#[what's that kat you're too sleepy to make proper tags?

[ironchosen]

⁂

MANHANDLE THE TIN CAN MAN.

STATUS: KINKY.

⁂ - grab my muse by the front of their shirt, possibly shoving them back

“hey, hey, careful with the claaaaaa--” claws! and there’s daphne. daphne behind the mask, black lace and warm, molten brown eyes. they’re not warm, now. the sheer flicker of anger, in fact, bings alana’s heart to a swift slam. thumpthumpTHUMP. she collides with the wall-- SLAM!-- and then daph’s leaning to smother the side of alana’s throat, her arm half pinning her, and stark’s little smile flicks out and dies. she gasps quietly, chest heaving against tight microfibers, all the weaves of her own work.

the shockwave rattles the building and shakes and shudders brick, leaves behind what’s almost sawdust in its wake. she can feel the flames licking the side of her cheek, and alana can’t help but think about how the flesh of a human cheek is so vulnerable, you can bite it right out with a tremendous CHOMP! her heart keeps flickering and fluttering, trying to calm down. the deafness goes half unnoticed until it comes back in a huge, loud whine, frequency screaming.

“alana.” it’s strange to hear. she’s so used to ‘handsome’ or ‘pretty boy’ it’s become her name basically. but through the loud screech is her voice, and through everything, that hand touching her face tenderly, is daphne. she falls in love every time, because if a feeling of overwhelming adoration is what love is, alana is sure this is love. “alana. look at me, handsome, okay?” and she does, still looking at those eyes under that dark mask. her hand presses to the big shot billionaire’s chest, feels the soft whir. blinky’s soothed, and daph says silently, “it’s okay, big guy. it’s okay. i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to hurt you.”

a hand reaches up, touches, tucks a strand of dark, messy hair behind an ear so carefully, “you okay, little guy?”

her hand lets go slowly, so slowly every part of alana’s body is as unharmed as it can be after being so shaken. there’s a gap in the building, now, the wind whistling through the smoke-filled air. when she approaches the edge and looks over, bodies strewn across pavement, stare unseeing up. daph follows suit after a second. blood paints cement, limbs akimbo, askew, an awful tableaux. daph places a hand on alana’s shoulder, equally as slowly.

she nods.

“as okay as i can be.”

the cat gives the man of iron’s shoulder a squeeze.

“keep you guard up. it’s a concrete jungle out there.”