misterfic

[misterfic]

Hey there! Hope you’re doing great. I have a fun one-shot idea for Hell’s Kitchen Season 6. In this story, Gordon’s wife is the third sous chef. She’s 26, and she and Gordon got together when she was 20, marrying at 22. Because of her kind and caring nature, she’s really close to Heather and Scott, who are just as protective of her as Gordon is.

In this scene, Joseph takes things too far by insulting and even threatening her, which sets off a big confrontation. Gordon’s ready to jump in to defend her, and Heather and Scott’s protectiveness escalates the situation. I’d love to see how this plays out with all the usual Hell’s Kitchen intensity! Thanks so much for considering this—I’d really appreciate it!

But if you don’t feel comfortable with it, please let me know!

A/N: As I’ve said before, I don’t watch Hell’s Kitchen🥲, so I hope this pleases you.

Title: Hell Hath No Fury Like Gordon Ramsay's

Summary: A contestant's attitude toward Gordon's wife pushes the fiery chef to his limit, proving that some battles are more personal than professional.

Pairing: Gordon Ramsay × Reader

Tags: Conflict

It was the sixth season of Hell’s Kitchen, and you were living right in the thick of the action. As Gordon Ramsay’s wife and third sous chef, you had your hands full, moving between the red and blue kitchens, helping wherever you were needed. Your soft, nurturing approach balanced the kitchen’s intensity, especially in contrast to Gordon’s fiery persona. Your role was often the one to soothe tempers and diffuse the storm Gordon would sometimes whip up. Despite his bark, you knew your husband well enough to see through it; when it was just the two of you, he was nothing but a gentleman, and his touch was tender, leaving you breathless in ways only Gordon Ramsay knew how.

The heat was on as the dinner service began, and the teams were floundering. Gordon, already wound up, was pacing back and forth, shouting instructions with his usual unfiltered intensity. “Come on! Move it! You call that cooking?” he roared, his blue eyes flashing as he berated a contestant. You saw the tension ripple through the kitchen, and you sensed it was time to step in.

Gordon shot you a look as you approached him, a glint of irritation in his eyes, but you caught his arm, your touch firm but gentle. “Gordon,” you murmured, your voice steady, “they’re trying. Let’s give them a second to catch their breath.” He sighed heavily, running a hand through his blond hair, but softened just slightly under your touch, your quiet presence calming his storm.

“Alright, love,” he muttered, pulling back as he gave you a begrudging nod. “But only because you’re bloody distracting me.” His tone was low, carrying a playful hint, and you felt a blush rise to your cheeks as he let his hand linger on your waist for a moment longer than necessary.

Moving over to Scott in the blue kitchen, you caught him shooting Gordon an amused glance as he leaned in. “Always the one keeping him in line, huh?” Scott teased, smirking as he looked at you with a mixture of respect and admiration. You chuckled, giving Scott a playful nudge. “Someone has to, right?” you replied with a wink.

Heather was equally protective in the red kitchen, always hovering close to you, watching the contestants carefully, especially when they’d make snide remarks about your role in the kitchen. “Don’t let them bother you,” she’d whisper, shooting you a reassuring smile. “You’re the only one who can handle him,” she said with a chuckle. And as she said it, she wasn’t wrong.

That night, the pressure seemed relentless. With tempers flaring and mistakes piling up, Gordon’s patience finally snapped. “Are you lot trying to kill me?” he barked, his face flushed as he slammed his hand on the counter, startling everyone in earshot. You saw him glance toward you briefly, a flicker of something softer passing over his face as he took in your calm expression. It was as if your very presence grounded him, tempering his frustration.

As the dinner service heated up, Gordon’s attention shifted to the red kitchen, leaving you in charge of rallying the blue team. It was a challenge, given the tension hanging in the air, but you had managed to build a quiet respect with the contestants over the season. Most, at least. Joseph, however, had always been prickly, and tonight he seemed particularly agitated.

As you moved past him, helping another contestant with his station, Joseph huffed loudly, his voice dripping with irritation. “Could you quit hovering? You’re getting in the way,” he snapped, his words biting. You kept your composure, brushing off his tone with a calm expression. After all, this wasn’t the first time you’d dealt with outbursts on Hell’s Kitchen.

You turned to face him, maintaining your professionalism. “I’m here to help you succeed, Joseph,” you replied steadily, “so let’s focus on getting these dishes out.”

But he wasn’t having it. “Helping? You’re messing things up. If we lose tonight, it’ll be on your head,” he sneered, crossing his arms and glaring down at you. The insult stung, but you took a breath, refusing to let him see your frustration. The other chefs shifted uncomfortably, sensing the tension escalating.

Before you could respond, Scott stepped in, his expression cold as he positioned himself between you and Joseph. “Back off, Joseph,” Scott growled, his protective nature flaring up. “If you think this is her fault, then maybe you need to take a good look at yourself. She’s here to help, and she’s doing more for this team than you have all night.”

Joseph’s face reddened with anger. “Oh, I get it now,” he spat, his voice laced with contempt. “You’re all just here to back her up, aren’t you? Doesn’t matter if she screws us over; you’re ready to throw yourselves at her defense. Pathetic.” His words were sharp, meant to rile you up, but you felt your confidence waver as his insults grew nastier.

Heather, who had been watching from across the kitchen, noticed the confrontation building and immediately darted over to Gordon, who was busy berating the red team. Tugging his sleeve, she leaned close and muttered something in his ear. His face darkened instantly.

Gordon’s blue eyes flashed as he dropped what he was doing and marched straight toward the blue kitchen, his presence like a thunderstorm. “Joseph!” he barked, his voice echoing through the kitchen. “What the bloody hell is going on over here?”

Joseph opened his mouth to speak, but Gordon cut him off, his face a mask of fury. “You think it’s alright to talk to her like that? You’re gonna run your mouth at my wife?” His voice was like steel, every word laced with barely contained anger. “You’ve got some balls, haven’t you?”

Joseph tried to stammer a response, but Gordon stepped in closer, towering over him. “You’re gonna insult the one bloody person in this kitchen who’s keeping you from falling apart?” he growled, his tone dangerously low. “Maybe you’ve forgotten, but she’s here because she’s good at what she does—better than you’ll ever be if you keep running that big mouth of yours.”

As Joseph shrank back under Gordon’s withering stare, Gordon’s expression softened only slightly as he turned to you. “Are you alright, love?” he murmured, his voice dropping, almost gentle. His hand found your shoulder, his touch grounding you, reminding you of the care he kept so carefully concealed when others were around.

You managed a nod, your heart racing from the intensity of the moment. “Yes, I’m fine,” you whispered, but your voice shook slightly, betraying your nerves. Gordon’s face hardened again as he turned back to Joseph.

“Listen here,” Gordon hissed, his voice a low growl that only Joseph could hear. “You don’t speak to her like that. Ever. You’re lucky she has the patience to put up with a hot-headed twit like you. If it were up to me, you’d be out of here already.”

As Gordon straightened, his gaze still icy, he looked back at the rest of the blue team. “Now, all of you,” he commanded, his voice booming, “get your arses in gear and start working together. You don’t like it? There’s the bloody door.”

As Gordon stormed back to the red kitchen, the tension in the air was thick, but you felt a wave of relief wash over you. Scott and Heather both gave you reassuring nods, their silent support meaning more than words in that moment.

As the night wore on and the kitchen’s frantic energy settled, Gordon pulled you aside for a moment of privacy. “You don’t let anyone talk down to you, yeah?” he murmured, his blue eyes warm as they met yours. “You’re far too damn good for that.”

You managed a smile, your pulse quickening at his protective words. “Thank you, Gordon,” you whispered, your voice soft. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close, his touch sending a familiar thrill through you.

“Any time, love,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that familiar, intimate tone that only you knew. “And next time anyone tries it, you just send them to me. I’ll remind them who they’re dealing with.” He brushed a kiss against your forehead, his affection clear even amid the chaos around you.

As the dinner service finally drew to a close, you knew that no matter how intense things became, you’d always have Gordon by your side, ready to defend you with that fierce loyalty and passion that left you breathless every single time.

[misterfic]

A/N: I still don't know why I wrote this.

Title: The Penguin’s Prey

Summary: In the dark underbelly of Gotham, Oswald Cobblepot manipulates his power to break the one person who can serve as his trophy—Falcone’s daughter.

Pairing: Farrel!Penguin × Fem!Reader

Tags: Non-consensual Touching

_________________________

You trembled slightly, your back pressed against the cold, damp wall, knees drawn up as you stared at the man standing before you. Oswald Cobblepot—The Penguin. His name carried weight in Gotham’s underworld, but now, seeing him up close, the true menace behind his twisted smile was palpable. His scarred face, hardened by years of brutality, twisted into a smirk as he studied you. He waddled closer, his gait uneven but deliberate, each step resonating with the sickening realization that this man was capable of anything.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Oswald’s gravelly voice cut through the silence, laced with dark amusement. His eyes glinted as they traveled down your trembling form, noting your fear, savoring it. "Carmine Falcone's little girl. What a stroke of bad luck, huh?" He chuckled, but there was no warmth in the sound, only cold, sharp edges.

Your heart raced, the name of your father—the once untouchable crime lord of Gotham—now a curse. Ever since Falcone’s downfall, the power vacuum had turned the city into a battlefield, and you were caught in the crossfire. Oswald was determined to rise to the top, and being Falcone’s daughter put you directly in his path.

"Please," you whispered, your voice barely audible, but you knew pleading wouldn’t get you far. Not with him. "I didn’t do anything."

Oswald crouched down in front of you, his dark eyes never leaving yours. His hand reached out, a gloved finger trailing along your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. "Oh, sweetheart, I know you didn’t. But you see, this isn’t about what you’ve done." His voice was low, dangerously soft. "It’s about who you are. Carmine’s precious daughter. That alone makes you valuable. And I always knew one day I’d get my hands on something he cared about."

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening as his finger slid down your neck, a sickening sensation crawling over your skin. "You don’t have to do this," you breathed, trying to keep your voice steady, but the tremble was undeniable.

Oswald laughed softly, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your skin as he whispered, "Oh, but I do. You see, in this city, people only remember the strong, the ruthless. I’m going to show Gotham that the Penguin doesn’t just take what he wants—he takes everything."

Your breath hitched as his hand moved lower, his fingers grazing your collarbone before sliding down to the neckline of your dress. The darkness in his gaze deepened, and you felt a wave of panic wash over you. He was playing with you, relishing your fear, feeding off the power he held over you.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice dripping with twisted admiration. "Scared, trembling… but still so fucking beautiful. It’s almost a shame, really." His thumb brushed over the curve of your breast, and you flinched, unable to stop the tears from welling in your eyes.

Oswald grinned, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Your father… he always had everything handed to him. Power, respect, fear… women. But me? I had to earn it. Crawl through the dirt, claw my way to the top. And now, I get to enjoy the spoils."

His hand tightened on your thigh, fingers digging into your skin as he leaned in, his breath hot against your neck. "I bet Carmine never thought it would come to this, did he? His little girl, all alone with the Penguin." He chuckled darkly, his teeth grazing your earlobe, sending a jolt of fear through your body.

You squeezed your eyes shut, desperately trying to block out the sensation, but Oswald wasn’t going to let you forget. "Oh no, don’t close your eyes, sweetheart," he growled, his hand moving higher up your leg. "I want you to see who has the power now."

You whimpered softly, your body trembling uncontrollably, but you forced your eyes open, meeting his dark, predatory gaze. "Good girl," he purred, his hand inching higher, teasing the hem of your dress. "Now, let’s see just how much power I can take from you."

You could feel the darkness closing in, the walls of Gotham’s underworld tightening around you as you realized there was no escaping this nightmare. Oswald Cobblepot had you exactly where he wanted you—powerless, vulnerable, and at his mercy.

[misterfic]

A/N: Honestly, I have no idea why I wrote this. I saw a Gordon Ramsay edit on TikTok and just had to channel my inner chef! 🍳😅 This is just a work of fan fiction. It is not intended to offend anyone.

Title: Unrequited No More

Summary: A secretary's hidden love for her boss, Gordon Ramsay, is met with jealousy and desire, leading to an explosive revelation.

Pairing: Gordon Ramsay × Fem! Reader

Tags: Jealousy.

________________

You watched as Ramsay posed for the photographer, effortlessly exuding confidence and charm. The famous London magazine had chosen him for a feature, and it was no surprise. He looked every bit the part of a successful, sophisticated chef. As his personal secretary and driver, you stood on the sidelines, silently admiring him.

Why did he have to be so handsome? you thought, your eyes tracing the strong lines of his jaw, the way his blonde hair caught the light, and the ease with which he commanded the room. You had to keep reminding yourself that he was out of your league, and that left you a little discouraged, but that was the reality. You were nothing, just a secretary, while he could date any woman he wanted—rich, tall, beautiful, and blonde.

Your gaze lingered on him, watching the way he interacted with the crew, his voice carrying easily across the room. He joked with the photographer, his laughter infectious, and you couldn't help but smile. But that smile quickly faded as you remembered his date scheduled for that night with some model. You had written it down in his diary that morning, as he had asked you to.

"Make sure to remind me about dinner tonight," he had said, flashing you that charming smile that always made your heart flutter. "I've got a date with that model—what's her name again?"

"Claudia," you had replied, trying to keep your tone professional. "Dinner at 8 pm at The Savoy."

"Right, Claudia," he had repeated, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Thanks, love. Couldn't keep my schedule straight without you."

You had forced a smile, nodding as you made a note in his diary. "Of course, Mr. Ramsay. Anything else you need?"

"That's all for now," he had said, giving you a wink. "Don't know what I'd do without you."

Now, as you watched him, those words echoed in your mind. You couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy and sadness. He had everything—a successful career, wealth, and the ability to charm anyone he met. Meanwhile, you were just the one keeping his life organized, silently longing for something more.

He could have any woman he wanted, and it wasn't difficult for him to have whoever he desired. The way he carried himself, the way he looked—everything about him screamed confidence and success. You felt small in comparison, insignificant.

The photo shoot wrapped up, and Ramsay walked over to you, a grin on his face. "How did I do?" he asked, his voice full of playful arrogance.

"You were perfect, as always," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Thanks, love," he said, patting your shoulder. "Couldn't have done it without you."

You smiled weakly, your heart aching with unspoken feelings. "You're welcome, Mr. Ramsay."

"Don't forget to remind me about that dinner tonight," he said, his eyes twinkling. "Wouldn't want to stand Claudia up."

"I won't forget," you promised, feeling a heavy weight in your chest.

As you drove him back to his next appointment, you couldn't help but steal glances at him in the rearview mirror. Why did he have to be so perfect? And why did you have to fall for someone who was so clearly out of your reach? The reality was harsh, but it was all you had. For now, you would continue to be the best secretary you could be, even if it meant hiding your true feelings behind a professional facade.

Hours later, you said goodbye to Ramsay, making sure he was ready for his date before you left. "Don't forget, Mr. Ramsay, dinner at 8 pm with Claudia at The Savoy," you reminded him, forcing a smile as he adjusted his tie in the mirror.

"Thanks, love," he said, giving you that charming smile that always made your heart skip a beat. "I'll see you tomorrow."

You nodded and left, feeling the weight of the day's emotions pressing down on you. As you tiredly entered your apartment, you threw yourself on the couch, letting out a deep sigh. The apartment was quiet, a stark contrast to the bustling energy of Ramsay's world. You closed your eyes, trying to shake off the lingering thoughts of him.

Suddenly, your cell phone rang, and you picked it up instantly, hoping it was Ramsay. But it was just your group of friends, planning to go out that night to a nightclub. They were asking you to join them at the new club that had opened recently, a place that had been crowded the last few weeks.

You hesitated, biting your lip. It had been a while since you went out to have fun, being too worried about work and the bills to pay. But you deserved to have fun once in a while, didn't you? Maybe it would be good, maybe it would get your mind off Ramsay and the damn date he was having.

You typed out a quick response, accepting the invitation. "Alright, I'll join you guys tonight. What time are we meeting?"

"Fantastic! Meet us at 9 pm at the club," came the enthusiastic reply.

You glanced at the clock, realizing you had a couple of hours to get ready. Standing up, you felt a surge of excitement mixed with nervousness. It had been too long since you'd let loose and enjoyed yourself. Tonight could be a chance to forget about Ramsay, if only for a few hours.

Heading to your bedroom, you rummaged through your closet, looking for the perfect outfit. You settled on a sleek black dress that hugged your curves just right, pairing it with your favorite heels. As you applied your makeup, you felt a sense of anticipation building. Tonight, you were going to focus on having a good time and leaving your worries behind.

With a final touch of lipstick, you looked at yourself in the mirror, feeling a newfound confidence. You were more than just a secretary; you were a woman who deserved to enjoy life. And tonight, you were going to do just that.

Grabbing your purse, you headed out the door, ready to meet your friends and embrace the night. The music, the laughter, and the energy of the club awaited you, promising a brief escape from the reality of your unrequited feelings. As you walked down the street, you couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope. Maybe tonight, you would find a way to move on from Ramsay and discover a new side of yourself.

Later that evening, you found yourself standing outside the club with your three friends. The neon lights illuminated the bustling street, and the thumping bass of the music from inside the club sent vibrations through the ground. As you approached, you were met with a long line of people waiting to get in.

"Wow, look at that line," one of your friends, Emily, exclaimed, her eyes wide with disbelief. "There's no way we're getting in with that huge line!"

Your other friend, Sarah, rolled her eyes and grinned confidently. "Relax, ladies. I know the bouncer. He owes me a favor. We'll get in, no problem."

The three of you exchanged doubtful looks but decided to trust Sarah. She led the way, weaving through the crowd with determination. The line seemed to stretch on forever, and you couldn't help but feel a little skeptical. But as you got closer to the entrance, Sarah's confident stride didn't waver.

When you finally reached the front, the bouncer's stern expression softened as soon as he saw Sarah. "Hey, Sarah," he greeted her with a nod.

"Hey, Mike," Sarah replied with a wink. "Think you can do me a solid and let us through?"

Mike glanced at the line behind you and then back at Sarah. "For you? Always," he said, lifting the velvet rope and motioning for the four of you to enter.

You and your friends cheered excitedly, your earlier doubts melting away. "Thanks, Mike!" you shouted as you walked past him, laughing and high-fiving each other.

Once inside, the club's vibrant atmosphere enveloped you. The flashing lights, the pounding music, and the sea of dancing bodies created an intoxicating energy. You felt a rush of excitement as you made your way to the dance floor with your friends.

"This is amazing!" Emily shouted over the music, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "We have to find some hot guys tonight!"

"I second that!" your third friend, Lily, chimed in, her smile wide. "Let's dance and have some fun!"

You laughed, feeling a sense of liberation wash over you. The weight of your feelings for Ramsay seemed to lighten with each passing moment. "Let's do it!" you agreed, raising your glass in a toast. "To a night of fun and forgetting our worries!"

As the four of you hit the dance floor, the music pulsed through your veins, and the worries of the day faded away. You moved to the beat, letting the rhythm take over, and for the first time in a long while, you felt truly free. The night was young, and the possibilities were endless. And maybe, just maybe, you'd find a way to move on from Ramsay and embrace a new chapter in your life.

You had fun with your friends, drinking, talking, and laughing, but you couldn't help feeling a little jealous at how easily they found guys to talk to while you were alone at the table, nursing your martini. Watching Emily and Sarah flirt and laugh with a couple of handsome men, you felt a pang of loneliness. Despite your best efforts, you couldn't shake the thoughts of Ramsay that kept creeping back into your mind.

"Why am I thinking about him?" you muttered to yourself, scolding your thoughts. You downed the entire glass of your martini, feeling the alcohol's warmth spread through you. "No more moping," you decided, standing up with newfound determination. "I'm here to have fun."

You made your way to the dance floor, the music thumping through your body. You let the rhythm take over, moving to the beat and losing yourself in the crowd. The flashing lights, the pulsing bass, it all felt liberating. You danced with abandon, not caring about anything in the world.

Suddenly, you felt a pair of hands on your hips. You turned around to see an unfamiliar but handsome man smiling at you. He had dark hair and a chiseled jawline, and his eyes held a mischievous glint. You didn't care who he was; you just wanted to keep dancing.

The dance became more sensual as you ground against him, his hands firmly on your hips. You felt a rush of excitement and adrenaline, letting go of your inhibitions. The man's grip tightened slightly, and you felt a thrill at the connection.

But just as quickly, his hands let go, and you were pulled into a solid chest. You protested, turning to see who had interrupted your dance, but your words caught in your throat when you looked up and saw Ramsay. "What the hell are you doing here?" you blurted out, your surprise mingling with the alcohol-induced haze.

Ramsay's face was a mask of fury, but his anger wasn't directed at you. He glared at the man you had been dancing with, his eyes blazing. "Stay away from her," he warned, his voice carrying over the music. The man raised his hands in surrender, stepping back.

"Sorry, mate," the man said, his tone apologetic. "Didn't know she was accompanied."

As the man walked away, you looked up at Ramsay, confused and still a bit drunk. "Why did you do that?" you demanded, your voice slurring slightly. "I was having fun!"

Ramsay didn't answer immediately, his grip on your arm firm but not painful. "Come on," he said, pulling you off the dance floor. "We're leaving."

"No!" you protested, trying to pull away. "I want to dance!"

Ramsay stopped and looked at you, his eyes intense. "You're drunk," he said, his voice softer but still firm. "And you're coming with me."

You pouted and walked away from him, heading back to the dance floor, determined to have a good time. You heard Ramsay's irritated sigh behind you, but you ignored it, losing yourself in the music once more. Moments later, you felt his hand grip your arm again, more forcefully this time. He bent down, his breath hot against your ear as he spoke.

"You are fucking coming with me," he growled, his voice laced with anger. "Even if I have to carry you out of this damn club."

You pulled away from him, glaring up at him defiantly. "Why the hell are you here, Ramsay?" you shouted over the music. "Weren't you supposed to be on a damn date with that model?"

Ramsay's jaw tightened, his eyes blazing with a mix of frustration and jealousy. "Yeah, the worst fucking date of my life," he admitted, his voice dripping with disdain. "That woman couldn't hold a decent conversation if her life depended on it. I was bored out of my mind."

You felt a pang of confusion and a flicker of hope. "Then why did you even invite her?" you demanded, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and curiosity.

Ramsay’s expression darkened, a mixture of anger and something else—something more vulnerable. "I invited her because I was trying to make you jealous, you idiot," he admitted, his voice low and filled with bitterness. "But you didn’t even fucking react. I left her at the table, bored out of my skull, just to come here and drown my sorrows. And what do I find? You, dancing with another man, looking like you’re having the time of your life."

The intensity of his words made your head spin. "You wanted to make me jealous?" you asked, incredulous.

He leaned closer, his voice a harsh whisper. "Yes, damn it. I wanted to see if you felt anything for me. But here you are, letting some random guy put his hands all over you." His eyes flashed with jealousy. "I won’t have it. Not when I…"

You frowned, confusion and hurt warring within you. "Not when you what, Ramsay? What do you care who I dance with?"

His grip tightened, and his eyes bored into yours. "Because I care about you, you idiot. I’ve cared for a long time. Seeing you with someone else makes me want to rip my hair out."

Your heart pounded in your chest as his words sank in. "You… care about me?" you repeated, struggling to process his confession.

"Yes," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "And seeing you like this, with another man’s hands on you, makes me lose my fucking mind."

You stared at him, the world spinning around you. The club’s loud music and flashing lights seemed to fade into the background as you focused on Ramsay’s intense gaze. "I didn’t know," you whispered, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "I thought you didn’t see me that way."

His grip softened, and he cupped your face in his hands. "How could I not see you that way? You’re everything to me," he said, his voice tender now. "I’ve just been too much of a coward to tell you."

Your heart swelled with emotion, and you leaned into his touch. "Gordon, I…"

Before you could finish, he pulled you into a fierce kiss, his lips capturing yours with a desperate need. The kiss was rough and possessive, filled with all the emotions he had been holding back. You responded in kind, pouring all your pent-up feelings into the kiss.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathless. "Let’s get out of here," he said, his voice husky. "I don’t want to share you with anyone else tonight."

You nodded, feeling a sense of clarity and relief. "Okay," you whispered. "Let’s go."

As he led you out of the club, you felt a rush of anticipation. This was the beginning of something new, something real. And for the first time in a long while, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[misterfic]

CHARLIE COX as MATT MURDOCK Daredevil | 2.06: Regrets Only

[misterfic]

PEDRO PASCAL as AGENT WHISKEY Kingsman: The Golden Circle (2017)

[misterfic]

Alfred Molina as Armand Gamache

• Three pines | S01 EP04

[misterfic]

Benedict Cumberbatch behind the scene of MoM

[misterfic]

I got the movie in a better quality!

Spider-man No Way Home (2021) dir. Jon Watts