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indigovigilance · 8 months

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A Nightingale Sang in 1941

This is my inaugural meta (yay!) Eventually I will learn how to add gifs and whatnot to make this more interesting but today, I give you a wall of text.

I need to give credit where credit is due to three existing metas that I’m drawing upon heavily here:

A speculative continuation of the 1941 story, which includes an almost-kiss while “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” plays on the gramophone,

A behavioral analysis of Aziraphale during the S2E6 finale (will find ref later if possible)

A meta-analysis of the way in which “coffee” is used as a symbolic equivalent for liberty and freedom of choice, a running theme of this show (will find ref later if possible)

I’m going to expand upon meta #2 and #3 and explain why I think there is are very compelling reasons to believe that #1 will be canonized.

At the end of S1E6, an instrumental version of “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” plays diegetically, but the lyrical version plays non-diegetically over the credits (we hear it but the protagonists don’t). So we the audience could plausibly say “that’s their song,” but as of the close of S1, we have no reason to believe that they know that it’s their song. Even Aziraphale’s S1E3 (1967) suggestion that they dine at the Ritz could be a reference that only he gets, or just a fancy restaurant suggestion.

So when I was watching S2E6 and Crowley said “no nightingales,” I was jarred. What does that even mean? We know it has something to do with dining at the Ritz, but what does it mean to them? The reference only works if they know it’s their song. But we’ve only ever seen them hear it together after the averted apocalypse; if this is the direct reference that Crowley is making, it leaves our 1967 reference contextless and twisting in the wind.

If we assume that there was a romantic story beat in 1941, wherein “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” (which, incidentally, was written in 1939 and saw the height of its popularity at the end of 1940, so timeline-wise it’s spot-on) became their song, then a lot of events get renewed interpretations through this lens, in a way that makes this story much more cohesive and the “no nightingales” comment even more soul-shattering than it already was.

Let’s presume that immediately after this became their song and just as they were discovering their romantic potential, they were forced back into hiding. Forever after, references to the song serve as a macro for “I’d like to pick up where we left off that night.”

The 1967 suggestion of “dining at the Ritz” now becomes a directly romantic suggestion. It also gives better context for “you go too fast for me.”

Actually going to the Ritz in 2019 is not simply a celebration or even a callback to 1967, it’s a callback to their almost-romance of 1941.

When Crowley says “no nightingales” in 2023, this isn’t to say “we’re not going to eat together at the Ritz anymore.” It’s saying that the romance that began that night, the precious, fragile romance, is over.

I’ll give you a moment to dry your eyes before we move on to metas #2 and #3.

In light that this is what has been going on - they know they want a romantic relationship but have gotten so used to hiding and denying it that they are more comfortable keeping the status quo static and quo-y then trying to achieve their ideal - a lot of S2 behavior can get a fresh view.

Crowley’s reaction to Nina isn’t a realization that he’s in love - he knew that already. You can only ask someone to run away with you so many times before you are forced to admit some things to yourself. No, he’s realizing that trying to hide it (which was justified by survival), hasn’t been working, but despite failing at being stealth nothing bad has happened. He’s realizing that it may finally be safe to show it.

Crowley’s confession, then, is not a revelation. It’s making the subtext text. He’s not telling Aziraphale anything he didn’t already know. He’s saying it now because he thinks he’s safe to do so. Pin in that.

Lots of people have lots of theories about Aziraphale’s motivations in the S2 finale, which can more or less be divided into 4 camps: the genuinely held belief, the coffee theory, the lie theory, and the mutual trick theory (some version of the body-switching at the end of S1). Let me start by saying that I love all the fans and all their theories and I find their analyses to be insightful. The genuinely held belief theory, while I believe it to be erroneous, has been incredibly conducive to so many wonderful conversations and I love being in a community that has those conversations. But I’m going to explain why I think the lie theory finds the most support in canon.

Re-watch the finale (when you feel like you can) from 35:18 to 36:19 and then from 40:45 to the end, paying very close attention to Aziraphale’s words and his eyes. Michael Sheen is telling us a LOT with his eyes, and in the back half of the finale scene, with pacing.

For 60 seconds of footage, this setup is doing a lot of work. If Neil Gaiman wasn’t doing enough to beat us over the head with how evil the Metatron is, that glare at Crowley at the end with the non-diegetic ominous horns should convey the message. But again, focusing on Aziraphale. He initially refuses to talk to the Metatron; he’s made his position quite clear. There is no hint of regret or wavering; this is not someone who’s aching to return to the fold. The Metatron ignores his refusal and functionally forces him to accept a “cup of coffee.” The coffee isn’t spiked, but it is a metaphor. It is symbolic of choice. The Metatron is going to force Aziraphale to make a choice. Meta #3 does a great job of exploring the idea that a choice between anything and death is never really a choice. Hang onto that thought.

Notice I had you start up again 3 seconds before “The Conversation.” That’s because it’s important to note where the Metatron is right now. He is across the street, staring straight in through those giant windows to where our protagonists are about to have The Conversation. He is watching.

When Aziraphale returns, Crowley begins his “let me talk” riff. Aziraphale ought to be interested in what Crowley has to say, since the preamble is pretty compelling. You’ll notice that Aziraphale quickly turns to the window and back, through which he (but not we) can see the Metatron standing there, watching them. Aziraphale is then doing his best to get Crowley to STFU without raising the suspicion of the Metatron, eventually having to cut him off.

Because unfortunately, Crowley’s entire impetus for speaking up now is that it’s safe to do so. Only Aziraphale knows that they are in very real danger (or at least, Crowley is, but I’ll come back to that).

You might take something from the fact that he’s shaking his head while talking about “incredibly good news,” and seems to self-censor his criticism of Metatron (or more specifically, he takes ownership of any criticism of the Metatron, censoring out Crowley’s role in that, with the emphasis on I in “I might have misjudged him”).

Notice in the flashback that he begins the conversation reasonably relaxed. The Metatron also says a series of things about him that not only are false, but everyone, including the Metatron and Crowley, know are false: Aziraphale is not a leader, he’s a defector; he’s not honest, he lies all the time, in fact this entire season revolved around his one huge lie of hiding Gabriel. Not only does the justification not make sense coming from Metatron, but it shouldn’t make sense that Aziraphale would accept these reasons and it shouldn’t make sense to Crowley either. So is Aziraphale including these details in his recounting to Crowley so that he will get suspicious and figure out the jig? Maybe. Let’s continue.

Immediately upon being offered the job of Supreme Archangel, Aziraphale says “but I don’t want to go back to Heaven.” This is direct evidence against the genuinely held belief theory. If returning to Heaven and making a difference was a genuine motivation, we would have gotten a different response at this moment. But then we get something more.

“Where would I get my coffee?”

This is a beautiful response for a number of reasons; coffee should be trivial compared to the opportunity to be a Supreme Archangel, so it serves to highlight just how little interest Aziraphale has in returning. Taken at face value, it’s the Aziraphale equivalent of “not even at gunpoint.” But remember that coffee is a metaphor for liberty in this universe and this season. So what Aziraphale just said, in the language of Neil Gaiman metaphors, is:

I don’t want to go back to Heaven, I would rather have free will.

What does the Metatron do next?

He brings up Crowley.

Watch Aziraphale’s eyes before and after the mention of Crowley. He goes from confused to eye-flicking panic in the space of two syllables. Aziraphale already understands that his “no” is not being accepted, and that bringing Crowley into it can only possibly serve as a threat.

So the coffee, the choice, is a false choice. No one ever orders death. The Metatron has forced Aziraphale into a situation that looks an awful lot like a choice (it comes in a blue cup, after all) but it isn’t.

We definitely have some reliable narrator problems here. I’m going to presume for purposes of analysis that these cut-outs are accurate but incomplete, and that a more explicit threat about what would happen to Crowley if Aziraphale did not return to Heaven was made.

If we assume that Aziraphale has been made aware of a threat and is trying to hide that from Crowley, the rest of this scene reads very differently. Aziraphale cannot say, “you are in danger but you will be safe if you swear your allegiance to Heaven” or “I have to go, no matter what, and the only way we can be together is if you come with me,” but nonetheless he now has to convince Crowley to do the one thing he ought to know Crowley definitely doesn’t want to do all through subtext. Which we’ve spent an entire season establishing that they can’t communicate well when they are allowed to use their words. Disastrously, this is not a magic trick that Aziraphale can make work when it counts. Their failure to practice good communication means that, right now, when it counts most, they are not going to pull it off.

We see that Aziraphale is very hopeful that Crowley will pick up on his cues and play along. Obviously, he doesn’t.

If the whole riff about Hell being bad guys and Heaven being the side of truth and light is taken as genuine, it discards a massive amount of character development that we’ve witnessed in Job, Edinburgh, etc. (again, to all the genuine belief subscribers, I think it’s a compelling argument but it simply doesn’t account for the evidence). So if it’s not genuine, why say it? Again, to alert Crowley that something is Off, because Crowley should know that Aziraphale doesn’t actually believe that. They saved humanity from Heaven and Hell. They hid Gabriel from Heaven and Hell. Crowley knows that Aziraphale knows that Heaven and Hell are just two sides of the same coin. Notice again that Aziraphale glances out the window while he’s talking up Heaven; he knows the Metatron is watching, he can’t not defend the position of Heaven. I think it’s also worth noting that Aziraphale forcefully glances and gestures off to Crowley’s left (away from the window) when talking about Hell, and then turns his head to Crowley’s right (towards the window) to try to get him to realize that a representative of Heaven is literally standing right over there, just look out the window please dumbass!

When Crowley is asking Aziraphale if he said no, and we see the back of Aziraphale’s head, again we can see him turn his head to glance out the window. This is also when he changes strategies, and admits that Heaven could use a little reform. Because now there’s a problem almost as big as getting caught, which is that he won’t be able to get Crowley to go with him.

Which unfortunately makes the next part of this so much more heartbreaking. Because when Crowley begins his speech about being a team, Aziraphale wants to hear it. He can’t bring himself to shut down Crowley again, even though it could get them both in massive trouble. Notice that he glances out the window again during this, and the look of panic on his face. He begins to shake his head when Crowley mentions that Heaven and Hell are toxic; this can be taken a lot of ways but I’ll argue for the interpretation that he’s trying to get Crowley to STFU and stop saying shit that could get him destroyed.

After Crowley puts on his sunglasses we are in the “back half” and Sheen is doing a lot with phrasing here, specifically pregnant pauses.

“Come with me… to Heaven!”

“We can be together… as angels!”

Based on the pacing decision I am thoroughly convinced that the first half of each of these statements is intended to be the message to Crowley and the second half is always a qualifying statement to satisfy the Metatron.

Unfortunately, these pregnant pauses are completely backfiring in their effect on Crowley. The sentiment gives him hope and the qualifying statement crushes it again immediately. He is being taken on a horrible emotional rollercoaster with these declarations which are only further amping up his instinct to run away.

The only truly genuine, unaldulterated statement I think we get from Aziraphale is

“I need you!”

When it becomes clear to Aziraphale that there’s been an irreparable breakdown of communication between them and the subtext is not getting across, he says:

“I don’t think you understand what I’m offering you.”

He means this literally. Crowley has not understood that Aziraphale is offering him protection from whatever threat the Metatron has made.

Which makes this part extra-devastating and also absolutely in keeping with a major running theme of this season.

“I understand. I think I understand a whole lot better than you do.”

Your understanding and my understanding are different understandings.

Crowley views the offer to return to Heaven through the lens of his trauma. He understands what life in Heaven would be like. But he doesn’t understand that Aziraphale is offering him protection.

But Aziraphale just heard Crowley say that he understood everything, and he’s still going to leave. There might be a little suspense of disbelief here to believe that Aziraphale really interpreted the statement this way, but we know that Aziraphale isn’t always the brightest battery-operated candle in the drawer. So under the assumption that Crowley did understand him and is still rejecting the offer, rejecting him—

“Well, then there’s nothing more to say.”

Please pay very close attention to Aziraphale’s body language for the next part. He’s active, agitated, turning side to side, arms swinging. This is a very fidgety angel.

“No nightingales.”

Aziraphale is now completely still. He’s feeling that feeling. You know it. The one where your entire body is getting sucked into the pit of your stomach. The aching paralysis.

This is their song, the one that began their romance in 1941, the secret code for all other attempts at flirtation. Crowley has walked out on him before, Aziraphale has been stubborn and obstinate before. But they always came back together, sometimes with an apology dance or other rituals that belonged solely to them.

But now the song is over.

By saying this, Crowley has broken up with Aziraphale. We can see in Aziraphale’s sudden transition from fidgety to paralysis that he has understood it this way.

Then he turns away from the window so that the Metatron won’t see him cry.

The kiss was heart-wrenching already. But we’re not done with this analysis.

During the kiss, Aziraphale has a choice to make between two very compelling bad choices. This is the Job dilemma. But worse.

If he doesn’t kiss Crowley back, he will let Crowley think that he doesn’t love him. He will have missed out on this (maybe/probably their first kiss?) and regret it forever.

If he does kiss Crowley back, in full view of the Metatron, they are in deep trouble.

He seems to do his best to split the difference. I would even go so far to say that the awkward arm waving is Aziraphale acting for the Metatron’s benefit, to try to portray that he doesn’t want this even though he absolutely does (just not like this). The anguish when they break the kiss is absolutely real, and the first thing he does is glance out the window. Through all this he has remained painfully aware of their spectator.

He wants to say I love you. He mouths it. He breathes it.

But the Metatron is watching.

He can’t tell Crowley I love you. So he has to say the only other thing that has always unequivocally meant “I love you” when he said it to Crowley. He has to hope that Crowley understands him now, even though he never has before.

Spoiler alert: Crowley doesn’t.

My forgiveness and your forgiveness are not the same forgiveness.

One more point against the genuine belief fans (I love you): if the offer to let Crowley back in is what changed his mind, then Crowley declining removes that incentive. Aziraphale should/would have consequently retreated to his last stated position of “I don’t want to go back to Heaven, where would I get my Crowley—I mean, coffee?” [post-publication nod to @theonevoice for a great little meta] It simply doesn’t hold up to scrutiny.

I think a lot of fans were already making these assumptions about the use of the nightingale song so this meta may not feel revelatory, however, it isn’t canon (yet), and I’m sure I’ll find company that agree that canonization of this connection would strengthen a lot of these story points, as evidenced by how it is already assumed by many fans.

If you made it to the end - omg thank you! Please leave a note and tell me your thoughts!

Bonus: somebody already made the song connection here

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if you liked this, you may also like:

Book of Life and what it means for Crowley

The Erasure of Human!Metatron

Baraqiel and Azazel

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Recommended related (lie theory) metas by other people:

making the subtext text by @theonevoice

Aziraphale's Decision Matrix by @yowlthinks

Nothing Lasts Forever: META by @phoen1xr0se

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bijoumikhawal · 2 years

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part of the reason Jewish Julian hits is because a lot of fics where Julian gets a dressing down on suspicion about his relationship with Garak punch me in the teeth in that way even though I've read exactly one fic with the same headcanon

#Cipher talk #The scene in keener revelations in particular I think #Unfortunately examining Julian through a Jewish lens is more depressing than strictly like. Fun. In the way that writing angst is #Which I suppose is fitting because I started doing this as a reparative reading of that line in the Nexus

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nipuni · 10 months

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My dad died yesterday, he was 63

I would like to share a little about him and our story if anyone wants to read, this is not a happy story

My parents divorced when I was three and I went to live with my mom so I saw my dad's life in snapshots, once a week at first and then once a year when he moved abroad and I would spend the summers with him. Every time I would catch up with him he would have a different partner or apartment.

My time with him was always fun, he was laid back, adventurous and open, he would let me do all kinds of crazy stuff while my mom was the strict one. He was a genius to me, he taught me how to program my own games when I was nine, he would make me take computers and appliances apart and reassemble them to teach me how they worked, he made me love science, the outdoors and travelling. He was great at teaching and cooking and driving. He worked on tours for famous musicians as a sound tech, he made 3D films for museums and theme parks when it was all very new, he was a photographer, a programmer, electrician, mechanic, artist and could play many instruments and write poetry!!

The first crack between us was when there was a huge split between my mom's side of the family and his over money and a lot of ugly truths stared coming to light. I realized that when it came to money he was willing to put himself before me and the fights between him and my mom were awful. But in the end once the dust settled we both pretended it never happened.

One weekend I went to visit him and realized his current girlfriend would stick around at last and she had a daughter almost my age!! I now had a little sister and I loved it.

A year later the country fell apart and he fled abroad along with them and even though I missed them I would visit for months at a time every year. I saw him start his life over, he started his own company and I was so proud of him!!

Everything was great for eight years, until one day he told me that my step mom and sister left him and he would sell everything and come back to the country. This was the last time I would ever hear of them, they vanished, I mourned my step sister for years. This was also when his life fell apart.

At 17 adulthood came with a lot of revelations. My mom told me that my dad had been an addict since he was very young, before I was born, my whole life, cocaine and alcohol amongst other things, and everyone around him had been putting up with it and helping him but couldn't take it anymore. He had cheated on her when they had me and had cheated on my step mom too. He would lie to get what he wanted and trusting him was getting increasingly harder.

All of my memories of him were now seen through a different lens. I felt betrayed. I could now tell every time he had been high, and knew where the money he asked of me when to, I was aware of every little lie. I was angry and frustrated at him for the pain he caused my mom and everyone around him. And for squandering the potential I knew he had, for always making the wrong decisions, one mistake after another. And I hated feeling this way the most.

After he came back to the country alone he could never recover, he would relapse, overdose, refuse rehab or any medical help. He would escape psychiatrics facilities and hospitals in the middle of the night, he was a menace!! lmao.

Our relationship was still good despite all this, different but still standing, he had always been my friend even if he wasn't the best at being a dad or partner, I would always scold him and tell him of different job opportunities I came up with for him to try out but now there was this distance between us. I became the parent of the relationship in a way and he didn't like being told what to do. I saw him spiral and I was scared for him.

I've always heard all these stories about addicts finding purpose and fighting for their loved ones, so every time he would jokingly talk to me about how high he was and seemed to enjoy it despite my warnings and pleading it made me feel like I was not enough of a reason to get better, as self centered as it may be I was a teen and I felt powerless to stop him, insignificant. People could get better for their children, but not for me.

I knew this way of thinking was flawed and selfish and he was the one struggling, I knew he was a victim. I spent the last of my teenage years and early twenties trying to fight back this feeling so I could preserve our relationship, we always kept in contact but over time he changed and was no longer the person I knew.

He became a stranger, often times incoherent and delusional, his views changed, he was paranoid, his addiction got worse and worse and now all I could feel was pity and guilt, our once good relationship was now reduced to a few interactions where he would ask me for money, I knew I was possibly funding his self destruction and he was likely lying to me but he also needed to pay for medication and so I couldn't refuse him.

I had my own life now, a husband and plans for the future. When I decided to move abroad a few years ago I knew our hug goodbye could be the last, he was broke and unstable but I thought once I was settled and had a job and a citizenship I could have enough money to get him tickets to visit and show him the life I had made for myself like he had done in my childhood.

But then Covid happened, and he would never agree to make calls. Soon after he was diagnosed with cancer, I would ask about his health and he would say he was fine. He wasn't fine, he was smoking 4 packs a day. He got the cancer removed but refused further treatment, he said he didn't have any purpose left in life and no reasons to keep living, he had a stroke and couldn't feel half his body when he was forcibly hospitalized, his cancer had spread and he hadn't been eating for a long time, he hid all this from me, I first heard it from my aunt in tears over the phone yesterday, he tried to escape the hospital in the night and had to be tied up and sedated, he never woke up.

He died alone, all that is left of his family is me and my aunt and we both live in different countries. There is nobody there to even bury him. I feel like I abandoned him. I've always known I would feel this way when this day came, in a way I've been mourning him for many years and have carried this guilt for even longer.

I had the coolest dad, cocaine took him away. I wish this had a better and uplifting message. I just wanted to get this off my chest. He taught me a lot and made me who I am, and I have a lot of great memories with him. He struggled all of his life with his mental health and despite it all he was still amazing and deserved so much better.

He always said that when he was a ghost he would follow me around, I hope he isl!! so I can live for both of us, I love you dad!! and I'm so sorry 🕯️

#personal #extremely so #tw death #tw drugs #I'm sorry for the depressing post

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andypantsx3 · 6 months

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SOMETHING IN THE WATER | 5 | SHOUTO x READER

SUMMARY: As a future marine biologist, you’ve scored big on your final internship: a summer in the tropics, researching the waters off the coast of a lush, sunny island. But what you thought would be all beach days and piña coladas turns out to be the revelation of a lifetime when you haul in a handsome merprince, and discover not everything in these waters is quite as it seems. TAGS/WARNINGS: mermaid au, interspecies relationships, mating rituals/courting behavior, (sort of) case fic, aged up characters, eventual smut, fem pronouns/afab reader LENGTH: 3.5k of est. 21k, 5th of 8 chapters

It was pollution. No doubt about it.

Under the lens of one of Kamui’s microscopes, the evidence was incontrovertible. The piece of white coral Shouto had brought you sported distinct traces of industrial processing chemicals that had almost certainly contributed to its bleaching, the concentration high enough that it had also probably choked the life out of the nearby environment.

It was high enough, in fact, that you were absolutely floored your team hadn’t come across even a hint of anything similar before. Based on the levels, you should have been finding at least smaller traces close to the area it came from, but nothing you’d found so far had even hinted at anything like this.

Which begged the question, just where in the hell had Shouto gotten it from?

When you legged it back down to the beach, however, both the merman and your sandwich were missing. The only evidence of his presence were the slices of mozzarella that had clearly been picked out of the sandwich, laid out cleanly on the wrapper you’d left behind.

You’d sighed and cleaned your trash up, then slogged back to your room for a shower and a few hours of sleep, stowing the coral away safely to show to your team in the morning.

When you awoke, however, you realized you would have no way of explaining to them where you’d obtained it, and no way to point them any closer to the source of the issue. You resolved to find Shouto as soon as possible to figure out what was going on, hopefully before the scheduled tour of Sunfish.

You rocketed through your morning tasks, and hurriedly volunteered to take over trap checking duty, disappearing out the door before Yu could so much as get out a reply.

You boated north to the reef where you’d first met Shouto, and jumped into the water before you’d even gotten your snorkeling gear on properly, certain the merman would somehow find you. You’d nearly finished checking the trap, kicking off the seafloor to rise back to the surface when a hand seized your elbow, guiding you back up.

Shouto’s handsome face was staring back at you when you yanked off your goggles, his distinctive hair slicked back with ocean water, the scar around his eye a deep pink in the sunlight. Sunlight glittered off the droplets on his skin, making him look even more ethereal than he usually did, and your breath momentarily seized in your chest.

“Hi Shouto,” you said, your face going hot when it came out weirdly breathy. Embarrassing.

A tiny little smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, and his fingers flexed on your elbow. “Hello,” he said in his deep, even tone.

Even that simple greeting somehow made you flush. You quickly marshaled yourself, trying to remember you had come here with an agenda, not to float here stupidly in the water, staring at him.

“Shouto—that coral you gave me yesterday? One of them has the signs of the pollution I was looking for!”

Shouto blinked, a droplet of water sliding down the side of his straight, handsome nose. Your eyes seemed weirdly glued to it as it reached the edge of his mouth.

“Then you liked it? It had…microbes?” he asked.

You nodded distractedly. “Sort of. Signs of microbial unhealth and chemically-induced bleaching. And I did like it. I think you might have actually solved the whole case for me!”

Shouto’s mouth pulled into a fuller, happier smile, just enough to bare the tops of those sharp teeth. You blinked, momentarily stunned, looking back up into his eyes to find him watching you intently.

“You liked it. My gift,” he said, something strangely smug in his tone. A little thrill raced through you, a frission of pleasure, at having put that expression on his face, that tone in his voice. Your ears went hot, and you pointedly did not think about why his pleasure made you so pleased as well.

“Yeah, I loved it,” you nodded, startled when Shouto’s fingers slid from your elbow to your wrist, lifting it up to his face.

But then in the next instant his expression shifted, his brows furrowing and the edges of his smile dipping. Instantly, you mourned the loss of it.

“But…you are not wearing it,” he said. “Either of them.”

Your eyelashes fluttered themselves in another disconcerted blink. Had…that been a requirement? Had he said that to you, yesterday?

You didn’t think you’d had much conversation between him handing over the bits of coral and you rushing off to the lab with them, but maybe that had been his expectation of what you would do with them. Maybe that was a common merperson thing, and you were too ignorant to think of it.

In fact, you hadn’t even taken the time to ask him why he’d given the coral bits to you, too focused on getting them under Kamui’s microscope like a huge disrespectful idiot.

You flushed, suddenly feeling incredibly rude. Was this a merperson custom you had just flagrantly ignored?

“Am I—? Is that something your people, um, do?” you asked. “Wear coral?”

Shouto nodded, those mismatched eyes still glued to your bare wrist. His fingers carefully shifted to encircle it, like he was replacing the expected bits of coral with his own hold on you. Your face burned and you paddled a little bit harder in the water, expelling nervous energy.

“I am so sorry, I didn’t know. Of course I will wear them, I just need to find some kind of string—” A sudden thought seized you. “Except—-well, Shouto, I need that white coral to prove pollution. I need to show it to my team, and be able to explain where I got it from. They might need to send it off as evidence.”

Shouto’s fingers tightened on you, though you noted he was still mindful of his claws. A hissing noise exploded out of him, and that scraping feeling burned at the back of your throat again, the bioelectric signal of his distaste clear enough.

“It is yours, not theirs,” he hissed, his handsome face suddenly all twisted up.

You could quite literally feel how distressed he was, and your heart throbbed with the realization that you were the cause.

You immediately backtracked, horrified. You shifted in the merman’s grip, twisting your hand to grab his wrist too, and put your other hand to his shoulder, holding him firmly.

“I’m sorry—Shouto, yes of course it’s mine. Of course I won’t give it to them,” you said, trying to angle your face to look into his eyes. “I didn’t realize—of course I will keep it with me.”

To your surprise, Shouto calmed immediately. The snarl faded from his mouth, his lips resuming their normal soft, sweet shape, and his other hand came to rest at your waist, pulling you a fraction closer to him.

“You promise,” he asked, though it was phrased more like a statement than a question.

You had to fight back a shocked laugh at how easily he’d been rerouted, and how unbelievably fleeting and childish that little tantrum had been. A prince of his people and here he was, getting fussy with you!

There was nothing for your exasperated snort, your helpless smile. “Yes, yes, I promise. But you have to help me collect another piece of white coral from where you got it originally. I promise it’s important.”

Shouto’s hands tightened on you, and you found yourself being dragged closer, so that he was holding you up in the water, only inches from the hard planes of his chest. His tail brushed against the inside of your thigh, the scales rasping lightly over the skin there. You went still, a little thrill racing up your spine at his sudden, more immediate proximity.

“You want me to take you there,” he said, his voice suddenly a little deeper.

You blinked. “I—yes? Is that…okay?”

Shouto’s eyes narrowed in on you, and you shifted nervously in his hold as his pupils went a little more slitted, a little more inhumanly focused. “It is an area of some significance to my people, though it is now difficult to get to. Your kind has begun to touch it.”

Your interest piqued. Humans had begun to touch it, alright. Judging by the chemical processing agents left behind on the piece of coral Shouto had given you, you could guess exactly which humans had touched it, too.

“Is it Sunfish?” you couldn’t help but ask, perking up in his hold.

Shouto inclined his head, a movement that brought his mouth almost dangerously close to yours. Your breath choked off in your lungs.

“Yes,” Shouto replied. “The…microbes you are interested in, then…? They are to do with Sunfish?”

You nodded excitedly, eagerly sucking in another breath. “Yes, yes! God, I’m so stupid, I should have told you earlier—anything to do with where Sunfish is operating is of interest to me. We’ve been testing the—um, the microbes to put it simply—around the area but if Sunfish has somewhere we haven’t been yet, that’s what I’m looking to know.”

Shouto looked thoughtful, and a claw trailed absently down the skin of your arm. You jumped, startled.

“Then I will take you,” he said, eyes cutting back to yours. “On one condition.”

You felt your eyebrows raise. Well that was unexpected of him. Who knew mermen knew how to bargain?

“Name your price,” you told him.

Shouto’s mouth quirked then, a hint of a sharp incisor showing, but the rest of his expression was strangely sincere. “I want dinner and a movie,” he said, a claw trailing sweetly, absently down the skin of your arm again. “Like you said humans do.”

You could feel your eyebrows escaping towards your hairline, your mouth going slack. “You want to watch a movie and have dinner,” you repeated, floored.

Shouto inclined his head, the damp strands of red and white mingling with the movement. “You said I would like a movie.”

Damn. You had said that, hadn’t you? But you couldn’t think how in the hell you were going to get Shouto to a movie. It wasn’t like there was a movie theater on this island, and besides that it wasn’t like you could just piggyback a real life merman into one.

You supposed if pressed, you could preload something on the shitty island wifi and then bring your laptop down to the beach and watch things that way. But what if someone spotted the light and came looking? Shouto could disappear quick enough, you had no doubt, but how to explain the laptop?

And then it occurred to you: the inn had a maintenance shed, just off the main office. A sudden image came to you of wheeling Shouto uphill in a wheelbarrow, getting him into the tub in your room, and setting up a few pillows for yourself, and some kind of dinner spread on the floor.

It was unconventional. But then—so was the idea of dinner and a movie with a merman at all.

You stuck out your hand, making a mental note to swing by the maintenance shed on your way back in tonight. “It’s a deal.”

Shouto stared at your fingers, seeming not to know what to do with the gesture, until you took one of his hands in your own, pumping it up and down. He held on for too long after that, those crimson-tipped fingers closing in over your own, warm and wet and strong.

“Then I will take you now, if you like,” Shouto said. “If you are ready.”

You nodded, paddling your feet a little uselessly in his hold, in eager anticipation. Confirmation of Sunfish’s activity, and the chance to see a place meaningful to Shouto and his people. It was a dream come true for any marine biologist.

Shouto let you go, following you slowly as you paddled back to the boat, swimming leisurely, looping circles around you. He helped boost you back into the boat, and then hauled himself up after you on the strength of his arms alone. The back of your neck went very warm, as you watched his muscle coil and flex as he pulled himself in, then looked at you imploringly.

“I will point the way and you will take us,” he said, slithering across the floor of the boat to slide in next to you behind the wheel. He peered at all the meters and dials interestedly, pressing a crimson claw to one.

You had to laugh at the ridiculousness of a merman sitting behind the wheel of a boat, and another wild idea occurred to you.

“Wanna learn how to drive?” you asked.

Shouto’s eyes slid over to you, turquoise and grey pinning you to your seat. “To operate the boat?”

You nodded. Another hot flush crept across your cheeks as a slow smile spread over Shouto’s mouth, those mismatched eyes glittering.

“Yes,” he said. “I should like that very much.”

You gestured him over to your seat, rising out of it as Shouto slid all that heavy muscle your way, the scales of his tail bright and fiery in the sun. He was warm and smelled like salt up close, and you tried not to take note of the way his bicep flexed as he moved to grip the wheel in taloned fingers.

You gave him a brief run through of all the meters and gauges, the fuel level meter, speedometer, the ammeter and engine hours. He seemed disinterested in all but the speed—a typical man, even if only his upper half looked it.

Then you showed him the throttle and how to turn the key to start and what degrees of movement of the wheel at a higher speed wouldn’t send both of you flying out of the boat. And then you sank down next to him, gripping the seat for safety as he started the boat, looking thrilled.

He guided the boat off the reef more carefully than you would have expected, but he grew bolder as you made it out into deeper waters, applying a ton of throttle instantly and sending you falling backwards in your seat. You zoomed across the gentle waves, horrifyingly fast, but unexpectedly smoothly for someone who had just learned. Shouto seemed intimately familiar with the island’s layout, navigating smoothly through some of the shallow channels that gave you an almost-regular heart attack, gliding easily across the waves and not seeming to catch a single one the wrong way.

A thrilled laugh bit out of you, getting lost in the wind as you sped across the sea. Shouto’s mouth pulled into a wider smile, looking pleased with himself, those sharp teeth white in the sun. You found yourself smiling, at the ludicrousness of being driven around by a merprince, and at how much Shouto looked like he was enjoying himself.

In almost no time Shouto was steering you into a shallow cove on the eastern side of the island a couple hundred meters away from where you’d laid out an observation station. As you slowed to a stop you helped anchor the boat, feeling your brows furrowing back down in confusion, the smile slipping off your face.

If there was any level of pollution in this cove then you would have known about it from the nearby observation station. You weren’t sure if Shouto had the right spot.

But as you turned back to him he pointed a claw towards the jut of the land, aiming with certainty. “There used to be a cave through which we could access the lagoon,” he said. “But it is blocked off to us now.”

You stared at him, befuddled. “Blocked off? By what?”

Shouto’s mouth thinned into an irritated line. “By some human invention—I do not know what it is.”

Your eyebrows raised. “Then—how did you get the coral out of this, uh, lagoon if you can’t access it?”

Shouto’s eyes dipped, following your words as your mouth shaped them, looking strangely intent. Your ears went hot.

“I climbed,” he said simply.

You whipped around to stare back at the strip of land rising into the jungle. You could just make out a clearing in the trees where you thought a lagoon might lay. And it was no small distance. Your jaw dropped, imagining Shouto having to drag himself over meters and meters of land to get there.

Your stomach fluttered, the white coral suddenly taking on a new significance if Shouto had gone to such trouble for it. It had to be more than just an area of interest to his people—-it more likely had to be extremely significant if this was the length merpeople had to go for this coral. No wonder he hadn’t liked the idea of you testing it, of you surrendering it and mailing it out and away, if he’d had to pull himself over land like that to get it.

And with this realization, a new, wildly disconcerting thought crept over you, an insane flight of fancy.

Was it possible that Shouto had given you… not just a friendly gift, but something even more meaningful than you had initially realized? If this was a site of cultural significance, and he’d suffered to get the coral for you—did it mean something a little bit more intimate than an exchange between new friends?

Your gaze darted back over to Shouto, sitting pertly in his seat. He struck such a handsome profile, all sleek muscle and delicately carved features, his face carefully-noted and almost supernaturally angelic. His coloring, too, was magnificent, the rose of his scar, the deep scarlet of his scales and his claws. And he was so sweet, and funny, and so very interesting. He was unlike anything—anyone—you had ever seen, and the thought of him fetching you a gift of special significance made an even more blistering wave of heat flare up in your belly.

You rose from your seat, determined to see this lagoon for yourself.

“Alright, you wait here,” you told Shouto, “I’m going to go check it out.”

He nodded, watching you closely as you went to the bag of supplies, fishing out a camera, the log book, your shoes, and a couple pieces of sampling equipment. You stuffed them all in a dry bag, rolling the top down tight and buckling securely.

“You will be careful,” Shouto intone in his deep voice, more an order than a question.

You smiled up at him, nodding your head. “Yes. I’ll be back in just a couple of minutes.”

He looked satisfied with that, and helped lower you down into the water to swim for land. He slithered off the edge beside you, sinking smoothly into the water like a dropped stone, and swam along underneath you, following you all the way until you clambered onto the sand. You hurriedly dug around in your bag for your shoes, stuffing your feet into them still sandy and damp as Shouto looked on.

Once properly outfitted, you followed the beach as it trailed off into scrub and bushes, and then into towering palms, making your way into the jungle. The sun shone brightly through the leaves, painting everything around you in shades of sunlit green, the air under the canopy thicker than on the beach. Your feet slid over the damp sand in your sneakers, a sensation you did not particularly enjoy, but you walked briskly, your curiosity leading you onwards.

In only a few minutes, the trees once again gave way to a small strip of sand, and you spilled out onto the beach of the lagoon.

It was instantly clear to you exactly what Shouto had meant. A large metallic wall dammed off one side of the lagoon, most probably blocking off the underwater channel Shouto had told you about. It had been bolted into the jutting coral and rock around it, sealing off any water flow. Around it, the ancient coral walls of the lagoon were bone white wherever the water lapped at them, disturbingly bleached of color, and you thought the scrub and the trees that had built up over the surface overtime looked a little bit unhealthy too.

Shouto had most definitely gotten his coral from here.

As you looked around your certainty grew, until you spotted the most damning evidence. Only a scant few meters away from where you had come out of the forest, there was a pipe dug into the earth, sitting about a meter above the water level of the lagoon. It was still shiny, clearly new, and it was also dribbling the occasional bit of liquid into the lagoon, as if someone were piping certain substances out and away from the rest of their facilities.

Your heart rate doubled at the sight, and you knew even as you unloaded your equipment to take samples that you had found exactly what you had been looking for.

There was no doubt in your mind that this pipe led back to Sunfish. And Shouto had indeed just solved this entire case.

#todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #shouto x reader #shoto x reader #todoroki x you #character: todoroki shouto

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meidnightrain · 17 days

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PICK A CARD, ANY CARD❞ - aventurine

summary: in which you take a gamble and draw a card

warnings: reader is gn, fluff

notes: late birthday gift for user @rainswept, happy birthday crow <3

taglist(open): @akutasoda , @ryuryuryuyurboat , @toorurs , @yvnaology , @tragedy-of-commons , @staarri , @rainswept , @karagatan02 , @https-mika

any conversation of yours with AVENTURINE has always never ended well if it started with the words “wanna take a gamble?”. he shuffled the cards in front of you, spreading them out with such expertise that you were left gaping at the swift movement of his fingers. did you ever think you had the willpower to say no to him, your body moving on its own as you nodded your head? you were a fly caught in his honey-like trap, stuck and bound to him for the rest of your life, and honestly, it wasn't that bad.

he drummed his fingers on the table, the rings decorating his gloved hands shining under the chandelier, creating a sparkling illusion of light shining through the lens of a kaleidoscope.

“what are we betting on this time?” you huffed, trying to feign a look of resignation, though he didn’t buy it much to your dismay. “surely you’ll win once more.” the cards were different today; they don’t bear the insignia his usual deck uses; they are branded with the logo of a spade and decorated with the signature colour of the aventurine stone. it sparks your curiosity slightly, which comes with wariness. you’ve fallen prey to his traps numerous times, even with the blaring alarms and warning signs blaring in your head.

“don’t back out now. just pick a card, any card.” he feigned a pout, rose-tinted glasses accentuating the hue of his eyes like a hypnotic spiral. you quickly averted your gaze; any longer, you’d be under his spell. you rolled your eyes at him, though you didn’t feel annoyed at him. if anything, your curiosity got the better of you at what the contents of these cards lay. “i didn’t know that stonehearts could do tarot readings.” you teased him, your smile a borderline grimace.

“i try my best to be versatile,” he said casually as your hands hovered over them, your fingers hesitating to pick one out. AVENTURINE waited eagerly with a smirk on his face that only added to the pressure of your decision. when they landed on a card, his grin widened even more, and you couldn’t help but feel your stomach drop.

“well, what does it say?” you asked, trying to sound nonchalant but failing to hide the apprehension in your voice. his eyes gleamed mischievously as he leaned forward, his voice low and playful. “it seems, my dear friend, that fate has dealt us an interesting hand. the card you've chosen reveals a hidden desire.” your heart skipped a beat as he paused for dramatic effect, the anticipation almost unbearable.

“what desire?” you pressed, a crease forming in between your eyebrows at his words. he had to resist the urge to smooth it out with his fingers.

he chuckled softly, showing the card, which is written in the delicate scrawl of his handwriting. “it appears that i’m taking you out on a date,” he declared, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that it sent a rush of warmth through your veins.

you blinked, momentarily taken aback. this revelation caught you off guard, and for a moment, you're unsure how to respond. his confident demeanour is both captivating and intimidating, something you’ve always either admired or feared about him. you’re right where AVENTURINE wanted you, at a loss for words and a fumbling mess, and he looked up at you, grinning like a devil.

“you’re joking, right?” you managed to choke out, a mixture of disbelief and amusement tingling your tone.

“absolutely not,” he replied smoothly, his expression earnest beneath the playful facade. “consider it a wager fulfilled. so, what do you say?” you find yourself caught between amusement and intrigue.

a night out with him—a prospect that's both thrilling and unpredictable. despite the theatricality of it all, there's a genuine sincerity in his eyes that's hard for you to ignore and push away; dismiss it as something less. so you agreed, nodding your head and trying to ignore the rising flush of your cheeks like the red of rubies and scarlet wine poured in wine glasses.

the thrill of the gamble has evolved into something entirely different—a game of hearts that’s raised the stakes and promised higher rewards. you can’t help but take his hand and pray that the dice rolls in your favour this time.

#🗞️ - honkai star rail fics #—stellaronhvnters.#・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x you #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #honkai star rail fluff #hsr aventurine #honkai star rail

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thenightcallsme · 7 months

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Do I Make you Nervous? | Simon "Ghost" Riley

little re-upload from my AO3 :)

Synopsis: When Task Force 141 is betrayed by Philip Graves, they're forced to separate. Y\N fights her way through the foreign Las Almas with a broken radio and no sense of direction. Yet, somehow, she finds herself in the same church her lieutenant, Simon "Ghost" Riley, seeks sanctuary in. As they attempt to brave the storm sweeping through the streets, the infamously unreadable Ghost challenges their professional relationship.

Pairing: Ghost x F!141reader

Contains: fluff, kissing, use of Y/N, hint of angst but resolved in the end, vague mentions of blood/wounds

Word count: 5,874

• • • • •

It was all a set-up. A lie.

Disappointment and anger triumphs any sadness over Grave's betrayal. At first, he came across as over-confident in that stereotypical male way. Over time I had warmed up to him. But Shepherd? The man who has given me the most freedom I’ve had in a long time? I admit that my use as a weapon to him has put a strain on our companionship, but to station me with my own cousin only to lash out unprovoked? He’s crossed a line that he can never come back from. The small liking I had for the man vanished as soon as shit hit the fan. Everything seems to replay in my mind. Alejandro insulted and detained, Johnny shot at, Ghost cornered...

There were too many of them to fight off. I couldn't trust myself to hold my own with my mind worrying over Johnny, Alejandro and Ghost while also plotting Shepherd's death. So, though it pained me, I ran. Ghost and Johnny did the same.

My radio was damaged in the incident. A stray bullet flew my way, and with a stroke of luck, grazed the radio instead of my ribs. The close call was enough warning to run, which is what I do now. The lack of communication only worsens the worry.

Shadows crawl in the streets of Las Almas like rats in a sewer. From door to door they go, yelling at innocent civilians in the late hours of dusk. From the conversations I've heard, they're looking for two foreign men and their female friend. They don't quite explain why we're being hunted, but the truth wouldn't change much. Every so often, a shot fires, echoing through the streets like a warning bell. A call of sorrow and fear.

With the Shadows forcing their way into civilian homes and raising their weapons against anyone who could harbour us, houses and shops aren't safe. The towering cathedral spires peeking above tin roofs and stacked houses catch my attention instead. Nobody would be inside at this time of night. For now, it's the best I can do. Also to my luck, the church isn't too far away. I take my time and keep to the shadows on my way. With a quick survey of my surroundings, I know I've bet the Shadows to this part of the city. That won't last long. The revelation has me jumping the gate within seconds of making it.

Inside the church is pitch black. Towering windows that tell biblical tales line the walls, casting light in intervals across the empty foyer. Rows of seats begin to emerge as my eyes adjust. Further back is an intricate, circular skylight tens of feet above the marble floor. Illuminating the altar below is a waterfall of silvery light. The giant cross, gold statues, and wooden altar glow like I'm looking through a blurred lens. The view is both eerie and magical...and not meant to be marvelled at in a time like this. My focus should be maintaining high ground. I begin to turn in search of a staircase when something shifts in the darkness.

A figure materialises, tall and built; easily a male physically capable of snapping my neck. My next best option is the gun strapped to my hip to parry the one in his hand. I go to reach for mine—

“Y/N?”

I freeze in surprise, but my mind eases slightly.

“Lieutenant? How—”

“Doesn’t matter. We’re here now.” He looks down at me with searching eyes. “You in one piece?”

“Yes. You—?” At that moment, my own eyes skim his body, only to halt at a worrying sight. On the left side of his waist, just above the waistband of his pants, is a blooming, dark red stain on his shirt. He’s been shot. “Jesus, Ghost. How bad is it?”

“I’ve had worse—”

He stops himself at the distant shouting. The surrounding streets haven’t been quiet since I’ve been in the church, but this time it grows closer. Angrier. Ghost doesn’t waste time ushering me along in search of a stairwell. The one we find leads to the second floor, then a third. Eventually, we discover the central bell tower. The room is dank and cold and decently big. Suspended in the middle is a gigantic bell. Even in the dark, I can see how weathered the metal is. The worn wooden floors creak as we cross it. On each wall are arched openings that allow entry to the cold night air and terrified screams. A small cluster of discarded furniture draped in white sheets huddles in a corner. From here, we have a perfect view of the sprawling city and winding streets. To those down there, we’re invisible.

Simon leans back against a wall and grunts, his hands brushing over the bullet wound. He pulls back his hands to inspect the fresh blood. However bad it is, it’s still bleeding.

“Show me,” I say. My voice comes out more demanding than I intend.

He gives me a brief exasperated look but doesn’t push back.

Ghost sits against the wall with his shoulders slumped just enough to reach my level. His jacket is unzipped, his black shirt rolled up halfway. Those tired, piercing eyes and muscular arms are the most I've ever seen of him. It feels like a reward when the weather is unforgiving enough to chase away his usual long-sleeve or jacket. His arms are tanned and muscled, with a tattoo sleeve working from the wrist of his left arm up to his elbow. I’ve begun to accept that it’s the closest I’m ever going to get to seeing him. But now I stare down at his bare abdomen.

The waistband of his black cargo pants sits low on his hips, offering a distracting view of a pronounced V-line and abs. In the moonlight, I can make out the reminders of war that mark his skin; a few silvery scars, some clean-cut, some gnarled and twisted; an old bullet wound healed closer to his ribs. The fresh one with the most of my attention is buried in a more acceptable spot. It nestles into the far right side of his waist, thankfully nowhere near any vital organs. However, it’s still a bullet wound and it still bleeds. That’s enough to worry me.

“Do you reckon it’s bad?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t say I’m dying.”

“But we aren’t in the position to get proper help. Maybe sit down for a bit.” Surprisingly, he does so without question. I get to my feet, draw a small knife from my thigh holster, and rip a strip of fabric from the white sheets. When I drop back down beside him, I take a deep breath. “Here"

He takes it with a mumbled thank you and wraps the fabric around his waist.

“You heard from John?” I ask.

Simon winces as he adjusts the torn sheet. “I radioed him multiple times. Never got an answer.”

“Are you surprised by all this?”

Simon leans back against the wall. “I tend to be less surprised by betrayal. But I had some respect for Shepherd.”

I sigh, shuffling around him so that I can do the same. “What are we supposed to do now?”

“Survive,” he says. “Shepherd wants you alive. Graves will see to that. He can’t kill Alejandro, either. But Johnny and I…” He shakes his head. “Graves won’t sleep until there’s a bullet in our heads and Shepherd won’t care enough to stop it.”

There’s a moment of silence as I fold my arms and look away thoughtfully. How are we supposed to do this? The blanket of night and the ensuing storm may offer some cover, but getting out of the city will be a mission. I can’t bring myself to leave without John, either. My heart hurts when I think about him. He could be anywhere, alone and outnumbered while I sit uselessly in a bell tower.

“What do we do about Johnny?” My voice is quiet. Fearful. “My radio was damaged so I couldn’t reach out to him. Maybe his is the same. But not knowing… He’s the only family I have left. My only real friend.”

“Don’t worry about Johnny. He’s one of the most resourceful and strong-willed Sergeants I’ve dealt with in a while. Have faith in him.” He looks at me then, tilting his head to the side. “I wouldn’t say he’s your only friend.”

“I do quite like his girlfriend…” I murmur.

“And Alejandro? Ronaldo?”

I purse my lips as his question draws thought. I’ve been considering Alejandro and Ronaldo as allies. Companions. But I’ve grown quite fond of them. Considering them as friends would set me up for heartache if anything were to happen. So I haven’t… At least openly. Despite my attempts to create some distance in our relationships, my subconscious has decided for me. Those two are my friends. It explains the immense distress I’m battling over Alejandro’s capture.

“I guess so.”

“Me?”

Silence ensues from both of us.

His question stuns me; I was prepared for him to stop at Alejandro and Ronaldo. There’s nobody else in Las Almas or back at home that I pay attention to. Besides Ghost, at least. I could answer him in a second. I almost do.

Ghost is infamous for his detachment. He’s quiet, short-tempered, dangerous and mysterious. I’ve heard the comments that he suits his code name. Spiritual beings do not communicate through speech but through action. Ghost is the physical embodiment of the epiphany. Anybody able to coax a few sentences from him outside missions is admirable. Outside of that, his physical emotions require deep analysis and theory to understand. The mask only makes things more difficult. I’ve never seen him show palpable kindness through his aura or words to anyone, never heard him allow the use of his name, never heard him offer others insight into the raging whirlwind of his mind.

And yet he lets those things slide around me.

He lets me speak his name when no one is listening. He offers me comfort when I need it most — if not through limited words, through soft gazes and a hand on my shoulder. I’m usually able to get him talking. Sometimes I receive short answers, sometimes I receive enough to help me understand more of that whirlwind mind. He even occasionally shows pieces of himself that take away from the guessing game I usually play.

I shut people out because the last people I let in betrayed me.

I never consider answering personal questions, but you tend to have a lot of them. And every time you ask…I almost answer

I guess you and I are more alike than I thought.

All of it has me wanting more. More of his mind, his words, the soft gazes I’ve noticed are reserved for me. What I already have is nothing compared to every naked truth he could be telling me. However, what I’ve managed to coax from him seems to be more than he’s told anyone in a long time. At first, I marked it down as me being the only female on the team or Ghost considered me fragile. But I've proved myself, and nothing about being a 'fragile female' (which I very well am not) does not automatically give me all these passes. I now realise it is much more than that.

Never once has he called me his friend. I already have. Now it’s his turn.

“I don’t mind you, Simon, but friendship can’t be one-sided,” I say. While it’s a simple statement, a silent question hides between each word. Are you my friend?

“If it was as one-sided as you think, you wouldn’t be calling me Simon.”

My heart skips a beat. There. It’s an answer to my unspoken words, but it’s not plain as day. As usual, Simon tells me something that is anything but straightforward. There’s room for interpretation in his answer—something that is beginning to tire me. It’s almost as if the honest answer is criminal and he’s trying to cover up his tracks. Almost as if not speaking that honest answer can allow him to deny it.

I don't bother concealing my annoyance. “That’s not what I want to hear and you know it.”

“Fuck sakes, Y\N, I said it,” he says. His voice comes out both argumentative and exasperated.

“No, you didn't. All I ever get out of you is stuff that works around the truth. Stuff I have to think about to understand.” I'm crossing a line, I know. I just can't help it. “What’s so hard about admitting it?”

“Don’t.”

His tone is final. I don’t care.

“Does the truth scare you?”

His eyes squint, becoming barely visible against the black paint, the mask, and the low light. I can clearly picture a scowl jumping across the many faces I’ve imagined. While I want to flinch away, I don’t. Not for a second do my eyes lower, and not for a second do I grow offensive. I remain calm and collected, which I think annoys him more.

“You want the truth?” he growls. The accent of Manchester seems to thicken. “Fine. I’ll tell you the truth. I don’t want to admit I think of you as a friend ‘cause I bloody well want to ignore it. For years, it’s only been me and I planned it to be for the rest of my life. Then all of a sudden you and your annoying cousin appear and jeopardise everything. The only person with an inkling of anything was Shepherd and I was fine with that. But now you’re catching up to him. You’ve so effortlessly undone everything I’ve worked hard to maintain.” The growl in his voice dies down the longer he speaks. In the last sentence, his voice is quiet, defeated, but a little begrudging. “And I knowingly let you.”

“If it was bothering you that much, you should have told me,” I say with a voice equally as quiet. “If I knew you didn’t want me to know so badly, I would have respected that.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t understand. I think about telling you everything. I may get pissy at you over your questions, but…” A sigh. The truth is shameful to him. “I look forward to them.”

“If it makes you feel any better…” I laugh a little. “It’s really annoying how intriguing you are. Not just your past and your face… When I’m not trying to guess what you look like, I’m refraining from asking you stupid questions. Shit like if you’re a cat or dog person.”

“Dog person,” he replies. Any hint of anger or annoyance has disappeared. “Cats have too much attitude.”

I squint. “You just don’t appreciate them.”

“You strike me as a cat person.” He pauses in thought. “You just remind me of a cat, really.”

I raise my brows, giving him an exasperated look. “Are you going to tell me I have an attitude?”

“Maybe. But there’s more to it.”

I cock my head in question.

“Cats are friendly. Independent.” His eyes shift and I wonder if there's a smirk beneath the mask. “Curious.”

“Was that another dig at my questions?”

“Yes. Now shut up and listen.”

Before he continues, I find myself turning my body so I can fully look at him, my shoulder against the concrete walls and my legs folded beneath me.

“There’s that look in their eyes that they know your worst thoughts. Your secrets. They’re also graceful. Got that high-class elegance about them. But they can be unpredictable, striking out when you least expect. Once they sink their claws into you…” His eyes search my face. “You can’t get rid of them.”

I look up at him in wonder, my mouth slightly agape as I try to find a suitable response. Nothing I could say would express the way his words sink in. I’ve always coined Simon to be the observant type, keeping to himself and remaining silent. But I never expected him to relay his finds. His usual short, sharp answers contrast the compliment greatly.

“I think…” A small smile curves my lips upwards. “…That was the most meaningful compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Never. Now I have a question.”

“The floor is yours.”

“Do you have, like, Queen Elizabeth tattooed on your face? The British flag?” I grin. “Something mask-worthy, you know?”

“Why does it have to be something British?”

“Because there’s no way you’re the only Brit I know that isn’t somewhat stereotypical.”

Simon huffs a laugh. “No stereotypical tattoos. Sorry to disappoint.”

“A big scar, then?”

He tilts his head. “No scars that make me want to wear it.”

I raise my brows. “So you do have a scar?”

“Only one big one.”

“Good to know.” I nod my head with thoughtful eyes. “I’ll add that to a mental note.”

His eyes widen a fraction. The skull sown to his balaclava only offers the view of his painted eyes and nothing. Not even his eyebrows. I guess he’s raising them in question.

“How often do you think about this?”

I let out a long breath. “You have no idea. I change what I think you look like every day.”

“What do you think I look like.”

I go quiet in thought for a moment. As I said, the image changes… Only more frequently than I want to admit. Sometimes the change is small. Sometimes the change is big. I know I’m not the only one stumped by this, either. John and I joked over it once. He said things eluding to him being unattractive. A crooked nose, a huge scar, broken teeth. Every time he made a guess I would laugh, but never did the ideas seep into my mind. Nothing in an unattractive sense, anyway. Despite the possibility, I can never picture him as ugly.

“It varies, but…” I take one last second to collect my thoughts. “Without that skull piece, you have dark eyebrows. I imagine your hair is brown. And you’re eyes…it’s hard to tell with the paint, but they’re more deep-set and heavy-lidded. The balaclava is tight enough to make me think you have a straight nose, high cheekbones, strong jaw…” I shake my head. “Beyond that, I’m stumped.”

I can tell he thinks deeply about each characteristic. I sit patiently and almost wait for confirmation, but I know better than that. If he’s not going to show his face, he’s not going to—

“My hair is brown.”

I’m about to backtrack on my previous thought when he reaches towards the space between my neck and shoulder. In the frenzy that has been the last hour, my hair has come undone. The braid was unsavable, making me pull out the band and attempt a ponytail…only for it to snap in two. My hair now falls in dishevelled waves. A small part of my hair falls over my shoulder. Simon gingerly reaches for it, curling it between his finger and examining it in the low light. …Can he hear how fast my heart is beating?

“Not like yours. A few shades lighter, maybe. And that scar…”

Even more gingerly, Simon pulls one of my hands from its folded position, and I pray my expression doesn’t betray me. Rough, calloused hands press against the back of mine. The size difference is almost comical. He guides it to his masked face, working his fingers working around mine to spread them out. He drags my hand over his right cheekbone, across the hollow of his cheek, and towards his jaw. My mind is hyper-fixated on the shape of his face.

“Right along there.”

His eyes continue to search my face. There’s nothing but curiosity in the blue-grey of his irises. Curious at what, I can’t tell. Everything about this has my mind raging. The way he looks at me, the way he holds my hand against the black balaclava, the way he towers over me even when sitting down... The thoughts that surface are shameful. He’s your lieutenant, for Christ’s sake. Have some respect. The remembrance of his position has little help.

If anything, it strengthens the fantasies.

His hold shifts on top of my hand, the pad of his thumb swiping across my skin to stop on the inner side of my wrist and press down. He may not have been able to hear my heartbeat…but now he can feel it at the worst possible moment.

“You’re heart is beating fast.” He inclines his head. “Do I make you nervous, Y\N?”

God, is my breathing even? I can’t tell.

“You just caught me off guard, is all.”

Simon hums thoughtfully as his hand breaks away from mine and reaches forward. His fingers connect with my collarbone before finding my neck, exploring upwards in search of a pulse point. A shiver of excitement and nervousness runs beneath my skin like a ripple. His other hand slides over my knee and up my thigh. If my heart was racing before, this is a life-or-death sprint.

Slow are his movements. Calculated. He knows exactly where my heartbeat reverberates in my neck. Instead, he drags the moment out, coaxing out his desired reaction. But there’s something else in the slowness: a window for me to flinch away and draw the physical line neither of us has ever drawn. We’ve brushed shoulders and hands. We’ve sat with our bodies aligned in cramped cars. He’s held my hair back in a bathroom as I threw up after a panicked episode (something I would like to forget if he wasn't so surprisingly understanding). He's placed a hand on my shoulder for many different reasons. All are excusable moments. The ones that surpass professional boundaries can be marked as friendly. However, the intimacy of this moment is new. Scary. Exciting.

“Did you know your bottom lip twitches before you lie?” Simon asks. I find myself at eye level with him. When did he get so close? “I don’t like lies. Try again.”

“Sometimes…” I breathe.

“Sometimes, what?”

Bastard. “Sometimes you make me nervous.”

“Why?”

“Because…” I frown. “I don’t know.”

He’s definitely leaning closer now. Not just with his head, but with his whole upper body. Out of the nerves Simon is so adamant on understanding, I retreat, only making it a few inches before my back hits the other wall. Simon half hovers over me, the hand that was on my thigh now bracing himself on the floor. There are only a few inches between our chests. Even less between our faces. Not once does he lose his connection with my pulse.

“Another lie.”

“I don’t know how to word it. That's not a lie.”

Simon drops his head so that his covered mouth hovers beside my ear.

“Good girl.”

Never has praise sounded so seductive. It takes every inch of concentration to reign in my self-control. I might have ripped off his mask then and there…

Only, I think he’s beating me to it.

From where his head hovers, I can’t see his masked face. The wide, strong shape of his shoulder obscures most of my vision. He retracts his hand from my neck to reach somewhere I can’t see. The sound of moving cloth widens my eyes and upsets the rhythm of my breathing, the uneven rise and fall of my chest barely brushing his.

Maybe he’s adjusting it, I convince myself. He has only ever offered you little pieces at a time. What he’s offering me now is more than he ever has at once. While my body screams for more, my mind knows I can’t expect too much from him. Whatever he’s doing now is more than enough.

“You’re breathing funny.”

The feeling of breath skims the shell of my ear and down my neck like a warm, ghostly waterfall. It takes me a second to notice a difference in his voice. It’s low, it’s rough, it’s teasing. All are easily noticeable and nothing new. What is new is the enhanced clarity. An added sharpness lingers in his accented words. The slight muffle is nowhere to be found.

I was wrong. He’s lifted his mask.

“Because you’re taking off your mask." My answer comes out in a weak whisper.

He doesn’t speak about the mask, instead repositioning his hand to my neck to find my pulse.

“If you can’t tell me,” he murmurs, returning to the previous topic, “your heartbeat can.”

A warm feeling presses into my neck. A gasp slips past my lips as my heartbeat continues to quicken and stumble beneath his thumb. Against my skin…I think Simon is smiling.

Nothing about this seems real. Simon plants slow kisses on my neck with his bare lips. They’re a little rough, yet soothing. Whether they’re full or thin, I can’t tell, but the lack of obvious signs paints an image of something in between. His nose brushes the base of my jaw. Just above the pointed tip is where the balaclava begins. I can feel the hard edges of the sewn-on skull pressing into my left temple. Light stubble covers his jaw.

As his mouth works slowly against my neck, my jaw, and my collarbone, my hand slides up and over his chest. I slowly feel his bare neck. Beneath my fingers, his Adam's apple bobs. Further I explore, feeling the planes of his skin. The stubble scratches against my curious hand. Raised skin runs in a line over the right side of his face; the scar. It’s thin and generally clean-cut. He pulls back slightly as I feel his face. A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest as my thumb traces over his lips. I was right, they are something between full and thin. His lower lip feels slightly fuller with a deep hollow beneath that curves into his chin.

When I find it in me to speak, my voice is breathy.

“Kiss me.” He seems to still at that. When his reply isn’t instant, I continue. “You don’t have to… But I won’t look. I swear it.”

Silently, he reaches for my hand. He holds his over mine for a moment as he did with the mask moments earlier. Then he gently pries it away. Cloth shifts in my air as he fixes the mask and pulls back. I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but I respect the decision. Simon looks down at me with lust-blown pupils. Mine must be the same.

He takes a second to examine me. My heavy-lidded eyes, my slightly parted lips, the way I slump beneath him, the glistening wet spots left on my neck. He whips it away before he speaks.

“Can I trust you?”

We both know the answer to that, so instead of saying the obvious, I one-up him.

“Do you want to trust me?”

Silence passes for a heartbeat.

“Of course I do,” he says softly. “I want to trust you. I want to touch you. I want to kiss you. …Undress you. I’ve wanted to for so long.”

Then he moves.

My thoughts go quiet as Simon’s hands reach upward. When his fingers brush the base of his mask, I reach out and still his hands. The action takes both of us by surprise. For months I’ve been thinking about this moment. Just now I’ve admitted how much what he looks like takes up my mind. Now I find myself stopping him, but not because I’ve changed my mind. I worry that this will be something he’ll regret.

“Simon,” I say. “You don’t owe it to me to show your face.”

“But I do.” He inclines his head. “Now keep your pretty eyes up.”

My breath catches in my throat as he pulls it off in one swift motion. I take in everything I’m seeing in amazement, wonder, and bewilderment.

He’s handsome. He’s really handsome.

The ruggedness and confidence he carries seem to be etched into the planes of his face. A light stubble shadows his angular, defined jaw. Just as I had imagined, the bridge of his nose is straight and strong. His high cheekbones, deep-set eyes and smudged black paint create deep shadows. His mouth is wide. The shape of them is a physical manifestation of what I had imagined. With an average fullness, his upper lip is slightly smaller with a soft cupid’s bow. Tracing the angles of his right cheekbone is that straight, silver scar. His hair isn’t as short as most other military men’s. It’s a little messy from the mask and, true to his words, a few shades lighter than mine. I can tell that, the longer it gets, the more it curls.

I stay silent as I take him in, eyes wide. Somehow I find the courage to slowly reach out. His blue-grey eyes dart to my hesitant fingers. When he doesn’t deny me, I close the space, this time feeling him without needing to imagine his image. I apply a little pressure as I brush his skin, feeling the warmth of his cheeks, the scar tissue on his cheekbone, and the stubble on his jaw. His eyes train on me. This is one of the few times I cannot understand what I see in them.

Whatever he’s thinking, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I stare back at Simon. Not Ghost, Simon.

“I was starting to think you weren’t real,” I say jokingly.

He laughs softly. One side of his mouth quirks up into a skewed smirk. My heart flutters at the sight of it. When he speaks, it’s with that teasing tone that always had me imagining a smirk. Matching his expressions to his tones is a strange thing to see, but I love it.

“Is this real enough for you?” he asks.

I hum in agreement. “You’re a lot better looking than I imagined.”

He raises a brow in mock offence. “Do I radiate unattractiveness? I’m offended.”

“I never said I imagined you ugly.”

I draw my hands back, taking another good look at him. My amazed smile remains. So does the awe in my eyes. Now that I know how good-looking he is, it’s going to be hard to get him out of my head. At least I can’t scold myself over falling for a faceless man anymore.

“I guess if I die tonight… I can go a little happier.”

The way he tilts his head and looks up through lowered brows sends my mind into a frenzy. I’m used to the action with his mask on, usually with the sewn-on skull. Now, with every part of his face laid bare for me, the feeling it stirs comes tenfold. He gives me a fake accusing look. Beneath the teasing air he gives off, that desire remains.

“A little?” he murmurs. His face grows closer, giving me a better view of the hollows and curves and marks of war.

“A little not enough?”

His eyes dip to my lips. “Not by a longshot.”

Then Simon kisses me.

Eyes fluttering closed, I sink into the feeling of his lips against mine. Gently. Hesitantly. Does he expect me to pull away? How could he think such a thing when I almost seemed desperate when I asked him? My hands slide over his chest, slowly linking behind his neck as the kiss deepens.

For a moment, everything fades away. The gunfire, the screams, the impending death we may face any moment... All of it reduces to a meaningless blur. Suddenly all that exists is me, Simon, and the secret embrace we share. In our kiss is a million unspoken words; a tidal wave of passion laced with a bittersweet sadness. The talk of ‘dying happy’ is no exaggeration. We very well may die, and seeing his face and feeling his touch eases the painful thought. Maybe this way I can find him in the afterlife - seek out his mysterious eyes and lopsided smirk and spend an eternity together. Or perhaps there is no afterlife, and this is my last stroke of luck.

Satisfied with the knowledge of what he does to me, Simon lowers his hand from my neck. The pressure reapplies near my belt. His fingers timidly skim the bottom of my tanktop, pulling the tucked part from my waistband. My own fingers weave through his brown hair as his hand slides further beneath. My kiss falters when he finds one of my breasts. His hand comfortably rests over it, his palm slowly kneading at the flesh. A low groan builds at the back of my throat.

After a moment, we pull away, chests rising and falling as we take deep breaths. His forehead rests against mine and suddenly I'm wishing we could do this over again. Except I picture less sadness to tinge every word and action. I picture the safety of home, the warmth of a bed, a carefree air that allows us to just enjoy the other's company. Reality comes back in a painful rush.

“I don’t want to die,” I whisper.

His hand retreats from my breast at my words. Instead, he takes a hold of my waist, giving me a comforting squeeze.

“You are not going to die. Not today. Not when there’s so much more I want from you.” He adds the last part with a teasing, suggestive smirk.

He looks down at my lips again—

“Ghost, how do you copy?”

We both freeze at the sound of a voice, so caught up in the moment that the radio is forgotten. Both the unspeakable things and sorrowful thoughts flooding my mind suddenly vanish at the sound of a familiar voice. There’s an equally received look on Simon’s face as he reaches for the small radio.

“I read you loud and clear, Sergeant,” he says. “What’s your location?”

“I…don’t know,” John replies solemnly. “Streets are crawling with Shadows. Where are you?”

“You see church spires above the houses?”

There’s a second of silence. Then…

“I see them.”

“Good. Head straight there and come inside. No Shadows here yet. They’ll be busy going door to door.”

“Affirmative. I’m on my way. Have you got any word from Y/N?”

Simon looks at me, silently giving me the floor to speak. “I’m right here, Johnny.”

There’s a sigh of relief on the other end. “Oh, thank fuck. You in one piece?”

“I’m all here. You?”

“Got a shot to the shoulder. Nothing I can’t handle.”

For the next while, Simon and I sit huddled side by side, guiding Johnny through the radio. I generally leave the talking to Simon. Listening to him speak and sinking into his warmth is good enough. Every so often, he'll say something that takes me by surprise. Sometimes it's a dad joke, either really good or incredibly bad. Sometimes it's something that alludes to Simon not minding Johnny. He never outright admits it, but saying 'I like you alive' to Johnny's 'so you do like me' speaks for itself. I smile at that. I have sunk my claws into him, and he's not going to be able to get rid of me till the day I die.

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare ii #mw2 #mwii #ghost #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x y/n

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opelman · 9 months

Video

USAF F-35A Lightning II by David G. Schultz Via Flickr: Major Kristin "Beo" Wolfe

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redjademilktea · 8 months

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I actually love the revelation that neither Laura nor Marisha planned Imogen and Laudna's relationship to become romantic. It makes me appreciate the whole Bassarus rock fight they had so much more!!

Like it means that Imogen becoming jealous of Dusk's flirting with Laudna was a spontaneous reaction for Laura. Imogen was just so gay she took over Laura's body in that moment and made her face drop.

AND to find out LAUDNA was jealous of Imogen's growing relationship with Orym makes it so much juicier. She was borderline manic in her efforts to make it up to Imogen. With this new context, we know now it was because Laudna was suddenly faced with some emotions she wasn't prepared to work through.

That whole arc was such a shock to their relationship that it caused them to look at it from a new lens. They both realized they really didn't want to be apart from one another, and it made them really interrogate what was for the first time.

All this to say: thank you again Erika Ishii for being the catalyst these gay witches needed to finally start connecting the dots 😅

#4sd #4 sided dive #imodna

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katelynnwrites · 7 months

Text

What Would You Do, Baby, If You Only Knew? (That I Can See You) | Felicitas Rauch

warnings: not proof read 😅

word count: 5618

summary: you don’t think feli can see you but she can…what would you do if you only knew?

a/n: requested and based off taylor swift’s i can see you 🥰

You’re used to hiding behind the lens of a camera.

It started as a hobby when you were growing up, a way for you to capture moments you didn’t want to forget. It allowed you to be involved in whatever was going on while still staying true to your quiet and shy personality.

Years later and that hasn’t changed even though you have managed to turn your hobby into a full time career.

Working as a professional sports photographer, you have the once in a lifetime opportunity to meet elite athletes and watch them be at the top of the game, all the while living your childhood dream.

You love it and now that you are working for VfL Wolfsburg, you’re enjoying your life even more. Germany is a fascinating country and you are privileged to be able to photograph as many parts of it as you’re able to on your off days.

The staff members of the German football club, your fellow colleagues are lovely and the players you are tasked to photograph are even more so.

They’re a funny, charismatic lot that have absolutely no hesitation in trying to draw you into their chaos.

While you do appreciate their efforts, you are happier watching them enjoy themselves than when you’re actually participating.

Though in the aftermath of a huge win against Bayern, their joy is infectious and it’s the reason why you have a soft grin on your face as you look through the viewfinder of your camera.

As you snap away, trying to catch as many smiling faces in the ongoing locker room party as you can, you revel in the satisfying clicks of your camera shutter.

A few of the players are going out of their way to pose for you, their antics making you laugh as you continue to capture their raw happiness.

Though there is one particular face that you can’t help searching for.

You know that you’re not supposed to be biased, that you are meant to be taking photos of all the players equally but you just can’t seem to help how your camera unconsciously finds one Felicitas Rauch.

It has always been that way with you, from the very first moment you arrived at a training session.

You were introduced to the team and then left alone to start your new job and take photos of them training.

Feli’s big smile, one that seems almost too big for her face at times had quickly become your favourite sight.

Through the nature of your skillset, you’ve seen a lot of pretty things but you’re certain that the word pretty doesn’t do the German fullback justice.

She’s absolutely beautiful. The kind of beautiful that steals the very air out of your lungs.

You know fullbacks are rarely recognised and appreciated for the work they do but you can see Felicitas. You are convinced that she deserves more attention and you hope your photos of her help put her in a bigger spotlight.

You can see her now, as she celebrates with Svenja, pulling the older woman into a tight hug.

Diligently, you snap away with your camera, capturing the heartfelt moment. You know that both players are close and as you glance briefly at the resulting photos on your camera’s small digital screen, you know that they will appreciate you saving the memory for them.

As you discreetly leave the locker room, along with a few other staff members who want to give the players’ their own little bubble, to celebrate as a team, you resolve to look through your photos at a later time and send them to the respective players to keep or to post on their social medias if they felt like it.

It is that thought of your work that distracts you from catching the smile on Feli’s face dim.

She wants you to stay and wonders what she has to do for you to do so.

You’re the team’s photographer and to her, staff members are just as much part of the team as the players are. In her mind, there is only one team and that means that you are entitled to celebrating the win, like any player is. You don’t have to leave early.

Felicitas wants to get to know you better, your tendency to hide behind your camera intriguing her.

She’s attracted to you because of her curiosity but also because she thinks you are too gorgeous to be constantly ducking away from attention.

It’s too bad that you’ve put away any thought of anyone, let alone someone like Feli Rauch being interested in you.

You indulge in daydreams sometimes but you’re confident in the fact that they would only ever remain as figments of your imagination because you have long since assumed that you would spend your life alone.

It is just in your nature.

From a young age, you developed the belief that you are too introverted and too much like a wallflower to be noticed.

You’ve made your peace with it and are content with the life you lead.

If only you knew that Felicitas is planning to turn all that upside down. She can see you and she’s planning on making you well aware of it.

******

It starts when you send her the photos you’ve taken.

In your hotel room, you send each player every photo they are in after reviewing your camera roll and editing some of its contents.

All the players respond with their thanks and this isn’t new. It gives you a warm feeling inside, knowing that they are grateful for your hard work.

You’re just beginning to turn in for the night when there is a knock on your hotel room door.

That is new and surprise is evident on your face when you open it to see Feli standing outside.

She’s clearly dressed for bed, in an old Germany hoodie and shorts. The pair of glasses she is wearing makes your thoughts go straight to how cute she looks.

There’s no camera for you to hide your blush behind and Feli smiles as she notices.

‘W-What are you doing here?’ You stammer, shuffling your feet in embarrassment.

‘I just wanted to say thank you in person.’ Felicitas shrugs easily.

‘Oh. Well you’re welcome.’

Your cheeks flush even redder and the German fullback’s smile widens.

She reaches out to tuck a few strands of hair behind your ear and you freeze at the feel of her fingertips on your skin.

It’s an unexpectedly affectionate gesture that results in your breath audibly catching.

Feli is paying close attention to you and she notes that down immediately.

As you make no move to back away, Felicitas savours how soft your hair feels against her fingers.

‘You look beautiful with your hair down and especially so when you’re blushing. Have a good night.’ She whispers and then she’s gone before you can blink.

You stare at the empty corridor for a moment, unconsciously bringing your hand up to brush against the side of your cheek, right where moments ago, Feli had touched you.

It was only for a few brief seconds and if not for the way your heart is racing, you would be sure you had imagined the whole thing.

As it is, you can hardly believe that it’s not a dream because Feli being even remotely interested in you seems far too good to be true.

******

Feli is intent on making you believe it.

She has been watching you for ages and spending her time trying not to feel it.

It’s nearly impossible for her though, especially when you brush past her in the hallway outside the locker room.

Your hair isn’t tied up like it usually is and it’s the knowledge that her words have clearly had an effect on you that makes her want to learn everything about you.

The tiny bit of physical contact that she had made with you the other night has made her crave more.

She knows exactly how much she sees you, how she’s always been intrigued by you but now she knows that it goes beyond that.

The German fullback wants you. She truly wants you to see yourself the way she sees you.

So what would you do if she went to touch you now?

******

Felicitas starts off small.

As the team is going through their cooling down exercises, Feli jogs up to you. She lightly nudges her arm against yours, startling you slightly and making you nearly drop your camera.

‘Sorry.’ The older woman mumbles sheepishly.

‘It’s okay.’

You readjust your camera and then look up at her.

‘Do you need something?’

‘Not exactly. Can I borrow your camera though? I promise I’ll be careful with it.’

You hesitate. Your camera is precious to you and if it was anyone else, you would have said no straight away.

But it’s Feli Rauch asking.

The particular piece of equipment that you are holding has been with you since your career started. It isn’t just expensive but also holds an enormous amount of meaning to you personally.

You have a number of cameras but this is the one you cherish the most.

‘I’ll stay right next to you the entire time. I just want to try being half as good as you and take photos of the team.’ Felicitas pleads.

You soften and gingerly hand your camera over, making sure that the fullback puts the camera strap on.

‘Danke.’ Feli excitedly says.

She turns towards you and takes a photo immediately.

‘Felicitas what are you doing?’

‘Taking photos of my team. Which includes you.’ She explains, continuing to snap away.

Blushing furiously, you drop your gaze down towards the ground.

‘Hey don’t do that. Your eyes are too pretty to be hidden like that.’

Feli uses her finger to gently tilt your chin upwards, allowing her gorgeous brown eyes to meet yours.

You are speechless and you don’t know if it’s because of her sincere compliment or because of the physical contact.

‘Smile for me.’ The older woman prompts and you do as she asks.

‘See? Like I told you before, you’re beautiful.’ Felicitas murmurs as she shows you the photos she’s just taken.

You shyly thank her and Feli laughs softly.

‘No problem. Want to give me some tips before I try taking photos of our other teammates?’

‘Yeah.’ You nod, always eager to talk about your passion.

You show Feli the basics and then she stands beside you as she takes her photos.

Her fellow players are more than happy to be her subjects and Felicitas has them in fits of giggles as she yells out her instructions.

You can’t help but join in, sharing their laughter.

******

When Feli finally returns your camera, it’s as she promised. In perfect working condition, without a single scratch on it.

She had taken the utmost care with it, correctly inferring how much the device means to you from your earlier hesitation.

‘Thank you. Really. I had a great time learning from you.’ Feli says, her eyes practically shining.

‘It’s no problem. I had fun too.’ You tell her.

‘I can see why you love photography so much. There’s just something special about looking through the lens and having the ability to capture the moment.’

Your eyes widen in surprise. Not many people get why you love photography so much let alone when they are only just beginning to know you.

‘I’m glad you understand.’ You breathe.

Now it’s the German fullback’s turn to blush, her cheeks being dusted a light pink.

You are in awe of the fact that you’ve made a woman so out of your league blush and that gives you a little burst of confidence.

Confidence that leads you to blurt out, ‘Do you want to look over the photos you’ve taken with me? I usually go over all the photos and do some editing before I send them out.’

Felicitas looks delighted.

‘Yeah. I would love that.’

******

That’s how you end up at Feli’s apartment.

You had planned on doing your work in your usual cafe but the Wolfsburg player insisted on inviting you over, saying that it’s the least she can do after you had so generously lent her your camera and given her an impromptu photography lesson.

No matter how many times you said that she didn’t owe you anything, Feli had refused to take no for an answer.

So you get to meet Cinnamon.

The older woman’s brown poodle is an absolute darling and you can’t resist taking a couple of photos of her.

Of course you seek Feli’s permission first and she more than happily gives you the go ahead, on the condition that you send her all the photos.

This you fulfill easily and Felicitas gushes over how cute you’ve made her dog look in them, like Cinny needs any help looking adorable.

She bends down to show Cinnamon the photos on her phone and your heart flutters at the sight.

Be professional, you chide yourself. You have absolutely no right to be thinking about how attractive Feli looks.

It’s a struggle but by the time the older woman straightens back up, you’ve succeeded a tiny bit.

Felicitas smiles, unaware of your internal struggle as she directs you over to her couch.

‘This okay?’ She checks and you nod.

You let her sit down first and cautiously ensure that there is a sufficient amount of space between the both of you before you settle down.

It’s enough of a distance to make you feel safer.

Rather self consciously, you begin the motions of a well practiced routine, taking the memory card out of your camera and inserting it into your laptop.

‘Wow that’s a lot.’ Felicitas breathes as she takes in just how many photos there are.

You chuckle and look closer, scrolling down till you find Feli’s collection of photos.

Clicking past the few she had taken of you, you turn your laptop screen towards her so that she can see her work.

They’re actually quite good.

You fix a few details, cropping some and editing the lighting in others, all the while explaining to Feli what you are doing and why you’re doing it.

Feli watches you in silence, paying rapt attention to everything you are doing.

It’s very clear that you know what you’re talking about and she is quickly becoming obsessed with the very sound of your voice.

She must be staring too obviously because you catch her.

‘Felicitas? Are you okay?’ You nervously ask.

The German player shifts closer to you and her close proximity has your heart rate increasing.

‘Felicitas.’ You breathe and something in her brown eyes changes.

It makes you anxious but all that anxiety disappears when the fullback carefully reaches out to cup your face with one hand, her thumb brushing across your cheekbone.

‘Tell me to stop and I will.’ She softly says.

You open your mouth but no words come out. You’re completely and utterly captivated by her.

‘Tell me to stop and I will.’ Feli repeats, even more quietly as she cautiously closes the distance between the both of you.

Her intentions are clear and you can’t tell her to stop.

She fervently searches your face for any sign that you don’t want this. That you don’t want her as badly as she wants you.

The brunette doesn’t find anything because you do. You want her so incredibly much, more than you’ve ever wanted anything.

When you say nothing, Feli practically brightens with hope and gently presses her lips onto yours.

You gasp into her mouth and respond eagerly.

Feli smiles against you and picks up her pace.

Enthusiastically, she slides her free hand into your hair and she lightly pushes you down, so that your back meets her couch.

Your laptop is long forgotten and you barely register the thump that it makes as it slips off your lap and onto the carpeted floor.

The older woman takes advantage of the newly created space and swings her leg over your body, so that she’s straddling you.

You moan at the feel of her hips against yours.

The soft noise further encourages Felicitas who having drawn back slightly to breathe is kissing you again. This time without holding back.

Her fingers tug none too gently on your hair eliciting a groan from you as you slip your free hands up and under Feli’s shirt.

Your heart skips a beat when you feel the goosebumps that form under your touch. It spurs you on and you continue exploring her body, trying your best to memorise the way her muscles flex as you do so.

Feli moans your name when your fingertips smooth across her abs.

If she hadn’t drawn you in before that, she has now because you’ll do anything to hear it again.

******

When you leave Feli’s apartment, it’s with kiss swollen lips and tangled hair.

As Felicitas sees you out, she pulls you flush against her and brings her lips down to meet yours one more time.

‘For good measure.’ She winks before gently pushing you out and closing her door, leaving you a flustered mess.

******

You’re barely in your car when your phone chimes with a notification.

It’s Feli tagging you in an Instagram post, featuring the photos she’d taken of you earlier. Photos that you had sent her after your impromptu makeout session.

The post is captioned, ‘I can see you.’

It is followed by a winky face emoji that causes you to blush all over again.

******

You wait at the end of the hallway, outside the locker room for the older woman.

When she does emerge, she saunters over to you and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into her side.

‘Hello.’ She murmurs, kissing the top of your head just once.

‘Hi.’ You answer, with a breath of relief.

It still amazes you that Felicitas pays attention to you. That she sees you.

Then Felicitas does what she’s been thinking about since she saw you waiting down the hall.

She ducks into the first empty room she notices and tugs you in with her.

Your yelp of surprise is silenced by her lips on yours, the bruising kiss that she gifts you with making you weak in the knees.

It’s perfectly as she visualised, the shocked look on your face as she pins you up against the wall before you melt into her, completely and utterly willing to let her do as she pleases.

The way you look at her is nothing short of reverence and Felicitas knows that she will never take advantage of you. Not when she is beginning to look at you in the same manner.

******

Feli keeps everything professional and you try your best to do the same but something’s changed.

She can’t stop herself from showing her newfound affection towards you. She smiles at you all the time and you cannot help but capture all of those little moments through the lens of your camera.

In the back of her mind, from her spot on the training field, she is always thinking about you.

Constantly, she can feel your eyes on her and it makes her smile in your direction.

It is getting to the point where your camera roll is made up almost entirely of her. You’re simply unable to tear your eyes away from the phenomenon that is Feli Rauch.

******

It’s not just you that is keeping a watchful eye on Feli or just Felicitas that is keeping a watchful eye on you.

The rest of the team is too.

The older woman has picked up on this and she moves fast and quiet.

You won’t believe half of the things she sees inside her head, the things she’s hoping she’ll get to experience with you by her side.

She wants more than just stolen kisses, more than just your hands exploring her body in the dark. Felicitas desperately wants it all to be out in the light of day.

She wants to be able to kiss you whenever she can, just because she can. She wants to be able to do so in front of everyone, regardless of who they are.

The fullback simply wants to show the world how truly, madly and deeply her feelings run for you.

Felicitas hopes you stick around and wait to see these things happen.

She’s willing them to happen so badly.

There are a few things that she is wondering now though.

******

One, what would you do if she went to touch you now?

She is looking for a certain kind of physical touch now, not just the simple, casual touch of friends. Feli is searching for much more than that.

You’re not in her hotel room so she seeks you out. For this particular away game, the players are rooming on the floor above the staff.

When Feli makes it down to your floor and knocks on your door, she’s taken aback by how fast you open it.

‘Hey…’ You breathlessly greet her.

‘Hi. Are you going somewhere?’ Felicitas cautiously asks.

If you have plans, she doesn’t want to disrupt them despite the obvious disappointment that she is already beginning to feel at being unable to spend time with you.

It is a good thing then, that the only reason you were leaving your room was to find her.

You tell her that and the older woman can’t stop the big smile that is forming on her face.

That expression does not leave even as she rests her hands on your hips and pushes you lightly back into your room.

You offer no resistance and are in fact happily following her lead.

That’s question number one answered in the German woman’s mind.

******

Two, what would you do if they never found us out?

They in this case refer to her teammates and your boss.

While there aren’t any rules about players and staff fraternisation, you and Feli do not want to be the reason that there are.

Hence why the both of you are trying to keep your budding relationship on the down low.

It’s not really working, despite your’s and Felicitas’ best efforts because the two of you are far too smitten with each other.

The heart eyes, the lingering touches and most of all, the way you both just seem to gravitate towards each other.

So while no one explicitly says anything, the suggestive looks and teasing comments are all it takes to let you and Feli know that the two of you are not as subtle as you had both hoped to be.

The fullback watches you carefully for any sign that you mind when one of your teammates brings it up but she doesn’t find any.

This somewhat answers question number two for her because it wasn’t you who made the decision to draw the team’s attention to the both of you. It had simply happened, out of your control but nevertheless does not seem to be bothering you.

Felicitas can’t build up enough courage to ask you outright so this will have to be enough for now.

******

Three, what would you do if we never made a sound?

Felicitas’ grip on your hips is so tight that you’re sure she is going to leave bruises behind.

Not that you care because it is going to be a nice addition to the collection of marks she has already littered your body with.

You are trying your best to stay silent, knowing that the walls of this particular hotel are thin. There are players resting in the next room and you don’t want to disturb them but when Feli’s lips find a sensitive spot on your neck, you can’t help but cry out her name in pleasure.

The brunette pulls back immediately.

‘What happened to being quiet? You don’t want our friends to hear us do you?’

‘No…’ You shakily whisper.

‘Then try harder.’ Feli firmly instructs, although the teasing edge to her voice tells you that she isn’t angry at all.

It causes the tiny hope that you have been harbouring to blossom. Maybe Felicitas wouldn’t care if all this sneaking around comes to an end. Maybe she even wants the whole secret to unravel.

And when Feli is far too good at demonstrating precisely how well she has come to know your body…an impressive amount in the short time you have been playing this ‘What are we?’ game, the both of you are subjected to a relentless amount of good natured mocking at breakfast, the morning after.

In particular from Lynn and Sveindis who had been roomed next to you and Feli all night.

The Wolfsburg player knows the answer to question number three now because as the rest of the team pokes fun at the pair of you, you endure it all with a soft smile on your face.

Felicitas can’t help but slip her hand into yours under the table.

******

When Wolfburg qualifies for the Champions League final, you’re beyond ecstatic and so are the players.

You eagerly take photos of all their celebrations, till a certain brunette pulls you headfirst into them.

‘Feli! Feli I’m working!’ You protest but the older woman doesn’t listen.

She takes a moment to check that your camera is properly secured by its strap around your body before she easily picks you up and spins you around.

The small action makes your heart fill with even more emotion for her. You adore the fact that she cares enough about your love of photography to extend it to your equipment.

Your breathless laughter rings out across the field and your heart is light.

When Felicitas sets you down, her brown eyes are sparkling under the stadium lights and her hands are resting firmly on your waist.

You can see her in her bright green kit and messy bun, loose strands of hair falling into her face.

In that moment, you know that she couldn't care less about what anyone thinks. Not the club staff, her fellow players or even her fans.

She just wants to know what you think.

‘Are you happy?’ Feli whispers.

Her thumb strokes gently against your waist, over the material of your shirt as she speaks. She keeps her voice low, wanting you to know that her words meant just for you.

‘Incredibly so.’ You murmur, making sure that your voice is soft because you want her to know that your answer is meant only for her ears too.

‘Good.’ The fullback breathes and leans her forehead against yours lightly.

She inhales and exhales and you do the same, commiting the moment to memory.

You have your eyes closed so you depend on all your other senses. The cheers of the crowd, the warm feel of Feli’s hands, her steady breathing and how she smells.

Sweaty because she’s spent the last ninety minutes running around but also underneath all that, she smells like her lavender shampoo.

And you’re enamoured with it and her.

‘I know you’ve got to get back to work but will you wait for me after? Please?’

It’s a quiet, nearly timid request and one that you are more than happy to fulfill.

‘Of course.’ You nod your agreement and the German woman grins.

‘See you soon my shutterbug.’

She kisses your cheek quickly and then runs off towards the other Wolfsburg players before you have time to process the nickname or her public display of affection.

******

Your camera bag is slung around your shoulder and you anxiously fiddle with a crease in your shirt as you wait for Feli down the hall. It’s a familiar situation but you’re unusually nervous tonight.

In between a glance down at your shirt and and back at the locker room door, the brunette is right in front of you.

She doesn’t even bother saying hello, choosing to pin you up against the wall and kiss you senseless.

Her hands cradle your face and she pours all her emotion into her affectionate gestures.

Your legs give out and Felicitas presses your back harder into the solid surface behind you as she supports your weight.

‘Feli.’ You pant when she finally breaks the kiss to breathe.

‘Felicitas.’

It’s a single plaintive word that falls from your lips and the fullback tilts her head in a silent question.

‘We have an audience.’

Her mouth falls open in a ‘o’ shape and she turns around to see what is practically the entire team standing behind her with big cheesy grins.

‘Something you two want to share with the class?’ Svenja teases.

Feli simply rolls her eyes and despite the blush on her cheeks, kisses you soundly once more.

Lena’s and Sveindis’ cheers of, ‘Get your girl!’, fade into the background because all at once, Felicitas Rauch is not only at the forefront of your mind but is the only thing on your mind.

You won’t ever tell about how she kisses you because everyone can see the effect she has on you.

She’s your addiction.

******

The brunette fullback’s secret mission is not so secret.

Not to her family, her fellow players both club and national and her fans.

Especially when the first thing she does upon arriving back in Wolfsburg from national camp is to show up on your doorstep.

You end up going with Feli to pick up Cinny from her dogsitter and the older woman decides to be the photographer for a change.

The photo that she uploads onto her Instagram is one of you holding Cinnamon on your lap, in the passenger seat of her car.

It’s captioned, ‘My shutterbug and my poodle.’

Feli’s mission is to show you that you are seen and when the post blows up, it’s evident that you are

You are seen not only by Felicitas but by the world.

******

Leaning against the door frame of your apartment, you hear the tell tale sound of someone approaching.

You hope it’s who you have been waiting for and when a particular, one of a kind defender rounds the corner of the hallway, a smile lights up your face.

Feli’s heart just about bursts with all the affection she holds for you, when her eyes meet yours.

You’re wearing one of her sweatshirts that she must have left behind by accident.

On you, the article of clothing is too big and you have the sleeves bunched up to your elbows.

You self consciously pull at one side of it when Feli keeps staring at you, murmuring a soft, ‘What?’

‘You’re just so adorable.’ The brunette says, stepping into your space with a little smile.

Your cheeks turn pink and Felicitas gently places her hands on them.

‘I love it when you blush for me.’ She adds quietly, before she slants her lips down over yours.

Any embarrassment that you might be feeling about your reaction quickly vanishes.

Felicitas kissing you is all that matters and though she has been doing that a lot recently, you are never going to get tired of it. The butterflies that come alive in your stomach each and every time are never going to get tired of it.

As the brunette makes no effort to slow down, you correctly infer her intentions and pull her into your apartment.

Felicitas smirks when you lock the door, giving in to temptation and pushing you up against it.

‘This feels like a familiar situation.’ You breathlessly tease.

‘I don’t see you complaining.’ She cockily states.

You laugh, tugging on the collar of her jacket.

‘Off please.’

As hard as you try, your words betray just how desperate you are.

And Felicitas knows it.

That almost annoying smirk of hers is back on her face but the brunette obliges, throwing her jacket on the floor.

Your clothes and the rest of hers soon follow.

You didn’t even know it was possible but the way she is looking at you is making you want her even more.

******

Soft, feather-like kisses are what you are scattering all over Feli’s back.

You smile against her skin and now it’s the older woman’s turn to blush.

Idly, you move on to trace an aimless pattern onto her exposed shoulders.

Your fingers are gentle and everywhere your touch goes, Feli’s skin tingles.

‘Meine liebe.’ She breathes, completely and utterly taken by you.

‘What did you say?’ You ask, wondering if you had heard wrongly.

Your German isn’t all that good but there is no mistaking the tone of her confession.

With wide eyes, you keep looking at the woman who is lying with her head in your lap, your sheets pulled messily around her bare body.

Feli sits up, tenderly taking you into her arms.

‘Be mine.’

Her brown eyes are shining and her voice trembles slightly.

‘Felicitas, are you asking me to marry you?’

‘No! N-Not yet at least. Just be my girlfriend now and maybe in a few years I’ll be asking you to be my wife.’ She stammers.

Her hands reach out to cover yours and the reassuring weight of them, as well as the warmth they provide you are all the encouragement you need.

You lean in to kiss her ardently and Feli sighs, both in happiness and relief.

‘That’s a yes then? Please let that be a yes. I can see you. I promise I see all of you and I love each and every part.’ She asks, as soon as you two pull apart to catch your respective breaths.

The smile on your face is one you swear that only Feli can bring out in you.

‘Yes. It’s a yes because I love you too.’

German Translations:

danke - thank you

meine liebe - my love

#feli rauch #felicitas rauch #feli rauch x reader #feli rauch imagine #felicitas rauch x reader #felicitas rauch imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso #dfb frauen x reader #dfb frauen imagine #gerwnt imagine #gerwnt x reader #vfl wolfsburg frauen x reader #vfl wolfsburg frauen imagine #katelynnwrites #uswnt imagine #uswnt x reader

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icedroppedinparasolcider · 2 days

Text

Momoi Airi is a Trans Woman

This is headcanon at the end of the day and there's nothing wrong with disagreeing, but the way she's written regarding her sense of identity as an idol, the choice of phrasing they use when she talks about herself in reference to others (namely Shizuku), and the connections her visual motifs provide to concepts and other characters tied to or commonly seen as trans just makes it incredibly hard for me to view her otherwise.

A lot of what I have to say is very personal to me; I'm a trans woman myself, and Airi's writing and experiences connect with me and my own transition journey in a way I haven't really seen anywhere else in media (I'm not a very prolific media consumer). So it's entirely possible a lot of this is just me projecting onto a character I care a lot about. But while I've adored Airi before this revelation, I didn't reach the level of attachment I have for her until the realisation of just how well she's written through the lens of a trans girl. Specifically one who's, for the most part, entirely socially transitioned but keeping the fact she is trans secret.

When Airi was little, she was, as she herself describes, very boyish. She'd get into physical fights with boys around the neighbourhood or at school, she'd come home most days covered in dirt and mud from playing with her majority boy friend group of the time. She was intensely defensive of her little sister, most of her fights being with possibly bigger-than-her boys because they were mean to her sister. It formed a reputation for Airi, a reputation that followed her as she began to deviate from these patterns and pivot her interests and activities hard and fast thanks to starting to watch idols on TV. She was enamoured with them, would rewatch recordings of their performances and interviews over and over so she could emulate it and be more like them. She'd stop getting into fights, stop playing with her rougher friends; everything started changing dramatically thanks to her being introduced to a new "type" of woman: an idol. Something Airi wanted to become, and was willing to change everything about her to be.

These changes weren't socially easy for her, though, with backlash coming from these old friends and classmates because of how girly she was trying to become. The idea of being a tomboy was something Airi started to consider a bad thing, a gross thing. During her Colourful Festival side-story, To You Who Yearns To Be an Idol, amidst a conversation with her younger self Airi calls the little girl a tomboy, something that makes the younger Airi immediately deflate and shy away from the conversation. It upset her to be called that, especially by an idol, something she wants to become. Which leads to the younger Airi talking about how she's been treated by her peers for changing the way she dresses and not playing the same way she used to, for changing the way she talks, with her being talked to like she's doing something horrible and wrong for simply chasing a dream of who she wants to be. And in this conversation, Airi says a particular line that changed everything for me:

This is said in response to Little Airi's repeating of what the boys in her class call her as she wears cuter, girly clothes. That she's some big, mean monster who shouldn't wear things like that, who could never become an idol. Effectively telling her that she could never be a girl because of the way she used to behave. She started as someone rough, someone harsh and dirty, that's not something she should—not something she could—change. Something we see in present day that she's largely internalised through her struggles with what it means to be an idol, her struggles with calling herself an idol.

For Airi, being an Idol and being a Girl have become synonymous with each other. Her ability to be an idol, to draw that attention, have a smile that sparkles on stage and in front of the camera, spread hope and joy to other people; this part of her identity has grown beyond her job, it's who she is as an individual. Being Momoi Airi, the second year Miyajo student, is inseparable from Momoi Airi, the ex-QT member and now member of MORE MORE JUMP! And if she can't be the image of an idol that exists in her head, that she's always viewed idols to be, that Haruka and Shizuku manage to embody, that Minori is becoming, then can Airi even really call herself as much of a person, of a woman, as them?

Airi's been in this constant uphill battle where she believes she doesn't sparkle as much as the other idols around her, so she puts more effort into learning how to make herself sparkle, but manages to convince herself that because she struggles with this, she's less of an idol than those very peers. It's in large part what Ice Drop is about, Airi's difficulty finding satisfaction with her work as an idol because it doesn't shape up to her own expectations and beliefs of what an idol "should be", because it doesn't match what she sees other idols she looks up to, like Shizuku, doing. Something also portrayed during Airi's conversation with Shizuku in Chasing the Radiance Beyond the Blue Sky, where she outright tells Shizuku that because she doesn't have the same physical appeal she has to fight harder and use different strategies to get any attention as an idol. And if Shizuku is the "perfect idol", and Airi will never be able to achieve that, can she even call herself an idol?

If she can't call herself an idol, does she even deserve to call herself a girl? Or are the harsh words of her grade school classmates right about whether she should be wearing the cutesy clothes?

A large part of Airi's struggle with this, why it's even a spiral in the first place, ties into her nature as a Solid Heart student as well as why I see so much of myself and my transfemme journey in Airi's story. It doesn't matter how many people tell you that you're enough and that you've done what you set out to do, not if every thought in your head is telling you they're wrong. According to everyone I know, I pass really well as a girl. My voice is naturally feminine, even without masking it very hard, I've basically never been misgendered since growing my hair out by strangers looking at me, I've even been told by close friends that they'll forget I'm trans because I'm just "one of the girls" to so many of them. And I appreciate all of it, so much; I'm very lucky to have had such a smooth social transition. But none of that changes who I see in the mirror, who I hear when I talk, what I feel when I wake up in the morning forced to acknowledge my body. I'll never be a "real girl", not until I fix these things, and it's entirely possible that it's impossible to truly get rid of this feeling.

That's what Airi feels regarding her identity as an idol. Everyone in the world could tell her how good an idol she is, how much hope she spread as Happy Everyday, how beautiful and bright her smile is. But that will never replace or fully mask the doubt in the back of her head about whether she's really an idol, because nothing that she used to do aligns with what she's always seen idols to be, so much of what she does today is so different from the reality of her dreams. She's not that idol, so is she even an idol at all? I'm not that girl, so am I even a girl at all? Obviously I am, and obviously she is, but it's a feeling of doubt that never goes away.

Airi needs to constantly be an idol, or she's not an idol at all. And, at least to me, this has come to mean to Airi that if she's not an idol, she's not a girl. Because all of the work she put into being cute and girly was to be an idol. If she can't accomplish that, does she even deserve to be a girl at all? Or is she just a fraud wearing a mask trying to make people laugh on TV?

#pjsk #project sekai #airi momoi #character analysis #transgender #i have so much more to say #but it's getting late and this feels like a good stopping point #i'll probably add more when she invades my brain again #momoi airi......

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ikinremu · 5 months

Note

Please can you do either a John or Thomas Shelby one where the reader is a brat and gets spanked by either John or Tommy? Love how you write these smutty stories btw 😍

Hi, thank you so so much for requesting! For some reason, this request didn’t come through until a few days ago - which is a lot later than when it says it was submitted - so sorry about that! And thanks so much for the support on my works, I really do appreciate it. Enjoy! :)

Say It

John Shelby x Fem!Reader

A Smut Oneshot

Tags: Brat Taming, Spanking, Pussy Spanking, Fingering, Light Hair Pulling, Degrading, Orgasm Denial

! Smut Warning !

“You know what I want to hear.” John asserted, a cunning gaze flitting from beneath his lids as he briefly sought a comfortable perch atop his mattress.

If there was to be a single thing you knew, it was what John was after - though, it seemed you were further familiar with the fact you weren’t going to supply it so easily.

“You’re being ridiculous.” You practically spat through rows of tightly gritted teeth, accompanied by a well-trained gaze to the seated man before you - irritation rushing from him like crashing waves.

Somewhat smoothly, John spread his palm over his chin, simply rubbing his jaw with a singular motion, “Say it.”

Disbelief pushes your eyes to roll, reddened fingertips digging at your hips through your - moderately fitted - skirt. Through your very own, seemingly tainted, lens, you hadn’t done anything particularly wrong, perhaps merely pushed John’s buttons a little throughout the day, playfully prodding with his irritations for personal entertainment.

Nostrils rolling a quite thick, weighty exhale, he so lightly spread his legs apart, “Get over my knee.”

You scoff, though a tiny, gradually expanding lump of anticipation catches within your throat, “John-”

“Now.” He very nearly grumbles, “If y’won’t apologise, I’ll just have to get it out of you myself.”

Suddenly squashing all - already rather minimal - distance between you, John’s large, power-ridden grasp seizes your waist, tugging you toward him as your bare feet tumble a little upon the planked flooring.

“Alright alright, I’m sorry.” You, disingenuously, ramble.

“You’re not.” John heaves, an obnoxiously pleased smirk twitching over his pinkish lips as he swiftly pulled your frame across his thighs, “But you will be.”

Throat sparked by a deep, sharp spike of breath, your unsupported elbows quickly flopped to the mattress beneath as John’s curious hands lay the small of your back atop his lap.

He potently raised the coverage of your skirt, speedily resting its dark hem just above your hips, warm - contrastingly callous - digits gliding your underwear to a thick ruffle around your gently buckled knees. A scorching humidity crept up your neck, burning through your cheeks as John found a sudden - moderately lenient - hold of your hair, rather skilfully angling your neck to present himself with a plenty preferable view.

“Not gettin’ all shy on me now, are you love?” His sultry chuckle taints the surrounding air as he strokes a teasing hand over your bare behind.

Warmth flares between your naked thighs, his familiar touch shooting a demeaningly keen, contrasting shiver down your spine. Pushing your back to a shallow arch, John tightens his previously slack grasp before landing his first spank upon your fully exposed ass, a soft whimper wavering beneath the measly shield of your tongue.

"Gonna count em for me, eh?"

It wasn't a question.

"One." You gasped, a shaky intake of breath.

“That’s more like it.” He praised, rather unexpectedly supplying the very top of your head with a kind, tender peck. As you hopelessly revelled in the sweet refresher, John directly snatched you from the realms of any comfort, landing his next hit to the opposing cheek, “Gonna fuckin’ behave for me now, isn’t that right?”

You swallowed the lump lingering within your narrow, tingling throat, feeling the growing slick between your thighs - so shamefully wishing you could diminish its entirety.

"Fuck-" You whine, "Two."

His fingers shifted inside your now untidy hair, a fresh, irregularly chilled breeze briskly sweeping your neck. John quickly planted the next desperately heady smack, so pridefully leaving the thick flesh stinging with an agitating glory.

Growing a little sensitive, you simply winced, arousal fizzling through your heat-ridden skin. The harsh daggers of your teeth bordered on puncturing your lower lip, an airy whine slicing up the tunnel of your throat.

"Don't make me tell you again." John grumbled, "Count."

"Three.." You quaver, mildly squeezing your slickened thighs together in a helpless crave for friction.

With an undeniable abruptness, he picks up the gradual pace, four, five and six flying across in a prickling flurry, your heat-coated behind stinging from each passing strike.

Abruptly, he quickens the heavily taunting pace, four, five and six passing in a flurry, naked ass stinging from the consistent force supplied by each individual hit. Somehow, you felt as though you could feel the intense, rich reddening of your skin. Each passing spank pulls a shameful, yearning whimper from the depths of your throat, wetness so drastically pooling as you squeeze your thighs tighter together.

“Seven..” You heave, burning heat prickling at your skin as you fidget a little atop the thick, firm surface of John’s lap.

He suddenly freezes and you’re rather caught off guard upon the enticing, chilling sensation of meddlesome fingers snaking between your thighs, forcing a little space between them. You simply can’t compress the slip of your keen, intrusive gasp as he grazed a singular, curious fingertip over your drenched folds.

"You're fuckin' soaked." He breathes, a blatantly thick tension to his voice, as though you could hear the richness of his smirk, "Getting you all worked up, hm? Being spanked over my lap like a fuckin' whore."

John’s demeaning remarks only fuel your arousal as he gives your hair a cheek-pinkening, momentary tug, landing yet another punishing hit to your flushed behind.

"Shit-" You mewl, "Eight."

He lands another smack to the opposing - aching - cheek, flesh stinging - so enriched - “Answer me.”

Barely even absorbing much besides his familiarly lustful tone, your tongue rolls out a helpless, breathy fluster, “Yes..”

Knowingly toying with your already worn patience, John’s sultry exhale caresses your unshielded neck, “Want me to punish you over my lap like a worthless whore, huh?”

Far less nonchalantly than was ideal, you nod, sopping cunt desperately begging for any touch of friction.

Once more, John weaves his thick, skilful fingers between your sodden thighs. Teasingly, he merely trails them over your aching folds, digits dampened with the heat of your arousal as he gently brushes them over your deprived clit.

A sudden, rather dense whine pours from your mouth as a light, painfully enticing spank reaches your drenched cunt.

His large, warm thumb so flawlessly toys with your pulsing clit, a bunch of two fingers sinking between your walls, drawing yet another weightless moan as they slid inside.

Somewhat slowly, John’s digits contrive a euphoric rhythm, gradually quickening their taunting pace, pumping in and out of the tight clenches of your hole, thumb - merciless to sensitivity - fulfilling your clit.

“Look at you, just a writhin’ mess on my lap, eh?” He groaned, his torturous words infiltrating your veins - only severely heightening your arousal.

Overwhelmed by the agonising blend of increased sensitivity and the long-awaited yearning of it all, you felt your abdomen twist with the need for a release, helplessly tumbling toward the familiar brink of fulfilment.

Your walls squeeze at his pumping fingers at a relentless pace, hungrily reeling the eventual orgasm nearer and nearer, finally finding yourself just bordering upon its wonderfully familiar slope.

As the build finally grew to the tallest tip of its summit, John so suddenly slid his fingers from your pulsing cunt, snapping all ties of friction with a brutally irritating smugness.

Bordering on totally defying his grasp upon your hair, you whipped your head back, body frantically conflicting with itself over such a sudden, frustrating peak of denial.

"What?" John smirked, placing another spank to your sodden, pathetically convulsing cunt, "It's a punishment, remember?"

Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed! Please feel free to use the requests/asks feature on my page - it’d be greatly appreciated!

#smut #smutty #oneshot #drabbles #peaky blinders #peaky blinders smut #John shelby #John Shelby smut #john shelby x reader #john shelby x you

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