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precious-little-scoundrel · 3 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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sunandsstars · 1 year

Text

YAWNETU

CHAPTER 1

Jake x Neytiri x Na’vi!Reader

Summary: One other mate was enough, but two? Unneeded. ___ was the outcast, the unwanted woman. Jake and Neytiri wouldn’t ever see her..right?

Warnings: Talks of war, Briefly mentions death/Bodily harm, Angst, Swearing, Non-con Word count: 2.4k

A/N: Here it is people, the angst series :( Prepare yourselves

Taglist: @itsyoboysparkel @dumb-fawkin-bitch @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @fanboyluvr

Having one mate was enough for a Na’vi, they did not need another to deal with or weigh them down. It was a huge commitment and for most, a waste of time. More than one significant other was a rare case these days anyway, usually only reserved for Na’vi of a higher ranking, like an Olo’eyktan or Tsahìk.

Jake didn’t know that the Na’vi can bond with more than one at a time until Grace brought it to his attention one day, “Na’vi will mate with only one other person for their whole life, unless duty brings them to marry another” she stated, smoking a cigarette haphazardly in the lab room, eyeing the man who sat uninterested in his wheelchair.

Mating. Jake thought it sounded primal, animalistic, something the creatures back on Earth used to do just to get a quick fuck. But when Neytiri brought it up and he finally experienced it himself, it could only be described as sublime. He’s never felt such feelings, emotions. You share them with your partner in such a deep level it left him feeling breathless.

Following their mating the skypeople attacked and cut down the Tree of Voices, severing one of their main connections to their ancestors. That’s when he realised it was time for war. Several clans joined the mighty Toruk Makto to fight for Pandora, when he called they answered. But the battle was bloody, long and gruelling, they all lost brothers and sisters that day. But at least now they will find peace in Eywa’s warm embrace.

The Great Sorrow then became something of the past and the Omaticaya were relocated to an area by Hellsgate, the humans and Na’vi finally living in harmony but not peace, a lot preferring to still shun the aliens away from their home.

But the forest provided tall trees to cover them from predators and plenty of abundance, humans will also be with their technology inside an environment they can thrive in, so each side wins. Jake had finally been anointed as Olo’eyktan with Neytiri being his tsakarem, the couple couldn’t be more happier with the way things have become, fully believing the skypeople will not return.

But happiness must soon come to an end.

“Ma sa’nok! Why?! Why must we be mated to her?! She is useless!” Neytiri yelled angrily at her mother, the Tsahìk, she has just been told her mother has been seeing visions in her sleep and suspected Eywa was trying to tell her something. This ‘something’ was about her child’s third mate, which she did not anticipate.

“All of our roles play an important part here daughter” Mo’at glared, has she taught her child no less? “your new wife will be a good edition to your family and therefore the clan. It must be done, Eywa has spoken”

Neytiri did not understand, her and Jake were happy together. Alone. They did not need another person to ruin the balance of their life. She turned around sharply to her husband who was sat on the ground by the tree of souls, urging him to make an opinion on the matter with a glare. Jake coughed.

“I agree Mo’at. We are fine together just as it is”

“This is not your decision to make Jake Sully. The great mother will not be happy, she has done this for a reason and we must trust her judgement. She has shown me what will happen if this does not happen, you and your family will fall under a great despair, it will disrupt all we have made” Jake’s ears perked up, alarmed, ‘what does she mean a great despair’. As his thoughts started to turmoil Neytiri continued to talk to her mother, coming to an understanding that it was the way of life. She cannot disregard Eywa’s wishes.

With a huff she walked towards Jake and pulled him up by the arm with no effort, eyes a glare and ears pinned to her head. She walked away and towards her new ikran, ready to get back to camp. “So.. do you know who we’re supposed to mate?”

“Srane”

“Are you gonna tell me?” They flew into the air, Bob screeching as they went above the trees, staying low to the forest. Neytiri didn’t answer his question and stayed silent, shit. He was just a man, a man who knows when NOT to anger a woman, especially one like her. He decided to not take it any further.

Arriving back to Hellsgate they dismounted and landed onto the floor, Jake greeting the humans who passed by them, taking samples from the nature. Neytiri walked up to where the food was being prepared, a group of woman sat by some small children who they looked after while parents were away doing chores. She grabbed one of ladies by the arm and dragged her towards Jake who only stared in confusion. Soon morphing into realisation.

“Introduce yourself” The warrior exclaimed harshly. Knowing that Mo’at has already told her of the plans, she knew going to her daughter first would cause another war and the elder planned to avoid it. So telling the new mate first was the best option for everyone.

“___ te Syakx Hìfey’ite” the woman’s ears lowered to her head and she faced the ground. The pain in her arm where Neytiri gripped was hard, sure to bruise. “I am a gatherer, a healer. I do not hunt like you or -“ Neytiri squeezed her arm to silence her, having enough of her talking.

They were close in age, both eighteen years old and fully grown adults. They both attended Grace’s school together growing up, they were close. ___ was closer with Neytiri’s sister though, Sylwanin. When she died, the younger sister blamed everything on the other girl. Cursing her out and they never talked again until now.

___ was nervous, she knew she had to mate with them, both of them. She knew that the other woman was angry at her still, even after two years. She could not blame her for the grief of her sibling. But over something she did not do? She was not at fault here.

“Nice to meet you” Jake said curtly, not really wanting to talk any further. He did not like the idea of a second mate either, even on Earth it was extremely taboo so he felt awkward on the matter. Neytiri let go of her arm and dragged Jake off, presumably to talk about anything but the ceremony that is supposed to be held later today. Announcing the decisions their Tsahìk has made to the clan, surely they would all be most pleased. ___ could not say the same towards the couple who walked off.

One part of her thought that they just wanted to be alone for a while, being more recently mated and being thrown into another relationship was confusing and disrupting, she understood that. But the more rational part knew that while Neytiri continued to dislike her, she knew their life together would be filled with nothing but pain and suffering. But she would put on a brave face. For her own sake and the clans. Eywa has spoken.

But is what Eywa saying right?

She was correct, the clan was most happy. Despite some whisperings here and there, they would have to agree that they would all make a good trio. ___ was a good healer, she was gifted with her skills. She was also good to the elderly and children, always happy with a smile on her face. Neytiri was a good huntress and a Tsahìk in training, her battle abilities are most adored on. Jake, he was their Toruk Makto, Rider of Last Shadow. He was well respected in that alone.

But while the Omaticaya was happy, she was not. Sat next to Jake on his left she was left to eat in silence as him and Neytiri conversed without her. Not even looking in her direction once. She figured that they would not talk to her all through the night and decided to make peace with herself.

A little girl tapped her shoulder and ___ turned around to face one of the children she often looked after, Sray. “You are going to be mated to them?” she looked at her Olo’eyktan and his wife, yellow eyes wide.

___ nodded and forced a smile on her face “Yes, Sray. I will be” she stated softly, not comfortable with saying the revelation out loud.

Suddenly Sray sniffed, doe eyes watering “does that mean you will not have time for us anymore? Please sa’nu! I do not want you to leave!” the sweet girl jumped in the adults arms and clung to her chest, fearing that if she let go, ___ will disappear.

“Ma ‘evi, I will always have time for you and everyone else, just because I will be mated, does not mean I will not see you ever again” ___ kissed Sray’s head, wiping her little tears and grinning. Bringing comfort to the girl, Sray smiled back, still sniffling.

“LeNa’vi! Fìtxon awnga fpe’ pxefo mìso!” the people cheered, raising their drinks and whooping. The three will be mated under the tree of souls, to legitimise the union.

Jake and Neytiri looked at each other, worry in the man’s and anger in the woman’s. They did not want to do anything with her, but would have to make it look like they had, they were not stupid. If they did not do this then the people will become angry, it would be a disgrace. Only the great mother shall know.

Standing up, Jake held his large hand out to his wife who took it. Letting go and walking towards the direction of the tree, they would not take the ikran, but rather run through the night. Jake then turned to look at ___ who still sat with Sray in her warm arms, he nodded his head to the direction Neytiri went and followed her.

A little hurt that he did not offer his hand to her, ___ kissed Sray’s forehead and stood up, walking after them. As they got deeper into the forest they began to run, ___ tried her best to catch up but the two were hunters, they were more used to navigating the thickness of the fauna better than her.

“W-Wait!” she called in English, but the two ignored her and ran further ahead of her. ___’s ears slicked back and she huffed to herself, heart beating erratically with annoyance.

At some point the jungle got too thick for her to get through and she paused, the two she was following nowhere in sight. She twisted around, straining her ears to hear any calls or footsteps to help guide her. But to no avail, she lost them. Meaning she herself did not know where she was, this part of the forest was so much further out from the old hometree, a part she has not navigated before.

Her breathing started to speed up, panicking. Did they leave her? Alone? Here? She knew they did not like her, but this was too much. It was past eclipse and night, anything could come to kill her.

A rough hand grabbed her arm, the same one Neytiri held earlier that day and turned her around. An angry Jake stood there with brows furrowed, fangs bared. “Why did you stop?” he growled, ears slicked back “you were supposed to follow, not stop and sightsee like a lunatic!”

She did not know what that word meant, but by his tone it was something mean. Her own ears pressed against her head and her tail tucked between her legs, she yelped as she was harshly dragged through the forest, Jake never letting go of her arm even as they got to the tree of souls.

He let go and stood next to Neytiri who had her queue attacked to one of the hanging branches, tendrils letting go and she broke the bond. Turning to see ___ with a hand on her arm, the bruises were darker than before, the sting aching the area and making her hesitant to move it.

The warrior glared at her and snarled “you will have a baby put in you, as it is the way. But we are not bonding. Never. You will deal with that shame” she barked in Jake’s native tongue, her words were harsh and the prospect of not bonding with the only people she could was demeaning, it brought water to her yellow eyes. This was low, a baby without a bond was seen as disgrace. She would bring great shame to Na’vi.

“Neytiri-“

“Kem si ke plltxe kurkung!” ___ closed her mouth, she did not want to anger Neytiri further than she has. Jake, who stood watching the ordeal, strolled towards ___ and pushed her down onto the ground, pulling her loincloth to the side and doing the same to his.

“Pey! Oe kawkrr-“ her words were again cut off as pain filled her lower abdomen, he entered her. It was her first time and he just did it so fast without considering her feelings. Tears streamed down her soft cheeks, pained noises leaving her mouth as Jake started to move. He manhandled her onto her stomach, pressing his hand to her lower back above her tail bone, if the pain at her core wasn’t enough then the sensitive space on her back was.

Neytiri simply watched as her glare burned holes into the girl beneath her, the person that ruined her life. That took her sister away from her, took everything. She was not going to welcome this destroyer into her family, never. She’ll make sure ___ and her children will be shamed, if not by the people then by her own kids and husband.

___ felt something warm release inside of her, oozing out of her hole. She felt Jake lift off of her and heard him step towards his mate, both of them softly talking to one another while ___ was left to curl up, sobbing quietly. The man that was supposed to care for her, supposed to love her, took her dignity and now her first child.

Her heart squeezed in her chest as she could only imagine the future to come.

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#*ੈ✩‧₊˚ yawnetu #avatar 2009 #avatar the way of water #x reader #atwow #avatar x reader #atwow x reader #avatar the way of water x reader #na’vi #angst #series #jake sully #neytiri #poly #unwanted marriage

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l4long-winded · 3 months

Note

mad carmy with sassy reader that doesn’t take his shit!!! (smut!)

ask and you shall receive (happy valentine's day, love)

o.s. fire in the freezer

summary: it's opening night and you're stuck inside the walk-in with your boss, carmen. can the night get any worse? (carmen berzatto x afab!reader)

reflection: this took me embarrassingly long. i had a lot to get through these past weeks. i still have a busy schedule with college and life, but i want to do more of these. i have about 3 or 4 prompts i need to get to, but i think i'll be able to manage. also, this might be ooc for some people? idk, it's fiction. please enjoy and feedback is always appreciated!

warnings: cursing, longwinded descriptions, angry!carmy, angry!reader, takes place during the season 2 finale (pretending claire doesn't exist), implied enemies to lovers, reader's pov, reader is a line cook(?), arguing, surprise kissing, walk-in shenanigans, dirty talk, mention of fridge guy, use of the word "slutty," walk-in p in v, unprotected (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)

word count: 2,140

( this work has been cross-posted to ao3 )

“What the fuck did you just say?”

It’s alarming how crimson his face appears considering the walk-in’s cold air biting at both your limbs, how you imagine the rising heat of his breath combats the freezer’s chill, puffs relaying the steam building within him. It’s a miracle it doesn’t fume from his ears. Fifteen minutes have passed, fifteen minutes of remaining silent as Carmen mouthed off about the unfairness of the situation, how his cell phone doesn’t have service, how he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on out there when your coworkers have seemingly abandoned the both of you to fend for yourselves. You don’t blame him. You don’t want to be in here any more than he does, but there’s this wretched thing about Carmen that he does when tensions are high and his temper flies off the handle. He gets mean. He becomes hurtful. You’ve worked with him long enough to see it occur, the venomous speech he mutters at a high volume as a tendon in his neck protrudes and the person being yelled at flinches in shock. Though such poison’s never been doused over your head, he’s never directed that anger towards you.

Until now. He inadvertently called you an idiot along with the coworkers busying themselves outside the walk-in. There’s not much they can do about the freezer’s handle breaking, and you both know that, but he’s not calming himself down, nor is he making this easier on you when you’re stuck in the same situation as him. You two are prideful and confident in your actions in the kitchen. Sure, you’ve butted heads a few times and stared each other down from afar, but your relationship’s been tame for the most part.

“I said, ‘Stop acting like a fucking cunt.’” You bark back. So much for being tame. You couldn’t stop the words from spilling from your mouth. Everyone has the grace and privilege of being able to ignore him since he’s locked away here with you, but unfortunately, you’re not as lucky. You don’t appreciate being talked down to and you won’t take it from your boss just because he’s irate and the world is crumbling beneath your feet. You want to head out there and contribute to the restaurant as he does, but you’re also not spewing hateful soliloquies to the one person who could possibly understand what you’re going through. That, and it’s fucking cold in here, you’re irritated by the temperature frosting over your skin. It’s opening night and you’re stuck with your least favorite person in the kitchen—your least favorite person possibly in Chicago. The last thing you’re going to do is sulk near the stored ingredients while he shouts and pounds away at the freezer’s door.

This is his fucking fault. How fucking dare he? Why are you paying for his sin?

Just as it did the first time, the second time renders him, miraculously, speechless. It’s not because he doesn’t have anything to reply back, this is evident in how he purses his lips together and clenches his jaw. You notice it flex as he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, previously hidden by the collar he’s now unbuttoned. He stares at you with a pointed gaze, eyebrows ever so slightly knitted inwards. Neither of you has to utter a single word to understand how much you can’t fucking stand each other, how Carmen is purposely holding back since you’ve caught his petulant tantrum and condescended him for it. The absence of sound between you two is grim as if he’s waiting for the apology, but fuck him, you’re not apologizing for shit. Instead, you mimic his facial expression like he’s staring into a mirror, crossing your arms against your chest for good measure to illustrate the guard he won’t be breaking through anytime soon.

Carmen steps forward. It’s a singular step. There’s only backwards to go before you end up meeting the shelves, so you remain where you are. His body heat radiates, prominent not because you’re that close, but because the freezer’s becoming more unforgiving the longer you’re both in here.

“Say it again,” he breathes.

You blink rapidly as if he’s a mirage, as if he’ll disappear, and as if he’s grown two other heads. He wants you to say it again? Is this some kind of a test? It has to be. There aren’t many other options, besides how he steps even closer within your vicinity and away from the locked palisade ahead. The temperature rises, and the fucked part about it is that your body’s instinctual need to survive urges you to collide into his frame to share feverish flames instead of standing in the chilled atmosphere on your lonesome. Carmen’s mandibles buckle, a sign of his bottled intentions, of what he really wants to say. You wish he’d just spit it out rather than goad you into the unemployment line.

“Call me a cunt again,” he dares and confirms your previous thoughts. He’s standing so close, proximity lacking to the point where his hot breath ghosts your nose and cheeks. Again, your instincts urge, and again, you will them to shut the fuck up and let me handle this. How convoluted and capricious you are. Arguing with innate impulses on the inside while arguing with your superior on the outside, fastened to him inside an icy cage as your coworkers take advantage of the kitchen’s liberating space without you. Fuck them too, they haven’t told either of you shit in what feels like forever and Carmen’s acting out of character. He’s not supposed to be with you like this. He’s not supposed to be gazing at you like he’s about to blow up. He’s not supposed to be challenging you into an impossible situation. You’ve called him a cunt twice. Twice. Three times symbolize the three strikes before you’re out.

Well, if you’re going out, you’re going down swinging your bat as hard as you can, spins and all, dirt flying and wind ricocheting. He’s thrown his virulence. Now, it’s your turn.

“Cun—nnnmph,” is not what you expected to utter, but before you could punctuate that final phoneme, Carmen’s mouth swallowed it greedily, and transitioned it into an astonished noise muffled by his lips. Your eyes flutter, searching his face for a way to explain why the hell this is happening, but suddenly, Carmen shifts his head, the kiss he’s sprung on you deepening, and an accidental swipe of his tongue shuts your eyes. All in a matter of two conflicted seconds.

“Thought you,” you murmur between his stifling, repeated connections, “wanted me to,” he’s practically shoving his tongue against yours, “call you a–”

He grunts in frustration. Seemingly towards you. His hands grasp your biceps, forcing your eyes onto his as his breathing shallows out. “Believe me, it won’t be the only time you put a cunt in my mouth tonight,” he says sharply. You don’t know why your thighs tremor. You fault the near-hypothermia.

“Shit, you’re cold,” he states the obvious as his attention turns to his palms on your arms, as if he didn’t just plant such a filthy image in your mind’s eye. His thumbs stroke over your goosebumps, examining your skin with careful scrutiny. If you didn’t know any better, you swear you see worry cross his visage for a moment. His hands aren’t any better, but they’re warmer than your flesh, and skin-to-skin makes this situation a little more bearable. You won’t tell him that, but he seems to have an idea of how you’re not flinching away from his touch. In fact… you’re leaning into it.

“Of course I am. It’s the walk-in,” you say sarcastically. “Wouldn’t be here if you had just called Tommy,” you add, but he exhales a heavy breath through his nose. He shrugs off his jacket to his Chef’s Whites, rolling his eyes, muttering something to himself about Tony, Terry, and Tommy, fucking fuck it all.

“Shut the fuck up, put this on, and turn around,” he hands you the jacket. He had the prerogative of wearing sleeves in here, so he’s not as frigid as you are (temperature-wise, anyway).

“It’ll keep you warm while I fuck you,” he promises, hard gaze on your eyes. You gulp, a desire within you to tell him off for being so presumptive of what’s happening here. Yet, that desire is viciously censored in favor of the desire to do as he says, or more so, the idea of being railed to distract you from how cold you are.

You slip his jacket on, pivoting on your heel, biting your tongue as you lean forward and grasp the metal belonging to the shelves ahead. The inside of his sleeves are already snug and cozy on your arms because of how long he wore it. You hate it. The smug bastard’s not supposed to be right.

You gulp as Carmen’s knuckles graze your lower back, lifting his jacket out of his way for a moment to tug at the waistband of your pants. You hear his breathing stutter, his hand skimming down the sensitive flesh of your ass as his eyes trace over the thin fabric of the panties you chose today.

“Is your underwear always this slutty?” He asks, his voice lower than you’ve ever heard it. To be fair, you didn’t know this would be happening today.

“Find out tomorrow,” you settle for. It seems to be the appropriate response because he groans and kneads at the flesh gathered at your hip as an appreciative gesture. This won’t be the last time this happens. It can’t be.

There’s rustling behind you. You hear the sound of Carmen’s belt before you feel the cold metal prod at the meat of your posterior, sent forward since he’s not fully tugging the leather material from the loops of his pants. It’s just enough for him to get at his zipper, the noise causing your hands to grip the shelves ahead of you even tighter. Carmen’s thumbnail slides along your skin as he tucks his thumb under your panties to position them to the side. The blunt head of him strokes at your entrance, his opposite hand pushing between your shoulder blades to exacerbate the bend at your hips and the pretty dip in your spine.

“You’re really hard for a man who’s surrounded by this much cold,” you mutter smugly. It’s all your doing, revving up his engine through simply challenging him amid his grizzly attack.

However, the smugness dies on your tongue once Carmen pushes in. He didn’t offer you a smartass response, instead offering you the breach of his length, the swollen head of him prying at your soaked walls up until his hips are flush with yours. Your trembling returns and it’s no longer because of the cool air, but because Carmen begins to thrust the second your cunt gives to him. Wrath fades from your mouth, and a moan replaces it, indicating your lust and enjoyment from this, much to your own dismay.

“M’this hard because I was thinking about how fucking warm you’d be around me,” he grunts, leaning over you and jostling you with his strong movements. His pace isn’t brutal, but the pressure of each of his thrusts is. He pulls back and then buries himself as deep as he could go, the sounds of his effort being in the way his hips collide with the flesh of your ass, a smack every time he hits it just right. And fuck, does he hit it just right. The horrible thing is it’ll stroke his massive ego. The great, amazing, toe-curling thing is that it feels like nirvana. The tip of his cock becomes acquainted with a pivotal point within you that has your vision blurred, unable to make out a single label of the cans and containers in front of your face.

“H-how warm is it?” You manage. Somehow. Conversation isn’t your prerogative while you’re bent over and being receptive, gasping for air every time you attempt to shift your hips back into him and he surpasses another inch inside of you. But you’re curious.

“Like a damn furnace,” he answers quickly, increasing his pace just as fast as the sentence leaves his mouth. “Tighter than I imagined,” he confesses, his forehead pressing into your shoulder. Your feet shuffle apart, legs spreading further for him as you pant and do your best not to whine. You can’t give him that satisfaction.

But it’s no use. His name shoots off your tongue like a prayer, a Freudian slip, his middle finger stroking along your clit in time with his bruising plunges.

“Wet, so, so fucking wet,” he continues, “drenching me and setting me on fire at the same fucking time.”

Fuck, you hope they never open that door.

#l4l.writes #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmy the bear #carmen berzatto x reader #jeremy allen white #the bear fic #the bear #fire in the freezer #l4l.oneshot

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inuiiwonderland · 5 months

Text

At your service

Being a rich man’s wife isn’t always bad. You love ran and how hard working he is and he loves you for how patient and supportive you are of him. But the more he goes out to business trips, the more lonely you feel every day. So ran, as the good husband he is decided to surprise you with his newest android, Mitsuya Takashi.

Yandere Android!Mitsuya x Fem!reader

TW: yandere, bit of nsfw, character death, and uhh mitsuya is fucking crazy so yeah

You and ran have been together for years now. Getting together at 16 and never leaving each others side after that. So it didn’t surprise anyone when the two of you later got engaged at 24 and married at 25. Everyone basically knew that the two of you were meant to be since the start.

He always spent his time with you. Taking you out on dates, taking you shopping and even cooking for you after a long day because he loves the faces you make when you enjoy the meals that he cooks for you.

He was like the perfect husband

But all that stopped when ran took over his father’s company.

As the years passed by, you saw how busy ran was getting.

After his father passed down his company to ran and his brother, ran was barely home. Always at work and never home. And when the times that he is home, he’s always locked away in his office. Working on paperwork and upcoming projects for the company.

You also start noticing how your husband barely gets any sleep because of his busy schedule. And for the years that you have known ran, you know how much ran loves his sleep more than anything.

You often walk in his office to see his tired form slump over his office desk as he sleeps. And when you walk a bit closer, you can see the dark bags under his eyes as you brush your fingers through his hair. A small smile gracing your face as he leans in towards your touch.

So you always feel bad seeing your husband wake up in the early hours of the morning everyday to go back to work.

And it starts making you feel bad for wanting his attention and time.

You might think ran doesn’t notice anything but he does. He sees how sad you look when you bid him goodbye for work but quickly covering it up with a smile and a kiss to his lips.

And ran feels awful

He feels like he isn’t being a good husband to you. Always spending more time in the office rather than your own home. Him barely being able to see you and spend time with you. And he knows the house can get lonely without him by your side.

So what does ran do? He starts making up a plan.

He worked on this project for MONTHS before surprising you with it.

You groan as you hear your alarm go off. You lazily turn it off before sitting up and looking at the spot next to you.

Again…he’s gone off to work

You sigh before getting up and deciding to get ready for the day.

The moment you stepped out of the bathroom, you could smell a delicious aroma coming from the kitchen. Confused, you quietly walked out of you and ran shared bedroom and all the way down to the kitchen.

When you walked in the kitchen, you see a tall black short haired man who’s back was facing you. Terrified, you quickly took a couple steps back before bumping into somebody which caused you to let out a loud terrified scream.

“Hey relax it’s me!” You quickly turned around to see your husband.

“You okay? You seem a bit shaken up”

“R-ran there’s a m-man-“ But before you could finish your sentence, an unfamiliar voice interrupts you.

“Have I scared you Mrs.Haitani? I sincerely apologize for frightening you this early in the morning”

You quickly turn around to see the man from earlier. He was tall, had short black hair and lavender liked eyes.

Who is this man and why is he in your house?

“R-ran who is this?” You say. You turn to face your husband who just gave you a sheepish smile.

“Didn’t mean to scare you. But uh me and mitsuya over here wanted to surprise you with a nice breakfast before introducing you to him”

“Mitsuya?”

“Here, come sit down first” You took a seat and suspiciously eyed the strange man who was standing in the middle of your kitchen aisle.

“Y/n dear, this is mitsuya takashi. My newest android” He says proudly. Your eyes widen in shock as you took a good look at mitsuya.

“Huh? H-he’s an android?”

“Mhm” Again, you looked at mitsuya before looking back at ran.

“Why is he here? If he’s your newest android then shouldn’t he be in the lab right now?”

“About that. He’s the only model I have because I made him specifically for you”

“For me? Why?” You were confused. Ran sighs before taking a seat next to you.

“I know I haven’t been a good husband to you over the years. Always at work and never home to spend time with you or care for you.”

“And I know the house can get a bit lonely when it’s just you and no one else. So I decided to do something about it”

“By making…him?” You say as you point at mitsuya.

“Yes”

“Do you think I’m a loner?” You ask with a raised brow.

“What? No!” He says. Panicked almost. You stare at him for a bit before laughing. You found it cute how scared your husband was about offending you.

“Don’t worry ran…I think it’s sweet, but also a bit weird. You know I have real friends right?”

“I know that! But I also made him so that he can help you around the house! Since I’m not always home to help you with chores…” You giggle before pulling your husband into a passionate kiss.

But then you remembered that you two aren’t the only ones in the room and so you quickly pulled away. Much to your husband dismay.

“Am I interrupting something? I can leave if you two-“

“No! No uh it’s nothing you can stay” He smiles before placing a plate in front of you.

“Your breakfast Mrs.Haitani”

“Oh! Thank you” Your mouth waters at the sight of the delicious food. Without missing a beat, you quickly took a bite of the food. You looked up at mitsuya with wide eyes.

“Did you make this?”

“I have. Is it not to your liking?” He asks. Worried about you not liking it.

“This is amazing!” You say as you continue to stuff your face. Ran chuckles before standing up and checking his watch. He sighs as he notices the time.

“What’s wrong ran?”

He stays silent before looking at you with an apologetic look.

“I have to go to work. I’m already late by an hour so it’s best that I get going now” And there goes your excitement.

“Oh…” Ran notices the change of mood and moves you to look at him.

“Y/n I-“

“Ran”

“Yes?”

“Just go. You’re already late, and there’s no need to apologize”

“But-“

“Please…just go” He looks at you for a bit before leaning and kissing your cheek.

“Take care. And mitsuya”

“Yes Mr. Haitani”

“Please take care of my wife”

“Of course”

Months have passed since ran introduce you to mitsuya.

And at first it did take you a week or two to get used to the lavender eyed boy. But after seeing how nice and polite he was, you grew comfortable having him around.

And mitsuya is great!

He helps you with buying and putting away groceries, cleaning, cooking, doing laundry, and even helps you with taking care of your garden outside!

He also accompanies you to stores or errand runs which actually turn out to be fun when he’s around. He helps you with carrying and putting away groceries, buying new cleaning supplies, and even helps you with what to cook for the evening.

You also noticed how the android has an eye for fashion. You can see him taking glances at the tv when your favorite fashion show is on and see how he stares in awe when seeing all the beautiful clothing pieces.

You caught him doodling more than once on pieces of paper when you make him take breaks from doing chores. (Even though he’s a android and can’t get tired, you still feel bad and make him sit down and relax for a bit)

You remember the first time you caught him. You were in the kitchen while he was in the living room. You were making some snacks for the movie night that the two of you were about to have while mitsuya was “looking” for a movie.

Instead. You walk in the living room only to see him sketching something on a piece of paper. You gasp once you saw what he was doing. The sketch was beautiful! The design, pattern, and details were just perfect! You complemented mitsuya on his work as you continued gushing about how beautiful it is and that’s it’s something you’ll definitely wear.

And so the next day you decided to buy him a sketch book. You remember the look of shock on his face as you happily gave him the book and told him that if he were to ever run out of space, then he should come and tell you so you can buy another one for him.

That was also the day that you learned that androids can blush and get shy!

Wow! Ran must’ve really went all out!

The more time both you and mitsuya spend together. The more closer you guys grew. You started seeing mitsuya more like a close friend than a servant. But unbeknownst to you, he didn’t see you as a friend at all.

In fact, mitsuya started seeing you as more like a romantic interest.

Everyone knows androids can’t feel emotions. Hell even mitsuya knows that! So, why did he suddenly start having this weird feeling whenever you were near him?

When he wakes you up for breakfast, when he helps you clean, when he goes out with you to get groceries or to just hang out.

He always gets this weird feeling in his chest that he can’t quite get rid of.

Was he broken?

Maybe that it!

He doesn’t have any emotions. He was never programmed to feel anything. Only to serve and make his creators wife happy.

Wife

His creators wife

You

You make him feel those things. No one else gives him this weird feeling.

Only you

And then there’s this other weird feeling that he gets.

But

This feeling is different. And he doesn’t like it

He hates it. He despises it.

He gets it when he sees you and ran get all close and cozy together. He gets this weird disgusting feeling. He doesn’t like it when ran wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in for a kiss.

The way you look so so so happy in his creators arms.

He’s the one who supposed to make you feel happy. That’s the whole reason why he was created. To make YOU happy.

Not ran!

Ran who is barely home! Always at work, in his office doing paperwork, brainstorming ideas for future projects, making and programming androids.

He’s not the one waking you up everyday with a nice breakfast all laid out perfectly for you every morning. He’s not the one going out with you to buy groceries when food is running low. He’s not the one helping you clean and do the laundry when you notice that the house is starting to look messy and that you need your clothes.

He’s not the one helping you take care of your plants or even PLANT new plants with you as you both giggle and play around by throwing dirt at each other.

But he is!

He’s the one who does all that with you! Not ran! Not the man who’s SUPPOSED to be your husband!

….

Mitsuya acts more like a husband than ran does.

Mitsuya is always home with you. Helping you with everything and cooking your meals.

He’s the one you go up to for approval with the outfits you buy because you know he’s someone you can rely on when it comes to fashion.

Not ran

And maybe that should tell you that he’s the better one out of the two of them.

Maybe he should be your husband

12:00

It was midnight and ran was still not home. You sat patiently on the couch waiting for your dear husband to come home. You were hoping that he would come home early today.

Especially since today is a very important day for the two of you.

Maybe he’s just running a little late?

You looked at the clock again

12:05

You grabbed your phone and decided to call him

….

No one picks up

You tried to control your emotions once you saw how many times you called him today. And not even a single one were you able to get him to pick up.

You could feel tears starting to form as you took deep breaths and decided to call him one more time.

….

You finally let your tears fall as you quietly wiped your face with your hands. Not caring if it would ruin your makeup.

“Y/n” You looked up to see mitsuya. He had a worried look on his face as he handed you a handkerchief.

“Oh, thank you”

“If you don’t mind, why are you up so late? I mean, you usually never stay up so late and you also got all dolled up. Why’s that?”

More tears slid down your face as you tried to control your breathing.

“It’s nothing….I-I just…I thought he would come home today”

“Ran?”

“Mhm” You say as you continue to wipe away your tears.

“Today is our 5th year anniversary. And I thought he remembered and would come home early today to celebrate it with me. But I guess that won’t happen” He stays quiet as you continue to silently cry next to him.

“What do you guys usually do? When it’s your anniversary I mean”

“Oh well…. we either cook something together and just spend time together at home or he plans a dinner reservation weeks before our anniversary and takes me out to eat and later ends up with him taking me shopping”

“And that’s all?” You could feel his eyes on you. Your face heats up knowing that’s not the only thing the two of you do.

“Um…yeah that’s all”

“Mm” Mitsuya could tell you were lying by how you tried to avoid making eye contact with him and also by your body language.

But mitsuya wasn’t stupid. He knows what else you and ran do after having a nice meal together or a fun night out.

Besides. He’s heard everything that goes on in your guys bedroom when ran is home and just wants to spend all his time with his lovely wife.

Yeah he knows

“Then how about I cook you a meal for your special day?”

“Huh?”

“If you’ll like, I’ll cook you an extraordinarily meal for you or even the two of us and spend the night with you”

“Oh mitsuya! You don’t have to-“

“But I’ll love to. Besides, it’s my duty to make you happy”

The way he said that sentence gave you chills. You looked at mitsuya before slowly nodding which makes the man android smile.

“Very well then”

He helps you get up and wipes away your tears with his thumb.

“Don’t cry. He doesn’t deserve your tears”

He doesn’t deserve you at all

Is what he wanted to say. But he didn’t.

“Just sit and watch me do all the cooking. And then we can both enjoy the meal together”

“O-okay”

The two of you chatted as he cooked. You would laugh every now and then when he would crack a few jokes and sometimes you would stop and admire him as he prepared you your meal.

You have already forgotten the reason why you were crying in the first place with mitsuya by your side.

The next day

You woke up by the delicious smell of food coming from the kitchen. You smiled knowing that it was most likely mitsuya preparing your breakfast. You quickly got up and rushed to the bathroom to brush your teeth and get ready for the day.

You happily walked down the halls to the kitchen as you couldn’t wait what Mitsuya decided to make you this time. By the time you got to the kitchen, you excitedly called out the androids name.

“Good morning mitsuyaaa….” You stopped dead in your tracks once you noticed that it wasn’t mitsuya making breakfast.

“Ran?” He turns around and smiles once he sees you.

“Y/n. Good morning sweets, I’m making breakfast for the two of us”

“I-I see…umm...where is mitsuya?”

“Mitsuya? Oh he’s in my office. I turned him off because you won’t need him this week”

“What? Why?” He turns off the stove and neatly prepares your plate as he motions you to sit down.

“Because I won’t have work this whole week. Meaning that I’ll be home all week and will be able to spend time with you”

“Oh” He frowns when he hears your tone.

“Are you not happy?”

“Oh…um I am! I am….but it’s just that I’m so used to having takashi around and so not being able to see him all week just feels…weird”

“Mmm”

“But I’m glad you’re finally taking a break from work!”

“Y/n”

“Yes?”

“About last night” You looked down as you knew what he was about to say.

“I’m so sorry love. It’s just-“

“I know I know. You were busy….like always” It hurt his heart seeing you like this. He pulls a chair next to you and sits down.

“I just want you to listen to me, please” You stayed silent.

“I was planning on leaving work early yesterday but a sudden emergency happened and I had to stay the night in the office”

“But please believe me when I say that I wanted to leave early. Because I truly did! I had everything planned out for the two of us last night but-“

“Ran”

“Yes”

“The foods gonna get cold…” He stays silent before getting up.

“Right”

It’s gonna be a long week

The first few days of the week, you notice how ran would cuddle you in bed before getting up to go make breakfast. After the two of you finished eating, he would either suggest that the two of you watch a movie and cuddle or would tell you to go get ready before taking you out to the mall to spoil you.

He would sometimes come home with a bouquet of flowers and some chocolate to surprise you and would cuddle you on the couch or bed.

There are times where stuff would get a little steamy and he would take you to you guys shared bedroom before sitting you down on the edge of the bed and getting on his knees.

He would eat you out for what feels like hours before fucking you nice and good.

Ran just wants to make up for lost time and he just really misses you.

But the one thing you guys don’t know is that when ran fucks you in your shared bedroom, a certain android is creeping around in the corner and he doesn’t look to happy about what he’s seeing and hearing.

Ran may have turned him off but the android has found a way to turn himself back on and seeing you get fucked by your husband wasn’t something he wanted to see and hear when coming back.

And he’s going to do something about it

It was Saturday Night. You and ran just got back after a night out and all the two of you wanted to do was sleep. You head over to the bathroom to take off your makeup and shower before going to bed. Your husband said he’ll be with you soon because he had to go check something in his office real quick.

As he walked to his office though, ran felt a little off.

Like something wasn’t right

He ignored the feeling and opened his office door. He walks over to his desk, not paying attention to the now empty spot where the android was supposed to be in.

Ran looks over some papers and as he’s doing so, he doesn’t notice the lavender eyed male android creeping up behind him.

Until it was to late

Ran groans when he feels something hit his head. He stumbles to the ground as he holds his head in pain. He looks up to only lock eyes with mitsuya who had a brick in his hand.

“Takashi? How-What the fuck!”

“You don’t deserve her. You don’t deserve her at all!”

“Who-“

“Y/n”

“My wife?” Ran was shock. So many questions were running through his head. How the fuck did mitsuya turn on? He was sure that he turned him off for the whole week! And why did he hit him on the head with a brick?! And lastly, why is he talking about you?

“I’m the one who’s supposed to make her happy. Not you. She doesn’t deserve a shitty ass husband like you who barely has any time for her!”

“What-“

“But unlike me. I’m always there for her….im the one who wakes her up in the morning with a nice breakfast. I’m the one who helps her clean, cook, everything! I comfort her when she cries about YOU not showing up home. I’m the one that makes her laugh and smile…it’s me not you!”

“I love her….I love her more than anything- I would do anything for her! Just to make sure she’s happy”

“But you never did that”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about! I’m her husband for fuck sakes! The hell is wrong with you mitsuya?!”

Ran was in disbelief. He couldn’t believe that the android that he created was going on a crazy rant about how much he loves you. His wife!

“But you don’t act like it. I’m more of a better husband than you’ll ever be” And before ran could say another word, mitsuya repeatedly hits ran on his head with the brick.

And ran was gone

“What a pathetic excuse of a husband” He then kneels down and takes off rans ring before slipping it on his ring finger.

“Looks better on me anyway”

He soon hears the shower stop and he starts fixing himself before walking towards your soon to be shared bedroom.

Mitsuya hums as he slowly makes his way into the room. He smiles when he sees you sitting on the bed with your pjs on and phone in hand.

The sound of the door creaking open captures your attention and when you looked up from your phone expecting to see ran, you see a bloody mitsuya with a huge grin on his face.

“M-mitsuya?”

You shook in fear as he only chuckles. He starts walking towards you as you backed up against the headboard. Terrified.

“Shh don’t worry love. It’s not my blood!”

“Where’s ran? W-what did y-you do?!” He only smiles which sent chills down your spine.

Tears ran down your cheeks as mitsuya lovingly wipes them with his bloody hands.

“Don’t cry love. He was never a good husband to you anyways. But I’m here and I’ll never treat you like how your so called husband did”

“Besides”

Your eyes widen as he shows you his ran ring with a smile.

“I’m your new husband from now on”

WHEWWWW THAT TOOK FOREVERRRR

I literally almost did not want to finish it because tumblr kept fucking up with my drafts💔 and then I also accidentally deleted the draft so I was having a full on breakdown with this😭

Anyways I hope you guys like it🤍

Taglist: @mysouleaten @mariam12344 @jk--47 @wisteriarose214 @strawberry123sweet

#inuiiwonderland🤍#tokyorev x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers #yandere tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers mitsuya #mitsuya takashi #mitsuya x reader #tokyo revengers x female reader #mitsuya takashi x reader #yandere mitsuya #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers manga #tokyo revengers ran

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sfehvn · 6 months

Text

intruder part 3

Part 1 | Part 2

Description: A year has since came and went following Astarion's ascension ritual. He is no longer himself, but then... Where is he? A/N: This part is a lot of lore-building so no actual Astarion appearances but I hope it's enjoyable all the same! Rating: M (18+ minors DNI) Word count: 1,820 Characters: Characters: ascended!Astarion x Tav

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The forest of Emerald Grove manifests around you. Thick trees and rocky precipices grace your views, abruptly causing a wistful awareness to settle into your mind. The odd situation you were currently in aside, you never dreamed you would yearn to return to such a time. Memories flooded your head. Your very first encounter with the man who had so gracefully held a knife to your throat out of fear and turmoil. The very first time you had welcomed him with open arms and a profound desire between these very trees. Despite the rockiness your relationship had survived through at the time, you remember how heartbroken you felt when Astarion revealed his true motives of gaining security out of you through bedding you. At the leading edge, though, you recall his admission of falling for you.

“How-” You struggle to find the words as you turn to stare at the man who had approached you in the Elfsong Tavern, “What are you doing?”

Your query was disregarded as the man spoke, “You wish for your lover to be restored.” It was a matter-of-fact statement, the corners of his lips turning up into a smile. “Ah, but you have said lover.” The man pointed his words.

Alarm bells rang through your skull. You took a moment to survey your surroundings and breathe in the familiar fresh air, glancing at the shimmering moon. Were you actually here? Or was this all an illusion? You let your eyes falter back to the man whose name you still had no clue of. “How do you know this?” No good could come from this particular situation, you knew. “Why are we here?” Your intimidation ultimately failed, causing your voice to crack and waver.

“My apologies. I can take us somewhere more suited to your tastes. Where would you prefer?” His hand raised, and with a quick snap of his fingers, you are transported to the Last Light Inn. It is empty and void of life. “Or would you choose not to stray too far from home?” Another snap, and you’re back on the streets of Baldur’s Gate, the dead city a stark contrast from your walk to the tavern. “Where is comfortable for you, dear?”

You close your eyes tightly for a moment before reopening them. You knew better than to entertain this man; the last time you had made good with someone who miraculously appeared before you with offers of fixed problems, it had not worked out for you or Astarion. While eager for some sort of answer to your dire questions, for a fix of the situation at hand, the red flags rang. You had never told this man your problems, yet here he was, claiming it to be destiny bringing the two together to fix them. “I am not interested. Return me to the tavern at once.” It was a demand.

“As you wish.” His smile is sly as he brings his hand up once more, transporting you two back to your previous spots seated at the table in Elfsong. This time, not a soul resides in the tavern. You take note that the barkeep, Alan, was also gone.

“Where is everyone?” In bewilderment, you look back at the strange man.

“The apparitions are a bit much to maintain for long. Suppose if that makes you comfortable, though. It shall be done.” Another snap, and the small, jovial crowd is back once more. Alan is back behind the bar, shining glasses, a grin large enough to make you uneasy stretched onto his lips.

“What is this?” The defeat was thick in your cadence. You return your anguished glare to the man. You scanned him for a break in facade, but there was none. He just- well, he looked like any other man you may have come across. Looks could be deceiving; a lesson learned many times.

“You can provide me with something I want.” His response was quick, with no hesitation. “In turn, I will return your lover to you. As he was before.” Your brows furrowed in indignation. While your entire body screamed at you to take the deal, no questions asked, trepidation stopped you from responding too hungrily.

“I will be making no deals with devils. I’ve come to understand it could never end well for the one who is not the devil.” Despite this man seeming to be your only option with the watchful eye of Astarion on you at what feels like all times, you couldn’t risk making the situation any worse. Could it get much worse? Your subconscious nagged. “Besides, I would still like to know how you’ve found me.”

The man let out a howl of laughter, throwing his head back in amusement. “I am no devil, Tav.” He shifts forward, hands clasped before him and coming to rest on the table. “Though I can understand it may be hard to discern given our meeting. However, I did not have much opportunity for a natural one since you are under lock and key at all times.” You recall the trance-like state in which you left the palace and come to realize it must have been every bit a trance. “I am but a humble sorcerer. As for how I found you, well, it seems we share a common enemy. Though, I could feel your heartache dimensions away.” His head quirks, and it feels as if he is boring into your very soul.

Unprompted, the man continues. “Your lover, Astarion, opened himself up to the very demons that reside in the hells during his ascension ritual. Now, stay with me because this is going to get complicated.” He glances around the room before snapping the apparitions away. You hadn’t even realized how disfigured the residents in the tavern had become. “I hope you don’t mind. As I said, the apparitions can be daunting.” He clears his throat.

“Are you insinuating a demon resides within Astarion’s body? Demons are physical beings.” You dig your mind for anything you may have heard about demonic possessions, but none come to mind. Sure, you’ve seen your fair share of ghost possessions among mortals, but this was not what was being implied. A demon could impose a sort of mind control, but the soul would still be active and aware. Not pushed deep into the darkness of its own body. The demon must also be present for such a thing to occur.

“Precisely. Demons are physical beings, but are you familiar with the apothecary swindlers that reside in the hells?” A slow shake of your head urges the sorcerer to continue. “This covenant has made enough gold to fill all of the pockets of Faerûn with their scheming. A truly unfounded market, I’ll give them that.” He chortles lightly before continuing, “Anyhow, they slay these demons, extract, and capture their very essence to be repurposed as a medicine for all ailments. Most folks are smart enough to steer clear, but you will always have your bold noblemen and ladies who strive for the power and fame that these apothecaries promise.”

“So Astarion-” You start but are cut off.

“Your lover did not seek these services, no.” He states quickly. “This is where things get a bit tricky. These very regular people oftentimes do not end up with precisely what they’ve paid for. The essence of these demons seeks power, a vessel in which they can reign in a new physical form and physically rebuild themselves. The process is slow; it can take centuries for this transformation to occur. Most mortal bodies will not even make it to see this through, as the demon residing within them does not grant the vessel immortality.”

“But an ascended vampire…” You trail, the dots connecting in your mind.

“An ascension ritual such as the one Astarion partook is exactly the thing to send the dinner bells ringing to a demon’s essence.” The man confirms. “The most plausible explanation is one had been freed from its confinements and made its way into your lover’s body. After a few hundred years, his form will take on the one of the demon who controls his vessel- erm, body.” He corrected after your pointed glare was received.

“What exactly do you get out of this?” You ask quickly, the suspicion in your voice evident.

“While I would love to say I’m doing this solely to save your and your lover’s tortured souls, that would be a blatant lie.” There is the faintest pause in his words. “The demon Elralluun rules his body. In his prime, he was known for brutalizing hundreds of villages. Would kill men, women, and children all the same.” You sense a deep tinge of sorrow masked in the man’s words and decide you won’t pry further. “I’ve thought him dead until recently. I felt him. The heat of rage and hatred lit afire in my bones. One that left my being the second he was slain. I felt it all.”

You nod numbly in understanding. “How do we free Astarion?”

There’s silence as you watch the man find the words to say. “To destroy the vessel is to free the soul.”

“Absolutely not.” You snapped, heart sinking to your toes. You could never kill Astarion knowing he was still in there somewhere.

“Tav, think this over. He will be gone anyway once the transformation has taken hold. I understand this is a tough decision, but his sacrifice may even save him from total damnation. This is the only way. I do not have the power to defeat him. You do. You are a hero, through and through.” The man’s words struck your chest, causing you to gulp in a large, unneeded breath. Tears pooled in your eyes and you feverishly wiped at them, standing from your seat.

“Well, find another way.” Your voice was raised, eyes shooting daggers into the still-sitting man.

“There is no other way.” Each word was emphasized, with a look of empathy but seriousness on his features. “Think this through. I will find you again soon, and you can give me your answer then. You may come to see this to be the most merciful outcome for you and your companion.” He stands from his seated position, giving you one last look of sympathy before departing the Tavern.

Disoriented, you raise your head from the oak desk, acting as a pillow for your rest. You couldn’t discern if the encounter had happened in reality or not as you shifted your head to see the tower of books beside you, exactly where you had left them before making your exit from the manor. You were back in the library. A note scrawled in careful penmanship sat on the desk that had not been there before.

‘I will continue to search for an alternative. I will return in seven days time for an answer regardless. I trust you will make the right choice.

Leif’

#astarion x tav #astarion x reader #ascended!astarion x tav #ascended!astarion x reader #ascended astarion #astarion #bg3 #x reader #x tav #tav

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kopivie · 6 months

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share some hades!wrio headcanons? I'm actually SO invested i'm going to die

oh! i think i can come up with a few! it'll probably be some facts about him, and maybe some writing? (note: i'm coming back after finishing this and.. i got so carried away.)

(also as a side note, if i were to write a fic about this, i might use a lot of greek/ancient greek terms and words, so if you see something like that, please don't be alarmed.)

first and foremost, i'm definitely clinging to That One Part of wriothesley's canon lore of him abandoning the name given to him before his murder trial. canonically, he just picked up the name "wriothesley" from an obituary because he didn't want to use the one his foster parents gave him. what that name was, we will probably never know (unless it's said in his story quest, which i haven't done yet.) that said, allow me to jump into my hades!wriothesley hcs :D

"wriothesley" is a name that very few actually use. much like canon, people often refer to him as "your grace". however, he has many, many monikers; "the duke of meropide" and "king of the underworld" are just two of many.

underworld residents (or to overworlders, meropide prisoners) coined a bunch of new terms to refer to the elusive duke: aides or aidoneus (meaning "the unseen" or "the invisible one"), orcus (meaning "killer" or "the one who kills"), ditis pater/dis pater/dis (all meaning something along the lines of "rich one"), or clymenus (meaning "the illustrious" or "the revered one")

note: these are all actual names used to refer to hades in greek mythology.

no one calls him those names to his face or in his presence. those names are spoken in whisper -- saying any of those names seems to evoke a physical reaction to anyone who may have been in the fortress long enough to understand the weight behind those names.

hades!wriothesley is not a benevolent being. he is extremely objective. he seldom makes emotional decisions, which leads people to believe that at times, he has no emotions to speak of. (which isn't true, obviously.) his impartial decisions have cost many a life.

i think that because he doesn't rely on his emotions when making many decisions, that is the reason why he goes overboard when it comes to you. it's a little like shaking an unopened soda bottle for an hour and then suddenly opening the top.

wriothesley's love overflows, it gushes, it stains everything it touches. it seeps into every pore and changes you from the inside out. the problem with this, however, is that you resist this change initially.

you are receptive to his... i don't wanna call it advances, since that often has a negative connotation. wriothesley is anything but pushy and inappropriate. he's gentlemanly and chivalrous, so much so that you almost want to scream sometimes. let's call it courting — you allow him to court you, although you keep him at a distance.

why do you keep him at a distance? i... don't really know. perhaps someone can send in a suggestion. but the point is that you don't fully indulge yourself -- sometimes you do, but you become slightly distant and apologetic afterwards. wriothesley understands and is happy to be patient with you, but...

i think my suggestion for your hesitancy would be that you can feel the love that he exudes, and it scares you. you're afraid of what might happen if you allow yourself to sink too deep.

and that... that is probably why you resent him when he takes you to the fortress. that's part of the reason, anyhow. you were afraid of drowning and he literally took you to the bottom of the sea. in a metaphorical sense, he basically tied a brick to your ankles and dragged you down to his own depths against your will. you can't fight, you can't resist -- you can only endure. that is why you're angry with him.

"why do you resent me so?"

hades has the audacity to ask you such a question as you study a flower that he'd brought back from his latest visit to the overworld. you hadn't known of his departure, but when he gifted you this fresh plant, you felt something ugly and bitter stir within you. you became fixated on it, deciding to hole yourself up in your room to spend time with the only thing that gave you peace. you don't react to his question.

he stays quiet for a while, but he doesn't leave. after about five minutes, he inquires again. "please, blossom. i must know. i just wish to make you happy."

you all but slam your hand down on your desk. "happy? you want to make me happy?" you haven't raised your voice, but your tone is as icy as the vision that dangles from his clothing. "set me free. let me go home."

wriothesley is quiet again. "...will you at least look at me?"

the wetness in your eyes forces you to shake your head. "you haven't earned my gaze."

"and what must i do to earn it?"

"i've already told you."

"what else must i do?"

that gets you to turn around. "why are you so stubborn? what is preventing you from letting me go? you yourself can wander between the realms freely, but i can't?" your eyes sting with unshed tears, though the sensation doesn't last long. your frame trembles as you cry, and wriothesley cups your face to wipe the tears away. "do not touch me." you hiss at him.

wriothesley gives you a humorless smile. "you're not pushing me away."

...he's right. why aren't you pushing him away? "you haven't earned the right to touch me."

"haven't i?" hades is leaning in closer. you can smell peppermint on his breath. did he drink tea before coming? his thumb caresses your cheek. your eyes list to the side. "blossom," he calls you. "please."

you have a hard time resisting when he begs you like this. you hate how you let him get away with murder. he's trapped you here against your will, denied you of your freedom, and yet you still allow him to treat you like a deity. you allow him to do as he pleases. you don't feel threatened by him, no -- what you feel is his sincerity. his longing. his love.

you lock eyes with wriothesley. he's sharing a breath with you now. "wh-what do you want?" you ask. "you've already taken everything from me. how greedy can one man be?"

wriothesley's eyes glimmer in the lamplight. you can feel his gaze drop to your lips. his voice is noticeably deeper when he asks, "do you want to find out?"

you're not sure what you feel when he kisses you. the kiss is soft, sweet, and tastes of peppermint. his lips are warm, as is the rest of him. he licks into your mouth slowly and patiently, and you don't fight him.

because really, you've never wanted to push him away. you want to accept wriothesley for who he is, bloodied hands and all. you want him almost as bad as he wants you. and yet you just can't accept him in his entirety-- not as he is now. not when he's secretive and evasive. but his affection gives you some reprieve; his love gives you peace overwhelming, so much so that you let your own feelings shine through in moments like these.

you end the kiss first. you pull away, breathless, though you notice that he doesn't move an inch. after a brief silence, you finally speak. "you're too much for me." you murmur. "you'll be death of me."

wriothesley takes your hands in his. "for as long as i rule the underworld," he replies, "death will never find you. and that's a promise."

(also obligatory catte tag bc i need a fellow wrio lover to see this 🫡🩷 @catcze)

(p.s.: lemme know if i shouldn't tag you in this stuff, okay?)

#[ 📬 — inbox. ]#[ 💭 — thoughts. ]#hades!wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x reader #genshin x reader #oh man..#OH MAN HE GETS MY BRAIN GOINNGGGG

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scarletttries · 1 year

Text

Two Weeks Notice (Kendall Roy Request)

Pairing: Kendall Roy (Succession) x F! Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.7k

Author's Note: I'm so excited that we'll have new Kendall Succession content soon! Thank you so much for this request, I think being Kendall's trophy wife would be a whole ass job but so worth it 😅 Also writing about leaving a shitty job felt very cathartic as I am going through something similar at the moment, so I am very grateful for this request, obsessed with your description of throwing your feminist card away for this, and apologies for all the projecting!💓

Two Weeks Notice (Kendall Roy Smut)

You were good at your job. Great in fact. No matter what your 1,000-year old boss said when he forgot his password and blamed it on you. No matter how many times you were ahead of schedule on a project and then the deadline got moved. No matter how many times you had to lock yourself in a bathroom stall just to take a few deep breaths alone so you weren't crying at your desk. You were good at your job. But was it worth it?

You'd worked hard to rise through your industry until you started to really see the benefits of being close to the top, but the heavy responsibilities and long nights and constant demands had started taking a toll right around the time you met Kendall. Kendall whose job was somehow even more demanding than yours, and who needed all the support you could offer him every waking moment, clinging to your kindness like it was the first he was ever shown. It was easy to see Kendall was smitten from the first day, never hiding his efforts to spend time with you, showering you with gifts and invitations to be on his arm at what seemed like every major event in the world. It was exhausting balancing late night galas with your job, and trying to be there for Kendall when his family got too much and he needed to retreat to the safe harbour of your arms. You could feel yourself getting more and more worn out as your relationship developed, with Kendall always offering to sit out events for a quiet night in, despite how much you both loved the excuse to don a designer dress and spend the night laughing together, hand locked in his no matter what.

You didn't wake up until a least your third alarm that Monday, the bright light trickling through a gap in the long velvet curtains making you wish you could hide under the duvet forever.

"Is that your alarm babe? You can't seriously have to be up for work already?" Groaned Kendall beside you, reaching out to wrap his arm over your stomach, covered only by a t-shirt he'd loaned you on your first sleepover and never got back, as he silenced the beeping beside you.

"I can lie here for five more minutes and then I've got to get ready." You sighed wearily, setting the deadline for yourself, ignoring the cloud of dread hanging over you at the thought of another day in that awful office.

"Just don't go, you hate it there, and you always come home bummed out afterwards. Just stay in bed with me forever." Kendall argued, rising up on his elbows and shifting until his face hovered an inch from yours, soft smile breaking down your defenses with lightning speed.

"I can't just not go Kendall, it's my job." You sighed, gracing him with a soft kiss before gathering all your strength to drag yourself out from under his slim build.

"You don't need a job gorgeous, especially not a job you don't like. You should quit and then we'd get to spend more time together." You couldn't help but laugh at his suggestion, until you focused on his face again, completely serious about his proposal.

"Kendall I can't just quit and hang out with you all day." You could feel your heart sink at your own words, the option presented to you so much more enticing than the day you had ahead of you. As you moved to sit up Kendall let his weight keep you in place, shaking his head at your attempted escape.

"Hey I still have four minutes left to make my case!" His voice was hoarse first thing in the morning and as his lips fell to yours again you could feel your resolve softening,

"Okay, you can try and convince me." You let your head fall back against the pillow as Kendall shifted his body completely over yours, lips gently marking a journey over your throat as he spoke,

"First, most people have a job to make money, and you don't ever need to worry about money again because we have more than enough together." His kisses trailed down towards your shoulder, feeling the subtle shift of your hips under him as your eyes fluttered shut at the sensation. "Also, I miss you when you're at work, and that's no fun for me." You missed the playful glint in his eye as he spoke, softly landing one hand on your thigh and rubbing small circles across the sensitive skin with his fingertips as they climbed.

"Kendall, I - " You thought about protesting, but his lips cut you off as you spoke, continuing his thoughtful plea,

"Number three, the idiots you work with don't respect you. But I respect every part of you, and every one of your needs." His warm palm pressed into your thigh, shifting your legs apart slightly, smiling with devilish glee as you let him do it. "Working there makes you unhappy, and you should never have to do anything that makes you feel bad. I only ever want you to feel good." You could feel your excitement building with anticipation as his hand slowly climbed towards your centre, body twitching against his as his fingers brushed over the soft fabric of your underwear. Dipping his head to your stomach, his hands tugged at the worn shirt until it was bunched up at your shoulders, your chest exposed for his trailing lips to explore as he spoke,

"We have a lot more fun here than you do at work right?" He asked teasingly as his fingers toyed with the hem of your panties, drinking in your breathy sigh as you nodded and hummed in agreement, lifting your hips to help him remove the barrier stopping him from accessing all of you.

"Good girl," he cooed as his fingers traced over your slit, moving teasingly slowly as his lips peppered your chest with kisses, tongue darting over your nipples until they hardened at his touch.

"You're also way too sexy to have an office job, you should let someone who couldn't just lie in bed naked all day have your job, as like, a public service." You could feel him grin against your skin as he spoke, easing his fingers between your folds and feeling your warm slick welcome him.

"Mmm, see, it's not fair for you to ever leave me here alone when you're clearly made for me to touch." You watched through hooded eyes as he withdrew his fingers slowly and brought them to his lips, "and taste," he added before dropping his hand back to your entrance, pumping his hand between your thighs and feeling your chest rise and fall against his hungry lips.

"Kendall, please." You sighed out at his gentle touch, needing more as frustration began to build in your aching core.

"Final reason, number I lost fucking count because there are so many reasons - I need you too much. I need you every morning, and every night, and every bullshit event, and every good day and every bad day okay? I need you all the time." The burning intensity in his gaze as he spoke had you squirming at his touch, the pounding of your heart echoing in your swimming head as he kissed a path down over your stomach, face hovering just above where you craved him most. His hand stilled against your dripping slit, breath teasingly close to your tingling clit. "So should I stop and let you go to work? Or do you want to stay here with me?" A smug smile spread across his face as you replied, almost begging,

"I'll stay Kendall, please!" Satisfied with your answer his fingers dipped inside you again, faster this time, brushing against your walls as his tongue lapped at your neglected clit, quickly building the pressure inside again.

"You're going to quit your job?" He almost commanded the question, rewarding each nod of your head with a wet kiss on your sensitive bud.

"You're going to let me take care of you?" You could feel the brush of his cheek on your inner thigh as he smiled at the question, your 'yes' coming out as a moan as you felt yourself grow closer and closer to release, the excitement in your core bubbling up to its boiling point.

"You're going to be my gorgeous, loving, trophy wife?" His eyes seemed to sparkle at the word wife, full of warmth and hope with the thought of having you by his side for the rest of his life.

"Yes Kendall!" Your voice caught on his name as your thighs began to shake, his tongue frantically lapping at your clit at the pressure inside you finally snapped, clenching down on his fingers and trembling under him.

"Good girl." He purred as he coaxed every drop of pleasure out of you, fingers working until your soft form finally stilled, hands finding his face and pulling him into a hungry kiss. Wrapping your arms over his neck you pulled him tight against your lips, letting your tongue drink in your own taste, body on fire with sensitivity after your start to the day. Finally you let your brain catch up with the agreement you'd made in exchange for pleasure, interrupting Kendall's eager kisses with a reminder of reality,

"I still have to give two weeks notice." You sighed, laughing as Kendall shook his head vigorously at the suggestion,

"No way, I'll just hire a model to pretend to be you at the office for the next two weeks. Done, problem solved," looking very proud of himself at the suggestion.

"Why a model?" You laughed, realising you weren't getting out of this bed for any reason today if Kendall was getting his way.

"Fuck off, have you seen you?!" He grinned at your flattered smile as you pulled his lips back against yours, only to feel his hands start wandering again, "Actually, I could do with seeing even more of you."

It's safe to say anytime you thought about getting a job outside of supportingt Kendall, he would remind you exactly why you agreed to be his, full-time.

#fanfiction #writing #one shot #requests #kendall succession #kendall roy headcanon #kendall roy smut #kendall roy x reader #kendall roy #succession imagine #succession hbo #succession

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i23kazu · 8 months

Text

LET LIGHT STREAM IN

characters. neuvillette x gn!reader genre. romantic fluff. an. this will be ooc! please forgive me hehe but practice will be the way i get to write neuvillette. so please don't comment things like "no he would not say that" because fanfic will be fanfic! also neuvillette is 100% the melusines' father. | please reblog!! im getting back into writing and reblogs with tags and comments will make me want to write more :D

waking up with neuvillette is usually one type of morning or the other, you feel. some mornings are filled with the both of you hastily rushing for work. while neuvillette is typically calm, composed, and is able to take his time in the morning... you, on the other hand, often do not experience that luxury. most mornings are equated with your hands haggardly slamming the alarm button on your phone, until you're left with fifteen minutes to get up and get out of the house.

on occasions, neuvillette takes the time to prepare breakfast for the both of you – pain au chocolats and fresh milk that are delivered by the faithful melusines often grace your dining table, and fresh loaves of bread from the bakery of hotel debord are quickly paired with the coldest, saltiest slabs of butter.

on the other side of your relationship's shared mornings, you and neuvillette get to lay cosily beneath your covers, nestled in warmth. you tiredly turn to glance at him, still clad in his silk pajamas, and his still-sleeping face leaning towards you.

"good morning, my dear," you whisper, gently running your fingers through his hair. at this point... who cares if he wakes up. not you. his hair is so, so soft – too soft for you to remove it.

your hands suddenly draw back when a tired groan is heard. a groan so soft, perhaps only one of your dear melusines could have heard it. neuvillette mumbles something and turns away from you.

"dearest. isn't it about time to wake up? surely the great chief justice of fontaine would never be seen sleeping in," a teasing lilt fills your voice. your fingers reach to run through his hair again, soothing and quieting any murmurs you hear.

your fleece blanket is pulled off his torso, and neuvillette opts for the coverage of his pillow instead. whatever coverage it could lend to the cold of the room, anyways.

you spot the slightest hint of a smile on your beloved's face as he exhales lightly, mimicking his sleeping position earlier – the smile vanishes as quickly as it appears.

"get up. with the rate you're sleeping in, rufina would have eaten all the croissants on their way here!" you remove the pillow as well. neuvillette's hands make their way up to shield his eyes.

"can't your most beloved get a bit more shut-eye before his work?" neuvillette blinks at you, the smile returning to his features.

"crime and villainy do not have the day off, and so justice must work round the clock as well. isn't that right, chief justice? plus, i'm sure your little melusines miss their papa. it wouldn't do for them to spend so much time away from you," you tease once more, moving from the bed to open the windows.

fresh air fills the room, the petrichor scent of last night's rain – you and neuvillette had been watching a rather emotional film – wafts through the windows as well. fontaine's skies have been painted with a beautiful blue, and the grounds a vivid green. you hear the melodies of birds and the conversations of the swans and ducks from the lake; yes, it's morning once more in fontaine. dawn's light streams in through the windows once more.

"alright, alright – i'm up." neuvillette pretends to grouch, standing up and making his way to your side, wrapping his arms around you. "good morning, my sweet dove."

reblogs w/ tags & comments appreciated !!!

taglist: @tiredsleep @loptido @raincxtter @chichikoi @ladyadii @soulsanta @sheiiths @genshinparty @eowinthetraveler @moonbyunniee @legitnoi @lemontum @manager-of-the-pudding-bank @starz222 @ilyuu @cherry-colored-petals @mondaymelon @tartaglia-apologist @soleillunne @softcosmixs @m1shapanda @aimynx @smokipoki (send ask to be added to taglist)

#[📝 stewardess' notepad!]#astronetwrk #genshin x reader #neuvillette x reader #genshin x gn reader #genshin impact x gn reader #genshin impact x reader #neuvillette x gn reader #genshin fluff #neuvillette fluff #genshin x reader sfw #neuvillette x reader sfw

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myfeetrcolddd · 8 months

Text

Less than rational

Theo knew he had a bad habit of making less than rational decisions, decisions that often got him hurt or in trouble. He knew he had to try and not make these decisions, but when he had fallen off a wild horse and was sent to the infirmary due to his broken arm he knew he was about to make a lot more less than rational decisions, especially ones that would land him in the infirmary.

Y/N had started to work with madam Pomfry at the start of the year, it would be good practice and a good learning experience for when she would eventually become a healer. Surprisingly she had never encountered the famous Theodore Nott, who madam Pomfry had a large file containing all his past injuries during his years at Hogwarts.

It wasn't until the end of the year did she get to finally treat the boy, who had no doubt lied about how he had broken his arm, and after some coaxing and promising not to tell on him he had admitted to riding wild horses in the forbidden forest as part of a dare.

She found him ridiculous, always joking around and never taking his injury serious, she had assumed that would be the first and last time she would be treating him, considering the fact that they had gone months without an encounter. But was she ever so wrong

Theo had made it his plan to woo the girl, but first he just wanted to be near her, and what better way than her nursing him back to health. Often when he came to the infirmary madam Pomfry would be the one to help him, but when it was her and not the pretty girl in his year, he would ask- beg, for madam Pomfry to bring him the girl. He hadn't even cared if the old nurse was telling Y/N what he was doing, because in the end he got to see her.

But only seeing her when he was injured was getting to be too little, and if Theo was to be honest he didn't quite fancy hurting himself all that much, he needed to see her more, and it seemed that they didn't have any classes together whatsoever.

As much as she hated to admit it she liked seeing Theodore Nott every week, of course she would always pester him about being more careful, and it seemed to work, no longer was the boy breaking or spraining something every so often. But he was coming in for little things, a paper cut, a stubbed toe, a tooth ache even.

She was quite sure he was either lying or self inflicting these 'injuries' she also knew that Theo had been asking for her specifically when ever he came in, and it got to the point that madam Pomfry wouldn't even refer to the boy by his name but as 'your boy'.

Like every morning Y/N had found herself missing breakfast, thanks to another late night at the infirmary, but after months of this she had gotten used to the lack of food in the morning. Instead opting for a granola bar and a sip of juice before dashing off to class.

Running through the near empty halls Y/N cursed to herself, how could she have slept in so late!

"Y/N!" A voice called from behind her, stopping her mid run she turned to see who called her name. An involuntary smile graced her face at the sight of Theodore Nott. It wasn't often that she saw the boy outside of the infirmary, they weren't in any of the same classes and they weren't in the same house let alone having any mutual friends.

"Theo." She smiled, the fact that she was late to class was long forgotten as the tall messy haired boy walked towards her, a goofy grin on his face.

"I didn't see you at breakfast." His brows scrunched in the cutest way and concern was visible on his face- wait, he looks for me at meals? The thought went off in her brain like an alarm, though she had no clue why, all she knew was that she had to make sure her sudden panic didn't show through.

"Oh. I slept in." She shrugged, hopefully looking nonchalant.

"What class do you have?"

"Muggle studies, what about you?" She tilted her head, normally the panic she was feeling would be because she was late for class, instead it was caused thanks to the infuriatingly good looking boy in front of her who was only an arms length away.

"Spare." He said in a bragging tone and grinned, then he took a step closer to her. "You know," He started, staring into her eyes and she suddenly felt very translucent, "I hear that Burbage is just letting her students have an extra study period."

"Oh? And where'd you hear that?" She smirked up at him.

"The grape vine." He shrugged and she giggled and the sound made his heart bloom, with warmth, happiness, pride that he had gotten her to laugh.

"Mhm, well I do have a lot of things to study for."

"Do you?" She nodded her head and his eyes narrowed playfully, "Well, I am a top student, I can help you if you want." Theo tilted his head as he stepped closer, so close that her perfume was much stronger and doing things to him, and he knew that if he didn't distance himself then he would make a less than rational decision, one that could ruin everything he has with her.

"Well, I appreciate the offer but-" She was cut off by her own squeal as Theo lifted her off the ground as if she weighed nothing and threw her over his shoulder like a sake of potatoes. "Theo!" She yelled, thrashing against him, but despite herself she let out a laugh. "Put me down!" Her voice had meant to be harsh but she was still laughing.

"I'm afraid I can't do that Miss Nurse, if I do you might not study." He shrugged as he began to walk to the library and her jaw dropped in shock. No way he could carry her all the way there.

While Y/N was caught up in the fact that Theos grip on her waist felt a little too good and that she didn't hate her situation as much as she should have, Theo was having his own little meltdown.

It wasn't often that Theodore Nott second guessed himself, but whenever it came to this girl it was as if his thoughts were on over drive. Always thinking about what he could do to get her to look at him, to laugh at him, to talk and spend time with him, and now he knew he had to come up with some reason to get her to touch him more, because if she was a flame he was a moth, drawn to her even if it burned him.

He liked the feeling of her in his arms, or arm, and he knew if anyone saw them it would be incredibly hard to explain but he couldn't find it in himself to care, because Y/N wasn't complaining so neither was he, and as they got closer to the library he realized he was going to have to put her down.

When he stopped in front of the library doors he heaved her down and off his shoulder, placing her right in front of him, and he was aware of how close he had placed her her breath fanning his face as he found his posture slight slouched and his head bent towards her. He was aware of how he had neglected to take his hands off of her waist.

Neither of them missed the glances each of them made to the others lips, the lingering gazes, but both said nothing about it, instead Y/N found herself blushing furiously and stepping away from the boy who took up too much of her time. She cleared her throat and turned towards the library doors, "Well," Her voice was high pitched and she was quick to fix it, "Let's get to it then."

Theo had stared at her back, at her beautiful hair, and he realized that maybe he liked this girl much more than he thought he had, because although he's disappointed they didn't kiss, he still wanted to be around her, he didn't feel sour by her turning her back on him, not one bit.

After that day things changed, Theo had become more touchy and Y/N more tolerant, and even flirting back.

It was a Friday night, and Slytherin was throwing a party to celebrate their win against Gryffindor, Y/N wasn't normally one for parties, only attending one here and there, but she was sick of what ever was going on with her and Theo. It had been weeks since that day he threw her over his shoulder, and weeks of almost kisses and less than friendly touches and words, yet he still didn't make a move. And she would make the first move but every time she tried he had made an excuse to leave before she could even ask him out.

She knew he liked her, she just didn't know why he wouldn't do anything about it.

So she bought a dress, a short, skimpy, revealing dress in Theos favorite color, she put on a pair of strappy heals and even did more than just mascara and lip gloss.

The party was loud, bodies grinding against each other, there was a fog machine somewhere which made the room well, foggy, and most of the lights were off. Everyone already seemed drunk and as she made her way to the drink table she had already been offered many things that no person in their right mind would ask another person.

With a drink in hand she had scanned the dark room and it wasn't long until her eyes met his. Directly across the room was Theo, leaning in an arm chair as his friends sat int eh adorning chairs and sofa by the fire place.

Theo was manspreading, his hands on the arm rests and in one hand was a bottle of beer. His gaze did things to her normally, but something about the way he was looking at her right now, that made her burn in the best way possible.

Fueled by his unwavering gaze Y/N downed her drink and made her way to the make shift dance floor, immediately finding someone to dance with. "You look nice Y/L/N" the guy said in to her ear as he grinded on her, and she had to stop herself from gagging. She didn't even know the boys name.

"You too." She smiled up at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her ass into his groin.

It was then that the guy behind her was ripped off of her. She didn't have to turn around to see who it was, and soon his body was pressed up against hers, replacing the boy before. Theo wrapped his arms around her waist and brought his head down to her ear, "What do you think you're doing Princess." His words were low and rough and came out more as a statement than a question.

"Having fun of course." She grinned.

"Okay, let me rephrase, why was that guy, grinding on you?" Oh he was angry.

"If not him who else?" Instead of answering Theo spun her around in his arms, now face to face, their noses touching as he glares down at her.

He had no right to be jealous, but he was, because everyone knew that she was his, everyone knew about his bigger than life feelings for her, and even if they didn't say anything about it she knew it too. But that wasn't enough, he hadn't made a move, he was acting like a boyfriend without being a boyfriend, it was frustrating, she liked what they had but she wanted more, she wanted cuddles and kisses goodbye, she wanted to hug for as long as she wanted and she wanted to be official.

At the lack of response she glowered and scoffed, Theodore Nott, known for doing thing without thinking and doing things without second thought was always second guessing her and anything she came with. As if calculating the consequences if he got with her.

"Whatever." She mumbled, prying his hands off her and walking away. If he was going to be a coward then so be it, I won't be waiting for him, I have my own life and I won't spend it hoping a boy will admit he likes me.

As he watched her walk away he felt his heart shatter. He already knew he was fucking things up, he knew he didn't really need to be second guessing everything he had with her, but he couldn't help himself, what if they started dating and she realized he wasn't all that he made himself up to be? What if she had him and then decided she didn't want him? Theo knew he couldn't live with himself if he had something with her and then lost it all, but isn't that what he had just done?

He didn't get any sleep that night, or the next, and soon he ended up in the infirmary looking for a sleeping potion, this had been the longest he had gone without seeing her, it was two fucking days and he was already falling apart at the seams.

And it was at the end of that week that he knew he had to do something about this, he needed to talk to her, to see her, to hear her, to say sorry.

He had been on the stairs when he saw her, bellow him on another set of stairs, and, acting on impulse, he jumped. He hopped over the railing and down to Y/N who stood alone on the platform nearly two stories bellow.

When he landed he felt pain in one of his ankles but couldn't find it in himself to care because he was finally seeing her after a week. "Y/N." His voice was distant, his eyes transfixed on her as he walked closer to her and didn't stop until he had her face in his hands. "Y/N" He whispered her name like a prayer, "My Y/N." He placed his forehead against hers. "I'm so sorry." His voice was shaky.

It was clear he wasn't in his right state of mind, clearly in a state of delirium, and it was most definitely because of his lack of sleep. "Teddy." The nickname came easily to her, though she had never used it it just seemed right. And it was, Theo loved the way it sounded, it did things to him he should not be feeling while trying to apologize.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N, I was a coward. I am a coward."

"I know." She huffed and he grinned.

"How can I make it up to you?? Please I'll do anything." He begged, not caring about how desperate he sounded, because what ever he sounded didn't compare to how he felt.

"Well for one you can not do anything as reckless as jumping down two flights of stairs!" She reprimanded him and a familiar warmth spread through his chest, because she was talking to him, and she was warm, and- "When was the last time you slept?"

"Thursday night." He mumbled, his eyes falling closed as she brought her hands up to grasp his wrists, has he mentioned how warm she is?

"You-" She cut herself off in disbelief before she dragged him to the infirmary, where she made him lay on a bed while she went and got things for his ankle. "You need to sleep." She said, brushing back the hair on his forehead, before moving her hand down to cup his cheek, at which he leaned in to her touch.

Without thinking she leaned in and kissed him, a gentle and quick kiss. And as she pulled back she was met with Theos wide eyes before he brought her lips back down to his.

Her lips were soft against his, and he couldn't get enough of it, because she was a great kisser, her lips matched his pace, his fervent and needy pace and it wasn't long before his tongue was caressing hers and tasting her.

When she pulled back for air he lifted her up onto the bed with him, then he flipped them so that she was laying flat on the bed and he was hovering above her.

He fought sleep as he brought his lips to her neck, and the open mouthed kissed became soft nuzzling, before Y/N had a chance to think about all that had happened she was trapped underneath Theos weight and held tightly to him by his arms around his waist.

His lips brushed against her neck as he breathed and mumbled things in his sleep, it was only as she was falling asleep herself did she realize what he was saying.

"All mine, my Y/N"

#not edited #theodore nott x y/n #theo nott x reader #theo nott #harry potter #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott #Imagine #not proofread

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myvampyrez · 1 month

Note

Could you possibly do Vergil with an injured SO that he takes care of? It would be really cool

on the morrow 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

vergil (devil may cry) x reader

┊ ˚➶ notes ｡˚ 🎼

i got csrried away.

┊ ˚➶ warnings ｡˚ 🎼

vaguely mentions vergil’s past, intended lowercase, mention of injury and bloody bandages, lmk if i missed anything love 💕

┊ ˚➶ word count ｡˚ 🎼

1169 words, 6361 characters

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

bright sun rays seeped through the curtains of your room as they shone on your face, providing it with a golden hue as it illuminated every pore and feature in your face with its light. it made your eyelashes flutter as you wiped the sleep from your eyes with a closed fist and resisted the urge to yawn.

you let yourself adjust to the bed, the once cold sheets now warm behind your back as you stretched every aching limb that you could with a small pop. your eyes danced around the room, taking in your surroundings until they scrunched in pain while you hissed at the dull burning in your stomach. the slow pain brought you memories from the day before as you remembered how a pyrobat had gotten you when you were down, how badly the flames it spewed out of its jowls had stung at the initial contact.

while you continued to grimace at the thought, a deep exhale caught your attention as you turned your head. your eyes fell on vergil, his familiar head of hair still up despite just being at home. he always did seem to take pride in his appearance, you recalled.

you eyes stayed glued to him as he shut the book with a soft thud, the book that previously belonged to his human husk of an alternate, the book that adorned his signature ‘v’ on the front cover was now placed on the wooden nightstand next to your bed.

silver eyes bore into yours as he sighed once more. being with vergil so long, you were able to read his emotions. emotions that were so greatly concealed to the naked eye.

you two sat and stared in silence, waiting to see who’d break first. it took you everything not to tear your eyes away from his intimidating gaze as deafening silence fell on both of your ears, any external stimuli beyond the room was suddenly drowned out. it was only you and vergil.

but alas, all silence has to be interrupted eventually. this one just so happened to take a halt because of you.

“have you slept?” you asked, noting his droopy eyes and the way his cheek slightly contracted on occasion, almost as if he was biting his cheek to keep from falling asleep.

“what were you thinking?” he deflected, you also took note of that. nothing from vergil ever got past you.

you tilted your head a bit, silently inquiring as he pinched the bridge of his nose. an exasperated sigh left his lips, which you noticed the peeling of. presumably due to him chewing on them all night.

“don’t be coy.”

“i was just helping.”

“you were vulnerable, you should’ve stayed put instead of,” he paused as he waved a hand around, “carelessly throwing yourself out of cover like that.”

a frowned graced your lips, one similar to his own, “you could’ve been hurt.” he looked up at you with a furrowed brow as he paused. despite vergil thinking of others too, he failed to think about the fact that others could think of him, too.

another pregnant pause, you thought, great.

this time wasn’t as tense, you could still look at vergil and hear the sweet coos of the birds outside. hear the broken smoke alarm that constantly chirped due to one of nico and nero’s “experiments” with his devil bringer. you could still look around the room and still look back at vergil, who sat there in the wooden chair.

“you waited up for me.” you started again, spotting yamato sheathed against your dresser. typically, the signature sword would be on vergil, he never let go of that thing. yet, there it was in the corner, still close just in case he needed to use it. knowing that he’d think he needed it just in case you needed help made a warm feeling swell in your chest as you awaited an answer for him.

he narrowed his eyes before his chest rose with another sigh, “i suppose i did.” his tone seemed unbothered but you knew better. you knew that vergil was grateful, you knew how much he cared for you. otherwise, he would have left you.

you pressed your hand against your stomach, taking note of the bandages wrapped around your midriff. with how much blood you would have assumed you lost, the bandages would have needed to be changed every hour or so. meaning vergil changed them for you. that was enough evidence to confirm your suspicions on their own. with anybody else, vergil would’ve had someone else keep watch while he continued his work. but no, he stayed. for you, you reminded yourself. for you.

you needed each other, both you and vergil knew that. you had helped him through everything, keeping his hand locked in yours despite how much he tried to pull away. you’d sit with him outside no matter how many times he had wished to be alone, voice wavering albeit cold. you’d pull him into a hug when he came home, tired and dragging his feet, assisting him in whatever he needed as he parted with the wintering sadness of his past.

you cannot remain unchanged without making a change of your own, you’d remind him.

as your warm hand gripped the coldness of his, he didn’t let go this time. instead, he gave you one assuring squeeze although it was weak. it still mattered. he refused to look you in the eye. his own eyes, quick and as observant as silver lightning, were now sunken in and tired with sleep as you watched them stay fixated on your hands linked.

conversations under the stars often turned philosophical, usually when dante egged his brother on too much resulting in way too many drinks and threats, some not so empty than others. in these moments, you’d comment how it often felt as if vergil’s hands were molded to fit yours, to which he’d look away as an embarrassed dust of pink would barely grace his cheeks.

you’re grateful that vergil came around to accept you as apart of his life and him in yours. you’re grateful that you’ve inhabited a place between his ribs and that he is reminded of your presence with every beat. you are grateful that you’ve met each other, both in this lifetime and the next. and you know he feels the same way too, although no words come with that feeling.

you’re grateful that you were reborn with your hands molded together, knowing that before you both were just a clump of weeds with roots matted both in and out of the ground, indecisive on where to go.

but as you hold vergil’s hand in yours, the same hand that felt so perfectly designed as a catering to you, you smile. and for what feels like the first time in forever, he smiles back.

you refuse to let him hate himself for his mistakes in the past, as there are more to make on the morrow.

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angelgarden-posts · 1 year

Note

Your yandere writing is so nice to read, so may I request Malleus,Rook and Idia finding out reader is a girl,from far away?

Like reader‘s potion ran out in the middle of the day and they could see their body transform(?) back to their original form. +Reader trying to hide

Like malleus and rook watching from some corner and idia from the security cameras (or with his floating ipad)

Separately, headcanon or scenario is fine if it‘s to long

Yandere Malleus, Rook, & Idia Finding Out Reader is Female

A/N: ahhhh I’m sorry this took so long— and it’s probably so OOC too bc idk much about Rook 😭 (update: I got lazy and only did headcanons for Idia and Rook), also I think I’m just gonna go based off of their personalities instead of how they speak from now on 🥲

TW/CW: possessive/obsessive behavior, misogyny, stalking, mentions of kidnapping, cyberstalking, blackmail, sadism, mentions of death

Malleus’s Drabble:

Malleus had ditched Sebek and Silver in order to get to his classes on time without bother, and, as he leisurely made his way across the hallways, you just so happened to slip into his vision before vanishing just as fast.

His attention was now diverted away from his studies and he swept past the crowd of people, grateful that everybody made room for him, as this was a matter of urgency now that his sights were set on you.

When he rounded the corner, he immediately stepped back into the shadows and behind the wall, a startled look upon his face. The fae felt his cheeks heat up with an unknown feeling burgeoning in his chest, and he stole another glance at you.

But now he was also suspicious—why would you hide your secrets from him? He thought he had disguised his identity well enough for you to trust him with anything…

After all, the world was a dangerous place for females—in this world, it was a matter of biology and magic. You not only were powerless, but you were really screwed without the muscle mass a male was usually granted upon birth.

Malleus would have to wait until he could hoard you away though—it would be too coincidental if one of the five most powerful mages in the world vanished along with the Prefect of Ramshackle dorm in the middle of the school day.

Until then, he’d just have to keep a sharp eye on you.

Idia’s Headcanons:

He had memorized all the shortcuts around the school and utilized the ones that led him to class without much interference from others.

Once he arrives to class early, he’ll be checking his tablet to observe through the cameras positioned around the school, alarmed when you’re not in the area you are usually situated in at this time.

He switches from video feed to video feed, panic rising in his chest when he suddenly realizes that he passed a familiar but unidentifiable figure.

Idia goes back and analyzes the camera footage before coming to the conclusion that it was you—although in a form that would make everything all the more difficult to talk to you.

He was an antisocial otaku—how was he ever going to muster up the courage to talk to you now that he knows he has no possible chance at wooing you?

He had never felt more inferior and pissed at the prospect of earning your affection.

If he was anything like Malleus or Leona, he’d probably already be in a stable relationship with you, regardless of whether you were a boy or a girl!

Instead, he was a sickly pale and had the most unhealthy habits of all time—with only Ortho to keep him in check.

He’d either have to settle for watching you from afar, or follow Ortho’s advice and tidy up to look presents enough to be graced with your presence.

Of course Idia will be taking pictures and saving the video footage of you in your female form—it would be a crime if he allowed an opportunity to collect your most valuable secret to pass.

Who knows? Maybe he’ll have to use this information as blackmail, as he could tell that this secret could ruin your chances at NRC.

But you’ll never have to worry about being an outcast, he had the perfect reservation for you at the Island of Woe.

Also, it’s pretty doubtful that he’d ever resort to revealing your secret because it would be too much work having you transferred to his home, having you still like him, and keeping up with his studies at NRC (this part will probably be the easiest for him though, since he’s considered a prodigy).

Rook’s Headcanons:

It was never hard to spot you in a crowd of bustling students—and today was no exception, although something was inevitably different.

You had rushed through the crowd, pushing your way through students in a panic and vanishing into a secluded area of the campus.

Rook mused that he could use a different route to class, as an experienced huntsman could adapt to any situation and still make off with beauty.

He approaches your hiding spot with slow, languid steps to mimic carelessness and disregard to his surroundings.

He pretends to be preoccupied with something else while keeping one eye on you at all times, unable to hide his smirk at the side of your more feminine anatomy.

Rook really does not want to leave you alone, but will for the sake of your obliviousness and his own musings.

So, while he heads to his class, he’ll be thinking of ways to use your less muscular build to his advantage.

He could overpower you so easily, it was almost hilarious.

His hunt for you would be made all the more easy, and you could do nothing about it.

Of course, he wouldn’t attack so frivolously and reveal his knowledge of your secret so soon…

Rook would savor every moment with you, knowing that he was more than one step ahead now.

If anyone else were to approach you with malicious intentions however, they were as good as dead.

Oh, and your perfection was his utmost priority!

It was probably going to be easier in his opinion to wear more feminine clothing and products as well, knowing your gender.

Ah, how amusing and versatile his time with you would be…

#yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere headcanons #yandere rook hunt #yandere rook x reader #yandere idia shroud #yandere idia x reader #yandere malleus draconia #yandere malleus x reader #female mc #female reader #yandere drabble #not beta read

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jaemmphilia · 1 year

Text

★ 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘺 ★ || b.c.

★ summary: y/n choi is a employee at jype offices, working in the graphic design department. having just broken up with his boyfriend, he finds himself enjoying the comfort of another man, one that he really shouldn't be enjoying...

★ characters: choi y/n, christopher bahng, lee minho, seo changbin, hwang hyunjin, han jisung, lee felix, kim seungmin, yang jeongin

★ warnings: language, office sex, bj under the desk, sexual tension, oral (chris receiving), unprotected sex (pls wrap it before you tap it guys), spit, a bit of ass worship (have you seen the cake on channie??), chris being soft for reader, very sloppy kissing,

★ word count: ~6.4K

★ binnie’s thoughts: i literally had the idea of banging chan while i was in the shower and my friend just gave me ideas, so here i am writing this filthy shower thought, minors go away before i eat your homework, also this is way longer than it has to be, but i’m a sucker for details

★ disclaimer: this fic in absolutely NO way represents the stray kids members as people. this is just for fun, so don't take it to heart. just enjoy!

Today could not get any worse, there was absolutely no way. If it got any worse, Y/N just might throw himself into traffic.

It all started the previous night. Y/N was getting ready for bed, knowing he had to get up fairly early for work. He was pulling on some sweatpants when his phone pinged and lit up on the bedside table to his left. Y/N leaned over and picked up the device, seeing a text from his boyfriend, Shinwon:

‘hey baby, im coming over, so unlock ur door’

Y/N rolled his eyes, but walked to the front door and turned the top and bottom knobs, the soft clicks indicating that it was unlocked. He took a few short strides to the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling out a cold water bottle. He cracked open the bottle and took a sip, his eyes turning to the side as he heard his front door opening and closing. Shinwon flashed Y/N a smile as he stepped into the small, but cozy space. Y/N took a moment to admire his painfully average boyfriend of just two years and some months.

Shinwon Kang, a man that just radiates average energy. He was average height, average weight, just…average all round. If you asked Y/N if he’s ever lost Shinwon in a crowd, Y/N would just let out a huff of air that could be disguised as a guilty laugh. Y/N liked Shinwon, he really did, but he can’t imagine seeing himself with Shinwon in the long run. He's tried, and it always ends the same. The two of them have different outlooks on what they want in the future, and they’ve often argued about it.

Well, that next morning was no different. The two were laying in Y/N’s massive bed (that he really didn’t need, but it’s his apartment thank you very much), their limbs tangled together as their bare chests lightly grazed each other while they both came to. Y/N’s loud ass alarm had scared the life out of Shinwon, it always had. Y/N was the heaviest sleeper Shinwon had the pleasure of knowing. Y/N’s eyes began to close, but Shinwon lightly shook the male, his eyes shooting open and looking around frantically. Shinwon let out a breathy laugh and looked at the h/c haired male in his arms.

“You know, I don't see why we can’t move in together, we’ve been together for a while now.” Shinwon says, his words immediately waking up Y/N, who untangles himself from the taller male.

“Not this bullshit again,” Y/N muttered, standing up from the bed and checking his phone. He doesn’t know why Shinwon's statement makes him so moody, but it just does.

“Come on, babe, i’m not that bad,” Shinwon said, a playful pout gracing his features. He never understood his boyfriend’s hostility towards taking that next step.

“It’s not that you’re bad, I just don’t want us to move too fast,” Y/N said, not looking at the man behind him, not wanting to see the look on his face.

Of course Y/N felt bad for shooting down Shinwon's idea, but he absolutely dreaded sharing his personal space with another human. He hated doing it when he was in college, his roommate constantly invading his space and taking his things without asking. He was only willing to share his space with his cat, Domino (who isn’t fond of Shinwon, which is a red flag, honestly).

“We’ve been together for almost three years, I don't think we can move any slower.” Shinwon mutters, a sigh leaving his plump lips, his playful pout no longer showing on his face.

“I’m not having this conversation with you, Shin, I have to get ready for work.” Y/N shuts him down as soon as he gets the chance, standing up from his seated position and stretching his limbs.

“Then let’s just break up,” Shinwon says quietly, not really sure why he said that but his voice is loud in Y/N’s ears. The words replayed in his mind. “since you obviously don’t want to take our relationship further.”

Did he really want this? The thought of breaking up with Shinwon had crossed his mind at least a few times before, but he would just shake his head and try to think about something else. Y/N is a non confrontational person, he doesn’t like being the one to start a conversation, much rather being the one to observe rather than engage. Y/N is known to have quite the temper, though. His face always contorted in a slight scowl, his brows constantly furrowed. It is often said that Y/N would “be more handsome if he smiled once every while.”

At this point, Y/N’s mouth began to move on its own, his mind not quite catching up to what his big mouth was spitting out.

“Fine, I guess that’s that, then.” he said, his voice taking on a cold tone, as he digs in his closet, finding his favorite striped button up, a gift from his mother that he cherishes dearly. She always knew what he liked.

“You’re not even going to try and fight for us?” Shinwon sat up, his voice going up in pitch, his peanut brown eyes going a little wide.

“What’s there to fight for?” Y/N said as he slipped on a pair of tight, black slacks. “we’ve had this conversation how many times now? and you still don’t get that I don’t want to move in with you?”

“I can’t believe you, Y/N! I really thought we had something special here!” Shinwon said, getting up from the bed, and throwing on his clothes that he tossed on the floor once the two got ready to settle down for the night.

“Can I be honest?” Y/N said, finally turning to meet Shinwon’s eyes. Y/N ran a hand through his messy hair, his face unreadable. Shinwon looks at y/n, motioning for him to go on, to add more salt into this wound.

“I never really saw myself being with you, long term.” Y/N said, finally letting his feelings out, feelings he held back for months now. He felt a weight being lifted off his chest and shoulders. What shocked him the most was that seeing Shinwon’s hurt expression didn’t make him feel bad. Y/N wouldn’t consider himself a sensitive person, but he also wouldn’t consider himself to be a total asshole, either. He just had a serious case of Resting Bitch Face.

“You’re a total dick, Y/N, I hope you know that.” Shinwon spat out, his teeth gritted as he glared at Y/N, his narrow eyes full of sadness and anger. The taller male grabbed his phone and stomped around the apartment before slamming the door, leaving Y/N in painful silence. The male just decided to push his feelings deep down where no one could get to them, and decided to feed his cat.

The ride to work is quiet for Y/N. He doesn’t bother turning on the radio, deciding to let his mind run for a bit. He wonders if he made the right decision, maybe he was a bit too harsh with Shinwon? He shakes his head, sighing as he parks his car. He'll ask Seungmin once he gets inside. Actually, asking the younger male was a horrible idea. Maybe he’ll ask Felix instead. The freckled boy could do no wrong in Y/N’s eyes.

As soon as Y/N walks into the large building with way too many windows to be considered normal, his department's boss is flagging him down with a wave. Y/N sets his bag down by his desk and walks over, bowing slightly, and the chubby man begins to talk.

“Good news, Choi, you’re moving departments temporarily.” the older man says, clapping a rough hand on Y/N’s back, making the smaller male cringe. Once Y/N recovers from that mildly painful smack, his eyes go wide in disbelief.

“Hold on, what do you mean ‘moving departments temporarily’?” Y/N asks, his jaw going slack as his mouth hangs open. How in the world was he supposed to gossip with his three gremlins, plus Felix, if he’s not in the same department with them?

“It means exactly how it sounds. you’ll be switching to the producing department and you’ll be working with Mr. Bahng from the production department on a project that requires your expertise.” the older man says, a bright smile on his wrinkled face, as if his words were supposed to make the shorter male feel better.

It’s a well known fact that the production team and the graphic design team often butt heads when it comes down to projects. The production team is full of cocky bastards who think they’re better because they get to actually produce music rather than create the art that becomes the face of the album, track and various merch items. The graphic design team is full of petty people with pretty faces who think they’re better because they create the visual art behind the music. Y/N couldn’t give two shits. He just wants to get paid doing something he actually likes.

It couldn’t be all that bad, right? Y/N has only heard good things about Chris, and the two have had a few interactions at office parties during the holidays, and various birthdays at expensive bars. Chris is, to put it lightly, drop-dead gorgeous. He looks like he was molded by the angels above. They definitely took their time with him, making him the most godly man to walk this miserable earth. Y/N heard stories of Chris helping newbies feel safe at the company, making them feel like they had a place of belonging. Y/N didn’t get that treatment when he started, he got stuck with a rude ass puppy, an innocently sneaky fox, a little chicken with freckles, and a dramatic ferret with long hair.

“Uh, okay, cool,” Y/N said, not really sure how to respond to this sudden news. It was only for a short period of time, right? He could easily survive that, no doubt. He's got this, his four children will be fine, he’ll put Felix in charge.

Yeah, this is not going to work. He can’t do it. Chris is too much for his soul. Chris is too sweet for his own good.

Once Y/N made his way to the production department building, he was greeted by a smiling face with the deepest dimples and a mop of thick, curly blonde hair. Since when did Chris have blonde hair? It must have been a while since the two have interacted, because Y/N remembers Chris having curly, deep, chocolate brown locks. He would never admit it out loud, but the things Y/N would do just to run his hands through the dark locks, tugging lightly as Chris bites his–

“Hello? Anyone home?” a chuckle snaps Y/N out of his trance, his eyes wide and staring directly at Chris. Chris doesn’t seem phased by Y/N’s intense stare, a bright but nervous smile on his chiseled face.

“Sorry, I just spaced out for a second,” Y/N finally replies, a light warmth filling his cheeks and ears, a tad bit embarrassed by his own thoughts. He knows he shouldn’t be having these thoughts, he just broke up with his long-term boyfriend less than two hours ago. A part of him is glad mind readers don’t exist, because he would have to dig a hole and crawl inside if Chris heard what he was thinking about.

“No worries, mate, it happens to the best of us,” Chris replies, flashing his million-dollar smile at the shorter male once again. The sight alone blinding Y/N and filling his stomach with obnoxious fluttering. (if only seungmin were here to capture this glorious moment.)

“So, do you know why I requested your help specifically?” Chris asks, the question once again stopping Y/N in his tracks. Chris requested his help? Why would he request Y/N’s help when Hyunjin was one, if not the best, of the graphic design team? The man pretty much lived and breathed art.

Of course, Y/N loved art as much as any other artist, I mean, he went to college for it, for crying out loud. Again, why did Chris ask for him?

“I, uh, actually had no idea you requested me specifically,” Y/N finally speaks after a moment of silent contemplation, his own e/c eyes looking up to meet deep brown ones.

“I admire the work you did for the most recent album that was put out. The colors really went together to tell a story, and I could use something like that for the project I'm working on now," Chris says, his hand finding its way to Y/N’s shoulder, touching gently, almost feather-like. The gesture is strictly friendly, but Y/N can’t help the way his skin burns under Chris’ touch.

“Oh,” Y/N says, truly at a loss for words. “that actually means a lot, thank you, Mr. Bahng.” Y/N can feel his cheeks heat up, not used to receiving praise quite like this. It feels nice coming from Chris.

“Just Chris is fine, I don't particularly care for formalities,” Chris says, his hand removing itself from Y/N’s shoulder, and Y/N feels like he can finally breathe again. First name basis, huh? Y/N can’t help but wonder how such a cocky department has such a sweet leader such as Chris.

“Besides, we’re friends, right?” Chris adds on, and if Y/N had a drink, he would have spat it all over the place.

Were they friends? It feels like a gray area, honestly. Y/N and Chris have spoken a total of two times, and their conversations were just shy of casual coworker talk. So where is he getting the term “friends” from? Y/N thinks back to his friends in the graphic design department. What would they do in this situation?

The better question is, what would Felix do in this situation? Felix, ever so level headed, Y/N’s precious chicken little (it’s best not to dwell on what the other three demons would do because it would end in chaos no matter what, especially Seungmin).

“Yeah, sure, we’re friends,” Y/N replies, hoping his voice doesn’t crack and expose the nerves he’s feeling deep in his gut. Being friends with Chris was never something Y/N ever considered happening during his 4 years of working at JYPE offices. Chris was known for sticking to his close knit group of friends, only one of them being familiar with Y/N.

Lee Minho, the most cat-obsessed human being known to man. Minho is known to text Y/N asking for pictures of Domino, and often sending pictures of his own cats in return. Minho saw a photo of Domino sitting on Y/N’s desk, and the male gasped, grabbing the picture without thinking. He gushed and cooed at the picture, immediately asking for the cat’s name. Y/N, in a slight state of shock, told the male his pet’s name.

“Give me your number right now, I have to see more pictures of this precious baby!” Minho had said, and Y/N complied, honestly finding the entire interaction quite amusing. Now, the two often exchange pictures of their felines, and tend to engage in regular conversation.

The moment Y/N stepped into the production team’s department, he could feel everyone’s eyes on him. Some envious, some condescending, and some surprised. It wasn't often that people from the separate teams crossed into each other’s side of the building. Y/N can’t help but duck his head down at the looks he’s receiving, following close behind Chris, and walking into the male’s personal office. Once the males walk into the office, they’re met with a loud, gravelly screech, and an equally loud scream that is higher in pitch. Once Chris finds out that it’s just his friends, Jisung and Changbin, he stands there, his arms crossed, his biceps flexing and causing his already tight shirt to cling to his unblemished skin. His expression is amused, his left eyebrow cocked upwards as he shifts his body weight to one side, watching as Jisung and Changbin pretend that they weren’t just digging into the food Chris ordered specifically for himself and Y/N.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Chris finally speaks, his expression remaining the same, except a slight smirk has found its way onto the blonde’s face. Y/N watches from beside Chris, attempting to be subtle with his staring.

Something about the way Chris looks right now is making Y/N’s body heat up. The expression on his face, the way he’s standing, the way his arms bulge against his black button up. Y/N can’t help but imagine those very arms caging him in and making him feel small, as Chris snaps his hips at a brutal pace, hitting all the right places inside Y/N.

“It’s totally not what you think! it was Changbin’s idea!” Jisung wails, pointing an accusatory finger at the shorter male next to him. Changbin lets out an offended gasp, lunging at Jisung, his hands attempting to wrap themselves around the younger man’s neck before Jisung can get away.

Y/N lets out a soft laugh, covering his mouth with his hand, not wanting to draw any attention to himself. The entire interaction is quite amusing, you can tell these three grown men are nothing short of siblings that love to torture each other endlessly.

Chris stops looking at the two idiots trying to kill each other and turns his attention to the h/c haired male at his side, the soft laugh immediately imbedding itself in his brain, and traveling to his gut, a fluttering feeling taking over his body. Hearing the soft noise that came out of Y/N was one Chris will refuse to forget. Chris allows a soft look to take over his features, hoping he doesn’t get caught with hearts in his eyes. He just likes Y/N so much. The blonde is always looking forward to the various outings the company has, hoping to catch Y/N there. Every time there was an outing, Chris was often stopped by other people, conversations he wasn’t interested in distracting him from finding that one person he so desperately wanted to talk to. At the office Christmas party, he was lucky enough to catch Y/N alone, attempting to start up a conversation with said male. Chris, being ever so shy, struggled to keep the conversation going, nervously sipping his eggnog, while Y/N’s eyes often avoided looking at Chris (it was painfully awkward, Seungmin laughs every time he remembers the interaction, Felix has to tell him to stop teasing Y/N).

Chris has made it his mission to get close to Y/N, not wanting any more awkward interactions with him, which is why he requested Y/N’s help for this project. Chris knows he doesn’t really need Y/N’s help, but it was Minho’s genius idea to get Y/N closer to him.

“Hyung, if you keep staring at Y/N-hyung, your eyes will get stuck like that!” Jisung says, snapping Chris out of his lovesick puppy trance. Chris’ eyes go wide before he snaps his head towards Jisung. Jisung visibly pales before he’s booking it out of the office. Changbin throws his head back slightly, letting out a cackle that would put a hyena to shame.

Y/N’s own e/c eyes go wide at what Jisung said, his face and ears getting warm. He hadn’t even noticed Chris staring, too busy laughing at Changbin and Jisung. Was Chris really staring at him, or was Jisung just trying to cause a distraction so he could make a clean getaway? A large part of Y/N wishes Chris was staring.

“You should’ve seen your face, hyung! Damn, that was priceless!” Changbin keeps cackling as he walks out of the office, his hands carrying the food he was attempting to steal before he got caught.

Chris brings his hands to his temples, massaging them with his fingers. He lets an annoyed sigh fall past his lips. Those two are going to give him gray hair one day. Chris turns towards Y/N with a shy smile.

“I’m so sorry about them, they’re both massive pains in my ass.” Chris says, his hand rubbing the nape of his neck, a chuckle bubbling from his chest. Y/N waves a dismissive hand at Chris, a small smile on his face.

“It’s no worries, I know your pain,” Y/N says, looking up at Chris with a slight tilt of his head. “I have three pains in my ass, they’re constantly fucking with me.” Y/n rolls his eyes, with a shake of his head, his fringe falling in front of his eyes slightly.

Chris’ body reacts on instinct, his hand coming up and brushing the hair out of Y/N’s face, a soft, loving expression on his face. Y/N freezes, his eyes widening for the nth time that day. The look on Chris’ face is one he’s never seen before. a look of admiration and want. There’s lust swimming around in those deep brown eyes, Y/N can’t deny it. Chris’ eyes glance down at Y/N’s lips, then back up at his eyes. Chris chews on his bottom lip, as if he’s thinking about something. Finally, he speaks up and those words alone nearly bring Y/N to his knees.

“Can I kiss you?” Chris whispers, his minty breath fanning Y/N’s face, and Y/N gulps, nodding just a bit, not really trusting his voice.

“No, I need to hear you say yes or no,” Chris says louder this time, his voice taking on a commanding tone. Hearing Chris speak like that makes Y/N’s legs weak, his mind clouded with thoughts of Chris and Chris only.

“Yes, please kiss me, Chris,” Y/N finally replies, his voice coming out as a desperate whisper. He feels a warm hand on his cheek, the hand lifting his head up slightly. Not too long after, Chris’ lips are on his own. Y/N’s eyes flutter shut as he leans his body closer to Chris, their lips molding together.

Kissing Chris is everything Y/N has ever dreamed of and more. Chris takes charge of the kiss, his plum lips moving against Y/N’s, ever so gentle. Kissing Chris feels natural, like Y/N was made to do this. The kiss becomes more firm, and both of their mouths open, their tongues wrapping around the other, becoming messy quite fast. Chris wraps his free arm around Y/N’s waist, pushing the smaller male backwards until Y/N’s back hits the edge of Chris’ desk. Y/N doesn’t hesitate to hop up a bit, now sitting on the desk as the two males finally pull away to breathe.

Chris walks around the desk, standing in front of his black chair. Y/N watches his every move, his breath hitching when he sees Chris beckon him with just two fingers, making a “come here” motion. Y/N complies, hopping off the desk before making his way to the taller male, standing in front of him. Chris’ arms find themselves wrapped around Y/N, tugging the smaller male flush against his muscular body. Chris is drunk off the feeling of Y/N’s body against him. He craves more, he wants to see and feel the smaller male's skin against his own, his hands are itching to touch and grab.

The pair resumes their makeout session, their hands touching all over each other, pulling at too-tight clothes, but neither of them making the effort to remove their clothes. Chris pulls away from Y/N for a second, before his lips make their way to his neck, latching onto a spot just below the right side of Y/N’s jaw. Chris peppers light kisses around the area, the sound of Y/N’s soft hums hammering in his ears. Chris plants his body in his chair, pulling Y/N down with him, the h/c haired male plopping down on Chris’ thick thighs. Y/N automatically wraps his arms around Chris’ neck. his fingers find comfort in playing with the blonde locks at his nape. Chris goes back to kissing and licking Y/N’s neck, deciding that a red mark would look beautiful against Y/N’s soft skin. He has to stop himself from actually leaving a mark, remembering that they’re at work and if anyone saw the mark on Y/N, the entire building would gossip about it for the next year.

As Chris moves lower, his lips trailing from Y/N’s neck to the upper part of his collarbones, a knock stops him in his tracks. In a moment of sheer panic, Chris pushes Y/N off of him and motions for him to get under the desk. Y/N obeys, his own heart pumping heavily in his chest. He was in a state of lust, the only thing on his mind being Chris and the kisses he was leaving on his neck.

“Come in!” Chris calls out once Y/N is hidden completely under the desk, his eyes falling on someone from his department. He tries to keep his annoyance hidden as the person asks questions they totally could have asked someone else.

Y/N rolls his eyes, then his orbs land on the sight in front of him. Chris, legs spread, his beige slacks a little tight in the crotch area. With very little contemplation, Y/n raises up just a bit, getting closer to Chris’ lower body. With slow movements, he reaches up and tries to unzip Chris’ pants as quietly as possible. He's successful when Chris lets out a loud, albeit very fake, cough. Popping the button of Chris’ pants open, he pulls the black boxers down to sit under Chris’ balls, keeping the fabric out of the way.

Y/N can’t help but let his jaw drop. Chris has a really, really nice dick. It’s not crazy long, but still a good few inches, and fairly thick. Not very veiny, and the tip is a nice shade of nude pink. Y/N’s mouth nearly waters at the sight. Just like the rest of his body, Chris’ dick is nice to look at.

Y/N hears the door close just as he wraps his lips around the tip of Chris’ dick, finally that loser is gone. Y/N begins to suck on just the tip, looking up through his lashes, making eye contact with Chris above him. the bigger male’s mouth is parted slightly, short breaths coming from him. Y/N raises his body up just a bit more, sinking lower on Chris’ dick, taking more of the length into his warm mouth. Chris lets out a soft groan, his head lolling back as he digs his nails into the armrests of his chair. It’s honestly too much for him, he feels like he could explode right now if Y/N keeps going. Chris is about to pull Y/N out from under the desk so they can get down to what they both want so desperately before someone barges into his office. Only three people are confident enough to do that.

Minho lets himself into his friend's office, looking around for something. Minho's eyes fall on Chris, his eyebrow cocking upwards suspiciously. He decides not to question it right now, there will be time for that later.

“Have you seen Jisung? Last I saw him, he was in here with Bin,” Minho says, crossing his arms, looking at Chris, his expression not changing once.

“I, uh, no,” Chris coughs out, his eyes wide like a deer in headlights. “I mean, he was here with Bin, but neither of them are here now.” Chris tries again, sitting up straight, praying to every god out there that Minho doesn’t catch on to what’s happening under the desk. Y/N uses his hand to stroke Chris’ dick, his mouth occupied with the tip. His tongue swirling around the tip, his head bobbing slightly, his own spit sliding down his chin as he continues. His lips pouting as he slips the tip of his tongue against Chris’ slit. Chris tries his hardest not to bust in Y/N’s mouth, his leg bouncing to distract himself.

“Huh, well, I guess I’ll go look somewhere else,” Minho says, and a devious glint flashes in his eyes, making Chris sweat more than he already is. “tell Y/N to drink some honey and tea once he’s done.” Minho winks and leaves the room before Chris can say anything to deny what Y/N’s doing.

Y/N let out a surprised noise, pulling away from Chris’ hard length, his wide eyes locking with Chris’ own wide eyes. There isn’t a moment to feel embarrassed, so the two just laugh it off.

“I wonder how he knew you were under there,” Chris says, this thumb swiping against Y/N’s chin to wipe the spit that is left there. His eyes not leaving Y/N’s, he puts his thumb into his mouth, tasting the liquid. Something in Y/N’s gut clenched as he watches Chris lick his saliva. He climbs out from under the desk, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it to the side to be forgotten. Chris’ eyes don’t leave Y/N’s movements for a second, his bottom lip getting caught between his perfect teeth.

Y/N plants himself on Chris’ lap when his shirt is discarded, his arms making their way around Chris’ neck, tugging the older male to his chest. Chris brings his large hands to Y/N’s hips, his lips connecting with Y/N’s prominent collarbones. He bites at the skin there, licking over it to soothe the slight burn. Y/N lets out a soft hum, his hips grinding forward a bit, his own hard on coming in contact with Chris’. The two males groan at the sensation, the both of them loving the way it felt.

“Oh, fuck,” Chris nearly gowls out, his voice gravelly from arousal. Y/N just laughs a little, swirling his hips in short circles, his clothed dick rubbing against Chris without fail. Chris decides that they’ve had enough of this half-assed foreplay, so his hands work on getting Y/N out of his slacks and boxers.

Once the two of them are fully naked they make out sloppily, the two of them spitting into each other's mouth back and forth. Their mixed saliva drips onto Chris’ chest, slowly running down his broad chest all the way to his washboard abs. Y/N’s tongue comes out to lick his plump bottom lip, his eyes not leaving Chris’ once. Chris, finally deciding that he’s had enough teasing, pulls away and lifts Y/N up by his hips. Y/N holds his body up, using Chris’ broad shoulders as leverage. Chris uses his free hand to rub the soft skin of Y/N’s ass cheek. He then brings his hand up and slams it down on the skin, causing Y/N to let out a gasp, his body jerking forward at the impact. Chris lets out a mischievous laugh, before he rubs the skin that’s already turning a soft red.

“Sorry, I just couldn’t help myself,” Chris says, chuckling at the adorable pout on Y/N’s soft face. Chris puckers his lips before placing a gentle peck on the smaller male’s pouty lips.

Chris decides that it’s time to get to the main event. He taps two fingers against Y/N’s mouth, urging him to part his lips. Y/N obeys Chris’ silent command, parting his lips, allowing Chris to place the two digits on top of Y/N’s tongue.

“Now suck like the pretty boy you are.” Chris says, his voice low and husky, as he watches Y/N’s lips close around his fingers. Chris feels the wet muscle wiggle its way in between his fingers, the soft pressure of Y/N sucking being the only thing on his mind. Y/N lets out a hum that turns into a needy whine as his hips grind in small circles, his dick rubbing against Chris’ skin just above his abs. Chris chuckles once again as he watches Y/N desperately grind against his upper stomach, trying to get some friction while his mouth is occupied with Chris’ fingers.

“Are you not getting enough pleasure from humping against my stomach, pretty boy?” Chris asks, his tone mocking and a little mean. Hearing Chris speak in such a tone turns Y/N’s brain into mush. All Y/N can muster up is a whine, still continuing to suck on Chris’ fingers until the digits leave his mouth. Y/N wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, waiting for Chris’ next move.

“You’re getting impatient, aren’t you, pretty boy?” Chris teases, his wet fingers inching their way to Y/N’s hole. Chris circles his middle finger around the rim a few times before he’s pushing the digit in. He gets the finger all the way in and not long after, his index finger joins in on the fun, Y/N’s breath hitching at the feeling.

He is getting impatient. He feels like they’ve been touching and kissing for too long, he just wants Chris inside him like right now.

“Chris, stop teasing and fuck me already..” Y/N says with a desperate tone as Chris uses his two fingers to stretch the smaller male. Chris just snickers, his eyebrow cocking up, his lips turning up in a smirk, and Y/N thinks he could come just from the sight alone.

“Yeah, you want me to fuck you, pretty boy?” Chris asks, pulling his fingers out, grabbing his hard length and lining it up with Y/N’s hole. He pops the tip inside, his hands moving to grip Y/N’s hips. “then you better get to work, yeah?”

Y/N wastes absolutely no time, Chris’ words ringing loud like bells in his ears. The younger male sinks his hips down, Chris’ dick stretching him so nicely, his jaw dropping at the pain that feels too good. Y/N sits there for a moment, just getting used to having Chris inside him all the way. This is something right out of his wettest dreams, riding Chris until the two of them are shouting each other’s names, licking and biting tongues and lips. Y/N finally raises up, only the tip remaining inside him, and he slams back down, finding a pace that works for the both of them.

As Y/N bounces on Chris, the sweet sounds of skin coming in contact is loud in the medium sized office room. The two of them are too blissed out to even think about being quiet, but they decide to just kiss to keep themselves quiet enough.

Chris suddenly pulls away, and he starts to stand, his arms wrapping around Y/N, the two of them not disconnecting as Chris lifts the smaller male up. Y/N wraps his slender legs around Chris’ waist, the sudden movements catching him off guard. He doesn’t have time to question Chris before he feels Chris absolutely slamming his dick into him. Y/N hides his face in Chris’ neck, biting down on the male’s shoulder to keep from literally screaming. The tip of Chris’ dick hits the special spot inside him, causing him to see stars. As Chris moves his body, Y/N brings his hand down to wrap around his own length, jerking himself off in time with Chris’ thrusting.

It’s not much longer before Y/N feels Chris’ hips start to stutter, and his thrusts get a little sloppy. Y/N knows he’s about to cum, the way Chris’ face scrunches up a little and his jaw goes slack. Y/N is also getting close, his stomach tightening up as his hand moves up and down at a fast pace.

“Oh, god, pretty boy,” Chris groans, his blonde curls sticking to his sweaty forehead, his muscles flexing as he grips onto Y/N soft thighs. There will definitely be hand marks left on the skin when they’re all done. “can I cum inside you, please?” Chris nearly begs, his voice going up in pitch as he whines.

“Yes, please fill me up, Chris,” Y/N replies, throwing head back, exposing his sweaty neck. Chris picks up the pace once again before he slams all the way in, spilling deep into Y/N. Y/N finishes not too long after, white painting across Chris’ chest and abs. Y/N pouts a little, his wrist hurting from jerking it for so long.

The two sweaty males stay as they are for a moment, finally coming to terms with what they just did. Y/N chews at his bottom lip as he comes down from his high. Was this just a one time thing? Were they going to do it again? What does this mean for them as friends? Y/N’s head is swimming with questions and concerns, and he tucks his head into Chris’ neck, breathing in the man’s natural scent mixed with his cologne.

“Hey, don’t go falling asleep on me, pretty boy, we have to clean up.” Chris says, his hand rubbing slow circles on Y/N’s back, the gesture lulling the smaller man to sleep. Chris just chuckles before he reaches for a bag of wet wipes in the drawer of his desk. He finally pulls out, placing the sleepy man on his chair. He takes out a wet wipe and wipes off his chest and abs.

After they clean up and get dressed, Chris clears his throat and turns towards Y/N. He looks nervous, like he wants to say something, but his mouth just won’t move. Y/N tilts his head to the side, a curious look playing on his features.

“You look like you want to say something,” Y/N points out, hoping that will help the blonde gather his thoughts. Chris simply nods before speaking:

“Do you want to come over for dinner? As in, a date?”

#kpop x male reader #kpop x reader #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids x male reader #male reader #stray kids smut

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