#˗ˏˋ inbox . ››› 𝚂𝚄𝚁𝚅𝙸𝚅𝙰𝙻 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙸𝙲𝙷𝙴𝚂𝚃 .

[felinoir-a]

@gwenbiote asked: purrs at

𝙱𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙺.   𝙱𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙺.   𝙱𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙺.   

❝      Are   you   getting   sick?   What   the   hell   is   wrong   with   your   throat?   Stay   over   there   while   I   order   you   some   lozenges,   I   am   not   getting   sick   before   my   trip   with   whatever   cooties   you   picked   up.      ❞      

[felinoir-a]

@overclocks asked : 📞 + 😳 : an embarrassing voicemail

𝚃𝙷𝚄𝙳.   𝚂𝙷𝚄𝙵𝙵𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶.   𝙼𝚄𝙵𝙵𝙻𝙴𝙳   𝙲𝚄𝚁𝚂𝙴𝚂.   𝚃𝙷𝚄𝙳   𝚃𝙷𝚄𝙳   𝚃𝙷𝚄𝙳.

❝         —   upidstupidstupid,   I   swear   to   fuckin'   god   I'm   going   to   murder   whoever   designed   vault   doors   that   auto-close.      ❞

More   thumping,   the   squeal   of   metal   against   metal,   more   muffled   curses.   Then   an   earpiercing   shriek   of   frustration,   followed   be   a   growl   and   something   crashing   into   a   wall   with   a   crunch.   Shuffling,   the   whisper   of   leather   against   leather,   the   tap   of   claws   against   glass   and   plastic.

𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐘   𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆   𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄.

❝      If   you   say   anything   about   this   to   anyone,   Stark,   I   will   ruin   your   fuckin'   life.      ❞  

𝙲𝙻𝙸𝙲𝙺.  

[felinoir-a]

@overclocks asked: you want answers? get in the car.

𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙲𝙻𝙴𝚂   𝙸𝙽   𝙷𝙴𝚁   𝙹𝙰𝚆   𝚃𝙸𝙲𝙺𝙴𝙳,   teeth   audibly   grinding   together   as   the   thief   weighed   her   options.   Her   crew   had   gone   to   ground   and   their   hideout   had   literally   been   blown   sky   high.   Someone,   somewhere   had   been   making   it   their   mission   to   dismantle   the   Cat’s   operations   and   for   once   —   it   couldn’t   be   one   of   the   usual   suspects.   Odessa   Drake   herself   had   been   targeted,   which   ruled   out   the   New   York   Guild.   Nick   Fury   and   Doom   had   bigger   fish   to   fry   than   to   worry   about   the   money   that   had   been   commandeered.  

Which   left   Felicia   Hardy   in   this   position   —   soaked   to   the   bone   by   torrential   rain,   singed   and   covered   in   soot,   watching   as   the   warehouse   that   had   served   as   her   base   of   operations   burn.   Sirens   screamed   in   the   distance   as   secondary   explosions   rocked   the   area,   which   she   bemusedly   attributed   to   Boris’   makeshift   laboratory.   Guild   flunkies   had   come   and   gone,   whisking   away   their   leader   with   only   halfhearted   attempts   to   cajole   Felicia   into   their   vehicle.  

They’d   driven   away   just   as   another   luxury   vehicle   drove   up   to   the   location.   She   didn’t   bother   to   look,   eyes   still   trained   on   the   engulfed   building.   Law   enforcement   wouldn’t   approach   her   in   just   one   vehicle,   given   her   reputation   for   being   slippery,   and   her   nailbeds   itched   at   the   possibility   of   the   culprit   behind   the   destruction   of   her   homebase   coming   in   close   to   gloat.  

But   the   scent   of   expensive   cologne   and   motor   oil   kept   Felicia   from   driving   claws   into   his   chest.  

❝      .   .   .   what’re   you   trying   to   say   here,   Stark?      ❞      The   question   practically   drove   her   brows   into   her   hairline,   slitted   citrine   sliding   to   glare   at   the   man   from   the   corner   of   her   eye.   On   a   normal   day,   she’d   engage   in   banter   and   delight   in   needling   Tony   Stark   into   frustrated   exasperation,   but   with   the   last   several   years   of   work   having   gone   up   in   flames?   She   was   not   in   a   particularly   playful   mood   nor   was   she   up   for   an   I   told   you   so.

❝      You   know   something   I   don’t?   Because   I’m   not   exactly   in   the   mood   for   a   drive.      ❞     

[felinoir-a]

���Please stop. I’ll do anything you want.” Not even actual torture could get him to crack like this but he had all of his stuff so nicely organized.

❝      𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝙲𝚁𝚈𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙻   𝙻𝙰𝙺𝙴   𝙱𝙴𝙴𝙵𝙲𝙰𝙺𝙴   .   .   .   what   was   his   mom's   maiden   name   again?   You'd   think   given   his   mommy   issues,   the   Bureau   would   have   that   on   file.      ❞  

Profilers   should   have   better   security,   because   there's   not   a   chance   he's   getting   her   to   leave   —   the   shade   his   face   is   turning   is   making   her   goddamn   night.

[felinoir-a]

@riselazarus asked: ❛ Well… you’re not a picture of normalcy yourself. ❜

𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝙵𝙰𝚄𝚇,   𝙾𝚄𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙶𝙴𝙳   𝙸𝙽𝙳𝙸𝙶𝙽𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽   𝙿𝙰𝙸𝙽𝙵𝚄𝙻𝙻𝚈   𝙾𝙱𝚅𝙸𝙾𝚄𝚂      —      the   overexaggerated   gasp   coupled   with   the   clutching   of   ropes   of   actual   [   and   pilfered   ]   pearl   necklaces   at   her   throat   completed   the   mocking   image   of   a   woman   affronted.   The   Cat   had   already   gotten   her   prizes   for   the   night,   satchel   bulging   with   the   weight   of   the   contents   of   several   safes,   precious   stones   glittering   from   wrists   to   elbows   in   a   flashy   mimicry   of   armbraces.  

❝      Better   to   be   a   catgirl   than   a   dweeb   in   a   red   helmet.      ❞      The   melodramatic   act   melting   to   a   mischievous   grin   and   glowing   eyes,   metallic   claws   dropping   to   glide   against   the   bracelets.   Sirens   screamed   in   the   distance,   just   barely   audible   over   the   ear-piercing   screech   of   the   diamond   exchange’s   security   alarm.   She   would   only   two   to   three   minutes   to   escape   the   general   vicinity   of   the   heist,   if   she   wanted   to   avoid   the   hassle   of   a   police   chase.  

Even   if   it   means   she   has   to   deal   with   an   unknown   to   her   would-be   vigilante.

❝      As   delightful   as   this   has   been,   babe   —      ❞   The   blonde   thief   takes   several   steps   back,   creeping   purposefully   to   the   edge   of   the   building   as   the   grappling   hooks   whirred   underneath   the   priceless   jewelry.         ❝      —   I’m   afraid   I’m   gonna   have   to   cut   this   short.      ❞

[felinoir-a]

❝      .   .   .   𝙰𝚁𝙴   𝚈𝙾𝚄   𝙱𝙻𝚄𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶?   Oh   my   god,   you   are!      ❞         There’s   a   distinctly   predatory   glee   in   her   painted   grin   as   the   blonde   shook   the   frankly   impressive   toy   in   front   of   Donnie.   Too   thick   for   her   fingers   to   wrap   all   the   way   around   and   a   garish   orange-peachy   pink   swirl,   the   hefty   silicone   toy   wobbling   as   Felicia   brandished   it   by   the   bulging   knot   just   above   the   flared   base.   She   held   it   out   like   to   was   a   sword,   giggling   as   it   swung   and   bobbed   lewdly      —      thoroughly   enjoying   how   he   squawked   and   he   cheeks   colored   at   the   sight   off   dildo.  

❝      I’m   not   the   one   who   left   this   little   beauty   on   the   bathroom   counter,   Donnie   baby.   You   used   this   thing   yet?   Because   whew,   I   can   imagine   that   you’re   a   screamer.      ❞

@priestbit asked : stop wavin' that shit around!

[felinoir-a]

𝙷𝙴𝚁   𝚈𝙴𝙻𝙿   𝚆𝙰𝚂   𝚄𝙽𝙳𝙸𝙶𝙽𝙸𝙵𝙸𝙴𝙳,   mortification   coloring   her   cheeks   as   claws   unsheathed   and   instinctively   dug   into   the   shoulders   of   the   [   massive   ]   brute   that   had   scooped   her   out   of   harm’s   way.   The   sensation   of   swinging   by   web a hundred feet above the city streets   was   very   distinct,   even   if   it   had   been   several   years   since   she   had   been   in   this   particular   position   and   the   glowing   red   webbing   .   .   .   A   distinct   trademark,   one   that   didn’t   belong   to   any   of   her   Spiders.   An   explosion   was   a   distant   roar   in   her   ears   as   citrine   eyes   narrowed   on   the   blue   and   red   mask,   the   very   picture   of   miffed   but   curious   feline   —   purposefully   flexing   her   claws   deeper   as   rather   pointed   demand.  

❝      Normally   I   make   my   boytoys   buy   me   dinner   first.   You   in   the   business   of   manhandling   pussycats?      ❞

@whorrcr asked: [ DRAG ]  sender physically hauls receiver to safety with miguel.

[felinoir-a]

𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂   𝙻𝙸𝙵𝙴   𝙼𝙰𝙳𝙴   𝙵𝙾𝚁   𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃   𝚂𝙻𝙴𝙴𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂,   lashes   fluttering   open   as   her   bedmate   shifted   and   at   up,   likely   looking   to   make   a   quiet   escape   in   the   dark   of   night   when   he   thought   she   was   asleep.   At   least,   that’s   what   Felicia   would   have   done   in   his   position.   How   many   lovers   had   she   left   in   the   dead   of   night,   sated   but   robbed   blind?   It   was   a   tinge   of   paranoia   that   kept   a   sharp   eye   on   the   hunter,   his   silhouette   cast   aglow   by   the   light   of   the   city   at   night      —      there   were   a   couple   of   items   in   the   hotel   room,   hidden   away   and   under   a   variety   of   locks,   that   would   be   of   interest   to   him.   Items   that   were   destined   to   catch   obscene   prices   from   a   variety   of   collectors,   but   were   also   destined   to   cause   chaos   and   strife   in   the   hands   of   the   unscrupulous.  

Feigning   a   languid   and   sleepy   wakeup,   the   blonde   shifted   and   reached   for   Dean      —      fingers   trailing   along   the   rather   impressive   welts   left   by   her   nails   down   his   back.   There   was   a   twinge   in   her   chest   at   the   prospect   of   him   looking   to   leave   in   the   middle   of   the   night,   something   she   chalked   up   to   indignation   at   being   the   one   left   behind   when   it   should   have   been   her   to   strike   that   first   blow.  

@bledgrace   :   smiles   at   her   ,   good   bye

Within   a   blink,   Felicia   had   sat   up   behind   him,   thighs   bracketing   thighs   and   arms   wound   across   his   torso.   Humming   noncommittally,   she   pressed   a   kiss   to   the   skin   where   shoulder   met   neck   while   noting   this   satisfaction   a   lovebite   just   behind   his   ear.   Her   hands   danced   across   his   torso,   one   rising   to   circle   and   tease   an   already   pebbled   nipple   as   the   other   slipped   into   his   boxer   briefs   to   cup   his   softened   cock.  

She   kept   him   captive   with   teasing   strokes   to   encourage   him   to   stiffen   and   butterfly   light   caresses   to   his   chest,   nibbling   at   the   soft   skin   of   his   earlobe   until   she   thought   she   could   feel   the   intent   to   leave   rush   out   of   his   body.   The   blonde   thief   hummed   as   her   strokes   became   firmer   and   more   assured,   the   heels   of   her   feet   pressing   at   the   insides   of   his   knees   to   encourage   his   legs   to   spread   wide.   The   crowning   touch   to   her   argument   to   convince   him   to   stay   was   a   well   timed   pinch   of   a   puckered   nipple,   at   the   same   time   as   her   thumb   swirled   around   the   leaking   head   of   his   cock.  

The   sound   he   made   sent   a   thrill   up   her   spine   and   a   rush   of   heat   to   the   apex   of   her   thighs.

❝      You   sure   you   wanna   say   goodbye,   baby?   I   think   I   like   havin’   you   right   here,   makin’   all   those   pretty   little   noises.      ❞

[felinoir-a]

@weapon23 asked : SNIKT

𝙰   𝚆𝙸𝙽𝚃𝚁𝚈   𝙱𝚁𝙾𝚆   𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙴𝙳   𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙾   𝙷𝙴𝚁   𝙷𝙰𝙸𝚁𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴,   amusement   twisting   the   thief’s   lips   into   a   grin.   Had   they   met?   No,   but   Felicia   could   clock   the   scent   of   one   of   Logan’s   spawn   from   three   boroughs   away.  

❝      Oh,   no   need   to   be   embarrassed   sweetie,   it   happens   to   all   of   us   when   our   bodies   begin   to   go   through   the   changes.   Gone   through   many   scratching   posts   yet?   You’ll   learn   to   control   it   a   bit   better   when   you’re   older.      ❞

[felinoir-a]

@fferal asked : ❛  hey, sometimes you gotta kill a guy.  ❜

𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙰𝙻   𝚂𝙿𝚁𝙰𝚈   𝚆𝙰𝚂   𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙱𝙸𝙳𝙻𝚈   𝙱𝙴𝙰𝚄𝚃𝙸𝙵𝚄𝙻.   The   way   the   skin   split   open,   the   vivid   scarlet   of   the   blood,   the   arching   gush     —   interfered   only   by   two   bony   protrusions   piercing   the   poor   mark's   throat.   There's   a   certain   amount   of   bloodthirstiness   that   comes   with   being   a   thief,   a   certain   willingness   to   do   whatever   it   takes   to   take   your   prize,   and   Felicia   had   that   in   spades,   even   before   the   back   alley   surgeries   that   had   turned   her   into   something   other.

It's   fucked   up   that   a   little   part   of   her   purred   at   the   display,   an   ecosystem's   apex   predator   reveling   in   the   twitches   choked   gurgles   before   the   claws   withdrew.   But   a   larger,   more   human   part   of   her   that   was   irritated   —   not   at   the   death   of   another   being,   but   that   she   had   been   caught   in   the   crossfire   of   the   bloodspray.

𝐀𝐍𝐃   𝐈𝐓   𝐆𝐎𝐓   𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.  

❝      For   fuck's   sake,   you   idiot.   Couldn't   you   have   been   cleaner   about   it?   I   just   washed   my   hair.      ❞

[felinoir-a]

@proofwhisky asked : 😠 : an angry voicemail

❝         𝚈𝙾𝚄   𝚂𝙾𝙽   𝙾𝙵   𝙰   𝙱𝙸𝚃𝙲𝙷.      ❞

    She's   panting   from   exertion,   frantic   movement   evident   in   the   background,   the   upset   mewls   of   her   pets   reaching   the   phone.   Fabric   is   being   pushed   around,   a   zipper   hurriedly   sealing   shut.

    ❝      Your   word   is   worth   less   that   the   toilet   paper   I   used   to   wipe   my   ass.   Protection?   Is   this   what   you   call   protection?   I'm   being   followed   by   fucking   Russians   after   you   said   I   was   safe   to   return   to   New   York.   If   I   ever   see   you   again,   I'm   going   to   s   —         ❞

    𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒   𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒.   Something   heavy   hits   the   ground,   startled   hissing.

    𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆   𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒔   𝒐𝒇   𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆.

    ���𝙽𝙳   𝙾𝙵   𝙼𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙰𝙶𝙴.   𝙽𝙾   𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙴   𝙼𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙰𝙶𝙴𝚂.  

[felinoir-a]

@spinxeret asked : 😟 : a worried voicemail

𝚁𝚄𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶   𝚆𝙸𝙽𝙳,   𝙼𝚄𝙵𝙵𝙻𝙴𝙳   𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚃𝚂,   𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝚂𝙲𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙼   𝙾𝙵   𝙼𝚄𝙻𝚃𝙸𝙿𝙻𝙴   𝙲𝙰𝚁   𝙷𝙾𝚁𝙽𝚂.

❝      For   fucks   sake,   does   no   one   in   the   Spidey   household   pick   up   the   fuckin'   phone?!      ❞   The   Cat's   voice   is   muffled,   but   the   thread   of   anxiety   and   worry   was   more   than   clear.   A   grunt   of   exertion,   followed   by   the   uncharacteristcally   loud   thud   of   her   boots   and   the   mechanical   whirring   of   her   grappling   hook.  

    ❝      We'll   deal   with   that   later     —   get   the   fuck   out   of   the   apartment,   Red.   Get   the   fuck   out   of   the   apartment.   Some   dipshit   at   the   Bar   was   bragging   about   knowing   where   the   Spider   lived   and   he   left   him   a   present.   Get   out   of   the   fu   —      ❞

    𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐌.

    𝑫𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕   𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈.

    ❝      Fuck.      ❞  

    𝙲𝙻𝙸𝙲𝙺.

[felinoir-a]

𝙰𝙲𝙲𝚄𝚂𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽,   𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙾𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃,   𝙽𝙰𝚄𝚂𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶𝙻𝚈   𝚁𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝙴𝙾𝚄𝚂   𝙸𝙽𝙳𝙸𝙶𝙽𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽.   The   Cat   is   painfully   familiar   with   the   tone   heroes   use   when   faced   with   the   bad   behavior   of   someone   they   thought   better   of.   They'd   think   she   was   something   she   was   not,   she'd   do   something   true   to   her   nature,   then   she'd   be   the   bad   guy   —   the   villain   who   burst   their   rose   tinted   bubble.   Like   it   was   her   fault   for   not   living   up   to   the   image   in   their   heads   of   what   Felicia   Hardy   should   be.

𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋   𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐁𝐀𝐓   𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃   𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐍   𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐄   𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍   𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑   𝐃𝐈𝐃.

❝      Saw   something   I   liked.      ❞   Her   teeth   were   painfully   bright   against   the   inky   paint   of   her   lipstick,   neck   and   wrists   laden   with   glittering   jewels   and   precious   metals.   The   Black   Cat   had   feigned   domesticity,   doing   her   best   impression   of   Gotham's   resident   feline,   in   order   to   slip   past   the   guard   of   the   city's   dark   guardian.   She   was   a   cooperative,   playful   ally     —   all   flirtatious   demeanor   and   witty   repartee,   while   waiting   to   take   advantage   of   an   opportunity.   An   opportunity   that   was   afforded   to   her   by   the   Bat,   so   truly,   it's   partially   his   fault   too.

❝      What?   You   had   it   all   under   control   and   I   had   to   liberate   these   beauties.      ❞  

@crimefightr asked : felicia, what were you thinking ?!

[felinoir-a]

𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇   𝐎𝐑   𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒  (!)

❝  I'll need a couple shots of tequila, the value size bottle of lube, five large towels, and a Night Nurse approved first aid kit.  ❞

𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇. [ Bring a pen and some paper too, she's gotta compare him to his daddy. ]

[felinoir-a]

smash or pass

❝  . . . . well that depends. Is Stretch gonna kill me for it? Or does he like to watch?  ❞

𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇. [ Bring Reed too. It'll be couple's therapy or something. ]

[felinoir-a]

𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙷𝙰𝙿𝚂   𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴   𝚆𝙰𝚂   𝙰   𝚁𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙾𝙽   𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙲𝙴𝚂   𝙾𝙵   𝙽𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙴   𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴   𝙰𝙻𝚆𝙰𝚈𝚂   𝙵𝙴𝙼𝙰𝙻𝙴.   She   was   no   Shelby   or   Peaky   Blinder,   but   the   Black   Cat   excelled   at   making   friends   in   very   low   places   and   when   one   of   the   neighborhood   children   had   informed   her   that   her   boys   —   two   men   who   were   practically   her   blood,   practically   an   extension   of   herself   —   had   been   forced   into   cars   notably   belonging   to   the   King   of   Small   Heath   .   .   .   Mad   enough   to   spit   nails   had   been   a   severe   understatement   of   her   mood.   Her   mood   only   blackened   further   with   each   step   down   Watery   Lane,   the   thunderstorm   contained   within   her   body   only   gathering   more   momentum   with   each   gunshot   loud   strike   of   her   heels.  

    Relations   had   cooled   into   an   arctic   chill   between   Thomas   Shelby   and   Felicia   Hardy,   an   unfortunate   byproduct   of   that   fateful   night   nearly   two   months   ago.   She   had   made   it   her   personal   mission   to   avoid   Tommy   and   his   entire   family,   a   feat   made   all   the   more   difficult   by   the   reports   of   the   former's   temper   fouling   seemingly   by   the   day.   His   apparent   inability   to   manage   his   own   emotions   was   not   her   problem,   regardless   of   the   pleading   eyes   his   younger   brothers   may   direct   her   way   at   the   local   market   and   the   messages   passed   through   her   maids.   But   this   was   beyond   the   pale,   even   for   him.

    The   men   at   the   door   moved   out   of   her   way,   whether   due   to   reputation   or   the   thunderous   look   on   her   face,   and   the   tall   blonde   stomped   into   the   betting   house   —   verdant   eyes   afixed   in   a   bloodcurdling   glare   and   lips   twisted   into   a   furious   sneer.   She   couldn't   locate   her   quarry,   but   Polly   stood   tall   and   met   her   gaze   with   an   amused,   knowing   twinkle,   before   the   older   woman   pointed   to   the   back   of   the   betting   area   towards   a   room   with   two   shut   doors.  

    𝐈𝐅   𝐇𝐄   𝐇𝐀𝐃   𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍   𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆   𝐇𝐄𝐑   𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍,   𝐇𝐄   𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃   𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄   𝐈𝐓.

    Even   with   the   hoods   over   their   faces,   Felicia   would   know   Bruno   Grainger   and   Boris   Korpse   in   the   dark,   in   a   sea   of   other   bodies.   Childhood   friends   turned   wartime   penpals   and   confidantes   turned   partners   in   crime,   those   two   men   were   closer   than   family   and   to   see   them   bound   to   chairs   like   common   rabble?   Some   women   are   resplendent   in   their   anger,   but   she   knew   she   was   something   closer   to   monstrous     —   fair   skin   mottled   and   splotched   a   furious   pink,   hair   frizzing   even   with   copious   products   and   pins,   full   lips   pulled   wide   to   bare   her   teeth.   A   vicious   hiss   escaped,   a   deft   hand   pulling   the   dagger   from   under   her   skirts   and   making   short   work   of   the   bindings   at   their   wrists   and   feet.  

    Both   men   hopped   up   with   a   glare,   flinging   the   hoods   to   the   ground,   but   Felicia   shook   her   head,   lips   pursed   tight.   Her   back   was   to   the   mastermind   behind   this   whole   charade,   who   was   standing   behind   his   desk   with   an   ever   present   cigarette   in   hand.   The   thief   quietly   requested   that   the   men   return   to   the   brownstone   she   was   calling   home   and   to   wait   for   her   there,   turning   on   their   heels   after   a   moment   of   searching   both   her   face   and   the   face   of   the   man   behind   her,   the   face   of   the   man   responsible   for   their   kidnapping   and   questioning.   She'd   waited   until   the   double   doors   had   closed   behind   them   and   remained   shut   for   several   moments,   hands   clenching   and   unclenching   as   breath   was   forcefully   exhaled.

    The   tall   blonde   rounded   on   the   man,   a   silent   wraith   as   she   approached   and   entered   his   space     —   nose   brushing   nose,   barely   a   whisper   of   space   between   their   chests.   Enflamed   celadon   clashed   with   frosty   azure,   a   moment   frozen   in   time   in   which   his   stoicism   only   served   to   further   fuel   the   fires   of   her   outrage.   It   was   a   potent   cocktail   of   indignation,   impulsivity,   and   her   cursed   attraction   to   Tommy   Shelby   that   had   Felicia   Hardy   reaching   to   grip   the   back   of   his   neck   and   take   his   mouth   for   her   own.

    𝑳𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈   𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒄𝒌.   𝑻𝒉��   𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒔   𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒅.   𝑨   𝒈𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕   𝒘𝒂𝒗𝒆   𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈   𝒕𝒐   𝒑𝒖𝒍𝒍   𝒉𝒆𝒓   𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓.   That   first   press   of   his   lips   against   her   own   felt   like   a   livewire   pressed   to   every   nerve   ending   in   her   body,   a   gasp   mercifully   muffled   between   them   and   disguised   by   the   grasping   fingers   tightening   in   his   dark   hair.   Tommy   shuddered   before   responding   voraciously   in   kind.   Large,   callused   hands   slid   over   the   expensive   wool   and   fur   of   her   coat,   making   short   work   of   dispensing   of   it   and   throwing   it   across   his   desk.   An   arm   clasped   tightly   at   her   waist,   pulling   hips   to   hips   and   chest   to   chest,   the   other   hand   cupping   her   jaw   with   fingers   tangling   in   wintry   strands.

    But   then   blunt   teeth   bit   into   his   lower   lip,   drawing   a   tiny   pearl   of   blood   and   the   fingers   that   were   tangled   in   his   hair   wrenched   backwards   —   pulling   greedy   mouths   away   from   one   another   so   that   she   could   stare   him   down.

    ❝      If   you   ever   pull   this   shit   again   with   people   I   love,   I   will   slice   you   open   from   your   chin   to   your   cock.      ❞

    Felicia   made   no   effort   to   pull   away,   heart   hammering   in   her   chest   and   veins   thrumming   from   the   heady   pairing   of   anger   and   potent   desire.   Her   lips   were   swollen   and   lipstick   smeared,   hair   mussed   from   his   fingers,   but   her   eyes   were   flinty.   A   moment   of   weakness   on   her   part,   but   it   likely   served   her   purpose.  

    ❝      Any   questions   you   have   relating   to   my   boys   and   my   business,   you   can   direct   to   me.   Do   we   have   an   understanding,   Mr.   Shelby?      ❞

@proofwhisky + a  kiss  as  a  warning.