Kara doesn’t think she’s ever been
arm candy before.
She says as much to Lena who laughs
and leans across the back seat of the car, laying her hand lightly on Kara’s
“You aren’t arm candy, Kara,” she
says. “I invited you because I need your intrepid reporting skills and quick
wit to get me through this dinner.”
She flits her eyes from Kara’s face
to her high-heeled feet, gaze lingering at the slope of her cleavage, at the
lean flex of her calves, before smiling, coy and red-lipped. “It doesn’t hurt
that you are an absolutely gorgeous date.”
Kara grins, tilting sideways in her seat,
ducking her head to reach Lena across the suddenly vast distance of vinyl
upholstery between them. She nuzzles into Lena’s neck, finding the floral perfume
dabbed lightly at her jaw, mouths kisses along the hard line of Lena’s throat.
Lena eyes the partition that
separates them from the driver before sighing softly, a light exhale falling from
her parted lips. She tilts her head back, fingers tangling loosely in the hairs
at the nape of Kara’s neck, careful not to muss the intricate braids that curl along
the crown of Kara’s head.
Kara, emboldened, nudges in harder,
nipping teeth at Lena’s neck, one hand curling at her waist. Lena makes a small
noise of surprise low in her throat, pulling back, fingers moving to splay at
“No marks,” Lena says, tone
controlled, even. But her eyes, dark-lashed and half-lidded, fix at Kara’s
mouth. The quick tempo of her heartbeats, dampened by cloth and the distracting
rush of city traffic, promise later,
Song for the Playlist - Wonderwall by Ryan Adams (cover)
Instagrams are here - (none for this chapter because the app is being a dick)
Word Count - 4250…ish
“Just gotta be safe, love,” he whispered.
“My protector,” she said back into his ear and a shiver ran down his spine.
He manoeuvred them until she was lying flat on the bed and he could straddle her thighs and view her perfect body from above, and leaned down to kiss her lips once again. Her hands ruffled through his hair as he abandoned her lips to find her jaw, nipping at her and his hands lingered at her neck, tickling, until he moved further down and found a perfect spot to suck on to.
Her breath hitched at his teeth on her neck, a slight moan coming from her mouth and her grip on his hair tightening until he pulled away wishing the small bruise would appear that second to mark her as his.
On Tuesday I got up very early and had my first proper onsen since apparently 5am is when all the little old ladies go. I then went to watch the Buddhist monks mediate before heading up to Okunoin, one of the most famous sites in Koya. It’s a collection of shrines, temples and graves, some new, some very very old and some company sponsored. With the low hanging mist it was incredibly atmospheric and beautiful.
I then headed back to Osaka and caught up with @suitablyskippy again! We did a retake of the ramen incident, went to the bay area, climbed Japan’s smallest mountain (it’s not a mountain, it’s barely a slope), chatted over Japanese sweets I brought back from Koya, wandered /everywhere/ including the red light district and finished it all off with beer, chicken and Mob Psycho discussion. Really the best way to end the day!
Why does Violet Baudelaire remember Jacques Snicket?
The impersistence of memory is a running theme throughout “A Series of Unfortunate Events”, as the Baudelaire orphans progressively learn the real meaning behind the tragedies they experience. Things were not what they appeared. One passage particularly comes to mind:
“His full name,” Duncan said, flipping through his notebook, “is Jacques Snicket.” “That sounds familiar,” Violet said. “I’m not surprised,” Duncan said. “Jacques Snicket is the brother of a man who/” [The Vile Village, Chapter Twelve]
The Baudelaire parents raised their children to remain blissfully unaware of VFD and their past… Yet Violet, the eldest, seems to believe she heard of Jacques Snicket before. When? Where? Why?
Seriously, Johnny probably wasn’t thinking like usual when he attempted to cruise down the grassy slope with Max’s ‘borrowed’ skateboard. The parkouring new kid seemed to have a butt load of old gear. And he means old, cuz that was the only way the stupid thing could of broke the moment he swerved away from a huge purple blob while Max was hollering behind him.
They’d agreed to meet on the upper levels, by Moreena’s instance. “And don’t pick any pockets while your waiting! I don’t want you to be arrested before I have a chance to catch up.” Ezra had put up both hands and grinned. “That’s only if I get caught though, right?” She’d punched him in the arm, and he agreed to be on his best behavior. So here he was, leaning against the walkway barrier and studying the people passing by underneath him. They were all dressed so crisp and clean, he certainly felt underdressed in a place like this. All the architecture was sharp and modern, and there was little to no trash at all in the streets. At least it wouldn’t be long until the crew and he would be on their way and back to their usual brigand lifestyle. There was a pang in his chest as he realized leaving Alderaan would also mean saying goodbye to Moreena again. “I’m surprised you’re still here.” A female voice interrupted his thoughts, and Moreena appeared against the railing beside him. “I was sure you wouldn’t be able to help yourself to someone’s pockets by now.” The accusation, though true in a way, and only meant in jest, still stung a little. Ezra was quick to remind himself that it was just another reason he would be glad to leave Alderaan and its nice clean cities. Lothrats like him stood out in places like this. He didn’t belong. “Hey- I only meant it as a joke.” Moreena said quickly, gently laying a hand on his arm and pinching her dark eye brows together. “I know.” he laughed, showing her a smile. He spun around, and away from her touch, now leaning against the railing with his back. “I was just blinded by your dress. Are you sure your even allowed to wear that? Wont the queen be missing such finery?” he grinned at her, making a show of trying to shield his eyes from her shinning dress. Moreena had dressed in soft greens and whites with golden trims on the edges of the gauzy cuffs. Her bright hair had been pushed back with a golden band, and the fading light of the day caught the gold in all the right places. She blinked, and then jaunted her hip out, sloping her bare shoulder forward and giving Ezra a suddenly wry smile. “Do I look expensive? Enough to keep your attention now?” Ezra laughed hard and short, “Well you remember how attracted I am to pricey things.” “So you are attracted?” Ezra quickly changed the subject, turning his eyes, but not his attention, back to the city veiw. “So, how’s your family?” “Oh the usual. Gran is all about making sure I’m a proper lady. Dad and mum are doing well.” Her face fell a little. “They miss the farm.” He frowned. “What about little Abbi?” Moreena snorted heavily though her nose, and a hint of acid entered her voice. “She isn’t so little any more, trust me. You should see how she flirts with the imperial cadets.” She pressed her palms to her face and dragged her cheeks down with a groan. “It’s dis-gusting.” “Oh Abbi, no!” Ezra grimaced, trying not to laugh at the ridiculous face she was making. “I know.” She insisted, and then her pink lips quirked in the corners. “Remember how she used to make those soft eyes at you and follow us around the farm?” Ezra blanched. “Unfortunately.” “Well it’s worse now.” She said seriously. “She’s always talking about how great and brave the TIE cadets are.” “Well it takes a lot of courage to fly a tie into laser bolts.” Ezra said with a shrug. “I blame the holonet.” Moreena said with a sigh. “You should see the dribble they spout on here. You’d almost think the Empire controls the Only channel.” There was a heavy droll in her tone and she gave him a pointed look. Ezra snorted, and bit down on his knuckles to stifle the laugh. She smiled, and they lapsed into silence for a few moments. “Is it… safe to talk like that here?” he asked quietly, eyeing the city patrol as they passed underneath the walkway. “What? The truth?” She demanded airily. He scowled. This isn’t Lothal, Mo.” he chided, his tone turning serious. “And we aren’t just some dusty kids making trouble in the streets. People could notice you. The Empire might notice you.” “The Empire doesn’t care about me.” she said, flapping a hand. “And since when were you afraid to be mouthy?” Since I became a wanted enemy of the Empire, he wanted to say. Instead, Ezra turned away, pressing his knuckles into his temple. He couldn’t get into that with Moreena now- he couldn’t risk sharing anything too sensitive. Was she in danger because he was here? “Never mind. Forget I said anything.” he said quietly, stuffing the paranoia deep down and gripping the rail tight. Moreena took a step closer, “Ezra,” she said, but had nothing to follow it with. They stood in quiet for another minute and Ezra internally scolded himself for ruining the moment. He took a deep breath, pulling in his focus and letting the calm fill him. But it could not dislodge the see of worry in his gut. “I just think you should be careful.” he said finally. “I am as careful as I need to be. I’m a big girl Ez.” she said, and knocked her shoulder into her arm with a smile. Ezra felt something smooth brush against his fingers and glanced down to see Moreena’s hand loosely placed on the rail next to his own. He quickly straightened and tried to slip his hand into his pockets- but one missed and he fumbled, trying to make the smooth transition by looping his thumb on his belt. “So, uh- You gonna show me the best this porcelain planet has to offer a Lothrat like me?” He hoped she couldn’t see the flush on his face in the low city lights. Moreena grinned, and her smile was bright even against the colourful city skyline. “You mean a couple of Lothrats like us.” She said, her dark eyes daring him to argue. Before he could protest, she slipped her arm through the crook of his elbow and tucked herself into his side. Ezra gaped, swallowing hard on the lump in his throat. “Come on, pull yourself together.” Moreena laughed, pulling him along. “I’m going to give you the only tour of Alderaan that matters.” Ezra was still fighting down the blush but he caught the tail end of an inside joke in her voice. “So you’re taking me where the good grub is at?” he laughed. She threw her hair over her shoulder and grinned. “The best.” ____________________________________________________
This is all Tumblr’s fault. I always shipped Moreena and Ezra but now the spark has found fuel! Stoppit guys- I’m meant to be writing Other fanfiction. Gawsh.
Can you just imagine Zeb teasing Ezra as he’s trying to sneak out to meet her? “Off to your date then?” “Its not a date, you stinkfactory! Shes just a old friend.” “Sure kid, Whatever you say.” Sabine enters and gives Ezra a glance over. “Thats what your wearing? I thought you Liked this girl.” “ITSNOTADATE.”
Requested by anon || based on this imagine from imagine-lotr: Imagine being pregnant with Eomer’s child and you aren’t married || Setting: Rohan, long before the Three Hunters arrive. || Warnings/Notes: harsh, unfair judgmental attitudes || thank you, Mother, for inspiring the bloom speech :)
OKAY CAN YOU PLEASE WRITE CLARKE DRAWING ON BELLAMYS BACK??? EVEN IF ITS JUST A PARAGRAPH. FUCK.
Okay, just for you anon. This is set far after an alternate season three. After a brutal confrontation, Bellamy and Clarke relearn each other.
Of all masterpieces, this is her favorite.
She sits atop his lower back, bottom lip chewed up something terrible, eyes clouded over with something careful - something aching. Every so often, they rise and fall together in time with his easy breaths. He’ll cough, he’ll groan, he’ll murmur.
Clarke stares at the freckle by his spine a moment before smoothing one palm up the center of his back. Picasso lives in his bones, jagged and jutting underneath his skin. Battle-worn and weaker for it. Bellamy exhales, and Clarke frowns when the side of his face lifts with a smile before he returns to another flipped page.
The Odyssey keeps him enraptured, sea-soaked and heavy with wooden loss.
Her footsteps across the gallery continue when she stretches over him hands first, working the warmth of his Van Gogh tone and muscles the ripple of Da Vinci’s strokes up to the nape of his neck and through his tousled hair, overdue for a cut.
There lives the Monet in him, the mess of colors, bursting greens and blues - blurred thoughts and the landscape of his stormy mind. Concepts she wants to sink her fingers into, smear and learn and make a mess of.
Bellamy coughs again, leans his forehead down against one of his bent arms. The book threatens to topple. “Y’know princess, art classes on the Ark would’ve been in big demand if they offered them like this.”
Rating:M for sexual content Words: 3,060 Pairing(s): Kristanna Summary: When Kristoff comes home after the events of “Dark as Snow,” he and Anna have a very overdue reunion. (Post-Chapter 13, pre-epilogue.)
Notes: Merry Christmas, guys. This is also my prompt fill for 12 Days of Kristanna Day 6: ‘Tis a Gift.
Oliver/Felicity, 2, governess AU (I am a one-track mind tonight)
“C-A-T, cat,” says the little girl as she looks up at Felic- Miss Smoak with glee written all over her face, bright hazel eyes shining uninhibited by the usual curtain of blonde curls (she wanted her hair pulled back like Miss Felicity’s today).
The older blonde smiles proudly at his daughter, praising her for her hard work and completely unaware that Oliver is watching them from the doorway. She’s been with them for two months now and he’s already seen an improvement in Elisabeth’s vocabulary and reading techniques, which is far better than he can say for any of their past three governesses.
Oliver is about to speak up from his post when Felicity - Miss Smoak reaches up to gather the loose curls of her half up hair style and pull them to the side, baring the gentle slope of her neck and causing Oliver’s breath to catch in his throat as the image of placing hot, openmouthed kisses against the pale column floods his senses.
“Would you like to join us for a lesson, Master Queen, or are you content to sit and observe?”
BK i need something of emma missing killian's pirate coat since he hasnt worn it in awhile and him coming home to find her snuggled up with it or something (smut+fluff, if you please)
There are moments when his love for her threatens to overwhelm him – a sharp pressure against the inside of his ribcage as his heart beats a maddening rhythm. When the wind whips her hair in tangles around her face, a curse whispered under her breath as she struggles to push it back behind her ears with the heel of her hand. The soft pink glow that climbs her cheeks in the moments after he has had her to his content, the sheets pooled low around her hips and a soft, satisfied sigh pressed against the hollow of his throat with a smug smile that would make a man do dangerous things just to see again. How she whispers his name in the moments between sleep and awake, fingers searching, her body melting against his as soon as she finds the place where his heart stutters in his chest.
But this – this is another thing entirely.
He can just barely make out the top of her head when he peeks into the living room, softly clicking the door shut behind him and toeing off his boots. His journey to secure provisions from another town with the prince had taken longer than expected, and it’s been seven nights since he last held her in his arms – his body and soul and everything else missing her with a fierce ache that he has no intention of ever experiencing again. He belongs at her side, this he has known for quite some time, and he silently vows to himself that another trip beyond the town borders will not be without her company.
(A man can only take so many stories about sheep.)
He makes his way towards the couch with a jaw cracking yawn, smiling to himself as she shifts and mumbles nonsense in her sleep, stilling abruptly when he finally sees her in her entirety.
Can you write another drabble like you did with Matt Damon Bonnie (bamonnie?) for one of the belvafore ensemble moments you were talking about earlier? :D
HA, oh God, I can try.
“Give someone a striptease? Really?” Bonnie glanced up from the crumpled scrap of paper in her hand with a snort, the hazy sheen of alcohol brightening her eyes. “Never gonna guess who wrote that one.”
Damon smirked. “Unsolved mystery.”
“Does it get boring, being so predictably gross all the time, or is it like a reprieve for you in all the chaos?” Caroline ventured as she swept out the kitchen, refilled popcorn bowl in hand.
Damon’s eyes rolled ceiling-ward. “I don’t know, Caroline - does being so predictably bitchy get boring for you?”
She smiled coolly as she passed him. “No.”
He simpered back from his armchair. “Well, there’s your answer.”
You should totes consider continuing that Swan Queen road trip ficlet because of many solid ~reasons.
Solid reasons considered! This one’s short and fluffy b/c i had to write another prompt, sorry! Swan Queen Road Trip #2:
I hope you enjoy!
Regina woke to the feeling of being watched. She could feel Emma’s feigned breathing against her cheek, coming in too fast and being held for too long for Regina to believe she was sleeping. She cracked one eye open, adjusting to the bright light pouring in from the window. There, bathed in the warm morning light, inches from her, was Emma, her now dry hair curling behind her ear and spilling across her freckled nose. The rest of her hair was falling down her shoulders, tangled in a way that seemed impossible for somebody who hadn’t moved. And Regina knew Emma hadn’t moved the entire night, because with a startling blush, she noticed Emma’s foot was lodged in between her legs, and she could feel the little stubs of hair on Emma’s leg as she twitched. Her arm was lazily draped over Regina’s waist, her fingers barely scraping by the slope of her back.
In short, Regina woke up breathless.
She took in Emma’s face, her pale lids almost purple against the white sheets, and Regina scooted a little further into Emma’s warm space. She counted, three, four, five freckles before Emma begun opening one eye, and Regina quickly slackened her shoulders, shutting close her eye and sinking into her pillow.
She could once again feel Emma watching her, and she would bet her entire collection of toad’s foot that Emma was looking at her through a half closed lid. Regina tried steadying her breathing, which fell flat as Emma’s breath came closer and closer, until she could practically feel her nose against Emma’s.
“Good morning, Mrs. Swan.” Emma spoke lowly and suddenly, startling Regina into opening her eyes. Emma was grinning softly at her, her pink tongue barely visible as she pressed it in between her teeth. Her sleep-ridden voice sent goose bumps down Regina’s spine and she reared back a little as she exclaimed, “You were spying on me!”
Emma pressed her fingers lightly against Regina’s waist, and she immediately sunk closer towards Emma. “Like you weren’t looking either.” Emma caressed the small patch of skin she uncovered with her fingers and Regina forgot what she was so indignant about.
“I- well, I was only checking if you were asleep.” Emma hummed and moved her head closer, making her hair fall into her eyes, and tickle Regina against her cheek. Regina reached out and traced Emma’s hairline before tucking in the strands behind her ear, giving her a slight tug as her fingers reached underneath her earlobe. She moved her foot closer to Regina, and now her calf was resting in between Regina’s legs, the hem of her pants sliding up to her knee. Emma’s slight stubble tickled the inside of her calf, and Regina smiled as Emma moved even closer.
“Sure. And how did you sleep, on this very important night of ours?” Emma waggled her eyebrows up and down a few times before Regina rolled her eyes and lightly tapped her forehead.
“I’m very well rested. I was exhausted after last night.” Regina’s eyes flickered to Emma’s pink lips not for the first time, and she watched as her lips curled over her teeth in an agonizingly slow smile.
“Oh, I bet you were.” Emma rose her eyebrows and stared at Regina suggestively until Regina caught on.
“Emma! You wish, dear.” What was it about Emma that made her revert to a giggling fifteen year old who repeated the phrase ‘that’s what she said’ too many times?
Emma hummed again and pressed her palm fully against Regina’s hip. Her eyes dropped low and back up again, the bright green transfixing Regina in the sunlight.
“That, I do.” Regina froze in place as Emma’s eyes grew wide, her tongue darting out to lick her lips nervously. Emma opened her mouth and closed it, and before she could possibly take back what she meant, Regina closed the space in between the with one last look at Emma’s lips, and kissed her quickly on the nose, a move reminiscent of Emma’s the night before. It was short, and innocent, and it simply meant a ‘yes, a million times yes’ that Regina could not say out loud. Emma blinked at her and then slowly smiled, the change starting in her nose as she scrunched it up in surprise, moving to her eyebrows relaxing delicately over her eyes as her smile grew and grew; until it spilled over freckled cheeks and stained Regina in a contagious fit of giggles.
Emma ghosted her lips over Regina’s brow, until she pressed down softly and kissed her forehead. She met her eyes, which glinted mischievously, daring her with a ‘your move.’
Regina’s eyes dropped quickly to Emma’s, and urging herself to remember how Emma looked fresh-eyed and daring in the morning light, she moved the arm underneath her body to cup Emma’s cheek.
Before she could raise it properly, something tugged it down, and both women looked down to see Emma’s long hair wrapped around Regina’s arm. Chucking and relishing in the silliness of the morning, Regina untangled herself and resumed her path to Emma’s red stained cheek.
Regina swiped her thumb over the sea of freckles and leaned in closer, bumping her nose with Emma’s until she stopped short of touching her, Emma’s lips ticking her own. Emma’e eyes had shuttered closed, and with a wicked grin, Regina slowly pressed her lips against Emma’s parted ones. If she had been nervous about Emma’s reaction (which she hadn’t been) Regina was now sure that Emma was as wiling to kiss the queen as she was to kiss the savior. The blonde reacted enthusiastically, holding Regina closer until her body was aligned with hers, Emma’s leg still in between own. As Emma swiped the tip of her tongue against the delicate skin of her lower lip, Regina parted her lips, and that was when, cocky, smart mouthed Emma bit her.
In a surge of confidence Regina rolled over on top of Emma, stopping briefly to straddle her and admire her underneath her.
Her cheeks were rosy pink, a nice flush of color forming from her neck to her chest, which momentarily distracted Regina. Emma’s hair was pooled around her head, half of it pressed against her scalp and the rest curling and falling everywhere. Regina could no stop staring.
Her lips were opened in surprise, and she was staring at her wit such reverence and trust that Regina briefly told herself to remember this green-eyed Emma that glowed against the white sheets.
“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this.” Emma spoke softly, and Regina’s heart soared before Emma added, “Mrs. Swan.”
Regina’s eyes closed to slits and Emma chuckled lightly, her eyes darkening.
“Stop that.” Regina glowered, and Emma only placed her hands back on her hips as she said,
Headcanon that though he complains about them, Kristoff is actually conflicted about royal functions. On the one hand, they’re stuffy and dull, with so very many stuffy and dull people…
…but Anna wears her coronation dress, all bared, sloping shoulders, the ridge of her collarbone and the curve of her chest so tantalizingly touchable, and he can’t help but stare at her because she’s just so beautiful and somehow, by God’s own luck, she’s his.
(He’s not the only one who notices her of course, and sometimes he burns, protective, possessive, and he’ll take her by the hand, take her to a dark, hidden alcove and take lips and tongue to every inch of exposed skin, Anna’s voice little more than sweet whimpers as she helps him bare even more.)
((Assuming human form since as a dragon he doesn’t exactly wear clothes?))
Trinimac averted his gaze with a little difficulty. “Aren’t you cold or something?” He asked curiously. He wasn’t going to look again, nope. Not going to look at all the bared skin and sloping muscles. Nope. But he did, out of the corner of his eye.
She wakes up with blood on her hands. (This is not the last time that will be the case.) Breathe, Karen, she tells herself, because her heart is spilling out onto the floor and her head is whirling and she has to keep it together. But there is a dead man at her feet and his blood on her hands and her body will not comply.
The world keeps spinning, she almost finds it funny when she’s not crying. The world always keeps spinning. Someone tried to kill her last night and the world is still spinning. She can’t quite believe it. (If she were religious she would think that this was punishment for his sins, but she’s not and she doesn’t know what to think.) Matthew Murdock walks into the room and it’s like he causes time to stop, causes her heart to falter, causes her focus to narrow to the movement of his lips. “We’re going to take care of you,” he says, and she doesn’t know why (or maybe she does) but she believes him.
His home is bare with long sloping lines and dimly lit corners. She supposes it doesn’t matter what it looks like, but she thinks it’s beautiful. She think he’s beautiful. (It’s something in the shade to his smile and the cadence of his voice, the way he laughs with his head back, the way that somehow, miraculously, unexpectedly, inexplicably he already feels like home.) When she wakes in the middle of the night with a start, she is surprised by the unfamiliar walls, the darkened palette so different from her own pastel, pristine apartment. She pads across the floor, the concrete cold on the soles of her feet. Matt is asleep in the next room, glasses off and face softened with sleep. He looks innocent and young and far too good for her. She leaves. (And he follows, but she doesn’t know that yet.)
She thinks a lot about that night, even months after it happens. She remembers the way Matt had stilled when she took off her shirt, the cadence of his breathing quickening, the way the rain soaked straight through to her skin, her heart thudding in her ears, the silhouette of the man in the mask, the slope to his shoulders, the curl of his lips. She thinks a lot about that night.
She fits in at Nelson and Murdock better than she could have ever imagined. She’s always been a bit of a roamer, floating amidst people who always seem to leave her, one way or another. But Matt and Foggy, they feel like an extension of herself, as easy as breathing. Foggy can make her laugh so hard that her chest hurts, a gut wrenching, light headed kind of happiness. (Matt causes her chest to hurt in an entirely different way, but she doesn’t talk about that.)
When Karen was young, she wanted to be an artist. She saw the world in shades of color, splotches of paint and crisp lines. She hasn’t touched her brushes in years, but she looks at Matt and her fingers itch. (If she could, she would paint him with bruises blossoming like flowers, kindness spreading like water stains across his skin, coloring the quirk to his lips and the tilt to to his head. She thinks, vaguely, indefinitely, fiercely that she could spend an eternity cataloging every inch of his skin.)
Sometimes, Karen closes her eyes, raises her hands to her face, feels the movement of bone and the pull of skin, the shape to her lips and the arch of her brow bone, traces fingers across the entire surface. She doesn’t know why she does it. (Except she does, of course she does)
“What do you miss most?” she asks Matt one time. He pauses, lips half cocked, contemplating. He always considers everything, Matt does. “Forgetting,” he says, eventually. His lips turn up then, as if he’d said something funny. After a moment, she laughs too, awkward and a beat too late. She doesn’t get the joke. (Later though, she discovers that she knows exactly what he means. There are some things you can’t come back from.)
She is not stupid. There’s more to Matthew Murdock than meets the eye. There’s a quiet power to him, a danger, a stillness. She’d noticed it the first moment that she had seen him. He had been a twenty-eight year old blind lawyer, fresh out of law school, and he’d told her he would protect her and she’d believed him. She is not stupid.
They are both a little drunk when she turns to him, mouth too loose for safety. “I killed a man,” she tells him, just like that. It’s not what she thought she was going to say. “I shot him, right in the chest.” Matt stares at her for a long moment. She can see herself reflected in his dark glasses and she finds herself staring at that instead of his face. (She can’t bring herself to look at him and see her own judgment staring back at her. ) “Karen,” he says, “I’m so sorry.” It’s only then that she realizes she’s crying. His shirt is soft against the skin of her cheek and he smells like drugstore cologne and the rust of fresh blood. She wraps her arms around him, burying her face in the muscle of his shoulder. (He’s still the only thing that really makes her feel safe.)
Things do not stay calm for long, if there’s one thing Karen’s learned it’s that. It seems like one minute, they are drinking wine, laughing, arms slung over each others shoulders, and the next the world is falling down around them. (And Daredevil is there in the middle of it, saving them all, but at this point no one is surprised least of all Karen.) In the aftermath, Karen goes to find Matt. She stands outside the door to his apartment–pausing for a moment on the threshold, pressing her hand against the cool wood– and then pushes it open. “Matt?” she calls, the word echoing through the empty space. He enters the doorway and she’s running towards him before she’s even really seen him, wrapping her arms so tightly around him that he lets out an exhale of pain “Sorry, sorry,” she says, releasing him. He looks terrible (well as terrible as Matt can look) a study in white and red and purple. “Karen,” he says, face melting, in shame she thinks, though she can’t imagine why. “I know,” she says, cupping his face in her hand. “What?” he breathes, like he can’t believe she’d have figured it out. “God, Matt,” she says. “It’s not like you were that subtle.”
He kisses her like he’s been waiting a long time to do it. (Lord knows she’s been waiting long enough.)
She wakes up with blood on her hands. (This is not the first time.) “Matt,” she whispers. He groans in his sleep, hair flopping adorably over his left eye. “Matt,” she says again. “Your stitches have opened up.” He wraps an arm around her, pulls her into his chest. “No they haven’t,” he murmurs against her neck. (He’s lying, but she lets him stay, lets him press kisses against her pulse, lets him, lets him, lets him.)