#scarletwilch

[enjolrahh]

hm idk what to say... well last night i watched armie hammer and henry cavill interviews for hours bc they're so ridiculous and i love them.

that’s the only way to live and i agree

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Following: forever

Compliment: okay but consider this: i love ur blog

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want this?

[daminwayne]

oooooh i rarely participate in these but i will this time! my face tag is /tagged/hey+look+its+my+face!

fancast: Wanda!!

Match: Sam Wilson u w u

want one? finishing up!

[clqrkkent]

prompt: illya is injured on a mission like really bad, and napoleon takes care of him, but also gets quite a scare

sleep for a while more ( t, 1627w )

also on AO3thank you to wintersoldieringg for reading over this and helping me improve it!!! i really appreciate it. ✿

Napoleon and Illya, like all spies, avoid doctors like the plague. Well, at least, they do until they get caught in a huge explosion for which they may or may not be at fault. Napoleon manages to gset through it with just a broken arm, two broken ribs, and a mild concussion.

Illya, however, isn’t as lucky. He has to be dragged out from underneath two thousand pounds of debris, looking so still and broken that Napoleon feels his stomach twist painfully, feels hope draining from his chest.

When Napoleon lays his head on his partner’s chest, it takes almost too long for him to hear a weak beat, barely noticeable compared to his own stuttering heart and shaky breath.

Illya’s alive, though, and that’s what’s important.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” Napoleon says as he puts Illya over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

“Gaby will be angry at me if I don’t. Actually, she’ll be angry at you for dying, so you best cooperate and survive this, Peril,” Napoleon says, his mouth set in a grim yet determined frown. The tiny fire that sparked from the destroyed wiring in the walls starts to spread around them.

“We haven’t even been on a lot of missions together. You’re not about to leave so soon,” Napoleon says, his tone kept carefully light and casual despite the lack of an audience. He struggles to sort through the debris blocking the exits with the added weight of Illya.

“Besides, I’ve one-upped you in saving your life. We got even when you saved me from that shark back in the Pacific,” Napoleon says as he deposits Illya onto the back seat of the first car he sees. He makes quick work of hotwiring it, makes even quicker work of driving through the streets of Barcelona.

“You would have liked to drive this car. She’s not quite as sleek as I’d like, of course, but even I can appreciate the way she powers through the streets,” Napoleon says wistfully. They’re minutes away from the nearest hospital. He shifts another gear up.

“Will you please get my friend some help?” Napoleon says as soon as he goes through the doors to the hospital, once again carrying Illya, but now in his arms. His usual calm is gone, his voice is loud yet shaking with worry and anxiety and, prevalently, fear. They’re foreigners in this great city who happened upon an accident, and his dear friend Illya got the worst of it. He doesn’t know what to do.

“I know you don’t like doctors. I’m sorry,” Napoleon says into Illya’s ear, his voice dropped down to a whisper. He doesn’t let go of Illya’s hand until the nurses forcibly disentangle their fingers.

“I’m his friend of four years. He’s always getting into accidents, that one. I always tell him he has the worst luck,” Napoleon says in perfectly articulated Spanish to the nurse who comes to tell him that Illya’s in surgery and that it’s going to take a few hours more. He’s stretching the truth, but only a little bit. They’ve only been friends for the better part of a year, and Illya gets into fights more than he does accidents.

“The mission’s complete. Illya’s severely injured, but he’s going to recover like he always does. Do send people to clean up our mess, would you?” Napoleon says into the phone, looking casually around the sidewalk for anything suspicious though he hopes with all the energy has left that there’s nothing to find. He’s tired and he’s had a rough couple of days stuck in the hospital, and yet all he wants to do is to go back in the tiny, uncomfortable chair by Illya’s bed and wait until his partner wakes up. Yet, the first thing Waverly says to him is that it’s going to take a while. After all, U.N.C.L.E. can only spare a handful of agents. He’d have to call in MI6 first. Napoleon’s usually so calm, and he’d usually just nod his head and bear it, but today he snaps. He tells Waverly to hurry it up in a tone so obviously scathing, wants to add how he can convince Illya to disappear with him if U.N.C.L.E. doesn’t do its best to help. Napoleon doesn’t think about how he’d go about convincing Illya, doesn’t listen to the small yet nagging part of his brain that says seduct—

“Thank you, doctor. I’m sure you did everything you could,” Napoleon says hollowly after the doctor comes to tell him that Illya’s in a coma. He doesn’t have to do much pretending when he turns away and sighs, or when he settles back by the bed, lays his hand on Illya’s, and just stay there for a moment, looking at Illya with a softness he hardly ever lets himself show. Later, when he falls asleep to the steady beeping of the machinery, he’s still holding Illya’s hand.

“I’m fine. There’s no one else who can stay with him and I don’t have anything I could bring back from the hotel. After all, we we’re only planning to tour around the city for a week,” Napoleon says to the nurse who comes to check on Illya. Her name is Rita, and she’s been hovering over him ever for days now, always asking if he’s alright or if he needs anything. He doesn’t, he tells her, but if she could make Illya more comfortable, he’d appreciate it. She smiles as if he’s just told her a secret, and Napoleon is stuck wondering what’s going on in her head.

“I suppose I know now what it takes to put you in a hospital. Not that I’d have any use for it. I’d much rather have you watching my back on missions,” Napoleon says as he watches the rise and fall of Illya’s chest. It’s all he ever does these days.

“Took you long enough to come. Are you here to tell me we’re finally taking Illya back to England?” Napoleon says when he wakes up to see Gaby sitting across from him, running her fingers through Illya’s unkempt hair. No, it turns out, because this hospital’s vetted for anyways. No one will come into

“I’m not going to leave him,” Napoleon says coldly when Gaby suggests that he take a break, let himself breathe for a day or two. He stands his ground until Gaby tells him how disappointed Illya will be when he finds out Napoleon hasn’t been taking care of himself. He stands up and gathers his coat grudgingly as Gaby promises to call him if anything happens.

“Can I have an ensaladilla rusa taken up to my room, please? Yes, that will be all. Thank you,” Napoleon says to the hotel concierge over the phone. It’s the first thing Illya ate when they arrived in Barcelona, probably because the taste reminds him of Russia so much. The people there might not have been kind to him, but he loved his country all the same. When Napoleon puts the phone back in its place, he heaves a sigh. He misses Illya, even his biting comments about Americans and their capitalist ways.

“How is he?” Napoleon says when he comes back to the hospital a day later. He’s taken a bath, he’s dressed in fresh clothes, and he had the thought to bring Gaby a cup of coffee. Unfortunately, Gaby only shakes her head and turns back to her book.

“You sure do like your sleep, don’t you?” Napoleon says, sighing. And Illya does. He might seem like the sort of person who wakes up at five in the morning to go for a run, but really, he grumbles and covers his face with his pillow and fights anyone who tries to take away his blanket.

“He’s had worse, I’m sure. He told me himself. Yet here I am, still feeling like I messed up massively,” Napoleon says. It’s been two months. He knows all of the nurses assigned to their wing by now, and they’ve all fussed over him and told him how much of a darling he’s being. After all, most of them think that Gaby’s Illya’s girlfriend, and yet he’s the one who’s by his side 24/7. Napoleon says most because, well, there are those like Rita who have a different idea about things. He doesn’t think about how he likes their version of the story better.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Napoleon says when finally, finally, Illya wakes up. It happens on a Tuesday, two months, one week, and six days after the day he gets injured. Napoleon has never felt so relieved.

“Never do that again,” Napoleon says as they walk out of the hospital. He hopes he never has to come back here ever again, though he’s going to make sure he sends Rita a postcard every now and then.

“I’ll draw you a bath and cook you some lamb. What do you say, dear Illya? Feeling too sore?” Napoleon says as he eases up on the clutch. Cowboy, he hears. It’s just a mumble, scratchy and barely audible, and yet it makes him relax, makes him realize how tense he was. Napoleon, Illya continues. When Napoleon finally hears the engine rev, he turns to look at Illya—tired, with dark circles under his eyes, and his head already drooping against the window, but still the same strong, unyielding, and beautiful Illya.

“Good. I make a mean roast,” Napoleon says, his voice quiet as Illya starts to fall asleep again. When his eyes flutter close, Napoleon turns back to the road. He can let Illya have a few more hours of sleep, just this time.

[rmanovas]

and california never felt like home to me 

[jessaminelovelace]

All Time Low for the band thing :)

Am I a fan: YES

First song I heard: dear maria count me in (i think)

Favorite member: alex

Favorite song: goD this is hard but probably… only one

Have I been to a concert: no ):

[clqrkkent]

Napollya prompt: Napoleon gets injured ok a mission cue over protective Illya who won't let him walk around or leave the hotel/house/apartment and instead just carried him everywhere. If you aren't still doing these it's okay!

worth the reward ( explicit, 1184w )

also on AO3this somehow turned into something explicit even though i’ve never written anything explicit before i’m really sorry

Napoleon wonders what he’s ever done to deserve this. After all, he doesn’t think he’s been anything but irritating and barely tolerable in the eyes of Peril, and yet here he is, arms around Illya’s neck as he’s being carried to his hotel bed.

“You know I can walk, right?” Napoleon says gingerly, though he doesn’t try to get himself off of Illya.

“You can limp,” Illya corrects. “Big difference.”

“Yes, well, I could have limped from the car to my bed,” Napoleon says.

“Would have taken too much time,” Illya reasons. “I did not want to wait.”

Napoleon narrows his eyes. “Are you worried, Peril?”

“I am not!” Illya says, bristling.“I am tired, is what I am. It would be better to get this over with quickly.”

“You are worried,” Napoleon says, grinning and, of course, ignoring everything Illya said.

“I have told you—” Illya cuts himself off with a long-suffering sigh. “Don’t make me throw you out the window.”

“Now, now, Peril. We’ve talked about this. No need to resort to violence,” Napoleon says, teasing. Of course, two months ago, this would have gotten him killed in a matter of seconds.

“Shut up, cowboy,” Illya huffs, his face scrunching as he tries not to snort.

“Are you going to bring me soup and massage my feet every night, dear Illya?” Napoleon hums happily at the thought. “I think I’d like that, actually.”

“You are injured, not sick,” Illya says, rolling his eyes. Napoleon wonders where Illya picked the habit up. Was it from Gaby? “I will just make sure you stay in bed.”

Napoleon smirks. “I can already think of one way you could get me to stay in bed.”

“I can think of a way as well,” Illya says, refusing to back down despite his flushed cheeks. Then, with a thoughtful hum, “Perhaps I can tie you to the bedposts.”

That, of course, goes straight to Napoleon’s groin. He wonders how he’s going to survive the next few days.

“Tease,” Napoleon mutters. “I hope you follow through on that.”

Illya’s lips turn upwards into a fond smile. “Sorry, cowboy. Perhaps when you are feeling better.”

“I’m feeling grand,” Napoleon says. A sprained ankle isn’t going to get in the way of my being fucked, is what he doesn’t.

Illya leans down, and when he speaks, his voice is a purr. “I want you at your best when I pin you to your bed and fuck you.”

Napoleon swallows. Right.

“One problem, Peril,” he says, all but choking on the words. “I don’t think my dick can wait that long.”

Illya freezes, glances down at Napoleon’s tented pants, then at the bed just a few feet away from them, and then back to Napoleon’s pants.

“Ah,” he says finally, sounding more amused than anything. “I suppose we will have to do something about that, yes?”

“You’ll have to do something about it,” Napoleon says, breathless. He tightens his arms around Illya, pulls himself up to lick a stripe along Illya’s neck. “I’m injured, remember?”

“Cheeky,” Illya murmurs, yet he crosses the distance between them and the bed and makes quick work of unzipping Napoleon’s fly. “I will have to find way to shut you up as well.”

And before Napoleon could think of another quip, Illya surprises him with a tongue licking into his mouth and knuckles brushing against his still clothed dick, and he loses his wits.

Napoleon pulls away enough to moan against Illya’s jaw, hand coming up to pull at Illya’s hair, and hips bucking to meet Illya’s hand.

“Do you want to get this over quickly?” Illya asks, sounding concerned despite his too low voice and his hooded eyes.

Napoleon wants to say no, wants to say that he wants to make this last as long as possible, make them last as long as possible, but he’s tired and his injury is a constant painful throbbing and he actually does want to rest more than he wants to have sex, at least just by a tiny bit.

“Please,” he says finally, pressing his forehead against Illya’s cheek.

Then Illya’s hand is cupping the back of his neck, turning his head slightly upwards so his lips could meet Illya’s in another kiss. It isn’t deep, never becomes deep because Illya has better things to do with his mouth, apparently.

This isn’t the first time Napoleon’s been given a blowjob because of an injury, but he’s certain he’s never thought the pain was worth the reward as much as he does now.

Fuck, he thinks, just as Illya’s hand find his hip, grip tight to keep him steady. He throws his head back, braces himself, bites his lower lip to keep himself from making a sound when Illya’s tongue finally darts out to lick the head of his cock.

“Don’t,” Illya says, breath hot against Napoleon’s skin. “Let me hear you.”

Napoleon lets out a shaky breath. “Of course, Peril.”

Illya looks up at him, eyes hidden underneath his long lashes, and his mouth is set in a disappointed sort of frown that makes Napoleon inexplicably guilty. “Illya.”

“What?” Napoleon says, his voice breaking because Christ, the way Illya’s hand is wrapped tightly around the base of his cock right now, with his thumb caressing the vein along the underside.

“Call me Illya.”

Napoleon doesn’t think his partner will take no for an answer. He nods. “Illya.”

Illya hums contentedly. “Good.”

Then without any warning, he takes Napoleon into his mouth, slowly, inch by inch, all the while running his hand back and forth on what’s left. Napoleon makes a noise he’d rather not bring up later, especially since he can feel Illya smiling around his cock.

It doesn’t take long for Illya to reach the end, his nose buried in the tuft of hair at the base of Napoleon’s cock. He’s struggling not to choke on it, throat convulsing deliciously around the head. Napoleon is enjoying the sensation a lot more than he should, and as a thank you, he lets out a moan, loud and uninhibited.

Illya hums, sending vibrations along his cock and a jolt up his spine. Napoleon keens, tries and fails to buck his hips closer to Illya’s mouth.

“Your mouth,” Napoleon murmurs, though he never gets to finish his thought because Illya sucks hard, cheeks hollowing out even as his tongue runs across whatever of Napoleon’s cock it can reach. “Fuck.”

That does it for Napoleon, sends him keening and leaves him breathless. The next thing he knows, Illya’s covering him with a blanket and tucking him into bed.

“Come lie with me, Illya,” Napoleon says when Illya makes a move towards his own bed. He tries not to stare too much at Illya’s too red lips, tries to give him a smile that says don’t worry, I won’t bite without any bit of sarcasm. “You can make sure I go to sleep while cuddling with me.”

Illya turns and considers him for a moment, his face carefully blank until he smiles widely, as if unable to stop himself.

“Whatever you want, Napoleon.”

[hardfeelingsmp3]

scarletwilch replied to your post: by far the worst part of family/friend...

i will fight them. but no really people are so annoying they do the same thing with my birds like stop it theyre not saying anything to you leave them alone please.

i just caught an uncle literally stomping his feet next to my bb just to scare him like???? and then laughing when bb tried to bite his shoes. okay i get it it’s funny that i have a tiny birb that wants to fuckin fight everyone but he was just chilling there doing nothing why are you doing this to him.

[enjolrahh]

scarletwilch replied to your post “scarletwilch replied to your photo “He’s mad because I told him to...”

so tinie

he is such a good dog