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precious-little-scoundrel · 3 months

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Masters of the Air Fanfic

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

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

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

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

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

Word count: a monstrous 12k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Suggestions” was Egan’s term for regulations.

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

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

“-I don’t have the authority-“

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

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

-Americans and their nicknames.

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Damn.” he swore, playing at dejection.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And now the texas girl has-“

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

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

“Well, no-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s that?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

“To the Poles?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Other performances. For instance, in bed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“-Do I what?” you prodded softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was hugging you, you realized with delayed surprise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess that’s true.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A cherub.” he repeated in disbelief.

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

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

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

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

“None.”

“I’m terribly sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Only to kiss you.

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

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

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

“Not Wordsworth!” Harry clarified.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you’d have only known.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There are things of which I may not speak;

There are dreams that cannot die;

There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,

And bring a pallor into the cheek,

And a mist before the eye.

And the words of that fatal song

Come over me like a chill:—

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

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

Strange to me now are the forms I meet

When I visit the dear old town;

But the native air is pure and sweet,

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

As they balance up and down,

Are singing the beautiful song,

Are sighing and whispering still:—

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.” he agreed miserably.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess you did.” you agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No?”

“No.”

“So where’d they go?” Buck asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I’m yours.” he concluded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, Buck?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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gi4hao · 21 days

Text

☆ dino x gn!reader — domestic fluff!

☆ from repairing a sink to love confessions on the kitchen floor

9pm is right around the corner, and you know for a fact that your boyfriend is far from being done with repairing the leak under your kitchen sink. but of course he won’t accept defeat, which is why you resorted to having dinner on the floor, sat next to him to keep him company.

“you really should go lie down on the couch” chan tells you from beneath the sink, his voice muffled and punctuated by the clinks of his tools. “this isn’t good for your back.”

he’s not wrong, this position is definitely not the comfiest even though you managed to rest against a piece of furniture. but the view isn’t so bad here, you think to yourself, contently watching his arms flex as he twists and tightens metal pieces here and there.

“but if i leave who’s going to feed you those baby tomatoes?” you ask, looking at the half-eaten bowl in front of you.

putting his tools down, he emerges from under the sink with a contented sigh, stretching his limbs as he sits upright. “you’re such a simp” he chuckles, yet still gladly opens his mouth for you to throw yet another tomato inside.

with an exaggerated scoff, you put a hand over your heart in mock offense: “excuse me? says the biggest simp ever?”

the thing is, you don’t even mind being called a simp; you’re lucid enough to know that it’s only the truth. similarly, chan doesn’t mind it either, but it’s just so much more entertaining to deny and act like it offends him.

“if there’s a simp in this room it’s definitely you. and allow me to tell you why…” you tell him as he returns to the small confined space below your countertop.

you don’t even have to make an effort to gather your thoughts, countless examples just flow naturally into your brain: “first of all, you always carry me on your back when we’re walking back home from a party. you kiss me goodbye every morning even when i’m still asleep. you have a picture of me in your wallet, i’m your phone and ipad wallpaper. also, you keep a secret box on your side of the closet where you put all the receipts from our dates…”

a few seconds of silence follow your words.

when you lean to your side to finally catch a glimpse of your quiet boyfriend, it turns out he’s looking right back at you, a surprised expression painted on his face: “i didn’t know you knew about the box.”

suddenly, he gets the funny sensation that you’re definitely going to win this round.

“i know many things” you affirm, a satisfied smile on your lips as you keep going: “i know that you always keep one of my doodles in your phone case. i know that you bought duplicates of my skincare products to keep in your car as an emergency kit. and i also may or may not have heard you talk to seungkwan about me…”

this time, it’s a loud bang that comes to punctuate your sentence. but before you can even start to worry, chan yells a reassuring “i’m okay!” before getting out of there once again, “just dropped my tool, that’s all. but now let’s circle back to what you just said…”

with a chuckle, you notice a slight embarrassment spreading on his face, his cheeks turning a familiar shade of pink.

your relationship has never been a secret, so it wasn’t a surprise to know that he likely spoke about you to the other members. however, you hadn’t truly considered the nature of those conversations until a few months ago, when you had sort of eavesdropped on a discussion.

“don’t be embarrassed” you reassure him, a playful spark in your eyes: “it was nice to hear you describe us as a “perfect match” and feeling like “a married couple already, but in the best possible way”.

at this point, his surrender is palpable. “okay, you win. maybe i am a simp,” he concedes, a mixture of defeat and self-consciousness coloring his voice. his shoulders sag slightly, but his gaze is still full of affection. “i can’t deny it anymore. just like i can’t deny that I’m not a handyman. i actually have no idea if I’m fixing this thing or just making it worse.”

“i think it’s time to leave the plumbing to the experts,” you tease, taking the screwdriver out of his hands, “let’s bail on this floor and go cuddle on the couch; i’ll order some proper food.”

with just those words, he flashes you a bright smile, one that you know so well you could sketch it from memory. as he rises to his feet, he looks at you earnestly: “i meant what i said to seungkwan, you know,” he confesses, his voice softer than usual.

you take a brief moment to let his words and his sincerity sink in: “i know, baby,” you reply, your own voice matching his softness as you grab his hand to get up. “and that’s exactly how i feel too.”

his smile grows even bigger, relieved to see that you not only understand the depth of his love for you, but reflect it back to him as well. it’s all he’s ever hoped for, really — to find someone he could trust implicitly, someone he could pour all his love into, knowing it would be returned with the same intensity.

“we really are made for each other,” he states, giving you a proud nod as he pulls you close, arms wrapped around your waist.

“yeah, look at us. in love, both clueless about fixing that sink. perfect match.”

with a heartfelt laugh, chan gently rests his hand on your neck, pulling you closer for a kiss; the kind that lingers for a few more seconds than what you expected. just enough time for the both of you to think about how lucky you are to have found each other in this lifetime.

requests are open!

#can’t believe it’s my first time writing for dino i’m so ashamed #but it’s finally here!!!!!#dinonaras rejoice!!!!#seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #dino x reader #dino fluff #dino imagines #svt x reader #svt imagines #svt fluff

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alleiwentcrazy · 1 year

Text

Now with a part two!

There’s a guy that comes to the cafe Eddie’s working at. Every other day, he comes to the counter, smiles at Eddie and gives him a post-it with “hi, an americano with two sugars please :)” written on it. He has a different color of post-it assigned for every day. Eddie smiles back and makes the americano, trying to keep his heart from jumping out of his chest.

Needless to say, the guy is insanely cute. He has swoopy chestnut hair, droopy, almost puppy-like eyes, and two moles on his neck that make him look like he’s been bitten by a vampire. Eddie’s not sure if he finds it more adorable or sexy; either way, he’s definitely developed a crush. And now, after months of trying to gather up his courage to say hi, after months of pining and staring from afar... He’s still nowhere near ready to talk to him. And Chrissy’s not letting him live it down.

“You’re insufferable,” she whispers to him frantically when the guy comes through the door on the first Monday of December. “Do something more than smile dumbly or I’ll fire you.”

“You can’t fire me,” Eddie hisses back as he tries to dust pastry crumbs off of his shirt.

“I’m the manager. I can do whatever I want,” she chirps back and goes on to cleaning the machines that don’t need to be cleaned, because Eddie did that twenty minutes ago.

The guy comes to the counter. There are snowflakes in his hair, big and soft. Eddie thinks that they compliment his eyes—then he realizes that it’s a weird thing to notice about a stranger.

The stranger smiles. Eddie smiles back. Today’s post-it is light purple.

Eddie makes the americano. It’s muscle memory at this point, he’s not even thinking about what he’s doing until he has to force a lid onto the cup and serve it to his customer. Hell, whatever. He grabs a sharpie and bends down to drabble something on the cup, trying not to spill the coffee. He manages to draw an ugly looking snake that was supposed to be a dragon, cringes, writes “Have a nice day!” underneath it and prays that it isn’t too weird.

Of course it is. But, miraculously, the guy looks at it, huffs a tiny laugh and smiles right at Eddie and – yeah, whatever, curse him – the whole room lights up. Yes, it’s sappy. Sue him. He could be sappy for this guy—if the guy wanted it.

He takes his coffee and leaves, but before he crosses the threshold, he turns back and waves at Eddie, using only three fingers. It’s a small wave, but a wave nonetheless, so Eddie sends him his best grin and waves back.

When he’s finally out, Eddie bends over the counter and groans. Chrissy pats him between the shoulderblades, mocking sympathy. “You’re on probation,” she whispers. Eddie groans once again. This is hell.

***

He has to call in sick on Wednesday. Now that he’s thinking about it, he kind of knew that the mayo smelled funny and it wasn’t good anymore. But he’s a broke college student and he had a choice: stale bread with mayo and a slice of tomato, or just stale bread with a slice of tomato. These weren’t even real choices. It was suffering or suffering.

Apparently, he’d chosen double suffering, and he had a whole night of hurling to prove it. Good thing he doesn’t have to send Chrissy any photos of what he had to deal with – when he calls, she cuts him off with “Just take my afternoon shift tomorrow and we’re even. You’ll miss out on your cutie, it’s a punishment in and of itself,” and goes on with her day.

Eddie’s so grateful for Chrissy. He wouldn’t get anywhere without her.

***

Eddie doesn’t expect his guy to come on Thursday, it isn’t his regular schedule, so he’s in for a surprise when his morning shift ends and turns into Chrissy’s afternoon shift, and then, some time later, his guy comes in—and he’s not alone.

He’s with a girl. With a pretty, pretty girl, who has beautifully curly brown hair, inquisitive eyes and kind but determined expression on her face. There’s something quite unique about her; Eddie thinks, briefly, that she looks like she’s from another era. Like if they were living in the 80s, she would have a perm, wear bold lipstick and have a whole wall of degrees and certificates in her office. She seems to be destined for great things. She’s a badass.

Eddie’s nothing like her. He tries to swallow down the jealousy as they near the counter. His – his? – guy looks surprised, but smiles either way, his eyes lighting up in a matter of seconds.

“Hi,” the girl says. Her own smile is so nice and warm Eddie can’t stay mopey for too long. “I’ll have a latte with two shots of espresso, and…”

She turns to the guy beside her, but Eddie doesn’t have to know the answer. “An americano with two sugars. On it.”

Their eyes lock for a second. The guy seems a bit shy, but he’s still smiling. Eddie counts that as a win. But he’s still quick with their coffees. He can sense the staring contest they’re having even while he has his back turned to them. He kinda wants them gone, but they didn’t ask for to go, so he just tries to stay calm. Focused. Sharp.

Fortunately, he doesn’t spill anything. They get their order and sit in a corner. It doesn’t look like a date, they pull out books and notes, scribble and sign from time to time. The girl clearly knows more than just the basics of ASL, unlike Eddie. Since the guy started showing up, he’s been trying to learn more about it, but now he makes a mental note to enroll on a course. It’s time to commit – to what, exactly, he’s not sure. But he’s gonna make it happen.

Hours pass, but they stay in the same position. Eddie steals a glance every now and then, trying not to let his jealousy get to the surface again, but it’s hard. The guy is cute, the girl is smart and beautiful. He decides to call Chrissy on his way home – if he has to pine, she’ll suffer with him.

The end of his shift is nearing when he hears a giggle from the godforsaken corner. He looks up from the cups he’s been rearranging and sees that it’s his guy’s girl who’s laughing. She’s laughing at yet another girl, who’s standing outside and drawing hearts on the dirty window. She has a goofy grin on her face, one that makes her eyes and her prominent cheekbones pop even more, and it’s the same grin that the girl inside is wearing at the moment.

Now, Eddie doesn’t know a lot about love, but he definitely recognizes heart eyes when he sees them. He smiles to himself – don’t judge a book by its cover, huh?

His guy looks exasperated about being completely ignored, so he taps the glass a few times. The girl outside looks at him, shocked, like she’s only just seen him now, sticks out her tongue at him, and goes back to blowing kisses at her girlfriend. The guy looks truly wounded. Eddie snorts; the dynamic here is immaculate.

In the meantime, the not-his-guy's girl has gathered her things and prepared to leave. She kisses his cheek on her way out, but the guy stays put, bending over his papers again. Eddie thinks it’s quite interesting. Then, he makes a plan.

When he’s done with work, his guy is still there. Which is perfect. Eddie fixes his hair one last time, trying to gauge whether his outfit is metal enough (it is) for the occasion, and grabs the americano with two sugars he’s made.

It’s alright. Everything’s alright.

His wildly beating heart isn’t so sure about that.

When he gets to his guy’s table, he sets the piece of paper on it first. “Looks like you’re swamped – it’s on the house,” it says. The guy looks up, surprised, his mouth opened in a tiny oh. His eyes go wide for a moment and then he smiles. Something warm settles inside Eddie’s chest.

The guy picks up a pen and writes “Thank you!!!” on Eddie’s piece of paper, but before giving it back, he changes his mind. “I’m Steve,” he scribbles, and then gives it back with a flash of smile.

He smiles a lot. It’s an amazing sight.

“Hello, Steve. I’m Eddie. Nice to meet you,” Eddie replies. “What are you working on?” he adds after a second, because he’s feeling bold and he really doesn’t want to go yet.

The guy – Steve – sighs. He makes some room on the loveseat he’s occupying and pushes his books to the middle. Eddie takes it as a cue to sit down. Their knees bump, Eddie gets goosebumps, but he doesn’t move away. Neither does Steve.

“I’ve got an assignment on modern fantasy and its mythological origins, but I’m not as nerdy as my friends so I’m struggling a bit. Nance helped, but she’s not an expert either and my other nerdy friends went for a trip. Maybe you have any experience?”

Eddie’s eyes open wide and he bounces with excitement, nodding his head along the way. “YES,” he writes, all caps, and Steve huffs another laugh. They look at each other then, Eddie all hyped and ready, Steve—soft? There’s no other way to describe it. His gaze is gentle, almost caring. Eddie can feel his cheeks warm up.

His phone buzzes aggressively in his pocket. He checks it – it’s Chrissy. She’s got her period and she’s out of tampons.

“Shit,” he mumbles. Steve bumps their shoulders.

“What’s up?” he asks.

Eddie picks up the pen. “Tiny emergency, I’m sorry. Tomorrow?”

He knows that his hopeful stare must seem desperate, but Steve reads his reply, looks up and smiles, nodding. Eddie wants to scream victory, but he only nods back and gets up instead. When he’s about to turn and leave, he feels fingers wrap around his hand, delicate but firm. Slowly, Steve opens up his hand and writes something on it.

It’s a phone number. “In case you get sick again :)”

Eddie can’t hold back his dopey smile any longer. When he looks at Steve, the corners of his lips quirk up too. He’s lovely.

Eddie can’t wait for tomorrow.

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cordyce · 1 year

Text

BY YOUR HANDS ALONE

neteyam sully x gn!reader

notes: this is silly & overtly fluffy & all over the place if i am completely honest rn. neteyam is a little flustered & probably ooc. sorry :’)

"there you are."

"here i am," you mirror back instantly, hardly sparing a glance up at the far too familiar voice as your fingers continue to work at chopping up some vegetables. it's a busy day—a momentous day. there is no time to waste.

"let me help," neteyam offers, already making moves to steal your knife from you as he steps to your side.

but you weave it away from his grasp, nudge him back with your shoulder and point the knife at him as you address him. "aht, don't think so," you differ, then continue your slicing. "besides, don't you have your own tasks to get to, mr. mighty warrior?"

days like this require a lot of preparation; everyone chipping in and doing their part so that it all gets done and runs smoothly. if even one person slacks off, it could cause a rift in sanctified plans. and that simply wouldn’t do. no, it would not.

"i have completed all of them, actually," he retorts, but he shrivels when you narrow your eyes up at him. "okay, almost all of them."

you scoff, let your pupils meet your sockets with a roll as you pry the truth out of him. of course, one of the most important days of the year and it is now that neteyam chooses to have an irresponsible whim. you aren’t sure what you’re gonna do with him.

"your mother will have your tail if she finds one thing out of place for tonight, you know this." it isn't necessarily a warning, but there is some tip-off in your tone. "you must get everything done."

neteyam hums, leans his hip against the raised wood that you are using as a makeshift counter. he says nothing, simply watches you. takes into account how you dice up the vegetables in front of you diligently before sliding them to the side with your knife and moving onto the next ones. his stare is driving you crazy—no one works well under pressure, after all.

it causes you to have a slight blunder; a misstep. you cut a pattern a tad too fast and send a slice of root tumbling towards the ground. neteyam's instincts are superb, quick, and he catches it before it hits the dirt. mumbling a thank you under your breath as he places it back on the tray, you find the heir before you still not making a move to speak.

you aren't sure why it unnerves you so.

"what do you have left to complete?" it's not the question you want to ask, but 'what the hell do you keep staring at?' doesn't sound quite as nice. so you settle on it.

you take a pause, a breath, to turn to him. throughout the years you have seen the eldest sully child wear many expressions. ones tainted by smiles, irritation, pride, devotion—but this one has you tipping your head in the most peculiar way.

because timidness is not something you think you've ever seen don the strong features of neteyam sully.

he carries himself with such an air of confidence; shoulders pressed back and chin held high—not arrogant, but undaunted. he does not shift gaze unless he is avoiding scoldings and he does not suck in his cheek unless he is fighting frustration. so, you wonder, what could possibly have his face contorted in such a reticent manner. if you did not know any better, you’d almost call his demeanor a rendition of shy. but that seems rather uncharacteristic of him, doesn’t it?

"ah—are you sure you don't need help with that?" he's deflecting, brushing off your inquiry like he hasn't heard it. and you can't decide whether you find that amusing or concerning.

he's making way for your knife again and you twist your arm to hold it out of his reach behind you. you eye him carefully, flit your gaze all around him to pick up on anything that you can that would explain his behavior.

"tell me." it's not an order, you aren't demanding, but neteyam nods his head like he's respondent of such.

"my father told me i needed a, uhm," he stutters, licks his lips, like he's tripping over his own tongue. and it's undeniable the way you see his ears twitch. "for the celebration tonight. i need a.."

"a what, neteyam?" you press, cock your brow up at him. you don't think you've ever seen him like this. never witnessed him so.. "you need a what?"

"a.. date."

so fidgety.

"a date?" you repeat with widening eyes.

"no, no not a—not a date really but i need someone for the—“

"the staining ceremony.” you finish for him, continue his sentence because with all his blubbering you aren’t sure he’ll ever spit it out.

he nods curtly.

the celebration tonight is for all the young warriors who have proved themselves throughout the calendar year as being strong willed and great protectors of the clan. neteyam, of course, is one of them. has been since he earned the right to be titled as such. so perhaps it should have clicked in your head that he’d be searching for a partner for the staining ceremony portion of the night.

but a part of you—if you’re being completely honest with yourself—just figured he had one already. events like this take weeks of planning; most warriors find their artisan a fortnight in advance. because it cannot just be anyone.

the partner one chooses for the staining ceremony must be someone with whom they feel a connection. some of the older warriors choose their mates. some of the youngest choose their mother or father. some settle for siblings. others, in brazen acts of outstretched hands, choose a mate unbonded; one who they harbor feelings for but have yet to seal such in the eyes of Eywa.

you cannot lie and say you had not pondered over who neteyam’s choice would be. a part of you thought he would pick kiri—they have always been so close and she has been his partner for such ceremony before. but, you are not deaf to the murmurs of your village, you are not ignorant of what has been passed from mouth to ear of all that will listen. there have been other… prospects who have been suggested to neteyam for this special commemoration.

your name has not been among them.

“well,” you continue, tear your eyes away from him and get back to the task at hand. there is no need to dwell on such things and fall behind. you have just one more batch of greens after this to prepare then you will be done and can walk away from all this. “if you’re here to ask my opinion on who your choice should be, i’m not sure i will prove to be much help.”

a shut down; a cut off. you’d like this conversation to be over as soon as possible because it’s making your fingers itch. you’re offering him a gateway to close the topic off.

but he doesn’t seem to get the memo.

“no,” he chuckles, now, and you can tell he’s shaking his head out of the corner of your eye. it’s breathy; like he’s punched it out of his chest and finally broken past the barrier of whatever flusteredness had him trapped before. “that’s not why i came to find you.”

“if it’s to convince kiri to sacrifice herself to do it for you again this year, i’m not game for that either.” you don’t understand why his laughter leaves you agitated, why this whole situation has caused an odd twisting in your gut.

“that won’t be necessary,” he disputes, “i do not need kiri to be my partner this year.”

your fingers fumble, your slicing stutters. “oh?” and you want to kick yourself for how your voice hitches. you clear your throat, bite the corner of your lip that neteyam can’t see. “convince some other poor soul to do it for you? is it zuy’nik? i know she presented you a kill from her hunt recently.”

neteyam hums. “no. i have not chosen zuy’nik.”

you grip your knife harder, focus carefully on the blade as you chop down on a bundle of leaves. your throat is dry, your heart is thundering. you feel silly.

“sënuul, then?” you question, do your best to sound as disinterested as possible even though your chest is burning to know who could be lucky enough to have been picked by the heir himself. “i hear many young warriors wish for her. they say she has delicate hands.”

your hands—in contrast—have grown tense; your chops near erratic. being this worked up over a man who is not your mate seems so futile, so nonsensical. if your mother were here to see you now she’d call you childish.

but is it so childish to want things your heart yearns for?

“while that may be true,” neteyam agrees with the sentiment, and that makes your stomach lurch, “it is not sënuul either.”

“then who is it? who could you possibly—“

a hand covering yours has you cutting yourself off. neteyam’s palm melds over your knuckles; stops your unsafe cutting and stills your wrist’s movements. before you can even bring yourself to look at him, calloused fingers are hooking around your chin. swiveling your head around, you have no choice but to meet his gaze. and it is not averting, not twinkling with tepidness like it was before. you think, for a moment, that’s because he’s passed the feeling onto you.

“i do not wish for any other partner in this clan.” and his voice does not waver, does not stumble, now. you swallow as you listen. “i came here to ask if you would do me the honors, for tonight.”

your tongue feels like cotton; the fuzz of it floating to your brain to make everything go static. this is.. not what you had expected.

you had expected to follow neytiri’s orders for preparing the food for the meals that would be shared. you had expected to dress yourself in the ceremonial clothing and jewelry you keep for these special occasions. you had expected to stand around the edges of the circle during the opening dance, serve food to the elders, and sit with a content tight smile as you watched kiri declare neteyam’s war paint for the third year in a row before the true celebration began.

you had not expected yourself to be standing face to face with neteyam, ears twitching embarrassingly sporadic, as he asks you to join him in one of the most intimate and important events of a warrior’s life.

and you suppose you can use that element of surprise as the reason why you find yourself a tad bit speechless while you nod dumbly. a wide grin cracks across his face, curves up his cheeks as he lets out another breathy laugh.

“thank you,” he murmurs, and he still hasn’t let go of your chin. “i was worried i would not get the chance to ask you in time. i was pushing it, but i tried to get all my other duties done as fast as i could.”

now that, the mention of time, finally knocks you out of your little lovesick trance.

“hey, wait,” you huff, shove at his chest lightly with your free hand. “you should have asked me sooner! i should have already had your stain pattern planned out, and—and now i have to go get all of your paints and i didn’t factor in the time for that. you’re terrible!”

“ah, i’m not terrible. i am sure you can just wing it,” he waves off, simpers like this is funny.

“wing it?” you gape at him. because he genuinely cannot be serious. “this will be your war paint pattern for the rest of the year. if it’s bad then you will be stuck with it. you want me just to wing that?!”

“why not? i have faith in you, i’ve put myself into your hands.” and it’s meant to playful, you know this, but the way he’s looking at you proves his words hold their full weight regardless. “don’t be mad at me.”

“oh, i’m mad,” you retort, brush him away as you get back to slicing because now you really do not have the time for distractions. “i cannot believe you have waited until last minute.”

“would you like me to ask someone else?” he queries, and you whip your head over to level him with a glare. “i mean, i am sure sënuul would be honored to be the partner of the future olo’eyktan.”

“you know, i liked you better when you were sputtering and nervous,” you spit back, retract your attention once again. “terrible. truly terrible.”

“ah, do not be mad at me,” he levels again, “what can i do to have you forgive me?”

“nothing. you will never be forgiven.” with no hesitation, but also no malice. your bite holds no venom, and your cheeks are still warm. such hypocrisy you spew.

“nothing?” he questions, and you don’t even have to see his face to know he is smiling. there he is again; the neteyam who holds his chin up high and taunts his brother into mindless games to prove his worth. you admire this neteyam; love this neteyam.

this neteyam grabs your face and tugs you forward before you can think of another mindless rebuttal to spout.

the kiss is light but fervent, and if you were a poetic person you might just say that his lips taste like future promises you already intend to keep. the fight drains from your body and you find no urge to bring it back. this neteyam seems to know how to quell you, how to dispel your frustration and wipe away your grievances like fogged up glass. so easy, so effortlessly.

he pulls away languidly, breath puffing against your lips. "forgive me?" he asks again, and you find yourself nodding before he even finishes the question.

he turns your head to peck your cheek then drops his hands to finally successfully steal the knife still held in yours. you tip your head, blinking through the daze to inquire what he's doing.

"i can finish that, you know."

"i know," he answers, then flashes you a crooked grin that has your stomach twisting in a way far different than before. "but don't you think you should start planning how you want to trail your hands over me?"

and, oh. part of you wants to hit him for that. but part of you wants to tug him in by the neckpiece he dons and get him to shut up by an alternative method.

as you reach forward to run your hand ever so heedlessly up his chest, a faux illusion of planning your mapping, you think you might just settle on the latter.

likes & reblogs appreciated !

#this is for my sweet matcha first and foremost <3 i hope u like it !#also i TOTALLY made up this entire celebration thing LMAO #i jus thought it was a cool idea and super cute sooo #also. i rlly hope u don’t think neteyam is too ooc bc he is a bit. flustered here #BUT SJDHDN AHHH ENJOY #neteyam x you #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam drabble #neteyam fluff #avatar x reader #atwow x reader #atwow fluff #avatar fluff #neteyam sully fluff

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ivyppoison · 7 months

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five things you love about leon ( or your favourite parts of his body )

1. HIS HANDS

The warmth of his noticeably alternates with the season, his hands serving as a beacon of heat during the summer yet turning brittle and cold once the temperatures begin to drop ── however, you didn’t mind. Wholeheartedly. And if the calloused texture of his skin seemed to come into contact with your warm body, you’d gladly invite it, the radiance of your pure adoration for each other bound you together.

Whenever the pads of his fingers unconsciously ( or purposefully ) grazed your skin, the comforting feelings caused your spine to shiver, your body growing warm whilst he drew invisible shapes onto your skin.

It was always tender, however, the almost sinful nature of lust could easily accompany it when his hands gripped your thighs or when his fingers drew too close to where you undoubtedly needed him most, especially when you were nothing but needy.

2. HIS EYES

Blue. Deep blue eyes which gazed longingly and yearningly into yours. Deep blue eyes which could read you like an open book and changed with every emotion he felt, tucked into the pockets between his ribs. His sadness, and his anger; his fear, and his eagerness. His urge to hide away all of his flaws and weaknesses was simply seen through the ocean of his eyes. You were the sky, and all of his adoration was just a reflection of all that you had given him.

Your favourite memory, however, stained your mind like wine, the two of you in bed as his eyes flickered across your form. And when you felt them on you, you bore your eyes into his, studying every flicker of light or colour you could find, desperately drowning in the blue.

3. HIS CHEST

You had tried to repeatedly convince yourself that you weren't in love with his torso, yet whenever you placed your hand upon it, desperate to feel the beat of his heart against your skin, you were immediately reminded of your utter love for him. He lived, he lived for love, and he lived for you.

A pillow for your head, and the object of your desire.

You’d claim that your palm would simply gravitate towards it, but it gave you such a sense of comfort, you could never rid the feeling from your mind.

4. HIS LIPS

From the words he whispered into your ears, to the pure ecstasy that filled your veins whenever you kissed him, you could easily say that the soft touch of his lips against the skin of your body, was the most endearing thing. He’d trail the crook of your neck, peppering kisses where it was most sensitive. His lips would graze your ear or the crown of your head if he was behind you: such a feeling you’d long and yearn for every single day.

And when mere passion was needed the most, his incoherent mutters were nothing but poetry to your brain, leaving you speechless and only able to let out a flustered hum. You knew whenever the situation called for it, you were eternally fucked.

You’d be merely ashamed if you ever had to confess your love for his lips.

5. HIS ARMS

Leon had always wondered why you had such a deep fascination whenever he wore those god-blessed, skin-tight shirts, making you smile in curiosity, yet delight.

Whenever he held you from behind, his arm pressing against your body, you almost always would sink into his touch, hooking your hands onto his forearm in a way it seemed as if you never wanted to let go ── it was true.

You were desperate for him to wrap his body around him, especially whilst you slept, his arm acting as an anchor. Perhaps, an anchor of your whole desire for him.

Whatever you loved about him, you could simply fawn and fall head-over-heels in love with him, every single day.

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yuwuta · 3 days

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yuuta exhibits such previously abandoned, recently adopted dog behavior. incredibly anxious all the time, even though nobody’s out to get him or leave him behind. waits for you to return home or from school or from work excitedly, just to see you when you walk through the door. follows you around senselessly, hovering in your space just for the sake of companionship. initiates affection in prodding ways—starts off next to you, then a hand on your thigh, then deems it safe to lay all the way down, then slowly pushes his head into your lap. gets up whenever you need to get up, and resumes his position as soon as you’re ready. brings you gifts as a sign that he’s thinking of you, and maybe because he likes the affection it brings out in you, maybe because he likes the gentle affirming touches of a hand in his hair or a pinch to his cheek. rests his head on your stomach or his chin on your shoulder when he’s sleepy, stays there, immobile, and will not move unless absolutely necessary. sometimes he gets surprised when he hears you calling for him, there’s a moment of disbelief as he thinks “me? really? you need me?” but it’s very quickly overshadowed by this compulsive need to show up, to please, to do anything for you, which is why he always answers when you call. he doesn’t realize that he has puppygod eyes, especially when he’s excited or confused, but he does and it’s incredible endearing. very reluctant to share your space or attention after a while, considers that to be sacred and he won’t risk being let go or lost again, so as a safety precaution, he keeps himself right by you, waits for you always.

#atp i need to shut and write the omega verse fics that consistency plague my mind #but while im here time for my obligatory megumi mention bc i mentioned dogs teehee #yes megumi attack dog hes megumi grumbly yes megumi bark bark bite bite BUT BUT BUTTTT #megumi is also used to like... hm........ taming? having? caring for? people in his life and also literal (divine) dogs #so for him yes he bites and barks #but he also... he gets confused if YOU dont follow him around like a puppy bc everyone else in his life has so why not you?#gojo's always been the annoying yapping pomeranian chewing on his arm even if he didn't ask #always in megumi's space even tho he didn't ask but he learned to deal with it #won't admit it but knows that too much attention is better than having someone who couldn't give a shit about you #yuuji is the golden in everybody's life and megumi is no exception #unmovable unshakeable and incredibly addictive even if he doesn't mean to be #and very very attached to the people he cares about so yeah yuuji is loud and annoying but he's also loyal and megumi respects that so fine #nobara is like... she decided she liked megumi and was upset about it so she bit his ankle and he tried to kick her off but she has too muc #pride to get shaken off by someone as scrawny as megumi and somewhere along the way megumi became impressed that she was still there even i #it hurt a bit and she was a little rough it's not like he was worse so fine whatever she can stay too #so if you like... if you dont hover around megumi if you dont pry if you dont prod then he has to be the dog smh #now he's gotta bite for your attention and nudge you and how annoying. he's gonna keep doing it tho. as long as he has to #or until you learn to fall in line and accept your leash too whichever comes first n e way.... anyway.............#somebody's pampered omega always gets what he wants megumi complex is showing......#this was about yuuta right? ok i'll put his tags now....#juju #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader

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teddybeartoji · 2 months

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彡 A MASSIVE PILE OF GUILT

☆. contains: tooru oikawa x gn!reader; this is called angst i think (with comfort), reader plays volleyball and oikawa comforts them after they lost a match, reader talks badly about themselves:( i'm sorry, they swear they're just really really good friends but they're also just fucking stupid wc: 4k

in the blink of an eye the loud screams and cheers transform into a disgusting mix of muffled noises in your ears. the lights are too bright and you feel like you're stuck to the ground; stuck under hundreds pairs of eyes. you can't move, you can't breathe. your arm stings, a painfully clear reminder of your fuckup.

you should've had it, you saw it coming, you had a plan and yet - here you are, watching the colorfol ball hit the wall of the big arena with a quiet thud!. your eye twitches, locked onto the missed oppurtunity in a form a sphere sit metres away from you and your teammates.

because of you.

like a statue; turned into stone, you stand in your awkward position, unable to comprehend that it's over. that it's really over. it feels like everybody is looking at you, cursing you in their own heads. is this what drowning feels like? even if you could open your mouth to try and save yourself with a big breath of air, the stifling stench of losing would surely just make you choke harder.

a palm slaps onto your shoulder and you don't have to look at the person to know who it is – a dejected captain trying to pick up their loved teammates. you can't look at them; how could you? they're trying to cheer you up while you're the sole reason you lost in the first place. they give you a squeeze, a silent plea for you to snap out of it and you comply, not wanting to humiliate them any more.

you did well!

an arm around your shoulder, you're being dragged away from the court and you taste blood – the result of biting into the soft skin of your inner cheek in order to surpress a cry. the lights are too bright and you just want out.

after the handshakes and the formalities are done, your coach gives you all a pep talk. not that it helps but what else is there to say right now. you eat in almost complete silence; the only sounds in your ears being the chewing and the crying.

you've yet to do that. your lip wobbles and your eyes are red but so far, no tears. but you know you will – it'll be the only thing you'll be doing after you've locked yourself away into your room.

good game!

you feel sick. the food in your mouth is starting to taste like vomit and the water isn't helping either. still, you refuse to stop. refuse to raise your eyes from your table to ask whether you can leave. you will sit there as long as the others do and you won't complain. you will eat the food just like the others do and you won't complain. you don't get to do that.

the hugs feel just as suffocating as the eyes. you've never felt this bad in your whole entire life. you feel bad for thinking that the hugs feel suffocating – they're literally trying to comfort you and you're blatantly refusing it. stupid. stupid. stupid.

everyone has their own things they do after a loss. some like to be alone, some like to go for a run, some like to beat the fuck out of a punch bag and some like to do watch a comedy film with their teammates. it's silly; none of them laugh during it anyway. but it helps. you know it does because you've done it with them – not this time though. and they don't pressure you; they're not stupid, they understand how it feels. you need a moment and they will give it to you.

your captain does sit you down for a second before letting you go though, calmly telling you how it wasn't your fault and how you'll get it next time. and it sucks. it sucks that you don't hear it... it sucks that nothing will make this feeling go away. you know it and your captain knows it.

their warm hand resting on your back does soothe the shivers that have been tormenting you ever since you lost the ball. and for the first time since that moment, you crane your neck, raising your heavy head to meet their eyes and now you do feel like crying. the sadness is there, but so is the same warmth, the same adoration one has for their loved ones. nobody is upset with you, nobody blames you. their hand rises from your back and goes up to ruffle your hair as you let your head fall against their chest. "you're okay."

they hold you close as your tears soak their shirt. you hear a loud sigh and you know they're holding back theirs. the shivers are back and you hiccup out a broken i'm sorry, which makes the captain pull away immediately and grab your shoulders.

"don't. it wasn't your fault. it wasn't. you can cry as much as you want but that? you're not allowed to do that." there's a certain determination in their glassy eyes and you have no other choice but to weakly nod your head before letting it fall again.

"by the way, i saw you not eat properly, so i'm keeping an extra eye on you tomorrow morning, okay?" they poke your cheek and you're thankful. "i'm gonna watch the movie with the others but i'm keeping my phone close by, so if you want company at any time, just let me know."

you raise your head back up, desperate to show your appreciation for them and nod again, cracking the world's smallest and saddest smile and they ruffle your hair again before standing up. "you're okay."

they close the door behind them and you take a minute to compose yourself. you can't seem to stop your hands from shaking though and it makes you angry. your now empty room is too quiet and your own reflection in the window is taunting you with an ugly expression. is that really how you look like right now?

you don't wanna know and you don't want to keep looking at it either. so you grab your hoodie and your wallet and make your way to the lobby of the hotel. maybe the reflection in the vending machine won't be so mean.

and it isn't. it's not mean at all. it's the exact opposite actually. from the fact that it's staring at you with rather soft eyes to the fact that it's not your own reflection.

"good game, right?" you scare yourself with your own voice – already so harsh and raspy. it comes out mean and you wince. you tear your eyes from his, focusing on the sweet drink that's locked behind the glass instead.

oikawa is never this quiet and it makes you want to hit him. make a joke. just do it. just do it already. but he doesn't. his steps are quiet as he goes to lean on the vending machine. he's nothing if not observant; he sees your shaky hands pressing the buttons with so much effort; how the lips that are usually pulled into a beautiful grin he loves so much are now wobbling, ready to spill all of your sorrows. your clenched jaw as you try to avoid his gaze for whatever reason.

please, look at me.

the vending machine dings as the mechanics push your drink to you. his eyes are unforgiving and you know he means well. you know he's not gonna make fun of you, he's not gonna tease you – not now. but you still feel ashamed, whether he says the joke or not; the joke has already been made and it's right here, standing in front of a stupid pink vending machine.

your head shakes on it's own, casting shame on yourself on it's own. the drink falls with a loud thud! but before you can kneel down to get it, a hand on your wrist stops you.

his hand is so warm and it's unusual, considering he tends to be cold almost always. he doesn't push you and let's you take a deep breath before you raise your eyes to his.

if his heart wasn't shattered before, it sure is now. your eyes are red and glassy, but mostly tired, so tired. there's no glint in them, dull and sad. his hand slips from your wrist to your palm, intertwining his fingers with yours. "you did well."

your head falls back as you choke out a broken laugh. "oh, fuck off. i don't wanna fucking hear that. it makes me sick." staring at the ceiling, you shake your head again as if to rid of the words from your mind.

oikawa feels useless. he's been in your situation and yet, he can't think of anything good to say. he remembers how much he hated whenever people said that to him after their loss to karosuno. he tries to swallow the lump in his throat; everything he comes up with just makes him feel even more sick. he wants to cry because he doesn't know how to comfort you. how to make it all better.

"do you want me to stay with you?"

that's the best he can come up with. maybe just his presence will be enough when his words clearly aren't. but when you shake your head again, his heart sinks.

"that's alright. let's uh– ... tomorrow, yeah?" bringing your eyes down from the ceiling, you try to give him a reassuring smile that says i'm fine but it obviously doesn't work. you see the hurt in his eyes and you just feel bad. you feel bad for everything. you're upsetting people even off the court. you just can't help it can you?

"i'm good. i just need to be alone right now." you try again, squeezing his hand. his mouth opens but another voice cuts him off.

"oikawa!"

from around the corners emerges an angry looking iwaizumi. "here you fucking are. coach said it's bed time—"

when his eyes travel from his troublesome best friend over to yours, he swallows his words in an instant. you see the remorse wash over his face and you kind of want to laugh. it's all too funny in a fucked up way. "sorry for interrupting. hey, that was a really goo—"

good game!

he stops himself. fuck. what do you say in this situation?

"good game, i know. maybe next time it'll be a great one, hm?" the bitterness just oozes out of you without your consent, making iwaizumi wince. you feel bad.

pulling your hand from oikawa's, you kneel down to finally grab your nearly forgotten drink. "it's okay, really. i know what you mean."

another weak smile. a pathetic one. "see you at breakfast, yeah?"

oikawa shoving iwaizumi is the last thing you see as you're making your way back to your room. your hands still haven't stopped shaking and opening the door is so fucking hard. the key card slips from between your fingers—

breathe... in...

and out...

you kneel down and pick it up in slow motion as you're tunnel visioning on just getting inside the room. you hear the click! and you burst in, slamming the door shut. the ugly reflection is back and it's laughing at you and you can't do it anymore. your knees buckle from under you, hitting the soft carpeted floor as you weep. hunched over, you just look like a big pile of guilt.

clutching at your heart through your shirt, you cry and you cry, taking in raggedy breaths just to let out pathetic little sounds. everything hurts – your knees, your arms, your head, your eyes, your fingers, your legs, your inner cheek. you pretty much crawl to the bathroom, grabbing a handful of tissues before plopping right back down onto the floor. your nose hurts, too.

for almost an hour – you don't move from your spot, rooted and rotting into the carpet. it's pathetic. you think about how the others are watching the movie, shedding tears quietly but together, nonetheless. sick of your own actions, you push yourself up and change your clothes. you even manage to drink some water and wash your face in this half-alive state of being. a+ for effort, huh?

you bury yourself under the blanket, wishing the bed would swallow you whole instead. the tears have returned and you feel the pillow getting wetter and wetter by the second. you don't have it in you to grab another tissue though, letting the feeling of the soaked material remind you of your fuckup.

a floor and a few rooms away, oikawa can't stop pacing around. "but they said they didn't want me to go with them...."

"have you ever considered that people lie, idiot?" a tired iwaizumi replies from underneath his blanket on the bed. "especially in a situation like this. it's not like you were any better, you know."

oikawa just glares at him, although it's very hard for iwaizumi to take him seriously when he's wearing his matching plaid pj set. "but what if they get upset that i didn't listen to them?"

"but don't you wanna go and comfort them?" iwaizumi questions harshly. "don't you wanna be there for them? is your fear of overstepping more important than their well-being right now?"

oikawa thinks of your tired, sad eyes and his fingers twitch. "no."

"obviously, dick. go on, then. you have to be back for breakfast though or i'll punch you." iwaizumi states before turning away from his friend and disappearing completely under the blanket.

"you're so mean, iwa... can you not threathen to punch me every two seconds? i'm trying to be so good." oikawa mutters with a pout, grabbing his phone and his hoodie, ready to be your knight in shining armor. knight in plaid pyjamas more like.

"just go already." his friend grumbles and oikawa gifts him a small bye-bye as he's already halfway out the door. the next thing he knows, he's sprinting through the hallways, thanking himself in his head for making you tell him your room number the second he saw you this morning. he doesn't even take the elevator, instead taking triple steps up the stairs. he's also thanking himself for becoming an athlete.

knock! knock! knock!

dismissing that as just a noise from the room next door, you continue your sniffling but when the knocks repeat in a faster manner, you figure one of your teammates had forgotten their key card. so, ever so slowly you push yourself from the comfort of your bed and head over to the door while trying to wipe the tears from your eyes as to look at least a little bit more composed. you're even ready to crack a joke about them losing the card, desperate to disctract the person behind the door from yourself.

but it's not any of your teammates, nor is it your manager of your coach.

it's your oikawa instead – eyes wide open and slightly panting. "you said you don't want me here but i– fuck, how many steps can be between one floor..." he clutches his hand over his chest, the stupid comment slipping out all on its own.

for a millisecond, for a fraction of time, the corners of your lips turn upward but they fall just as fast back down, leaving you both just standing there, staring at each other.

your eyes look way worse now; way more red, way more tired, way more sad, way more dull than a mere hour ago. he should've come here sooner and he imagines iwaizumi slapping the back of his head for his mistake.

"you said you wanna be alone but i don't care."

his blunt statement catches you a little off-guard, your eyebrows furrowing but oikawa just takes it as a green light. if you didn't want him there, surely you'd tell him that right away but you've been standing here with him for a almost half a minute and nothing.

he takes a step, closing the distance between the two of you. he pushes his glasses up on his nose and fiddles with his own fingers and it's weird again. he's nervous. but this isn't about him – it's about you. whatever he's feeling right now is nothing compared to what you're feeling and he just wants to be here for you.

for a second time today, he watches your bottom lip wobble and your chest rise as you take short sharp breaths. and for a second time today, a pair of eyes feel actually comforting. he's not trying to burn you, he's not trying to take back time and alter your actions. he's merely observing instead of dissecting. he's ready to catch you when you fall.

and you do. it's hard not to when he's standing in front of you and looking at you so fondly. your head falls against his strong chest, hands tucked between your bodies as his firmly wrap around you. he takes another step inside and closes the door behind him with his foot.

he listens to you cry into him, he feels your tears on his shirt and through it, on his skin. your hands grasp onto the material, bunching it up in your fists and he just holds you tighter against him.

"you're gonna win next time, i promise" he murmurs.

but when you just sob out a but i wanted to win this time, his heart aches so bad he thinks he's going to die.

oikawa curses at himself for walking right into that one and this time he swears he feels iwaizumi slap the back of his head for real. but he has no time to pity his poor choice of words when he feels your hands clutching at him just where his heart is.

he whispers a quiet i know and you sniffle again. he starts drawing soothing circles onto your back with his palm and he feels so warm. releasing his shirt from your hold, you snake your hands around his body instead, burrowing your face even more into his chest and you faintly hear him coo. it's the first time ever that he's done it in a genuine way and it's the first time you haven't felt the need to punch him for it.

his hand rests on the back of your head, keeping you in your place as he gently sways the both of you from side to side. "i got you."

after some time, he feels you going slack against him and decides to guide you to the bed. he climbs in with you and safely tucks you into the crook of his neck and lets you cry some more as he whispers it's okay against your temple. he just hopes that he's actually helping, that his words actually have an effect. god, he hopes he's making it at least a bit better for you.

he is. he's doing more than he could ever imagine. the thick goo of guilt and shame seems to be draining out of you when you feel his lips brush against your skin. he just might be washing the it off of you with his quiet praise. his words don't sound condescending nor do they sound fake. he means it when he says that you really did do well.

the tears have dried by now and oikawa can feel your eyelashes fluttering against his neck. the long tiring day is finally catching up to you as your breathing slows. he rests his head on top of yours and presses your body indifinitely closer to his. the tips of his fingers dance across your skin, drawing little circles and hearts as he soaks in the sight of you relaxing against him under the moonlight.

"did..."

your meek voice makes him crane his neck back so he can look at you better, ready to hear out whatever complaint you have, ready to comply to whatever request you have.

"did iwaizumi send you?"

...

"WHAT?" it comes out way louder and in a way higher pitch than he'd intended it to. he immediately clears his throat but his eyebrows are still furrowed. "i wanted to come here, why would you say that..."

he still can't see your face clearly from this angle but the way your body moves, is telling him that this isn't you crying anymore. this is you laughing.

"are you– are you fucking laughing at me right now?" he questions, trying to pry you from his neck to confirm his suspicion. and he's fucking right. when you finally unlatch yourself from his body and roll onto your back, you have the tiniest, smallest smile on your lips and oikawa's mouth falls slack. "i wanted to come! i– i'm a good friend!"

it shouldn't be this funny. it really shouldn't because he is a good friend, isn't he? he's here now, holding you, comforting you; he came to you and you're now making fun of him. but you can't help it, the thought of iwaizumi "lecturing" him is silly in this moment. not that you doubt that he came here only because of that, of course. but knowing him, you just think he probably needed a push to actually do it.

oikawa holds himself up above you, observing the small freckles that adorn your face. your eyes are still red and still tired but... the small little glint is back. the same one that's always there when you make fun of him. or when you laugh.

"i literally ran here and this is how you treat me?"

"you're telling me it took you an hour to run up the stairs? i thought you were a volleyball player, shouldn't your stamina be better–" you poke at his chest (right where his heart is) and he lets out a very loud and a very dramatic gasp. "or did your boyfriend have to convince you to come over and console me?"

oikawa's lips tilt into a smirk, happy to hear you barking at him at last. "first of all, don't ever call him my boyfriend ever again–" he situates himself next to you, so his both hands are free. you should've seen this coming, too. "and second of all, you really oughta treat me better."

before you can taunt him with a good old "or what?", his hands are tickling your sides, fingers dancing along your skin as laughter bubbles up from your throat. you try to fight him off, hands clutching onto his in order to stop his torment but to no avail.

"i am... trying... to be.... a good... friend... and this is... what i get... huh..." he rasps as he continues soaking in the sound of your laughter.

"you're.... always... in it for something... that's not... a... real friend... tooru..." you breathe back with a grin and he stops. he doesn't take his hands off of you though, just resting them on your waist.

"you're spending way too much time with iwaizumi, you're both just so mean to me." he's pouting. oikawa is sitting back on his legs and he's actually pouting.

"am i gonna have to console you now?"

"yes." he deadpans.

...

you push yourself up onto your elbow and lean up to boop his nose. "you're stupid."

"no, you're stupid." he grins back.

he has his ways of getting you out of a slump, he always has. him sitting here on your tiny little bed, pouting and laughing is only merely of them. you couldn't wish for a better friend. his hands feel so warm on you and you're so grateful. sitting up, you slap your hands on his shoulders (which of course, makes him wince in a very over the top way). "thanks for coming, tooru."

he rolls his eyes. "pffft."

...

pfft?

"excuse me?" you glare at him and he decides that you and iwaizumi can never hang out ever again.

"i– i meant– yeah, of course. anything for you." he stutters out as you keep glaring at him. he then leans in closer, so much so that your noses are almost touching. "i'm really proud of you, you know."

heat crawls up from your neck and you feel the tips of your ears warm up, overwhelmed by the sudden genuine praise. but you can't let him have the upper hand. not now, not ever. he'll never let you live it down.

"your breath stinks, you know."

his eyes close with another incredibly dramatic sigh as he rests his forehead against yours but while doing so, he takes notice of your hot skin and the way you giggle, and translates it into your language –

thank you.

136 notes · View notes

creamhoodie · 10 months

Text

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ Internet Cafe Love ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

synopsis: The white haired boy who regularly visits the same internet cafe as you becomes your boyfriend but can your relationship survive when his best friend seems distrustful of you?

warnings: 7,915 words (long one shot with multiple settings),Nagi X female reader, gamer Nagi, per fluff no smut since it is written while he attends high school still.

You had often noticed the white haired boy at the internet cafe as he seemed to go nearly every night the way you did.

While you also brought projects and subjects to study on the side when you were taking a break, you noticed he never took breaks, the clicking of the keyboard and mouse were constant companions. This had led to you bringing your own noise canceling headphones that were much more soundproof than the gamer ones that came with the PC set at the cafe.

That was your current situation, headphones in practicing a new writing style of kanji when you felt a light tapping on your headphones. You glanced up and towering over you was the white haired boy. He wore an oversized gray sweatshirt and black sweatpants. You moved your headphones around your neck.

“Did you need something?” You asked, meeting his gray eyes.

“Do you have any money?” He asked straightforwardly.

“Money? What for?” You asked, looking him up and down again. He didn’t seem in need based on his lounge outfit and you now noticed the light up rainbow keyboard he had under his arm. It had gone unnoticed before since his tall domineering figure was the main spectacle.

“Lemon tea. I wanna buy one from the vending machine but I’m low on money because I spent it all on this and the gacha games on my phone,” he said motioning to the keyboard.

You raised a brow at not only his abruptness but also his poor money management. You had some cash on you but weren’t too keen on giving it up since you planned on getting food at your favorite food stand after you left the cafe.

“Well I don’t have any money,” you said.

“Bummer,” he replied, not sounding convinced as he plopped down in the spot next to you and began removing the default keyboard and setting his own up to the PC.

You bit the inside of your cheek, chewing on it a little to hide your annoyance. Now he was gonna be right next to you making all this noise.

“Do you really have to sit here?” You asked.

He looked over at you as the PC booted up, his gray eyes seeming slightly hurt.

“Is that a problem?” He asked. The way he asked made you feel guilty. Yes he was a bit eccentric and odd but so far he was harmless.

“No it’s fine,” you said. By now your kanji was forgotten and you watched as he opened a first person shooter game and signed into his account.

“God of soccer?” You teased regarding his gamertag.

“Oh yeah I’m on the soccer team at Hakuho High School,” he said.

This guy went to the elite prep school? He didn’t seem like the type. You yourself were in the neighboring public school.

“I wasn’t aware Hakuho had a team,” you stated as he loaded into a game.

“My friend Reo and I started the club up so we’d have a team to go to nationals.” His focus was now on his game however as he had chosen a sniper character. You watched as he hit every headshot. He was eerily good at the game and you didn’t miss how match chat came up with the enemy team accusing him of using aimbot. When his team won the game he exited the queue and remained on the menu and looked over at you as he had been aware you were watching the whole time.

“You’re really good, how long have you played that game?” You asked.

“Just a few months now,” he said, shrugging.

“And you aim that good already?” You asked in disbelief. You weren’t half bad yourself and had always considered your aim to be impressive but his was godly.

“I grew up playing first person shooter games,” he said as if it was no big deal. He glanced at your notepad before adding, “what’s with the studying?”

You blushed.

“I alternate between studying and gaming,” you answered his question.

“No, I mean I see you studying here all the time even when it’s not exam season,” he said. So he had noticed you before as well? That was to be expected as you were both regulars.

“I just like to study consistently,” you replied. He made a face and you added, “you don’t? You go to Hakuho, surely that’s more rigorous than my public school.”

“Well sure but I just study a few days before the exams. Hey, are you sure you don’t have any money? I could really use that lemon tea.”

His delivery made you wanna laugh. He was easy going and charming all without meaning to be and yet he was still odd, you hadn’t ever met anyone like him before.

“I'm still thinking about it. Do you have a name or is it just god of soccer?” You asked.

He chuckled.

“My name is Seishiro Nagi. What’s yours?”

“Y/N Y/LN,” you replied, telling him your first and last name as well.

“Nice,” he replied, “you wanna play some games?”

The two of you were duos on the same team with him playing the sniper character again and you his support offering him both damage boosts and heals. Between both of your combined skills and efforts the two of you went on an eight game win streak.

An hour of gaming had gone by even though it didn’t feel like it and the two of you decided to call it quits.

“So Y/N,” he started.

“No about the lemon tea,” you joked. He shook his head.

“Forget about that. I have a home game tomorrow at my school in the evening. The match starts at two. You should come,” he said. You noticed the slight pinking of his ears when he said it.

“I’ll try to go,” you said. You did enjoy playing with him even though originally you had felt slightly annoyed by his presence.

“You should, our school’s marching band is gonna be there too for the first time,” he said. He finished unplugging his keyboard and putting the original one back and stood up. He scrolled through his phone quickly before adding, “will you be back online tonight? Maybe we could play some more too.”

You felt your heart somersault at how he sounded hopeful.

“I may but I’m not sure I don’t usually play late.”

“Bummer. Hey Y/N?”

You prepared to be asked about the damn lemon tea again.

“What?”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” He asked shyly.

“No I don’t.”

“Good keep it that way. I’ll see you online tonight,” he said quickly before waving bye and taking off.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You were back home in your room that night freshly showered and sitting on your bed getting ready to settle in for the night and watch TV.

You heard a notification from your PC and received the notification on your phone as well through the gaming app.

It was Nagi using the whisper feature where you could message online friends direct messages.

GodOfSoccer: get on

You smiled at his eagerness.

SleepyKoala: Kinda don’t want to I’m tired

GodOfSoccer: don’t care I wanna play with you

SleepyKoala: Nagi we played so much today

GodOfSoccer: true well are you coming to my game tomorrow?

SleepyKoala: Yes

GodOfSoccer: WOHOO LETS GOOO

GodOfSoccer: forgot to say earlier cute gamertag

SleepyKoala: Thanks :)

GodOfSoccer: give me your number

You did and not even a minute went by before you got a message from him. It was a plushie of a koala on his desk next to his PC monitor. You also caught a view of the rainbow keyboard from earlier. You created a contact ID for him and added a koala emoji to the end of his name.

You: Cute plushie

Nagi: he says thank you. I’m gonna game a bit I’ll see you tomorrow

You: see you

You then settled at last to watch more of the Netflix show you were currently binging until you lulled to sleep.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The next morning you woke up at noon having slept in later than you would have liked. After doing your morning routine and eating, you made your way to the supermarket to buy a lemon tea for Nagi.

You hadn’t been able to ignore the butterflies that you had gotten thinking about him. You had checked his online status and had noticed he had stayed up until one in the morning gaming.

Supermarket mission successful, you began to make your way to Nagi’s high school. You had timed your schedule perfectly so the metro would arrive at 1:30 giving you enough time to head to the stadium before the game started. Your outfit of choice was casual with a tote bag to hold the lemon tea and your noise canceling headphones though you doubted you’d need them.

Arriving at the school on time you couldn’t help but notice how much more expensive everything seemed. You knew it was an elite academy but as you followed the crowd into the stadium you noticed just how much the school invested into its extracurriculars.

“Y/N!”

You turned around and there was Nagi coming up to you.

“Hey Nagi,” you replied feeling slightly shy from your flirtatious exchanges with him.

“You like the stadium? Reo’s dad is this mega rich guy and he donated the funds and manpower to build it. He doesn’t care for soccer but he frequently donates funds to the school for them to use for whatever purpose they’d like.”

You nodded. He looked handsome in his soccer uniform, the black jersey, shorts and black socks contrasting against his white hair and skin.

“Oh before I forget, since you kept asking yesterday,” you said, taking the tea bottle out of the tote bag and giving it to him. That made him laugh in glee.

“Thanks for this,” he said gratefully.

“Nagi! We need to warm up!” A purple haired figure shouted as he ran over. When he caught up to where the two of you were his equally purple eyes were distrustful of you.

“Reo. This is Y/N. Remember I told you about her?” Nagi said.

So this was Reo? His suspicious eyes took you all in.

“Yeah I remember. Nice to meet you,” he said but his words didn’t match his tone or expression.

“Nice to meet you too. Nagi’s talked a lot about you as well,” you said and you noticed that did soften his eyes a bit if not fully.

Nagi seemed oblivious.

“Y/N, if you sit there you’ll have a good view of me,” he said pointing to a specific section before continuing, “and I want you to look at me not any of these other guys.”

His words sent a jolt of heat between your legs and to your face but you simply nodded and assured him you’d be watching him.

“Nagi,” Reo scolded impatiently, “we have to warm up.”

“Alright alright,” he said following him but yelling back to you, “stay after. Text me if you can’t find me.”

You headed to the section he had designated would have the best view of him.

Throughout the game Nagi had lived up to his gamertag. He truly was a god of soccer. He was lightning bolt fast his legs moved just as fast as you had seen his fingers were capable on the keyboard.

He also worked incredibly well with Reo. They were a dynamic duo on the field and the passes between them were strategic.

When Nagi had scored a goal he had looked directly at you and pointed, unmistakably claiming it had been for you.

His team was in the lead right now and you hoped it would remain that way.

During the halfway break, you waited eagerly waiting to see him again. When they came back his eyes searched for you instantly and met yours sending you a sweet smile. As expected his team won and you cheered happily for him. As others started leaving the stadium you waited for him afterwards like he had asked you to.

You didn’t have to wait longer than ten minutes. He was racing towards you, changed clothes, freshly showered and his gym bag over his shoulder. To your dismay you noticed Reo tagging along behind. It’s not that you didn’t like him, you just didn’t understand his scowls and distrustful attitude toward you.

“Y/N! Did you like the game?” He asked, standing in front of the railing of the seat you had remained at.

“I did. It was so great seeing you score,” you said.

“I wanted to score for you,” he said, his cheeks turning pink. “Hey Reo and I are gonna go get something to eat. Do you wanna come?”

Your eyes dashed to Reo a second after Nagi asked the question and you could tell he was exasperated.

“That’s okay I think I’m just gonna head home,” you said softly.

Of course you wanted to spend time with Nagi but you couldn’t risk Reo disliking you even more after all he is Nagi’s best friend his opinion must count for something.

Nagi, still oblivious to all this, furrowed his brows in confusion.

“Okay. Well when can I see you again?” He asked. He seemed hurt that you weren’t coming.

“I’m free tomorrow. Maybe text me later and we can come up with something,” you offered, not feeling comfortable under Reo’s purple gaze.

“Okay I will. Thanks for coming, it really means a lot,” he said, giving you a sideways hug now as you stepped down from the bench you had been sitting at. He towered over you and he smelled incredibly good.

“You’re welcome. I enjoyed every minute of it.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“So how long have you and Reo known each other?” You asked as you took another mouthful of ramen. When you had gone home yesterday you had gotten caught up on school work and chores. Nagi had texted you at night and asked if you wanted to play some games to which you had agreed. Somewhere between steam rolling the enemy teams and playing silly custom games in the arcade he had suggested going out for ramen and boba the next night.

Now as the two of you sat in the restaurant’s outdoor patio seating with red paper lanterns illuminating the night sky you were interested in knowing more about his best friend who didn’t seem to take to you.

“Not too long. I met him here at school probably six months ago,” he replied.

“He seems very fond of you,” you said.

Nagi shrugged.

“Reo got me into soccer and I have him to thank for that. Before him no one really talked to me at school.”

This surprised you. He was good looking and charming, sure a bit strange and had his quirks but he was friendly and good company.

“Really? Not even girls?” You teased.

“Especially girls,” he joked back. His gray eyes were looking at you softly. It gave your stomach butterflies. Lately it seemed like all he did was either give you butterflies or make you belly laugh. His hand reached out to lift your chin up so you were forced to meet his gray gaze head on.

“You always look away from me when you notice me looking at you. You never look at me for too long,” he said in a gentle tone.

“I don’t mean to on purpose,” you said trying to be casual although the thumping of your heart was a great contrast to the calm you were trying to portray.

“I like when you look at me and when you watch me play video games and soccer,” he said, inching closer to bridge the gap between the two of you as you sat on opposite ends of the table.

Was he going to kiss you? It seemed like that was his intention. You wanted to kiss him but worry and concern and feeling Reo’s stinging rejection you pulled your chin from his hand and looked away. When you glanced back at him he wasn’t looking at you for once but looking down at his lap with clear hurt in his eyes.

“I thought you liked me too,” he said with embarrassment coloring his voice. You couldn’t take him thinking you were rejecting him, not when he was perfect and sweet and everything you could ever want.

“I do like you!” You said.

“Then why won’t you let me kiss you? I want to so badly,” he asked in desperation.

“Reo-“ you started but he didn’t let you finish.

“Oh,” he said, sounding deflated, “do you like him or something?” It was obvious he was trying to sound nonchalant but jealousy threatened to burst through.

“No no I don’t. I mean I don’t dislike him. He’s your best friend so I don’t have anything against him. I just don’t like him in the way I like you,” you stammered. His response had thrown you off completely because it was the last thing you had expected him to say.

“You don’t like him? Lots of girls do because his dad is that rich guy and girls think Reo is good looking,” Nagi said.

“No, I don't see him that way. I like you,” you said, face flushing at your confession.

“I’m confused. What does Reo have to do with you not letting me kiss you then?”

“It’s just. Reo doesn’t seem to like me. He looks at me as if he’s distrustful and suspicious,” you said.

Nagi instantly relaxed and laughed.

“Oh that’s just how he is. He’s very overprotective of me. It’s nothing personal he’ll grow out of it once you’re around more,” he said.

While Nagi’s words assured you, you still found the whole bit a little odd but maybe that was just their friendship. Maybe Reo saw Nagi as a brother he looked out for. You decided to focus on the latter part of his sentence.

“Once I’m around more?”

At this he reached out across the table taking your hands in his.

“You know how I asked you if you have a boyfriend?” He asked playfully.

“Yes it wasn’t that long ago Nagi,” you replied.

“Well I want to be your boyfriend,” he said. He looked at you from under his long eyelashes, his gray eyes so sweet and vulnerable.

“Well I don’t know this guy at the internet cafe told me to not go getting a boyfriend,” you teased.

“What a little prick he probably wants you for himself,” he went along with your joke.

The two of you laughed before he spoke again,

“Can I be your boyfriend? I promise to be good.”

“Yes you can be Nagi,” you replied.

“Awesome. Can I kiss you now?” He asked practically whining.

“Yes Nagi,” you laughed but your lips were soon overtaken by his. The kiss was sweet and made your head spin.

You wondered if this is what it meant to be on cloud nine.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Your routine for the past few weeks had become Nagi centered.

You continued to go to the internet cafe regularly. In fact that’s where you spent the most time with Nagi since you still went to different schools. You would go watch him practice and go to his games, he had even given you one of his jerseys to wear and he was strict about you wearing it to each match. You’d stay up on video chat with him as well and watch as he streamed his games for you when you were too tired to play with him yourself.

As for Reo, there wasn’t any progress to be made there as the two of you were still virtually strangers but at least his scowling had toned down.

“I wanna see you more often,” Nagi said, his lips kissing the top of your hair as you hugged him bye at the end of practice.

“We see each other nearly everyday, Nagi,” you laughed. However he did have a point since the majority of the day you were at different schools you only saw him in the evenings at the internet cafe, at his practice, or when he had games on the weekends. You were also busy studying a lot of the time as well and still not feeling comfortable enough to hang out with him and Reo who was often around.

“Why don’t you stay over this weekend?” He asked but was trying to hide the shyness he felt from asking.

“You mean like at your dorm?” You asked.

“Yeah, why not?” He shrugged.

You thought about it, you were so comfortable with him you didn’t have any objections and most of all Reo wouldn’t be there.

“Sounds like a plan.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“This is Choki,” Nagi said, motioning to a little cactus in a pot on his desk. You had your travel bag with you around your shoulder and had taken the metro to go to Nagi’s dorm in the late evening.

He had met you at the stop and walked you back to his room.

“It’s very cute,” you said. He was eye level with the cactus smiling at it.

“He is very cute not it,” he replied defensively.

“Yes he is cute,” you corrected, continuing to look around his room.

For a dorm room it was quite spacious but that was to be expected of the elite school. His bed was made and neat with a plush dinosaur throw blanket folded neatly on the comforter. He had a television in his room on a stand next to his desk where his PC was. His PC setup consisted of the rainbow keyboard and the koala plush and Choki next to it, and a gaming chair. He also had a mini fridge with a magnet holding up a photo of Reo and him that was taken on a Polaroid camera. Towards the entrance of the room there was a sink and mirror and the toilet was secluded in a cupboard-like closet separate from the full walk-in closet that held his clothes. The room was illuminated blue from the LED lights he had.

“What do you think of my room?” He asked tentatively as he watched you inspect the place.

“I like it. It seems very comfortable and clean,” you replied.

He let out a sigh of relief.

“Good because I cleaned it before you came over. I’m not a slob or anything but I can get disorganized because I procrastinate,” he explained.

You nodded but felt yourself blushing as now the full prospect of being alone with him was setting in.

“You wanna watch a movie?” He asked.

“Sure,” you replied.

He grabbed the remote and laid back on his bed, kicking off his shoes while doing so.

“You can lay down you know,” he teased watching as you stood there. You followed his lead and also took off your shoes, dropping your overnight bag on the floor and laid down next to him. Gently he brought you closer to him, wrapping his arms around you and kissing your hair. He flicked through movies on the streaming service.

“Do you have a preference?” He asked.

“We can watch whatever,” you replied. He chuckled.

“You’re not helping here,” he teased but then settled on an animated movie about animals. He started the film and then put the remote down, his arms still holding and caressing you.

“Is this okay? I want you to be comfortable with me,” he asked. You could hear the vulnerability in his question however and knew that it would hurt him if you didn’t want him to touch you. Fortunately, you did enjoy his comfort and warmth. He felt like a bear hug.

“It’s okay I’m comfortable like this,” you assured him.

You watched the movie intently but your heart still pounded in excitement from his closeness and you wondered if he could hear it.

He watched the movie as well, occasionally peppering kisses into your hair or chuckling when he found something funny. It was peaceful and not awkward in the slightest. You enjoyed this comfort only Nagi could bring. If it were any other guy you’d worry about his intentions but when Nagi said watch a movie and spend time with you he meant it, not trying anything else besides cuddling.

Towards the end of the movie you heard slight snoring and looking up you saw Nagi had fallen asleep. He looked more boyish when sleeping. You watched the rest of the movie and when it finished you turned the tv off. Nagi was still fast asleep but you didn’t mind, taking it as a sign that he felt comfortable around you. Ever so carefully you moved out of his arms and went to brush your teeth using his sink. You then used his walk in closet to change into your oversized tee and shorts for sleeping. When you came back you saw Nagi blinking in confusion from having woken up.

“I thought you left,” he said sadly.

“No Nagi, I was just changing. You fell asleep towards the end of the movie.”

“Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” he rushed to get his words out but you were quick to assure him.

“It’s okay, I thought it was sweet. I didn’t wanna wake you but I already brushed up for bed.”

He looked you up and down in your pajamas and his eyes softened. He repositioned himself so he was now laying in the bed underneath the sheets and blankets.

“Come snuggle with me. It felt so good having you in my arms.”

You obeyed his words and got into bed with him facing towards him. His eyes looked at you lovingly.

“I love having you here. I got up early today to clean my room and make sure everything was perfect. That’s partly why I fell asleep but most of it was because of you. Cuddling you and smelling the nice scent of your hair was so relaxing.”

His way of declaring loving and saying things so openly with his childlike innocence was so endearing to you. Other guys were much more guarded and wouldn’t admit such things out of fear of vulnerability but Nagi just said what he always thought.

“I love being here with you Nagi, you make me feel so safe,” you replied truthfully.

He pouted a little.

“You know you can call me baby or honey or anything you want,” he said.

“Okay baby,” you said, giggling a bit. It was still new and felt a little strange coming out of your mouth.

“Hey what’s funny?” He asked before adding: “you’re my baby and I’m yours and that’s that.” He pulled you closer to him as you laughed.

“You’re right baby, you’re so needy,” you joked.

He pouted again but it didn’t last long because he kissed you nice long and slow. He tasted so good like mint and just Nagi, his ocean breeze scent intermingling with the kiss. Your hands felt his soft white hair as you kissed and he moaned a little into your mouth.

When your kiss broke you gazed at each other.

“You mean everything to me,” he said, cupping your cheek. You curled up closer in his arms so he could snuggle you again how he had loved.

“You mean so much to me too,” you told him. He yawned.

“I wanna sleep with you again, it felt so good. This feels so good, but don’t get any ideas. I brushed my teeth before you got here,” he said.

That made you belly laugh and swat him a little in laughter.

“What? It's true I always brush my teeth right before I see you. I want you to like me,” he said innocently.

“I do like you,” you said. In fact you were starting to think you more than liked him and as you both dozed off to sleep you heard him say the words you had been thinking out loud and it was the last thing you heard before being overtaken by sleep.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“I’ll be here waiting,” you told Nagi as he ran off towards the locker rooms to change for practice.

This morning you had woken up completely entangled and cuddled into him. His long legs had interlaced yours and after very prolonged kisses and cuddles you had gone out for miso soup for breakfast at a little restaurant nearby then returned to the high school campus for his practice.

“I was almost starting to think he wasn’t gonna show up,” a voice said behind you. You turned around and Reo was standing behind you on the field already dressed in his uniform for practice.

“Reo, where did you come from?” You asked wondering how the two of you hadn’t noticed him on the way in.

He ignored your question and you felt small under his violet intense eyes.

“You know Nagi is never late for practice. He’s usually here early with me,” he said in an accusatory tone.

“Yeah sorry about that it’s just-“ you stammered but he cut you off.

“It’s just you were with Nagi last night and because of that he was thrown off routine this morning,” he finished for you. By now you felt yourself growing frustrated with him. You didn’t know him and he didn’t make any effort to know you, your only mutual connection was Nagi and he seemed hell bent on disliking you.

“Reo what is your problem with me?” You asked out of genuine curiosity and frustration.

He seemed more than happy to tell you.

“My problem is that ever since you’ve come into Nagi’s life he’s been changing. It all started with him wanting to spend more time at the internet cafe and when he told me it was because of some girl I knew it would become a problem,” he said.

Nagi had been spending more time at the internet cafe not to play games but because he had wanted to see you? He had noticed you before he had even spoken to you and liked you? If it weren’t for this confrontation with Reo now you’d relish in that fact more.

“How is it a problem? We’re not doing anything wrong,” you said in an effort to defend yourself.

“Maybe not, but Nagi isn’t like other guys, surely you’ve noticed that. He wears his heart on his sleeve and he’s a good guy. I don’t need you hurting him when he’s already changing for you,” he said.

“Changing how?” You said not fully understanding.

“He’s more motivated. Before you I had to do everything for him because he thinks everything is a hassle. He showers after every game now because he knows you’re there waiting for him, he cleans his room because he knows you’re coming over, he does those things he normally wouldn’t wanna do because he has you in mind.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” You asked.

Reo’s gaze was still sharp.

“Maybe so but if you hurt him I’m worried he’s gonna be worse than before. Before he was just lazy after you hurt him he’ll just be unmotivated and depressed.”

Your heart hurts at the thought.

“I’m not gonna hurt him,” you said quietly.

Reo didn’t seem convinced.

“You and I both know that’s not how relationships work. Eventually you’ll hurt him and when you do I’ll never forgive you.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

GodOfSoccer: where did you go after practice? I thought you were gonna wait for me but Reo said you left early :(

You saw the whisper message come through the game server as you loaded up the game to play. You had set your status to offline but Nagi was savvy enough to know when you were online.

SleepyKoala: I didn’t feel good

GodOfSoccer: do you need me to come over? i can take care of you

SleepyKoala: No it’s okay

GodOfSoccer: do you wanna play a few games?

SleepyKoala: I think I just wanna play by myself

GodOfSoccer: oh alright

GodOfSoccer: good luck in your games :)

GodOfSoccer went offline

You sighed as you watched him go offline and you knew you had hurt his feelings despite his good natured response. Nagi was never offline and he wasn’t the type to set his status to offline so you knew he was really not gonna play games tonight which didn’t bode well. You didn’t mean to hurt him, it's just you couldn’t get Reo’s words out of your head. He’d never forgive you if you hurt Nagi? You’d never forgive yourself. He was so good and sweet and pure and Reo was right that relationships were messy. Did you really want to be the one to give Nagi his first heartbreak?

You tried to play a few games but it was futile, the game had grown stale without him.

You logged off and crawled into bed. Soon it began to pour outside and it reflected your inner state.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The next two weeks were exam season so luckily you had an excuse to not be around Nagi as often.

You stopped going to the internet cafe altogether and instead went to your school’s library to study. These days you only saw Nagi at his games and though he was understanding about it because he knew you had to study you could tell he was sad.

The two of you still texted at night but the conversation grew stale as Nagi wasn’t always the best texter and from your experience with him you knew that comfortable laid back atmosphere of being at peace with him was something text couldn’t capture. Text was made for talking and it forced this dynamic where it felt as if you always had to come up with something to say and often times the best moments with Nagi were just being able to enjoy each other’s presence.

When you got home from school one afternoon you had noticed a bouquet of flowers waiting for you on the porch table.

You had taken the flowers to your room and put them in a vase with water. You got your phone out to text him.

You: Thanks for the flowers

Nagi: you’re welcome. I know you’ve been working hard studying and I wanted you to have something to brighten up your desk.

Your heart fluttered at his thoughtfulness and again you wondered why you were being so distant. You knew it wasn’t fair to him but what Reo said really got to you. You knew he was only looking out for his best friend but you were worried you were really going to be the one to hurt Nagi.

Nagi: I miss you :(

Nagi: Are you coming to my game tomorrow?

You felt overwhelmed by it all. The flowers, his double texting, and all the while you still felt Reo’s disapproving eyes on you as if he were watching you now. Part of you thought maybe it was better to back out of things early on before they got any deeper. Maybe then Nagi wouldn’t be as hurt. It was that rationale that led to your reply:

You: Sorry I can’t. I have to study now more than ever.

Nagi: oh okay

He didn’t say anything more after that.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When you woke up the next morning you had ten missed calls from an unsaved number. You also had text messages as well. You unlocked your phone in confusion. The messages read:

It’s Reo, are you awake?

Nagi is hurt he got hurt at the game

He’s been crying for you and wants you here

You instantly called the number back.

“Reo what’s wrong? Where are you guys?” You asked, your panic and worry not giving you time to feel weird about calling him.

“We’re headed to a nearby medcenter clinic that's across the school. You can meet us there,” he said then hung up.

You raced outta bed and got dressed quickly. You didn’t bother to eat breakfast as all you could think about was how you hadn’t been there for Nagi. You were so worried and your heart hurt.

The ride on the metro seemed obnoxiously long despite being the same as always. You anxiously tapped your fingers along your thighs the whole way there.

At last you arrived and headed toward the clinic Reo had described. You felt nervous and shy as a nurse directed you to what room Nagi was in when you asked and told her you were his girlfriend.

In front of his door you hesitated a little bit not knowing what to expect. How hurt was Nagi? Would he be upset with you for not being there for him? The only answers you’d get would be through that door.

You pushed the door open slowly.

Nagi was laying down in bed with his right ankle wrapped in med bandages and an ice pack against it. He perked up instantly when he saw you.

“Hey I knew you’d come,” he said. This wasn’t what you expected. He wasn't upset with you at all.

“Reo said you asked for me,” you said, noticing how the room was devoid of any purple.

“I did. I needed my girl,” he said. His words tugged at your heartstrings as you walked closer to the bed so you were right beside him.

“Where is Reo?” You asked.

“He went to get us some food from the cafeteria and call my parents,” he said. You stroked his hair.

“So how bad is it?” You asked.

“Not too bad it’s just a sprained ankle but it hurt like hell when it happened. It should heal quickly,” he said.

You nodded and stopped stroking his hair.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when it happened,” you said.

He shrugged but you could tell he was a little downcast even if he didn’t say it.

“It’s okay I know you’ve been busy,” he said. There was an awkward tension in the air that you knew was your doing. You were the one that had been distant lately. You just didn’t want to hurt him but it seems like you already were.

“How long are you gonna be here?” You asked.

“Reo wants me to stay for a few days for some reason since he thinks I won’t take care of it but I told him I have you to take care of me,” he said beaming up at you his smile wavered when you didn’t react and added,”you will take care of me won’t you?”

You wished he hadn’t asked that with his begging gray eyes that looked at you with the eagerness of a puppy.

“Nagi I’m just really busy right now, maybe Reo is right,” you said softly. His face fell.

“Why don’t you wanna be around me anymore? Am I doing something wrong? Am I spending too much time on soccer?” He asked.

“No Nagi it’s not like that-“

“Bullshit. I know you have to study but you always did before and we were able to see each other. I’ve tried to be a good boyfriend and spend time with you by letting you stay over. I just don’t know what I did,” his voice almost broke. You reached for his hands but he pulled them away.

“Nagi, you didn’t do anything. I love being with you and spending time with you,” you said. He looked at you again, his eyes ever so stormy and sad.

“Then tell me the truth,” he pleaded.

You swallowed, you'd tell him the truth but you didn’t want to make Reo look bad after all he was his best friend.

“You remember the morning after I slept over and we went to your practice?” You started reluctantly.

“Yes,” he replied, understandably confused.

“Reo started talking to me and saying this stuff about how he’s scared I’ll hurt you. He told me how you’re already changing for me and taking initiative and doing things you normally wouldn’t like: showering after your games and waking up early to clean your room. He’s worried I’ll break your heart and you’ll be unmotivated and depressed.”

There was silence for about a minute after you told him this. He was the first to break it.

“He really told you I didn’t shower after games before you?” He asked.

“I guess he kinda implied it,” you said wondering why he focused so much on that part.

“Well that’s embarrassing,” he said with a wry smile before adding,”you don’t have to worry about hurting me.” He reached for your hand now and brought it up to his lips to kiss softly.

“Why aren’t you more concerned about this? Reo is right. Relationships are messy and people get hurt and I don’t want to hurt you ever,” you said shivering at how his lips felt against your skin.

“Reo is cynical. Yes people get hurt but I don’t wanna close myself off from you just because something may or may not happen.” He kept your hand laced in his and that’s how the two of you stood until Reo himself walked in a few moments later. He had two trays of sandwiches that he set down and seeing the state the two of you were in he asked: “Am I interrupting?”

“No Reo, I actually wanted to talk to you. Why have you been telling my girlfriend that she’s gonna hurt me?” Nagi asked in a conversational tone.

Reo glanced at you before looking back at Nagi.

“Nagi, you know everything I do is to protect you. I don’t want you getting hurt. You know how the girls at school are,” Reo replied.

You didn’t understand this and looked curiously at Nagi but he ignored you.

“She’s not like that, she's nice to me and sweet and I need the two of you to get along otherwise you’re hurting me both,” he said firmly.

At last you and Reo looked at each other, his last words resonating with both of you so there was no malice or ill will in the others eyes.

A nurse interrupted, coming in and saying she was going to change Nagi’s bandages to freshen them up before he left for the night and you and Reo were ushered into the hallway.

“Thanks for coming,” Reo said genuinely once the door closed behind the two of you.

“You’re welcome. I really care about him,” you said.

“Yeah I can see that,” he said, running a hand through his hair that was loose out of its usual ponytail.

“I didn’t mean to snitch on you or anything like that. I only told Nagi because he was asking why I was being so distant,” you said to him. He nodded in understanding.

“No it’s fine I knew something was up when he was bumming around and blue because you weren’t around all of a sudden. It’s my fault,” he said. Now that he wasn’t looking at you with suspicion he seemed friendly and you could see why he got along with Nagi.

“I know you were just trying to protect him since he’s your best friend,” you said.

“Still I shouldn’t have said anything to you like that or in that way. The last thing I wanted was for Nagi to be sad but I seemed to have caused it by you being distant. I've never seen him so down like that before.” His words made you feel guilty, after all you had only distanced yourself in order to not hurt him.

“What did you mean by that comment about girls at your school?” You asked him.

“Girls at school think Nagi is weird. Well, not just the girls but everyone does. He sticks to himself and he’s not concerned with impressing people the way everyone else is,” he said.

You did know Nagi was a bit odd but he was endearing and now you knew why Reo was so protective of him. He was very attractive as well so you had truly thought he was joking when he had said that girls especially don’t talk to him.

“Reo I wanna be able to get along. I don’t wanna stay away from Nagi because I care about him,” you said, deciding to call for a truce.

“Yeah that sounds good to me. I guess I judged you unfairly and like Nagi said he wants us to be able to get along. It’s just always been him and me so I have to get used to it,” he said.

You assured him you didn’t wanna ruin his and Nagi’s friendship and that of course they’d still be able to do the things they’ve always done. When the nurse came out of the room you both went back inside to find Nagi playing games on his phone in his typical fashion.

You and Reo smiled at each other both knowing this was a sign he was recovering.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“I never said thank you,” Nagi said, stopping in his tracks as you both walked in the park.

It had been three weeks since his injury and he had recovered with you by his side. These walks with him had been a form of physical therapy but once he had healed they had stuck around as a routine thing for you two.

“For what?” You asked.

“For accepting being my girlfriend. I had liked you for a long time before I spoke to you and I was always too nervous to do so,” he said. He looked wonderful surrounded by the cherry blossoms of the trail you too were on. It had been his idea to go cherry blossom viewing with you and he had been looking forward to it for weeks even drawing a little blossom on your calendar for this date.

“You’re welcome. Reo had told me about how you had started spending more time at the internet cafe because of me,” you said. A blush the color of the blossoms formed on his cheeks.

“The only downside to you and Reo being friends now is that he tells you all the embarrassing unfiltered things about me,” Nagi said but you could tell it meant a lot to him that you and Reo got along.

In the weeks following Nagi’s injury you had stayed with him at his dorm and took care of him and Reo would come over in the evenings and all three of you would binge watch shows and movies you took turns picking. Of course you and Nagi continued to support Reo by watching him practice and coming to games as well while Nagi was healing.

“I don’t think it’s embarrassing. It’s sweet you like me so much,” you said.

He reached out to cup your face in his hands in the way he was so fond of doing.

“I more than like you,” he said seriously before adding,”I know you were scared of hurting me but the truth is I’m not scared to be hurt if it’s by you. I wanna be with you always.”

Your head was spinning at the way his eyes penetrated into yours.

“I more than like you too,” you said shyly. He looks at you lovingly before leaning in to kiss you.

When he pulls away he looks into your eyes and tells you those three words you had sworn you had heard before you had dozed off to sleep when you had slept over: “I love you.”

This time as he kisses you again even though it feels like it, you know you’re not dreaming.

#this was so much fun to write i love gamer Nagi #if some parts are cringe its on purpose they are in high school here and i wanted non stop fluff #nagi seishiro #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi x reader #nagi x you #blue lock nagi #blue lock x reader #reo mikage #bllk fluff #nagi fluff #blue lock headcanons #nagi imagines #shout out to overwatch its the first person shooter game i imagined them playing

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popponn · 3 months

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a cushion, two continents away. [isagi yoichi x reader]

note: i wrote this in one sitting out of need. a loving yoichi is a warm thought and while this isn't how i imagined the 'first fit of madness in a while' would go, please do know it is one. yoichi is considerate, but yoichi likes affection. that's the thought. warning: none, isagi is full of love and wants to be clingy, post canon pro player au, reader's gender unspecified.

“Please motivate me,” you say to the screen. Isagi tries his best not to ask why you are burying your face in your hands instead of greeting him with a smile. His hunch tells him you might cry if he does that. “Please motivate me, or I might cry.”

Isagi really tries his best not to follow his instinct to ask are you okay there and then. With a smile he hopes doesn’t come out as an exact grimace, he laughs and makes a silent note to order you your favorite drink online later. Paying mind to his sleeping teammates, he whispers, “I don’t know what’s happening here, but hang in there, okay?”

As if being cued by his voice, you finally peek at his face. Even with only part of your face unhidden by your palms, Isagi notices that you are making a face at something—which is probably whatever your workload is now and the fact that he is two continents away from you.

“Why are you away?” you ask, a mix of pout and annoyance haunting your voice, “I want to work while sitting in your lap. I want a back hug. I want a hug. I want you here.”

“Please don’t turn me into a cushion,” Isagi says, even though the two of you know that he will do it happily and readily. Complete with his head on your shoulder, peering at your laptop. Probably, also while sharing warm drinks with you.

Good—Isagi holds back a groan. Now he wants to go home too.

Which shouldn’t be impossible. The match is done, Bachira and Rin are asleep so they can’t snitch, maybe if he runs to the airport now—

“I’m going to sound like a hypocrite. And also this is painful for me to say,” you interrupt his train of thought with a mock of a strict expression, “but please don’t.”

Isagi chews the inside of his cheek, “…but. It’s—”

“I’m not listening to you,” you cut off, despite obviously trying to hold back a smile. But, as quick as that pretty expression of yours comes, Isagi doesn’t get much time to admire it. You soon turn away to somewhere off-screen, facing what seems to be your work with a sigh. “…now, I think I have to go.”

Looking at you and hearing the imminent farewell, Isagi wants to make you stay more than anything. Having a simple celebration between you and him, even through a video call, after a win sounds like heaven. But of course, unfortunately, he is mature enough to know asking that from you is impossible for now.

But, Isagi is self-aware. He is egoistic and stubborn when he wants something. So, he asks, “Can we stay on call? I will be good.”

“…be good, huh?” you parrot his wording. A light chuckle comes out just barely from you.

“You know what I mean,” Isagi shifts on his bed. Lying on his side while hugging his pillow to his body, pretending it’s you. He buries his face into the plush cotton. God—he really wishes this pillow was you now.

Never once did his eyes leave you. He watches as you stay silent, considering for a moment. Then, finally, after a few wordless moments, you finally glance back to him, “…you know I can’t deny that puppy look, right?”

“Stop calling it puppy look,” Isagi denies. He knows he is wearing the expression you often call ‘pouting’.

To that, you finally laugh out loud. For a moment you truly look like there is no burden on you and Isagi considers going on with the pointless debate if he could keep that good look on you forever. Sadly, he knows you should work the moment you fully turn your face to the side. The clicking sounds of keyboards and mouse clicks replace your voice.

“Sure, sure, I will,” you say. Isagi merely hums as he looks at you.

He really should be a good boyfriend and pretend he is your sitting cushion right now.

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c-hrona · 10 months

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The Lovers. Edit: now is a gif too!!

#trigun #trigun maximum #vashwood #vash the stampede #nicholas d. wolfwood #chronart #mods are asleep post super self indulgent fluff #i wanted to post it for last day of pride month but here is already july so happy first of july i guess???

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writerscall · 6 months

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'cause my love is mine, all mine.

It's an ugly feeling, insecurity. Even when it's irrational because she knows her girlfriend would never cheat on her. Sometimes it was just hard being with somebody that everybody else loved almost as much as she did, if not just as much.

author's notes: 652 words. sfw, angst, slightly jealous and very insecure hazel, toothache-inducing hurt-with-comfort sapphicism

"I don't mean to sound... you know, but doesn't that ever bother you?"

Hazel looks up at Josie's words, her trigonometry world problem temporarily put on pause as she follows her friend's line of sight. Towards her, looking lovely as ever while manning the cashier for the bake sale. But the smile on the brunette's face doesn't last for long when Alec from their shared physics class sidles up to her with all the charm of the class heartthrob that he is.

Swimmer guy. A lot nicer than any of the guys in football and Hazel kinda hates how part of her wishes that he wasn't. She'd feel better having her girlfriend coldly shrugging his advances off because he was an asshole instead of her being nice to him even with a flirty (though not serious) quip here and there because, well, because he's nice. And her girl's an absolute saint, bless her heart.

She pushes the icky feeling down and tells Josie it doesn't, that the two of them knew each other long before Hazel knew either of them and to not think too much about it. But her throat feels dry and she's silently wishing the remaining fifteen minutes to four o'clock would run faster so the bake sale would be over and they could finally go back to her place.

"You're so quiet tonight," she hears her say, and Hazel merely hums in reply as she continues to mindlessly make random soothing patterns on her arm. They're in their usual position on her too-big bed, Hazel sitting up and leaning against the headboard with her nestled between her legs, back against her body with her arms around her. "Everything alright over there?"

She twists her body slightly to look up at her. Hazel manages a bit of a smile, saying, "Yeah, of course. Just thinking about... stuff."

And because she knows her well, her expression goes all soft the way it does when she's seen right through her.

She untangles herself, moving and turning around so she can sit on her lap. Hazel's hands instinctively fall on her hips as her hands come up to cup her face. "You know Alec is just being Alec, right? Nothing there that crosses the friendship boundary."

Hazel nods even though she sort of wants to roll her eyes, then silently curses herself for wanting to be petty. She opens her mouth to say something but gets cut off.

"But if it's really bothering you now then I can tell him to tone it down or just stop all together."

"No, I - I don't want you to feel like you can't still have friends that you can be playful and fun with." Hazel shakes her head and brings the hands away from her face, holding them between their bodies. "I don't want you to be that person who gets into a relationship and then just stops hanging out with old friends because you're in a relationship, okay? It's just... I don't know, I-"

"Hey," she says as she places a hand on Hazel's cheek again, smiling at her reassuringly. "I love you. You, Haze. I need you to remember that and not doubt it whenever you get those ugly feelings floating around your head."

"I know. I know, I'm sorry I get like this." And then she places the softest kiss on her forehead and the dam breaks, and Hazel's crying as there are kisses pressed down to her cheek with a whispered 'love you' between each of them.

She's not sure if she deserves her, but she loves her and is loved in return. Hazel knows that will be enough.

#hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan imagine #hazel callahan fluff #hazel callahan x you #just a little short one for my first fic here!#hazel callahan fanfic #bottoms 2023 #bottoms movie #hazel callahan #wlw #sapphic

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stsgsk · 6 months

Text

Thinking about Satoru With A Short(er) S/O

Fem Reader | Fluff | Sorceress Reader | ~2940 words

To the surprise of a grand total of zero people, Satoru teases you. To make it worst, it's nothing original either.

Example 1:

"Where's my S/O gone?" He asks, like you're not literally standing in front of him. But it's not his fault. If he look straight ahead, his eyes totally misses you.

Example 2:

"How's the weather down there?" He proceeds to bend down on your level and look around. "Yeah, this kind of sucks. You should try my altitude sometime. Sun feels a lot better"

He ignores the heat from your glare.

Example 3:

He's also tried using you as an arm rest. Emphasis on tried.

"Your crotch is literally within my punching range" you tell him once, and only once.

He doesn't use you as an arm rest anymore.

Ironically enough, he'll shut down anyone else teasing you, especially if it makes you uncomfortable. Teasing you is an S/O only privilege, exclusive to him.

Oh, and of course he has all sorts of nicknames for you. He tried 'knee-height' once, and you kicked him in the shin.

He has you saved as 'Shortie' on his phone. You saved him as '10-tier drying rack'.

If you're on the quieter side, you've definitely scared him at some point. Sometimes, he's genuinely not aware you're there and looks down and just sees you down and actually gets a mini heart attack.

"Oh crap!" He says after he's jumped back a good few feet, clutching his chest. "How long have you been there for? Are you trying to scare me or something?"

No. No, you weren't. You had literally been standing next to him for at least ten minutes.

Even worse, sometime he just straight up walks into you because he's not paying attention to where's he's going and just straight up walks into you, sending both of you toppling over.

"We've got to stop meeting like this" he says, smirking as he looks down at you. You're lying on the ground, and he's on top of you.

"Satoru. This so the fifth time this week. Get off me right now"

He gets better though! Don’t give up on him!

So, about you two walking.

It really didn't work out for a while

His long longs meant he walked faster and in longer strides. Your shorter legs meant the exact opposite

At one point you actually gave up walking together for some time because it was a genuine piss-take. Satoru would be walking and talking and he'd asking your opinion only to realise you were still 5 traffic stops behind him

You used to try jogging to keep up with him but that also took the piss because you didn't ask for a work out

So after convincing you to give it another go, you and Satoru tried again and worked on it.

He started walking a lot slower for you. It was definitely awkward at first, uncomfortable even since it really wasn't his normal walking pace.

But when he saw how happy you were you two could actually have a conversation while talking, that you were no longer just staring at his back as he spoke and you could actually see his facial expressions and he could see yours, he decided it was worth it. Soon enough, it became second nature.

Of course, you contributed to this effort too. You did work on your walking, getting faster too. Satoru assured you that you didn't need to go too fast or anything, since he didn't want you worn out, so you got to a faster speed you were comfortable with.

So you two just walk and talk together a whole bunch now. Honestly, every time you two walk alone together is a date at this point.

Speaking of dates, he loves taking you out to the city because it’s bustling with so much life. But of course, there's the issue consisting of your height, crowded places, and you two get separated the first time you have a city date

He’s so dramatic when he loses you in crowded places. It was inevitable, given you two were literally in Tokyo. But he is actually panicking. Like, he lost you. He actually lost you.

He's so silly, he's calling out your name and showing a picture of you (his lock screen) to every stranger he comes across in hopes of finding you.

There's obviously no need for him to worry, you're a very capable sorceress, and a very capable person.

What happened is either:

a) You call him and ask him where he is. You literally told him you were going into that store on the left three stop lights ago.

It’s not his fault he's so tall, and Tokyo is so loud that he couldn't catch what you were saying. He probably didn't even know you had been talking to him

"Well, if you grew like an extra few inches, I definitely would have heard you"

You punched him in the arm for that

Or b) you really did fall behind and swept away by the busy Tokyo people, and you only end up finding him because he's causing a big scene and kind strangers directed you to my boyfriend

"Satoru, I'm here" You say, waving at him as you approach. “We’re such idiots. We should have just called each other-“

"Oh, thank goodness." He embraces you in a bone crushing hug. "We're holding hands from now on, every time we're in public. I'm not losing you again"

And if you're fine with it, you two really do end up holding hands whenever you're in public. It's nice, holding his hand.

Speaking of hands, the size difference? Satoru can't get over it. He gushes over it every time. He'll just come up to you randomly and stick his hand forward, your queue to press your hand against his. He'll slip his fingers between yours, give you a gentle squeeze, and won't let go.

He laughs when you mention how you're starting to get neck pain from looking up at his face all the time

So he starts to get down in that silly goofy pose he does for Megumi so you can look down at him.

"Looking up, looking down, it'll balance out that neck ache of yours"

He really didn't mind doing this for you. He actually enjoys it. He loves seeing your face when he’s looking down at you, and when he’s looking up at you. He’s notices difference things when he’s in these different position, the crinkle of skin around your eye when you laugh when he looks down at you, the way your lips stick out when you’re annoyed when he looks up at you. He really is enamoured by you.

But when you two started kissing and hugging, he started to understand your point when he has to bend down to kiss you.

Don't get him wrong, he loves you and loves kissing you, but it's really not ideal (and he's starting to get some of that pain you were talking about)

So he comes up with a solution: His infinity!

He uses it to get you to float up, so you're at a much nicer height for both of you to kiss.

This is different to when you two kiss standing with him bending down to kiss you.

It's the way you're eye level that makes both your stomachs flutter in a new way. It’s the way your nose brushes against each other in this slightly different angle that makes both your breaths catch. It’s the way your lips meet, as you drape your arms around his neck and he wraps his arms around your waist and holds you close that makes both your hearts race.

Yes, this becomes the new norm.

Ah, he also loves kissing you when he's sat down, and you're standing. Oh, and when you're sat on his laps and kissing him? Or, even better, when you're both laying down and kissing? He’s excited to kiss you every time.

One time, Satoru wants to take you out on a shopping date. He think it would be cute to pick out clothes for each other. He expects you to agree, and is surprised when you turn it down.

You explain how hard it is to but clothes and shoes because of your height. It's either too long, too tight, too ugly, or just not right for you and shopping really was a pain for you.

As soon as you're done ranting, he's already looking for a personal seamstress and shoe maker for you.

"What?" you ask, incredulous as he explains to you what you’re doing. "Baby, no. There's no need for that."

"Baby, yes" he corrects you. "There is literally every need for that"

He's not taking no for an answer. You deserve to find the right clothes for you as much as anyone else. You shouldn't have to settle for what fits, you should be confident and happy to wear your clothes.

Besides, he has lots of money. It would make sense to spend it on his S/O

So yeah, all your clothes fit now, and you're seriously grateful. You tell Satoru all the time, but he can tell even without you telling him. The way you seem so much happier in the clothes you've always wanted to wear makes it obvious.

And Satoru makes sure to go all out. Its way better quality than any other clothes you have. It will literally last over a life time

Satoru also takes this as an opportunity for you two to match outfits and he absolutely loves it.

It's literally a requirement for you two to match and look good. He makes sure to text you when you two are going to hang out to make sure you're both coordinating.

Satoru: So it's yellow today, right?

You: Yeah. You pick mine, I'll pick yours?

Satoru: Deal

And yes, you two are very stylish. Fashion icons. Couple goals, but that was already a given even before the matching outfits.

He loves to grab things for you. Will tease you a little about it, but he does enjoy doing things for you. If you'd rather be more independent, he'll offer to use his infinity to give you a leg up of sorts, or you'd use a stool or climb on something he'll make sure you don't fall

"Is that really safe?" he can't help but ask, making sure to be alert in case you even wobble slightly on the stool.

You wave off his concerns. "It's fine. I'm basically a pro at this"

Satoru also reaches for your clothes at the bottom of the washing machine and the ice cream at the bottom of your freezer for you, because he’s seen the Olympic level gymnastic just to reach them and is both impressed and concerned you'll hurt yourself somehow.

If you need a leg up somewhere but you want to be independant and you two are in public, he will let you use him as a stepping stool. He will get on all fours so you can step on his back and do what you have to do. It's fine though, His infinity means you’re not actually touching him it's not like his clothes will get dirty so don’t worry, and he doesn't feel you stepping on him. He promises its no big deal.

He got you an oversized teddy bear this one time. It's literally the size of you, if not bigger. He was really proud of himself for getting it for you until you started cuddling it more.

"Come on" he pouts. "I'm literally right here"

If you don't give into his demands, he'll whine and whine until you do. He loves to cuddle you. He loves wrapping his arms around you, and holding you close. As he keeps you warm ans safe in his hold, he can't resist the urge to give you a flurry of kisses on the face. He's a weak man when it comes to you.

And if you decide to be the big spoon? He sometimes gives into the urges to pinch your cheek. It's just really cute to him how you want to hold him despite being the shorter one. Bonus points if you're the big spoon. Either way, he's a very happy man when he's with you like this.

If you're mad at him, either he gets down on the floor or you get a chair piled with pillows so that you're looking down at him as you do and then start scolding at him. If you’re extra mad at him, you do both.

If he's mad at you, he's going to be so petty.

He'll pull a: "what? I can't hear you from up here"

Or worse, if other people are there, he’ll turn to them and be like: "You guys hear something?"

He always make sure you’re at the front of group pictures so you're actually in the shot. If you'd rather not be, he'll either use his infinity to make you float so you're seen in the picture, or if you want, he'll sit down with you as everyone else stands so you’re not the odd one out.

When you're sitting down and your feet don't reach the ground, you can use his legs as a leg rest. He doesn't mind, he wants you comfortable.

Or you can lean on him when you're tired, and he wraps an arm around you and keeps you in a secure hold.

"I've got you" he says to you quietly. He always treats you tenderly when you're worn out. "You can rest now." He says, kissing the top of your head.

If you let him, he'll carry you bridal style. Or any style.

He also loves giving you piggy back rides. Especially when you’ve both got to get somewhere faster.

"It's faster babe" he says, as though he literally couldn't just teleport you both instead or at least get there a lot faster with his infinity. He's just using it as an excuse to hold you, because he loves holding you.

You two tried sharing blankets once, and you didn't do that again for a long time. The blanket distribution did not work between you both because of your height differences. Plus, if either of you tugged on the blanket, the other was missing out.

But then he once saw you could wrap your blanket around yourself multiple times like a cocoon.

Firsts thought: 'Aww, so cute'

Second thought: 'Wait, this is possible?'

He's forgotten you could actually do that, he's been tall for that long.

So he buys a gigantic blanket so he can cocoon himself into too, so now you're both two cute caterpillars cocooned up together.

This blanket was also big enough for both of you, so you finally did manage to get to share a blanket. It was definitely one of you two's favourite memories together, and became a thing you two did often.

One time you both went on a date and came across a Face In Hole board. Unfortunately, you couldn't reach to get your face in because you weren’t tall enough.

Whether you expressed or not, Satoru knows you're disappointed. And Satoru is not going to have a disappointed S/O on his watch

He buys the necessary supplies, and works to create a face in hole board for you both, one that works for both your heights.

And when he shows you, you're so touched.

He painted on the board two silly looking curses with the hole the right height for you both. When the photos were taken and you look back at them, you could really tell he put a lot of work into and you made sure he knew how much you appreciated him.

That became you're new lock screen.

He laughs when you're too short for shade board in the car so it can't block out the sun for you and you're just keep getting attacked by sun rays. So, he lends you his sunglasses, and always does so when you need them.

When public mirror are too high up for you so you can't check your reflection, you rely on Satoru to help maintain you’re appearance.

"A little smudge here" he says, wiping it away with his thumb. "And you've got a few hair out of place. It's cute, though. I think you should keep it that way. No? You want me to fix it? Got it."

When there's some sort of crowd and you can't see what everyone's looking at because everyone's too tall and all you can see is their backs, Satoru lets you get on his shoulder so you can both see.

You know those couple pictures where it just shows their shoes? Satoru posted one once of you both. However, given how your large height difference translates into your shoe size difference, the comments go like this:

Sh0k0: Is that a child?

You: .

Satoru: No, it's y/n >:(

Sh0k0: I am so sorry

Suguru: help i cant stop laughing

There was one time you came back from a mission. Satoru heard that you failed. Thinking the worse, he came rushing to find you. You were in one piece, but clearly down. He asks you what happened, and he expects, well, something serious, he supposes.

He didn't expect to be bursting out in laughter when you tell him you tried exorcizing a weak curse, but the curse got on a higher ledge and you couldn't reach him

He laughs so hard it was basically an ab workout.

After he recovers from his laughing fit (he actually never did, he bursts out giggling every few minutes as he remembers), he goes back with you back to the place your mission was

But not to exorcize the curse for you. No, he knows you can do that by yourself.

He uses his infinity to jump onto the ledge where the curse still was, proceeds to kick the crap out of the curse, knocking it off the ledge and send it tumbling on the ground in front of you.

"You've got it from here, babe"

And that's how you completed your mission that day. Yes, you wrote that, word for word, in your report. You felt bad for whoever had to wrap your head around your report, you really did.

Satoru hates it when people underestimate you as a sorceress or as a person because of your height. And he's livid if someone puts you down for it.

He's your biggest cheerleader and you're biggest defender. He'll always be the first person to vouch for how amazing and strong you are.

Because you are, and he makes sure to tell you that every day. Whether you're insecure about your height, or you don't give it a second thought, not a day goes by he makes sure to tell you how valuable you are as a person, and how much you are worth.

TLDR: Satoru is absolutely in love with you. That's all there is to it.

#fem reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #thanks for the love on the first post <3 #second post!#there are spacing issues here :( I'll try and fix em #i imagined teen gojo in this tho but adult gojo should work too #still figuring tumblr out and how imma lay out my posts #anywho #hope you enjoyed!#thank you for reading <3

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