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wlwoceaneyes · 1 month ago

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Reader gets hurt during an undercover mission. pEmily comes to check on her, things get tense, then heated. Helps her out of the dress.

Classified Desires

pairing: emily prentiss x fem!bau!reader word count: 2938 k summary: Reader participates in an undercover mission that requires her to wear an elegant, tight-fitting dress. She sustains minor injuries during the takedown. Later, Emily visits her hotel room to check on her. Emotions run high, boundaries blur, and Emily ends up helping her out of the dress — leading to a heated, intimate encounter. tags: smut (18 +), teasing, vaginal fingering, top!emily, light choking… is there something missing? If yes, hit me up (I’m new to this) A/N: Here’s a small attempt for this prompt… I hope the smut part isn’t as cringe as I think it is! I’ve never written anything like this before. Please bear with me😂. I hope you like it :)

You smooth your hands once again over the deep burgundy dress that hugs your curves perfectly and makes you look like a movie star. The lace along the neckline brushes softly against your skin, cradling your breasts before ending just beneath your arms. The silky, cool fabric clings sensually to your body, skimming your legs and accentuating your toned calves. The black high heels complete the outfit, adding height and forcing your posture into elegance. It’s not something you would ever wear in private, and yet tonight, you must pretend as if you belong to this world. You have to blend in, become part of the crowd, dissolve into them. Into this world of glitz and glamour, etiquette and lavish dinners, slip into it as if you reside among them every day.

Banquet tables line the grand foyer, and two massive chandeliers hang from the towering ceilings like majestic constellations. Paintings stretch across the vaults above, and as you glance upward, you’re momentarily transported back to Rome, to the Sistine Chapel. The ceiling fresco vaguely reminds you of Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam or maybe that’s just the two glasses of champagne warming you from the inside. You turn once on your heel, watching the guests flow in through the side entrance, their eyes equally drawn up to the ceiling. It’s the perfect distraction, an ideal cover for another move in this case. You tug again at your dress, cursing the lack of security it offers.

It’s only your second undercover assignment with the BAU, and there’s no room for protest, no chance to debate your outfit with Penelope Garcia, whether it’s practical or not. You would’ve preferred something that didn’t draw so many eyes, didn’t reveal so much. But that’s exactly what you’re meant to do tonight: attract attention. His attention. The attention of Valerio Marquez.

He’s your prime suspect in the current case. Wealthy and unholy loud about it, indulgent. A known figure in this city, which initially kept him low on your suspect list. Emily, Unit Chief of the BAU, had to fight through layers of politics before the operation was cleared. If this goes wrong, she’s the one who’ll pay for it. But she trusted you. Trusted your intuition, your research, your facts. You and Tara dove deep for this case, into places no one should have to see. Garcia could testify to that; she’s swatted you more than once with her plush pen in protest of your relentless requests. Still, your digging paid off. He’s no longer a footnote, he’s the centerpiece.

“Hades just arrived,” Luke murmurs beside you, and your grip tightens slightly on his arm. “Want another drink, love?”

You scan the room, spot the broad-shouldered man with dark hair near the window, and nod. “Of course, sweetheart,” you reply, dripping with sarcasm and raising an eyebrow.

Luke presses his lips together to suppress a grin. “All for the cover, although…” he mutters, tugging you through the crowd and past your Unit Chief, who’s posing as a waitress tonight.

She throws you a look, hard to define, lingering on Luke a second too long, offering you just enough time to take in her presence properly. If the situation weren’t so tense, you could lose yourself in the lines of her face.

She wears her jet-black hair in a tight ponytail, with a few strands falling loose to frame her long lashes. A crisp white blouse and black pencil skirt contour her figure, she only agreed to the skirt after you insisted it looked good on her. Your gaze lingers too long on her bare legs, on the exposed skin of her hips, where her blouse rides up every time she bends down. She feels your stare before you can look away, her dark eyes catch yours quicker than you can say amen. Something flickers across her expression. If you had to name it, you’d say she caught you. Embarrassment flushes your cheeks, and you turn quickly, following Luke towards the bar.

“Champagne?” he asks, but your mind is elsewhere. You curse your obvious staring, hoping you haven’t given yourself away. It’s not about your cover, no. What truly terrifies you is the idea that Emily Prentiss might have realized you’ve been secretly pining for her. For months.

You nod absently. Luke places the order and leans in slightly. “Showtime’s soon. You ready?” He brushes your hand in a grounding gesture that snaps you back to the present.

“I’m ready,” you say quietly, going through everything one more time in your mind. You’re ready. You’ve trained for this. Still, your heart hammers against your ribs, and nerves twist deep in your belly. You grip the edge of the bar tighter, to stop your hands from shaking.

As expected, your target joins a familiar circle of people by the windows. Every one of them has something to hide, ranging from minor violations to robbery and murder. You wonder how these people are tolerated in such circles, how no one sees them for who they are. Then you realize: everyone here wears a mask. Just like you.

You steady your fingers around the delicate flute, press a kiss to Luke’s cheek, and drift toward the terrace. Blood pounds in your ears, but your focus remains razor-sharp. You navigate through a group of men, each step measured, like a studied dance. When a hand closes on your forearm, your body stiffens. You’re ready to push back, his thumb glides far too intimately over your skin, until your eyes find hers. Deep brown and unwavering. Saying everything words can’t.

You’ve got this.

It’s Emily. She slips past you with a tray before the moment fully settles, before anyone can think twice about it. Her touch lingers like a whisper across your skin. Your hand tingles, but you straighten your shoulders, borrowing her confidence like a second skin. “You’ve got this,” you echo to yourself.

With your head high, you walk toward the terrace, brushing deliberately against Valerio Marquez, murmuring a flushed, apologetic excuse. He takes the bait and follows you outside. Just as planned.

Hours later, you’re standing in front of the full-length mirror in your hotel room. The dress still clings to your body, but you’ve got a bruise blooming on your collarbone, a scrape on your forehead, and raw knees, but you’re okay. Thank god. Things could’ve gone so differently out there on the terrace – one wrong move, one second too slow, but you did it. You proved your point. You weren’t seriously hurt, just grazed when your team made the takedown.

A knock at the door pulls you from your thoughts. You frown, kick off your heels and tiptoe across the room. When the knock comes again, you sigh, no peace, ever. If someone’s here to demand a debrief, you’re going to snap.

“Just a second!” you call, irritation in your voice. You peek through the peephole and freeze. It’s Emily.

Still in her waitress uniform, worry etched into her features. You fling the door open. “Is everything okay?” you ask, breath catching slightly.

Her eyes dart to the cut on your temple, trace the bruise on your collarbone, then flick down to your bare legs. Heat creeps over your skin, and you buzz beneath her intense gaze. You vibrate with it.

“I should be the one asking you that,” she murmurs. Her eyes flick back up to meet yours. “May I come in?” Her voice is low, almost hesitant.

You clear your throat and step aside, allowing her in, bringing her closer than you should. Her scent wraps around you, earthy with a woody undertone that roots itself low in your stomach. That smell does something to you. It’s intoxicating; it makes you reckless. Part of you wants to lean in, give in to your desire, forget the rules. You’d throw caution to the wind for it, if only you were braver, if only she weren’t your boss.

“You disappeared fast,” she says, breaking the silence. You nod, because you don’t trust your voice at the moment. All you can think about are her lips brushing your neck, her hands sliding around your waist. How your fingers would feel, gliding down slowly, deliberately, beneath the hem of her skirt, discovering the warmth of her skin underneath. The toughts flicker hot and reckles through you, you shove it aside and focus on her words instead.

“I didn’t get a chance to check on you,” she continues, her voice softer now. “We didn’t want to draw attention… The takedown went smoothly. We brought him in directly.” Her head tilts slightly, eyes scanning your face. “He confessed. Once we showed your evidence.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Really?” you ask, unable to mask your excitement. Relief floods your system, you were right. Emily won’t take the fall.

“You did excellent work.” She reaches up, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “But you got hurt.” Her eyes darken, clouded with something heavier than just concern.

“I’m fine,” you whisper. “Just a scratch. It’ll heal.”

“And the bruise?“, she murmurs, her thumb ghosting along your jaw. “That shouldn’t have happened. You were under my command.“ Your not sure if the means to touch you like that, but it takes your breath away. The space between you hums, charged with more than just electricity.

She pulls her hand back as if burned, suddenly realizing what she’s just done. Crossed a line. “I just wanted to check on you,” she says, her voice rougher than usual. She turns to leave, hand already on the knob, when you finally speak.

“Can you help me with something?” you ask, and her jaw tightens.

“With what?” she asks, still facing the door.

“I can’t get the dress off,” you mumble, cheeks burning with embarrasment. “Penelope helped me into it, but she’s asleep now, and…” You exhale sharply, frustrated and vulnerable. You hate the feeling. “Never mind. I’ll figure it out.”

There is a soft, hesitant pause. “…Okay,” she replies quietly.

When her eyes find yours in the mirror, the air thickens and you forget how to breathe. Her pupils are blown wide, her cheeks flushed. The rigid professionalism from before melts away, just to expose something raw beneath.

“…O-okay,” you repeat nervously. You turn your back, presenting the zipper to Emily. In the mirror, you watch her fingers fidget nervously. Something you have never seen before, and you probably shouldn’t.

Then, as if flicking a switch, she regains her composure, radiating that commanding aura that usually makes you recoil, but with her, it pulls you in, makes you want to obey without question, even though surrendering control is something you’d normally resist.

She moves behind you, and you instantly feel her warmth. It skims your bare skin like a promise. Her gaze holds yours in the mirror, heavy, unreadable, and full of unspoken truths.

“May I?” she asks, lifting your hair with delicate fingers. The simple question feels far deeper than it sounds.

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice barely more than a whisper. A small, but knowing smile curves her lips.

Her fingertips trail over your neck, brushing the loose strands of your hair over your shoulder, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You try to hide the shiver rising inside you, but she knows. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

Her fingers linger, ghosting over sensitive skin, barely touching that tender spot on your neck. You press your lips together a little too tightly. She notices and steps even closer, her hips grazing yours.

Her fingers find the zipper, while her breath tickles your ear. “Ready?” Her voice is like warm honey, thick and tempting. You rub your thighs together, feeling the ache she stirs inside you. Emily’s eyes flick down to your legs for just a moment, catching the subtle shift in your movement.

Your ear brushes her lips as you tilt your head. All you can do is nod. She exhales softly against your skin, and you bite back a moan.

Slowly, deliberately, she pulls the zipper down. Her gaze is hooded, her breath uneven. When she reaches the small of your back, her fingers skim your spine. She leans forward, eyes fixed on your reflection, marveling at how your body fits perfectly against hers.

Her lips hover just above your skin at the base of your neck. Her breath teases, and all you want is more. Your mouth parts slightly, and a small, unmistakable sound escapes. Her mouth twitches in amusement.

Then she kisses the spot between your shoulder and neck. Softly.

“Oh,” you breathe as she finds the exact right spot that makes your toes curl.

And just like that, Emily lets the dress slip free. It slides to the floor with a quiet whisper of silk, pooling at your feet. You stand there, bare except for a black thong, in front of your boss.

Gentle hands settle on your waist, tracing over the straps of your thong. “Is this okay?” Emily whispers into your ear, placing a kiss on your cheek.

“More than okay,” you reply, clinging to her forearms as she possessively pulls you tighter against her body.

Her hand moves to your face, which she gently turns toward her. “I couldn’t think about anything else all evening,” Emily’s lips trail down to your jaw before finally pausing in front of your mouth and kissing you. “You looked so sinfully good in that dress, and everyone was staring at you.”

You smile at her words and rest your fingers on her arms. “But I only had eyes for you,” you admit, glancing shyly down at the floor.

“Hey,” Emily’s fingers touch your chin, lifting it gently, “Look at me, Y/N.”

When your eyes meet hers again, all you see is desire, and something softer - maybe devotion. It steals away every coherent thought, because the certainty that your boss wants you just as much as you want her? That’s not something you ever dared to assume. She never let it show. Only occasionally, fleeting hints, flirty comments, brief touches that made you questioning everything.

“You were the most beautiful person in that room,“ she murmurs, brushing another soft kiss on your lips. “And the way you looked at me told me everything I needed to know.“ She pauses, just for a moment. “There was only one thing I didn’t like about your undercover work.”

You blink at her, caught off guard. “What?“

“That kiss,” she says quietly, her fingers trailing down to the column of your neck. “Was it really necessary?“

You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out.

Her eyes narrow. “I thought so,“ she says, her voice low, not amused.

Her fingers tighten ever so slightly around your neck, silencing you. Making it clear who you belong to now. Her teeth catch your lower lip, tugging gently but deliberately, while her free hand drifts down your body.

“I think we need to make something clear here, don't you?” she murmurs, her voice low and dangerous, threading straight through your core.

You nod submissively, instinctively. Your body already aching for her, the tension coiling deep between your legs.

“Good girl,” she whispers, locking eyes with you in the mirror, "Your lips are mine. Do you understand?"

“Hm,” you manage, your instinct to nod stifled by the pressure of Emily's hand around your throat.

“Say it,” she commands, her fingers trailing over the waistband of your thong, teasing you, then slipping just beneath the fabric.

“Yes, Emily,” you breathe, words like a reflex, “I'm all yours.”

“That's better,” she purrs, sliding her hand between your folds with calculated slowness, "That turns you on, doesn’t it?"

“Yes, Emily,” you gasp, the answer tumbling from your lips.

She hums, clearly pleased. “You're a quick learner,” her index finger slides through your slick folds, drawing a whimper from your throat as your hips shift, seeking more. You press into her hand, craving friction, but Emily has other plans. She removes her hand from your neck, only to wrap it firmly around your waist. Her fingers, gliding through your wetness, press gently against your entrance. She waits until your eyes meets hers in the mirror, seeking silent permission. And when you give it, barley a nod, she doesn’t hesitate. She thrusts into you, and your breath catches as your knees begin to buckle. But she is already there, her arm tightening around your waist, holding you steady as waves of pleasures roll through you.

“Fuck,” you moan, the word torn from deep within your throat. Emily's pace quickens, her fingers curling just right, finding that spot that makes your legs tremble. The heel of her hand presses perfectly against you, sending sparks through your core, driving you toward the edge with dizzying speed. Your mouth parts in surprise, and in the mirror, Emily's gaze devours you. It’s all it takes. The buildup, sharp and sudden, coils fast and tight within you. Never has an orgasm built up inside you so quickly. There is no room for thoughts, only need.

“You look beautiful when you come for me,” she whispers, her fingers moving with devestating precision, pressing deeper, firmer. Drawing every gasp from your lips. Her mouth trails along your neck until she finds your pulse point and sucks, just hard enough to leave a mark. But you don’t care. Your legs begin to shake, you close your eyes, overwhelmed from the sensation.

“Come for me, princess,” she murmurs against your ear, soft and commanding.

And then your world shatters. Light bursts behind your eyelids as pleasure crashes through you, unraveling you completely in her arms.

#criminal minds #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss smut #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss imagine #unit chief prentiss

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streets-in-paradise · 8 months ago

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Girl, THIS IS THE BEST FUCKING PIECE OF FANFICTION I HAVE EVER READ!!!!

For real, this was so well written I felt i was reading the fragment of a chapter on a novelization incluiding a new character. This trascends fanfiction, this is …

Perfect, more than perfect! I don't deserve you as a writer friend, holy fuck you are freaking amazing!!

Calming myself down a bit, I noticed how we both enjoy a similar concept because in the fic i am preparing for you we also have a part of the reader exposing something and Maximus getting invested in what she tells during a " omg, he is paying attention to me! look how focused he is, i think he likes my company! " moment.

Our simp minds think alike and I love that. We both thought " I want him to listen me and find me interesting as we bond through discussion of higher concepts in a mundane scenario"

As a final note of my comment, your fic was so inspiring that my daydreamer ass came up with a made up soundtrack for what I was reading. It is not culturally accurate, but i rushed to search to enrich my experience because the radio inside my mind started to play it while I was reading.

It's more than a fic, a deleted movie scene.

Tender Fires

Pairing: Maximus Decimus Meridius x reader

Rating: T (hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, with a few hints of spice)

Word Count: 6.4k

Tag List: @enjisbf, @nasatshirts, @empressenchanted, @streets-in-paradise, @xiscamoony, @aelondrias

Author’s Note: I'm back with another Maximus fic! This is actually part of a larger narrative in which Maximus escapes the execution attempt and ends up at reader's farm, where she tends his wounds and they fall in love but have to fight their feelings because he intends to leave to keep her safe. As always, this fic is written from the deepest longings of my lovestruck heart, and I hope that love is obvious :) Thank y'all so much for your kind words about the last fic, and I hope you enjoy this one!!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“You’re up late.”

At your words, Maximus turns his head to look at you, and a soft smile crosses his lips. His features are etched in shadow, flickering with the dancing firelight.

He’s seated in front of your kitchen fire, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, gazing deep into the flames as if searching for some hidden meaning within. You would never have known he was in here if you had not been awakened by the loud cracks of thunder outside and come in search of the warmth of the fire.

An autumn storm, a midnight fire, and the most captivating man you have ever known, dressed only in his plain white sleeping tunic. It seems like a combination intended to lure you into trouble.

As you move to sit in the chair beside him, he looks back into the hearth, a smile still tugging at the corner of his lips. “I have stayed awake staring at many fires in my life,” he tells you quietly, his voice deep and thoughtful.

Out of the corner of your eye, you risk a glance at him, looking for the scar on his ribs. He has been with you for a little more than two weeks now, helping you with odd jobs around the farm as his strength returns. His wounds, though still vulnerable, have healed quickly, and you are relieved to see no signs of further injury on the parts of his skin that you can see.

“As have I,” you reply, eyes still lingering on him. “Though for me, it has always been the same fire. This one.”

He hums in response, nodding slightly. You have never sat by this fire together at night, and you are bewitched by the way the light dances over him, makes his golden skin shimmer. The lines of his arms and shoulders are limned in shadow, the firelight flickering on his handsome features.

You are overcome with a desire to put your hands on him, to feel the heat of his skin and the strength of his body, but you cast your gaze on the fireplace instead.

“I envy you that,” he answers softly, after a short reflection. He glances up at you, studying you intently. “A home fire, always burning in the same place.”

The meaning of his words is not lost on you.

Every day, the thought of him leaving you is more painful. At the moment, as you sit close enough to listen to him breathing, the thought is unbearable. Your home is his home now, and you long — more than you have ever longed for anything — for him to realize that he belongs here.

His shadowed eyes search yours a moment more, then return to gazing at the flames.

You take a deep, steadying breath to calm yourself. Your hands are trembling, and you smooth them over your skirt, hoping he does not notice how nervous you are from this simple interaction.

“Tea?” you ask quickly, pushing yourself to stand and get a bit of space between the two of you.

He glances up again, and your heart clenches at the gentleness in his expression. He nods. “Thank you.”

Have his eyes ever seemed so wide, so earnest? Are you imagining the way his gaze lingers on you, drinking in every detail of the way you move?

You can feel the tension in the room thickening, your own heart beating faster as you fill the kettle with water and set the tea leaves to brewing. Somehow, sharing space with this man is so much more intimate at night, with a storm raging outside and a warm fire bringing extra heat to the atmosphere.

Even more astonishing to you is the fact that you are not afraid of this powerful soldier. He is strong enough to do anything he wishes to you, to take whatever he obviously wants. But even now, standing here in your night shift, with your hair and your defenses down, you have no fear of him.

If anything, you wish he would initiate a touch, a kiss, anything that would lead to the passion that has been haunting your dreams every night.

Such as your dream last night. You can still feel the sensation of your body thoroughly tangled with his, your limbs entwined, his hands pulling your skirt up to your waist. Your cheeks burn when you remember all the places he kissed in your dream, all the places he touched and explored and pleasured. Such thoughts make you ache all over again, especially now that you are standing so close to him.

A blinding crack of lightning, followed by the roar of thunder, pulls you from the dream-memory of his mouth hot on your throat.

To distract yourself from such dangerous thoughts, you ramble on the first topic you can think of. “My father used to tell me stories beside this fire,” you announce as you hang the kettle over the fire and settle back into the chair beside him. You don’t dare meet his eyes, even as a smile crosses your lips at the memory. “I always begged him to tell me ghost stories even though they frightened me.”

He tilts his head to the side to look at you curiously, a smile of his own playing at his lips. “What kind of ghosts do you have in these parts?” he asks, leaning on one arm of the chair to look at you more squarely.

Somehow, having his full attention focused on you is unnerving, undoing, arousing. You can hardly find the words to speak.

His eyes are still on your face as you feel a deep blush burning in your cheeks. You hope he will attribute it to the warmth of the fire, not your intense reaction to the way he gazes at you. If he only knew how much more heated you are by his presence.

“My favorite is the Howling Woman,” you blurt out, glad that your voice is not as unsteady as you feared. “She wears all gray, with her head covered. She’s been seen in these mountains for decades.”

He does not interrupt you, but your breath catches as his gaze wanders across your face. An absent smile is still on his lips, and he seems to be content to simply watch you, to let his eyes trace the lines of your face, your neck, your hair where it tumbles over your shoulders. His gaze is searching, admiring.

How will you find the strength to hide your desire when one look from him could bring you to your knees?

Clenching your jaw and willing the kettle to boil faster, you continue your story determinedly. “They say she was the wife of a farmer who was killed after being thrown from his horse. She found him with his neck broken.” You pause, still breathless from the effects of his undivided attention. “She went mad and drowned her own children. When she came to her senses and realized what she had done, she walked into the wilderness to die.”

You wait for him to interject, to ask some clarifying question or comment, but he does not. He is still leaning on the arm of his chair, his dark eyes captivated by the sight of you in the firelight. You can almost sense the way he is actively preventing himself from letting his gaze wander further down — where your shift does little to hide the shape of your figure.

But somehow, his watchfulness is not an act of seduction. He seems genuinely swept up in your story, spellbound by the sound of your voice. He listens to you intently, curiously, and waits for you to continue.

“But to punish her for her crime,” you continue, blushing even harder, “the gods cursed her to wander these mountains and valleys for eternity, never able to die and meet her family in the afterlife.”

It is the sound of your voice, you realize now. His gaze wanders over your features slowly, as if measuring them, but his silence persists the longer you speak. It is as if he cannot bring himself to interrupt you, so captivated as he is by your voice.

“She still walks at night,” you finish, finally allowing yourself to look deep into his eyes. There seems to be no end to them, no way to pull yourself out of the gaze that holds you captive. “She wanders, calling and wailing and howling.”

He swallows hard, licks his lips, though you guess he does so unconsciously. A shiver runs up your spine, and not from your ghost story.

You lean forward, just an inch or so, to finish the story. “They say you can hear her best on a night like this,” you whisper, and the silence between you is so concentrated that you feel you might choke on it.

His gaze flits down to your lips for a moment, and in this flickering firelight, surrounded by warmth and desire, you think he may kiss you.

The silence is broken by a loud crack of thunder outside, one that makes you jump at its suddenness. You both look away, realizing how intently you have been gazing at one another for an inexcusably long amount of time.

The tea in the kettle is boiling at last, and, glad for the distraction, you lean forward to take it off the fire. Your two cups are sitting on the table beside you, and you fill both before handing one to him. He nods his thanks, and the two of you sit quietly for a few moments, looking deep into the firelight.

He is the one who finally breaks the silence. “Do you believe in ghosts?” he asks softly, with that pleasant raspy quality you have come to recognize in him at night.

You smile and lean back in your chair to sip at your tea. “Of course,” you confirm lightly. “Don’t you?”

His expression grows quizzical, and he doesn’t lift his eyes away from the fire. He takes a sip of his tea, thinks for a long time before answering. You are more than content to sit in silence with him, but he finally comes to an answer.

“No,” he tells you quietly, still mesmerized by the dancing flames. Eerie shadows prance over his fine features. “Spirits do not wander the earth after death. They go to the afterlife.”

His voice is calm and even, but resolute, assured. You have talked so little with him about such things, and you cannot deny your curiosity at learning more about what he believes.

“How do you know?” you press, unconsciously leaning toward him.

He does not move for a moment, just grips his cup tighter and sharpens his gaze at the fire. “I have seen enough death to feel certain of it,” he declares, then turns his head to look into your eyes again. “If ghosts could exist,” he tells you softly, gently, “then I would be haunted by them every moment.”

Your heart aches for him now, for the pain and grief he carries with him always. His life has been difficult, laden with the weight of many lives and much responsibility. Even in a peaceful haven like your home, he is ever followed by the burdens of his past, no matter how much comfort and peace you have offered him.

“Perhaps they do not wish to speak to you,” you suggest, tilting your head to show that you are teasing him. “Perhaps you do not know all there is to know in the world.”

His haunted expression softens as he looks at you, taking in the meaning of your words. As before, his soft smile smoothes the lines in his face, lifts a bit of the weariness etched into his features. You can’t help wondering if he realizes your effect on him, if he craves these moments of tranquility and comfort as much as you do.

“I am sure of that,” he tells you in a low voice, and your heart turns over at the simple passion in his eyes.

You lapse into silence once again, each of you drinking your tea and losing yourself in thought. Your own ponderings are of him, wondering what he is thinking. He has seemed burdened ever since you found him sitting by the fire, and you long to know what worries him.

If he only knew how your heart leaps at the sight of him, how you long to cradle his face in your hands, to kiss him until all his burdens are lifted, until all he knows is this deep, all-consuming love that has swept over your heart like an autumn storm.

The thunder continues to roll outside, the rain pelting your roof relentlessly, but the warmth of the fire and the pleasant constancy of his presence is comforting.

You do not press him for several long minutes, letting him mull over his worries in silence until both of you have finished your tea. When you set your two empty cups on the table beside you, you finally decide to inquire, pushing your chair a few inches nearer to him and leaning on one arm of the chair so you can look into his eyes more closely.

“What troubles you?” you ask softly, and he finally lifts his head, dark eyes burning into yours with all the intensity of the hearth fire.

His voice is hardly more than a whisper when he replies, “Ghosts.”

“Memories?” you ask, entranced by the way he slowly leans forward, closing the distance between the two of you one inch at a time. Your skin suddenly burns, aching for a touch, one simple touch, that will answer your constant longing for his hands on you.

After a moment of hesitation, in which he seems to ponder the consequences of what he wants, he finally lifts one hand and trails his fingertips down the side of your face.

“Shadows of things I do not understand,” he murmurs absently, and he traces the line of your jaw with fingers so gentle you cannot imagine them ever wielding a sword.

He gazes at you more openly now, his eyes traveling down to your lips as his thumb brushes over them. You suppress a shudder at the contact, and he strokes your lips a few times, transfixed by the sight, before sliding the backs of his knuckles down the column of your throat.

Stars in the heavens, if he only knew how your body is aching for him, how you respond to the slightest touch he gives you.

You finally find your voice to speak. “Is it your men?” you ask softly, as if the room has suddenly been overtaken by a spell.

He sighs, brow furrowed deeply in thought. “They were not my men,” he replies at last, still stroking his fingers down your neck. “Not the ones who betrayed me. My men were loyal, courageous.” His voice is thick with sorrow, and you sense that recalling this memory is painful for him. “They were my brothers,” he half-whispers. “They would have risen up in rebellion if they had known.”

Your heart aches again at the sadness in his voice, the sadness he works so hard to disguise throughout the day. Somehow, in the darkness, in the stillness of nighttime, he seems more vulnerable.

“Why does the Emperor want you dead so badly?” you finally venture to ask.

His hand stills on your neck, eyes not quite focused on your face. He seems to be traveling back in time in his mind, and he draws a deep breath as he thinks. Almost as if he does not realize what he is doing, his hand wanders to the base of your neck, absently stroking the sensitive skin there.

It’s all you can do to hold still, to keep from betraying how perfectly wonderful his touch is to you.

His voice is low and measured when he answers your question. “I once received favor that he believed should have been his.” He pauses, then raises his eyes to meet yours meaningfully. “By his own father.”

His words take you aback, and you know he must notice your wide-eyed stare. “Marcus Aurelius?” you squawk in disbelief. “You knew the great Emperor?”

“Yes,” he replies, his face softening into a smile at the memory. You are shocked by the revelation, but his fond smile warms your heart after seeing his heavily burdened expression a moment ago.

He presses on, though his hand is now running softly over your shoulder, skimming over the top of your thin shift. “I was young when he took me under his wing,” he explains, eyes tracing the path his hand is making on your shoulder. “I had won some small battles, and he saw in me potential for greater things. He made me what I am today.”

He strokes your shoulder once, gently, then removes his hand, as though he cannot trust himself to keep touching you there. Again lifting his deep blue eyes to meet your gaze, he looks at you so tenderly, so affectionately, as he raises the same hand to tuck your hair behind your ear.

You want to melt, to close your eyes and sigh in pleasure at his simple touch, but you fight for your composure. “He must have been a great man,” you manage instead, meaning every word.

“He was the greatest man I have ever known,” he murmurs, stroking his fingers through your hair at your temple now. “He is the closest thing to a father that I ever knew.”

You have noticed how the man is drawn to your hair whenever you leave it down. He seems fascinated with it, with the way it cascades through his fingers when he cards them through it. His attentions are so gentle, so unobtrusive, as if he is unable to keep himself from simply admiring your beauty in this soft firelight.

“And that is why the Emperor envies you,” you observe to keep from losing your breath.

“Yes,” he answers quietly, his voice hardly above a whisper. “He believed that his father wanted to pass on his power to me.”

You nearly startle in surprise at his words. Not only the commander of the northern armies, not only a confidante of Marcus Aurelius, but the rightful future emperor himself?

You almost feel dizzy, though you’re not sure if it is from the shocking news or the way his fingers keep brushing your temple as he plays with your hair. “Did he?” you prompt him breathlessly, genuinely curious.

He ponders for several long moments, letting your hair stream between his fingers. You are entranced simply by looking at his features — his dark eyelashes, his sharp nose, the gentle creases by his mouth. He is so exquisitely lovely to you, so unaware of how deeply he affects you.

“I do not know,” he finally admits, tracing the side of your face before letting his hand fall back into his lap again. “He never told me.”

His words silence some of the shock you were feeling at wondering if you were in the presence of a man who was supposed to have ruled Rome. The thought of this man, this humble, honest, unpretentious warrior, ruling such a corrupt and conniving empire is almost unthinkable.

You are struck by the absence of his touch, and he seems hesitant to initiate any more contact now that he realizes how close he has drawn to you. He’s still watching you carefully, as if gauging your reaction to his touches, but you cannot resist reaching out to him now.

Your fingers seek out the necklace that hangs down to his chest, a simple cord bearing two wolf’s teeth on the end. You have never asked him about its origin. You handle it carefully, and the man barely breathes as your hand hovers over his chest.

“What would you have done if all this had never happened?” you ask softly, caught in the intimacy of this quiet moment. “Would you have been a soldier all your life?”

Your question is a heavy one, full of unspoken desire and curiosity. You can tell he senses that desire by the way his dark eyes burn into yours, by the way his chest rises and falls more quickly, as if you are taking his breath away just by touching his necklace.

He thinks for a few moments, still gazing deep into your eyes. “I always imagined I would die in battle,” he tells you, a hint of sorrow in his voice. “There seemed no other fate in store for me.”

Your heart tightens, and you let go of your loose grip on his necklace. Suddenly, all you want to do is touch him, to make contact with his body somehow. His words have struck a chord in your heart, reminding you how grateful you are that this world-weary soldier has come to your home, to your hearth, instead of falling on a battlefield hundreds of miles away.

With your pulse racing, you press your hand flat against his chest, splaying your fingers over his heart. Even through the fabric of his nightshirt, you can feel his heart pounding like a war drum, perfectly in rhythm with your own.

Oh, how you long to press your heart against his, to be wrapped up in his arms, so thoroughly tangled with his body that you cannot tell where you begin and he ends.

His breath comes more quickly now, his lips parted and his eyes scorching yours with a hunger that stirs your blood.

“But,” he begins in a hoarse whisper, his gaze flickering down to your lips and then back up, “I did imagine, sometimes…” He pauses, licks his lips again, takes a slow breath, “that if I did have a chance to grow old… I might…”

He halts again, his voice dying in his throat. You press your palm more firmly against his chest, and his heart skips a beat beneath your hand. You can feel his skin burning hot under his shirt.

“Tell me,” you whisper, and a look of unadulterated desire flashes across his face.

He leans close to you, close enough that his breath skims over your lips. “That I might one day have a home,” he breathes. “A family.” He sighs softly, the longing in his voice especially evident. “A life of peace always seemed… unlikely.”

The hesitation in his words is palpable, and suddenly his own larger hand is covering yours, pressing it tight against his chest. You realize that he is relishing your touch the way you relished his a moment ago.

After holding your hand against his heart a moment longer, he grasps your hand in his, lifts it to his lips. Your own heart skips a beat now, when he presses a slow, languid kiss to the back of your hand.

“And now?” you whisper, breathless and tingling with need.

He breathes against your hand, slowly and calmly. “Now,” he echoes, his voice rumbling in your bones. “Now a life of peace seems impossible.”

No. No, he cannot mean that. He cannot still mean to leave you when his gentle eyes speak of the passion he holds for you.

“It does not have to be,” you insist, lifting your free hand to touch the side of his face. He actually sighs at your touch, his eyes fluttering closed. His lips are slightly parted, and it takes all your willpower not to lean forward and kiss him until he can breathe nothing but your name.

His eyes remain closed when he responds, your hand still cradled in his. “To believe otherwise would be foolish,” he tells you, though his voice is anything but resolute. “Dangerous.”

You stroke the side of his face tenderly, enraptured by the way he reacts to your touch. He seems so relaxed, so overwhelmed when you caress him gently. The thought suddenly strikes you that this man has probably never been touched this way — not as light as a feather, with such love and affection that he can feel it beating in rhythm with his heart.

When you brush your fingertips down his neck, over the sensitive skin of his throat, he makes a sound so soft, so unguarded, that you nearly come undone for him right there.

“Are you not well acquainted with danger?” you whisper, leaning in closer to him. He opens his eyes when he feels you drawing nearer, and his fathomless eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

You want him to stay. You want him to love you as you so desperately love him. You want him to never stop looking at you the way he is now.

And when you press your hand flat against the side of his neck, your gaze fluttering over every perfect feature of his face, his soul opens to you, and you see all the love you bear for him reflected deep in his own eyes.

“Yes,” he breathes, and he leans forward to close the few inches that separate your lips from his.

The first sensation that strikes you is his blood pulsing in his neck, hammering against your hand as you caress him. His own hand tangles in your hair, holding you in place while he presses his lips against yours.

There is no hesitation in this kiss, no second-guessing or reluctance. His lips move against yours in a rhythm so natural that you wonder if he has imagined this as many times as you have.

He tilts his head slightly to the side, drowning in your kiss like a dying man seeking air. You can feel the breath knocked out of your lungs, so unaccustomed to any attention as passionate as this. The man lifts his other hand to cradle your jaw, still kissing your lips, gently but insistently, over and over and over.

This is what heaven must be like, you realize distantly when his tongue slides against yours, every inch of your skin tingling in response. His undivided attention, his unashamed desire for you is so arousing, so delightful in every way.

You can feel your cheeks burning, your skin heating up, the longer his hands linger on your face and neck. His fingers stroke your jaw, and his other hand grips your hair just hard enough to hold you in place. He is still reveling in your kiss, still using his lips and tongue to draw out the softest moan you have ever made in your life.

As soon as he hears it, he moves his lips to press against the corner of your mouth, much as he did the first time he kissed you in the barn. He trails his lips down your jaw, peppering kisses on every inch of skin he passes.

Thoroughly excited by his kisses and touches, your mind is all too eager to provide any number of tempting images. When he dips his head to one side, lips touching the place where your jaw meets your neck, all you can imagine is the careful way he would undress you, lay you down, and make love to you, slowly and gently but passionately.

He drags his lips down your neck, his curious tongue coaxing another soft sound from you. Again, your mind flashes to all the ways he might use his tongue on you, all the places he could seek out and tease until you are so dizzy with pleasure that all you can say is his name, over and over.

Another press of his tongue, and it takes all your strength not to beg him to take you right here. You can imagine it so easily, the way he would grip your waist, your hips, the way you would wrap yourself around him and touch every inch of his bare skin if he would only give you the chance.

What would you not give to see him shudder in pleasure, to throw his head back and hold you tight as you cling to him and make him feel the same thing he ignites in you?

It’s at that moment that he whispers your name, tenderly, reverently, like a prayer, against the soft column of your throat. Your whole body shudders in response, your hands tightening where they have landed on his broad shoulders, and he finally fulfills what you have been aching for.

One strong arm wraps around your waist, the other around your upper back, and in the space of a breath the man has pulled you against him, leaning you to the side so that you are cradled in his arms across his lap.

You are suddenly very aware of how thin your shift is, of the way he must be able to feel every curve of your body pressed against him. His fingers are gentle where they wrap around your waist, and you feel with heightened awareness all the strength of his own body, all his powerful muscles and vigorous energy.

All you can do is sigh in pleasure as he keeps his head buried in your neck, still kissing your sensitive skin as though he cannot get enough of you.

You can barely take a breath, so overcome with the multitude of sensations he ignites in you. His hand flexes against your waist, and you respond in kind with your fingers digging into his back.

You have the distinct impression that the man is having to physically restrain himself from going further, that all he wants to do right now is yank open your shift and kiss his way down your bare body. As irresistible as that thought is, you let him take the lead, and he chooses to simply kiss you rather than ravish you.

He is a noble man, a man of honor, and though your body is aching for him to truly make you his, you take pleasure in his self-control, his respect for you.

His fervent kisses to your neck finally slow, and he breathes against your skin as though trying to memorize you. When he nuzzles his face against your neck, all you can do is close your eyes in absolute ecstasy. One of your hands finds its way into his hair, and it’s his turn to shiver with pleasure, pulling you even closer against his body and resting his lips against the curve of your neck.

He goes still in your arms when you stroke his hair, slowly and tenderly with your fingertips. Again, you are struck by his reactions to your gentle touches, by the way he melts into your arms as though overpowered.

Several long moments are spent in that position, with you cradled against his chest, his face against your neck. You would be content to stay like this all night, just listening to him breathe, feeling his heart beating against your side.

But the moment passes, as all moments do. Another crack of thunder shakes the house, and you can’t help but jump a little in his arms.

As if pulled out of his daze, the man smiles softly against your neck, strokes your back soothingly in a way that only serves to make you arch your body against his. A moment later, he lifts his head from the crook of your shoulder, letting his face brush against yours as you disentangle yourselves.

Though you have just spent the last few moments passionately embracing and kissing, and though both of you are still flushed and breathless with exhilaration, the following moment is not awkward. You do not look at each other as you part, but you can sense your own relief and contentment in him.

You do not know what will come of this. You do not know if he will stay much longer. But in a moment like this, with your lips still swollen from his kiss and your skin still burning from his touch, you feel as though no heartbreak can be as vast as this perfect fulfillment you feel with him.

You stand slowly, glad that you are not as unsteady as you feel, and you lift the kettle off the fire just to have something to do. You can feel the man’s eyes on you, though he does not speak.

“It is a fierce storm tonight,” you comment, almost without realizing that you are speaking. The silence between you was comfortable, but you long to say something, to know that he is still at ease with you.

He takes his time in responding, especially since you have your back to him. “Yes,” he says simply, his voice deep and husky.

Stars, how you want to hear that voice in your ear, in your bed, murmuring to you while you both reach the height of your shared pleasure.

You swallow hard to banish your intrusive thoughts. You move to set the kettle down in your cabinet and scramble to think of something else to say. Rain continues to pound against your roof, sending a slight chill through the air despite the warmth of the fire.

“Will you be warm enough tonight?” you ask over your shoulder, still conscious of his eyes burning into your back.

Again, he takes his time answering. “Yes,” he finally replies. “Will you?”

You let the question hang, still standing with your back to him. You hope he can understand your wordless answer, especially after sharing such an intimate moment.

The only warmth I crave now is the heat of your body against mine.

Still trying to avoid meeting his eyes, you half-turn to pick up your two empty cups from the table. Doing so makes you lean against the side of the little square table, and you notice with great surprise that it does not tilt dangerously to the side as it has for the last several months.

The table legs are perfectly even now, and you suddenly raise your eyes to look at the man squarely. He is gazing at you with the oddest combination of expressions — desire, contentment, admiration, sorrow, longing, affection, and several others you cannot name.

“You fixed my table,” you observe, genuinely struck by the kindness of his simple gesture. You don’t know when he did it, but sometime in the last few days he must have noticed the unsteadiness and taken the time to fix it somehow.

He holds your gaze for a long moment, and a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “It needed fixing,” he replies simply.

Your heart leaps into your throat, though you can’t say quite why. Despite the fact that just a moment ago you were wrapped up in his arms, sighing while he covered your neck with kisses, you are much more affected by his modest demonstration of kindness — fixing something of yours that was broken.

“Thank you,” you tell him softly, returning his small smile with all the warmth blossoming in your heart.

You finish your task, setting the two cups in the cabinet to be washed tomorrow. The storm outside has quieted somewhat, but you can still hear the constant pounding of raindrops on the roof and walls.

Quiet thunder rolls in the distance as you turn to look at the man again. He is still seated, leaning forward with his knees on his elbows, gazing at you curiously.

This is what you want: this man in your home, always, sharing your fire, sharing your space, looking at you as if you hold his heart in your hands.

The words spill from your lips before you can consider them. “My father always told me that a storm can make a person change their mind about anything.” You hear the significance in your own words, and you press on anyway. “He said it’s in their nature to bring about transformation.”

The man’s darkened eyes do not leave yours for a moment, and you hold his gaze steadily, wanting him to hear your unspoken plea.

Stay with me. Let me love you as I do in my dreams.

His face does not betray any decision, but his gaze is tender, filled with a weary longing. His eyes explore each feature of your face as gently as his fingers did a few moments ago.

“Perhaps I will listen to it for awhile, then,” he murmurs, and your heart sighs.

All is not lost. You must simply wait.

As you start towards the doorway that leads to your bedroom, you pause beside his chair. The man is looking up at you with eyes that melt you to your very soul. Overcome with your affection for him, you lift one hand and stroke the side of his face, smiling down at him fondly.

“Goodnight, general,” you whisper, and your heart whispers, Beloved.

Before you can drop your hand, the man wraps his fingers around it and brings it to his lips. An unhurried kiss to the back of your hand, one that sends another shiver down your spine, and he releases you. His eyes burn into yours, intense, ardent, yearning.

“Goodnight,” he whispers, and your heart hears his whisper, Beloved, long after you have slipped into the next room.

#i didn't read just a fic i felt like i was reading an alternative novelization #or the romantic part in a chapter of a valerio massimo manfredi - like historical novel take on the gladiator movie #gladiator 2000 #maximus decimus meridius #maximus x reader #Spotify

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rekino2114 · 8 months ago

Note

Could we get a full fem nanami x male reader fic

Visiting fem! Nanami at work

A/n:credit to Valerio Santos on pinterest for the art

"You did good yuji, go rest now"

"Thanks nanamin, you were so awesome too"

"I already told you not to call me that, plus I didn't do anything"

"You still look cool and you're so powerf-"

"Just go to your dorm"

Yuji saluted his mentor and sprinted off to his room while nanami sighed and started to exit jujutsu High, but she was stopped by an arm pressing on her shoulder

"Heeeeeeey nanami, how are you doing?"

"What do you want gojo?"

"What? Do I need a reason to talk to you?"

"What do you want?"

"*sighs* fiiiiine, soooo I might have taken a nap when I was supposed to fill the paperwork for a mission"

"I'm not helping you do paperwork"

"Come on, I thought we were friends"

"We're not friends and we never were"

"That hurt. Anyway, are you 100% sure?"

"Yes"

"Weeeeeel, that's too bad cause I already told Yaga I was gonna do them today"

"That's your problem"

"But you do have to do the paperwork for the mission you and yuji just did, right?"

"Yes, what about it?"

"Well, since you already have to do those, what's a few more?"

"............."

"I'll pay you"

"Alright, I guess I could buy my husband something with the extra money"

"Great I knew I could count on you"

"Just don't bother me anymore"

Nanami was opened her eyesto see gojo already halfway to the exit even before she could finish the sentence

"Sorry, what did you say? I can't hear you, thanks again"

The 7:3 sorceress sighed again before taking her dialing your number

"Hi, what's up honey?"

"I'm sorry to say this, but I'll come back home later today"

"Oh really?"

"Yes, unfortunately, gojo made me do his paperwork again"

"That's a shame, don't worry though, i understand, take your time, I'll be waiting for you"

"Thanks sweetie, you're always so understanding, I promise I'll be fast"

"There's no need for that. Like I said, I'll wait for you no matter how much time you take, I love you"

"Love you too hun"

Nanami stood in the hallway, smiling for a bit after the call ended. She then adjusted her tie and went to a different room to start working.

She was about halfway through the papers when she heard a knock on the door

"Come in"

She raised her head and was surprised to see you

"Y/n? What are you doing here?"

"I came to visit you, I thought you'd be bored doing all that work alone"

You then took out a sandwich from a bag you brought

"And I brought you lunch. You're probably very hungry now, right?"

"Thank you, I swear I have the best husband ever"

"And I have the best wife ever, now why don't you take a break and eat, I brought you your favorite sandwich"

Your wife smiled brightly and took the sandwich out of your hands before splitting it in 2 and giving you one of the parts

"You must be hungry too, take it"

"Thanks"

Before eating, nanami took a moment to look at your beautiful smile and lips before pulling you in a passionate kiss that you quickly reciprocated

"I love you so much my love"

"I love you too honey"

She stared in your eyes again, and you two began eating while standing close to each other, feeling your love grow even more.

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rei-ismyname · 22 days ago

Text

X-MEN #17 Review

"I am Magneto and I do not give speeches."

The X-Men vs fake X-Men rodeo in the snow continues as Xorn searches for Quentin and the twin rampages on Merle. There stands Magneto, full of gumption and dexies, the only thing between a monster and a town full of ingrates. 3K yap on and reveal the identity of another member, a D-lister Mags knows well. Spoilers for all issues and solicits of adjectiveless X-Men.

RIP The Marauder, probably

Surprise! Quentin ain't dead. I don't think a single person thought he was, but a few minutes rest will be great for his health especially after falling out of the sky. I'm not sure how I feel about technobabble making its way into X-Men, as we get a flashback to Quentin writing 'code' to protect his body when he's unconscious. It's something Jitter in Uncanny does occasionally when her powers give her technical mastery - the mall fight was especially egregious for just shouting medical terms that few readers could understand, let alone The Outliers. I think it mostly achieves the intended effect here, highlighting Quentin's impressive capabilities and the 'levelling up' he's been doing since Cyclops gave him a talking to back in issue #9.

Kid Omega has been yapping about his mighty brain for decades, so I'm happy to call it payoff for all the 'supercomputer/10 million thoughts a second' stuff. As someone who coasted without effort on natural ability then hit a wall hard in high school, it's a bit of a power fantasy to see that potential as unlimited. 'Hey brain, make my body do exactly this at exactly this time' even more so.

X-Men are like communists - they spend too much time fighting each other. The 3K X-Men accusing the real ones of being fake sellouts just makes that hit harder. Honestly I'm over this fight with the amount of combatants standing still. I know it's meant to be a delaying action preventing the X-Men from backing up Magneto, but a team vs team fight lasting 3 issues is decompressed to the point of barely moving. Feels like AvX or similar stalling in an eternal second act.

I figured out what seems off about Magneto - his angles! He's usually chiselled and angular, even gaunt at times. Rounded features looks odd on him. I'm not even nitpicking there, I just needed to elucidate the nagging feeling I've had. In a word, he looks ugly. I enjoy Stegman's pencils in general but Diaz does a better Magneto. Just quietly I'm a little salty that Uncanny is getting Valerio Schiti - they do a stupid hot Magneto and I'd love to see it again. Anyway, Mags sounds like a fool here, as he makes a speech about not making speeches. I hope he's lying, because this motherfucker gives so many speeches. They're one of his best features.

Heard you the first time dude.

Another is that he's a mutant menace, a term that's been thrown around a bit lately. Mags and the twin go at it but he's not trying to kill her and it's unclear if he actually could. Either way, when they speak Mags responds with cutting regret and an implicit challenge. With Quentin still knocked out there's nobody to counteract Cassandra Nova's influence on the twin. Cassandra refers to the twin as a '13 year old girl' so add 'forcing gender binary on a non-corporeal entity' to the list of her crimes.

You used to be somebody, man

It's implied that Nova is laying it on thick here, or otherwise the twin has a really good grasp of race war concepts and rhetoric. If it's the former, I think something is lost by Cassandra Nova giving them a script to follow and basically puppeting them. Mags is trying to appeal to agency - the ability to choose, and they're actually having a back and forth.

The twin repeating Nova word for word raises questions about the degree of agency as they smash Magneto, who was just answering the question. The hope spot of his words staggering them is brief but suggests that this crisis will eventually be solved non-violently. I do have to laugh at Mags getting called out for betraying mutantkind by driving a sentinel to protect flatscans, especially as it's Cassandra Nova saying it. There's a real opportunity to show how this propaganda sits with the mutant on the street, so to speak. These X-Men are very mutant focused yet Graymalkin still stands. They have a history of being establishment lackeys and beating down/imprisoning mutants who step out of line. They failed the Morlocks and Xavier killed Krakoa. It's not that simple but propaganda is a powerful tool especially when life sucks. Cassandra Nova might be the worst spokesperson there though - Genosha was not an act of mutant solidarity.

I love Ben Liu and Beast cheerleading Magneto. Get these boys some popcorn! Ben's finger pointing is unfair but hilarious, 'hooptie-ass sentinel' is not a phrase I expected to hear in the year of our DOOM 2025. Ben running off to help Magneto is a beat that really works, especially if you take Magneto's mentoring allusion seriously. We haven't seen Ben use his powers since issue #2, so anything can happen. The flipside is any kind of success is going to feel a bit unearned, but fuck it - jab my boy with dexies too and get out of the way!

Wyre talks a huge game with not a lot to back it up. I kinda want someone to kill him for being cringe, a sentiment Cassandra Nova seems to agree with. There's a production joke here - Mackay wanted to use Sabertooth for his role but he was killed off in Sabertooth War. Creed is certainly more impressive than this dipshit and Quentin has nightmares about the guy. It's a beat that can work, giving Wyre something to prove, but we'll see how that plays out. Right now he's delivering exposition and stating his feelings plainly like it's 1975. He's not alone in that...

Me too, Astra, me too.

We get a better look at 3K, as the third member is revealed to be... Astra. *sad trombone noises* If you're not familiar she's an old Magneto worshipper and the one who created Joseph, thrice, I think. Bit of a one trick pony, though she does teleport. I can't say that she's particularly interesting or threatening, but I do like her 'clone an army of Magnetos, sorry Josephs, and flip the magnetic poles' idea purely for its unhingedness. The idea that she keeps bringing it up is pretty funny, these meetings must be so tense. Like I said, one trick pony even if it is a great trick. Her being an F lister with minimal development might actually work in her favour, as aside from being obsessed with Magneto she's a blank canvas. That she was last seen in House of X #5 suggests that 3K itself is fairly new. If that's their #1 reason for not inviting Sinister they're idiots. Like there's a very good chance he'll subvert your project for himself even if you don't invite him - MF does mutant science crimes for breakfast lunch and dinner. He blew up the universe with cloning!

More interesting is 3K's agenda - mutant supremacy taken to the extreme end point. It's very blatantly a great replacement conspiracy theory, which is a really uncomfortable idea to put to print. Turning humans into mutants has been done a lot, though the proposed scale is new. Another way to look at it is 'give everyone superpowers, kill the rest' though we don't know why they want to do that. 'Hating humans' is pretty dull but maybe more will be revealed next issue when we find out who the chairman is. I wish they'd just get it out now, this slowrolling is tedious. I'm almost positive it will be the cliffhanger next time, but like, just fucking spit it out! Let's get the plot moving, yo! We've been fighting in the snow for 70% of the run at this point, just tell us who you are and do your thing. Some C-list genetics bad guy from the 90s/00s? Thought so. It took 17 issues to reveal Astra, for fuck's sake, which doesn't exactly hype me for who's under the helmet. At that point, why bother? Just get on with the plot.

Magik's Soul Sword keeps getting wider, right?

In a lot of ways these 3K X-Men and their masters are The Brotherhood of Evil Mutants with some ORCHIS scraps and a bigger budget. Extremists coming at the X-Men with accusations of failing mutants is one of the oldest X-Men tropes in existence. It can be interesting, but it needs to have something to say. I want to see a pamphlet on their beef or something, see if they've got anything fresh or if they're just another extremist mutant group. The thing is that a mutant who decided 'fuck humans. I'm done with these genocides' is a pretty reasonable position right now. Fighting the X-Men like every other group before? Not so much. Go destroy Graymalkin or something, you know? If you really want to show the X-Men how it's done, do that. Do their job better.

Ben spearheads Jen flying Piper to her mother, ideally to help convince the twin to cut it out. It's a solid plan, though there's a very high chance she gets reduced to a smear real quick. Mama Cobb is a mutant hater and is culpable for this mess, and she's terrified. We'll see how that wraps up next time, or maybe the issue after that with this fucking pacing. It's great to see Ben and Jen coming into their own, and Beast looks like he'll have to fight Wyre. The greasy weirdo has snuck into their base, and while it'd be great for Beast to fuck him up I kinda hope Glob bonks him with a frying pan or something. Why not both? Solicits have told us that agent fuckface comes to jail Scott in the wake of this second Iron Night, and something about Revelation/the artist formerly known as Doug Ramsey, I think. That sounds fun, I just wish it didn't take so long to get there. Not out of impatience, I just object to the padding and repetition plus slowrolled mysteries that don't land. Or impact the plot/characters even. That's probably not happening, so this book will remain fun but very frustrating.

Also... Why is Tom Brevoort answering all the letters for this book and Uncanny? That strikes me as really weird. Really fucking weird. Does that seem odd to anyone else? We're still seeing letters about Raid on Graymalkin and Chuck Hunt, all answered by TB. If I was writing anything and the editor was handling the forward-facing fan interaction in a book with my name on it I'd be like 'all due respect but what's the deal here? Maybe stay in your lane.' He is the 'conductor of x' but this feels like clearing the orchestra to be applauded solo. I admit I'm super biased against him but it really sticks out to me.

Thanks for reading and much love! 💓

#x men #x comics #cyclops #magneto #3k #cassandra nova #beast #quentin quire #xorn #astra #reviews #jed mackay #marvel #comics #tom brevoort

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martyrsex · 1 year ago

Text

Jason Todd x female reader

Summary: You pissed him off more than anyone else in the world. With your killing, with the dirty job you do. The truth is, you asked for what was coming for you. And he was more than happy to deliver.

Warnings: SHORT SMUT (it's not super long.) dirty talk, degradation, very mean Jason

Disclaimer: english is NOT my first language, so probably there are mistakes. Feel free to correct me.

Your heels collide against the floor of your apartment. It was a nice place — expensive, full of luxuries that you were able to provide yourself with. You were proud of yourself, really. Accomplishing so much in such a little age. You know how people see you. How your friends perceive you. A rich heir, a daddy’s girl. Little do they know you are your own daddy, or whatever the phrase is. It doesn’t matter.

Little do they know that you kill people for a living. You’re such a sweet girl. So polite and happy. You snicker, thinking about the idiots the surround you. None of them realize your little disfarce. They think you truly are the innocent, charming little girl that makes everyone love her. It’s almost irritating, how nobody ever sees the real you. They don’t seem to realize the person behind the smile, the killer behind the delicate body.

You grab a cigarette, lightning while sipping a Blue Label from an elegant glass of whiskey. Observing Gotham lights from your giant window, that extends from your feet towards the roof. Your office, inside your penthouse apartment. Today, today was a good day. Today you deserved a Blue Label. Nothing more; it wasn’t good enough for a Macallan Valerio 1926, even if you do have the bottle. But it was good enough for a Blue Label.

So you drink, and appreciate the view of Gotham. Gotham, that provides you with so much opportunities. It’s not a city for everyone. Hell, it isn’t the best city for almost anyone. But for you? Gotham was perfect just as it is. Dirty, rough and wicked.

Today is going to be a good night, you think. You couldn’t know how right you were.

Finally. He was finally able to track where that bitch lives. Jason is not one that usually delivers those kind of offensive words towards women. In reality, that’s his line. He is okay with murder, hell, he is one, but misogyny is the line for him. But you. You deserve every single bad word he can thinks of. He despises you.

Six months ago, a bunch of killings started to happen in the higher classes of Gotham. Entrepreneurs being killed at cold blood, for no clear reason. Then, his own targets started to come down too. The crime lords, the drug lords, the sex traffickers, all coming down, one by one. He thought it was a good thing. Someone else is also doing the job. He didn’t felt jealous his targets were being taken down by other hands. Hell, he was happy.

But those who remained, the criminals that remained, those weren’t being taken down. They were growing, expanding their business. And then he thought they would be over too, if not by his hands, by the hands of whoever that was ending everyone with such ability. But it wasn’t the case. He realized, maybe too late, that there were specific man who had protection.

With a quick research of his own, asking the right questions at the right contacts, he found out. It wasn’t a vigilante who was ending the criminals or the business man. It was a hired assassin.

And he knew he had to take you down when you started killing innocent people for money. When it wasn’t just the douchebags anymore. It was just rich people, being killed because your clients wanted to take over the money or the business. Does he have a huge amount of sympathy for rich snobs? No. But an innocent is an innocent. And he wasn’t letting that slide.

But you had a pattern, he realized. No women or children. Those were not killed. Mostly, your victims were rich, white man. It doesn’t make it any less worst for Jason. Well, maybe a little, but even so, he needs to take you down. But what really pissed him off is not the work you do. What pisses him off the most is how your always, always one step ahead of him.

But not anymore. He was finally able to track your home, after three months of search. Gotham is a huge city, and you hid your tracks so well he didn’t even know your name till now. He never saw your face. He just knows you’re a woman. And now, where you live. Well, he expects he is right about it, because if he isn’t, he’s going to invade an extremely wealthy apartment and that might cause problems.

So he just hopes his informants were right.

You were inside your bathtub, big enough for ten people, reading a deliciously smutty book and drinking red wine. You didn’t have much time for romance in your life, unfortunately. So you read books, that deliver you a tingling sensation in the pit of your stomach. Your hair was up in a bun, showing your elegant features.

Jason enters the apartment through the window of one of the living rooms. The sight of the luxurious apartment, bought with the blood of innocent people, disgusted him. He stepped carefully, observing the surroundings. The light was off. Maybe you were out working or attending to a ball. He knew you did that a lot. He gets into one of the corridors, and realizes there is no one in this floor. But there is stairs in the end of the corridor, and he goes up to the second floor.

The second floor is just as big as the first, and every light is off. He enters inside another living room. No — a library. Then at a second kitchen, a cinema room, and a lot of another stupid luxuries that he didn’t give a shit about. But there is a room he didn’t check already, and he opens the door. Big bed. A piano inside the room. More walls filled with books and paintings. Very elegant, cozy.

He notices then, a small light coming from under a door. He grabs his gun, and with no second thought, opens the door forcefully, making it slam on the wall. He points the gun at you, that is still inside the ridiculously big bathtub, full of bubbles. You close your book and stares at him, and then he stares at you, and for one second Jason truly believes he is in the wrong place, because there is no way a woman with that face could be a hired killer.

But then you smile. “Jason Todd. Came here to join me?”

A chill runs down his spine. How the fuck did you know about his identity? He tries not to demonstrate how shaken he is by your revelation.

“Get out of the tub. Hands up in the air where I can see.” He says, his voice cold. It sends a chill down your spine.

“That’s not a proper way to treat a lady, you know. I’d like some privacy.” You say, voice sweet like venom.

“Pity. Hands up.” He insists on the matter, gripping his gun tighter, his finger on the trigger. This woman is dangerous and he knows it. A single moment of inattention, she can end him like a snake.

You chuckle, and stands up, the bubbles and foam running down your exposed body. You step cautiously out of the tub, not really mind the fact that he could see your whole body in full display. Your mind is worried with a different thing: just how the hell you will get out of this situation.

You could kill him, yes. It would be harder than your usual target, but you both are inside of your home. He’s in your territory. Even if he’s the one holding the gun, you still have the upper hand; you just need to distract him enough to catch one of your daggers.

But the truth is, you don’t really wanna kill him. Yes, he’s been a pain in the ass the last six months. But he was a good man. You respected that, eve if you’re not good yourself.

"At least be a gentleman and handle me that towel." You say, pointing at the towel hanging close to where Jason stands. He thinks for a moment. Maybe it's a trick. But you are indeed naked, and he feels a little bad exposing a woman at an arrest while being completely naked.

So he turns around slightly to grab the towel, and that's all the time you need to burst running through the bathroom door. As soon as he realizes he curses loudly and goes after you, but you already caught a dagger that was in a counter.

He thinks about shooting you, that would make it all easier. But something inside his guts doesn't allow him to. So he keeps pointing at you, a dagger in your hand, and you're ready to strike.

The chill of the cold air makes shivers run down your naked body. you're still dripping wet, the bun now undone, your hair falling down till it's complete length.

Jason catches his breath. You were beautiful. He was working though, no time to get distracted by skin. Even if it is the most perfect thing he ever seen.

"Drop the weapon and get into your knees. Or I'll shoot." He says, coldly.

"I wouldn't shoot me if I were you. You'll create enemies I don't think you're interested in." You reply, and you're not bluffing.

You're crazy, he realizes. To burst towards him while he is holding a gun. He missed, yes, but he could have shot you accidentally is some vital place, and he doesn't want that either. You're nuts.

"On your knees. Now." He says, almost barking. Before he can say anything else, you strike forward. He shoots, but misses. In the meantime, you are able to draw a deep cut in his arm.

He hisses at the cut in his forearm, and you're about to deliver another one to his chest, but he grabs your wrist , shoving you against the wall. He is physically stronger than you, so you'll need to get out of the situation in another way.

"Be fucking quiet." He says, when you open your mouth to say something. You smirk, staring at him.

He can't help but feel attracted towards you, completely bare against that wall, his hand holding your wrists upon your hand. He looks at you and an urge to fuck you right there gets him.

Because he hate you, he really does. Even more now that you managed to play him for a fool. He hates you, and he hates that you're so hot, so tempting. He hates that he can't help but stare at your tits, or notice how small you look compared to him, and how tight you would be.

And he hates it even more because he knows he can't.

"You want me, don't you?" You say, noticing his silence. It's just a whisper. But you have a smile on your face. And then he knows, you want it too.

But you're still a damn assassin who needs a lesson. And he's glad to give it to you.

He grabs your hair, and with force shoves you into the ground, on your knees in front of him. You frown, looking up at his face. You try to stand up again, but he point the gun at you.

"Stay quiet." He says, his voice breathy. God, is he really going to do this? Yeah. Fuck it. He can see it in your eyes. You desire him too.

So with his other hand he starts to undo his belt, letting in fall on the floor. He opens his zipper, and without shame or regret he pulls his cock out, pumping slowly.

Your eyes widened. Okay. This wasn't what you were expecting, but it's way better than be arrested. So you go for it.

You open your lips, inviting him. He doesn't lose time, shoving his whole length down your throat, making you gag. He still points a gun to your head with one hand, the other moving your head, his balls hitting your chin every single time.

"Fuck- you should quit your job as an assassin, ya know? You're way better like this." He says, mockingly. You get irritated, and tries to push him away to do some snarky comment, but he pulls you into his hips again, making you close your eyes.

You relax your jaw and your throat, and lets him facefuck you. He grunts, you gag, and you don't know for how long the whole ordeal went, but suddenly he grabbed your hair again and pulled you up, his cock slipping out of your mouth with a pop.

"Turn around." He says, harshly.

"Fuck off-" you try to say, even when you feel your legs trembling at his hot, dominant tone.

He scoffs, the sound lightly different because of his mask, and with a pull on your arm makes you turn around. He grabs your ass and open it, kneeling behind you, observing your pussy.

"You're wet. Pathetic slut." He says, and stands up again. He doesn't waste time and shoves himself inside of you, making you moan softly. He was so big, and the stretch was so painfully delicious.

He starts to fuck you like you're a toy, not slowing down and not really giving a damn about your pleas. He grabs your throat, forcing your back against his chest, your breasts tightly pressed against the wall.

"Shut your mouth and take it like the good whore you are." He says in your ear, making irritation grow inside of you. You try to think about something clever to say back to him, anything really, but you can't.

All you can think about is how he hits all the sweet spots inside of you, making you squirm. He slaps your ass, grip tight in your throat.

"God- slow down-" You manage to say.

"Shh. I said for you to be quiet and take it." He says, slapping you again, harder this time.

He gets out of you, and throws you on the bed. You try to create some distance between you two, but he grabs your ankle and pulls you back into him. Not giving you time to think before he slaps your abused cunt.

You let out a little scream, trying to close your legs. No point in it. He forces them open, observing the wet mess that you are.

"Maybe I won't arrest you, after all. Maybe I should keep you to myself. As my personal slut. What do you think?" He whispers, and puts his dick back into you. You moan, unable to respond, too focused in getting fucked.

His hips slam against you, reaching a point so deep no one ever reached before.

"Jason- oh God-" You say, hands going to his shoulders, bringing him closer.

He chuckles, one hand going between your bodies to pinch your clit. You arch your back at the soft pain, moaning.

"You like that? You like being fucked like a whore?" He asks, giving you a little slap on the face. It's not hurtful, just a reminder of who is in charge.

And you find yourself nodding, too lost in the pleasure.

The pleasure is like a wave, with each thrust of his hips you find yourself moaning louder, almost shouting his name. He takes his mask off, and kisses you, his tongue invading your mouth and tasting your lips.

He moves positions again, putting you on all fours. It keeps going for a long time, your eyes rolling up your skull, one of his hands on your ass and the other one grabbing your hair, pulling your head backwards.

"Fuck- you're tight for a whore-" He says, chuckling.

"That's because I'm- oh- I'm not one!" You say, irritated.

"Oh, you don't like me calling you a whore? What about my little whore? Sounds better?"

You clench around him, because yes, it does sounds better. He notices and chuckles again, a little breathy, but still able to talk.

"That's what I thought."

After everything, he did actually arrest you. He gave you time to put your clothes on, the gun always pointed. But it doesn't matter. You'll be free in two days, and you both know that.

And Jason finds himself... excited about the thought of your freedom.

__________________________________________________

the smut was a little shorter than what I planned, but I intend on doing more of this type of fics. with more smut. hehe.

#jason todd #jason todd reader #batfamily #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd deserves better #jason todd x you #jason todd blurb #jason todd fluff #jason x reader #jason todd smut

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ewingstan · 3 months ago

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I know it's been beaten to death how much worse Western superhero comics tend to be at action compared to manga. But what I don't understand is how much Western comics seem to need a punch-out within every issue. It's as if the creators are convinced an issue's readers will set it down and never pick up a comic again if they don't include a shot of a hero getting punched into a wall, or give a busy action shot of characters with fists rigidly in the air somewhat close to another person's turned cheek. In a genre that has undergone a massive shift towards being more plot-and-character-driven over the decades, why are they still insisting on spending so much page-space on fights?

It's not like such kinetically-focused artstyles are impossible to replicate; Zack Morrison has shifted to an almost completely text-based medium, but the scarce illustrations in each page accompanying the text still do a better job at showcasing interesting action with real weight and motion than the best of an average 24-issue run.

And it's not like the artists at work at the big 2 are just worse, they do have their strengths, and strengths that the superhero medium is uniquely suited to fill. I love Valerio Schiti, R. B. Silva and Pepe Larraz's poses and anatomy, or Kris Anka's detailed and fantastical character design.

(Side note: while the costumes and inhuman bodily features allow for way more interesting designs than most genres, big 2 artists outside of Anka still insist on hampering their own possibility space by limiting themselves to one body shape per gender. It's maddening.)

But while all those artists can use those skills well, and can even employ them well in fight scenes, they're almost never good as fight scenes. They're usually only good as "having this character in a fight allows me to draw them in a cool pose swinging a sword," not as "this allows me to convey a sense of motion, weight, and power behind each blow in an interesting way."

An example: I love this panel by Pepe Larraz in Powers of X of a dramatic fight scene within a larger montage:

But for all it's impressive composition, it doesn't really convey any more real sense of motion than his drawing of a statue:

All this to say that while action scenes can have their uses within Western comics, they probably shouldn't be used to fill long stretches of an issue. Why not write the books so that the artists can play to their strengths?

Now, I'll say the one thing that modern Western comics tend to be good at is the "victory through clever and unexpected use of powers" trick. This has always been the most satisfying for me, and something that artists are usually able to deliver on well. I previously wrote about "Jojo-style" action scenes in comparison to "Berserk-style" scenes of people hitting each other for page after page, and I think the comparison is especially apt here—whereas they don't seem to be able to convey the same visual flourishes which allow panel #3024 of "Guts cuts a guy in half" interesting, the western superhero artist certainly seems to have cool effects and dramatic reaction shots as part of their toolbox.

But even these are almost inevitably preceded by a mandatory boring punch-out. Jojos didn't bother with normal fistfights! They just say "you can't punch this guy. for reasons. figure out how to beat him at video games." Doesn't waste my fucking time!

#mals says

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valentine-cafe · 4 months ago

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last one for today. promise. 🥺

(valerio, vampire au, trans masc reader) frequenting the bar for some occasional fun, your eyes always seemed to latch onto valerio. he was a regular, as were you, but... you never seemed to interact much, he seemed intimidating.

eventually you got the courage to sit right next to him the next time you came in. and it happened again, and again. soon you became casual acquaintances, he was a lot less intimidating than you thought, and you began to understand the subtle emotions and intent he meant with his words as time went on. slowly but surely, you began feeling affection for him, but you weren't exactly sure what to do with it. sure you guys had some tension, but he was Alessio's father, and easily 25 years your senior, that'd be a little.... awkward.

well, everything ended up changing one time when you were drinking with him. unfortunately, you were being careless and not watching your drink while being all buddy buddy with valerio, maybe flirting just a little.. while you were distracted, someone slipped something into it. you noticed much too late, valerio had left to use the restroom, the drug kicked in and the man next to you tried to snatch you up and drag you out. you were nearly powerless to stop him. "h-hhh--" it was hard to even speak, thank god that he noticed and took action before who knows what would've happened. after all was said and done with, you couldn't help but hopelessly cling on yo him. "mm...h-help- I'm... h-hot, it's weird...." you'd whimper to him, trying not to make him uncomfortable, but the feelings were almost painful being unsatiated. the unfortunate side effect of the drug (unrelated to muscle weakness and dizziness) was that of an aphrodisiac. you wanted the touch of that man off you, have it covered, have the sweltering heat stemming from between your legs dealt with, and have it done fast...

valerio was just the right man to do it.

(i keep like totally overdoing these rqs and I am so sorry skandkzmnsnxjd we deserve to fuck the damn dilf immediately but I want backstory waaahh TwT)

˖⁺. “ drunk hazes !? ” :

﹙ top vampire hunter x bttm t.male reader ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . vampire au valerio x t.male reader !! 🍓 : ﹙ vampire hunter ˖ dilf character ﹚

you've always found the retired hunter quite attrative. so after a night in the bar, you consider getting a bit more bold. unfortunately for you, it seems someone slipped something into your drunk . . .

﹙ cws ﹚: explicit content ˖ spiked drink ( not by val ) ˖ rough sex ˖ penetrative sex ˖ bone-rpone ˖ creampie ˖ manhandling ˖ overstim ˖ age difference ˖ reader has afab genitals bc historic au | wc : 1.8k

﹙ receipts ﹚: lucieenn! gonna tag you here so you see this <3 @sanguinehoney

꒰ other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore ꒱

Blurry, so much noise. Too much noise.

The pair of pretty peepers in your pounding skull turn to take in the surroundings of the bar. People yell for the man to 'fuck out of the bar'. Beating him up to a pulp until he himself is unable to walk. Forced to crawl out of the bar instead.

See what it's like to be incapacitated in the way you are, laid in the vampire hunter's arms. Breath raspy and heavy.

As you slink your head to the side, vision wobbly like your movements. Lungs stagger when bright emerald eyes meet your own. Your brain processes everything so slowly. With only the exception that you flick to states of nausea that throws you into a state of mind where the world spins so fast, you fear you will die.

"Val-" You hiccup, a hand extended to his shoulder so that you may attempt to cling onto something once more. Speech slurred as you repeat some of your previous words. Alas what coherence can they be compared to?

Shame was a bird that has long since flown out the window, and you struggled with a different problem now that made you desperate to get the touch of the previous man off of you. Feel something, anything to remove the phantom hands that grope and feel you up.

"I know. Fuck— Just stay here with me," he grunts back, resting a hand on your forehead to feel for any sort of rise or drop in temperature.

The last thing needed was for an unfortunate soul like yours to pass away in the cold conditions of the reality outside of the bar.

Suddenly a weight pulls at your shoulders slightly. His large winter coat drops on top of you and is curled around your body. Only for his heavy cape to follow.

Quiet whines falter his expression, hooded eyelids shift as he looks back down at you, eyes barely open yet just enough to keep you in his vision.

"S okay. C'mon, we're gonna get you out of here." His deep-voiced croon passes through your ears. Finally, some words seem to make sense in your ears.

You try to nod, yet you're not sure if you even shift your head in the slightest. It's hard to feel yourself.

Sweep and stand. You feel the shift in gravity as the man pulls you into his arms and stands up to march outside

Cold air bathes the both of you. Face bitten by the harsh frost whereas the man carrying you feels the harsh cold grip onto his biceps and forearms. To which it tears through fabrics with ease the second it kisses against his skin that would have you jealous if not for the fact you had no idea you were currently wrapped in his robes.

Yet despite the circumstances he takes it all in a tight hand and continues to walk. Homebound be the both of you.

Only halfway through the walk to his home. With you still in his arms. Do you notice he lacks his coat and cape. "Why. . . why aren't you wearing, your coat." You manage.

"You're wearin 'em."

The little scoff makes you look down at yourself.

He spoke true, you wore his attire indeed. How could your brain have processed that far anyway. His gestures were ones of concern and they fluster you to the grave, you swear. Laid in his arms with lightheadedness and fluster that clash and collide with the drugs that throw your system into disarray

What remains of the walk home blurs in and out of your vision. Each path, street, parts of the snowstorm.

None of it stuns Valerio's determination nor his pace. He wanders through the storm as though it was any other day.

The warmth of his home stings at your cold face most uncomfortably and draws a little noise of discomfort or two out of you.

Meanwhile he melts into the heat and lays you down on the bed with a hushed groan. Rids you of his cape and coat. Following along soon after is your own robes. Until you were bare before the man above you. Yet in no way did he look at you with lust.

"Where did he touch?" He asks quietly. Gently brushing your hair back to calm your muscles.

"Everywhere. . ."

Each small sound of a weep triggers something inside of the man. The hunter should have killed the other guy instead. The disgust is almost too much to handle.

But when you look into his emerald hues, they sink into concern once more, if not to immediately return to their stoic gaze as you know them as. He wants to show you he stays strong for you.

With the small click of his tongue he leaves you in hides and blankets to fuel the fire of the fireplace. Grab a mug.

His movements are swift. He's home, he's in his element. It's facsinating to see. Yet even so, you notice a certain tensity in his shoulders. You suppose that a vampire hunter always needs to be prepared. .

Oh god, Alessio doesn't live here at home anymore right? You don't have to have to live through the awkward moment to him arrived at home to see his father with you right?

Caught up in your thoughts you notice not valerio, as he makes his way over to you with a mug of tea. Not until sis calloused, warm and veiny big hands take yours in his and dwarf them to pass over the ceramic. Crooning: "Drink."

You look up at him with big eyes, blink a few times and take the cup, hands barely able to lift themselves. So the pair wrapped around them aid them in the task of strength.

Sweet tea moves down your throat to do its work and clears your head up just slightly. Suppose it must be a remedy of sorts, because, ever so slowly your vision lessens in the blur it was caught up in and you are able to take in the dimly lit surroundings of his abode.

Dark oaken walls and floors, and an atmosphere full of the scent of spices from foreign lands. Tapestries woven intricately hung upon the walls. Old. One unfinished on awaiting a weaving it will never recieve.

Focus moves back to him. Your swollen pair of lips part to take in another sip of the warm beverage inside of the cup. Although it takes the top of the nausea off, it comes nowhere near close to cure out the drugs that sear away at your abdomen and between your legs.

Such an uncomfortable feeling, gods. You'd do everything right here and now to get the touch of the previous man washed off, and feel something else to distract you from the discomfort.

"Valerio."

Breathlessly you grab onto him and let out a small sob, eyebrows furrowed in an attempt to help you focus on proper formulation of your next words.

"I still feel him, Valerio please can't you help?"

"You sure you want this?" He whispers in response, voice gruff. Gaze full of question and in need of answers. You've never seen him so serious. Which says a lot, he is always serious. Under these circumstances you were not surprised though. But the stinging and the heat is too unbearable to take.

"I want— I want it to stop, Please."

"I don't want to take advantage of you like this."

"I need you"

So much desperation. There is so much desperation in your voice and he doesn't know what to do. He wants to help you. He just wished it wasn't in this way the two of you would be together. Fuck, you look amess.

Though despite his own internal conflict, with a clenched jaw and a simple shift next to you, he takes off his shirt and rids himself of his pants. There's no time to waste at all. The bed dips at his heavier weight. His athletic physique flushes against you quick, heated kisses trailing down your throat. While his hands cascade onto your waist like hot water.

Small gasps emit from your throat, as your hands shoot up to grip at whatever they can find to weakly hold onto.

A large thumb moves to brush across the scars below your chest. Trace at the beauty that has been hidden from him for so long. Before he guides it to your nipple. Circling the perky pebble to draw a few noises out of you.

"Prettiest boy I've ever fuckin' seen. 'Nd this is how the first time has to go." He sounds bitter, as much as he tries to sound loving. He sounds bitter.

This was in no way the way he had intended for the two of you to be with each other for the first time. You had a little bit of experience, he knew that much. The two of you had spoken about it briefly before. Yet it still bothered him. Circumstances considered. He'll have to make up for it again whenever you've recovered.

His left hand glides up your waist. Tickling away at the soft skin before he gently grips at the plush to guide you below him a little more.

The weight of his large dick sends shivers up and down your spine, as it grinds down against your boy pussy. The tip of it does not miss a single flutter and slight squeeze of your throbbing hole as it teases at the entrance to collect all of the slick and arousal your body has been producing the past 30 minutes.

What delightful noises and gasps you give him though, each time his tip catches against the hard pearl between your legs your hips buck feverishly.

"Valerio please—"

"I know-, I know baby I know. 'M sorry, just prepearin' ya. . ." He grunts. Dick lined up to your hot hole.

As he spouts his small reassurances to you when he starts entering, rough fingers move down to rub away at the sensitive clit that has awaited him to join it in the dance of pleasure you arch your back and let out the most pathetic whimper you've ever heard escape your lips.

"O- Oh m—m-mygod--!! A-Ahh hah."

Moans disperse any silence that dared remain.

And the walls greedily soak in them after the lack of years of such noises sung to them.

Valerio's large dick slowly sinks itself into you before he makes a slow paced thrust to aid your walls adjust to him and mould with each vein and the size.

The second you start to squirm from the slight overwhelm of the pangs of pleasure, he in turn puts his weight down on you to prevent any running away, his arms wrapped around your smaller body, hands feeling you up. While the pace gradually builds

"Valeri-oh!"

"Doing- hah doing good, amore. Don't. . . mngh. . . don't run from it."

Angling his hips, his hard dick starts to plunge into your sensitive walls the second it bottomed you out, in search for the spots that sends you into the delirious and pleasured state your body desires to be in.

Each thrust trades a moan out of you, legs spread far apart by his. Chest heaving, only to stutter when his nipples begin to rub against yours. The friction slacks your jaw and rolls at your eyes and sends you straight to the sky high up above.

Squelches join your erotic noises soon enough. Caught in a dance with the slap of your skin, his groans, your moans. What beautiful symphony the both of you create when you're together.

The feel of his hard cock kissing your cervix over and over is something that has haunted your dreams for weeks now, you thought briefly you would never have the chance to try it and yet here you are below him. You admit, a part of you was worried too that he'd think it was weird considering the gap between the two of you.

You had no clue of the nights where he jerked off to the thought of you. The image of your legs spread, lips parted and moans ringing in his ears, has had him cream himself over and over. He'd deny himself entry to ever tell it to you. . . Maybe one day, but not today.

"Mind if I move you onto your front?" He pants heavily in your ear. Each thrust remains the same, calculated plunge. It never slows down, even when he talks to you now. Drawing out moans from you like it was his job.

"M-Mm— n-no, a- ahh, val— v-va—"

Squeals dance around the room as he lifts his weight off of you momentarily and pulls out of you to flip you onto your front. Pin you down against the mattress and put you into the bone prone as before.

Fucking hell, how much has he been spilling inside of your pretty boy pussy?

Streaks of cum cling onto his tip and trail down to your messy hole, that soon hugs around his large length once more and sucks it in with happy welcome.

"Look at how he's flutterin' f'me." The man grunts against your ear and lands a harsh slap onto your right ass cheek, graciously steals a yelp from you like it's nothing. Before you know it his dick angles once more and suddenly starts roughly fucking into one of the sensitive bundles of nerves that had waited for him to tend to them.

The prominent vein on the underside of his dick and the tap of his balls against your ass sends you into a state of cock drunk, fucked out bliss. Boy pussy squirting cum mixed with his. That seems to spill and shoot inside of you like it is nothing.

His lungs stutter each time. Your pretty hole nurses away at his dick so well, the same his large member fucks away at you and treats you to the best fucking of your life. Hitting all of the spots it needs to. You've forgotten everything about why you were here in the first place.

Your walls flutter around him, and you feel your lungs and their slow betrayal on you, as you try to catch your breath in the messy pace the two of you have going on.

"V—Val- I'm, I'm gonna — u-um!"

Cry out you do, and it sounds like the bliss of the world all at once. So much so the man in all of his determination to make you feel good moves his hand below your body to rub hard and quick paced circles on your clit and press down on it a few times to encourage the oncoming orgasm to wash over you faster.

"Come on. That's it, pretty boy— Pretty pretty pretty boy, let me give it to ya." The deep rasp of his voice and the sloppy thrusts of his hips is more than enough for you to break into cries and moans as the orgasm washes over you.

"More!" You whine into his forearm, biting onto the skin while you sob and moan along to the rhythm. "M— more please!"

"Gonna give you 's much as you need— hah"

A gasp abruptly interrupts your moan, as you feel his cock shoot a heavy load of cum into you. His own orgasm washes over him. Strands of hair clinging to his forehead from the sweat, as he continues to fuck into you hard. Fingers roll the pretty pearl around intact to the desperate grinds and thrusts.

"Ain't— Ain't fuckin stoppin' soon I promise ya that. . ." His hands pick you up and manhandles you into a leapfrog position. Hips jackhammering into you, and you thought he couldn't get any faster. Your body shakes with pleasure and overwhelm.

The feel of your velvet walls fluttering and squeezing around him once again is enough to send him off into another flurry. Oh he's gonna come back here definetely.

He's not giving this pretty boy up to anyone.

﹙ taglist. ﹚: | get tagged for specific posts

﹙ tip jar. ﹚: like our work? consider suporting us 𖹭

#﹙ cupcake rush. ﹚: vampire au 𖹭 ݁#male reader #teratophillia #terato #monster boyfriend #monster fucker #monster x reader #vampire hunter x reader #oc x reader #original character x reader #x reader #x male reader #monster oc #reader insert #vampire au valerio #asterism vampire au #asterism

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lovedivers · 1 year ago

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" from the bottom of my heart "

💌 ⤻ the obsessed archives, where you should be scared.

requests: open.

THE CEO, ADRIAN HOUDE.

♡ Terms and Conditions Apply. — THE CEO x Fem! Reader ⤻ introductory post of THE CEO.

♡ He'll wear anything you make. — THE CEO x GN! Reader ⤻ when Adrian catches you using him as your muse. [ask.]

♡ A Gentleman's Confronation. — THE CEO x GN! Reader ⤻ you're his to claim, especially after he realises you're horrid just like him. [ask.]

♡ A Rich Man's World. — THE CEO x Fem! Reader ⤻ let him spoil you.

THE CHEERLEADER, KATIE WILLIAMS

♡ L-O-V-E! That's how she feels about you! — THE CHEERLEADER x GN! Reader ⤻ introductory post of THE CHEERLEADER.

♡ Rejection is never the end. — THE CHEERLEADER x GN! Reader ⤻ if you think you having a girlfriend will stop her, think again. [ask.]

THE BASEBALL PLAYER, JESPER HARGREAVES

♡ Prepare for trouble, make it double! — THE BASEBALL PLAYER x GN! Reader ft. THE CHEERLEADER ⤻ introductory post of THE BASEBALL PLAYER. [ask.]

♡ Innocent eyes, deadly hands. — THE BASEBALL PLAYER x GN! Reader ⤻ when you get too close to someone else, and he snaps. [ask.]

THE ACADEMIC RIVAL, SEO MIN-JUN

♡ There's no solution for whatever this was. — THE ACADEMIC RIVAL x GN! Reader ⤻ introductory post of THE ACADEMIC RIVAL.

♡ Don't run, he'll catch you anyway. — THE ACADEMIC RIVAL x GN! Reader ⤻ when you leave school out of desperation, he comes dragging you back to hell like the devil. [ask.]

♡ Two sides of the same coin. — THE ACADEMIC RIVAL x GN! Reader ⤻ you're a creep, and he loves it. [ask]

♡ His, his to torture. — THE ACADEMIC RIVAL x GN! Reader ⤻ don't touch what's his. [ask]

THE BARISTA, AKIMITSU MINORU

♡ One lump or two lumps of sugar? — THE BARISTA x GN! Reader ⤻ introductory post of THE BARISTA.

♡ Fake it till you make it. — THE BARISTA x GN! Reader ⤻ you lie that you have a boyfriend, so he decided that he'll become your boyfriend. [ask.]

THE COVER, VALERIO MARCHETTI

♡ Never judge a book by its Cover. — THE COVER x GN! Reader ⤻ introductory post of THE COVER.

THE MAFIA BOSS, VITTORIA CONSTANZO

♡ This is a Man's World, but she rules it. — THE MAFIA BOSS x Fem! Reader ⤻ introductory post of THE MAFIA BOSS.

♡ The pains of being a Woman. — THE MAFIA BOSS x Fem! Reader⤻ headcanons of how Vittoria will take care of you during your period. [ask]

THE COMBINED OBSESSIONS.

♡ Take my hand, take my whole life too. — THE YANDERES x GN! Reader ft. THE CEO, THE CHEERLEADER, THE BASEBALL PLAYER, THE ACADEMIC RIVAL ⤻ vanilla headcanons of you in a relationship with the yanderes.

♡ Kissed by Aphrodite. — THE YANDERES x GN! Reader ft. THE CEO, THE CHEERLEADER, THE BASEBALL PLAYER, THE ACADEMIC RIVAL ⤻ how they look like.

♡ Knitted with love. — THE YANDERES x GN! Reader ft. THE CEO, THE CHEERLEADER, THE BASEBALL PLAYER, THE ACADEMIC RIVAL, THE BARISTA, THE COVER, THE MAFIA BOSS ⤻ your gifts are only for them. [ask.]

#yandere blog #masterlist #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere fic

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nightghoul381 · 2 years ago

Note

I have a little prompt for Silvio fluff 👀👉👈

Emma/MC begs Silvio to adopt a pet, and Silvio is trying to talk her out of it with the millions of reasons why a pet in a palace is impractical… but she has the power of persuasion.

Thank you anon and @happy-pup so much for the requests! I decided to combine them because the idea of doing a cute fluffy Silvio fic in his POV about the struggle of trying to convince his lover that pets don't belong in the palace was too good to leave separate.

No Pets

Silvio Ricci (POV) x Reader Genre: Fluff WC: ~ 1k

I can’t believe you’re on this again… How many times am I gonna have to tell ya, the palace is no place for a pet. But here you are, tryin’ to convince me yet again that you’d be less lonely. What do you mean you’d be less lonely? Are the rotten mutt and I not good enough company for you?

Thoughts spiral through my mind as I stalk through the halls on my way to my last meeting. It seems like you’ve been even more eager to get me to agree to letting you get a pet recently, coming up with the most random reasons.

“It’ll give me something fun to do while you’re working. I could take it out to the beach and let it run in the sand!”

“I want to be able to try out this new recipe that was developed specially for dogs.”

“They’re just so cute!”

My entire meeting went by in a blur as I recalled time after time that you had mentioned wanting to get a dog, a cat, a rabbit, any sort of little furry companion.

Recently it really seemed like you were interested in getting a dog. Every point, every question, every… everything.

I’m really not sure why you’re so desperate for an animal. The thought of you spoiling it with your affection honestly had my heart twisting just a bit with jealousy.

I threw open the door to our room and was greeted with a startled scream and a flurry of thumping sounds as you leap to your feet, running toward me and blocking my view of the room.

“You’re acting suspicious,” I state, fixing you with a questioning stare.

“What are you talking about? I always come and greet you at the door.”

The look on your face tells me everything I need to know.

“Is someone else in there?”

“Just me,” Valerio’s voice called from the far end of the room.

My eyes flick back to you, and I can’t stop the fear and panic from flaring up.

“What the hell?! Why is that damned dog in here with you?”

“Silvio please calm down! It’s not what you’re thinking! I promise!” You sputter, taking a few steps backward and glancing nervously at Valerio.

“It sure as hell looks like what I’m thinking.” I’m having a really difficult time holding the red rage inside. Valerio leaps to his feet, stalking around the side of the bed.

“Will you calm down already? She was just too nervous to tell you about the surprise!” He growled, fixing his sky-blue gaze challengingly at me, as if daring me to keep talkin’.

“Rio!” You shout, an indignant scowl crossing your features.

And then the room is filled with a flurry of loud yapping and scrambling noises.

“No, no, no! Luca, sit!” you squeak, twirling around and darting over to the side of the bed.

You don’t seem to notice that I’m right behind you, peering over your shoulder. You little sneak. You went and got a dog.

I look down at the little bundle of white and black bouncing at your feet, tongue lolling as he excitedly tries to grab at one of the toys you had picked up. Another bout of excited yaps spill from the puppy as he notices me looking down at him, his tail wagging furiously as he runs around your legs to come see me.

“Silvio! I’m really sorry I was going to come and talk to you but he followed me home from the market and I tried to find his owner for several days! Rio was keeping him in his room but the maids insisted that they clean his chambers today and didn’t want the little guy running around and leaving pawprints all over the freshly mopped floor.”

I kneel down, reaching out a hand to the dog who eagerly sniffs at the rings on my fingers before licking at them. Normally, I’d be repulsed by the drooling creature getting my hands all dirty like this, but there’s something so innocent about his eyes and the cute way the spots on his face are laid out makes him look endlessly happy. Dammit. Leave it to you to manage to find a damned puppy that I’ll never be able to say no to.

“You would,” I sigh, shaking my head.

“Silvio, please. I really did try to find his owner.” Your tone is so melancholy and I can’t help but chuckle. You’re so dense sometimes.

Looking up at you I see your hands fisted in your skirts and you’re nervously chewing on your lip staring at me with such a deep look of guilt.

“You would manage to find an animal that, without a doubt, belongs here.”

You’re stunned, I can tell. It’s so damn adorable, I scoop the puppy up from the ground, his tail never slowing down as he leans up to lick my face.

“Hey! Hey, stop it little guy! Ya said his name’s Luca right?” I ask, petting between his ears and earning and excited bark as he leans into my hand.

“Um… yeah that’s what I’ve been calling him. He just makes me so happy and it means ‘bringer of light’ so I thought it suited him.”

Damn. Damn. Damn. I don’t get it… you’ve already got me hooked on ya and then you go and do this shit. I lean in to steal your lips in a kiss but it seems our new little companion wanted in on the fun as he begins licking at our faces.

We both start laughing furiously. Looks like he’s gonna need a lot of attention, but I’m starting to think it might not be too bad to give him the attention.

“We can count on Uncle Valerio to puppysit sometimes too, right?” I joke, flashing my brother a smile.

“Really! You’d let me watch him!” Valerio exclaims, his eyes welling with tears of joy.

This is absolutely not what I had expected when you had started asking so many questions. I can’t say I’m surprised; you’ve always been able to come up with some sort of harebrained scheme and it all works out for you. And damn if I don’t fall even more in love with you for it.

Taglist: @candied-boys @aquagirl1978 @itsjudesfault @xbalayage @themiscarnival

Please feel free to message me if you'd like to be added to the tag list!

#100 followers!#ikemen prince #ikepri #Silvio ricci #ikepri silvio #ikepri silvio ricci #ikemen prince silvio #ikemen prince silvio ricci #ikepri fluff #ikepri fanfic

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raccoonfallsharder · 2 years ago

Text

⋆⊰∙∘⋆❆ borealis ❆⋆∘∙⊱⋆ winter collection masterlist ❆ year one

more winter headcanons | navigation | fanfiction masterlist | borealis: year two

rating: varies | no use of y/n | rocket x reader | oneshots | word count: varies. an anthology of various winter-themed/holiday one-shots. gender of reader varies (mostly gn). organized by rating.

frostnip | mcu | fluff ✮

traditions | mcu | fluff ✮

ugly sweater | comics | spice ✩

winter across the galaxy | mcu | spice ✩

snow & stars | comics | smut ❤︎‬❤︎‬

for more winter oneshots, see borealis: year two. more winter headcanons | navigation | fanfiction masterlist

RATING KEY fluff ✮ | spice ✩ | some smut ❤︎‬ | much smut ❤︎‬❤︎‬

frostnip. °❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ fluff | no use of y/n | gn reader | oneshot | word count: 1,880. ✮ you teach rocket about appropriate winterwear. mcu-based. i think. this might change. can be read romantically or platonically, with a g-rated gesture of physical intimacy. i almost wrote this to involve a snowball fight and then i was like, oh no, reader would actually get murdered.

traditions. ‧❅•꙳⋆ fluff | no use of y/n | gn reader | oneshot | word count: 3,368. ✮ every winter, rocket comes to your place to celebrate the holidays and take a nap. mcu-based. can be read romantically or platonically. just pure feel-good shit, warm as cocoa and twice as sweet.

ugly sweater. *∞*⍋⋆*❅｡. spice | no use of y/n | gn reader | oneshot | word count: 5,196. ✩ rocket might make fun of your holiday attire, but he kind of wishes you'd wear it more often. comics-based (probably a sort of matt rosenberg incarnation with shades of skottie young and al ewing), including cameos by an array of guardians from all different arcs because i can't fuckin keep track of who's on the goddamn team when. no explicit smut?? but some kinda spicy takes && some explicit statements. rocket's perspective, and rocket is the pursuer. reader's just a sweetheart & a cutie (especially in that flarkin sweater). brief use of a petname (twice, i think) and references to using teeth, claws, and tail during intimacy.

Winter Across the Galaxy * ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ spice | rocket x f!oc | ask imagine | word count: ?? ✩ a super-casual barely-edited oneshot written in response to a reader comment, "Thinking about how Jolie would have reacted to the events in the Holiday Special and laughing." part of Window Across the Galaxy ✧*:･ﾟ

snow & stars. ⋆❅₊⁺⋆ 18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n| f!reader | oneshot | word count: 16,450. ❤︎❤︎ citing a lack of "team spirit," corporate requires you to attend the annual holiday office party (off the clock, of course) if you want to be eligible for your raise. luckily, the new guy makes things... interesting. comics-based, very loosely inspired by the Timely, Inc arc in Annihilators (2010, Issue 1), though i like... truly cannot abide timothy green ii's style of rocket in this series. try to imagine a nice jorge coelho or valerio schiti. mild exhibitionism, mild degradation, praise, use of "slut"/"whore" (affectionate), begging, pet names, impact play (one? ass smack i think?), pinching, dirty talk, mentions of oral sex. lotsa fluff. i'm not super-well-versed in the annihilators arc because so many of the characters involved bore me to actual tears so apologies for anything that isn't strictly comics-canon. you don't need to have any real comics-knowledge to ride this ride.

⋆⊰∙∘⋆❆ borealis: year two | winter headcanons ❆⋆∘∙⊱⋆ navigation | fanfiction masterlist

gray snowflake dividers & mdni/support banners by @/saradika-graphics

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yourforgottenbookshelf · 2 years ago

Text

Caught In The Middle - Valerio Montesinos x Muñoz!Reader

Gif not mine. Credits to the rightful owner.

Fandom: Elite

Pairing and other characters mentioned: Valerio Montesinos x Reader, Ander Munoz x Reader, Guzman Nunier, Lu Montesinos, Samuel Garcia, Carla Roson, Cayetana Grajera, Omar Shanaa

Summary: You are Ander's twin sister and have recently started dating Valerio. However, Ander doesn't approve of your relationship, and when an incident takes place during a party, he warns Valerio to stay away from you. {Requested}

Word count: 1781

Trigger warning: alcohol and substance abuse, attempted sa, violence, cursing

A/N: I'm noticing a lack of Elite fanfiction here on Tumblr, which I'm not very happy about. Please, feel free to send in requests, my loves.

“Out of all the boys in Las Encinas, you really had to sleep with this degenerate,” your brother’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “Excuse me?” you questioned in disbelief. Normally, Ander would keep his opinions to himself- it wasn’t like him to intervene with your personal life- but it wasn’t like you to keep things from him either.

Ander took a deep breath. “When were you going to tell me?” he asked. You frowned, unsure of how you should respond. “Tell you what?” you replied, trying to buy yourself more time to think of an excuse.

Your twin rolled his eyes. “About you and Valerio. I had to find out from Omar, for God’s sake!”

You felt the blood on your face painting your cheeks red. It was obvious you couldn’t hide the truth from your brother any longer. “Look, cariño, I’m sorry,” you said softly. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

Ander’s expression softened. “Y/N, you’re my twin sister. You know you can always confide in me, right?”

“I know how much you dislike him,” you murmured. Ander picked up on the fact you avoided eye contact, and took a seat next to you on your bed. His wrapped his arm around your shoulder carefully, and pulled you closer to him.

“I don’t dislike Valerio,” he sighed, “I just don’t think he’s good for you.”

Ander had a valid point. Valerio had a reputation for being a troublemaker, and his involvement with drugs and partying was well-known around the school. Despite all that, you couldn’t help the way you felt about him.

“I understand what you’re saying, cariño,” you said, “but I just hope you can accept my choise.”

Ander took a deep breath before responding. “I will always support you, Y/N, no matter what. Just, promise me one thing.”

There was a moment of silence before he continued, during which you felt your heart pounding on your chest. “Promise me you’ll be careful, and that you’ll come to me if you ever need anything.”

You felt a wave of graditute wash over you as you hugged your brother tightly. “Thank you, Ander,” you breathed. “I promise.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As you swallowed the sixth vodka shot, you felt like your soul was elevating heavenwards. The sweet taste of gummy bears mixed with alcohol burned your throat and made you feel euphoric- like the world was still there, but for the moment, it didn't have you by the throat.

“You’re breathtaking tonight, Y/N,” Valerio whispered, his lips brushing over your exposed collarbone. You giggled and tittled your head slightly to the side, placing a soft kiss on his neck. “I could say the same thing,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

As the alcohol continued to flow through your veins, you started to feel lightheaded. The room around you spun in dizzying circles, and you struggled to keep your balance. Valerio noticed your unsteady movements and reached out to steady you, his hand gripping your arm tightly.

“Y/N, you okay?” he questioned. Even though you couldn’t hear his voice clearly enough, you could see the concern etching on his face. You tried to nod, but the room spun even faster, and you felt like you might be sick.

“I don’t feel so good,” you mumbled, your words slurring together. Valerio’s grip on your arm tightened, and he led you to a nearby couch, sitting you down carefully.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he reassured you, kissing you softly on the forehead. “I’ll go get you some water.” And with that, he disappeared into the crowd.

A few moments went by, and your dizziness only got worse.

Suddenly, you felt a hand on your thigh, and you looked up to see a stranger leering at you. You tried to push him away, but your limbs felt heavy and uncooperative.

“Come with me, sweetheart,” he slurred, his breath hot and stale against your face. You tried to scream, but no sound came out, and the darkness swallowed you whole.

It didn’t take long for Valerio to return to the crowded living room, clutching a bottle of water in his hand. He searched for you in the sea of faces, and when he realized you were nowhere to be seen, he felt his heart skip a beat. As panic set in, he scanned the room once again. He spotted Samuel and Guzman chatting in a corner, and quickly approached them.

“Guys, have you seen Y/N?” he asked with a slightly shaken voice.

Guzman and Samuel exhanged a puzzled glance. “No, we haven’t seen her. Why?” Samuel replied. Valerio felt his heart sinking to his stomach, and his eyes darted the room for familiar faces one more time. He didn’t bother replying to Samuel before rushing to Lu and Carla.

“Lu, have you seen Y/N? I can’t find her anywhere.”

Lu shook her head. “No, sorry. We've been dancing together for the past hour.”

Valerio’s concern slowly evolved into fear. His mind conjured up horrifying scenarios, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had failed to protect you.

“Val, what’s going on?” Lu questioned, visibly concerned.

Valerio took a deep breath, trying to compose himself before explaining the situation. “It’s all my fault,” he murmured, the words weighing heavy on his chest.

“What’s going on?” asked Guzman, arriving at the scene along with Samuel, drawn in by the commotion.

“We can’t find Y/N,” Carla spoke up. The sense of urgency in her voice was palpable.

Guzman’s expression remained stoic as he tried to assess the situation. “Have you tried calling her?” he asked Valerio.

“I did just now. It’s going straight to voicemail,” Lu interjected.

Guzman's mind raced as he tried to piece together what had happened. "Vale. Where's Ander and Omar?" he questioned, his tone serious and firm. “They went to get some drinks, they should be back any minute now.”

“We have to split up and search for her. She must be somewhere in the house,” Carla said, taking charge of the situation. “I’m texting Ander to check the pool and the back yard. Me and Lu will go see if her car is still in the driveway, and you guys head upstairs.”

The group nodded in agreement, and quickly dispersed to search for any signs of you.

Guilt washed over Valerio in waves, threatening to drown him as he imagined the worst. He mentally cursed himself for ever letting you out of his sight, for not being more careful, for not protecting you like he should have.

“Cayetana, have you seen Y/N?” Samuel asked, desperation creeping into his voice. “Si, I saw her and Gabriel going to the attic. She seemed a bit disoriented,” the blonde replied, taking a sip of her drink.

“What? Why didn't you say something earlier?" Guzman snapped, his anger rising at the thought of you being in danger.

"I didn't think anything of it," Cayetana replied defensively, sensing the tension in the air.

“Puta madre!”

Without another word, the three of them raced up to the attic, their hearts pounding in their chests. As they opened the door, they saw you huddled in the corner, shaking with fear. And there, hovering above you, was Gabriel, a sinister smile on his face.

"Ugh, merda. I was just starting to have some fun with your girlfriend."

Guzman and Samuel stepped forward, flanking Valerio on either side as they faced off against Gabriel. Valerio's eyes flashed with anger as he noticed your bruised arms and bloodied shirt. "What the fuck did you do to her, cabron?" he growled, his voice low and menacing.

“I didn’t-” Gabriel didn’t get a chance to reply, as Guzman’s chuckles met with his mouth. “You are gonna pay for this, joder!” he screamed. Gabriel’s feet stumbled, as he held his arms up in defense. “I swear, I didn’t do anything. I was just messing around.”

“Just messing around?” Valerio growled, feeling his blood boiling. “Valerio, por favor,” Samuel whispered, grabbing him before he had the chance to hit him as well. “She needs you.”

Meanwhile, you were still curled up in the corner, shaking violently. You tried resisting the urge to throw up, but the mix of alcohol and the metal taste of blood in your mouth weren’t much help. You cried out, in a desperate attemp to capture someone’s attention, but nobody seemed to had heard you.

You were well aware that Valerio and Guzman would never let Gabriel get away with this. The sounds of fists hitting flesh, the screams of your friends, and the shattering of glass all seemed to blend together into one sickening cacophony. Your heart was racing, and you felt like you were going to pass out any moment.

“Guzman, Valerio, eso es suficiente!” Lu screamed, hurriedly entering the attic. Carla, Ander, Omar and Cayetana followed close behind.

Ander and Carla wasted no time rushing next to you. “Y/N, what happened?” Carla asked. Her voice was slow and steady, but you could tell she was struggling to keep her composure.

You took a deep breath. The air, however, didn’t reach the bottom of your lungs. You felt like you were suffocating.

“Call an ambulance, now!” Ander demanded. And, for the second time tonight, darkness swallowed you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I don’t want you near my sister ever again. You've been nothing but trouble lately, and I don't want her getting caught in the middle of it."

Valerio took a final drag out of his cigarette. "What are you talking about? Tonight wasn’t my fault- I didn’t do anything wrong."

"Maybe not intentionally," Ander replied firmly, "but you've been a bad influence on her."

Valerio sighed. “I guess I don’t have much of a choice, do I? At the end of the day, you never liked me.”

Ander watched as Valerio walked down the hospital corridor, feeling hurt and confused. He had never meant to cause any harm to you, and he couldn’t deny that he felt a deep sense of loss now that he couldn't be near you anymore. He knew that Ander was only looking out for his sister, and he respected that. Maybe someday, you could all be friends again, but for now, he would have to stay away.

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