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precious-little-scoundrel · 4 months

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Masters of the Air Fanfic

As requested by sweet @arianatheangel-girl and the subsequent poll for a “Buck Cleven Fic before the series comes out” -and I, being a madwoman with no impulse control and a faint recollection of the book, have delivered…this…whatever this is

Song Challenge: i was challenged by dear @the-ugly-swan for a twenty favored songs challenge and I’m gonna go ahead and make this part of it. August by Taylor Swift informed some of the bittersweet timeline here, with infidelity not being the enemy but rather the lack of possessing oneself fully during wartime to give to another

Spoilers: historical accuracy and inaccuracy abound here so, beware there are some biographical facts about Cleven in here that might count as spoilers to those who wish to watch the series with a blank slate. While to the history purists I must beg for a substantial amount of artistic license to be granted me, and obviously I’ve not seen the show yet and I crunched the timeline to my own will

Reader insert but without the use of “y/n” -I’m utterly fudging a bit on the likelihood of a WAAF lady being part of the American ground crew, however, I had in my minds eye the vision of a greasy mechanic and a glamorous flyboy and it wouldn’t budge, so shhh, go with the vibe

Warnings: mature, 18+. Fluffy smut was requested and while it is very brief and mild in here, not very explicit in phrasing, it’s quite present and a plot point so beware. Also, Virgin!Gale has my heart so we went with that. No shade to dear Marjorie irl, I’ll probably end up writing fics about her once the show gives me Inspo. Some angst due to war, POW’s, etc, mild language

Word count: a monstrous 12k

They came in like locusts at the height of summer, long prayed for, oft cursed in moments of perilous isolation, those ever so intriguingly shiny Americans.

Swarming with a metal buzz over the flatlands of East Anglia, big hulking beasts touched down on fresh tarmacs with more grace than anything that size ought to have, flashing the most bizarre and suggestive paintings on their gleaming fuselages. Flying Fortresses, they were called, and deserved the name. Nothing but the biggest, the loudest, the most alarming machinery would do for the American war effort, and now all this mighty strength was Britain’s too, no longer alone, no longer enduring.

Now the fight could be taken to the enemy in earnest. Out of their flying ships poured the most alarmingly young looking faces, jaunty hats and leather jackets, they looked every bit the sort of fellows war was advertised to.

Farmers in their tractors, mothers with daughters still under their command and RAF veterans all looked askance at such pristine warriors. Had their fertile fields been paved into airfields just for this? Were these gum chewing boys the long expected aid? It wasn’t anti-climactic, nothing American could ever be, it was all just alarmingly fresh. It was understandable then, the initial tentativeness the locals felt towards their new occupants, the way the boys took up such space in the rural villages, made such a racket in the pubs, chased every skirt that swished in the rainy summer breeze, stuck hands out for a shake no matter the introduction. They were a warm, boisterous and confident lot, all much needed attributes in wartime Britain, and soon, the initial distrust of the citizenry thawed, hands were shaken in return and invitations made. An amiable amalgamation eventually occurred, Norfolk never to recover or return to whatever placidity had been her’s before the arrival of the 100th.

Personally, you couldn’t wait to get your hands on them. The planes, that is.

Amalgamation was less a choice for yourself and your service members than a duty. It was abnormal, having a mixed ground crew, British and American servicemen too often clashing in hierarchy disputes for it to be standard, but with deployment rates so high and casualties mounting, ground crew became a case of whichever skilled individuals could be called upon to keep the operation running, the pilots up and the enemy bombed.

You were just glad to be near home, first time back since ‘39 when you’d signed up in the Women's Auxiliary Air Force -even if your rural hometown was now overrun with Americans. They weren’t a bad lot at all, at least not the ones you’d encountered so far on base. Amiable and unexpectedly eager, undeterred by veterans’ grim looks and tales of the woodchipper across the channel, that line of anti-aircraft that shredded anything trying to penetrate the continent.

“Better get crackin’ then.” Was the common response followed by a grin.

Your crew chief sergeant, Ken Lemmons, an American with a forelock of sandy ringlets and the patience of a saint, made the job easier even as every ounce of expertise was exacted from each man -or woman- under him. Feeding a fiery chain of bullets into the turret gun under a hot July sun, you thought your papa may have had the right of it when he tried to dissuade you from choosing the harsher duties of the Auxiliary Force. You could’ve been pouring over a map in the cool of the boardroom right now, or passing on radio messages, even shuttling planes would’ve been more relaxing, but no, you’d spent your life passing him tools in his garage, your papa had been building flying machines when most for these boys were still in diapers, and that path called to you, too. So for you it was grueling maintenance work and the ever present grime of grease on your hands and the awkward reach of twisted metal repairs. Gratefully, after their first mission, there were plenty of them back safe, however riddled their fortresses might’ve been.

It was interesting, the way certain of the flight crew treated the ships. Some were endeared but indifferent to their repairs while others hovered at each hole and tear, like over protective mothers, while you and your mates tried to do your jobs.

Why, one plane in the five assigned to your care was even named “Our Baby”. With such a moniker it made sense that its porcelain faced pilot would caress the shredded wing with a misty eyed frown at each wound, like it were a breathing thing, a race horse, a friend. You didn’t judge it, and he didn’t seem aware of his audience, he’d be back out there doing his own check up after debriefing. Never interrupting your work, always quick to step aside or duck out of the way of a ground crewman’s path, it wasn’t time to chatter or make introductions, although sometimes when the work took long and his reports longer, he’d be there to bid goodnight to you all, soft, American drawl saying “Goodnight, thank ya, goodnight, good work, thank ya” again and again to each.

You grew to recognize them, the ones each mission spared, there were so many and under hats and bundled in leather jackets they tended to blend together, but there were those who made their mark, if not on you then on Dorace in cartography and Eileen at the Red Cross. There was much tittering and speculation, after all, spread thin as their time was, there was also plenty of off time, made all the more charged and anxious as it came in the form of waiting for new orders. The men would be vibrating with nervous energy and generous in the flush of a recent victory and they took it out on the little villagers who in good British fashion took it on the chin and challenged them to a contest of good spirits.

Those were happy days, less anxious than the preceding ones and less heavy than those making up the year after. You dared be roped into the multiple pub crawls, often choosing the most sensible and quiet of the group as your victim and attaching yourself to their side for the evening. This tactic had its fallibility, sometimes those moderates were such a bore as to be unsupportable or hadn’t enough verve to make a full night of it and retired early like respectable, curfew-abiding saps. That’s how you found yourself one night ensconced in a beer pungent corner of Flaggen’s, green leather seats sticky under your palms, with Major Egan fanning out a wad of cash in front of you. It was a blatant attempt to bribe you to clear his aircraft sooner than the last inspection suggested.

“Suggestions” was Egan’s term for regulations.

If you were less tipsy you wouldn’t have giggled at the man’s idiocy, but his arm was heavy around your shoulders and this very cash had bought you one too many gin and tonics. “These regulations keep you alive!” You chided him, shaking your head and feeling the room tip as you did. Truly these Americans could hold their liquor, almost as well as the Polish Squadron when it came to a binge.

“A little flack isn’t gonna keep her down.” he scoffed, “I’ve been grounded for a week now-“

“-I don’t have the authority-“

“-and I’m not gonna sit here while Buck goes up and racks up his number!” Eagen was vehemently slurring and your drunken mind tried to process who Buck was, if not Egan himself.

“Aren’t you Bucky?” you asked, bewildered.

-Americans and their nicknames.

“Yeah.”

“So who’s Buck?” you concentrated very hard on the ancient coaster beneath your latest pint.

“It’s Buck! It’s Gale, Cleven, Major Gale Cleven!” Egan waxed louder and more dramatic with each addition. “You keep clearing his plane! But not mine! Why’s that, huh?”

“How do you know that?” you asked, dubious and only in the raucous of this little pub would his loud voice go unheeded. Compared to the ongoing dart game to the left behind the half wall, an elephant’s trumpeting would be considered bashful.

“ ‘Cause he tells me?” he replied, bewildered at your slowness, “Says you and your crew are little fairies, crawlin’ all over his plane and patching it up better than ever after each mission. And then you clear him. Simple as that.”

“I don’t have authority to clear anyone.” you repeated.

“Huh,” Egan grunted, “how’does he mean then?”

“I don’t know.” you replied firmly, “I doubt I’ve even got your plane, i don’t see you around.”

“I don’t stay around, that’s your job, patching up. I just fly the damn thing.”

“Oh, well.” you shrugged, “I’ve had five, it’s down to three after last mission.” Three years ago the mention of that ratio of losses would’ve sank your mood to the floorboards, by now it’s horrifically routine. “What’s yours called?”

“Mugwump.” he grinned proudly, a flash of white beneath his dark mustache, the man’s face positively shimmered with sweat.

“Serial?” you asked demurely, just to be difficult.

He squinted his eyes shut briefly, head tilted back as if to ask the heavens for help and the recited in a drill master’s staccato “42-30066, ma’am, yes ma’am.”

You giggled again and Egan’s arm jostled your shoulders, smushing you further into him. They were good fun, these boys, didn’t even mind your horrifyingly unflattering uniform with its bulging pockets adding bulk where your curves should take center stage and your stupid pleated cap making you look to be half baker, half doll. You preferred your plain navy coveralls but you’d hardly be let into an establishment in them. Egan’s warm arm didn’t seem to mind the excess poof of the material, he smashed it right down with his hand’s firm grip, he was fun, you decided, no harm in good fun. “Alas, not one of mine.” you sighed, focusing hard on the serial number.

“Damn.” he swore, playing at dejection.

“No,” you went on, “but I’ve got this one, a very spoiled one, maybe you know whose it is. They named it ‘Our Baby’!”

Poor manners and personnel etiquette though it was, you couldn’t say it without tittering.

Egan didn’t laugh, he just looked at you like you’d proved his point. “Yeah,” he replied vehemently, “That’s Buck Cleven’s!”

“Oooh.” -So it was him, the fighting cherub, the walking doughboy, toothpick, baby at wings: there were a dozen or more nicknames you and the ground crew gave the wing-petting Major behind his back. “He always says goodnight to us.” you said instead.

“Is that where he is when I wanna go for a drink?” Egan exclaimed, “Ha! You’d think he was married to the ole ship.”

“He handles her beautifully.” You feel oddly compelled to defend, he’s a master at flight and as someone who must repair each fault of his landings and his leavings and his missions, you feel some loyalty to his finesse. “He handles her so well.” you repeat in the tone of a woman who’s seen some aviation in her time, young though you may be.

“Well let me let you into a lil secret,” Egan smirks and you brace without knowing why, he is, after all, not the respectable and dull men you choose to go out with, he is the dangerous sort you bring those dullards along to deter, “shes the only ‘she’ that boy has ever ‘handled’ -if ya get my drift.”

The sleazy wag of his eyebrows leaves no room for ignorance, you feel your face heat up, wether in prudery for the topic or second hand embarrassment for his friend’s sake, you don’t know.

“Nothing wrong with that.” you reply coldy, only to distance yourself from the road his body language seemed to be hurtling you both down.

“Quite right. Nothin’ at all!” Egan agrees vehemently, his smile easy and his eyes clever “But I’d be a poor friend if I didn't try to remedy his predicament.”

“Telling me is somehow part of this remedy?” you were suspicious, rightfully so.

“Maybe.” Egan drawls it out, shifting in his seat to no longer corner you, his attention drawn to the nearby dart game. The man of the moment, the subject, the handler of planes and none else, was not here. He had such a luminous head of golden hair, it would be a beacon amongst the muddy haired crowd flinging darts. “The thing of it is, dear,” Egan confided, “I've had an absolutely marvelous time since I got here. And I think that’s rather essential, for sanity and for international relations, don’t you? I’ve gotten to know all sorts of wonderful people, lovely people like yourself-“

“-word is, you’ve known them a little too biblically, no wonder Cleven avoids your outings.” You could not help but temper him. “Half of Great Britain has had the privilege, if some are to be believed.”

“And so what if I have? I love dancin’!” he laughed quite happily at your barb and you didn’t have it in you to pull down any further a man who was sacrificing so much day in and out. “Getting to know Great Britain is a better occupation than pettin’ plane wings under the moonlight.”

You tittered again at his words and the oddly endearing memories you had of watching Major Ceven petting and whispering to his plane like she was his long-standing beloved, loitering ground crew unheeded. “He does do that.” you agreed.

“Hey, everyone’s got their method.” Egan insisted in his friend’s defense, “But I have told him, it’s good for the morale to mingle, even if he hates drinkin’.“

You pucker your face at that. “I know he mingles, Violet says he’s a doll when he goes to market.” you point out, small town chatter gets around and while you can’t say you know Cleven, you know he’s mild mannered and precious. And a terribly pretty face too, which isn’t fair, he oughta be an ass which a face that cute. “And he got a tan from somewhere last week.“

“Oh, so ya noticed!” Egan is triumphant, “A bunch of us used our day passes to go messin’ around in boats on the canals.”

“Good for you.” you didn’t know what else to say. “Why are we talking about him? What’s your point? I can ask for your plane to be transferred to my crew, but it won’t get you a sloppy clearance. And if your friend is so socially awkward he can’t even manage a pub night, you can hardly expect me to be flattered that you consider me prime material to throw at him.”

“He’s not awkward.” Egan cut to the chase quite serious, in mission mode, “Buck just had his hopes tangled up back home, and now he’s here he’s finding it hard to accept that hopes were all they were. She’s real moved on.” Well that had hurt, you winced in sympathy. “I warned him, everything during this war has got to be taken as a bit inpermanent. Don’t fall in love with Texas girls when you’re headed to England -via: Louisiana, Indiana, hell, by New York she’d stopped writing.”

“And now the texas girl has-“

“-found a Texan, I guess.” He shrugged and chugged the last of his pint. “She’s gettin’ married, it's really over. So, -“ he made a broad gesture as if to explain his reasoning for this entire segue. “-you like projects, you wouldn’t be in the line of work you’re in if ya didn’t, so whaddya say?”

You looked around the dimly lit pub in search of two things, sunny blonde hair and a clock to tell you how badly you were going to regret this night, come morning. “He’s not even here.” you balked.

“Well, no-“

“-what I say is,” you grinned at him disbelieving, “you owe me another gin and tonic for subjecting me to such inane chatter.”

His grin should have served as warning enough that he would neither drop the subject nor let you off free this evening. In fact, the ticking clock and its late curfew breaking hours became the least of your concerns come morning. The cool wash of bitter juniper blended into the pungent flow of beer, it blurred everything, soon there was a great swelling of pride for your native village, a pub crawl was on, all three visited and drank from, an army Jeep was requisitioned without authority, there was some incident regarding a policeman‘s helmet. The latter being the reason why you found yourself in “jail” the next morning, nursing a raging headache and questioning life decisions while glaring at John Egan’s polished boots.

There was very little talk about bail or Air Force hours being exceptioned, the more pressing concern to the Bobbies who had nabbed you was the coed holding cell. Thorpe Abbotts was a small place, after all, and you liked it that way. If this overly indulgent night could be kept away from the military police, all would be well.

You had one hope: Harry Crosby was sensibly absent from the holding cell, having a keen sense of when to depart from the raucous joyride at the precise moment to save himself a demerit. It was an extreme embarrassment to you that you’d not had the same sense. In fact, fond as you were of a bit of a knees up, you couldn’t quite credit the fact you had allowed yourself such free reign, or accomplished such foolishness. Glowering at Major Egan’s face now, animated with delighted chagrin at your shared plight as it was, you vowed to never again hook your fortunes to his, as it were.

Your resolve, and humiliation, was about to be compounded, exponentially.

There was a bustle of a visitor entering the precinct, easily heard in the small space, followed by the low hum of mild mannered conversation. It went on for sometime, and no amount of straining at the bars and cocking of ears would allow you, Egan or your fellow misfortunates to ascertain the gist of it. Violet’s husband was the main constable, and you were quite certain he’d be moderate in his sentence, he had his helmet back, after all. It was the Air Force penalty of not being on base in time this morning that you feared, a growing nausea that compounded the misery of your aching head. They’d not discharge Egan, they’d probably not even demote him, he was too crucial and he’d done this one too many times for it to be grace alone saving him. When he was needed, really needed, he was there. That’s what counted. The same could be said of you, but that hardly mattered given your low rank.

Violet’s husband, also known as constable Herbert, came in sight and with a jangle of keys and a tap to the side of his nose, swung open the bars of infamy and gestured for you and your fellow inmates to file out.

“All sorted.” He declared. His gaze lingered on you as it had many times in your life when you’d been caught jumping in puddles after church, “Let this be a lesson and a warning to you.”

You tried your best at both obeisance and penitence, both of which were rather natural feelings at the present time, while hurrying past as fast as was respectful, your approaching shift hours making your heart thump in panic.

On the steps outside, your savior was loitering against the wrought iron fence, thumbing at the petunias in the nearby window box. Gale Cleven was a mile long of lanky body in perfectly pressed and tailored Air Force greens, fresh faced as the good conscienced are, hair combed without his cap and a smile on his soft face that was composedly long suffering, rather than endeared, as he watched you miscreants pour out of the modest brick building.

You stumbled to a halt on the first step at the sight of him and allowed your instincts to take over, hands smoothing down hair and skirt with frantic self consciousness. You must’ve looked a rumple.

“I hope last night was worth it.” Cleven drawled in that voice of his, so oddly deep for so fresh a face, his placid smile growing into something more genuinely mirthful as Egan smooched at him in gratitude and swore that he knew his Buck wouldn’t abandon them, that his Buck would pull through for them. “I order a round of toothpaste for everyone and cold showers, you stink.” Gale shied away without any real effort, nodding in greeting to the boys he recognized.

Then, as if in the most painfully slow motion with all the strong string accompaniment of a silver screen scene, his eyes landed on you and an odd ache formed in your chest at the anticipation of his disapproval.

It made you tense and draw yourself up to your full height, looking about as regal as a drenched bantam in your disheveled dignity, but you weren’t about to be relegated to another tier than these boys he so amusedly indulged.

“Y’all know what time it is?” he asked mildy, those azure orbs with their batting dark fringe didn’t waver and you realized he indeed had more guts than you’d given him credit for.

There was a chorus of “no”s and various guesses based on the fast evaporating fog and the lightening sky.

“Zero five thirty.” he ended the suspense with the cock of an eyebrow at you.

“Shit!” Egan was suddenly animated, “Shit, shit-“

“Hey, you keep your swearin’ away from my sweet lil corporal.” Cleven chided, and it took you a brief moment to startle upon realizing he meant you. And he thought you sweet? “C’mon Miss,” he waved you down the steps and for some inexplicable reason you felt very compelled to obey and suddenly stood beneath his gaze like a dutiful child awaiting deliverance or censure, “I’ve only got this bike, petrol allotment ran out when we went to the canals last week. But it’ll get ya back faster than this lot. Reckon you can manage on the handlebar?”

“Wha-?“ you glanced sideways at the bike with its large, sweeping handlebars and second guessed his meaning until he himself was straddling it. His legs required the seat to be hiked up impossibly high and the narrow nip of his waist was accentuated by the posture. Those padded, fleece puffed jackets you had seen him in had done no credit to his form, a toothpick he may have been with how terribly lean he was, but he was firm in all the right places. He was also waiting on you to answer while you ogled him.

“Gosh yes, I can, if you’re sure? Awfully kind of you.” you blathered and moved in a hurry to make up for your stalling, keenly conscious of his eyes on your back as you shimmied your backside up onto his handlebars, feeling the warm press of his hand as he helped steady you from tipping all the way back. You wiggled on the thin metal bar, spreading your legs on either side of the front wheel and doing your best to ignore the raucous commentary of the still tipsy audience of your fellow inmates swaying on the precinct steps. “Y’all just be glad there’s no mission scheduled today.” he snarked to them instead and they chimed up that last night’s idiocy was calculated with that in mind.

“Huh.” Cleven uttered, unimpressed, behind you and it made you shiver, worse than if your father caught wind of this stunt. “Darlin’ put your hands over mine, s’gonna get wobbly takin’ off.” he directed next and you did as you were told, looking back over your shoulder at him with a grateful smile that you were relieved to see returned, pink lips stretching and a freckled nose bunching up sweetly when all of the sudden a rush caught you by surprise and the bike was in motion and you whipped your head back to view the street as it rushed up ahead of you. “See ya boys!” he hollered out as a mutinous babble rose from his friends at being left to jog back.

The young man could put some speed on a bike, uphill too. Or, as much of a hill as could be found this far East. You could hear him chuckle when you squeaked at the first jolt of a pothole, your thumbs hooking under his hands and curling into his palms. They were warm and calloused, dry from the cool breeze and you may have imagined the way he squeezed them in assaurance but you did not imagine the way his voice piped up again, smooth and conversational: “Harry told me if I was quick I could get you out in time, I think we’re gonna make it. S’dont worry, even if Sergeant Lemmons gives ya trouble, I’ll insist.”

“That’s really too kind of you.” The chill of windburn and a substantial amount of remorse made your cheeks glow scarlet. “All of it is. I’m rather ashamed.”

“I didn’t take you for an all nighter sort.” he agreed but followed it with a soothing compliment, “You’ve always been nothin’ but perfect. P-p-perfectly punctual, I mean, and there’s no reason to let Egan’s idea of fun ruin your record.”

“Wasn’t his fault. Not wholly.” you sighed, giving Violet a bashful wave as you passed her opening the shop, a wave which Cleven mirrored behind you and between the two of you letting go the bike, it nearly dumped you both. It was luck and sheer persistence that righted you and kept your balance. “I’m afraid it’s a bit of a bad habit, picked it up at Northolt.”

“Where’s that?” he asked.

“South, by the coast.” you said, unsure why you felt the need to explain your debauchery away, “I was working a ground crew down there for a bunch of Polish Pilots. Spitfires mainly. That squadron nabbed the most kills of any in the RAF back in ‘40. Why, even Churchill visited more times than I can count, he found them good fun. Too much fun, they never went to bed without downing half a barrel. There was dice built into the bottom of the pints at the Black Bull, rather addictive, rolling to see who would buy the next round. —There was always a next.” You added upon reflection.

That was also the year you had lost your brother. The correlation between the habit and the loss wasn’t to be dwelt on.

“Huh,” Cleven let out one of him contemplative hums, “and how do we compare?” he asked surprisingly.

“How?” you laughed, daring to crane your neck back to see him in the early morning sunshine, pretty and sweet and arch in his expression. Dusk had not done his mama’s work on his face any justice, it made you want to pant he was so pretty.

“I dunno, in any way,” he laughed in turn, not even breathless as he sped the bike over the cobblestones, the village barely awake and mostly quiet, “how do we compare?”

“To the Poles?”

“Or the French. Or your own, the RAF ain’t no joke.” he amended, “Whoever is our competition.”

“So it is a competition.” you smirked -how very American of him. “Depends,” you hedged playfully, “Our boys are so very nice, familiar, they never run out the right coinage during a date either. But the French are better flirts while the Dutch are better dancers. But the Poles, they know how to romance. Lots of hand kissing and flowers, so many flowers there had to be rules made for overstocking the billet.”

“Sounds like we gotta step up our game.” he decided.

“Is that what you meant? How you compare? First impressions?”

“I-I- guess, yeah.” he now sounded confused, “I mean, what else? You got scores for aircraft?”

“I do.” you replied, as it was true, “But that’s unfair, you’ve only just arrived. I thought maybe you wanted to know something more -salacious.”

“Like?” His tone behind you was guarded and you doubted if the alcohol of last night were not still buzzing and fortifying your brazenness, that you’d ever go through with what you said next.

“Other performances. For instance, in bed.”

You felt his fingers flutter around the bars beneath your own, you gripped them tighter, not just because the stretch of old road before the air base was ancient and pitted but because you were in an agony of suspense as to how he’d take your forwardness.

“There’s a record of that somewhere?” he asked at last, a beat too long, too delayed for casualness, too morose for flippancy.

“In fact there is.” you responded carefully. “A little diary of rankings, actually, there’s multiple and whenever there’s a grand assembly of the WAAF or the WACs, they’re passed about and tallied.”

“Sweet Jesus.” he swore behind you, “And here I’ve been chalkin’ up railways and munition dump targets like they’re some achievement.”

“Oh it’s all a bit of silliness.” You assured, not intending to make him glum.

“Do-“ he hesitated and you prayed for strength for him to spit it out as the airfield came in sight on the flat plain ahead. He didn’t.

“-Do I what?” you prodded softly.

“Are one of these little tallies yours?” he asked miserably.

You grinned to yourself and felt the sunshine seemed brighter and the air crisper than ever before as it rushed in your face with the slowing speed of his bike. “No, not in the least. I merely keep track of Sally’s ledger. It’s all a bit too -messy, for me.”

You dared peak behind you again and he looked relieved, then blushed furiously at your observance of him. “Well, who does Sally say is winning?” he dared.

“Romania.” you chortled and he did too, in shock if nothing else. “But Egan’s caught wind of it, he’s quite determined to save your country’s dominance, you don’t need to sweat it.”

His frown was back and you had to focus on not falling off as he slowed the bike to a halt, momentum precarious as his long legs kicked out and walked it the last yard to the segregated barracks, you felt his hand again on your waist to steady you. “Does that bother you?” he asked earnestly, sorrow in his blue eyes.

He offered a hand for you as you hopped down and it was you who held onto it long after it was needed. “Bother me?”

“Yeah, him -consortin’…with Sally?” he pressed, hands quite engulfing your one, “Does it hurt you? Bucky, see, he doesn’t mean to hurt, he’s just so-“

“-Blimey, you are a dear.” you marveled and then amended your interruption as your amusement only further creased that sweet face, “If I am ever again in Major Egan’s company, it will only be to escape it just as quickly. I’ve had quite enough of…consorting.”

“That so?” The lackadaisical confidence he exhibited outside of the precinct was back again, a not unattractive smirk plastered on his vulnerable face, a scheme in his guileless eyes. “Had enough of holding cells?”

“Quite.” you smirked back. “A quiet family dinner is more my style, the occasional picnic, even a zip round Oxford as one must show the foreigners about.” you paused and squeezed his hand once more, “And I do enjoy a bike ride.”

You did not know if he cataloged your preferences for an ideal date or not, life was busy, after all, and the momentary frolics in the July sunshine and banter on the tarmac and evenings in the pub were the exception. Time went on. Most of life was spent in the air, in his case, and in yours, beneath the belly of his beast, wrench in hand. But ever after his gallant rescue of you, there was more than the passing “goodnight” paid to you, there were cheerful smiles on his exhausted face when he returned from a mission, as if you were the one face he was coming back to. With an old familiar dread you noticed the way you begin to take each hole and dent and damage to his plane personally, as if it had been exacted on something precious to you. You have begun to care, for him and for his men, and your tired heart could barely do more than dread what that might lead to.

Good fun. That’s what these boys were supposed to be.

Gale Cleven hadn’t proven much fun. And somehow that was worse. It was worse and also unbearably honoring to be the last face he saw before taking it off, flags in your hands waving in front of his hulking bomber, giving the old familiar directions for a perfect takeoff, one he executed sublimely time and again. His sober, purposeful nods to you before he engaged and taxied out for a mission of death was more intense and intimate than any bouquet or even, your thought, a kiss. It was true the donut dollies on the sidelines were often the last faces of home that many of those boys would see. But in the his cockpit, looking down at your shrimp sized figure on the tarmac, both Major Cleven and you knew that for him, it was yours.

Once, there was a scare, in the first days of august. More than a scare if you were being honest, your heartbeat about stopped and didn’t pick back up for a few hours until word came in. The rest of the base wasn’t much better.

Ten planes had not come back. -Among them, Our Baby. And Mugwump. For two officers, so crucial, so senior, idolized and beloved as they were, to not return, was a blow like none other. You weren’t alone in hovering around the control shack, taking license of your friendship with Dorace to get a play by play of any news. When news came, such as it was, it was both relieving and exasperating.

It would seem there was some problem, a defect or too great of a hit. Orders to land in enemy territory were ignored, however, by Cleven no less. He had doggedly pushed on, safely landing them in allied Africa, of all places. It took almost a day for this information to finally be pasted together, by the end of it you were sad, haggard and half useless in your coveralls, stupendously relieved for a man you were supposed to feel professionally about.

Instead, that night, tucked in your own bed after a meal with your parents and little brother, you thanked God for keeping him -them, all of them- safe. And found yourself pondering the tan on him when he got back from his African foray. Some jealous part of you feared he might be kept there but a week later the thunderous hum of approaching bombers buzzed the air overhead of Thorpe Abbotts and the satisfying thwump of wheels touching down brought them back. There was a frenzy of greetings, flight and ground crew eager to welcome them back, the radio operators, too, and even the civilians who’d managed to get on base.

Your little brother among them. Donald wanted to see them back safe and it wasn’t dangerous, and it wasn’t dire, not returning from a mission the planes wouldn’t be in such poor shape. They’d been repaired in Africa, enough to fly them all the way back to England. So little Donald was nearby and when the crowd parted and a bee-line for Cleven became apparent, he took advantage and gave the young man a firm handshake in greeting.

��Hey buddy, thank ya, who do you belong to?” Buck laughed while returning the firm grip.

“I’m her brother.” Donald pointed you out proudly among the dispersing crowd and you rolled your eyes at his expectancy for Gale to know or care about you, more than your most pertinent work on base.

“Oh are ya now, hers, huh?” he grinned at you, “Been talkin’ about me?” he greeted, there was a still healing scrape on his left temple that your fingers itched to soothe. How badly had he hit his head?

“Of course I have.” you defended, happiness bubbling under your lips and threatening to make you smile more than was professional, you could see Sergeant Lemmons observing you from the side and tried to keep some decorum. “We thought you’d died.” You stated plainly, it wasn’t any secret to Donald, as soon as the plane had gone missing and before radio contact had been reestablished, you’d rushed home and made the family pray over supper.

“We’ve been praying for you.” Donald agreed, and you saw Cleven startle, a gasped intake of breath between those lush lips and his eyes seemed to water as he searched first your brother’s face and then your own.

“You have?” he choked out, raspy and touched.

“Yes.” you whispered, mouth twisting in a ugly grimace to hold back your own emotion. It was of little use, something beyond War Effort investment in his well being had been admitted. “We thought you might be dea-“

-you didn’t finish your reiteration of your dread. Your face, a greasy and mist spattered face, was suddenly smushed into the padded leather of his bomber jacket, nose tucked right into the fleece apex where his pale blue scarf always rested on his throat.

He was hugging you, you realized with delayed surprise.

“-even though it made the potatoes cold, Da insisted on prayin’ every night after she told us-“ Donald was waxing eloquent on his own sacrifices of having one added prayer request lengthening his mealtime but you were oblivious to more than the firm press of Cleven’s still gloved hand to the back of your scarf wrapped head, some strong emotion shuddering through his body against your own. A tremor of terror and pain, you suspected, emotions he’d been suppressing all week.

After all, the saved weren’t supposed to be shaken up. They’d been saved, what was there to be off about? You’d seen enough pilots after a close call to know it was every bit as bad or worse than actual disaster. They’d send him right back up again in days, and that was what was expected, demanded, required. He was tremoring against you and you gripped him tighter, sympathetic and aching to cure it somehow. Even for a moment.

“We’ll keep praying.” you assured, and you heard him clear his throat, snotty and rough. “Oh, blast, I’ve positively greased your jacket.” you mourned as he let you go, finally, and you caught sight of the mess your filthy hands and face had imprinted on it during the embrace.

He chuckled as he looked down at the imprint, “S’fine.”

After such an exchange of emotion the air felt charged between you two, without privacy or precedence, it felt unthinkable to linger in that mood. You turned to his plane and pet the fuselage with unstudied fondness, it had been horrid having the old bird absent. You were not above having favorites and the love he poured into his ship, somehow, like some old fairytale truism, made the hulking metal beast lovable, in turn. “How’s our baby, hmm?” you asked him, giving him a sly smile and he took your proffered out seamlessly, joining you in cataloging the damage that had not been deemed severe enough to hamper his return.

“Don’t crawl under here, sir!” you protested as you wiggled under the belly only to find him beside you in the plane’s shadow, “You’ll be a mess!”

“I’ve already got stains.” he brushed your worries off, and you knew it was true. Bloodstains in fact. He had lost a man, the report said, and apparently, judging by his trousers, Buck had held the poor fellow as he bled out. “And I wanna show you the spot I’m worried ‘bout.”

“Alright.” you conceded, allowing him to direct you to the nose. “Watch it Donald!” you had to reprimand your little brother who predictably followed after, “You’ll burn yourself if you touch that, this thing was just running.”

“Careful buddy.” Gale echoed gently beside you and pushed his little head down, more into a crawl. You refused to allow the gentle way he treated the brat to warm you, you refused. Or at least, you refused to let it show, the tingle and heat you felt being all too consuming to be denied.

He was lovely. But you already knew that. He was even more lovely when, upon crawling out from under Our Baby, he took his scarf from around his neck, silk decadently soft, flesh warmed and smelling strongly of his exertions, and swiped it across your greased cheek.

“You’ve got just a lil more…” he practically mumbled and wiped down to your chin, firm, gentle little rubs of the silk which required his other hand to grasp your chin to steady you. You weren’t sure when he’d taken off his gloves, but the feel of his skin on yours was heady.

“It’ll take a couple days.” You predicted regarding the repairs, “Which means you’ll have a few days free, if they don’t drown you in reports.”

“Oh they will.” he laughed, “But s’long as my days are free, means yours aren’t.” he pointed out.

“I guess that’s true.”

“We shoulda thought of that when we chose this line of work.” he joked and your cheeks flamed at the realization he wished to spend time with you. “But you’ll have your nights still, yeah?”

Coming from anyone else, the request for your nights to be reserved would strike you as suggestive indeed. But this was Buck, and when he mentioned nights you imagined nothing but taking him home for a tepid potato and rationed powdered milk supper and the warm reception of your family. His weary eyes suggested how badly he needed that. You could give it to him, and it made your heart glow.

“Yes, I’ll have my nights.” you agreed, “And you can have them, too.”

Sergeant Lemmons agreed with your estimation of Our Baby’s damage the following day and four long days after were spent patching up damage that suggested what a hellish ride that must’ve been. Someone else hosed the blood out of the bay but it turned the puddle on the concrete beside you sickly pink.

To and fro from office to barracks to observation tower, Cleven would stop by to see his ‘baby’ on these occasions. The heckling the ground crew gave you regarding this potential double meaning was agonizing and almost made his attentions not worth it. But then he’d be dropping to a squat to chat with you as you soldered metal, heedless of the sparks, or else bringing scones from the mess to refresh you and, again, wiping your face often with his fancy scarves despite your protests that it was futile.

And at night, on the second day, you made good on yours and Donald’s word and brought him to dinner. It was a quiet walk from the base to the end of the long main road, right to the outskirts of the village, where your family’s unassuming little thatched cottage nestled amongst mama’s victory garden, daddy’s aeroplane hanger and repair shop loomed ugly and dark behind.

The look on Buck’s face when you met him outside the base’s gate at seven in the evening in a dress and heels was worth capturing. But you hadn’t a camera with you and it wasn’t like you were liable to forget. His pure look of awe and appreciation for your cleaned up and girlish state was nearly comic if it weren’t so flattering.

“Darlin-“ he began in a rush but did not finish, only taking you lightly by the fingertips and spinning you slowly, his eyes wide like he was seeing a marvel, which, maybe he was, -your womanly form finally liberated from puffy uniforms and ugly coveralls. Wholesome as your intentions were for the evening, and indeed for him in general, it was some relief and delight to know he was capable of getting hot under the collar. His mama’s well drilled manners soon caught up to his unbridled appreciation and a deluge of charmingly proper compliments rained down on you next until you had to put a stop to his babble by tugging him down the road with the reminder of dinner as incentive.

“You’re sure they won’t mind?” he began his worries again, nervous to meet your parents.

If he’d been like the rest of the boys he’d know just how much mingling was already common. It wasn’t remotely odd to bring him home, not when you lived so near. “Don’t be silly, they’ve been begging to meet you and Donald has plans of torturing you with his plane models and Papa wants to show you his shop and mama thinks you're much too skinny, I’m sure she’s gone to the black market to grab something to fatten you-“

“-how’s she know that?” he interrupted in shock.

“Oh,” you flushed, realizing your misstep, “I’ve talked of you. And she recognized you, she and Violet are thick as thieves and -it’s not like you’re unremarkable. A physical description is rather easy to give when you, well, when you look like…you.”

“What do I look like?” he cried out but his cheeks were smiling despite his outrage, “Malnourished?”

“Like a lanky cherub.” you refuted and were pleased that the late summer sun was still bright enough at this long hour to show his pretty blush.

“A cherub.” he repeated in disbelief.

“Yes.” you were firm, both in tone and the press of your hand in the crook of his offered elbow, “And as we’ve been commended to entertain angels unaware, how much more when we are certain of one?”

“Oh shut up.” he begged you and you two staggered into each other as you laughed your hearts out. It felt good to laugh, for the both of you, and a little too foreign, as well. It left a hollow melancholy in its wake that was soothed by the near and swaying proximity of each other’s body.

“They’ll be glad to have you at the table.” you dared go on, feeling you should prepare him, should the subject arise, “I’ve a brother, you see, an older brother. Rafe, he was stationed in Burma. We’ve not heard of him in over two years. There’s an empty seat at our table, it takes a certain sort of soul to fill it without it feeling like a sacrilege. But you fit the bill nicely, I think.”

“Burma.” he repeated with all the gravity of a man who understood, who knew the ache of almost hoping a dear brother, a beloved son, was dead rather than enduring the slow hell of a Japanese internment camp. How awful to almost wish for a decisive end for one so loved. “No word at all?”

“None.”

“I’m terribly sorry.”

“Thank you.” you whispered, “And thanks for making it back, yourself.” you squeezed his arm jovially and felt his other hand fall atop yours there in the crook of his elbow and a sweetness filled you at the gesture, such as you’d never known before. It was peaceful and lovely and your little village suddenly looked as pretty and idyllic again as it was always supposed to, the routine route home was seen through his eyes, the eyes of a homesick boy with a soft girl on his arm, bound to meet her parents and inspect Donald’s plane models.

Your mother and father loved him, little surprise there, he was a darling and homesick and yours was a happy home, humble and wounded though it may be. Your mother was obnoxious in her delight the moment father took him out back to see where your expertise for welding first began, the little aerodrome, no longer fitted with pleasure craft but now fitted to scrap the more useless casualties. Mother pestered you as you helped clear the table, asking after him and whatever this thing was between you. When you assured her it was only dinner to fill that chair and some unfathomable knowledge that had grown each time you stood before his propeller and waved him off to death, she knew it for what it is.

War and the urgency of living that goes with it, shrinks long emotions into fast passion and steady hearts into foolish daring. Neither of you were the sort to tumble into the passing vogue passions that had seized hold of your friends and comrades. Yours was a quieter path. Even so, after the fourth evening of dinner rations and quiet fireside chatter and the patter of late summer rain on the roof, there was a kiss as he walked you back to base, his jacket over your shoulders, his shirt clinging to him and the sweetest intent etched on his misted features as his lips descended to yours.

“Thank you,” he had said so passionately yet so subdued, a wall of wisteria at your back and his honey blonde hair dripping into his eyes, “I’ve needed this bad.”

His words suggested the family dinners, his scorching lips suggested the molded flesh of your body in his large palms.

“So you’ve wanted this?” your breathed mixed, a hazy little cloud between you in the damp evening air, your little alcove of shelter from the rain under old Mosley’s shed was like another little world entirely, fauna filled and peaceful, even the ever present drone of machinery was drowned out by the downpour.

Your mother had been right, you should've waited longer till the clouds passed but you had both cited curfew -and maybe even subconsciously sought just such a predicament as the one that had you necking Gale Cleven in a wisteria claimed tool shed.

“I’ve wanted you.” he clarified, firm grip on the base of your neck punctuating his turmoil, his lips met yours again and whatever oath of abstinence he had chosen, it did not seem to include kissing. He was soft and persistent and all consuming, those restless hands migrating in an ever mapping caress, making every part of you thrum with butterflies. “Wanted you for a long while.” he spoke into your lips, “I think you’re just great.” And there was happiness then, untinged with anything temporal beyond the feel of warm flesh beneath cold, rain soaked cloth and lips that tasted of honeyed biscuits.

It was impossible to maintain the stoic propriety of behavior you’d once managed before, on base, after that. You knew now how he sounded when he moaned into your mouth and he his stare alone could make you blush, you had spoken to his mother on the phone and he had seen your childhood bedroom. He learned once, laying amongst sea grass on the beach during a cloudy Sunday, the silky moist feel of you beneath your swimsuit, his long, bashful fingers that were ever so fond of petting anything and everything, finally finding a place that responded to his swipes with jolts and gasps and sighs and pleasure. You peaked three times on that sand dune, Buck none the wiser as he had nothing to compare your little deaths to, you kept a firm grip on his forearm and told him he was doing marvelous and that’s all it took for him to be persistent. Persistent beyond what you imagined any other man could be due to cramp. He was getting freckles from so much sunshine, but it was well, the rains would be here soon come autumn.

These happy days had you risking your life to pause your work and watch his pretty form swagger across the asphalt to his next destination and he, ever so right and proper and by the book, became devil enough to lie in wait for you and catch you by the waist when you least suspected it and drag you into some abandoned corner.

Only to kiss you.

To kiss and to ask after your day, as if your evening was not to be spent sat beside him at table or the movies, lying on a picnic blanket with him near or in the back of a jeep on top of Mayberry Rise, the tallest point around where the stars ran into the sea on the horizon.

One of the first days of September, you made good on your promise to Harry and drove with him to muck about Oxford for a day and see the college, the library, too. It was a long ride and as you were at the wheel, Harry was gem enough to allow Gale along, too, and by the end of it, driving back late and in a rush before the headlights would be needed, you were quoting favorite literary passages to each other. As if you were all students, not misplaced youths in the business of killing.

You said as much and in the burgeoning gloom Gale’s rich voice asked if you knew any Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

“Not Wordsworth!” Harry clarified.

“No, I don’t.” You admitted, for all your chiding today of their not being cultured enough, you didn’t know your American writers as you should.

“He’s got a poem for that.” Gale said, “For what you said. Or at least, it makes me think of today -that verse, ‘member Crosby?- the one it goes:

-I remember the gleams and glooms that dart across the school-boy's brain; The song and the silence in the heart, That in part are prophecies, and in part, Are longings wild and vain. And the voice of that fitful song, Sings on, and is never still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

The deafening silence for the rest of the car ride was filled with truth and your own heart was heavy when you bid them both goodnight that evening, headed to your seperate billets. You paused in you departure to turn back once more at the door and holler to Buck in the chilled September air, “That poem, is there more of it?”

“Lots more.” he’d spun round on his heel, pleasantly surprised at your inquiry.

“What’s it called?” you intended to search it out, though it was doubtful that a copy would be found near this remote place.

“How about I write it out for ya?” he suggested as if thinking the same.

“You’ve got a whole damn poem memorized?” you balked, incredulity warring with amusement that you should’ve guessed he’d be the sort.

“I-I-I might.” he stuttered before laughing.

“Then please do.” you grinned and threw him a kiss across the distance which he jumped up and caught from the air in a grand show of dedication. “Goodnight, cherub.” you wished him, “Sleep tight.” He had a mission in the morning, a daylight one.

“Goodnight old Bean.” He teased your accent and the door swung shut behind you blocking out the cold and the retreating sound of his footsteps.

If you’d have known that was the last time you’d hear them you’d have stayed an age out in the cold night listening to him go, memorizing the cadence of his gait, the sway of his shoulders disappearing into the twilight, the turn of his head as he’d throw a glance back at you, sweet and handsome and cheerful despite his ominous itinerary.

If you’d have only known.

It wasn’t like last time, like Africa. There had been no loss of contact. Dorace had heard every awful minute until the clock ran out. They’d been shredded, their precious ship turned into a raging inferno and Major Cleven’s gritted and garbled transmissions left only one hope that some at least had jumped out. Jumped out only to land in Nazi occupied Europe, it was a faint mercy to cling to.

The empty chair sat next to you again at the table and mocked you all. Mocked your hope and your resilience to dare love again. How foolish to bring home a man who belonged to a group they were calling “Bloody”, and not as a curse but an epithet.

The losses had been staggering all summer and now in September they hit close. You were confident that Crosby and Egan were every bit as dismal inside as you felt, Egan’s warm hand had clasped your shoulder like you were a fellow officer and told you he was sorry. You took the condolences and gave them back, a stupid little exchange that only highlighted how unspeakable some pain is.

Three weeks later, Egan’s plane didn’t come back either.

In your more fanciful moments you allowed yourself to imagine Egan and Cleven alive, somewhat whole and reunited. You could almost hear Cleven’s joking welcome, “What took you so long, Bucky?”

You’d indulged these fancies for Rafe, too, until years of silence suggested the worst.

However, this time, well into October and with an entirely new set of planes under your care, word came at last through the Red Cross, and the truth was exactly as you’d dreamed. There was only the paltriest letter back to command but it said they were well, they were alive, together indeed and being moved to the Polish border. Away from their own comrades' bombs. It was more than most ever got, and your family celebrated the news with the gratitude it deserved.

As October turned to November and your gloved fingertips froze as you worked, every sharp needle of chill reminded you of him, how much more awful it must be that far north, snow piled deep and muck everywhere and lice covered blankets and illness left untreated. As the holidays hurtled nearer, days of peace and goodwill you had planned to be spent with him, you were consumed by the dread of losing him to the elements since war had proven too clement. At night you lay abed and reread the one bit of handwriting you had from him, that damned poem he had written out, left under your door in the early dawn that had taken him from you.

My lost youth. That was the title of the thing. It cut like glass every time you read it, but Buck had touched that paper and looped those letters and dotted those i’s and it was precious to you. It became a prayer of sorts.

“There are things of which I may not speak;

There are dreams that cannot die;

There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,

And bring a pallor into the cheek,

And a mist before the eye.

And the words of that fatal song

Come over me like a chill:—

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

Strange to me now are the forms I meet

When I visit the dear old town;

But the native air is pure and sweet,

And the trees that o’ershadow each well-known street,

As they balance up and down,

Are singing the beautiful song,

Are sighing and whispering still:—

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

Then, in January, as if prayers got heard, the most unexpected happened.

Major Gale Cleven, what was left of him after cold, starvation, murder and a treck across Europe, had returned. Things like this, seeing your lost beloved ride up to your workplace in the shotgun seat of a jeep, was the stuff of movies, hopeful propaganda or a woman’s mind that had finally cracked. You just stood there, welding helmet in hand, frozen rain spitting down at you, watching him jump out, watching Harry tear down from the observation tower to embrace him.

Dully, you could hear behind you Segreant Lemmons kind cheer of “so it was true, he got away from the bastards!” and a congratulatory thump between your shoulder blades. It was a moment of truth, to realize how far your faith had dwindled when the very answer to your prayers stood steaming with life in the cold air and yet you still could not accept it as reality.

“Baby.” his hands were warm compared to your damp cheeks and the span of them, so familiar and large, cupping your jaw with the calloused thumbs swiping at your temples, that was reminiscent of August and of happier days. Yet still, you had dreamed of him doing this, dreamed of a million different embraces and each time you woke up. “Baby, I’m back, I came to ya.” his voice was wrecked, from disuse and illness and whatever misery that had subjected him to. That, that was real enough, the rattling cough more so, you’d imagined his suffering in your worst nightmares too, this was something you could believe.

Familiar flesh was gaunt under your touch, gray cheeks where once there’d been freckles and the sinful pout of his once ruby red mouth was a dull violet, as if the vitality had been leached out of him. “What’d they do to my cherub?” you mourned, worst nightmares and wildest hopes blending into this one moment.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry f’me, I’m back. I came back.” he cooed to you, rough and sad himself, and your face was buried again in the placard of his coat, a great woolen overcoat this time, no fleece or any vestige of the swanky finery that got the flyboys ribbed for being soft, fancy, spoiled.

Nothing soft about these men, nothing gentle about their lot, nothing glamorous about being hurled down from the skies in a ball of fire.

“We kept praying for you.” you realized, it seemed important to tell him that however hopeless you all had felt, you’d gone through the motions anyway.

That was faith, wasn’t it? The hope of things not seen?

“I felt ‘em.” he said. “How else you think I managed it?”

It. -had managed it, that tiny word represented a host of terrors and miseries and unforgettable incidents that ricocheted in his brain like the lead fired into his boys head’s when they couldn’t manage a forced march, barefoot and underfed, in the snow.

Christmas had passed but January was not so very advanced, that evening your family turned back the clock and it was a matter of guessing as to who was celebrated more, baby Jesus or Buck Cleven. The two seemed intertwined at this point and in the warm glow of gas lamps and rationed toddy, with Buck’s hollow cheeks beginning to bloom and his dull eyes starting to animate, some part of you finally understood why so many felt worshipful on the holiday. The shit war rations felt like a feast, mama’s canned vegetables being the freshest thing he’d eaten in ages and with him sat at table again, empty chair filled, his hand creeping into your lap to lace with your own, there was peace.

Even the airforce, hard driving and high demanding though it was, took one look at his battered condition and admitted a period of conveyance was due. It wouldn’t do to send up a shoddy pilot, lose another plane, yet another crew or a hero of the hundredth. It’s not every day one of your squadron leaders escapes a POW camp and marches over occupied Europe and fordes the Channel to get back home.

A month was set aside. And you took as many weekday passes as you could during that month, happier than anything that he had been permitted to stay in town, to lodge with one of the locals. Rafe’s room was now occupied by him and mama’s broth was poured down Gale’s throat twice daily and his days kept busy with paperwork and Donald’s math problems. The ticking clock, the passing days, like the evil crocodile gobbling up time, was politely and britishly ignored in favor of enjoying what was. You no longer slept with the tear stained and crumpled poem clasped to your throat but his head lay there often enough instead. The thump of your heart helping him sleep, because exhausted and sick as he was, sleep and solitude were not comforts.

He was wracked with guilt for leaving Egan and his men behind, it had been every man for himself during that brutal forced march, he knew that and yet he’d left a friend behind. Buck waited for news of Egan like you’d waited for news of him. Nameless and senseless guilt ruining much of his own success and peace.

“He’d have expected nothing less of you.” you had taken to reminding him, “He’d be angry if you hadn’t taken the opportunity like you did.”

“I know.” he agreed miserably.

You admitted to him then, the horrid guilt of feeling that somehow, some missed defect or some lousy flaw had been the reason he’d been downed. Your work somehow not sufficient to keep him in the skies. When you’d admitted as much, Sergeant Lemmons had looked at you with all the censure such moronic introspection deserved: “Cleven got bombed to hell. He expected it, daytime raid and all. Blame the Nazis.”

“Blame the Nazis.” you suggested now to Gale as he lay sprawled in your arms, sweaty and feverish but his color was back and he looked pretty as anything so alive and near.

He looked ready to dare something, his face hovering nearer yours and the heavy weight of his limbs suddenly feeling full of intent but then his sparkling eye caught sight of something in the doorway and his lips quirked and his body shifted away.

“Whatcha doin’ sulkin’ out there Donny?” he addressed your brother and sure enough the little scamp emerged from the shadow of the doorway and joined you two on the bed, comic book clutched in his hands. They had a routine, apparently, Papa was no longer the chosen one for bedtime stories. It made you want to wince in anticipation for when Buck would move back to base and things would become full of dread again.

That day came sooner than you’d counted on. A month is not so very long, after all, and it was filled with so much work and business, stolen moments at home hardly being the norm.

“It’s an easy mission.” he’d said at dinner, as if arguing the point to you all. You knew he was trying to convince himself more than anything and so you all let him specify just how easy, how routine, how utterly unworrying tomorrow's flight would -should- be.

If it’s hard to get back into the saddle after being bucked off, how much worse to climb back into a plane after being tossed from the skies.

That evening he lounged on your bed instead of Rafe’s, the house emptied as your mother and father took Donny to the movies, the appeal of a new film finally showing cited as being too alluring to resist. He was lost in his thoughts, watching you go about your little evening routines that you tried to maintain when at home. It was domestic and cozy, warm where the world outside was cold and then there was Buck, golden as anything in the low lamp light, utterly unaware of the figure he cut lying on his side.

“I’ve missed it.” he told you, “Flying, I’ve missed it.”

“Of course you have. You were born for it.” you murmured.

“Ya know,” he reflected, “I signed up for the Air Force before it all got hot, before Pearl Harbor. I was gonna fly no matter what. I remember grittin’ my teeth durin’ training and tellin’ myself it would all be worth it. Just hang in there and it would pay off. I just felt something important would need me. Hell, guess I got more than I ever bargained for, didn’t I?”

“I guess you did.” you agreed.

“I couldn’t do this if I didn’t believe in it.” He insisted and you knew he was talking to himself again, until his face turned towards yours and the softest look of fondness crossed features turning them almost pained when he said next, “I couldn’t do it, get back up there, if it weren’t for love. The rightness of it but -love, for my boys, my family. For you.”

“I know, and we’re terribly lucky to have your devotion. -And…and I love you, too.” you vowed earnestly, then giggled at the absurdity of this being the first time to admit it.

“I’d had my suspicions.” he grinned back, some of that old cockiness returning along with his vigor as he snagged your wrist and pulled you down beside him.

“Do you know why my parents have gone?” you asked him pointedly, turning on your side to face him.

“To see a movie.” His face was so innocently perplexed you almost lost control of yourself and ruined the game right then with something terribly forward.

“My parents aren’t in the habit of seeing movies.” you corrected him soberly.

“No?”

“No.”

“So where’d they go?” Buck asked.

“Oh they’re at the movies.” you smirked, “But they’ve gone for us.”

Gale’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, if not of you then of his own naïveté. “For us.” he repeated and his voice had dropped an octave in the interim.

“Yes. Something about wanting us to have a goodbye.” you quoted.

“I’m not dying tomorrow.” he pointed his finger firmly in your face and it made you smile to see him so fiesty again.

“No,” you agreed with his prophecy, “but I wanted to give you some incentive to hurry back.”

“Oh?” those lips of his puckered again in confusion before his smarts caught up with him and the pink corner tugged up in mischief, “Ooooh.” he repeated, suddenly very close, his energy, his body, his heart, inches from being one with you. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, oh yes.” you confirmed, slotting your lips against his gently only to be met with eager, desperate need in his own kisses.

Your childhood bed was narrow and the counterpane below you familiar and dear, stitched by your mother in colors you’d once wished to update upon entering maturity. Now, laid out in perfect security and familiarity, you watched Buck Cleven dangle a toe off the abyss before diving in, pausing to caress the blanket beside your hip, smiling to himself.

“What?” you were breathless to know every thought in that dear head.

“My mama made me one, looks lots like this.” his eyes were watery soft yet his smile was glad, his hips narrow and sharp in the cradle of your own, stark hipbones not yet padded by your mother’s cooking pressed you down into the bedding, grounded and right. “You’ve made me real at home here.” he whispered and it pleased you ever so much. “Do I dare take this last liberty?” he muttered as if to himself, even as those blue orbs bore into your own, his fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt and you ached from need long deferred and the weight of remedy lying heavy between your thighs.

“It’s no liberty,” you whispered, catching his dog tags and bringing his face to yours, the size of the man so very apparent now he was hovering above you, “it’s yours.” you watched his pupils blow out at the statement, his ragged breath fanned minty across your face, even angels wield swords. “I’m yours.”

“And I’m yours.” he concluded.

With that exchange of truths something snapped between you, like a ribbon cut, gone was the hesitant cordiality and deference that had marked your courtship. Here now was fierce possession and the gloated satisfaction of those who possess something cherished and are no longer kept from partaking of it, buckles and garters snapped in the quiet room and the rustle of sheets and shirts wafting to the floor made your breaths hitch with anticipation. Precious flesh came into touch with every brush and it was enough for many minutes merely to cling and grasp, imprinting desire into the back and the arms and the throat of each other, like an armor of love against the decay of death.

“Yours, yours.” you swore as his finger played you once more, his breathing hard and rough in your ear, harsh commands for you to say it again and again, reminding you he was fearsome when he wanted to be.

“Don’t look,” he begged when you realized through a haze of joy what he was about, pressing in with all the finesse of a cricket bat knocking at the wicket, hoarse and doe eyed above you, there was only the whine, “please, darlin’ don’t look, just, my eyes, please.”

It was a fumbling entry but nature and pleasure prevailed, as it had since the first couple. And dear boy that he was, he knew you had indulged in a leg up, one or two at least, before he came along but still, he could not bear it for you to see more, not this time. He wanted it just to be the kisses and the sight of your precious face contorting at the fullness of your belly and the force of his hunger for you. All the rest were vulgar details left somewhere under your skirts, and, unbeknownst to him, reflected in your childhood mirror situated on the wall behind his plump arse.

“Oh god.” he had choked out, winded and in awe as his body shook at the feel of you accepting him deep, “You’re a slice of heaven, heaven that’s-that’s what you fee- oh god, oh god.”

He had giggled at the absurdity of this dance and then broke off with a moan that made you giggle in turn and back and forth it went as his body jerked into yours as if he’d no control over it, led quite literally by the part of himself buried inside you. He knew it was foal-like and a poor showing as a lover and he also knew you didn’t care a bit, your eyes wide at the size of the intrusion and captivated by the sight of his newly enlightened face.

“You alright?” he asked urgently, as a sudden and familiar feeling took over his body. The feeling of his brakes giving out, his flaps malfunctioning, the hydraulics failing -it took over him, his spine tingling and his vision beginning to blur and only your punched out gasps and sweet smile wavering on his horizon as the frantic, masculine, natural need to drive in deep enough to puncture your heart seized him and propelled him in you, against you, above you with such force you forgot to breath. For all Egan’s teasing of Buck’s hatred for athletics, the man wasn’t shabby when it came down to it, even after months of internment, or maybe due to that stolen time, his life force seemed to pour out in a torrent and your belly buzzed at the sweet abuse.

“I’m perfect.” you managed at some point, “You’re perfect, so perfect.”

He shuddered at the praise and as if terror struck him then, he was suddenly pulling away and moaning “I should- I shouldn’t -I’m gonna, darlin, I’m gonna lose it-“ and young and sweet and clumsy as anything he rutted against your slick frantically, mouth pressed to yours until the hot gush of his satisfaction spilled out and added to the mind fuzzing feel of him sliding against your little pearl.

You encouraged his shaky limbs to collapse on you, the lanky frame of him a sweet weight, sweaty cheek pressed to your breast, you could feel the dopey curve of his smile against your plump flesh. His hair curled at the nape from the sweat of his exertions, all winter chill forgotten in this bed. War and missions and bombs, too. You petted each other for a while before he raised his head and, gazing at you adoringly, he murmured “thank you.” his nose nudging yours and the steadiest of kisses lingering in the tingly aftermath.

“Darlin?” he broached the subject a while later, cheek again pressed to your chest and his fingers sliding in a hypnotic caress over your thigh.

“Yeah, Buck?”

“Later,” he prefaced, tentative and raw, “when -when the war’s over, and when, well, when I can make my own promises…”

Your heart hammered beneath his ear and you squeezed your legs around him, as if to shore him up enough to say what you wanted him to say so very badly. “Yes?”

“Would you marry me then?” he begged and somehow you knew this, what you had just indulged in, was never going to happen without that hope for him.

Perhaps that’s why it felt so strong, like a communion of souls more than anything else. “I’ve half a mind to make you wait and get my answer when you come back tomorrow.” you teased and his head reared up with a dangerous glint in his eye.

“Don’t you dare.” he warned, grin breaking out despite himself.

The sound of the front latch grating on the door startled you both but he pressed you down when you went to scamper and clothe yourself. “The door’s closed anyway,” he argued in a whisper but you knew he felt as nervous as you at being caught, if not more so, yet still he was a stubborn one. His hand was firm and large clasping your cheek, expression arch and expectant. “Promise you’ll be a good little girl and say yes when I do ask.”

You laughed at his gall, to make you wait, to make you promise when he wasn’t even proposing. But then again -you had said you were his, and he was yours. It had already been done. Sometimes life was as simple as Gale Cleven made it out to be.

“I promise.” you whispered happily, bringing him back down to your embrace and willing away thoughts of tomorrow and flagging him out to danger.

One day he’d come back for good. One you could make promises again. Until then, there was hope.

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed. Feedback is a writers lifeblood, I’d adore hearing your thoughts. 💋

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brainrot-of-a-thot · 5 days

Text

talk shit, get hit.

or, you’ve had enough of that skank/asshole/bastard, featuring: jo togame, hajime umemiya, sakura haruka

a/n: ngl the second I read the request I already had togame’s planned out lmao. I’m also kind of tying in a bunch of different reqs into this one, because I’ve gotten quite a few similar ones of the boys reacting to their s/o getting in a brawl, particularly one that is rather small and petite. I hope this can please all of you~ ps I definitely was not listening to my chick bad by ludacris while writing togame’s part

c/w: fem!reader, reader is described as short and petite, violence, minor gore, language, minor suggestiveness, established relationships

oh, he’d been waiting for this.

togame had to admit, it was a bit of a guilty pleasure of his; there was something so incredibly stimulating about watching those pretty eyes of yours sharpen to daggers, to smell the faint spark of ozone in the air, to see your petite body tense up in preparation for a fight.

it had been building ever since she showed up — togame didn’t even know her name. just some broad that arima had somehow managed to convince to show up at this thing on his arm. even though arima was her ‘date’ for the night, she’d been fluttering around togame all evening, sidling up close to him and trying to grope various parts of his body when she was sure you weren’t looking.

but you were always looking — just as togame was always looking at you.

togame wasn’t even sure why the woman kept blundering about him; he hadn’t reciprocated her advances once, nor had he given any indication that he wanted to. he’d even explicitly stated that he was taken, even pointing you out to her as a means to discourage her from any further contact. but she just wouldn’t take a hint.

the broad ignorantly sealed her fate the moment she became gutsy enough to plop herself into togame’s lap as he lounged along the tattered couch — with a move like that, there was no preventing the event that unfolded next.

the woman screeched as she was pulled roughly off of togame’s lap, landing firmly onto her ass with a loud bang — right at your feet. and, boy, were you pissed.

yells and shouts of startlement erupted around the ori, and multiple people ambled away from the source of the commotion; unwittingly creating a ring composed of human bodies.

togame leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, distantly wishing he’d grabbed a bottle of ramune beforehand so he’d have something to occupy his hands and mouth while this whole thing went down.

“what the fu—” the woman attempted to exclaim, only for her words to be cut off by a swift foot to the jaw.

that was another thing that togame found highly stimulating — you didn’t pull your punches in a fight, opting to use punches and kicks rather than slaps or grapples. it was something togame never thought he’d find attractive in a woman until he met you.

you were completely blinded by fury at this point; you straddled the woman as she flung her arms up to cover her face from your ferocious blows. she was screaming, yelling, and pleading for help, yet you were completely silent — ooh, really, really pissed, then.

“h-hey, now, (y/n), get off of her!” arima yelled, suddenly shouldering his way through the ring of people. togame snapped his eyes towards arima and stopped his advance with a withering glare — the younger boy had a look of horror across his face, clearly wanting to rush in and save his skank of a date but not entirely willing to risk a thrashing from togame for it.

the couch dipped beside togame, and he didn’t even have to glance over to know who’d taken the spot beside him.

“hey, hey, should we stop her? she might kill the chick.” choji said, leg bouncing up and down. the small boy was practically vibrating from the hype of a fight.

togame smirked and leaned back into the cushions of the couch, lacing his fingers together over his abdomen and admiring the sight before him. damn, his girl was a badass.

“nah, not right now. I want to enjoy this for a bit longer.”

in all the time that umemiya had known you, he’d never seen you rise above the level of mild irritation — so, honestly, he just assumed that was your natural temperament.

in all actuality, umemiya had pegged you as a pacifist; you seemed to shrink away from most violence, and your eyes always darkened with sadness when you saw him or someone else sporting bruises and cuts. it was part of what made umemiya fall for you — your ability to care so deeply for others and empathize with them on levels that even he couldn’t comprehend.

but now, umemiya was slowly realizing that everyone has two sides, and all it takes is the right kind of poke to bring out the other one.

and that poke for you happened to be in the form of a group of delinquents loudly badmouthing bofurin.

“don’t be scared of furin, man, they’re just a group of chumps! they’re all pussies, dude.”

“right? I hear their leader is the biggest pussy—”

you moved too quickly for umemiya to even react.

you had left his side in an instant and barreled right into the back of the unsuspecting man, upsetting his balance and causing him to tumble face first to the pavement.

gasps erupted from passerby’s, and all umemiya could do was stare as you straddled the man’s ribs and pulled his arm behind his back — you did so at an awkward angle, twisting it up until umemiya heard a harsh snap.

the man screamed in pain and began to thrash underneath you, yelling out insults and curses. it seemed to snap the other men around him out of their stupor, and umemiya’s heart lurched when one of them advanced on you and reached his arms out. umemiya was just about to spring into action when you jumped up with lightening speed and delivered a nasty right hook to the man that had been looming over you.

he stumbled back and cradled his nose, bright red blood seeping between the gaps of his fingers.

a gruff voice called out “you stupid bitch!” and, shit, this man was burly and much larger than you — and now umemiya’s body moved before he could even process it mentally.

it all seemed to happen in a blur; within seconds the men were sprawled out on the pavement, groaning and clutching varying parts of their bodies — you and umemiya were visibly unharmed, though your breathing was rugged and shallow and there were tears glistening in your eyes.

worried that you’d somehow caught damage in the fray, umemiya rushed over to you and begin to smooth his hands along his body.

“are you alright? they didn’t hurt you, did they?”

you shook your head and blinked away the tears rapidly. when you glanced up at umemiya, your eyes still held unshed tears, but they didn’t fall as you whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

umemiya almost scoffed; the situation was almost hilarious. you — small, bubbly, petite, delicate you — just brawled against two men with the strength of a grown-ass man. and, quite strangely, it was one of the hottest things he’d seen in a long time. so why were you even apologizing?

“you have nothing to apologize for — except maybe nearly giving me a heart attack.” umemiya jested, chest lightening when a small, hearty laugh bubbled past your lips.

“yeah, yeah. I shouldn’t have jumped in like that,” you agreed, bringing a palm up to swipe away a runaway tear. “it’s just — they were looking down on bofurin, looking down on you, and I — I just couldn’t hear them do it any longer.”

umemiya couldn’t help but gush at the seams. even with the strength of a grown man, you were still you — cuddly and petite and small and holdable, and everything umemiya ever wanted.

if he squeezed you a little too hard in his arms, he couldn’t be blamed, could he?

sakura had never associated strength to a particular gender — if you were strong then you were strong, it didn’t matter what you looked like, how you talked, or even what gender you were born too.

but you had never given sakura the impression of someone who was strong. not that he considered you weak, just that he didn’t consider you to be experienced in or impartial to combat. you were a soft, gentle person, who always scrunched your nose at the sight of violence.

you were near constantly reprimanding him for the scuffles he got into (especially when it involved sugishita), and, if possible, you urged him to take a more peaceful route.

so to say he was shocked by the scene currently unfolding in front of him was an understatement — he was positively floored; not just by the fact that you were fighting, and fighting good, but that you were doing it in his honor.

your punches sounded like sturdy whips when they connected, an unbelievable amount of force put behind them considering your small stature — and you certainly didn’t shy away from using your legs, too, repeatedly slamming your foot into the downed man’s ribs as you rained in punches in between.

“if you aren’t ready to back up your words, don’t fucking speak!” you seethed to the man, eyes blazing in a way that absolutely captivated sakura.

just what was this feeling in his chest? was it pride? was it adoration? he couldn’t distinguish that; the only thing he knew was that it had taken root and was sprouting throughout his entire body.

to think… you were so strong.

but, he really should do something; the man on the sidewalk looked close to losing consciousness. thinking quickly, sakura interrupted your next punch by looping his elbow through the crook of yours — only to stumble forward when you attempted to proceed with the strike.

“(y/n), it’s over!” sakura barked, planting his feet into the ground for more power and stability.

“like hell it is!” you grunted back. “it’s not over until this little punk has lost all his teeth.”

sakura really shouldn’t have found that aggression of yours so stimulating — it wasn’t the time nor the place.

“look, just let it go! he’s out now. he can’t even talk anymore!”

you were still struggling against sakura’s hold, thrashing like some sort of trapped animal, and sakura had to grit his teeth and do something he never thought he’d have to do — he used as much strength as he could to quite literally manhandle your body out of the way.

the sudden uprooting caused you to stumble the moment your feet were placed back on solid ground, and you tripped over a protruding crack in the cement. you landed on your ass with a small, grumbled “oof.”

sakura placed himself between you and the unconscious man, blocking your view of him as you blinked up at sakura with wide eyes.

“you done now?” sakura asked, folding his arms over his chest — he knew damn well he looked like a parent scolding a child, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. your breathing was labored and your cheeks were flushed from the exertion, but that fire in your eyes had died down. you licked your lips and nodded mutely.

“good.” sakura grunted. he extended his hand to you, which you took gratefully.

“let’s go get your hands cleaned up. they’re a mess.” sakura suggested as he hauled you to his feet. it was true — your knuckles had been split and he could see bruises beginning to form already. maybe that was a good thing.

without this kind of physical proof, no one would ever believe him when he said you’d taken down a grown man by yourself.

after all, how could sweet, petite, pacifist (y/n), girlfriend of the notoriously violent sakura, ever manage to do such a brutal thing?

maybe sakura would just continue to let people think that; that way, he could keep this new side of you explicitly to and for himself.

I 100% headcanon that the boys of shishitoren throw little ragers every now and then and have even accumulated pieces of furniture (couches, chairs, stools, tables, pool tables, etc) that they use to spruce up the ori and hold these events. like my mind is filled with headcanons of that lmao

#wind breaker #wind breaker x reader #windbreaker #windbreaker x reader #jo togame x reader #hajime umemiya x reader #haruka sakura x reader

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wholoveseggs · 3 months

Note

Hi babygirl!! I’m back yet again 🤭 I’ve got a spicier one for you this time.

Okay so y/n (aka me bc why not) and Rebekah are bffs, talking like usual in her room when y/n one day asks her if she had always been with men only, maybe if she dated women she’d had found love or whatever. Bex says she’s not into women but she has experimented with them before. Elijah and Klaus are in the family room, minding their business when they hear noises. Both brothers have always have a huge ass crush on y/n, Bex knew about it, but they never told her because they didn’t know how to. Rebekah decides to take full advantage of this and fucks y/n, knowing damn well her brothers can hear how loud they are. So from the family room, they follow the noise to Bex’s room & find the two girls scissoring. They watch quietly and jack off but when Klaus moans, both girls hear and quickly turn to the door, catching both brothers redhanded. This obviously leads to a 4some. {kinks: double penetration, voyeurism, breeding, boob play (lots btwn the girls), praise, degradation, choking, and ofc scissoring for the girls}

Ménage à Quatre

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Just a quick little ménage à quatre with Rebekah & the boys...

♡♡ Thanks for the request sweet Aurora! This was so much fun to write & also a bit of a challenge (lots of moving parts haha) ♡♡

5.3k words - Warnings: pure smut, foursome, NO INCEST, girl on girl, fingering, handjobs, oral sex, scissoring, double penetration, voyeurism, choking, lots of praise and a sprinkling of degradation, my Elijah favoritism shining through, Klaus and Elijah being a little rough, Rebekah likes to watch...

PS: This is unofficially extra-extra-extra-extraordinary ~lol

Rebekah's room was always your favorite place in the Mikaelson compound. It was feminine and elegant, and had beautiful pieces of furniture. Whenever you would go to your best friend's bedroom, you couldn't help but admire the view; and the woman.

She was beautiful with her long blonde hair and stunning features, not to mention that gorgeous accent of hers. You had always harbored a bit of a crush, but kept it to yourself, afraid to ruin the friendship.

As always, you were both sitting on her bed, legs crossed and telling each other the latest gossip. And today, you found yourself telling Rebekah about a recent fling and hook-up.

Rebekah was listening intently as she rummaged through her closet, tossing you some clothes she wanted you to try. You always felt a little shy getting undressed in front of her but you got more comfortable over time.

You pulled on a vintage pleated mini skirt from the early 2000s, it didn't even cover your buttcheeks.

You gave Rebekah a spin while giggling, "How do I look?"

She laughs, her eyes gazing over your body appreciatively. "Sexy, as always."

You blush under her gaze and pull off your top, rummaging through the pile of clothes to find a new shirt.

"Try this on," Rebekah suggests, holding up a lacy red push up bra.

"Sure," you reply with a shrug, taking off your own plain white one and throwing it across the room.

As you put on the new bra, Rebekah took the opportunity to admire your half naked figure. You bite your lip, feeling the tension building in the room.

You sat down on the bed, leaning against the headboard, her eyes followed you closely. Your skin felt hot under her gaze and your heart beat faster in your chest.

"I have a question for you, love," she says softly, looking down at her fingernails casually, acting as if nothing happened.

"What is it?"

"Elijah and Klaus are both quite taken with you. I've heard them talk about you before," Rebekah replies. Her voice is low and her eyes dark, she looks up at you from beneath her eyelashes. "Did you know that?"

"Really? I don't know…" You can't stop your eyes from widening in surprise. "But they've never said anything to me…”

"Is it so hard to believe they are attracted to you? You're beautiful. Sexy. Any man would be lucky to have you."

Your entire body feels hot under her gaze and you're unable to form a sentence. But to your luck, you don't have to answer her as she speaks again.

"Or maybe," she drawls, slowly starting to crawl towards you on the bed. "You're into women."

You gulp, paralyzed by her hypnotizing gaze. Before you can think of anything witty to say, you're pinned against her pillows, soft fabric squished under your back.

She pushes her knee between your legs, straddling you in the process. You gasp at her boldness, lust taking over your mind. She leans closer, so close that her lips are almost brushing against yours.

"So which one would you choose?" she asks softly, her breath ghosting over your face.

"Choose?" You repeat breathily.

"My brothers. Which one?" she clarifies, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"I-I" You stop to clear your throat, trying to swallow down the sudden nerves. "Probably Elijah, he seems more gentle than Klaus," you mumble.

Rebekah chuckles, enjoying the effect she is having on you. "He would be thrilled to hear you say that. But," she stops, bringing her lips next to your ear. "I was hoping you'd choose me," she whispers.

It takes everything in your body not to moan when her soft lips move over the sensitive skin on your neck.

Her hands slide up your body before cupping your breasts through the lacy bra. She kneads your flesh firmly before pulling the cups down. Your breasts spill out, nipples pebbling under her ravenous stare.

"I didn't realize it was an option," you breathe.

Rebekah grins at you, eyes flashing dangerously before dipping her head.

"It's always been an option," she husks.

Her attention shifts to your exposed tits, nipples pink and puffy from her touch. She gives them a little smack, knocking the breath out of you.

Her actions instantly cause a throbbing between your thighs as you subconsciously try to close them.

Without warning, she leans down and swipes her tongue along one nipple. Her saliva leaves a cool coating over your skin as she works her way across your chest to give the same treatment to your other tit.

She hums softly against your skin before she bites down lightly, causing your body to arch up towards her, a breathy sigh leaving your lips.

You close your eyes, savoring the sensation of her touch. You want to touch her too, feel her soft skin beneath your fingertips, hear her delicate moans in your ear.

Your hands slowly slide up her thighs, teasing the exposed skin. She doesn't stop you as your hands travel higher and higher, crawling up the slope of her stomach.

She takes your wrists and guides your arms over your head, pinning them against the headboard with one hand, biting her lip in concentration. Her stare is intense, dark and arousing, lust and hunger burning brightly in her eyes.

"Not so fast," she murmurs, kissing the side of your mouth, then quickly withdrawing. "This is all about you,”

Her free hand dips underneath your skirt, reaching the damp fabric of your panties, and pushes it aside. She grins as her finger runs up and down your slit, teasing and prodding your entrance, you let out a soft moan, arching into her touch.

Her lips attach to the skin on your neck, suckling at the tender flesh. She grazes her teeth across the fluttering pulse point, causing goosebumps to erupt all over your body.

You tried to stifle your moans, suddenly becoming aware of your surroundings. There was a possibility others in the house could also hear you. Klaus and Elijah were only just downstairs, and with their vampire hearing they could definitely pick up on your moans, even through the closed door. And that thought, of them listening in on you and Rebekah having sex, turned you on even more.

Rebekah grinned, as if she was reading your mind. She removed her hand from between your legs and moved back a little on the bed, grabbing your skirt and pulling it off before pulling off her down clothes. You feel the cold air hit your now bare pussy as she tosses her garments onto the floor.

"Come here," she said softly, grabbing your hips and pulling you under her.

She pressed her chest to yours, the soft skin of her breasts brushing against your own. Your nipples brushed against hers and you both moaned softly. The two of you gazed into each other's eyes for a moment before capturing her lips.

Her tongue pushed in roughly, exploring every inch of your mouth. You reciprocated eagerly, humming against her lips and gripping her waist to pull her closer.

Rebekah slides her hand down your body and between your legs, and begins to slowly stroke your clit. You arch your back, moaning loudly. She chuckles and slowly pushes a finger inside of you, then another.

She thrusts her fingers in and out of your dripping cunt, curling them in just the right way to make you squirm.

"You're so wet, darling," she coos, licking her lips. "Tell me what you want."

"More…"

Elijah was sitting in the courtyard, book in his lap, enjoying one of the rare moments he had to himself. Klaus was sketching something, and the silence was comfortable.

But their moment of peace was interrupted by the sounds of giggling coming from upstairs.

"Sounds like someone is having a good time," the hybrid muttered.

"Yes, I suppose so," Elijah agreed, trying not to listen to the noises.

They are both a little jealous of Rebekah's bond with you, she seemed to have a connection with you that they couldn't achieve. And while they were both aware that the two of you were just friends, sometimes it was hard not to feel left out.

"Maybe we should go see what's going on," Klaus suggested, glancing at his brother.

"No, leave them be, they are probably just trying on clothes again," Elijah replied, trying to focus on his book. He wasn't actually sure what the girls were up to, but he didn't want to disturb them.

Suddenly there's a loud moan, followed by a giggle, and the brothers are unable to ignore it anymore.

They both looked at eachother then got up, heading for the stairs. They could hear the girls whispering and laughing, the sounds getting louder as they reached the door.

Klaus stopped Elijah before he walked in, pressing his index finger to his lips and listening.

You were flushed and trembling, Rebekah between your legs, teasing your pussy with her tongue.

"Fuck," you gasp, grabbing her hair and pulling her closer.

Rebekah loved this, having you at her mercy. You were so hot and responsive, and she couldn't get enough. She could hear her brothers downstairs, questioning what the two of you were doing and she decided to put on a show.

Torture them a little.

Your breathing grew faster as you bucked your hips, riding her face as she kept sucking your clit, your pleasure climbing higher and higher, the tension building in your core.

"Bekah, I'm gonna-"

She pulled back and looked up at you, her smirk the most mischievous you've ever seen.

"Don't come yet, beautiful," she coaxed you, grinning wickedly. "I have one more thing to show you,"

She grins and leans forward, her breasts pressed against yours, she gently positions one of your legs over hers, pulling your bodies flush against each other. She kisses you softly, her hands tangling in your hair, pulling a little before breaking the kiss.

She takes her hands and intertwines them with yours as she starts moving her hips slowly, gently sliding her wet pussy against yours. You gasp at the feeling and move your hips, trying to match her rhythm.

Your eyes close and your head falls back. Rebekah looks down at you, smiling proudly at the effect she has on you.

"Just like that," she whispers. "Feel me move against you..."

You looked down at the sight of your pussies grinding together, and groaned, biting your lip. It was so erotic, and you can't get enough. The way her clit brushes against yours, sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

The bed creaked beneath you as you moved faster, trying to chase the high that's just out of reach. It was too much, the pleasure building deep within your belly, your muscles clenching tight. Just when you are about to reach your peak you hear a noise coming from the hallway and you freeze.

Both of you look towards the door, waiting for it to open, and sure enough, the knob turns, revealing the intruders. Klaus and Elijah, of course.

"Looks like we have company, love," Rebekah teased, continuing to grind on you.

They both looked a little caught, as if they didn't expect the door to be unlocked. They stepped in sheepishly, the both of them looking over the two of you, their eyes darkening.

"Hello brothers, it seems we have a new toy to play with," Rebekah stated, eyeing them intensely, her smile full of mischief. "Would you like that darling? To be shared between the three of us?"

You let out a soft moan as Rebekah moves her body in a particular way that has your eyes rolling back into your head. When you speak, you almost sound like you are begging, desperate for their touch.

"Yes," you breathe.

You watched Elijah and Klaus eagerly undress, their eyes still lingering on the two of you, hunger evident in their gaze.

"Look at how you're blushing," Klaus teases, chuckling and moving closer to the bed.

"Such a pretty little thing," Elijah agreed, his lips turning up in a knowing smile.

Rebekah continued to move her hips against yours. "I know," she moaned, running a hand through your hair. "You really are beautiful."

You moan louder as Klaus begins running his hands over your exposed body. Elijah soon joins him, moving to your other side, fingers tracing the outline of your lips. He pushes the tips of his fingers into your mouth and you immediately suck them, eyes fluttering shut. You moan around his fingers, pulling them deeper inside.

Rebekah groans, watching you swirl your tongue around his skin, the wetness gathering between your thighs growing, and you whine, rutting against her to create some friction.

"How desperate," Rebekah smirked, slowing down her movements so that the friction isn't enough to satisfy you.

Elijah removes his fingers and moves to kiss you, his tongue exploring your mouth, hungrily tasting you. Klaus touches your breasts, squeezing and playing with your sensitive nipples. You moan into the kiss, arching your back to rub your skin against his calloused fingers.

You are trapped between the three of them, completely at the mercy of their hands and mouths and you’d never been more turned on.

"I want to see her cum," Klaus murmurs, nipping your earlobe, making you shudder.

Rebekah increases the pace, grinding her clit into yours over and over. You mewl in pleasure, bucking your hips, begging for more. You look up and notice that Elijah has already started stroking his cock, his eyes fixed on you.

"I bet her pussy feels incredible, don't you think?" Klaus asks Elijah huskily, pinching your nipple between two fingers and pulling on it.

You yelp from the overload of sensations, your whole body convulsing. You can't hear what Elijah says because Rebekah reaches between your legs and circles her index finger around your swollen clit, pushing you over the edge.

Your pussy contracts, clamping down around nothing, convulsing against Rebekah's thumb. She sucks in a ragged breath, her hips spasming and rocking back and forth, your hips moving together. Your clit brushes against hers and you let out an embarrassing noise of surprise, coming at the same time as her.

Rebekah collapsed, sweaty and shaking. She buried her face in your neck, mumbling your name over and over, her body still pulsating with the aftershocks of her orgasm.

She pulls back, her blonde hair cascading around her shoulders. She smiles down at you and leans in for another kiss, this time it's slow and gentle, filled with affection.

"You look so beautiful when you come," she whispers against your lips, pressing another soft peck on the side of your mouth. "I think I'll let my brothers have a turn with you now," she gently nips at your skin, tickling you, making you giggle.

Then she moves from the bed and sits on the armchair across the room, watching with dark eyes. Her legs spread as she watches the show, hand finding her clit and rubbing it slowly.

Elijah guides you to lay on your side facing him, while Klaus presses himself to your back, their strong hands gliding along your curves. Elijah wastes no time and leans down to kiss you, pulling your tongue between his lips and sucking it.

Klaus bites down on the skin of your neck, leaving hickeys along the area from your collarbone to the junction of your neck.

Their hands wander over your curves. Elijah's hand cups your breasts, toying with the hard peaks. "Such a pretty little slut." His voice is low, and he smirks at the way your body reacts to his words.

You can feel Klaus' hard member pressing against your back, along with Elijah's length pressed against your front.

You palm Elijah's cock through his boxers, stroking him in slow strokes, loving the way he feels and smells. His dark eyes watch you with adoration as he gives a gentle thrust into your hand.

"Do you like that?" You ask, your voice soft as you continue to pump him, occasionally bringing your hand higher up his shaft and teasing his sensitive head.

He nods eagerly, his fingers tangling into your hair, pressing his hips into you with more urgency. You can feel the veins on his cock pulsate under your touch as his breathing becomes erratic and shallow.

Klaus turns you so you are lying on your back between them, your free hand reaching for his cock, mimicking what you are doing to Elijah.

The feeling of having their cocks in your hands at the same time drives you crazy, you love being surrounded by them. They start kissing your neck and shoulder blades, leaving little marks of their own. You feel them getting harder and harder as they rut into your hands.

The heat between the three of you begins to rise, moans, gasps and whispered praises filling the air. They tease your breasts, letting their fingers and lips roam your body, softly caressing your nipples.

Rebekah groans at the sight and starts rubbing her clit faster, her breath catching as she watches you from across the room. You turn your head slightly, your eyes meeting hers, and you bite your lip, your hand speeding up, stroking them faster.

Elijah's hand wanders lower, touching your inner thigh and his mouth is pressing lightly on your neck and jaw.

"Fuck, just like that darling," he breathes, slowly circling your clit with the pad of his finger, pulling a small gasp from your lips, your eyes fluttering closed at the sensation.

"You like that?" Klaus whispers into your ear, biting on your lobe as he does.

You look towards him and lean over, capturing his lips and teasing him with your tongue, keeping up the movements of your hands on their cocks. He takes control easily, taking charge and deepening the kiss.

"Why don't you come sit on my lap," Klaus murmurs against your lips, brushing back the strands of hair away from your face, smiling down at you with affection.

You let go of them and let yourself be maneuvered so that you were straddling him, the tip of his thick shaft pressing against your entrance, teasing your soaked pussy.

Before you can slide onto his cock, his thumb brushes against your slit and gently taps your swollen clit, causing bolts of pleasure to pass through you, you suck in a gasp and start riding his finger, feeling tiny pleasure sparks shooting through your body.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, and he grabs your hips roughly pushing you down onto his cock, causing you to moan as the pleasure of being filled so deep hits you. You lift your hips and his cock slides out a little bit, before you push yourself back down on him. You move slowly, adjusting to his large size. The way your muscles tighten around him makes him groan in pleasure.

Klaus smiled wickedly, his hand coming down to smack your ass, making you yelp and fall forward, burying your head into the crook of his neck.

Rebekah rubbed her clit as she watched you bounce on Klaus' cock, her chest heaving and a desperate expression on her beautiful features.

"Ride him properly now, he's not a particularly patient man," she teased.

Klaus chuckled and smacked you again, harder this time, his other hand wrapping around your throat. You positioned your legs on either side of his and started really moving. Rolling your hips, clenching, using his thighs to your advantage. Each time you pushed yourself down you clenched hard, dragging a long low groan from his parted lips.

"Such a perfect little whore," Klaus grunted as you picked up your pace. His grip tightened around your neck and his other hand squeezed your breasts, twisting your nipples roughly. Your rhythm grew messy, your hips moving in earnest, searching for friction.

Rebekah couldn't tear her eyes away from the scene, watching you fall apart in Klaus' lap had her chasing her high too.

Elijah gazed fondly at the two of you, moving behind you and licking along your back, grabbing your cheeks in his large hands and massaging them before smacking them harshly. You whined loudly, gripping Klaus' forearms tightly, both men chuckled at your responses.

Klaus slowed your movements as Elijah pressed his chest against your back, you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, his muscular arms wrapping around you. He wrapped one hand around your body and traced small circles across your clit. You gasped and ground against him, desperate for more friction, he ignored your frantic pleading, holding your trembling thighs steady, growling commands in your ear telling you to settle down.

Elijah's hands moved over your hips then between your ass cheeks and slowly circled the edges of your tight hole.

"Have you ever had two men take you at once?" he purred, your blush deepened, and you shook your head.

"Well then we have so much to teach you," Rebekah cheered, spreading her legs further apart.

Elijah leaned back and spread your cheeks further, teasing the hole and coaxing a litany of pleads from your pretty mouth. Your hole was tight and sensitive, only the tip of Elijah's middle finger slowly inserted inside, pushing against your walls to the first knuckle. Klaus's hand tightened around your throat, his eyes glued to your face. Elijah applied more pressure, before he began to move his finger slowly in and out of your ass.

"Shit, Elijah," you groaned, the sensation making you squeeze around Klaus' cock.

With Klaus's grip on you, there was very little range of movement and Elijah smirked at your efforts, removing his finger altogether for a moment.

You weren't sure if you were relieved or frustrated by this.

You let out a shaky gasp as his fingers circled the tense ring of muscle once again, your nails digging into Klaus's shoulders harder when you felt a second finger at your entrance, the slight burn adding to the never-ending list of sensations flooding your mind.

"Relax, sweetheart, take a deep breath." Elijah said softly, kissing the side of your neck and letting his breath fan over the sensitive skin.

You couldn't stop yourself from trembling as Klaus and Elijah shared a chuckle at your eagerness.

"Do you like the thought of having two cocks inside you?" Klaus said, letting go of your throat and twining his fingers into your hair instead. "Of being stuffed full, stretched to your limit, our little whore?”

You could practically feel Rebekah rolling her eyes and grinning.

"Aren't you glad you indulged Rebekah now." Klaus pressed his mouth to your cheekbone, nuzzling the skin until your eyelashes fluttered. "Can't get enough, can you love? So greedy."

"Y-yes," you stutter, feeling Elijah's cock brush against your hole.

Rebekah made a pleased noise at your shaky answer, but didn't make any indication to interrupt, instead just slowly circling her clit, watching with rapt attention.

"Tell them what you want, darling," Rebekah asked quietly.

You turned and stared into her blue eyes and Rebekah breathed out heavily at your desperate gaze. "I want you to put both your cocks in me, I...want to be stuffed full, please," you rambled breathily, shutting your eyes and gasping out when your reward for those begging words was Elijah slowly easing his cock into your ass.

Your back arched slightly and you let out a loud moan, Elijah wrapped an arm around you, the other on your hip, gently urging you to move.

"Good girl, I'll go slow." Elijah's voice sent a shiver of want through you as he continued pressing in more of his thick length with an agonizing pace that left you begging and gasping.

"If only Elijah could see your pretty little face." Klaus chuckled, slowly thrusting up as his brother eventually bottomed out with a low groan, slowly shifting inside you so as not to hurt you.

After a moment, Elijah guided you with small rocks of his hips, kissing your neck and running his hand through your hair and cupping your chin. You sigh into a kiss, and with a few slow experimental pumps of his hips, the painful stretching turned into waves of pleasure.

"Oh, she likes it," Klaus laughed deeply, using his hands to roll your hips into Elijah's, guiding your hips with the upthrusts of his own.

You were completely overwhelmed as you let Klaus guide your hips. You moaned softly with each movement from either side. You had never been filled so deep. You could feel your climax rapidly approaching and all at once you wanted nothing more than both their cum buried deep inside of you.

The two of them used their combined strengths to pound you at a faster, harsher pace.

"S - shit. Fuck." Your hands started roaming your own body; touching every part of you they couldn't while on the search for release, you pinched your nipples and Klaus dipped his fingers to your clit, furiously strumming the bud in rough circles.

All three of them watched you squirming in pure ecstasy and grunting as their pleasure crashed. The heat was growing intense, leaving you weak and desperate. They didn't stop as your walls began to tighten, continuing at their hurried pace until you finally fell over the edge, taking them with you.

For a moment, everything went hazy as they filled you with their cum, their moans echoed in the room and they caught your shaking body, murmuring praise and reassurances until you regained your ability to think.

Elijah pulled out of you and Klaus caressed your thighs with his hands, his thumb rubbing circles across your skin. He kisses you gently on your forehead and moves you off his lap, laying you down on the bed.

Rebekah laid down beside you, kissing your cheeks and making you giggle. She looked gorgeous, gently biting at her lip as she admired your blissed out expression. You wanted to make her feel good, since she'd been so left out in this adventure.

You pushed her gently on to her back, kissing her neck and lips. You move down her body, licking and biting and tugging. She threads her fingers into your hair and you shuffle between her legs, sucking on her nipples and swirling them with the tip of your tongue. She moans and bucks her hips.

"Thank you for being so patient Becca," you smirk and wink, sending a flush of color rushing through her pretty face.

Using both of your hands, you raise her left thigh higher onto your shoulder as you lick between her soft pussy lips. You glance back towards Rebekah's brothers, expecting one of them to take advantage of your inviting posture.

Elijah steps forwards and bends over you, kissing your ass cheeks before easing his cock into your pussy, moving with slow, lazy thrusts. His hands roam your ass, murmuring praise and making you blush.

Rebekah groans softly, and that is all the encouragement you need to start focusing your attention on her clit, slurping messily, loving the sounds you are pulling from her. You ease two fingers into her heat, curling your fingers as you thrust and swirl them inside her, drawing out more and more of the erotic symphony she makes.

You can tell she is close by the way her legs are trembling. You pull your mouth away from her core to let out a sharp cry as Elijah picks up the speed. You quickly re-attach your mouth to her pussy and fuck her fast and hard with your fingers. The rapid pressure of your fingers against her g-spot has Rebekah grabbing at your hair and trying to hold your mouth firmly to her clit as she falls apart, squeezing your head with her thighs.

She pulls you back by the hair and lets out a contented sigh, softly moaning as your fingers continue moving deep inside her.

Rebekah giggled at the look on your face, watching you being slowly fucked by Elijah, she could tell you were desperate for more.

"You love to torture her, don't you Elijah," Rebekah hissed, feeling the soft bites your teeth delivered to her tender skin. "You want her to beg for more, don't you?"

"She can hardly beg with your thighs clamped around her head," Elijah chuckled.

You moaned as Elijah's hand tangled into your hair, pulling you up so your face was pulled away from Rebekah's pussy, her wetness covered your lips and chin.

Klaus was watching the scene, stroking himself, smirking as you gasped when Elijah took complete control.

"You are ours," Elijah growled, nipping at your neck. "And we are going to show you just how much we love having our little play thing around."

His lips traced along your pulse-point before nipping his teeth across your flesh, leaving red and purplish bite marks as he went.

Klaus and Rebekah moved closer, both of them sitting up on their knees in front of you. You reached out to Rebekah, your fingers moving back between her legs. Her eyes fluttered closed, her breath catching in her throat. Your fingers found her clit and gently circled it.

Her hips jerked towards your hand as you continued to grind your ass back on Elijah's cock.

You took Klaus in your other hand and stroked his length, the four of you moving in sync, your hands, lips, hips and tongue working in tandem to tease and pleasure them.

There were so many different sensations and you were trembling from the intensity of it all. You had no control over anything, and yet you had complete power over the sensations they were all receiving.

It was filthy, scandalous, but it felt so good.

Elijah sank his cock deeper into you and his mouth trailed kisses along the back of your neck. Klaus, Rebekah and you were panting and moaning, each of you edging closer to climax.

Rebekah came first, she threw her head back and moaned loudly, her body tensed, her muscles clenching around your fingers. You watched as she rode your hand, her cunt pulsing and you moaned with delight as her thighs tightened.

Klaus was next, and he grunted as he came, spilling into your hand. His eyes were glazed over and he grinned lazily.

Elijah picked up the pace, his thrusts growing faster and harder as he approached his own climax. "Going to fill your delicious little pussy up," he growled, his grip on your hips tightening.

He buried his cock inside you and came, causing you to buck and whimper. You felt his release fill you and you couldn't help but groan.

"Such a pretty little thing, so good for us," Klaus whispered as he stroked your hair. Watching your eyebrows arch as you came on Elijah's cock. Rebekah cooed in the background, smiling with pride.

All thoughts evaporated as the sweet tension took over and you let go, moaning long and low as your climax hit.

Elijah pulled out of you, letting you fall forward into Klaus' arms. Elijah smacked your ass, loving the way the light burn added to your fading high.

You giggled softly as Klaus laid you down on top of him, while Elijah and Rebekah snuggled up on either side of you.

All thoughts dissolved with the warm afterglow, and the loving caresses on your heated skin. You buried your face into Klaus's chest, Rebekah massaging your scalp, Elijah gently rubbing circles across your lower back.

"I think she's the best one yet," Rebekah yawned, her cheeks still red.

"Definitely," Klaus replied, closing his eyes.

Elijah murmured softly in agreement, breathing deeply through his nose. The brothers were quickly fading to sleep.

"You guys do this often?" You chuckled, listening to their hearts thump as they calmed down.

"Only occasionally," Elijah admitted sleepily, kissing the top of your head. "For special occasions with special people,"

You smiled contently, pleased with yourself and the three immortals surrounding you.

"So are you saying I'm special?" You teased, giggling at their groans.

"Yes darling, extraordinarily so," Rebekah sighed happily, nuzzling into your shoulder. "Please, don't leave."

"Ever." Klaus and Elijah grumbled.

"Never ever." You sighed contently, drifting off to sleep in the warm embrace of three, perfect lovers.

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

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moonstruckme · 7 months

Note

Hey!! I saw your posts about colour blind!reader and reader with hearing problems and i really love them, I have to wear hearing aids myself so it is really lovely to see some representation!! So I was wondering if you could do remus x reader (or any marauder i don't mind) where the readers hearing aids broke and remus has to help them communicate for the day while they wait to get them fixed? If you aren't comfortable with that don't worry<33

I'm so glad you liked them sweetness, thanks for requesting! Unfortunately I don't have anyone in my life who uses hearing aids that I could consult about this, so I had to rely on the internet and apologize for any inaccuracies <33

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 653 words

“Moony,” James says, cocking his head at you inside Remus’ car. You’re sitting placidly in the passenger seat while the car trembles with bass. “What’s she doing?”

“She likes the vibrations,” Remus replies, carrying a giant tupperware container of chili. Ever since he moved in with Lily, James has taken to “accidentally” making too much of nearly every meal they have so that his friends are forced to come over and take home leftovers. (“I thought the recipe was supposed to be tripled,” James had said over the phone. “You’ve gotta take some off my hands, Moony, it’s gonna go bad.”)

“She’s gonna be shaking the whole block if she turns that up any louder,” Sirius says, following them out of the house. “How can she stand it?”

“Hearing aids broke yesterday,” Remus explains, opening the passenger door. James flinches at the sound that bursts out, and Remus hands you the chili before reaching around you to turn down the dial on the radio. “We’re waiting for the shop to call so we can pick them up,” he finishes.

You wave at the boys, and they wave back with smiles somewhat bemused.

“How bad is her hearing without them?” James asks concernedly.

You go to respond, having read the question on his lips, but Remus sets a hand on your shoulder.

Hold on, he signs to you. This will be more fun.

You roll your eyes, but play along with his game, letting Remus speak for you as if you can’t do it yourself.

“She can’t hear much of anything,” Remus says. It’s the honest truth, though he neglects to mention that you’re still perfectly capable of speaking and also quite skilled at reading lips even without the aids. “Some loud noises or things with a deep pitch, but not enough to make out speech.”

“Huh,” James says. “Well, tell her I hope she enjoys the chili.”

This is great, Remus signs to you. I never get to practice.

You’re mean, you sign back, even as your lips twitch at the corners.

“She says she’s sure she will,” Remus says. “Thanks for saving us some.”

James grins. “No problem.”

“If she really likes vibrations, she should come take a ride on my bike sometime,” Sirius suggests, and he’s smiling, because he knows exactly how Remus will feel about that offer. Remus hates the idea of even Sirius, let alone you, on a motorcycle. “Tell ‘er, Moons.”

You’re already looking at Remus with a mischievous smile.

No way, he tells you. Not happening.

Buzzkill, you fingerspell.

Remus shrugs, and he doesn’t need to sign anything for you to read and what about it? in his expression.

“Ooh, they’re fighting,” Sirius deduces, laughing darkly. “This sign language stuff isn’t so hard to pick up on, is it Prongs? You can get the general meaning from their faces.”

Remus plasters on a smile. Not hard? I’ve been learning for two years, he vents to you.

You give a little laugh. Don’t listen, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. But at least tell him I said thanks for the offer.

Remus turns to Sirius. “She says fuck you.”

You make a sound of offense, slapping Remus’ arm lightly.

“Okay, okay,” he relents. “She said thank you for the offer. But no.”

“It’s crazy,” James says with a little smile. “Everything you’re claiming she says sounds exactly like what you would say if you could choose, Moony.” He glances at you, and you raise your eyebrows like I know, right?

“Alright, we’d better be off,” Remus decides, shutting your door for you and rounding the front of the car. “Thanks for the chili, Prongs. And Pads, your bike is banned to her, so don’t offer again.”

“Buzzkill,” Sirius calls after him, but Remus pretends not to hear, shutting his door.

“Hey,” you say, your voice a bit louder than you’d usually allow. You’re grinning at Remus. “That’s exactly what I said!”

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secretly-tumb1r · 2 months

Text

Roadtrip - hotch x reader

summary: when hotch finally sheds his stubbornness, he decides to drive back to Quantico from New York, in an attempt to rest his punctured eardrum. You couldn’t leave him without company, so you join him.

Warning: 18+ MDNI, making out, alcohol usage

A/n: first hotch fic hope you love it!! Also i cant exactly remember the dialogue between hotch and prentiss at the start forgive me😭. Enjoy lovelies💞

masterlist

(gif not mine all credits to original creator <3)

“Here, for your flight back.” Hotch hands the platter of baked goods to Agent Prentiss.

“What, you aren’t coming with us?” Her eyebrow cocks up in curiosity. “No, I really shouldn’t be flying” He shakes his head. “are you sure? it’s a 7 hour ride back to Quantico” Rossi asks, words chosen carefully. Hotch looks down. “I’ve taken that road before, you’ll see loads of country, beautiful scenery, maybe you should extend your trip a day or two.” Hotch easily picks up what he was putting down, suggesting he should take a rest. “Thank you” “Take all the time you need” Rossi nods at him and gets in the black SUV.

“Hey.. care for some company?” you smile brightly at Aaron and surprisingly, he returns the gesture. “Sure why not, hop in,” his eyes twinkle with happiness at the thought of you two on a roadtrip alone, maybe even in a hotel room. You cheerfully make your way to the passenger door, waving a quick goodbye to the rest of your team.

“Well.. we all know what’s gonna happen in the one day Hotch and y/n will take off” Morgan teases. “I don’t wanna think about it..” Reid grimaces at the thought, earning a laugh from the rest.

—————————————————————————

You had been on the road for quite some time yet. The sky was darkening and you were engulfed by silence bar the quiet radio playing in the background. Your eyes dared to close as your head fell down as sleep was consuming you. Work lately was.. exhausting. Aarons eyes shifted slightly from the road to your tired physique and his heart nearly broke. Seeing you so tired, he made his mind up to pull over at the nearest hotel.

It wasn’t for another 2 miles that his car finally stopped, and you were awakened from your slumber by a soft voice. “y/n” he gently patted your shoulder, “cmon wake up, we’re at a hotel” you stirred in your sleep “mm 5 more minutes” you practically moaned and leaned into his touch. His mouth went dry, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as a he took a big gulp. “y/n, wake up” he said a bit sterner. Your eyes shot open at the familiar voice, embarrassment filling your body. “Sorry! sorry i’m up.” you try to look as awake as possible. “cmon let’s go in we’re both tired”.

Hotch was normally so.. stoic. His face blurred of any emotion except seriousness. You were pretty sure in the one year you had worked at the BAU, you’d never seen him smile. That was awake Hotch, sleepy hotch was merely the opposite. It looked like all attempts to contain human emotion were discarded a few hours back. Sleepy Hotch was more.. human like, it was refreshing seeming him emit feelings like the rest of us mortals.

“I’m sorry sir, we only have one available room right now.” Hotch’s gaze didn’t shift off the guy at the till. “It’s fine. We’ll take that please.” he hands him his credit card. “Are you sure? There’s only one bed in that room” Your breath hitched. You’d either be sharing the bed or one of you would have to sleep on the floor, which you assumed Hotch would take it upon himself to take his place on the floor. “Yeah it’s fine we’ll work something out” he sighs deeply and shoves his hands down his pockets.

Aaron tried to keep his composure at the thought of you two sharing a bed. Of course he knew it wouldn’t happen, he’d have to sleep on the floor, but the thought of it suddenly made him wide awake.

When you made it to the room you realised you had no change to sleep in, so you discarded your pants and bra and pulled your button up shirt that reached your mid thighs down. Stepping out the bathroom while tying your hair up in a low bun, Hotch’s breath hitched in his throat. You were radiating. Even tired and only in a shirt you still managed to look exquisite. His eyes hungrily scanned your body stopping at your exposed thighs, arousal building up inside him. He did his best to look you in the eye as he stared in silence.

“Like what you see boss?” You teased, your eyebrows lifting suggestively. “uh- “ he gulped hard. “i’m gonna go uhm- yeah”. He disappeared in the bathroom. Splashing some cold water on his face, he took his tie, belt and button up shirt off, leaving him in his pants and a undershirt he appeared to wear under his shirt. When he stepped out, you had to keep yourself from salivating. His biceps looked incredibly big, and his pants fit him perfectly. You bit down on your bottom lip, a gesture you only did when you were excited. Hotch knew that. His confidence building back up inside him as he repeated your previous words.

“Like what you see” and he suggestively raised his eyebrows like you did just moments ago. “uh- i- “ He laughed brightly, which took you by surprise because untill a few moments ago, you hadn’t even seen him smile before. Your shoulders relaxed as you slumped down on the bed. “so i’ll uhm- take the floor” he began to say. You quickly interrupted him. “cmon boss, don’t be like that, it’s only one night. I promise i’ll keep my distance” His mouth twitched into a smile, and his heart grew. He didn’t think you’d suggest sharing a bed, but he was glad you did. He joined you in bed, heart beating so hard he thought it would jump out his chest.

You couldn’t help but feel giddy, like a highschool kid with her first crush. His presence was so hard to ignore, and your body moved before your mind as you turned to your side to face him. He was laying on his back looking up at the ceiling, he looked so beautiful. You couldn’t help but admire his features. His dark eyebrows, and even darker eyes, his high cheekbones and his big nose. Something about big noses excited something in you. You had no idea why.

Hotch turned his head to look at you, his eyes scanning your body. Your hands were pressed under the side of your head, and your leg was slightly bent, showing the curve of your ass. He felt his pants tighten as he abruptly got up, walking to the mini bar.

“Would you care for a drink?” You lifted yourself on your elbows to look at him. “Sure why not”. One drink turned into two and two turned into too many, and quickly you were laughing and telling eachother embarrassing childhood stories.

“No i’m not even lying! I licked his teeth!” you said as you teasingly pushed his arm. Hotch, between laughs, said “Your first kiss, and you licked his teeth?” He collapsed on the bed laughing. “What can i say i wasnt the best kisser”. Suddenly, he stopped laughing, his eyes filling with lust.

“Are you still bad at kissing?” His dark eyes bore into yours as you softly said “yes” picking up what he was putting down. “Why don’t you show me and i’ll give you some pointers.” His hand met your cheek, grazing it gently, as he pulled you in, his lips crashing onto yours. He tasted like alcohol and sweetness, intoxicating. His cologne filled your nostrils as you shifted your legs to straddle him, both of your thighs pressed against his ribs, as he cupped your face and tilted your head back, deepening the kiss. His hand moved to your thighs, kneading the soft skin making you gasp. He took the opportunity of you opening your mouth more to slip his tongue inside your mouth. His soft tongue dancing in a slow rhythm with your own. He moved both of his hands to your thighs gripping them tightly as your hands make their way to his hair, pulling it.

Your mouths moved in tandem and unity, a pace that was so calming yet so awakening. You had never felt this way before, and now that you had, you never wanted to back to feeling how you used to.

first part what do y’all thinkkkk?? i know this isn’t very “erotic” but i js needed to see if you guys would like it. Lmk if you do and i’ll post a very very spicy part 2 lovelies. LOVE YOU ALL MWWWAHHHH kisses xoxo💞

#secretly tumblr #criminal minds #matthew grey gubler smut #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotch smut #hotch x reader #dom hotch #aaron hotch angst #hotch x you #hotch x y/n #hotch x oc

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littlegreenfag-archive · 1 month

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Regarding @littlegreenfag

Tldr: Adina, known by the Tumblr urls littlegreenfag and prksoda, has spent the past several years lying about many facets of their life. The list of lies includes, but is not limited to, being half manouche Romani, being Jewish, and being descended from Holocaust survivors.

I never wanted to have to do this. I’ve spent months trying my best to encourage Adina to come clean themself. My methods were not ideal. I should not have used anonymous messages. I used to be friends with them, I should've talked to them openly as their friend. I also should’ve attempted to be less aggressive at times, even though I think it is incredibly reasonable to have felt the way I felt when I was sending some of those messages. I understand and regret both of these things. Unfortunately, since Adina has deactivated @littlegreenfag, I cannot provide links or screenshots to every ask of mine that they responded to, only those I saved at the time. I will do this later, upon request. This post is already going to be enough of a monster without them.

Though the last day has been a complete nightmare, I am satisfied with one thing: Adina came clean about everything, even if not publicly. My worry was always with the though of having to reveal their personal information, as many of the things they’ve lied about would require me to, functionally, dox them. Though it's technically all public, I would much rather that no one who doesn't already have access to this information gain it.

So, why am I writing this post? For those of you who were on Adina’s blog last night, you may have seen this post. I was also able to save a capture of their blog on the Internet Archive. Here is a screenshot that I took around when the post was first published. Apologies for the formatting.

To summarize, Adina begins to by admitting to a small lie, that they were born in Chicago, before admitting that they had been lying about their race. Though it was not present at the time of the blog's deletion, I would like to note that Adina had the phrase "jewish and half-romani" in their blog's bio for a very long time. This phrase was quietly removed after I sent the first anon message telling them that I was aware of their lies, on March 16th 2024. This can be seen on the Wayback Machine, by looking at the capture taken on March 5th, 2024, in comparison to the capture taken on March 24th, 2024.

That is what you may have seen. However, it is not the only major lie Adina has told. After suggesting Adina should turn off anons, I sent them another ask with my blog name visible, telling them that I could tell everyone about the other lies for them, if they wished to log off and be done with it. They messaged me privately, and this is the resulting conversation.

I apologize for the block of images, but I figured it was necessary to include the entire conversation. Here, Adina openly admits to not being Jewish. Adina has spent months receiving social benefits for claiming to be Jewish, and they've even used this claim to support arguments. Truth be told, Adina has one Jewish great-grandfather. How Adina expected me to believe they would know about this without knowing his surname, I will never know. However, I should emphasize that Adina is not Jewish by the standards of any main movement of Judaism. Orthodox and Conservative look for an unbroken line of Jewish women, while Reform asks that you be raised Jewish by a Jewish parent. Adina is descended from a Jewish man who converted to Catholicism and raised his children Catholic.

Regarding the Holocaust claim, I understand hat Adina did not directly address this. I will say that I find it suspicious that they deactivated as soon as I mentioned it, but they technically never confirmed it was a lie. However, with the information that:

The ancestors they mention as being survivors or victims quite literally do not exist and

Their Jewish ancestor was born in the United States well before WWII

I believe it is quite safe to say this was also a lie. My screenshots of their claims come mostly from their Reddit account, which is now deleted.

It is absolutely ghoulish to me to create fake relatives so that you can pretend they were tortured and killed during the Holocaust. All to receive sympathy.

Though there are many, many other lies Adina has peddled, such as being a child of divorce and having a dead biological mother, I don't think any of them matter much in the grand scheme of things when these are the other lies that have been told.

It is also worth noting that this is a pattern of behavior from Adina. As some of you who followed them may know, back in 2019, a blog was created with the intent of calling them out for lies. Frankly, this blog, @prksodalies , is what put me on to Adina's trail in the first place. Though I believe that several of the things Adina was accused of on this blog are downright cruel to accuse someone of without evidence, the fact that there were so many smaller obvious lies made me very uneasy. What specifically made me curious was the post, here, where Adina claims that they are half Lebanese. Obviously, this did not make a ton of sense with the half Roma and half Ashkenazi Jewish Adina we all knew. As it turns out, this was one of the very few shreds of truth from Adina. They're a quarter Lebanese on their father's side, and other than that and a Jewish great-grandfather, are of mostly Polish and German descent.

This being a pattern of behavior, alongside the way Adina behaved in messages with me, tells me that this will likely unfortunately not be the last time this person creates a Tumblr blog with a fabricated life story. I feel immense guilt at the thought that they may continue to swindle and hurt people, and that I will never know or be able to help again.

To everyone who was friends with this person and has been hurt by their actions, I am truly, truly sorry. This has been an absolutely miserable experience for me and I can't imagine it's much different for any of you. If you have questions, I'll be available for a least a few hours. I do not want to share any of their personal information, but I will share what I need to (privately) if some of you need or want more information.

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bookyeom · 2 months

Text

pairing: hoshi x reader word count: 3k warnings: kissing, reader is a bad dancer?

Author’s Note: this fic is part of the Thirteen Valentines event, but can be read as a standalone! also, i would suggest listening to the song listed below to get a feel for the vibe of the fic, but it’s not necessary.

dance with me by sarah kang ft. cody dear

'cause boy when i'm alone with you you make me wanna sway, wanna move

dance with me 나랑 춤출래? i don't care about where or when pick a song that never ends

You and Soonyoung have been stuck in some weird, uncharted territory for months now.

He’s your friend, but he’s also so much more than that. You know it, and you’re pretty sure he knows it, too.

You’d do anything for him, really. So when he asks you to meet him at the studio before you head home so that he can show you something new he’s working on, you don’t hesitate. Even though it’s midnight, and you’re exhausted from hours spent studying in the library – because Soonyoung is calling.

You can hear music as you approach the practice room, recognizing it as the song for the dance he’s been rehearsing for his final exam, so you’re surprised when you don’t see him through the windows at all. You turn the handle on the door to the room tentatively, opening it just enough to peek inside. And you smile.

Soonyoung is lying flat on his back near the wall closest to you, his chest heaving as he stares up at the ceiling. You watch as he marks the movements in small gestures from his spot on the floor, bobbing his head to the beat, as if he’s taking only half a break. You’ve been friends for quite some time now, and you know him well enough to know that his mind won’t settle until he’s perfected what he’s practicing. He’ll rest his body if he has to, if it makes him, but even then, you know he’s always going over choreo in his head. Like right now.

You wait until the song is finished, until there’s quiet, and then you speak. “I was invited here to see some dancing, but it looks like I’m in the wrong place.”

Soonyoung’s head falls back onto the floor as he looks over, a grin spreading across his lips when he meets your eyes. He’s looking at you upside down, and it makes you laugh. Then you’re suddenly not laughing anymore, because within seconds he’s pushed to his feet and is bounding over to wrap you in a warm, sweaty hug. Now, your heart is racing.

“Hi!” He beams, moving back to squeeze you by the biceps.

“Hey, Soonyoung,” you manage.

“I was just taking a break,” he explains, and you nod. “Don’t worry, that’s the first one I’ve taken all evening–”

You narrow your eyes at him. “I wasn’t worried before, but now I am, if you're telling me that’s the only break you’ve taken from dancing in the last four hours.”

He just laughs, letting go of you, and you roll your eyes. “Go sit over there, I’ll run it again. I don’t need you to help with much… There’s just this one part in the chorus where it feels a little stiff. Just tell me if anything feels,” he gestures into the air vaguely, “off.”

You nod, mock saluting him as you take your place on one of the chairs scattered along the wall on the other side of the room.

You watch as he sets up the song again, your cheeks warming when he begins shrugging off his hoodie. He’s turned away, his back and shoulders now on full display for you in the tank he’s wearing, and you can’t help but stare. You abruptly look down at your feet when he turns back towards you, the first beats of the song beginning to play. You look at him again as he zones in, squaring his shoulders and getting into position as he watches himself in the mirror.

You don’t have a single rhythmic bone in your body. Watching anyone dance is mind blowing to you, but especially Soonyoung. He’s incredible. Why he wants your advice on his dancing is beyond you, but he always insists, and you’ve never been good at denying him anything.

And why would you even want to deny this? This — a front row seat to one of the most beautiful works of art you’ve ever seen. Soonyoung takes your breath away all the time, but especially like this.

You’re so caught up in his movements that you don’t even recognize when the chorus hits, when it gets to the part you’re supposed to pay extra attention to. You’re in a trance, only snapping out of it when he makes one final turn, and the song ends. You blink, watching as Soonyoung returns to himself, the performer in him calming with every breath he takes. He lets his shoulders drop, lets his body relax, and then he lets out a loud sigh of relief. He crosses the room and joins you, falling into the chair next to yours, and drops his head onto your shoulder.

You remind yourself to breathe.

“So?” He’s still breathless. You suddenly remember why you’re there, why he asked you to come and what he asked you to do, and you flush when you realize that you were too dazed to really notice if anything was amiss.

“This is your best one yet,” you tell him honestly. Which is the truth, because despite your ogling, you would have noticed if anything was glaringly wrong.

“Really?”

You nod. “You’re amazing, Soonyoung.”

The words come out much softer than you intended, much more honest, and you can only hope he doesn’t read into any of it. He doesn’t say anything for a while, and you’re running out of reasons not to panic when he says, “Dance with me?”

Your eyes widen as he lifts his head and turns to you with a smile.

“What?”

He lifts his head from your shoulder and stands up, holding out a hand for you to take. “Come on,” he grins, wiggling his outstretched fingers when you don't move. “I’ll teach you some of the easier moves.”

You let him pull you up, even as you continue to protest. “Soonyoung, you know—“

“Come on,” he insists, “you can do it!”

You groan. “I really can’t, you know this! I can’t dance, Soonyoung, I—”

“You can’t dance well,” he corrects, and you level him with a glare. He just grins wider as he adds, “but I know you like to! I’ve seen you on our nights out.”

You willfully ignore how his last comment makes you feel, trying desperately not to flush crimson red at his observation. At the fact that he’s noticed these things. “Yeah, so you already know I look like an idiot.”

“You look,” Soonyoung counters, “like you’re having a lot of fun. I’ve seen the way you smile when you’re dancing with your friends.”

You try once more. “No one is judging me there.”

“No one is judging you here, either.”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out, because you can’t argue with that. You know he would never judge you – for anything. You huff, narrowing your brows as you give him a mock glare, but your shoulders fall in defeat. Soonyoung giggles – your favourite sound – and leads you into the middle of the room.

He doesn’t waste any time as he begins to guide you through what he claims is one of the easier steps to master, and to your surprise, you actually kind of get the hang of it. He’s a good teacher, you note, because of course he is, and you feel a bit less anxious with every “good job!” and cheer he sends your way.

You continue to practice the same small sequence for a bit. When Soonyoung places both arms on your shoulders and stares you directly in the eyes, you stop breathing for a second.

“Okay,” he says, “this is the last move of this part, but it’s a bit hard.” He draws his lip between his teeth, and you watch it happen, because what else are you supposed to do? You think he notices, because his mouth quirks up at the side, but he doesn’t say anything except for, “You up for it?”

You don’t think you say yes, but he begins to teach you, anyway. And he’s right – this last move is hard. He continues to encourage you, and you continue to try and try and try, and –

You let out an ungodly squeal when you finally land in the right spot, pumping a fist into the air. “Yes! I nailed that!”

You try one more time, two more times, and it’s not perfect — but you do it.

You don’t even notice the way Soonyoung is looking at you until after you do the move for the third time. When you do, your heart leaps into your throat. He’s got his arms crossed as he smiles over at you, soft, and you think there’s a pink flush on his cheeks that wasn’t there before. You try and tell yourself it’s from the dancing, even though you know it’s you that’s been exerting yourself for the last half hour, not him. He looks so fond, and happy, and there’s something else you can’t quite put a finger on. All you know is that it’s making your entire body warm.

“What?” You ask as steadily as you can manage.

He just shakes his head. Then he abruptly looks down as if shaking himself out of a stupor, a hand lifting to scratch at the back of his neck, and you’re frozen in place. What was that all about?

“High five,” he offers, cutting of your train of thought, and it takes you a second to register what he’s asking for.

And when your hand lifts to meet his, he doesn’t let go.

It all happens at once. His fingers intertwine with yours, his other hand finds your waist, and suddenly he’s so close to you that you forget how to think. You know there’s no mistaking the shakiness in the exhale that leaves you.

“Is this part of the choreo?” You finally manage, voice barely a whisper, and Soonyoung lets out a soft breath.

“No,” he admits, his voice low.

His hand slides around to your lower back, testing the waters further. His other hand falls from yours, his eyes searching for any sign of discomfort before he pulls you in even closer, like he can’t stop himself.

“What about this?” Your voice is so, so quiet.

“No.”

His voice is soft in the emptiness of the practice room around you. Your bodies are flush now, chest to chest, and you think that if he wasn’t holding you up, your knees would buckle. His eyes still haven’t left yours, waiting, though you don’t know for what. His gaze only breaks from yours to wander across your face; your eyes, your nose, your mouth. You can’t help the soft exhale that leaves you when his eyes find your lips, and you know he notices because you can feel his fingers tighten their grip on the back of your shirt.

Moments pass like that, and when you still don’t move away, Soonyoung lets out a soft breath of air that you didn’t realize he’d been holding. His next movements are slow and calculated, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours, his eyes falling shut. Your hand lifts to his chest, and you’re surprised when you feel just how fast his heart is beating.

“Soonyoung?” You question softly after a moment, impressed that your voice even makes it out at all. He responds with an almost imperceptible shake of his head, his eyes still closed.

“I just… Just give me a second,” he murmurs, and your heart is racing so fast you’re sure he can hear it in the quiet of the practice room.

“Okay.”

You have no idea what’s going on. All you know is that you trust Soonyoung with your life, and if he needs a minute — you’ll give him ten. You think that maybe you’re the one who needs a minute, though, because you’re not sure how you’re still breathing, let alone standing upright with him this close.

So close that your breaths are mingling together in the small space that’s left between you, so close that you can count every single one of those beautiful eyelashes as they flutter against his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, and your eyebrows furrow.

“For what?” Your hand moves of its own accord, moving from his chest to find his bicep and squeezing gently to remind him that he’s okay. He lets out a hum, but he still doesn’t open his eyes, and you’re almost worried now.

“I’m sorry if this is weird. If I’m being weird,” he elaborates. “It’s just that — well, honestly, ah,” he seems to attempt to squeeze his eyes shut even more, if that were possible. “I’ve really been wanting to kiss you lately — like, more than usual, which is already a lot — fuck, sorry.” He inhales sharply. “You just looked so cute watching me before, and dancing with me now, so I thought that I… and then you didn’t move away, so I thought that maybe you…” He trails off again, and you’re sure your ears are playing tricks on you.

You move your forehead away from his, and his eyes finally open at the loss of contact. When your gaze meets his, your breath is nearly stolen away from you. He looks terrified as he searches your face, his eyebrows furrowed, and you know him so well that you swear you can hear him overthinking everything. His grip loosens on the back of your shirt but he doesn’t let go, and you can tell he wants to speak again based on the way his mouth opens and closes, but he doesn’t. You haven’t moved, and he doesn’t either, and you know he’s letting you decide how to respond. He would give you all the space in the world if you asked for it, you know that.

You don’t want space, though.

“It’s not weird,” you finally say, a blush spreading across your cheeks as you speak. “I’ve been feeling like that, too.”

Soonyoung’s eyes widen, and he blinks slowly. He takes a moment, processing, and then he starts, “You—”

“I swear all I think about these days is kissing you,” you blurt out, and you’re not sure who’s blushing harder now, you or him.

Before you even know what’s happening, Soonyoung is surging forward to close the whisper of distance that remains between the two of you. Then his lips are pressed to yours, hot and slow and lingering, his hand lifting to your jaw to angle your face so that he can kiss you even deeper. You let out an almost pathetic sounding whimper at the intensity of the kiss, at how warm and soft and good his mouth feels against yours, and he hums in return.

When he pulls away, it takes a second for your own eyes to flutter back open. He’s smiling so wide that his eyes have turned into crescent moons.

“Holy fuck, Soonyoung.” You’re breathless, and you can tell he’s pleased with your comment as his thumb caresses the side of your jaw.

“So much better than I could have ever imagined,” he returns, and you flush. “And trust me, I’ve thought about it a lot.”

You move to bury your face in the space between his neck and shoulder, not caring at all that he’s sweaty and warm. His arms pull you in, holding you close to his chest, and you hum as he gently sways the two of you.

“Now neither of us has to wonder what it’s like anymore,” you say softly.

“You’re right,” he agrees, pulling you back so he can look down at you again. His hands clasp together at the small of your back as he leans forward to teasingly brush his nose against yours. “Now that I know what it feels like to kiss you, though, I’m definitely going to be thinking about it even more than I already was.”

Your arms wind your way around his neck. “Me, too.”

“I mean…” Soonyoung is grinning, smile so bright it could outshine the sun, as he says, “We could just… keep doing it.”

You pull him into you so abruptly that it makes you stumble, falling in a tangle of limbs down to the practice room floor. You wince as you land on Soonyoung, but he’s laughing as you roll off and onto your back beside him. You throw a hand over your eyes, and you can feel it as Soonyoung lifts onto his side next to you. A hand moves to trace patterns on your arm, and you can’t help the shiver that courses through you.

“You didn’t hurt me,” he murmurs, and you can still hear the smile in his voice.

“I know. I’m just… Embarrassed.”

Soonyoung’s fingers halt their motions as he finds your hand and brings your arm away from your face, entwining his fingers with yours. He continues to play with your fingers, his body firm against your side as he leans against you. “Why are you embarrassed?”

“I was trying to be sexy and I literally tripped us, Soonyoung. This is why you’re the dancer and I’m not.”

Soonyoung’s mouth moves slowly, almost painstakingly slow, as a smile takes over his face.

He doesn’t say anything, and you’re about to let out a whine because you’re even more embarrassed with him looking at you like that. But he sits up, bringing you with him. The soft smile on his mouth grows, and grows, and grows, until his grin has widened so much that it’s taken over his entire face.

“You like me,” he whispers, and you can’t help the giggle that tumbles past your lips. You flush, giddy over how giddy he is, and you nod.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I really, really do.”

A/N: thank you so much to everyone for all the love on the other fics so far :) Sorry a new fic took so long, there's been a lot going on in my life that I did not foresee lol. Thanks for waiting xx

Please please please reblog if you can to spread the word, and check out the Thirteen Valentines masterlist! If you want to be added to the taglist, send me a message :) Your kind comments and reblogs don’t go unnoticed, I promise.

Taglist: @waldau @wqnwoos @gyuminusone@savventeen @eoieopda @minisugakoobies @wheeboo @lvlystars@darkypooo @christinewithluv @bella-l @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @iluvseokmin @seohomrwolf

(Strikethrough means it wouldn’t let me tag you, I’m sorry!)

#hoshi fluff #hoshi angst #soonyoung fluff #soonyoung angst #seventeen imagines #seventeen imagine #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #hoshi x you #hoshi x reader #ksy x reader #soonyoung x reader #thirteenvalentines #my writing #ksyfic

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erenthology · 7 months

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eren spraying his cologne on your coat before you leave for work cus he's possessive like that

whoever sent this, you’re my soulmate. I added a small drabble btw <3 also, rando dave is back

Possessive!Eren who doesn’t laugh when you yell him the “funny” story about how Dave spilled coffee all over himself during the todays meeting..

Possessive!Eren who tries to compete by telling you all the funny jokes, wiggling his eyebrows and acting like a clown for you to laugh

Possessive!Eren who wants to keep all your smiles to himself, who hyper fixates on your hobbies to be able to send you memes and anything you ask for. You should be able to rely on him for anything.

Possessive!Eren who shows up at your work to bring you lunch, but it’s actually to show everyone that you’re taken.

Possessive!Eren who gets mad when you tell him about your co worker who’s broke up with her boyfriend, casually conversing that breakup rates have increased significantly and that couples usually end it within the first 5 years. The very idea makes his eyes flash red for just a second. “Not ours, you can count on that.”

Possessive!Eren who gets worried when you’re late from work. (Mind you it can be anything from an hours to 15 minutes) and starts freaking out. After receiving a text that you’re struck in traffic, he hangs up the call to your office and patently waits for you to arrive home.

Possessive!Eren who’s eyes flash murder when you come home crying after work. He coddles you for the rest of the night and tries to convince you to quit.

Possessive!Eren who has a special folder made for times you’re not at home. He follows the routine of opening your drawer and picking out one of the thin materials you like to call underwear

Possessive!Eren who randomly sends you texts in the middle of the day, “hurry home so I can eat your pussy, I’m hungry”

Possessive!Eren who gets worried when he’s not around you because as long as he’s there, people would know you’re his. He makes sure of it.

Possessive!Eren who always asks you to take time off for a vacation. you sigh, “what would we even do?” He grabs you by your chin, “bike rides, I’ll take you to the beach and feed you, movie nights, I’ll eat you out, fuck you silly, you know, that type of stuff.”

Possessive!Eren is the most demanding man you have ever met. He barks orders like a drill sergeant but never at you, never. His only demand is that you stay close to him so he can keep his eyes on you.

Drabble<3

“Eren, are you listening to me?” No, he wasn’t. You’re wearing an exceptionally pretty outfit today, and he’s overcome with the irrational urge to lock you in the bedroom and keep you for himself only. He swallows and responds, “yh, what’s up?”

You roll your eyes, “I asked if this looks good?” you give him a twirl to showcase your outfit. “I’ve got a meeting with dave first thing and I want to make a good impression. you know how judgeful they can be” you sigh.

At this, his ears perk up, dave? “Who the fuck is dave?” he puts his coffee mug down and shifts his entire attention to you.

Deadpanning, you explain to Eren. “my coworker dave…the one presenting the project we’ve been working on.”

Eren doesn’t pay much attention to what you’re saying. He only remembers one part and makes a beeline for it. “What was that about impressing him?”

“well, obviously I need to make good impressions in the office.”

He’s been staring at you for a while now without saying anything. He looks lost in his thoughts today, you think.

It was hard enough with the outfit itself, he thinks. And now you’re talking about this ugly dave dude? Eren takes his time to calm himself and avoid a fight. “You should wear a jacket with that”, he suggested and goes to get his jacket.

The pieces connect in your mind, “Eren, are you acting jealous again?” you yell for him to hear as he rushes to the hall. He comes back with your fall coat in his hand.

“Hey, I’m not the jealous type.(🙄) But what’s mine is mine.” he says and opens the coat for you to put your arms in. You’re immediately surrounded by the fresh scent of his spicy cologne. His significant smell. The aromatic smell fills your nostrils and overwhelms your senses.

You turn to face him and gets granted with with a wink accompanied by sly smile. “Yh, much better.” he says, more to himself than you. You’ve never felt so protected before you met Eren, even if it isn’t always rational, his primal instincts to keep you to himself makes you feel special.

“Let me know if anyone gives you trouble, alright?” You nod your head, standing somewhat dumbfounded. His heart aches at how adorable you look, increasing his illogical demand to ask you to stay and home and quit your job. He wants to provide for you and keep you all for himself, he’s selfish like that. Instead, he grabs grabs shoulders and begins walking you out the door with an arm around you. He always said you looked extra good around his arm.

“Give me a kiss” he requests, craving your attention like the man-child he is. So you pucker your lips and and give him a chaste kiss. As you pull away, he pulls you back with one hand on your waist and the other cradling through your hair, kissing the hell out of you.

You’re left breathless as he draws back, then goes in for yet another peck before taking your hand and walking you to your car. He’s previously insisted and borderline forced to drive you, but is now comprising, which is rare for Eren.

As you drive to work, surrounded by the smell of your boyfriends cologne, he head back to the kitchen where his phone is and starts stalking the shit out of your companies instagram for the “first”time

He just wants to be aware, nothing wrong with it, he thinks as he then opens a certain album your pictures and videos he’d rather die than let anyone beside the two of you see, it’s his holy shrine.

“Fuck..” he breathes and rubs one out to the sounds of your moans with his face buried in your pillow. He can’t wait for you to get home again.

#just in the clouds for eren #asks #Eren’s girl #my works #eren smut #attack on titan eren #eren #eren jeager x reader #eren aot #eren fanfiction #eren jaeger #eren x reader #eren yeager x reader

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ozzgin · 9 months

Note

HIIII I was wondering if I could request an Inuyasha x Reader lime of the reader trying to explain to him that in the modern era people have sex for *fun* not just to have kids?? I think it’d be really silly lol!! If not that’s ok :3 take your time and take care of urself <333

—⛓️ (chain user anon)

It’s something I have considered given the amount of kids that popped up in the sequel, haha. I shall do my best, I’ve never written limes before so I’m curious to see if I can actually expand on more provocative topics. Thank you for the suggestion!

Inuyasha x Reader Headcanons

Featuring Inuyasha and a reader showing him the ways of casual intercourse. This is a lime so expect vaguely NSFW content.

You’ve been dating for months now and yet Inuyasha has barely touched you, save for the occasional kiss. Which you partly understand, you wouldn’t expect him to aggressively start groping you in front of the others, but even when you’re alone he keeps a certain distance and it confuses you greatly.

It doesn’t help that he’s a massive tsundere and getting him to talk about his feelings is a Herculean task. He’ll blush, avoid eye contact and just bark short, vague responses in hopes that you’ll stop pestering him.

You reach the point of exasperation when you ask him point blank if he’s just not attracted to you, in which case why even bother dating? His eyes widen in shock, completely taken aback by your statement. Was that what you’ve been thinking? He vehemently denies it but you don’t back down without an explanation. Finally he mumbles a barely audible reasoning. “I just don’t want any kids right now.” Now it’s your turn to stare. “Wha- How is that related to anything?”

It dawns on you that Inuyasha associates sex solely with reproduction. It’s not like he’s had any context to be provided a different view. You hold back the snicker that was about to escape your lips, as you don’t want to embarrass him any further. You find his archaic beliefs cute. Thankfully you’ve been prepared for quite some time now, so you quickly reassure him that it is, in fact, entirely possible to avoid offspring while still having fun. As you expand on your explanation you pull out the small box of condoms that you’ve been keeping in your backpack.

He doesn’t really understand the object you’re showing him so you decide that a concrete demonstration will clear up any confusion. Although you have to wrestle him onto the ground to convince him to take his clothes off. There are five stages of grief and you wonder if there’s a similar concept regarding someone too embarrassed to have sex. Refusal to undress, anger at being seen naked, bargaining to leave it for another time - and this is where it takes the turn - curiosity about giving it a try and finally, acceptance.

You don’t have to struggle too much, truth be told. Your body is the final argument and he can’t say no to the sight. Within moments he’s biting your collarbone and panting for more.

Once he gets over the initial shyness he’s almost like a dog in heat. He’ll constantly find excuses to temporarily separate from the group and have his alone time with you. He’ll insist on following you trough the well and to the store so he can proudly stand next to you when you restock on condoms. “You bet I’m the one hitting that” he thinks with a smug expression. Dear Lord, you’ve created a monster.

Though sometimes after your special time together, as you rest your head on his chest, he will lazily daydream about leaving the safety aside and actually starting a family with you. His ears twitch excitedly at the thought. And then a new idea strays away from it: can he still do it with you if you’re pregnant?

#inuyasha #inuyasha x reader #inuyasha headcanons

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writing-for-marvel · 9 months

Text

Quarantine

[He’s Hazardous To My Health Series]

Paramedic!Bucky Barnes x Resident!Fem!Reader

< < PART 7 | Series Masterlist

Summary: When you get sick at work, Bucky ensures you’re well taken care of.

Warnings: strictly 18+ due to the AU, reader gets sick at work and collapses, Bucky being worried and an absolute sweetheart while taking care of her

Word count: 1.3k (I know this is just a short one but my plan for the next part is quite long)

A/N: so I’ve been sick in bed all this week with covid and the only thing I’ve wanted is Bucky taking care of me. Banners by @vase-of-lilies

Main Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

Bucky takes the stairs two at a time.

He’s treated many patients in the field who have tripped on steps doing exactly what he is right now, but he doesn’t care.

All he cares about is getting to you.

Bursting out of the stairwell at level two, Bucky searches for the room Wanda quoted to him over the phone. He’s never been to this area of the hospital before, all the corridors and nurses stations look the same, but as soon as he spots her characteristic red hair, he feels respite from the anxious constriction in his chest.

Wanda thanks him for coming so quickly, as if the news that you were ill, collapsed during a shift and now in a hospital bed of your own didn’t send him into a panic and have him rushing here like his life depended on it, before guiding him to where you are.

The room is dark, curtains pulled all the way over the spacious windows, and serenely quiet other than the whizzing mechanical sound coming from the infusion pump connected to the IV inserted in your arm.

You groan when you recognise that it’s Wanda and Bucky who have entered the room.

“Wan, you didn’t have to call him.” Bucky can immediately tell, just by the sound of your unusually hoarse voice, that you’re clearly not well.

“He’s your emergency contact and you are in no state to work nor drive yourself home, so yes, I did have to call him.” Wanda proclaims in a stern, slightly exasperated tone which indicates to Bucky she likely had this same conversation with you multiple times before he arrived.

“Bucky, I’m okay, you don’t have to be here.” You try convincing him, though you’re not very compelling when your sentence ends with a hearty coughing fit.

“If you were fine you wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed coughing up your lungs.” Bucky comments as he makes his way over to beside your bed. You look completely fatigued, struggling to even keep your eyes open.

Bucky’s never seen you look weak before, and the clench of his heart at the sight strongly suggests he doesn’t like it one bit.

“I just need a little rest and some IV fluids, then I’ll be fine to go back to work.” Your words almost sound comical with how raspy and fragile your voice is, but Bucky knows your insistence is a testament to your dedication to your job. “There’s really no reason to be worried.”

“I’m always worried about you.” Bucky mentions in a low tone, for your ears only, before placing a gentle kiss to your burning hot forehead. He takes your hand, your skin clammy against his. “Baby you can’t treat patients when you’re like this, you’re at risk of infecting them. Let me take you home.”

You concede as you lift yourself onto your forearms, sitting up in the bed, not without a dry cough being forced from your lungs by the effort. Bucky winces in response to the gravelly sound and the pain twisting in your face.

He wishes he could take it all away. All your suffering, all the sickness. On the job, Bucky is always able to provide assistance - relief from pain, to reduce bleeding, to ease anxiety. But for the one person in this world he cares about the most, he’s subjected to watching her suffer.

“Could you help please?” Holding out your hand where the catheter for your IV is inserted, you look up at him with helpless, wide eyes which makes Bucky smile and his heart flutter in his chest. It’s always nice to be needed.

Sanitising his hands and pulling on latex gloves, he places a sweet kiss to your knuckles before working to remove the IV, aware of your gaze on his every move.

“There you go darling, all done.” Bucky declares with a kiss to your nose, keeping pressure on your hand with his thumb to stop any bleeding before being able to tape a cotton round to it. “Ready to go home?”

“With you, always.”

Bucky protectively keeps his arm around you the entire way down to the staff parking until buckling you in the passenger seat of your own car, cautious knowing you had a moment of lightheadedness earlier today.

You rest your head against the side window, arms curled around yourself as Bucky begins the short drive to your place, turning the heating up to ensure you don’t get cold now that you are out from under the blankets Wanda had acquired for you.

“So… you made me your emergency contact.” Bucky broaches, having previously been unaware of this fact. He contemplated the reason Wanda called him today is because she knows the two of you are in a relationship, but warmth blooms in his chest at the notion you have officially designated him as the person you want to be contacted in a crisis.

“I changed it about a week ago. It was my mom, but she lives out of state… and I thought you’d probably want to know if something terrible happens to me.” It is probably such a minor thing in a normal relationship, just something which sits unutilised in an employee file, but to Bucky, who works in a profession where emergency contacts are critically important, it feels like an honour bestowed upon him to be appointed as yours. “Is that okay?”

“More than okay, darling.” Bucky smiles as the hand he is not using on the steering wheel comes to rest on your thigh, squeezing gently. “If anything happens to you, I wanna be the first to know, good and bad.”

With a snuffle of your nose and the best smile you can muster given your current energy levels, you interlace your hand with his and say “you’re always the first person I want to tell every piece of good news to, Bucky.”

When you arrive home, the first thing Bucky does is lead you straight to bed and tuck you in with two different blankets and the stuffie he won you during your date to the local carnival which visited town last week.

He gathers all the supplies you’ll need for the rest of the afternoon - cold and flu tablets, a water bottle, tissues and throat lozenges, making sure they’re all within reach of your place in bed. Bucky gently washes your feverishly warm face with a cool, damp face cloth, and insists you take a drink of water to prevent from becoming dehydrated.

Then, when you start to say goodbye, for whatever reason thinking Bucky is going to leave you here to be sick on your own, he pulls his Henley off, and climbs into bed behind you.

“No, Bucky…” You whine, feebly attempting to push him away from lying beside you in bed, which is a new and strange experience for Bucky.

“I think the fever has made you delirious, darling.” Bucky chuckles, taking your hand against his bare chest and covering it with his own as he snuggles even closer next to you.

“You’re gonna get sick too if you stay.” Bucky kisses your chapped lips, to prove that he’s not afraid of being with you whilst you're unwell.

“Baby, I had my tongue down your throat last night. If you’re already sick, I’m bound to get sick too.” Even if he weren’t already fated to contract the same illness as you, he’d take that risk just to fall asleep beside you.

You provide no more protest, surrendering to Bucky’s warm embrace and quickly falling into a deep, recuperative sleep. Bucky watches as your chest rises and falls, treasuring every moment he gets to spend by the side of the woman he loves, even if you are slightly sweaty and phlegmy.

When you both wake the following morning, still tangled in each other, you have matching runny noses, sore throats and dry coughs. The following week is destined to be spent curled up in bed together and taking care of one another. At least you don’t have to suffer alone.

Part nine coming soon

Be added to the taglist here

He’s Hazardous To My Health [Paramedic!Bucky Barnes] Taglist: @lavenderpenumbra @crazyunsexycool @eralen @buckbuckyoongs @blackwidownat2814 @crayongirl-linz @ozwriterchick @desert-fern @misshale21 @chalesleclerc164 @rookthorne @janineb86 @emmabarnes @scarletbich @princezzjasmine @thebuckybarnesvault @doasyoudesireandlive @solitarioslilium @iamfandomwasted @tanyaspartak @pop-rocks-818 @dumdidditydumdoo @missvelvetsstuff @kayden666 @amiimar @katheryn1 @safew0rd @kentokaze @thewackywriter @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @badasswlthafatass @loveoldmenlikelana @00cmh @pointless-girl @honeyglee @nerdxacid @ashhsage @prettylittlepluviophile @otomefromtheheart @sjsmith56 @mandijo17 @lokidokieokie @oceansandblackhearts @rebeccapineapple @soorwellystan @excusememrbarnes @lofaewrites @snapcapquartet

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justtwotired · 6 months

Note

Hello ! I hope you’re doing well. I was wondering if I could get an ask for Sam and Colby. Maybe reader (female or gn neutral pronouns are fine !) is invited to go with SnC exploring an abandoned place but she’s been struggling with body image (I’m kind of in the slumps rn :/) so she’s cut back on food. Through the trip they notice her lagging behind and getting tired easily. She ends up fainting due to exhaustion and lack of food and they take care of her when she comes to. Preferably Colby pairing and lots of angst ! Only if your comfortable writing about this thank you xx 🫶🏽

Why hello there, I am so sorry for posting this rather late, I wrote a part of it, then got busy and forgot about it and just finished and edited it, so hope it’s alright!

I really like this request! Mostly because I can really relate to reader, this is always chill because then I can write five that actually make sense ya know.

I did write some angst but not LOTS, because angst is one of those things I still find difficult to write, but I hope you still like it<3

“What’s up guys it’s Sam and Colby!” Colby started. “Today, we are at an abandoned manor in the woods right behind us. It is quite a walk, but I think we will survive!” Sam told the camera.

“Also, we brought someone with us,” Sam then pointed behind him where I stood rather awkwardly, wearing a huge hoody that I may or may not have stolen from Colby’s closet.

“This is Y/n, you guys know her of course, we had lots of questions to bring her back to the Chanel, so we did of course.” Sam explained before turning the camera fully on me.

I sucked in an unnoticeable sharp breath. Did I look alright? Was that pimple I hid under makeup this morning still invisible? Did the hoody hide my body enough?

“So, N/n, are you excited?” Sam asked and I gave the camera a genuine smile. “I am actually, this place is not too far from my home town and I’ve been wanting to go here for a while, but I didn’t want to go alone, so now I have these two idiots to come along.” I joked and Sam pointed the camera at Colby.

“Did you hear that, dude?” He said in fake sadness. “I thought you where coming with us?” Colby said also jokingly hurt. “I’m still stuck on the fact she called us idiots.” Sam said and pointed the camera at himself.

“Seems like we have to change the channel name to ‘Y/n only’ because she is taking over.” He said and I chuckled. “Oh yeah, definitely, and I’ll give them weekly uploads instead of your monthly shit.” I said and Colby grinned.

“What you’re going to the conjuring then? Staying a week there?” He asked and I pursed my lips. “Well I didn’t say that.”

The two laughed and Sam shut off the camera. “Heading to the forest, then?” He asked and we nodded. Suddenly my stomach made a growling noice and they stopped.

“We could get something to eat first?” Colby suggested and I shook my head. “Nahh, it’s fine, I’m not that hungry really,” I waved it off and kept walking.

“Are you sure? You haven’t eaten breakfast yet and it’s almost two in the afternoon,” Colby said and I just chuckled.

“I’m fine, really,” I smiled at him and kept walking, not missing the look the two of them exchanged before following me.

Truth to be told, the last time I ate would be the crackers from the day before, as I had just a bit in the afternoon after almost passing out.

Colby walked in the back, having taken over the camera from Sam and he recorded as we entered the forest.

I knew the walk would be about 20 minutes, so it wasn’t that bad, but I felt myself stress out when I became light headed.

Oh no, please, please not now.

Passing out has become normal now, the lack of food I’ve been consuming has been taking a toll on me. I never tell anyone, it’s my little secret, I didn’t need them to worry about me or feed me lies of how I was ‘beautiful’ because I know I’m not.

I stumbled and almost fell but steadied myself. “You alright there?” Sam turned around with a small grin and I gave him one back. “I’m fine,” I lied and we kept on walking, Cole shutting the camera off.

When the building came in sight he started it up again, and of course, as if fate had planned it, I fell and I noticed my consciousness slip away.

The last thing I felt was two arms around my waist and I was out.

I heard someone calling my name from afar and my eyes slowly opened.

“Oh, thank god, Sam! Sam she’s opened her eyes!” Colby called out. I slowly sat up. I was laying in the grass and I noticed Sam jogging over with his phone in his hands.

“Are you alright?” I looked at Colby who had a concerned look on his face and I nodded, trying to stand up but he put his hands on my shoulders.

“Woah, lets keep sitting down for a minute, love,” he said and I sat, rubbing my head. “How long was I out for?” I asked and Colby looked at his watch.

“Five minutes at least.” He told me. “Yeah, I tried calling for help, but there’s no service,” Sam said and I gave him a weirded out look.

“What help did you try to call?” I asked and he shrugged sheepishly. “Your mum, I thought maybe this had happened before,” he said and I sniffed.

“It happened a few times, but my mum doesn’t know, and don’t even think of telling her,” I said and the exchanged glances.

“You know what’s happening then?” Colby asked and I sighed. “I haven’t eaten in a moment, that’s probably it.” I confessed and Colby sighed.

“I told you that you should it this morning- when is the last time you ate?” He questioned. “Uhh, yesterday, some crackers,” I said and he clenched his teeth slightly.

“A decent meal,” he clarified and I bit my lip thinking back. “Tuesday, I think?” I said a bit uncertain. “That’s five days ago, Y/n!” He scolded and pursed my lips.

“Sorry,” I said in a small voice. Sam got his backpack of his shoulders and started to rummage trough it, pulling out an apple.

“Eat this,” he said and I took it from him, frowning at it a bit. “N/n,” he said and I sighed taking bite.

They made me sit for about ten minutes, and demanded I tell them why I wasn’t eating. With a bit of reluctance, I told them about how I felt, how I hated how I looked and that I felt like I was to fat.

The next twenty minutes where spent with them telling me all the things they liked about my look and my personality, giving me reasons to eat and demanding we go to a restaurant after this so I could eat a decent meal.

They also demanded I ate a desert, encouraging me to continue eating and not worry about my looks, because in their opinion, I looked beautiful.

At the end of the conversation, I had tears in my eyes, and I wiped them away, and I reassured them that it’d be fine to still film the video, as we all wanted to continue.

#sam and colby x reader #sam golbach x reader #sam golbach #sam and colby #colby brock x reader #colby brock #xplr club #xplr

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mrsaltieri-real · 4 months

Text

First Love, Familiar Love (Billy Loomis x Fem!AFAB!Reader)

Words: 2.8k

Warnings: language, smut, oral, (fem receiving) fingering, p in v, creampie, cheating, (kinda) first love, semi-public sex, light dirty talk, pre-established toxic relationship.

A/N: I’m so happy to have (finally) written my first full length Billy Loomis fic! I’ve done a lot of Ethan and a fuck ton of Mickey, how dare I have taken so long to write for the fine as fuck OG! Going to dabble in some poly!Ghostface soon which I’m very excited about but for now, sit back, relax and I hope you enjoy!

@darklylucid I have a feeling your Billy loving self will get a kick outta this for sure ;)

You’d never given much thought to relationships since your last. The thought of never having another first filled you with an undeniable sense of unease. No more first kisses, first date, first fuck, what was the point?

Why commit yourself to a long life of repetition when you could simply carry on having firsts? Especially when you couldn’t have the person you’d already had your firsts with anymore.

Billy was someone you hadn’t paid much attention to, not since the two of you had ended your very brief yet even more intense relationship a few years back.

The two of you were young, stupid and each other's firsts. It wasn’t a healthy relationship by any means, and it ended as such. Even though you knew it was definitely for the best, you knew there was a part of you that didn’t think it was over. Not yet.

He was hot, undoubtedly having grown into himself over the years when you’d stopped paying attention, but he had also grown more serious. He constantly looked like he was deep in thought, gnawing on the tip of his pen in class whilst clearly not paying attention on the few occasions you’d find your eyes drifting over to him, seeing him completely lost in his own mind.

You didn’t run in the same social circle anymore, inside of school or out. Although that being the case, your friend and colleague at the video store, Randy most certainly did.

It never made much sense as to why Randy would hang around with the likes of Billy Loomis. Other than their shared affiliation of horror movies, they seemed to merely tolerate each other, if that. You were met with the angry rambling of what Billy had done that day from Randy, listening to the boy curse about how much of an asshole he was.

How could you possibly begin to forget about Billy when he was brought up practically all of the time?

“If he’s so much of an asshole, stop hanging out with the guy.” You’d suggested after a particularly long rant from Randy about him, mindlessly drumming your fingers on the counter.

Randy scoffed, pulling the red vine he was chewing on out of his mouth before replying, “I’ve been friends with the rest of them for years, I’m not just gonna stop hanging out with them because Billy Loomis is a fucking asshole.”

You rolled your eyes, sarcastically holding up your hands in surrender. “Fine, fine, whatever. You go home and chill the hell out, I’ll close up.”

Randy hopped down from the register, patting you on the shoulder as you said goodbye.

Being here by yourself was always better anyway. You liked to clean and organize, finding order in the never ending chaos, but it never surprised you just how messy the store would get by the time closing rolled around. The popcorn machine Randy had recommended to the manager like an idiot needed a thorough deep cleaning, kernels were scattered everywhere, tapes were placed in the wrong section, some of them somehow seemed to be missing altogether.

Fucking mahem.

You heard the tingling of the bell above the door as it swung open. “Sorry, we’re closed,” you called out, not bothering to look up from your sweeping.

The door clicked closed quietly and you briefly paused before glancing up.

Billy stood leaning against the counter, his fingers drumming lightly against the withered old wood. He was quite clearly relishing in your confused expression as you looked back at him with cautious eyes.

“Hey… Billy.” You said, eyeing him briefly. “Randy’s gone home.”

“Oh, I know. I was waiting for him to leave.” Billy picked up a tape that was laying beside him, flipping it over to read the cover.

Your confusion and curiosity continued to grow, but it turned into annoyance when you realised you’d actually have to continue to talk to him.

“That’s kinda creepy.” You muttered, letting the broom rest against a glass case. “We’re closed.” You said again, pointing at the clock.

He didn’t look at it, his eyes flickering up from the case to favour resting on you instead.

“Are you fucking him?”

You looked at him, eyebrows arching a fraction. “Am I fucking who?”

“Randy.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that burst through your lips, shaking your head in disbelief as you grabbed the broom again. You’d forgotten the fucking nerve of this guy. “Go home, Billy.”

You heard the clatter of the tape hit the counter as he began to stride toward you. “So, you are?”

“Yeah, I’m not dignifying that with a response.” He stopped about a foot away, his hand resting on the freshly cleaned glass display with all the rare tapes. “Can you, like, not? I just cleaned that.” You sighed, stepping forward to slap his hand away.

He didn’t move as you did so, seeming to find your reaction more funny than anything. “You haven’t changed much.” He commented, bringing his free hand up to swipe some loose hair out of his face.

You ignored his comment, looking up at him and feeling nothing but irritation. “Billy, what do you want, seriously? Because the sooner I clean up here, the sooner I can go home.”

Billy shrugged, drumming his fingers against the glass. “I don’t know, I was walking home, saw Randy leave, noticed you were by yourself. Thought you’d appreciate the company.”

“Mmhm. Sure.” You sighed, moving to step around him and deciding to just act like he wasn’t there. That’s when it hit you, the all too familiar scent of his cologne. It smelled exactly like the one you’d gotten him for his birthday a couple of years back. The smell rekindled the brief yet fond memories you’d had with him and it made your heart skip a beat.

Billy had noticed your pause and his face turned from indifferent to slightly concerned. He said your name, tilting his head down to look at you.

You looked up at him, blinking a few times before shaking your head. “Go home, Billy.” You said again, though your voice wasn’t anywhere near as confident.

“I miss you.”

Those three words made you flinch, your grip on the handle of the broom tightening. You didn’t want him to miss you, you didn’t want him to be thinking about you. Didn’t he have a girlfriend now?

I asked him as much and he half smiled, shaking his head. “Sidney? Nah, I’m seeing her, sure, but it’s not… like that.”

“Oh, so your girlfriend isn’t putting out so you thought you’d pop along and see if I would?” Billy seemed to ignore you, his eyes trailing across your body. You felt your cheeks heat up as he did, those annoyingly magnetic brown eyes felt like they were boring straight into your damn soul.

“No, like I said I was walking home and saw you by yourself.” His smile grew a touch, watching your face for any kind of reaction.

Liar. But why did you find yourself falling for it?

“I’m not fucking Randy.” You said quietly. He finally looked into your eyes, the half smile turning into a grin. “Oh, I know. But I needed to try and start a conversation with you somehow, didn’t I?“

You caught yourself smiling as you shook your head. “Asshole.”

Billy chuckled as he brought up his hand, letting his fingers glide across your cheekbone. “Missed you.” He said again, his voice much softer this time without a hint of teasing.

Why were you falling for this crap? Was it because he was your first? First fucking everything? Probably. But you caught yourself not caring as you leaned into his warm touch, letting the familiarity wash over you entirely.

“Missed you.” You echoed softly.

His smell was intoxicating, familiar. Who cares if you’d hardly spoken to him in years? Who cares that it took you this long to get over him entirely.

His lips touched yours before you finished your train of thought. Comfortable. Familiar. You felt yourself melt into it, your fingers curling around the soft material of his plaid shirt as you pulled yourself closer to him, his thumb still gently grazing your cheek.

Fuck, he’d missed you. How your lips tasted, how your breath would quiver and shake every time he was close to you. He couldn’t remember why he was ever stupid enough to let you go entirely.

Before he and Stu put their plan into motion, he knew he had to do this, he had to be with you at least once more time. Taste you, touch you, feel you. Because once he was “serious” with Sidney, he wouldn’t be able to lead you on like that. Not you, you were always his.

His kiss turned more possessive than gentle, his hands sliding down to your waist and under your shirt, his blunt fingers digging into your soft, bare skin. He felt your breathing hitch against him as he pulled your body impossibly closer to his, letting you feel him hardening against you.

It wasn’t long before he’d picked you up and placed you on the glass, hoisting your skirt around your waist and carefully pulling your baby pink panties down your legs, letting his fingers brush your inner thigh as he did.

“Fuck, look how fucking wet you are for me.” He groaned, sliding his finger between your velvety folds to collect the moisture before he brought it to his lips. You were pathetically oversensitive, your cunt clenching around nothing the moment he touched you.

He liked that, he’d forgotten how needy you were, how much your body reacted to the slightest of advances. He couldn’t help but smile as he continued to tease, fingers grazing your sensitive skin, barely even touching you.

It dawned on you how long it had been since you’d been touched like this, and you craved more.

“Please, Billy.” You whined, beginning to grow uncomfortable with the lack of stimulation.

For once, he didn’t need much prompting.

His mouth latched onto your aching clit, sucking at it hungrily and growing at your familiar taste he’d missed so much. His hands pushed your legs further apart for better access, feeling how you throbbed against his mouth. Your hands automatically fell into his soft hair, biting your bottom lip as you tugged at it, your head falling back.

He’d been good with his mouth before, but he’d definitely gotten better. His skilled tongue flicked over your clit, one of his hands moving from your thigh to plunge two fingers inside of your cunt as he continued to lick and suck.

“Oh!” You groaned out, fingers tightening in his hair as you pulled his face impossibly closer to you. He curled up his fingers in response, pressing against the spongy tissue and making your body jerk in response. He knew your body far too well, and had clearly never forgotten how to make you respond to him.

He didn’t want you to cum, not yet. He pulled away all too soon, smiling as he saw the all too familiar mixture of turned on and pissed off gracing your features. He straightened up, his hand moving to grip the base of your hair tightly, making you look up into his brown eyes.

“Do you want it?” He asked, voice smooth and even as ever. All you could do was faintly whisper “yes” in response. That’s all he needed.

Billy didn’t drop his eyes from yours as he smoothly unbuckled his belt, pulling it off and discarding it thoughtlessly, his pants coming down shortly after, but only part way down his ass. He just didn’t want to waste any time.

One of his hands dropped to your waist, the other pumped his cock a few times before nestling the tip at the entrance of your aching cunt. You whined softly, wriggling a little only to be grounded by his large hand before he pushed himself inside of your soaked hole.

You couldn’t help the gasp as he filled you, suddenly feeling deliciously full. Familiarly full. He seemed to feel it too, a soft groan in your ear as he pulled you closer to him by your hips.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this cunt so much.” He sighed into your hair, savouring the feeling of your cunt engulfing him for the first time in years. You were growing more and more impatient, needing movement and friction and he chuckled at you desperate movements from under his grounding hands. “I forgot how impatient you are.”

“Billy, just… Fuck me for God’s sake.” You’d meant for it to come out as an order, but it came out as a plea. He chuckled again, slowly rolling his hips back just to snap the forward again sharply, the sensation making you jolt and sigh into his shoulder.

“So bossy, aren’t you, sweetheart? Some things never change, hm?”

You ignore his teasing voice, your focus entirely surrounding how good his cock made you feel so fucking effortlessly. He hardly even had to try and here you were, already a leaking mess for him.

He held you more securely, one of his hands firmly pressing against the small of your back whilst the other swiftly tucked under your knee, holding your leg more securely around his waist as he fucked you.

He knew your body better than you did, he knew what drove you wild. The kisses he scattered across your neck and down your collarbone drove you insane. The way his fingers would dig into your skin, his breathing in your ear, the filth he was whispering to you…

“Fuck, Billy please don’t stop.” You begged him, pushing yourself down against him greedily, which he thoroughly enjoyed. He continued fucking your on the glass display case as he laughed out, “Think I’m gonna? No fucking way. Been thinking about getting back into this cunt for far too long.”

His words made you moan louder, your fingers clinging to his bicep, nails digging into the toned muscle harshly. He let out something akin to a growl, his own fingers digging into your soft skin hard enough to undoubtedly leave bruises in their wake.

He fucked you in a way you feared only her was able to, slamming into your convulsing pussy vigorously, ruthlessly. Your head fell back, eyes beginning to roll as you felt yourself being dragged closer and closer to the edge. Your clit bumped against him with every thrust, the stimulation only making you feel weaker and weaker. He watched your face, the look of pure ecstasy only making him more and more desperate to cum. No way he was about to pull out.

“Billy… Close…” You managed to utter out. In the past, that was his cue to prepare to pull out. But right now? Fuck that. He held you tighter, his fingers sliding from your hip to your clit to drag circles across it, feeling your cunt tense around him as he did.

“Do it.” He said, his own voice a little breathless.

You couldn’t think, could only focus on how fucking good he was making you feel. Your body stuff ended for a second before you came on his cock, your head falling forward onto his shoulder as you heard him let out a loud groan and a second later, his hot cum filling up your still convulsing pussy. But you didn’t care. Your body remained flush against his for a couple of seconds, soaking in the feeling of his cum filling you up so deliciously.

He gradually softened, pulling himself out of your stuffed cunt and casually pulling his pants back up before grabbing his belt.

You remained sitting on the glass case, Billy’s spunk mixed with your own wetness leaking out of you and making a mess of the glass. He couldn’t help but smile, shrugging once.

“Well, shit, you’ve got more of a cleanup to do now, my bad.”

You rolled your eyes at him, waiting for your thighs to stop trembling before jumping down from the display case and grabbing your panties, about to pull them back on before they were snatched out of your hand.

“What are you-“

“I think I should keep them. As a memento, you know?” He interrupted, the stupid smile that got you back into this situation illuminating his pretty face.

“Oh, right. Forgot how much you like to steal my underwear. Weirdo.” You muttered, squirming a little at the feeling of Billy’s cum leaking out of you onto your inner thighs.

Billy watched you squirm for a moment, the smile never faltering. “Mm. You know, I wish I’d cum inside you before. I like seeing you like this.”

You scoffed at him, shaking your head. “I have to clean up.” You said pointedly.

Billy raised an eyebrow a fraction, eyes flickering down toward your stained thighs.

“You’re telling me.”

#ahhh my first billy loomis fic #he’s been on my mind none stop #so here it is!#I’m so happy to finally have him officially on the roster #pretty angel #hope you enjoy!#scream #billy loomis smut #billy loomis #billy loomis x reader

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