#dev patel smut

[sodacatz]

I had to come back from the dead to talk ab monkey man n how I need sum dev patel or monkey man fanfictions

[royalsunshinehotel]

Hey!! So I was wondering if you could write a smutty fic / one shot of dr. Chatterjee? Sort of like and extension or something of that one scene he’s talking about what he did after work when he said he was drinking only wearing a towel? Yeah that, it’s amazing. So like he takes the shower and when he’s finally out reader still isn’t home yet so he gets a drink and sits down thinking about what happened just sitting in the towel and then reader comes home and sees him just sitting there in a towel and is already kinda thinking about how good he looks. You go from there buys that’s a basic idea, feel free to change anything you want!!!

Hysterical (Dr ZZ Chatterjee x F!Reader) 18+

A/N: Not as filthy as I wanted, but I still think he's cute.

Warnings: unlawful detainment in a mental institution, dry humping, possible medical malpractice

Zayant Zenil Chatterjee fancies himself a smart, complicated man. Less so than when he had been younger, but layered nonetheless. He wasn’t wrong- not entirely, he’s too young to be complicated. However, when it comes down to introspection, he could take home a prize. 

Today, for example. He laid out all the information he’d gleaned from the man at the circus, and went through it methodically. 

Misdiagnoses weren’t uncommon in the medical field. The only thing you could do as a physician was to not make the same mistake twice. 

Like when someone had come into the hospital for back pain, and it turned out they’d been suffering from anemia, as well as Crohn's disease. 

Or, you. 

Your parents had you institutionalized for the Victorian-era disorder known as “female hysteria”, and he’d met you when he was covering for a colleague on the psych ward. 

Everything had an explanation, even the most beautiful, remarkable, or heinous things. 

After a quick conversation, he’d learned that you were a “politically radical” and your parents had essentially put you in a “time out”. Add six months and it puts the two of you here. 

Ethically questionable? Perhaps.

But did he regret it? Did he regret meeting you, and making recommendations to your physician? Absolutely not. 

He breathes in the smoke from his cigarette, letting the cold winter air hit his skin, still warm from the bath. He wonders how your day went, he wonders if you thought of him as much as he did you. You’re smart, you’re a busy woman, and he’d just given you a key to his apartment. 

And then he feels annoyed. 

Six months ago he’d be nearly inconsolable about the man who could see without eyes. He’d be scrambling, pouring himself over books, trying to work it out. There was something to be cracked, and he’d be pulling at every thread. 

But instead he’s in a towel, drinking on his balcony, thinking about you. 

If he were to do such a thing, master the beyond, enhance his psychic focus through meditation, who would be thought of? 

Today, the man focused on the face of his deceased brother.

Would Z think about you? 

If he were to make such advancements, and gain the same ability as the man who could see without eyes, would one see everything at once, or would it be a focused direction, like your physical eyes. 

Z thinks about how badly he wants to talk to you. 

You were almost as bad as he was, pulling and pushing, trying to figure things out, why things were the way they were. If he could tell you everything, you’d get right to the heart of the matter. Or worse, you’d tell him that it’s just as simple as it seems to be. 

As if on demand, he hears your boots scuffing on the street below, you’re on your way up! Z’s heart flips, in a most unnerving manner. 

He means to get up, he means to meet you at the door, but his legs won’t move. He sits on his stool by the balcony, taking a long sip of his bourbon. He doesn’t like the drink, but he needs it after six hours of writing. 

You drop your bag at the door, and lean against it as you remove your shoes, and he can’t get over exactly how happy he is to see you. 

Something blocking him of course, it usually is, so you have to meet him a little more than halfway. 

You give a tired smile as you turn away and shimmy out of your thick wool dress. The room is cold, you know he likes it that way. 

You’ve had a good day, and you want to make sure he has a good day too. 

Large, dark eyes, looking right through any bravado you might have, lean muscle and warm, brown skin. He’s taken a bath, clearly, from the towel, and his hair’s gotten curly, black tendrils reaching out for something. Your hands? Maybe. 

The best word is …appetizing, but that could just be that you skipped your lunch. It happens. 

The silky material of your slip takes in the chill of the room, and you march over to take your place in his lap. You place two hands on the sides of his face, leaning into him. 

He’s perfectly hard against your thigh, but he can wait just a moment. 

You roll yourself down, just to hear him groan. You try again, and Zay stops you, digging his fingers into the meat of your legs. 

So, you bite him. 

You used to hold back, and just have a nibble, have his skin between your teeth, maybe you’d roll it and he’d tug at your hair. 

Now, you bite down, you leave a mark, and he absolutely adores you for it. 

You’ve found that Zay really enjoys kissing you, he always brings an attention to detail that you’d never experienced before. You hope you can give him the same, but sometimes, you get heated and grabby. He doesn’t seem to mind this.

It’s quite satisfying to watch someone so put-together, groomed, lose their composure. You flash for a moment, on what he must have done before he met you, and you put the idea of other women to bed immediately. 

You want to ruin him, ideally. If there ever was a day he grew tired, or you were called away for work, you’d make sure to leave such a mess, he’d never recover from it. 

Slowly, you roll your hips down. He groans, “Wicked woman…” and you smile against his mouth. Yes, truly diabolical.

He’d said the words, but Z soon learns exactly how wicked you are. WIthout hesitation,  rocking against him, the warm, rough texture of the towel grinding perfectly against your clit. YOu can feel him grinning at you, as you make the towel slick. It’s pathetic, but he’s never going to complain.                                                                                       

He feels a little cocky, actually. 

His hands dig into the meat of your thighs. You trade him a pout for a kiss, and he thanks you for it, before the two of you become a heated, sticky mess.

With a light, airy sigh, you hum, “How was your day?” into his ear.

“Fine,” he breathes “just fine.” He’s gonna marry you, he just has to figure out how to ask.

[stargirlfics]

please girl,i just want Dev fucking me as he humiliate me at the same time!!!

It’s been a minute since we’ve talked about Dev and this right here! 🥵 yes!

Like just think about getting folded in half by him and receiving some soft humiliation. He seems like the type to be sweet about it, cooing at you, telling you how cute it is that you’re already so close and you haven’t even taken his dick all the way yet

On my knees!!! He’s so underrated

[smut-angel]

hi everyone! i’ve had tumblr for a while but i’ve never posted my own content/writing so here it goes! you guys can call me jade and i’m a horny black girl who wants to add to the world of black girl smut authors!

so far, i write for jon bernthal, oscar isaac, dev patel, and barry keoghan! pls pls pls feel free to send in asks and messages with smutty, angsty or soft thoughts and requests! hopefully we can become friends! 🥺

[cosmicblogs]

[cherryblossom-enthusiast]

Kinda impulsively maybe sorta want to write a fanfic about The Kid from Monkey Man since seeing it in the theater last night. Someone stop me��

[sodacatz]

I'll be writing a few monkey man fics so leave some suggestions! My request are open.♡♡♡

Please read the blog rules ♡

[royalsunshinehotel]

hi hi hi hi!!!! love your work! love your fics!!!!!! amazing and wonderful and lovely and wow💗💗 is it too much to request a gawain imagine??? he's had a long day and is annoyed at everything but he comes home to his wife and melts into her because she makes everything better. slow, loving smut in the end?? love your copperfield smut too⭐️ david and gawain are dreamy asfffffff

Crawl Home (David Copperfield x wife!reader, 18+)

thirty six days until monkey man!!

A/N: The first half of this fic is based on lore I've heard about Charles Dickens being regarded as "the man who invented Christmas." Could be filthier, but I digress.

It was the dead of winter, about to be Christmas in London, and it was supposed to be a good, cheerful time of year, but a calm holiday never seemed to be what laid in store for David Copperfield. It was bordering on ridiculous. The whole day, something hot, sharp, and painful had been stabbing him behind the eyes, and he couldn't get it to stop.

He'd been out of the house since the sun rose that morning, doing everything he could to get it together for the holiday. The two of you were actually going to leave the city, back to his Aunt's home, but the energy in the air told him that the trip was all but doomed.

You heard him coming back, stuck in his head, chatting to himself, more annoyed than he usually would have been.

He struggled with the key, and you don't even look up from your book. Usually when he's this heated, it's best to let him wear himself out.

"I just don't understand the need for everyone to go to the shops at once!!" He blew through the front door, slamming it behind him, stomping his boots clean of snow.

"Really? why would they do that?" You asked, knowing your words really weren't of consequence at that moment.

"It's like there was an announcement that everyone steps out at 11am, I could barely get out the front door of the publishers! Ridiculous! Any shopping? Why do we have to get people gifts!"

"David, it's Christmas, give the people a break." You tried, closing your book and putting it to the side.

"They would do the same! People don't want to show a shred of mercy for the less fortunate!" His hands were tight at his sides, his feelings simmering, almost at a boil.

"What do you mean?" You questioned, your husband ran a hand over his face, his curly hair fluffing up as he pulled off his hat.

"I nearly brought home two children that were 'available to work' on the corner near Darby St. Some rich toff was chatting to the Dad, god knows where they'll end up!" David and his big heart.

A familiar ache pulsed through you, "I'm so sorry lovey."

He just roamed the streets of London, seeing and feeling everything!

"I scared their father, I'm sure I can find them tomorrow though." You knew your husband. Tenacious was a word for it, but you should really start preparing to have two more on your Christmas vacation. Later, you thought.

"I worry for you, and your big heart."

"You won't be saying so when we've got two children to feed for Christmas." When, he said, he was thinking about it too.

"Hm, since we're adopting street urchins now, I should take advantage of our privacy." It was an inappropriate thing to say, but you knew if you didn't fuck him into a more temperate mood, there's no way the children would agree to come with him, even if he did find them again. He would, you knew he would but still.

"You are sitting in my lap." You had your chest in his face as well, however you gave him another moment to notice that.

"Back down to earth, are we?" You teased lightly, David's hands cold against your skin.

"...Have you been in your nightgown this whole conversation...?" You shivered as he pushed the gown off one shoulder.

"Yes. I think, since it's the holiday, you might take time off." Your words seemed muffled, heat pooling in your belly as David put his mouth to work on your breast, cold hands kneading the flesh casually, because he'd been doing it for years.

"You've been working so hard on your serials, I miss you." You all but moaned as David's freezing fingers teased your hardened peaks,

"How much?" He flashed a smile up at you, as you adjusted your legs.

"You should feel!" You prompted, and a cold hand wandered down to your dampening heat. You moaned loudly at the contrast of temperature, pitiful and absolutely perfect.

David whined, in the way you like.

Now normally, the two of you would tease more, enjoy each other with hands and mouths. Its a favorite past time for you like to hold his member in your hands and watch it twitch and grow...another day perhaps.

For now, you're not rushing, but you're not going to wait. You warm your hand a moment before pulling David free of his trousers. He sat perfectly still, like a good boy. He deserved a treat after the day he had.

Helping you, he took a large hand and bunched your nightdress to your hips, and he supported you, other hand on your ass as you mounted him.

He was simply so lucky to have you.

With a wet, filthy sound, you took your husband in deep. It was supposed to be a treat for him, and here you were, barely a thought in your pretty little head.

It was his fault, his cock was too lovely!

He paused, to let you catch your breath, but with a squeeze to your rear, you begin to move, to ride.

"You always feel so good inside me," your breathy little whine prompted a nip to your collarbone. The soft velvet of the chair only heightened how your hair stood on end.

You'd wanted to take control, you'd wanted to come after him like an avenging fertility goddess, taking what you want.

And yet, like most things, you were doing it together.

"I'll always crawl home to you." He murmured, trying everything he could to stay calm. Not too calm, but calm enough.

"You'd better keep your big heart wide, I know sometimes it hurts." You crooned into his ear as he tightened his grip on you, just as greedy as he needed to be.

"It's all worth it for this comfort I receive from you, dear wife." He groaned, humming against your skin. You smirked, bringing your hot breath up to his ears.

Cold. Not for long!

You tugged his earlobes between your teeth, pulling ever so gently, as David melted under you.

A few more rolls of your hips, and you clench down around him, muscles keeping him hostage in you as you milk him for all he's worth. You get to keep him safe, when he's inside you like this.

"What was that, worrying about gifts for the family?" You grabbed his chin, pointing his face towards you.

He smirked, before giving you a sweet, chaste peck, "Once again dearest, you are all that I need."

[stargirlfics]

mutual masturbation with dev 😵‍💫

excuse me while my brain explodes omg!

i can see this being super playful with Dev like you’re both really giddy and excited about trying this out, maybe he was the one that brought it up and you feel super exposed not just from being naked but from him watching you and he feels the same as you watch him but it’s in that like butterflies in your tummy kind of way that turns you on

the sight of him stroking himself just makes your brain go all fuzzy and your start letting your hands roam your body and the playfulness is still there but it turns into something more lustful and omg when you both start to breathe a little heavier and moan it’s just amazing how you’re both soooo into it, you wanna reach out and touch each other so bad but the challenge of not doing that until you get off like this is so 🥵🥵🥵

[smut-angel]

HI omg this is so specific but w. what if you were trapped in a very small space w dev patel. like a closet. and you kissed. and.. more. haha jk unless

LMAO OK BUT THIS IS KINDA CUTE 😭 let’s just say you guys are in a tiny elevator and it gets stuck. dev is super shy at how close you guys are and he just wants to make you feel safe and keep you from freaking out. once help is on the way it takes forever!

“this is like that game,” you say shyly, plopping down on the elevator floor next to him. it should be illegal to make elevators this tiny, you think to yourself. your thigh is nearly on top of his and you peer at him looking for a sign of discomfort, yet he doesn't react. 

“what game?”

“that game where two people go in a closet and-”

“oh! seven minutes in heaven.. god i hated that game,” he says while shaking his head. 

“why did you hate it?”

“because no one ever wanted to kiss me,” he confesses, “so we’d just awkwardly sit there for seven minutes.”

“who wouldn’t want to kiss you?” you mumble, but the elevator is so small that any case of mumbling is similar to screaming. you sense his breath hitch slightly at your words as your face flushes with heat. the silence begins to make your ears ring before he breaks it. “do you..? do you want to kiss me?” you turn your head towards his. he’s already looking at you with his soft brown eyes, your closeness makes your noses nearly touch. he’s handsome, but  especially handsome when you get to see him this closely. 

in an attempt to let out a a simple “yes,” your words seem to escape you, nearly making your tongue swell. all you did was nod before dev captured your lips into his own, his right hand naturally caressing your cheek. soon, that hand would travel down your neck, to your shoulder, then to your thigh which he squeezed gently, making you moan into his mouth at your desperation for more of his touch to land elsewhere. 

JDHSFJFH I GOT REALLY INTO THIS

[cherryblossom-enthusiast]

Retribution (The Kidxf!Reader) - Monkey Man

A/N: I said I was writing it and it has been done lol If you haven’t watched this film yet, please do! I indulged and wrote a small fic about it lol (Don't mind the abyssmal pacing of this, I barely edited and added anything) I hope you all enjoy it and can someone please indulge me more by writing more fics about this man!? Dev Patel absolutely killed it! Put him in a rom-com! I tried to write the hijra with as much care as possible. Please let me know if there’s something I can be more educated on in terms of this!

Synopsis: A mysterious man arrives at the temple you call home and makes quite an impression.

Warnings/ Tags: Angst. Fluff. Allusions to sex work. Descriptions of violence and blood. Coarse language. Kissing.

Word Count: 3.2K

Masterlist

The cheers of those around you interrupt the hanging of your laundry.

Peeking through the shoulders and the shadows, you sneak a glance at the subject of commotion, and it doesn’t surprise you.

The way he moves is equal parts graceful and aggressive. His punches are meticulously messy, a choreographed war drum thrumming to the beat of his own heart. This man is far removed from who you remember gazing upon a few days ago. His eyes were lost, sunken, like a child looking for guidance or divine judgement for all that’s led him to this point.

This was not that man.

This man was vengeance personified.

And through him, you felt hope.

You knew nothing about him. Alpha was able to garner all of your help, quietly and quickly instructing to pull the man out of the river. You were there when they cauterized his wounds. His screams were pure agony, making you cringe, and somehow you felt that his pain went deeper than physicality.

He walked like a ghost when he first came, aimlessly walking, like trying to just bump into something that would give him an answer.

Now, it seems he walks with purpose.

He throws his last punch and receives a mighty applause. The crowd recognizes the show’s over for the time being and they disperse as he keeps heaving, staring at the bag like he wants to hit it more. Like he never wants to stop.

You pick up a basket and walk over to him. Whether to strike up a proper conversation or feeling annoyed at the dirtied shirt on the ground you had just washed, you don’t exactly know. But something about him is magnetic, pulling you in, just like the first time you saw him that night, all bloody and bruised.

You nod at his white shirt. “I’ll take that.”

He breaks from his spell and turns to look at you.

His heaving slows, his breaths getting deeper by the second. For what you think is a few minutes, he just stares are you, and you at him, both of you taking each other in. You realize his physique really is something to awe over, but more importantly, that his eyes are far gentler than what you thought possible.

You tilt your head. “The shirt?”

He bends and picks up the white cloth, simply extending it to you as he continues to stare. You gesture for him to drop it into the basket. With an amused scoff, you start to turn away. “I’d appreciate it if you hung the next shirt you tore off on a wall.”

“Your name?”

His voice surprises you. You’ve only heard him speak a few times before. He sounds rough, and scratchy, like he doesn’t use his voice often.

You introduce yourself and after a few moments, he repeats your name back to you. Slowly, quietly, as if he’s scared of offending you in any way. Listening to it fall from his lips is like listening to dripping honey and you’d be lying to yourself if you said it didn’t make heat crawl up your neck.

To save face, you again start to walk away from him. “Widen your stance.” You advise, not waiting to hear a reply.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Several days pass until you have another full conversation.

You’re caught up with mundane chores. He’s caught up with punching that bag and doing god knows what else when he’s not at the temple.

Though there was that one time you almost slip and he catches you effortlessly by the waist and it definitely made your stomach flutter.

You smile the first time you depart to wash laundry and see his shirt hanging over a nearby wall.

He’s getting better. His posture looks strong, immovable. Sometimes you think with all that’s happened to him, that he must be invincible. Surely, no one can lose that much blood and still maintain their sanity.

But then you see his movements wain by the end of his exercise and it’s like something powerful overcomes him as he loses all finesse and he punches that rice-filled bag for all its worth with no rhyme or reason. You sense his frustration as he suddenly stops and puts his hand on his hips, breathing erratically.

You approach him cautiously. Pulling out a bottle of water from your laundry basket, you offer it to him. “Consider taking a break?”

He’s slow to take the bottle from you but he does so anyway. After almost draining the whole thing, he splashes the rest of the water over his head. Only as he shakes the droplets off his curly locks does he try to return it to you.

“An actual break.” You reiterate, stuffing the bottle of water back into your basket. “Your drummer needs one too. He might have built up his callouses, but he should eat something.”

The man turns to look where your eyes are directed and though you don’t have a clear view of his face, you can tell from the way that his eyebrows ease that he feels a sense of guilt. The drummer simply raises his palm and stands. “Take some time to clear your head, I’ll be here whenever you have.” He leaves the courtyard until it’s just the two of you left.

The weather is oddly cool today. There’s smoke and a mugginess that’s expected from being close to the heart of the city, but if you were to look around, it’d almost seem like you were transported decades into the past. The temple acts like a sanctuary, shielding you all from the outside world’s noise and it does a good job.

You walk towards a small wooden bench off to the far side and take a seat. You set your basket down and pat the space next to you. “Come,” You beckon “I’d appreciate some company while I fold all of these white shirts I’ve had to add to my load.”’

Something like embarrassment flashes on his face as he follows your command and sits right next to you. His posture is stiff like he wants to make an impression. It’s obvious your newfound companion doesn’t like to talk, or more accurately, isn’t very good at starting small conversation.

“I’m sorry for the bother.”

He has a tone of bashfulness, unable to turn in your direction. Your smile widens as you continue to fold “I didn’t say it was bothersome.” You refute. “In fact, I’d rather say I don’t mind you taking your shirt off.”

You try to make direct eye contact then, but he swallows thickly and doesn’t meet your eyes. It makes you giggle, but you decide to pull back on the joke, not wanting him to take offence or cause him more uneasiness. “Besides, each shirt is a testament to how much work you’ve put into bettering your skills here.”

That gets him to scoff and drop his head in disbelief “I’m still not where I need to be.”

“No,” you reply earnestly “but you will be.”

This earns you another bout of silence.

 For a while, you both just enjoy each other’s quiet company. He stares blankly ahead and you give him the time to examine whatever it is he’s battling through in his own thoughts.

Eventually, he sighs and inclines his head towards the sky. “How long have you lived here?”

“Ever since I could remember.”  You answer honestly. “Alpha says they opened the door and there I was, miraculously alive, left laying on a dirty blanket.”

“You’ve been here ever since?” He carefully asks.

“I’ve never lived anywhere else if that’s what you’re asking.” You pass an unfolded shirt to him and to your surprise he starts to fold it with no question. Bitter memories start to glaze your view. “And for someone as uneducated as me, there’s only a few jobs out there that I’d be considered for as a woman.”

A knowing silence passes through you both at the statement. Yatana was unforgiving. A real dog-eat-dog society with no time or need for those who couldn’t stomach it or keep up. Truth be told, most of the time you couldn’t. Very often would a prostitute or child be pounding on your doors for help or asylum. Hungry, beaten, thrown away like a speck of dust not worth anyone’s time.

“Doesn’t it make you angry?”

You’re unphased by the question. “Of course it does.”

And you mean it. There are days when you scream at the sky or dunk your head slightly longer underwater to try and get away from it all, try to release it in some way.

Eyes still trained to the sky; he confesses “Because that’s all I feel. Anger and pain, and I can’t-“ he struggles to finish his words. “I can’t-‘

“I know.”

That makes him look back down and finally turn in your direction. He patiently expects you to explain.

 You swallow thickly but continue to talk anyway. “To feel helpless, like you can’t do anything no matter how hard you try.” Gritting your teeth, you realize your hands have stopped folding. “But it doesn’t matter, because there are people who need me more strongly than the pain I feel.”

He considers your words thoughtfully and waits for you to speak once more. “Amidst all this chaos, this temple stands. People need me here. Children, mothers, the beautiful hijra who gave me a home, and when they leave this place with the tiniest glimpse of hope on their faces, then I know I’ve done my job. I don’t fight as well as the hijra here, I don’t expect to get much better, but I want them to know that they have refuge with me.”

You pass him an unfolded sari and for the rest of the time you are sitting together, you both fold quietly, basking in the sun and each other’s presence.

He continues to train harder after that. Each step is quick, each punch as sharp as a bullet. When he isn’t training, he’s watching. The news, the protests, the speeches, like he’s reassuring himself, learning the best way to approach.

 It’s obvious everyone here, including you is taken with this stranger. Though, you don’t really know if you could even call him that anymore.

It’s like he seeks you out. It doesn’t matter if it’s simply sitting together for dinner or him deliberately waiting for you to walk through the courtyard with your basket under your arm. Both of your eyes are trained on each other with an eager sheen.

Maybe it’s fear or maybe it's an understanding that your pairing would most likely never work out in the end. Either way, whatever it is, it disappoints you because you so badly want to believe he wants you the same way.

The mood becomes slightly flirtatious and you catch sight of a boyish grin here or there, especially when he’s surrounded by the hijra.

But anytime you think he might ask you something, or just when you’re on the cusp of telling him your interest, something stops you in your tracks, holding you back.

A recollection plays in your head of last night.

It’s just him and the drummer again today. You wait near a dark window before you pass so as to not to disturb his concentration.

He has a beat to the way he fights, a brutal rhythm, and it astounds you every time you watch him. If this is how he looks punching a bag, you wonder how he’d look fighting against others. You find the thought oddly attractive, and it makes you flush.

For all his skill in the ring, it seems that’s where all his artistry in footwork stops. Surrounded by laughing and beaming faces, with the sound of softer drumming in the air, everyone takes a turn dancing. No one cared about how sloppy anyone was. You sure weren’t the best dancer amongst the hijras, but this seemed unsubstantial when you were all drunk on each other’s company.

The children present that evening and you form a small circle. You’re swinging your arms around when you notice your mystery man with a smile of his own. It knocks the air out of your lungs. It’s one that gives him crinkles around his eyes and all at once he doesn’t look like a hardened killer, but someone you’d see on a billboard or a magazine cover.

You crook your finger at him, inviting him into your little dance number. He tries to politely decline, his once beaming face turning something sheepish, but Alpha bumps him shoulder to shoulder, and soon the rest of them urge and tease him to dance along. When he gets to the center begrudgingly, it’s already too late for him to back out. Two children start to pull him until he lands directly opposite of you.

The circle of your intertwined hands spins, it twirls here and there, and when you all raise your hands to shrink the circle, you land face-to-face with the most fascinating man you’ve ever seen. It lasts all of five seconds, but everything around you dims as you look at this man’s face illuminated by firelight.

His eyes are his most emotive feature and they always seem to twinkle. Right then, they almost looked like jewels from the way they glossed over.

You pick up on the way those eyes slowly dipped down towards your lips and suddenly you wonder if he’s thinking about the same things you are. If he really does want you the same way you do.

But before you can tumble into that path of thought, cheers and hoots pull you out of the little bubble of enchantment you’d created. You turn to reject the idea of it all, but when you glance back at the man in front of you, your breath catches.

He continues to stare intently at your visage, not minding or caring about the extra attention one bit.

And then a scream erupts in your ears.

Seeing him punch the bag until rice grains stick to his chest reminds you of what he’s capable of.

When he shares a nod with the drummer, you know that he’s finally achieved what he came here at the temple to do.

Dropping your basket, you immediately rush indoors, following the cries of the hijra around you. Lakshmi lays in the center of the temple room floor, blood dripping from them like a fountain. You crouch and gently put their head on your knees as the weeps continue all around you.

They explain that they put a notice on the door, Shakti’s men, and all you can see is an unbridled tint of red starting to form. Your heart is pounding, Lakshmi is struggling to fight for air, and in front of this statue, an indescribable wave of pain crashes into you.

It’s loud, far too loud. With your thoughts, the cries, the blood staining your shirt.

Your one hand on the floor clenches into a fist. You try to remind yourself that you can be better, that there must be something more to all of this than just pray, than to just keep taking what they serve like impotent little ants. The hopelessness starts to creep in, slowly etching itself into your thoughts.

But before it can take hold, you distinguish a face in the shadows. It’s observing as everything around you starts to crumble and in that moment you try to push all that anger onto him as you directly glare into his soul.

And when you see him break open the donation box much later during the humid night, you know you’ve put your faith into the right person.

He tries to leave as silently as he came, but you meet him at the entrance. He holds a crude, dirty children’s bag and you can only assume that’s where he’s keeping the money.

He tries to explain, but you start to approach him which stops his needless rambling. In an act of boldness, you grab his hand in yours and flip it to look clearly at his scars. If he’s uncomfortable, he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t even flinch.

“Alpha was right.” You agree. “You do have the hands of a warrior”

You enclose his hand between yours, putting it up against your lips. “I wonder how such gentle hands fight with such ferocity.”

He starts to twitch and as you loosen your grip, expecting him to pull back, he instead cups the side of your face and despite his scarred calloused hands, his touch is pure velvet. His thumb brushes the tears you didn’t notice were starting to fall freely down your cheek.

Please, you pray. Whatever it takes.

“Fight for me.” You croak thickly. “Fight for all of us.”

He clenches his jaw. “I promise you.”

You pull him towards you by grasping his neck and your lips meet in the middle. The kiss is like him. Equal parts sweet as it is harsh. His lips were warm and soft, but the urgency in the way you both kissed each other was anything but. You bury your hand into his hair and feel his curls unmake themselves even further. His smell of soap and sage infiltrates your senses.

It was a dizzying feeling. It’s what you felt while you were dancing exploded ten-fold. It was the culmination of tension and grief exploding into something technicolour. As your noses bump against each other, you think you want to draw more of this kindness from this man.

Your breathing quickens and he groans into your mouth. It’s almost like you two are fighting. With each other, against each other, for each other. Exploring this hungry need has only made you more insatiable.  

And that becomes particularly dangerous, especially when you know he has a job to do.

Reluctantly you pull back. His eyes stay closed and you press your foreheads together, listening to the crackles of the torches around you. “Your emotions are strong.” You quietly whisper. “But do not let them control you. Let them guide you.”

He blinks his eyes open, full of clarity.

Letting each other go hesitantly, you take one last look at him and he at you. “Come back to me,” you say with all the confidence you can muster.

You can tell you’re both skeptical about your claim, but he nods his head anyway. He walks around you and you don’t turn to look at him leave for fear of wanting to hold him back. You hear the creak of the door, but before he can take another step away from you, you mumble “Give them Hell.”

There’s a slight pause before you start to hear the crunching of the ground beneath him, each step lighter than the last until you can no longer hear him creeping into the night.

Please, you pray. Whatever it takes.

- - - - - -

When you see the money-filled bag hanging on the statue the next day, it’s attached with a note.

His presence overflows through your every pore.

Alpha looks at you with a determined expression on their face, as do the other hijra around them.

It seems they don’t just want repayment, they want a reckoning.

They want retribution.

- - - - - -

A/N: Please let me know what you think by leaving a note, comment, or reblog! Or we can just geek out about Monkey Man lol I definitely won’t be opposed to that lol

[anjaelle]

All protagonists are black! Please be sure to read content warnings before proceeding. As always my inbox is open for any questions/suggestions. Please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in an update.

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Key: * - Ongoing Series; ** - Smut

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Aaron Taylor Johnson

White Light* -- Ghost Romance, ATJ x Reader

Dave Lizewski One-Shots -- Mostly college/adult Dave. Tangerine One-Shots -- Standard warnings for drugs, smut, and violence. Count Vronsky x Socialite!Reader (Request) WIP: Bubblegum Bitch -- Dave Lizewski x Bimbo!Reader WIP: The Craft of the Muse -- Writer!ATJ x Singer! OFC

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Chris Evans (No longer writing for)

Koala-ing -- Fluff/Comfort, CE x Plus-Sized!Reader

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Danny Ramirez

Warped*: Part I, Part II -- Jake Seresin x Reader x Mickey Garcia

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Dev Patel

Wildflower -- Prince!Dev x Witch!OFC

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Glen Powell

Warped*: Part I, Part II -- Jake Seresin x Reader x Mickey Garcia

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Henry Cavill

Flora -- Meetcute, Writer!HC x Reader

Heavy Weight -- Hurt/Comfort, Boxer!August Walker x Reader

Undone** -- Vampire!HC x OFC (Note: Henry's character is called James, but it IS HC.)

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Jon Bernthal

The Girlfriend Experience** -- Frank Castle x OFC

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Oscar Isaac

The Next Great American Epic** -- Professor!Oscar x Reader

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**Fic Recs**