#is the writing bad On Purpose? probably not. why would you fumble the ball so hard when you're not guaranteed s3 to clear your name-

[tiberius-kirks]

I know someone said it already but it's truly insane to me how quickly gomens2 devolved fans into tjlc-levels of unwell

[mandoalorian]

so you have any angsty writings about max raising his voice at u?

my tears ricochet

Maxwell Lord x GN!Reader

Summary: Everyone had warned you that dating your boss would be a bad idea. So when you make a crucial mistake at work, a mistake that leads into your biggest fight yet, you wonder if your relationship with Maxwell Lord will ever be able to recover.

Rating: T

Warnings: ANGST :( a few curses, hurt/comfort with a happy ending, but most of this is very very angst-y. Bruce Wayne makes an appearance (because for some reason, he always does?) and he’s a dickkkkk lmao.

Word count: 2.2k

I haven’t wrote anything in a few weeks, and I haven’t wrote for Maxie in well over a month. Reblogs would be so appreciated because I kinda need the motivation atm ;-;

You never normally messed up, or at least, not like this.

You were a good secretary for the most part, as you’d been working at Black Gold Cooperative for almost three years now. You knew your way around the office, and most importantly, you knew your way around your boss, the dashing and charismatic business mogul, Maxwell Lord.

Everyone had warned you not to mix business with pleasure, and that dating Maxwell Lord was a bad idea because he was your boss. You could get behind that idea; as you’d never really been one to date colleagues or co-workers. But you swore that he was different. They were probably right, you knew that deep down, but you’d made the mistake of falling hopelessly in love with him.

You and Maxwell had been together for half a year now, and things were going good. Things were going better than good. You really believed he could be the one. He seemed happier when he was with you. He smiled more. You gave his life meaning, and a purpose that strived past his failing business.

He treated you different to his other employees. He was softer with you, and more gentle. He never raised his voice or talked down to you. He was a gentleman, and treated you to luxuries on every occasion that he could manage. Work was sometimes difficult, but he was good with you. You had zero complaints, really.

He’d buzzed you into his office, his dark blonde hair a mess and his patterned tie pulled apart. The first three buttons of his white dress shirt were undone and his collar was wonky. You had to refrain from walking over to his side of the oak wood desk and fixing it for him. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing his tan forearms and the golden Rolex that adorned his wrist, and he was staring at you, his dark brows furrowed together.

“I just spoke to Bruce Wayne,” Maxwell started hesitantly, his index finger impatiently tapping away on the telephone.

“Oh?” you hummed. You knew it was coming, but you tried to remain calm.

“He said he didn’t receive the oil distribution report you sent on Friday,” Maxwell said, followed by a wary chuckle. “But I told him you sent it. Because you did send it. Didn’t you?”

You winced, and it didn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend.

“You sent the reports, didn’t you?” Maxwell repeated, this time his voice having dropped an octave and his eyes staring dead at you. There was no love in his expression, no happiness. Just pure anger and disbelief.

“Uhm…” you trailed off, your voice breaking nervously. “Wayne Enterprises didn’t get the report on last month’s oil distribution because uhm— I sent the wrong thing instead.” you fumbled with your fingers, shyly looking away from your Maxwell.

Max blinked, and stifled a laugh. “What?”

You folded your arms across your chest, feeling vulnerable as guilt coarsed through your veins.

“Uhm yeah,” you replied, ducking your head down. “I thought I sent it but I just— I found the reports on the main desk at lunch time. And I was going to tell you. I just— I just—“

You were flustered, and could feel your cheeks burn up as you stumbled over your words.

“You just what?” Maxwell prompted, raising an eyebrow.

“I just—“

“You just thought you’d keep it to yourself? Thought you wouldn’t tell me just because…? Because of what, exactly? You know this means we could potentially lose millions of dollars,” he raised his voice, sliding out of his chair and leaning over his desk, balling his fingers into fists.

You squeezed your eyes shut. “It was a mistake. A one-time mistake—“

“—a mistake that could potentially cost us thousands—“ Maxwell repeated bitterly. Money was a sensitive subject right now, you knew this. He had every right to be mad, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

“—It won’t cost thousands.” you finished, your words trying to ease him. But it came out patronising and you immediately regretted it. Maxwell slammed his hand on the desk before pointing his finger at you.

“Don’t interrupt me!” he shouted.

He’d never spoken to you like this. Hell, you didn’t think he’d ever spoken to anyone like this before. Or at least, not that you’d heard of. His cheeks were red with rage and little beads of sweat glazed his hairline.

You flinched are his tone, not used to him raising his voice at you like that. Max noticed the change in your demeanour and his face softened, his brown eyes widening slightly when he realised what he’d done. He slowly sank back into his chair, ripping his gaze from you. You stood there awkwardly, trying to hold back tears.

Maxwell regulated his breathing and pushed his hair out of his face before pointing to the door.

“Leave.” He ordered, his voice shaky and not even bringing himself to look at you.

Your lips were trembling. “What?” you croaked out, your voice merely above a whisper.

“Just— go home.” he waved his hand in a dismissing manner.

You stood there a little longer, lingering on the other side of his desk and praying that he’d have a change of heart. You didn’t know what that was supposed to mean. Was it a break-up? Was he firing you? Was he simply just telling you to go home?

“Max…”

Your boyfriend rubbed his temples before picking up the phone and re-dialling what you assumed to be Wayne Enterprises. He had nothing else to say to you, so, you sadly sauntered out of his office, quietly shutting the door behind you.

The entire sales team was staring at you as you walked over to the elevator. No doubt they’d overheard the whole fight. Raquel tapped your shoulder and offered you an apologetic smile. “Are you okay?” she asked.

You nodded and forced a grin, desperate to just get outside and feel the cool evening air. The office felt stuffy and hot and you just had to get out. You opted to take the stairs, not wanting to wait for the elevator. You could feel their eyes burn into you as you left Black Gold Cooperative.

It was raining when you got outside, and you managed to catch a cab just down the street.

After a few rings, Max finally pushed through Bruce Wayne’s receptionist and was waiting to get on the line with the big man himself. He breathed a sigh of relief when Bruce picked up.

“Hi, Bruce, it’s me Max. There’s been a mistake with the reports,” Maxwell said quickly, feigning confidence as he tried to forget about the fight that had just happened. But he couldn’t get it out of his head. He was terrified that you’d leave him. He’d leave him.

“Let me guess— it’s that secretary of yours?” Bruce smirked, twirling the phone wire around his finger as he waited for Max to try and salvage the business deal.

“Wh—what?” Max laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

“You know, your arm candy? The one that always accompanies to those charity events and galas? The one you’re fucking on the side?”

Maxwell’s face hardened and his heart dropped in his chest. “Excuse me?”

He hated the way Bruce was talking about you. Bruce was always like that, Maxwell knew that much. He treated everyone like they were lesser than him. Maxwell was able to shrug it off when it happened to him, but he wasn’t going to let it happen to you, too.

“Please, we all know it,” Bruce rolled his eyes. “I learned the hard way about mixing business with pleasure. Never works out, my friend.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Wayne, but you know nothing about Y/N and I. So if we could please get back to the topic at hand…”

“You still want to secure the deal?” Bruce quizzed. “I supposed as much.”

Jesus, he was insufferable. Maxwell knew what it took to climb to the top of the business world. You had to be cold and brutal; everything that Bruce Wayne was. That’s why he was so successful, and truthfully, that was the difference between the two men.

It was probably the reason Black Gold was failing too. Ever since you came into Maxwell’s life, the business had been losing more and more money. Maybe it was because Maxwell worked less, always choosing to favour his time and spend it with you. He wasn’t hardened by the business world anymore. He was softened by you.

Max wouldn’t allow the entrepreneur to hurt the ones he loved. At the end of the day, you were infinitely more important than some reports on oil distribution.

“Wait,” Maxwell paused, unable to escape the invasive thoughts that consumed his mind. Thinking about your glossy eyes and your timid voice, and the way you flinched when he yelled at you. You looked terrified. “No.”

“No?” Bruce repeated incredulously.

“No,” Maxwell confirmed. “I have to go.”

“You’re making a big mistake Lord,” Bruce warned. “If you’re thinking about throwing this entire deal away over some nobody secretary—“

And with that, Maxwell tore the phone from his ear and slammed it down on the hook. He rose to his feet and grabbed his pinstripe suit jacket, hastily throwing it over his shoulder before leaving his office in a rush.

When he got home, you were curled up on the sofa, enveloped in a blanket with balled up tissues scattered around you. When he saw you, his heart broke. He dropped his keys on the coffee table, the noise alerting you. The rattling sound made you jump and you looked over at him, your eyes red and puffy.

“Hi,” you said quietly, watching as he sauntered over to you. He offered you a weak smile before sliding down on the sofa next to you.

“Hi,” he said, gazing into your eyes.

You shuffled around and sighed. “I’m sorry.” you both said at the same time.

You giggled gently, always cherishing the way you and him were so in-sync. Maxwell smiled too, a dimple appearing in his left cheek.

“I thought you hated me,” you admitted with a sniffle, and Max frowned, leaning over and cupping your face with his hands.

“No my love, I could never hate you,” he swore, shaking his head. “I— I’m sorry I yelled at you like that. I got so worked up over this deal and—“

“I know,” you cut him short, pressing the palms of your hands flat against his chest. “You don’t have to apologise. I know. It’s been a stressful few weeks.” you said knowingly.

“Still,” you Maxwell sighed. “It can’t be excused.”

“It won’t happen again?” You asked hopefully.

Maxwell smiled. “Never again, honey,” he promised. “Can I hold you?”

You nodded desperately and nuzzled into his warm embrace. He wrapped his strong arms around you and smoothed out your hair, pressing a chaste kiss into your forehead.

“I love you so much, and I won’t ever let anything come between us again,” Maxwell whispered. “No job or business deal is jeopardising what we have together.”

You smiled, squeezing him tight and never wanting to let him go. “I agree.” you replied, pulling yourself up onto his lap and nudging your nose against his.

Maxwell’s smile spoke a thousand words. It wasn’t the forced smile he showed the world when he hyped up his business on the television. It was his real, genuine smile. The smile only you got to see.

Everyone had warned you not to mix business with pleasure, and that dating Maxwell Lord was a bad idea because he was your boss. But in that exact moment, you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

—————————

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[buckyownsmylife]

daddy issues - final chapter

The one where Ransom doesn’t feel ready to become a father, but he should have thought about it before sleeping with a complete stranger.

When Ransom’s latest one night stand lets him know that he’s going to become a father, he finds himself looking for the qualities he never believed to have so he can become the parent he never got to witness as a child.

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist.

A/N: this is it, everyone! Thank you for following along for the ride. This series is now officially completed, but I will write an epilogue for it eventually (it most likely won’t be coming out next Tuesday). If there’s anything in particular you’d like to see in it, please let me know!

Y/N’s P.O.V.

The gentle sunlight dancing through the sheer curtains woke me up. I did not understand why anyone bought these types of curtains - maybe for the living room, sure. But to place them inside a bedroom?

The aesthetic purposes weren’t as important as the usefulness and as far as drapes go, these were pathetic. I had told Ransom about them before, and all he did was chuckle and agree to call his interior designer to ask for something made of a better fabric.

Yawning, I sat up on the bed and stretched out my arms, moaning softly at the pleasurable pain on my muscles. I was still half-asleep, mind not yet connected to anything when I felt a sweaty hand slip from my stomach to my thigh, and I realized it was naked.

I was naked. All at once, the memories from last night returned and I whipped my head to the side to check on a sleeping Ransom, face turned to me as he snored gently on the pillow.

I remembered everything then. The fight, the insecurities, the reassurances, the physical reassurances… The way he told me he loved me…

I wanted to say it back. I really did because I knew I felt the same way about him, but I hadn’t anticipated it would happen during sex after what was probably one of the worst evenings of our lives.

It felt too real. Too much, too soon. I needed to get out of here.

In my rush to leave the bed, I dipped the mattress too abruptly considering there was someone else slipping on it - someone I didn’t want to wake up. So that’s precisely what happened.

Ransom’s P.O.V.

I inhaled deeply as the slumber slowly left my body, memories of the night before rushing in as I exhaled into a smile. God, that was the best night of my life.

Opening my eyes, I was hoping to find her body right next to mine, close enough that I could reach over, touch her and maybe repeat some of last nights best moments until hunger forced us to leave the bed.

But my fingers didn’t find anything and when I looked up, it was to find her frantically trying to put on some clothes as she fumbled from one side of the room to the other.

“What’s going on?” My voice came out harsher than I intended, throat hoarse from last night’s activities and the sleep that still somewhat dominated my body. Upon hearing it, she froze, keeping her back to me while my mind raced, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.

And then I understood it.

“You’re trying to leave me.” She didn’t deny it, but guilt must have been inside of her, fighting for dominance over her fear because she turned around to face me, a pained look on her expression.

“Ransom…” I knew that tone. I hadn’t even employed on anyone before because I never cared enough about someone to feel bad when I broke things off with them, but this feeling was universal.

I rushed to leave the bed, uncaring of the fact that I was still naked when I crossed the distance between us and took her face in my hands. “Don’t do this,” I pleaded. “Don’t lock me out again.”

Tears dominated her eyes and she blinked them away, forcing them out so they could run over her cheeks. Frustration was clear on her every feature, she shook her head as best as she could considering my hold on her, squeezing her eyes shut for a second like she was trying to think.

“Why the fuck can’t I control myself around you?” She burst out, and immediately the angst I was feeling escaped my body, letting me go now that I knew what was bothering her.

Taking a deep breath, I brushed her hair away from her face, gazing deeply into her eyes so she’d know how much I meant what I had to say.

“Because you like being with me just as much as I enjoy being with you.” She couldn’t counter that, but when she tried to avoid it, I called her out, “It’s true, you can’t deny that!”

She bit on her bottom lip, trying to contain herself, trying to get a hold of her emotions that must have been all over the place. I could understand that, considering… well, everything. Not only her pregnancy and our emotional connection, but the array of feelings we went through last night.

One thing remained true. I loved her and after what she did for me, I knew she loved me too.

“Your head’s trying to talk you out of it,” I recognized, hoping now that I was showing the problem she would acknowledge it too. “But you know this in your heart, just like I know on mine!”

Once again, she didn’t oppose it, and that gave me all the confidence I needed to keep going.

“We’re supposed to be an ‘us’, sweetheart,” I breathed out, hope and longing evident in every single word I uttered, as well as my eyes, that never strayed from hers. “Please, give this a try.”

Silence followed. She was calmer now, more rational. Her breathing was slower but she still looked weary, still looked scared. So I let her go, separating my skin from hers even though it was the exact opposite of what I wanted to do, so I could give her as much room to think as possible.

But I was going to lay all of my arguments because this was the battle of my life.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I felt cold without his hands on my body, his presence towering over me. Hugging myself, I hesitated between leaving the room or staying there, when he started to talk again, making the decision for me.

“You know it makes sense.” He was talking about him and I, I knew it. And I agreed. There wasn’t a single cell on my body that could deny this - not anymore. Still, my brain persisted, stuck on idiotic reasonings that had no place ruling something so important to my heart. “It makes so much sense.”

The fact that he was willing to fight for this, to fight for me was making this even harder on me. It was clear on the way he spoke - on every word he said - that this mattered to him and I felt comforted in the knowledge, but even more frustrated that my stupid insecurities still haunted me.

“I know I’m not easy,” he acknowledged, leaving me even more frustrated with myself. “And I definitely don’t deserve someone like you. But if you want me, I’ll be here.”

I had to say something. I couldn’t just let him think so low of himself, not when he was being the perfect partner and my only reason to hold back resided exclusively on myself.

“I do want you,” I managed to admit, my voice tentative as I played with my own dress. “I want you Ransom, and you do deserve me but I…”

That was enough to get him near me again, hands once more cradling my face as he dipped my head so I’d look him in the eye. “I know you’re scared,” he recognized, tongue wetting his lower lip as he rushed to try to calm me. “I know you’re scared of loving me, and I was scared too.”

A chuckle escaped his lips, he sounded almost guilty. “I still am, if I’m being entirely honest. But I’m willing to give this a try because the other option… well, the other option is simply unacceptable to me.”

Silence laid heavily in the room as I contemplated what he was saying, thinking about the other option myself. I didn’t want to live it. I didn’t want to go through this alone and love Ransom from a distance.

The fear of losing him brought me the courage I needed to push through and tear down the last wall I was stupidly trying to keep against him and I.

“You’ve done so much for me,” I recognized, trying to keep the shame in my voice to a minimum. “So much to prove to me that you’re worth it.”

The light coming through the curtains made the atmosphere almost romantic somehow, and now I found myself enjoying them because this way, I could see the sparkle of hope that twinkled in Ransom’s deep eyes.

I needed to say it. It was time for me to say it. “You’re the only person I want to be with,” I started, dipping my toes in the water while I prayed that the sea wouldn’t take me. When Ransom smiled, thumbs brushing over my cheeks, I felt comforted that if a wave should swallow me, I’d die happily in its embrace. “Ransom… I love you.”

His lips connected to mine, my heartbeat loud on my ears but I wasn’t anxious anymore. All I could feel was happiness, blinding, hopeful, bright - taking over my entire body when he parted and rubbed his nose against mine, cocky grin on his lips as he teased, “I know.”

Snorting, I allowed him to pull me back to bed, perfectly content on his embrace as I was suddenly reminded of something. “Oh, but if you ever cheat me, I’ll cut off your balls.”

It was my payback for his response to my love confession, but also my way of admitting my biggest insecurity. Ransom knew it, and so he pulled me back to lay against his chest so he could rub my back calmingly.

“You really shouldn’t worry, baby…” I knew from his tone that he was joining in on the light banter, but whatever he was going to say would be a truthful reflection of his feelings on the matter. “I don’t think anyone is more attractive than you.”

That sent me into a fit of giggles, aided by the fact that he took advantage of my distraction to start tickling me. Once he was done and I was trying to catch my breath, I caught him staring at me with those deep, emotion-filled eyes again.

“Besides…” he continued, like he had never even paused. “I’ve never wanted anyone half as much as I want you.”

[navegandoaciegas]

no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: catholic priest!Bucky, virgin!Bucky, desecrating thoughts and actions, explicit language, smut, consensual sexual acts, mentions of loss of virginity, slight innocence and religious kinks (nothing disturbing), oral sex, fingering, masturbation, sex in a public (and sacred) place.

Summary: As punishment for your sinful behavior, your parents send you to your aunt’s house in the middle of nowhere, in hope you’ll redeem yourself. The punishment quickly backfires when you take an interest in the local (and handsome) priest, and you manage to corrupt his pure soul.

A/N: I was in a priest!Bucky mood this morning and I wrote this for @saiyanprincessswanie​ writing challenge. I chose prompt 17 and the ‘opposites attract’ trope. I hope you like this!

Filth and happy ending ‘cause I’m a sap. Take me to church by Hozier inspired this.

This is not a dark story and both reader and Bucky are consenting adults. Fyi, catholic priests can’t marry, and they change their name when they are ordained. We’ll pretend James is the name he took as priest.

You look over your shoulder to check if anyone’s around and knock on the backdoor of the church, waiting for your lover to usher you inside. The sinful secrecy of it all, the rush of excitement, your love for all that’s forbidden: you’ve never felt more alive.

Being forced to spend the summer in the middle of nowhere is not the way you expected your senior year of college to end, but not all evil comes to harm, and in this quiet little town, you’ve become quite interested in the local priest. In your defence, boredom is the root of all evil, and in your case, evil happens to make you horny and prone to making bad decisions, and Father James is young and handsome, so it was only a matter of time before he gave in the temptation of the flesh and you found yourself fucked against the altar. 

Ordained or not, he’s only a man after all.

-

The confessional is dark and suffocating; behind the wooden screen, the priest is all ears.

Muscle memory kicks in when you do the sign of the cross and begin to speak. 

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned.” you recite the formula that’s been ingrained in your mind since you were old enough to need it, “My last confession was seven years ago.”

You mentally curse your parents for still having the authority to send you to Bumfuck Nowhere, Alabama, and your aunt for forcing you to attend church and confess your sins. 

It will be good for your soul, they said, New York is corrupting you.

You suppose it’s only fair that your good catholic parents would react so drastically; they wanted to surprise you in your new apartment and drove all the way from Rhode Island to New York, only to find your piano tutor buried balls deep inside of you. Lord knows what they’d do if they knew you’ve lost your purity long before that, with one of the good catholic girls in your private boarding school. Extramarital sex, with a woman at that! They’d probably have a meltdown, drag your to a cloistered convent and lock you there for life.   

You don’t wait for the priest to acknowledge you and start talking.

“You know Father, I found a handy dandy little list of all the sins you’re supposed to confess to and I checked them. I’ll read it to you. Let’s see.” you clear your throat, “So, I use artificial birth control, I broke a couple of promises, including the one to wait for marriage, I can be kind of blasphemous sometimes, but you see, I spent six months abroad in Italy last year and the kids there taught me all sorts of ways to disrespect the Lord, they have so many, and once those things get stuck in your brain... what can you do, they just stick in there, you don’t even want to say them but they become part of your vocabulary.” you continue uninterrupted, “Anyways, my parents caught me in the act with a man, so I guess we have ‘dishonoring family’ too. Underage drinking as a kid, a lot of that. Drugs sometimes, nothing major, ya know, I don’t do coke or nothing. Gossiping, impure thoughts, God-”

He interrupts you clearing his throat.

“Sorry. See? I don’t even do it on purpose. As I was saying, I love those. Lying... not a whole lot to be honest; to my parents, mostly. Haven’t prayed in a good 10 years. Masturbation, did I mention that? Watched porn a couple of times, ‘m not a big fan if I’m being honest, but to each their own. Oh, and premarital sex, a ton of that. Had an orgy once, not too fond of those either. Too many limbs.”

There’s a lot to unpack here, so you give him a moment to ponder his thoughts. He stays silent for a while, and when he speaks his voice is not at all what you expected it to be. He’s soft spoken yet commanding, and sounds surprisingly young.

“Anything else you can remember?”

“Well of course, the cherry on top, my own first class ticket to hell.” you say, not as cheerful as before, repeating the exact words you’ve been taught for years, “God gave me free will and I used it to commit homosexual acts, Father. Multiple times.” 

You let the words hang in the stuffy air of the confessional; you don’t know what to expect from the priest, to be honest. Last time you admitted to thinking of a girl to a religious figure, Sister Theresa told you you’d never have to act on your impulses, or you’d burn in hell for it. You were 12. 

“You think that’s worse than the rest?”

“Not me, no, I don’t.”

He hums thoughtfully. “What makes you do the things you do?” he asks, and you don’t feel any of the judgment you were expecting, only genuine curiosity.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me to repent for my sins?” you reply, equally as curious.

“Is absolution what you’re seeking?”

You snort, shaking your head. “I’m not looking for forgiveness, Father, and I’m way past asking for permission.”

“Then why are you here?”

“My aunt forced me.”

It’s his turn to snort this time. “You don’t seem the type to follow orders blindly.”

You admit the guy’s got a point. “I guess… I don’t know. I felt the need to. It feels nice, talking to someone. I feel lonely a lot, and it’s easier to talk to strangers. And this is cheaper than therapy, so that’s a bonus. Really, I just need to vent.”

“Do you regret any of your choices?” he says, after a while.

“Not the ones I confessed to.” you admit, trying to discern the priest’s figure behind the screen. 

“What is it, then?”

“You know, you’re kinda chill for a priest from Alabama, I gotta give it to you.” you respond, dodging his question.

“Thanks, it’s probably because I’m from Brooklyn.”

“What the hell-” 

“Language.” 

“Sorry. Why would someone move from Brooklyn to this place?”

“Vocation.”

“I see.” 

It’s silent again, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable.

“You should come to the parish sometimes. We have meetings, we sing, we eat together, the children play football and the young adults talk about what it means to be a Catholic in the modern world. It may ease your mind about a lot of worries and misconceptions you might have.”

You contemplate on his words: it wouldn’t hurt, would it? It’s not like you’ve got a whole lot going on here; and you might as well find yourself a devoted man or woman to pass time. 

“I might.”, you finally respond, not willing to give him the satisfaction, and stand from the chair. “I’ll see you around, Father.”

“May God give you peace, miss.”

“Amen.”

-

“What took you so long?” James asks, grunting when you pull on his hair.

“My aunt asked me to make lunch for her husband, as if he couldn’t do it his damn self.” you respond, and suck on his bottom lip, “Missed me?”

“Always.”

You coo, “My eager boy.”

He’s sitting on his office chair and you’re straddling his lap, grinding your hips on him and feeling his arousal grow. You’re burning up, panties damp and a familiar coil in your core. You don’t know what excites you the most: being responsible for the corruption of such pure soul, the forbidden aspect of fucking a Catholic priest, or the possibility of someone walking in on you. Your walls flutter when you imagine the scandal that this affair would create.

You pull him closer, tugging on his white collar, and he breaks the kiss. His eyes are black and glossed over, lips swollen, cheeks red, but there’s something like worry in eyes.

“Do you love me?” he asks quietly, in the soft voice you adore.

“Of course I do, you know that.”

You fall on your knees and fumble with the zipper of his black pants.

“Would you love me if I didn’t have this collar?” he stops your hands with his, “Would you still love me if I wasn’t this?”, he gestures to his sacred attire.

You pause your actions and search his eyes. Where is this coming from?

“Yes, I’d love you anyways, I’ll always love you.”

A small, shy smile breaks on his face. He lifts you up and makes you sit on his desk.

“I- I w-want to try something,” he begins with a stutter, “I remember hearing some kids back when I was in school talk about it.”

You cock your head to the side, observing carefully as he sits back down on the chair and parts your legs. He lowers his head and begins peppering the inner skin of your thighs with open mouthed kisses. Oh-.

“James, you don’t have to do this.” you try to tell him, but he’s already moving your panties to the side.

He stares entranced between your legs; he’s never been this bold, never watched you there. “You’re so pretty, I want to kiss you here.” 

You feel a finger tease your entrance and dip in. Every nerve ending in your body is on fire, and when he licks a strip of your dripping cunt, you feel like you could burst. He delves in your glistening folds, tongue swirling around as if he was kissing your mouth, and your hips jerk forward when he crooks a couple of fingers inside you, hitting that sweet spot that makes the coil in your belly grow tighter. 

You throw your head back and your eyes fall on the cross behind you. You are very much past forgiveness at this point, you muse, and that makes this all the more exciting.

You’re writhing under his touch, completely at his mercy. You grab the back of his neck and bring his face upward so that his mouth comes in contact with your clit.

“Suck there.” you demand in a raspy voice, rocking your hips and fucking yourself on his fingers. “Good boy.” you praise when he closes his mouth around your bud and begins sucking and lapping on it. “Yes, oh my God, fuck, faster.”

James obeys and jerks the fingers inside of you, the vibration and his tongue enough to make the knot in your core unravel and pleasure release in jolts, shooting from your center to the rest of your body; you slap a hand on your mouth to suppress wanton moans as your hips twitch involuntarily and your toes curl. He rides you though your orgasm until you’re too sensitive to handle his face on you.

When you look down, you find him, face wet in your arousal, eyes half lidded.

“Did I do well?” he asks full of hope, still clinging to your legs and nuzzling your thigh.

“You did amazing, sweet boy.”

-

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned.”

Hearing your sultry voice, he chokes on air behind the screen and clears his throat, trying to keep the same composure he always seems to loose when you’re around. 

“I got friendly with a man, you see, a man of church.” you begin in a teasing tone, “He kissed me, and I didn’t pull back. I let him roam his hands all over my body, Father, and then I corrupted him.”, You lick a couple of fingers and dip them in your mouth, then you release them with a popping sound and slowly slip them in your panties. You push a finger in your already wet core, smearing arousal around and teasing your clit, slow at first. “You should have seen how innocent he looked, Father. He said he’s never been touched like that. A virgin. I’ve never been with a virgin before.” you continue, almost moaning the last part as you slide three fingers in and out of you and tease your bud with your thumb, “He didn’t even know I could please him with my mouth, so I took him in and I sucked him off.” You’re panting, hand furiously circling your clit. You hear Bucky’s ragged breath behind the screen. “He moaned so loud, F-F-Father, he c-came so quick. And I swallowed it all, because you can’t let a single drop of seed g-go to w-waste, can you?” you whimper, feeling an orgasm build up.

You’re fueled by his suppressed grunts and the lewd sounds of him touching himself.

“I don’t come for absolution Father, because I’d do it all again.” you breathe at last, letting pleasure run through your every nerve, setting you ablaze. 

Behind the screen, Father James paints his hand and black shirt in white spurts, shame and pleasure fighting eachother in his mind.

-

You haven’t moved yet, legs parted, trying to catch your breath, and James is still clinging onto you.

You don’t know how it happened. 

It started with boredom, with a wish to fuck the pretty priest, but you’ve caught feelings now, and in three weeks you’ll have to get back to New York, where a job and a new apartment await you.

At least your aunt and your parents are happy about your redemption: you’ve been going to church everyday. They don’t need to know you’ve spent most time on your knees or on your back.  

But you don’t want to think about it now; you can’t let sadness take over and ruin these moments when James is only yours. Your love is on borrowed time, and you intend to make the most out of it.

“Do you want to fuck me, my love? You want me to come all over your pretty cock, yes? You want to fill me up with your cum?” you whisper in his ear, amused at the way he blushes.

“Please.” he whines, palming his cock through his briefs.

“Please what, sweet boy?”

“Please let me-” he interrupts himself.

“Let me what?”

He mumbles something incomprehensible.

“Can’t hear you.” you tease him, grabbing his chin and tilting his face up.

“Let me make love to you.”

You let out a chuckle and shake your head fondly. This man has had you bent over his desk, in the confessional, behind the altar, on the benches where the devoted Catholics of this town attend mass, and yet he can’t bring himself to talk crudely.

You pull on his hair so he stands, and you kiss him ravenously, letting your hands roam over his lean body, the taste of his lips permanently etched in the back of your mind. You don’t want to forget a thing, so you commit to mind each of his little noises, the way his tongue swirls around yours, the soft caresses of his hands.

Clothes discarded in a blur, the room is filled with your moan and his grunts. He pounds into you like a desperate man, clinging onto you with a bruising touch, holding you impossibly close as if you were about to slip through his fingers. And in a way, you are.

When James makes love to you the world disappears and there’s no judgement, no church. He’s not a priest, you’re not a sinner; he’s not pure, you’re not sick.

It’s just you and him, united in one body. Just a man and a woman being one in the flesh.

His thrusts become sloppier, his breathing labored. He brings a hand on your clit and presses on it. He comes inside of you, painting your walls, and the feeling of his swollen cock inside you and his cum filling you up are enough to trigger your release too, your walls clenching on him and milking every last drop.

You’re exhausted, panting in each other’s embrace. 

There’s no sin when you’re like this; you’re no longer the devil to his holy water. 

There’s only love.

-

James’ desk in his office is dark and wide, with mahogany panels on all three sides except the one he sits at. So when Ms. Lee, the adorable elderly lady that organizes the monthly fundraising events for charity, knocks on the door as you’re bouncing on James’ cock, all you have to do is crouch down and disappear under the table.

“Good evening, Father James.” She greets him cheerfully.

You hear the tapping of her heels until she plops down on the guests chair. 

“Good evening, Ms. Lee.” he responds in a strained voice, adjusting himself on the chair.

Ms. Lee speaks a lot. She’s talking James’ ear off, blabbering about the next charity event, and you think what better occasion than this one to be an indecent slut.

You slowly massage his thighs, bringing your hands from his knees to his groin, teasing him when you get close to his crotch and retracting. 

You watch as his cock swells in front of you, and you bite back a giggle. You hear him suck in a breath when you start pumping his length with both your hands.

“Are you alright, James? You’re looking a little worse for wear.” Ms. Lee asks him worriedly when she sees her priest red and sweaty.

James clears his throat and when he’s about to open his mouth, you lick a strip from base to his leaking tip, and the noise that escapes him is between a moan and a grunt.

“Y-yes, Ms. Lee, I’m fine. Just some food poisoning I think.” he manages to answer, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.  

“Poor thing.” she coos, and you take his cock in your mouth, swirling your tongue around, sucking on the frail skin of under the tip, “Anyways-” she begins again.

James tries to keep his composure, but you sense his distress, and you imagine it must be written all over his face. One hand massages his balls, the other aids your movements as you bob your head up and down, careful not to make a noise. His legs twitch under the table when you push his cock all the way down to your throat, and he makes a strangled noise.

“Sweetie, are you sure you’re fine? You really don’t look like it.” Ms. Lee interjects again, interrupting her story.

“I’m fine ma’am, don’t worry about me.”, he says through gritted teeth, jaw clenched shut so hard he might break his teeth.

You give it all you’ve got until your jaw is aching and your knees are killing you. Your effort pays off when, with one last motion on your hands, James grunts and cums in your throat, hips jerking forward and legs shaking.

He comes so hard that you choke on his release.

“Did you hear it too?” she asks in alert.

“He-hear wh-what?” he stutters, pretending to cough to hide your noises.

“A choking sound?”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about that, just my cough.” he answers, red faced and spent.

“I guess…” she doesn’t sound convinced but lets it go anyways. She could never imagine her sweet priest is getting blown by a city whore under his desk, “I’ll get going then, but please get some rest Father, your holy duties can wait.”

They can indeed, you think, as James yanks you from underneath the table and bends you over the desk, fucking you until you’re crying.

-

“What makes you do the things you do?” he’s playing with your hair as he asks the question that’s been plaguing him for months, since that first time in the confessional.

You’re in a motel somewhere, two hours away from your town, laying on a bed like two lovers. In this room, you’re not a dirty little secret.

What excited you before, suffocates you now.

You thought you may only like the forbidden, but you find yourself at peace in his arms, that peace you’ve yearned for for 22 years, that peace you could never find, because people like you are born sick, that’s what you’ve been told your whole life.

“If I tell you, will you absolve me?” you ask, basking in his affection. 

James is so sweet, so caring. You wish this moment could last forever.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, my love. I’ve sinned too much myself.”

“My bad.” you giggle.

Silence falls on you, and you hum in though, pondering your next words very carefully.

“I don’t do them for any reasons, other than they feel good. It feels good to drink, to smoke, to fuck you, to suck your cock.”, you say, and he blushes in embarrassment, “Or maybe I never got over my teenage phase and I just like doing all the things my parents always told me not to do, who knows. Trauma? Maybe. Spite? Quite possibly. I don’t even know at this point.”

He nods slowly. 

He wishes you could see yourself through his eyes, see how perfect you are. In his heart, there’s only love for you, in his mind, no more conflict.

“I do them for you.” he answers, and you smile at him, “And for myself, I guess. I thought I had found my way, but maybe I was wrong.”

You turn to look at him, and bop his nose.

“I’ll always love you, no matter what choice you make. I’ll wait for you if you ask me to.”

But his choice has been made already. 

He doesn’t deserve his collar, but hopefully he deserves you.

-

I’m curious to hear your thoughts. Please, reblog if you liked it and leave a comment. Feedback is always appreciated. 🤍

Priest bucky masterlist

[bratkook]

one chance. (m) knj. teaser.

pairing. flash!namjoon x reader genre. fluff, angst, smut, superhero!au word count. approx 20k warnings. light hearted, some fighting (not graphic), mentions of character death (also not graphic...or permanent), mutual pining, namjoon is an adorably sweet dork !! smut: tbd as i write! but ofc filthy summary. namjoon knows he only has one chance to go back and make things right, but is he prepared to live with the potential consequences that his actions could cause? note. this was going to be part of a bts super hero collab that fell through (& i hope the author’s involved still post their fics) i’m about halfway through writing it and hope this will give me the motivation to finish it lmao. i might do a tag list if anyone is interested?? lmk muah.

The searing pain is felt before Namjoon even hits the floor, shooting down his fingertips when he attempts to move them, making his shoulder ache with each breath he takes. The plastic drums he had just collided into—an impact at a speed they weren’t designed to withhold—lay tattered in bits and chunks all around him, cold water that would typically be held inside them now spilled out and soaking into his suit. 

A hiss escapes his lips as he remains on the wet floor, already hearing the rushing footsteps approaching him. “It’s broken!” he shouts out, wincing when he once again attempts to move his arm. “Why isn’t it healing if it’s broken?”

When you and Hoseok finally reach him, you breathe a sigh of relief. From the absolute chaos his crash had caused, you were expecting to see him a lot more battered and bruised. Instead he lay on his side, hand gently cradling his aching shoulder with a grimace on his face. 

“Holy shit, that was awesome.” Hoseok barely spares a glance at Namjoon, overstepping him to assess the damage caused, tapping away at the screen of his tablet as he does so, checking the speed data he had captured. 

“You told me these would hold,” Namjoon grumbles, foot kicking a nearby scrap of plastic, another groan leaving him when his shoulder throbs. 

“That was just a guess.” Hoseok brushes him off, continuing to type away as he circles the crash scene. He only approaches Namjoon to pluck the Go-pro off his head, pocketing it with a sheepish smile on his face. 

With a subtle eye roll, you’re crouching down to meet Namjoon’s body, hands gently reaching out to see what the problem was. He lets his hand fall from it’s protective position, eyes squeezing shut as he waits for the burst of pain to come, jaw clenching when your fingers press along his shoulder, clearly feeling the way it had popped out of place. 

“It’s not healing because it’s not broken.” Namjoon finally opens his eyes now, peering up at you and gulping when he realizes just how close you are. He can clearly see the worry in your eyes as you try to see just how bad it is, a crease between your brows that he wants to rub out with the pad of his thumb, small frown on your lips that only makes him feel worse for going against your warning of this being a bad idea. 

A small huff spills from your lips once you realize you won’t be able to help him until you’re back at the lab without this suit—a suit that Hoseok calls his pride and joy—covering him up. “It’s dislocated. You probably tore some ligaments and tendons, but those will heal up just fine once we pop it back into place.”

“Wait, is that gonna hurt?” he whines out, huffing out the strands of his brown hair that had fallen over his face and gasping in pain when you purposely prod at the swollen joint with a small glare. 

“I’ll make sure it does so you remember to never go against my warnings.”

“Oh god, you’re doing this on purpose!” Namjoon yells, sat on the cold chair, knees pulled up as he braces for the pain. 

“I told you I was,” you smirk, extending his arm out, hands placed against his palm with the other on his trap muscle to get a good grip. The loose threads of his suit tickle his skin, a product of you cutting the fabric to double check that the only thing wrong was in fact his dislocated shoulder. 

Did you actually have to cut it? No. This was just your childish way of getting back at Hoseok for convincing Namjoon to do this. 

The grimace never leaves his face as you stretch the limb out, twisting it slowly to the right angle before pulling back with a slight pop once it settles back into its rightful spot. 

He feels the relief instantly, tense muscles relaxing as he sags back into the chair, face no longer contorted in pain when you gently lower his arm. Namjoon swears he’s never felt better, already able to lift his arms as if nothing ever happened, the torn tendons quickly repaired and back to normal thanks to his regenerative ability.  

“Good to go. If you pop it out of place again you’re gonna have to do it yourself.”

“Yeah right. I’ll just have Hoseok do it for me.”

Right on cue, a crash sounds out behind you, followed by a shout and an apology as Hoseok picks up whatever gadget he was currently working on. 

“You sure about that?” you question with a smug smile, crossing your arms under your chest as you step back. As smart and helpful as Hoseok was, his mind was far too focused on the technology surrounding him. If Namjoon seriously injured himself, the only person who would know what to do, was you. 

He knew this, and sometimes he liked that fact, not opposed to the way you’d constantly worry about him—totally choosing to ignore the reason why you did so was because it was your job. That tiny factor in the equation was tucked into the back of his mind. His small crush was innocent, and if looking forward to seeing what color lipstick you’d wear that day helped him deal with getting poked, questioned, and forced to run on a treadmill to document his speed, then that's fine by him. 

“I won’t dislocate my shoulder again. I promise.” 

Something about the smile on his face does nothing to ease your worry, and as Hoseok emerges from his room with a giddy laugh, you feel the need to pry. 

“What the hell were you trying to do anyway?”

“I think we’re close!” Hoseok announces, your question being brushed aside as he thrusts his tablet into Namjoon’s now fully mobile arms. The only thing lighting up the screen is a skew of numbers along with a diagram and some fancy looking animated figure that slightly resembled himself. It meant nothing to Namjoon so he doesn’t bother trying to decipher it, looking back up at Hoseok with a confused expression. 

“I don’t think me making those plastic drums explode got us any closer.” A small shiver courses through him as he recalls the pain from his shoulder once more. 

“Oh yeah, that was pointless. But I think I figured out another way.” Hoseok grabs the tablet once more, tapping a few more times before another animation fills the screen. Peering over his shoulder you spot what it is, a golden animation of what looks to be a treadmill, swirls flowing on either side of them that you believe to represent wind. 

“Another way for what?” You question again, not liking the sly look on Hoseok’s face. 

“Time travel.” He says it so casually, not even sparing you a glance as he flips the tablet over to show Namjoon. 

That wasn’t what you were expecting. When you had walked in on Hoseok pitching the idea to Namjoon, wanting to document his full speed, push it further to see what more he was capable of, you thought it was just to gather information to help when it came to figuring out a plan of action the next time a meta-human decided to torment the city. 

“Time travel?” you repeat, a displeased look on your face that Namjoon spots instantly. The small wrinkle between your brows is back and he can’t even allow himself to find it adorable because the small glare you were giving Hoseok changes course and stares directly at him. 

“Yeah,” he quietly admits, pressing his lips together gently. His saving grace comes in the form of his phone ringing loudly, cutting through the tense silence and making him jolt in his seat, hands fumbling for the device.

He has never been more thankful to get a call from work, your scolding being directed at Hoseok now, but Namjoon can hear it through his current conversation. The worried tone in your voice is clear as you question Hoseok’s sanity, stating how dangerous time travel could be in the grand scheme of things. Hoseok can only stumble over his words, flustered at being on the receiving end of your lecture. 

Namjoon ends the phone call right on time to hear you shout, “Are you trying to start World War three?!”

“I gotta go…” he whispers, slowly sliding off the chair trying to be as quiet as possible, hoping he wouldn’t be detected. But before he can flash out of there, you’re looking at him again. 

“Not so fast.” He freezes instantly, hands lifted up in front of him. “We’re not done talking about this—“

“I know, but I gotta go. I do have an actual job after all.”

Hoseok glares at Namjoon, “So you’re gonna leave me here to get yelled at...alone?”

Namjoon gives him a guilty smile, shrugging and mumbling out a quick apology before bolting out of there—literally. Your hair flows up at the speed, Hoseok’s shirt flapping wildly, and nearby documents scatter around from the gust of air he had caused. The only thing left behind is the red suit draped across the chair he had been sitting on, flashing out of it and into his regular clothes before leaving to work. 

“What was the Gopro for?” you question. As much as you didn’t like the idea of time travel, you were slightly curious about the entire situation. 

“Just thought it’d be sick to film it. Like imagine if it actually works and we have solid proof?” Hoseok’s eyes glimmer at the prospect of it all, tapping at the screen to replay the footage captured earlier. The two of you have front row seats of Namjoon’s earlier crash, and seeing the chaos along with hearing Namjoon’s grunts of pain a second time makes you glare at Hoseok once again. 

You reach forward and grab the discarded red suit from the chair, balling it up and tossing it at Hoseok’s face. “Patch it up. I had to rip the sleeve to properly see his shoulder.”

He whines loudly as he peels the material off of his face, fingers clutching the precious suit and gasping when he spots the torn area. “You monster!”

[dc41896]

There You Are

Something I thought of inspired by the song “There You Are” by Zayn. Hope you guys like it☺️!

Pairing: Chris EvansxBlack Reader

⚠️: Bit of angst, drunk reader, fluff mixed in

Need you when I'm broken, when I'm fixed

Need you when I'm well, when I'm sick

Friends that I rely on don't come through

They run like the river, but not you

The erratic knocking at his hotel room door makes Chris turn on the bedside lamp as he sits up annoyed and confused. Picking up his phone, the time read 2:17 am making him mentally groan as the knocking continued.

“Hold on!,” he called out as he slipped on his sweatpants draped over the lounge chair in the corner and pulled his hooded jacket over his arms before lazily zipping it up. Coming closer to the door, he slightly pauses now hearing humming mixed with faint giggles only making him more confused and eyebrows knit together.

Although warped due to the view from peephole, he could see you clad in your satin like, short, black dress leaning against the door swaying to the song coming from your smiling lips. You ran into each other earlier at a wrap party neither of you knew the other would be attending, and briefly talked before going your separate ways for the night agreeing to try to meet later to catch up on lost time.

So why you were here at his hotel room, he had no idea.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?,” he asked once opening the door to see you visibly drunk, heels in your hand, as you continued to sing to yourself and dance as if he wasn’t there.

“I jus keep em satisfied on the weekend,” you giggled leaning forward until your head was nearly at your knees. If it wasn’t for Chris reaching out to hold you up by your waist, your body would’ve eventually touched the floor as well. Head tilted, you dreamily take in those familiar features that always made you weak. His soft beard covering that sharp jawline, barely noticeable freckles speckled near his adorable nose. And the cherry on top, his bright blue eyes shielded by those infuriating long lashes that you, and probably every woman in the world, were envious of.

“Hi,” you whisper being met with his small smile.

“Let’s get you inside.”

His arm moves to wrap around your waist holding on a bit tighter noticing your unsteady footsteps. Really they shouldn’t even count as footsteps since you barely moved your feet, instead letting them slide along the carpet as he took a couple steps back.

“You feel sick?,” he asked closing the door behind him with his foot before padding across the cool floor with your chests firmly pressed against each other’s. Shaking your head no as he carefully sits you on the edge of the disheveled bed, you instantly fall back laughing with your arms stretched out bringing them up and down trying to make snow angels.

“Comfy.”

“Glad you feel at home,” he chuckles to himself removing your phone from your purse. Luckily he knew your passcode would be your birthday from being friends for so long. “I’m gonna call your boyfriend to pick you up okay?”

“We broke up,” you sigh, stopping your arms movements.

“Oh...I-I’m sorry.”

“Yep. Last year.”

“Wait you broke up last year?,” he repeats stepping closer to the bed leaving your phone on the dresser next to your purse. “But earlier you said-,”

“I lie.”

“So,” he starts as he sits next to you. “You’re out here on your own and came here all by yourself?”

He couldn’t help but think of everything that could’ve gone wrong during your journey making him want to hold you close being glad that you were, for the most part, okay.

“Mhmm,” you nod looking up at him with innocent, doe like brown eyes as if you saw nothing wrong with what you did. Fingers raking through his messy hair, he quietly sighs sympathetically peering down at you.

“It’s good you made it here safely, but promise me you won’t do that again.”

Whispers in the background, behind closed doors

I got myself in a mess and without you I'm in more

Oh, I'm a little drunk now, that's why I went to war

Oh, yeah, you are my sober when I'm on the floor

“...I’m a terrible person,” you slur, back still pressed against the mattress.

“No you’re not. That’s just the shots talking,” he replies returning beside you with a bottle of water from the minibar. “Here, so you’ll start to feel better.”

“But I am,” you insist holding onto his arm as you sit up. “I hurt people.”

He couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped his lips and the amused look that spread across his face. You were one of the nicest people he’d ever met, so to hear you, or anyone for that matter, call you terrible, or anything bad, only made him want to laugh since clearly it had to be a joke.

“Who did you hurt then?”

“You.”

There was an awkward silence as his eyes slowly shifted from you to the plastic bottle in his hands. He wouldn’t say you hurt him those few years ago, but he was definitely left with unanswered questions. Your friendship seemed to slowly be turning into something more as texts became more frequent and calls became longer, lasting into the early hours of the morning. You even started visiting his place more after being prompted with his many invites, and persuaded by pictures of the beautiful scenery that surrounded him.

“Ugh so jealous😩! Rather be there than stuck with this meeting” you’d reply to his small video clip of the sun shining down on the terrain in front of him and Dodger during their hike.

“Come by after and we can go again😋”

“Hmm...maybe I will☺️. Don’t tempt me with a good time lol”

“😂 wasn’t trying to purposely tempt you, buttt not gonna lie and tell you not to take the bait😉”

One day though, the mood between the both of you shifted as he felt you become more distant. Chris thought that maybe it was something he’d said or done and tried to talk with you about it, but you kept avoiding it.

So much so, that you eventually left without a warning not telling him until he tried to come see you.

“Don’t worry about that, get some rest.”

“You’re so amazing, and kind, and-and beautiful! I was scared, and always I run,” you sniff hanging your head. “You d-deserved better, I’m terribully.”

Palms finding your cheeks, he gently tilts your head so you’ll meet his soft eyes while his thumbs wipe away the couple tears that just started to fall.

“Hey, you’re not terribully okay? Yea we have some things to talk about, but we can do that later. Your mind doesn’t need the stress right now.”

His calm voice and sweet words only make you feel worse as a few more tears fall to meet his hands.

“And you’re patient. There for me,” you add playing with the zipper on his jacket. “I mess up.” Noticing your slight shivers, he moves to his open suitcase getting one of his sweatshirts.

“Think you can put this on by yourself?,” he asks to which you nod yes. “Go ahead and change. I’ll be right outside the door if you need me.”

Only you know me the way you know me

Only you forgive me when I'm sorry

“Y/N? You okay?,” he asks a few moments after no longer hearing you shuffle and stumble about. Peeking in, he softly chuckles shaking his head at the sight of you sleeping across the bed in his sweatshirt. He gently lifts your head placing one of the many hotel pillows under it before pulling the comforter over your bare legs.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble sinking your face further into the side of the oversized hood pulled over your head.

“Shh, get some rest.”

Taking one final look at your still body to make sure you were okay, he moves towards the couch with head cycling through all those feelings he thought were buried deep enough he’d eventually forget. Who was he kidding though? Even after everything that happened between you two he knew those feelings would always be there.

And seeing you tonight practically glowing; looking every bit as angelic as he remembered only confirmed it.

———

Eyes slowly opening to the dimly lit room, your instincts to quickly sit up and take in your new, unfamiliar surroundings are halted by the pounding in your head. All those shots definitely weren’t as enjoyable now as they were going down.

You let your head roam to the best of your ability eventually falling on the navy blue hoodie keeping you warm, bringing back last nights events along with embarrassment and shame as you groan.

“Okay new rule, no more drinking when you’re out since apparently you get diarrhea of the mouth and spill all your emotions when no one asked.”

“So I guess that’s a no to bar hopping tonight then?,” you hear making you sit up with a wince and a few ow’s. Standing in his seemingly shmedium black tee over dark jeans and sneakers, his Boston ball cap shades his face but not enough that you can’t see his dazzling smile.

“H-hey.”

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

“Pretty good, besides my head feeling like I’m gonna have a brain blast in the worst way that is,” you answer making him chuckle as he moves closer to the bed.

“Yea I kinda figured, which is why I got breakfast for you.” Setting down the plastic bags in his hands, he pulls out takeout containers still steaming from the top causing you to mentally aw at his sweet gesture. “Hope you’re okay with waffles, eggs, and bacon. I wasn’t really sure what your go to was.”

“I’d honestly take anything right now,” you softly laugh carefully removing the lid to your waiting food. “Thanks Chris. Not just for the food, but for last night too.”

“Anytime.”

Even when I messed it up

There you are

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[itsthemoofacewriting]

Take your time (I’ll wait)

I have a head canon that Sanji’s full of hot air, he believes he’s the woman whisperer, but should an attractive woman actually flirt with him, especially the woman of his dreams, he wouldn’t realise or know what to do.

Also, I wanted Nami to make the first move for once.

This is for my wonderful friend @fangirlingwithnoregrets. I told her I was writing something for her but told her I had no idea when it would be done. Well, I lied.

Summary:Black leg Sanji, self-proclaimed ladies’ man, can’t even see when he’s being flirted with. Nami has her work cut out for her. Rating: M- just to be safe. 

This can also be found on AO3 and FFN.

Enjoy!

For eight long years, Nami had gathered money, week by week, month by month, never taking a break. It was hard, it was painful, and it was relentless. But despite all of that, she’s never had to work as hard as she is right now.

“Oh, Sanji-kun!” Nami called after him like she was surprised as the cook came into view. She’d heard the kitchen door open and the familiar pattern of his steps and she’d sprang into action.

“Yes, Nam-” He stopped dead, words lost at the sight in front of him and Nami had to bite down her grin.

There Nami stood just outside the women’s door, her hand pressed to her chest to hold the front of her dress up with the back unzipped, exposing her creamy back. Sanji looked like he was going to have a seizure, his eyes as round as golf balls and mouth agape.

In her most innocent voice, she asked, “Could you zip me up?”

He didn’t reply straight away, and if her ears had heard right, he actually gurgled. It was exactly what she was going for and she only had to wait another long moment before he was taking a tentative step towards her, like he was expecting it all to be a joke.

She played it oblivious, like she hadn’t noticed his struggle and turned to display her back- to show off what she needed done, of course, no other reason. She may have also scooped her hair up out of the way and curved her back more than necessary, but she needed to exaggerate.

He just wasn’t getting it.

When she felt him finally standing behind her, she turned her head to the side to look at him and fluttered her eyelashes. “Thank god you came by when you did, I’ve been struggling with the zip for ages.”

She’d waited twenty minutes behind her bedroom door for him to leave that damn kitchen.

Sanji nodded at her stiffly, staying silent but his reaction spoke volumes. His hands jittered nervously as they reached for the zip of her dress and he stopped breathing at it slowly dragged upwards. His hands lingered when the zip reached the top and before he could pull away, she was speaking, “Oh, could you also do up the clasp?”

He nodded dumbly, fingers fumbling to follow the new request and it took him three attempts before he finally managed it. He breathed out loudly when he was done and she felt it dance along her neck, causing her to shiver.

Letting her hair down, she spun around to face him. “Thank you for doing that, Sanji-kun.” Her hands smoothed the front of the dress and Sanji watched their journey like a hawk. It was incredibly satisfying but so frustrating because that’s all he ever did. Look. Not touch.

“Maybe you can help me out of it later.” When all he did was gape at her, she spared him and explained, “With the zipper, it gets stuck.”

She truly commended him for holding it together, not one sight of blood. Where was he finding all of this self-restraint from all of a sudden?

He found his voice then, “Of course,” he croaked.

Nami beamed at him and he took a step back, turning to leave. His footsteps were uneven, like he was going to faint at any moment, and it was such a stark difference from before that Nami grinned to herself. It wasn’t exactly what she wanted, but it was something.

“You have no shame, woman.”

Nami turned to look behind her and Zoro was peering down at her, having just turned the corner. She grinned at him cattily, unaffected by his words and shrugged.

“Keep it up and maybe his balls will finally drop,” were his words of encouragement before leaving and although they sounded harsh, she knew he meant well. She sure hoped his words were true because this was exhausting, she wasn’t sure just how many moves she had left in her arsenal.

Why was she trying so hard, you ask? Because she’d finally realised, after all this time, how she felt about Sanji and getting him to make a move was harder than she’d expected.  

Oh, and she’s pretty sure everyone knew about it at this point, except for Sanji, of course.

.

.

.

Nami was going to have to up her game.

Again.

Sanji’s zipped up another dress since then, an even skimpier one this time, where the zipper went all the way down her back and she’d even had her sexiest underwear on, purposefully shifting to show it off. He’d seen it, she knew he had. Heard him gasp, unable to hold it back, and she’d looked over her shoulder to give him a smouldering look, to silently encourage him but instead he’d just got his act together.

He’d taken a deep breath in, zipped up the dress and left.

She’d tried not to take it personally. Maybe she was just rusty.

So she had a new plan. A plan that she knew was going to get him. He was going to have to actually touch her this time.

The plan was put into motion as soon as everyone had left for town and Sanji had retreated to the kitchen. She’d changed into her bikini and laid down on her sun lounger she’d unfolded and waited.

It was a good 20 minutes before he’d come out of the kitchen, and briefly she’d wondered if he’d actually gone into town and she’d missed it. But then he’d flung open the kitchen door, drink in hand, ready to call her name but it died on his lips at the sight of her. She leaned up on her arms, smiling up at him like nothing was wrong but she was no fool, she knew he had a great view of her cleavage, she’d positioned herself that way.

He was motionless for a second, his brain trying to compute what was happening and then walked over, forcing his eyes to look away.

That’s fine though, she’d planned for this. It was time to up the stakes.

Putting on her best smile, she sat up as she accepted the drink and thanked him. She took a large a gulp and put it down next to her lounger. Then she reached up behind her neck, undoing the strings tied there, her other hand cupping her chest to hold the bikini top up.

She wasn’t quite at the stage of flashing him yet. Especially if Chopper wasn’t around.

His hand twitched at his side and he no longer tried to avert his eyes; they watched her hands shamelessly.

Time to bring this home.

Leaning down, she grabbed the sun lotion next to her abandoned drink with her free hand. “Will you put some on my back?” She asked innocently, shaking the bottle at him when all he did was stare, “I don’t want my skin to burn.”

When he nodded wordlessly, still stunned, she took it as a cue to lay back down on her front, carefully positioning herself so her bikini stayed put. When he didn’t move, she held the bottle over her shoulder, ready for him to take.

It was kind of cute. She shuffled over for him to sit and he sat cautiously, like any wrong move and he’d wake up from a dream.

“Can you undo the other bow, please?” She asked sweetly, pulling her hair out of the way to reveal the tied strings at the middle of her back.

“Yeah,” his strained voice replied, and it took a second but then fingers were pulling at the strings. She felt them flutter across her skin to fall either side of her body on the lounger.

It took a second after that, and she wished she could see his face, but she wasn’t ready for that yet. The first touch was cold as his lotioned hands made contact and Nami hissed at the temperature difference on her skin and he muttered a quiet ‘sorry’ under his breath.

He was clumsy at first, unsure. His hands skittered across her skin, trying to keep the touching to a minimum, which was ridiculous considering the task. Nami was having none of it, so she hummed in contentment, relaxing under his touch and it seemed to have an immediate effect. He relaxed, his posture slackening next to her and he no longer looked like he was going to take off at a moment’s notice. His hands found their purpose, surer of themselves and moved with more rhythm against her skin.

Now she could really start to enjoy this.

“Sorry, Sanji-kun, could you make sure to get rid of the streaking? White marks ruin a tan.”

He complied so easily, his hands running large strokes along her back and although it was a hot day, she could feel goosebumps erupting along her arms. His hands were soft on her skin, but firm in their actions and she briefly wondered if he moisturised them regularly considering how much he probably had to wash them.

At one point, he daringly ran his hands down the side of her waist, she wasn’t sure if he was doing it on purpose or not, but she would see that behaviour was rewarded. It was the most she’d got from him since this all started. She sighed loudly, almost making it sound like a light moan and wiggled her hips.

It was a cheap trick, but it had the exact effect she was going for. His hands were back at her waist, slowly stroking up her sides and daringly reaching higher up, not brave enough to brush the underside of her breast but enough to make her shiver.

Finally.

“You’re really good with your hands,” she said softly, laying her head against her arms and looking at him from over her shoulder. “If you weren’t a chef, you’d make a great masseuse.”

He had a light blush on his cheeks, but he smiled down at her boyishly, “Maybe something to consider if we’re short on money?” He joked, laughing lightly at the end.

“Hmmm,” she paused, as if mulling it over, “it’s not a bad idea but maybe I want to keep you to myself.” She leaned back up on her forearms, turning as much as she could to look at him.

It was bold and she really was putting herself out there, half naked on the deck and basically telling him she wanted him all to herself, but it was worth it. He leaned closer and she didn’t miss the way his eyes darted down to her lips quickly. His hands had stopped their travels over her back and rested heavily on either side of her waist.

Time to bring this home.

“A man who can cook, dress well and is good with his hands, a catch if you ask me.”

She had him.

He was blushing brightly now, speechless but leaning closer by the second, she could almost count his blonde eyelashes. His breath was light against her face, and she shivered again. He was going to kiss her, this was it.

The spell was broken with the thumping of footsteps hitting the deck.

Zoro had ungracefully climbed back on board, unaware he was interrupting something, but it had the effect of splashing cold water on their moment. Well, not so much Nami. But for Sanji the effect was instant. He clammed up, all the tension she had eased out of his body back tenfold, his hands were off of her body and he pulled away like a shot.

It was game over.

She had been so close.

Under his breath he muttered an excuse, stood up and made a quick journey across the deck, retreating into the kitchen. He was still somewhat in character, he made sure to shoot Zoro a dirty look before disappearing but that didn’t help Nami as she watched his retreating figure.

Even Zoro looked concerned.

If it wasn’t for Sanji’s obvious interest and reactions, Nami might have started to doubt herself.

.

.

.

It took a few days for Nami to get back up on her feet and try again. It wasn’t exactly easy putting yourself out there to be shot down each time. Well, she wasn’t shot down, he reacted, but it wasn’t what she wanted. God, even Zoro, in his own blunt and brash way, had given her a pep talk.

Zoro!

And in those few days, Nami wondered if maybe she’d come on too strong. Maybe the best form of action wasn’t to hit on Sanji half-naked. He was hardly the most composed person and she could always ease him into that later.

The new plan was subtle but friendly.

They were having a small party on the deck after Luffy’s and Usopp’s impressive fishing haul from earlier today. There was a large table filled with food and drinks in the centre of the deck, with chairs scattered around in an unorganised fashion. It was a bit of a free for all, but then when was anything with them involved anything but that. Luffy’s currently doing impressions of various people they’ve met, much to the crew’s amusement, and they’re all guessing who it is.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Sanji leaving the kitchen, finally finished with the food as he held the last dish in his hand. As soon as the dish was set down, he was scanning across the deck for somewhere to sit and jumped eagerly as Nami waved him over to the empty seat next to hers.

Which, honestly, was nice considering the lengths she’d gone to recently.

If Sanji noticed that their chairs were closer together than anyone else’s, he didn’t say anything as he slid down next to her. She smiled at him but frowned shortly after at his empty hands.

“You’re not going to eat anything?”

“I taste and test as I go along to make sure everything’s okay, I’m good for now.”

Nami snorted, “Don’t tell Luffy that, if he gets to eat along the way, he might actually take an interest in cooking.”

Sanji laughed lightly, smiling down at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Her thigh brushed against his as she shifted but she didn’t move away, just settled in closer.

“Do you mind?” Sanji asked, hand nervously twiddling the cigarette between his fingers and she bit down the grin. She’d learned over the last few weeks that if he was nervous, it showed through his hands.

“Not at all,” She replied, “It reminds me of home, actually. Bell-mère used to smoke non-stop.”

“Oh really?” He encouraged, before taking a drag and blowing it out the other side.

“Yeah, our village doctor used to nag her. Kind of like Chopper with you,” she smiled and Sanji laughed.

It was always nice talking to him, he made it was so easy. If it wasn’t for his perverted tendencies or his lack of knowledge with flirting, she might actually be worried about him with other women.

“By the way, do you know who this is?” She asked lowly, as if she were telling him a secret and leaned in. She had his attention instantly, she knew she did, but it didn’t stop her from lightly touching his knee under the ruse of getting his attention.

“Uh, it’s-” he fumbled over his words for a moment before finding his feet, “the new navy admiral. It was on Dressrosa, I don’t think you’ve seen him.”

Her hand was gone then. Small steps. “Yeah, I definitely haven’t.”

They continued back and forth like that, at first guessing who the impressions were, a game within a game almost- who between them both could guess the impression first. It didn’t last as the topic changed and instead, they ended up just talking quietly between themselves and Sanji soon settled into it. His arm was across the back of Nami’s chair and they were leaning into each other, like they were sharing secrets and her hand found a permanent place on his arm.

Neither of them new what game was being played, or if it was even the same one anymore, they had become too wrapped up in each other. At one point, Sanji had got up to get food for himself and a drink for Nami, returning back swiftly. He even flicked his cigarette overboard so he could use that hand to pick at his food, the other arm never moving from around her chair.

Time to step this up a bit.

“Oh, you got the fish. That was really good today, did you do something different?”

He came alive at that question, his face brightening as he started to explain what he had done and tried, apparently it was a different technique.

It started out innocent, just a hand on his knee and he barely blinked at it. She’d been scattering in touches to his knee all evening. Except this time her hand didn’t leave, and it was only a few seconds later that she moved it further up his leg.

His eyes flicked nervously down to her hand and then back to her face, he looked like he was trying to assess what was going on.

She kept a poker face and asked a different question about dinner.

Just as he was telling her about a new cookbook he’d bought, her hand slide further up his leg until it rested comfortably on his thigh. It rested as high as it could without accidently touching something else. Not that she had an issue with that, but she’d rather they were on the same page first and didn’t have an audience.

He almost choked, then. She wasn’t sure on what, he’d stopped eating since he’d started discussing their dinner, but his eyes watered, and she passed him her drink.

His eyes almost bulged at that, but she didn’t truly shock him until she rubbed his thigh, being so bold as to run her hand down to his inner thigh.

“Are you okay?” She asked, half in mock concern and half real concern. He did look like he was about to have a heart attack, after all.

With a bright red face, he nodded, almost wheezing but he shut his mouth before that could come out. She smiled reassuringly at him but as soon as she squeezed at his inner thigh, he was on his feet. His chair clattered from the sudden move.

“Ah, um, the kitchen’s a mess,” he blurted, dancing between his feet, “I should-” he pointed at the kitchen.

“I can help,” she offered, leaning forward on her chair.

“No! I mean- no, thank you. Enjoy,” he finished awkwardly, gesturing at the deck, towards their friends and stiffly walked to the kitchen.

And then he was gone, not looking back once.

Nami was utterly defeated. She had nothing left. That was her last trick and nothing.

Unbeknown to Nami, who was still dejectedly looking at the kitchen door, Zoro was frowning at her from the other side of the deck after witnessing their little display. But it wasn’t just Zoro, Usopp next to him nudged his arm and made a ‘what the hell’ gesture. Zoro shrugged at him, as bewildered as he was.

.

.

.

This was stupid. She was Nami, cat thief and navigator of the infamous Straw hats; she was a gorgeous, wanted woman (in more ways the one). Yeah, it stung that she’d been rejected, but she’d get over her little crush on Sanji. At least she had her answer now anyway.

The pep talk didn’t do much to make her feel better right now, she wished it did, but it didn’t. Suddenly, she didn’t feel like partying anymore.

Before she could make up an excuse to leave, Usopp got up and went to the kitchen. Normally she wouldn’t think anything of it, but she’d seen his expression. He looked serious and stern, like he was about to tell someone off and marched to the kitchen like a man on a mission.

Maybe she’d missed something during her brief period of wallowing.

Except, when she looked around the deck, everyone looked normal. They were still talking and laughing, completely unaware of Sanji’s exit or Usopp’s huffy departure. Zoro caught her eye and he jutted his chin out towards the kitchen. She turned to look and Usopp was just about to swing the door open. Looking back at Zoro, he nodded but she didn’t get the chance to get anything more from him because then he was throwing in a comment to the rest of them, causing them to laugh.

A diversion.

She got up to her feet and walked over to the kitchen casually, so she didn’t attract attention. Except she didn’t enter as she arrived, instead squatting outside so hopefully she’d be a bit covered by the railing from the others on the lawn deck. They were facing the other way, but one careless look and she’d be spotted.

Maybe she didn’t have to worry about that. Zoro didn’t look over at her again, but he was keeping them distracted. God damn it, she’d have to increase his spending money at the next island.

She ignored that and got to the task at hand. The door was cracked open and she wondered if it was left like that by design. She craned her neck towards the crack in the kitchen door and she could hear the voices inside.

She’d missed the start, but it seemed she hadn’t missed much.

“What’s wrong with you!?”

Usopp. He sounded irritated.

“What’s your problem?” Sanji sounded confused and she didn’t blame him. It was rare to come across a cranky Usopp. He was almost as fun loving as Luffy.

“I don’t have a problem, you do! I’m not the one currently brushing off the advances of the woman I’m interested in.”

Oh. Usopp was talking some sense into him, for her.

Ah shit. She was going to have to give him more spending money too. She was going to be poor at this rate.

“Huh?”

“Oh my god! Nami! Nami’s interested in you and you’re doing nothing!”

There’s a long pause and Nami wished she could see their faces, or at least Sanji’s.

“Nami’s not interested in me,” he said it with such surety that Nami questioned her skills.

Usopp spluttered before saying, “You’re kidding right? She’s been all over you the past couple of weeks; the touching, the sun lotion and don’t even get me started on the dress incident.”

“How do you-”

“Zoro told me,” Usopp cut in. “Even Zoro’s caught on before you and that’s Zoro.”

“Nami-san just needed her dress done up.”

“Twice? Doesn’t she room with Robin, a woman that can sprout multiple hands?”

Nothing. Silence.

“Has she ever asked you before?” Usopp’s not letting up though.

There’s a long pause.

“Or put her hand on your thigh, or spend the evening whispering with you or offered to help in the kitchen?” No response. “And that’s just the shortened list, I could keep going if you wanted.”

There’s some shuffling and she wondered if it was Sanji. He did that when he was unsure of himself.

“Nami’s not interested in me, not like that. That’s just Nami being Nami.”

Usopp groaned. “Then how do you explain-”

“It’s a nice thought though,” Sanji interrupted, his voice sounding final, like he’s done with the conversation, and then she can hear footsteps walking further into the kitchen.

“Sanji-!”

“Do you want coffee? And can you ask Nami-san and Robin-chan.”

That’s a dismissal if she ever heard one. She never expected it from Sanji though, it wasn’t like him at all and she frowned at the thought.

No one spoke then and she wondered if they were staring each other down, Usopp could be stubborn when he wanted to be. But then there are footsteps walking towards the door, but they sounded defeated so Nami didn’t scramble away like she wanted to.

Usopp didn’t look surprised to see her, he closed the door after him and stood in front of her. He gave her a solemn look as he delivered, “Good luck getting through to him. He’s convinced nothing’s different.”

Nami stood up then, frustrated as she said, “He’s such an idiot. When has he ever needed this much prompting?”

“Maybe when you weren’t seriously trying, and it was just a pipe dream?” He shrugged

Nami groaned, why did Sanji have to be complex?

“I suggest going direct, now’s not the time to be a coward.”

Rich coming from him. “Like you can talk, coward!”

“I’m not currently trying to woo someone.” He even had the audacity to wiggle his eyebrows at her.

“I am not trying to woo him!” She can feel her cheeks reddening.

She was seducing, it’s a very different thing.

Except Usopp doesn’t stay to argue with her, he spun on his heel and walked off back to the lawn deck. His job was done apparently.

Rude.

She stood there for a second and Usopp and Sanji’s conversation rolled over her, replaying in her head. The longer she thought about it, the more irritated she became. Feeling wound up, she used that energy to get it over with and marched into the kitchen, throwing the door open, only to slam it closed behind her.

Sanji turned at the sound and his face lit up at the sight of her, seemingly over what happened on the deck earlier.

She didn’t give him the chance to greet her or sputter off nonsense.

“Why do you think I’m not interested in you?”

It came out more aggressive than she’d intended and Sanji blinked at her, not expecting that to come out of her mouth.

The brightness on his face dimmed when what she’d said settled in and he’s reaching into his suit pocket for a cigarette. “I don’t know what Usopp or Mosshead said to you, but just ignore it.”

Really. Really.

“I’ve been throwing myself at you for over two weeks. They don’t have to say anything to me.”

He looked stunned, the hand with the cigarette in fell to his side, mouth trying to form around words, eventually all he managed to croak out was a, “No?” He didn’t even sound sure of himself.

“Yes! Sanji, I rubbed your thigh!” She said incredulously. “I almost touched-” she gestured between his legs and he blushed- “there, with no problem about it whatsoever, in front of our friends. I don’t go around doing that to just anyone.”

She used her feminine wiles to get what she wanted, sure, but she never went that far. Never had to, men were so easy.

The frown on his face looked out of place against the blush still on his cheeks and he doesn’t quite look her in the eyes. “But you’re…” He trailed off.

“I’m what?” She really needed to take the impatience out of her tone, it wouldn’t help but honestly, how was he this slow?

“Out of my league.”

She doesn’t know whether to be flattered or angry.

If he truly believed that, then no wonder all her attempts had failed, but did he really not see himself? She almost couldn’t believe she’s going to say this, but apparently it needed to be vocalised because he’s just not getting it.

She took a few steps forward, moving closer towards him. “No I’m not.” Another few steps. “Your kind, sweet, thoughtful, one of my closest friends,” she listed, closer with each attribute she listed, “and you in a suit should be illegal. You fill it out well.”

She was in front of him then.

“Really?” His eyes tentatively flickered to hers and the cigarette in his hand is still unlit.

Progress, she’s getting there.

“Really, really.”

There’s a long pause, but this one’s okay because she thinks her words are settling in.

“Then… can I kiss you?”

All the fight that’s been spurring her on left her so suddenly and his question’s so innocent, but it does something to her. She could feel her cheeks heating up and she has to fight the urge to bashfully look down at the floor. She feels like a schoolgirl and it certainly didn’t help when he cupped her face with his free hand.

But it’s the look on his face that really gets to her. It’s so soft and earnest, but there’s still some doubt hidden behind it, like he couldn’t believe this was happening and it could all be taken away at a moment’s notice.

She nodded, eyes never leaving his face.

He sharply breathed out, like he’d been holding his breath waiting for her answer, and she felt it play again as lips.

It’s nothing compared to when their lips actually touch. It’s soft and tender, a quick brush. Which then turned into more brushes and his other hand cups the other side of her face, she’s not sure what happened to his cigarette. His touch is as delicate as his kisses and it has her clutching at his vest to ground herself.

“Took you long enough,” she spoke against his lips.

“I’m an idiot,” he replied and it’s another brush of lips against hers.

“Understatement,” she murmured, and she’s had enough. Just as he’s about to brush against her lips again, she leaned up on her toes as far as she could to properly kiss him.

It got the reaction she’s been after. It’s still gentle, she couldn’t imagine Sanji being anything other than that, but there’s urgency now, his lips move against hers with purpose. Her hands move up his vest to fist in the lapels, clutching him to her and refusing to let him pull away but he doesn’t even try.  

She pulled away after a moment, taking a step back and his hands slide off of her face. He’s surer of himself now, his hands reach for her as she takes another step back to stop her from walking away, but she evaded them. Instead she grabbed his tie, pulling him gently after her and when her legs bump the kitchen counter, he seemed to be getting the idea.

She hopped up onto the counter and the moment she parted her legs, he’s filling the gap between them with his body. She tugged his tie, “This is handy.”

He doesn’t have a chance to respond because she’s tugging it again to bring him back into another kiss. His hands don’t find themselves back on her face, instead they rest low on her hips and she’s happy with the progress he’s made in such a short amount of time.

There’s a shift in the atmosphere when the heels of her feet push into his thighs to press him flush against her. His hands tighten their hold on her hips, and she can’t resist the roll of her hips when his tongue found hers. His mouth is hot against hers and they find their rhythm as they exchange hot kisses. Her hands run up his chest, squeezing his shoulders and the muscles there before stationing themselves in his hair.

They parted to breathe but didn’t go far.

“The last few weeks have been torturously good.”

“And you didn’t question why it’d changed all of a sudden?” She’s not sure she’ll ever be over this.

“I thought I’d been imagining it all. You know, convincing myself something was different when it wasn’t. I was so sure.”

“It was frustratingly impressive. I’ve never seen you so composed.”

“I wasn’t. Well, I was around you but as soon as you were out of sight? I was a mess. You’re so sexy and alluring and well, you. The sun lotion almost broke me, you were so responsive under my hands.”

His jaunty, stiff walk came to mind when he’d scampered away after that and she tried not to laugh as a puzzle piece slotted in. “Sanji… were you turned on after that?”

He didn’t answer her verbally, but he did hide in her neck from embarrassment, nodding after a second.

She shouldn’t be pleased at that, she’d made him suffer, but well, she lapped it up. After what she had thought were failed attempts actually weren’t, it was nice to hear.

“Oh god,” he moaned, lifting his head from her neck as a thought came to him, “and the bath towel?”

Oh yeah. She’d forgotten about the bath towel.

That one had been an accident, not planned at all but she’d used it to her advantage. Well, tried to. She’d taken one step out of the steamy room after having accidently left her clothes in her room and bumped into Sanji who was leaving the toilet. It’d been short lived; he’d taken off before she could do anything, but his immediate reaction had been satisfying.  

His hair had almost stood on end just at the sight of her, a hot flush colouring his neck and face. She’d wondered just how far that flush had gone down but she had been distracted by the look on his face. He’d looked like he wanted to devour her.

Kind of like now actually.

“The bath towel was a happy coincidence,” Nami assured him but it didn’t take the look off of his face.

He dived down to reunite their lips and this kiss was hurried, bruising and his hands squeezed her hips. Her hands tugged lightly at the strands of his hair and it was clearly the right move as his hips jumped against hers.

Oh.

He was hard.  

It didn’t deter her, if anything she made sure to really emphasise the roll of her hips and he made a breathy sound that made her head light. Just like that, a switch had flicked on and they were barely kissing anymore as they grinded against one another, chasing the feeling caused from the friction. His hands finally slid under her dress, hands pawing at the flesh of her behind and helping her grind into him. The fabric of her dress was bunched just above her hips, but she didn’t care because he felt so good against her and her underwear was wonderfully thin.

A particularly good thrust, good angle, had them both moaning and it was way too hot in the kitchen for this. Distantly she wondered if they were missed outside, but it was pushed to the back of her mind almost instantly.

“Nami, we need to stop or I’m going to embarrass myself,” he panted, but his hips didn’t slow. A quick glance down confirmed there was indeed a wet patch on the front of his trousers.  

“Sanji,” she gasped against is lips and became distracted when he licked at the corner of her mouth, “lose the pants.”

He groaned in the back of his throat, “I don’t want our first time to be like this.”

The boner pressed intimately against her disagreed.

“We don’t have to go all the way right now, there are other things we could do instead.”

At his confused look, she raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to catch on. When he still looked confused, she brazenly palmed him through his trousers.

“Oh! Oh!”

Apparently, there wasn’t a great deal of blood left in his brain.

She smirked at him and her fingers deftly started to work at the buckle on his trousers. When his hands pulled hers away, she almost moaned in displeasure but the smoky look he gave her stopped the sounds from tumbling out.

He held her hands in his, pressing a lingering kiss to the knuckles of one of her hands and then promptly dropped to his knees, face hovering between her legs.

“Ladies first.”

.

.

.

Outside on the lawn deck, Luffy was picking at what was left of the food on the table.

“Do you reckon Sanji has more of the octopus?” He didn’t wait for anyone to respond, “I’m gunna go ask him.”

Zoro just managed to snag the back of his top to stop him from going any further. “You’ll have to wait, eyebrow’s busy.”

“Huh? Busy with what?” Luffy turned to look at him, confused. “More octopus?!” He suggested, face lighting up at the thought.

“No. His balls finally dropped.”

Across from Zoro, Usopp laughed.

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

If I’m not shipping Zoro and Nami, they’re going to be bros. He totally has her back. Usopp’s always a bro, that’s just his default.

As always, please ignore any errors.

Thanks for reading.

[panharmonium]

no man can know his destiny...

...because if we told him what it was, he might decide to tell destiny to bugger off!

all right, folks.  i am obviously eight years late to this party (party?  maybe not party; that’s...maybe not the best word), and i am aware that everybody who was ever in this fandom has probably already consumed all the finale reaction posts that they ever needed to read.  i am putting this S5 finale round-up together for my own purposes anyway, because now that i’m no longer avoiding spoilers, i want to make sure i get all of my own thoughts down on paper before i accidentally run into anyone else’s. 

fair warning before anyone decides to invest their time: this post is sixteen single-spaced pages long.  i am putting it under a cut here, so feel free to scroll on by.  

with that said, off we go!

in a land of myth and a time of magic (i fell in love with a ten-year-old tv show):

so, to preface this, i think it’s pretty fair to say that i very rarely complain about merlin.

i watched the first episode of merlin on a complete whim - i was by myself, on a trip to atlanta, and despite the fact that i usually never sit down and just decide to watch random tv, i was scrolling around on netflix before bed and saw merlin and thought “oh hey, that’s always been on my list as something i thought i might like.”  i clicked it.  i watched it.  i thought it was going to be a silly, fun, low-investment show i could use to fill the spare time on my trip.

it was silly.  and it was fun.  it was not low-investment.  i fell in LOVE.

and i know this comes through in the way i write about it, like - the vast majority of the blogging i have done about merlin has come from a place of THIS THING IS GREAT AND I WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT BECAUSE IT’S GREAT.  sometimes the story will go places that stress me out or make me sad, but usually that hasn’t impacted my enjoyment, because generally, when i evaluate stories, i react more to my perception of the story’s integrity, as opposed to whether or not i personally ‘liked’ the ending.  so i might personally prefer stories that don’t end in tragedy, but if the story has earned its ending, with integrity, then i won’t feel any desire to criticize it.  i will talk about how sad i am or how low it made me feel, but if the story has earned its ending then i can’t - i just can’t argue with it.  i have to respect it.  

and i think i’ve demonstrated that well enough in all the other blogging i’ve done about merlin.  with 5.10 and 5.11 particularly; i felt those episodes were impossibly tragic and dark and SO unhappy, but i respected the storytelling, despite this.  i wasn’t hopping on here to make posts like ‘ugh this is getting so dark this episode sucks!!!’  i was writing about the story they were crafting - which, yes, WAS getting dark, certainly - and about how impactful it was (even when that impact was just “OUCH”).  i was still deeply engaged, at that time.

so - i think i have earned the right to say honestly that the following analysis does not come from a place of ‘this was SAD and that makes it automatically CRAPPY!!!’  that’s not how i assess things.  5.10 and 5.11 were devastating, but i respect them.  i loved watching them.  i would watch them again.  i thought that the show had the potential to pull off something masterful, after those two episodes.

but the one thing this series has always struggled with a little bit is follow-through.  bbc merlin is at its finest when they aren’t afraid to go barreling after the moral ambiguity and complexities that their show inherently contains (‘to kill the king,’ ‘the sorcerer’s shadow,’ ‘the disir,’ ‘the kindness of strangers,’ ‘the drawing of the dark,’ to name just a few), and they achieve real greatness in those moments.  but they sometimes pull back from the difficult questions they pose.  and i can’t tell if it’s that they’re deliberately chickening out, or if it’s just some variation of carelessness or ineptitude that makes them fumble the ball, but the end result is that they hit these amazing highs of “wow, i can’t believe we’re finally going there; we’re addressing the central conflict” and then all the complicated questions they asked just get dropped.   

it happens in ‘the sorcerer’s shadow’ (which is an amazing episode otherwise), when kilgharrah kind of...word-of-god handwaves away merlin’s conflict, saying ‘we just gotta wait for arthur to be king, that’s the right way to go about this.’  and they double down on this by having merlin say that it was gilli, not merlin, who had betrayed their kind - which is just not - that is not what that episode had been saying, up until that point!  the entire point of that episode was that yeah, merlin has in fact gotten himself into a position where he’s made a morally questionable decision to serve a regime that oppresses him and others like him.  they show us how conflicted he feels when he’s confronted by this reality.  they show us that he knows it’s true.  it was brilliantly done - and then they pulled WAY back.

but even then i don’t think it was like...unforgivable, at that point.  it doesn’t break the story’s integrity; i can definitely believe that merlin would take that tack - i’m not sure he’s quite ready to confront/accept the reality of his situation at that point.  so i get it.  it wouldn’t be a big deal - if the show had eventually addressed/followed through on this conflict in the end.

and i think the same is true of the episodes leading up to the finale.  they were dark and complicated and tragic, but they were telling an important story; and none of the terrible things we saw happening to the characters were dead-ends, story-wise.  there was a place for that story to go.  there was room for morgana to have her arc resolve in a meaningful way.  there was room for mordred’s arc to do the same.  the place in which we found ourselves at the end of 5.11 was as dark and complicated as merlin had ever been, and it was still bursting with potential.  

and then you watch the finale and it’s just - empty.  i described it as a paper castle in some other post, and that’s what it felt like.  no substance.  it was like they stuffed us on a bullet train and whizzed us past material that should have taken an entire season to handle, and you didn’t see any of it or feel anything because the trip took ten seconds and the scenery was a blur.

it honestly felt like they thought they had another season coming and then someone popped in and told them “actually you have to wrap this up in two episodes.”  i can’t think of another way to reasonably explain how dramatically the quality of the storytelling downshifts between 5.11 and 5.12.  i wasn’t watching the show then, so i don’t know, but it’s - at least if that had been the case, i would UNDERSTAND what had happened.  it’s just insanity, otherwise.

so anyway, with all that said, here are my own reasons for why i think the last two episodes were objectively bad writing, as opposed to just writing i don’t personally like.  nobody is obligated to agree with me on any of these points, but i’m also not putting them up here to debate them, really - i truly believe that almost everything i watched in the last two episodes was poorly-conceived.  

(there’s an entirely different discussion to be had, of course, about the relative merits of ending your, uh, hopeful fantasy story on a bummer of a death knell, and i might touch on that later, but that’s a little bit more subject to personal preference, and honestly, it’s not the point i’m trying to make here, because to be frank, these episodes are bad without even getting into who lives and who dies.)

i. plot contrivances: EVERYWHERE.

i don’t mean plot devices.  plot devices are important, in a story.  a plot device is something like how merlin throws excalibur into the lake in 1.09, and then is able to retrieve it in 3.13 because of a choice he made to show someone compassion in 2.09, and thus he is able to save the day and defeat the undead.  excalibur is a plot device, in that scenario - the ability to use it in 3.13 unfolds organically.

a plot contrivance, on the other hand, is artificial.  it’s unnaturally convenient.  it doesn’t feel convincing.  it’s what you reach for when you can’t think of a way to make something happen, but a writer is supposed to look at these things when they edit and think ‘hey.  if i can’t make this happen without it being contrived, maybe it shouldn’t happen.  maybe i need to look at this again.’

so like, from the very beginning of 5.12, we have:

the face-sucker slug.  never seen one before.  never heard of it before.  never given any indication that any such creature ever existed.  never given any indication that “stealing” magic was something that could even happen.  no idea where morgana found it.  created for and introduced in this very episode, just to give merlin a reason to go to the crystal cave; removed from the episode ten minutes after it’s introduced, forgotten.

gwaine’s sudden girlfriend.  NEVER SEEN HER BEFORE.  NEVER HEARD OF HER BEFORE.  NEVER GIVEN ANY INDICATION THAT ANY SUCH CREATURE EVER EXISTED.  where does she come from?  why do we care?  (surprise: we don’t.)  created for and introduced in this very episode for the sole purpose of explaining how morgana could get the information she needed to interfere with everyone’s plans, which was a contrived idea in and of itself, because it relied completely on making gwaine act like the kind of dope who tells a civilian military secrets.  

you just.  you can’t.  if your plot point can’t function without a) introducing a brand new character in the penultimate episode of your show and b) forcing a long-standing character to do something they just wouldn’t do, you can’t use it.  you just can’t.  you have to figure out something else.

this lady’s very existence is nonsense.  absolutely, utterly contrived.  to waste that much time on a character we’ve never seen before and don’t care about, in the last two hours of your five-season show...incredible.

morgana’s army.  they outnumber camelot’s forces “five to one.”  where did they come from?  how did she amass such a force?  in season 4 she was losing all her allies - the episode with annis and caerleon was specifically designed to show us how people were turning from her methods and aligning with arthur.  and then she spent two years in a pit.  how did she amass such a force in such a short period of time?  what could she offer them?  why do they fight for her?  there is no explanation of who the “saxons” are or what they want - the show just needed an army for camlann.

aithusa.  aithusa was, apparently, just a vehicle to enable mordred to obtain a blade forged in the dragon’s breath.  beyond that, he served no purpose.  he literally just vanishes, along with that entire storyline - the future of the dragons, everything - just dropped, forgotten, never mentioned again.

morgana in the crystal cave.  “gee, i finally caught merlin, the guy who’s supposed to be my doom.  i think i’ll just...trap him behind some rocks.  wouldn’t want to kill him, while i have him completely powerless and at my mercy.  how then would he escape from this super powerful magical cave and ensure that the next step in this impossibly weak plot unfolds?”

the crystal cave itself.  what is the entire point of this detour?  killing time while arthur and merlin are separated?  i mean, the whole “merlin loses his magic for all of five minutes” thing was a contrivance itself, just to ensure that merlin and arthur had a reason to be separated during the battle.  but even putting that aside, once merlin is in there, and balinor says ‘you have to go into the light to discover who you truly are, you have power of which you cannot conceive’ - what purpose did that serve?  all we see merlin do once he gets to camlann is call down some lightning.  he’s done that before.  he...he did that in season one.  

the entire detour in the crystal cave changed nothing.  it was a contrivance to mark time so merlin didn’t arrive at camlann at the same time as everybody else.

arthur at camlann.  the idea that we are supposed to believe that arthur somehow finds himself all alone on that battlefield, long enough for mordred to sneak up on him and stab him and for him not be found by a single other human being until merlin shows up.  he is the KING.  there is no conceivable circumstance where his army lets him go wandering around by himself after the battle has been mostly won.  it doesn’t make sense.  it isn’t believable.  it’s a contrivance to make sure mordred has an opportunity to get him.

“only the sidhe possess such magic.”  the SIDHE?????  you guys.  the last time we saw the sidhe was in that gooftastically wonderful filler episode where a pixie wanted to bone gaius.  you can’t - you just - you can’t center your entire ‘this is how we save arthur’ plan on a race of beings that we haven’t heard of since early season 3 and which we never knew anything more about than that they once possessed a farting princess.

“not without the horses.”  are you telling me.  that the reason they don’t make it to this fabulous isle in time.  is because.  their horses.  were conveniently scared away. that’s what killed the glorious once and future king.  the horses ran off.  

and the horses conveniently ran off because they were conveniently scared away by morgana, who conveniently happened to show up because she was conveniently put in a position to extract information from someone who conveniently knew where arthur was going - all of this, of course, predicated on the impossible-to-believe assumption that a) gwen would ever tell anybody where arthur was going, when the stakes were this high, when nobody needed to know and camelot had already fallen prey to spies multiple times, and b) that gwaine and percival would, if they did for some reason know where arthur was headed, be so foolish as to literally serve themselves up to morgana on a plate, when they know that the whole point of this scheme is that they WANT morgana to hang out in brineved wasting her time in order to allow arthur to reach the isle safely. 

I SAY AGAIN: if your plot point cannot function without making characters do things we just do not believe they would do, you can’t use it.  you can’t.  you have to revisit what you’re doing.  you can’t just make anything happen that you want to in order to drive the story to the place you want it to go.  it has to make sense.

kilgharrah.  is called just in time to deliver a pat explanation of the ending, but not in time to shuttle arthur over to the isle?  merlin could have called for a ride ages ago. merlin and arthur weren’t traveling fast, or far.  it’s not like kilgharrah was having that much trouble getting around.  we see that he handles carrying the two of them just fine.  we see that he flies away, zoop, no problem.  there is no reason for him not to have been called even a single hour sooner, other than that the plot demanded that he could not be, because the plot demanded that arthur not get there in time.  

it breaks the boundaries of disbelief.  it takes you right out of the story.  it reminds you, inappropriately, that all of this is a thing someone planned (poorly).  all of it is contrived.

ii. dropped plotlines

i can’t believe i actually have to say this.  

i’ve seen tv shows tank before, but usually, when tv shows tank, it’s just that the quality of their writing has declined, and they’ve resorted to resolving their plotlines in ill-conceived ways. 

i have never, in my life, seen a tv show DROP all of its major plotlines before it ends.  i have never seen a tv show just.  FORGET.  to address their premise.  never.  i still can’t believe it actually happened.  i’m sitting here trying to remember if the merlin finale was actually some kind of anxiety-induced fever dream i had while i was gearing myself up to watch the last few episodes.  

merlin bbc had, at its outset, two major plotlines.  these would be supplemented later by other throughlines (many of which were also dropped), but the two major ones always stayed the same, one for arthur and one for merlin:

for arthur, the question of him one day becoming the greatest king in history and uniting the land of albion 

for merlin, the question of him one day liberating the magical community from oppression and being able to live free from fear

those were the two constant throughlines in this show, from episode one.  the struggle to unite the land of albion, and the struggle to make the land a free and just one for ALL of its people, not just those without magic.  

this show, somehow, ended without actually addressing either of these things.

it’s amazing.  i don’t even know how they managed it.  somehow, this show ended without actually ending.

to elaborate on this (and other dropped plots):

a) the once and future king: we never see a united albion.  the show is driving at it, in seasons 4 and 5, when arthur makes peace with annis in S4, and then gets annis’s permission to travel through her lands in 5.01, and then helps Mithian’s father in S5, and makes peace with odin in 5.04, and then tries to make peace with the sarrum in 5.08, and it’s all making sense, and you expect that plotline to continue until we see its eventual fulfillment at the end of the show.  you would expect, if this were supposed to be such an important thing, that the big struggle at the end of the series would have been all the peoples of albion united together against a threat.  

but we never see any of these kingdoms again.  we never hear a peep out of them. no one ever mentions them.  it’s like they all just vanished into the wind.  as far as we’re aware, camelot fights morgana’s army on their own - it’s like annis and odin and godwyn and rodor and those five kings that came together to sign the treaty in 2.10 never existed.  

the dragon says at the end, “all you have dreamt of building has come to pass,” but we’re just like - WHERE?  we literally didn’t see it!  it was never shown to happen! you can’t just say that the most important outcome of your five-season series happened when it never did!  it demonstrably NEVER DID!  you can’t…..oh my god, you can’t...try to end your show offscreen, lol; i don’t know what else to say!

look - this is something i wrote before i knew how the series ended, when i was considering the possibility of arthur dying:

i wrote that before i even knew what happened.  that’s not the result of, you know, retroactive complaining because they killed a character and i didn’t like it.  i was doubting the idea that they would even be able to kill arthur, because i legitimately didn’t believe the show had shown us the uniting of albion yet (and they hadn’t, lol).  

it just...it truly doesn’t make sense.  something got tangled as they approached these last episodes.  in 5.10, finna tells merlin, “without you, emrys, arthur cannot build the new world we all long for,” indicating that it hasn’t been built yet.  but that scene takes place just a few weeks before the finale - you’re saying “the new world” hadn’t yet been accomplished at that point, but now, a few week later, it has?  arthur didn’t DO ANYTHING in that interval!  we saw camelot fight off a bunch of invaders (alone) like they’ve done a billion times before.  there was nothing to hint that now albion is united.  

and if finna was referring to the “new world” meaning a magical world, i mean - arthur didn’t do anything to build that, either.  he died.

something happened.  some wire got crossed.  i don’t know what it was, but it meant that the show ended without actually closing out Main Plotline #1.  

b) one day, we will be free: this show also somehow managed to end without addressing the plight of the magical community, which was THE central conflict of the show for all five seasons.  more than that, it was the show’s premise - it was how they crafted their entire idea; it was one of two defining features of their pitch to BBC: that they would “wind back the clock” to when the characters were young, and that magic in this universe would be outlawed.  

they literally abandoned the show’s premise.  the episode directly preceding the finale was entirely about camelot’s wrongdoing and the right of magic-users to stand up and fight for their rights.  it is not a crime to fight for the right to be who you are.  and then we literally never heard a word about this struggle again.  it was dropped like a hot sack of bricks.  

IMPOSSIBLE. 

and yet 

it’s just left, twisting in the wind.  we have no idea what happened.  the one and only glimpse of camelot that we get at the end of this show has nothing to do with magic; it’s grim and somber people chanting ‘long live the queen’ in the throne room.  and then we’re gone from that place, forever, never to return.  it’s like they don’t even remember that ‘freedom for magical folk!’ was the driving source of conflict for the entire show.  you would never have known that “magical oppression” was ever a feature in this show, if you just watched the end.  camelot’s wrongs are never addressed, never referred to, never amended.  the fate of the magical community is never hinted at.  we don’t have any inkling of what happened to those people.  we literally do not even have any indication of whether the magic ban was lifted.  

it’s like none of that ever existed.  it’s like the show just FORGOT its entire premise. 

this truly might be the most unbelievable thing about the finale, for me.  i’m still having trouble wrapping my head around it.  in a roomful of writers and editors and producers, not a single person pointed out “hey uhhhh...we haven’t actually resolved either of our plots?”

i was exposed to enough vague reactions from fans to expect the finale to be disappointing.  i assumed that the show would resolve its major plotlines in ways that i either didn’t approve of or found unsatisfying.  

i did NOT expect them not to resolve their major plotlines at all.

i have never seen a tv show literally forget to end.  never.  never seen that happen before in my life.

c.) i am the last of my kind: the reveal of merlin as a dragonlord ushered in a third important plotline - his responsibility to the dragons, his duty to protect them and help them thrive.  and the question was always ‘all right, so as a dragonlord, how is merlin going to ensure the survival of the dragons as a species, since they’ve been almost exterminated - .’  and that was also dropped.  like a hot potato.  like it never was.  we never get clarity on what the heck was going on with aithusa, and then at camlann, aithusa just vanishes.  gone.  literally never to be seen, mentioned, or wondered about again.

d) i am old, merlin: this is a smaller thing, but in 5.10 the show starts this subplot about kilgharrah being unwell and merlin suddenly confronting the idea that kilgharrah is not, in fact, immortal.  and it was actually very poignant and made me emotional despite how kilgharrah kind of drives us insane.  they set us up for the idea that we are going to lose him.  they set us up to expect that we will eventually see merlin arrive at a place where he doesn’t have that voice in his ear anymore, kind of like when luke goes to cloud city and obi-wan can’t help him.  

but then, in the finale, kilgharrah just shows up like he always does, and there’s no mention of anything that came before.  he’s fine.  

it’s - it’s inconsistent, it’s not appropriate; there’s no emotional throughline.  the exchange they have in 5.10 is such a beautiful moment, when a wavering merlin asks “what will i do without you?”

and kilgharrah says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, “you will remember me.”

that’s such a powerful thing.  for someone like merlin, for someone who has lost so many people who mattered to him - you can feel that line expand to cover miles and miles of ground.  it’s about more than just kilgharrah.

but having kilgharrah then show up at the end of the finale to deliver his neat little explanatory summary the same way he always does dilutes that previous moment down to almost non-meaning.  there’s no emotional consistency.  they emotionally prep us for this figure’s departure, and instead he shows up, the same as always, with no reference to the fact that a few episodes ago we were getting ready to watch him leave us. 

it’s not good writing.  it just isn’t good writing.

iii. i want you to always earn your ending

i think it’s hard to come to grips with the idea that bbc merlin was specifically a show whose kind of...big premise was being a deliciously torturous slow burn up to some massive and long-awaited reveal, and then it fizzled just before it gave the audience what it had been leading up to for five seasons.  it’s really just...wow.  i’ve seen shows fizzle before, obviously, but the fact that this one was specifically built on the idea that you were waiting for something momentous (and inevitable!) to happen - which then doesn’t happen?  that’s just...hoo boy.   

the long-awaited, promised “payoff” doesn’t happen in any way that is convincing or satisfying or remotely plausible.  it’s a little walk in the woods, and it ultimately doesn’t matter, because as soon as it’s over, so is the show, and everybody except merlin is long dead.  

not with a bang, but with a whimper, indeed.

for a show that had its audience waiting on tenterhooks for five seasons for merlin’s secret to be stripped away, the fact that the show’s biggest “payoff” ended up carrying so little weight and feeling so unconvincing is truly a shame.  there was no way for the show to give this concept the weight it deserved by flying through it in thirty minutes.  the audience knows that there’s no way this could have been resolved so quickly, so everything that happens between the “reveal” (such as it was) and the end feels...false.  it doesn’t seem real.  it’s not believable.  it feels (again, to use the word that truly sums up the entire spirit of this finale) contrived.  rushed and squished together to be neatly tied up in the time they had available.

and that’s poor craftsmanship.  stories shouldn’t feel like ‘well, i needed to reach x destination no matter what, so i made this that and the other thing happen to ensure that we got there.’  a reader/viewer shouldn’t be able to sense the presence of the author.  they shouldn’t be able to feel the hand of god reaching in and arranging pieces to force a conclusion or extract an emotion that hasn’t been earned.  

stories, if they are crafted appropriately, should feel like they have no author at all.  like they just are.  like everything that happens is the natural next step to whatever came before, as if events could not possibly have unfolded any other way.  and i don’t feel like the “reveal” and arthur’s reaction to it met those criteria.  all the supposedly super sad and emotional moments they were having at the end made me feel absolutely nothing, because the things arthur says don’t feel real.  they haven’t been earned in-story.  i felt like i was watching that sequence from a hundred miles away...just like...clinical.  removed.  like i was taken completely out of the story.  like i was in the lighting booth of a theater watching some scripted scene play out below me.    

(and this might be the time to mention that this has NOTHING to do with the actors.  the entire cast was killing it.  they were AMAZING.  their performance threatened to wring emotion out of me even despite me being completely unconvinced by the idea of what was happening.)

but that aside - how can you stay immersed in something when you can feel the creator’s hand coming down and forcing a resolution that doesn’t make sense, that hasn’t been earned?  it snaps you right out of the suspension of disbelief that all stories require you to maintain in order for you to engage with them.  the writers needed arthur to say these things sometime before the end of the show, and so he says them, regardless of whether or not it would ever actually happen like that.  but i didn’t believe it, because it wouldn’t have happened like that, and so the emotional impact was zero.

here’s the truth: you can’t use lines like “i want you to always be you” and expect me to get weepy about it when you haven’t earned that kind of resolution.  it’s a false tearjerker.  the writers are relying on our previous emotional attachment to these characters and our burning desire to see merlin validated in order to slip a contrived resolution past us without actually doing the work to make it plausible.  they’re playing on our affections in order to cover up the structural shortcomings of the story they cobbled together.

i don’t like when a story tries to manipulate me like that.  i’m not going to play that game.

iv. you are destined to be albion’s greatest king (*thor face* are you, though?)

i think there are probably some people out there for whom arthur’s death would have been a dealbreaker no matter what the rest of the story looked like.  i respect that.

i’m in the camp where i could have accepted the ‘legend-compliant’ ending, if only it had been earned.  as it is, arthur is never allowed to fully realize himself before he dies.  the show keeps saying, and i quote, “one day you will be the greatest king this land has ever known,” but arthur skips off to avalon after having reigned for a whopping total of three years, during which time he is not shown to accomplish the only goal that was prophesied for him (uniting the land of albion) and during which time he also becomes further entrenched in his father’s anti-magic views (along with the hypocrisy of using magic for his own purposes), as opposed to ever seeing the error of his ways.  he doesn’t right his father’s wrongs.  he doesn’t usher in justice and freedom for all camelot’s people.  he doesn’t change the status quo in camelot much at all, to be honest - and then he dies.  and they try to tell us “there will never be another like [him].”

how?  how can that not fall completely flat?  he hasn’t accomplished his goal yet!  he hasn’t become what they’ve kept telling us he will become.  

so i can understand the ultimate plan of arthur shuffling off this mortal coil and being prophesied to return, and i could even accept that as an appropriate ending, but not when it hasn’t been earned.  the way it actually unfolded, watching this moment feels like we skipped a season somewhere.  it feels like a sham.

we’re being asked to give arthur credit for something he did not actually achieve, and it makes the whole thing feel like a farce.

v. gratuitousness and inconsistency

i had no emotional reaction when i realized they had actually killed gwaine.  

that is insane, because you know how much i love him.  but his death was so ridiculous that I actually started laughing in disbelief.  and that in and of itself should be a sign that something wasn’t working.  when your emotional beats are landing this wrong - falling this flat - something has slid fundamentally sideways with your storytelling. 

i laughed when they killed my favorite knight!  but what other reaction was i supposed to have?  it was laughably silly!  the premise itself was already foolish - that gwaine and percival would even come out here and endanger arthur in that way - and then gwaine dies because morgana used a nathair to extract information from him?  we’ve seen morgana use the nathair twice before!  she tortured elyan with it.  she used it on alator.  neither of them died.  it’s never been indicated that being tortured with this creature will kill you. which isn’t to say that it can’t be the case, but from a writing perspective, if you’re going to use a sudden inconsistency to kill a major character, it’s noticeable!  it’s jarring!  and it makes us feel, once again, that the writers just grasped at any little thing they could think of to make what they wanted to happen happen.

and then there’s the whole question of why they wanted gwaine to die in the first place.  what purpose did it serve?  gwaine didn’t have to die in order for morgana to get the information the writers wanted her to have.  and you’d assume that if they still killed him after that, that there would be a reason for it, or that it would at least...matter, somehow, but - WE LITERALLY NEVER HEAR ABOUT HIM AGAIN LOL.  i wasn’t even sure he was dead at first.  that’s how insignificant it felt.  i felt like zuko in the ember island players.

that’s it.  we never see him or percival again after that scene.  there’s this weird moment where percival examines a footprint and the implication is that he’s going to follow morgana or something, but then it never happens.  it’s like the showrunners ran out of time and were like ‘ok well, we just won’t be able to get back to that dangling thread.’  they gratuitously axed their most developed knight and then forgot they did it.

that’s why i laughed.  it was so unbelievably bad - there was literally nothing else for me to do.

vi. let the bodies hit the floor (but like, anticlimactically)

i don’t feel like i need to examine mordred and morgana’s fates too closely, because i suspect the subject of “they deserved better” has already been done to death, and that’s kind of a different conversation than what i’m dealing with here.  i’m not here right now to argue that they should have lived (though of course, yeah, i have my opinions on what would have made a better story), i’m just here to deal with how ineffectively the story we did get was executed.

one thing that amazes me is that when i watched the S5 deleted scenes, i realized that the showrunners did in fact originally have the right ideas about making morgana and mordred’s arcs deeper/more nuanced, but somehow these ideas never made it into the final cut.  there are two deleted scenes that change so much about what could have been - one where arthur and merlin are talking about morgana and arthur is expressing regret and confusion about what happened to her, and merlin says it’s not arthur’s fault, that “there were others better placed to help morgana,” indicating his own guilty feelings.

and the other one was after mordred defected to morgana, where he has a whole conversation with her about how he thinks there is still GOOD in arthur!!!!  he’s uncertain about what he’s doing!  I JUST

i can’t believe

they had the seeds

of this better story

and they consciously decided not to pursue them.  it’s not like they didn’t have the idea.  it’s not like they just never thought of it.  they thought of it, filmed it, and deliberately removed it.  unfathomable.

it’s also pretty remarkable that the big baddie they’ve been touting for the last three seasons just pegs out from a stab wound in about 5 seconds as we’re being hustled on to something else.  there is no space devoted to morgana’s death scene (such as it was…).  it’s a parenthesis.  it feels like, ‘oh we gotta get this out of the way quick hurry up let’s move on.’  

and the thing is, i am not wholly opposed to the idea of morgana ultimately destroying herself - it’s not necessarily my first choice, but there are ways they could have gone that route and still told a meaningful story - but if they wanted to go that way, her death would have to matter.  it would have to be treated like the terrible failure it represents.  it would have to be given the weight of tragedy.

but structurally, the way this scene is set up, there is no way for this to happen.  the viewers are already hyper-strung out on tension, when she appears, because they’re suddenly starting to get this horrible realization that one of the show’s two central characters might actually be about to die, but nobody wants to stop clinging to hope despite their bad feelings so there’s just this desperate, screamingly loud ticking clock running in the background, and when morgana shows up in the middle of that clenching fear, there’s absolutely no way her death can receive the attention she deserves.  the audience doesn’t have room for something like that.  they don’t have room to feel anything on top of what they’re already feeling.  they’re already about to explode.  they’re already maxed out on investment.  they can’t focus on her; they want her to disappear because something more urgent is going on.

and so the show hustles us past her, and her death is just this blip.  it barely registers. if you sneezed, you would miss it.

(and then mordred, for his part, doesn’t even have the benefit of a structural problem to explain the anticlimax of his death.  he just gets taken out like the trash.  for a character that they just spent all this time developing and making sympathetic - boy.)

i think...the thing, ultimately, is this: if this show truly felt that what they had to do was take their previously hopeful premise and stun their audience with the death of the hero, then they should have understood that trying to stack other things on top of that is too much.  trying to squash morgana’s death right up against arthur’s is foolish.  it’s ridiculous to expect your audience to be able to process morgana’s death and arthur’s in-progress dying at the same time.  these two things happen within two minutes of each other.  the audience has been following these characters for five years.  it’s unreasonable to expect your audience to hold so much emotion at once.  

vii. you’ll just have to trust me

the last thing i want to say is a more general thing.  

the rest of this analysis focused on the ways in which the finale is poorly-crafted, rather than on my personal feelings about who they did dirty.  it’s not really about my own personal thoughts re: the merits of killing gwaine and morgana and mordred and arthur or stranding merlin across the centuries; it’s about if these things (and all the other things in these episodes) were done effectively, and the answer, sadly, is no.  the show could have killed all these people and still written something i would have respected (even though it would have been devastating), but that’s not what happened.

but here, at the end, i think i can make room for a little sentiment.  

so what i want to reflect on here is this: ultimately, i don’t end up rejecting stories just because they do things i don’t like.  the pre-finale episodes were filled with things i didn’t like.  i hated how merlin turned mordred and kara in instead of letting them run.  i hated how he let the execution proceed.  i hated how arthur refused to see the injustice of his own actions.  i hated how merlin was getting so wrapped up in ‘make sure arthur doesn’t die’ that everything else was fading away, that he was doing things he could never have done in good conscience before.  but i was still deeply wrapped up in these stories, because i believed they were plausible and true.  i accepted them.  it made sense to me, that these things would be happening, dark and unpleasant as they were.

i don’t start rejecting stories just because they go places i don’t want them to go.  i start rejecting stories when i feel they’ve betrayed my trust.  

writers and readers/viewers can only ever move together if they trust each other.  i allow stories to take me places i don’t want to go because i trust the authors to keep me safe while we travel.  i know that they may take me somewhere i don’t want to be, but i trust that they will never take me somewhere i don’t need to be.  i trust that they are taking me somewhere intentionally, with the story’s integrity in mind.  a creator i trust can take their story anywhere, because i know they will take care.  a creator i trust can end their story tragically, because they remember that i am experiencing it alongside them.  they don’t surprise-punt me off the edge of the cliff so i can crash, alone, into the painful conclusion.  they carry me the whole way, and by the time we get to the end of the line, we can both look back and see that the road that led us here was straight and true.  i don’t fault them for taking me here.  it was the right place to go.

the end of merlin didn’t feel like that to me.  putting aside the fact that it was all so contrived that it didn’t even feel real (illustrated clearly enough in the ten pages above) - the truth is that even if it had displayed the highest quality writing in the world, the way this show ended felt like the audience had been abandoned.  the bond of trust between the creator and the consumer was severed.  the show forgot to take care.

i’m a ‘galaxy far far away’ girl first and foremost, so i’ll borrow an excerpt from the world according to star wars in order to make my point:

kasdan: i think you should kill luke and have leia take over.

lucas: you don’t want to kill luke.

kasdan: okay, then kill yoda.

lucas: i don’t want to kill yoda.  you don’t have to kill people.  you’re a product of the 1980’s.  you don’t go around killing people.  it’s not nice.

kasdan: no, i’m not.  i’m trying to give the story some kind of edge to it…

lucas: by killing somebody, i think you alienate the audience. (x)

i think merlin forgot this.  

i’m not saying that merlin shouldn’t have killed anybody at the end of their show.  i’m not even saying that they shouldn’t have killed arthur.  i’m saying that they forgot to take care.

merlin bbc betrayed their audience.  you cannot take a show whose underlying theme has consistently been the promise of better things and then turn around and end it like that without taking special care of the people who are watching.  you cannot just take an audience who has spent five years listening to someone bright and full of unflinching hope say - without any indication that anyone should doubt the certainty of this statement - “one day things will be better” and expect them to walk into this kind of ending safely.   

by killing someone, i think you alienate the audience.  and this doesn’t mean that nobody can ever die.  but it does mean that if you’re going to kill someone, you have to understand that there is going to be an automatic pain reaction from your viewers/readers/etc, and if you want to maintain their trust, you have to take so much care.  you have to be sure that you know exactly what you’re doing.  you have to be sure that it’s the right thing.  the only thing.  you have to make sure that it doesn’t betray the fundamental promises you’ve made whilst crafting the rest of your story.

the end of merlin is truly stunning in a) its utter reversal/unfulfillment of every major promise that comprised its premise and b) the casualness with which it throws its characters away in the last episode.  it’s not just “killing someone.” it’s a slaughter.  we have to watch almost half the cast die onscreen, and then at the very end literally everybody is dead except merlin himself.

and this is merlin!  not game of thrones!  merlin is a “family show;” that’s what the writers/directors/producers keep calling it when you listen to the episode commentaries and they talk about how they can’t show certain things or make it too bloody.  they wanted to follow in the tradition of “big, kind of epic family-entertaining shows, that—across generations—work on lots of different levels.”  but i cannot imagine a young person who has watched this show for five years coming into the finale to see mordred and gwaine and morgana and arthur violently executed, and to see gwen in mourning, and merlin anguished and then more alone than he ever was even when he was hiding his secret, and then, whoop, there’s the credits, that’s all folks.  aren’t you glad you got on this ride? 

the show ends without fulfilling any of the promises it made repeatedly for years.  the liberation of magic, the uniting of albion, and, for merlin, especially, the long-predicted day when he would be known and recognized for who he was - all forgotten.  all abandoned.  the finale finishes without giving the audience any of the things that they have spent five years being told to expect.  the show rewards five years of emotional investment with death and desolation.  it breaks all of its promises. it doesn’t take care.

i was lucky enough to have been so disconnected by how shockingly bad these episodes were that i mostly sat there shock-laughing at them in disbelief, the first time i watched.  but going through them again to put this write-up together was just like - that’s when a deep sadness kicked in, for me.  not at the ending itself, exactly, because, as i’ve said before, it was so poorly put-together that i can’t even see it as real.  but just - at the idea that i still had to see it, period.  that i had to witness this thing that i loved so much descend into this misery, for all that i didn’t recognize it as something plausible or true.  that i still had to watch merlin drag arthur all over creation, still trying, still scrabbling for that sliver of hope, only to have arthur bite the dust like ten feet from their destination.  that all merlin ever wanted in his life was to be accepted and loved for who he is, and that he put all of this on hold so he could (supposedly) bring about a world where it would be possible, and then he never gets it.  that a life of hiding himself and believing that everybody around him hated who he was inside - that was as good as it was ever going to get, for him.  

the writers just - piled it on.  ‘you can watch mordred die, even though we just went to all this effort to make you root for him!  and now you can watch gwaine die (why????? we don’t know!!! it doesn’t change the story, but why don’t you watch it happen anyway!).  and now you can watch morgana die!  but don’t look too long, because arthur is dying!  and now you can see camelot cold and in mourning - but only for one second, because now you can see merlin, who we never showed meeting any of his friends ever again, wandering around as a solitary old man thousands of years after everybody else is dead and the universe we spent the last five seasons living in no longer exists!!!!!!’

unbelievable.  

it doesn’t upset me in the sense of “it’s so terrible that the story ended that way” because i know it didn’t, really.  it was contrived and false enough that i laughed through most of the episode.  i know it isn’t the way things would have gone, and i won’t have any trouble forgetting it; whereas if it had been well-done, i wouldn’t have been able to dismiss it so easily.  but i still had to watch it, regardless.  you’re forced to watch it, because you care, and the creators know you care enough not to look away, and they use that trust to keep you glued there while they gut-punch you over and over and over again and then peace out without concluding any of their plotlines, saying, “isn’t it clever???  we really fooled you, didn’t we?  technically, we fulfilled the prophecies - nobody ever said any of the characters would get to enjoy the new world they would build!  i bet you’re so surprised!”

it leaves you stunned.  

it’s so...mean.  

it’s so careless.

i don’t have any desire to subject myself to that a second time.  after i’m done with this post, i know i’m never going to watch those episodes again.  they weren’t good, first of all; and if you need more clarification on that, please see the first ten pages of this document.  but more importantly, i don’t feel the need to subject myself once again to the callous disregard for the trust i gave this show’s creators.  

if i’m supposed to trust a creator to carry me over rough terrain, i’m trusting them to carry me all the way to the end.  they can’t violently dump me to the ground two feet before the finish line, run me over with an ATV, and then expect me to willingly climb back into their arms.

viii: if you want something done right

in conclusion, i guess the one nice thing about this is that we can crawl the last two feet ourselves.  

for me, sadly, i think canon!merlin is always going to end at 5.11.  the last two episodes don’t feel believable to me.  i couldn’t watch them and be convinced that i was watching something plausible; i felt like i was watching two hours of scripted theater.  which is, of course, what we’re always doing - but if the story had been crafted appropriately, we shouldn’t have realized it.  we shouldn’t have been able to feel the writer’s hand reaching in and making improbable things happen.  we shouldn’t have been laughing in disbelief as supposedly “sad” things were happening in front of us, and we definitely shouldn’t have been almost falling off the couch because the last scene was so jarring we thought it was an advertisement. (the TRUCK, people.  blaring across the screen and bulldozering through medieval fantasy-adventure show merlin bbc.  nothing on earth or in high heaven could have prepared me for that moment.)

but the one good thing about a piece of media that ended so unsatisfactorily is that it lights a fire under people’s butts to go ahead and sort of...row the boat themselves.  i was afraid, before i watched this, that seeing it would make me never want to go back to merlin again.  i put off finishing season 5 for an entire year because i was in the middle of writing a fic and i thought that if the end of the show upset me, i would never want to write another word.  but now that i’m finished, i’m relieved to be able to say that the finale, while it will always be a bitterly disappointing sore spot, was also SO laughably bad that i don’t feel the slightest compunction about just...letting it lie unrecognized.  if it were well-crafted and i was just ignoring it because it made me sad, i’d feel guilty for being petty.  but it was Just Actually That Bad, so my conscience is clear.  

and so is the path to more fun things, i hope, because that is the point of fandom, in the end, to have fun with something you love in the company of other people who love it the same way.

i hope i haven’t written the last merlin thing i’ll ever write.  i hope there’s more inside me that i want to say.  i hope i haven’t come in too late to make connections.  i hope i’ll enjoy rewatching (most of) this show someday.  i couldn’t imagine that any of these things would be true, when i knew the end was going to be a let-down, but now that i’ve finished, i feel like there’s infinite room to play, and that, at least, makes me smile.

i’ve said before that this was a hell of a ride.  it ended in a trainwreck, sure, but i’m not sorry i got on.

[fredweesleyismyslut]

Rewards and Punishments  Fred Weasley x reader smut

Honestly, this probably isn’t that great because I really suck at right smut.  Like idk why but I always feel so awkward writing sex scenes like I’m more comfortable with them but...anyways enough of my ramblings I hope y’all enjoy this piece of writing.  

You were sitting in potions class with your boyfriend of a couple years, Fred Weasley, sitting next to you.  You had quickly grabbed Fred to pair with you since one of your friends had been wanting to talk to George for a while but hadn’t had the courage so to “force” her to have to pair with him you had made this plan.  Maria, your friend, looked at you with wide eyes as she fumbled with her fingers and sat by herself.  “Maria.” you whispered, as she looked up you nodded your head towards George and winked at her as encouragement.  Once, she finally stood up and sat with him you relaxed next to Fred.  “Well, since I went with this bloody plan you better reward me later, y/n.” Fred muttered next to you as he smiled mischievously towards you.  You batted your lashes at him as you smiled, “Of course.”  As you read the ingredients out to Fred and the measurements you watched as he stirred the ingredients, completely focused on the project at hand.  Smiling you ran your hand up his thigh, causing his body to freeze for a moment as he looked down at you.  ‘What are you doing?” Looking up at him through your lashes you answered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Fred.”  Biting the flesh of your lip softly you continued to move your hand upwards, finally Fred put all his attention towards you, “Seriously, what are you doing?” he demanded as he furrowed his brows softly.  “I’m giving you that reward you wanted.”  Fred’s eyes gleamed as he tightened his jaw softly, “If you keep doing this here I might get angry.”  You didn’t know why but the tightening of his jaw had made you want to be more...playful.  “How angry?”  you said as you laid his hands on the crotch of his pants where his length has started to harden.  “You’ll see soon if you keep playing around.”  You felt the fire in the pit of your stomach growing as he stared at you.  

As soon as the potions class ended Fred grabbed your hand and pulled you out the class and towards the dormitories.  Once you were up the stairs to his room he had locked the door behind him as he pushed you onto his bed.  He stared you down as he kissed your lips roughly and bit the flesh of your bottom lip.  He eyes burned into your skin as they traveled down your body.  Unbuttoning your shirt he pulled it off as his mouth went to one breast and his hands took your bra off flinging it towards an unknown corner.  His other hand groped one bra as his hand traveled up your skirt.  “Really?  I haven’t even started and you’re this wet.” he said, his breath causing goosebumps along your skin.  “Please...” you moaned out as his finger rubbed through the material of your underwear.  Pushing the material to one side he pressed his fingers along your slit.  As he kissed a trail down your body he buried his head between your legs as his tongue made patterns along your clit as the fingers pushed in.  He curved his fingers as he thrust them in.  You tried to push your hips up to get more friction as the arousal built in your stomach.  Right as you were about to hit your climax Fred pulled his fingers away.  You felt agitated at the sudden loss of the feeling, “Fred...please.”  He unbuttoned his shirt slowly purposely as he watched.  Finally, feeling more irritated than anything you started unbuttoning his shirt yourself as he moved onto his pants.  His length was clearly straining against the fabric of his briefs causing the want in between your legs to pool more.  Pulling away his briefs you stroked your hand up to the tip a couple times causing Fred’s breathing to become more and more uneven.  “Lie on your back.” he ordered as he pulled the rest of you clothes off too.  “I’m not gonna play nice with you, y/n.”  You swallowed hard as his stare seemed to burn holes in your skin.  This side of Fred was rarely seen due to his playful nature but when he was teased or in a bad mood he was a bit rougher.  “You’re gonna have to be quiet since dinners over now there’s people in the common room.”  You meant to answer but nothing came as you nodded in reply.  Without any warning he slid his length into you, groaning softly as his neck strained.  His hips thrust harder as his hands gripped your waist, there were definitely gonna be some bruises there tomorrow.  His hips smacked roughly against yours as the sound of your breathing and moans filled the room.  His hand laid next to your head holding his weight up as the other went down to play with your clit causing breathy moans to erupt from you as the put of climax built up in your stomach.  You bit your lips as you tried to smother the sounds coming from mouth as Fred’s lips went down to your neck.  He bit the skin of your neck and licked near your chin as he sucked on the spot he bit.  Gripping the sheets in your hand you moan quite loudly as Fred moved his lips to yours.  “If you don’t stay quiet I’m gonna have to stop, y/n.  You don’t want that right?” he asked as he tilted your chin upwards.  You nodded, afraid that a sound would erupt from your mouth if you had opened it.  “Okay, good girl.  Now I want you on your knees.”  You followed his orders as he grabbed the curve of your ass before sliding his member back between your folds as he continued with his previous movements.  His movements seemed to get rougher as he went deeper.  His hand made contact with your ass as he slapped it hard feeling the sting you moaned at the mixture of pain and pleasure.  His movements seemed to get sloppier and more uneven as he continued, breathily moaning next to your ear.  You felt the ball of climax in your stomach unfurl as he made a hard thrust and bit your bottom lip, tasting blood slightly, as you finally hit your climax.  Fred road out your high as he pulled out.  You wrapped your lips around as Fred grabbed the back of your hair and thrust into your mouth roughly, hitting the back of your throat as he released into the back of your throat.  Tasting the thick saltiness in your mouth you swallowed as Fred bent over to swipe the bits that spilled from your mouth away.  “I love you y/n.”  He smiled at you through half lidded eyes from the pleasure as he kissed your lips softly molding them together.  He grabbed a cloth as he wiped away the remnants of your act.  “I love you too, Fred.  I should enact this ‘punishment’ more often.” Fred chuckled softly as he looked at the rest of your body for bruises.  “I’m gonna have to start thinking of better ways to punish you then.” The sound of footsteps in the hallway outside the door caused you both to quickly recede back to your clothes and seem as if nothing happened between you two.  

[ebelwrites]

Truth or Drink

Well, here we are again. Yet another hellfic. At this point, I can no longer claim this is a once or twice off thing; this is now its own section of my writing. Which means that there is now going to be a section in my masterlist of stories dedicated to hellfics... great.

Oh well, I had fun writing this. I had fun writing all of them, honestly; even as they were making me cringe. Now, similar warnings for this as the last hellfic; more PG-rated than my usual stuff, and mentions of sex and other stuff along those lines. Again, all mentions and no showing, and more for comedy’s sake, but this is your warning if you’re not feeling up for that sort of stuff today.

Few final little things before we start. 1- this entire fic is based off a series of youtube videos of the same name. I highly recommend that you go watch them. They are wonderful; I was just inspired to make a Dreamswap version. 2- human Dreamswap characters; this includes trans!Nightmare, cause I love that idea. And 3- I highly, highly, recommend that you listen to the piece of music that’s named in the first paragraph as you read this; it makes for a much funnier experience. Here’s a link for those who want to listen as they read: Here

And that’s it! I hope everyone enjoys this wonderful hellfic experience!

~~~~~~

The video opens on Dream and Nightmare sitting at a small table. They are seated towards each other, with both of them looking at the camera. The table holds at least three bottles of alcohol, two shot glasses, and what appears to be two stacks of cards, one stack in front of each. Mozart’s ‘Serenade in G Major’ is playing faintly in the background.

“Hey; I’m Nightmare.” He waves a hand at the camera as he introduces himself.

“And I am Dream.” Dream doesn’t wave, but he does give a smile to the camera. “I am sure you know us.” 

“See,” Nightmare starts, hands starting to make gestures in the air, “Dream and I used to be pretty close. Then, of course, we grew apart.” Nightmare’s hands come down onto the table and he smirks at Dream. “But now we’ve made up and, obviously, there’s a bunch of stuff we don’t know about each other now. So,” Nightmare picks up his stack of cards with a grin, “some of Dream’s employees have made us a little game where we ask each other questions, and we either have to tell the truth or take a shot.” 

“I am still uncertain as to why we would need an incentive to speak the truth,” Dream states, fiddling with his own stack of cards while making sure not to flip any of them over. “Isn’t the point of this to get to know each other better?” Nightmare lets out a slight chuckle at that.

“Yeah, but I’ve been told that some of these are questions that might be kinda embarrassing for us to answer, or to hear.” 

There’s a faint shout from off-camera that says something like, “Some? Try most!” Dream raises an eyebrow at this, but his smile remains pleasant and professional. 

“I trust my people to have picked reasonable and mature questions.” There is nervous laughter coming from someone behind the camera at that. “On that, shall we begin?” Nightmare grins, and gestures to Dream.

“You first!” Dream gives a nod and flips over the first card. Within seconds, his smile drops and his face begins to turn yellow in embarrassment. People from out of view begin to laugh and he shoots a glare in their direction; all but one voice falls silent. Said voice then shouts, “come on! You agreed to ask everything, remember?” Dream’s glare turns fierce, but his gaze soon drops and he reads out the card.

“Have we ever slept with the same person?” Nightmare guffaws and Dream’s glare focuses on him for a bit. “I do not believe we have.” 

“Come on, Dream; I was meant to answer that,” Nightmare protests, still laughing. “Also, you’re wrong about that belief.” Dream suddenly looks like he swallowed a golf ball and a lemon at the same time, staring at Nightmare with wide eyes.

“What?! Who?!” Nightmare doesn’t respond and just keeps laughing. Meanwhile, Dream looks like he wants to leap over the table and force the answer out of Nightmare. “Why was I not informed of this?”

“Considering when it happened, you weren’t ever supposed to know.” Nightmare pours himself a shot and downs it quickly. “Also, while I won’t tell you who, I will say you tapped it second.” That only seems to make Dream’s current condition even worse. There’s a moment where Dream has to take a deep breath and calm himself down, before he sets the card to the side and stares pointedly at Nightmare.

“Well? What is your first question for me?” Nightmare lets out one last chuckle before lifting up his first card. As he reads what’s on it, he lets out a snort.

“Do I or have I ever disappointed you?”

“Yes,” Dreams says through gritted teeth. “Two minutes ago, in fact.” That only causes Nightmare to start laughing again. Dream is not as amused.

“But, other than that?” Dream takes a moment to think on this; there seem to be some unpleasant memories flashing through his mind, as he grimaces at the thought of them. 

“I believe the only times I have been disappointed in you have mostly been when you have broken in Justice Reigns with the sole purpose of annoying me.” Nightmare seems to expect more, but Dream appears done.

“But,” Nightmare draws out the word, expecting Dream to continue on but deciding to do so himself when Dream doesn’t, “you judge me for dating Cross, right?” That seems to get Dream’s attention and he nods.

“Oh yes; I judge you for dating Cross.” Nightmare lets out a snort and settles back into his chair. 

“Thought so; moving on.” Nightmare shoots a grin towards Dream. “Third question!” Dream flips over his next card and begins to read.

“Who would Mother have liked more?” Nightmare thinks for a moment, as does Dream. For a moment, you can see a resemblance between them, as they both bite their lips as they ponder the question. 

“Probably me,” Nightmare finally says. Dream gives him a shocked look.

“I would have said myself.” Nightmare looks at him before shaking his head. 

“Nuh-uh; not with the whole,” Nightmare gestures to a lot of Dream, with a lot of emphasis on his wings, “incident thing. Before that, a hundred percent, you would have been the favourite. After that? Me; without question.” Dream still looks a bit skeptical.

“You don’t think she would approve of me using my power to make the multiverse a better place?” Once again, Nightmare shakes his head.

“I don’t think she would have seen it that way,” he says quietly with an uncomfortable look. “Remember what she was like?” Dream thinks on it for a moment, before nodding. 

“Fine. Perhaps.” Dream shakes his head, before gesturing to Nightmare’s card. “Well? Let us continue.” Nightmare pulls up the card and immediately begins laughing again.

“Oh! We’re back in the good ones!” Nightmare manages to get out in between laughs. Dream looks remarkably worried. He finally calms down enough that he manages to ask the question. “Would you ever have a threesome with me?” For a split second, it looked as though Dream’s brain had broken entirely. He stared forward, dumbfounded, before finally returning to his senses. 

“No!” Dream immediately starts reaching for the bottles of alcohol, fumbling as he pours himself a shot. “No! Absolutely not! No!” Nightmare nudges his shot glass forward and Dream fills it for him.

“Gotta say, I’m with you on that one.” Nightmare downs his shot alongside Dream. “Cause, at the end of the day, they’re gonna favour one of us, and I’m gonna be pissed if it ain’t me!” Dream gives him an unhappy look.

“Not quite the reason I was saying ‘no’,” Dream mutters to himself, only heard due to the microphone attached to his shirt. He finally shakes himself out of his embarrassment and pulls up the next question. He lets out the tiniest groan at the sight of it, his face starting to yellow again already.

“How many sexual partners have you had?” Nightmare pauses, thinking. He looks behind himself, counting two people off-screen, and then returns to the table, counting on his fingers and he’s lost in thought. He reaches the fingers on his second hand before starting to spin his hands around as he debates something in his head. Finally, and without looking away from the ceiling where his eyes had drifted during his thoughts, he reaches over and grabs one of the bottles before taking a swig from it. 

“Some things are better left unsaid,” Nightmare comments as he sets the bottle back down. Dream can’t seem to decide whether he should feel relieved or horrified. “Next question.” 

Nightmare flips up the card. “If you could change one thing about me, what would it be?” Dream sucks in a breath, debating his options. He very obviously looks Nightmare up and down, lip finding its way back in between his teeth again. 

“...Should I go for the obvious?” Dream asks, giving Nightmare a look. Nightmare rolls his eyes.

“Do not give me charity; say what about me annoys the crap out of you!” 

“Well,” Dream starts, looking Nightmare over again, “I could say your pranks, or perhaps your inability to take anything seriously. Maybe just your attitude in general. But perhaps, what annoys me most is,” Dream gestures to Nightmare’s entire being, “this.” Nightmare looks at himself, then looks at Dream with a disappointed expression.

“You just gestured to all of me.” Dream just smiles politely.

“Yes.” Nightmare lets out a groan and gives Dream a glare.

“Did you just answer with a fucking meme?” Dream is still smiling.

“Yes.” Nightmare pours a shot and shoves the glass towards Dream, all the while giving him a nasty look.

“Drink a shot for that; do it, you disgrace.” Dream rolls his eyes but downs the shot and sets the glass back on the table. 

“It was not that bad,” he grumbles. He lets out a little cough, before turning his attention to the next card. “What is the worst thing I have done to you?” He squints, reading the smaller text underneath. “Apart from the obvious?” He does not seem to be completely confident that he read that right, but they continue on quickly enough. 

“Honestly,” Nightmare starts, eyes drifting to the ceiling again, “probably all the times you forced me to get up way too goddamn early when we were little. Either that or the times you forced me to socialise.” Dream raises an eyebrow at the answer.

“Both of those were for your benefit. They were not to your detriment.” Nightmare lets out a childish groan. 

“Couldn’t you have just let me be an anti-social, hibernating hermit for the rest of my life?” Dream levels an unimpressed look at Nightmare.

“No.” Is all he says; Nightmare lets out a whine in response. “Just read your question.” Nightmare pouts for a moment longer before pulling up the next card. He smirks at what’s written on it.

“Who’s the better-looking one?” Nightmare gives Dream a grin, wiggling his eyebrows. “Come on; we both know it’s me!” Dream raises an eyebrow, face incredulous.

“I do not believe many of my people would agree with you,” he says, giving Nightmare a look that was slightly condescending in nature. Nightmare huffs dramatically in response.

“But I have that sexy, ex-criminal charm! You’re just a goody-two-shoes!” He then looks over to the side, to people who could not be seen. “Error! Cross! You agree, right? I’m the better-looking one!” 

“Of course, dear!” The two respond in sync, still off-screen. Nightmare regains his confident smirk at their words and turns back to face Dream, who is shaking his head.

“They are biased,” he says simply. “They cannot be empirical about this.” Nightmare blows a raspberry, which causes Dream to look at him with disappointment. 

“Well,” a voice from off-screen starts to speak, “since you two can’t decide, I guess that means you are both taking a shot!” Dream and Nightmare exchange looks, before casting a glare off-screen. It takes a bit, but they relent and Dream starts to pour them shots.

“Cheers, bitch!” Nightmare clinks his glass against Dream’s and downs it immediately. Dream takes a moment to roll his eyes before downing his. He takes a moment after drinking to let the alcohol settle in his system, how many shots had they had now, then lifts up his next question card. He starts to choke and cough at the words written on it before he can finally manage to ask the question.

“Have you ever had sex in my house?” Dream sets down the card and sends a glare towards the camera. “I already know the answer to this question, and it is-” He pauses, noticing the movement in the corner of his eye. Nightmare has skipped pouring a shot entirely and is now taking a swig directly from the bottle, not making eye contact with Dream. Dream takes a few moments to process what he is seeing, before the implications of it finally catches up with him.

“You’ve had sex in my house?!” The scream is probably heard on the other side of JR, it is so loud. Nightmare flinches a bit at the shout but doesn’t stop drinking. “Oh, you fucker.” There are numerous shocked gasps at Dream swearing, but he doesn’t seem to care at all. It looks almost like Dream’s mind has completely collapsed; his face was so blank, it could only be in pure rage. “You have no clue how much trouble you are in.”

“What are you talking about?” Nightmare finally pries the bottle away from his lips and sets it back on the table, looking much like a man who has realised death arriving at this moment might be a mercy. “I just took a drink; that doesn’t mean anything!”

“It means you don’t want to tell me the truth!” Dream, for the second time so far, looks remarkably like he wants to leap over the table. Nightmare is still not looking at him, his face a faint purple hue. 

“Moving on!” Nightmare hurriedly lifts up his next card, eyes scanning the words. “What are your biggest complaints about my partners?” That manages to get Dream out of his bad headspace, but possibly just into a different one. He leans back a bit, biting his lip as he thinks.

“Just one for each?” Dream tries to clarify, looking very much like he wants it to be more. Nightmare nods with a stern look. 

“Yes. Just one. Otherwise, we’ll be here all day with you ranting about Cross.” Dream releases a breath, obviously still debating his choices. 

“I will start with Error,” he begins. “I believe my biggest complaint with Error is how often he pesters me about taking care of myself. Now,” Dream leans forward as he explains, “this is a very minor complaint. I believe Error is a wonderful being and I am fully supportive of your relationship together. I believe you are good together.” Satisfied that he has explained himself properly, Dream sits back properly in his chair with a content look.

“As for Cross, well,” Dream begins to laugh, and he doesn’t stop laughing. He tries to muffle it by shutting his mouth, but it only makes his movements more exaggerated as the laughter keeps coming and coming. He eventually reaches over and lifts a bottle from the table, taking a large drink from it. “I couldn’t decide which one,” he finally admits when he’s finished laughing. Nightmare does not seem to be satisfied with that answer.

“What’s the first one that comes to mind?”

“He’s a man-baby.” It is rather harsh that Dream just says it with very little emotion, as though he’s just stating facts. There is a deeply offended noise from someone off-camera. Dream sets the bottle back down and returns to facing Nightmare. “And that’s all I will say.” Nightmare gives him a screwed-up, unhappy face, but drops the subject with a disgusted sigh. Dream has a brief moment of relief, before he lifts up his next card and his face fall with what he sees written on it.

“How did you lose your virginity?” Dream’s lips practically suck back into his head as he sets the card on the table and pours two shots. He then shoves one towards Nightmare. “Take the shot.” He nudges the shot towards Nightmare with increased desperation. “Take. The shot.” Nightmare thinks on it for a moment before downing the shot, grimacing at the burn. 

“Yeah; perhaps better for you not to know.” Nightmare sets his glass down, before a mischievous look crosses his face. “Although, I can give some details~”

“Please refrain from doing that.”

“There was a pool table involved.”

“There was not a pool table involved.” 

“Yes, there was.” Nightmare’s grin has not faded in the slightest. Dream, on the other hand, looks like he’s dying on the inside and lets out a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sob. Nightmare eventually decides to stop tormenting Dream and looks at his next question card.

“Who has the bigger dick?” Nightmare turns his smug look directly to the camera. “Me.” Dream’s expression says that his brain is misfiring a little bit, and turns a confused look on Nightmare.

“Am I… missing something? Was I not made aware of some rather important changes in your life?” Dream is now looking over Nightmare’s shoulder to the people beyond the screen, obviously looking for answers from them. “And how would you know anyway?”

“I don’t need a dick for mine to be bigger than yours.” With that said, Nightmare lightly wacks Dream in the face with the question card, still looking rather smug. Dream’s face says that he doesn’t quite understand, but gets that this topic is over and is probably grateful to be moving on anyway. 

“What is your honest, unfiltered opinion of my love life?” Dream reads out from his next card, glancing over it at Nightmare, who is leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful expression. 

“Honestly? Pretty dry and dull.” Nightmare gives a half-apologetic look to Dream. “I’m sorry, but when was the last time you went out on a date?” Dream doesn’t have an immediate answer, and Nightmare barrels on with barely a pause. “Seriously, my dude; I may be the better-looking one, but you aren’t too shabby yourself. And yet you haven’t tried to find a datemate yet! At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if you wound up marrying your paperwork. You need to live a little!” Dream, over the course of Nightmare’s rant, is slowly burying his face in his hands more and more. 

“Are you done?” Dream mumbles out, eyes still covered by his hands. Nightmare sighs loudly.

“I’m just telling the truth!” Dream drops his hands and gives Nightmare a look that’s half reproachful and half pleading.

“I will find someone when the time is right. For now, please drop it.” Nightmare grumbles a bit.

“Just let it happen before we’re a thousand years old, ‘kay?” Dream rolls his eyes at that but says nothing in return. Nightmare blows out a breath in frustration before picking up his final card. 

“On a scale of one to ten, how hetero are you?” Nightmare tosses the card over his shoulder with barely a glance. “Basically, how straight are you?” 

“About a five.” Dream answers, looking rather comfortable in his decision. “Though, I suppose the correct numerical value would require a Z-axis as well as an X-axis and Y-axis.”

“Oh, yeah. You’re pansexual, right?” Dream nods, lacing his fingers together and completely comfortable in his sexuality.

“I am sure I can guess what your number would be.” Nightmare barks out a laugh, arm flopping over the back of his chair.

“About a negative sixty-nine!” He flashes a grin towards the camera. “I am very gay. Boys all the way!” There is no discomfort from either of them; it is a bit touching to see how at ease both of them are with this topic. Nightmare finally gestures to Dream and the final question card on the table. “Last one. Let’s hear it; I’m curious what they saved for last.” Dream gives a pleasant smile, rather similar to the one he began this exercise with, and pulls up the final card.

“What is the nicest thing I have ever done for you?” Dream sets the card down neatly and begins to organise the finished cards back into a neat stack, though his eyes tell that he is, in fact, curious about the answer and is merely keeping his hands busy. Nightmare debates internally for a few minutes, a few minutes where no one says anything, then takes one of Dream’s hands.

“I think...the nicest thing you’ve ever done for me? Would be when we were still enemies.” Nightmare’s face gains a tender smile and he looks much softer than he has for the entirety of the video. “When I came out to you as trans, even though we hated each other at the time, you immediately started using my preferred pronouns and even changed all my paperwork to use them. You did that, even though we weren’t even on speaking terms at the time, and I think that was very sweet.” Dream’s smile gains a sweet tinge to it as well, and he squeezes Nightmare’s hand lightly. “Also, I know you were helping a certain pair of your staff sneak me testosterone while I was on the run, or at least turning a blind eye to it.” 

“That wasn’t supposed to be public knowledge, Nightmare.” Though Dream doesn’t look upset about it, still wrapped up in smiling sweetly at his old friend. He chuckles a bit, more joy being shown on his face in this moment than almost any other time that JR workers can recall. “I am glad to have you back, old friend. I have missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, you sap.” Nightmare laughs a bit, tears pricking at his eyes despite what he called Dream. “It’s been too long since we got to just talk like this.”

“I agree.” Dream nods, smiling turning to the people outside the camera’s view. “Despite the...nature of some of the questions, it was nice getting to know you again.” He reaches across the table and brushes away a tear from Nightmare’s eye. Nightmare lets out another laugh as he does this, before turning back to the camera.

“Well, that was truth or drink. And we’re done here!” Nightmare gives a clap, which results in all the crew off-screen beginning to clap as well. Nightmare gives a nod before turning back to Dream. “Shall we go keep talking elsewhere?” 

“That sounds like a good idea.” Dream smiles, standing up from his chair, though looking somewhat like he’s using the table to balance himself. He then looks over to someone behind the camera, turning his smile to them. “Despite my...hesitance, shall we say, regarding some of the questions, thank you for putting this together. This was-” Dream is cut off by a loud shriek as Nightmare falls out of his chair while trying to get up, and lands on the floor.

“Nightmare!” The name is shouted by at least four different people, including Dream, who looks towards his old friend with concern and moves to help. This is when the screen pauses; with Dream holding onto the table as he moves around to help Nightmare up, while only a faint arm in a purple hoodie reaching up from the floor. Words begin to scroll up the screen.

Total Number Times Drinking:

Dream - 4

Nightmare - 6

They scroll up the screen and vanish, shot still frozen on the last scene. Two final words appear on screen:

The End

And then it fades to black. You get the distinct impression both men were left nursing hangovers the next morning.

[jovialyouthmusic]

Charlotte’s Choice

A Royal Romance AU fanfic

18 Friends with Benefits

A flashback to when Charlotte and Drake made a mutual arrangement

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18 Friends with Benefits

Charlotte looked at Drake kneeling in front of her. How wonderful it would be if he could just propose and she could say yes, like a normal person.  There would never be a proposal for her, just an announcement in front of a room full of people. She remembered when they were growing older, their dead parents a fading memory and hormones starting to drive their behaviour.

Kiara and Lady Caroline stood in a corner, whispering and giggling, throwing appraising looks across the ballroom at Drake. Maxwell took Charlotte’s hand and waist and they started across the floor in time to the music. At first, she kept up with him easily, but she kept casting glances at the other dancers.  Alistaire, the dancing master was still pairing people off, and he motioned Caroline forward to dance with Drake, who looked as if he wanted to be anywhere else but here. Charlotte missed her step and stumbled, and Alistaire saw. He clapped loudly to indicate that everyone should stop.

‘No no no Princess, you must pay attention to your partner at all times. Never, never take your eyes off him.’ She blushed and stepped away from Maxwell, and Alistaire took over from him. ‘Step, step, pause… look at me your highness, you must follow my every move’ Charlotte was flustered, and stumbled again. Alastaire sighed heavily. ‘That’s enough for today Princess, you mind is not on your task. Come back tomorrow and please, concentrate next time, there is only a month to go until the Masked Ball.’

Charlotte went to the changing rooms to fumble at the fastenings of her ballgown, tears of frustration in her eyes, determined not to ask for help. She heard voices, and Kiara and Caroline came into the next two cubicles. She sat still, listening to their gossip, not wanting to draw attention to herself.

‘Well that was disappointing, I was just about to dance with Drake’

‘You wouldn’t be so pleased if you had, he’d most likely tread on your feet, he has no rhythm.’

‘Maybe not on the dancefloor’ said Caroline in a low conspiratorial tone ‘he’s an animal in the hayloft, perfect rhythm and plenty of stamina, I can tell you’

‘Ooh you lucky thing’ cried Kiara ‘I got a glimpse of him with his shirt off in the stables, I nearly died. He’s incredible’

‘I just hope I can persuade him to go with me again, he’s working his way through the whole court. He’s pretty talented with his fingers and tongue too, even though he’s not lacking in the trouser department. Hardly anyone gets a second chance, it’s like he’s looking for the right one.’

‘I wish it was me’ said Kiara ‘he’s just dreamy, I’d say yes in a trice’ Charlotte hardly dared breathe and waited until the two young women had gone before she struggled out of her dress and changed into her jeans and shirt, ready to go out into the stables. She wasn’t going riding, but she wanted to go and see Star and give her a good grooming. She wondered if Drake would be there, but in the light of what she had just heard, she didn’t know if that would be a good thing or not. She stopped off at the kitchens to get a snack for herself and an apple for Star.

She stomped down to the stables, muttering to herself. As she approached, Kaira was just leaving, her face red, her eyes flashing. Charlotte faltered, surmising that she had just met Drake and been rejected. Kiara dropped a hurried curtsey to her and scurried away. The Princess slowed her steps, wondering whether to go back to the palace, but Drake appeared, striding away from the stables. As he saw her, his face lit up.

‘Charlie – are you going to see Star? I’ll come with you.’ Charlotte shrugged and carried on toward the stables. She was only too aware of him, dark hair flopping over his forehead, boots crunching on the gravel beside her. She fancied she could catch his scent, smoky and earthy like the stables.

‘If you like’ she said curtly

‘Are you okay Charlie? You were a bit distracted at dancing. I’m going to have to drop it if I can’t stop treading on my partner’s toes’ he almost had to run to keep up with her now determined strides.

‘What did Kiara want?’ she asked tersely. Drake coloured

‘She – erm she was asking me about taking riding lessons’

‘Oh. What sort of riding was she asking about?’ Drake went even redder. She stopped walking and turned toward him ‘I heard her saying she wanted to…’ she stopped, she couldn’t bring herself to say it

‘Wanted to what Charlie?’ Drake asked, looking worried.

‘She – I overheard her talking to Caroline’

‘Oh’ said Drake ‘Caroline.’

‘It seems you’ve been tomcatting around with the whole court’ she said, struggling to keep her tone neutral and failing miserably, jealousy leaking out into her words. Drake looked puzzled and sorrowful

‘Charlie, it’s not all me you know. They keep coming after me. It’s kind of hard to say no. I’m only human’

‘And horny’ she spat and carried on to the stables. He followed her.

‘Why does it worry you?’ He asked as she picked up the brushes to groom Star, who came to the stall door and whickered at her. She stepped forward and held out the apple in her palm for the pony to take. She was too small for Charlotte to ride any more, but she loved the little pony. She stroked her nose and inhaled the scents of the stable, feeling calm wash over her. Drake still hovered behind her, waiting for an answer. She sighed.

‘Oh Drake, perhaps I’m jealous. I can’t do that sort of thing. Father gets twitchy if I so much as look at other men. Do you know what he said to me?’ she said turning to him. He shrugged ‘He said that if I got pregnant it would ruin the Monarchy, as if I needed telling. I have to wait until I’m twenty to even consider courting any nobles, so dating is out of the question.’ Drake looked sheepish.

‘I’m sorry Charlie, that sucks. If it helps, it’s only ever once. Its just sex, it doesn’t mean anything’

‘That’s supposed to make me feel better, when there’s not even been one for me? Not even a kiss, not a fumble or caress’ Drake shifted uncomfortably.

‘Don’t you ever – you know – take care of yourself?’ It was Charlotte’s turn to blush now. She had some pretty frank discussions with Olivia over the years and had a collection of sex toys thanks to the young Duchess. Drake grinned at her discomfort. ‘You do, don’t you? Things can’t be that bad’ Charlotte went into Star’s stall and started brushing her down, feeling her face red with embarrassment, heat coursing through her body and pooling in her groin. Drake leaned on the open stall doorway, arms crossed. She didn’t answer him, allowing the long slow strokes to soothe her, and she spoke softly to the pony. She almost jumped when Drake spoke again.

‘I could show you things’ She looked at him in shock.

‘Excuse me?’ she paused, her hand frozen in place. Drake scuffed at the straw with his boot.

‘There’s more to sex than going all the way.’ He looked up at her, and she shivered at the intensity of his gaze ‘Lots of things I could do to make you feel good without – you know’ She dropped the brush and stared at him. Her legs had turned to jelly and her stomach felt odd. She propped herself up by leaning on Star, her breath catching.

‘You mean – fool around but stay a virgin?’ she said incredulously, and he nodded. ‘Father would kill you if he found out’

‘We can be careful, meet in secret. You go riding most mornings – I could come with you – for safety you know – and we could find somewhere to be alone.’ Charlotte’s head was spinning.

‘Drake…’ she said but couldn’t find the words. She was excited at the thought, she couldn’t deny it, but it was dangerous. He seemed to know what she was thinking.

‘If you’re still a virgin, how can he be angry? If you don’t get some sort of release, you’ll be climbing the Palace walls, maybe run off with a visiting Prince’ Charlotte smiled at his joke.

‘You’d do that for me? Wouldn’t you get bored after the first time?’ Drake shook his head

‘Not if we’re not going all the way’ he grinned ‘I like the chase too. When I’ve got them, I lose interest and if they chase me, I’m not interested in going with them again’

‘Will you still go with other girls?’ she asked. He looked uncomfortable

‘Not if you don’t want me to – but it would look suspicious if I suddenly stop’

‘Well, maybe we should cross that bridge when we come to it’

‘So the answer’s yes?’

‘I suppose so’ Charlotte replied, her palms clammy. Drake rolled his eyes

‘You suppose so? I’ve just seduced you, and you ‘suppose so’?’

‘Don’t get cocky Walker, I’m a Princess and I could probably invoke an obscure law and have you beheaded’ she smirked. He dropped to his knees in the straw and clasped his hands together

‘No Princess, please have mercy’ he cried in mock anguish. Charlotte grinned.

‘Get up Walker – I guess I can allow you to live. It looks like you might have a purpose’

‘Charlotte?’ Constantine’s voice rang out, and Charlotte jumped violently. Drake quickly crawled across the floor to hide behind a straw bale.

‘Father?’ she answered ‘I was just grooming Star’

‘Is there someone else there? I thought I heard you talking’

‘No, it was just to Star’ she called back. Her Father appeared, dressed for riding.

‘I just heard from your dancing master, he did not have good news for me. You must apply yourself Charlotte, it’s not long until the Ball and you will be appearing in society for the first time. You must create a good impression.’ Charlotte sighed.

‘Yes father.’ Charlotte hung her head ‘Sorry father’

‘Well my dear, I’m going out riding now, as I’m busy tomorrow morning, I’m sorry I won’t be able to take you out’

‘Would it be okay if I rode with someone else?’ she asked.

‘I’m not sure that would be proper or safe my dear, who could you possibly go with?’ Charlotte affected a thoughtful look.

‘Oh I’m not sure, one of the stable boys?’

‘Certainly not, that would be beneath you’

‘Oh – umm well – how about Duke Walker?’ she asked ‘He’s usually at the stables early most days, and he’s been training with Bastien, I’d feel safe with him’ Constantine looked thoughtful

‘I suppose so, Bastein has told me he has promise, he’ll probably be following in his father’s footsteps. Yes, he’s a good choice. Now run along back to the palace, Lady Olivia is here to see you.’

The next morning Charlotte turned up at the stables. She quickly went to Phoenix’s stall – her father had given her the mare on her eighteenth birthday. Drake was already there, saddling her up while his steed, Sultan, waited ready in his stall. Her heart beat a little faster when she saw him, butterflies dancing in her stomach. She opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted.

‘Good morning Princess’ he said ‘I hope you slept well’ he rolled his eyes to indicate the stable boy working at the other end of the stall, sweeping out the straw. He still looked her up and down, well turned out in her riding jodhpurs tucked into black riding boots and a green riding jacket, white blouse with a ruffle at the neck, a helmet over her long dark wavy hair.

‘Yes thankyou Walker’ she replied, ‘Are we ready to go?’ In turn she took in his broad frame, clad in jeans, check shirt and a denim jacket, his dark brown hair tousled. She shivered with speculation when she noticed that unusually he was clean shaven, no sign of the usual dark stubble that he sported.

‘Yes Princess, right this way’ Drake led Phoenix out into the yard and Charlotte mounted her while he went to get Sultan.

‘Out along Beech avenue?’ he asked her

‘Lead on, Walker’ she said loudly, and they set off. When they were well out of sight of the stables, he wheeled his horse round and she stopped. He brought Sultan alongside, an apologetic look on his face.

‘I’m sorry we couldn’t talk at the stables. Are you okay? Do you want to go ahead with this?’ The butterflies in her stomach made their presence known again, but she nodded.

‘Yes Drake yes I want to…’ she swallowed ‘where are we going?’

‘The gardeners hut out along Oak Ride’ he answered. She nodded and he turned Sultan away to lead her further on, breaking into a canter. Charlotte felt suddenly free, the morning air cool, the blue sky promising warmth to come, and she pressed her knees into her mount, urging the mare to go faster. She broke into a gallop and overtook Drake, laughing as the air whipped past her face and she felt the horse underneath her, the bunching of her muscles and the steady thud of her hooves keeping her body anchored, rooted while her spirit soared with glee. Drake shouted after her and picked up the pace, racing to keep up.

They raced to the hut, Charlotte arriving first and wheeling the horse to a standstill, dismounting and watching Drake do the same. The horses snorted and stamped, and Charlotte calmed Phoenix, stroking her nose and talking softly to her until she calmed and put her head down to graze the soft grass underfoot. A soon as Drake had settled Sultan, she went over and threw her arms round him, pressing her eager lips to his. He quickly returned her affection with a long lingering kiss. Holding him was indescribable, so different from when they were children huddled together in the hayloft mourning their parents.

He was a grown man now, broad shouldered and hard muscled, lean and fit. Somehow her womanly curves seemed to fit him snugly – it just felt so right she wondered how she had wasted so much time not discovering it before. They kissed again and again, little soft kisses that increased in intensity until they stopped for breath, hearts fluttering in harmony. Her whole body tingled, an ache and heat deep in her groin.

‘Drake’ she breathed ‘Thankyou, I feel so free’ he smiled

‘Come into the hut Charlie’ he said softly ‘you’re going to feel so much more than free, I promise’ He led her inside. It was nothing special, just an empty potting shed with a potting bench at waist height, but it was clean and dry. Drake took his boots off at the door and motioned her to do the same, and she unzipped the long black boots and left them standing by his. There was a chest of drawers there, and Drake opened one to produce blankets, a towel, a box of wet wipes and a box of tissues. She looked at him questioningly

‘Have you brought other girls here, Drake?’ she asked. He shook his head

‘No, you’re the first. I came down here last night to bring these things over.’ She smiled in appreciation.

He spread a blanket on the floor and took his jacket off. Charlotte followed suit, locking her eyes on his and laying her helmet on the bench. They met in an embrace again, kissing with open mouths and twisting tongues. They parted, and Drake pulled her down onto the floor. They lay down, lying on their sides facing each other. They kissed again, and he slid his hand up under her blouse, his hand rough and firm. He looked into her eyes.

‘Charlie, I need to know that you’re enjoying this. Tell me if I do anything wrong. I want you to feel good’

‘I do Drake, I want you to touch me’ she whispered.

What followed stayed with her all day and she went back to it many times over the years, she remembered every detail but somehow the timeline got jumbled up. So many sensations – his hands were rough and calloused from working at the stable, but his touch was warm and gentle. She didn’t take all her clothes off, but she felt naked under his glances, his eyes devouring her. The ground underneath her was solid but she not only felt it move, it rocked like ocean waves as her body responded to him.

He had helped her out of her jodphurs and panties, his touch gentle. In turn, she unbuttoned his shirt to discover and caress his bare chest, scattered with dark hair, his belly flat and toned, a trail of dark hair leading down to his groin. His dark eyes roamed over her half clothed body and he had cupped her breasts though the fabric of her bra. She felt his hand wander lower, gently exploring places no-one else had been. His fingers became the centre of her existence, sending waves of ecstasy through her willing body. He had trailed kisses over her bare belly and shifted further and further down, gently encouraging her to let her thighs open. Her fingers tangled in his hair as he did unimaginable things with his tongue. She writhed and moaned as the intensity built until she went over the edge, her whole body lighting up, sensation so strong she thought she would die from it, her walls pulsing but empty. Her fingers relaxed and untangled from his hair and he moved back up to her, kissing her so she tasted herself on his lips. She lay weak and sated, internally glowing, so happy that tears came to her eyes. He kissed the tears away and stroked her cheek, covering her with the blanket.

‘Was that okay Charlie?  I’m sorry we don’t have much time, it was - very quick’ She was barely capable of movement, let alone speech. She wanted to stay with him, wanted the moment to last forever, but knew it had to end, knew they couldn’t stay out for too long for fear of being discovered. Silently she nodded and waited for the ability to move again. She rolled onto her side, and her hand wandered down over his belly to feel the hardness under his jeans. He put his hand on hers ‘Not now Charlie’ he said softly. She looked at him questioningly.

‘Why not? It only seems fair’ He shook his head

‘Not this time, we should dress and go back out again. Next time’ She teared up again and he wiped her cheek with his thumb.

‘You really want to do it again?’

‘Yes Charlie, if you do, my sweet Princess. Later, I’m going to…’ he paused, pressing her hand against his groin ‘I’m going to think about you.’

Drake too was remembering their first fumbling encounter, remembered that he had been so nervous, but thankful that she had no-one else to compare him to. He had indeed thought of her later when she had left the stables, alone in the hayloft, hand wrapped around his rock hard length that had been so uncomfortable on the ride back. He had stroked himself to an ecstatic climax, spilling his seed on the straw, remembering her face as she lay sated and still, remembered her fingers clenching in his scalp, her soft moans and gasps, the taste of the intimate places that she had shared with no-one else. She was special to him - he knew the moment she showed jealousy toward Kiara that he wanted her and could never let her go. He knew that he would keep finding ways of bringing her pleasure as long as she wanted him. He still slept with other women, but the rate dropped – he only ever slept with others once, and there were only so many in the court – and the palace staff. When that fateful social season came, he stopped altogether, not wanting to betray her until he knew who she would choose, not daring to hope that it would be him.

He never approached Kiara, and she resented it, trying over and over again to get him to respond until she was called back to her own duchy to train as a diplomat. The titled ladies treated him like dirt, always commenting on his common birth.  It was a sort of game to see if they could bed him, but he didn’t care as he had the last laugh when he refused them a second time, or only agreed to meet somewhere sordid.  They were all notches on his bedpost, at least up until he went with the Princess. Charlotte was the only one who saw him for who he was, just Drake. They shared a common bond, as she had the opposite effect of being put on a pedestal, treated like china or a pawn.

He had taught her how to use her hands and mouth, and she was a willing student, soon finding her own ways to send stars shooting through his skull under her tender attention. He wondered if the fact that they couldn’t go all the way was the reason he kept going back for more, but as they grew to understand each other’s needs more and more, he knew it wasn’t that simple. True, no other woman knew him so thoroughly, but he didn’t want anyone else. At one point he had slept with Olivia one drunken night to see if the bond he shared with her would be different, but in the morning they both knew it wouldn’t work, it was not right to betray Charlotte, and he confessed to her. She was sorrowful but forgiving and he thanked his lucky stars every day since that he hadn’t ruined things that one time.

Every time he slept with another and they came undone under him, or over him, or beside him, it was Charlotte he thought of, wondering if they would ever be complete together. Sadly they never dared to discuss their feelings or admit their affection for each other.  Because of that each of them thought the other only wanted the physical aspect of their relationship. The elephant in the corner of the room, the unspoken fear was the knowledge that Constantine would never agree to their being together, that she would have to marry some foreign Prince or local Duke. If they never admitted their love, it remained unreal, unsubstantial, able to be put aside if it had to be.  Cordonia’s reputation in the world had somehow slumped and monarchies around them were overthrown or voted out so the likelihood of a Prince wooing her disappeared, so at least there was no prospect of a forced marriage or an alliance between countries. Now she had mere weeks to work out what she wanted and how to get it.  He could only hope that her future included him.

He snapped back to the present and Charlotte also came out of her reverie to look down at Drake.

‘Get up, Drake’ she said softly ‘Get up and hold me’

[kh-akira]

It's me!! #13 Fluff of your writing prompt list!

“God, you’re so beautiful.”I actually had an idea for that in mind. Be ready for Lea and Akira in formal wear.

Link to Drabble List

They were both not very fond of parties. Not that they didn’t enjoyed to hang out with their friends, it mostly was the dressing up.

But Ilana wanted to throw a party in the newly restored castle of Radiant Garden. It should be a ball to celebrate all the achievements the people had accomplished and give them a good time.

Akira was not able to say no to Ilana, when she asked her to join the party and he couldn’t let her suffer through this alone. 

And who knew, maybe this night wouldn’t be as horrible as they thought?

The party was already in full swing and Lea was waiting in one of the big halls, that was redecorated to serve as ball room. On a stage, several musicians entertained the people and a little bar was built-on in a corner of the room.

Lea was leaning against a wall, opposite to the entrance door, so he could see whenever Akira would appear. While he wasn’t the most underdressed person in the room, he had kept it simple with his clothes: A red dress shirt, with rolled up sleeves, a black tie, vest and dress pants.

With him were Xion and Roxas. The girl had the time of her life during this ball, showing him all the dances that Aqua and the others had shown her. Roxas wasn’t as enthusiastic as her, but he still had his fun and enjoyed being Xion’s dance partner. 

The kids also had it kept simple with their clothes: Xion was wearing a lilac colored, knee-length frilly dress, while Roxas was clothed similar to him: beige dress shirt, black dress pants and a red tie. 

“You think Akira will still show up?” Roxas asked, when he and Xion took a little break from the dancing.

“Hope so. After all, I’m only here to keep her company,” Lea said with a laugh.

“Don’t tell me you’re also a party pooper,” Xion sighed and elaborated when Lea looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “When Aqua showed us some dances, Akira fought it with tooth and nail. She said it was a waste of time.”

“Yeah, that sounds like her,” he chuckled and then patted Xion on the shoulder. “Don’t blame her, she has bad experience with parties and she usually avoids it like the plague.”

“I don’t get it. This whole ball thing seems to be pretty fun, how can one get bad experience from it,”Roxas wondered and Xion nodded at that.

Tilting his head, Lea tried to come up with a short explanation.

“Well, it was just boring for her as kid. Never liked the fancy stuff. Oh, and also the dresses. That’s why I guess it takes so long. Probably fighting with Ila, because she doesn’t want to wear a dress.”

Thoughtful Xion looked down at her own dress. “I think they are nice to wear once in a while…” She then looked back at Lea with a smile. “But I guess Akira isn’t the type for that.”

Lea nodded at that and grinned: “Yep, bet she’ll wear some royal dress up suit like that Terra guy, just out of spite.”

The trio laughed at this likely scenario, when the door to the ball room opened. Roxas noticed that first and when he saw who just entered the room, he stopped laughing.

“Well, guess you just lost that bet,” he said.

Confused, Lea and Xion followed his line of sight.

It were Akira and Ilana, who had finally arrived. 

Ilana wore an elegant, floor length, cream colored silk dress that was adorned with flower embroideries.

But what shocked the three was Akira’s attire, which was far off from the prediction that Lea had given: She wore indeed a dress, a black one with dark red, glittering ornaments. It was long sleeved and even covered her neck. The dress went down to her ankles, but was cut open at the sides, up to her tights, to ensure as much moving space as possible.

“She chose a dress after all,” Xion said delighted. When she noticed, how Akira looked around searchingly, she waved to get her attention. 

As soon as she spotted the trio, Akira walked over to them, Ilana on her coat-tails.

“Hey guys. Sorry that we’re so late,” Akira apologized.

“It’s all her fault,” Ilana said, pointing at her friend with a grin, who only rolled her eyes.

“No problem. We started to think you might have made a getaway,” Roxas said, while Xion chuckled.

“Nah, we just had a little…disagreement about her choice of clothes,” Ilana explained with a smile.

“We thought so. I’m glad you decided to got with the dress. It looks really pretty,” Xion said to Akira, who scratched her nose slightly embarrassed.

“Ah, thanks,” she answered. Then her eyes went to Lea, who hadn’t said a word since the girls had arrived. 

Roxas also turned around to his best friend.

“Seems you weren’t that far off with-…Hey Lea, you okay?”

While Roxas and Xion got worried about Lea, Akira bit her lips to hide her grin. 

Since Lea had laid eyes on Akira, he wasn’t able to stop staring at her, looking totally gobsmacked. It partly was due to the fact that he had absolutely not counted on her appearing in an actual dress. 

And then one that she looked so stunning in! 

When was the last time he actually had been rendered speechless?

Meanwhile, Ilana had tapped Roxas and Xion on their shoulders and whispering something to them. They blinked a bit confused, but nodded. 

“Well, we’re getting some drinks,” Roxas excused them.

“Have fun you two,” Xion added and together with Ilana they walked over to the bar.

Their sudden departure seemed to get Lea out of his stupor, as he blinked a few times. He then noticed, that while Akira tried to hide her grin, she fumbled nervously with her hands.

Maybe he should finally say something?

“Man, you look…so beautiful,” was the only thing he could come up with in that moment, but it had it’s desired effect.

While blushing, there was also a pleasant smile on her face.

“You think so? Not too much?” she asked innocently and did a little spin.

Lea had to gulp at what he saw: Her entire back was free, down to just above her tailbone.

She had done it on purpose, hadn’t she? The cheeky grin he could spot on her face told him yes.

Gathering his wits again, he also grinned at her and took one of her hands in his, to pull her closer.

“Don’t worry, it’s perfect.”

Lea’s other hand immediately went to her back, his fingers moving up and down her spine, eliciting a purr from her.

“But have to admit, I’m surprised. Thought dresses weren’t your thing?”

“They aren’t. But once in a while, I want to feel pretty, too. And that dress just spoke to me,” she answered, intertwining her fingers with his.

“You’re pretty even without the dress, you know?” he murmured and nuzzled his nose against her cheek. 

“Charmer,” Akira giggled, enjoying the attention immensely. With her free hand, she stroked over his vest.

“Have to say, you don’t look so shabby yourself with that outfit.”

Lea had to snort at that a bit stood straight again. “Maybe. But I surely feel extremely underdressed compared to you.”

“Well,…” She hummed, wandering with her hand over his chest, until she got to the tie and grabbed it to drag his face back down to hers. “I like it.”

They smirked at each other, hidden promises in their eyes, when the musicians started to play a faster tune than before. This gave Lea an idea.

“Say, why don’t we go the extra mile and do some dancing?”

The playfulness vanished from Akira’s face and in her surprise, she let go of his tie and stepped back.

“You serious?”

Nonchalant he shrugged with one shoulder.

“Why not? At least Ila wouldn’t nag us for not doing so.”

But Akira didn’t looked that convinced.

“Lea, I don’t know how to dance.”

“Neither do I,” he just smirked at her. 

“So why do you want us to make fools ourselves?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“Oh, have a little more faith in us Aki,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulder. “Just a bit to show off. Think we’re very capable of that.”

The look he gave her was a challenging, one he knew she couldn’t rest. So after a moment, she budged with a smile. 

“Fine. At least I know we won’t step on each other’s feet.”

“That’s the spirit,” he said with a happy grin.

Lea took Akira’s hand back in his and lead her on the dance floor. A few of their friends were surprised to see them there, but Ilana and Kairi clapped delighted at this.

While the first steps of them were a bit uncoordinated, they soon got the hang of it and moved rather elegantly over the floor. 

In the end they had so much fun doing it, that they had more than one dance.

[renaroo]

Cass and Harper, #4

A Gentle Stroke

Disclaimer: Batman and associated characters are the creative property of DC Comics. Warnings: Bi Butterflies and feeeeelingsRating: TPairings: Cassandra Cain/Harper Row

A/N: Sorry for the wait, this week got crazy but this was fun to write and it’s been a good while since I wrote this ship or even just Harper in general so thank you so much for the prompt! It was a lot of fun!

When it happened, Bluebird was almost certain it had been an accident.

They were celebrating, in the short breathless way that vigilantes of Gotham did after finishing off a particularly dangerous mission together. It had been a long time since Harper Row and donned the suit she once crafted with her own hands and got herself dirty for the sake of the city, but she remembered how these sorts of things went. A wisp of condensed breath in the brittle harbor winds, the easy glances between friends behind masks, smiles of accomplishment hidden underneath labored breaths.

There was a real sense of you did good, kid, hanging between herself and the enigmatic Orphan.

Foundations of friendship, embittered ties tested by a twisted past. They were young women, but they carried the aged old souls of soldiers from their lives.

Harper was never really one who was lost on words so she began to say something in turn toward Cassandra. Ask her how much of her larger perp count came from watching over Harper’s rusty back. But those were words which didn’t come out because the aptly named Orphan was moving in toward her first.

The question of what was in Harper’s throat and she was ready to turn around expectantly for someone they missed coming at her. But there was no time for thought or movement or even response because…

Cassandra’s mask had been lifted, just over to the bridge of her nose, over her chin and her chapped lips.

And then her gloved hand was on Harper’s cheek, presenting the most gentle of caresses while a small but certain smile of thanks matching on Cass’ face.

The other girl had wanted Harper to see her mouth, the slight flush in her cheeks or the way the cold air steamed out from between her teeth. And she wanted the unguarded parts of Harper’s cheeks to feel the roughness of leather wrapped around her fingers and the texture of the stitches which held the glove together.

It was the most gentle of touches, a stroke with the palm of Cassandra’s hand, and it was so tender and warm in the moment that Harper forgot they were behind a warehouse on the Dixon Harbor surrounded by unconscious felons with a penchant for illegal firearms.

And then Cass moved on, probably certain of some alert system or police contact or something that was about to break up the moment between them anyway. It was hard telling with Cass sometimes.

So Harper was left instead, a bit dumbfounded and oblivious. She was taken off guard because there was almost nothing that could be counted as normal with the situation at hand. After all, when had it ever been normal social etiquette to do that let alone then?

Overthinking like it was her third major, Harper considered that Cass’ understanding of social norms was something they were still working on even a few years later and that there was a certain loving nature with the girl that had endeared her to everyone in spite of or even because of the horrors of her past. It wasn’t as if she could just assume what was meant by Cassandra’s caress. It was just a gentle touch, a stroke, a gesture that was going to cause Harper to lose every semblance of sense in her very, very bi mind at that moment.

The dumbfounded nature she was showing was more than a little uncharacteristic and as such, she was quick to snap herself out of it once she glanced up and saw that Cassandra, fully masked again, had actually double backed from her disappearing trick and was looking worriedly toward Harper for having not already followed. A well deserved amount of scrutiny to say the least.

Plus, the police sirens were closing in.

“Keep your shit together, Row,” Harper grimaced, smacking herself in the forehead before jogging toward the very shadows that Cass had already picked for their escape.

Once they left the scene of their triumph, an uncomfortable silence fell between Bluebird and Orphan. The kind where one was not quite sure what to make of the other’s without thinking to break they own vow.

Awkward, Harper’s mind finally decided on. Awkward was the name of their game. And Harper kind of hated it.

One of the things which had most defined their friendship and, in turn, had made Harper the happiest about having gotten Cass in her life, was the fact that there really hadn’t been anything left to get awkward about. The bonds they forged in spite of how the past tried to define them and their relationship had put them beyond those sorts of things.

It was why a retired Harper Row, rusty and sleep deprived from a few semesters of engineering finals, was willing to take a week night and roam streets and rooftops as Bluebird. Because that was just how comfortable that Cassandra, the Orphan, made her.

No one in the world was safer in those days than they were under Cass’ wing.

So why did that same generosity and gentleness make everything so damn awkward back there.

A far enough distance away from their fighting grounds, Harper, already a few strides behind Cass, skidded to a stop and held up her hands as her head shook. “Okay, okay, okay. Stop. Wait. Reverse. We need to go back to a few moments ago.”

Gracefully, Cassandra turned on her heels and faced Harper. Even beneath her face mask, there was a notable sense of confusion.

“What did you… lose? Cass asked, fumbling a bit with the last word from a lack of regular use.

“I didn’t lose anything,” Harper assured her. “We don’t have to, like, physically get back there. I just. Well. I might have to recalibrate some of my meters here.” She knew the analogy was utterly lost on Cassandra, but the girl showed the usual patience of a saint anyway. Harper made a distinct note in her mind to cash in some of her IOU’s built up from Tim and Steph to demand one of them explain the concept of gaydar to their friend.

“Okay?” Cassandra said, shifting her weight on to the balls of her feet then resting back.

Like everything else Cassandra did in her life, each motion was calculated, every muscle restrained. There was purpose in the stretch of every fiber of her being.

Which was the issue or the not issue of the moment because if everything had purpose and meaning then there was a purpose or meaning behind the stroke of a hand and if that happened then, well, Cassandra had done something vey deliberate. But why. Because Harper wasn’t sure if anything Cass meant was what Harper and most people would think was meant and—

She was overthinking again.

“Harper?” Cass asked curiously.

There was caution and control in Cassandra’s voice. She said Harper’s name and not her codename which was also layered in meaning and personalbility not often used in the field. And then there was the simple emotion of the moment, like she didn’t understand what Harper was doing either. Which was bad, because Harper didn’t know what she was doing or why she was so thrown by a moment of intimacy which was…

And that was when Harper’s mind hit pause again and the reason she was so startled was because that touch and that moment felt like something truly intimate and more than anything Harper had shared with another person in a very long time and she—

Her very, very bi brain needed to know if she was misreading things. Because that was what very, very bi brains sometimes did.

“Orphan,” Harper started, but then realized that it was misleadingly formal since the formality ice had been broken by Cass already. “Cassie,” which was way too casual and honestly she couldn’t remember if anyone had ever non-jokingly called Cass that before. There was something very broken about Harper’s incredibly bi brain at that point. “Listen. Cass.”

For her part, Cassandra stood quietly and patiently, head somewhat tilted. She said nothing, but it wasn’t like that was exactly abnormal.

“Cass, you and I. What I mean. Back there,” Harper waved toward the docks and froze because coherency was suddenly far more difficult than her physics homework. “Shit.” And when that made Cassandra’s head tilt in the other direction, Harper’s heartbeat increased almost tenfold. “Uh. Good job?”

That, at least, earned a soft smile and Cass nodded. “You too.”

They stood opposite of each other for a few more moments, awkwardness on top of additional awkwardness.

“So. You like,” Harper paused again and sorted through nerves before motioning to her cheek that still felt a bit warm despite thermodynamics not quite working that way. “You touched me.”

“Yes,” Cass answered back in a sort of very nonchalant way that could have gutted a lesser bisexual immediately.

Harper, by necessity though, was built of stronger stuff. “Was that like… what kind of touch did you think it was?”

Suddenly, Cassandra looked incredibly confused. “… types of… touches?” she tried to clarify.

“Yeah, sorry, this is weird, but I won’t sleep for the next two days already because of that coffee habit I can’t kick and if I’m thinking about this and not, like, exams coming up then I will be an actual bisexual disaster and no one really wants to see that, let’s be real,” Harper chattered on like a deranged woman with blue hair and a taser built like a bazooka strapped to her back.

“Okay?” Cass continued. “Still don’t… really understand?”

“The touch, the hand… thing. I need to know. Why? Is it just… something you do or is it like… offering a hand in marriage? Or… more likely it’s very mild and something in between there?” Harper pressed.

Cass’ chin tilted up and she nodded sagely. “Ah, yes.”

“Yes what? Cass, I’m going to have a breakdown here we need specifics,” Harper nearly hyperventilated.

“I want you to know… you did good. And I’m proud,” Cass explained. “So… showed you.”

And, in that moment, Harper could not have been more deflated. “Oh,” she said. Then, internally, she used very bad words to curse her stupid very, very bi brain for the teases.

“Because I like you?” Cass continued, suddenly adding some of her own awkward by rubbing at her neck. “So… yes?”

Harper’s heart nearly grew three sizes that day as she straightened up and felt her cheek warm up. “Oh! Yes!” Harper laughed, turning to a puddle of feelings as Cass reached over again and stroked her cheek once more. “I knew it the whole time.”

[carryonmywaywardcaptain]

A New Life: Part Four

Series Masterlist

Part One  Part Two  Part Three

Summary: Your family is killed while you are out celebrating Fall Break with some friends from college. You’re about to take your own life when the Winchester boys come rolling in. They turn your world completely inside out, but along the way you discover a new purpose in hunting and a love you never even dreamed could exist.

WC: 2,710

Warnings: angst, blood, self-harm, language, teenie tiny fluff if you look close

A/N: This one was harder for me to write, but I felt like it was important for the story. Obviously she’s having a rough time with everything she has gone through, and she needs to face it. Slightly off topic, but as I was writing this I came up with an idea for a future chapter and I’m pumped for the suspense when it gets there. Stay tuned ;)

P.S. If you’re struggling, please know that you’re not alone. Reach out to someone and seek help. Good people are usually generous and willing to listen when you need them <3 

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Staring up at the ceiling, you let out a frustrated sigh. You glance at the clock and roll your eyes. It had been ages since you’d been able to have a good night’s sleep. You give up and make your way to the kitchen, thinking maybe a drink or a snack might help.

From down the hall, you hear something rattling and clinking. It sounded like someone had beat you to the fridge, and you chuckled to yourself thinking it was probably Dean. You turn the corner and walk into the kitchen, seeing his silhouette in the light radiating from the fridge.

“Can’t sleep either, huh?” You ask as you make your way toward him. He doesn’t answer, but keeps digging in the fridge.

“Dean?”

He keeps searching through the fridge without acknowledging you. Something must be wrong, you think with a sinking feeling.

Slowly, you reach out to touch his shoulder. As you take another cautious step forward, you step in a puddle. You look down to see what he must have spilled, and shriek as you jump backward. You stare wide-eyed at the crimson puddle as your heart drums in your chest and you gasp for air.

Your eyes snap back to Dean, realizing he must have hurt himself. He still had his back to you, but he stopped rummaging in the fridge.

“Dean, are you okay? What happened?” You ask breathless.

Dean rotates his body around to face you, and your breath catches in your throat. His mouth is hanging open, and his eyes are cloudy and gray against his ghost white face. All you can do is stare, frozen in horror at the dead eyes staring back at you. You tear your own eyes away from his long enough to see that his throat is ripped apart; blood streaming down from his wound, pooling on the floor.

Something moves out of the corner of your eye. Trembling, you glance away from Dean to see Gideon hovering behind the door of the fridge.

“Well hello there, beautiful. It’s good to see you again.”

His words echo and hang heavy in the air. The dim light reflects off his sharp teeth as he smirks at you with a wide and menacing grin. Deans knees buckle, and he finally collapses onto the floor, sinking into the pool of his own blood. As Gideon lunges at you, you scream Dean’s name.

 You sit up in a rush and the blood curdling scream from your dream continues. Your face is already wet, and you realize you must have been crying in your sleep. As you lay back down and curl up into a ball sobbing, the boys come crashing through your bedroom door with their guns drawn.

After scanning the room and finding no threat, their focus is drawn back to your hysteric sobs. Sam slowly lowered his gun and took a few cautious steps toward you. You barely noticed.

“Y/N..?”

Dean still had his gun raised, but as his adrenaline melted away, his arms dropped to his sides. He tucked his gun in the waistband behind his back, crawled up the bed next to you, and pulled you into his arms. He didn’t know what was wrong, what you needed, but it broke him to see you like this. You felt his jaw clench against your temple as he held you close.

“Y/N, is everything okay?” Sam asked, easing himself down on the bed by your feet.

You worked to calm yourself down. It was just a dream.

You knew you needed to reassure them that you weren’t in any danger. That it was just a bad dream. You clenched on to fistfuls of Dean’s shirt as you focused on slowing your breathing. You drew back to look at him, lingering on his face. The concern in his green eyes made your heart ache even more.

It was just a dream.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered. “I had a...It was just a bad dream. I’m okay.”

You reluctantly twist out of Dean’s arms and scoot back to lean against the headboard. “I’ll be fine.” You give them a small smile. “I’ll be fine.” Neither of them looked convinced.

As days turned into weeks, you continued to have nightmares almost every night. Sometimes one of the boys would come in to check on you, but most of the time they let you be. You were embarrassed by the involuntary screams and tears, and the boys quickly caught onto that.

You rarely slept anymore, and the nightmares were starting to take a toll on you. You were jumpy and on edge during the day, and each night you dreaded closing your eyes for fear of revisiting the images etched in your brain. Images of Dean, and the old woman, and your family-- all ending up with the same fate.

One night, you awoke from yet another vivid nightmare. You got up and padded down the hallway, aimlessly wandering around the bunker trying to diffuse your fear and anxiety. You avoided the kitchen and ended up in the library, having noticed one of the desk lights on the table had been left on.

You were tired. You were emotionally and mentally drained, and physically you ached from the tension your dreams had been causing you. You wanted to feel numb and to never have to sleep again.

When you focused enough to look around the room, you noticed the boys had weapons strewn about on the table and duffel bags in the chairs. You weren’t sure what day it was, and the boys were rarely able to engage you in conversation anymore, but you vaguely remembered them saying something about a case. They must have decided to head out in the morning. You felt a twinge of guilt, and wondered if they had stuck around because they knew how difficult nights were for you.

Your eyes settled on a knife just in front of you on the table.  You hesitated for a moment, then reached out to grab it. You turned it this way and that between your fingers, watching the lamplight glint off it every now and then.

You stood up and decided you needed to try to sleep off this dangerous mood you were sinking into. Reaching to put the knife back down, you paused and bit your lip in thought. You sighed, tucking the knife into the pocket of your robe as you made your way back to bed.

You heard a knock on your door, and it made you jump. You hadn’t heard the boys get back. It seemed they had arrived from their hunting trip earlier than planned. Maybe if you didn’t answer, they’d think you were asleep.

“Y/N?” Sam called. You closed your eyes, and waited for him to go away. He twisted the knob, and you knew he had figured out that you’d locked it.

He beat on the door harder, calling your name more firmly this time.

You took a deep breath. You’d been getting good at shoving aside your emotions. You tuned him out, and allowed yourself to sink into the familiar emptiness.

“Y/N!” He was pounding on the door now. You stared at the wall, and slid the knife into your back pocket. You wound the towel in your lap around your arm and hunched yourself over to cover it.

Just then, Sam kicked in the door. You kept your eyes fixed on a spot on the wall across your room.

“Y/N, what the hell?” He blurted out in exasperation as he noticed you weren’t sleeping after all. “Why did you lock your door?”

Noticing your demeanor, he realized something was wrong. He rushed over and knelt down beside you. He looked you over and froze when he observed the towel you were shielding.

“Y/N…” His voice was almost inaudible. “What did you do.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of disbelief.

You refused to look at him. Hanging on to the bit of relief you’d felt only moments ago, you focused on keeping your breathing even as you continued to fix your gaze on the wall. You knew that if you looked at him you wouldn’t be able to keep your composure.

“What the hell is going on down here?” Dean called as he made his way into your room.

You tensed a little at his voice, but continued to stare blankly at the wall in front of you. You closed your eyes and tuned out the frantic and angry conversation that ensued between Sam and Dean. You were brought back to reality when Dean’s rough hand grabbed your upper arm and yanked you off the floor.

He dragged you down the hall, through the bunker, and out the steel door. He shoved you forward, and you furrowed your brow in dazed confusion. You turned around and were taken aback by the fuming expression on his face.

“Dean, stop. You need to calm down.” Sam was pleading, but his tone was serious.

He spat back, “Oh shut up, Sam. This has gone on long enough.” He stormed up to you and shoved his gun into your hands. You’d been cradling the towel around your arm, but it fell into a bloody heap on the dirt as you fumbled to hold the pistol Dean was shoving at you.

“You want it all to end so bad? Then here. Go ahead.” He was glaring at you. You looked down at the gun, confused. Looking back up at him, you saw his eyes lingering on your forearm. When his eyes flashed back to yours, your heart began racing as the numbness you were clinging to started to crumble away.

“…what?” You whispered.

“Dean! What the hell?” Sam screamed at his brother.

“C’mon, Y/N. If you’re so miserable and you hate your life so damn much, go right ahead. What’re you waiting for?” You glanced away from his blazing eyes.

“I…” Tears were welling up in your eyes, and the gun in your hand began feeling heavier the longer you stared at it.

“Dean, this isn’t a freaking joke, stop it!” Sam screamed as he shoved Dean.

“You’re damn right it’s not. If she wants to die so bad, at least she can have the means to do it.” He gestured an angry hand toward you. “Seriously, I mean it makes total sense. Why the hell would we try to save her when she’s perfectly happy coasting along like a freaking zombie? We swoop in to save the day, and then she turns around, throwing it all away to cut herself!”

“God, Dean! You are such an asshole sometimes. What the h—“

Your ears started ringing and, just like the first time the boys saved you, your knees gave out as everything you’d been pushing away came crashing back into you. You let the gun clatter into the dirt as you sank to the ground. You doubled over with your hands on your knees, as sobs violently shuttered through you. The numbness you’d held in place to mask all the pain evaporated.

Sam came over to crouch beside you again. He gently rubbed his hand up and down your back as you heard Dean walk off toward the tree line beside the drive. You bawled for several more minutes, before you heard Dean making his way back over to you and Sam. Sam gently grabbed the tops of your arms, and guided you back so that you were sitting on the ground instead of on your feet.

With teary eyes, you peeked back up at the boys, who were now kneeling in front of you. Dean’s mouth was pressed in a hard line, but his face had softened. Sam was watching you carefully, unsure of what to do.

“I’m so sorry,” you said in a low voice, turning your head away again. The three of you sat in silence for what felt like an eternity.

Dean finally spoke. “Y/N. Look at me.” You did, reluctantly. “I know you been going through a hell of a lot lately. Life…well it ain’t fair, kid. Life’s a bitch. And some of us really get our asses handed to us. But you don’t just roll over and give up.”

You mulled that over for a moment before responding. “I never meant to hurt either of you. I just…I needed to feel something besides all of the pain inside. And then I needed to feel nothing and I’ve been caught in this…I never wanted to hurt you.”

“We know, Y/N.” Sam flashed a soft, understanding smile, but it was gone almost as soon as it had appeared.

Tears threatened to escape you again. “It just hurts so damn much. I don’t know what to do. I’m not strong like you guys.”

After a long moment, Dean reached out to grab your left arm. His calloused hands were much more gentle than earlier, and he slowly traced his thumb along the edge of your injuries. You chose to fix your eyes on his thumb to avoid the disappointment you could feel on his face. He sighed, and cupped his other hand under your chin to make you meet his gaze.

You shared a long look. Your heart swelled inside of your chest, but you weren’t sure why.

“Dean, I didn’t…I don’t want to die. But I’m just not strong enough to fight.”

“I know you don’t want to die. I probably should have handled that different, but I just wanted you to snap out of this haze you’ve been in. I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

He looked at you for another long moment, as his soft green eyes searched your face. “C’mon.” He pulled you up, handed you the gun again, and dragged you by the arm toward the tree line.

“Dean, I—“ He held up a hand, halting your words. After a few more steps he stopped, turning back to look at you.

“You’re a fighter, Y/N. It’s gonna be hard, and you’re gonna have to fight like hell, but me and Sammy will help. We’ll find a way. Together. Because that’s what families do.”

He moved the gun to your right hand, then helped you correctly place your index finger on the trigger and curl the rest of your fingers around the grip. He moved behind you, squaring your hips and reaching his arms around so they circled around yours.

His voice dropped to a whisper as he continued; his gravelly voice pleading in your ear. “Don’t ever hurt yourself again, do you hear me? You don’t understand how much you mean to Sammy and me… Promise me.”

His warm breath on your neck sent chills down your spine. Your mouth was dry and your heart was racing from his touch. All you could muster was a nod in agreement.

“Good,” he spoke in a normal voice again. “Let’s get this show on the road. You’ve got a lot to learn if you’re going to become a hunter.”

You shifted your focus away from the effect Dean was having on you, and fixed your eyes on where he was pointing and holding your arms. You see that he had left to set up the mangled remains of some beer cans on a fallen log. He stepped away from his position behind you and came to your side to begin instructing you on how to aim and properly use the pistol. You look away from the targets and steal a glance back at Dean.

It feels like your head is coming back to the surface after being held under water. The haze you’d been swimming in for who knows how long melted away as you really take a hard look at Dean. You watch as he talks and gestures toward the cans, demonstrating the proper stance to take a shot.

You shake your head and focus on what he’s saying, ignoring the unfamiliar feeling creeping up inside of you. He asks if you’re ready to give it a shot, and flashes your favorite crooked smile when you nod in response. Right then and there you resolved that you would do everything in your power to make sure you never hurt this man again.

Part Five

Tags: @maddieburcham1 @jamrsgang @oswlin29 @amanda-teaches @anotherwaywardsister @growningupgeek @because-imma-lady-assface @obsessivecompulsivespn @imascreamerbabymakemeamute @impala-dreamer @riversong-sam @ericaprice2008 @olkathefoxi @the--real-wombat

[imababblekat]

Fitting In: MTMTE Swerve X Reader

(S/N):

-Summary: Being a mechanical being with a love for organic life, namely botany, it’s no wonder you feel like you don’t fit in amongst your kind. Swerve isn’t about to let you feel like an outsider though for having such a unique occupation. 

Author: Imababblekat

A/N: This is my first time writing Swerve or for the MTMTE verse, so ye. . .fair warning if its not up to par

~

Swerve made his way down one of the many long corridors of the Lost Light; a giddy smile plastered to his face and small box in metal hands. He hummed excitedly taking a turn down another hall, feeling his spark pick up when he recognized the familiar door ahead. The mini bot had been waiting all day for this moment; practically jumping up and down eagerly from behind the bar counter. The patrons didn't figure anything different about it, used to the mechs chipperness that sometimes became over bearing. . .okay a lot of times over bearing. He didn't care though, Swerve was too pre-occupied with seeing one of the few people who actually didn't mind him. Not even bothering to knock on the habsuit, he just waltzed right in, right in time to see his dear crush singing to 60's music blaring through the stereos.

His steps faltering as her body moved about. It was so rare to see her relaxed like this, and just being herself. Gosh, he just loved the way she moved; so free and lose. And her voice too. It carried with the loud vocals and was like sweet candy to his audio receptors. Swerve wished he could see this side of her everyday. As the song got to a high point and the lovely mech before him swung her helm back and forth, performing a very fluid dance move, Swerve let out a cheering whistle and clapped; gift tucked safely under his arm.

"Hey! Not bad!", Swerve yelled over the music.

(Y,n) screeched, jumping and nearly knocking over the pot on the nearby shelf. Fumbling to turn down the loud music she sharply turned to face her friend with a deep blush.

"Swerve!"

"Yeah?!"

"What did I tell you about knocking?!"

"To do it before walking in, but you see I was just so excited to see you! Plus if I knocked I would have never been able to witness such a grand performance! You sure you grew up on an energon farming planet, and not on Caminus?! Cause-"

At this point you had just tuned him out, turning back to your small bonsai to finish trimming. It wasn't that you were doing it on purpose, usually you loved hearing him go on, but with how you'd been feeling lately, something that he had said triggered your ever mounting insecurities.

Caminus, shit you wish you were born there. Then maybe you'd actually fit in with your mechanical race. You could be like Nautica! Oh how you wish you could be like her. The femme was so incredibly smart and talented, and even if she claimed not to be great in the arts, she was in fact an amazing dancer. Yeah, the girl could be a little shy every now and then, but she always managed to get past that and go on as her normal preppy, upbeat self. You though? Primus, you'd use to take a different route from your destination if it meant you could avoid walking by another mech completely; no matter if that direction would take longer or went the opposite direction of point B. Deep in your self depreciating thoughts, you hadn't noticed Swerve calling your name.

He was just joking about how you, Nautica, Chromia, and Windblade probably had a secret band, and should play at his bar. When you hadn't even giggled slightly in embarrassment from the idea, Swerve got a feeling that you weren't even listening. Directing his optics to you he noticed how you had ceased trimming as well, the sharp scissors paused over one of the side branches. His optic ridges furrowed as he scanned your still form. You'd been acting really strange lately. Normally very open and comfortable around him, you had suddenly just seemed to close off. It worried Swerve greatly. Being one of the few bots on this ship he was sure of that considered him a friend, it was terrifying to think that you were finally tired of him. But that also wasn't like you. You were nice to everyone, albeit in a shy and respecting manner, but none the less still very kind!

"Hey, your joints rusted into place or somethin'?", Swerve chuckled, trying to seem as cool as possible.

When his cervo had just lightly graced over your shoulder plate, you jumped with a light gasp and cut off some of the bonsai leaves. It was a strange awkward cut, and Swerve quickly felt bad.

"O-oh, I'm so sorry-"

"Don't worry, it wasn't your fault. I should have been paying attention is all. . .," you quickly dismissed him with a reassuring smile.

What did he do to deserve someone like you? Swerve shook his helm to keep from daydreaming any further, and smiled wide when presenting the box in his cervos. Perhaps this will help lighten the mood.

"I got you a gift!", he announced proudly; gently handing the box over to you.

You gasped, optics going wide as you pulled out a tiny container," Swerve you didn't?! H-how did you even get this?!"

The small mech scratched the side of his blushing cheeks, watching you cutely examine the organic thing," What can I say?! Owning a bar you know how to get the hook ups!"

You chuckled, walking over to your desk with a smirk," What? Did you sell your chassis or something?"

"Pssh, they wish I offered it~!", Swerve gave a sharp grin and attempted a sexy pose, but ended up looking just ridiculous, causing you to giggle.

Joining your side at the desk, he rested on his bent elbows to watch you lightly and very gently squeeze the ball in a different cup. He watched the once clear water slowly start to turn a bit mucky; probably from the thing you carefully handled in your cervo.

"Sooooo. . .what is it?", he asked curiously.

"You mean to tell me you brought something on board and don't even know what it is? Does Rodimus or Ultra Magnus even know about it?", you questioned with a gaped mouth and slightly panicked expression.

The male bot just lazily waved his cervo," Eh, people bring stuff on the ship all the time and never tell them. . .its uh. . .its not dangerous is it?"

You giggled watching your small friend inch slightly away from the gift he got you," No, I was just messing with you. It's a Marimo ball, a form of algae; completely harmless!"

"A Marimo ball, huh?", Swerve mumbled, his gaze following the plant to its new little home.

"You're so amazing (y,n)."

You froze just before putting the creature into its new habitat. Sensing your hesitation, Swerve peered up to see your optics wide and focused in on nothing. His ridges quickly furrowed, and he stood straight with a concerned voice.

"(Y,n), what's wrong?"

Softly letting the ball slip from your metal fingers, your shoulders stiffened as those harmful insecurities returned.

"Am I really that amazing Swerve?", you enquired, your vocals slightly wavering.

Swerve leaned back some, confused and slightly put off by your question. "Well yeah, why do you ask?"

You clenched the edges of your desk, slightly shaking trying not to break down.

"Oh I don't know. Maybe it's the fact that I'm a cybernetic being who's profession is in a field around organics. Where has that ever played a role in our species history? How does that contribute or help out our species. We can't eat plants. We don't breath, and our means of medicine and curing illness are re wiring a few circuits. I-I don't fit in here. Not on this ship, and certainly not in the Cybertronian race! I'm hardly even smart or talented by Cybertronian standards. It took me forever just to understand your occupation Swerve! Could you imagine how long it would take me to understand or do something of Nautica's level?! I only know the science of botany; I'm a 'botanist'. What place does a botanist have in a machine oriented species?"

By this point, you were practically quivering on the very edge of having a break down. All of your insecurities just pushed through your built up wall and came floading out to your friend; more than likely your only friend you felt. And soon you began to feel embarrassed, but mostly guilty for just having dumped everything onto him. You felt even more anxiousness build up at the growing silence from his end, and you tried desperately to keep the panic from shouting through your running fans. He was most definitely annoyed now right? Since when have your problems ever meant or mattered to anyone else?

It was the complete opposite though. Swerve didn't feel that way at all; in fact he was on the verge of losing it himself. How long have you felt this way? How could he let it get this bad?! You were his friend, his crush! He should have noticed the signs as soon as you started to feel like this. As a very insecure bot himself, he didn't want anyone to feel the same way. You especially; the one person who actually cared for him and actually helped to make him feel more confident in himself, even if just by a little bit! Grabbing you firmly by the shoulders, Swerve moved you to face him, catching you off guard by the saddened, hurt look in his visor.

"(Y,n) don't you ever think that you don't belong. You are incredibly amazing, and what you do is just as incredible. Perhaps you have a hard time grasping something like quantum mechanics or metallurgist, but we all have trouble understanding some things. You may not know this, but the other day Nautica was telling me how amazing it was that you were able to grow something organic. She told me she tried it once and it just wasn't working out for her. And don't feel bad if you don't get or can do anything that would be considered normal in our race. Take a look at Rodimus; that guy thinks more than half of the sciences out there are some form of magical witchcraft!"

Swerve made a sigh, calming his tone and speed of talk before placing one of his red cervos on your cheek plate.

"My point is. . .you do belong (y,n). You do fit in. As a Cybertronian and a member of this ship. This space craft is made up of some of the strangest, and craziest bots you'll ever meet. We're all unique and our own, no one is one in the same. You helped me to not be so insecure, by teaching me that it's not always bad to be different. Different is good, and if we were all the same then life would just be so bland. I don't want you to ever feel like your alone (y,n). What you do is so special and unique to you. And if anyone wants to be a piece of scrap, just because you work with organic life, than frag them! I'll always be here with you, (y,n)! I'll always see you as someone special, and nothing less!"

"Swerve. . .", your optics darted across his face, taking note of every give away to his truthful emotions about you.

Seeing your optics filled with much surprise and perhaps a bit of shock, the bartender started to feel his spark clench. Oh no, did he say too much again? Did he talk more than he should have once more? He started to question of what he did helped at all or just upset you further, when two metal arms had wrapped around him and pulled him forward. Resting in the crook of your neck, Swerve felt his fans kick in and was left in a bit of a trance before quickly returning the embrace.

The botanical habsuit was left in silence save for the speakers that played over head. ‘Ain't No Mountain High Enough’ started to fade through, and you couldn't help but notice Swerves grip tighten ever so slightly. Of course, this was the song that kick started your close relationship. Swerve was getting ready to close up the bar one night when he noticed you humming it in the corner. Upon inquiring how you knew it with much excitement, you told him you'd picked up on a little bit of Earths culture when studying its plant life. From then on, he was constantly teaching you about all sorts of human pop culture, and in turn would listen to your fascination over the planets greenery. Now, you both sat in your habsuit, the same song that ultimately joined you together, while holding each other close with much care and support.

~xXx~

[flauntpage]

Ranking Every NFL Team's Super Bowl Chances

With eight weeks of the 2017 NFL season in the books (we all know the Chiefs are beating the Broncos on Monday night so we can do this now), it's time to take stock of each team's Super Bowl chances. You're probably saying, "That's silly, because not all 32 teams have a chance at a Super Bowl."

You're right, but those teams are great for the purpose of making jokes.

Let's get right into it, because 32 is a lot of teams.

32. San Francisco 49ers (0-8) — lmao

31. Cleveland Browns (0-8) — lol

30. New York Giants (1-6) — OK, so maybe doing this with all 32 teams was a little ambitious. The good news is the New England Patriots are looking like the favorites to represent the AFC in the Super Bowl, and everyone knows Tom Brady can't beat Eli Manning in a Super Bowl. The bad news is the only time we're seeing Odell Beckham in a Super Bowl is in that painful ad with the Silicon Valley guy who mixes up sports terminology at the press conference like a TOTAL NERD, lol learn sports, nerd!

29. Indianapolis Colts (2-6) — What if the reason Andrew Luck hasn't played this season is because he's undergoing surgery and treatment that will allow him to become Wolverine? The reports surrounding Luck's "injury" have been odd, with the story changing every couple weeks. Even his name—Luck—would be a cool X-Men name. The Colts will be a tough out in January if their quarterback can't be tackled by regular humans.

28. Tampa Bay Buccaneers (2-5) — When you combine a former Florida State quarterback with a former Jacksonville Jaguars offensive coordinator, you should just be happy to have the 28th-best team in the NFL.

27. Oakland Raiders (3-5) — Just move this stupid franchise to the moon already. In hindsight, a team coming off a breakout season signing a guy who had retired for a year just because he's from the area was an odd choice. And, I mean, Marshawn Lynch is clearly his own guy, so him running on the field to fight some dudes mid-game does, in hindsight, seem inevitable. We should have known the Raiders would screw this up.

26. New York Jets (3-5) — The way I see it, the Jets may have the best chance of winning the Super Bowl, because these are the Jets, and whatever they want to do, the opposite happens. Since they're trying to tank, finishing 9-7 and winning the Super Bowl has about an 80 percent chance of happening. They're the Cleveland Indians in Major League except Rachel Phelps was a much more sympathetic owner. Who wouldn't rather live in Miami than Cleveland?

25. Los Angeles Chargers (3-5) — Prove to me the Chargers weren't trying to lose to the Patriots on Sunday. When teams shave points, usually they try to hide it, but Philip Rivers fumbling with no contact and a guy running backward 15 yards to take a safety is a little too obvious. The Chargers don't want to win, so I won't raise the hopes of the 800 people in Los Angeles who care about them.

24. Chicago Bears (3-5) — Every team in the league has three wins, FYI. Mitch Trubisky completed 43 percent of his passes Sunday against the Saints, which shows why the Bears only allowed him to throw seven passes two weeks ago. An NFL quarterback completing 43 percent of passes against the Saints would be like an NBA player shooting 2-of-19 against a high school team. It's too bad someone like Deshaun Watson wasn't available at the draft when the Bears… [looks back at draft order] oh, whoops.

23. Cincinnati Bengals (3-4) — Say it out loud: "Andy Dalton, Super Bowl champion." Yeah, never gonna happen.

22. Arizona Cardinals (3-4) — If David Johnson returns in time, yeah, why not the Cardinals? He recently referred to the wrist as a "complicated limb," which tells me he's taking advantage of the painkillers. "Bro, ever think about wrists? They're like… complicated, man." If Carson Palmer is upright, weirder things have happened.

21. Washington Sports Franchise (3-4) — Bob Kraft is a buddy of Vlad Putin, but doesn't he feel miscast as owner of the sport's most hated franchise? Wouldn't Dan Snyder make more sense with the Patriots? Sadly, Snyder is an inept billionaire with a barely functioning franchise and a quarterback taking his money one mediocre year at a time. Washington's season died Sunday against Dallas, but take comfort in knowing the team will win just enough games so they won't be able to draft a franchise quarterback after Cousins leaves in the off-season.

20. Houston Texans (3-4) — Deshaun Watson might be the most talented rookie quarterback in modern NFL history, and you just know Bill O'Brien will screw it up. After his defense had shown for an entire half it was incapable of stopping the Seahawks on Sunday, he ran it three straight times, punted, and watched Russell Wilson deliver a near instantaneous death blow. When Watson wins a Super Bowl, it won't be with O'Brien clenching on the sideline in a big game.

19. Detroit Lions (3-4) — It's the Super Bowl. Lions down five. Fourth and goal. Two seconds remaining. Matthew Stafford rolls right, time expires, he throws and…Eric Ebron! Touchdown! No time left! The Lions have—hang on. Officials are gathering in the end zone. "Due to the pass being caught with no time left, the touchdown is only worth 4.5 points. Therefore, by rule, which was just invented before the play in secret in the league office, the game is over, Lions lose." The following day, the NFL will apologize for not allowing the Lions to kick the winning extra point but won't take the title away from the Patriots. I guess what I'm saying is, the Lions, no matter what, will find a way to not win the Super Bowl.

18. Denver Broncos (3-3) — You lose at home to the Giants by 13 points, I don't understand why you even show up for the rest of your games.

17. Baltimore Ravens (4-4) — The Ravens are the NFL's ideal picture of mediocrity. A quarterback that's just OK enough, a defense that'll do just enough to win a couple games, and boom, you're 8-8 at the end of the year. This will be the state of the Ravens for two decades as punishment for years of making us watch Ray Lewis dance.

16. Dallas Cowboys (4-3) — If Ezekiel Elliott's arbitrator is based in Texas and has him in fantasy football, sure, maybe he plays the whole season and the Cowboys can do it. There's no harder team to read, but if there's one thing I know about sports justice, it's that Elliott won't face any discipline until the 2021 season, when his suspension is reduced to three preseason games.

15. Tennessee Titans (4-3) — They have two very good running backs, a pretty good quarterback, a decent group of wide receivers, and a defense that's…clearly the weak link. But really, what makes the Titans different from last year's Falcons? Fine, Eric Decker isn't Julio Jones and Rishard Matthews isn't Mohammed Sanu, and…OK, fine, forget it. I almost talked myself into it.

14. Miami Dolphins (4-3) — How in the name of sweet baby Jesus has this team won more games than it has lost? I'm scrolling up from the bottom of the NFL standings as I write this, and when I saw the Dolphins here at 4-3, I did that blinking guy GIF everyone on Twitter loves. The Dolphins team on Ballers coached by Peter Berg and GM'd by Dulé Hill has a better chance of winning it all.

13. Jacksonville Jaguars (4-3) — Blake Bortles, you just won the Super Bowl, where are you going? "I'm going to Dorney Park!" No, Blake, the other amusement park. "I'm going to Busch Gardens!" No, man, forget it. If the Jags are going all the way, it's via their defense, but I think it's fun to imagine Bortles doing all he can to muck it up along the way, then lying to him that he's MVP just so you can get him to say into a cellphone camera, "I'm going to Six Flags Great Adventure!" That's viral content, my friends.

12. Green Bay Packers (4-3) — Nope. I'm sorry. The NFC North is too tough for the Packers to survive the rest of the regular season without Aaron Rodgers. What's truly torturous for fans is how many commercials that have Rodgers and injured Giants wide receiver Odell Beckham Jr. Every commercial break, you're reminded that your favorite team's season is over because the best player was broken in two. There should be a rule that if an NFL guy is out for the year, he gets replaced by his backup in any national ad campaign. Brett Hundley gets all the State Farm ads the final nine weeks. Roger Lewis Jr. gets all the Verizon ads. Sorry, but it's now in the CBA.

11. Atlanta Falcons (4-3) — The Falcons' hangover isn't a 22-year-old's hangover, where you're slightly groggy the next day but you can still attend your CrossFit Sauna Expert Master class at 6 AM; this is a 39-year-old hangover where you Google "can you die from a hangover" from your bed at 7 PM the next day. I still think if the Falcons can make themselves puke one more time before the stretch run, the Falcons can get back to the Super Bowl.

10. Carolina Panthers (5-3) — If the Dolphins are the league's worst 4-3 team, the Panthers are the league's worst 5-3 team. Cam Newton has nine touchdowns and ten interceptions in eight games and the Panthers are headed toward the playoffs because football is a crapshoot like no other sport, and players don't matter, for we are all part of a human experiment known as life where chaos and randomness rule us despite our best efforts to seek control. Eat at Arby's.

9. Seattle Seahawks (5-2) — They can't run the ball and the defense is sort of old, but you have to respect the championship pedigree. You get the sense the Seahawks are that college graduate taking a year off to "find themselves" and they'll either be better off for the journey or they'll still have zero offensive line when it's over and won't be able to find a job in a saturated marketplace when they return home. I'm mixing metaphors there but you get my point. If Sunday showed us anything, it's that when Pete Carroll, a good coach, gets in a close game with a bad coach like Bill O'Brien, he'll find a way to win, and fortunately for Seattle there are more bad coaches than good coaches in the NFL.

8. New Orleans Saints (5-2) — The Saints are Steelers South. Only instead of defense, the Saints offense has looked incredible against mostly slop. They've won five straight against the Panthers, the Dolphins, the Lions, the Rodgers-less Packers, and the Bears. There's maybe one impressive win in there. Can you really count on the Saints to shut down a really good offense? Wait, does anyone have a good offense besides the Saints? My god, they are going 14-2, aren't they? This could happen.

7. Los Angeles Rams (5-2) — It's not going to happen, but the idea of a disheveled Jeff Fisher alone in a shack watching what is mostly the same roster he had last season continue to advance in the playoffs while he mutters "7-9…7-9" to himself is a fun image. Fisher will start a Buzzfeed account and start writing things like "16 Ways Millennials Are Ruining Jeff Fisher's Life" that will just be GIFs of Sean McVay.

6. Kansas City Chiefs (5-2) — Say hello to our best hope of beating the Patriots, which, oh well, maybe next year the Patriots won't get to the Super Bowl. Imagine a superhero movie with the worst possible villain, only instead of the Avengers or Batman, the villain has to defeat Paul Blart. That's the Chiefs. The only way the Chiefs win that matchup is if our world is a feel-good comedy and not film noir directed by Christopher Nolan. Based on recent evidence in this world, what do you think happens in a Chiefs-Patriots AFC title game? Yeah, me too.

5. Buffalo Bills (5-2) — Nothing would be funnier than the Bills beating the Patriots in the playoffs. It would be the greatest 1980s movie ever where the nerd finally gets the best of the bully. Tyrod Taylor dropping 40 on Tom Brady in Foxboro would be the Lucas/Karate Kid mashup Bill Simmons wishes he sold to a movie studio ten years ago. But this is reality, and what's more likely is LeSean McCoy tearing his ACL the Friday before the game and Rob Gronkowski somehow growing a foot taller at halftime and posting 300 yards in the second half.

4. Pittsburgh Steelers (6-2) — Yeah, the Steelers have the second-best defense, but they've compiled these numbers against the Browns, the Vikings, the Bears, the Ravens, the Jaguars, the Chiefs, the Bengals, and the Lions. Outside of the Chiefs, that's just pure dreck. But there's more dreck on the schedule, so the Steelers are practically a lock to make the playoffs, which seems nuts when you consider that two weeks ago when they lost to the Jaguars you wondered if Ben Roethlisberger would retire mid-season. This league stinks.

3. Minnesota Vikings (6-2) — No. This is a glitch in the Matrix. Instead of two cats, it's Case Keenum and Sam Bradford looking exactly the same in everything they do. The difference this year is the Packers are toast without Rodgers so the NFC North is there for the taking. It's not that Vikings are bad, but I don't want to listen to people talk about how good they are. They're basically a Netflix show.

2. Philadelphia Eagles (7-1) — It's pretty tough right now for a certain segment of the U.S. population—the Eagles and the Yankees are getting really good again at the same time. And both will be really good for a long time. It's heartbreaking. There's no reason the Eagles can't win a Super Bowl this year, other than the fact they are the Eagles and they always find a way to crap their pants. You can take the Andy Reid out of Philadelphia but you can't take the Philadelphia out of Andy Reid. Or something. Fuck the Eagles, man.

1. New England Patriots (6-2) — There's no better evidence that we are living in a computer simulation run by a vindictive sociopath than the existence of the Patriots. Their idiot quarterback is 100 years old but plays like he's 28. The team cheats but nobody cares. The coach writes love letters to Donald Trump. The Pats could have and perhaps should have lost their past four games but, of course, they won them all. This team has no business still being Super Bowl favorites but it's time we just accept that this is our reality until Morpheus finds us and frees our minds. Congrats to the Patriots on another Super Bowl win.

Ranking Every NFL Team's Super Bowl Chances published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv