#becca wickes

[lightleckrereins]

do you think aryn not having bangs for howard is for standardization? i’d love to see that hairstyle on her!

I think its half standarization half her bangs being in a style that can be pulled back. So far we have five cases of Howards having a front styling that is not just pulled back. And while I think all can be explained with their haircuts, there are other factors into place: hair type, thickness, amount, direction of growth, etc.

Becca Wickes has straight bangs that are cut really wide, so while the front might be long enough to pull back the sides probably don't reach the ponytail. Also I think this was a case of the creative team deciding they liked the bangs look because she wore the ponytail to the front anyway (more about that in a bit).

김려원 (Kim Ryeo-won) has long layered bangs to the sides close to what you would call curtain bangs in western styles. While her bangs would reach the ponytail the layering would make it tricky to lay completely flat and last for an entire show so instead her hair is styled to the sides with some of the shorter strands styled in the middle.

허솔지 (Heo Sol-ji) has a simmilar cut but longer. I think it could be possible for her to get the usual style but maybe to give both distinct styles or maybe to be more in line with SK hair trends she also has her bangs styled to the sides with a few strands hanging in front of her ears.

Lou Henry has very short, thick and curly hair. I think at first the hair team either didnt manage to safely pull it all back or didn't like the look so she wore a base wig with styled bangs in the front as a base for the first few weeks of her run. She started wearing her own hair pulled back since (might be that her hair got long enough for it). The ponytail is set slightly towards the front instead of the back of the head probably to compensate for the lenght of her hair.

Caitlyn De Kuyper has short bangs to the sides, While it seems her bangs can reach the ponytail (also set slightly towards the front) they dont look fully flat. In all her photos with her hair pulled back she uses either pins, clips or elastic bands to keep her bangs in place. The way her hair lies makes me think in her case she has thick hair that refuses to be in any direction but its natural growth. So for howard her bangs are pulled back from the side in two separate parts on each side not the front and probably held in place with pins. This will look pulled back flat from the audience but up close you can see its not.

Now onto Aryn. She does have straight bangs as Becca, but her's are longer, start further back and are not as wide. Also her hair gets longer towards the side and seems to not be as thick as some of the others. All that makes it possible to fully pull back to a ponytail. I think there are probably pins holding it into place on the sides hidden by the horsehair on the crown too. And if you look closely at her photo in costume the very top of her hair is starting to get a little messy (this is post show) saying that her bangs are trying to escape the ponytail and go back to their normal position.

[paradise-bi-the-dashboard-lightt]

Crazy Little Thing Called Love

[sprnklersplashes]

The people's Veronica is back????

[littleeliza-lotte]

Saw SIX again yesterday!

Might be watching a dress rehearsal if it tomorrow…

[usergif]

But you must understand, it was a long time ago.

[centrestagereviews]

Actor of the Week: Rebecca Wickes

Becca is currently performing in We Will Rock You at the London Coliseum Becca trained at Trinity Laban Musical Theatre Course 2018 Graduate Theatre Credits include: Katherine Howard (SIX – UK tour and South Korea), MILLENNIALS (The Other Palace Studio), Veronica Sawyer HEATHERS – UK Tour), Lead Vocalist (DIRTY DANCING IN CONCERT – UK Tour), Katherine Howard (SIX THE MUSICAL – NCL), Scaramouche…

[whatevertheywant]

Pitch Perfect Wicked AU

[cosmiczorpsims]

first gameplay post of 2025, going to post this nude selfie becca and julia took after they had sex. <3

[frost-queen]

Witches road // part 3 (Fem!Reader x Agatha Harkness)

Forever tag:@missmelodramatic,@alex--awesome--22, @ellie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve , @queen-of-books , @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown , @wildieflower , @meyocoko , @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23 , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr , @swampything07, @melsunshine , @panhoeofmanyfandoms , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 , @erikasurfer, @slythetic , @p0nycurtis , @quailbagutte , @fantasticcroissantpandagarden, @lanfear-is-my-darkmistress , @thefutureisus2020 , @r-3-becca , @fantasticcroissantpandagarden

Summary: the second trial awakens this time a generations curse. Despite the past, Agatha and you keep being drawn to each other. Not sure how much longer thy hearts can keep shutting each other out. [Witches road series]

If one be gone, we carry on, spirit as our guidе.

With an twisted feeling in your stomach, you all hovered above Sharon’s dead body. She for sure was dead. – “Well RIP Mrs. Hart. Shall we go now.” – Agatha said cold hearted. It made Jen look shockingly at her. – “Have a bit of decency.” – she exclaimed. – “A woman’s dead.” – she finished. – “Yes and Teen and Alice are digging her a nice grave. Hoorah to her.” – Agatha replied.

“Agatha!” – Lilia shouted making her groan loud. Agatha’s gaze went towards you for back-up except you gave her none. Simply shaking your head as it was wrong of her to mock a dead one. Agatha sighed deep taking a moment of silence, before being cheerful again. Sharon was properly buried.

Teen locked his arm through yours, leading you away from her grave. Having seen a distance stare in your eyes. Reflected with memories of pain. You followed him obeying, letting someone else take care of you. – “Are you alright Y/n?” – he asked a bit concerned.

You looked down at him with a smile. – “All better now.” – you answered, letting your hand rub up and down his arm. Still locked in arms, you followed the others down the leavy road. Wondering where the road would take you next. Knowing another trial was at hand. It wasn’t a question of what but a question of when.

As if summoned a house stood leading to the end of the road. A breeze of wind caught a few crumbled leaves along the way, sending it flooding over your feet. Looking up, you sensed there was something in the wind. Alice had frozen, staring at the house. – “I’m not doing this!” – she called out, going back.

Agatha rolled with her eyes, going after her. Taking a step forward, your arm slipped out of his. Blinking rapidly, you saw everyone go after Agatha, not wanting to be split up. Teen tugged on your sleeve as you went along.

“Alice stop!” – Agatha shouted. Alice stopped, not out of Agatha’s calling but off the horror she saw before her once more. The house cutting the end of the road. – “Well…” – Agatha said with clasped hands. – “You can run away from it, but the road will always make it work somehow.” – she finished with a wicked smile. It made Alice give her a glance of annoyance.

“The only way is forwards.” – you said stepping to the front to take the lead. Teen right behind you, followed by Lilia and Jen. Agatha closed the line with Alice. The next trial. Fire. As you entered, you felt a soft strangeness over you. One you had felt before at the first house. Looking down at yourself, you saw the change of wardrobe again. Your gaze fell on Agatha as she seemed to have had the same thought.

She curled up a smile upon your appearance, clearly liking what she saw. It made you give her a soft glare before turning away. As the first house, there needed to be a clue. Something that would set up the trial. Alarm it of it’s awakening. Your familiar strayed after you, never going far.

Your familiar hopped onto the music board as you had entered the producer’s room. Letting your finger glide over the buttons, you heard the door behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, you saw Agatha had entered. She came leaning against the panel, blocking your path. Her gaze low on you as her gaze slowly trailed up. Focused on your chest, neck, lips then eyes. Something she had buried deep down enough bubbling up.

“What?” – you called out seeing her tilt her head. – “You clearly resent me for something.” – she said, tapping her finger against her throat. Hinting the hurt you had inflicted on her not so long ago. It made you scoff mockingly, turning your head away. Agatha observed your body language for a hint. – “You deceived me.” – slowly coming closer to her. – “You could’ve chosen a different path.” – you made clear poking her in the chest.

“You made me realise one thing Agatha.” – you told her, seeing her quirk her eyebrow up curiously. – “It was all a lie.” – you whispered out, pushing her a bit back. In her eyes reflected confusion and heartbreak. The feeling of guilt if truly she was the cause of your demise. One she still wasn’t sure how occurred. Having been told you were gone. Having taking the road to never return. To leave Salem behind. To leave her behind. Having taken a different path away from her.

Agatha leaned closer to you, cupping your cheeks. It made you draw closer to her as well. Gaze switching between her eyes and lips. The desire clear as a crystal ball within the both of you. Agatha’s lips were near yours, already feeling her breath on yours. – “I haven’t forgiven you.” – you said making her snap out of it. Agatha let go of you as the moment was over. Deep down, you wanted to beg her to hold you once more. To kiss you once more as she has done so many decades ago. Please, please. Another part of you still hadn’t forgiven her. For your faith all started with her.

The playing of a record broke through the enchantment of her past. Cutting through her misery memories. The two of you rushed into the main room where everyone was. – “Turn it off!” – Jen shouted covering her ears up. – “It told me to play it.” – teen said, holding a paper up. You knelt down, covering up your familiar’s ear instead of your own.

Letting it drive your ears insane with pain just to protect your familiar. Agatha was looking your way. With a battle cry, she ran towards the record player, smashing it on the ground. The music or rather backwards chanting disrupted to silence. Lilia, Jen and you looked at each other, briefly checking up with each other. They were all good. The ticking of a metronome made you jump out of your skin. The trial has begun.

What dark ending would it conjure in thy final moments. Lilia’s scream went through bone and marrow. Eyes widening as you saw the smoke lift from her body. As if her soul was being sucked out, lighting the body with it’s weight. Alice jumped in immediate action. Speaking out a charm whilst drawing a circle around her. Lilia suffering from the fires of hell. Having knocked on the gates of hell to release it’s inner fire. Once the circle was sealed it lifted her spirit.

No more screams and no more burning. A moment later Jen screamed, demanding Alice to protect her. Agatha had her eyes on Alice. Knowing what it was. Confronting her about the family curse. A curse send down through generations. Attention drawn away to the floor, feeling the room tilt with an eerie feeling. You sensed it before it even made an effort.

Teen was in the way as you elbowed him away to take his stand. Teen dropped to the ground with a thud. A gush of wind hitting you right in the chest. Picking you up and sending you, breaking through glass. Glass shattering into sharp pieces. – “Y/n!” – Jen, Lilia and Alice shouted loud in a panic. All Agatha could do was stare with shock at the broken glass. Only when the others got in motion, ran she faster to get there before them.

She quickly knelt down beside you, brushing some glass from off your body. – “Y/n?” – she said with worry in her voice. The others kneeling around you. You coughed loud as Alice helped you up. – “I think your curse hit me.”  - you said with half a smile. It made them all laugh out of relieve. You supported on Alice to get back up.

“You need to end this.” – Agatha told Alice. A sternness in her gaze that meant she wasn’t toying around. This could take their soul. Alice shook her head, slowly backing away. All her live she felt there had been devils around her. All curses that wanted her dead before the day was done. Agatha grabbed her firm by the shoulders.

“You must sing the song you’ve despised your entire life.” – Agatha explained to her. Alice kept shaking her head. – “The song was her charm. A protection spell just for you. Have you not wondered why the curse hasn’t taken you fully. Because every day, anywhere there is someone playing your mother’s song.” – her words inspiring Alice.

Her anger slowly settling for sadness. A grief carving in her heart. For it bled deeper than anger. A shift in her gaze gave Agatha the strength that she would succeed. Instruments were divided as you went to sit behind the drums. Waiting for Alice her cue. Lorna’s ballad. Her version of the witches road.

I have learned the lesson of all that’s foul and fair.

Our love was forged in fire, water, earth and air.

The spell is cast, how long it lasts.

Hitting the drums, you followed along Alice’s guidance. Agatha’s singing filling the room. With each word, you felt a shift in the wind. Something present, yet unseeable. Down, down, down the road. Down the witches road. The house shaking. Fires erupted from behind you. Warming your back with a smothering heat.

Rising up to the ceiling like the consuming fires of hell. Hell fire blazing with rage. Hitting the drums harder, you were panted loud. Down, down, down the road. Down the witches road. Your familiar jumped on your shoulder, sending a pressing on your body. Blinking confused, you suddenly got aware of something.

Letting your gaze go down. Vision blurred from the piece of glass you saw sticking out of your side. Blood dripping out. Swallowing nervously, you continued to play the drums. Drowning the vision out, focussing on the more pressing matter.

Alice called it out, her eyes full of horror. Looking up there was the creature. Send from hell to conflict pain. Your familiar hissed at it. The creature screeched loud as it made Alice stop the piano. – “I… I can see it.” – she said in utter shock. Shock that this creature had been tormenting her for so long. – “Keep going!” – Agatha shouted at her. Aware of the fires erupting around them.

Slamming the drums hard, you wanted to get Alice’s attention. Needing her to continue if she ever wanted to get rid of her curse. – “Smoke him out!” – you shouted loud. Alice took a determined breath, playing the piano keys once more. The creature took off flying straight down to Alice. It’s claws burned once it grabbed onto her shoulders.

Yelping it out in pain, she continued. Taking over Agatha’s singing. For Lorna. For her mother she was singing her heart out. Sweat having formed on your forehead, you kept playing, panting loud. From ash thy are born and to ash thy shall return. The creature evaporated into nothingness through the fires of hell.

The piano lifted up, revealing the end. You got up from behind the drums, coming nearer. – “Wonderful.” – you said before dropping to the ground. Having passed out. – “Y/n!” – Agatha called out running over to you. Her hand hovering over the piece of glass sticking out of your body. Your familiar meowing loud, letting his nose brush against your cheek for a reaction. – “Quickly, help me!” – Agatha called out.

Lilia and Jen helping her. Teen picked up your familiar, carrying her while going through the piano. Stroking him soothingly to calm him down. Outside Agatha ordered for you to be placed down. Jen took out the glass. – “There’s so much blood.” – Alice commented with a pained expression.

Agatha stood before you, holding you down by your shoulders. – “Do something. Help her!” – she cried out. Begged. – “Jen!” – she shouted catching her attention. – “Please…” – she pleaded. Begged. – “What do you need to heal her?” – Lilia asked. – “Water and moonlight.” – Jen answered. Alice went to fetch water. Returning back to her with it. With worry Agatha was watching Jen perform the spell.

“Please…” – she whispered lowering her head against yours. Jen rushed to you, making Agatha lift her head back up. Sniffing loud to wipe the tears away she wasn’t aware of were there. Jen dropped the water on your wound. Watching carefully as the wound faded away. No mark, no scar to hint you were ever bleeding. Having set up a little camp for you, Agatha decided to sit with you.

Sit close to you, holding herself as she stared into the distance. Sometimes her gaze would be on you. Keeping a close eye on you. Sniffing loud, she wiped some stained tears away. She took a deep breath, adjusting her posture. Straightening her back, rubbing her hands down her legs when she saw you move.

“Good, you’re awake.” – she said in her cheerful saying you knew were just a glamour. A glamour to hide her true feelings. Sitting carefully up, you still felt a bit out of strength. Agatha kept looking at you, nodding her head with a faint smile. Seeing her lip quiver just that little. Hinting she was doing her very best not to cry.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.” – you responded brushing your hands off. Agatha smiled. – “Good, for I’m not letting you.” – she answered. Before you could answer she got up. – “Rest enough for I need your strength later.” – she said walking off. Sitting by your own, you looked around.

Fingers digging through the dirt, turning your wrist, picking up some dirt. Letting it crush in your palm before letting it drop by opening your hand. With a heavy sigh, you got up to join the others. The others were intrigued by your presence You came to sit down with a heavy sigh. Your familiar who was still on Teen’s lap, got up and ran across towards you. Snuggling up to you as you petted it.

“Y/n tell us, do you have any battle scars?” – Jen asked. Glancing to the side, you saw Agatha roll her sleeve back down. With a soft breath, you started rolling up your sleeve. The other’s eyes widening at the scar marks going in thin lines around your arm. Rolling your other sleeve up as well, you revealed the same marks.

“Where did you get these?” – Agatha asked in shock, having never seen them before. Staring in front of you, you were pulled back to the memory. Standing barefoot. The sound clear in your mind, making you gasp loud. A thorny root wrapped around your arm.

Strangling around your arm like a snake slithering. Swaying your hand forward another root strapped around your other arm. Keeping you in place. Fighting to be released. Calling it out with every might as another one strapped around your ankles. Limbs struggling and pushing against the restrains. With a mighty pull from thy earth you dropped with a thud to the ground.

Clawing your way for a grip as the roots kept strangling around you. Screaming and shouting for help. The women in front of you not moving an inch. Standing in a line before you, palms up. Crawling your way out, the roots dragged you over the ground. Dragging, dragging till you tilted down a nothingness below you. The heavens growing smaller as the darkness consumed you.

Strengthened by earth to earth you shall be send.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[itsanerdlife]

Wicked Intentions 9

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Stark!Reader // (Seriously close) Steve Rogers x Reader // Clint Barton x Reader // T’Challa x Reader.

Warning: Violence. Language. Bullying. Girl Fights. Name Calling. Degrading Comments. Angst. Degrade of Woman (to a point). Criminal Life. Illegal Shit. Fights. Alpha Males. Stalking.

Characters: Peter Stark. Howie Stark. Bucky Barnes. Steve Rogers. Clint Barton. TC (T’Challa). Ben Reilly. Cledus Kasady (CK). Brock Rumlow. Gwen Stacy. Wanda Maximoff. Becca Barnes. Amore Lorelei. Kitty Pryde. Frank Castle. George Barnes. Joe Rogers. Winni Barnes. Pepper Stark. Wade Wilson. Eddie Brock. Warner Strucker. Barney Barton. Bobbi Morse. Pietro Maximoff. Logan.

A/N: This is a Bully Romance. High School setting. Mafia Family Life. Woman are on a lower level than males in their world. Just a heads up. This is the third installment of the series. Bad Intentions, Cruel Intentions, and Wicked Intentions.

Credit: Huge shout out to @ml7010 for all the help, pushing, hyping up, putting up with my changes midway through. If it wasn't for this peach, y'all never would have gotten this series or nearly as far as I am now.

He sits, glaring.

Pietro is twirling his fiancée around the dance floor. The two of them laughing close together.

“Don’t do it.” Peter chuckles sitting down next to him.

“Give me one good reason.” He cuts his glare to his soon to be brother-in-law.

Peter sighs. “Pietro is a big cat in the game. You don’t need that smoke. We don’t need it with all we have going on with our sisters.”

Bucky cuts his eyes towards the two.

“Not enough of a reason.” Bucky shrugs, standing up.

“Oh. Oh!” Peter jumps up with him. Hurrying after him.

He closes in on the two. Pietro stops dancing, hand on the small of Y/N’s back, she looks almost smug. Pietro cuts his eyes between the two of them.

“Oh!” Peter cuts between Bucky and Pietro. “Hey now.” Peter pats him on the chest, a little out of breath.

“Problem?” Pietro asks in his stupid Russian accent.

Peter cuts him off before he can speak. “Buck here, was just hoping to get a moment of your time, have a small conversation.” Peter fast talks.

Y/N rolls her eyes. He glares at her.

“Of course.” Pietro removes his hand from Y/N stepping away. Peter stays between them till Pietro is a few steps away.

“Problem?” Y/N sasses him, folding her arms over her chest.

He chuckles. “You’re next.” Following Pietro.

Peter sighs, dropping his head back. “Come on, you can’t just not do this to me?”

“You act like I don’t know how Gwen got pregnant.” Y/N laughs, hearing her heels walking away.

“It’s different you’re my baby sister!” Peter calls after her, before hurrying after him. Once they’re through the side doors to the sitting room, something like a lobby or waiting room, off the ballroom the reception is being held in.

He unbuttons his suit jacket, pulling it off, he tosses it at Steve. Pietro meets the center of the room, turning to face him. Bucky’s fist follows through, decking Pietro in the jaw.

“Really?!” Peter huffs behind him. Bucky shakes his hand out, adjusting his button-down sleeves.

“He had his hands on my fiancée.” He glances at Peter.

Pietro rubs his jaw, opening and closing his mouth for a moment, working his jaw. “Hella, swing you got there Barnes.” He nods.

“Can you imagine what their kids will get?” Clint’s brows jump up.

Steve and Peter stop, staring into space.

“Oh fuck.” Steve whispers.

“People are going to die.” Peter breathes.

The door opens and Howie steps in, late to the party.

“What did I miss?” He looks around.

“We’re having nightmares about the swing our nieces or nephews will get between their parents.” Steve catches him up.

Howie stops in his tracks thinking about that. “Oh fuck.” He spoke softly.

“Apparently people are going to die.” Bucky rolls his eyes.

Howie shrugs, joining the others on the side. “Smalls, right hook, your follow through, yeah they might actually kill someone.”

“Barneys going to love your family.” Clint chuckles softly.

“He already does.” Peter, Howie and Bucky comment together.

“So, you’re the one.” Pietro smirks, turning their attention to him.

“Marrying the woman you just had your hands on? You’re fucking right.” Bucky replies with irritation.

“Oh shit, I missed a lot.” Howie mumbles.

Pietro chuckles softly for a moment. “I meant the one Satan will be tormenting to death for life.”

Bucky’s head tips. The guys next to them all slowly nod in agreement.

“Does she still run around beating people up?” Pietro wonders.

“She starts before nine in the morning some days.” Clint sighs.

Pietro chuckles.

“How do you know that?” Bucky asks.

“She has been my twin sisters’ best friend since they were little.” He explains. Bucky looks from Pietro to the twins.

“Don’t worry they barely know me.” Pietro sighs. “Wanda has been kept from the business, unlike your Satan.” He waves his hand to the side.

“Wanda is a wife?” The three of them gap at him for a moment.

Pietro chuckles. “Shocking, yes. For best in our line of business.”

“What line?” Steve wonders.

“Drugs.”

“How is she married to Sam?” Clint’s brow drops down.

“That was a conversation I was hoping to have with some Stark’s.” Pietro looks to her brothers.

“We work for Smalls.” Peter shrugs.

“And she’s going to be a Barnes.” Bucky corrects.

Pietro nods slowly. “Perhaps we can talk?”

Buck looks from him to the guys. They nod.

“Fine.”

Together they all take a seat settling in.

“Wilson was not the first pick for my sister.” Pietro starts. “Someone else showed interest and pushed hard for her.”

“Who?” Peter asks.

“Someone you boys know and dislike. Eddie Brock.”

Its silent for a moment.

“Eddie put a bid in on Wanda?” Steve leans forward.

Pietro nods.

“How does Eddie know your sister?” Clint wonders.

“Maximoff’s run drugs, Eddie is a seller.” Howie explains for them.

“Oh shit.” Steve whispers.

“Wait, wait.” Buck puts his hands up. “The story, from when your sister and I started out. You messed up a deal for a pipeline, for Eddie. That got Gwen’s dad killed, and you guys sent to reform.”

“See Eddie wants to be a big cat.” Peter sighs. “He needs a line, to funnel more drugs, to be a top supplier to smaller dealers. He gets from the Maximoff’s and wants to hold over the smaller timers.”

“He needs a line to do that. That connects him to smaller dealers, in other areas.” Steve nods slowly.

“To make good without the line, he would have to marry your sister.” Clint connects.

“I denied his bid.” Pietro nods. “I picked Wilson, because of his tie to The Brothers.”

The three of them look to the twins.

“You know Sam from before?” He asks.

They nod. “We do business with Sam’s father, and now Sam.”

“Now Sam? He’s already taken over?” Clint wonders.

Howie nods. “His father passed just after his promising to Wanda.”

“Shit.” Bucky breathes, unable to imagine.

“We had no idea.” Steve shakes his head.

“Not many know.” Peter assures them. “He doesn’t talk about it. That’s just how his father was. We do shipments with the Wilson's.”

“Shipments?” Bucky wonders.

“Heavy weapons.” Howie replies.

“Is there anything the Stark’s aren’t involved in?” Steve smirks.

“Weapons, drugs, underground fights, laundering, money, the table.” Clint grins.

“Been busy boys?” Pietro smirks.

“Smalls created her own mafia.” Peter grins. “We got into bed with The Saintz. Opened a lot of channels.”

“Perhaps there’s room for another?” Pietro glances around.

The four look over at him. He takes a breath, nodding slowly. “Touch my fiancée again, and your body will be in a shipment back to homeland.” He settles a look on Pietro.

Pietro grins at him. “No wonder she picked you. You two will make a ruthless couple.”

“Make? They already are one.” Peter sighs.

“Literally.” Steve shakes his head.

Bucky smirks, shrugging. “We’re not that bad.”

“We’ve seen our baby sister lick you, over a girl watching you.” Howie points out.

“I broke John Walkers arm for touching her for you.” Clint comments.

“You killed CK, for trying to take her.” Steve snorts.

“She smashed up Sina for touching you.” Peter nods slowly.

Bucky grins as they stand up, licking his lips he chuckles. “And you wonder why I won her in the bid?”

“Like anyone else had a chance.” Clint laughs.

“We would have burned the town down if she didn’t get her way.” Howie sighs.

“It worked out for more than her though, you’re marrying his sister are you not?” Pietro looks to Howie as they head for the doors.

“Yeah of course, we just, we were talking about them.” He splutters.

“Howard.” Bucky pauses, but Howie is out the door hurrying away from them.

“Did I say something?” Pietro wonders.

Peter sighs. “No, he’s going through something.” Hurrying after his brother.

“Another promise broken.” Y/N sasses as she walks past them.

The four of them exchange a look, three laugh.

“Excuse me boys, I have Chaos to wrangle.” He takes his suit jacket from Steve, heading for his fiancée.

“Oh no you don’t.” He chuckles, catching up to her, he grabs her waist, shifting her and tossing her over his shoulder.

“Boss man!” She gasps.

“You’re going to yell at me and I’m going to kiss you till you shut up.” He chuckles, walking out the of the reception with her over his shoulder. He passes Tony and his father, together they laugh.

“No take backs. She’s yours.” Tony calls after him.

“Hey!” She huffs loudly. He laughs harder, heading into the hotel hall.

---------- Everything Peaches 12/8/22 @mo320 @ml7010 @babizza @kmc1989 @joannie95 @coley0823 @rileyloves5 @sexyvixen7 @duckestylez @abschaffer2 @drayshadow @shirukitsune @xoxabs88xox @carostar2020 @rosalynshields @hookslove1592 @royal-sunflower @iwillbeinmynest @bellamy-barnes @geeksareunique @happydeanpotter @fanfic-n-tabulous @steel-blue-eyess @mariekoukie6661 @bless-my-demons @notyourtypicalrose @lets-talk-about-xyz @loving-life-my-way @shinycupcakebaker @also-fangirlinsweden @stupendous-science @daughterofthenight117 @dandelionsmarkthegrave @physically-a-cheesecake @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked

Bucky 'Fuck Me Up' Barnes: @nickyl316h @jbbarnesgirl @lets-roggerthat @this-is-mycrisis @kaylaphantomhive

Series tags: @sebastians-love @otterlycanadian

[snailsnfriends]

friendship among girls

west wind (mary oliver) / a good love (charlotte ager) / twin stars (clairel estevez) / sex education (laurie nunn) / derry girls (lisa mcgee) / water serpents (gustav kilmt) / ribs (lorde) / anne of green gables (lucy maud montgomery) / the friends (max ginsberg) / in the company of women (january gill o'neil) / graceland too (phoebe bridgers) / wicked (winnie holzman) / fleabag (phoebe waller-bridge) / silhouette (janice lobo sapigao) / x / juno (jason reitman) / black iris (leah raeder) / jennifer's body (karyn kusama) / the art of loving and losing female friends (rachel vorona cote) / clothes swap/brooklyn 2008 (hope gangloff) / mabel (becca de la rosa & maybell marten) / twin stars (clairel estevez) / friends (colin bootman) / my little pony: friendship is magic (lauren faust)

[spankingwishes2]

Before and After Graduation

Before:

razrstrpr

May 28, 2017

“hmmmmm….Becca’s really getting a good caning…and it is making me wet…I hope Ms. M doesn’t notice it when she canes me. If…if I confess that I did it…oh me…she will give me extra strokes….ohhhh,… can I stand it? Last time I got wet every time I rubbed my welts…and then…I rubbed…” “Ms. Moses! Ms. Moses! Stop, please! It was me… It was me…it wasn’t Becca! I am the one who should be punished!” “What did you say Tricia? I didn't hear you!” Swishhhhh!….SPLATTTT! “I said it was me… it was me! I am the one who should be punished!” Swishhhhhh!  SPLATTTT! “It was you? Oh you are certainly a wicked, wicked young woman to let your friend take your punishment! I think I shall cane you extra hard and give you double the strokes I was going to give Becca! Don’t you think that is only fair?” “yesss….yes Ma’am…it is fair…Ma’am!” “Good! Get the senior cane from the cabinet, Tricia, and remove your skirt and panties!”

***

After:

Three months later, Ms. Moses was supervising a poorly attended detention for Summer School, four weeks after graduation. Wearing my cutest dress and 'stopped in to say hi'.

"That's a nice dress, Ms. Moses," I told her.

"Thank you, Tricia, and you can call me Jenn now," she replied, "but if I know you, you want something."

"Want something, Ms. Moses? I mean, Jenn... what do you mean?"

"There are no girls due to be caned - and I couldn't let you watch if there were!" she said in a quiet but urgent voice.

"And you thought I'd want to?" I asked in my most innocent voice.

"I noticed how you reacted when you were enrolled here... do you deny having an interest?"

Boldly, I said, "Let these two girls go and we can discuss it."

"Oh, can we?" she asked suspiciously, looking at her charges. "I don't think you know either of them, or at least, not well."

"No, Ma'am," I assured her.

Jenn rose and announced, 'That's enough for today, girls. Take your studies and finish at home." Both girls were more than happy to make a charge for the door before she could change her mind.

No more than five minutes later, it seemed like, I was handing her both my dress and the senior cane, prepared to kneel on a chair and bend over a student desk to grip the seat on the other side.

"I couldn't remove my panties like you said to, ma'am," I told her.

"I can see that - you really are a wicked girl! I'll have to give you strokes for that as well. How many did you get the last time you were in here?"

"Eighteen, ma'am - extra hard," I reminded her with a gulp. I had rubbed myself for nearly two weeks before the feeling had faded completely (though I may have been imagining so of it by the end) - and continued to rub almost continuously since then!

"Eighteen, extra hard," Jenn Moses echoed as I stretched forward and gripped the seat. "An excellent start."

[paradise-bi-the-dashboard-lightt]

We sit alone and watch your lights Our only friend through teenage nights And everything we want to get We donwload from the internet

[sprnklersplashes]

I'm bored so here's my ranking of some if not all of the Veronica outfits in Heathers.

I am just going to be talking general costumes, so I won't be doing a new post for each alteration, but I'll talk about them if I can.

2014 Off-Broadway (worn by Barrett Wilbert Weed/Charissa Hogeland/Cait Fairbanks)

honestly.... 10/10. I love this costume. I love the dark blue. I love that while blue is the dominant colour the grey skirt and white shirt stop it being all-encompassing. I love the subtle pattern on the skirt. I love the square buttons and I don't care if they are impractical because she just rips that bad boy open in Dead Girl Walking anyway. I love the little sparkly thing at her collar and I love the dark outline on her collar. And I love her watch! She accessorises!

Most of all... I love those shoes. So much that I saw a similar pair in a charity shop window and got them and sometimes consider painting a section blue. They are adorable.

(Also, fun rumour; apparently they had considered having Ronnie wear heels in the Off-Broadway version but they scrapped it because Barrett Weed is 5'9" and when she had heels it meant Veronica was taller than JD. Which would've been amazing but we got these shoes in the end. And it also made me notice that Veronica is the only one of the Heathers not wearing heels and she is still the tallest)

(also the original line in Beautiful was "ask me how it feels wearing these badass heels")

Overall, I feel like this costume just feels very real. I didn't live in the 80s, but I look at this and I don't see A Costume. I see something a real girl would wear in this fictionalised version of the 1980s.

2021 West End (worn by Christina Bennington)

Solid 9/10. My favourite detail is the blue plaid miniskirt, I just think it's a cool little unique detail. And yes I said above that I liked that the Off Bway one wasn't all blue, but I think the variation in shades makes up for it and also I'm not consistent in anything. I also love the oversized blazer, it's so cool and I think it fits Veronica's character as a messy misfit who doesn't fit in and is essentially trying to be something she's not. Also I love the navy shoes.

2023 Off West End/Tour (worn by Miracle Chance and Lizzy Emery)

8/10. I love overall that it's a fun change from the standard Veronica outfit. I love the almost military-style jacket, it's a cool silhouette and it makes the outfit a bit more interesting. As does the black and white skirt. I swear there used to be a darker version of the jacket somewhere which would bump it to an 8.5, but overall I love this outfit.

Also, you can't see them in this picture but the brown and blue shoes are a plus, I love them. I love splashes of blue on Veronica's shoes in case you can't tell.

West End 2018/UK Tour 2021/Off West End 2021-2022 (worn by Carrie Hope Fletcher, Olivia Moore, Becca Wickes, May Tether, Ailsa Davidson, Kaleigh McKnight and probably some more)

6/10

sigh.... Listen I don't hate this outfit. I just think it's quite basic. I mean the shoes are cute and overall it's nice. The bow is a nice touch I do like the bow. The bow is nice. I'd prefer a darker shade of blue. Up close you can see some details on the skirt but at a distance it looks quite plain. Kudos to Carrie for accessorising with skull earrings though.

There are some variations. I like Becca Wickes' blue skirt, as we know I'm a sucker for a blue skirt.

Also the little necktie.... on its own it's fine, but I'm not a fan of Veronica and the Heathers all having matching neckties. I like the Off Broadway version gave them some variation.

Argentina (Julia Tozzi)

A whole 10/10. I love this look so much. I love the waistcoat, always put Veronica in a waistcoat. I love the tights and the boots? Holy shit I love the boots. I am so in favour of giving Veronica a tie. This outfit has so much character in it and I am in love with it. Does it look a bit too modern? Maybe. Do I care? Hell no. This outfit eats, no wonder JD was in love with her.

[erikahenningsen]

SPF but from the Rejanis teacher AU?

Kylie pauses at the top of the stairs. “Can I get my cartilage pierced when I go to the mall on Saturday?”

“Uh, no?” Regina says, bewildered. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Because Becca and Emma have theirs pierced,” Kylie whines, naming two of her cheerleading teammates.

“Becca and Emma are three years older than you,” Regina points out. “Besides, you’re not getting anything pierced at a fucking Claire’s.”

Kylie smirks. “Swear jar.”

“How about I put that money towards your college education instead?” As if they’d ever had a swear jar; there is no jar in the world big enough.

Kylie’s smile turns to a wicked grin. “Fuck off.”

“Hey!” Regina snaps. “I’m gonna push you down the stairs if I hear that again.”

Kylie looks at her dubiously and goes down a few steps to the landing. “My health teacher says we’re supposed to report it to a trusted adult if our parents ever hurt us.”

“I’ll push your health teacher down the stairs, too.”

Kylie snorts. “Is it not enough to threaten my art teacher?”

Regina’s mouth falls open. “I did not threaten your art teacher.”

“You threatened her art teacher?” Shane asks from somewhere below them.

“No, I did not,” Regina says. She gives Kylie a warning look as she follows her down the stairs. “I had a conversation with Kylie’s art teacher because she gave her a failing grade.”

“You failed art?” Shane says, incredulous. He’s standing by the front door, Kylie’s duffel bag over his shoulder.

“Mom,” Kylie hisses. “Did you have to tell him that?”

Regina ignores her. “She got an F in the first quarter.”

Shane looks at Kylie. “Dude, how?”

“Can we stop talking about this?” Kylie jams her feet into her shoes.

“We can stop talking about it when you’re not failing art,” Regina tells her, then turns to Shane. “Doctor’s appointment Thursday.”

“I got it, I got it,” Shane says, waving his hand. “We’re out.”

“And make sure she does her homework—that’s a full half-hour of reading every night,” Regina says as Shane pushes open the door. “And for god’s sake, please eat some form of fresh produce.”

[blindmagdalena]

Eat Your Ego, Honey ( Ch 6 )

homelander x oc 18+  escort services, sex work, voyeurism, stalking, Homelander in general. see ao3 link for detailed tags. chapter index. check out the playlist!

chapter summary: Homelander spends the morning after their first date musing on what a life with Layla will look like. Unfortunately for both of them, he's quick to voice his fantasy, which clashes hard with her grounded sense of reality.

additional chapter tags: somnophilia, cunnilingus, attempted sexual coercion, accidental injury, gaslighting, physical restraint.

With Layla fast asleep in his arms, Homelander is left to his own devices for the rest of the night. He could sleep, he supposes, but he doesn’t need to. He can go days without. Currently, he finds he simply doesn’t have the desire to be unconscious right now. He wants to savor every moment of this.

She’s here. In his home. In his arms. He inhales deeply, floods his senses with their mingled scents. The lingering warm vanilla of her perfume, the woodsy spice of his cologne, and the heady smell of sex. Amidst it all, he also picks up the distinctive rubbery smell of latex: the condom. Before last night, he can’t recall the last time he used one. He only had the box because it had been packaged with the lube.

He never cared to use them. Didn’t think he needed to until…

Homelander drifts in and out of his thoughts, stubbornly pulling back every time he feels a bristle of anger or grief. In one fell swoop he lost his girlfriend, the mother of his child, and his son. Stormfront may have survived Ryan’s rage, but he knows now that she was gone from him from that moment onward. She only cared about her agenda, not him. Left him alone for his fucking birthday.

Fake or not, what kind of girlfriend kills herself right before your birthday?

By far, the worst part of it all was Ryan. In targeting Becca, Stormfront had alienated he and Ryan from each other, pushed him into the hands of William fucking Butcher. Now he had no idea where his own son was, or if the kid even wanted anything to do with him. 

He never should have let Stormfront interfere. Homelander could have made things work. He was making things work, regardless of Becca’s misgivings, because Ryan needed his mother.

He still needs a mother.

Homelander refocuses on Layla’s sleeping face. She’s even sweeter asleep than she is awake, features soft, unguarded. She’s relentlessly patient, something that had initially frustrated him. He hadn’t been able to rattle her disposition at all during their first session, though he had certainly tried. She’s kind, she cooks, she even sings. Sure, she drinks a little excessively, and her “profession” is a can of worms to deal with all on its own, but overall…

He can’t help but smile faintly, stroking her cheek the same way he had that very first night he visited her in her home.

With a couple of minor adjustments, she would make a hell of a mother.

It’s a nicer thought to fixate on than any of the others. It carries him through the next several hours, taking him away from the sorrow of heartsickness and the losses he has unfairly endured again and again and again. Instead, he imagines what a home shared between the three of them would look like. A large kitchen, naturally, one that would blow her little condo’s setup out of the water. An oversized bath for the two of them to lounge in. She would have everything she could possibly need at her fingertips.

Ryan would have his own room. Big, with bright windows and posters on every wall. Baseball, dad’s movies, shelves for his trophies. Trophies that he earned himself, not just cheap little statues to create the illusion of a childhood. He would have everything that Homelander should have had.

Eventually, Layla stirs. He loosens his hold to let her adjust, watching as she rolls onto her back, the blanket sliding down with her movements. His gaze drifts down, and he’s possessed by a wicked little thrill at not only the sight of her bare breasts, but the bruises that mottle her flesh. He marked her thoroughly with his lips and his teeth last night, a myriad of them blossoming from her chest all the way up to her neck.

“Oops,” he whispers, playful and without remorse. That changes, however, when she adjusts her legs and visibly winces in her sleep before settling back down. Watching her for a moment longer, he follows the trail of bruises back down, adjusts his vision to look through the blanket covering her. Her hips are darkly marked as well, veins erupted beneath the skin in the shape of his hands. Her thighs, too. He can only imagine the state of her hips and pelvis, her cervix. He had been rough with her by human standards, but she had wanted it. Fuck, had she ever wanted it.

He should still apologize, and he knows exactly how he wants to do just that. He dips down to press a kiss to one of the marks atop her right breast, and then another between them. He kisses her nipple, savors the feel of her goosebumps beneath his tongue as he drags his tongue over it. Though she shivers under his touch, she doesn’t wake. He grows bolder, sucking her nipple into his mouth, eyes falling shut.

This feels like thievery, like snatching the proverbial forbidden fruit straight from the tree. It thrills him as much as it unnerves him to take from her without permission. Throughout his life, indulgence has been the most heinous cardinal sin. Deprivation has always been his virtue. He was never given enough of anything, lest he become a gluttonous beast with no carrot to chase, and no stick strong enough to beat him.

Denying him didn’t weaken his appetite. Instead, it turned his hunger boundless. He’s never had enough. He doesn't know if he ever will, or if it’s even possible. After a lifetime of unending yearning, he wouldn’t know what satiation would feel like even if he had it.

He keeps himself weightless to prevent the bed from dipping too much with his movements, lightly hovering as he slips down beneath the blanket, kissing his way down her sternum.

Her legs are splayed well enough for him to gently shoulder between them, arms slipping under her thighs, hands grazing lightly over the bruises shaped just like them. She smells divine, like seasalt vanilla ice cream, the smell of sweat and sex and her favorite moisturizer lingering on her skin, which is soft in his hands. She cares for her body the way a craftsman does their tools, keeping them polished and pristine.

It drives him wild to see her undone, blemished, ravished. It’s proof that she has given him something rare, that her rules don’t apply to him anymore. These marks belong solely to him, even if she doesn’t. 

Yet.

Settling his weight between her legs, he uses two fingers to spread the lips of her pussy apart, closing his eyes as he leans in, dragging his tongue from cunt to clit. There aren’t words for how she tastes because there isn’t anything else like it. Good pussy is a meal in a league all its own, and hers is some of the finest he’s ever indulged on. 

He gives a rumbling sigh against her, moving his tongue in leisurely figure-eights. He could—would—do this for hours if she could withstand it. He closes his lips on her clit and sucks gently, rubbing at it with the tip of his tongue. The pattern of her breaths change, her heart jumps, but she isn’t awake yet. She makes an exquisite noise in her sleep that goes straight to his cock, which has begun to harden against his soft bedding. He makes a matching sound low in the back of his throat, nuzzling into her cunt while he grinds his growing hard-on down against the bed.

Layla’s legs move, closing in on either side of him. He can hear her waking up, feel it in her pulse. A noise of confusion first, disoriented, followed shortly by the sweetest of breathy moans.

“Oh, darling,” she breathes, tangling her fingers gently in his hair. Her grip is weak with sleep, nails scraping deliciously along his scalp. It sends shivers trilling up and down his spine like a xylophone. He relishes just how pleased she sounds with him, how she pets his hair while her clit flutters against his tongue.

Last night's frenzied urgency is absent here. The drags of his tongue are languid, the slight roll of her hips loose and without much rhythm. It’s slow, intimate. He loses himself in it enough that her orgasm sneaks up on him, the smell and taste of oxytocin hitting him in a rush.

Homelander moans against her, plunging his tongue into her to feel the quiver of her velvety walls. He hurriedly shoves his hand down between himself and the mattress, lifting his hips just enough to jerk his cock. It’s a treat to come like this, with her hands in his hair and his mouth on her pussy. He sucks at her clit, milks her of her aftershocks while he pumps himself to release, luxuriating in the sharp little gasps she’s giving, how her fingers tighten in his hair.

He comes with a low groan, the sheets below him soaking up the brunt of the mess. She tugs his hair, and he obligingly crawls up her body, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

She looks radiant beneath him, dazed with both sleep and pleasure, her eyes soft, lips set in a gentle curve. It feeds something carnal in him to have done this to her, that she would look at him like this–with love–because of what he has done for her. She has no idea that this is just the beginning. Will she ever be able to fathom the lengths he’ll go for her if she’ll just give him what he needs?

“Good morning,” he purrs, his own voice a low, pleasure-soaked rumble.

“Very good morning,” she says through a giggle, cupping either side of his face. She kisses him lazily, meeting his tongue with her own, licking the flavor of herself from his mouth. He sinks his weight down atop her, slipping his arms underneath her, happy to kiss her until she breaks to breathe. “Insatiable,” she accuses, carding her fingers through his hair.

He beams down at her, gently bumping his nose against hers. He kisses her again simply because he can. Because he’s allowed to. “You would be too if you were me.”

Layla laughs softly. The sound of it warms him to his core. He watches her blink the remaining sleep from her eyes, smearing what’s left of her makeup as she rubs her face, stifling a waking yawn into her hand. He tucks her hair behind her ear, endeared by the way she leans into his endeared by the way she leans into his palm. He's so enraptured by the eager way she touches him, he forgot how good it can be when someone seeks his touch.

People flinch from him far more often.

They kiss again and again and again. It feels like an exploration, each of them mapping out the feel and pattern of the other. She tilts her head one way, and he goes the other, following her in this dance that he would prefer never ended. As always, she’s the first to break for reprieve. He allows it, nuzzling into the crook of her neck instead. He follows the line of her neck all the way up to her ear with his lips and gentle, grazing teeth. He barely resists the urge to bite. Intimacy is the only vice he’s ever struggled to not grip in his teeth and swallow whole. 

“How did you sleep?” She asks, running her fingers through her hair, down his neck, his back. He sighs his pleasure.

“Great,” he lies smoothly. No sense in getting into the nitty-gritty of things. He did have a great night.

“Good,” she says, stretching her arms out across his back until they each give a satisfying little pop. He shifts, lifting himself onto one arm so that he can once again admire not just her, but his handiwork. He brushes his fingers over the bruises that are smattered across her chest.

“You hurt?” He asks quietly. He wants to be proud of them, he wants to love them unconditionally, but first he needs to know they haven’t cost him something in her eyes.

“Mm-mm, mostly just sore,” she says, twisting and curling his short hair between her fingers. “Very bruised, inside and out,” she says, to which he has the decency to look sheepish. “Do you have ibuprofen?”

“Uhh.” He racked his brain, trying to think of where he might have something as utterly mundane and useless to him as painkillers, but he came up empty. “Nnnnope. It’s, ah… Never come up,” he says, to which Layla chuckles.

“No, of course it wouldn’t. it’s alright, I think I have some in my… purse,” she says, pausing as she looks around. Her clothes are scattered from one end of the room to the other, but her purse is– “Shit, I left it on the balcony.”

“I’ll have it brought up,” he says, leaning down to give her a quick peck on the lips before he lifts up, a slight pep in his step as he makes his way over to his phone: a landline. He’s always had trouble keeping track of a cell phone. “Could I have some water, too?” She calls out after him. “Roger!” He affirms cheerily. He whistles softly, making a pit stop by his fridge on the way to his phone. It’s lucky she only asked for water, as it’s the only thing his fridge is stocked with. He snatches one of the bottles neatly lined up inside, and tosses it absently while he calls to have her things retrieved. Once that’s settled, he makes his way back to his bedroom. She’s sitting up now, his dark comforter draped loosely over her lap. She’s fixing her makeup in the mirror to her right, swiping her fingers beneath her eyes. He watches her lick the pads of her ring fingers to wipe away the dark smudges at the corners, endeared. It’s such a simple, domestic little moment. 

She stops when she notices him staring, and smiles at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says, shrugging slightly. His tone is soft. “Admiring the view.”

“You’re sweet,” she says, running her fingers through her dark hair to tame it. “Corny, but sweet.” “Always gatta humble me, huh?” He says as he advances, offering her the water bottle. She takes it, eagerly twisting off the cap to take a sip. He slides back in next to her, watching the way her throat works as she swallows. Everything she does is captivating in a way he never would have cared to notice before. Things he would normally find annoying she somehow makes delightful.

“If humbling is what you need, I will gladly provide it,” she says, her smile turning sly. 

Of that, he has no doubt. “What I need-” he begins, leaning in close. “-is more kisses.”

“Mmmm. Lucky for you, I’ve got a fresh batch,” she says, kissing him once, twice, thrice in quick little pecks.

“Christ, woman, don’t waste them,” he growls playfully, taking hold of her face and catching her in one slow, firm kiss.

She laughs against his lips. It’s the most wonderful thing he’s ever felt.

They luxuriate with one another a while longer. Homelander makes a call to the kitchens when Layla inquires about food, but he still isn’t ready to let her out of his bed. Everything is too perfect, too good to let go of. He has the decency to wrap a sheet around his waist when he grabs their breakfast–and her belongings–from the door, but he’s quick to abandon it to climb right back in with her, serving her meal on a silver platter.

“We’re going to have to get up eventually,” she says, taking a bite of the toast. He knows that. They will. He intends to invite her to his birthday celebration tonight, after all. It’ll be better if he doesn’t show up alone. The world is nowhere near forgetting about his most recent failed romantic endeavor.

He resists the urge to lick away the bit of jam that catches on her bottom lip, to interrupt her from her meal, to selfishly claim her every second for himself, to kiss her until she forgets all about that stupid piece of toast, and cares only to satiate her hunger on the taste of him. “...Hello?”

Homelander blinks, realizing he had gone radio silent staring at her mouth. He meets her gaze, and smiles. “What?”

Layla quirks a brow. “We’re going to have to get up eventually,” she repeats, taking another bite of her meal. “You sure you’re not hungry?”

“I ate,” he says, his grin sharpening wolfishly.

“Very funny,” she says wryly, though she can’t hide genuine amusement. She looks good like this. Domestic, even. He really could keep her this way, pampered and cared for. He can offer her more than money, more than mind-melting sex. He has real power in this world. He has so much more to offer her than anyone else could ever hope to. He could give her a real life. A family.

“I have a son,” he says, gauging her response carefully.

She shoots him a look of surprise, lowering the mostly-eaten toast to her plate. “You do?”

“Yeah. He’s, uh… We’re living apart right now,” he says, the words falling awkwardly from his tongue. “Things are complicated.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she says gently. Normally, he finds those kinds of condolences sound empty. Rehearsed. Layla always sounds genuine to his ears, the furrow of her brow carrying sincere concern. He wants to lean into it, coax more of that earnest care from her. “Is he with his mother?”

“No, no, she’s gone,” he says dismissively. “That’s a whole mess. I haven’t really had the chance to, uh, to talk to him about that.”

There’s a dash of befuddlement seeping into Layla’s sympathetic expression. “Was… Who was his mother, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“No one,” he says, tone sharper than he meant to let it be. Things would be so different if she’d just let him raise his own son. “I mean, not… Not anyone you’d know, not anyone significant.”

“She is significant, though,” she corrects him, lips curving into a slight frown. He doesn’t like the turn this is taking: this was supposed to be a pleasant revelation. “She’s your son’s mother.”

“Yeah, yes, sure, she was. She’s dead now,” he says, trying to move on from that. “But what I meant was that she wasn’t, you know, in the news or anything,” he says, skating around any potential inferences she might make, lest she assume he’s referring to Stormfront or any other woman he’s publicly associated with.

Her frown deepens. He wants to choke back everything he’s just said and start over. He wants to go back to her sweet, pacifying sympathy. Not this uncomfortable, critical look she’s evaluating him with. It makes his skin crawl.

“Right,” she says. He hates that tone, the one that tells him he’s anything but right. It tells him she has much more to say than that, and that he wouldn’t like any of it. He bounces his fist on his thigh, agitation creeping up. This isn’t how this conversation was supposed to go. “You haven’t talked to your son about it? Was it recent?”

“Pretty recent,” he says, irritated now. “But that’s really not… that’s not the point. I have a son,” he says again, splaying his hands expectantly, as if he can restart the conversation with that. This is her chance to give a more enthused response.

She doesn’t. “Why haven’t you talked to him?”

“Jesus Christ, I just told you that it’s complicated,” he snaps, though he regrets the slip instantly. Her expression smooths out, cooling to detached nonchalance. Panic begins to set in alongside his frustration. “Don’t–don’t look at me like that,” he spits, exhaling roughly. He pushes his hands through his hair, and tries desperately to recalibrate, holding his hands out to her. “You were supposed to be excited.”

“Excited,” she repeats, tone even. He can’t stand how apathetic she’s turned.

“Yes, excited. I want you to meet my son,” he says, trying once more to extend this olive branch to her.

That gets a response. Her cool indifference falters, brows furrowing. “I don’t think that’s appropriate,” she says, some of that gentleness sinking back into her voice, but he doesn’t care for the sound of it this time around. Or maybe it’s less her tone, and more the words. He’s not sure yet.

“What do you mean appropriate?” He asks, features pulling into a tight, unhappy pinch.

“You–” she begins, pausing to let out a breath. She closes her eyes briefly, and then takes his hands into her own, pulling them down into her lap, bringing their faces closer to one another, leveling him with direct eye contact. “You need to talk to your son. That much is clear,” she says, squeezing his hands. He squeezes hers back.

“That has to happen first. As for me, I’m…” She hesitates, licking her lips. “Your son is grieving. I’m the last thing he needs right now. What he needs is you.I don’t know what complicated entails, but your priority cannot be introducing a strange woman to your child right now.”

“You’re not a strange woman,” he says with  a defensive edge to his tone. “You’re my–we’re–”

“We’re not anything right now,” she interrupts softly. “We’re barely a notion. One date doesn’t mean–”

“No, no. Stop it,” he demands, voice dropping low. He tightens his grip on her hands. “Don’t blow me off. You like me. There’s something here.”

“Yes, but–” She tries to twist her hands out of his grasp. “Let go of my hands, please.”

“No.” “You’re hurting me, John–” “Don’t! Do not fucking ’John’ me.”

“Why? Why not?!” She snaps, louder than he had been. It startles him enough that his grip on her hands eases. He blinks several times. He’s never heard her shout. Almost didn’t think she was capable of it. “You gave me that name! So why not?!”

“Because it’s not a fucking name!” He yells back, escalating right along with her. “It’s nothing! It means nothing! It’s-it’s a fucking–a goddamn placeholder. It was just more convenient than a string of numbers, alright? I don’t want to hear it right now.”

Her heart is thundering in his ears. Her bones feel brittle in his firm grasp. He could snap them without a thought. He immediately loosens his hold. Her expression is fractured by anger, fear, and perhaps worst of all, pity. It’s cloying, a far cry from her usual benevolent sympathy. He wants nothing to do with it. 

“I don’t want to fight with you,” she says, tone level, but not indulgent. He badly misses that quality.

“Then don’t,” he says ardently. “Can’t you just stop thinking about everything so much?”

Layla’s eyes fall shut. She takes in a slow, calming breath, holding it a beat before she exhales. It gives him hope that they’ll recover from this. She tentatively pulls her hands away, and this time, he lets her. However, he feels a bubble of anxiety in his gut when she slips out of bed, and begins picking up her clothes. “What are you doing?” He asks apprehensively, standing.

She pulls her dress on, smoothing her hands down the front of it. “You’re right. I do like you,” she says, stuffing her undergarments into her purse. “But I can’t talk to you right now. Not here.”

He scoffs nervously. “You’re leaving?”

“I need some time to process,” she says, confirming his fear. 

His anxiety spikes. Everything was perfect. How did this happen? “Don’t be fucking childish,” he says, advancing on her. “Talk to me.”

“I’m upset,” she says plainly. “I don’t feel comfortable here right now. I want to go home. We can talk once we’ve both calmed down.”

“I am calm,” he shoots back, frustrated. “You’re the one making a big deal out of nothing.”

“Okay,” she says, but she doesn’t stop gathering her things. He watches her sit and slip her shoes on. 

“Is that really all you’re gonna to say?”

“Yes.”

That single word shoots a lance of pure fury through him like no other, but this seething anger comes with a sense of helplessness. He doesn’t know what to do. “Don’t leave.” He tries to make it sound like a command instead of the plea that it is.

“I promise it’s better that I do,” she says, standing up. “Before either of us say or do something we can’t take back.”

“No,” he says, firm and simple. No.

She doesn’t look swayed. If anything, she looks tired. Exasperated, like he’s nothing more than a petulant child throwing a tantrum. “You don’t get to say no to me here. We’ll talk later, okay?”

Homelander lunges. He catches her face between his hands, and kisses her with everything he’s got.It’s a desperate move. Maybe she'll taste that in the way he presses his lips to hers, feel how much he wants her. How much he needs her. She takes hold of his wrists, makes a muffled noise of protest, but he doesn’t let go. He can’t let go.

“Stop,” she manages to get out, pressing hard against his chest now. “Jo–Homelander,” she stresses, but he’s certain he can turn this around. If he can just remind her of how good things were a minute ago, how good he can make her feel, how good he can be for her, then she’ll stop this. She’ll stay.

The harder she pushes against him, the tighter he holds her. She twists, but he doesn’t want her to speak anymore. The more they’ve said, the worse things have gotten. He kisses her like he means to suffocate her, fingers digging in behind her jaw, mouth stifling hers. He can hardly feel her lips anymore, she’s drawn them into a thin line, gritting her teeth behind them. He steps closer, feels her bump into the bed behind her. If he can just–

Something shifts, and Layla makes a distinctly pained noise. The sharpness of it snaps Homelander out of it, has him letting her go like he’s been burned by the touch of her. Both of her hands go to her mouth, where she’s been hurt. She touches the inside of her bottom lip, and her fingers come away bloody. He’s split the skin against her bottom teeth. Her eyes are horribly glassy, and when she looks at him, she looks…

Disappointed.

Stricken, he reaches for her. “I’m sor–”

She sidesteps his touch, dipping to snatch her purse up from where she had dropped it. She hurriedly throws her coat on, covering up all the marks he had been so proud of just this morning. 

“Layla! Layla! Would you just–would you just stop? Please!” He follows her to the door. She’s practically running from him. He catches her wrist, easily stopping her in her tracks. He could keep her here if he wanted to. It would be so easy.  “Please don’t leave me. It’s…” He holds her wrist in a loose but unopening grip, gesturing helplessly with his free hand. “It’s my birthday,” he whispers, strained.

It’s not. He doesn’t know when his birthday is. Everything he’s ever known has been a sham. His life is a fucking joke.

Tears roll freely down her cheeks. He can smell the salt in them, smell her blood, see traces of it between her lips.The copper tang of it makes his stomach churn in a way blood never has.

“Happy birthday, Homelander,” she whispers back, pulling out of his grasp, and turning towards the door.

His hand falls limply to his side. The door to his penthouse opens, it closes, and just like that, he’s all alone. His eyes prickle hotly with tears, a tremble running through his core. He stands there a long while, feeling naked and vulnerable well beyond his nudity.

Something has just been taken from him. He had it, and now it’s gone. That contentedness. It had been bundled warmly in his arms this morning, only to be ripped away with such abrupt violence, it left him shivering cold.

“Fuck,” he whispers, pushing his hands into his hair, squeezing it until his scalp starts to ache. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” He roars, catching a nearby vase in his hand. He hurls it across the room with such force that it explodes in every direction upon impact, and a particularly large piece cracks into the center of the mirror hanging on his wall, fracturing it into a web-like pattern.

Homelander stares numbly at his ugly, fragmented reflection.

Just us now.

He closes his eyes, sick of his own tear-stricken face.

I hate you. Chapter Seven.