#hottest john moment by far

[abstractfrog]

top ten looks that will get you kicked out of the british museum for protesting

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

cw: menstruation (not graphic), afab anatomy

Part 4: “Girl Problems”

You shift in the office chair, stomach lurching uncomfortably. It’s been bothering you today - groaning and moaning nonstop. So far you blamed it on the suspicious chicken salad you got from the discount grocery store. You took every stomach soother you could, all the way down to chugging tea on the hottest day of spring so far.

With a rather pathetic groan you stand to meander your way to the bathroom. Surely sitting on the pot will help - at least as a placebo. Just as you do, though, a very distinct wet feeling makes itself known. You freeze, briefly, as if it will go away if you stand still enough.

“Ah, fuck!” You gasp, grabbing your purse and jogging down the hall to the single bath stall and popping the lock shut.

As soon as you sit, you let out a small sigh of relief. At least you caught it before you turned your underwear into a total crime scene. You’d rather not have to explain to John why you need to go home and change. You dig through your bag to your usual pocket of various supplies. From lotion to a sewing kit. It never hurts to be prepared.

Except, as you rifle around, you’re not finding your usual stash. There should be at least three in here… when did-?

The very loud, distinct memory of a girl at a bar stopping you while canvassing for some sanitary products hits you like a train.

“Whatever you’ve got I’ll take.” She practically begged. So, you handed them all over because got forbid someone get stranded during the most hellish week of the month. Like you are now.

You make a deep, frustrated noise in your throat and bury your face in your hands. You’ve been meaning to put a basket of backup wipes, pads, and tampons in the little bathroom cabinet - not just for you but for customers, too. It just kept getting pushed off when you got busy with other things.

Shit. What are you gonna do? If you put your pants back on you’ll just bleed through them in ten minutes. Cursed with a heavy flow (or blessed with a strong connection to the moon, as your former hippie roommate insisted.) Less time than that, probably, based on the vicious cramp that travels from your lower back to pelvis. You won’t be able to get to the corner store with out leaving a war crime in your path.

John’s the only person in the studio right now. He doesn’t have a client for another hour or so but you’d rather die than tell your hot boss you’re bleeding everywhere. For a few, quiet moments, you violently bounce your knee and go through every possibility. Maybe you’ll suddenly turn into the flash and you can get home before anyone even notices. You don’t really have much of a choice, do you?

With another groan you pull your phone from your pocket, thumb hovering over his contact for just a few beats too long while you work up the courage.

>> ok so this is terrible

>> im so sorry

>> but im having girl problems and am stuck in the bathroom

>> im so sorry this is so unprofessional

Girl problems? What are you? In fucking middle school? Before you can send yet another in a long string of planned apologies, John answers.

J >> How can I help?

>> i dont have any products on me

>> meant to stock the bathroom

>> sorry

J >> Stop apologizing

J >> What kind do you use? I’ll go to the corner store up the street

You breathe out a sigh of relief, still nervously gnawing at your lip as you send him what you need with an example picture (just in case) and profusely insist you’ll pay him back. John refuses. You’ll just have to sneak the cash in his tips or something.

It isn’t long before you hear the front doorbell ring, heavy footsteps, then a gentle tap on the bathroom door. “Y’alright, love?”

You perk up. “John, I’m so sorry-“

“Didn’t ask if you were sorry. Asked if you were alright.”

You snort. “Yeah…”

“I’m goin’ to unlock the door to slide these in. No lookin’ I swear.” John says. As if you were worried about that. You trust John. More than maybe any other man you’ve known (not that the bar is very high.) It’s nice of him to say, though. The door barely cracks open, just enough for him to toss the box to you across the floor and shut it immediately. You barely even see his arm. “That all you need?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” You murmur, bending awkwardly and snatching up the box. “I’m really sorry. I know it’s not really… appropriate.”

“Love, it’s normal. It happens. Just get y’self situated.” John taps the door once before you hear his footsteps drift down the hall toward the front.

You feel a bit skittish the rest of the day. You know it’s stupid. John’s a grown man and it’s a natural thing that happens and it’s fine. He said it’s fine. If it wasn’t fine you probably wouldn’t still look up to him the way that you do - the way that you have since you came here. The way everyone else seems to. Even so, you step around him a little wider than usual on your way out - keeping your head hung low and both hands tightly gripping your purse.

You chew your lip, shifting in place as he locks the front door. “Look, John, I-“

“If you apologize again I’m gonna fire you.” John mutters, pulling on the door to make sure it’s properly secured. There’s humor in it, though, the corners of his lips quirked up slightly.

You scoff, still not quite able to meet his eye.

“Sweetheart, look at me.” When you don’t move fast enough, apparently, he tilts your head up with a light touch. His eyes are so warm despite their icy blue shade. Sparkly in the setting sun. “Any man worth his breath wouldn’t give a shite. I’m sorry if that hasn’t been your experience, but really, it’s fine. I’ll help you out a thousand times over if y’need.”

“Okay…” You murmur, suddenly very distracted by the feeling of his fingers touching your chin, light as is it. You pull away and clear your throat, hoping he doesn’t notice the growing heat in your cheeks. “Well, uh, see you tomorrow, then.”

John nods, still smiling. “Sleep well, dove.”

When you come in the next day, you expect to get teased. A snide comment or a sideways look. You would have at any other job you’d worked - especially one with all men. All giggling and poking at you like a bear they know can’t bite back. No one says a thing outside of their usual greetings when you make your way to the front desk, though. Johnny pinches your hip like normal, Simon greets you with his new pun of the day, Kyle gives you a distracted wave over the hum of his practice gun. John doesn’t bat an eye when he says hello and checks in about the plan for the day.

You open the bottom drawer that you usually tuck your purse into, pausing before you set it inside. At the bottom, neatly tied together with a piece of twine, sits a king size chocolate bar and a pack of Midol.

If John notices the way you become extra smiley after that discovery, he doesn’t comment.

A/N: This was very self-indulgent but I’m having a bad time over here and need to be saved.

[estaticheart]

ᥫ᭡. WAIT FOR YOUR LOVE

Summary: You find out about Sarah's pregnancy and so does someone else.

Warnings: literally nothing

A/n: thank you for anon for this idea!

JJ Maybank was a liability to most on this island, kook or pogue. If JJ found out about something at 10am, you best believe the whole island would know by noon. It wasn’t necessarily his fault, he had a big mouth that just happened to slip out information even if he didn’t mean to. Which is exactly how you found out about Sarah’s pregnancy.

Just as you were minding your business, sunbathing on the yacht, and waiting for Rafe to come back with some drinks on the hottest day of the year, you spotted JJ and Pope walking along the dock. Nosy as ever, you effortlessly shifted back from their view, curious to hear their conversation. Chances were it would be about Kie or their new treasure- but gossip was gossip.

“I just still can’t believe it, man. A kid? What the hell are we going to do?” Your jaw dropped at JJ’s words. A kid? JJ and Kie having a kid, was not something you expected to happen. You knew they definitely had something between them, but having a child was a big step to take. You grabbed your phone eager to tell Rafe, of course with strict instructions to slow his return to the yacht.

But as you began to type out a message Pope’s voice began, “We? It’s not our kid JJ, and as far as I’m concerned Sarah and John B are gonna be the best parents we know.”

Sarah and John B.

Your heart thudded in your chest, dropping your phone onto the couch cushions you resided on. You had only seen Sarah a few days ago as you defended her honour against Ruthie and her minions. She hadn’t looked pregnant at all but when you thought back you remembered seeing John B’s hands on her stomach, caressing. Oh my god, she is pregnant.

Your sister-in-law was pregnant, with a pogues baby, fuck me was Rafe about to lose his shit. But you? You were proud, it takes a lot of courage to decide to keep the baby and you knew Pope was right- they’d be the best parents ever.

Minutes later, Pope and JJ disappeared from the harbour and Rafe returned, arms full of all the drinks you like. “Hey baby, I didn’t know what you wanted so I got everything.” He laughed, attempting to place them all down on the table without dropping any. Your mind was far too busy to reply, so you stifled out a laugh. But of course, your boyfriend didn’t miss a thing. Frowning, he looked at you curled into a ball on the seats of the top deck.

“You okay?” He asked, concern coating his face as he took up his seat next to you. His arm around your shoulders settled some of the worry in your brain- but not all. “Yeah, I’m okay. Think the sun is just getting to me that’s all.” You attempted to joke, strategically pushing your body into your boyfriend’s embrace to avoid any more questioning. Convinced you were fine, Rafe stood up, “I’ll go get you some sunscreen. You need to stay protected.”

Protected. Your mind was catapulted back to Sarah. So as Rafe walked down to the deck below, you pulled out your phone again.

1:42pm

Just found some old pics of us as kids, you should come over and see them. We need to catch up Mrs Routledge!!

——————

"Oh my God." Sarah giggles, pointing at a picture of you and her in a swimming pool, with ice cream coating your wide grins. You quickly rifled through your collection of photos, acting as if you had miraculously found them as an excuse to have Sarah over. "We were so cute!" You giggled, as you flipped the photobook over to the next page to see a picture of you and Sarah holding a newborn Wheezie.

Your breath stalled for a moment, before you began to breathe normally again, hoping Sarah wouldn't notice. "Wow." She breathed out, tracing over Wheezie's face as her eyes glazed over with admiration. You weren't going to push Sarah to tell you but you wanted her to know that if she needed a handout, you were there. Deciding to push the limits, "I hope I have a baby as pretty as her." You said softly, smiling at Sarah as your eyes met hers.

She knew instantly that you knew. Your eyes were soft and wide, waiting for her to admit what you already knew. "You know, don't you." She whispered, her hands still hovering over the picture. You nodded, reaching over to take her shaking hands in yours.

For a moment you sat in silence, it wasn't awkward but peaceful. "I love you, Sarah. Whatever you, John B and the baby need I'm here." She nodded, eyes beginning to tear up. When you first started dating Rafe she was scared she would lose you to him, but you had been an anchor in her life, a big sister she never had. She knew she had the pogues support, but to have you behind her meant so much more.

"I'm scared." She feebly admitted, dragging her eyes down to your connected hands before continuing on. "What if they hate me or I'm a bad mom?" You shook your head adamantly, if there was one thing you knew for a fact it was that Sarah would be a good mother. "You could never be a bad mom. Remember when you were 7, I was older but had fallen and grazed my knee? I was a crybaby but even at 7 you knew how to clean it and put a bandage on. Those instincts don't leave you." By the end, your eyes were full of tears too. "Will you help me?" She muttered.

You nodded enthusiastically, "Of course. Sarah whatever you need I'll be here. You are my best friend before I'm Rafe's girlfriend. If you want me to go shopping with you I will. Or go to your appointments, I will. And if you want to keep this a secret, we can."

"Keep what a secret?" Rafe suddenly spoke, he wasn't in the room but you could hear him walking over to the lounge. Sarah's eyes enlarged in fear, you had promised her Rafe was out the whole day. Unbeknownst to you, he had finished his work in a hurry, eager to get back to you. You lunged over to the coffee table slamming the photobook shut, Rafe wasn't an idiot and you didn't want him putting him two and two together before Sarah was ready.

By the time he reached the lounge, you and Sarah had quickly wiped your eyes but it would be obvious to anyone what had happened. His eyes widened as he saw Sarah next to you on the couch. He obviously knew you two had a special connection and often went out whether it was for coffee or to the beach. But it had been ages since he had seen you two together in his house. "What's going on?" He asked, still unmoving from his position.

You glanced over at Sarah, who was staring at her brother. Normally, her eyes were full of hate and anger at Rafe but you noticed a new look in her eye. Full of emotion and sadness. You began to ramble a reason for Sarah's visit and also your 'secret', "Just some gossip with Pope and Cleo. You know they always made sense to me, Pope was always really quiet he needed someone more outspoken, you know? I think they really match, but there is just some stuff going on- but obviously, it's our secret can't just be telling anyone. Bu-"

Amid your rambling, Sarah spoke, "I'm pregnant Rafe." The air in the room warmed instantly to you, your shirt clinging to you as you waited anxiously for Rafe's next words. You hoped your boyfriend would sense that Sarah needed all the support she could get regardless of who it came from. You hoped for once he could see past his misguided anger at his little sister.

"What?" He finally muttered out, although it wasn't the response you hoped for it was better than the string of curse words you were expecting. Sarah waited for a brief second before nodding, moving her hands to let Rafe see her small- but visible- bump. Eyes full of emotion, he followed her motion. His baby sister. Pregnant. And despite them having mountains of unresolved trauma to work through, he felt an instinct to protect her baby, and weirdly of all, Sarah too. He finally moved from his frozen stance walking over to you both on the couch.

"Can I?" He asked gesturing at her stomach. Seemingly hesitant, Sarah waited a moment before nodding slowly her eyes never leaving Rafe's hands as he tentatively placed them on her bump. You watched on, trying not to cry at the sight of the two people you loved the most connecting once more. They had problems to solve and conversations to have but at this moment, it was like everything had fallen back into place. "It's only small," Sarah whispered, desperate to not disturb the peace. She had never seen her brother so quiet and attentive.

"I can't believe it. I'm lost for words." Their eyes met, both of the Cameron siblings thinking the same thing, everything would work itself out. But in the back of Rafe's mind lingered one thing, his own want and longing for a baby of his own.

[ceilidho]

Buttermilk pt 2 has me squealing and kicking my feet! Oh boy, I think I'm actually blushing????? It's so good!! The sunscreen moment?????

However, Reader girl, you're really oblivious 🤣🤣 like, I'm oblivious, but girl, he's calling you sweetheart and hugging you while your mostly naked holding his baby. It's more than professional and certainly more than friendly!

Also Reader, keep thinking of being pregnant - I'm sure John would be happy to induldge that little curiosity. Can't have siblings too far apart in age after all 😘

😈😈💕💕 I was sooooo excited to post this chapter for that reason

I don’t really know what to call this kink, but I’m really obsessed with the idea of two people attracted to each other but not acknowledging it and instead like falling into all of these situations together. Like unable to keep their hands off each other but also not acknowledging the situation for what it is. Like the not even mentioning it is the hottest part for me - if John was to suddenly go “I want to fuck you but we have to resist the urge because you’re my babysitter” I would literally go flaccid immediately sorry

[bunnys-kisses]

Can I get some dead velvet cake with coca-cola for our dear boy Soap?

halloween menu - bakery menu

the halloween bakery is open until nov 2nd! thank you to everyone who has submitted! while they have mostly been formula one orders, i do accept call of duty too! (esp for our beloved mactavish <3)! so thank you and enjoy!!

dead velvet cake: "we can't fuck right now. we have to hand out candy!" + coca-cola: costume sex served by john "soap" mactavish (call of duty)!!

cw: smut/pwp, (failed) costume sex, couples costume, fun & filthy, established relationship, cowgirl position

"johnny." you said as you looked at your costume, "i think you're supposed to be the plug and i'm supposed to be the outlet.."

johnny looked down at his costume and turned a little. he replied, "nah, bonnie. this one makes my arms look good." he laughed as he flexed a little for dramatic effect.

you rolled your eyes and wrapped your arms around your boyfriend of the last several years. you leaned up to kiss him on the lips and he happily melted into it. you didn't often spend halloween together (because of johnny's line of work), but when you could. it was fun.

you were both dressed in the dumbest couples costume you could find. you were the plug, while johnny was the outlet. and as you handed out candy to the kids who stopped by, johnny felt his gaze linger on your bend as you slightly bent over. the costume wasn't the erotic part, it was what he knew was underneath.

his girl was quite the looker. as he nursed the beer on the couch while you gushed over the kids' costumes. he smiled to himself, you looked adorable. you closed the door and turned back to your lover.

he smiled at you as you walked over to the couch and sat down beside him. he reached over and took a hold of your thigh. he leaned in and kissed you on the cheek. his kiss was wet and loud which made you giggle a little.

"what has gotten into you." you said as you patted your lover on his strong chest. johnny was an affectionate boyfriend. he loved getting his hands all over you.

he beamed at you and replied, "what, can't i find my girl beautiful?"

you laughed, "i'm dressed like a plug, not really jerk off material." you yelped when johnny maneuvered you into his lap and beamed up at you with a big smile. you held onto his shoulders as you straddled his waist.

he rubbed up against you. while the costume wasn't made for sex, he'd happily be your plug any day. you could feel the erection through both of your costumes.

"johnny..."

johnny shrugged, "ya could be in a wet paper bag and i'd still find a way." he held onto your hips, "far too beautiful. lookin' better than anyone else."

you kissed his face and said, "you're trying to butter me up, handsome."

johnny replied, "next year you'll be a stick of butter and i'll make sure i can fuck you in the costume." he beamed at you and you pinched his cheeks playfully, which only made him laugh.

you held onto his face for a moment, his scratchy facial hair under your touch. you leaned in for a kiss while he held you by the hips. when you broke away, "we can't fuck right now. we have to hand out candy!"

johnny looked at you with those big blue eyes and said, "the little ones should be in bed soon. plus, i got something better to snack on than kit kat bars." then licked his lips.

"you're insatiable." you replied, "but i'm not doing it on the couch. not while we have a bed." and you led johnny to the bedroom after you locked the front door to your flat.

the costumes were discarded, johnny made a joke about how you were the hottest plug there ever was. you in return threw your costume at him. which only made the scotsman laugh further.

he was behind you soon after, his strong arms wrapped around you. he kissed at your neck and you moaned loudly at the feeling of him up against you. his hard cock pressed against your lower back.

the thing about johnny being home from combat was, he was insatiable in the bedroom. spending months with other men and without you left him pent up and needy. he needed his mouth, hands and cock on you.

you ended up on the bed soon after with your lover next to you on the bed. you giggled and got up onto his waist. his cock was up against your stomach as you rubbed yourself up against his impressive length. johnny was quite big, in ways that could make your toes curl.

"i want you." he said, those rough hands up against your soft hips, "fuckin' obsessed with ya. better than any treat tonight." he rolled his hips up against you a little and you splayed your hands across his broad, scarred chest.

you giggled, "even better than the sour patch kids?" you groaned when you sank down onto his impressive cock.

he hissed through his teeth and held onto you. he replied, "mmm that's a tough one, hen. you're sweet and they're sour. hard to compare." he rolled his hips a little and felt the leap of pleasure in his chest.

you felt like a dream around him. always had. no matter how quick or how slow the sex was. johnny loved it all, he loved you dearly. you were his bonnie, his hen, the love of his life. you were everything he wanted wrapped up in a cute little bow. he licked his lips as you pressed more of your weight onto him. you could never crush him, no matter your size. but you could sure try, there was no other way johnny would want to go out.

the two of you moved together while you rode him. your nails gently grazed across your fuzzy pecs. he wasn't extremely hairy, but enough that it got you excited. he looked so manly and it made your heart jump. he was a pretty man. beyond handsome with an accent that made you excited all over. no matter how rough it was, it made your core drenched.

johnny was the kind of man to protect his girl. love you till the cows came home and the sun exploded. when he loved someone, he made sure they were deeply loved. you were the apple of his eye and no one else could take his gaze off of you. not even a heavy package of sour patch kids.

"there's my girl." he groaned as he moved against you. his hands tightly on your hips as the two of you moved together. it was hot and intimate. even though you two could map each other's bodies while blindfolded.

"i love you, johnny."

"i love you too, hen. you look really nice on top." he swallowed back a moan, 'ya know i love a women on top." he chuckled as his rough hands explored your skin, "so beautiful. but ya knew that, right? that you're the most beautiful woman this side of the atlantic. possibly the whole world." he groaned against you as the two of you continued your feverish pace.

to be close to johnny was always exciting. months apart at times left you needy for your significant other. to be close to johnny meant feeling an immense warmth from your beloved. your scottish angel. your little daredevil. you beamed at him as you continued to rut against him. you took him amazingly, like a champ. and he sang your praises as you came him finish time after time.

you raked your nails down his hairy chest and continued to move against him. he felt the pounding of want in his ears, the excitement of pleasure as the two of you moved together in heavy thrusts. the bed creaked under the both of you. johnny would have to admit, you looked better without the costume.

maybe next year you should go as mrs. mactavish, but that would be a discussion for later. for now he just felt up your hips and rutted against you. he explored your beautiful curves as he moved against you. he could feel the heat of want in his core as he thrusted up into you. you drove him mad, and he loved it. he loved everything about you.

because you were his whole world.

you didn't last much longer, the feeling of immense pleasure raced through you. you dug your nails into your lover and worked his cock faster until you clenched around him and came. your back arched and you whined.

"that's it." he groaned. he clutched onto you harder and continued to move against you. next time he'll find a different costume to fuck you in, maybe plug and outlet wasn't the best. he finished inside of you and you moaned loudly.

the pleasure rushed through both of you. you felt the fiery heat between you two. eventually you rested against your lover's chest and he threw a heavy arm over you. trapping you against his chest.

you two kissed and johnny smiled against your lips. <3

[nrdmssgs]

Hello! Could you do some headcannons or some characters reacting to this scenario?

So I was sitting on the floor with my bff and we are playing a game of sorts right? He's hella competitive so I look up and i see the hottest smirk on his face. Like his eyes are half litted and just foxlike as he smirked down at me.

Now the cod characters are obvi gonna be in different situations but for example like we are training and they get their ass handed to and they just look up to see the most cockyest hottest smirk possible on our face.

You can change things if you'd like! Thank you! - JAY

TF 141 + Nikolai reacting on (different) readers, having hot smug smirk

Masterlist This is pure fluff and comfort. Sometimes with romance, sometimes platonic. AN: Jay!! Thank you for being so patient with me) I really hope, I got your request right. But if I failed - feel free to paraphrase and resend it to me, so we can figure this out. Also: I loved working on this. So much fun!!

Captain John Price

"Come on, now you are just making up words!" Price lets out a cloud of cigar smoke in the air.

But you insist, it is a real word, since you were pretty proud, it was about to win you a game of scrabble against a native English speaker.

"Somebody, look this up, I have this feeling, there's a cheater in our ranks." Captain stretches his back and shoulders, while waiting for anyones confirmation.

"Ehm, it's actually a word." Gaz leans over the table where you and Price play and shows him something on the smartphone screen. Then he looks at the letters Price has left and whistles.

"Looks like you won, congratulations," Kyle pats you on the shoulder with that.

You clapped your hands loudly and jumped up from the table. "Yes! An hour and a half in that horrible chair, my back won't thank me, but it was worth it!"

The others turn at the sound of your voice and come over to congratulate you.

Price does not stand up, but takes another puff, watching your widening cocky grin.

When you finally approach him, holding out your hand for a friendly handshake, he gathers a few letter chips into his palm.

"Sir, it was a pleasure to ruin you on this fine evening!" You wait for a handshake, but he takes your wrist, flips your hand and gives you a few of his letters.

"Go on, professor, figure yourself, where you've made a mistake." He chuckles darkly, amused by your expression getting puzzled and lost.

You look at the letters in your hand, then at the playing field... And you don't understand what word can be formed from what John gave you.

"Need a hand?" Price squints. You nod, and he takes letters one by one from your hand and places them in the field.

"What... what does that mean?" As you ask, others, for some mysterious reason, diverge to the far corners of the room.

"Someone needs a lesson, I see," Price purrs "C`mere, this is a nasty one."

As you lean closer, he brushes hair off your ear and whispers, what does the word he has just laid out on the field, mean. And with every next his word, your face becomes more red.

"Now be a darling and do the math, so that your Captain knows with what score exactly did he beat you." Price stand up, cracks his back and leaves you alone at the table.

(Of course, he will return with tea and something sweet to cheer you up. He just wanted to teach you to never celebrate too soon.)

Kyle Gaz Garrick

He was always your biggest fan. From that time, you showed him your very first painting to this very moment, your local gallery declared your private selling exhibition open.

"I bet, I don't understand even one third of the meaning behind this one, but I'm in love. Just want to look at it every day," he confesses when you get closer to him.

"And you have a trained eye for a soldier. This painting is one of the most pricey ones." You fan yourself with a price list printed out for visitors. Kyle catches it in flight, quickly finds the picture in front of which you met in the list, and looks up at you.

"Jeez, after I retire - I'll ask you to teach me how to paint!" He finally lets go of the price list in your hand and gives you a warm and soft embrace. 'Famous Garrick signature hug' as you two used to call it always. The best hug, you could ever get.

"Congratulations," He huffs in your hair, not wanting to let go. "Can I already flex, that my best friend is a famous artist?"

"Oh, yes, famous artist, that has sold zero paintings yet." You chuckle, leaning back.

"You just wait, till I become a Captain, your works will all be sold, before they are even ready." Kyle is the only man able to illuminate any space with just his laugh. You wish, you could tell that to him, but it sounds banal and vulgar even in your head.

Later that evening, when someone approaches you and asks if that painting is still available, you shake your head in excuse.

Six months later, you celebrate Kyle's birthday. His colleagues gathered in a small and cozy local pub.

You all have known each other for a long time, so they all greet you warmly when you approach their table.

Kyle jumps up and hugs you with such a speed that you almost drop the present you were hiding behind your back.

"Happy birthday!" You smile and hand him a big flat box.

Suspecting nothing, Kyle opens it and freezes in shock.

"What, what is it? Gaz, what you've got?" Johnny MacTavish was agitated as usual.

"You can't..." Kyle looks from the painting to you. "You can`t give it to me..."

"Just did it, Garrick," a wide smile spreads across your face. The more times he looks from you to the painting and back, the more smug your grin gets.

He can't thank you enough. The whole evening, he keeps repeating, "You are crazy. Freaking psycho, I tell you... I promise, I'm gonna come up with the best present on your birthday."

As the others start heading home, Price calls Kyle over. "If this is not screaming to you, you have a chance with that girl, Gaz, I'll have to send you for your hearing screening before your next deployment."

Simon Ghost Riley

You hated weekly performance reviews. Others may find it terrifying, since the Lieutenant wasn't very generous with praise, but you just couldn't stand this infinite cycle. Because every week it was the same.

"Y/N, you already know what I have to say." "Yes sir. More confidence brings better results."

You two kept going over this exact dialogue for the last month. Week after week. "More confidence, Y/N".

This review went on as usual. You reacted on your name automatically. "Yes, sir."

When others started leaving his office, you too stood up and headed to the door.

"I asked you to stay, soldier." Ghosts low voice rumbles behind your back, making you frown. Yes, maybe you should have paid more attention to what was he saying.

You turn around and land on the first chair, you see. It was useless to try to come with excuse, why you almost sneak out of his office instead of following his command, so you prepare to obediently accept his condemnation.

But he instead takes a small box sealed in plastic from his desk and throws it on the table in front of you. "Open it. And read the rules out loud. I don't have a single idea, how to play this one."

"Sir? You want us... to play a card game? Am I missing something?" Instead of an answer, he gives a long look, that could make anyone frightened. Yes, when it came to the Lt, you never knew if this man just looking at you without any particular purpose or actually was plotting to end you.

So you unpack a deck of cards and read the rules. The game wasn't too complicated, but required strategic thinking and some understanding of behavioral patterns of the opponent.

You two play a pair of rounds, and then Ghost says 'enough with training, you win this time - you get a reward'.

"Wait, how? I don't think, I'm ready..." "Observe, memorize, analyze, react, don't forget to count the cards and believe in yourself." He looks you in the eyes and nods at the deck.

At first, you panic. Does he really expect you to beat him in a game where you have to manipulate your opponent? This is not a gullible and naive colleague - this is Simon 'Ghost' Riley - someone, whom you can't just read like an open book!

But at some point you notice a particular pattern in a way, he plays. And that leads you to an idea worth of the risk.

So you start carefully tinkering circumstances to make him do just what you want. And he follows to your surprise!

In a few minutes you understand, you got him trapped. There are only a pair of moves left to defeat Ghost.

"That's what I wanted to see," Ghost leans back in his chair a bit, not even looking at his hand.

You tense up a little, wondering why he's looking at your face instead of his cards, and then you realize you're smiling broadly, enjoying the approach of victory.

"Excuse me, sir." "No, keep that smile. Remember it. Never forget the smile, with which you beat 'the Ghost' you were so afraid of. And next time you feel insecure - put on that smile for a minute, ok? Now get on with it and win this round finally."

Johnny Soap MacTavish

"But Johnny! I'm in the mood for crimes!!" you whined, as he pulled you away from the garden fence.

"Na-a-ah, no crimes for you today, lassie. I'd hate it if you end up in prison." Soaps grip around your wrist was iron.

"One berry! I won't end up in jail for eating one berry, that I've found, by the way, outside this fence, because the bush overgrown through it!" You keep protesting.

"We'll, go on a farmers market and ill buy you a flippin` ton of those berries, you little rascal!" Johnny catches you by the waist and lifts you up in his arms with such ease, as if you weigh nothing. The longed-for berries, so affably peeking out from behind the neighbor's fence, turn out to be farther and farther away.

You see them off with a sad sigh. "But the stolen ones are always sweeter!"

Soap grumbles about how childhood hit you at the wrong time, but can't help but smile. He loves coming back from deployments and hanging out with you, just the same as when you two were kids.

Today you decided to go for a picknick on the nearest lake and on the way you decided that you just need to pick a few berries from the neighbors. The fact that the neighbors were not at home at that moment did not bother you, because 'CRIMES' as you happily shrieked.

As you reached the lake, Soap went for a quick swim, and you stayed to enjoy some rare for your region sun. You never understood, how he could swim in this ice-cold water.

When he came back and didn't find you anywhere near your picnic blanket, he grew suspicious.

His suspicions grew stronger when you emerged from behind the hill, grinning contentedly.

"Well, where have you been?" Johnny folded his arms across his chest.

"First, dry yourself, you will drip water all over our blanket!" You got close enough not to scream. Too close. Because he noticed your purple tongue.

"Show me your tongue." You froze at those words.

You took a few steps back, and he cocked his head to the side, as if he was trying to figure something out in his mind.

"I was gone for 10-15 minutes... Did you manage to run to that garden and back?"

Instead of answering, you jumped up and rushed away from him. But Johnny's reaction was lightning fast: he caught up with you in a couple of swift motions and put you on his shoulders.

"I'm getting half of my dress wet because of you!" you screamed, trying to escape.

"Not half," he answered with a mischievous voice.

You followed Soap's gaze and realized that he was carrying you towards the water.

"Johnny no..."

"Johnny, yes!" he grinned ominously.

Nikolai

"You're going down, MacTavish!" You swing with such force that you almost lose your balance. A snowball flies towards Soap and you hear a soft pop as it hits his face and spills over his jacket.

"Yes!! Still the champion! Still have it!!" With a wild grin, you twirl around in a tiny victory dance. Soap could be better than you on a firing range and at training fields, but when it came to snowball fights - you were invincible.

You've secretly waited for winter and prayed for a snowfall every year just to show Johnny, you are a force to be reckoned with.

So you really deserve this little moment of triumph.

You still smile when you hear Soap calling your name.

A satisfied sneer blooming on your face as you turn around... and freeze.

Johnny stands there as if nothing had happened, the smirk on his face almost as wide as yours. And a few meters behind him is Nik, shaking the snow from behind the collar of his jacket.

"You ducked?! That's not fair, Soap!" "Since when using my knees is not fair?" Johnny moves aside little by little.

You meet Niks unamused gaze and shrug. "I am so terribly sorry, Nikolai. I swear, this was an accident!"

"Accident, yeah? I see, you like playing with snow so much..." He finishes brushing off the snow and holds out his hand to you. "Come closer, I can teach you a thing or two about snow. Where I come from, we've had a lot of it."

You shake your head. "You can't, you are not my Captain." This should have sounded like a reasoning, but comes out more as a plea.

"Captain?" Nikolai shouts, "I need to teach one of your soldiers a lesson, is it ok with you?" "Is it Gaz?" Price's voice reaches you. "No." "No objections then! Take your time!"

You quietly curse as Nik turns to you once again. He points an index finger to you, then to the ground right before him, and forms an inaudible command. "You. Here."

The last part of his order is spoken out loud in a manner that doesn't leave you any choice. "Now."

[droughtofapathy]

"Welcome to the Theatre": Diary of a Broadway Baby

Follies in Concert

June 20, 2024 | Transport Group Theatre | Carnegie Hall | Evening | Concert | Series | 2H 20M

FOLLIES FOLLIES FOLLIES. THE HIGHLIGHT OF MY YEAR. THE HIGHLIGHT OF MY LIFE(?)

Last night, Carnegie Hall was New York's hottest gay club as every one of us turned up to weep over Sondheim's breathtaking score, played by a divine 30-piece orchestra. Fifty Broadway actors shared the roles and songs of this wonderful show, culminating in a lineup straight out of our wildest dreams.

Though we were robbed of a Donna Murphy triumph with "Could I Leave You?" due to filming schedule changes, we received the impromptu comedy show of the year as Beth Leavel grappled with a broken mic stand and brought the house down anyway.

Kate Baldwin as another eleventh-hour addition proved to be the best moment of the night. Her "Losing My Mind" will go down in history as one of the most divine we will ever hear. Not since Marin Mazzie has a theatre been so rapt, so silent, so in awe. She's always struck me as a Phyllis, but now proves she has the range.

Jennifer Holliday does what she wants, and what she wants was a smooth and seductive "I'm Still Here" full of gravitas even as she meandered far from the written notes and rhythms. She turned a five-minute showstopper into a nine-minute showstopper complete with a standing ovation to open up act two.

Karen Ziemba led six of our finest dancing Broads over sixty (or even seventy)(Mamie Duncan-Gibbs, Ruth Gottschall, JoaAnn M. Hunter, Dana Moore, Michele Pawk, and Margo Sappington) in a "Who's That Woman" original choreography to a standing ovation.

So many thrilling performances, one after the other. I am deeply in love with Barbara Walsh now, and it's honestly a crime she and Carolee Carmello were so underutilized by only having "Waiting for the Girls Upstairs" (Phyllis and Sally don't get much singing in that number, and it's a tragedy). I need to seriously contemplate the Barbara-Phyllis/Carolee-Sally dynamic immediately.

I am now dead. I have ascended. I will never come back to earth again. But the final tributes broke me. The reveal that Sondheim said in a private zoom reunion that Follies was his very favorite original score. The late Harvey Evans' epitaph. Original cast member Kurt Peterson ending the concert with "hey up there, way up there, what'd'ya say up there..." All of it underscored by Sondheim's brilliant work. I am in tears all over again.

Verdict: My Soul Transcended Space and Time

A Note on Ratings

Full set list below cut:

Opening Weissmann Monologue: Hal Linden Beautiful Girls: Christian Mark Gibbs Don't Look at Me: Katie Finneran and Marc Kudisch Waiting for the Girls Upstairs: Thom Sesma, Stephen Bogardus, Barbara Walsh, Carolee Carmello, Grey Henson, Ryan McCartan, Julie Benko, Hannah Elless Rain on the Roof: Klea Blackhurst and Jim Caruso Ah, Paris: Isabel Keating Broadway Baby: Adriane Lenox The Road You Didn't Take: Alexander Gemignani In Buddy's Eyes: Christine Ebersole Who's that Woman?: Karen Ziemba with Mamie Duncan-Gibbs, Ruth Gottschall, JoaAnn M. Hunter, Dana Moore, Michele Pawk, and Margo Sappington I'm Still Here: Jennifer Holliday Too Many Mornings: Norm Lewis and Nikki Renee Daniels The Right Girls: Michael Berresse One More Kiss: Harolyn Blackwell and Mikaela Bennett Could I Leave You?: Beth Leavel Loveland: Chorus You're Gonna Love Tomorrow/Love Will See Us Through: Fernell Hogan, Olivia Elease Hardy, Nina White, Miguel Gil Buddy's Blues: Santino Fontana with Lauren Blackman and Sarah King Losing My Mind: Kate Baldwin The Story of Lucy and Jessie: Alexandra Billings Live, Laugh, Love: Kurt Peterson (ft. John McMartin's original cane)

[maxwell-grant]

thoughts on the Penguin trailer ?

Still have a hard time believing this is happening and that Penguin is somehow gonna be the first comic book villain to get essentially TWO tv shows with him as the protagonist. Not bad, Ozzie, not bad at all.

Very glad to see his limp is more pronounced this time around, that's one of my favorite modern additions to the character. I like the gold teeth as well, they compliment his wretched grin quite nicely.

I have some hesitations regarding this teaser though mainly because Gangster Penguin is in general a concept I have some very mixed opinions of. This is very clearly aiming for that serious Prestige TV Gangster Show vibe, and that can be a bit hit or miss.

I think a lot of what's gonna make or break this show for me is how they paint the world around Penguin and how he contrasts from it. Because part of what works about this Penguin is that, besides the Tony Soprano and Fredo-becomes-Scarface of it all, they made his personality citing the likes of Bob Hoskins and Sydney Greenstreet to make him "a throwback Warner Bros gangster", which means he's quite a few steps removed from being anything like a "real" gangster. He is as much of a gangster as the old version of Penguin was a gentleman thief and swashbuckling nobleman, which is to say, he very much wants to be and can even pull it off in spades, but he's Oswald Cobblepot, awkward farcical counterpart to the actual main character of this world, so he's not quite there the way he would like to be.

The movie plays this that contrast a bit by setting Oz as the loudmouth movie gangster sidekick to Falcone, played to a far, far more chilling and real menace by John Turturro, and the show seems to be following suit with Sofia Falcone playing a "normal" crimelord opposite Oswald. The Falcones are generally incurably boring characters but I think this is a smart choice, making it so that the show's setting and supporting cast make Oswald stand out as uniquely bizarre (compared to the movie, where he was never going to top Batman and Riddler in that regard).

Sofia Falcone is not the hottest Batman woman of all time a giant who strangles cops as a kinder alternative to crushing their skulls like soda cans between her forearms, and therefore there's really no point whatsoever to adapting her. But unfortunately I'm gonna have to declare myself a Tumblr heretic and point out that the giant murdery lady might have not been the best choice here at this moment in time, if this show is gonna play on the idea of Penguin as a unique aberration among the regular mobsters trying to stop him.

Worst case scenario, assuming The Batman somehow was just a fluke, is that this is gonna be a fairly boring nothing of a spin-off focused on uninteresting gangsters warring it out and largely held together by Colin Farrell being a hoot. The more optimistic case scenario is that this is gonna be more of The Batman and The Batman's Penguin, which means this is gonna obviously rule, and best case scenario it might be, against the odds, a really, really good Penguin show, because so far, this is a really, really good version of The Penguin.

What they seem to be doing is zeroing in on Oswald's core as a hedonistic social climber with an almost perfect oily charm punctured with insecurities and self-loathing so strong they warp all the way around to an almost-maniacal overconfidence, spitefully driven to prove himself and take what he wants before a world that repeteadly puts him down as unworthy and lesser ("Da world aint built fer guys like us") and who almost succeeds enough to stop living in almost-weres for good. A Penguin who is both this laughably over-the-top waddling freak who gets into pissing contests with the Batmobile and this miserably human figure whose anger and bitterness comes from a deeply understandable place as a lifetime victim of ableism and violence.

They're taking this ridiculous loud parody of a person and infusing that with unexpected complexity, tragedy and grandiosity so the disconnect and contrast makes the character as intriguing to follow as he is fun to watch, a posturing and even pitiful jolly man who gives you a jolly shank between the ribs with unrelenting menace the second you start getting cozy to his charm and forget how dangerous and clever he is. Of course they have to give this guy a show, because that's The Penguin and The Penguin rules.

“He could have that mix of being incredibly, incredibly scary and volatile, and then all of a sudden, you’d see this vulnerable side that really made you feel for that guy". “So I really wanted him to play the character." The idea of getting to do the series and really sort of dive into the depths of who this character is and look at that moment where it’s kind of his Scarface moment. The moment where everyone’s underestimated him, he’s gonna reach for power in Gotham - Matt Reeves

You see that face and it's got, so much history, so much pain, so much violence in it [Matt Reeves] mentioned Fredo to me, because Fredo's crippled by the insignificance that he lives with. There is a kind of fracture at the core of Oz, which fuels his desire and his ambition to rise within this criminal cabal. Where that rise goes … - Colin Farrell

@davidmann95 brought up an idea they might be touching on, which is that in this setting, the Gotham mafia spent 20 years running the city with GTA cheat codes for Infinite Wayne Money, and Oswald happens to be stepping up to take power right at a time when they've been downgraded to a normal mob vying for power in a broken city where that's no longer gonna be the dominant power structure moving forward, because Batman defeated crime by cutting off the crime allowance and that's how we're getting super-crime times two with Clayface and/or Mr Freeze in Part 2.

They also have an Arkham show in development that further cements that changing structure of the rogues and freaks taking over, and so it's possible that this show is gonna be about what happens opposite that, the Gotham mobs trying to ride the tide with Surfing Jokers closing in and the two Falcone Juniors left in town racing to see who gets to be captain of the Titanic.

And this is getting even more into wishful thinking territory, but given how they intend to characterize Penguin in the ways he very much doesn't fit in seamlessly where he wants to and so has to claw and scrape and struggle his way there, and given that he's obviously gonna stick around where as Sofia Falcone and Sal Maroni and etc are all pretty much sealed,

And given how this universe is eever so slightly working it's way into more closer-to-comics elements such as Clayface and Mr Freeze, Arkham Asylum as a gathering hotbed of rogues, and Robin (which both Reeves and Pattison expressed a desire in adapting), it's possible then that the show is gonna be about Penguin becoming a [BIG SHOT] by adapting with the times and thus surviving them, unlike the other mobsters, and so becoming ever so slightly more like his comics self. They did say that Oswald is greatly ambitious and with big plans for the city, that he's capable of taking over power, and that the show is about him moving up from flunky to kingpin, so who's to say he's not gonna have to get creative?

And so what should have been routine business for Sofia and Maroni thrown off the rails by the intrusion of our laughing snorting Simpsons crimelord protagonist, just some weird oily nightclub manager that held Falcone's umbrella up until the city turned upside down and now he's somehow kicking their asses amidst his personal journey of figuring out that being a Godfather / Sopranos extra isn't gonna cut it anymore with all these Bat and Riddle Freaks blowing things up, and so Dah Nu Kengpeen of Gotdam becomes the rocket-powered umbrella genius stealing the seats of power from the kingpins-that-would-be while shouting PENGUIIIN!!! I GOTTA WIIIIIINNNN!!!

Well okay probably not the last part, but I think we're gonna be in for a good time with Mr.Boniface regardless.

[alicepao13]

Hudson and Rex S06E08

Another good episode. As a disclaimer, I’ve had a pretty specific idea of how this episode should be like, so I went in a little bit negatively predisposed. Also, these aren't in order. Sorry.

I remember the dead guy. He was in the episode with Meghan Ory’s character, the first one of the two.

“He’s dead. Are you happy?” Calm down, ma’am, you’re giving him reasons to be stupidly self-sacrificing.

Joe: Charlie no. Charlie: Charlie yes.

“We’re going to transfer all the inmates I’ve arrested out of the prison.” You’ll… what… now?

“I’ll find your killer and get rid of your drug problem”. And also fix your plumbing (oh, wait), clean your laundry, and create a gourmet menu for your prison.

Okay they did find a good reason for Rex to be in there. I'd still have preferred Charlie alone in prison and Rex investigating on the outside.

I hate this hairstyle. There, I said it. However, it’s more fitting to prison inmate Chuck than what Charlie has had all season so far as a cop. Which has actually been tolerable as an image despite not fitting the character, and I refuse to spend more time on that because I keep seeing it being commented on and when this keeps happening, I feel bad.

I think I know the actor who plays Charlie’s prison bunkmate but I can’t place him.

Charlie displayed a lot of badassery in this episode. Also, I think John Reardon did some good work acting wise in this one.

Charlie said “I love you”, “babe”, “you’re the hottest woman I’ve ever seen”, “sweetheart” to Sarah, and all of that while he was undercover in prison and through the phone??? Who do I talk to about this? How was there not a better moment for this? It’s like they wanted to throw these words out in the open in the least romantic way possible.

The way I hate “babe” and yet every single couple I ship is using it… They’re lucky I’ve been desensitized since Castle.

And Sarah’s facepalm on the other end lmao. It’s obviously not the first “I love you” at least. I wonder what she calls him.

I liked the instrumental music for the prison scenes. It was very much on point.

Damn, they put him in solitary for 24 hours. This couldn’t have awakened any claustrophobic feelings from a) the freezer b) the cave collapse, c) the coffin he was buried in d) the containers that almost turned him into a pancake? Come on, guys. Also, do they or do they not have solitary in Canada? It can’t keep changing according to the season.

Sarah worried because her idiot almost died in prison. Charlie finally (I might pass out) having a moment of weakness? Saying that he misses Sarah and Rex? I did not think I'd live to see it.

Jesse saying that they'd pull out Charlie if it gets too dangerous… This is way too optimistic. Realistically, he would have gotten shivved before anyone could do anything about it.

Rex totally wanted to maul that guy for injuring Charlie. Once again, why can’t we see him baring his teeth? German shepherds have scary canine teeth, they’re not just cute and cuddly.

I liked Joe as a guard. And interrogating the suspect, getting a bit handsy with him.

Detective Jesse Mills. Doing interrogations. Detecting lol

Bringing back a bad guy from S1? Interesting choice. I barely remember the guy. And wasn’t that episode like a collective fandom hallucination or something? When Charlie mentioned the guy had killed a kid I was like, oh so we haven’t seen that case. That’s how much I don’t remember that episode.

“Lots can change in that time” Charlie, you’re squeaky clean, bud. You tried to be “bad” in S4 and lasted for like four minutes.

Also, in every show I’ve seen, once a cop enters prison, no one cares whether he’s a disgraced cop. They’d want to kill him either way.

Either they shot the scenes of the prison yard in one day or it was raining all the days they had those scenes. Very gloomy weather, it added a bit of extra grime to the episode.

“Do you want to read the letters with me?” Absolutely not. He wants to go back home, hug his girlfriend and have a hot shower to wash the prison off of him. Maybe this all happened off screen already. I don’t care. I didn’t see it so it didn’t happen.

I liked the episode. It didn’t go my way at all but it’s understandable. I wanted some more danger towards the end, as people were catching on to the fact that Charlie was a cop. Also, Charlie had way too much communication with the team, I know it doesn’t make sense for me to not want that, but it also doesn’t make sense for an undercover cop in prison to be able to be in touch with almost every member of his team throughout the episode. Did I want a Charlie and Sarah scene in the end? Absolutely.

Promo: That is a pretty lame promo for what should be a character centric episode. It looks like a complete filler, devoid of character moements. I hope it will be a character centric episode and not a filler NCIS episode (because Navy). Hopefully it’s just lousy promo editing and not a lousy episode. Interesting choice for Charlie’s dad. And I know people might hate me for this, but I’ll say it anyway. I did prompt a few storylines to an AI model about Charlie facing off his dad, and the AI would always, always have his dad call him Charles. Fucking hell.

There’s no way Sarah is not meeting Charlie’s dad, right? I need to be reassured.

Dude seems so dismissive of Rex that I hope Rex bites him. He should be allowed to bite family members who are being assholes.

[prettybluelites]

Thoughts: Impossible Birds

Okay, to hold me over until Thursday, I'm going to rewatch and blather about each of the existing three episodes, one each, today tomorrow and Wednesday. It won't be true "reaction" because I'm on...oh, the 6th rewatch? But I'll try to cover the stuff I know I was thinking when I watched the first time.

Action right out of the gate. Love a good dream sequence. Rhys looking alarmingly Branagh-esque.

First lols of the new season: "You absolute twaaaaaaaaa..." and the tackle hug. That just looked like it hurt.

More on this bit in the previous post, where I wrote about "I Love My Baby."

This scenery was well worth the wait, goddamn

Not gonna lie, I'm not a fan of fart jokes, but it got them back to reality pretty quick. So I guess I have Wee John's farts to thank for the outstanding pacing so far.

THEY PIMPED THE SWEDE OUT TO JACKIE, omg, I fucking DIED at Roach practically pushing him into her lap. "He's single!"

Also lmao at Buttons' plaintive "May we go back to the sea now?" The flip side of "Are we there yet?" They really are just little children.

I know I'm supposed to be caught up in the "Trust No One" tattoo but I'm distracted by Taika's waist

Jesus Christ there's a lot to unpack in that wedding officiant's speech. "Elevate the common human rabble," yeeesh. I mean, I know that was a thing, like, "people of our standing" or whatever. But yeesh.

That close shot of Ed's eyes when he says "I'm the fuckin' devil"--that's something that grabbed me when I first watched the trailer. Or teaser, whichever it was. There's not a single glimmer of light there. He's so tired and broken and it's all there in his eyes.

The wedding raid is probably a vaguely inappropriate time to mention that Vico is still, as I believe Nathan Foad put it, the hottest human being on the planet

Obsessed with Archie

Obsessed with Susan/Zheng Yi Sao

Obsessed with Auntie

I'm not going to analyze the Izzy stuff much at this point because there's already been a lot of that and I haven't fully processed my feelings so right now I'm just going to leave it at, Con O'Neill is fuckin incredible

Swede has assimilated well, I see

Firm believer that everybody looks cuter when they're wet. Stede looks cuter but mostly sadder

"Could be, could be, mate" - I screamed

Ricky is obviously ew and I hated sitting there helpless while he played Stede like the proverbial fiddle

Stede's look when Swede says "husbandly duties," equal parts Oh no, TMI and Aw, that's our lil boy

Feels wrong not to say anything about Izzy's sort-of confession to Ed, but like I said, I'm still processing. Did I mention Con is incredible?

Taika is scary in the scene that follows, it's actually kinda hard for me to watch, but goddamn he nails it. When can this show win all the Emmys it deserves?

Fun fact, the lime rickey was invented in 1883 :D

Leslie Jones is awesome and gorgeous, and I love Jackie and Susan squaring off in this scene

I absolutely love that Jim, the orphan raised by a nun to be a killing machine, is the character that has made me laugh the hardest, like until I literally cried, on every single viewing of this season so far. And Fang and Archie laughing at Jim's telling of the story just adds to the moment, there's so much joy in the middle of that awful, awful situation they're all in.

And on the other hand is Ed's speech about the bird, just heartbreaking, especially the way he's gasping his way through it. Treading water, waiting to drown.

The song here is fucking gorgeous too, they just keep hitting the soundtrack out of the park

I love soup too, friends.

And here endeth the episode, not including the extended bit of Jim's Pinocchio story, but I've said all that needs saying about that.

Stay tuned for Episode 2 tomorrow!

[pettyshippen]

Ok Class is Back In Session Cause I’m Drinking Boba Tea and Watching Liberty’s Kids

Bostonians

I just chocked on my boba

What if James and Sarahs first time boning was in a coach while the soldiers were asleep?

“You’ll see them after we’re married.” She tells him to make him anticipate the wedding day even more

BEN CAN WIGGLE HIS FUCKING EAR?

JoHn QuInCy

Henri burned his finger lmfao

Cute little family reunion that Sarah watched from a window

“What do you know about French?” BECAUSE HE IS FRENCH DUMBASS

Henris found his match with John Quincy.

So James is cool just traveling the colonies by himself for newspaper articles.

Yeah Abby is disappointed with John

James is just casually riding with men burning wheat fields

Make Henri and John Quincy look more like teenagers, it will instantly become the hottest ship of the fandom

Wow, Abigail is giving off Eliza Hamilton. Take a fucking break John.

Oh fuck they burned that village tf

Attacking an indigenous village over some misinformation is so fucked up

Alright were catching toads now

“You see with a white mans eyes” BURN

“I will fill your belly with a tale if the English”

This could have been a moment where Abigail started praising Sarah for being so brave all her life despite everything she had been through.

Wait Indigenous people went to Europe?

How in the FUCK did they tie a fucking FLY to a twig!

“I dub thee King George” RIBBIT 🐸

Well at least John asks his wife for her opinion

And she lets Henri read her letter

And then John said bye fam it was lit

Benedict Arnold

*internal screaming*

The villain of Sarahs story

SPIES

That reminds me, I just started watching Turn and I love it so far. I still haven’t gotten to any Benedict or Peggy scenes yet.

Peggys wig

“How many rats is in that nasty weave of yours”

Ah so they’re splitting up

James is fascinated af with spies probably thanks the Nathan

Omg I’ll totally have breakfast with you George

Benedict Arnold could definitely be a Disney villain.

Gaston combined with Frollo

God damn it Arnold.

Oops, bye Andre

The moment James realizes Arnold switched sides, he realized he would need to protect Sarah from him.

“I never argue with my wife” I think you do

“Why did General Arnold just ride off now?”

That gasp

Imagine the shot where you see Sarahs reaction to Arnolds betrayal and you can see angry tears

And then she goes on to write one of the most passionate articles in American history where she compares Arnold to Judas.

“He seemed so thrilled when I told him I had become a patriot. I wonder if he had already become a traitor.”

“You did it for liberty. Arnold did it for money and ambition and he didn’t care who would suffer or die for it.”

Dear I am a pest ok that was funny

[kicksaddictny]

Roc Nation Label Unveils Second Mixtape Series with PUMA  

Roc Nation and PUMA have teamed up to roll out the second iteration of their collaborative Mixtape Series series.  

In celebration of the launch’s intersection with the 50th Anniversary of Hip Hop this year, Roc Nation Label will debut an exclusive mixtape project featuring brand new music from the label’s hottest emerging rappers and the industry’s burgeoning producers. Cultivated as the first-of-its-kind, the collaborative project pays homage to the intersectionality between hip hop and streetwear culture.  

The bespoke, Mixtape Roundtable content piece examines the legacy, influence and future of the mixtape. Roc Nation’s Mixtape Roundtable brings together moderator and former Roc-A-Fella Records A&R, Wayne “Wayno” Clark with platinum recording artist and producer DJ Clue, leading media personality Nyla Symone, Harlem rapper Jim Jones, southern hip hop pioneer DJ OG Ron C, mixtape mogul DJ Holiday, and creative visionary serving as Roc Nation’s Senior Vice President Lenny “Lenny S.” Santiago.  

The roundtablepremieres tomorrow, June 27on YouTube.  

“My job is to always help open doors for those around me,” said Emory Jones who also served as executive producer on the project. “I feel like the young talent we have on this Mixtape are part of the future but more importantly they are all humble souls. Being humble sometimes helps you find that greatness within. It helped me put myself in this position to be able to do this project. It’s an honor and a pleasure to now call this our Mixtape!”  

"I'm grateful that we could help bring Emory's vision to life,” said Roc Nation co-president, Omar Grant. 

“This mixtape release is an ode to the eras of hip hop and speaks to the power of collaboration,” Roc Nation Label co-president Shari Bryant added. “This will be a defining moment to push the culture forward through music and fashion. The culture brought us this far and it’s in good hands with this new generation of artists!”  

In tandem with the Mixtape Roundtable, Roc Nation Label will also be launching a new limited content series celebrating and examining mixtape culture, tapping prolific figures in hip hop. The content will also arrive in tandem with an array of immersive in-person activations through the summer to commemorate the launch.  

As part of their second Mixtape series together, Roc Nation Label and PUMA are also partnering with designer, Alexander John to release a new collaborative sneaker celebrating mixtape culture this summer. More details will be shared in the weeks ahead. Fans can also expect an exciting lineup of additional PUMA x Roc Nation Label activations to roll out in the coming weeks in celebration of the launch.  

[moonyslove78]

@liz-allyn

G’dammit Liz! I changed clothes once already before I started reading… now I gotta change the fuckers again! 🥵🤯

Okay, I have a little bit to unpack here sooooo… here’s the tea…

First and foremost;

But I fucking love it and I’m deceased. 😵

Now secondly;

I love Miguel. I will want retribution for whomever ambushed him, but more so because his being ambushed interrupted one of the HOTTEST mutual masterb*tions I’ve EVER read!

I absolutely lived for this scene period. The praise/encouragement wasn’t just turning Honey on… 🥵

And the fact that he referred to himself as ‘Daddy’. Like holy fuck… 😵‍💫

Though they have a LONG way to go, I feel like these little moments are a step in the right direction for their relationship. Maybe I’m reading too far into it but I feel like these may be moments she’s shameful of in after the fact but maybe she’ll look back on them as more than what it was. This was her, yes maybe slightly manipulated, opening up to him. And not just in the dirty sense, but her soul bared as well. The most vulnerable positions to be put in and she initiated that!

Peter opening up about listening to her when she’s pleasuring herself was equally as dirty and vulnerable too though. Admitting to her how hard it is for him not to make a move and just be pinning Peter Parker with his hand on his dick…. 😅 someone stop me! I told you this scene was fucking phenomenal!

Next on the agenda;

Wtf John?? 😡

Can someone just kill this douchebag abusive asshole already!?

…I’ll gladly volunteer to be the perpetrator! 🙋🏻‍♀️👀

Just when I thought I couldn’t hate him anymore he goes and pulls those stops! Fucking dickhead makes it easy to wanna destroy him, that’s for sure! And I feel like this means he either has the whole penthouse wiretapped/bugged with hidden cameras… or there’s another rat besides Honey that they didn’t know was aware of what was going on on that couch…

Well, maybe strike the ‘another rat’ part. I refuse to believe she’ll continue to go through with this, and am praying eventually she gains the courage to be honest with Peter with John’s threats or at the very least stop John herself by feeding him the wrong information and throwing him off track… then when he comes after her to punish her for doing so, Peter can kill his ass then…but maybe I’m going out too much on a whim there…

I feel like things with Mr. Walker are about to get messier than what we all assume and tbh it terrifies me! I just want them to communicate with each other better and obviously Honey does too, but like how could she tell Peter the truth after all that has happened that she’s “to blame for” because of this Asshole’s threats and blackmail over her!

I also would love to know if Peter knows about John. Like I doubt he KNOWS about John in the sense that he’s puppeteering Honey to do his dirty work while he sits by sending idle threatening messages and pictures her way. But like, in the sense of him knowing she had an abusive past with her ex and that he’s still around to do damage to her mentally and physically?

I say this because I feel like his “Y’know I’ll protect you…” comments weren’t just directed at the fact that she had a run in with Danny the night before or that she has a toxic relationship with her mother. Or that he flashed back to her asshole of a boss that he did away with before he even had her to hisself. I felt like there was something underlying in his affectionate yet sharp toned admission that he cares for her more than anything and he’d protect her against anyone.

Which gave me chills and made me want to sob all at the same time, btw. 😫 I just wanted to hug him there and tell him how pure yet terrifying he sounded under the circumstances.

I know your warning was to NOT date a mob boss. But Peter is my exception to the rule because I just wanna wrap him up in a blanket and hold him when he’s going through it, while simultaneously wanting him to go feral and bend…. Well you get the idea… 💡

Whooooops! My wishful thinking made me put that there… I swear! 😬 (as well as maybe my unhealthy obsession with wanting to read about Peter and Honey finally being physically intimate… 🫣)

And Lastly;

Though I’m working on my fourth cup of coffee for the day, and it’s midnight, I think my brain is awake enough for me to put my feelings into words… so here it goes…

I’ve said this many times before, and I’ll probably say it again and again before you end this series… these two people maybe deeply flawed. They may have been burned one too many times and have massive issues with trust, communication, anger and many others. They may both have some highly toxic traits that reverberate off each other in waves due to the previous mentioned issues… but the one thing that is plain to see and I think they’re both beginning to see it too… they both care quite deeply. Not just in general, but about each other.

Peter telling her that she’s worth fighting for and that he wants her to see and understand that was one of those times that as someone who has survived an abusive/toxic relationship, I yearned to hear yet when I was finally presented with, I fought so hard to believe fully. That I was worth anything, really. He genuinely just wanted her to know that she has him. But he knows that she needs to believe that she deserves that, because he needs the same thing.

This whole series you’ve written these two so beautifully. So precise to their traumas and issues. And those little sneak peeks of one of them understanding what the other is going through and needs, shows just how accurately you’ve done that.

I know I say a lot about wanting to see what their happy ending (cause goddddd, I pray it’s a happy one! 😩) will be, but in all honesty I’m just excited to see their character development and growth from beginning to end. Because for as deeply flawed and toxic as they have been, I feel like that’s just an indication of how much they’re falling for each other and how damn hard they’ll love each other in the end. (I hope… 😅

Oh, and one more thing;

Pleaseeee let them fuck ASAP…. 🙏🏼 - signed Kacie’s Brain’s unhealthy obsession with needing this to happen

Also, I love you! ❤️ Please continue doing what you’re doing because you’re absolutely fucking killing it!! This whole series and specifically this chapter was just MWAAAAHH 😚🤌🏻 *chefs kiss*

🌕✨

sugar and vice, pt. 13 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: Peter teaches Honey a lesson.

words: 9.5 k

chapter warning: smutty dubcon spicyness (masturb*tion), references to drug use, manipulation, more john walker, graphic but brief reference to animal cruelty

series warnings: mob-typical violence, bang bang shoot shoot, whump. hurt/comfort. sexual situations. spousal abuse. family trauma. drug use. coercion. manipulation. kidnapping. gore. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

Don't date a mob boss. Please. For real.

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but butterfly hair clips and stretchy plastic chokers are not a new trend and if you did not know that, this isn't the right time for you.

Back to Part 12.

Part 13

A vibration stirred Honey awake. She had been sitting on the floor of her room, back against the bed, and must have fallen asleep. Still wearing the bathrobe from the night before, she rubbed the drool from her mouth, only feeling slightly better than the first time she’d woken up that morning. 

Slowly, more pieces of the previous night were clearing up. She couldn’t remember the details or the context of what was said, but what she could remember terrified her. And that’s before she saw Peter shooting up in his office like a heroin addict. The sight deeply frightened her. Considering she was trapped in the penthouse with no one else, she did the only thing she could think of. 

Hide.

Another vibration jolted her into action. The sound itself made her panic, as she thought she had silenced any possible notifications coming into her contraband phone. She didn’t get texts often. Most of the conversations were one-way, her divulging sensitive information so that John could steadily build a case against Peter. Or maybe even get him killed.

It made her sick to think about. 

Even worse, if John was texting her, that only meant one thing. He was angry.

She dug her fingers beneath the mattress, in the gap inside the box spring. Once she pulled the device out, she glanced down at the screen. Her eyes were alert, blinking through the blurriness.

> u up?

She scoffed. “Gross.”

Before she could toss the phone, another message popped up on screen.

> someone had a wild night last night.

A chill shot down her spine. Instantly, her list of fears was renumbered, threats reprioritized in the correct order. John Walker was always at the top.

> of course i know. don’t be so surprised, peach. I know everything

> you looked like you were having a good time.

She swallowed back shards of glass as she gazed down at the taunting blue and white screen. 

> don’t forget. you have a job to do. 

Her eyes burned. Tears built up behind her eyelids. ‘A good time,’ he called it. It was an amazing experience, unlike any she’d ever had. She couldn’t remember a time she had ever felt so carefree. She recalled the blissfully warm memory as an overwhelming sense of peace. A feeling of euphoria. Of power, even. 

What a joke. She had no power. Never did. 

> where was eddie brock last night?

A knock at her door almost threw her into cardiac arrest. “Honey?” 

She dropped the phone immediately, the device clamored to the hardwood floor. She shot up, coming to a hurried stand, as the doorknob twisted.

The door opened. Peter was in the gap, having changed clothes into a different suit. 

He looked better than he did earlier when she spied on him in his office. ‘Better’ meant he didn’t look demonic. The whites of his eyes were visible again. The ‘tattoos,’ or whatever they were, had vanished. However, he didn’t look healthy; his skin was dull, an unusual milkiness to it, save for the dark shadows that carved out his eyes. His cheeks were sunken in, like he’d hadn’t eaten in days. The once-amber hue of his irises was faded, charred into blackened ash.

The sight of him pulled a slight gasp from her lips. She could’ve played it off as simply being startled. Truthfully, she was horrified; the mad fluttering of her heart gave her away. Not just at his presence, but at the phone hidden behind the bed, resting on the hardwood at her feet.

She clenched her fists as her sides. He eyed her with confusion. “What’re you doin’ on the floor?” he asked.

Rigidly, she dared not blink or avert her eyes. “Um... I... I don’t feel good.” That much was obvious, based on her appearance. Red-eyed, dehydrated, skin clammy. She fretted at her nose, finally breaking her unblinking stare. “Sorry, I... I’m still, um, I’m a little hungover. From last night. I think.”

When she looked back at him, a deep crease formed between his brows. He looked away, chewing his lower lip between his teeth. Nodded silently. “You need anything?” he asked, still not really making eye contact.

“Um... no,” she said, shoulders relaxing a bit. “I’ll be fine. I think I’ll just—” 

“Need you downstairs,” he replied with a flat tone. It was like all of the affection she felt budding between them had disappeared. Sprouts frozen and stagnated by a cold snap overnight.

“Oh.” Her stomach felt like it was made of rocks. 

His eyes were fixed on the doorknob, ever once reaching hers. “Get dressed. We have to talk.” Without waiting for a reply, he disappeared from the doorway, the door vibrating as it slammed closed again. 

It felt like she was 12 years old, being told that if she couldn’t keep up with her chores she didn’t get to eat with the rest of the family. Or to eat at all. 

Physically, the reaction was identical. She bit down to keep her lower lip from wobbling, dread twisting her insides. A loud rattle at her feet spooked her. It was louder than a cymbal crash in her anxious state. 

She dropped to the floor again to silence her phone, getting a look at the two new messages waiting for her.

> stop me if you’ve heard this one before...

> what sound does a bitch make in the microwave?

Heart thudding steadily, she gazed at the phone with confusion. “What?” she whispered, beneath her breath. Brows furrowed. Is this a joke? What kind of weird joke—?

> give up?

She had no time to reply. But that was the point he was trying to make.

> poor old mrs. nimitz could tell you.

It took less than two seconds for her to derive his cruel meaning, and her stomach lurched at the implication. She slapped her hand over her mouth, feeling bile crawling up. A shiver racked her whole body, budding tears spilling down her cheeks.

Peace. What a joke.

Walking through the penthouse was eerie. All of the motorized blackout shades outside of her room had been drawn shut, turning the day into night. The entire space was cast into a dark shadow with only dim lamp lights to guide the path. She had the urge to tiptoe, like she was sneaking around a funeral home.

As she approached the doorway to Peter’s office, her stomach began to clench with trepidation. She could hear two voices.

“You keep forgetting,” she heard a deep voice that was not Peter’s say, “the Rand name still holds weight. Now you’ve got the Meachums coming after you. They already had the club shut down, got the alcohol license revoked in record time—”

“I don’t care about that,” Peter’s voice responded, heavy with guilt. “I care about what happens to Miguel and Jessica. I didn’t know there was a gun.”

Creeping closer to the door, she spotted two figures in the lounge area of the dark office. 

Peter stood with head lowered and arms crossed, eyes downcast. Across from him, seated on a nailhead leather sofa, was a suited, brown-haired man wearing rounded sunglasses. The sunglasses were an odd choice to her, considering the room was so dark. As soon as she spotted the white cane in his left hand, it made sense.

Honey didn’t recognize the man, but Peter looked comfortable in front of him. The man wore a wine-colored, slim-fit tailored suit (Ralph Lauren, Purple Label, probably—she was getting better at this) with a black skinny tie, and a champagne silk pocket square.

“We can argue it was self-defense,” the blind stranger replied. 

“It was self-defense,” Peter answered firmly. “Miguel’s not a killer. Not like—” He swallowed hard, dropping the sentence. “They wouldn’t have fired unless they were firing back.”

“Doesn’t matter, Pete,” he answered. “There was a shooting inside of a nightclub packed with people, the sound of which triggered a crowd rush. People got hurt. One of Rand’s bodyguards was murdered. DA’s not gonna see it any different. He’ll try to come down hard on this. Not to mention, you have a friend at the police station with a personal vendetta—”

Peter spun on his heel, simmering with rage. “If he wants it, he can come and take it!” he boomed like a crack of thunder. His voice echoed in the large office, and she gasped beneath her breath. The blind man stayed quiet despite the outburst. 

Cooling his temper, Peter paced anxiously in front of the man. “Alright, what’s the hold up on the bail situa—”

The man on the couch gently lifted his free hand, bringing up his outstretched palm. Peter observed the gesture as ‘stop’, and he ceased his conversation. And then both men could hear it.

Her heartbeat raced just outside the door. “S’alright,” Peter announced, his back to the doorway. “Come in, Honey.” Her limbs locked up immediately, unsure how he could even see her. Regardless, her feet were already carrying her forward through the threshold, as if a whistle had been blown. 

She might as well have a collar around her neck, she thought. She crept in, tail between her legs, her eyes flicking anxiously between her master and the stranger. 

Peter looked up at her for the first time, and she had to fight to keep herself from shaking. “This is Mr. Murdock. He’s a good friend of mine.”

A pleasant smile had replaced the stranger’s grim expression as he came to a quick stand. “Call me Matt, please,” he declared, dripping with suaveness. He gracefully extended his open hand in her direction. She stared at it blankly before quickly moving across the room to return the gesture.

“Um, hi...” There was a squeakiness to her own voice that she loathed.

Matt nodded warmly, taking her hand and giving her a firm handshake. “Very nice to meet you, Miss.... uh...?”

“—Honey,” she answered, muscles rigid. 

Peter’s head tilted in her direction, and she briefly caught a glance of his eyes before he turned away. She clarified, feigning confidence, “‘Honey’ is fine.”

Matt raised his brows with surprise. “Honey,” he repeated, considering the response with curiosity. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Matt’s a lawyer,” Peter muttered, pocketing his hands, as he faced his body toward the window shades. “Best in town.”

Matt blushed at the praise. “Please. We at Nelson, Murdock & Page have been fortunate, that’s all.”

Nelson, Murdock & Page. She recognized the name from the billboards. Subway ads. TV commercials. And the 52-story building on 8th Avenue, overlooking Hell’s Kitchen, where the names of the partners were lit up by 25-foot letters. The name was synonymous with success, she had once overheard someone say so while working at the coffee shop. 

If Peter was a friend, all the law firm’s success came with a cost. Matt Murdock looked like he could afford to cover the bill and then some.

“What happened to Miguel?” Honey questioned warily. “Is he okay?”

Matt pursed his lips. 

Peter answered her, “He’s fine. He and another friend of ours... just had a little misunderstanding with the cops.” 

Honey spotted the way Matt shifted at the response. 

“But we’re on it,” Peter added. “Nothin’ to worry about. He’s safe.” 

Matt twitched again, gripping the head of his cane firmly. Honey didn’t need to see this action to know it was a lie. 

She glanced between the two men, unsatisfied. “What’s going on?” she asked nervously. “Is this about last night? About... that guy?” 

Tight-lipped, Peter looked away, pacing towards the window. Honey dug her thumbnail into her palm, wringing her hands anxiously. “If-If he wants me to apologize or something, I can—” 

It was like he was shocked with a cattle prod. Peter snapped his head in her direction, eyes stern. 

“I-I mean, if he’s pressing charges or something,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean to-to make a fuss.”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” He spat out each of his words like rotten fruit, glowering at her.

The irate tone of his voice was familiar, but not from him. She wanted to swallow her tongue, staring back at him with wide eyes. “I... I don't want anyone to get in trouble—”

Brows pinched together, he stared incredulously at her for what felt like forever, jaw clenched tight. Subtly, she began to squirm under his hardened glare. “Matt,” Peter said softly, “could you excuse us?”

“Of course,” he said without hesitation, buttoning up his maroon suit jacket. He turned to Peter, “I have a car waiting for us outside. I’ll be ready when you are.” With a friendly bow of his head towards Honey’s direction, he took the cane and strode out of the room. 

Peter was dead silent until long after he disappeared from view. Moments before, he couldn’t (or wouldn't) look at her. Now, he roasted her with his gaze.

“Um,” Honey cleared her throat when the tension was too much. “Look, I-I want to say—”

“What do you remember about last night?” The question was thrown at her like she was in an interrogation. 

There were flashes of memories, some vivid, others blurry. Most of the words were cloudy. But the emotions were there, and they terrified her.

She gulped. Took a few shallow breaths. “I-I… I remember having a few drinks. And… and then I made Eddie give me something to-to take the edge off because there were so many people... and-and too many sounds, and I just don’t—I mean, I’m not making excuses. That’s—It’s my fault. Eddie didn’t want to, and I made him—”

“I’m not talkin’ about the drugs,” Peter snipped her sentence short, an edge of agitation returning. “I don’t care about the fact that you got high. I don’t care about any of that.” He fixed her with an intense gaze. “What do you remember about what happened next?”

She blinked, her heart beating hard enough to feel in her throat. 

What happened next? 

A hurricane of blurry images, punctuated by heartwrenching emotion. Like the fading outline of a nightmare. 

Which nightmare did he want to hear about first?

Was it her overwhelming guilt from spying on Peter? Was it the terror, like she was walking a tightrope across the Grand Canyon, every time her phone buzzed? Or the urge to run to the nearest church and pray away whatever evil possessed him when he stuck that needle in his arm? 

Was it confusion about what her heart wanted, one hand reaching out for him while the other sought to stab him in the back? Half wanted to dunk him in holy water, the other half of her wanted to reach out and touch—

A gasp caught in her throat. Another distinct memory came to light. 

Lust. Heated, unapologetic debauchery. It left a filthy sensation, a film congealing on her surface, like she’d spent a week locked in a room watching nothing but porn. Sin oozed from her brain, spinning her dizzy, bending her over, and presenting her cunt in the air to be fucked hard by any willing passerby.

She had wanted it to be Peter. 

Her face felt like it was on fire. He must have noticed because he broke his gaze, eyes suddenly downcast. A tidal wave of shame crushed her. 

“Do you remember,” he asked, more gently, “when you were assaulted?” She blinked, observing the concern in his gaze when he looked back at her. “When Rand put his hands on you?”

She blinked a few more times. Yes, she remembered that. Clear as day. She remembered the sudden urge to scream, cry and vomit all at once. She remembered Peter punching Danny and how scared and disgustingly satisfied it made her feel. She remembered Peter ordering his crew to protect her like she was Helen of Troy—not a slutty, mob mistress fucked-up on a little THC.

Her lower lip began to quiver. “I… I shouldn’t have been in there. I-I was out of my mind, and if I hadn’t—”

“Don’t,” his voice cracked like thunder. He sucked in a breath to silence himself, face contorting into a grimace. “Don’t finish that sentence. I swear to god, if you tell me that nothing woulda happened to you if you hadn’t been in there—”

“I’m sorry!”

“What are you sorry for?!” 

His voice echoed, crackling with ire. She flinched at the noise, tears welling up in her eyes. He fumed, and as if he spit acid in her face, he sealed his mouth with his palms. Spun on his heel and paced madly. The wolf was back, hackles up, canines dripping with aggression.

Her heart thrummed in her throat, her eyes like saucers. When he looked back at her, his face was twisted sourly. Exhausted. Heartbroken. He dragged his fingers through the scruff of his beard, and stepped towards her. 

“Why don’t you get it, huh?” he said, quiet and grim. Eyes desperate. “Why can’t you see it?”

As he leaned into her, she instinctively leaned back. Tears budded at the corners of her eyes. “I don’t—I don’t know what—” 

He held up both hands, silencing her. She hiccuped in distress. “Honey,” he said, calmly attempting to bite back his frustration, “when are you gonna learn that you’re worth fighting for?”

Her breath hitched. His dark gaze was fixed on her. 

“Why can’t you understand that there’s nothing on this Earth that I care more about? That I would do anything to protect?”

She stared up at him, wordlessly. He inched closer until she was within arm’s length. 

“I’ll fight for you. I’ll protect you. But Honey…” he sighed heavily, “I can’t save you from yourself.” Pity marked his features, eyes glistening. “I can’t fight the bad guys and the voice in your head. The one that tells you it’s okay for some prick to grab you and get away with it. For some asshole boss, your crazy mother, or anyone else to talk down to you. To make you feel unworthy of common fucking decency.”

Despite the affection of his words, all she could focus on was the way he hissed at the end of the statement. 

Her eyes fell to the floor in shame. Hot tears pooled behind her lids. “Did Miguel shoot someone?” she murmured mournfully. 

He nodded. “Yes.”

Wiping a tear from her cheek as it fell, she sniffed back her anguish, voice lined with disdain. “Because of me? Because I freaked out?” She sounded so small. Powerless. She hated the sound. “I don’t even remember what happened. Maybe nothing happened at all, maybe he didn’t even touch me—”

Like a thunderbolt, Peter slammed his fist on the edge of the couch. She let out a squeak as the pine frame cracked beneath his hand. She jolted upright and then ducked her head immediately. He fumed silently. Glared down at the floor. Nostrils flaring. Rooted in place for ages.

The sound of his heavy exhale compelled her to peek up at him beneath her lashes. He lifted his chin, eyes cast downwards, and tensely declared, “You can lie to yourself all you want. But I told you. Don’t ever lie to me.”

She hugged herself tightly, restraining a tremble. Mouth agape. Tongue twisted uselessly. He didn’t wait long for a response.

“I-I gotta go,” he said. Peter rubbed the back of his hand across his chapped lips. He looked disoriented, overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. He tugged on the edges of his slate-gray sportcoat, eyes focused on everything but her. “Won’t be back for a while. M’goin’ to the precinct.”

She tensed, eyes wide. “You’re going to the cops?”

Still, he kept his eyes down. She wasn’t sure whether it was defensiveness or disgust that prevented him from looking at her. 

“Don’t wait up for me.” 

Without any room for discussion, he marched out of the room. Stopping for nothing. Leaving her alone. 

Stupefied, she stood in his office feeling like the ground was trembling beneath her feet, and she’d be sucked into a sinkhole at any moment. 

Despite this, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

They were supposed to have a date.

Peter felt like he was sweating all over. Never mind the fact that it was a bitterly cold day. He shuffled from the elevator towards a blacked-out SUV idling in the underground garage. Every step was shaky, like he was balancing upright on a plank in the middle of the Atlantic. An ache radiated from his organs. Could’ve been starvation or salmonella. Never in his life had he ever been so ravenous and so wrecked by nausea.

One of his guards was already at the back passenger door, opening it for him as he approached. With little more than a tense nod, he crawled into the backseat where Matt was waiting.

“You feelin’ okay?” Matt asked. His tone was light amidst the heavy circumstances. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you smell like a gym locker room.”

“M’fine.” The car lurched forward. Bile scaled up his tongue. Peter crouched in on himself, eyes fixed on the window.

“Yeah,” Matt scoffed. “Sure.”

He murmured coldly, “You let me worry about me.” 

“Hey, you called me,” Matt frowned teasingly, tossing his hands gently in surrender. “And for the record, I advised you not to go through with this.”

“Not gonna leave them to rot—”

“I’m saying we need to be strategic, is all. Chances are, we can get Jessica released today. Miguel is another story.”

Peter acknowledged that Matt was very good at his job. He could smell guilt. He could hear the pulse pattern of a lie. There was no hiding anything from the man, and it created a completely transparent relationship that Peter clung to. It was rare.

An uncomfortable silence fell between them as Peter contemplated his reflection in the glass. 

The lawyer spoke after a few moments, clearing his throat. “So. That’s her, I assume?” 

There was an ominous inflection in his voice. The idea of Matt’s attention being called to the woman in his penthouse made his skin prickle. Felt clammy. He squirmed in his seat, rolling his neck and shoulders. 

“Yeah.”

A pause. “She seems sweet.”

“She is.”

“That’s good. Great.” 

Another stretch of silence followed with Matt holding his tongue between his teeth. They both could sense each other’s distress, in the air and in their ears. Peter debated further attempts to conceal his fluctuating heartbeat. He needed to save up his energy. 

It was hopeless cause anyway. Matt saw everything.

The lawyer let out a heavy exhale, weighed by grim reality. “You know she’s hiding something from you, right?” 

Peter didn’t react. Brows furrowed, he simply stared into space. 

Matt was very good at his job. 

“Yeah. I know.”

Honey was making lists again. Montgomery. Juneau. Phoenix. Little Rock.

State capitals. Alphabetical by state. Sacramento. Denver. Hartford. Dover.

Fifty cities for fifty states. She counted to fifty and repeated the action, over and over, until she could sing them to a tune she composed.

It didn’t do anything to ease the dread in her belly.

The rest of the afternoon since Peter left her alone went by agonizingly slow. She purposely avoided her bedroom, where her phone was well hidden. She avoided the bed she shared with Peter. Avoiding any intimate space whatsoever.

The standard crew contracted to clean and maintain the condo came and left, as they did three times a week. Though she tried, the language barrier made having a conversation with anyone impossible. 

The more she thought about it, she wondered if the staff was capable of conversation all along, but they’d been instructed not to talk to her. The guards certainly didn’t, even as they lurked in the hallways like ghosts.

The best conversationalist in the entire house was Rex. 

She spent a good deal of time cleaning and rearranging the bearded dragon’s terrarium, despite the task having already been completed by a housekeeper. 

Honey felt like she’d seen him grow a few inches since she arrived. Peter explained that it was unlikely, he probably reached full size years ago, but she felt strongly about it. The reptile’s length spanned her entire forearm, from tip to elbow, and she was certain that it was an improvement. 

She needed to believe that something had been made better by her prescence.  

Rex was having an emotional time as well. He had always been on the large size for his species, but he had put on a few grams in the last few weeks, no doubt caused by the stress in their household. 

Honey wasn’t there to judge. She helped him get some exercise outside of the tank, letting him explore her arms and lap. His scaly embrace brought tears to her eyes. Rex was the only one she could actually care for. The only thing she had the power to protect. Perhaps the only unconditional love she’d ever experienced. 

Maybe the only love she deserved.

On a lighter note, Rex was a real riot once you got to know him.

That evening, Honey and Rex were enjoying a late night snack in the kitchen when she heard a crashing sound echoing from another part of the condo. She paused for a moment, trying to determine the source of the noise, curiosity stirring her chest.

Putting Rex safely back in his terrarium, she padded up the staircase towards the source of the noise. Just as she was ascending the stairs, one of the faceless guards rushed past her without a glance. Another one followed soon after, and she got the feeling that they were running from something. Like how rats scurry away before a train passes by. Or right before an earthquake.

Another sound—this one was just as sharp, but different. More animalistic. A roar. She tensed mid-step, jaw clenched tight, as she realized where the noises were coming from. 

Peter’s office.

Her instincts told her to run and hide, and incomprehensively, to go forward. Whatever it was, it was in pain. Or it was causing pain. Was Peter in pain? 

Bracing herself, she crept to the solid oak door and gently pushed it open. 

Like much of the penthouse, Peter’s office had floor-to-ceiling views of Lower Manhattan’s breathtaking skyline. Typically. On this night, the only thing outside the window was a terrace, which stretched around the condo, and a solid wall of fog at its border. Beyond the rain-streaked glass, it was nearly impossible to see through the black cloud. The haze made her feel trapped, suffocated. Blindfolded when an atomic monster could be lurking just outside of the windows.

The probability of a monster outside was steadily increasing. Despite the sounds she’d heard, concerningly, the inside of Peter’s office was empty. 

Swallowing hard, she wandered inside with her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She approached the center with bated breath, eyes darting towards each corner. 

She jumped at the sound of a clamour coming from the terrace. Searching from edge to edge, she couldn’t see the source, but didn’t need to wait for it. She glanced around the office, narrowing in on Peter’s desk. She darted behind the asymmetrical, functional piece of art, searching frantically for something that could be used as a weapon. 

Her fingers roved around the furniture, pulling open hidden drawers and extending pieces in search of something sturdier than a Bic pen. As she slid her fingertips beneath the table surface to search for a handle of some kind, she brushed over a latch.

A pressurized spring popped open to reveal a sliding compartment. Hidden. Secret. 

She stilled, mind struggling to comprehend what she was looking at. 

She obviously recognized that it was a handgun. A pistol built of black soulless metal. It looked fully assembled, as far as she knew. Another thing that holds bullets—a magazine?— was nestled tightly next to it.

Her fingers twitched, curled into balls. Her cells urged her to reach out and touch. With arms firmly at her sides, she gazed down at the weapon. Swallowed hard. 

This was a tool. A gift, perhaps. A new puzzle piece. Biting her lip, she debated how to use it, and if she even could, and fuck I don’t know how to hold a gun much less shoot somebody, and are you ready for that? Would you actually shoot someone?

As quickly as she could, she slapped the hidden compartment closed, obstructing the weapon from her view.

“Somethin’ I can help you find, kitten?”

She snapped her head around to see Peter standing near the windows, concealed in shadow. Her breath caught in her throat, and while her mind was spinning because where did he come from how did he get in here how did he get up here how long as he been there—

—and what the fuck did he just call me?

When Peter stepped out of the shadows, he looked like a different person. He was wearing the same face, even the same clothes (although they were drenched and clung to his skin as if he’d just come in from the rain). He looked alien to her, a skinwalker. Like his body had been stolen by an otherworldly entity that puppeted his movements as he prowled towards her.

Instinctively, she took a step backwards. He crept like the drizzle outside—languid, chilly and deceptive of the violence capable within. 

Honey opened her mouth to speak, but no words would come out.

“I asked you a question, sweetheart.” The lilt in his voice made her shiver. Peaceful rage. Gentle malace. It was like an unharmonius song to her ears, full of opposites and contradictions.

She had no idea when her lips started moving. “I... I... was...um... I-I heard...” 

“Why is it every time I come home I catch you creepin’ around in here?” he replied, like words whispered between lovers. He loomed closer. “Curious little kitten, aren’t you?”

Cold sweat beaded at her brow. Her voice was thin. “I-I... don’t like that.”

“Don’t like what?”

“I don’t like you calling me that.”

“What would you like me to call you then, huh?”  He sauntered nearer, a few strides away from her rigid stance. “You were never clear on that.”

She stood helplessly, frozen in the lights of his gaze, as he stalked towards her. She tensed her muscles, bracing for impact, expecting to be splattered across the floor. In a split second, she lunged forward.

Throwing her arms around his shoulders, she pulled him into a tight embrace. Heart thrumming loudly, she held him close to her body. The wet clothes soaked through her sweater. His fluttering heart tapped against her cheek.

Holding him was exhilarating and terrifying and terrible all at once. He went rigid underneath her touch, and she couldn’t see whether it was from rage or shock. She pressed her cheek firmly into his chest, stifling tears. 

“I’m worried about you,” she whispered. His body was tense and his skin cold, corpse-like. “’M’afraid, Peter. Afraid something bad is gonna happen.”

It was like embracing a statue. She couldn’t even feel him breathe.

“What happened to you?” she trembled with despair, her lip quivering. Despite the overwhelming confusion in her heart, her concern was genuine. She was afraid for him. She knew that. It just wasn’t the only thing she was afraid of.

After several more moments of silence, she finally felt him soften. Her shoulders slumped, feeling the slightest relief at the gradual rise and fall of his chest. With his next breath, his muscles loosened a bit more. Soon, he felt human again.

His Adam’s apple bobbed against the top of her head. “Y’know I’ll protect you, right?” he said. The sentence was feather-soft. And just as hollow. “From anything.” He didn’t embrace her in return.

Her eyes burned and glistened. “I know.” 

She pushed away from his chest, staring up at his face. The action forced him to meet her eyes. The color was missing from his irises, giving them an inky black appearance. But other than that, there was a glimmer of the man she knew looking back at her. 

“I... I want to protect you too,” she said, biting her lip. Clenching her jaw tight, she let her hands travel up the wet fabric of his shirt. She ran her fingers gently over the expanse of his chest, gulping at the feeling of marble beneath. 

When she met his eyes again, torment was etched onto his face. He was in pain, and he’d let her see it. That glimmer of vulnerability opened a gateway to the shy boy beneath her fingers. The charming young prince who stumbled over his words, and whose bright smile magnetically yanked her feet out from under her.

While she gazed up at him and felt his defenses slip away, a voice in the back of her mind drew crosshairs in her eyes. She looked at him like peering down the scope of a rifle. The devil on her shoulder urging her to go in for the kill.

Her whisper was breathless. Soft, like a butterfly teasing a flower. “Tell me what I can do... to help you feel better.” The lilt in her voice carried a suggestiveness that she watched spread like an ink stain through his mind.

He stared down at her intently, turning her inside out, pulling her apart in his gaze. His scrutiny unnerved her, but she forced her body to remain calm. To charm. She ran her fingers across the scruff of his beard, bringing her hand gently up to rest at his cheek. Felt the cords in his neck tighten as he resisted the urge to nuzzle her palm. She gazed up into the darkness of his eyes, heart aching, and vowing devotion.

His expression was hard to read, even for her. Regardless, she felt the air around her get inexplicably colder. 

“Yeah?” he breathed, his eyes glazing over. His mind was drifting somewhere else, listening to more voices than just hers. Unsettlingly, he stared down at her, inches from her face, and yet she got the feeling that he was simultanously looking at her from an outside window. “You wanna make me feel good?” 

The sound of him shifted. The sinfully-deep timbre of his voice sent heat rushing to her core. Ebony eyes half-lidded, swirling with lust, he trapped her in his gaze. Pinning her with just a look. She steeled herself timidly, restraining a tremor. Tension stretched her belly, as she pinched her lip and nodded.

“Say it.” 

The heat of his breath, combined with his scorching eyes that explored hers and suggested wicked thoughts, made her dizzy. Body and voice both firm against her. 

“Say you wanna make me feel good.”

Her mouth felt dry. She gulped. “I... I wanna make you feel good.” 

As he peered down lechorously at her lips, she kept herself from buckling beneath his gaze. He was panting, lips slightly parted, projecting lewd images of that mouth into her brain. 

His lips curved into a slight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Go put on that pretty dress I got ya.” 

He said it suggestively, although it was far from a suggestion. Her heart began to beat faster. “Um... which—”

“You know exactly which one.” 

It was a declaration. A challenge. A warning. She swallowed dryly at the intensity of his stare. 

“Go on.” 

Her instincts screamed at her again. Begging her to turn around and run. Instead, she stepped away slowly. Her retreat was tense, controlled and calculated, like walking on a tight rope. She willed her muscles to move, forcing herself to turn her back to him.

“Good girl.” 

She stopped. Trembled in the heat of his stare. Then, she complied.

When she returned to his office, she was wearing the lavender babydoll set, including the matching soft lace bikini-cut panties beneath. The open fireplace had been lit, casting him in a flickering, orange glow. When he glanced up from his desk, glass of bourbon in hand, the look he gave her stripped her naked. 

Her body shook. Biting her lip, she felt heat pooling between her thighs. 

Despite how much she disliked his new nickname, she regrettably saw how it fit her in this circumstance. Tight-lipped, she tiptoed through the threshold like a frightened cat. His gaze hunted her figure as much as it admired her, studying her every move.

On his part, he looked just as sinful. His slate-gray, houndstooth-plaid patterned blazer had been discarded somewhere, leaving only the wrinkled, damp, white dress shirt behind. He’d rolled the sleeves up to his elbow, collar loose with the top buttons undone. His hair was still damp around the edges, wildly sticking out in a rogue style. 

It wasn’t just sinful. He was the Devil incarnate, hiding behind an angelic face and doe eyes.

He lounged back in his chair, knees shoulder width apart. His posture spawned just as many lewd thoughts in her mind. He peered at her sideways, his eyes roving unabashedly over her body. It was almost too much when she connected with his eyes, her face heating with embarassment. He wore a shameless smirk, as if boldly daring her to object to his ogling. Challenging her to deny him access to whatever he wanted. 

“There she is.” He sounded gentle. Sing-song.

She stopped several paces away from the desk, but it was all posturing. 

There was no amount of distance she could put between them that he wouldn’t cross. No obstacle. No line. No mercy.

She gulped anxiously. “Wha-what... What did you, um... need help with?”

He watched her silently. Intensely. “You said that we were interested in the same hobby,” he answered dryly. “Figured I’d get back into it.” Setting the glass down on the table, he came to a stand. He sauntered around the desk towards her, a hidden object in his grip.

His old film camera.

Her stomach dropped out at the sight. Images of the ethereal blonde woman in Peter’s photos, strewn out salaciously in pornographic poses, flooded her mind. She knew nothing about Gwen. Except that she is the woman of Peter’s dreams, and didn’t want to lose her, and now he keeps her hidden in a box. 

At least they had that in common.

“No better way to learn about photography than to experience what it’s like to be on both sides of the lens.” She wrapped her arms tightly around herself as he stalked towards her, gazing crawling across her small form. “Want you to be a model for me.”

The blood drained from her face, weighed down by dread. It must have been recognizable, because after a moment, Peter’s voice softened. “It’s okay to be shy,” he said placatingly. She shyly peered up at him from beneath her lashes. “But you don’t have to be. Just me here. Nobody else.” His eyes lingered as they brushed up her thighs, dragged across the curve of her breasts, and caught her mousy gaze. “Nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

The kindness in his voice would’ve been soothing in any other circumstance. In this scenario, she felt like she was basking in the warm glow of an angler fish hunting prey. 

“I... I don’t know, Peter, I can’t— I’m-I’m not a model.”

“Nonsense.” 

“I’m... I’m nervous,” she explained with a pleading voice. “I don’t even know what to do—”

“You do exactly what I say,” he answered, matter-of-fact. The words were soft but made the imprint of a demand. “We had a deal. Won’t even touch you. Not unless you want me to.” 

She blinked several times, shrinking at his dominance. A warm smile stretched his lips. 

“Just relax,” he cooed, a hot knife slicing through butter. “Now come on. You wanna help me relax, don’cha? Be a good girl. Stand over by the desk.”  

Her muscles felt stiff. Like a rusted axel on a locomotive lurching forward, she forced her legs to move. Slowly, she padded towards the front of the desk. He glided away from her, backing into the shadows.

“Put your back against the edge.”

Hesitantly, she did.

“Palms flat.”

She pursed her lips. Wiggled into position. Awkwardly. Slightly leaning her weight back on her palms, so her chest protruded outwards.

“Look at me.” As if there was a choice.

Click.

His gaze was ravenous. “That's it...”

Click. Click. Click.

“Perfect—”

Her mouth felt cotton dry as she glanced idly at the doorway. 

Click. Click. Click—

The rattle of the shutter ceased, and her eyes darted back to him. He gazed at her through slitted lids. Suspicious, but pointedly unconcerned. He paused the photo session as he drifted to the doorway. She watched apprehensively as he reached for the door, closed it, and locked it tight.

Her stomach clenched at the action. “There.” He looked back at her, self-satisifed. “No more distractions.” Her breaths came out short, teetering on panic, as he loomed closer with the camera raised. “Now—”

She sucked in her lower lip. “Peter, just wait, I can’t—”

Click. Click.

“Do that again. That thing with your lip.”

Click. Click. Click.

She swallowed hard. Whimpered. “Peter, please stop. Please, I—I’m scared.”

Either the phrasing or the vulnerability in her voice nudged him out of his focus. He glanced up at her outside of the viewfinder. Her shoulders were straight. Back like an iron rod. Her fingers were white-knuckled, clawing the wood veneer. 

“What’s the matter?”

She sniffed, trying to steady her voice. “I-I’m afraid.”

He tilted his head curiously. “Why are you afraid?” He spoke delicately, like chanting a nursery rhyme. “You think something bad is gonna happen to you? I told you. I’ll never let that happen. You believe me, right?” 

“It’s not that—”

“You trust me, don’t you?”

“Please—”

“Please, what?” His sentence was punctuated with force, all of his patience worn thin.

She gazed at him, wide-eyed and flustered, babbling like she spoke a different language. His expression urged her to just speak, to tell him what she wanted. 

All she wanted was to tell him the truth. She wanted to take a knife to the suffocating balloon of lies that bubbled up in her lung, letting it all spill free. But she didn’t speak. Couldn’t. She held her breath. Held his gaze. Hung her mouth open uselessly. 

He pursed his lips, letting out a frustrated huff. “Just say what you’re gonna—”

“I’m afraid of you, Peter!” 

He leaned back at the outburst, shutting his mouth closed. She fought to steady her breathing, lowering her volume back to normal. 

It was the truth, and the truth should feel good. But all she felt was trepidation. 

“I’m-’m afraid of what you’re capable of. Afraid... I’m afraid that you’ll hurt me. Just like—”

She bit her tongue to stop it from moving. Terror sealed off her throat.

Peter gazed at her expectantly, brows pinched. 

She drew her lips into a hard line, jaw locked tightly in place. “Just like everyone else.”

He studied her closely and silently, until his shoulders slumped. He stayed quiet for far too long. When he broke the silence, his tone was firm. “I’m a lot of things. I’ll admit that.” He fixed his contemplative gaze on her. “But I promise. I’m nothing like everyone else.” She swallowed, gulping at the implication. “Trust me. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Heart thrumming, she eyed him back. Never before had the words ‘trust me’ been so ambiguous. The two sides of him were in clear view. Two lives. Two halves. Two wolves staring right back at her. 

One of them was desperate for her affection. Had an evolutionary imperative that drove him to win her over, to court her, to provide for and to protect her. To make her want to be his for life.

The other looked like he wanted to eat her.

“Don’t fight it,” he whispered, in a tone low enough to slide beneath her skin. It was soft, secretive. The way he crawled into bed with her at night. “Don’t be ashamed. Don’t be scared.” 

He said that, but the sound of his voice had the opposite effect. His words chilled her, she felt her stomach tumble with trepidation. Simultaneously, the heat of his voice roasted her alive. She must have been melting from the inside out. Dripping into a puddle. That could be the only logical explanation for the sensation between her thighs.

He leaned into her, his proximity alone could be felt. Gooseflesh broke out across her body. As if his presence could touch her without lifting a finger, with eyes that probed her flesh, breath that licked over her curves. Desire that radiated from him and forced its way through her supple lips.

“Relax,” he said. “Just let me take control of your body.”

She went light-headed, hyponotized and under his spell. Her breath caught in her throat, and her muscles fluttered as if she were freefalling through the atmosphere. She saw him step away from her. Physically, he put distance between them, she was sure of it. But being locked in his gaze felt like being restrained in his grip. He licked his lips, and his hands brought the camera back up back up to his face, finger on the shutter-release, and fuck how would those fingers feel wrapped around her throat—

“Just like that,” she heard him murmur darkly, voice heavy with desire. “God—you look so pretty like that—”

Click. Click. Click.

The shuffling of the shutter faded into a rhythm. A hypnotic drum beat matched only by the fluttering pace of her heart. Entranced, she set her fear aside, just as he’d wanted. The soft crooning of his voice, gentle gasps between gulps that he took in of her visage, drifted into her ears like a sacred chant. She fell under his spell, swaying to his song. Guided by his words alone.

Lift your chin... lean back, all the way... show me your throat... that’s it... good, bend your elbow... sit up on the desk...turn your hips the other way... bring up your knee... put your hand right there....

She was a puppet. Maybe she had always been. He pulled her with soft demands and invisible strings, making her dance for him. But unlike a marionette, she didn’t feel hollow. She felt whole. 

It felt good. Maybe it was residual from the drug taken the night before. Maybe she was cured. Maybe she was broken. 

She was a rose blossoming beneath his lens. Bathing in his praise.

Fuck, that’s perfect... so good... such a good girl... lie on your stomach right there, bring your arms up... yeah, just like that... fuck that’s it... gorgeous... look at me... yes... arms above your head... so good for me... so good at this... lie on your back now, bring up your knee, spread them apart just a little bit... hmm, you look so precious... your body was made for this...

Time passed. She no idea of how much. Could’ve been a few minutes, or a few hours. Under his lens, she felt microscopic and rare. A new species waiting to be discovered. A strange fruit waiting to be tasted.

Slow it down, leave your fingers soft... good, good girl... yeah, just a gentle touch... curl your fingers...  feel that?... so perfect... 

He drew in air steadily, rate increasing, and soon they were both breathing in short, soft gasps. 

Eyes on me... That’s it, that’s good... that’s—

They both froze, but his gaze was fixed on her shoulder. She followed his line of sight until she saw that the right strap of the lingerie had fallen loosely across her upper arm. Her hand darted towards it, compelled with a modest urge to fix the strap.

“Leave it,” he said with a throaty whisper and ragged breath. She stilled, a startled fawn. Slowly, he shifted his position to a different angle, this time entranced on a view of her chest. The lace brushed across her cleavage innocently. He licked his lips at the sight. “Look at me.”

She did, and oh— 

He could not look at her that way.

He wasn’t going to eat her. He was going to devour her.

She wouldn’t be mated. She would be bred.

Her flesh was burning hot. Scorched. Melting beneath that look. 

And in the back of her mind, over his soft demands, his gentle orders—arch your back...fuck, so beautiful... spread your thighs, wider... that’s it... god, so sexy, so perfect—she was also aware of the sound of her own breathless gasps and sharp, enraptured exhales. 

She felt the tickle of lace sliding back up her legs the more she angled her body. The delicate French chantilly lace of the skirt—treacherous snake—teased a view of the tops of her thighs. She felt her bare legs prickle in the cold air, despite the sweat beading on the nape of her neck. The hem of the dress drifted backwards into her lap, and his artful eye roved across her body, admiring the masterpiece of her form. 

And when she heard his breath hitch, she knew exactly where his gaze had landed.

The paper-thin, lavender lace covering her core was now darkened a deep plum color. The delicate fabric was slick with her arousal, clinging to her flesh. She was dripping wet, moreso than she’d been in years. She didn’t need to look down to see what he was seeing. She knew. She could feel it. Smell it. Taste her tangy sweetness on her own tongue. 

The way his ravaged-red lips parted as his eyes darkened, she knew he was thinking the same thing.

Breathlessly, she gasped, “Peter...” 

He looked down at her, eyes dazed as he braced himself on the edge of the desk. Possessed. A man driven mad by hunger. A rabid wolf, muscles tense, mouth watering at her scent.

No one had ever looked at her the way he looked at her. Like he was prepared to worship her and defile her in the same night, every night, for the rest of eternity. 

His gaze was intoxicating, his wrecked apperance was exhilarating. She was drunk off of it. High off of it. Basking in it, with caution thrown to the wind.

Unbidden, her her left hand sailed across the sea of fabric, smoothing over the lace, until it reached the hem of her panties. He watched her, eyes blown out with lust. Her hand drifted down past her waist. Fueled by an electric arousal and drugged with desire, her fingertips dipped beneath the waist of her panties, slipping through her wet folds.

He clenched his teeth, swallowing hard, eyes fixated on her hand as set a pace with her fingers. He snapped his eyes shut for a moment, as if processing what he was seeing. Or debating what to do about it. 

She watched his face intently, eagerly waiting for his eyes to open back up. She wanted to see the look in his eye as she came undone.

Every time the pads of her fingertips brushed over her clit, sliding shamefully through her slick, her chest fluttered in short gasps. The melody of her gentle whimpering was too much to handle, ripping his eyelids back open to look. The lewd sight matched with wet sounds twisted his insides into a thin wire. His dick jolted at the debauchery.

“Perfect,” he breathed as he drank her in.

Licking his lips, his eyes found hers. The heat of his gaze was relentless. 

“Y’like that?” he whispered, like a secret. One meant for the two of them. “You like playin’ with yourself?” She stifled back a moan, biting her lips to clamp them down. “Betchu do. Like playin’ with me, too, yeah? Playin’ filthy little games...”

She heard the clink of metal. The sound of his belt unbuckling. Her neck and chest flustered with heat. She was stricken with fear that he would facefuck her on the table, thrusting his cock through her lips at any moment. At the same time, the crude thought made her quiver with excitement, and she bit down into a desperate mewl.

He locked his eyes on her. She heard the rustling of fabric, but the sight dreadfully obscured by her position as she lay back on the desk. He covered her with his gaze, the hypnotic flick of her wrist, her thighs twitching wide. He ground his teeth. “You think I can’t hear you through the walls?”

She gasped, her hand going still. Her chest heaved from the growing pressure in her body, thrust into vertigo from her humiliation and sinful hunger. 

“Naughty girl. You think I can’t hear you when you touch yourself? But I can.” 

Her cunt fluttered at his words as her fingers jolted to soothe the ache. She clenched her jaw, dragging in each breath like crawling across a coral reef. 

He grinned lecherously, a challenge buried in his eyes. “I hear it. Every time.”

He shoulder jerked as his arm jolted into a steady pace. He winced painfully, grunting into each thrust. The sight alone could’ve been her undoing. Like being struck by lightning, her wrist sprang to life, rubbing tiny circles across her clit.

A gutteral groan rose out of his chest, his eyes darting between her hand and her dizzied gaze. 

“Drives me crazy, y’know,” he hissed as his jaw fell open. “Like p-pheromones... Like-like you're taunting me...” 

Tight lipped, he moaned beneath his words. She mewled at the sound. He clenched his jaw, picking up the pace. His hips jerked of their own accord, beginning to thrust into his palm. 

“Like you’re daring me... to come in and take what’s mine.” His breaths were ragged and dry, dragging behind the pace of his hips. 

Her jaw fell open at the sight, the coil in her belly twisting up. She was close. 

“I can’t help it,” he groaned, jaw tight. “I touch myself every time I hear you.”

His words ravaged her womb further, pulling her strings tight. She cried out at the pain. A hundred pornographic and sacreligious pictures flooded her mind, corrupting her thoughts. Peter was tied to every one of them.

“S’that it, huh, baby? You want me to fuck you like an animal?”

Her blood raced towards her core as she edged over the peak of the rollercoaster, dangerously near the drop. It’s like he knew exactly where she was, and with one raspy whisper, he pushed her over the edge.

“That’s it, baby. Come for Daddy.”

The cable snapped as she hurtled over the peak, plummeting through the air at breakneck speed. She cried out, back arching, tears budding in the corners of her eyes. Her climax shattered her. Wrung her body out as euphoria gushed from her core. She writhed desperately, a slave to the newfound pleasure spilling through her folds. 

Needing it. Willing to work for it. To sell her soul for it. 

Over the disembodied sounds of her orgasm, she could hear him breaking down inches away from her.

“fuckfuckfuck that’s it, that’s it—”

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. 

The door rattled. Everything came to a grinding halt at the sound of a heavy-handed fist pounding on the door. “Sir! Are you in there?”

Brakes squealing, sparks flying, everything stopped. Peter jerked at the sound of the guard’s voice, like a dog whiplashed at the end of a leash. Honey gasped in horror, face filled with humiliation. He bit back an agonized cry, his finish ripped away from him by harsh reality. 

“Sir, we have an urgent situation that needs your immediate attention.”

Peter squeezed his eyes closed, as the words collided with him like a bucket of ice water. Chest heaving, he heard Honey scramble to sit up, while he remained doubled over with a painfully hard erection. 

“Sir!”

“Yes!” he snapped, his voice taut with anger. He stepped away, pulling together his pants, stomping towards the door. Concealing himself and obstructing any view into the room, he tore the door open, nearly ripping it from the hinges.

His face was flushed with rage. “Swear to god—”

“It’s O’Hara, sir.” 

Peter went still, brows pinched together. 

“He got ambushed in lockup. He’s in an ambulance as we speak.”

At once, his body went numb. Flesh made stone. Limbs into rigid, frozen steel. 

Peter said something wordless to the guard, and closed the door. As soon as it snapped into place, his head fell forward against the drain. Weariness and exhaustion overtook him. His legs felt like rubber, threatening to buckle beneath him. Limbs shaking. 

When he turned back towards his office, he was shaken by the sight. It was Honey, but now his vision was sharp. Cleared of the fog of lust. The thrill of limitless power.

The young woman he kidnapped trembled up on his desk, legs pressed tightly together, her dress askew. She folded her arms around herself, shame filling her eyes, sweat cooling her skin. Her thighs caked with her cum. Next to her, a roll of film in Peter’s camera was filled with images of her that he forced her to take, leading up to, and including her finger-fucking herself in front of him while he crudely jerked himself off.

He sealed his eyes closed, feeling his stomach turn inside out beneath his skin. The back of his eyes burned, pain contorting his face. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, voice nearly breaking beneath the weight. He swallowed hard, feeling more dead than alive. Empty. Soulless. Hopeless.

Mournfully, he locked glistening eyes with her for as long as it was possible. “I need you to go back to your room.”

To be continued...

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A/N I hope you enjoyed this chapter! And if not, CALM YOUR TITS they FUcK WheN I SAY THeY'RE READy 2 FUCK OK???? leave me a note, comment, or anonymous ask! I can't tell you how incredibly grateful I am for everyone's support, not just of this fic, but of me as a person, and I thank you wholeheartedly.

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[strwbrrykss]

𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖇𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 | 𝖏. 𝖒𝖆𝖞𝖇𝖆𝖓𝖐

{𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕} 𝑫𝒂𝒚 𝑭𝒐𝒖𝒓: Masturbation 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓: JJ Maybank 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: THIS IS AN 18+/MDNI EVENT, language, caught masturbating, JJ is a horndog, brief/vague mentions of smoking weed throughout, if I missed anything lmk!

[A/N: Day four!! I can’t believe I’m keeping up so far and actually having a good time! This one is on the shorter side but I still had fun writing it nonetheless! As always, let me know what you think by dropping a comment, message or ask! :) - L]

                                                       -/-/-

Now that Summer was in full effect, there was no better way to spend your days off from school, than one of three ways; smoking, surfing and partying. Today was no different as you took another wave, the sun beating down on your back as you steadied your board against the swell.

“Go Y/N!” Kie cheered as she watched from a little further away. John B whooped and cheered along too as you kept your balance all the way along.

“That’s the surf princess right there!” JJ exclaimed and whistled as you finally reached the end of the curl and jumped off your board to celebrate.

Three days ago you’d treated yourself to a new two-piece, since your old one was looking a little past its best. In those three days since, JJ had not left you alone. Not that you were complaining, because who in their right mind would? But all the sudden attention from your new swimwear had definitely boosted your confidence and every interaction with JJ as a result, left you with butterflies.

Hours melted away on the water and as the sun got lower, the good waves became far and few between, with more wipeouts happening as it got darker.

“I’m beat - let’s call it a night,” you suggested as the day caught up with you and hunger started to make itself known instead.

When all of you had swam ashore and towel-dried off, everyone else was in agreement that pizza and weed back at the Chateau sounded like the perfect way to end the day.

The whole way back to the Chateau, JJ seemed glued to your hip. Sat in the back of the Twinkie, he had an arm around you the whole time. He squeezed you that little bit tighter every time you hit a pothole or speedbump. You liked it though. The hot skin-on-skin contact with the playful air between the two of you made it a pleasant drive back through the Cut.

Those ringed fingers you always loved to watch and observe, plucked at your bikini straps teasingly and you shot him a warning look.

“Behave yourself, Maybank.”

“Or what, hm? You’ll punish me?” he remarked in a low whisper against the shell of your ear to avoid being heard by the others. Although the volume of the radio and general chatter offered a bit of a buffer.

“If that’s what you want.” At your reply, he backed up slightly, a rosy tint to his cheeks and his eyes averted from your face. JJ remained quiet for the rest of the ride back to the Chateau.

Clean and comfy once you’d showered and changed, you went in search of JJ, wanting another joint to share with him. Hoodie pulled around you close as you padded through the Chateau, you stopped at the door to his room. Kie, John B and Pope were out on the porch already, making up songs with Kiara’s ukulele.

Behind the door to JJ’s room, muffled noises drew you in. As carefully as possible, you pressed your ear against the faded paintwork to listen in. Heavy breathing and strained moans made your stomach flip and heat crawled over your skin from top to bottom.

“- Fuck...” Your name followed the string of curses and your eyes widened in shock. Your hand reached out for the door handle, just hovering over it. You closed your eyes for a moment and indulged. It was wrong. It could ruin the friendship the two of you had built. But Goddamn if it wasn’t the hottest thing in the world to hear your best friend moan your name.

You hadn’t even realised that you’d opened the door and taken half a step inside until your eyes settled on the sight before you. JJ, half-propped up against the headboard with his legs stretched out, dick in his hand, the hem of his t-shirt between his teeth.

“Holy shit!” You froze and JJ stopped, an equally surprised look on his flushed face.

“JJ -”

“Oh, my God -”

“I’m sorry!”

“Shut the fucking door!” he pleaded through a mouthful of t-shirt and you were quick to oblige. And the silence that followed was deafening.

“So...”

“I was kinda - well, I was in the middle of something, Y/N,” JJ stated, though he made no attempt to cover his modesty, which only made it more difficult for you to listen to what he was saying.

“Yeah, I know... But - But I heard my name and thought -”

“Oh, right. And what? You wanted to see what all the fuss was about?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I heard you moan my name, Maybank. I’m not letting you forgot that,” you remarked back and that’s when he beckoned you over. You made sure to stop just shy of the bed, to keep some kind of distance between you. JJ caught you by the wrist and pulled you onto the bed, clearly thinking differently.

“I, uh... I want you to - watch me.”

[areesvt]

Circling back to kiara/pope/jj as a poly here’s my headcanons for it:

-jj and kiara love to drive pope crazy by diving head first into dangerous and stupid situations , pope trying his hardest to get them out of it

-when alone they like to cuddle and listen to music and banter like old married couples

-they don’t invite john b or sarah out with them and use the excuse of it being a date night which work every time

-when they first asked jj to be with them he laughed in their faces for a whole minute

-but cried right after he figured they weren’t joking around, they hugged him and assured him that they were in fact 100% serious

-it took a whole day for john be to understand that his friends were in a Polycule relationship and what a Polycule relationship actually means

-he fist bumped jj and started his rant about how lucky jj most be to bag two of the hottest people he knows, leaving jj a blushing mess

-pope like to see jj and kie wearing his clothes so he always lending them his sweaters, jj never gives him his clothes back and kie like to wash them and drench them with her perfume before giving them back to pope

-when jj get angry with them he give them the cold shoulder, kie scream and yell far away from them than feel guilty and try to make them talk, pope shut down and hide away in his room

-kie and pope drag jj to the couch to talk to them and it usually ends with him close to tears

-when kie is angry they give her space to work her emotions out and then they talk it out and it usually ends with them cuddling

-when pope shut down they leave him alone for a while then he himself will call them to talk and it ends with him apologizing

-sometimes they forget they’re in public and start kissing and all of a sudden people’s eyes are on them

-if two of them are having a moment the third have to be boomed with love right after so no one is left behind, it usually jj who has to run from them before they can kiss him senseless

-when they hangout jj and kie get high together while pope is watching tv, they like to tease him by flirting with him till he gets flustered and decides to leave

-“no don’t go!” “Pope baby please don’t go “”you guys aren’t in your right mind” “we gonna make out and you wanna go back to your books? virgin!” “virrrgggiinn”

[watchmegetobsessed]

The Hottest Avenger - Bucky Barnes

a/n: im warning you, i will probably not stop for a while with the bucky fics so... brace yourselves lol! also i wrote this before ep 5 came out so its placed in that time

pairing: Bucky X Reader

warnings: TFATWS spoiler, some violence? nothing extreme

word count: 1.8k

summary: Being locked together with Sam and Bucky brings the worst out of you, picking on each other constantly. Following an arguement Bucky accidentally calls you his girlfriend in front of Sam when your relationship was supposed to be a secret.

masterlist

“Did you fucking eat the last dumpling?” you accuse Sam, holding up the empty takeout box where you thought were one more dumpling, one you’ve saved for yourself, but now it’s gone as Sam is eyeing you with his mouth full.

“Thought it was mine,” he mumbles, his words barely understandable from all the food in his mouth.

Taking a deep breath you’re trying not to jump at his throat right then and there. You’ve been locked up together all damn day in the trashy apartment across the street from the building where’s Zemo supposed to be hiding. Sharon had a tip about a possible place where he might be found, but you’ve been waiting to no avail for now. You’ve been growing stressed and impatient. You lost track of Karli and her people and now you can’t seem to find Zemo either. If it wasn’t for the Dora Milaje, you wouldn’t bother to be so after the asshole, but Bucky said if Ayo finds him first, he is dead and every useful information he holds goes to the grave with him so now you are forced to look for him. One failed mission has been following the other these days, that incompetent dickhead John is on the loose too after murdering that man in front of civilians and you feel like control has slipped out of your grip a long time ago. Now you’re stuck with Sam and Bucky in this crappy place, waiting by the window, watching out for Zemo and on top of everything… Sam ate your last dumpling.

Just when you’re about to snap at him, you feel a strong grip on your shoulder. You don’t have to look up to know it’s Bucky right behind you, but not just because he is the only other person in the room beside you and Sam, but also because you know his touch probably more than anyone. Only that most of the times it’s not your shoulder he is gripping…

It’s been going on for a long time between the two of you. Started with just some innocent flirting and you never thought it would grow into something more significant, but it did. And now you are officially in a relationship with none other than the Winter Soldier, only that no one else knows about it and you plan to keep it that way. You don’t need the teasing and jokes and the Avengers are known to be dicks sometimes, especially Sam.

Glancing up your eyes meet Bucky’s blue irises and he sends you a look that says “just let it go”, and though every fiber in you wants to whoop Sam’s ass, you let it slip.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna get mad about a dumpling,” Sam chuckles as he chews on the food that you should be enjoying right now.

“I can get mad about whatever I want to,” you growl back, growing quite irritated of him at this point.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” he huffs under his breath, clearly not as bothered as he should be. Before you could do any harm in him, you leave your spot by the window, needing a breather from… well, from him.

“Hey, it’s still your turn!” he calls after you.

“I need a break,” you growl back.

“Get your ass back here, we agreed to switch every two hours!”

“Sam! I’m walking out because I’m way too tempted to punch you in the face right now!” you snap at him, losing your patience. He rises from his seat with a hard expression, not quite a fan of the way you just talked to him, but you couldn’t care less.

“You think you could actually throw one? Because last time we fought you couldn’t really get a hold of me,” he narrows his eyes at you, coming to stand tall in front of you, trying to intimidate you with how much taller and stronger he might be, but you both know you’re a better fighter.

“It’s easy to talk with your fancy tech stuff. Why don’t we see who wins in a simple battle?” you challenge him with faked boredom.

“Guys, stop. We should be looking out for Zemo, not tearing each other apart,” Bucky tries to end the staring contest, sticking his metal arm between the two of you in case any of you decides to launch at the other one.

“Then tell her to stop bitching!” Sam nods in your way.

“I’m not bitching, I’m just fed up with your bullshit!” you spat back at him, leaning closer, your chest coming in contact with Bucky’s extended arm.

“Don’t talk to her like that, Sam,” Bucky warns him, but Sam snorts dryly.

“Don’t tell me you are taking her side, she is throwing a fit for a fucking dumpling!”

“I’m not taking sides, just trying to settle this stupid disagreement here,” he defends himself and you roll your eyes.

“You can’t tell me she is not overreacting it, Buck!” Sam laughs in disbelief, taking a step back, dropping the act that he wants to fight you. He probably knows he would come out as a ridiculous loser. “This is fucking insane, I’m not in the mood to deal with your shit, Y/N,” he shakes his head.

“Hey!” Bucky snaps at him. “Don’t talk to my girlfriend like that, okay?!”

“I’m just—wait, what?!” Sam’s eyes widen and you freeze too.

Your dumbass boyfriend didn’t just out the two of you, did he? What else is about to come?! Sam’s shock turns into a cocky grin as his eyes shift between you and Bucky.

“You guys… you guys are fucking?” he asks with a delightful laugh and you close your eyes sighing, already tired of his shit.

“That’s not—We’re not fucking, I mean… It’s not like that,” Bucky stutters, but it’s just making it worse. He looks at you with terror in his eyes, but you are way too drained to deal with it the right way.

“Yes, we are fucking! And we are in a mature adult relationship! Get yourself over it!” you bark at Sam before turning around and walking out.

You faintly hear the two men talk inside, but you don’t make out the words. You don’t go too far, sitting on the steps leading up to the third floor. Soon enough you hear the door of the apartment open with a creak and a moment later Bucky shows up in your sight. He sits beside you, remaining silent for a little before speaking up.

“Sorry for running my mouth,” he mumbles, his head hanging low.

“It’s… fine,” you breathe out. Bucky fidgets with his fingers and you know he wants to touch you in any kind of way as a reassurance that it really is fine. You don’t want to hold a grudge, it was an accident, you’re just a little bummed it’s not gonna be just the two of you anymore. Reaching out you take his hand, the real one that’s flesh and meat and you lace your fingers together as he peeks at you, still reserved and hesitant.

“Is it really fine or are you just bottling it up?”

“It really is fine,” you chuckle softly and leaning closer you kiss his scruffy cheek. “The only reason I wanted to keep it a secret is because you know how vickery the guys can get. I just didn’t want them to pick on us.”

“They do it because they are just jealous,” he smirks playfully, his shoulder bumping against yours.

“Yeah? Of what?” A soft chuckle slips through your lips.

“That I scored the hottest Avenger,” he replies smugly and you can’t help but laugh with your head snapping back.

“I didn’t know you were fucking Thor!” you retort and immediately see his smirk vanish from his lips as he stares back at you, not enjoying your joke as much as you are.

“Thor? Really? Not this shit again, Y/N,” he narrows his eyes at you. Back when you were just skirting around each other, you loved pulling his leg, joking about how much you are into the hottest Avenger, aka Thor. He never appreciated it, usually earned you a tight-lipped smile before he mumbled “Tarzan’s got nothing on me” before walking away, leaving you laughing like a hyena.

“Come on, you know I’m more into super soldiers,” you grin, leaning closer as he pepper his sharp jawline with more small kisses.

“You know, it’s not the best thing to say to your boyfriend when there are now about eight more super soldiers running around,” he huffs.

“But none of them has a metal arm,” you point out, finally making him laugh.

“So that’s your kink? A vibranium arm?” he asks with faked shock and you curl your arms around his bicep, resting your chin on his shoulder.

“How haven’t you realized yet?” you chuckle. Bucky turns his head until his lips can capture yours in a sweet, lighthearted kiss that makes you forget about everything that’s been clouding over your mind these past days. All the failures, the mistakes and chaos fades into nothing, because you have him and he has you.

Walking back into the apartment Sam stares back at you, neither of you entirely sure how to act after what just happened. He then grabs his phone from the dusty table before holding it up.

“I could order some extra dumplings,” he offers and you crack a smile shaking your head. This was his peace offering, both of you knows he won’t straight up apologize for the way he talked, but this is already more than what you were expecting from him. Bucky must have had a few words with him before joining you outside.

“It’s all good.”

The three of you get back to work, taking your previous spots, returning to the task on hand as silence falls on the room once again. You catch Sam glancing at you and the Bucky and you can tell he is about to make a snarky comment on your relationship. And just as he is about to open his big mouth, Bucky moves to silence him, but you’re faster. With a simple move you throw Sam to the ground, keeping him down with your hand wrapped around his neck.

“Don’t even think about teasing, understood?” you hiss at him as he gasps for air, his hands wrapping around your wrist as he tries to fight you off, but you hold him a second longer to emphasize the importance of your words. Then you finally let go of him and he coughs for air, fixing him up from the floor as you simply walk back to your spot by the window.

“Hottest Avenger, huh?” he breathes out, revealing that he heard what you talked about out on the stairs. “More like the Avenger with the most anger issues…”

You just grin, glancing over at your boyfriend who is now standing with his arms crossed over his chest, not even bothered by his friend’s struggles on the floor as he smirks back at you, nodding proudly as if he was saying: “That’s my girl.”

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