#the statement would have been left to lay innocently

[sthilarions]

I think Edwin would both genuinely appreciate tone indicators (to an extent - he would have Views on the uselessness of /hj for example) and also weaponize them. Not by using them falsely because that completely defeats the point and he would firmly disapprove but like he’d say something surprisingly un-insulting to Crystal (out loud) and finish his sentence with “forward slash aitch oh ess”.

“Okay, first of all, Edwin, tone indicators are for text, I would think having to pronounce punctuation would have cued you to that, and second of all, you mean pee oh ess.” “I meant precisely what I said, Crystal. Which was an indicator that my tone was hostile.” Crystal frowns and runs back through the possible meanings of Edwin’s original sentence for several seconds before her eyes widen. “You little shit - ”

Or. He compliments her clothes and then pauses. Makes a face like a cat that’s gotten catnip-laced cream. Opens his mouth again to speak. Is interrupted by Crystal. “Let me guess. You’re about to say forward slash ess?” Edwin gives her the most infuriating little tight-lipped smirk and nods while Crystal rolls her eyes.

[kamiversee]

Big ruby shaded eyes, matching that of her father’s, have this adorable thin layer of gloss over them as she pleads with her parent for the millionth time.

“Daddy pwease?” She has the cutest little pout on her face, one that’s worked on her mother time and time again that’s sure to work on her father too—

“No.” Sukuna says yet again.

The child is tired of asking and receiving that same answer over and over. She doesn’t understand one bit why but she hates hearing that word. Folding her arms, she lets out an annoyed puff, “Mommy would never tell me no…”

One statement and there’s already another vein bulging in the right corner of Sukuna Ryomen’s forehead. “Go away, brat.” He breathes out in an overly irritated tone.

The child, unable to take no for an answer and more like her father than she even realizes, takes her foot and brings it down on the curse’s foot in frustration.

If he wasn’t ticked off before, he damn sure is now. “You little—“

“Sukuna,” And there it is, the voice of the sole human in this reality who could ever even dream of cutting the king of curses off mid-sentence. Not only is it you, the mother of his overly insolent child, but you have the nerve to give him that scolding tone he hates (loves).

He scowls for a long moment before looking down to the smaller human who carries more of your features than his. “Fine, child.” Sukuna drawls out after a long roll of his many eyes.

Then, with a big smile plastered all over her small face, her hands are shooting up and she’s making a grab motion with her hands.

Sukuna stares down at her and sighs, “You really are a spoiled brat, y’know…” He grumps while leaning down to pick his daughter up with one out of his two pairs of hands. “…Just like your damn mother.”

The child’s smile fades for a moment and she tilts her head, “Damn?” She repeats in a confused tone, making Sukuna’s heart spike.

“Wait-, don’t… don’t say that.” He’s been down this road one two many times—having taught the child how to say ‘fuck’ the moment she began spewing words. He received an earful from you that he didn’t care for so, here he is now, “That’s a bad word.”

His daughter blinks, “But, Daddy said it.”

Sukuna groans lowly in irritation, “Daddy can say whatever the hell he wants.”

“Hell?” Oh she had to be doing this on purpose, knowing her mother was only a room away.

“Child.” The curse scolds, “Are you trying to irritate me?”

She shrugs playfully, “This is what you get for telling me no.”

“You asked me if you could draw on my face.” He deadpans.

“And you should’ve said yes,” You suddenly chime in, entering the room, “Instead of teaching her more curse words.”

The little girl snickers in Sukuna’s arms and he swears he has an image of the child being flung across the room for just a moment. That image is interrupted by the girl speaking again.

“Like fuck?” She says loud and clear. “I heard Daddy say it again earlier today—“

A big hand goes over her mouth (practically her entire face) and she’s cut off by her father who’s innocently smiling at you, his darling wife.

“Ignore her. I was just about to let her draw on my face so,” He glances down at his daughter who’s giggling victoriously beneath his palm and then sighs, “If you’ll excuse us.”

You’re left smiling at the two as Sukuna turns away with his daughter and exits the room—the sound of them bickering as soon as they’re out of sight heard moments later.

And the next time you lay eyes on the two, Sukuna’s got a face full of stickers and marker and his little mini-me has a mocking face full of her father’s markings. To which you just had to take a million and one pictures of.

[renskaji]

the hoodie

ren kaji x reader, wc: 1.8k, req? no.

He’s not expecting for it to affect him as much as it does. 

Your question was innocent enough, a quiet ‘can I borrow a hoodie, Ren?’ murmured in your sweet voice that he never could seem to say no too. Besides, he’s a protector of the town, right? And you’re part of the town.

What kind of Bofurin grade captain would he be if he let you freeze?

He thinks he’ll be fine, that he’ll be able to handle the sight of you in his clothes as normally as if you were wearing your own. His heart always does a little flip when he sees you, but he’s wholly unprepared for the way it stops in his chest when he finally rips his attention from his phone and up to you. 

It’s not fair, really, that you’re oblivious to the effect you have on him. You’re not doing anything special, just hanging out at his house before the two of you are set to leave and meet Enomoto and Kusumi for dinner, and yet Kaji thinks he might combust. 

The sleeves are just a few inches too long on you, and he knows that the hoodie smells like his cologne. He feels a little territorial, honestly, and entirely too smug that you’re about to leave his house wearing his clothes. 

“Does it look alright?” You ask him, voice distracted as you turn left to right and back again in the mirror. You’re inspecting the hoodie like you’re trying to make some grand fashion statement, and Kaji feels the tips of his ears start to burn as he rivets his attention back to his phone. 

“S’alright.” He hums, non-committedly, because there’s really no good way to explain to his best friend that he thinks you should probably only wear his clothes for the rest of your life. That’s a bit much, especially since he hasn’t been able to muster enough bravery to ask you out. 

He can fight off a rival gang, outnumbered, no problem. But he feels like his lungs might collapse if he even thinks about holding your hand. 

Despite the way he keeps his attention focused solely on his phone, he still manages to catch a glimpse of the way you roll your pretty eyes at his half-assed response. He can’t help the way his lips curve up into the subtlest grin at your slight annoyance. Antagonizing you is almost as fun as watching you wearing his clothes. 

“Whatever,” You huff, turning away from the mirror to face him lounging on the bed. You’d been at his side until a few moments earlier when you hopped up and asked for a hoodie, laying on the pillow beside him and scrolling through your own phone while listening to the music blasting through his headphones set around his neck. “Are you ready? Enomoto gave us so much shit last time we were late.” 

The lollipop in his mouth is strawberry, and Kaji swirls it around his tongue as he gets one last shameless glance at you in his clothes. He can’t actually believe his luck—you’re about to go out wearing his hoodie, smelling like him. It’s practically a declaration of who you belong too. 

You’d probably flick him in the forehead if you knew what territorial thoughts were swirling through his mind, but that would mean admitting just why he gets so much satisfaction from you being seen as his, so he keeps his mouth shut and climbs off the bed. 

He keeps his headphones wrapped around his neck instead of over his ears as he follows you out of his house and onto the street. The restaurant Kusumi picked is only a short walk from where he lives, but Kaji still keeps his head on a swivel while at your side—between yourself and the curb, obviously. 

“—and then we went home.” You’re retelling the day before, when you went shopping with a few of your friends from school, but Kaji is only half-listening. He knows you’re used to his attention being split, what with his headphones usually covering one or both ears, but he’s been better about paying attention to you. 

You’re just too distracting, wearing his clothes. 

“Ren, did you even hear me?” You huff, hooking an arm around his and stepping closer to him despite the annoyance in your voice. Kaji bites down on his lollipop—not hard enough to crack it—and your attention snaps to the movement. He really needs you to stop looking at his mouth, because his blush is starting to become uncontrollable and he thinks he might do something stupid. “Earth to Ren?”

“‘M fine.” He grumbles, wishing he had told you no about borrowing his hoodie and knowing that he would give you the world if you had asked for it. 

He knows he’s screwed when you pull him to a stop by the arm you’re still holding. He relents, but shuffles the two of you to the side of the walkway to stay out of traffic. The street is relatively empty, but the action gives him something to do other than face your concerned pout. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask him. He knows the question was inevitable and yet he can’t help the way his stomach twists at your words. He can’t tell you what’s wrong, because that would mean admitting that he’s been fighting affection for you for months. 

“Nothing.” He lies. You know he's lying because he can’t look you in the eyes, and he feels some of his untempered anger bubble up in his chest. It’s not directed at you, never, but at the fact that he just lied to you. That he’s the reason for the pout on your face. 

“Ren Kaji. Look at me.” He winces at the sound of his full name falling past your lips, and he forces himself to meet your eye. He can do that much, because that means he’s only seeing the top of his hoodie in the corner of his vision— “Do you want to skip dinner?”

And miss the chance to show you off in his clothes?

“No.” He’s quick to answer and he’s glad it’s the truth, because it has some of the harshest edges of your pout melting. 

But then you do the worst possible thing. 

You tuck your chin in, digging it below the neckline of his hoodie, while no doubt trying to think of what’s causing his sudden mood. The material comes up above your lips, stopping just below your nose, and he knows you’re just breathing in his scent, no matter if it’s intentional or not. 

He feels a little bit like an untamed animal, going fuzzy at the edges of his mind at the knowledge that you’re wrapped up in something that smells of him. 

He jerks his head to the side and bites on the lollipop between his teeth again. His face is completely flushed, he can feel it burning, and he knows he’s found out when you perk up and tug on his arm to try and get his attention. 

“Is it the hoodie?” You ask, though he knows you’re confident in your guess when you don’t slow down for him to answer. “You should’ve told me I couldn’t wear it, I wouldn’t have minded. We’re not far from your house, we can go bring it back—”

And that’s just not an option for him, so he needs to find the courage. 

“It’s not ‘cause I don’t want you wearin’ it.” He admits, trying to ignore the spike of panic in his chest when you freeze up. It’s almost worst, trying to talk, when his short declaration seemed to get the words to dry up on your tongue. “I think you look… good… wearin’ my shit.” 

He’s never been the best with words, but he knows his point gets across when your pout melts away completely and leaves a wide grin in its place. Kaji thinks it might be worse for his heart to see you so giddy while wearing his hoodie, especially when you lean forward close enough to him to smell your shampoo. 

It’s then that he realizes that when—if—he gets his hoodie back, it’ll smell like you, too. He thinks his brain turns to mush. 

He’s malfunctioning, surely, because there’s no other explanation than total brain destruction and utter hallucination for him to watch as you reach the hand up that’s not holding his arm and grasp the short stick of his lollipop poking out from between his lips.

He opens his mouth on instinct when you pull on the stick, and he watches in complete devastation as you put the candy in your own mouth. Your smirk up at him, stick poking from the corner of your own devilishly curved lips, and he knows the sight will be forever seared into the brightest corners of his mind. 

He can’t think too long about the fact that you’re doing it all while wearing his fucking hoodie or else he’ll combust. 

“After dinner, you and I can get dessert without the others.” You tell him casually, leaning back half a step. Kaji loathes the distance, but he’s too struck dumb by your bold actions to do anything about it. If you weren’t still grinning at him with his lollipop on his tongue with his hoodie on your body, the distance might’ve been enough to help clear some of the fog from his mind. “You can tell me how good I look in your clothes then.” 

Kaji watches as you turn around like it’s nothing, and he swears he’s never felt his brain stall for as long as it does in that moment. But you glance over your shoulder at him just once, and it’s enough to get his ass in gear and take quick steps to catch up to your side. 

He’s openly staring at you, because he thinks he might be able to do that now, and hates how much he loves the smirk you’re nearly knocking him on his ass with. 

“I might need to borrow more of your clothes if this is how you react,” You tease, slipping your hand into his and efficiently suffocating all arguments on his tongue. 

And really, he’s never been able to say no to you.

+ bonus

“What?” Enomoto glances up from his phone when he feels Kusumi poking him in the side. They’re running late for dinner with Kaji and you, and he really doesn’t have time to clean up some lowlife’s mess if he can help it. 

Except, when Kusumi points across the street, Enomoto follows his friend’s direction and finds the opposite of some creep picking a fight in his town. 

It’s you and Kaji, stopped on the edge of the sidewalk and talking about something that has you grinning and him frowning. Enomoto is about to call out to the two of you, but then he watches as you pull the lollipop from Kaji’s mouth and pop it into your own.

“Grrross,” Enomoto huffs, though he’s smiling. He’s reached his limit of dealing with your’s and Kaji’s endless pining after the other. He watches a moment longer as you and Kaji take off down the street once more, your hand finding his friend's easily. “I’m cancelling dinnerrr. I’m not sufferrring thrrrough them.” 

Kusumi nods, agreeing. He has a feeling you and Kaji won't mind the time alone together.

[savemefromanepicoftimewasted]

Forgive me father, for I have sinned

Matt Murdock X F!Reader

He needed to get to you, to make sure that no one had managed to lay even a single finger on your head. The sound of his steps was nearly silent as he lunged over the side, dropping down harshly onto the fire escape. Breath foggy, a reminder of just how close he’d come to losing everything tonight.

A/n: hello! It’s been a while since I’ve posted, and it’s been even longer since it’s been a marvel fic, this is just Matt being a slut if I’m honest

Warnings: smuuuuut, mentions of bodily injuries, mentions of blood, mentions of death

The wind was sharp, the cold stinging the open cuts that seemed to multiply as he stood atop the building. His heart was still beating, for now.

He needed to get to you, to make sure that no one had managed to lay even a single finger on your head. The sound of his steps was nearly silent as he lunged over the side, dropping down harshly onto the fire escape. Breath foggy, a reminder of just how close he’d come to losing everything tonight.

Lips pulled back into a snarl, fingers digging into the metal of the stairway, he vaulted over, pulling himself higher until he reached his apartment. He stopped, listening closely for your heartbeat.

Thump…thump…thump.

You were sound asleep, soft breaths echoing inside his bedroom as you slowly rolled over. You didn’t need to see him like this, like a monster.

It didn’t matter how often you rebuked that statement, claimed he was better than he’d ever seen himself. Daredevil was a monster inside and out, a way to express himself without causing harm to those he loved most. After he’d lost Foggy, things were blurry, as if he was remembering everything through a thick veil. Nothing made sense anymore, a reminder of how quickly things could be ripped from his hands.

Karen left not long after the funeral, stating she couldn’t stay in the same place he’d been murdered. Matt hadn’t left his apartment during those few weeks, his hands still stained with his best friend's blood. Sure, Dex might be behind bars for the remainder of his life, but it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

He opened the door slowly, his attention focused solely on you as the latch shut with a soft click. Your breathing hadn’t so much as shifted, letting him know he could head down without worry.

You’d nearly killed someone tonight, someone that has a family they go home to.

Matt’s heart slammed into his chest as he grabbed onto the handrail, heel nearly slipping out from underneath. 

“No, he,” Matt cleared his throat, the skin of his knuckles breaking open once more as he struggled to compose himself.

Does she know what you do at night? How do you attempt to save the city by nearly killing people? Innocent lives will be lost by your hands.

“No!” Matt reached up, harshly yanking off the mask  that kept his identity hidden from the rest of the world. 

The air stilled as the cool air of the apartment began to brush over his heated skin, the sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead in the moonlight. The red lenses of his helmet dimly, the mask held loosely in his hands, fingers curled ever so slightly.

How could he ever begin to believe that, even for a moment, he wasn’t the true monster of the world? His sins spreading far and wide, the inky blackness that slowly corrupted him sinking into those he cared for most. Foggy had already been ripped from his hands, the reminder that he couldn’t be by his side as he took his last breath, his final heartbeat echoing in Matt’s mind. Was he a monster for trying to keep the city streets safe? Or was he no better than the men he was going after?

“I’m nothing like them,” his steps were silent as he reached the base floor, movements fluid as he stepped over to the chest that normally hid his suit.

He halted in his haste to strip down as you shifted in bed, the sound of the silk sheets rubbing against your soft skin, a breathy sigh slipping through your lips.

His blood burned hotter in his veins, hands nearly ripping the suit off in his haste to shove it, none to kindly, into the case. The only sound he could hear was the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, the blood rushing like rapid waters.

Her skin will be tainted with your sins, Matthew, are you ready to damn her as well? To bring her to hell alongside you to burn for eternity?

Matt growled low in his chest, hands clenched into fists as he stood nearly naked before the chest. His body littered with bruises that would heal before he could begin to worry about them. Feet turning towards the bedroom, his heart raced as he slowed the closer he got to the bed.

Fingertips traced over the soft material, calluses catching ever so slightly on the barely frayed edges. Your breath was slow, heart beating slow and steady. An angel lying before him.

“My darling,” his voice was soft as he gripped onto the blanket covering your body, slowly sliding it away until you were bared before the world.

Though he couldn’t see your body properly, Matt knew you looked ethereal bathed in the soft moonlight. Breath catching in his throat, his brow furrowed as he realized you’d gone to bed nude, the taste of your arousal thick in the air.

Swallowing thickly he slowly crawled onto the bed, listening intently for any change in your heartbeat. Hands pried open your thighs further, his lips trailing soft kisses along your smooth skin. Teeth sinking into the supple flesh of your thighs.

Your head twisted around on the pillow, thighs pressing against his ears as you attempted to both escape, and relish in the sensations. His tongue lapped at the mark, groaning low in his throat as he trailed the appendage closer to your soaked core.

Fuck, he’s never smelt something so divine in his life. 

His eyes slipped closed as his lips wrapped around your swollen clit, suckling gently. Your essence coated his tongue like the sweetest candy, a delicious treat he’d gladly let himself drown in if you’d let him. His palms slid up to press against your belly, pressing your body into the mattress before sliding up to your chest.

Your legs squeezed tighter, eyes flicking back and forth behind your closed lids. Matt never left you unsatisfied, it was egregious that anyone ever dared utter the words around him. His tongue trailed down to your slick entrance, sliding in and curling up towards your g-spot.

Though your eyes remained closed, Matt could feel the way your cunt tightened around his tongue, your orgasm soaking his mouth and chin. He palmed your chest gently, thumbs sliding over your nipples as he felt the skin tighten beneath his touch. He pressed closer, sliding his tongue back up to your overly sensitive clit, practically able to feel your heartbeat through it.

Subconsciously he began to utter prayers, tongue and lips assaulting your clit. Your thighs clamped around his head harshly, an intense scream ripping free from your chest, your eyes flying open as you looked down at Matt.

“Fuck, baby,” your thighs shook as you ran a hand through his hair, gently gripping the soft strands as he ate you out as if it were his final meal.

It was almost as if Matt was deafened by everything surrounding him, his hands squeezing your chest as he lapped his tongue harder against your clit. Your eyes rolled back as a second orgasm washed over you, hands pulling harshly. 

“Baby, please,” you could hardly catch your breath, heart racing as you tried to come down from the intense climax of your second orgasm.

Normally Matt would never push you past your limit, he loved you too much to ever hurt you. However, tonight was nothing like normal. His palms slid from your chest, your nipples sore and aching as he grabbed the fat of your thighs and ass, pushing you closer to his face as he rolled onto his back. Your eyes flew open as you realized exactly what he’d wanted.

“Jesus,” your voice was barely above a whisper, hips grinding down against his mouth.

Matt gripped your thighs harder, moaning against your skin as your essence dripped down onto his jaw. His cock strained against the tight fabric of his briefs, the tip leaking as he drank you in. His hands traced up your spine, pushing your body forward so his nose grazed your clit.

Your head dropped between your shoulders as you came for a third time, tears dripping down your cheeks as you struggled to keep yourself upright. 

“Matty,” you gripped the headboard, carefully pulling yourself up and off before plopping down onto the bed.

His eyes were closed in bliss, chest rising and falling harshly as he licked his lips of your taste. Arousal flooded your body as you watched him, ignoring how battered his body was, again.

“I’m sorry I didn’t wake you,” Matt let his eyes open slowly, looking over in your general area.

“Trust me, that was an amazing wake up call,” you’d finally managed to catch your breath, a soft laugh slipping out.

He couldn’t help but smile, eyes crinkling as he reached up to gently graze his fingers over your thigh. You’d never seen him look so beautiful before.

“However, it looks like you need some help,” you scooted down the bed, hooking your fingers into the fabric of his briefs before pulling them down and off.

His cock slapped against his stomach with a wet slap, precum seeping into the thick hair on his stomach. The skin was nearly purple, hot to the touch as you gently stroked him.

“Fu-fuck!” His back arched off the bed, hands gripping onto the sheets as he did his best not to cum right then and there.

You cooed softly, leaning down to press a kiss to the base of his throat, lips trailing down his chest and stomach before reaching the tip of his cock. Taking him fully in hand, you wrapped your lips around him, giving gently kitten licks as you kept your eyes on him.

Matt couldn’t contain the guttural moans that echoed inside the bedroom, hands blindly searching for you as his hand tangled in your hair. You immediately pulled off his cock, squeezing the base as a warning.

“You’re going to behave and keep your hands to yourself, do I make myself clear?” You reached back with your free hand, untangling his hand from your hair.

One thing no one would ever expect to find out, is that Matthew Murdock, is an absolute sub.

“Yes miss,” Matt’s throat felt tight as you began to take control, laying his hands down onto the sheets.

You watched him for a moment to ensure he wouldn’t pull another stunt as he just had, leaning down to take him back into your mouth once more. He could hardly focus on anything other than how your tongue felt tracing over the underside of his cock. The air felt thick, drowning the both of you as Matt tried to focus on not cumming. You pulled off with a smirk, fingers sliding down to gently cup and squeeze his balls.

“You’re doing so good for me, bet you wanna cum, huh?” Your tone was condescending, teasing in a way that riled Matt up intensely.

He nodded hastily, eyes squeezed shut as his body shook from head to toe.

“Please,” his breath caught in his throat as your hand wrapped around his cock once more, pumping quickly.

Before he could utter a single word, even a warning, he was cumming over your hand, cock throbbing intensely as he whimpered.

“Look at that, such a good boy for me,” you smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek as your hand continued to stroke his cock.

Matt felt his breathing pick-up as the intensity of his orgasm began to slow, the overstimulation setting in. His lips parted to bed for a reprieve, to beg you to stop if for even just a moment.

“C’mon, I know you’ve got one more in you,” you giggled, letting his cock lie against his stomach as you straddled his lap. He hadn’t even softened in the slightest.

His hands slid to your thighs, thighs shaking as you dragged your soak cunt along the underside of his cock.

“Baby, fuck, baby please,” Matt was ready to plead, to pray to any god that would listen if it meant sinking in to your heat.

You ignored him, hands pressed against his chest as you rocked your hips slower, the tip of his cock pressing harder against his stomach each time. To anyone eavesdropping it would be obvious what was happening, a man having what could only be considered the most intense orgasm of his life.

“I’m not stopping until I am done, do I make myself clear?” You pushed yourself up onto your knees, taking his cock in hand as you slowly sank down onto him.

“Ye-yes, ma’am,” Matt nearly went cross eyed as your heat enveloped him, jaw slack as he sighed happily.

Your movements were slow, deliberate in a sense as you took his hands off your thighs, sliding them up to your chest. Matt wasted no time in pinching and squeezing your nipples, thumbs rolling over the skin.

“So beautiful,” Matt could write sonnets about how beautiful he found you, fingers tracing gently over your skin as he quickly pushed himself up, pulling your bodies flush together.

“I love you,” you pressed your foreheads together, panting softly against his skin as you rocked your hips faster, his cock gliding deliciously against your tight walls.

“I love you too,” Matt leaned up, pressing a kiss to your lips, arms wrapping around your waist as he fucked up into you.

You dug your nails into his shoulder with a loud cry, moaning against his mouth as you struggled to keep up with his intensity. He cupped your jaw, pressing kisses along the skin as he chased your orgasm, your cunt tightening around him.

“Let go for me, come all over my cock sweetheart,” Matt gently nipped at your neck, slamming his cock in once, twice, thrice before you came all over his cock, your body locking up as Matt’s eyes squeezed shut once more, his hot cum filling your sore pussy.

He slowed his thrusts before stilling completely, your bodies still fully connected as he pulled away from your throat.

“Are you okay?” Matt pressed kisses all over your face, the fear that he could’ve hurt you in any way tearing at his soul.

“I’m doing fantastic, might not have feeling in my legs right now,” you laughed against his hair, fingers gently caressing the indents from your nails.

He carefully laid you down, pulling out slowly before making his way into the bathroom to get a damp washcloth. You watched as he came back into the bedroom, body covered in a light sheen of sweat as well as cum sticking in the hair covering his chest and stomach.

“Just warn me if I’m too rough, okay?” Matt had always been gentle when it came to aftercare, even if you didn’t have such intense sex.

The cloth was warm as it pressed to your core, cleaning up your mixed fluids. Normally he’d toss the cloth into the hamper to be dealt with later, instead he folded it over, cleaning off the inside of your thighs slowly, meticulously.

“Don’t forget yourself,” your eyes trailed down his chest slowly, even when you were on the brink of exhaustion you couldn’t get enough of him.

“I was thinking a shower would do us some good, if you’d be okay with that,” Matt leaned up, tossing the washcloth into the hamper before sitting on the bed beside your hip.

You mulled it over in your mind for a brief moment, could you even handle standing up long enough to get clean? Then again a shower would actually get you clean.

“Yeah, let’s take a shower,” you sat up slowly, not wanting to worry Matt by making yourself dizzy.

Matt stood up, lifting you up bridal style before heading into the bathroom. The room wasn’t that big, especially not for two people to fit comfortably. Carefully setting you down onto the sink he turned back towards the shower, turning it on and stepping back to let it heat up.

“Be more careful next time, okay?” You traced your fingers along his spine, the fresh bruising more obvious in the dim lighting.

“I’ll try, I promise,” Matt turned to face you, hands pressed on the sink on either side of you.

You pulled him into a soft kiss, lips moving languidly with his own as your chests pressed flush together. The taste of yourself lingered faintly on his mouth, your skin heating up at the recent memory.

As the room began to fill with steam Matt pulled from the kiss, his hands sliding beneath your thighs as he lifted you up.

“Shall we?” His lips pulled into a smirk as he stepped into the small shower, slowly setting you down.

“My, my Mr Murdock,” you giggled, resting your hands against his chest as the water glided over your skin.

Matt didn’t let his hands stray far, fingers tracing over every dip and curve that he could reach. Your own hands traced along his chest.

Soft words were whispered between the pair as Matt carefully washed your hair, fingers scratching at your scalp as you did your best to keep your eyes open. 

God damn that man and his amazing hands.

He didn’t so much as let you lift a finger as he scrubbed your body from head to toe, being more gentle on any areas that could be sore from earlier. Never protesting as you grabbed his own soap, scrubbing down his body with a bright smile.

Matt felt his chest tighten as you turned to rinse off the loofah, your back pressed against him. He’d never thought he’d have something so domestic, so loving.

“Marry me,” the words slipped out before he could stop them, his heart pounding in his chest.

Your hands stopped altogether as you looked up at him from over your shoulder, eyes wide.

“Really?” Could this be a joke? A slip of the tongue, and Matt hadn’t realized his mistake yet?

“Yes, I have a ring hidden away, I know I’m asking you in the most unconventional way possible, but I want to marry you,” Matt listened to your heartbeat, hearing how it beat harshly behind your ribs.

You waited for a moment, gathering your thoughts as tears welled up into your eyes, a bright smile pulling up your lips.

“Yes!” You didn’t waste a second, turning to face him as you threw your arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his lips.

Matt was stunned for a brief moment, mind slowly catching up that you’d said yes! His arms wrapped around your waist as he pulled you in tight, kissing you back hastily. You’d actually said yes to marrying him, the woman he couldn’t believe at times had chosen him.

“I fucking love you,” he pulled free from the kiss, hands squeezing your soft flesh.

“I love you too,” you laughed through a sob, tears mixing with the water from the shower head.

He reached back, shutting off the water so that you could both get out and head back to your bedroom.

He scrubbed your body town with a towel, hands moving faster than you’d seen them before. Your giggles echoing in the small bathroom as you watched him. Matt smiled as he wrapped you in the towel, wrapping one around his own waist.

“Go sit, I have to get the ring,” Matt patted your ass gently, making his way out to the chest he’d hastily shoved his suit into earlier.

This night he was more than thankful you never pried into his lifestyle as Daredevil, you would’ve found the ring months ago, ruining the surprise. Grabbing the small box he held it tightly in his hand, making his way back to the bedroom.

You had somehow managed to change the sheets while Matt was busy, having changed them to clean, dry sheets. 

“You’re too perfect for me,” he smiled, kneeling down in front of you before popping open the box.

Your jaw dropped open as you saw how gorgeous the ring was. Had he somehow found your Pinterest and given it to a jeweler to perfect a ring for you? That seemed like the only logical explanation.

“Matt, oh my god,” you pressed a hand to your mouth as he carefully pulled the ring free, grabbing your left hand before finding your ring finger, sliding the cool band over your skin.

“I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you, and I can’t wait to spend the rest of our lives together. You make me the happiest man alive,” as the ring settled on the base of your finger you couldn’t stop staring at it.

This was going to be your forever.

And you couldn’t wait to start the beginning of forever.

tags: @gaylemonshark @mel-thefrog

[kiame-sama]

Humans Are Extinct (Yandere!TWST x Fem!Reader) Monster AU pt 42

(Sam is a Shadow Person and as a Shadow Person, he cannot handle UV rays of high intensity- such as sunlight and moonlight- where even the UV from a flame can bother him horribly. He is almost always enshrouded by shadows which he can create with his magic. The level of how enshrouded he is, is determined by the level of UV rays. He HATES when it storms due to the cloud cover trapping UV rays more so than cloudless weather. Whenever Malleus throws a fit, Sam is mostly trapped inside as even his shadows can only handle so much.)

Warnings: platonic and non-platonic yanderes, multiple yanderes, semi fluff at the start, past issues, drama, attempt at being kind backfires on platonic yandere, entitled parent, hateful parent, Human gets no rest despite trying, hurt/comfort, Harpies, Shinigami, Dragon, Hellcat, Drider

~~~~~~~~

You woke to the feeling of warmth around you, wondering why it was so warm when Malleus was typically quite cool in comparison of body heat. Looking over your shoulder you realized the wing laying over you was feathered and not scaled or furred. The colors of the wings and the black striping along the flight feathers let you know that it was Vil holding you, still in a deep sleep as he looked more at peace than you had ever seen him.

Looking around, you saw that it must have been daylight for a while. Only you and Vil occupied the nest at the moment, not even little Grim or faithful Rook was present in the large bed. Perhaps you both had been left to sleep after the events of the night prior and only now were waking.

The peaceful room gave you a moment to roll over and look at Vil closely. His face was clean of the usual makeup and he was resting peacefully instead of pridefully flaunting. Even without makeup, Vil's face was clear of all blemishes and had several markings around his eyes that reminded you of a peacock. His hair was loose and his face was somewhat squished into the pillow below his head, almost giving him a gentle and innocent look.

Despite his many similarities to the birds his species evolved from, it would be a lie to say he was not a lovely creature to look at. Truthfully, he was beautiful.

As you continued to look at the lovely Harpy, he slowly began to rouse. His eyes seemed distant as if he were still somewhere between sleep and consciousness when he realized you were laying in his arms. This seemed to catch his interest as one of those lovely purple eyes focused on you, almost looking pink in the light of day.

"Good morning, (Y/n)..."

The Harpy murmured in a half asleep state, smiling as he gazed affectionately at you and pulling you close. Along with not being fully awake, Vil seemed to be in a trance-like state. A soft cooing escaping the lovely Harpy who nuzzled your forehead with a gentle touch.

"Good morning, Vil. We should probably be getting up soon."

He somewhat frowned at this and his gaze trailed over to fix on the window. After a moment of staring out he nodded and seemed to agree with your statement rather quickly.

"Alright. First, I have a question though. My memories of... of last night are hazy, but I do believe I remember feeling someone's lips against my own when that wretched potion was trying to consume me. Did that happen, or was I delusional from a severe lack of air?"

You hesitated, feeling like Vil deserved the truth but not knowing how he would actually take it if you told him flat out. If anything, you had been hoping he was too unaware to notice or really realize what you had done to save him. Again you scolded yourself for not finding another way but knowing it was likely still the best choice given how well Vil was recovering.

"That potion was trying to consume you, but it seemed drawn to me in a way. The only way I could think of to save you as quickly as possible was to allow it quick access to my own body. You can probably tell what I chose..."

Your hand absently came up to your lips, likely still stained by the blot potion just like your fingertips. Vil could feel his heart practically skipping a few beats as he stared at you in adoration. Though he had long given up on childish fantasy and tales of reviving others with a kiss, there was something almost poetic about how you had saved him. To be so willing to throw yourself to the mercy of the merciless and seal your own fate with a kiss of life in exchange for his own meant the world to the Harpy.

"Thank you, (Y/n)."

The Harpy's smile was warm and genuine, just like the warmth his body let off as you lay in his arms. He must have moved to cuddle you as you both slept and now he was laying with you under his wing and close to his chest. There was something incredibly comforting about laying in the arms of the Harpy that relaxed your heart just enough to let your guard down with him somewhat.

"Well, keep the memory to yourself for now, Vil. We both know how a certain someone would react even if the circumstances called for such actions."

Vil laughed at this, a soft and still somewhat sad tinge to his voice. Though it was a true sound of amusement from him, it was clear he was still grappling with whatever the blot potion had brought to the forefront of his mind. Part of you wanted to ask if he remembered anything or if any memories had come up, but you didn't want to upset the Harpy when he had finally calmed himself down somewhat.

"You truly don't belong here, do you?"

"What?"

"You are kind, (Y/n). Most of us would have abandoned anyone in the same position as me... I would have. You actually chose to help me when very few would have done the same. Though I could never bear the thought, you would fit in more at Royal Sword Academy."

"I don't want to go to Royal Sword Academy. I want to stay here. So don't worry, I'm not going anywhere, Vil."

This soothed the Harpy more than he cared to admit, happy to know that you were keen to stay. He was being honest though, he would have hesitated to do the same as you and actually choose to sacrifice himself for someone else. You were perhaps the only one he could confidently say he would choose to do that for. Maybe Rook, but absolutely for you.

"Let's get up. Who knows what type of testing Papa Hades wants to do today. Hopefully there is nothing too intense. I just really want to rest."

Vil allowed you to get up and prepare yourself for the day. Despite how desperately the Harpy wanted to be around you and hold you, he was trying his hardest to not push you away or make you uncomfortable. He was given a glorious gift that he would not trade anything for. The Harpy had been allowed to sleep in your nest with you and even got to cuddle you in that same nest.

Though the price for such an honor had been steeper than he could have ever anticipated, Vil was thrilled to have even a moment of holding you. When you left his side he felt like a crushing weight was squeezing the life out of him, and it only went away when you returned to his side and he could breathe again.

That isolation felt so much like when he was drowning and choking on the potion he created. His heart raced, his body shook with adrenaline, and his throat felt like it was closing up. Those feelings went away with you by his side and your affectionate smile directed at him, warming him inside and out. The screaming of his own mind and instincts quieted so drastically with your simple presence.

"Come on, Vil."

The Harpy was quick to scramble to get up, using his own magic to speed through his usual morning routine. He was almost sad to notice he didn't have his usual skincare products present, but he could always get them from his room when he next got the chance. Hopefully Pomefiore would be able to handle being without their Housewarden for the time it took the research to be completed. If needed, he could always go back and send Rook between the two dorms to keep the peace.

As you emerged from your room with the Harpy, an unknown voice met your ears. They sounded feminine and it piqued your interest enough to explore where the sound was coming from. Vil followed you closely as you reached the main lounge area of the dorm, feeling confusion and vague recognition wash over you.

Sitting with their legs crossed neatly and their wings tucked behind them was an effeminate Harpy. They wore a simple off the shoulder dress with long sleeves that covered up their hands. The Harpy was visibly mature and though they had a few lines that wore their face, they were fairly lovely with darker than expected colors.

Something about their coloration reminded you of male Violet Sabrewing Hummingbirds as the others and the Harpy seemed to take notice of your added presence.

As they turned to look at you, you felt Vil stiffen behind you, holding your shoulder with an almost vise grip. A quick glance at his face showed pure fear in the typically calm and proud Harpy's eyes, his silent terror speaking volumes to you.

Looking at the Harpy in front of you now registered to your brain why they looked so oddly familiar. Though the coloration was typically seen on males, the one in front of you was decidedly a female Harpy and you knew that for a fact. She had aged considerably since you last saw her screeching at her own son and attacking him viciously, but you knew this Harpy all too well.

"Ah, there you are, Villy. Took you long enough to come downstairs. I see you match your father more than ever in looks and laziness, but your purple will always be mine. Perhaps one of your best qualities, so of course it came from me, Dear. A good thing you grew into it too, you always were an ugly chick."

She approached the two of you as if trying to seem motherly even with her vinegar tainted words and you felt your entire body tense with anger. The last time you saw this woman she was screeching at a literal child and trying to kill him because she blamed him for something. Though her full reasoning was lost to you, the look of genuine horror in Vil's eyes as he shook behind you was not. His face was more stoic due to years of acting, but to you he looked like the same sobbing and frightened child that had clung to you for comfort while his parents fought in the adjacent room.

The Harpy Housewarden's body flinched and recoiled with her harsh words dripping in a honey sweet tone, seeming like he wanted to flee. Years of hearing the most hateful words that scarred his heart echoing in his head all screamed back at him as the female Harpy approached. He was stuck between wanting to escape the Harpy woman and seeking comfort from you as that suffocating sensation returned.

After what you've seen, you'd be damned before you let this awful woman anywhere near Vil.

"Get out."

Your voice was cold and steely, a sharp edge to your tone highlighting your anger and actually seeming to catch everyone off guard. None of them knew Vil's painful history, not even Rook had managed to coax the tale from the Harpy so none of them knew why you were so suddenly unhappy. The others had been under the impression that this was an unfairly estranged mother wanting to reconnect with her son, your tone told a different story.

Where you were usually friendly at best and coolly polite at worst with most upon first meeting them, your sudden change to smoldering rage was confusing and jarring to the others. Any time you had to bear your teeth in the past was shortly following provocation by others. From poor behavior to blatantly cruel acts, you always had reserved your genuine dislike for those who wronged you or those you cared for around you.

This Harpy- as far as they knew- showed no such disrespect towards you which only made your sudden distaste for her all the more confusing. Even Papa Hades felt a certain level of unrest as you placed yourself quite clearly between the Harpy woman and Vil.

"That's no way to speak to your elders, clearly manners are quite lax where you're from-"

"Get out now or you leave in a casket, Calliope."

There was something different about your tone that had everyone straightening up and feeling those echoes of your anger in their own hearts. Where confusion had once been, mistrust and dislike took its place. Your anger and hatred fueling their individual dislike for the woman.

Calliope was stunned that you knew her name, but even more stunned to see your sudden dislike towards her. She had only reached back out to that Feral brat that shared her genetics to meet you and it was certainly not going the way she had planned. It had been her belief that you would be sweet and cute towards her, having seen Vil in pictures with you. She had been so careful to keep her true intentions of spiriting you away with her quiet, so your anger ruffled her feathers.

"I'm just here to reconnect with-"

"GET OUT. You have hurt Vil enough, you wretched woman! Or did you forget what you did to your own child? Did you forget how you attacked him in cold blood? Did you forget how you screamed at him for simply existing? Did you forget that he was just a chick when you tried to kill him?"

Your last sentence made a look of disgust and anger take over her face as she hissed at you, her wings spreading behind her. It seemed she couldn't keep up the false affection with your direct accusations.

"He took everything from me! The least he can do is give me something of use and open the door for me to get my hands on you, even if you do act like a brat-!"

Your hands gripped the handle of the blade Idia had created for you, anger taking hold of you as she tried to grab at your shirt. Clearly, Clay's teachings were already proving useful as you moved your hand, the blade springing to life as you slashed the female Harpy's arm. She cried out in pain as she reeled back in surprise, hissing at you in rage as she tried to actually attack you now. She succeeded in slicing down your arm as you raised it to shield your face from her sudden attack.

Her violent behavior was enough to shock most of your guards out of their stupor, Rook's webbing restraining and pulling her down onto the floor before she could get to you again. Things were chaos for only a moment before a deep and thunderous sound rolled over the sky, filling it with darkness and electric green lightning. Everyone tensed at this and fell silent, instinctually shying away from the loud sounds of the storm outside.

Grim ran straight to your arms as a pair wings suddenly wrapped around you, shielding the both of you while the entire building groaned from the storm. The colorful feathers were familiar and it seemed Vil was hiding behind his wings as well, his face pressed into your shoulder and body tensed almost painfully. There was no mistaking who was so furiously guarding you, the simple act of aggression towards you being enough to trigger the Dragon into a rage.

You felt silence suddenly fall over everything and looked up to see the elder Shinigami had joined your small group, an odd shield of magic surrounding the four of you as the Shinigami looked down at you with concern. You couldn't see or hear anything outside of that bubble of influence. It was oddly calming compared to the near hurricane sounding storm outside.

"Papa Hades?"

He just shook his head and you figured it was for Vil's benefit. His nightmare and personal monster returned to his life, and he was forced to confront her and her cruelty. Who knows what Malleus had decided to do, but it was beyond your influence now.

If the Dragon torched the Harpy woman, you would not weep for her.

The elder Shinigami picked up your arm, a low glow coming from his hand as the burn of the cut soothed. He seemed to use a white bandage to wrap your arm, ensuring it didn't bleed anymore.

"How did you know what she had done, Little One?"

"... The same thing that happened with Alistair's Overblot happened with that potion... Like I saw the deepest and most painful parts of their soul that blot feeds on and exploits."

Vil curled closer to you, his breathing strained as he shook and gasped. He seemed like he was having a panic attack of some kind after seeing his mother again and all you could do was hold him. The lovely Harpy was shaking and seemed to only have enough awareness left in his mind to cling to you.

To Vil, it felt like his world was ending. His entire body struggling to stay calm as he panicked and tried to suck down every breath. The struggle of inflating his lungs only panicked him further as he tried to cuddle close to you. Every painful memory and time spent longingly wishing his mother loved him as much as his father did washing over the Harpy in drowning waves.

Grim also seemed to understand the stress the Harpy was feeling as he tried to purr and rub his cheeks against the upset Housewarden. Vil took to the affectionate behavior readily and you were quick to join in petting his hair. Even Papa Hades decided to show the frightened Harpy his gentle support while the four of you waited in the bubble of silence.

"Little One, when this is all over, I need to have a conversation with you about something important. I swear to you it is nothing bad, but we do need to talk privately."

You nodded and let Vil continue to lay against you, his eyes closed as he calmed down. His breathing slowing and relaxing as he no longer seemed to be fighting for air like he had been. When he got a deep breath, his eyes slowly slid open, his voice so soft.

"Don't let her get me, please. I... I know it's childish, but I could never bring myself to face her again. I don't care if she falls off the ends of this world..! I just want her to leave me alone."

You pet Vil's back, noticing how the Harpy leaned into your touch and closed his eyes. He seemed more than relaxed with your kindness as Grim nuzzled his cheek and feathered neck. Despite his discomfort with his wrapped wings, the kit was eager to soothe Vil.

"It's okay, Papa Birdy! I think you're pretty!"

This actually made Vil smile, a warm and affectionate look pulling onto his lips as he looked at the kit. Vil had seemed indifferent to Grim when he had interacted with him prior but now seemed to be genuinely fond of the kit you cared for.

Grim clearly believed adding 'Papa' to names meant he respected and trusted them, having already added it to Malleus and Vil's nicknames. Perhaps- depending on how long it took for the Human ghosts to find you an escape- you should trust Grim's intuition regarding the others. Thus far, Vil, Papa Hades, and Malleus had earned the affection of your kit.

Maybe you should put more stock in his intuition. For now, you chose to comfort Vil and hoped that everything else would be dealt with before and that you would actually get a chance to rest.

[l4ndon0rris]

No Talking Zone LN4

bff!Lando x you :: just a bunch of bff fluff after a certain frustrating race weekend 750ish words masterlist

Lando had officially gone off grid for the night; no texts read, no missed phone calls returned. You weren't taking it personally, you were more than familiar with how Lando dealt with losses over the years but this one undoubtedly stung a little differently. You couldn't rest knowing how his internal monologue would be reeling negatively against himself and you had one tactic that would get him to talk.

A tentative knock on his door didn't appear to stir any movement from the other side, a second firmer knock on the hardwood earned some padding of footsteps from inside the room but still no acknowledgement. With an exasperated sigh to yourself at his blatant ignorance you decided to call out his name this time as you banged on the door with a balled up fist.

"I don't want any visitors," Lando weakly replied to the door. You were grateful he couldn't see your face scrunch up frustratedly in response to him.

"Let me in you idiot." This exact scene had been played between the two of you many times before and you were certain Lando knew you weren't going anywhere until he'd let you in. Raising your fist to the door- the door swung open before you had a chance to knock, a pouty faced Lando stood in the open door way.

"I'm not in the mood to talk," he mumbled barely opening his mouth. His eyes had lost their usual sparkle under heavy eyelids, many would succumb to his current innocent and vulnerable demeanour and lather him with pity and praise but your friendship with Lando was much more genuine and raw than that and you both appreciated it being so.

"Good. I don't want to talk," you challenged with a raised eyebrow. You motioned to the laptop that was placed under your arm, his eyes glanced at it before he defeatedly padded back through his room to the bed. You rolled your eyes at his continued stubborn silence, closing the door behind you and heading to the oversized bed jumping in place beside him setting the laptop down between you for the time being.

"This is a no talking zone," Lando declared monotone. Secretly you were glad he understood exactly why you were here, happy to let him think it was his idea. He lay directly on his back staring at the ceiling, hands on his torso, motionless. You could see and feel the tension and frustration coursing through him. You on the other hand were relaxed, scrolling through your phone. There was no such thing as awkward silence between you both, you knew all too well that sometimes all that is needed is company and that was always the purpose of the 'no talking zone'.

Lando stewed in place on the bed; gnawing at the inside of his lips, tapping his fingers against his knuckles, feet knocking the end of the bed. Restless. Agitated. Disrespected. Confused. Second-best. Second-place.

"You know I've done everything for that team," surprising himself as his internal monologue left his mouth. You briefly acknowledged his statement, glancing at him slightly, knowing it was best to stay quiet and let him talk his way out of his state. He still hadn't moved from his rigid position on the bed.

"Everything. My whole career, all the scut work when I started. I've dragged tractors around that track. I've declined numerous offers. All because I wanted to win with McLaren."

You slowly lowered your phone as Lando continued talking, "I know you have," quietly agreeing.

"You're probably one of few who do actually know. Clearly the team has forgotten. Did you see how big my gap was? Fucking-" Lando turned on his side to face you, a gentle smile on lips in support of your friend. Lando raked a hand through his dishevelled curls, "sorry, I just-"

You hushed him for apologising. "I saw the whole thing, Lan. Everyone did. It was shit, what they said to you on the radio for everyone to hear? Shit." Lando's heavy eyes looked at you, grateful.

"Thanks for coming and not talking with me," he muttered with a weak smile that almost reached his eyes. Fully aware that once again the no talking zone had worked exactly how you planned it to. Lando took the opportunity to open the laptop and find a film as you buried yourself under the duvet cover, him following and wrapping himself like a burrito.

"You always talk best in the no talking zone." You smirked, adding to the mental tally of how many times you had both been in the no talking zone. Some had taken place in a tent on a camping trip, others under separate blankets when there wasn't one big enough for two, self-made carboard dens and under the table at a restaurant was a more bizarre environment when you were much younger.

Places and reasons may change, but you and Lando would never truly outgrow the "no talking zone".

ask box

[ncis-nerd]

The Case Of The Purring Kitten

grey novemeber au

older!nat x reader

Liho purred in your arms. Nuzzling her head against your ankle. The sweet little kitty of Natasha's had made her way into your room. Of course you were shocked when the cat just strolled in like this was a casual occurrence.

You didn't complain though, you loved that kitty. She smelled like Natasha and meant a lot that even her cat wanted to be around you. You stroked the cat as you continued to draw in your sketchbook. A purr escaped from Liho.

When you were close to finishing, you swapped your 2b pencil for a heavier pencil, Liho jumped out of your lap. Appear she was making her rounds because she just waltzed out of your room. That silly cat.

----☆-------☆-----☆----☆-----☆-------☆----

Later that day, there was a knock in your door. You had been locked up in your room all day. There was no meeting planned for today so who could it be? "Come in" you mumbled, wrapping up in your latest art project. Natasha made her way into your room. You jumped, not expecting it to be the the red-head, you immediately shut your notebook. Not wanting to ruin your surprise.

Natasha looked at you, furrowing her eyebrows. "Hiding something, hun?' She glared at you. You shook your head and looked at her with your doe eyes, knowing that would distract her. And it definitely did.

She loved seeing you so wide-eyed. So innocent. Nothing but love and pure thoughts behind those eyes. She cooed at you and caressed your back. "hi honey, you still here with me?" she gave you a gentle smile.

You nodded, "m' here natty. want you though" you mumbled, fidgeting with her hoodie drawstring. Her eyes widened at your statement. "What do you mean hun?" She looked at you, her cheeks turning red. Obviously not expecting your boldness. "wanna lay down in your lap, want you to hold me" you mumble.

She smiled at your innocent request. Of course that's what you meant, she mentally facepalmed herself. She gladly took up your offer, taking you into her lap. Your head laid in her lap, she stroked your hair as your eyes began to flutter. "go to sleep, angel." she whispered softly.

----☆-------☆-----☆----☆-----☆-------☆----

It was later that day, Natasha had retreated to her room, allowing you to get back to business. The so called business was the drawing you were working on earlier. You had finally finished and made your way to Natasha's room. Natasha is gonna love it!

You knocked her door and slipped the folded up drawing under her door before retreating to your room.

Natasha opened the door, she saw no one so she closed it. Huh that was odd, she thought. She felt something beneath her foot. It was a paper, she picked it up. As she unfolded it, a beautifully drawn picture of Liho appeared. Y/n. Of course, this was so kind. Her heart melted your generosity.

She wanted to make it up to you.

----☆-------☆-----☆----☆-----☆-------☆----

Your favorite activity with the russian is to drink hot chocolate and watch a movie wrapped up into her. She grabbed your favorite fluffy blanket of hers, a bunch of pillows, some a big bowl of popcorn and rich hot chocolate.

She opened up the TV to the streaming platform, leaving it for you to choose the movie. all that was left was to grab you. The older woman made her way to her room where you had been reading a novel you bought recently.

----☆-------☆-----☆----☆-----☆-------☆----

You were humming the tune of that new song by Taylor Swift when you heard a knock at your door. Who could that be? You assumed it would be the russian, especially after giving her your drawing earlier and fleeing. your stomach turned in knots, nervously you stood up to open the door.

You were greeted with the green-eyed spy giving you a warm smile. "Hey honey, I love the gift you gave me! As a thank you, I have a little surprise in the living room. Please join me?" She spoke softly, waiting for a response. You blushed, this was so kind of her. You didn't expect something in return. Just wanted to show how much you love her little fluff ball. "Natasha you didn't have too.. but I'm glad you like the drawing!" You said, shyly.

Natasha took your hand and led you to the living room where she had a pile of blankets- the kind you like, hot chocolate- your favorite, popcorn- you NEED popcorn whenever watching a movie. Your eyes started to tear up. "Natasha, wow... This is.. Amazing" you gasp.

The russian admired your reaction. You were adorable, her hand found it's place on your back and motioned for you to take a seat. "Wanted to show you how special you are to me, dove." She hummed, handing you the remote to pick out a movie.

----☆-------☆-----☆----☆-----☆-------☆----

taglist: @ssa-shaylam @madamevirgo

[mrypotter]

Flowers Upon Your Head

Draco x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader officially crowns the Slytherin Prince of Hogwarts, but what she doesn’t expect is to be crowned his princess. (Not real crowns, but made of flowers.)

Warnings: Talk about praising someone, like hailing them, self doubts in academic work, nothing else I know of.

Sorry if it’s too short; but it’s gotta be one of my favorites besides “Dear Draco”.

Dear Draco

Masterlist

Request Requirements (they’ve been updated!)

The sky was bright blue, sun rays shining bright across all the land of Hogwarts, showcasing the wondrous school that held many intelligent students; now either learning more knowledge or taking their assigned time off.

Two green robes were taking the second option to their best advantage: staying outside in the fresh air and catching up on work.

The both lay on the grass by the Black Lake, the boy leaning against the tree trunk and the girl sitting criss cross next to him.

The boy, platinum blonde hair and known as the bully of the school, had his Potions homework in front of him on his lap. His quill scribbled left and right as he wrote an essay.

The girl, known as the most innocent person in the world who wouldn’t hurt a fly, was previously done with her homework and is now fiddling (or, at least, that’s the word Draco would use to describe what she was doing) with flowers in her hand, tying the stems together to make something the boy didn’t know.

She was well concentrated until she heard a groan escape the boy, her eyes moving from the flower stems to him, raising an eyebrow questionably.

He didn’t look up as did she, instead he was having a glare contest with the paper as he tapped his quill quite frustratingly.

“What’s another word for fragile?”

She thought for a moment, going back to the plants in her hand once she discovered his groan was the reason of nothing serious.

“Delicate? Brittle?” She asked once figuring it out, fingers slightly burning from now finishing the tie of the stems, the nectar from the flowers getting on her fingertips as the stems were tightly wrapped around her hands.

He hummed. “Brittle is good.”

She smiled soft, glad she could help in some way. “Is the essay coming along nicely?”

He chuckled. “With the amount of skill I have in the writing spectrum and your vocabulary, I think it’s going quite well.”

She rolled her eyes this time, knowing he was being sarcastic with the statement he said about himself.

“Dray, don’t worry; I read it during lunch and it looked fine so far. That is if you didn’t ruin it with what you call last minute edits.”

Her teasing tone grabbed a smirk from him that she didn’t see.

She wasn’t mindful of the next occurrence because she was in fact focused on the finishing touches of her crown, but his ears turned from pale to a soft pink color at the nickname.

He scoffed instead to cover it up even though she didn’t see it. “Doubt it.”

She sighed, knowing there was no use in trying to convince him the work was good grade worthy.

He suddenly slapped the paper down in front of her on the grass. “How does this look?”

Despite the aggression he showed in his actions she could hear a little anxiousness in his voice. He was nervous for her reaction.

She still had the flowers in her hands so she didn’t touch the paper in fear of getting things on it, so instead of holding them in front of her she moved them so they were by her shoulder and she looked down at the paper.

Draco’s handwriting covered the paper, perfect cursive with soft swoops in the letters forming great work.

Her eyes scanned it as she read, taking in the information he provided.

She hummed in satisfaction. “Very nice, Dray. Very nice.”

She smiled at him as he took the paper back, this time noticing the pink tint on the tip of his ears.

“You okay?” She asked, oblivious to the reason for his flush.

He nodded, swallowing thickly.

She hummed again, turning her body fully to him. “Don’t worry! Snape will love it. I see it now,” she started, pretending to look of into the distance like she was dreaming. “An ‘Outstanding’!”

Draco rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Wouldn’t go that far with it but whatever.”

She scoffed at his negative mindset and, wiping her hands on the grassy ground to get rid of the nectar, grabbed the crown she just previously made. She then turned the scoff on her face to a soft reassuring smile.

“Well, whatever you may think, I think it was wonderful and the good grade I know you’ll get is well deserved.”

She ended her sentence with softly placing the crown on his platinum head, the soft white petals perfectly matching the mob of hair he held.

Draco’s eyes moved upward as if he would be able to see the flowers on his head. The girl laughed, then she smiled once again.

“All hail the Slytherin Prince.” She joked. She expected another eye roll but instead received a soft smirk coming from the corner of his lips, a small chuckle escaping him.

She then moved to sit next to him, their shoulders brushing and cheeks flushing.

His soft looking hands reached out and using his long fingers pulled flower after flower out of the tall grass, each stem producing a satisfying snap when they broke.

Although she kinda felt bad for the flowers, she knew that the roots were still planted into the ground, so that gave her reassurance knowing they’d grow back again.

Still she watched as his own hands messily tied the stems together almost just like she did. When he was finished, his arm reached up as he placed it on her head, the weight of it slightly flattening the top of her hair.

He then leaned in, brushing his nose on her cheek; her face turning a soft tone of red. His head turned so his lips touched her ear lightly. The touch was barely felt, but it was there.

“All hail the Slytherin Princess.”

He whispered it, making the meaning much more meaningful. A soft chill went through her, a warm sense of comfort and nervousness at the same time racing down her spine.

“How’d you know how to tie it?” She asked curiously to hide the nervous warmth flooding through her. She felt his cheeks spread into a smile.

“I watch you, loves; much more than you think.”

Her face flushed as his finger gently booped her nose.

He chuckled low right in her ear. “Aww, don’t get flustered loves; just giving my princess the praise and recognition she deserves.”

Wait.

‘My Princess’?

Thank you for reading! 📖

[daisyjonesgf]

enchanted // finnick odair x f. reader

based off this request

summary: after winning your games you're thrust into a new scene of capitol luxury and parties. in the midst of the gowns, and masquerade masks you meet someone who you instantly feel sparks go off for, victor finnick odair.

masterlist

warnings: idk how I feel about this one, first meeting, allusions to trafficking and Capitol issues, alcohol consumption, reader is a little tipsy, first meeting, kind of innocent!reader, fear of being lead on, unedited, no use of y/n

1.4k words

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You were grateful for the masks, unless someone studied hard enough they wouldn't know it was you. It hadn't been that long since your Victory, but you'd already been so hounded by people, forced to go to so many balls that any way you could avoid the constant congratulations you were immensely thankful for. Besides you were still in constant awe at the Capitol luxuries, drinking some bubbly drink that made your brain pleasantly fuzzy as you looked at the dazzling chandeliers.

“You must be our new Victor." The voice startled you and you turned to see who it belonged to. He had an aura of confidence even though his shirt was so unbuttoned that it was basically falling off, which would have mortified you. The mask he wore had starfish on it which could be a Capitol fashion statement, but his outfit wasn't gaudy enough for that. So one of the District 4 Victors, maybe? Your brain felt too light to try and think of their names.

“How’d you know that?” You murmured, taking another sip of the fizzy drink.

"The Drusus’ host three annual high-end parties, including one for each victor, so this one. We're all used to, well, all of this." He was smirking, gesturing to the larger than life decor.

“Oh." You hoped it wasn't that obvious to everyone else, although your face had been plastered on screens all across Panem so recently you doubted how much the mask really obscured. He grabbed one of the small delicacies laying on the table and chuckled.

“You match some of the decor too, sweetheart.” The tablecloths were a light purple accompanied with bouquets of lilacs, bellflowers, and statice, you felt your face heating up. Your dress was in fact a complimentary purple as well as your mask.

“My little sister mentioned it was a color I liked, in one of those final tributes left interviews and I guess it's stuck." Your voice is quieter than you'd anticipated, but he seems to hear you just fine. His smugness for no apparent reason should make you bristle, but something about him makes you want to melt into the ground.

He takes a step towards you, face closer than anyone’s has ever been, taking a slow bite of the pastry he's been holding. “Well it certainly is your color." If you hadn't felt like your skin was burning in embarrassment before, it definitely was now.

You gulped, trying to clear your throat, “Um, thank you." No one ever talked to you like this and it felt like he knew that, so was teasing you for it. A stranger was teasing you for your naivete at all of this and you were helplessly letting him. Maybe someone has talked to you like this before, but never with as much magnetism as he had.

“Once you pass glass three, that stuff is bound to make you sick." His hand brushed your fingers, tapping the glass.

You just nodded slowly, "I know.” Another sip was needed to handle the butterflies in your stomach, how terrible was it, to be this knotted up on a man who you didn't know the slightest. To let whatever he was exuding that had never affected you before now slip away, the glass slid back up to your lips. His eyes felt like they were staring into the deepest parts of you which just made you want to drink more.

You nearly dropped the glass when someone began yelling about fireworks. You'd still been trying to get rid of the jumpiness you'd felt since the arena. “Come on." He offers his arm to you and you stare at him for a second, “They're for you." You decide there's no point in trying to reason your feelings right now, your brain is too fuzzy, and it's the Capitol, nothing seems to make sense here anyways.

It shocks you how warm his arm is for someone who's nearly shirtless, he leads you out to the crowded balcony and his arm really is a life saver when you stumble over your own feet. “Thank you!" You're laughing at your own misstep and he follows right along."I'm sorry."

His laughter subsides and even in your misty state you swear a look of pity crosses his eyes. He leans over slightly, mouth so close it could kiss your ear, “They're gonna eat you up, sweetheart, don't let them." The whisper has your brain trying to race to understand, when there's no way you'll be able to reach a conclusion.

“What are fireworks?" You eventually ask, it feels like a stupid question, but things are awkward now which you're desperate to escape. You don't know who he is, or why he's acting the way he is, but you know you don't want him to think you're awkward. His smug smirk is back and that chuckle that makes your heart feel like it'll hop right out of your chest.

“Aren't you in for a treat? Never seen fireworks before, stunned by the chandelier, at this rate you'll never get bored, everything will keep on impressing you.” A loud pop crackles through the air and your legs instantly try to start moving before you remind yourself to stay put. You're safe now, there is no more danger, just that of the charming man making you swoon. That danger isn't helped when he puts his hands over your ears. "Should've warned you about that one, sweetheart.” You know that your fefe must be burning to the touch since it's how you feel.

The pop explodes into much louder noises and then fractures of purple light are flying in the sky, the guests surrounding you cheering for the bursts. They're beautiful, the way the colors contrast the sky is truly enchanting. The rest of the show is equally as dazzling and by the time his hands pull away from you it feels more unnatural to be facing the night air.

“So, are you in fact, stunned?" You nod dumbly, maybe he is right and you should've quit drinking because you feel like such a fool right now. “I hate to go, but I have people waiting on me." He announced and you feel further embarrassment.

“Of course, sorry, I didn't mean to keep you from them." You glance at the floor, but his fingers are tilting your head back up and you can swear the electric sparks are in his touch.

“If anything, they're keeping me away from you." He has to be doing this on purpose, he doesn't know you, not really, but he's finding some sick pleasure in making your stomach twist. He goes to take a step away muttering another sorry, he's lifted your hand so delicately that you barely even notice until he's pressing a quick kiss to it.

“Wait-" He pauses, looking at you expectantly with that smirk. “Um, I- I don't even know your name?"

His laugh is like the perfect melody to your ears, “You haven't figured it out by now?"

You sheepishly shake you head, lifting the glass as an indicator, “Sorry, my brain is so airy right now, like I'm in the clouds." He takes it from your hands and swiftly the remainder of the liquid.

“Stick to the water, sweetheart.”

You wait a second further, "You won't tell me?” That almost feels even more shameful, like you've let yourself be strung along with charming words only for him to not even tell you his name.

He takes a step closer to you, his honey breath fanning over your face. "I've done anything else, that wouldn't be fair to me would it? It's okay, you're a smart girl, I'm sure you'll figure it out.” You could combust right now, under his slightly condescending gaze. Did he expect you to reach out after that, was that too desperate. "Once you think of it, let me know." You just nod along, why would he even want to talk to you? He seemed so magnetic, so enticing, why would he want to talk to you, mess with your brain? He's begun to step away before he comes back, so close you can hear each bitch in his breath as he talks. “You’re so sweet, don't let them take that from you, it's refreshing.” His lips graze your cheek before he's got that patronizing smile on as he talks off, leaving you shocked on the balcony.

Maybe he was just playing with you, like you'd heard man often do, but his voice was so addictive that you didn't care. It made you flush how forward he was, how effortless it all was for him. Somewhere in the fuzziness of your mind it began to click, only one victor was known for his effortless abilities with women, as well as being from District 4. Finnick Odair.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

thank you for reading, I'm not used to short-form writing my brain is currently hard wired for series, so idk how I feel about this but it was fun to write! thank you for the request and keep them coming if y'all think of anything you want me to write. feedback, comments, reblogs, and likes are all super appreciated, love you all 💋

[jaysfavoritee]

arsonist | p.js

PAIRING. prince!park jongseong x reader

GENRE. angst

CAUTIONS. brief mention of blood

SYNOPSIS. In another world where Park Jongseong did not have to uphold himself to be the strongest, he would have an easier time forgiving you.

PLAYLIST. arsonist, halsey

HAVE YOU EVER GIVEN THE WORLD TO SOMEBODY AS A GIFT AND HAD IT RETURNED?

“I do,” is a statement that comes out of his mouth with the dullness of a crayon that had been left unused for a long while. Its color won't be used, no, but its color remains. It's intact just like the rest of his pieces that hold him up together and he refuses to tell you about it.

Hatred is such a strong thing. Jongseong doesn’t prefer to hate. He would rather deal with the drag of the carpet on his skin when he lays down, staring up at the ceiling, knowing that he would be scolded by his father. He would rather experience the humiliation that he goes through quite too frequently than hate someone.

Yet, you somehow found a way to slither into these parts of himself, and he absolutely hates you for it.

White is a fascinating shade to him as it brings forth the nothingness that lingers but is something that represents purity and innocence, beauty and allure, something that should be of living. Memories to be celebrated like sparkly champagne that burns in your throat to remind you of the air that keeps you warm.

Though he stands on this altar, in front of a woman that he doesn’t know the name of, wearing a shade that should celebrate this marriage, he can only think of charcoal and the midnight sky instead, and in some way, it’s all so familiar.

ARSONIST BURNING DOWN THE WORLD TO FEEL ITS HEAT.

In the coldest days of winter, where he would embrace the frost and blue and white and all of the ice that had accumulated beneath his boots, the feeling is undeniably estranged. Blood of his scraped and cut-up hands like paper drips onto the snow, all drenched in white—the innocence he had desperately sought. The purity that he had associated with white was its representative, only to be tainted by the plethora of plasma, sinking deep into the frozen water.

How could you?

He looks into the eyes of his mother, said queen, dead eyes that hold a handful of bones and leaves, crawling out like vines that are coughing. Rose petals have already withered as they mirror Jongseong’s two irises, feel all the same, and look all the same, but they never are. Is that how you felt? Should he feel like this?

“You’re going to do great things, aren’t you, son?” His father sings the words into his ears, but it isn’t quite reaching him. His chest is heavy with a pile of something—what could it be? It’s hard to describe, he really can’t describe it, but it’s the heaviest feeling. It’s heavier than an anchor, it’s heavier than all of the water that flows in a sea, it’s heavier than the ring that is kept wrapped around his finger, it’s heavier than anything he’s ever had to hold. Of course, he has to hold it; who else would?

Jongseong knows the bucket he holds, such clear and shiny liquid he tells himself, it’s so transparent. It’s already as if he knows the answer himself. This liquid, clear, nothing it holds like the purity of white or the prestige of such gold, or the sadness attached to the navy, but it holds danger. You could see the danger so clearly.

Something else that Jongseong knows is that this bucket isn’t as heavy as everything else he had to endure. Rather, it’s light as a snowflake that lands on his jacket, he doesn’t feel it but he knows it’s there. Or, it’s as light as a match that balances between his fingers.

He also knows that it wasn’t as difficult to set the kingdom aflame. It’s what it took to watch everything around him relax and limp, the scent of wood burning and blazing. The burn lingers, nasty even, and he could do nothing but watch.

That’s what you did, as well. You watched him play with the clear liquid and the match that might as well be his only friend. It’s not something you’d like to see, but you did anyway because he was a bastard and you found it comforting.

Death is quite comforting, Jongseong concludes, as he begins to see the life of the kingdom dying. The pillars that melt, the raging brightness of such danger, fuels him more than anything. It fuels him the more he does it, and it went from the death of the royalty that he was well part of, to the death of the trees and the bushes and the smell of the color auburn will forever haunt him. He thinks because of that, he died too, but it’s taking too long for it to be in effect.

THE ARSONIST DOESN’T FEEL THE EMBERS ON HIS FEET.

You were that purity and innocence. You were the beauty of everything and nothing all at once because Jongseong admired you for everything you were and were not. How could someone feel like the warmth of midday somewhere in July, but so distant that the warmth is somewhat an illusion? Am I really feeling this warmth?

He hated you for all that he couldn’t piece together. He was sure he had it written down to the core, but the paper would crumple or the pen’s ink would fade, dancing and once more, dying.

Are you proud to be the one thing that ends up killing him?

Jongseong didn’t throw on his jacket as he faced the harsh, cold wind. He faced himself for what he could never bear because it’s easier to do that than to face what he’s known forever. He sleeps in a fantasy that the color auburn would not exist or the scent of something burning would make him forget, but it always makes him remember.

Have you ever woken from a dream just to realize that you’re still asleep?

The shame that builds within his arms is not strong enough compared to the numbness on his lips. It’s something he cannot feel as he rubs the tip of his finger alongside the cracked bundle of skin and muscle. Do you hear him for what he is? He cannot see what’s around him as he wishes to go back to a moment in time when he hadn’t met you, because ever since his life felt like it was in a constant state of burning and mourning.

Though, he fell in love with this feeling.

ARSONIST, YOUR HUMAN STARTER KIT CAME INCOMPLETE.

The burning scent of a tree or a house is different than the scent of a human. He would constantly burn his skin for what it’s worth because he’d always take the blame, so it stings, it pulses, it taunts, it exists, but he doesn’t mind. The burning scent is something that will always fill his nostrils more than the scent of bread being served at a bakery, or the scent of his bride’s perfume lingering into the air that smells like a mix of everything he hates, including the scent of your favorite scarf, like auburn.

Though he wishes to smell it, he wishes to pinpoint what it is to exist alongside the wood, alongside the fire, alongside the cold snow outside, alongside the beating of his heart, alongside everything he knows and what he doesn’t.

In another world where he didn’t have to be placed as someone important, he would take the opportunity to pour the clear liquid on your clothes, on your skin, including your favorite scarf, so all of it could wither away from his mind. He doesn’t want you to stay anymore, yet, you’d stay stubbornly.

He wishes that you would take the time to get away because he understands that if you did, he would probably be less dangerous than what he is. He wouldn’t have to know by heart what it does to be consumed by the fire that he had created on his own. One day, he might even walk into the flames he birthed, for a reason or no reason at all.

Warmth in contrast to the coldness that stings as he lays on the piles of snow in front of your gravestone, and he told himself that he’d clean it up, but that’s only if he’d ever get to it. He thinks about burning your gravestone every so often, but decides against it, because he doesn’t want you to be consumed by his faults.

He’ll always hate you for it.

MY APOLOGIES, ARSONIST, YOU LOVED ME.

[jolenes-doppelganger]

Innocence

Ilsa Faust x Fem! Metropolis Reader

Summary: How many variables go awry with one appearance of a hidden player? What would the Entity have done if a third party appeared in the array of pre-determined, algorithm-generated deaths?

Warnings: Side character death, angst.

A/N: Fuck you Christopher McQuarrie and Erik Jendresen!!!! Killing a beloved female side character to 'motivate' the male protagonist is the definition of FUCKING FRIDGING!!!! The side character death will be resolved, should there be demand for future chapters.

Word Count: 4.0k (DAMN)

Perhaps it had been the rain, the chill it had brought to your bones. But regardless, something was afoot. The streets of Venice were unnaturally quiet, and the party you had left emphasized that fact; a ringing sang in your ears. You walked alone on the streets, quietly enjoying the soft patter of the rain that trembled down the drains. Dodging the Metropolis body guards had been easy, it was a high stakes night for Alanna, a high stakes night for you.

Unfortunately, things did not stay peaceful.

Commotion sprung out among the party goers, and you heard distant gunfire. Things had begun. Sprinting was your only option, but with the heels you'd chosen it was more likely you were to twist an ankle over the cobblestone than escape. Finding a dark corner, you managed to brace yourself against a wall, snapping your heels off, flattening them so you could take longer strides. You weren't the only person using the dark side of the building to escape. A shout, some commotion, and quick footwork as a woman scaled down a building, dropping in front of you.

She was within a foot of you, so close that on motion of the arm could land a hit, a punch, or perhaps push away the strands of hair that lay glued to her sweaty face.

“…Hi?”

She makes eye contact with you, momentarily spooked.

“You’re one of the Metropolis siblings."

A statement, and observation.

"Yes...?"

"You're not supposed to be at this party."

The two of you stared at one another for some time, both of you breathing heavily. She had blue eyes, distinct Scandinavian features. An English accent amongst the native Italian accented english. You pinned her as a foreigner, and from the equipment she used and the quick way she discerned who you were and your presumed whereabouts, she was also an intelligence operative.

“MI6?” you rasped.

The woman shook her head, a flicker of annoyance creeping over her features.

“There’s no time to talk, come on.” she huffed, grabbing you arm and pulling you towards an alleyway.

“Now hold on, I don’t know you-”

She turned on her heel, pulling the two of you into a doorway alcove, keeping her words clipped and quietly delivered.

“You’re (Reader) Metropolis. You were not supposed to be at this party, you weren’t even supposed to be in Italy. Things are going on beyond your understanding, and the Entity-”

“-The Entity? For fucks sake, that’s a myth.”

The woman raised her eyebrow, computing your response rapidly.

“No. No it is not. I’ve read your profile, the youngest child, a ten, fifteen year age gap between you and Alana?” the woman listed. “You were an affair baby, you were just recently integrated into the family, you serve as a glorified accountant…” Ilsa listed. “You aren’t a Metropolis type, even with your name and lineage.”

She spoke so eloquently, in a self-assured manner. You wanted to argue with her, or at the very least find something in her thought process to correct, but she was right on all accounts.

“Fine. Why are we in a dark alleyway, why do you know so much about me, and why don’t I know a damn thing about you?”

The woman squared her shoulders.

“My name is Ilsa Faust. I was a former agent for British Intelligence, I’ve gone rogue, I work alongside the equally rogue Ethan Hunt. And you, Ms. Metropolis, are innocent.”

Innocence. What a strange thing to equate to you.

“I beg your pardon?” you raised an eyebrow.

Ilsa sighed, looking around before pressing a finger to her headset. 

“Benji. I can’t be the one to go after Grace.”

You watched her grimace, silently mouthing a few choice expletives.

“I know that. But I just… The youngest Metropolis is here. Metropolis, daughter of Max, the...” she paused, looking at you apologetically, “... Bastard child. The daughter of that old field agent friend of Ethan’s.”

She paused, seemingly listening to Benji as the poor man appeared to panic. You could hear the tonal fluctuations from your proximity a good foot aways.

“Yes, but it’s Ethan. He won’t see it that way. I know he'll be upset, but maybe it’s for the better.”

The line went quiet, and then there was a soft command. Ilsa nodded, looking at you.

“You’re coming with me.”

“Like hell I am, my mother taught me about stranger danger.” 

You stood your ground, arms firmly crossed one over the other. Ilsa looked at you tiredly, seeming to mentally prepare herself for some gargantuan task.

“Do me a favor and pretend to be drunk.”

You frowned, not comprehending. Ilsa lunged forward, grabbing you by your waist and pulling you over her shoulder.

“Hey! I’m not a child, and this dress is short!”

Ilsa let out an annoyed huff, reaching up to pull your dress down.

“Sorry, princess.”

You heard commotion, what sounded like men running. Their shouts and mixed dialect could be heard from somewhere a half block away.

“Now is not the time to tell me you’re a bad actor.” Ilsa whispered.

Under threat of exposure, possible abduction and Alanna probably, definitely strangling you should she catch wind of this, complying was the only option. You went limp, arms and neck dangling as the men drew closer. They didn’t give you or Ilsa a second glance. She was mostly overlooked in favor of your bottom, of which you were begrudgingly aware of.

“Good girl.” Ilsa murmured once the men had passed, patting your rear.

“Oh.. Hey!” you blushed.

“Sorry. I was aiming for your back.”

“Yeah, my ass. Literally.” you retorted.

Ilsa let out a startled bark of laughter, amused. But she was quick to set you down, and noting the flimsy nature of your shoes, did so gently. You looked at her, a bit dizzy from the sudden rush of blood from your head to the rest of your body.

“You okay?”

“Give me a second, dizzy.”

But you two had little time. A com from Benji came through on Ilsa’s headset. Ilsa’s face went white, and she proceeded to grab you by your arm, booking it through the winding streets of Venice.

“I’m in heels, you will break my ankle if you keep pulling!” you sourly informed her.

“This is a matter of life and death. Kindly quiet yourself.” Ilsa snapped back.

A matter of life and death? Why was it always one of those? Two figures came into view, both stood atop of a canal bridge. You recognized neither of them, a tall man with salt and pepper hair and another brunette woman. He was stalking over to her, knife in hand. Her breathing was irregular, labored. But Ilsa was faster, approaching Gabriel, assuredly drawing forth a large sword. Gabriel brandished Grace’s switchblade, leaving the woman to pass out on the bridge. 

“I hoped it'd be you.” Gabriel smiled.

“...”

You admired Ilsa's silence, her quiet appraisal of the man. The sparring began almost immediately, and it didn’t take a trained eye to see that they were evenly matched. But something was wrong. He was pushing her into a corner, and then the sword was gone. They fought over the switchblade, each getting a few slashes in. But Ilsa was getting weaker, or clumsier. A brief thought flashed over you. What if she died? What if he saw you? What if he saw you and you didn’t have anything to fight with? You needed that sword. This woman... She'd said that this was a matter of the Entity, and your sister had taken pains to ship you out to Berlin on short notice. You'd taken even larger pains to make it appear as if you had. If you weren't supposed to be here, then maybe you had an advantage over this man, over this Entity. But you had to think fast.

“Hey, asshole!” you shouted, hurling a small, fractured chunk of cobblestone at the man.

The rock hit Gabriel’s forehead just as he looked up, stunning him. It was a good hit, and it bought you time, but not enough. You lunged for the sword, but he was faster. The scuffle that ensued was brief, he was better equipped, and stronger. His eyes went wild as he snatched the switchblade again, aiming for your heart. The switchblade cut into your shoulder, and pain bloomed as the blade wedged itself into the socket. He’d missed. A scream tore its way out of your lungs, and white hot pain flashed through your mind’s eye. A grunt came from above as Ilsa landed a kick to his chest. The sword was knocked loose, toppling over the bridge. And with that the only remaining weapon was the switchblade lodged in your shoulder. Both Ilsa and the mystery man lunged for it, but both pulled back before grabbing it, seemingly for different reasons. The man’s eyes went wide with fear and recognition, and he stalked back quickly.

“You’re not supposed to be here, Metropolis.” he paled. “You were supposed to be in Berlin… You’re not… The Entity didn’t..”

He landed one more kick to Ilsa before running. His footsteps were quick, and he disappeared into the veins of the city, his footsteps dying away as if he was a ghost, as if he was never there. Ilsa watched him, breathlessly speaking to Benji about the semantics of the encounter. She was breathing heavily, and it was difficult to understand her. Both she and Benji devolved into thick, almost indiscernible Midlands accents as they spoke and often interrupted one another. Benji’s voice was so loud that you could hear whispers of it through her headset. Ilsa crouched over you, examining the wound and cussing. She appeared just as frazzled as your mystery attacker, mumbling something about innocents and bloodlines.

“Fuck me, kid. Just had to get stabbed.” Ilsa mumbles, pausing her complaining to briefly tear off a bit of your dress, “And I’ve got another head trauma to deal with, and Ethan is off the fucking grid.”

A man broke through the street, panting heavily, eyeing the slowly awakening Grace and the incoherently mumbling Ilsa as she secured the knife wound to prevent it from escaping. He’d run from the opposite end of the city, as if he’d been running in circles.

“Where’s Gabriel?” Ethan asked. “And who is… Baby Metropolis?” 

Ilsa eyed him, nodding. She was busy tying the fabric of your torn dress around your shoulder. It must have been precaution, the knife prevented excess blood from escaping. 

“He stabbed baby Metropolis?”

Ilsa nodded again, gently picking up your now shivering frame. It was cold in Venice tonight, and without the rush of adrenaline it was very clear just how cold it was. Ethan, or John Lark as you knew him, stumbled forward, hastily taking you from Ilsa.

“It’s going to be okay, it’s all going to be alright.” Ethan says, in his signature ‘I’m saving the day’ voice.

The voice didn’t help. He was John Lark to your eyes; a madman.

“I know, Jesus. Get off!” you protested, trying to get away from the short, scary man.

Ilsa chuckled a bit at this. It appears Ethan’s usual charms wouldn’t work on you, and for good reason. A boat sped through the canal, and you recognized the driver by his voice. Benji? There was another man on the boat, large and equipped with a fedora. Both looked a bit shell-shocked, seeing the aftermath of the commotion on the bridge.

“Luther, get her in the boat.” Benji needlessly directed the other man as he was already pulling Grace in.

Luther examined Grace’s head for signs of abrasion while Ethan and Ilsa lowered you into the boat. Ilsa held you steady, your back pressed against her front, one of her arms wrapped  around your midsection, the other cradling your head as the boat sped through the canal once more. Ethan was hastily gloving up, and a brief concern over sterility dawned on you, but it wasn’t as if you had a choice.

“This is a hospital wound.” Ethan sighed.

“We can’t go to the hospital, Ethan.” Luther warned.

“I know that.” Ethan snapped back. “Cover her mouth.” Ethan directed Ilsa.

Ilsa’s hand fitted firmly over your mouth, her other arm holding your torso against hers. You tensed immediately. What the hell was Lark going to do to you?

“Breathe in and…” Ilsa directed.

Ethan pulled the switchblade out as you exhaled, the scream dying off as you ran out of air. The noise that was ultimately muffled by Ilsa’s hand was that of a high pitched wheeze. Ilsa’s hand remained, a wordless understanding between Ethan and Ilsa. Blood gushed from the wound immediately, and Ethan mumbled something about missing major arteries and cut tendons. Not like it mattered to you, Ilsa’s hand kept your head up, your mouth covered.You couldn’t see the damage for yourself.

“Breathe in, and out. In… Out…. In….” she continued.

With another quick jerk, Ethan pushed your shoulder back in its proper socket. This time your scream was much more audible, even with Ilsa muffling it. Grace winced as she watched. The blade had wedged itself into the socket, it wasn’t a pretty sight.

“Good girl, good job.” Ilsa whispered, breaking the tension. “I know it hurts, it would have been worse if you knew it was coming.”

Her hand left your mouth, fingers gently pulling through your hair, a soothing motion. Ethan moved on to stitching up the knife wound, or so you thought. The needle went deeper. 

“Oh Jesus Christ…” Grace paled.

You tilted your head to look, but Ilsa was faster, not letting you see. The needle bit in, and you winced. Ethan had a skilled hand, but it was clear he was stitching something deeper. 

“Ethan, is that really necessary?” Benji asked. “You’ve got her whole shoulder airing out in this dirty city.

“The tendon was sliced, it needs to be stitched up.”

Luther appeared just off to the side, gloved up and gently dabbing iodine all around and in the wound. It stung like a bitch, and you clenched your teeth as you hissed in pain. Your natural instinct directed you to look again, but Ilsa kept your head in place.

“Don’t look. If you look you’ll get hysterical or ill.” Ilsa murmured. “Now stay still.”

You wanted to stay still, you really did. But you didn’t have a pleasant sight. Grace looked practically green, from both her concussion and the sight of your open wound, and Luther had a worried look on his face. Benji wasn’t better, with that permanent anxious frown on his features. The biting sensation in your shoulder only continued as Ethan worked on stitching up the various tendons that had gotten cut. It was Ilsa who noticed your rapid, panicked breathing.

“No, no.” Ilsa protested, tilting your face to look at her. “Look at me, breathe in and out, none of this ragged panting you’re doing. You’re not going into shock, we don’t have time for that.”

Her stern, authoritative approach was what you needed to stay afloat in the midst of Ethan’s suturing. She had this soft frown on her face, her hand firmly holding your head in place as she murmured to you.

“Benji is driving us to the safehouse. You’re coming with us, you hear?”

Ilsa outlined the plan, the various things she was going to do, baths, medicine, sleep, food. All the things you would need to get better. By the time Ethan started suturing the skin, her nose was barely touching yours, her words floating over you like mist. She kept your head in place, murmuring softly as her blue eyes twinkled in the dim light. It was… Intimate. More intimate than other things you’d experienced. Why was it always the barrier between life and death, ailment and health that always brought forth the most romantic moments. It was something your mother had said… All friendships are romantic. Perhaps all beginnings of friendships could be interpreted as such.

“Iodine.” Ethan curtly directed

The yellow antiseptic stung, and you winced. Luther had a gentle hand, and he’d used it throughout the process, but it was the freshly sutured skin that burned the most. Ilsa stroked your cheek, shifting her other arm to hold your injured shoulder in place. You hadn’t even noticed that you’d been trying to move it. 

“No moving this, you hear?”

“Wasn’t gonna.” you mumbled.

The boat stalled. Benji stood up, gesturing everyone to leave the boat, but his words died in his throat. His eyes bulged, a shocked expression on his face. The shot had been so quiet, the whizzing was all that had been audible. Benji jerked, and red bloomed at the front of his chest. Ethan was quick to support him, still gloved up from his work on you. The quiet moment of the canal was broken. Everyone was moving except you. There was arguing, many voices crumpled into one echochamber of chaos, Grace holding Benji as Luther held Ethan back. For a little man, Ethan was vicious when angry, intending to follow the unseen sniper and mercilessly  deliver his body to the canal. The boat rocked violently, and Ilsa shouted continuously, mostly at Ethan to calm down. Her grip on you was tight, her hands placed over vital areas on your abdomen. She was protecting you should another shot fire. Benji met your eyes, his hand held over the gunshot wound. He looked gray, as if life had been sucked out of him the moment the bullet hit its target.

“Gabriel was going to send a message either way.” Benji rasps, his voice bringing sense back into Ethan.

Ilsa left you on the boat as she helped Grace carry Benji into the safehouse. It was clear that there would be no second shot, and you were safe in the belly of the boat. Ethan breathed irregularly, the muscles in his neck tensing and relaxing as he seemed to be pushing aside his anger. He too left the boat, leaving Luther to attend to you. There was an uneasy stillness in the air, and Luther moved to pick you up, pausing at the brief fear that appeared in your eyes.

“I’m… You don’t know who most of us are, do you?” he asked, intuitive in more ways than one.

You shook your head, taking a breath in to steady your nerves before answering.

“I know… Ilsa. Ilsa Faust, yeah? Umm.. Then there’s Lark. John Lark.”

You’d heard all of their names at least once, but you couldn’t list them in the aftermath of Benji’s snipe attack.

“That’s Ethan.” Luther corrected. “The brunette is Grace, Benji is the Englishman who’s been injured, and I’m Luther. Now let’s get you out of this boat.” he softly finished.

You pegged him as the gentle giant of the group, and he was. Gentle, at least. He carried you off of the boat, up the stairs into the Venetian safehouse. It was as still as the water outside. Why was it so still? Such a large city, and yet it felt like a ghost town. There were no arguments now. Grace sat in a corner, a bag of peas on her head. Ethan and Ilsa were in a separate room, quietly conversing as they treated Benji, as you presumed they were doing. No hospitals, they’d said. What kind of people couldn’t go to hospitals?

“Here’s some of Ilsa’s clothes. Tank top, and sweats. Bathroom’s over there.” Luther pointed. 

He stepped into the room with his other friends. It was the only room with light in the stone house. The clothes looked fresh, and your dress was dirty and torn. You didn’t see the point in maintaining your privacy with Grace staring off into space and the others presumably holding vigil over Benji. But it was difficult, grabbing the zipper. Gabriel had struck you in your more flexible, left shoulder. You couldn’t grab the zipper with your right hand.

“Here.” Grace murmured, getting up to unzip your dress. “It’s just us girls, let’s get you into these.”

Grace gently pulled off your dress, working the tank top over your injured shoulder and sliding the joggers up your body. You noticed her tired movements. She’d suffered a pretty decent blow to the head. Concussions were no joke. From this distance you could clearly make out the lines around her mouth as she pursed her lips, helping you to dress.

“Thanks. Grace, right?” you quietly asked, breaking the unnatural stillness.

She nodded, brown eyes losing their glassy look.

“Yes. You’re Baby Metropolis?”

“Oh, no my name is (Reader) Metropolis. I’m the baby of the family.” you explained.

“Ah.”

Grace settled beside you on the couch. Her shirt was half unbuttoned. But it didn’t matter. It was just us girls.

“He’s not going to make it.” Grace murmured. “If he was going to live, they should have taken him to a hospital the moment he was shot.”

You looked down at your hands, the constant pain in your shoulder contrasting with the numbness everywhere else. Benji. He’d… Somehow he was important. A piece of the puzzle, someone who struck you as innocent. Perhaps that was why his death seemed so irrational. 

“Are you in pain?” Grace realized. “That’s a dumb question, of course you are.”

She got up, rummaging through an open medical bag until she found what she was looking for. Her footsteps were soft, bare feet delicately navigating the creaky floorboards with practiced agility. She was a con of some sort. No one else would instinctively avoid the creaky floorboards of an old house.

“Take two of these.” she says.

“Extra strength tylenol?” you joked.

“Stronger.” Grace murmured, half-smile on her face.

You nodded, taking the meds. There was nothing in your stomach, so the meds dissolved quickly, taking away the pain in as little as fifteen minutes. They came with a distinct drowsy side effect, as if the world was a bit floaty. Grace wasn’t the only one who was anxious to sleep, and the two of you crept into the larger bedroom after finding a few croissants to snack on. Two king beds and empty dressers, divided into girls and boys, or so you presumed. The two of you settled under the covers, closing your eyes. Sleep came quickly. Somewhere in the twilight of the early morning, Ilsa slid into the bed behind you, an arm draped over your abdomen as you laid on your back. You didn’t need the answer to why she was so clingy. Or perhaps you had it wrong. But you wouldn’t protest this stranger’s touches. No, there was a bond there now. You’d survived such an ordeal together, such a crisis as the one you were bound in. And it felt nice, to be sandwiched in between Grace and Ilsa. You were safe here.

Morning broke, but the sun did not break this quiet. There wasn’t a word spoken. The atmosphere in the room was somber. No one needed to say it, Benji had passed. Ethan’s dead look as he sat on the couch confirmed any suspicion. Luther cooked breakfast for everyone, maintaining a sense of normality. Ethan wouldn’t accept any of Ilsa’s soft attempts to bring him food, and he wouldn’t accept her beside him, either. The Entity had taken a divergent route in its predictions. Grace and Ilsa had been failed targets, so the Entity chose to take Ethan Hunt’s friend instead. And Ethan, being the savior he was, took it hard. 

“Over here.” Grace murmured, gesturing Ilsa over to where the both of you sat.

Ilsa settled on the rug, predictably taking a seat next to you. She didn’t outright drape an arm over you, but her knee touched yours. It was a soft, innocent gesture. She wanted closeness, and you did too. Your knees stayed touching. Grace noticed the little dynamic between the two of you, shifting a little closer so she could get in on it too. Her knee came into contact with yours on the other side. Three pairs of feet lined up, three legs nestled close, shoulders flanking yours on both sides. It was cute, and you giggled, triggering Grace’s laugh too. Ilsa smiled, humming in amusement. And for a brief moment, Ethan’s eyes flickered with something other than sorrow. He picked up the plate Ilsa had left on the coffee table. And he ate. 

<-->

[bitterkarmaa]

I just had to have everyone react to canon right now it is just…UGH

At first, there is silence. Everyone stares at the screen in slack-jawed, horrified silence. Then, obligatory looks of disbelief are shared between the onlookers.

“I would not do that! I wouldn’t, I promise!” Lunar is the first to speak up, eliciting a sharp bark of laughter from Eclipse at his side.

“What is it with everyone turning on this ‘Earth’ girl first? Like - first that ‘Nexus’ dude did it, and now Lunar?? I just don’t understand…” Veil cuts in, and nods of agreement greet his statement.

“Haunted by the narrative.” Moon clicks his tongue. Everyone exchanges knowing looks.

“The only one who seems to be immune to all this is Eclipse! And that’s only because he’s in another dimension!” Sun leans forwards, peering around Moon to give his counterpart a playfully envious look.

Eclipse raises his hands in a show of innocence. “Hey. I’m busy being a father, apparently.” He defends, then wraps an arm around Blood Moon’s shoulders at his side. “Because, for some reason, I prefer human children, apparently.”

Blood Moon huffs. “Ghosts. Not humans. Ghosts.”

A smaller, softer voice speaks up from the other end of the couch.

“I just…don’t understand. Everyone seems so…detached. There’s constantly something new going on, but it feels…forced? I mean…they never process anything. I think everyone should be given an arc to simply process all they’ve been through. I think it would really help the development and growth of their characters.” Rays explains, smiling nervously as all the eyes of the room turn in her direction. She’s wearing a dress today, and requested that the others refer to her with feminine pronouns.

A larger figure leans on the back of the couch, red eyes focused on the screen as if contemplating how much force would be needed to break it.

“I’m dead, I suppose. Can’t help you guys out with this shit. Sorry.” Kill Code shrugs, turning away from the tv with a scowl.

“Us too.” Blood Moon adds, lifting their hands towards their grandfather. “Dead club. You, us. We’re the dead club.”

Kill Code’s mouth twitches up into a smile, but it disappears just as quickly as it came. He leans down and hoists his grandson into his arms, letting out a chuckle as they begin to gnaw at the bell that dangles from the end of his nightcap.

Moon snaps his claws and perks up at the revelation. “Yeah, that’s a good point. Who else here is supposed to be dead?”

Simultaneously, almost everyone raises their hands. Moon’s expression falls deadpan.

“I mean by the standards of the show, smartasses.”

Hands fall back down until only Eclipse, Rays, Kill Code, and Blood Moon are left.

“That’s more realistic. Eclipse, put your hand down.” Moon reaches out and swats at Eclipse, earning a hiss and bite in retaliation. Moon yelps, trying to free his hand from Eclipse’s mouth as the orange and black animatronic glares daggers at him. He only releases his hold to defend himself.

“Technically, I am dead! I’m still V1 Eclipse, not…what are they on now, V4??”

Moon examines the bite marks, though he turns his attention to Eclipse as he speaks. Kill Code grabs Moon’s hand and looks over the shallow wounds his son inflicted, and, surprisingly, Moon pays him no mind.

“If we’re going by those standards, I suppose I’m dead too. And Veil. And Lunar. And - just everyone except for Sun!” The night-themed jester shouts. Sun lays his hand on his twin’s shoulder with a worried look on his face.

“Sun is dead inside, so he counts too.” Eclipse snaps back, crossing his arms over his chest like a pouting child.

“Does this truly have to be a contest?” Kill Code asks calmly, returning Moon’s now bandaged hand to his lap. The navy animatronic stares at it dumbly, as if forgetting he had another limb altogether.

“I second that.” Rays adds, her hands fidgeting nervously in her lap. She isn’t fond of all the yelling, and it’s no wonder why. Especially since Eclipse is one of the voices.

Sun changes the topic before it can escalate further.

“I think it’s funny how we have characters that they don’t, and they have characters that we don’t. Like…Earth? Solar? Nexus? Never heard of them. But they’ve never known Rays, Veil, or the dude that’s on our asses right now. It just makes me wonder…is there a right way to tell this story? To tell our story? Or does it change based on who’s telling it?”

“All stories change based on who’s telling it.” Eclipse responds, his moment of anger now dulled into annoyance. “It’s never going to stay the exact same unless they’re reading from a script.”

“Can we go off-script?” Rays asks. Everyone mulls over this for a few moments.

“Maybe. Maybe there is no script.” Kill Code gently sets Blood Moon back onto the couch beside Eclipse. “Does it matter? We don’t suffer from their problems. It doesn’t affect us.”

Whispered discussions begin throughout the room, but Eclipse stays rooted to his spot on the couch, sinking back into the cushions while staring blankly at the screen. A million thoughts crowd his processor, but he isn’t able to grasp a single one.

“If there’s a parallel between this universe and that one…I wonder who has the star power here.” Lunar chirps at his side, leaning into his older brother as one would recline into a comfy chair.

Eclipse tries not to stiffen. That would be a dead giveaway, would it not?

“Yeah…good point. Maybe we’ll find out later.” Eclipse responds quietly, his tone lowered into a careless drawl despite the turmoil that rages within his chest. The turmoil that pulses in response to his paranoia. The turmoil that speaks to him in the dead of night, that keeps him alive and threatens to kill him all at once.

Eclipse doesn’t miss the large clawed hand that rests knowingly on his shoulder.

“Do you think that, if someone did have star power here, they’d use it to harm someone else? Like I did in the show?” Lunar continues, fidgeting with his sleeves. Eclipse slowly turns his head, his hollow gaze settling onto his little brother.

“I think they already have. We just don’t know it yet.” Kill Code responds in a cold tone, his hand drifting over his son’s shoulder before the weight vanishes altogether. Eclipse hears his father’s retreating footsteps, but he remains silent in response to his comment.

“Creepy dude. Has he always been like that?”

Finally, Eclipse turns to look over his shoulder in the direction Kill Code trotted off in.

“No. No, he hasn’t.”

With that, he stands up from the couch and disappears into the solitude of his room.

[e-squared-what-is-my-life]

Can we get please some sfw ena squared slice of life situations. Happy pride month

Yes You Can! I Give to You: RENA Attempting to Put Together an IKEA Shelf While ENA Cheers Her On!

Why was this so difficult? This shouldn't be so difficult! RENA had served in a war, faced decades of discrimination, killed people for her job (both guilty and innocent), and was blessed with raising an adorable yet occasionally very frustrating little girl!

So why the hell was she having such difficulty putting together a damn shelf?!

"Oh! Well done, my love! You managed to increase the standing time by 0.2%!" ENA clapped as she cheered her wife on, smile wide and full of nothing but love and adoration.

It wasn't meant to be a condescending statement, and RENA knew that, but for some reason it still stung to hear. Having her wife here to witness her failure, it was a huge blow to her egos. RENA was supposed to be the strong, sure one! The one who could do anything to provide for her family! How could she do that if following instructions to build a piece of furniture was stumping her so much?

"Would you like assistance in building the shelf?" ENA inquired, preparing to get up from her place on the couch. "I don't mind!"

"No! No, it's fine! I can do this." RENA replied, cursing under her breath as she looked back over the instructions and grew increasingly confused. "No need to bother your mind with such a boring task."

"If you're bored, why do you not take a moment to regather your bearings?" ENA asked, tilting her head so innocently, so cutely, it was almost enough to make RENA drop the project entirely.

Almost.

"Sometimes we must endure the work lacking in entertainment to reach a desired goal!" RENA chimed, looking for a screw she had apparently failed to use. E7? What kind of screw was that? How did such a large part fit in such a small hole? "Now, where is that screw?"

"There are building apparatuses near your left foot, dear." ENA helpfully replied, pointing at a small bag full of screws and bolts.

Huh, that would explain the excess holes.

"Greatest thanks, my love!" RENA chirped, gathering the bag and looking at its contents. "Ah! There you are! E7!"

ENA clapped and swung her legs with glee, happy that she was able to relieve at least some tension in RENA's shoulders. The poor dear was so stressed, and ENA could tell it wasn't just because of the shelf. Something else was bothering her, and while ENA desperately wanted to ask what it was, she knew she'd never get a straightforward answer.

"Okay, now to carefully- AGH! -.. .- -- -. / .. - / .- .-.. .-.. / - --- / .... . .-.. .-..!" RENA hissed, fluttering her hand rapidly and glaring at the piece of wood she'd been tampering with.

"Oh, no! What happened?" ENA gasped, getting down on the floor next to RENA and gently grabbing her hand. On RENA's left pointer finger lay a droplet of static blood, which steadily began to drip down the appendage. "Oh, you poor thing!"

"I AM NOT UNFORTUNATE!" RENA snapped, realizing her mistake within milliseconds and blushing. "I'm sorry, I didn’t mean-"

"I know, dear." ENA lovingly cooed, pressing a gentle kiss onto RENA's injury. "I do believe now is a good time for a break. Wouldn't you agree?"

"But the shelf-"

"Can wait. Your health is more important than a piece of furniture." ENA giggled as she stood, encouraging RENA to stand as well. "Here, let us get you patched up, then have a nice lunch, hmm?"

"Very well." RENA sighed, frowning despite her relief. "But I have to get back to production the moment we're finished!"

"Or, we eat, then cuddle, enjoy a short film, and then we both work on the shelf." ENA suggested with a knowing smirk. "Deal?"

RENA paused, thinking over the offer intensely. She truly wanted to finish the shelf, and didn't want to bother ENA with the mundane workload, but on the other hand, cuddles.

"Very well, you've pulled my leg." RENA sighed, smiling and purring as quick kisses were pressed against her lips. "I suppose a break would be nice, all things considered."

"That's good." ENA chimed, leading RENA to the bathroom to patch up her cut. "Because I couldn't agree more."

[sleepingdeath-light]

wally + getting pegged hcs ; 18+

requested by ; shy anon (02/07/23)

fandom(s) ; welcome home

fandom masterlist(s) ; sfw | nsfw

character(s) ; wally darling

outline ; “Hello, I'm an adult (22-years-old) and would like to make a request for NSFW headcanons about pegging wally darling with a gn! Reader 👉🏼👈🏼

If this is something that might make you uncomfortable or you simply don't feel like writing, that is completely fine!!👍🏼

-shy anon (if nobody's taken that yet)”

warning(s) ; sexually explicit content, anal fingering, pegging, anal sex

note ; most of this is focused on context and lead up but the smut is definitely still there don’t worry

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

pegging isn’t really something would have even known about let alone considered exploring with you — hell he knew very little about standard vanilla sex before you met so anything beyond that would be completely new to him

you’d have been the one to propose it, laying in bed on evening with your body moulded against his whilst he buries his face in a book that frank had lent him — something about entomology and the differences in butterfly and moth anatomy — when you randomly asked him about it

you were casual enough about it, your words slightly slurred in that way that tiredness tends to cause and muffled from the way your face was buried in the crook of your boyfriend’s neck

‘have you ever thought about pegging?’

your question gave him pause for a moment and you could hear him pause midway through turning the page as he asked you in that calm, deceptively innocent, voice of his

‘hm? no. i don’t think so… what is pegging?’

how he could sound so innocent despite everything you’ve done together never failed to shock you, but still you were far too tired for the conversation and just promised to explain it in the morning when you were more alive

and your wally, understanding as ever, nodded and kissed you on the head before placing the book to one side and moving to snuggle in beside you properly

seemingly just as exhausted as you were as he drifted off minutes later — the two of you falling into a peaceful, restful slumber

and the next day, whilst you were sat in your back garden with cups of steaming tea/coffee in hand and plates of breakfast balanced haphazardly on your laps, he does ask you about it

tone low and question so blunt that you choke on your drink as you try and get your jaw off of the floor — mind running a mile a minute as you try to explain what pegging is as honestly and thoroughly as possible

it was a long conversation had over pastries and hot drinks in the late morning sun — wally listening intently and interjecting with his own questions every so often but mostly just listening to your explanations

then came silence for a few minutes as he considered what had been said, brows furrowed in contemplation as he almost hid behind the comically large rim of his ‘dog’s best friend’ mug (a gift from barnaby, of course)

and then he startled you with a simple and blunt statement that left you momentarily speechless

‘okay.’

‘okay?’

‘i think i’d like to try that.’

and after a few minutes of establishing boundaries and making sure that he was actually okay with getting pegged, you started to make the necessary arrangements for it to happen

(which we’ll skip over for the purposes of getting into the smut)

you start off by helping wally find a position where he’s comfortable — one where he won’t feel the need to squirm or wince or contort himself in any weird way — which ends up having him laying on his back

then you have him spread his legs, instructing him to grasp at his thighs and tug them up towards himself — making sure that he’s comfortable every step of the way

once he’s comfortable, you start to prep his ass — spreading lube along your fingers and slowly massaging and scissoring your way further and further into his ass, taking your time and being as gentle and as careful as possible as to let him adjust to the new feeling

every crook and thrust and scissor and massage of your fingers and thumb coaxed new sounds from the base of his throat: whimpers and moans and groans that were damn near pornographic as they reached your ears

but for as much as he was enjoying himself — which was quite a bit given how much his cock was leaking and throbbing by this point — you both knew that this wasn’t the main event of the evening and, with great reluctance, you eventually had to withdraw your fingers from his ass (which earned you a frankly slutty whimper from your pink-faced and panting lover)

though his disappointment was only short lived as you quickly replaced your hand with something much larger — more intimidating even

the toy he’d specifically help you pick out for the occasion

deep purple in its colour with plenty of veins sprawling along the silicon phallus like rivers on a map — thicker at the base but not too long or girthy that it looked completely unmanageable

it looked bigger than it had in the store, perhaps made even worse by the unnatural sheen the generous layer of lube had given it, and you saw his eyes widen by a fraction when he noticed it’s presence between your legs

but, always willing to try something once, wally responded to your hesitance with plenty of reassurances and promised that he’d let you know if he genuinely felt threatened or uncomfortable

and so you continued on:,placing your non dominant hand on his hip, steadying yourself whilst you used the other to guide the heavy toy to his prepped hole — asking once again if he was sure and slowly pushing your way in once he assured you once again that he was willing to try

inch by inch you edged your way into him — watching intently as he flushed and whimpered and gasped and threw his head back against the pillows, looking for any sign of discomfort as you slowly pushed further and further in

flicking your gaze between the bulge of the strap as it goes deeper and deeper into his ass (pressing your fingertips gently against the bulge and admiring how stretched out he’s become) and his face — taking in every moan and groan and gasp that slips from those pretty lips of his until you finally bottom out and fall still

giving him all the time in the world — all the time that he needs — to adjust to the foreign pain of being filled to the brim

drowning him in praise and gentle touches until he was ready for you to start moving

calling him ‘good boy’, ‘pretty boy’, ‘my darling’ whilst you pepper kisses all over his face and neck and chest

repeating that he’s doing so well and taking everything so well and that you’re so proud of him whilst you brush messy strands of blue hair away from his sweaty forehead and entwine your free hand with one of his

rubbing comforting circles on the back of his hand and bringing it up to your lips — kissing each of his fingertips and knuckles as you wait for him to give you the go ahead and smiling when as he whimpered and panted beneath you

then, once he was finally ready and gave you the go ahead, you started to move — slowly at first, to let him adjust, before you started to experiment and find a pace that suited him better

alternating between harder and softer thrusts, shallow and quick vs deep and slow, angling your hips upwards vs downwards, and so on

watching him fall apart beneath you with nothing but love in your eyes, trying to ignore your own needs in favour of tending to him

seeing the way his back arched upwards and his unoccupied hand flew from the back of his thigh to grasp at the bedsheets beside his head — his other tightly squeezing your own as he lost himself to the pleasure

the way his legs, now unimpeded, wrapped around your hips and pulled you taut against him — forcing you to thrust deeper into his ass and coaxing a startling laugh from your throat in the process as you stabilised yourself once again

the way his hair, tangled and knotted, fanned out around his head like a halo that shook and messed up further with every thrust

the way his lips, wet with saliva and kiss bruised, parted into a beautifully perfect ‘o’ to let out a string of moans, whimpers, groans, gasps and cries of your name — occasionally broken up by something that might have been a plea

the way his hooded eyes, pupils perfectly round and dilated with need, stared up at you — unfocused yet still somehow brimming with adoration even now as you ravished his body

the way that his cock, slender and throbbing and terribly neglected, jumped and leaked with every thrust and the way he let out the most shameless moan when you leaned down and pressed your stomach down against it

the way he took you so willingly despite his inexperience because he loved you and trusted you — because he knew you’d never do anything to cause him harm

with such an amazing sight in front of you, it was the least you could do to keep praising him through his climax

assuring him that he was doing so well, that he’s taking everything like an expert

that he looks so pretty, so handsome, so beautiful, even, like this

that you love him, that you’re proud of him

encouraging him to be louder, to let go, to let you take care of him

and, with a well placed kiss on the underside of his jaw and a perfectly angled thrust straight into his sweet spot, you finally got to see him fall apart

he was a mess: all arching backs and parted moaning lips and a cock spurting so much that it covered your stomach and his

sweaty and panting and drooling and trembling

and, despite it all or because of it, so very beautiful because he was wally — your wally — and he was never anything less

he was the absolute most and you were thankful that he trusted you enough to do something like this — and you fully intended to reward him in kind with aftercare and whatever would follow

[thekimspoblog]

Wait, you people liked "Skinamarink"?

"What does it mean?" It doesn't mean anything. The writer made an exploitation movie with an analog horror gimmick because hearing children cry in pain is inherently viscerally upsetting. You don't need character arcs; you don't need complex motivations for the antagonist besides it wants to be entertained maybe (convenient). Just take an innocent victim and kill them slowly, and that will be so disturbing that audiences apparently won't care that we're missing any conventional landmarks of horror like... levity, or... a point.

Sure, if I don't like Peacock's speculation on deep lore, I don't have to watch this channel. But I do think it would benefit us all if theorizers more readily considered the possibility that maybe the media they're looking at is just lazily written and THAT'S why some elements are cryptic.

Maybe I should watch the movie before making any conclusive statements. But I'm sorry this movie just doesn't sound fucking scary to me. Even the childhood nightmares this movie is trying to evoke, my monsters played on much more specific anxieties than... whatever this is. It succeeds at making the audience feel unsafe in their own homes, but let's be honest most horror movies manage to do that, even the bad ones. It's competently shot for something with a shoestring budget; it understands the classic adage that the imagination should be left to fill in the blanks, but that's all it's got going for it. Where you see "cruelty", I see a lack of stakes. It doesn't matter if the kid characters are vivid or if they do intelligent things, because they were doomed from the beginning. Being trapped in a dimension by a creature who wants to torture you is a scary prospect, sure. But that doesn't mean it's automatically narratively interesting to see it happen to someone else.

I don't know what to tell you. Bad things happen to children. Bad things happen to children in the real world. Real life stories of abduction and torture are clearly what the film wants the adult audience to be thinking about. But that ultimately hamstrings the effectiveness, because a spooky boogieman with godlike powers is never going to be as scary as the real tragedies we've seen on the news. But if the movie did more to lean into parallels with the real world and the sickos who actually perpetrate these crimes, it would be written off as unpleasant schlock. The twist that the kids have been trapped in this hell for two years is attention-grabbing, but without the contrast of any sort of light at the end of the tunnel, it's just cruelty for cruelty's sake. If the kids were rescued after two years of this but we saw the psychological toll it had taken on them, THAT could be horror! But with the no ending/everyone dies ending, I'm just left with the "well that just happened" feeling I would get after seeing anything as narratively complex as a snuff film. It's a half-baked Creepypasta that starts with "Wouldn't it be weird if...?" and ends with "Other scary stories I like have bleak endings, so throw in some gore and oblivion I guess". And that's very clearly the order in which this movie was conceived and scripted.

I feel the need to draw a line in the sand. You can show me 90 minutes of pointing a gun at a golden retriever puppy's head, and that would probably be greatly upsetting. But that wouldn't make you the next Stanley Kubrick. Contrary to popular belief, there's more to writing a horror film than simply imagining bad things happening to people who don't deserve it. When you think about how switching out the characters with adults (or even older children) would change the plot very little but diminish the disturbingness of this film greatly, it sort of lays bare the mechanics of how it's trying to get a rise out of you.

[kindaoptimisticsquirrel]

Trigun Bookclub Trimax Vol10 Part 1

Vol01: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3  | Vol02: Part 1 | Part 2

Trimax: Vol01 Part 1Vol01 Part 2 | Vol02 Part 1Vol02 Part 2 | Vol 03 Part 1 | Vol03 Part2 | Vol04 Part1 | Vol04 Part2 | Vol05 | Vol06 | Vol07 | Vol08 Part1 | Vol08 Part2 | Vol09 Part1 | Vol09 Part2 | Vol10 Part1

I'm early for this one cause I won't have time the rest of the week. And as a bonus it's like doing the presentation first: after that I can lay back, watching all the others knowing that I've put it already behind me. This is only part1 but I trust you've read the whole volume when you read this commentary! I might make 3 parts with all the images I'm putting in this now, haha....

Chapter 1:

Sad music playing in the bg, all other noises canceled out, room relatively cool: let's go.

I can't get over the fact how Wolfwood's playing scnes with Vash out in his head. And this moment here! It was such an important discussion, their first clash of ideals....And now Wolfwood wants to prove him wrong. That he is NOT giving up hope so easily.

"Do not tell me you are betting on hopes" I thought you were some kind of religious cult?? Believing in the holy creatures? Well there really isn't much believe left in this dying old man. Such a poor soul. He doesn't believe in his own religion. He might once have believed in his god (aka Knives) but would want him dead now- only that he doesn't believe he can kill him so he doesn't believe in a future for anyone. He doesn't believe in his pupils and doesn't believe them when they say they might know a way of salvation. And now he's just trying to drag everybody down with him.

And Wolfwood IS believing....with his whole heart and without a doubt. Oh my god. (And he hasn't forsaken you either!!!)

Disapproving of this weapon head tilt which is reserved for gay battle couples only!

Can you stop shooting this man for one fucking second

FOR ONE SECOND

FOR FUCK'S SAKE

I wonder if we can read this hesitation by Razlo as a sentiment of Livio deep deep within who might NOT want to kill Wolfwood? It could also just be Razlo's shock at seeing how he misinterpreted his opponent though.

Go to hell old man.

Chapter 2:

I need to remind myself that Razlo is not just "kill kill kill!" or blindly following Chapel. He's also nuanced and got lots of respect for this worthy opponent (and ex colleague of his, ex friend/brother of Livio).

This title here is giving me emotions and I want that image as a patch to sew on my backpack please

I can't really distinguish...is he talking about a bad chill? As in making him uneasy? He looks like it, but I'm not sure..

I gotta say shooting yourself is a hardcore statement. Great, now he's a MAD angry old ass of a man. But to Razlo I say: Have your forgotten the girl Livio saved??? And you, yous saved Razlo countless times!! Did they not need you both? D:

Miss Melanie is such a lovable character!! Go and protect your kids...even if you know the enemy is far too powerful! I love this little comedic moment in between this whole mess (And sh reminds me a bit of my mother, too)

Why else? Because you're an arsehole maybe, or because he has learned that he can chose not to be a killer and be a decent person?

This is such such such an evil move of Chapel. "Here, look at this boy, once innocent and a part of your family...now he's changed into a disgusting creature! Look at him and judge him and laugh at him and his poor life."

And the worst part, exactly this has been one of Wolfwood's biggest fears. Because next to not being able to save his family at the orphanage...if one of them would see Wolfwood as he is now and decide that he is a despicable person, someone who doesn't deserve redemption, it would mean he is truly lost. Then he would be only a killer and nothing more.

Thank god Melanie is having none of it. And look how Wolfwood's eye that was just a moment ago wide with shock is closing, his whole feature relaxing. This is what he needed...her telling him that he could have come home anytime. That he is still and will always be! A part of their family.

Of course you moron you could have done this together!! If you didn't run off alone...trying to do things on your own. Somehow, now that I think about this...this really feels like act of a boy that didn't have time to grow up. Running off to the orphanage was not Wolfwood- it was Nicholas doing it. Not Wolfwood the Punisher but Nicholas the Boy. Why is this thought making me emotional?

Fuck we see him thinking, thinking fast of a way to still save the situation, seeing the vials, maybe wondering if he will be able to do it with them can he do it can he do it

You godforsaken idiot why did you have to bite them down and seal your fate

And in the moment when Nicholas needed him most, Vash came. But he came a second too late.

Look, there's just something about Vash coming to his rescue in this moment where Wolfwood is at his lowest. Completely ripped apart, laid bare before his loved ones...These two pages, and the sole sentence "I've made a friend" is something so poetic...they make me internally scream because YES you've made a friend, you both love and trust each other deeply...you really have made such a good friend. SOBBING