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#I’ll do it at some point shhh

rubiehart · 2 months

Text

cockwarming bestfriend jayj would just be so ughhhhhhhhhh. you’re both a little past the point of tipsy, having slipped away together from the kegger back to the chateau, legs tangled together in the hammock as you watch jj slowly inhale the joint he still managed to roll pretty well even in his intoxicated state. his eyes flutter closed as he sucks in the smoke and reaches over to place it between your fingers as he blows it out, too focused on the way the smoke clouds his face and then disappears, blue eyes trained on your figure, raking up your bare legs and ending on your face.

you blink away the thought and bring the joint to your lips and inhale deeply, looking into his eyes as your hold the smoke in your mouth, not too sure what this eye contact meant from his end but you knew exactly why you were doing it, the reason evident as you feel your cotton panties dampen a little, choosing to ignore it as he reaches his arms up behind his head and groans, stretching his legs out and his foot nudges your leg to get your attention.

you rip your eyes away from his for a second, your high clearly taking over your actions, grinning at jj as he knits his brows together, a little smirk laying on his rubied lips, tonguing the little cut on his bottom lip as he watches your frame. you pass him the joint and he takes another long hit, coughing a little when you start crawling up his body, situating yourself on his lap. he reaches one hand to hold your waist as his eyes widen. “oh- hey, watch’a doin?” you just smile and giggle as you reach down to capture his lips in a kiss.

he groans into your mouth and releases the smoke he’d been holding. you start to slowly grind on him, little whines of pleasure leaving your lips as he winds his tongue with yours, kissing you back as desperately as you. pulling away for a second and using his thumb to wipe away a string of saliva from your lip while you look at him all big eyed. “jayj..” you whisper before he nods, as you fumble with the buttons of his cargo shorts, pushing them down his thighs until his boxers are exposed, flicking your eyes up to see his dilated pupils and parted lips, the joint still between his ring-clad fingers.

he brings it to your lips as you pull down his boxers, his rock hard cock standing up, his mushroom tip leaking precum. he groans, eyes widening when he sees you unbutton your tiny denim shorts you’d been teasing him with all night, slipping them down your legs to reveal your little cotton panties, biting your lip and looking up at him whilst slipping them to the side, the weed seemed to give you some new found confidence, and maybe the way jj was looking at you “jesus fuckin’ christ..” he mumbles at the sight of your glistening cunt in the moonlight, prepping your hands on his chest, lifting yourself up.

“hey, hey, hey. a-are you sure?” he asks, panicked at your sudden confidence as you nod eagerly. “are you?” you giggle, still hovering over his cock. “fuck yeah.” he grins as you finally sink down, hissing at the stretch, his eyes transfixed on your face the whole time, your tiny pussy stretching around his dick making him groan, your face comforting and whining when he’s about halfway in, him grasping both hands to your hips after putting the blunt out on the bark and dropping it to the dirt. “shhh.. you got it, yeah?” you nod slowly, teeth sinking into your lip as your resist the pain, stroking your hip with his thumb softly. “good, goooood girl. there ya’ go.” the praise sliding off his tongue so casually making you clench around him. finally getting to the hilt and he lets out a huff.

“feel so fuckin’ good..” he whimpers, as you roll your hips a little to get used to the feeling making him let out a pornographic groan. “you’re so big..” you whisper, leaning down to rest your head in the crook of his neck, feeling the stubble on his chin against your forehead as he breathes deeply. “keep talkin’ like that and i’ll fuckin’ bust.” he whispers into your hair making you giggle a little, leaving a little love bite on his neck and he reaches down to cup your ass, kneeding the fat of it in his palms as you roll your hips gently, making him suck in a breath. “fuck..you’re gonna kill me baby.”

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gay-dorito-dust · 10 days

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I have been binging your work!

I don't know if this breaks your trauma rule or not, but (with the guys of your choosing as long as Ratio is there) how would the guys react to losing reader (they haven't confessed feelings yet) during a mission and thinking they died. Then, the reader reappears a week later bandaged up, but alive. Maybe spouts their confession first? ˘͈ᵕ˘͈

I adore your writing. Thank you!

This is way too fucking long, so be warned. It’s like I rammed 4 mini stories in one but got lost at some point cuz I left this ask to collect dust. Also thanks for enjoying my writing it’s much appreciated. :) 🦦🐿️

Sunday:

The moment he got news that you’ve been assumed dead in the aftermath of a dangerous mission, he looses composure really quickly.

Loosing Robin was one thing but loosing you on top of that was the straw that broke the camels back.

He originally doesn’t believe that you were gone, he refuses to as he practically tears his office to shreds in a fit of anger and grief before forcing himself to regain composure and clean up after his outburst. He needed to in order to keep up the illusion that he was the levelheaded leader The Family needed in these moments of chaos and mistrust.

Even if he himself was breaking down internally alongside everyone else, hellbent on finding the culprit for your death and punishing them so severely that they’d beg for death. He’d avenge you in anyway he could, even if it meant sending out the bloodhound family on a wild goose chase that only ends in dead ends, he would get you justice no matter how it may come.

His heart had died alongside you that day.

So when a week passes and he finally has you back in his arms, all the while being carful with your wounds as his eyes searched you over in a way you weren’t use to.

‘You’re alive.’ He breathes out in relief as he then begins to laugh and rest his head against yours, breathing you in deeply as he relishes in this long awaited moment. ‘Of course you’re alive.’ He mutters.

‘Sunday,’ you began but Sunday was quite to cut you off.

‘Do you know how I felt thinking you were dead? Driving myself insane to prove that you were still alive anyway I could as not to bear the idea of walking through this life without the one person I love so dearly.’ Sunday takes a brief pauses in his monologue, feeling out of breath after having put everything out into the open before continuing. ‘I thought my heart had stopped beating that day and now I have you bad in my arms.’ Sunday then chuckles darkly as he gripped you tighter. ‘I’ll ensure that I’d never have to revisit that part of my life ever again.’

‘Sunday-‘

‘Shhh.’ Sunday cuts you off once more, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he holds you close to his chest, rubbing your back soothingly. ‘Just know that what I do after this, I do out of my love for you.’ He says against your forehead before pressing another kiss there for good measure.

Jing yuan:

Loss wasn’t new to Jing Yuan.

He has experienced it in multiple forms throughout his life, but that didn’t made the news of your death any less painful for the General.

While his mind might’ve made peace with the fact that you were gone, his heart however did not as he would find himself in the places that you often vacated to in moments of stress, or to just be left alone for a while with your thoughts. So to no longer see you in any of those hidden spots -waiting for him to find you like you usually did- only worsened the grief he felt in his heart as he sat himself down and allowed the memories to pass over him in waves.

You were both so happy together and felt a sense of fulfilment that could only be achieved when you were within the other’s presence; A feeling that was uniquely yours and yours alone that could never be replicated, ever. For no one could ever come close to replacing you, nor the companionship you and he had for each other that many assumed would blossom into something more; Jing Yuan also shared the same sentiments as they did, but just as he built the courage to push that boundary between the two of you, you were taken from him before he could utter a single word.

So when a week passes and Jing Yuan found your battered and beaten form in one of your secret spots, back resting against a tree with your eyes closed.

‘Y/n?’ He called out and your eyes opened upon hearing his voice and looking at him with a weak smile. ‘Hey General, miss me?’ You said as you struggled to get up to your feet, only to stumble forward and into Jing Yuan’s chest as his strong yet gentle hands hold you in place.

‘More than you could ever hope to know.’ Jing yuan said as he focused on how you felt beneath his hands, warm and alive.

‘I’m sorry I kept you waiting.’ You muttered against his chest as his warmth made you realised just how tired you were from everything you’ve experienced this last week alone. ‘I never meant to keep you waiting in fear that you’d forget about me if I don’t stay in your life long enough.’ You admit and Jing Yuan instinctively presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, holding you protectively.

‘I could never forget about you my beloved.’ Jing Yuan reassured you as he looked you deep into your eyes. ‘You’ve managed to carve your place within my heart and soul, so much that there isn’t a day where you aren’t all I think about, regardless of whether or not your by my side or far away.’ He finished by pressing a gentle kiss to the gauze on your cheek, chuckling upon seeing your cute attempts of burrowing your face into his chest.

‘How long have you’ve been waiting to say this.’ You asked, thankful that he was the one to admit his feelings first, as you would’ve had a hard time articulating your words as fluidly as he could.

‘For a very long time.’ Jing Yuan replied with a small smile as he then proceeded to lift you into his arms, cuasing you to squeal in surprise, as he made sure to be carful of your wounds and began walking to the nearest medics to make sure your wounds weren’t going to be trouble later on.

Aventurine:

He didn’t know what to think when you were pronounced dead, all Aventurine could feel in that moment was an overwhelming numbness that encased him entirely.

The only light left in his life had been snuffed out, plummeting him into utter and total darkness he had once been well acquainted with until you came along, giving him a reason to keep looking forward despite everything.

You were no longer here to hold onto his left hand before he could even think of hiding it behind his back out of habit, you were no longer here to be his reason, his comfort, his safe place. You were taken away from him unfairly and once again Aventurine found himself asking the same question he has been asking himself for a long time; why everyone was born into this life just to die.

So when a week passes and Aventurine finds himself sat on a bench somewhere, still not dealing well then than he was the week of your assumed passing, lost in his own thoughts when someone took a seat next to him. Aventurine was just about ready to tell them to go away, when he saw just who was sitting next to him; you.

‘I know, I look like shit but you don’t have to look at me like that.’ You spoke upon feeling his eyes gaze upon the gauze on your cheek, then towards the array of bandages that littered the rest of your body.

‘I thought you died.’ He hissed, emotion was heavy in his voice as his eyes became bleary with unshed tears as he felt his breathing become heavy with the reality that you were alive. He didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t in that moment as his mind raced. And it wasn’t until you reached out to grasp his left hand and intertwine your fingers together, squeezing, did everything finally became clear to him.

‘I thought I was too at one point but there was something that kept me from journeying over to the afterlife.’ You admit, looking over at him and smiling sweetly, wanting nothing then to calm his thoughts and reassure him that this wasn’t a dream.

‘And what was that?’ He laughs humourlessly as he stares back at you, wanting to hear what excuses you could come up with for faking being dead for a week. ‘Willpower? Determination?’

‘You Kakavasha.’ You replied straightforwardly and his breath hitched in his throat. You rarely used his actual name unless it was absolutely serious. ‘You were all I thought about as I pushed through my injuries.’ You told him as you continued. ‘Kakavasha is waiting for me was just about all I could think about for a week straight.’ You finished as though you didn’t just confess that he was your soul motivator in staying alive.

‘Really?’ Aventurine said softly, finding it impossible that he could possibly be your reason for anything. ‘Why?’

‘Yes really.’ You chuckled, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you rested your head against his shoulder. ‘As for why, it’s because I like you more then did let myself admit, but i just wanted you to know incase anything truly bad were to ever happen to me-‘

‘No.’ Aventurine cut you off suddenly, squeezing your hand as though he were afraid. ‘Nothing is going to happen to you, not now. not ever. I just got you back.’ He adds resting his head against your own in a desperate attempt of feeling more of your against him. ‘Just stay with me…please.’ He begs you in a whisper as he nuzzled further into you. ‘and don’t go anywhere I can’t follow. I don’t think I can bear the thought of loosing you again.’

You smiled softly as you just whispered back against the skin of his neck. ‘As long as you don’t go anywhere I can’t follow. I like my crush to be alive and close by even if he can be a pain in my ass sometimes.’

Aventurine chuckles, his heart becoming whole again as he made you cuddle into his side, kissing your head once more as you took this moment to familiarise yourselves with each other. ‘At least I’m a pleasurable pain in the ass.’ He teased and you pinch his side, causing him to flinch, but his smile remained and this time his smile was genuine.

His light has came home.

Ratio:

Fully believed that he’d see you when the mission ended, knowing just how talented and dedicated to the craft you were, and having faith that this would be a measly walk in a park for you.

Only to receive word that you were one of the many who were assumed dead when you weren’t found amongst the living nor the dead.

Veritas tries to remain as levelheaded and logical as possible during this time and continue life as normal. However found himself retracting from everyone else and going none contact, more so specifically with the people you were once associated with, and instead focused heavily on his studies and academics to an unhealthy extent.

A week passes and Veritas feels as though he’s seen a ghost the moment he saw you in his peripheral vision, bandaged and dressed in ripped clothing but still somehow finding it in you to smile.

‘You idiotic Buffon!’ He exclaims as he walks towards you.

‘Well that’s a nice way to greet someone you care about.’ You replied as you readied yourself for a massive rant about how stupid you were and so on, but instead you were held against his chest as he burrows his head into your neck.

‘I thought you died.’ He says in a whisper as he breathed you in. This went against all logic but in that rare moment Veritas didn’t care, you were alive but he still couldn’t let go of the fact that you didn’t tell anyone you were still alive. ‘Why didn’t you tell anyone that you were alive, send a signal, anything.’

You shrugged as you made yourself comfortable in his strong arms. ‘All communications were badly damaged or completely cut off.’ You told him. ‘I was on my own for a long while before finding my way back to you.’

‘Me?’ Veritas asked, pulling away from you. ‘Why not a medial facility for a proper treatment of your wounds? Have you hit your head so hard that common sense had been left on the back burner when making that decision?’

‘I wanted to see you first you dickhead!’ You exclaimed, shutting Veritas up rather quickly with your confession but you didn’t care. ‘is it so wrong of me to let the man I love know that I’m okay? So go ahead and call me an idiot all you like but that won’t change the fact that I felt more fear about not telling you how I truly feel then dying on some stupid mission.’ You finished your rant.

‘You’re insufferable.’ Veritas said after a moment of silence and you couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed at this that you didn’t notice that Veritas has began to close in the distance between the two of you.

You scoffed. ‘Oh sure call me insufferable as if you-‘ Veritas cuts you off by cupping your cheeks and planting a sweet short lived kiss against your lips before pulling away with a smirk.

‘Glad to know that the feelings are reciprocated.’ He says, taking enjoyment of rendering you speechless as he gently guided you to medical, and remaining by your side for the remainder of the day.

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meiieiri · 2 days

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when do we get to see megumi in your new series ^3^

𝐛𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 ! [toji fushiguro]

synopsis: “you really are your mother’s son,” toji grumbles to megumi as the little brat yet again refuses another kiss from him.

pairing: toji fushiguro x f!reader | art: @/amulin67 on twt/ig | hidden inventory: the lost tapes series masterlist

warnings: n/a | a/n: finally welcoming megumi to this series, yay! 💓💞

“I’m just gonna go nap for a bit. Promise me you’ll wake me up if something happens. But either way, his bottle is over there, just heat it up when he gets hungry and you know where his diapers are—“

You are interrupted by a sweet kiss that still manages to catch you off guard ‘till this day.

“I wasn’t done, you know.” You place your hands on your hips, shooting him a warning glance. “And don’t you go tossing him too high. Need I remind you, our apartment has a literal ceiling fan—“

“—You worry too much,” Toji cuts you off again with another kiss. “Not gonna lie though, seeing you all worked up like that is kinda turning me on.”

“You’re horrible,” you conclude. Honestly, at this point, almost anything and everything you do can be classified as a thirst trap for Toji. You blush when Toji inches closer, his hips pressed against yours, a smirk plastered on his face when he sneakily squeezes your ass causing you to yelp. “Ah! Toji!” you swat his hand away, burying your blushing face in his chest.

Chuckling at you, he plants a soft kiss on your temple as he pulls away. “Alright, mama, go get some rest. I’ll hold down the fort.”

“Thank you.”

No one ever told you that motherhood would be so stressful. Which is why you’re so blessed to have a supportive husband who may have started out a little awkward with caring for your newborn son but gradually became a natural with this whole fatherhood business as time went by. And that’s mostly because when Megumi arrived in this world at half past two in the afternoon of December 22 with nothing more but a small hiccup as he slipped into his papa’s waiting arms, Toji fell in love. And you don’t pretend to not know why. Because whenever you look at Megumi, your heart always just seems to melt at his pudgy rose-colored cheeks and his deep expressive green eyes that fill up with tears regardless if he’s crying or being overcome by a laughing fit whenever you pepper his tiny face with kisses.

Speaking of kisses, today’s latest fiasco is centered exactly on that: kisses.

You see, you have this habit that goes way back to when you and Toji first started dating. Toji remembers it well, you have certain moods when it comes to kisses. Sometimes, you’re the one initiating it which mostly results in Toji becoming an incoherent blushing mess, or most times, Toji gets the party started by slowly kissing up your neck, his breath hot on your earlobe as he presses his hips against yours while you slept fitfully, your hushed dulcet whines ringing in his ear as your lips instinctively find each other. Fun fact: that’s exactly how Megumi came to be.

But there are times too, when you were just not having it and you’d gently nudge Toji’s face away when he tries to kiss you.

It was a typical afternoon. Toji didn’t have work that day which was a huge relief for him because you’ve been suffering from dizziness and lower back pain all day. And being the helicopter partner and soon-to-be papa that he is, Toji keeps a close eye on you as you nap the afternoon away on the couch. He smiles softly as he sees you instinctively put a protective hand over your belly whenever you’d feel the slightest movements from the baby.

“Shhh, you’re alright,” he’d whisper to you as you slept, combing his fingers through your hair, a permanent worried frown on his face when a whimper falling from your pursed lips as the baby kicks you again. “It’s just the overgrown parasite fidgeting around.”

“Don’t call him that.” You brush his hand away, your eyebrows knitting in discomfort.

Toji chuckles, going to press a kiss to your soft lips only for you to place your entire palm on his face, applying gentle force to pry him away. “I mean, what is he then? Other than this thing that competes for your nutrients? He’s—“

“—Our baby boy.”

“—An overgrown parasite.”

Fuming at his words, you decide to hit back with a quick retort of your own. “Yeah? It really does take one to know one, huh?”

“What a cute comeback but maybe not as cute as you,” Toji smirks, his hand gently removing your smaller one from his face, his lips puckered up as he leans in. Teasingly, you place a hand over your lips, still refusing to indulge him with his much-craved kisses. “Come on, I just want one sloppy one~”

“No!” Your laughter-filled voice comes out muffled against your palm.

“Mm, yes,” Toji teases. “Yes. Come on, baby, just one.”

“You and I both know it’s never just one.”

Of course. Why else would you be in this situation if Toji knew how to spell the words: self and control? Still, it’s not like the two of you were complaining. After all, the bond you and Toji share is an unbreakable one that’s only been strengthened by time and the many trials you’ve survived together. And now, the arrival of the very product of your love is only a hair’s breath away. Toji rests his chin on top of your head, plopping down next to you and spooning you from behind. “Guilty as charged.”

And unfortunately, it seemed your son had inherited that troublesome quirk of yours and it’s beginning to break Toji’s infuriated heart because whenever he tries to give Megumi a kiss…

“Mmph—“

There it was.

Toji’s eyes shot open, grimacing as Megumi turns his head away, his eyes trained stubbornly on his dog plushie, and his chubby hands pushing his poor papa’s chin away with all the might a six-month-old like him could muster. And to top things off, he must be imagining things because newborns surely couldn’t scowl right? Their tiny little brains couldn’t possibly have enough electrical energy to charge a snow globe much less, learn how to hate certain people’s kisses.

“You little shit—“

Sure enough, the tiny little baby seems gravely unamused, his eyebrows are knitted, the corner of his lips curled into a disappointed frown as if to say: Go kiss someone else, you even bigger shit.

Toji mirrors the unfriendly scowl on his son’s face, noting how Megumi seems to be glaring at him. Oh, okay. The brat ain’t messing around, his eyes twitches but somehow, Toji is also a picture of a proud father. At least the little shit’s got spunk. And he wonders momentarily who he should blame for that.

Definitely not him, that’s for sure.

Toji doesn’t recall the last time he’s ever had the comforts of a peace like this one. Actually, this might just be the first time that Toji knew what that word meant: “peace”. A freedom from disturbance; tranquility, as per the Merriam Webster Dictionary. But Toji has a better definition for peace: you and Megumi.

But…

“I meant what I said to your mother though,” Toji engages in a one-way conversation with his son. He won’t recall any of this, but it didn’t hurt for Toji to be candid about his feelings every now and then especially when it came to this little one that came accidentally into your lives but brightened it up nonetheless. “The two of you would be better off — maybe even happier — with someone else.” He presses his thumb against Megumi’s cheek. “It’s what you two deserve.”

He’s been gone close to a whole day now and you were probably beginning to worry. Out of all the shitty things Toji has done, this, by far, has to be the shittiest. Standing outside a pachinko den, his back pressed against the wall, and his hand absentmindedly playing with the tokens he just bought. When he left the apartment that day, you knew that could very well be the last time you ever see him. Types like him aren’t keen on the whole picket fence idea of settling down.

“I’m heading out today.”

Your blood runs cold when Toji steps into the kitchen to inform you of his plans. You don’t even bother to look at him, your gaze simply settled on the positive pregnancy test on the table. The right thing to do was to stay, he should have held you in his arms and tell you that everything’s going to be okay not plant seeds of doubt in your mind by taking off and running away like a coward.

But for once, Toji was scared.

He had no business becoming a father when he’s lived in a dysfunctional household for majority of his life. What good would he even impart to his child? His pathetic existence has been a picture of disorder that was only recently resolved when you came into the picture. Well, if he were being completely honest, he still hasn’t figured things out quite as well yet. And as a father, that could be catastrophic for a child that required stability if nothing else.

Frowning, Toji leaves the pachinko den, chucking the tokens in the trash. It was far too early in the day to be hanging around shady places like these anyway. He wanders the streets for a good while, his hands buried in his jacket’s pockets as his mind swirls with thoughts about the all too terrifying future.

A pang of guilt strikes his heart and he wonders what you’re doing now. You must still be in the kitchen, your face buried in your hands as you try to think of something. You were probably assuming he wasn’t coming back. After all, you did say: “I don’t wanna pressure you into staying, Toji. You deserve to live your life the way you want it.”

A life without you? Sounds pretty miserable.

Toji must have been walking on autopilot because for some reason, he unknowingly finds himself in front of a bank. Mizuho Bank, Toji reads the sign, his eyes flicking over to one of the posters plastered on the window about opening a savings account.

He looks at the promotional material, transfixed at the picture of a family of four donning on those typical wide stupid grins in ads, the father is holding a hundred yen bill and is seen dropping it into a piggy bank that was filled with both cash and words like: health insurance, family vacation, utility bills, rent, tax, school, and…happiness.

…

Toji returns to the apartment at around eight in the evening after making a quick stop at the supermarket and the pharmacy. He finds you asleep on the couch, your cheeks stained with dry tears. He crouches on the edge of the couch, worriedly taking in your appearance. You’ve been crying. “Hey…hey, wake up,” he gently shakes you awake and your tired eyes flutter open. “Got you something.”

He holds out a shopping bag, chock full of fresh produce, and from the pharmacy, some camphor oil to relieve your symptoms and those folate supplements the attending pharmacist kept yapping about.

“You didn’t leave,” you said, bewildered. “I thought you—“

“—You thought wrong,” Toji says firmly. He pulls out something from his back pocket and you stare at him, perplexed.

“A bank passbook?” You open it to see that Toji had just made his first deposit amounting to fifty thousand yen earlier today. “You opened a savings account?”

Toji nods, looking a little proud of himself. “Yeah,” he tries to play it off with a shrug of his shoulders. “Every week, we’ll be depositing fifteen thousand yen in that thing. Ten thousand for your maternity needs, and five for the little brat’s schooling one day.”

Tears spring to your eyes upon realizing that Toji was here to stay. “You mean you’re—?” You are cut off by a warm kiss on your lips, and you place a hand over Toji’s chest, your fingertips gripping the fabric of his shirt as his lips move against yours. He pulls away after a while.

“Gonna spite the hell out of the Zenin clan and send my brat to the most expensive preschool in Tokyo? Yes, I am.”

Toji sighs, his thumb rubbing across Megumi’s chubby cheek. “But maybe — just maybe — hear me out and don’t you give me another glare.” Megumi’s not gonna remember any of this. After all, memories begin when the brain can fully register speech. But Toji felt the need to say this so, subconsciously, his son will understand just how much he’s done and he’s willing to do for the both of you.

“…Maybe I deserve the two of you too, you know.”

Megumi looks up at his father, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. Toji sticks his tongue out at the little one causing the latter to…hiccup? Nah, Toji was sure that was a giggle.

Smirking, Toji leans down to give his son a kiss, thinking he’s patched things up between them now only for Megumi to curl up again, his feet and hands resisting against Toji, his lip downturned in effort as he pushes him away yet again. Conceding, Toji grumbles, rubbing the spot where Megumi roughly pushed him away.

“You really are your mother’s son.”

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gojoux · 8 months

Text

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐔𝐏 𝐏𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐌

Gojo. Geto. Sukuna. Nanami. Choso. Toji. Megumi. Itadori. Yuta.

◈ — 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

Gojo wouldn’t take it seriously, brushing off your words since he thinks you’re just teasing him like usual, “Oh~ how could you do this to me? I’m hurt! Now you should kiss me to make it up.” That is until you somehow manage to convince him that you’re serious. “Wait, you’re not joking?” He'd look at you with a mix of surprise and disbelief, “Hey, hey, what are you saying? You don’t mean that.” He chuckles rather nervously. Despite his antics, he truly loves you and he doesn’t want to let you go. You told him it was a joke after you were satisfied with his reaction. He'd put his index finger on your lips to make sure you’re not speaking anymore, “Shhh! Your prank hurt my feelings. Don’t do it again, okay?” He sulks. Now you really need to make it up by pampering him.

◈ — 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎

Geto would be worried at first but then he’d be more confused rather than hurt. He knows your relationship is stable and he’s trying his best to do his part, so when you did this prank, it doesn’t take long for him to figure it out that you’re just messing around to get a reaction out of him. He’d raise an eyebrow and look at you before speaking calmly, “Oh? So you want to break up with me now? That’s a surprise. I thought you loved me?” You’ll notice that he smiles softly at you and seems to ignore your prank as he speaks to you in his usual soft voice, “You know, I don’t think I could live without my love. You know I won’t let you go easily. Why are you doing this, hm?” He doesn’t seem upset and just laughs at you a bit, pinching your cheek softly in return for making him worried a few seconds earlier.

◈ — 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

Sukuna would be very pissed but he won’t yell at you, he’s not the type who would yell when he’s angry at you. He’d give you an annoyed look, grab you by the arms, and speak to you while gritting his teeth, “Am I not treating you well enough? Did I not love you enough?” He steps closer, pressing himself against yours, his lips are curled as he tries to keep himself from reacting too aggressively towards the situation. “You’re not going anywhere. You belong to me and I’ll make sure you’ll stay with me and me only.” He’d throw you on the bed and pinning you with his hands, giving you an intimidating look that it scare you, wondering if you went too far with this prank even though you know he’ll never hurt you. He’d reach a hand to grab your cheek to keep you focused on him, “You better not ever think about leaving me again, understand?”

◈ — 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

Nanami would be a bit surprised, trying to keep his head cool before asking you calmly, “Are you breaking up with me? Is that what you’re trying to do right now?” He’d continue to keep his composure as you're trying to break the news to him. On the inside, he’s definitely concerned about your decision right now, wondering if anything was wrong in your relationship to the point you want to end it with him. “Why?” He’d ask the only question that makes him want to know the answer right away. “I know that we’ve been having some problems lately but we can still fix it. Don’t give up on me just yet, love.” He’d take your hands in his as he caress the back of your hands with his thumb. Once you told him it was a prank, he’ll let out a big sigh of relief, “What's gotten into you right now? Please don’t joke about this, love. I’m serious about you.”

◈ — 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎

Choso would feel worried and quite scared when you try to break up with him. “What did you say?” He’d ask it in a nervous tone while fidgeting with his sleeves, making sure he’s hearing you right as he still trying to process the bad news. “Wait, no…” He shakes his head and gets up, hugging you tight while looking at you with a clearly heartbroken look, his lips quivering slightly. “You really want to break up with me? We just started dating not long ago. Why are you breaking up with me, did I do something wrong?” He rests his head on your shoulder, just holding you close to him. You are one of the very few he got attached to, he has every right to be upset right now. You quickly tell him it’s just a prank because you feel bad for making him feel like this. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t get the joke and would continue speaking to you in a soft pleading tone, “Please don’t leave me. I will make it up to you.” Nope, you will be the one who needs to make it up to him.

◈ — 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

Toji would look at you with a raised brow before giving you a slight smirk, “Oh, so we’re breaking up now? I know damn well we’re not. If this is the best joke you could come up with, then don’t even try next time.” He seems pretty okay with the whole breakup thing, you wouldn’t know if he’s joking or serious because of his usual calm and nonchalant demeanor. “Alright then, I don’t think I’m gonna ask for you to come back.” He shrugs as he looks at you with a smug and daring look if you’d actually leave him. When you keep up with your act and turn your back at him, walking a few steps away, he’d approach you and hold you by the waist, turning you around to look at him. “Hey, don’t do that. I’m just messing with you.” He chuckles a bit as he nuzzles his nose onto your neck. “I’m still here, ‘kay?”

◈ — 𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈

Megumi wouldn’t really react too much when you break up with him, you can his eyes widen slightly, taken back by what you said out of nowhere. He would be calm and quiet as he replies to you, “Oh… It’s okay if you want to break up with me.” He nods despite the hesitation in his tone. “But can I at least know why? I’d understand.” He can’t help but ask, thinking what could be the possibilities. You’ll notice that his faint smile slowly disappears after hearing your answer. He’d turn his back to you and look at you for a while, “I wish you the best.” His voice is slightly shaking. You’d immediately walk in front of him, giving him a tight hug before revealing it’s just a joke. He’d hold your shoulder and look at you with a frown on his face, “This is not something to joke about. Don’t do this to me again.” He’s not angry at you, you scared him and he’s just afraid that you‘d leave him for real. He does hug you back, tighter.

◈ — 𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈

Itadori would be visibly surprised when you say that you want to break up with him while his smile slowly starts fading from his face. “Huh?” He lagged a bit as he looked at you not blinking at all. “Wait, wait, wait, wait, what?” He hurries to your side and makes you face him as he holds your hands. “Did you just say you want to break up with me? You don’t want to continue our relationship anymore? Is that what you’re saying?” He asks rather panicky from how fast he’s talking and stumbles a bit with his words. “But why though? We were doing just fine, right? Did I do something wrong? Just give me a chance and I’ll fix it, okay?” He’s having a mix of emotions as he stares into your eyes deeply, hoping to find an answer or at least a hint that you didn’t mean it. When you tell him it’s just a prank, he’ll lag again before letting out a loud exhale of relief, “You scared me! You really got me good there.” He chuckles shakily with the way his heart is still beating fast and pulls you into a hug.

◈ — 𝐘𝐔𝐓𝐀

Yuta would be caught off guard when you break the news to him. His eyes would widen and he’d stay quiet for a while with his heart beating hard in his chest, not wanting to believe that this is real, before eventually speaking to you with a sad tone, “You want to break up with me? You want to end our relationship? Why? What’s wrong? Please talk to me.” He tries to convince you and himself to find another way for you not to break up with him until he overthinks what went wrong for you to end the relationship after what you two have been through. When you see him becoming more anxious, you comfort him, saying that this is just a joke and you’d never want to break up with him. “Oh! That’s a relief to hear.” His eyes lit up and smiles as he rub his nape. He’s not even mad, he’s just relieved that you’re still on good terms. “We’re still together, right? I’ll make you happy, I promise.”

Oop, I might enjoy the way these headcanons are getting longer over time 😳

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tojipie · 6 months

Note

How does toji feel about halloween in general??

read this and immediately pictured our man leading both his kids up someone’s doorstep like “hey make sure you grab an almond joy for me :/” and “my back hurts >:(“ I LOVE HIMMMSNCHDJS

dilf!toji but there’s passing mentions of him working in an auto shop so maybe mechanic!toji ? who knows. no warnings for this one !

────────────────────────

toji always found halloween a little childish. holidays were a very rare occurrence growing up, so celebrating anything besides a paycheck or his latest divorce didn’t strike a chord in him.

he usually spent the 31st of every october begrudgingly taking his kids around the block for candy he could’ve bought for them himself. he’d stand to the side, still clad in his work clothes as the two of them eagerly held out their candy bags—pillowcases from his bed that he’d grabbed last minute.

sometimes an elderly woman would greet them at the door, eagerly handing his two mini-me’s a box of raisins or a handful of cough drops. he’d quickly usher them off the doorstep with a polite thank you, silencing their whines with a “shhh, i know, i know, just give em’ to me i’ll eat em’ at some point.”

sometimes a guy his age would open the door instead, sharing a knowing look with toji, a little nod of the head even simply to say “yeah, i’d rather be drinking a beer right now too.”

and sometimes—rarely— toji gets the chance to talk his game at a pretty lady. he knows he looks good, even with flecks of motor oil staining the front of his sweatshirt and faded jeans. that much is proven about 0.8 seconds into the interaction when the girl he’s eyeing rushes to put more candy in his kids’ bags, shooting him a bashful smile.

you’re different though, toji knows that as soon as you look up to address him.

“where’s your costume?” you tease, eyeing the older man as you hold a bowl of chocolate out for megumi and tsumuki.

he stands there for a couple of seconds, dumbfounded as you wait for an answer.

“… what?”

“where’s your costume, it’s halloween.”

a fit of giggles erupt from the children in front of you at your inquiry.

toji frowns, then laughs quietly, climbing up the steps to look down at you.

“where’s yours?” he states plainly, cocking his head to the side as his kids bound down your steps and settle in the grass.

“i’m not the one trick-or-treating here.” you state plainly, looking up at him with a confident smile.

toji leans against your doorway, still towering over you with that sleazy grin. “huh, guess you aren’t.” he admits, reaching for his phone with one hand and pulling up the “add new contact” page.

you laugh as he slips the device into your hand, typing your name and number in a bit too eagerly.

“and what was that for?” you ask, feeling the heat from his torso engulf your hand as you slip the phone into his sweatshirt pocket.

toji pushes off of the doorway, “so we can talk about our costumes a little more at my place.”

your knees practically buckle at the invitation, nonchalant facade melting off your body and into the pavement with ever step he takes down your driveway.

the two kids bound over to their father as he makes his way towards them, hugging each of his legs as pats their backs quietly.

“is she gonna be another lady you do kissing with?” megumi asks, balancing his little body atop his father’s impossibly solid work boots.

“hey, quiet.” toji laughs, scooping the younger boy onto his hip and taking tsumiki’s little hand in his.

#adah’s asks #fushiguro toji #toji #jjk toji #zenin toji #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji x reader fluff #dilf toji #dilf!toji #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #toji fluff #toji headcanons #toji hcs #toji hc #toji x fem reader #toji x fem reader fluff

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precious-little-scoundrel · 3 months

Text

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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visualbutterflysworld · 4 months

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Drunk Vinnie | Vhackerr

Warning: vinnie being drunk and clingy

might make a part 2. idk

“I need to text my girl. I want my girl.” Vinnie whined as he leaned onto Jack. “She’s right there Vin.” Jack laughed as he pointed to you, who was preoccupied by ordering a Uber. “That’s….that’s not her! I’m texting Y/n right now.” Vinnie huffed before pulling out his phone. He pulled in his bottom lip. He squinted his eyes trying to successfully type correctly.

In his mind he thought he texted, baby where are you? I miss you!

Instead he actually texted, “biby here ure uuuu( iiiii muss youuu &&”

You chuckled as you read the text before going back to what you were doing. “Why won’t she text me back!? DID SHE DIE?! JACK CALL THE COPS!” Vinnie yelled when he did see those three bubbles pop up. “Vinnie, stop yelling.” You rubbed his arm, trying to sooth him. “No! Who are even you?! I have a girlfriend, lady!” Vinnie quickly gave you a dirty look.

“I am your girlfriend, Vinnie.” You laughed. “No! You don’t look like my Y/n. My pretty Y/n. Where’s my pretty Y/n?” Vinnie’s bottom lip begins to tremble. “Okay, Vinnie, let’s get you home.” You say, “Jack. Help? Uber’s here.” Jack nods before you and him put Vinnie’s arm over your shoulders.

“Y/n! I love Y/n so much! She’s so pretty!” Vinnie yells as you guys walk outside. “Vinnie, shhh.” Jack said. “Jack-o’-lantern, you just don’t understand.” Vinnie lays his head on Jack’s shoulder. “Yeah, man. Here. In you go.” Jack shakes his head before helping you put vinnie in the car.

After a short 15 minute drive you guys are back at your house, knowing Vinnie will be too loud for his apartment. “Honey! I’m home!” Vinnie yells as he stumbles into the house. You shake your head before shutting the door and locking it. “Do you want some water?” You ask. “Yeah, that sounds great random person. Hey, this place looks at lot like my girlfriend’s house?” Vinnie scans the room.

You quickly dash and get him some water. Once he’s handed the glass, the water is gone in a matter of seconds. “Let’s get you to bed.” You say before grabbing his hand. “Okay, but nothing is happening between us! No funny business lady or I’ll tell Y/n!” Vinnie tells you. It was honestly so cute, seeing Vin miss you even though you were there.

Once you reach the bedroom, Vinnie wastes no time collapsing on the bed. “Mm. So comfy.” A happy lazy smile on his face. You take his shoes off and his socks knowing he hates sleeping with his socks on. “Y/n is the best. Do you have a Y/n?” Vinnie asked as you unbuckled his belt. “Sorta. Expect he’s a guy.” You say before pulling his pants down and throwing them somewhere. “That’s good. What’s his name?” Vinnie ask as you pull him to sit up. “Arms up.” You say.

Vinnie puts him arms up and strikes a pose while doing so. You laugh softly before pulling it off as well. Sober vinnie would thank you because he gets hot to easily in his sleep. “The guy! His name!” Vinnie says before falling back. You don’t know how but he somehow knew he wasn’t under the covers so he quickly places himself underneath.

“Vinnie. His name is Vinnie.” You say before grabbing a t shirt to sleep in. “What!? That’s my name! My name is Vinnie!” Vinnie yells. “I know that, Vin.” You quickly toss your hair in a low bun before sliding in bed. “I never asked but, what’s your name?” Vinnie says. “It’s y/n.” You laugh before moving a piece of hair out his face. Vinnie’s face scrunched before his eyes went wide.

“Wait a minute! You’re Y/n! My Y/n! Oh my God! When did you get here baby?!” Vinnie quickly rushes into your arms. You laugh, “I’ve been here the whole time Vin.” “Nuh uh! That other lady was here! I swear.” Vinnie nuzzles his head in your neck. You lay back so that you can both rest comfortably. “Whatever you say, Vin.” You message his head.

“I love you Y/n. Promise to never leave me like that again?” You smile before slowly closing your eyes. “I love you too. I promise to never leave you again.” You feel Vinnie smile and it isn’t long before the both of you are passed out into a bliss.

#vincent hacker #vinnie hacker #vhackerr #bwwm couples #bwwmromance #oneshot #love #lovers #vinnie hacker x reader

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tteokdoroki · 8 months

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☆༉ — SEISHIRO NAGI. touch me, soothe me.

about. if there’s one thing nagi’s going to put effort into — it’s making his baby feel better when the world gets you down. or nagi + spank therapy because i said so. i need him.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact. smut, nsfw, fingering (f!receiving), spanking, spank therapy, squirting, dom/sub dynamics, use of colour system, cockwarming fem!reader, pro player + soft dom!nagi

when you have a lot on your mind, the first thing you do is turn to your boyfriend, nagi.

he acts as a sort of centre point for your comfort, whenever the world gets too much and there’s too much weight on your shoulders. nagi willingly accepts his role of caregiver, stress reliever, anything his angel needs him to be. he’ll do whatever it takes to see you smile and laugh again even if it means seishiro has to put in a little extra effort.

besides, it helps that you get a little needier when you’re stressed out.

“s-sei!” there’s something so satisfying about the way you curl into him, trying to make yourself smaller against nagi whenever he’s close by. a quiet ‘fuck’ drifts from between his parted lips, watching the meat of your ass ripple from the impact of his his hand against it. your core loosens a tad and your lashes make soft contact with his bare shoulder when you blink back the hot liquid that slips from your pretty eyes.

nagi knows that when your jaw goes slack and your drool starts seeping past the boundaries of his clothes — that he’s making you feel good, making the day hurt less. carefully, he runs a hand over the tender zone to pacify any pain you might be experiencing from being smacked about like that.

“shhh, pretty thing. you’ve had such a long day. lemme take care of you, kay?” nagi coos to you soothingly as he smooths his hand over the area where heat blooms on your ass cheek. “d’ya want the next one to be harder or softer?” he feels your lips tremble against his bare neck, and the tears that drip onto his shoulders and if he didn’t know any better — he might think you were crying out in pain rather than relief.

your shaky voice quickly soothes the player’s concern while you nuzzle into him further. “harder, please.”

nagi let’s out a noncommittal hum, the sound comfortingly reverberating through your frame as you cling onto his larger one. “such a good girl, for using your manners with me.”

he waits a few more seconds, letting you prepare for impact, before his heavy hand comes down against the opposite cheek. he revels in the way that you jolt with your nails digging into his milky skin so hard that they might break flesh. but as quickly as you tense up, you sag in relief — letting all of your worries flood out of you as the pain from being spanked subside.

the strangled moan that escapes you tells nagi that he’s doing a good job at helping ease your tension. the effort he’s putting in, evident in the way his palms tingle from spanking you so hard. there was some weight to that one.

“check in with me, angel. how are we doing?”

you’re still a quivering mess when you answer your boyfriend, swallowing thick and choking back your tears. the stress that you had been experiencing now burns and brews into something hotter, a slick gathering between your thighs. “green,” you hiccup, tauntingly dragging your hips back and forth against the white haired striker’s lap. “‘m okay to keep going.”

“oh, pretty thing.” seishiro cocks his head to the side, brushing a thumb under your eye before another tear drops. “y’gonna kill me. s’not fair…so pretty like this,” that very same thumb drops to the swell of your lips, barely pushing past them to enter your hot mouth. “tell me how you want it, then i’ll make you cum.”

obediently, you suck on the digit that your boyfriend offers you — your frenzied emotions instantly calming down. “wan’ a few more in a row… keep going. please.” you slur around him as nagi slowly fucks your mouth, pressing down on your tongue to watch you writhe.

as per your request, the player continues to bring a a rapid and heavy hand down against your pert ass — groaning as the flesh jiggles beneath his touch. it all rushes to his head, the sound of skin meeting skin, your hushed, dreamy sobs and sighs, the way you claw and cling to him. he’s dizzy with lust all for you but somehow manages to power through long enough to make an effort for you, make you feel better before he tends to himself.

you’re all squirmy with sore cheeks by the time nagi is done, but you’re happily snivelling into his neck as he ruts up into you — hard cock pressed against your soft thighs. “sei,” you plead gently, rocking back against his erection and whimper when it’s thickness sinks between your wet, panty-clad folds perfectly. “think i need a little more help… with the stress relief…”

“i think so too, angel,” seishiro replies with a rasp, already in the midst of rolling you onto your back and into prime position to ruin you. somehow, two sets of hands fumble between your bodies to push and pull clothes aside — allowing the genius player’s cock to slide right into your soaked and fluttering hole. both of you sigh out in relaxation, your moans syncing up into the most airy-fairy harmony. “might need to fuck it out of you, fuck you s’good pretty thing. s-shit… you’re so warm ‘n tight around me… gonna make a mess…”

with newfound motivation, nagi draws his hips back and bucks into your tight heat, using one fluid motion to fill you up with his drippy cock. it’s the cry you let out and your fingers gripping the sweaty silver roots of his hair that drive the man forward, forcing more of his throbbing dick into your sensitive little cunt while his free hand reaches down to toy with your clit.

he’s going to fuck you until you’re numb, dumb and crying because of him — not because of work. pound you until your pussy froths, because seishiro really would do anything for you to feel better and less stressed — even if it meant fucking you starry-eyed and delirious.

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bangtanflirt · 8 months

Text

(Un)natural Instincts (Part 2)

angst, fluff, smut

Pairings: OT7 x Fem Reader, Human CEO Reader, Human Assistant Yoongi, Wolf Hybrids Joon, Jin, Hobi, Jimin, Tae, and Kook.

Basic premise: You and your assistant end up rescuing six wolf hybrids. No part of the process is easy.

Part 1 > Part 2 > Part 3

General Warnings: Hybrid abuse and lab experimentation, hybrids as second-class citizens/owned property, future smut (Minors DNI, 18+ content)

Specific Warnings: torture collars, needles, mention of past dubcon (hybrids under influence of the synthetic hormones cannot properly consent), more inaccurate business talk,

____

It’s 7am the next day when your actual assistant shows up at your door, with your precious Americano in hand.

“I heard about the coffee mishap yesterday, so I thought I’d bring you this a little earlier than usual.”

“You are my savior.”

Yoongi laughs as you invite him in. Your assistant is one of the few people you found you could let your guard down around. He’s probably the closest thing you have to a friend.

“Is everything alright with you? You never call off work, and you didn’t reply to the message I sent.”

“Sorry, there was a lot going on. Everything’s fine now, just had a little scare with my mom’s blood pressure. She’s good though!”

“Oh thank god. Are you sure you don’t need more days off to take care of her?”

“My brother is keeping an eye on her, but I very much appreciate the sentiment.”

“Of course. Don’t hesitate to step out when you need. Or if you need help with her medical bills, I’m always here.”

“Woah woah, calm down there before I start spreading a rumor that you’re actually a nice person Y/N.”

You roll your eyes and laugh, “Don’t you dare.”

But the joking atmosphere only lasts for two seconds before your mood turns solemn.

“I’m actually so far from a nice person you wouldn’t believe it.”

And so it goes, you explaining the entire fiasco of last night. You know you deserve the judgy look he tries to hide when you get to how easily you caved in. But there’s also sympathy in his eyes, because he’s one of the few people in the world who would even try to understand where you’re coming from.

“That’s not all…they also…um…gave me one.”

He looks puzzled.

“They gave you a collar? But you don’t even have a hybrid.”

You take a deep breath before uttering the next sentence.

“They gave me a hybrid.”

“WHAT?!”

“Shhh! Keep your voice low, he’s sleeping in one of the guest rooms right now!”

He switches to a whisper yell instantaneously.

“You took a hybrid home with you? Are you insane?!”

“Maybe I am. I don’t know, I wasn’t exactly acting with a plan. I just couldn’t send him back to get tortured. You should see him Yoongi, he looks like he’s been through hell and back.”

The man’s eyes softened.

“I don’t know how you’re going to get yourself out of this mess, but I guess I’m getting dragged into it with you, aren’t I?”

“You can always quit, you know. I’d give you a cushy desk job somewhere in the company.”

“Eh I’ll wait. I’m still not fed up with you yet, even if I think you’re actually insane for this. So is the hybrid going to just lounge around here while you’re at work? Shouldn’t there be some supervision?”

You nod.

“Yeah, I notified the housekeepers already, told them I’d pay extra if they take care of him for me. His name’s Jungkook by the way. 60% human and 40% gray wolf.”

“40% is a lot.”

He’s right. The very few pet wolf hybrids in the market right now are 25% wolf, as that’s the max percentage before they get too dangerous to handle.

“Yeah, but I’m more of a threat to him than he is to me at this point.”

___

The workday is long, and you’re mentally not even there. Every five minutes, you’re thinking about Jungkook and how he’s doing. Thankfully, the housekeepers keep sending you updates to assure you he’s doing fine.

You scroll through with relief, reading what he’s up to throughout the day. Apparently, he was terrified of the shower, but had no problem drawing himself a bath. Another text let you know he loves the omelet the chef prepared for lunch. And the rest of the texts are just notifying you that he’s resting in his room at various points in the day. So far so good, thankfully.

With your mind at some ease, you can actually focus on work.

You get your hands on everything Pet Paradise can give on the Obedience Collar before officially signing a contract. There’s information that’s classified, mainly the patent for the synthetic hormones, but the books and research procedures are documented in the files in front of you. And unfortunately, they look spotless. The money is all there in a clear trail, no gaps or unusual patterns, and the research procedure follows all protocol needed. You want to just hide under your desk and avoid this entire situation.

You’re scheduled to tour the research facility tomorrow, and the last thing you want to do is see five more hybrids as scared as Jungkook—especially knowing you can’t scoop these ones up and take them home. But you’re holding out hope. There’s still a chance that something’s wrong at the facilities, something not shown on paper. At this point you’d settle for the smallest thing and find a way to blow it up so the whole operation has to be shut down. You’ve got some of the best lawyers in the country, so you might as well use them. You just need something to be wrong.

It's around 6:45pm when you arrive home, and one of the housekeepers greets you with a warm smile, immediately jumping into how well-behaved Jungkook is. It makes you wince to hear him described like that, especially knowing the amount of needles piercing his skin just to achieve the “well-behaved” status.

The staff all leave as you arrive, knowing you like them to be done by the time you're back. The chef has already left hours earlier, as he usually prepares dinner in advance and keeps it in the fridge.

Jungkook’s door is slightly ajar, and you peek in to see the boy melted into the bed. It’s weird; he looks a lot more tired than yesterday, eyes barely keeping themselves open. It’s probably the hormones, you conclude somberly.

“Jungkook, it’s time for dinner. Come on out.”

The boy takes the last bit of energy he has to trudge to the dinner table, and you put a heated up bowl of kimchi-jjigae down. You sit across and join, noticing that the stew is extra flavorful today.

“Mhmm, Chef Gyu really outdid himself with this one. And I bet the omelet was just as delicious. I was told you loved it, is that true?”

You look over expecting an answer, but what you see instead is Jungkook almost falling asleep right into the bowl before catching himself at the last minute.

Maybe the side effect of the hormones make him too sleepy to do anything?

Your thoughts are interrupted by your ringtone. It’s Chef Gyu.

“Hello Chef, I was just singing your praises for this food.”

There’s a nervous chuckle at the other end of the line.

“Thank you Y/N, glad you and your new friend liked it.”

“Is something wrong? You usually don't call this late.”

“Um, yes, actually. The reason I called is because of your hybrid.”

“What do you mean? I was told he stayed in his room for most of the day. Did he cause you any trouble?”

You look over, but Jungkook is too exhausted to register that you’re talking about him.

“No, none at all. He was extremely polite. The problem was the housekeeping staff…they didn’t do any of the work today.”

You feel a pit in your stomach, putting the pieces together.

“Did they…did they make Jungkook clean the house?”

“Yes Miss. They were watching TV for practically the whole time. I should’ve told you earlier, but I told myself it wasn’t my place. I’m deeply sorry.”

“Thank you for telling me now. I appreciate it a lot. I have to go.”

You hang up abruptly, seething the minute the phone is cut.

There’s a million different ways your mind is conjuring up of how to ruin the housekeeping agency, make them cry bankruptcy as you blacklist them from working anywhere ever again. The rage inside you is glowing red, and the only thing getting you to calm down at all is your objective of getting Jungkook back into bed before he actually does fall asleep into his dinner. You support his weight gently, grateful that he’s awake enough to zombie-walk wherever you lead him. It’s only when he’s tucked under the blankets do you let the anger stir up again.

They made him clean the entire house by himself. A house that usually takes eight people to clean, they made him do all alone so they could kick back and relax with your flatscreen TV. It astonishes you how cruel people can be, how they can look into his scared doe eyes and take advantage of him.

The world is not on Jungkook’s side right now, it seems.

___

Yesterday’s incident is fresh in your mind the next morning. Thankfully, Yoongi found a new housekeeping service at the last minute. You’re still worried that the same thing might happen again, but you can’t afford to miss work today; so, you do the best that you can and ask Chef Gyu to keep an eye on the situation while he’s cooking.

Today’s the day you need to tour the lab facilities for the Obedience Collar—a task you’d trade in to do quite literally anything else. Yoongi looks at you with concern, seeing the strain this visit is putting on you.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay. Isn’t the plan to go in and find something to shut the whole thing down?”

“But if I can’t shut it down? What if there’s nothing wrong there either, and I have to look into the faces of five other abused hybrids and know I’m ruining their lives? What if I just call the whole thing off? Yes Mr.Kang is going to be insufferable and yes it’s going to cause a blow to my reputation, but it can’t be worth it to go through with this. It’s just not right.”

The room is silent for a second before Yoongi speaks up.

“It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was trying to find a good time to tell you since yesterday, but you’ve been so stressed that I didn’t know how…”

“Spit it out Yoongi.”

“Kang got on the board of directors at Jewel Accounting.”

Your blood runs cold. Jewel Accounting is one of your key partners.

“W-what do you mean? Isn’t that a conflict of interest? How can he be on the board that has to audit his own company?”

“He’s overseeing consulting, not audits. Pet Paradise wouldn’t be his client, but I’m afraid pulling out of this deal on a whim is going to make business a lot harder for us. The only way out is finding a good legal argument against investing.”

You want to shove your head into a bucket of cement.

___

The lab is cold and sterile, with glaring fluorescent lights, medical lab equipment spread everywhere, and white-tiles lining floor to ceiling. The researchers guiding you, however, seem to be in a chipper mood, smiling as if they don’t torture hybrids on a daily basis here. First, your team is taken around to look at the facility in general. Jungkook’s adverse reaction to showers makes sense when you see the one tiny sad looking shower stall they use—a lab assistant boasts about the stall being “efficient” by fitting at least three of them in at once.

Yoongi lightly touches your shoulder at different points throughout the tour, as if to ground you. There’s no beds, just a chamber with cots on the floor, and the food packets of sludgy brown gruel are easily the least appetizing thing you’ve ever seen.

“And now we have the part you are all, no doubt, most excited for: the research subjects!”

You hold your breath, dreading what comes next.

One by one, each wolf hybrid is brought out and lined up in front of you, all with the same fear engraved in them as Jungkook. They might be the hybrids, but you’re the one with urge to claw someone’s eyes out at the moment.

“We’ve trained different ones for different purposes, just to test how well the collar can make them behave in different situations. Jungkook was given away before any specific training, but the rest are skilled in different domains. First up we have Jin, Jimin, and Taehyung.”

Three of the hybrids step forward. One is a broad-shouldered blonde, with two smaller-framed brunettes next to him.

“These three have been trained for housework and taking care of children. Now, we know the image of a wolf-hybrid putting a baby to sleep sounds ridiculous, but this technology really is that advanced.”

Someone in the back makes some joke about a wolf singing rock-a-bye baby and everyone laughs. You and Yoongi fake a laugh to keep up appearances.

“The next one is Hoseok”

He’s lean with slicked-back black hair, and you notice he’s the only one dressed up, with a low v-neck shirt that leaves plenty of his chest exposed. More than he’s comfortable with, it seems, because you notice his hands itching to cover himself up. He doesn’t though, just fidgets with the sides of the shirt instead.

“He’s a romantic companion. Trained to give pleasure to any gender and for any intimate situation. He can fulfill every fantasy your minds can conjure up!”

There’s some snickers erupting again, but neither you or your assistant can attempt to fake laugh this time. Especially not when he makes eye contact, giving you a trained flirty smile that doesn’t reach his eyes one bit.

“And the last one is Namjoon, the pack alpha.”

Namjoon steps up, the tallest of them all. He stands the straightest as well. His hair is black and his eyes are more dragon-like than wolf, looking straight ahead with a stoic expression. The only indication of his scared nature is his trembling fingers and pleading eyes, but that aside, he looks as still as a statue.

“He’s a guard hybrid, perfect to keep intruders away. He’s been trained in a mix of defensive martial arts. Plus, he’s an alpha so you’d have to be insane to try to fight him off. Fun fact, hormone packs for alphas are different—they have a higher dosage. It took some experimentation, but we finally got the levels right.

And with that, you’ve seen the whole pack! Normally, training a wolf hybrid to do any of these would take at least two years, and that’s only for the ones 25% max wolf DNA. God knows training a 40% wolf would be nearly impossible. But with the help of the Obedience Collar, not only can we train higher percentages of wolves, but we can train them in as little as three months! As Mr.Kang probably told you a thousand times already, this will really revolutionize the hybrid market!”

___

You toss your laptop bag onto the sofa right as you come in through the door, kicking your heels off and slouching into your favorite recliner. You can’t be bothered to put things up in a tidy manner at the moment, especially with how shitty you feel.

There wasn’t a single flaw you could find at the lab today. All the equipment had passed inspection checks and were state-of-the art, the researchers had proper credentials and specialized licenses in hybrid research, and every procedure conducted was documented thoroughly—you made it a point to skip over the entire section for Hoseok, wanting to stay far away from the details of what he was made to do.

You let out a frustrated groan. Forgetting you’re no longer alone in your house, hearing footsteps shuffle spooks you for a second, before you see the wolf hybrid timidly come into the living room. Thankfully, he looks well-rested today. Chef Gyu did text you a while back that the new cleaners were doing well, and Jungkook was actually resting in his room for real this time. He does a quick bow before walking over and propping your heels up correctly. His next mission seems to be to put your carelessly tossed laptop bag in its proper place.

“You don’t need to do that for me Jungkook. I can do it myself.”

“Sorry Miss.”

You hate how meek he sounds, and that he’s the one apologizing in this situation. You should be getting on your knees spilling apologies right now, for going to that lab to see his pack be flaunted off like toys. But instead, he’s looking at you as if he’s the guilty one.

“You didn’t do anything to apologize for. Thank you for tidying up, I appreciate it.” You give me a reassuring smile, but he seems more confused than anything else. He doesn’t know if that means to do it more in the future or not do it all…he wishes you could just give simple commands instead of these tests.

You sit down for dinner, but don’t know how much of an appetite you have after today.

“Do you like the fried rice?”

“Yes Miss” he says between big spoonful, and the way he talks with his cheeks full makes you melt a little.

“Call me Y/N, please.”

“Yes Miss Y/N.”

“Just Y/N is fine”

He raises a brow,

“Pets should address their owners politely, Miss Y/N.”

That sentence makes your skin crawl. The way he so casually refers to himself as a pet, and to you as an owner.

“It’s okay Jungkook, I like being called Y/N.”

“…if you say so, Y/N.”

The name alone feels so wrong on his tongue, making him worry that someone in a lab coat is about to come drag him away for extra obedience training.

“Thank you. So, what have you been doing all day?”

“I tried to help out with the housework, but the people today told me that wasn’t my job…which was really confusing because the people yesterday told me that it was my job.”

“It’s not your job.”

“What is my job Mis—I mean, Y/N? I know I don't have specialized training, but I'm a quick learner! If you could give me a list on how to be good here, I’ll do my best and follow it.”

You want to tell him he doesn’t have to worry about things like that anymore, but you’re concerned that a conversation like that will malfunction his brain. How could it not, when the hormones flowing through his body plus the brainwashing tell him that’s all he should be thinking about.

“There is one thing you could do for me”

His wolf ears perk up, eager for a command.

“It’s really hard to keep up with the latest shows with my job, but I feel left out when everyone in the office has seen something I haven’t. If I give you a list, you think you could watch them for me and give me the summaries?”

“Yes absolutely! I’ll take detailed notes and tell you everything!”

There’s genuine excitement in his eyes. Jungkook’s never had the opportunity to watch TV before, and he can’t believe his luck. He doesn’t show his joy too much though, fearing that you’ll think he’s using the assignment as an excuse to slack off. He wants to be good, wants to show you he’s well-trained.

“Perfect. You’ll be helping me out a lot.”

You have to bite your lip to keep a straight face, endeared by how hard he’s trying to hide his excitement. But the moment is short-lived, as Jungkook’s face turns sour in an instant.

“What are you thinking about?”

“My pack. They’d probably love watching TV too.”

You don’t say anything to that.

Dinner ends with an uncomfortable silence looming in the air, that is until Jungkook spills juice on himself.

“I’m so sorry!”

“It’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it.”

“B-but you just got me these clothes. I was being careless. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s really fine, it’s not hard to get it dry-cleaned. I’ll put the dishes up, so go in and change into something else.”

He gives you one last string of “I’m so sorry”s before heading off to his room.

Once you’ve loaded the dishwasher, you make your way upstairs to the boy’s room, seeing if he needs anything before bed. His bedroom door is open, as is the bathroom door. You follow the sounds of scrubbing before being met with his back to you, hunched over the sink, trying to get the stain out of the white t-shirt. He’s topless and you know it’s wrong to ogle at his incredibly fit physique right now, but something catches your attention right before you’re about to avert your eyes.

Blue splotches pepper his waist, almost bruise-like but not quite.

“Um, Jungkook”

The boy turns,

“What are those blue marks?”

He twists his body in front of the mirror, looking at the marks with the same amount of confusion as you.

“I have no clue.”

Was it an allergic reaction? Have your “eat up” commands been making him eat food he’s allergic to?

“Do you have any allergies?”

“I’m not sure…no one’s ever told me…but I feel fine.”

“Nothing hurts? No nausea, hives, itchy nose?”

He shakes his head.

“I’ll come home early tomorrow and schedule a visit with a hybrid doctor in the evening.”

The color in his face visibly drains.

“I’m a-alright. Really.”

No doctor please. Last thing I need is another person in a white coat messing with my body again.

Your tone softens, “Relax, the most it’ll be is an allergy test. No one’s going to hurt you.”

Jungkook’s back to shaking as much as he did on his first day.

____

A/N: Thank you for reading! Let me know if you're liking it so far!

Taglist: @welcometomyworld13 @kalala22

*If Tumblr doesn't let me tag you for some reason, I'll send you a DM instead!

#bts hybrid au #bts hybrid x reader #poly ot7 #ot7 x reader #hurt/comfort #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #unnatural instincts

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paigebueckersmommy · 13 days

Text

team dinner - n.m

nika mühl x uconn wbb player (fem)

warnings: fingering, semi public sex

coach geno wanted to take the team to dinner after an amazing season, he couldn’t be more proud of the girls. you and nika had immediately clicked freshman year and had been inseparable ever since, but this past season, some feelings started getting in the way of your friendship. you felt like there was always sexual tension between you and nika you were both craving to satisfy.

the restraunt was pretty fancy, so you and all the girl were wearing dresses. we were sat at a long table with chairs on either side of the table, while walking to the table, you glanced at nika while slightly turning your head, asking her to sit by you. she accepted with the sweet smile you loved, and sat next to you. on your left was nika and on your right, ashlynn, who you had also become pretty close with this past year.

tonight, you felt bold. so while nika was talking to paige across the table, you out your hand on her thigh, a hitch in her breath. “u okay N?” paige asked, noticing her breath change. “yea P i’m good” after nika and paige had finished their conversation nika turned to you with a expression which you couldn’t tell if it was confusion or happiness. “what was that?” she asked with a grin. “what? you didn’t like it?” you say, attaching your hand to her inner thigh through her body con dress. nikas mouth opened slightly just before she told paige and me she would go to the bathroom and be back soon, but i knew what she meant.

paige turned to me and asked, “hey is nika okay? she’s acting diffrent tonight.” “oh uh yes i think she’s fine. speaking of that im gonna go check on her.” you make your way away from the table and turn to a hostess, “excuse me mam where’s the bathroom?” she points, “thank you!” when you get there, you find out it is a one stall bathroom. you knock, then bring your face closer to the door and whisper, “hey nika it’s me,” she opens the door and smiles.

“u okay hun?” you ask her, closing the door behind you. “after putting your hand that close to my pussy, ofc im not okay im soaked,” nika says with a smile, pulling you with her hands around your neck into a deep kiss against the door. you push you knee in the space between nika legs as she moans into your mouth with satisfaction. you move your hand from the back of her head to start pulling up her dress, only to discover she had no panties on underneath. “no panties? ur such a slut,” you pull away from her face to shove two fingers in her mouth as she keeps eye contact with you while swirling them with her toung.

you bring them out of her mouth and down to her lissy with entering them into her. nika gasps, while holding eye contact with you the whole time. you start pumping in and out of her, earning so many moans from nika. you start to curl your fingers deep inside her throbbing cunt, “fuck yes oh my god right there,” nika moans out. “shhh angel, you don’t want anybody from the team hearing you, do you?” nika shakes her head no. “that’s what i thought pretty girl. your gonna be quiet for me?” nika moans out, “fuck yess omg i’m gonna cum,” when nika realesses under you, you bring your fingers to her mouth, then yours. she tasted so good.

while nika was cleaning herself up, you say to her “ baby stay her i’ll be right back then we can leave okay? back to my apartment.” you rush out of the bathroom and over to the team, “hey guys nika is throwing up in the bathroom right now i’m gonna take her home, she said she had so much fun beforehand tho!” you hear the teams murmurs, “aww okay bye!” “tell her i hope she feels better,” “tell her to call me later!”

you make your way through the bathroom and knock and tell nika, “let’s go N,” you say with a smile. she followed you out with the same smile.

a/n: tbc??

#nika muhl #nika muhl x reader #uconn wbb #paige bueckers #uconn huskies #uconn women’s basketball

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sluttywonwoo · 8 months

Note

congrats on 12k <3

minghao with the prompt “you look good with my hand around your throat” 🫢

minghao grins as the bottle slows to a stop, its neck pointing right at him.

“alright, hao, truth or dare?” soonyoung asks.

everyone in the circle turns their attention toward the man in question in anticipation of his decision.

it was the second time the bottle hand landed on minghao tonight and the first time he had chosen truth.

“what’s your biggest kink?” chan had asked him.

“um, probably choking,” was minghao’s answer.

there were a couple of whistles and inappropriate comments but no one seemed fazed by his admission. no one except for you, that is.

heat rushed to your cheeks as soon as the words left his mouth and you suddenly felt very sweaty all over. thankfully, the others didn’t seem to notice your reaction, aside from minghao who had locked eyes with you from across the circle the second after he said it.

he’s looking at you again as he weighs the options in his mind, making you wonder if there’s some sort of game he’s playing that you’re not in on. was he zeroing in on you because his answer from the last round had made you a little bit flustered?

“dare.”

“i dare you to choke someone right now,” soonyoung says.

your eyes widen.

“you can either pick someone yourself or we’ll spin the bottle again to pick for you,” he adds.

are you really about to be forced to watch the guy you have a (slight) crush on choke someone else? you’re not sure if you can stomach it. you look away from minghao only to hear him call your name.

joshua, who had been sitting beside you, nudges your shoulder when you don’t move. “i think you’re supposed to go over to him,” he whispers.

“she doesn’t have to if it makes her uncomfortable,” minghao murmurs, gaze still steady on you.

“oh, no um, it’s okay,” you assure him. “it doesn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“then come here.”

he leans back on his hands while you crawl your way across the circle, hyperaware of everyone’s eyes on you. the tile floor is cold and rough on your palms but it helps to ground you as you inch closer and closer to the man whose hands will be around your neck in a matter of seconds.

“you can straddle my lap, i’ll help you,” minghao says when you reach him, quiet enough for only you to hear.

once situated, minghao glances over your shoulder at the rest of your friends.

“ready?” he asks them.

more whistling. that must mean yes.

“ready?” he asks you. you nod. “i need to hear you say it.”

“i’m ready, hao.”

“remember to breathe,” he whispers. “i’ve got you, okay?”

“o-okay.”

his knuckles brush your jaw as he wraps a hand around your neck, making you flinch.

“is this alright?”

“mhm.”

your eyes flutter shut as soon as he starts to apply pressure and it takes a good amount of strength not to start grinding down on him. fuck, you didn’t think it would feel this good.

“you look hot with my hand around your throat,” he muses quietly.

you whimper in response.

“shhh, don’t want everyone else to hear, do you? that would be kind of embarrassing, don’t you think?”

you’re startled by his teasing. he can tell from the way your eyes fly open and your hips twitch forward in his lap. and you can tell that he can tell because his lips curl into a smirk.

“don’t worry baby, after this we can find somewhere private and you can be as loud as you want while i choke you.”

12k celebration

#answered #anon #sluttywonwoo’s 12k #seventeen smut #svt smut #minghao smut #xu minghao smut #myungho smut #seo myungho smut #the8 smut

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lovelyjj · 2 months

Note

would it be possible if we can get fluff/angst of reader and jj?

jj is at midsummers as a busser and reader has had a few a drinks and rafe drugged readers drink and jj saves reader?

Saved

jj maybank x reader

wc: 1.6k

warnings: roofieing (reader gets drugged) ***please don’t read if this could be triggering***

Midsummers was the event of the year. Many kooks gathered around for this celebration. JJ wouldn’t be caught dead surrounded by this many kooks, but he had to work so here he was.

You were middle class, not really a kook but also not a pogue. You did however have friends that were both kooks and pogues. It was late afternoon when you arrived at Midsummers.

The island club was decorated beautifully. There was flowers everywhere and you were excited for the events to take place. You were wearing a pretty silk black dress that flowed down your legs.

Some of your girlfriends greeted you. You got swept up in conversation, chatting about the excitement of the event and what not. You were happy to get caught up with your friends.

The dance floor started to gain popularity. Most of the guests were out on the dance floor. It looked inviting. You were thinking about dancing when you noticed JJ. You considered him a friend and you were surprised to see him here.

JJ had caught your eye before. You couldn’t deny he was attractive. He was incredibly hot for that matter. You felt something in your chest when you looked at him but you highly doubted he felt the same way.

JJ considered you a friend. You have hung out in a group a couple times and JJ enjoyed your company. He thought you were the prettiest girl on the island. He also thought he didn’t have a chance. You were way outa his league.

You were pulled to the dance floor by your friends. You were only dancing a few minutes when Sarah came up to you and asked if you would get some drinks with her. You agreed needing some liquid courage.

Sarah led you to the bar. She looked beautiful in her white dress and flower crown. You told her this and she beamed. The two of you got mai tais. You were both talking, drinking and laughing.

“So whats been going on in your life?” Sarah asked.

“Oh not much the same old same old,” you answered.

“Come on there has to be something, something new happening with you,” Sarah pressed on.

“Um well, I been practicing guitar, that’s not really exciting but,” you began.

“Oh really that’s cool I would love to hear you play sometime,” Sarah showed her interest.

“Yeah maybe. What about you what’s been going on?” You asked.

“Well me and John B are getting pretty serious,” Sarah started to blush and you thought that was sweet.

“What about Topper?”

“Oh he’s old news,” Sarah giggled.

“Oh really? Damn, aren’t you supposed to be here with him though?” You questioned.

“Shhh,” Sarah brought a finger to her lips.

“You’re crazy,” you laughed.

The two of you continued to talk as well as drink a couple drinks. You were getting a little tipsy. The alcohol was addicting. It eased your nerves and it made you want to keep drinking.

You didn’t feel the presence behind you but Sarah narrowed her eyes.

“What do you want Rafe?” Sarah got right to the point, her tone bitter.

“Oh nothing just wanted to talk to Y/N,” Rafe insisted.

“She doesn’t want to talk to you,” Sarah crossed her arms.

“How about you let her speak for herself,” Rafe gritted his teeth but was trying to remain calm.

Being the angel that you are, you assured Sarah that it was fine. “It’s ok Sar, i’ll just be a minute,” you say.

Sarah gave you a wavering look but nodded her head and walked off.

You turned around to face Rafe and he towered over you. Rafe gave you a smile.

“So what’s up?” you asked.

“Nothing really I just wanted to see you and ask you something,” Rafe replied.

“Which is?”

“Would you like to dance?” Rafe requested.

“Um maybe not right this second because-“

“You know what forget about it, no worries,” Rafe assured.

“Can I at least get you a drink?” Rafe asked.

“Sure.”

“You look beautiful by the way,” Rafe complimented.

You smiled, “Thank you.”

JJ was watching you from afar. He could see that you were talking to Rafe. There were alarm bells ringing in his head. Rafe was bad news what was he doing talking to your sweet self?

JJ continued clearing glasses so he could go back and wash them. He couldn’t clear the bad feeling he had in the pit of his stomach. When he looked over at you again his heart broke a little bit at the sight of you throwing your head back in a laugh. Your hand was holding Rafe’s arm and Rafe was smiling as you laughed.

JJ clenched his jaw. Yeah you weren’t his but he was still jealous. He should be the one making you laugh not Rafe. He couldn’t stand it so he went in the kitchen and started washing glasses.

JJ was told to come back out and clear more glasses only a few minutes into washing. With a sigh JJ ventured out into the party. He glanced in your direction and what he saw made his heart stop.

Rafe was putting a tablet in your drink. He was showing you something on his phone with the other hand. JJ froze, he didn’t know what to do but he knew he couldn’t just stand there and let you get drugged.

JJ’s blood was boiling. How dare Rafe try and take advantage of you. Rafe is gonna loose his head because JJ was gonna rip it from his body. JJ legs were running faster than his mind.

JJ’s heart dropped to his feet when he saw you take a drink. JJ raced over there in record time. He put his hand on the small of your back and took the drink away from you. He then dumped it on the floor and threw the glass at Rafe.

JJ took hold of your arms and told you to stay there. He then punched Rafe right in the face. He grabbed Rafe by the collar and said, “If I ever see you go near her again I will kill you,” he spat.

“Come on angel let me take care of you.”

You didn’t know what to think one minute you were there talking to Rafe and the next JJ was here ushering you away. You felt like you were drunk.

You felt safe with JJ. His presence was comforting. So you let him take you away from the party.

With great difficulty JJ got you to the château. You were slurring your words and JJ did his best to hold you up.

“In here pretty lady,” JJ ushered you into his room at the château.

“You smell good,” you mumbled.

JJ laughed, “alright just lay down now.”

“I feel dizzy,” you held your head.

“I know I know everything will be better in the morning you just need to rest,” JJ assured.

“Let’s get your shoes off,” JJ added.

JJ took off your shoes and then tucked you into his bed. He wanted to make sure that you were safe and out of harms way. You were the girl of his dreams. He felt like he needed to protect you.

“Goodnight Y/N, go to sleep,” JJ whispered.

Your head was spinning and you didn’t know what to do other than sleep. So eventually you went to sleep, breathing in JJ’s scent.

JJ went to go sleep on the couch. He wanted to give you your space. He wanted to be there and watch on you but he decided to do that from a far. JJ didn’t want to overwhelm you.

——————

You woke up in an unfamiliar bedroom. The light from the sun shined through the window causing you to wake up. Your head was pounding. Your body was aching. You didn’t know where you were.

You looked around the room confused as to how you got there. You were scared because you didn’t remember leaving midsummers.

JJ was on the couch when you entered the living room.

“Hey stranger,” JJ called.

“JJ?”

“Yep.”

“Do you know what the heck happened?” You asked.

“Um well first I think you should sit down,” JJ ushered you to sit next to him.

“Ok.”

“Alright you were at midsummers talking to Rafe. And he was trying to drug you. He put something in your drink and I couldn’t get to you in time before you took a drink. But luckily I finally got to you and got you out of there. I safely brought you here and let you sleep it off in my bed,” JJ explained.

“Woah,” you took a moment to let his words sink in.

“I’m glad you were there to save me,” you were feeling appreciative.

“I’d do anything for you you know that right,” JJ stated.

“I do now,” you responded.

“Can I kiss you?” JJ asked.

“Mhmm.”

JJ leaned in and placed his lips on yours. The kiss was soft and gentle and JJ kissed you with care. Like if he kissed you any harder you might break. Your lips moved together in sync. He cupped your cheek, thumb moving on your face.

When he pulled away you were both breathless. You looked into JJ’s blue eyes and fell in love. You could swim in his eyes. You had a new found appreciation for JJ. He saved you from what could have been a terrible situation, and for that you were eternally grateful.

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painsandconfusion · 10 months

Text

Forced Comfort

Because who doesn't like a little bit of intimate whumper vibes?

[Prompt Masterpost]

Whumpee wrapped up in a blanket. The soft fabric hides the fact that their hands are still bound behind their back.

Gentle fingers brushing the hair from Whumpee’s face - carefully peeling it back through the sheen of sweat that’s left.

“Shhh…you’re okay. I’m not gonna hurt you anymore..”

Kissing tears from the corners of Whumpee’s eyes.

Whumper keeping Whumpee sedated between sessions to 'help them cope'.

“Hold still- hold still or I’ll start again.”

Pinning a squirming Whumpee in an embrace. Grip tightening the more they struggle.

Whumpee being so tired. So so so very tired. They can’t help but lean into the gentle touch.

Whumper ignoring every shiver and twitch that accompanies the gentle pets they give their broken toy.

“Nnnnono-sst…d-on’ t ouchme-!”

Whumpee thrashing to the point of hyperventilation as Whumper wraps them up in blankets. The panic in their eyes ever so slowly fading as they realize they’re not being hurt anymore.

Whumpee desperately not trying to lean into it or accept the comfort. They don’t want it from them - don’t want to melt into the hands that ripped screams from them just a few minute before. But they need something. And Whumper knows it.

“Look at you. Pathetic little thing~”

Shoving Whumpee into a bath to trigger some kind of calming response. Whumpee just thinks they’re going to be drowned. …….maybe they will be. Just a little bit.

Whumper combing a hand through Whumpee’s hair - soft and rhythmic and sweet - as they carve into Whumpee.

“Shhh..just focus on me. Don’t look at it- just look at me. Listen to my voice. You’re doing so good, little one.”

Kisses peppering over Whumpee’s cheeks, lips, forehead, brows, jaw, etc as their face puckers up, trying to twist away.

A hug that looks gentle until you notice Whumper’s hand fisted in Whumpee’s hair. Keeping them exactly in place.

“Don’ don t t-ouch me- STOP-”

Drugging Whumpee to ‘help with the nerves’. Watching their panicked sobs slowly peter out into nothing as they stare miserably at their captor.

“Make the most of this. We start again in the morning.”

[Prompt Masterpost]

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @happy-little-sadist @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @wibbly-wobbly-whump @batfacedliar-yetagain @suspicious-whumping-egg @wormwriting @villainsvictim @throwawaywhumper @wild-selenite-caffine @whumpasaurus101 @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @pinkieglitterheart @whumpberry-cookie @rainbows-and-whumperflies @a-galactic-fox @shywhumpauthor @cyberneticwhump @bumpwhump @hold-back-on-the-comfort @veyroswin @whumping-seven-days-a-week @whumpingisfun @suffering-and-misery @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @yetanotheraltwhumpblog @whump-queen @a-whumped-tea @whumpsday @sonder35 @scribbelle)

As always, lmk if you want to be added or removed from any tag lists!

#torture #blood #forced comfort #intimate whumper #noncon touch #noncon kiss #drugging #prompt list #whump prompts #whump tropes #whump #conditioned whumpee #conditioning #good old stockholm syndrome sets in

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