CHAPTER 29
A HOLIDAY SPECIAL

18+ warning: smut.

RETURNING TO THE penthouse after the Christmas party was like a second round of torture. Everett automatically went to his room, a usual retreat since Naomi's death, and didn't say a word for the rest of the night. Sloane made herself a cup of black coffee while watching her mother place the gifts she'd hidden away under the Christmas tree. She still wrote, From: Santa, on them, despite Everett at his big age knowing Santa Claus wasn't real.

Sabrina kept going on and on about their "unexpected guest" at the party. She seemed excited about it though, kept gushing about how Spider-Man's appearance would put them in more papers than she hoped for. "Maybe we can invite even more media guests next year, Frank. Even celebrities! Have you ever sold a watch to that Iron Man fellow? " She said excitedly, but Frank only nodded along. His eyes had found Sloane's again, as if he knew something she didn't. Sloane decided to finish her coffee in her room.

She woke up on Christmas Day to the sound of her mother's voice: "Honey ... Sloane ... wake up! I made your favorite pancakes. Everyone's going to start opening presents soon." Her touch was surprisingly warm as she shook Sloane awake. When she opened her eyes, she could've sworn her mother suddenly looked ten years younger and she was sixteen again, waking up on the first Christmas they decided to celebrate after her dad passed. The house didn't smell like Sufganiyah doughnuts anymore; it was replaced with gingerbread and egg nog and candles that smelled like cedar.

But when Sloane blinked again, her mother's wrinkles had set in, the dyed hair returned, and she realized she wasn't sixteen again with unimaginable grief for her late father. Sabrina cooed, "That's my girl. C'mon now," before walking out of the room. Somehow, her voice still sounded like it did all those years ago.

Rubbing at her eyes, Sloane pulled on a large crewneck over the holey t-shirt she wore to bed last night. Her feet padded instinctually into the kitchen, where the scent of homemade pancakes wafted, and she piled some on a plate waiting for her. This was the most kindness Sabrina had shown her since she got to New York.

Everett was already ripping through wrapping paper as the Christmas Day Parade played on the big TV. A roaring fire filled the hearth as snowflakes cascaded onto the patio, dampening the Snowdrops in their planter boxes. The living room practically looked like a sitcom's holiday special. Sloane tore into her plate of syrupy pancakes, watching Everett smile for the first time in weeks as he opened the box to a new iPhone. He thanked Frank and Sabrina before moving on to another gift. Frank opened a present from Sloane – a vintage bottle of brandy that she had been so close to drinking herself – and that cruel expression in his eyes was gone when he turned his head to thank her. Sloane nodded at his praise. It was a miracle she had even found time to shop with everything going on, and she was still surprised she was able to prevent herself from drinking the aged alcohol.

She had gotten her mother a pair of planter's overalls with matching gloves. They were in her favorite color: sea foam green. She squealed at the sight of them and begged Sloane to tell her where she purchased them. Sloane had stopped off at a boutique just a few blocks down from the penthouse. The shop was independently owned and sold planter's accessories, bibs, tools, even seeds. All the clothing was handmade. But Sloane knew Sabrina wanted nothing but designer, so she told her that it was a secret.

With a mug of hot coffee in her hands, Sloane sat down on an empty love seat next to her mother. Everett was opening a big box of new snow boots when Sabrina reached under the tree to grab another present. She placed it on Sloane's lap with a smile. "For you," she said. Sloane looked down and saw that the tag said, To: Sloane. From: Santa.

Tearing the tape off the corner, Sloane pulled the red wrapping paper from the box and then wiggled the top off. Inside a bed of green and gold tissue paper was a red oak picture frame with one of the last photos Sloane ever took with her dad. It was at the homecoming football game. Her parents had gotten front row on the bleachers to watch her cheer, but her dad had pretended that he just wanted to watch the game. Sloane was wearing her cheerleading uniform, a big smile on her face, and standing in front of her dad as he sat on the bleacher. Sabrina had taken the photo and you could see her thumb in the corner of the picture. Flash and his buddies sat two rows behind and stuck their tongues out at the camera, and then, another row back, Peter Parker stood with a vintage camera in front of his face. Sloane could still recognize his hair, that army green jacket he wore almost every day, the glasses hanging from the collar of his shirt.

She looked so happy back then. This was before everything. Before the heart attack, before all the alcohol, before her mother went off the deep end. This was the last moment, captured in time, that everything had been beautiful.

Sloane looked up at her mother. Her mouth parted, but she couldn't form a coherent word. After a moment of silence, she muttered, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Sabrina nodded. "I figured you needed something like this back at your home." She touched the corner of the frame and turned it a bit towards her. She sighed. "You were so innocent back then."

Before Sloane could reply, the television switched from showing an inflatable balloon of Snoopy soaring through Manhattan to a news reporter standing beside what looked like a newly built double-decker in Long Island City. The words, BREAKING STORY, flashed at the bottom of the screen. Everyone's heads turned up.

"Apologies for interrupting the Christmas Day Parade with such grim news." The reporter's grip on her umbrella was tight. "Police were alerted this morning to another victim by the anonymous Jawbreaker killer. Just a block away from where she lives with her mother, Mary Ann Harper was found dead in a back alley. Unlike other victims, police have decided to keep the specifics of this murder under wraps to preserve the memory of Miss Harper. They still have no leads on the Jawbreaker, but believe a candy wrapper found in the pocket of the victim may have the killer's fingerprints. This has been Theresa Blake for Channel 5 News."

The screen immediately switched back to the parade, which showed a Hello Kitty balloon tumbling through the clouds. The living room, though, was completely silent. Sloane was so sure that she could've heard a pin drop. Mary Ann Harper. The girl was a Harper. So did that mean –

"Frank ..." Sabrina murmured, a hand over her mouth.

Frank set the present on his lap to the side and cleared his throat. "I have to ..." He rubbed at his eyes before getting to his feet. "Please, excuse me."

He left the room swiftly, but Sloane still caught a few tears slipping down his cheeks. She was still confused – who was this Mary Ann to Frank? She knew he had been married a few times. Did he have other children too?

"Oh, Frank," Sabrina called, following him to their bedroom. "Honey, talk to me ..."

Her voice disappeared down the hall, and Sloane turned to Everett. His lips were parted, but he didn't look shocked. He placed the box of snow boots on the coffee table and grabbed his mug of hot cocoa. Sloane blinked, perplexed by her stepbrother's silence. "Um –" Her eyes flickered around the room. "Who the hell is Mary Ann?"

Everett glanced to the corridor before viewing back at Sloane. His voice lowered as he said, "She's my half-sister. From his second marriage. He had me with my mom, and they divorced a year later. He got custody of me when my mom went cuckoo after the divorce and married his second wife, Joy, a year later. They had Mary Ann quickly after. She's a year or two younger than me. When he and Joy separated, she got custody of Mary Ann. It was nasty. Joy hated my dad's job but loved his money, and Mary Ann used to want attention all the time. As she got older, she hated me more and more for just existing, so I was glad to be rid of her when my dad and Joy divorced." He took a sip from his mug. "And of course, now she's dead. She always did like the attention."

"Everett, don't say shit like that." Sloane's words came out automatically, and her stepbrother gave her a sharp look. "So, okay – Mary Ann. You haven't seen her since the divorce?"

"Only once in a while. Even Sabrina met Joy. She didn't like her either. 'What an odd name for someone so joyless.'" He laughed at Sabrina's past comment and wiped the chocolate foam from his mouth. "He did tell me recently that he wanted to get better with seeing my mom and Joy more. You know, something about 'being a better father.' He even invited them to the party last night, but they didn't show. Now we know why."

Everett looked back to where his parents disappeared and sighed, clearly annoyed. "And now, Christmas is ruined."

━━━━━━

The Jawbreaker had completely played her.

She had been under the assumption that they were going to show up at the holiday party. The killer had made it clear as day. But while both she and Peter had been staking out the party – and fucking halfway through the dinner – the Jawbreaker had found their next victim. How could she have been so stupid? After all the murders she'd covered, all the crime novels she devoured – she somehow let herself get played by a person who kills teenage girls with a sledgehammer and candy. She had never felt so angry and so terrified at the same time.

Naomi died only just a few weeks ago. Now, it was Mary Ann. That was two people partially involved in Sloane's life. Who's to say that she wasn't next? She was beginning to bite her lip so hard that she drew blood.

The police came by in the late afternoon to question Frank. He could hardly respond to any question without tearing up, but ultimately, he didn't know a damn thing. How could he? All of them were at the party last night and the estimated time of death was such a big gap. The detective said that they suspected Mary Ann died any time between 8 PM and 2 AM. It would be impossible to find anyone without an alibi during that time span.

Sloane decided she absolutely could not stay in the penthouse tonight, and thankfully, she had plans with Peter anyway. After taking an Uber to his building, she rapped a gloved fist on the door and was immediately met with, "Just a sec!" Her brow furrowed, and a moment later, Peter whipped the door open, leaning against the frame. A thin sheen of sweat coated his forehead.

"You okay?" She asked, stepping inside.

"Me? Oh, yeah. Totally." He helped take her coat and hung it on the door. "Come on in. See what's on the table."

Sloane rounded the corner to see a card table in the living room. Peter had placed a cheap tablecloth on top of it and a couple of battery-operated candles. Each side was set up with a fancy napkin and utensils, and two bowls of spaghetti and meatballs were placed at the forefront. A tray of seasoned breadsticks sat in the middle, causing her stomach to growl. And there wasn't a drop of alcohol in sight. Only two glasses of sparkling cider.

"I thought it could be nice for us to spend the holiday together." He stuck his hands in the front pockets of his jeans.

"Peter ..." She blinked rapidly. "You made all this yourself?"

He didn't reply, and she looked back at him. He tilted his head from side to side, frowning, as he decided how to frame this. "Well, I ..." A sigh escaped. "Okay, I have to confess. It's Olive Garden. I'm shit with Italian anyway."

Sloane laughed, but her expression was still withdrawn, her thoughts elsewhere. Mary Ann. Mary Ann. Mary Ann. Another person close to her family – gone. Sloane had been played like a fiddle. How could she let herself get played like that?

"Oh, fuck," Peter said, startling her out of her trance, "I ruined all of this, didn't I?"

"What?" Her eyes found him again. "Why would you think that?"

"Because you're standing there like a deer in headlights."

Sloane latched a hand around one of the fold-up chairs he had placed near the card table. "This is beautiful, Peter. I love it. Seriously." Her breathing stilled for a moment when he got close and ran a few fingers over her cold cheekbone. "There's just a lot on my mind right now, and I don't want to dampen the mood –"

"You never could."

She frowned. If only he knew. She took a minute, pursed her lips, and then replied, "One of Frank's kids has – has died. She was –"

"Another Jawbreaker victim."

"You knew?" She asked, an eyebrow raised.

"I got an alert on my police scanner app and saw it on the news when I visited my aunt earlier today." He placed one hand on her lower back, bringing her into his embrace, and the other went to her hair. She nestled her cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, as his fingers softly smoothed out the strands. "I just wanted to coax it out of you. Make you feel better."

Sloane lifted her head. Her grey eyes burned into his, and he never wanted to look away. She fisted her hands into the fabric of his t-shirt. "I could punch you for that."

Peter only laughed, his hands coming up to hold her face. Her skin was so cold from the snowstorm outside. She always felt this way: so cold-blooded. Peter tended to run warm. They were complete opposites in every way, but he couldn't get enough of her.

She ran her tongue over her dry bottom lip. "I really don't want to talk about it again until later, if that's okay. I kinda need to be distracted right now."

Peter released her before grabbing a chair and holding it out. He gestured toward it dramatically, and Sloane giggled. "That's what I'm best at."

━━━━━━

Sloane wanted to celebrate the holidays with Peter Parker from now on.

He was rocking inside her slowly, each thrust more pleasurable than the rest. Sloane was so used to Peter's quickness, wanting to get both of them over the edge before the high disappeared. But they had been at this for ten minutes already and she was pretty sure Peter was treating her like a Christmas meal: something to be savored with each bite.

He had first started by stroking her clit with his long fingers, and just before she came, he removed them, quick as the devil. After rolling on a condom, he kissed her, breathlessly, knocking his hips against hers. His cock slid along her folds, tempting her enough to moan his name. Just the sound had him muttering expletives. It took a toll on him – the way she said his name, practically begging him to touch her, to guide himself inside her – and he never wanted anything else. Sloane was it for him, always had been.

Sloane had been the one to finally grip his length and position it inside her, but Peter took every moment to torture her: sinking into her inch by inch by inch. She crossed her legs around his waist, taking him deeper. His angle was tearing her apart, completely splitting her open, as his cock brushed her G-spot with each thrust. "Fu – Fucking hell, Peter," she groaned.

"I know," he muttered, rolling his hips once again. It was all so slow, so painfully slow, but she never wanted him to stop. If they could stay like this forever – him filling her, coated in her wetness, the lewd suction sound of him slipping in and out – she'd never go back to Vermont.

She was crying now, locking an arm around his neck as her nails dug into one of his shoulder blades. Her head was nestled in between his arms while they breathed heavily into each other's mouths, until Peter lowered his head to one of her hard nipples. He ran his tongue over her skin before completely enveloping her nipple in his mouth. Sloane could feel her orgasm building with each slow thrust, but watching him take her exactly how he wanted? She was surprised that she didn't fall apart right there.

"You're so beautiful," he said while placing wet, open-mouth kisses in between her breasts.

"You're beautiful too –" She stopped herself, and he lifted his eyes to look at her. His cock continued to drive into her, the tip suddenly striking her G-spot. She wouldn't even need his fingers to cum. Sloane swallowed hard, hardly able to get her words out as she said, "Actually – um – can guys be beautiful? Oh – fuck, Peter."

His lips curled into a smirk. "I think they can be," he said with a steady thrust. "Do you think I'm beautiful?" Another thrust. Sloane was so close.

"Yesyesyesyes," she said, her response a garble of incoherent words. "You're one of the most beautiful men, like, ever, and – ohmygodohmygodohmygod. Right there. Right there."

His pace began to quicken the slightest bit when he felt her begin to tighten. "Do you need my fingers?"

"No, just don't change your angle – fuck." Her jaw was going slack. "I'm gonna – Peter –"

She opened her eyes and realized how close his face was to hers. Their noses brushed, his eyes burned into her own. "Please," he practically begged.

She couldn't stop staring at him as he rocked deeper and deeper inside her. She laced her fingers into his hair, twirling random strands. From the look in his eyes, from the tender touch of his finger against her face – Sloane wondered if they were making love. She had never done that before. She was used to simply fucking someone and being done with it. But this was different. This felt different. She had never been in love before either, but it didn't take an idiot to know that the overwhelming swell of adoration in her chest was something bigger than a crush. Maybe they were making love. Maybe she really was in –

Her orgasm crashed through her like an ocean wave. Sloane held onto him for dear life, bringing him into the crook of her neck. Peter pressed more open-mouth kisses along her jugular, tasting the salty sweat that coated her skin. She tightened, squeezing his cock inside her, and with one last thrust, he came. He moaned her name into her neck, still rocking in and out until his body began to shiver.

Finally, he stilled. Peter was laying on top of her, his softened cock still inside her. He caught his breath, nestling his head between her jaw and shoulder blade. Peter snickered to himself and said, "Happy holidays, Bernstein."

Sloane shook her head, giggling at the position they were in. "Happy holidays, Parker."

He laughed, and his untrimmed scruff tickled her goosebumped skin. His body was so warm. Sloane would never get cold. She could happily stay like this forever – so close to him, running her hands through his dark brown locks.

Peter lifted his head a little. "You really think I'm beautiful?" He was smirking again.

"Very," she said, adding a chuckle at the end. "You're practically Miss America."

Propping himself up on his elbow, he grabbed his glasses from the bedside table. There was still a dust ring around where the bottle of whiskey used to sit. He placed his glasses on and asked, "What about now?"

Sloane placed her hands on each side of his face. "How sexy librarian of you," she joked before giving him a quick kiss.

Peter rolled over and Sloane got up from the bed, hearing the elastic snap of the condom being taken off behind her. She went to the bathroom and did maybe one of the longest pees of her life, desperate to get back under the covers. Peter couldn't have had the heat on that high to save money. With her arms curled tightly around her torso, she returned to the bedroom to find Peter scrolling through his phone.

Sloane quickly cocooned herself underneath his comforter. His glasses slid to the end of his nose, and she pushed them up with one finger. He dropped the phone into his lap and then rubbed at his eyes. "You know, the thing that really gets me about this whole Jawbreaker situation is ... the police have literally one job and they can't even do that. They have a whole team, and I'm just one guy. And now four young girls are dead."

"While I agree with you," she said, her brows knitted, "were you thinking about that while we were having sex?"

He laughed. "No, of course not." Sliding back against the pillows, he turned towards her. She pushed his glasses back up again. "This whole case is just bugging me. Why can't they – why can't I figure this out? How are we being this outsmarted?"

"I don't know," she answered with a sigh. "I hadn't planned to be here this long. I thought this story would've ended by the first week of December, at least."

Reaching out, Peter tucked a strand of golden brown hair behind her ear. "A selfish part of me is glad you're still here because of it." He slid over her again, cradling her jaw in one hand and closing the distance between them. "I don't think I ever want you to leave. I'll miss you too much," he said against her lips before pressing them to his own.

Her heart felt like it was beating a mile a minute. She didn't want to leave him either, which meant she was in too deep. Very, very deep. So deep she was basically drowning. She hadn't expected something like this to happen. She came back to Queens for her article and nothing more. And yet, she feared she might be in lo –

Peter leaned away and pressed his forehead against hers. With a heavy sigh, he muttered, "We need to sneak in and get Mary Ann's autopsy report."

Sloane's eyes snapped open, her brows pulling together. She grabbed his lips with two fingers. "What is it about kissing me that makes you think of dead people?"

AUTHOR'S NOTE: originally I wanted post this around the holidays buuuuut shit happens 🤷🏼‍♀️ life has been so crazy lately so it's hard to find time to write. best believe I'm gonna finish this fic tho!!! I gotta see it through!

hope you guys enjoyed! 🫶