#i know it was the hudson river thing

[lemon-wedges]

...

[puckarchives]

personally, i found it very attractive: l. hughes

blurb: in which an interview with the devils' upcoming rookie takes the intern by suprise. / word count: 1.5k / pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader

To be fair, all that I wanted to do was leave the Prudential Center, go home, and take a long bath. The game between the New Jersey Devils and the New York Rangers had gone into overtime, and as much as I loved my job, it truly had been a long day.

Flashing my lanyard at the security guard standing outside of the Devils' locker room, I was ushered into the room, joining the growing cohort of other journalists; writers who had made their entire career off of reporting on the comings-and-goings in the sports world. Now that the team had been solidified with major additions, and taken players off of their Injury Report roster, the Devils had put up a good fight against their Hudson River rivals.

Grabbing my phone and opening voice notes, I made a beeline for the one player that I needed to cover— Luke Hughes, one of the newest additions to the Devils, and a hell of a defenseman that I needed to talk to on his play earlier on the ice. And, thanks to the work I had put in weeks before trying to get this same interview, I had the opportunity to actually talk to him, instead of having to wait around in a circle while other journalists droned on (and asked) practically the same questions over and over again.

I had fallen in love with sports journalism because of this— because of the opportunity to speak with the players who have it their all on that ice, and who had a true passion for the game they played.

I once again flashed my I.D. to one of the team's publicists, Sharyl, and she smiled over at me— shaking my hand and calling over Luke.

"Hi Y/N! How are you holding up over this season?" she asked as we stood in our corner, both angled to see the player coming towards us.

"Hi Sharyl, I'm doing well! Just finished up my third-year, and I just need this last interview to finish up the project I've been working on these past few weeks," I told her. It was true— I had been working on this player profile for the past few weeks, and currently, this single nineteen-year-old rookie was the only person left on my list before I could publish the article that I was hoping would help my career.

"Oh that sounds so good, sweetheart! I know just how many hours you've been putting in here, and I'm so excited to read!" the older lady said.

"Here's Luke now!" she said, saying hello to the defenseman, and then turning back to me.

"Luke, this is Y/N, the reporter I mentioned from ESPN's journalism internship cohort. She's just going to go over a few things with you, and finish up her profile," she told the curly-haired boy.

"Hi, Luke, I'm Y/N, it's nice to meet you!" I spoke up, putting my hand out for him to shake.

It seemed to take him a few moments to catch up with me; and, to be fair, that was to be expected. I was his age, and from the way Sharyl was speaking about me, you'd expect me to be much older, or even a man. When I had begun working for ESPN's College Internship program, I had started with baseball as my main coverage sport— slowly growing from that to hockey as the seasons changed, and then, finally, landing on the Devils as my main beat at the beginning of the season. With all that, however, I knew the way people looked at me— questioning as to why an eighteen year old college student was interviewing men in sports that others thought I didn't even know existed, or even know how they worked. So, his reaction was expected.

The six-two boy in front of me seemed to be struck out of whatever stupor he was in, however, and shook my hand back.

"Hi, Y/N, it's nice to meet you. Sharyl said you'd be stopping by," he said. He was quiet, and I could tell how much of a toll the game had on him— despite being freshly showered, he sported his signature smirk— looking down at me as the cheers and celebrations kept it up behind him. 

"Yeah! I just have a few questions to ask, but do you want to follow me out to the media office? It shouldn't take too long, especially since I'm sure you want to go celebrate your win tonight," I told him.

Not really looking for a response, I looked over the boy— he was, admittedly, cute. His eyes were full of life— and he filled out his after-game clothing well. That, and the coupling of beauty marks over his face just enhanced how handsome he was. God, get it together, I told myself. You're on the job!

Finding ourselves in one of the various media offices hosted in the Prudential Center's basement, I sat down across from the rookie, and waited until we were both situated to start the interview. 

“So, thank you for sitting down with me! It was a long game out there, but you’re really pushing through,” I laughed, trying to ease the tension I could feel on my end. I really didn’t want to make a fool of myself in front of this very cute boy, and even less knowing that he was a professional player in the sport I covered heavily. 

“No— no it’s all okay, no worries,” he said, “I’d rather be here than listening to Shmido trying to recap the entirety of the second-half,” he laughed. 

“Well, you’re the first to say that,” I smiled back. “So, now that you’re on your second official NHL game, I kind of have to point out— you went from playing for Michigan, and then skating for the league in just a few weeks, and you admittedly have had a huge transformation—” I started. 

“Yeah I got faster,” he laughed, his cheeks tinging a shade of pink, and I couldn’t really lie to myself and blame it on his earlier celebrations. “Don’t worry, you can say it— Jacky has.” 

“Well, I’ll be honest, it’s really been great to watch. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you the entire game,” I said, and then admittedly felt my own cheeks flush, because truly, what was I thinking? Was I openly flirting with a guy I was supposed to be interviewing? Before I could feel myself blush even further, or even make the situation even more awkward, the silence was broken with Luke’s laugh— a stark and loud chuckle that made me look up automatically. His blush had now traveled from his cheeks to the tip of his hair, peeking out of his wet curls. 

He ran his hand through his hair, “Well I mean, that’s definitely great to hear— are you serious?” he said, and for the life of me, I couldn’t tell if he was joking— if he was making fun of my obvious lack of flirting ability, or egging me on. 

“Very,” I said. “It was a great game, and the goal you made in OT was just so smooth! Personally, I found it very attractive” I said; I had spent the entirety of the game looking at Luke skating— the smooth and strategic moves he made on the ice, passing the puck back and forth as if he was moving in water. He was beautiful on the ice— weaving between the opposing team’s players quicker and way more efficiently to the point where they couldn’t even keep up with him. 

“And I have to point out the pass you made to Jack in the second-half and the assist you sent to Nico! I haven’t seen a lot of puck work that really resembled that in such a while, and—” I cut myself off, trying not to let myself ramble any farther in front of the boy I could feel myself crushing on. 

“I mean that’s really a high compliment, thank you,” he said. “I mean, I know this might not be entirely appropriate for the interview, but I’m free after this, if you are two?” he asked. This had to be some kind of cliche, I thought, not really thinking that he had just asked me out. 

I did, however, hope he wasn’t egging me on— and, besides, after this profile came out, I wouldn't be covering the NJ Devils until next season, so why not? Why not spend an afternoon with a hot hockey player who I had already called cute?  “You know what? I am also free, and I was going to get dinner, if you wanted to join me,” I responded, hoping the youngest Hughes would take me up on the offer too. “I also don’t have class tomorrow, so yes, I am very free after this,” I laughed.

The boy in front of me smiled up, pushing the curls falling in his face back, and saying a quick “Well, then let’s get this thing started.”

[seat-safety-switch]

Birdwatching got really popular in the early days of the Unpleasantness. However, now that the bosses are forcing us all back to the office, the birds don't have anyone to watch them. That's why I built an autonomous bird-observation robot. Its name is SparrowScope 9000, and I recommend not becoming too emotionally attached to it, because it is your competition.

There's a lot of obvious benefits to having a robotic birdwatcher. It can start up early in the morning and go to its charging dock late at night. It never makes a mistake identifying a bird. It won't get tired, cold, hungry, or develop pointless drama with "Uncle" Hudson Carl online over his fucking misdocumentation of Northern Cardinals. You can pop over to its little webpage and see what it spotted that day, and feel pretty good. It's like you're really there, even though you're stuck in an office building wondering if you have enough staples loaded in your stapler to get through the month, or if you should maybe talk to Jan in Requisitioning to get a fresh refill.

However, there are flaws. One of the big things is that the US military doesn't let regular people – civilians – have super-accurate GPS. They fuck with the data a little bit, so that you can't somehow threaten national security by knowing where you are. I didn't know this before I started on the project, and the bird sanctuary has a lot of elevated walkways ever since the flood. SparrowScope 9000 became more of a SoggyScope Wet-Thousand.

If a real technology company had assembled it, that would probably have been the end of the story. They'd have put in some total garbage like a modern microcontroller, maybe some parts made in this century. Not me. This thing is half old pinball machine parts and the other half Aibos. It kept trucking right down the river, and I never saw it again. I do get updates from it periodically as it spots a new bird, but my work schedule forbids me from taking a few days off to drive to the next county over and see if I can figure out which swamp it's floated into this time.

Even with this small disaster, I'm pretty proud of what I accomplished. Our avian friends get looked at by a creepy robot covered in seaweed, and we can all experience what it was like for one brief, shining moment in which we still had hobbies.

[wannaeatramyeon]

This just pop out of my mind, lookism character and taehoon reacting to their s/o revealing that they are pregnant (They are still in the senior high/maybe college student if you pair with Gun or other older characters)

I can imagine the chaos of Taehoon's dad reaction lol.

Sam, I am forever sorry for taking ages with this and again - another shitty list 🥹

Lookism + HTF reacts to "Surprise! You're having a baby!"

Ok, let's just age everyone up in canon. Also ties in with some Lookism boys as a dad + kid personality hc (another @slimesam special)

Oh shit

Johan Seong, Gun Park, Eli Jang, DG/James Lee, Jihan Kwak

Oh shit, Dad is going to kill me

Seong Taehoon (spoiler: Hansu doesn't kill him. He's worried but over the moon to be gramps.)

Oh shit, Dad will acknowledge and love me again

Jay Hong

Maybe I should think about that therapy

Samuel Seo, Baek Seongjun

Tears of joy

Daniel Park, Zack Lee, Vasco Tabasco, Jace Park, Jake Kim, Sinu Han, All the Big Deal boys tbh, Warren Chae, Jibeom Kwak, Ji Yeonwoo, Han Wangguk, Kim Munseong

Indistinguishable tears

Could be tears of joy, could be tears of sadness. Who knows. These idiots lived in the moment and forgot about consequences.

Goo Kim, Vin Jin, Ryuhei Kuroda

Ok.

Eugene, Hudson Ahn, Lee Jinho, Seo Haesu

It's not mine

Xiaolong

Bonus: "Surprise! You're going to be a grandad!"

Park Jincheol/Samdak: Brain breaks completely. Will forever see Dabin/Gaeul as their lil girl and furious that someone has gotten close to them. Equally excited to be gramps. That's the only thing stopping them from killing you.

Hansu Seong: Wants a grandson so they can put Taehoon through hell. Wants a granddaughter so they won't put you or Hansu through hell.

Another spoiler: It doesn't matter. The grandkid will inherit the famous Seong personality anyway.

Manager Kim: The most level headed of these four, and that's something. Tears of joy, torrential downpour, absolute rivers.

Charles Choi: [scribbles list of ideas for 11th genius. Genius of crying. Genius of energy sapping. Genius of cuteness.]

Steve Hong: [scribbles list of reasons to potentially disown grandkid.]

[oldguardleatherdog]

The Night Before the Tribute In Light September 10, 2003

I.

One month ago today, this long-forgotten photo suddenly popped up in the photo app on my laptop. I took this photo with my Sanyo clamshell phone on September 10, 2003, 21 years ago tonight, from Hudson River Park in Manhattan.

Don't ask me how it survived all these years or where it's been stored all this time or how in the world it could have found its way to me from the long-dead storage servers of a long-defunct cell phone carrier. We're in the penumbra of The Anniversary, and time is out of joint.

I had been back in New York for about a month (after getting violently run out of the place I was staying by a fellow who is now one of my closest friends), homeless and living in that roach-infested HIV crack-house shelter at 96th and Broadway that I describe in "The One Decent Thing I Ever Did" (it’s archived on this blog), and you can imagine my state of head and spirit at this moment, the night before the 2nd anniversary of the terror attacks on the World Trade Center that drove me from my home in Lower Manhattan, four blocks east of the site.

I was sitting on a bench in Hudson River Park on the West Side of Manhattan, somewhere near Houston Street, maybe ten or fifteen blocks north of World Trade. I hadn't noticed these beams of light as I walked, and I think they might have just been activated while I was sitting there. As I recall, it was a full moon in Virgo, and I was positioned just right to snap this shot. I had *no* idea what this was all about, as I recall, but I thought the image was so striking and affecting that I wanted to capture it.

As it turns out, this was the tech run-through for the first September 11th installation of the “Tribute In Light”. Here’s Google’s AI summary of this remarkable memorial:

So there I was, just two years after the blast, stunned by this sudden, mysterious apparition rising from just south of what was still a giant, messy hole in the ground. I was still not fully myself at that time and would not regain my full memory or sense of who I was until the following January (therein lies a tale!), and as I recall I was just numbly stunned, not knowing what to make of it.

As I write, I’m getting the physical sense memory of that moment: the dog in me (my medulla oblongata speaking) feels his hackles rise, it’s not what I expect to see filling the hole in the sky, is it another attack? Do I bark at it, sound an alarm, run towards it, away from it, why is there light there, is this some unholy ruse, another trick being played on me from that big smoky hole where nothing but poison has spilled out for the longest time?

My phone rang. It was a fellow that I had met and hung out with in San Francisco while I was stranded there, and I was stunned to hear from him, especially at that moment. “Hi Dave… well, right now I’m on the riverfront looking at the damnedest thing… [I just wanted to make sure you were ok] hey, thanks for checking in… yeah, take care bud.” I closed the phone and started walking south along the riverfront, toward the light beams.

When I got there, I saw the massive banks of klieg lights assembled in their arrays, a strange and unfamiliar (unwelcome) echo of the shapes and the placement and the footprints of the place I loved so well.

The faces of the artists who surrounded the lights were intense, focused, sober. I still didn’t quite know what was going on, but there was profound reverence in the air, on those faces, at that place, as the beams of pure white light soared upwards, past the point of naked-eye discernment, unending, likely petering out tens of thousands of feet off that spoiled piece of ground, perhaps piercing the ionosphere, did they get clearance from the Federal Aviation Administration for this? Are pilots being disoriented by these columns at 45,000 feet? Do they touch the feet of God?

II.

And I kept walking south, my back to the light,

Down to the oldest part of the civilized island,

Past the Battery, the bronze bull, the buttonwood tree,

The Port of New York dead ahead,

The Staten Island Ferry terminal, ramshackle, ancient,

Entry restricted by terror tape and armed sentinels

No two uniforms alike, a panoply of enforcement,

Heavy weapons at the ready, so jarring in my neighborhood,

And the working dogs with the keen snouts, the trained muzzles,

Jumping up to paw at the brown bag in the soldier’s hand

Is that peanut butter? Apple? Hunk of cheese?

Let’s play! You’ve been so serious, so worried,

You smell sad and scared, are you lost? Let’s play!

Even Cerberus needs break time, belly rubs, treats!

For the first time in weeks, I smile to myself

As I round past the ferry, those strange lights at my back.

Hope I can sneak past the turnstile downstairs,

I won’t have to hike back up three hundred blocks

To that awful low place. Did you know roaches bite?

They shit on you too. Try to sleep, fully dressed,

Watch cap pulled low on my head, long sleeved shirt

Buttoned up to the collar, heavy pants tucked in boots,

Gloves on my hands, one more night without food

Half-bag of speed takes my mind off the pain

Sleep comes in fits if at all. – On the train

Dreading the stop: ninety-sixth street and Broadway.

Tomorrow, this city will jack itself off

In performative weeping and gnashing and cursing

Oh, how we loved them! I snort in derision,

You didn’t lose nothin', you pieces of shit!

Let the dead bury the dead. Beams of light

Don’t feed this refugee reeking of ashes -

What, do I smell bad? So sorry to stink up

The place where you’ve laid out the feast for your friends

Who still have their jobs, their high homes in the towers

Behind the glass doors where your larders are stocked

With the food that you bought with your government money

That flooded your midtown Manhattan apartment

With all the new clothes, electronics, the sausages

Fresh from Enrico’s, Zabar’s, D’agostino’s,

Bought with the Victim’s Fund money you stole

When you filed your claim. “OMG, it was awful!

“I couldn’t get up to the fifty-fourth floor,

“I had to find shelter on Upper Park Avenue.

“Power was out. I was homeless that night!

“So glad that my friend who was shopping in Gramercy

“Gave me the number to call for my claim

“September 11th was horrid! I told them

“I couldn’t go home for two nights! Oh, thank God

“The claim got approved with a wink and a nod

“And no one’s the wiser – I’ve never been south

“Of the Plaza Hotel! That all happened on Wall Street,

“Who goes down there? Jesus Christ, are you kidding?

“That’s four miles away! Christopher, are you coming

“Or what? Reservations at Nobu won’t wait

“For you or for me, so quit primping!”

The pain

In my stomach, relentless. My gorge won’t stop heaving.

Am I gonna make it? Damn, *ouch!* What the fuck…

The tooth that I hoped would hold out just gave way,

Fuck me. Another huge hole in my grille.

When I made six figures and lived in a high-rise,

Fuck buddies laughing on Saturday night,

Nobody told me that one hundred minutes

And two hijacked jet planes would make such a difference.

No one will laugh with me now – my best friends

Are yelling and angry, how dare I show up

Sweaty and toothless, a walking reminder

Of September tenth. No, I’m not gonna feed you.

III.

Now, twenty years later, they’ve retooled their memory:

“Animal! Damn, dog! We’ve missed you, you know,

“Wow, you’re alive! You look fabulous! Listen,

“I never gave up on you. Give a call

“When you come to the City. I want you to meet

“My beautiful husband – he remembers you too!”

IV.

Twin beams of light where the Towers were anchored,

Okay, not exactly precisely those spots,

But who’s gonna criticize? Look and recall

How majestic they were. Yeah, the new One World Trade

Is cool, I suppose – no one mentions the absence

Of Two World Trade Center. Insurance, you know.

Not enough money or civic ambition,

And Bloomberg discouraged it. Why add a target?

“Don’t you think sixty or seventy stories

“Are more than enough? Hell, let’s just get it done.

“The sooner we finish construction, the better.”

V.

*There will never be lumens of adequate volume

Sufficient to seal that hole in the sky,

But the hole in my heart I will finish, I tell you.

Walk with me as I go forward. Tomorrow

I’m back in the studio. Tonight, we can play!

You smell like apples and – damn, is that chocolate?

(our light beams shine upward forever)

"Good boy!"

Animal J. Smith San Francisco, California September 10, 2024

[kteezy997]

The Candy Man-Part Eight//W.W.

warnings/info: Wonka family fluff, mention of secret sex room at the chocolate factory

A few months later…

It was all coming together. Willy worked day and night, creating the chocolate factory, all while coming home late and still helping with the babies. Your man barely slept, and you knew he was tired, but he was determined to create the most spectacular chocolate factory that the world had ever seen. You were just glad that he had hired an entire staff to help him, so he wasn't doing it all on his own.

Finally, he allowed you to come and work with him as well. He didn't want you to go back to work too soon after giving birth. But you insisted that you were ready.

The first day, you brought the babies along to see their father's work. They had grown so much. They were crawling everywhere, and so interested in the world around them. Their hair had thickened and become curlier, and they had plump, healthy little bodies. Maple was sweet and cuddly, and you were able to tie her hair up into tiny ponytails on the top of her head. Mocha was sweet too, but he could be a little too adventurous, almost to the point of getting into mischief.

You carried Mae and Willy carried Mocha into the chocolate room. This room was going to be special; you could tell by the way Willy had talked so excitedly about it.

"Alright, it's just behind this door." he said, turning the handle. He looked at you, biting his lip.

The door opened, and you didn't know where to put your eyes. The room was vast, with vibrant colors. Lush green grass, giant mushrooms with whipped cream spots, edible flowers of all shapes and sizes, and trees that rained gumballs. And trees adorned with giant gummy bears as well as multi-colored candy canes. The walking path was a rainbow of lights under your feet.

"Everything you see is edible, y/n." he said, setting Mocha down to explore.

However, the most jaw-dropping thing was the centerpiece chocolate river that flowed all through the room.

You were speechless, it took you a moment to really take it all in.

Willy took Mae from you, letting her join her brother in chewing on the candy grass.

"Willy...this is incredible. It's like nothing I've ever seen."

He came over to you, taking you in his arms. He kissed you, smiling softly as he pulled away. "It's all I ever wanted for myself, but I did it even bigger because of you and the babies. You, my family, are my biggest inspiration."

Your heart melted, and your eyes welled up with happy tears. "Oh, Willy, we are so lucky to have you. You work so hard, and we are so proud of you." you looked around the room again, "This is like a dream."

"It's just Pure Imagination, my love." he looked into your eyes, "Come with me." he said with a nod. He picked up both of the babies and started a stroll through the candy room.

You were delighted to follow them, and watch your children ooh and ahh at their father's creations. All the while, Willy sang his little tune, which he used a lot at home with kids, "Pure Imagination." His voice was so angelic. Maple and Mocha were mesmerized every time their father sang. You were certain your children would know the song by heart by the time they started to talk in full sentences. He had been singing it to them since they were still in the womb, after all.

You could see your future. Your curly headed kids growing and running amuck through daddy's factory. Willy would let them have all the sugar that they wanted, within reason, of course.

Now that Mr. Hudson had granted you a divorce, you had a vision of a magical wedding with Willy, sans candy. Sugary treats were your life with Willy, but you were both happy having a traditional wedding without all the busy colors that came with your Wonka treats. Mocha was the ring bearer and Mae the flower girl. It would be absolutely perfect; a day full of pure love.

.............

One evening, Willy came home, all excited. "Honey, your office is ready. Let me show you." he said, grinning widely and taking your hand.

"Whoa, whoa, Willy, who is going to watch the kids?" you giggled.

"Oh, I've got that covered." he said confidently, opening the front door of your home to reveal Noodle and her mother, Dorothy.

"Hey, y/n!" said Noodle, her eyes already searching for the little ones she adored. Once she spotted them in the living room, she ran to them immediately.

You greeted sweet Dorothy, thanking her for babysitting as well, and then you and Willy were off to the factory.

…….

Willy showed you your new office, and it was spacious and cozy. It was the perfect workstation! He even took the time to put up a couple of photos of the twins on your desk, as well as a vase of fresh flowers for you.

But he was more excited to show you something else. He led you to another room just down the way from your office. He put in a secret code that was several digits long. “Alright, my love, I hope you like this.” he smirked.

You walked in, seeing a queen-sized bed in the middle of the room and suddenly you were realizing what this room was meant for. There were big jars of different chocolates and candies all along the walls. Large ropes of red licorice hung on hooks. There were oversized candy canes as well.

“Wow. You continue to surprise me, Mr. Wonka.” you said, in awe of the…playroom.

“The walls are stone, of course, so no one can hear what goes on in this room.” Willy took your hands, “Honey, there are things that I want to experiment with, but just for us two. I hope you’re comfortable going on this…sexual journey with me?”

“Oh, yes, Willy, of course!” You kissed him, “I can’t believe you went to such lengths for me. It's so sexy. I love you, baby.” you then nuzzled your nose against his.

“You know that there’s no limit to what I’d do to please you. It’s my life’s work, darling. Well, after being a good husband and father, and making chocolate of course.”

“Wait, Willy, we’re not married.” you giggled.

Willy’s eyes widened, “Oh yes, that’s right. I forgot.” Then, he got down on one knee, "Y/n, will you marry me?" He presented you with a little jewelry box, opened it, revealing a beautiful diamond ring.

You gasped, without even thinking, you blurted out, "Yes!"

Willy smiled from ear to ear, slid the ring on your fourth finger on your left hand and shot up to his feet to hug you.

You were lifted off of your feet by him, and you cried tears of joy as he spun you around with glee.

"You're gonna be Mrs. Wonka!" Willy cheered.

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @tchalamss @softhecreator @bitchyunknownuser @lixzey @kpopgirlbtssvt

[bornagainmurdock]

manic delusions & a gentle boyfriend

author's note: i, in a mania induced haze, created a playlist about how much i want to fight matt the other day, so inspired by my need to calm tf down, i offer you this. as always, not all mania looks the same or is the same.

contents: fluff but the angsty kind a little bit, matt murdock x reader, gender neutral reader, reader experiences mania, undisclosed mental illness, basically how matt helps with a manic episode

word count: 1.4k

While Matt had never necessarily experienced mania himself, when you explained how it worked for you to him and how to tell you were about to have an episode. The signs were never the same, but the motivations were. You'd done the thousands of dollar shopping sprees, the impromptu trips around the country via your ratty old car, the detailed documents abotu elaborate plans you couldn't comprehend when the episode lasted. If fact, Matt had been present for most of them, not stopping you, because then the urge would continue, but helping you ride through them safely.

Today Matt caught you in the middle of a shopping spree on your laptop at hte dining room for craft supplies. They were on sale, what were you expected to do.

"Can we step away from that for a minute?" Matt was kind with his words knowing that any aggressive push would send you sprialing any further.

"In a minute. I'm busy." Your eyes were glued to the screen, scrolling endlessly through the site's inventory.

"I see that. I'm just worried about you." He sighed, sitting at the opposite side of the table.

"I'm not manic—"

"I trust you. I just want you to take a break from the screens for an hour or so, your eyes need the break." He was gentle still, sure to not cross any emotional or physical boundaries.

"Yah I think you're right. I think I might go on a run along the Hudson river." You sprang to your feet, bouncy as ever.

"It's always great to move your body, but I think maybe we should sit down for a bit together. We haven't talked much today." He knew if you left the house you'd come back overexerted, damaging your joints in the process.

"Okay?" You said, walking to sit on the floor in the open space of the apartment.

"What's going through your head?" He joined you on the floor, still at a distance to allow you to breathe.

He had realized maybe a day ago that you were having an episode and unable to realize it, too deep in it to see the light. This confrontation, if you could call it that, could make it worse, or, hopefully, give you a chance to reflect on your behavior and practice some coping mechanisms to come back down to earth.

"You think I'm manic." You said blunty, like a knife in Matt's chest.

"I do." He rotated his hands in his lap, face pointed down towards the floor. "And, I'm worried about you."

"I'm not manic."

Matt knew this was going to be hard, but he was hopeful.

"Okay, I trust you. You can go back to what you're doing. I just wanted to check in." He started to stand before he was interrupted by your thoughts.

"Okay, well maybe I am. But I don't think it's a bad thing. I've gotten so much done. I've deep cleaned the whole apartment. I'm all caught up on work for the next two weeks. I'm gonna learn how to cross stitch." You took a deep breath and exhaled slowly trying to think through each of those sentences before Matt could. "Okay, so I'm manic. How do I fix it?" You pouted with the last sentence.

"Nothing to fix. Your brain is just having a time right now, and we're gonna work through it together." He smiled, scooting closer to intertwine a hand with yours. "How about we risk assess, hmm?"

"I think that's a good idea."

"Okay first one, cleaning. What do you think about that activity?" He was still, but open, hoping this dialogue would help until the brain chemicals subsided.

"Cleaning is helpful for the house, and for us, but I probably didn't pay as much attention as I would have liked during the tasks. I probably overworked my body in the process. I think this time it's a net positive as we haven't cleaned much since last season."

"That's a good analysis. How about the second one now." Matt said. He had read some of the books your therapist had recommended to you, and was very attentive when you explained how your brain worked, hoping the break down of tasks would help you realize the bigger picture.

"Getting my work done is good, but getting the next two weeks done is too much. I won't have anything to do for two weeks now. Net negative." You slouched into Matt's touch, leaning against his arm and resting there.

"Okay, and three?"

"I don't know how to cross stitch and I haven't watched or read any tutorials. I think I'm interested in it, but I should be thoughtful about buying materials in case I don't stick with it. Net neutral."

"Good job. Is there anything else you'd like to break down and think about with another brain here with you?" Matt was now rubbing your arm that was closest to him, trying to ground you with touch.

"Can I think and get back to you?"

"Of course you can. Thank you." He untangled himself from you and stood, helping you up in the process and leading you back to your computer. "Why don't you buy a small beginner kit and you can tell me all about it."

"Okay."

"And here's my card." Matt pulled his wallet from his back pocket and passed a card to you. He knew you were less inclined to spend him money than your own because of guilt.

"Thank you Matt."

"You're welcome baby. I'm gonna go sit on the couch and you join me when you're ready to give a lecture on cross stitch."

----

Later that night, after the lecture and a series of snacks Matt was willing to consider dinner, you both sat on the couch needing to get ready for bed.

"You're not tired, are you?" He said, turning to face you.

"No. Dumb brain chemicals." You pouted again, showing it with the tone of your voice.

"Why don't I help you draw a bath, and you can pick out a bath bomb or some bath salts and I can sit with you while you relax?"

"I'd like that."

"Then, let's go!" Matt jumped up from the couch with a smile, once again reaching out to lead you there.

Once inside, Matt passed you the bin with all the fancy bath and shower supplies for you to sort through.

"I'm thinking pomegranate bath bomb and some CBD bath soak. The one with glitter." You pulled them out and set them on the counter.

"Sounds good to me." Matt said.

He turned on the faucets, trying to find the perfect blend of hot and cold that would be comfortable but not too overwhelming. You were bad at telling temperatures when manic, often making soup of yourself in the bath.

You started to strip, walking around in circles to ease the excitement of a fancy bath. Your clothes in a pile on the floor, you warn Matt before he about trips over them.

"What color towel?"

"Red please!" You shout back.

"Alright." He sets the towel over the hooks next to the bath and strips himself of most of his clothes, helping you into the tub before sitting down next to it. He turns off the faucets and the silence dances around the room.

"Matt, can you play with my hair?"

"Of course I can. Do you just want me to talk and try to get you back on the ground?" His closer hand moved to your hair, brushing over it with a bit of pressure to remind you of his presence.

The bath was warm but not too hot. The temperature eventually caught up to you, beads of sweat forming on your forehead.

The bath bomb was almost done fizzing, bouncing between your legs dying the water a vibrant red.

"I wish you could see the color of this bath bomb, kinda looks like the DD suit." You splashed it for a second, enjoying the novelty of it.

"Story time?" He laughed.

"Story time!"

"Okay so yesterday at work, Foggy and Karen both decided to pull a prank on me," Matt went further into detail than he had to, attempting to help you picture it in your own head, "The coffee machine, you know the one on the counter in the office that almost never gets clean. Well, they took the coffee filter out of it, so when I went to make coffee, hot beans. poured out. Like coarse ground coffee beans, right into my favorite mug, the one you got me—"

[emma-d-klutz]

I wish Batman would fuck with the Joker more. I know he can't. Scratch, I know an important piece of their core dynamic is that he is above it, which opens the way to great contrasts when other characters (ie icon Terry Bats) do. But come on, it would be so easy. It would be free.

During a teamup in Gotham, Bats could dreamily remark that he likes Superman because he makes him laugh. What options does the clownfucker have now? Try to jealously kill fucking Superman or simply dive backwards into the Hudson River. The whole thing would take ten seconds of work, and I don't think there'd be collateral damage. Superman's already there.

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 13, Uncomfortable - Pt. 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language,

Word Count: 374

Previously On...: You've realized this situation with Bucky and Jade can not go on. After checking the Tower's systems, the only thing you've found that Jade's been looking through is Bucky's old records.

A/N: Another shortie; sorry! I'm a Hudson River Girl, so I LOVE the Hudson River School, and Church is particularly close to my heart. This is the painting in question.

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @jmeelee @cazellen @blackhawkfanatic @les-sel @marcswife21 @buckybarnessimpp @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @erelierraceala @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @jupiter-107 @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @sashaisready @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @doublejeon @pattiemac1

You made your way back to your room, trying to decide what you wanted to do for dinner, and assuming you’d be on your own for it. By now, you and Bucky were supposed to be dining along the Hudson River, getting ready to drive out into the mountains for your stargazing. Instead, he’d be sitting at Jade’s bedside and you’d be wondering how much longer you were gonna put up with this shit, as Sam so eloquently put it.

When you entered your room, you gasped. Propped up against the foot of your bed was a canvas painting– Frederic Edwin Church’s Moonlight in the Tropics, from his Twilight in the Tropics series– with a red bow stuck to the corner. You’d been a fan of the Hudson River School of painting since the first time Tony took you to see an exhibition years ago, and Church was your favorite by far. 

You slowly approached the canvas, almost afraid to get too near it. The last time it had gone up at auction, you knew it had fetched over $1.2 million. This had to be a reproduction. Tentatively, you reached out a hand and delicately traced a fingertip over the brushstrokes. If it was a reproduction, it was damned good. 

You gently pried off the bow to find a note. In Tony’s messy scraw, you read:

‘I’m so sorry, Pocket. I never should have dragged your personal business in front of the team like that. I hope you can forgive me.

Tony.

PS- Yes, the it’s real deal’

You sighed and shook your head. Tony fucking Stark. You pulled out your phone.

>> You’re a fucking dumbass.

IronBossMan: Apology accepted, I take it?

>> You’re lucky you’re family.

IronBossMan: Yes, I am. Very much so.

>> How’s Rhodey?

IronBossMan: Good. Stable. Hasn’t woken up yet, but Banner’s hopeful for a full recovery.

>> Good. I’m glad.

IronBossMan: Me, too.

>> Goodnight, Boss.

IronBossMan: Goodnight, Kiddo.

You’d have to get the tools necessary to hang it up in the morning. For now, you propped it up on your desktop. Crawling onto your couch, you tucked your knees under your chin and held them to your chest while you stared at the painting. Not his most expensive apology, but far more meaningful to you than the Ferrari. 

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

[lfghughes]

could u please do Jack Hughes to Tennessee Orange by Megan Moroney. like the readers dad may have played for a different team like the rangers. and now she’s telling her family she’s dating someone on the devils

a/n: the way i love this song so much and this request. i was just waiting to be in the right mindset to write this so i hope you like it!

Your relationship was still young. Young enough that you hadn’t done the whole meet the parents thing and your parents knew you were seeing someone but you always managed to direct the conversation elsewhere every time Jack got brought up. It had nothing to do with Jack and all to do with the team he played with. One thing about your family, you all were a hockey family. Your dad was a retired Rangers player and if you learned anything growing up it was the Hudson River rivalry.

At the end of the day you knew all that mattered was that Jack treated you well and theoretically that’s all your family should care about but you were still weirdly nervous because you were finally brining Jack home for the weekend. “So I shouldn’t pack any team clothing?” Jack asked, a small smirk on his lips which instantly showed he was teasing you. He knew all about how nervous you were. “I’m sure my dad will have a few sweaters you can borrow if you do.”

“They still don’t know who exactly you’re dating?” He asked and you shook your head, a little ashamed you were telling your boyfriend was two months that you still hadn’t openly admitted to your parents who he was. “I’m sorry, I’m the worst and I know it but my dad probably will recognize you right away.” Which couldn’t be further from the truth because once Jack had his bags packed and you two headed to your parents place, the minute you two walked through the front door and your father saw him you knew he had recognized him just by the way he paused.

It almost looked like your dad was thinking as if he was trying to figure out where he had seen Jack. “You’re the kid from the Devils aren’t you?” He asked and your heart sank to your stomach as Jack nodded his head. The tension in the air got thick around you as you waited to see what your dad would say next. “Kid, you had a fantastic season. The whole team did pretty great. Congrats.”

A soft sigh of relief fell from your lips which caused your dad to give you a weird look. “What? Just because I’m a formers Rangers player you think I can’t appreciate talent? Even if it’s from the rival team?” Your dad sounded amazed as he looked over at you and you sheepishly shrugged. You should have known he wouldn’t have reacted badly over something that truly was as simple as he was putting it. “I just thought you’d give him a tougher time.”

“Oh don’t get me wrong, I’m going to crack on him. Sorry Jack. Also just so you know the only jersey she’ll be wearing are my old ones, don’t you be wearing any of those devils jerseys…At least not in front of your old man.” A laugh left both you and Jacks lips because you knew you had already broken this rule weeks back when you had gone to Jacks game wearing one of his jerseys but your dad definitely didn’t have to know all that, not yet at least.

[nhl-stories]

hornylovesickmess – Nico Hischier

Summary: Marie should know better by now, knows she should leave him alone, but Nico's like a drug. One more hit can't hurt.

Author’s Note: Almost a year to the day I finally finished this album series. Phew! Also lol to me thinking I'd have the motivation to finish it in 10 weeks. Seems clear from the title but it does get steamy below.

Word Count: 2.6k

Album Series Masterlist

And I don't wanna be the type of person who calls you up Every time I need to get off

The view from her hotel room is taunting her. It’s sunny and bright on the Hudson River, reflecting off the buildings of the New York skyline.

Most people wouldn’t be too upset about being put up in a nice hotel and having 48 hours free in close proximity to the city, but Marie had moved away for a reason.

And still part of her is stuck here, even at a 4-star hotel minutes away from Newark airport.

So, she does what she does best and gives into her baser instincts.

She’s no stranger to crafting the perfect sext, keeping it tantalizing and teasing enough while still giving her location. Like an eloquent ‘u up?’

Marie hits send before she can second guess herself.

She shouldn’t be reaching out to him, grabbing for that loose thread and pulling for her own selfish reasons. But she’s been lonely since the move and in all honestly, just plain horny.

Nico almost swallows his tongue when he opens the text.

At first glance a simple picture of the New York skyline, but at second glance the reflection of a naked woman comes into view.

It might as well be Marie’s calling card.

He regrets opening the text in the locker room.

“What the hell has you that red Neeks?” Bastian calls from his stall.

He can feel the blush getting darker.

“The last time you looked like that was because of that flight attendant,” Bratter calls out.

When he doesn’t respond balls of tape come flying his way with a chorus of groans.

“It’s not like I texted her first!”

“You never text her first,” Jack rolls his eyes.

“I’m not texting her back.”

“Block her number while you’re at it,” Bratt responds.

Nico stashes his phone away and mostly forgets about the text.

||||

She checks her phone for about the fifth time during drinks with her friends. She knows what they’re thinking, but they’re not gonna say it.

It’s especially kind of them since Nico hasn’t responded. Even though he’s the type of guy to have read receipts on, so she knows he looked at her message.

Her phone buzzes, she pulls it out of her pocket so fast she fumbles it, dropping it on the bar. Her friend snatches it up and laughs.

“It’s a notification from Postmates, you have coupon.”

Marie feels herself flush, embarrassed to be caught like some kind of junkie waiting for their next hit.

“Jesus Christ, just go get laid! You’re unbearable when you’re wound this tight. It’s not even worth the catch up.”

“Fine, I’ll go, but only because I haven’t had sex in months. See you on my next layover.”

“Unless you’re still jonesing for that Jersey dick!”

“It’s Swiss,” Marie sticks her tongue out.

She waves down a cab, and she should give the address to her hotel, but she’s in some sort of horny fugue state. Why go back and masturbate at her hotel thinking about him when she knows his address?

Before she knows it, she’s at his door fixing her hair and trying to lean seductively against the doorframe. Maybe she’s lost her mojo during her recent dry spell.

She knocks before she loses her nerve.

Marie hears someone lumbering along around on the other side of the door. Nico finally answers the door; shirtless with a pair of gray sweats low on his hips, hair flopping about like he just woke up.

Her mouth goes dry at the familiar sight, or maybe she salivates, or somehow both at the same time. She feels so out of sync with her hormones.

But she knows she wants, scratch that, needs.

“Thought maybe the picture just didn’t do the real thing justice,” she smirks even though she kind of wants to grimace at the cheesy line.

“I was trying to let you down easy,” he’s trying to avoid eye contact.

“Well, here I am, easy and ready to be let down on your bed.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. She can practically see his willpower crumbling piece by piece.

“C’mon, I haven’t been with anyone else since Denver.”

She dares to reach out, running a finger from his collarbone down, down, down, until Nico grabs her wrist.

“Just–“ he yanks her into the apartment, “get in here.”

Marie is flush against his chest now, she smirks, “that’s more like it.”

“Your picture got me in trouble in locker room, the boys think you’re no good for me.”

“Do you want me to be good for you?” She roughly grabs him through his sweatpants.

“I don’t think you could be if you tried,” he ruts against her palm.

She gentles her touch in response, she wants to be good, for Nico at least.

Marie can’t make eye contact now. If she looks up all the guilt of coming here after she promised herself she’d stop will come rushing back. She doesn’t have time for that when she can feel him hardening in her hand.

So, she closes her eyes and kisses him. Lets her tongue explore his mouth. Lets Nico manhandle her towards the bedroom. A path she’s too familiar with even with her eyes closed.

She doesn’t dare open her eyes until she’s flat on her back and hears Nico rummaging in the bedside table. As he comes back up with a condom, Marie works on the too many layers of clothes she’s still wearing.

He rolls on the condom and strokes himself slowly, “Is this you being good?”

Marie spreads her thighs and bites her lip, holding back demands for him to get on with it.

He pushes her legs even farther apart and nearly drapes himself over her. One finger runs up her slit, feeling how slick she is with desperation, he sucks the finger into his mouth and Marie can’t hold on any longer.

“Please, fuck, please,” she grapples for his shoulders anything to anchor her in the moment.

He doesn’t need any more encouragement than that to push in one go.

“Jesus Christ,” Marie gasps at the sudden intrusion, familiar as it is.

He sets an agonizingly slow pace, making her feel every unbearable movement without getting her any closer to her climax.

“C’mon Nico, give it to me,” she whines and clenches around him, trying to egg him on.

But it doesn’t deter him from his mission to tease her death, maybe it’s punishment for how she’s treated him.

She tries to move her own hips for more friction and still Nico keeps with his slow and steady pace.

Marie grabs his hair and makes him look at her, “I swear to god, if you don’t start really fucking me, I’m gonna explode.”

The evil little smirk he gives her, makes her stomach swoop.

“I knew you couldn’t stay good.”

“If being bad means I’ll have an orgasm, I guess I’m the devil,” she pulls him in for a kiss that’s probably too much tongue and teeth but she doesn’t care.

Then Nico takes her by surprise, flipping her onto all fours in such a fluid movement she already feels closer to coming. And that’s before he starts railing her from behind. The slap of skin and pornographic squelching fills the silence in the room.

Marie has lost all her witty words, can barely get enough air to make noises beyond tiny gasps. Nico knows exactly where to thrust, how to grip her hips, tweak her nipples, reach between her thighs and rub her clit. It’s too much, to have your body read like a book.

She clenches around him when she’s almost over the edge and feels him release, one hand tightening so hard on her hips it might bruise.

He blankets his body over her back, kissing her shoulders while he continues to rub her clit, buried deep inside her.

Her arms give out when she finally comes, her body singing with pleasure. Nico’s weight heavy on her, but she can’t bring herself to move him, it all feels too good.

She doesn’t remember when they move apart, or if they clean up at all, or if she peed afterward, she really hopes she at least did the last one. Still, she’s in hazy bliss before she’s rudely awoken from her dream-like state by her alarm obnoxiously ringing, too loudly at that.

She has to get out of the bed to find her phone her jeans pocket.

“Shit, fuck, shit,” she swears before having to put her clothes back on.

Nico’s alarm starts going off now. He sits up to see Marie half-dressed already.

“Of course,” he sounds so disappointed.

“I have a flight to catch and I still have to get my uniform and pack my suitcase.”

“Sure,” he sighs as he starts to get out of bed himself.

She probably deserves this, scratch that she knows she deserves this, but doesn’t mean she won’t defend herself.

“It’s a 9:30 Newark to DFW, look it up” she knows her shirt is inside out but that’s how late she is as she calls an Uber.

“Thanks for last night,” she gives Nico a quick kiss and leaves before he can respond.

Of course, when the elevator opens, Jack is the one standing on the other side, with an exhausted looking boy next to him. It’s probably his brother, Marie’s brain supplies the small Devils knowledge she has.

“That fucking idiot.”

“I showed up here, the blame is on me,” Marie holds her hands up in surrender.

“But the inside shirt and messed up hair is probably on him.”

“Probably can mostly blame me for that too, I know you want to.”

The look of disgust on his face makes that very clear.

Thankfully, the elevator door opens before the torture can continue.

||||

Marie goes back to rebuilding her resolve. She was trying to quit him cold turkey, not mess up Nico’s perfect little world again.  But she couldn’t resist one more hit of her favorite drug.

Still, the universe isn’t making it easy for her to stay sober.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me!”

Marie and her coworkers all jump at the exclamation. When she turns around there’s Jack Hughes.

Nico is nowhere to be seen, so Marie is sure she can get away without making much of a scene.

“Of all the hotels in a city with multiple airports…” Jack doesn’t seem amused at her response, “I’m just as surprised as you, sorry the universe is clearly playing a sick joke on us.”

She runs off to her room before she has a chance encounter with Nico. Begs off from dinner plans with her coworkers. Masturbates in the shower in hopes of taking the edge off.

She’s wound up like a rubber band knowing Nico is so close.  For all she knows, there’s only a wall separating them right now.

And of course, she gives in, because Marie is a fiend and a rotten person. How can she resist when the world laid it out on a platter like this.

She hopes he’s stronger than her and doesn’t respond, but she texts him regardless: I have it on good authority we’re in the same hotel

Marie can barely put her phone down before she gets a response.

Yeah for someone who doesn’t want me interacting with you Jack was quick to gossip

She can hear his tone through the words, hear his husky laugh at his own joke. Her chest feels like it’s squeezing her heart. Makes her act out of character.

Wanna get dinner or drinks or something?

Marie from a few months ago would be nauseous at this kind of proposition, but her present-self feels like she owes Nico… something different.

So, she finds herself tucked into a corner booth at some restaurant Nico says he’s been to before.

And she laughs at his jokes. Brushes her hand over his. Turns a bit soppy looking into his warm brown eyes.

And she knows she made a mistake.

But still, she holds his hand as they walk back to the hotel; swaying back and forth, a little wine-drunk.

Marie walks him to the door like she’s some sort of gentleman at the end of a first date, they both know the connotations are anything but gentlemanly.

“This was nice,” she smiles up at him.

“If you were still in Jersey, we could have nights like this all the time,”

That should deflate her a bit, but she’s made it too far for it to end here with some serious conversation, so she reaches into his pocket to grab his room key and unlock the door, shoving him into the room.

She kisses him, hard and needy. She desperately wants her lips everywhere. She follows that train down his jaw.

“Clearly you want this kind of thing too, or you wouldn’t come crawling to me anytime we’re in the same place,” his hands are bunching up the skirt of her dress.

She bites down on his neck, a little meaner than she should. But it gets him going enough to throw her onto his bed. Her underwear is gone and a finger is pushing into her before she can make any moves.

A second and third are soon to follow. The pressure from his thumb on her clit is enough to make her throw back her head and enjoy the intoxication.

His other hand cups her jaw, makes her open her eyes and look at him.

“This is all I wanted, but you had to be a brat who let me find out you moved by showing up to your empty apartment,” he stops moving his fingers, stops using any pressure.

“I apologized for that,” she whines, desperate and uncaring.

“Did you?” He crooks his fingers just so.

“I gave you a blow job,” Marie grits out.

He raises his brows while he pulls out, leaving her feeling emptier than ever before.

“Fuck.”

The realization crashes over her harder than any orgasm ever could.

She scrambles off the bed throwing on her underwear and grabbing her phone.

“I’m deleting your number.”

“What?”

“I moved to a city that doesn’t even have a hockey team to stay away from you and that’s not even working.”

“You moved because of me?” The crease between his brow is like a canyon.

“You wanted more and I knew I wasn’t– I’m not in a place to give that to you, but fuck! Whatever I’m doing now– I’m just being cruel, aren’t I?”

“I’m not exactly turning you away.”

“Doesn’t mean I should keep using you,” tears she wasn’t expecting start to well up, “Nico you’re worth a lot more than a quick fuck from a flight attendant who happens to be in the same zip code as you.”

Nico just stares at her and Marie knows she has to be the bigger person here.

“You should block me on everything too, don’t give me a way to weasel my way back in.”

Once she’s dressed, she moves towards Nico, moves a strand of hair off his forehead.

She feels like she should say something meaningful, but this isn’t that kind of relationship; Marie made sure of that when she scorched the earth behind her when she left.

She kisses him one last time and hopes she’ll be able to find her next hit in someone else.

[octaviasdread]

Dead Poet Date Hc's

Anderperry - Chased by Walt Whiskers

When Todd's publisher demands that he use social media, his manager, Ginny, couldn't have envisioned this.

Accidental sweater thirst traps aside, it's Walt Whiskers driving Todd's media engagement. It's Walt Whiskers who guest stars at his poetry readings, and it's Walt Whiskers who Ginny hires a social media manager for.

Who knew his anxiety aid could be such a traitor?

Because when Todd meets Neil his life goes to shit.

Working in media had, of course, given Todd the expectation that his cat's manager would be attractive. Todd can work with attractive. He can ignore attractive, usually.

But nothing about Neil is normal. He's tall, extroverted, and a Shakespearean actor to boot.

He's not arrogant, gym-obsessed, or suppressing the temper of a stage mom. Neil is a regular guy so in love with his poorly paid job that he decimates his sleep schedule and runs ragged to pay his rent by managing the city's theatre socials.

So Ginny, like any good friend, ropes Neil in before her boss at Todd’s publishing house even finishes the call.

Unfortunately, Todd is a homebody. He is a poet with a Wikipedia page branding him a 'recluse,' and the thing about influencers is they have to exist outside.

Ginny compromises at first. Every shoot is scheduled in darkened, private spaces.

Todd watches each time as Neil's brows raise in perfect, incredulous arcs. He doesn't comment. Instead, Neil hoists Walt onto one of his ridiculously high hips and takes a walk to 'check the light.'

Todd's lungs expand.

To Neil's credit, he tries. Todd finds indoor photoshoots awkward enough as he poses with his lacklustre smile, torn notebooks, and Walt Whiskers perching irritably on his lap.

The outdoor shoots are worse.

"Poetry is supposed to stir you up!" Neil's voice projects through Central Park as he gesticulates wildly. "You look as stirred up as a cesspool."

"I'm not like you."

"Don't you think you could be? People listen to your words, Todd. Now let them meet you."

"I thought you were here for Walt."

Neil rolls his eyes, "you are Walt, dummy. Come on, let's break for coffee."

So they order drinks and commiserate through quotes, exchanging words from Tennessee Williams and Kafka until Todd is comfortable enough to allude to his own.

And when Todd isn't looking, Neil gets the Instagram reel. It's the perfect shot of Walt Whiskers wearing Neil's glasses as he slowly blinks at Todd quoting from his supposedly 'aesthetic,' ink-stained notebook.

With a trendy sound bite, the post explodes.

Todd's latest book flies off the shelves. So naturally, Ginny hauls them into her office to talk strategy.

Strategy, in Ginny's world, translates to valentine date.

"It's logic," Ginny dismisses. Tinny music pours from the speakers as the Hudson River Company keeps her cell phone on hold. "Your latest collection is called, Tides of Love, Todd. I'd be an idiot not to set up a romantic dinner cruise for PR.”

"I'm not sitting there with my cat." Todd turns and appeals to Neil for help. "Tell her what people will think."

Neil opens his mouth, but Ginny cuts him off.

"No." She shoots a firm look at them both. "I know for a fact that neither of you have valentines plans. Take the cat together and secure us a bestseller."

They take the cat.

Todd spends all night pulling at his tux. Walt has no such reservations with his mini paw-printed bowtie. Instead, the damn cat has every waitress sneaking chicken under the perfectly pressed tablecloth.

If he were a better pet owner, Todd would've noticed. In a better world, Todd would've stuck to the no-chicken diet Walt's vet prescribed. But in this world, his cat's manager is wearing a tux.

Neil could be a Hollywood star sitting there under candlelight. With the wine in his head and the river waves in his stomach, Todd wants to take Tides of Love and write it anew.

But he doesn't.

Todd pokes at his Michelin star meal. It may be pathetic, but valentines are valentines no matter how fake.

He crumples a napkin and drops it over the camera lens.

There are no witnesses when Neil pets Walt, his long, delicate fingers brushing Todd's own. Nobody shares how they linger, how they curve, almost taking Todd's hand to hold.

And when Neil makes a determined and tipsy climb up the deck, Todd doesn't turn, doesn't direct his stare away. He finds himself laughing and scrambling to race against Neil's impossibly long legs. With a fire inside, Todd snatches up the lookout post, throwing drunken taunts out in his wake.

With flushed cheeks and Walt warm in his arms, Todd isn't a tentative poet or a hermit half in early retirement. He's Jack flying high through the clouds. He's bold and he's reckless in his dreams, and in his love for a Shakespearean Rose.

Like every ship, Cupid's Arrow sweeps Todd happily into the deep.

It's only with his hangover the inevitable sinking begins. His iceberg is the size of date night floating up his fyp with over 20,000 hits.

A heart-shaped button has never cut so deep.

But with engagement comes sales and not one, but two, NY Times bestsellers, so the poet and media manager keep taking Walt on contracted dates.

Cafes roll into museums, picnic dates, and late-night Broadway shoots.

Walt poses while Neil charms and draws Todd closer and closer into their extroverted orbit.

By April, Todd's poems hang from the walls backstage at Circle in the Square. He walks between frames correcting and composing while Walt scurries beneath seats, and sniffs for wet food pouches stashed under stacks of Neil's scripts.

It's a routine, Todd tells himself. It's enrichment to exercise Walt. It's his typewriter stored as a video prop amongst the leafy crowns and Yorick skulls at home in Neil's dressing room.

It's this home the poet follows, each purr and smile like catnip until he finds himself curling up during rehearsals behind painted, woodland sets. His poems layer across the orchestra, snatches of Neil's soliloquy, and the beat of paws on wood as Todd opens his words and world to TikTok Live.

With these unique readings come sponsors, and with sponsors come trips.

As spring creeps in, Ginny packs them off on a brand deal supplying a '57 Chevrolet Corvette for the road Coney Island.

They shoot Walt in the driver's seat like a city-dwelling Grace Kelly in sunglasses and a scarf. In a second snap, Neil lounges on the red bonnet in a line of Times Square traffic, and Todd is blurrily backlit by Battery Tunnel in a final car shot, the winning polaroid cover for his upcoming collection, Epigraphs for Nostalgia.

The road to true love has never felt so smooth.

Todd knows it can’t last, but he clings to this day straight from the brand’s vintage guide to teenage dates.

Roll after roll fills with charmingly juvenile snaps.

They wave from Deno’s Wonder Wheel. Product placement smears Coney Cone's ice cream over Walt's nose, while Neil and Todd squabble over film and notebook sheets which fly loose to scatter like snow on the boardwalk.

"I told you," Neil whoops, "those dead drafts want to fly!"

Chastened by staff, but thrilled with the candid, self-timer snaps, the poet and media manager take one more shot.

"Come on," Todd grumbles, wrestling Walt into an admittedly dingy photo booth. "You can't take care of yourself."

Walt meows in protest. But the curtain falls and traps both man and cat as Neil slides onto the bench.

Flash. Walt pressed nose to nose with Todd. Flash. Todd squawks while Neil howls at the ice cream Walt smears on Todd's nose. Flash. Walt leaps and Neil dives into Todd's lap in an effort to catch the escaping cat. Ding!

Pink hearts float in bubble letters like cotton candy across the screen: Kisscam Count.

Descending digits blink in and out.

Three.

The poet freezes. His cat's media manager glances up, his body still sprawled across the poet's lap.

Two.

Neil inhales.

One.

The final lines of Epigraph for Nostalgia linger on the seam of Todd's lips.

“Carpe Diem," he mutters.

There's a flicker.

An image appears of an Instagram crashing kiss.

[amtrak-official]

hey! i'm an aussie urban designer in training so i'm sorry if i don't know much about how you guys run!! but i was looking at the map the other day. and the amtrak runs along the river?!? just next to it? how does that work? do you have any pictures of the infrastructure in order to make that possible?

(i'll admit i don't know the first thing about physics or engineering to hold up a train. but i do know a lot of hydrology and riparian ecology and so. that's what has me slightly concerned)

So I am not an expert on this but from what I understand they basically just carved into the terrain a bit and put in some embankments, it helps that the Hudson River doesn't flood much. These tracks were built in the late 1800s so they probably didn't put much thought into the ecology.

[mcufan72]

Sugar and Cinnamon

Loki x female reader (AU) / 18+

Chapter 3

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

Warnings: none so far, contains fluff, angst, morally grey stuff and smut (eventually), some teasing, sexual tension and some lustful feelings but I think it's still a slow-burn love story.

A/N: I had some struggles writing this down, it took me several days to get it right. Maybe this chapter still sounds better in my head than the written lines. But I hope you all like reading it.

A big thank you @poetic-fiasco 💚❤️ for a phrase you created in a completely different context (you know which phrase I mean) and for allowing me to use it. It's just two words but they fitted perfectly that evening 😅

Loki stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows in the large living room of his penthouse in Jersey City, New Jersey and enjoyed the first rays of sunshine in the morning. He loved the fantastic view from here over the Hudson River to the amazing skyline of Manhattan in the light of the rising sun. How far he had come. He still quarrelled with what he had done to this city and its inhabitants and the sick plans he had to rule this planet as their king. Fortunately, he got stopped right in time, further damage was prevented and after realizing his mistake, a mistake he made because he was being tortured and forced, he got the chance for redemption. He had made good use of it. The beast was annihilated in close combat and not at least because of his help and his extraordinary skills to talk, to lie, to trick, to use his magic and to fight.

In the beginning, many of the Avengers were wary and didn't trust him. But his brother never gave up on him, he never lost his trust in him or the love he had for him. Loki would always be grateful for it and yes, he loved his brother, too. Indeed. After many times in over ten years of proving his loyalty, his sense of justice, his negotiation skills and his will to fight for the right things, literally and figuratively, they all became friends, more or less, and since two years, mostly working as an ambassador and negotiator, he was allowed to live alone without any kind of “babysitting”. Of course, his brother still kept an eye on him and so did Tony Stark. But it became more and more a kind of visiting each other than controlling him. Loki was fine with that. He knew some things needed time to be forgiven and living under the radar when he came back to New York twelve years ago, under a fake name and in solitude, made things easier for him. People came to New York and also left this city again. It happens frequently in a metropolis with millions of population and also people forget easily in the fast pace and hectic of today's time. It also wouldn't be long anymore before he would have served his sentence and he would be free to go wherever he wanted.

While watching the first Staten Island Ferries launching for the Statue of Liberty and just clothed in black sweatpants, one hand in his pocket and a mug of coffee in his other hand, he was thinking of you. He still felt your body and your warmth in his arms. He shouldn't. He decided to live alone, unattached to a woman. He had his brother and his friends and that was already more than he deserved. Also, love and relationships never ended well for him and he was tired of getting his heart broken over and over again. Maybe a sinner like him with blood-drenched hands didn't deserve the love and affection of a woman at all. He was fine with only having sexual affairs from time to time with faceless, nameless women to satisfy his carnal needs.

But it has been a while now since he had a woman tangled in his bedsheets and getting a lusty distraction from his loneliness. He'd love to have physical contact again but not with another faceless woman. If he would share a bed with someone again it had to be you. You had entered his life and he couldn't get you out of his head. He loved your appearance, which was surely a fassade or sort of a costume, he was well aware of that. If there was someone who could relate to it, it was him. There was much more he liked about you, the lovely and decent woman behind that masquerade. He had already seen some tiny little glimpses of the real you, who were shoved into a situation you seemingly never wanted. He liked your attitude, sassy and cute, you were eloquent and smart. You knew what you wanted and what you did not want.

The little mistake you had made at the dining table didn't bother him at all. Nobody is perfect and he knew exactly what he was talking about. It just made you more adorable. But how realistic was his wish to sleep with you? You had made it very clear that you weren't interested in getting sexually involved with him. And he had told you the same. And wouldn't it be inconsequential to change his mind now? He also struggled with the ‘sex-only’-thing when it came to you. Didn't you deserve more and better? You shouldn't sleep with someone like him. Knee-deep in blood, sin and guilt. Guilty of murder. Guilty of having tried to conquer a planet and subjugate the people of Earth against their will. Your people. If you knew his real identity you would hate him. Abysmal hate from the bottom of your heart perhaps. You were an angel and he was the sinner. Heaven and hell. You two had nothing in common, nothing was binding you. You were his escort, his distraction. His distraction from pain and loneliness. And he was just your client, one of many who paid you for your service, who paid the money you urgently needed for who knows what. But he hated that other men touched you, and spent time with you. He knew his blood-drenched hands weren't worthy to touch you at all but other men weren't worthy to touch you either.

Damn, he shouldn't have danced with you. Because now he wanted the feeling of you in his arms over and over again. Yes, it did things to him and that evening, when he physically was so close to you it wasn't easy for him to suppress an erection. But this urge to hold you in his arms again wasn't just sexual. He wanted to feel your warmth, your closeness again and not least he wanted to enjoy your company again. And he wanted to take care of you. A care you surely wouldn't want or need. He didn't deserve you but he wanted you, wanted to be with you, no matter what and he must find a way to avoid that other men would ever lay an eye or a hand on you or take advantage of you.

All of this was the reason why he wanted to book you for next Saturday. He had already sent an email to your agency promptly after your first date and expected the confirmation for the appointment during the day. He would go to the opening of a small art gallery with you, an event he actually didn't want to go to. He didn't really like to go to exclusively social events without a business background. He had decided otherwise now because it was a perfect reason for booking you to escort him to this event …and to see you again. You came into his life and only then he realized how utterly lonely he was. Maybe at least it hadn't been a good decision to live a life in solitude. Should he ask you for a shared night? Would you agree? Would it be too soon and too offensive to ask you? If you'd agree to share the bed with him, you’d have to follow some of his rules because there was still this one thing he could never let you know.

Besides all of this, he would give you all the money you needed without getting anything from you but it seemed you would never take his money without giving something in return. He was sure you wouldn't even ask him for money and you probably had good reasons for it. Loki took a sip of his coffee, reached for a random book on his impressive bookshelf and tried to distract himself by reading a few lines. He made himself comfortable on his sofa and began to read. It didn't work. His thoughts always drifted back to you.

**********************

What should you do now? You sat at the table in your apartment, your lunch untouched on a plate next to you. You weren't hungry. There was a lump in your stomach and it took away your appetite. How should you manage all of this? Your studies, the bills, the increased rent for your apartment and your mum's nursing home, visiting her on Sundays, daily dates with men you had to escort to functions, and from now on appointments for the weekends, too. You should focus on your studies and finish your degree to get back to a serious, well-paid job again. You didn't want to work as an escort lady for the rest of your life. But your study was so expensive that you ran out of money sooner than expected. You still had some saved money but you needed it for something else so you wouldn't touch it.

There have been times when you had all the money and possibilities to afford an apartment like this, your mum's nursing home and the care for her, and a nice life with all its amenities. And because of one silly mistake your whole life crashed down. But maybe you didn't deserve it any better. You sat in front of your laptop and stared at the files of your bank statement and your busy schedule. Now there were some options. There were just two if you were being honest. You could twist and squirm all you want, you wouldn't earn enough money, not even as an escort. You could move into a much cheaper and even smaller apartment which wouldn't be easy in Manhattan, unless you liked to live in a rathole. But you had to try it and in the worst case, you would live in a rathole, for heaven's sake. Also, you could earn some more money a bit faster if you…the thought made you cringe but you had to do it, you had no other choice. But there was only this one man imaginable for you, the one who had told you, he only wanted to be escorted by you and nothing more. And after that dumb mistake at your first real appointment with him, you had been sure you would never see him again. Luke Larsson was a man who didn't accept unprofessionalism. And yet he had been very nice to you and you appreciated it.

You took a sip of your coffee and calculated your financial issues for the umpteenth time. It was to despair. Would you ever find a way out of this fucked up situation? Sometimes you wished you could go back to your little village in the south of Great Britain, back into your little happy bubble, far away from trouble, bad news and harsh reality. Back to the times when you baked cinnamon rolls with your mum every Sunday afternoon. Life was peaceful there but those times were over. Welcome to reality!

Taking another sip of your coffee, you were closing the laptop lid, when a pling was signalling an incoming email. You opened the laptop lid completely again and opened the mail. It was from Rhea. She had promised to send you the further details of Luke's next appointment with you.

Hey dear,

I hope you're doing well. As promised earlier, here's the update for your appointment with Mr. Larsson.

It's on Saturday afternoon and I hope this fits your schedule. It's a gallery opening so I hope this information helps to choose the right clothing appropriate to the occasion.

Mr. Larsson will wait for you at the gallery, Walker will drive you there. He'll pick you up at your home at 3 pm. If you have any further questions, feel free to call me and please mail me your confirmation for this appointment so I can inform Mr Larsson.

PS: please remember the date with Mr Rogers tonight. I'm sorry that he had booked you at short notice. Have fun!

Take care, dear

Rhea

Luke had booked you again. He really wanted you to escort him again and you still couldn't believe it. Thank goodness he was not resentful and hadn't told Rhea about your stupid mistake. He gave you a second chance and you looked forward to seeing him again but you felt nervous at the same time. Things were getting real now. Should you offer him your advanced service? He didn't flirt, that's what he made very clear to you but the way he danced with you and looked at you has been very close to it. And it felt good. You barely remembered when it was the last time someone had looked at you like he did that evening.

Anyway, will he say yes? Why should he say yes and also pay for it? He could have any woman he wanted, they surely lined up at his door to spend a night of debauched passion with him. This man was pure sex. Women probably fling themselves at him daily. Your heart clenched painfully when you pictured him with other women, more lovable and more desirable than you. But you had no right to judge him or the other women for it. You had no right to think and feel like that. At least he was a man with carnal needs. You didn't have an exclusive right to meet him. It was the other way around, he decided if he wanted you to escort him or not. You should better be grateful that Luke wanted to meet you again.

You should give it a try and offer him to sleep with you. Couldn't be that difficult. It was just sex, right? You never cared much about sex, you never understood what the fuss was all about. Your exes never had much patience with you when you needed a bit longer to feel satisfied and maybe you had always been the problem. So what. A quick fuck, in and out and in between moaning a little horny and he would be done in three minutes. You were good at faking orgasms. Pretending you enjoy it as much as he does shouldn't be that difficult for you. He wouldn't even notice it, men never noticed. You always thought you would be too decent for that, having sex with a client but you had already fallen so deep…and fuck decency. Life gave a shit about it…so why should you!

For now, you should focus on your next date tonight, Mr.Rogers. You would meet him at a dancing hall. You like dancing and for now, it would be a good distraction from your current problems. It seemed a bit old-fashioned to go to a dancing bar where they played old classics from the 40's and 50’s but you were sure you would've fun and a decent gentleman at your side tonight. And after tonight you had just one more date and then it would already be Saturday, when you would see Luke again. A little smile curved your lips and you headed to the bathroom to get ready for tonight. It was time for Sugar's performance.

Your date for Friday night got cancelled. You were already waiting at Vivian's Velvet and having your obligatory glass of champagne at the bar when Rhea sent you a message. Your client got ill but maybe he just changed his mind. It didn't happen very often but it happened. Well, you had a free evening now, and you still got paid because it wasn't your fault the date was cancelled so you had some time to think about some rules and boundaries for sexual intercourse with clients. Or should you better say, rules for having sex with Luke? There were definitely some things you wouldn't do and you should be well prepared for a clarifying conversation. No perverse shit, no hard-core sex and the most important thing: no kisses! And falling in love is strictly forbidden, for both sides. Sex only!

You would never fall for a client and you would never fall for Luke Larsson. Not for his stupid, soft obsidian curls, not for his broad shoulders, his strong arms or his long legs, not for his incredible charm, or his beautiful eyes, not for his devastating smile, no matter how handsome he was or how fast he made your heart beating. He was your client and that's all he'll ever be.

On Saturday morning you've gotten up early to have enough time for grocery shopping, doing the dishes and cleaning up your messy apartment. Books and papers for your studies and clothes, your normal ones and those you had worn for your dates, were spread all over the floor, chairs, the table and the sofa. The daily appointments on weekdays had a deep impact on your daily routine. You were so tired sometimes that you didn't have the energy to clean everything up daily. And from now on you won't have the weekends either to relax a little bit. So you were in a hurry now because your appointment was already in the afternoon today and you still had to shower and prepare yourself for the gallery opening. You weren't sure if you were ready to ask Luke if he wanted to sleep with you but you'd definitely ask him. The pressure to earn more money quickly was getting higher and you've come to terms with it that you had to expand your service.

After showering you looked through your closet to find an adequate outfit for a gallery opening. You decided to go for an elegant, refined trouser suit in pastel pink, combined with a white blouse with a deep neckline, and white high heels. Underneath you wore white lace underwear. You loved this sexy set of bra and thong but it let you look more innocent than you were. You hoped Luke would like it, in case he would accept your offer tonight. With your hair in a tight bun with the knot deep in your neck and dark pink lipstick on your lips, Sugar was ready to meet Mr Larsson.

Walker drove you to the gallery where Luke was already waiting for you. Walker got out of the limousine but Loki gestured to him that he wanted to open the door for you. The moment you got out of the backseat and took the hand he was offering you, you were directly under his spell again. He looked so dapper and seductive in his suit which was midnight blue, combined with a tight-fitting white shirt, its collar open, his beautiful neck on perfect display. His look was completed by black Oxfords and a silk scarf around his neck. The scarf shimmered in the darkest shades of blue and green you had ever seen. The scent of his cologne was alluring and you wanted to bury your nose into his soft hair that framed his incredibly beautiful face perfectly. Indeed, he was a god in a suit or maybe he was the devil himself. A handsome devil, seductively hot, ready to take you with him into his den of desire, ready to burn with you in hell. Damn it, your imagination was running too wild.

“Good afternoon, Sugar. Thank you for coming. I'm glad to see you and you look beautiful again”, he greeted you gentlemanly and you came back to reality.

“Good afternoon, Luke. Thank you for your compliment…I think I look a bit like candy floss…,” you answered jokingly and turned in a circle once, a big grin on your face.

“Sorry, I don't quite understand…” Loki said and looked quizzically at you. For him you looked lovely, like a beautiful, sexy angel.

“Candy floss, it's mostly pastel pink and… made of sugar… nah, forget it, it was a bad joke,” you smiled at him and shook your head lightly and Loki smiled back at you. He looked so pretty when he smiled. “Thank you for booking me again. It's a pleasure to accompany you to the opening.” you continued kindly.

“Don't worry, it wasn't a bad joke. I just don't know what candyfloss is and to me, you look beautiful,” he told you. It was what he honestly thought and he could imagine that you probably taste sweet like sugar. “I hope you like art?”

“Oh yes, I do. I'm already excited to have a look at all of the artwork.” You replied genuinely and Loki smiled contentedly at you.

“Then let's go inside,” and he offered you his arm which you took gratefully. It felt so good to touch him.

Inside, you two were greeted by a middle-aged beautiful woman who was the gallery owner and an old friend of Tony Stark. She gave you a short introduction to the artworks in her gallery and that you should feel free to get drinks, canapés and sweets from the buffet. Just from the way she looked at Luke, you could tell she was enchanted by him and you couldn't blame her for it. But you felt something inside of you you should better not feel at all. It felt as if she would take him away from you and he wasn't even a friend of yours. You should better not forget what you were for him. You were his escort, something like a fake date and he was your client. While he was still in conversation with different people who seemed to know him, you strolled through the exhibition until you stood in front of a painting you couldn't keep your eyes off.

*************

Loki tried to end the several conversations he was drawn into, quickly because you were already on your way through the gallery and he wanted to spend the time with you and not with random guests who came to the opening. First, he couldn't find you, there were so many people in there but around the next corner, he finally found you.

You stood in front of a painting you couldn't stop staring at. A painting with a golden elegant vase filled to the brim with all sorts of wildflowers, tulips, roses, daffodils, lilies, and peonies, loosely arranged in it. As elegant as the vase was, as wild and untamed were the flowers. Loki couldn't stop staring at you and enjoying the view of the woman he began to care about. It touched him how fascinated you stared at the painting and how you were able to zone out the world around you. You literally bathed in the effect of the picture which it obviously had on you. He gave you further moments of enjoyment before he walked towards you, his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

“Do you like it?” He asked you politely

“Yes,... it's beautiful. I don't know why, it's just…the flowers, the colours…it just put a spell on me. The flowers are pure life, colourful, beautiful, wild but destined to wither and die because they got cut but still…they are pure beauty and I can literally smell their various wonderful scents.” You were still captivated when you whispered under your breath so Loki couldn't hear it “... and they remind me of home…like your British accent…”

“Yeah, it attracts us, it's winning us all over whether we want it or not. Some things have this effect on us,” he replied and walked closer to you.

Loki had an idea why you liked the painting that much. The motif reminded him of you: elegant and pretty as the vase, and wonderful, wild, free, untamed and colourful as the flowers. But if he would paint this picture of you right now, the vase would lay shattered on the floor and the flowers were crushed and stepped on, everything broken and sad. That's what he saw whenever he looked into your eyes and he wished he could help you with more than just his money.

“Is that so, Luke?” and you turned towards him.

“What do you mean? “ He looked at you from above. He was so tall and so close to you. It was now or never. You knew if you wouldn't do it now, your courage would leave you faster than you could imagine.

“What is it that attracts you?” and your one hand softly caressed his outer thigh, travelled upwards over his really adorable butt, kneading it gently, and then farther upwards to the waistband of his trousers. Your actions went straight to his cock which twitched against the confinement of his slacks. Your gaze was pure seduction and your hand on his body was hot like fire. He grabbed your wrist at lightning speed.

“What are you doing there, Sugar?” he murmured darkly, frowning.

“Testing the waters. Testing if you're really not interested in flirting. I can feel some…tension between us, if you know what I mean,” you whispered and your gaze wandered down from his eyes over his lips and his body to his visible bulge. Were you really capable of doing this to him? Or did he just get hard because you might promise him a quicky? Your gazing down at his manhood didn't go unnoticed by Loki. What were you up to?

“Stop being naughty, Sugar,” he growled darkly.

“Why? Don't you like it when I touch you?”

“We have a deal. Don't forget about that. And besides, you have no idea what you're asking for.”

“Really? Maybe I know exactly what I'm asking for. And deals are negotiable,” your words were dripping like honey from your mouth.

“No! And you have no idea what it means to tease me!” Loki responded firmly.

“Uhhh…now I'm curious. Don't play hard to get, handsome,” you cooed.

You knew you were playing with fire. But didn't all men say things like this? And then they promise you endless pleasure just to be done in three minutes or so, leaving you unpleasured and you were sure he wasn't any different. You were used to it and it didn't matter. But maybe you were completely wrong. Seeing him how aroused he got, aroused you too and you wanted to feel him close. Much closer than you had already felt him when he danced with you. You wouldn't evolve feelings for him, never, absolutely not but all of a sudden your body craved attention, touches and some adoration. Against your expectation, you almost felt bad to let him pay for having sex with you. But you were an escort, not his girlfriend and the escort lady got paid, period!

“Wanna sleep with me tonight?” Your shameless offer caught Loki off guard and he immediately let go of your wrist. He played it cool and his facial expression turned to stone. He couldn't believe that you offered him your body so willingly. He should refuse it. But then you would ask another guy and he couldn't allow that. Who knew how another guy would treat you? He also couldn't deny that he wanted you, that he craved your touch and your attention. But what the hell made you do this?

You grabbed the loose ends of his scarf and pulled his head gently down and him closer towards you so you could speak right into his ear.

“There's nothing to it, Luke. Just two needy bodies, giving each other some pleasure to get some steam off. What do you think? ”

What were you thinking? What if he declined your offer? He could have any woman in this city and he wouldn't even have to pay for it. You weren't any special, just expensive to book, and if he says no you would've made a terrible fool out of yourself.

“I think you still haven't an idea what you're asking for…I'm not a tender lover,” he grumbled.

“It doesn't matter, tenderness is for beginners. I'm not scared of you.”

It was just the half of the truth. It didn't matter because the few men you had been with hadn't been overly tender but you were afraid of him, not in a bad way though. You had a lot of respect for him, he radiated dominance and masculinity and it aroused you, he aroused you and that was what made you fear him. He made you feel good and safe and that scared you.

“Do you offer this…special service of yours to other men, too? Despite that, you told me you're done with men.” He had no right to ask you this. He had no right to be jealous or possessive. He shouldn't go too far, you weren't his and you could do whatever you wanted. But it made his heart clench when he thought about other men touching you.

“If I do, it's none of your business! And I'm free to change my mind about men. I do what I want.” You whispered firmly into his ear.

How dare he ask you that? It was a normal thing many escort ladies did and there was nothing wrong about it. It happened frequently and consensually. But you didn't judge him for that question and it didn't surprise you that he thought you offered sex to your other clients too. He couldn't know you weren't doing it.

“I won't discuss it with you. So, your decision …do you want me or not?” you purred into his ear.

“Are you really sure you want it? If so, to be very clear, don't expect anything more than just the physical act. I just copulate, don't expect any feelings of love from me. Nothing will change that." His voice was pure velvet in your ear and his warm breath fanned over your neck to your cleavage. It made you shiver pleasantly.

“Well, that's fair enough. I'm not looking for love, as you should know.”

“We still see it the same way then.”

“We do, Luke”, and you loosened your grip on his scarf, put your hands on his chest and let them tenderly travel down over his pecs to his midriff before you took them off of his gorgeous body. Even clothed you could feel every perfectly defined muscle.

Loki had goosebumps all over his skin. You made him feel too comfortable around you and to his astonishment, this feeling wasn't just sexual.

“So we have a deal?” you wanted to know.

“We have a deal”, Loki confirmed. Your hands travelling down his torso hadn't helped get rid of his erection, not in the slightest.

“Then let's go to my hotel later. It's one of the best in Manhattan. I'm sure we'll have a lot of fun. Scottish whisky for you, champagne for me and…nearly whatever you want, including me.” You were so nervous. Would he like you? Could you satisfy his needs? How rough would he get? You'd definitely need a glass of champagne before you could let him touch you and a cigarette afterwards.

Nonetheless, you'd try to enjoy it. He was such a gentleman and you were absolutely sure he would treat you well and respectfully. And he smelled so good. It was like a drug. Also, you had some rules and if he wouldn't respect and accept them, you would definitely not sleep with him. And you had Walker, he would always protect you.

“Nearly whatever I want? What does that mean, Sugar?” he questioned softly.

“What I said. But I have rules. Strict rules.”

“Of course, you have. And I have mine. We should talk about them later. I don't think it's the right place here for that”, he whispered.

“Yeah, I suggest we settle the matter later in the hotel. Walker will drive us there”, you offered him.

“That's a good call”, he answered, nodding in agreement.

“Fine.” You licked your lips and bit lightly into your lower lip. Loki gasped inwardly. Why were you doing this? Suddenly he turned his head to the side.

“Is everything okay, Luke?”

“I don't like how that guy looks at you”, Loki growled quietly.

“Which guy?” you wanted to know.

“The guy across from us” and you followed Loki's gaze.

“Let him stare.”

“Absolutely not. You're here with me. No one stares at you like this”, Loki murmured and he put his arm possessively around your middle and pulled you close to his side. Absolutely no one was allowed to look at you like this when you were with him.

“He's just jealous of you, Luke. Maybe he likes my trouser suit...or he's a peeper. Don't worry, I'm still your arm candy”, you tried to calm him down but you couldn't suppress a grin.

If looks could kill, the poor guy would die in an instant. You put an arm around Loki's waist and placed your other hand on his chest. His heart was beating so fast, like yours and you both looked at the guy. Loki with a death stare and you with a bright smile. You loved this game you played together. And it made your heart swell that he got angry just because of a random guy who looked at you. None of your exes had been like this. Under different circumstances, you two would be a wonderful couple. The guy immediately looked away, obviously feeling embarrassed and frightened, and turned around.

“Would you please take your hand from my chest?”

“Just in case you let go of my waist.” you offered him sweetly.

“Sorry, I didn't want to…” and he cleared his throat.

“It's okay, Luke, don't worry. We're going to get much closer tonight…Shall we look for some canapés and drinks? It seems, you could need a cooling down”, you said with a quick look at his crotch. Was there a rosy shade on his perfect cheeks? “…oh and I want a dessert…”, and you took him by his hand and pulled him with you to the buffet.

“You and your desserts”, he laughed, amused.

“You should try them some day”, you smiled brightly at him.

“No, thanks, I'm good”, Loki answered, trying to sound serious.

After having some drinks and snacks, you ate the final bite of your dessert and licked the last bits off of the spoon and your lips. Loki was wondering if you did it on purpose. It seemed you liked to tease him and to add to the sexual tension that was obviously still buzzing between you two. It was still palpable. You knew how to seduce and it made you even more desirable.

“Shall we have a look at the other works in the gallery before we leave? I'd like to see them.”

“Anything you want, Sugar. We have time, don't we?”

“I hope so…or are you eager to get to the hotel soon” you teased him.

“I might be horny but I can control myself.”

“Really? That's rare. Most men can't wait to blow their load,” you answered lasciviously and smiled knowingly. You wondered where your self-confidence came from. The thing that was to come was new terrain for you. Shouldn't you feel more nervous? But maybe this was just how you tried to downplay your nervousness.

Loki smirked and rolled his eyes.

“You really amaze me. You're such a beautiful and decent woman but you've such a filthy mouth.”

If only he knew. If you ever have been decent, your decency would soon be gone. At the latest when he fucked you. He would see you differently then and maybe he would also lose his respect for you. And that was one of your biggest fears.

🌹🥂🥃🌃🌹🥂🥃🌃🌹🥂🥃🌃🌹🥂🥃🌃🌹

Tag list:

@lokisprettygirl @faesimps @anukulee @fictive-sl0th @fandxmslxt69 @chantsdemarins @justjoanne242 @gruftiela @stupidthoughtsinwriting @wheredafandomat @lovingchoices14 @lokixryss @huntress-artemiss @smolvenger @km-ffluv

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Seeing in The New York Times the photograph of Helen Keller in the Observation Tower of the Empire State Building, I [Dr. John H. Finley] wrote her asking her what she really “saw” from that height. This remarkable letter written by her came in answer and was published in The New York Times Magazine. It will be agreed by all who read it that, as she said, she “beheld a brighter prospect than my friends with two good eyes.”

January 13, 1932 Dear Dr. Finley:

After many days and many tribulations which are inseparable from existence here below, I sit down to the pleasure of writing to you and answering your delightful question, “What Did You Think ‘of the Sight’ When You Were on the Top of the Empire Building?”

Frankly, I was so entranced “seeing” that I did not think about the sight. If there was a subconscious thought of it, it was in the nature of gratitude to God for having given the blind seeing minds. As I now recall the view I had from the Empire Tower, I am convinced that, until we have looked into darkness, we cannot know what a divine thing vision is.

Perhaps I beheld a brighter prospect than my companions with two good eyes. Anyway, a blind friend gave me the best description I had of the Empire Building until I saw it myself.

Do I hear you reply, “I suppose to you it is a reasonable thesis that the universe is all a dream, and that the blind only are awake?” Y—es—no doubt I shall be left at the Last Day on the other bank defending the incredible prodigies of the unseen world, and, more incredible still, the strange grass and skies the blind behold are greener grass and bluer skies than ordinary eyes see. I will concede that my guides saw a thousand things that escaped me from the top of the Empire Building, but I am not envious. For imagination creates distances and horizons that reach to the end of the world. It is as easy for the mind to think in stars as in cobble-stones. Sightless Milton dreamed visions no one else could see. Radiant with an inward light, he sent forth rays by which mankind beholds the realms of Paradise.

But what of the Empire Building? It was a thrilling experience to be whizzed in a “lift” a quarter of a mile heavenward, and to see New York spread out like a marvellous tapestry beneath us. There was the Hudson—more like the flash of a sword-blade than a noble river. The little island of Manhattan, set like a jewel in its nest of rainbow waters, stared up into my face, and the solar system circled about my head! Why, I thought, the sun and the stars are suburbs of New York, and I never knew it! I had a sort of wild desire to invest in a bit of real estate on one of the planets. All sense of depression and hard times vanished, I felt like being frivolous with the stars. But that was only for a moment. I am too static to feel quite natural in a Star View cottage on the Milky Way, which must be something of a merry-go-round even on quiet days.

I was pleasantly surprised to find the Empire Building so poetical. From everyone except my blind friend I had received an impression of sordid materialism—the piling up of one steel honeycomb upon another with no real purpose but to satisfy the American craving for the superlative in everything. A Frenchman has said, in his exalted moments the American fancies himself a demigod, nay, a god; for only gods never tire of the prodigious. The highest, the largest, the most costly is the breath of his vanity.

Well, I see in the Empire Building something else—passionate skill, arduous and fearless idealism. The tallest building is a victory of imagination. Instead of crouching close to earth like a beast, the spirit of man soars to higher regions, and from this new point of vantage he looks upon the impossible with fortified courage and dreams yet more magnificent enterprises.

What did I “see and hear” from the Empire Tower? As I stood there ’twixt earth and sky, I saw a romantic structure wrought by human brains and hands that is to the burning eye of the sun a rival luminary. I saw it stand erect and serene in the midst of storm and the tumult of elemental commotion. I heard the hammer of Thor ring when the shaft began to rise upward. I saw the unconquerable steel, the flash of testing flames, the sword-like rivets. I heard the steam drills in pandemonium. I saw countless skilled workers welding together that mighty symmetry. I looked upon the marvel of frail, yet indomitable hands that lifted the tower to its dominating height.

Let cynics and supersensitive souls say what they will about American materialism and machine civilization. Beneath the surface are poetry, mysticism and inspiration that the Empire Building somehow symbolizes. In that giant shaft I see a groping toward beauty and spiritual vision. I am one of those who see and yet believe.

I hope I have not wearied you with my “screed” about sight and seeing. The length of this letter is a sign of long, long thoughts that bring me happiness.

I am, with every good wish for the New Year,

Sincerely yours, Helen Keller

Top photo: Times Wide World Photos/Letters of Note Bottom photo: Associated Press

[beansricejc]

JOHN WICK x READER - The Courier

part 3!

[part 1] [part 2]

summary: John’s being a little slut and finds out you’re more dangerous than you let on. More background details of Y/N. You invite him to your base for a few drinks, and John seems to be asking too many questions. In response, you use an unconventional method to make sure he’s not a snitch. John desperately needs to relieve some tension after you finish, so he takes matters into his own hands. Female reader, John x Crime Boss Reader, slow burn, 5500 words.

author’s note: thx for the love! i love writing these, and i really like making the reader (you!) an anti hero. (you’ll see). i would highly recommend reading the first and second part if you’re new here! linked above! lmk what you think! tysm! 💕

warnings: nsfw, organized crime, implied death, violence, alcohol, cursing, sex work, significant age gap, male mast3rbatįön.

A few days have passed since your encounter with John in the Continental, ending with that steamy and tense kiss in the hallway. You had even given him your number. John hadn’t actually texted you yet. His mind was racing with the possibilities between the two of you.

Well, there was you. A young, powerful, self-made crime boss. Or as your employees would say ironically, a girly-pop criminal.

Right.

Of course, there was John, a middle-aged hitman with a dark reputation, even for the criminal underworld. Retroactively feared throughout the industry, there was a general unspoken rule to not fuck with John Wick. That was just common sense at this point.

And here he was, fidgeting with this metal-engraved business card you gave him during that makeout session, so he could keep in touch.

He’s anxious about the feelings he was developing for you. John had kept up with his playboy culture ever since his wife passed, and in his mind, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to give that up.

“Mm, mister Wick, you look awfully distracted.” the escort he had called over to his hotel room to help him relieve some tension he had after his encounter with you.

Her name was Bethany, or Brandi, or something. He didn’t really pay attention. What he did know was that she had excellent hand and blow job skills.

This Brandi chick was right. He was distracted. She’d been trying to get John hard for 15 minutes, and he couldn’t manage. How fucking embarrassing.

John took a peek at your name that's engraved onto the thin piece of metal. Ah, that seemed to do the trick. Blood swam to his shaft, growing his erection, and Brandi smirked a bit.

John’s pride wouldn’t allow him to admit that the sight of your printed name could do such a thing to him.

If anyone were to find out, he would simply die.

It didn’t take long for Brandi to take John into her mouth, stroking what she couldn’t fit with her hands. John closed his eyes, not wanting to establish any emotional connection with the woman to give her the wrong idea. He would simply sit back, and enjoy the pleasure he paid for. Even if the passion wasn’t there, it would have to do.

-

Meanwhile, you and three other women had a man wrapped in tarp and duct tape in their grasp, shuffling down a long pier towards the body’s destination. The Hudson River. The sheer pollution would eventually eat away at its flesh. A sure fire solution to you and your little problem at the moment.

The four of you grunt, count to 4, and swing the corpse out of your grasp, a splash following the collision to the water.

You sighed, snapping off your latex gloves, feeling your phone vibrate a few times in your pocket. God dammit, what now? You attempted to get rid of the fresh corpse body stench from your nose when you pulled your device out, and seeing a text from an unknown number. It was directed for your personal line, and not your business line. Interesting. That’s when it hit you, in your drunken stupor, you shared a personal business card with the one and only, John Wick.

Of course you did, you moron.

You huff out and click on the bright notification on your screen, opening the app up.

Unknown #: Hey, hope you still remember me. It’s that smoking hot guy from the bar a few days ago. You doin' okay?

You rolled your eyes at what John called himself. The smell of swamp water and bird shit entered your sinuses. Thank god that it successfully replaced the cold, damp, dead body smell. You can hear seagulls caw above your small group of women, heading back to your SUV as if nothing had happened.

Now, you're typing away at your screen to reply to this middle-aged man who had taken two days to even utilize your number.

You pause, raise your eyebrows, and slowly read the message over again. Interesting.

The feeling of his hands around you, squeezing your hips and biting your lower lip. The sensation is teasing your mind, so much so that you block everything else out.

You’ve touched yourself about 5 times since then, and you can’t seem to get this stupid man off of your mind. You craved him. Everything from the glares he shot at you with those dark eyes of his, to the sting of his scruff on your soft cheeks.

“Hey,” one of your employees interrupts your midday fantasy. You jolt slightly, blinking at the taller and muscular woman, she’s been working for you for about a year, her name is Jenny. “You ready, boss?”

You take in another deep breath, more lake smell entering your nose, and you can feel the moisture in the air. Somehow you managed to find a time when no one was even outside. Even if they were, no one asked questions. Mind your own business in this city, and you’ll go a long way.

You nod and climb into the back seat of the truck, get situated, and let your employees handle the rest. The truck starts driving, and here you are again, focused on that damn phone screen.

You grunt.

God dammit.

Y/N: yeah, I remember you, old man.

As if you haven’t been thinking about him since you escaped to your hotel room the other day.

Look at you. Crime lord. Criminal mastermind (sort of). You're a big-time player.

All of that, just to act like a schoolgirl when any guy you’re remotely attracted to gives you some sort of romantic interest.

Classic.

Of course you still knew how to talk to them, charm them, get them wrapped around your finger. That was a piece of cake. But what if one wanted a kiss?

Well, time to skedaddle.

-

John had just finished onto Brandi’s face, handing her one of the hotel room towels so she can clean herself off. It was a lot, thick and stringy ropes of cum had landed on her cheeks and lips. He was still recovering and catching his breath.

Then he hears his phone vibrate. It’s you.

He smiled. You texted back quicker than he anticipated.

Great, she’s calling me old again. John sighed to himself.

Sometimes he forgets he’s damn near old enough to be her father. Was that.. weird? Maybe he just shouldn’t think about it.

John: alright, girl boss, whatever you say.

John set down his phone and waited patiently for Brandi to finally leave for the night. He slipped her a wad of cash, and she was gone faster than she came.

John can’t get his fucking mind off of you. The number of times he has had his way with you in his head was too many to count on two hands. Does he feel bad about it?

Yeah.

Did he want to stop? No.

He oh so desperately wanted to see what was lurking underneath your clothing. He hasn’t felt this way in a long time.

John was a total slut, don’t get me wrong. A few times a week he’d have different women over. Some were regular hookups, and some were random girls he picked up at the bar or club. If he wasn’t doing a contract, he was definitely balls-deep in some random chick on his couch.

That was just life though. At least for John.

He used to be a romantic, date nights, flowers, gentleman type acts. But now, well, you know already.

John sighed and decided to double-text.

Of course a man his age wouldn’t understand the almost taboo nature of the double text. A rookie mistake some would call it, others would think it’s stupid to look into it that much.

John: u wanna have some drinks with me tonight?

-

You’re still shocked that John called you a girl boss over text. You’re still staring at your screen, bewildered at the thought.

A girl boss?

No way. Absolutely not, those chicks were always pyramid scheme fanatics that would reach out to you over Facebook to convince you to join their cult company.

That wasn’t you! You were a hard ass. You ran your crew well and knew what you were doing at all times.

But you were a woman.

And a boss.

Oh fuck.

You and the few employees in the truck hop on out. You had driven from that pier back to your warehouse headquarters. This is where the magic happened.

Right on the outskirts of Brooklyn, your enterprise came out of this warehouse. Filled with fast and reliable motorcycles and other expensive toys. There were a few women who were scurrying around to get some deliveries finished before the end of the night. You notice that one of your assistants decided to change the music on the stereo system.

The same assistant, Marissa, hurried over to you, took your bag, and handed you a coconut Redbull. You mumbled the lyrics to an Ice Spice song that was blaring in the warehouse.

The realization hits.

You look up, looking Marissa dead in the face.

“Please. Be real with me.” you speak to her, and she awaits your question. You take a deep breath. It’s the moment of truth. “Am I a girl boss?”

Silence breaks out in the warehouse. Everyone dropped what they were doing to wait to see what your personal assistant would have to say to that. The only thing being heard now is that Ice Spice song.

Oh god. That wasn’t a good sign.

Marissa pressed her lips together, her green eyes shifting around the warehouse.

“I mean, technically speaking, I suppose someone could call you that, you’re not cringe though!” Marissa assured you. Your breath hitched, and your heart felt like it stopped.

How embarrassing.

You swallow your pride in, nod, and shove your hands into your big overall pockets.

“Alright. Alright. Cool.” You nod, pulling your phone out and walking away from the main action, everyone went back to work as if they didn't just eavesdrop on that conversation.

What a fucking question that was.

You look at the last text John sent you and are surprised to see that he asked to have drinks.

You pause, staring at the text message. You know John doesn’t understand the concept of double texting, he was like, 45, or something. Poor guy didn't know any better. You sigh.

“Is Wickathan bothering you again?” your assistant Marissa asked, chuckling over the nickname you made for John.

“He wants to have drinks tonight, but look at me. I would rather smash my head into some bricks than go out tonight, I’m exhausted.” You groan, the feeling of disappointing John hits you right in the chest.

Why are you so worked up about him, bitch?! You ask yourself. You’re too hot to stress yourself out about this.

Marissa gives you a grin.

“Well then invite him here.” Marissa provides an idea for you. You raise your eyebrows, and nod affirmatively.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” You tell her, flashing her a grin and quickly texting John back.

Y/N: you wanna just have drinks at HQ?

You liked calling your work headquarters, or HQ to shorten it up. Really made you sound like a secret spy with a base.

Well, you weren’t a spy but it was a base.

Sometimes you forget that you’re running an entire criminal enterprise, the Ice Spice blasting at your self proclaimed headquarters wasn’t helping.

-

John can only imagine what this headquarters looks like, and is quite intrigued by the idea of having drinks with you there. Now that he’s planning on seeing you tonight, there’s a bad feeling in his stomach.

Does he feel bad about seeing an escort right before meeting up with you? That can’t be it. Can it?

Dammit, John. You’re a bachelor, you can’t be falling for some girl because she’s pretty and powerful. He cursed at himself internally.

His eyes glaze over his reflection in the mirror as he ices his shoulder, which was hit pretty bad by some asshole with a golf club during a job yesterday. It left a very purple bruise and was sore as hell.

He wondered if there was an appeal to his battle scars all over his body. There probably was, right? Whenever he was shirtless in front of a lady, her attention would immediately focus on all of his tattoos and marks on his flesh. Of course, they were stories from a younger and less experienced John.

Sometimes it would even scare them off entirely. But if they got past the tatted-up back and several scars, you could get a glimpse at his toned body. John's not a bodybuilder material by any means, he was lean and in shape, the ideal size for a professional killer.

He was perfect for the job.

John’s mind is racing, he knows you’re dangerous. You built an entire empire in a mere three years, people would kill for your skill and position on the food chain.

It kind of turned him on.

Especially ever since he found your business page, where all of the information for clients was readily available.

John noticed an "As Seen on Tv!" tab on the professional-looking website, he clicked on it out of pure curiosity. He didn’t know what to expect.

It was a YouTube video of a compilation of CCTV footage, showing various car and motorcycle chases. They were cut and spliced into a well edited video that had Industry Baby by Lil Nas X playing in the background.

That couldn’t be you, could it?

Oh, it was. You and various people in your crew who also did deliveries for your company.

John could tell from your figure whenever it was you on screen, and he was particularly shocked from seeing GoPro footage of you.

He sees you jumping out of the window from one moving car to the hood of another, shooting at the driver through the windshield, killing him instantly. Of course, as soon as the bullet was fired from the barrel of your gun, whoever edited the video censored it. John could still see the blurred-out figure slump to the side but was obvious that he was dead. You had even climbed through the shattered glass and took over the driving, shoving the corpse off of the seat as if it were a regular work day.

You and your crew obviously knew what you were doing, that was a fact. Ruthless, violent, and skilled, a dangerous combination for anyone. John noticed that you seemed to be more precise, the difference between you and your other employees was noticeably significant. They were still very impressive nonetheless.

As skilled as you were, you were still an amateur compared to John. He figured you most likely excelled at combat on the road but in a regular circumstance? You probably weren’t as efficient or deadly.

He was right.

“Fucking hell,” John mumbled to himself, it wasn’t anything new to him, but seeing this as an advertisement for their business of a website was… something. That’s for sure.

It was like watching a bunch of kids goofing around and getting it all on tape. Well, that was exactly what it was. A bunch of young women on the screen, and swap out the word goofing with maybe, rampaging?

His eyes were glued to his screen as he watched the video boasting their skill set, even showing a worker and you drifting your expensive bikes down the highway.

And now John's in his car watching the video once again in the parking lot of the warehouse that Y/N had invited him to.

John was pleasantly surprised that this young crime lord had invited him to her home base after only meeting him once.

Well, technically twice.

John hadn’t bothered with his work attire, he had thrown on a pair of nice jeans and a long sleeve black shirt. He even went the extra mile to put on cologne and touched up his beard.

John sighed and exited his car, locking up and sauntering towards the large industrial looking warehouse.

He could hear a plethora of noises from the building, the big garage door was open, and he raised his eyebrows at the image of dozens of women doing advanced mechanical work on modified bikes, or even riding off on said bikes.

John wasn’t sure what to expect but it sure as hell wasn’t this.

Especially with the Latin girl pop that was blaring from the very impressive stereo set up.

Your chop shop was clean, organized, and busy. Extremely busy. John had been squeezed past by about 7 women already who were hard at work.

It was clear that John was a fish out of water, he was quite literally the only man in this warehouse. He wasn’t sure if he liked that or not.

What’s the opposite of a sausage fest? John asked himself.

But where were you? John narrowed his eyes and did his best to find you, which happened to be squatting near a motorcycle that was suffering from some serious curb rash, which you were attempting to fix.

It was a sight that was a complete 180 from the other day at the cocktail party. Compared to the long and elegant black dress, you were now in a crop top and some denim overalls, that looked like it had seen better days.

John had to admit, it was pretty cute. He was used to only flirting and going out with women who were refined, and classy. That's what you displayed the other night.

But after seeing those clips of you online, and seeing you here, he knew that was all a front.

You were feminine for sure, however, you obviously had a masculine energy to your personality. John wasn’t used to that, it was really refreshing.

Before John could, one of your workers had hurried over to you.

“You think I should go hybrid or classic?” One of your modification technicians asked, her name was Marie, and she had worked for you for the past 2 years. You looked up, checking out the pictures on her phone she showed you.

This was a difficult decision. Lashes make or break a woman. The choice of a lifetime really.

“Hybrid, you’ll serve cunt with hybrid for sure.” You answer, and the two of you laugh at the ridiculous statement you just said.

Your attention turned to John, who was about 20 feet behind Marie, who was also trying not to laugh.

“Serving cunt? Do I even want to know?”

That was the first thing John had said to you today. You bursted out laughing, trying your best to contain it. It didn’t work. Marie turned around, and her blue eyes widened at the mere sight of John.

He was intimidating by nature, tall, dark, and mysterious. Now add in his deadly reputation, he could make anyone’s skin crawl with just a glance.

“Holy fuck, you didn’t tell me that Wickathan was coming.” Marie blurted, immediately covering her mouth afterward. Your eyes bulged at her, that name was meant to be an inside joke between everyone in your crew.

Dammit, Marie.

“Oh my god, bitch!” You stage whispered, smacking Marie on her shoulder in disappointment.

Did John hear that right?

“Wickathan?” John repeated, stepping up towards you and your current project. The man was a force to be reckoned with, he towered over you, especially now that you weren’t wearing heels. “Did you come up with that yourself?” He asked. It suddenly became hot in the room, caused by his husky voice that was directed towards you.

You forgot that you had just been staring at him for the past ten seconds, with awkward silence swirling between the two of you. Oof.

“Oh, uh, yeah. I thought it was funny,” you admitted. “I bet the Boogeyman gets fucking old, huh?” you asked, using a mocking tone on the nickname.

John respected your bold attitude.

You could see the way John was looking at you, despite you being a mess from working on bikes all day. His brown eyes trailed up your body and he smiled at seeing you without anything fancy on. He could get used to this.

A woman of many talents? Sign him up.

I might not be a bachelor for long, I better be careful. John thought to himself, smiling down at you.

“Come on, squirt. Let’s have that drink.” John teased, and your face starts to pinken.

Squirt?! What the fuck? You think, stepping from behind the bike, arms crossed while glaring at the menace of a hitman.

“Hey hey, I’m no squirt. What the-"

John interjects by grabbing you by the waist, physically picking you up, and holding you up in the air. You shout at him, and he’s chuckling devilishly at the sight.

Jesus Christ, in front of everyone? I’m their boss! This looks terrible! You’re internally panicking.

“Hey!” You exclaim, attempting to wiggle out of his death grip.

“Oh yeah, you’re a total squirt.” John teased, setting you back down and ruffling your already disheveled head of hair. Your cheeks are beet red, and you grab his forearm and tug him behind you to your private office.

You were a crime boss for fucks sake, is John out of his mind?

John’s laughing at the sight of your much smaller frame guiding him by hand to your office, in fact, he was getting a little excited over it.

Excited would be the understatement of a lifetime.

The sight of your smaller feminine frame compared to his towering large body made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. John shut the door to her office behind him, listening to you sigh and grab two beers out of her fridge.

Interesting. Beer fridge in the office. Respect. John notes.

You handed him a beer but your eyes went straight to his face, on further inspection you noticed a healing black eye and a few new scrapes. Those weren’t there a few days ago. You furrow your eyebrows at him.

There was no way he finished a contract that quickly between seeing you then and now, right?

“Hey, what the hell happened to you?” You ask him, walking closer to him and grazing your dainty fingers over his new wounds. John felt a lump form in his throat.

Oh sweet baby Jesus, she’s so close to me again. Shit! Shit! He’s thinking to himself. John chuckled in an attempt to cover his flustered nature.

“Oh you know, just work. Typical Wednesday for me,” he tells you, he can barely think straight since you’re standing so close to him. You’re wearing that same perfume that you wore when you saw him last, however, it’s overcast by the smell of exhaust and rubber, probably from working in this warehouse all day. “Nothing crazy.”

You rolled your eyes at him and went to go sit on your couch.

“Uh-huh. Who was it this time?” you asked John as he sits fairly close to you on the sofa. Just close enough for his leg to graze your thigh.

John knew exactly what he was doing. A classic playboy tactic, but why did he get this feeling he didn’t want to just hit it and quit it?

John cracked the beer open and read the label. PBR? Unexpected, alright. He couldn’t be mad at that. He took a long sip. Fantastic.

“Ah, some guy that pissed some Cartel member off. The usual.” John sighed, playing back into the couch, stretching his left arm out and laying it on the sofa, coincidentally right behind where you were sitting.

Coincidentally.

This is when John noticed that your couch was purple and velvet. That was some taste you had there. He scanned the room, it was obvious that whoever had this office was a woman in her 20s.

So, you, clearly.

John was shocked that this incredibly feminine office belonged to a crime boss, but he has seen weirder things. But he did have to admit, the office was quite eclectic. Bohemian? What was the word for it? Well, it was something.

“So, how’s work for you? You guys seem awfully busy out there.” John commented as you opened your own beer, his eyes trailing down your body again.

Oh boy. You notice his chest puffing out ever so slightly, god, he was the real deal.

Don’t show weakness, he’s expecting you to fold! Absolutely fucking not! you reaffirm to yourself.

“Pretty good actually. We’re gonna have to do a plate swap on all of the bikes soon though.” You explained, your eyes never leaving his chiseled face.

Shit.

He’s fine as hell.

You stop yourself, you were talking about work. Details about work. Well, not the nitty gritty but, wait a minute.

“Oh? How do you go about that?” John asked, flashing one of those mischievous smirks that he was giving you the other night.

The worst part about it? It fucking worked. His stupid attractive face, those dumb strong hands, his fucking hair that was perfectly styled backward.

He knew it too.

The question he gave you threw you off though. He wants more details on how work is. You raise your eyebrows as your brain goes into panic mode, almost like it’s wired to sense danger or threats.

John can sense that your whole demeanor has changed, long gone was the spunky girl from a minute ago. You were a whole other creature now as you analyzed him, what did he want? Why was he asking questions about your work?

You set your beer down on a side table and sigh.

God dammit.

Whatever, hopefully this would work. Your legs stretch over him until suddenly you’re straddling his lap. John has to cover his mouth to prevent beer from spitting out of his lips, just from pure shock.

“H-hey!” John exclaimed, the feeling of your bottom on his lap and thighs was almost heavenly. Was this seriously happening right now?

You take your hands and wiggle them up his black long-sleeve shirt, in a frantic search for any sort of wires, recording devices, anything really.

But to John, he’s only seeing the attractive young woman feeling him up, her small hands grazing over his lean and muscular torso. They travel to his sides, and then up and down his back, unknowingly tracing over skin that’s covered in tattoos.

Your fingers are making John melt, plus, here you were, only inches from his face. He can’t stop looking at your lips as you’re determined to find anything that would be used to record a conversation.

You’ve lasted this long and built your empire because you were clever, ruthless, but more importantly, cautious.

And here you were, feeling up John fucking Wick to see if he was bugged or not. The most lethal man in the world is centimeters away from you, his hot exhales sticking to your face and neck like sweat.

John can feel his cock grow to the sensation of you straddling him and searching around his body.

John’s heart is pounding, you sigh and take your hands out from underneath his shirt.

Alright, hair it is.

So now, like the little shithead you are, you sit up slightly to dig your fingers through his head of long black locks. Of course, your chest is at eye level with his face, even almost touching it.

“Y/N, w-what are you doing?” John laughed nervously, he wasn’t sure why he was nervous, and his hands were already advancing to your thighs and hips.

What if I just fucked her right here and now on this couch? What I would do to make her scream my name, shit, I want her to ride my cock so bad that she aches for me the next day. John’s mind is screaming with this and other absolutely filthy images.

“Looking for a bug! You keep asking me questions about my job! That is such a federal ass thing to do…” you explain hastily. John’s heart drops. You don’t even notice his hands gripping hard on your hips until he slams you down onto his lap again, snapping you out of your persistent state.

All you can feel pressing up against you is his rock-hard dick.

Oh shit. I’m an idiot.

“You sure do know how to get a man worked up, you know that?” John hisses out. His hand latched onto your small neck, giving it a stern squeeze, you’re too in the moment to even try to move it. He flips you off of his lap, and stands up from the couch, readjusting his clothing and his long hair.

“I’m, uh, going to use the bathroom. Alright?” John asked, you nod, not even putting two and two together since you were so stunned by that move.

Fuck, he sure knows how to manhandle a girl, huh? You silently ask yourself as he quickly leaves the office.

John had to take a few deep breaths once he left the room and shut the door.

“Fuck,” he whispered, all of his instincts are going wild right now. John finds the nearest bathroom in this large warehouse, and locks the door behind him.

If he stayed in that room for another second, he would have absolutely ruined you. John knows damn well you’re no innocent angel, that doesn’t stop him from viewing you as one. As ruthless and dangerous of a woman as you are, he has made up this false sense of purity surrounding your very aura.

John wastes no time in unbuckling his belt and pants, grabbing his thick shaft out of his boxer briefs, and begins to tug. One of the hands that has brought wrath upon so many, now gripping his cock and attempting to relieve himself in a timely manner so he doesn’t raise Y/N's suspicions.

God, she’s way too young for you dude. You shouldn’t be doing this. I bet she’s so tight and wet, oh fuck. John’s mind is racing to the possibilities of what could happen in this bathroom if Y/N was in here with him.

He’s imagining grabbing you by your tiny throat and slamming you against this wall, ripping those overalls off, and throwing them on the floor. He’s so strong that he could lift her up by her thighs against the wall, spread her legs, and thrust right into her tight little cunt.

John’s breath is staggering as he tries to make his grunts and moans as subtle as possible while he pictures himself plowing into you. He’d be torn between being a generous lover or a selfish one.

On one hand, he’s starting to develop feelings for you, his heart flutters when he thinks of your laugh. The way your nose crunches whenever you smile, or the weird slang you use whenever you talk to him.

With all of his hookups after his wife, he never cared too much about making the other women feel good, but he would always succeed.

John was just that good in bed.

You were the exception.

In the very short time he’s had to get to know you, he was starting to catch feelings, and he’s scared of it.

So instead, he's thinking of devouring your pussy and making you cum over, and over again before using you as a hole.

The mere thought of it is enough for John’s knees to tremble as he climaxes, gripping the sink for dear life. He ejaculates into his own hand, his chest rising and falling at a rapid rate, and he met his own reflection in the bathroom mirror.

The mirror shows a half nude John, breathing rapidly, cock in hand, with beads of salty sweat trickling down his damp skin.

Post-nut clarity is hitting in 3, 2, ah. There it is.

John’s mortified at who he sees in front of him, and he cleans up as fast as he possibly can.

What the actual fuck is wrong with me? Am I this much of a perv? Holy shit! John’s internally screaming, zipping up his pants and clearing his throat.

The thought of doing any of those acts with a woman as young as you is, tempting, to say the least.

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door.

He had a drink to finish with you, and he’s praying you didn’t notice how long he was gone.