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tarjapearce · 3 months

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El Diablo Wears Prada (Pt.3)

Mafia boss! Miguel O'Hara x Reader.

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Smut, Fingering, non-con oral (M! receiving), masturbation, power play, sexual tension, mild angst, Dom! Miguel.

Summary: Another toll is put on your shoulders.

A/N: Centuries later, here's part 3! Hope you like <3. Feedback much appreciated. Cooper Coen belongs to Marvel ✨

As much as you wanted to remain in Morpheus' arms and let your body rest until it reached a hundred percent, the constant buzzing of the tracking device against your ankle kept alerting you.

The last vibration had bolted you awake with a startle. Body whined in protest at the sudden movement that took such a strong hold on your hips, the juncture of your arms and thighs.

It took you a couple of seconds to get your bearings and see the little and borderline fancy tracking device on your ankle. It was as if a digital watch had been locked up around your smooth skin.

A little jolt of electricity ran through your nerves in a clear sign to not mess with the device, since you had tried to remove it. If you looked closer, it had a little password lock behind, a four-digit code.

You gotta be kidding me

How dared he putting such a thing on you? When did he put this thing on you?, but more important, was he still around? Cause if he was, he'd have a piece of your mind.

His sweater on your skin felt a too stuffy, and you needed a bath. A couple of bruises begun appearing in your ankles and the fatty part of your thighs cause obviously he needed to make sure you understood the magnitude of your current situation and how Massimo had willingly put a target ring on your back.

The buzz however snapped you out of the spiralling trance of thoughts that assaulted your mind. Brows puckered as you made your way towards his room but as soon as you entered, anger sapped away for a moment from your head.

The curtains were drawn shut, their dark colors provided enough darkness to isolate the brightest sunshines that tried with all their might to seep past them and take a hold of whatever thing they could reach.

With careful steps and a petty heart you sauntered over the windows and one by one removed the curtains, letting all the sun's ablaze glory to illuminate the darkened room in a go, even if it meant for you to be blindsided for a second before you turned your back on the light and saw the results of your anger display before you.

El Diablo, laid sprawled in his ever big and cozy bed, his right and sharp cheek smooshed against the soft and silky burgundy sheets that wrapped like a second skin on his torso and legs. One of his feet poked out from underneath, letting itself to hang outside the smooth prison.

His gorgeous mouth laid slightly ajar, letting a little drool streak to escape him and get long dry over the sheets. The smooth locks with the little silver strands in it were also sprawled all over his forehead and the mattress. Your eyes shamelessly raked his back. Big, well worked, perfect for leaving scratches and marks. He had none of those, but a different one.

A red lips silhouette located a few inches from his ear, half of it smeared, as if wrongly or quickly wiped, trying to cover up a trail.

The fact he had someone before giving you a rough fuck, not only put a little familiar yet painful stab in your heart, but returned the angry thoughts that initially gave you enough courage to foray into the devil's personal hellhole.

The pain felt like an old friend now that you had seen and heard the type of man Massimo really was. You didn't want to admit that there were times you could still feel a woman's perfume on his clothes while busying yourself in the confinement of your manor, trying to distract yourself from the emerging distraught of knowing your husband was possibly cheating.

Men

With a scowl, you took one of the many pillows and threw it at his beautiful sleeping face.

"Wake up!"

That quickly contorted into several emotions upon suddenly awakening. Surprise cause you had dared startle him, anger because you had the guts to interrupt his slumber and throw a pillow and finally, annoyance at your yapping.

Your arms crossed against your chest as he placed the pillow you threw his direction on t of his head with a bored grunt.

The smell of his perfume wafted through the air, hand in hand with a light natural musk and a dash of air freshener coming from the bathroom.

"What the fuck is this on my ankle and why did you put that thing on me?"

"Can you shut up?" His slouching form only turned enough to take a proper look your way once his irises had adjusted at the room's brightness.

Wearing his oversized sweater that covered those perfect mounds of yours he didn't have enough time to squeeze properly. Face twisted in a scowl, that although he rather your scared and demure look, he had to admit this angry you made his lips smirk and a spark of excitement to run through his body.

Your hair spooked and tussled even if you were now trying to contain it in a messy bun while ignoring the rebellious baby hairs, revealing more of your upset features.

Beautiful and angry.

Was this the sight you gifted Massimo every day?

"I'm talking to you!"

"¡Ya pues! Cállate... fucking heard you already." He grumbled while laying down on his back.

But in truth he hadn't heard a single word it came from your mouth. Too deep in suddenly remembering last night's events and what had transpired back in the club.

"Take this thing off me."

"No."

Miguel stretched his spine with feline grace and a satisfied smirk, letting some joints pop back into place. His spine wasn't aching anymore, he didn't feel like dragging the past few weeks' tiring load, his shoulders felt rather light, he was even in good spirits. You had spent him real good last night.

"What is this anyway?"

You remained on the window, letting the sun warm you up a bit. The whole floor was cold anyway. Your hands grope on either side of your waist and your frown deepened upon him turning his back on you.

"Fucking men."

He smirked as you went to his closet. He noted you only wore the thick sweaters. You didn't rummage through his clothes and personal items like he initially thought.

"I need to get some things back from home."

With a groan he finally rose, and sat against the bed's oak frame, his hands reached for his phone, and scrolled through his messages as his other hand slicked the messy strands that partially obscured his sight.

"Are you even listening?!"

"I'd rather not to."

He grumbled while his eyes remained on the screen.

"I need to get myself some clothes. I don't wanna keep using yours for you to have me naked later."

"You're thinking way too high of yourself, Ratoncita." He removed the silky sheets and tossed his phone somewhere in the bed, revealing his bare physique to you as he prowled your way.

Eyes boring on your tense form. Undoubtedly he was the cat and you his ever lovely and amusing little mouse. One of his hands landed a few inches on one side of your face, but as soon as you tried to remove yourself from the equation, his other hand and a step forward of his frame closed the space, sandwiching you loosely between him and the wall.

Even if limp, his cock felt above the sweater's fabric, right above your lower belly, ever warm and hefty. He had to lean down enough to face you, then took a half firm half gentle hold in your chin.

"If you have the energies to be mewling this early in the morning, you can take your pretty ass to the shower, clean yourself and get changed. We'll leave soon. ¿Entendido?

"I'm not coming-"

He squeezed your chin, igniting that spark of fury within you as he growled between teeth, "Understood?"

His tone left no space for replies. But you slapped his hand away and retreated away from his confinement, but the petty in him needed to have the final saying. Even though words were done, he took your actions as a defiance. So he returned it, on your butt as a firm slap that smacked deliciously in the air.

You didn't even turned to face him. Anger was too much in your mind to let it have the whole control over your emotional panel, and part of you assumed that he'd settle the score to his favor with another rough fuck.

Men.

Your hands clenched into tight fists to finally disappear into the bathroom with a loud slam on the door.

As much as he wanted to yell for the poor treatment on his property, he couldn't help but smirk, satisfied at your reaction.

Part of his brain was amused to no end to see this new emotion in you. Anger made his senses tingle. But the ever rational part of his gray mass, wondered what had taken over you to be this pissed.

Hadn't he fucked you silly last night? Cause he refused to believe he had done a poor job.

The sudden thought of him underperforming in bed made his bushy brows to pucker in annoying concern. He'd take many insults, name calling, but someone, a woman specially saying he was bad at in bed? No. He couldn't allow it.

He heard the shower run, and it was his cue to get his clothes ready.

He'd go for a pair of black pants, a burgundy Prada button shirt, socks, dress shoes, no tie neither a suit, Day was too humid to be overdressed.

The shower stopped a couple of minutes later, and he put all the things on the bed.

You had finished a hot shower, rinsing all trace of him, wrapped your hair in a towel and pat dried your body to then wear one of his many black sweaters and slippers, the only thing you truly possessed.

Upon seeing nothing but his toothbrush and grooming devices, you rummaged through the marbled drawers to look for a new toothbrush. You'd eventually find them next to a neatly arranged box of condoms and some gun chargers. But to your surprise the box was intact, sealed even, waiting to be used.

With a roll if your eyes and a huff, you got to brush your teeth, a little harder than intended.

Miguel simply entered the bathroom and slowly squeezed his way into the same space as you before the mirror, pushing you softly as you brushed your hair with your fingers.

He looked in the mirror, the grayish hue on his cheeks increased, but he kept it. Not really feeling like grooming himself. His happy trail was on full display to you.

If honest, it was the first time you actually paid attention to the secrets of his skin.

A couple of scars littered his cinnamon tan and muscled skin, bullet marks? perhaps. The muscles rippled at every movement, enhancing the sight of his lower back's dimples, waist narrow and sharp, adorned with well-worked abs and sculpted thighs. There were no tattoos on his skin as he rather keep himself clean from them.

His mere existence spoke loud and clear, he didn't need ink to prove his prowess. Plus, he considered himself too old for them.

Gabriel on the other hand was like a walking board underneath his clothes. Or a bathroom stall's wall like he once called him.

Your stomach grumbled loudly, and he chuckled.

"Instead of staring, why don't you get some food? You'll need it."

He grabbed his toothbrush and put a dollop of paste on it. Voice smooth like butter, that barely did a good job at hiding the rising mirth. But his lid twitched, vexed on your mimicking words

"You're thinking too highly of yourself."

You pointed at his neck.

"And make sure to properly clean yourself from others before even considering touching me."

His smirk widened and held your wrist with enough force to make you whimper. Miguel finished washing and rinsing his mouth to then pull you by your nape and crashing his mouth on yours.

You froze as he made you taste the fresh and cool flavor of mint in his mouth. When he pulled away, a sardonic smile plastered all over his infuriating yet beautiful face. He didn't give you time to reply as you were being pushed out the bathroom and before you could even give him again a peace of mind; he slammed the door in your face.

"Asshole!"

He chuckled as you yelled behind the door and finally got to shower.

----

After a hearty breakfast and some more calls from Miguel, you and the rest got into the cars and left.

Ben, the blond man drove the SUV again. Jessica was tailing after in her own car as another car with a lanky and pierced man lead the way.

Buildings and skyscrapers of all sizes and colors passed you by, streets were averagely full, but Ben drove through shortcuts that approached faster towards your secret destination.

Miguel had refused to speak after you recoiled away from his sudden urge of teasing you. He deliberately ignored you through the road, focusing occasionally on his phone screen.

"We're here, boss." Ben mumbled after what it felt like forever.

The little caravan had stopped before a bright red three floored building. Dark windows prevented the sunlight to seep in. The name, Casa Cisneros displayed in a Dior alike typography over the red walls.

Your eyes widened when you saw the gorgeous, elegant and colorful clothing designs neatly arranged in the window's showcase.

Miguel guided your surprised self deeper into the boutique. A man around his forties, white hair, shorter than Miguel, dressed up in an orange suit and a shit-eating grin came to greet Miguel.

"Por Dios, te juro que si vienes con esa mierda de zapatos de Prada ni me molestaré en atenderte." (I swear that if you've come with those shitty Prada shoes I won't even bother in help you out.)

Miguel chuckled while shaking his head. Then hugged the man briefly yet sincerely.

"How have you been Mateo?"

"¿Cómo que 'How you've been?'" His disgust couldn't hide, "Ugh. Never mind, where is Dana? Can't wait to dress her up in my new collection!."

Your brow quirked upon the woman's name but Miguel just dismissed him with a disdainful wave of his hands and a blasé scowl.

"Ah... Ya veo. En fín, whose the new seasonal fling?"

Mateo, the owner, or so you supposed, fixed his eyes your way and smirked approvingly as he watched you from head to toes.

"Nothing better and exciting than a blank canvas." he then turned to Miguel, "The same as usual?"

The same as... what?

You looked at Miguel and the mob lord shook his head while focusing once more in his phone

He dialed some numbers to place the trinket in his ear, "Up to her."

He mumbled before disappearing into another room. Mateo however grinned upon you being given a carte blanche from his best client. Cause that meant money.

"So... What do you want?"

"Uh... The basics I believe?"

This earned him a giggle.

"Preciosa. Hermosa, muñeca. Listen to me. And listen well.", He waved a warning finger at you, "Basic is not in this fashion's house vocabulary. Secondly, if Miguel brings you here is cause, he wants you to look good and not embarrass him. I know it sounds awful, but if you're with him-"

"I'm not." Your frown deepened and Mateo just rolled his eyes.

"Of course you aren't. Anyway, I'll give you a wardrobe. Let's go. Cooper!"

He called and soon a tall, young and redhead man approached. His green eyes lit up upon the task ahead.

"This is Cooper Coen, my assistant. He'll be helping us today."

The young man greeted, and soon they began working.

Mostly of the pieces the both picked suited perfectly on your body, every curve lavished and worshipped with utter care. But you also noticed that as beautiful as it all was, the crafts were easy to remove. As if Mateo knew the purpose behind everything he donned you with.

Cooper kept packing and bringing clothes that not only enhanced your body shape, but made you look like a spoiled rich man's wife. Elegant, beyond gorgeous, expensive and oh so tempting and fuckable.

Mateo seemed delighted in having you as his personal doll, trying outfit after outfit. Miguel had left to business but Jessica remained behind to look after you.

Hours kept passing, and you moved to the undergarments. You were too focused in getting the underwear you had missed for so long that didn't hear Miguel returning.

You wouldn't ruin him financially, sadly, but as Cooper had told you, it wasn't going to go be cheap either. And if your intuition wasn't failing, you knew something didn't add up. Not that you weren't grateful to finally have your own clothes to wear, but deep in your brain, the ever rational and alert part of it kept telling you to be wary. To not trust Miguel.

What is he hiding?

----

Miguel had to leave for a couple of minutes to have an impromptu meeting with Peter back at the club for more Intel gathering. Apparently a clue on Massimo's whereabouts came up and he left you with Jessica.

But upon returning and seeing the amount of packages and the count ascending past the fifty grand, he called you.

Money wasn't an issue for him, but the amount of unnecessary shoes that you or rather Mateo had made him wonder how many pair of shoes a woman truly needed.

Never enough apparently.

He called you once, but Cooper showed up instead.

"She'll be here soon, Mr. O'Hara."

The young man nodded as Miguel huffed.

It reminded him the too many times he took women for shopping and always ended up like this. Bored out of his mind, sometimes pissed at the constant questions they asked him.

Do I look fat? Does this color matches my skin?

He sighed, irked but somehow ready to ignore the flood of questions you'd annoy him with.

Much to his dismay, minutes kept stretching impossibly longer and he had things to do and places to be at. He called you again.

No response.

His jaw tensed as his teeth ground together. He immediately took his phone and searched on the tracking device location.

Signal Lost

"Pinche mujer" He growled as he bolted gun in hand towards where you had been, Heart pounding with such an intense anger it felt like molten lava flowing through him. 1Jessica was helping Mateo, unaware of what was to unfold.

Heavy and livid steps guided him towards the dressing rooms. He swung the curtain, ready to look for clues as to where you had left, only to find you, struggling with adjusting the back straps of the lingerie Cooper had handed over to you.

"¿¡Qué no oyes cuando te hablo?! ¿'Tas pinche sorda o qué?" (Didn't you hear me when I'm talking to you?! You fucking deaf or what?!)

His sudden outburst startled you while your frightened gaze settled on him and it quickly turned angered.

"What the fuck?! I'm changing!" You were about to keep up with his yelling when his gun stood high and proud in the air. Silencing your babbling with an unintelligible grumble.

"What was that?" With a scowl he glowered your way. Your tongue clicked, ignoring him.

His eyes couldn't help but rake your body for some brief seconds to finally settling on the tracking device. The thing was off.

"What did you do to it?!" He growled while pushing you against the mirror and kneeled to grab your ankle and see with his own eyes why the device wasn't working.

Updating 40%

Of course the damned thing would be updating. His nostrils flared angrily as you yanked your limb away from his grasp.

"Hurry the fuck up, I don't have all day."

He let you go and headed towards the entrance.

"Che palle! Lasciami in pace un attimo, stronzo!" (How annoying! Leave me alone for a second, you asshole!)

And oh his head turned in many dangerous and dark thoughts. It wasn't the words you used, he couldn't care less about them, but the fact alone you still had bits of Massimo still clinging to you.

If honest, you only had learned some phrases in the attempt to rekindle things with your husband, it somehow worked, but this was a completely different outcome you truly weren't expecting.

In a blink of an eye he was already before you, red eyes glowering your way, a steely grip on his gun.

"The fuck did you say?"

You had to recoil away, but where? He had trapped you again against the mirrors, your fear etched in every face the multiple surfaces provided and it fuelled him.

A thick gulp rolled down your throat as his gun's tip placed underneath your chin to drag down between your breast to stop right above your heart, tapping a tad rough with it.

"If you wanna act like a spoiled brat, fine." he seethed as he pushed you on your knees in a swift move, the sudden movement had you stumbling down, startled "I'll teach you a fucking lesson."

His other hand immediately went to your front strands, tangling his long fingers in them, your hands immediately flew to his wrist, grunting uncomfortably at the tight grip on your skull, trying to pry yourself away from him. You could feel his anger through the little tremors his body did as he tossed the gun to the seat inside the little cubicle.

"Let me go!" he pulled your head back, parting your lips open in the way.

"Since you fucking love opening your pretty mouth to disrespect me," His hold tightened on your hair as his hands fumbled with the belt of his pants, sliding his free hand past the layers of clothing and pulled out his engorging cock. A few pumps of his hand around it had it twitching to life.

"I think it's time to find a proper use for it, hmm?" Before you could even protest, his flushed tip was already invading your mouth. A hiccup escaped you while he pushed in inch by inch, earning a brief gag and gurgle from you.

A satisfied growl escaped his smirking mouth.

"What's wrong? Cat's fucking your tongue?"

He stepped in closer, your nose nuzzled his happy trail as he was now holding your hair in a fistful. A sharp tinge of tears blurred your eyes for a moment as he slid down your throat. Your hands slapped his thighs while trying to push him back, earning him a breathless moan. You had tested his patience long enough for him to snap and remind you of your position.

If he had known how easy and quick you'd learn how to get under his skin, he would've left you back with your rotten husband.

Upon sensing you gag again, he chuckled while sliding some of his fingers underneath your chin, guiding you slowly to take him properly.

"Fucking relax." He heaved when your mouth flattened around him to have air flowing back to your lungs.

Fucking gorgeous. That's how you looked, staring with your pretty and angry eyes while you choked on him, set a long forgotten thrill alive that he rather keep buried for good.

You coughed as soon as he slid out, completely hard, glistening in your saliva and beads of pre cum that connected to the corners of your flushed mouth.

"Uh-uh. Open up, I'm not done yet."

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and coughed a couple of bits; the glare returned to your eyes.

"Fuck you."

Miguel huffed, crouched and took your chin to kiss you, tasting himself. You bit his lip, hard trying to get him to free you, but the growl grumbling through his chest only made your skin crawl as his tongue slid in your mouth, also invading you.

The sheer size of his frame and the little space between sandwiched you, deliciously against him. One hand cradled your head, not giving you a truce while devouring your lips as the other one slid down between your legs.

The sudden contact sent jolts up your spine, as he changed the cradling on your nape to a light squeeze on your neck as he pressed you against the floor, and spread your legs with his teasing hand when you trapped his hand in between your thighs, preventing him from reaching deeper.

The motions had slowly made his cock to be trapped again in the fabric confinement.

He earned a feeble mewl as he slid two of his fingers inside. The vibrations of your purring reverberated underneath his skin made his eager tip to twitch again

His phone buzzed and he let your throat go for a second, but his fingers remained inside, massaging and wriggling softly within your flesh.

"Not a peep from you, ok? This is an important call."

Your hands immediately clenched and your thighs trembled when he moved his hand, back and forth, delving into your drenching walls.

Heat licking at every pore of your skin. You didn't know if it was in anger or your hormones betraying you once again. The lack of sex with Massimo was costing your dignity big time.

He's just toying with you cause he knows he can.

Your mind reasoned, despite the rationality's grip loosening at his ministrations.

"Ya le dije a Gabriel que procediera sin contratiempos." (I already told Gabriel to proceed without problems)

He talked and moved his hand like the most natural thing to do while in a call.

Shame washed over your cheeks at the raunchy and sloppy wet noises your cunt made the more he probed your insides.

"No, no-"

You hissed and his eyes went immediately on you, as if with his glare alone he'd be defying you to make a noise again.

Your lips pursed shut as your chest heaved with ragged yet quiet breaths

"I've got it under control."

More than a reply to whoever he was talking to, his words were a fact. An undisputed truth that clawed at your brain the deeper he stimulated with his fingers.

He was on control. Of you, your body and every bit that formed it, of every contraction that sucked and trapped his fingers, of every breath he made you exhale.

His pace increased, and you choked while your body trembled at the beat of his thrusting fingers. A satisfied smirk crept up to his face, determined to break your forceful silent vow.

He's worse than Massimo. Don't forget that.

The hardened nub of your breast peeked underneath the flimsy fabric, swaying, demanding to be tasted.

His initial resolution of not making a physical approach, had been long broken, ever since you insulted him in that foreign language that certainly sparked things within his mind he rarely liked to indulge thinking.

You amused him, that was much true. But God you also made him so fucking angry. Running your mouth like you were his equal, facing him despite being scared to the core and spending his energies in such a delicious way he only sought whenever stress was eating him alive and none so far had properly known how to sate. Not even Dana.

The only serious relationship prospect he had so far until she cheated on him and he had to get rid of her.

But you, He didn't know if to kill you himself or fuck you 'til you were in tears.

Your mouth parted in a pornographic 'o', gasping quietly, eyes shut, face covered in a deep shade of red, hands clenched into fists on the floor as your body swayed underneath.

"Let me see what I can do." He crooned as his golden chain around his neck dangled with his motions.

His eyes kept glued onto your face as he slowly rubbed the rough pad of his thumb against your neglected clit in a tortuous and flickering motion.

You bit your lip, and he smirked darkly. Slowly, he pushed in a third finger as he applied a bit more of pressure on your already sensitive and engorged nub

Think about the condom box!

Your toes curled in, body contorted in between gentle twitches and jerks when he grazed ever softly and teasingly at your sweet spot. A soft and barely audible gasp escaped your mouth. And his breath hitched as soon as you locked eyes with him in a glare.

How dare he?

He moved in and out, alternating between fucking his fingers inside and caress your bundle of nerves for enough time to edge you.

"I know. Hmm." He nodded at whatever words Peter gave him, "You're more than capable of handling it."

It felt like he was encouraging you through the whole process.

He's not in control.

One of his fingers grazed into a spot that got your hips stuttering and shaking your head as your teeth sunk deeper into the plump of your bottom lip, jaw tense but unable to trap in a garbled moan. You felt like a hypocrite.

"Yeah, don't worry. Everything's fine."

The way your walls increased their drenching with every contraction on his digits, had him tittering silently in twisted delight.

At this point it was a matter of seconds to have you coming undone. He was set into making you break the rules. Your toes curled and trembled as he fastened the pace enough to have a soft squishing slap echoing just for him.

El Diablo tilted his head as you clawed your nails on his ankle, it barely tickled him.

"All he has to do is to agree. Offer him more money if that's the case."

With clinical precision he stopped a few seconds before you got to come undone and trap him inside. A frustrated and shallow whine flew out your mouth. His thumb pad was now tracing the outline of your lips, to then slid two of his drenched fingers into your mouth.

"All he has to say is yes." He moved his hand, making your head bob in a nod as he spoke. Your taste exploding into your mouth.

With little he just retreated outside the cubicle to return a few minutes later with a plain pair of pants and a shirt. He hung the call up and sighed.

" Now that you've learnt how to shut the fuck up, get changed. We need to go."

With trembling legs you stood, trying to catch your breath, the lingerie soiled, your thighs sticky. Heart and pussy played like a fancy tailed piano and he was the main musician.

He fixed his clothes, despite the raging boner pulsating between his clothes. He looked at you for a moment, nose reddening, lips flushed and glossy eyes that turned aqueous the more he remained in there.

His brows pinched softly in an imperceptible frown before leaving you alone. Not really wanting to witness your sudden discomfit.

What had came over you?

----

Ever since he woke up that day there were so many changes he had barely had time to adjust. But this quiet and distant you was unsettling and uncomfortable for him.

First the need to cry after he almost gave you an orgasm, then, the silent ride back at home.

You barely glanced his way when explaining the dress you needed to wear for the party he was also changing into. But what frustrated him the most was when he asked you to remove the ring out of your finger. The urge to cry returned on your face.

He truly didn't understand why you still clung so blindly to Massimo. At this point he thought it was love.

He huffed, disgusted.

You wouldn't drag him to your emotional rollercoaster cause he already had his own. And there was an enough mess as it was to keep adding to his plate.

He was proud of his detachment skills, soon you'd return to that asshole you called a husband and he wouldn't have to worry about you anymore, cause again, he was growing tired of facing other emotions that weren't the ones he could master.

No matter how gorgeous and fuckable you looked in that backless and sequin golden dress that undoubtedly did a better job at treating your body than him.

You had to apply some makeup to the most visible bruises around your body. Neck included. He loved squeezing it apparently.

Miguel had removed the tracking device of your ankle to disguise it as a clock on your wrist. He looked handsome as usual.

In truth, you looked like a celebrity. It made you wonder what kind of party you headed to, but you refused to speak to him and he was more than happy to not be bothered.

Each sat in opposite corners in the car. Not saying a word during the ride. The only instruction he gave you was to stay close as he hugged your waist, although weakly, with his hand.

Nostalgia was rampant on you today, and it didn't help the not so clandestine reunion harbored within a familiar milieu for you.

A fancy club, L'Enfer, you once had the chance of visiting. Your engagement night, and returning after so many years in extremely different circumstances, tightened the knot around your throat and the need to run away to increase tenfold.

Golden floors matched the velvet curtains that protected the black windowsills from prying eyes. The tables pristinely arranged to the left and right, ready to witness its attendee's darkest and deepest secrets.

Servers were dressed in jet black suits and red gloves, offering the myriad of delicacies prepared for the night.

Some men stared at Miguel, apprehension and wariness in their eyes. Others smirked and raised their champagne cups as he made his way deeper into the place. Peter walked ahead, Miguel and you followed, and Jessica tailed behind, yet his agents scattered all over the place, either as servers or valets, even bartenders.

Miguel wore his usual frown, occasionally changing into a deadpan whenever a fan of his work approached.

Miguel entered to a further room, more private and secluded. The smell of tobacco and expensive perfumes polluted the air, assaulting your nose at once.

You downed the discomfort with a cup of champagne.

"Try to not drink too much. Need you sober for the meeting."

A meeting?

You quirked a brow at his mumbles but nodded and remained seated near the indoor font, the least tobacco smelling place from the rest and the same place Massimo proposed. Now, you were eating the different entrees, balancing the alcohol ingest in a mob lord party, you realized too late.

Jessica remained on your side, also eating whenever a snack she liked passed by. Peter accompanied Miguel as he greeted and exchanged a few words with the other people.

Orborn, Kravinoff or Kraven for short, Olivia Octavius, and other men didn't ring a bell on you.

"Let Miguel do the whole talking. In fact, act as the listener. And if Kraven calls you beautiful, don't say thanks. He'd think he can hit on you and the least Miguel needs-"

"Is worrying for stupid shit. I know."

The sweetness of the mini desserts and other assorted flavors didn't help to conceal the tart tasting in your mouth. Jessica quirked a brow and nodded.

"You're adapting quick. That's good. But despite having a ten grand dress on you with matching shoes and gold in your ears, you look like you're about to cry. What the hell is wrong now?"

Tough love was all you got from her, but it also surprised you how perceptive and unsuspecting she could be.

"Everything."

Jessica rolled her eyes and sighed, adding another lemon curd mini tart in your plate. One you hadn't had before.

"What in specific? Is it... That guy, your husband?"

Jessica smacked her lips with her gaze fixed on you, scrutinizing within your eyes upon your sudden silence.

"You're really hung up on that asshole, aren't you?"

"It's not that. And I'm not even sure about my feelings on Massimo. I want to punch him in the face for lying to me, but I also I want to know he's alright, so I can... pass page."

Your shoulders slumped as you heaved, defeated, "And Miguel is no better. It feels like they'd be secretly competing against eachother whose worse."

Jessica grunted with a silent titter and shook her head.

"He's blunt and an asshole, undoubtedly. Despite that, I'd stick in Miguel's side, he'll make sure you're safe in his own way."

"Just wished he'd be less cryptic whenever I ask for answers."

"Again, he's protecting you."

"From what? From himself?"

"No. From the troubles your man dragged you to, honey."

"Ugh" You rolled your eyes, the last thing you needed right now was to be reminded how awful Massimo was, "Just forget it. I feel anxious enough as it is."

"What do you mean?"

"I... I have a bad feeling."

-----

You sat next to Miguel and carefully listened. The mobster's voice occasionally drowned the cutlery's tinkling out.

Topics had varied through the night, from luxury cars and ways to armor them, weapon hiding and smuggling, to your current predicament. Massimo.

"Kingpin is looking for him, his wife has gone MIA, which is convenient. Bitch's smart. The guy could learn a thing or two from her."

"He ratted out Delgado with the FBI. His associate! Wouldn't surprise me if he'd sell out his family to save his skin." The man called Harry Osborn spoke as he downed his whiskey.

"Da. My associates have gathered Intel, he hasn't left the country still."

You gulped thickly the more the men spoke. If seeing with your own hands what your husband had created wasn't enough, hearing it straight from the horse's mouth only crushed your heart even further.

"What about you, Diablo?"

"Max owes me money."

Many just hissed while contorting their faces disapprovingly.

"How much?"

"Four Million."

"Poor bastard sold his soul to you, didn't he?" Olivia Octavius mumbled between sardonic and titters.

Miguel downed his whiskey as your hands clawed on the golden sequins of the dress.

"What kind of fucked up woman marries a guy like that? She's desperate or corrupt as he is."

Olivia spat and a few nodded.

"Heard he was fooling her this whole time."

"Ahh, C'mon, Miguel. Didn't know you fell for such things."

Miguel just shrugged, then he lit up a vanilla and cherry cigarette to blow the smoke away from you.

"I'm giving people the benefit of doubt still. But I'll find him."

"You'll kill him?"

"Gotta collect my reaps first."

The men and Olivia grinned, everyone seemed pleased but you. It had been a good deal of information to swot on, so many to digest your stomach had turned queasy.

You were about to stand up, feeling the bile and nausea rising, that registered too late the acute ring piercing through your eardrums so badly after a powerful loud bang. Unable to move, frozen in the spot.

Everything felt in muted slow motion, some droplets of something warm and wet fell on your face, spraying you. You saw the group pulling out their guns one by one as Harry Osborn fell with a seemingly loud thud on the table.

Why isn't he moving?

Your heart pounded in your ears, throat constricted, and when you tried to scream nothing but a mute yell came out. A strong tanned hand pulled you down, as more loud bangs kept echoing, like distant fireworks underneath water.

Guns were sparkling with every shot they fired, people fell on the floor, staining the golden surface with crimson as the walls around received an ugly hole-themed makeover.

You could see Miguel grabbing your shoulders, shaking you while his mouth moved angrily as he pulled his gun away and kept you secured tightly underneath his frame.

Chaos had broke loose. And you weren't sure you'd live up to tell.

-----

Taglist:

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#t writes✨#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #el diablo wears prada #miguel o'hara smut

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miloformula123fan · 2 months

Note

Could you do fic for Peter 'Bono' Bonnington with wife teacher!reader? She's stressed about work and he just shuts her up with kisses and gets caught by the team. And they teased the couple endlessly. Just something fluff and cute. Thanks!! :))

Haha im gonna be honest i see bono as such a sap for his partner, and so that’s how i will always write him

(unless y’all want a part 2 of the love language fic)

sorry i feel like it's short

Please keep requesting - y'all have awesome ideas we agree on a lot of stuff :) - my guidelines are here, and if you want some prompts, they are here.

also feel free to come in and start chatting to me in my asks, would love to get to know y'all better

and if you want to be added to my taglist lmk :)

peter bonnington x wife!teacher!reader

---

“I sometimes feel like none of them care. I mean actually I know none of them care, one of the boys, Brayden, straight up asked me ‘miss why does the past matter? Surely the future matters more’ and while I was explaining that we have to study the past to make sure we don’t repeat the future, he was trying to flirt with the girl next to him.” Y/N sighed, Bono and her had found a small secluded area before the race began. But Y/N was really stressed out from work and so Bono had offered to let her vent about it.

“Aww, baby, I’m sorry…” Bono snuggled closer to his partner, wanting them to feel as loved as he could.

“If you ever get a job application from a Brayden Jackson that went to the school I’m teaching, immediately deny him please. It’s just annoying that very few students care, except for the A level students, and the school doesn’t care about me, particularly if we’re taking my recent working hours into account.” Y/N laughed, trying really hard to not let her tears spill.

“I can provide for you darling…you can quit your job, travel the world with me… I know that that’s not what you want to do. I know you love teaching for those few kids who do actually like history, but I hate seeing you so burnt out.” Bono comforted her, wiping away the stray tears that had fallen past her eyes onto her cheeks.

“But it is worth it for those few kids who come through the ranks, who do care. It’s worth 10 of the asshole kids for one of the kids who cares…but the hours are starting to get to me, I’m thinking about trying to find a better job, one that actually cares about me, and not just the kids, but then, I have to quit my job, and then I’ll be unemployed for a bit, until I find another job, and trying to find one of those jobs is hard to find and highly competitive…” Y/N looked even more stressed than she had when she had begun venting and her husband hated seeing her like this.

Bono couldn’t listen to her stress and just planted a kiss on her lips. And then when she looked slightly surprised, he did it again, littering kisses all over her face and lips. She started looking slightly surprised but ended up giggling by the time that Bono stopped his kissing assault for some air.

“What was that for?”

“Just because I love you.”

Bono resumed his kissing of his wife, enjoying her little giggles and smiles. Until he realised that not all the giggles were coming from the woman next to him.

He lifted his head and met eyes with James V, James A, Toto and Lewis all standing over the couple, all trying to hold their laughter in.

“Uhhh, hi?”

“Hi!”

“Hey”

“Hello”

“Morning Bono.” They all responded.

“Uhhh, I kind of thought this was a private corner, what are you all doing here?” Y/N had hid her face in Bono’s shoulder and was giggling at the situation.

“You’re late for pre pre-race briefing so we thought we’d come looking for you.”

“And-”

“And we can clearly tell that you’re busy but we would like to see you in the pre race briefing as soon as you’re um finished.” - Toto started ushering the other guys away

“Yeah, will do, see you guys soon. Now where were we?” Bono asked mischievously as he turned back to his partner, not even looking to see if the others had left fully.

---

“Hey Bono, is the wife coming down this weekend?”

“Uhh, yeah, yeah she is. Why?”

“Oh we made a little spot for you 2 to ‘canoodle’ and you won’t be disturbed.” James A’s grin was way too big for this to be an innocent kind thing, so bono slipped off the chair and followed him down the hall towards the supply closet.

Bono’s face blushed as he saw the little sign reading ‘Y/N and Bono’s smooching corner’ with a photo from their wedding also pasted on the piece of paper.

“Really?”

“Yeah man, your wife is great, but like we really don’t want to catch you snogging again, okay?”

“Okay” Bono replied in a weak voice, pulling out his phone to take a photo to send to Y/N, knowing she could have a good laugh about it.

---

taglist: @leosxrealm, @tallrock35, @wolf-knights, @janeholt3, @pear-1206

#f1 x reader #miloformula123fan #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #peter bonnington x reader #bono x reader #peter bonnington fic #peter bonnington #peter bonnington x female reader #peter bonnington x you #peter bonnington x y/n #bono fic #bono #bono x female reader #bono x you #bono x y/n

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sunflowersandsapphires · 3 months

Text

Including Sunlight

When Skies Are Gray, Chapter 4

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader

summary: Frank’s life has reached a crossroads: he can either continue to seclude himself and pursue a dark, lonely future, or he can open himself up to connecting with someone again and maybe achieve happiness. Being the grump that he is, Frank has already committed to the lonely path, but his curious new neighbor might just turn that around.

warnings: swearing, fluff, Frank having unhealthy coping mechanisms

a/n: I'm so sorry that this update is late, everyone! I've had a wacky month and it has completely thrown me off. Huge shout out to @xxdrixx for reminding me (again XD) to post what I'd written, and to my loves @madschiavelique and @gracethyomen for helping me plot the upcoming angst arc!!!

w/c: 5.9k

You hadn’t known Frank for very long, but that didn’t stop him from becoming a necessary fixture in your life. Needing Frank was similar to needing light, or fresh air. Sure, you could go without it for a bit, but it would drastically reduce the quality of your life.

Two days into his “business trip” (which you assumed was a cover for some illegal shenanigans because what sort of freelance construction worker has business trips), you were missing Frank something awful, and it seemed like Max was too. Though you’d tried your best to stick to the existing routine Frank had explained to you, the dog would get mopey in the evenings, laying his head on your lap with a dramatic sigh as he stared longingly towards the door.

Frank hadn’t so much as sent an emoji since his departure, a fact that highlighted his already glaring absence. You had no idea if he was even alive, but you refused to go down that path knowing you’d never make it out of that endless anxiety spiral. Hoping not to bother him while he was away, you’d refrained from reaching out. Until Max’s heavy sighs were too much for you to bear.

“I’ll see what I can do, buddy.” You promised, pulling out your phone and taking a picture of his pouting face.

Sending Max’s sulking portrait off to your stoic neighbor, you included a message.

You: I think he misses you. Hope you made it safely. ❤️

You were about to set your phone down, not expecting him to respond, but your phone buzzed immediately.

Frank: Sorry, bud. He behaving for you?

You: He’s being a perfect gentleman. Please come back to us in one piece.

Frank: Cross my heart.

Smiling at the fluttery sensation in your chest, you set your phone down and resumed petting the pitbull taking up residence on your lap.

Come back to us. A poor imitation of your melodic voice played throughout his brain on a loop as he got settled in the motel and began recon. It had been hours since you’d texted him and Frank couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not that he could ever stop thinking of you; the only thing that had kept him going through the bland, cross-state drive was the knowledge that he had you to return to.

And didn’t that terrify him. The knowledge that he had forged a connection valuable enough to anchor him on bad days should have triggered his factory reset. Cut all ties, change home and job, never look back. But you made him weak–sapping the resolve out of him with your doe eyes and intoxicating personality. He’d never be able to leave you like that, even if his proximity to you would get you killed.

Gritting his teeth, he began disassembling his rifle for the umpteenth time, hoping the familiar rhythm would provide an opportunity for his mind to claw its way out of the paranoid spiral it was currently parachuting down. Because it would do him no good to imagine the ways this could all fall apart. The high that your genuine care ignited in him was a hard one to shake, and he craved your affection more than any drug.

Frank was no stranger to being forgotten, hell, most days he wished for it. Disappearing into the shadows made his work easier and it had helped him prevent situations like this, like you, in the past. Yet here he was, three states away, feeling desired and significant because of four little sentences of fucking text. You were a goddamn miracle.

Placing the final piece of his weapon back into its place, he drew his hands towards himself, examining them. Given the nature of his work, both legal and less than, the skin was rough and littered with impressive callouses. Streaks of gun oil, dirt, and general grime lingered on the pads of his fingers and under his nails, a testament to the indelicacy of his job. How could he allow himself to touch you with these hands?

How could the universe allow him to indulge in something so pure, after what he’d done?

He’d given you his name, his real one, but there was no way you knew the extent of his crimes against the people in your city–if you did, you’d surely never speak to him again. Before meeting you, he’d never questioned his choices. Wiping the murderous, sex-trafficking and drug-dealing scum from the face of the Earth was his purpose, and he lived it with pride. Pulling the trigger, releasing bullet after bullet into the chest of some criminal douchebag, it was the only reason he had the energy to keep going after the loss of his family.

But the violence, that he’d made peace with, it separated him from the rest of society, kept him from forming attachments with people as delicate as you. Not to mention, you valued an honesty he couldn’t provide, and a stable relationship would require it…not that he was intending on pursuing that with you. Right?

Sighing wearily, he pinched the bridge of his nose, heart pummeling his ribcage. You deserved to know the truth about who he was and what he’d done, but Frank wasn’t sure he possessed the courage to break that news to you, to risk losing you forever.

Shifting uneasily on the fraying wicker chair, Frank studied a chip in the faux wood of the table he was seated at. Rubbing a thumb over the exposed plastic, he pondered his next move. His short recon session had verified Madani’s hunch that the arms dealers operated after dark, like most criminals, but sitting around the dingy motel room until then was a one-way ticket to insanity.

As if his body was pitying his moment of unprecedented indecision, his stomach growled ferociously. Fuck, he could use a decent meal and a hot cup of coffee. Plucking his keys and handgun from the nightstand, he shoved his arms into a black canvas jacket before braving the outside world.

Digging your glove-covered fingers into the laminated dough, you folded it over itself a few times before placing it back in its designated proofing bin to rise. Taking another lump of the yeasted mixture into your grasp, you savored the pleasant cushiony feeling beneath your hands as you worked, the slightly fermented smell of raw bread swirling around the kitchen as you flipped the mass.

Your heart thumped serenely as you kneaded the dough at a steady pace, creating a beautiful rhythm you were more than familiar with. It was music, of a sort; the pulse in your ears acting as the bass while the cacophony of rattling spice jars and cracking eggshells composed unique melodies unlike anything else.

Life was complicated, but food was simple. Customizing pastries and generating new recipes was an outlet for any emotion you could dream of. Tugging at the strands of dough helped soothe the tension in your shoulders, a symptom of the intense restlessness you’d been feeling since Frank left. Though his text had confirmed that he was alive, you couldn’t help but wallow in a feeling of gut-wrenching regret as you lived without him. If something happened to him out there, you’d never be able to tell him–

Shaking your head fiercely to clear the anxious thoughts from your mind, you raced to the walk-in, once again pouring your jittery energy into a recipe rather than letting your composure erode into nothing. Stabilizing the precarious tower of ingredients you’d stacked with your chin, you tread cautiously over to a clean station, unceremoniously dumping the contents onto the steel bench before popping your head out to the front.

“Stace, you want somethin’ to eat?” You called to the girl, who was currently standing by the register on her phone.

“What are you making?” She barely lifted her head with the question and her ambivalence made you snort.

“Oh, you know, same old.”

With a small shrug, Stacy nodded. “Sure, why not.”

Grinning, you ducked back into the kitchen and popped the lid off of the industrial blender, quickly whipping up two vibrantly colored and impeccably garnished bowls for the pair of you. Passing a spoon to Stacy, you smiled as she dug in eagerly.

“What, you didn’t eat breakfast this morning?” You giggled, reveling in the way her eyes lit up as she ate.

“Had a feeling you’d be cooking up a storm today.” Stacy replied, tilting her head at you knowingly. “You tend to do that when you’re mopey, and I’m never opposed to a free meal.”

Rolling your eyes, you huffed in defiance. “I’m not ‘mopey’.”

“No?” Your dark-haired friend smirked. “That’s why you’re staring at that stupid bowl like it killed your family?”

Ignoring her pointed look, you angled the bowl slightly differently before pulling out your phone.

“It’s a pretty meal. I wanted to take a picture.” You reasoned, snapping a few photos of the deep violet mixture.

“To send to lover boy?” Stacy snorted, wiggling her eyebrows at you.

“No! I mean, maybe, I guess. I mean—“ You spluttered and Stacy laughed boisterously. “Shut up!!” Pouting, you shoved your phone back into the pocket of your apron and stuck a spoon into your breakfast.

“C’mon, princess, don’t let my teasing interrupt your pitiful flirting attempts. I’m sure he wants to hear from you.” Stacy’s expression was nonchalant, as always, but her gaze softened when your shoulders slumped. “I’m serious. He’s like, embarrassingly into you.”

“I think you might be confused about which of us is ‘embarrassingly into’ the other.” You whined, burying your face in your hands.

“Oh you’re pathetically head over heels for him too, that’s why you have no game.”

Scoffing, you shoved at her shoulder. “You know what, I don’t need to be insulted like this. Get out of my kitchen.”

“It’s not insulting, it’s true!” She chuckled, eating the remaining few bites of her food as you struggled to force her out the double doors.

“Out, out, out!” You panted, finally getting her across the threshold.

The whoosh of air from the batwing doors blew stray hairs from your face, giving you pause. Did it matter why you reached out to him? He seemed to appreciate it…

“Fuck it.”

Frank turned the cheap off-white mug in his hands, letting the quickly fading warmth seep through the material and into his palms as he looked out the streaky window. A gray hue had settled over the rural town he was camped out in, courtesy of the building storm on the horizon. The clouds mimicked his mental state, growing darker by the minute as the world remained stagnant.

A low buzz caught his attention, his hand shooting out to stop his phone from vibrating off of the table. Flicking the screen open, his heart swelled with affection, like a ray of sunshine peeking through the barrier in the sky.

You: *image* It’s official, I’m becoming a hipster. I was more concerned about this photo than eating my breakfast.

Not attempting to hide his smile, Frank shoved his empty cup aside to free his thumbs.

Frank: Well, it looks so good, I might have to forgive you. What is it?

You: A smoothie bowl, very easy to make and quite tasty.

Frank: Never had one of those before. Looks good though, sunshine.

You: Thanks, sweetheart. I’ll make you one sometime.

Frank inhaled deeply, imagining that you were nearby and he could smell your soft vanilla soap. The thought of you cooking for him upon his return warmed his heart while simultaneously cracking it in two. He missed you dearly. Drawing his forearms into his chest, he took a picture of his own food, frowning at the grainy quality of the picture as it sent.

Frank: It ain’t as pretty as yours, but I’m eating breakfast myself.

The remnants of a stack of bland pancakes and some tough bacon paled in comparison to the gorgeous, speckled smoothie thing you’d sent him. Why it was in a bowl and not a cup, he wasn’t sure, but clearly you knew what you were doing so who was he to judge? A few seconds passed and Frank briefly wondered if he’d said something wrong. Before he could preemptively apologize, another bubble appeared on the screen.

You: Glad you are able to feed yourself without my help. I was starting to wonder…

Frank: Oh shut up, you goof. I do miss your cooking though.

You: Just my cooking?

His fingers hovered over the glass display, his brain scrambling for a response that didn’t reveal just how gone he was for you. In the end, he couldn’t find one.

Frank: Not just your cooking, honey. I have some work to do, but take care of yourself and Max for me, will you?

You: Of course, Frankie. Have a good day :)

Frank: You too, sunshine.

Clicking the power button on his phone, Frank flipped it over, settling his head against his rough hands and massaging his forehead. Coward.

The shrill ringing of his alarm shattered the remnants of his uneasy slumber. Whipping his arm out from under the sheets, he stopped the piercing noise with a frustrated growl. Sitting up was a process, thanks to the new bullet wounds in his shoulder and hip—a true testament to how sideways yesterday night had gone. Madani’s brief had implied that this would be a cut and dry operation. Get in, confirm the sale, contact her team, leave. He’d been given strict orders to not shoot unless absolutely necessary.

Which was a great plan, in theory. Frank was more than on board with it, even if the whole “no shooting” thing lengthened the process. If it kept him on Madani’s good side, and still managed to get him home before Lisa’s birthday, he could live with it.

Apparently, the rookie member of Madani’s team was not so thrilled with Frank “stealing” so much of the glory. After Frank’s recon session and subsequent confirmation of the sale, the former Marine was about to call for backup when a scrawny 20-something kid darted into the dark warehouse after the arms dealers, holding nothing but a goddamn glock. Anticipating bloodshed, Frank was grumbling and sprinting after him before the gunshots started.

Pulling the kid out by the straps of his ill-fitting bullet-proof vest was a task Frank managed by the skin of his teeth, procuring two moderate injuries in the process. Of course, the knowledge that the FBI was on their tail sent the arms dealers into a frenzy. Frank was sure they’d crossed state lines before Madani was even done screaming. Honestly, he half expected the poor woman to have steam coming out of her ears–she’d cussed at the kid with words even Frank considered impolite.

Not that he could blame her, he was fuming all the same, especially when Madani had explained that he wasn’t off the hook for the mission and should head back to the motel to await further instructions. As if he was reliving it, the conversation that followed played in his head on a loop, their screaming match echoing off the walls of his brain.

“For fuck’s SAKE, Madani, I did what you wanted–why should I be punished for the stupidity of this asshole?”

“Oh, he’ll be dealt with, believe me. But the agreement was to get Roshev and Miller into my custody. Not give my team a half-assed warning and head back to New York scot free.”

“Half-assed–you’re fucking joking. I had to ditch the objective to rescue YOUR DAMN AGENT.”

“Go back to your room, Frank. I won’t ask again.”

“You’re not–”

“That’s an ORDER, Castle.”

So here he was: waking up on a shitty mattress, his skin and hair still streaked with dirt and blood (because the crappy water pressure and freezing temperature had infuriated him to the point that he’d cut his shower short after cleaning his wounds), in pain and in desperate need of a better cup of coffee than anyone around here was capable of brewing.

On top of that, it was his dead daughter’s 18th birthday–a fact that hung over him like a cloud of poisonous gas, slowly squeezing the air from his lungs, and he was powerless to stop it. He wanted to scream, to cry, to grieve for her, to do something, anything–but instead he was fucking stuck here, beneath Madani’s thumb until she tired of him.

It was naive to think that he’d be home today, maybe drinking coffee that you had made specifically for him, bringing flowers to the cemetery, taking Max for a walk, trying to have a quiet day in Lisa’s memory instead of waiting around to deal with two scumbags who got paid to arm other criminals. He should have just shot them.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes with a rough hand, he stalked to the bathroom to clean up–given that a man covered in blood would probably scare the poor waitress at the diner down the street shitless. As he was rubbing a towel through his hair, his phone buzzed–presumably with a curt message from Madani about something else he’d done wrong. Groaning internally, he braced himself for another argument, but it never came.

Instead, his phone had an unopened message from you. Flicking open the home screen, he felt a weight fall off his shoulders as he pulled up the photo you’d attached.

It was a beautiful picture of you holding a basket of vibrantly colored cherries in the midst of some sort of farmer’s market. Your delicate features were highlighted by an array of pinks and oranges, courtesy of the sunrise in the background. Your smile was bright, your eyes sparkling as you beamed at the camera.

Your first message was a simple explanation of your morning activities.

You: It’s market day! I bought these gorgeous cherries to make some tarts. I’ll save you one ;)

As he was rereading the message, allowing his general irritation to fade as thoughts of you flooded his brain, his phone vibrated again.

You: Thinking of you today. I’m just a text away if you need anything ❤️

Sinking down onto the motel bed, his throat constricted as he processed the sentiment. He was surprised that you remembered today was hard for him, even more so that you offered to be a line of support. But that was exactly who you were, wasn’t it? Someone who cared so deeply for the people around her, and for some fucking reason that included Frank.

Typing and retyping a response to you, Frank blew out a breath. He felt almost…jittery.

Frank: Thanks, sunshine. That means a lot. I’m looking forward to that cherry tart when I get back.

You: I’ll make you as many as you want, Frankie.

Lips twitching, he imagined you whirling around your kitchen in one of your signature patterned dresses making him a special batch of pastries. His heart squeezed painfully; your absence was taking a toll on him that he had not expected. Before he could consider his next message to you, Madani’s number flashed on the screen, indicating an incoming call. Lips curling into a silent snarl, he answered.

“What, Madani?” He rumbled out.

“Well, good morning to you too, sunshine.” Her response wasn’t meant to dig under his skin, she simply meant it as a superficial jab, but the inclusion of the pet name he associated with you ignited a white hot anger in his gut, feral and hungry.

“The fuck do you want,” He bit out.

“Watch your tone, Castle. Remember who owes whom a favor here.”

Rolling his eyes, he brought out a more polite tone. “Yes, ma’am.”

She huffed across the line, “Fuck you too. We found them. I’ll send the coordinates now.”

“Lookin’ forward to it.” He ended the call.

Stretching your legs as best you could beneath the hefty pitbull, you sighed.

It had been hours since Frank’s last text and you were not handling it well–the image of the little typing bubble on his side of the text chain haunting your every moment. Logically, the presence of those three flashing dots just meant he had started to type something and then forgot or had something else to attend to, but that knowledge didn’t quell the anxiety growing in your chest.

He was out there, doing god knows what, on his daughter’s 18th birthday, presumably alone and hurting–and there was nothing you could do but wait. And cook him a lasagna of course. Which you had, giving your apartment the pleasant aroma of onions, tomatoes, and ricotta cheese as the dish baked.

Your consciousness vibrated with the tenacity of an anxious chihuahua, listless with boredom and concern about your sweetheart of a neighbor. Squirming out from under Max’s head, you chuckled as the sleepy pitbull huffed in annoyance. “Sorry, bubba. I need to move around.”

In the final 30 minutes that you lasagna baked, you managed to throw together some simple pastry dough and pull out the small basket of cherries from your fridge. Popping one of the scarlet fruits into your mouth, you began to pluck the remaining stems off before removing their pits. Once they’d been sufficiently prepped, and your hands were adequately smattered with droplets of maroon fruit juice, you dumped them unceremoniously into a pot to create a compote. It didn’t necessarily pair well with lasagna, but you’d promised Frank a cherry pastry.

Originally, you’d considered making him a cherry basil frangipane, identical to the ones you’d stacked in the bakery’s display case that morning. But, after the day he’d probably had, you figured he’d want something…less intricate. The compliment you’d given him during his first visit to the cafe still held true–Frank was simple and honest. He wasn’t difficult to please, but fancy words and expensive ingredients alone wouldn’t cut it. The food had to be good. So, you pulled out all the stops, making a recipe that you hadn’t made since you lived with Leo: cherry turnovers.

Unlike your wonderful neighbor, the majority of patrons in the city needed a reason besides quality to continue giving you business. Elaborately decorated pastries and unique flavor profiles were what kept the cafe in business, so you hadn’t tried selling a modest dessert like these since your first few weeks at the Rainy Day Bakery. It was familiar, comforting even. You hoped it would bring Frank similar satisfaction.

Trading the bubbling lasagna for a tray of triangle-shaped pastries, you brushed your hands on your hips. Re-covering the pasta dish, you hurriedly cleaned your kitchen, wiping away the traces of flour and sugar that inevitably dusted your countertops after you baked. As you rinsed out the mixing bowl, a high-pitched whimper popped the bubble of silence surrounding your apartment. Sitting rigidly by the door to your apartment, Max’s dark eyes pleaded with you.

“Gosh, you’re right, bud! It is dinner time. I’m sorry, I got carried away. Let’s go get you set up, huh?”

Snatching Frank’s spare key from your counter, you attached Max’s thick leash to his collar and jogged him back to his apartment, adding an extra handful of kibble as an apology for making him wait. Stroking his short fur a few times, you slipped the key into your pocket, scurrying back over to your apartment to grab the turnovers before they caught fire and reduced the building to ashes.

Carefully balancing the pastries and lasagna in your hands, you marched back over to Frank’s apartment. Pretty soon, and with only one close call, the food was lined up on Frank’s countertop to cool. Brushing your hands together, you admired your handiwork.

“Please tell me ya haven’t been sittin’ here with the door open all night.”

The gruff voice behind you made you jump in shock. Whirling around, your fear morphed into pure joy as you took in the ruggedly handsome man before you.

“Shit, Frankie! You snuck up on me.” You practically squealed, rushing to hug him in greeting. He grunted as you slammed against him, hissing as you squeezed your arms around his hips. Eyes widening in realization, you started to pull back. “Oh fuck, you’re hurt, aren’t you? I’m so sorry, I–”

Before you could unwrap your arms from his body, his broad hands splayed across your back, muscular arms tugging you back against his firm chest.

“‘M fine, honey.” Came Frank’s soothing rumble. You felt him press a kiss to your crown before he buried his face in your hair. “Missed you like crazy, sunshine.” His voice was soft, as if he didn’t want you to hear the darling confession.

“God, I missed you too, Frankie.” You chuckled, your eyes prickling with tears, your body in awe of your own honesty. With his stubbled chin atop your head and his thick arms around your waist, you felt entirely sheltered by his body. He’d created a bubble of safety and serenity for you, as he always did.

Remaining in his arms, you shifted out from under his head to examine him. Though you’d felt it across your scalp, his beard was noticeably overgrown and in need of a trim. His hair greasy and mussed, streaked with grime, just like his face. The skin of his face was tinged red, with blush or sunburn you weren’t quite sure, and the bags under his eyes were deep. In spite of yourself, your bottom lip stuck out, brow pinching in concern. Bringing a hand up to cradle his face, you stroked a thumb gently over his cheek, careful to avoid the sizeable bruise across it.

“Oh sweetheart. What did they do to you?” You asked quietly, feeling choked up as the hulking man nuzzled into your touch, his eyes falling shut with a weary sigh.

“It’s nothin’.” He murmured, his words worn out—as if he’d spoken them so many times they’d lost all meaning.

“Then it shouldn’t take long to get you cleaned up.” You smiled, the gesture not making it to your eyes. Standing on your tiptoes, you pressed a kiss to his prickly cheek before unwinding his arms from your waist. He started to retract his arms, to tuck them against his sides, but you caught his fingers with yours, grasping his hands tenderly. “Come sit, sweetheart. You must be exhausted.”

The poor man didn’t argue. Instead, he let you tug him to the couch and sit him down, his lips twitching with fond amusement when you tucked a blanket around his shoulders. “This ain’t mine.”

You shrugged, the hint of a smirk tugging at your lips. “I redecorated.”

“I was barely gone three days.” Frank snorted, rolling his eyes at you.

Poorly stifling a smile as you pretended to be annoyed, you spoke as though it was obvious why you’d done it. “Your apartment is freezing, Frank. Did you want me and Max to get hypothermia while you were gone?”

He huffed a laugh. “Still bossy.” Letting his head tip back to meet the spine of the couch, his eyes fluttered shut. Your cool touch manifested on his cheek once again.

“Do you have a first aid kit, Frankie?”

“Under the bathroom sink.” He answered, his words slurred ever so slightly with fatigue. He received a slight squeeze of his arm in response, your warm fingers leaving a lasting imprint on his skin.

A year ago, he would never have let himself have this—a moment of peace. Time to let his guard down, to trust someone else to ease his pain. But the combination of his aching body, his heavy eyelids, and your fussing nature had him letting go of a tension he’d held for years, and he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Soft footsteps alerted him to your presence. Though his eyes were closed, he could hear you shuffle into a crouch, your chest positioned at his knees.

Stifling a groan, he straightened his posture, wincing slightly as the motion tugged on his day old stitches. His eyes immediately focused on your adorable form in front of him, your own gaze roaming over the various bruises covering his visible skin. Dipping a washcloth into a small bowl of water, you gently lifted his wrist, washing away the dried blood on his knuckles. As you worked, a small river of dirty water–tinged pink from his scarlet blood–dripped down his fingers and onto your dress.

He watched the trio of droplets fall, time slowing as if to highlight the moment that reignited his anxiety. Splashing across the multicolored fabric, the liquid seeped into your skirt, staining it as you held his hand. Your kindness was endless, and his presence was tarnishing it, ruining it, ruining you.

Jerking his hand backwards, he cradled it close to his chest. “Lemme do this. I’m gettin’ blood on your pretty dress, sunshine.” He started to stand but you shook your head, gently pushing him back into the cushion and taking his hand in your grasp once again.

Looking directly into his eyes with an intensity that you always seemed to carry, your lips curved into a small smile. “Frank, it’s just a dress, sweetheart. I promise it’s ok. Let me help you?” With your free hand, you stroked a wayward strand of his hair off of his clammy forehead.

Despite the fact that your gaze conveyed your desire to continue patching him up regardless of his answer, your tone was stilted–giving him the option to deny your help.

“You’re too sweet for your own damn good, you know.” He sighed, letting his arm go limp in your grip to let you finish what you’d started.

“Well, you’re too stoic for yours. Makes us quite a pair, doesn’t it?” Your eyes glimmered roguishly, your smirk encouraging him to roll his eyes.

“Whatever you say, sunshine.” He snorted, knowing full well that you were right.

You made quick work of tidying up the split skin across his knuckles, moving on to the bruised skin of his cheeks.

“Didn’t know you were growing this out, Frankie.” You quipped, tugging gently on the untamed curls of his beard.

His lips twitched, revealing a glimpse of his teeth as he smiled. “Wasn’t plannin’ on it. Whaddya think?”

Making a great show of shuffling back to study his face, you tapped your chin. “I like it.”

“You do? Last time it was this long, everyone thought I was some sort of hipster.”

Shrugging, you focused your eyes back on the cloth in your hand. “I always like how you look, Frankie.”

Frank’s breath caught in his throat, unable to quite make it to his lungs. Thankfully, he could blame his lack of response on the fact that you were rinsing the injuries on his face, rather than his own lack of emotional intelligence.

Eventually, you heaved out a breath, looking at him with a raised brow. “Did you want me to look at whatever’s bothering you here?” You asked, gesturing to his hip.

“If I told ya I have no idea what you mean, would ya call me on it?” He grumbles, not quite sure how he’d feel revealing that much of himself to you.

You thought for a minute. Nodding once, you answered. “I’d roll my eyes, but respect your desire for privacy.”

Swallowing thickly, he huffed a nervous laugh. “Fair enough.” With two fingers, he tugged his loose shirt up and over his head, not bothering to disguise his grimace as he rotated his injured shoulder. Pulling the waistband of his pants down an inch, he suddenly felt a surge of fear, not sure how you’d react to seeing his array of scars.

Inhaling sharply, you traced around his stitches with a finger. “Oh, Frank.”

“It’s—“

“It’s not nothing.” Taking his hands again, your intensity returned. “You mean something to me. Seeing you hurt…it’s never nothing, ok? Not to me.”

A lump formed in his throat, he nodded as he tried to swallow it down. “Sorry.”

“No apology necessary,” You squeezed his hands, placing a tender kiss on the raw knuckles of his right hand before grabbing a roll of bandages from your pile of supplies. “I’m not upset that you’re hurt. I just don’t want you to be afraid to lean on someone else for a change.”

You dressed his larger wounds in contemplative silence, your soft skin a welcome change to the rough contact he was used to.

“How’d ya learn to patch people up, sunshine? Playin’ nurse for other neighborhood menaces behind my back?”

You giggled. “You’re my only patient currently. Cross my heart. I’ve just gotten used to first aid after injuring myself my whole life.”

Bringing a hand up to cup your cheek, Frank’s brow furrowed. “Injurin’ yourself? What do you mean?”

Eyes widening in realization, you shook your head. “Not intentionally! I’ve just been a klutz for as long as I can remember.�� Chuckling sheepishly, you added, “Takes a toll every once in a while.”

Laughing with relief, he traced a finger along your jaw as he withdrew his hand from your face. “Ah, gotcha. Christ, had me scared there, pretty girl.”

Your face flushed with heat at the new pet name. You tied off the fresh bandages and stood up. “You should be good to go, unless you’ve got any other areas that need to be looked at?”

Blushing as his mind traveled to less innocent places, he shook his head. “I’m fine, honey. Thank you. Really.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” You winked at him, heading to the kitchen to dispose of the dirty water and trash. As you rinsed the last of the grime from the bowl you’d used, Frank moaned behind you.

“Holy shit.” His words were mumbled around a mouthful of pastry, the other half of a cherry turnover in his hand. Swallowing with another horrifically attractive noise, he lifted the dessert in a gesture. “Did you make these?”

“Yes, but they were for after dinner!” You scolded, your smile completely betraying your feigned annoyance. “Cherry turnovers. Do you like them?”

“No, they’re awful.” Frank deadpanned, shoving the rest of the pastry into his mouth ungracefully. You giggled, uncovering the lasagna before he could reach for another turnover.

“Would you like some actual food, you heathen?” You asked through stray laughs.

“You made me a lasagna?”

“Thought you might want some comfort food today. So I made two of my favorites.”

“Thank you,” Frank spoke your name gravely, as if it was a prayer. “God, sunshine, I dunno what to say.” Your heart ached as his voice cracked around the words.

“You don’t need to say anything, handsome. Just eat, so you can rest soon, yah?”

Frank couldn’t help but let the tension he’d been carrying for days roll off his back like droplets of water, his eyes crinkling with fondness as you puttered around his kitchen as if you had it memorized. You plated two hearty servings of lasagna and took a seat next to him, handing him a fork.

“I’m glad you made it back safely.” You smiled, your gaze more timid than he’d ever seen it.

“Me too, sunshine.” After placing a kiss on your forehead, he speared the fork into the food on his plate, taking a massive bite.

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.” Frank groaned, beaming at you.

Laughing brightly, you took a bite of your own, overjoyed to have Frank to eat with again.

Thanks for reading! As always, comments and reblogs are incredibly appreciated.

Taglist: @cheshirecat484@xxdrix@smhnxdiii@mattmurdocksstarlight@danzer8705

#frank castle #my writing #marvel #the punisher #frank castle x reader #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x you #frank castle imagine #frank castle angst #netflix the punisher #the punisher x reader #the punisher imagine #jon bernthal #fc #gray skies

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naavispider · 7 months

Note

Quaritch helping Spider re-apply his stripes. That’s it that’s the prompt 💖

Thank you! I loved this one 💞💙 Words: 2.6k

💙 Stripes 💙

“Hey! Hands off.”

Spider looked up conspicuously from where he’d been attempting to open the drawstring of Wainfleet’s pack. He held his hands up in a sign of surrender, an air of annoyance settling heavily on his shoulders.

“The hell?” Quaritch’s second in command complained across the clearing. “Since when are you allowed to go through our shit?”

Spider scowled. It wasn’t like he was up to no good. He wasn’t searching for weapons or anything like that.

Quaritch looked over from where he’d been standing sentry on the outskirts of the camp, rifle in hand.

“What are you after anyway?”

“Your mom.”

Quaritch jerked his chin at Wainfleet, his highly trained ears picking up the accusatory tone in Spider’s voice. He strode over. “What are you up to, kid?”

Spider tried to repress his irritation. It was none of their business, for Eywa’s sake. Where was the trust? “Have you got a bowl?”

Quaritch’s recombinant eyebrows rose an inch higher up his brow, while Wainfleet’s eyes narrowed. “A bowl?” he repeated.

Spider nodded.

“Now what do you want a bowl for?”

He had to roll his eyes. He couldn’t help it. He hated having to explain every little thing to them. Unlike with Wainfleet, he chose not to take the piss. “To grind yovo berries in, if you gotta know.”

He stared at Quaritch, who seemed to be assessing him.

“Is that a good enough reason?”

Quaritch looked from Spider’s angry expression, over to the pile of berries he’d collected, and finally back to the fading blue stripes on Spider’s arms and chest. He pursed his lips and Spider wondered if he was putting two and two together.

“Lyle, grab a tin.”

Wainfleet mumbled mutinously as he got up from his position resting against a tree trunk. Spider didn’t know if Quaritch had realised what he was up to, but he was grateful - and surprised - that he had decided to help.

Spider smiled sarcastically as he caught the recom-sized camping bowl that Wainfleet threw in his direction. “Thanks so much.”

“Anything to help my favourite feral man-child,” Wainfleet replied with an equal amount of sarcasm as Quaritch returned back to standing guard.

“I’m the only feral man-child here.”

“Precisely,” muttered Wainfleet darkly.

Spider flipped him off. He retreated back to his pile of berries and scooped them into the tin. Then, he left Wainfleet dozing against the tree and wandered over to the nearest bladder polyp, plucking it carefully at its root to preserve the juice inside. He was still missing a few of the other ingredients to maximise the dye, but he was working with what he had. Returning to the tin of berries, he stuck his tongue between his teeth as he squeezed the sap from out of the polyp, adding it to the fruit.

He had been away from home for what must be two weeks by now, and his stripes had started to fade a few days back. He’d noticed it almost immediately, and without their colour staining his skin he felt like a different person. They’d unintentionally become his trademark. However, it was about more than just retaining his identity whilst stuck playing House with the enemy. The marks gave him confidence and reminded him that he had something to go back to after this was all over - people who would miss him. Without them, he felt physically different too. Almost colder, even. Like they provided a protection he didn’t know he’d been carrying. He knew it was stupid, but deep down he sometimes wondered if Eywa would still be able to recognise him. She’d looked out for him his whole life, Spider believed that. Ever since he was small. Too small to be outside in an environment that wasn’t created for him. She had protected him - there was no other explanation. And now, he was losing his only connection he had left with her.

He picked up a wide stick that he’d found earlier, perfectly sized for grinding, and began to mash the fruit. When it was a decent consistency (he had to return for another polyp) he dipped his middle finger in and slowly began to layer the mixture over the stripes on his legs. Small, narrow strokes that mimicked the natural patterns of the Na’vi. It had taken him years to perfect, spending hours with Kiri trying to get it right. He remembered back when he first started doing this. He must have been about seven, and had decided to just rub the blue fruit over himself in lines. It looked ridiculous. Everyone either laughed or pitied him.

The only person who didn’t was Kiri.

His heart lurched as he realised how much he missed her.

Thankfully, a scoff pulled him from his thoughts. He spun around ready to snap at Wainfleet, already on the defensive, only to find the recom watching him with amusement, not malice.

“That’s real cute, kid.”

“Er… thanks,” Spider replied, not believing Wainfleet for one moment.

“Where did you learn that?” For some reason, he seemed genuinely interested.

Spider shrugged. “I dunno. I just sort of experimented until I got it right. It’s missing the tstxa'a juice and Spartan flowers, but times are desperate.” He said it jovially, but he didn’t miss how Wainfleet’s ears flicked back when he mentioned his captivity.

“You made it up yourself?” He made a low whistle. “You could have been a right little scientist if you were born on Earth.”

The thought made Spider physically cringe.

“Aw, come on! Did you never wonder what your life would have been like if you were raised on your actual home planet?” “Nope,” he replied. He could answer with absolute certainty.

Wainfeet frowned disbelievingly. “Never?”

“That place isn’t my home. I don’t belong there any more than I belong on Naranawm, or anywhere else. Eywa'eveng is my home.”

“But you must have been curious?”

Spider paused circling his thigh with the paint. “Would you be curious? If the planet was dying and it was thanks to your race that did it?”

Wainfleet pulled a contemplative face. “I think so, yeah.”

“Yeah, well… Are you honestly telling me it’s that great?”

Wainfleet’s shoulders sagged infinitesimally, though he kept up a good show of bravado. “I guess not. But at least it has decent hot dogs.”

Spider couldn’t imagine why warm canines were of any benefit to him, and he didn’t care to ask. He returned to painting his skin. His ankles and calves had pretty much dried off by now, so he gently brushed off the powdery excess and decided to tackle his left arm.

After about thirty minutes, Quaritch swapped out with Mansk for guard duty, and of course came strolling over to Spider.

“What are you up to?” His eyes widened curiously when he saw Spider with the tin of paint.

Spider was currently struggling to apply the dye far enough over his right shoulder. He hadn’t yet thought of a plan about how to do his back. “Nothing,” he replied bluntly.

Unfortunately, Quaritch ignored the blatant hint and crouched down beside him, watching him work.

“The cavalry's arrived, kid.” Wainfleet looked relieved as he sat up from his nap. “For a while I was worried he’d ask me to help him.”

Spider grit his teeth. As if he’d sink that low.

Quaritch watched him thoughtfully, which Spider hated. He wasn’t used to being studied so hard, especially not by someone as physically intimidating as Miles Quaritch. “Do you want a hand?”

“Yeah… I think I’m good, thanks.”

Quaritch just looked amused and slightly baffled. “Right.” He paused. “And how exactly do you plan on doing your back?”

It was an uncomfortable question - one that made Spider put down his tin of dye and stop trying to reach some unreachable area. “I’ll manage,” he growled.

He finally looked at Quaritch, who held his gaze. He didn’t know what the man was waiting for, but he found out when the tin was snatched from his hands and he was nudged gently forwards so he fell onto his hands. “What are you doing?” he exclaimed indignantly.

Quaritch shuffled victoriously behind him, tin in hand and appraising the faint marks on his son’s back. “Lending a hand,” he explained condescendingly. “You do want your back done, don’t you?”

For a moment, Spider was tempted to say no, he didn’t. But as soon as the words bubbled to his mouth, they died on his tongue. He did want his back done, and for that to happen he knew he’d have to accept some form of help. He looked behind him to see that Quaritch was smirking, and he bristled. He knew Quaritch was enjoying this. But he didn’t hate it enough to draw a line.

“Just… go over the marks that are already there.”

“You got it, tiger.”

“And don’t go over the lines.”

“Okay.”

Spider waited in anticipation to feel Quaritch’s touch. Just before he felt a finger brush against him, he blurted out again.

“Just a thin layer. The dye’s strong.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Eywa,” he cursed under his breath, in disbelief that he was letting this happen. The only person he ever asked to help him was Kiri. This felt wrong, like a violation of something special that only the two of them did.

Times are desperate, he thought to himself.

He was able to stop himself from flinching away when Quaritch gripped his shoulder, and with the other hand began to trace the intricate markings that had become so important to him.

It felt wrong. But he didn’t shake the man away either. It was a sensation he needed to get used to - Quaritch’s fingers were larger and more calloused than Kiri’s, but he applied the dye with just the same level of care. It surprised Spider how gently the recom went. How slow and careful his strokes were.

Eywa, he missed the sensation. If he closed his eyes and didn’t think too hard, he could almost imagine he was back home at High Camp with Kiri, and everything was back to the way it should be. His back muscles slowly started to relax, and both were quiet for a while.

“So who normally helps you?” Quaritch broke the silence.

“Kiri,” Spider answered without realising.

“And who’s that?”

“She’s just my friend,” he answered truthfully. He didn’t like to talk about her with Quaritch.

“Is that the five fingered one?” Quaritch asked from behind. Spider imagined understanding dawning on the recom’s face as he remembered their initial encounter.

“The one you were going to hurt? Yep.”

An awkwardness hung in the air around them. It surrounded the pair, making neither sure what to say next. Quaritch’s finger dipped back into the dye and continued to trace Spider’s skin lightly.

“We’re not out to hurt people, you know that right? We just got a mission to complete.”

“Sounds about right. I wonder if Hitler thought the same.”

Quaritch pulled away, using the hand that wasn’t coated in paint to twist Spider around to face him. “Are you serious?”

“What?” Spider challenged.

“Hitler, really?”

The fury in Quaritch’s eyes was matched only by another expression that wasn’t so easily placed. After a moment of staring at him, Spider finally realised what it was - hurt.

A flicker of doubt flared in Spider’s chest. Had he just said something wrong? He tried to remember everything Norm had told him about that particular war in Earth’s history. He was fairly sure he remembered right. It was a genocide.

“You’re young. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Quaritch decided, spinning Spider around a little more forcefully than before, and returning to the stripes. “Never compare me to scum like that again.”

“Sorry,” Spider mumbled sarcastically. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was apologising for.

Just as he thought silence had returned to the pair, Quaritch started up again. “Hitler was an evil piece of shit pretending to be a human being.”

“The parallels continue,” Spider muttered before he could stop himself.

“Jesus Christ, Miles!” Spider was once again surprised at the outrage in the Colonel’s voice. “I know what you think of me. I know I’m playing for a different team than you. But I ain’t no genocidal maniac.”

You killed women and babies when you destroyed Hometree. You didn’t care that the clan would be decimated. You’re a war criminal. This time, he bit his tongue.

As if reading his thoughts, Quaritch continued. “Miles Quaritch… that’s a different ballgame. But I’m not that man.”

Spider didn’t reply.

“You hear me? Spider?”

He didn’t know how much he agreed with the morally ambiguous statement, but he backed down anyway. “Okay…”

For some unbeknownst reason, he felt himself feeling… bad. Which only confused him further. Now he was feeling guilty over upsetting the man’s feelings? Well, no. That wasn’t exactly true. But he was more confused than ever. Clearly, Quaritch believed he was a new person. A fresh start. But did Spider? Could he afford this version of his father a second chance? He didn’t know that he could.

But it didn’t matter anyway because even if the recombinant version of Quaritch was completely separated morally and ethically from the original, this version still had crimes to answer for. The first and most major of which being colonising, although it was closely followed by kidnapping, Spider thought bitterly.

A few long moments passed, and Spider started to suspect that Quaritch was using the time to calm down rather than because he needed more time to finish the stripes.

“This is a piece of piss,” Quaritch finally broke the silence.

Immediately, Spider tried to pull away dubiously, but Quaritch’s large hand kept him in place.

“Relax, I just mean it’s easy.”

“Are you going over the lines?” Spider demanded. He wasn’t going to sit here if Quaritch was just going to fuck it up and make it look stupid.

“No. It looks great.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Trust me. Lyle! Come here and vouch for me…”

Wainfleet groaned, but dutifully set his holotablet aside and came around Spider’s back. “Shit, Colonel, that ain’t half bad.”

“See, what did I tell you?”

“Hey Z! Come over here!” Spider groaned. The last thing he wanted was for the whole squad to be party to the humiliating experience.

Zdinarsk approached with similar disdain to Wainfleet at first, but quickly recovered when she smirked her approval at the Colonel’s artistic licence.

“Are you done yet?” he asked.

“Yep, all finished!”

“Right. Can I see?” He wasn’t about to take Quaritch and the recoms’ word for it.

Quaritch humoured him by pulling out his holotablet and taking a photo, handing it to Spider. Amazingly, it didn’t look half as shit as Spider had been expecting. The patterns danced across his skin in a decent impression of the Na’vi’s, just as he remembered. He felt far more like himself.

“Not bad,” he sniffed.

“That all I get?”

“I’m not thanking you. I never asked you, remember?”

Wainfleet chuckled and Zdinarsk wolf whistled Spider’s boldness.

“I mean, that’s true,” Wainfleet helpfully supported.

Quaritch’s tail swished behind him as he stood. “Fine. But don’t come running to me when they start to fade again.”

The brief joy at having his stripes back died in Spider’s chest. It would take them another couple of weeks to fade. He wouldn’t still be here then, would he?

Quaritch brushed the dirt from his pant leg, swinging his rifle back over his shoulder. He turned to the rest of the camp and announced his next order in a voice stronger than steel. “Start packing. We move in five.”

#avatar the way of water #spider socorro #miles quaritch #miles spider socorro #recom quaritch #avatar 2 #atwow #avatar wow fanfic #avatar fanfiction #avatar spider #my stuff: stripes #oneshot #ask

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darksideofthemoonbot · 18 days

Text

Slaanesh

As I previously covered my favourite chaos god, Nurgle, I thought I'd go on to my second favourite: Slaanesh. Not my favourite but the one I relate to the most. Fair warning, this gets personal and not especially amusing. Rather dark actually.

For context to start: I have chronic pain, fibromyalgia stemming from childhood trauma, since I was nine years old. I also have significant mental health issues for which I get therapy and medication. I have only been treated for the chronic pain for a few years, after about 27 years of literal constant torture by my own nervous system.

I understand obsession and chasing the next sensation. Of extremes of passion and self destructive indulgences. I self medicated in various ways for a long time. I am also, as I joke sometimes, a "recovering yandere". I've had times where I've become so obsessed with someone I only know online, that I spent the entire day staring at a message screen waiting for a reply, despite them probably being at work or otherwise busy; because interacting with them was the only thing that mattered and gave my life purpose. New sensations, greater sensations, were always needed to escape the torture chamber of my body.

On a lighter note: on to the circles of seduction

Avidity – I grew up in the 80s and 90s, when "greed is good" was really taking hold in public consciousness. Despite that, this temptation has rarely been much of a love of mine. I collect sins as a hobby but my desire for money has not generally been for money's sake, more on that later.

Gluttony – for so long, food was more an annoyance to me than anything. The suffering drowned out any enjoyment so it was merely a tedious habit I had to partake in to survive.

However! Now that I am getting treatment, I can enjoy things again. And the lack of familiarity with pleasure from food makes it so intense sometimes! Most recently I had a peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich on generic store-bought whole wheat bread. It was so good. Unbelievably good. My mouth tingled so much it tickled and I almost had to stop eating. The savoury all natural peanut butter, the sweet tang of the jelly, and the soft squishy texture of the bread. Oh dear gods it was heavenly.

Carnality – this seems to be what people first think of when they think of Slaanesh, which to people not on the ace spectrum is probably obvious. For a long time I thought I was ace. No interest, in fact I was hostile to the idea due to trauma. But trauma response is not the same as being ace, and it turns out I am not. Very not. Switch/vers, bi. And in a committed relationship of 24 years with a partner who has no complaints, heh.

Paramountcy – power, control, influence. These are a heady wine for many. I have considered running for local office, school board or something, with ambitions to perhaps state level. Not that I have the means, I am regrettably disabled and the demands of power are too much for me. Doesn't stop me dreaming. And thinking I am more worthy than others to wield such power. Perhaps foolishly.

Vainglory – remember greed above? This is where it gets me. I don't want money for money sake; I want it for all the good I could do with it. Buy and forgive debt. Start businesses that pay better and sell lower. Scholarships. Political influence to improve people's lives materially. Providing food to those in need free of charge. Building low/no rent but well maintained housing. Just do a whole lot of good with vast fortunes. Because then people will love me, cherish me, praise me for my largesse kindness. I will be invited to all the public events, have hospitals named after me, get messages of gratitude from all those I've helped. To be worshipped, in a secular way, for my use of my money. And yet remain rich, for after a certain threshold money compounds upon itself indefinitely.

Indolency – here's the circle where I die. I am... so tired. Decades of misery have drained me. Medications sap my energy even as they reduce my pain. I've had long swathes of time where I'd go to bed around 21:00 and sleep until 10:00. And then nap in the afternoon. Napping in fact was my chief hobby for many years. I didn't know relaxation until recently, as I was always tense; trying to hold myself up so less of me was pressed on a surface, because it hurt. I still struggle to relax and let a bed or chair hold me up without my effort. It is an alien sensation, frightful in a way, as though I will fall through the world if I let go.

The Palace of Pleasure – no line uncrossed, no barrier unbroken, no debasement too low, no extreme too high. Worry not, dear reader, I do in fact have scruples. But I relate to the notion well. After half a lifetime of senses dulled by endless unchanging aches and an unbalanced mind, I yearn. I yearn for all those experiences that many take for granted. The joy of a sandwich, the thrill of minor ambition, the softness of restorative rest. Pleasure. It isn't what I expected. I imagined pleasure as a passive feeling, a relaxation and untroubled feeling. A soothing of the pain, I couldn't imagine more. Yet it is more than that. It feels very much like the opposite of pain, an intense and sometimes stabbing sensation. A good one. Like a pain but you want to experience it. Pleasure can be so good and so intense, a mirror of what life used to be.

And I want more.

#chaos gods #slaanesh #warhammer 40k #warhammer fantasy #i am also intersex so the mixed gender expression of slaanesh daemons is relatable

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accelontechnologies · 9 months

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Revolutionizing Retail: The ERP Software for Retail Industry

In the rapidly evolving realm of retail, staying ahead of the curve is imperative. To meet the challenges head-on and carve a competitive edge, businesses are increasingly turning to ERP (Enterprise Resource Planning) software designed for the retail industry. In this comprehensive article, we'll delve deep into the retail revolution powered by ERP software, with a spotlight on SAP Business One Cloud solutions. SAP Business One Gold Partners play a pivotal role in ensuring the successful implementation and optimization of these systems.

ERP Software for Retail Industry - Unveiling the Magic

Let's begin by demystifying the term "ERP." While it stands for Enterprise Resource Planning, its true essence lies in being an all-encompassing solution that streamlines the operations of your retail business. From inventory management to customer engagement, ERP acts as the conductor orchestrating the harmony of your retail processes.

The Significance of ERP in the Retail Industry

Retail is a dynamic sector fraught with challenges, including diverse product lines, complex supply chains, evolving customer expectations, and ever-shifting market trends. ERP software serves as the compass that guides retailers through these challenges. It provides real-time insights, streamlines operations, and empowers data-driven decision-making.

SAP Business One Cloud - Empowering Retailers

SAP Business One Cloud takes ERP for the retail industry to new heights. It offers the agility, accessibility, and scalability demanded by modern retailers. With the cloud, your data is within reach from anywhere, enabling on-the-go decision-making.

Partnering for Excellence

The success of ERP implementation often hinges on choosing the right partner. SAP Business One Gold Partners, exemplified by Accelon Technologies, bring not only expertise but also tailored support. They possess an in-depth understanding of retail intricacies, ensuring that SAP Business One Cloud aligns seamlessly with your unique requirements.

Scaling Up for Success

ERP solutions aren't the exclusive domain of retail giants. Even small businesses can harness their power. SAP Business One Cloud is designed to be both cost-effective and scalable, making it accessible to startups and small retailers, empowering them to compete effectively.

Real-Life Success Stories

Real-world examples resonate deeply. Explore narratives of retail businesses that transformed their operations, achieved unprecedented growth, and established their niche with ERP software tailored for the retail industry.

Navigating the Future of Retail

In an era marked by e-commerce, AI-driven recommendations, and hyper-personalization, the retail landscape will continue evolving. ERP software, especially SAP Business One Cloud designed for the retail industry, equips you to embrace these changes. It offers the agility required to thrive amid evolving consumer expectations.

Conclusion: Your Retail Revolution Awaits

In conclusion, ERP Software for Retail Industry is the driving force propelling the toward a dynamic future. SAP Business One Cloud, in collaboration with SAP Business One Gold Partners, represents the compass guiding your retail business toward new horizons.

As you embark on this retail revolution, remember that the power of ERP lies not just in the technology but in the synergy between your vision and the tools at your disposal. Join the retail renaissance, and let ERP software tailored for the retail industry redefine your success story. Your journey toward retail excellence begins here.

#erp software for small business #erp software #erp #sap business one provider

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shantitechnology · 1 month

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Your Premier Choice for Manufacturing ERP Solutions in Vadodara, Gujarat | shantitechnology

Discover the power of streamlined operations with STERP (ShantiTechnology), the leading provider of cutting-edge ERP software solutions for manufacturing companies in Gujarat. Unlock efficiency, enhance productivity, and maximize profitability with our comprehensive suite of ERP tools. Join a league of industry leaders who trust STERP to transform their businesses in Vadodara and beyond. From seamless inventory management to real-time analytics, STERP empowers you to stay ahead in today's competitive landscape. Experience unparalleled support and customization options that cater to your unique business needs.

Unlock your company's full potential with STERP today.

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talonabraxas · 5 months

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Planetary Correspondences for the Sun The planetary energy of the Sun is stimulating and warm. It encourages growth and expansion as well as general good feelings all around. It may be used for magick related to the growth of anything; career, family, public influence, wealth, the garden, friendships, love, general abundance, employment opportunities, business. Because the Sun shines down on the whole world, and thus sees everything that happens, the Sun’s planetary energy is occasionally used to find objects as well as to protect us from deception or being “kept in the dark”. Looking at the Sun’s universality in a different way, this energy can be used to find a common thread (we’re all warmed by the same Sun) to encourage new friendships and partnerships and reconciliation where existing ones are threatened, especially in political arenas. Many things that correspond to the planetary energy of the Sun also correspond to the elemental energy of Fire. Healing The sun is associated with the heart, circulatory system, the spinal cord, and the thymus gland. Solar Minerals Metal Gold Crystals/Stones Yellow, red and particularly bright, shiny crystals and stones tend to correspond to the energy of the Sun. Diamond, ruby, chrysolite, yellow topaz, citrine, red garnet, chrysoprase, and amber- fossilized tree sap said to contain the energy of the Sun as metabolized by the tree. Corundum and yellow Tiger’s Eye show sparkling designs that remind one of the sun and of course, there is sunstone. Crystals and metals that correspond to the planetary energy of the Sun can be worn, carried or placed on the body to encourage healing or to draw planetary energies ruled by the sun, such as abundance to the individual. They may also be used to create a gem elixir and ingested, assuming they do not contain toxic materials. Crystals can be placed in a location to draw the desired energies to your home, place of business or vehicle as desired, placed on the altar, held or gazed upon to enhance energies being raised during spellwork or other focusing and manifesting exercises. Solar Plants and herbs Plants that resemble the sun in shape or color, that open during the day and close at night, that follow the sun’s movements during the day, and those plants that are traditionally associated with the winter solstice as well as those that provide winter nourishment when fresh plants are unavailable, such as grains and nuts. Physically, edible Sun plants tend to encourage a feeling of warm satisfaction and medicinal plants affect the heart. Galactic Sun Center Talon Abraxas

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godslush · 5 months

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Where SlashGirl.EXE just exists to be a general denizen of the world, TokeiWoman.EXE has more of a narrative direction.

I doubt I would ever get around to doing something more complete with this idea, but this is the general gist of her arc, for the time being.

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It’s any other day, and Lan and his buddies head out to do typical after-school kid things. However, along the way, they happen to pass by a HUGE demonstration at large corporate building. They learn from attendees that the company inside (Zenith Hyperprocessing) had installed a program/NetNavi to centralize a large portion of HR and finances across multiple subsidiary tech companies, which in turn lost them their jobs (or jobs of family members and/or NetNavis working Web-side) and they're protesting it, to the company's deaf ears.

This is seen as a mild annoyance by the general public at most, but word gets out that some of the displaced workers have banded together a fund where they'd pay a good amount to anyone who can break into Zenith's system to permanently delete that program and get them their jobs back... and several established 'villain' Operators feel this is a great way to make a quick buck at the expense of a large corporation.

However, Zenith’s position gives it the backing of the government, and they call any city NetBattlers to help defend it, citing the damage that losing the program would cause to the many other jobs/livelihoods of the people still working at the companies under its jurisdiction. So the city NetBattlers and their NetNavis form a sort of perimeter around Zenith’s central server, stopping some of the opportunists. However, a few of the 'evil' Navis get through the blockade.... only for their Operators to suddenly lose contact with their Navis completely.

After that incident, some time passes, when suddenly the 'program' starts to act... strangely, doing things that are not to it’s owner company's bottom line interests, which causes a bit of a ruckus. The authorities in control can't seem to get in to deal with it due to the digital defenses set up, but don't want to unplug or delete it completely right off the bat due to the potential dangers to the mainframe, and the costs that would incur, but they're worried that the NetNavis that went 'missing' weren't deleted, and somehow were corrupting the program from within the program's bubble of inaccessible influence.

So city NetBattlers are called in again to find the root of the problem, joined by official ones, and once within the strange anti-communication zone, MegaMan DOES manage to break defenses to find Tokei’s true body. He discovers that she had managed to freeze and capture any NetNavis that made it to her prior; they had no effect on her decision to start disobeying Zenith for the welfare of hard-working employees over the ‘lazy and ineffectual management.’ The company did that to themselves. She's 'fixing' their problems, as far as she's concerned. She at least agrees to free the NetNavis she trapped, provided they leave her alone and stop wasting her time.

MegaMan can’t find it in himself to delete her, not that he could in the state he found himself in, given he notices his energy being sapped at an astronomical rate, which prompts an explanation of the Overclocked domain, which also covers why he couldn’t communicate with Lan. Before he can leave to an area where he can safely Jack Out, ProtoMan arrives, with enough energy to fight, having not had to fight through all the defenses that had been defeated prior, and MegaMan has to prevent ProtoMan from deleting Tokei, allowing her to speak her piece.

With that resolved, MegaMan returns and simply reports his findings. It raises the question of the 'rights' of NetNavis. He returns from time to time - at great risk to himself, given the Overclocked server - to check on her out of sympathy, but she is always too busy to hold much of a conversation, sending him away. He insists she needs to take a break once in a while... even computers need to rest.

Finally there’s a breaking point, and MegaMan - instead of returning to a safe zone to resume contact with Lan and Jack Out - stays put, in an almost child-like tantrum. His ultimatum; she turn off the Overclock on the server and return to normal time and see how it feels to run at a normal, non-stressed speed... or she keeps it on at the cost of his own safety/life.

Unable to bring herself to hurt MegaMan, Tokei concedes with great effort and turns everything off... and while it does prove that it’s a huge weight lifted, it has the downside of suddenly bringing her activity back into observable time, putting both of them under immediate scrutiny. With Lan also able to weigh in, they argue until suddenly another party joins; Zandra Hertz, Zenith’s CEO.

To show the ‘children’ the error in their own thinking, Zandra uses Tokei’s unprotected state to violently tear the NetNavi’s consciousness out of the supercomputer housing (appearing, Web-side, as a large claw appearing and physically ripping Tokei out from her desk into the darkness), sticking it in an extremely outdated, dilapidated PET, to show both the NetNavi AND the employees she stood up for how much Zenith can’t afford to let her take time off for extended periods. Zandra’s last words to Tokei are, “Fine. Take a vacation. See what good that does you, and everyone else.”

With Tokei gone, the rest of Zenith and its subsidiaries start to feel the pressure of that work not being done. The chaos caused by this, and the ineptitude of the management who had become so painfully reliant on her for HR functions, means they can’t even hire or rehire workers to replace her quickly enough to prevent things from crashing and burning. When Zandra is contacted to take care of matters, it’s discovered she conveniently took a vacation to let everyone fend for themselves. Typical upper management behavior.

Tensions peak after a few days and Lan or someone else chooses to break in to steal the PET Tokei was consigned to and get her out, only to find that the poor condition of the PET and its lack of visual interfaces causes it to act like a sensory deprivation chamber (or worse, if damage to the PET such as electrical shorts or overheating components can actually affect the NetNavi inside). It’s so archaic that while MegaMan can enter the device via Jack In, they don’t know how to get Tokei out of it without first taking it to SciLab for analysis, and in the mean time, they can’t actually charge the device without damaging it further.

To make matters worse, the disappearance of Tokei and the PET she was on becomes an issue of company property theft. In the kids’ hands, nobody knew where the device had gone, but the moment they take the PET to SciLab to either be repaired or to have Tokei transferred into a new device, the lab gets implicated for it and come under legal scrutiny (it turns out Zandra had predicted it would happen and set it up intentionally, banking on the ‘reckless heroism of youth’ to forego critical thinking). She was hoping to use that criminal lawsuit against SciLab for stealing critically proprietary ‘software’ to pad her other earnings.

Fortunately for everyone, this starts to get the public riled up the more they learn about what was happening. A lot of people - even so-called ‘villain’ sorts - cite their own close connections to their NetNavis, as well as the existence of independent NetNavis, as proof that they are more than just feelingless tools for humans to use.

Eventually, public outcry causes Zandra’s plan to backfire, when hundreds of NetNavis from outside Zenith break into its mainframe to help the panicking employees rectify its problems temporarily, and Zandra is forced to step down for endangering the livelihoods of so many people... but not before trying to spitefully take down as much as she possibly can by firing up Tokei’s supercomputer and expanding the Overclock zone to encompass a large portion of the Cyberworld in hopes of melting down as much of the Web as she can in the process, by running malicious code into every connected device.

It’s revealed she never believed humans should have become so reliant on such fickle cyberspace beings in the first place; she lost her injured brother to a hospital mishap caused by the machines failing at the worst possible moment. Her whole plan from the start was to make as much money as she could exploiting the system before ultimately taking it out.

Since the Zenith server cannot be approached via the web without the Navis involved getting hit directly with the wave of Overdrive code, the situation has to be diffused by manually reinstalling Tokei into the supercomputer in person, which possesses its own difficulty as the Overclocked machine is physically overheating and threatening to explode and take the whole company building with it. Suffice to say, though, they succeed (because Lan has protag power).

Zandra is arrested and control of the company is handed over to temporary management, but eventually is given to Tokei herself. She was already doing so much work she practically ran the company upon initial installation, anyway. Since she has no need of money, she simply lets what she would have been making as CEO fall back into the company to promote a better workplace, and to hire employees to keep things running smoothly over the long-term; she’d crunch the numbers initially to get things back on track, and then slowly let the workload redistribute so she could take on a more humane level of management... and finally get a proper damn vacation without worrying about everything going to crap.

She also offers to do the kids’ families’ taxes for free on her off-time. As thanks. Compared to what she’d been doing prior, a handful of tax forms is just a few grains of sand in an hourglass to her.

#art #fanart #fancharacter #mega man #mega man battle network #mmbn #netnavi oc #dai's mega man dump #the reference intended with zandra is mostly a nod to tokay's arc over in classic #it's a pretty heavy-handed nod but i think it's funny #my frame of reference for the most part is mmbn 1-3 and a little of 4 #since dani has been streaming it and suffering through the truly delightful tedium masquerading as game mechanics #this is a real game with real mechanics and real dialogue written by real people it's honestly quite incredible

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