his mask is firmly in place here

Sleepy (Spideypool Quick Fic)

Needed a break from the angst and serious feels that is Storms. So here’s some Andrew Garfield-Spidey and Ryan Reynolds-Deadpool!
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Deadpool and Spider-Man were sitting on the roof of a crappy apartment building, waiting for the sun to set so they could start their patrol.

It was actually Wade’s crappy apartment building, but Spidey didn’t know that was why he always insisted on meeting here. Wade was honestly too lazy to meet any further away from his own place, so this worked just fine.

Wade was talking about… well nothing, really. Really he was just running his mouth a thousand miles a minute like he tended to do whenever Spidey was around because even fully wrapped in clothes (spandex) and with his mask firmly in place, Spider Man still gave Deadpool the sort of heebie jeebies that his favorite stripper gave him, or the kind of heebie jeebies one of those giant chimichangas from that street vendor gave him. The kind of heebie jeebies that started at his fingertips and ended well below his belt and always left him feeling as if his brain had shorted out and he was starving for more.

But Spidey had made it clear, like painfully awkwardly crystal screaming clear, months ago, that if Wade didn’t start keeping his hands to himself, that his hot little piece of spandex clad Spidey ass was gonna leave him strung up somewhere where he couldn’t get down, and their days of hanging out on patrol would be OVER.

So Wade kept his grabbiness to himself and instead kept a running stream of nonsense from behind his mask, talking about literally anything in the world to keep himself distracted from the way the Spiders legs were long and muscled, and that trim little waist, and the way his voice was soft even when he was upset and –oh. Oh wait.

Wait.
What was happening?
What was happening right now?

Somewhere in between talking about the ugly sweater he’d seen on some old lady, and day dreaming about Spideys legs, the kid had fallen asleep… and was leaning against Wade’s shoulder, snoring softly.

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3

100. I mean you piss me off, but I’d do anything for you. (*Changed it a bit so it can fit the story better.)
+
112. Have you ever accidentally befriended someone who is very very irritating?

Hope you’ll enjoy it! 💓💓💓

Writing this one got me fucked up ajajja

“Man up! Life’s tough and so should be you!”

That’s what your father used to tell you and your brothers when you were younger. Despite the fact that you were a girl, he wanted you to be prepared for the cruel old world that was waiting outside the cosy warmth of Home.

Your life was never the one from a fairytale, but you never complained. In fact, it was quite useful and it taught you a lot through the years. The oldfashioned and conservative opinion of people from your rank did not concern you.

Though, yes, politeness, manners, etiquette - all were useful in the art of persuasion and manipulation. And it was a very delicate art indeed, requiring a lot of patience, good attitute and well, clean, fashionable and expensive clothes.

But your past shall not be spoken of tonight, because before your eyes there was something far more intriguing.

Him.

His past was not to be mentioned. But his eyes, oh, they always told you all you needed to know. Clear and piercing, every night they were telling you a different story, but always leaving the same bittersweet, stinging aftertaste.

And tonight… you had work to do.

Face to face, casually sitting each on his chair, the grey silhouette coming from his cigarette was dancing in the air. The very thick, steeped in the smell of alcohol and tobacco air.

With head rested on the chair’s back, once again he filled his lungs with the sweet taste of the beloved poison he so delicately, yet firmly held between his cold fingers.

Have you ever met a person who from the moment your eyes met, you knew they were screaming “Danger”, radiating it, freezing you on your place. Just like a rattlesnake looking at it’s prey dead in the eye, waiting for it’s move.

Trouble’s what they are, but then again trouble’s all you do. “Why not?” you say and so you start dancing with the Devil. And now you now that the Devil has the most beautiful sky blue eyes one could ever imagine.

A chuckle escaped past your perfectly shaped lips and this caught his attention. Exhaling a cloud of smoke he turned his face in your direction as you spoke “Have you ever accidentally befriended someone who’s very irritating?” - the ringing of your voice was in a full contrast with the dim, quiet atmosphere of the empty bar.

“Is that what you think of me?” - with a calm, almost monotonous voice he asked you back. Then lit another cigarette. “Yes.” - his eyes crossed with yours dangerously as he heard your laconical answer.

“I find a lot of things about you irritating” - he said nothing, simply watched you with equally mysterious and stoic expression as before. So you continued.

“I find the tone of your voice and the lack of any feeling or emotion just… Awfully irritating. –” you almost dragged your words as you spoke, in a quiet but very steady tone, untouched by any word you said. 

You breathed out softly, lips curving up in an almost unnoticeable smile. “Also…–” your eyes met again for the first time in what felt like so long. His gaze was firmly placed on you, the only movement he ever did was to take another smoke from his cigarette.

Once again, with soft voice you continued, but this time you held his gaze in place “Also, the same applies to how you hide yourself… and bury your feelings deep… deep inside.” - the pauses separating your words, just added more attention to your pink lips, slowly mouthing each and every word, making it look like you were digging in the most deepest darkest places of his soul.

“You never speak…Or if you do, your words always hit their mark, yet you do it so effortlessly.” You reached for the packet of cigarettes and pulled one out, gently placing it between your lips.

But why do you need a match when you can simply lean across the table and light it with his own burning cigarette. The sudden closeness seemed to leave you both unbothered, even if your eyes never flinched to the side.

Sitting back on your chair, inhaling deeply and then exhailing the silver mist, you bit your lip “It’s irritating how you’re so engulfed in mystery and even more so when you try to seem like you’re just a simple man.”

You smiled at this very last word, eyes finally looking down for a moment, like taking a break from the pressure of his piercing gaze, just as the corner of his eyes twitched, head moving to the side just so slightly. “Do you want to hear a secret?” You dragged your fingers over the smooth wooden table as you stood up. Voice sounding so breathy, almost angel like.

His blue orbs followed your every move. As you talked you took small steps, slowly but surely making your way across the table. “It seems…like the more I think about it, the more bittersweet it gets.”

Your hand reached his that was casually placed on the table and as you proceeded with the revaling of your secret, your fingers delicately danced up his arm - to his shoulder and finally stopped at his neck.

Looking at him from above, the coldness of his skin against the warmth of your fingers felt delicious and you caressed his open neck, a thumb resting on his jaw. “Such a man you are.” - your voice tingled him; something in his chest twitched and pinched him. In a very long time he hasn’t heard the voice of his heart and now he thought it might be whispering.

Or it might be nothing at all.

Your finger lightly brushed over his lips. He was still here, he still was not lost.
“So much in you makes me angry–” your left brow twitched slighty at the thought of the mask firmly placed on his heart. “–and yet…there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

His body shifted involuntarily, the whisper started scratching the walls of his heart. It was talking too loud for his liking and made him feel like his skin was twisting like branches of a tree. 

Thick, heavy silence fell on you. Cold beams of sweat appeared on the back of his neck - something he hasn’t experienced in years. The stone facade of his heart crumbled and for a moment he felt his stomach turn. It was too much.

With face still like a statue, he finally managed to take a breath, after holding the air in his lungs for too long, almost to the point of seeing black dots creeping around.

The warm touch of your skin faded away as you moved your hand from his face and waited. He took his time. Though one could hardly tell, he calmed his thoughts, by shutting his mind and killing the whisper with yet another deep deep inhale from his smoke.

Spotting the bottle of Rum sitting not to far away from his reach, he suddenly felt how dry was his throat. Pouring himself a glass he took another smoke and then right after drinking all the rum, with the same poker face, the same monotonous voice said

“It was good. The Russians will buy it.”

Accidents Will Happen (Part 2/?) (Stark/Avengers x reader)

Part 1

Within about the first month after surgery, you could pick up a glass to drink from it all by yourself. Within three, you could hold your gun fairly steadily, but your aim was still leaving much to be desired.  Tony was proud, of course, but you were frustrated. You weren’t frustrated with him or at the idea that he had created to help you, but more at the situation in general. Between the therapy sessions to learn how to move your new limb, the work with Bucky to see this as a part of yourself now, and the nearly constant reassurance that you had to give Tony that he hadn’t made this worse, you were completely exhausted.  You had wanted to give it all up so many times, but the look of hope in that stupid, beautiful face of his kept you going.

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Moments - Drake x MC

[A little note: An anon requested unbreakable kiss for Drake x MC from the kissing prompts. So here it is!]

7. Unbreakable Kiss - The type of kiss that really shouldn’t be happening, it’s a mistake, but you just can’t find yourself able to pull away. 

She thinks they are too much like stars. Fading in and out. Having a little without having too much. Having moments that always feel like eternity but are really small conveniences from an inconvenient world. They don’t get to savor these. They barely register as reality. Moments like these are never going to be enough for her - because moments like these often vanishes too quickly into nothing. 

These are one of those moments. 

Robyn’s hands are fastened inside Drake’s hair, pulling him forward until there’s only his lips crashing against hers. The rest of him soon follows. She’s barely aware of the wall behind them as he saunters, shifting closer before there’s no space left between them. The movement happens too quickly and she stumbles till he catches her; hooking her legs around his waist without breaking away. 

His musky scent fills her, its comforting and familiar; fuels her boldness to keep going. Her tongue darts inside of his waiting lips, and she can barely feel his callouses rubbing across skin as he cups her cheeks. She doesn’t want to stop kissing him.  Even though every second they remain tightly knit together pressed in the corner of a hallway with only distant noises reminding them of the party below them - is another second they risk being caught. 

It’s difficult for her to focus on anything else but him. Every protest to stop falls on deaf ears, and the longer he kisses her, the more convinced she is that she’s never letting him go again.

She doesn’t know who’s panting harder - him or her; it’s the only sound she hears over the roar of heart hammering unsteadily inside her chest. The rest of the world escapes her; as often as it usually does whenever they are alone - turning into little more than background noise as their lips slam hastily together again and again. They dance to steps they only know, lulling them further into temptation. Further into lust as adrenaline floods her system.

His hands are as impatient as hers. They quickly slip past the barrier of cashmere, and her breath hitches once his cool hands touch her skin. It’s remarkable cool unlike the rest of her. She feels almost boiling hot and very touch leaves hot desire in its wake. Every touch makes her feel alive. More alive than she’s felt since the last time he’s touched her. 

She barely muffles a groan between their kisses as his fingers slip lower. They run her neck, across her arms, and press possessively towards her stomach before they delve further, slipping underneath her dress until she feels his cool touch again across her nearly searing flesh. His hands know exactly where to touch, and every stroke of his curious fingers elicits a small whimper from her. When his fingers brush by her center, deliberately her legs almost buckle.

They shake involuntarily until he retrieves his other hand from behind her neck to keep her steady. Her arms feel heavy around his neck and she leans her head against the wall. She can barely catch her breath. She closes her eyes untl she feels his fingers freeze. 

They should stop. She knows it. 

And the split second she opens her eyes - the look on his face tells her he knows it too. 

But she doesn’t want to stop. She doesn’t want this to end - like many moments before, she clings - frantically, fervently - the feeling of his lips; coarser than hers, his fingers knowing exactly what she needs, his penetrating stare - she memorizes everything down to it’s last detail. All the moments when they’re alone only to be drawn apart again by reality.

All she wants to do is kiss him again, kiss him until she’s breathless, until she’s barely able to remember her own name let alone why she’s here in the first place. But the look on his face stops her.

It’s back again. The mask he wears, and it changes everything. It tempers his unbridled passion, buries his chaotic emotions that she’s spent months prying open. Its been firmly locked shut. 

His eyes are unreadable, but he doesn’t pull away. Not yet. 

Then she sees it. 

A flicker. She sees the anguish churning inside of him; its bared open and she flinches under its earnestness. She wants to touch him, kiss him, tell him it’s all going to be okay - even though she doesn’t know if it ever will. She digs her fingers into the wall behind her to stop herself from reaching for him again. 

Then just as quickly it’s gone.

This isn’t the time or the place for that. She tells herself, except it doesn’t change anything. Not how she feels - and now how she knows he feels. But their moments have always been like this - fleeting, border-lining on desperate and a little without ever being too much. Always a taste but never enough to satisfy their hunger for each other.

Wordlessly, he leans his forehead against hers and brings her thoughts back to the present. He retrieves his hands to cup her cheek. 

She tries smile but it falters and falls short. 

His smile is nearly bitter. He pulls back slightly, as if he’s about to say something but just as quickly sighs and places his hands on either side of her. 

He doesn’t have to say it.

She hears it loud and clear. 

This is a mistake. 

The words hang between them. As if she’s been doused in ice cold water she flinches. She wants to curl away from them, she wants to hide from the hurt that fills her chest once he takes several steps back.

“We should get back.” His tone is flat, devoid of all the passion it has been a second ago. He doesn’t meet her gaze, rather he tucks his hands inside his pocket and she watches his jaw clench.

“J-Just give me a second.” She just needs to remember how to breathe. How to move past the moment. 

Hope leaps inside her chest as he steps towards her. Then it’s as if he catches himself, and something stops him from touching her. Instead, she watches with disappointment as he steps back. Her stomach sinks at the slight frown appearing before he creates more distance between them.

“I’ll go in first.” 

A lump forms in her throat and she doesn’t respond. She merely nods, waiting for him to disappear completely out of sight before she trusts herself to speak. No words come out; only a hitch escapes her throat and her shoulders sag before she slinks towards the floor. Her vision blurs  and she presses her head against the wall as she fights  against the tears from falling.

The tears fall even as she scolds herself for crying. 

Moments of in betweens. She thinks bitterly to herself. She’s just as much to blame, but it hurts. They hurt. But she supposes if it didn’t, it wouldn’t be love.

Masquerade

Disclaimer: I do not own anything except for the story. Please do not copy or credit this as your own. Photos above are not mine.

Pairing: Arno Dorian x fem!reader

Word count: 760

Warning: none

Tagging: @writingsofawaywardnerd @bunnyyumyum @rooks-and-blighters @kebeo @fortunefavoredthebrave @thatonepieceofpaper @thepandadrawer @imakemyownblog @frostychess @romancingthecreed @freedomaboveallelse @an-order-of-fryes @scarlet-marionette @amarabliss @thehalodiaries

A/N: Inspired by a previous convo on Discord, I decided to add this onto my already heaping pile of requests for some reason. I hope you all enjoy.


Glitter, stiff fabric and extravagant clothing swirled through the eye slits in your mask as you navigate your way through the massive crowd of guests with only minimal candlelight and dim chandeliers to guide you through the night before the moon showed its face.

Versailles always looked better at night.’ You think to yourself as a tap on your shoulder stops you from trying to move past various bodies in coarse fabric and uncomfortable shoes. You turn around to see a man with dark hair, tan skin and dark eyes while dressed in a black French masquerade outfit complete with a gleaming white mask that covered half of his face.

Bonsoir, mademoiselle.” He greets with a charming smile and a suave French accent as you perform a mock curtsey.

Bonsoir, monsieur.” You reply sweetly  as you smooth the light blue sleeve of your gown.

“Care to join me for a dance in the courtyard?” The man asks and you nod before you extend your arm. He links his arm through yours and leads you outside of the palace into the newly renovated marble courtyard. A small string quartet with a guest French horn begins to play the Blue Danube as dancers start to file in front of the stage with their respective partners. Your partner leads you into an moderate tempo as you spin around other couples in their own lavish outfits and blinding jewelry.

“What brings you to Versailles, ma chérie?” Your partner asks as you glide towards the musicians.

“A certain peace that Paris can’t provide. Or America in general.” You answer while he spins you around before placing his hand on your waist again.

It’s just part of the dance, Y/N. No need to get all jumpy.’ You remind yourself.

“I see. Peace is something that not many can find, much less within a city.” He remarks.

“No, it’s not.” You swallow as your partner dips you before bringing you back up again. “What brings you here to the Château de Versailles then?”

“I came here once with my father. Everything about the palace spoke to me in a strange way and I promised myself that I would come back someday.” Your partner explains and you nod understandingly. The musicians stop playing and you separate yourself from your partner before bowing.

“I’m Y/N.” You manage to say without a stutter or a misstep before you leave the courtyard and escape from the slowly gathering crowd of new dancers. Somehow, you manage to find yourself standing in the garden, right in front of a fountain decorated in stone with an angel looking down on you like a silent guardian.

You hear the faint echo of footsteps behind you and you slowly turn around to see your dance partner standing there with a small smile gracing the unmasked part of his face.

“Who are you?” You ask so quietly, it could have been a whisper.

He steps ever so close towards you, so close that you think that he could possibly smell the whiff of lavender perfume you sprayed on before you left your hotel room earlier.

“Arno Dorian, amour.” He tells you, his eye partially lidded as you reach up slowly to remove the white mask, only to see the exact features you saw on Arno’s unmasked face.

“Why mask yourself if you have nothing to hide, Arno?” You inquire.

“You only see what you can on the outside, Y/N. But you can never see what is truly inside something, not until you unmask everything.” Arno explains. “I’ve been searching for who I am on the inside for a long time, hence the half-mask. I only know what I see when I present myself in public, and yet I never know who I truly am deep down.”

“Perhaps you’ll find it one day. And when you do, come back here at this spot in the palace, when the ball comes around again. I’ll be here.” You tell him firmly and he smiles before reaching for your mask and gently removing it from your face.

A soft breeze brushes your face and Arno delicately kisses you on the lips before placing his mask back on.

“Thank you, Y/N. I hope to see you here again someday.” Arno nods as he turns around and leaves.

You touch your lips lightly and watch Arno’s retreating figure slip away into the darkness of the ever-growing night before you place your mask comfortably on your face and head back towards the main party while the moon begins to glow brightly.

anonymous asked:

Dad's Reaper76 with their child - I mean, with zenyatta sister doing fluffy family scenario?

I’m not really gon state if Reaper and 76 are/were romantically involved, I know it’s a popular ship and all but I’m leaving it up to interpretation. I kinda like the idea that they can’t stand each other but you slowly repair their relationship (romantic or platonic).


You’d managed to talk the two of them into drinking tea with you, masks firmly on as they sat on their knees. As you scurried around, brewing the tea, the two of them just stared at each other.

“So,” Reaper rasped, dragging his claw idly against the wood, “you come here often?”

Soldier 76 grumbled and pointedly ignored Reaper, looking around at you.

“Tea coming along?” he asked at your busy form.

“Nearly done,” you hummed, placing the teapot on a tray with three cups.

After putting it on the table you sat down as well. Picking up the teapot your poured it into the three cups and places a cup in front of everyone. Reaper dug into his pocket and pulled out a black straw. Plopping it into the cup he slid the straw underneath his mask. As the hot liquid passed through the straw with his sips, Reaper gave a tilt of his head in response.

“Tastes of despair,” you smiled at his deadpan tone.

Soldier 76 picked up his own cup and just pushed it against his mask, tea pouring down his chest. You jumped forward, napkin in hand and started wiping the hot liquid off.

“Isn’t that hot, Mr 76!?” you exclaimed and Reaper just chuckled.

“Incredibly,” his tone stayed neutral, and you grabbed another napkin as the first one was soaked.

Satisfied that you had gotten most of the tea off, you sat down. Finally taking a sip from your own cup you sighed with relief. Leaning back Reaper and Soldier 76 raised their cups in a toast.

Can’t Keep Meeting Like This (Matt Murdock x reader)

Request: Matt Murdock x reader where he rescues her from some thugs and they keep meeting after that and Matt ends up asking her on a date. :)

“Miss (Y/L/N), please tell us the events as they occurred on September 1st.”

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anonymous asked:

Prompt: Things Fenris said when he thought Hawke was sleeping.

There’s a part of him that remembers sleepless nights – rare, quiet hours away from his master’s side, but still not able to find rest. A crouching ghost in a rundown mansion, fingers never far from the pommel of his sword, just in case. And long, lonely nights spent among the refugees, waiting for word, before finally being able to sleep with the shape of her against him. Years ago now, all these versions of him – the restless, the wary, the waiting. He’s calmer, secure in the life he’s made for himself, no longer glancing over his shoulder and flinching at shadows, which is no small feat, for someone who once saw every room a cage, and in every shadow, his master’s smile. It’s taken him years, but freedom is no longer an ill-fitting garment; he wears it with ease now, not like one born to it, but one who’s fought to keep it.

Of course, hard-won freedom notwithstanding, there is still the occasional sleepless night.

His steps are softened by the threadbare rug – a good thing, Fenris suspects, as he’s far too tired to even attempt anything resembling stealth. And the bed is a dearly welcome thing, the mattress dipping with the honest weight of his exhaustion, but Hawke doesn’t so much as twitch as he rolls over onto his stomach, dragging the blanket with him.

“Your daughter,” he says, the words muffled by the pillow, but his affection is not near so easy to stifle, “is a menace.”

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@cameoutofabottle

There are places in Gotham City where a guy with a metal arm and a mask doesn’t attract attention. These are places where people usually carry a kind of weapon you are only allowed to posses if you’re a high military officer from a task force – or best friends with a shady dealer from the black market. Funnily, James is (or was) kinda both, so there’s that. Even if he wouldn’t carry a Glock overtly – the Winter Soldier is a myth that probably scared all these assholes in the hole-in-the-wall-pub as children already, so nobody dares to fuck with him. (Both proverbially and literally;; there are some very attractive women around who’re wearing the only colorful clothes you can find here (colorful and kind of tiny) but they’re avoiding him. Seems as if he has to resort to his hand again.)

           Nielson found a pretty new face. 

A guy pops up next to James, leaning over the bar to speak to the barkeeper. James frowns a little;; Nielson is even more an asshole than the average asshole in this part of the city and he feels kind of sorry for this pretty new face. Probably a guy from one of the healthy families who got dared to come here by his friends. It’s common to at least lambast these guys, but it’s also not unusual to kidnap them and demand ransom. James grabs the bottle of whisky he bought a few minutes ago and gets to his feet, checking if his mask is still firmly in place. Maybe he’s in a good mood today. Maybe he’ll help this pretty new face.

MakoSou (Anon Request) SFW: Spiderman Kiss

“Makoto? Oi, Makoto.”

Sousuke’s removed one of his earbuds and strains to hear a response from the bottom bunk against the dubstep blaring in his other ear, but he gets nothing. “Makoto,” he says again, letting out a sigh, “Can you help me with this sentence?” He can’t help but feel as though Makoto is neglecting him, which wouldn’t bother Sousuke in the slightest if it weren’t for the fact that his boyfriend is normally so coddling, so the absence of that attention has made itself heavily known in the past hour and a half.

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Your Touch, Your Words - Olicity Oneshot

Six months into their relationship, Oliver makes a proclamation that Felicity has a hard time believing. Established Olicity. Set after 2x23.

Your Touch, Your Words

She felt him approach her from behind long before she heard him, but his silent steps didn’t make her jump out of her skin as they would have a six months ago, Felicity having gotten used to Oliver’s rather wordless way of greeting her. Reaching her, he wound an arm over the front of torso, gently resting it against her collarbone, fingers on her shoulder, as he pulled her back into him. He dropped a kiss to her exposed throat, nuzzling it a bit before pressing his lips against her temple. Felicity turned just enough to smile at him, covering the fingers on her shoulder with her own.

“Hey you.” Oliver finally said, having finished with his little ritual as he wrapped his other arm around her waist, placing his free hand on her stomach, thumb moving up and down slowly, tantalizingly.

“Hey yourself. You got him?” She asked quietly, referring to another dangerous criminal they’d been after for the past week. Just your usual brand of murderous psychopath, Felicity found herself thinking. Oliver nodded at her, a light smirk appearing on his face.

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He was entirely underdressed for this spectacle. In travelworn roughspun with a dusty cloak wrapped around him, a leather mask he’d bought for a few coins off a woman near the gates of the palace, he looked more like one of the commonfolk in attendance than the lord he was. Still, Garrett didn’t mind it so much. He wasn’t here to celebrate; not really. He didn’t even know what they were celebrating. He’d arrived back in Abdera only a few hours ago, and found the palace in chaos with revelry and overrun with all sorts of people, and it seemed rather foolish to ask someone what was going on. So he tugged his mask more firmly in place and ducked into the fray, colliding with someone almost immediately. “Fuck,” he grumbled, taking a step back and reaching out to steady the person in front of him, bowing quickly as he did so. After all, he wasn’t sure if he’d just run into royalty. “Apologies, I– I didn’t see where I was going.”