#removed the edit it seems to be working now

[critter-of-habit]

I've reopened my RB store exclusively for stickers, and added some new ones! (Prints are still available via my INPRNT store.)

[killlerfang1]

So apparently Across the Spider-Verse has MULTIPLE different versions of the movie out in theaters right now???

This reddit thread by Hohoho-you goes into the details but so far all the differences between the versions include

During the opening of the film one version has a "cough" text before the Sony logo appears and added comic frames during Gwen's monologue

Lyla either takes a bunny selfie of Miguel or offers a fist bump after he calls for backup

When Gwen asks who Miguel is he either says "that’s classified” or “isn’t it obvious”

Miguel either says "that's funny" or "No" when Gwen calls him the blue panther

The build up from when Miguel was going to bite the Vulture is cut

When Jefferson fell through one of Spot's spots he either groans and looks around, or has a quick frame reaction of his face

When the Spot is going to put his finger in the mini collider he either says "-which would... not be good" or "oh what the heck."

In the chai tea scene Miles either says "no! no." Or "sorry! im sorry" after getting called out by Pavitr

When Hobie first comes on screen and Miles says "Hobie" a little text saying "Hobie" popping up above Miles’ head may or may not appear

One version has Gwen's lines when she's looking for Miles in the rubble removed

At the spider society, when Jessica asks if "anybody else got jokes" the text boxes that show up can either be yellow or blue in color

During the canon event scene Hobie has different coloring and lighting depending on the version

When Ben Reilly grabs Miles during the chase scene he either says “I’ve got you trapped in my well defined musculature so don't even-“ or “This one’s called the sleeper hold, I’m using my bicep to constrict your-"

During the chase scene Miles rides Web-Slingers horse through the villain prison and receives cheers from said villains all while the other spiders get boo’d. This scene is cut in an alternate version

In the same chase scene when the spiders cross the tightrope they either fall or get launched in the air, with the falling scene being a slightly extended version

When Miles venom strikes Miguel the line where he says "sorry man I'm goin' home" is cut

When Peter B. Parker returns home MJ either says "Hi" or "How was work" upon his return

during the Prowler!Miles reveal one version has him with more lines and details on his face (thank you @cannibalgal for pointing this one out to me)

I've only seen the film once so far but based on other people's comments online the changes seem to be mixed and matched depending on when and where you go to see the movie

(edit: added more changes)

[moltengoldveins]

ok but I have Thoughts about the way Minecraft usernames translate to actual names, both irl and in fanfic. They’re definitely ‘obsessed with structure and grumpy at inconsistency flavor autism’ thoughts but still. I find it weird how we cut and paste the media we’re given to fit what we view as functional worldbuilding, and how that gets screwy when translating online names.

like, you’re working with several categories here. The person’s actual real name, their irl nickname, their gamer tag, a name possibly contained by or possibly the entirety of that gamer tag, and any extra pieces or symbols in the gamer tag. And you have the weird situation where those categories might not easily translate to a ‘First Name Last Name’ structure. For an example, we’ve got Phil Watson, who’s gamer tag is ‘Ph1LzA,’ and is called Philza Minecraft or Philza. The ‘Minecraft last name’ is a…. Bit? A joke? A reference to a bit of lore? It’s unclear. The ‘Za’ bit was put there for flair and is now an integral part of his name. Sometimes it’s his last name. Sometimes his real last name is chucked in there. the 1 in his actual username is literally never referenced in nicknames or fic it’s like it’s not even there. But that’s a simple one. What about Tubbo_? because we call him Tubbo Underscore. Like. We say the ‘_’ aloud. Why do we do that. What has possessed us to make that decision? What about FitMC? I’ve usually heard it said ‘Fit Emsee.’ Why say that, and not say ‘Minecraft? That’s not even really a last name, it’s just like…. His full first name. Fit is used more like a shortened nickname. BadBoyHalo. Like. ‘Bad boy’ is a slang term, not a name. It would make the most sense to call him Halo, that’s the distinct noun in the name, the term the ‘bad boy’ bit is referring to. Like ‘GoodTimesWithScar’ but noooo. Bad. Halo is usually a last name, if it’s there at all. Skeppy on the other hand is… just his name. No last name ever. Technoblade is also weird. Technoblade is his full name. We call him that. We ALSO call him ‘Techno,’ and use Blade as a last name. We also use Blade as a title. What the heck. GeminiTay. We call her Gem. We use Tay as a last name sometimes. Her name is a Zodiac constellation. Literally nowhere I’m have I seen that affect her naming conventions. IJevin. We just… remove the I. For everything. This wouldn’t bother me except we don’t do it with everyone and I’m starting to get annoyed by the inconsistency. GoodTimesWithScar. Ok. This one also bugs me. Like, most fics call him Scar Goodtimes when they need a name. I’m not gonna dig into it but that’s…. Why? Why that? Grian never gets a last name. Ranboo sometimes gets chopped into Ran and Boo but usually he’s an Underscore or he’s last nameless. Wilbur Soot functions wonderfully (until the get involved shhhh) but it’s too close to his real name it gets very confusing.

anyway, all of this sucks, I hate it all, we’re a terrible fandom /hj

all that nonsense aside, yknow who has a functional Firstname Lastname username? It’s even got a space, and proper capitals: Mumbo Jumbo. That’s who. Look at that. It’s perfect. Everyone should be more like Mumbo Jumbo. Thank you and good night.

.

Edit: I know about Ranboo Beloved and Grian Dreamslayer and the various other characters whose names I didn’t mention perfectly in this post. This was no piece of journalism, this was an old man shouts at cloud meme personified. I was very overstimulated and this was what happened to catch my autistic ire. I’m not upset, just figured I’d clarify, a lot of people seem distressed at my not mentioning Beloved. Hope y’all are having a lovely day 💜

[queers-gambit]

Love What You've Done with the Place

song by Rascal Flatts

prompt: he's never been a man built for relationships, until you come into his life. now, the house feels like a home.

pairing: Tangerine x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 1.8k+

warnings: more brain rot rambles, probably cursing, NOT edited, very docile, fluff, romance, hardened men being simps.

It started with clothes. Just a few, here and there; left behind, forgotten, purposefully stuffed in his dresser for when you stayed the nights. He didn't mind, in fact, Tangerine encouraged you to bring whatever you felt comfortable with leaving since he hated how early you'd leave in the mornings to get ready for work. He found his mornings were peaceful when you were around; neither rushed, both content, starting your days on high notes with each other.

So, he made the decision and found an old sitting-vanity for you. He put it in his bedroom simply because he was fascinated with the hair and make-up process; thinking it was incredible that women had such skill. When he came home about 3 months ago, he noticed your vanity when he first got home from a particularly difficult mission. Your chair was draped in an old university tee shirt, and he smiled.

It was like watching your comfort grow and it warmed something deep in Tangerine's heart. Your make-up wasn't always in a neat array, sometimes just left from a quick touch-up; making the house feel more like a home.

Tangerine also bought a strainer for the shower's drain to catch your hair. He didn't get angry like previous boyfriends did when he found strands of your hair left behind - not on purpose or by some gross standard, but it was natural that hair shed in a shower and not every single strand could be picked up. So, to make life easier, he just quietly bought the hair trap, placed it, removed whatever empty bottles from the shower, and went about his day. But then he started to notice your hair left other places.

His counters, his sink, the floor, your vanity, his bed sheets and pillows.

Tangerine had his issues with possessiveness in the past, but this wasn't remotely similar. No, Tangerine found himself smiling when he would find your hair in his clothes; thinking it was funny, almost like a mark or badge of honor to designate him as yours. It was a brief thought, but Tangerine actually felt giddy by the idea of people just knowing he was off the market 'cause his lady's hair was clung to his suit jackets.

He liked it. He really did. He'd not admit it aloud, but he liked it.

Tangerine wasn't the most humble man in the world, but he certainly liked to flash what was his. Golden jewelry, expensive, tailored suits, shining Italian leather shoes. And now, you, the woman who invaded his heart and head - and now his home. He adored showing you off, feeling affirmed and invigorated by the longing glances men threw your way, and while he expected jealousy from other women, they seemed more impressed by your beauty and grace as well.

He remembers one night, after a several weeks long mission, he just wanted to hold you. His throat was a little choked up when he called you, knowing you were at home after reading an earlier text. So, you rushed over in the middle of the night and he'd yet to let you go home - three days later.

"You've gonna have to let me out of bed sometime," you smiled playfully. "I have work tomorrow - and no, I'm not calling out again."

"C'mon, love, don't leave me alone," he whispered, looking like a beaten down puppy. The mission was much harder than he'd let on, but Lemon usually always filled you in. He thought it was important for you to know certain details that Tangerine was sure to omit, knowing those were the details that haunted him.

"I'll be back after my shift," you promised, nuzzling his nose with your own. "I also need new panties and clean clothes."

He sighed, "Some in there," he pointed to his closet now.

"What?" You giggled.

"You've left enough behind, got a bit of a collection goin', yeah?" He smiled softly, wrapping you back up in his arms. With a sigh, he relented, "I'll let yah go to work, love, just... Need this a bit longer."

You obliged, but the next day, you were gone before he woke up. With a frown, Tangerine dropped back onto the bed - but inhaled deeply when his nose buried into your pillow. He hummed in pleasure, feeling himself brim with contentment, bringing the fluffy item to his chest and nuzzling it; your perfume left behind to soothe him.

Was Tangerine clingy? Oh, for sure! He didn't think so, but you knew better. The contract killer liked you close, liked his hands on you; even if it was just a hand on your waist or a nose near your neck. He missed you when gone, but he usually held himself back from texting you all day - wanting you to be able to focus on your job.

But that day? He was inept, just wanting you; wondering if he paid you the same salary, if you'd consider just staying home. So, he texted you several times.

This obviously threw you off a little, knowing him better than himself most days. But he just missed you, so, you sent a selfie - promising you missed him too and would be home right after work.

He saved the photo and tried not to dwell on how you said you'd "be home" and not "come to his place". He had to take a few moments to calm down, feeling his heart zing with unfamiliarity - but not being afraid of it like he had been when you first started dating. He could recognize he was happy, that he was excited to see you everyday, and that the idea of coming home to you was far too appealing to ignore any longer.

It seemed neither of you needed to actually have an official conversation about living together. Lemon didn't mind, in fact, he was the one who insisted you have your own key; adoring you and whatever affect you had on his emotionally constipated brother. So, some mornings, Tangerine wasn't surprised to find a slightly damp towel left hanging in the bathroom, nor by the make-up on his counter - you using that mirror because of the fluorescent lighting. He never put it back, he didn't move it - he liked seeing it. It meant you were still here, and the idea of it being gone made his stomach knot with anxiety. He also wasn't surprised when he went to use the shampoo you insisted would help his curls flourish (you were right), only to find it damn-near empty. His shower gel, too.

When you came home that evening, you had Target bags in hand; replacing whatever was empty, making Tangerine grin to himself by how in-sync he felt with you. He'd never had a connection such as this, only ever feeling close enough to Lemon, but you changed everything for them both.

How Tangerine ended up with someone courteous was truly beyond either of them. Someone kind, caring, adventurous, sweeter than pie - someone definitely out of Tangerine's league, something he never let himself forget. He adored you to your core - thinking someone such as you should never have gotten tangled up in someone like him, but he knew, if the time ever came, he'd never be able to let you go. In fact, most days, he had to convince himself not to just pick you up and carry you around while he did chores or ran errands.

The very idea of losing you sent his heart into his stomach; hallowing his chest in a harrowing fashion that made it hard to breathe. Just a week or two ago, Lemon found Tangerine in the kitchen, hand to his chest as if he couldn't catch his breath, heaving for air; his worry spiking, but quickly realizing what was wrong.

"Bruv, you've gotta breathe - calm down," he tried to coax. "You're having a panic attack, you've gotta just focus on breathing."

"Fuck off with that!"

"Seriously, man," Lemon insisted, catching Tangerine in a vulnerable state enough that he actually listened without much of a fight. When Tan seemed a little more under control of his own emotions, Lemon asked, "What the hell happened?"

Tangerine shook his head, "Nothing t'worry 'bout - "

"Bullshit," Lemon snapped. "I've never seen yah like that, mate, the fuck happened?"

It was embarrassing, but Tangerine managed to answer, "Just... Just started thinking that if she ever left me, I'd fucking crumble, mate."

This made Lemon frown, "She's not gonna leave you, man. You know that. The girl's madly in love with you, yeah? Like madly in love - like to a degree it makes her stupid in the head, all right? Obviously, you too," he chuckled, shaking his head as he affectionately ran a hand over the back of Tan's head. "You're workin' yourself up, 's all right. You don't have to think about that - ever - 'cause she's it for you, mate. Yeah? Hear me? She ain't goin' nowhere, not without you."

Tangerine needed the assurance. Being alone after having a taste of your love felt impossible to Tan now, something he was never bothered by before. Seriously, why give a fuck about a relationship when he had his brother? Someone who loved him unconditionally and wouldn't leave? And then he met you and understood why people gave fucks about relationships.

It was as if every room you ever entered was brightened up simply by your smile. Your laugh wasn't always the most ladylike, but it was genuine and true and always made Tangerine smile to himself. During any public outing, Tan was always close - we've established this - but he liked to play a small game. One of your love languages was physical touch, so, you liked kissing him if even just for a single second. He was aware of your lipstick, feeling the tacky substance stain his cheek, but he wouldn't wipe it off. His game was to see how long it'd take before someone would point it out; his reputation didn't always warrant others to feel secure enough to speak up. Some nights, Lemon would motion to his cheek, and other nights, you'd return home, remove your make-up, and swipe make-up remover over his cheek to clear the color away.

However, it wasn't often you ventured in public due to Tangerine's innate introverted nature. You went if The Agency made it mandatory or if you were feeling stir crazy, but majority nights, Lemon would find you both lounged on the couch in various positions.

Sometimes, you'd be watching a movie together or binging a show. Other times, you were reading a book while Tangerine poured over paperwork. And once or twice, Lemon's come home to find you belly laughing and playfully scolding Tangerine as he tried to paint your toe nails. It was a homey sight to Lemon: seeing his brother so in love and at ease, hearing your laughter, the entire flat filled with warm smells of burning candles and homemade meals.

It wasn't evident at first, but with you laying in Tangerine's arms, clothes left on the floor, bellies full of whatever meal you had prepared that evening, favorite show playing on the bedroom TV, he realized that he loved what you had done with the place.

requesting rules and masterlist

Bullet Train masterlist

[nyerus]

Wonderful News! TGCF is unlocked on JJWXC!🎉

After being locked down a few years ago, there was no word on whether or not we would ever see TGCF on its original publishing site of JJWXC. However, just today, it's been unlocked and is available for purchase again!

It also seems to be the newly revised version, as well as being uncensored (i.e. the kisses and such are still there, and have not been removed as they were for the physical release in China).

For those maybe wondering why it's so significant:

Purchasing the webnovel most directly supports MXTX, and you can tip her directly there as well.

This is the only novel of hers currently available on JJWXC -- as MDZS and SV are still locked -- thus making it the only way to do the above.

This is now the newly revised edition of TGCF, and since it's on web browser, we can more feasibly MTL it if you wish to experience the revised edition as a non-CN-speaker! The only other options until now were fan translations of certain chapters, and the audio drama. If you're curious about certain changes, you can now check it out yourself whenever!

Bonus blog post by MXTX:

She has mentioned that she's temporarily paused work on her 4th novel (and that it's changed quite a bit from the original concept she had so she privated the original synopsis for now), but assured fans that she has not stopped writing! This is one of the rare times we actually heard directly from her in recent years, so it's definitely reassuring.

[itstheghostofmypast]

Big Spoon

Non-Idol Choi San x (F)Reader

Summary: Who knew he'd wake up bleary-eyed to find her a mess, one that was out of her control and his - or so he thought.

Genre: Fluffish

Warnings: None (just mentions of sad puppies)

Word Count: 1.3 k

Est.Read Time: 10 min

Rating: PG-13

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels @san-network

Banner: @cafekitsune

"What are you doing?" He sat up, squinting at his lover who was sitting with her headphones on, blasting God knows what at 2 am. Good lord, no wonder the bed seemed so lonely and-

"Why are you awake?" She snapped at him, causing him to flinch, his little pout and amusing bed hair had her mentally scolding herself for the outburst, he was sitting there half asleep, half awake, though completely ready to get to the bottom of this mystery. She took a deep breath before biting her lip and mumbling, "S-sorry, I didn't mean to sound mean, client called and Hongjoong needed more photos so I uh...got up to do it now so I won't have to do it later- just because that lady's rich. " Turning the chair to face him she winced slightly, hoping he wouldn't notice it, though how would it be Choi San if he didn't?

"What's wrong?" He asked pushing the covers off as he sat at the edge of the bed, feet planted on the cold floor. The moment of clarity allowed him to notice the small hot water bottle on her lap, and the cup of green tea in front of her beside a giant flask and a tissue box- "Were you crying?" He cooed, getting up to go closer only for her to whine and roll her chair back, keeping her distance.

"Hey, come on." He pouted before jumping at her causing her to gasp, only to realise he had held onto the armrests of her chair, locking her in place, "What happened?"

"I-it...nothing." She mumbled, averting her gaze, in no real mood for anything at the moment, she just wanted to finish editing these photos and- "Does it hurt here?" He asked, gently placing his palm against her belly, causing her to whine and try to push it away, only for him to shake his head  and remove his hand, instead using it to cup her cheek, "Let me guess, you got the call, they asked you for something that makes no sense, and shark week hit mid brooding session?"

Her eyes widened by the end of his little monologue, as she nodded, staring at him in awe like a little girl who had just met a fairy, well, he was a fairy, a rather feline-looking fairy she could call her own. Elegant, yet endearing, soft and warm yet as solid as a rock, smart yet, just a little dumb- either way, he was her pretty, cute, little fairy- though if he heard this analogy he'd probably be throwing a fit for days, claiming he was anything BUT A FAIRY- he was, as he'd like to call himself and his bros (minus Wooyoung because frankly she had realised he was the only sensible one in the lot)  A KING!

"How did you know?" Her lips quirked upwards when he leaned closer to place a soft kiss atop her head, a gesture that would oddly make her all putty in his hands.

"Because I'm the world's best boyfriend." His voice boomed across the quiet room causing her to cover her ears due to heightened sensitivity, before frowning up at him

"The world's best boyfriend missed one thing though."

His shoulders deflated at the statement, and he flopped backwards on the bed dramatically, his back landing with a loud huff, "And what is that?"

"I was crying cause- " her breath hitched as the memories resurfaced,  "Some dogs go through depression and this puppy did too- I was watching the video and it was so sad...Sannie" she whined, calling him out for God knows but the flashing images of the puppy and the stupid client's appeal just bothered her even more, the cherry on top was the excruciating pain that was a constant reminder of how the world is too cruel to women.

Not a moment later she was gently pulled out of her chair, engulfed in a warm embrace as his familiar scent enveloped her senses, work left behind, as she felt the soft, warm pillow- nope that was his arm, "My head's heavy," with a small mumble she tried to move, but he clicked his tongue and pulled her closer, resting his chin on her head, "And my heart is heavy....my poor baby is in so much physical and emotional pain and I can't do anything about it-"

"We're never getting a puppy."

"I- um...okay?" He mused, giving her a gentle squeeze, of course, that one video of the sad puppies would make her come up with this verdict, possibly fuelled by her hormones. Making her laugh right now probably wasn't the easiest task, which is why he resorted to asking her the real question, though gentle toned and carefully curated, using his other hand to rub soothing circles on her back as he approached the topic, "I thought you sent the client all they asked for, did they want something out of the contract?"

With a loud huff she began, only to pause for a moment when another cramp hit, her fingers gripping his shirt as she took a deep breath before speaking (venting), "Apparently some of the guests, who refused to take solos then, now want their solo pics because the others who did get their solos taken got good results- like flattery will get you nowhere, I can't pull out your solo pics from my as-ah shit, " she hissed, trying to move, "I need my heating pad." He was quicker than her, jumping over her, letting out a hearty laugh when he heard her squeak and let out a few vulgar words. As quick and agile as a cat he hopped back on the bed, turning her on her back as he placed it on her lower belly, "There, all better?"

Nodding she placed her hands on the pad, pressing it against her skin before sighing, continuing, "Anyway, someone was like oh can you like crop us out and put us somewhere to turn it into our logo- you mean cut you out and paste the image, spend time blending, shading, fixing the highlights- no, because its not in the contract and I'm not being paid more for this."

"I...wow..." he mumbled, running his fingers through her hair soothingly as he sat beside her, looking down at her only to notice her trembling power lip and glossy eyes, "What's...wrong...baby, you don't have to do anything that wasn't under your contract." He hummed, tracing his fingertips over the slightly warmer skin of her forehead absentmindedly, "You want me to talk to -"

"That puppy was so sad, he looked like he wanted to cry and..." Turning to her side, as she closed her eyes, the rush of emotions getting a bit to strong, the tears leaking through her clenched eyes, hugging herself. This was stupid, she had ruined his sleep, woke him up in the middle of the night, snapped at him, told him stories that were irrelevant and then ended up crying about a video on puppies.

"I like being the big spoon."

Oh- that's why she felt so warm, and-

"How is laying on top of me the bigger spoon, you're crushing me."

"I'm protecting you from the bad vibes. Told you Hongjoong as a boss sucks, man's a capitalist monster."

With a sigh she relaxed in his hold, the added weight actually helping with the pain, both, physical and psychological.

"To sleep, you should stop thinking, leave your worries, for tomorrow's you." He sighed, giving her another squeeze, though he didn't recieve any response to his wise words, he could get them printed, "You asleep?" He whispered peeking over her shoulder only to smile,  two hours, they'd been awake for two hours, listening to God knows what she was going through, biological and induced. Either way, he was glad that she had the world's best boyfriend, he'd probably boast about this tomorrow to her, when she's in a better mood, when she's well rested and probably complaining once again, about how Hongjoong finding the dumbest, but richest clients. Need not worry, she'd always have someone loyal, sincere and the best big spoon out there- all her's.

Taglist: @edenesth @yessa-vie @the-kpop-simp @mlysalt @spooo00oky

[darkbluekies]

i have been DREAMING of a silas torture scene!!! i have literally read, re-read, and re-re-read every word you’ve ever written about that man .. you have no IDEA how much I am going to eat up his torture story 🤭🤭 thank you for feeding us!!! <3<3

In the basement

Mafia!yandere OC x reader

Summary: you find yourself in Silas' basement once again and he decides to try a new torture technique — which backfires.

Warnings: torture, violence, mentions of starvation, manipulation burning, boiling water, mentions of cuts, mentions of sawing off people's limbs, ripping out teeth and nails, blood, beating, (let me know if you find more, I have been editing and rewriting so much that I've forgotten what is in the story at this point)

Word count: 3.5k

You lift your head when you can hear footsteps coming towards you. The mumble of Silas men greeting someone is all you need to know who’s here to see you. 

“There we have them”, Silas snickers and clicks his tongue amusedly. He’s acting as if he’s talking to a child. “Are we ready to act like a big girl/boy again?”

You glare up at him, where he stands with his hands in his front pockets. If you could, you’d tackle him until he hits his head, but your ankles are chained to the cold floor.

“I fucking hate you”, you mutter coldly. 

“Oh, do you now?” he chuckles cockily  and grabs your chin firmly, tilting it up to look at him. 

Your neck gets strained beyond its limits. Silas is tall and refuses to crouch down to make it easier for you to look up at him.

"Still disobeying?" he asks. "I thought you'd be good by now. I miss you, little thing. I want to have you back in my arms. Who am I supposed to hug at night?"

"Hug a cactus", you spit. "Suits your pleasant personality-"

Silas chuckles and grabs a fistful of your hair. He sinks down in front of you and forces you to look at him. Your eyes widen in fear and your scalp burns at his fingertips. You can feel your heart beat harshly in your chest. Suddenly, you remember why you've been afraid of him before — why his techniques always work. You seem to forget the basement when you've been let out, everything turning into a blur. All you remember is that you do not want to go back. But somehow, you always manage to.

"You don't want me to be nice, do you?" he asks you. "Want me to break that pretty little head until you're bleeding, hm?"

You shake your head quickly. Suddenly, you've figuratively your tongue — and if you're not careful you'll soon literally lose it. 

Silas lets go of your hair and stands up. You keep your head down. 

“Hm, what should we do to teach you a lesson?” Silas thinks out loud and takes a hold of your hand. “Should we … break some fingers?”

You shake your head quickly and try to take your hand back. Silas holds it tightly and brings out a lighter from his pocket. You panic and try to rip your hand out of his iron grip. Silas traps you against the wall with his knee and elbow keeping you in place. He shifts his bodyweight onto you and traps your arm onto the wall by securing your wrist to the surface. With his other hand, he brings out his lighter. You squirm desperately under him.

“Alright, I’m not going to break your pretty fingers”, he says. “You need them to please me.” 

“Please, please, don’t!” you screech and try to kick him. “Silas, don’t!”

He lights it.

“Do you know how my heart feels right now, Y/N?” he asks calmly. “It’s burning. I think it’s only fair for you to feel it too, to understand how hurt I feel.”

He moves the flame to your arm, holding it under your skin. You cry out in pain and apply more force to your wiggling. A stance of burning flesh reaches your nose. Silas holds the flame for a good thirty seconds before removing it. He brushes some soot off of your arm and bends down to kiss it. He moves on to your next arm, then your waist. You finally manage to pull your arms free and push him away. You try to sink down on the floor, but he lifts you up by your shoulders. 

“I need you to stand up for me”, Silas says. “Still with me?”

Your face scrunches up in pain. Silas shakes you carefully. 

“Still with me, baby?” he asks in a loving voice that doesn’t match his manners. 

You nod weakly. Silas smiles slightly and places you back at the wall. Your poor legs are still cuffed and feeling like jelly. Silas chuckles. 

He looks over his shoulder as two of his men come in with four buckets of water. You stare at them with wide eyes. This is new. 

“You know I can’t hurt you”, Silas says and walks over to the buckets. 

“Can’t hurt me?” you repeat in disbelief and show your arms full of cuts and bruises. “You’ve burned me! You’ve cut me!”

“You should see what he does to people he doesn’t like”, one of his men smirks. 

“Don’t talk to them”, Silas warns him and grabs the man by his collar. “Or you’ll get to taste what I do to those I don’t like.”

“Yes, sir, sorry, sir.”

Silas lets him go and grabs one of the buckets. He walks back to you where you stand against the wall. You want to sink into it. With your eyes glued onto the bucket, you open your mouth to ask what he’s going to do but you don’t have time to do so before he throws it at you. You hide your face with your arms and scream. Boiling hot water crashes against your body. Your dirty clothes stick onto you and quickly grow cold. You breathe heavily and look at Silas in shock and pain. He has already turned around to get the next bucket. Suddenly, everything’s ice cold and you scream again. Somehow, it’s worse this time. The quick temperature change feels like sharp needles penetrating your skin. You’re sure that Silas’ men upstairs can hear you by now. 

You shake your head in desperation as you see Silas pick up the next bucket. 

“Silas, please-”, you cry out. 

“You caused this yourself, Y/N”, Silas reminds you. “You have one simple rule: do not leave me. And what did you do?”

You stay quiet. He throws the next buckets full of water. Scorching hot. You scream even louder and start to sob. 

“What did you do?” Silas asks testingly and walks over to the last bucket. 

“I-I tried to run away!” you cry out and hug your shaking body. 

“And?” 

He picks up the next bucket. 

“I talked to a cop!” you sob and press yourself closer to the cement wall. “I’m sorry, I’ll never do that again! Please don’t hurt me anymore! Please, Silas, I-I’ll do anything!”

Silas scoffs. “You wanted to leave me, get me in trouble and destroy everything I’ve built up these last ten years! And I’m just supposed to … forgive you?”

You sob. You know how proud Silas is of his imperium. He's spent the last ten years building it to become the most fearless and powerful criminal in the country. You just wanted him to feel as helpless as you do.

Silas throws the last bucket at you and an icy waterfall greets you. One last scream leaves your panicked body. You sink down in a curled up ball as you hug your body, trying to keep some kind of warmth and shield. You sob and whimper with your head full of fear and nerve system confused. Silas throws the plastic bucket to the side and walks over to you. He sinks down in front of your body and grabs your chin between his index finger and thumb, like he did before. 

“What do I need to do to make you obedient?” he asks. “Do I need to kill everyone to make you stay with me?”

“Please …”, you plead through hammering teeth. “Please don’t, please-”

He hushes and cups your cold, wet cheeks. 

“You only need me anyway”, he says softly. “All those other people — your family, your friends — they don’t care about you like I do, do they? They just pretend to spare your feelings. Have they even tried to find you? Or help you? They’re probably going on with their lives the same, as if nothing has changed, in this precise moment.”

“You don’t know that”, you whisper and sniffle. 

“I do know. I have been watching them.” Silas moves closer to you. “If they really cared about you, they’d tell you when you did something wrong, and then help you fix it. That's what families do, they help you become a better version of yourself. They wouldn’t lie and let you destroy and embarrass yourself. The reason I put you down here, Y/N, is because you're my family, someone I care very much about. I have to teach you a lesson to make sure that you don’t do anything dumb. You’re a danger to yourself. You need me to take care of you, to teach you what is right and wrong.” He caresses your cheeks. “If only you didn’t do such stupid things I wouldn’t have to do these hurtful things. You know I love you.”

You sob and look down. 

"Say it back, Y/N", he urges you. "Say that you love me."

"I … I love you", you mumble.

"Good girl/boy."

Silas warm lips presses a hard kiss to your forehead before standing up. You sit frozen while he walks up the stairs. 

Silas leaves you alone for another twenty four hours before he walks down again, to see if you’ve broken yet. If you haven’t, he’s going to take your clothes and carve in his name in your leg to force you to see his name every time you open your eyes. He sees you curled up in a ball in the corner of the dark, cold basement. You’re not moving. 

“Are you sleeping, baby?” he smirks. “Rise and shine, we have work to do! We’re not done yet.”

You don’t move. You must be weak from hunger. 

“If you act well today, I might get you something to eat”, he smiles and walks over to you. “Would you like that?”

He’s much, much nicer to you than to the other people who have the displeasure of ending up in his basement. He would never talk to them as sweetly as he does to you, never negotiate with them like this. He would never change his torture methods to be nicer to anyone else but you. 

“Y/N.”

You don’t give him any attention. Silas rolls his eyes and grabs your hair to turn your face to him. You moan out a weak painful sound. Something’s wrong, Silas can tell that. He sinks down in front of you and presses his hand to your forehead. 

Shit.

Silas can feel how his heart skips a beat. He should have realized that you would have gotten sick if he left you in this cold basement in your ice cold, soaked clothes and hair. He gulps and cups your cheeks. 

“Are you awake?” he asks quickly. “Baby, look at me.”

You open your eyes slowly and look at him with dull, glossy eyes. Silas looks over his shoulder, towards the stairs. 

“Get me the keys to the cuffs!” he roars. 

He turns back to you and hastily brushes the hair out of your face. 

“Hold out, darling”, he says softly. “You’ll be taken care of as soon as I get the key.”

You cough out a weak sound that seem to come from deep inside of you. Silas helps you by patting your back. 

A woman comes down and gives Silas’ his keys. He hurries to uncuff your ankles and pick your warm, limp body up in his arms. He hurries up the basement stairs and then up the next stairs to your bedroom. He takes your cold clothes off of you and gives you new, dry ones. His sweatpants, his t-shirt. You black out right away. He takes the time to take care of your older cuts and your newer burns before tucking you in bed. Silas watches you with a burning gaze. He clenches his jaw before walking out of the room. His second in command stands downstairs.

"You", he says angrily.

"Yes, boss?" he asks and looks up from his phone. "What can I help you with?"

"Go up to the bedroom and watch over Y/N. I don't want them to be alone."

"Sure, but what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to work a bit. I need to get my mind on other things."

"I will watch them for you."

"Thank you." He grabs his shoulder. "You know the rules. Recite them."

"I will not talk to them if not necessary. I will not answer any questions and I will not touch them if not necessary. I will let you know right away if something is wrong.”

Silas nods and walks away. He walks into his office and sits down behind his desk. Although he tries to concentrate on paperwork, anger is boiling through his veins. He doesn’t know what he’s angry at — himself, you or his men. Himself for forgetting that you could get extremely sick, his men for not warning him … or you for getting out of your punishment before he had gotten to the point he wanted. He tells himself that this sudden sickness is a part of your punishment, but it doesn’t help his racing heart. 

Silas pours himself a glass of brandy, in hopes to calm his nerves. The liquid burns down his throat and warms up his body, but it doesn’t help. Before he can stop himself, he throws the glass as hard as he can against the wall. It shatters into a million pieces. The door opens quickly. 

“Boss, what’s wrong?” one of his men asks. 

“Get me someone I can mangle or else I’ll go insane”, Silas breathes out through gritted teeth. “Take someone from the street if you have to — just bring me someone I can kill.”

You open your eyes and feel how a lump has grown in your throat. You try to cough and rip your entire vocal chords with it. A cough attack erupts from deep inside your stomach. Every cough hurts worse than the one before and every breath in feels as dry as an ocean. 

“Oh, careful”, a voice says and helps you sit up. He holds a glass of water to your lips. “Drink up.”

You recognize the man beside you. Silas’ second in command? Where’s Silas?

“You’re awake”, he states and stands up from his chair after putting down the glass. “I’ll go get the boss-”

You panic and shake your head.

“Please stay.” You’re caught by surprise that your voice comes out as nasally and thick as it does, although it shouldn’t surprise you in the slightest. “Don’t get him.”

“I have rules to follow.”

“I have to ask you something first.”

The second in command sighs and turns his head over his shoulder to look at you. He looks tired, but you can’t let him leave until you’ve had your question answered.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I’m not allowed to answer your questions”, he says. 

“I really need an answer”, you plead. 

“Silas will answer-”

“I don’t want his answer. He’ll lie to me. Please.”

He sighs and turns to you with his arms crossed over his muscular chest. “Let me hear the question first.”

“What do Silas do to the people he doesn’t like?”

Silas runs his hand through his sweaty hair. The man in front of him cries out. Silas has continued to throw punch after punch, using this strange man as a boxing doll. His fists are sore and bloody. Sweat drips down his back. The man in front of him has gotten his teeth pulled out with pliers, his hair has gotten cut down to his bleeding roots and nails have been ripped off. Silas had forgotten to gag him at first but the second the first loud scream exited the man's body, all he could see in front of him was your terrified eyes waking up to it.

"Boss, Y/N’s awake", a voice behind him says. Second in command.

"Fuck, I'm all bloody", Silas mutters and looks down at his black jeans and shirt that he's pulled the sleeves up on. "I can’t go up like this. Get me a washcloth."

The second in command drowns a cloth in a bucket of water. Silas uses it to scrub his arms, neck and face while walking up to you. When he opens the door, he finds you sitting up in bed, hugging your knees close to your chest.

"Hi, baby, how are you feeling?" he asks and sits down on the side of the bed.

Your eyes scan hum warily, stopping at his arms. Traces of blood can still be visible in the hair strands. Silas pulls down his sleeves.

"Don't worry about that", he says with an embarrassed smile. "How are you feeling, darling?"

"It hurts."

Silas reaches out to caress your cheek, but you flinch away. He frowns.

"I'm not going to hurt you anymore", he says carefully.

“Why are you bloody?” you whisper. “What have you done?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Why do you have to like me? Why do I have to go through this?”

You start to ramble for yourself and Silas hushes loudly. 

“You’re not making any sense, little thing”, he says. “Slow down, take a deep breath.”

“Why do you do those things to people?” you almost hyperventilate before starting to cough. 

Tears flow down your cheeks. You’re absolutely hysteric. Silas freezes. You know something.

“Why do I do what?” he asks quickly, grabbing your shoulders tightly. “Did someone tell you anything? What did they say?”

You sob and shake your head. 

“Y/N, if you don’t tell me what someone has put in your head-”, Silas says sternly. 

“You saw off people’s limbs!” you sob. “You … y-you-”

“Y/N, enough. Who told you?”

You don’t answer. Another cough attack erupts. Silas starts to get annoyed. 

“Y/N, who told you?” he asks through gritted teeth. “If you’re trying to hide someone, I’m throwing you back into the basement right away, with a fever or not.”

You sigh and glance up at him in pure fear. “Your second in command …”

“That motherfucker-”

Silas lets go off your shoulders and fly up from the bed. He can’t help but feel a deep ache in his heart. His second in command has been with him since he started his ‘organization’ — he’s been with him through thick and thin, had his back through everything. Him, out of anyone, knows the rules better. Silas trusts him to keep an eye on you alone, knowing that he would never betray him … or at least believing that.

He grabs his second in command and throws him against the wall.

“Traitor!” Silas growls. “You told them?!”

“They said that they had to know!” the second in command answered loudly, defending himself. “They wanted to know if you really love them! They wanted to know if you really were softer on them than others! They thought you’d lie if they asked you! I did you a fucking favour!”

They meet eyes for a few seconds before Silas curses and lets him go. He backs away, running his hand through his black hair. 

“Silas, I didn’t do anything to betray you”, the second in command says calmly. “I answered Y/N’s question in your favor. If I didn’t, they’d be even more wary of you.”

Silas doesn’t answer. His head and his heart are battling. 

He notices how you’re sitting at the top of the stairs, leaning against the railing, coughing into your arm. You’ve dragged yourself out of bed to stop him, but you couldn’t get far enough before your weak, aching body betrayed you.

“Y/N, what are you doing out of bed?!” Silas says sternly. “You need to rest!”

He runs up the stairs and picks you up. You’re tucked in again. 

“If you leave the bed again, I’ll have to cuff you”, he says carefully. “I don’t want you running around — especially when you’re sick.”

You’re very familiar with the chains that he uses to keep you in bed. Silas climbs sinto bed and sits on top of your legs to make sure you stay in place. 

“Y/N, Y/N, listen to me”, he says and cups your cheeks. “I could never do those things to you. You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

“You hurt me”, you remind him through sobs. “Even if it wasn’t as bad as you do to others, you still hurt me!”

“You know I don’t want to, but I have to. I have to make sure you don’t do stupid things like this — asking my men about my work. You know better than this and I know that. That’s why I’m helping you get back on the right track. If I don’t, you become like this, all frantic and scared. Why don’t you just let me protect you? Aren’t you tired of getting your heart in trouble? I know you are, baby …”

You sob which to him seems to be all the answers he needs.

“Trust me”, Silas says. “Trust that I know what’s best for you and you will never have to feel this kind of pain and fear again, okay?”

You can feel how your body starts to relax against your will. Silas wipes your tears and kisses your forehead. 

“My pretty, little baby”, he whispers comfortingly. “Everything will be okay. As long as I'm here, nothing will ever happen to you. I'll make sure of it, I'll help you.”

You sob and close your eyes. Once again, he wins.

[literallydontknowdontcare]

idk if you’ve done this already bc all the vanessa fics r merging together in my brain, but maybe smtg where she has a very stressful day at work, and needs to take her anger out in a healthy way (by doing the reader!!!)

Taking It Out On You

a/n: I love this prompt but I was on a certain sleepy drug when writing (I'm sick as hell right now) so I have no idea if this is good LOL. Anyway, exams are officially over so MORE FICS! YAY! And thanks for the love recently, you all are amazing :) Enjoy!

Content/Warning: smut, choking, pussy slapping, fingering [all r receiving], exhausted/pissed off Vanessa, handcuff use, gun used on you to get you off, you being a good baker, side note I love the Elizabeth lail edits recently 

w/c: 2304

You swayed your hips to the radio. Recently, there was more 80s music than new age, which you weren’t complaining about; sure, you missed hearing the newly hyped singer Miss Britney Spears, but even you had to admit Tears for Fears had a kick to it. Kneading into the last of the cookie dough, you conveniently hear the rumble of Vanessa's police vehicle pulling up to your shared home. Smiling, you pause the music, swiping off the flour that dusted the white countertops onto your apron just as the engine outside slows to a halt. The bench is now fairly clean, you wait eagerly as you see the faint outline of your girlfriend emerging from the car through the window.

The front door clicks open. You hear Vanessa’s footsteps thud a lot less carefully; usually, she would sneak up behind you from wherever you were in the house. She gradually got better at it, too, her dangerous job teaching her a thing or two. It was unlike her to come home after a long shift careless, thudding her jacket and gear on the ground before pressing herself behind you. She inhaled the scent of your freshly washed hair, groaning.

“Bad day?”, you ask, grabbing the pan of unbaked goods and placing them into the oven, Vanessa moving with you so she didn’t have to remove her grasp around you. She huffed as a reply. As you stood back up, she whipped you around, momentarily giving you whiplash. You took in her expression for the first time; her eyes were essentially dead, her pressed lips giving the smallest of indications that she was happy to be home as she attempted a smile when your eyes met.

“It was... Definitely a day”, she sighed. You tilted your head, lifting your hands to cup her face.

“Want to talk about it?”, you prod gently. It seemed that Vanessa was experiencing harder rosters more frequently than before: you presumed it was the pressure of her father, whom she almost never talked about, getting to her. Vanessa simply stared behind you at the oven, her dull eyes beginning to twinkle. “Chocolate chip?”, she questioned, avoiding your query.

You bit your lip and nodded. Her eyes met yours again and you pushed your face closer to hers, not quite reaching her lips but certainly leaving the possibility. Maintaining eye contact, you reach behind her head and softly pull on the hairtie of her ponytail, letting her short, blonde hair loose. She fluttered her eyes closed, groaning. You slide your fingers through the strands of her hair, pulling on them slightly to release any tension. Vanessa inhaled deeply. Pressing your lips against her jaw, you start to pepper her face with small kisses when you feel her take her hands off you, to your dismay.

*Shuffle shuffle*

Vanessa fiddled with her police belt, something that made your groin twist deliciously just from the sound of it. It usually meant one of two things: either she was about to take it off and with it her pants, or she was about to use something *from her belt*. As you attempt to part your lips from her face, she cuts you off.

“Don’t look”, she retorts. As much as you’d like to disobey those orders, there was no way you wanted to be her day even shittier. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you rest your head against her neck as you feel her take something off her belt. Smirking, she raises the object up to your stomach, pressing it deep into your flesh. You gasp and jump back, the coolness startling you. Before you could look down, she spun you around, slamming you against the sink. You whine, your knuckles gripping onto the counter. Vanessa returned to your behind in a flash, grinding her front against you. Disappointingly, you couldn’t feel a strap underneath her pants. You huff, which she notices immediately.

Grabbing onto your neck with a force that startled you, she brought you up so that you were standing straight up as opposed to being bent over. “With what I’m about to do to you, we won’t be needing my cock, baby”, she growled, her hand beginning to tighten around the sides of your neck. You gasp out, your hands rising to your neck to ease the grip, only to be yanked away behind you.

“Vanessa”, you cautioned, unsure of what she was getting at. You heard the jangle of the metal cuffs and froze. “You wanted to help me, yeah?”, she sang sweetly. “Baking me something, cleaning up the front of the house for me”, regarding the time you spent earlier today reorganizing and decorating the place for winter to make it homier.

“You want to make me feel good?”

You don’t hesitate to answer. “Always”

“Then let me use you”. You hear the clank of the cuffs being closed around your hands tightly, Vanessa's leg coming up between your legs that you opened just for her. “Let me see you come with my gun in your mouth”. At that sentence alone, you couldn’t help but let out a moan, jolting your hips involuntarily down on the thigh she had graciously given you. She laughed darkly behind you, removing herself completely from you, making you cry out and turn around to face her. You already missed her manicured hand that fit so perfectly around your neck, acting like a necklace you wished you could always have.

“Couch, baby”, Vanessa demanded, allowing herself to watch you as you made your way out of the room; God, you being in her handcuffs with a vacant, submissive look in your eyes made her want to double down on being rough with you. She followed you soon after, the only thing missing from her outfit being the cuffs that were around your hands and the gun... That was being held so confidently in Vanessa's right hand.

You shifted from your position on the couch, unsure. She laid it beside you, her mouth twitching at your confusion, before climbing on top of you to straddle your waist. She slammed her lips onto yours passionately, hot saliva mixing on both lips. Your moans gradually got louder as her hands attached to the back of your head, roughly pulling at your hair. Vanessa bites your lip harshly, grinning as you try to back away. Her hands leave your hair and begin to forcefully strip your pants from your body. Parting your lips from hers, you lift your legs up to assist her. The soft warm light from the living room lamp perfectly accentuated each other's features; Vanessa's eyes were completely focused on you, taking your sticky panties and flushed cheeks.

“Top off”, she leaned back, watching you rush to meet her demand, smirking as you fumbled with the buttons of your shirt. Now being completely naked, your skimpy bra and underwear being the only things covering your very aroused parts, she spread your thighs with an air of smugness.

“Vanessa”, you pout, jerking your pussy up. She trailed a slim finger along the top of your briefs, pulling them down slowly. Your breasts rise and fall rapidly at the sensuality of it all: the relaxed pace made you even more blushed. Moving her fingers around your folds, you lean your head back, closing your eyes in pleasure. Suddenly, Vanessa slapped at your pussy. Crying out, you snap your head back up and shut your legs. She didn’t like that. Narrowing her eyes, she yanked them back open, harshly slapping the inner side. “Keep them open. Don’t make me tie up your legs as well”. You squirm as she rubs her middle and ring finger quickly on your puffy clit, mewing out loud at the vulgar noises she was creating.

“So sweet like this, hm? Think you can last more than... What was it? Eight seconds?”, Vanessa snickered, recalling the time you came so quickly underneath her that it was actually dismal. You blush at her mocking tone. She swirled her fingers around your opening, her mouth twitching at the way your pussy spasmed when she pumped them in. You lay down, whimpering as she picked up the pace. With no regard to how prepared you were, she shoved two more fingers in. Wailing, you move your hips with her, remembering that she wasn’t doing this for you; she was doing this for her. The thrusts turned into a heavy pound, your moans making it known that you couldn’t take it. Vanessa feasted her eyes on your body, licking her lips at the way your arousal pooled on the leather of the couch. As you were distracted with the overwhelming urge to come right there and then, she reached for the gun. Too zoned out to notice, you felt her lips attach to your neck. “Don’t make a mark”, you plead as best as you can. She ignores you, licking at your sweet spot before sinking her teeth into the flesh. Hissing, you pull away before stopping dead in your tracks.

Pressed against your stomach was Vanessa’s gun. Just a Glock 22, you knew that much, as it was the same one every cop used around here. Though, the coldness of the frame stunned you, both from the Glock and Vanessas stared. She stared you down as she removed her other hand from your pussy, smirking at the yelp it caused. Your fluids glistened on her hand in the warm light. You wearily watch her stroke her hand up and down the tip of the gun.

Once satisfied, she pointed the gun at your stomach, tilting her head at your small gasp of exhilaration and fear. “I won’t do anything you don’t want to do. Are you sure about this?”, she asked sweetly. Her gun was completely empty, for she always took the bullets out at the office after a shift. You didn’t know this, though. You would be relying completely on her skill and carefulness in handling a gun. Vanessa's stomach twisted deliciously at your utter dependence on her. Sucking a breath in, you nod.

She trailed the cool gun up your body, stopping short at your mouth. Pulling your messy hair back, your face red, she tapped the tip of your swollen lips. “Open up for me baby”, she husked. Opening your mouth, you stick your tongue out and swirl it around the muzzle, breasts rapidly rising and falling from the thrill of it all. She forces the frame in, resting her finger on the trigger. You groan at the taste of your own cum. “See? Look how good you can be”, Vanessa murmured, shifting her body as she felt her own pussy thud. Unable to go slowly anymore, she began to roughly thrust the gun in and out of your throat, abusing it as she would with her strap. You gag as it passes your comfort zone, rolling your eyes back when you feel her other hand slap your pussy once more. She stands up, laughing darkly to herself at your obedience. Your eyelashes flutter, saliva dribbling onto the glock. Holding onto your head, she takes out the gun and pulls you up to turn you around. Your hands, still cuffed, grab onto the top of the back pillows, your knees digging into the seat.

“You going to punish me, officer? I thought you said I was a good girl”, you purr. You felt Vanessa’s hands wrap around your front. Your neck was snapped back as she gripped you, sliding the gun through your folds. “If you think this is me punishing you, you better hope you don’t disobey me”, she taunted. She plunged the muzzle into your pussy, groaning at how easily it slipped in. Almost immediately, she rammed it at a swift rate, choking you when your sobs went too loud. Widening your eyes, you lift your bound hands to your neck and grab onto her hand to ease the grip. “Enough”, she spat, fucking you faster and squeezing your neck harder. Your hips were slamming between the cushions and Vanessa's thighs, arousal streaming down your body. With a muffled cry, you tightened your grip around her hand, signaling your need for release. By some sort of miracle, she went even faster. The combination of Vanessa's grunts, the pressure on your throat, and the gun that was currently abusing your overworked pussy made you scream out in pleasure.

“Uh uh. Tell me what you want”, Vanessa asked, refusing to accept your nonverbal request to cum.

Swallowing once, twice, you manage to simper out, “Pl-Please officer. Let me cum, please please please plea-”

In a flash, she released her grasp from your neck and shoved her fingers into your mouth, her pace in your pussy unchanging. You cum with a scream, your body jolting at the stimulation.

“There's a good girl”, she cooed, slowing her thrusts before removing the gun from your destroyed pussy. You flop your head backward onto her shoulder, staring at the ceiling as the world around you doubles. You felt Vanessa softly rub your thighs, whispering words of encouragement as you faded back to earth from your high.

“Always such a good girl when you play sweet”, she smiled as you turned your head to kiss her. Deepening the kiss, she placed the soaked gun down and wrapped her hands fully around you, inhaling your scent. She moved her lips to your jaw, where she peppered soft kisses as you giggled.

“Vanessa”

“Mh?”

“The handcuffs”

Vanessa laughed on your neck, pulling herself away from you.

“Stay there, I’ll be right back”

As she walked out of the living room and into the kitchen, you remembered the cookies that were still baking. “And check on the oven as well”, you shout out, collapsing onto the couch with a small grin.

[missmeinyourbones]

a tiny little something for you babies! barely edited or proofread. probably not good but hey here we are. soft soft soft fluff with a pain in the ass satoru

…

“satoru?”

your lover replies eagerly, “yes, angel?”

“what’s the point of us having a king-sized bed if we aren’t actually utilizing its space?”

the question is rhetorical, he knows this, yet satoru still finds himself smiling as he opens his mouth to let it do what it does best and bullshit.

“why would i want to spread out in bed when i could be cuddling the love of my life all night?”

the bed is huge, far too big for two people—even including satoru and his ridiculously long limbs. a california king lined with satin sheets and pillows that feel like clouds. it feels like a dream, but the weight of satoru’s body thrown across your own reminds you that this is, in fact, a grounding reality. 

he feels you sigh against his hair, “as romantic as you’re trying to make that seem, you’re on my side of the bed.”

his eyebrows furrow against your chest, and he almost laughs at how silly your statement sounds. 

“there are no sides of the bed,” he easily replies, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. 

“what’s yours is mine baby,” he quips, before lifting his left hand to your face as proof, proudly showcasing the silver band decorating his ring finger. “i mean, that’s what we said in the vows, right?”

you swat his hand from your face and he chuckles, vibrating your entire body and making the room a whole lot warmer than it was a few moments ago. 

“i said in sickness and in health,” you stubbornly remind him, “not on my side of the bed and yours.”

at the tiredness lacing your voice and the grumpy glare you shoot him through your words, satoru decides to throw you a bone. he detangles himself from you, removing his weight and shuffling a bit further from where he priorly laid on top of you. 

now, he lays on his stomach, head turned to face your own. his large hand still makes itself comfortable flat across your soft stomach, his foot skimming your calf every now and then in an attempt to get comfortable. 

“there,” he exhales after a moment of deliberate shuffling, “i’ll let you breathe.”

his statement is so ridiculous, it makes you laugh. genuinely exhale from your nose and bubble deep from your throat. because to the eye of any stranger, the position is still extremely close. satoru is practically nuzzling into your side, glued to your hip as half of his body now slowly works its way on top of you—which is better than whole, so you take it as a win. 

you roll your eyes to hide your flush, “how kind of you.”

the moment is peaceful, but for only that—a moment. through the silence of your bedroom, satoru finds his voice once more. 

“can you rub my back?” 

he watches your face contort in the darkness as you scowl, “you’re insufferable.”

“please?” he whines like a child as his head pushes into your neck. “i’ll do yours after.”

you both know he won't, as he’ll be fast asleep in the next ten minutes, at most. you two do this same song and dance a few times a week: he asks you to run his back, you pretend to be annoyed by it, and then the gentle scratch of your nails on his skin lulls him to sleep rather quickly. it’s a routine, it feels like the two of you. 

through soft sighs of pleasure and dozing consciousness, satoru admits through a lazy grin. 

“this is my favorite part of the day, you know.”

“mhm,” you nod along at his blissed-out trance, “if i got to sprawl out and have my back rubbed til i fall asleep every night, i think it’d be my favorite part too.” 

satoru smiles with his teeth and he laughs from his belly at your quick remark. “not because of all this,” he claims through a whine, “it is a huge bonus, though.”

he slightly shivers beneath your fingertips when you whisper in return, “then why?”

satoru places a kiss on your neck, and his lips feel softer than the luxury bed you drift off in. 

“because i get to be with you,” he easily replies.

[cambion-companion]

Curled atop Raphael to thaw.

@sky-kiss put it in my head how nice it would be to use Raphael's hellish body heat to unfreeze after a cold day. Actually, she's mentioned it several times. So of course I had to make a drabble. This is the softest Raphael has been or ever will be haha

(Also remoras are the fish which attaches to larger fish to "clean" them.)

“I feel like I just trudged through the snows of Cania.”  Your teeth chattered, making it difficult to speak.  Huddled as you were by the inn’s paltry fireplace, the flames were doing very little to thaw the bone chill.

Raphael looked up from where he reclined, perusing a long scroll of parchment. His hellfire gaze swept over your shivering form, arching a brow in amusement. “I did warn you not to venture forth.  Yet you remain intrepid and stubborn as ever.”  He cleared his throat and resumed reading the contract he’d been editing since your return.

You glared over at the devil on his bed, not that he saw.  You shuffled off your heavy coat, the fabric stiff and just as frozen as the rest of you.

On numb bare feet you crossed the small room at a slight run,and hopped up next to where Raphael reclined. He gave you a look that you recognized as a sign his patience was slipping. “I don’t share my bed with little frozen mice.”

“Good thing I’m not a mouse, then.”  You snuggled close to his body, his skin the shade of ripe cherries and giving off infernal heat. “Indulge me.” You repeated the words he’d spoken to you days previous, accentuating your accent to mimic his own.

Raphael tutted and, with a tug, moved his wing away from where you rested on it. “Your body has the appeal of a corpse.  Get yourself hence ere I remove you.”

“Hurtful.”  You didn’t budge, instead pressing yourself closer and sighing as the heat radiating off him began to seep beneath your clammy skin. “Please, Raphael.”

The cambion stilled, his hand holding the parchment still outstretched to keep the fresh ink from smudging as you moved yourself as much on top of him as possible. You felt him sigh beneath you and smiled, sensing victory.

You did not expect the pressure of Raphael’s hand upon your hair, stroking once before resting against your upper back. He waited for you to stop moving, finding a comfortable position half-curled atop his torso.

“What are you willing to do in exchange for my constant lenience?”  Raphael’s breath stirred your hair.  He rested the parchment back against the top of your head and seemed to be only half interested in your reply.

In response you made sure to tuck your ice block feet against his thighs.  Raphael’s muscles twitched in response, and he gripped your waist hard in retribution. “You’re telling me you don’t enjoy this at all?”  You asked, your sense of self-preservation long since fled.

“I’m reminding you everything has a price, my dear.”  Raphael murmured. “I shall let you ruminate.  For now, be silent, I have work to do.”

You found no issue with that, feeling the rise and fall of the devil’s breath beneath your body as he warmed you.  Your eyelashes fluttered with a sudden wave of drowsiness.

Raphael’s wings curled around you both in a sort of cocoon, increasing the feeling of being thawed.  Soon you were enveloped in a haze of red and heat, every so often hearing the sound of paper rustling and the scratch of a quill.

You stretched, hooking one of your legs over the cambion’s waist and wrapped your arm around his chest.

Raphael looked down at your relaxed body, curled atop his. He smiled slightly to himself moved his long fingers through your hair. “What a soft, pliant creature you are. The errant remora seeking refuge, fully knowing it’s within the jaws of a shark.”

[slayingfiction]

Weak Words To Cut

Here are some weak words than you can often remove to strengthen your writing. I have made these changes as I edit my own novel, so I included examples from my writing to show you the difference.

When editing and cutting words, we are not talking about dialogue because everyone has a unique way of speaking, and it’s important to keep true to their voice.

Note: these are all general guidelines, and you don’t have to use all or any of them. Creative writing gives you a creative licence to choose how you write. Do what works best for you. Always.

Suddenly: technically speaking, everything happens suddenly, so use the word sparingly or it will lose its effect.

I don’t remember ever seeing a man in such little clothes before, and I suddenly despised the one piece left. I don’t remember ever seeing a man in such little clothes before, and I found myself despising the remaining piece.

Keep: When it disrupts your character’s life, and you want your reader to really take notice.

Cut: if removed and there is no change, then it’s not necessary

Then/Next: this is typically a filler word. All events happen in a sequential state, so it’s not always needed.

Then She was gone, her steps echoing through the halls.

Keep: You want to keep the word typically when something is changing in action, description, etc.

Cut: If removing the word does not change the meaning, then cut it. Typically if this word starts the sentence, it’s unnecessary.

Just: this is a filler word, and can almost always be removed.

I was just a game to him, nothing more.

Keep: if removing it makes your sentence confusing or changes the meaning, then keep it. Usually using the word words well as a limiter word. (Eg. it’s just me and my dogs tonight)

Cut: when it’s unnecessary and changes nothing.

Really/Very: these are weak qualifying/descriptive words, and you can absolutely find a better synonym

Your mother is really nice lovely.

Keep: typically these words are fine to keep when not used to enhance an adjective. (Eg. very next day, really think, very back of…)

Cut: if it’s being used to enhance a weak adjective, cut it and find a better word.

Is/Was: this is usually a passive voice, which isn’t usually the best for fiction novels, active voice is always preferred. Naturally this is a verb that you can’t cut from all places, so here are some tips.

Everyone was too busy focusing on their shopping to notice a human sliding between sales booths. Buyers and sellers occupied themselves with their shopping, too focused to notice a human sliding between sales booths.

Keep: when delivering information quickly its always best to just state the facts, so don’t worry about trying to find flowery words to describe everything.

Cut: If you can show what the person or object is doing instead of simply saying it, then change the sentence.

Started: every action has a start, so don’t write it unless you can tell me why it’s important now to know that’s it’s started.

The boy started to rant in his native tongue. The boy ranted in his native tongue.

Keep: if your scene is being interrupted or is still unfinished, then go ahead. This one is a little harder to see sometimes, so just see how you feel with it in vs removed.

Cut: it’s it’s unnecessary information, and nothing changes to the story or sentence when removed, axe it.

Seemed: again, this is more of a show don’t tell kind of thing

Time seemed to slow slowed as I held Vera tight against me.

Keep: if a character knows something intuitively

Cut: if you can show why the character is perceiving what’s happening

Definitely: this is typically just confirming facts that are already known to be true. Repetition is unnecessary without a purpose.

He definitely saw me, but I wasn’t mad about it. (This instance can for sure be removed, it’s unnecessary. However, I want this emphasis here, so I chose to keep it)

Keep: if it’s your character who is confirming facts as 100% accurate and ridding previous doubt

Cut: remove and nothing changes

Somewhat/Slightly: usually this is used when only trying to use a partial effect of a word, so the easiest fix is to change the word that it’s describing.

I looked away, slightly embarrassed.

Keep: if the words is truly the best way to describe what was happening in the sentence.

Cut: when you can use a better word to describe your action/emotion/whatever to be more accurate or it’s unnecessary.

Possibly/Likely/Probably/May/Might: much like some of the other weak words, these are just filler. Something either is or isn’t, and it’s best to describe here you can.

Probably Not with the way he was speaking to her.

Keep: if your character isn’t sure of something

Cut: if you can describe what’s happening, or it can be removed without changing the meaning

Somehow: this is usually an indicator of missing information

I thought I was an average girl in every way, and now I was somehow the first human to ever survive. (I don’t use somehow often. I am keeping it in this instance because none of the characters know how it happened yet.)

Keep: if your character is missing the information and doesn’t know how something became true or transpired

Cut: if you can explain how something came to be.

Adverbs: this is a great category of words to use in writing, but if used too often, it can distract from the story. A good rule is finding an even balance between adverbs and active verbs.

I squeezed her cold hand tightly in mine and made a promise to save her. Clenching her cold hand between mine, I promised to save her.

Keep: if it improves your writing by making it more clear and efficient.

Cut: if it makes more sense to use active verbs to describe what’s going on.

Totally/Completely/Absolutely: all filler words

He grinned at me, his plate almost completely full while mine was near empty. He grinned at me, his plate still full while mine sat devoid of even a crumb.

Keep: if it’s important to the story to know with 100% certainty, and this word gives the most accurate description

Cut: whenever it’s not needed

Thing/It: missing information/ lack of description

I was just accepting all the things they said as truth. I was just accepting all their fantastic explanations as truth.

Keep: if your character doesn’t know what it is

Cut: whenever you can find an actually description or name the object

Have any more words you think should be added to the list? If something does not make sense or you have questions, let me know down below.

If you’ve found this helpful: comment, like, reblog & follow for more :)

Happy Writing!

[littlejuicebox]

Skin to skin.

Surprise surprise! A little drabble about baby Gale’s first few days of life. I love Dadstarion. This isn’t edited. Maybe I’ll edit it a bit later.

Warnings: babies, pregnancy, breeding and daddy kink if you squint really hard and hold a magnifying glass lol, mostly just fluffy feel good ridiculousness

A/N: I love Dadstarion and baby Gale OKAY

In case you’re new here’s the gist. Astarion had the Wish Spell turn him mortal, courtesy of Gale of Waterdeep (see ‘The Wish Spell Worked’ for details). Baby Gale was named to honor the Wizard. Here’s the labor and delivery story if you’re interested.

****

Baby Gale’s previously pink skin is tinged yellow when Astarion peers into the bassinet to admire the infant a few days after his birth. The sight instantly worries the elf; his stomach churns with concern.

The new father glances to where you are sleeping so soundly in bed, your first real lengthy stretch of rest in several days.

Shit.

Astarion doesn’t want to wake you and cause worry when you’ve had such a hard time sleeping these past few days. Every small whimper and coo from the newborn practically ripped his little love from precious, much-needed rest in a panic.

He thinks it might be nothing. Gale is still breathing and sleeping peacefully, and he doesn’t feel feverish. But he doesn’t know what to do, and wants to be absolutely sure, so Astarion carefully scoops the little one up, wrapping him tightly in the soft, embroidered blanket he’d made for his son one Midwinter evening.

“Come now, little prince. Let’s see what Auntie Shadowheart has to say.” The elf whispers to the bundle of blankets as he heads to the guest chambers.

After a quick examination, Shadowheart eases Astarion’s concerns with an uncharacteristically gentle tone. He thinks it’s likely because Gale is still sleeping peacefully in his arms.

“It’s just a bit of jaundice, Astarion. Quite common in newborns. It’s good you didn’t wake Tav, she would’ve had a fit if she saw Gale like this with no explanation.” The cleric murmurs, peering down at the little one, “Perhaps a bit of sunlight and fresh air for Gale, and I’ll draft some herbal teas for Tav to drink so the supplements will reach him when he feeds. I can sit with Gale in the sunroom, if you’d like to go back to Tav.”

“It’s okay, I’ll take him.” Astarion responds, and with a genuine tone that seems to be more and more common as he addresses his friends throughout the years, he whispers, “Thank you, Shadowheart.”

*

Ever since the Wish Spell granted him mortality, Astarion quite liked the sunroom. He typically took his afternoon tea here, basking in the sun’s rays and trying desperately to make up for the hundreds of years where he missed out on that wonderful aspect of nature.

But now, Gale is fussing slightly as a breeze carries through the open window, tossing his tiny silver curls about and causing a new sensation he doesn’t seem to like. His yellow-tinged face grows red in irritation, and his father is bouncing him, offering whispered coos of comfort and trying to settle the newborn. And Astarion is beginning to think the sunroom is a horrible place to be.

The baby is wailing when you appear in the doorframe, holding a tray of tea, and watching your husband as he worriedly begs Gale to settle down.

“Perhaps a bit of skin to skin, daddy.” You suggest gently as you enter the sun room and place the tray on a table nearby. You wrap Gale in your arms and gesture for Astarion to remove his shirt. He obliges with a frustrated huff and small roll of his eyes.

“You don’t need to use your flower child sensibilities as an excuse to see me shirtless, love. You really need only ask. I fail to see how this—“

You admonish Astarion with a small shh as you unwrap the still fussy newborn from his blanket before placing Gale on the elf’s chest. Then you drape the small piece of cloth over the baby.

“Now lay back.” You command, propping a pillow slightly so that Astarion can recline himself further onto the sofa. All at once, Gale seems to melt into the warmth of his father’s chest with a satisfied coo.

“What was that about my flower child sensibilities?” You ask your husband as you sit down on the couch, intent on sipping some of the tea Shadowheart brewed for you.

Astarion sighs. Bested, once again, it seems. He brings his hand up to rest it on Gale’s small back, feeling the sensation of his tiny body rising and falling with each tiny breath.

“Nothing, dear.” He murmurs before placing a gentle kiss on the newborn’s head.

You chuckle softly and then watch the duo with a content, love-sick smile, “I should tell you, Astarion. I don’t think you’ve ever looked more handsome than you do right now, shirtless and holding our jaundiced newborn in the sun.”

Your husband’s eyebrow cocks as he lifts his gaze from Gale to you, a small smirk stretching across his lips before he offers you a playful wink, “If you like this, darling, just wait until you watch me change a diaper or bathe Gale for the first time.”

You shake your head and laugh softly again as you sip your tea, “Yes, you may positively turn into a god before my eyes when I see that… and convince me to have more of your offspring, just to keep those visions coming.”

A little hum from Astarion as he considers this, “Then I shall certainly do my best to be as domestic as possible, darling. You were quite fetching, when pregnant with Gale, dear. I do hope that’s not the last time I get to witness you like that.”

“I don’t think it will be the last time I’m swollen with your seed, daddy.” You whisper with a wink in your husband’s direction, causing the flush on his ears to rise, “But for now, let’s just worry about returning this first one back to pink. Then we can discuss others.”

Astarion nods with a content smile and then closes his eyes as he holds Gale. Before long, your husband is sleeping with the newborn on his chest, unable to stay awake any longer as he’s also been positively exhausted from the past few days. The new father stirs slightly when you remove Gale from his arms, readying for the baby’s next feeding, but you soothe your partner and tell him to go back to sleep.

Astarion remains napping for a few hours, basking in the warmth of the sun and dreaming about three or four little silver-haired children running around the house, filling it with laughter.

[abibliophobiaa]

Bad Idea - s.h. x f!reader

note: thank you to @crappymixtape for the initial prompt that started this fun little fic. <3

summary: steve happens upon you while you're reading a smutty book and chaos ensues.

warnings: oral (f receiving); p in v smut -- that's all, really (18+); barely edited, slightly rom-com vibes, so do not take this seriously (haha).

-

“I got a bad idea. How 'bout we take a little bit of time away?”

-

A fan blows in the distance. The low hum is a constant drone, offset by the sounds of your quiet breathing and the gentle turn of a yellowed page in your book. You’ve been sitting in your window nook for hours, the weather too hot outside to linger for too long. 

Your fingers halt on your current page, eyes glancing out your bedroom window. 

Summer burns bright outside. The sky is a bright blue, smiling down on all those who thrive beneath it, its golden sun winking on full display. Your bedroom window is parted enough to allow air to filter in, the sounds of birds chirping greeting your ears. Across the yard is the Harrington backyard. Their pool glints blue and bright beneath you, lounge chairs filled by his parents now back from whatever business trip they’d been on, glasses of champagne already in hand. 

Steve’s mother soaks up the sun, all long, lean legs, wide brim sun hat, oversized glasses, and the diamond ring on her finger that seems gargantuan even from here. You catch the sight of his father, stark dark hair like his son’s, leaning over to press a kiss to his wife’s lips before settling down on the chair beside her. 

Steve’s nowhere to be found, but you know that’s always the case when they’re home. He’s likely on an errand, trying to stay away from the home, trying to cut all interactions to a bare minimum. Because he’s twenty-two and still working at Family Video, he’s twenty-two and should have more in his savings, should be taking on the family business, should be thinking about his future, should be—

Your attention is drawn by the sound of children’s laughter. The neighbor’s kids have shoddily drawn a hopscotch grid onto the ground, the sound of their sneakers knocking against the warm concrete audible even over the low hum of the cars that slowly slide on past. 

And there, in front of your home, you catch the all too familiar sight of Steve’s BMW, and that pretty head of dark hair as he clambers out the driver’s side door, sunglasses perched atop the bridge of his nose. 

Your eyes return to your book, knowing you have approximately sixty seconds until he’s in your bedroom and making himself at home. The main characters, two best friends oddly enough, are about to finally cross over a line of no return. You’ve read it enough times to know what comes next. 

Nathan will tell Cora he loves her and she’ll tell him the same. He’ll grab her in his arms, pull her close, and kiss her until she’s breathless…

“Hey.” 

And there he is, all fitted denim and a striped tee shirt that shows off how generous the years have been to your best friend. Long gone are his gangly limbs of boyhood. Now he’s all corded muscle, finely hewn, high cheekbones, that lovely jaw, dark eyes and his goofy smile that has your heart somersaulting as he plops down against the sea of pillows near your headboard. 

“Hey,” you reply, eyes shifting back to your book. 

It’s not unusual to sit in silence like this. In fact, he pulls one of your Cosmopolitan magazines from your bedside table and glances down at the woman with gorgeously blown out hair, shifting over onto his stomach. You both read in silence, your ankles hooking over one another as the scene in your book changes and suddenly Nathan and Cora are kissing in the back seat of his car, a little hot and heavy, wild and dirty, groping hands starting to remove clothes. 

Your hand comes up to curl around the back of your neck, wiping at some of the sweat pooling there, both from the way Nathan’s hands slide underneath Cora’s shirt and slide along her breast, and the heat spilling in from outside. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, head lifting from whatever article he’s likely not even really reading, hair flopping with the suddenness of the gesture.  

You close the book for a moment, thumb holding your place, and offer him a nod. “Anything good in there? I don’t even know why my mom orders them; I don’t even read them.”

“So you’re saying you didn’t read this article on ‘Ten Ways to Please Your Man?’” He chuckles, turning the magazine to show you. “Really riveting stuff. I’ll cut this one out for you.”

“You’re such an ass,” you snap, though your voice breaks off into a laugh at the end. You never really can stay mad at him, not when he looks at you like a lost puppy in need of attention. All round dark eyes, elbows on your bed, lip jutting out just so. “Stop pouting. It’s not a good look—and don’t make any corny comments about how all your looks are good looks. Don’t you give me that face, I’ve known you since we were eight.” His look of incredulity falters, those lips of his curling into a smile because he knows you’re right. 

Your eyes drift back to your book, picking up right where you left off as Nathan’s fingers unbutton Cora’s jean shorts and he helps to slide them down her thighs, fingers exploring every new inch of exposed flesh. 

“Want to go to a movie tonight with Robin and Eddie? We all have off, might as well,” Steve muses, flipping the page of the magazine, and then flipping it again when he realizes it’s only ads for some clothing brand. “They want to see Dead Poets Society, and I remember you said you wanted to see it last week.”

Nathan’s fingers slide beneath the waistband of Cora’s underwear, asking for permission to touch her in a way no one else has. Your knees press together involuntarily, hand coming to rest over your swiftly beating heart, suddenly very grateful for the fan oscillating in the corner of your room. 

“Did you hear me?” Steve asks, rolling over onto his back. His head dangles upside down over the edge, face immediately growing red like a tomato, your head shaking at him. “I asked if you wanted to go to the movies with Robin and Eddie later.”

“Oh…” You swallow as Nathan’s fingers start a slow drag along Cora’s center, making her writhe and moan in the back seat of the car, the sun setting and bathing everything in pink and orange shades that dance along his skin with dappled light. “Y-yeah. Sounds good, Stevie. I’d love to.”

You settle back into a comfortable silence. Steve still hangs upside down, tossing a tennis ball you must have left on your floor up into the air from your brief stint trying to play. Couples tennis, minus the fact the two of you weren’t a couple. But he thought it would be funny, and you’d long decided you would give everything at least one chance before ruling it out. 

Your eyes drift back to the page, resuming where you left off, right when Nathan slides Cora’s panties down her thighs and asks if he can taste her. Your breath catches, and Steve rolls back over to look at you, brows furrowed high on his forehead in concern. 

“Are you okay over there? Seriously. You’re breathing all funny and you’re barely here right now as it is,” he worries his lip between his teeth, those dark eyes of his meeting yours from across the room. 

“I’m okay.” You glance down at your lap and tap your book. “You just walked in as things were picking up in my book.”

Maybe it’s not the right choice of words in retrospect. Maybe you shouldn’t have mentioned it at all and instead played it off like, yes, yes you were feeling a little under the weather because of the heat. But you don’t, and it’s the small fumble over your words that has Steve pushing himself upward to sit on the bed, head tipping lightly toward your floppy paperback. 

“What are you reading anyway?” 

“Nothing,” you mutter, sliding your bookmark into place. You press your book onto the cushion beside you, arms coming to curl around your body, shoulders shrugging. “Just a book.”

“You already said that,” he replies, throwing one foot over the edge of the bed, followed by the other. You shift further against your nook, your book sliding beneath a pillow as your hip bumps against it, obscuring it from view. “What kind of book is it?”

“Adventure,” you say quickly, turning a bit to meet him as those hands come to rest on either of your shoulders. “You haven’t hugged me today.”

“I know what you’re doing,” he says, but he appeases you anyway, his face inches from yours as he bends down to fold you against him. 

You hum against his chest, relishing in his warmth, when you ask, “And what is that?” 

“Trying to distract me.”

“I’m not distracting—”

Your words are cut off, because Steve’s hand reaches swiftly behind you to curl around the edge of your book and tug it close to his chest. The shriek you let out frightens even yourself as you rush after him, arms curling around his waist and sending him hurtling down against your bed. The book skitters toward your headboard, but that’s the least of your worries right now. 

The only thing terrifies you more than him reading the scene that comes after where you left off is the way you’re sitting on top of him. With a slow, horrifying clarity, you take in the room around you. Thighs splayed on either side of his hips, your hands pinning his arm closest to the book above his head, and his hands reflexively against your hips. His chest rises and falls steadily beneath your palms, those dark irises rounding around the edges, his fingers clutching into the belt loops on your shorts. 

You both look at each other in silent panic. Because this is your best friend. This is over ten years of friendship lying beneath you. It’s the boy who has seen you scrape your knees learning how to ride a bike, sat next to you on the swings at the park, was there for your first heartbreak. Because he’s the boy you were there for when it then happened to him with Nancy, the one you walked around town with after dark on a warm day with cups of ice cream in hand, the one you told everything to, who knew you best, the boy you snuck your first beer with, and fought off monsters from the Upside Down alongside. 

Luckily, he seems to come to the same revelation just as quickly, shoving you off him onto the mattress, hands coming to dance along your ribs until your sides hurt from laughing so hard. A foot comes out to kick him in the thigh when his hand slides out above you, and you hear the familiar slide of your paperback against a blanket. 

“Not fair!” You growl, watching him lean back on his haunches, book tucked into his shirt that he’s then tucked into his jeans. “That’s disgusting. You can keep it now. You’re sweaty.”

“I just showered.”

You huff. “Still. Why do you care about what’s in it so much?” 

“I wanna know what’s got your panties in such a twist,” he says. Your heart thuds in your ears, throat bobbing with a thick swallow. “Are your panties in a twist? Is that why you’re all out of breath?”

“Steve,” you warn, though there’s no malice in your tone, only hesitancy. You curse yourself inwardly. 

His voice drops into a whisper, “Is this a sexy book?”

You want to throttle him. Want to wrap your hands around his shoulders and shake the look of pure and utter delight off his smug features. Only you don’t. You sit there and watch as he slides off your bed and stretches his arms above his chest, which outlines the rectangle hiding against his skin all the more. 

It’s then you remember: Steve Harrington hates books. Hated them in high school so much that you had to always read them for him and give him your breakdown of what happened, and you know for a fact he hates them now. The likelihood that’ll change brings you some peace. Confidence rising, you lean back onto your palms, grinning widely up at him. 

“Movies at eight then?”

He arches a brow at your sudden shift in demeanor. “Uh…yeah, sure. I’ll pick you up at seven thirty.”

Everything will be just fine. 

-

Only it’s not. 

You learn quickly that, though Steve’s hated every book given to him thus far in life, he absolutely devours this one. 

There are certain fears that have always lingered in the back of your mind throughout the years. 

The first being the worry one day Steve would find out about your years-long crush you’ve had on him. The feelings that have lingered way longer than you ever intended for them to. And it’s not like you hadn’t tried to push them aside; you dated other people, put yourself out there, all to take your mind off of it. It always works…initially. That is, until he does or says something that has you falling all over again, wondering if he’d ever feel the same—wondering if he’s ever felt the same. 

But this isn’t a romcom movie, and not all stories like these end up in a relationship, and you had already accepted that…for the most part. If there’s any hope, it’s more like a small flame. A tiny flicker. Nothing noteworthy or remarkable to see here. 

Your second fear is the newest one. The fear that Steve would read the book you’d allowed him to sneak out of your house a week ago—actually read it—and unleash a new kind of petrifying hell on you and take actual pleasure in your demise. 

It starts over Eddie’s place. He’s got an apartment with Robin now, a dingy little place you’ve always thought they should move out of, but theirs all the same. Robin and Eddie are picking out a movie while you and Steve stand in the kitchen, getting various bowls and trays ready with chips, candy, popcorn, and drinks. 

Neither of you has said anything about the book catastrophe. That night, you’d gone to the movies as planned and even shared a soda together, your shoulder pushed against his like nothing even happened. You figured he’d torture you a bit, keep the book for a few days, and give it back with your bookmark exactly where you’d left it. 

But he still hasn’t returned it, and when you ask him for it in the middle of Eddie’s kitchen he only shrugs and says, “I’m actually reading it again. I think I skimmed it the first time; I want to make sure I take it all in. Every word, and, you know, every inch of it.”

You glance his way out the corner of his eyes. On a good day Steve’s odd, to say the least. It’s one of the many things that endears you to him and has made you love him as much as you do. Right now, however, he’s all flushed cheeks and wide smirks, looking very much like the cat who swallowed a canary. 

“Why are you smirking?” 

You shuffle about him to reach into one of the kitchen cabinets in search of a scissor. You snip the corner edge off of an M&M bag and pour some into a bowl, watching him the whole time. 

His smug self reaches down to grab a handful of your freshly pourn candies and plops a few into his mouth. You’re about to reprimand him when he moans around the mouthful, saying, “You taste so sweet, baby.”

Your throat dries. It’s worse than the Sahara Desert. Sandpaper slides across your vocal cords, your mouth opening and closing to try and form sentences. Words. Vowels. Anything would be better than the fish-like gape you’re left with, eyes widened in absolute horror. 

“What did you just say?” 

He turns to face you, his hip pressing against the countertop. Another M&M is lifted to his pursed lips, tongue sliding over it before pulling it into his mouth, his voice low as he repeats slowly, “You taste…so sweet…baby.”

Your eye twitch is your only response. 

Your personal hell gets worse, if that’s even possible, two days later. 

It’s a particularly balmy June day. Luckily, Steve’s parents are once again out of town, leaving the two of you behind to do whatever it is the hell you want to do. The both of you had settled on a pool day. Just the two of you lounging on floats, smelling of suntan lotion, your cherry chapstick freshly smacked against your lips, and soaking in the sun’s rays. 

You’re on a round float in particular, arms spread out beside you, fingertips dancing along the pool’s surface. Music blares from a speaker in the distance, your warm beers long forgotten near the lounge chairs covered in your colorful towels. 

You still don’t have your book back, but you can’t find it in yourself to ponder on it. Not like this, not with the water dancing along your skin, chilling your sweat-slick body, bobbing along the water without a care in the world. 

“Should I make burgers or hot dogs?” Steve asks when the sun starts to set a bit and the humidity in the air lessens. 

You slip down into your tube now, legs kicking in the water, arms propped up over the plastic edges. He treads water in front of you, hair slick against his head, face tanner than it was earlier that evening. He’s even got new freckles along his shoulders, dark against his golden skin.

“Can you do both?” You grin, reaching forward to poke at his cheek. “Please?”

“You’re lucky I like you,” he says, moving to go swim toward the shallow end of the pool where the stairs are. 

You’re lucky you’re holding onto a float, because you’re pretty sure you would have momentarily choked under the water at the sight of his form disappearing beneath the surface, long legs kicking in that red bathing suit. Those strong arms of his slice into the water, perfectly practiced motions from the summers he spent life guarding. 

You’re so rendered immobile by the sight you briefly forget it’s a scene that happens in your book. A moment when Cora realizes she’s physically attracted to her best friend. Only you differ from her in the fact that you’ve known Steve Harrington has been gorgeous for years. If that isn’t enough, though, when his body slowly walks up the stairs and he turns around to face you, your cheeks burn hotter than the sun could have ever warmed your skin. Because he slides a hand up onto his hair, bicep and abdominals rippling and on display. 

Is he moving in slow motion? No, he can't be. Can he? What the actual fuck is going on?

“I’m onto you, Harrington.” You drag a thumb along your throat in a warning. 

He only laughs and flexes his arm once more, asking innocently, “Whatever do you mean?”

You’re going to kill him. You’re going to actually have to kill him. 

Over the course of the next few days Steve ups his antics. 

It’s diabolical, you’ll give him that. 

You make a mental note to talk to Eddie about it, because the dramatic flair practically screams his influence. 

One of the days he wears a button up in the middle of your kitchen and offers to wash your dishes. Slides his sleeves up over his forearms so you can see all the tendons rippling as he moves (you almost pass out). Unbuttons the collar of his shirt complaining of heat to show that dark hair spattering his skin (you walk into the fridge).

Another day he takes your hand and dances with you like Nathan and Cora do in one of the chapters, spinning you round and round despite your initial protests, to something exceedingly romantic for your best friend’s tastes.

On the third, he accidentally brushes up behind you while you’re grabbing a board game from your closet and you feel the firmness of his chest against your back. You have to pray, something you haven't done in a long time, to keep yourself from doing something you might forever regret, because when did Steve get so muscular?

The fourth day brings soft serve ice cream, which is usually an innocent, non-sexual experience. Until, that is, Steve starts trailing his tongue along it. Little kitten strokes at first, long swipes through cream, the occasional slurp. And that’s all fine and dandy, something you can deal with, until he moans and you have to threaten him with the garden hose (after contemplating using it on yourself to cool off) because you’re not sure if you're about to combust into flame or kiss him square on the mouth and ask him to reenact his performance with the ice cream for real this time.

The fifth, while you’re minding your own business and actually trying to restock the tapes at Family Video, he plants dirty quotes from the book around the place. The two of you play games all the time. It gets you both into more trouble than you’d ever really like to share or admit, but this one is bolder, more evil than any that have come before it. 

You’re torn between loathing him and loving him more for it. 

And while you don’t particularly enjoy your job there, and really only use the pay to help you put yourself through college, you also don’t want to have to explain to Keith why there’s dirty talk written and hidden in parts of the building. You can picture him firing you already, fed up with Steve’s and your constant antics. 

In the break room. I want to taste you. 

Attached to the employee bathroom mirror. Let me hear those pretty sounds. 

On a back room shelf. You feel so good around me. Feel how deep I am? 

Inside one of the cup holders in your car (must have snuck that one while you’d been in the bathroom) I want you to fuck me so hard that I forget my name. 

He’s proud of himself, laughing whenever you make a point of ripping up the paper loudly in front of him, letting the shreds drop one by one into a trash can. In actuality, though, your insides are fluttering from the words he’s chosen and you don’t even want to think about the way your thighs clench together or how you feel wetness pool inside your panties, so you decide you need to do damage control. 

“So what you’re saying is he’s torturing you?” Robin asks at the conclusion of your debrief. 

Her and Eddie sit across from you on the couch, watching wearily as you practically burn a hole in the carpet from your constant pacing. It’s been like this for a half hour. You frantically tell them all the ways Steve’s been haunting your every waking moment. How you’re feeling things you’ve long since tried to suppress. 

You’re pent up. 

A rubber band ready to snap.

You’re just afraid of what happens when that moment comes. Afraid of what you’ll do, what you might want. 

You can’t voice it, let alone allow yourself to think it. 

It would be a bad idea. 

“Yes!” You nearly shriek, throwing your hands up in the air. 

“You two share a single brain cell, and it’s actually quite amusing,” Eddie says. 

It’s the only thing he’s said the whole evening, and you pause to whirl around and face him. “What did you say?”

“The two of you,” he says evenly, hooking an ankle over his knee. “Share a combined brain cell.”

“That’s rude,” you snap, narrowing your eyes. 

He laughs, glancing over to Robin. “Are the two of you ever going to, oh I don’t know, act on your feelings? I thought it was because of all the shit with the Upside Down. But we saved the world, remember? So what gives?”

“I’m not following…”

Robin interrupts, all wild hands and frantic speech. “You two dinguses like each other. And stop with the ‘we’re best friends’ bullshit you feed everyone. The two of you are dancing around each other and have been for years now. Why not…talk it out and see what happens? You’re clearly feeling some sort of way over this weird little game the two of you are playing this week.” 

But the two of you are best friends. You’re not Nathan and Cora. That kind of stuff happens in your books. Those fated relationships, destined to be at a young age. 

You know how to separate fact from fiction. 

Steve and you are fact, and you don’t want to dabble in fiction when it comes to him.

Right…?

-

Tears for Fears blares through the speaker system, Family Video empty save for the two of you. The ‘OPEN’ sign on the door has already been flipped to ‘CLOSED.’ You’re meant to be going through new releases for Keith and unpacking them from the boxes laid out in the back room. He’s already told you where he wants them placed, which movies to arrange on certain shelves for different occasions. 

Your pencil scratches along paper, calling out the names of movies to Steve, crossing out a box to confirm you received all the titles the business was expecting. It’s tedious, and you’d rather be doing just about anything else, but it takes your mind off the tension swirling in your gut over your ‘Steve situation.’

Neither of you have spoken in a bit. More so because you don’t know what to say. You don’t know how to address the elephant in the room: the fact you like him, want him, and have been struggling to remind yourself that this game you’re playing is only a game. It’s a dangerous line to walk, even scarier to tread. On one side, the safety of friendship, and on the other is the unknown. 

So you return to your tapes, the shadowed in boxes, the methodical strokes of pencil against paper. It’s another ridiculously warm day. You curse the shoddy air conditioning system Keith never calls in to get fixed, hands sliding down the sides of your skirt, grateful for the slight breeze that tickles your ankles with every movement. If Steve’s warm, he says nothing of it, only picks up the pace with going through the inventory and closes up the box once you’re finally done. 

“We just need to double check the back room is clean and then we can lock up,” he says. Your head lifts abruptly, having gone so long without hearing his voice it almost shocks you. 

“Oh, yeah. Right. Coming,” you tell him, clipping your pencil to the board and sliding the whole thing onto the shelf beneath the counter. 

Steve’s shoving the box onto a wooden table when you join him, your eyes doing a cursory scan about the room to make sure everything looks to be in its proper place. What you don’t expect to see, however, is your book resting in your pocketbook on the chair you left it atop of. 

Steve follows the line of your gaze and chuckles. “Figured it was about time I gave it back.”

You lift the tattered old thing in one hand and flip through the pages. He’s moved the bookmark all the way to the back, and you know he’s read the whole thing. Satisfied with its condition, you tuck it back into where it belongs and lean against the wooden table, palms curling around the edge as you shift to face him. 

“You done teasing me?” You ask pointedly, head tipping to the side with a little smirk. “Even I have to admit that was a cruel game.”

“Why was it cruel?” He steps closer, the already small room shrinking even further.

“You were making fun of me.”

“No I wasn’t. I liked the book,” he admits, the corner of his lip twitching upward. “I just had one question the whole time I was reading it.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” You’re genuinely curious, leaning back further against the table. 

Steve takes another step closer, dark hair bouncing with each movement, those eyes dark and kind. “You’ve written down all the dates you read the thing in the front. So I assume it’s your favorite. Why is it your favorite?”

It’s…not a bad observation. If anything, it has your blood burning a bit, heart starting to flutter faster in your chest. Still, you keep your cool, shrugging your shoulders in reply. 

“Come on now, since when do we keep things from each other?” 

His hand drops down onto the wood beside your hip, his chest nearly pressing to your knees where you sit. Your feet kick mindlessly back and forth, brushing against his shins, skirt fluttering around you. 

“I like the plot,” you admit, popping the 'p' for emphasis, trying to look anywhere but his face as you continue, “I like the idea of two people who already know each other trying to see if there’s more between them.”

“Cora and Nathan are best friends.” It’s not a question, but a fact. You nod, watching his other hand drop onto the other side of your hip. “Is that why you got all hot and bothered in your bedroom? Why those notes made you squirm?”

“Don’t be an asshole.” You cross your arms over your chest. “It’s a book.”

“Is that all it is?” He asks, looking into your eyes with an unfamiliar intensity. You want to hide from it, but it dredges up something new in you. Something bold and dizzying. “If it’s just a book, tell me that’s all it is and we’ll close up and go home.”

You don’t say anything for a while. 

How could you? How could you admit that the reason it’s your favorite is because it’s about two best friends falling for one another? How could you admit you dreamed and hoped maybe one day it would be your reality with him? How could you admit you wanted to taste him, touch him, feel him for years now? 

Steve moves to head back toward the main room when you make your choice. 

“Steve?” 

He whirls around on the spot, eyes searching your face. He rushes back over to where you’re sitting. Your hands slide up tentatively into his, testing the weight of them in your palms. 

You exhale a deep breath, “Kiss me?”

There’s no moment of question. No hesitance behind his gaze when he curls a palm around the side of your face and swoops down to kiss you soundly on the lips. It’s not slow and sweet like in the many movies you’ve seen and books you’ve read. Instead it’s an urgent, hurried thing. His hands slide around your hips and draw you closer to him, your thighs parting to make space for him, mouths licking into one another hungrily, years of pent up emotion spilling into the spaces between you. 

It’s a nip of his bottom lip here, the gasp from you when his mouth slides along your cheek in search of your jaw, sucks below your ear in a way that has you clutching at his shoulders, dragging him closer. Fingers pinch into skin. Frantic hands slide over your Family Video vest, his mouth forming the quiet question of “Can I?” And your head is nodding, heart thundering. He slips it free from your form and touches at the hem of your shirt hesitantly. 

“You can touch me,” you rasp out, hands clutching around the edge of the table. A callused palm slides up and along your skin, dances along the curve of your breast, right over the rapid thrum of your heart. “Stevie…”

He’s kissing you again, hand sliding out from underneath your shirt and instead rucking up the sides of your skirt. A gust of cold air hits the tops of your thighs as he bares you to him. You watch those fingers that have held you all these years, have tended your wounds, soothed away your worries, drag along your flesh. Up over the curve of your thigh, the curve of your hip, and down again. 

“I want you to touch me, Steve. I want you,” you whisper against his ear, curling an arm around his shoulder and shuddering into the side of his neck. Those fingers slip down the front of your panties and trail a dangerous path from your slick center to your clit, teasing lightly, circling where you want him most. 

He hums pleasantly. “This all for me, pretty girl?” He’s smiling to himself at your quiet cry, tracing the same pattern once more before dropping down onto his knees to help you slide them down and off your legs. “Are you sure?”

“Pleas—” Your voice breaks off into a moan. That taunting mouth of his licks a deadly path from your entrance to that sensitive nub, rendering you at his mercy. He slides one of your thighs up and over his shoulder, the other held out to open you further to him. “Just like that, just like that.”

He licks into you, murmuring into your skin about how he’s wanted you like this for years. Dirty sounds of your slick meld together with your gasps and whimpers, fingers reaching down to grasp at hair, tugging hard, hips grinding involuntarily into his face. 

“Steve!” Your head falls back at the white hot flash behind your eyes when that first finger slides in all the way to the knuckle, a sinful slide in and out of you that has you craving more. More fullness, more something, more Steve, until you’re whining pathetically. The second finger joins the first, stretching and sliding against skin, working in tandem with the flat of his tongue against your clit. 

You come with a cry of his name, body bowing over the top of his head, fingers a tangle against his scalp. He continues to lick and pump into you through your orgasm, his other hand holding tight against your hip you’re sure you’ll have bruises come morning. But you don’t care. You don’t care at all. You grip the front of Steve’s shirt and drag him upward to your mouth, tasting yourself on him. His tongue glides over your own, moans mingling in the spaces between you. 

Your hands work on his jeans next, needing more of him, his mouth moving languidly over yours. Shaky hands slide the button through the hole, fingers pushing down the zipper, the desperate wiggle of fabric down his thighs so he can kick himself out of them. You waste no time sliding him out of his boxers, hand pumping him once, twice, before he’s sliding on a condom fished from his wallet and asking you how you want him. 

It’s how you end up sliding down to the edge of the table, his fingers dipping into your slick heat, still sensitive from your orgasm, his cock straining against your hip when he drops down to kiss you once more, whispering, “Are you sure? Need your words, pretty girl.”

“I want you…I’ve wanted this, Steve.” 

You feel him nudge at your entrance, so full and thick it has your eyes rolling slightly at the first delicious stretch. Your arm curls around his shoulder to drag your chests closer, gasps mingling, the hand curling around your hip gripping tighter while he sinks inch by inch into you until he’s buried to the hilt.

He rocks slowly against you at first. A slow, torturous drag in and out. In and out. Until you’re whimpering steadily into the quiet room, ankle curling around a hip, drawing him closer. Always closer. It’s a slow build up. Face pressed into his chest, hips rolling in tandem with his, relishing in his sounds rumbling deep within his chest. 

It’s Steve, you remind yourself. 

Steve, your best friend in the world, rocking into you, chasing your peaks together. He's whispering how pretty you are, how good you feel, praising you. He murmurs ‘good fuckin’ girl’ against your mouth when your head shifts and you kiss him greedily, a messy tangle of lips, tongue and teeth. 

“Faster, Steve,” you plead, eyes pinching shut. 

His hips snap harder against yours, his grunts and groans filling the space, driving the table to knock against the wall, sending the box of new inventory hurtling to the ground. Neither of you can be bothered with it, hands clutching against clothes, mouths tangling, wet skin slapping against skin, lurching closer and closer to the edge.  

Steve’s laying you back against the table, chest crawling over your own, mouth like a brand against yours, your hair fanning around your head. He curls a forearm under your lower back, tilting your hips, the new angle hitting that part of you over and over and over again that makes your vision grow white around the edges. Your whimpers of his name spurring him on, your thigh crooked over one of his elbows, drawing him closer, deeper. 

Steve comes seconds after you do, face red and chest heaving, gasping at the way your body clenches around him. Kisses you in between broken cries of his name falling from your pretty lips. 

Your thigh slides back down from around his elbow. The other thigh slowly drops back down against the wood, skirt bunching indecently around your hips, his chest heavy against yours. Your fingers come up to brush along his hair, humming when he leans over to kiss you once, twice, and then slides off of you, your body immediately missing the feeling of being full of him. 

You dress and clean in silence. Little awkward chuckles spilling here and there as he helps you slide your underwear back on, head disappearing beneath your skirt to teasingly nip at the inside of a thigh. Your hands help to smooth his unruly hair back into place. It’s a gentle slide of fingers together when you both make your way out to his car and slip inside, the cheeky grin from him when he leans over the center console and smacks a kiss against your cheek, making your skin burn ablaze. 

“Want to go get food? Maybe a milkshake,” he suggests, curling a hand around his steering wheel. “On me.” 

“Like a date?” You muse, watching his hand curl around your own to draw your palm to his lips for a slow kiss into the center. 

“If you want it to be.”

-

Steve and you open up at Family Video the next day. 

Your late night plans the day before in hindsight may not have been the best idea either of you had in a while, but seeing him early that next morning with his sunglasses perched on his face and his lips eagerly seeking yours over the center console had made it worth it. 

You’d spent the evening huddled over a basket of fries, talking about your feelings, about giving things a try, constantly touching. Hands, cheeks, shoulders, legs. You craved it all, this new need to be attached at all times, butterflies fluttering in bellies, grins tugging at faces. Later it had been chocolatey milkshake kisses under the stars at Lover’s Lake, a new world of exploration at your fingertips. 

Presently, Robin and Eddie mill about in the distance, looking for a movie for your usual Friday night in, the two of them calling various movie titles over to where you and Steve work behind the countertop. 

“How about Heathers?” Eddie asks, just as Keith barrels out of the back room, looking red in the face and on a mission. 

“Looks like you two—” he points between you and Steve. “—did some rearranging in the back room last night. That wall you dented and then tried to hide behind the table, however you managed that, I don’t know…but yeah, you’ll be paying for it. And the stack of movies on the floor? If any are busted, I’ll dock both your pay for them as well. Count your lucky stars I’m not firing you both.” 

He’s gone back the way he came, leaving you standing beside Steve, your mouths open, eyes rounded in fear. 

Steve mouths, “We forgot to clean up the movies…”

You turn into his chest to hide, mortification burning your face. 

Robin and Eddie smirk, high-fiving amidst the movie displays. 

-

-

-

-

[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

[pixelchills]

A tracer is making money with our works

Hello guys, this is a bit different post than what I usually do but please spread the word of awareness for the FNAF, Genshin Impact, Undertale and MHA communities.

A YouTuber named Suitor LP and his thumbnail artist Tanabearchan (minors do not click this link it's an 18+ acc) have been using a lot of other people's art, traced, on the thumbnails of his videos. A lot of the thumbnails included multiple different FNAF, Genshin Impact, Undertale and MHA/BNHA fanworks, and after talking with Suitor LP himself he has apparently been the one to find these artworks from pinterest and then paid Tanabear to trace/edit them, paying her $200 a month for it.

Example, my own work:

Most of his videos are apparently NSFW audios, so your art might have been used in that sort of video. I have screenshots of all the original thumbnails from the past 8 or 9 months with the stolen artworks saved. He has, in a matter of panic, tried to save his and Tanabear's reputations, by trying to BRIBE me with money to keep my mouth shut while he and Tanabear remove all the evidence of the tracing from his discord server and YouTube.

I am not completely sure what the real reason behind all of this is, and who is the bigger criminal here, because Suitor's story changed the narrative multiple times during our chats in discord yesterday. At first, I assumed he was a victim of a scam, so I took my own strike down but told him to fire his thumbnail artist and that I'd call her out for scamming. He didn't seem to want me to do that, and then his story started to change from him "not knowing his artist was tracing" to "I was the one who found the pictures from Pinterest and told her to trace them"

He was constantly changing the story around about everything, and tried to reason with me not to do this callout from everything from "Other YouTubers do it too" to tragic 'pity me' stories of his youtube career to eventually raising his bribe to $100.

He promised to change, and replace all the thumbnails, but the damage is already done, and judging his constantly changing story I would not believe anything he says at this point. I will add all the screenshots of the video thumbnails I took under the cut. He has now taken down all the thumbnails but I really don't trust he is going to change, he literally said to me when I first started chatting with him that he "learned his lesson 2 years ago" (to not use stolen artwork) but it really seems like he didn't.

I recognised one of the artworks of DJMM to belong to @ballpitbee and one of the Moon drawings to belong to another 18+ artist I follow on Twitter.

Suitor LP has gained money from his videos by using the artworks to lure people to his videos. Some of the arts might have been done by minors, and they've been used in NSFW audio videos. Tanabearchan has gained $200 per month to trace and edit these artworks for him for probably over a year now.

I do not usually call people out publicly. This situation is just so unfair and I think people need to be aware of this. Idk what we can do at this point, but I just don't want these people to be let go without facing at least some sort of consequences. So I'm spreading awareness to not support his channel and to not support the artist who traces others' work for money.

Here are the thumbnails, please reblog this to the other fandoms as well so this post can reach out to all the possible artists affected.

[rorywritesjunk]

Pampering Buggy

A fic of you pampering Buggy after he has a frustrating day.

Rating: I'd say PG-13 for swearing and some innuendos. Pairing: Buggy x You (no y/n, etc like that) Warnings: Again, some innuendos. Insecure!Buggy. One brief mention of being afraid of your partner. Mostly this is just Insecure!Buggy. More OPLA inspired since Buggy has them eyes that pop like firecrackers. Word Count: 2,300. A/N: Enjoy! This is my first posted fic in a long time, and my first time posting it in this kind of POV. It's not really edited either.

You knew something was up when you saw Cabaji first, the pirate locking eyes with you as he jerked his head in the direction of Buggy and dragged his finger across his throat in a gruesome motion. You winced and nodded, understanding that you were about to get a moody boyfriend in a few minutes. 

Sure enough, the captain came storming up to you a few minutes later. You remained calm, crossing your arms over your chest but staying relaxed as he stood in front of you, mimicking your stance. 

“Hey.” You spoke calmly, like you would to a wild animal. He could still sometimes be a bit unpredictable. “Seems like maybe you’ve had a rough day.”

“Rough day?” He shot back. “I work with a bunch of idiots who can’t seem to do anything right! It’s not like we haven’t pillaged a town before, but you wouldn’t know that by how every one of them fucked something up!”

You were used to these outbursts by now. Sure, the first time he had one it terrified you. You thought he was going to hurt you or something, but after a point you learned how to handle him. Some days required his favorite meal, some days a few drinks, and some days sex. Today, though, you knew it was something different that he needed. It rarely happened, but you knew what to do.

“Well, let’s go wash the day off then.” You replied softly with a smile, holding your hand out to him. The crew was already gone, leaving the two of you alone. You knew they didn’t want to potentially face Buggy’s wrath. “I have one of those fizzy bombs for the bath that you like, and a new mask for your face.”

It was adorable how he perked up at the word ‘bomb’, even if it was just a scented fizzy bath experience, but you knew he enjoyed relaxing in them. He insisted his crew never learn about this because he didn’t want them to think he was getting soft or something with having you around, and you never told the crew, but how else would you get these things? You didn’t leave the tent that often, and really, you asked Cabaji once and surprisingly he listened to your request to get you the things you needed. 

Buggy looked at your hand and took it, grumbling softly as you led him back to his quarters. This kind of day required pampering. You had suggested this to him once after he refused food, alcohol, and sex. In a moment of frustration you asked if he just wanted to drown in the damn bathtub and he perked up. As long as you didn’t use sea water everything was fine. You had never seen him so relaxed and you gradually incorporated face masks, the fizzy bombs, and even brushing his hair for him while he relaxed. 

Once you were both in your shared room, you shut and locked the door. The crew knew better than to barge in, but you knew Buggy would feel humiliated if his crew saw him in the tub with a pink face mask on and a crown braid while he soaked in lavender scented water. You didn’t want that for him so the door always remained locked. If the crew needed something then they would knock.

Buggy moved to the end of the bed and sat down to remove his boots. He was still upset, you knew because he wasn’t even trying to unlace his boots as he tried to force his boots off. You went to start the bath water, letting the tub fill up with hot water. Once it started filling up, you went over to rescue him from his clothes. Without a word you knelt in front of him and started unlacing his boots for him. He looked ready to protest, he didn’t need this kind of help, but one look from you and he kept his mouth shut. 

You took his boots off and set them aside before pulling off his socks. You noted they were getting holes in them, so you set them aside to add them to your mend pile. He stood up to and undid his pants, winking at you while you remained on your knees in front of him. You patted his knee before getting back up. 

“Bath first.” You told him; he pouted. You didn’t give in and helped slide his jacket off his shoulders and down his arms before he let his pants drop to the floor. He stepped out of them while you set the jacket on the bed. You helped unbutton his front. He was perfectly capable of undressing himself, you both knew this, but you wanted him to do as little as possible. You wanted to take care of him, to let him know you were there for him, and that you loved him. The little gestures like removing his shoes, helping him with his jacket, even mending his socks showed him how much you cared for him.

It definitely took him a while to get used to that kind of love language. 

Once he was finally naked, you grabbed his hand and led him over to the tub. Before you could say anything, he wrapped his arms around you, letting his chin rest on the top of your head. You looked up at him, reaching up to stroke his cheek with the back of your hand slowly.

“Get in the tub, Buggy.” You told him gently. “The water should be ready.” 

He nodded and stepped into the tub while you reached over to turn the faucet off. He sank into the water, letting his head rest along the edge while he bent his knees to accommodate his height better. You wished you had a bigger tub. You handed him the fizzy bomb, knowing he’d get more joy out of it if he was the one to drop it in the tub. He held it up high before letting it drop down, a smirk on his face as water splashed out at you. 

“Better take that top off, babe.” He said as he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. It was a peppermint scented fizzy bomb this time. It felt soothing already. “I can see through your shirt already.”

You just shook your head as you went to his vanity to retrieve a washcloth, cleanser, and the face mask. He didn’t really like having the face paint removed, but you insisted the facemask would feel better on a clean face, so he allowed you to do it. You dipped the water in the tub as the water turned blue and sparkly and gently ran it over Buggy’s face. He winced at first and you waited. You never asked why he did that when you did this, you knew he’d tell you if he wanted. He took a deep breath and exhaled, nodding for you to continue. 

You never rushed this. You took your time removing as much of the face paint as possible with the washcloth, running it along his cheeks, lips, and his eyes while always being careful around his nose.  He sighed deeply as he opened his eyes to look at you. You smiled at him as you squirted some of the cleanser onto your fingers and massaged it onto his face. This stuff always took the makeup off, no matter how thick or old it was. He leaned into your touch, humming contently as you worked the cleanser around his eyes carefully. You used the washcloth to wipe it away, smiling when you saw his bare face. 

He opened his eyes and looked up at you. You swallowed heavily as you looked into his eyes. Damn, they always caught you off guard with how beautiful they were. You wanted to kiss him, to get in the tub with him right then and just stare into his eyes for the rest of the night, but this wasn’t about you, this was about him. Instead, you caressed his cheek gently before grabbing the container for the new face mask.

“You want this, right?” You asked as you held it up. He nodded and closed his eyes once again. You opened it and scooped your fingers into the bright green mixture. He liked it thick on his face, which you were happy to do. He kept his eyes closed as you started on his cheeks, rubbing the mixture thick onto his skin. Buggy leaned into your touch, following the movements of your hand. You smiled, finding him to be very cat-like in that moment, wanting to be touched. You’d never tell him you’d compare him to a cat, however. 

“How are you holding up, Buggy?” You asked as you caked the mask onto his forehead and chin. He could only sigh in response. “Okay, good, now… do you want me to rub some of this stuff on your nose?”

He opened his eyes once again and looked at you. He was thinking it over for a moment before nodding. You were gentle, using your fingertips to massage it all over his bright red nose. You made the mistake of touching his nose without asking the first time you used a face mask on him, and the way he had reacted made you ask every time. He didn’t want to think of his nose or of you acknowledging it, ever, but it was something he had to live with.

You didn’t rush. You didn’t want him to think you were disgusted by it and not want to touch it. You weren’t at all. You found it endearing, and while it caught you off guard the first time you saw him, it definitely was one of your favorite things about him.

You finally finished with his face and dipped your fingers into the water above his shoulders to clean them off. “Hair next?”

“Please.” He mumbled as he started to sink into the tub. You reached in and pulled him back up. You needed to be able to read his head better, and you really didn’t want him to detach it from his body while in the tub. He did it once and it freaked you out.

You removed the bandana and ran your fingers through the bright blue locks, humming in appreciation as you admired the color. Absolutely gorgeous. You made sure to get any tangles or snarls out with your fingers first before running the brush through it. Once you were certain all was well, you picked up the hairbrush and began to run it through his hair in sections. This was your favorite part of the whole pampering. You loved tending to his hair, and he trusted you to do it. You often tried different braid styles on him, from three strand, five strand, fish tail, and his favorite, which was a crown braid. He liked having his hair up like that while he was in bed with you as it kept his hair out of his face and your face. You didn’t ask what style he wanted, you would just do the crown braid again. 

The brush went right through his hair with no issue. He tilted his head back, allowing just a bit more access to the top of his head. You raised yourself up on your knees and held his head in your hands while you kissed his hairline above his forehead, not wanting a mouthful of the face mask. He smirked and cracked an eye open to look at you.

“Can’t keep your hands off me, can you?” He teased. You laughed softly and kissed him again.

“I’ve had my hands on you since you came home, Buggy.” You reminded him with a smile. “And no doubt I’ll have my hands on you again after you get out of that bath.”

He smirked and settled back into the tub once more. He was plotting something, that much you could tell. It would either end with you fully clothed in the bathtub or being thrown onto the bed once he got out of the tub. You needed to be ready for either scenario.

You sectioned his hair once again and began working on the braid. It didn’t take long to get his hair wrapped around his head and tucked into place. He didn’t want bobby pins or clips, insisting they poked him too much, so you did your best to keep it tucked into his hair on its own. By the time you wake up tomorrow, no doubt half of it will be undone and he’ll whine about needing his hair fixed. You would fix it in a heartbeat.

This was when you had to be wary of him as you stood up. His Devil Fruit ability always caught you off guard when he knew you were done. He didn’t want it to end, so you kept your eyes on him as you began to remove your own clothes. You knew either way you were going to end up naked tonight, and you really didn’t want your clothes soaked.

You set your clothes away from the tub before coming up behind him and tapping him on the shoulder. He looked up at you and sat up, scooting closer to the other end of the tub to allow you to climb in behind him. Once you were settled, you pulled him back to let his head rest against your chest. He crossed his arms over his own chest and you grabbed hold of his hands, locking your fingers together as you pressed your lips to his earlobe.

“I love you, Buggy.”

“I know.” He mumbled. And, though you almost missed him saying it, he replied with, “I love you too.”