☾ discarded all the naughty nights for niceness ☾

[nothingtofear]

select character, leave prompts. profit. all pictures & gifs okay, gen and smut.

Comments

[favoredone]

[aromantically]

I promised I'd take you to one of these things, right? So what are we waiting for? [ they're on earth for one and only one purpose. it's just them. gamora and peter -- rocket and the others don't even know where they've gone. and he'd made it a secret up until now which he was almost sure gamora was going to kill him for. but now they're here and he hands her the little gadget that will make her look like a terran. his fingers linger on hers a moment, before closing her fingers over the device and taking a step back. ]

Like Cinderella, remember? It wears out at midnight.

if you haven't figured it out by now i expect you to toss whoever you want at my peeps

[likethetragedy]

and then i chose the most obvious ones anyway

[letmetakeaselfie]

[ he knows he isn't supposed to see her. and it isn't that she's bad at her job. quite the opposite. she clings to the coattails of darkness as it spills in or out of a room, flowing with it seamlessly. if he weren't such a broken and paranoid psychopath he would have missed it. missed her. the mystery woman in red.

tony doesn't mention it to anyone, doesn't ask phil when he rounds on him after the press conference. he already knows this woman isn't an agent of shield. she's too smooth; not even natasha could pull off the amount of anonymiity this woman has achieved. especially to make so many deliberate sitings of him, of tony stark, and he still doesn't know her name or who she is. even what her voice sounds like.

but this time is different. today he's seen her face and she saw him see which is why she's gone even quicker than usual. tony slips away from pepper and happy with practiced ease, smoothing out his hair and tie out of habit as he makes his way down the train concourse. people stop him, ask for autographs. he doesn't stop to chat though, he doesn't have time. he has to find her.

just when tony is convinced he's lost her, he has a hunch. he hops onto the last train and finds the woman hiding behind her book. it's in greek which is curious enough, but he can't hesitate. not when he's finally here. she hasn't seen him yet when he clears his throat, nonchalant. he slips into the seat next to her even as he asks: ] Is this seat taken?

tony (surprise!!)

[efficacy]

woops

[letmetakeaselfie]

He steps off the jet and is overcome with emotion squeezing around his chest uncomfortably. Unless that's just the shrapnel being repeled from his heart, because that's totally a thing now. Tony knows he won't be able to hold it together once he sees her. Pepper. His one constant in a sea of misery. She'd always stood by his side. When his parents had died, when Peggy had gotten sick. She was always there for him. And here she is, waiting. He's kept her waiting so long.

The hand not in a sling opens out for her, tears already stinging in his eyes. When you've known someone thirty years and never once gotten sick of them, it's hard to be away from them. When Steve had found him he'd laughed and laughed, and now he's crying. Does that make any sense? It's the best day of his damn life, he didn't think he was coming back. "You didn't shed any tears for your long lost boyfriend, did you?" Her face looks puffy, but every bit as beautiful as when he'd left. More, even. Everything has a brighter, sharper edge to it. He knows what he has to do.

But first, first he has to hug Pepper Potts until his arm falls off. There will be plenty of time to freak out about his new deformities and traumas, but now is strictly about them. A sweet reunion indeed. God, he missed her. Her hair smells like his shampoo and it suddenly hits him like, Pepper was this close from mourning for him. They all were.

That person

[gip]

[notstuffy]

Duffy sat up in bed and reached for the pack of cigarettes. He doesn't ask where Peter's going; doesn't really care, he just knows he doesn't want him to leave. But he has no right to ask for him to stay. They're not dating, he has no claim here.

"Bye." It's shallow, backed up by uncertainty. He starts groping around for his lighter, dropping the pack into his lap to search more effectively. The sheets are wrapped around his waist and anchor him to the spot, heaving a frustrated sigh. "Wait. Do you have a light?" He hopes that doesn't sound desperate or lonely, even if it's exactly what he feels. What's written all over his face.

Dad!verse is go

[soitworks]

one, two, Three, Four

!!!!!

[orphanclubpresident]

[ tony is home on christmas break, a stark industries sweater he rigged to christmas lights on as he eats the pancakes steve made him. they're supposed to be reindeers... he thinks. he frowns a little as his dad comes into the room, he's usually not up with the normal humans of the household. ] There's coffee in the... yeah.

[ he shrugs a little, looking down into his plate. howard will probably take his coffee back to his workshop now so it's best not to start any sort of conversation, right? ]

[wolfintheherd]

[letmetakeaselfie]

[ tony wishes it were anyone else. not because he expects this to be a particularly long or grueling battle, or because they're too far from anything to call for reinforcements, no. it's because this guy really bugs him. maybe that's immature. maybe superheroes aren't supposed to feel that way. but it's been a long friggen day and he wants to put his feet up and maybe get some snuggles from his girlfriend.

this was not on his agenda. and there's nothing tony hates more than interrupted plans. ]

What's everyone's obsessions with skulls lately? It's so unoriginal and overblown, not to mention dated. Don't tell me you listen to Green Day and slit your wrists too. That would just be too much for me to process. [ there's tons of theatrical eye rolling going on once his face-plate goes up, don't worry. ]

[likethetragedy]

tw: suicide!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[letmetakeaselfie]

He has to brush it off, that feeling of dread that's settled into his stomach to stay. By definition: impossible, but he still smiles. It's grim; it doesn't meet his eyes, but she doesn't care about any of that. She never has. When he closes his eyes, there's blood. So much of it; seeping into both of their clothes. He's drowning in it, but she just... floats. Nothing gets to her -- nothing penetrates. He should be the strong one. He's supposed to be the strong one. For both of them; and for all of them.

Iron Man is the protectorate, the engineer of peace. He still thinks about it, the day he'd found out. How different it would have been if he'd just been let in on the secret. How had he not known? Pepper had. It seems like everyone figured it out before him. They've so tampered with his memory he's useless these days. Frazzled and never remembering where he's put his coffee; what sentence he was in the middle of. Does anyone even know the difference? He's always been distractable.

But when it's just them; like this, he feels invincible. He gets his power back if only for a second. It's then that he realizes he's laughing, blood on his clothes for real. Not the suit, he got separated from it. It's just him and a gun and he's laughing, because if he doesn't laugh he'll cry. What has he done? What has he allowed himself to become?

She looks at him with her cold, dead eyes and it's more than he can bear. He turns the gun on himself. He's done -- this is done. If S.H.I.E.L.D. wants him they're going to have to dig him out of the ground. He freezes, scrambling up onto his feet, butt of the weapon pressed to his temple. One hot tear rolls down his cheek. They want him. They'll make her bring him back. He can't do it, and not just because he loves himself too much.

"I'll do it!" he bluffs. He knows they're listening. "If you don't set us free I'll do it..."

CHRIS; misfire text

[assistanting]

I'm pretty sure our sex is better than most foods and that says a lot too bc I really like food

[quiteliterally]

I am almost entirely certain this text wasn't intended for me April Ludgate.
But thank you anyway for a very delightful comparison. Let me try
I love receiving text messages from my new best texting buddy April almost as much as I love Champion the dog. Which is a lot. Because he's literally the best dog I have ever met
Except
Does that mean
I don't love your texts as much as I love Champion
?

I take it back, I don't think I can choose.

[lilmisshurricane]

Kat isn't like the other models who come to the beach. She slathers herself in sunscreen and lays under an umbrella to nap. When she feels movement near the edge of her towel, she reluctantly wakes up, rousing and stretching to settle into people watching instead. There's something about the ocean that brings out the best in everyone, she thinks, watching a girl a few years younger than herself. Not in a creepy way, but with something of a nostalgic gaze. She remembers being that carefree, but at twenty-one her life feels waning rather than waxing. Something she's been called ridiculous for countless times, but it doesn't change the way she feels. She decides to take a chance and wave at the girl in question, peeling up her sunglasses. If she's ignored, she decides that's okay too. But she really would like an outlet right now, or at least a friendly beach-going companion. A literal fair weather friend, really.

[unturned]

[Sylvia loved the beach, but she never got to one very often. Her family stuck to more remote locations, though they'd taken a few trips to the ocean when she'd been younger. Now that she had her license and rotation with one of the family cars she'd decided to go to the beach once the weather had warmed up.

She'd gone swimming for a bit, but it wasn't nearly as fun as it might have been with someone else. She was still enjoying the weather, but she thought it would have been twice as fun with a friend.

When the girl with the brightly colored hair waved at her though, Sylvia thought it had been meant for someone else. But a double check proved that she was, in fact, the one she was waving at. She hesitated, but waved back before taking a few steps closer.]

Um...hi?

[notstuffy]

He had never been to Europe before, but partying in the USA Miley style was getting him by pretty well across the pond TBH. He had found a dive bar all lit up with rainbow lights and even a tiny stage for drag. It was kind of his paradise and he had gone eagerly down the rabbit hole.

Hardly shy without several margaritas, now duffy is downright friendly, attempting to pull everyone he meets onto the dance floor with him. (Which is interesting to watch since his only hand is clutching his cup.) His t-shirt started sticking to him an hour ago so he tied it up under his ribcage, and his hair was kind of a wreck -- that too was tied up in a messy loose bun-thing.

It's only when he finds an immovable wallflower with haunting eyes that he's really thrown for a loop, though. "Come on, one dance. Who comes to a nightclub to not dance?" If it weren't ridiculously obvious that he was an American before, his tough, straight out of The Town accent gives him away entirely. He really couldn't care, attempting to tug the brooding stranger along with his pinky finger even as his drink sloshes onto the floor.

[umbralla]

This was a mistake. Ghyslain is quite sure this was a mistake. Reconnecting with Petre at all was a mistake, but then he insisted that they had to go to a proper gay bar before Ghyslain would be christened as Truly Gay, despite having given him the experience that pretty much cemented it in his mind years ago. Petre is just a living, breathing mistake, but Ghyslain allowed himself to be dragged along because he's still tragically short on friends at the school and brooding over the loss of his extremely brief and meaningless affair with a professor has been getting him exactly nowhere. He needs to meet people, gifted or not.

And then, of course, Petre disappeared.

Now he's panic from top to toe, trying to hide it under his usual cool disinterest, and having someone latch onto him and try to drag him onto the dance floor makes it worse. He's definitely from somewhere in the United States, which is interesting, and of course Ghyslain notes the missing arm, but he's really far too busy having no idea how to get rid of this attention to pay very much.

"Mon ami - my friend, I am waiting for him, he said only a minute -" His objections are awkward and stumbling, just as he's stumbling when the stranger manages to get a good enough grip (with his pinky finger?!) to draw him off the wall a bit.

[efficacy]

Ever since the Ultron thing, Pepper's been wary of going out of town for business again -- maybe a little justifiably. Come on. It seems that every time she takes off, Toni does something stupid. She really does need to buy the woman a leash. But the trip up to Chicago couldn't have been avoided. She was only gone for two days, but that was probably two days too long.

She almost calls for JARVIS when she gets home to update her on Toni's location, remembering a second later with a little lump in her throat. She's still not used to JARVIS' absence, and she knows Toni isn't either. Guess she'll have to do this the old-fashioned way, heels clicking against the floors as she roams the spaces most likely to contain one frustrating genius, turning on some lights as she goes-- why does it have to be so damn dark in here?

"Toni?"

[cheeseburgerfirst]

"I'm here," she calls, still just a lump on the sofa. Most of the team is out, and even if they weren't they're sick of her moping. She won't go down into the workshop though, because every time she starts to she gets looks like she doesn't even know what. Like she's going to make Ultron 2.0 instead of just try and get her hands in something to feel useful again. So instead she's just been here, staring into nothing -- trying to find her will to live.

[harundum]

[ the new assistant is more... male than clint expected him to be. he taps his hearing aid like he had felt it slip before going to introduce himself. he had gotten used to the way pepper did things -- in truth, he hadn't ever thought she would leave. he really didn't think she'd be replaced so quickly, though he has a sneaking suspicion he knows why that could be.

other than the fact that tony can't tie his own shoes on a good day. ]

Clint Barton. I'm Mr. Stark's security. And... driver. [ sorta. he holds out a hand, and as he comes closer the bandage on his nose stands out, that and the yellowish bruise healing grossly under one eye. ]

[tantsor]

[ He takes the offered hand, gives a polite nod, ]

Nathaniel Romanoff.

[ Once he has his free hand back, he gestures to his own face, ]

You take the hits for him, too?

[harundum]

Clint rolls up in Tony Stark's town car, the window sliding down to reveal him in all his glory. Black suit with a tie clip, but his shirt is hopelessly wrinkled. There are bags under his eyes visible even under the large mirrored frames and no less than three bandages scattered over his face. He doesn't exactly look the part, but that's never mattered before. He's damn scrappy and he never misses.

This isn't a fight, though, this is way more important. "I'm gonna need you to get in the car," he says plainly, hoping it's authorative without being especially creepy. It's probably heavy on the second and light on the first though, knowing his luck.

[valuedstrength]

It does come off as creepy. Steve is trying to work out the logic of why this is happening. He's unassuming when it comes to himself. There's no reason for anyone to want him and really he's huge. No one in their right mind would ever put him down as someone to grab off the street. After a minute, Steve decides it doesn't matter.

"And I need to get home and make dinner so thanks, but no thanks." He'll keep walking. It's really his own fault for lending Bucky his motorcycle so he could run some errands while he was at work. Now he's stuck ignoring this guy on foot.

[livedalife]

She is starting to run out of excuses to keep Stevie in SHIELD custody. She might oversee some of the most brilliant minds in the world, but even they couldn't keep making up things they could be looking for forever. The fact is she's fine. Peggy is left wondering about the future or rather how she could even consider letting her go a second time.

It's wrong; terrible even. All she can think is she has a second chance to keep the woman she loves safe. She can't have the woman in question screwing it up by living her life. Inevitably when she starts to question herself, she goes to him or rather she goes to his stash of liquor. She's on her second glass by the time Howard enters.

"Do you remember when we were fighting over a vile of her blood?"

[primogenture]

He pretends to be surprised by her sitting there, but he ends up eyerolling his way through the second half. She knows it's all theatrics anyway. Howard hangs up his hat and jacket and drops into the sofa opposite her chair with liquid grace, crossing one leg over the other.

"Hey to you too, Pal." His eyebrows draw together, though nothing else flickers in his expression. "Yeah. I'm not that old yet." How could he forget?

[letmetakeaselfie]

[ well. she did tell him to call. he's currently being slapped around by a doom-bot. which is a really stupid name, but whatever. VIDEO CALL INCOMING and all that. ]

Little help, MM?

[morphogenia]

[She's flustered, but totally down for this when she answers.] On it! [She enters the scene fairly quickly since he's in her neighborhood. Kamala (perhaps surprisingly) takes the whole thing in before forming a plan of action. Going small and impressing Iron Man by disabling the robot from the inside is tempting, but he's looking a little tin can-ish. She better skip to the point.

Her skin glows faintly as she makes herself giant, grabbing the doom bot out of the air, and squeezing it in her fist to damage its guns. She doesn't waste any time smashing it head first against the pavement while berating it after that.] This is what you get for causing problems in Jersey City! Don't mess!

[A few hits later and she brings it closer to inspect the damage. One internal camera appears to be working so she sighs and adds,] Seriously, you're not allowed to have your creepy robots here, Mr. Doom. Grow up a little and settle your problems with Iron Man without robots!

[She smashes its whole body against the pavement one last time for good measure. Yep it's dead, Jim.] You okay, Iron Man?

too many damn prompts.....

[efficacy]

one of many starters i'm sure?!?!

[letmetakeaselfie]

Tony's father had been the most famous magician in Vegas. Six nights a week, the show was packed. That is, until one night his parents were tragically murdered. All for an illusion gone south. Tried as he might, Tony never could live up to his father's career and the show stalled in the late 90s. Finally, the MGM laid him off in 2000, just as he'd taken on a new assistant. Pepper Potts, the fiery and intelligent woman from Connecticut who seemed hellbent on getting them their rightful headline spot. But it was too late, and Tony had come up short (and drunk) again. And so they ended their chapter on the Strip in a rather spectacular blaze of impotency and sadness.

Horoscopes and palm readings had come into favor and Tony, ever the businessman, saw an opportunity. He packed them up that night and headed for sunny LA with a song in his heart and whiskey on his breath. They set up shop in suburbia, thinking nothing of it really. They had both run businesses before, and this would just be more of the same. What two optimistic fools from Vegas soon realized, however, was that this town was anything but simple.

The gypsies owned the scene here and to be a part of it was to be owned. They came under the employ of one Obadiah Stane under the guise of being a happily married couple and newbies to mysticism. Tony was slated as a man with eerily good intuition and so they embarked on their new beginnings. For eight years they lived this way, in relative comfort. The gypsies would never allow them to get too far ahead, but they didn't want for anything. And they still had a sizeable trust from the late Great Howard Stark as a rainy day fund. Or more likely, a get out of jail card.

The day-to-day was simple and for the most part, easy. Once two independent people such as them got used to the idea of being made, nothing else interefered. Tony turned on his neon light and got out his tarot cards and it would be late into the evening before he knew it. Pepper would work the books for the Man, making sure they always made their payment to the Roma on time, but without selling themselves short either. And at night they would greet, often for the first time, cook and eat dinner together and then sleep in separate rooms. They were for all intents and purposes, a sexless married couple. A business transaction, but it wasn't unenjoyable. It helped that they seemed to genuinely like one another, but there was seldom time to think of changing their arrangement anyway.

When Tony met a man named Eduardo, however, he knew their world was about to change. Eduardo was connected. Not like the gypsies, but independently. Perhaps he was the connection, even, he really isn't sure. He tries to have plausible deniability with these things. At the same time, Pepper meets a woman. She's had trouble with psychics in the past, and she tells her about her husband the intuitive. He thinks psychics are bullshit too, so surely he can help her. Obadiah finds out about their mark while they're still arguing over whether to tell him or not. Obadiah doesn't know who the client is, just that there is one, but he still brings Tony to the house for a good threatening. God gave Gypsies the right to steal but if you steal from a gypsy you die. Shit like that. Tony's heard it all before, and he just wants to get back and talk everything out with Pepper. She's the only one he can trust here.

But on the way home, he notices he's being followed. It ends up being the boyfriend of one of his clients, pissed that Tony told her he was cheating. He tries to defend himself, but ends up getting beat within an inch of his life and wakes in the hospital. Someone is squeezing his hand -- everything is hazy and kind of unpleasantly warm. He pries open his swollen eye to look at her. The other one is a lost cause. "Pepper..." It's nice that she came. He knows it isn't just to maintain appearances.

have this random, stupid thing idk merry christmas?

[efficacy]

Pepper tried to put her foot down when it came to having a bachelorette party, but she had been outvoted-- most empathetically by Natasha. She'd somehow managed to make it sound like the perfect way to teach Gamora about some Earth customs (Nebula was a harder nut to crack in this instance), and with that angle in play, Pepper had found it impolite to refuse. "I'll probably be back long before midnight," she'd told Tony as she'd kissed him goodbye earlier, fully intending on taking it easy. Famous last words.

That was several hours ago, before all of those shots. She should have known better than to trust Natasha, and remember that she was kind of a lightweight who doesn't drink hard liquor very often. The few drinks had snuck up on her, and by then she'd been caught up in the happy mood and cheerfully downed more tequila, vodka and whatever else Nat pushed into her hand in a tiny glass. With the clock finally nearing three thirty am, Pepper Potts is drunk. Not tipsy, but full-on plastered like she hasn't been in years and like Tony has never seen her before.

She'd still had a few drinks thrust in her hand in the limo on her way home (thanks Natasha), the taste of her last shot lingering on her tongue as she stumbles inside their Connecticut house. At least she has enough presence of mind despite her heavy intoxication to make sure the door locks in her wake. Her purse drops onto the floor with a clatter as she struggles to shrug off her coat. "Shhh-hhh!" she shushes herself dramatically (and not at all quietly), before bursting into drunken giggles, heels tapping heavily against the flooring as she keeps correcting her stance-- seeming to have difficulties standing still.

i love this so much!!!!!!!

[letmetakeaselfie]

Tony takes her promise to be home before midnight with a hearty handful of salt. It isn't that he doesn't think Pepper thinks anything else will happen. But he knows Natasha Romanoff, and she doesn't do anything in half-measures. Plus he knew how hard Asgard and space people could party from experience. Very, very drunk experience. So when midnight comes and goes and he still hasn't heard from her, he tries not to worry. He knows she'll be home... eventually.

Of course he couldn't sleep without her, though either. So he tries to get some work done around the house, but without truly being able to focus on anything but where Pepper might find herself right now he struggles. Eventually he ends up on the couch, watching the fish tank because even turning on the TV seems like work. He's drinking a coffee, but not with any true intention to stay up -- his body would do that for him anyway.

So when Pepper eventually makes it in, he's up before he's told his feet to rise. She looks a mess, which is cute in its way. Lord knows she'd seen him this way enough times. Tony appears at her side, dressed in sweats for the night and ready to take care of her. "Someone had a good time," he observes bemusedly, picking up her coat where she'd thrown it down and hanging it up before holding onto her so she has something to lean on while he works to remove her shoes.

[oorah]

After this weird exchange, not that most of their exchanges aren't weird, Frank starts hatching a vague plan. Over the coming weeks, he holds up his end of the bargain, teaching Logan to dodge bullets and anything else that might come his way. The truth is, it scares him: the prospect of the man not being invincible. Though they've only known each other a short time, he'd come to count on that. He doesn't want to get used to a Logan who can get hurt.

When he hears the other man on the other side of the door, cranking open the storage unit at their agreed upon time every week, he wonders if he's made a mistake. He's stripped down to just his underwear and socks because there's still a side of this for Logan to hold up. He wanted to count Frank's scars, and maybe he wants to let him. No one ever has, not even himself in the mirror; and maybe he's as curious as Logan seems to be. Frank meets his eyes when he comes into the metal cube that houses all of Frank's worldly possessions, and they're mostly guns. He's half expecting the other man to laugh, but he's still watching him intently, not saying anything as he waits for a reaction.

[danzan]

Logan doesn't laugh.

A room full of guns and a man sitting in the middle of it in his underwear isn't the strangest thing he's seen -- and honestly, he's too distracted by the sight of raised flesh and the underlying, strong spice of Frank's scent beneath all the metal of firearms to even try taking his eyes off of him.

Frank sits there, plain and muscled and staring at him, and Logan stares back, but at the scarred body of a man who's been through too much.

He forgoes the greeting. There's no need for it, like there's no need for him to ask when he gets close enough to touch. Instead, Logan's fingers reach out and brush over a scar on Frank's shoulder -- jagged, from a knife wound. It's rough, and it looks like it hurt, but in his mind he imagines Frank just pulling the knife out and continuing to plow on. Imagines him going despite the pain.

It's very like him.

"One," he murmurs quietly. And then he moves on to the next one, and then the next, and then the next, smooth fingertips over Frank's skin, but it's not like Logan's regeneration allows any of his calluses to stay.

[oorah]

Frank knows Karen finds it hard to see him this way because it isn't who he is anymore. Cobbled together fragments of the man he once was struggling for dominance with the man borne from that very loss - it's an odd tango to play with oneself, and he thinks it must be an even odder one to witness. He wants to do this for her though, he only hopes she doesn't feel on the spot. He does, but that's a different problem entirely, moving about her kitchen confidently despite her scrutiny from across the scant space. It's a simple recipe, one he can't remember if he learned from his grandmother, Maria's mother, or the internet. They all amount to about the same, and were all a lifetime ago besides.

"Just sit down. I told you I got it."

He fixes her with a sharp look as he plates up their meal: penne in a spicy arrabbiata sauce with at least a billion vegetables. At least. It was the only way he ever got his kids to eat healthy, so maybe it's yet another holdover, it's really impossible to say. First thing's first: he sets down the vase of crisp white roses in the center of the table before going back to fetch the salad. He made that too, naturally. Then comes the wine, which he knows far less about so he chose the same label of rosé that Sarah drinks, two classes hitting the table after. The sauce needs to reduce a while longer, he thinks, and sure enough, Karen's popped up again, nearly startling him when he turns and she's right beside him. Instead of scolding her again, he pushes the wooden spatula he's holding near her lips.

"Tell me if this is done."

[subplot]

She definitely isn't used to seeing him this way. It's hard in some ways, seeing glimpses the might he might have once been while also being very aware that the man he's shaped himself into today is doing this for her. The conflict within him doesn't go unnoticed, but she tries to act like she's oblivious. It's easy to do, when she's downright itching to stand up and go help him. She almost fully stands several times, but his assertions that he's got everything handled make her sit right back down and watch him cook. She never had thought of Frank in the kitchen, doing things like this. It's a completely surreal experience.

And just because he tells her that he has something doesn't mean that she has to sit. After waiting until he's focused on the meal she slips out of her chair and her heels, making sure she's silent as she approaches him across the small span of tile floor. Her arm is reaching out to grab a spoon to taste the sauce when he beats her to the punch, startling her with the way he presses the wooden spoon against her lips. They part and she's more than happy to test the taste.

"A little longer," she softly suggests, smiling as she leans around the path of the spoon so she can kiss his cheek. The combination of her lipstick and the sauce leave a mark on his skin and she smiles at the sight of it as he pulls away. "If I had known you were a professional, I would've invited you over for dinner a long time ago."