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The Gravitational Waves Reflection In The Solar System
(Analytical Study) (Revised)
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Abstract
Paper question
How Is Planet Velocity Defined?
Paper Hypothesis No. (1)
The solar system is one energy moves in space and reflects 3 times - the points of the reflection are the planets- as a result- the planets are created depending one each other by this energy reflection.
The Explanation Of The Hypothesis No. (1)
I- Preface
Why do we need to define Planet velocity here? Because
Planet velocity definition disproves The Solar System Classical Description.
II- The hypothesis Explanation in details
The Energy Reflection Definition
The Energy Reflection Proves
The Energy Reflection Result
The Energy Reflection Objective
Saturn Creation Depends On Uranus And The Earth
Let's explain the previous items in following
I- Preface
Why do we need to define Planet velocity before any other discussion in this paper? Because Planet velocity disproves The Solar System Classical Description.
The classical description refutation is a great event because the theories depend on it and – that means- more than 12 theories are wrong in the modern physics book
Shortly- more than the half of the modern physics book provides imaginary ideas and wrong theories because the solar system classical description is wrong.
Let's see examples to explain that clearly
Example No. (1)
No Planet Moves By The Sun Gravity- Newton is wrong- I have proved this fact since long time- and I explained that- Planet moves by the force caused its creation- means- the planet creation and motion is done by one force only otherwise this planet would be broken- simply – if two forces have effects on the same planet it would be broken- means- the planet moves with its creation force- again No planet moves by the sun gravity-
The example shows a gap between the physics book and the solar system facts – Newton imaginary idea is believed by everyone since 400 years!
But- the example doesn't show how great the gap is- in fact the shock is coming from The Sun Nuclear Fusion Theory- let's see the next example
Example No. (2)
The Sun Is Created By The Planets Motions Energies–The Sun Is A Phenomenon
Here we can see the gap clearly
The solar planets were found in their orbits before the sun creation and the planets were revolving around a point in space (this point has no light)
The planet motion produces energy (1/2 mv^2) and this energy is stored in the space in waves form- the planets were revolving around this point for long periods till the stored motion energy in the space be massive energy-
From this massive motion energy the light beam is created (the sun rays is created)
The sun rays is created from this energy- that tells why the sun corona temperature is 5 millions Kelvin but the sun surface is 5800 Kelvin- simply- because The Sun Is Not Doing Nuclear Fusion To Produce Its Rays, the rays is created by the planets motions energies– The Sun Rays Show The Great Gap Between The Physics Book And The Facts
The wrong description is the reason behind the imaginary ideas and wrong theories in the physics book- one more example- the scientists won Nobel prize in physics for their discovery for the gravitational waves- these scientists told us – the gravitational waves are produced by the sun gravitational field which is NOT FACT– the gravitational waves are produced by Planet motion energy- where the planet moves and produces energy (1/2 mv^2) and the planet can't store its motion energy inside its body otherwise its temperature would be raised for that the planet motion energy is stored in the space In Waves Form- the scientists discovered these waves and they called them gravitational waves!! Let's provide one more example
Example No. (3)
The big bang theory tells us the planet creation is done by random process- in details- the theory tells–some planets are suffered from collisions and these collisions changed their diameters and masses- by that we can't know their original diameters and masses by that the current values of these diameters and masses are found by chance and without any geometrical reasons and should be considered random data-
For example- Jupiter diameter now is 142984 km but what's this diameter value in the first creation of Jupiter?
The big bang theory and all random creation ideas are wrong and nonsense- shortly- I have my planet diameter equation which proves Planet diameter is created based on a geometrical rule- means- for example- Jupiter diameter is created at first as 142984 km and never changed since its creation- if any planet had collision and changed its diameter this collision results would be recorded in this planet motion features- as happened with Mars- Mars original orbit was between Mercury and Venus and Mars had migrated to its current orbit- and Mars had collided with Venus and The Earth in its migration motion- but Mars diameter equation refers frequently to its original orbit features and data- that tells the planet motion provides a record for its history because all data is required for planet motion- by that – all data depends on geometrical rules and no random process is used in it –
let's introduce my planet diameter equation in following….
Planet Diameter Equation (v1/v2)= (s/r)= I
v = Planet Velocity and r = Planet Diameter
s= Planet Rotation Periods Number In Its Orbital Period
I= Planet Orbital Inclination (example, 1.8 degrees be produced as a rate 1.8)
v2, s, r and I are belonged to one planet and v1 is belonged to another planet
The planet (v1) is defined by test the minimum error
Earth Equation uses Neptune velocity
Mars Equation uses Pluto velocity
Jupiter Equation uses the Earth moon velocity
Saturn Equation uses Mars velocity
Uranus Equation uses Neptune velocity (As Earth)
Neptune Equation uses Saturn velocity
Pluto Equation uses the Earth moon velocity (As Jupiter)
(The Equation works from The Earth To Pluto) (the discussion explains the reason)
Example
Neptune Equation (89143 /49528) = 9.7/ 5.4 =1.8
89143 = Neptune rotation periods number in Neptune orbital period
49528 km = Neptune diameter
9.7 km/s = Saturn velocity
5.4 km/s = Neptune velocity
59800 days = Neptune orbital period (and Neptune rotation period =16.1 hours)
1.8 degrees = Neptune Orbital Inclination
The equation tells planet diameter is created based on its velocity –means- Neptune diameter is 49528 km because Neptune velocity is 5.4 km/s
The Equation Concept
Planet diameter should be a function in its orbital distance –otherwise- this planet would be broken by its motion- the fact is that – The necessary requirement for planet safe motion is to create a function between this planet diameter and its orbital distance
BUT- the designer can't create a function has only 2 variables (Planet diameter and its orbital distance)- the function in this case can't be useful because – If this planet changes its orbital distance its diameter would be broken also because the diameter is a direct function in the orbital distance without any other variables -As A Result
The designer created the planet diameter as a function in this planet rotation period and the planet rotation period is created as a function in this planet velocity and the planet velocity is created as a function in this planet orbital distance- by that- the function between the planet diameter and its orbital distance is created but the function contains also more variables (rotation period, orbital period and velocity)- by that- if the planet changes its orbital distance- this planet diameter will not be changed but its rotation period, orbital period, and velocity will be changed and the diameter will be saved-
NOTICE-Mars is the example for this theory because Mars original orbit was between Mercury and Venus and Mars had migrated from its original orbit to its current one- after Migration Mars changed its motion data but the diameter is saved
NOTICE- Planet diameter equation is very useful to analyze the energy reflection in the solar system because the equation shows the changes in data resulting from the energy reflection- for example- the equation produces the planet orbital inclination-but in Saturn equation- the equation produces the value (0.4) while we know Saturn orbital inclination is 2.5 degrees- the value (0.4) is produced because the energy is reflected in Saturn and that caused effect on the data by that the value (2.5) become (1/2.5) = 0.4- that's why I refer to my planet diameter equation in this discussion because the equation can work as a tool of anatomy which can see clearly what's happening for the energy in each planet-
Matter Definition
My planet diameter equation provides a new definition for the matter – this definition is found to answer the question- (How Can Planet Velocity And Motion Be Defined Before This Planet Creation?)
What's The Matter And How Is Created?
The matter and space are created from the same one energy and both move with the motion of this energy from which they are created- but- the matter creates for itself a distinguish form and moves by different velocity from the space motion (notice the gravitational waves prove the space has motion and not static).
This is similar to the sea of water- the space is similar to the sea of water and the matter is similar to a whirlpool (vortex) found on the sea page-
The whirlpool (vortex) is created by the sea water and it's carried by the sea water motion- spite of that- the whirlpool is different in its form from the sea waves – also the whirlpool moves by different velocity from the sea waves motion velocity- this example gives explanation for the matter definition- the matter is similar perfectly to the whirlpool on the sea page- it's created by the sea water motion but it has a distinguish form and different velocity from the sea waves-
Also
The whirlpool dimensions depend on the sea water motion features- for example – we have a whirlpool its diameter is 2 meters, this diameter is formed by the sea water motion features (the water velocity- amount-pressure -……etc) that tells the whirlpool is found later after the sea creation- and the water motion is found before the whirlpool creation- this meaning is a fact for the matter creation and dimensions- the matter dimensions are created based on this matter motion- means- the motion is defined before the matter creation- this is proved strongly by my planet diameter equation- the equation tells (for example) Neptune diameter is 49528 km because Neptune velocity is 5.4 km/s- the whirlpool idea explains how the planet matter data is defined based on its motion- because
The original energy was found in motion at first and the planet matter is created from this moving original energy and the planet matter dimensions are defined by this original energy motion features- after the planet creation, the planet moves with this original energy motion means the planet moves this same motion based on which the planet data is created that's why the planet data is in full harmony with the planet motion features.
Also the idea shows the planet motion reason- as I proved before- no planet moves by the sun gravity- Newton is wrong- because the planet creation and motion are done by one force only otherwise this planet would be broken if two forces have effects on it
Here we see the planet motion reason- the planet moves with the original energy from which this planet is created-
What's the original energy?
The original energy is one light beam energy- because – the solar planets and their distances are created from one energy and this energy is provided by one light beam –means – the planets are geometrical points found on the same one light beam and the planets move with this light beam motion-
By that the planets are similar to carriages in one train and the light beam is this train engine- the light motion causes all planets motions
NOTICE - this definition of the matter and planet is very important for our discussion because the paper hypothesis no. (1) tells – the solar system is one energy moves in the space and reflected on some points and these points are the planets- the reflection of energy discussion will show how each planet data and motion depend on the other planet motion by the energy reflection effect- shortly- (The Planet Is A Geometrical Point) this idea is the best one can explain the energy reflection data- by that we can understand how the energy motion and reflection can effect on the planet creation and motion- the energy reflection discussion is found in the paper first hypothesis explanation.
Planet Velocity Definition
Again let's ask ……Why Do We Need To Define The Planet Velocity? ……….
Because – the planet velocity definition refutes the solar system classical description- the definition proves the planet is a geometrical point on the moving energy (and refute the classical definition tells – planet is a solid body created independently from the space and other planets) – in fact the planets are created depending on each other – The 9 planets are as 9 knots or snarls on the same one rope or cable – No planet is created independently– also all of them are created by the same one motion and the same one reason- (imagine you have a ladder or stairs is consisted of 9 units- all units are similar and found for the same reason)- the data proves this fact also
Planet velocity definition provides a powerful proof against Newton theory of the sun gravity-No Planet Motion Depends On Its Mass- Newton is wrong- the velocity Definition Doesn't Refer To Planet Mass- Also planet velocity definition provides a direct strong proof for the energy reflection in the solar system- also – the velocity definition explains the complex machine behind the planet motion which refutes again the naïve idea of Newton about this motion-
The planet velocity definition shows the general design of the solar system where all planets data is defined based on its velocity- means- the planet velocity is defined at first (after the orbit definition) and all other data is defined based on this velocity as we have seen the planet diameter is defined by the rate (v1/v2) by my planet diameter equation and planet orbital distance is defined by the rate (v1/v2)^2 and planet orbital period is defined by the rate (v1/v2)^3- shortly- the motion is the planet life
SHORTLY
I refute the solar system classical description and I wanted to put a piece of strong proof in the first pages of my paper to show that the refutation doesn't depend on ideas or logical analysis- but the refutation depends on the contradiction between the physics theories and the planets creation & motion data- If the contradiction is proved that tells the description is wrong because the planets data can NOT be wrong
Let's start our discussion
How is planet velocity defined?
Kelper stated, planet orbit defines its velocity, this rule is proved by the equation (v1/v2)^2=(d2/d1) where (d= planet orbital distance) and (v= planet velocity)
BUT
How Is The Planet Velocity Defined? And By What Rules?
Planet velocity is defined by Three Rules let's see them in following
(i) First Rule
v1v2 = constant= 322 (my 5th equation)
47.4 km/s (Mercury velocity) x 6.8 km/s (Mercury velocity) =322
35 km/s (Venus velocity) x 4.7 km/s (Pluto velocity) x 2 =322
29.8 km/s (The Earth velocity) x 5.4 km/s (Neptune velocity) x 2 =322
24.1 km/s (Mars velocity) x 13.1 km/s (Jupiter velocity) =322
(Max error 2%)
The rule (v1v2=322) tells the velocities are defined in pairs and not individually, each planet velocity has its own complementary- the rule tells the velocities are reflected on one another- the reflection of energy and data will be studied in details in planet velocity discussion-
In this rule we interest for the constant (322)- let's ask- why the constant = 322?
The constant 322 depends on the speed 1.16 million km per second because
(1160000 seconds = 322 hours) - Means
Mercury (47.4 km/s) moves in 6.8 hours a distance = 1.16 million km and
Uranus (6.8 km/s) moves in 47.4 hours a distance = 1.16 million km
Shortly -we realize that the constant 322 is produced based on the speed 1.16 million km per second- means- the planets velocities are complementary each other because they are defined as functions in this same speed 1.16 million km per second
(This is similar to electron and positron are produced from Gamma ray, The two particles depend on Gamma energy in their masses)
Based On This Data
I concluded there's a light beam its speed 1.16 million km per second and from this light beam energy the solar system is created- and the planets velocities are defined as functions in this speed 1.16 million km per second and that causes the velocities to be complementary each other-
(Please note the speed 1.16 million km per second is proved strongly by other data in my paper specially because the light created the space at first before any planet creation by that all distances in the solar system are created by the energy of this light beam and its speed 1.16 million km per second is registered in the data)
(ii) Second Rule
v1v2 = 1
The velocity here uses the solar day (86400 seconds) – let's prove that-
Mercury moves per solar day = 4.095 million km
Venus moves per solar day = 3.024 million km
The Earth moves per solar day = 2.574 million km
The Moon moves per solar day = 2.4 million km
Mars moves per solar day = 2.082 million km
Jupiter moves per solar day = 1.1318 million km
Saturn moves per solar day = 0.838 million km
Uranus moves per solar day = 0.5875 million km
Neptune moves per solar day = 0.4665 million km
Pluto moves per solar day = 0.406 million km
AND
0.406 (Pluto velocity) x 2.4 (the moon velocity) = 1 (error 2.5%)
0.4665 (Neptune velocity) x 2.082 (Mars velocity) = 1 (error 2.5%)
0.5875 (Uranus velocity) x 3.024 (Venus velocity)/1.772 = 1 (error 2.5%)
0.838 (Saturn velocity) x 1.1318 (Jupiter velocity) = 1 (error 5%)
(1.772 = π^1/2)
The second rule tells very similar meaning (v1v2= constant= 1)
The data uses the velocities per solar day for that the constant is changed from 322 into 1 but the rule is the same- (v1v2= Constant)
I want to say- the rule (v1v2 = Constant) tells a clear idea that (The Velocities Are Reflected On Each Other) this conclusion is simple one (A x 1/A= constant=1)
The rule proves the energy is reflected in the solar system and this reflection has effect on the planets data and for that the planets velocities are defined by this energy reflection and the velocities are produced complementary each other as a result.
Notice
The second rule causes confusion because the complementary player is changed- for example Pluto is complementary with Venus (in the first rule 35 x 4.7 x 2 = 322) but Pluto is complementary with the Earth moon in the second rule (0.406 x 2.4 = 1) that tells the players are changed which is illogical idea- how can we solve this problem?
The third rule solves it – let's see this rule in following
(iii) Third Rule
v1/v2 = 0.8 (based on the planets order)
47.4 km/s (Mercury velocity) x 0.8 = 38 (35 km/s = Venus velocity error 7.25%)
35 km/s (Venus velocity) x 0.8 = 27.78 (The moon velocity)
29.8 km/s (The Earth velocity) x 0.8 = 24.1 (Mars velocity) (error 1%)
24.1 km/s (Mars velocity) x 0.8 = 2 x 9.7 (Saturn velocity)
13.1 km/s (Jupiter velocity) x 0.8 = 2 x 5.4 (Neptune velocity) (error 3%)
6.8 km/s (Uranus velocity) x 0.8 = 5.4 (Neptune velocity)
5.4 km/s (Neptune velocity) x 0.8 = 4.3 (Pluto velocity 4.7 the error 7.25%)
Please note
The error 7.25 is found by the rate 1.0725 – that means
47.4 km/s (Mercury velocity) x 0.8 = 38 = 1.0725 x 35 km/s (Venus velocity)
5.4 km/s (Neptune velocity) x 0.8 = 4.3= 4.7 km/s (Pluto velocity) / 1.0725
29.8 km/s (Earth velocity) = 27.78 km/s (The moon velocity) x 1.0725
We know the rate 1.0725 is found by Lorentz length contraction effect- and we know this rate has effect on around 40% of all planets data – that's why we see this rate has effect on the planets velocities definition-
Let's remember the question-
In the rule (v1v2=322) we found that Pluto is complementary with Venus because
4.7 km/s (Pluto velocity) x 35 km/s (Venus velocity) x 2 = 322
But in the rule (v1v2 =1) we found Pluto is complementary with the moon because
0.406 mkm (Pluto Velocity Daily) x 2.4 mkm (The Moon Velocity Daily) = 1
The question asked – if the planets velocities are defined in pairs complementary each other and not individually how can the players be changed?
The answer tells – the planets velocities are rated by (0.8) based on the planets order means – the moon velocity daily 2.4 mkm = Venus velocity daily 3.024 mkm x 0.8
The rate (0.8) defines all planets velocities depend on each other by order-
Now let's see Planet velocity final definition – because- the definition uses three planets velocities together and not only two – let's put that clearly in following-
(iv) The Planet Velocity Final Definition
(A)
47.4 km/s (Mercury velocity) x 0.8 = 38 km/s (Venus velocity 35 km/s)
Venus moves per solar day 3.024 million km -But
1/3.024 = 0.3307 million km = Uranus moves per solar day 0.5875 million km /1.77
(note 1.77 = π^1/2) and (38 = 35 x 1.0725)
For that
47.4 km/s (Mercury velocity) x 6.8 km/s (Uranus velocity) = 322
(B)
35 km/s (Venus velocity) x 0.8 = 27.78 km/s (The Moon velocity)
The moon moves per solar day 2.4 million km -But
1/2.4 = 0.406 million km = Pluto moves per solar day 0.406 million km
For that
35 km/s (Venus velocity) x 4.7 km/s (Pluto velocity) x 2 = 322
(C)
29.8 km/s (The Earth velocity) x 0.8 = 24.1 km/s (Mars velocity)
Mars moves per solar day 2.082 million km -But
1/2.082 = 0.4665 million km = Neptune moves per solar day 0.4665 million km
For that
29.8 km/s (The Earth velocity) x 5.4 km/s (Neptune velocity) x 2 = 322
(D)
13.1 km/s (Jupiter velocity) x 0.8= 2 x 5.24km/s (Neptune velocity 5.4 km/s error 3%)
Neptune moves per solar day 0.4665 million km - But
1/0.4665 = 2.082 million km = Mars moves per solar day 2.082 million km
For that
13.1 km/s (Jupiter velocity) x 24.1 km/s (Mars velocity) = 322
Shortly
Three planets velocities are defined in each equation- that tells the planet velocity definition is a process more complex than the simple equation (v1v2= constant)
Notice
The 9 planets velocities total is 176 km/s – if we add the Earth moon velocity (29.8 km/s) the total will be 205.8 km/s
The planets velocities are complementary also for this velocity 205.8 km/s – let's see
205.8 km/s = Mercury velocity (47.4 km/s) x Pluto velocity (4.7 km/s) / 1.0725
205.8 km/s = Venus velocity (35 km/s) x Neptune velocity (5.4 km/s) x 1.0725
205.8 km/s = Earth velocity (29.8 km/s) x Uranus velocity (6.8 km/s)
205.8 km/s = Jupiter velocity (13.1 km/s) x Neptune velocity (5.4 km/s) x 3
Mercury velocity = 2 Mars velocity by that Pluto will be used for Mars also
Max error (3%)
Please Note- Saturn is exceptional because
205.8 km/s = 9.7 km/s (Saturn velocity) x 21.4
Where 21.4 hours = 2 x 10.7 hours (Saturn rotation period)
Means- the distance is passed by all planets motions in one hour equal the distance is passed by Saturn in 2 rotation periods (21.4 hours) that tells more analysis is required for Saturn velocity- as we should do later.
(v)
A Question (Why Is The Rate (0.8) Used To Define Each Planet Velocity Based On Its neighbor?)
Kepler stated (Planet orbit defines its velocity) and
My planet orbital distance equation proves each planet orbit is defined based on its neighbor – means- my equation uses only 2 neighbor planets orbital distances
Here also-Planet velocity is defined based on its neighbor – means- this connection enabled Kepler to conclude his statement (Planet orbit defines its velocity)
But Why The Rate (0.8)??
The rate (0.8) is found by the energy reflection effect on Planets velocities definition, for that we need to analyze the energy reflection process deeply to see how the planet velocity is defined by it - The energy reflection process is discussed deeply in the first hypothesis explanation- let's start its discussion in following…
II- The Hypothesis Explanation In Details
Let's remember the paper first hypothesis
The solar system is one energy moves in space and reflects 3 times - the points of the reflection are the planets- as a result- the planets are created depending on each other by this energy reflection.
In following we discuss the energy reflection process in details because the planet velocity definition proves the planets data is reflected on each other and we here try to see as deep as possible how this reflection process is done – the discussion is divided into 5 items which are
Item No. 1 The Energy Reflection Definition
Item No. 2 The Energy Reflection Proves
Item No. 3 The Energy Reflection Result
Item No. 4 The Energy Reflection Objective
Item No. 5 Saturn Creation Depends On Uranus And The Earth
Let's start our discussion in following
Item No. 1 The Energy Reflection Definition
Here we define the reflection of energy – let's do that in following
The solar system is one energy- this energy moves through the space- we can imagine this energy as a light beam or electromagnetic wave- and- the data tells this energy is reflected- let's suppose this energy is reflected from the point (A) to the point (B)- now- these points (A and B) are planets in the solar system-
That tells, the planet is a point in space on which the energy is reflected- it's difficult to accept such strange idea- BUT
The planets data is more strong than our evaluation- we will see that- the planets data is created by the reflection of energy- this fact is proved strongly and doubtless-
For that I analyze the reflection of energy process in details because by this process the planets are created and the energy cycle is completed- for that – we examine the reflection of energy deeply - Now- let's define the energy reflection in following
(i)
The energy is reflected three times in the solar system- from Pluto to Neptune (1st reflection) and from Uranus to Jupiter (2nd reflection) and from Venus to Mars (3rd reflection)
The first and second reflections are unified and work together as one reflection only (later will explain why) - by that – the solar system has 2 basic reflections- the reflection in the outer planets and the reflection from Venus and Mars
(ii)
The reflection of energy is proved strongly because the planets data are changed as a result- let's write these changes in following
What's used as (A) before the reflection will be used as (1/A) after the reflection.
What's used as (a distance) before the reflection will be used as (a period of time) after the reflection
The velocities be squared –the rate (v1/v2) before reflection will be (v1/v2)^2 after the reflection.
The energy direction is changed by the reflection usually
The players of the rates of time are reflected also –
These changes are found in all reflections of energy- that's why the proof is powerful and can't be refuted because the planets data shows the reflection process details
(iii)
Let's see the changes in the planets data generally
(Venus reflection)
By this reflection of energy Venus orbital circumference 680 million km will be used as Mars orbital period 687 days and it defines Jupiter orbital period (4331 days = 2π x 687 days) and also Saturn orbital period (10747 days = 4π x 687 days x (1/0.8)) where Uranus orbital inclination (0.8 degrees) creates effect on Saturn data
AND
Venus Orbital Period 224.7 days be used as 227.9 million km (Mars orbital distance)
AND
Also the reflection defines the planets diameters by that
Venus circumference 38025 km = Mars Circumference 21346.6 km x 1.772
(π=3.14159= 1.772^2) (more data about this reflection is discussed later)
(The Outer Planets Reflection)
The reflection is done by Jupiter to Uranus, by that, Jupiter orbital circumference 4900 million km will be used as Uranus orbital period 30589 days where (30589 days = 4900 days x 2π and Neptune orbital period 59800 days = 4900 days x 4π and Pluto orbital period 90560 days = 4900 days x 6π
Notice- the reflection in the outer planets depends basically on Saturn and it's more complex than this simple data but I put similar data for comparison and later we will discuss the details
ALSO
The energy reflection at Venus passes above the Earth to Mars- where the Earth moon suffers from the length contraction effect and its motion distance daily is 2.4 mkm = 2.574 mkm (The Earth motion distance daily) / 1.0725
Similar to that
The energy reflection at Jupiter passes above Saturn to Uranus – Where
Saturn suffers from the length contraction effect because
1433 million km (Saturn orbital distance) x 1.0725 = 2 x 778.6 million km (Jupiter orbital distance) - And- the Earth moon daily displacement is 88000 km and during 10747 days the total be 940 million km=The Earth orbital circumference (where 10747 days = Saturn orbital period)
The previous data shows the reflection energy effect generally- it's important because it compares the data in two different groups and proves the data behaviors are similar- that proves these behaviors are caused by the same one cause-
But we will analyze each reflection in more details to see how each data is created
Item No. 2 The Energy Reflection Proves
(a)
Venus reflection of energy is discussed in item no. (4), But - Here We Analyze The Energy Reflections In The Outer Planets- There are two reflections in the outer planets (from Neptune to Saturn) and (from Uranus to Jupiter)- let's explain the energy trajectory
The energy is sent firstly from Pluto to Neptune and then The energy is reflected from Neptune to Saturn–means- it's one reflection is started by Pluto and finished by Saturn- later the energy is reflected one more time from Uranus to Jupiter- but we have to ask- if the energy was in Saturn orbit why this energy is returned again to Uranus? The reason is–Saturn is created as a result for an interaction between Uranus and the Earth- means- Uranus is Saturn Father- and the energy is got by Saturn sent automatically to Uranus and Uranus reflects this energy to Jupiter- we will discuss the process in details later.
AND
I put Saturn and Uranus relationship analysis in point No. (5) to prove that Saturn is Created by Uranus effect-
(b)
Also there's story I have to summarize before the data discussion-
Pluto energy is reflected to Neptune – this is the first reflection- means- Neptune should send this same energy to Uranus and then to Saturn and the other planets-BUT – Neptune didn't send the energy to Uranus but kept the energy in Neptune orbit – Uranus could not release the energy from Neptune orbit- for that- Uranus created the interaction with the Earth to create Saturn – Saturn is the warrior created to release the energy from Neptune orbit- by that Saturn released the energy from Neptune orbit and sent it immediately to Uranus and Uranus reflected this energy one more time toward Jupiter- this story is told in details in the paper discussion – but I need its summary here to know that- the reflection between Neptune and Saturn is older than the reflection between Uranus and Jupiter and also this story tells us the final energy is found in Jupiter- means- the energy is sent from Pluto and reaches finally to Jupiter before to send to the inner planets-
The energy reflection trajectory is very important to explain how the planets data created for that we need to follow this trajectory- let's review is shortly-
The energy is sent from Pluto to Neptune and Saturn forced Neptune to release this energy- by that the first reflection is from (Neptune to Saturn) –the second reflection is from (Uranus to Jupiter) and we understand that Saturn creation depends on Uranus for that the energy is sent (without reflection from Saturn to Uranus)-
The idea is understandable and clear
(c)
The Basic Rule In The Reflection Of Energy
Please pay attention for this rule because this is the major rule in the energy reflection
If the energy is reflected between two planets– that necessitates to have two equal distances are passed by them.
Example
0.4666 mkm (Neptune motion distance per solar day) = Jupiter motion distance in its rotation period
These are 2 equal distances– and this equality is necessary for the energy reflection process because if the two distances are not equal the energy can't be reflected-
This is similar to the radio sending process – the sender and receiver waves should be equivalent otherwise the radio broadcasting can't be got by the receiver-
The two planets should move two equal distances – this is the major requirement to enable the energy reflection process –otherwise the energy can't be reflected – means- the energy can't be sent in the direction defined by the reflection
Shortly- the reflection process defines the energy new direction but the energy is not sending in this direction unless the receiver planet and the sender planet move equal distances- by this method the energy can be sent into the direction defined by the reflection and that enable the energy reflection process to be done - The planets data analysis will explain this rule clearly – Let's start our analysis for the planets data
DATA
DATA NO. 1
1.1318 mkm (Jupiter motion distance per solar day) x 0.8 = 2 x 1.0725 x 0.421 mkm
0.838 mkm (Saturn motion distance per solar day) x 0.8= 2 x 1.0725 x 0.3129 mkm
0.5875 mkm (Uranus motion distance per solar day) x 0.8 = 0.4666 mkm
0.4666 mkm (Neptune motion distance per solar day) x 0.8 = 0.3736 mkm
0.406 mkm (Pluto motion distance per solar day) x 0.8 = 0.3248 mkm
Where
0.4666 mkm = Jupiter Motion Distance In Its Rotation Period
0.3736 mkm = Saturn Motion Distance In Its Rotation Period
0.421 mkm = Uranus Motion Distance In Its Rotation Period
0.3129 mkm = Neptune Motion Distance In Its Rotation Period
DATA NO. 2
(1/0.838 mkm) = 1.17 mkm = 2 x 0.5875 mkm = π x 0.373 mkm
(1/1.1318 mkm) = 0.8835 mkm = 2 x 0.441 mkm
0.4666 mkm = Neptune Motion Distance Per solar day (with 0.441 mkm error 5%)
Notice 9.7 = 5.4 x 1.8 and 13.1 = 6.8 x 1.92 but 1.92 = 1.8 x 1.0725
13.1 km/s = Jupiter velocity 9.7 km/s = Saturn velocity
6.8 km/s = Uranus velocity 5.4 km/s = Neptune velocity
DATA NO. 3
Jupiter Motion Distance In Its Rotation Period = 0.4666 mkm = Neptune Motion Distance Per Solar Day – And – Saturn Motion Distance In Its Rotation Period 0.3736 mkm x π = 2 x 0.5875 mkm Uranus motion distance per solar day
DATA NO. 4
Saturn Motion Distance Per Solar Day 0.838 mkm = 2 x 0.421 mkm Uranus motion distance in its rotation period
Saturn Motion Distance Per Solar Day 1.1318 mkm = 1.8 x 2 x 0.3129 mkm Neptune motion distance in its rotation period
(3.1 deg (Jupiter axial tilt) – 1.3 deg (Jupiter orbital inclination)= 1.8 deg)
1.8 degrees = Neptune orbital inclination- and
(Saturn velocity = Neptune velocity x 1.8)
Notice
(0.3129 x2 /0.4666) = (13.1/9.7) = (47.4/35) = (0.421 /0.3129) = (0.5/0.373)= (24/32.4) = (21.4/16.1)
DATA NO. 5
0.3736 mkm x 3 = 1.1318 mkm
0.3129 mkm x 3 x (2/π)= 0.5875 mkm
DATA NO. 6
0.3736 mkm x π = 1.17 mkm = 1/0.838 mkm= 2 x 0.5875 mkm And
0.4666 mkm x π = 1.46 but (1/1.46 mkm) = 0.685 mkm = 2 x 0.3424 mkm
DATA NO. 7
(a)
0.4666 mkm + 0.3736 mkm + 0.5875 mkm +0.3129 mkm = 1.7406 mkm
1.7406 mkm = (π x 0.5875 mkm)/1.0725 (error 1%)
(b)
9.9 h + 10.7 h + 17.2 h + 16.1 h = 53.9 hours = π x 17.2 hours
(c)
13.1 km/s + 9.7 km/s + 6.8 km/s +5.4 km/s = 35 km/s = 4 x 8.75 km/s
But 8.75 x (17.2/24) = 6.27 km/s = 6.8 km/s /1.0725
(d)
0.4666 mkm + 0.3736 mkm +0.421 mkm +0.3129 mkm = 1.574 mkm = 0.5 mkm x π
DATA NO. 8
(90560/224.7) x 0.406 = 163.6 = (59800/365.25)
(59800/224.7) x 0.4666 x2 = 248 = (90560/365.25)
Notice (0.816)^2 = 2/3 (error 2%)
DISCUSSION
I have an idea can explain this data, let's write it here
Preface
The solar system is one energy moves through the space and this energy is reflected on different points in the space – these points are the planets – For example–The energy is reflected from one point in space to another- the first point is called (Neptune) and the second point is called (Saturn) by that the two planets data is defined based on each other by the energy reflection effect.
Also
The same one energy is reflected one more time between two other points- the first point is called (Uranus) and the second point is called (Jupiter)- by that the two planets data is defined based on each other by the energy reflection effect.
Means
The solar system is one energy moves in space and this energy is reflected on different points in the space- in details the energy is reflected between two points (Neptune and Saturn) and then the same energy is reflected one more time between two other points (Uranus and Jupiter) by that these 4 planets data is created based on each other by the reflection–here we analyze the 4 planets data to prove this idea
DATA NO. 1 (ANALYSIS)
1.1318 mkm (Jupiter motion distance per solar day) x 0.8 = 2 x 1.0725 x 0.421 mkm
0.838 mkm (Saturn motion distance per solar day) x 0.8= 2 x 1.0725 x 0.3129 mkm
0.5875 mkm (Uranus motion distance per solar day) x 0.8 = 0.4666 mkm
0.4666 mkm (Neptune motion distance per solar day) x 0.8 = 0.3736 mkm
0.406 mkm (Pluto motion distance per solar day) x 0.8 = 0.3248 mkm Where
0.4666 mkm = Jupiter Motion Distance In Its Rotation Period
0.3736 mkm = Saturn Motion Distance In Its Rotation Period
0.421 mkm = Uranus Motion Distance In Its Rotation Period
0.3129 mkm = Neptune Motion Distance In Its Rotation Period
Why is the rate (1.0725) found in the data? because the wave (the energy) moves by speed of light (300000 km/s) in Saturn orbit- means- the wave velocity was 205.8 km/s through Pluto, Neptune and Uranus orbits and this wave velocity is accelerated in Saturn orbit and its velocity be = speed of light =300000 km/s, for that reason the rate (1.0725) is created because this is (Lorentz length contraction effect rate) and it can be produced only by motion with speed = (99% speed of light =297000 km/s)- shortly- the wave velocity be equal=speed of light = 300000 km/s in Saturn orbit, for that the rate (1.0725) is used for Saturn and Jupiter data-
The previous data can be explained simply by my idea- the rate (0.8) is produced by the energy reflection for that the distances be equal based on this rate- the equal distances are found by the reflection of energy (as we cause a light beam to be reflected on some mirror we will find that the original light beam energy equal the reflected one and by that both have equal distances- that's why the distances are equal) –
In details- the data shows clearly we have 2 different reflections- first reflection from Neptune to Saturn and the second reflection from Uranus to Jupiter- for that the distances are equal- Jupiter motion distance per solar day defines Uranus motion distance in its rotation period and vice versa- Uranus motion distance per solar day defines Jupiter motion distance in its rotation period- and also- Saturn motion distance per solar day defines Neptune motion distance in its rotation period and vice versa- Neptune motion distance per solar day defines Saturn motion distance in its rotation period-
Please note
(a)
The reflection of energy causes the distances to be equal and by that the planets do their motions for these equal distances that explains how planet data is created – I want to say- the used method here is the equal distances be produced by the reflection of energy- for example- Saturn motion distance per solar day (0.838 mkm) defines Neptune motion distance in its rotation period ( 0.3129 mkm) that means the distance 0.3129 mkm is defined before Neptune rotation period be defined- and Neptune created its rotation period as 16.1 hours to move this distance which is defined by the energy reflection- that explains how Neptune rotation period be =16.1 hours
(b)
The designer uses the planets rotation periods as comparable with the solar day- means- the equal distances should be passed by the planets – let’s use example – the equal distances are 0.421 mkm for Jupiter and Uranus– known that Jupiter velocity is greater than Uranus velocity- equal distances can be passed only if (one planet uses the solar day while the other planet uses its rotation period- by this method the planet rotation period is defined)
Means- planet rotation period is created comparable to the solar day period by the energy reflection process- the idea is simple and understandable (CONT)
Gerges Francis Tawdrous +201022532292
Physics Department- Physics & Mathematics Faculty
Peoples' Friendship university of Russia – Moscow (2010-2013)
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#Best Regards#The Gravitational Waves Reflection In The Solar System#(Analytical Study) (Revised)#https://app.box.com/s/yx3tx5lsvwy4025p4j3mwfeliwhtka07#or#https://app.box.com/s/9wywdejkxqh7x4g791ntf3p3p01kkm8f#https://www.tumblr.com/itsgerges/759715471336570880/the-gravitational-waves-reflection-in-the-solar?source=share#https://gerges2022.livejournal.com/236389.html#Abstract#Paper question#How Is Planet Velocity Defined?#Paper Hypothesis No. (1)#The solar system is one energy moves in space and reflects 3 times - the points#of the reflection are the planets- as a result- the planets are created#depending one each other by this energy reflection.#The Explanation Of The Hypothesis No. (1)#I- Preface#Why do we need to define Planet velocity#here? Because#Planet velocity definition disproves The#Solar System Classical Description.#II- The hypothesis Explanation in details#1- The Energy Reflection Definition#2- The Energy Reflection Proves#3- The Energy Reflection Result#4- The Energy Reflection Objective#5- Saturn Creation Depends On Uranus And The Earth#Let's explain the previous items in#following#I-
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I have recently received another ask about my canvas pulling and since I've been thinking about making a serious tutorial for a while now, I took the opportunity to take some pics and vids while finishing the tree. Do please enjoy :3
1. Why pulling out canvas at all?
Primarily, this is a fantastic technique to apply cross stitch patterns directly to the item you want OR to make patches from old jeans, like this one:

With small patterns I usually don't bother to sew the canvas prior to embroidering, like with the pupper above. In case of the bigger patterns, I usually sew it lightly on the edges just to keep the canvas in one place. The more stretchy the material type is, the more important it's going to be to keep it in place.
2. Why not use a soluble canvas?
I'm sure you can and that they'll be as successful as the regular one 😁 However, as I mentioned in my previous posts here and here, I prefer to err on the side of cheaper, hence the tutorial.
3. Okay. I'm convinced - I even have a pattern embroidered on! What's next?
With small patterns (like the doggo earlier) it's going to be pretty easy. You just pull the threads one by one - preferably starting on the thinnest part of the pattern - and you may not even need the pliers. The fun (?) is with the large pieces, because the canvas has on average quite fragile threads and they like to break. Note - the canvas I'm using and I suppose most of the existing canvas types, will have four threads per one embroidery row. It's usually easier to pull one first and then the other three, bit that may vary when, for example, you managed to pierce the thread during stitching phase earlier 😉
If you were already careful during the stitching, you paid extra attention to embroider EXACTLY between the canvas threads and avoid piercing them at all. There are two benefits to that being extra careful: one, it's easier to pull it out later; two, the stitching gains an extra precision to it (and it looks great!). I recently discover that the round tip needle is making it much easier and if you're interested, there's a separate post about it as well!
On to the process! You can see from the pictures how I started with cutting out a piece of canvas that I can later reuse for something small (recycling is my hobby 🤷🏻♀️). I also pulled loose threads from around the tree:

Next part was to clean up the trunk and the grass on the right:

I then cut off the excess to avoid the threads tangling and slowly moved to the sides of the leaves on right and left:



You'll notice that the last photo has the thread pulled halfway through the pattern. That's because on this stage it's usually impossible to simply pull the thread out - even with the pliers it is just going to break off. I use a needle to pluck it from between the embroidery like this:

If you're more of the visual learner, I made this vid that I hope explains the process in more detail. You'll notice that I'm using my fingers and not the pliers here, because it's faster than to switch between tools.
And finally, when you're left with single direction threads like these, it's just a matter of pulling them out one by one.

And that's it! The final product looks clean and neat, AND you will notice that without the canvas beneath it's also getting a bit of volume that looks cool (and helps even out small mistakes you may have made along the way).


Thanks for reading this far! Let me know if there's something else I forgot to explain 😊
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𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧
pairings: platonic yandere!batfam x uninterested!male!reader summary: After being caught red handed stealing, (name) finds himself in the Wayne Manor, surrounded by his new family. (Name)'s disinterested in bonding is met with equally not caring siblings and father. As he spends his days alone, (name) realises his new family might care much more than he originally thought the did. cw: stealing, swearing, a/n: there isn't really anything triggering in this part yet, but I want to start warning from the beginning since it will turn dark in next parts based on this idea I had
m.list �� part: one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine

Commissioner Gordon makes another lap around the interrogation room, trying to think of something that would make his detainee finally talk. He looks back at the teenager. Gordon knows he can't keep the boy there for long as he's still underage. The commissioner is used to the teenagers that were caught giving out any needed information easily, most too scared of the possible consequences they might be facing. The teenage boy who was brought in today seemed like a hard one to crack, with a few police officers giving up on trying after the first hour of the boy being there. Usually Gordon would send for yet another officer to try to rip out any information, but after hearing one of them suggest to just let the teenager go with a warning that next time he would be caught, it wouldn't be so nice. The commissioner couldn't just allow them to release the boy, knowing that he matches the description of a thief who was roaming around the area and also finding multiple stolen items in the boy's possession.
It had been an hour since Gordon came in the interrogation room, thinking it would be a quick task. He thought that the years of experience he had would make gathering information about teenagers' parents an easy job. As it turns out, Commissioner Gordon couldn't be more wrong.
"Listen, we not only caught you stealing but also in possession of stolen goods." The commissioner states, pretending to read over the files other officers filled in on the boy. "If you tell us a way to contact your parents, I'm sure we could sort this out without a big punishment." He looks up at the teenager, making sure his voice sounds as sincere as he can muster it to be.
Gordon watches the teenager carefully, waiting for the smallest of changes. Nothing happens. The teenager's expression remains stoic; not a single muscle moved at the mention of his parents. The boy's sight never leaves the one stop he picked at the table, his eyes remaining locked there, even when Gordon first came inside the room.
"Kid, I understand that you might be scared, but I promise you that I'll talk to your parents and explain everything to them." Gordon chooses his words carefully, using every trick he learnt over his years as a commissioner, hoping to gain a grain of trust from the boy.
"I don't have parents," the boy responds after a while, his eyes never meeting the commissioner's.
Gordon is taken aback by the teenager's statement. For a moment he thinks that he might be crossing a line, his mind wondering if the boy might truly not have any alive parents. But then, he takes another look at the teenager, who didn't even move any unnecessary muscles, apart from the ones needed for speaking. Something about his stoic face made Gordon believe that the boy was simply hiding the identities of his guardians. The commissioner sighs, trying to think of a different approach, something to make the boy talk. He decides to sit across from the teenager, grabbing his case file.
"Let's start with something easier then." Gordon reads through the little information previous officers managed to gather on the boy, picking something he believes would be easy to give out. "Why don't you tell me your name, just your first name? That's all I want."
The teenager stays quiet for a while, making Gordon think he chose the wrong way to go about it. Just when the commissioner was about to ask a different question, the boy looked up from the table to stare directly into Gordon's eyes. Both of them hold eye contact for a while before the boy speaks up, catching the commissioner off guard:
"(Name)." The teenager's voice was barely audible in the quiet interrogation room.
"What was that?" Gordon leaned forward, straining to hear.
"I'm (Name)." The boy repeated louder, finally looking up from the steel table to meet Gordon's eyes.
"Alright, (Name)." Gordon wrote the name in his file, the scratch of his pen unnaturally loud. "And how old are you?"
"Seventeen."
The commissioner nodded, filling in another blank. His shoulders relaxed slightly – finally making progress. "And your parents' names?"
"I don't have any." (Name)’s expression didn’t change.
"Don't make me bring out the big guns, kid." Gordon's pen stopped mid-word.
"I'm not lying." The boy's voice stayed flat. "I don't have parents."
"Listen, everybody has parents." Irritation crept into Gordon's tone.
"Well, I don't." The teenager shrugged, his face unreadable. "Not as far as I know, anyway."
The boy's response made Gordon realise he might be talking to a kid that was either thrown out of their house recently or an orphan. He looks over the file, trying to think of how to learn the kid's parent's current status. He knows that without that knowledge, his hands are practically tied.
"I warned you, kid," Gordon's voice deepened, his eyes filled with irritation.
Commissioner Gordon doesn't wait for (name) to reply; he stands up, leaving the room. The man's leave brought confusion to the teenager. Just as the boy started standing up to look for a way to escape the interrogation room, the door opened. Gordon came inside with two more people trailing behind him, one of them carrying a briefcase.
"I'm afraid you left us with no other choice," Gordon states, his tone stripped of any emotion. Every person in the room can tell he's tired of this situation. "We're going to have to run a DNA test to determine your parents whereabouts. You'll also be staying in here until that's figured out."
None of the adults in the room wait for the boy to respond, as they begin to set up everything for his DNA sample. He doesn't protest, already knowing where his parents were. Or at least where his mother was, as he never really met his father. (Name) highly doubted they would be able to contact his father, and he could use not having to worry about food and water for the next few days. He's planning to enjoy the luxury of the amenities a cell in the police station offers. After the test results return, he'll make sure to escape before they manage to do anything about them.
Gordon is amazed about the lack of fight from the boy, watching him politely open his mouth so the officers could take the sample. The commissioner starts to wonder where this energy was when the teenager was asked questions.
When the officers were securing the sample, Gordon brought (name) to one of the cells. He decides to put the boy into the only single cell they have, not wanting him to be stuck in a small space with dangerous adults. The commissioner makes sure to go over the rules and the time dinner is brought as he uncuffs the boy. He lingers around the cell, a part of him hoping that (name) might say something, only to be met with silence. Gordon sighs before returning to his office, leaving the teenager alone.
A few days later (name) finds himself standing on his tippytoes, trying to see if he could remove the bars from the window, when two voices from outside his cell catch his attention. He recognises one of them as Commissioner Gordons. The boy thinks the unknown one must belong to a recently caught criminal or somebody's bail. As he hears them approaching, he quickly moves away, not wanting to be caught planning out his escape. The teenager sits down on his bed, finding an interesting crack in the wall to stare at.
"That's him?" The man dressed in a suit asks, his eyes brushing over the boy in the cell. Gordon confirms, also staring at the boy, trying to think of a way to tell him who the man is.
"(Name), we have found your father." Gordon doesn't want to beat around the bush, knowing the boy long enough to know it wouldn't work on him. "I want you to meet Bruce Wayne."
The teenager looks at the man the commissioner introduced as his father, judging the way he presents himself. Seeing the man dressed in a fancy suit, looking as if he owns the place. It's making (name) regret not begging the police officers to just put him through trial like an adult. Perhaps then he wouldn't have to meet his 'father' that looks like he has a stick so far up his ass it might burst through his mouth at any moment.
Bruce, after noticing the boy staring at him, also takes a moment to take in the way his supposed son looks like. The man sees the way (name)'s eyes move from one part of his body to the other. Bruce studies the teenager's face, the clothes he has on his back, and the way the boy is sitting on the bed. The more Bruce is staring at the teenager, the more similarities he finds in (name).
"It's nice to meet you." Bruce's voice is much lower than the boy thought it would be. He wasn't sure how to feel about the man that's supposed to be his father.
The teenager doesn't reply; if it weren't for the rises and falls of his form as the boy is breathing, Bruce might just mistake him for a statue. The two of them continue staring at each other before Commissioner Gordon grabs Bruce's attention. He explains to the man how (name) seems to only respond when he deems it necessary. Bruce nods, asking about the papers he might need to file to get the boy out of the cell. The commissioner asks the man to follow him, and both of them leave, not looking back at the teenager in the cell.
(Name) isn't left there for too long; he doesn't even have much time to process what just happened. Next thing he knows, some officer is opening his cell, asking him to come out. The teenager follows the officer, making sure to look out for any possible runaway route. The wonder in his eyes around the space the boy is in doesn't go unnoticed by Bruce.
"You're going to behave as we walk into the car; no running away." Bruce makes sure his is only heard by the boy in front of him; he doesn't have time for games. "If you pull something like that, I'll send you straight back into that cell."
When no response falls out of the teenager's mouth, Bruce turns around and starts walking out of the police station with the boy quietly following him behind. The police officers, who had the pleasure of meeting the kid on his first day there, fully expected (name) to put up a fight or maybe even run away. When neither of those things happen, they're shocked but glad they didn't have to run after a runaway kid.
The walk to Bruce's car isn't long, as the man parked right in front of the building. Bruce gestures for the boy to get inside as he walks to the other side of the car. (Name) decides to sit in the backseat, hoping to create as much space between himself and the stranger as it was possible. The soft humming of the car relaxes the boy a bit, but not enough to put his guard down.
As Bruce drives a familiar route through the city, it hits him that he hasn't heard his son's voice even once since he met the boy. He sees the opportunity for a conversation when the car is forced to stop at a red light. Bruce uses the rearview mirror to check on (name) in the backseat. He notices the way the teenager is sitting, staring out the window. Bruce studies the boy's expression, the way his eyes are watching something outside in melancholy. He tries to think of something to say, anything that would make the teenage boy finally answer him.
"I heard about your mother; sorry you had to go through that alone," Bruce says, his voice as soft as he could make it be.
The teenager's only response is a small shrug of his shoulders, his eyes never leaving the window. Bruce fights the urge to roll his eyes. He knows what (name) must be feeling; Gordon told him that the boy probably lost his mother recently. He, however, believes that the loss of a parent doesn't excuse the teenager from acting like a brat.
The rest of the ride is quiet, neither of the people inside the car wanting to speak up. Bruce gave up on further bonding with the child, fully labelling him as entitled and deciding that if (name) wants to act like a brat, then he will be treated like one too.
Bruce pulls up into the driveway; he spares another glance at the boy in the backseat before telling him to get out of the car. He exits as well and starts walking up to the front door with teenagers silent footsteps following behind. Both of them barely making it to the door when a man with grey hair, dressed in a butler's clothes, opens them.
(Name) unsurely steps inside the manor as every fibre of his body is screaming how he doesn't belong in there. As they step in further into the space, the boy takes a moment to look around, making a note to check for every possible escape route, just in case. (Name) is so focused on analysing the room he's in that he doesn't notice that his 'father' began walking up the stairs, clearly no longer interested in the teenager. Only Bruce's voice snaps the boy out of the trance:
"Alfred, please show the boy his room" is the last thing Bruce says before retreating upstairs.
The butler nods at his 'father's' request, asking the boy to follow him. In an instinct, he moves to grab whatever the bag the child may have, only to notice that (name) doesn't have anything with him other than the clothes on his back. Alfred makes a note to ask other boys in the manor to borrow some of their unused clothes for their new brother to wear.
As the two of them make their way into the boy's new room, (name) once again becomes extremely wary of his surroundings. He makes sure to remember how many doors they have passed. The teenager can't help but wonder at how effective the huge windows in the hall would be as an escape route. (Name) quickly gets rid of this idea, knowing that the windows in his new room would be a thousand times better for that.
"And here's your room…" Alfred begins his sentence as he opens one of the doors far into the hall. "My apologies, young master, I'm afraid I haven't caught your name."
"Alfred, right?" The boy asks, unsure if he remembered correctly what Bruce had referred to the older man as. The butler nods, smiling softly. "I'm (name), just (name). Please, don't refer to me as 'young master'; it would mean a lot."
"Of course, (name). I would keep it in mind," Alfred replied, causing the boy to smile ever so slightly. "I shall leave you to get comfortable and check if anyone is willing to borrow their clothes," he adds as he steps closer to the door, getting ready to leave.
"Please, don't." The boy's voice stops Alfred in his tracks, making him turn around. "I would rather wear my own."
"I must insist." Alfred wants to reason with the boy, noticing the grime on the boy's clothes.
"It's fine, really," (name) reassures, forcing himself to form a small smile, hoping the butler would just give in. "I could go back home to grab them tomorrow or something."
"Then I shall accompany you," Alrder declares, his back straightening slightly, showing the teenager that he won't back down.
"I could go by myself," the boy said, the last thing he wanted was to bring anyone from his family to his home. His real home.
"I'm more than happy to help you with the move, (name)." Alfred smiles, wanting to reassure the boy that he doesn't mean any harm. (Name) sighs in defeat.
"Alright, if you say so," the boy mumbles, his shoulders slouching. He's not sure how much longer he'll be able to put up with all of that, being way too used to being alone.
Alfred leaves, letting the boy know that someone would come and bring him over to the dining room for dinner. Once (name) is sure that nobody will be barging into the room anytime soon, he looks over the entire room. He makes sure to check every piece of furniture, every drawer, for anything that he could use in case he had to protect himself. Upon not finding anything useful, he gave up, hoping that his fists would be enough in case of an emergency.
Since the boy didn't find anything in the room, he moves over to the bathroom, wanting to clean himself up. He couldn't really do that at the police station. In the room he finds small versions of everyday products like some shower gel, some toothpaste and more. The teenager now knows that he must be in one of the guest bedrooms in the manor. That thought made him feel a little better. Being in the guest bedroom means he probably wouldn't be staying there for too long.
Feeling freshened up, as much as he could be due to the clothes he was forced to wear for the past few days, he decided to rest on the bed. (Name) already had a chance at feeling how comfortable it was when he was checking the room. He decided to lie down for just a minute, not wanting to put his guard down too much. The warmth of the bed successfully distracts the boy from all of his fears, pulling him into a slumber.
It wasn't till a few hours later that a knock on the door pulled (name) out of his sleep. The boy shoots up, not wanting to be caught vulnerable. He shifted his position into one he could easily take down the attacker. When the doors finally open, just to reveal that Alfred was behind them, (name) relaxes. He knows the man won't be much of a threat.
"I left Master Damian in charge of calling you over for dinner; it seems as if he forgot," Alfred explains, his face stoic. "I have brought you something." He puts the plate he was holding onto the desk, the aroma of the food slowly filling up the room.
"That's alright, Alfred," the boy said, his eyes not leaving the food the butler just brought. "I wasn't that hungry anyway," he lies; he might be hungry, but he's not hungry enough to risk getting poisoned.
"Please, eat up." Alfred encourages the boy, noticing the hunger in his eyes. "I'll make sure that your absence won't be overlooked by the family anymore."
With his declaration, Alfred leaves. (Name) once again is left alone in the room. He stares at the food the butler has brought, unsure if he should eat it or not, still not trusting anyone in the house. The smell of the food, however, made the boy give in. He grabs the food from the desk, slowly munching on it, still sitting on the bed.
As (name) eats the food prepared by Alfred, he tries to think about his next step. He hoped that the butler would allow him to collect his things by himself, giving him a way of fleeing without much work. But with Alfred's desire to help him out, that plan is now out of the window. The boy knows he has to come up with something fast, not wanting to stay in the manor for longer than necessary. That, however, would have to be done another time. The teenager's only focus for now would be to retreat all of his belongings from his real home to here. His great escape plan has to wait until then.

m.list • part: one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine
#yandere batfam#yandere dc#platonic yandere#yandere bruce wayne#yandere dick grayson#yandere jason todd#yandere damian wayne#yandere alfred pennyworth#yandere batman#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x male reader#yandere x y/n#yandere x you#soft yandere#yandere tim drake#yandere cassandra cain#yandere barbara gordon#yandere stephanie brown#featured
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My Woman | K.Mg

Pairing: Ceo!Mingyu x Directors!Reader
Genre: fluff, established relationship
Summary: Everyone in the building hate your leadership and start to think that you were only able to secure the position because of your husband, the CEO.
Been letting this one sitting in my folder for 6 months??? Anyway, enjoy!🧚♀️
Since you were appointed as the new director of Tasty Kim, a food label under Kim Group, the atmosphere in the company has been anything but welcoming. The former director, despite being demoted for money laundering from company production costs, was beloved for his friendly and tolerant nature. The staff had grown accustomed to his easy-going management style.
In contrast, you introduced a series of new regulations focused on discipline and time management. Your strict approach to auditing has caused considerable stress among the staff, who are struggling to keep up with your demands.
"I want the file on my desk tomorrow at 10," you demanded, your voice leaving no room for negotiation.
When it wasn't there, your frustration was palpable. "Why isn't it on my desk?" you asked sharply.
"You had 8 hours of work yesterday; what were you doing?" Your tone conveyed the gravity of their oversight.
"This isn't the first time, and I won't tolerate this kind of negligence. I'll be reporting you to the HR team. You can explain yourself to them."
The tension in the office is undeniable, and it's clear that your expectations are clashing with the staff's previous work culture. But to transform Tasty Kim into a more efficient and successful entity, you believe these changes are necessary, even if they are met with resistance initially.
And that's how people started to think you were only able to manage the position because of your husband, Kim Mingyu, the current CEO of Kim Group. Rumors began to circulate, whispering that your authority stemmed more from nepotism than merit. The staff's skepticism grew, casting a shadow over every decision you made. Yet, you remained resolute, determined to prove that your leadership was defined by your capabilities, not your connections.
Your professionalism was proven when you delivered your protest to none other than your own husband, Kim Mingyu, the current CEO of Kim Group. He had ordered every label under Kim Group to push revenue expectations while cutting costs. A heated debate ensued shortly thereafter. You explained to the board that cutting costs for Tasty Kim would only result in a decrease in quality.
No one knew how hard you worked for the company. Everyone just thought you were the queen of the Kim Group, a mere decoration to fill the space, a director without any competence to lead the company.
One day, you opened your email to find hundreds of hate messages, likely sent by disgruntled workers. Sometimes, packages would be delivered to you, containing nasty items that you knew were from your employees. Did you report this to HR? No, you chose to ignore everything, focusing solely on the company's needs.
But there was one person who always treated you like a human in this company. Mr. Song, the security guard, always greeted you with a warm smile, just as he had done for the past 15 years, when you still worked for Mingyu's father as his secretary till now. He might be the only person who truly knew who you were and how hard you worked for this company. Other workers had zero idea that you had been with the company since your twenties.
Mr. Song's small acts of kindness were a beacon of hope in an otherwise hostile environment. His understanding and quiet support reminded you that someone appreciated your dedication. Despite the loneliness and the endless challenges, those brief moments with Mr. Song gave you the strength to persevere.
You're not just Kim Mingyu's wife.
"You're not sleeping?" Mingyu asked, his voice soft as he entered your home office.
You turned your head to him, closing the file on your desk as you watched him approach. "Are they sleeping?" you asked, referring to your 5-year-old twin sons. He nodded.
"Still have work to do? Need help?" Mingyu offered, and you shook your head.
"I'm done. Just checking a few things," you said with a tired smile.
Mingyu sat on the couch near your desk. "Seungcheol hyung said he was visiting," he told you, and you hummed in acknowledgment.
"No, I actually called him to come," you informed him, and Mingyu chuckled.
"Just like I guessed. Is something wrong with the company? The last time I checked, Tasty Kim has been the most stable since you took over."
You rubbed your face, a gesture that concerned Mingyu. "I just need a few pieces of advice. I think I'm a cold woman."
Mingyu didn't deny it outright. "You are," he said carefully.
Your brow raised in surprise. "Really?" A pang of disappointment colored your face, and Mingyu immediately shook his head.
"No, I mean, sometimes you are. But you're a warm lover and mother."
Lover and mother. Those words echoed in your mind.
"Maybe it's been too long since I focused so intensely on the company," you murmured, a hint of doubt creeping into your voice.
"Why?" Mingyu asked, curiosity in his eyes, not fully understanding what you were referring to.
"Let's go to sleep," you told him, standing from your seat and reaching for his hand.
He took it, squeezing gently. "Alright, let's get some rest. We'll figure everything out together."
As you walked out of your home office, you felt a small measure of comfort in his words. Even amid the challenges and doubts, you knew you weren't alone.
*
Mingyu's disbelief turned to anger as he examined the photos of the gruesome package and the disturbing emails that Chan, your secretary, had detailed. His jaw tightened with fury as he realized the extent of the harassment you had endured since taking on the role at Tasty Kim.
"What is this?" Mingyu demanded, his voice laced with frustration as he glanced at Hansol for confirmation.
Hansol nodded grimly, showing him the evidence again. "These were sent to her office. It's been ongoing for months," he explained, his own expression reflecting the seriousness of the situation.
Mingyu's mind raced as he tried to piece together the implications. "Is this related to what you discussed with Seungcheol?" he wondered, his concern for your safety evident in his widened eyes.
He wasted no time in contacting Seungcheol, demanding an explanation. Seungcheol sighed heavily as he recounted the events that had unfolded over the past months.
"It's clear this is coming from Mr. Park's circle," Seungcheol explained wearily. "They've been spreading malicious rumors about her and now escalating to these actions. I've urged her to take action to track them down before it escalates further."
Mingyu's anger simmered as he absorbed the gravity of the situation. "We need to act swiftly," he declared, his voice firm and determined. "I want those responsible identified and dealt with immediately. This ends now."
Mingyu's mind raced back to the day he had to make the tough decision to fire Mr. Park. His audit team had uncovered illegal activities involving company funds, actions that nearly drove the label to bankruptcy. If not for your diligent efforts in handling the crisis at Tasty Kim—your first company role ever—Mingyu knew the outcome could have been devastating.
It had been six challenging months since you formally took the helm, but the results were undeniable. Under your leadership, Tasty Kim's performance had significantly improved. Your dedication and strategic decisions had turned the tide, restoring stability and fostering growth within the company.
As Mingyu reflected on the recent incidents targeting you, his resolve strengthened. He couldn't allow the malicious actions of Mr. Park's associates to undermine all the progress you had achieved.
Mingyu instructed Hansol to work closely with Chan to expedite the search for the culprits behind the malicious acts. His tone was resolute as he outlined the urgency of identifying and addressing the threats targeting you and Tasty Kim.
"We need to move swiftly on this. I want regular updates on the progress."
Hansol nodded in understanding, his expression mirroring Mingyu's seriousness. "Understood, sir. We'll start immediately," he assured, turning to leave the office with purpose.
Mingyu tucked the twins into bed as he always did, Han mentioned something unexpected. "Mom was crying, I saw her crying in her office," Han whispered softly, his eyes wide with concern.
Hoon quickly covered Han's mouth and leaned in close. "Mom said not to tell Dad," he whispered urgently.
Mingyu's heart clenched at the revelation. He hadn't expected to hear this, and the thought of you in tears weighed heavily on his mind. He finished tucking the boys in, trying to keep his expression calm despite the turmoil inside.
After tucking the twins in and assuring them everything was alright, Mingyu quietly made his way. As he entered your room, he found you slumped over your desk, fast asleep amidst scattered reports and documents. Mingyu's heart sank at the sight of your exhaustion, etched deeply in the lines of your face. Gently, he gathered the papers into a neat pile and carefully lifted you into his arms.
You stirred slightly as he carried you to the bedroom, your head resting against his shoulder. Mingyu laid you down on the bed, pulling the blankets over you with tender care. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his heart aching with the desire to protect you from any further distress.
The next morning, Hansol hurriedly informed Mingyu that Chan had located the culprits and had them gathered in the conference room. Mingyu's expression hardened with determination upon hearing the news.
"Keep them there. I'm on my way," Mingyu replied briskly, his voice tinged with controlled anger.
He swiftly made his way to your company, each step echoing his urgency to address the situation. Mingyu entered the conference room where Hansol and Chan stood solemnly by the door, waiting for his arrival. Inside, the culprits sat uncomfortably, their uneasy glances exchanging silent admissions of guilt.
Mingyu entered with a commanding presence, his gaze sweeping over the group with intensity. His jaw was set, a silent testament to his resolve to confront those responsible for causing distress to you and disrupting the company's harmony.
"You've caused significant harm to this company," Mingyu began, his voice steady but stern. "Your actions have not only targeted my wife unfairly but have also undermined the trust and morale of our team at Tasty Kim."
He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle in the room. The culprits shifted uncomfortably under Mingyu's piercing gaze, realizing the gravity of their actions and the consequences they now faced.
"I want each of you to explain yourselves," Mingyu continued, his tone unwavering. "Justify why you thought it acceptable to engage in such disgraceful behavior."
One by one, they offered fragmented explanations, some stumbling over their words while others struggled to meet Mingyu's unwavering gaze. He listened intently, his disappointment palpable as their excuses fell short of justification.
"This ends now," Mingyu declared firmly, his voice cutting through the tension in the room. "Effective immediately, you are terminated from Tasty Kim."
The culprits exchanged nervous glances, realizing the severity of their fate. Mingyu turned to Hansol and Chan with a nod, silently instructing them to escort the individuals out of the room and off the premises.
Mingyu turned as he heard the distinctive click of your heels approaching. He straightened, a mixture of surprise and admiration crossing his features as you walked toward him with purpose. You bowed politely, a gesture of respect that momentarily caught him off guard.
"What brings you to this company without notice?" you asked, your tone calm yet curious, as you stood before him with unwavering composure.
Mingyu's gaze softened as he looked at you, struck by your strength and determination even in the face of recent challenges. "I needed to ensure everything was handled," he replied, his voice filled with a mix of concern and gratitude. "And to support you."
You stood before Mingyu, your expression serious yet composed. The click of your heels echoed faintly in the hallway as you spoke, addressing him directly but respectfully.
"I appreciate your swift action in handling the situation," you began, your voice steady. "However, these individuals are my team members. I understand the severity of their actions, but I believe termination may not be the only solution."
Mingyu regarded you thoughtfully, sensing the underlying tension in your words. "They have caused significant harm," he replied, his tone firm yet open to discussion. "Their actions were detrimental to both you and the company."
You nodded, acknowledging the seriousness of the situation. "I agree that their behavior cannot be condoned," you continued, choosing your words carefully. "But I believe there may be alternative measures we can consider—perhaps disciplinary actions or retraining."
Mingyu's frustration was palpable as he listened to your response. He had expected solidarity in his decision, given the severity of the situation. Yet, your stance on considering alternatives to termination seemed to undermine the gravity of the offenses committed against you and the company.
"Your compassion is commendable, but these actions cannot go unpunished," Mingyu stated firmly, his voice tinged with disappointment. "They crossed a line that jeopardized everything we've worked for."
You met his gaze evenly, understanding the weight of his words but steadfast in your belief. "I agree that consequences are necessary," you countered, your tone measured. "But I believe in second chances and rehabilitation, especially when it comes to our team members."
Mingyu sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "This isn't just about rehabilitation," he argued, his voice slightly raised with emotion. "It's about setting a precedent. We cannot allow such behavior to repeat itself."
You maintained your composure, sensing his frustration but staying firm in your conviction. "I understand your concerns," you replied calmly. "But I believe we can address this while still upholding our values of fairness and redemption."
Silence hung in the air for a moment as Mingyu processed your words. Finally, he nodded reluctantly. "Fine," he conceded, though his expression remained stern. "But I expect strict monitoring and zero tolerance moving forward."
You nodded in agreement, relieved that he had accepted your approach, albeit reluctantly.
After the tense discussion in the hallway, Mingyu expressed his desire to speak with you privately. Without hesitation, you nodded and gestured for him to follow you to your office. The click of your heels echoed softly in the corridor as you led him through the bustling office environment.
Once inside your office, you closed the door behind you, creating a brief moment of privacy amidst the hectic day. Mingyu stood near the window, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression a mix of frustration and concern.
Mingyu's demeanor softened when he stare at your eyes. His shoulders relaxed, and a flicker of relief crossed his face as he turned towards you. Without a word, he closed the distance between you, his arms enveloping you in a comforting embrace.
Surprised but touched by his gesture, you leaned into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his presence and the reassurance it brought. Mingyu held you close, his touch conveying both support and gratitude for your partnership in navigating the challenges they faced together.
In that moment of shared understanding and solidarity, the tension that had lingered between you dissolved. Mingyu's embrace was a silent affirmation of trust and unity, a reminder that despite any disagreements, you were a team united in purpose.
Mingyu's concern was evident in his expression as he spoke softly, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "Why didn't you tell me about what was happening?" he asked gently, his eyes searching yours for an explanation.
You met his gaze evenly, appreciating his genuine concern. "I wanted to handle it," you replied honestly, your voice steady. "I didn't want to burden you with the details, especially when you have so much on your plate already."
Mingyu nodded slowly, understanding your perspective but still feeling a pang of regret. "You're not a burden," he assured you earnestly. "We're partners, and I want to support you through everything."
You sighed softly, feeling the weight of his words and the comfort they offered. "I know," you replied sincerely. "But I thought I could handle it on my own."
Mingyu gently touched your arm, his touch reassuring. "We're stronger together," he reminded you gently. "Next time, please don't hesitate to share."
You nodded, grateful for his understanding and support. "I promise," you replied, a small smile touching your lips. "I won't keep things from you again."
With Mingyu's hand still on your arm, you both shared a moment of quiet understanding and solidarity.
*
A year later, Tasty Kim celebrated its 35th anniversary with grandeur and nostalgia. Mingyu stood proudly on stage, addressing the gathered crowd with a mix of reverence and pride. Behind him hung a large portrait of his late father, the founder of Tasty Kim, symbolizing the legacy that had brought them to this milestone.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Mingyu began, his voice carrying a tone of deep respect. "Today marks a significant milestone for Tasty Kim. Thirty-five years ago, my father founded this company with a vision of excellence and innovation in the culinary world."
He paused briefly, his gaze sweeping over the audience before settling on you, seated among the distinguished guests. A warm smile graced his lips as he continued, "I stand here today not only as the CEO of Kim Group but also as a son honoring his father's legacy."
Mingyu's voice filled with emotion as he acknowledged your pivotal role in their journey. "I would be remiss not to mention the woman who has been my colleague, my business partner, and the mother of my children," he said, his words carrying a depth of gratitude and admiration. "She has been my rock, guiding Tasty Kim with wisdom and grace."
The audience applauded warmly, recognizing your significant contribution to the company's success. Mingyu continued, his voice unwavering with pride, "Together, we have faced challenges and celebrated triumphs. Today, we honor not just the past but also the future we continue to build together."
As Mingyu concluded his speech, he stepped down from the podium and walked over to where you were seated. With a gentle smile, he took your hand in his, a silent gesture of appreciation and unity that spoke volumes about the partnership and love that had shaped their journey at Tasty Kim.
*
"Mr. Kim, we need to report this to the HR team," you insisted firmly.
Mr. Kim raised his hand to stop you. "No, Ms. Ji," he said calmly. "It's alright."
"I took this as feedback from my workers," he continued, his tone resolute.
Confusion etched on your face, you met his gaze. "What? This is crossing the line, Mr. Kim," you countered.
He shook his head, his expression serious. "They must have had a reason to do this. I'm glad that the people I work with didn't stay silent when something went wrong."
"Find them for me," Mr. Kim instructed firmly, his voice carrying a blend of authority and understanding. "Let me have a talk with whoever did this."
Later, you discovered it was a new security member who had incidentally seen his payments reduced due to new regulations on security members whenever items went missing from their secured areas.
"His name is Mr. Song. He has been here for five months,"
#seventeen fanfic#seventeen imagines#seventeen angst#densworld🌼#seventeen scenarios#seventeen series#seventeen drabbles#seventeen fanfiction#mingyu imagines#mingyu oneshot#mingyu fanfic#mingyu au#mingyu fluff#mingyu angst#mingyu svt#svt fanfic#svt scenarios#seventeen seungcheol#Seventeen#seventeen fic#seventeen imagine
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Soul Shanked 4/4
Main Masterlist Here
One Piece Masterlist
Soul Shanked Masterlist
Chapter Title: A Man Worth Hitting (and Maybe Loving) Length: 10 K+
FINISHED
Previous
(Looking for a Beckman epilogue ;)
Taglist: @wontknowbetter, @sleepydang @flav1a0 @pleasantkittenpersona @heartsforseo + For all the baddies who helped protest this weekend.
The scent of salt and canvas was the first thing to pull you from sleep.
It didn’t belong.
Neither did the creaking of wood beneath your back, nor the low murmur of male voices drifting from beyond the wall. You stirred slowly, awareness returning like the tide. Thick, uncertain, then all at once.
The hammock was too firm. The sheets smelled like sun and steel. There was sea movement.
This room wasn’t yours.
You sat up abruptly.
It was a ship’s cabin, small but clean and well-kept. Morning light spilled through a single porthole, casting a soft glow over the tangled blankets.
Someone had left a folded nightgown on the chair beside the hammock. It was yours, freshly washed.
There was also a tray with a cup of tea, still faintly warm and scented with lemon. Thoughtful. Too thoughtful.
You moved to the window.
Outside, a red flag flapped in the wind, bearing a familiar Jolly Roger.
And not a speck of land in sight.
Your stomach dropped.
Shanks.
You were on his ship.
Shanks had kidnapped you.
He stolen you.
You were now a heist item.
You swung your legs over the hammock's edge, breath shallow, fury waking faster than your balance. You cussed him out in at least three languages, two of them fluently, one of them mostly just creative growling.
Shanks had taken you from Amazon Lily without so much as a little goodbye, while you were sleeping.
Like some overconfident pirate raccoon with a romantic streak and no impulse control.
You stood, wobbling slightly, and scanned the room again, and yep, still kidnapped on a ship. And very few places to hide the murder weapon that you were going to need in about five minutes.
The throb of your soulmark indicated the distance of the victim.
You stormed up the stairs barefoot, hair wild, heart racing, slamming open the hatch. Sunlight crashed against you like a wave, making you wince. It takes a minute to adjust. Dozens of eyes turned to you, men of every size and color, pausing mid-task. A few adjusted their grips on swords, but most just stared at the sight.
A woman. You. On the Red Force.
Barefoot. Disheveled. Murder in your gaze.
And then, him.
Shanks was leaning against a barrel by the door, a wine bottle in one hand and his shirt half-unbuttoned, flapping dramatically in the sea breeze. He was laughing at something one of his crewmates had said.
Until he saw your face.
He stopped cold.
Then, without a word, he turned and casually walked to the other side of the deck, like that would help.
He was absolutely in deep shit, and he knew it.
“Thought I felt a tug,” he called, flashing that grin that filled the entire damn sky. “Morning, sweetheart.”
You growled.
Shanks looked like a man who hadn’t slept, hadn’t regretted it, and wasn’t planning to. That only made it worse.
He was using his crew as a human shield.
It didn’t work.
You crossed the deck in six thunderous strides and slapped the bottle clean out of his hand. It hit the railing and somersaulted overboard with a perfectly timed, mocking plunk.
Dozens of pirates paused.
Some froze mid-coil, rope in hand. Others looked up from polishing blades or shifting barrels. A tall, dark-haired man with a pipe between his teeth raised an eyebrow. Another, younger, let out a low whistle.
You stood there barefoot, in a rumpled linen nightshirt, radiating fury.
“…Oh,” said the man with the pipe behind you. “She’s awake.”
“I can explain,” Shanks said, wearing a smile that was far too sorry and far too late.
“Can you?” You snapped. “Because I’m forming a pretty solid theory. It involves sleeping powder, a pirate abduction, and you losing your damn mind!”
Behind you, someone coughed. Another voice murmured, “Dibs on his sword if she kills him.”
“Crew not helping, thanks,” Shanks muttered, not taking his eyes off you.
You took one dangerous step forward.
He flinched.
You pointed at him, trembling with barely-contained fury.
“You said you wouldn’t take me unless I chose to go!”
“I did,” Shanks said, hands up in mock surrender. “But I’m a pirate. And no illegal substances were involved. And, you didn’t complain—”
“You knocked me out!” you shouted. “That implies a very clear lack of consent!”
“I resettled you.”
“You—!” You gestured wildly at the whole crew. “Pirates!”
He had the audacity to grin. “I’ve said that before, sweetheart.”
“Another lie– because you also said you cared!” Your voice cracked. Tears blurred your vision, hot and frustrated.
Immediately, the crew began backing away. Even the bold ones.
Shanks looked like he’d just been told his favorite bar burned down, and he’d lit the match himself.
He stepped in, slow and careful, voice dipping low enough to curl around your breath.
“I did listen,” he said gently. “You said you weren’t ready.” He paused. “I was just… preventing any potential Love Sickness complications—”
You reeled back, eyes scanning for something that could be turned into a weapon. Your furious retreat ended with your foot smacking into a wooden pole. A pole that had been oh-so-helpfully nudged directly into your path by the pipe smoker. The only man on deck bold enough not to retreat.
He remained exactly where he was, calmly puffing like this was his favorite tavern drama.
“Really, Benn?” Shanks snapped, eyes narrowing. “This is Mutiny.”
“You earned it, Captain,” Benn replied without blinking. “Frankly, I held back.”
“Pay attention.” You growled at him. “I’ll acquaint you with the meaning of mutiny.”
Shanks started circling. Lazy steps. Loose hips. That infuriating grin playing at the corners of his mouth like this was all foreplay.
“I made an executive romantic decision.” Shanks smiled, cocky as hell. “You’ll thank me by month three.”
You kept your weapon raised, turning with him. The tension between you wound tighter, like a drawn bowstring ready to snap.
“Sure you want to do this?” he murmured, flicking his hair out of his face with infuriating ease. “We’ve been getting along so well—”
“Until you kidnapped me.”
“We can talk this through—”
“You can shut up and die.”
Behind you, Benn exhaled a long drag of smoke, already stepping out of the way as steel met steel with a clean, ringing clash. Sparks kissed the deck.
Shanks parried without effort, the impact sliding down his blade. His stance was solid. Shockingly so for a man who’d been flirting seconds earlier. His grin didn’t vanish, but it changed. Sharpened.
Less teasing now. More… intent.
“You always this dramatic when someone offers you breakfast?” he asked, deflecting another strike like it was nothing.
You didn’t answer. You weren’t trying to kill him. Not really. But he needed to feel it. The fury. The betrayal. The heartbreak wrapped in a nightshirt.
He twisted mid-parry, spun low, and when your foot slipped—just barely—he stepped in. Fast. Clean. Close enough to catch your wrist. He didn’t hurt you, didn’t disarm you. Just stopped you. Gently.
The grin was gone now.
“One year.”
His voice had changed, and it was anchored now, steady in a way that made the fight feel foolish in hindsight.
“That’s all I’m asking. One year to show you what it means to be wanted, not owned. To be chosen. Every day. No pressure. No tricks.” A pause. “You can keep the pole.”
You didn’t pull away. Not yet. The weapon hung between you like a held breath. His grip was warm. Solid. Unflinching.
“And after that?” you asked, voice low. Eyes narrowing.
Shanks met your gaze without flinching.
“If you still want to run, I’ll give you the map.”
You hissed through your teeth.
“Captain,” a calm, drawling voice cut in. “Should I assume she’s staying, then?”
You turned to find the broad-shouldered man with the weathered face, pipe in hand, and the patient expression of someone who had survived hundreds of truly idiotic plans… and fully intended to survive this one too.
“Right!” Shanks said, instantly chipper again, clapping his hands. “Crew introductions. Love, meet the maniacs.”
“You call me love again and I’ll gut you,” you muttered.
“Noted,” Shanks said brightly. “Affection pending formal approval.”
“Shut up.”
“See?” He turned to the crew, beaming. “She’s fitting in already.”
Laughter rippled across the deck. They clearly knew their captain well.
“This,” Shanks said, gesturing to the pipe-smoking man, “is Benn Beckman. My first mate. He keeps me alive.”
Benn gave you a nod, deadpan. “Nice aim with the wine bottle.”
Before you could respond, Shanks pointed upward. “And that one in the crow’s nest is Lucky Roux.”
A plump man waved cheerfully from above, chewing on a drumstick the size of your forearm.
“Don’t race him to a meal,” Shanks added. “You’ll lose. Possibly a hand.”
You stared at the man in the crow’s nest, still mid-chew and grinning like a happy menace. You distinctly remembered him being referred to as “the big one with meat.” A potential ally, you decided grimly. Possibly even a good one. Everyone underestimated the food-motivated.
“Yasopp’s the sniper.” A wiry man with sharp eyes and a cocky grin winked at you from near the rigging. “He’s also convinced he’s the best looking on board.”
“Because I am,” Yasopp called. “Got proof if you want it!”
“You’re married,” Shanks reminded him.
“Exactly.”
Shanks rolled his eyes and kept going. “Then there’s Limejuice, Bonk Punch, and Monster—he’s the monkey. Don’t challenge him. You will lose.”
You blinked. The monkey bared its teeth in a smile. Or a threat.
“And that’s Hongo,” Shanks added, nodding toward a serious-looking man with glasses. “Our ship’s doctor.”
Hongo gave you a polite nod. “I hope you won’t need my services. But knowing the captain, you probably will.”
“And that’s the core crew,” Shanks said breezily. “The rest come and go.”
He turned back to you, eyes steady.
“Except you. You’re staying.”
Your hands balled into fists at your sides. “You can’t keep me here.”
“I can,” Shanks said softly. “Because if you really wanted to leave, you’d already be threatening to jump overboard.”
His gaze didn’t waver.
You clasped your arms, letting the pipe smack the floor. Your eyes promised that you would find a way to swim home once you weren’t leashed to this degenerate.
“You’re angry, very understandable,” He grinned, “But you are also a woman of science. Aren’t you curious about us? Or even the world?”
You opened your mouth. Closed it again. Words piled up in your throat but refused to cooperate. Shanks didn’t press. Didn’t smirk. Just watched you, something achingly gentle in his gaze.
“Give me a year,” he said softly. “You don’t have to love me. You don’t have to kiss me. But let me try.”
Behind you, Benn muttered under his breath, “Should’ve just courted her like a normal lunatic.”
Yasopp leaned against a beam with all the smug energy of a man watching a play he didn’t pay for. “This is so much better than shore leave.”
Lucky Roux let out a delighted laugh. “Can we call her First Lady of the Red Force? Do we bow? Should we bow?”
Shanks held up a hand without looking away from you. “No one lays a finger on her. No jokes. No bets. No dumb hazing rituals. Got it?”
A dramatic chorus of groans and exaggerated sighs rose from around the ship.
“You’re ruining morale, Captain,” Yasopp called.
“You’re ruining my chances of not getting stabbed,” Shanks shot back, still not looking away.
“What about respectfully basking in her wrath?” Limejuice called out from somewhere near the ropes.
Shanks glanced sideways. “Up to her.”
Benn Beckman, Shanks’ long-suffering first mate, sauntered forward with the slow, deliberate grace of a man who routinely explained catastrophes before his morning coffee.
You already respected him.
Not because he looked dangerous, though he did. Not because he carried himself like a man who knew exactly how many seconds it would take to end a fight. But because he radiated the quiet patience of someone who had spent years cleaning up after Shanks and had not once committed murder.
That took strength. Possibly sainthood.
You weren’t sure if he was brave, tired, or both. Either way, you respected it.
“Captain’s made his bed,” Benn said. “He’s volunteered for the stabbing. We’re just here for the fallout.”
You stared at him. “And you’re all just… calm about this? I could slit your throats in your sleep.”
From the rigging, the man with goggles and a lopsided grin cheerfully piped up, “It’s free entertainment.”
“Not helping, Lucky,” Shanks muttered.
“You brought her here,” Benn reminded him. “You’re lucky the bottle was all she threw.”
Lucky Roux raised his drumstick like a toast. “To survival!”
You crossed your arms, chin tilted just enough to be defiant.
Shanks hesitated, just for a heartbeat. His smile shifted, softening into something real, something almost reverent.
“Think of it as an extended vacation,” he said, voice low. “With the most competent crew on the Grand Line.”
You raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“And, if after a year you still hate me,” he went on, more serious now, “I’ll sail you straight back to Amazon Lily. No tricks. No bargaining. I’ll drop anchor offshore and row you there myself.”
He paused.
“I’ll even let Hancock hit me. Straight in the family jewels.”
That got a collective oof from the crew.
You studied him. Really looked at him.
This was the man who’d stolen you away in the middle of the night. Who flirted like breathing, fought like dancing, and apparently had no survival instincts when it came to women with weapons.
His crew, usually rowdy and irreverent, stood deathly still. No muttering, no comments. Just a wall of eyes, waiting to see if their captain lived or died.
Your fingers twitched once at your side.
The wind stirred your nightshirt like a flag before battle.
“Well,” you said coolly. “I hope your arm is strong. Because if I hate you by the end of this, I’m making you swim back.”
The crew erupted.
Cheers, laughter, someone blew a damn horn.
Shanks just grinned like a man who’d won everything, even though you’d just threatened to kill him again.
“And,” you added coolly, “I want my space. And weapons. Preferably sharpened. And alphabetized.”
A ripple of approval moved through the crew like gossip at a tavern.
One pirate muttered, “She’s got standards. I like her.”
You turned on your heel and stomped toward the stairs, the nightshirt billowing behind you like the robes of a vengeful sea goddess recently inconvenienced by love.
But not before muttering, just loud enough for the entire deck to hear.
“One year. Then I’m leaving. And I’m taking the alcohol.”
A stunned silence.
Then a single gasp.
“Not the rum,” someone whispered, truly horrified.
Shanks watched you go, looking mildly lovesick and extremely doomed.
“She’s gonna make me earn every minute, isn’t she?” he whispered, more in awe than fear.
Benn took a long drag of his pipe, exhaled slowly, and gave the faintest smirk, like he’d seen this coming from ten nautical miles away.
“Oh, you poor bastard,” he said. “You’ve never been happier.”
Shanks just grinned like a man watching his own ship sail toward a storm he couldn’t wait to drown in.
The Den Den Mushi rang once.
Twice.
Shanks answered it, whistling a jaunty tune as he flipped the receiver open.
The snail immediately contorted into the furious visage of Boa Hancock, her hair flaring like divine judgment incarnate.
“RETURN HER THIS INSTANT OR I WILL FLAY YOU WITH MY EYES.”
“Morning, Hancock,” Shanks said pleasantly, like she hadn’t just threatened ocular murder.
The Den Den Mushi trembled with her fury.
Behind him, Benn Beckman sighed and started counting silently, probably how long until Shanks got another bounty.
Or turned into stone.
Or both.
“You abducted an Amazon Warrioress,” Hancock seethed through gritted teeth. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“Offered her breakfast?” Shanks offered, still infuriatingly calm.
“She is not a collectible!”
“Agreed,” he said easily. “She’s more of a limited-edition, one-of-a-kind treasure.”
Benn paused his count, rubbed his face, and muttered, “And there it is. The sound of warships mobilizing.”
“Do not speak of her that way!” Hancock snarled, voice rising like a divine curse. “I swear on every stone statue in my garden—I will crush your bones into sand!”
Shanks, sipping his coffee like this was a brunch chat, added cheerfully, “By the way, she’s fine. I brought fruit.” Behind him, the crew waved like idiots. One held up a basket of mangoes with both hands, grinning proudly.
“Supporting local business and stuff—”
“YOU STOLE HER!” The Den Den Mushi screamed in Hancock’s voice.
“Borrowed,” Shanks said, calm as sea glass.
“I WILL BURN YOU!”
Unbothered, Shanks held the receiver toward you. “Want to say hi?”
You took it with shaking hands, staring at the snail like it might explode.
Your voice cracked out, high and appalled, “I was peacefully dreaming, and he Haki-napped me! I was ASLEEP, Boa!”
There was a beat of silence.
“HE WHAT?!” Hancock shrieked. The Den Den Mushi’s little body lifted off the table from the sheer force of her rage.
Shanks winced slightly and took a small step behind Benn, who did not move. Benn simply took a longer, steadier drag of his pipe and exhaled like a man watching a very slow avalanche hit a town he warned six times.
“Hancock, listen—” You started.
“No! I knew it. I knew he was trouble! I said he looked like a man who would kidnap someone and call it ‘romance’!”
Shanks muttered under his breath, “It is romantic. There’s fruit.”
“He Haki-napped you!” Hancock hissed. “That’s not even a word!”
“I know!” you cried, still holding the Den Den Mushi. “I had plans! I was going to wake up, have tea, and not be on a pirate ship!”
“Did you tell him no?”
“I didn’t tell him yes!”
“That counts!” Hancock bellowed. “We are launching the warships.”
“Oh god,” Benn sighed.
“Wait, wait—” Shanks stepped forward, hands raised like he was surrendering to a very stylish firing squad. “Look, I get it. In hindsight, there may have been some mild miscommunication.”
“You drugged her!”
“Haki,” he said quickly. “Just haki! Very… localized. Gentle. Nap-like!”
“You Haki-napped an Amazon Warrioress!” Hancock shouted again. “The audacity! The daring!” The Den Den Mushi turned briefly purple with fury. “You’re lucky I don’t turn your entire crew into a decorative stone garden and auction off their limbs!”
Someone behind you whispered, “She’d probably get a good price, too.”
You elbowed them in the gut without looking.
The Den Den Mushi didn’t speak right away. Hancock’s silence was somehow louder than her screaming had been.
“…Are you hurt?” she asked at last, voice low and tight.
“No.”
A beat. Then, softer—dangerous.
“Has he touched you?”
You paused.
“…Define ‘touched,’” you said carefully.
Behind you, Shanks—who had been smugly sipping his coffee—choked mid-sip. Benn slowly lowered his pipe like a man preparing to witness a public execution.
The Den Den Mushi twitched. Hancock’s eye narrowed into a slit of volcanic murder.
“Red-Hair.” Hancock’s voice was flat enough to shatter stone.
He coughed. “To clarify—I caught her wrist. In a moment of extreme tension. Respectfully. With consent-ish. It was very gentle.”
Benn closed his eyes like he was updating Shanks’ last will and testament in his head.
You pinched the bridge of your nose. “He’s still alive, isn’t he?”
“Temporarily,” Hancock muttered. “I consider that a diplomatic courtesy on your end.”
Behind you, Shanks whispered, “Honestly? That’s progress.”
You hissed, dragging a hand down your face. “Stop talking.”
Another added, “Do we send thank-you fruit or—?”
Benn didn’t look back. He just mouthed, “Not. Helping.”
“I hate men,” Hancock snapped.
“Get in line,” you muttered. “However, you can’t chase an Emperor of the Sea to the New World for one woman. The optics would be terrible.”
The Den Den Mushi twitched, Hancock silent on the other end.
“…Then I’ll say it’s for diplomatic retribution.” Her voice was calm now. Too calm. “I’ll sink his ship, retrieve you, and leave a formal apology carved into his bones. That’s balanced.”
“Very balanced,” you deadpanned.
Behind you, someone whispered, “I think I love her.”
“Not helping,” Benn growled over your shoulder.
Shanks cleared his throat. “Well, if we’re negotiating, can I request it be a non-lethal carving?”
“Silence, pirate,” Hancock snapped. “Your voice irritates the heavens.”
The snail snapped back into focus, Hancock seething.
“Put her back on.”
You hesitated.
“Now.”
You raised it slowly. “Yes?”
Hancock leaned in so close that the Den Den Mushi’s eye twitched.
“If you want out, say the word. We will come for you.”
You glanced at Shanks.
Messy. Barefoot. Coffee in hand. Hair mussed. Trying to look innocent and failing spectacularly.
Then, at the basket of fruit, proudly held aloft like an apology you hadn’t asked for.
Then at Benn, already pouring rum into his morning tea with the practiced ease of a man who’d seen too much and planned to see it drunk.
Then back at Shanks.
Still barefoot. Still sleep-rumpled. Still smiling like he hadn’t just committed high-seas romantic piracy and called it a love letter.
You sighed like someone accepting an unfortunate cruise.
“…give me one year. Against my better judgment. Against your better judgment. Against several international laws. If I don’t strangle him with a rigging rope by then, we’ll reevaluate.”
Shanks smirked.
Unapologetically.
Boa let wind escape from behind her teeth.
“Smile again, and I will test the structural integrity of this ship with your skull.”
Shanks raised his coffee like a toast. “Noted, Commander.”
You brought the Den Den Mushi closer, eyes narrowing with the fury of a woman two seconds away from turning that snail into a long-distance missile.
“I’ll check in once a week. I’ll keep my weapons sharp. He knows the rules. He doesn’t have another arm to spare. He will behave.”
Behind you, Shanks gave a jaunty little salute with his one remaining arm, still beaming like a man personally blessed by the Sea Devil and thrilled about it.
The Den Den Mushi squinted in disgust.
“…He’s smiling again,” Hancock growled.
You didn’t even look. “He does that. I’m working on it.”
“Doing amazing, sweetheart.”
Benn muttered behind him, “There’s still time to dive overboard.”
“One year, Red-Haired.” Hancock’s last words crackled through the line, low and lethal.
Click.
The Den Den Mushi slumped in your hand, traumatized.
Shanks looked at you with a grin that was far too soft for someone who had just been threatened with dismemberment by a war goddess.
“…She likes me.”
You didn't know what to say when Shanks offered you the captain’s quarters.
You’d expected a spare hammock. Maybe a curtain. Something tucked behind crates or below deck, out of the way. Functional. Temporary.
Instead, you stepped into a room that felt nothing like a pirate ship and everything like a quiet, stolen promise.
Polished wood floors gleamed beneath your bare feet. A thick rug softened your steps, hand-woven and dyed in warm reds and golds that reminded you, uncomfortably, of home.
A basin sat in the corner, steam still curling up from the surface. The water was warm. Fragrant oils floated on top, the scent barely clinging to the air: Jasmine, sandalwood, and something that smelled like the temple gardens at dusk. Someone had prepared it carefully.
There were books. Dozens, maybe more, stacked haphazardly on the desk and in crates beneath it; maps, journals, and worn adventure novels with cracked spines. A saber hung on the wall, sheathed but sharp, the kind meant for both show and threat.
And then your eyes landed on the chair.
His coat was there.
Black, worn, and unmistakably his. The lining caught the light, deep red, almost blood-colored. It looked like it had been casually tossed over the back of the chair, but you could tell he had placed it there deliberately.
You turned to the doorway, eyes narrowing.
Shanks stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, watching you with the lazy amusement of a man who had just set something on fire and was waiting to see if anyone noticed.
He grinned.
“This is our—” he started.
Your glare cut him off.
He cleared his throat, trying again with exaggerated innocence. “Your room.”
Your eyes didn’t budge.
He scratched the back of his neck, ruffling his already wild hair, clearly pleased with himself anyway.
“You’re my soulmate,” he said, like it was the most reasonable explanation in the world. “You get the bed.”
He nodded toward it. The bed was large, neatly made, and looked entirely too inviting. It had soft linens, a heavy quilt, and extra pillows; not a pirate-standard bedspread.
Your brow arched. “…But it’s your bed.”
He shrugged, casual as ever. “Ours. Pending approval.”
There was that grin again. The one that made you want to throw something and maybe kiss him later, in that exact order.
You stared at him.
At the way he leaned in the doorway like he hadn’t just abducted you in your sleep. The way he smiled like this was some kind of romantic gesture instead of full-blown high-seas emotional hostage-taking.
You stepped closer to the bed. Pressed your hand into the mattress.
It was disgustingly soft.
You hated how nice it felt. How clean the linens were. How it smelled faintly, not like sweat or seawater, but like citrus and something warm and familiar you refused to identify as him.
You turned back to him slowly, arms crossed.
“Do all your kidnapped guests get luxury accommodations?” you said, voice like a blade, “Or am I just lucky?”
Shanks lifted a shoulder in a lazy half-shrug. “You’re the first. And I’m very motivated not to disappoint you.”
Behind you, the tea on the side table was still faintly steaming. Mocking you. You picked up the cup and took a long, scalding sip, never breaking eye contact.
He leaned a little farther into the doorway, arm resting on his lip.
You opened your mouth. Closed it.
“You’re sleeping on the floor, aren’t you?” You muttered.
“Technically,” He said, pointing to the wall just outside the door, “I’m sleeping outside, down the hall.”
“The soulmark won’t stretch.”
“It will if your willing to adjust the bed. I measured.”
He flashed a grin. “Nine feet, eleven inches. Give or take a smile.”
You sighed.
“If you keep getting tugged, and would rather take your chances,” he said lightly, “I can have one of the crew set up a cot, or I’ll sleep in the chair. Won’t even snore.”
You raised your eyebrows.
“Okay. I’ll try not to snore.”
You stared at him for another long moment.
Then you walked over, picked up his coat, and shoved it into his chest. Hard.
He caught it with a startled laugh. You pointed at the door.
“One year,” you said coldly. “You’re not sharing anything but your guilt.”
He clutched the coat dramatically over his heart like a war widow.
“Understood.”
Then shut the door in his face.
And locked it.
The click was satisfying. Final. Necessary.
You stood there for a moment, hand still on the knob, listening for footsteps. He didn’t move. You could feel him smiling on the other side of the door like an idiot dog who thought that counted as progress.
Eventually, you heard him walk away.
You tried to sleep that night.
Tried to ignore the steady creak of the ship’s hull as it rocked through the water, the muffled shuffle of boots on the deck above, the occasional low murmur of voices as the crew kept their watch.
You tried not to listen for his voice among them. Or wonder if he was still awake.
The bed was too soft.
Too warm.
And no matter how many times you flipped the pillow, his scent lingered. Smoke and citrus. Salt and something sweet that made your throat tighten and your heart furious.
You buried your face in the cool side and growled into it.
This wasn’t comfort. This was tactical psychological warfare because even the damn sheets smelled smug.
Most of all, you tried to ignore the sound of his voice.
Soft.
Quiet.
Humming.
You froze.
Then—words. Low and familiar.
A lullaby.
Not a sea shanty. Not a pirate’s tune meant for long nights and loud drinks.
No, this was something else.
A song from your childhood. The one the temple matriarch used to hum when the storms were bad and the walls shook with wind. The one sung in quiet corners and safe arms. A song no outsider should know.
Your breath caught.
It wasn’t perfect. The words faltered at the edges, pronounced just wrong enough to sting, but it was unmistakable.
You sat up slowly, sheets forgotten, heart thudding in your chest.
You crossed the room before you realized you were moving. Slid to the floor. Pressed your ear close.
And lay flat against the floorboards.
Through the narrow gap beneath the door, you saw Shanks.
Sitting with his back to the wall, one leg stretched out, the other drawn up, elbow resting on his knee. His head was tilted toward the stars, eyes half-closed, humming like it was just for himself.
He wasn’t performing.
He wasn’t waiting for you to react, likely thinking you were asleep. He was just… bringing you home in the only way he knew how. And for the first time since waking on this ship, something in your chest ached that you couldn’t pretend was just anger.
You blinked hard, jaw tight.
Swallowed once. Then again.
Without a word, you crawled back into bed. Pulled the blanket up to your chin like it could shield you from whatever this was.
You didn’t open the door. You didn’t speak. You didn’t hum back. But your soulmark burned warm against your skin all night.
The two weeks ended quietly. No flash of light. No sudden ache. Just… stillness. You felt it the moment it lifted. Like someone had loosened a cord around your chest, letting air return to your lungs in full for the first time.
You looked at him.
Shanks was sitting across from you on the deck, one leg drawn up, lazily carving something into the edge of a crate with a small blade. Focused. Calm. The sun caught in his hair.
The mark on his chest still glowed faintly.
You tested it, took a step away. No burn. No tug. No warning.
You were free.
You could leave. Now. Walk off this ship, never look back, never feel his presence like a flame under your skin again. Dive into the water and just sink, if it seemed the best way to avoid a conversation.
Shanks didn’t move. Didn’t look up. Didn’t say a word.
Didn’t indicate if he’d known this moment would come. As if he were willing to let you go before asking you to stay.
Your chest tightened.
Freedom wasn’t supposed to feel this heavy.
You didn’t jump into the sea, to your own disappointment.
Over the next hour, you kept waiting for him to shift. To drift.
To finally start reclaiming his space, his ship, and his crew, and act like an Emperor of the Seas. The version of him that probably existed before the soulmark. Loud, loose, insufferably magnetic. The man who stole you like a pirate and smiled like it was a gift.
He still brought you tea. Still leaned against the same post while you read. Still handed you your sword each morning with that maddening tenderness, like you were something sacred and breakable, not a girl who’d nearly stabbed him on arrival.
He stayed close.
Quietly. Without comment. Without expectation.
And it was worse than anything else he could’ve done.
So, later, as the sea stretched black and endless around you, as the stars blinked faintly overhead and the air turned cool against your skin, you sat at the edge of the deck and finally asked it.
Softly. Carefully. Like the words might break apart in your mouth.
“You know you don’t have to stay this close anymore… right?”
He looked up from where he sat just a few feet away, one arm resting over his bent knee, a half-finished carving still in his hands.
He didn’t smile this time. Didn’t tease. Shanks turned to face you fully. The wood forgotten. The sea wind lifted his hair just slightly as it passed between you.
“I know.”
The words settled between you like an anchor.
You looked down at your hands, picking at a hangnail you hadn’t noticed until now.
A beat passed. Then another.
The waves rocked against the hull, steady and slow.
He was quiet for a moment. Not the kind of silence that meant he didn’t know the answer, but the kind where he was weighing whether you were ready to hear it.
Then he set the carving down beside him. The motion was quiet and deliberate, like laying something fragile to rest.
He sat a little straighter, eyes steady, voice low.
“I don’t stay close because of the bond.”
You looked up.
He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t asking for anything. He just watched you with the open calm of someone laying down their sword. Not surrendering, just offering it.
“I stay because I love you.”
The words didn’t echo. They didn’t need to.
They fell between you with no drama. No hesitation. No pressure.
Just the truth.
Raw and unguarded. Offered like a blade held flat between two hands. Sharp if you chose to take it, but never forced.
You blinked once, then again. Something behind your ribs twisted painfully, like a rope pulling taut. You hated how warm your face felt. Hated how your throat closed up. How much worse this was than any flirtation, grin, or stolen moment of kindness.
Because this wasn’t a line, this wasn’t a game.
This was real.
You dropped your gaze back to the ocean, its dark surface rippling beneath the stars. Somewhere far off, a gull called. The waves lapped quietly at the hull.
You drew in a breath.
And then, softer than you meant it, barely above a whisper, “…I like it better when your annoying.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the barest flicker of a smile tug at his lips. He didn’t speak. He didn’t laugh. He just stayed beside you. Not touching. Not pushing. Just there.
You said nothing. You couldn’t.
The bond might have faded.
But something else had grown in its place. You could still feel it, pressing behind your ribs like a second heartbeat. No title. No claim. No magic.
Just a man, admitting a truth like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Close enough to feel safe.Far enough to let you breathe.
You just sat there, shoulder to shoulder, not bound anymore. But still not drifting apart.
And life continued.
Life aboard Red Force was unlike anything you had ever experienced.
Men.
Everywhere.
Loud, laughing, brawny, bearded men. Some sharpening blades, some hauling ropes, one balancing an entire keg on one shoulder like a sack of flour. You braced for barking, chest-beating, or a surprise duel to assert dominance.
Instead, one of them handed you a peach.
You blinked.
“You… speak?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The man nodded.
You narrowed your eyes. “Coherently.”
“Y-yes?” He looked slightly alarmed. “Most days?”
“With manners?”
Another nervous nod.
Behind you, Shanks strolled up like he was on a morning walk, hands in his pockets, grinning. “They’re trained.”
You turned, eyes wide. “They don’t throw things? Or grunt? Or compare—”
You gestured vaguely around your hips. “—spear sizes?”
From behind a crate, Yasopp shouted helpfully, “Only on Sundays!”
Shanks waved him off. “Don’t listen to Yasopp. He was raised by birds.”
You turned in a slow circle, trying to take it all in.
“They’re… capable. And… clean-ish?”
Shanks looked delighted. “You sound dissatisfied.”
“I just assumed the average man’s brain was like… a moist sponge. Held together by aggression and meat.”
Someone dropped a barrel in the background, and another muttered, “Fair.”
You were still reeling as you passed through the middeck later. Rows of hammocks, spare boots tucked neatly to the side, a small shrine made entirely of snacks (Lucky Roo’s, apparently), and not a single visible injury caused by stupidity.
Curiosity got the better of you.
You pulled aside one of the younger crewmates, a sharp-eyed gunner named Lee, and whispered, “Okay. Tell me the truth. Is it actually true men have a vulnerable spot—”
A hand settled gently on your shoulder.
You froze.
Shanks, smiling like he’d just caught you cheating at cards. “I love that you’re curious.”
The man-child fled at the speed of dignity.
You folded your arms, looking put-out. “He was revealing man-secrets to me—”
Shanks stepped closer, voice warm and entirely too amused. “Sure. But maybe… don’t ask the crew about their bits.”
“I wasn’t—!”
“They’re sensitive. Private. Possibly haunted.”
You gave him a look. “I wasn’t asking for a tour.”
He leaned in slightly, the absolute nerve of the man. “Still. If you do want to discuss any parts that twitch, rise, or have ceremonial value—”
He paused, watching your jaw drop.
“—please let me be your guide.”
You gawked. “That is not cultural diplomacy.”
He winked. “It is if I use respectful language. And a chart.”
You stormed off in a flurry of indignation and stolen laundry, determined never to speak to him again. Later that day, a peach appeared beside your lunch tray. Tucked under it: a folded sketch labeled
“FOR STUDY – Figure 1: The Twitching Sword and Other Male Myths”
You stared at it. You stared at him.
Shanks had stolen the Karma Kuju scroll.
And then you threw the peach—and the chart—overboard.
Shanks caught your eye across the deck, looked scandalized, and called out:
“That was educational!”
You didn’t answer.
But that night, when you passed Lucky Roux and he offered you another peach, you muttered:
“…I’ll take it. But if it has a diagram, I swear to god I will set something on fire.”
The Red Force was many things: a warship, a sanctuary, a floating tavern when necessary. But above all, it was loud.
You learned this within days of being reluctantly relocated.
It was not the kind of ship that barked orders and marched in lockstep. No, this was a vessel crewed by grown men with terrifying weapon skills and the social decorum of overgrown children who had collectively decided chaos was a lifestyle choice. This also translated into their fashion.
They applauded your tantrums.
They cheered loudest when you insulted Shanks. You weren’t sure if they actually liked him.
They bet on how long you’d last without punching someone.
And somehow, you stayed.
And you fell into a routine.
You became used to the crew of the Red Force.
Mostly.
One morning, you tied your shirt to a line strung between two masts because someone had to clean your laundry, and it wasn’t going to be Shanks. You did it peacefully, rationally, with the air of a woman who just wanted dry clothes and some semblance of dignity.
Then Limejuice wandered by, squinted at it.
“Think it’d make a good sail patch if it catches wind.”
Before you could stop him, he yeeted it skyward.
It fluttered like a surrender flag and smacked Shanks directly in the face as he emerged from below deck.
He peeled it off with a blink, looked at the shirt, then at you, and said with infuriating calm, “If you wanted me to wear something of yours, sweetheart, you could’ve just said so.”
You vowed to drown him in his sleep.
He winked.
Shanks offered to cook to make amends.
“Romantic gesture,” he declared. “Very domestic. Very husband-coded.”
“Man-creature coded.” You hissed.
You didn’t trust it.
You were right not to.
Twenty minutes later, the galley was an apocalyptic battlefield. Spices had been weaponized. Smoke curled out from under the door. Yasopp was weeping. A single seagull lay unconscious on the windowsill.
Shanks emerged, eyebrows singed.
“So, uh. Turns out I can’t cook.”
You sat beside him on the upper deck, covered in flour, watching the smoke plume skyward.
“I noticed.”
“Still,” he said, nudging your knee. “We technically made dinner together. That’s relationship stuff.”
You didn’t respond. But you didn't push him off when he rested his head against your shoulder and muttered something about needing a fireproof cookbook.
Later that week, Benn Beckman dragged Shanks aside with the slow, weary patience of someone who’d seen this exact situation unravel dozens of times.
You paused near the mast and listened.
“She is not one of the tavern girls, Captain.”
“I know that.”
“She has a brain. And knives. And principles. Stop flirting like a drunk raccoon.”
“I like drunk raccoons.”
“You are one.”
A silence.
“Benn,” Shanks said, solemnly. “I think I’m in real trouble.”
“We all are,” Benn muttered, lighting his pipe. “But mostly you.”
There were other moments, quieter ones. Rare things, like pearls in sand.
Like when you woke up from a dream, unfamiliar stars above, the sea humming soft beneath the board, and found him sitting nearby, eyes fixed on the horizon, his hand resting next to yours.
He didn’t know you were awake.
He just watched the sea, wind in his hair, hand outstretched like he was reaching for something sacred.
“She’s not mine,” he murmured. “Not yet. But gods, I want her to stay.”
Your breath caught.
You closed your eyes and pretended to still be asleep. The next morning, there was a peach beside your breakfast plate. No note. Just a single, perfect fruit.
You didn’t throw it overboard this time.
You ate it quietly, cheeks warm, and didn’t speak of it.
Life on the Red Force wasn’t simple.
But it was full.
Of noise. Of absurdity. Of terrible singing and better wine. Of men who made room for your presence without hesitation.
And of one red-haired pirate who was trying to become the kind of man worth choosing.
You didn’t miss home.
That’s what you told yourself.
You didn’t miss the palace baths, the temple bells at dawn, the scent of wildflowers braided into your hair by hands you trusted.
You didn’t miss your sisters.
You certainly didn’t miss their habit of fussing over your appearance, brushing your hair while gossiping about trade envoys and cursed scrolls.
You were fine. Absolutely fine. A big girl in all respects.
Right up until the third morning on the Red Force, when you couldn’t untangle the braid you slept in and snapped:
“Do all men shed like lions?!”
Shanks leaned against the doorframe of your quarters, arms crossed, head tilted.
“Want help?”
“You are one-handed.” You blinked. “And you want to do my hair?”
He shrugged, wiggling his fingers. “I’ve got one very good hand for it. Used to braid my fellow cabin boy’s hair during long voyages. Therapeutic.”
You squinted. “That’s a lie.”
He stepped closer, gently plucked the comb from your hand, and said,
“You trust me to sail through storms with you, but not brush your hair?”
“I don’t trust you with anything soft,” you muttered. “You’d probably flirt with the brush.”
But you sat anyway. Grumbling. Like a martyr.
“Only if it has good bristles.”
You laughed and conceded. It became… a thing.
A quiet thing, one you didn’t ask for. He never announced it. No grand declarations. No smug commentary.
Just routine.
Each morning, after you washed your face and settled into your corner of the cabin, he’d appear, comb in hand. That stupid, serene expression on his face like this was regular. Like he was normal, like he hadn’t abducted you, charmed half your fury into submission, and now somehow declared himself your personal hairstylist by divine pirate law.
He never said anything cutting. Depending on the day, just knelt or stood behind you and then he’d start combing with slow, careful strokes like you were made of spun glass and threats.
At first, it was infuriating, unnerving, and intimate in a way that battle and banter could never be.
His breath on your neck, the way he’d bring your hair to his mouth if he needed to hold it a certain way. You’ve told him to stop. Twice. He pretends he can’t hear without both arms.
He just hums.
Softly. Casually. Whatever song was stuck in his head or stolen from your past. Sometimes he hummed low, thoughtful melodies that blended with the creak of the ship and the soft splash of waves against the hull. Sometimes he tapped lightly on your shoulder when he needed an extra hand, like he trusted you to help him with your own hair.
And eventually, you stopped telling him to leave.
Mostly because you knew he wouldn’t.
But also because he was careful. Always.
Not a single pull. Not a single wince. Just the rhythmic sound of the comb through your hair and the quiet steadiness of his presence.
It was the kind of attention that didn’t ask for anything back.
Which made it worse.
So you sat there each morning, pretending it didn’t mean anything. And he stood behind you, pretending he didn’t already know it did.
He was careful with the tangles. Gentle with the knots. He never tugged, never rushed. He moved with the quiet focus you’d only ever seen in people handling something sacred.
He never looked at you through the mirror unless you met his eyes first.
And when he tied the final ribbon, or looped a braid through your crown, he’d step back, tilt his head slightly, and say with maddening warmth,
“There. Ready to conquer something?”
At first, you told yourself it was practical.
You had no sisters here. No one tends to the small things. No one to fuss or remind you of the rituals that tethered you to who you were.
This was just convenience.
It was efficient.
But then he started leaving small things by your basin.
A carved wooden pin you’d admired once while walking through a port town, tucked beside your brush without a word. A softer comb, better suited for your hair. A ribbon in Kuja clan colors, dyed just right, wrapped in cloth like an offering.
And once, a sprig of your favorite flower. Not from this region. Not from this ship. Something you’d mentioned in passing, only once, on a sleepless night beneath the stars. You found it lying gently on your towel the next morning. Still dewy. Still fragrant.
You turned on him then, suspicious, unmoored.
“What is this?” you asked, voice sharper than you meant.
He looked up from his journal, relaxed, unaffected.
His answer came simply.
“Because you deserve to feel as lovely as you are.”
You hated how your heart stuttered.
How your fingers clenched uselessly around the flower.
How part of you wanted to throw it at him, and the other part wanted to press it between the pages of a book and carry it for the rest of your life.
One evening, you sat with your hair loose, brushing it absently.
The air was soft and salty, heavy with the warmth of late light. Lanterns glowed gold across the wooden walls, and the hum of the crew had long faded into quiet. Only the sea remained, and the sound of bristles moving slowly through your hair.
Shanks passed behind you, his footsteps easy, his presence unmistakable. He stopped.
You did not turn, but you felt him watching. Something unreadable lingered in his silence.
“Want help?”
You kept your eyes forward. “You did it this morning.”
There was a pause. Then the sound of him stepping closer, the creak of old wood beneath his feet, and his voice, lower now.
“That was for you,” he said, the words brushing close. “This one is just because I like touching you.”
You went still. The kind of still that lived deep in your chest. Then, without a word, you held the brush out to him. He took it gently, with a care that said he understood exactly what you were giving him.
He settled behind you, quiet as dusk. One leg folded, the other stretched lazily beside him, familiar and close.
His fingers moved with steady purpose. The brush passed through your hair in long, patient strokes. He touched you like he was listening, like your silence told him everything he needed to know.
The tension in your shoulders eased before you realized it had. The rhythm of his hands made the air feel softer and safer.
Your soulmark began to glow. Faint, warm, steady. A slow burn just beneath your skin.
You noticed his love in the little things.
The way he didn’t speak when you lit incense by the railing that first morning. He just stood nearby, quiet, eyes on the horizon as the smoke curled skyward, as if the act belonged to a world he wasn’t part of, but one he was willing to protect.
The way he offered your cup during meals with both hands. Not casually, not thoughtlessly. He set it in front of you with a softness that suggested he knew it mattered, even if he never asked why.
The way he never stepped too close when you were angry. He hovered at the edge of your reach, waiting, watching, giving you space to burn. But he was there when sadness settled into your shoulders and silence stretched too long. Just close enough. Not touching. Just there.
And when he braided your hair, he didn’t ask if he was doing it right. He didn’t fumble, joke, or make it performative.
He just did it.
One-handed, slow and steady, with the same rhythm your sisters used. Fingers threading through strands like memory. He looped, twisted, and tucked with a reverence you had not expected from anyone outside the island. Let alone him.
At first, you told yourself it was a coincidence.
A fluke.
But then came the bow. Not the kind of bow pirates used, careless and exaggerated.
No, this was different. Controlled. Intentional. The kind your elders taught you to return before crossing into sacred ground. The kind reserved for gods, shrines, and quiet places where your voice did not belong.
He did it without hesitation, without needing to be told.
You stared at him.
“…Where did you learn that?”
He glanced up from the satchel he had been packing, then straightened with a shrug.
“This place is sacred now you’re in it.”
Simple. Like it was obvious.
He never touched your shoulder when guiding you, even in chaos or haste. His fingers always found your wrist instead; the touchpoint of trust in your culture. The place a warrior offers freely to those they deem safe.
You never told him that.
But he knew.
You didn’t say anything at first.
You let it sit there, unspoken. Let it build, day by day, in the rituals he never named but honored all the same. In the small choices. In the way he had stopped trying to belong to your world and started making space for it on his ship. He was so much more than the man who stole you from your home. He had learned you. Without demand. Without claiming. He had listened. And somewhere along the way, you had stopped trying not to be heard.
One night, long after the others had gone below deck, you sat together in silence.
The stars spread wide above you, sharp and cold in the black sky. The sea was calm for once, rolling in slow, deep breaths. He sat beside you, legs stretched out, arms resting on his knees, gaze fixed somewhere far ahead.
You watched him for a long moment, the breeze brushing your cheek like a question.
Then you whispered it.
“You learned all this on purpose… didn’t you? While you were at the Amazon Lily.”
He didn’t look at you.
Didn’t blink. Just smiled.
Soft. Quiet. Eyes on the sea.
“I wanted to learn you.”
Not your title.
Not your power.
You.
And somehow, that quiet confession undid something in you that nothing else had.
Because he hadn’t said it like a prize. Or a strategy. Or a clever line.
He had said it like a vow.
The Red Force cut through the sea like it belonged to it. Like the water had parted just to let it pass.
You stood on the deck, arms crossed, wrapped tightly in one of the crew’s coats. You had refused the blanket Shanks offered, on principle. The coat was scratchy and a little too big, but it didn’t smell like him. That was the essential element.
The wind tugged your hair into knots. Your soul mark pulsed gently beneath your glove. It was warm, steady, and insufferable.
And you were livid.
Not just because he’d taken you while you were asleep, like a romantic idiot with no concept of boundaries. Not because he had done anything that typically provoked your ire.
But because he left.
“Where is he?” you muttered, eyes scanning the horizon like he might be foolish enough to stroll back mid-storm.
Benn Beckman looked up from his map table with the ease of a man who had heard every tone of fury known to mankind. He barely glanced over.
“Meeting with a rival crew. They crossed into our territory.”
You blinked. “So he just leaves us here?!”
Benn didn’t even look up.
“You mean he left you here?”
Your jaw locked. He went back to his charts.
“He left you where you’d be safe.”
“That’s not the same,” you snapped. “He didn’t even ask—”
Benn raised a brow, eyes still on the map. “You care that much?”
The question hit like a slap.
Not cruel. Not loud. Just… true.
You froze.
Then scowled. Harder. Sharper. As if you could hide behind it. As if fury could keep you from unraveling under something as quiet as truth.
Your silence was enough.
Benn sighed. The kind of sigh that came from knowing too much and saying too little. He reached for his mug and took a slow sip, like he was rationing his patience one swallow at a time.
“He’s not trying to trick you,” he said. “He’s not off charming some tavern girl or vanishing to avoid you.” His tone stayed even. Measured. Not pleading. Just honest.
“He’s giving you space. That’s all.” He said calmly, “Which, for him, is progress.”
You didn’t reply.
You turned away instead, fists balled in the sleeves of the borrowed coat, the fabric coarse and unfamiliar against your skin.
The wind pulled at your hair like it had something to say, but it said nothing useful; Just the salt and cold and quiet.
It didn’t take your anger with it.
It only left you with the weight of your own breathing. And the maddening, persistent heat of your soulmark, pulsing steadily under your glove like it knew something you refused to admit.
Later, in the privacy of your cabin, you stood for a long moment in front of the coat rack.
The borrowed coat hung heavy on your shoulders.
You didn’t sigh. Didn’t groan, roll your eyes, or make a dramatic scene removing it.
You just reached for his.
It was warmer.
Softer.
It smelled like salt and citrus and something that made your throat tighten.
You put it on without a word.
And Benn, who had seen the whole thing from where he leaned outside the door, mercifully kept his mouth shut.
Because he knew a surrender when he saw one.
Even if it came in the form of a stolen coat.
You stormed to the bow of the ship, muttering under your breath in three languages and inventing a fourth out of spite. The wind snapped at the sleeves. His sleeves. The damn coat fit too well.
Too warm. Too steady. Too his.
Hours passed.
You didn’t move much.
Just sat on a crate near the railing, hunched like a stormcloud, soulmark faintly warm under your glove. Not burning. Just there.
Persistent. Irritating. Smug.
You glared at the moon like it owed you a personal apology.
And then, you heard him.
Before you saw him.
Boots on wood. Familiar. Steady.
Laughter. Easy and low, like a man returning from a brawl he enjoyed.
The clink of a sake jug.
And his voice. Low. Casual. Amazed.
“Sweetheart, is that my coat?”
You didn’t turn. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t answer.
He was close enough now to lean against the railing beside you, and of course, he did.
You didn’t look at him. You stared out at the water like it had better answers than he ever would. He waited. Patient. Annoyingly quiet.
His hand brushed your shoulder, and you couldn’t help the way you stood straighter, back tingling.
“Looks good on you,” he said, gently, like he wasn’t trying to win anything. Just… telling the truth.
You shifted, not enough to give him the satisfaction of eye contact.
“Don’t read into it,” you muttered.
“I never do,” he lied, eyes dancing.
Your soulmark flared a little warmer. You adjusted the collar to hide your face from the moonlight. He grinned into the night air like he’d just been handed treasure.
You didn’t turn around.
“I considered throwing myself overboard.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I like boats.”
“You like me.”
You turned then, slow and lethal, eyes blazing.
“Don’t start.”
He raised his hands in mock surrender, but stepped closer anyway. The soft kind of close. Careful. Intentional.
“I had to check the borders,” he said, voice lower now. “Someone crossed into my waters.”
“And you couldn’t just tell me?” You turned him before you could stop. The coat swayed around your legs, heavy with warmth you refused to acknowledge.
Your faces were the closest you’d ever dared.
“I woke up and you were gone. I thought—” You stopped short. Swallowed it. “I thought—.”
His expression shifted. Just a little.
He gave you that soft, infuriating look. The one that made your soulmark glow and your fury spike all at once.
“I thought if I explained,” he said carefully, “you’d try to talk me out of it.”
You stared at him. Furious. Hurt.
Silent.
“Would you have?” he asked, quieter.
You clenched your jaw. Looked away.
“I don’t ask for your permission,” you snapped. “But I deserve your trust.”
“You have it,” he said. “All of it.”
The words hung in the air like they might fall apart if you breathed too loudly.
You said nothing. You just crossed your arms, the coat sleeves slipping past your wrists.
He smiled, smaller now. Real.
“I didn’t want to leave you,” he said. “I just wanted to keep you safe.”
Your soulmark pulsed warm under your glove. Unhelpful. Unwelcome. Steady.
“I wouldn’t have tried to stop you,” you said tightly.
“You would,” he replied, voice soft. “Because you care.”
“I don’t.”
“You do. And it scares you.”
You stood, fists clenched at your sides, breath quickening.
“It doesn’t scare me.”
“Yes, it does,” he whispered. “Because if it didn’t… You wouldn’t understand why I had to go.”
And that was the part that hurt the most.
You did understand.
You understood perfectly. Every reason. Every instinct. Every shadow of duty behind his decision.
And that made you angrier than anything else.
Because understanding him meant forgiving him, which meant this was already more than it should be.
You looked away.
He stepped forward, crossing the invisible line you’d both silently honored for days. Close enough for the mark to hum gently between you. Close enough to feel the heat where your souls still reached.
“I always come back.”
Your voice cracked before you could stop it.
“Stop being like this.”
“Like what?”
You grit your teeth. “Like someone I could fall in love with.”
He didn’t smile.
Not this time.
His expression softened slightly, and he reached up, fingers brushing his chest where your name still glowed.
“It’s only fair we match.”
You did not notice how close he had gotten.
Not at first.
You had been talking about nothing, really. The stars. The wind. Something one of the crew shouted earlier that made you laugh harder than you meant to.
He smiled when you laughed.
Not a flirtatious smile.
Not smug.
Just warm.
Like someone who had been waiting a long time to see you happy.
When you turned back to him, you were already closer than before.
There was no soulmark burning.
No fate tugging.
No divine push.
Just you. Just him. Still close.
His hand shifted slightly between you. Not reaching. Not coaxing. Just there. Still. Waiting.
You looked at it. Then at him.
He did not ask.
He did not move.
And when you leaned forward, heart hammering, you were unsure if you would brush his cheek or shove him into the sea.
But your lips met his.
And the world held its breath.
It was not urgent or desperate. It was soft. Intentional.
You kissed him like a question.
And he answered it gently, like it had always been his to answer.
His hand rose, careful and reverent, cupping your cheek like he could not believe you were real. Like he would have to earn this moment all over again if he blinked.
When you pulled back, you did not go far.
Your breath mingled as your foreheads touched.
Neither of you spoke.
There was no smirking. No teasing. No clever lines.
Just him. Steady like the tide.
“Not because I am weak,” you whispered.
“No,” he said. “Because I’d choose you, even without fate.”
.
.
.
When you were nine, you ‘learned’ what a man was. Years later, you finally met a real one.
Red-haired Shanks.
Charming.
Clean.
Beautiful red hair.
Nice hands.
Didn’t scream. Didn’t grunt. Didn’t conquer anyone that day.
Smiled at you like you were something sacred.
You can forgive yourself for adopting this man-creature.
#gav story#one piece#romance#shanks x reader#one piece shanks x reader#the red force crew#including#benn beckman#Lucky Roux#Lime juice#Monster#yassop#boa hancock#and a traumatized cabin boy#Shanks#red haired shanks#comedy
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Self Control: Part Eleven - Picture Perfect
Jessie Fleming x Reader
Summary: You and Jessie are settling into your new home as the arrival of your little one nears. However, Jessie wants to capture this moment in time before it passes.
Warnings: G!P content. Sexy photoshoot. Masturbation (reader), cunnilingus, penetrative sex, preg/breeding kink, language.
A/N: I couldn’t go another chapter without Jessie worshipping Reader’s body through photos. And if it led to smut…so be it. Also, a brief throwback/love letter to my Handy series.
Jessie wore a gentle frown as she held two wooden bars together and eyed them up to make sure they were aligned. When she was satisfied, she retrieved a screw she held poised between her lips and starting assembling the two pieces together.
When done, she examined the manual and began lining up her next items. She looked up at you from her spot on the floor, a soft smile crossing her face. You were in the new glider chair that'd been delivered and had your laptop teetering on the edge of your lap as you typed away on something for work. Your arms were bent awkwardly around your protruding bump and your expression betrayed some of the effort you had to exert to just do this simple task.
"You know, I built you a desk," Jessie said with a smirk.
You exhaled and gave her a pointed stare, pausing mid-keystroke.
"And what a lovely desk it is. But that's in the office. You are here - in the nursery, building our daughter's crib, and I would like to be a part that. You refuse to let me help you, so I'll merely be an observer," you explained evenly.
Jessie bit back an amused laugh and simply raised her eyebrows with an accepting nod.
"Okay. Heard. And I'm sorry - I just like building things on my own," she said as she continued to piece the crib together.
"You can just say I get in the way," you said with a knowing smirk over your laptop screen.
"I would never," she said facetiously as she held your gaze with a grin. You went to protest and she nodded to the freshly painted walls. "You've done a ton already. You painted far more than I wanted you to yesterday. And you've done a bunch of arranging in here already today. You've been on your feet too much." She chided before frowning further and getting up from her spot on the floor to push the chair's accompanying foot rest in front of you. "Put your feet up. It'll help with the swelling."
"Ugh," you complained with an empty glare though you complied with her request. You continued typing as Jessie returned to her previous spot and you went on. "This whole sexy pregnancy thing is past its prime. It's not so fun sometimes."
"I'm sorry," Jessie said as she looked up at you again.
"Don't be sorry," you told her mildly as you looked at her. "I'm just not feeling so hot anymore."
"'Hot' as in sexy or 'hot' as in good?" Jessie inquired.
"Both," you said flatly, and she gave you an empathetic smile.
"Well, if it means anything, I think you're incredibly sexy," she told you before rushing on in case it upset you, "I know it's a pain for you, but I wish you knew how attractive you are like this."
"Well, I consider myself lucky that you think so," you responded dully.
"I'm so serious," she emphasized. She paused momentarily, a lingering, persistent thought pushing itself to the forefront again and begging to be shared. You noted her hesitation and frowned skeptically.
"What is it?" You asked.
"Nothing." Jessie smiled. "I just think you're really beautiful," she said before she ducked her head to keep assembling the crib.
The room was quiet for a few seconds and Jessie could feel your eyes on her. If you were going to probe, you chose not to and she heard you start typing again.
You both worked quietly in tandem with one another and eventually Jessie stood back, hands on her hips as she surveyed her work. She gave a single nod of approval, a proud smile on her face as she examined the finished crib.
"What do you think?" She asked as she looked over her shoulder at you. You looked up and over, a smile immediately on your face and you closed your laptop. You went to stand, rocking yourself to get enough momentum to get out of the chair, but Jessie trotted over and gave you a hand.
"You love this," you said with a mixture of accusation and gratitude as you narrowed your eyes at her. She gave you an innocent smile.
"Taking care of you? Sure," she said, undeterred.
You both walked over to the crib and rest your hands on the rail and peered in.
Jessie's imagination was rampant with visions of your daughter sleeping in this crib, of her rocking your daughter to sleep in the middle of the night, of her cooing and fussing and slowly growing up in this room you and Jessie had put together with love.
"I can't wait until she's here," you said softly, drawing Jessie out of her reverie. She smiled at you and kissed your shoulder.
“Me neither. I can’t believe it’s getting so close,” she said.
“I know. It seems like just a few weeks ago we were looking at the test. And now…,” you trailed off as you rubbed your stomach. Jessie frowned as she caught you faintly wince.
“Are you okay? Braxton Hicks?” She asked as she placed her hand next to yours on the underside of your bump. You exhaled through your wince and nodded.
“Yeah.”
Jessie gave you another empathetic look and rubbed your stomach for you. She remembered how panicked she was the first time you experienced one, despite reading up on them and hearing about them in an earlier birthing class.
“They’re becoming more frequent, hey?” She asked. They used to be every few days and now it was daily.
“Mmhmm,” you voiced. “A nice prelude to what’s in store in a few weeks,” you deadpanned as you side eyed her. “Which, by the way, you better not be missing next week’s class. It’s the big one.”
Jessie pulled you sideways into her and kissed your head. "Of course I’ll be there. The team already knows I’m missing training that afternoon.”
“Good,” you said sternly before relenting some. “Thank you.”
"Of course. I wouldn’t miss it. And hey, how about I run you a bath," she suggested.
You contemplated it, stubbornly almost, until finally accepting. “I suppose that would be nice. Between the Braxton Hicks and my back…it wouldn’t hurt.”
Jessie led you to the bathroom and soon she tenderly underdressed you as the tub filled. She held out her hand for you to step in, knowing balance was a bit of a challenge given your changing center of gravity.
"Babe," you complained, drawing out the pet name as Jessie helped you sink into the water. "It's cold."
"It's warm," Jessie corrected. "You can't have a hot bath - you know that." You rolled your eyes and continued to pout. Jessie gave you a withering look, but turned on the hot water for a few seconds.
"That's all you're getting," she told you, but you now smiled at her.
"Thanks, baby."
"You can have all the hot baths you want after the baby is born. I'll watch her and take care of her and you can sit in here, water as hot as you like and get all pruney," she finished with a smirk.
"I will," you said facetiously defiant.
Jessie sat on the edge of the tub and watched you quietly as you settled in, eyes closing as you relaxed into the water.
You'd been in the new house only a couple of weeks, but - with some help - you'd gotten the place more or less settled. It felt like each day the next piece of your lives was becoming crisper and clearer. It excited Jessie and she could hardly believe it.
She nearly had to laugh. A few years ago, she'd been sitting there, palms sweating and mouth dry as she wracked her brain over and over again with what to text you as she tried to charm you and wished against all odds that you'd like her as much as she liked you. Now, here you were, her ring on your finger and round with her baby, weeks away from giving birth. Your family of two about to become a family of three.
The thought that nagged her earlier came back. She watched you lovingly and just said it.
"I want to take pictures of you."
You opened your eyes and cocked your head slightly in question.
"I want to take pictures of you," Jessie repeated. "Like this." You frowned and she stammered slightly. "Well - maybe not exactly like that. Well? Actually, maybe." She shook out her head and went on assuredly. "You are glowing. And gorgeous. And so incredibly beautiful. And I want to capture this for us."
"For us or for you," you asked casually as your eyes drifted down her body teasingly. She blushed.
"Maybe both," she admitted haughtily. "And it doesn't have to be today. But soon."
"Is that why you built your dark room?" You teased. Jessie splashed you playfully and you squealed.
"This would just happen to be a nice perk," she refuted, a grin still on her face. She grew earnest once more. "I know your body is going through a lot and you don't feel great. But you really are the most stunning woman to me. I hope you know that."
You seemed to begrudgingly contemplate her words. Eventually, you sighed. "You need to be in some of the photos, too."
That wasn't what she was picturing, but she'd have to cope. She smiled.
"Okay. Deal."
"Now, if I ask you something - will you say 'yes'?" You asked. Jessie frowned.
"Maybe? What is it?"
"If I wanted you to go to the store and get me, say, some ice cream. Would you?" You asked as you looked at her expectantly. She rolled her eyes and groaned.
"You don't have to," you offered mildly, but Jessie was already standing up.
"Come on," she said dryly. "Let's get you out of there and into bed. And, yes, I'll go." You nearly snickered and she ground out with a lingering grin, "You have me wrapped around your little finger and you know it." She nodded to your bump with a shake of her head. "And she will, too."
"Mhmm," you merely nodded with a self-satisfied smile. "Who are you kidding?" You said patiently. "She already does."
------------
“You look beautiful,” Jessie told you as she crouched and held the viewfinder of her camera up to her eye. The camera clicked as she pressed the shutter.
“Well, it is your doing,” you joked with a teasing glance as you readjusted the flowing fabric of your dress. “So you’re really just admiring your own work.”
Jessie smiled, fighting off a blush as she moved around you and took pictures of you from different angles.
You rubbed your stomach before pulling your hand back. “Oh, sorry.”
“No, no, that’s perfect,” she told you as she encouraged you to do it again. She put her hand on your stomach as well and leaned back to take a picture of her hand and yours.
Jessie had you pose in various ways, all the while making sure you felt comfortable and at ease. She really meant it when she said you were glowing. You already were the most gorgeous girl to her, but like this, she couldn’t help but worship you.
When she was satisfied, she stood up straight and looked to you in question.
“Now,” she went on, clearing her throat as she looked at you. “How do you feel about…taking some clothes off.” She went on in a rush, one hand up in defense already. “It’ll be tasteful. I promise.”
You smirked at her. “I trust you.”
You started bundling up the fabric of your dress and Jessie helped you take off the garment. She couldn’t help it if her hands lingered on your hips, on your bump, on your swollen breasts. She cleared her throat once more as she forced herself to refocus.
“You’re gorgeous,” she told you as you held your breasts in your hands or covered them with your arm for modesty as Jessie photographed your otherwise naked body.
“Here, give me that,” you said gently after some time as you held out your hand for the camera. Jessie handed it over wordlessly with a frown. After some encouragement, she complied and you started taking pictures of her with your bump.
She took the camera after a few shots and set it up on a tripod to capture a few photos of the two of you together.
It was a challenge for Jessie to control herself as she kissed and caressed your bump. Some of her kisses and touches turned sensual. She kept an eye on you and fought back a satisfied grin as you began to fidget under her touch.
“Babe,” you drew out the name, half complaining, half whining.
“Yeah babe?” She asked through a smile as she continued to kiss your taut stomach.
“You know what,” you pouted.
“‘Mmkay, that’s enough,” Jessie said as she stood up and took the camera back. “This was supposed to be photos of you after all,” she said with a lingering look. She stood back and took a few more pictures, noting how flushed you looked.
“Why don’t you we get some of you sitting down,” Jessie said as she coaxed you over to the bed. You sat down heavily and gave her an accusatory look.
“God, now you have me all worked up,” you complained leaning back on your hands.
Jessie hummed as she wound the film. “Well, feel free to do something about it,” she offered nonchalantly. You shot her a look. She smirked at you. “They can be for my even more private collection.”
You studied her for several seconds and she could feel you were on the precipice.
“It’s obviously up to you, but I would adore some photographs of my gorgeous wife-to-be relieving some tension as she’s round and full of the baby that I pumped into her.”
“Christ Jess,” you huffed as you rolled your eyes in frustration.
“Her body blossoming in the most incredible, raw way possible. Her breasts gorgeous and full. Her hips softer and curvier to accommodate the life we created. God, you turn me on so much,” Jessie finished, her camera poised and ready, and also unable to ignore the tightening sensation forming in her pants.
She caught the way your eyes drifted to her bulge and you bit your lip. She snapped a photo.
"God you're beautiful."
You didn't say anything, you just lifted your gaze to look at her through the camera and leaned back further before reaching down with a hand to begin stroking through your folds.
"Oh yes," Jessie said with a broad smile as she knelt down to get a better angle. From here, not only did she get a clearer view of your swollen and slick pussy lips, but you looked incredible from this angle - leaned back, your prominent bump on full display, your breasts spilling out around it, further highlighted by how your chest moved up and down with each breath, never mind the profile of your face with your head thrown back.
Jessie bit the inside of her cheek as she felt herself straining further against the fabric of her pants as she watched you begin to rub your clit, soft mewls starting to escape you.
"You always sound so amazing," Jessie told you as she took another picture.
You simply moaned and began rubbing yourself with greater fervour.
"Help me, Jess," you said, eyes still closed as you gently rocked into your hand. She didn't need to be told twice.
She set the camera down quickly and shifted over between your legs and gently pushed your legs apart just enough to make room for her. She felt a pulse go through her at the low moan you made.
Wasting no more time, she dipped her head in and began licking you as you continued to play with your clit.
"Oh God," you breathed, your chest falling as pleasure coursed through you.
She pulled your lips into her mouth, teasing and licking them before dipping her tongue inside your entrance then returning to trace between your folds.
Between her attention and yours, it wasn't long until your hips began to buck into her face and your hand. Her face was coated in juices before you even started cumming, only to have your arousal dripping down her chin as you came.
When she eventually pulled back, she lifted the collar of her shirt to wipe her mouth on the inside of it.
"God, baby. You were always wet, but you're so wet these days and I love it even more," she praised.
By now you had laid back on the bed to recover. You were only there for maybe 30 seconds before you shifted on your side.
"Ugh, that's too much," you said of the weight on you.
Jessie climbed onto the bed and kissed your bump and then your arm.
The room was quiet as you rested and Jessie simply watched you. She ignored the way her pants were pulled tight against her erection and the feeling of frustration it created.
Eventually, you peeked over. "What are we going to do about you?"
"We don't need to do anything," she told you and she meant it.
"Mmm, I know we don't have to, but what if I want to," you said.
Jessie gave you a scrutinizing look and you shrugged a shoulder.
"I love cumming on your tongue, but cumming on your cock is a whole other experience."
"Jesus," Jessie breathed as she looked up at the ceiling for a second before returning to meet your gaze with a smirk. She shook her head. "You know what you do to me."
"I can see it," you said with a teasing nod towards her very obvious bulge.
"How do you want to do it?" Jessie asked. In the state you were in, sex required a bit more forethought and consideration these days. It took away a touch of the primal need and 'in the moment' spontaneity, but it was far more important to her that you felt comfortable.
You hoisted yourself up into a sitting position and looked around the bed.
"I want to ride you," you said. "I might get tired quick though."
"That's okay. I can support you and we can flip over when you do get tired," she said.
With a nod of approval from you, Jessie began to undress and then maneuvered herself over to the head of the bed. She reached for your hands to help you, gently helping you straddle her and balance before guiding herself to your entrance.
"Are you okay?" She asked, only to be answered by you sinking down onto her waiting cock. Her jaw set and she dug her head backwards into the pillow as your warmth engulfed her. "Shit." She cursed and you merely smirked at her.
"Still good?" You asked with a glint in your eye.
"Fuck, you know how good you feel," she said as she held your hips and rolled herself up into you.
Jessie had her feet planted on the bed, knees raised so you could lean back against her thighs. This also let her better use her hips to help you move up and down. What good was working out if it didn't help her fuck you?
Again, the view was absolutely stunning from where Jessie was. She could adore you in all your glory as you were backlit on top of her. The days of fast and furious fuckings were on a bit of a hiatus, but it didn't bother Jessie in the least. The intimacy of these recent sessions put them in their own category and she adored it.
She held one hand under your thigh to continue supporting you, but her other hand came to your round belly and she caressed it as you two made love. Your hand came to hers.
"What are you going to do when I'm no longer swollen and heavy with your baby," you said with a lilt in your voice. Jessie grinned as she locked eyes with you.
"Put another one in you," she said without missing a beat.
You chuckled. "I know we make decent money, but we're going to have to be careful to not get too out of control. Two tops."
"Three?" Jessie asked as she continued to rock into you.
"I'm going to say 'two' knowing we'll end up at three. If I say 'three', we'll wind up with four and that's just too much."
"Fine," Jessie said facetiously as she gripped your hips again and picked up her pace just a touch. You moaned and gripped her forearms for support.
She wished she could kiss you, but she couldn't in this position. After would just have to do. She continued and soon she could feel your walls starting to tighten and clench around her.
"Fuck," you whimpered. "Rub my clit," you told her urgently.
It wasn't easy, given your bump, but Jessie did so and you quickly came undone on her fingers and cock. Her muscles flexed as she held you up as your body melted into hers.
You relaxed on top of her, leaning back against her thighs and nudged her for help to disentangle yourself from her. She chuckled and did so, unable to hide that she was still very much aroused.
You knelt onto your hands and knees, your stomach brushing against the sheets below. You looked over your shoulder at her.
"I want you to finish inside me," you said.
Jessie didn’t argue. She shifted behind you and held herself to your sopping entrance to push inside. Again, her eyes fell shut at the incredible feeling of your soft heat wrapping tightly around her.
“Fuck, babe,” she said, on one knee, the other foot planted next to you as she rocked her hips into you. She leaned back and watched how your lips wrapped around her cock and she kneaded your ass as she bit her lip.
“Oh God,” you said as she shifted to lean over you, one hand bracing herself on the mattress and the other on the side of your bump. With this angle she was hitting your g-spot directly and your legs began to quiver.
Wet sounds filled the air as she began to pump into you a touch faster, a tightness starting to build within her as you continued to envelope her, your tunnel repeatedly massaging the sensitive head of her cock and her length as she thrust into you with firm, measured strokes.
She could tell you were close again so she grit her teeth and held back a while longer. She reached down with one hand and began playing with your clit again. Your legs shook further and she leaned back to hold your hips to support you.
You came with a cry and Jessie finally released herself inside of you with a low moan, holding her hips flush against you as she pulsed and twitched inside your heat.
“Ah, fuck,” she hissed in pleasure as she took a slow stroke back before pushing in to the hilt a couple more times as she drained herself into your waiting pussy.
She exhaled slowly, her mouth in a tight ‘O’ as she withdraw altogether to see just a hint of her cum pooled inside of you, most of it too deep to be seen.
“Fuck, baby,” she said as she admired you and the state you were in. She leaned forward and kissed your back before you settled onto your side with a contented sigh.
You sighed further, catching your breath as Jessie snuggled in behind you to spoon you. She wrapped her arm around your waist, her fingertips barely reaching your bellybutton.
“Are you okay?” She asked as she thumbed the taut skin of your middle.
“Completely. Other than tired.” She could hear the smile in your voice. “And more Braxton Hicks,” you added flatly. “I guess multiple orgasms will do that to a girl.”
Jessie propped herself up on her elbow to look at you. You glanced up at her briefly, but soon nestled your head back into the bed and closed your eyes.
“Should we be concerned?” She asked.
“No. The midwife said that’s normal,” you replied. “If I end up past-due though, I’ll be tasking you with fucking me into labour though,” you said with a smirk.
You exhaled again before tilting your head slightly to look back at her. “How do you think the photos will turn out?”
Jessie beamed and kissed your shoulder. “They’re going to be beautiful.”
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deal - cl16 (24/?)
Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader
Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.
Chapter Summary: Furniture shopping is more exciting when there's talks about buying new stuff - like a bed.
Warnings: 18+ (mentions of smut), fluff, Kika is the bestest friend on this planet
Word Count: 3.4k
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A/N: hello loves! part twenty-four is here and I hope you enjoy it! feedback is appreciated!!!
The fact that Kika is just lying on your bed instead of snuggling up completely in your fluffy blanket is a miracle.
"I liked the light blue mom jeans best," she says as you stand in front of the large mirror leaning against the wall next to the door to your room and look at yourself. "With the white oversized turtleneck - smash."
You look at her through the mirror. "Haha."
"I'm serious." She leans on her elbows and tilts her head. "If you wear white sneakers with it, it'll even work with the sandwich method. I've seen it on TikTok. And I swear to you - people will turn their heads to look at you."
"I don't want people turning their heads at me," you confess quietly, adjusting the soft fabric of your top. "I just want to look halfway okay."
"Trust me. You look more than okay."
After Kika and Pierre have stormed your apartment with their spare key - which at first annoyed you, but in the next moment made you feel quite relieved - your girlfriend has taken it upon herself to unpack your suitcase and pick out an outfit for you that matches your trip to the furniture store.
Unpacking your suitcase simply consisted of pulling out one item at a time and tossing it aside if it didn't meet her expectations. The pile of clothes next to the bed is the result of her search.
" Let it go," she warns you as you adjust the position of the hem of the sweater on your shoulder. "You look good. When I think about my first outfit as Pierre's girlfriend - it was pure horror."
"But I'm not a girlfriend," you reply as you reach for the jeans Kika is holding out to you. "I'm his friend. His roommate. Nothing more," you exhale, "and nothing less."
The Portugese woman watches you slip into your pants. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Caught off guard, you look at her. Are your feelings for the Monegasque so obvious that she can even see it on your face? Is your affection written all over your forehead? You can't name your emotional state, you can't say a word that could even begin to describe what you feel for Charles - but there's no question that it's definitely something other than pure friendship.
No matter how often and vehemently you try to convince yourself that Charles is your friend, you are an incredibly bad liar.
"I remember being incredibly nervous the first time we went out in public. I think I changed outfits three or four times before I was halfway happy."
Oh.
You sit down on the edge of the bed with her. "I want all of this. I want him." You clear your throat as Kika gives you a meaningful look. "His friendship, that is. And I'm also willing to take the risk of people not liking me and talking badly about me." You clasp your hands in your lap.
Kika sits up straight. "But?"
You curl your lips into a thin line. "I - I don't know." How do you explain to her that you're worried that his fans could dislike you so much that they doubt Charles? You're going public as friends, something that bothers you a little more than it should. But the Monegasque has also said that people will think what they want.
What if they hate you so much - your looks, your mediocrity, your being - that Charles catches on and he realizes they're right in their opinion?
"I just want to make a good impression."
Your friend reaches for your hand. "You will. And after all, you're just friends. The public's opinion isn't all that important." You don't see her look, which says so much more than what she actually says.
"Right."
Kika lets go of your hand and stands up from the bed. "I'll be with you the whole time. We'll work it out. I promise." She tosses her long hair over her shoulder. "So, let's get going. This room is pretty bleak and could use some color," she says before pulling you off the bed and out of the room.
As you slip into your shoes at the front door, the men join you.
"So, Pierre and I are sitting -" Charles begins, but suddenly stops when he sees you. His eyes wander over your body and goose bumps spread along their path. He remains silent until Pierre nudges him. "Uhm, sorry. Yes. We - um - we're both going to sit in the front of the car because -" He scratches the back of his neck nervously, but can't take his eyes off you. "The plan is for Kika and you to go through the furniture store together and Pierre is coming with me. Just so that we are seen together as little as possible, but are still out and about together," he explains.
You understand why this is all going to happen. He wants to protect you and you want to let him, but you can't stop your heart from getting a little bruised.
When Kika notices your offended look, she crosses her arms in front of her chest. "So much planning for simple shopping with friends? Is that really necessary?"
As you look up from your shoes, you look straight into Charles' beautiful green eyes. Something that looks exactly like how you feel flickers across his face. "It is." He stands up straight. "Shall we?"
Kika smiles gently at you. "Let's liven this place up a bit, then." She grabs Pierre's hand and together the two of them walk out of the apartment towards the elevator, while Charles and you stay behind. You both look after them.
"Is everything all right?" asks the Monegasque and stands next to you.
"Everything's fine," you answer him curtly. You don't dare look at him.
"Y/N," he says as he gently grasps your wrist and turns you towards him. "Mon amour, you know why I'm doing this, don't you?" His hand slips a little lower so your fingers can intertwine.
"'Mh-hmm."
"Hey." His other hand rests gently against your cheek, making you look at him. "Hey." His thumb gently strokes your cheekbone. "I'm trying to protect you. That's my priority. Making sure you're okay is my priority. And if that means we can't walk through any stores next to each other for now, just so the public can get used to you, then I'll put up with it." His gaze twitches briefly to your mouth. "Even if it's not what I want."
You nuzzle your face against his warm hand. "And what do you want?" you ask softly.
"You."
His answer makes the blood sizzle in your veins. It feels as if the warmth of his skin is burning through your face, as if the nerve endings under your skin are sending little electric shocks through your muscles and forcing your heart to stop. You take a deep breath.
"I want you near me." He squeezes your hand twice before pulling away. Your skin feels cooler without his touch. "But I'm responsible for what happens in public. And I don't want to risk anything happening to you because of me."
You nod weakly before wordlessly following the befriended couple. You hear Charles behind you, but you don't wait for him as you walk quickly to the others. The atmosphere in the elevator is tense as you are transported towards the underground garage, but no one tries to ease the tension. Kika and Pierre look at each other a little uncertainly, something that doesn't escape your gaze, and you can't blame them. The situation is just awful.
Pierre has thought far ahead, because when he presses a button on his car key, a large SUV opens up in the underground parking garage, sure to fit some decorative items. Charles' Ferrari, or God forbid your old Renault, might have been able to fit a picture frame, or at most a small mirror.
You sit behind Charles, who has taken a seat in the passenger seat. Kika and Pierre are talking through the rear-view mirror while you look out of the window.
The longer you think about what Charles said - or didn't say - the more uncomfortable you feel. The hem of the sweater seems to have slipped, the collar feels too tight and the sleeves are scratching your elbows. You're not sure what you were hoping for, what the right answer would have been. But you're not particularly happy with the one you got.
You also want to be close to him, permanently. And you can also understand why the plan involves you staying away from each other inside the furniture store. But is that really necessary if you're just friends? Has he done something similar with his other female friends, or are you the only one who has to put up with this fuss?
Your thoughts are going round and round in your head, but as if by magic they suddenly come to a standstill. But it's not magic, it's Charles' hand that has squeezed past his seat on the right and is now gripping your leg. You feel his fingers slide under the fabric of your jeans, where they rest against your calf.
You try to regulate your breathing, but you can hear the blood pounding in your ears. Charles touching you is nothing new. You've been touching each other non-stop since last night, which doesn't help your feelings or your friendship, but it still feels indescribably good.
It feels right the way his calloused hand wraps around your soft calf. It felt right the way his thumb stroked your cheek. It felt right to lie half-naked next to him in bed.
It felt right to want him as something more. More than a roommate. More than a friend.
And that's exactly why you slide your foot towards the car door, so that Charles can touch you more easily. You block out the voice that keeps whispering hypocrite to you as best you can. And the warmer his skin feels on yours, the tighter his fingers close around your calf, the better it works.
"I'll let you both out right at the entrance and we'll park in the back of the parking lot," Pierre interrupts your thoughts before they're no longer PG. "You can go inside and we'll follow. That's the easiest way."
"Thank you very much," Charles says. "I'm sorry we're shamelessly taking advantage of you."
Pierre has to grin. "You're welcome to give me a position in Bahrain, then we'd be even."
"You'd have to get close to me on the track first."
The two men argue amicably until the car comes to a halt in front of the deserted entrance. Just as you are about to open the door, Charles's fingers gently squeeze your leg twice and you have to suppress a smile, otherwise Kika would tease you endlessly. As you both get out and the car drives away, she latches on to you.
"Are you ready?" she asks as you walk towards the glass door together.
"Definitely."
Kika has very good taste in decorating and if she hadn't become a model, she could definitely have worked at Ikea putting together those fake rooms. As you push a shopping cart in front of you, she skips through the aisles, grabbing anything that matches in color or style. Picture frames, vases, mirrors and fake plants that would look good on the windowsill in your room.
She's examining which of the candles in front of her would go better with the vases in the shopping cart when your cell phone vibrates in your pocket.
Charles: If one of the candles burns down our apartment, I'll have to charge you rent.
Confused, you read the message before looking up and around. Charles is standing about twenty meters away from you, smiling at you over the shelves. You bite the inside of your cheek.
You: You don't need my money, Mr. Ferrari. After all, you make millions a year.
You raise an eyebrow challengingly as Charles reads your message. You can see his grin clearly, even from this distance.
Charles: If you burn down my expensive apartment, I'll have to find a new one, and they're not exactly cheap in Monaco, as you know.
You: I thought it was our apartment?
Charles: If you let it burn down, you're welcome to keep it.
You: So you'd let me keep it? Our apartment?
Charles: I'd give you anything, mon amour. You just have to ask for it.
You don't have time to think about his answer because Kika throws a stuffed animal dinosaur in your face.
"Are you done flirting?" she asks, playing annoyed. "I'm trying to decorate your room and you'd rather flirt than help me."
You feel the blood rush to your face. "Excuse me?"
Her grin almost reaches your ears. "Gotcha."
"You can't possibly have caught me doing something I wasn't doing," you try to wriggle out of it, but Kika has bitten down like a little terrier.
"And why are you looking like you've eaten the last spoonful of tiramisu without asking if anyone else wants the rest?"
"I haven't eaten any tiramisu," you defend yourself and hug the green stuffed animal tightly to your chest.
"Not yet," she says gently and puts one of the candles in the cart with the rest. "But I'm afraid you could get diabetic if you're not careful with the tiramisu. A small piece is fine, but a double portion could almost be too much."
You narrow your eyes. "I haven't eaten any tiramisu." Without taking your eyes off her, you put the green dino in the shopping cart too. "And I don't intend to."
"You're a bad liar," she says and stands next to you, wrapping her arms tightly around you. "But that's all right. I still love you. And when your room looks really cool soon, I'll take the outfit pictures for my Instagram in front of your mirror."
She gives you a peck on the cheek and you roll your eyes. "Charles was right. We need to change the locks, then you can't disturb us anymore."
"Disturb? Disturbing what? Eating tiramisu?" she grins and you would have loved to suffocate her with the green dino. Apparently Kika can read minds, because she quickly lets go of your arms and continues to skip happily through the corridors while you follow her with the shopping cart.
"How much do you think the things you picked out for me cost?" you ask her as she picks out more plants.
She takes a look at the shopping cart. "Something between two hundred and five hundred euros," she replies with a shrug.
"Kika, that's too much. Way too much," you try to stop her as she walks over to the rugs on display. "I can't pay for it. I'm unemployed, remember?" You're about to turn the shopping cart around and return the selected items to their rightful places, but Kika stands in your way.
"Charles offered to pay for this," she says, confused, resting her perfectly manicured hands on the metal grille of the cart.
"He what?" you ask, looking around in the hope of spotting Charles somewhere. But he's nowhere to be seen.
"Pierre sent me a text message to leave the car at the checkouts when we're done. He said that Charles wanted to pay for it and that we should wait outside for them," she explains, tilting her head. "I thought he would have told you. I know you're unemployed, but because of the text message, I thought that - I assumed we could just pick out nice items without looking at the price."
You run your tongue over your teeth. "Give me a moment, please," you say briefly and leave her standing there with the shopping cart.
You walk through every aisle, looking over every shelf in the hope of seeing Charles standing somewhere. And when, after ten minutes, you spot his brown curls in the furthest corner of the store, you don't care if the two of you are seen together. He's standing in front of a gray, hip-high box spring, with nice, dark bedding and comfortable-looking pillows placed on it. When you stop next to him, he doesn't look at you.
"I want to buy a new bed," he begins the conversation. "The one I have now is too low for me. What do you think of this one? I've tried it out. It's really comfortable and the perfect height for -" He falls silent before he can finish the sentence.
"Kika says you want to pay for my things," you change the subject without answering his question. You don't take your eyes off the bed either.
"That's correct."
"I don't want that," you say tersely. "I don't want you to pay for it."
"But I want to," he replies, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. "Think of it as a gift."
"As a gift?" You raise an eyebrow. "As a gift for what?"
"For your friendship."
"You can have my friendship without buying me new things," you assure him, but you fall on deaf ears.
"But I want to. I have so much money that I can't spend on my own, so I want to buy you nice things." He leans a little towards you so that your hands touch. "How expensive are the things? One thousand, two thousand euros?"
"Kika says five hundred at most."
"Then think of it as a small, early Christmas present," he says gently. Before you can object, he continues. "I want you to feel comfortable and if it costs me some money, then so be it. And it won't hurt my bank account in the slightest. So just say thank you and accept the gift."
"Thank you," you whisper reluctantly, but you know that it wouldn't do any good to go against his wishes. "Did you find something you want to buy?"
He smiles. "This bed, apparently. And bedding. And a mirror."
"Doesn't sound bad. I just hope you have as good a taste as Kika. After all, our things have to match," you joke.
Charles turns his head in your direction. "Then lie down on the bed, mon amour. I'd like to see how you look on it before I spend thousands of euros on it." As he says it and his fingers curl around your wrist, that feeling blossoms in your chest again.
You want to throw him on the bed in front of you, kiss him until you can't breathe and touch him until you can see stars. You want to feel his warm skin under your fingertips, feel his muscles tense as he pulls you on top of him and presses you against his firm body. You want to feel his weight on you as he lays you down on the bed and his lips trail down from your mouth. You want to -
"Do you really think I'm going to try sleeping without you again when we've figured out that we both sleep better when we're together?" he asks, gently stroking the thin skin on your wrist with his thumb. You hope he can't feel your racing pulse underneath. "When we first met, you said that you hadn't had a decent night's sleep in a long time. And if it means I have to hold you in my arms so you can get a good night's sleep, then so be it. And it's not as if I don't enjoy having you close to me."
Before you can answer him, you feel a person standing at your other side and when you look, Kika is standing there. Her gaze flickers briefly to your hands before she turns to the bed as well. "Do any of you fancy a bite to eat?" she asks. "There's a restaurant nearby that serves incredibly good tiramisu. And it's never busy. We can go there if you like." She turns slightly in your direction and nudges you. "What about you? Do you want some tiramisu?"
More like a need than a want.
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Picture source: anonymous
Harvey noticed his two friends hadn't responded to his texts or calls over the last four days. It was unusual for them not to respond at least by the next day. He asked around to see if anyone knew where they could be. After asking so many people, he finally was told that they had been in a wrestling tournament four days ago. They had lost to this one guy and had gone missing since then.
Harvey tracked down the guy who had bested his two friends. His name was Finn. He happened to be the champion in the wrestling tournament. He went to his house to ask where his friends were.
Finn heard a knock on his front door. He opened it to see a guy standing there. "Yes, can I help you?" He asked since he had never seen him before.
"Yes, my name is Harvey. And I was wondering if you could tell me where my two friends Jake and Tom went. I heard you beat them in a tournament four days ago. They have been missing since." Harvey explained, hoping this time he finally knows about the whereabouts of his two best friends.
"Oh, those two fags. They were easy to beat." Finn paused. "As to their location, let's just say they are in a safe location." He added.
"Where are they?" Harvey asked again. He didn't like his previous answer one bit.
"You see, I am a TF Pred and I like taking special trophies from competitions that I win." Finn paused. "You two friends are my trophies. Come in and I will show you." He invited him in.
Harvey followed the guy to his room. Finn placed a pair of blue wrestlting spandex and wrestling shoes on his bed. "I don't know which one is Tom and which is Jake, but here they are." Finn told him.
Harvey didn't know if all he was told was true. He examined both items. He then felt a small twitch coming from both the shoes and spandex, almost like they were alive. "Change them back now." He demanded.
"Sorry, I keep my trophies. I don't have a habit of changing them back." Finn smiled deviously.
"Please, change them back." Harvey pleaded. He hated seeing his friends like that.
Finn decided to show some sort of mercy. "Here's the deal. Wrestle me for their humanity. If you manage to make me tap or submit, I will change them back to normal. But if I make you submit, you join their fate. I turn you into a trophy as well." He gave the offer to Harvey. "Your choice." He added.
Harvey saw the risk if he lost, but he wanted to save his friends from a permanent fate as such. "Okay, I agree to it."
Finn gave Harvey a pair of red wrestling spandex and told him to follow him to his garage. There was a green mat laid out.
Harvey managed to get out of every single hold that Finn tried on him until he got him in the scissors headlock. He held him tightly between his legs and tilted upwards in a position that would not allow him to escape.
"That's right. Just give in and pass out or tap out. It doesn't matter either way. You are mine. I think a nice pair of socks will do nicely for me." Finn remarked as he continued to apply pressure on the hold.
Harvey wasn't going to tap. He tried to break free as oxygen was leaving his body. The hold on his neck was too tight to escape. He soon lost consciousness and passed out from the lack of oxygen.

Harvey woke up sometime later from his nap feeling strange. He couldn't speak. He could manage some form of movement, but it was more like twitching. He smelled a strong odor and tasted something foul. He felt like he was wrapped around what he was tasting. The wiggling motion instantly let him know what he was. He was a pair of socks. The feet must have been Finn's He twitched in protest to being a pair of socks.
Finn felt twitching coming from his pair of socks. "Oh, you are finally awake. Sorry to tell you, but you lost our little bet." He paused with a smile on his face. "Which means you are mine just like your two friends. But don't worry, I will take good care of you just like I have done them." He laughed as he continued to watch this tv show.
Harvey knew the risk he was taking when he agreed. Now he was stuck as Finn's property just like Tom and Jake.
#inanimate transformation#tf story#permanent transformation#unwilling permanent transformation#sock transformation#spandex transformation#wrestling spandex transformation#wrestling shoes transformation
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"Affection And Focaccia"🥖🥖🥖
S: You're only stopping by Simon's bakery because you have a new recipe in mind, that's all. It's not as if there's any other reason to visit your burly Baker.




Pairing: Baker! Simon x Black!F! Reader
Tw: none/ it's fluffy
Wc: 2.9k
Notes: It's just more Baker!Simon; reader owns a general store across the street from Simon; This is proofread but there may still be mistakes🥖🥖

“Good morning Simon!” Your cheerful voice mingles with the chime above his door, and lifts his previous quiet like good yeast to a better bread dough. Simon glances up at you from the cinnamon rolls he's piping frosting onto,with a small smile hidden behind his mask.
“A little too good, if ya ask me.” He teases as you walk up to the counter, poking fun at all your energy so early in the morning. You roll your eyes and gently plop a cup of coffee by his register. A cold brew just how Simon likes it, the dark liquid and ice swishing lightly.
“Don't act as if you don't start the day even earlier than I do.” You suck your teeth and say before moving to the display case. Simon just blows an amused huff and puts down his piping bag to take a grateful sip from the cup, letting out a deep hum as thanks. You shuffle and focus on slices of carrot cake, instead of letting his voice and that hum register in your ears. You purposely avoid looking at his face once he pulls his mask down, feeling as if it'd be invading his privacy, even if he was the one to pull it down in front of you.
“Yeah, but I'm still not awake. Energy hasn't caught up to me yet.” he mumbles around his straw, insinuating that he'll be as cheery as you later today, making you both laugh. Simon lets you take your time looking for whatever confectionery you came in for this morning and takes a moment to do some looking of his own. Your shop didn't open for another hour or so, meaning you were still in your casual wear. It's nothing but a sweater and jeans but Simon still struggles to take his eyes off you. Well, even in a grocers apron and uniform to Simon you look incredible, but there's something about your comfortable clothes. It's like he gets a glimpse of what you're like outside his bakery and your general store. It makes him want to see more of it. When you look up and meet his eyes, Simon doesn't flinch, just lets you take in the honeyed way he's looking at you and glance away on your own.
“What's got you gracing me with your presence so early today?” Simon continues with ease, knowing there's heat building under your pretty, pigmented skin, even if he can't see it. You recover from catching Simon shamelessly checking you out, and manage to answer him.
“Gonna be closing the shop early today so I thought I'd buy lunch for later.” you explain and Simon puts it away in his mind that he shouldn't look forward to seeing you later like he usually does. You continue to scan his bread shelves, lip poked out slightly in concentration, and Simon watches this fondly before speaking up.
“Your usual then, miss?” He inquires while placing the freshly iced cinnamon rolls behind the display, even though it's obvious you're looking for something else today. You rub your chin and do one more once over of his stock, making Simon wonder what you could possibly be looking for today, before turning around.
“Actually I wanted some of your famous focaccia today sir.” You hum and walk back over to the register.
“But I don't see any?” you finish and look at him with questioning eyes making Simon curse in his head. It made sense that you were confused. Simon's bakery always has focaccia stocked. The flavors and varieties change but the bread itself is a pretty much constant item in his store, simply because it's simple to make while simultaneously being his best seller. It's just his luck that the first time you come in for some, is right after the men had a late night drinking and Johnny woke up this morning and ate the first thing he could find. Simon lets out an imperceptible sigh, his broad chest only rising and falling slightly.
“ It's cooling on the rack now. Got a bit of a late start on it today.” Simon explains, deciding to take the blame rather than throw his friend under the bus. Johnny's already paying for drinks next time as payment. You nod with a silent ‘oh ok’. It wasn't that big a deal, not at all, you could just get something else, but to Simon the fact that you came here this morning looking forward to something and he couldn't give it to you, was unacceptable.
“ That's fine. I'll just go with what I always get then-!” You start, your expression dropping slightly in understanding, but a drop at all was all he needed. You stop when Simon dusts his hands off on his apron and walks over to the small door in the counter. You feel your heart pick up in speed when he pulls up the short slab,opening up the lobby to the rest of the space.
“ If you've got a minute, I can cut a slice for you in the back.” He offers and steps to the side to invite you behind the counter. You falter for a moment, knowing it's not necessary to invite you into the kitchen just to cut you a piece of bread. For anyone else, he'd probably just head to the back and come out when he's done, but Simon never misses a chance to invite you behind the counter and you never miss a chance to accept. You meet his eyes for a short second, long enough to catch that honeyed gaze again, and give him a small nod.
“That sounds good, thanks Simon.” You agree with a cool smile, masking any feelings that were toeing over the border of a fun crush on a coworker. Simon gives you enough space to scoot past him and into the backroom, and settles some of the overexposed feelings in his own chest before following you.
The front of Simon's bakery is a sight in and of its own but it doesn't rival the kitchen. You're not sure how he got a hold of such a beautiful set up, but Simon’s back room has a large window that washes the space in bright sunlight, and somehow it fits the large, brooding man. You'll never forget the first time you ventured back here( after being given the ok the day before) and stumbled upon him. Face serene and content, sunlight washing over his broad frame, and music playing softly while he prepared his goods. Besides that, he has his steel island in the center, along with his rows of stainless steel ovens and racks. Then there were the homey touches like his corkboard with hastily scribbled on sticky notes and a little ghost keychain from your store. With the smell of baking bread always floating around, it created such a pleasant place to sit.
“I'll cut it in half so it cools faster.” Simon informs you while sliding past, the cologne Kyle bought him for his birthday that he didn't start wearing until recently, brushing your nose during the short second he filled your space. He walks over to the large island and it's only then that you notice the large trays of focaccia bread resting in the center, the bread puffy and golden brown.
“So, got a new recipe in mind?” Simon makes conversation, while washing his hands and replacing his gloves. You set your purse down next to the small radio playing music at a low tune. Through the fire by chaka Khan, a choice that would surprise you if you hadn't already heard him listening to 70s music in the past.
“ Yeah! I saw this sandwich idea on TikTik, that I wanted to try out. I bought the meat from Johnny's place a while ago and want to use it soon. Can't let it go bad.” you explain as you make yourself comfortable on the tall wooden stool by the radio. Well, as comfortable as you can on a stool. Simon pauses for such a short moment that if you weren't already trying not to look at the way his shirt sleeves stretched around his biceps, you would've missed it.
“Ah, alright.” Simon responds shortly, understanding everything but one obvious detail in what you'd just said, and you notice. Simon doesn't even have to look up from where he's using a bread knife to slice a part of the focaccia in half, letting more heat escape. He knows your wide eyes are watching him and the corners of your lips are quirking up into a suspicious smile. You both sit in silence for a millisecondonger before you open your mouth.
“Do you know what TikTik is-?” You start and can hardly get the words out before Simon lets out an irritated groan. You burst out laughing, leaning back on the stool, and Simon just shakes his head, fighting off his own smile.
“Oy, I've heard of it alright? Just haven't got around to downloading it.” he defends himself and if you didn't know any better you'd swear you can hear a bit of a pout in his voice. You let your giggles taper off as Simon just shakes his head again, this time with an air of fondness because he can't help soften like butter when you laugh.
“Kyle and Johnny are always talking about that damn app. So what? They've got recipes on there too?” Simon inquires further, before looking for something extra that he could send you off with. Johnny only ever showed him things that left him with less brain cells than he had before he watched them, and Kyle tended to send him things he didn't entirely understand. You spread your legs a tiny bit and rest both your hands on the chair between them.
“ Mmh hmm! People can post anything. Art, recipes, book recommendations, baking.” You add with emphasis and do a small gesture towards what looked like a tray of buns that Simon had pulled out sometime during this conversation. He hums thoughtfully while pulling a plump piping bag full of custard out of his industrial refrigerator. Simon's told you before that custard separated in the fridge when it's not cooked right, and judging by the way the bag is full to the brim with fluffy pastry cream, that's not something he has to worry about.
“Baking hm? Maybe I should download it then.” he mumbles in response before picking up a bread bun and stuffing custard inside. If it'll give him something else to talk to you about, a reason to interact outside of the few hours he sees you during work, Simon was game. You could send him anything you found funny or endearing and he'd welcome it. He glances up at you, noticing you hadn't responded to him and startles when he sees your face scrunched up in, what he guessed is disgust.
“Nah don't bother. There's some nice things about it, but it's really just a time waster.” you respond with a shake of your head. An image of Simon turning into one of those guys that make thirst traps with food, makes a visible shudder run up your spine. No matter how fine he looks in an apron, nothing would make up for the level of cringe guys like that create. Besides, something about the thought of Simon wasting his time away on his phone like the rest of you mere mortals, made you disgruntled. Something desolate shades over Simon's eyes then, immediately making you regret shutting down his idea.
“Could use something like that. Can't find enough things to do these days.” He murmurs deeply and you pause. That made sense. Simon has told you before that he served in the military. He never elaborated on what he did or what rank he got to be, but how protective he was of the information made you feel it was probably something important. He's retired now, but you don't have to be a rocket scientist to know that serving in the military likely leaves you with things you'd rather not have enough time to dwell on. You bite at your fingers, hating the tide this conversation had turned, and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.
“ If you need to waste time just hang out with me. You know I'm never doing much.” you suggest casually and Simon glances up at you in surprise. You hold his gaze and nod with a small shrug. It had been said in hopes of lightening the mood, but you meant what you'd said.
Aside from the time you spend with friends and family every now and then, you spend most of your time either in your flat or your store. That or in Simon's bakery of course. You're the kind of person that likes company. You don't have to speak with one another or fill the space. You just like to be in the presence of people you care about while doing your own thing. There was something about just knowing they're there that made you feel content. The thought of Simon relaxing in your living room with a book while you paint in the corner by your window, the night air keeping you cool, flashes in your mind, and the image alone makes your heartbeat a little faster. You meet Simon's eyes and he feels his face heat up behind his mask, but he surprises you by shaking his head.
“That wouldn't work.” He responds to you quietly and your heart drops. It looks like you were wrong to think that your company would be something he'd want outside of work, or that you could ease some of the thoughts clouding his mind. You rush to apologize when Simon walks up to you and places your bagged bread and cream bun in your lap. Your breath catches in your throat at his close proximity, his chest right in your face, but Simon looks down at you unaffected.
“If it's with you then it wouldn't be a waste, now would it?” He says softly while squatting down to your level. You're stunned silent as he brushes one of his fingers over your combed baby hairs. Oh. That was a good argument. You gaze at one another for a moment longer before you nod again and roll your eyes a little.
“Well, if you need some way to spend your time, you can spend it with me.” you reply quietly and run your thumb along the seam of his mask. You look into his eyes for permission and your heart jumps when he nods lightly. You breath softly, and right as you're about to tug his mask down, the loud chime of the bakery door rings into the room. Both you and Simon glance at the kitchen door as familiar voices fill the front of the shop.
“Dammit, completely forgot we were open.” Simon grunts before standing up, his broad body filling your vision for a second. You try not to feel too flattered that he was so invested in your conversation, he'd momentarily forgotten about his store. That wasn't necessarily a good thing after all, but it doesn't stop the butterflies you feel. While Simon pokes out his head to tell who you're sure is the town's elderly mothers, that he'll be out in a minute, you grab your purse and bag of pastries. You gently tap his back while sliding past him to get through the door, and Simon looks away from the chattering ladies to glance at you.
“Here Simon,let me pay you for the bread real quick, then I'll get out of your hair.” You whisper before grabbing a few bills. You try to hand them to him but Simon just wraps his large palm around yours. You meet his deep brown eyes as he presses the money back towards you, stepping closer and blocking you from sight of his customers.
“ It's on the house. Just save me a drink later, yeah?” he suggests instead, referencing the strawberry milk he always buys from your store, and what was a laugh turns into a small gasp when Simon leans into your space again.
“I'll take you up on that offer from before though.” he whispers against your temple with a hand at the small of your back, before leaving to handle the line of elderly women, who have gone suspiciously silent while waiting for their daily bread and gossip. His cologne is barely leaving your senses when you suddenly remember to breathe. You clear your throat quietly, never more grateful that the heat behind your cheeks isn't visible to the many, watching eyes behind the counter. It doesn't matter though because they'd seen everything they needed to.
“Excuse me ladies! I'll be seeing you later.” You excuse yourself politely before making your way to your own business, knowing that the ladies would be swarming your general store for answers later. Simon watches you leave with a small smile, looking forward to the interactions to come, until he hears someone clear their throat. Simon looks up to see a number of eyes looking back at him expectantly.
“Ahem, is there something you want to tell us Simon? Starting with a ‘you’ and ending with a ‘were right’?” Mrs. Thomas asks with an arched eyebrow, the other woman behind her wearing matching expressions. Simon takes a deep breath to prepare himself. He has his work cut out for him now.

A/n: I thought up some random dialogue for Baker!Simon and forced myself to write an entire fic around it. It was giving me way more stress than necessary, so I decided to stop nitpicking and just finish it. It's not perfect, I'm not crazy about it, but it's not bad either. Thanks for reading!🥖🥖🥖
🥖Taggies: @cookieswithay

#cod fluff#cod fic#cod fics#call of duty fluff#call of duty#cod x black reader#call of duty x reader#cod x reader#141 x black reader#141 x reader#simon ghost riley x black reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x black reader#simon riley x reader#ghost cod#x black reader
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Gun Park x Reader: It starts with a plant
G/N. Fluff. Gun's home is cold and sparse. Masterlists
"Take this," you grin, holding out the small plant towards Gun. "It's for you."
He frowns, wondering why he would ever want that and makes no move to take it.
You thrust the plant closer, "Here."
"I don't want it."
Rolling your eyes, you place it down on his coffee table. "You need to look after it."
"I don't."
"It's a gift from me."
'I don't want it' is on the tip of his tongue again but the look on your face stops him short. Gun decides on saying thanks instead.
"Try not to kill it."
.
.
You had commented that his house is kind of a dump one morning, and Gun had countered that you didn't mind last night.
Not that he was particularly offended by that comment, he did live in the middle of a junkyard after all - let's not pretend there's anything glamorous about that.
His furniture was sparse, decor non-existent though hints of luxury still peeked out here and there.
It was just so... cold, though. A bit like the man himself, you suppose.
.
.
It starts with a plant.
You aren't trying to impose, or make your mark on Gun's home or anything of the sort. But then the salesperson spots you eyeing up this particular long-leafy plant (for your own home actually) and starts explaining how it's virtually indestructible, can put up with a lot of neglect, a lack of sunlight and still thrive-
Well.
It's just that plants liven up a place, don't they? A bit of healthy greenery is always pleasant to look at, and it's good for the air quality as well, something to consider when living amongst mounds of rusting old metal.
What's the harm in giving this to Gun?
.
.
Gun, to his own credit, actually listens to your parting words.
"Try not to kill it."
There's so much blood on his hands, and that has been so easy, that trying to keep something alive should be far harder.
Gun looking after a plant goes much better than anyone would expect. He is nothing if not meticulous with his methods.
Each time you visited him, which used to be a once-in-a-blue-moon middle of the night sloppy visit and eventually turned into weekly sleepovers, you noticed the plant steadily getting greener and more lush until one day-
"I think it needs a bigger pot."
.
.
Next was the blanket.
You buy it thinking about how warm and fluffy it is, how it has the cutest pattern and you get cold sitting with him on his threadbare sofa in that shack.
You did not buy it thinking about how out of place it would look in Gun's home.
Gun keeps his face carefully neutral when you unveil the monstrosity and drape it on the sofa. He refrains from commenting, refrains from looking at it at all and plans to burn it as soon as he can.
Then he sees you snuggling in it, a happy sigh leaving your lips, looking all snug and practically glowing.
He's not actually heartless, okay. At least not when it comes to you.
Maybe he can just stuff it in a dark corner somewhere when you're not around.
.
.
The candles are completely unnecessary though Gun will admit that they smell quite nice.
A couple of rugs also invades his home at some point, as well as a welcome mat for the front door.
"People aren't welcome here."
Giving him a side eye, you tell him it's just a name.
The wall 'art' Gun did put his foot down and refused. You come back with framed pictures of the both of you instead and- Gun sighs and concedes, fine.
.
.
Gun liked his house exactly how it was - blank and minimal.
The new decor and furnishing you got didn't really add to his quality of life but he keeps every item. Each time he looks at something, something that is vastly out of place in his previous bare home, it reminds him of you.
The plant continues to thrive, along with the few more that you gifted him and the blanket never moves from the sofa.
.
.
"Here," Gun says, handing you a toothbrush to keep neatly next to his. Along with your own dedicated closet space, and free rein to replace his furniture and decorate as you see fit.
"Stay." He says. For tonight, tomorrow, forever.
You can't keep the smile off your face. "Really?"
He nods, because this feels right. His house has been feeling less like his, and more like ours and to his surprise, like home more than ever.
#lookism#lookism x reader#gun park#gun park x reader#park jonggun x reader#park jonggun#wannaeatramyeon
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REVELLLLLL DROP ANOTHER SCAVENGERS CHAPTER AND MY LIFE IS YOURSSS !!!!
Disaster squad!

Lifeless Ordinary Pt 5
Scavengers x Reader
• Shifting slightly to keep an optic on Misfire and Crankcase as the two try to get behind Swindle at the bins of human things, despite Krok warning them to not steal anything. They have to realize they need this crook to get them food for you. And if they get caught, Swindle’s likely to refuse to sell them anything else. “I mean, you gotta understand with the way humans multiply, they’re everywhere. Hundreds of different languages going. How was I to know which one your pet speaks?” Swindle flashes his denta, but it’s his newest acquisition that Krok’s attention keeps sliding to. Another human sitting in the middle of a bin of cloth coverings, folding the items one by one and sorting them into stacks. Ignoring the rest of them.
• Used car salesman aura robot is back and talking with your guys. Even not understanding a word the guy is saying, you’re almost positive he’s lying through his denta as he talks to Clicky. Over the weeks of being stuck as a pet, you’d started making up names for them all. Clicky, Goggles, Wings, Broken, and Big. Not exactly creative, but naming them makes you feel better. Makes them people instead of just scary, giant robots that want who knows what from you. You’re so busy watching the fast talker, that you almost miss the other human. Almost.
• Adjusting you against his chassis, Fulcrum watches you try to signal the other human, waving an arm until they look up and chattering at them. Sagging some when they reply, shaking their little head and gesturing at Swindle. You can’t understand the other human, he realizes. So the crook isn’t lying and he winces when you slump against him, sullen now. Still muttering nonsense. “You have their language?” Krok asks, beginning to click that thing he carries around and the sound makes Swindle grimace.
• Slumping against Goggles you have the absurd urge to cry, because there’s another human right there. And they can’t understand you. Apparently the universe is having fun jerking you about. Just one thing. Can just one single thing go your way?
• “I know that language,” Swindle grumbles glancing at you in Fulcrum’s hands and tearing his optics away when Spinister grumbles softly and rests a big hand on Fulcrum’s shoulder. Staying close to his tiny pet, but letting someone else carry you so he can get to his weapons if need be. It’d be easier just to shoot the mech in the face and take everything. He’d explained that to Misfire, but the seeker had just shook his head at him like he was being the unreasonable one. These things are all things you’d need, right? So why not take them. How’s that short sighted? Relaxing some when Swindle hands the data file over to Krok and he calls for Crankcase to try it. Because if this one doesn’t work, he’s shooting the other mech no matter what Misfire says.
• “Why is it always me? Why not test things on Spinister? Or Fulcrum.” Swearing at them all, he lets Spinister install the language chip. “You’re all awful,” he mutters and you sit up straight in Fulcrum’s hands and lean so far out, the other mech pins you tighter to his chassis in surprise. Staring right at him with wide eyes.
• “I understand you!” You’re so giddy, you almost pitch out of Goggles’s hands. Because that wasn’t weird alien noise coming from Broken. He’d spoken and you’d understood him and you’re about to start bawling you’re so happy. Finally. You can go home.
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Rules for Living With The Thunderbolts #1
Let me know if you would like to see more of this series, I am planning to do a fic for some of the rules in the future
Alexei and Walker are only allowed a maximum of two cups of coffee per day
Neither are allowed anywhere near the coffee machine
Nobody wants a repeat incident of 'The Zoomies' as Bob has dubbed it
Do not allow either of them to inhale the cups in one go
Adding onto the previous rule, no G Fuel for them either
Whoever spiked Walker's drink with G Fuel, you're dead
I'm revising the rule, no more G Fuel in the tower at all
Only Bob and Yelena are allowed any G Fuel, nobody else
Alexei is no longer allowed to use the VR goggles
He already destroyed the previous one, we're not setting aside more funds to buy yet another VR goggle
We do not have enough funds to keep repairing the walls
It's already noisy enough when Alexei watches television and Youtube videos, we don't need to add a third way for him to make everyone go deaf
Nobody is allowed to wear the VR goggles and be anywhere near a balcony
There's no guarantee you'll be caught before becoming a pancake on the ground
Do not dare someone to break this rule, explaining to Valentina why one of the New Avengers fell from the tower is not in my bucket list
If any of you really feel like experiencing what falling from the tower, I'm more than happy to throw you off it myself, there's no need to go to VR to experience it ~ Walker
Walker is not allowed to throw anyone off the tower
Ava is not allowed to throw Walker off the tower
Alexei is not allowed to dare Ava to try it
Neither is Yelena or Bob
Can we stop wanting to throw people off the tower? The paperwork involved is way too irritating
Ava is not allowed to phase through walls into other people's rooms
Please do not phase into showers either
Use the door like a normal person
Knock before entering
Doors are locked for a reason, people do not enjoy being interrupted
Not everyone is comfortable being seen naked either
Yelena is not allowed to change every device's language to Russian
Half of us might be able to read and understand Russian but the other half do not
'Teaching Bob/Ava Russian' is not a valid excuse
Neither is 'screwing Walker over'
Changing the language to a language none of us know is also not allowed, it took a whole day to figure out what button did what
Bulk ordering glitter is banned
If I wake up with glitter all over me one more time, I'm going to make the perpetrator eat all the glitter
It took me an entire month to clean out all the glitter from my metal arm, I do not have the patience to do it all again
Bob is not allowed to eat glitter, not even for a dare
Ava is not allowed to 'decorate' rooms with glitter and glue, it took forever to clean up Walker's room
I'm still finding glitter scattered in the vents, I know you're the perpetrator, Yelena
Alexei does not 'need glitter to decorate his diaries', that is not a valid excuse, Yelena
Walker is not allowed to burn glitter with the stove
James Buchanan Barnes is NOT allowed to use the dishwasher to clean his metal arm ~ Y/N
I don't care, the dishwasher is meant to wash dishes not a metal arm
Every time the arm has gone into the dishwasher, something breaks, and I don't want the dishwasher to be the next thing that breaks
The next time I see that metal arm in the dishwasher, you're sleeping on the couch, Mr James Buchanan Barnes, no second chances
Do not take food that has been labeled with someone else's name
Certain food items have a name attached to them for a reason, please do not consume food that has someone else's name on them
You're also not allowed to eat food that your name is attached to and say someone else ate it, calling for retribution
I know you ate your own pudding Ava, stop blaming Walker for the decrease in number of puddings with your name on it in the fridge
All milkshakes automatically belong to Bob, no questions asked
Yelena stop switching the labels around, I know which food belongs to who and you can't fool me
Y/N I can't believe I have to tell you to stop eating my ice cream, what betrayal is this?
Keep the targets you use for target practice safely
I know most of you use a certain someone's picture for target practice
Please keep them in a safe spot after use so that we don't get any more complaints
The certain someone wasn't very happy to see pictures of themselves filled with holes clearly left by bullets and knives
I am banning the use of that picture for target practice, that picture specifically, I'm sure all of you are smart enough to strictly follow this rule
Hope you all enjoyed the first of hopefully many rules, I'm rly excited to revive this trend!!
#marvel#mcu#marvel x reader#mcu x reader#mcu bucky#marvel bucky#bucky#bucky barnes#marvel bucky barnes#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x you#thunderbolts#thunderbolts bucky#thunderbolts spoilers#marvel thunderbolts#yelena belova#bob reynolds#john walker#alexei shostakov#ava starr
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chapter eight || hitchhiker || the proxies
SMUT MINORS DNI 18+. tw: humiliation like big time please read with discretion, degrading, rough sex, breeding kink, choking, face fucking
Masky knew time was running out.
In his hand sat a scrub brush, his fingers gripping the wood so tightly his knuckles were turning white. He knew they were running out of time. The Operator wanted you. He could see it now. He had been a blind fool to not realize it sooner. Your paranoia. Masky felt like a fool to ever even think that them being around you wouldn't cause this. He gritted his teeth as he scrubbed at your kitchen floor. They needed to do what they did best: disappear.
Toby was keeping The Operator busy, Hoodie occupied with finding Nova. They had agreed to let her live for your sake, so you would have someone while they were gone. Leaving meant one thing for certain: absolutely no traces were to be left behind that they were over there. No fingerprints, items, hairs, or any sign. Masky knew this is what they had to do. It was for your own good. They couldn't let The Operator have you. You didn't deserve this life of imprisonment. It was then your apartment door slammed open, your small figure shaking with rage. Masky's eyes widened, his expression hidden under his mask. You slammed the door behind you, reaching around to your back waistband.
You weren't proud of your decision to steal from Nova. She was your best friend. But as you clutched the metal piece in your hands, you had never felt more alive. You held out the stolen gun, aiming it at Masky's crouched figure.
"Who are you?" You asked coldly. You had never felt more explosive with emotions, your heart racing. "My name is Masky. I am a mere alter created by the Tim you know and love," Masky said flatly. You narrowed your eyes, your eyebrows furrowing. "Explain yourself," You ordered. Masky raised his hands, slowly rising to his feet. He noted you wearing his jacket even as you pointed a gun at him. "There's too much to explain, what you need to know-" Masky began, your audible scoff cutting him off. Your face was twisted in anger and betrayal, your hands beginning to visibly shake. "I don't give a shit what you think I need to know. Tell me everything. From the beginning. Leave out any details and i-i'll shoot!" You exclaimed.
Masky straightened his shoulders, eyeing you through his mask. "When you met us we had just gotten done with murdering Detective Williams, or whatever his name is. They all blend in together after a while. May I sit? We're going to be here for a while," Masky asked. He gestured to your coffee table. You frowned, cocking your gun towards the table. Masky recognized it to be a python. The same one Nova had threatened to kill Toby with. "I can listen to the story without your mockery. Detective Winston had a family. He had a community that looked up to him," You spat, venom lacing your words. Masky dug in his jean pocket, yanking out a box of cigarettes.
"They always do. He made himself a target by investigating the proxy symbol. I know Nova has showed it to you," Masky said. He was merely guessing, but your face twisting in surprise confirmed his suspicion. "The proxy symbol has been around for centuries. It was created by my maker, The Operator. An unstoppable supernatural entity that diminishes the sanity of his victims. The ones he wants to make proxies at least," Masky explained. He took out a cigarette, not bothering to offer you one. You looked like you could use one though. Your shaking was very noticeable. "When he plants the proxy symbol at a location. He has a specific target in mind. Once the target breaks down to his liking, he'll turn them into what we are. Enslaved proxies mindlessly forced to do his bidding," Masky told you. Masky knew it was highly unprobeable you'd actually pull the trigger.
But to make you feel better he took his lighter out of his pocket slowly. "However, in the modern day world, getting a proxy is a bit more tricky. Back when Hoodie and I-" He started, noticing you looking lost. He flicked the lighter, igniting the end of his stick. "Hoodie is Brian's alter. We were created due to Tim and Brian's mental corruption and faltering. We can swallow what The Operator wants. They can't," Masky clarified. He inhaled his cigarette, any protest of him smoking inside being kept to yourself. "Back to what I was saying. Back then, maybe seven years ago, people just used missing posters and if you weren't found in 48 hours, you were presumed dead. Nowadays there's cameras and more compassion," Masky rambled. He exhaled his cigarette through his mouth, a difference between him and Tim.
"Killing cops and detectives isn't our bread and butter you know. We used to just clean up corpses or crime scenes. But that symbol reaching a wider audience is lethal to life as you know it. Nova really fucked up, plastering that shit on television," Masky said in an annoyed tone. Your eyes were beginning to water, your energy spent on fighting back the tears that threatened to poor. "Why?" You asked. Masky raised his hand, as if having a gun at him was unfazing. "I'm getting there princess," Masky replied. He inhaled more of his cigarette, before quickly exhaling. The buzz gave him a decent amount of relief from stress. "When The Operator plants a symbol somewhere, he has a singular target in mind. If it gets exposed to too many people, they could suffer from his wrath too. You'd be surprised how many people are one day away from snapping. He targets the mentally weak, like Tim and Brian. The weak with deep down issues that he could exercise to his advantage," Masky said dryly.
"Don't say that!" You hissed. Masky gave you an odd look, one concealed by his mask. "Why? Because you made out with Brian? Because you shared a cigarette with Tim?" He questioned. Your tears were flooding your waterline now, blinks away from free falling. "Well listen up princess. They're the reason you're fucked," Masky barked. The tears became too much, two droplets sliding down your cheeks. "The Operator has now shown interest in you. And it's their fault. It's also mine, for not putting a bullet through your skull when I had the chance," He said coldly. Your hands were shaking, your finger trembling against the trigger. You had never shot a gun in your life. You feared if you removed your finger he would stop talking. But you also feared if you kept it there you may accidentally pull the trigger.
"And Toby?" You asked.
Masky picked up his head, "What about him?"
"How does he play into all of this? You haven't mentioned him once," You explained. Masky took another sharp inhale, the tobacco smoke circling around his lungs. "The kid was practically adopted by The Operator when he burned down his house. Tourette's, schizophrenia, and the inability to feel pain. The Operator’s perfect adopted child. Not including his homicidal tendencies," Masky told you. Your eyes widened, your heart beginning to throb painfully. "Homicidal tendencies?" You whispered. It suddenly occurred to you. Nova had been right all along. Masky pistol whipped you. He was responsible for the bullet wounds. "He cuts up the bodies?" You said, phrasing your words as more of a question. Masky nodded affirmatively. "Like no one you've seen before," He confirmed. You felt your stomach churn, nausea ensuing quickly. They were murderers, all of them.
You blinked slowly, soaking all of it in. You glanced over at your kitchen, noting a duffel bag on your counter and Masky's abandoned scrub brush on the floor. "Why were you cleaning my apartment?" You asked. Masky ran his fingers through his choppy hair. "To leave no traces of us. This is what we do. We get the job done, then we disappear," He said, the words spilling out like he didn't want to say them. You froze, his words soaking in. They were leaving? After everything that had happened? "And the duffel bag?" You questioned. Masky slowly rose from the coffee table, taking one last puff of his cigarette before tossing it into the sink.
He grabbed it, yanking open the zipper and tossing it upside down. Out spilled handfuls of hundred dollar bills. You had never seen so much hard cold cash before, your heart plummeting at the sight. “What is this supposed to be?” You gasped. Masky tossed the duffel bag aside. “A peace offering. We’re hoping you can forgive us. That’s around fifty thousand dollars. That’ll pay off your debts. Take the money and Nova and get the fuck out of town,” Masky advised. You temporarily put down the gun, feeling defeat.
“Thats what you think I want? To forget the three of you? Why did you do this to me? Use me to get to Nova? You-” You babbled, pausing when you realized you weren’t talking to Tim. You swallowed, choking on your own words. “Was it a game? To all of you? To Brian? Hood- Hoodie? Toby? Tim? You?” You questioned. Masky lifted his mask, tossing it aside. “Listen to me very carefully princess. Hoodie and I may have started off that way but you have no idea how much you’ve grown on us. How much we care about you. I mean, for fucks sake we just gave you fifty grand,” Masky said. You stomped over to him, grabbing a handful of the cash and throwing it at his chest.
“You think I give a shit about any of that? I let the three of you, five of you, what the fuck ever, into my goddamn life and not only, do you lie to me about who you are. You murder people due to a demon that you attached to me and now you’re just going to up and leave? Thats your resolution?” You exclaimed. Masky went to take a step towards you, your arm raising the gun out of instinct. “Dont fucking touch me or I swear to God i’ll shoot,” You threatened. The swelling in your chest was immense, pressure assaulting your chest.
For the first time in Masky’s existence, he felt something unfamiliar. He watched as you struggled to stay upright, your chest rising and lowering at a dramatic rate. “I don’t understand, why are you upset? This is the best course of action,” Masky said bluntly. You wiped away a few tears, your lip quivering uncontrollable. “Because I fucking care about you! About all of you!” You bellowed. Masky froze, watching your hand shake as you gripped the gun. He realized what he was feeling, his mouth running dry.
Remorse. He felt remorse.
In a swift motion Masky charged at you, one hand gripped around the python, the other backing you into the front door. His large fingers gripped around the gun, angrily tossing it to the side. “First things first princess, you ever aim a gun at me again i’m going to shoot you with it. Secondly, the next time you aim a gun at someone, maybe take the gun off of safety first,” He growled. You shook under his touch as he towered over you. “And thirdly, I care about you too,” Masky confessed softly. You stared up at him, the face of the man who you had shared a cigarette with and bought you cupcakes on a late night whim. Unsurely he brought his hand to your face.
He cupped your cheek, wiping away the remaining tears that stained your soft skin. You searched his eyes unsurely. “There isn’t shit we can do now about how we got here. But I want the best for you,” Masky told you. You put your hand on top of his, closing your eyes. “You all cant leave me. You- you can’t,” You whimpered. Masky’s gaze softened, watching tears flow freely. His thumbs couldn’t wipe them away fast enough. “You’re all I have,” You uttered. It occurred to Masky then, the situation you were truly in.
You had Nova, sure. But how long was it before she wanted a family of her own? Maybe she would keep you around, sure. But you worked a dead end job, one that clearly was not paying the bills. Your dreams were far and out of reach. You had no contact with anyone else besides them. How could he do it? How could Masky leave you here all by yourself? He always thought of himself to be stronger than this. To be stronger than Tim. He was created to be a ruthless obedient murder machine. Yet as you sobbed into his hand, he realized he may be more than that. He couldn’t allow The Operator to have you. He knew that for certain. But all he could do for now, was have you to himself.
He guided your head, using his hand to guide your chin to look at him. You swallowed, your eyes glassy as Masky pressed his lips to yours. His lips were rough, your arms wrapping themselves around his neck without a second thought. He pushed you flat against the door, his large hands roaming down your body. Briefly he bent down, reaching under your thighs. “Jump,” He grumbled against your lips. You did as commanded, the brunette lifting you like you weighed nothing at all.
Your legs wrapped around Masky’s waist out of instinct, his bulge rubbing against your clothed core. He began to slowly grind against you, the two of you groaning in each other’s mouths. Your hands found his hair, gently tugging at the roots as you meshed your lips against his. He swiped his tongue along your bottom lip, causing you to whine as you granted him access. Involuntarily you pulled him closer and closer, wanting Masky as close to you as humanly possible. “I have to warn you princess, I don’t play nice,” Masky huffed, pulling away from your lips. His cock was throbbing his jeans, each subtle movement of his hips resulting in a whine escaping your throat.
“I don’t want nice. I want you,” You whispered. Your doe eyes met his, your words only making him more flustered. “I’m not like Toby, I could seriously hurt you,” Masky repeated. You bit the inside of your cheek, your gaze flickering to his lips. “So hurt me then,” You agreed. Masky’s eyebrows raised, a devious smirk crossing his lips. “You sure you can handle it pretty girl?” He questioned. He brought his hand to your throat, squeezing the sides. You groaned as he restricted your airway, your hips rolling against his. “Holy fuck, you really are a slut,” Masky grumbled. He licked his lips, setting you down on the floor.
His hands fiddled with your sweatpants, shoving them and your panties down to the floor in a careless motion. You expected him to lead you to the couch or to drop to his knees. To do anything but what he did next. In a swift motion he picked you up by your thighs, nuzzling his face in between your thighs. Fear washed over you as he held you mid air, your back hitting the wall. You were almost touching the ceiling, your mouth running dry. “M-Masky i’m not sure-” You started to protest, Masky’s curious eyes gazing up at you. He held you as if you weighed nothing, his mouth dangerously close to your cunt.
“Something wrong princess? I thought you said you could handle it,” Masky chuckled. He straightened out his back, unfazed by holding you standing up.He had looped your legs over his shoulders, hit breath fanning over your folds. "It's just a b-bit high up here," You stuttered. Masky leaned forward, licking an agonizingly slow stripe up your folds. "I got you princess, now relax and fall apart for me," Masky purred. He brought his mouth to your clit, groaning into your folds as he devoured your pussy. Your core was aching, praying for more. His tongue wasn't enough, each flick making your body shudder. You began to relax, raking your hands through his hair as he lapped at your cunt.
Unlike Toby he was far more rough and assertive, his tongue teasing your entrance before continuing to lap any juices you produced. His grip on you was tight, your head tilting back against the wall as he held you in place. You felt the rope inside of you tighten. "Fuck Masky right fucking there! So close," You slurred. Masky took one last long lap of your cunt, before bringing you back to the floor. The tension inside of you dissolved. "W-what was that? I was so close!" You hissed. Masky grabbed a handful of your hair, dragging you over to the couch. He threw you over the arm of the couch, your ass high in the air. A sharp slap was delivered to your skin, a chill running down your spine.
"You'll take what I give you. Such a whiny little thing," Masky purred. He rubbed the skin he had slapped, admiring your flesh turning a deep red. The pain he delivered was gratifying, your core throbbing with a different desire. An ache you had never craved before. You turned around, throwing yourself to the ground. "What do we have here? A cock hungry whore?" Masky mused. You yanked at his belt, before undoing his jeans. Masky couldn't deny you, his desire for you too much to ignore any longer. You brought his cock into your mouth without a second thought, your doe eyes staring up at him. You hollowed out your cheeks, taking his cock down to the base.
"Do- Do you want me to face fuck you?" Masky asked unsurely. You nodded as best as you could with his length down your throat, the sight setting Masky's body on fire. He grabbed your hand, putting it in a neat ponytail. "Your wish is my command princess. Why don't you touch that pretty cunt of yours?" He suggested. You slithered one of your hands down to your cunt, rubbing circles around your clit as Masky moved his hips. His cock hit the back of your throat slowly, his eyes gleaming with pride as you took him in stride. You whined around his cock as your core ignited with a familiar flame. The vibrations made Masky moan your name, his grip on your hair now tightening.
"How did I ever think of leaving? Fuck!" Masky moaned. His hips began to move faster, his cock abusing your throat as it pleased. You gagged around his thick shaft, saliva dripping down the sides of your mouth. Humiliatingly it dripped down your chin, a small puddle of it forming on the floor. You circled your clit faster, gagging on Masky as he shoved himself down your throat. "Such a good slut for me. So fucking good. Fucking hell," Masky grunted. Tears flooded your waterline again, this time the sight satisfying to the brunette standing above you. He enjoyed seeing you so hungry for his cock. So desperate to get off that you'd let him throat fuck you as you played with yourself.
You could feel yourself getting close again, this time your eyes pleading as they looked at Masky. "Can I cum?" You asked, your words muffled by his shaft. Masky pulled himself out of your throat, a thick string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. "Look at you. Asking me to cum like a good girl," Masky praised. You continued to circle your clit, the brunette crouching down to your level. He grabbed your chin roughly, planting a sloppy kiss to your lips. "That's too fucking bad that you need to cum already. You're only allowed to cum on my cock," Masky spat. He grabbed a handful of your hair, pushing you towards the floor. You held your ass high in the air, whimpering as you forced yourself to disconnect your fingers from your clit.
Masky made his way behind you, pressing down on your back for a better arch. "You need to cum on a real mans dick princess. Lucky for you i'm here," Masy huffed. He slapped his tip on your drenched folds, the slightest sensation making you squirm. He pushed himself inside of you, both of you groaning in unison. "You're so lucky i'm here. If Tim was doing this he'd hold your hand. But that's not what you want. Is it?" He asked mockingly. He grabbed your wrist, pinning them behind your back as he bottomed out inside of you. "You want to be degraded and be a whore, don't you?" Masky tsked. You squeezed his shaft, then attempting to wiggle your helps so the brunette would move. "I'm not a whore!" You protested weakly. Masky grinned devilishly, pushing your head to the ground.
Your face was an inch away from your previously fallen saliva, your eyes widening. "Lick it up or I won't fuck you," Masky threatened calmly. You hesitated, his hand roughly grabbing your hair, guiding you over to the pool of saliva. "I don't think I stuttered princess," He growled. Humiliated, you stuck out your tongue, deciding to lick the saliva off of the floor. "Only whores do this kind of shit to get fucked. Guess that makes you a whore," Masky chuckled darkly. He began to move his hips, moans escaping your lips as you licked the wood below you. "You're my whore though, don't you ever forget it," Masky rambled. He snapped his hips into yours, his cock abusing your g spot with ease.
Your body shook as Masky pounded into you, his fingers gripping your waist so hard your sinful noises were a mixture of pain and pleasure. You couldn’t control the sounds you made, Masky’s cock pounding into you mercilessly. You felt the cord inside of you tighten again, Masky’s thrust alone enough to send you over the edge. “My fucking whore. C’mere,” Masky snarled. He released your wrist, grabbing you by your hair and yanking you towards him. Your back hit his back as he thrust up into you, your thighs beginning to tremble. Roughly he brought his hand to your throat, squeezing it harshly.
“Go on. I know you’re dying to cum on my cock,” Masky grunted. His breath was hot against your ear, his grip on your neck only tightening. “Just know once you do i’m going to cum deep inside of you,” Masky informed you. You whimpered, your body being forced closer and closer to the edge. “Awe you like that idea, don’t you princess? I can feel you squeezing me. You like the idea of me breeding you,” Masky snickered. It was then your vision went white, your breath shallow as you came around his cock. Your walls milked Masky as you rode out your orgasm, the brunette behind you grunting as he came inside of you.
Dazed, you felt Masky’s hand slip away from your neck. Slowly he pulled out of you, his cum dripping down your thighs and traveling onto the floor. You slumped onto the floor, Masky’s strong hands preventing you from fully falling over. “Let’s get you tucked in princess,” Masky mumbled. You allowed your eyes to flutter close, entrusting the man with a mask with take care of your limp body.
“Hey Masky?”
“Yeah?”
“You guys are staying, right?”
Masky hesitated, clearing his throat before answering, “Yes we are.”
“Can I keep the fifty grand too?”
—> next chapter
#hitchhiker#marble hornets x you#marble hornets x reader#hoody marble hornets#hoodie marble hornets#masky marble hornets#marble hornets#creepypasta x y/n#creepypasta x female reader#creepypasta x you#creepypasta lemon#creepypasta x reader#creepypasta masky#creepypasta smut#creepypasta#masky and hoodie smut#tim wright smut#tim masky#brian thomas smut#brian thomas x reader#masky smut#masky x reader#masky x hoodie#masky and hoody#mh masky#ticci toby x you#ticcy toby x you#ticci toby x reader#ticci toby smut#ticci toby
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The text of behind-the-scenes writing has confirmed what I was suspecting was going to happen since watching season 1: the writers absolutely did not understand the Machine Herald.
Let’s skip the terrible implication of their words that disabled people who are missing parts of their body or use prosthetics somehow „lack humanity“; the writers show they were only viewing Viktor through the concept of transformation, no matter what that meant. They were convinced that all Viktor needed to do to become the „Herald“ he’s famous for, was to go through some as gruesome or eerie transformation as possible, stripping himself of emotions in the process.
Let me be clear that this is completely wrong.
Obsessively removing parts of one’s own body in order to upgrade more and more with tech is not a motivation on its own, it is a consequence of some deeper problem. It is a manifestation of something that is hidden in the mental level.
And while at first S1 might have gone the way of a disabled character getting „addicted“ to becoming more and more able-bodied and even transcending abilities of an average human body (which is still kind of an iffy take when framed as strictly negative), the subsequent degradation and complete digression of Viktor’s character arc with the transformation instead being forced on him in Season 2 by Jayce’s misguided attempt to save him, highlights that the writers did indeed hold the aforementioned idea of „eerie transformation“ as the top/core thing that makes Viktor the „Herald“, instead of his motivations for a transformation.
Even season 1’s possible idea was stopped in its tracks because at the end of s1, Viktor is written making a clear choice: hurting others for one’s own benefit is crossing the line, and he resigned to dying. He completed his arc.
This created a problem for season 2, as Viktor was written by s1 as effectively being too moral of a character to do a transformation. Enter the forced/brainwashing effect of magic on Viktor, a band-aid to force the plotline the writers wanted for him. Altering his mind and convincing him that the way to help others is to strip them of all agency and emotions.
No matter how many times the writers say they wanted Viktor to „make a mistake out of a genuine but misguided desire to help“, viewers continuously voice what they see, what the writing actually portrays – a lack of agency of the character. If text is badly written, it fails at conveying what it intended to.
~
Going back to the Machine Herald and what I said about self-augmentation (at least in his case as a fictional character) as just a symptom of a different problem, it’s even explicitly confirmed in Viktor’s accompanying release text:
„People deal with grief in many ways, and Viktor did it by replacing his body parts with robotic limbs.“
I’m honestly shocked that I have to copy-paste these things so often and that professional writers yet again missed the point.
The Machine Herald was a very layered character. The self-augmentation is just the top layer which makes him cool. The deeper levels are what makes him compelling.
He went into self-augmentation using his own technology as a way to propel himself again to the top of his profession, both in terms of cutting-edge achievements and in terms of recognition. He had an impression that nothing short of shocking and utterly bizzare would be able to beat his previous stolen achievement and cement him at the very top of Zaun’s scientific community. This is also supported by how theatrical his behaviour is as the Machine Herald, explains why he has vanity items like a cape and why his hair is still out. He felt betrayed by his own mind for cursing him in naivety, jealousy and depression for who knows how long. He also had issues with self-image, smashing his own face on a framed photo that showed him standing proudly next to Blitzcrank. He tried to distance himself from his previous identity of a vulnerable, very human and very empathetic student who wanted to better society by aiding in the waste reclamation process. Blitzcrank was made for cleaning Zaun – and who is idealist enough in such a self-serving city-state to attempt something like that. This he shares with Ekko, and Ekko is very clearly a hero.
Viktor’s moral ambiguity was not supposed to come from the narrative trying to obfuscate if „removing free will“ is a bad thing – because it is, it will always be an evil thing. This free will point didn’t exist in his release lore, it’s entirely the addition of 2016. Universe bio. I also believe the story gets downgraded and loses its potency if it picks a side and makes Viktor „slide into villainy“ by „completely losing his humanity.“ His ambiguity originally came precisely from how his actions towards his own body make the readers feel. It was entirely up to the readers themselves to decide whether they saw self-augmentation as cool and badass, or as unjustified self-mutilation. It’s a type of interplay between the story and its readers. A character within the story itself, Jayce, made up his mind and held the opinion that it was not a good thing.
Viktor is a „mad scientist“ and although this trope can be very reductive, it also carries some truths. Viktor went mad. His self-augmentation was never going to be justified by sensible, lucid motives, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t have reasons. He was in so much pain and felt trapped, and yet despite that he found a way to build himself back up again piece by piece, and undergo such a tremendous transformation entirely relying on personal ingenuity and resilience. The key difference between his inside perspective and our (and other characters’) outer perspective, is that his reasons and pain are of mental nature which makes them way more hidden to us.
His story can develop in the direction „backwards“, him integrating back into society to an extent while maintaining this dislocated perspective of infinite self-upgrades, infinite scientific achievement – because he’s shown it already! He wants and has a need to interact with others! His acolytes, him trying to ally with other researchers, the need for recognition. Another thing awaiting the Machine Herald is reality’s cold shower that one genius still can’t solve systemic problems, and the question what he will do once his technology inevitably gets abused, but this time finally carrying his name.
And I believe all these layers are infinitely more interesting than an unfortunate story of a man who gets turned into a manipulated creature of limitless magical power who doesn’t even have control over his own decisions.
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Hi there :)
I'm dropping it because I'm curious for your thoughts on the theories that are flying around about SJM signing a book with that wolf quote. (You can see it here.)
When I first read it, I immediately thought it referred to Nesta. If I'm not mistaken, she even describes herself as a wolf in ACOSF. So, I'm confused why people are trying to turn this into an Elain thing...
I want an Elain confirmation as much as the next person (and Elriel!), but this seems like such a reach to try and tie that to Elain.
I'm sorry for being such a debby-downer, but you always explain things super well, so I thought maybe you'd have something to share!
Anon.... It's been a long time. But I will answer this call and come out of the woodworks to clown. I did not come up with any of this, and it was my friend @yourstarsmyscars who lured me into the clown car last night and explained it to me (and she sent me a post by @blaircmorgan who is a witch and prophesized the significance of Chapter 21). Beyond that, I still pretty much stay off Tumblr have no idea who else to credit for any of the ideas because I am processing an insane amount of information all day every day right now, but yes, I can explain this in excruciating detail, and I am also adding my own thoughts that have developed as well.
Happy Elriel Month to all who celebrate, and happy clowning to all who are partaking!
Now, 21.
And no, it isn't a stretch.
Allow me to say that before Sarah's autographed photo and quote came up, my friends and I had been clowning all morning about a May 21st announcement. The reason for this is that the giant Bloomsbury ACOTAR book displays (which have been around for a while) are open to chapter 21 of ACOTAR. This is a significant ACOTAR chapter. It's the chapter that Feyre finally meets Rhys, and his first ever, There you are. I've been looking for you. It's Rhys. It's Calanmai. It's all the things.
Buuuuut there is also the big Bloomsbury investor meeting on May 22nd. We clowned about this before and got burned, but BB basically said come back May 22nd for a detailed outlook and trade update:
So for many of us, the May 21st clown car was already full steam ahead. Chapter 21 of ACOTAR on display. The day before the big Bloomsbury meetings where Sarah is featured heavily as she carries the non academic sector of that company on her back (hope you get massage girlie pop) AND, more clown from my friend @yourstarsmyscars who is a librarian with secret powers, the Winter 2026 catalogue for Bloomsbury has started to get updated. The 2026 winter catalogue is in alignment with all of Sarah's recent previous releases which have been between January and March. The winter catalogue runs from January to April, and Archer, the new BB imprint which Sarah and her team have moved to, confirmed they will launch with their first book (crazy for it to be anything other than the next ACOTAR, since the Archeron sisters built the Archer imprint) in 2026.
So, the May 21st clown was strong. Winter 2026 catalogue is going live. BB has until May 22 to say anything about the next ACOTAR if it is going to happen within the next fiscal year.
Now. The quote.
This sets off our new trajectory. I understand you are recalling Nesta referring to herself as a wolf, but this is Feyre's quote from the Weaver's Cottage (currently on the voting bracket today.) So, no. This is not Nesta. But I love my girl, and the Archeron sisters are all wolves inside. Let's not forget the fanged beast inside Elain Archeron 😏 however, this is chapter 21 of ACOMAF:
Note the emphasized was as well. Feyre says she's a wolf a few times, but only in chapter 21 does the was get an italic, or an underline on the display.
So now we are cooking.
We have representation of ACOTAR chapter 21.
We have representation of ACOMAF chapter 21.
Another item of note is that the ACOMAF chapter 21 quote was shared on a Wednesday. May 21st is a Wednesday. SJM typically announces her new books on a Wednesday (yes this checks out, I thoroughly investigated. There are a few off hand Thursdays, and also special editions or paperbacks do not fit this pattern. New books only.) So, if there is going to be a new Chapter 21 quote from ACOWAR, ACOFAS, and then finally ACOSF every Wednesday until May 21st...
What is chapter 21 of A Court of Silver Flames?
Baby, it's Elain Archeron City.
Elain shall I tend to my little garden forever Archeron.
Elain, the fanged beast growing claws after all Archeron (and Azriel's shadows preparing to smite anyone who calls her boring)
Elain I went into the Cauldron too Archeron
Elain the only one who guessed Archeron
Elain FIND ME WHEN YOU WISH TO BEGIN Archeron.
Chapter 21 of ACOSF is extremely short, and it is the most pivotal Elain chapter in all of ACOSF.
So if BB actually decided to be cool and fun and clever, this means that if we are going to follow a pattern and see a quote from Chapter 21 of each of Sarah's books while celebrating the 10 year anniversary and leading to May 21st, when it comes time to pull a chapter from ACOSF on announcement day... It will land on Elain (and Azriel, but mostly Elain.)
I do want to take a moment to acknowledge the pinned comment on the post. Please be kind, I respect this clown and I think any one of us would (and are) doing the same.
This is referring to chapter 56 of ACOSF, where Gwyn shows Nesta and Emerie that they have been written into the history books in this beautiful passage:
My take on this is that it is completely understandable and fair for this to be used for clowning, so just be nice and let everyone do their thing for now. However, while yes the literal words 21 are in this passage (which is all part of this huge marketing ploy) this is a passage from chapter 56 of ACOSF, not a literal chapter 21 passage from any previous books, and chapter 21 has consistently been a pivotal chapter in Sarah's books. As previously mentioned, the chapter Feyre meets Rhys /There you are, Feyre repainting her memories and assuring no one would ever hurt her or her sisters again and healing her trauma, Cassian and Nesta's OG fumbled solstice gift, and Feyre revealing her pregnancy and Elain standing up for herself. Chapter 56 is referring to a story that has already been told, whereas Elain's chapter 21 passage refers to her journey to come, the future, and her time to begin. Again, I do not begrudge any Nesta or Valkyrie stans (I am one myself, just also happen to be an Elriel and Elain stan) for clowning, but chapter 56 tells the story that was written. Elain's story has yet to be told, and Elain is the focus of actual chapter 21 in ACOSF.
Okay so, is any of this legit? Honestly, I think so.
This part is based purely on speculation, but it is my opinion this is a social media campaign. No, I do not believe sandysbookcorner knows what the book is about or has insider info. Yes, I do believe BB contacted him-and will likely contact other small creators and booktokers-every Wednesday leading up to the reveal to snap a picture of the new quotes, but only time will tell.
But the reason I think this is pretty legitimate is because Sarah's entire crew rolled up to this post where sandysbookcorner said something is coming, and it's not just another Starfall ball. Acotar six will break and remake us.
SJM's lifelong best friend Jenn TITTERED in the comments (I'm not going to post pictures of her account proving their friendship because she's a teacher with a private life, but her account is public) and SARAH J. MAAS'S HUSBAND liked the post.
I mean, for Sarah's crew to roll up on a semi small bookstagram account claiming he has tea from the Suriel and that ACOTAR six will make and break us all, and that something is coming... That's pretty legit to me. I've never seen her people pull up like this on small accounts claiming an announcement is coming.
So again, this is all surrounding 21. May 21st. If we are going to see new chapter 21 representation until May 21st (and it makes total sense to me that the Valkyrie passage is pinned to further draw attention to 21, which seems to be the point of the marketing) we will land on Elain on May 21st.
Find me when you wish to begin.
#elriel#elain and azriel#elriel month 2025#fanged beast and trembling fawn#death and the fawn#find me when you wish to begin#im back and im clowning#i will haunt the clown halls until the deed is done
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A Morning Coffee Kind of Question
steddie | rated: t | cw: no archive warnings apply | tags: pre-season four, getting together, strangers to lovers, fluff with dash of angst
Part One
The bed was too comfortable.
Which was kind of fucked up if he were to look too closely at it. But even all the blankets he could muster and that Wayne could spare were only so much against a mattress with two broken springs and a near-permanent indent from a previous owner and himself.
The mattress he was currently on wasn’t anything like his. He hardly sunk into it, and (as far as he could tell) he was only under one blanket and still warm. This time of year, he’d need at least a comforter and two thinner blankets to ward off the cold in the trailer.
So, while not surprised to find he actually wasn’t in his own bed, there was enough surprise in the fact of whose bed he was in to have him sitting straight up, scowling at the room around him.
All in all, the bedroom was relatively plain. The walls a kind of color you kept so that the house would sell well without repainting, wooden furniture with little to nothing on them except the odd magazine or a trophy. Even the walls were devoid of posters of bikini girls or hotrod cars, no collection of random polaroids stuck up with some care to remember a memory.
Steve’s bedroom hardly felt like more than a set piece.
As though it had been designed before he ever arrived and he wasn’t allowed—or didn’t care—to make it his own.
The only item that had any personality wasn’t even his. It was Eddie’s.
The jacket that Steve had given him as a present was hung off the back of the desk chair, an obvious peculiarity of black amongst the blues and reds of the room. Eddie remembered shucking it off his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor last night.
While they’d kissed.
Made out, really.
He touched his lips as though he could call back the feeling of Steve’s mouth on his own. The confident way he directed them, the scrape of his stubbled against Eddie’s cheek, his throat. The party had gone on for a while without them downstairs, Eddie wasn’t sure when it had ended.
He’d pretty much stopped paying attention to the noise once Steve laid him back on the bed.
Which explained how he’d gotten there, at least.
Still being fully dressed explained the other question.
A soft creak pulled Eddie’s attention toward the door, and he rose up onto his knees in case he needed to book it out the door. He wasn’t exactly going to get the benefit of the doubt if somebody found “The Freak” hanging out in Steve Harrington’s bedroom.
He could at least breathe again when it was just Steve who entered, although he didn’t sit back on the bed.
He was sure he looked an absolute disaster, having just woken up—curls a wild rat’s nest on his head and clothes disheveled from the chaotic way he usually slept.
Steve held a plain green mug in each hand, looking down at them to avoid spillover as he walked carefully across the carpet. He glanced at Eddie, this soft half-smile on his face before he looked back down until he reached the bed.
Setting one mug on the bedside table, he offered the other to Eddie.
Eddie eased back down on the mattress, and reached out with both hands for the mug. It warmed his fingers immediately, the dark liquid inside wobbling as Eddie shifted position. A roasted, bitter smell wafted up to his nose.
“I didn’t know how you liked it. But, um,” Steve reached into the pocket of his sweatpants, pulling out a handful of items he deposited on the bed by Eddie’s knee. A few sugar packets and disposable plastic creamer cups. He patted his thighs and said, “Just in case.”
Eddie lowered the mug to sit in the space between his knees, holding it steady with one hand and using the other to grab all that Steve had offered.
“Good instincts,” he said, shaking first the sugar packets before dumping them into the coffee. As he worked through the creamer cups, he looked at Steve from under his bangs. “The only thing I don’t like in black.”
Eddie took sugar and cream for the same reason he only smoked menthols. He couldn’t stand the bitterness.
Steve let out a breath, shoulders dropping a tension that Eddie had mistaken at first as worry about spilling the drinks. Then, he reached for the other mug and took a seat beside Eddie on his bed.
He drank his coffee while Eddie prepped his own, taking it straight-up apparently with no problem. He didn’t know if it was all part of some special jock diet or if Steve enjoyed battery acid black, but…Eddie supposed choosing to make out with a metalhead probably meant Steve was bound to make other questionable choices.
Eddie sighed as he took his first sip, the warmth of the coffee soothing the morning raspiness of his throat.
Whatever his problems, Steve could make a good cup of coffee.
They sat in the quiet morning, drinking their coffee. Eddie risked a look at Steve; noticed that he had changed at some point in the night into his sweatpants and a Hawkins swim team shirt Eddie wouldn’t have been caught dead in.
Steve finished his first, but sat with it while Eddie continued. Empty, Eddie held his mug awkwardly, unsure of where to put it.
Clearly what he was waiting for, Steve took the mug from Eddie’s hands and reached forward to place both his and Eddie’s on the bedside table. He had to lean over Eddie to do it, which Eddie huffed a breath up toward the ceiling at when he leaned back on his hands.
Steve eased back, but paused before going too far. His nose grazed Eddie’s, hazel brown eyes half-lidded and rooting Eddie to the spot. He tilted his chin up toward Steve, mouth parting.
Maybe the night before had been a dream. He’d drunk too much—even though he didn’t remember drinking anything at all—and rudely passed out in Steve’s bed and somehow the guy was nice enough to leave Eddie until morning.
If it was true, Steve would brush him off. And Eddie would leave.
If it wasn’t…
Steve closed the last distance between them and Eddie could taste the bitter coffee on his tongue as their lips met. They sunk together, Eddie falling back on his elbows and Steve cradling the side of his jaw with one hand.
His thumb rubbed the start of Eddie’s stubble on his cheek. Eddie sighed into it, pressing up for more. For Steve’s tongue slipping past his lips and the low rumble of a groan deep in his chest.
They had to part for breath after a moment, and Steve asked, “Can I take you home?”
Kissing again, a delay neither of them seemed to mind, Eddie let his mind wander. With the last vestiges of Steve’s cologne and the solid weight of his body, Eddie could really only think of him.
I could give you a ride, Steve had said, that first time.
Being a chauffeur was apparently a love language for this guy.
Unlike that night at the gas station, Eddie did have other options. And he didn’t want to think about the pull at the bottom of his stomach the came at the thought.
“I’ve got the van back,” he said, letting his head fall back from Steve’s mouth. It was pink and slightly swollen, and maybe Eddie’s was too. “Thank you, though.”
Steve nodded, his thumb still stroking Eddie’s cheek.
“Can I see you again?”
He’d said as much the night before. Steve wanted Eddie. For some reason.
Eddie clenched his hands in the comforter underneath him. He’d never been quite this unsure about rejecting something. He knew he shouldn’t do this, with Steve. It could only lead to broken hearts. Possibly broken bones.
But all Steve had done already…just to get Eddie’s attention. To hint at what he wanted.
“I don’t know,” he said.
Steve’s gaze on him faltered, eyes flickering downward with his disappointment. They closed too late for Eddie not to have seen it, and Eddie rushed to fix it, to explain himself.
A cute guy gives him a normal amount of attention, and he loses his damn mind. What the hell had happened to him?
“I haven’t done this before. The whole…sticking around in the morning and having breakfast thing.” Steve seemed to ponder that for a second, a hesitant question in the rise of one of his brows. Eddie swallowed hard. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
A warm smile grew across Steve’s face and Eddie soaked it in, closing his eyes as Steve pressed his nose to Eddie’s cheek. “I think you’re doing okay.”
“Steve, please.”
He couldn’t stop the twinge of panic in his voice. He was getting too caught up and he didn’t know how he could wrangle it back and shove it down.
Steve froze. Caught his breath, warm on Eddie’s skin, and then pulled away.
Eddie opened his mouth to apologize for ruining the fucking mood with his hangups. For revealing the mess of a person Steve had tried to falling into bed with, and was probably now entirely regretting.
“It’s okay,” Steve said before Eddie could. “I’m not upset.”
Eddie wasn’t sure he could believe him, but either way Steve slowly extracted himself from Eddie’s personal space and stood from the bed. He tried to hide it by facing away, but Eddie noticed the shift of his arm as Steve adjusted the evidence of their activities in his sweats.
Eddie knew he was the same in his jeans, if they did manage to hide it better. He sat up onto his hands and asked to Steve’s back, “Can I give you an answer later?”
He sounded like a damn customer support line. But Steve finding it in himself to pull away had made Eddie near-frantic to grab onto him and keep him from leaving. He needed to figure all this out.
But he couldn’t do that in the middle of Steve’s bedroom.
Steve turned, his face in profile toward Eddie.
“You’ll call?” he asked, biting his bottom lip.
Eddie let out a breath.
“I’ll call.”
Tag List: @estrellami-1 @here4thetrama @tillystealeaves @th30ra3k3n @fairytalesreality @rabidhungryrat
#people seem to like this series#so i'll keep writing it#steddie#steve harrington x eddie munson#steddie microfic#steddie fanfic#getting together#making out#fluff with angst
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