#hot demon lady tattoo

[msgexymunson]

Kickstart My Heart Part 2

Switch!Eddie x Switch!Fem!Reader

Description: Eddie's certainly met his match. As you look to take your relationship to the next level, can you be vulnerable with him?

Warnings: NSFW, reader uses she/her pronouns, hella smut, loads of fluff, Minors DNI or I'll shove crayons up your nose, marijuana use, slight switch/kinda dom from both a bit? Fem!fingering, Fem!oral receiving, M!oral/hand job receiving for like a minute, p in v protected sex, I think that's it?

A/N: something about Eddie falling hard and fast just gets me. I'm working on a pt 3 but that will probably be it. If you want to be added to the tags let me know!

5.5k words

Masterlist Part 1 Here

Eddie's in the cafeteria, grinning to himself, being unusually quiet. Every time he closes his eyes there's an image of you ingrained on his eyelids it seems. Your frame; lacy underwear and soft skin juxtaposed against the demon like wings of your tattoo. He is well and truly smitten. It had taken him a while to sleep that night, he just couldn't stop looking at you laying in his arms. You two had spent the next day together, taking turns picking the music, sometimes making out, sometimes just chatting, until it was late and he had driven you home. Not that he had wanted to, but you insisted. He hadn't seen you since. Two whole days. It was driving him crazy. Tonight was Hellfire, he was supposed to be running the D&D club but he had no idea how he was going to focus.

"Eddie, what's up?" Dustin is waving his hand in Eddie's face, trying to get his attention. He pulls himself of out his revelry and sighs.

"Nothing big guy" and smiles a tight lipped smile, gripping Dustin by the shoulder.

"You didn't tell us, did you find her, in the end?" Dustin smiles at Eddie hopefully.

Eddie grins, his face flushing slightly "You could say that Henderson." Oh you've got no fuckin' idea buddy.

As if on cue, the door to the hall swings open and you walk in, lunch in hand. Breath catching in his throat, Eddie stares. It was hot today so you had opted for a short denim skirt, a black tank top and sneakers. You look around the room, searching, when your eyes land on him. You both look at each other, idiotic smiles on your faces, oblivious to the chaos of the lunch hall around you. Everything drops into background noise as your eyes make contact. It all seems irrelevant.

Walking over you look for a seat. Eddie manhandles Dustin, pushing him, making him move up. Dustin's visibly confused; then he looks up and sees you. "Holy shit." Then looks at Eddie. You take a seat next to him, smirking at Eddie. He's lost, looking into your face.

"You gonna introduce me or what Munson?" You chuckle.

"Fuck yes, sorry. Guys, this is y/n."

You're introduced to to group, and the chatter continues. Eddie's hand hesitantly lands on your knee. You smile, sneaking your hand under the table, and move his hand higher up your thigh. His brows raise and his eyes go wide, and you giggle.

'So boys, what's with the matching t shirts?"

As if you flicked some imaginary switch, you're bombarded with several excited teenaged voices all at once.

Eddie's voice cuts through the cacophony.

"Woah don't scare the lady!"

Dustin speaks. "It's Dungeons and Dragons, a role playing game. We're part of a club, Eddie's our Dungeon Master, it's so awesome." You smile at Dustin, genuinely pleased. He even plays D&D, now that's something. You hadn't brought it up before, thinking Eddie might think you're a nerd, but you loved that fantasy game. It gave you an escape.

As you were eating your lunch, Dustin was speaking with Mike, saying how they needed to defeat Vecna.

"And how you gonna manage that, what you got the sword of Kas or something?" You smile sweetly, with as much innocence that you can muster.

"You play D&D??" Both Eddie and Dustin exclaim. Jaws around the table drop.

"Play it? I ran it. Was a DM myself in Chicago before I came back to Hawkins."

Eddie's hand grips your thigh as he looks at you. "You're... you're fucking perfect."  He can't take his eyes off you, huge doe eyes blinking at you.

"God get a room!" says Dustin.

Mike rolls his eyes. "I told you, she's basically you!"

You both laugh at that. You lean over to Eddie and whisper in his ear, "fancy a smoke Dungeon Master?" He almost whimpers and immediately gets up, dragging you up by the wrist, and you both tear out of the cafeteria together, giggling as you run.

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

Almost jogging out of the hall, you run over to the bench that's hidden in the woods. Eddie chases you, grappling you as you laugh. When he catches you he suddenly lifts you up in the air by the waist and pretends to bite at your stomach. giggling and squealing you try to wiggle free. He sets you down on the bench, his bites turning into kisses, palms pressing into your sides. 

"Where were you yesterday, I missed you."

"Its been like, one day!"

"Two days!" He pouts, then pulls you in for a kiss. You press your lips against his, all of a sudden feeling light headed. Pulling away you attempt to compose yourself.

"Ok two days! Sorry, I had detention at lunch. Something about a shoe connecting to a certain face?"

Eddie kisses you again, his lips moving to your neck. "Jesus princess, you really are like me."

You laugh at that, but your laugh turns into a moan when he starts biting and sucking at your neck.

"Eddie..."

"Your fault princess." He says into your collarbone, in between nips. "You go around calling me dungeon master."

"Oh, did you like that, master?"

"Mmph" Eddie makes a sound into your neck, hands falling to your thighs, his thumbs rubbing soft circles onto your skin.

"And this skirt, I mean, what's a guy to do?" He continues to rub at your thighs, thumbs massaging you.

"Oh that feels good baby." You tilt your head back, enjoying the feel of his fingers on you so much you're partially grinding into the table. I wish the bench was his thigh.

"Carry on like that and I wont be able to control myself." He says hotly.

Rubbing higher, one of his hands reaches under your skirt. "Tell me to stop." He stares at you with a serious face, all joking forgotten.

You lean forward at his touch, realising how much you missed it, chasing it.

"No. I want you to touch me Eddie." He smiles at you, a dark glint in his eye.

He moves his hand higher, stroking your pussy through your panties making you groan. The pressure that builds in your stomach is almost comical; no ones ever made you feel this good this fast.

"Really princess, at lunch, at school? Filthy girl." He gives you a lopsided smile.

"Eddie... oh fuck." His thumb rubs on your clothed clit, tracing lazy circles.

His fingers run down the hem of your underwear, stroking your bare skin. Your breath quickens; you feel a pulse deep inside your cunt, crying out for his touch. His fingers graze your bare clit and you moan out loud, clinging onto his shoulders.

Eddie is enjoying every second of this, staring at you, drinking in every sound you make. This is what he's wanted to feel ever since he saw your face. His hand moves your panties out of the way and starts rubbing at your bare clit. You moan with pleasure at the naked touch, your back arching, tingles running all over your body. Pressing a finger to your entrance, he smirks at your sudden intake in breath. It pushes in. You're so wet his finger glides right in to the hilt, grazing your g spot. You gasp, feeling the warmth of his hand, and the cold of his ring touching you as he pushes his finger all the way in.

"Eddie!" You moan, rocking into him.

"Easy princess, I've got you." He whispers into your ear. You reach out, kissing his neck, running your hands into his hair. It's so soft under your curling fingers. You grip into him, riding his touch. He pushes another finger in to the hilt, curling into you. The feeling is electrifying. You moan in response "fuck yes Eddie right there!"

He chuckles, almost mocking you. "Kay, sweetheart, right here?" He curls his fingers into you, faster, harder. Arching your back you quiver in his grasp, the amazing feeling pacing through your every nerve. His thumb reaches out and touches your clit and you become putty in one of Eddie's hands. You can't help but think, this is just one hand, imagine what the rest of him can do?

The pressure is building, you rock into his fingers, feeling your climax begin.

"Eddie I'm gonna, oh fuck..."

"Cum for me baby." You feel his hot breath on your neck, his command driving through you.

You tense up and the feeling explodes out of you in a loud moan, head snapping back, toes curling. The heat pours out of you, its palpable, coming hard around his fingers. The squeeze is immense. You feel your wetness squirt out, coating him, soaking him. He keeps curling into you with his digits gently, coaxing your orgasm out as long as he can. You sit there, breathless, unable to move, coming down from the amazing feeling. Steadying your breathing you gaze at him. There's a look emanating from him that you can't quite place, a sparkle in his eyes.

"Fucking hell Eddie!" You moan breathlessly.

He grins at you, pulling his fingers out. The feeling drags against your insides, making you bite your lip. You pull him in for a kiss.

"You're a filthy girl, you know that?" He smirks, damn pleased with himself.

"I-I mean, fuck Eddie, that was... wow." You grab at him, pawing at him, taken away by the moment.

Holding your jaw, he looks deep into your eyes. His nose nuzzles yours. "I missed you."

"I missed you too." You admit, smiling at him, hand stroking his neck.

"I think I'm falling in love with you." He stares into your eyes, all mockery forgotten.

"Fuck off." Laughing at him, you push him in the chest. Deflecting.

"I'm serious!" Almost offended, he grabs your hip and kisses you on the cheek.

"Eddie...." you don't know what to say. No one ever wants you. Ever.

"Its ok, you don't have to say anything just... just be mine, ok?"

"What, be your girlfriend?" A lump pushes into your throat.

"Yes, please?" He looks at you, pleading, staring at you with puppy dog eyes. Some resolve inside you melts, never to return. A wall that you had built up had dissolved with those two words.

"Well, I suppose. If you want me." You say back. Please want me.

"Of course I want you, look at you! You're incredible." He kisses your neck again, leaving marks in his wake.

"Eddie, I... just not used to anyone, wanting me." You mumble. You aren't, its true.

Eddie holds your hands in his, eyes making contact with yours. "You are perfect, and beautiful, and just incredible sweetheart, why wouldn't I want you?" His eyes bare into your soul.

You grin, a flush rushing to your cheeks.

The bell rings in the distance. A reminder of real life; one you would both rather forget right now. "We better go baby unless you want to be kept back another year."

"Ok princess." He presses a hot kiss into your mouth, sending shivers down your spine "One for the road!" He winks.

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

It was Friday evening and you were so excited to see Eddie; in every thought of yours he was ransacking your brain. He had invited you to Hellfire earlier in the week, but he was so close to the end of the campaign, you didn't want to jump in at the last minute. It wouldn't be long until a new campaign was started after all, and honestly you weren't sure about him having all the control.

He was picking you up from your house at 7pm, and you were in your room in the basement trying to decide what to wear. You did enjoy having the space to yourself, foster parents were hardly ever there, and you basically had a self contained apartment, minus a kitchen, with your own door in and out. You had told Eddie to knock at the back door since no one else was at home.

Standing there, looking down on your bed in a tartan kilt skirt and your bra, trying to decide what top to wear.

It's literally two band t shirts, why is this difficult.

You finally decide on the Poison T shirt and slip it on, tying it at the waist to accentuate your figure. Stepping over to the small shelf and precariously balanced mirror that serves as your vanity, you attend to your curls, spraying hair spray and singing along to the music you had playing. The song changed on the cassette and you hear Bad Company, Can't get Enough start to play. Smiling to your self you start to sway to it, singing along. Pretty soon you start dancing around the room, singing breathily, "well I'll take, whatever I want, and baby, I want you..." Really getting into the music, you're dancing away, oblivious to your surroundings, singing aloud as you love to do, hips swaying. "Well its late, and I want love, love that's gonna break me in two..."

"You mean that princess?"

You let out a shriek, feet nearly leaving the floor as you jump at the unexpected voice. Eddie's sitting at the top of the stairs to the basement, giggling like a kid, having sneaked in from the back door.

"Fuck Eddie, you scared the hell out of me!"

"Sorry princess " He chuckles, "but I heard singing and I had to listen. Didn't know I was gonna get a private show." He wiggles his eyebrows at you mischievously.

He stands up and walks over to you, grinning from ear to ear. You blush, realising you had been gyrating your hips in such a carefree manner, blissfully unaware of his presence for a moment. He takes your hips in his hands. You wish you could bottle the look on his face, the want in his eyes is intense, the chemistry between you palpable.

"You don't need to be embarrassed sweetheart, that was really something." He says lowly, kissing you, need written all over his features.

You almost forget you are supposed to be mad at him for coming in unannounced, enveloping yourself in the feel of him, the taste of him. You break from the kiss reluctantly, trying to tear yourself away from his magnetism.

"You should really learn to knock Munson."

"You should keep your door locked. Lots of weirdos around here." He pulls a manic face at you, tongue hanging out.

You laugh at him and kiss him again, swinging your arms around his neck. Eddie smiles at you, "so this is the princesses castle, huh? Your parents home?"

"Foster parents. No, they're out."

Eyes widening, Eddie looks at you but you look away, not quite ready for that conversation. He presses a kiss to your temple.

Breaking from your hold he walks around the room, looking at the posters on the walls, the books on your shelf, a tower of precariously balanced cassettes. He runs his hands over your meagre belongings, your life. You cant help but stare at those large hands of his, thinking about them on your ass, your thighs, your throat. A flush threatens to creep up your neck.

"So did you mean it?" Eddie asks, his face serious for a moment.

"What?" You shake yourself out of your revelry and stare at him in confusion.

"You seemed quite certain about it a minute ago, 'love that's gonna break you in two'?" He grins at you wolfishly, but there is a questioning edge to his voice.

Embarrassed, your cheeks flush again, but you smile back at him, "today might be your lucky day Munson."

Eddies face is a picture. He picks you up and spins you round, yelling excitedly. You giggle and cling to his neck.

"Well what are we waiting for?"

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

It was a couple of hours later and you were laying next to Eddie in his room on top of the covers, having just eaten what felt like your entire weight in pizza. Eddie was sitting up cross legged, shirtless, rolling a joint. You don't quite know how he had lost his shirt, but you certainly weren't complaining. Sneakily you were gazing up at him, looking at his lean frame, watching the muscles knot in his shoulders. Your gaze transferred to his face, that look of concentration that warmed your heart, his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth. A movie was playing, an awful horror b movie but your view was much more interesting. God, he's mesmerising.

He finishing rolling and handed it to you.

"Milady."

"Well what an honour good Sir!" You say back, taking the joint and putting it to your lips, motioning at Eddie to pass you the lighter. He flicks the lighter and holds the flame close, then pulls it away at the last minute. You huff at him, joint hanging from your mouth. He leans forward, and does it again! Pushing at him playfully you grab for the lighter as he holds it up in the air away from you.

"Aw come on Munson, no fair!" You jump up then and crawl in his lap, extending your arm to reach. He laughs at your feeble attempt, and you stand on the bed in front of him to grab it triumphantly and look down at Eddie.

He is not paying the slightest attention. His focus has been taken by your very short skirt at his eye level. You go to sit down again but he grabs the back of your thighs and leans into you, starting to kiss and lick. Moaning at the sensation, his hands wander up your skirt, onto your ass. He groans then. Eddie's utterly enthralled by you. Transfixed.

"You're wearing a thong, what are you doing to me sweetheart." Flipping your skirt up and cranking his neck, he tries to look at your ass.

You giggle and wiggle free, sitting on the bed cross legged in front of him, lighting the joint. "You are such a joker baby."

"And you are a tease." He smirks. A point we made. You take another drag then hand the joint to him.

Passing it back and forth, you enjoy a  comfortable silence, when he suddenly jumps up, surprising you.

"Shit I forgot. I got you a present!" He rummages through a drawer. "Here." Thrusting a small bundle of fabric at you. You open it up, intrigued. It's a Hellfire T shirt. You grin, looking at the design.

"Dustin will not shut up about you, so you have to come to the next one." He beams at you.

"That's adorable." You grin back, cheeks flushed.

"Turn it over, come on, look at the back!" He's practically bouncing.

You do. In smaller print, across the back in a cursive script, was the word Princess.

"Seriously? You are an ass." He laughs and drags you towards him for a kiss, pulling you into his lap.

"Are you trying to brand me Munson?"

He clings to your hips, enjoying the feel of you in his lap. Never want to let you go sweetheart.

"Hardly a brand, wait til I get a tattoo gun." He wiggles his eyebrows at you, "got to let everyone know your mine."

You look into his eyes and sit back a little on his legs, undoing the knot you had put in your T shirt, pulling it over your head. Your black lace bra is on display and Eddie is mesmerised, swallowing hard. Pulling the Hellfire t shirt on, you notice it's a little shorter, exposing just a sliver of midriff. You can faintly see the outline of your dark bra through the material.

"Its a little tight Eddie."

"I bet it is." He runs his finger across the exposed skin on your belly, biting his bottom lip.

"Eddie!" The grin on his features looks dipped in sin.

He leans towards you and runs his tongue where his fingers were, planting soft kisses, slowly lifting the hem of your top, planting open mouthed kisses on your midriff. His palms press into your hips and you feel the bite of his cold rings in your flesh, the feeling you've been waiting for.

He picks you up and lifts you, placing you on the bed on your back, beneath him. His head is between your legs as his hand starts rubbing up the inside of your thighs whist he is trailing kisses down your body. You moan low in your throat. Tendrils of arousal creep over your skin, blossoming from each touch from his rough hands.

Eddie groans into your legs. "Fuck, I really want to taste you sweetheart."

He looks up at you for confirmation. You smile and nod at him.

He carefully lifts up your skirt, taking in the sight of your little black panties. He gently runs his index finger down the front of them, rubbing softly. "These are pretty."

You moan back, moving your hips, trying to get more contact. You need to feel his touch desperately. He reaches under your skirt with both hands to pull your underwear down as you lift yourself up to help him. For a moment he just looks at you, taking it all in.

He moves towards you, leaning in and you feel his breath on your pussy. You nearly shake with anticipation and nerves. He plants a kiss just above, and stops.

"Is this still ok?" He looks up, searching your eyes.

You look down at him, slightly breathless, biting your lip. "Please Eddie, I want this." Eddie wishes he could take a picture and preserve the way you look forever.

You immediately feel his tongue run all the way up you then, starting to lap at your slit. You whimper at the feeling. It's so intense. He starts sucking on your clit with fervour, massaging it with his tongue.

"Holy Shit Eddie!" You cry out.

He grins into you, moving his thumb to replace his tongue, tracing patterns over you. "I've been thinking about doing this all day."

"I've never, fuck, I've never let anyone... do this before." You manage to say, enjoying the moment but embarrassed at the same time.

"Well I must be the luckiest guy in the fucking world." And he buries his face into you, licking and sucking, eating you out like you were his last meal. You're dripping wet, from your own juices as well as his tongue, you cant help but writhe on the bed, your back arching, the dirtiest moans exploding from your mouth.

He pushes two fingers into you suddenly and you gasp, your pussy clenching down on them, eager to have something inside of you. He sucks at your clit whilst he curls his fingers into your sweet spot almost immediately, and you are so overwhelmed by the glorious feeling that tears spring into your eyes.

There's no warning. You are suddenly riding your climax like an enormous wave, crying out his name, the pleasure coursing through your every vein. The only word you seem to know or want to say is his name, over and over, as if you were praying. It certainly feels like a religious experience. His fingers stay inside you, curling up to the hilt, and he's on his knees, watching you orgasm. You finally sink back down into the bed and he removes his hand from you, sitting back onto his heels, eyes shining.

Definitely falling for her.

"That ok princess?"

You manage a breathless nod, still gripping onto the pillow with your hands, pink faced and gasping.

"I could watch you cum over and over. Shit you are loud. Beautiful." he chuckles, his breath taken away by your reaction to him.

You babble something, incapable of words just yet. He grins at his handiwork and wipes his mouth, reaching over for the half a joint in the ashtray. He takes a hit and puts it to your lips. You take a long toke, hold it in, then breathe out.

"That's my girl. You want another one?" You still cant speak, just nod feebly and pucker your mouth. He laughs and puts the joint back in and let's you take another hit.

After a few minutes you manage to sit up a bit. He's smiling smugly at you.

"I don't think I've ever cum that hard in all my life." You say to him truthfully. He beams at you, so proud of himself, and lays next to you, cuddling you. He looks at you, brow furrowed, like he has something on his mind.

"You know you said you hadn't done that before... are you...." the question lingers in the air.

"No. I'm not a virgin if that's what you mean."

"Oh, ok, just skipped a step?"

"Yes. No. I mean, it's just, that is really..   intimate."

"And fucking isn't?"

You giggle at that. "Not in the same way. Going down on me, I don't know it just makes me feel, vulnerable. It's intimate in a different way, you know?"

"I can understand that." He nuzzles into your shoulder.

You turn to him and start undoing his belt and pulling his jeans off. He kicks them off his feet like they offend him and you feel his bulge through his boxers whilst you are kissing at his neck.

"You're really hard."

"You're really pretty."

Smiling, he pulls your top off, then your skirt. Unwrapping you slowly, like you are a gift. He holds you close, undoing your bra. It falls away, leaving you naked in his arms. You look up at him through your lashes, suddenly feeling shy. He lifts your chin and stares into your eyes. "You are really pretty. You look incredible right now." He kisses you full on the lips. Eddie's looking at you, his heart brimming. Is this even happening Munson?

"You're the pretty one, my pretty boy." You stroke his face. He beams at you.

'Ya think so?"

"Yep, super pretty."

You kiss him back, a long lingering kiss. Could this feeling go on forever? He strokes your hair and pulls you in tighter. You could stay like this for hours, held in his arms, the world around you melting away, insignificant compared to his touch. He runs his hands over you, stroking your skin, making your hairs stand on end.

Starting to kiss his neck, you leave little kitten licks, and move your way to his earlobe. You take it into your teeth and bite it gently, one hand tugging at his hair. He groans at that, leaning his head back, reaching to your exposed breast, tentatively rubbing your nipple.

"Oh fuck, Eddie," You run your hand slowly down his naked torso, lightly scratching with your nails, making your way to the band of his boxers. Your other hand scouts into his hair, entwining into his locks.

"Seems unfair, why aren't you naked?" You whisper in his ear.

"Because I'm clearly an idiot" he says to you, and pulls the boxers off in one swift motion, clearly very eager. You giggle, until you look down, frozen.

"Eddie, that's... impressive." You say to him, taking his dick into your hand, feeling the sheer girth of the thing. Its smooth, and rock solid. You can see the veins throbbing. You roll it into your hand slowly, rubbing lazily over it, examining it, unaware that he is unravelling underneath your careless touch.

"Fuck princess... I- fuck."

You look up and see his face, head tipped back in bliss, mouth open. Without thinking, You lean forward and take the tip of his cock into your mouth, running your tongue around in circles.

"Princess holy shit you're gonna kill me!" You laugh as he pulls you away, his stomach muscles clenching. "Seriously if you do that I'm just gonna cum right now." He looks at you hungrily, as if you were a meal for him to devour.

"Now that would be a damn shame. Do you have a condom?"

"Of course Milady, can't have you riding the knight without your steed!"

"Oh my God you nerd!"

You giggle as he jumps up and grabs them from his bedside, ripping one open with his teeth. He takes it out and rolls it down his length, rubbing it a couple of times.

"Lie back princess."

You snort and push him against the headboard.

"I thought you said I was riding? You lie back." And before he can say a word you're straddling him, his thighs between your legs. You hold his length and spit on it, rubbing your makeshift lube over his dick.

"Fuck that's filthy sweetheart." Eddie doesn't think he's ever been so turned on in his life.

Cockily you smile at him, moving onto his lap, your slit rubbing against his swollen member.

You look into his eyes, searching. "You sure you want this?"

"Aren't I suppose to be saying that? Of course I do, look at you, you're perfect."

You look deep into his eyes and slowly take his throbbing member into you, inch by inch, grapping his shoulder tightly for balance. You both moan in unison. He's stretching you, and you cry out softly. You keep pushing down until there's no more to take, utterly full.

"My God, Eddie..." tears start to form in your eyes.

"Hey, princess what's wrong?" His face is a picture of concern, holding his hand to your cheek.

"You're fucking... big Eddie." He cant help but smirk at that, stroking your arm.

"Its ok, it's ok, just, wait a minute. Just relax."

You feel your walls relaxing slightly, and you start to slowly rock into him. He feels incredible inside you, impossibly deep.

"Sweetheart, you feel, amazing. You're so fucking tight, wow." His voice is rough, heady, filled with lust. He grabs you by the hips and increases your pace. You squeal, grinding into him, your sopping wet pussy making downright pornographic noises. You join in, moaning and mewling, crying out his name.

Full on bouncing on his dick, Eddie looks so fucked out underneath you. Hair is plastered to his face, sweat covering his brow. He can't decide between staring at your lust blown eyes, watching your tits, or watching your pussy suck him in on each bounce.

You ride him harder, faster, grinding down so your clit is rubbing against him, adding to the pleasure. You feel fireworks, intense explosions of pleasure rocking into your body, crashing all around you. You scream his name, tears falling from your eyes, coming hard. Looking into his eyes, his face is pleading with you. It's a moment you wish could stretch on forever.

"Princess you're squeezing so tight, I'm gonna...fuck."

"Its ok Eddie, fuck me. I want to feel you cum." He moans loudly at that, holding you to him.

"Sorry princess, I just need to..." he pushes you down so that he's on top of you, and pushes your knees in the air. His pulsating member is pushing into your sweet spot making you see stars as he rolls his hips into you.

Your hand finds his, interlocking fingers as your other drags nails across his back. His movements start to become sloppy and you move your hips up to meet his thrusts, feeling him quiver above you, thrusting twice more before collapsing on you with a low groan, utterly spent.

You lie there, wrapped around him, arms, legs, just holding on. He looks at you, raises one hand to move a stray hair out of your face.

"That was... "

"Intense?" You supply, smirking at him, slightly breathless.

"Yeah you could say that, Jesus Christ." He moves and slides out of you, so he can dispose of the condom, then re-joins you in a tangle on the bed. He turns again to look at you. "I was gearing up to be all soft, I should have known you were gonna be a freak." He grinned. You hit him playfully on the arm.

"You have absolutely no idea Munson."

"Mmph" Eddie's laying there, grinning, eyes closed, stroking your side, thinking if there is a heaven, this is it.

"So you have a license for that?" You ask, smirking to yourself.

"For what?" Eddie asks, his eyes still closed.

"That fucking weapon you have between your legs." You tickle his side gently.

Eddie laughs and pulls you in closer, smelling your hair. "Now you can come over more often sweetheart, just to boost my ego." He kisses you on the forehead. 

Yeah, feels like heaven. 

Tag List- If you want to be tagged please comment/reblog with a note thanks ILY

@toobsessedsstuff @tayhar811 @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @somnobun @emiluvmybf @muzic-1d-luva @damon-loves-pie @wonderful-outcast @micheledawn1975 @persephone13 @alana4610 @alwaysbeenfamous @eddiesprincess86

Masterlist

#eddie x you #eddie munson x you #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #ms gexy writes #stranger things smut #stranger things fan fic #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson au #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #stranger things 4 #eddie munson #stranger things season 4 #eddie fan fic #eddie munson fandom #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie imagine #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female!reader

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Wicked Roommates 8/8

Liz Burns | Tiefling

And They Were Roommates…

Features: Skin | Skin Overlay | Tattoo | Teeth | Tail | Wings | Horns | Nails | Earrings | Eyeshadow | Eyeliner | Blush | Lips

Everyday: Hair | Dress | Boots Formal: Hair, Dress & Hairpiece | Heels Athletic: Hair | Bodysuit & Shoes | Socks Sleep: Hair | Shorts Party One: Hair | Dress | Bracelet | Heels Party Two: Top | Skirt | Bracelet | Boots | Blood SplatterSwimwear: Hair | Bottoms Hot: Hair | Top | Shorts | Belt | Heels Cold: Hair | Headphones | Jacket | Skirt | Boots

What? You've never met a partial demon before? Don't worry, Liz often doesn't bite. Liz enjoys embracing her flirtatious nature and breaking as many hearts as possible. She doesn't plan on any long-term serious relationships so if you're looking to have some fun, she is the right girl for you. Her intentions may be... a bit evil at heart, but she ensures that she is in it for the fun. Feeling a bit flirty? This Tiefling can show you a fun time if you buy her the right drink.

Thank you cc creators <3

@lamatisse @regina-raven @northernsiberiawinds @pralinesims @thekunstwollen @caio-cc @jius-sims @lady-moriel @belaloallure3 @pyxiidis @yooniesim @astya96cc @zeussim @anxiousmoodlet @christopher067 @valley-tulya @greenllamas @serenity-cc @gerbithats

#ts4 cc #ts4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 #sims4 #ts4 custom content #ts4cc #look #lookbook #tiefling #tieflng #ts4 ocs #sims 4 ocs #ocs #sims 4 cc #cc sims 4

[mastermatoyas]

Okay! So now that I’ve met all most of the Sun Haven romance candidates, I’m gonna make a post about my thoughts for my friends and followers so I can decide who I’m actually gonna marry in this game.

Long post under the cut!

Lucia is pretty rad! She’s got a lot of confidence, but isn’t arrogant or rude, which I really admire. So far she doesn’t seem that interested in romance, though, so it’s hard to see her as a marriage candidate. She’s still in the running!

Liam and Lynn are both the sweet and shy type, which is nice, but... not that interesting to me as a romance option. So I think I’ve eliminated them from the running.

Anne fucking rules but she is a capitalist, so it’s a no from me.

Catherine is very sweet and also is a hot bunny lady, but I haven’t gotten to know her that well yet. Still in the running!

Nathaniel is adorable. We love a true knight. For some reason I’ve been racking up heart points with him really easily, too. Definitely a contender. Look at that beard.

Jun is the town counselor, and he is overwhelmingly sweet and sincere at all times. I do dig the goth vibe, especially with the earrings. A contender.

Okay I’m still not sure if Claude is meant to actually be a vampire or just looks like one. Either way I’m into it. A contender.

I love Kitty’s design, and the fact that her hobbies include getting stuck in trees and eating raw fish. We stan. However, she ends every sentence with “nya” and I cannot deal with that. Not a contender.

Wornhardt! All I know about him so far is that he’s a doctor. Probably not a contender unless he does something interesting soon.

Darius! Rude asshole prince. He sucks. Definitely a contender.

Donovan. Lives in a sewer which is not ideal, but he is an absolute bro, so he’s a contender on that alone.

Xyla. Hot demon lady who keeps calling me a sewer rat. Definitely a contender.

Iris! I only interacted with her once. Her tattoos are cool. I know nothing else about her. Weirdly femme for someone who lives in the woods. In the “maybe” category.

Vaan! I also have only met him once so far. Also has cool tattoos, also in the maybe category.

Wesley. He is an elf and he is rude. Probably not a contender.

Kai! I found this guy washed up on the beach. He has no memories. Definitely a contender. Just look at him. Hot snake man.

Vivi! I realised partway through making this post that I actually haven’t met this character yet. Oh well! I like her design, so I’ll leave her as a maybe.

Current tally:

Definite contenders: Kai, Xyla, Donovan, Darius, Jun, Claude, Catherine, Nathaniel

Maybe: Vivi, Wesley, Vaan, Iris, Wornhardt, Lucia

No: Kitty, Anne, Liam, Lynn

Stay tuned as I try to narrow this down further!

#sun haven

[100s-of-random-things]

I saw that you have a descendants oc named Trace.

If you don't mind telling, what are they like and who's kid are they?

Here's Trace's info:

Full Name: Trace Francis Tremaine

Alternate Names: Noble Of Unholiness, BLT (short for Bad Little Trace), Li'l Reaper (by older members of the Hell Raisers, a motorcycle club his father leads), Bike Boy (by Uma), Tracey Boy (by Harry), Traitor (by his arch enemy Zac, the son of Yzma, who I'll also have information on)

Gender: Male

Age: 15

Eye Color: Gray

Hair Color: Blonde

Skin Color: Pale

Family: Lady Tremaine (grandmother), Sir Francis Tremaine (deceased grandfather), Travis Tremaine (father), Francine Tremaine (desceased mother whose maiden name is unknown), Drizella Tremaine (aunt), Anastasia Tremaine (aunt), Dizzy Tremaine (cousin), Anthony Tremaine (cousin)

Sexuality: Straight

Profession: Hell Raisers MC VP (formerly), Student at Auradon Prep (currently)

Personality: Loving, nice, friendly, sweet, kind, caring, gentle, loyal, down to earth, generous, reliable, humble, honest, romantic, charismatic, humorous, witty, clever, polite, intelligent, stubborn, protective, hot tempered, shy (sometimes), brutal (sometimes), maniacal (sometimes), scary (sometimes), violent (sometimes)

Love Interest: Mad Maddy (ex-girlfriend), CJ Hook (one-sided crush on her side), Razelle Fitzherbert (daughter of Rapunzel and Eugene Fitzherbert) (girlfriend)

Allies: Mal, Evie, Jay, Carlos, Dizzy, Celia, Ben, Doug, Jane, Lonnie, Razelle, Maria (daughter of Merida), Anti-Heroes Club

Enemies: Chad, Audrey (formerly), Jordan, Uma's Pirate Crew, Mad Maddy's Crew, Tina (daughter of Tinker Bell), Zac's Crew

Pet: Scarlett (daughter of Scar, pet lion cub)

Powers & Abilities: Hand-to-hand combat, marksmanship, driving, mediumship, high intelligence, athleticism, technological expertise

Possessions: Motorcycle, biker chain necklace, knife, various firearms

Movies: Descendants, Descendants 2, Descendants 3, Descendants: The Royal Wedding

Cartoons: Descendants: Wicked World

Books: The Isle Of The Lost, Return To The Isle Of The Lost, Rise Of The Isle Of The Lost, Escape From The Isle Of The Lost

Biker-themed VK.

A bit of a short dude at 5'7".

Wears a purple t-shirt, black denim vest, black bandana, black motorcycle gloves, ripped black jeans, a pair of old black and white sneakers, and a biker chain necklace in the first movie.

Wears a black t-shirt, black biker durag, purple denim jacket, purple jeans, and black tennis shoes in the second movie.

Keeps the gloves and necklace for that one.

Wears another black t-shirt, purple motorcycle jacket, his original motorcycle gloves, black jeans that aren't ripped, and black steel-toe boots in the third movie.

Wears a black suit with a purple skeletal design on it at Ben's coronation.

Wears an inverted version of that suit at the cotillion.

Has tattoos on his hands and arms.

Has been friends with Mal since he was five.

Met Evie right around that same time.

Met Jay and Carlos when he was ten.

Rumored to have been taught hand-to-hand combat by his father Travis, Gaston, Shan Yu, and Captain Hook.

Rolls his eyes into the back of his head Undertaker-style to scare the living daylights out of people (that's if you know who the Undertaker is).

Has a high tolerance for pain.

Is also close with Hayden, the son of Hades, and Eddie Balthazar.

Was quite the chick magnet at Dragon Hall.

His symbol is two Grim Reaper scythes crossing over each other to form a cross.

Is religious but not Claude Frollo-level religious.

His first line in Rotten To The Core goes, "You call me unkind. You call me cruel. But I do not mind. I think it's cool."

His second line goes, "People fear me here... for a reason. Why would they come near... this one demon?"

What do you think?

#descendants #disney descendants #descendants 2 #descendants 3 #descendants oc #disney #descendants original character #anastasia tremaine #dizzy tremaine #lady tremaine #anthony tremaine #drizella tremaine #disney descendants oc #oc #oc stuff #answered asks #original characters #original character

[redisaid]

Beneath the Blue Moon - Chapter 4

New

In which I let the top two of one of the questions win because it’s fun. Poor Jaina.

6574 Words

Read it on Ao3!

But if I made my bed,

Did I make the demons in it?

Set 'em free from my head,

Did I make the demons in it?

She dreamed. She remembered. Sylvanas knew it was both but wished to acknowledge neither. She wished reality and timeliness into the way Jaina’s languid body felt against hers. She wished for a sunlit and perfect morning in Quel’thalas--in her bed at the Spire. Their legs tangled together in the silken sheets. The smell of coffee on Jaina’s breath as she sighed and dozed.

It had been real, once. It had been a thing she rejected for a long time. An experience that no longer applied to her--to a wretched being with a broken soul. A dead thing. A shattered piece of fine porcelain, never to be called fine again. Only a thing that should have been buried and forgotten. The dead do not love. They do not long. They are only dead.

But she had been so alive then, in these moments. So alive even as her fingers ghosted over her lover’s soft skin, and her thoughts were as simple as whether or not they should stick to the promise of the bath, or if she should let Jaina sleep and then rouse her again for it later. Maybe with her mouth. Maybe with her hand. If only to see the sleepiness turn to surprise and delight at what either might do for her, and a reminder of what they had a lifetime left to explore.

In that moment, as she had many others in their short time together, Sylvanas found herself drawn to Jaina’s hand. She reached across her to take it in hers, thumbing the glowing mark that bound them. A crescent moon.

“Mm, will you ever tire of touching it?” Jaina asked, inches away from sleep. Her voice carried the weight of that impending nap in an adorable way--soft but scratchy.

“I don’t think so,” Sylvanas told her.

Their mark was like any other, but it was theirs. It was made up of swirling lines and patterns they formed, unique as a fingerprint and just as organic in its construction.

Sylvanas was often curious about her mark as a child. Most elves wore theirs somewhere on their face. Old tradition favored kissing one’s partner on or near the eye. Indeed, her parents had both worn their matching marks across their eyes, just as Alleria did. Old custom suggested to tattoo across the other eye, just as Alleria did. But Sylvanas had been born with a mark on her wrist, and had endured the teasing cries of “Lady Moon” from her friends and family since.

Yet she would not change it. Not for anything. Not for the world. The moment that Jaina had set it alight was so sweet and perfect. So uniquely her--or them. And even as Sylvanas held her body to her own, it felt very much as if thereafter, it would be them. Always them.

And while it was strange to consider that, it was also lovely to know she wouldn’t be alone. Not anymore.

“Sleep, love,” she bade Jaina. “We have all day.”

But the room was hot. Too hot, even, for a summer in Quel’thalas. And summers at the Spire smelled of flowers and greenery and the sea--not of smoke.

Jaina roused. In the dream she roused. In reality, she had slept. Sylvanas knew this, yet watched as her soulmate slid from the silk of the sheets to look out the window.

“Don’t look,” were the words that whispered from her own mouth.

Jaina--perfect in every way--her hair golden as the sun, freckled skin, soft curves belying a surprising, lithe strength, lifted herself from the bed and toward the window.

“Please, don’t look,” Sylvanas begged, reaching for her.

Jaina held up her hand to the glass of the great window in Sylvanas’ room. It was large and picturesque, framed in swirling gold. It should have looked out over the forest below, over a sea of golden leaves trapped in an endless and perfect picture of autumn.

But instead, the blue moon on Jaina’s hand shown in stark contrast to a view of Teldrassil, burning. Just beside the splay of her fingers, Sylvanas could see figures--tiny in the distance, but not small enough that they could not be distinguished. She picked out herself, standing over the dying Delaryn Summermoon, mocking her.

“Please. Don’t see me.”

Sylvanas awoke to the taste of regret and bile in her mouth. Instinctively, she sputtered black liquid. A hand reached with a rag to wipe from her chin.

“What do you mean? She’s been like this for hours and you didn’t think to alert us?” a voice demanded from behind her ear.

“The Dark Lady did not wish anyone to know of our dealings,” a deeper voice replied from somewhere above her. “Her orders are clear to me.”

Signe. Sylvanas took a moment to recognize it, but was certain that her val’kyr spoke to whoever was holding her up.

She took stock of her body, of a dull pain in her shoulder and another from the awkward position in which she was held, clearly dragged hastily from the floor.

“Damn her orders!” another voice shouted from in front of her--unmistakably Nathanos from the bravado alone. “What happened to her?”

“She is well,” Signe assured whoever else was present.

The room felt full. Sylvanas knew this without even opening her eyes. The captain’s cabin was well-appointed, but small. The sounds of the voices didn’t echo right. They bounced off of huddled bodies, not wood and furniture.

“Bullshit,” the voice behind her noted.

Clea. Yes, it had to be Clea. Her field medic of old. Of course she would be the one to be wiping the ichor form Sylvanas’ chin, and holding her steady so she didn’t choke on it.

Clea continued to note the current state of her. “She’s bleeding, Signe. I’m not sure how significant you consider that, but to us, blood is rather important.”

It was debatable, Sylvanas noted in the parts of her mind that were waking up. She bled when injured, yes, but her blood was thick and black. Her heart did not beat for the use of it. What good could it possibly do her? How necessary could it be?

Signe offered no response to this. She simply hovered, wings flapping soundlessly. Her presence was a thin tie to Sylvanas’ being--a small and steadfast thing.

“Help me with her armor,” Clea bade someone who knelt beside her.

“I’m fine,” Sylvanas finally barked out, startled for a moment by the duality of her voice. In the dream, it had been normal. It had felt so real.

“Oh good, she’s awake then,” Clea snorted, ignoring the proclamation and continuing to try to undo the straps to Sylvanas’ pauldron, along with another pair of hands.

“Leave me be,” Sylvanas groaned, swatting at them both. “Don’t make me make that an order.”

“There are more of us and only one of you,” Clea reminded her as the pauldron clattered to the floor. “And your shoulder has been run through. What were you doing, Sylvanas?”

Medics. They all ought to be hung from insubordination. Traitors and liars and torturers, all of them.

“I’ve had worse, Ranger. Leave me,” Sylvanas commanded, not really expecting it would change much.

She just wanted to sleep. She was so tired. So deeply, bone tired. Sleep called to her from the back of her mind, demanding satiation for an exhaustion that knew no end.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Clea told her, forcefully attentive as ever. “Were you injured elsewhere? And what in Belore’s name were you doing? Vorel, go get some fresh bandages. Velonara, post up and make sure no one else enters this chamber. Nathanos, I’d ask you to do something, but you seem like you have something to say.”

“Just treat her,” Nathanos spat. “What she’s done to earn such a wound isn’t your business.”

It should have been. They knew so little. Sylvanas kept most of them in the dark about her plans these days. Once, she had told these people everything. They were like family to her, when she had no family other than distant Vereesa to turn to. Her Rangers. Her battlefield kin. She’d lied to them by omission so many times now.

Funny, how that fact had never stung so much before. The cold logic of it had been a comfort. Now it was edged with shame.

“I was being foolish,” was the only answer Sylvanas could think to give them.

“Open your eyes then, fool,” Clea requested as she shifted around her, leaving Sylvanas to sit up on her own once she felt assured she could and then going to kneel in front of her. “I need to be sure you haven’t concussed yourself as well.”

Sylvanas did as instructed, knowing Clea wouldn’t leave her alone until she did. Her vision was filled with the other woman--her Dark Ranger in dark leathers. Clea’s hair had been a brilliant butter blonde in life, but had faded into near white in death, when she’d cut it short, perhaps out of a desire to forget that. Her eyes were a piercing crimson, and her pale brows furrowed almost comically for their length.

At least they did, until they flew up in surprise.

“What--what happened?” Clea demanded, then turned upward to ask, “Signe, what did you do to her?”

“Our Dark Lady has done this to herself,” Signe offered, floating into the frame of Sylvanas’ vision. “She has freed herself.”

“What does that mean?” Marrah, who was busy working at Sylvanas’ other pauldron now, demanded from beside her as she too took on a look of shock.

Clea didn’t keep her surprise long, as it furrowed back to concern before she reached out to trace Sylvanas’ cheek, just beneath her eye. “Why are they blue? Her eyes were never blue.”

“What?” was all Sylvanas could manage to say to that. “Speak plain Clea.”

“You speak plain,” Clea spat back, poking dangerously close to her eye now. “What did you do to make your eyes blue? Where did you go? What the hell did you free yourself from?”

Hell itself was the answer. Maybe. She’d never been certain. She’d only known that death brought her to darkness, to Zovaal’s feet, begging for a better fate. Begging for rest, not torment. Begging for a thing she did not understand then that she lacked.

The gem that held her soul fragments had been a bright, glowing blue. Like Clea’s eyes had been in life. Like Alleria’s. Like Father’s. Like her soulmark and the spires of old Silvermoon, before it was ruined.

Sylvanas laughed. It burst from her unbidden--a joyful sound that bubbled up and then closed off just as quickly. A victory followed by the bittersweet of reality.

She was whole again, and that was terrifying.

“Why are they blue, Signe?” Sylvanas asked quietly.

She looked around the room, waiting on the val’kyr to answer. Of her Rangers, only Marrah, Clea, and Nathanos remained. Velonara had followed the order to guard the door. Vorel had run off for those bandages. Anya was in the field, as were several others with her.

Areiel…Areiel was dead now. Killed by the Alliance last week. But she had never been hollow. Sylvanas could only hope that was enough to keep her spirit away from the twisting torture that was Torghast, and Zovaal’s wretched realm.

“I do not know,” the val’kyr finally replied. She floated near the table where Derek Proudmoore’s body still lay. “Perhaps to mark your victory, Dark Lady. Perhaps to let others know you have been restored.”

“Restored how? Will someone answer me?” Clea demanded, looking between both Sylvanas and Signe.

Sylvanas would not. Not yet, at least. Because a more pressing thought had occurred to her in that moment.

The memory of another shade of glowing blue haunted her like the strange sensation of sleepiness that still lingered on the edge of her mind. The exhaustion of it all, so faint yet so profound.

Sylvanas began tearing at her gauntlet, trying to unfasten it as fast as she possibly could.

“What are you doing now? Did you fuck up your hand too? Gods, Sylvanas. You’re going to make me call in the apothecaries,” Clea went on.

“Don’t you dare,” Sylvanas told her, struggling with the last strap. “Not yet. Not now.”

Not now indeed, for what would they say if they saw what she saw when the gauntlet finally fell away? When her hand was free, flexing, clenching into a fist beneath a soulmark that burned blue for the first time in thirteen years.

The sight of it caused Marrah to drop her pauldron and scramble backwards a few feet. Clea, however, was steadfast and just as angry, if not more.

“What the fuck. What the absolute fuck,” she stammered. “Will you tell us? Please, will you tell us what happened?”

Jaina was asleep, Sylvanas realized. Jaina was exhausted. She ached. She pushed herself so hard. She slept just as hard.

And Sylvanas was so sure that she would hate to find out what had happened to her too, when she woke. A groan escaped her lips, as unbidden as the laugh had been.

Her mind flashed to images of Jaina looking at the tree as it burned and burned and burned. Watching the scene play from afar, but somehow too close, as if it had been rendered for her in some grotesque miniature. Sylvanas had woken before she could turn to look back at her. Would she do so with pity in her eyes, or rage?

Rage, Sylvanas decided. Rage deserved. Now that she had her salvation, she wasn’t sure it was worth the price.

“Leave me,” she commanded again, barely a whisper.

“Fat chance,” Clea replied. “Tell us what happened.”

“Clea, you are out of line,” Nathanos butted in.

“No one asked you, Nathanos! Will you ever stop sucking up and think for yourself for a moment?” Clea snapped back at him, then turned to Sylvanas, gathering her now bare shoulders in her hands. “Please, Sylvanas. Please tell us something.”

Her hands were still cold. Cold on cold. Sylvanas’ eyes must have changed, but the rest of her had not. She was still dead. Still pale and wretched. Her heart did not beat. Black blood ran down her arm like tar and stained the corners of her mouth.

Sylvanas spared a glance at Signe, and finding no answer in the val’kyr’s covered face, attempted her own. “I have told you of the master I serve, who offers freedom from the cruelty of our deaths. Well, I do not serve him now, or at least I suspect he will not want me to. Not after I’ve refused him and taken back what is mine.”

“You’ve told us little of this master, save that he deals in extremes,” Clea replied, squeezing at Sylvanas’ shoulders a bit. “And death. What did he have of yours?”

“Guess, Clea,” Sylvanas bade her, looking her straight in the eye.

She could see it now, the blue reflecting in the red of Clea’s eyes. Wrong and unnatural, even for an elf. But different. It was different than before.

“Your soul?” Clea ventured, looking between the blue eyes and the blue moon on Sylvanas’ wrist. “Your fucking soul?”

“Hands of a healer, mind of a magister, mouth of a sailor, and yet you chose to be a Ranger,” Sylvanas laughed. She brought up her hands to gather Cleas, holding them for a moment.

She’d been young when she’d joined up with them, only in her sixties. Just as foul-mouthed then too. Aeriel often referred to her as the prettiest little thing with the ugliest little mouth. She’d once popped Anya’s elbow back into the socket after a less than successful surprise scrimmage with the Amani. Sylvanas could still remember the sound it made. How everyone in camp had winced from it. But not Clea. She’d laughed and told Anya to quit screaming about it.

Clea’s hands squeezed back at hers. “What the fuck,” she said, softer now.

“An explanation is in order,” Sylvanas noted, dropping Clea’s hands to inspect herself and the damage to her shoulder a little more. “But in due time when I can gather what I know to share with you. It is not as much as I’d like, but--”

“Wait,” Marrah said, stopping her as she finally regained herself and got into a kneeling position. “Your mark. Does that mean…”

Sylvanas looked between the two Rangers on the floor with her, Nathanos scowling above them, and Signe floating off towards the corpse on the table.

“It means what it means,” Sylvanas replied.

“It means Jaina Proudmoore now knows where you are and what you are doing,” Nathanos scowled.

“It doesn’t work like that,” Clea clapped back at him.

Her own soulmark was a silvery memorial at her temple. A swirling pattern that resembled a flame, one she’d shared for a good century with her magistrix wife, before the war and the Lich King took them both, and left only Clea to return from death’s embrace. How she’d screamed when she’d returned to her body, only to find the mark having turned. Clea was not hollow, but she was alone where she had not always been.

“It means many things, but Clea is correct,” Sylvanas told him. “But it means I should go to her.”

“Are you insane?” Clea asked. “Did getting your soul back from some dark lord knock your marbles loose? Sylvanas, Jaina is our enemy. She’s the Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras now, and about to pledge them to the Alliance.”

The truth hurt, though it was true. It stung with a ferocity that was new to Sylvanas. A chill touch that gripped her from the inside, turning a stomach that didn’t eat and a heart that didn’t beat, sinking claws into organs that were questionably vital now, but just as visceral. The hurt of it was overwhelming after years of what she understood to be emotional numbness. Not the absence, no, but the dulling of those feelings of connection.

And now she felt them abound as fierce as they had ever been. A love for her Rangers. A gratefulness for their loyalty.

But mostly regret. So much regret.

“Dark Lady,” Nathanos said, his gruff voice going quiet, and usual smug sneer dropping to the point where much of his lips were hidden beneath his beard as he spoke. “You are injured. Much has happened. Let’s think on this first.”

Marrah scooted closer, laying one hand on Sylvanas’ shoulder. “I’d imagine you want nothing more than to see her and…figure this out. But they’re right. Whatever has changed about you will not mend what has been done.”

What has been done. No, what she had done.

Sylvanas closed her eyes for a moment, and all she could see behind them was Jaina looking out over Teldrassil as it burned.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to wail in only the way she could--no doubt shattering the eardrums of half the occupants of the great harbor of Dazar’alor. Anger had never been a thing hidden from her or dulled, but anger at herself wasn’t something she’d felt for a long time.

Without all this, burning the tree had made sense. Blighting the Undercity. Raising new undead to her service. Standing by as Garrosh bombed Theramore. Watching Vol’jin slip away as he whispered her name as the next to lead, knowing that he would never have made that choice of his own will. Crimes of action and inaction. Zovaal’s grand plan and all it had promised her. Freedom. When there was nothing else left, the promise of freedom from it all seemed to be enough to motivate her to do anything.

Now that she had herself--her whole self and not just that righteous anger--she’d rather spend her eternity in chains than do it again.

And the burden of having done those things would be her chains. Each action, each plot, each time she looked the other way a link after a link. Fitting, then, that even escaping from Zovaal and his control and manipulation would keep her chained.

“No, it will not,” Sylvanas agreed.

But today. Today she could start anew. Through the stained-glass windows of the cabin, she could see the sun beginning to rise above the shimmering sea.

Sylvanas turned a bit to face it, despite the protests of her injured shoulder. The green glass had begun to alight with a sickly glow, casting Derek Proudmoore’s shriveled body into the image of how it had rested for so many years--beneath the depths in seaweed and wreckage.

“Nathanos,” Sylvanas said.

“Yes, Dark Lady?” he replied, ever faithful, if a bit too enthusiastic.

“Prepare this corpse for transport. A coffin of sorts would be preferred. Something respectful,” Sylvanas ordered.

“Weren’t you going to raise him?” Nathanos questioned. “I was so pleased when our champion located his body. He was perfect for your plan to--”

“The plan has changed,” Sylvanas cut him off.

While Nathanos seemed to offer confusion in return for this answer, or at least his silence spoke of that much, Sylvanas heard Marrah sigh with relief, and even caught her doing so visibly out of the corner of her eye.

“I fear what you see in my eyes now may have come at a grave price,” Sylvanas continued, turning back fully to face her Rangers again. “We can no longer afford to poke at the Alliance as if they were a nest of hornets. It doesn’t matter if Kul Tiras joins them or the Zandalari join us. Not anymore.”

“But, our efforts to disrupt--” Nathanos protested, huffing through his mustache.

“They don’t matter. I will explain in time,” Sylvanas assured him. “Horde and Alliance alike are nothing compared to the threat we’ll face if my thinking is right.”

Her thinking was dread. Pure dread. Her soul was hers, and her mind was her own, free from domination and manipulation, free from the guiding hand that saw her burning cities and killing innocents. But for that freedom, she would pay in more than just her regrets. Zovaal would not allow her otherwise, and though his reach didn’t extend far into the realm of the living, that didn’t mean he would not find a way to make that happen. It was only a matter of time.

Sylvanas had seen his minions. Mawsworn that looked like her val’kyr, only twisted and wrong. Huge constructs of metal and bone. Undead terrors that made her recall all too vividly her time in Arthas’ service. Vast armies of lost, wailing souls that would, just as she did, do anything to end their torment. Anything at all.

“I don’t know how much time we have, only that we must use it wisely,” Sylvanas said, once again scanning the room to address them all. “So Nathanos, you are going to package up Derek Proudmoore here, dead as he shall remain. You will deliver him to Boralus with a note I will draft, asking to meet the Alliance to negotiate a ceasefire, and with it, a discussion on our mutual disarmament of Azerite weaponry.”

“You want me…to bring a coffin to Proudmoore with her dead brother in it and ask for peace?” Nathanos asked, gesturing to his chest with wild, incredulous crimson in his eyes.

“Derek goes to the Alliance. If she so happens to be there to receive him, wonderful. To Jaina, I will draft another message. And as for you, bring a Horde champion with you when you go. At least the Alliance won’t shoot one of them on sight,” Sylvanas explained, then turned to where Marrah still gripped at her good shoulder. “Marrah, do you know where I might find some elven coffee? Good quality, from Silvermoon.”

“Lady Liadrin might have some with her in the city here,” Marrah offered. “She’s been known to drink gallons of the stuff.”

“Find her or find some elsewise,” Sylvanas requested, adding a nod to tell Marrah she was dismissed with the intent to do so right away.

Marrah needed no further prompting, and was quickly on her feet and out the door.

“Try to banish me, I dare you,” Clea said, turning her attentions to the wound running through Sylvanas’ shoulder again.

“I know better,” Sylvanas said. “Though you will leave me once this is seen to so that I might write those missives.”

“I suppose,” Clea offered.

Even Nathanos took this as his cue to stop questioning or complaining and strode behind them to heft Derek Proudmoore’s body over his shoulder. He was out the door soon enough as well.

“Signe,” Sylvanas said, addressing the silent val’kyr.

“Yes, Dark Lady?”

That steadfast presence of hers was once one of nine. Sylvanas watched as her sisters had fallen away, taking her place amidst the torment of the Maw so that she might continue on from death once again to fulfill Zovaal’s wishes in Azeroth. She wondered if they took pieces of her with them each time, stripping more and more of her away until what had been left was only a rotten core.

Now only Signe remained tied to her this way. What had happened to the other two that had fought the Jailer with her was hard to say. Sylvanas did not think these beings could die as mortals did. But she did think that whatever freedoms they had been offered in their binding of service to her were now gone.

“I don’t suppose you are able to safely traverse the planes anymore,” Sylvanas wondered aloud.

“If it is your will, I may,” Signe offered resolutely. “But he would not welcome my return.”

Sylvanas winced, both from Clea’s prodding at her shoulder and Signe’s reluctance to even use the Jailer’s name. “Then you shall remain in this one from now on, understood?”

“Yes, Dark Lady.”

“See to it then that Nathanos is following my instructions,” Sylvanas ordered her, mostly to clear the room.

Signe obeyed without question, gliding through the door without opening it to make way, her form as willingly spectral and corporeal as needed, not unlike a banshee.

Sylvanas shuddered briefly at the thought.

Vorel followed her, briefly delivering the bandages Clea had requested earlier before she sent her off for something else.

That was for the best. Vorel was one of the hollow ones. Sylvanas had seen her die at the tip of Frostmourne’s blade, not even a minute before she did herself. Her brave effort to stand before her Ranger General and the monster that would ruin them all had left her without her whole soul. She was not prone to anger as Sylvanas was, but a sullen silence. They’d maybe exchanged a dozen words in just as many years since she was raised again in undeath, whereas Vorel before was known for her jokes and her long, mostly exaggerated and outrageous stories.

Where then, did the Jailer keep her soul? The pieces of her that Arthas had so long ago stolen. The love and the laughter? Did it glow blue as Sylvanas’ had?

And more importantly, would there be a way for her to win them back?

Sylvanas’ mind raced with these questions. Worrying about other people and ordering them around had always made for good distractions. Easier to face than the prospect for what she must do now.

She watched as Clea bandaged her shoulder, tsking over the ragged state of the hole the chain had left behind. Both of them knew that undead flesh healed differently, and Sylvanas’ differently still. She would not rot or fester or suffer infection. Whatever magic had preserved her corpse for Arthas’ amusement still remained, and served to bring her to wholeness when and where it could. She would see that wound restored within a day or so, all thanks to a petty man and his petty desire to parade her body in front of the spirit he had ripped from it.

And so, so much more. So much worse.

“Sylvanas?” Clea asked as she fastened the ends of the bandage together.

“Yes?”

With her Rangers, she’d always bade them to call her by name. Those close to her, at least. Dark Lady or Ranger General alike were titles and honorifics to be reserved only for the presence of others and formal occasions. Among themselves, Sylvanas had asked them to consider her a friend and a comrade, nothing more.

Only a few of them seemed to remember this long standing request. Clea never forgot it.

“Whatever happened, however you explain it to us, which I hope you do, I’m glad it’s happened. It’s good to have you back.”

Clea had meant the words to soothe as her hands so often did. Like a balm or salve or any other temporary measure set in place to staunch bleeding and injury before a priest could see the wound properly closed and fully healed.

But they stung. They stung with a fervor Sylvanas didn’t know how to navigate. Not anymore, at least. They tugged on a guilt that was raw and new. Unprecedented.

Sylvanas nodded to them, but couldn’t say anything. She was not back. She would never be back. She would never be that shining Ranger General again. She might give orders like her, or speak her words, but that was no longer her.

Nor was she the Banshee Queen. The mean, spitting cornered animal, willing to bite at anyone who stood between her and a way out. Oh, how she had bitten. How she had hurt, injured, and killed. That ruthlessness no longer belonged to her, as it was a thing of a creature unbound.

And Sylvanas was once again bound. Whole, but bound. Different, but the same. Neither nor. Either or.

And if she had to say what she was, all she could think to say in that moment was that she was sorry. So very sorry.

But what choices had she been given, really? The old anger was still there, the bile that bit at her throat and demanded her to scream her rage like the banshee she was. It told her that her victories were deserved and their cost irrelevant. It demanded justice.

And Sylvanas knew that for the sake of their continued survival, for the sake of the living and the unliving among them, that the future would have to see no justice. For her or for those she had wronged. So much would remain unresolved and unpaid for. It would have to.

“Relay my order,” Sylvanas noted, finding her voice again. “For the Rangers in the field. I want them withdrawn from their current missions and to return here by this evening.”

Clea nodded her understanding. She seemed to have lost her own words, but perhaps that was due to the tremble in Sylvanas’ dual-toned voice that had not been there before. The edge which it was clear she was about to fall over.

And the implication that she wished to do so alone.

Clea left her, but not before helping her to stand and mumbling something about sending someone to clean the black blood off the floor and the mess left behind from Nathanos’ gleeful dumping of Derek Proudmoore’s body on the table. Sylvanas could still smell it--the rot and salt and seaweed.

And thus, she had to resort to sitting on the bed to write her missives on the nightstand. A bed for a woman who did not sleep, though Jaina’s restful state and deep exhaustion tingling at the back of her skull made it suddenly seem very appealing.

Sylvanas remembered her to be a fitful sleeper in her youth, so this was somewhat strange. There had been many a night watch she’d taken to find the sudden stirring in her mind as Jaina roused, busied herself with something for an hour, then slept again. Sylvanas had welcomed this restlessness more than once, as it made her feel less alone in the night to know that Jaina was reading something that she found silly somewhere in Dalaran, or enjoying a midnight snack.

They had written to one another often in those months between their meeting and the end that wasn’t really an end. Sylvanas had fallen for her all the more from her letters. Even as she fought in her last, grueling few days of true life, she thought that she might still live to see Jaina again if she just pushed a little harder, or planned a little smarter. The agony of her death was echoed a second time as she regained her body, only to find the mark on her wrist had silvered.

And a third, when she later learned that Jaina Proudmoore was alive and well, having escaped across the sea. That it was her who was dead and wrong and no longer fit to be the soulmate to Jaina’s bright and beautiful soul.

The first missive was easy enough to scratch out, even as she dwelled on those memories. Sylvanas had written enough diplomatic messages in her varied lifetimes to do so without thinking much.

To the leaders of the Alliance and the free nation of Kul Tiras,

I return to you a brave soldier who once fought under both of your banners, and died in the line of service to each. His remains were found by my agents as they searched for assets to use against you in this war. However, things have since changed. Derek Proudmoore must now serve a greater purpose for us both, which is to show you that my intentions in the following request are true and honest; I must ask that you consider a ceasefire.

I have been made aware of a greater threat that faces us both. It is a doom that even I struggle to comprehend. For this, I must ask that we put aside our conflicts and consider working to save Azeroth from a greater threat, as we have before.

I know there are many wrongs left to right. I know there is no justice in this request. But I also know the stakes are dire. They are dire enough that I am willing to discuss a mutual disarmament of Azerite weaponry, or perhaps a pooling of those resources in order to fight this new foe.

It is necessary for us to discuss further details in person. Name a time and a place, and I will ensure the leaders of the Horde are briefed and ready to meet with you.

- Warchief Sylvanas Windrunner

Warchief. It was never a thing she wanted. Never a title she thought she’d hold. Her concern had only ever been for her Forsaken, and then increasingly herself. She’d justified it then as being the same, that whatever she did to free herself would free them too, as it had before. But now, Sylvanas was left with her quill spent of ink, staring at the page, knowing that she was the one who brought this threat on her very heels.

Her desire to mend the brokeness of herself might be the end of them all. That victory, while new and fresh and wonderful in so many ways, was a tainted one. The Jailer would come for her. He would not let her go. And in coming for her, he would take Azeroth with her. Sylvanas knew enough to know that was what he did. He conquered and subjugated. He sought his revenge. He was as hollow and angry as the hollow and angry things he made. As he had so worked to make her.

And she had set him on a trail that would lead right back to this world.

Was it any worse than Teldrassil? Than knowing she had to stand aside as Garrosh attacked Theramore? Than being called Warchief, when she never acted in the interest of the Horde, only of herself and the being she served out of a desire to be liberated from all of it?

Her list of crimes was too long to count or tally. Even if she had all the time in the world to right those wrongs, there would never be enough good she could do to balance the bad. No amount of restitution of gold or blood or anything else would pay that price. Even freed of her chains as she was now, she was bound to this forever.

It had been easy to justify that when she wanted nothing more than to be free of any bonds. But as Sylvanas looked at her wrist again, at the soft blue glow of the crescent moon on the inside of it, she knew she now wanted anything but that.

She wanted to fight with everything she had left to keep herself bound to this place, this world, and everything she had done to it. That, she decided, would be her penance. That she would fight again, that she would stand against another endless army of death. And that she would hope, this time, that she did not lose herself in defeat.

Azeroth was not perfect. Death was flawed. Sylvanas had seen the souls separated into realities not of their choosing, but by the will of some omnipotent arbiter, who deemed them to go where they would be useful in their eternal rest. She had once wanted to serve nothing, and saw this afterlife of servitude as yet another form of the bondage she had endured at Arthas’ hands.

But Sylvanas now knew that her existence and this reality were one and the same. Flawed. Broken. Yes, definitely. But worth saving? Worth serving? Maybe.

She started another letter. This one easily fit on only half of one sheet. Because what else could she say? She needed to see her. She needed to see what Jaina thought of her now.

Lord Admiral Jaina Proudmoore,

I have no doubt you’ve noticed a change in yourself as of this past night. Though I trust you are shrewd enough to draw your own conclusions, I’d ask that you give me a chance to explain.

Can we meet? Alone? You may tell me when and where.

I wonder, do you still like elven coffee?

- Sylvanas

Sylvanas needed to know. Would Jaina turn to her with eyes of rage or longing? Would she too have given up on everything and twisted all she held dear to have her back, or to have nothing at all?

She had to remind herself too, that Jaina was not the same as the girl in her dream. She was no longer as youthful or as idealistic. She too wore the scars of years of war and unimaginable horrors. Sylvanas wasn’t sure if that would change how she felt, or how she looked at her.

Sylvanas knew she would soon find out, and wasn’t sure if she dreaded that more than what the Jailer would have in store for her. The sun was rising over the sea. She sealed her letters in red wax with the stamp of the Horde, feeling strange about doing that, especially with the second one. Her fingers lingered over the paper for a moment, as she wondered what Jaina would think, when she woke to their newly re-shared reality.

She took a shaky breath she did not need, and put the letters in a satchel for Nathanos.

#Sylvanas Windrunner #Jaina Proudmoore #sylvaina #fanfic #beneath the blue moon #now i gotta think of poll options for the next chapters #oh boy

[smalls-words]

Chapter Seven: They're Mine

Summary: Natasha is determined to find her wings - for if someone is willing to kill for them, then so is she.

Pairings: Devil!Natasha x Fem!Reader, Angel!Yelena x Natasha (sisters), Steve Rogers x Reader.

Warnings: Torture (waterboarding, sort of), murder (as always), Steve is still a douche, lots of soft Natasha but also lots of angy devil Nat, descriptions of murder. lmk if there's anything else pls, i'm typing this in the witching hours of the night.

A/N - There is a lot of italics and bold in this. When I use these, italics will often mean emphasis on the word/s, a different language or the name of something. With bold, it's either when Natasha is using her mojo, someone is yelling/growling or when combined with italics, is subsequently a combination of both yelling/growling and emphasis.

Series Masterlist

*not my gif* - these are Natasha's wings, I hope I described them well!

Lux was quite empty save for a few dancers, Wanda and a man, as well as waiters and waitresses. Wanda watched the dancer in front of her with a wide grin before she looked over to the lonesome man. She gave him a not-so-subtle wink and lured him upstairs, using her inhuman speed to climb the secret stairs and get into the hot tub on the balcony.

The sound of the elevator ding alerted her, her ear twitching minutely before the man’s footsteps were easily heard across the tiles. At his hesitation, she grinned and looked slightly over her shoulder, the bikini showing off some small tattoos dotted on her skin.

“What are you waiting for? Hop in.” 

Her simple seduction technique worked for his lust-drunk brain, disrobing into just his shorts before he sank into the water. Wanda pulled him close, and just as she was about to kiss him, her fingers threaded through his hair and pushed him down slightly.

He didn’t know that she would hold him underwater though, the thrashing in likeness to a prey caught between a shark’s mouth. She easily brought him back up, holding his head in a lock that could easily snap his neck.

Natasha, in a dark red and black-lined bikini, sank into the water on the other side. Her vibrant hair was all tied up in a neat ballerina bun, but a few small wisps that touched the water were as bright as blood. “Hello, Sergei. Waters a bit rough, are they?” She teased.

“What-what the hell are you doing?” Sergei coughed. 

Her head tilted to the side slightly as her feet brushed against Sergei’s legs, gradually getting higher and higher. “Isn't it obvious? I'm going to brutally torture you until you give me what I want. My wings… Where are they?” 

Sergei looked at her like she was crazy. “What wings? I don't even know what you're talking about!”

A simple brush against Wanda’s thigh had the demon pushing him back underwater, looking at her queen as she rolled her eyes. “Why do they always insist on being so difficult?”

After a few more seconds, another brush had Sergei sputtering water everywhere. “As you can see, I'm not playing, so let's try again, shall we? My wings, please.”

“Why would I take your wings?! I don't even know who you are!” He begged.

She sighed. “I'm Natasha Romanoff. And you, you small-peckered fool, are Sergei Bok, a known smuggler. You move just about anything you can get your trashy hands on.” 

“Please, lady! I don't have 'em! I swear. Okay? I don't know what I'd do with a pair-”

Wanda dunked him back down, easily able to control him whilst he thrashed around. “Maybe if I hit him a few times?” She offered Natasha.

The redhead sighed, shaking her head as she caressed Wanda’s skin. “Though I hate to say it, I'm not sure violence is the trick here. I'm beginning to wonder if this human stain is actually telling the truth.” 

Wanda almost leapt forward in defiance. “No! He's scum. He'll say anything.” 

“Maybe it's not him… Maybe it's us.” 

“Us?” 

Natasha nodded, almost solemnly. “He's the fifth man we've accosted this week. Perhaps we're - dare I say it - going about this wrong? It might even be time to seek the help of a professional.”

Natasha stepped out of the hot tub and wrapped her towel around her waist, stopping for a moment when there wasn’t more thrashing. “Wanda…”

The sound of Sergei gasping for air was all that she needed to hear, walking into her bathroom to have a shower.

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Whilst you were normally comfortable with a few eyes in you in the precinct, you weren’t expecting almost every pair as you walked towards your desk for the start of your day.

“Hey.” You muttered as Steve came to your side. 

“I don't know that you want to be here right now, Y/N.” He warned you cryptically.

“What, do I have a ‘hate me’ sign on my face?” 

“If only it were that simple. It's about Malcolm.”

“What about him?” You squeezed through a gap between two men, their glaring eyes making you glare back.

“The guy's been in a coma for months. His wife decided to pull the plug. Malcolm's dying today, and you're still investigating him for corruption.” Steve explained.

“So, what, they hate me even more now that I won't put a halo on his head?” You scoffed.

“Maybe stay away from the precinct tonight. Cops are having a living wake.” 

“Anything else?” 

“It would make everyone's life easier if you would close your investigation.” 

You shook your head as you chuckled wryly. “You know, Steve, I thought we were actually making progress there for a second, but once again, look who's on Team Everyone Else.” 

He scoffed. “I'm trying to protect you.” 

“From what? Catching a criminal or hurting your rep?” 

“It's not about any of that. It's about Malcolm's family. If there's an open investigation calling for his dismissal, it can cost them his benefits, his pension, all of it.” 

“So, what, you want me to just drop it? Just turn my back on everything I stand for?” You turned away.

He grabbed your wrist. “No. I'm saying if you want to do something about it, then do it now. You have 24 hours. Or let it go and let his family move on.”

You ripped your wrist from his hand, pointing a finger in his face. “Do not touch me.” 

He raised his hands in surrender and you grabbed your things, going back home to use those 24 hours wisely.

You didn’t think that it would entail having Natasha.

“Is this really what you do in your spare time? How fascinatingly morose. Do you ever think of taking up knitting?” 

You jumped at the sound of her voice, looking at her outfit of a black-on-black suit. “What are you doing here?” 

“I'm here because I could really use your expertise. You're not busy, are you?” She looked down at the pages and pages of information surrounding you in a semicircle.

You stood. “Actually, shocker, I am busy. And it's really not a good day for... your... Natashaness.” You gestured to her whole body.

“Huh?” 

You turned her around and guided her to the door. “Here's an idea. Call next time.” 

She easily closed the door, watching you sigh and go to the fridge. “No, no, no. Hold on. Now, I'm not one to get into the feels, usually, but... you seem genuinely distressed. You okay? Do you want to... I don't know... chat about it or something? Sex is always on the table.” 

You scoffed as you poured a glass of water from the cold jug. “You never quit, do you?” 

“No, no, I’m not known for it. However… I'm simply offering an ear. Come on. Tell Tasha what’s wrong.” She cooed teasingly, seating herself on the opposite side of the kitchen counter.

You sighed. “Remember the Palmetto case I was telling you about?”

Her eyebrows raised. “The case that's been consuming you, causing people to despise you, call you names... people that I even quarrelled with because of it? No, it doesn't ring a bell.” 

You chuckled. “Well, they're pressuring me to drop the case, assume the party line, and say the guy died a hero.” 

“My spidey sense tells me dropping it's not what you want, is it?” She assumed.

You nodded. “I want the truth.”

“Well, then seek it out! You're a police officer. You don't need anyone's permission.” 

You blindly looked around the room, nodding your head slightly. “Hmm. That's decent-ish advice.” 

“I know. I'm quite good. Anyway, now we've helped you, my turn. See, I'm sort of working on a case of my own. And it seems that I've... Well, hit a bit of a snag.” She sighed, annoyed.

“A case? Um… What kind of case is it?” You kept yourself from laughing at her.

“Well, the nature of the investigation isn't important. I'm strictly here for professional advice. What do you do when your case hits a wall?” She asked, hands clasped together like she was praying.

“Mmm. What do I do when I get stuck?” You asked for clarification, which she gave with a nod.

“Well, I grab a pair of fresh eyes - someone who's not gonna be afraid to be honest with me, even if it's not what I want to hear.” 

“Well, well. That's a brilliant idea.” She hummed.

“Yeah. It kinda is.” You murmured, grabbing some evidence from behind you. “So maybe if you help me, I could help you…”

And Natasha was gone.

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The beach was almost empty, given that the waters were beginning to cool, and the sound of a single wing flap didn’t make Natasha turn.

“What are we doing here, Natasha?” Yelena asked, standing by her sister in her formal clothing.

“I like to come here from time to time. Dip my toes in the sand, breathe the ocean air, walk down memory lane.” She chuckled.

“You see, five years ago, when Wands and I abandoned Hell, I landed right here on this beach. This is where I flipped dead old Dad the grandest of birds and had Wands sever my wings.” 

“And why are you telling me this? Honestly, why summon me here at all? Surely it's not just to reminisce.” Yelena scoffed.

“I've asked you here because those same wings have been stolen. And I need your help to get them back.” Natasha looked towards her sister, who was already looking at her in disbelief.

“Your wings are missing?”

“Sorry, is there an echo? Isn't that what I just said?” 

“What exactly am I supposed to do with that news?!” Yelena barked, throwing her hands up in the air.

“Use your angelic powers to soar around the city and find them. I mean, really, what good's an angel if he can't help a sister out? Am I right?” Natasha held her fist out for Yelena to bump, but she didn’t.

“Tasha, since your grand departure from Hell, I've been the one that's had to patrol the gates, I've been the one keeping damned souls from slipping loose - a job, by the way, that I loathe.” 

“I didn't ask for that.” 

“But those wings out there in the human world? Tasha, they're too powerful. A piece of divinity. Humanity can't handle them. And if they fall into the wrong hands-”

"Then people might die? Yeah, I get that. Just saw an asshole toss himself off a building after a mere peek at them, so if you're done telling me things I already know…” She took a deep breath, controlling her bubbling anger. “Will you help me or not?” 

“You tell me something. If you truly hated the wings, why'd you hold onto them all this time?” Yelena grumbled. 

Natasha shook her head. “That is none of your business, sister.” 

“It's a sentimental move, Natasha. Especially for someone that was trying to leave their life behind.” 

“Oh, please, here we go.” 

“Maybe deep down you realise you never should've cut them off. And maybe that's why you left yourself an out.” 

“Yeah. So are you done? Pretty words, but no. They're my property, I want them back, simple as that. If I can avoid an earth-shattering tragedy as well, bonus!” 

“You wanted free will. You wanted accountability. Well…” Yelena let her wings fly out, their dark grey matching her formal clothing. “Fix your own damn mess, for once.”

Natasha watched her shoot up into the sky, time resuming around her before an idea popped into her head. After a lengthy phone call with you that ended up in an APB on angel wings and her help with Palmetto, Natasha parked her Corvette on the street, opposite your cop car.

*Oh, there he is.* Natasha thought to herself as she spotted Steve, straightening herself up as she walked in by your side.

“So, this is Palmetto Street.” She kicked an empty can like a child.

Steve chuckled dryly. “I'm sorry, why is she here again?” 

“She helps me see things differently.” You answered.

“Yes, I've proved myself quite useful, Steve.” She glared at him before turning to you. “So, how can we help you?” 

“All right, I want to reenact the shooting. I want to figure out what I missed.” 

“How's that gonna prove anything?” Steve asked.

“Just humour me, thanks.” You turned to Natasha. “You will represent the seedy criminal element.” You placed her to one side.

“Oh, I believe you mean stunning criminal element.” She snickered.

Steve scoffed, but your careful eyebrow straightened him into position. “And Steve, you will stand for Malcolm. The tough-as-nails cop, who wishes I would leave this stupid case alone.” 

“Ah, cute.” Steve smirked.

“And I will play myself. A chick who cannot figure out what the hell she saw. So in the months leading up to the shooting, we were following a French drug trafficker Nikolas Aoudi.” 

Natasha was excited when you pointed at her. “Ooh, can I have a gun? I feel like Nikolas would definitely have a gun.” 

Steve interjected. “Actually he was more of a hammer guy. He liked to break fingers and arms. Some legs and teeth too.” 

“Right. Can I have a hammer, then?” The redhead turned to you, but you shook your head whilst Steve threw his arms up in the air.

“Somehow Aoudi kept evading the LAPD. I arrested one of his guys, I thought he was gonna flip. Then suddenly he changed his tune. The only cop who spoke to him was Malcolm. So, one night, I tracked him here, sneaking in through the side door. And I hid behind this glass.” You pointed to the red door on Natasha’s right, Steve’s left, and the redhead watched as your aura changed.

Yes - when she wanted, Natasha could see auras. She mostly used it on punishing mortal souls, depending on what their deadly sin and their aura was, but with you… it was different. They all had one singular colour, one defining trait to their souls. 

When she looked at you, it looked like fireworks were going off around you. Red, blue, yellow, green, pink, turquoise - she registered this abnormality as you having mixed emotions. 

“I could see them. It was Malcolm and Aoudi and his bodyguard. They… they looked like they were making a deal. Malcolm was holding cash.” You stammered.

“Hold on.” An idea came to Natasha as she faded her aura sight, fiddling with the inside of her suit to hand Steve a wad of cash. “Ooh, is that enough?” She handed over what could have easily been a thousand dollars based on the few hundred notes.

Steve took it whilst you continued talking. “A bribe, maybe. I'm not sure. But I leaned forward to hear what they were saying. And accidentally, I made a sound. I-I could feel it. Malcolm saw me, but he didn't react. He just went back to his conversation.” 

You spun around, and Natasha grew alarmed at the glossy look in your eyes, a look she knew well. 

PTSD. 

“And that's when the shot went off. I-It didn't take long before bullets were flying everywhere. I had to brace behind the door, and then I ran in when it was quiet. Aoudi and his man were dead.”

You knelt down on the ground, Natasha’s concern never fading. 

“Malcolm was on the floor, bleeding out.” You held your hand out gently towards the memory before it cleared, showing you the real world.

“There was nothing you could do.” Steve murmured quietly as you stood.

“It doesn't make sense.” Natasha stated.

“How?” You asked.

“Aoudi would have no desire to kill Malcolm. Trust me, if there's one thing I know, it's desire. I mean, if Malcolm were indeed corrupt, he'd be Aoudi's golden goose. It'd be quite dumb to shoot him.” She shrugged.

An idea popped into your head. “What if someone else was here?” 

Steve put his hand on your shoulder. “The cops searched the place up and down, Y/N. There was no one else. Look, you may not want to believe it, but what if...?” He trailed off, making you sigh in defeat.

“I was wrong.” 

Steve pulled out his phone as it rang, only taking four rings to answer. “Rogers. Uh, yeah. Okay, I will let her know.” He hung up, looking at you. “Did you really put out an APB for... angel wings?” 

You shrugged, looking towards Natasha. “Maybe.” 

“Well, it looks like they got a hit.” 

Natasha’s eyes lit up. “Excellent! Right, my turn.”

She took your hand and gently pulled you out towards your cars, to which her Corvette hummed to life whilst yours… sputtered.

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Natasha didn’t like what the FBI had to say about her wings. But the information they gave was enough for her to go it alone, making a quick pit stop at Lux before she went on her way.

She handed the valet her keys after stepping out into a gorgeous suit with a red inside layer, standing out as she walked into the lobby. The dark red tie was an eye-catcher, but it was more so the assets around it that had some male attention. Her hair was neatly pulled back into a single but thick braid, her eyeshadow subtle but defining of her brilliant emerald eyes.

As she walked past a closed private room, her celestial senses fired off and she stopped, chuckling to herself. “Vyydi ottuda, sestra. (Come out of there, sister.)” 

She watched Yelena step out of the shadows, wearing a similar suit to her own but with green exchanged for red, the dark green tie contrasting stunningly with her blonde hair. The stare she gave her devilish sister was one that the redhead enjoyed seeing, mostly because she liked annoying her.

“So what happened to going it alone, lying in my own mess and such? Or did you just want a front row seat to the action?” Natasha smirked as she led them down a hallway.

“I assure you, Natasha, I take no pleasure in following you around. But this is far too important to let you screw up.” Yelena grumbled, fidgeting with her cufflinks.

“Ah, so you just came to help?” 

“I came to ensure the wings get back where they belong.” 

“Which is where exactly?” 

“You mean besides on your back?” The blonde scoffed.

Natasha chuckled at her quip. “Oh, surely, my fine-feathered friend, you don't expect that to happen.” 

“They belong in the Heavens where they were created. If you don't want them, that's where they'll be.” Yelena concluded.

“Fair enough. Considering we're on a clock now, I could use a wingman.” The devil shrugged.

Yelena’s eyes widened slightly as they reached the top of another set of stairs. “What do you mean?” 

“The FBI's raiding the place. So if we don't get the wings, humanity finds divinity, so on and so forth… you know the rest.” Natasha explained.

“Well, we can't let that happen.” 

“Right, so you can join. Provided, of course, you can keep that angelic ego of yours in check.” 

“I don't have an ego.” Yelena mumbled.

“Sure you do!” Natasha cooed. “but I'm encouraging you to get off that high horse and learn a thing or two about humanity. Though it appears that you've picked up a fashion sense. So that's, uh… I miss the dress.” The redhead sighed annoyedly.

They both stood in line patiently before they came face to face with the bouncer at the door, who upon seeing no invitation, spoke. “Private party.” 

Yelena stepped forwards but Natasha stopped her with a hand on her chest. “Honey, not vinegar.” She warned, turning to the bouncer. “Yes, excuse me, I understand this event is very exclusive. But, uh, surely you've got room for just two more?” 

Natasha reached into her jacket and pulled out a few hundred dollar bills, packing them neatly into the bouncer’s breast pocket.

“Unless you got business here, scram.” He ordered.

Yelena turned to Natasha, a silent expression of ‘dumbass’ written across her face. But an idea popped into Natasha’s mind, making her smirk. “It's funny you should say that, actually. Perhaps I do have something that might interest those keen on religious relics.” 

She pulled out her special coin from within her jacket and held it up to the security camera above the door, watching the bouncer press into his earpiece.

He smiled at them both. “Right this way, ladies.” 

“Thank you.” Natasha smiled widely as they walked through the door, pocketing the coin in her pants. 

They were soon found by another bouncer, leading them towards a private room. Upon entrance, Natasha gave the small imp of a man her coin before he brought it to a fancy magnifier. 

A man came into the room through another door, coming to the side of the magnifier. A stout, dark-toned man with a suit that Natasha knew to either be a cheap knock-off or from an expensive tailor. 

There was a brief discussion between them both, too quiet for the celestials to hear, before the stout man named Carmen came in front of the girls with the coin in hand. “Congratulations, Mr. Morningstar. The Catholics and the Satanists will be clawing for this coin. With any luck, we may even have a bidding war on our hands. Wouldn't that be fun?” 

“Who would've thought, eh? The devil's coin, worthy of so much love?” Natasha sat down as Carmen did, Yelena sitting in the chair beside her.

“Put a bunch of believers in a room and - pardon the pun - but the sky's the limit.” Carmen chuckled heartily.

The redhead chuckled with him, her voice much raspier and… far better than his. “That's very good.” 

“If I didn't know any better, I would say that you don't respect your buyers' faith.” Yelena chimed in, hands clasped together as they rested on her lap.

“Oh, quite the contrary. I respect my customers' faith very much. But I don't have to share in their beliefs to profit from them.” Carmen shrugged.

The blonde tilted her head slightly. “So… I take it you're not a believer then?” 

“I'm a man that believes in one simple divinity - the almighty dollar.” Carmen laughed loudly.

Natasha, ever the performer, laughed loudly with him, turning to Yelena at the end. “Humans. Am I right?” 

With no sisterly reaction, Natasha ignored her and leaned towards Carmen. “I have to admit, I love being the bearer of bad news.” 

“Oh? Do tell.” Carmen’s voice fell flat a bit, even though he still held a small smile.

“The coin's not for sale. I simply used it to gain entrée to you.” Natasha took the coin off of the table and put it back in her pocket.

“Then why are you here?” 

“Someone stole my wings. About eight feet each, glow with the light of God. So if you'd be so kind as to deliver them, then we can be on our way without any... unpleasantries.” 

Had Natasha been paying attention, she would have seen Carmen’s body language change. Straightened back, eyes on her. Her refined senses would have heard his heartbeat too - a spike before it normalised, like lightning within a storm.

“Funny. That's not how this works.” 

Natasha tensed up at the sound of guns cocking, watching the bodyguard behind Carmen load his along with the other sounds behind her and Yelena.

The cocky blonde chuckled darkly. “Oh, you men don't know who you're dealing with. Those guns don't frighten us. In fact, I dare you to shoot.” 

“Sestra…” Natasha tried to interrupt as Yelena leaned on the bench to face Carmen. 

“Go ahead. See what happens.” 

“And there's that angelic ego I was talking about.” The redhead sighed.

Carmen smirked as all guns were pointed on the women. “I'm sorry, uh... You were saying?” 

Natasha stood and pulled Yelena back. “Gentlemen, please, don't mind my sister. She's just a bit... simple. We meant no disrespect, truly.” 

*I thought you told me you wanted your wings back.* Yelena scoffed in her mind.

*I do, but this is hardly the way to go about it.* Natasha hissed.

“Give me one good reason not to finish this right now.” Carmen growled.

Natasha grinned her alluring smile. “Because you simply misunderstood me. I'm more than happy to buy the wings, like everyone else, with cash. A whole boatload of money. If you truly worship the dollar, then I'm your ticket to divinity.” 

She watched Carmen carefully now, unlike she should have earlier. His posture relaxed slightly, but the thinned lips didn’t let up. “Happy bidding.” He snarked.

Natasha gave her thanks before dragging an annoyed Yelena out of the room, following the bouncer to the main party area, with Getting Surreal by the Fratellis playing through the speakers. On display in lavish (but probably cheap) display cases were many different items of jewellery, goblets encrusted with gems, crowns, bejewelled pouches, rings - anything that looked old and religious, as most things do, were in a case.

“It's funny, isn't it, how all it takes to unite the faiths of the world is a bit of illegal consumerism.” Natasha commented as she took a glass of champagne from a waiter, Yelena doing the same. 

“Mmm. What I'd like to know is, since when is the Princess of Darkness scared of some insufferable human gun?” She questioned.

Natasha found a table for them to stand at, hiding them within the crowd but close enough for them to see and possibly steal her wings away when they came. “Well, since I, uh… I bled.”

“What do you mean, bled?” 

“Yep. Don't know how it's possible, but on top of everything else, it seems I'm dealing with a bit of a mortality sitch. Hence, ix-nay on the uns-gay.” 

Yelena grinned widely, concerning Natasha. “What are you grinning about?” 

“I'm just realising the gravity of what you're saying.” 

“That I'm allergic to lead projectiles?” 

“That even if you don't choose Hell, all I have to do is wait for some pitiful thug to end you and right back to Hell you go. You hadn't put that one together yet, had you, Tasha?” Yelena grinned at her sister’s fallen face. 

“You just made my millennium.” 

Before Natasha could speak again, the lights above focused on the stage as Carmen came out. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I'm Carmen Grant and I humbly welcome you to our Evening of Faith. Tonight we shall behold items that prove the miraculous is real…”

Natasha zoned out of his mumbo-jumbo charade, grumbling out a ‘those are fake’ which got the attention of a few nearby mortals.

“You don't know the half of it.” 

Natasha turned to see you standing beside her, realising your hand was briefly touching her back before it fell on top of your small purse. A long black dress with a deep slit coupled with lace sleeves definitely had her attention, eyeing your legs, chest, and bright red lips she could definitely smudge if she tried.

“How did I know you'd come here?” You smirked. 

“Because I'm admirably consistent? How did you even get in here?” She queried.

“Oh, I've got news for you, Natasha. You're not the only one with a little mojo.” 

“Mmm. Touché.” She replied, looking back down at your legs to notice high heeled boots. 

“And you're welcome, by the way. I came here to warn you. In about five minutes, the FBI's gonna storm this place, so we have to go now.” You gently took her by the forearm but she didn’t budge.

“But we were just getting started.” She whined childishly.

“‘We’?” You asked. 

Her eyes lit up. “Oh, that's right. You haven't met, have you? Allow me to introduce Yelena, my little sister.”

You eyed the blonde beauty, the green suit matching her hair and eyes so well. You didn’t have a preference amongst women - all women are beautiful - but Yelena… 

You could tell they were sisters.

“Well, come on, don't look so shocked.” Natasha grumbled.

You nudged her at her annoyance. “Um... I just didn't expect your sister to be… so… well, stunning.” 

“We're all full of surprises, it seems. I never expected my sister to change careers as she did, but I'm definitely beginning to see why.” Yelena chuckled.

You grinned. “Natasha, your sister got all the charm in the family.” 

“Okay, that's enough of that. It's unsettling to see you two get along.” She grumbled.

The sounds of applause had your head turn to the stage. “The wings of an angel.” Carmen announced.

“They're gorgeous.” You whispered.

You looked towards Natasha when she chuckled, a genuine smile on her face but with a tinge of sadness in her eyes. You turned back to the wings, almost willing to gasp again - each feather looked divine, curved to the shape of perfection, and even with the chunks of flesh attached to them, you would have paid good money if you had it. 

“Freeze! FBI!”  

“Everyone, stay where you are!” 

“Don't move!” 

“Stay where you are!” 

Bustling bodies didn’t stop you from chasing after Carmen Grant, leaving Natasha and Yelena alone. The redhead turned to Yelena, a desperate look on her face since she couldn’t find you. 

“A little help?” She asked.

Yelena lifted an eyebrow, causing Natasha to scoff. “Please.” She sarcastically dramatised.

Yelena closed her eyes and by the time her next breath exhaled completely, time had slowed down significantly. “Thank you.” 

After checking where you were, standing by a curtain covered wall in the corner of the huge room, Natasha turned to the stage. Her hand fell upon her wings like they were made of porcelain, happiness blooming in her chest.

Until it wilted.

“They're fake.” She growled at the touch of a metal bar beneath the thin layer of fake feathers, plucking one off oh so easily. 

Yelena came to Natasha’s side and sped time back up, letting you deal with the FBI. 

“I’m telling you, I saw him come in here.” You told the agents, pressing along the wall until you reached a painting.

A door popped open at the slightest touch beneath the frame. Agents rushed through, your mind clicking two pieces together.

“There was a secret door.” You muttered.

*Where’s Natasha?* Your mind ordered your body to find her, needing your partner to bounce ideas off of. 

You found her sitting on the stage with Yelena talking to some FBI agents as an eyewitness whilst you sat down next to her, your hand falling to her knee to try to comfort her. “I see you got your wings.” With no trademark smirk, you frowned. “I thought you'd be happier, Natasha.” 

“These aren't my wings.” She huffed. 

You faltered for a moment. “Then whose wings are they?” 

“Someone with a very warped sense of humour.” 

“I don't… follow…” 

Natasha looked up at you from stroking the fake feathers. “They're a knockoff, a sham. I mean, it's good work, I'll give them that. Probably would've fooled just about anyone, save perhaps the actual owner of the wings.” 

“The actual owner… being you?” 

“Yeah, they must've been switched out. It's no coincidence that my wings are stolen one day, and then Carmen's selling an exact replica a week later. No, this is some serious foul play.” She seethed, throwing the fake feathers on the ground.

You sighed. “I-I'm sorry to hear that, really I am, Natasha. But there's something at Palmetto that I need to take care of, so… are you coming?” 

Her eyebrows furrowed slightly. “Didn't you just hear me? My wings are still out there. I need to find them. If you want to run off to Palmetto, be my guest, but no more role-playing for me, thanks.” 

Natasha could see the annoyance in your stance as you stood, picking up the feathers she’d thrown on the ground. “So, I rushed over here to save your ass from being charged with interfering in an FBI investigation, but just because these wings aren't the ones you wanted, that's it? We're done?” 

She stayed silent. Anger laced with fear and guilt, the former in what she’d possibly say if she spoke and the latter in leaving you to go it alone.

“So much for quid pro quo.” You scoffed, storming up the stairs.

Natasha watched you go, the anger dissipating slightly which caused the underlying emotions to bubble up. 

Yelena came to her side, smirking slightly. “Are you sure you don't want to chase after her? Maybe I can ask Father for some rain and make it a moment.” 

The death glare Natasha gave her was enough for her to change her tune. “Alright. So what's our next move?” 

“Well, I'm afraid this is where I leave you, sister. What I'm about to do is the Devil's work.” She growled, walking past Yelena and out to her Corvette.

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You stepped out of your car onto Palmetto Street, eyeing Steve as he stepped out of his. You quickly sifted through the car to find a jacket, eyeing one that Natasha had left once, and you wrapped it around yourself. 

You tucked the collar against your neck and smelled the faint scent of her cologne, sighing in slight relief.

“You okay?” Steve asked as he came to you.

“Fine.” You muttered, buttoning up the jacket so as to keep yourself warm.

You pulled out your flashlight and entered the gymnasium, scanning around. Your mind searched for any signs of a secret entrance; gaps between corner walls, 

“I thought we were finally done with all this.” Steve sighed in annoyance. 

You rolled your eyes to yourself at his attitude. “I was done too. I even started believing I was crazy like everybody said.” 

“I never said you were crazy.” He argued. 

“Yeah, it's okay. I would've thought I was, too. But, you know, I got to thinking. Natasha pointed out that it made no sense for Aoudi to shoot his inside man, right?” 

“Right.” 

You stepped up onto the boxing ring, your boots clicking loudly against the flooring. “But no one else was there. No one could've shot Malcolm and fled without me seeing them.” 

Steve smiled in relief. “Now you're making my point.” 

“Because there was no obvious exit.” You continued, making him look at you with lost hope.

You held your hand out to him, telling him to wait. “But maybe, just maybe - hear me out - there was a secret one.” 

“Y/N, you are stabbing hard at something that's just not there.” 

“There's got to be an explanation for what I saw, Steve!” You yelled, dragging your hands down your face in frustration.

You weren’t crazy.

You couldn’t be. 

“There has to be something-”

A creak.

Right beneath Steve’s foot, there was a creak in the flooring.

You knelt down as Steve whipped out his pocket knife, digging it underneath the floorboard to open a chained trapdoor. You didn’t wait for Steve - you jumped down onto the small platform before descending the stairs, making Steve walk down them in pitch blackness until he came to your side.

He found a switch to the side of the wall, sighing in relief. “You know I hate the dark.” 

You smirked at him whilst turning your flashlight to the ground, finding a brighter area. You stepped through the creaky gate and looked up, recognising the entry type.

“Looks like it’s a manhole that leads up to the street.” You muttered.

A reflective flash caught your eye. On the ground. 

“What is it?” Steve asked as you knelt down.

You grabbed a glove from Steve’s belt and picked it up, gasping in shock. “A 999 key. LAPD-issued. Malcolm had his on him.” 

“Wait. Are-are you saying-?” 

“Yes. Another cop was here. I was right.” You chuckled, tears pricking your eyes.

You weren’t crazy. 

He tried to calm you down, putting his hand on your waist. “Y/N, this could mean a lot of things-” 

“Steve, a cop knew this secret passageway existed! And chances are, whoever it was, they shot Malcolm.” You moved away.

“Yeah, but why?” 

“That's what I got to figure out.” 

You looked at him as he smiled at you. That same smile he gave you on your wedding day. Appreciation. Support.

Love. 

“No. That's what we need to figure out.”

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Nobody wants a doorbell ringing in the dead of night, least of all a smuggler by the name of Carmen Grant.

He simply opened the door, only to be met with Natasha’s sinful smirk. “It's... you.” “

“That's right, me, Natasha fucking Romanoff! Do you mind if I come in?” She stepped inside anyways, looking around his apartment. 

“You, Carmen, are slightly more difficult to identify, aren't you? No phone, no bank account, home registered under one of your many aliases. Seems wings aren't the only thing you falsify, eh?!” 

“I can explain-” 

Natasha didn’t let him. “I'm still moved by your words. ‘I'm a man that believes in one simple divinity, the almighty dollar.’” She mimicked his accent perfectly.

“You don't understand-” “

“No, I understand. Perfectly.” She towered over him, her bun not so perfect and her tie hanging loosely around her neck. 

“A lifelong atheist, you took one peek at the wings and something changed in you. The great white light was revealed and a believer was born, one who couldn't part with real divinity!”

She turned around.

Her anger simmered down, overpowered by shock. “Oh, no.”

A ten-metre long, five-metre high display case held two divine wings, each at least three and a half metres from the flesh to the last feather. Even in the dim lighting of the porch lights, they seemed to glow vibrantly with pure energy.

“Mounting my wings, like some decorative stag head.” She scoffed, turning to face Carmen.

“Shame on you.” 

“It wasn't my fault. Someone tipped me off.” His breathing began to quicken, fear striking deep into his heart as Natasha glare at him. 

“Excuses, excuses. ‘It wasn't me, it was the biker that did it.’” 

“I thought he was bringing me a sculpture.” 

“Were you disappointed?” Her head tilted slightly, her anger rising back through the shock like air bubbles in a hot pot.

“I didn't know what they were! I never would have done it if I had any idea what I was actually dealing with.” His voice shook as he got down onto his knees. 

“Please, please, please. You can't take them away. I can't live without them!” He begged.

“Perhaps you don't understand.” She leaned down, gripping his jaw with such a strength she could feel the fibres of his jaw bone snapping. 

“They're mine.” 

He began bawling his eyes out, begging and pleading for mercy but his cries fell upon deaf ears. 

“Now before I deal with you, I have just one burning question on my mind. Who tipped you off?”

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Natasha sat on the beach with a cigarette in one hand and a lighter in the other, sitting between her wings as they were spread out on the sand. She took another puff of the cigarette and sighed, flicking the lighter lid up and down before a flutter of wings brought the sight of her smiling sister.

“I knew you'd come.” She said, looking at Yelena.

The blonde smiled gently. “Of course I'd come. It's my duty to return the wings where they belong.” 

Natasha stood, walking over to her. “Is that all?” She asked, reminding the angel of her previous promise. 

Yelena simply chuckled. “After everything that you've been through - bleeding, searching, reaching to Father and the high heavens for help - now that you finally have your wings, doesn't part of you long to assume your form? To get back to where you belong?” 

Natasha lifted her cigarette, a thoughtful expression across her face. “Not exactly.” 

Or so Yelena thought.

With a flick of her fingers, the cigarette flew back onto the wings and they burst into flames.

“What are you doing?!” Yelena yelled, rushing to them to try and save them but they couldn’t be. 

“Well, ruining your plan, it seems.” Natasha smiled deviously. 

“It was you, sister. You tipped Carmen off, and you orchestrated the theft.” 

“Because you left me no choice.” Yelena sighed, sand spotting her sleeves and pants.

“Well, clearly you were desperate. I mean, you were willing to let a human die and unleash the wings upon the world just to remind me who I was. To fool me into desiring the wings and the hellish throne they accompany.” 

Yelena stood and faced Natasha as she chuckled. “Well, d’you know what? It almost fucking worked.” 

“But destroy them? Why?” Yelena begged for an answer. 

“Well, you were right. Severing the wings was a half measure. I did leave myself an out. A rip cord back to the life that dear old Dad chose for me. But I don't need it now, because, in case I haven't made myself abundantly clear, I'm never going back to Hell.” She held her arms out, tempted to bow to an invisible crowd. 

“But, uh... A for effort. I'm sure Dad will give you a big gold star for trying.” 

With a cry, Yelena tackled Natasha. She gripped her under the thigh and threw her over her shoulder onto the compact sand, sitting on top of her to throw punch after punch after punch.

 Natasha laughed darkly as Yelena continued. “That's right, hit me, little sister!” 

Punch. 

“Go on, again.” 

Punch.

“Become like me.” 

Punch.

“Become wrath.” 

Punch.

“Fall as I did!” Her eyes shone their devilish orange, the sight causing Yelena’s next punch to falter.

Yelena fell back, letting Natasha go. Her right sleeve was splattered with Natasha’s blood whilst the devil had a nasty bruise forming by her eye as blood trickled from her mouth. “You never were much of a closer, were you, eh? Can't stand to get your hands dirty.” 

“This is far from over. I'll do whatever it takes to get you back to Hell.” Yelena spat, walking away from the blaze behind Natasha.

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Lux was quiet. No patrons, no music, no dancers. Just Natasha, the piano, and her favourite Romani bartender. 

“I cleaned up your mess on the beach.” Wanda murmured as she leaned on Natasha’s back, her hands hanging in front of her chest but they had no desperate desire to touch.

“I'm here to stay, Wands.” Natasha sighed. And I truly hate to disappoint you, but… well, this is where I have to be now. And I know, even with all the sex and drugs… and more sex, this isn't what you bargained for. And I know you made a vow, but-” 

“But nothing. I am with you, Natasha, from now until the end. We're a team, right?” 

“Of course.” Natasha kissed Wanda’s forearm in thanks.

“Now…” Wanda tilted Natasha’s head slightly so she could see the black bruise forming. “You should get some ice.” 

“Yeah.” The devil murmured, watching Wanda walk away from her peripheral vision.

As you walked past Wanda on her way up the stairs, you admired the quiet club. The gold finishes on black tiles were beautiful, but that wasn’t what your eyes were focused on. 

Natasha’s fingers danced softly over the piano keys, playing with an ease that came with years upon years upon years of practice. You were about to say hi before you noticed the dark purple, almost black, bruising around her left eye.

“What happened?” You asked softly. 

“Hmm? Oh.” She chuckled. “Sorry, malyshka. Just a little, you know, squabble with my little sis. Nothing serious.” 

She watched you fidget with your fingers, looking at your worried face. She gently placed her hand on top of yours, calming the anxiety within you. 

How she managed to do that was beyond your understanding. Or maybe it was within it. 

“I don't, uh… I don't like how we left it at the auction.” You murmured.

Natasha moved over to let you sit down on the piano chair. “Yes. I agree. You definitely could have handled things better. And I supposed, you know, I... Sorry. What was I saying?” 

She’d gotten lost in your full red lips and your wondrous eyes, glistening like the small disco ball above. The soft suppleness of your skin had her inner devil begging to touch it, to caress it and make sure you understood how beautiful you were, instead of trying to claim and dominate you.

Your sweet chuckle brought her ears back to listen to your gravelling night voice. “Look, I know how much it sucks being alone. And I can't pretend to understand why the wings meant so much to you. But if we're really friends, it… it should be enough just knowing that they did.” 

She raised an eyebrow at you whilst you ever so carefully moved some hair away from her face, revealing more of the harsh bruise but also her stunning irises that looked like viridian emeralds in the dark lighting. “The wings are old news now.” She chuckled.

You leaned further into her view. “Earlier they were all you could think about. Now you just don't care?” 

“Well, in my search for the wings, I realised what they actually were. A relic, worth exactly what someone was willing to pay for them. What can I say? I've moved on to bigger and better things.”

“So, what changed?” You asked.

“I don't know.” She muttered.

“Huh. Or won't say.” You teased. 

*You’re too damn good, Detective.* She thought to herself as she chuckled. “Well, how'd your Palmetto thing go anyway, hmm? Did you find the answer you were looking for?” 

“I found something.” You sighed, leaning your head on her shoulder.

“Oh. Well - to our equally enigmatic futures.” She raised a lonely toast, bonking it against your head softly.

You reached onto the piano head and grabbed a shot of the tequila, cheering it with hers before you downed it with a small shiver. She drank hers easily, taking your glass. “I thought you didn’t drink.”

You sighed, leaning your head back on her shoulder. “I used to. I used to drink at the bar with the other cops, I used to drink with my friends at parties when I was younger. But… when my dad died, I didn’t feel safe anymore.”

Natasha’s heart almost stopped.

You picked at your nails again as Natasha played softly, listening to every word with intent. “Mom never felt safe to me, with all of her acting stuff taking off and her being unreliable. My friends went all out when we could drink and drunk men, especially cops, aren’t the best to be around. So… I stopped.”

Natasha turned to you and gently kissed the top of your head. “You’re always safe with me.”

You moved away, but only to see her fully. The sincerity in her eyes, the way she held herself and her promise - it made you smile happily.

“Really?” You asked.

“Of course.” She replied simply. “I would never lie to you, Y/N.”

⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖

As you fell asleep on Natasha’s shoulder, tears of happiness fell on the Graham family whilst nurses rushed to help him come off of life support. If you had asked them that day about who had come to visit him, they would all remember the family.

Nobody would remember the blonde in a green suit.

#smalls words #natasharomanoff angst #natasharomanoff fluff #natasharomanoff x reader #natasharomanoffimagine #natasharomanoff #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fluff #devil!natasha romanoff #detective!reader #devil of my word #domw au

[toyafreethoughts]

Ladies, Gentlemen and Non-Binary Pals we interrupt your time on here with a special matchup trade with @pinejayy

A/N! Hello! I’m super sorry it took so long to get to yours and I’m only gonna do this one since I’m to tired but I hope the wait it’s worth this (: anyways, lets start this !

For you Demon Slayer Matchup you’ll be with…

Mitsuri Kanroji!

I thought that you and mitsuri would be the most perfect match for this one! She’s super sweet and emotional while you are sassy and can be quite somewhat rude! she’s been simping for you since day one! she loves your huge confidence, im sure she finds anyone with strong confidence to be really attractive.

She loves your way in style! she loves how goth suits you! she’ll possibly (may or not) dress in goth with you! she has some accessories that she hopes that you may like, she also ADORES your tattoos you’ll find her tracing the designs or been staring at them in awe, maybe she’ll get a small heart tattoo for you.

If she was in the Modern time she would definitely play video games with you, if you play roblox you guys would do matching outfits on there while everyone will probably call you “online daters” but little do they know that your dating irl LOL, just a Modern Mitsuri Headcanon, anyways, she also loves blankets! mostly soft and large ones, she’ll probably craft one and you guys can cuddle in it with some hot drinks.

Since she loves food, if you want anything with spicy ramen or anything spicy in general she’ll be happy to have obanai cook for you both while you eat millions of food!

With that, I think she has a gift giving love language, she gives you so much plushies just to let you know how much she actually loves you and how much she appreciates you for being in her life. 

Round Ups — Kyojuro Rengoku, Gyutaro

#joey posts! #matchups #matchup #demon Slayer #demon slayer matchups #demon slayer matchup

[witchthewriter]

Hi there lovely! Here’s my information for the Sons of Anarchy Ship/Match-up

Features: I’m a female, standing at 5’6, I possess long light brown hair with a tint of redness in the sunlight. My hazel eyes change each day from green/brown to brown/gold. I have the sun and moon tattoos on my thighs, a shark up my side torso on my ribs, half an arm sleeve and a neck tattoo revealing my zodiac sign – Gemini (which I often hide) I’m slender with curves.

Hobbies: I am a workaholic; it becomes my hobby at times. I work in the funeral home, removing the deceased from the POD. I enjoy my free time spent with my dogs, my fierce Doberman and my lovable, motivating exercise collie partner. I enjoy reading all things Stephen King and James Patterson and playing any horror related video games. You guessed it, I’m a strong advocate for the horror genre, and Freddy Krueger will always have my heart. I watch SOA and SPN religiously whenever I tilly tally around the house.

Personality: Often seen as an outgoing, happy go lucky, eccentric lady (This is from first judgement from people I know) When really, I’m rather introverted and possess way too dark humour. I collect knives, different types ranging from a replica of the SPN demon blade, to a jungle machete. These are all encases in a glass shelf, only used for display. I love to make others laugh, and I’m incredibly loyal to those I care for. I don’t practice religion (I support others who do) as the only thing I believe in, is the reaper.

Aesthetics: Not sure if this is a term but my house is very much cabin like. Wooden beams, brown features, brown clocks with black accents. I love this kind of theme, heavily decorated with green plants and fish tanks.  

Likes: Lover of being at home, with my man and the dogs. Also a lover of all things spooky. I enjoy long hot showers with my candles lit in the shower itself, It’s so peaceful. I love to read, whether it be books in my hand or online. Sadly, I am a smoker, so my time alone on my patio having a cig is therapeutic to me. I adore time spent with my little family or my close friends whether it be going to the pub for a beer or shopping at Walmart for new bedding 😊 Coffee is my best friend.

Dislikes: My biggest dislike in this world, is seeing animals mistreated. I am that person that buys the near dead betta fish at the pet store and brings it home to treat and watch thrive. I dislike SNAKES. They just scare me, but don’t wish any ill will on them. Hypocrites are my triggers, can’t stand someone who preaches to the choir about wrong doings when they’re actively just as guilty. Own your shit is my motto.             

Brief fun facts about me!

Used to train canines for search work, in areas such as narcotics and explosives. My closest friend is my grandma. I love to wear black. My go to perfume is good girl. I play COD often – I’m competitive in nature. I wear the SONS rings as I got them custom made, and it’s my favourite accessory!

I put way too much into this post, but hopefully it’ll help lots with finding my best ship! Thanks for taking the time to do this 😊  

Want one? Here be the rules 🦋🌈

You LITERALLY sound like a character from Supernatural?!?! Are you sure you aren't Bobby's long-lost daughter or something?

Also being a canine trainer?! Um... are you the coolest person in the goddamn world? I think so.

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝑰 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑶𝒑𝒊𝒆 𝑾𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒏! I think you guys would be such a perfect match. In a way, you remind me of a cool-ass version of Donna? You seem very strong - emotionally, mentally and physically. Opie is a quiet guy, very loyal and genuine. You don't have to worry about him being manipulative or having underlying motives. He practically wears his heart on his sleeve but does his best not to show it.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

・You’d both be very level-headed and know you can trust the other. Opie is incredibly loyal, and if you showed to him the same loyalty, then nothing could come between you. 

・I think Opie would put on a brave face to watch horror movies, and he finds some scenes funny. Although he gets tight-lipped when there’s a lot of gore (feels a bit guilty?)

・He’d actually like one of your favourite horror movies, and love getting themed gifts from you

・Opie would love staying at home with you - you two would move in together and make your home a paradise. You both have a similar aesthetic. Cabin, rustic, and cosy, Opie would absolutely adore your dogs. 

・I think you would fit in with the club very easily. Gemma would be wary of you at first, but realise you aren't someone that's easily pushed around. You would definitely grow on her without realising it.

#ships #personal ships #match ups #pair ups #sons of anarchy match ups #sons of anarchy pair ups #sons of anarchy ships #let me ship you #open ships #open match ups

[cottoncandiescupcakes]

OFMD season 2 wishlist

Ed and Stede to just BE IN LOVE. Cuddling. Kissing. Being together. Please God. I need no angst. No guilt. No crying Stede. No crying Ed. Just let them be happy David I am on my knees. Let them kiss. Let them canoodle. Let Stede pop his backdoor cherry with the love of his life. Do it.

GET IZZY A MAN OF HIS OWN. He can be redeemed! He just needs a hot pirate daddy. Let Izzy sit on a big tattooed dudes lap. Do it for Con if nothing else.

Let my angel princess baby Lucius live and return to Pete safely. PLEASE. :( I can’t take it. I couldn’t take THREE SECONDS of Pete missing Lucius, you hear me.

I need Jim and Oluwande to be reunited NOW. Jim in a hot new leather outfit rescueing Oluwande? Hot. Captain Oluwande? Deserves and hot. Oluwande 4 Captain. Jim 4 first mate. Justice.

I need room people to become canon. Wee John and Frenchie are in love. :( Let them having their room back. And Wee John’s dolly I swear to God. If it’s gone I will freak.

Let Buttons and Olivia be happy pls. That man just wants a seagull on his head and to eat a guy. Let Buttons and Roach eat a racist dude in season 2. Do it. Just do it. Let Roach bitch slap more people. Just. Let them be free and chaotic.

Need the Swede to be respected that is a young lady who is figuring stuff out and women are to be respected. Thank you. Please get Swede a cute pink dress & get her a boyfriend just do it. Let her blossom.

Someone get Fang a dog pls. For crying out loud.

And David please have SOME mercy like. Man is a demonic jack in the box and I am scared.

#our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd season 2 #david jenkins

[keniaku]

top five character designs from any media you like 👀

ok i kinda went off in this one

- nagoriyuki

nago has such a sick design for a sick character. hes got a sick mask and a sick sword. he's a samurai vampire. what else can you ask for. imo the integration of the traditional samurai fit with the modern elements of his design work really well, it took me weeks to notice that he's not wearing a traditional haori but a more modern leather coat, the flow of the coat and the silhouette it makes really tricked me to think otherwise. it just looks so natural. i really love that his primary color is white, especially paired with his name. bonus for actually being hot behind the mask, though his blue eyes hold him back

- geto

oh my god. this is such a good design. my fucking god. one of the strongest points of jjk is how simple yet recognizable the character designs are, and geto's a great example. he's got a great shape and a great, bulky silhouette, i love that it's like an evolution of his high school silhouette. even without the symbolisms attached to his post defection fit, this is an incredibly simple yet incredibly charming design, and it shows the power of good character design bc geto isnt even in my top three but he's the one ive drawn the most. it's just that good

[animal death cw]

- japhet

japhet's got a big, majestic form fitting his status as the master of the great library and guardian of zone 2. the sheer morbidity of his design wins me over. the way he "transformed" (or forced his way out) from a cat to a gigantic songbird, leaving behind valerie's mangled body on the top of his head, like a fucked up crown, like he was further mocking pablo. go play OFF by mortis ghost and ruin your life. its fun

[animal death cw end]

- akaza

man. akaza. honestly his design was a bit of a miss with me in the beginning (a handful of kny designs were), but it grew on me overtime, and after unlocking his backstory it really, really rooted on me. everything about his human life was literally etched in his body, from the criminal tattoos that appear more the more crimes he commits as a demon, showing that subconsciously, he deserves to be branded as such like he was when he was human, to how he carries koyuki's colors as well as keizo's technique and cheerful disposition. the tassels around his hips are a fun detail. it's so fun seeing them woosh about in the air as he beats the shit out of kyojuro

- lady dimitrescu

afaik lady dimitrescu was designed in mind to be hot? and got damn does it work. this is what should come in mind when you hear the word milf, with the wrinkles and smile lines that are really charming. if I was captured by lady dimitrescu i would simply not escape rip to ethan but im different. great and distinct silhouette that's so recognizable, posture that radiates confidence and shows personality, though imo she could be a bit more bulky

#clown emoji #answered meme.txt #starpil0tblue

[dykevillanelle]

a definitive list of omfd characters, from most to least fuckable

my qualifications: lesbian, impeccable taste, been rotating pirates & friends in my head for 5 solid weeks

Ed Teach - everything about him is pure distilled Fuckability and Gender. i knew i would sell my soul to him the moment he came onscreen. he is sooooo babygirl

Jim Jimenez - vico ortiz ruin me challenge. the scene where they're fighting with jackie...powerful homoeroticism, i really enjoyed it

Spanish Jackie - ive been a leslie jones stan since 2016 and the copious amounts of red velvet just made me fall deeper in love. with twenty husbands you know she's a freaque

Mary Bonnet - ms bonnet you deserve to have it laid down So right. i know you have free real estate guy but i think one of your widows support group ladies or me could do it better

Oluwande Boodhari - every time he comes onscreen i legally have to say "oluuuuuuu" while making heart eyes. 11/10 would be a very attentive lover

Roach - absolutely insane little guy, my best friend. his query of "how does he kiss?" re: the hook-headed man tells me that he's a romantic at heart.

Frenchie - everyone loves a musician who schemes and steals fancy suits during a raid. would entertain me with theories about crystals and demons. <3

Evelyn Higgens - i couldn't handle her but i wish i could

Nana - i'm not sure if it's blasphemous to include a nun on a fuckability list but if any nun fucks, it's this one.

Fang - hot topic belt boy!!!! he DOES have stunning cheekbones and i adore him.

Abshir - scammer king. he would treat me right <3

Ivan - i want more ivan in s2. his vertical stripes and black vest are so fun and flirty! 8/10

Lucius - the sideburns really don't do it for me but he'd write pretty great poetry afterward, so i'll allow it

Stede Bonnet - right smack in the middle of the list. he's extremely mid but i will confess Liberated Stede taking his boat out onto the water in 1x10 has a certain je ne sais cock

Wee John Feeney - he would be so gentle and i love his star face tattoos. interior design king, excellent hair

Black Pete - we stan a guy whose love language is gifts. im gonna need him to show some loyalty, though

Nathaniel Buttons - i think buttons doesn't know what sex is. you know the elbow sex thing in rocky horror? that's his bag

The Swede - the whole teeth-coming-out thing really disturbed me on a primal level. this is nothing against him personally, our little nordic angel

[the point of unfuckability, all others ranked only for completion's sake]

19. Alfeo de la Vaca - good taste in citrus, bad oral hygiene. 1/10 would not recommend to a friend 20. Doug - per my girlfriend: "he's not so much rancid as he is utterly sexless". i think this is true even tho canonically he treats mary right. 21. Izzy Hands - when i initially conceived of this list, izzy was at the bottom, but somehow there are characters more rancid than he is. izzyfuckers DO NOT INTERACT this racist little rat man can choke but not in a way that he would like 22. Antoinette / Gabriel - i do love kristen schaal but. yuck 23. Badminton twins - would probably find some way of accidentally killing themselves and that just sounds like a lot of hassle. 24. King George - i think it just goes to show how bad jack and geraldo are that i'm putting them below a literal british monarch. but. this man is disgusting. 25. Calico Jack - he's never thought about another person's desires in his life. probably smells like a distillery and never learns your name. fuckable only for someone with intense self-loathing 26. Geraldo - you know how people talk about getting the ick? this man is one huge ick. i thought this even before i found out fred armisten didn't treat natasha lyonne like the queen she is. i would rather fling myself from the cliffs of dover than even consider touching this man

#our flag means death #ofmd #angel.txt #discourse on this post and die by my sword. it's joques

[falsementor]

LITTLE MUSE FACTS.

Instructions: fill out the questions about your muse, repost, and tag as many people as you want!

1) What does your muse smell like?:

i've touched on this already actually!! here's the more in depth answer if you're curious, but tldr; macaque's scent is like incense - the smell of lilies, old fabric, and burning smoke follows him wherever he goes.

2) How often does your muse bathe/shower?:

often enough! but he doesn't have access to like. luxury things such as running hot water (homeless moment but also still lowkey kind of a wild animal moment) so he usually just bathes in rivers and springs (hot springs if he's lucky!), and uses either scentless soap or herbs he managed to gather that can work like soap. he knows how to live off the land, so!

3) Does your muse have any tattoos or piercings?:

nope! and i don't think macaque has really considered getting any. he's kinda covered in fur so a tattoo wouldnt show up well. piercings, on the other hand... maybe. i think it's something he'd have to be talked into doing... maybe an ear piercing on one ear could be a look. but he doesn't like his ears being touched, so hm.

4) Any body movement quirks? (EX: tapping heel, shaking knee)

the big one is his trade mark Dramatic Bitch stance where he folds his hands behind his back. he does it constantly, lmao. his tail also lashes back and forth when he gets excited or angry (or both) - man's unhinged and his mannerisms show it.

5) What do they sleep in?:

depends on what points in his life, because what he'd sleep in would depend on what era it is and also what's going on in his life. in the past before his falling out with swk, he probably slept in robes of some sort, i'd imagine. but after that - he was on the run all the time, so he rarely had the time to rest - let alone change into something comfortable. i think THESE days, however, with lady bone demon gone, he can... indulge a little bit more now. probably just strips down to his pants and shirt.

6) What’s their favorite piece of clothing?:

the cloak! it's fabric is sturdy and heavy, and has kept him safe and warm all these years, so yea :] has a bit of a sentimental attachment to it.

7) What do they do when they wake up?:

i think macaque is the type to wake with a start, and scan his surroundings. he's... yea. the trauma. it'll take him some time to be able to wake peacefully. but after that initial panic, i think it depends. sometimes, he'll just lay there and disassociate for a while. eventually, he'll get up, stretch, and go start his day.

8) How do they sleep? Position?:  

he sleeps light, and on his back, with his arms crossed behind his head. sometimes he'll have a knee pulled up, too.

he can't sleep in any other position.

9) What do their hands feel like?:

calloused, and strong.. but also warm. the tips of his fingers end with sharp claws. the years of combat have hardened them over time.

but his fur is still downy and soft, at least.

tagged by: @omniversentertwined

tagging: @hismentor @newdleboy @samadhifire @stcries @fatedefyd @abitangy @megapolismayor @lunarspeared

#✘ — i was good but then i quit. ( headcanons. ) #if i tagged you and youre a multi - feel free to just pick a muse and run with it

[kazistired]

I don’t know how to do the “under the cut” thing so I’m sorry about how long this post is.

Okay guys, here’s my reactions to The School for Good and Evil movie (this was me taking notes as I watched).

THIS POST CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE MOVIE

Live reactions:

-KIIIIIIIT

-His guyliner is on point

-KITS MAKEUP IS AMAZING OH MY GOOOOSH

-THEY PULLED A LIV AND MADDIE WOW

-Dang, the CGI is both good and bad, wow

-okay the opening scene? The dialogue is a little cheesy but WHO CARES ITS KIT YOUNG

-first scene over and it’s already very different from the book

-SOPHIA ANNE CARUSO MY QUEEN I LOVE HER

-AGATHA. QUEEN. HECK YEAH

-they changed her mom from a healer to a wannabe witch. Weird

-they gave them more of a backstory together it’s so cute

-THEYRE SO SARCASTIC I LOVE THEM

-oh my gosh they’re so gay in this haha

-the girl playing Agatha looks so familiar

-white men. Scary dude. KEEP AWAY FROM HER YOU DRUNK WHITE ADULT MAN

-HE PULLED A KNIFE ON HER OH MY GOSH

-SOPHIE TO THE RESCUE RAPUNZEL STYLE WITH THE FRYING PAN AAAAAHHHH

-they’re gay your honor

-they’re screwing around with the people’s knowledge of the school. They didn’t know about it until now. That’s weird

-And there’s Sophie being Sophie. Good for you

-the way Sophia plays Sophie gives Lydia Deetz vibes. Maybe it’s cuz she’s the only other character I’ve seen her play, idk

-They’re a lot better friends in the movie than in the book. I think I like it

-they don’t have the whole “shadow kidnapping people every four years and the town knows and tries to stop it” thing

-at least they still have the scary bird

-they don’t set Sophie up as much as a brat before the school so it’s confusing

-the animation for the wolves isn’t very good

-THE FAERIES ARE FREAKY

-the school for evil is full of gender whyyyyyyyyy

-mommy? Sorry. Mommy? Sorry. Mommy? Sorry. (Red hair lady)

-mommy? Sorry. Mommy? Sorry. Mommy? Sorry. (Professor Dovey)

-dang lady 360 much?

-Tedros isn’t blonde. It’s a stupid thing to be petty about but okay

-Hort’s voice is very gender

-WHO’S THIS CUPID HARPY DUDE?????

-“CLOSE. DOESN’T. CUT IT. UGH.” Mommy, sorry

-Kit Young materializing in a column of blood? Yeah, okay, why not?

-Hester spits sparks. Dang

-THEY PUT BRUTAL BY OLIVIA RODRIGO IN HERE AAAAHHHHHH

-Gregor is a KING. I love him

-Sophie just straight up kissed a random dude and it was hilarious

-“I thought gnomes were supposed to be short.” “And I thought princesses were supposed to be likable.” HAHAHAHAHAHA

-Agatha and Tedros’s interactions are weird. Not as cagey as in the book.

-the props are painfully obviously props. Specifically the gnome’s staff

-WHY ISNT THE BLUE FOREST BLUE?????? ITS GOT A BLUEISH FOG AND THATS IT. IM LIVID.

-I like the pink little monster flower. It’s adorable. So cute. I love them

-someone get Gregor out of there and give him his grocery store

-SOMEONE. SAVE. GREGOR. PLEASE.

-NOOOOOO GREGOR!!!!!!!!!!!!! THEY FRICKING LIGHTNING ZAPPED HIM TO DEATH OH MY GOSH WHY???????? WHY????????????????

-Lesso is BACK. Mommy, sorry, mommy, sorry

-why does Hort look like the front man of an emo band? Love him haha

-“Why don’t you go find someone else to go have mommy issues with” DAAAANG SOPHIE

-Hester is hot. Very. Hot.

-oh yeah, I forgot about the bees

-op the bees formed Kit Young. Kit Young covered in bees.

-Lesso’s got a thing for Rafal (Kit Young’s character). Wow

-okay but why is the scene with Hester putting her demon tattoo back actually heart wrenching?

-Lesso and her freaky love of Rafal. Dang.

-THANK YOU AGATHA FOR POINTING OUT HOW WHAT HAPPENED TO GREGOR IS WRONG

-“they have weapons but we have animals” wow

-CALL THEM OUT AGATHA. GO OFF GIRL

-why are they all so shallow? My gosh, I hate this trope. I’m tired of shallow princesses

-THE WISH FISH TURNED INTO A PERSON OH MY GOSH THAT WAS COOL

-THAT PERSON IS LITERALLY A CHILD OH MY GOSH AND THE CHILD FRICKING DIES IN A CLOUD OF GLITTER WHAT THE HECK

-oh yeah here’s the animal scene where they want Agatha to free them

-GREGOR GOT TURNED INTO A SKELETON BIRD OH MY GOSH

-WAIT TEDROS KILLS HIM IN THE BOOK

-NOOOOOOO TEDROS KILLED HIM I WAS RIGHT

-“Good used to be good and true. Now we are in the age of self-centered perfectionism” ha true

-there’s always a wolf playing the organ I love him

-Sophie is so pretty oh my gosh. She’s gorgeous

-wow, the doom room already? They’re really skipping a lot of stuff. The Tedros and Sophie build up isn’t happening.

-aaaaaaaaaaand there goes her hair

-the fact that Lesso cut it and they don’t have Sophie kill the Beast makes me sad, cuz that’s her tipping point in the book

-Agatha spitting FACTS

-and freaky Rafal in the mirror, lovely

-I love Kit Young so much. His voice? Amazing.

-he’s got his red vampire aesthetic going and it’s hilarious. He literally just needs fangs

-Agatha getting the build up Sophie and Tedros was supposed to get, nice

-did he trip her with his sword? I dunno

-“unlock your finger glow” “master your finger glow” why does the finger glow thing sound so weird

-Hort you masochist

-the key inserting is slightly triggering

-SOPHIE BURSTS IN LOOKING LIKE A HOTTIE WHILE YOU SHOULD SEE ME IN A CROWN BY BILLIE ELISIH PLAYS????????? OH MY GOSH SHE’S SO PRETTY AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH

-They’re montaging her bonding with her coven. No development. Just sudden friendship. Even Hester is in on it

-Sophie is hot. So hot. Her dress in the archery scene? Oh my gosh

-This is a two hour movie, I just realized that. I still have an hour left

-Agatha helping Sophie cheat. Good job.

-and now Agatha is getting sad

-Hester…. Hesterrrrrr….. I’m gay

-“you promise” word choice besties

-so…. The trial by tale isn’t a school event in the movie? Really?

-Hort really holds gender in every other shot. Sometimes he’s meh and others I want to look like that

-Bestie don’t announce your location to a dangerous forest at night

-okay from certain angles Sophie with this hair cut looks like Kallmekris (YouTuber)

-FRICKING REAPER SCARECROW THATS TERRIFYING

-HA Tedros got yeeted

-WHAT IN THE FREAKY GHOST STORY WAS THAT CRAWLING PUMPKIN REAPER????? I DID A PROJECT ON A GHOST LIKE THAT IN SOCIOLOGY AND IT MESSED ME UP FOR WEEKS

-reaper go boom

-Sophie is starting to craaaaack

-AND THERE’S KIT IN HIS VAMPIRE COSPLAY AGAIN

-Dovey’s acting needs work

-okay, the Never’s dorm is top notch

-Agatha is bisexual and Sophie is a repressed lesbian. Change my mind

-op, and here comes the nemesis signs

-Kit and his vampire cosplay back at it again

-THATS SO CREEPY

-Lesso is 👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻

-see, in the book you don’t know which brother the school master is. Here, good is explicitly stated as the school master and Rafal is causing chaos

-“oh no she’s missing” and no one thought to check the library?

-Sophie’s nooooooooose whyyyyyy

-ooooooo, I like how they made Lesso a reader

-Tedros spitting facts

-“she’s like my sister” NAH YALL ACT TOO GAY TO BE SISTERS SORRY

-Tedros “you’re my true love” after barely interacting. Lovely.

-Sophie had a veil on how ugly is she under there?

-YO WOW SHE LOOKS LIKE MIRACLE MAX

-“quiet Aggie the protagonists are speaking” I’m stealing that, that’s such a good line

-Wow Tedros throwing Agatha under the bus

-see, if you didn’t read the book, the nemesis thing wouldn’t have made sense

-Sophie turned the teachers into wooden dolls, dang

-Agatha literally being the only one in this movie with brain cells

-Never Ball!!!!! I love it!!!!

-Sophie looking like a goblin from Gringotts

-SOPHIE’S HOT AGAIN THANK GOODNESS

-YAS QUEEN MAKE THEM UGLY

-yooooooo Hort is wearing a skirt

-awwww, they’re not ugly, their clothes are just black now

-Hester’s dress is gross

-THEYRE FIGHT SCENE IS LITERALLY A TOXIC BY BRITNEY SPEARS REMIX OH MY GOSH

-HORT IN A SKIRT IS KING LEVEL BEHAVIOR

-I love Hort. He’s my favorite

-Sophie, snap that pen

-YOOOOO THE SCHOOL MASTER WAS ACTUALLY RAFAL

-Vampire cosplay is back at it again

-wow imagine Kit Young watching this back and basically watching him kill himself

-I mean, he’s not wrong. He really did corrupt them.

-Tedros and Agatha had no build up. They had maybe two scenes and that’s it. Ugh. I hate it.

-I didn’t know I’d ever watch Jesper Fahey seduce Lydia Deetz yet here we are

-the CGI for the school’s collapsing kinda sucks not gonna lie

-wow Agatha, that’s cheesy

-what’s with 100s of years old beings wanting to marry Sophia’s character?

-and after an awful stab scene the school’s rebuild lovely

-Sophie being stabbed by the Storian was cheesy as heck

-Rafal called Excalibur an oversized butter knife and honestly good for him

-Sophie is dying so slowly my gosh

-why didn’t Agatha just grab the sword? Why waste Sophie’s fading energy to send it through the air?

-all it took to kill him was one slash? Really?

-Ha, they kissed (yes it was a kiss goodbye cuz Sophie died but whatever)

-ah yes, the magic tears trope

-goooooood morning Sophie

-so…… no teleportation? They don’t get yeeted back to their home town?

-NO WOLF/FAERIE EVER NEVER REVEAL?????? SERIOUSLY????? THAT WAS MY FAVORITE PART OF THE BOOK!!!!!!

-HORT STRAIGHT UP REJECTING BEATRICE YESSSSSSS

-oh okay, they walk through a portal instead

-AGATHA STAYS????? FOR A BOY?????? THAT SHE BARELY KNOWS????? SERIOUSLY???????

-okay nevermind, she goes too

-they use their magic to make birds poop on their bullies. Nice.

-they set it up for a second movie. Good for them.

Okay, so basically they hit enough of their basic plot points to make it through but honestly? Wasn’t the best. The book was waaaaaaaaaaaaaay better.

#the school for good and evil #the school for good and evil spoilers #the school for good and evil movie #the book is always better than the movie #what the heck did I just watch? #Kit young’s vampire cosplay #I’m very gay

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Fics Starting With the Word “The” Masterlist

part one

The Benefits of A Weak Floor (ao3) - Fictropes

Summary: He quite literally falls through Dan’s ceiling.

The Best Kind Of High - bananasinthesunshine-blog

Summary: Dan’s in his final year of school and his life hasn't been exactly ideal. Can his guardian angel save him from the demons in his head and make things even a little bit better?

The Box Under the Bed (ao3) - Nefertiti1052 (Succubusphan)

Summary: Dan is a guy with a plan but when his idea goes sour he finds other ways to pass the time.

Or how Dan found Phil's secret box and was caught red-handed.

The Boy With The Animal Facts (ao3) - tol_but_smol

Summary: High School AU where Dan has a major crush on Phil, the boy in his art class that is super sweet and gives him daily animal facts

The Christmas Sweater (ao3) - Nefertiti1052 (Succubusphan)

Summary: Dan is on his way to Phil's to spend Christmas with the Lesters for the first time.

The Crash - placingglaciers

Summary: It’s another sleepless night for Phil only that Dan comes along and they end up shopping at like, 1 A.M. at a twenty-four hour superstore. It’s a bit of a disaster.

The Cuddle Sutra (ao3) - strawberrysunflower

Summary: It’s taken the better part of ten years for Dan and Phil to figure out the best position, but they’re pretty sure that by now they’ve perfected the art of the cuddle.

The Definition Of Content - botanistlester

Summery: Dan refuses to admit he is depressed and is forced into going to a psychologist, who is the literal human embodiment of sunshine.

the etiquette of a farmer’s market (ao3) - Fictropes

Summary: It starts with Phil destroying a supermarket shelf, it ends with the hot guy running the cheese stall.

the fifteenth floor (ao3) - waylesssad

Summary: Dan tries to rob an old lady but loses his bran cells, gets called Tevin, and seriously considers moving to Zimbabwe instead.

the fisherman’s guide (ao3) - watergator

Summary: it’s 1956 and phil is a lighthouse worker who wants to write, and dan is the handsome stranger that washes up on shore one night who can’t remember who he is, but does know how to fish

The Gaming Video. (ao3) - iamalwaystired

Summary: dan and phil decide to bring back the gayming channel with dab and evans wedding video. basically just fluff for 6k words,

The General Rules Of Existence - walruslovechild

Summary: Dan is a complete mystery and Phil is background noise, And everyone just wants to escape the dead-end town they grew up in. High-school-ish AU.

The Island - yougetusedtonotknowing

Summary: Based on the TV show ‘The Island with Bear Grylls’ in which a group of ordinary people are challenged to survive on a deserted island for a month. Dan expects the rain, the hunger, the exhaustion, and the frustration. What he doesn’t expect, is friendship.

The Literal Other Half (ao3) - Nefertiti1052 (Succubusphan)

Summary: Dan arrives at Manchester University and feels a bit lost, luckily he gets an upperclassman as a tour guide and mentor of sorts. Coffee dates, friends and a lot of laughter finally enter his life - along with love.

The Next Night - nebulous-frog

Summary: Germany in 1937 was a hard place for anyone "different". Dan just wanted to live his life, fall in love, and die surrounded by family, but his particular community was too "different". Dan found himself hiding, wishing for a better world, maybe even finding it in the eyes of an unlikely savior.

The Pastel Boy With A Tattoo - dxnhowell

Summary: Dan and Phil are total opposites but they don’t hate each other. Dan is the quiet, pastel boy while Phil is the punk boy who likes to cause trouble at school. Phil discovers Dan has a small in secret that makes them realize that they have more in common than they thought.

The Taste Of Your Cherry Chapstick - huphilpuffs

Summary: Punk!Phil has a crush, so when Pastel!Dan is manning a kissing booth for a school event, he finds himself showing up with a pound in his pocket.

The Torment of Existence (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan was born into a world where your eyes mean everything. If you have grey eyes you're fine, but those with colored eyes are usually blind. Dan is one of the few who are not.

The X-Philes (ao3) - UnorthodoxSavvy

Summary: Phil is a psychic. Dan is a detective. When Phil is visited by the ghost of his brother, he knows something isn't right. Can he and Dan solve the case, or will they become the next victims?

#phanfictioncatalogue #phan #phanfic #phanfiction #masterlists #title masterlist #ficsthe masterlist #ficsthe

[boobz-fye]

     <<<<About me>>>> 

☼ She/Her. Bisexual. Aquarius sun, Pisces moon, Scorpio rising. 

☼ Fav colors atm are Purple and Green.

☼ Loves~~~ Chicken tikka masala, Chicken fettuccine alfredo, Orange chicken, lo mein, Cake, Muffins, Watermelon, Strawberries, Grapes, Chocolate milk, Coffee, Water, Tea, Bonfires, Music, Volleyball, Art, Plants, Margaritas, Guitars, Stars, Rain, Swimming, Carnivals, Youtube, TV, Fireflies, Ladybugs, Butterflies, Praying mantis, Games, Having my nails done, Cars, Piercings, Tattoos, Parties, Cafes, Movies, Fashion, Jewelry, Animals, Candles, Perfume/Lotion, And a lot more.

☼ Fav animes~~~ Demon slayer, AOT, A silent voice, Haikyuu, A whisker away, Violet evergarden, High-rise invasion, Your lie in april, Future diary, Toilet bound hanako kun, Okkos in, Fruits basket, Assasination classroom, Sailor moon, Death note, Soul eater, Lu over the walls, Flavors of youth, Anohana, and Kotaro lives alone.

☼ Fav shows/movies~~~ White chicks, Friday, E.T, Boyz n the hood, Stranger things, IT, Bojack The Horseman, Girl Interrupted, The craft, Gilmore girls, That 70’s Show, Fresh prince of bel-air, Greece, Corpse Bride, Jersey shore, Keeping up with the Kardashians, Clueless, Ten things I hate about you, Alice in wonderland, Coraline, Suicide squad, Gremlins, Disney princess movies/Disney movies, Heathers, Modern Family, Scary movie, Mean girls, Scooby doo, Marvel & DC, Rugrats,The babysitter, Nacho libre, Terrifier, Transformers, Adventure time, I am legend, The office, Fear street, Bring it on, Jumanji, Girl from nowhere, Scream, Ridiculousness, Dark shadows, Pirates of the caribbean, Jennifers body, Edward scissor hands, Chuckys bride, The seed of chucky, Diary of a wimpy kid, My babysitter is a vampire, House bunny, Big mouth, Uptown girls, The conjuring, I know what you did last summer, Final destination, Friday the 13th, Texas chainsaw massacre, All of us are dead, and Goonies.

☼ Music~~~ Hole, Kali Uchis, Doja Cat, Nirvana, Frank Ocean, Beastie boys, Trippie Redd, Brent Faiyaz, Kanye West, Kendrick Lamar, Mac Miller, SZA, Childish Gambino, Cuco, TV girl, Cults, Don Toliver, Miguel, Tyler the creator, Men I trust, Cage The Elephant, Bruno Mars, Cigarettes after sex, Playboi Carti, Gorillaz, Daniel Caesar, PinkPantheress, Azalea Banks, Rico Nasty, System of a down, Shakira, Destinys Child, The Smiths, boa, Pity Party (Girls Club), MF DOOM, Aaliyah, Lil’ Kim, Usher, Alicia Keys, Outkast, N.W.A, The Pharcyde, The Notorious B.I.G, Steve Lacy, TLC, Cleo Sol, J. Cole, 2Pac, Ice Cube, Salt-N-Pepa, Ms. Lauryn Hill, Missy Elliott, Radiohead, Flo Milli, No Doubt, SWV, Summer Walker, City Girls, JAY-Z, Beyonce, Coco & Clair Clair, Yeat, Doechii, Megan Thee Stallion, Three 6 Mafia, Afroman, Eazy-E, Yves Tumor, Mariah Carey, 702, GoldLink, Lady Gaga, Dreamer Isioma, Ojerime, MCR, blink-182, Paramore, Metallica, Slipknot, The Offspring, Green Day, Deftones, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Lil Uzi Vert, 21 Savage, Kodak Black, Future, Big Sean, Tay-K, Eminem, Lil Wayne, Rihanna, Gwen Stefani, Fergie, Black Eyed Peas, 50 Cent, Nelly, Soulja Boy, Sean Paul, Amy Winehouse, LMFAO, Justin Timberlake, Ciara, Nelly Furtado, and Ashanti.

[out-of-control]

PRESENT

words: 1397

warnings: unsanitary (?)

summary: jax’s birthday is february 27.

“Happy birthday to me,” Jax sings, coming over and flopping down on the couch, head in Jim’s lap. “Happy birthday toooo me, happy BIRTHDAY–” Jim presses a hand over Jax’s mouth to shut him up, so Jax licks it. Jim is a stone cold motherfucker though, because he doesn’t even flinch, so Jax just grabs Jim’s hand and yanks it off himself. “Tyrant. Guess what.”

“It’s your birthday?”

“No. I mean, yes, correct, but no. I’m getting myself a present. Guess.”

“Concert tickets.”

“No.”

“A ten inch dildo.”

“Jesus Christ, no.”

“A new coffee machine.”

“That would be smart, but no.”

“A puppy.”

“Aw, fuck, I wish.”

“I give up.”

“Lame,” Jax says, stretching. “A new tattoo.”

“Ooh,” Jim says, somewhat more interested. “Of what?”

“It’s gonna be, like, a sexy demon lady,” Jax says, spreading his hands. “Right on my arm.”

“What, you going straight now? Good luck with that,” Jim says, teasing. Jax swats his chin. 

“You’re a close-minded bigot,” he says loftily. “And women love me.”

“Lesbians love you,” Jim replies. 

“And they’ll love my new tattoo. You should come with me.”

“Hm?”

“To my appointment. It’ll be fun.”

“You sure you don’t just want a ride?” Jim says, arching one eyebrow. 

Jax shrugs innocently. “Can’t a guy just want quality time? With his car-owning friends? On his birthday?”

Jim shoves him onto the floor.

–

Jax always gets excited at tattoo appointments, and chatters away at the guy as he’s prepped, arm shaved and wiped down. Jim’s quieter, responding when spoken to but mostly just looking interestedly at all the supplies laid out at the guy’s station; gloves and wipes and needles and ink and all the rest. 

As the stencil is laid down, Jax nudges Jim’s shin with a boot. “Does it look good?” he asks, gesturing with his chin. 

Jim considers it seriously. “Yeah,” he says finally. “It looks really good.”

Jax gets a Pavlovian little kick the instant the needle starts up, before it’s even in his skin. Heart pattering with anticipation, he watches, entranced as the needle gets closer and then, finally stabs in. He lets out a slow exhale as black lines begin to cover blue. Soon she’ll be a part of him. 

The whole process lasts a couple hours. After the final wipe down, Jax takes one look at the irritated new tattoo, red skin and black ink, saucy arrowhead tail and sly little smile on the woman’s lips, and he falls in love. He thanks the guy profusely and tips as much as he can possibly afford, and then he drags Jim outside so he can do a little dance in the parking lot. 

“I’m gonna name her Beverly,” he says, and tries to dip Jim, who is too tall for him to effectively lever down. 

“Congratulations to you and Beverly,” Jim says, grinning.

–

On the drive home, Jax keeps picking at the tape keeping the bandage on.

“Cut that shit out,” Jim says, glancing at him before returning his gaze to the road. Jax sticks his tongue out, but stops fiddling. 

They drive on for a few more miles in companionable silence. Abruptly, Jim puts his right turn signal on and steers the Tercel towards the shoulder. 

“Uh?” Jax says, as Jim rolls the car into the grass on the side of the road and shifts it into park. Jim turns, unclipping his seatbelt, and squints at Jax. Jax, scratching his bicep, returns Jim’s gaze, an eyebrow raised in suspicion. “Dude, you’re–”

Jim lunges forward and suddenly Jax is being kissed, wetly and kind of crazed. “Alright,” he tries to say, but Jim’s tongue is mostly in his mouth, so it comes out more like “Glaarbh.”

Jim crawls over the divider between the seats and drops himself fully in Jax’s lap, somehow all without breaking contact with Jax’s mouth. Jax wraps his arms around Jim’s waist and happily lets himself get mauled. Finally Jim has to come up for air, and says, breathless: “Christ, you’re hot.” A warm feeling trickles down Jax’s spine from the top of his skull to his pelvis, and he says, “Thanks, but, like, what–” Jim kisses him again and he melts utterly. 

One of Jim’s hands scrabbles at the door, until it finds the handle and the door swings open, freezing February air making Jax suck in a displeased breath. “Hi?” he says, as Jim levers off of him and unfolds his long body out the door. He frowns, feeling bereft, but then Jim opens the door to the backseat and sits down and Jax thinks, Fuck yeah. Ignoring the open door, though, he just unclips his seatbelt, climbs right over the back of the passenger seat, and tumbles into Jim’s lap. “Idiot,” Jim says sort of fondly, and reaches over to close the door himself. Then he grabs Jax around his waist and bodily flips him over so that he’s lying underneath Jim, which is very, very hot. 

“Happy birthday, shithead,” Jim breathes in his ear. 

“It kind of feels like you’re the one getting the presents,” Jax says, as he is ground against. Then Jim grabs the hem of Jax’s shirt and yanks it off him; no easy feat since Jax is lying down. Jim places a palm over Jax’s hip, right over the roses, and Jax moans, Christ, he’s putty in Jim’s hands. Jim dips down, puts his lips on the dagger inked against Jax’s ribs, and it turns out Jax is putty in Jim’s mouth as well. Jim skates his teeth over bone, sharp little canines scratching the skin; traces each line with his tongue. Then he raises his head back up and kisses Jax, slipping a hand under the back of his neck to crush them deeper together. It feels carnal, predatory, like Jim is trying to devour Jax whole. His fingernails dig into Jax’s thighs. Jim rears back, holding himself over Jax, and his eyes flash orange in the setting sun. He grabs Jax’s arm, roughly, and turns it over, staring at the plastic-wrapped wound on his bicep. He licks his lips, then stretches his neck out and slowly swipes his tongue along the tattoo, bottom to top, through the plastic. Jax shivers. 

“Hey,” Jax says, voice raspy. “Hey.”

“What,” Jim says, sounding equally ragged. 

“Is that the most you’ve ever done with a woman?”

Jim snorts. “That’s a fun mystery for you to ponder.” And he kisses Jax again, so fiercely, licking into his mouth like a wildfire. Jax, who doesn’t mind the risk of getting burned, reaches for the hem of Jim’s shirt. 

–

“So,” Jim says later, in the car with the lights on, seeming strangely awkward. “I did actually– I did get you something.”

Jax stops moving, one arm through his t-shirt. “You did?” he says, stupidly. 

“Yeah,” Jim replies, ducking his head. Or, rather, Jax thought he was ducking his head, but actually, he’s bending down to reach underneath the seat and pull out a brown paper-wrapped package, which he drops in Jax’s lap. 

Jax finishes putting his shirt on, darts his head forward, and kisses Jim on the ear, excitedly. “No shit.” And he tears it open. Underneath the paper is a plastic baggie, filled with about two dozen vintage novelty buttons. 

“For your jacket,” Jim says, the tips of his ears turning pink, “or whatever else. If you want them.”

Jax pulls out a button reading, IF AT FIRST YOU DON’T SUCCEED, TO HELL WITH IT. “Dude,” he says reverently. “These rule. Thanks.” He pulls another button out, then reaches over and pins it to Jim’s jeans. I ♥ NY, Jim’s thigh now proclaims. Jim makes a face. “I don’t know if that’s true. Maybe?” he says.

“Good answer,” Jax replies. “Very Jersey of you.” He tucks the bag away in his pocket. 

Jim looks over at him, tucks his hair behind an ear. “I didn’t fuck up your tattoo, did I?” he asks, sounding kind of guilty. 

Jax cranes his neck to look at the plastic. “No, I don’t think so. The wrapping is waterproof. You freak.”

“You’re a freak.”

“You can’t call me a freak,” Jax says. “It’s my birthday.”

Jim sighs. “I guess not.” 

Jax knocks his knuckles along Jim’s jaw, lightly. “Don’t worry. When it’s your birthday it’ll be your turn not to get called a freak.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” Jim says.

#words