#stop machismo | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

son-of-anubis · 5 months

Text

Pre-payment

Billy x Brothel Worker MALE reader

Warning: prostitution, reference to other consumers that are not so nice, panic at being outed, and panic at being murdered (?), oral (because I still haven't figured out how to write actual sex without sounding stupid), some talk of saliva

A/N: It felt like people appreciated the last one so I thought I could try to write another idea i had!

Sometimes I questioned why I even stayed here. The room was filled with old fuckers just wanting something warm to help get their rocks off.

Disgraces with a false gentlemen attitude and some money to spare. The occasional woman who wanted to be treated like a princess for once.

The brothel lighting hurt my eyes and I prayed that the whiskey-blur would take away my headache. Looking around at the lightly clad women I sighed. The young men like myself rarely mingled. We got introduced as barbacks mostly. With the opinion people held on woman visiting such places, and especially men being with men it was obviously that we were a 'special request' item.

I could hear the doors swing open once more, loud voices demanding attention. A quick glance and I could see a blond man leading the pack.

With quick strides towards the Madam he demanded 7 of her best whores, and he sure had the funds to back it up.

The man made eye contact with me and I tried to look away as nonchalantly as possible.

"Hey, boy! You had your fun yet?" blondie shoutet in his direction.

Had he? Mr. Redding had been in, he is always quite gentle, in his own way. Mrs. Bowen and her friend was also in for a visit. That went fine. In my mind I suddenly remembered that Mr. Archer had mentioned his plan to join me later that evening.

The violent shudder was impossible to contain. If I could avoid Mr. Archer I would. The pain and fear was not worth the money if I could find time somewhere else.

I was fully aware they thought me just another patron. So I carefully said: "I ain't got the money for that."

"Aye, we got some for you, todays good deed, huh? Help ya pop your cherry!" the brunette next to blondie said, laughing.

I nodded in fake glee, maybe I could score some time with Lola, give her the night off to, I knew she worked to much since her kid got sick.

"Names Jessie." so not blondie, eh.

"Most people call me Angel." It was for the best to say, no way I was giving out my name to some outlaws.

The buggy ride wasn't to bad. Me, Lola and Caroline was chatting. They took great amusement in me 'losing my cherry' this evening. I couldn't help the chuckle leaving my mouth. Yeah, it was pretty funny.

The 3 men up front started hollering, being met with equal enthusiasm somewhere in the near distance.

As the wagon stopped, a group of maybe 12 men came into view, all dripping in machismo. Fucking losers if you asked me.

My gaze stopped as ice blue eyes met mine. The shaggy brown hair under a worn and torn hat. He was absolutely beautiful....and probably would spend the night with one of the women. The reminder was not a fun one, but it was the way of life.

Caroline launched herself at the nearest outlaw and the others followed suit. I made my way at the back of the group, walking over to the open fire.

I nodded at the people going into the cabin before departing, making sure they where okay with the current arrangement, but it was good money so I knew noone was actually going to protest.

The evening air was sticky and I grabbed the cup closes to me. Moonshine. That would do.

The giggling and moaning started soon after, but at this point in my life it was basically white noise.

They vague sound of footsteps approached, stopping next to me. As I cast a glace upwards I was met with blue. An involuntary shiver fell down my back. God he was gorgeous.

"May I?" he asked, the drawl wasn't as worn in as most, he probably was not born in the west.

I gestured to the rickedy chair next to me.

"What's your name, sugar?" maybe the nickname was over the line, but half the excitement had always been toying between making men uncomfortable and getting beaten up.

The man lifted an eybrow but still answered.

"William Bonney, but you can call me Billy if you want." Billy tilted his head slightly, sizing me up, see if I was a threat. I really wasn't, and had never been, else I would never have gotten into this profession. "And what might yours be?"

The intense sensation of wanting to tell him my real name washed over me. Damn his hotness, I was always a sucker, metaphorically and literally, for charming people.

"....people call me Angel." Oh shit, that hesitation could be heard a mile away.

Billy looked at me, more like stared at me, for what felt like forever.

"You a.....worker?"

How the fuck did he spot that. Noone ever did, why the fuck did he? And why would he ask? I am dead.

The panic in my chest hurt and I tried to keep my breathing even.

Billy looked at me, expecting an answer and for some reason, I blame panic, I nodded. My eyes darted around wildly, I was going to die, and in the middle of nowhere. I was going to be murdered by Billy the fucking Kid. Oh fuck.

A hand lands on my shoulder and my eyes meet with Billys. He looked, concerned? Why?

"m'not telling anyone." he said, the cadence somthing you would use to calm a feral dog.

He started rubbing my shoulder, and I found myself trying to match my breathing to his.

The moments passed slowly, with me calming down at snail pace. The universe seemed aligned as we somehow gravitated towards each other, inching closer and closer until Billy had his arm around my shoulder.

I looked up at him, sapphire piercing my soul. Time stopped as I leaned in, and with uncertainty and slight hesitance Billy did the same.

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

My back hit the cold wood of the shed as Billys tounges invaded my mouth. In our drunken stupor the saliva seemed abundant but neither of us minded the messiness.

Billys hand found the back och my thigh, urging me to jump. He caught me effortlessly, wrapping my legs around his waist. As we pulled away for a breath a string of saliva briefly connected us.

"$10 for the hour, $25 for the night." i recited. I would be stupid to think this was anything other than a transactional affair, even if it without a doubt would be a hell of a lot better than Mr. Archer would have been.

Billy scoffed but dug out what looked like $50 from his pants.

He must have seen the confusion on my face as he flashed a quick grin.

"Pre payment, if you're good for it, 'cause next time I see you, I ain't keeping off ya."

My entire body heated up as Billy carried me over to some hay. He used his foot to kick some type of old fabric over it and unceromoniously threw me on it.

Quickly undressing without breaking eye contact and my eyes wandered the outlaws figure. He was lean and lanky, but also very obviously strong.

And as our clothing was completely gone my eyes traveled further down. Fuck. Ain't no way that beauty of a cock was fitting without some grease, and as far as I were aware, we had none. But never the less, the heat and spark of arousal fuled me even more.

When my eyes once again landed on his face it looked almost bashful, like he didn't know what to do with himself. It was a stark contrast to the overt confidence he had just minutes ago.

I made the decision to initiate further and crawled my way over to him. Grabbing him softly, feeling him pulse in my hand, I gave his dick a experimentative lick from base to tip. I heard Billy draw in a sharp breath and as we locked eyes I put his tip in my mouth.

I licked up the pre cum that landed on my tounge and swirled it around a bit.

Hollowing my cheeks I plunged down, taking as much as possible of him.

The bobbing started slow but quicked as we got comfortable.

His hand slowly crept into my hair, giving an almost shy push, and I tried to take even more of his leangth. The gagging happened almost immediately.

"Ain't have to do it, ya know." Billy spoke in a gruff tone, sounding out of breath.

I rolled my eyes before pulling out some, deep inhale, eyes closing, and finally slow dip. More, more, more. The gagging was easy enough to control. Before I knew it my nose hit a fuzzy patch. I looked up at Billy, tears streaming down my face, and was met with a man at the brink of insanity.

Billys eyes held a haze that would disgust me if it was any other patron, but at this very moment I felt nothing but pride. I did that. If I could smile I would.

I felt the first small thrust and had to once again close my eyes to control the gag. But I still managed to give him a somewhat nod, consenting for further exploration.

The thrusting started almost lazy, but quickly picked up. Billy using my hair as make shift reigns. The curses that left the mans mouth was foul but sounded oh so heavenly. In the mids of it all I heard "Angel" and tapped his thighs. Billy let me up with a shocked expression.

"Did I hurt ya? Didn't mean t......"

"Y/N." I interupted. The confusion grew on Billys face, still looking down on me on my knees, still with a hand in my hair. I pulled myself closer to his cock again, mouth open and ready as I expressed:

"My name, it's Y/N, call me that, please."

I didn't care how desperate it sounded, I wanted him to praise my name the way it was supposed to be. Y/N the man, not Angel the whore.

Billy seemed taken aback for only a second before growling my name and pushing me back down on him.

The pace seemed impossibly faster but the atmosphere was also much more intimate. I knew he was nearing the end and I started to periodically tighten my throat as much as I could.

As I felt Billy start to pull away I buried my face in his pubic hair, clutching the back of his thighs.

I felt his cum sliding down my throat, warm and smooth. Billy sinfully moaning above me. This was as perfect as a night could get, I was sure of it.

Pulling away, Billys knees buckled slightly, and I grinned up at him.

He slowly sat down on the floor of the shed, coming down from his high.

His hand made a vague gesture towards me and I shook my head.

"You're not gonna put that in me without any help," we shared a chuckle "but maybe you could put your mouth on mine again, cowboy?"

Billy embraced me once again as we fell back onto the hay, but this time the kiss was much more controlled.

"Once I'm ready for round 2, you're gonna forget everything that ain't my name, that good for you Y/N?" the teasingly cocky tone made me laugh, but I agreed anyway.

Definitely better than Mr. Archer.

#billy x reader #billy the kid x reader #billy bonney x reader #william h bonney x reader #tom blyth x reader #male reader #coriolanus snow x reader #billy antrim x reader

174 notes · View notes

the-cat-and-the-birdie · 2 months

Text

Now, I'm on the fence about this.

On one hand - Duh, can very obviously tell. Especially with the way they waited until the last moment to show his face.

Of course they're going to make one of the villains stereotypically hot for the fanservice. Especially when The Spot is basically faceless and morally irredeemable (unsurprisingly that doesn't stop people)

And It's like - Cool. Understandable, thank you for giving him a fat ass. Love that for him.

BUT THEN I remember these are the same people that were calling him an animal and stuff in the script and I-

Like...

Making your character hot as fuck is one thing.

Making your character a 'sexy beast' is another.

You see where I'm going with this?

Like they didn't SAY they meant to write him as a sexy beast but like....

Y'all wrote him as a sexy beast, didn't you?

You wanted him to be both sexy AND vicious without realizing that would make him a sexy beast.

And I don't even think they.. know they did this??

I feel like they thought this was what people wanted - which, based on the sea of smut, kinda is - and in doing so they accidentally turned the knob up WAY WAY too much to point they 1) totally disconnected Miguel from his comic counterpart and 2) stumbled into some questionable race stereotypes.

And like.. I don't hate them for it. Because they seem so oblivious?????

They very clearly wanted him to be like an 'Edward Cullen' - buff, attractive, tortured, dangerous, a literal vampire -

But not understanding intersectionality, they didn't realize that applying that same archetype to a brown man reads WAY WAY differently.

Like, all I want to do is sit the writers down, show them a slideshow explaining what the hell 'Machismo' is to them, and then go

"iight now try not to do that shit again. The ass can stay but y'all have to tone down the animal shit. Like by a LOT. I'm going to need four scenes of him being humanized on my desk by Monday."

Reading that article and hearing them talk so enthusiastically about Miguel's ass and wanting to make him hot - while also calling him animalistic and designing him to be so - I literally do the Call of Duty meme like

'Mission Failed: You'll get em next time. 😐'

I swear it's like they fleshed out Miles, Gwen, Hobie, Jeff, and Rio and then realized the movie was coming out next week so they just forgot to finish Miguel's and Peter's and George's arcs. Like hello????? come back here??? Hello????????

It's like them VERY narrowly dancing on the trope of 'fatherless black boy is violent and repressed due to lack of guidance' when it comes to Miles-42 but just barely missing it enough for it to be okay but that's a story for another day isn't it

#that last paragraph is like gingerly placing a grenade on the ground then moonwalking away #the meal y'all cooked was good but it wasn't the recipe you were trying to cook #spiderman #atsv #spider man #marvel #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #ro rambles

82 notes · View notes

sciderman · 3 months

Note

Sometimes i get reminded of the fact movie Wade couldn't take getting pegged and part of me just gets so dissapointed, Wade would take it like a champ and we all know it.

oh i see so we're electing to ignore the beautiful character progression that happens in between deadpool 1 and deadpool 2

the off-screen character development between deadpool 1 and deadpool 2 where wade goes from rejecting the joys of pegging to letting the joys of pegging into his heart was something i was so obsessed with that it's the entire conceit of a fic i wrote that is so important and dear to me

started from the bottom...

now we're here

it's one of my favourite fics (i know i say that all the time, buuuut...) - it's kind of the most in-depth exploration of wade's weird relationship with masculinity and femininity i've written! i kind of am really obsessed with the thought that - you know, pre-weapon X wade was a lot more about machismo and performative masculinity, from his time in the military etc etc – and post-weapon X, he becomes this complicated creature that, you know – i don't know. because he's not beautiful, he seeks to find ways to feel beautiful. and he learns to stop being ashamed about that. i don't know. i think it's interesting.

and it's stupid. that i read so much into two throwaway lines concerning a strap-on in deadpool 1 and deadpool 2 starring ryan reynolds, and imposed an entire gender journey upon wade wilson based upon 10 seconds of film.

#sci speaks #this is where my brain is at

120 notes · View notes

sidekick-hero · 1 month

Text

caught in the careless arms of lust again

metaldeputy | explicit | 5.6k | tags: crossover Fargo/Stranger Things, No Upside Down, Modern AU, pwp | AO3

Dickinson, North Dakota was as much a shithole in Eddie's eyes as Hawkins, Indiana. The only real difference, as far as he can tell, is the cold, which is more biting than even the worst winter he ever experienced back home, and his balls are trying as hard as they can to crawl back into his body.

It's not like he wants to be here. There was no way in hell he was going to spend more time than it took to take a piss and pump some gas into his van in a state that was mostly God-fearing northern rednecks and a whole lot of nothing.

But of course, nothing ever goes according to plan in Eddie Munson's life, and his van broke down just as he was passing through Dickinson on Interstate 94. He'd seen the sign and giggled like a high school kid at the silly name, momentarily distracted and not looking at the road. That's why he didn't notice the damn deer until it was too late, and like the idiot he was, he swerved to avoid it, skidded on the slick icy road, and ended up in the ditch.

Luckily he wasn't going that fast, so after a few feet the car came to a stop in the snow, the engine dead and refusing to start no matter what he tried.

And now his van is in the hands of a guy named Ray at Ray's Auto Electric, while Eddie has to rent a room in a dubious looking hotel called the Badland Inn. It’s fifty bucks a night, which he certainly doesn’t have, but beggars can’t be choosers, and it’s too damn cold to even consider sleeping outside. Ray, who had taken one look at Eddie's long hair and tattoos before seeming to decide he wanted Eddie gone almost as much as Eddie wanted to be gone, said it would be at least three days, maybe more, depending on how fast he could get the part he needed to get his van running again.

And that's why Eddie is sitting in some dive bar, drinking a cheap watered-down beer, wallowing in self-pity, when Deputy Gator Tillman walks into his life.

At first he doesn't even turn his head to look at the man who just sat down next to him, just nods politely while staring into the smudged glass in his hands. It's only when the guy next to him orders a Bud Light, of all things, that Eddie can't help but snort. From what he's seen so far, the men here are manly men, drinking only the bitterest beer and the strongest whiskey while thumping their chests like apes.

"Something funny, shitbird?" The guy snarls at him.

And here we go again, Eddie thinks, already tired of what's sure to come.

"Listen, man," Eddie starts as he turns around to face whoever's ego he just bruised, only to be stopped by the sight in front of him.

The guy's hot, is the first thing that strikes him, square jaw, full lips, droopy eyes, and a slanted nose. His chestnut hair is slicked back and shaved with racetrack lines, as much a part of his machismo as the combat pants and bulletproof vest he's wearing. Too bad his face is just too pretty for any of it to work.

He must have been staring, because the hazel eyes looking back at him narrow even more, his whole face turning into a sneer that's still far more attractive than it has any right to be.

"What are you staring at, asshole?"

A ghost from my past, Eddie thinks. Because he once knew a boy who looked just like the guy before him, a boy who tried so hard to be the epitome of everything a wealthy white businessman's son in Bumfuck Indiana could want. He played all kinds of sports, was captain of the basketball and swim teams, had a new pretty girl on his arm every week, and sneered down at everyone below him as he looked on from his perch at the top of the high school food chain.

King Steve, a man who had been so goddamn pretty that Eddie could still remember all the times he had jerked off to fantasies of those lips and hands, and that juicy ass in Harrington's tiny gym shorts.

The man before him looked different, of course, but much of him was the same. Maybe that was the reason why Eddie didn't stop his mouth from running off on him.

"You. It's a nice view, that's for sure."

Even as he braces himself for a punch, Eddie can't tear his eyes away from the hauntingly familiar face in front of him as he sees the words land. They're mostly harmless. Not even a pretty boy or a sweetheart thrown in there. At least not yet.

The man's eyes widen, just a fraction, just enough for Eddie to notice. Just as Eddie notices the color rising up his neck and the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips. Gotcha, big boy.

"What did you just say to me?" The guy demands, taking a step forward, invading Eddie's personal space, bringing with him the smell of cologne and old sweat, tinged with something fruity Eddie can't quite put his finger on.

There’s enough of a height difference between them that Eddie can look up at him through his lashes from his seat. He curls his lips into a smile that has just enough edge to draw the guy’s eyes to it and keep them there.

"Paid you a compliment. Don't tell me a handsome guy like you doesn't get those all the time, huh?"

The brazenness makes the other man stumble, Eddie can tell by the way his mouth opens and closes without a sound coming out of it. He catches himself soon enough and leans back, pulling himself up to his full height and bringing his hands to his hips, drawing Eddie's eyes to where the tips of his fingers graze the gun strapped to his thigh.

Okay, this is how they're going to play this, apparently.

"Listen, you fucking pansy, I ain't got no idea why you think you can just come in here and talk to a man of the law like that, but I'm gonna show you where you and your kind can stick your disgusting tendencies."

This makes Eddie smile even wider. His mantra has always been 'fuck the law', so that's exactly what he's going to do. And he's pretty sure this particular lawman wouldn't mind. Just as Eddie is sure now that Harrington wouldn't have been opposed to Eddie's tendencies, but back then Eddie hadn't been the kind of guy to take such a risk. No experience, just a gut feeling, and that wasn't enough to risk getting his nose broken. Or worse.

Now, with more than a decade of hookups with supposedly straight guys under his belt, he knew the signs. And the guy right in front of him? A big fucking neon sign.

"I dunno, Sheriff. Maybe you’d rather I show you where I could stick my tendencies instead. I'm sure you can take it like a man, big boy."

Eddie makes sure to lean in again as he says this, letting his eyes roam over the guy's body in a blatant invitation that he really hopes will be taken. It's not like he has any trouble picking up guys, even in the backwoods he's been traveling through lately, though he does have to be a little more careful. But he wants this one, badly. He's sure he'll look like sin on his knees for Eddie, eyes as round and wet as his mouth wrapped around his dick, begging for anything Eddie is willing to give him.

The guy in front of him doesn't seem to be the sharpest tool in the shed, but he doesn't have to be, Eddie thinks. Not with that face. It takes him more than a few moments to work through Eddie's words, and the first thing he responds to is not what Eddie would think it would be.

"That's my dad." At Eddie's confused look, he adds, "Sheriff. My dad is Sheriff Roy Tillman. I'm his right-hand man, Deputy Sheriff Gator Tillman." He says, standing even straighter, voice dripping with pomposity.

"I figured you'd be a mouthful, Deputy Sheriff Gator Tillman."

Eddie gives him a wolfish grin and licks his lips, eyes focused on what he can make out of the bulge in the deputy's pants, which are frankly a little too loose. Guys like him should wear tight jeans or those gray sweatpants that show off the goods a lot better than fucking combat pants.

"The fuck you talkin' about, numbnuts?"

Yeah, not the sharpest tool in the shed. But maybe this is his chance to defuse the situation, turn it into a joke, and get the hell out before he finds himself behind bars or with his face bashed in. The Eddie of a few years ago would have run, just like he had run when Harrington had him pinned down at Skull Rock after Eddie had taken his flirting a little too far during a weed sale. He'd had the same look in his eyes that he sees on the Deputy's face now.

Hunger masked as anger.

So instead of running, Eddie decides to show his hand. Make his offer clear and see if the Deputy takes him up on it. And if not, he will hole up in the inn and hope that Ray gets his parts as soon as possible.

"I'm talking about your cock, Deputy." Eddie mutters.

He rises and positions himself to cover his hand as it reaches out to squeeze the bulge, feeling it swell under his touch. Big Boy, indeed. He takes a stumbling step forward to have an excuse to press himself against Deputy Tillman's hard body and leans in to whisper in his ear.

"Too bad we don't get to play with it. I'm sure you'd be so good." Eddie clicks his tongue against his teeth with a soft tzk. "But what can you do, right? Have a good evening, Deputy Sheriff Gator Tillman."

Counting on dear Deputy Tillman needing another moment to process what Eddie just said, he steps away from the other man and saunters out, heading toward the inn.

He hasn't even made it out of the parking lot before he hears the sound of heavy footsteps following him outside.

Bingo.

He keeps walking and doesn't turn around, but there's a pleased smile on his face. If the Deputy was going to bash his head in, Eddie hopes he would have done it by now. The footsteps behind him are faster than the saunter Eddie was taking, but they don’t charge at him, just follow a few steps behind.

Eddie makes sure to sway his hips as he walks, feeling the other man's eyes on him the whole way. He can't be sure, but he thinks they're fixed on his ass, and he's glad he put on his skinny jeans that hug his thighs and ass just right. Not that it will see much action tonight. Eddie knows what Deputy Tillman needs, and soon he’ll know it too when he’s on his knees and begging for it.

For now, Eddie lets him think that it's his tight ass that’ll be getting hit tonight.

The walk to the inn is silent and the cold air around them feels heavy, charged. Anticipation crackles under his skin like a summer storm brewing in the sky and he can't remember the last time he felt so alive.

After passing through the entrance, he waits at the bottom of the stairs until he hears the front door close again, and only then does he begin his ascent to his room on the fourth floor, climbing the stairs with the steady sound of steps creaking under two sets of feet.

When he finally reaches the door to his room, his chest is heaving from more than just the physical exertion. Something about the whole night feels so goddamn surreal, and he still half expects to wake up in a ditch after being beaten half to death for flirting with a fucking cop in a part of the country where that could very well get him arrested. Or worse. So much worse.

And yet here he is, inviting danger into his room, into his bed, into his arms.

Something about Deputy Tillman makes him forget everything he's learned about staying out of trouble.

In fact, he's walking right into it, with a devilish smile and a raging hard-on.

Eddie hears the heavy steps behind him coming to a halt as well and he can feel the presence of another body close to his. For just a second, he contemplates calling it off, taking the safe route, just like he promised his uncle to do. But then he remembers the hot, thick girth under his hand and the way Tillman reminds him of a ghost from the past that has come back to haunt him and thinks fuck the safe route.

Slipping the key into the lock and turning it to the right, he opens the door and walks into his room, turning on the light and waiting for trouble to follow him inside.

They still haven't said anything, not since Eddie so boldly proposed the Deputy Sheriff, but he thinks they both know why they're here.

"I take it you're here to play a little, Deputy?" He doesn't even turn around when he asks this, the question being mostly rhetorical anyway. Just him playing with his food, making Tillman admit why he followed Eddie here.

More silence answers him.

"Cat got your tongue? Don't tell me you're getting shy now." Eddie coaxes, finally turning to look at the young man he never expected to meet tonight. He's met with a defiant look on that awfully pretty face, eyebrows drawn together and lips almost pouting at him. Adorable, really.

"Fuck you," the Deputy spits, clearly at a loss for words, inferior in their duel of wits.

Eddie taps his chin mockingly, as if he has to think about it. "Nah," he finally concludes, "I think I'd rather fuck you."

His words don't immediately hit the Deputy, an almost cute look of confusion on his face before his eyes widen, first in shock, then in anger. Too bad the admittedly impressive bulge in his pants gives away just how much Tillman is not against the idea.

"But...you said...in the bar..." he stutters, more indignation in his words than in his voice. Oh, he's precious, Eddie thinks, just the kind of guy he loves to corrupt. He knows he lured the Deputy in with the vague promise of a blow job, and knowing what he packs in those hideous combat pants, Eddie thinks he might still do it. After all, he thinks the man will be much more pliable after a nice orgasm. He doesn't want to hurt his prey, he just wants to play with it, and if his prey enjoys it, that's all the better in Eddie's book.

Taking a step toward the other man, Eddie catches his eyes and raises an eyebrow. "Look, if you can't use your words, Deputy, then I can't use my mouth or my hands on you. Simple as that. Speak up or get out."

Delighted, Eddie notices Tillman's spine straighten at his tone.

Bingo.

It's clear the Deputy needs a firm hand.

With his chin sticking out, Tillman tries again, still stumbling over his words here and there, but doing a much better job than before. "You said I was a mouthful. That my," he pauses before venturing on, "that my cock was a mouthful and that you wanted to play with it."

"I did, didn't I?" Eddie wonders aloud, his eyes deliberately dropping to where the Deputy is still hard in his pants and licking his lips. "And you've been a good boy so far, haven't you, Deputy?"

Tillman nods eagerly, making Eddie grin. He just loves his men easy.

"Good boys get a reward, but I'm not sure you deserve my mouth on you just yet, Deputy. I think you need to show me how good you really can be." Another step forward brings Eddie close enough to the other man to see how his pupils have dilated, swallowing up the beautiful hazel of his eyes. He puts a hand on Tillman's shoulder, fingers spread wide so that his thumb presses into the hollow of his throat, and gently pushes him down to his knees without any real force.

The Deputy sinks to his knees in a fluid and graceful arc that sends the blood rushing to his cock so fast he feels dizzy for a second.

Fuck, who would have thought that a random cop he picked up in a bar in the middle of nowhere North Dakota would turn out to be the sweetest of temptations?

Certainly not Eddie.

"Gorgeous," he praises the man on his knees in front of him, because he is. He looks up at Eddie with wide eyes, dazed, as if he doesn't even know what he's doing here, but likes it anyway. Thumbing his full lower lip until it opens for him, Eddie can't help but want to see how far the man will let him go. When the Deputy sucks Eddie's thumb into his mouth without a second thought, Eddie doesn't even try to stop the moan that falls from his lips. It's obvious that the man kneeling before him is starved for praise, so giving it to him will only make him more eager.

He pulls his thumb out of Tillman's mouth, already missing the warmth, and unbuttons his jeans. He pushes them down just enough to free his cock, the cool air of the room making him shiver. "Now, let's see what you can do, Deputy," he murmurs, anticipation coiling in his belly.

Deputy Tillman doesn't answer with words, but with action, leaning in and enveloping Eddie's hard length in the wet heat of his mouth. It's a clumsy start, but Eddie is more than willing to show him the ropes. If he's honest, it only fuels the flame of lust burning brightly in his stomach to know that it's him the Deputy is on his knees for, sucking his cock when it's clearly something he wouldn't normally do.

It's only fair that Eddie teach him how to be a good boy for him.

Eddie guides the Deputy's movements with a hand tangled in his hair, enjoying the feeling of complete control. He expects Tillman to bitch at him for ruining his hair, but the only reaction he gets when he tangles it between his fingers and pulls is a broken moan. The night might've started with a broken-down van and ended up in a dive bar, but now, it's shaping into something Eddie never could've anticipated.

Tillman may have been clumsy at first, but with Eddie's guiding hand slowing his movements, the Deputy seems to get used to the feel of Eddie's girth in his mouth, growing more confident with every lick of his tongue and bob of his head.

Eddie continues to murmur encouragements into the quiet room, each one swallowed hungrily by the man on his knees before him. As the night stretches on, he finds himself lost in the pleasure, the cold North Dakota winter forgotten in the warmth of Deputy Tillman's mouth.

"God, you're good at this," he praises, voice hoarse and strained. The Deputy looks up at him then, surprise in his eyes, but Eddie recognizes a flicker of something else there, too. Pride. Satisfaction. It makes him smirk.

He allows himself to sink further into the sensation, guiding the Deputy's movements with a firm hand in his hair. When he hits that sweet spot at the back of his throat, Eddie can't help the groan that escapes his lips.

"That's it, Deputy," he encourages, "Just like that."

As Tillman's moans vibrate around him, Eddie can feel the tension building in the pit of his stomach, an all too familiar pressure that signals his impending release. He tries to hold back, to prolong the pleasure, but it's a losing battle. With one last thrust into the warm cavern of the Deputy's mouth, he succumbs to the pleasure. His hips buck and he spurts down the Deputy's throat, a guttural moan tearing from his lips.

Tillman swallows around him, his throat working around Eddie's length, milking him for all he's worth. When he's spent, Eddie pulls back, sliding out of the warmth of the Deputy's mouth with a sigh.

"Well," he pants, "I think that's enough for tonight, Deputy." Leaning back against the wall to catch his breath, he pulls up his pants and buttons them, ignoring the Deputy's whine at his words. It's been a long time since a simple blowjob left him feeling like that. Completely worn out, but deeply satisfied.

When he finally regains his composure, he looks down to see Deputy Tillman still on his knees, looking up at him with wide, dazed eyes. Eddie grins down at him, reaching out to ruffle his hair.

"Good boy," he purrs, watching as the Deputy's eyes flash with a mix of indignation and satisfaction.

Maybe tonight doesn't have to be over right now.

Smiling, Eddie steps over him and heads for the bed, leaving the Deputy on his knees in the middle of the room. He sinks down on the edge of the bed, his legs slightly apart, and takes in the sight before him.

It takes his breath away.

He can't get over how the hard lines of the man's strong body look unexpectedly soft in his vulnerable position, less coiled serpent and more obedient puppy. The Deputy has surpassed all of Eddie's expectations tonight and he wants to reward him. Wants to encourage this unsuspected side of him, maybe even dig a little deeper to find more of it.

Deputy Sheriff Gator Tillman is more than meets the eye and Eddie is itching to know how much more.

“Look at me,” he tells the kneeling man and after a moment’s hesitation, still slightly unfocused eyes find his. Eddie knows that this must have been pretty intense for someone who hasn’t done anything like that before and the Deputy looks like he’s still far away, only slowly coming back to the here and now. His eyes roam over where Eddie’s body is perched on the edge of the bed with a questioning look on his face.

"Very good," Eddie purrs and smiles down at him. "I promised you a reward, and after how well you did on your knees for me, I think you deserve my mouth on you now."

Hazel's eyes widen in pleasant surprise at the promise, but when the Deputy starts to get up, Eddie stops him. "Who said you could get up again, pretty boy?"

The look of confusion on the man's face is adorable, Eddie thinks before he can stop himself. This is neither the time nor the place to get attached. He can't deny that the Deputy has gotten under his skin, but he'll deal with that when he's back on the road and their night is a distant memory. Just another pretty boy haunting his dreams.

"If you want your reward, you have to come here to get it." He waits for his words to sink in, but the confused puppy dog look doesn't leave the Deputy's face, so he clarifies, "On your knees, Deputy."

He can tell the exact moment the words finally sink in when Tillman closes his eyes as his hips twitch eagerly. If he didn't just come his brains out of his dick and into the Deputy's mouth, Eddie would get hard again at the sight. The man keeps surprising him. No matter what Eddie throws at him, he takes to it like a fish to water, so eager to please, so easily led.

With an eager tilt of his pretty mouth, the Deputy crawls over to Eddie, staying on his knees as he moves between Eddie's spread legs, a look of hungry anticipation in his eyes. Eddie can't wait to show him what a real reward feels like.

He cups the man's face with his hand and pulls him closer so he can lean in and whisper in his ear. "Strip for me, pretty boy. Show me how beautiful you are."

For the first time since they started this whole thing, Deputy Tillman is using his mouth for something other than sucking on Eddie's thumb and cock. "Can I stand up for this?" He asks and Eddie hears some of the petulance creep back into his voice even though his words remain perfectly polite. Like a puppy, the man is eager to be good, but he also loves to test Eddie's limits.

"You may. But do it slowly, I want to enjoy the show."

"I thought this was my reward, not yours?"

Ah, there is the fire he was met with earlier, Eddie thinks. Despite what some people might think about him, he likes a challenge, and if the Deputy wants to make Eddie work for it, then he can. It's part of the game, and he enjoys it just as much as he did when the man was on his knees gagging for it.

Eddie leans back leisurely, spreading his legs a little wider, deliberately giving Tillman an unobstructed view of his slender body. He wears a smirk on his face, a confidence born from countless encounters of this kind. "Well, Deputy," he begins, his voice smooth like aged whiskey. The corners of his mouth twitch up into a devilish grin. "It's your reward, of course. But don't think for a second that I won't get my share of enjoyment out of this too." He leans in a little closer, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint. "Now, show me what you've got."

Rising to his feet, the Deputy does as he's told and with every inch of tantalizing skin he reveals, Eddie's hands twitch with the desire to touch. His skin is smooth, the fine hair on it almost golden, with the exception of his chest hair, which is dark and thick. There are beauty marks of all sizes and shapes all over his body, little beacons that call out to him to put his mouth all over them. His body is athletic, arms and legs defined but not bulky like Eddie has seen a lot of cops. Those muscles come from physical work, not pumping at the gym.

Eddie's favorite part, though, are the Deputy's legs. They seem to go on for miles, the golden hair and thick thighs make his mouth water. He wants them wrapped around his waist as he pounds into the tight heat of what must be a virgin ass, eliciting broken moans and high-pitched whimpers. For now, though, he'll take those thighs wrapped around his head.

"Come here, Deputy," Eddie says, patting the bed next to him. "Let's see how good you can be for me." He can't wait to feel those strong thighs tremble around his head as he shows Deputy Tillman exactly how good his tendencies can feel.

With a slight hesitation, the Deputy crawls onto the bed, his movements a little awkward without his clothes on. But Eddie doesn't mind. It's just another sign of how new this is for him, how far out of his comfort zone he is. And Eddie likes that about him. The way he's willing to put himself out there, to try something new and scary. It's unexpected, but endearing. It makes Eddie want to reward him all the more.

He guides Tillman until he's straddling Eddie's chest, his knees resting on either side of his shoulders. His cock is hard and leaking against his belly and Eddie can't resist reaching up to wrap a hand around it, giving it a light squeeze. Tillman hisses at the touch, his hips jerking forward into Eddie's hand.

"Easy, Deputy," Eddie says, his voice low and soothing. "I told you, this is your reward. Just relax and let me take care of you."

Then he begins to stroke Tillman in earnest, his hand moving up and down his length in a slow, steady rhythm. He watches Tillman's face as he does so, watching as his eyes flutter closed and his lips part with a soft moan. The sight sends a rush of satisfaction through him, knowing he's the one making the Deputy feel this way.

But it's not enough. He wants to taste him as well. He wants to feel the way Tillman tastes on his tongue, the way he squirms and moans as Eddie takes him in his mouth. He wants to hear the way Tillman curses under his breath, the way he begs for more.

So he leans up, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of Tillman's cock before taking him in his mouth. The taste of him, salty and a little sweet, is intoxicating and Eddie moans around him, the vibration causing Tillman to gasp and buck his hips forward. But Eddie holds him steady, one hand on his hip as he continues to suck him off.

The sounds Tillman makes as Eddie works him with his mouth and hands are music to Eddie's ears. He can feel the way Tillman's body tenses under his touch, the way his breath hitches every time Eddie does something he particularly likes. And Eddie uses all of this to his advantage, learning what makes Tillman tick, what makes him moan and gasp and beg for more.

It's not long before Tillman is coming undone under Eddie's touch. His moans grow louder, his hips start to move in time with Eddie's strokes, and his fingers clutch at the sheets beneath them. And when he comes, Eddie swallows him down, his own cock throbbing in response to the sight of Tillman losing himself to pleasure.

But even after Tillman's body goes slack, Eddie doesn't stop. He licks him clean, pressing soft kisses to his sensitive skin until Tillman is squirming and whimpering beneath him. Only then does he pull back, his eyes meeting Tillman's as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"That was your reward, Deputy," he says, his voice low and satisfied. "I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did."

The look in Tillman's eyes tells him he did, even if the Deputy can't find the words to say it. And that's more than enough for Eddie. Part of him thinks he'd actually like the Deputy to stay the night, to get comfortable under the blankets with a warm body in his arms for the first time in a long time. It's been a while since he felt connected enough to someone to let them stay close after they both got what they wanted out of their hookup.

Even longer since the last time Eddie considered a next time. And then another. It's a slippery slope, he knows, so he does the only logical thing.

He taps the thighs that are still clutching his shoulders until Tillman falls to the side and lies down beside him. Without looking at the other man, Eddie says, "I'm going to take a shower. I think it's best if you're gone when I get back."

Stripping off his clothes as he makes his way to the tiny bathroom, he continues to look everywhere but at the naked, beautiful man on his bed. They've both had their fun and now it's time to move on. Easy as that, right? Right.

Or not, because just as he opens the door to step out of the room that smells of sweat and sex, a deep, gravelly voice stops him.

"What's your name?"

Shit.

"Why? So you can look me up? Arrest me as soon as the sun comes up on some trumped up charge of sucking your dick?"

Maybe that's unfair, but in his experience you can't trust a cop, and it's on him that he forgot that, even for a second. That's what he gets for thinking with his dick.

"No," Deputy Tillman replies, his voice surprisingly soft. "I just want to know the name of the guy who just blew my fucking mind, is all."

And that's...huh. Eddie doesn't even know what to do with that.

"It's Eddie."

"Just Eddie?"

"That's all you need to know so you can moan it the next time you jack off, sweetheart." He turns around with a smirk as he says it, but he'd be lying if he said the thought of Tillman moaning his name didn't do it for him. If a next time wasn't such an epically bad idea, he'd like to hear it himself as he takes the man apart.

"Maybe I will," the Deputy replies, and Eddie wants to believe him. "Next time you should call me Gator, ya know? Only fair."

Next time?

"There won't be a next time, Deputy. This was a one-time thing."

And damn it, he shouldn't have turned around, because the look in Gator's-no, Tillman's-eyes is hurt.

It's not that Eddie enjoys hurting the guy, but it's better this way. Safer.

"Goodbye, Gator." He says as he steps into the bathroom and closes the door behind him.

The hot shower feels good, relieving some of the tension that had crept into his shoulders and neck after their conversation. He loses himself in the task of getting clean, scrubbing away the remnants of the night, and when he steps back out into the empty bedroom, he almost feels like himself again. The last few hours hadn't been how he expected to spend his first night in this shithole of a town, but he can't say he regrets a single thing.

As he settles into the soft mattress, he can't help but think that despite all the trouble, Dickinson, North Dakota might not be so bad after all.

Happy very belated birthday @baronsamediswife 💜💜💜Thank you for indulging me and watching Fargo and Marmalade with me and letting me ramble about how pretty Joe Keery is.

#Metaldeputy #gator tillman x eddie munson #eddie munson x gator tillman #Stranger Things fanfiction #Fargo fanfiction #Eddie Munson #Gator Tillman #nsft #my writing

64 notes · View notes

chromatic-lamina · 2 months

Text

chapter 1107 spoilers

Howabout that cover? Howaboutthat cover? How ABOUT that cover?

Bepo, with a lovely warming pot of tea (or a kettle at least), and a club? (to protect the captain?), finds him skiving off with a snow leopard, a funnel, and maybe an empty bottle of Vodka. Chapter title is: "I've been looking for you", and it refers to the giants, I think, looking for the Straw Hats, and Usopp (especially), looking (out) for the giants, and Catarina Devon doing what, exactly? But Caribou, snivelling little sop of a man that he is, looking out for Blackbeard (his current lord and saviour). But, I'm with Bepo, looking out for Law!

The Blackbeards' land on Egghead and St. Jay Garcia Saturn says he knows all about Blackbeard's background, and Catarina knows it too, and I think it's maybe something separate from the "D" initial, cos', after all, it is in Teach's public name. But we see Van Augur--(like, why is the anime captioning him as Van Ogre when Augur is written clearly on the screen? But anyway). The last time we saw him

was

here in chapter 1081 when Bepo went Sulong and escaped with Law. Most of us thought that Blackbeard's crew had been split in half because

it was assumed that events were happening concurrently, but

Van Augur and Catarina Devon are here (on Egghead), and perhaps Van Augur could have warped himself there, but here he says

he hasn't mastered the warp warp fruit enough to get him and Catarina off the island, so it's unlikely that he could have warped himself all the way from Winner Island. SO, did they pursue Law and Bepo, and the two are nearby, or with the giants, or, or, or? Or is there some other explanation (about Van Augur--I know that Law's whereabouts is still relegated to cover pages)? I'm not a close reader, so I'm happy to have anything pointed out.

But, looks like Catarina will be able to clone

Saturn, and looks as if Saturn knows it. Of course, this guy below (Caribou) would be relevant. Can't wait to see his role!

I'm out of order, of course! I don't think that Law got recaptured, but I still think there might be a giant connection. And speaking of the giants

Usopp's reaction was just

heartfelt, was, ahhh, my heart, and Nami and Chopper were really cute too. And yeah, it's been some time, so the quick recap was necessary. AND, lots of small things I just loved either for humour or poignancy, like:

Brook abandoning everything for the sake of a cup of tea (even though he says he wasn't stopping for a cup of tea)---and Lilith sending forth messages (to raise the barrier, I'm guessing) because Brook is all too calm that the Sunny is heading towards the barrier, and bound to be fried by it. Lilith is not at all equipped for dealing with Straw Hat madness. And no-one can seriously out-machismo

Zoro. He's just too silly and strong. And!!!

the Pacifistas turn on the army, the army needing to suppress a workers' revolt. And that's Kuma in the bottom picture, isn't it? It looks like Kuzan, but PX is written on the cap, I think, in the picture. Again, let me know, please!

Bonney just

being in awe that

she gets to see Nika (and Nika teaches her how to throw a rubber punch, extra future bad news for Saturn, I hope). And

Kuma and Vegapunk (what's the far right image?) take in Nika too. Love Franky's way with words here:

telling Bonney she needs make use of her legs, and Vegapunk decides he's gonna stay (or die), and Borsalino's gonna make sure of it. But!

the power of love is all pervasive! (at least when Sanji's wearing the boots). Although his love was used for protecting Bonney rather than Vegapunk, and probably has more to do with Germa modifications than love, but it is Sanji's motivator, and attacks Kizaru's knowledge of "how things work"!

Kizaru/Borsalino's face in the first panel really shows how much power he's losing. Sentomaru took a path Kizaru could have taken, but didn't. He's following Bellamy's path, so it'll be interesting to see where he ends up. Because he's too smart to be a blind lackey. Being an aware lackey is some powerful conditioning/mental gymnastics.

And I think that's about it. Hoping Kid gets a cover page soon too!

64 notes · View notes

animentality · 8 months

Text

I think gen z brainrot mostly stems from this idea that "tolerance" = "allowing the straight cis white girl to lead the discussion on whether or not queer is a slur."

Like when you're a black person trying to talk about homophobia in the black community, and the straight cis white girl says that's racist. Not all black people are homophobic.

And it's like...you tell her to stop talking because she doesn't know what she's talking about, and then she says that you're a misogynist who won't listen when women speak.

And it's like...back in my day...you used to have arguments based on logic. You appealed to ethos, whenever you could, and logos, as often as you could, and you only used pathos as a finishing argument.

Now it's all about pathos.

Like yeah, feelings matter and all...but they're not the only things that matter.

Wish you didn't have to pick between ruthless fascist who wants everyone to suffer and dreamy eyed useless hippie who thinks that doing acid is the same as being mentally ill for an hour.

People just throw buzz words at each other, and they don't actually mean anything.

You call yourself an anti racist and then are furious when someone who is, say, Latino, criticizes machismo in Latin culture and how misogynistic and homophobic it often is.

You think you're being tolerant and saying the right things, but you don't actually understand the depths of what your core goal should actually be.

You want a perfect neutral world where good things happen all the time, and you think tolerance is the door to it, but tolerance doesn't work when it's only used to insist that we are all alike...

We aren't. Tolerance is accepting that.

Tolerance is not insisting that we are exactly alike, like some borg collective.

And I think gen z more than any generation, except maybe gen alpha, just doesn't get it right and thinks that parroting the words is some kind of revolutionary act.

It isn't.

And your tolerance comes across as hostility, when you try so hard to force everyone into it.

#gen z #brainrot

155 notes · View notes

aranciafiamma · 4 months

Text

One day, the Tenth Boss of the illustrous Vongola family decides to go for a walk. The weather was good that morning - promised to be good all week. It was perfect for a restorative constitutional.

So the Tenth put on a pair of sturdy shoes and he walked out the front door. He walked through the front lawn, passed the main gates, and down the very long, gravel driveway that lead to the estate. In a half an hour, he reached the edge of the Vongola's property, then he kept on walking.

Now, this was not so strange. The Boss had been stuck behind the desk for the better part of a fortnight. He was trying to iron out a deal with the Insolenza, fiesty famiglia in Monopoli. They had tripled their numbers in under a decade, making good money off "waste management". Their wealth of success went straight to their heads (the ones in their pants), because it takes a pair of brass balls to challenge the Vongola family. They figured if anyone was gonna make a stand - they would have to do it now, in the Tenth's first year as boss, before he got too comfy with his power.

They weren't the only ones thinking so because a bunch of smaller famiglias allied with them. Up and down the coast of Apulia, from Barletta to Bari, capos began congregating. They were easy pickings alone but spite - oh spite could be a powerful, powerful motivator. Who does this foreigner think he is? Huh? Waltzing in like he owns the place? Well, he was about to get a taste of Italy's heel.

All eyes were on the Tenth. At 24 years old, he looked half his age, without any Roman machismo to call his own. He was as hairless as a babe, not even a stray whisker on his lip. And he kept sending foot soldiers, then capos, then finally an underboss to try and reason with the Insolenza and their associates. Each and every one was run out of town in a rain of bullets - but not blood. Not yet. Soon, they promise as each shot gets closer and closer to finding its mark.

The Tenth had to do something.

So he goes for a walk, straight off his property, and into the picturesque town of Rieti. Now, the Vongola have their proper headquarters in Sicily like any self-respecting, old blood famiglia. But a few days ago, the Tenth moved from the Iron Fort into this quaint, little place just east of Rome. People began to speculate that this was the first move - that the Tenth was beginning to shift his forces and launch an all out attack from the mainland. But Monday passed into Wednesday, and as far as anyone could tell, the Tenth was just in his office, doing paperwork same as usual. Sometimes, he goes out to town and buys himself a pastry.

As such, when the Tenth leaves the property, no one bats an eye. He's probably gonna grab himself an expresso and a biscotti before hiking back to the house. Except, he walks right past his favored cafe, and crosses the city lines.

That... That gets everyone's attention.

Of course, the first to react is the Tenth's inner circle. Gokudera Hayato hops on a bike and blazes down the road. He catches up with his boss in no time. From afar, a curious staff watches as the Tenth never once stops walking, cheerfully taking step after step as he talks to his Right Hand. Whatever he says to the Storm Guardian, they will never know, but it's enough for him to clench his jaw, nod, and then back away. No other Guardians reach out after that.

For hours and hours, the Tenth walks, heading down south. By then, all the other famiglias have sat up and tuned in, sending spies to watch his progress. When the sun sets and he reaches Bussi Officine, they all witness as he begins to shift his trajectory, heading east, towards the coast. It doesn't take a genius to figure out where he was going from there. But surely, they think, that can't be right. He can't seriously be going to the Apulia Coast, on foot, not even flying as people say he could. Yet, as the sun fully sinks and the moon rises high and this guy continues to walk eastwards, everyone had no choice but to believe it.

The Insolenza were at a loss. Half of them were laughing their asses off. The other half were plotting, scheming, trying to figure out the hidden plan that the Tenth must surely have. The Vongola Alliance was equally at a loss. Don Cavallone and Don Cozarto reached out to the Tenth's inner circle but his Right Hand offers no explanation.

"Trust in the Tenth," he tells them.

When dawn arrives, the young boss meets another of his men on the road. Xanxus di Vongola has both guns out, incandescent with rage. The Tenth doesn’t even twitch and stares straight at him. Keeping his brow in the line of fire, he continues forward, one foot in front of another until his skull nearly kisses the gun barrels. But by then, Xanxus must have found whatever answer he was searching for because he sheathes his guns, walking alongside his boss. They walk together for two - three hours in complete silence.

On the fourth hour, Xanxus speaks up, but far too quietly for any of the mics to catch. In response, the Tenth laughs - a heavy, throaty chuckle.

“Let them come,” he says.

At that, Xanxus stops walking. For a full thirty seconds, he watches his boss pass him by, going ever onward. Then he spins on his heels and flies away. The drones were able to capture his expression right before he left. It was a sight that prompted many to panic. Xanxus di Vongola rarely has any cause to smile but when he does, people rarely seek the cause.

Observers tracked Xanxus flying back to the Iron Fort. This destroys any claims of the Vongola launching a ground assault or really, any kind of assault. If they were going to wage a war, they would have summoned their prized warhounds.

By now, it’s been forty hours since the Tenth started walking. He has neither eaten or slept. And, as day becomes night, the assassins attack. To the surprise of most, they were not sent by the Insolenza. The Vongola has earned plenty of grudges in their long and disastrous history. There’s plenty of enemies willing and eager to take potshots at an unprotected boss.

Some send a few freelancers seeking glory. Others spend a small fortune hiring Named hitmen. And the rest are known to the Tenth, throwing hands just to keep him company. Those seem to find this whole endeavor hilarious.

The fights are short and sweet but numerous, enough to continue into the morning and through the afternoon. Not a single one, neither friend nor foe, could break the Tenth’s stride. As a result, he leaves a long trail of bodies behind him, all alive if not awake.

This attracts the attention of civilians. Now despite the notorious corruption of local law enforcement, a pair of polizia pull up to the Tenth. They frown and they yell and they light up their sirens. He smiles at them, speaking softly. Before the last words leave his mouth, they rush back to their car, without a bribe in their pockets and with a hefty shit in their pants. The Tenth never once misses a step.

He reaches the coast around the witching hour of the third night. After all that walking, his hair is wilder than a bird’s nest and his skin is several shades darker. A thick layer of grime and dirt cover his bespoke Armani suit and his polished, leather loafers. Yet the Tenth himself remains fair of face and strong of limb. The Insolenza are no longer laughing.

Taking a deep breath of that salty sea air, the Tenth turns south. He walks at a leisurely pace, even taking the time to wave at a few bystanders. The clueless ones wrinkle their noses, possibly mistaking him for some homeless vagabond. This brings a smile to his face and a spike of adrenaline to everyone else. At this time, no more assassins come for the Tenth as everyone shifts their focus onto the Insolenza.

They have set up a blockade. Concrete barriers sit on the road, in front of armored tanks and enough artillery to pulverize a mountain. The fourth day begins with a firestorm. They aim, and they fire, and they keep firing - bullet after bullet, shell after shell, missile after missile. The Italian countryside is transformed into a warzone within the span of five minutes, as deep craters pockmark the earth and dust blankets the air.

It was by the grace of powerful, powerful Mists that such a ruckus was largely ignored. Of course, a couple stray eyes bore witness but they knew better than to speak of it. Aside from the shroud of secrecy, no one else intervenes on behalf of either party. This was now a battle between the Insolenza and the Tenth. Enemies and allies watch on the edge of their seats as the dust swirls and twists.

The Insolenza run out of ammo and a hush falls over everyone. They don’t blink. They don’t breathe. From the lowest footsoldier to the high-handed capos, they could only watch, with ears ringing and pulse racing, as the dust settles.

The idiots are ready to rejoice, and they could be excused for they just unleashed a payload that could shame the United States. But the smarter ones expected retribution - for a wave of that infamous Vongola fire to sweep through the ranks. They get neither.

Schrnk. Schrnk. Schrnk.

At first, they barely hear it. But steadily, the sound grows louder as the footsteps come closer. Striding forward, as if on a relaxing stroll, is young Sawada Tsunayoshi, Tenth boss of the Vongola famiglia. Except unlike before, his bloodline is now proudly on display. On his thin shoulders rests a heavy mantle - blacker than the purest ash, as a crown of Flame sits thick and hot on his brow. He looks at the gathered men before him with eyes the color of a molten metal. The Insolenza reel back as if burned.

The Tenth does not stop walking.

To their credit, the Insolenza do not back down. The first to gather his wits throws a grenade at the Tenth. He bats it away with an easy backhand, flashing the engine-red of his gauntlet-covered fists. The others are not deterred, grinding down and summoning either stupidity or bravery to face the young boss. The day proceeds accordingly.

They throw everything they had left. There is a mountain of over the top violence, swearing, and unnecessary shouting. They flash him the goods, the greats, and the even betters. The Tenth keeps going, never straying from his chosen path, never changing his placid pace. When he reaches the tanks on the road, he lays his burning hands on the chromium armor and without even hesitating, melts his through.

The tank operators had the wisdom to evacuate before he could reach them but that’s the lone wisdom they had. One runs at the Tenth with a steel knife! Steel! They just watched him disrespect the strongest alloy known to man! The Tenth immediately drops that guy without a thought, his ass making a satisfying crunch.

When the Tenth makes it through the blockade, battalions of footsoldiers await him on the other side. There’s an echoing cry as they all charge in a single, furious mass. Their guns lay on the ground, completely empty clips scattered all over. They only had their fists to rely on. By then, pure desperation fuels them. There’s a primal need to mark the Tenth, to reach him in any way. Or else… Or else…

They don’t know. They don’t know! They don’t want to know! The reality they understood would be forfeited entirely. They would have to live with the knowledge that beings far greater - that power they cannot comprehend - that giants walk the earth. Death would be preferred - an act of mercy - in the face of that.

The Tenth has no mercy.

As the footsoldiers charge, the Tenth takes a step. Where his foot touches the ground, ice sweeps out - encasing everything for acres around him. Men are frozen where they stand, locked in mid-step with fists cocked and mouths half open. They don’t get anywhere near the Tenth. The fourth night passes peacefully.

He crosses into Barletta some time after daybreak, with only a spare hundred kilometers separating him from Monopoli, where the Insolenza are located. His clothes sit beneath a gritty, bitter layer of dirt, soot, and oil. But there’s not a single tear to be found in the fabric. Now his shoes have given up, which makes sense given all the walking. Only strips of barely stitched together leather are left on his feet. The civilian citizens of the city scuttle away from him, as if he was diseased and not like he was a Capo di tutti Capi. Their Flame blind eyes fail to notice the burning glow radiating from him.

It’s nearing 120 hours, a grand total of five days, and the Tenth still has not slept or eaten. Even more incredibly, he has maintained a state of Hyper Dying Will for thirty hours and counting. Any average Joe would have collapsed long before now, and even the above average Moe would have looked tired at least. Not this guy. He’s just going and going, breathing evenly, and moving fluidly.

When he leaves the more urban areas into proper enemy controlled territory, he encounters a couple more Insolenza men. But these were the assholes that ran from the battle once they realized the futility of the fight. They weren’t about to grow a spine now that the enemy was literally at their doorstep. So… They just follow him. They shadow his steps for the last stretch of the road as the unyielding and unstoppable boss heads for their headquarters. By the time Monopoli is in their sights, there’s a good three dozen of them just ambling behind him. He pays them little mind, taking it all in stride.

As the Tenth hits the city limits, an obscenely slick Porsche rolls up at his side. His new groupies back all the way up as a tall man steps out, pristine and sinful in his tailored suit. He doesn’t interrupt the Tenth’s walk, but keeps up as he circles around him. Without even zooming in, those watching know the newcomer as none other than the famed Reborn, former Sun Arcobaleno but still the world’s greatest hitman. He doesn’t say a word to his once student but his hands move quickly over him.

Taking a total of ten seconds, he completely redresses the Tenth in a new suit - white and clean as freshly fallen snow. He manages to tame the Tenth’s hair, removing all the twigs and leaves and trash that got trapped in there. With a wet towel, he wipes off the accumulated filth on the Tenth’s face, snapping his teeth when the Tenth lets out an annoyed whine. Finally, he sets down a pair of steel toed, wing tipped shoes for the Tenth to step into. All this was done as the Tenth continued his walk. It would have put any quick change Vegas act to shame.

The Tenth arrives at the gates of the Insolenza compound, perfectly coiffed and properly looking like a Mafia Boss. For the past five days, the head family’s bodyguards were inundated with news of the Tenth’s easy progress towards them. So when they finally laid their eyes on him… There was little they could do beyond standing aside, parting before him like the Red Sea did for Moses. The Tenth nods agreeably and invites himself right in.

Vittorio Alessandro Romano di Insolenza stood waiting at the steps to his front door. He sees the Tenth coming and he meets him halfway, holding out a sheaf of papers in his trembling hand. It’s the treaty that the Tenth sent to him awhile back, the first Vongola men visited. Of course, the Insolenza had torn up every single one. It was just this morning, when Romano sent a screaming call to his underbosses and demanded they find him a copy, that they got one in tact. (The truth is that a wiser underling sent a sheepish email requesting a copy from a bemused Hana Kurokawa, the head of the Vongola legal department.)

“Here, just take it. Take it already. And leave. Leave, damn you!” The Insolenza boss spits out, pulling in short, shallow breaths.

“Of course, but I should sign the treaty first, right?” The Tenth smiles, smooth and gentle as silk.

His former enemy jerks his head forward in an attempt to nod. It looks more like he’s having a seizure. Not that anything he does really matters at this point. It’s all just formalities. That doesn’t keep the Tenth from relishing every second. He takes his time patting his pockets, looking for a pen, before a bodyguard shyly offers one. Then, he spends even more time reading through the document as if the Insolenza boss had any audacity left to change something on the sly. But once five excruciating minutes pass, the Tenth signs the treaty with fancy flourish added to his name.

“There. That should do it,” he announces.

A veritable tsunami of relief washes over the gathered crowd.

“Please leave,” the Insolenza boss murmurs, just a heartbeat away from collapsing on the ground.

The Tenth gives him an arch look. “You know… Your men are impressive, I’ll grant you that. I look forward to working with you.”

The Insolenza boss straight up stares - jaw hanging loose - at the young boss who single handedly terrorized and demoralized his men. Tsunayoshi Sawada di Vongola had just won a war without shedding a single drop of blood, yet at the same time bleeding his enemies of all resources and any will to fight. He won a war by barely striking back, only lifting his hands to move something physically out of his way. He won a war by letting everyone take a good, long, hard look at what exactly he’s capable of.

To hear a compliment - earnest and sincere - from someone like that, well… Romano thinks it wouldn’t be so hard to work with him.

“But you gotta stop dumping radioactive waste in the water.”

“Right, sure.”

The Tenth chuckles - a raspy, rattling sound. “You should come to dinner. We’ll iron out the details. And you’re welcome to take a car or even fly over. Not everyone loves a good hike like me.”

Romano chokes on his spit as something warm trickles down his legs. It’s piss. He just pissed himself. Merda.

Without waiting for a response, the Tenth spins on his heel, tucking the treaty into his suit jacket, and walks out the front gates. The newly allied Insolenza family can only watch as he makes his way down the path at an even, unhurried pace.

Half an hour later finds Tsuna far from the Insolenza manor, strolling into downtown Monopoli. He swings by a nearby cafe, where a plate of biscotti and a fresh cup of espresso sit on the counter in a takeout bag.

“Oh good, you got my order!” He says brightly.

The barista gives him a funny look. “Zio, the app says that you ordered this from Rieti?”

“Yep, I just came down here to pick it up. Thanks!” With that, Tsuna grabs his food and walks away.

He takes maybe ten steps from the cafe before that same black Porsche parks itself in front of him. The door opens automatically and Tsuna climbs right in, careful not to spill his drink.

Reborn looks him over, lifting a slim, single brow. “Dame-Tsuna, we have espresso at home.”

“Sure. But I heard good things about this place.” Tsuna grins, sharp and cheeky and boundless with joy.

They laugh the whole way home.

#katekyo hitman reborn #khr #sawada tsunayoshi #I HAD TO REWRITE THIS STUPID THING #the app GAVE UP on me

81 notes · View notes

mamawasatesttube · 2 months

Note

no wait your jack drake lives au is so interesting. time being robin while his parents were still around was such an interesting concept that couldve been explored more

yeah!! especially in that era when jack knew and was for the first time in his life like... actually trying to put effort into their relationship. i think tim saying "dad, i know it scares you, but i am going to do this because i'm needed, and you can't stop me," was such a wake-up call to jack that he doesn't, like. actually know his son anymore. the way he and tim talk to each other in that one rooftop convo is SO different from how early in the run, jack didn't even notice tim's injuries, shipped him off to boarding school as punishment, threatened him and took away his stuff and yelled at him and never listened to him.

i think a jack who lived would've had to realize that tim is growing up and very independent. and tim loves him so much, but like... he's already losing him. he's been pushing him away for so long without even realizing it.

to be clear i generally read jack as fairly emotionally abusive towards tim. not intentionally, but he's just... really emotionally immature + written with dixonesque Machismo™ aka toxic masculinity that comes out in how he treats tim. and tim certainly would never admit that his dad treats him kind of poorly because he loves him! he wants them to have a good relationship so bad and he hates lying to him. he doesn't even admit it to himself, honestly.

but if jack stayed around longer, i think the cracks in that façade would have started to show through. and it would have been pretty bittersweet for both of them. because, like, a tim spending more time with the kents would get to see a family where communication is prioritized. the ariana situation would Never have gone down like it did with his dad, if it happened to chris or jon kent. tim's an observant and introspective person. he wouldn't be able to just... not notice these things. and once those seeds got planted in his head, it'd only be a matter of time until he was forced to confront what he really, really didn't want to: that not all of the issues in his and his dad's relationship are his fault.

(also i still just think it's really funny if bruce, in a very emotionally constipated attempt to let tim know he's supportive of him after tim awkwardly mentions having a date so he can't go on patrol that evening, and, uh, yeah, it's with a boy, buys tim a bi flag mug, and jack sees it and goes Where did you get that. and tim's like oh haha bruce gave it to me after i told him i'm bi. and jack is FUMING bc now his choices are Be Less Homophobic or Lose "Supporting Tim" Points To Bruce.) (but also it's still tragic because the thing motivating him to do better by tim isn't tim. it's his jealousy and insecurity about bruce.)

#answers #largergulp #tim #jack drake

63 notes · View notes

ariundercovers · 4 months

Text

Roundabout (When Paths Cross, Pt III - Javier Peña x Reader)

Pairing: Javier Peña x Afab!Reader (No use of y/n!)

Length: ~2.8k words

Series Summary: Chucho's been like a father figure to you since he helped you out of a sticky situation on your second day in Laredo. What happens when you finally meet his son, the former-DEA agent, who just happens to ignite you in a way that you haven't felt before?

Chapter Summary: The next Sunday. Fluff, flan, and the great beyond.

Chapter Warnings: its all fluff anf plot, no porn this time, Javi being a needy demon, spanish nicknames, idk what else its honestly pretty chill

If you're so inclined, please drop a like and a reply/reblog! I live for your feeback, and it keeps me going and keeps me writing. Did you like it? love it? hate it? I want to hear all of your thoughts!

PREVIOUS PART (II) HERE

Javi does, in fact, meet you for lunch that week. Twice. And then dinner on Friday. He’s a perfect gentleman, picking you up from your apartment and driving you to the restaurant. He holds every door for you, makes sure you’re seated first, tells you he’s paying and that he wants you to order anything on the menu you’d like.

Normally, you’d take that kind of chivalry as a bit of an offense - some kind of lingering patriarchal worldview that you’d have absolutely no interest in - and yet, with Javi, you’re not opposed. In fact, you find that you genuinely enjoy it. Something about that shocks you even more than the way you jumped into his bed that first evening did, and even more than the warmth that blooms in your chest when he presses your knuckles to his lips. There’s just something about him, you think. Something you can’t quite put your finger on, but you already feel like you can’t live without.

Okay. It’s been a week. Get it together.

It feels like you’re in high school all over again, falling head over heels for anyone who showed an interest in you, no matter how bad they ended up being for you, or how much they annoyed you at first.

Yeah. You’re falling. Hard.

Fuck.

You’re getting ready to head over to Chucho’s for another Sunday meal when your phone rings. Picking it up, a beautiful baritone voice speaks into your ear that makes your knees a bit weak and a warmth bloom in your chest.

“Hola, Muñeca.” You sigh, like a lovestruck teenager, and move to sit down at the little armchair you keep in the corner of your room.

“Javier.” You can practically hear his smirk from the other side of the phone line, your own face graced with one to match.

“You’re coming tonight, right?”

“Like I always do, every Sunday. Unless… you don’t want me to?” You’re suddenly struck with a pang of worry in your gut, fear that perhaps things were moving too fast, that you’ve assumed some kind of exclusivity that the two of you have never discussed. You hadn’t stopped to think about what this might do to alter your standing weekly dinners at the Peña ranch. Javi chuckles in your ear and you settle immediately, reassured in an instant.

“No, darlin’, of course I want you to be there. I just thought I’d ask if you want to stay again? Maybe with a bit more planning this time? Doesn’t have to be with me, if you don’t want. We’ve still got the guest bedroom made up.” You smile and sigh, once again affronted by this gentlemanly way he has about him. Somehow, it’s not what you were expecting from a man like him. You were expecting something gruffer, with unfinished edges. Something more… machismo, really. He throws you for a loop at every corner.

“Yeah, of course. I’d love to. Any excuse not to come back to my empty apartment is a more than welcome one.” You can hear a little chuckle come through the receiver and then a heavy breath.

“Good. Can I come pick you up?”

You scoff and respond quickly. “I can drive myself, Javi. You don’t need to go out of your way for me like that.”

“It’s not out of my way if it means I get to spend more time with you, muñeca.” Sighing, you stand, pinching the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you start to pull out whatever clothes and items you’ll need for an overnight stay.

“Really, Javi. I’m alright. But I appreciate the offer. I’ll see you soon, okay? I’ll be out of the house in like… half an hour, I think.”

He sighs lightly in the background but his words are laced with a touch of disappointment when he answers. “Hope you’re bringing some more of those pastelillos. Pops and I ate them all in less than 24 hours.”

“Ha! Of course you did. No pastelillos but something just as yummy, in my opinion.”

“Good. See you soon, then.” You pause your motions and smile softly to yourself, holding the phone once again.

“Yeah, See you soon. Bye, Javi.”

“Adios, muñeca.”

The receiver clicks off and you put down your phone, sighing dreamily as if you just stepped into a romance novel. He so successfully melted you by doing so little… it should really be more concerning to you, you think.

Hastily, you pack up your bag and head to the kitchen where your homemade flan is cooling in the fridge. Pulling it out, you flip it onto the dish and scoop out the remaining caramel, grabbing up a can of dulce de leche and stuffing it in your bag before wrapping up the flan carefully and tightly. You flit around the house for a few minutes, tidying things up and making sure everything was in its place, lights were off, and cleaning up the few dishes lingering in the kitchen sink properly.

Taking a moment to visually scan the apartment, you open the door, hands very full, and shut it behind you before deadbolting it shut.

~ ~ ~

With the way your mind has you lost on some daydreaming tangent that is no doubt Javier-infused, it's no surprise that it feels like you blink and suddenly you’re standing in front of Chucho’s front door. You still blink back at it for a while before raising your hand to knock and being greeted by the old man, himself.

“Mija, I’m so glad you made it. Oh, here - let me take something, yes?” He takes the flan out of your hands and heads into the kitchen with it as you let yourself into the house, closing the door behind you. “Javi’s just finishing up a few chores around the ranch. He’ll be back in soon, I’m sure.”

You smile at Chucho and take a seat at the dining table as he brings you over a glass of water, taking the chair next to you. “Okay. No problem. You know he’s not the only thing I came here to see, right?” Chucho shrugs, a smirk on his face as he leans over and squeezes one of your hands with his own.

“Well… given the way he’s been moving around the house over the course of the week, I think I might’ve been knocked out of first place already.” You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks again, looking down into your glass in slight embarrassment before he quickly continues. “I don’t mean to make you feel embarrassed about it, mija. I’m glad, actually. He’s been so much less mopey. Much more pleasant to be around.”

“You noticed that in a week?” You’re shocked, to say the least, thrown a bit by Chucho’s admission. You knew how much you felt for Javi already, but you were surprised to hear he might be feeling similarly, to put it lightly.

“I did. Doesn’t take very long when it’s the right person.” The warmth in your cheeks spreads and you look back down before he squeezes your hand once again. “Mija… look at me, please.” You do as he asks, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I want you to be careful. He went through a lot down there. I won’t pretend to know the extent of it, but… I don’t want to see you hurt, either. Just… just be careful. Okay?”

Your brows scrunch together slightly and you nod, somber, but agreeing. “I will. I promise, Chucho.”

Naturally, it’s then that you hear the front door open and you turn in your chair to see one sweaty Javier Peña in his tight jeans and a pair of muddy cowboy boots, yanking them off and throwing them on the porch before he steps inside. He smiles at you immediately.

“Muñeca. Pops. ‘M gonna go shower. Be back out in no time.” He squeezes your shoulder on his way to his room and your eyes follow him down the hallway as Chucho speaks up to you again.

“You’re good for him, mija. I just hope he’s good for you, too.”

~ ~ ~

Dinner goes by relatively uneventfully. You spend some time recounting your weeks - Chucho talks about the ranch and the problematic bull he’s been fighting for some time now, Javi talks about some of the things he’s been tinkering with on the property, especially the fences he’s been fixing up. You give them the low-down on what work’s been like over the last week and you can tell that they both listen very intently, even if they’re not up to date on museum lingo. You do your best to explain as needed.

When you’ve all finished, Javi gathers up the plates and you follow him into the kitchen, reaching into the fridge for your very precious flan. As you’re reaching forward, fingertips just grazing the plate, suddenly there are a pair of arms wrapped around your midsection and a set of lips attached to your neck. Your body shivers involuntarily and you squeak, surprised.

“Javi!” You almost shout, just barely holding it back into a whisper in time. “You could’ve made me drop the whole thing!” He chuckles in your ear and presses a kiss behind it. His voice is sultry, hushed whispers in your ear as he speaks.

“But I didn’t. Been waiting to get my hands on you all night, muñeca. Making me wait a whole week has been like a living nightmare.” You chuckle at his words and press back into his embrace as his lips drop to the junction of your shoulder and neck.

“Well you’ve gotta wait a little more, Javier. I am not risking Chucho turning over his shoulder and seeing anything.” You push him off of you and turn around to a dejected look on his face, like a kicked puppy dog. You roll your eyes at him and reach up to press a kiss on his cheek. “You’ll survive, I promise. Couple hours, tops.” He sighs back at you but acquiesces, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

“Yes, yes, whatever you say, muñeca.”

You walk the flan back out to the dining area, setting it on the table as Javi follows behind with a set of plates, forks, and serving implements. You dole out a portion to each of you and sit down with a hesitant smile, waiting to see what they think of it. Chucho’s face lights up with the first bite, a smile on his lips that warms your heart.

“This tastes much like my wife’s did, mija. It’s wonderful.”

You stop, tilting your head slightly at him as you study his expression closely. He’s never really talked about his wife before, at least not with any substance. You don’t know much about her, but you can certainly tell how much he loved her by the glimmer in his eyes at his admission.

“I’m glad you like it, Chucho. It’s always been one of my favorites.” Javi studies Chucho’s face similarly critically, and you think for a moment that you can see a twinkle in his eye that matches Chucho’s. If it didn’t feel overly intrusive, you’d consider asking them about her. You’d truly love to know, but it feels wrong. Like you’re sitting in on a moment that was never meant for you. You hold yourself, promising that you’ll bring it up sometime on a later date. Now isn’t the time.

Chucho eventually goes for seconds, as does Javi, and then you spend a few moments cleaning up from dessert. You’re standing at the kitchen sink, washing dishes with care, when Chucho comes up to you and rests a hand on your shoulder.

“Mija, you know you don’t have to do those.”

“You tell me every time, Chucho. I always do them. It’s my pleasure.” He smiles at you and gives your shoulder a light squeeze.

“Alright. Well, I’m off to bed. This old man is tired, and I think the two of you could use some time without me lingering.” You stop, turning to him.

“You don’t have to do that. We’re fine. I’ve seen Javi, oh… four other times this week?” You laugh, but he just smiles back at you and nods.

“I know. Still. I’m off to bed.” He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead before he’s walking in the opposite direction toward the master bedroom. You shake your head in slight disbelief and turn back to the dishes.

A few minutes later, Javi is pulling up beside you with a rag, taking each dish from your hands and drying it before putting it away. Between the two of you, you get through it all rather quickly and in no time at all you’re drying your hands and turning around to Javi’s arms caging you in against the countertop edge. Your eyes go wide and you take in a sharp breath, suppressing what could have easily been a squeak, but you manage to keep it down.

“Hi,” You say, like a doofus.

“Hi.” Javi responds.

His smile grows impossibly wider then, as he shifts further into your space, wrapping your lips up with his own. You hum into the kiss automatically, hands lifting to find his hips and then the center of his lower back.

“Has it really only been a week?” He asks in between kisses. You sigh, closing your eyes softly as he works his mouth down the side of your neck. It feels like heaven on your skin.

“Yeah. Just a week. Feels like it's been ages longer than that, though.”

Javi pauses and chuckles for a moment. “Oh, good. It’s not just me, then?” You laugh lightly at him in response and lift your hands to either side of his face, pulling his face up to look him in the eyes.

“Definitely not.” He swoops in then to kiss you once again, a warmth blooming in your abdomen that feels like it's been settled there all week long. You do not understand how you’re falling so hard, so quickly, for this man. It’s unnerving.

Suddenly your world feels upside down for a moment as he leans down, picks you up to set you on the counter, and presses his body further into yours as his hips come forward to meet the edge of the countertop. His lips never leave yours, keeping you firmly connected to him as he moves you. You wrap your thighs around his hips, pressing your chest tightly into his, and you melt into the kiss.

It’s impossible not to.

When he pulls away, he has a starry look in his eyes that melts your heart into an even bigger puddle than it already is. One finger pushes a piece of your hair to the side, away from your face, and he offers you that big, dumb, lopsided grin of his.

“Before we get too carried away, there’s something I want to show you.”

You smile curiously at him and answer, “Oh, yeah?”

He nods and sets you down off of the counter for just a moment before he’s grabbing your hand and leading you toward the backdoor. Pulling you onto the porch before he shuts the door behind you both, he takes a seat on a small bench near the grill and pulls you into his lap, angling you so you can look up towards the sky.

“You probably don’t get this kind of view in the northeast, I don’t think. It’s one of the best things about Laredo.” You don’t really know what he’s talking about at first until you really take a moment to take in your surroundings. In front of you is the most brilliant sky - the night is clear, with no clouds to obstruct your vision, and you can make out every tiny pinpoint of light in the distance as you look out over the river into the endless sea of stars above you.

“Javi… this is- oh wow.” You’re in awe of it - you’ve never seen so many stars, taking up so much of the sky above you. You’ve never had the pleasure of looking out into the great expanse of the universe like this. It makes you feel infinitesimally small, almost meaningless, but then Javi’s arms wrapped tightly around your waist ground you back to him, back to this moment. Back to everything you’re feeling for him all at once.

The two of you sit there just like that for a very long while, wrapped up in the embrace and in the vision above you. You actually see a shooting star cross nearly from one side of your peripheral vision to the other, lacinand you lace your fingers into his, squeezing tightly as his other hand rubs soft circles into your thigh.

“What do you think, muñeca? Think you can see yourself staying in Laredo for a while?” You smile at his question and lean back into him a bit further.

“Yeah, I think I can.”

~ ~ ~

a/n - next part should be out sooner than this one! Already working on it! love yall so much.

NEXT PART (IV) HERE

#writing #javier peña x reader #javi peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña #pedro pascal #javier pena fanfiction #fanfic #no beta we die like men

75 notes · View notes