#I didn’t even read all the ship tags for fucks sake

[aenokiawrld]

𝓓𝓲𝓿𝓮 ᯓᡣ𐭩

kiss below the line…

a/n: i hate him but at the same i ain’t mind letting him tap 😋 also using colored panels for now cause it’s cuter tee hee

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

18+ !! MINORS DNI

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

cw: p in v sex, oral sex, afab!reader, reader lowk a top here but sanji gets a tad bit of confidence towards the end, sanji know how to eat that kitty 🙏, reader a FREAK, call this man sanji freaksmoke ong 💀🙏, reader wears a bikini, no set arc, risky public sex, they fuck in a secluded area but still open to public, porn WITH plot

tags ✮⋆˙ smut, afab!reader x sanji, beach date, p in v bby, no set arc - no spoilers

now playing: dive - victoria monét

After a long strenuous journey of hopping from island to island, you suggested the crew stop at a tropical resort for a few days to rest and even gather supplies for the Sunny. Liberating islands from tyrannical rule and going against from oppressive government is tiring…Well guess what? It’s time the Strawhats get a well deserved break!

“Hmm, yea sure,” your rubber captain shrugged.

“Wow, you didn’t really think that through did ya, Luffy?”

“No, you’re right. After a long battle, I’m pretty beat plus…”

“Plus?”

“A seafood boil sounds nice,” he laughed as he rubbed his rumbling belly.

Robin chuckled at Luffy’s expression, “Well, since us devil fruit power users can’t swim in the water, I wouldn’t mind indulging in a nice seafood feast cooked by our skillful chef.”

You suddenly see the pervy chef’s nose start to heave heavily, a few drops of blood trickling down his chin, “OF COURSE, ANYTHING FOR THE BEAUTIFUL LADIES OF OUR SHIP!”

His stance takes a 180 as he faces the men of the crew, “The men have to hunt for their own food.”

Zoro looks at him with annoyance, “Hey! Can I at least get some sake?!”

Luffy pouts, “No fair! I want to relax like the girls too!”

“Well, real men hunt for their own food!”

You sighed, “Sanji, relax, the guys worked hard at the last island. Cut ‘em some slack will ya?”

His demeanor changed as soon as you spoke, “OH MY DEAR, [NAME], YOU ARE SO RIGHT.”

“Alright, fine, since we’re going to have a seafood boil, I gotta gather some ingredients.”

“A spectacular feast created by our lovely cook, my mouth is watering just thinking about it, if I had any saliva…YOHOHOHO!”

“Then, it’s settled! Nami, set course for [insert cool island here]!”

“Right away, captain!” The beautiful tangerine-haired girl yelled back.

————

The summer sun shone upon the golden sand, the crystal blue water crashing upon the shore as the coconut trees swayed to the calming wind. The resort is occupied by many beach goers as children ran along the hot sand with beach balls, men clinked their beers, and ladies were served fancy mojitos. The smell of grilled meat lingered the air as barbecue parties took place nearby.

You reveled in the moment until hearing your captain’s booming voice destroy your peace of mind.

“WOOHOO!”

“LUFFY, DON’T GO IN THE WATER, YOU CAN’T-”

The rubber boy struggled to keep afloat in the water has he gargled for help, “HELP! HELP!”

“swim…” You facepalmed.

“I got it…” The green haired swordsman immediately dived into the water before rescuing your struggling captain.

“Captain, be more careful, will ya?”

He coughed up seawater, “Bleghhh, Zoro, I might throw up on you…”

“LIKE HELL YOU WILL!”

You decided to sit with the girls when the blonde cook approached all of you. He sported black swimtrunks, along with a half-opened tropical shirt while holding a tray full of orange cocktails, “Well, ladies, can I interest ya’ll in some ‘Sex on the Beach’ drinks to quench your thirst?”

The black-haired vixen smiled, “Thanks, Sanji. You really know how to read our minds.”

“Wow, these look refreshing, as expected from our cook!” Nami took a sip of the alcoholic drink.

“No kidding, I was starting to feel a bit parched myself,” you smiled.

Sanji covered his nose to prevent a nose bleed from coming out, “Ladies, Ladies, no need to thank me. Just doing my job.” He smiled to himself as he replayed the compliments in his head.

You looked at him with concern, “Hey, Sanji. How’s ingredient gathering going for ya?”

“Huh? Oh, I’ve been trying to catch some fish and crab for the last 30 minutes but I think the amount of people here are scaring them away.”

“Hmm, hey! I can help you look for a secluded spot for fishing!” You cheerfully suggested to him.

“Oh, I can’t let a lovely lady like you get up and help me out like this!”

You chuckled, “No worries, I’d rather walk around then sit down doing nothing.”

“Well…I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have extra help.”

————

You sealed the bucket full of prawns before setting it aside and sitting down on the dampening sand, “Wow, we caught a lot today! We’re gonna be eating tonight, aren’t we?” You looked at the remaining gold rays of light slowly disappear in beyond the horizon.

He laughed at your amusement, “I should start cooking soon if we’re gonna serve this on time for the crew to start feasting.”

You attempted to carry the heavy bucket of freshly caught prawns, but it proved to be difficult with the sandy environment preventing better movement in your legs.

He noticed your struggle with the filled container, “Need any help?” He walked towards your sinking figure in the moist sand, lantern in hand to illuminate the darkened atmosphere.

“Ah, no, no! It’s ok!”

“Come on, [Name]. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“No, really, I can manage-”

“I’ll just grab this part-”

“Sanji! It’s gonna-“

Splash

“…fall,” your once dried figures now soaked with sea water as both of you guys fell backwards into the incoming waves — his trembling body loomed over yours, salty droplets falling onto your face.

The sound of your increasing heart beat pounding in your ears from the closed distances between your bodies. Your eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to his toned abs up close to your face, despite the evening darkness sweeping in to mask the dimming sunset.

You were embarrassed to admit it, but you always had a slight interest in the blonde cook. Sure, you were a little annoyed by his flirtatious attempts and his slightly pervy behavior — yet, in his times of seriousness that complimented his cool, stoic character, it was…quite attractive.

The amount of times you caught yourself staring at him as he cooked the crew’s meals with rolled-up sleeves, or chilling on the ship while lighting the butt of his cigarette. You had to resist the urge to bite your lip then and there.

But, seeing him on top of you while half naked and wet took the final slice of the cake.

“O-oh my god, I’m so sorry! I should’ve listened to you-” The blood rushed to his cheeks and ears to form an embarrassed blush before lifting himself off you.

“Hot damn….” You muttered to yourself.

“Uh…what?”

“Um- Uh, nothing,” you shot him a sheepish smile before lifting yourself up. “It’s all good, I should’ve just accepted your help,” you laugh awkwardly as you drag the fallen bucket.

“Ahem, that would’ve been awkward if anyone in the crew saw us,” he brushed his hand through his blonde locks before searching his pockets for his cigarette box.

You suddenly halt your process of dragging the prawn bucket, an invisible lightbulb lighting upon your head. You turn to the chef before smirking at him,“I wouldn’t mind giving them a show.”

You could practically see his eyes bulging out of his sockets at your flirtatious manner. Who knew the pervy cook would get nervous by one of the only girls in the Strawhats? You wanted to take advantage of this sudden burst of confidence…

You walked up to him, his face producing a red hue on his cheeks as he watched your figure close the proximity between you two. His heartbeat increased at the sight of your practically bikini-clad body swaying in the moonlight. He clutched the cigarette between his teeth…

You look up at his flustered face before stealing the lit cigarette from his lips, a seductive tone poisoned your words, “Can we stay here for a bit?”

The nervous cook gulped, “U-Uh um…why?”

He watched as you took a drag out of his own cigarette before putting it out — He never found anything so sexy in his life; not even when he saw a naked Nami back in Alabasta before.

You harshly pushed his toned figure onto the dry sand before noticing the now obvious bulge in his pants. You were quite pleased by the outcome of this situation as you watched the cook fall to his knees for you — he relished in the sight of you using him. It was kind of different from the way you seen him with other girls. Slowly, you hovered over his body; his eyes glued onto your bikini-covered chest as he felt his mouth become dry.

“I think you know the answer, Sanji…”

————

A needy moan escaped from the cook’s mouth as you caught his lips in a sloppy kiss, your tongue ravaging with his as you grinded your clothed heat on his crotch. His body had become so turned-on from your sudden dominant nature, your touches like a tempting devil.

“[Name]…fuck,” his hands moved to your hips as you continued dry humping his erection.

You caught his lower lip between your teeth, “You’re so fucking sexy when you say my name like that, wanna scream it more for me?” You watched his body shutter as you exchanged the movement of your hips with your rubbing over his hardened bulge.

“A-ah shit, mon chérie, quit teasing me…”

You bit your lip as you continued your edge on his clothed cock, ignoring his pleas for your pussy. You relished in the sight of the blonde begging for your attention. You rubbed his erection in a faster pace, grabbing the outline of his size — he groaned at your intense touch.

A sly smirk creeped onto your face as you guided his hand under your skimpy bikini top, his hand instinctively squeezing the soft mound of flesh, brushing over your now hardened nipple. A soft moan left your mouth as you felt his rough hand roll the pearl between his fingers. You slapped his hand away with a smirk on your face.

You slowly shoved two fingers into his mouth, feeling the warmth of his tongue sucking and licking them, “Wanna show me what that mouth can do?”

You remove your bikini bottom, revealing the transparent slick trail of your arousal connecting from your pussy to the dampened cloth. You toss it to the side before hovering your crotch over his flustered face.

You harshly grabbed his face, “Make me cum and maybe I’ll give ya a reward.”

“…Yes, ma’am…”

You cautiously lowered your hips onto his face before you felt strong hands hastily grab your hips and slam you down. A yelp came out of you at the sudden pressure of your crotch rubbing on his face.

The warmness of his tongue desperately overlapping over your needy hole as you bit your lip to conceal the sounds of your impending pleasure. The sound of the crashing salt water colliding with the sand had become quieter as the sun died down and the moonlight became brighter.

The sound of sloppy wetness overtaking your hearing as he fucked his tongue inside you. You face twisting from the overbearing sensation of pleasure took over your body as you grinded your cunt further into his face, the feeling of his nose rubbing against your sensitive clit, the smell of your arousal radiating off your warm body.

He lapped his tongue over your erected bud as sucked you off like a starved man. He groaned as he pulled your hips harder onto his face with need, his grip tightening around you. — He became obsessed with the taste of you and he was wanting more.

He slid his hands over the fleshy mounds of your ass before spreading them apart for better access. The speed of his tongue fastening had jolted the nerves of your body, your back arching from the overstimulation on your abused clit.

“S-Sanji! Oh god, keep going!” You cried out in pleasure. The moist sounds of his mouth connected with your saliva-coated cunt.

“Mmm’ Mon chérie, cum on my face,” he groaned as he swiped his tongue over your pulsating hole.

Your core tightened as you felt your approaching climax form into a pit in your stomach, “Then, you better savor it while you can, Blondie.”

He swore he could’ve felt his cock twitch in his swim trunks at the sound of his nickname slipping from your lips. God, the things you do to him…

You swayed your hips to the movement of his hungry tongue as the muscles of your increasingly tightening before you felt the imaginary coil unravel and relax. Your milky liquid leaking out your pulsating hole, smothering over the cook’s face.

He released the suction of mouth over your erected bud with the sound of a pop. His chin had been covered in his own saliva and your arousal. He huffed and puffed as he caught his breath. The taste of your cum lingered as on his lips as he licked them without shame.

“Good boy, I think it’s time I give you your reward,”you shifted your body off his face, the feeling of the cold grainy sand resting below your knees as you lowered your face over his crotch.

A surprised moan escaped the cook’s tainted lips as you pressed light kissed over his erection, the taste of ocean salt overtaking your taste buds. You could practically feel his wanting cock straining along the restraints of his wet as it ached for your touch.

You grabbed the hem of his trunks, peeling the fabric to reveal his touch-starved cock — it had a slight curve to it, the circumcised tip supporting a swollen redness as it leaked precum, his shaft with a few veins trailing down to his nicely-groomed happy trail of blonde hair surrounding it, his balls desperately awaiting to be emptied from all the edging you did to him.

“Nice cock, dude.”

“Haha, very funny, [Name],” he sarcastically rolled his eyes.

“I’m being serious, Sanji,” you swipe your index finger over the dripping slit of his tip.

A grunt escaped his lips as you flicked his sensitive cock in a teasing manner; Your hand running down his shaft before slowly fisting his cock in your hand. That fucking smug smirk painted on your face that drove him insane the entire time.

Your hand moved up and down faster as you watched his face twist from pleasure, his body jerking from the sudden jolts of electricity running in his body from your touch — You swiped your tongue over the flushed head, savoring the taste of the transparent liquid as you continued your pace on his shaft. A sharp hiss escaped through his teeth as you rubbed and squeezed his sensitive balls in the process; god, he was about to burst then and there.

He gripped the sand below him as you brought him to the edge of his orgasm, you enjoyed the amount of overstimulation you brought to his cute face as his curly brows scrunched together in pleasure. You bit your lip as you felt his cock twitch in your hand before-

“Sanjiiiii! [Name]! Where are you?? I’m hungry!!” You hear Luffy’s voice in the distance.

The cook looked back at you in horror, in fear that both of you guys were about to get caught by your captain. Luckily, you were out of sight from your rubber captain due to the steep rock wall that separated you and Sanji from him. You shot him a devious look as you continued your movement on his needy cock, “Gonna answer?”

Oh, fuck you.

“W-We’re still busy fishing so g-go away!” He yelled back with nervousness.

He bit the inside of his cheek as you engorged his cock into your mouth, the salty taste of his precum filling your taste buds as you slobbered over the tip and shaft.

“Well, hurry up already!!” the hurried tone of your captain’s voice echoing in the distance.

The cook groaned in annoyance, “SH- SHUT UP AND BE PATIENT OR ELSE ITS VEGETARIAN FROM NOW O-ON!!!”

“AGHH FINEEEE…”

A small snort escaped through your nose as you heard their short banter. Sanji was such a cutie patootie when he got mad at the crew you thought to yourself.

That’s probably why you enjoy seeing the cook moaned and whimpered as he submitted to your touch, wanting more of your attention from you. <3

He felt as if he could cum to the vibrations of your gagging alone as you struggled to swallow his cock whole, hitting the gag reflex that sat in the back of your throat. What didn’t help was when you caressed his swollen balls, squeezing them as if they were putty in your hands. They tensed at your touch as they added onto the ongoing stimulation on his messy cock.

He bit his lip while grabbing tufts of your hair as he felt the euphoric climax slowly creep towards his tip as you continued sucking him like a summertime popsicle.

Just when he was about to release his seed, you halted your action; releasing his cock with a pop as it bounced towards his abdomen. His cock twitched with impatience as it awaited more of your stimulation. The tip redder than before as it begged to release its seed.

He huffed, “Mon chérie…wha… what are you doing?”

You hovered over him before whispering in his ear, “I’m gonna ride you, that’s what i’m gonna do.” You bit his ear before aligning yourself over his cock.

You slammed on his cock, causing both of ya’ll to gasp in pleasure as you felt the gumminess of your walls swallow his size. He grabbed the fat of your ass as you bucked your hips up and down.

“Oh god! Oh yes!” You cried out as you felt him match his hip movements with yours.

Your pussy was practically a perfect mold for him as you sought to reach that euphoric feeling of edging to your arrival. You became obsessed with the feeling of his tip kissing your cervix as each thrust became deeper and rougher. You swore you saw a tear well up in his ducts as you watched his face become a moaning mess.

“Hah, oh fuck! K-Keep going at this speed, I might cum inside you…” He squeezed your ass harder as he kissed and sucked the skin on your collar bone.

“S-Sanji- hah!” You felt his lips lick the soft flesh of your chest as he moved his hands towards the underside of the fabric triangles, pushing them upwards to reveal the dark pearls of your cherries.

“Sanji!” You screamed his name as you felt the warm sensation of his tongue lap over your erected nipples. Now you’re the one being a victim to overstimulation.

He groaned as he made out with your right nipple while pinching your left one, the friction leaving you speechless as you were left in a moaning mess. He clenched your the soft mound as he felt your moist walls squeeze around his cock.

“You’ve been teasing me this whole time, I couldn’t help but retaliate…” He left your right boob with purple marks around your now tender nipples. He shifted his attention towards your left boob as he sucked and bit your dark pearl, enough to send electricity towards your pussy.

“Mmm’ you taste so divine, Mon chérie…This is way better than some seafood boil.” He loved the way you clenched on his cock as he sucked your sensitive nipple.

No amount of crashing ocean waves nor the sound of seagulls squawking under the illuminated night sky could muffle out the sounds of sloppy slaps and moans of the heated moment you both shared. You cried out his name in hiccups as he continued the movement of his hips guiding his cock towards your cervix, increasing his speed.

“Sanji, Sanji, Sanji…i’m gonna cum!” You were going dizzy at his hypnotizing movements.

“Fuck, me too…Can I cum on that pretty face of yours, Mon chérie?”

You nodded as you felt that familiar tightening feeling in your abdomen of your impending orgasm had . The thought of releasing on his cock was racing in your mind as you wanted to savor the sensation the next time you had the “urge.”

You gripped his shoulders as you arched your back to the ripping feeling of your toe-curling release, a cry for pleasure escaped your lips as you felt your abused walls clench around him. — thick, white…it poured from your used hole as it coated on his twitching member, waiting to come as well.

He groaned at the sight of his cock being covered in your slick, like a used sex toy. He fisted his cock, your cum serving as lubrication to relieve himself.

He chanted your name in mutters as he took in the sight of your fucked-out face, sporting a tomato red and a trail of saliva dripping down your chin as you huffed and puffed for air. His hand instinctively stroked faster as the aftermath of your face around him even more. He let out a groan as he felt the nerves in his shaft jolt as ropes of hot cum spurt from his reddened tip.

You smirked as you watched the white fluid land on your face along with your hickey-covered chest. You didn’t want to lie when you felt surprised by how much spilled out of him—embarrassing amount continued to drip onto the sand from his now sensitive cock.

You bit your lip, “Didn’t tell me you had that much in ya.”

His face became flushed, “It’s not my fault, I was pent up from how much you edged me today!”

“You’re really hot when you’re hard at work, I couldn’t help seeing you in such a submissive state,” you stuck your tongue at him.

His heart skipped a beat at your embarrassing words, “MY LOVE, I’LL LET YOU DO WHATEVER YOU WANT TO ME IF IT MAKES YOU HAPPY.”

And…he’s back to his usual self.

The chef’s ears perk up as he hears rustling from the nearby coconut trees. You noticed his reaction before your attention redirected towards the origin of the sound.

“What the hell, where am I?

The mosshead looked towards your direction as he noticed the two figures in the distance, immediately recognizing the both of you.

Both you and Sanjj’s mouth dropped open before you guys scrambled on the sandy floor, readjusting your swimsuits and jumping in the cold salty waters to wash off the evidence. In the back of your mind, you wanted to cry of embarrassment; the thrill of almost getting caught was exhilarating itself. However, getting caught a a different story.

“Go away, moss head! We’re trying to fish in peace over here!” The blonde cook yelled at the swordsman.

Zoro smirked, “You sure this is fishing, cause last time I checked, you’re supposed to have your clothes on.”

Both you and Sanji looked at each other with an embarrassed blush on your face before quickly diverting your faces knowing the opposite direction.

“Zoro, you can’t tell anyone…” You softly pleaded.

The swordsman yawned, “I don’t really care, I was tryna find curly brow since Luffy was getting antsy about the food.”

“Oh and I was wondering where you kept the sake.”

The cook facepalmed himself, “You fucking drunk…it’s in the wine cabinet now go away.”

The swordsman yawned again, “Wow, thanks I guess. I’ll let yall do your thing but hurry up cause the captain looks like he’s about to munch on our emergency food (chopper).”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’ll get started once [Name] and I bring our shellfish catch back to the ship.”

You sighed in annoyance, “Let’s just get out of here.”

As the three of you walked back, the little devil on your shoulder caused you to land a nice smack on Sanji’s ass. He turned around with surprised look on his face while rubbing the impacted area. You shot a smug smirk at the cook before doing the “p in v” gesture with your fingers.

He smirked before giving you a wink. You quietly giggled before whispering in his ear, “Let’s do this again, but more private.

#one piece #fanfic #smut #one piece smut #oneshot #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #black leg sanji #sanji smut #one piece fanfiction

[bitten-fruit]

you re-enlist

And Captain John Price absolutely doesn't want you to. He begrudgingly takes you to his office to sign the paperwork - and shows you what your decision has brought you.

18+ MDNI - 5k words

tags: John Price x f!Reader, power play, oral and vaginal sex

a/n: To get some content on here I've pulled this from my longfic Licking Wounds on Ao3. Trimmed/tweaked it a little to make them tumblr friendly :)

“Just... let me sign what I need to.” You breathed, exasperated.

Captain Price sat behind his desk, leaning back insouciantly in his chair, bouncing his knee in irritation. His cautious and tired eyes flitted between yours, considering his words before he spoke.

“This is your last chance to change your mind.” He grunted.

You sucked your teeth frustration. “I’m not changing my mind.”

“You should.”

“Why? Will my presence really be that fucking draining for you?”

He quickly absorbed your sudden anger, mirroring it as he stood from his chair, leaning against the surface of his desk on white knuckles.

“You know that’s not what this is about.”

His tone was by turn seething and pleading, glowering at you with gruelling severity.

You scoffed. “Oh, so it would be.”

“For fuck’s sake, don’t be childish.”

“Childish?”

Evidently fed up with your petulant bickering, his head dropped from his shoulders as he grunted in frustration. “I just... I can’t understand why you’d come back to this.”

“You can’t?”

“You had the chance to get away from it. You got out.”

“Got out. You think I got out, do you? That once I got shipped back to London I was done with it all?” You groaned, impatient. “Just let me sign the goddamn paper."

There was visible dispute burgeoning behind his lips, but he stayed silent – leaning forward to tug open one of the drawers of his desk. He pulled out a pad of blank paper forms, hesitantly but methodically tearing one sheet free along the perforated line. He flipped it, placing it down on the wooden surface and twisting it so it faced you, pushing it towards the edge in your direction with his fingertips.

He plucked a ballpoint pen from the steel mesh cup on the edge of the desk, before dropping it on top of the paper form with a quiet clack.

Crossing his arms, he stood upright with a huff and watched you scrutinisingly; glare challenging yet reluctant.

You quietly swallowed, stepping abashedly towards the desk and leaning over it, holding the pen between your fingers and pensively clicking the end of it with your thumb.

Jaded eyes scanned each word, the tip of the pen trailing each line as you read. You checked box after box, writing down the answers to probing questions as though you were completing an exam under the shrewdly watchful eye of your professor. Existing health conditions, current medication, family lineage, previous rank, promotable status. It would almost be nostalgic, answering questions such as these again, for the first time since you were promoted to sergeant four years ago – if it didn’t carry such painful weight, and weren’t so rife with sordid history.

The nib of your pen met that dotted line, finally, at the bottom of the form. Your eyes looked at the conditions and implications of your signature, that thick paragraph above the box, though not a single word was absorbed by your busy mind. It didn’t matter – you knew the consequences of that pen meeting the paper. Even if the Captain wished it, signing your life back into the hands of the SAS was not something that could be easily revoked.

He seemed to relish hopefully in your hesitation, his breath slowing as he watched you consider, pen hovering cautiously over the paper.

You briefly glanced up at him, from under your challenging eyebrows, meeting his eye. His stiff gaze wordlessly pleaded with you, his mouth in an austere line.

Steadfast, you ignored his silent dispute.

You signed the dotted line.

There.

Done.

No backing out now.

A soldier again.

You were astonished at the adrenaline a mere signature could pump from your heart, quivering with it, as you dropped the pen to the desk and stood upright.

His steely eyes did not leave you, face replete with a medley of discernible emotions; ire, anxiety, remorse, solemnity. Arms still crossed firmly over his chest, you listened as his heaving lungs drew in a deep, exasperated breath.

He licked his teeth before he spoke.

“That’ll be all then, Sergeant.”

He dismissed you bluntly, coarse voice dripping with derision. A crease formed in your forehead, taken aback by his sudden dismissal, breath hitching at his use of your rank instead of your name; sergeant, a title he hadn’t referred to you by in two years.

It was as though he was satisfied, doing his best to show you what your decision had brought you, to make you regret it. You were his subordinate again. Just his sergeant.

“I knew you’d enjoy it in the end, Captain.” You seethed, tone draped in sardonicism, an immediate retaliation.

His brow furrowed as he looked down his nose at you. “Enjoy what, eh?”

“You finally get to order me around again, don’t you?”

“You-”

“Am I dismissed? Or are you going to command me to drop and give you fifty?” You growled pettishly, scowling up at him. “It must’ve been hard, not being able to command me to do your bidding while I was a civilian. But that didn’t stop you from trying, did it?”

He grunted, an increasingly enraged sigh escaping his chest. “I didn’t want to be giving you orders again.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, I didn’t. Just because you don’t know what to do with yourself when you’re not being commanded to do it, doesn’t mean I’ve been waiting for the chance to.”

A kick to the stomach, you worried you’d lose your balance with the blow.

Grimacing at him, you stepped your weight onto your back foot in reaction to his venomous accusation.

“Fuck you.”

You hissed it through your teeth, unable to conjure up any intelligent rebuttal, only lashing out with the reprisal that your frenetic emotions scrambled together.

He sniffed irately, adjusting his arms over his chest.

“Can’t talk to your captain that way, Sergeant.”

Your jaw hung loose in disbelief, overcome with a cold rage that made your body quake as it flooded your arteries.

“Fuck you,” you repeated wryly, daring. “Are you going to order me not to talk back to you, sir? You prick?”

He glared at you with challenging contempt.

“You want me to give you an order, do you?”

“I want you to get off your fucking high horse.”

“Yeah? Am I too honourable?”

“Honourable? You’re a sanctimonious p–”

He put his hands on his hips, brashly sucking his teeth before he interrupted you.

“Take off your shirt.”

His hoarse command pierced the thick air like a bullet.  

The wind was viciously sucked from your lungs, then, your racing heart jolted under your ribs with such voltage it felt as though you had been shocked by a defibrillator. You could only stare at him, stupid, waiting for him to relent, to take it back, to say that he was kidding.

His expression, now, was unreadable. You weren’t certain whether he was purposefully keeping his countenance devoid of emotion – or, if, you had abruptly lost any and all ability to understand him or his intentions.

He was a stranger, but a familiar one. A captivating one.

Before you could stammer out a semblance of a response, he continued.

“That’s the sort of order you’ve been wanting from me, isn’t it?” He goaded darkly, seemingly smug at his ability to render you flustered and wordless with one short sentence.

Dumbstruck, still, you could only swallow a pointed breath as you desperately tried to read any clear objective in his shrouded blue eyes.

“Go on.”

He’s not kidding.

“You wanted an order, I gave you one.”

Fuck.

You were completely staggered by the whiplash. Your distended heart thumped so vigorously in your chest you thought it might crack a rib.

There was a conviction within you, somewhere, to question him. To question if he was being serious, to ask him if this was some kind of sick joke to make you regret your decision.

And while you believed that was the case, that it was a derisive retribution, a game to get back at you – there was a stronger urge to play along. To meet his challenge, to execute his dare.

Meeting his indignant gaze with yours, you tucked your fingers under the hem that sat between your waist and hips, peeling it up your torso and stretching it over your shoulders, then past your head. Sweeping your loosened hair out of your face, you held the thin black fabric in the other hand before dropping it to the linoleum floor. You shivered a little in the cool air of the room, your stiffening nipples concealed by the cups of your rarely-worn grey marl brassiere – practical and unsexy.

But the look on his face was telling; he hadn’t truly expected you to comply.

That surprise waned quickly. His dark eyes tried their best to hold your stare, but they failed him – raking over your torso, jaw clenching as his gaze stuck brazenly to your exposed cleavage.

Trembling with adrenaline, you waited for him to say something. Anything.

You expected dispute; you anticipated he’d say, I wasn’t serious. And that would be a satisfying reaction – your effort to make him uncomfortable would prove a success, a victory, you’d have the last figurative word.

He wiped down his face with an open hand, rubbing his beard anxiously as he wrestled with what to say, how to react – maybe some attempt to restrain himself. He leaned against the surface of the desk, resting his weight on his knuckles.

Through gritted teeth, he uttered his next command.

“Bra.”

You swallowed timorously.

It was surreal, really, you worried you were hallucinating – you imagined that in reality he was shouting at you to stop, but you were unable to hear him over your carnal psychosis.

But it was too late now, to stop yourself. You were driven to finish what you started. Changing your mind now, pulling your shirt back over your head and running out the door – would leave you questioning whether any of it was real. You wouldn’t survive in that oblivion, between reality and dream, fact and fantasy.

You needed proof.

You reached behind your back, contorting your shoulders to allow your fingers to grip the clasp against your spine. Your breasts pillowed out of the top of the soft cups as you stretched the band to unhook it, before slipping the straps down your shoulders. It slid from your chest, down your arms, gently – it, too, fell to the floor; you dropped it on top of your abandoned t-shirt.

You drew in a quivering breath, the skin of your breasts tingling as the goosebumps elicited by their exposure trickled across their soft flesh.

He sucked in a heavy breath, deep and slow, rugged and rasping. He took a step, and you retracted slightly; but you watched like cautious prey, as he walked around from the far side of his desk, to the front of it. He leaned on the very edge of the surface, not quite sitting on it, as he insouciantly crossed one boot over the other. His lascivious eyes did not leave you, absorbing every feature, every curve, like he was admiring an artwork.

Despite the metre and a bit of distance from him, you felt the dense heat that hung in the air between the two of you, radiating from him like he was a fucking oven.

“Trousers.”

A brief conflict almost escaped you, but he quickly smothered it.

“Off.”

Whatever reluctance that lingered melted away, then, dripping off of you like a layer of sticky ice cream – by virtue of the unwavering sternness of his command. And that, you realised, was where your comfort lay; where there was no ambiguity, no remorse for a poorly made decision, no culpability for your actions. If you were following an order, the onus was on him.

So you followed it.

Your kittenish fingers went to the button of your grey cargo trousers, popping it undone, slyly pulling down the zip of your fly. You flayed back the open waistband, pushing them down your hips, struggling briefly to pull them past your ass; its recent plumpness made your pants a touch too small. The polyester fabric loudly shuffled in the distended silence as the trousers fell down your legs, into a puddle at your feet; you stepped out of them as though out of a pond.

By the time you looked up to meet his gaze once again, though, he had already charged at you; quickly taking the base of your head with large hands and pulling you towards him. He forced his eager lips against yours with a ferocity that left you breathless, such an aggression that your first primal instinct was to resist him with claws against his chest.

But you were quick to surrender to him, relishing in the taste of him, his tongue, his breath hot in your mouth, you sucked it deep into your chest. Your starving hands coiled up and around his neck, scratching at the tense muscles in his heaving back through the fabric of his uniform jersey; hooking into him in some feline effort to make sure he was real, to prevent his escape, to keep him from being stolen away.

His mouth wasn’t on yours for long, though, dragging wetly across your jaw to your neck, the crook of your shoulder; he chewed at your soft, fervid skin, teeth skimming and barely digging into the tendonous flesh. His vicious hands gave you no reprieve, clutching at any part of you that could force you closer, tighter against him – ensnaring the meat of your hips, your waist, kneading at your sensitive breast with the other.

He separated from you only briefly, though his possessive hands didn’t leave you. Crouching slightly, he hooked his arms behind your thighs, under your ass – deftly hoisting you upwards with no visible effort. You clutched the back of his neck, wrapping your legs around his hips to maintain your balance as he lifted you, turning on his heel and carting you towards the desk. He quickly used a free hand to sweep aside the papers, flinging them to the floor in a confetti; he put you down hastily, keeping you close, the cold surface of the varnished wood biting at your bare skin.

He gave you a transitory respite, carefully checking your face before he went any further; likely ensuring you weren’t crying this time, that he hadn’t crossed an unspoken boundary. Whatever look you gave him in return was outside of your control or perception – but it was an invitation, evidently.

He dove down to kiss you again, but fleetingly – his savage lips trailed down from yours, biting their way along your jaw, down your neck, across your collarbone. You leaned back slightly on the desk to allow his avid venture, his ravenous mouth biting and suckling wherever it landed; drowning momentarily in the softness of your breast, cupping it with his wide hand to push the pillowy flesh against his face.

That wasn’t his final destination, though. His mouth only brushed over your nipple, sloppily kissing down your tensing stomach as he lowered himself to one knee, clutching your waist with both hands on his journey downward to hold you still. You felt your heart in your throat, in utter disbelief; you could only suck down jagged breaths as his lips grazed against your lower belly, just above your hip, teasing the elastic hem of your underwear. He gingerly kissed your mound through the thin cotton, controlling hands holding your hips by the bone.

Too rapacious to taunt you for long, he tugged sharply at the hips of your panties, leaning back so he could pull them down your thighs, over your knees, off your ankles. Your foot rested gently on his collarbone as he paused in apparent admiration, your exposed, spread pussy mere inches from his face; his breath despite its heat was cold against your wet, feverish skin. You felt embarrassed at his close inspection, his unashamed reverence – but his murky gaze broke away from your intimacy, instead meeting your eye. He wore an expression of unassailable pride, though cloaked in an avaricious hunger; he stared at you cruelly from under his brow, daring you to deny him.

Hitching your legs over his arms so that they rested on his shoulders, he clutched the side of your thigh with his mammoth hand while he pushed his lips into the inside of your leg, high enough, close enough, to make you quiver in desperate anticipation.

Piercing eyes still locked on yours, peering up from your eager flesh, his husky voice murmured deeply into your skin.

“Is this what you wanted?”

He jibed, almost a growl, as though teasing you for your recent behaviour – scolding you for acting out instead of asking for it, causing a scene instead of using your words like a grown-up.

Another kiss, higher, closer, teeth grazing the supple meat of your inner thigh, coarse beard prickling against the burning skin of the edge of your cunt.

You couldn’t think of the right answer, if there were such a thing, to his question – your head was by turn empty and running a million miles a minute. Really, you didn’t even know the answer.

Was it what you wanted?  This entire time? Has it been what you wanted since the last time, in his barrack in Urzikstan? Since the gala? Or, even, since you met him?

Your answer left your wet throat before you had the sense to question it, or rationalise it.

“Yes.”

You breathed, a whisper, barely, almost a squeak. You weren’t certain that it was the truth, either – but it was what you wanted now, so it was honest in some sense.

With firm hands he adeptly tugged your hips so you perched precariously on the very edge of the desk, allowing him ease of access to you.

He cruelly denied you still, placing maliciously soft kisses against the slit of your pussy, torturing you with only a light pressure while you willed him to dive deeper. An ardent whimper fled your chest, quiet and pleading.

Whatever carnivore he was doing his level best to restrain escaped its prison at your sheepish sound; his monstrous hands dug deep into the flesh of your hips, maw lunging forward and pointed tongue parting your slick folds like he was searching for water. It dipped into you only briefly, a momentary taste of the dripping syrup he seemed to take pride in inducing from you – before he used it to glide up to your clit where it was nestled. With ravenous lips he suctioned it into his mouth, devouring you; dextrously chafing your sensitive bud with a flat tongue, maintaining a vacuum that made a dangerously loud and needy moan escape your throat.

He only hastened his torment in response, drinking you like he might die of thirst, breathing heavily through his nose so as not to allow you even a second of relief from the unbearable suction. Feverish claws clasped at the top of his head, running through his short hair and scratching at his scalp, holding his head where you wanted it. Your head hung back off your shoulders, briefly staring at the panelled ceiling before your eyes unwittingly fluttered shut, doing your best to swallow the choked cries that threatened to make the whole army base aware of your depravity.

Your constricting legs inadvertently tried to push him away, your body overwhelmed and desperate for a break from his ruthless consumption, almost too oversensitive to be pleasurable – but not quite. He restrained you tightly, though, not allowing you to flee from him for even a second; his firm hands controlled your hips with an alarming strength, head moving with you as though predicting the direction of your attempts at escape, mouth not separating from you once.

One hand retreated from your side, but to quickly prevent your bucking his constraining arm slithered over your lower stomach, clutching the far hip and using his elbow to hold you down to the desk. His free thumb, then, crept to your cunt under his chin. Despite how slick your skin was, drenched in both your clear sap and his saliva; the clenching muscles of your vagina were squeezed so tightly he had to push his thumb into you with effort, almost popping as it broke past your resistant entrance.

That seemed to weaken his resolve, the tightness of your muscles clamping around him rhythmically, in tune with the burgeoning, forcible orgasm that threatened to crash over you like a tidal wave; he released a ragged, resigned exhalation into your skin. You felt yourself beginning to drown in it, that swirling ocean. The floor, the desk, the room sunk in it, slipping away from you as your eyes rolled into the back of your head, only him keeping you afloat.

But he stopped, then, thumb begrudgingly slipping out from inside you, suddenly releasing his merciless suction and separating his wet mouth from your yearning pussy. You groaned in dispute, cut short, a sharp rush of air escaping your overwrought lungs.

“Not yet.” He grunted hoarsely, barely audible.

Brows twisted in pleading frustration, you looked down at him, meeting his frightening glare as he pushed himself to stand; beard glistening with the wetness of you, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What?” You whined breathily, panting as you watched him tower upright, looming over you in licentious authority.

“I’m not having you come yet.”

His injunction was authoritarian, uttered darkly, his rumbling voice so hoarse it sounded animalistic; a growl, a threat. He stood between your legs, still, you watched in quiet, anticipating obedience as his livid hands tore at his belt. Ferociously unbuckling it, as though it would fight against him – he tugged open the button of his trousers, ripping down the fly and unsheathing his rigid cock from his straining boxers; menacing, it dropped heavy out of the elastic waistband, the solid shaft landing against your ravening cunt with a hard, wet slap.

You winced slightly at the sore impact, and his humanity seemed to return to him momentarily; softening face inches from yours, his attentive blue eyes scanned your features for reluctance.

“Tell me no.” He urged throatily, “tell me no, and I’ll stop.”

A shaky breath seeped through your lips, your delirious gaze flitting between his eyes, lashes fluttering as you processed his promise.

“I don’t want you to stop, Captain.” You uttered weakly, entreating.

His careful eyes darkened quickly at your bashful plea, watching your lips form the syllables of his rank like you were stroking him with it. His dominant hands returned to your hips, then, clutching at the bone and lifting your pelvis so it was angled right, just where he wanted it.

His clouded glare didn’t leave yours, his fingers dipping into your saturated pussy as though scooping the viscous fluid that dribbled from you; you watched, beguiled, as he rubbed your juices up the thick shaft of his cock, coating the head in it, briefly unable to stop himself from fucking his fist, huffing carnally, while he was lubricated by your watery come.

With a tug of your legs that were coiled around his hips, you grounded him, impatient; his sinister gaze met yours again, watching your wanton expression as he obliged you and dragged the soft head of his cock down your slit, the cruel pressure against your agitated clit making your body twitch. He restrained your spasm with his free hand your waist, keeping your pelvis still, as the tip of his length nestled between your lips, pressing against your clenching entrance.

Gripping himself by the stiff base, he pushed past your tight opening with his full weight; stretching it tautly around the girth of his cock as he stuffed you with it. You let out a pained squeak as it abruptly filled you, ramming against your cervix with a pressure that made you flinch.

The sharp soreness briefly frightened you – you had been deprived of the sensation of that angry thickness inside of you, ever since…

You didn’t let your mind go back there, not for a second; your eyelids shot open, desperate gaze sticking hurriedly to your Captain, his riled and yet gentle expression bringing you back to him, rugged but soft hands holding your hips as he impaled you on the length of him. You clutched the fabric of his jersey tight over his chest, gripping his arms, his shoulders; keeping him real, corporeal, there with you. He let out a strained grunt as he pulled you down onto him, as deep as your insides would allow him to go, to the hilt; he held you there, forcing you to squirm.

Your delicate hands held his warm neck, leaning forward as you pulled his head down to kiss him; mouth open and tongue desperate to taste him again, to feel his hot breath against your face, the soft scratch of his beard on your chin. He returned your kiss, tender, compassionate – a stark juxtaposition to his ruthless incursion; rutting into you powerfully but methodically, slow but hard, deep enough to be painful.

But the hurt was translated by your aroused nerves into a bestial pleasure, using your goading legs to pull him further into you, you felt his cock push against your aching organs. It raked against your sodden walls on its way out, a slight sting as it dragged along your taut opening – before filled you again, abrupt, sharp; it forced a sweet cry from your fevered chest into his mouth. He grinned arrogantly against your lips, a ragged, breathy chuckle taunted you in response.

You separated from him, then, lying back over the surface of the desk; you arched your back, angling your hips so that his length beat your walls more viciously, wrapping your legs around his waist and clutching at the edge of the desk above your head with straining claws. Exposed to him now, on display, his thrusting only increased in vehemence, speed, depth; carnivorous hands digging into the meat of your hips as if you might slip away from him, forcing you down on him with each rut.  

Eager for release, your fingers glided down your stomach, navigating diffidently to your clit; you drew wet circles over it, letting out a soft whine as you pleasured yourself with the rhythm of his accelerating thrusts.

“Shit.”

He groaned huskily at the sight of you fucking yourself on his cock, his face twisted into an exasperated rapture, forcing himself to slow down slightly so as not to push himself over the edge too quickly.        

He stopped you, hastily; a stern hand tightly ensnaring your wrist and tearing your fingers from you. He pulled your arm upward, pinning it firmly to the wooden surface underneath you, holding your hand by your head. He leaned over you, then, making you watch as he held his free hand to his lips, spitting lecherously into his fingertips; they found your clit without needing to look, stroking the oversensitive spot inexorably, the pressure cruel and unrelenting. His head hung from his shoulders, mouth landing against the hot skin of your shoulder, placing gentle kisses along your collarbone as he ruined you.

The union of the two sensations – his cock, hard as stone, fucking into your stomach, and merciless fingertips tormenting your swollen clit; it surged within you, frayed nerves electrocuting you as your inevitable orgasm loomed, its delay rendering it incensed and sorely overpowering.

He must have felt the muscles of your walls clamping down on the length of him as it dawned on you, the change in the music of your sounds; aching whines growing louder, crawling from your labouring throat.

“You gonna come on me, are ya? Beautiful thing?”

He growled into your skin, only increasing the severity of his torture, relentless in his goal to finish you.

Your delirious tongue was unable to form a word in response, only releasing a high-pitched and arduous cry as your unforgiving orgasm collided with you, waves of carnal heat pulsing from the base of you, the muscles of your bullied pussy clenching tightly around his avid cock.

“That’s it.”

He grinned against your neck as he kissed you there, moving with you, allowing no escape.

“Good girl.”

With no apparent intention of slowing down to offer you a reprieve, he instead began speeding up, forcing you to squirm and shriek in dispute at the overstimulation. Your desperate, animal fingers clawed at his wrist, struggling to tear his stiff hand away from your cunt – but he relented, eventually, falling victim to his own pleasure as he shifted his focus to fucking you harder, deeper.

He scooped an arm under your back, lifting you just slightly from the surface of the desk as he hovered over you; the other hand holding the bone of your hip tightly, keeping it steady while he rammed you. You listened in rapture to his grunts of ecstasy, gentle hands clutching the back of his neck, nails grazing his hot skin as you coaxed him to chase his own release.

You pressed soft lips into his bearded cheek, comforting, reassuring him; and that seemed to do the trick, bringing him too close.

“Fuck.”

He groaned hoarsely in begrudging pleasure as he paused, for just a hesitant second, before reluctantly tugging his cock out of you and slamming the wet shaft of it it against your mound.

You panted heavily, holding your forehead against his, relishing in the sensation of his hot come shooting over your stomach, painting you; it dribbled down your sides, down the creases of your hips, dangerously close to your cunt. He winced against you, twitching involuntarily as he pushed the last of his semen out of the head, drooling onto your febrile skin.

You kissed him, again; he tenderly pressed his lips against yours in return as he took the moment to catch his breath. His mouth left yours after a moment and landed in the crook of your neck, his heaving body hung over you, propped up by his elbows on the desk under you. You felt him kiss under your ear, his warm breath and prickling beard sending a shiver down the nape of your neck.

You wanted to say something, anything – but there were no words you could think of to offer him. Gratitude? An apology? Your brain was fried, fucked into pliable mush.

Instead you lay in silence, embracing him for as long as it would last, doing your best not to consider the consequences that lay ahead of you as a result of such an unbelievably foolish lapse in judgement.

He’d been your captain for only a few minutes, and you had fucked him already.

And yet you wished the moment could last infinitely; savouring his gentle lips as they planted drowsy kisses on your neck, tired hands caressing your waist in what felt like wordless praise, a silent gratitude.

Despite the reservations, the guilt, the doubts that stormed around you, deafening; your thoughts encircled only one thing, one source of comfort.

He was your Captain again.

#john price #call of duty fanfic #john price x reader #john price x female reader #captain john price #cod fanfic #john price x you #captain price #captain price x reader #captain john price smut #john price eats pussy like he'd die of thirst fight me on that

[oh-saints]

sweetest devotion (p.1)

despite being written on paper, arranged marriages don't really have a guidance entailed. and mason was trapped into navigating the direction of this huge ship alone.

playboy!mason mount x princess!OC

word count: 2.0k

tw: as mentioned in the masterlist only, but extramarital affair to a marriage of convenience for this chapter

note: due to a stupid accident that costed my wrist, sorry for the long delay but here it is! i promised you next part's longer but hope you enjoy it nonetheless. as usual, i happen to write at dawn so this is not beta-read yet.

tags: @missgaygurl @pingyu-in-wonderland <3 (lemme know if you want to be added!)

sweetest devotion masterlist here <<prologue here - part 2 here>>

but face proven to be not everything needed in this holy institution called marriage.

especially not when the woman-in-question didn’t show that pretty face any where near mason throughout the second week.

mason never thought his marriage would turn out like this, though.

mainly because during the first week, mason and serena managed to stay civil—serena, for the sake of the baby; mason, for the sake of his life. because let’s be honest, there was too much at stake if they fucked up.

but truthfully, mason actually had a glimpse of what their marriage could look like, should they work together immaculately, so he didn’t think he had a point to complain. he reaped the benefits such as having his laundry taken care of—which he once admitted publicly was a total bummer when he was living alone because it’d mean he had to do it by his own self—while she was sheltered nicely and comfortably from the harsh punishment hanging on her head like a bounty.

well, at least until the mastermind behind the grand plan went missing.

no prior words, prior warning or whatsoever.

and mason was left dumbstruck. because now, what the hell was he supposed to do in this house without being reminded that he now couldn’t go out as much as he liked to? or the fact that he couldn’t pop into some upcoming hit nightclub for a relieve of his own without jeopardising both his and serena’s life?

fucking hell, he groaned before landing a well-placed punched to the sandbag he stored in his home gym. lately the poor thing was his only solace to the burning rage boiling that was threatening to combust. he’d never hated himself for what he’d done to his own life more than that precise moment.

once, someone told him that the most dangerous taste in life was the taste of freedom. and god were they right—he’d exchange everything in possession to have his premarital life and the freedom he was entitled with back in his hold. fuck what they said about his reputation of painting the town red.

“mase!” ben’s chirpy voice over the call clearly indicated he was drunk and in need of help. “you should come to the factory! she’s here!”

mason didn’t think twice to put on his usual clubbing garb at ben’s information and pulled out his Lamborghini from his driveway towards his and ben’s favourite nightclub.

and ironically, the place where it all begin for mason and serena.

but if serena was having fun at the night club, he deserved the right to ruin his steak of sombre nights. did he not?

“mason!” ben chilwell had to scream for his name to beat out the pounding music but his ears had never been more familiar at the loud voices more than now. “you’re here!”

“where’s she?”

ben’s smile grew wider at mason’s question. the left-back might not know the reason behind mason’s rash decision to get married—he initially thought the young star was only not wanting to pass up the chance to tie down a princess—but one thing that he did know was that mason mount was like a moth to the fire whenever she was involved in the scene.

“over at the bar!”

mason’s scanned the said bar, and his heart fell at the sight of her. because she wasn’t who mason was looking out for; she wasn’t serena. and all his plan getting even to serena he initially planned went evaporating into the air.

she happened to have the name of elena, the very and only woman who mason dared to describe closest as his lover, despite their constant on-and-off nature.

and ironically, the very reason mason and serena happened the first place.

if it wasn’t because of her dumping him—for the nth time—mason wouldn’t have sought the company of another woman in his bed. he wouldn’t have hunted serena, the prettiest commodity the factory had accrued that night, down on a Friday night too long ago.

elena peered over her shoulder, her eyes gave out away the hidden surprise at the sight of mason coming to the nightclub. surely, the newlywed didn’t come alone, did he?

mason was supposed to feel accustomed to this game of her. it was her signature move—giving off a glance over her shoulder, looking smoulderingly sexy as she did so.

mason knew what was coming, her selling off herself to the highest bidder. and he wasn’t supposed to fall into the jealousy trap of seeing endless men courting her anymore.

but he did, helplessly, like icarus flying too close to the sun. and before he realised it himself, mason had already circled his arms around her waist, surrendering himself to the devil in prada shoes as he lost himself to the demonic sensation of having elena’s lips on his, sloppy kisses be damned.

this was normalcy for mason.

this was what he could’ve had, and he’d never hated serena more than now for stealing this away from him.

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

for the rest of the week, going back to elena’s place was all mason did. god knows doing what, but if whatever-it-was brought back the happy spirit to mason’s body and his old self, the rest of the Chelsea team didn’t question it.

only when he needed a fresh change of clothes did he come back to his home, did he realise serena was already back occupying the 1st floor of the building. he might not see her in flesh and blood, but the fresh scent of lavender told more than words could never convey.

he dashed for his bedroom, putting his pieces of clothing as much as the duffel bag let him to, before heading out again towards elena’s place. mason managed to reconcile for the good now—because elena also realised that having mason in the arms of anyone else didn’t settle with her well—so he didn’t want to waste time away from her anymore.

halfway downstairs, mason got stopped by serena’s figure at the other end of the stairs. the woman looked like she was going to catch up on mason, but as her eyes travelled to his packed bag, mason noticed she was dawning in the reality.

good, he thought inwardly. it should serve her place.

mason let another 10 seconds passed by before he continued galloping down the stairs, breezed past serena the way she left him a week ago—empty. indifferent.

like nothing.

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

weeks passed and it was another weekly dose of mason fetching another pack of his clothes.

mason had certainly hired a cleaner so he could dump his dirty clothes one week and get another set of fresh clothes the next. despite his indifference towards serena, he prided himself on sparing her the smell of another woman standing in between them like the elephant in the room.

as soon as his feet graced the living room, a messy bun he wasn’t familiar at all was what came to his eyes, the hair colour so striking in the midst of mason’s all-white living room. while it wasn’t unusual, serena had never bothered crossing his way whenever he was back home to do this, as if they’d silently fallen into an inexplicable routine.

only at times like that was he grateful of marrying the right person. the princess’ pedigree certainly didn’t lie.

but still giving him her back, the owner of the highlighted scene spoke up. “you’re home.”

if serena wasn’t spurting the obvious information, mason would’ve shrunk at how eerily chilled her voice was. “you think?”

mason’s voice didn’t bother her at all—just like any other time during their short pre-wedding prep, the only time when he questioned her unwavering resolve only to be answered by “it’s just who I am.”

she just stood from her place so gracefully like a feather dancing ballet. “good, because we need to talk.”

“about what?”

“about us,” mason was seriously questioning how the hell she could spin her body into facing him with shoulders so squared she would’ve put kendall jenner to shame. “boundaries and all.”

oh, the audacity, mason scoffed. “the time of talking was a week ago, serena, which—in case you forget—was the time when you decided to disappear from the face of the earth.”

mason’s jab at her didn’t shake off her resolve, still. “where were you?”

“why do you care?”

“I care because the palace called,” mason appreciated she cut to the point because elena would be waiting for the dinner reservation he made for them. “I don’t care about you keeping a lover, mistress or whatever it is outside this house as long as you keep it under the wraps.”

shit, the palace must’ve found out somehow about him and elena. or the paparazzi did, who then contacted the palace to release the pictures. alas, mason must’ve been too reckless lately about his rendezvous. “okay.”

“and as long as you are to show up for the social gatherings the royal family may see fit,” this one, mason had to groan. who said marrying a princess was going to be a good stroke to his ego? “if it kills you so much, we can mingle for an hour tops before citing I’m not feeling well.”

“I don’t have problem with that,” the footballer crossed his arms as he bit back his response. he couldn’t possibly spew off his honest reaction at this time, not when this topic came up due to his carelessness. “I take it that includes my public appearances?”

“I’m not going to tail you to every of them if you don’t want me to,” yes, good, don’t come. “I’ll only go to where it concerns your club.”

“okay,” mason sighed, shifting his weight from his left leg to the right one, indicating he was uncomfortable and wanted to end this conversation already. “anything else?”

“that is all,” serena shook off her head before directing her feet to move towards her room. “good night, mason.”

“where were you, anyway?” serena halted her steps at mason’s question. “the past week?”

“why do you care, mason?”

mason knew serena only did that to get back at him but it still annoyed the hell of him. “just answer the damned question.”

“I was hospitalised.”

what? “how?”

“I fell off the stairs.”

what the fuck?! and she didn’t bother to share this piece of information? “okay… how about—”

“the baby? they’re safe, mason,” serena felt the need to turn around to show that she had indeed been doing a good job becoming a mother, no matter how bad mason was at doing his job as the father. “need not worry about it.”

serena might not show it in her words but mason could feel the slight annoyance at the way she turned herself around to him, to blatantly show him that all the reasons he didn’t need to put the blame on her for endangering their child. and it rubbed off in all the wrong way to mason because why was he getting the sticks now?

“I was meaning to ask how about we tell each other about our whereabouts, Jesus Christ,” mason grunted under his breath. serena was truly testing his patience this time… “your beloved palace surely wouldn’t appreciate it if you have a bad husband that doesn’t at least know where you are, no?”

that, serena could take a good moot point when she saw one.

but before serena could open a negotiation to mason’s suggestion, the man shook off his head as he dragged his feet towards his own bedroom. “hospital, of all places… good God.”

next chapter contains:

“how about having your friends over?”

“mason,” serena sighed, a bitter smile making its way to her face. “you’re the closest thing I have to a friend.”

mason couldn’t hide his surprise at her admission. despite being drunk, mason did remember that she went to the club where he was at, the night that led to their situation now, with so many people in tow. “didn’t you have so many friends when going to the club?”

bitter smile still intact, serena looked up this time and levelled mason’s gaze. “welcome to the lonely life of a princess, mason mount.”

#oh-saints writes #mason mount #mason mount x oc #mason mount fic #mason mount fics #mason mount fanfic #mason mount fanfics #mason mount fanfiction #mason mount angst #mason mount imagine #mason mount imagines #footie fic #footballer x oc #football fics

[all-hail-the-witcher]

questionable government spies (but better written and 5 years late)

chapter 1: surely the macarena has not been playing for the last 2 minutes without me noticing

words cannot even begin to describe how excited about this i am lets GO :D

___

words: 2800

edited: yes !!

ship: well its either going to be sprace or ralbert and you're all along for the ride

warnings: character death but the death is not real, minor injuries, mentions of the famed walgreens au, deep dish pizza slander, emotionally stubborn race

tags: @jack-kellys @ainti-pretty @boygirlctommy @jack-whatsyourangle @getchapapes @sun-kissed-star (let me know if you want on or off the tag list !!!)

again, big thank yous to katya for bullying me into writing this and my sister for beta-ing and providing chapter titles that have nothing to do with the story

read it on ao3!!

___

Even before Albert crashed his own funeral, Race was having a bad day. 

For starters, there had been the paperwork. Always so much paperwork when someone died during a mission. And for what? This was the FBI for fucks sake, there were interns who could be doing this, not him, one of the best field agents in the country.

And there had been the eulogy. What even was a good eulogy these days? A heartfelt poem? A quote from The Fault in Our Stars? A melancholy tiktok dance? Race should have probably known the answer at this point, given that he had written a grand total of seven for Albert, only one and a half of which he had delivered. 

Because that was the thing about Albert. He couldn't quite stay dead. 

It was the one thing that drove Race absolutely crazy about his best friend. Well, maybe not the one thing. He did have a particularly dreadful habit of chewing all of Race’s pens. But anyway. Race felt bad every time he got the dreaded phone call and shrugged Albert’s death off. For all he knew it could be real this time and he was going to go up in front of his best friend’s casket to renegade while telling everyone what an idiot he had been. But then again. This was his eighth eulogy.  

Jack, the newbie field agent that Race and Albert were supposed to be training, did not find Race’s lack of sadness even remotely acceptable. But then again, that was probably Race’s fault for not telling Jack that Albert didn’t like to stay dead. 

“I still can’t fucking believe you,” Jack muttered, taking half a glance in Race’s direction as he merged into the exit lane. “Your best friend is fucking dead, you’re going to his fucking funeral, your eulogy is a fucking tiktok dance, and you're playing a fucking fish game.” 

In the passenger seat, Race shrugged. “What? I have to feed them or they get sad. And I never actually said I was going to do the renegade.”

“I swear to fucking God Race,” Jack groaned, tears brimming in his eyes. The kid had been crying for the last week, Race was thoroughly impressed that he hadn’t run out of tears by now. “He was basically your brother. At least show some respect.”

Race rolled his eyes. “He’s not my fucking brother. Hell knows I have plenty of those.”

“You know, I’m glad he’s not here to see this,” Jack spat. “If he knew this was what his best friend was really like he wouldn’t want anything to do with you. Fucking sick of you to do this.”

Race continued feeding his fish. They may be silly, but least they weren’t yelling at him. 

“I’m going to request a placement change after today, I can’t work with someone who doesn’t even give half of a shit about th-”

Thankfully he was cut off by Race’s phone ringing. 

Not so thankfully, it was none other than Race’s arch nemesis on the other end. 

“Racetrack Higgins.” 

“Davey Jacobs.” Head of the NYC Branch of the FBI, resident asshole and general stick in the mud. He had had it out for Race and Albert since they had been in training and accidentally almost blew up his prized weapons lab.

“I need you and Dasilva to get your asses into my office ASAP.” 

“Mmm, see, that might be a bit of a problem.” Race ran his fingers through his hair. “Ain’t nobody tell you that Albert’s dead?” 

“Ain’t nobody tell you that I don't care?” Jacobs said, mimicking Race’s accent. “Just because one of you dies doesn’t mean crime stops.”

Race rolled his eyes as Jack pulled up in front of the church. “Ah Davey, good to know despite all your years of work, you still don’t have an ounce of sympathy.”

“You little-”

“And I assume you want me to drive from Chicago to New York cause your ass is too cheap to purchase a plane ticket?” 

“If you don’t watch your tongue I’ll have you fired in two minutes flat.” 

Race laughed. “My ass will be in your office after my ass goes to my partner's funeral, capishe?” Race threw his phone on the floor and rubbed his temples. He envied Jacobs’s ability to give out headaches like candy. Albert better be fucking alive cause there was no way he was going to New York City by himself. 

Jack pulled the key out of the ignition and crossed his arms, staring straight forward. “What was that about?”

“Someone who wanted to talk to me and Albert.” 

Jack said nothing. 

Race fiddled with the edge of his shirt. Maybe he should say something. But what if Albert was dead? Then he would have gotten Jack’s hopes up too and then Jack would really never forgive him. 

“I…I know you’re upset with me,” Race began lamely. 

Jack snorted. 

“But consider letting me finish your field training?” Race asked. “I know you still got a little ways to go and you got every right to be mad at me but you understand a computer better than I ever will and you’ve been really good backup and-”

“I’ll think about it okay?” Jack interrupted. 

Race nodded, staring at his phone on the floor. Boy he sure hoped that Albert was still alive. He did not want this argument to come back and bite him in the ass later. 

“Here.” Jack threw a crumpled bow tie at Race. “Put this on.”

“Why?”

“Because even though you may not be acting like it, we are still going to a funeral and you should at least look presentable.” 

“Yeah,” Race rolled his eyes but still reluctantly tied the bow tie around his neck. It looked ridiculous with his t-shirt but he didn’t feel like upsetting Jack any more. “Cause this is gonna make all the difference.”

“Just shut up and get out of the car,” Jack muttered. “We’re already almost late.”

•••

The funeral itself was pitiful. 

Aside from himself and Jack, the only other people were a handful of elderly women who looked mildly annoyed that their daily rosary praying had been interrupted by the untimely death of a twenty six year old. Race had not held a rosary since he was seventeen, but he was fairly certain one of the ladies was holding it upside down. 

And out of all the seven people in the disproportionately massive church, including the priest, Jack was the only one who seemed like he wanted to be there. 

Though, the lack of government officials and the fact that it was in a hole in the wall church in the middle of Chicago was a good sign. Perhaps Race wouldn’t have to renegade after all. 

Twelve o’clock came and went and no one else entered the church. In fact, a few of the old ladies went as far as to inch further towards the door, hoping that they would be able to sneak out. Race did not blame them. 

Whether the priest was waiting for more people to turn up or for the actual casket to make an appearance was hard to say. 

“Aren’t there supposed to be government officials here because he died in the line of duty?” Jack whispered. Still, it managed to echo around the church. 

Race winced at his lack of discretion. “We forfeited our rights to a fancy funeral when we almost blew up a weapons lab.” It was not the truth, but Jack did not need to know that five years ago Albert had gotten “blown up” and there was a full FBI sponsored funeral done for him, only for him to appear in a tiny hospital in the middle of Arkansas three days later. After that the FBI refused to give Albert a full funeral unless there was a body due to budget cuts. But that was irrelevant. 

Jack’s face fell. “Albert always said that he would tell me that story.” 

“He was never going to tell you that story.” 

“Race,” Jack’s voice was firm. “Would you stop-”

“Thank you for gathering here today in the memory of Albert Dasilva,” the priest began. “Unfortunately the hearse seems to have gotten stuck in traffic and in the interest of making sure our later services start on time, we will just do an abbreviated service with no eulogies when it arrives momentarily. Unless anyone has any objections?” 

Jack tries to raise his hand but Race held his arms down. Hearses didn’t just get stuck in traffic. This had Albert’s handiwork written all over it. The priest gave them a mildly amused look but ultimately said nothing. 

Jack squirmed out of Race’s grip. “Don’t touch me, Race.”

“Jack I-“

“I said don’t fucking touch me, Antonio.” 

Race grit his teeth. He already had to see Jacobs later today and he didn’t want a lecture from him on how you’re not supposed to deck the trainees at fake funeral services. How had Jack even known his name? 

Moments later the door of the church slammed open and a ridiculously shiny gold casket was wheeled in. Race barely glanced at it. Maybe he should have told Jack. He liked the kid. This was the first trainee he and Albert had been given and he wanted to do a good job, be to Jack what Blink and Mush had been to him. 

Albert would know how to fix this. 

Race really hoped that he was outside.

He spent the rest of the hilariously brief service running through every possible outcome of the situation. At worst, Albert was indeed dead and Jack would abandon him. At best, Albert was not dead as Jack would forgive him for the misunderstanding easily. And in between there were seventy three other situations. 

Something pointy jabbed Race in the ribs and he looked up to see Jack standing and glaring down at him. Fuck, the processional had already started. 

Race wandered out of the church behind Jack in a daze. He fought down nausea as he trudged, absently wrapping and unwrapping his fingers in the chain around his neck. 

The sun was blinding. Race squinted through it, trying to scan the parking lot for a familiar blob of red hair, but Jack jumped in front of him. 

“Here “ Jack threw the keys to the truck at Race. “I’m done. I’m not getting back in that car with you after whatever just happened in that church. I can’t work with someone who can’t show an ounce of emotion when their best friend dies. You’re a fucking asshole, Race. An absolute, grade A premium-“

“Whoa there cowboy, I don’t condone arguing at my funeral.” 

Jack jumped three feet in the air at the sound of Albert’s voice. A weight that Race hadn’t felt before lifted off of his chest at the sight of his best friend. 

“Al,” he breathed a sigh of relief and opened his arms to hug Albert. 

“Oi! Careful!” Albert warned. “I’m only mostly in one piece.”

“You can never come back to me in perfect working condition can you?” Race felt his stress evaporating as he gently hugged Albert to his chest. He looked like shit and smelled worse “What happened this time?” 

“I don't know, I woke up in some fucking Canadian National Park to a moose trying to eat my socks and my shoulder was dislocated. I scared the park ranger shitless then had to hitch hike to the border and almost got stuck there cause they thought my FBI card was fake.”

“...Did the moose dislocate your shoulder?” Race stepped back to examine Albert. Sure enough, he had sloppily tied a shirt around his left shoulder to immobilize it. It didn't look completely correct but Race supposed he should be happy that Albert wasn’t in a hospital. Or even worse, moose food. 

Albert half shrugged. “Hell if I know Racer.”

Race tilted his head. “Well then how-”

“Dude what the fuck is wrong with Jack?” 

Race turned to see Jack opening and closing his mouth like a fish, eyebrows raised so high they were nearly touching his cornrows. 

“Um-”

Albert crossed his arms. “You didn’t tell him, did you.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. 

Race glued his lips together. He’d known Albert for long enough to know that it was better to just say nothing. 

“Fucking christ, Antonio.” Albert half kicked him and walked over towards Jack, shooting Race a We’ll Be Talking About This Later Look. 

“Hey Jackie-boy, good to see you buddy,” Albert said in the same voice that people use to talk to small children or scared animals. 

“Everyone said you were dead,” Jack muttered, eyes wide. 

“Who is everyone?”

“Race,” Jack lifted his eyes from Albert momentarily to glare at Race, “The priest, the guy who called Race, I don’t know.”

“Alright buddy,” Albert said. “Lesson one-” “Lesson one is never leave the house without a weapon,” Jack interrupted.

Albert sighed. “Fine then, lesson two-”

“Is always scan your surroundings.” Jack nearly cracked a smile at Albert’s annoyed facial expression. “You’re up to lesson fifty three.” 

“Fine. Lesson fifty three. Never believe anyone is dead until you see a body.” 

Jack nodded. “I think that’ll be an easy one to remember.”

“Good.” Albert opened his arm. “Now bring it in buddy.”

Jack flew into Albert’s embrace. A distinct sinking feeling started in Race’s stomach when he saw Jack’s shoulders shaking. 

“Everyone always leaves.” Jack’s words were muffled but Race could still hear them. “I’m so glad that you didn’t.” 

Albert laughed but Race could see the strain in his eyes. “This is like the fourth-”

“Eighth,” Race whispered.

“Eighth time this has happened. I don’t think that I am going anywhere anytime soon.”

Jack nodded into Albert’s shirt and gave him one more light squeeze, which Albert tried and failed not to wince at before pulling away. 

“Now that we got that settled,” Albert said, turning to Race. “I would love nothing more than to go to Walgreens and get some advil, the good cold medicine because Canada’s fucking freezing and I think it’s going to catch up to me soon and a real sling, some mediocre deep dish pizza and to go back to the safe house and sleep for three days.”

“Yes to the first two but you’re going to have to sleep in the car,” Race said.

Albert dropped his head back and groaned. “Don’t tell me they reassigned us already, I only just came back to life.”

“Mmmm no its far worse.” Race placed his hand on Albert’s good shoulder. “Jacobs wants us in his office.” Albert blinked once, twice, three times before giving in. “FUCK.”

“Yeah,” Race said. There was nothing else to say about that.

“Don’t tell me he wants us there tomorrow.” 

“He wanted us there today. “Who the hell is Jacobs?”

“Not now Jack,” Race and Albert said at the same time. 

“And we have to drive?” Albert asked. “And we have to drive.” Race confirmed. 

“Well fuck me sideways with a fucking spork.” Albert groaned again for good measure. “Doesn’t he think I’m dead?” 

“This is Davey Jacobs,” Race said. “Death means nothing to him.” 

“Is no one going to tell me who this guy is?” Jack asked again, louder this time. 

“Jackie,” Albert said, “When we’re on hour thirteen of this drive you’re going to be regretting asking that question.” 

“He can’t be that bad.” “He is,” Race said. 

“You owe me at least a whole pizza for this,” Albert said, jabbing Race in the chest with his finger. “With extra meat.”

“I didn’t expect anything less,” Race smiled. Sure he was not happy they had to go deal with whatever crap Jacobs was going to throw at him, but at least he had his best friend back.

“And another one when we get to the city!” He yelled over his shoulder as he followed Jack to the car. “I’ve missed my 99 cent pizza.” Race rolled his eyes. “You can literally get it for free cause Vinny loves you.”

“Wait, we’re going to New York City?” Jack asked

“I thought you wanted a placement change?” Race said, crossing his arms. 

“I- Well- I guess I-“

“Look buddy,” Albert said. “Race is shit at communicating. He will never admit it, but he is. But you can’t blame him for not wanting to get your hopes up. This is a hard field to be in, nothing is guaranteed and nothing is ever as it seems. That being said, we would love to have you on whatever Jacobs has planned for us cause I can guarantee you it is going to be one absolute hell of a ride. And even though Race won’t admit it, he likes having you around.” 

“I never said I didn’t,” Race muttered. 

Jack considered. “I’ll come, but only mostly because my best friend is training in New York. I’m still kinda pissed at Race.”

“Welcome to the club, buddy,” Albert laughed, giving Jack a fist bump. 

Race just rolled his eyes. It was pointless to argue at this point. 

“This better be a relaxing ride, Race,” Albert said, ignoring Jack. “I want no shenanigans.”

“I make no promises.”

___

AHHH WE ARE SO BACK BABY !!!

stay tuned to see the boys entering the city :O

#saphie scribbles #spies 2.0 #newsies #newsies fic #newsies fanfic #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #spot conlon #sprace #ralbert

[overobsessedfanboy23]

My Opinions on Every GX Ship

There is an absolute fuck ton of ships from this show since it has a big cast and is one of the older shows and there are some characters I absolutely will not ship with anyone. So I’m going to be excluding some ships, including some potentially popular ones, to avoid repeating myself. Even after excluding quite a few however, there are a ton of ships so keep that in mind before you click read more. The ships I’ll be excluding are as follows:

-Any Asuka ship. I’m pretty dead set on her being ace/aro.

-Any teacher/student or just adult/minor ship. I don’t think I need to explain this one.

-Any Supreme King ship. Because I just can’t get into that. The Supreme King in my mind is Judai after having a severe mental breakdown, he’s not his own character.

-Any ships with a huge age gap. (Ie: most Rei ships)

-Any ships involving manga or Tag Force only characters because I’ve never read the manga or played Tag Force. I’ve only seen the anime.

-Any incestual ship. I’m just not giving them the time of day this time.

-Any beastiality ships. Because those exist apparently.

-Most Amon ships because my reasoning for disliking most of them is just “x character deserves better than this canon abuser.” so any ships where that is my only thing to say about it are disqualified for the sake of avoiding repeating myself.

I might also drop some lesser known or lesser talked about ships if I have nothing to say about them. Also, as usual, I am not attacking any shippers when I diss the ships in question. You are perfectly valid to ship any of these pairings for any reason as long as you’re not hurting anyone. So now, let's begin.

Absquatulateshipping (Franz x Pegasus)

Franz is the guy who stole Ra in that episode and he’s one of Pegasus’s employees so there would be a power imbalance. Plus that Ra episode was one of my least favourites so I can’t get into this one.

Acceptanceshipping (Saiou x Misawa)

Yeah, this one’s understandable. Power imbalance out the wazoo, of course, since for the bulk of these two knowing about each other, Misawa was a brainwashed member of Saiou’s cult but as an intentionally problematic ship, it’s valid.

Achievedshipping (Jim Cook x Ryo)

I can't really see the connection here. Nothing against it though.

Afflictionshipping (Ryo x Yusuke x Judai)

I really like both of them with Ryo but Judai doesn’t interact enough with or have an interesting enough dynamic with Yusuke for me to care for that combination specifically. Not a bad trio though.

Afraidshipping (Judai x Iwamaru)

Iwamaru is such a minor character I had to look up who he is so he clearly didn’t leave an impression on me. So I can’t really justify shipping Judai with him over his far more appealing ships.

Aiboushipping (Judai x Winged Kuriboh)

Okay, this is the first ship I have to say I actively dislike. Winged Kuriboh comes off way more like a pet to Judai than a romantic partner so this ship disgusts me.

Aidshipping (Judai x Johan x Edo)

I love all three of these characters and Judai’s bonds with them are pretty well established and interesting. Edo and Johan didn’t directly meet face to face in the series but they could post canon and I imagine they’d get along. Hell, they’d probably hit it off well since they both have deep connections with their decks. So this ship gets my seal of approval. Can’t believe I never thought of it before now honestly. I like it a lot.

Alloyshipping (Jim Cook x Edo)

I don’t recall these two ever meeting (Jim was dead before Edo’s involvement in the Supreme King arc) and I’m not really sure what they would have to talk about. So I don’t really care for it but I’m not against it.

Altershipping (Kenzan x Sorano)

Another minor character who only appears briefly in season 4 but he and Kenzan were implied to have been good friends so I understand it.

Amuletshipping (Fubuki x Judai x Sara)

Sara’s a one off character so this connection always seemed really flimsy to me so I could never get behind it. Maybe if Sara had appeared again and we saw what her connection with Fubuki was I could understand that pair but I cannot get behind her and Judai whatsoever since I headcanon Judai as gay.

Angelshipping (Manjome x Sho)

I think these two are a classic case of “these two fighting over girls was secretly just them trying to impress each other.” Or at least that would be more fun. So I enjoy this ship in that context. It’s not quite a favourite though.

Anikishipping (Judai x Sho)

I have only ever and can only ever see these two as brotherly since Sho canonically calls him “big bro.” So I can’t get into this at all.

Annoyingshipping (Manjome x Ojama Yellow)

Oh my god, this ship was beta Aiball all this time-

Except I love Ai and don’t like the Ojamas. I don’t hate them, they’re just… there for me. Also, the Ojamas all call Manjome “big bro” like Sho and Kenzan do to Judai so I see this as a more familial relationship. In fact, Manjome seeing the Ojamas as annoying little brother figures almost certainly feels implied to me.

Antidisestablishmentarianismshipping (Judai x Motegi)

Motegi seemed stoned the entire time he was on screen so a ship involving him having a crackhead ship name makes sense. Can’t say I care for the ship though since he’s so minor.

Antiheroshipping (Ryo x Edo x Judai)

Don’t really care for Ryo/Edo for reasons I’ll get to. As for the Judai ships, they could work. I can maybe like this as a vee but as a throuple, it’s not my thing at all.

Antiqueshipping (Chronos x Camula)

Nope. This one’s just creepy and not in an interesting way. Shoutout to this duel for being the first time Chronos was ever shown as something other than a nuisance though.

Aoishipping (Ryo x Fubuki x Manjome)

I don’t think I’ve ever considered Ryo/Manjome. I think from Fubuki’s point of view, this would work out really well since he’s close to both Ryo and Manjome, and they’d both bring different energies to the table in his relationships with them. So it’s a fun idea.

Attentionshipping (Hell Kaiser Ryo x Misawa)

Not sure why this is specifically Hell Kaiser. All the others were just Ryo and I don’t think these two ever duelled before or after Ryo’s transformation but okay. This doesn’t seem like it’s shipped at all and I agree. Not my thing.

Attractionshipping (Judai x Johan x Sho)

Again, I see Sho’s dynamic with Judai as purely brotherly so I can’t get behind this. Even if I didn’t though, Sho seems like he’d be too insecure to consider a poly relationship. That's not Sho slander by the way, poly relationships just aren't for everyone.

Australiashipping (Jim Cook x Hayato)

Okay, this one’s just funny. They’ve never met and the basis for the ship is really flimsy but it’s funny so it gets a pass. I hope these two meet and bond over… Australian things. Like… dying in the 30+ degree heat every summer.

Backboneshipping (Kenzan x Manjome x Misawa)

I don’t really see the connection between these three. So it’s a nah.

Beastshipping (Fubuki x Kenzan)

Again, don’t see the connection.

Bickershipping (Kenzan x Manjome)

I can’t find anything on this ship, surprising for a two person ship between two major characters but oh well. It doesn’t particularly appeal to me anyways.

Bluntshipping (Ryo x Manjome x Misawa)

This just looks like a random assortment of characters from Judai’s friend group or his friend group adjacent to me. So it doesn’t really appeal to me.

Bondshipping (Johan x Yubel)

Okay so… I have some fanfics which can be considered to be an unofficial series where Judai is dating and travelling with both Johan and Yubel, leading to them inevitably interacting a bit. It’s mostly just in support of Judai but in the most recent addition to this unofficial series, Johan and Yubel have an admittedly fun dynamic and Judai is very chill with the idea of them being together, even teasing the idea.

So while the canon backing for this is awful and doesn’t work for me, I already have a narrative in which I can see it working: Judai dating both of them and Yubel going from begrudgingly tolerating Johan to having feelings for him. It’s not an idea I’ve written outside of Judai teasing it but it’s certainly an idea I’ve considered. So uh… I’ll get back to you on this one if I ever write that fanfic. For now, I’m conflicted on this ship.

Boreshipping (Jim Cook x Manjome)

Okay I would have no opinion on this ship except for the fact that one of its only posts on Tumblr is COMPLETELY UNHINGED and made me laugh in the most guilt ridden horrified way you can possibly imagine. So now Jim being one of bi disaster Manjome’s many victims has been seared into my brain.

Brothershipping (Judai x Kenzan x Sho)

BOTH of them call Judai “big bro” (which is really funny in Kenzan’s case since at first glance, you can easily mistake him as older than Judai since he’s way taller and buffer) so this is a big nope from me.

Bulletshipping (Judai x Tania)

I have no idea how old Tania is supposed to be. I assumed she was supposed to be an adult woman and that her having feelings for high school boys was creepy but people in the fandom… don’t acknowledge that? Or maybe assumed she was actually around their age and just not in school because… different culture? So… no idea what’s going on there.

Potential age gap aside though, this ship doesn’t work at all because Judai is so absurdly disinterested and immune to her flirting that it’s part of how he beat her. So this ship is a no.

Buryshipping (Yusuke x Honest)

Honest’s protectiveness of Yusuke came off as more parental than anything else. So I really can’t see this one.

Bushshipping (Jim Cook x Yusuke)

Damn Yusuke ships don’t get jackshit in this fandom. Jim didn’t appear in season 4, the only season Yusuke’s in, so they haven’t ever met, but I could see this as a new post canon bond that Yusuke seeks out as to have someone in his life that he can start over with who won’t judge him for his past. It’s a decent idea. I'm just not sure how it would work in practice.

Canvasshipping (Saiou x Hayato)

These two never met and I don’t really know how they’d interact so… not my thing.

Challengeshipping (Judai x Ryo x Manjome)

So… Judai with his two rivals. Manjome would be the dumbass of this dynamic, no question there and Judai and Ryo would take turns being the enabler and the one keeping the other two from getting themselves killed. …Yeah I can see it.

Changeshipping (Hell Kaiser x Ryo)

This is just Ryo with himself so… I’m all for advocating for self love but I kinda feel like this isn’t what the term means.

Chrysocollashipping (Ryo x Fubuki x Johan)

I enjoy both Ryo ships. I'm not sure how Fubuki and Johan would get along but I'm sure they could at least be friends for Ryo's sake. This is a functional and potentially cute one.

Claimshipping (Sho x Yubel) & Clawshipping (Kenzan x Yubel)

Yubel, I’d prefer if you didn’t get involved with Judai’s adopted brothers. That’s kinda weird. Big no on these ships.

Clearshipping (Judai x Johan x Yusuke)

Well, I’ve started shipping a polyship after a two on one duel between the trio in which the two set the one, who’s a confused angry lackey to a bigger villain, on the right path again before. Doing it again would be nothing new. I prefer other ships for Judai/Johan and Yusuke though so I don’t actively ship this.

Clustershipping (Fubuki x Sho)

This one feels a little too random for me to get into.

Coachshipping (Chronos x Daitokuji x Emi Ayukawa)

All three of these are teachers who I’d guess are around the same age. Seems like a pretty random selection of the teachers though so I’m not into it.

Coatshipping (Manjome x Yusuke)

The other YGO ships this name is used for stick out to me a lot more. This one is just… not my thing on its own.

Colosseumshipping (Dark Johan x Johan)

…this is either Johan x himself or Johan x Yubel in a weird paint so… uh…

Why?

Cometshipping (Jim Cook x O’Brien x Judai)

My darkest secret as a GX fan is that I have just… never cared for O’Brien. I don’t even have a good reason, he just doesn’t interest me as much as the other GX characters. So I can get behind both of the Jim ships in this throuple but O’Brien/Judai just… doesn’t work for me, especially since O’Brien ran like hell from him when he became the Supreme King.

Comfortshipping (Yusuke x Johan)

Kind of just my thoughts on the throuple again. However, it’s slightly less appealing because of the missing Judai. Judai makes everything better in my eyes.

Companionshipping (Judai x Orgene)

I prefer to ship Judai with more major characters. Plus this prince guy was almost definitely a seasoned adult right? Surely? *cries about Yugioh ages again*

Comparisonshipping (Mitsuru x Ryo)

According to Junko and Momoe, Mitsuru duels on Ryo’s level so that’s likely where this came from. Still, I hate tennis guy more than I can possibly express so I despise this ship.

Competeshipping (Principal Samejima x Ichinose)

Two competing principals? Yeah this is a funny crackship.

Competitorshipping (Judai x Manjome x Johan)

This one is good and cute and nice because Judai does indeed have two hands, and those hands can hold his cringe-fail rival and sweet boy spiritual companion. I like both of those ships so putting them together is great.

Complexshipping (Edo x Echo)

I mean Edo did care more about Echo than the person she actually loved did so that’s something I guess. It's a bit too flimsy for me though.

Contendshipping (Judai x Ryo x Misawa)

Don’t really care for Misawa with Ryo and I’ll get to the Judai pairings on their own eventually. All I have to say now is: there are better throuples.

Consolationshipping (Ichinose x Tome)

Uuuuuh. No.

Contactshipping (Judai x Neos)

Couldn’t blame Judai for wanting that cake honestly. Fun crackship.

Convertshipping (Saiou x Manjoume x Misawa)

Saiou shipping his brainwashed minions... Yeah, no that's just gross.

Copyshipping (Judai x Kagurazaka)

Okay, this was such a minor and/or forgettable duel that I forgot this character existed. GX has a lot of one offs, give me a break. And this one off wasn’t one I liked so I’m not into this one.

Cosplayshipping (Tome x Dark Magician Girl)

I really don’t get everyone’s crush on Dark Magician Girl. Never have. With how common it is, I see where this came from but it’s not my thing.

Cowboyshipping (Jim Cook x Johan)

Well I know where that ship name came from. They both see animals as their family (Karen in Jim’s case and the Crystal Beasts in Johan’s case) so they could bond over that I suppose. Oh and their mutual love of Judai. So I can get behind this.

Crystallizeshipping (Kenzan x Johan)

Random pair that I’m not into.

Crystalshipping (Johan x Sho)

“Stop dating my brother and date me!”

That’s pretty much the only way I can see this going down. And I love Spiritship and Judai a little too much to be okay with that.

Darkshipping (Hell Kaiser x Darkness)

…Yep. Hell Kaiser is such an edgelord that I can 100% see this. Just as a crackship but I can see it regardless.

Dealtshipping (Amon x Yubel)

Okay, this one’s funny so I’m including it. Amon was so terrible and abusive that even Yubel called him out on his bullshit and I find that simultaneously hilarious and badass. Yubel could put Amon in his place and I’d be all for it.

Defeatshipping (Judai x Osamu)

Another minor character but he and Judai were at least friends as kids. Ya know. Prior to Yubel putting him in a coma. Come to think of it, I wonder how a reunion post canon between them would go…

Okay, I’m gonna put a pin in this because I actually kinda want to write that. Not as a ship but just as a scenario it provides a lot of introspective potential.

Defuseshipping (Misawa x Yubel)

Pretty sure Misawa wouldn’t even consider them so no.

Destinyshipping (Saiou x Edo)

No. Saiou’s too old for him, I saw this as more brotherly.

Devilshipping (Light of Destruction x Saiou)

Like Darkness x Ryo, this one just… makes sense in a cracky way so I’m totally down.

Dingoshipping (Saiou x Jim Cook)

Too random for me.

Disastershipping (Darkness x Yubel)

No. Darkness forcibly stole Yubel from Judai and tried to make them hurt him. Bad. Mean. Give them back.

Distasteshipping (Manjome x Hayato)

I can’t remember these two interacting or picture a fun dynamic for them so this doesn’t appeal to me.

Distraughtshipping (Edo x Yubel)

I suppose in a context where Judai is dating both of them this could work, kinda like the Johan/Yubel. Plus this ship wouldn’t have the… negative history that Johan/Yubel does. So in a very niche scenario, this could work, although I’ll admit Johan/Yubel interests me more.

Divulgeshipping (Hayato x Yubel)

Way too random.

Dojoshipping (Hell Kaiser x Makoto)

No, this guy would just be bad for Ryo.

Drearyshipping (Ryo x Yusuke x Manjoume)

How many edgelords does it take to confess? None, they all just insult each other when trying to flirt.

This one’s hilarious so I’m down for it.

Durabilityshipping (Kenzan x Misawa x Judai)

Can’t remember Kenzan and Misawa’s interactions at all and Judai’s relationship with Kenzan doesn't come off as shippy to me. Not my thing.

Duskshipping (Darkness x Ryo x Fubuki)

Arc V’s Duskshipping is better but… again, it just… it just makes sense and I almost hate that it does.

Egoshipping (Edo x Manjome)

I see this one a lot and I assume it mostly comes from the season 4 episodes where Manjome is his employee. So… There's too much of a power imbalance between these two for me to get into it canonically honestly. Now, Manjome did get a ton of sponsorship offers that he could easily take and thus no longer be Edo’s employee so I think in a post canon situation, this… might(?) be fine. It’s just that the majority of their screen time together in the actual show is them being an employee and a boss so I can’t personally get behind it.

Eliteshipping (Ryo x Fubuki x Yusuke)

This one is great because they can confide in each other over their gifted kid burnout and varying experiences with Darkness. So I love it. I love the individual pairs (though I do have a favourite) and I wish we’d seen it on-screen as a trio more because what little we did get is so great.

Emasculateshipping (Chronos x Napoleon)

I mean I kinda got the vibe that these two are exes for some reason. So I guess I like it?

Employshipping (Pegasus x Samejima x Chronos)

A little too random for me.

Encoreshipping (Kenzan x Edo)

A little too random. What would these two even talk about? Judai? Is that all they share?

Endlesssshipping (Judai x Edo x Mizuchi)

Pretty sure Mizuchi’s too old for them so no.

Edit: So apparently Mizuchi is actually younger than Saiou. I wrote this bit when I thought she was older. God I hate YGO ages. Still don't like the ship though.

Endshipping (Judai x Yusuke)

Judai did help him return to the light so it’s… an understandable ship. Not as good as any of the gifted kid trio with Yusuke for me though.

Endureshipping (Saiou x O’Brien)

Too random for me. Plus I don’t really care for either of them.

Entrapshipping (Saiou x Misawa x Judai)

This seems more like something Judai would look at as a bystander and go “...why Misawa? Why?” Can’t get behind it.

Eucalyptusshipping (Yusuke x Hayato)

They never met and I can’t picture a dynamic so no.

Evolveshipping (Judai x Kenzan)

Gonna be disqualifying any other ships that include some combination of Judai/Kenzan or Judai/Sho and put it to rest here and now: I don’t like either of those ships because Kenzan and Sho refer to Judai as though he’s a brother to them.

Facultyshipping (Chronos x Daitokuji x Samejima)

I kind of feel like no one really liked Daitokuji? Or maybe that was just the students. Either way, Chronos is too good for either of these guys.

Fataleshipping (Tania x Camula)

…Okay this one’s kind of fun actually. Badass lesbians who can and will commit murder together.

Finalshipping (Hell Kaiser x Yubel)

I… I don’t know. I did joke about a Ryo/Yubel/Judai/Johan OT4 but… more for every other pairing in the ship than this one. I don’t know, I can’t really give an opinion on this one right now I guess.

Firewallshipping (O’Brien x Judai)

I’m surprised this wasn’t Yusaku and Ryoken’s ship name honestly. Anyways, what I said in the Jim/O’Brien/Judai section stands. Can’t get into this ship due to my disinterest in O’Brien.

Foodshipping (Judai x Hayato)

Like it platonically, can’t see it romantically though.

Foolshipping (Saiou x Judai)

Arc V’s Foolshipping was funnier. This one’s really not my thing because I honestly just don't like Saiou much. I find him mostly boring and I don't see anything between him and Judai. 

Fopshipping (Fubuki x Manjome x Edo)

I will discuss/have discussed the Manjome parts of this ship so for now I’ll just say that I have no idea how Fubuki and Edo would interact but I hope it’s funny.

Forgottenshipping (Misawa x Hayato)

…okay the ship name sold me on this. The two most forgotten major boys in GX as a pairing: they can bond over constantly feeling ignored. Perfection. Screw it, it’s my OTP for both characters now.

Formalshipping (Ryo x Hayato)

I mean… I could see this starting out with Hayato asking Ryo to tutor him or something and through it, they grow close. It could work. Not particularly my thing but could work.

Fossilshipping (Jim Cook x Kenzan)

These two can bond over dinosaurs and their fossils and stuff. That would be pretty cute actually. I’d like it more platonically but it could be a fun ship.

Frozenshipping (Saiou x Fubuki)

Victim of the light of destruction x victim of darkness? I could see that working after season 2 actually.

Furryshipping (Johan x Hayato)

Very unfortunate ship name. I can’t get into this one.

Fusionshipping (Ryo x Judai)

I like that Judai loses to Ryo. I like how Judai reveals Ryo’s biggest flaw: his belief that he’s already achieved perfection and can’t improve. Ryo also cares quite a bit about Judai, choosing to duel him as his graduation duel and later dedicating his final words to Judai rather than his own brother. They’re also two very opposing personalities that can play off each other well and they both suffered traumatic losses in season 2. I grew to really love this ship during my recent GX rewatch, it might be my third favourite GX ship overall. It’s just really cute to me.

Geniusshipping (Misawa x Ryo)

Not my thing.

Glareshipping (Ryo x Junko)

I think Junko may have had a crush on him? It wouldn’t surprise me. I can’t see Ryo requiting that though.

Gloryshipping (Ryo x Fubuki x Edo)

I kind of feel like any rapport these characters may have would fall apart when Fubuki finds out that Edo indirectly lead to Ryo having his downfall. So I’m not into this one.

Glowshipping (O’Brien x Johan)

Not my thing. Johan has more interesting ships.

Goblinshipping (Kohara x Ohara)

For one off characters, I actually really like these two and their rapport with each other. I don’t know if I particularly ship it romantically, but I can certainly see it

Grassshipping (Yusuke x Sho)

This just feels way too random for me. What would they even talk about? Touching grass?

Greyshipping (Darkness x Saiou)

Okay, this one’s just hilarious. When I said I like ships with opposing personalities, I didn’t exactly mean THIS opposing, but I enjoy it nonetheless.

Groupieshipping (Junko x Momoe)

Yeah sure whatever.

Guardshipping (O’Brien x Kenzan)

Not my thing.

Habitshipping (Fubuki x Judai x Manjome)

Fubuki and Manjome would be the dumbasses of this relationship, you cannot convince me otherwise. I know you all think of Judai as a dumbass, and he certainly can be hyperactive and reckless but Fubuki and Manjome, especially when they are together, share exactly one brain cell that only produces a non simping or duelling related thought once in a blue moon. Judai is the only one preventing them from jumping off a cliff. That being said, all three of them are dumbasses. Yes. Judai is just the designated driver when the other two go off and get drunk at a party. So I enjoy this dynamic.

Hangmanshipping (Saiou x Manjome x Judai)

Yet another dynamic I feel like Judai would just look at with concern based on the events of season 2. Very not my thing.

Harmshipping (Saiou x Yubel)

There’s two directions this could go: either they meet pre-Judai and Saiou realises that Yubel is sick with light of destruction disease and they team up against Judai. Or they meet post Judai and Yubel roasts Saiou. Either way, it’s funny and I approve.

Hasteshipping (Fubuki x Manjome x Misawa)

Fubuki and Manjome have a pretty established relationship in canon but I don’t really see Misawa adding to that? So not particularly my thing.

Hazeshipping (Darkness x Ryo x Judai)

Can’t really see this one since Judai straight up murdered Darkness.

Heroshipping (Edo x Judai)

Well Judai canonically called him cute and also they both use hero decks. They’ve got history and something to bond over and a competitive streak between them and even one-sided attraction, however fleeting or offhand it was for Judai. I can get behind this.

Hornetshipping (Misawa x Manjome)

These two feel like they’re only in the same friend group, or friend group adjacent, because of Judai. Their duel ended up getting Manjome kicked out of a the school for a while, I don’t feel like Manjome thinks of him all that fondly.

Hustleshipping (Chronos x Titan)

Titan was just a one off though he and Chronos had that one funny scene where Titan prevents him from seeing his back… it makes sense in context. Not my thing since he’s just a one off though.

Idolshipping (Ryo x Fubuki)

This one’s pretty fun. They’ve got very opposing personalities and lots of history and interactions in canon to back it up so I’m pretty on board with them as a ship even if it’s not my go-to.

Impassiveshipping (O’Brien x Ryo)

I can’t remember these two even interacting and they seem like they’d be way too stoic with each other. Not my thing.

Infernoshipping (Darkness x Fubuki)

This canonically has the narrative of being something toxic that Fubuki is struggling to pull away from and is repeatedly relapsing into so that’s really the only way I could see this as a ship? So definitely not something to romanticise. Yikes.

Influenceshipping (Saiou x Misawa x Edo)

Saiou’s a little too old for Edo in my mind and I don’t care for Misawa with either of them so I can’t get into this.

Insecurityshipping (Chronos x Napoleon x Kabayama)

More of the teachers. I’m not sure what mister Ra Yellow would add to this dynamic in all honesty so I guess I’m just neutral to this?

Jarshipping (Cobra x Yubel)

Can't really see this one since Yubel murdered him the second they could.

Jewelshipping (Manjome x Johan)

Little ray of sunshine Johan with emo boy Manjome I can definitely see, especially alongside Rival and Spirit. So this is a good one.

Joyfulshipping (Fubuki x Judai x Johan)

That’s a very fitting name since all three of these characters fall under the “saddest people smile the brightest” category. I love Judai/Johan. I can kind of see Judai/Fubuki and don’t know how Johan and Fubuki would interact. They could get along for Judai’s sake though.

Judgementshipping (Gravekeeper’s Leader x Sara)

Hard no. He holds way too much power over her and abuses that power by slapping her across the face. Bad.

Jurassicshipping (Kenzan x Sho)

Another one I got into during my rewatch. It’s a fun one, especially post-canon where they no longer have Judai to fight over and can realise “oh wait, you’re kind of cool actually.” Or even better: they liked each other the whole time and were garbage at expressing it. Great ship and stuff.

Keyshipping (Saiou x Judai x Edo)

Did I do this one already? I’m not sure. Don’t really care for either of them with Saiou though. Do love Judai/Edo but Saiou doesn’t add much to the dynamic for me.

Kiiroshipping (Kenzan x Misawa x Sho)

So… the three Ra Yellows of season 3? They were roommates and thus probably saw each other a lot that season before Misawa ran off. So… I can see where it comes from. Not sure what Misawa would add to the dynamic though.

Killshipping (Ryo x Johan x Yubel)

Part of my OT4. I think I’ve mostly covered my thoughts on these dynamics though, apart from Ryo/Johan which I’ll get to.

Koalashipping (Hayato x Sho)

These two seem more like brothers honestly.

Lateshipping (Yusuke x Yubel)

I mean I guess if Judai were with both of them I could see this making some sense. Otherwise it just feels too random.

Leftshipping (Darkness x Ryo)

This is just normal Ryo so it’s not a funny meme in my head, it’s just kind of sad.

Lithographshipping (Samejima x Pegasus)

They’re both garbage humans so I can totally understand this and get behind it.

Literateshipping (Fubuki x Jim Cook)

Another pair that I don’t think interacted in any substantial way So I can’t really see what dynamic they would have.

Lustfulshipping (Fubuki x Yubel)

This name and its implications are funny so it gets a thumbs up from me. I don’t think I need to explain why.

Majesticshipping (Ryo x Manjome)

I am… entirely unsure of this ship. I can’t remember any of their canon interactions so I have no idea how they’d interact. On the otter hand though, I’m not openly opposed to it. So… it's a maybe I guess?

Maskshipping (Fubuki x Yusuke)

YES. This is my favourite pairing for both of these characters honestly. Fubuki’s undying faith in him, coupled with his upbeat personality to contrast Yusuke’s reserved pessimism makes for such a fun dynamic. I love them so very much.

Meltshipping (O’Brien x Edo)

Well… they could bond over having dead parent trauma I guess. Not sure what else to grasp onto with this though so it’s not my thing.

Messengershipping (Saiou x Yusuke)

They are both former villains but I don’t really like Saiou so this isn’t my thing.

Mirroredshipping (Edo x Mizuchi)

Not my thing.

Mockshipping (Edo x Misawa)

Not my thing. Edo canonically thinks pretty poorly of Misawa honestly.

Nightshipping (Darkness x Camula)

Yes! What better partner for a vampire who feels safest in the darkness than Darkness himself! I have no complaints, this ship makes perfect sense.

Nihilityshipping (Darkness x Judai x Yubel)

No. Give Yubel back. They want to go back to Judai. DO NOT SEPARATE THEM.

Nocturnalshipping (Darkness x Fubuki x Manjome)

Really wish this was called Darkstormshipping since it’s Darkness x Stormshipping but oh well. The only way I can picture this is an AU where Manjome was also taken over by darkness and he and Fubuki go crazy together which sounds pretty fun. I’m down.

Northshipping (Edogara x Manjoume)

This is the gang leader guy at the North academy that Manjome beat. Honestly I don’t think Manjome has even spared this guy a passing thought since he returned back to Duel Academy so this one’s a nah.

Obeliskshipping (Chronos x Emi Ayukawa)

Not my thing.

Obsidianshipping (Fubuki x Manjome x Johan)

Not sure what Johan would add to this dynamic? But I do love him and I love Stormshipping so I can kinda see it.

Ojamashipping (Ojama Black x Ojama Green x Ojama Yellow)

They’re brothers so no.

Orangeshipping/Tutorshipping (Misawa x Judai)

Same ship, it just goes by two names apparently. Honestly Tutorshipping is better since it sticks out more. As for the ship itself, Misawa’s unique dialogue in Duel Links when Judai beats him is… pretty gay. I can see Misawa liking him easily, his dedication to beating Judai can certainly be read that way and I do enjoy a good rival ship. I like this one, just not as much as Judai’s other ships.

Orichalcumshipping (Jim Cook x O’Brien)

I can easily see this one after everything they went through together in season 3. They’re from different schools (I think) so it would likely be a long distance relationship and as someone in a long distance relationship, I relate pretty strongly. I dig this one.

Outbackshipping (O’Brien x Hayato)

Not as good as either of them with Jim. Could be fun in a polyship maybe though so I won’t dismiss this one entirely.

Outcastshipping (Yusuke x Edo)

Well… they’ve got the outcast thing in common, it’s right there in the name, and they were also both underlings to a greater evil. They could bond over that I suppose. Yusuke is prolly a bit old for him though so not my thing.

Peepershipping (Jim Cook x Yubel)

…why is it called that?

Why is that the ship name?

I’m concerned.

Anyways, I don’t ship it because I can’t picture a dynamic between them.

Personnelshipping (Samejima x Chronos x Tome)

So… the principal and his wife with that one cringe fail teacher. Nah.

Playshipping (Saiou x Gin)

This is the guy Saiou viciously punished for disobedience whom we never saw again… yeah can’t really ship it personally.

Portalshipping (Ryo x Judai x Johan)

Yes, I’m so very down for this one. Judai and Johan should absolutely induct big scary Kaiser Ryo into their relationship and attempt to fluster the crap out of him as he sits there more confused than flustered. That would be great.

Possessshipping (Judai x Johan x Yubel)

I have… sort of written this one. Multiple times, I’ve written Judai dating both Judai and Johan in a polyamorous situation but I haven’t written Johan/Yubel in a non-platonic context. So I love this as a vee and potentially like it as a throuple, though I wouldn’t know for sure. I like it in theory, but I'm not sure about it in practice. For now at least.

Primaryshipping (Judai x Manjome x Misawa)

One student of each dorm in a polyship sounds great not gonna lie. Destroy the elitism bullshit!

Principalshipping (Samejima x Chronos x Napoleon)

Huh. These three were all principal at one point weren’t they? Disapprove because Chronos gets character development later that makes him too good for these guys.

Prizeshipping (Samejima x Tome)

These two are canonically married aren’t they? Well you know what? They’re annoying so fuck this ship. /hj

Professorshipping (Chronos x Daitokuji x Kabayama)

Sure. The leaders of each dorm colour joining together in harmony and putting an end to Duel Academia’s elitism would be ideal. I ship it.

Proposalshipping (Abidos x Judai)

For a one off character and pairing, this is actually pretty cute and fun. I like how Judai calls him “your majesty” the whole time yet simultaneously treats him way more casually than you probably should treat a royal. And yet that’s exactly what Abidos ended up needing and liking. It’s cute, I love their duel and it’s a fun idea. I just admittedly prefer other ships.

Proshipping (Ryo x Edo)

I considered Ryo/Edo really briefly when first watching GX but uh… there’s a lot of unaddressed baggage between them and they’re a little far apart in age and places in life so it never really stuck with me.

Proveshipping (Edo x Hayato)

They both have daddy issues but it’s completely different breeds of daddy issues so I’m not sure how this would work.

Purpleshipping (Daitokuji x Chronos)

Chronos hates cats and Daitokuji is clearly a cat person with a cat so this definitely wouldn’t work out. Could be funny though.

Pyriteshipping (Ryo x Edo x Johan)

All three of these characters I ship more with Judai than with each other. That said, while Ryo/Edo is kind of a weird one for me, I can see both of the Johan ships here so it’s still a decent combination. I’d take it.

Quipshipping (Manjome x Kenzan x Sho)

The way I picture this is Manjome munching popcorn while Kenzan and Sho fight. Sounds pretty dysfunctional but also funny so I’m down for it.

Quizshipping (Judai x Tsugio)

I think I know exactly who that character is without looking it up just based on the ship name. But just to be sure.

*One Opera search later*

Yup. This was a one off duel but a really fun memorable one for a guy like me who loves game shows. Not my go to but I’m glad it exists and that it has this name.

Reapershipping (Juudai x Tachibana)

Another one off character, and one I don’t remember so I have no interest in this ship.

Rebirthshipping (Amnael x Daitokuji)

This is just Daitokuji with himself so nope.

Refinementshipping (Jim Cook x Misawa)

I don’t see the connection.

Reflectionshipping (Mizuchi x Mirror Mizuchi)

Again with the selfcest. No thanks.

Reflectorshipping (Darkness x Fubuki x Judai)

Ah yes. Judai murdered their lover. May the Darkness demon rest in pieces.

Can’t get into this ship in any genuine way, but at least it’s funny.

Repayshipping (Judai x Manjome x Yubel)

For Judai, I imagine this would work out just fine but it really does depend on Manjome and Yubel getting along and Manjome… is definitely one to hold a grudge. So I’m not sure about that. Could still work though.

Researchshipping (Yusuke x Misawa)

They’ve never met and I can’t really see a situation where they would. Not my thing.

Retconshipping (Darkness x Yusuke)

This would definitely explain some things about season 4. /jjj

Not my thing though.

Retireshipping (Edo x Manjome x Judai)

Pre season 4 or maybe even post canon, this is a fun combination of Judai and two of his rivals. Considering season 4 though, Edo is Manjome’s boss which I’ve mentioned is uncomfortable. Like I said earlier, if Manjome quit and took one of those other offers, it might be fine. So I’m mixed on this one.

Reunionshipping (Supreme King x Yubel)

Gonna actually be interpreting this as Judai and Yubel’s past lives. I don’t know if that’s actually what it is but a lot of these ship names don’t seem to be used nowadays and I’m using them more for organisation purposes at this point. Plus I just want to talk about Judai and Yubel’s past lives. We don’t know much about them, as we only see the one flashback but in that flashback, Yubel is willing to endure a horrific looking process and take on the form of a monster just to protect Judai. Meanwhile, Judai didn’t want them to hurt themself to protect him but after the fact, vows to love them forever. That’s just the right amount of touching and tragic for me and I really wish we saw more of these past lives. Maybe if the whole season had Judai having flashbacks to this past life and that scene in the season 3 finale was actually just the reveal that the person he was seeing the whole time was Yubel? I think that would’ve solved the problem people have of that decision of Judai’s being rushed. I never had a problem with it personally but this would have been better I admit. Anyways, I dig this ship.

Revealshipping (Edo x Sho)

Don’t see the connection here.

Rhymeshipping (Manjome x Junko)

I honestly always mix up Asuka’s two friends whose only interest is making sure GX doesn’t pass the bechdel test. I think Junko had a crush on Manjome though? If she did, then sure this ship makes sense.

Rivalshipping (Manjome x Judai)

Yeah, I like this one. Always enjoyed their dynamic after Manjome joined Slifer Red. It’s a fun one, though I’ll admit I prefer Fusion, Spirit, and Soul.

Rockyshipping (Jim Cook x Judai x Johan)

I love this one. These three are all the same breed of dork and canonically hit it off well so I’m very supportive of them as a throuple. It’s silly and cute and sweet.

Ruinshipping (Darkness x Light of Destruction)

I agree. These two should stop fighting and just kiss. For the good of the universe of course.

Sacrificeshipping (Amon x Echo)

This is a plotpoint: Echo repeatedly says how much she loves him, it’s pretty much her whole motivation, and Amon at the very least claims he loves her, because sacrificing a person he loves was the requirement to control Exodia. That being said, they are also very much intended to be an abusive relationship. Amon is intended to be selfishly using Echo’s love to benefit himself. It’s twisted and horrible and exactly why I like Amon as a villain: he’s irredeemably selfish and borderline sociopathic and all of that leads to a very interesting villain to root against. I think the way he plays off and contrasts with Yubel in their duel is especially fascinating and makes Yubel almost seem sympathetic by comparison, which is definitely important to set up. So I like this pairing’s inclusion in GX. I think it makes the story and Amon’s character stronger because of the fact that it is a toxic relationship. I would never genuinely ship it but I’m glad it was included in the series.

Sakoshipping (Winged Kuriboh x Ojama Yellow)

No thanks. Winged Kuriboh deserves better.

Saviourshipping (Jim Cook x Judai)

I agree. They hit it off well and Jim was even willing to sacrifice himself in an attempt to bring Judai back from the darkness that had consumed his heart, something he couldn’t do but O’Brien followed through with. I prefer it platonically but I can see it romantically.

Scepticalshipping (Manjome x Yubel)

Can’t see this working out on its own. Manjome would definitely hold too much of a grudge against Yubel to even consider this.

Seasonshipping (Yusuke x Edo x Johan)

This seems a little… random but I’m not against it. I love all three characters so seeing them interact would be nice.

Sempaishipping (Judai x Sorano)

I see more of a connection between Sorano and Kenzan though I’m not super into either with him being so minor.

Serveshipping (Saiou x Manjome x Edo)

Power imbalances everywhere with this one. Yikes no.

Sevenshipping (Darkness x Amnael x Don Zaloog x Titan x Abidos x Taniya x Camilla)

So basically the Seven Stars, with Darkness instead of Fubuki, all in a polycule? That’s funny as a crackship but definitely wouldn’t work out.

Severshipping (Fubuki x Yusuke x Judai)

Love Yusuke/Fubuki, as I mentioned, and I adore Judai though him with them are admittedly some of Judai’s weaker ships. I could still get into it though. Decent ship.

Shadowshipping (Ryo x Yusuke)

They were implied to be friends before canon and while we never got to see them interact in modern day, I can still see this ship. Having not read or seen any fanwork of them, the way I picture their potential dynamic is Yusuke’s sensitivity bringing out Ryo’s softer side which sounds really cute. I dig.

Shakeshipping (Fubuki x Misawa)

Not sure these two ever interacted? Though it’s definitely possible with how many episodes there are. Still don’t really see it though.

Shallowshipping (Fubuki x Momoe)

It would not surprise me if Momoe liked Fubuki. Her… best friend’s brother.

…I’m surprised that PMV doesn’t exist with either of Asuka’s friends with Fubuki. Don’t care for this ship though.

Shockshipping (Makoto x Sho)

No, Makoto damn near killed Sho’s brother a second time.

Showbizshipping (Fubuki x Edo)

Because Edo is a pro duellist and Fubuki has the attitude of a pro duellist? Yeah, I can actually see this one. Fubuki would be overly theatrical and get on Edo’s nerves which would be funny.

Shunshipping (Manjome x Misawa x Edo)

Can’t believe Arc V stole a name from a GX ship. Smh. /j

Manjome has duelled both of them but I still can’t really see this one.

Sidekickshipping (Kenzan x Hayato)

They’ve never met and just sort of fulfil similar roles in Judai’s friend group. At least that’s how I felt about it. It very much felt like Kenzan was replacing Hayato. Not my thing.

Singularshipping (O’Brien x Misawa)

They do both have calculating personalities but that’s about the only connection I can see. Plus I prefer ships with opposing personalities so this isn’t really my thing.

Smoochshipping (Sho x Dark Magician Girl)

This is the worst pairing that I have been presented with in this list, apart from the ones I disqualified. It’s fine when he’s got a one-sided crush but making it seem like he has a chance with this spirit he can’t even see feels like pure Dark Magician Girl fanservice which I have always found kind of creepy.

Snootyshipping (Ryo x Manjome x Edo)

They are all indeed snooty bitches. I know I have my problems with Manjome/Edo, but I’m actually down for this snooty throuple.

Soldiershipping (O’Brien x Jim Cook x Kenzan)

I like O’Brien/Jim but I don’t see what Kenzan even has to do with either of them?

Soulshipping (Yubel x Judai)

I may just be the biggest defender of this pairing and plot point on the planet. It’s definitely canon from Yubel’s end in the sub and at first, yeah, it seems extremely fucked up. Yubel seems almost delusional for the vast majority of season 3. The moment where it’s shown that they were in love in their past lives however made it click for me. Suddenly everything made sense to me and Yubel’s actions, which were also at least somewhat influenced by the Light of Destruction, were put into a different, more understandable light. It made sense to me. Reincarnation is something I genuinely believe in. This wasn’t some fantasy justification for Judai suddenly returning Yubel’s love, it felt real and genuine. Of course Judai has feelings for Yubel after memories of his past life returned to him: he isn’t just learning something he had no knowledge of. The way I saw it, all of those feelings and experiences from his past life were rushing back and hitting him all at once in that scene so it made perfect sense to me that he would choose to fuse their souls together. Yubel sacrificed something for him in their past lives and Judai loved them so much that he wanted to do the same to help them. Yubel was being tormented by the light of destruction. The strength of Judai’s feelings as expressed by his past life convinces me that he would absolutely want to put an end to Yubel’s torment, no matter what happened to him, just as Yubel did in their past lives. I get that to some people it feels rushed, I really do, and more could have been done to build it up without giving away this twist. However, the narrative gave me just enough for me to believe that Judai and Yubel’s love was genuine and powerful. It’s a beautiful scene to me. It shows love in its most powerful, most painful form and shows Judai’s growth excellently. I love this pairing and I always will, no matter what anyone says.

Spectrumshipping (Fubuki x Johan)

This one’s alright. I can’t remember them interacting on any level but I can still see it working out.

Spinshipping (Saiou x Johan)

I don’t like Saiou much in general so I don’t see any appeal of this ship.

Spiritshipping (Johan x Judai)

My… either second favourite or tied for favourite ship in GX. I have less of a personal connection to Spirit than I do Soul (though that being said the Spirit/Soul fic I wrote was what made me realise I’m polyamorous) but Spirit does have more moments between the two characters. They’re really about even for me. I love Judai and Johan’s interactions and bond in season 3 and 4. They’re very cute and sweet and get along really well. I love them.

Spotlightshipping (Fubuki x Judai x Edo)

Take what I said about Fubuki/Edo and add Judai. I love Judai. He makes everything he’s in a million times better so he makes this ship better too.

Squealshipping (Fubuki x Junko)

Same as Fubuki/Momoe. Wouldn’t care for it but it wouldn’t surprise me or even upset me.

Staffshipping (Daitokuji x Emi)

Don’t see the appeal.

Startershipping (Winged Kuriboh x Ruby Carbuncle)

Enemies to loves 100k slow burn startershipping fic when? This sounds so damn funny. I’m down.

Stormshipping (Fubuki x Manjome)

Honestly the first time I saw that episode where Fubuki gives Manjome advice on how to seduce Asuka or whatever, I remember saying out loud, “I think I’d rather ship these two.”

And to this day, I still do. It’s cute, they spend a lot of time together and seem like at the very least good friends. The “master” thing is a little weird but it’s funny so it gets a pass.

Strengthshipping (Saiou x Kenzan)

Saiou with the one guy who couldn’t be brainwashed into joining his cult? That would be kinda funny.

Stridentshipping (Kenzan x Ryo)

Don’t see this one since Ryo had already graduated by the time Kenzan was introduced.

Sturdyshipping (Kenzan x Misawa x Tania)

But. But why though? No.

Superiorshipping (Edo x Johan)

Yeah sure why not? There’s potential with this dynamic, partially through Judai, but also their connections with their cards.

Sweetshipping (Sho x Momoe)

I feel like this one is a big no for me since one of their only interactions is in the episode where Momoe, Junko, and Asuka all accuse him of being a pervert for an honestly justifiable reason. So nope.

Swoonshipping (Edo x Momoe)

It wouldn’t surprise me if she called him cute, Judai called Edo cute after all. It’s not enough basis for a ship for me though.

Tchotchkeshipping (Trueman x Pegasus)

Well they are both villains. Former villain in Pegasus’s case though and they have entirely different motives so I can’t really see this one.

Teachershipping (Samejima x Chronos)

I get where this comes from but I’m too far into my “hating the principal as a meme” joke to get into this, especially since Chronos improves overtime and principal guy just gets worse. Also, principal guy is his boss so there’s a clear power imbalance.

Tealshipping (Ryo x Johan)

This one I actually got into kinda recently. I don’t remember how, I think it was just from seeing posts of it on Tumblr randomly and thinking it was cute. Because it is. It’s big stoic emo Ryo thinking the dorky sweet creature that is Johan is cute. Opposites attract ships are cute to me dang it.

Tempshipping (Chronos x Daitokuji x Napoleon)

Daitokuji was very dead by the time Napoleon first appeared in the show so I can’t really see this one.

Tennisshipping (Mitsuru x Judai)

I hate Mitsuru’s guts though I admit it would’ve been both funny and horrifying if he pulled an Alito after his duel with Judai and jumped ship from crushing on Asuka to crushing on Judai.

Tetranshipping (Judai x Gin)

“For a white, you’re a pretty interesting guy.” That’s the only thing I remember and not gonna lie, it’s a pretty solid foundation. If only Gin hadn’t fuckin died.

Thirdshipping (Martin x Rei)

I like this one. Their interactions in canon are minimal but enough to convince me that they’re friends. They’re both so much younger than everyone else at the school (or at least I assumed that was the case with Martin) so I think it’s sweet that they have each other. Also they were friends in my trans Rei fanfic and I can’t help it.

Thoughtfulshipping (Misawa x Sho)

Sho kinda bullies him in season 2 which is what makes him eventually turn to the Society of Light so I can’t see this one at all.

Thundershipping (Manjoume White Thunder x Manjoume)

Manjome: *sees his brainwashed self*

Also Manjome: God I am so hot.

Yeah, that sounds like the cringe-fail Manjome I know. Still don’t like the ship though :P

Thwartshipping (Darkness x Saiou x Judai)

The harsh darkness and light of destruction fighting over the gentle darkness boy. That sure is something. Not my thing but funny.

Tigershipping (Misawa x Tania)

Oh jeez here we go. Never thought I’d tell this story.

The first time I watched GX and saw Misawa adamantly refusing the idea of romantic love, my first reaction was to headcanon him as aromantic. So… you can imagine my disappointment when he started randomly falling for Tania the more she flirted with him. Now, obviously, headcanons like that for me aren’t that serious, especially the aromantic ones. I headcanoned both GX Ryo and Zexal Rio as ace/aro for a while before going back on the aromantic part, likely because I’m not aro myself. Believe me, my problem with this ship isn’t a short-lived headcanon being debunked: it’s the fact that the first time I saw GX, I assumed she was way older than him. She looks like she’s in her 30s and Misawa is irrefutably a minor. Tania is a huge creep if she actually is that old. The fandom seems to disagree with me on that though and assume Tania is younger since this is a fairly popular ship. And I don’t think Tania’s age is ever mentioned so if that’s how you interpret it, that’s fine. I just can’t agree.

Toastshipping (Misawa x Johan)

I could kind of see it? I don’t remember them interacting but Johan can get along with just about anyone so most of his ships feel probable in my mind.

Toppleshipping (O’Brien x Yusuke)

Can’t see this one after all the shit Trueman, Yusuke’s… comrade(?) did to O’Brien.

Topshipping (Ryo x Fubuki x Judai)

…why is it called that? Whatever, I like all these individual ships so slapping them together sounds good to me. I dig it and stuff.

Traitorshipping (Saiou x Manjome)

Oh jeez the power imbalance with this one is horrendous. It could never feasibly be a healthy relationship. So I can't get into it.

Tremorshipping (Saiou x Sho)

This also sounds rather imbalanced, though maybe not quite as drastically depending on how you look at it? Still don’t like it.

Triangleshipping (Pegasus x Chronos x Napoleon)

Shoulda called it Threewayshipping /j

Not my thing though.

Truemanshipping (Trueman x Trueman Clones)

Okay I know I said no selfcest shipping but uh… it’s fine as a crack ship. This is a crack ship that I can get behind because it’s funny.

Twilightshipping (Judai x Dark Magician Girl)

Absolutely not. I hate shipping Dark Magician Girl, yes that includes Mana, with anyone.

Twitchshipping (Darkness x Judai)

Nope, that’s just a demon Judai killed.

Undeadshipping (Abidos x Camula)

Hey Abidos was at least somewhat kind-hearted. Camula though was just pure evil. So I don’t see how this would work.

Unfathomableshipping (Ryo x Fubuki x Sara)

Well that’s an incredibly accurate ship name because where the hell did this come from? That one-off line? That implied nothing about Ryo so this is just confusing.

Unmaskshipping (Judai x Ohara x Kohara)

I like Kohara and Ohara but more so with each other than with Judai. Judai has much stronger relationships with others that are more fun to ship. Not a bad ship, I just have other preferences is all.

Vanillashipping (Saiou x Ryo)

…I’m really really really really sorry, I truly am but I have to say it:

These two seem like anything BUT vanilla.

…and unfortunately, out of every Saiou ship, that means it has the most appeal to me, even if just in a stupid memey way.

Vertigoshipping (Fubuki x Junko x Momoe)

Shipping Asuka’s two female friends with her brother. Sure what could possibly go wrong?

Volcanoshipping (Darkness x O’Brien)

No. After how badly Darkness’s lackey screwed with O’Brien in their duel, this is a hard no.

Voltageshipping (Jinzo x Judai)

No, Judai deserves better than someone who tried to kill him.

Wallabyshipping (Jim Cook x Sho)

Nah, not my thing.

Waxshipping (O’Brien x Fubuki)

Don’t really see the connection here?

Wingshipping (Avian x Burstinatrix)

I mean admittedly, I would see this one if not for the Rei introduction episode where Avian and Sparkman berate themselves for falling for a girl.

Woeshipping (Fubuki x Yusuke x Manjome)

Yusuke having two cringe fail boyfriends who cringe fail date each other and him is pretty peak not gonna lie. I love it.

Yellowshipping (Kenzan x Misawa)

Honestly outside of sharing a dorm, they really don’t have anything in common? So this ship doesn’t particularly interest me.

Zooshipping (Fubuki x Judai)

Still really wanna know the story behind this ship name. We’re ending with a good ship in my eyes though. I like this one.

And now since I covered quite a few ships, here are my top 5 favourites:

#5 Jurassicshipping

#4 Fusionshipping

#3 Maskshipping & Stormshipping

#2 Spiritshipping

#1 Soulshipping

#yugioh #ygo #yugioh gx #ygo gx #gx #shipping

[kharmii]

I think for the sake of your reading comprehension, you should review the actual meanings behind the following terms, since it’s clear you have zero idea what either means:

Troll

Antis

Perhaps you should also just stop reposting other people’s art altogether, since you didn’t actually draw it. Perhaps you should, I don’t know, just stick to reblogging, or posting your own art, and stop trying to only get likes due to the talent of other people. Crazy thought.

No, I get it. Anti stands for 'anti-shipping', so presumably, a person can be against shipping cartoon identical twins as an aesthetic because of icky irl incest, yet they can also be into morbidly obese shitting dick nipple a/b/o werewolf knotting smut.

It's true I'm failing at trolling, as trolling is supposed to be throwing random incediary jabs to stir people up. One isn't supposed to throw out valid points or ask reasonable questions, such as when I asked what percentage of anti-shippers are grossed out by my identical twin fixation but will turn around and think it's okay to post gross-ass monster fucking two-dick vore fics in cartoon animal fandoms or fandoms that don't even have anything to do with being a furry, such as pokemon world train clowns. Monsters don't exist irl, yo! That makes it not a moral issue! At least I don't take my twin fixation and incorporate it into every fandom that exists so that's all anybody sees.

There's no way I'd ever stop reposting. This blog is too massive. I always have 300-500 posts in my queue, and some holidays are already covered. Fans into the same hyperfixations can look at my archive and see fun, beautiful art that isn't peppered with the same furry fetish trash almost every other site has. It's like being on Danbooru, but without porn, and it's just me posting. Anyway, stats of most used tags as of 09/07/23....

Subway Bosses: 3612 posts.

Gardevoir: 2726 posts:

Gallade: 1636 posts.

Volo: 1292 posts.

Blankshipping only represents 459 of those posts, and most of the twin shipping is "Tweek and Craig" type yaoi where they hold hands and cuddle. Here, have a pinch of edge from 市川美崎@ICKWMGD Twitter.

#damn furries #fandom fail #blankshipping #troll post #at least there's no omegaverse #srsly tho #black and white

[atmilliways]

Part Three: Shame On Me

(part one) (part two) (part four) (part five) - complete as of 4/4/23

Rating: Mature Word Count: 2183 Ships: Steddie Major Tags: Jealousy, Casual sex Additional Tags: Pining, Slutty Steve Harrington, Pre-relationship, Landline phones

Author’s Note: Banner by @xirayn​.

Read it on Ao3

-

“—And he’d been pissy about something the whole way here. I mean, if he didn’t want to walk me home, maybe don’t let the bartender take my fucking keys? So that’s on him, not me.”

”What was he mad about?”

“Fuck if I know, man,” Eddie sighs, then takes a long hit off the joint in one hand and jams another chipped-off spoonful of not-at-all-thawed strawberry milkshake into his mouth with the other. The room is still dark—the entire apartment is, the only light he’s bothered with since coming home was the one that automatically comes on when opening the freezer—so the only illumination to see by are the streetlights filtering in through the windows and the cherry end of the roll-up. “He’d barely talked to me all night, too busy rubbing his ass all over half the guys on the dance floor.”

Nancy hums. “Didn’t really need to know that about my ex, but thanks.”

Swallowing down on a mouthful of brain freeze, Eddie smirks bitterly into the phone where it’s pinched between his face and shoulder. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you think the chicks Steve flocked with in high school were the only slutty ones in that equation? I thought you were a feminist, Nancy. Equal opportunity and all that shit.”

“Asshole,” she retorts, but with a hint of amusement. “So, everything was totally normal until you had your . . . encounter. . . .”

“Hookup, Nancy. Say it with me: hooook . . . up.”

“Shut up. That was the only thing out of the ordinary though? And he’s never acted like that before? And then he called you Munson, and slammed the door.”

“Yes, no, yes, and yes.” Another hit, another bite of ice cream. “So, you tell me. What does it all mean? Translate for me the mystery and enigma that is Steve fucking Harrington.”

“I don’t know, but I can tell you that Steve hasn’t moved out,” she says, not unkindly. “Robin said he turned up on the early morning bus and didn’t even bring a change of clothes.”

“That doesn’t mean he won’t decide to later,” Eddie points out.

“No, but it does mean that your kneejerk worst assumption wasn’t actually his first impulse, so maybe take your own catastrophizing with a grain of salt.”

And there it is: that razor-sharp slice into him that Nancy is so good at. He’d never imagined that he would end up genuine friends with Nancy Wheeler of all people, but she’s good at calling him on his bullshit and doesn’t know how to take fuck off as an answer. 

“Fiiine.” Eddie sighs dramatically, but . . . okay, she has a point. Expecting the worst is kind of his thing, because that way the surprises he does encounter are usually pleasant ones. (He’d gotten even better at it since the spring of ‘86; perspective’s a bitch, and the worst he can imagine is now pretty damn terrible. Bad news first, always.) 

But this? He can’t imagine he’s going to be pleasantly surprised by any of this. That would go completely against his own personal Munson doctrine. He’d told Steve fuck you very much and sent him off like an errand boy, for fucks sake. 

“What am I supposed to do though, Nance?” he asks, voice low because he’s running out of steam. It’s been a long thirty-six hours, and a long ever since he met the real Steve Harrington. “First of all, I can’t take back shit I said or did while I was drunk off my ass. Second, am I just supposed to ensconce myself in a non-horny chrysalis to eternally preserve my virginal integrity? All while watching Steve slut it up with every eligible bachelor across town except me?”

And Nancy—perfect, practical, prissy Nancy Evelyn Wheeler—has the audacity to laugh at him. “Oh my god. Eddie, think about it. This is Steve we’re talking about here. He’s kind of a show-off when it comes to . . . matters of the heart—”

“Matters of the dick,” Eddie mutters through a heavy exhale of smoke. 

“—And he doesn’t always think things through. He likes for people to see what they’re missing out on by not being with him. I didn’t even realize I had a crush on him until I realized I was jealous of Laurie W. of all people—do you have any idea how embarrassing that was?”

“Uh, not as embarrassing as the Freak having a crush on the King of the Jocks. Sorry babe, that trophy has my name written all over it.”

“Well, still. There you go,” Nancy says, as if that proves anything. “Everything he’s been doing has certainly got your attention. So?”

Maybe he’s smoked too much, because that makes no sense. Eddie blinks, frowns, and asks, “What? Why would he be pissed that I got laid when he didn’t and want my attention?”

Nancy sighs. “So close,” she mutters, and then refuses to explain what she means.

-

“Eddie?! Eddie!!”

This is how Eddie wakes up, reeling and flailing into a crablike crouch because where the fuck is he (fell asleep on the couch) and why is it fucking dark (never actually turned the lights on) and why is Steve fucking Harrington yelling his name like the building is on fire (it’s not; there would be more light, or at least smoke). 

Stumbling footsteps come to a halt in front of the couch, and he hears a shaky exhale, a possible muttered there you are. 

At a more normal, inside-voice volume, Steve says, “Oh, uh. Eddie. Hi.”

“Wha’ time’s it?” Eddie asks blearily, sounding and feeling like he’s gargled sand. 

“It’s two,” Steve replies, leaving Eddie’s sleep-addled brain to wonder two what. “I took the late bus back from Robin’s,” he adds, which is only just barely helpful, context-wise. Flicking the lamp on the side table next to the couch on—and temporarily blinding Eddie, who hides behind his hair with a hiss—Steve leans over the couch by Eddie’s feet. However much of a rush he’d been in when leaving the other night, he’d still taken the time to change into one of his dorky polos and jeans that do his ass slightly less justice (and yet, in Eddie’s opinion, he could still qualify as a walking wet dream).

There’s a sudden plastic click followed by the curious absence of a background noise that, until now, Eddie had tuned out. Which . . . huh. 

Fell asleep with the phone still on the couch, and the sound had been that funny little frantic beep of a handset left off the cradle for too long. Right. He must have kicked it off in his sleep or something. 

Eddie rubs at his eyes and tries to stretch surreptitiously, but it’s hard when Steve is still standing over him, staring at him with wild eyes and hair that’s been tugged out of its usual expert coif into something the Bride of Frankenstein might be proud of.

“What?” Eddie grumbles petulantly, stifling a yawn and easing slowly into more of a sit than a crouch. 

“The line was busy,” Steve replies. The tone is weirdly at odds with how he looks, sounding even and surface-level calm. 

“So?”

“The last time a line was busy for multiple calls, El got arrested and the Byers’ house in Lenora got shot to Swiss cheese by a goddamn military strike force,” Steve reminds him, almost pleasantly. It’s eerie. 

Eddie processes that for a moment, then screws his face up in something between chagrin and incredulity. “So did you think I got arrested, got shot, or just ripped the cord out of the wall so I wouldn’t have to talk to you?”

“Yes,” Steve all but shouts at him.

It’s way too fucking early for this. 

Grumbling under his breath, Eddie clambers off the couch and snags the empty milkshake cup on his way to the kitchen, rinsing it in the sink and filling it with water that he gulps down and immediately refills. He’s desperately thirsty, but it’s also something to do while he tries to jumpstart his brain into dealing with everything—Steve being here, yesterday, the night before that, the tangle of emotion in his chest that he doesn’t know how to begin to unwind. 

And Steve follows, because of course he does, and blinds Eddie again by turning on the kitchen light. 

“Jesus H. Christ,” Eddie grumbles. “You’re something else, you know that, Harrington? All this concern for my well-being, suddenly. Where was this when you canceled movie night last week because of some guy you wanted to ‘hang out’ with?” 

The words echo weirdly in the paper cup that Eddie is staring fixedly down into. He wishes he could have just been left on his own for longer—he’s taken the first step in trying to get over Steve, and it hasn’t gone very well so far, but it’s a start. It’s something, and shouldn’t he get credit for trying? Steve isn’t exactly making any of this easy, with his bitchy yet dogged hovering. 

Complaining and distracted but still walking him home, getting him his favorite flavor of milkshake just because he asked for one while wasted, rushing back from Robin’s in an apparent panic to make sure he isn’t dead or something. . . .

“I, uh,” Steve says, and when Eddie looks up he’s surprised to see that the guy is blushing. He’s blushing, all the way down to where chest hair peeks out of the top of his polo, and it’s unfairly attractive because Eddie can’t catch a fucking break apparently. “Yeah, Robin kind of bitched me out for that.”

Eddie has the sudden irrational urge to either tear all his own hair out or call Robin to snap at her for getting involved, because this . . . thing he has for Steve is supposed to be a secret. If she sniffed it out like some sort of lesbian truffle pig on the hunt for gay secrets and then decided to barrel in and do something about it, he thinks he’s well within his rights to do a little yelling. 

“Great,” he replies flatly. “Glad you had someone to point that out to you after approximately—” he makes a show of checking his watch “—the twentieth time you’ve done it.”

Steve runs both hands through his hair. “Fuck—I know, man, I’m sorry.” He sounds a little hysterical, which, okay, really seems unnecessary considering Eddie is the wronged party here. “I fucked up, Eds! I didn’t mean to but I fucking did, just like I always—” Stopping, he shakes his head like an Etch-a-Sketch, hands still on his head. He drags them down over his face and groans into his palms. “What did Nancy tell you?”

“Uh, no, I think we’re still on what Robin told you,” Eddie challenges. 

And Steve—Steve fucking Harrington—drops his hands, looks him directly in the eye with a despairing expression on his stupidly handsome face, and answers, “She told me that you can’t kick me out for being an asshole while my name is still on the lease. But I was an asshole and it was bullshit the way I treated you last night, so if you want me to go I’ll, I’ll go. I can still kick in on rent until . . . if you want to find a smaller place, or a new roommate.”

‘Your kneejerk assumption wasn’t actually his first impulse, so maybe take your own catastrophizing with a grain of salt,’ Nancy’s voice reminds Eddie. Because his first thought, when Steve offers to go, is to call her back with a vicious didn’t I tell you, but. 

But. 

It’s an offer. The guy looks like a kicked puppy, like this is the absolute last thing he wants to be saying but necessity is dragging the words out of him. And describing his behavior as bullshit, which. Which. Eddie has heard the Halloween party story, hiccuped into his shoulder once at the end of a long evening of smoking it up in their new apartment. ‘Bullshit’ isn’t a word that Steve uses lightly. 

The prospect of Steve actually moving out makes Eddie feel like he’s been gutted, completely hollowed out. It’s not worse than watching Steve with other guys . . . but it’s not better, either.

“I’ll probably leave my bed and the rest of the big stuff, at least until I can figure out where I’m going—”

“Steve,” Eddie interrupts, louder than he’d meant to, and Steve’s mouth snaps shut. “Just. . . . You live here, man. You don’t have to worry about that. Relax, okay?” 

Steve hesitates, watching him carefully, then softly says, “Okay.”

In the uncertain silence that follows, Eddie turns back to the sink and refills his cup again. After a moment he hears Steve shuffle around in the background, the fridge open and close, glass clinking on the kitchen table. Eddie doesn’t even turn around before gathering up their standard midnight snack fare: a jar of peanut butter, two table knives, and an unopened sleeve of Saltines dangling from between his teeth. 

It’s an olive branch, just like the second beer Steve has waiting already open for him on the table. 

#i meant to post this earlier but it's been a long day and i still have (checks watch) 4 minutes in it #stranger things fanfiction #steddie #steddie fanfiction #eddie and nancy are friends and no one can take that away from me #my fanfiction #stranger music anthology #lie one more time come on fic

[thesunandmoons-blog]

30 days.

darlin and david lore no ships rlly

zozo-01 quinn fucking with david by sending him photos of darlin’s injured body and soundbites of them screaming in pain 

i think this is absolutely the best thing i’ve ever posted on this account, if i’m being completely honest. i saw a post from a mutual and i knew i needed to write a story based around it!! pls enjoy :D

tags : @zozo-01 @gavinsdeviant 

cw/tw : kidnapping, hurt/comfort, abuse, blood, humiliation, self-care issues, just very angsty and not happy, but there is a good ending

Word count : 4,521

Fandom : redacted asmr

Pair : sam/darlin, but the relationship is not the main aspect of the story

if you wanna read on ao3!! 

It had been weeks since Darlin’ had been taken. 

Nobody could remember exactly how long, always estimating between 3 to 4 weeks, but Sam knew exactly how long. It was 3 weeks and 4 days. He couldn’t forget that, not when they’d done this for him.

Quinn was in their apartment, Darlin’ with their back against the wall, drifting in and out of consciousness. Sam stood between the wolf and vampire, bearing his fangs at Quinn, damn well knowing it wasn’t going to be enough to make him back off. 

It had been a quick fight between Quinn and Sam, if you could even call it a fight. As hard as Sam had been trying, he’d been too weak, in the moment, to truly beat a vamp turned by old blood. Darlin’ could only sit there, arms draped on the floor as they were slumped against the wall. 

They swallowed a thick lump that had formed in their throat, head lolling back at they were finally able to look at Quinn, him locking eyes with them. Sam was bloodied on the floor, laying on his stomach as his cheek was pressed against the cold floor, also covered in his blood.

“Ju-,” they coughed, spitting out the blood that was in their mouth onto the floor, continuing their sentence by saying, “Just take me. Leave him alone- he’s got nothing to do with this, Quinn.” Again, Darlin’ goes into a coughing fit, and Sam’s eyes were pinned onto them.

He was trying to reach his hand out to them- anything. There was no way they’d just said that. His Darlin’. They never gave into anything like that. 

But this was different. Now Sam was getting the short end of the stick, so short that it might as well have not been there at all. 

Briskly walking towards them, promply stepping on Sam���s hand, Quinn now stood in front of Darlin’, holding his hand out for them. “As much as I would love for you to put up more of a fight, my little puppy, this will have to do.” He bent over at the hips, hooking an arm behind their back and another behind their knees. 

That was the last moment Sam had seen them before he had started drifting in and out of consciousness. Thank the gods that David had asked Sam to text him when they made it back to Darlin’s place, and thank the gods that he hadn’t had the chance to send that message. The consistent buzzing on his phone for the last 10 minutes meant that David was probably on his way, along with back up.

But that didn’t matter. Darlin’ was long gone. And the worst part? 

It was voluntary. 

David and Asher had found Sam on the floor of Darlin’s apartment. The place reeked of blood- Quinn, Sam, and Darlin’s blood, but mainly the latter two. 

It had almost taken a full 24 hours of Sam sleeping, after the healing magic that was poured into him, to recover enough to form coherent sentences to David, explaining everything that had happened. How he was about to text, but Quinn had been waiting for Darlin’. They’d been ambushed, and he couldn’t get the text message through fast enough. How Darlin’ sacrificed themself for his sake, which sent him into a flurry of tears everytime he mentioned it. 

Sam wasn’t usually one to have crying fits, especially not in front of people that weren’t Vincent or Darlin’, but this had to be an exception. Guilt had built itself a nest in his stomach, and it was eating him alive. 

They had to find Darlin’. There was to question about it.

***

Over the past 25 days, there had been a few close calls when it came to finding Darlin’. It was almost like their scent had been spread around random areas of Dahlia, trying to offput and turn the Shaw Pack and Solaire Clan around. As much as everybody hates Quinn, he was damn smart and knew exactly what he was doing.

Over the past 25 days, many messages, photos and voice clippings, had been sent to David’s phone by multiple random numbers. In the beginning, it would catch him by surprise, seeing a random phone number text him, and upon opening the message the feeling of dread and horror overcoming his senses. 

Over the past 25 days, Darlin’ had been beaten, bitten, spit on, anything you can think of, Quinn had done it. Not only had he done it, but he’d photographed it or recorded it and sent it to the Alpha of the esteemed Shaw Pack. 

The videos always had a defiant Darlin’ in them, that low growl or a snarl coming from them before being kicked and beaten back into submission to him. No proof from Quinn had shown that Darlin’ was giving up anytime soon, until that video. 

That one specific video that really fucked David up-

“Hey, mutt, smile for the camera! Go ahead, say hello to those pathetic, wet dogs you call family. C’mon, you can do it!” Darlin’s head had lifted, eyes squinting under the flash of the phone’s camera. “Good puppy! See, now it’s not too difficult to follow some fucking instructions, hm? Oh, little wolf, my soulmate who just wasn’t meant to be.” They’d only whimpered in response, that alone showing David how much Quinn had torn them down. How much he’d managed to tear them apart, leaving them on the concrete piece by piece. Even if he did continue to kick and beat them, he wouldn’t need to. The video had ended right after that.

Not only could David  tell how emotionally and mentally ripped apart they were, but he could see it too. Physically. From what he could see, they were covered in many new bruises, bites, cuts, and... cigarette burns. David had known that Darlin’ used to smoke up until they’d met Sam, but the thought of who threw them into that habit had never crossed his mind. 

Darlin’ had truly given up. 

***

It was day 30, and nobody was letting up the search for Darlin’. There had been look outs and searched day and night, team members taking shifts and switching out for breaks. Even the smallest leads they would trail on. Anything that smelled remotely like Darlin’ or Quinn was followed until the trail was lost.

All trails had been lost at this point. 

They all knew Quinn was fucking with them- taking Darlin’s scent and spreading it wherever he could to throw them off. 

There was one fatal mistake that Quinn had made though. His ego was getting the best of him, but he’d been oblivious to that. 

With his huge ego telling him he was unstoppable, he called David.

David doesn’t think he’s ever picked up the phone at 11:36pm faster in his entire fucking life. Any random numbered phone call and text message was at least answered or read, just to be safe, and he was damn glad that he picked up this call.

“Oh, hello Alpha! It’s so sickening to know you’re still desperately searching for my little wolf. My. Wolf.” As much as David was listening to Quinn’s voice, he was listening to the background, trying to pull out any kind of information from background noise as possible. Leaves rustling. Crunching tree branches under Quinn’s feet. 

He was leaving a forest, or some heavily wooded area.

“Just thought I would give you a curtesy call- celebrating a whole month back together with my little mutt! They’ve finally learned their place again, and let me tell you how great it feels to finally have my property back in my hands. Thanks for roughing them up all those years just so I could tear it all down. Bye bye now! Talk to you soon, puppy.” With venom dripping from his words, Quinn hung up the call.

David immediately was calling anybody he could think of in the pack, including Sam. He finally had some kind of lead and idea of where Darlin’ would be. 

***

Quinn, having just fed on Darlin’, and also being around them every minute of every day, was covered in their scent. Whether that was good or bad, he loved it. He loved all of it. As he walked through the forest, ending his phone call with David, he didn’t realize that he had left a perfectly distinguishable scent trail straight back to the cabin where Darlin’ was being kept. 

He didn’t have a worry in this world- he’d been doing this at least a few times a week. Quinn would get tired of Darlin’, chewing on them and using them how he pleased, and would leave. Would go to try and find another way to fulfill his ‘needs’. Whether that meant more blood ‘cause Darlin’ wasn’t regenerating it fast enough, or that meant something else, he would go to outside sources to obtain it.

He would drain anyone to get his fill. 

***

Anybody David could round up was shifted and sprinting through that forest. 

Asher, Milo, Christian, Arden, anybody. 

Sam. 

The vampire was adamant on finding his Darlin’. His mate. Nothing had mattered to him more in those 30 days than finding them. He will find them and he will find them alive. 

He will also be ripping Quinn apart with his bare fucking hands. 

As skilled as the noses of the wolves were, nothing would beat Sam’s sense of smell to find Darlin’. Sure, all wolves out on the search had used an item of theirs to get an idea of their scent, but Sam didn’t need that. He knew what they smelled like- he couldn’t ever forget something like that. 

With a howl in the distance, Sam stopped his paces, turning to look directly at David, whom he had been searching with. Because Sam wouldn’t have the ability to howl as a call-to-action to the rest of the pack, David had decided it would be best if they went together, just in case. 

Long strides and even faster steps quickly closed the distance between all wolves and the howler- Asher. Asher had picked up on a scent, circling one of the random, old oaks. 

David, this smells like them. It smells like they were almost wiped onto the tree- I don’t know how to describe it. It just smells exactly like that t-shirt Sam gave us. 

He’d given a knowing nod to Asher, looking at the rest of the wolves, but Sam wasn’t sure what was happening. He wasn’t a part of this telepathic link connection thing that Darlin’ had told him about before. 

It wasn’t long before everybody split into 3 groups, David shifting back to his human form. “Sam,” David put his hands on Sam’s shoulders, continuing, “we have a trail. And it’s not going cold this time, I promise you.”

Sam lead David and Asher, who were currently shifted, along the scented trail. The closer they were getting to the cabin, the stronger Darlin’ scent became along the trees. However, the only thing about this scent was that it was becoming mixed with something else. Something metallic, iron like- it clicked. Blood. Darlin’s blood. Lots of it, especially when the cabin came into view. 

The vampire had assumed that David and Asher were using their telepathic link again as they looked at each other, likely sending out some kind of message to the rest of the pack who’d been spread out around the cabin, hiding within the thick forest.

The old, wooden cabin had been incredibly well hidden- if not for the background noise on the phone call that Quinn had graced David with, they would have had no chance of finding this place. It was, quite literally, in the middle of nowhere. 

Everybody had been on the tips of their toes, the still air being thick with tension. For now, there had been no sign of Quinn, no sign of any of his little cohorts, and no sign of general movement. Everybody was slowly closing in on the cabin, sniffing and sensing for any other life besides Darlin’.

They needed to make this quick- if Quinn wasn’t there, there was no telling when he would be back. He could already be on his way for all they know, but they couldn’t think about that right now. All any of them could think of was getting Darlin’ out of there.

With a short, sputtering breath exhaled through his nose, Sam motioned for David to continue, not sensing any immediate threat around them. Sam had noticed the rest of the pack, obviously besides David and Asher, surrounding the cabin, backs facing it to keep some kind of look out. With how thick the surrounding forest was, they would need as many eyes on lookout as possible- and knowing this was Quinn’s doing? They could probably use even more help.

Noting Sam’s signal, David shifted back, readjusting his shirt as he slowly closed in to the front door of the cabin. Asher was right behind him, and Sam followed the two wolves. David pressed his ear against the door, but there wasn’t any sound from inside that would indicate that anybody was inside. 

A quiet jiggle of the doorknob, which could have been the loudest thing Sam’s heard in a while, besides his own heartbeat in his ears, had David now pushing open the door slowly. The creaking of the door was subtle, but loud enough for a small figure in the corner to flinch.

Darlin’. 

***

They looked limp. David thought they were unconscious, or dead, until they’d flinched. David’s eyes flooded with relief, even though they looked... worse for wear. 

Darlin’ was, and this is not an exaggeration, coated and caked in their own blood, almost from head to toe. Their eyes were glossy with tears, but had a hollowness to them, like there was no more life in them. Darlin’s clothes had been ripped to shreds- it almost looked as if they weren’t even wearing clothes at this point. The exposure showed the new markings they’d received over the last 30 days. It was horrific. They were totally exposed, hands cuffed in front of them, but chained to the wall. Even their ankles had been cuffed up and chained to the wall. Darlin’ really had no chance of getting out of that.

There was a laundry list of physical differences that David could list upon seeing them initially: Eyes were faded of any light or hope, they were coated in blood, they were covered in new bite marks, cuts, bruises, cigarette burn marks, they’d looked like they lost a bit of weight (probably from not being fed properly, and being fed on too much), paler than normal, ratted up hair (also caked in blood and dirt), chapped lips, and the list could go on. You name it, it would probably be on there. 

Darlin’s eyes held an initial panic when seeing David walk through the door cautiously, his hands up, palms forward. “Tanker? Can you hear me? It’s... it’s David.” His voice was as tough as it had always been, but the crack in his voice showed everything he’d felt in that past month. 

Their eyes were still glossed over, David immediately recognizing the shine that treaded down their cheeks now. Darlin’s entire form trembled, folded into itself as small as they could get. Their head was tucked down to their chest as far as they could get it, using their hands to shield David away. “N....no..” Darlin’s voice was raw, quiet, and held so much bottled up emotion. 

David stopped in his place, about half way in the cabin between Darlin’ and the front door. Asher had quietly followed behind, hands by his sides as he made himself visible to Darlin’. A quiet creak in the floorboard had Darlin’s eyes looking his direction. Their eyes went wide, looking more than terrified, as they saw not Asher, but the figure looming behind him in the darkess.

Sam.

Darlin’s entire figure no longer trembled, but fully shook. Their chest was heaving as they clawed at their neck, feeling like they were suffocating. They were pushing their bare feet into the dirty concrete, trying to force themself back into the wall they were chained up to. Darlin’s head was shaking side to side, tears now rapidly falling down their cheeks as their reality hit them. Everybody had gone there to save them, but it had really been too late.

They didn’t want to be saved anymore. They didn’t want to continue putting the pack at risk, the Solaire clan at risk-

Sam at risk. 

Darlin’ had continuously thought about the last moment they’d seen Sam before letting Quinn take them. His bloodied and bruised body, unmoving on the floor in front of them. In their home. Their shared safe space that couldn’t be trusted anymore. 

David had turned back to look at Asher, the beta giving him a knowing nod, as if they’d just had a full conversation. Asher turned on his heel, placing a gentle hand on Sam’s unmoving shoulder. “Listen, buddy, we’ve gotta get you outta here, just for a couple of minutes. David’s got this covered, but I think all of us being in here is overwhelming them.” Sam’s lips were pressed thin, and all he could do was nod. Sam could trust the alpha with everything in his soul- he knew David would do anything to protect Darlin’, but that didn’t mean he wanted to take even his eyes off of them now. He never wanted to let them go, not again.

Now seeing that the other 2 men had left the cabin, and it was only David, Darlin’s sobs and trembles lessened, but didn’t fully stop. The alpha wolf was taking small, slow steps towards them, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat as he made his approach. His hands were still perched up, slowly lowering and holding them out for Darlin’ to examine before he made any attempt to physically touch them. 

“Tanker, we’re here. We’re taking you home. I know you’re... definitely terrified right now, but it’s going to be okay. We’ve been looking for you and we’ve finally found you. You aren’t being taken away from us again. Ever again.” His words were stiff, tight with tension and anger, but not directed at them, of course not. 

Darlin’s gaze was at the floor. The shock that was plastered on David’s face after seeing and hearing what they said next was incredible-

The corners of their lips slightly turned up and they said, “No... I-I’m gonna stay.” Darlin’ coughed from the amount they were speaking, many words not leaving their mouth since they’d been taken.  “I can’t risk your lives, not again. Especially not Sam’s life.. He’s my mate, David. I can’t do that again.” 

David was appalled. He was... totally speechless. His head just shook rapidly, kneeling down onto the ground, hands gently grasping Darlin’s shoulders. “Tanker, it wasn’t a question. I’m not leaving you here. You’re my family- you’re everyone’s family here! We care about you and love you more than you could understand and we are getting you out of here.” David was starting to lose his cool- Darlin’s little speech really threw him for a loop. That was definitely not what he was expecting.  

“I can’t promise I’ll go down easy if you’re trying to get me outta here, David.” 

***

It was an understatement to say that David, Sam, and the rest of the Shaw pack didn’t pull Darlin’ out of there easily. There was kicking and screaming, all sheer determination from Darlin’ to be put down and left alone. Left there in that dirty cabin where Quinn would eventually kill them, and all of their issues would just disappear. 

The exhaustion that poured from Darlin’ was immeasurable. They’d fought with David for a good 15 minutes before they’d given up fighting with him, knowing they wouldn’t win this. They’d gone practically limp in David’s arms, unchained from the wall and being carried out quickly to David’s truck. 

Group A, as they’d called themselves, consisting of David, Asher, and Sam were now rushing themselves back to David’s truck, Darlin’s whimpering form curled up in David’s arms. Every movement, bump, or shift made Darlin’s body ache, groans and half-assed snarls leaving their mouth, followed by quiet apologies from David. 

Asher was following behind the three of them in his wolf form, per David’s request, just in case anything came through the connective link. As soon as David had gently sat Darlin’ down in his back seat, Asher barked at him, eyes thin and trying to get David to shift.

 Sam was in the back seat with them, Darlin’s weak figure leaned up against him. Their eyes were lidded, looking like cresent moons, and their breathing was slow. The violet bags that were stamped underneath his eyes were proof how much he’d worried about them. His hands were very gently holding their shoulders, just trying to keep them propped up. There was an initial stiffness in Darlin’s body when Sam touched them, even though he’d asked permission first. However, their body had eventually relaxed back into him, head lolling onto his shoulder as their eyes shut fully.

Sam’s eyes peered over their figure outside of the truck’s door, watching as Asher and David sprinted off in their shifted forms. He could only assume Quinn had returned, or something had happened with one of the other members. He wanted to go with- wanted to rip that leech’s head off himself- but there was nothing he wanted more than to be with his partner in that moment. His Darlin’. His mate. 

***

Darlin’ had been home for 2 weeks now.

Quinn had been dead for 2 weeks now, curtesy of the hands of David Shaw.

As much as David had insisted that Darlin’ stay in his guest bedroom, they refused, not wanting to take the pity offer (it definitely wasn’t a pity offer, but there was a heavy guilt looming over Darlin’s mind).

Darlin’ stayed at their apartment, allowing Sam to stay there as long as he wanted as well. He’d easily taken up that offer, not ever wanting his Darlin’ out of his sight again. Sam knew that wasn’t always going to be possible, but he was going to try his hardest to keep them safe. 

The first week had been hell. Darlin’ wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t eating, wasn’t drinking water- hell they weren’t doing anything. They’d just lay in bed, unmoving. Sam didn’t know what to do- he didn’t know how to take care of them. They’d ignored any water or food he’d brought to them, didn’t answer his questions, didn’t respond when he’d try to start up conversations. Hell, they were barely looking at him. 

It had been during that second week that they’d finally started getting themself out of bed again. They’d started drinking small amounts of water, making small talk with Sam, responding to text messages again. Darlin’ was making as much of an effort as they could to integrate themself back into normal life, including all of the bad habits they carried around with them. 

Smoking was something Darlin’ had stopped after meeting Sam. They’d fallen off the old habit, and had only indulged when they were incredibly stressed out, but this was different. They’d gone back to smoking a handful everyday, Sam even catching them trying to put the cigarettes out on their own skin after smoking.

It’s what I deserve. I put all of you through hell, the least I deserve is to feel that same kind of pain. 

Sam couldn’t believe the shit they were still putting themself through. The cigarettes, not drinking or eating enough, still not sleeping? If they’d kept this up they’d be dead before the end of the week.

The vampire was trying his best to get some kind of sustenance into his mate, and his pleading eyes only fueled the guilt that nested in their stomach. Darlin’ was slowly trying to get back into eating and drinking water again- they didn’t want to upset Sam more than he already was. 

They could tell how exhausted he was. His eyes were constantly bloodshot, constant eyebags, and he was always fretting over them, the little things. Darlin’ knew his intentions meant well, but they hated feeling as if they were made of glass and everybody had to tiptoe around them to make sure they were okay.

The first pack meeting that Darlin’ had attended with Sam after being returned home was tense. The air was thick and heavy, and the silence that loomed over the den was deafening. The two of them walked in, hand in hand, taking seats in the back. Darlin’ would normally just prop themself up against a wall next to Sam, but they knew they wouldn’t last that long on their feet without their knees giving out. 

Asher and David slowly made their ways over to Darlin’ and Sam after the meeting had wrapped up, just wanting to do a general check-in. David’s keen eyesight was quick to notice the new circular burns on Darlin’s arms, his eyes peeking over to Sam. Asher tried keeping the conversation light hearted, knowing that David would be tense, moreso than usual, now that Darlin’ was back. Both of them had been a little more than surprised to see Darlin’ showing up to the pack meetings again, honestly thinking that they’d completely skip out from now on.

That wasn’t brought up, though. The guilt of this entire situation was so obviously glinting in Darlin’s eyes, and the last thing anybody wanted or needed to do was make that worse. 

***

5 Weeks had passed since Darlin’ was brought back home, and Quinn was sent to hell. 

It was a long, hard road back to recovery, and it would still take many months for Darlin’ to become the closest version of themself that they had been before Quinn had taken them. 

The cuts, bruises, bites, and markings would slowly fade overtime, half of them disappearing from their skin and the other half calling their skin home for the rest of their life.

Sam’s purple bags had slowly lessened in vibrancy, turning back to that usual paled color under his eyes. 

Darlin’s general physical health was slowly upping in condition again. Sam had made sure to keep the both of them on a feeding schedule, making sure they were both getting in the nutrients they needed to survive. Darlin’ moreso, but Sam was working himself to the bone to make sure they were okay, and his mate wouldn’t stop talking his damn ear off until he finally started taking care of himself again. 

Things were slowly falling back into the normal groove again. It felt nice- not living in that same flood of fear that they’d been living in for the past few months. Quinn was dead. They didn’t have to be afraid anymore. 

Things hadn’t been okay for so, so long. But they would be. Things would be okay again. 

#redacted asmr #redacted sam #redacted darlin #redacted fanfic #redactedverse #i tried so hard #i know the ending sucks but this is probably the best thing ive ever written

[aces-sweetheart]

♥ fic masterlist ♡

  ♥ please read the the content warnings before you read! ♡

last update 02/04/23, other works are in the tags

                                     nsfw = ♥ // sfw = ♡

                        general writing tag: smut & fluff

ＦＩＲＥ  ＥＭＢＬＥＭ： ＴＨＲＥＥ  ＨＯＵＳＥＳ

♥♡ ♥

♥ soft: claude x afab!reader

It felt good physically but it was his favorite position because of the intimacy. His eyes looking into yours, silently projecting the love you felt for one another.

ＪＯＪＯ＇Ｓ  ＢＩＺＡＲＲＥ  ＡＤＶＥＮＴＵＲＥ

♥♡ ♥

♥ rock the boat: bruno x reader

Bruno decides to show you much more than the ocean.

♥ something more: sugar daddy!mista x gn!reader

It’s not always about the money he gave you even if he was your sugar daddy.

♡ marry you: mista x gn!reader

Mista proposes three times in the most Mista way imaginable.

♥ need: mista x gn!reader

After teasing you all day, you needed him.

♥ through the phone: risotto x afab!reader, slight fwb!formaggio x afab!reader

If Formaggio can’t fuck you then you’ll find a La Squadra member who can.

ＪＵＪＵＴＳＵ  ＫＡＩＳＥＮ

♥♡ ♥

 ♥ mirror sex + breeding kink: gojo x afab!reader

ＭＹ  ＨＥＲＯ  ＡＣＡＤＥＭＩＡ

♥♡ ♥

♥ oh yes daddy: sugar daddy!endeavor x afab!reader

You do what you can to get what you want.

ＯＮＥ ＰＩＥＣＥ

♥♡ ♥

♡ carry: ace x sick!reader (gn)

If you won’t take care of yourself then he will.

♡ take care:ace x gn!reader

You need Ace to take care of you when you’re drunk but he doesn’t mind, not if it’s you.

♡ grounded: ace x gn!reader

Ace always knew how to bring you back down to Earth.

♡ unexpected: ace x gn!reader

Your plans for spending Valentine’s Day alone again are unexpectedly ruined but you’re not complaining.

♡ thick thighs save lives: ace x gn!reader

To say Ace loved your thighs would be an understatement.

♥ further: ace x afab!reader

Ace is ready to take things further with you.

♡  heat of the moment: ace x gn!reader

The originally civil discussion quickly descended into a near-screaming match lacking any logical arguments and letting the winner be decided by who could say the most hurtful things the loudest. Ace won.

♡ father: ace x afab!reader

What if they didn’t want to be his child?

♥ take your time: ace x afab!reader

He had never had sex with someone he loved. Everyone he brought back to the ship or went home with were flings; nameless bodies that he used and let use him for pleasure. But now he was with you; the person he loved more than anything.

♡ possessive!ace x gn!reader

♥ breeding kink: ace x afab!reader

♡ mess: kid, zoro, luffy, law x gn!reader

You couldn’t wait for them to make a mess of you.

♥  duality: koby x afab!reader

There was no way this was the same man who was blushing a few hours ago at the sight of your naked body; he had shown you pictures of his foster puppies for God’s sake. Now he has you begging for mercy and practically dripping onto his thigh.

♥ first: koby x afab!reader

Fucking you felt amazing for him but nothing made him feel better than making you feel good; and maybe he wanted to hear more of your praises.

♥  punish: law x afab!reader

You were a perfect fit: he loved to punish and you loved to get punished.

♥ cruel: law x afab!reader

sequel to punish

♥ ignore: law x afab!reader

You knew he had important things to do but you couldn’t help it anymore; you needed him.

♡ cute: luffy x gn!reader

Surely there was no way the little figure in front of you was the infamous Straw Hat Luffy, the fearsome pirate who had taken down some of the strongest enemies on the seas.

♥ whine: luffy x afab!reader

It was odd to not be Captain or Straw Hat Luffy; he let go of every ounce of control and responsibility when you dommed him.

♡ hat: luffy x gn!reader

Your child need Luffy’s hat more than he did.  

♡ quiet: marco x gn!reader

It was just another quiet day.

♡  coffee date: marco x gn!reader

♡ lazy day: nami x robin x gn!reader

Chaotic pirate life was worth it when you had moments like these with your girlfriends.

♡ happily ever after: nami x gn!reader

“What about your slipper?” You asked playfully. She laughed and leaned in for another kiss. “He can keep it. I have everything I want right here.” Her fingers intertwined with yours and you knew she wasn’t just talking about the money.

♡ dense: sabo x gn!reader

Sabo was incredibly close to ripping his hair out. Your obliviousness was simultaneously endearing and infuriating. At this point he wasn’t even sure if grabbing you by the shoulders and screaming that he was in love with you at the top of his lungs was enough for you to understand his feelings.

♡ chrysanthemum: sabo x gn!reader

You were left to watch from the sidelines, your eyes stinging and an inexplicable tickle in your throat.

♡ break: sanji x gn!reader

When working from home becomes too much, Sanji is always there with something sweet.

♥ ♡ birthday: sanji x gn!reader

You weren’t a chef by any means but Sanji loved your food anyway.

♡ give: sanji x gn!reader

Sanji teaching you to cook meant more to you than he knew.

♥ apologize: zoro x afab!reader

Zoro apologizes in his own way.

♥ sake: zoro x afab!reader

“I don’t think that was regular sake.” Zoro muttered against your mouth between his desperate pants.

♥ reveal: zoro x gn!reader

Zoro is anything but disgusted by your kink.

♥ spanking: zoro x gn!reader

♥ jealous sex: zoro x afab!reader

♥ orgasm denial: zoro x afab!reader

♥  cockwarming: zoro x afab!reader

#ref

[dontbipanicjonsa]

I’ve been reading Sansa fanfic and honestly I am so fucking tired. What is up with people making her out to be some selfish, mean, vindictive, I-don’t-even-fucking-know-what-else little kid????? Where the fuck does this come from???? What books are you reading?? 

How is it that in a book where characters are committing murder, rape, and even fucking baby exchanges, it is SANSA who needs to repent for her ‘crimes’?

Tell me again how Sansa is a shit person because of one mean thing she said to Arya in a fight but Jon, canonically called a ‘bully’ was the fucking paragon of good behavior as a child. Who’s gonna write the edgy Jon-was-a-pre-canon-bully fanfic huh?? That’s right. Fucking no one. Because we know Jon’s poor behavior at the Wall was driven as much out of his lack of awareness and appreciation of his privilege as it was by his struggle to reconcile the Wall of his dreams with reality. His behavior was an anomaly for him. 

Tell me again how Arya’s seeming class blindness in AGOT is so much better than Sansa’s raging classism. Who’s gonna say it was Arya’s fault Mycah got killed, because she didn’t recognize or appreciate her own privilege? Fucking no one. Because she’s nine, a child, and we’re not monsters.  

Sansa was selfish for expecting things that were already promised to her, but Arya wasn’t? Sansa is selfish for wanting to go to a tourney that’s being held in her father’s name. Sansa is selfish for expecting to be...married to her betrothed? Sansa is selfish for romanticizing/building up the life she is already expected to live? Sansa is selfish because she says Arya will ‘ruin everything’? Lemme tell you I have an older brother and I sure as fuck have ruined plenty of things for him as a kid stuff his friends lent him, that one time he went to watch some Hunger Game movie with his school friends and thought I would be mature enough to tag along and I really really wasn’t. That’s kind of what siblings do???? If Arya comes across as less ‘selfish’ than Sansa, then that’s because she’s hardly ever denied, and even when she is she’s made to understand why. Arya wants to learn to fight? Arya wants to flout expectations? Arya wants to take Syrio along on the ship? She gets it all. Is she selfish? NO. She’s a child. THEY ARE BOTH CHILDREN.

Sansa is mean, for having sibling fights with Arya? Never mind that she’s grieving the death of a part of her, Lady. Jon lashing out at the Wall may be an anomaly, but Sansa lashing out isn’t? WHY. Sansa is vindictive? Sansa who cried when fucking Joffrey dies? Sansa who is repeatedly described as sweet? Innocent? Courteous? 

When exactly is Sansa vindictive? When she doesn’t trust her father- who has been a pretty shit parent to her and fully deserves her distrust- to make the best decisions for her (as he hasn’t in the past) and decides to break one (1) rule in her life to...go to another adult to explain her problem? When she lashes out at Arya in her very valid grief because no one seems to give a flying fuck about helping her deal with it? When she utterly and absolutely ices out Tyrion, the fully grown Lannister man she has been forced to marry? Fuck you.

Ok no. I know. She’s power hungry. Just dying to be queen. I quake in my boots when I read her POV, honestly. Never mind that she is not the one who makes or even influences the decision to betroth her to the prince. (Alright she does in the show. But hey, Arya of the show is a misogynist, Jon is an absolute moron and Tyrion is the good guy so I won’t put a whole lot of stock in show characterization.) Never mind that Sansa’s desire to marry a ‘prince’ is driven more by her romanticizing  and wanting to have a life like the songs, and less to do with power. But nooo. Sansa wants to marry a lord even as late as ASOS. She’s willing to marry Willas because he’s a lord. 

Right. Because it is so much more terrible for a girl to want to marry a rich, powerful, upper class guy to get her out of her current shitty situation where she is utterly powerless, than it is for a slave owning girl to order the massacre of 13-years-old, upper class children. People forget that their fave wouldn’t be the character she is now if she hadn’t been married off to a powerful man all the way back in the first book, who unwittingly gave her a position of power of her own for the first time in her life. Or there wouldn’t be any dragons, there wouldn’t be any khaleesi. Isn’t that how patriarchy works??? Fuck Sansa for daring to want what Dany got- control over her own life via marriage. 

I’m just so tired. The point of Sansa’s character is that she’s empathetic. She’s soft. She’s polite and courteous. She’s nice to Sandor when he doesn’t deserve it. She calls Jon half-brother because that’s the politest term she can use. She stands up for others (Dontos, the people right before the riot, Tommen, fuck she even warns the Tyrells about Joffrey) even when she’s at her most powerless. She cries and feels bad and prays for her abusers. She’s unwilling to play ‘the game’. She chooses to continue to believe in and place value in the songs and stories as ideals that deserve to be lived up to in the midst of a harsh reality that has driven lesser people to nihilism and bitterness. This is who she is. To dismiss these things for the sake of making her out to be some mean and petty little girl is to misunderstand her entirely. 

But who would deign to lower themselves to the perspective of a pre teen girly girl anyway, right? 

#sansa stark #sansa stark defence squad #anti daenerys #i guess #anti fandom maybe #someone recc me jonsa fics that don't butcher my girl #NOT #anti arya #tagging it anyway because apparently some people think I'm criticising arya??? #I'm not but ok

[littlemisslipbalm]

“you make me so angry sometimes”

idk if this gif makes sense, but i feel like it will if you read the story, it just gives me that vibe. 

A one shot I cooked up idk, it’s about Harry and a makeup artist on DWD, it’s quite angsty, idk how that happened, it’s also very long, idk how that happened either, maybe i do a part 2, maybe i don’t idk lmk. Feedback is appreciated, not proofread. REBLOGS help writers tremendously and i love reading whatever you write in the tags its my favorite thing!! Love yall and Merry Christmas!

Word Count: 17.7k | Warnings: ENEMIES to LOVERS! swearing, angst!, some anxiety -like self-doubt, yn being mean to harry kind of a lot, i dont remember, nothing too crazy, Nick Kroll?, lots of conversation

-

When she pictured herself as a makeup artist in Los Angeles, she hadn’t pictured exactly what she was doing right now.

She had expected doing gorgeous makeup for gorgeous actresses or doing wildly fun stuff like in Euphoria. And because of that she had worked her ass off to get where she was today. She had practiced for hours, worked countless hours for free, and networked to the cows came fucking home.

So why the fuck was she using tattoo-strength concealer to cover up the maybe 60 tattoos some asshole musician turned actor had all over?

Don’t Worry Darling was her first major film to work on so she couldn’t complain. She was happy to simply be there. Well she had been. The first day she had showed up 15 minutes early and had worn her favorite power suit she had. It was dark navy with a white lace long sleeve turtleneck underneath. She hoped to look fun but professional.

Hollywood was all about impressions, especially first ones, even when you’re the makeup artist. She had quickly learned that she was one of six makeup artists. One of them being the friend who had helped her get the job, Angie. Angie was like her surrogate mother in Los Angeles that she had met on her first film job for something much less high profile than Olivia Wilde’s second directing project. Her braided grey hair and fabulous jeans had drawn Y/N right in and they had connected instantly.

Since Y/N was deemed the most inexperienced by the head of the makeup department, she was relegated to easier jobs: assisting the other artists on main characters sometimes, mostly dealing with minor characters touch ups (and full make-up if she was lucky), and the job nobody wanted: tattoo coverage.

Harry Styles was one of the leads for the film and besides his minimal acting, everyone knew he was a worldwide rockstar. With the rock and roll life starting off as a popstar life at the ripe age of 16, he had amassed around 60 tattoos in the past decade. Impressive by her standard normally. She usually counted herself as an appreciator of tattoos and their art, finding them similar to makeup and the self expression that came with both forms. Especially since she had a few of her own, but when she walked into Trailer #6 and saw a good amount of Harry’s tattoos, she wanted to murder every artist he’d ever been to.

She had to make an inventory the first day of all of his visible tattoos when he was just wearing boxers. He had been friendly, trying to make conversation, but as the time wore on, they both grew tired and silent. She had to write down the location and a description of every tattoo and as he took off everything but boxers she grew more and more annoyed with his random and dumb tattoos. Some of them were amazing, the eagle, the anchor, the butterfly, and the ferns were probably her favorites. But some of them, she couldn't hold back her rolling eyes and annoyed expressions. The “Big” on his right big toe, a miniscule lock, almost everything on his inner left arm (the packers logo, Pingu, etc.)

She traces at the rose and the ship and then flips his arm out to reveal his inner arm to her gaze. “That is a big fucking bee.”

He snickers, “Y’like it?”

She ignores his question. “For god’s sake, someone is needle happy,” she said as she examined his left arm, taking note of every permanent drawing.

He shrugs his right shoulder, uninhibited by her prodding. “Dunno, beginning to regret some of them.”

“I would hope,” she mutters, scribbling on her paper the various ones she had just seen on his arm. Next was his ribcage ones.

He scoffs, “Oi, it’s not like you haven’t got any.”

“How would you-” She looks at him wide eyed.

“Right…” he takes his right hand and pushes her hair past her ear to reveal three little red line butterflies following the curve of her ear, “There. At least.”

She huffs and knocks his hand away from her. Her hair falling back into its place.

“Maybe some located in a few more intimate places I’m guessing from the red rushing to your cheeks right now.”

“Can you just let me do my job,” she says, not giving in to his teasing or sparing him a glance as she feels his intense gaze on her face. She was studying his left rib cage where a few cool tattoos happened to be.

“You at least have some taste or persuasive artists because not all of these are shit,” she speaks again after just the sound of her pen on the paper filled the trailer.

“Gee, thanks,” he laughs unamused and rolls his large green eyes.

She thought he had some of the biggest eyes she’d ever seen. But she also knew to keep that to herself because he’d either take it as a compliment and think she was noticing him too much or he’d take it as a massive insult and get her fired.

His right hand taps at his thigh, tapping a rhythm she didn’t care to pay any attention too. She just wanted to finish the stupid inventory of the stupid tattoos on this stupid man.

“Take those off,” she says to Harry, looking back at her clipboard again, filling up quickly with her notes.

He stands there, staring at her stubbornly. He was entirely bored with this exercise, especially since his company was some of the worst he’s ever had. She spares him a glance when she doesn’t notice any slipping off of the colorful sweatpants he’s wearing.

She arches a brow at him, her pen tapping impatiently against the paper. “Go on. Can’t imagine you want this to go on longer than it already has.”

He rolls his eyes again, slipping his thumbs into the waistline of the pants and tugging down. Simultaneously, he toes off the dirty vans he seemed to wear everywhere. The fabric pools easily and he steps out of them and discards them on the couch behind him. He’s actually wearing black briefs. She chooses not to notice anything further than that.

“Socks...can stay on,” She tries to say as he begins to peel one off. He stops midway and nods.

She flings his shirt to him, not needing to see his naked torso for another moment, “I know you’ve got some feet and ankle tats, but I also know that you won’t be wearing anything that will expose them. Thank your lucky stars that I don’t have to makeup your feet.”

He catches the shirt easily and slips his arms inside before tugging it quickly over his head and over his expansive shoulders. The ferns disappear out of sight.

“Well then we’re almost done then. Just got the knee ones -”

“And the tiger. That’s gonna be one son of a bitch,” she sighs and examines his legs, not bothering to crouch.

“What the actual fuck dude?” Her tone is exasperate and like she would rather be anywhere else than here.

“I’m sorry?” He sputters, hands on his hips and eyes bewildered.

“Yes. No. Oui. Non. Who are you?” She rubs at her eyes and shakers her head.

“S’a little rude.”

“You’re right,” she semi-rushes out at his serious tone, ready to apologize. When a grin spreads over his face and he chuckles under his breath she really wants to smack him upside the head. He was exhausting. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thought it was funny at the time. Kind of think it’s even funnier now since it’s got you all mad.” He leans over her shoulder to look at her notes and when she glances at him unhappily he just looks smug.

“Alright,” she finishes the scribble of a description and clicks the end of her pen, “All done. You can get dressed. I’ll see you bright and early for tattoo makeup. It’s gonna take about an hour to do all this, just so you can mentally prepare for that.”

“It was nice to meet you,” he attempts at a friendly and professional farewell. “See you tomorrow…” he trails off as he watches her turn on her heel and walk out of the trailer door swiftly. The door swung shut and bounced a little bit in her wake.

Harry sighed and adjusted his clothes and hair in the mirror. After a moment he shakes his head, an even louder sigh escaping him.

-

“Good morning!” She greets happily, walking into the trailer without a knock. Well-rested and happy at least that she doesn’t have to just inspect a body, she looks around the trailer.

She realizes no one is there and she’s taken aback. First of all, if Harry wasn’t there then he shouldn’t have left his trailer unlocked. And second, he was fucking late, the fucking twat.

She grumbles, setting her coffee on the countertop. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “In through the nose, out through the mouth” she mutters. She knew this was a big opportunity and having a big star like Harry in her corner could make her career. She needed them to get off on a better foot today.

“Good form, I’d say relax the shoulders a little more,” the door swings open carrying the California twang-British accent that she would soon become all too accustomed to.

Harry points at her shoulders and narrows his eyes regarding her in the trailer. She offers a strained smile through the mirror and Harry sets down his personal things on the couch.  

“Alright, well let’s get started shall we,” she smiles and turns to him, gesturing to the swivel chair next to her.

He nods, a twinkle in his eye as he regards her. He’s unsure of the tone and attitude she’s giving him today. She had been feisty yesterday, cordial at times, but mostly biting and witty. He had liked it. It had made the whole ordeal bearable whereas now she seemed to be laying it on a little thick.

“Just your hands and neck today,” she says, pulling out the makeup materials needed and a checklist of the tattoos she needed to make sure were invisible.

“Should only take..a little under an hour today. Just gonna remind you now though, other days we won’t be so lucky.”

Harry chuckles under his breath and rolls his head around his shoulders before sitting in the chair. “Were you tired yesterday?” He inquires.

“Why do you ask?” She throws a glance over her shoulder at Harry. He’s begun slipping off his sweatshirt and yawns as he does it.

“You seem different from yesterday and I’m just wondering which one is the real you.”

She continues working about the room and rolls her eyes to herself, “I’m always the real me. I come no other way, but this morning I woke up and thought ‘this is the job you’ve fucking wanted for ages, so stop being such a bitch so you don’t get fired, you prick’.” She pauses and turns to face Harry. “The ‘you prick’ was directed at me, that was still part of my thought,” she adds.

He throws his head back and laughs. Then he nods, still laughing lightly, “I get that. Sometimes I’m just so in my head and yesterday I was just so fuckin’ bored. Sorry if I got on your nerves.”

“Don’t mention it.” She waves her hand at him nonchalantly.  

Then she moves to inspect his hands and notices the lack of rings, unlike yesterday when she had to make him take them off.

“You have amazing cuticles,” she notices and mentions without any pretences. Harry mutters his thanks, pursing his lips as he watches her work.

She stops her inspection and places the clipboard on the countertop in front of them.

“Could you take your necklaces off? I need to cover up half of the swallows and the years, for when you unbutton your shirt a bit.”

He wets his lips and nods, hands going to fiddle with the clasps behind his neck. He slips off one of the necklaces with ease, a yellow eye beaded necklace that he lays gently on the countertop next to the clipboard. Then he takes his cross and pulls it over his head, no clasp needed.

“Could I put some music on?” Harry asks after five minutes of Y/N working in silence and Harry only being able to stare either at himself, her work, or nowhere.

“I can,” she stops her work for a moment, “Can’t have you messing up the makeup before it sets. Otherwise I’d have to kill you.” Harry can’t be sure if she’s joking or not. Therefore, he was intent on not messing it up.

“Any requests?” She stands at the counter now, instead of seated on a stool working on Harry's left hand.

He shrugs, like he hasn’t got the faintest idea about good music. She refrains from rolling her eyes once again because she feels herself in a test. She wets her lips, sifting through different things in her Spotify and then lands on her playlist titled “it’s your song” named after Elton John’s song. It had some other musicians, a mix of Queen, Bowie, and more and she was sure she would pass the test.

She presses shuffle and She’s Always A Woman by Billy Joel begins to play over her laptop. Harry nods pleased and she wants to shake her head at him.

She can’t hold back the scoff though after a moment of going back to finishing his hand.

“What?” His British accent thickens with his annoyance growing.

“Nothing,” she chirps, intently putting the final touches on his wrist.

“Seriously. What?”

She stands and sets down the makeup. “Can you unbutton your shirt?” She made a note to herself that from now on she’d have to have him take his shirt off before setting to work because if his hands got messed up she’d have to start over. Thankfully he was already wearing a button up this morning.

He stares at her, offering no movement, just inquisitively waiting for her to respond to his original question.

She shuts her eyes, taking another deep breath and then bites at her lower lip. “It’s just...you’re so easy to read.” She fears adding anything else and moves towards him with the makeup hoping to encourage him to unbutton his shirt.  

His right hand deftly pulls at the buttons as he regards her. His eyes are intent on her, she can see him clearly calculating her. Her green paisley button up tucked up into the back of her bra leaving a splay of her stomach. The semi-balloon sleeves cinched at the wrists leading to her slightly ringed hands. The oversized blue jeans that have no holes, just a tiny patch right next to the left pocket. The frayed ends of the pants laying over her rather pristine white old skool vans.

The Boxer fades in as she waits for him to finish the unbuttoning of the shirt. He’s still staring at her.

“Am I?” He finally inquires, voice pitched higher like he doesn’t believe her.

She gives him a serious stare and leans over him and adjusts the collar of his shirt. She adds paper towels to avoid makeup on his clothes.  

“Yes!” She laughs, “And you don’t even think so, which is like...of course.”

He hums, tilting his head back as she sets to work on covering up the swallows. He wiggles his hands that now both rest on the arm chairs.

“I don’t see it.”

“Of course you don’t,” she glances at his face, their eyes meeting for a moment. “You’re Harry Styles. Everyone is in love with this image you created for yourself and it has just enough of your true self that people feel like they really know you, but you also maintain the illusion. So you think you’re this mysteriously amazing, not like the rest guy, but you are just like the rest of them. Obsessed with yourself and rich so you’re deemed eccentric rather than crazy for all the extravagant shit you do. So when you want me to play music and don’t offer any suggestions I know exactly what music I need to play for you to like me.”

“I feel like that last part says more about you than it does me,” he quirks a brow at her, straining his neck to look at her face as she continues to work.

She flushes, his response both better and worse than she expected. She had gotten a little carried away in her response and she had no idea why. She truly wasn’t one to go off on people so easily and especially not with someone she hardly knew, but something about Harry had her on edge. She was just thankful he hadn’t gotten mad at her response, instead he took it in stride. Further proving her point that he was extremely smart and did things purposefully and she saw right through it all.

She grumbles, “It says that all anyone has to do to get close to you is understand the smallest bit about you and you’ll let them in.”

“That is just so completely wrong, Y/N, I hate to break it to you.” It’s Harry rolling his eyes now, unable to move much more of his body as she continues painting on the concealer to remove his tattoos for the movie.

“Fine. Enlighten me on what I got wrong.”

Their argument had all but drowned out their music. They both did love this music and ironically if they would just shut their mouths, they’d probably like each other a lot more.

“Might as well,” he sighs. “First of all, my image is authentic and of course I don’t want to give myself all away. I enjoy my privacy and for everyone to truly know me I’d have to give that up. Which I’m not keen on. So, I regret to inform you but I am the same guy everyone is “in love with”. Second, I know I am a little self-involved, how else would I get here if I wasn’t constantly taking inventory of myself and reevaluating who I am. As a musician, I want to give as much of myself as possible or else it just feels inauthentic. And the extravagant thing, I can’t help that I like nice things and my job has allowed me to afford those things.”

He stops to take a deep breath and she’s working in stunned silence, in disbelief that Harry is even telling her any of this or that he’s spoken that much and so quickly. Wasn’t he notorious for speaking slowly with barely even a sentence worth of actual information. He sounds tired and frustrated, but also, surprisingly, sincere.

He continues, “The music thing. Maybe it was a test, but still it doesn’t mean I give everyone a mile when they say their favorite musicians match up with mine or something. I note that they either did their homework or might be an interesting person to get to know.”

“So which am I?” She widens her eyes.

“Obviously the second even if you’re also making it painfully clear that you don’t like me.”

“You’re smarter than I thought, Harry. I’ll give you that,” she smirks slyly, finishing up the bird coverage now.

He laughs. “Thanks,” he drawls out.

“And I admit that maybe you aren’t as easy to read as I made out, but I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree about the whole being your authentic self. I just don’t buy it. I can see your mind working constantly, you’re not one to just let yourself be free in public. And I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, I’m just saying, you shouldn’t pretend like that’s not what you’re doing.”

Her final thought leaves Harry silent. She pays no attention to his silence or at least she’s actively ignoring it. Instead she tunes back into the music that had gotten them back onto the wrong foot. This was going to be a long few months.

When she’s satisfied with her work, she has them sit there for thirty minutes to give it all time to set before Harry is off to hair and other makeup. They sit there listening to music. Neither of them have spoken again, except instructions from her and Harry’s hums of approval of songs.  

Harry stands up after thirty minutes as she stays behind to pack up some items. Just as he’s about to step out of the door, he turns and calls her name.

“For the record, I don’t think you’re giving me a fair shot. You said yourself that you’re different every day. That every version of you, is you. So I hope you’ll give me the same allowance, every version of me is me. In this trailer, in my music videos, on tv, in interviews, in my free time. It’s all truly me.”

She bites her inner cheek as he ducks his head and exits the trailer, not allowing her any response.

-

“You’re late!”

“Meeting ran over with Nick and Olivia. Sorry,” Harry says as he begins to undress.

It’s the first day she has to cover all of his tattoos. It was going to take forever by all accounts. It had been two weeks since shooting had begun and she had gotten the simple hands and neck down to 45 minutes so she could only dread what his entire body would take.

“It’s fine,” she grumbles, knowing there wasn’t really anything else she could say about him coming late from a meeting with the director and producer.

Over the last two weeks, they hadn’t grown any fonder of one another. Not at all. They at least had gotten into a system though and she was grateful for that at least.

They showed up, Harry got in his chair, she set up the music, and they got to work. Harry would practice lines on some days and he’d tell her that before she turned on the music so there were no interruptions. Sometimes they talked about stuff on set or music or she’d give Harry his line when he was trying to be off script and forgot one. She wouldn’t classify it as pleasant, but they weren’t at each other throats like they were originally.

Trailer 6 had gotten a little homier as the weeks went by, too. Harry began leaving some of his stuff there and he started putting up silly drawings he would make while on set or polaroids people had taken with him while he was there. He tacked up napkins of restaurants that catered the set and wrote funny jokes and quotes on post it notes. His personal assistants sometimes brought in snacks while Y/N was still working and Harry always offered her some. They were usually healthy, but sometimes she’d eat some. Jeff, his manager, had also stopped by on occasion during his tattoo touch-ups that had become a thing after shooting days had grown longer.

On first meeting, Jeff had said, “Y/N? Harry mentioned you.”

She had turned to Harry with an arched brow and he had shrugged. When she looked back at Jeff she didn’t see Harry give Jeff one of the deadliest looks he could muster. She had grimaced and said “Well we spend enough time together for him to know my name. So thank god for that at least.”

They had all laughed and she had gotten back to work on Harry’s wrist.

Today, she needed Harry in his shorts. It was the first day of shooting where his character would be only in his boxers so she had to cover up all his visible tattoos. Olivia had told the makeup department they actually had to cover up his feet tattoos as well. She wanted him sockless in the scene and Y/N had groaned immediately when she made it to the trailer and Harry wasn’t already there.

“But please, for the sake of my job, strip, dude.” She says, arms crossed over her chest and leaning against the counter as she watched Harry set his things down. Her soft green striped cardigan is open, exposing the white tank top sitting underneath. Her bright green shorts hang loose on her, cinched at the waist and folded over once. Her white high top nike’s tap impatiently on the floor, waiting for Harry to get moving.

He nodded, truly feeling sorry for his tardiness, knowing today was a long day. He was anxious and tired. Acting was a different experience to music and he just was really trying his best.

As he began to take off his shirt, he laughed. His arms pulled the shirt over his head and when it popped out from beneath it, he repeated, “Strip, dude,” attempting to mimic her American accent.

He had practiced his American accent in front of her while running lines, but it had a 50’s drawl to it. His acting coach had been drilling him for weeks before shooting and he still liked to practice. The accent he had just down was far off from that and far off from hers too.

“Do not,” she warned.

“What?” He asks innocently and flutters his eyelashes.

She knows his game by now and she knows she should just ignore him. She knows this after fourteen days. She knows this after hours with him. She knows this, but then she’s opening her mouth and playing into his teases.

“Sorry, what’s a word you would know? Mate?” She tries for a British accent with the last word, knowing she can’t win this.

Harry snickers and scratches at his nose with his index finger before starting on taking off his pants. “You’re so Californian.”

“Thank you,” she chirps, moving to sit beside him now that he had settled.

“I like your shorts,” he muses, crossing his legs, likely a little cold.

She glances down at her cotton shorts that showed more of her thighs when she sat for a moment before returning her gaze to his left arm. The longest task of the day was this damn arm.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, “Wanted to be comfortable today. Knew it was gonna be long.”

A smile bubbles onto his face, his pink lips parting to reveal his shiny white teeth behind them. “So true.”

The music is low today. She had chosen Joni Mitchel’s Blue album for the first pick of the day. She had quickly learned Harry preferred listening to albums in order. It tended to make him less jumpy when the same artist came on multiple times like an album. So when she tried to play just an album one day, she found him more cooperative and less irritable.

After thirty minutes of work, she can’t stop noticing how shivery Harry is. It was late October in LA, so it was still warm, but admittedly the mornings could be a little chilly. His shivering was concerning for many reasons. Mainly he was messing up her work and concentration, but she also didn’t want him to get sick or something.

“Do you want me to see if they have a blanket and slippers or something? You look like you’re turning blue.”

Harry turns his attention to her. He had been reading over the script for today again. “That’d be great. I can call…” He trails off trying to think of the name of one of his assistants, but apparently he’s too scatterbrained for it. She assumed it was the hypothermia traveling to his brain already.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll walkie someone.” She says as she grabs the walkie talkie, flicking to the personal assistants channel.

“Hey,” she chirps happily. Harry noted how she talked to other people. So sweet, yet sincere. With him, it was serious and sincere but more biting, callous at times. Less so lately, but she definitely was sharper with him. He didn’t know if it even bothered him anymore. She was engaging if nothing else.

“Is someone free to bring two blankets and men’s slippers over to Trailer 6? I’ve got a naked Jack and I don’t want him freezing before I’m done covering up his tattoos.” She takes her finger off the talking button and glances sideways at him, “Who knows, maybe that would improve his acting. Y’know on second-thought-”

“Alright, alright,” Harry tries to grab for the walkie talkie, but she turns from him holding a finger up signalling him to wait as she listens for a response.

Someone says a simple “On it” and she turns off the walkie talkie and gets back to work.

“I took my finger off the speaker before I said the thing about your acting. Relax, Harry.” She says when he’s still glaring at her. “Just love to see you squirm.”

He shakes out his short chestnut hair, some of it falling over his forehead. Instinctively, she reaches up without even looking and smooths it back. Like she was tucking her own hair out of her eyes, but instead it was Harry’s. She decided to say nothing and was relieved when Harry didn’t say anything either.

She finishes his forearm and moves to his outer upper arm. The rose holds her attention when the PA knocks on the door and she has to race to get it. Nothing could stop her from moving on this work. It was already an hour in and she wanted to scream.

She swings open the door and she wants to die. It was Autumn. Her least favorite PA, of course. She was insufferable and obsessed with Harry. Which was not why Y/N found Autumn insufferable. There were so many more reasons. So many. But that particular character flaw didn’t help her case either. Y/N tried to just take the blankets and slippers from Autumn, but the woman insisted that she come in.

“I’ve got it,” Y/N says.

“No, don’t want you to get makeup on anything,” Autumn’s saccharine voice grinds at her ears and she contemplates cutting them off.

Harry sat in his chair, legs crossed, nodding along to the music, his script discarded on the counter in front of him.

“Hi Harry!” Autumn practically yells, walking right up to him.

Y/N takes a deep breath at the door, letting it swing shut. She bites her lower lip as an attempt to bite her tongue as she walks back to her set-up. The set-up Autumn was conveniently blocking.

“Hello, Autumn,” Harry says kindly, making eye contact with her. “How’re you today?”

“So great! So great! Thanks for asking. How are you?” She points a finger at him like she might poke him and Harry squirms away from her a bit. She, of course, doesn’t notice this.

“Well, thanks.” His eyes flicker to Y/N, who is standing behind Autumn, hands on her hips and attempting not to tap her foot. His tone is clearly dismissive, but Autumn must ignore it. Y/N knows Autumn isn’t as helpless as she tries to come off.

Autumn asks, “Where do you want these?”, gesturing to the two blankets and slippers stacked on top.

“Just on the counter is fine, thanks,” Harry says.

Autumn does as he says and then stands there with baited breath. Y/N’s not sure what she’s expecting. For Harry to ask for her hand in marriage or something? But he just glances between the two women. His own foot begins wiggling in impatience.

“Busy day,” He attempts at dismissing her once again - with kindness.

“Oh my gosh, totally!” Autumn gushes, starting to go off on all of the tasks she has to do. She stands so close to Harry, Y/N genuinely thinks she’s going to sit in his lap. Y/N stares up to the ceiling, begging god or whoever to end her misery right there and then.

Harry sees Y/N’s expression and tries to maintain the neutral expression he’s had for the entirely too long interaction. A smile threatens at his rosey lips that had chapped from the morning air.

“Right, well,” he cuts off Autumn, “Y/N needs to get back to tattoo coverage, I think. So...have a nice day.”

Autumn’s eyes widen like she forgot that there was anyone else in the room and steps back from Harry. Y/N nods, a grimace clear on her face. Autumn gives her the same small she used to get from the popular girls in high school when she happened to be talking to their cool guy friend that they wanted to be more than friends with. Sickeningly sweet and completely fake. She could see the contempt in Autumn’s eyes that swirled just beneath the surface of her perfectly outlined green-ish eyes.

“Okay! You too, Harry!” She begins walking to the door and Y/N takes her seat again, closing her eyes and counting to ten. “And Y/N,” Autumn adds as an afterthought.

“Oh my fucking god,” Y/N sighs, her hands going to rub over her face and through her hair. “That was exhausting. Jesus Christ.”

“What? She’s nice. Maybe a little clueless,” Harry counters. “But she was so nice,” he confirms again, seemingly trying to convince himself of it as well.  

She grabs the slippers and slips them on the ground so Harry can put them on easily. Then one of the blankets that she drapes over Harry’s bottom half. He smiles at the gesture, a ‘thank you’ said in a whisper.

“Please, she knows what she’s doing,” Y/N scoffs, “And she’s obsessed with you!” She grabs the concealer to get back to work, “She was all over you and never took her eyes off of your body. It was like she wanted to touch you or something. It was icky.”

“You touch me,” Harry adds cheekily, adjusting beneath the warm blanket.

She laughs, a smile gracing her lips as she gives Harry a look. He was clever.

“It’s my job to touch you, Harry.”

Harry had really tried to not laugh, but it was just so funny. They both snicker, their eyes meeting for a moment longer than usual.

“Speaking of my job,” she adds after controlling her laughter, “Does she not realize just how long it takes to cover all of your bloody tattoos with this shit to make it look like you’re a pristine skinned 50’s psycho killer?”

She finishes the rose coverup and moves to the ship. Harry nods solemnly.

“It’s true...And it doesn’t help that you’re terrible at it, so it takes a thousand years longer than it should.” He adds, laughter overtaking his serious tone at the end.

“Oh my god!” She shrieks in delight, trying not to mess up her work, “That is so rude! I messed up one time - mostly because of you, by the way. And give me a break, this is so not what I thought I’d be doing as a makeup artist for movies.”

He nods again, muttering “Fair, fair.”

They grow silent, enjoying Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, the album that she had queued after Joni’s.

“The body thing, I just learned to ignore it, I think.” Harry mutters, eventually, but it’s thoughtless, like he’s not revealing anything about himself with the statement. But it kind of shocks her. Her eyes widen and she stops her work to stare at his face.

“Harry,” she waits till his eyes meet hers, “That’s, like, not normal. Are you serious?”

“I mean, I’m very comfortable with my body, like I haven’t minded the last 45 minutes of sitting practically nude in front of you. And I have plenty of revealing photos out in the world. I just don’t notice staring anymore, it’s not, I don’t think it’s what you’re thinking,” he tries to reassure her. His eyes are intent on hers, full of seriousness that hadn’t been there a few moments ago.

“It’s one thing to be comfortable in your skin and another to be desensitized to objectification,” she insists.

He nods. “I know. Thank you. I would let you know if what she had done had bothered me, so don’t worry. I felt completely safe the whole time.”

“Good,” she nods back and concentrates again. “Good,” she repeats once more under her breath. There had been way too many distractions already today and she wasn’t even done with his arm yet.

As she continues to work up his arm, Harry sings along to some of the songs on Elton’s album. He happily taps his feet to the different beats, now safely tucked in soft fluffy slippers. She would never admit just how amazing it is to be in the same room as Harry’s singing. It was truly special to be less than a foot from him and hear him sing just under the unique voice of Elton - who was someone he actually knew, which was equally as cool.

He hit every note and knew every word. She was impressed. How could she not be when a literal rockstar sat before her? This was the first time she was truly starstruck by her charge, Mr. Harry Styles.

By two hours, they had moved onto an album by Dolly Parton and they were both singing. They strangely had no fights today, maybe some snarky comments from both of them, but no outright mean-spirited words were exchanged.

She stood in front of Harry, finishing up the swallows. She had finished both arms and the birds, all she had left was moving down his body. Up next, the butterfly.

“I love this tattoo,” she mumbles, twisting Harry’s standing body to face her and taking her seat again. This left her eye to eye with the butterfly on his stomach.

He makes a surprised face and raises his recently plucked eyebrow at his counterpart. “Oh really?”

“Don’t act so surprised. I told you day one that not all of them are rubbish and honestly they’re all pretty cool. I just was so annoyed that I had gotten tattoo coverage as my job and then I had to go and index them all.” She flicks her eyes up to his sculpted face and sees he’s watching her work. “Plus, I have some butterflies of my own, remember?” She grins.

“Yeah,” he ponders her words, “I don’t think that’d put me in a good mood either.”

He pauses again and she continues to work silently.

“So what’s your excuse for the second day then?”

“You provoked me,” she doesn’t spare him a glance, shrugging like it was the simplest answer in the world.

“Pardon?”

“Let’s not go down this road again, Harry.” She sighs, smoothing over the freshly covered butterfly tattoo. His sternum looked so naked, it was unnerving. Now the ferns.

Harry involuntarily shivered when her fingers traced over the ferns lightly, taking note of the expanse of skin she’d have to cover.

“You’re right,” he agrees, “But agree to disagree on the provocation.”

“Sure,” she says curtly, focusing on his skin and her job.

The expanse of skin that the ferns inhabited was slightly fleshy and especially soft. It bordered where his boxers began and she ignored that part of his body completely. It was of no importance to her and she really had no issue blocking it from her vision, even when it was right in front of her. She finishes one fern with Harry jumping only twice from her cold hands. He couldn’t put his robe on until the makeup had all set for half an hour so he’d have to be cold for possibly another hour still.

She traces the fern that is still visible and Harry shivers. She instinctively shushes him softly and his body quiets. As she works, her hair splays around her shoulders and Harry looks down at her working and doesn’t realize what his hand is doing until it’s too late. His right hand runs over her hair, smoothing it out of her face. It was rarely ever down, so it must have been the novelty of it.

“Sorry, I-” he chokes out when he jerks his hand back.

She sits back, slightly taken aback. Her body flushes just from their positioning and what a hair caress would mean normally in this position, but she’s a professional and she shakes it off.

“It’s fine. We’re even.” She assures him, breaking eye contact with his own wide eyes. “Seems like we’re both hair touchers.”

“It’s just so soothing,” Harry muses. “I think it’s human instinct to touch other people’s hair since it’s so enjoyable for yourself.”

“Possibly,” her voice raises, his thought was definitely plausible. Or maybe they were just two touch starved people who were very much in each other’s personal space 24/7.

At the two and a half hour marker, she gets a walkie message from Olivia’s assistant asking when they’d be done. She had just finished the tiger tattoo, which had been surprisingly easy. It took a while, but Harry didn’t shiver once and neither of them pet each other’s hair.

“Probably 40 minutes, sorry. He has a lot of tattoos and the makeup needs to set.” She says seriously and gets back to work, barely regarding the response of “Yeah it’s fine, just wanted an estimate”.

“Jesus,” Harry moans as she covers up his knee tattoos.

She groans in veiled disgust, “Did I just hit a secret erogenous zone? Is that why you have ‘oui’ there, you creep?” There’s a teasing tone behind the nickname she uses.

Harry laughs and runs his hand over his face, pulling at his jaw and lower lip. His jaw is so sharp, she watches him adjust it. “No, no. I’m just so goddamn tired of this.”

“And it’s not your fault,” he adds, feeling bad immediately after he said it. “It’s actually been nice today, but I’m feeling antsy, like I need to move. I don’t like to sit still.”

“I know,” she says under her breath. She simply nods in agreement.

Finally, the tattoos are all covered up and set. They had talked about George Michael when she got to his ankle tattoos that she hadn’t seen before and they laugh about the tattoos and chat a bit more. She helps him slip on his robe that he keeps in his closet in the trailer and then follows him out of it. They had decided they were hungry and he had been pushed back an hour since he had taken so long, so he had a free half-hour.

As they walked to craft services, they talked about actual things besides work. She was pleasantly surprised by what Harry talked about. It was more than music or the movie. It was the tv show he was currently obsessed with and how he hated LA’s traffic the most out of all of his dislikes for the city. She couldn’t help but grin at his Los Angeles slander. She loved this side of him.

-

Breakfast together after finishing his tattoo coverage became their regular thing. He would come into the trailer, racing from his morning meeting accompanied with tea for two, they’d get his tattoos covered as quickly as possible, and then they’d eat together.

They’d save their “in-depth” chats for breakfast. In early November, he joked about No Nut November and insisted he really wouldn’t have a problem with it - which had made her laugh. They worried together over the U.S. presidential election and meditated together in his trailer to Fleetwood Mac.

Around late November, Harry had requested that Y/N just do his face makeup as well, just to simplify his life a little more and the department had agreed easily. She had to spend extra time on set getting lectured on how to properly do Harry’s makeup, but after two days she stopped getting notes about it. She was so extremely proud and thankful to Harry for doing that.

All he said was: “I mean, you’re extremely talented so I’m not scared of you fucking up my face. Plus, it does make my life easier. Two birds with one stone.”

In late November, he told her about his favorite holiday drinks at Starbucks and what he was getting his mother for Christmas.

When the Vogue cover came out, he laughed over that woman who responded to his cover saying the world needed to bring back manly men. He joked that he was going to really push that from now on, that he was a manly man, and he would sputter with laughter every time he tried to say it with a straight face.

He hand delivered her a special ‘Treat People With Kindness’ sweatshirt that he only had for the cast and crew of the film. Most everyone got them from a PA, but Harry decided since you saw him first in the morning, why not.

He told her about him winning Hitmaker of the Year from Variety when he had left the award sitting in Trailer 6 and about how weird it was to film acceptance speeches in an empty room. His smile had lit up the entire set that day and the day he did his interview on set. He was so smiley she had to bump him with her elbow because he wouldn’t stop smiling at her and it was unnerving.

“Stop that,” She muttered.

“Stop what?” He smiles wider.

“That!” She squeaked, her head shaking as she ducked it to regard his anchor tattoo. “You’re smiling too much.”

“Oh no,” he says sarcastically, “God forbid I be happy.”

“It’s not that,” she bumps his thigh with her elbow, trying to keep her own smile off her face, “Your face is just so intense when you smile. Feels like you’re gonna burn a hole through me.”

He laughs, completely unconvinced, “You just don’t want me to be happy is what I’m hearing.”

She rolls her eyes, “Whatever, dude.”

She saw he was serious about the ‘manly men’ references when the Variety photos came out and everyone and their mom posted the pictures with some variation of that comment as their caption.

She still found that she rolled her eyes at some of the things Harry did, but she genuinely counted him as a friend by the time December had rolled around.

Over three hours, almost always completely alone, doing work for a job you both care deeply about can really make or break a relationship. And that first full-body coverage day had made them stronger together. After that, Harry and her would banter with one another, but there was never anything intentionally cruel. Just friends giving each other shit sometimes. Harry had been right, he had changed her mind about him. And she had realized that that was who Harry was. He was a deliverer. If you didn’t like him at first, he would try and try again until you did, but he did it in a way that wasn’t weasley or anything. It was terribly genuine and she saw it in every relationship he had on set.

On several occasions she had witnessed his friendship with Nick Kroll. A man she had regarded with dislike before the film. She had quickly realized that dislike was misplaced, but she maintained that it was just because she hated adult cartoons - citing that she literally refused to be friends with any person who willingly watched the Simpsons, Family Guy, and/or American Dad and all of those similar shows.

Nick was far nicer and less weird than she had realized. So she quickly shot her friend from high school an apology text for all the Nick Kroll slander she had spouted back in the day. Her friend had rejoiced but also said how jealous she was that Y/N got to see him regularly on set.

Nick and Harry got along great. Harry generally got along better with older people, she noticed when she was introduced to his friends on the somewhat frequent occasion. Trailer 6 was where Y/N saw most of these reactions take place. She would be introduced in the first minute and then she would smile politely and get back to the work of covering up Harry’s numerous tattoos.

Harry would say something simple and Nick, the literal famous comedian, would laugh. In the beginning she’d raise a brow, confused because it truly wasn’t that funny, but as Harry’s friend now, she kept her mouth shut.

Nick would come and sit on the couch while she’d work and eventually all three of them would chat. Sometimes she would get up to go to the bathroom during those morning chats and she would look in the mirror and think to herself “How are you casually talking to these two men right now” and then she’d think “Because you are a boss ass bitch, you got this” and go back out there with a smile on her face.

“Y/N, what are you doing tonight?” Nick asked on the first Friday morning of December.

She looks up from Harry’s cross tattoo that was half covered. Harry was reading, a book casually propped in his right hand and glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He glanced at the other two in the room. Nick had been getting some work done before he had spoken.

“No plans,” she states simply before getting back to work. It wasn’t full body today, but it was arms and torso, so kind of a lot still.

“You should come over for dinner at my place with Harry,” Nick smiles kindly. His scruff was really coming in today. “To celebrate us almost wrapping the first half of the movie.”

Harry had thankfully freshly shaved before he sat down. It was her least favorite part of her new job. Whenever he came in for touch ups and she had to shave his afternoon shadow. She was terrified she’d cut him and never live it down from her department or Harry. She had no idea which would be worse.

“My wife will be there too, of course,” he adds, hoping to entice her to say yes.

Harry glances between Y/N and Nick again before focusing on his book again.

She purses her lips, finishing Harry’s hand and moving onto the anchor tattoo. “Yeah, I mean, I don’t know why I’d say no. As long as I’m not intruding on the throuple,” she grins up at Harry.

He stares at her with his big green eyes, slightly obscured behind his prescription glasses. He raises his brows and wiggles them a little bit, teasingly.

Nick laughs and slyly winks at Harry through the mirror. Y/N none the wiser as she removes all traces of Harry’s tattoos.

“Great!” He claps his hands and stands up. “We’ll talk or I’ll make sure Harry gets you the info or something. I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out. My wife’s been wanting to meet you,” he smiles again and walks out of the trailer.

She tilts her head at the last part. He talked about her to his wife. Did he really count her as that close of a friend? She was just a makeup artist and he was a producer… She glances at Harry and he gives away nothing. His jaw looks extra prominent and she knows it’s because he’s clenching it. He did that when he was focused or angry, remembering it bulging on the first day they met and how clenched it had been then.

“Unclench your jaw,” she mutters, “It’s not good for you.”

Harry hums and unclenches it.

He stretches his neck by rolling his head around his shoulders and she glances at the movement. His skin is still beautifully sun-kissed and his pores look so soft, only his moles change the texture of his skin. She loves his moles though, they make him especially unique in her eyes. Not that he needed anything else to set him apart from the crowd. Still, she loved them. His collarbone is prominent as he sits there shirtless and she wishes she could reach out and brush at it. But she gets back to work, knowing the only time she’s gonna be brushing near that part of him is when she’s covering dates in those dips behind his collarbones.

“Y’know, I could just drive you to Nick’s tonight,” Harry says, putting his book down and taking off his glasses. He rubs at his eye with his free hand.

“You’re blind and British, how do I know you can even drive yourself?” She asks sillily, pointing to his glasses.

He shakes his head, “I’m serious, Y/N. Aren’t you staying in the same area as me?”

He asks because they had relocated to Palm Springs a little while ago and everyone had gotten rentals and it was hard to remember where everyone was holed up when they weren’t on set.

“Yeah, think so. But you don’t need to pick me up. I have a car.”

“Nonsense. I’ve been to his place before, don’t want you to have to deal with directions, that’s just silly.”

“I guess...” she resigns relatively easily. She had never hung out with Harry off the set or Nick for that matter. It felt surreal, but she knew the right answer was usually just say yes in these situations. So that’s what she says. “Yes, that’d be great, thank you,” she confirms and watches as Harry’s eyes glimmer softly before turning back to his book. A triumphant soft smirk rests on his face.

The words die out between the two of them as she works on. He hums along to the music and continues reading his book. When she’s done with his tattoo coverage and his face makeup, she sends him off to hair and the rest of his day. He gives a flirty wink as he walks out the door and she rolls her eyes in response. She tidies up her kit and then goes to do some other makeup work.

When she wasn’t working with Harry, she was assigned to some of the minor characters and doing their makeup. They were always her second concern, especially now that she did Harry’s makeup as well as his tattoos. As she works on them, she can feel her mind drifting to Harry. Harry and how they were friends now. She was pretty sure, right? They were friends. He had never really said a mean thing to her if she really thought about it. It was her… She had been rude and mean-spirited and he had just taken it. He rarely had even thrown it back at her. He was so good to her and patient and she realized that he had proven to her that he was good. He was better than good, he was kind and loving. Considerate. Wonderful. All of those positive superlatives, Harry filled them. And she had the audacity to be mean to him.

She paused the brush that was adding blush to an actresses cheek.

Lisa, the actress, looks at Y/N confusedly, “What’s wrong?”

Y/N twitches her head, refocusing on her task at hand. The realization of her pausing her work becomes clear as she looks between her hand and the cheek that has not enough blush on it. “Oh,” she breathes. “...I just realized that I was terrible to someone who doesn’t have a mean bone in their body.”

Lisa nods, “Apologize.”

“Yeah, I mean...We’ve kind of moved past the phase where we don’t get along. Like now we’re friends, but the realization just really hit me.” She sighs, picking up where she left off on Lisa’s makeup. “I’ll make sure to apologize next time I see them.”

Lisa smiles.

-

At the end of the day, Y/N realizes she left her tattoo coverage kit in Harry’s room after their touch-up session halfway through the day. She had run off to help with a makeup emergency for a tiny cut on a minor character’s face and forgotten to go back and grab her things. Another roll of her eyes and a huff of breath and then she’s walking back to Trailer 6, a place that seemed like a home away from home now. She knocks, patiently waiting at the bottom of the steps.

Harry swings open the door and props it with his hip. He’s got a toothbrush held in his mouth, slowly scrubbing back and forth with his left hand. His costume is somewhat taken off, he’s still got the pants on with suspenders hanging down, his chest was completely bare and he looked funny with some of his tattoos only being half covered based on what parts of his skin had been showing today. Her work. His skin looked half silky smooth and half tattooed like usual.

His naked skin seemingly left her breathless because as her eyes returned to Harry’s face, she breathed a soft, “Hi.”

“Hey,” a smirk twists onto his face. “Forget something?”

“Yes,” she nods, coming back to her senses and entering the trailer at Harry’s gesture.

She begins to pack up the kit that had been left haphazardly strewn around on his counter. “I’m sorry I left a mess like this, I got called over to something else and forgot.”

“Don’t worry darling,” Harry grins at his joke.

She looks up from her work and sees Harry in the reflection of the mirror. He’s wiping off the makeup from his chest and his beautiful tattoos reemerge as entire images.

She laughs humorlessly, “It gets less funny each time you use that.”

“That’s not true,” he looks at her through the mirror now, his green eyes trained on her face, “Everyone else still thinks it’s hilarious.”

“They’re humoring you and your fragile ego,” she winks and watches as Harry’s smirk twitches from his perfect face.

“You’ve got a very mean disposition, you know that?” He asks.

He finishes his chest and moves to remove the makeup from his left arm, glancing at the mirror every so often to check himself and to flicker his eyes over Y/N’s face.

She genuinely laughs at that, but scolds herself internally for being mean when she had planned to apologize the next time she saw Harry. This was the next time so why was she doing this instead?

“Rewrite sweet disposition for me?” Her voice honeyed. Clearly stubborn and terrible at saying sorry...maybe her and Harry were a better match than she realized.

Harry twists his lips as he slips on his t-shirt he was wearing today.

“Pick you up at 6:30?” He says as his head pops out from beneath the rainbow striped sweatshirt he slipped on top of the shirt. His chestnut hair had been toweled out and was flopping over his forehead slightly.

She sighs and zips close the kit, standing from the seat she had taken at his counter and turning to face him now.

“6:30 is perfect. Thanks again for doing this. I just can’t believe Nick Kroll is inviting me over for dinner!” She smiles, shifting to lean against the counter as she waits for Harry to finish up. She didn’t have to but for some reason she felt like she was in no rush.

“Are you serious?” He’s moved on to changing his pants now and he’s slipping on black sweatpants.

“Yeah…” She blinks and her eyes widen as Harry appraises her expression.

He straightens up after fixing a cuff on the pants and he can’t tell if she’s being genuine or sarcastic. It was always so hard to tell with her.

“I mean, Nick Kroll is like a huge celebrity and I know in the entertainment business you’re not supposed to get starstruck but when I was in college my sister thought he was weirdly hot and my friends and I would shit talk him. I don’t know, it’s just kind of surreal to be having dinner at his place. Like I’ve watched him on tv and now I’ll be eating with him...so weird.”

He shakes his head, beginning on his dirty vans now. A small laugh escapes his mouth and he glances between her and his shoe, scratching his head quickly. “I still can’t tell… It feels like you’re fucking with me right now.”

“I’m not!” She insists, her hands coming out in front of her in a confused fashion. “I used to watch that guy’s tv show then he’s my boss now he’s inviting me over for food? It’s a lot to process.”

“How come it’s not surreal to be having dinner with me then?” He asks semi-joking, a hint of offense tinged within it. It’s visible only in his knitted brow and twisted lip.

“Careful there, sailor. Venturing into some dangerously self-absorbed waters.” Her eyes light up, a quick raise of her brows accompany the shine, and she decides now is her time to head out. Especially as she thinks about getting ready for this soiree tonight. She needed to shower and pick out an outfit with less than two hours to prepare.

Harry sputters at her response and fumbles with his pink shoelace. “That’s not...that is - You’re being unfair. My question is valid.”

She shrugs her shoulders and skirts Harry’s attempt at grabbing at her arm to stop her from leaving. “Okay, Mr. Big Man On Campus. I promise you you’re the most popular boy in school.”

She blows him a kiss and walks out the door as he attempts to get her to come back by calling her name a few times and slightly shouting “C’mon! I wasn’t being insecure. That was a reasonable ask…”

He sighs and shakes his head again. Every interaction would end with one of them either rolling their eyes or shaking their head and usually a sigh on both of their lips. It was exhausting, but exhilarating too.

20 minutes later, Harry receives a text from Y/N: “You’re still picking me up right :))) ?”

He’s in his car, getting ready to finally leave after getting held up with last minute schedule changes that he had to be informed about by some PA that he had forgotten the name of. His lip quirks to the right and he closes his eyes for a second enjoying seeing her name on his phone screen for a moment.

He types back: “Of courseeee”.

“Fab.” She sends back, immediately followed by: “Fanks BMOC ;)”

A full smile rolls onto Harry’s face after he swipes his tongue over his lower lip. “Yeah, yeah, save it for the next guy” he types out quickly before throwing his phone gently beside him and driving back to his apartment. She made him feel young, not that he wasn’t young, but generally his friends didn’t text like she did.

-

At 6:28, she receives a text from Harry Styles - his name in her phone. A name she had never expected to see in her phone unless her Spotify was on shuffle. Yet, instead, his name popped up under messages and it read “Here!” followed by a quick “I think” and then a phone call coming through from the apparently anxious man himself.

“Hello Harry.” Her tone even. She throws little items into her purse, making sure everything she needs is there.

“Could you peek out your window? I’m not quite sure I’m at the right place and people are staring…” nerves laced in his rushed tone.

She ambles to the window and opens up the shade she had closed to change. Below her, she sees a sleek black Range Rover with a slightly disarrayed hairdo and big dark glasses peeking below the windshield. She ignored the instinct to retch at the sight of the Range Rover and peered at the lamp lit sight below her. It was definitely Harry, but she searched for the prying eyes he was worried about and saw none. Well, maybe a few, but it wasn’t a lot.

“I see you, I’ll be right out, dude. Just deep breaths, it’s mostly crew staying here right now so they’re just seeing that it’s you, another guy they work with. They won’t come up for pictures...I would hope.”

She hangs up with no farewell, snatches her purse from its place on the bed and races out the door. Harry smiles anxiously at her when she stands next to the passenger’s door and he unlocks it. She bites her lip and raises her brows, waiting to hear if anything terrible happened in the minute and a half it took her to come downstairs and out to the car.

“Hi,” he exhales.

A smirk crawls onto her features and her eyes sparkle with a bit of a childish glee that normally she didn’t exhibit as she glances at him. “Hi.” She says quietly. “Alright big boy?”

“‘M fine.” He huffs but balks at her smile that she maintains while she stares at him. “What?”

“Just happy to see you, I guess,” her smile returns after speaking and Harry glances between her face and the windshield in front of him.

He can’t tell if she’s being serious or not once again. But he fears that conversation of her either ridiculing him for thinking she is serious or being offended that he still can’t tell. Instead, he will keep his mouth shut. For the most part.

“Happy to see you, too,” his lips create a closed mouth smile quickly before turning out of the parking lot.

She watches him. Their first time together outside of work. And they were friends. She needed to get used to simply thinking that. He picked her up to take her to dinner with her other friend and his wife. This was normal life, just with big names behind those terms of relation. Jesus, she always said it didn’t bother her to be around celebrities so why did she think about it so damn much?

She twitches her head and refocuses on Harry and his driving. His jaw is clenched again and she wants to reach out and sooth it herself. Instead she starts to open her mouth to correct him, but stops herself from that as well. They weren’t at work and it didn’t feel like something just a friend would say right now. She refocuses on the view of his eyes that are barely visible while he regards the road. His large eyes that she had grown acquainted to are surveying what he’s doing, every so often drifting to the right side of the road to check out the lane beside him. But then, always back to right in front of him, leaving a crescent of green visible to her.

“Can feel you staring at me…” His voice sounds like it’s rolled around in gravel after the long work day. It makes her wonder if he’s supposed to have a vocal rest when he’s not at work, but then again it’s the weekend now so maybe it was fine. Maybe she should ask him. Or maybe she should stop worrying so much about him.

“Have I got something on my face?” His low register bumps her from her racing thoughts. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but she can see he’s widened his eyes in wonder.

“No! Of course not, I just was...making sure you weren’t going to crash us or something.” She grasps at straws, desperate to not be caught by Harry.

A low chuckle bubbles from his chest and he spares a small glance over at her bundled up in his passenger seat. She matches his gaze with something of distrust hidden behind her eyes. She hopes to convey that she’s being silly and when Harry turns back to look at the road unassumingly, she feels like she has won. The harmonies of the beginning of a Queen song take over the silence, Harry’s spindly fingers thrumming against the wheel.

They arrive at the Kroll’s Palm Springs residence at 6:50. 10 minutes early and the two twiddle their thumbs for a few minutes, trying to pass the time and not intrude earlier than they were supposed to. She appreciated that Harry liked to be timely but not early, similar to how she was.

“So what is the fascination with Range Rovers?” She queries, leaning against the door’s armrest. The back of her head touches against the semi-tinted window.

Harry shifts in his seat, seat belt no longer constricting him and no road requiring his attention as they sit in the driveway. He rushes a hand through his hair and lets a single strand of hair fall over his prominent forehead.

“Dunno,” he shrugs his shoulders and allows a hand to fall onto the steering wheel absentmindedly. “I don’t really prefer them anymore, but when I’m in LA and doing work, it makes things easier. My other cars are a little flashier...have more privacy in this.”

“Yet the effect is similar,” she muses.

Her head tilts to take in Harry’s appearance, sharp black silky button-up and dark green plaid slacks, and she rubs a hand over her jaw. His eyes flicker to the movement and attempt to really take it in, even in the dim glow of the lamp light outside barely peeking into the dark interior of the car.

“Effect?”

“Y’know…” She arches her brow at him. He feigns innocence or possibly the expression is genuine. She’s begun to realize Harry was as genuine as they came, but she just didn’t think he was that unaware. An assumption that was likely correct, but even Harry liked to pretend he was a completely unassuming individual.

“Forget it,” she finishes when he gives no indication that he knows what she is hinting at. She doesn’t want to get into it with him again. Especially when he plays at this game where he has no idea what she’s talking about. It made her feel like she was crazy for thinking he made these calculated decisions to get his desired outcomes.

They move on, neither of them quite sure what the other was getting at in that conversation. The two of them walk into the house a minute before their expected arrival time side by side and are greeted happily with Nick and his wife. They’re ushered in and Y/N is happily received by the happy couple.  

“So, Y/N, how’s it been for you working with these two? I know they can be more than a handful - especially together,” Nick’s wife, Lily, asks after a sip of wine.

The group of four had been eating for a while with Nick and Harry bantering for quite a bit at the beginning about whether or not Harry would be willing to hand feed Nick. The answer was settled at “another time”.  

Harry seems to have a very specific habit of watching whoever is speaking - no matter what. So after Lily has finished speaking, his gaze flickers to Y/N, the person his brain expects to speak next. He watches her attentively as she wipes her mouth on her napkin before speaking.

Her hair was styled differently tonight than it usually was on set, she had it down rather than up in a ponytail or braids. He hadn’t had time to really look at her when they had been in the car, his mind occupied with stress and exhaustion that he refocused into driving and deep breathing. Now, in the comfort of a trusted friend’s home, he was far more relaxed and able to truly take in her appearance, which he couldn’t help but think was beautiful. He’d have to tell her that at some point. That he thought she was beautiful. Not that he didn’t see her on set and think she was beautiful...he just hadn’t really thought about it before. She was his wily makeup artist who was critical of him most times, but occasionally sweet, who had an amazing taste in music and good aesthetic style. The beauty part of it all, he guessed wasn’t something integral to their relationship before.

But now he was sitting beside her at the Kroll’s nice dining table and she had her hair splayed in front and behind her shoulders with one side tucked behind her ear and her outfit fit her impeccably. The top she had on had capped sleeves that cinched with buttons at her delicate wrists and a severe drop to create a small sweetheart neckline just above the curve of her breasts. It was silky and shiny, a blush pink that complemented the high waisted dark grey slacks that flared over shiny black boots that he wasn’t sure where they ended beneath the pants.

“Well,” she starts, chuckling under her breath when she meets Harry’s stare, “Harry and I spend a lot of time together, covering up all his tattoos, and he yaps a lot. So, it’s actually pretty refreshing when Nick comes in, because Harry’s then talking half the normal amount.”

He huffs a scoff, while Lily and Nick laugh happily. Nick interjects an “ouch” for the bite she just took out of Harry, but she thought it was fine, he can take it.

Harry thought to himself that if she can serve it, then she can definitely take it. His eyes remain on her as he opens his mouth to speak, but then look at Lily when words actually come out. “Well, Y/N, she thinks she can read people really well, but it’s actually quite the opposite. She had me completely wrong when we first met, so I talk now in hopes that she’ll really understand me.”

His head tilts to her when he mentions her name, but otherwise doesn’t glance her way away again. He scrunches his nose at the end of his comment, implying he converses with her out of pity.

It’s her turn to scoff and stare at him unamused. Nick and Lily share a look, unsure of what was going on, they had concocted this dinner date idea in hopes to set the two up but the way this conversation was going, they seemed to be pushing each other further and further away from one another.

“That’s simply not true,” she says curtly and takes a sip of her quickly emptying wine glass.

“Which part?”

“Almost all of it, I’d say,” her eyes glaring back at him, fiery with a disdain he hadn’t seen in awhile. “You’re proving my original perception of you with every passing second,” she adds.

“Care to elaborate exactly what the original perception of me was for the class,” his eyes are wide and wild, any extra adoration he had started to feel towards her slipping away just as quickly as it had come, like a wave along the beach.

“You know, so why don’t you?”

“I want to hear you say it,” he grits out the command.

She shifts in her seat, glancing at Nick and Lily who are watching on and she has a feeling she won’t be getting an invitation again anytime soon. Lily gives her a semi-reassuring smile like she was sorry to have asked the question at all, but Y/N knows this is kind of her fault, not that she would ever admit that. Her comment could have been taken innocuously, but Harry’s pride wouldn’t let it slide. Like she said, she should have known better, the weeks of friendship were flying out the window and she was helping them along.

“And what if I don’t?”

“Have fun calling an uber at this time of night,” he shrugs, malice dripping in his tone.

She truly was taken aback at this. A slight sound of shock leaving her mouth. Harry was many things, impatient and anxious usually, but downright cruel with her, she had yet to see it. Arrogant and pompous, definitely, but this wickedness that was starting to creep from the shadows worried her. But the little fiery demon within her wasn’t going anywhere either - yet she might back down to save herself some money and hassle.

“Fine,” she raises her brows in a challenge to him and restates her original take on him - possibly adding a bit extra malice in her phrasing, “You are a shell of a man, held up by the people around you, creating the illusion of a completely genuine and down to earth rocker who dabbles in acting, philanthropy and all around goodness. No one’s ever had a bad experience because no one’s ever truly met you. Not the real you.” She takes a deep breath as she shakes her head in disbelief now, a sarcastic laugh leaving her mouth, “And I thought, I really thought, that I had been wrong. Because these past months you really fooled me with your sweet smile and deep eyes. But when it comes down to it, you tricked me just like everyone else.”

Harry stares at her blankly and she shakes her head once more, feeling foolish. For thinking Harry was someone he wasn’t. For thinking the past few months had been real. For thinking that tonight would go off without a hitch. And the shit part of it was that she had really hoped that all of it was true. She wanted this to be her life, but her instincts had been right. Beware of the picture perfect because it always is just a mirage of deceit and lies.

“All I’ve got to say is you’re a damn good actor Harry, so at least you’ve got that going for you.” Then she pushes back from the table and stands, turning to Nick and Lily. “I really am so sorry, I understand that you probably want me to leave, so I’ll just be going,” her voice faltering at the end, she wasn’t as strong as she liked to pretend and she was pretty sure she just ruined her chances of working again in Hollywood. You’d have to be an idiot to be an enemy of Harry Styles and she feels like she just became his first.

“No!” Nick says quickly, standing too, “I think things just escalated really quickly and some things were said that both of you didn’t mean. Um...just, let’s take a few minutes to cool off. Harry could you and Lily deal with the dishes and I’m going to talk with Y/N alone.”

Everyone nods and Y/N follows Nick down a hallway, a little confused but following after he beckons her with his hand. They go out a side door and end up on a porch in the backyard. He stoops down and opens a little sitting mailbox she didn’t see and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He places one between his teeth and then offers one to her. She accepts, not usually a regular smoker, but right now seemed like a fair time to indulge in the bad habit. She needed to calm her rapidly beating heart.

He lights the cigarette for her when he sees her shaking hands and then in turn lights his own. They stand on the porch beside each other and stare out into the dark night sky.

“Well, this wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go,” Nick starts, after a few exhales of smoke.

“No,” she laughs nervously, her foot toeing at the wooden slate on the porch. “I shouldn’t have tried to make a joke.”

“No one’s to blame,” Nick says quickly, glancing at her, “You and Harry...you both have really strong personalities and I don’t think either of you are used to being challenged.”

She nods along, she definitely had to agree after the argument they had both willingly gotten into in front of other people.

“I think that can be a really good thing, challenging each other, because then you two can both grow. But what happened in there was more of a battle to the death rather than a friendly spar.”

“Yeah,” she exhales, flicking at the burning cigarette between her fingers, “I don’t know why he gets under my skin sometimes in a way I’ve never dealt with and it’s kind of uncomfortable so I lash out, I guess.”

Nick stays quiet, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Ugh,” she groans, “I wish I hadn’t done that. We were doing so well, it’s like I don’t even really know what I’m saying, it’s like I can’t handle a friendly spar, I always end up going in for the kill - as you put it.”

She rubs at her face with her free hand and then takes a drag herself. Nick bites at his lower lip, trying to think of a solution.

“Y’know? Lily and I had concocted this plan to try and set you and Harry up tonight,” he says slowly, revealing the plan that had clearly been taken off the table as they just needed to attempt to salvage cordiality.

“Really?!” She’s in complete disbelief and slight dismay that the plan was seemingly ruined.

“Well,” he sputters, “When the two of you aren’t throwing verbal fireballs at each other, you’re actually quite sweet to one another. Those fond little glances you hope no one sees, well he does that too, and you both fail miserably because I see it all the time. I’m sure plenty of people do too.”

“Oh,” she states, visibly deflating. She looks to the ashtray conveniently on a table behind her and presses out the rest of the cigarette. “Should probably talk to him, huh?”

Nick nods, stamping out his nub of a cigarette as well. They go back inside and into the kitchen where Lily and Harry have plated dessert. Harry looks a little sheepish, likely having a similar conversation with Lily and she wouldn’t be surprised if her expression looks similar, if not a bit more flushed from the outdoor chill.

Lily murmurs that she and Nick are going to eat their dessert in the living room, a fair bit away from the kitchen and the two now deflated counterparts nod and then stare at each other, knowing what they need to do.

“Can we talk?” Harry rasps out, his voice even lower as he speaks softly, a mere foot away from her in the kitchen.

She nods, but moves further from him to lean against the counter and tuck her hands behind her. She’s lost her appetite and doesn’t want Harry to see her shaking digits.

He’s ducked his head and a stray curl falls over his forehead, laying there softly. He doesn’t move to fix it, just stares at his feet until she begins to talk. He can’t not look at her face when she speaks.

“So…” She slowly starts, not enjoying the tension in the room. Her eyes can’t meet his though, his stare dark and unnerving like usual, but almost painfully so now. “I can start.” She kicks at the tiling on the floor like she had done outside as well, trying to not think about the eyes trained on her right now. “I’m sorry I lashed out on you, Harry. I didn’t mean what I said, it was just a heat of the moment response.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Harry says immediately once she finishes speaking, “I shouldn’t have gotten upset over a silly joke and brought up a sensitive subject. Then it escalated…”

“Yeah, I really liked the friendship we’ve garnered these past few months and I just can’t believe I almost ruined everything - including my career…” she squeaks at the end and tears start to roll from her eyes. “Oh god,” she is hit with the gravity of all that she almost ruined as Harry stares at her again. “I’m so sorry, Harry, I really am. Do you forgive me? I don’t think I could stand it if you didn’t.”

She stands there and feels sobs wrack through her and her hands go to cover her face out of embarrassment. She had caused a scene and now she was making another one. In front of Harry.

In an instant his arms are wrapped around her frame and he’s hushing her cries. They had never hugged before, but now seemed like as good a time as ever. His arms were strong around her and she pressed her face into his chest, not caring at all about how she looked or whether this was worse than getting in a fight and running off.

“Of course I forgive you,” he says and then begins repeating her name over and over, trying to soothe her. He definitely had been hurt by her words, but it seemed like she was more upset about the whole situation than he was and he didn’t think bringing up what specifically had hurt him would help her frame of mind.

She settles after some time, her whimpers and tears subsiding after being rocked into a more peaceful mindset with the help of Harry’s calming voice and reassuring embrace.

“I really am sorry,” she whispers again.

Harry pulls his neck back and his head off the top of her head to look at her face. It was tear stained and her eyes were glassy, lips slightly puffy. He gave her a soft tight-lipped smile. “No more apologies,” he states sternly and then softens again at the slight quiver in her lip. He pulls from her a little more, leaving her at arm's length, with his hands still attached to her hips, fingers slipping over the plaid fabric. “I meant to tell you this earlier, before things…” he stares at her face again and she holds it this time, “You look beautiful tonight.”

She scoffs and her eyes immediately drop to her feet, “Definitely not anymore.” She doesn’t believe Harry.

“‘M serious,” he insists. His right index finger goes to rest beneath her chin and brings her face up to look back at him.

“Sure,” she says, still not convinced but not sure how else to respond. She feels herself warming at all the positive attention he’s pouring into her.

His gaze won’t falter from her face, he’s intent upon making her understand him. He whispers her name, “Accept the compliment.”

“You’re stubborn,” she notes.

“So are you,” he counters quickly.  

“Fine, thank you,” she sighs when he won’t stop giving her that look of his. That look that makes her want to melt into the ground because it feels like she’s the only person in the world. “Though you looked especially good tonight, too,” she adds, her hands rubbing over his shoulders softly.

“Thank you,” Harry states lowly, the words only traveling to her ears. His hands fiddle with the sides of her top, thinking about the night and where they were now. Her eyes were red from crying and overall she looked tired beyond her years. “Do you want me to take you home?”

“That’d be nice.”

They make a quiet farewell to Nick and Lily, as well as apologies from both her and Harry. They don’t speak in the car and the music plays loud enough for it to not seem unreasonable for them to be silent. Harry’s hands don’t tap against the steering wheel, they sit in their spots stoically doing their job and nothing more. She watches the window, legs crossed and hands clasped in her lap. She’s thankful for the music because she knows that even though they had talked, it wasn’t enough. What she had said was hurtful and one apology wasn’t enough for how she had behaved. She didn’t think her and Harry would be the same after tonight, but the silence made it possible for her to pretend none of it had happened.

Just as Harry’s car is pulling up the apartment complex that is far darker now, the harsh splatter of rain begins to fall on the pavement and the sleek black car the two are still sat in.

“Oh,” she comments offhandedly, just responding to what she had noticed.

The rain grows louder when Harry parks and then turns off the car. He glances at her for the first time since they got into the car. She registers the look out of the corner of her eye, her face still looking out at the rain. She loved the rain, but there wasn’t always a lot in Southern California, especially not in Palm Springs. It seemed that tonight was different.

“Well,” Harry breaks his silence, she thinks that’s her cue to leave and unbuckles her seatbelt, but he continues. “This certainly wasn’t how I expected this night to go.”

She stops moving, her hand hovering over the handle of the door. She sits back and settles into the seat, feeling her teeth bite into the plush of her bottom lip.

“That’s what people keep saying,” her eyes remain on the rain hitting the front of the car, the splatters of seemingly black liquid that form when the clear rain touches the onyx hood of the car.

“Huh?” Harry grows perplexed at the rather wistful tone of her and how she won’t look at him again. He was still hurt, but he had hoped them talking in the kitchen had straightened some things out. During the car ride he hadn’t wanted to talk, but it didn’t mean he was still angry with her. Just confused, and growing further confused by the second.

“Oh,” she repeats, “Didn’t Lily say? Her and Nick concocted that dinner in hopes to set us up.”

Harry hums, knowing that because Nick had left out a little part of that plan. That he had been a part of it. He had been talking with Nick about getting to know her better outside of work and how Nick had thought it’d be a good idea to have dinner so he had told Lily and they set it up like a casual dinner party. Harry didn’t know how to respond because her knowing that he was in on the plan might just make matters worse. He really didn’t think things could get much worse, but it seemed that they always managed to make it happen so in the end he decided to keep his mouth shut.

“I don’t know if we’d ever be able to work out differences out for that,” she decides to continue, when Harry stays quiet. She scans the interior of the car and watches Harry for the briefest moment before going back to looking out the window. “Nick said that we challenge each other to grow, but all I see us do is hurt each other.”

Her voice is just above the rain pattering outside the car and Harry thinks it sounds almost melodic if it weren’t for the sadness laced in every word.

“I disagree,” he states before wetting his lips.

“Of course you do,” she laughs in spite of herself.

“Even after all these months together and you still don’t get it. I like you.”

“You don’t like me, I don’t know how you could ever like me,” she shakes her head. “We just...we get under each other’s skin. You can make me so angry sometimes and I know I make you angry too. And when we’re not angry, we’re focussed on something that doesn’t have to do with ourselves.”

“I don’t think what you feel for me is anger,” Harry insists, “Just because something feels burning and fiery, frustrating even, doesn’t mean it’s anger.”

His body shifts closer to the center divide and she turns to face him finally. His eyes are extra dark in this lighting, which is barely there from a streetlamp a ways off. She longs for the comfort of his light green eyes, the soft pale glow of the moss that seems to have been trapped within his iris. Maybe for that reason she unknowingly leans closer to him.

“Then what is it?” She whispers, eyes blinking slowly as her breathing grows strained.

“Passion.”

Immediately, her head is tilting to meet his lips. Her mind knows one thing, she needs to be kissing Harry right now. And then she is. His left hand goes to cup her cheek as his lips attach themselves to hers. His soft lips press to hers in a long searing kiss. They stay there for a moment, pressing all of that passion and frustration into the kiss.

She presses impatiently forward, her lips starting to move more, wanting to kiss him deeper. Harry obliges, parting his lips and kissing her more vigorously. He licks into her open mouth and smiles at the sound she makes in appreciation for his actions.

She’s shifted to have herself kneeling on the leather seat and she’s leaning over the console. One of her hands finds purchase on Harry’s thigh and grasps tightly, her other at the back of his neck, pressing him closer if it were possible.

His chest is pressing against hers as he pulls her closer. He kisses her and his fingertips rub softly at the apple of her cheek. Eventually they run behind the shell of her ear and trail down her neck.

Eventually, she pulls away and stares at Harry. She watches as his eyes flutter open gently. His soft eyelashes dust his cheeks before moving away, allowing his eyes to peer at her in the dark.

Her breathing feels a little irregular after the kissing and she’s sure she is heaving her chest slightly, likely mirroring Harry’s chest as well.

“So, where to now?” She inquires, lips quirked up at her suggestion.

Harry giggles and scratches his nose against his index finger.

-

Harry doesn’t stay the night, he walks her up to her apartment door though. He kisses her chastley in front of her door and wraps an arm around her waist as he does so. He bids her a goodnight and a promise of seeing her soon.

They don’t see each other for a month. Both of them had been so blissful after the endorphins of kissing their person that they had forgotten that filming had wrapped. They weren’t set to work for a month. Harry texted her the next morning informing her that he’d be in England until filming resumed. She was still going to be in California, filming was moving back to Los Angeles, so she’d be back in her place there. Her family knew she was working, so they had sent her presents ahead to her place instead. Angie, her only true friend in the area, was spending her time with her actual family and Y/N didn’t want to intrude.

So the holidays were going to be spent alone. Those four weeks alone passed surprisingly quickly. She practiced techniques on herself, bought a tiny Christmas tree like the one in A Charlie Brown Christmas, watched A Charlie Brown Christmas and just about every other holiday movie possible. She fell in love with young Hugh Grant and Colin Firth for the thousandth time. She sang carols to herself and decorated her place with decorations from Target. She jammed out to the new Miley Cyrus album and held dance parties for herself in the house. She baked cookies and even attempted a trifle after watching a Great British Bake Off episode. She did and she did all in hopes that her mind wouldn’t wander to the guy who hadn’t called.

Harry texted occasionally, but it was infrequent at best. He was a busy person, she knew that. She knew who he was. And she didn’t want her mind to have enough time to feel sorry for herself. For her to think that she was just somebody to pass the time with while at work, because if she stopped doing things that’s where her mind would wander. Why did her mind spiral like it did? She had no idea, she’d always been like that.

His absence, their separation, made her question if her own feelings were even true. She wondered if when she saw him he would act as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t said their relationship was passionate and she had kissed him until she couldn’t breath.

Too much time alone, she needed some fresh air. On January 2nd, after an uneventful night at home and a lackluster countdown washed down with cheap champagne, she decided to go and walk around near her place. There was a coffee shop that wasn’t extremely expensive that she also liked that she figured she would get coffee from. After a brisk walk, she walked through the store's doors and ordered an iced green tea. As she waited, she watched the other customers around her, wishing to see a friendly face, someone she knew. And seconds later, she was met with half of that wish. Someone she knew, not necessarily a friendly face.

“Autumn.” She states with a grimace when someone taps her on the shoulder and she spins around.

“Y/N? It is you!” Autumn, one of the PA’s from Don’t Worry Darling who was especially in Harry’s business, exclaims overly happy as per usual.

Y/N bites the inside of her cheek and gives a tight lipped smile, trying her best to be cordial.

“How’s your holiday been!” Autumn asks.

“Great. You?”

“So great!” She’s quick to lean closer and say in a hushed tone, “But I miss working on set, especially getting to see that Harry everyday. He’s just so gorgeous.”

A breath gets stuck in Y/N’s chest at the mention of Harry’s name. Her brows can’t help but raise a bit at Autumn’s comment. Even lowering her voice didn’t make it feel alright to talk about Harry like this. He was her friend after all.

“Sure.” Y/N nods abruptly, realizing Autumn wants some recognition of what she’s just said. Y/N’s eyes glance around the room, hoping for an out like her drink is ready or something - no such luck.

“I mean,” Autumn keeps talking, of course, “You’re so lucky. You get to see him shirtless, like what? Everyday practically? Don’t tell me you don’t miss that just a little bit!”

“I miss working,” Y/N says, avoiding what Autumn is trying to get her to say. “And Harry’s my friend, could you maybe not talk about him like that with me?”

Autumn’s eyes widened in shock, her lips parted dumbfounded by her co-worker's response. Y/N’s name is called for her drink and she’s thankful for the serendipitous nature of that sound getting her out of the awkward situation she had just been in.

When she gets back to her apartment, she surprisingly has a text from Harry himself. She’s always telling everyone; speak of the devil and he will appear, in one way or another. It’s a Happy New Year well wish followed by a separate text asking how she was.

It was sent a minute ago so she decides to try and give him a call. She preferred talking on the phone over texting.

It rings a few times and then, again surprisingly, he picks up.  

“‘Lo?” His voice is nice and deep and sounding extra British after his weeks surrounded by family and such.

“Harry,” she sighs contentedly.

“Happy to hear your voice,” he says her name and she can tell he’s smiling just like she is, from ear to ear.

She bites at her lip, hearing him say her name.

“I’m well, thanks,” she says after a moment of happy silence.

“What?” Harry laughs, confused.

“You texted asking me how I was and I called to respond.”

“Got it,” Harry chuckles, and she hears him shuffling around, likely sitting down on something.

“How are you?” She continues.

“Good, starting to wind down for the day,” he lists off the things he’s been doing over the past few days. Some of it work related, some of it family activities. All of it fun, he insists. “What did you do today?” He finishes, knowing she was an avid activity doer based off of the snaps she had sent him over the past few weeks.

“Tidied my place, went to the coffee shop and got iced tea…” she tries to think and then she gasps, “Oh! And I saw Autumn, one of the Don’t Worry Darling PA’s -”

“The one who’s obsessed with me?”

“Exactly!” She laughs, “And I may have kind of told her off… accidentally.”

“Accidentally told her off?” Harry repeats, incredulous. “How’d you do that?”

“Well,” she doesn’t want to tell him the rest, but there’s also a tiny part of her that really does, “She was gushing about you, which, ew. And then she asked if I missed seeing you shirtless everyday.”

“Well do you miss seeing me shirtless?” Harry smirks.

“Oh shut up!” She’s quick to reply.

“So you do?”

“If I really wanted to see you shirtless, all I’d have to do is type in “Harry Styles sh” and it would come up,” she rolls her eyes even though she knows he can’t see them. “Wouldn’t even need the whole word. Guaranteed.”

“Uh-huh?” Harry questions still, “If you want me to send you shirtless pictures that the rest of the world hasn’t seen, Y/N, all you have to do is ask.”

“I do not want you to send me shirtless pictures of yourself!” She exclaims. She feels like jumping out of a window right now. This conversation had escalated so quickly and she felt herself flushing, maybe even perspiring a little bit. And she also knew that she also would probably like it if he sent her shirtless pictures, which made this whole thing worse.

“Offer stands,” he says, smug as he normally was, happy he got to banter with her again. It had been dull without her, if he was honest with himself. “If you ever find yourself in need, just send a cheeky text and I’ll whip one out for you, no matter where I am or what I’m doing.”

“See this sounds like you’re saying something sincere, but really you’re just telling me you’ll send me nudes at any time.”

“No one said anything about nudes!”

“Shirtless, nude, sounds like you’re getting too caught up in the details, hon.”

“No!” He protests, “You’re the one who’s supposed to be flustered right now, not me!”

“Aww, you’re flustered,” She coos.

Harry groans. “Whatever. I’ll be back on the 8th, be ready to go out on the 9th. I’m taking you on a proper date.”

“How do you know I’m going to say yes?” She bite her lip again, she’s really sweating now. She couldn’t believe he had just asked her out on a date out of nowhere. Out of them just joking about nudes. Maybe she didn’t know Harry as well as she thought.

“Because you called me,” he says confidently.

“I call everyone.”

“But I don’t offer shirtless pictures to everyone.”

“That has nothing to do with me saying yes to this date.”

“Or does it?”

She laughs at his words, at how his voice still manages to convey every facial expression and quirk of his lips. She knows there’s a smile on his lips as he stares in the distance, imagining her face just as she is his.

“Yes.” She smiles.

“Yes!” He repeats happily.

She hears him stand up and spin around possibly and she chuckles slightly, amused at the silly man across the world who had seemed to have stolen her heart.

“See you soon, Harry.”

“Not soon enough.”

-

On the Saturday of their date, Harry insists on picking her up. He meets her at her door and winks at her after pulling away from their short hug. He laces his hand in hers and she follows behind him as he all but drags her to his car that is downstairs. He seems giddy. His hair has grown out in the month he’s been gone and she knows they’ll cut it when filming resumes. He’s wearing Gucci flared blue jeans - she knows from the big logo on the bottom left pant leg - a ‘Waiting for Sunset’ graphic tee beneath a black cardigan with little animals and items knitted in it. And of course, his dirty ass vans. She had hoped that maybe Christmas would bring him a fresh pair from someone, but it seemed there was no such luck.

Either way, he looked good and upon scanning his outfit, she was pleased that she had dressed correctly for the occasion, knowing one of the sins of Los Angeles was being improperly dressed wherever you might go. Harry had said casual, but casual can always mean so many different things. She got it right with light wash high-waisted levi’s, a brown cream rib-knit long sleeve that buttoned like it could be a cardigan, and some fun chunky boots that added some height to her normal stature. She had contemplated between this and possibly twenty other tops and a few other bottoms. Landing on this felt right, plus it didn’t clash with Harry, the color of her shoes actually matched the color of the snake on the cardigan.

They both compliment each other on the way out to his car and she giggles when he stops and twirls her around. He says he didn’t get a “proper look” before for him to compliment her adequately. After the twirl, he nods and starts them off again, complimenting the specific pieces of her clothes and says she looks beautiful again. His giddiness was contagious.

“No Range tonight,” she muses when Harry stops them in front of a Mercedes-Benz cream convertible, top up.

“Not working,” he replies, unlocking the car with the key into the passenger’s side door handle.

She smiles and slides into the car and watches him jog around to his side and unlock it as well.

“Tonight is going to be fantastic,” he says, leaning over the console and kissing her cheek, just beside her lips.

And when he pulls away with that smug smile of his, she knows he kissed her there on purpose. But the little tease only makes her smile more. He was good at this. And he was right.

The night was fantastic. As was every night after. And she learned that Harry was so much more than anything she ever thought. She counted herself lucky to be loved by a man like him.

#harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles oneshot #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #enemies to lovers #dwd!harry #idk I always feel like theres more I need to put in here but idk #pls leave feedback and reblog

[magpie-to-the-morning]

On Fire from Within

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.8k

Tags: Self-Indulgent, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, the helmet comes off, Blindfolds, Sex Pollen, Dirty talk, Mostly in Mando’a, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, PiV Sex, Din is soft and a mess, and so am I, so much Mando'a because I cannot be stopped, Please let me know if I missed anything

Summary: Reader is a newish crew member on the Razor Crest. She was helping out on a bounty hunting mission when she got hit with a laced dart at a shady brothel. It's a sex pollen fic lads, you know how this goes!

Read on Ao3

“Fuck,” you swore softly, pulling a small barb from the back of your neck. It’s only a little thing, a geometric pattern of angles and sharp points. Odd for a piece of shrapnel, but surely nothing to worry about. The small wound wouldn’t be worth the Bacta gel. You tossed it away before walking up the ramp into the Crest.

“Everything ok?” Mando stepped away from the controls of the carbonite chamber. You hadn’t realized he was so close, and startled when you heard the question crackling through his modulator.

“Yeah, it’s nothing. That bastard frozen yet?”

“Just about.”

“Good. That place made me want to scrub the inside of my skin.” You’d just finished helping Mando drag a bounty out of a local bar running an illegal “pleasure house.” It certainly hadn’t deserved the name, and you were more than happy to provide an initial distraction so Mando could come in for the kill. (The metaphorical kill, sadly. You would have been happy to leave the owner of that awful establishment a smoking crater on the floor of his bar, but apparently that was “not following the brief” and “wouldn’t bring in as much money for fuel.” Pfft). There had been a little static on the way out, and you assume that’s when you’d picked up that bit of metal. “I’m going to hit the refresher, unless you need it first?”

The bounty hunter shook his head and moved towards the ramp. “No. I’m going to trade in the puck and get us out off this rock. You go ahead.”

--

You checked the controls of the shower. Again. You’re sweating, and as much as you try, you can’t get the water cold enough to soothe your burning skin. You arch your back, moaning when the stretching movement sends a dart of pleasure straight to your aching cunt. Fuck, why are you such a mess all of a sudden? You slip a hand between your legs and are shocked to discover that you are already dripping wet. You rub the back of your neck and it hits you- that wasn’t shrapnel. It must have been a dart laced with something, and knowing the type of place you were in, you’d bet any amount of credits it was a nasty aphrodisiac. “Those bastards…”

You drag your hands through your hair and take a steadying breath. Ok, you can handle this, pull yourself together… Nice empty ship and a hot shower. Nothing you haven’t done before. You let your hands drift lower, massaging your breast and tweaking an already pert nipple. You’re already so close…

__

An hour later and you’re sobbing from want. Why can’t you just. Fucking. Come already? You’ve tried everything, every fantasy, every technique or touch, and nothing. You try again, stroking your clit and spiraling towards release before it slips away again, a jolt of pain rebounding through you. “Damn it!”

“Y/N? What’s wrong?”

You freeze. You hadn’t realized how much time had passed, of course Mando is back. What had he heard? “Um, nothing, it’s fine!” You wince at how falsely this rings, even to you.

There’s a pause. “Open the door.”

“… no? I’m not-“

“Open the door. Or I will break it down.”

Shit. You have a second to grab a towel before the door clangs open. Mando is through the door and into the tiny room in an instant, hand on his blaster. He checks all the corners which, takes about 2 seconds, before turning that implacable, visored gaze on you. “What’s going on with you?”

“Jeez, Mando, I-“ you try to bluff your way out of it for a moment before giving it up for lost. Even if you could explain away everything else, you know your flushed cheeks and glassy eyes will give you away. “Fine, just, promise you won’t laugh?”

“Is something funny?”

“No, it really isn’t.” You sigh. “So, I didn’t realize until we got back to the ship, but someone back at that hole in the wall hit me with some kind of dart. I think it was drugged.”

“Show me.”

“I chucked it just before I got on board, but this is where it hit.” You pull your wet hair back to show him the mark on your neck. Mando crosses the floor in one step, and you feel one of his gloved hands steady your shoulder as he takes a closer look. That small touch is enough to drive you wild, and you bite back a groan, leaning into his touch.

“Dank ferrik.” Mando pulls his hands away like he’s been burned, and your cheeks flame again, this time in embarrassment. “There are red marks at the injection site. I’ve, uh.. I’ve seen this before.”

You grit your teeth, finding it easier to talk about when you’re not looking at him. “It hurts, Mando and I can’t make it stop. How long am I going to feel like this?”

“Until it runs its course. Usually, a few hours. And it will get worse.”

You swear again, tears of frustration slipping down your cheeks. Mando stands there for a moment, flexing his hands and looking unsure of what to say. Finally, you hear a deep breath and, “let me help you.”

You startle, sure you’ve heard him wrong. It’s only been a few months since you signed on as his only crew member, a live-in mechanic and occasional extra pair of hands for certain bounties. You’d thought about it, of course. At first you’d seen this as just another short term gig. Some light repair work, the odd stint of standing lookout or patching up his wounds or acting as a distraction for a tricky bounty. The longer you spent with him though, the longer you started to see the man beneath the armor, his dark humor, his unexpected kindness, his tendency to throw himself into harm’s way for the sake of a code you can’t begin to understand. Stars, and that voice… but you knew he would never return those feelings. The idea of him offering himself to you now, out of pity or worse, obligation…

“No.” You move to shoulder past him.

He grabs your wrist. “Look, Y/N, I know I may not be your first choice but-“

You whirl around to glare at him. “Not my- damn it, Mando!” You kick the waste bin in sheer frustration. “I’ve wanted you for weeks and just because I don’t want you to feel cornered into sleeping with me you have the fucking gall-“

“Close your eyes.”

You blink in confusion. “Wait, what?”

“Do it. Now.” You shiver at the steel in his voice and comply without another thought.

There’s a soft hiss, and the clang of metal set down on metal. He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t… You start in surprise, feeling his leather-clad fingers cup your face and tip your chin up. “Are you sure you want this?”

You laugh, a little shakily, amazed to hear how deep and rough his unmodulated voice still is. “Are you?”

The next thing you know, he’s got you backed up against that wall. You gasp, reaching to pull him closer. His mouth slides over yours, lips warm and surprisingly plush. You deepen the kiss and moan, needing so much more. He responds by reaching down, pulling you up to straddle his waist. Trapped between the wall and a cage of Beskar, you’ve never felt freer. You card your fingers through his hair, marveling at the curls under your hands. Mando gasps, already sounding ragged. “How do you want me?”

You drag your nails down his scalp and lick your way up the column of his throat. You taste salt and pant into his ear, “in the cockpit chair.”

Mando groans. “You have been thinking about this, haven’t you, sweet girl?”

“Less talk. More chair sex.”

He huffs a laugh against your neck and pulls you from the wall, carrying you through the ship like you don’t weigh a thing. You make it through the corridor, with only a few brief stops against walls and doorways. Mando sets you down once you reach the cockpit and you whine at the lack of his touch, but still keep your eyes closed. He kisses your forehead. “Patience, sweet girl.” You give up the last shreds of your dignity and moan, rubbing your thighs together. “Can’t, I need you to touch me now.” You hear a few soft clinks, and realize Mando is removing his armor, piece by piece. Not wanting to be outdone, you toss your towel aside. Your eyes are still shut tight, but you add a hand to cover them, afraid you’ll forget yourself. You may not understand his beliefs, but you are damn sure going to respect them, even now.

There’s startle at a ripping sound, and Mando asking “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

“Good. Keep your eyes closed.” Mando pulls your hand away, pressing a kiss to your palm before knotting a blindfold around your eyes. You feel yourself pulled down to his lap. You twine your arms around his neck and lower yourself until you’re straddling his hips, grinding as close to him as you can.

“Tell me what you need.”

“Touch me.”

He’s eager to comply, and you shiver as you feel his hands (his hands, not the gloves, stars) skim up your sides. Mando cups the back of your head, drawing you closer as he kisses and licks his way into your mouth. You immediately open your lips to his, stroking his tongue with your own, teasing the roof of his mouth to egg him on. You’re rewarded with a small groan, and Mando palming your left breast. He strokes your nipple with his thumb, rolling and pinching it to make you arch your back. “What else?”

“Maker, that’s so good… talk to me, Mando, don’t stop touching me.”

“Never, mesh’la.” Mando rolls his hips and makes you squirm against him. You can feel his arousal, pressed so close to your own, separated only by the canvas of his trousers. You mewl and buck your hips against him.

“Oh gods, yes…”

Mando chuckles as your breath speeds up. “You’re so gorgeous, Y/N, going to take such good care of you. Going to make this so good for you.”

He bends his head and sucks one of your nipples into his warm mouth, and you nearly black out. The sheer relief of such a touch when you need it so badly nearly undoes you completely. “Mando…”

“Din.” The word is muffled against your chest, and you have to ask “what?”

He rests his forehead against shoulder. “My name, Din Djarin.”

“Din,” you taste the short name, adding it to what you’ve learned about this man. This capable, dangerous, surprisingly gentle Mandalorian. How can such a hard man be so… This train of thought is interrupted as another wave of desire bowls you over, making you shudder with need and pain. “I need more, Din, please…”

You don’t even need to finish that thought before you feel his rough, calloused fingers drifting down your belly and lower, lower… You lean back to give him easier access, his other arm coming to rest around your waist, holding you up. You gasp when he strokes your folds. “Me’bana? You’re so wet, mesh’la. Is this all for me?” He doesn’t wait for a response before slowly fucking two of his fingers deep inside you, dragging the pads over your G-spot over and over. He’s a quick learner, adapting to touch you harder or softer, quicker or slower, as you gasp and buck your hips. “So good for me, so wet and ready. Do you want me to make you come?”

“Yes, yes, please Din, I’m so close…” you whine.

Din rubs your clit while fucking his fingers into you. He bites down on your earlobe, whispering, “Then come for me, cyare.”

You do. You cry out as you feel yourself coming apart under his hands, your hips thrashing despite you as you moan and call out his name. When you drift back to yourself, you’re grateful for his supporting hold as waves of pleasure continue to roll through you. Din strokes you through all of it, only backing off when your breathing slows and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

__

You exhale slowly, taking stock after that release. “That was… whew…” Now that you have a moment to think clearly again, you can feel your mind spinning up to overthink this. Will you ever be able to look at your employer (partner? friend?) again? Not that you can ever look him in the eye anyway, but what if he’s completely disgusted with you after this? Your racing thoughts pause when you hear what can only be Din sucking your slick from his fingers.

“Maker, you taste as good as I hoped you would.” Thoughts: gone. Brain: empty. There can’t be any room for overthinking when your head is suddenly full of HE THOUGHT ABOUT TASTING ME?! “How do you feel?”

You force yourself to consider this. You can already feel the fire in your core roaring back to life. “Good, but, I can already feel it ramping back up.” You blush. “Not that I didn’t… I totally did, but.. sorry…”

“Shh, k’uur. I get it. Just relax and let me take care of you.” He stands up, depositing you gently in his seat. You only have a moment to wonder at this sudden shift before feeling him kneel down in front of you. Without even thinking about it, you let your legs fall open to him. “That’s it, sweet girl, let me see that pretty pussy.”

If you weren’t already positive you were running a fever, that would have tipped you over the edge. Din runs his hands up your thighs, his breath ghosting over your throbbing core. “Ibac’ner. Ni copaanir dinuir gar ner lalat akay gar jair.” Is he… praying? You’re past the point of caring, all you want is for him to stop sucking marks into your inner thigh and finally move to where you need him most. You nearly scream when he drags his tongue up your slit. He flattens his tongue against you, humming appreciatively as your roll your hips. He wraps his arms around your thighs suddenly, jerking you closer towards him. “Jatisyc, ni larayc teh gar.”

You are glad of the blindfold because you are so far beyond controlling your face. Din’s tongue feels like it is everywhere at once, tonguing your cunt like it was your mouth one second, then laving your clit the next. You curl your toes and howl when he sucks your clit into his mouth and you feel the barest hint of teeth around you. “So close, so close” you chant, reaching down to hold his head right where you need it.

Din releases your clit, licking circles around it instead. “You liked that, didn’t you cyare? Do you like it a little rough?”

You shudder, thrilled to have been caught out so soon. “Gods, yes.”

Din chuckles and you hope you haven’t slipped up by confessing quite so enthusiastically. “Oh this is going to be fun. I am going to ruin you, mesh’la.” He dives back into your pussy, licking and sucking and nipping at your thighs like a wild thing. You whine and arch your back.

“Hold. Still.” Din’s arm clamps over your waist like an iron bar. “How am I supposed to finish you off, if you won’t stop writhing around, you etyc dala?” When you push your luck, trying to squirm free, you feel a sharp slap to your thigh. “Are you going to be a good girl and let me make you come? Or should I leave you here by yourself?”

“No, please, I’ll be good for you I promise!”

“Damn right you will,” he snarls. Without warning, Din shoves two fingers into your cunt and wraps his lips around your clit, sucking hard. You come in a rush, screaming his name.

__

You’ve barely come down from that high before chasing your next. While your first orgasm left you with some temporary relief, this one only stokes the fire even higher. You seize Din’s face from where he was resting his cheek against your thigh and pull him to your mouth. Reticence is a distant memory and you devour the taste of yourself from his mouth. When Din leans back and groans from this spectacle, you palm his length, spear-straight and hard as Beskar under your hand.  Din shudders underneath you, and you can almost see the effort of restraining himself.  You trace the shell of his ear and murmur “Why are you still wearing pants?”

Din rushes to his feet, pulling you from the chair and pushing you up against the nearest wall in one smooth motion. He holds you in place with one arm across your breastbone, panting with effort. “Hang on, I don’t want to rush you.“

You wish you could look at him, to show you the burning desire in your eyes, how much you truly want this. Alas. You settle for dropping to your knees and fumbling blindly with the fastenings of his trousers.

“Dank ferrik…” a muttered oath somewhere above your head. Din reaches down to help you, drawing his cock out. Once again, you wish the blindfold wasn’t necessary. You can feel the velvet-soft skin of him, trace the head of his cock and stroke up and down the length of him, but you wish you could see him. You breathe over him and, holding his shaft to help guide you (and madden him), lick just under the tip of his cock. You run your tongue around the ridge and lick your lips before taking him as far down your throat as you can. Din hisses and unleashes a stream of Basic and that same tongue he’d been speaking earlier. “Fuck… ori jate, ori jate, yes, Y/N. Parer, ke’pare, ah!”

You hum around him, loving the sound of him absolutely losing it. “Too much?” you ask, all innocence.

Din actually growls. “Yes. Don’t stop, please.”

You smile, hoping he can see you amidst his unraveling. You bob your lips over the head of his cock, once, twice, before sliding down the length of him as far as you can take. Din’s fingers tangle in your hair and you can feel him jerking his hips, holding back from fucking your face like he clearly wants to. You pull back again, letting go  of his cock with a wet pop. “Don’t hold back, baby, I want all of you.”

This is more than Din can stand. He hauls you roughly to your feet, kissing you with abandon. “Say that again?”

“I want you Din, please. I fucking need you.”

Din grabs one of your legs and holds it over his hip. He teases your entrance while you beg him, rubbing against your folds. You moan in relief when he finally thrusts home, stretching you and dragging against your walls. You rake your nails down his back, biting at his shoulder. “Gods, yes, that’s so fucking good. Don’t hold back. Unh, yes, yes, yes…” He is pounding into you now, setting a brutally quick pace- just like you need. You try to kiss him but you’re getting sloppy and your kiss is more just dragging your open mouth along his jaw, panting as he fucks you. “Din, I’m so close…”

“That’s good, you’re so good at taking this cock aren’t you, mesh’la? Me'copaani? Do you want me to tell you how I’ve fantasized about fucking you over the console almost since you came on board? Do you want to hear how good it feels to be buried in your cunt, with your tight pussy around me? Because it is good, Y/N, and I am going to fucking destroy you.”

You scream his name. “Gods, Din, I’m gonna come!”

He seizes you by the throat, not hard enough to cut off your air but more than enough to let you know who is in charge now. “I want to feel you come on my cock. Come on, cyare, give it to me. Come. Now.”

It’s the full on bounty hunter voice command that slams you over the edge. You come hard, shaking in Din’s arms and soaking his cock. You absolutely would have fallen without him holding you up. He fucks you through it all, and as the aftershocks roll through you, you realize the screaming urgency has finally quieted. You can just about remember talking him through his own release before slipping below the cool depths of unconsciousness.

—

“Y/N? Here, drink this.”

You blink awake and feel a cold glass pressed into your hand. You take a sip. The icy water grounds you, and you take stock of your surroundings. You’re curled up in the captain’s seat, warm under a slightly tattered woolen blanket, or maybe a cloak? It takes you a moment before you realize what else is different. You can see again. “Din?”

“I’m here.” His voice is distant, slightly fuzzed. You look around, seeing him once again hidden beneath the helmet. “How do you feel?”

You’re still restless, like some distant part of you needs to get up and run or fight or fuck, but your limbs are feeling a bit heavier now and it’s easier to breathe. “Better.” You lift the glass again, drinking the rest of the water like you’ve never tasted anything so sweet.

Din lays his hand on your cheek, and you’re relieved to find that at least this bit of him has not been covered up again. “You’re still running a temperature but it feels like it’s easing up.” He takes the empty glass from you, setting it aside before taking your hand and drawing you up. “Come on, let’s get you to your bunk.”

You rise, unsteady on your legs after several rounds of fairly vigorous sex. Din steadies your elbow, guiding you out of the cockpit. “Sick of me already?” You’re aiming for a light tone but you know you missed the mark.

Din turns you to face him and studies you for a moment. “Yeah. Probably going to drop you off on the next planet we hit.”

You narrow your eyes at him, looking at your own skeptical face in the reflection of his visor. “Oh yeah?”

He presses his forehead to yours, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “No, ner kar’ta.” You couldn’t tell before, but now you’re almost sure he’s smiling. “I think you’re stuck with me for awhile.”

_________________________________

Mando'a Translations mesh'la beautiful

Ibac’ner. Ni copaanir dinuir gar ner lalat akay gar jair. This is mine. Going to give you my tongue until you scream.

Jatisyc, ni larayc teh gar. Delicious, I (am) drunk from you.

Etyc dala dirty girl

Ori jate so good

Parer wait

Ke'pare wait (emphatic)

Me'copaani? What's this?

Ner kar’ta My heart

#Din Djarin x Reader #Din Djarin x Female Reader #Din Djarin x F!Reader #More reformatting reblogs not new content #May change the banner later too #I'm not as wild about this one #Din Djarin #x reader #Fic #My fic #The Mandalorian #Mandoa

[ackerpreach]

This ending .... I can name 500 reasons and I will name them right now, because I don’t think I’m the only one who is upset with how things turned out. (Also, A positive message for all of you at the end)

MAJOR LEAKS SPOILERS/ READ WITH CAUTION

Update: after reading more theories from fellow RM bloggers, and sleeping over it one day, this entire chapter might be an april fools... Don't fully lose hope yet beautiful people. It's me just giving a review on a possible fake April fools chapter

After following this franchise since 2013, so nearly a DECADE. this ending is a pure disserve to the entire fandom. I feel like Yams has rushed it just for the sake of being done with the entire manga. So many things are left open, characters and their developemt are reverted back all the way to chapter 1 or are left even worse than that...

Mikasa’s worthless character development/ Aaronmika’s horrible toxic codependent relationship 

Oh honey... Let’s start with how horrible Isayama has treated her. We were all rooting for her, because we all felt like she was so misunderstood. She had a horrible childhood and imprinted on a guy who treated her like trash 99 percent of the story. And then, slowly but surely, she starts to realize she has to stop obsessing over him in the uprising arc with the help of a real man who treats her like a queen, more importantly, he treats her like a real human being. This man sees her for her abilities and that she has the power to be self dependent. She learned parts of herself, that she was able to work together with him like no one else could.  She learned parts of herself she was unable to do so if she kept obsessing about Aaron. All this love, care, mutual understanding and RESPECT these two shared. 

but...NAH FUCK THAT, right Yams?? Throw all this development away, all this bonding. Let’s make the main female lead even more yandere than she already was in the first season. Let her make out with his decapacitated head (like dude, this is also pure disrespect to Aaron’s dead body btw) and let her obsess even more about the guy who has treated her no better than a piece of toilet cloth 99 percent of the time. The guy who was never really appreciative in front of her for saving his ass billions of times, who always pushed her away, who yells at her and snaps at her whenever he can instead of reasoning and talking calmly with her in mature way. (EVEN PARODY YOUTUBE CHANNELS WHO DONT SHIP ANYTHING MAKE IT A TROPE WHERE AARON TELLS MIKASA HE HATES HER GUTS WHENEVER HE CAN) 

Then after all that, suddenly Yams tries to last minute persuade us Aaron’s always been head over heels for her???  He should have build their relationship better which he hasn’t even tried to do so... He must be thinking his fans are stupid for eating this from his hands.    

Like seriously??? What is this??? 

Isayama is just fully contradicting himself. It’s like someone tipped him off with a buttload of money for him to write Aaron like this to satisfy shipping needs and to cash in those extra money’s from it. Even if he tried to cater to Erem*ika, this is not how you write a loving and caring couple which people will root for. 

This next two panels just freaking infuriates me to the core of my soul. I can’t even describe how dissapointed I am with Mikasa. 

Why is she clutching that head so obsessively like that?  Why is she walking and turning her back away from her comrades? After everything they have done for her, after all they’ve been through?! After everything Armin has done? Standing up for Mikasa, beating up Aaron for hurting her. I feel like even Jean, Connie and Sasha have cared more for her in a healthy way.  Sure, Aaron cares for her romantically too apparently (What a twist Yams :)), but has he aided her to becoming a mentally healthier individual? Has he aided in her mental stability? The answer is a big fat NO!  All I see between these two after today’s raw Chapter’s are too Yandere obsessed individuals who have no clue on how to maintain a healthy relationship. 

Love should only go as far as the heart can endure and it seems like her character is not willing to be aware of that. Even Armin was able to let go of Aaron in those latest panels. Why does her entire character resolve around this guy??? I really do not understand. Her Ackerbond and her age is not an excuse for her to throw her life away like this. 

Shonen’s disgusting portrayal of women 

I’ve seen this countless of times in the many years I’ve watched anime. SasuS*ku from Naruto, Ichih*me from Bleach, Shinji and that oranged hair girl from Neon Evangelion.. Why do these women get decreased to simpletons with one single goal? And that is to obsess over a bland male lead who either treats them like trash or doesn’t notice them up until the last last chapter (LITERALLY WHAT YAMS HAS DONE). Some go even as far as the male leading wanting the kill the female love interest and yet the female lead is still in love with them???. It’s disgusting for him to write the MAIN female character this way. 

It’s dissapointing we believed in Isayama doing Mikasa’s character right. That she’s finally being able to let go of her codependency and to live for herself maybe live in Hizuru and find more about her roots???, but every single time she shows some improvement, it’s burried deep in the ground again by the Author. It almost seems like a lowkey kink of some of the male Mangaka’s to write about a girl obsessing over them no matter what. I see this so many times to the point that I truly stand behind it that some of them might have this fantasy. 

I wished he didn’t portray her last panels like this. Everyone else is living their lives while Mikasa is still grieving about him. I’m not saying she’s not allowed to grieve and everyone takes it at their own pace, but cmon... Show her living her life too. This is too much. Her being next to his grave and grieving him as her last panels just shoves it in our faces that YET AGAIN, BEING OBSESSED WITH AARON IS ALL HER CHARACTER STANDS FOR. 

I truly despise how Isayama handles her grieving, kissing his decapacitated head, carrying it around like some handbag, and her last panels being thissss.

The world leaving Paradis alone miraciously after all that??? 

It’s so weird and out of place with so many political feuds and disagreements between the world and Paradis, the entire Rumbling happening and we can see Mikasa just chilling outside in Paradis with no one bothering them. You can see the rings of the walls in the picture below.  I don’t know the exact reason behind as the manga is still in Korean, but from what I see, the story went the route of: throwing a happy ending without enough proper reason and  it was all fixed just like that in a snap! It doesn’t fit the entire narrative of attack on titan for things to be so peacful out of nowhere. When it comes to the narrative, how things work in that world, how hard it is to achieve peace, everything made somewhat sense up until chapter 138. 139 seems so so out of place...  It’s like I’m reading a chapter from a totally different manga. 

Aaron Yoghurt got defeated so easily/ Aaron’s character assassination

The build up on the first part of the rumbling was great, those kids carrying coins. You could feel humanity’s fear and Aaron’s hatred in those pages. As if he truly had a goal and he has turned away completely from his comrades and his closest friends with no return. The world seemed truly doomed, but he  got defeated just like that. He was in the nape all this time (because screw the warhammer power of hiding yourself elsewhere in his ginormous titan body). There is no master plan as we all expected, and in the end he just acts all yandere in the paths with Armin and that’s it... They massacared his entire character as well. Many fan theories created a better ending with his character. Him being reincarnated as Historia’s baby would be so much better. For him to still keep on seeking and to strive for power. It has always been his motive. It’s his personality from the start until chapter 138. Even if things are okay, to keep on going and to seek that adventure, but then.. He’s so weak and directionless suddenly.. It’s so weird... This is not Aaron at all???

Using Aaron for him this entire post, because I don’t want others to invade our tags... :)))

Historia’s baby 

The only panel we got from Historia’s child was this. Just a normal kid, normal life... Why did Isayama put so much effort in highlighting Historia’s pregnancy if it was nothing too spectacular anyway? It seemed he had major plans for this kid and for their development too??? It’s again, big plans, big developments, big relationship dynamic, but all  got thrown out of the window... 

Don’t read the next sentence if you are a minor :’) 

It’s like almost ejaculating, but stopping right before it and repeating that every single Arc.

My energy when writing about this chapter is the same as Nostalgia Critic and his hatred for atla the live action

In Conclusion...

I know us fans should not be deciding on how this story should end, because this is Isayama’s story after all, but I truly wished for him to wrap up things much more rounded. There are so many unanswered questions... Again, I think for the sake of being done with this manga, he rushed all of it. He’s become a millionaire from this story and now his pockets are jammed full, I guess he doesn’t need to put in any effort anymore, right? Perhaps a controversial opinion, but I really wished he cared for his fans a little bit more with this last chapter by giving some answers that make sense at least. It’s his fans who gave him this platform and the opportunity to tell his story and for him to at least give in a bit of effort especially in the last chapter is the least he can do. Rivamika being canon or not, he truly rushed it without thinking much about the entire story line. He expanded it so much, he didn’t know how to bind it all together.

Even after all this, I’ll still ship them in the headcanon type of way. I do give credit to Isayama for giving us a template for such a beautiful dynamic between Levi and Mikasa. He decides to waste it, but that doesn’t mean we have to.  I want to thank all the people with amazing writing skills, the ones who give us beautiful art like @carmenlee @phit chan @vialesana​ and many more. I want to remind all of you that we can create something beautiful of our own and we don’t neccesarily need canon lore for that. The art I’ve seen, the fanfictions I’ve read have touched me deeper than Isayama ever could at times.The Mikasa in our mind is appreciate of Levi, is mature, classy and has a strong will for herself. They spend their remaining days together peacefully. Keep writing, keep drawing, stay creative. 

I love you all so so much, I’ve only been publicly active since March, but thank you Rivamika fandom for giving me so much joy as a lurker these past 7 years <3

#rivamika #snk leaks #snk 139 leaks #levimika #mikalevi

[starburstgurl]

To a certain subset of R-W-B-Y fans (not all but some) what is your obsession with RWDE and people not liking the series? They use their own tag.

They don’t like my show?

And?

Every series has a hatedom but R-W-B-Y is the only series where I’ve seen people be religiously mad that people don’t take the show as holy gospel. Every product in the world has its critics. Even if you don’t like it.

It’s not a small passion project anywhere when I understood the need to protect it. It’s heavily corporate. It’s under WB for God’s sake and made a cameo in the matrix. It’s mainstream.

They don’t like my ship/characters?

Welcome to fandom 101. Is it your first time? RW-BY is no different from every other fandom in existence. All that’s alien is everyone in this fandom’s reaction to it.

They insulted C-R-W-B-Y! That’s over the line.

I turn your attention to comic fandoms who sends daily curses to every writer in its bullpen. And many other cartoon show runners. Check out how people feel about Miraculous Ladybug’s show runners for example.

R-W-B-Y is not special in This regard. I promise lots of series get treated this way. You can not like that some people do this. That’s fair. But don’t act like R-W-B-Y is the first fandom to experience this.

Rewrites are disrespectful!

I turn your attention to Naruto, GoT and marvel. Who all have significant rewrites under their belt on YouTube. People want different things from a show then you. And describing the ideal product for them.

R-W-B-Y is not being victimized by people doing this. You don’t have to lash out at people doing this.

Monty’s vision!

These guys are asshats. Fuck everyone who says this. But brushing everyone who criticizes R-W-B-Y as saying this is just as immature. And highly reductive. By saying all R-W-B-Y critique is people using this. You’re not engaging with them at all.

For example many black Critics complained about white fang portrayal while Monty was alive. You just weren’t paying attention to them. You cannot just dismiss their complaints under that blanket.

They said my show is problematic.

Congrats. Welcome to all media. Everything is problematic. You’re job is to determine what’s acceptable to you. And people making essays about why they find the show problematic isn’t a big deal. I promise the show didn’t get a boo boo from that.

Marvel is awful military propaganda. That doesn’t stop it from being the world’s biggest franchise.

In Conclusion

R-W-B-Y is not special. It’s a fandom. And like every fandom. It will have a hatedom. Nothing R-W-B-Y’s RWDE or HTDM is anything special in the grand scheme of things. It’s not being unfairly bullied compared to other shows. It’s being treated like every other fandom does.

It’s a show. 90% or you reading this are old enough to know better. It’s not that fucking serious if you see someone have a opinion you don’t like on the internet. As someone who has bounced from fandom to fandom for years I beg you to interact with other ones to see common fandom etiquette because a shit ton of you don’t have it.

Critics splintered off and used the RWDE tag so you don’t have to see it. Don’t actively search for stuff to get you upset. Enjoy R-W-B-Y for yourself. Don’t get mad other people don’t.

Tagging it only RWDE but not R-W-B-Y (changed the spelling just to not get casuals by accident) because the people I’m talking about will definitely find it that way.

Don’t worry I won’t respond.

BTW before anyone calls me a misogynist or a racist, homophobe or whatever like this specific fandom loves doing. I’m a Disabled black woman so fuck off with that ahead of time.

#rwde

[cozycryptidcorner]

Abel the Asrai, Chapter 2 (lemon)

Tags: pegging, masturbation, dom reader/sub fae

Faebruary prompt:

To be honest, you were expecting to spend your first day on land inside a sex shop, after all, you had promised to help Abel find something he could use to find some relief. You did not, however, expect to be the expert consultant in the matter.

The little boutique is tucked away in the recesses of this island's designated red district, curious bystanders and sexually frustrated crewmen alike flocking to witness its various wares. The windows are high and open, letting a steady stream of sunlight filter through the hundreds of different phallic-shaped sculptures lining the shelves. It's the largest and most dependable store in your experience, and you plan on doing your own shopping once Abel is distracted. Or when you gather enough courage to do it in front of him.

He seems positively fascinated with all the different options, face turning a strange shade of teal as one of the clerks lets him hold the so-called Destroyer of Bussy, the damn thing as long as his forearm and as thick as a mast rope. It makes his long fingers look nothing more than a child's, swallowing up his fist and palm. You put an end to that debacle, knowing full well he needs to start out small and go up from there.

As you drag Abel away from the dragon-sized dildos, he seems to quickly forget about them in lieu of the far more decorative selections. Some of the more expensive examples are secured behind display glass, locks magicked against thieves. Cock rings embedded with pearls, handcuffs made from gold, the kind of objects that can't be used for much more than a show of opulence are snuggled in red velvet for the sake of being ogled at.

"What about this?" He asks, pointing to a maroon, glass blown object, one that's curled with bumps protruding on one side, suspiciously akin to a tentacle.

"That's a little too advanced for inexperienced hands," you suggest, "let's try to stick with a basic shape for now."

"And your hands are not advanced?" Abel asks, arching his eyebrows.

You try to brush him off, your own face heating up with embarrassment, "my hands are plenty advanced, but you can't tack this one to the wall to pleasure yourself with."

"And that's what I'll be doing?" He dares to ask. "I thought you were supposed to help me with my little problem."

"I'm helping you right now," you say, reaching over his shoulder and pulling down a rubber dildo. It's not the same size as the positively enormous Orc Cock Delight (trademark pending), far from it, but given Abel's slim frame and inexperience, it would be a decent start. "Here, this one's probably best."

As though inspecting its shape and sculpture like an art authenticator, he takes it from your fingers and holds it in his palm. Then, to check for its plasticity, he flicks his wrist, watching it wiggle with the movement, lips pursed, eyes narrowed. "Well," he remarks at last, "I trust your judgement on the matter."

"We can get the tentacle one too, if you like," you offer, "these are your wages you're spending."

Abel has also only recently been made aware of how money actually works when you're not some pampered prince living up in a tower. After some… hazing, you think, from the rest of the crew about some misconceptions of how one can't just go to the bank and withdraw a large deposit, he's a lot more thoughtful about what he says. And definitely more frugal, too.

You see his lips purse with frustration as he has to mentally tally what he has versus what he wants to spend, but you see a breakthrough moment where he relents. "Alright," he says almost sullenly, cradling his dildo like it's an infant, "this one will do for now."

"Good," you say, glancing over the selection of glass sculptures yourself to see if anything catches your eye, but you're mostly happy with what you already have. "Now we need to get you some lube."

"What for?" He asks, following close behind as you slowly make your way to the other side of the store.

"Trust me, you can't just shove something up a hole without a bit of lubricant. Ever had carpet burn before?"

By the way his face twitches, the answer's yes.

"Same concept, but inside your body." Glass vials decorate the shelves, some small, some large, each advertising a different benefit for its use. There are various massage oils, lube, and other select liquids that claim to aid with libido and arousal… Mouth pursed, you run your fingers over the labels, trying to decide which one you'd like to use on yourself as well. "This one says it's coconut and rum flavored."

"Why is it flavored?" Abel is also looking over the bottles, brow furrowed in thought.

"Sometimes your mouth goes where the lube is, and tasting honey lemon is more palatable to some." How does one get the taste of champagne in lube, you wonder, trying to figure out if you even need something infused with flavoring.

As though reading your mind, Abel asks, "which one would you prefer?"

Oh, fuck him, he knows exactly what he's doing.

"Why?" You ask, testily. "Do you think I'm going to be licking it off your poor little cock?"

Abel sucks his breath in, but you see that the barb did none of the damage you wanted it to. Instead, he seems…. Excited? Aroused? "Only if you want to."

Everything inside of you ignites, but you tamper it down. Sucking your breath in to ground yourself, you gesture vaguely in his crotch direction, "wouldn't be that great for you if you can't even cum from it."

"The long row of chastity belts seem to disagree." He points to the shop's opposite side, furthest from the windows, multiple mannequins showing off the various different styles available for purchase. "Might as well see what the appeal is since I'm stuck with one."

You don't want to admit he's making sense here… but he is. Wordlessly, maintaining eye contact, you aim your finger, watching him grasp the bottle without being told twice.

"You know," you say, walking leisurely over to the apparel section of the shop, "there's a lot of flack that comes from being the captain's special whore."

"Is that what your crew thinks of me?" He asks, running his fingers over a leather whip.

"You're not particularly subtle about it."

"Only because you weren't paying attention to my advances."

"Only because I didn't want you to think I only brought you aboard for the pleasure of wrecking your virgin ass."

He snickers but doesn't say anything in response, now looking over the different options to hook his dildo onto. Though, since it's really your decision, you begin poking around the mannequins yourself. Even though you wouldn't necessarily want something with all the bells and whistles, maybe one that's colored to set off your eyes? Some of the leather ones have been stained with various hues and tones.

"I just want you to know that I do already have a strap," you say, picking a new one out, "it's just not on my ship."

"So you're telling me," Abel says, almost completely serious save for that slight twitch on his mouth, "that you don't fuck every single damsel in distress you come across?"

You sigh loudly, heading towards the front of the store to purchase your tiny collection of pleasure toys. "Not all of them, just the ones that ask me so nicely."

Abel hums, and you sense a trace of jealousy aimed towards your previous bedmates, but he doesn't say anything more. Once the both of you complete your purchases, hiding them in your respective satchels, you hop down the steps out of the shop. It's just the afternoon, with plenty of time left in the day, but you know that Abel is quite literally aching to try out his new toys, so you let him drag you back to the docks.

"Where are we going?" He asks in protest as you take him down to the lower decks instead of your private room.

"Do you have any idea how many people probably ran their hands over that thing before we bought it?" You're relieved to see that no one's occupying the kitchen, especially since the cook isn't a fan of people using the giant kettles to do what you're about to.

There's a barrel of water already sitting to the side, mostly for washing dishes and scrubbing the floor. You find a clean pot and fill it halfway full of the seawater, setting it on the still lit wood stove to boil. With little ceremony, you rummage through his satchel, pulling out the dildo, and plop it into the water to boil.

In the meantime, Abel seems to struggle over what he should be doing with his hands. Nervously, he folds and unfolds his fingers, weaving them together and pulling them apart, only occasionally looking you in the eye.

"Are you okay?" You ask, and he jumps.

"Y-es," he mumbles, "just excited."

"We don't have to do this today if you're-"

"I am literally begging you," he interrupts, face blushing, "to help me now. Please."

Steam begins to curl up from the pot. You nod, poking at the rubber cock with a stick, as though that will somehow speed the process. "Just a few more moments, Abel."

Once the thing is done sanitizing, and in the safety of your cabin, the door firmly locked, you can hear his breath quickening as you pull out the different objects to start experimenting with. Slowly, you pull at the front of your leather fest, loosening the laces until it's wide enough to pull off. Your nipples rise, not from cold, but from arousal, hard at the promise of shoving that false cock up his ass.

"Abel," you direct, calmly, "you need to take off your clothes."

He obeys without question, pulling his shirt up over his head and throwing it on your chair. His body has filled out slightly with muscle, no longer a wiry frame of skin and bones, but he's still not nearly as stocky as you or the rest of your crew. Anyone on this ship could lift him over their head and toss him across the deck like he weighs nothing.

Already, he's so excited that he's erect, though the head of his cock is swollen with unspelt arousal and pleasure.

"Did you ever touch yourself after the spell?" You ask, coming up close, resting your hands on his bare hips.

"Yes," he whispers, eyes almost ashamed.

"It's alright," you rub your thumbs in soothing circles right over the bump of his bone, "I'm just wondering how this works." Pause, let him think. "Did you ever um… leak precum at all?"

He blinks. "I don't understand."

You try to rephrase the question. "When you touch yourself, sometimes before you finish, a clear liquid will come out. Did that ever happen, or no?"

"No, nothing comes out." His voice is slightly raspy, you aren't sure if it's from embarrassment. "I've always had to use lotion or oils, and it would feel good for a little while. Then it would just hurt."

"And you would have to wait until it went away," you nod, as though this isn't the first time you've dealt with such a stupid, controlling and abusive curse. "But the wording is going to be our friend, here, and many males cum when being penetrated without the use of hands."

"Thank you." There's an awful lot of hope in his eyes, so you bite your lip and pray to whatever god that might hear for your success.

"Help me out of my clothes." You gloss over his adoration, feeling a tightness in your stomach.

He gets on his knees, watching you for any twitch of approval you might give, and begins to unclasp the straps on your boots—one by one. When you step out of them, you don't even have to tell him where to go next, because he's lifting your shirt up and kissing your stomach as he works your belt. Carefully, he undoes the buckle, sliding it out and opening up your waistline.

Down go your pants, then undergarments, and you take the initiative to remove your shirt yourself. Now you're also naked, standing before Abel, just two bodies open for mutual exploration. His breath quivers as you reach up and brush some hair away from his face, dragging your fingers down to cup the side of his face. Slowly, as though you both have all the time in your little shared infinity, you press your lips up against his.

This isn't the first time you've kissed. The first time was after a particularly brutal sword fight that you had managed to win with only a few scratches, Abel practically jumped on you once you had kicked your opponent overboard. That one was quick, numb with relief and over faster than it started. Now there's time, locked away from the prying eyes of your crew.

Abel has kissed before, that you can tell by the way his lips move and adjust to where you lead them. You wonder if he had done it in some hidden nook somewhere in the palace he grew up in, under cover of darkness, all hormones and drive without the promise of relief. The practice has paid off, you decide, leading him back to your bed, gently setting him down, legs spread.

"Alright," you breathe, "show me where you touch yourself."

His face is dark and blue, mouth half-open, his tongue swiping over his lips. You get the bottle of lube out, pouring some onto the palm of your hand as he slowly begins to trace the outline of his cock. Propping one of your knees up on the bed, with an arm wrapped around his shoulder, you begin to mimic his movement, rubbing the lube up the shaft and over the head. Abel winces and whimpers at how cool it is.

For encouragement, you press your mouth onto his neck, gently nipping at the skin. "You're doing so good right now, baby, it's okay."

Slowly, you cover the entirety of his cock in the lube, pumping your wrist and watching it throb and pulse between your fingers. Abel was right, nothing seems to bead out from the slit at the top, his stones even quicker to puff up and become swollen. As he arches his back, leaning towards the mattress, his hips quake and shake, but where you might expect a ribbon of white to burst out of the head, nothing happens.

You suck in your breath sympathetically rubbing the tip with your thumb to see if you can't tease anything out, but whatever cursed him is concrete and binding. When you retract your hand, he almost whines, face bright with blood, tears threatening his eyes, lower lip swollen from his teeth biting down. At this point, you think, impotence would have been the kinder option because the brief sensation of pleasure would quickly be overruled by the misery of being unable to actually spill.

"Good boy," you whisper as he buries his face in the crook of your shoulder, "that must have hurt, but you're so strong for me."

He lets out a little whimper, one you swallow away with a kiss. Slowly, he lays back against your blankets, letting you straddle his waist as you nip his lips far gentler than you usually would.

"There are two ways I can take you," you say, your tits pressed up against his chest, "like this, with your legs spread out, or from behind, while you're on your hands and knees. Since this is your first time, you may pick."

He squirms beneath you, his cock painfully hard and delightfully present against your stomach. As you drum your fingers right by his ears, you can see the gears running circles in his head, carefully weighing the pros and cons of each position while so aroused his entire pelvis must feel like it's being crushed.

"Whatever you don't choose, we can do next time," you offer, hoping that might motivate him to choose a bit better.

"I-" his face becomes more flushed than it already is, "I just want to look in your eyes."

Oh, he’s sweet, the little fucker. If he keeps this kind of syrupy attitude, you might just end up falling in love.

You slide back off the bed, planting yourself firmly between his legs. "Like this?"

"Yes… please." He adds the last bit like an afterthought, but he's learning at least.

"Good boy," you purr, gently rubbing his thigh. "I'll put on the strap."

He watches you like you're a prized prostitute putting on a strip show for the ages, irises locked on your hands as you begin to pull at the various buckles and buttons. Carefully, you loop his choice dildo through the metallic ring centered right in front of your pelvis, tightening the straps to secure it in place. Once you're satisfied it won't fly off once you start thrusting, you grab the bottle of lube and bring it over to where Abel lies.

Pouring some out into your hand, you warn, "this is going to feel a bit strange at first. Since you're not used to it, I will move slowly, but you need to tell me if it hurts."

He nods sharply, his breath quickening as you start massaging his ass with the lube. You're careful here, wondering if it might be easier on him if his legs were restrained, one hand firmly on a thigh while the other experimentally prods at his hole.

"You're doing so well," you tell him, pushing your thumb up into his asshole while he whimpers. "You're going to take this cock so good, Abel, it's going to slide right in."

After adding a touch more of lube, you push your index and middle finger in together, making a gradual scissoring motion to stretch him out further. His breath quickens, his hands clawing at your blankets, but he doesn't say anything beyond a soft, wordless moan. Satisfied with how his body seems to be adapting to the intrusion, you add a third finger, and begin to pump in and out in a sort of thrusting motion.

"How does that feel?" You ask, watching the way his cock twitches and shudders.

"Good," he manages to choke, his eyes begging you for more.

"I think you're ready," you nod, taking the bottle of lube from the bed and tantalizingly rubbing it onto your fake cock. "Are you? Do you want me to start thrusting into you, baby?"

"Yes, please," his breathing accelerates, his face wild and pained.

You stretch his ass out, careful with the head of the dildo as you slowly push it in. Just to make it easier on him, you pull his knees up, spreading his legs out further and holding them steady while he quivers. Then, inch by inch, you keep moving forward until you've buried it to the hilt, your hips brushing up against his innermost thigh. You stay like that for a moment, allowing him to get used to the object's size and intrusion, petting his thighs right where your hands rest to offer some comfort.

"Does it hurt much?" You ask soothingly.

"Just a bit," he murmurs, wiggling a little as though trying to get comfortable, "not as much as I thought it might."

"Good," you bump your hips a bit, just so he knows what you're about to do. Still moving without a bit of urgency, you move back, pushing your hips away, watching his face as the pain transitions away into pleasure. Then, repeating the previous movement, you thrust forward, a bit quicker this time.

"Fuck," he curses, "that feels… that feels nice."

At that behest, you pick up the pace slightly, still going significantly slower than usual, but still maintaining a structured speed. "You like it, baby?"

"Yes," he breathes, "I like it."

"Good," you keep going, watching his body struggle to stay still as you begin to up the speed of your thrusts.

He raises his hands to his mouth, biting down, so he doesn't cry out. You feel his thighs spasm and shake beneath your fingers, his body rolling up against yours as though silently begging for more. His eyes are shut tight, brow furrowed, a strange expression twitching at his face like he's experiencing a sensation that he doesn't know is positive or negative.

"I think," he gasps, his hips thrusting in their own accord, "I- It's-"

A thick, white spray of liquid shoots out of his cock, flying high and landing on his stomach. It doesn't stop there, though, seemingly a lifetime's worth of unspelt cum trying to escape while it can, a thick, hot layer erupting out and dripping down on his waist in tandem to your thrusts. You don't stop, either, especially not when he cries out, holding his legs firmly in place as he squirms and sobs with pleasure. Only once his cock falls limp do you stop, pulling the dildo out, and a river of lube drips down his ass.

He's shaking, as though experiencing some kind of awakening. As he props himself up on his elbows, he looks down, noticing the ribbons of cum that have accumulated on his chest and pelvis, then at you. After he sees some on his hand, he licks it, not to be coy, not to be sexy, but with the general curiosity of someone who has never tasted cum in his life.

"It's salty," he says, blankly, voice void of either dashed or met expectations. Like he legitimately has no idea what he's supposed to think.

And then he begins to cry.

You're so shocked by the action that you just stand there, dildo still in hand, as tears fall out of his eyes and dribble down his cheeks. Then you snap into action, wiping your sticky fingers on an available towel before threading them through his hair, pulling him close in an embrace, ignoring the cum that's now on your skin. His face is wet against your chest, his arms wrapping around your torso in a tightening hug, chest shuddering.

"You did so well," you say soothingly, petting his hair as he tries to get himself under control, "I'm so proud of you, Abel, you really did so wonderfully for your first time. You can cry if you need to, I know this was probably very difficult."

Before you know it, you're laying down with him, his body pressed up against every single curve and crevice of yours. His face is up against your chest, arms around your waist, and you hold his head in the crook of your elbow. While his chest shudders and shakes, you whisper and murmur a myriad of encouragement and praise, but you think that's only adding fuel to his emotional fire.

So you let him process his state of mind, remaining present throughout so he has someone to lean on. After a while, he quiets down, but he makes no motion to either sit up or start round two. To be entirely honest, both of you are probably done for the day, especially with how he's handling it, but you can't walk around with stale cum on your body. Once his breathing evens out, you untangle your limbs from him, waking him up from a shivering nap.

"Hey," you say softly, poking at him, "we need to clean off."

"R-right," he sniffs, rubbing his eyes, "I-I'm sorry, that was-"

"Don't apologize," you say, almost sharply, "that must have felt very intense, and you have a right to express your emotions."

He kisses you, slowly, lazily, and you cradle his face in your hands.

"We only need to wipe off a portion of this gunk," you say, unbuckling the strap from your waist, "I think that tonight we can spend some extra money and time in a bathhouse."

"What do you mean?" He asks, glancing down at the mess he spilt on his skin.

"There's this absolutely incredible bathhouse up the mountain, right where a hot spring is. The water is supposed to be three times as effective for cleaning and rejuvenating your skin or whatever, I think you deserve a little extra pampering tonight."

"Really?" He looks like he's about to cry again.

"Come on," you pull him up until he's sitting, "let's first get marginally cleaner, so it doesn't look like we've participated in a street-side orgy."

As he pours a bit of powdery soap in your tub of scrubbing water, you begin to unbraid his hair, brush in hand, running your fingers through his green tangles to smooth out the evidence of sex. He sponges his chest and torso clean, using smelling oils to hide the scent of cum as you begin to twist and knot his hair again.

"You handled this size very well for the most part," you say, using a pick to sharply part a section of his hair away, "I think that you might be ready to upgrade in a few months, we could get that little glass one that you wanted so bad."

"I would like that," he rasps, face just as flushed as when you bottomed out inside him.

Once you clean yourself off, you dress and leave, Abel in tow. The bathhouse is a large building, overtaking a fair amount of the presumably dead volcano that overlooks the bay. You've been there before, most of your crew has, but it's the sort of place that's so far from the docks that it's a hassle to get to. By the time you're up the cliffs, Abel is panting like he's never walked this far before.

You pay the teller, not bothering to make Abel take care of his own entrance fee. A wave of wet, sticky heat hits your face when you walk into the large marble atrium, the steam from the hot springs thick in the enclosed area. There's a convenient marble map on the wall, the building's outline labeled with thick letters.

"Where do you want to go first?" You ask, mentally wondering how they make the currents for the so-called wonderous whirlpool.

He points to one of the private pools, the side of his mouth twitching up.

"Those costs-"

"I can pay," he says, patting his satchel.

Okay, he wants to play games, you can get on that level. So you shrug, and follow him down the hallway, down the stairs to the long row of private rooms. After paying the attendant down there, you pick out a random section and close the wooden door behind you for some much-needed privacy.

Abel is already stripping bare, throwing himself in the water once naked. A window lets a small amount of light through its wooden blinds, only bright enough to see his outline. Once you're also undressed, you slip into the water, sighing with relief at both the heat and the scent of the oils. You settle on a curved section, probably explicitly built for laying on, and slowly begin to scrub at your skin with a bar of pumice you brought.

Oh, and Abel seems to be enjoying himself a lot, floating on his back, face staring up at the ceiling. He looks like he's in a faraway place, mouth in a soft, genuinely content smile. You let him be in his own little world for as long as he needs to be, satisfied with cleaning the last remaining hints of sex off your body while waiting for him to come back to you.

"You know," he says finally, rising out from the water and coming close, "despite everything else, I was very spoiled as a prince."

"No," you deadpan, "really?"

"Yeah- wait," he sniffs out your sarcasm much better now, "I mean, yes, it's probably undeniably obvious."

"Supremely so," you say, remembering how another captain asked you if you were holding Abel hostage because he was too goddamn refined compared to the rest of your crew.

"I was always told that I wasn't in a place to complain," he angles your body so he can play with your hair, "and I suppose in some aspects, that was true, but now I know that everything that happened beneath that roof, golden gilded or no, was… not healthy."

"No, Abel, I can't say that it was anything remotely so." Every time you hear about some aspect of his childhood, you're filled to the brim with murderous rage on his behalf.

"But at least now I can say that after living in the quote real world, I most definitely prefer this to that." You feel his fingers twist your hair into braids. "For example, your crew doesn't follow your commands because they're afraid of what will happen if they don't, they follow your commands because you've proven to them that you're a trustworthy and capable leader."

You open your mouth, but he interrupts you.

"Luck has nothing to do with it, either. I saw you dive after a freed slave in open water because she couldn't swim. That's not luck, that's courage, and those are the kinds of actions that your people take to heart."

"I guess," you don't like accepting heartfelt compliments, especially when you think you don't deserve them.

"Which is why," he finishes, pulling you closer, "I trusted you enough to ask you for help."

"And are you satisfied with the help I provided?" You ask, remembering how much cum he had spilt from that one single session.

"Oh, yes," he purrs, seemingly completely recovered from his near mental breakdown. "I'd give you a five-star review, but I don't think I like to share."

"Really? I garner that well of a reputation?" You ask, watching his hand slide between your legs.

"I want to thank you," he says, mouth on your ear, "but I need you to show me how. Teach me where to touch you?"

You suck in a lungful of steam, watching his long, elegant fingers slowly draw little circles on your thighs. "You're going to be walking all the way back with an erection."

"But you would like that," he accuses, entirely correct, "watching me walk back while so fucking hard I may start crying."

You believe you will, realizing that the idea of him trying to keep his fucking shit together while out in public does has some kind of appeal. So you remove yourself from his lap, hauling your body up onto the cool marble floor. Trying to seem enticing, you spread your legs for him, bringing your fingers down to offer up a clearer view of your entrance and clit. Breathing harder, you say, "Remember when we kissed?"

He nods solemnly.

"Similar concept, but here. Use your tongue and mouth."

With reverence, he places a hand on both your thighs, sinking down to his knees. Of all the things you've noticed about him, one of his better qualities is how he's such a fast learner. He kisses your lips as instructed, eyes flickering up to make sure you approve of his actions. When you nod encouragingly, he continues, opening his mouth to start licking at your pussy.

You lean back, pushing your weight onto your hands, lifting up a leg and placing it on his shoulder. "That's good Abel, just like that."

He presses his face further into your slick skin, kissing and sucking on the dark puckered flesh. While his tongue is only slightly rougher than you would have expected, it's not… painfully so, no, it's more like an added texture you didn't know would feel good. Up and down, he licks, capturing a bit of your opening between his teeth and gently pulling, if only to see your reaction.

To help him a little more, you push two of your fingers between your legs, finding your clit. "Here, Abel, lick me here, baby."

The obedient little thing, he does, finding it with ease now that you've directed him. He kisses it with reference, like it's a thing to be worshipped, taking your clit between his lips and sucking. When you hiss with pleasure, his eyes turn elated, like the two of you just shared an intimate secret, and he does it again.

"Fuck, Abel," you gasp, trying to find words of encouragement, "you lick my pussy so good, baby, it's like you were made for me."

"Does that make me your little whore?" He asks, voice thick with arousal.

"That makes you my special little whore," you correct, tucking a flyaway hair behind his ear.

He smiles lazily, pressing his mouth back between your legs, returning to work with more enthusiasm than before, flicking his tongue against your clit. Then, as though mimicking how you had opened him up earlier, he slowly presses a thumb through your slit, rubbing your inner, slick ridges. Fuck, he's a clever little bastard, and by the way you buck in his mouth, he's going to know it, too.

The pressure in your stomach grows, a wave of warm arousal dripping out of your core. Abel licks it all up like a seasoned prostitute, pulling you closer to the edge so gravity shifts your body down. He presses up, mouth and nose grinding up against your clit, now, adding far more pressure than before. You swallow thickly, trying to find the words to praise him, but thoughts start escaping your mind, replaced by pleasure.

"Good," you manage to croak out, "that feels good."

You can feel the smugness emanating off of him from making you speechless, his boldness only growing as you further spiral. As your hips start jerking, your thighs shaking, he continues to eat your pussy like he's a starving animal, the sounds from his open-mouthed sucking driving you positively mad.

It doesn't hit you all at once; instead, your orgasm comes in waves, each more volatile and pleasurable than the last. Abel must have sensed its arrival, locking his arms around your hips to hold you in place as you buck into his mouth. Nor does he deem you worthy of mercy, either, showing you every amount of vigor and determination you offered him barely hours before.

When you've ground it out, only plagued by a few aftershocks, he pulls away, a long trail of saliva and cum connecting his mouth to your core. And he smiles, he smiles, heaving for breath, lips flushed and swollen.

Slowly, you slide back into the water, legs weak and still shaking, right onto his lap. True to your prediction, he's hard, cock upright in the water, but he doesn't seem too bothered as you straddle his waist. You kiss him, taking things nice and slow, tasting the scented oils and sulfuric water along with your pleasure on his tongue.

"Did I do good?" He asks, digging for more praise.

But you give it to him, he deserves it after this kind of day. "Yes, Abel, you ate my pussy like a fucking slut."

His breathing quickens in excitement.

"I don't think the whores down in the red district could eat me out like that, and you did it on your first try." You pet the side of his face, running your fingertips over his pointed ears. "My clever, sweet little prince."

He nuzzles his face between your breast as you play with one of his braids.

"I think I'm going to keep you," you muse aloud, "would you like that? Would you like to be my bedmate from now on?"

His throat bobs as he swallows thickly. "Yes."

"Good," you whisper, tracing the path of his spine, "I think I can buy you that glass dildo, after all."

#fae/reader #asrai/reader #exophilia #monster boyfriend #water fae

[haus-seeblick]

Suptober Day 1! “Harvest”

My first ficlet for Suptober! Read under the cut :)

Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Rating: Mature 

Word Count: 2,218

Tags: Fluff, Disaster Bi Dean Winchester, Daydreaming about hot farmers, Some suggestive language (and swearing), Angelic wheat harvest assistance, The Dom Brow makes an appearance, Sam Ships It, Mini Case Fic  

On AO3 here.

“All right,” Dean announces as he stomps into the hospital room, trailing mud with every step. “You’re not gonna have a problem anymore, Randy.”

The man propped up on the hospital bed cushions glares at Dean from under bushy eyebrows. “Well, it’s about time,” he snaps. “First these-- these things terrorize my fields for weeks, then y’all show up and are so useless that they maim me after you’re already on the case, and now I’ve lost the prime window to harvest a year’s worth o’ growth ‘cause I’m laid up in this godforsaken facility. So don’t you tell me I ain’t gonna have a problem anymore.” 

Dean sinks down onto the rickety plastic chair next to the bed, moving gingerly to avoid jostling his (probably) dislocated shoulder, courtesy of some extremely vengeful spirits. He fixes Randy with an even gaze. 

“Man, I’m sorry about your leg. I am. The spirits had a wider range than we thought and we figured you’d be safe at the house.”

Randy snorts in obvious derision, his scruffy mustache fluttering comically. Dean presses on.

“But, we’ve put them to rest. Your great-grandparents aren’t gonna give you any more grief.”  Even if the rest of your family did totally fuck them over.

He stands again, awkwardly, and pats Randy’s good knee. “Sorry about your harvest, though. Can anyone help out? Neighbors? Friends?”

Randy glowers. “I ain’t takin’ no charity.”

Dean quirks his lips and nods. “Right. Take it easy, Randy.” He leaves the still-grumbling farmer behind, following his own trail of mud back down the hallway. A tall janitor lurking around the corner sends him a death glare and Dean tries for an appropriately apologetic smile. 

It’s been a real headache of a night. 

The pair of spirits haunting Randy Johnson’s wheat fields ended up being way more pissed off than Sam, Dean, and Cas had anticipated. By the time Cas located the heavy brass key to the farmhouse that was apparently tethering the property-line-obsessed spirits to the material plane, Dean and Sam were long out of rock salt. In their retreat, they’d ended up waist-deep in a pebbly creek, splashing and wobbling as they beat off the screeching spirits with crowbars. Dean has an unfortunately-placed boulder to thank for his dislocated shoulder -- he went down hard and clumsy just as Cas reappeared next to the stream, the old key melting dramatically in the bright glow of his palm. 

The spirits burned away in a shower of sparks, along with Dean’s dignity.

To top it all off, Dean drew the short straw to go tell Randy the case was closed, and he may have stomped off in a sulky huff before thinking of asking Cas or Sam to put his shoulder right. 

Oh, well. At least it’s dealt with. One more night in their more-stained-than-usual motel room, and first thing in the morning they’ll get the hell outta Dodge (almost literally - they’re up in Osborne County). 

Dean thinks of a bright July morning on the open road and sighs in relief.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He doesn’t get his wish.

“I just feel bad, Dean!” Sam protests as Dean gesticulates incredulously at him. (His shoulder was very pleasantly healed by Cas the night before, and if Dean noticed that Cas’ warm hands lingered a little longer on his skin than was technically necessary for a cursory dislocation repair, he didn’t mention it.)

“God, Sammy, yeah, it sucks about the guy’s leg, but maybe if he wasn’t such an asshole to everyone he knows, somebody’d help him out! It’s not-- it can’t be our problem.”

Sam crosses his arms stubbornly. “It’s not about Randy. His fields are part of a huge supply that feeds a ton of people. Do you want people to go hungry, Dean?”

Castiel chooses that moment to materialize directly next to Dean, his nose inches away from Dean’s cheek. He’s holding two steaming cups of coffee and Dean immediately grabs one. Cas squints and tilts his head. “Why does Dean want people to go hungry?”

“Oh my god.” Dean throws his free hand up. “Fine. Fucking fine. We’ll find someone who’s willing to plow the dude’s fields. That’ll be easy.”

Sam opens his big mouth, probably to say something about having faith in humanity, but Cas beats him to it. Still planted firmly in Dean’s bubble, he sends a puff of warm air against Dean’s face as he speaks.

“Oh. I can do it.”

Dean and Sam both look at him. Dean shuffles back a couple steps and wills his eyes away from the guy’s lips. He really spends too much time staring at them.

“Um--” Sam clears his throat. “You can harvest Randy’s wheat?”

“I can plow, yes.” Cas nods firmly. Dean’s first sip of coffee comes spraying back out. He pounds his chest and wheezes. 

“Like-- like-- with a combine?” 

Cas furrows his brow. “Is that a machine? No, I don’t require machinery. This is a very basic task.”

“Plowing,” Dean says weakly.

“Harvesting,” Cas corrects, tilting his chin down and narrowing his eyes. “Humans have been doing it for a very long time. I used to help, now and again. I can’t imagine the process has changed much.”

Sam slaps his thighs as he stands up from his bed. “Well! Look at that, Dean. Cas doesn’t want people to go hungry.” 

Dean flips him off, but it lacks the usual heat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour later, they find themselves on the edge of a vast, lazily undulating expanse of gold. They’d skirted the north edge of the field extensively while working the spirit case, since the activity was strongest there along the creek, but in his single-minded focus Dean hadn’t really paid much attention to the field itself.

It’s big. Like, squint-into-the-distance-and-you-can’t-see-the-end big. 

“You’re really gonna plow all that?” Dean asks, glancing at Cas. The morning sun is turning the tips of Cas’ hair a chestnut gold. 

“I will cut down the stalks, separate the grain from the chaff, and deposit the edible grain into a large truck, which apparently takes it where it needs to go,” Cas says matter-of-factly. “I visited Randy early this morning to make sure I knew which truck it was.”

Sam laughs. “Oh yeah? How’d good old Randy take that?”

“He seemed dubious,” Cas says. “And rude. I assured him that despite his unsavory attitude, he would come home to harvested fields.”

“Very angelic of you,” Sam remarks. 

“So how’s this gonna go?” Dean lifts a hand to block out the steadily-rising sun. “You gonna be flapping back and forth? Probably not smart to let the locals clock an angel doing the harvest.”

Cas arches an eyebrow at him, somehow gazing down at Dean despite being an inch shorter. “I don’t flap, Dean. I may have wings, but their movement in the ether is beyond your comprehension.” 

Dean rolls his eyes and turns his face away in a show of studying the field to the north, but mostly to conceal the flush of his cheeks in response to that eyebrow. 

For Christ's sake, keep it together, Winchester.

“I can’t explain to you how it will look,” Cas continues, oblivious. “You’ll just have to watch. Anything you see will be for your eyes only. I guarantee no locals will ‘clock me.’”

Dean looks back just in time to see the tail end of the finger quotes. Cas is staring right at him, that damn eyebrow still up, a subtle challenge, daring Dean to make a move.

Maybe not so oblivious. Asshole. 

Dean smiles sweetly and gestures at the wheat. “All right then. Have at it, buddy. Show us what you’ve got.”

With no further ado, Cas is gone. Dean’s left staring through the previously-Cas-occupied space at his brother, who’s grimacing with an air of great suffering. 

“What?” Dean demands. 

Sam sighs heavily and gazes out over the field. “You two are so weird.”

Dean’s about to respond with something really witty when Sam perks up and points into the distance. “Holy crap, look!”

Dean follows the path of Sam’s outstretched finger and his mouth drops open. On the horizon, at the far end of the field, there’s a cloud. No-- a mini tornado. A golden tornado. A… sparkly tornado?

“What the--” Dean cups his hands around his eyes like blinkers. Even with the glare of the sun blocked out, though, the tornado is just as bright -- a swirling, racing funnel criss-crossing the field way faster than a combine, or even Baby, could drive. 

“Why is it-- what’s the sparkly stuff?” 

Sam’s squinting too. “I think it’s the pieces of the stalks he’s separating? And they catch the light as they get tossed around.” 

The tornado’s already halfway across the field, approaching them steadily. It’s about as tall as an oak tree, and as it gets closer Dean sees that Sam was right: thousands of little stalks and bits of grain and -- what had Cas called it? -- chaff are whirling and flitting amid the twisting golden dust of the tornado. The effect is a bit dizzying, kind of like that ocular migraine Dean had one time as a teenager, when an aura of tiny flashing spots obscured his vision, right there in his eye yet impossible to focus on. 

He steps back instinctively, Sam mirroring his movement, when the tornado grows close to them. It whips past, blowing Dean’s jacket open, and where there was once chest-high golden grain, there’s now just dirt littered with aborted stalks. 

“Damn,” Dean whispers. He’s seen Cas do all kinds of badass things, of course, but they’ve been more of the smiting and heavy-lifting variety. This is a new level of cool. In a farmer-y way. This, of course, leads Dean’s traitorous brain directly to images of worn flannel stretched tight over biceps; of a blade of hay dangling jauntily from chapped lips; of long, strong fingers gripping a pitchfork--

“--Dean!” 

The pleasantly-evolving bubble bursts. Dean twitches as Sam elbows him in the ribs.

“Dude! Cas is done, come on.”

Dean blinks a few times to bring himself back to reality (a reality with wheat-harvesting angel tornados) and realizes that Sam’s heading north along the field to where a normal-sized, non-funnel-cloudy Cas is standing, brushing off his trenchcoat. Dean follows his brother and takes in the scene; the whole field really has been reduced to nothing -- just a flat, dappled expanse.

“Damn, Cas,” he says quietly as he reaches Cas’ side. His voice comes out strained and a little breathless. “That was some good plowing.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Can replies gravely. He tugs on his cuffs and some wheat dust puffs out. “It was an effective harvest. I disguised myself from mortal eyes -- including yours -- as I transported the grain to the truck, but I trust you saw the rest?”

Sam nods enthusiastically and launches straight into a barrage of questions about the physics and techniques and yadda yadda before Dean has to come up with a response. Yeah, I saw it. Yeah, it got me all tingly. That’s normal. He takes a few deliberate, slow breaths to calm the pounding in his chest.

Still tuning Sam out, he zeroes in on a single piece of wheat still stuck in Cas’ hair. It’s poking up toward the blue summer Kansas sky -- a tiny, trembling link between earth and heaven. Dean sidles up to Cas before he can overthink it. He slips his fingers into Cas’ wild, dark hair and plucks the wheat out. 

He throws it on the ground. It belongs to the earth. 

Sam falls silent with a choked-off laugh and Cas turns his trademark unblinking stare onto Dean. But this time there’s a slight crinkle to the edges of his eyes. A quirk of his lips. 

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says again. He reaches out and -- Dean stops breathing -- brushes another piece of wheat out of Dean’s collar. His warm fingers graze Dean’s throat and all Dean can do is watch the little stalk flutter to the ground. 

Well. So much for a steady heartbeat. 

“Hey, I’ve got stuff in my hair, too,” Sam announces, voice thick with amusement. “Anyone gonna help me out?”

Dean tears his eyes away from the enlightening piece of wheat and points a finger at Sam, leveling him with his sternest shut the fuck up face. He prays his cheeks aren’t flaming. 

“If you need assistance, Sam--” Cas says, starting toward him.

“--He’s fine,” Dean interjects hastily. Maybe a little loudly. He coughs to cover it up. Smooth. “Let’s go. I wanna hit the road.”

Sam’s already jogging away before Dean’s done speaking. “I’ve still got the keys,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ll warm up the car. You guys can catch up!”

Cas and Dean are left at the edge of the empty field. Dean rubs his neck and shuffles his feet, acutely aware of Cas’ piercing gaze. It’s nearly warmer than the morning sun. “Uh-- that was really cool, Cas. Thanks for letting us see it.”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas replies, measured and deep. “I enjoyed sharing that with you.”

Wow. All right. Dean needs to get moving or he’s going to explode. But not before filing that particular comment away for extensive mental perusal later, in the privacy of his bedroom. 

He flashes a grin and punches Cas’ shoulder. “Come on, farmer angel. Let’s go home.”

#suptober21 #destiel #minific #i had fun with this #this is the first fic I'm ever posting y'all! #happy harvest