what am i?

He leans down a little, to her level, and brushes his scratchy cheek to her soft one, smiling wickedly as he all but purrs, low and warm and fond into her ear.

Because you’re better than this. I know you can be... Sarkis you’re hurting me.

So when she woke up at least eight hours later, Iris was pretty sure she was a different person. 

Iris’ shoulders slouched, head falling to stare at her hands, fingers knotted with one another. The last thing she wanted was to be the center of attention, to be considered an enemy or a threat. In all honesty, Iris just wanted to go home... she didn’t want to be involved in something of this large of a scale.

The telepath sighed softly, shifting Steve in her arms so he was more swaddled than anything else. To be frank with herself, she could just go peek around his memories and figure out where he lived. She usually saved that kind of behavior for criminals... and had no idea what  it’d do to someone so little. Steve would probably cry. And there was no way in hell Iris could handle him crying, he was too sweet.

     This woman practically radiated trepidation. 

     Aware that she was intimidating by nature, Verelan attempted to keep her expression and inflection demure and placating.

“Huh, that’s no good, now is it” Iris hummed softly, stepping around Verelan in a few movements, delving into said files with ease. She frowned, opening the actual data behind the maps and almost grimacing. 

The gold solidifies somewhat into heavy shackles, and Sarkis does let go - but all that happens is now her wrists are lashed to the ground instead of trapped in his hands. Rough fingers grip her chin, tipping her head forcefully to one side as he hums in thought and eyes her throat.

She’s squirming, the combination of pain and adrenaline making her body go into sensory overdrive. Her arms pull at the shackles, trying to move, to get away from the burning up her arms; there’s no chance, and Iris feels hot tears gathering in her eyes. There’s a more meaningful fight that follows, even as Sarkis grabbed her chin; she doesn’t want to just give up.

Ned’s usually pretty careless with his wording; generally, his rambling is what gets his point across, hence why the one time he uses a to-the-point phrase like ‘you’re beautiful’, it backfires entirely: Karma has it out for the pie-maker.

                            “No, no, not kind of. I mean, you are, but saying so sounded                              too forward and I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable or                              like whatever is going on here is an obligation, because it                              isn’t and I’m not forcing you into anything you don’t want to                              do. Am I? Unless this is something you want to do, because                              that would really sort of change things, and…

                                                             …I don’t mean ‘‘kind of’. I mean you are.”

               “I -- Ned --”

Her head burrowed in his neck, hiding from his gaze. The telepath breathed in his scent, savored his warmth, and lingered; too afraid to move, like maybe the moment would lose it’s importance if she pulled away.

“See? Not everything is always as it seems.”

Her reaction is entirely justified. If you’re not already aware of its existence, it can be quite—jarring, he decides after a brief search for words, eyes traveling the glass jars on a shelf above the empty counter space. Still, Ned’s smug grin is ever-present. How he enjoys being right.

            “You’re no fun at all, making me look for things without making it fun.”

However, with the stool, she found cinnamon easily enough; there were two little jars of it, and she looked over her shoulder to hand Ned both. She kept rummaging through the spices to quell her curiosity, chatting ever so casually:

Should be fun.

“Iris.” The name simply flows off his lips while also repeating it over in his mind. “I’m Kilgrave.” Far more individuals knew him by this instead of his more mundane name. Besides, it has a nice ring to it.

“Recognition could get me killed” she replied softly, voice a bit more tender than before. Iris swallowed hard, ignoring the uncomfortable tug in her stomach. Someone cared, and a part of her wanted to run while she had the chance; even with a stranger, Iris was afraid to get too close. “People don’t like what they can’t control.”