#Does that mask of yours feel just as cold as the one you wore in your cage? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

amaranthinespirit · 3 months ago

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Heyyyy could you please write best friends brother Simon

best friend's brother!simon riley who has taken a secret liking to you makes it not so secret anymore

it was wrong, to like your best friend's brother. it was so wrong, but every stolen glance made your stomach flip, shivers creeping down every vertebrae of your spine whenever you met gazes with those sunken, tired eyes beyond the black balaclava he always wore.

your friend always complained how weird he was for wearing the mask, especially 'round the house. leaned against the kitchen counters with the fabric bunched around his crooked nose where he'd be there sipping water, or eating a bowl of cereal.

he always wore a tight, fitted shirt with loose pants, and you swore he did it on purpose. you couldn't count on two hands the amount of times your eyes traveled across his exposed skin, down to the baggy material of whatever he chose to wear for pants that day—or if you were lucky, he wore jeans.

it wasn't right, you knew that. thirsting over your best friend's brother, but the way his eyes were always trained on you, no matter what, made your panties soak.

how exchanging glances from across the room turned to finding excuses to pass by him, because any proximity was proximity, to being the one to get snacks from the kitchen in hopes he was there. he usually was.

to doing the dishes as he stood and watched, where he used to just add to the pile, now he ushered you aside to wash his own, and whatever was left.

to muttering simple greetings of 'hello's and partings words of 'bye's, or 'see ya.'

to brushing shoulders as you walked past each other in the long house hallways, or grazing arms when you happened to walk next to each other. to his hand nudging against the back of yours, loosely intertwining them when no one else was looking, or around.

to lingering in the kitchen a minute longer to feel the weight of his heavy, rough hands on your barely exposed hips as you reached up in the cupboards to grab whatever it is you were looking for. his warm chest pressing into the back of your head, and back, as he grabbed what you needed with a quick ruffle to your hair after.

to keeping your favorite snacks in the kitchen in anticipation that you were coming over.

to sneaking out of your friends room late in the night to meet in the kitchen, sharing a glass of water and a bowl of fruit that you had cut up as he leaned next to you on the counter, arms crossed against his chest. his gaze was heavy on your face, and the silver moonlight that casted down through the window exposed your flushed face, warm from his attention.

to pulling you into his bedroom whenever you happened to be passing by; the door shutting with a soft click as your back pressed the cold wood. his tired, half-lidded eyes nearly emotionless as he stared down at you, cornering you against his door.

your expression betrayed confusion, widened, doe eyes staring back up at him. he lifted a calloused finger to tilt your head back. he watched your chest rise, lips parting with a sharp, silent inhale as his other fingers raised the mask.

you licked your lips, eyes flickering to look at his chapped, pink flesh that looked so deliciously in reach, the lips you had fantasized about for months kissing every inch of your skin, eating you out so vigorously, you could see stars.

for months, you'd go back to your house with the image of him in your mind, laid on your back with your hands between your thighs and thoughts of him consuming. toying with your clit, imagining his big, rough hand instead of your small, softer and more delicate fingers as his name fell from your lips in a chant, a mantra.

you did this more times than you would like to admit, but he was all consuming. like a drug, you couldn't get enough, couldn't get your fix even if he was right there. you hadn't even had a taste, and yet you were addicted. subconsciously, you knew he felt that way too.

especially as he steps closer, shoulder blades pressed further into the hard surface of the door behind you. your gaze trained on him, as was his on you. the rough finger under your chin traced lightly up your jaw, his eyes transfixed on your features as his gaze danced around your face. he saw the way your eyes would get more and more dilated the more his hand touched you.

he saw the way your eyes were glued to his lips, as if you hadn't see his face countless times. you were starstruck, as if you had seen a famous painting up close, enough to count each stroke from the paintbrush. or a statue, examining the marble that imitated flowy fabrics, carved by an expert hand.

it made his heart flutter, a reassurance that, despite the circumstances, you might be the one. because he looked at you the same way.

his face hovered over yours, so closely you could feel the heat that radiated from his skin, the warmth of his breath as he exhaled, panning across your flushed features. you looked up at him expectedly, swallowing thickly as you were unsure of what to do.

despite all the times you had been alone together, all the times you were stood next to each other, held hands, met gazes, pressed against one another, you had never come face to face as you had in this moment.

you felt nervous, this was wrong. this is wrong, you shouldn't be doing this, and surely, he knew that too. he knew that it probably wasn't the best of his ideas to be going after the girl that hung around his little sister, but he didn't care, he only wanted you.

so when he leaned closer, close enough to feel the rough, chapped skin of his lips ghosting over yours, just merely brushing together. not enough, it wasn't enough to get a taste.

only enough to get a feel, feel the longing, the yearning, the want, the need. all consuming.

this is wrong.

but when his lips pressed yours so tentatively, so gentle and warm, it felt like sparks, fireworks had gone off across your body. suddenly your limbs began to tremble, your heart rate began to spike.

suddenly, in your thoughts, you didn't know how to act, your arms hanging stupidly by your sides before you decided to raise them to his face. your palms pressed against his cheeks, his jaw as you cradled his features, your lips meeting his with a push and pull. it was slow, but more exhilarating than anything you had ever experienced.

it was so wrong, but it felt so right, and that's what made it all the more better. you weren't supposed to be doing it, but if that were true, then why did it feel so good, so right?

when you had pulled away, his lips had chased with a heavy breath, hand lacing into your hair to push your face back against his in a heavy, sensual kiss that fulfilled all his longing. it was an addiction, lying dormant until he finally had you, and now that he did, he wouldn't quit.

a quiet whimper of protest was silenced by his pressing kiss, not allowing you a breath of air because you were his oxygen, so why isn't he yours? (he is though).

but unfortunately, you had both needed to breath, but that didn't stop him from latching his lips onto you somewhere else.

"si...simon, we shouldn't...shouldn't be doing...this..." you had managed between deep, swallowing breaths as you tried to keep your composure, but it was hard with him pressing warm, slow kisses down your neck. occasionally catching your skin between his teeth to leave a mark, his tongue soothing over the flesh as he continued on. trails of saliva glistened on your neck as he grunted in response.

"don' care..." he whispered gruffly as he raised his head to your ear, nipping at the flesh before dropping his head back to the junction of your neck and shoulder, too focused on marking up your pretty skin to comment any further.

and you were enjoying it a little too much to stop his ministrations, feeling your body become more and more worked up with months of pent up frustration, tension that you couldn't get out with your own hand between your thighs. it had to be his.

you didn't protest when he came back to your lips with a harsher, more desperate than before kiss, his tongue wiping against the pink, moisturized flesh of your bottom lip. he wouldn't go much further before he pulled away, a string of saliva being the only thing to connect you two now.

you felt a frown form on your face as you deciphered the growing, smug smirk on his face, whining as he pulled you away from the door whilst fixing the strap to your tank top, the one he had pushed aside to leave wet, lewd kisses down your neck and shoulder.

"come on now, lovie, can't have m'sister wonderin' where ya ran off to, can we?" he teased, his tone arrogant and nonchalant as he sent you on your way, not without a sharp slap to your ass. he chuckled to himself at the small yelp you let out before he shut his door.

he cursed under his breath as he stared at the blank surface, his sweatpants all too tight for his heavy cock that was now hard just from your sweet lips against his.

but it wasn't like he wasn't going to have you eventually, i mean he just left you hanging, soaking up your little panties at the mere thought of him touching you, the memory of his lips against your skin would having you crawling back in no time.

and maybe that time, you wouldn't have a time constraint on your moments together.

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murdrdocs · 6 months ago

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ghostface!luke; reader is v off; MDNI 18+ based on a req from beloved 🍒 anon w/ LUKE CASTELLAN

you don't notice him at first.

you're too focused on trying to locate your charger, mentally retracing your steps from earlier in the day. your back to the opened door, your shoulder facing the window, your eyes staring unfocused up at the ceiling as you attempt to remember if you had your charger before or after you went for a shower.

the creak of your floorboard is covered up by the loud horror movie sting coming from the living room. the sound of your door shutting is shadowed by your friends screams, and when they become muffled you attribute it to a hand over the mouth rather than you being cut off from the others.

you remember where your charger is. you approach your bed, shaking the covers to find it. there, sticking off the side of the bed. you climb atop the mattress—uncaring of how compromising your position is. it's only you in there after all—and reachhh for the charger. as soon as it's in your hand, you stand. and that's when you notice him.

the feeling of a presence other than your own in the bedroom. the warmth of someone being right behind you. the sound of breathing, amplified by something that almost restricts their exhales.

without even turning around, you know who it is.

the man your friends thought they left behind across the country. the man that sliced your friend's arm, nicked their cheeks, slammed them against walls, and then left you there to witness it all. the man you all convinced yourselves would never show face again, not with the police detail strolling the halls and watching the entrances.

you don't move, not yet. your eyes search for a weapon, for something that could buy you enough time to get everyone out of your apartment. just when your eyes latch onto your lamp sitting on your bedside, he beats you to it.

his hands latch onto your shoulder and hip, directing you forcefully into the nearest wall where he pushes you up against it. he pushes his body into yours, keeping you still against the wall.

really, you both know it's unnecessary. it's unlikely that you'll ever actually try to run away.

you push your ass back against him, already attempting to communicate how you think this should go. you know he feels the same when he returns the message, giving you one well crafted grind back into you.

through the thin fabric of your shorts, you can feel the denim of his jeans. heavy, sturdy, familiar. the last time he wore these particular ones they were soaked in blood. soon enough, you soaked them, too. you wonder if he got either substance out since then.

you're about to tell him to hurry. that you don't have much time before grover comes looking for you with an urgent claim that his phone is going to die.

but then you feel it. the metal of a knife pressed against the front of your throat, slipped in the tight space between the skin and the wall. one move from either of you and blood is drawn.

the situation should be threatening. it is threatening. your tv loud enough to drown out your screams. a man stronger and more capable than you behind you, with you being completely at his mercy.

"do you want me to scream?" you ask him, your words more sacarstic and teasing than they should be, given the circumstances. maybe you would beg for your life if you didn't know luke.

you know he's going to throw you on the bed. you know he's going to force your legs over his shoulders. you know he's going to hold the knife against your throat for as long as he's interested in, all while he fucks you within an inch of your life.

and he does. he does all of it, one hand holding metal to your untouched skin and the other muffling your screams of pleasure (just in case) all while you stared into the cold slits of the white mask. one of the original masks, he'd boasted about it when it was first acquired.

and when he's done, he sends you out of the room with a lopsided smile, his promise that he'll be back later echoing in your otherwise empty head.

you don't know what he'll be back for but you have a couple of guesses.

#lukesworld!#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan smut #celeste writes pjo

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novaursa · 3 months ago

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Hello

I was thinking about something, what if rhaenyra didn’t take the moon tea after sleeping with Criston. She fell pregnant of a girl and since she also had brown curly hair the green think she was harwin’s.

Since she the heir of Rhaenyra, Viserys betrothed her to Aemond. And obviously they slept together.

And you know the scene between Aemond and Criston the night of blood and cheese? Like Aemond says something to see Criston about her, like she had a birthmark maybe and in fact it’s exactly the same as Criston (in an hidden place) and he finally understands that it’s his daughter

I have so much idea with this plot like the hidden daughter of Rheanyra and Criston, I can stop thinking about it..

Blood Unseen

- Summary: Your husband, Aemond, reveals to Cole something that shifts his entire world on its axis.

- Paring: assumed wife!reader/Aemond Targaryen, (daughter) reader/(father) Criston Cole (platonic)

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The dim light of the flickering candles cast long shadows across the chamber, the heavy curtains drawn tight against the cold night outside. Criston Cole stood tall, his arms crossed over his chest, listening intently as Aemond Targaryen spoke. The conversation had drifted from the matters of court, to tactics, to the war that loomed over them like a dark cloud. The flicker of unease was there in both men’s words, unspoken but shared. These were perilous times, and every move was a game of life and death.

Criston, ever the dutiful knight, maintained his stoic expression, eyes trained on the prince. Aemond paced the room, his hands clasped behind his back, the familiar sway of his silver hair catching the dim light. There was something different about this evening though. Aemond's tone carried a weight that went beyond war.

“It's curious,” Aemond said, his voice cool and calculated as he stopped mid-step. His single eye, sharp and piercing, regarded Criston with the kind of intensity that always set him on edge. “You have a birthmark, do you not?”

Criston’s brow furrowed slightly at the sudden turn of conversation. “I do,” he replied cautiously, unsure where this was leading. He had little care for such trivial matters, certainly not with the tension thickening the air.

Aemond approached him slowly, the faint smirk curling at the edges of his lips. “A peculiar one, I’ve noticed. Right here,” he said, tapping a finger against the area just above his hip, through the fabric of his tunic. “Almost shaped like a dragon’s tail, or so it would seem.”

Criston nodded, still unsure of Aemond’s purpose in this revelation. “What of it, my prince?”

Aemond’s smirk deepened, and he tilted his head, the eye patch he wore gleaming in the low light. “Y/N has one too, you know.”

The mention of your name sent a shiver through Criston, but he kept his composure. “My princess does?” His voice remained calm, though he could feel something stirring beneath the surface. He had served you for years now, ever watchful, ever loyal, but never had he paid heed to such intimate details.

Aemond’s eye gleamed as he continued. “Just below her breast. The same exact mark. The resemblance, Cole… it’s uncanny.” His words were slow, deliberate, as if savoring the weight of them.

Criston blinked, the revelation settling like a stone in his gut. A flicker of confusion crossed his face, quickly masked, but it wasn’t fast enough. Aemond saw it, and the corner of his mouth twitched knowingly.

The room fell into an oppressive silence. Criston’s mind raced, pieces of a long-forgotten puzzle snapping into place. The resemblance—the dark curls, the sharpness of your gaze. For years, he had believed, like so many others, that you were just another Strong bastard, the child of Harwin. It had made sense, your features mirroring the late knight’s in subtle ways. But now, Aemond’s words clung to him like a curse, dredging up memories of fleeting moments he had long buried.

He remembered your birth, Rhaenyra’s secretive smile when she introduced you to him as her firstborn. The way her eyes lingered on him, as if daring him to acknowledge something he couldn’t. But he hadn’t, not then. How could he?

The mark. It had been there all along, a sign that he had been blind to.

Aemond’s voice sliced through his thoughts, the faintest hint of amusement coloring his tone. “Do you understand now, Ser Criston?”

Criston’s heart pounded in his chest, a rising dread filling him as realization dawned. You were not Harwin Strong’s. No, you were his. His blood, his daughter. The child of his brief and forbidden encounter with Rhaenyra all those years ago. A moment of weakness, of passion, and now, the living proof stood before him every day, a reminder of a secret he never knew he had carried.

Criston’s body tensed, his jaw clenched as he fought to keep his voice steady. “Does… she know?”

Aemond’s smirk faded into something darker, more calculating. “If she does, she has kept it well hidden, as has Rhaenyra. But you, Cole… you’ve been oblivious all this time. How fitting that I should be the one to enlighten you.”

Criston felt the weight of those words. Aemond reveled in this, enjoyed watching him unravel. His fists clenched at his sides, the reality of it all crashing down around him. You were his daughter. And all this time, he had been nothing more than your sworn protector, ignorant of the blood that tied him to you.

But now, what did it mean? You were wed to Aemond years ago, promised by the late king Viserys to unite the two halves of the family. The Greens had accepted you because they believed you to be another Strong bastard, another means to a political end. But now… now Criston could see that Aemond knew the truth, and that truth gave him power.

“Why tell me this now?” Criston asked, his voice low, strained.

Aemond regarded him with a cold, measured look. “Because, Ser Criston, I thought you should know what’s at stake before everything… changes.”

Criston stared at him, the unspoken threat hanging between them. The game they played had shifted. Bloodlines, loyalties, the tangled web of duty and secrets—it was all spiraling into something far more dangerous. He had served the Greens faithfully, had believed in their cause, but now, with this knowledge… everything felt uncertain.

Aemond’s gaze lingered for a moment longer before he turned, heading toward the door. “Do think on it, Ser Criston. After all, blood is thicker than water, as they say.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Criston alone in the darkened chamber, his thoughts swirling in a tempest of revelation, regret, and uncertainty.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #hotd x female reader #aemond x reader #criston x reader #criston platonic #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aemond targaryen #criston cole #criston x you #criston x y/n #cole

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fdeegbffi · 3 months ago

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Sukuna x female reader.

Summary:

Sukuna was always a cold hearted king. However meeting you revealed his vulnerable side. He loves you, he really does, but he cannot let his people know he has a soft spot for a woman so he replaces you. Heartbroken you flee. What will he do next?

Inspiration from this girlie❤️:

Really loved this idea and I wanted to recreate it with a little twist.

The Cursed King’s Regret (Pt1)

I think

In a world steeped in darkness, Ryomen Sukuna ruled as an unforgiving king. His name alone was enough to send tremors through the hearts of even the bravest souls, and his power, feared and unchallenged, was the stuff of legend. But hidden away in the shadows of his imposing castle was a secret he kept from everyone—even from the woman who unknowingly held his heart.

You were that woman, a gentle presence in the cursed king's life. Sukuna had never intended to care for anyone, let alone fall in love. His life had always been one of darkness and control, his emotions buried deep hidden from the eyes of the living. But there was something about you that slipped past his defenses, capturing his attention and, eventually, his heart. He loved you with an intensity that scared him, a possessiveness that he couldn’t fully understand. Yet he never let you see how deeply his feelings ran. He wore his cruelty like a shield, hiding his vulnerability behind harsh words and a cold demeanor. Still, you could sense his vulnerability in his gaze and how you were treated slightly different from everybody else

As the months went by, you found yourself falling for Sukuna. You began to see the man behind the mask, and you hoped that one day, he would let down his guard and show his true feelings for you like you did to him. But then, something changed. Sukuna started visiting you less often. When he did, his gaze was distant, his mind elsewhere. Eventually, you discovered the reason why: he had taken in another woman. She looked so much like you that it was almost as if she were your twin. At first, you tried to brush it off, telling yourself you were imagining things, that you were being irrational. But as time passed, the truth became impossible to ignore. He WAS replacing you.

You felt your heart shatter, and the realization that you were just a stand-in for someone else made you sink in desperation. The depression settled in slowly, until the castle that had once felt like a strange kind of home became a prison. You couldn’t bear to stay in a place where you were no longer wanted, where your presence had become invisible.

So, one night, while Sukuna was away, you made your escape. You took nothing with you except some food and the memories that haunted you. Slipping through the castle’s shadows, you disappeared into the darkened forest beyond, determined to find a life far away from the man who had unknowingly broken your heart.

You wandered for days, finding temporary refuge in the solitude of the wilderness and the anonymity of small villages where no one knew your story. You tried to rebuild your life, but the ache of what you had lost stayed with you. It was a wound that refused to heal, a scar that remained tender to the touch.

Back at the castle, Sukuna returned to find your chambers empty. At first, he dismissed your absence, thinking you were simply avoiding him. But as the days passed without a word from you, a feeling of unease began to gnaw at him. It wasn’t long before he realized with a sinking dread that you were gone.

The woman who resembled you so closely brought him no comfort. In fact, her presence only served to remind him of what he had lost. Sukuna, the feared king who had never known fear himself, felt panic rising within him for the first time. He himself searched the castle, the grounds, and the surrounding lands, but there was no trace of you.

When his own efforts failed, he sent out troops to scour the kingdom, ordering them to find you and bring you back at any cost. Days turned into weeks, and still, there was no sign of you. The possibility that he had lost you forever began to weigh heavily on him.

He had been a fool, and now he knew it. His pride, his fear of showing vulnerability, had driven you away, and now the thought of you out there somewhere, heartbroken and alone, tormented him. Sukuna cursed himself for his arrogance, for his failure to show you what you truly meant to him. He would tear the world apart to find you, and when he did, he would do everything in his power to make things right—if you would let him. For the first time, he understood that all the power and fear in the world meant nothing if they couldn’t bring you back to his side.

In the quiet of your new life, you tried to move on, to forget the cursed king who had broken your heart. But deep down, a part of you still longed for him, still wondered if he had ever truly cared. As you lived day by day, unaware of the chaos your absence had unleashed, the world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the moment when Sukuna would finally find you.

Because when he did, nothing would ever be the same.

#sukuna #angst #jjk #sukuna x reader #jjk angst #sukuna angst #reader angst #i'm sad

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lemon-popp · 5 months ago

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Spending time with the Sith: episode ii

Pairing: Qimir x Black!female oc

Word count: 3463

Warnings: Fluff, Heavy flirting. little bit of tension. (probably typos) swearing

master list

A couple hours have passed since the masked man had taken Luna to his caved hideout, where he laid her down on his king sized bed. He took note of her small frame, wondering how did she get here, let alone survive.

She wouldn't even be able to bruise a fly

The man sat at the edge of the bed, continuing his analysis on the young one. Noting every detail of her face, from her full two toned lips to the tactical gear that hugged the curved planes of her figure. She looked peaceful as she slept, like a sleeping beauty.

That's enough, I look like a creep right now. He stands up from the bed, heading to the makeshift clothesline that hung from the stone wall. He had been in his clothes all day and deeply craved a nice dip in the ocean pool

Slowly, he starts to remove the black robe, starting at his waist before shimming the cloth from shoulders, leaving his back and chest out for display. The man reaches to remove his helmet until sounds of light movement is heard from behind him.

she's awake

"How was your little nap?", The masked man asked with a smirk, his back still towards her. His fingers move away from his masks reaching instead for his cream colored rob that hung on the clothes line.

Luna, still riddled with the drowsiness of sleep, shifts uncomfortably in the bed, wondering how she got here and who was the shirtless man who stood ahead of her.

She stayed quiet, observing her surroundings, looking for the escape route.

"I'm not gonna hurt you...well, not unless you give me a reason to," The man turned around swifty, toying with the linen cloth of the rob in his hand, nonchalantly.

Luna inhaled sharply, being met the the disturbing mask he wore.

Who is this guy?

"Who are you?" Luna doesn't hesitate, the uncomfort she felt quickly transformed into bold fearlessness. It was obvious he wasn't going to kill her, he would've just left her in the forest if that was the case. But no he brought her back and placed her on the softest bed she has ever laid on.

"I should ask you that. You are on my planet after all," Masked man quipped back. Luna rolled her almond shaped eyes and he couldn't helped but smile at her reaction.

"Your planet? Where's the deed," Luna claps back with a lack of fear that the masked man found impressive.

"I don't need a deed on a planet with nobody living on it,"

"Right, well, I'll leave you to YOUR planet," Luna attempts to climb off the bed, completely forgetting about her fucked up ankle, when her foot makes contact with the cold floor. A sharp pain rushed up her body, rushing up her throat like once before, but she holds in the yelp that threatens to escape, wincing instead.

The man tilts his head, his covered eyebrows furrowing in concern before making his way towards her, kneeling to meet her aching foot. Luna's eyes meet the slits of his mask that allows the man behind it to see. She notices his reaching hand, signaling to her ankle and with hesitation she allows him to hold her.

The man grabs ahold of her ankle, nothing how easily he could wrap his whole hand around it. Luna sighs at the contact partially in pain, but a part in an indescribable feeling. A feeling similar to before, but more tingly. One that starts at her foot and ends at her stomach. He pulls the tight fabric of her cargo pants up to expose the red, swollen flesh. Everything looked in place, nothing broken.

I might as well tell him my name if i'm gonna let him touch me like this

"Luna." He looks up, his golden mask nearly hitting her chin by how close they were.

"You can call me Qimir," Qimir nodded bringing his attention back to her possibly twisted ankle, rubbing it gently with his long fingers," How does it feel now?"

Luna attempts to move it around, it didn't hurt as much as before, but a feeling still lingered

"A little better," The girl nodded, using her new found mobility to move herself out of his grasp. Placing her foot on the ground softly, careful to not put too much pressure on it.

Qimir still kneeled before her, gazing at her through his thick mask. Observing her. She was easily the most beautiful creature he has ever laid eyes upon. And her demeanor. She didn't hold the same fear that others had when met with him. Then again, he was typically holding a light saber preparing to attack.

"Sooo, what's underneath this mask. Is half your face burned or something?," Luna brought her dainty hands up to knock on the skull of the mask gently in a joking matter. Her lips curling into a smile.

Qimir couldn't help but smile swell, glad that the mask did its job of hiding his face. But maybe he wanted her to see.

"Why don't you find out," the still shirtless man suggested, nodding the mask forward giving her permission to take it off of him. Luna raises an eyebrow, wondering if this was a test and he was actually planning to cut off her fingers at soon as she starts to lift it. However, her curiosity was too strong to deny. She wondered if his face looked as good or better than his exposed chest and back.

Luna reaches forward slowly with both hands, coming in contact with the strikingly cold metal that contrasted the heat of nervousness she felt.

Qimir let out a deep exhale, preparing to be unmasked for the first infant of someone. He doesn't know what gave him the sudden courage to do it now, with her especially. He just met her. But in the short amount of time he had spent with her, he was very intrigued.

The mask finally lifted, revealing his face which makes Luna's eyes widen and her heart race.

Oh, he's definitely not burned. Why would he hide such a gorgeous face?

The guy sported a jawline sharp enough to cut glass, nice pink lips and hair that had a mind of its mind, tendrils falling in front of his perfectly crafted face. Their eyes finally meet.

Qimir scoots closer, placing his hand on the bed, entrapping her between him. Their faces only inches apart. Luna almost stopped breathing. She has no clue what is going on. What she was feeling. Her heart raced and she felt the tingles once again. His eyes glance down at her luscious lips just for a split second, dragging them up impossibly slow to her eyes again.

"Like what you see?," Qimir teases, a mischievous smirk making it way on his lips. His eyes still holding the world's most intense eye contact.

cocky much, Luna thinks as she rolled her eyes, pushing herself back further onto the bed, creating a respectable amount of distance between them. She shakes her head, attempting to find a way to escape his question.

"I'm hungry," Luna says abruptly, adverting her gaze away from him with a defiant cross of her arms, like a toddler.

Qimir's smirk grows wider, enjoying the effect he had on her, regardless of how hard she tried to push him away.

The man stands up from his kneeling position, his pelvis now pretty much aligned to Luna's eyesight. Which is met with deliciously chiseled abs that led to an even more defined v-line. Her eyes dragged lower, wondering what the v-line could be pointing to.

Luna is brought out of her thoughts when a large hand appears infront of her offering her help, but obstructing the view she once had. She takes his right hand in hers, feeling his course calloused fingers gripping hers, right before he wraps his other around her tiny waist. Qimir presses the girl to him, insuring that her foot doesn't make contact with the ground, Luna drapes her clothed arm around his neck for extra support. That extra support However, led her to feeling the ripples of his upper back, a part of her craving to feel him skin to skin.

Qimir swiftly brings her to the main room, where he places her on the lonely cushioned chair that sat in front of an old steel stove to which the man makes his way towards.

On the stove, was a pot of soupy food, one of Qimir's favorite. He fixed Luna a bowl, bringing this dish to her. As it arrived, Luna saw a green unappetizing sludge. It looked like bile. Her face curls up in disgust and before she could say no, Qimir places the bowl in her lap.

"Just try it first before throwing a fit," He shakes his head at her, heading back to the stove to make himself a rather large serving. Luna plays with the gooey substance, icking herself out.

I cannot look at this any longer

Her eyes rip away, moving onto something actually quite pleasing to the eye. Qimir's wide back, detailed the meticulously crafted muscles. Almost as if he was designed by god himself. Her eyes traveled lower being met with a gnarly scar that adorned him. It looked intense and very painful.

"How'd you get the scar?" Luna ask with no hesitation, making Qimir chuckle lightly, not necessarily out of humor, but rather because of how blunt this young girl was. She had no clue who he was, or the things he have done, yet she held no fear. Not scared to ask him questions.

"What does it look like?," He says coldly, but genuinely asking for her interpretation, turning around slowly with a spoon in his mouth. He leans against the stove, awaiting her answer.

He wasn't insecure about his scar, no quite the opposite. He wore it with pride as he believe that its showed his strength and resilience. However, Qimir wasn't fond of how it reminded him of the ones who betrayed him, broken his trust and disowned him. The people he once called family. Ever since that moment, he has always craved an unbreakable bond. Someone who he could trust, who wouldn't betray him. Someone he could train. An acolyte.

Luna hums, actually taking her time to respond, "Looks like you got stabbed in the back." She says in the gentlest voice, not a trace of malice to be found. Qimir nods softly, affirming her guess.

The air becomes quiet, Luna sensing that this might not be a topic to press.

"How'd you get the fucked up ankle?," Qimir throw the question back at her, unintentionally lightening the mood. Luna smiles, almost forgetting about her stupid avoidable injury.

"I was climbing a tree, then I fell," The girl kept it short, being as vague as he was. Qimir shook his head knowing that there's wayyy more to the story.

climbing a tree huh. As if she can't do that on any other planet. There's something she's not telling.

"What are you, a child? Tell me the real reason," The shirtless man interrogates, his face hardening becoming suspicious of her sudden appearance. For as long as he has been here, no one has visited this lonely planet. What if she actually is with the Jedi.

Luna rolled her eyes at his quip, not appreciating the sudden turning on her. She didn't press on about his suspicious back scar, so why is he pressing about her climbing a tree.

Her eye meet Qimir's dark ones, who stared at her, waiting very patiently for her answer.

Oh, He is not budging. Luna sighs

"That is the truth. I was climbing a tree to get fruit," Luna brings her gaze to her swollen ankle, remembering the whole objective of this mission. She should be heading home right now, a bog full of the fruit, spending their last moments together as mother and daughter. But here she sat in a cave that apparently belong to this strange man of which she shared flirtatious gazes. With a stupid twisted ankle.

Tears threaten to pour from Luna's eyes, but she hold them back due to the company that stood ahead of her. Qimir notices the sudden change in her demeanor, feeling awful as he assumes that he's the one who caused this. The man rushes in her directions, sitting on his knees like previously, placing both of their bowls on the table beside them. Qimir uses his now free hand to place on her knee, rubbing soft soothing circles with his thumb.

Luna sniffles while the warmth of his hand consumes her, in the best possible way. Able to find the strength to continue.

"It's for my mom...S-She has cancer," Luna forces a painful smile, looking to be optimistic. Qimir's heart tugs. He rarely felt sympathy for people. Hell he rather enjoyed seeing others suffer in agony, especially from his hands. But Luna. It felt like a knife to the chest just hearing how her voice trembled.

Luna's full lips trembled, the dam holding her tear failing, streams fall from her dark almond eyes. Qimir freezes in space unsure of what to do. He rarely had contact with other, especially not in such an intimate setting. He panics.

Qimir reaches for her face, his course hand cradling her beautiful face. He holds her like a baby bird, afraid he might crush her with his lack of experience of holding something with such care. Her skin felt like cashmere on his fingers. A part of him wanted to hold her like this forever. Tears continued to fall from her caring eyes and Qimir uses his calloused thumb wipe it. Her eyes finally met his in which led to an intense eye contact. An intense understanding. An intense comfortable stare that causes both of their hearts to race in an unformed pace.

Eventually the sniffling and tears stop as Luna focuses on dealing with the concerning beating of her heart and heat that courses through her body. She brings a hand up, gripping onto Qimir's forearm for stability as if she's not already sitting down.

Qimir feels the trembling of her hand on his arm and pulls away suddenly, breaking the intimate gaze and he is reminded that she still hasn't eaten. Luna lets out a deep breath that she didn't know she was holding, letting her hand fall from his bare arm.

"You need to eat," Qimir brings the bowl back to her. Luna's face scrunches up in the cutest face he has ever seen as she is once again presented with that grossness. Qimir scoops a small bite with the wooden spoon, looking as if he was preparing to feed her himself. Luna raises an eyebrow at him.

There is no way he gonna feed me like a baby after I just got done crying.

"Luna, This is all I have currently and you need to eat so you can heal. So you can get back to your mom," Qimir pleads. Luna stares that the spoon, his words working on her. Starving would not help her. She nods, giving in.

He brings the bowl underneath her chin, the spoon following suit as if in slow motion. Luna's eyes stare up at him with a hint of fear like a little doe. For some reason, that arouses Qimir. The fact that she's afraid of this food and not him.

As the spoon itches towards Luna's thick lips which she begins to part slightly, Qimir finds himself leaning in closer swell. As if she is a siren luring him to his death. The spoon enters her gorgeous mouth, her lips wrapping around the spoon and Qimir can't help but imagine other things going in as well. Luna close her eyes, surprising pleased with what she tastes, a soft moan escaping from her.

Qimir smiles, shaking himself from his trance. He has no clue what has gotten into him. The most dangerous woman was one who didn't know the effects they had on a man. Especially a man like him.

Luna snatche the wooden bowl from the man becoming a Tasmanian devil as she scoops the soup into her mouth.

I knew she'd like It but Jeez, when was the last time this girl ate?

Qimir rose from hit squatted position in front of her, giving her space to enjoy the fish. He saunters off to the cave opening which lead to the ocean pool. It was now dark, the still water reflecting the full moon that shined bright above. The breeze blowing gently causing the temperature to drop drastically from earlier.

Qimir sighed in disappointment, coming to terms with the fact that he missed the opportunity to indulge in a warm, relaxing bath and now has to settle for a cold, chilling one.

“Where are you off to?,” Luna chirps up from inside the bowl that she now licked clean. Qimir leans against the rock of the cave, smiling at her ravenous hunger.

“I was gonna bathe in the pool. Care to join?,” The tall, easily six foot, man flirts not so subtlety. A cheeky grin growing on his face.

Luna freezes mid lick. Eyes shot wide. Unsure if she heard him correctly. She slowly lowers the bowl and gulps.

bathe? with you? don’t mind if i do Qimir.

“I—Uh. I don’t. I—Qim,” Despite the confidence of her words in her head. Nothing coherent comes out. It’s almost like a cork was stuck in her throat.

Luna has experienced flirting before, of course. She’s a beaut. However, she never entertained the ideas that men threw at her. If anything she always found it gross and disorderly. Even with school crushes, though she ‘liked’ them, their advances would make her uncomfortable.

Which is why this experience with Qimir is so…outerworldly. He made her feel things she’s never felt before. He made her STUTTER, when she typically held a true confidence when she spoke.

“Joking. Probably wouldn’t be a good idea to swim with a hurt ankle anyway huh,” Qimir winks. Seeing her react in that way to such vanilla request was wildly entertaining. so innocent

“hehe, right,” Luna forces a soft laugh to try and ease the embarrassment she felt. She felt so dumb for thinking he was actually offering. And she felt so stupid for being unable to form a sentence.

She places the empty bowl on the table beside her, just before a yawn escapes her.

“Well, I think im going to go to sleep,” Qimir pushes off the wall, rushing his way to her to help carry her into the room. That is, Until Luna stops him with a hand, “Don’t worry, i got it. Go enjoy your bath.”

Luna successfully stands up from the lonely cushioned chair, careful to keep pressure off of her foot. She smiles triumphantly at Qimir, showing him that she’s all good, before hopping on her one good foot to the bedroom.

Silence fills the air. A silence that Qimir has come accustomed to after being here alone for so long. But now the silence felt empty.

get it together. she’s just here until she’s healed. don’t get used to it buddy.

Qimir nods at his inner voice, facing back to the pool, preparing himself for his cold bath.

……..

Qimir returns from the pool with his night robe on as he tip toes into the bedroom careful not to wake Luna. Immediately, he notices the girl in his bed, the red duvet covered her bottom just stopping right below her breast. Bringing attention to the fact that she no longer wore her tactical gear, that now decorated the floor. She now only wore her undergarments of a black sphegetti strapped tank top that hugged the roundness of her breasts. The cold draft that enter through the cave entrance clearing hitting her as he nipples stood taut.

Q shakes his head, removing his eyes from the goddess in his bed.

stop being creepy.

The man returns to reality, taking the extra blanket and pillow from the bed to place camp on the floor.

“Qimir? We can share the bed,” Luna’s sleep ridden voice breaks the silence. She was watching him.

He stops making his own doggy bed on the side, staring up straight to look into her eyes, “Are you sure?”

The girl nods, "I trust you," her curly hair that now sat in a messy top bun, followed her nods.

Qimir took in a sharp breath. He hasn’t shared a bed with a woman in years. Too busy with his own endeavors to entertain such activities. So this was…something for him as he climbs into the bed next to her.

They lie face to face, Luna’s eyes fluttering in and out of consciousness. Qimir loses almost two hours of sleep just admiring every detail on her face. Admiring the frizziness of her hair. The curl of her lashes. The soft noises she makes in her rapid eye movement sleep. How she sleeps in fetal position all night. He had to restrain himself from wrapping his arms around her. Cuddling her through the night.

She’s such an angel.

episode iii

#qimir the acolyte #the acolyte #qimir #osha x qimir #osha aniseya #manny jacinto #jason mendoza #ambw #ambw fic #smut #starwars #fanfic #black reader #black oc #female oc #qimir x reader #fluff #romance

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celepom · 1 year ago

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It’s Pride 2023! Time to put up some more comic recs!

This time I’ve put together some stories about discovering one’s own queer identity, outlining a family history of queerness, and several stories where being queer isn’t the focus - queer characters are simply allowed to be.

Belle of the Ball By Mari Costa

High-school senior and notorious wallflower Hawkins finally works up the courage to remove her mascot mask and ask out her longtime crush: Regina Moreno, head cheerleader, academic overachiever, and all-around popular girl. There’s only one teensy little problem: Regina is already dating Chloe Kitagawa, athletic all-star…and middling English student. Regina sees a perfectly self-serving opportunity here, and asks the smitten Hawkins to tutor Chloe free of charge, knowing Hawkins will do anything to get closer to her. And while Regina’s plan works at first, she doesn’t realize that Hawkins and Chloe knew each other as kids, when Hawkins went by Belle and wore princess dresses to school every single day. Before long, romance does start to blossom…but not between who you might expect. With Belle of the Ball, cartoonist Mariana Costa has reinvigorated satisfying, reliable tropes into your new favorite teen romantic comedy.

---

The Moth Keeper By Kay O’Neill

Anya is finally a Moth Keeper, the protector of the lunar moths that allow the Night-Lily flower to bloom once a year. Her village needs the flower to continue thriving and Anya is excited to prove her worth and show her thanks to her friends with her actions, but what happens when being a Moth Keeper isn't exactly what Anya thought it would be? The nights are cold in the desert and the lunar moths live far from the village. Anya finds herself isolated and lonely. Despite Anya's dedication, she wonders what it would be like to live in the sun. Her thoughts turn into an obsession, and when Anya takes a chance to stay up during the day to feel the sun's warmth, her village and the lunar moths are left to deal with the consequences.

---

Hollow By Shannon Watters, Branden Boyer-White & Berenice Nelle

Isabel "Izzy" Crane and her family have just relocated to Sleepy Hollow, the town made famous by—and obsessed with—Washington Irving's legend of the Headless Horseman. But city slicker-skeptic Izzy has no time for superstition as she navigates life at a new address, a new school, and, with any luck, with new friends. Ghost stories aren't real, after all.... Then Izzy is pulled into the orbit of the town's teen royalty, Vicky Van Tassel (yes, that Van Tassel) and loveable varsity-level prankster Croc Byun. Vicky's weariness with her family connection to the legend turns to terror when the trio begins to be haunted by the Horseman himself, uncovering a curse set on destroying the Van Tassel line. Now, they have only until Halloween night to break it—meaning it's a totally inconvenient time for Izzy to develop a massive crush on the enigmatic Vicky. Can Izzy's practical nature help her face the unknown—or only trip her up? As the calendar runs down to the 31st, Izzy will have to use all of her wits and work with her new friends to save Vicky and uncover the mystery of the legendary Horseman of Sleepy Hollow—before it's too late.

---

Until I Meet my Husband By Ryousuke Nanasaki & Yoshi Tsukizuki

The memoir of gay activist Ryousuke Nanasaki and the first religiously recognized same-sex marriage in Japan. From school crushes to awkward dating sites to finding a community, this collection of stories recounts the author’s “firsts” as a young gay man searching for love. Dating is never ever easy, but that goes doubly so for Ryousuke, whose journey is full of unrequited loves and many speed bumps. But perseverance and time heals all wounds, even those of the heart.

---

Is Love the Answer? By Uta Isaki

When it comes to love, high schooler Chika wonders if she might be an alien. She’s never fallen for or even had a crush on anyone, and she has no desire for physical intimacy. Her friends tell her that she just "hasn't met the one yet," but Chika has doubts... It's only when Chika enters college and meets peers like herself that she realizes there’s a word for what she feels inside--asexual--and she’s not the only one. After years of wondering if love was the answer, Chika realizes that the answer she long sought may not exist at all--and that that's perfectly normal.

---

M Is for Monster By Talia Dutton

When Doctor Frances Ai's younger sister Maura died in a tragic accident six months ago, Frances swore she would bring her back to life. However, the creature that rises from the slab is clearly not Maura. This girl, who chooses the name "M," doesn't remember anything about Maura's life and just wants to be her own person. However, Frances expects M to pursue the same path that Maura had been on—applying to college to become a scientist—and continue the plans she and Maura shared. Hoping to trigger Maura's memories, Frances surrounds M with the trappings of Maura's past, but M wants nothing to do with Frances' attempts to change her into something she's not. In order to face the future, both Frances and M need to learn to listen and let go of Maura once and for all. Talia Dutton's debut graphic novel, M Is for Monster, takes a hard look at what it means to live up to other people's expectations—as well as our own.

---

Golden Sparkle By Minta Suzumaru

Himaru Uehara’s first year of high school is off to a good start, minus one problem—he keeps having wet dreams. With only his mom and sister at home—and having skipped health class in middle school—he thinks it means there’s something wrong with him. Thankfully, a new friend has just the remedy and teaches Himaru exactly how to deal with those pesky dreams! But his solution only leads to more confusion, and the two find themselves navigating feelings they’ve never felt before.

---

Thieves By Lucie Bryon

Ella can’t seem to remember a single thing from the party the night before at a mysterious stranger’s mansion, and she sure as heck doesn’t know why she’s woken up in her bed surrounded by a magpie’s nest of objects that aren’t her own. And she can’t stop thinking about her huge crush on Madeleine, who she definitely can’t tell about her sudden penchant for kleptomania… But does Maddy have secrets of her own? Can they piece together that night between them and fix the mess of their chaotic personal lives in time to form a normal, teenage relationship? That would be nice.

---

Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic By Alison Bechdel

Meet Alison's father, a historic preservation expert and obsessive restorer of the family's Victorian home, a third-generation funeral home director, a high school English teacher, an icily distant parent, and a closeted homosexual who, as it turns out, is involved with his male students and a family babysitter. Through narrative that is alternately heartbreaking and fiercely funny, we are drawn into a daughter's complex yearning for her father. And yet, apart from assigned stints dusting caskets at the family-owned "fun home," as Alison and her brothers call it, the relationship achieves its most intimate expression through the shared code of books. When Alison comes out as homosexual herself in late adolescense, the denouement is swift, graphic -- and redemptive.

---

She Loves to Cook, and She Loves to Eat By Sakaomi Yuzaki

Cooking is how Nomoto de-stresses, but one day, she finds herself making way more than she can eat by herself. And so, she invites her neighbor Kasuga, who also lives alone. What will come out of this impromptu dinner invitation...?

Kasuga and Nomoto promised to spend their Christmas and New Year’s together. Now, they find themselves learning more about each other’s families through the food sent by Nomoto’s mother. Cute character bento, salmon and rice, stollen, fruit sandwiches, roast beef…Nomoto and Kasuga warm up to each other over a cheerful holiday season.

#Pride 2023 #book rec #comic #graphic novel #autobio #fantasy #science fiction #high school #queer #lesbian #gay #asexual #intersex #bisexual #romance #book recs #pride #LGBTQIA #LGBT comic

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shotmrmiller · 9 months ago

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tw: mentions of simon's torture and SA so heed my warning plz

this is unfinished idk which way to take it, either a weird redemption or just keep him mean so here you go

I like to think that instead of Simon taking off his mask as a show of trust, it's his gloves.

He hates physical contact.

Back during his torture, Simon would have both eyes swollen shut more often than not, completely robbing him of his sight.

He'd bitten through his tongue through the worst of it, leaving him with a constant metallic taste of blood in his dry mouth.

There was never a moment of silence for him either. An insistent ringing in his ears, loud like a stirred-up hornet's nest. Buzzing in the canal, stinging in his ear drums.

Yet the one sense that only nothing could ever stop, unless unconscious, was touch. Simon couldn't stop feeling. Chapped, thin lips over his own. A grubby hand fisting his hair, pulling so hard he'd feel the pop of strands coming off of his scalp. The piercing pain of his broken nose, burning on his split lip; the crippling, blinding agony of the cold, metal hook in between his lower ribs. Delicate fingers leaving a searing trail across his bruised flesh, down to his—

Simon Riley does not like touch nor be touched. He covers himself from head to toe to avoid skin-to-skin contact— the gloves never come off. He grits his teeth when Johnny hits his shoulder, clenches his jaw painfully when Price taps his arm.

The only sensation he doesn't mind is the blood that soaks the fabric of his gloves when he digs his blade into an unsuspecting neck.

But that didn't mean his needs had faded from existence. Much to his disappointment, Simon was still of flesh and blood. He still felt a stirring in his loins whenever he laid eyes on a piece of fuckable meat. It's all he saw them as; just a hole for him to use.

He didn't get much of a chance to satiate the thirst, however, because of the one restriction Simon had.

Hands to yourself.

From the ones he'd chosen to take to a no-tell motel, only a handful had stayed. Not that it bothered him any, they had always thought themselves special enough for him to change his mind.

"Rules are rules, sweets. Take it or fuckin' leave."

And then he meets you at some dingy bar. You'd flitted your way over to him, like a moth to a flame.

If only you knew that he was an all-consuming fire; he'd burn you to ashes.

You'd been quick in agreeing to let him fuck you, too. His gloved hand grabbed your elbow in a tight grip, harshly dragging you into the men's bathroom. "Only one rule. Don't touch me. You keep your hands on anythin' else other than me. I take what ya give me, and in turn, you'll take what I give ya."

With your hands tightly gripping the edge of the porcelain sink, he'd taken you from behind viciously. Hungrily. Deliciously. He'd then left you in the bathroom with your number and his cum dried on the cleft of your arse.

It was like this for months. Always dropping by your house for a visit when the night was darkest.

"Hands on the headboard." His covered hands would rest right next to yours on it as he filled you up with his heavy cock.

"Hold your legs open f'me." The rough material of his gloves on the underside of your thighs never failed to bleed a little pain into your heady pleasure.

And then he'd started pulling the balaclava he wore up to rest right above his lips and settle his head between your quivering thighs. Ghost would drag his smart tongue through your folds and flick your slippery clit.

You'd ripped a hole into the bedsheets to keep from digging your nails into the thick muscle of his shoulders when you climaxed.

You also never brought it up after. He ate pussy like a man starved- all lips and tongue, occasionally a nip or two. This proverbial horse's teeth would never see the light of day.

Over a period of time, Ghost started staying a little longer after the hookups, and began to show up a tad earlier than the usual witching hour.

now this is where we choose the ending

is it a, he grabs your hands and chooses where you can touch? he stays in control the entire time because that's what he needs. control. a choice.

he'll blindfold you so you don't see him, only feel. feel the stubble on his strong jaw, the contours of his waist, his hips; feel how rough his bare hands are on your own smooth skin.

do you eventually question why he doesn't let you touch him? he'll snap his teeth at you like a rabid dog? you're not privy to his back story. he'll aggressive shrug his shirt back on and jerkily pull his pants up. doesn't even tie his bootlaces, just walks out your front door. you don't hear from him again.

it hurts, honestly. you'd only asked a simple question and he didn't even give you a chance to apologize.

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jake-g-lockley · 2 years ago

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Wherever You Stray, I Follow (Javier Peña x reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist

gif by @bruhlpng

Warnings: Angst, canon-usual violence.

Word count: 3.7k

A/N: I wanted to write soft!Javi first, idk everything he does just seems so pure to me and eee I love him. Most of this was inspired by Taylor Swift’s Willow heh so enjoy <3

Tagging: @brekkers-desigirl @in-between-the-cafes @senassn

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Javier Peña was knee-deep in shit. It might not have been literal shit but it might as well should have because he would have preferred that over anything that was happening to him.

It all started a few months ago, when everything in his life decided to take a confusing turn. It was a gloomy Monday and after a failed late night stakeout with Steve made sure that Javi overslept, stumbling around finding his clothes and trying his best to look put together. His sleep for the past few weeks had been restless, his mind flooded with thoughts that he wanted to forget. He was admittedly tired but had slipped on the hardened mask that he always wore whenever he was out and about chasing cartel members and wiping scum off the streets of Colombia.

He had a gut feeling that that Monday was going to be a long one, with the way nothing went right for him. Still, he collected himself and went through every single page of paperwork that was left on his desk, eventually letting himself get lost in the momentum that he had created. He was, unfortunately, rudely pulled out of his deep concentration by a loud bark followed by a shrill whistle. He instantly stood up from his desk, as if he had been hit by a Pavlovian response, only to be hit by darkness as he felt his body hit the floor below him.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

On your first day at the DEA office in Bogota, Colombia, all your walls were up high. You’d decided that arrogance triumphed over whatever pleasantries you had in you because you were only here to do your job. Your six inch red bottoms clacked intensely against the cold marble floor as you strut into the office holding your chin high as Artemis cleared the way for you. People around you scrambled, gasping as their eyes landed on the unleashed rottweiler before you. You scanned the lobby, looking for any sign of a man that fit the descriptions of Steve Murphy. You finally found him leaning against the reception counter smoking a cigarette. You whistled for Artemis and she led the way again before stopping in front of a bewildered Steve.

“Nice doggie, please don’t bite.” he murmured under his breath, a little softly but you caught it nevertheless and it elicited a laugh from you.

“She’s very well trained, you have nothing to worry about Agent Murphy.” you assured, placing your hand atop Arte’s head, giving him your most elegant smile.

“You’re the new recruit?” Steve asked, clearly floored by your appearance.

“You sound surprised?” you questioned back, your gaze hard and unfaltering.

“You were supposed to be a man.” Steve chuckled before extending his hand for some formal introductions.

He cautiously led you around the place, warily stepping around the dog, before finally taking you to the room where everything goes down.

“Your office will be here, Agent. Once again, welcome to the team.” Steve said, beaming.

Suddenly, you heard a loud bark. You whistled loudly for Arte to stop whatever she was up to but it was too late, she had pinned down a man onto the floor. You rush to get to Arte, worried that she had found someone who had been a threat to you and was about to kill a man right here in your new office. But instead, to your absolute confusion, you found her tail was wagging happily as she licked the man’s face.

You whistled once more and Arte jumped off the man, revealing who it was she had pounced upon. Your jaw dropped and all the air left your lungs as you stared down at the person before you, the unmistakable unconscious face of Javier Peña bringing back a flood of memories to you. For a split second, you felt the insecure child that you had left behind years ago attach itself back onto your new frame, but you pushed it away instantly as you teared your gaze away from Javier.

You looked around you to see guns drawn and looks of fury on the officers faces. All of them were mad, except Steve. Steve was howling with laughter, clutching his chest as he struggled to keep himself upright at the sight of the unconscious Javier. The officers lowered their guns at the sound of Steve’s laughter, looking at him as if he had turned up to work in a clown outfit.

“Knocked out by a dog!” Steve heaved as you knelt down to slap Javier across the face to wake him up.

You knew that wasn’t really the best thing to do to someone you hadn’t seen in the last six years but it sure felt good to watch him stir under you as the singe of the slap burned a satisfying tingle on your palm.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Maybe god, whoever god was, had taken Javi back to heaven for all the things he had done right. A sharp sting followed by a bright light greeted him as he awoke. The one thing that had him concluding that he was dead was that he was looking at you. You, his first love, standing above him looking like a real goddess, in a full black suit that made you look like a badass, your hair flowing and your eyes sharp as you glared down at him. He smiled up at you, a big goofy smile that made him feel dizzy.

And then he heard it.

The cackling laughter.

“Oops, nevermind, I might just be in hell.” Javi thought as the laughter just got louder and louder as the ringing in his ears cleared.

Then something clicked and Javi recognised the voice. It was Steve.

“Shit, Steve, you’re in hell too?” Javi called out but his voice sounded wobbly.

Suddenly, something big and wet dragged across Javi’s face. He sat up abruptly only to be faced with a rottweiler. Hell hounds are not this happy are they? Javi took a while to right himself, looking around from the rottweiler to you and to the people around him. He had the itching realization that he was in fact still on Earth, in Colombia, in his office. But that couldn’t be, then why were you here? His heart raced and he panicked for the first time in years, his feelings jumbling up his thoughts.

“Agent, meet my partner, Special Agent Javier Peña.” he heard Steve say.

Javi looked at Steve, still trying to process what was going on. He realized he was on the floor, his legs stretched out in front of him and he jumped up and stood properly in front of you, stretching his hand out for you to take. You shook it and dropped his hand quickly as he sat back down at his desk rubbing his forehead. You felt real, so Javi might not have been dreaming.

“Apologies Agent Murphy, Artemis never really does this.” You said to Steve watching as Artemis stares up happily at Javi.

Of course she was excited to see him. Arte’ mother, Leto was Javi’s dog and she clearly remembered him, or at least remembered his scent. You watch as Artemis turns back into a puppy, licking Javi’s hand as he pats her snout. The sight of Javi had short circuited your own brain and you couldn’t help but stare at him, not believing that you were actually looking at him. You had to physically get a hold of yourself when you caught the dimple that pulled on his cheek as he smiled at your dog. Your hand found your throat, fingertips tracing the same lines it did six years ago when you screamed your throat hoarse trying to get Javi to stay home.

Why are you leaving me?

You and him had engaged in competitive battles with everything, from school to sports to even hobbies. It lasted for years and shaped you into the person that you were today. You had to be better than him and he had to be better than you. Weirdly enough it brought the two of you closer. Javier was someone you can hold onto, someone you had trusted to be with you forever. He was your everything and you had no relationship purer than the one you had with him.

Until that one harrowing day, where everything turned upside down for you. He had turned up to your home on your 21st birthday with a bouquet of flowers and Artemis who was sitting in a basket with a red ribbon tied around her neck. The both of you talked for hours over rum centered chocolates and little pretzels with little Artemis curled up in the little space that your folded legs made. He pulled you onto your feet after a while, holding onto you and spinning the both of you around to a song on the radio.

The both of you danced till you were dizzy and that was when he stopped and held you close, his nose grazing yours as your breaths mingled with his. It was then when he told you his real plans. His plans of leaving the states. He didn’t tell you where he was going or what he was going to do no matter how much you begged. The giddy few hours that the both of you had spent together dissolved into chaos as you screamed at him, throwing the closest pillow at him.

“Please, please Javi, don't leave me here. I have no one, please.” you sobbed, clutching at his button down shirt as he pressed his forehead to yours.

Tears were streaming down his face but he reached out to wipe yours away. He held your face in his hands as he shook his head at you, willing for you to understand. The second he let go of you, you sank onto your knees and watched through teary eyes as he walked out your front door, never turning back. He was gone, it was as if you had lost him to the winds and you hadn’t heard from him since that day, not even a single phone call. Now here he was, dimple and all, as if fate had just decided to lead you back to him.

He was looking at you now and he looked lost for words with the way his mouth was hanging open a little. Before he could say anything, you subtly shook your head at him, indicating that you didn’t want to cause a scene now. He gave you one sharp nod and turned to Steve, and started to chastise him for laughing at Arte knocking him unconscious.

Frantically, the both of you pushed your emotions aside and layered on the masks thick, not willing for anything to slip out.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

That was two months ago, but till the present day, Javier and you had been skirting around each other, not acknowledging the fact that the both of you were old friends and that he probably knew more about you than he let on and vice versa. Now, you and him were crouched behind a wall, guns drawn, silence shrouding the both of you. Javier had some information about the location of one of Escobar’s sacarios and the both of you were waiting to gun him down.

“Where did you get this information anyway?” you found yourself speaking to him directly for the first time in six years.

It must have surprised him because he looked at you as if you were speaking gibberish.

“I have my sources, muñeca.” he murmured, wincing slightly at the nickname that left his mouth.

You rolled your eyes, knowing what the possible answer could be. You heard rumors but you were smarter than that, your eyes frequently caught the dark tinges on Javier’s neck, turning your stomach and coating it in poisonous jealousy.

“When are we going to talk about it?” Javier said before he could stop himself.

Silence weaved in between his question, lacing the both of you in an awkward position.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” you declared, your eyes sweeping for any sign of movement.

Javier sighed your name and the sound rang in your head like a sweet melody. You turned to glare at him but your hardness faltered when all you saw was sadness etched onto his handsome face.

“I’ve moved on and I have nothing to say to you, Peña.” you insisted, refusing to cave.

“There's no one here, you can just call me Javi, like you used to.” he sighed.

“Never.” you said, keeping your eyes trained into the darkness over the wall.

“I’d kill to hear you say it.” he murmured.

His words were drowned by the sound of bullets flying through the air, one flying right in between the both of you. Javier was faster, launching himself into action and shooting with precision. You watched his six, pressing your back against his, the feeling of him grounding you. Once you found nothing, Javier walked away from you and stood over one of the sacarios, his gun held in front of him. He pulled the trigger and pulled it again and again and again and you stood there rooted watching blood splatter everywhere.

“Javi, stop!” you yelled and he finally stopped, his shoulders heaving.

He turned to you, and your eyes widened at the dark look that was painted on his face. The cops swarmed the place and Javier grabbed your hand and pulled you away from the scene.

“Why are you here?” Javier said, pushing you against a wall. “You come back to me after years and you’re suddenly a DEA Agent too?”

Javier was seething with anger, pent up anger that had pushed far past his breaking point. He had been watching you for months, putting your precious life out on the line right in front of him.

“ANSWER ME!” he yelled when you didn’t answer.

Your heart jumped at the sound of his voice and before you could stop yourself, you raised your hand and let your palm collide hard with Javier’s face.

“The same fucking reason as you, Javier! I’m here to take down fucking narcos and their fucked up empires.” you said, grabbing onto his jacket. “And don’t fucking yell at me!”

“Fuck, you know how dangerous this is, muñeca?” he said desperately, searching your eyes. “A few more centimeters and that fucking bullet would’ve hit you.”

“THAT'S MY RISK TO TAKE!” you yell back.

“I can’t lose you again, please, not again.” he pleaded, grabbing ahold of your arms and pulling you closer to his chest.

“I’m not yours to lose anymore, Peña.” you spat, wrenching your arms out of his grip and walking away, leaving him to stare at the wall before him.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It had been years since you’ve cried this hard. You buried your nose in Arte’s coat and couldn’t stop the tears from flowing out of your eyes. If you had a penny each time Javier Peña made you cry, you’d be so rich that you could take over Escobar’s entire empire. You felt unreasonable, stupid even, crying like a stupid school girl. Arte was probably fed up with your shenanigans, but she sat in front of you quietly as you hiccuped through your sobs.

A loud knock sounded at your door causing both you and Arte to jump. You pulled out your gun as Arte darted towards the door.

“It’s me.”

You scowled at the sound of Javier’s voice but Arte barked happily. You shushed her and leaned against the door, crossing your arms. You refused to see his face, not after how he decided that your choices were now his choices.

“Look, I can hear you and Arte, cariño.” he sighed. “I know you don’t want to see me but I really just need to talk to you.”

Javier knew he fucked up. It was as if he voluntarily stepped into the world’s biggest pile of shit. He’d rather have Escobar piss on his face than to sleep knowing that he had upset you.

You stayed silent as you stared into the door, wondering how Javier looked behind it.

“Can we just go on a ride? Bring Arte too, it’ll help calm you down.” he said softly, pulling out his big guns.

When you and him were younger, he used to take you on random car rides whenever your parents would fight or when things got too tough. He would drive you around until you fell asleep and you’d always find yourself tucked into your bed the next morning. When he was gone, you’d find yourself doing the same thing, but it didn’t feel the same when you had to drag yourself out of the car and into your house.

You opened the door a little so that you could see Javier between the cracks. His hair was a mess and he had a cigarette between his lips. His guard was clearly let down as he looked more like your Javi and less like a hardened agent.

“Only if you get me a hamburger.” you mumbled, watching as a small smile creeped onto Javi’s face.

Javi carried Arte’s dog bed down the stairs and into his truck as she scampered happily at his heels. You watched on as Javi knelt down and gave Arte a big kiss on her snout and encouraged her to jump into the back seat. Your heart almost seized at this as you remembered the way he used to talk to Leto and bring her out on walks with you everyday.

You slid into the front seat as Javi held the door open for you. You clicked the seatbelt on and went on to stare at your hands as he got into the car and ignited the engine. You zoned out on his scent, breathing him in, occasionally turning to watch him talk to Arte. Once you were satisfied with your hamburger and fed some to Arte, you settled into the seat and turned your whole body towards Javi, not caring whether you were being subtle or not.

You deserved this, you deserved to absorb as much of Javi that you could after years of being deprived of it. You loved him and it was as if something had been looking down upon you and is letting you have a second chance at everything. You soon found yourself being lulled to sleep as the emotional exhaustion took over your whole body. You awoke to the feeling of being carried. You gasp and hooked your arms around Javi’s neck as he chuckled and lowered the both of you down onto a blanket on … grass?

“Where are we?” you whispered scanning Javi’s face.

He didn’t say a single thing instead he pushed you down and laid down next to you. The pitch black sky was littered with millions of stars, and your eyes widened as you stared at the void of space above you. When you got the chance to tear your gaze away from the heavens, you found Javi staring at you, the soft look in his eyes turning you into a human puddle. He had lit a cigarette and was running through it quickly, making you roll your eyes at him. You rolled your body on top of his, straddling his abdomen and taking him by surprise as you snatched his cigarette away.

“You gotta stop smoking these, they’re bad for you.” you say sternly.

“You’re bad for me yet, here we are.” he mumbled, staring at the way your body connected with him.

You placed the cigarette onto your lips and took a long drag, coughing when the smoke hit your lungs. Javi laughed under you, and you scowled at him, stumping the cigarette out on the grass. Javi thought that there was nothing more beautiful in this world other than you. He gathered his last bit of courage and pushed you slightly downwards so that he could sit up and look at you before reaching out to cupped your cheek with his hand. He relished at the way you leaned into his touch and at the way your eyes fluttered close.

“I-i don’t know where to start, so I’m just going to say sorry. I’m the fool who hurt you and I don’t expect you to ever forgive me.” he whispered. “To leave you was to leave my soul behind and I don’t know who to thank or curse for bringing you back to me.”

“Javi…” you started but he placed a finger onto your lips.

“My girl is a DEA Agent.” he said nodding to no one in particular. “My smart, badass girl. Honestly, when I saw you standing over me when I passed out, I thought god was a woman and god was you.”

You giggled and ducked your head into his chest, letting him pull you impossibly close to him. This was it, this was your place of refuge, right here in Javier Peña’s arms.

“Javi?”

“Hmm?”

“Does this mean that you’ll finally get a hold of your balls and kiss me?” you said, bringing your face to the same level as his.

You laughed at the way Javi’s face was arranged, as if he didn’t know whether to be shocked or happy.

“How did you-”

“Because I do too, Javi. I love you and I can’t have you slipping away from me, like you are one of my lost happy memories. The little girl in me knew that you’d come back to me.” you said, before pressing your lips onto his.

A part of you always knew that your soul was tied to Javi and nothing in this world could pull him away from you. Javi let his hands explore you, taking his sweet time to kiss you back, slowly. Once he was sure that your lips were swollen with his touch, he pulled away and pressed his forehead to yours as you caught your breath. He breathed you in and you smelled like home. You made him feel unstoppable and as he hugged you close, he realized that no cartel member could even stand a chance around him now that he had you with him.

That's my girl.

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spookysteddie · 10 months ago

Text

Tillmans Girl

18+ Minors DNI

cw: stripper reader, drinking, drug mention, murder mention, oral (m receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, pet names, slight choking, hair pulling, exhibitionism, biting. (Let me know if I missed anything)

wc: 3.9k

A/n: this is based off of the song Gibson Girl by Ethel Cain (pre warned about this here) and I need to make it very clear that this is LOOSELY based off of the song. It’s more about how I feel while listening to it and how I fit the reader and Gator into this. I also let Gator have some friends because he needs them for the story purpose. I love the concept I came up with and I hope you do too!

A/N 2: friendly reminder this is fiction and half the shit in here wouldn't happen IRL. ❤️

…

He was here again.

Sitting in his usual spot, surrounded by his friends and drinking shit beer. And he’s watching you, like he always does. Like he has since he first came in here a little over a year ago, dressed in his sheriff's uniform to investigate a murder.

And now, he’s here every Saturday, just watching. He isn’t the first guy to come to this club for you. He isn’t even the tenth. But he doesn’t speak to you like the others do, not more than he needs to and typically you’re the one to instigate the conversation.

Gator Tillman has a pull to him, like he’s the sun and you're a planet in his orbit. You don’t know why he makes you feel the way he does, like you need to touch him. Every time you meet his eyes, he’s already looking back at you. It is unnerving but yet you look forward to Saturday nights. Look forward to the attention (and money) he gives you.

Even an hour outside his home town everyone knows who he is, of course they do, half their parents voted for his father. Plus, you’ve all heard the stories about the Tillmans. You knew what you were dealing with when he came in. The other girls are afraid of him, though. They’re sure to make his and his friends drinks correctly and letting them all break a few rules, like touching the dancers. But not you. Gator Tillman didn’t scare you like he should, mainly intrigued you. It’s been a year of this cat and mouse game. You the cat, him the mouse, toying with him in the hopes he’ll ask for more time with you.

His friends do get dances, most of them picking a new girl every week and tipping them well. But not Gator. The girls have tried to get him to buy dances from them, but he always brushes them off. All while staring at you. You’d never offered, again letting him come to you. But you also didn’t do private dances. You made most of your money on the stage, not really feeling like killing someone if they got handsy with you.

Tonight though, was different.

You could feel it in the air the second you saw him. The charge was there as usual, but when you handed him a drink after your stage time, he spoke to you.

His voice was like silk as he spoke, pushing his dark sunglasses onto the back of his hat. It was night time so he kind of looked like a douchebag with them on. He didn’t care. He was a Tillman, just as cold blooded as his father, if not more. Obsessed with his power and the way people fell at his feet, gave him whatever he wanted.

But not you.

Never you.

“You look very nice in red, sweetheart.” It takes you by surprise but you do well to not show it, a practiced mask. Never has he spoken to you for more than a drink order.

You did, however, look nice in red. But it was rare you wore it because you didn’t need to give the men more reasons to want to touch you. You made plenty of money in any other color. Red, also was the color of the invisible blood that stains your fingers. The blood you can’t get off no matter how hard you try.

You put on your prettiest smile, “that’s very sweet of you.”

A small smile tugs at his lips. He’s fucking beautiful and it’s painful to look at him, actually.

“You do dances?” The question takes you by surprise because, like you said, he doesn’t get dances from the girls. He just drinks and tips very well.

You cover it well, “only for you.”

It’s not a lie. You would do dances just for him, any reason to get him closer. To get him alone.

He nods, “how much?”

You smirk, “$350.” That was way more than the other girls charge. It’s North Dakota, it’s rare the men here can afford that.

But he can.

“Deal.” You watch as he pulls the money from his pocket, counting it out and handing it to you.

You count it again just to be sure, slipping it in your top, “follow me, pretty boy.”

He takes his drink and downs it before getting up and following you. He walks with confidence but you know better. He’s nervous, you can see it in the slight tremor of his hand. You decide you’ll let him break the rules, but not because he’s Roy Tillmans son.

No, it’s because you have wondered for months what his hands feel like on your skin. You’ve also wondered what it would be like to get him in your bed; what he sounds like when he fucks. You know he’s more than experienced considering people like to talk. But you want to see it for yourself. You need to experience it for yourself.

You take him to one of the private rooms, the red room considering he likes you in red. He sits down tentatively, running his hands down his jeans. He’s so hot when he’s nervous. It makes you smile as you shut and lock the door.

The music is a little quieter in here, the small knob on the wall allowing you to turn it higher or lower. Some of the girls don’t like these rooms, scared they’ll get hurt by the men they bring in here. It’s understandable, most opting to give them in the room where extra security is.

But Gator would never hurt you.

“Surprised you asked for this, pretty boy.”

He takes a deep breath and leans back, “like I said, look nice in red.”

You slowly walk over, standing between his spread legs, “too kind to me, Tillman.”

He balls his fists as he tries to respect the law of not touching strippers. But Gator was the law, he could do whatever he wanted. His father would get him out of any shit he gets himself into. Either way, you’d let him touch you in any way he wants.

You bend at the waist, running your hands up his thighs. His breath hitches a little and it makes your stomach flip with satisfaction. He’s affected by you, you’ve known this for a while. But the verbal confirmation makes your head spin.

Your hands slide over his stomach and onto his shoulders, pushing off his black leather jacket. “Let’s take this off and get comfortable, yeah?” He lets you take it off and toss it to the side. His black shirt grips his body perfectly, showing off his muscular build.

You stand back up to your full height, turning the music up just slightly, enough for you to hear him if he decides to speak to you. And then you go back to him, dipping low and letting him run his eyes all over you. For once it makes you feel sexy. Maybe it’s because Gator isn’t an animal. He’s respectful. Or, well, as respectful as one can be in a place like this.

You look up at him through long lashes as you straddle his hips, being careful not to let your centers touch. You don’t want to force anything on him, scare him away. But you do run your hands up his arms, putting his hands on your hips.

“Can touch me. You’re the exception to that rule,” you giggle and wink at him.

You can see his confidence starting to rise. Typical man who just wants to feel special. Gator, though, deserves to feel special. You didn’t grow up with him, between living one town over and your parents opting to send you to private school. But people talk. You know about the shit his dad does, how he uses religion and intimidation to keep his son in line. It was sick.

He grips your hips, guiding you down to grind against him. He’s hard, of course he’s hard, all of them are. They can try all they want but their cocks have a mind of their own. You can tell he’s worried about it, about how you’ll feel. You don’t care. You never care. In fact, the friction on his hard cock on your clit feels… nice.

“Why am I the exception?”

You grin down at him, hands by his head on the couch, “use your big boy brain and think about it.”

He laughs a little, “cause you’re afraid of me?”

That makes you throw your head back and laugh hard, “oh, pretty boy, neither you or your daddy scare me. In fact, I’d be more than happy if you put me in cuffs.”

He’s taken by surprise at your admission, shuddering a little, “should be ‘fraid of me.”

You stand, turning the lights a little lower, “it’s you who should be afraid of me.”

You can still see him, even in the dim, red lights. Fuck he was so beautiful. You start back your dance, his eyes still looking over your body.

“I ain’t afraid of anything, angel.”

You know that’s a lie. He’s terrified of his daddy, and everyone is afraid of death. But you brush it off, getting so close to him you could kiss him if you wanted. And you do, but you won’t let him know that. Not yet.

“You, Gator Tillman, are the exception because everyone here thinks you’re so pretty.”

He raises a brow, “pretty? Not the word that should be used f’me.”

You shrug, “agree to disagree.”

“I was told ya don’t do dances,” his voice is gravely and you know he’s doing everything he can to not kiss you. “Decided to ask anyway.”

You pull back settling in his lap, not dancing anymore, “I don’t, but like I said, you’re the exception.”

He hums, letting his hand run up your thigh, “I’m honored. Prettiest girl in this building.”

“Flattery, Tillman, won’t get you much round here.”

He smirks, the look making you want to kiss him just a little more, “will get me the ability to take ya home?”

You think the shots he took some time ago are finally hitting him. Or he’s snorted some cocaine and it’s just hitting him. Probably the former.

“M’not supposed to go home with the customers. Sorry, pretty boy.”

Not a lie. You aren’t supposed to go home with the men here, both for fear of being murdered and because it can cause issues for the owner. The girls too, of course. God forbid you date a patron and then break up. It’s just awkward for everyone here.

His hand slides further up your leg, resting right under the crease of your ass. Men have been killed for touching you there without asking. But this time it doesn’t make your blood boil like it should. It makes your stomach flip and your heart race.

“I’m the law, baby. The rules don’t apply to me,” he’s looking up at you with big brown eyes, though they look black in this light.

The rules don’t apply to him, you told him as such earlier. You remind him as such and he squeezes your hip. You swallow the squeak that threatens to come out, instead moving to straddle him once again.

“Come on, baby, we’ve been playing this game for a year. Come home with me.”

You swallow. You would be a liar if you said you didn’t want to go home with him. To let him get the rest of your clothes off and fuck you. For him to slide his cock down your throat while you’re on your knees.

You know it would feel good. You know you’d enjoy whatever he threw at you, enjoying men who are rough but respectful. And by the feel of the hardness nestled on your clothed core, he could throw a lot at you.

You can feel your mouth water at the idea of what he looks like under his pants. But he’s going to have to work harder if he wants you to go home with him.

“Gonna take more than that to get me in your bed, Gator.”

He thinks, hands roaming to grab the fat of your ass, “I could give you everything, angel. Anything you want, it’s yours.”

You giggle a little, “yeah? Anything?”

He nods, licking his lips, “anything. I’d give you anything. Could treat you real nice.”

“How do you know I don’t already have someone treating me real nice? Hmm? Bold of you to assume I’m single,” you raise a brow at him. You’re lying through your teeth, making him work for it.

“Trust me, baby, I know you’re single.” His eyes fall from yours to your lips and back.

You get a little closer, his scent masculine and woodsy, “doing research on me?”

That should be creepy, it should result in a knife in his neck (it might’ve happened a time or two..) but not with him. However, you know why he did the research. He had to after the murder last year, to rule you out as a suspect.

“I did. So, you can’t lie ya way out of it. Lemme treat you right, pretty angel.”

“I’m no angel,” your voice is just above a whisper, enough for him to hear you.

He laughs, “agree to disagree.”

He slides his hands to your hips, squeezing gently.

“And if I say yes to goin’ home with you? Will you hurt me?”

“No more than you ask me to.”

You decide you can’t take it anymore, needing him too much. You’ll curse yourself later for folding too easily. You close the gap, a whole year of the chase coming to a head. The second your lips connect with his you feel like you’re on fire. He kisses you softly, nervously and it isn’t till your tongue begs for entrance into his mouth, that he kisses you harder.

His hands are all over you, running up your sides and letting his fingers tangle in your hair. You rock your hips absentmindedly, needing more friction.

Gators lips move down your throat, kissing and nipping at the skin and making you moan. He smirks against you and gently lips his hips to add more pressure. Fucking asshole. You grab his face, pulling him back to your mouth, your tongue licking into his mouth.

He pulls back first, breathless, “I need you. I need to be inside you.”

Your stomach flips again because you love when a man begs for you. Especially men in powerful positions. You feel his confession right in your core.

“A Tillman begging? What would your daddy say about this?” You’d never say a word to his daddy about this, of course. Roy Tillman can kiss your ass.

Gator, of course, also knows this, “I don’t care what he’d say. He doesn’t need to know what I do when I’m off work.”

You smirk, you’re more than willing to let him inside you. But first, you needed to see what you were working with. You slither to your knees, looking up at him, “this okay?”

He nods, only giving you a verbal answer once you lift your brows, “yes. Please.”

Your hands move to his belt, unbuckling it and popping the button of his jeans. You can feel his cock jump in his pants and you swallow down a giggle. It’s cute how excited he is actually. You’d be a liar to say you aren’t excited. It’s been a while since you had sex with someone and it’ll be the first time you’ve fucked someone at your job. You’re glad there are no cameras in this room because you’d absolutely get fired.

You pull his jeans and boxers down till they puddle at his feet, allowing his cock to spring free. You can’t contain your reaction to the sight of his cock. He’s huge, his cock thick and has a slight curve. It’s beautiful and you feel dumb admitting that to yourself. It’s not the first you’ve seen but it’s definitely the prettiest you’ve seen.

“Wow…” you whisper it but you know he heard you by the smile that spreads across his face.

“You like it?” He’s cocky and it’s clear you aren’t the first girl to react this way.

You just nod, gently gripping it in your hand. The weight of it makes your mouth fill with spit. You lean forward, licking a long stripe up it. He lets out a long moan, his head falling back against the couch.

You smirk to yourself before taking him into your mouth. You work slow, making sure your throat is relaxed. You bob your head slowly, looking up at him as you work and for the first time he’s not looking back at you. He looks so pretty like this, head thrown back, hands balled into fists.

“Fuck… this is s-so much better than I imagined,” his voice coming out rough and strained.

You just moan against him, bobbing your head a little faster and taking him a little deeper. He hits the back of your throat and his head snaps down to you. The second your eyes meet his cock jumps in your throat, making you gag slightly.

“Ah! That’s it, baby,” his hands fall into your hair, pulling and pushing you into his cock.

You can’t help the moans that leave you from the pain of his hands in your hair. You know your cunt is soaked, your clit throbbing. So, you take him deep and hold him there, letting spit drool from your mouth and onto what you can’t fit in your mouth before pulling off of him. You lick your lips as you stand and straddle him.

“How bad do you want to fuck me?” You kiss him lightly, just a taste.

He takes a shaky breath, “s-so bad. Been thinking about it since the first time we met.”

You pull your panties to the side, settling down so he’s resting against you. The head of his cock bumps your clit the second to start to rock your hips. The friction feels incredible against your aching clit.

You need more but you’re trying not to rush it.

“Been thinking about being inside me for over a year huh? Such restraint you have, pretty boy.”

He shakes his head, letting out a small grunt, “I-I didn’t. S’why m’ here every Saturday. Gotta get my fill of ya for the week.”

“Yeah? You sound a little obsessed.”

He nods, “j-just a little.”

You sit up on your knees using your hand to steady his cock and look up at him, “you still want this? You can say no and it’ll be fine.”

He shakes his head so fast, you’re worried he’s gonna get whiplash, “no! Please fuck me. Please. Need it so fuckin’ bad. B-but I didn’t bring a condom with me. I-I’m clean I swear. I-If that ain’t okay I’ll survive. But I really wanna fuck you.”

You kiss him softly, loving the consideration and to stop his rambling, “I’m more than clean and I’m on birth control. Is that okay? Still wanna continue. I do if you do.”

He lets out a breath and relaxes, “that’s fine. I promise.”

It’s all the conformation you need before slowly sinking down on him. All you have inside you is the tip and already the burn hurts so good. Gators hands grip your hips, mouth falling open as he helps you sink down more.

“Oh my god, Gator,” you feel like he’s in your throat and you don’t even have him all the way inside you. He’s everywhere all at once and you love every second of it.

Gator pulls you down more and captures your lips in a deep kiss. And then, he thrusts up inside you, seating himself fully inside your tight pussy. The action pushes all the air from your lungs, making you pull back from the kiss. You decide then that if you died this way, you wouldn’t be pissed.

Even if God decided to bitch about all the sins you’ve committed.

That is, if you even go to heaven. You doubt you will at this point.

Whatever.

Gator stays still, letting you adjust and letting you rest your head on his chest to catch your breath. It’s slow to come back but once it does, you lift yourself and slam yourself back down.

“Fuck! Fuck!” He’s loud and you're glad the club is loud enough that no one can hear you. Not that you’re opposed to that, but again, people like to talk and you aren’t keen on ending up in an unmarked grave. Gators daddy would kill you if you spread rumors that make Gator look like the sinner he is.

You do it again, finding a rhythm, “you like that, pretty boy?”

You slide your hands into his hair, loosening the strands there with a hard tug. He groans, his hips bucking up and hitting against your cervix. You’ll probably be bruised there tomorrow but that’s not your issue at the moment.

The curve of his cock hits your sweet spot perfectly, making you whine and ride him faster.

“Uh-huh. S-so tight and warm and perfect,” he’s rambling but it’s cute. “D-didn’t think we’d ever do this.”

You smile, pulling a little harder at his hair, strands falling loose from their usually gelled place. “Paid me a lot of money, baby. Gotta treat you special.”

“I-isn’t that prostitution?” He pushes out a breathless laugh.

You can’t stop the giggle that comes out of you either, “maybe. But only if we say it is. I was j-joking.” You lean forward, changing the angle to hit that spot a little harder, “dedication got you here. And of course you’re so pretty. Prettiest boy.”

Gators hand slides from your waist and finds your clit with ease, thank god. He uses his thumb to draw small circles, making that coil grow tighter and tighter.

“Keep calling me that and I’ll cum before you do. C-can’t have that.” He plants his feet and sets the pace. He fucks you hard and fast. It feels so fucking good and you know this isn’t the last time you’ll be doing this.

Can someone get addicted to another's cock?

Yes is the only right answer considering how all you can think about is Gators cock and chasing your orgasm.

“Such a gen-gentleman, Gator.”

“Only for you, angel. Only for you.”

The band inside you snaps, your orgasm slamming into you hard.

You cry out, leaning forward to bite Gators shoulder and muffle your screams. That is what pushes Gator over the edge, emptying inside you. Thank god for birth control. You both deflate, him growing soft as your cunt spasms with aftershocks.

Gator breaks the silence first, “gonna let me take you home and take care of you?”

It makes you laugh but you do think about it, weigh the pros and cons. “If I agree, you can’t ever come back here again. S’a rule not to date our customers.” You sit up so you can see his face, judge his reaction.

A slow, sleepy smile spreads across his face, “deal! Won’t need to see you here when you’re coming to sleep in my bed.”

All you can do is laugh and kiss him, deciding this time, you won’t have to murder a man you dated.

#gator tillman x y/n #gator tillman x fem!reader #gator tillman fic #gator tillman #gator tillman smut #gator tillman x reader #gator tillman imagine #joe keery fargo #fargo fanfic #fargo spoilers #fargoedit

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whereserpentswalk · 2 months ago

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You have to wear power armor for your job. You're a ranger, it's your job to go out to under explored planets and other heavenly bodies and retrieve things, or make contact with people, or deliver things. As romanticized as it is its mostly just walking through places humans can't safely walk through.

Seeing your power armor for the first time was weird. It was entirely metal, but it was very sleek, form fitting, with a pinched in waist and chrome texture. The helmet had a large visor, like a motorcycle helmet, you could see someone's eyes through it, you'd be able to see more but a gas mask like thing covers your mouth and nose below the helmet. You're even allowed by the company to paint it or add stickers. You feel so elegant within it, so powerful, so modern.

On your first mission you understand just how much you'll be wearing your power armor. You're on a planet with an atmosphere that would poison any humanoid on it, and it's inhabitants breath that stuff so there's no changing it. You spend months trying to track someone down, and never take off your armor once.

As time goes on there are more and more missions like that. You've walked through a forest filled with poison plants. Several places with no atmosphere at all. A planet where it rains glass. The skeleton of a long destroyed spaceship. A place so cold the ocean is solid ice. A place so hot your blood would have boiled if not for your armor. Days, weeks, months, spent inside armor. The company doesn't let you take off the armor on missions, but it's just safety, in almost all of these places it would kill you the momment you took your helmet off. They don't give you much time between missions, so you get used to being in armor very quickly.

Your armor takes care of you. Nutrition is injected into your body, and waste product is removed directly from your guts. The suit cleans your entire body without you noticing it. You can sleep while the suit still walks for you. You don't feel any pain or heat or cold. You can even browse the internet with it, and you can call or text anyone without moving your hands. They joke that the armor masturbates for you, but it actually does send pleasurable sensations throughout your body when you need that type of sensation. It all feels weird at first, but soon it feels normal. You had some robot freinds in highschool, you wonder if they felt like this.

When you’re between missions, and spending time in various hub stations or port cities, you realize you're wearing the armor most of the time too. Sometimes you take the helmet off but that feels weird, you don't like the feeling of air on your face. The other rangers you know, the ones who have been doing it for years longer than you, don't ever want to be outside of their armor.

You eventually get permission from the company to go back home for a few weeks to see your family and freinds. When you get to your homeworld you take off your armor for the first time in a long time. You don't really have normal clothing so you're wearing what you had when you first left nearly two years ago. Your family and freinds all want to catch up with you but it's all so weird and awkward.

You feel like you've been skinned. Every little thing touching you feels so uncomfortable. Your body seems so gross and soft and week, everything feels so wrong, and hard to move. You're not used to taking care of your bodily functions or grooming, and it's both hard to adjust, and gross for you to have to do these things. The idea of putting food in your mouth seems so disgusting. You can barely walk on your own now.

You tried to go on a walk with your joyfriend. But the wind on your flesh disturbed you so much that you began to weep. They tried to hug you but it only made things worse.

After that you just wore your armor for the rest of the trip. Most people you know were disturbed. They wanted you to quit the job but the pay was too good, and you wouldn't know where else to go. It was just another thing everyone would get used to, just another mundane fact of life.

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sroop · 5 months ago

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chain of command

Through you, he could play at being knight, except he wore a sniper hood for silver armor and had a humvee for a horse.

Pairing: König x you!reader

Warnings: not much but there's vague descriptions of the reader as having long dark hair.

Summary: König and his pampered medic one shot

{}{}{}{}

König hates weakness, in almost all its forms no matter what. He detests pickiness and delicacy. Disdains the people who whimper getting stitches or can't stomach the sight of blood. Once, he'd even sneered under his mask when his commanding officer complained of being unable to sleep on a hard mattress. Frankly, he thinks they need to grow up.

He'd hated weakness until he met it in this form, all wet eyes and parted lips. It was strange to him too. You came, supine, as though there was no place more natural to you than under him; but you were the one in charge. Always.

You'd refused to stay the night once, and the next day he'd made a special trip to get nicer sheets and a proper bed frame. Just to see you a little longer. The first time the two of you ate out together, you'd pushed at your food hesitantly and it was the first time he'd demanded a dish be sent back. When he'd lacerated the entire length of his forearm on an errant blade, he let you stroke and soothe him, even though he'd been notorious for being gruff with medics who babied him. He just liked it when it was you. You didn't feel weak. You just felt... vulnerable.

Maybe he liked that because you had long, dark hair like his first school crush. Maybe he liked it because you had such delicate, fast hands that bid the word fairy unprompted to him. Maybe it was because you always came to him, batting your lashes and winding your arm around his, when you needed supplies smuggled in.

You made him feel powerful. Invincible even. Through you, he could play at being knight, except he wore a sniper hood for silver armor and had a humvee for a horse.

"Turn around." You tug at the back of his shirt. "Please? It's cold."

Of course you're cold, he sighs to himself. Even with all my blankets, and my sweater. But he doesn't really mind. He's even a little pleased by the way you try to wriggle under him when you think he's taking too long to put his arms around you. Besides, he always does as you ask. You command him, even if you were always tucked under his arm or mouthing at his neck and jaw like a puppy.

You slip your head under his chin, sighing. König catches the slight shiver in your arms, rubs away the remaining chill until you're curled comfortably around him. He needs that. He needs to know you're here because you want him, need him, and not because of everything else. Not because you like the brand new mattress, the sheets with an impossibly high thread count, the essential oil diffuser, and whatnot.

He waits for confirmation.

At midnight, you open your eyes again and reach for his face. He can see your expression by the moonlight through the open window, just the way you like, that there's something close to worship in there. Wet eyes, parted lips. Dark hair and fast hands. It's all for him.

You're smiling while it spills out of you. It was nothing if not your love confession, and even König would admit that nothing made him quite so weak as that.

{}{}{}{}

Thanks for reading!

#konig x reader #könig x reader #cod fanfiction #mw2 fanfiction #mw2 fanfic #cod fanfic #cod x reader #x reader #cod x oc #x oc #könig x f reader #könig x you #könig fanfiction #konig x you #konig x female reader #könig x female reader #könig x female oc #könig x oc

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andreawritesit · 4 months ago

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hi ! May i request a one-shot of aizen x fem!reader it goes like he kidnapp her to hueco mundo after his betrayal and telling her to be on his side but she refuses saying that He is not the same person she loved! Like Pure angst please.

Fandom: Bleach Pairing: Aizen x Reader Words: 1,280

Cold.

It's so cold.

Slowly, clutching my head, I sat up and found myself in a small room with only one small window that was barred. The harsh, sterile wind hit me and suddenly I remembered where I was. Hueco Mundo. I was with Captain Hitsugaya, on a patrol in Karakura town. We were looking out for hollows when someone hit my head from behind. The last thing I remember seeing was a pair of green eyes.

The room I was in had white walls, one table with some food, and a small inaccessible window. I got up and tried to open the door. It was locked. I thought of shouting for help but stopped at the right moment. There was no one to help me. I was in his castle. The thought of seeing him again filled me with dread. Suddenly, the door slammed open and a weird-looking man entered. Looking at his face, I realized that he had the same eyes I had seen before fainting. As he walked towards me, it became clear that he wasn't a human.

"Come with me." His voice was gentle, just like his. I shook my head and took a few steps back. He said nothing for a moment before walking up to me and grabbing my arm.

"I was not asking." He dragged me out of the room and out into the hallway. After a short dragging, we reached a big door. He opened the door and pushed me inside, leaving and closing the door behind me. I looked around and gathered that it was a hall of some sort.

"Hello, darling."

His voice rattled my being like the wind does to the leaves. I looked up and saw him. Aizen was sitting on a throne that was up on a pedestal. His presence was as imposing as ever. The man I had once trusted, the man I had once adored, now felt like a stranger. His eyes, which had once held warmth and intelligence, now gleamed with an unsettling ambition that chilled me to the bone.

I wanted to say a lot to him, wanted to scream at him, ask him why he did what he did but all I could muster was, "Sosuke..."

He smiled at hearing his name and I wanted to wipe it off of his face. "Why am I here?"

“You can’t stay in the world of the living anymore,” Aizen said, his voice smooth and authoritative.

"And why is that?"

“They would never understand your loyalty to me. Here, you’ll be safe. You’ll be with me, where you belong.”

I stared at him, my heart aching with a pain I hadn’t known was possible. “Is that what you think this is? Loyalty?” A humorless laugh left my lips.

His gaze never wavered, not a flicker of doubt or remorse in those cold, calculating eyes. “You were always by my side. I expect nothing less now.”

His words lit an inferno of anger and resentment inside me. I clenched my fists, feeling the sharp sting of my nails digging into my palms.

"You must either be naive or delusional to think that I will stand with you after everything you've done. You betrayed us! Betrayed me!"

He didn't show a single emotion on that handsome face of his. He just looked at me, his gaze seemingly empty. I wanted to hurt him like he hurt me. I wanted to see him cry like I had cried since he left.

“You’re not the same person I fell in love with, Aizen,” I whispered, my voice trembling with the weight of those words.

For the first time, I saw something shift in his expression. It was subtle, but it was there—a flash of something like hesitation, or maybe regret. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that infuriatingly composed mask he always wore. A frustrated sigh escaped me and I felt like tearing my hair out. He had this effect on me and I hated him for it.

“You’re mistaken,” he said calmly. “I’m still the man you loved. But I’ve simply become something more. Something greater.”

“Greater?” I repeated, disbelief lacing my tone. “You’ve betrayed everything you once stood for. You’ve betrayed me. You used to care about the people you protected, about justice and balance. Now… now you’re consumed by this obsession with power. You’re not the Aizen I knew.”

He got off his chair and descended down to where I was standing. As he came closer, I could feel his reiatsu, powerful and suffocating, pressing down on me. But I refused to back down, lifting my chin in defiance.

“You misunderstand,” Aizen said softly, almost tenderly. "I have always been like this. Deep in your soul, you know it. That is why I have never used my Kyokasuigetsu on you. I never needed to. Your soul saw mine and accepted it as it is. And what I’m doing is necessary. The Soul Society is corrupt and stagnant. I’m bringing about a new era—one where we won’t be bound by their outdated rules.”

“And what about me?” I demanded, my voice breaking. “What place do I have in this ‘new era’ of yours? A pawn? A tool? Or just another trophy to add to your collection?”

He reached out, his fingers brushing against my cheek. It was a familiar gesture, one that used to bring me comfort. But now, it only made my skin crawl. I pushed his hand away and took a step back.

“I want you by my side,” he said, his voice low, almost coaxing. “Together, we can shape the future.”

I shook my head, pain written clearly on my face. He might not have used his zanpakuto on me but his silver tongue was enough to manipulate anyone. I refused to let him do that anymore.

“No. I can’t follow you down this path, Aizen. You’ve become… something I don’t recognize. And I won’t be a part of it.”

His eyes darkened on hearing my refusal, the gentle persuasion in his tone replaced by a steely resolve. “You’re making a mistake. There’s no going back now. The Soul Society will hunt you down, just as they hunt me. Here, in Hueco Mundo, you’ll have power and protection. You’ll have me.”

I closed my eyes, feeling the tears I had fought so hard to hold back finally escape. “But at what cost? The Aizen I loved is gone. You killed him when you chose this path. And I can’t love a dead man."

His face was still, his gaze on me, searching. But I didn’t waver. I wouldn’t. I couldn't.

Finally, he turned away, his back to me as he spoke. “So be it. But know this—you’ll remain here, with or without your consent. In time, you’ll see the truth.”

My eyes widened in surprise. "You can't possibly keep me hostage here! I won't allow it."

"You are too naive if you think you have any authority here. This is my castle, my domain. You will do as I say."

"Aizen! You can't do this to me! I will not be anyone's prisoner!"

He turned toward me and a melancholic smile found its way onto his face. "Prisoner? I want you to be my equal, my partner. Until you're ready to see the truth of the world you hold so dear, you shall remain here. Don't worry, I have never hurt you and I never will."

As he walked away, I realized something I already knew - the man I loved was gone, and all that remained was a shadow of who he used to be.

#aizen sosuke #aizen x reader #bleach fanfic #aizen x you #aizen x y/n #andreawritesit

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liyawritesss · 1 year ago

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ᴡᴇ ʙᴇ ʟᴏᴠɪɴ' ꜱᴏ ʜᴀʀᴅ

Characters: Spider-Verse!Miles Morales [Spider-Man] x Black!Fem!Reader

Type: Drabble

Word Count: 1.4k

Synopsis: When there’s question of how the two of you should come public with your relationship, Miles has an idea. Despite it being quite cheesy, it’s one of the sweetest gestures he’s ever done for you.

Warnings: Some cursing but that’s about it

A/N: ‘lovin’ so hard’ by becky g came on so randomly and when i tell you the whiplash i got cuz i aint heard that song in YEARS…so proud of becky she’s doing her shit and i love her sm…needa get back into her catalog real bad

Song Suggestion: "Lovin' do Hard" by Becky G, "Sunflower" by Swae-Lee & Post Malone, "I Wanna Be Down" by Brandy, "Comfortable" by H.E.R.

Tags: @6-noir @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @jacuzziwaters @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @verachii @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @niyahwrites @pantherheart @marsfunzon22 @movie-enthusiast22 @famedrs-blog

“I got a question.”

It was ten forty five on a Thursday night, and like any other night, you wind down the evening with a daily FaceTime call with you boyfriend of four months - Miles Morales.

In the four month time frame that you and Miles have been together, you’ve learned that the boy had a lot of questions to ask about you. It was endearing, really, how the extent of his curiosity knew no bounds. He had questions about everything, from the different hairstyles you wore, to the classes you were taking, to what you aspired to be as an adult. More often than not, he would ask them in a cute, almost childlike voice, with big doe eyes and an awaiting look of inquiry, and because he was just so polite about it, you always gave in.

“You got a question?” You repeat, glancing up to your phone, looking at the boy on your screen. You’d been busy with homework at your desk to pay him much attention, which, now that you think about it, could have been the catalyst for one of his questions. You’d only been on call for an hour, but you did tend to get reeled in to your work pretty easily. Miles was no stranger to this, so while he tried his best to not bother you, his attention span was waning thin, and he wanted to talk with you as much as he could before he had to go out on patrol.

Hence why he was dressed in his spiderman suit, no mask, but with gray sweats hanging off his torso and the faint sound of Biggie Smalls playing in the background as a way to hype him up for the next few hours of swinging around Brooklyn. He loved being Spiderman, but it had been an exceptionally long day, and knew he would not survive his patrols without some sort of pick me up - which is why he was more than happy when you called him for your nightly FaceTimes.

“Yeah, I gots a question,” he begins, albeit a bit dramatically, with his arms folded over his chest and a pout on his lips as if he were sad about something, which garnered your attention even more, “and it’s very important, y’know, so yo’ homework gotta share you for a minute!”

“Miles,” your voice goes, a soft scoff leaving your lips as they spread into a grin at his behavior, “what is it, baby?”

There’s a bit of a stutter that runs through his body at the pet name. He’s growing familiar with it, sure, but the tingle that rings through his bones has him questioning is it just his sheepishness or was he so down bad for you that you’ve influenced the enhancement of his spider-senses.

“That sweater’s lookin’ mighty comfortable,” he starts, and you can feel your eyes begin to roll at the game he starts, “wonder who you got it from, hm?”

Granted, you didn’t know you grabbed his sweater - the same one he’s always left over your house by conveniently ‘forgetting’ it when he left. It was a noticeable red zip-up that faintly smelled of sage and cinnamon, which was a comfort on cold days and stormy nights when Miles couldn’t be there for you in person. He’d ‘given’ it to you before the two of you started dating, and you’ve claimed it to be one of your most prized possessions generally, but especially from him.

“Boy, please,” you muse, lips spreading wide with a grin once more, “I’m not doin’ this with you tonight.”

“I’m just saying!” The brown-skinned boy exclaims. “I just find it funny how it’s cool for you to have my stuff, but I ain’t got nun’ of yours!”

While Miles was possibly the most emotionally intelligent boy you knew (which you’ve definitely thanked Mr. and Ms. Morales when you met them, both as Miles’ friend and as his lover), he loved to not be direct with what he really wanted sometimes. He feigned victimhood for the giggles he loved to hear from you, even though both of you knew what he wanted in the grander scheme of things. This instance was no different.

“Why you gotta be so dramatic,” you laugh at him, his lopsided grin making an appearance on his lips, “if you wanted one of mine you could’ve just said that, dork.”

“No!” Miles says rather quickly, which catches you off guard and earns him a puzzled look, eyebrows furrowed together at his behavior.

“No?”

“N-No.”

“So…you don’t want one of my hoodies? Even though we wear the same size and everything?”

Miles bit his lip in anticipation, his chest rising and falling with his deep intake of air through his nose. The boy scrunched his nose, a habit of his you’ve come to understand as him preparing himself to go out on a limb, which only confused you more.

“Your- uh…your scrunchie.”

Your eyebrows furrowed together in confusion at his confession. “My…scrunchie?”

“Yeah, y’know,” he stairs to move his hand around, motioning towards his hair, “the things you put in your hair? That somehow don’t go against dress code, even though I always get talked to about my shoes for some reason.”

“To be fair, you got some loud ass shoes.” You respond, a short laugh breaking its way through your lips despite you trying to hide it. The pout that graced Miles’ face didn’t help with you regulating it, either.

“Okay, okay, fine!” You eventually say after regaining your composure, and before Miles goes to threaten to hang up the phone on you. “I’ll bring the jar tomorrow and you can choose which one you want, how does that sound?”

Miles nods vigorously through your phone screen, and you could tell by the little twinkle in his eye that he’s absolutely ecstatic about the proposition.

“This is…a lot of scrunchies.”

It’s the first thing that comes out of his mouth when Miles watches you dump the jar of scrunchies onto the lunch table, eyes growing wide when you seem to pull out more than what looks like the jar can actually hold. There’s a little pile of varying colors, styles and sizes that’s built itself onto the table, and Miles has to admit that the task at hand seems a bit overwhelming now that it’s actually before him.

Granted, he doesn’t think he’d ever seen you wear the same scrunchie twice, but had he known your collection was this big, he’d just asked you to pick one out for him. How could he possibly choose now?

“How many do you even have?”

“I don’t know, I stopped counting after sixth grade-”

But Miles is already sifting through the pile, pulling out ones that immediately catch his attention. He has a concentrated look in his eyes - he’s taking the task very seriously, and it’s honestly adorable to you how deep into this whole exchange he was.

You took note of some of the ones Miles has already pulled out - a ribbed-fabric beige one, a group of satin ones varying in shades of blue, and ironically black and red colored one that he continuously eyes every now and then, and a silk sake green one that just so happens to be your favorite. Miles finds out the reason why the second he touches it, being soothed by the silk fabric under his fingertips.

“You want that one?” You ask him, to which Miles glances up at you from across the table, seemingly embarrassed by his entrancement of the hair ornament.

“It’s your favorite, though, right?” He responds. “I don’t wanna take it if it’s your fav-”

“-and I think that’s the perfect reason why you should take it.”

You say it as you begin to stuff the remaining scrunchies back into the jar, handfuls of the bunches slipping into the glass container with ease as you spoke again, “It’s the one I use most frequently. Meaning it smells like me more. Meaning that there’s more of a ‘me’ touch to it, so that you won’t be as lonely.”

It takes a second, but when your words register in Miles’ head, you can almost feel the heat that begins to creep up his neck from the affectionate words you spoke to him.

The bell rings, signifying the end of the free period. Miles takes no time in slipping the hair ornament around his wrist while he bids you farewell. As you depart for the second half of your classes for the day, Miles can’t help but fiddle with the object around his wrist as his own classes drone on.

You were right, he thinks, he definitely doesn’t feel lonely with the presence of your scrunchie with him.

#black reader #black tumblr #black spiderman #spiderman #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman beyond the spiderverse #spiderman itsv #spiderman atsv #spiderman btsv #spiderman atsv x reader #spiderman atsv x black!reader #spiderman miles morales #miles morales spiderverse #miles morales spider man #miles morales x reader #miles morales x black!reader #1610!miles #1610!miles morales x reader

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quadrantadvisor · 5 months ago

Text

Danny Phantom Crossover Angst Week: Prompt - GIW Experimentation

Fandom: Marvel "Team Red"

Words: 2,550

Read on AO3

The new government offices in the Kitchen were suspicious, simply by virtue how un-suspicious they were. Matt, Foggy, and Karen had poured over their documentation, and found it to be squeaky clean and overly banal. Not that it mattered, really, when Matt was going to stake out their building regardless. Newcomers on his turf had to prove themselves.

Matt didn’t like what he heard.

It may, in fact, be time to call in the cavalry. No matter how deeply, desperately, Matt did not want to do that.

“You hear that, Spidey?” Wade Wilson crooned. “Ol’ Hornhead needs our help.”

“Never thought I’d see the day,” Spiderman said mirthfully, shaking his head.

They’d been like this for several minutes. Matt was cataloging and systematically shuffling through his life choices, trying to decide which one in particular led him to this moment (so that if he ever had the opportunity to time travel, he could prevent this.)

“Listen,” he told them. “I called you because I have reason to believe this situation is urgent, but my source has been unable to retrieve certain necessary information.”

“Like what?” Spiderman asked before Deadpool could get a word in edgewise.

“Like the dimensions of the building. I know that they don’t match the official schematics, but not what they actually are.”

“That seems very unlikely,” Wade cut in. “I thought you had like, a psychic connection to every part of your kitchen. How does anyone build something without you knowing about it?”

“I’m not psychic,” Matt deadpanned. Who needed a sixth sense? Matt did just fine with the ones he had. “But the answer is, very carefully.”

“Sure, sure,” Spiderman said. “And what’s the actual emergency?”

“They’re holding someone against their will,” Matt told him, glad to cut to the chase. “I have reason to believe that this person is in a great deal of danger, and has been tortured and experimented on for a significant amount of time.”

“The US government is doing this?” Spiderman asked, surprised. “After how many human rights scandals we’ve had in the past few years? Are they stupid?”

“Yes,” Matt answered immediately. “But there seems to be some question of this person’s level of sentience. My source said the attitude of the agents was, ‘Don’t worry if it’s screaming, that means it’s working.’”

The cold slide of a katana being drawn made Matt realize that he should’ve been paying more attention to Deadpool, who had become strangely quiet.

“DP, you good?” Spiderman asked, because he was naive enough to ask questions he already knew the answer to. Matt had gotten caught up in his own urgency, and completely forgotten to take Wade’s history into account. He’d stumbled into a thorny web of traumas, and had no one to blame but himself.

“Doing great, Spidey!” Deadpool said with a cold cheer, and Matt fought the urge to shiver. “Feeling very ready to teach some remedial lessons on human/alien/magical and/or mechanical construct rights! C’mon, team, time’s a-wasting!” And he was off.

Spiderman turned towards Matt and paused, presumably trying to share some sort of look (which wouldn’t have worked regardless, did he forget he wore a full face mask?) Then he tensed to leap, and Matt followed suit, the two of them determined to clean up whatever mess Deadpool made.

Deadpool had been made emphatically aware that, if he killed on their watch, neither Spiderman nor Daredevil would ever work with him again. Matt guessed that that promise was the only thing keeping him from further brutality. The stench of blood grew quickly cloying.

“HEY!” Spiderman shouted on his left.

“What?” Deadpool asked in front of him. “It’s not like he needs both hands.”

Spiderman’s webbing thwip-ed out, staunching the wound. “You guys picked a really bad day to wear white,” he said to the swearing agent.

“Lay off the suits, freak!” another one said, aiming his strange weapon at Matt’s friend. Matt quickly disarmed him.

Their suits were entirely white? No wonder they smelled so strongly of starch and bleach. Another point towards government stupidity.

The three of them made their way deeper into the facility, and white suits were replaced with white lab coats, though the scientists still carried the little noisy pistols, powered by something Matt couldn’t identify by smell. Whatever kind of energy it was, it left strong taste on his tongue, like citrus and metal and sparking electricity.

Then, finally, they found what they were looking for.

As soon as he opened the door, Deadpool’s tone changed, from frightening mania to a solemn sort of despair. “Fuck,” he said under his breath.

Matt was in an unfamiliar building, having to feel his way through as he went. He’d had to navigate combat situations while ignoring a great many assaults upon his senses, from loud alarms to overwhelming scents to a completely unfamiliar power source that made his skin tingle. But the inside of that room was worse. Matt resisted the urge to plug his nose against the air saturated with bleach, old blood, and rotten… whatever it was.

Spiderman, seeing into the room, gasped, then composed himself, following Deadpool inside.

“Hey, kid,” Deadpool said softly. This was why, despite all the instincts telling him otherwise, Matt trusted Wade. Wade cared about vulnerable people, in a way that was both obvious and experienced. He wore his care on his sleeve. Matt couldn’t help but admire it, and felt a kinship he couldn’t quite deny. “We’re gonna get you out of here, okay?”

A mumble responded, drawing Matt’s attention, and he drew short. There was certainly a structure in the center of the room, and upon that structure (gurney?) was…

It was unlike anything Matt had ever experienced. It was in the shape of a person, yes, but it was almost like the absence of a person. Cold emanated from the space, but air seemed to pass right through it. Sound was drawn in by the shape, muffled. Was there really someone there? Matt’s skin prickled. (Matt still wasn’t psychic. But something about it didn’t feel right. Like it wanted him to be afraid.)

The figure wheezed.

“He can’t be older than sixteen,” Spiderman whispered.

“Hey, kid, hey, they really did a number on you, huh? Can you hear me?”

This time, there was no response, just the same shallow, painful breaths.

“Alright, up we go then,” Deadpool said, reaching for the figure. Matt almost called out, almost told him not to touch it. He half expected Deadpool’s hands to fall right through. But contact was made, and Deadpool hefted what apparently looked like a young teenaged boy into his arms.

“Alright besties, you clear the way and I’ll cart the kid out of here,” Deadpool said, tone comically sweet.

Again, Matt wanted to protest. Now that they had the captive, the rescue seemed less urgent. He wanted to know just what was going on here, what the subject was, why he was being studied. He had a bad feeling, was all.

Matt held his tounge. Deadpool and Spiderman’s hearts were both racing, and they radiated fear and concern. Something was leaking from the boy, something that smelled like the power source of the agent’s weapons but somehow more organic. Matt’s bad feeling didn’t matter, not until something bad actually happened. He could come back later and collect the information he needed, especially since he’d be able to use actual stealth to do it (thank you, Wade, for barging in.)

They went out the same way they’d come in, mowing through agents much less brutally now that Deadpool’s hands were fully. The number of people working in this building was frankly ridiculous.

The agents were not shy about targeting Deadpool, seeming unconcerned about any harm that may come to their captive. As they passed, they shouted at them, telling them to “Drop the subject!” or “Give up the Ghost Kid!”

(Ghost Kid? No, he couldn’t be a ghost. That was ridiculous. That wasn’t what ghosts were like, it couldn’t be.)

(Oh sweet Mother Mary.)

Spiderman started webbing the agents’ mouths shut.

When they had nearly reached their goal of escape, the figure began to murmur and shift.

“Hey kiddo, you with us?” Deadpool asked.

“Who’re you?” was the slurred response.

“Just your friendly neighborhood mercenary!” Deadpool chirped. “And I’m getting you out of here.”

“We’re leaving?” croaked the boy.

“Yep! Me’n my buddies,” Deadpool moved his head, gesturing to Matt and Spiderman, “we’ll keep you safe. These creeps aren’t gonna touch you, never again.”

The being moved suddenly, lurching up in Wade’s grasp, maybe meeting his eyes or grabbing his arm?

“The research,” he gasped, “the containment devices, the weapons, you have to destroy them! What they’re trying to do, it’s-” he broke off, coughing weakly.

“Kid?” Deadpool asked.

“An entire dimension,” the boy answered weakly. “They want to destroy an entire dimension.”

The alarms were still blaring. The number of agents coming in from different parts of the building hadn’t slowed. As bad as that sounded, and as much as Matt wanted to get their research away from them and into more capable and ethical hands (Karen), they didn’t have time if they didn’t want to take huge risks.

“We’re leaving,” Matt said, the full gravel of the devil in his voice. “We’ll stop them, but not tonight.”

“Yeah buddy, don’t worry, we’re gonna take care of it,” Spiderman assured him.

“You don’t understand,” the boy said, distraught.

Their group had reached the first floor. Matt was bruised and exhausted, but none of the combatants were experts in hand to hand. They were going to make it out of this, mission complete, none the worse for wear. It could’ve gone a lot worse.

“I’ll do it myself.”

The figure in Deadpool’s arms suddenly, inexplicably, dropped. No struggle, no loosening of Deadpool’s grip. It was like he fell straight through them.

Despite his weakness, the boy slipped away when Wade reached out for him. Then he, if Matt’s senses weren’t playing tricks on him, started floating.

“Back up,” he said, “and cover your ears.”

Matt didn’t like to muffle his senses, but he wasn’t an idiot. When a being like that said to protect your hearing, you did it. He pressed his palms tight to his ears and moved away.

It wasn’t enough.

What came from the thing could barely be called a sound. The sensation was almost physical, air distorting worse than the concussive blast of an explosion. He directed it down, down, through every level of the building, and the floor pushed back in waves as it fought against its own destruction. Inevitably, it failed, and Matt hugged desperately against the wall, hoping he wouldn’t lose the very ground beneath his feet. He sincerely doubted any electronics could survive the onslaught, meaning that whatever records and weapons were being stored here would be just as gone as the boy had wanted.

Matt didn’t know how long the attack lasted, maybe just seconds, regardless of how long it felt in his pain. The ringing in his head didn’t stop with the onslaught, and he removed his hands cautiously, hoping he wasn’t bleeding. Matt rose from his crouch, and tried to figure out what to do next. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t hear anything over the ringing, could only stand there and wonder if a single step would send him plunging to his death, if the ringing was just too loud or if his hearing was gone for good (he could do it, he could, but please, God, he didn’t want to, didn’t want to adjust, to lose such a huge part of the world around him, please, not again.)

He startled when someone touched his arm. “-hear me?” they asked, and Matt realized it was Spiderman, because he could feel his heartbeat through his fingers, knew the resonance of his voice in his chest, and Matt resisted the urge to cling to him for some sense of normalcy, because yes, even though he couldn’t hear him, he knew the vibrations of his body and could still interpret them.

“There you are,” Spiderman said. “Just mouth stuff at me, my ears are shot after that. You good?”

Matt grunted, and was disturbed by the lack of feedback within his own skull. “Can’t hear a thing,” he reluctantly admitted, doing his best to turn towards where he figured Spiderman’s eyeline was. He paused, uncomfortable, but added, “A bit dizzy, too.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Spiderman immediately replied, getting a better grip on Matt’s arm and starting to pull him somewhere. It wasn’t easy guidance, like Foggy would offer, it was a firm lead, something Spiderman would use to pull civilians away from danger. Matt suffered the indignity, seeing as he could barely stand straight and had almost no idea where the holes in the floor were. “Man, that kid scared the shit out of me. I’m so glad I managed to catch him.”

Catch him? That made sense, maybe, if whatever power that had kept him suspended gave out after that display. Spiderman didn’t have the boy now, though, so he must’ve handed him off to Deadpool, or maybe he’d used his webs.

The air changed, and Matt figured they’d made it outside. He expected Spiderman to let go of him, and felt both relieved and embarrassed when he didn’t.

Air moved, the ground vibrated, and Matt could tell someone approached them. Spiderman didn’t react negatively, so likely it was Deadpool. The mercenary stood in front of them, speaking, but the breeze whisked the vibrations away and Matt couldn’t make out his voice.

“Don’t ask me,” Spiderman replied. “Hey, you paying attention Double D? What the heck do we do with an incredibly powerful, partially human, transforming kid who may also be bleeding out?”

Transforming? Bleeding out? Matt had thought the blood smell was just Deadpool. Without thinking, he reached forward, seeking more information. After a moment, he made contact, and felt relieved at the familiar heart and breaths. Thus oriented, he moved his hand down to the figure in Wade’s arms.

It was a normal human boy. No uncanny not-there-ness, no hum of energy and power, just a kid with blood pumping through his veins and dripping from a poorly treated would along his torso.

“I don’t know,” Matt said. “Hospital?”

“I am not just dropping him off at a hospital,” Deadpool said. “If that’s your plan, I’ll just take him back to my place and-”

“Hey, Daredevil, didn’t you say you couldn’t hear?” Spiderman interrupted.

Matt nodded absentmindedly. “Not a thing.”

“We’re wearing full face masks,” Spiderman pointed out. “How do you know what we’re saying?”

Deadpool gasped dramatically. “He IS psychic!”

Matt sighed heavily, wishing he could drop his head into his hands, but that would necessitate letting go of his friends. “Claire is going to hate me for this,” he lamented.

“Who’s Claire?” Spiderman asked.

“He didn’t deny it!” Deadpool crowed.

“I’ll explain on the way,” Matt said, ignoring the mercenary. “You’re going to have to guide me though, I’m practically useless right now.”

“Sure thing,” Spiderman said, not needing more than that, and Matt knew that there was a reason he liked him.

Their group, much worse for wear and plus a new member, headed off again into the night.

#dpcaw24 #danny phantom #dp #marvel #team red marvel #daredevil #deadpool #spiderman #no i will not be spelling spiderman with a dash it's simply not how i live #fanfic #fanfiction #i wrote an entire one shot i can hardly believe it #my writing #my projects

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