draw #pathetic babygirl-coded men and the 15 yr olds that inspired them to keep going

[themorningsunshine]

Muffins

Pie - eyed over you - Chapter 3 

Mafia - Baker AU

Masterlist                        Series Masterlist

Previous Part 

Pairing - Mafia!Bucky x Baker!Reader

Summary - When a new baker in town refuses to abide by his rules, Bucky has no option but to go and take care of it himself. But nothing could prepare him for what stood on the other side. Nothing could prepare him for you.

Warnings - Mentions of murder, lots of fluff (gotta give the fluff before the angst for it to hurt more, yup I am evil), Steve and Sam being a menace 

Word count - around 6k 

a/n - So, after two delays, hell a lot of editing, and straight up changing the whole structure of this chapter and then combining it with another (hence the length), it’s finally here. Thank you so much to all of you for putting up with me. Please let me know what you guys think about this. Your kind words keep me going. 

You placed the muffins in a tray for display before making a note in your diary to buy more chocolate chips when you go to the market on the weekend. 

Running a bakery all on your own is a difficult job but you wouldn't trade it for anything else in the world. Even though you were not a morning person, the prospect of coming here and baking made it getting up from the bed every morning a tad bit easier. 

As you heard knocks on the door, you frowned before looking up, there was still some time left before it was time to open up the bakery. 

But when your eyes landed on the figure standing outside the door, looking like a complete misfit in his dark clothes and sunglasses and surprisingly, a baseball cap covering his forehead, a pathetic attempt at being discreet, you can't help the way your lips turn upward and your heart flutters. 

He was here just yesterday and yet it felt like you were seeing him after too long. 

Get yourself together. 

It's just a crush, it'll go away. 

You wiped your palms on your apron before walking towards the door to open it. 

You gave him a teasing smile before saying, "You're at the wrong place. Baseball convention is another mile from here." 

He rolled his eyes before stepping inside the bakery, bending a little, the door a little too short for him. "Hello to you too, sweets." 

You chuckled before walking towards the counter as he took his usual seat. Everything felt like a routine. Engraved in your soul as if it had always been there. 

"Gracing this bakery with your presence two days in a row. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Maybe I just missed my sweets." He shrugged as if it was obvious. 

"Continue this and you are going to get diabetic." You remarked with a smirk. 

"Not the sweets I was talking about, but okay." 

The smirk immediately left your lips as you could practically feel your heart beat out of your chest. He didn't mean it. He's just teasing. 

But no matter what you think, you can't help the way the red color crept up to your neck at his words. 

Okay, this crush is getting out of hand. 

"So, how's work?" You say in an attempt to change the topic. 

He tenses at your words. You had asked him what he did, and he had replied that he was a mechanic. It was becoming more difficult for him to lie to you. 

But maybe, he won't have to much longer. 

He was pretty sure Walker was on his way to screw things up. 

That son of a - 

"Earth to James!!" Your voice moving and your palm waving in front of his face brought him out of his thoughts. 

"I asked how was work." You said with a frown. James always got weirdly uncomfortable when you asked about work. Maybe he didn't want to talk about it, but you were no one to ask. 

"Oh, it's been fine. You know, the usual." 

"Yeah, yeah. Steve is a dorky idiot and Sam is an annoying prick. I know." You said imitating the words he had said to you not a long time ago. 

Bucky chuckles. Telling you about Steve and Sam was easier. Maybe sharing something about him which wasn't a lie, made him feel less guilty. 

He knew this was wrong. 

He was creating a web of lies that you will find out one day.

But Bucky Barnes wasn't a good man and he would take whatever time he has got before the inevitable happened. 

Which wasn't going to be today. 

He wasn't going to let Walker ruin this.

He will just sit there, hiding half of his face with the baseball cap. It would be easy. It wasn't like Walker would expect to see him here anyways. 

He was just here to make sure that he didn't hurt you. 

The both of you striked a conversation just like usual and you immediately felt better. You knew it was going to be a great day. Had started off on the best possible note, atleast.

The clock striked eight before you knew it and you got up from your chair to flip the sign at the bakery. 

"Why don't you hire someone to help you?" James asks, sipping his coffee. 

"Why, you're looking for a job?" You teased him with raised eyebrows. "Job at the garage doesn't pay enough for your baseball conventions?" 

He rolled his eyes. "When are you gonna let this one go?" 

"I think… never." 

He chuckled before asking again, "But, seriously, sweets, why not get a helping hand?" 

" 'Cause I am selfish." When he narrowed his eyes, you continued. "I know this sounds weird, but I don't like it when anybody else cooks the food. It's just never good enough." 

"So, why not hire someone to deal with the customers?" 

"That's literally the best part of the job." You half exclaimed. "People telling you whether they liked the sweets or not is the best part, James. Almost as good as getting to eat all the leftovers." 

James chuckled before setting his coffee mug down. "There is no pleasing you." 

You shrugged before walking behind the counter to get everything ready for the morning rush you were sure was about to walk through the door any moment now. 

When a few people came in, some regular customers and some students hoping to get in some caffeine to start the day, you saw as James involuntarily tensed. 

Bucky watched the front door with focused eyes as minutes ticked by. He knew Walker will be here any minute now. 

And he was proven right as he saw John Walker opening the door of the bakery and walking in with a smug look on his face, shoving away whoever came in his path. 

Bucky wanted nothing more than to pull him out of here, away from you and this warm place but he couldn't do that. There would be consequences, which he normally wouldn't give a second thought to, but the real nuisance would bring questions. 

He watched as you greet him with the same grin on your face that you used for all your customers, saying in a soft voice, "Hey, what can I get you?" And Bucky can swear Walker doesn't even deserve to breathe the same air as you.

"Why not start by paying off?" Walker said with a tone harsh and loud enough that a few customers turned to see what was happening. 

You frowned your eyes in confusion, "I am sorry." You were still speaking in a calm, soft voice, trying your best to get whoever this man was to calm down. You didn't want a commotion so early in the day. 

"Walker." He said as if it was enough of an introduction before continuing, "And I think you have an idea of where I am coming from. You owe us." 

James watched as realization dawned on your face and you stood straighter, your smile turning into a forwn. "I don't owe anyone anything."

He leaned towards you, keeping his arms crossed on the counter, speaking with a smirk, "Don't try to act smart, baby doll. Pay up and no one gets hurt." 

He watches as you cringe at the nickname  and almost take a small step back, discomfort clear on your face. 

Bucky almost gets up from his chair, his first instinct to slit off Walker's throat with the knife he had tucked in his jacket. He would make it less messy too, but painful. 

Control, he isn't going to hurt her. 

"I am not going to pay you a single cent, Walker. So, why don't you take your ass out of my bakery and leave me alone?" As you speak, your hand inches towards the knife that you keep below the counter for situations like these. Even though you hoped you'd never have to use it, it was better to be prepared than sorry. 

John clenches his fist as his eyes bore into your skull, "Don't make this difficult. You don't know who you are trying to mess up with. The people I work with wouldn't blink an eye before dumping your body in a dumpster. Just pay every month and we leave you alone." 

"I have said it before and I'll say it again, I am not going to pay you to let me live." It's as if something switches inside you. The slight fear or discomfort that could be seen in your features is completely gone now. 

Bucky watches as Walker growls in impatience before reaching for his jacket pocket. 

Nope, not happening

"Listen to me, you little bitch - " 

Walker is cut off immediately when a larger figure stands between him and the counter. 

James shields you from him, obstructing his view. 

"Leave her alone." The sound is almost a growl. And if Walker hadn't been too preoccupied he would have noticed how familiar that sounded. 

"And who the hell are you?" He spat. 

Bucky looks down at him and watches as all the color is drained out of his face when he recognises him. 

"S - si "

"Leave her alone and if you show up around here ever again, it will be you in the dumpster, cut into more pieces than you can count." 

Fear is obvious on Walker's face, as he completely forgets the weapon he was reaching for, trying to get his senses to work, confusion evident on his face.

Before he can ask any questions, Bucky takes a step towards him, with sheer coldness in his eyes as if he could slit Walker's throat right now and wouldn't blink. 

You watch as the man - who had introduced himself as Walker- saunters out of the bakery with quick steps. 

You frowned your eyes at whatever had happened here. 

You weren't going to pay the mob any money, you knew that. But you also knew that you couldn't have overpowered that man, especially if he had a weapon hidden under there somewhere. 

"You didn't have to do that, James." You said softly, in an attempt to get his attention away from the door he was boring holes in. 

He turned back and you watched as his expression turned into the soft one you were so familiar with. 

You walked from behind the counter towards where he was standing before explaining, "He works for the mob. Trust me, you don't want to get involved with them." 

Bucky's breath hitches at that. How could he explain to you that he wasn't just involved with the mob?

"It's okay, sweets. They won't hurt me." That was some truth. They were never going to hurt him, and before Walker could utter a single word to anyone about the events of the day, he would be fired. Bucky would make sure of that. 

"I know." You sighed, looking down at the floor as if contemplating something. It was silent for a moment before you looked up, "Thank you, James. It does mean a lot to me." You said with a soft, grateful smile on your face and your hand reached out to his. 

"Anytime, sweets." 

A moment passed before anyone of you dared to move. Your hand was now brushing his arm in slight touches. 

You broke the silence, "Come on, have some muffins. They are on me." You said before turning back and walking towards the counter. 

Bucky had to stand there for a moment because his skin had suddenly started to feel cold and empty. Like it wasn't enough without your touch, before walking back towards the counter and standing right in front of where you were taking out some muffins on a plate. 

"So, Ms Feisty, something against the mob?" He said, trying desperately for his voice to sound joking. 

You shrugged while passing the muffins to him and turning to pour some coffee for yourself. "I am not going to pay them money just because everybody else does. Why the hell do I pay taxes?" 

"But the way you were standing, you don't just want to rebel, sweets. You hate them." He said, an emotion in his voice you couldn't really place. He prayed that that wasn't the case, that he had read the situation wrong and maybe you didn't really hate the mob. 

"Hate is a strong word, James. I - despise them." You reply before looking up at him to meet his eyes, but he looks away, almost as if looking at you right now would physically hurt him. 

"I mean, they aren't really that bad, right? It's not like I know a lot about them but I have heard they protect the city." He tries.

"Uh-huh. They are not good people. You remember that day when we met? When it was raining and I had lost my way, and you were there - "

"I remember the day we met, sweets." He interrupts. Every part of that day was engraved in his mind.

"Yeah, yeah right. So, that day I was coming back from a friend's house. She has a daughter, Ellie, about 5 years old." 

He hums, nodding his head, not sure where you were going with this. 

"Both of them were switching houses. Leaving their home, that they had built, to live in a one bedroom apartment in the not so respected area of the town. You know why?" 

He narrowed his eyes. 

"Because her dad was killed." You took a deep breath, trying to keep the rage from bubbling up to the surface. "A 5 year old lost her father, James. And why? Because of some stupid mob feud." 

"What was her dad's name?" He asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer. 

"Jake" 

Bucky's moments halted as images came back to his mind's forefront. He had killed that man himself. Shot three bullets straight into his chest. He had felt no remorse then. That man was a traitor. Had joined hands  with the enemy, knowing very well what the consequences could be. 

He had felt no remorse then because he hadn't given a moment of thought to the people he might be leaving behind. It made his work easier. Pretending that there were no consequences to whatever they did. 

But now he could see the consequences. In the form of rage in your eyes at the tale and the hurt he felt in his chest, thinking about the girl. He knew how that felt. Being alone, and helpless. 

"She didn't deserve that. None of them did. Nobody deserves to lose somebody they love, James. But it hits the worst when it's unforeseeable. When the people who did it are out there in the world, as if their hands aren't tainted with blood, living their life and you can do nothing about it."  You say, swallowing the lump in your throat. Thinking about your friend and Elliot always brought you to tears. You tried to help them as much as you could, but there was only so much you could do. 

Bucky looks into your eyes and sees tears in the corner of your eyes. He wants to hold your hand, to comfort you, to tell you that they are going to be fine. But how could he, when his were the hands that were tainted with blood, that had taken the life of that man without a second thought. 

So, he just sits there, listening to you talk about the lady and her kid, even though each of your words is like a sword stabbed through his chest. 

When he knows you are fine, he takes his leave, bidding you goodbye before walking out and calling Steve. 

"Steve, I need you to do something." 

"What's up, Buck? Everything okay?" Steve replied in a concerned voice. Even after everything, his concern for his best friend never faded. 

"I am sending you some details of a lady and her kid. Send me the contacts of the person who bought their house." 

"Give me half an hour. But who are these people?" 

"They are going to be our responsibility, Steve." 

He cuts the call and sends a quick text with all the details he might need. 

He can't help but turn back towards the bakery to have one last look. He has made up his mind. He was going to tell you the truth. 

he didn't care if it meant you would hate him. There were many people in the town who despised him, what's one more?

But when he turns back and his eyes land up on you, handing a cup of coffee to a middle aged lady, talking to her with a softness unique to you. 

As if you can feel his eyes on you, you turn towards the window and as your eyes meet, your smile grows wider. A smile that's only reserved for him, he realizes. 

And he would have hated himself for how quickly his resolve fades away. 

But Bucky Barnes was not a good man. 

And maybe many people in this world did hate him, but he would be damned if you were one of them. 

He wanted this. The weekly bakery visits, the warmth, the sheer simplicity of it all, even if it was all this was ever going to be. 

And it was about damn time he got what he wanted. 

Why should he apologize for the monster he has become when no one ever apologized for making him this way?

Maybe, one day you'll find out the truth and hate him more for lying to you, but it wasn't going to be anytime soon. He will make sure of that. 

So, he straightens his coat and walks away from the bakery, choosing to not pay any mind to the inevitable doom that could leave the both of you shattered. 

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*

"James Buchanan Barnes" 

He turns back from what he is doing to find you, cross armed, shooting daggers at him. 

"How could you, James? It's like you're not even trying." 

He can't help the smile that finds its way to his lips at the way you look. Your christmas sweater that you had deemed "perfect" for the occasion and a scarf draped loosely on your neck, trying to look intimidating, just makes you look even cuter. 

You walk towards him and take the candy decoration from his hand, to place it exactly just an inch away from where he was going to, because it looked in your exact words, "more festive" 

Bucky just smiles at you as he watches you ramble more about Christmas decorations. 

When a week ago, he had heard you reminding Pietro that he had to come over to help you decorate, he had stepped in and offered his help. He was free that day anyways, he had told you. There was an international shipment that he had to sign off that day, but that could wait. 

When Pietro had shaken his hand and thanked him for 'saving him', he didn't understand, but now he did. You were extremely particular about how each and everything had to look for christmas and was not shy to tell the other person what a terrible job they were doing if it wasn't exactly the way you had wanted.

But if the cute pout on your face and the warmth that it caused in his chest was any indication, it was worth it. The cookies whose smell reached him even in the living room was just an added bonus. 

Right now, standing in the middle of your apartment, surrounded by incomplete decorations that signaled the arrival of a festival he wouldn't have cared the slightest about a year ago, being scolded by you for not hanging the canes correctly, he regretted nothing. 

3 hours and a lot of debates later, all of which you won, the house was finally decorated enough for the festival. 

"Here you go." You said, handing him a warm cup of coffee and placing a plate full of cookies on the table in front of him. It was your way of saying thank you. 

Bucky looks around your apartment. It's just above the bakery and much smaller than the mansion he lived in. But it felt different in a way he couldn't point out. 

A shelf filled to the brim with books standing in the corner, pictures adorning the walls, each telling a different story. Some soft music playing on the speaker, it was like a blanket of warmth stood over your house. A little messy, but beautiful nonetheless. 

His eyes then land on you, sitting across from him on the sofa, sipping your coffee with a warm, content look on your face, your scarf now lying on the table. 

As if you could feel his gaze, you turn back to look at him and your breath hitches in the throat at the way he is looking at you. 

It's as if the world could crumble around him and he wouldn't blink an eye. 

You can't get yourself to look away. So, you just raise your eyebrows, because you have suddenly forgotten how to breathe and if he didn't look away right now, you are not sure you will be able to survive longer. 

He just shrugs and turns towards his coffee, as if it was a natural occurrence. As if your whole world hadn't stopped spinning for a moment there. 

Bucky looks at you through the corner of his eyes and watches as red color creeps up to your neck and you try your hardest to not smile. 

He now recognises the feeling. 

Your apartment feels like home. 

And the next realization brings with itself questions and doubts he wasn't ready to answer. 

He wouldn't rather be anywhere else. 

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩

He clenches his fist as he drags his feet towards the bakery. 

It was pretty late. He knew that. 

But he just had to be there. 

He liked his work more often than not. The impending guilt and the danger aside, the reason that had initially brought him to this world still stood. 

It made him feel something. The adrenaline of each task, the satisfaction of seeing everything that belonged to his enemies burning down till there was nothing but smoke.  

The mafia world had welcomed the darkness that he had inside of him and made him one of their own, for which he will be eternally grateful. 

But for some time now, it hasn't been enough. 

The darkness that had surrounded and consumed him for so many years now was suddenly not enough. 

Something inside him changed. 

For the first time in as long as he could remember, he had thought twice before shooting that man today. The whispers inside him that asked him every time 'if there was any other way' had become louder now and even the noise of the bullets couldn't silence it. 

He knew what was happening. 

He was seeking the light.

And every single part of him knew that this could only end in disaster. In a fire that threatened to burn every single thing to the last piece. 

But that didn't stop him from taking the next step. Or the one after that. 

He was still walking to the one place that could silence away his thoughts and make it all go away. Like a moth attracted to a flame. 

Maybe this was selfish of him. Maybe he was tainting you with his darkness. 

He will think about that some other day. 

When the bakery comes into view, he realizes just how late it is. 

You would be about to close now. 

Maybe he could catch a glimpse before you retired for the night. It wasn't enough. It was never enough. But it had to do. 

As he reaches the bakery, he watches as the door slowly opens and a young boy steps out. 

He frowns before walking ahead, and his eyes almost widen with who he sees. 

"Peter, what are you doing here?" 

Peter looks up from the book he is currently holding and his eyes widen with fear at the figure who stands before him. 

"S - sir, I - I was just - " 

A voice from inside the bakery calls out to him. A voice Bucky recognizes all too well. 

"Peter, you forgot this." 

You step out of the bakery with a textbook in your hands as you hand it over to Peter. 

Peter opens his mouth to speak but then closes it. Too afraid about what was going to happen. 

You turn around and when your eyes land on James, your lips turn into a grin before you know it. 

"James, hi"

Peter's eyebrows shoot up as he looks between the both of you. You have a glint in your eyes as if you couldn't be happier by anything else and the man he had feared with everything he had for the last couple of years, had a softness to his features that made Peter wonder if he was somehow swallowed into an alternate dimension. 

"Hey, sweets." Bucky says almost on instinct, before turning towards the boy who is still looking at the both of them as if he just saw a dolphin flying in the air. 

You probably notice it too, because you then point towards Peter before saying, "James, this is Peter, and Peter, this is James Barnes." 

"James?" Peter says almost on instinct, confusion evident in his voice. 

"Wait, you know him?" You ask, looking between the both of them now. 

Peter looks at Bucky and almost crumbles with fear by the warning glare he is shooting towards him. But there is something else there too. Something, he can swear he has never seen in the mob boss' eyes. 

There is fear in them. A tiny flicker of it. He fears the answer he is going to tell you. Whatever it was, it was too important for him. 

"No, no. I don't think we have met before." 

"Oh, okay." You say, confused as to what had just happened here. "All the best for the test and tell MJ I said hi," You give him an easy exit from a situation he was clearly uncomfortable in. 

You watch as a small blush spreads across his cheeks before he bids you goodbye and glancing at James once, takes his leave. 

"He is a nice kid." You break the silence after Peter walks away, out of earshot. "Pretty smart. I was helping him with his test tomorrow." 

Bucky looks back at you and shrugs in response. "Good for him." 

"By the way, it's closing time, James." You say with a teasing voice and he is relieved that you don't ask any further questions. 

"Come on, sweets. You could make an exception for your favorite customer." 

You roll your eyes before replying. "What about this? You help me clean up, and I get you something special I made today." 

"Help you clean up?" 

"Aww. The prince doesn't like to get his hands all dirty?" You smirk. 

"This special treat should better be worth it, sweets." He huffs before walking inside the bakery. 

You walk in behind him while giggling. 

__

"And that's it." 

You look at him with a smile and silently clap your hands together with an impressed look. 

If any of his men would see him right now, wearing an apron with a bunny on it, hands covered in flour, working in a bakery with soft music playing in the background, their eyes would pop out of their heads. But he couldn't care less. 

"Great job for a first timer, Barnes. You have earned yourself a serving of something special." 

Bucky smirked before replying, "Something special, you say?" He leans in and sends a wink your way. 

You roll your eyes before turning towards the kitchen, hoping that it wasn't evident how flustered you were.

You take out something from a box and place it on a plate in front of him. 

Bucky looked at it closely with a frown. It was clearly made of chocolate and was shaped like a dome. He could swear he had never seen it in your bakery before. 

"Come on, give it a try. If I wanted to poison you, I would have done it ages ago." 

He picks up one and after a moment of close inspection, takes a bite. 

As the taste of chocolate invades his senses, he moans and puts the whole into his mouth. 

You watch as his head falls back in delight. 

Once he is done, which is faster than he would have wanted, he says, "Sweets, that was the best damn thing I have ever had." 

You chuckle, "You say that every single time, James."

"And I mean it every single time." 

You just smile at him before putting another on the plate. 

As he devours that one quickly too, he inquires, "What is it called?" 

You smirk before replying, "James." 

"Yeah?" 

"James. That's what it is called." 

His eyes widen and he takes a moment to reply, "You named a sweet after me?"

"Well, technically, you were the inspiration for this." 

He frowns. "How so?" 

"Well, It's full of chocolate and exceptionally sweet. It's exterior is hard but its insides are so soft, they practically melt in your mouth." 

Bucky looks at you, baffled and you look away, unable to meet his eyes. 

He opens his mouth to say something, but is suddenly shushed by you. 

"That's my favorite song." You whisper, as if not wanting to obstruct the soft melody. 

Bucky listens to the sound coming from your phone.

Wise men say

"Only fools rush in"

But I can't help

Falling in love with you

He looks back at you and at the way you have a soft smile on your face, your features highlighted by the soft glow of the kitchen light. 

You look at him and with a teasing smile puts your hand forward, indicating to him to take it. 

He looks between your outstretched hand and your face with a frown.

"Dance with me." Your voice is so soft, he just can't get himself to say no. But, who is kidding? He will set the whole world on fire and watch it burn with a smile on his face if you asked him to. 

He slowly places his hand in yours as the music continues. 

Shall I stay?

Would it be a sin

If I can't help

Falling in love with you

The both of you stand in the middle of the kitchen, the moonlight sweeping its way through the windows. 

Everything is brightened in a warm glow but you know nothing will ever shine brighter than the way his ocean blue eyes do right now. 

Take my hand

Take my whole life, too

For I can't help

Falling in love with you

One of his arms finds its way around your waist while the other holds yours. 

You place your free hand on his shoulder and he gently pulls you closer. 

The both of you stay like that for the rest of the song, swaying slowly to the music. 

Like a river flows

Surely to the sea

Darling, so it goes

Some things are meant to be

You don't know who  leans first but before you know it, the distance between the both of you starts decreasing. 

You hold your breath and your gaze move from his eyes to his lips. 

You would be lying if you said you had never thought of this before, of how his lips would feel against yours, how he would taste like. 

This man had occupied your thoughts since the day you had met all those months ago and you were pretty sure he had no idea of the effect he had on you. 

Take my hand

Take my whole life, too

For I can't help

Falling in love with you

For I can't help

Falling in love with you

Just as the song is about to end and there's nothing but an inch of distance between the both of you, the door to the bakery was suddenly pushed open with a force and the sound of the bells invaded the comfortable silence that had covered the room in a blanket. 

The both of you took a sudden step away, and you needed a moment to calm your heart which felt like it was about to beat its way out of your chest, before looking up to see who it. was. 

You squinted as two men, one blonde and the other dark haired, stood at the door, looking comically too big, having no idea of what transcribed in the bakery before they had not-so-smoothly barged in. 

The blonde one speaks, breaking the silence, "I knew we'd find you here." 

You watch as he steps towards James, who looks at him with sheer annoyance. "What the hell are you doing here, punk?" 

The other man looks at you and forms a smirk before stepping towards you. "So, this is where you always sneak off to? I guess I understand why." 

James huffs in annoyance and with a sten face stops him, "Shut up, Wilson." 

You look between the men who looked like they were in a staring contest when realization hit you. "Steve and Sam?" 

All the men look at you at the same time and you feel like a deer caught in headlights before you stand up straighter reminding yourself that no matter how intimidating the situation was, this was your bakery. 

"And you must be y/n l/n. It's great to finally meet you, Ms l/n" Steve says, smiling. 

"Please, just call me y/n." 

"Or we could call you beautiful." Sam replies before stepping forwards, stretching his hand to take yours for a shake. 

You let out a chuckle before shaking his hand. "Y/n is fine." 

"What are the both of you doing here?" Bucky speaks up, shooting daggers at Sam, his fists clenched. 

"There's an emergency. We need to go." Steve replies, a serious expression adorning his face. 

Sam interjects them "What's the hurry? I have heard so much about this bakery. We could eat something before leaving." 

Bucky spats at him, "This bakery has closed, Wilson. Time's up. Get your butt moving." 

Sam pouts and you chuckle at the antics of these grown men, "Why don't you come here some other day, Sam, I have something that I think you'll like." 

Sam looks at you, a childlike smile replacing his pout, "I like her already." 

Bucky steps forward towards Sam, pulling him away. "Don't listen to him, sweets." 

Steve and Sam turn their head towards him so fast. you are sure they will get a sprain later. Sam raises his brows with a smirk on his face, while Steve looks at him with a smile on his. 

James then quickly bids you goodbye before pulling the both of them outside the bakery. 

Once they reach the car Steve and Sam had driven in, they both look at him with amused grins. 

"Back off, the both of you. What's the emergency?" 

Steve's expression turns serious as he replies, "Our shipment from Iran has been stopped at Morocco and they are refusing to comply." 

Bucky narrows his eyes at the information. Who would dare to stop their shipment and risk getting on his bad books? "Who is it, Steve?"

"It's Alexander Pierce." 

Bucky lets out a breath before looking in the direction of the bakery once more  and then turning towards Steve and Sam. 

"Get in the car. We need to leave right now. This is going to be a long assignment."

Next part

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#marvel #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #winter soldier x reader #mob au #mafia au #bakery au #mob bucky barnes #mob bucky x you #mob bucky x reader #steve rogers #sam wilson #peter parker #fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst

[m4tthewmurd0ck]

COMING SOON!!!

Mob!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Ballerina Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫

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

#bucky barnes x you #marvel #mcu #sebastian stan #marvel au #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #mcu au #steve rogers #peter parker #chris evans #tom holland #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky #mob!bucky barnes #mob!steve rogers #mob!peter parker #wip

[winterspiderpurrs]

Prompt:

Where Tony and Peter meet because Peter runs the Maria Stark Foundation

Peter was reviewing the books, and the numbers just don't look right.

Peter was so focused on the good this foundation does he never realized the ties to the crime family.

But when it gets brought up to Tony. Well Tony gets mad.

1) His mother's organization was never supposed to be touched by his group - keep it clean

2) How come no one told him this cutie took over running it?

#writting prompt #starker #starker prompt #mob boss tony stark #mafia tony stark #peter parker x tony stark #winterspiderpurrs

[reidslovely]

Love of Mine

Heeeey @hollandweather remember that request you sent me forever ago?? ii went with the mob!peter version ii hope you're good with that :)

Pairing: Mob!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Content Warnings: Lots of fighting and yelling, happyish ending, angsty. Let me know if I missed anything cause I'm sure I did.

Kind of a sequel but not really to this

Pretty please read and reblog!! thanks friend

Freshly painted black nails contrasted against the soft cream color of the armchair cushion as she dug her nails into the fabric. Standing in the dimly lit office waiting for him to notice her, she stood like a haunting figure in front of him, simply waiting for an acknowledgment. 

“Peter.” Her words came out soft, yet stern. Swallowing the angry lump in her throat as his eyebrows raised, and his chest fell.

“Yes baby?”

He spoke simply, not even lifting his head to acknowledge her. He was engrossed in whatever he was looking at some paper with a mugshot attached. Ever since the shootout that killed him Peter had been different. He came back different. Angerier, more cruel. Never to her, just others. She hadn’t been sure what happened, maybe it had given him time to reflect. Time to be angry at the cards he was dealt in life. 

“Do you not..?” She fumbled over her words in her upset. 

“It feels like you don’t care about..us anymore Peter.” There was a sad honesty in her voice. She wished she had been making it up, that it was all in her head. Peter threw himself into his work the moment he got better. He’d leave several times for days on end; not a single call to let her know he was okay or when he’d be home. It was unlike him. 

He furrowed his brows, looking at her finally. “Of course I care, baby.”

 Again, there's the distance in his voice. It feels rehearsed, almost like he’d been practicing this delivery for the months he’s been back. There were times where he didn’t seem himself, he was quick to anger and quick to jump. He and Harry having nearly had several physical altercations since being back. Felicia having gone ghost on them after she and Peter had it out over an action plan. His wife was feeling his anger, and it was nesting in her. She could try to nurse him back to his mentality before, she could settle his arguments with friends and colleagues. However, she could only handle him neglecting her for so long. 

“Do you know what today is?” She began to wander around the office. Their wedding picture is sitting snugly on the bookcase in a gold frame. Both are much younger in the photo having gotten married straight out of high school. 

“October 19th..wh- Oh, oh baby.” 

For a moment her Peter was there, the realization washed over the room. She knew he felt like an idiot rethinking the day. She’d made his favorite breakfast, they showered together, and she’d even gone shopping and excitedly showed him everything she had gotten. She was now dressed in a purple slip dress she’d bought today. 

 He forgot their anniversary. 

 Peter stood up from his desk rushing to her. She felt exposed under his touch, pulling her face away as he grabbed her jaw in his calloused hand. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry baby.” 

“It’s whatever Peter.” She backed away, tears pooling in her eyes. “I just wanted to know that you still cared and…well, I got my answer.” Angrily she stormed out of his office, slamming the door shut behind her. A photo of them falling off his decor table in the show of aggression, the frame bursting into dozens tiny pieces. 

Peter followed behind her, his feet slamming against the hardwood of the stairs. “I don’t care! Is that what you’re saying right now?” 

“That's what I said.” She yells back trying to slam their bedroom door in his face. Peter grabbed it, pushing it open. He stared at her in shock, standing there with his arms at his side. His wife glaring back at him, tears spilling down her cheeks. 

“You don’t care about me or us anymore. All you care about is killing those people who hurt you. All you care about is work, what’s being moved in and what's being taken out.” She started pointing a finger at him. “This is the last fucking straw Peter. I’m fucking tired. I can’t keep fixing the things you fuck up because you are so blinded by rage. You are so fucking selfish. You forgot my birthday, and our wedding anniversary. Harry doesn’t even want to see you any fucking more because you are not yourself. I want Peter back not whatever fucking stranger crawled into your body while you were dying. I want my husband because you are not him, he was a good husband.” 

Both her and Peter stared at one another. She knew she shouldn’t have said it.  

Her anger echoed in the room, she expected him to fight back. She wanted him to fight back, yell, scream, let her know that he in some way cared. Instead he turned and looked at himself in the mirror and then down at his socked feet. 

“So me proving I care about you, about Harry. About anything other than myself would mean I’d stop taking down the people who hurt me. I’d stop going after Li or Fisk’s guys who got together and planned to kill not only me but everything I cared about including you?”

 He stared at her like she had five heads. Not knowing how to respond she rubbed her hands down her face. He was putting words in her mouth. 

“Cool, cool  yeah. I’ll stop, fuck I’ll step down from being the head of this organization.  We can totally live a normal life not constantly looking over our shoulders.`` 

“You’re being mean, you’re putting words in my fucking mouth.” She warns. Peter takes a deep breath shaking his head as he looks down, something he did to keep himself from crying. 

“I went to that warehouse to protect all of you. Do you understand that? Because if I didn’t go to them, they were gonna come to us. Now, I am cleaning up a mess I made that has put you all at risk. I’m..” Peter’s hands shook at his side, before coming up to rub his face aggressively. He dropped down to the floor sitting his back against the wall. 

“I’m sorry I’m a bad husband, I haven’t been a good husband since that night and I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I left you here, I’m sorry I scared you. I’m sorry that I put you in any danger by coming back. But as a good husband and as a good friend or boss I have to kill them.” He whispered to her, as she joined him on the floor. 

“You have every right to be mad at me. I’m mad at myself. And this isn’t me guilt tripping you, this is me telling you that you’re right I haven’t been a good husband and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I forgot your birthday and our anniversary and that I’ve been a total piece of shit.”

“I didn’t mean it. I just, I knew it would hurt your feelings and I wanted you to hurt like I did.” 

Peter kissed her head, his hand cradling her cheek bringing her to his chest. She let out a soft sigh burying her head in his neck. “I just got caught up in keeping everyone safe that I forgot what I was protecting. I am so sorry for hurting you and doing anything that made you feel like I didn’t love you” He whispered in her hair, rubbing small circles on her back. 

“I know. And I know I’ll forgive you for it, but can we start by at least having an anniversary night? It’s all I want, just you and me, no work or anything.”

“I’ll give you an anniversary week, how's that?” Peter bargains. “Make up for the missed birthday. We can go anywhere you want.” 

“Anywhere?” She smiles up at her husband, who gives her a loving look before kissing her cheek. 

“Anywhere.” He confirms holding her closer. “I love you.” He assures her, pulling her legs over his thigh rocking her. 

“I love you too.”

#tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter x reader #tasm!peter imagine #tasm peter parker #tasm andrew garfield #andrew garfield #tasm peter smut #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm peter imagines #tasm peter x you #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!peter fluff #tasm!peter x y/n #peter parker x reader #mob peter parker x reader #mob!peter parker

[liz-allyn]

sugar and vice, pt 5 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: what is the appropriate amount of time to forgive your kidnapper?

words: 3.9 k

warning: mob-typical violence. whump. hurt/comfort. allusions to violence. coersion. kidnapping. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. 'only ten one bed oops' trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. nudity. extremely toxic relationships.

a/n - as many of you pointed out in the last chapter, this version of Peter is darker and messier than TASM canon. expect him to make a lot of mistakes before he becomes a changed man. if he changes.

18+. you're responsible for your own content consumption. but that being said, if you don't remember watching an episode of pop up [music] video on a television network, then keep it movin'.

Back to Part 4

Part 5

She awoke to darkness. Her whole body felt sore. Head throbbing from the onslaught of tears. She felt like a ceramic pot that had been roasting in a kiln for hours.

Stirring from her dreamless sleep, she glanced left and right. Her hands were free of the bindings. Brow curled, she looked over at the closed door, pondering if her captor had snuck into the room while she was out.

Honey sat up with a start, blinking the remnants of sleep from her eyes. She reached for her wrists, finding nothing but an oily residue left behind. Still puffy from the duct tape rash, her skin was sensitive to her touch, but otherwise unharmed.

She glanced up at the closed door. Her stomach churned. She fought the instinct to curl up and hide beneath the bed. The memory of Peter’s fierce gaze lingered, a raw burn in her mind. 

Despite her logic telling her that she was the victim, she still felt conflicted. 

She had been kidnapped, sure— and she needed to do whatever was necessary to survive. Strangely, she still felt guilty for taking a swing at him like she did. As soon as her fingers touched the rock, she slammed it into the side of his head, without much thought.

“What are you, stupid? It’s a wonder you even make it home alive each night!”

She couldn’t quite name what came over her. She dealt a blow to his temple that could’ve killed him. Surprised that it didn’t. And then what would that be like? Could she really find it in herself to kill another human being? Not to mention, she’d be alone in the woods with a dead body, with no clue where she was. 

The thought made her queasy, twisting her stomach into a pretzel. She could’ve just run away, but when it came time to do so, she froze. Typical.

While she was hiding, she watched and listened quietly to his rampage below. Rage was one thing she expected, but not the misery she witnessed. The look she found in his eyes was something else entirely. Heartbreak and relief, like he would burst into tears at any moment.

It made her heart ache to witness it.

And then she hit him with a rock. Like some kind of cavewoman. 

Brilliant idea, she thought disdainfully.

“You need to slow down!” More bitter thoughts flooded her, this time with the voice of her mother. “Always talking too fast! Always moving too fast! You do without thinking. No wonder you mess everything up.”

Her eyes grew heavy with melancholy and exhaustion. Despite the darkness wrapped around her, she felt like sleep was out of the question.

A strange melody crept up through the closed door to her room. Voices. Percussion. Music. Upbeat and entrancing. 

There wasn’t a clock in her room but she had figured it was the middle of the night. Why would Peter be jamming out in the middle of the night?

Her stomach twisted again. The thought of coming face-to-face with him gave her chills. She rubbed her wrists idly. She could feel bruises there. She was afraid to leave the room. But she was also starving, and lamented not having at least one sandwich before her daring and ill-conceived escape. She was also miserably dehydrated, as every bit of moisture had leaked through her swollen eyelids.

And she had to pee. And that was now all she could think about. Her room thankfully had its own bathroom. Swinging her still-booted feet over the edge of the bed onto the floor, she tiptoed to the bathroom and relieved herself.

She thought she heard singing. Bad, out-of-tune singing. Creeping to the door, she placed her ear against the cool surface, trying to identify thes source. Out of curiosity or courage, she twisted the handle and peeked her head around the frame.

By the time she reached the bottom step of the staircase into the living room, she had a full view of the area and Peter was nowhere in sight. The one person who was in the room (and the source of music) was Miles, as he sat at the kitchen bar and dangled a pizza slice larger than his head above his mouth. 

The music was echoing across the room from a tiny portable speaker on top of the kitchen bar. In his own world, the teenager’s head bobbed as he blew steam from his pizza, then took a giant bite. 

She watched curiously as she approached from behind. The giant decorative clock built into the great room wall confirmed that it was incredibly late. Or early. One wouldn’t know it from Miles’ energy, or the volume of his jam session. She looked left and right, expecting to find more people, but saw no one else.

The flow of the music was broken when she accidentally walked into a low-height side table, her knee knocking to the corner. The lamp on top of the table jolted and Miles spun around in the barstool, letting out a piercing screech that could best be described as falsetto.

Honey responded in kind, letting out a shrieking Ahhhhhh of her own. Miles curled himself up on the stool, pulling his palms and one leg up defensively. “Sorry!” she blurted, as he clutched his own chest. “Sorry! So sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

“You scared the crap outta me!” Miles said, his panic ebbing.

“I didn’t mean to—wait, is that how you really scream?”

“What about it?!” Miles exclaimed indignantly. “Not the point! You’re the one who’s creepin’ up on people like we’re in a horror movie... Crazy... La Llorona stuff!” The pitch of his voice normalized as he took a deep breath, frustration subsiding. “I dead-ass almost punched you in the face—I don’t mess around!”  

“Sorry, sorry...” Honey babbled, her face twisted in a grimace. “I, uh, didn’t mean... to, uh... Llorona...”

“It’s fine!” Miles sighed, his heart rate slowing. It didn’t sound fine. “It’s over—maybe let’s just not ever mention this again, okay? To anyone? Especially not to people I know.”

Honey nodded her head in agreement, motioning that her lips were zipped and she was ‘throwing away the key.’ 

A few awkward moments of silence passed between them as he reached over and turned down the music on the speaker. He straightened out his zip-up hoodie uncomfortably. A small smile crept up on her face. She found his reaction endearing, and not at all what she expected from—whatever it was they were involved with.

“Um,” she cleared her throat. “Hi.”

Miles gave her a sheepish look. “Hi.”

There was a mountain of awkwardness between them. She looked around, then pointed at the massive box of pizza. “So... post-midnight snack?”

“Oh,” the teenager responded, looking back at the pizza. “Yeah, that’s right. You’re probably hungry.” He reached for the box, opening the lid. “Here, have some. It’s Lucia’s. There’s plenty.”

“Lucia’s?” she exclaimed, pondering the distance between wherever they were to downtown Flushing. She moved to the box, peering inside. “I like Dani’s.” 

“Well, nobody’s perfect. This pie heats up better,” Miles remarked, taking another bite of his slice. 

“Yeah?” Her eyes slid over to Miles. “How fresh is it?”

“Boss said to bring Lucia’s. So I did.” He shrugged his shoulders idly, placing his attention back on his slice of pizza. She slumped with a huff, having been dismissed.

“Boss,” she repeated, a chill going down her spine. “You mean Ben. Or...Peter, I guess,” She glanced around the mostly empty kitchen and living area, almost as if saying his name would summon him like Bloody Mary. “Is he here?”

Miles smacked his lips, wiping his mouth. “Nope, just me.” 

There was a pleasant calmness in his demeanor. It seemed to her that he was the only normal person that she’d met since being pulled off the train. The only person that treated her like a real person. Not that Peter hadn’t tried to show her kindness... or at least, what his mind perceived as kindness.

She rocked forward on her toes, suddenly interested in the fibers of the cardboard box. “Is he... Is he okay?”

Miles avoided looking at her, and she wondered how much Peter had told him about her escape attempt. She wondered why she felt suddenly embarrassed by her actions. Ashamed even. What did that say about her?

“Didn’t say much,” he replied. “Said he needed to take care of some stuff. Told me to hang out in case you needed anything.” 

Something burned in her chest, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. “That was nice,” she stated in earnest. “I guess.” 

“He’s pretty cool,” Miles nodded, matter-of-factly. “Nice guy.”

She bitterly scoffed, crossing her arms across her chest, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

He didn’t respond. He was skilled at avoiding her provocation despite how badly she wanted to start a fight. Passively, he devoured his pizza in record time, then reached over the box to grab a paper plate. It looked sorely out of place compared to the grandeur of the kitchen. 

“Wan’some?” he asked. “I also brought soda and stuff. Boss said no TV, but we can watch a movie on Netflix or something. Or we got a Switch. You ever play Smash Bros?”

It took her a moment for the implications to sink in. “‘No TV?’” she repeated with a growl, letting out a frustrated sigh. “What are we, children?” 

She snatched the paper plate from his hand and reached into the box, grabbing herself a slice of pizza. Without further protest, she bit into the pie, savoring the taste. Lucia’s was superior, she recognized. 

“He said to get you whatever you needed,” he answered, paying her complaints no mind. “The whole house is free range except for the office. But everything else is cool. You can use the gym. There’s a library. The sauna. A pool, if you wanna check that out, too.”

She blinked at him, nearly choking on her pizza. “This place has a pool?” 

“Heated,” he wiggled his eyebrows enticingly. 

She glanced down, conniving. “What about a computer?”

Miles shook his head. “Don’t know about that.”  

“Could I borrow your phone?”

“No can.”

“C’mon,” she pleaded, her voice gentle. “I’m not gonna call the cops. Just wanna check in with my mom.” 

“Can’t bring phones out here,” he shrugged apologetically. “It’s a rule. Phones can be hacked and traced. All you need is a sus text like ‘Hey, I’m here,’ or ‘We issued you a refund for $600,’ and you click on the link and boom. They got you.”

Honey peered at him suspiciously, “Who’s they?”

“No clue.”

She rolled her eyes. “Your ‘boss’ sounds pretty paranoid if you ask me.”

“That actually wasn’t his rule,” Miles explained conversationally. He leaned back in the barstool in a way that made her anxious. “That was Peni. She’s our tech nerd.”

“Peni?” she repeated.

“Yeah, she’s like—a genius.”

Her pizza suddenly became too chewy. “So I’m just a prisoner?” she huffed.

Miles looked over at her for a few moments, considering her. He let out a quiet sigh. “I know it’s a lot,” he said kindly, then added with consolation. “Pete’s a lot. Sometimes.”  Stone-faced, she stared back skeptically. “But he’s a really good dude. Just... he worries. He wouldn’t do all this if he didn’t care.”

She glared at him through lidded eyes. “Do you hear yourself right now?” she spat. “You sound like a Lifetime movie. Do I need to call Child Protective Services?”

“Hey, not cool. M’not a child,” he bristled, offended. “I’m sixteen.” She stared at him with a raised brow, watching as he stuffed another slice of pie into his mouth. “Wan’some Mountain Dew?”

She blinked. Several times. Then resigned herself. “Sure.”

The eerie indigo and orange glow of civil dawn peeked through the bay windows of the great room. It was silent except for soft snores. With weary eyes and a suit jacket which had been wrinkled by physical exertion, Peter wandered into his house even more of an alien than when he’d left it. 

The sort of activities in which he’d participated in earlier that night did that to him. It made him a stranger in his own home. Even more in his own skin.

He paused briefly and took a moment to gaze upon the lanky teenager sprawled out on one of the leather couches. Jordans crossed. sticking up over the sofa arm. A Nintendo controller rested on his chest as he dozed deeply, film forming in the corner of his open mouth. The sight made Peter crack a bittersweet smile. Nostalgia accompanied by an ache of longing. Somewhere beneath Miles’ oversized clothes, there was a good kid who wasn’t all that different from Peter.

Who he used to be. 

His eyes roved across the room to the opposite sofa. Honey was curled up like a cat, still in the blouse and jeans that she arrived in. Her hiking boots were placed neatly next to the couch. The snuggly sight of her made his heart leap into his throat. Her upper body expanded and deflated in a steady rhythm like ocean waves, and the action both entranced and haunted him. The bittersweet feeling in his chest soured and blackened, until it became a guilt-ridden tumor wrapping tendrils around his heart.

He had been so cruel earlier. He erupted into a fit of blind rage. A brute. The kind of anger that made people want to turn their heads. Anger that if Gwen were still alive, she wouldn’t be able to look at without being sickened. He was the sort of person that Aunt May and Uncle Ben would cross the street to avoid.

He thought he’d lost her too. And he was terrified.

No wonder she was scared. It was his fault, to think that she could somehow see him as something other than a monster. Now, there wasn’t much hope in changing her mind.

Peter felt his eyes burn as he peeled them from her lithe form. He glanced down at his hands, observing the deep crimson stains in his skin. Rusty-brown spots soiled the wrinkled cuffs of his dress shirt. 

He’d have to throw it out, he mused. There’d be no getting those stains out. No matter how much time he put into scrubbing. No matter if he flayed his own skin off his bones, the blood would always be there.

His heart rate quickened. He felt bile rising in his throat. With alarm, he disappeared down a hallway, tucking himself swiftly in a washroom. 

When he returned, he was shirtless. His forearms were bright red, stinging with how hard he’d scrubbed. Head down, he crept quietly towards the staircase leading up to the bedrooms on the upper level. 

He paused at the sofa, glancing down longingly at the woman he would never deserve. 

The woman that would never forgive him for how he acted. 

Never forgive him for what he was. The thought made his lower lip tremble.

He didn’t deserve her. This was an undeniable fact. 

But regardless, she was still his responsibility. His to protect. His to keep safe. 

His to keep.

His shadow fell over her as he reached down and gently lifted her from the sofa. Effortlessly, he carried her weight like a towel over his arm, or a down-pillow in his hands. Ascending the staircase with her tucked against his chest, he didn’t miss the way she huddled closer to his warmth. She sighed against the skin over his heart in a way that made gooseflesh rise. 

Gently, he ferried her, like a small boat on a glass lake. He strode past the door to the room that she had occupied and continued down the hallway, headed to the southern-facing end of the house. He approached the heavy oak door to his bedroom and used his toe to push it open. The action barely disturbed her at all. Like floating on a cloud.

Moving through the bedroom darkened by blackout curtains, he drifted across his room and rested her body on the silk surface of the California-king bedspread. Delicately, he placed her head on a 1000-thread count pillow void of any scents other than his own. He hoped that it would smell like her shampoo by the time she woke up. 

He stepped back from the bed, listening the pulsation of her heart. Studied the pace of her breathing. Fixated on her soft features as she floated in her slumber. A familiar pang reached his chest as he watched her, hesitating for only a moment more before he padded to the other side of the bed. 

She sighed in her sleep, nuzzling the softest pillow she’d ever laid on, and shuddered comfortably as two arms wrapped around her waist. She felt herself pulled back and was cradled by a firm form shaping her own. It was warm. She was warm. The breath on the back of her neck was warm.

Her eyes shot open, a small gasp catching in her throat. Rapidly, she blinked through the murky twilight of the foreign bedroom, her heart spiking. 

“Don’t,” she heard a deep, raspy voice whisper in her ear. She went rigid, recognizing the owner of the voice and the body pressed up against hers. Alarm flooded her.

“Please don’t,” he said softly, with a tone that sounded shockingly broken. She was frozen. Stunned. By fear or surprise, or both. 

Another murmur, “Stay with me.”

It was a whimper shaped like a demand. With it, she swore she could feel a tremble in his grip. He buried his face in her hair, his bearded chin tucking into her shoulder. His arms locked her into an impenetrable grip. 

Instinct was screaming at her to break the hold. Told her she needed to fight. Or run, as far and fast as she could manage. 

It wouldn’t be very far. The previous afternoon he proved that he was more than capable of bringing her back. 

She let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. The way the air from his lungs ghosted over her nape made her eyes flutter shut. 

His arms were heavy. Firm, but not painful. Solid, not tight. She imagined the hearty limbs of the oak in the backyard of her childhood home. Three seasons out of the year, she’d scale into its arbor, hiding from her troubles. She once wanted to build a home there.

She should fight. She should run.

There was a monster in her bed. She was in a monster’s bed. 

And yet, sleep took her soon after. The most peaceful rest she’d had in ages.

When she emerged from her rest, she was alone again. Harsh daylight flooded into the bedroom she hadn’t had the chance to see. After a moment of confusion, she turned around to see the other side of the bed unoccupied. The blankets undisturbed. She glanced down at her own clothes. Though wrinkled and dirtied from her tree climbing adventure and attempted escape, they were intact. 

She was surprised, but even more surprised at the strange mix of... anxiety? 

When is the appropriate amount of time when you’re forced into your kidnapper’s bed for him to... you know... make a move? Was it her? Was she awful, or even worse—did she smell bad? 

The line of self-conscious questioning and odd disappointment frustrated her further. She sighed, silenting cursing her own stupidity, shaking the thought from her mind. 

Someone once told her that if life was a horror film, she’d be the first to die. It would’ve offended her more if she wasn’t wrapped up in the notion that if life could be a horror film, how would any of us know we were in one?

Her mother answered— ”Stupid, stupid girl.”

Attention now turned to the surroundings, she came face-to-face with another real-life magazine spread. A dream bedroom. The coziest jewel of this particular dream home. 

Although it was a modest size, it didn’t feel that way. The primary bedroom was decorated with a soothing blend of alabaster stone, exposed beams of reclaimed wood, and snuggly linen tones. Vaulted ceilings lined with ash. A winding, black iron chandelier dangled over the four-post bed she laid in. A stone fireplace stood opposite from the bed, accompanied by an overstuffed linen chair. Just as in the other rooms, a double-height window accented with floor-to-ceiling drapes towered over the room and revealed the breathtaking mountain landscape.

She sat up and gathered her jaw up off of the bedspread. Wiped drool from her lip. The room was charming and warm, like fuzzy socks and sherpa blankets. Marshmallows melting on hot cocoa. It wrapped around her, like a hug.

Like her visitor last night.

She yanked her eyes off of the rustic-contemporary decor, searching for Peter, as if he would’ve somehow camouflaged himself into the space. Placing her socked feet down on the blessedly toasty hardwood, she peered around curiously. The gentle roar of water running caught her attention as she wandered to the other side of ithe room. An open doorway led into another massive space, one side lined with wardrobe cabinetry and the other half of the room obscured by a wall. 

Idly, she followed the path through what she recognized as a closet larger than her apartment, rounding the corner of the freestanding wall. Clouds billowed around her, as she gazed open-mouthed at the primary bathroom. Sunlight poured in, lighting up the space, bouncing off of white marble and black obsidian glass tile—

And Peter Parker. 

Steam wafting off of his nude form, hot water pouring down his backside. She paused midstep, eyes like saucers. Felt the blood rush to her face. Panic swallowed her. She imagined this is exactly what deers must feel right before getting plowed by an F-150, blinded by headlights. 

Except that she was blinded by his wet pale skin, the way the steam rose from it, like he was the source of heat. The smattering of freckles spread faintly across his shoulders. His palms were flat against the backsplash as he bowed his head into the stream of water. His dark locks slicked back by a cleansing cascade. 

She followed the current down the curve of his shoulders and the peaks of his spine, down to the dimpled valleys of his lower back, and that breathtaking canyon ridge that dips down in a V at his hips— whatever that’s called— and never in her life would she see herself as an ‘ass enthusiast,’ but her mouth was watering now, maybe from the lack of hair on his body (his skin was so buttery smooth, what was his skincare secret?) or the subtle curvature of his shapely cheeks— 

Aimlessly, she collided with a freestanding towel drying rack, sending it clamoring to the tile floor. To her ears it sounded like the whole Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade falling down a staircase into a pile of cookware. She didn’t bother to see if Peter could hear the racket.

Like Icarus into the Sun, she hurled her own body back into the closet before she could be seen. Landed hard on the carpeted floor with a thud. She scattered, scrambling like a crab, on her hands and knees until she could get to her feet and bolt from the room.

In a frenzy, she rushed to ‘her’ bedroom, the one nearest to the stairs. She didn’t breathe again until the door was slammed shut and she rested her weight against it. A fire raged beneath her skin, her face aflame with embarrassment. She dragged her palms down her cheeks, groaning with mortification, sinking to the floor.

At what point is it acceptable to creep on your kidnapper in the shower?

Continue to Part 6

a/n - I've gotten such overwhelmingly amazing feedback on this. thank you so much to each of you that commented, sent me an ask, and big thank you to those of you that reblogged!

don't forget, to be tagged you must reblog so I can keep track of you!

thank you so much, angels!

#Lizzy writes. #Lizzy writes! sugar and vice #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker au #mob peter parker #mafia au #mob au #peter parker x oc #tasm peter parker #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker x you #tasm peter parker x oc #andrew garfield au #andrew garfield peter parker x reader #andrew garfield spiderman #andrew garfield x reader #peter parker andrew garfield #andrew garfield #the amazing spider man #the amazing spiderman #tasm au #tasm smut #tasm spiderman #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter smut #andrew garfield smut #slow burn

[backtothefanfiction]

The Angel In The Garden of Evil | Chapter Nineteen: Wash It Away*

Summary: It's time to wash off the past, as well as all that blood from that final battle.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, Smut, genre typical content, mentions of blood and previous injuries, kissing, P in V, shower sex,

Word Count: 2.4k+

A/N: We couldn't leave our favourite couple before they kiss and make up and get it on again. I also realise there is a small theme of Angel always having an emotional breakdown before sex, I promise they aren't always like that haha. This series has been such an experience to write. Honestly at times it's like they wrote themselves, but we'll get into that more on our Epilogue Authour's Note. Anyway, here's some steamy shower sex.

NINETEEN

Peter didn’t say anything the whole car ride home, he didn’t even turn his head in her direction. His only acknowledgement of her presence in the car was the steady hand he held to her thigh, his thumb stroking small soothing and gentle motions back and forth. Her gaze kept tracking from his blood stained cheek to the ever changing landscape outside, trees coming into view and growing denser the further they got away from the city. He was taking them back to the house. He was taking them home.

He was slightly tense as he turned onto the drive. He didn’t follow it all the way down to the garage, instead parking right outside the front door. She waited in the car as he got out and walked the length of the car round to her side. He opened the door, holding his blood stained hand out for her to take. She wrapped her own bloody fingers around his before stepping out of the car. 

He paused, looking at her for a moment, drinking her in. He slowly dropped her hand, his hands raising to either side of her face, his fingertips finding a home in her hair as he held her head in place, his eyes searching, rediscovering. She lifted a hand up to brush across his blood covered shirt, her fingers wrapping tightly over his bicep, encouraging him to close the gap between them. His hips pushed her back against the side of the car as his fingers gripped tighter into her hair, pulling her towards him. His kiss was soft but firm. Silent, but deadly. It somehow said everything he needed to say, wanted to say but couldn’t. ‘I’m sorry. I love you.’

Her other arm wrapped around him, holding him close as the arm that was clinging to his bicep slowly climbed upwards towards his neck, fingers tangling into the hair as she deepened the kiss with her own apology.

His hands moved down the sides of her body, wrapping around her ass before he lifted her up into his arms, her arms folding over the backs of his shoulders. Holding her tight in his arms as he continued to place kiss after kiss onto her lips, he carried her towards the door to their house. Her breathing hitched, their lips parting momentarily as he pushed her forcefully against the door, holding her in place with just his hips and one arm as he rooted in his pocket for the key. He continued to attack her mouth, the metallic taste of dried blood entering his mouth from the flecks smeared across their faces as their kisses grew wider and more frantic. She felt the door give way behind her back as it opened, making her grip around his neck grow a little tighter, but she knew he wouldn’t drop her.

They continued to kiss, their hands pawing at each other as he moved them through the house, carrying her up the stairs to the bathroom. He subconsciously pushed the door closed with one hand before turning them so he could turn on the shower, before he finally placed her feet back onto the floor. His hands pushed her hair back as he held her face in both hands again, reassuring himself that she was real and here and his once more. Her fingers moved frantically to unbutton his shirt. The moment the last button was undone, she was ripping the shirt open and off of his arms. It got stuck at his elbows and he reluctantly let go of her so that he could pull his arms out the rest of the way, before throwing the shirt to the ground.

Steam filled the room as they took a step back from each other to get rid of the rest of their clothes, deciding the process would be much quicker. Once stripped they paused to take in each other’s naked forms, her eyes raking down her husband's toned stomach, his eyes fixated on her still bandaged ribs. He was gentle as his fingers reached out to her. She closed her eyes, letting out a long exhale of relief as he began to unwrap her chest, her lungs being able to work fully now they weren’t being held back. She let the steam cleanse them as Peter tipped his head down to lay kisses across the tops of her shoulders.

“Tell me if I am being too rough.” he whispered into her skin as he dropped the bandages, his free hand moving to wrap around the side of her neck and tilt her head up towards him so he could kiss her once more. It was slow and deep, his tongue teasing at her own as he lifted her into the shower. She breathed out another sigh of relief into his mouth as the warm water began to trickle down her back. He slowly let her feet fall to the shower floor as he continued to back her further under the stream of the shower and into the corner so that he could fit too. It didn’t take long for the water to turn red as it began to wash away the horrors of not just the evening but the last three years.

“Peter-” she whispered against his lips, seemingly pained. Seeing that his hands were in her hair and not on her body, he knew it wasn’t a physical pain but an emotional one; and as he opened his eyes and saw the fear and the sorrow that tainted her own, his own chest cleaved in two.

“It’s okay.” his soft voice tried to reassure her. “It’s okay.” he repeated as he folded her against his body, arms wrapping protectively around her skin.

They stood like that for a moment in silence. The only sound, the water and her deep breaths between silent tears, her fingers grasping onto him tightly.

He slowly separated them when he felt her still, a calm washing over her as her tears subsided. He turned and reached for the shampoo bottle that had been sat patiently waiting to be used again for the first time in weeks, squeezing the liquid into his palm before he started to lather it into her hair. His fingers scratched relaxingly against her scalp before he encouraged her head back into the stream of water, rinsing it of any left over blood. He had her turn, her chest being kept warm by the water as he did the same again, this time with conditioner, his fingers raking through her tresses, cleansing it and her of all trouble and worry. He stepped forward to kiss at her bare shoulders as he reached past her for a loofah. She kept her eyes closed, listening to the sounds as he opened the bottle of shower gel, squirting it onto the sponge and lathering it up in his hands. She sighed, leaning into his touch, as he gently began to wipe away at any left over blood and grime, her toes wiggling between the bubbles pooling at her feet. She always felt so beautiful under his touch.

Noticing the smile on her face, he reached a hand to the back of her head, turning her head back towards him so he could place a kiss against her lips. 

As their kiss deepened once more, she turned her whole body towards him, the suds sliding from her body as she turned. One of her hands started to slide up his bicep as the other moved down to take the sponge from him. She slowly encouraged him closer to the water as she stepped out of the stream of water and steam. He fully stepped under it, his hands moving up to run across his face and back through his hair, allowing it to rinse away all the blood and dirt from his own skin. When he tilted his head back down and opened his eyes to look at her again, her clean form all sweet for him, his devoted and loving wife, his gaze grew dark.

He reached back out for her, pulling her back under the water with him before turning and pushing her back against the wall. His lips attacked her’s hungrily and she giggled against his mouth for the briefest of moments before her own needs took over. She could feel him growing hard against her stomach as he leant his body against hers. Her breathing grew frantic as she reached to run her fingers up into his hair, pulling hard against his wet tresses. He growled deeply against her neck as his lips began to trail across her jaw and down her neck, his head burying in her chest as his arms reached down to lift her again.

His hips pushed her further into the tiles as he notched himself at her entrance as she panted his name. She gasped as he slipped himself inside, his head shifting so he could stare into her lovestruck eyes, mouth hung open as he teased at that special spot inside her as he filled her out.

“So pretty for me, baby.” he breathed before attaching his mouth back to hers again. He shifted her slightly in order to thrust inside her easier, a small sound of pain escaping from her lips from the way her ribs dragged against the hard tiles. “I’m sorry.” he whispered into her skin but she shook her head.

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Her breathing hitched as he began to slowly drag his length out, then back in again. She gripped a hold of him tightly, slippery fingers desperately clawing at his wet skin. His pace was sinful, so slow, so long, so deep. This wasn’t a normal shower quickie, he was making love to her right against the tiles. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” he praised as she tilted her head back, her moans echoing around the bathroom, mingling with the steam.

“Peter.” she breathed his name like it gave her life. “Peter… Peter.” It was his favourite way to hear his name.

“God, I love you.” he spoke into her skin. “My perfect Angel, my slice of heaven. Always so good for me.” His thrust grew harder as he lost himself, Angel biting at her lip as she braced herself, one hand around Peter, the other steadying herself against the wall. 

Her legs shook slightly as he dropped her back down onto the shower floor, slipping out of her as he turned her around. He reached down, lifting her leg and bending her forward slightly, his other arm holding her up as he slipped back into her from behind.

His pants and grunts into her ear were sinful as he began to thrust into her faster with the new angle. She let her head fall back against his chest as her mouth hung open in pleasure. With each thrust he hit that devastating spot inside her. “My perfect wife.” he continued to coo. “Cum for me baby. Need to feel that perfect pussy squeeze me.”

His words elicited a guttural sigh to escape her chest, the arm he was using to hold her up around her chest moving to wrap around her throat. She chased his lips as he leaned over her, his tongue smashing into her mouth to taste every breath, every moan. 

She could feel her muscles pulling tight low in her belly as she ground back into him, attempting to meet his every thrust. Their lips parted and her forehead pressed into his as she panted “I love you.” her eyes boring into his before her breaths stuttered.

She practically screamed into his mouth when her climax dropped. “That’s my girl.” he coached her as he slowed his thrusts and fucked her through it.

“Now, you.” she panted as her heaving chest began to settle but he just lowered her  leg and slipped out of her.

“Not, yet.” He said before he placed another deep kiss to her lips.

He picked up the loofah, lathering it up again from where it had been lying on the shower floor before wiping her off one more time. He encouraged her back under the flowing water to wash off the bubbles and rinse the conditioner from her hair, before he was ushering her out the shower so he could wash himself properly.

“Go dry, yourself off.” he said as she wrapped herself up in a towel. “I’ll be in in a minute.” he encouraged, instructing her to wait in their bedroom as he stepped back under the running water.

She slipped quietly out of the bathroom, padding across the hall to the master bedroom. She wished she could call it their master bedroom, but until they moved their stuff back over from the penthouse, she could only think of this as his bachelor bedroom.

She took a moment to take it all in; all hardwood furniture and navy bed covers. The art was all photos of the city. She suspected all of them were photos he’d taken back in the day when he wouldn’t go anywhere without his camera. She hoped he’d take up the hobby again after all this.

She couldn’t help but think back to his old bedroom at May’s. This couldn’t have been more different. No homely touches, everything chosen to fit an aesthetic; the dark brooding gangster whose wife had left him. She froze as she felt his presence in the doorway, turning to see him standing with a towel wrapped around his hips, his hand still rubbing at his wet hair with a smaller towel. 

He took one look at her face. “You hate it, don’t you?” he said as he stepped closer to her.

She tried to school her features as she slowly began to nod but she couldn’t hide her smile from him. “Yeah.” she agreed as he began to smile with her. “I will say,” she said, wrapping her arms around him, now he was close enough to do so, “I do like the photos.”

“Yeah?” he asked as he beamed down at her, his own arms wrapping protectively around her, his head following her bobbing one as she nodded again. “So they can stay?” he asked with a breathy snigger.

“I think we can find a place for them somewhere.” her voice teased.

“Oh, really!” he teased back with a smile as he swung her round sideways, tipping her off balance with a giggling shriek, before righting her again. “And what about you?” he continues to jest.

“Ahhh, Peter!”

“Can we find a place for you.” he continues, beginning to lift her.

“PETER!” she laughed.

“I think I’ve got the perfect place.” he said, walking her back towards the bed.

-----------------------------------------

The final curtain drops on our favourite couple this Sunday. Don't forget to come back for the Epilogue. Also if you have enjoyed the story don’t forget to tip me like you would your waiter by reblogging and leaving feedback and letting me know what you think, it also helps keep the story alive by sharing it with new people!

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#peter parker x reader #peter parker #andrew!peter parker #peter parker imagine #the angel in the garden of evil #spider-man #andrew!peter x reader #mob!peter parker #andrew garfield peter parker #tasm!peter parker #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker imagine #mob!peter #mob peter parker #mob!au #andrew peter parker #the amazing spiderman #peter parker x fisk daughter #fisk reader #fisk daughter #spiderverse #smut #Spiderman smut #Peter Parker smut #miguel o'hara #harry osborn #hobie brown #eddie brock #felicia hardy #the vulture

[macadoodlewrites]

The Devil Doesn't Bargain - Part Four (Peter Parker Mob AU)

Summary: Peter Parker is well on his way to taking over his adoptive father’s business – but with new threats emerging, Peter and Tony Stark decide that a deal between rivals needs to be brokered. A marriage proposal between enemies brings Hallie straight into the arms of Peter, and it won’t take her long to realise that escape will not be easy.

Warnings: kidnapping, drugging, dub-con behaviour, torture, smut, swearing

Ships: Peter Parker x OC

Main Masterlist

The Devil Doesn't Bargain Masterlist

Word Count: 5.6k

Tony is going to make him an offer that he can't refuse.

What the hell was that supposed to mean? If Tony and my father had been in a rivalry for many years and never before had they come to a cease-fire, what could Tony possibly offer that would ever end their competition. And why, over all of these years, had my father never entertained a meeting with Tony Stark?

I wanted to believe that it was because my father would never associate with him. I did still believe that. Which led me to further questions, such as, what could Tony want with Dominic Whittingham? I did not believe the lies that Peter and Tony had spouted about my father, not for a second. Sure, I wasn't as involved in the family business as my brother, Aiden, was but I still knew what we did and what we sold. Buildings, cars, land. My father and brother were not criminals.

Peter could take his lies and his files and choke on them for all that I cared.

We were walking back towards his office, but thankfully this time he was not dragging me or holding me. I was a step behind him, my sock-covered feet silent. I could have turned and ran, but I had a feeling that Peter would have known if I had done so without even looking at me.

And his warnings were still at the forefront of my mind, the way he had held me down, threatened me. The delight I saw in his brown eyes as he had stared at his hand at my throat. I didn't want to upset him again - at least not until I knew that I could escape.

He opened his office door, holding it for me, and I walked through the doorway, making sure that not a single part of our bodies touched. He must have noticed because the sound of his scoff filled the empty room. I approached his desk and resisted the urge to take my file into my hands, looking down at it. It felt wrong for him to have something like this, something so personal about me, but I did not want to show him how affected I was by it. At least the file mostly contained surface information - family, friends, boyfriends, events I had attended, schools and the grades I had achieved. It would have been infinitely more frightening if I had seen more personal information such as my likes and dislikes, childhood pets and adolescent nicknames. Personal information was not something that you could find in a magazine, and I would have been even more terrified about how he had gotten it.

I did, however, open the other remaining files and look at the pictures at the front of all of them. There was my mother, Eloise, sporting the blonde hair that Aiden and I had inherited. He had also inherited her hazel eyes; mine were a light green, from my father. My father's picture was a business shot of him, in one of his usual dark grey suits. His hair, once a mousy brown, was grey now, and he was not smiling. Then again, when it came to business, he hardly ever smiled. Those were reserved for me and my brother, as they had once been reserved for my mother.

Aiden's picture was taken from a magazine article that had named him one of 'thirty under thirties to watch.' He was smiling at the camera, and I felt an ache in my chest. I had not seen him this morning at the breakfast table - both he and my father had already left the manor before I had woken up. But I was reminded of the phone call I had made back in the café to him, trying to find any way to get Eric and I to safety. I prayed that Aiden had made it in time to find Eric and get him to a hospital.

Then there was Eric's file. It was as large as Aiden's, and there was a picture of him and I at the front of it. It was one from my twenty-first birthday party at the manor, and he had looked his most handsome. I had chosen the expensive suit that he was wearing, and his mint green tie had matched my long green cape swing dress. The ache in my heart cracked at his smile. He was possibly dead now.

I traced a finger down his face, and then moved to pick up his file, but before I could, there was a hand at my wrist. I looked up and was met with depthless chocolate brown eyes staring at me.

"I said that you had to find out about your boyfriend the hard way. No spoilers," he said, and his other hand slid Eric's file away from me and snapped it closed.

"I wouldn't have believed anything written about him, anyway," I snapped, tugging away from him. Surprisingly, he let me, and I backed away to place the desk between us. "Neither do I believe a single thing that you have said about my father."

"We have been over this, Halston. Why would your file be entirely correct, but Dominic's be full of lies?"

"You tell me. You're the manipulative one here. You said it yourself; you knew that I would read them. Maybe it is some twisted way to get me to think that all of them were true."

"And why would I care about what you do or don't think of your father?" he asked, derision in his tone. "I, frankly, do not care what you believe."

Fine, I thought. This is the game that he wants to play. "That's a lie, and we both know it. You left the files on the desk for me to find. You told me that my father is a crook and tried to explain why. Someone who did not care for what I thought would have done none of those things."

Placing Eric's file back on the large, wooden desk, he continued to watch me. I did not want to be near him, so I stepped backwards by a few paces, putting myself back near the sofa that I had woken up on. With a strange and frightened thought inside of my mind, I realised that my clothes were nearly the same colour as the sofa set. Peter liked dove grey.

He took a seat behind his desk, sitting tall. "Clever girl. The magazine's do not give you enough credit."

Not wanting to give him even an inch of higher ground, I remained standing. "Excuse me?"

"The magazines," he replied. "Most call you America's sweetheart, the Whittingham daughter so loved by the country. You and your brother are like a little prince and princess of your kingdom. Your father has put on a good front, I'll admit."

"It's not a front-"

He didn't stop speaking. "But there are some articles that have said you are nothing more than a pretty face. A brainless, little heiress with nothing to contribute to society. A dim-witted socialite. But I knew that you were smart."

"Because you have a stupid file on me? You know nothing about me just because you know what schools I attended. Some grades mean nothing. I could have paid someone to achieve them for me."

"You didn't though, did you?" Peter remarked, his eyes flashing. "You would never do something like that."

"And why wouldn't I?"

"Because, darling, despite who raised you, you are a good person."

I wanted to stomp my feet, huff like a small child at the satisfied expression on his handsome face. But I remained still, only crossing my arms over my chest. His eyes darted down to the movement.

"Stop acting like you know anything about me. You don't. I have friends, family, and a life that does not involve you, and as soon as my father has rejected Tony, I will be back to it and never have to see you again."

"I know plenty, besides what is in this file," he shrugged, his hands coming up and opening the file with my name on it. I shivered as he looked down at the picture of me. "And your father will not reject mine. Trust me."

"Never going to happen."

"And you're not getting rid of me that easily. Once the deal has been struck, you'd better get used to having me around."

He sounded so confident, like he knew something that I did not - which was probably true. I was in the dark, had no idea what Tony wanted with my father, and wanted nothing more than to go home. I wanted to lay in my own bed, listen to my brother's terrible singing voice coming from his bedroom down the hall. I wanted Eric.

Before I knew what was happening, any remnants of energy that had been in my body was gone and I was sinking down to sit on the grey sofa, tears falling from my eyes. I refused to look at Peter as they dripped onto my lap, soaking into the knitted joggers. Ones that he had chosen for me. It sickened me. I continued to stare at my feet, even as I heard him getting up from his chair and walk towards me. Why should he get to see me cry? He was the source of my tears.

He crouched down in front of me, balancing on the balls of his feet and before I could move backwards in my seat, Peter's fingers were under my chin. His grip was gentler than it had been before when he had grabbed me, and he tilted my head up so that I would look at him. I had originally thought that he had smelled of smoke perhaps from a bonfire, but I had since narrowed it down to cigars - a smoky, sweet aroma with accents of leather. I watched his eyes take in the tears on my face and his other hand came up and wiped them away, his finger then trailing down my cheek. It took everything in me to not jerk away from the gesture, and I knew that he could tell that I had tensed up from the way that he sighed.

"Do you want me to show you the greenhouses?"

"You have plants here?" I implored incredulously. "What do you do, use flowers as target practise?"

He laughed and it sounded like the first real laugh that had fallen from his lips. "No. We are currently in the office building, and we do hold meetings here with prominent members of the community. We have to make the place look good and legit." At my continued dubious staring, he stood back up. "Come on, darling. I know that you like flowers."

Once again, it disturbed me to no end that he knew something so simple about me - yes, I did love flowers. My mother had passed on her love of gardening to me. But that was not in my file. Peter must have read it in an interview I had participated in at some point. I hoped.

Petulantly, I mumbled, "I don't have any shoes."

I shouldn't have said anything. Peter walked back to his desk, opened a cupboard underneath and pulled out a pair of fossil-grey timberland boots. He then walked back to me slowly as I eyed up the shoes. Once again, they matched my outfit, and it did not take more than a second glance to know that they were my size.

If this was not proving to me that I needed to leave, that their plans had been well-thought out and that Peter knew too many things about me, then nothing else would. But being cooped up in this office was not going to help me. So, swallowing my revulsion, I took the shoes and put them on, then stood up. He shot me a very realistic smile, but I didn't return it.

Following him out of his office, we took the same route that I had already taken twice today towards the stairs. At the bottom, where I had originally turned right, and the second time, Peter had led me straight on, we now went left. I cursed myself inwardly. It had been a one in three chance for me to choose the way that would take me outdoors, and I had chosen wrong.

Peter's hand found my waist and rested on the small of my back, guiding me along until we came to a set of doors that had a small pad next to them. Peter stepped ahead of me, blocking my view as I watched him remove a thin piece of plastic from his blazer pocket. He must have placed it against the pad because the doors opened with a loud beep.

Eric and I's coffee date had been interrupted mid-morning, but now the sun was starting to set in the winter sky, casting a pale, cold light over the earth. I shuddered at the sudden chill in the air as we stepped outside, and Peter noticed. Pocketing his access pass in his trouser pocket, he shrugged off his blazer and held it out for me. No matter how much I despised him, I was not going to turn away something that would keep me warm, so I took it. He then started walking, his black shoes crunching over the frozen grass, as I followed. He led us past the building and further through the grounds. I took in every inch of my surroundings as we went, noting the high walls around the complex, the men and women that were stood guarding certain buildings. The office behind us was by far the largest one and its glass walls shone in the dimming sun.

We came to a driveway with multiple cars parked on it, still within the property, and further along was a gate. Large black gates, three times my height, a solid wall of metal. From my distance, I could just make out a small pad, the same as the door we had exited.

The tiniest flair of hope rose in my stomach. I needed an access pass. And then I could leave. Who knew what was on the outside of those gates, but it had to be better than what was inside.

Not letting my gaze stray for too long as I felt Peter's eyes on me, I continued to look ahead as we approached another glass building. I stepped in through the open doors, and instantly felt the temperature change.

For the briefest of moments, I forgot about my predicament as I took in the rows and rows of flowers. Here were cherry red and snowy white geraniums, then there were candy floss pink petunias, followed by lavender pansies. My mouth fell open at the sight of the flowers, a full rainbow against an overwise dreary day. I gently touched the soft petals, held the leaves between my fingers.

From my side, Peter spoke but it was quieter than usual. "Do you like it?"

I turned to him, the surprising happiness still on my face and he took it in. A pure smile graced his lips. "I do," I whispered and looked back at the flowers. Peonies were my favourite, and I could see a collection of them in the corner of the greenhouse, their delicate pink petals the softest colour in the room. I walked straight towards them, and before I could help myself, I asked, "do you tend them?"

He snorted lightly and I turned to him once again. He had followed me across the greenhouse and was stood behind me, looking at the peonies and then back at me. "No, we have gardeners." His expression was slightly off, his eyes flickering all over my face, a question in his eyes.

"What?"

"That's the first time that you have smiled. At me."

And just like that, it was all back. This was not a boy showing me a handful of pretty flowers. This was a manipulator, someone who knew the things that I liked because he had researched me and wanted to use me. The smile fell from my face, and his faded slowly as well.

"Well-"

Before I could retort, we were interrupted by a man in a black uniform bursting through the door, clearly out of breath. He straightened up at the sight of Peter and me.

"Sir," he said. "Mr Stark needs to talk to you. He mentioned something about preparations for moving certain packages."

The guards' eyes flickered over to me, and Peter coughed, drawing his attention away. "That'll be all. Tell Tony that I will find him shortly, that I am currently with Miss Whittingham."

It looked like it pained the guard to speak further. He couldn't have been more than a year or two younger than me, but the infinite difference in his and Peter's rankings was evident. "Sir, I apologise, but he insisted it had to be now."

Once again feeling Peter's eyes on me like small daggers, roaming me and checking me over, I continued to look at the guard. On his chest, clipped to the outer pocket of his padded waistcoat, was what looked like an access pass.

Sighing at my side, I felt Peter brush my side with his hand as he moved to face me. I looked up at him, trying to paste an expressionless stare onto my features.

"Would you like to stay here whilst I deal with this business?" He was trusting me to stay alone? As if reading my thoughts, the corner of his mouth quirked up. "With Jared, of course."

"Right," I mumbled, doing everything in my power to keep the excitement out of my voice. "I would like to stay here. Please."

It must have been the right thing to say because Peter's hand rose up and cupped my cheek, his thumb stroking my skin. I did not flinch. I felt like I was barely breathing. "You can stay," he said, his chocolate eyes wandering from my eyes to my lips and back up. His touch was soft, and I must have been selling the part of docile prisoner well for him to consider leaving me. "Don't cause any trouble, darling." He leaned forwards, lips grazing my ear. "Let's not have to make me the bad guy."

And then he was gone, his hand sliding away from my cheeks, fingers lingering for only a second, as he then walked towards the open door. He muttered something to Jared, and then was gone with only one final glance back at me.

I watched him through the glass walls of the greenhouses all the way back to the office.

As soon as he had stepped back inside of the building, I knew that I had to act quickly. I started to walk between the aisles, gently brushing against the hanging flowers and their beautiful petals and waited to see what Jared would do. Whatever Peter had muttered to him must have been serious, because he followed along behind me, hardly further than three steps away at all times. I knew that he was guarding me, the eye he was keeping on me was purely one of duty, very different from Peter's. When Peter had been walking behind me, he had been gauging my reactions, taking in my movements.

Which was why this was going to be so easy. Peter would have been expecting me to do something, would have seen how nervous my breathing had become, how my hands were suddenly clammy. But not Jared.

I gingerly looked over to him, pasting a coy, girlish smile on my face. "Aren't they lovely?"

Clearly shocked at being addressed, he nodded with a bewildered expression. "They are, Miss Whittingham."

"Do you know much about flowers?" I continued.

"I cannot say that I do," he replied. "My girlfriend prefers chocolates as presents. She has allergies."

"Well, can I show you something?"

He hesitated but took a small step forward. Up this close, I could see the boyish roundness to his cheeks, and a small splattering of teenage acne. I had been wrong. He couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen, which made what I was about to do all that much harder. But I had to leave.

"Here," I gestured at the fuchsia rhododendrons in front of me. "Look at these petals."

Jared stepped again towards me and leaned down to look up close at the petal that I was holding between two fingers. As he did so, his eyes left me, and I took my chance.

Releasing the petal, I grabbed a large, ceramic pot and picked it up. Lifting it over my head, and realising just how heavy it was, I smashed it over the back of Jared's head.

He fell to the ground, unconscious before he could get a chance to yell out. Flowers, compost and shards of brown, ceramic clay coated the back of his head, his hair and his uniform, and I stopped only briefly to check that he was still breathing before snatching his access pass from his pocket.

Sprinting out of the greenhouse doors and towards the same gates that I had seen on my walk over, they seemed much further away than they had before. The air was even colder than I remembered and the sweat at the back of my neck was frigid, but my footsteps were steady, as was my grip on the pass.

And then I was at the gate, checking over my shoulder for any sign of Peter, or even Harry or Ned, but no one was there. No one had seen me run.

Through a small crack in the side of the gate I could see what looked to be one long road, and along each side was trees. There was no sign of any other humans, buildings, or cars. But I did not care. Once I was out, I would then focus on finding help.

I slapped the pass against the pad next to the gate, waiting for them to creak open, but that was not what happened. Instead, the pad flashed at me, bright red letters.

ACCESS DENIED.

My heart plummeted to my stomach, but I tapped it again.

The same thing happened.

I had put too much of my faith into this plan, such a desperate, mindless last-ditch attempt at freedom. But it had failed. I screamed, banging my fist against the metal gate and barely registering the pain that broke out through my knuckle. I did the same thing again, rage coursing through each and every part of my body. Rage at the unfairness of my situation, rage at my idiotic attempt at escape, and rage at Peter Parker for putting me into this predicament.

Blood cracked along each of my knuckles as I raised my fist again, but something stopped me. Something warm and brutally tight. It yanked me backwards at a bruisingly fast pace, turning me and slamming my already bleeding hand against the gate.

Eyes full of unadulterated rage glared at me, the colour I believed I would always associate with anger forevermore. One loose lock of walnut brown hair had fallen onto his forehead, reaching his eyebrows, which were furrowed downwards.

"Peter," I breathed before I could stop myself. My heart felt like it was going to fly out of my chest at any moment, it was beating so fast, and there was a lump in my throat that was practically stopping any air from entering my body.

The bones in my wrist were close to snapping from the pressure he was exerting to keep it pressed against the metal gate. "You asked to stay in the greenhouse," Peter ruminated lowly, his other hand clenched at his side. "You asked, so I kindly let you. And this is how you repay my kindness, Halston? By disobeying me? By attacking one of my men in training?"

"You kidnapped me-"

His eyes flashed, and every word I could have said left my body. "I am speaking. Do not ever interrupt me." The hand at his side came up to my chest, his rings glinting in the winter sun. "I knew that you were putting on that compliant little act for my benefit. Did you really think that it would work? Do you think me that stupid?"

The hand at my chest had been slowly creeping upwards, fingers lazily tracing the material of the shirt that he had chosen, but at the word stupid, his long fingers clenched around my throat. Eyes wide, I could do nothing but grip his wrist with my free hand, staring at him and all of his anger.

"I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"You aren't sorry, so do not lie to me. I was being generous to you before, letting you believe that I would like your co-operation. But I have never really needed it, darling." The hand at my throat tightened immensely, and I tried to pull it away from my neck, tried to regain some of the air I needed so desperately to live. My nails dug into his skin, but he hardly looked as if he noticed. "You will do what I want, do as I say, and eventually, you will stop fighting. I will break this rebellious spirit of yours as easily as I had your boyfriend killed."

It was a cruel and cold thing to say. So far, I had not known if Eric was dead or alive, if my brother had found him in time.

Tears welled in my eyes, and they spilled over as I tried to take a gasp of air. Pushing against his hand that held my near-broken wrist to the gate was as impossible as moving a car with my bare hands. The hand at his wrist had given up, now trying to push against his immovable chest. There was such little distance between us that I struggled to even do this. "Please-"

I could barely get the word out. Peter leaned down towards me, a savage sneer on his face, lips viciously curled in anger. His grip tightened further, and I started to sag against the gate as an endless blackness entered the corners of my vision.

"Your boyfriend is gone. Your father will agree to our negotiations. And the only way that you are leaving me is over my dead body. Your fighting is pathetic and a waste of my time."

Was he going to kill me? It certainly felt like it as finally my body started to give up, the darkness a living thing, crawling over my eyes as they fluttered shut. Just as I thought that it was over, he was going to let me die despite telling me that he could not kill me, his hand disappeared at my throat, and instantly moved down, a tight band around my waist as I started to fall. He pulled me against his body as I took in painful breaths of cold air, my lungs both frozen and on fire at the same time.

My forehead was against his shoulder, every limb numb, but I felt his lips against my hair. "The only way to reward disobedience is with punishment."

And then his hand was in my hair, yanking my head backwards so that it made contact with the thick, metal gate. A blinding pain hit the back of my head, taking over everything as I still struggled to breathe properly.

But he wasn't done. I was finally seeing the real side of Peter Parker, not the boy that he had been presenting himself as to me. Continuing to hold my hair, I was being bent over backwards, only his iron grip around my waist stopping me from dropping to the ground. My scalp was on fire.

He stared down at me with eyes full of flames of anger and a violence that threatened to take my life.

"I won't run again. I promise," I choked out, every syllable hurting my aching throat.

"Forgive me if I have trouble believing a single word that comes out of your pretty mouth." I watched as his eyes trailed down from my face to my heaving chest. "All of the things that I could do to you. So many options."

I increased my struggling again at his words, tried to pull his hand away but all that I succeeded in doing was getting him to yank again, my long blonde strands wrapped tightly around his clenched fist.

And then he turned, letting my waist go abruptly, but keeping his hand in my hair. As he marched, I was pulled by his grip, bent backwards awkwardly.

"Stop! Let me go!" I screamed. "Peter, stop!"

The words fell on deaf ears, and if anything, his grip only tightened so that there was no physical way for me to untangle his hand. All I could so was try to keep up with him, to create any kind of leeway possible to relieve me from the pain in my scalp and where he had slammed me against the gate.

This man was a monster.

Here I was crying, defenceless, and in an infinite amount of pain all caused by him, and he did not care. If anyone could see us right now, I prayed that they would intervene, but I doubted it. Everyone was frightened of Peter. I was learning that I should have been more scared.

We were back at the driveway when he finally let go of me. He viciously tore his hand free from my hair, giving me no time to reclaim my balance, and I toppled straight to the concrete floor, my shoulders, back and head thudding painfully against the hard surface.

I stared up as he stood over me, his figure tall and imposing. His hands were at his sides as he looked down. Every part of me was shaking, my head on fire. Every hair felt like it had been torn away - hair that I had grown so long over the years, treated to a trip to my hairdressers nearly every week. This was just another thing that Peter was taking from me. My life. My right to choose my clothing. My freedom. And now something I cherished as simple as my hair. I sobbed, raising a shaking hand to cover my mouth.

The edge of his boots were touching my hips. "You’re lucky that I’m so nice. Imagine if you were with someone who did not have as much patience as me. They might have done something horrible, by now." I sobbed again; a choked cry muffled by my own hand as a sinister smile graced his handsome face. "But disobey me one more time, Halston, and you'll find that I will actually do something about it."

I nodded up at him. He then put one of his hands out, slim fingers pointed down towards me.

Without even a second hesitation as I could see the anger in his face despite his smile, I reached up and took it. He pulled me to my feet easily, and the throbbing in my head intensified. Further tears fell down my cheeks at the pain and at how close I was to Peter.

"Now what do you say?" he said, his hand stroking a finger down my tear-soaked cheek. I closed my eyes.

"I'm sorry for trying to leave."

"And?"

I swallowed heavily, my throat sore. Surely there would be bruises later. "It won't happen again."

"Good girl," he whispered, the fingers almost tenderly caressing my jawline. "I really hope that you don't go back on your word, darling. I really do hate liars."

Nodding, I slowly opened my eyes and nearly jumped back. His face was right in front of mine. "What-?"

"Get in the car," he said, gesturing to an expensive-looking, blacked-out range rover.

"Where are we going?"' I did not move.

He clicked his tongue at me with a sigh. "I'm afraid that you have lost any right to ask me questions. Now, get in the car."

I did not want to anger him further, but the terror I felt at the idea of getting into a vehicle and going anywhere with him was causing my chest to constrict. My breaths were coming out painfully, small, gasping sounds.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t control myself.

"Halston, you need to breathe and do as I say."

"I can't," I whispered, a light-headedness starting to take over.

Thankfully he did not take my words in the wrong sense and feel that I was trying to disobey him. Instead, he reached down into his pocket, and pulled something out. I was too focused on trying to keep my breaths even that I did not look down and see what it was.

"I assure you, that this really is for your own good," he whispered, and as I struggled to breathe, I caught a whiff of that pleasant cigar smell of his.

"What-“

And then there was the smallest prick in the side of my neck, so familiar, but this time I accepted the way that my body started to shut down and my limbs started to give up. I let his arm wrap around my waist and leaned into him, my breaths slowing down, my head against his chest. I felt him lower slightly, and then I was in his arms, his grip under my back and knees keeping me afloat in a world that was otherwise fading away. My head fell backwards and I looked up to the pale, white sky before Peter filled my vision. His expression was softer now.

"You're smarter than this, Halston. Trying to escape is futile, and besides, what makes you think that I'd let you leave? I would find you, no matter what it takes."

My mouth was empty of words, no retorts coming to my blank mind, and as the world went black, I welcomed the darkness.

PREVIOUS PART //

Tagged -

@tomsirishgirlx @steveharringtonswifey09​ @slut4bradbradshaw @annellie​ @roxanne-ragnvindr​ @peachescream1723 @sydneybehlman

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker fanfiction #dark peter parker #dark!peter peter #spiderman imagine #dark!spiderman imagine #mob au #mob!peter parker #mob peter parker #mafia peter parker #mafia!peter parker #mob tony stark #peter parker x oc #peter parker x reader #dark imagine #marvel imagine

[monster-cock69]

mob boss tony who knows the chef at his restaurant does not fuck with substitutions finding out that there's a sweet kid who even the chef can't tell to fuck off

but yes i'm imagining it as something like "we don't have mac and cheese" ",,,please" "lemme ask the chef" and bam peter gets his mac and cheese

#starker #peter parker #tony stark #avengers #marvel #spiderman #prompt #someone please write this #iron man #mob au

[of-many-fandomss]

Guess who loves mafia!au’s?? *raises hand* I do! Send in some requests :)

#mafia au #mob au #matt murdock x reader #tangerine x reader #sam winchester x reader #bucky barnes x reader #dean winchester x reader #james potter x reader #jake seresin x reader #jj maybank x reader #rafe cameron x reader #ladybug x reader #tasm peter parker x reader #shang chi x reader #pietro maximoff x reader #cedric diggory x reader #harry potter x reader #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #regulus black x reader #bradley bradsaw x reader #tom kazansky x reader #poe dameron x reader #din djarin x reader #daryl dixon x reader #kraven the hunter x reader #soldier boy x reader

[demon-of-lemons]

Saw that the color wheel challenge was going around and thought I'd give it a try, I drew one character each day over the course of 8, took me 20 hours in total. Some of these characters barely count but I just wanted an excuse to draw em-

#art #spectacular spider man #peter parker #spider man #lego monkie kid #lmk mk #danganronpa #kazuichi soda #kazuichi souda #infinity train #tulip olsen #scooby doo #fred jones #ace attorney #sebastian debeste #yumihiko ichiyanagi #kirby #meta knight #mob psycho 100 #reigen arataka #color wheel challenge #color wheel trend #i know n won the green poll but eh i just couldn't get it to work-

[winterspiderpurrs]

Peter just casually mentioning how he thinks he has a stalker like it's a perfectly normal thing.

Maybe he sorta knows who it is. But he had never talked to them. But he knows he is being watched.

The bar tender freezes, and he glances toward the back corner table before he continues making Peter's drink. Plopping a decorative umbrella in the drink before sliding it over Peter.

" Compliments from the Boss"

#writing prompt #tony stark/peter parker #tony stark x peter parker #starker #ironspider #winterspiderpurrs #mob tony stark #mob boss tony stark #mob au