#planing ahead for once

[canny-analyst]

It has been decided, Tumblr will get the fanfics I've writen here too, I'll slowly post them

First the König one, then what I have of the Sans one (I will get back to that I promise, I think I'm overthinking the plot and I need to let it breathe a bit)

After that's done and the one I'm writing on anon is finished (I'm one chapter away), I'll start thinking about the Nikto one

[yarn-chicken]

years ago i was like who needs a swift and winder when my arms, a paper towel tube, and a spinny chair work just as well. I should not have listened to myself but we are long past sunk cost fallacy and I am so tired and this took so long

[thursdayg1rl]

I literally need to complain abt everything on here or I’ll die

[fabulouslygaybean]

apparently we're going to california?? again???

[mostly-imagines]

Scenes From an Afternoon Odyssey

jason todd x fem!reader

aka a day in the forest

4 in 1 blurbs

warnings: reader wears a bra

middle picture art by spaceboykenny

You’ve nearly reached the peak of the slope, the uphill trek putting quite a toll on your legs. Jason insisted on holding your hand because his longer stride tends to put him several steps ahead of you. The sun beats down on your backs, the uptake in the heat of the day actually feeling quite nice compared to the chill that’s swept over Gotham recently.

Upon arriving at the flat plane, you take in a pretty array of sunflowers and a thoughtfully placed bench.

Jason halts his steps, looking back at you. “You need a break?” He asks, noting the way your breathing has become a bit labored.

You hum, taking a deep inhale. “Just for a second,” you say, plopping down on the bench.

He reaches behind him to fish the water bottle out of the pocket of his backpack. “Drink some water.” he says gruffly, holding the bottle out to you.

You don’t particularly feel like you need water again just yet, but you know better than to try and fight him on something related to taking care of yourself. It’s a losing battle and he’s proved it time and time again.

You take the drink from him, taking a couple sips. He eyes you with disapproval, bringing his hand up to tilt the bottom of the bottle up more. You down a few gulps, trying not to smile.

He takes the bottle back from you, taking a couple gulps of his own. Once the water returns to its pocket, he sits down next to you, hand massaging your thigh. In turn, your hand moves up to the nape of his neck, playing with the short hair there.

Despite your claim, you sit for longer than a second, listening to the birds chirping and the leaves rustling in the wind. It really is a beautiful day and Jason knew a great trail that’s hardly ever busy. It’s aways away from Gotham, but any excuse he can take to get the two of you out of the smog filled city, he’ll take.

Between the serenity of the scene in front of you and the warmth of his touch on your thigh, your breathing steadies pretty quickly.

You peer at the path ahead, taking note of how level and easy it looked. Your hand flattens on the base of his neck as you turn to him, “I could beat you in a race.” You say decidedly.

He huffs out a laugh, meeting your eyes with a glint of amusement shining in his own. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” You smile, nodding, “Been waiting for a chance to prove it.”

You stand up, turning around to take his hand and pull him up with you. He does most of the work for you, pulling his weight up himself.

“You wanna go?” He smiles, looking down at you.

“Do you wanna go?” Your smile grows impossibly, and Jason decides right then and there that he’d do absolutely anything to see you light up like that again.

You figure a sprint is your best chance, you’re not willing to bet that you can beat out a vigilante when it comes to endurance. Especially considering the uphill incline almost took you out.

You settle on a finish line about 30 feet away, and as you position yourselves to start, you feel your overconfidence begin to cave back in on you. His stature swamps you out, and it's becoming clear that you’ve got no real chance here. In any case, you’ve committed and this is happening.

“Ready…set…” both of you have the idea to start before you say go, taking off with haste.

You’re laughing as you run, which isn’t doing you any favors with keeping ahead of him, though you’re able to maintain a pretty neck and neck match.

Did he let you win? Yeah. He’s a gentleman, of course. He’s right on your tail though, and lifts you up from under your arms as you cross the finish line, nipping at your neck as you giggle.

He sets you back down gently, “Alright, fast girl. You need a drink?” He tucks some stray hair in your face back behind your ear.

“No, I’m...” You pause, scanning around. You point at a big tree along the side of the trail ahead. “You see that tree right there?”

He glances over, “Yeah?”

You take off sprinting for it without another word. And apparently cheating is a quick ticket to him dropping the act and beating you without an ounce of mercy.

You’re sitting on a relatively level branch in a tree next to Jason, one of your legs resting on top of one of his. You swing your free leg back and forth, biting into your sandwich.

There’s a couple juice boxes balancing in the small space between you, both half empty. He’d laughed at you when you picked them up from the store on the way there, but he drinks it all the same.

He holds your ziplock bag of chips out to you and you take a small handful, popping them into your mouth. When your hand moves to return to your side, he takes it in his own and presses your knuckles to his lips gently.

With a sly smile, you watch butterflies dance around each other and listen to birds singing their offbeat songs. And you think about Jason. You think about how he held you in his arms last night so you could fall asleep while he read. How on the way up here he’d held your hand as you balanced across the stones, forcing him to walk at a much slower pace than he’d probably prefer. You told him he could walk a little ahead, but he’d insisted on holding your hand so you didn’t “slip and bust your head open” in his words.

You wouldn’t know it, but he’s combing through his own set of memories of you too. It’s a bit silly to spend so much time dwelling on these warm memories about someone that’s only right next to you, but you’ve both found it’s hard to stop.

It used to scare Jason, how often you occupied his whole mind. He’d never felt such intense adoration and devotion before that he’d nearly mistaken it for fight or flight. It was foreign and strange, and it felt like danger. But it didn’t take long for the effects of his love to kick in like a drug, and now he can’t get enough of you.

But you don’t feel like a drug, you feel like a cure. You make him feel like himself again, like death never got a hold of him and like he’s an innocent soul anew. You treat him like it, at least.

Maybe it’s silly to fall into such a deep pit of thoughts about you when you’re right there, smiling so bright over at him and gleefully pointing out a couple of squirrels that are fighting over an acorn. But he’s happy to let you take up as much space in his head as you want.

You sit with your legs dangling off the pier, shoes cast aside so you can enjoy the cool water. Jason sits a few feet behind you, laying down against the wood of the dock, the sun beating down on his face.

The water is a beautiful blue marble reflection, and the sun radiates down on your skin, sending warmth throughout your body which combats the light breeze handily. You lean down and dip your hand into the water, letting it run between your fingers like thread.

“Can we swim?” you pipe up, looking over your shoulder at Jason.

He raises his eyebrows at you, “You didn’t know there was a lake up here.” He means he knows you don’t have a swimsuit under your clothes.

You shrug, “There’s no one up here.”

He scans around mildly, before looking at the water. “Yeah, okay.” He tugs his shirt off his back, coming to a stand.

You grin, pulling up the material of your own shirt from your waist. Once it’s swept over your head, Jason’s left in just his boxers and not a moment later you’re in a similar state.

He smiles at you, wrapping his arms around your waist and it takes you no time at all to realize where he’s going with this. He lifts you up off the ground and dives off the dock, submerging you both in the water.

You bob back up out of the water, not even trying to suppress the glee on your face. And somewhat to your surprise, neither does he.

You’d had dinner at the manor with his family last night and you were still a bit attuned to Jason’s closed off, stoic mood that he gets in around them. He feels something akin to insecurity when he openly emotes around them. Vulnerability, maybe. Either way, you know he hates the feeling and will avoid it at all costs so it’s nice when it’s just the two of you and he gets to act like himself.

Unlike Jason, you can’t quite touch the floor of the lake, so you tread with the water wavering at your neck. The water barely reaches the start of Jason’s shoulders as he stands before you.

He closes the small space between you before his arms make their way under your thighs, lifting you up out of the water slightly. He looks up at you with a lazy smile as you wrap your legs around his body. Your cheeks warm and you hold his face in your hands, leaning down to kiss him with heat.

He deepens the kiss, thumbs rubbing at your thighs as his head tilts back. Your thumbs stroke at his cheek in turn, smiling against his lips.

He actually whines when you pull away, chasing your lips. You rest your hands on his shoulders, simpering down at him.

“Alright, slow down, hotshot. We’re not doing anything in a lake.” You laugh, pushing the dripping white streak back with the rest of his wet hair.

He huffs, “If there was anyone around here I promise you would not be half naked right now.”

You push yourself off of him, dropping back down into the water. “Other people are the least of your concerns,” you say, grinning and splashing him in the face, backing away with haste.

He blinks the water out of his eyes, laughing. “That’s how it is?”

You bite your lip as he approaches and you continue to retreat. “Can’t have you losing focus.”

He raises his brow at you, wearing a smile that says that you should know that was a mistake. He proves it as he dives after you, lifting you up over his shoulder and tossing you into the water with an unfair amount of ease.

You’re a bit hidden away in the tall grass, the scent of lavender flowers placing you in repose. You’re laying with your head in his lap, eyes closed as he pages through his book.

He’s reading out loud, though if you’re being honest, you haven’t fully processed a single word he’s read in at least ten minutes. He’s good at making you relax with his voice, and the amount of exercise you’ve gotten in today is doing nothing to slow it down.

You can’t think of when he started playing with your hair, but it feels soothing and frankly it’s making you very sleepy. Between the gravelly lull of his words and the rustling of the flora throughout the field you’re about to pass out.

“I’m gonna fall asleep.” You mumble, eyes shut.

His hand stills and he extends his book away from his body so he can see your face. “Sweetheart, there’s not a chance in hell you were awake that whole time.”

“I was,” you say, blinking up at him blearily. “I was just resting my eyes.”

He looks down at you skeptically. ���How long have we been here?”

You click your tongue, “Like fifteen minutes.”

“It’s been an hour and a half.” he says simply, flipping his book shut from the last page as proof.

“It has n—” you look up at the sky and notice the sun is in a wildly different spot than it was when you’d first laid down. You’re almost completely in the shadows of the trees now. “Wh—why did you let me sleep for so long?”

He hums lowly, “You looked peaceful.” He pauses, “Pretty.”

He looks at the sky, squinting. He nudges you off his lap gently, coming to a stand. “Come on. The sun’s gonna start going down soon.”

You groan and he pulls you up to join him, your fatigue tailing after you. You lean your weight against him and rest your head on his chest, closing your eyes again. “Let’s just stay here.”

You feel him shake his head. “Can’t stay here, sweetheart. Who’ll feed the strays back home?”

He’s right. You can’t leave them to dumpster dive again.

You groan louder as you pull back and stand up straight. “You did not mention that the trail was so long.” You look down at your sore legs and try to stretch them out a bit to get energy back in them.

When you look back up at him, he’s swinging the backpack on, but he stops midway, dropping it to his side again.

He slugs his backpack over your shoulders, turning his back to you and bending down a bit. You take the hint and jump up. He catches you with ease, hoisting you up higher.

He starts down the grassy path out of the field, sidestepping flowers and bumblebees as he goes. Your head lulls to the side and ends with your cheek resting on his shoulder.

He bobs you up, “If I’m carrying you all the way back to the car you have to stay awake.”

“If you’re carrying me all the way back to the car, what difference does it make?” you grumble, eyes fluttering.

“Keep me company.”

You pick your head up and press a kiss to his neck. “I can do that. What do you want to eat tonight?”

He hums thoughtfully. “You wanna get pizza?”

You nod, pleased. “Big day for us.”

You have one arm draped loosely over his shoulder and the other lags by your side. “Are you going on patrol tonight?” You ask him.

He peers back at you haphazardly, “Uh, no—will you hold onto me, please?”

You’re nowhere near falling, but you know that’s not why he wants you to hold onto him. You’re happy to oblige though. You wrap your arms around him, crossing them over each other so you can hold onto his shoulders.

Seemingly content, he continues, “No, I’m not. Wanna stay in with you.”

“Aw. Going soft on me?” You rag.

He hums deeply, “Or maybe I'm just sick of being around Dick.”

You scoff, “Well, if you’re gonna be mean.”

“I’m literally carrying you right now.” He shrugs you up a bit in emphasis. Fair enough.

You look up and can see the pinking hues of the sky in between the leaves of the trees, glowing down softly on you. Your mouth twists into a contemplative frown. It takes you a moment to piece together where you’re at, but you eventually realize you’re only halfway back to the car. “I don’t think we’re gonna make it back before sunset.”

“That’s okay.” He tells you.

You rest your chin on his shoulder, a bemused pout on your face. “You hate it when I’m outside after dark.”

“I hate it when you’re alone outside after dark.” He corrects.

“Ah.” You nod, thoughtfully. “But now I’ve got my strong boyfriend to protect me, right?”

He scoffs but you’re just upset you can’t see the flush on his cheeks that you’re certain is there.

Though he shows no signs of struggling, you’re beginning to feel guilty that he’s spending his day off lugging you around.

“I can walk.” You offer, pushing yourself up a bit, ready to jump down.

“I know.” He says simply, shrugging you up higher.

[likeumeanit9497]

in the clouds | m.s. |

matt sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: matt is taking y/n home to boston to meet his parents for the first time, and y/n would be lying if she said she wasn't nervous. but once they've been in the air for a few hours and boredom begins to get to them both, they find a way to occupy themselves.

warnings: smut; established relationship; mutual masturbation; p in v; dirty talk; a little fluff if you squint; unprotected sex; 18+

notes: i wrote this suuuuper quick so def not my best work, but it's been a while since i posted something so i wanted to get something up here. i hope ya'll enjoy!!!

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

“Have a great flight.” The lady at the terminal gate said to me with a smile as she handed me my scanned ticket. “Thank you.” I replied before walking towards my boyfriend, Matt, who was waiting for me a few feet ahead. Once I reached him, he grabbed my hand and placed a soft kiss on my forehead. “You ready?” He asked, to which I inhaled a deep breath and nodded apprehensively.

Matt and I met at a party about eight months ago, and had hit it off right away. I had been drawn in by his sunken blue eyes and withdrawn behaviour that night, but grew hooked by his kind nature and complex personality once we began speaking regularly. We made it official less than a month after meeting, and had been inseparable since. Our relationship developed into something quite serious rather quickly, but things still somehow felt new and exciting everyday.

Today, we were flying back to his hometown in Boston, where I was going to meet his parents for the first time. Although he had reassured me countless times that MaryLou and Jimmy were going to love me, I couldn’t help but feel a bit intimidated by meeting two of the most important people in Matt’s life. Not only that, but I had also never been in a relationship that grew serious enough to meet the parents of my significant other before now; so the unknown territory made the whole ordeal all the more daunting.

Matt’s triplet brothers Chris and Nick had left for Boston the day before, as I had to stay in Los Angeles an extra day for work. This added another unsettling element, as I had grown so used to the presence of the other two on a day-to-day basis. However, what that meant was Matt and I had a good excuse to buy first class tickets instead of the usual economy tickets. This brought me some relief, as I had never sat in first class before and knew that I would be able to relax much easier than I had on previous flights.

Arriving at the front of the plane, we were guided by the flight attendant to the fifth row of seats and I gasped. In front of me was a spacious row with just two large seats. The seats were joined together — separated only by an arm rest — but both had a ridiculous amount of leg room, and there was even a privacy curtain available to use at the end of the aisle.

“Oh my god Matt, this one row is almost as big as my entire bedroom at home!” I exclaimed excitedly before hurrying into my window seat. Matt chuckled before following me into the row and getting comfortable in his own seat beside mine. “I take it you like it?” He asked sarcastically, though I still nodded my head like an enthusiastic toddler. “Well, get settled in baby. We’ve got a five and a half hour flight ahead of us.” He leaned over the cushioned arm rest between our seats and planted a soft kiss on my lips. I sighed at the reminder before investigating the small gift bundle beside my seat. There were a few snacks, some travel-sized toiletries, and a pillow and blanket; I couldn’t help but squeal from excitement. “Holy shit Matt! Look at this stuff!” I quickly unfolded the blanket and wrapped myself in it as he did the same. “I know, it’s cool right. And it doesn’t stop there, watch this.” Matt smirked before reaching under his chair, when suddenly his seat reclined all the way back and transformed into a bed.

“WHAT?” I exclaimed before searching under my own seat for the recline handle. I giggled as my chair fell back and I was suddenly horizontal. “Oh my god, I am in heaven.” I sighed blissfully, stretching my arms above my head in bliss. “And look,” Matt continued, reaching for the arm rest and pushing it back so that it became flush with our beds, “Now we just have one big bed to share.” He giggled before scooting closer to my side while simultaneously grabbing my waist and pulling me into him. I laughed and rolled over so that I could face him; propping myself up on my elbow and gazing down at him. “Thank you Matty.” I said before planting a gentle kiss on his eyelid. “You don’t have to thank me, Y/n,” He chuckled, “I just can’t wait for my parents to meet you.” My heart fluttered from his words, and I repositioned my body so that I could curl into his.

“I can’t wait to meet them, either. I mean, I’m nervous as fuck but I really do want to get to know the two people who created you three weirdos.” I closed my eyes, feeling my body relax as the plane began moving down the tarmac. Matt mindlessly rubbed my back as we laughed, just waiting for the unmistakable sensation of the plane taking off.

Once we were finally in the air, I rolled over to fetch my air pods from my backpack. “Let’s listen to some music, I can’t stand all this white noise in here.” I said, handing the left pod to Matt and keeping the right for myself. Once they were secured in both of our ears, I scrolled through my Spotify account to find mine and Matt’s shared playlist before hitting shuffle. I fell onto my back and closed my eyes as the music played in both of our ears; growing more and more comfortable as my eyes grew heavy and the sensation of sleep began to overtake me.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

I was awoken from my deep sleep by the sound of a baby wailing a few aisles behind me. Forgetting where I was for a moment, I woke with a startle before remembering that I was on a plane. Slightly disoriented, I checked the time on my phone to discover that we had been in the air for four hours. I was shocked that I was able to sleep that long on a flight, since usually in the economy seats I would struggle to even get 45 minutes of true rest. I looked to my right at Matt’s sleeping figure. He was lying on his stomach with his peaceful face turned in my direction — very clearly having as deep of a sleep as I was previously having. His dark eyelashes fluttered slightly every now and then, and due to the way his face pressed against the small pillow, his pink lips were squished into an exaggerated pout.

Admiring his undeniable beauty, I had to resist the urge to lean over and pepper him with kisses. Instead, I went on my phone and began scrolling through our music playlist. After queuing a few songs, I moved onto my camera roll to kill some time as I felt boredom begin to overtake me. I felt like the biggest loser ever as I scrolled through the countless photos I had taken of Matt and I over the past few months with a corny smile plastered to my face. We truly had spent nearly every single day together since that first night that we met, and I had been sure to capture as many memories on camera as I could.

I continued to scroll for a few moments before coming across a particular memory that caused me to audibly gasp. It was a video that Matt and I had made about a month before. Our first and only sex tape. Before playing the video, I snuck a glance at Matt to make sure he was still sleeping and turned the volume down to zero so that it wouldn’t play through the air pod that was still resting in his ear. Cautiously, I hit play on the video and watched from Matt’s angle as he pounded into me from behind. To be completely honest, I had totally forgotten that we had taken that video and hadn’t even watched it before, so I stared in awe as our bodies collided again and again. The only issue was that I so badly wanted to hear the audio as my curiosity notoriously got the better of me in situations such as this. I was curious to know what I really sounded like during sex, and knew that listening to the audio was one of the only ways that I could.

Suddenly, I had an idea that would not only allow me to listen but would also have the potential to wake Matt up. Looking at him once again with a smirk across my face, I started the video from the beginning; this time with the volume about halfway up. Instantly, my right ear was filled with the unmistakably erotic sounds of our sex; body parts smacking against one another, loud moans, and the occasional dirty phrase falling from one of our mouths.

With the brightness on my phone turned down low, I watched intently at our moving bodies on my screen. I could only pull my eyes away to take a quick glance at Matt, who was beginning to shift around slightly under the blanket. I watched him for a moment, noticing that his eyes were still closed and he appeared to still be sound asleep. Growing frustrated that he still wasn’t waking up, I turned the sound on my phone to maximum volume just as the recorded version of him and I were reaching our climaxes. The crude noises became more and more erratic as the volume increased, and suddenly Matt’s blue eyes shot open.

He scanned the area frantically, obviously disoriented and confused by the sounds swarming his ears. When his eyes finally met mine and he noticed the playful smile on my face, he visibly relaxed and rolled his eyes sarcastically. “Y/n, what the fuck are you watching?” He asked through a chuckle before leaning towards me to take a glance at my phone screen. “Oh my god, you’re ridiculous.” He added once he caught a glimpse of the two of us in the video; falling onto his back and covering his eyes with his crossed arms.

I collapsed into a fit of laughter before innocently replying, “What?”, fluttering my eyelashes and softening my voice. He simply shook his head, but I could see his lips curling into a smile behind his protective arms. “Don’t get me started, baby. Get some rest.” Was his reply, and I grumbled internally. I was far from tired, not only because I had already slept for four hours, but because I had just worked myself up for the past few minutes by watching that video. Still, I reluctantly obliged by hitting shuffle on our playlist once again before finding a comfortable position to attempt to get a bit more sleep.

My eyes were closed, my breathing was steady, but my body was wide awake; so I felt the shift that came from Matt sitting up in the bed. I was laying on my side with my back facing him, but through the soft music playing in my ear I could hear the privacy curtain slide across its rod. My eyes stayed shut as I felt the warmth of his body pressing up against me. I pretended to not feel his hand gently gliding across the curves of my hips, or his hardening member nudging against my thigh. However, once his lips pressed against the sensitive spot on my neck, my body began to fail me in its pretend ignorance. He delicately sucked on my thin skin, and my pulse began to quicken. His cool breath tickled my neck and I shivered in anticipation. His hand slowly traveled from my hip down my stomach, before finally reaching under my waistband towards my core, and I released a shaky breath.

I felt his lips upturn into a smile against my neck at my clear response. “Oh, so you are awake.” He teased, moving his hand away from my heat and resting his chin in the crook of my neck. I opened my eyes to a squint and looked at him. “What are you doing?” I asked with a slight whine in my voice. He scoffed dramatically. “What, you think you could play a video like that and expect me not to get worked up?” I smiled shyly before responding. “I just wanted to wake you. I was bored.” He scooted himself even closer to me, so that now our bodies were pressed tight against each other. “Oh yeah?” He placed a kiss to my neck again, this time tugging lightly at the skin with his teeth. “And what did you want to do to try to counteract this boredom?” He whispered, and my breath hitched as he brought a hand under my shirt and began fondling my sensitive nipples.

I closed my eyes before turning my body so that I was now facing him. “Matt, we are on a plane right now.” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper by the end of my sentence. He smirked before shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “That’s what the curtain is for, sweetheart.” My eyes shifted to the space behind him, where the curtain was shut and properly secured by a hook near his head. My focus was brought back to him as I felt his hands gently begin tugging down my sweatpants. “You just have to be quiet for me, okay?” I gulped nervously before nodding my head mindlessly, already growing distracted by the arousal beginning to form in my panties.

Matt pulled me closer to him before placing a soft kiss against my lips. His hand gently ran up and down my inner thigh, just barely grazing my heat with each stroke. He placed another kiss against my lips, this one longer and deeper than the first, and he put his right leg between my knees to prop them up and apart. Our mouths moved against each other in sync, and my hands began to travel through his hair, over his shoulders, and finally down to his stomach. I hissed when he finally cupped his hand over my heat, his thumb just barely resting on my clit. Even through the thin layer of fabric that was my panties, the contact was intense. “Mmm, baby, you’re already so wet for me.” He mumbled gruffly against my lips, causing me to squirm.

“Touch me Matty, please.” I begged softly, my eyes pleading as my core began to throb. He chuckled, our teeth clanking together gently, before attacking my neck with his mouth. “So needy, huh? You want these fingers?” He cooed, sliding two of his fingers — now hooked under my panties — up my slit to collect my juices. I squeezed my eyes shut and bit my bottom lip as I nodded frantically. “Mhm.” Was all I managed to get out in response to his question. “What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.” He was taunting me, both with his words and with his fingers as he toyed with my outer folds. I squirmed again, shifting slightly so that I was more on my back so that I could widen my legs easier. “N-need your fingers baby.” I managed to groan out, doing my best to keep my voice low so that our actions could go unnoticed by everyone around us.

Now leaning over me slightly, he looked down at me with hooded eyelids and a matching smirk. “That’s my girl.” He replied before finally rubbing circles on my swollen clit. My eyes rolled to the back of my head as I became engulfed in the overwhelmingly pleasurable sensation. I opened my eyes to find his traveling across my face. He had clearly been watching me in my state of ecstasy, and his blown out pupils and parted wet lips were clear signs that he was liking what he was seeing. Suddenly, a sharp moan escaped my lips as he plunged two of his fingers into me, and he quickly planted a firm hand over my mouth to prevent any more noises as he curled his fingers in and out of me mercilessly. The sensation became almost too much once he connected the base of his palm to my clit and began rubbing it in rhythm with his other movements, and almost without thinking I began clawing at the waist band of his sweatpants; desperate to feel more of him.

I pulled his sweats and his boxers down in one swift movement, and immediately began toying with his rock hard cock. Looking up at him as he continued his movements, I brought my hand to my mouth and allowed my collected saliva to drip onto it before bringing it back to his member. I began milking the tip of his cock and immediately noticed a change of pace in his fingers on my cunt. I watched his face as his eyes fluttered shut momentarily and his ears began to grow red. “Fuck, Y/n.” He moaned softly, his words alone enough to drive me crazy. I continued to stroke him, feeling each and every vein along his sizeable shaft, as I felt the familiar tingling sensation of an orgasm fast approaching.

“I-I need more of you Matty. Give me your cock please.” I was really begging now. My legs were beginning to shake and I was close to losing all control, but I wanted to cum around him. I watched as Matt’s eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head as his dick twitched in my hand, a clear sign that my words had an impact on him, too. “Turn on your side.” He commanded, and I immediately obliged. Once I was facing away from him, he wasted no time in lying down beside me — one of his arms wrapped across my chest and massaging my right tit — and sliding his cock into my soaking wet pussy.

We both couldn’t help but release small moans at the satisfying feeling that came from him bottoming out, but he gave me little time to adjust to his size before thrusting into me almost desperately. Using his grasp on my tit, he pushed my back against his chest so that my body was flush with his. “Jesus baby, you’re so tight.” He praised softly, his mouth pressed against my ear as his hips continued to snap against my ass. I couldn’t manage a reply, instead I brought my right hand up to grab onto the back of his neck. I fell into a deep trance from the feeling of my spongey walls stretching and moulding to his cock as if they were two matching puzzle pieces. He left sloppy open mouthed kisses all along my face, growing careless with his movements as the pressure in my lower half began to grow almost unbearable.

“You’re close, aren’t you sweetheart.” He breathed against my hair. I couldn’t do much more than nod my head. “It’s okay, let go. Just be a good girl and stay quiet for me okay?” He used his free hand to once again cover my mouth in anticipation of what might come just as my orgasm bubbled over. I did everything I could to stay silent, but as my orgasm tore through me a plethora of moans fell from my lips and into his gentle hand. My grip on the back of his neck tightened and my back arched away from his torso as I felt the unmistakable warm spurt of fluid stream from my cunt.

Just as I began coming down from my high, Matt released a few short grunts before halting his movements entirely. “Fuuuuck.” His profanity came out in a breathy sigh. His forehead fell to my shoulder, and I could feel his dick pulsating inside of me as he painted my walls with his cum. After a moment, I felt his body relax behind me and he collapsed onto his pillow. For a little while, the only sounds coming from our little corner of the plane was the sound of our ragged breathing as we attempted to regain our composure.

“Well,” Matt eventually began, sitting up and lifting the blanket, exposing the wet spot in the bed that my squirt created, “How are we gonna explain this one?” I took a moment to look at it before sliding my sweats back on. “Easy, we just tell them that you got a little scared of the turbulence and pissed yourself.” He rolled his eyes as he put his pants back on as well, and I laughed. “You’re something else kid.”

Just then, a woman’s voice came from behind the closed curtain. Matt looked at me quickly to ensure that I was fully clothed before opening the curtain and coming face to face with an older flight attendant. “Hi there.” She said, her voice cheerful and her face plastered with a fake smile. “We’re going to be making our landing in Boston in about thirty minutes, please return to an upright position as soon as you can.” Matt nodded his head and gave her a quick smile before she promptly moved down to the next row of flyers. As soon as she was out of earshot, he gave me a cheeky side eye and we both immediately broke into fits of laughter.

“We timed that well.” He said through his laughter and I covered my face with my hands. “I can’t believe we just did that.” I replied, shaking my head as I came to the realization that I had just fucked my boyfriend on a commercial flight. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into his chest. “We’re in the mile high club now, baby.” He kissed the top of my head. “Now let’s get our seats back up. Only thirty minutes until you meet my parents!”

[cheriladycl01]

Feel the Heat - Grid x F Driver! Reader

Plot: All the moments that Y/N has just absolutely lost her shit.

Warnings: Lots of swearing, mentions of sexism (undertones) which I do not condone at all, its just for the plot and what i see some celebrities are burdened with in the limelight.

Moment 1:

"So Y/N how do you feel about the 10 second time penalty?" Martin asks you in the post race interview. You were now starting P20 in the race tomorrow and it wasn't even your fault.

"Yeah superb the FIA did a really good job determining who was at fault!" you grit out with a strained smile on your face.

"Oh really? Because your team seem to be arguing against the decision as we speak, they've been very vocal about it"

"Yeah it was sarcastic of course I'm not happy, any other driver who did that would have been let off... but I don't? My team have clips of Hamilton, Ricciardo, Leclerc, Stroll, Gasly and Norris all doing it and getting away with it. So why not me?" you ask before storming off. You didn't want to do media anymore and your PR manager could tell.

"Y/N we are trying to get that penalty lifted so that you start P4 tomorrow. I don't know what else to say, the team are trying" she says rubbing your shoulders, but the scowl on your face says otherwise.

"It's not fucking right though Cathy!" you exclaim kicking the side of the Red Bull hospitality wall.

"I know, i know. And they are working on it!" she exclaims trying to calm you down.

"They wont change their decision now though, the other teams will get pissed that they've gone back on their word..." you seethe.

"Fucks sake" you scream.

"I'm going" you grunt out, before storming through the AlphaTauri garage and grab your bag that you'd brought to the track. Everyone could see how hacked off you were, even once you put the sunglasses on and your team cap to cover the look currently on your face.

"Y/N are you okay?" Yuki your team mate asks, as he too exists the paddock behind you. You tried to ignore him, not wanting to turn round and snap at one of the most genuine and sweetest people here.

"Okay, you don't want to talk and that's fine, but please let me drive. Angry Y/N is scary driving" he advises, trying to beeline ahead of you so that he could get to the drivers door before you.

"Sorry Yuki, yeah you should drive" you manage to get out slowing down your own pace so that the poor male didn't have to run so he was ahead of you.

Aftermath:

You proceeded to not have the time penalty knocked, and you started the race in P20, however you managed to climb all the way up to P5 in a victorious come back race.

Your team were celebrating the come back and you were beyond happy in the interviews.

Moment 2:

"Y/N over here! Can you sign this?" another voice shouts at you, you were in the airport and your manager said that he would be there for you and your girlfriend when you got off the plane with security.

However no-one was there to collect you apart from fans who somehow worked out what flight you were on.

Slowly more and more people were flooding around you both and your girlfriend. Your girlfriend was a smaller streamer and therefore wasn't used to the Paparazzi.

"Guys can we back up a little, just to keep us all safe" you tried being nice to get the fans to back up a little further to make sure your girlfriend was safe.

However, as you went round with the sharpie, more and more people were pushing and you were so out of it from the pushing and pulling, the cameras in your face and things being thrusted at you that the tight grip that was once on your forearm was gone.

"Emma?" you shouted your girlfriends name, now noticing you couldn't see her.

"Emma!" you shouted in an angrier tone, people still not backing up and giving you space.

"Right, I've tried to be nice, everyone please leave. NOW!" you say sternly, and for the first time not only the fans but airport staff notice the commotion and security help you out of the circled crowd around you.

You immediately went to twitter.

'Please, if you are a fan and you see a celebrity in a public space with no security... DONT bring attention to them and DONT mob them. That was the scariest moment of my life in Heathrow Airport just now. Have some fucking respect for your idols'

You shut your phone off, your face still angry most definitely being caught by the paps. They also caught as you ran up to your girlfriend pulling her into a hug, checking over her making sure she's okay, before your hands travel up to her cheek and pull her into a kiss.

"I'm so sorry baby" you apologize as soft tears start to fall down her face.

Aftermath:

Your girlfriend had ended up breaking up with you the week after the race, the pressure of everything getting to her. You cried to Charles and Pierre for an entire weekend as your 3 year long relationship had just come to a close because of your fans not having respect for personal space and boundaries.

You were fuming and had written many tweets and Instagram story's explaining why you guys broke up and how utterly heartbroken you were, however you wanted Emma to be happy and that this is what was for the best.

For months, you were cold and off with any media duties and PR had to tell every interviewer not to bring the breakup up in the questions or they'd cut the interview.

Moment 3:

"Well, Lando... you've been here for six years now and you still haven't got your first win yet... do you feel like your going to be the next Nico Hulkenberg or Kevin Magnussen?" An interviewer asks looking down at his notepad.

"Erm" Lando says unsurely looking down.

"What the actual fuck" you spit, looking at the interviewer that asked him.

"Y/N you have input on this matter?"

"Go fuck yourself. Get yourself in a F1 car and see if you can even fucking start it. Lando has worked hard for what he has achieved so far, in and no hate to Mclaren, but a midfield car. How dare you sit there and ask him that question. Kevin and Nico have also worked hard for where they are, even just being in F1 is a phenomenal achievement considering there are only 20 seats in the world. So to answer your question, no Lando is Lando Norris and that's fucking iconic enough as it is, with or without a win. Have a good fucking rest of the panel" you rant, before standing up with so much force that your seat goes crashing back, a bang sounding throughout the room making the interviewer flinch.

Aftermath:

Everyone actually sat there for a minute reviewing how you'd just stormed out of media duties and slammed the interviewer six feet under.

"So Y/N no longer will be participating into todays panel. So Martin i believe you had a question for Lewis?" the director advised but the rest of the vibes for the interview weren't there as everyone agreed with your previous statements.

Moment 4:

"Y/N are you okay?" your race engineer asks.

"FUCK! FUCKS SAKE. WHAT A PRICK" you screech.

"Copy that. But are you okay?" they asks once again.

"No I'm not fucking okay. Tell Leclerc when i see him, I'm going to shove his wheel so far into his mouth " *cut off*

"Did you guys just fucking mute me?" you scream, but after not hearing anything you jump out the car handing the wheel to one of the pit teams that had come out to collect your battered car.

You kicked at the gravel, yelling at one of the crew asking if they saw how Leclerc had literally gone into you and used you as his crash barrier, yet he was still able to the continue the race pitting for minor wing damage.

Aftermath:

You had yelled at Charles after the race, who completely admitted to you that he was at fault and he was sorry to be the cause of your DNF. He went on to say in the interviews that he was sorry to you that he'd caused such a collision.

Moment 5:

"WOMEN SHOULDNT BE IN MOTORSPORT" you hear from the stand behind you as your signing a little boys hat that he had offered you asking for a picture and a signature.

However, something metallic not only hit you but hit the little boy that was stood to your left. He immediately raised his hand to his head, holding the bit that the can had hit before bursting into tears.

In a moment of shock you spin round looking for the men that had thrown the empty beer cans at you through the fencing.

"Oiii you two get the fuck down here now!" you point at the two laughing gents, who still at being called out.

"Don't ever pull shit like that again or I'll get you permanently banned from every sporting event you could possibly attend" you say looking up at them. They looked at you in shock.

"Oh, I'm sorry if its not the consequences of your actions ..." you laugh.

"But ..."

"No, you hurt a little boy! And me... So I'll be letting bar staff know to no longer serve you" you say before turning away and talking to security.

They ended up finding the little boy and his father. You came up to them with a gift bag each and upgraded paddock passes. They hugged you thanking you for the opportunity and saying it was too much.

You made sure the little boy was okay, carrying him on your hip touring him through the paddock, introducing him and his dad to the other drivers and then showing him around the garage. You let him sit in your car while you took a picture of him and his dad. A mechanic then took a picture of the three of you.

Aftermath:

The media went crazy seeing you stick up for the little boy and his day around the paddock with you. People knew you were sweet despite how short tempered you could be and these interactions proved it.

The little boy and his father ended up actually becoming closer friends of yours and would often be seen in the paddock or when they had general tickets people would wave as they recognized them.

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz

[ventismacchiato]

O9 stuck with you — mile high club !

scaramouche x gender neutral reader

The universe had blessed you with great looks, an overflow of talent, and a great personality. But you couldn’t have it all, which was why your irrational fear of flying was a great target for your friends to bully you for. 

It was a great insecurity of yours, but you knew they meant well. 

You hadn’t slept a wink the night before as you started to accept your fate of sitting next to the higher evil for an entire flight – Scaramouche.

“Don’t look so down,” Venti tries to comfort, his mouthful of powdered donuts, “You can just sleep the entire time.”

“As if I would feel at ease sleeping next to him,” you mutter, “He’d probably push me off the plane.”

You spare a glance over to where Scara was seated beside his members, the other three loudly playing a game of UNO as he flipped through some manga with his headphones on. He looked up and caught your eye, raising a brow as you quickly avert your eyes. Unlike him you were unable to sit still.

“Alright, it’s time to board!” Jean says, shuffling through a stack of passports, she hadn’t trusted any of you to keep them on yourselves, “It’s a private plane so once everyone is settled we’ll take off.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Lisa laughed as she slid past Jean to start boarding with a face mask already applied.

You let yourself fall back and let everyone go ahead of you, fidgeting with your necklace as you ended up right behind Scaramouche.

The airplane cabin was a tight squeeze as you and Scaramouche were forced into a small space together. The plane was smaller than usual so it could land safely on the island and Jean had thought making you guys fly economy would get you ready for the harsh reality of the island. And just your luck, you had a window seat. Once you were seated you couldn’t help but give sporadic glances towards the glass. It didn’t look very strong.

Whenever you had to board a plane you usually had Xiao or Lumine beside you, and they’d let you grab onto their arm during takeoff. It was a stupid fear, you knew that, but it didn’t stop the anxiety bubbling its way up to your skin.

You were so out of it you didn’t even comprehend the man you hated was less than a few inches away from you, giving you judgemental glances as you kept wringing your hands and rocking back and forth in your seat. You hadn’t even called him ugly yet. Even he was confused at the sudden lack of hostility.

Scaramouche glanced at you with a mixture of annoyance and disbelief as he was in his seat beside you, “Get up,” he demanded sharply.

“What?” you mumble, not registering his tone as you start staring out the little glass window. God, how high were you guys going to fly?

“I said get up and switch seats with me. Are you deaf?” The forcefulness in his voice left no room for argument.

You hesitated, looking down at your shaking hands. “Really?”

Scaramouche huffed as he stood up, yanking you up from your seat and gesturing for you to move before taking your previous spot without a word.

“Thank you,” you sigh, feeling a bit of the tension in your shoulders release. Still too distressed to realize you were thanking Scaramouche out of all people. It was the equivalent to thanking the devil for world hunger in your eyes. 

Scaramouche rolled his eyes, “Don’t thank me. I did it because your shaking was annoying,” he grumbles, reaching over to grab your hand and wave it around to prove his point. 

As he took the window seat, he noticed your continuous anxious peeks towards the window. Without a word, he reached over and pulled down the window curtain with a decisive motion, blocking out the view that was making you more uneasy by the second.

The pilot announced that it would begin its takeoff, and you immediately felt your heart race, trying to control your breathing. Scaramouche, who had already hooked on his headphones, still couldn’t tune out your incessant fidgeting, 

With a roll of his eyes and an exasperated sigh he gently but firmly pushed your head between your knees. “Just stay like that until we’re steady,” he instructed, his tone less harsh than before as he kept his palm on your upper back. 

Once the plane leveled out and the turbulence eased, Scaramouche pulled you back up by your collar. 

“God, you’re pathetic. You better not throw up on me,” he said with an edge of irritation, but there was a hint of something else in his voice that you couldn’t quite place.

Overwhelmed by fear and unable to focus on his insults, you instinctively grabbed his arm, clinging to it as if it were a lifeline. Scaramouche glanced down at you, surprise flashing in his eyes. For a moment, he seemed at a loss for how to handle the situation.

With a sigh that spoke of reluctant empathy, Scaramouche allowed you to hold onto his arm. He didn’t pull away or complain, simply letting you grasp his arm tightly until you began to calm down. 

“Just… let me know when you’re ready to let go,” he muttered, his usual bravado tempered by a rare moment of patience as he turned his head away, burying it in his other palm. 

You nodded, still gripping his arm but feeling your fear gradually subside. After a few minutes, when you felt more composed, you slowly released your hold. The post fear clarity hit you hard.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, the gratitude in your voice palpable despite the strained circumstances.

Scaramouche just huffed, turning his attention back to his phone. “Whatever, try not to lose it on me again or I really will throw you off.”

As the flight continued, the atmosphere between you and Scaramouche shifted slightly. For the brief few hours in the sky, he went easier on you.

It was odd to not be treated like dirt by him for once. Oddly nice. 

The island was serene at night. The gentle lapping of the waves against the shore provided you with a soothing lullaby and a sight just as enchanting. You’d always loved the ocean, the crispy and fresh scent it brought you. You walked along the beach, relishing in the sensation of burying your feet in the warm sand in an attempt to clear your mind.

You couldn't sleep, the anticipation of tomorrow's filming gnawing at your nerves. The beach was mostly empty, save for a solitary figure sitting by the water. As you approached, your heart jumped into your throat, a rush of fear surging through you.

"Relax, it's me, dumbass," came a familiar, exasperated voice. Scaramouche.

"Great," you muttered, feeling your heartbeat slow to a normal pace. "Just what I needed."

"Can you go away? There's so much beach to sit on. I'm trying to have a moment," Scaramouche said, his tone dripping with irritation.

"You aren't the only one who can have an emo moment," you shot back, plopping down a few feet away from him. "Why are you even here?"

"Same reason as you," he replied, staring out at the ocean.

The silence stretched between you, the only sound the waves breaking on the shore. After a while, you broke the silence. "I could push you in right now, you know."

"I can swim, idiot," he replied, not even bothering to look at you.

“Another thing you can do,” you mutter, bringing your knees up to tuck under your chin. You look to your left to see Scaramouche drawing circles in the sand.

"Sometimes you don’t realize how good you have it," you whisper, but in the quiet of the night he hears it and looks over at you.

He scoffs, "You think I have it good? You're welcome to take my place anytime."

“I’m just saying, It’s annoying when you’re the only one I keep losing to,” you murmured. You needed to tape your mouth shut, at this point you were just giving him more ammo to fight you with. Your inferiority complex didn’t need any more reasons.

“God, you really are stupid,” Scara says, his tone dry. Before you could haul his ass into the ocean, he continues,

"Just because you keep losing to me doesn’t make you inferior," Scaramouche says so quietly you almost miss it, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Are you that stupid? If I'm the only person you can't beat, then that’s a win." He looks over to where you were peering at him, “Why am I even competing with someone as idiotic as you?”

You looked away, his words not sounding like spewed garbage once in your life. 

A few more minutes passed in quiet contemplation. Eventually, you stood up, brushing the sand off your pants. "I'm going to the kitchen for a snack."

"Why are you announcing it?" Scaramouche scoffs, finally glancing over at you.

You shrugged. "I don't know."

To your surprise, he got up and followed you. 

"Why are you so obsessed with me?" you grumbled.

"I'm literally just hungry, you self-absorbed freak," he shot back, but there was a gloominess to his tone that made you glance at him with a bit more curiosity.

You’d only stepped into the kitchen that afternoon during the tour, so you spent a good five minutes looking for hot cocoa powder as Scaramouche was no help whatsoever.

Scaramouche watched you with a judgemental eye as you dumped too much powder into a cup of milk and turned the heat on too high, causing the drink to froth and overflow. 

"That's gross," he finally said, pushing you aside and taking over. "You're doing it all wrong."

"Like you could do any better," you retorted, but you watched as he made the cocoa, and you had to admit it looked better than your attempt. He even found marshmallows and threw it into your cup, leaving his empty of it. He started walking back to the dorms, and not wanting to be left behind you trailed behind him, steaming mugs in hand.

You hissed as the heat permeating through the mug scorched your palms.

“You really can’t do anything,” Scaramouche drawls, taking your cup away from you as he went ahead of you.

“I don’t need you to hold it,” you huff, jogging to catch up with him.

As you entered the common area, everyone was gathered around, playing the board games that Yoimiya had brought. 

Childe looked up and grinned while rolling a pair of dice, "Hey, look, matching hot cocoa! How cute."

Lumine smirked. "Awww, you two are such couple goals!"

You and Scaramouche immediately started squabbling, your voices rising in indignation. "We're not a couple!" you both shouted in unison, glaring at each other.

“You guys are even in sync!” Aether sighed, “Goals. Literal goals.”

“Whatever,” Scaramouche huffed, placing your mug back in your hands and shoving past you all to head to his room.

“Awe, not going to join us for Monopoly?” Venti calls out.

Scaramouche answers by slamming his door shut.

stuck with you!

masterlist — prev | next

sorry if u aren’t actually afraid of heights i wanted to include that scene so yn has to be a wuss sorry xx me personally tho i love flying

i hope i wrote modern yae well? i listened to a bunch of voicelines to figure out how her and scara wud interact in this universe 😭

please comment on the masterlist if you’d like me to use your user as a fan in the au!

synopsis — after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!

notes — chat did we enjoy this chapter

taglist — @na1lea @cindywasneverhere @lunavixia @aestherin @mlaakai @camvrin @retiredmommylover @iheartpieck @jangyung @cartierfiles @loveariel @silly-ez @mochipls @pomeiu @chuuismylife @flowerypesky @creammpuff @justanothertiredreader @boxdisappeared @kissmiere @kissingkzuha @webbywill @kazusboyfriend @s3xpistolss @pjsucks @bunns-wonderland @lordbugs @localgirlywithnolife @kosumos @danfelions @featuredtofu @pinxeajin @herebyaccident0 @haeunoo @scaradooche @pglt19 @chemiru @childesbabygirl @simonisferal @shutingstar @vxcmx @domimiki @ttalgi @esuz @tokkishouse @kitsuvil @scarasmood @ihearttori @nomurahayami @starringyau @androxphobic @kazuhasbabe

[inkedells]

look at me a little more | dbf!joel miller x f!reader

A/N: first of all, SMUTTT so much smut up ahead. holy crap this is the longest thing i've ever written (pathetic, i know, blame the commitment issues) enjoy lovies!! also lmk if you want a part 2 maybe possibly!?

m!dni | requests open.

summary: dbf!neighbor!joel accidentally drenches you (virgin!reader) while washing his car and you can’t help but notice the way he eyes you up. it’s only once he’s in your bedroom, fixing your closet door as an apology, that you realize the best person to rid you of your virginity and teach you precisely how to please yourself and others had been right in front of you the whole time; it's getting joel on board with the whole idea that's the hard part.

word count: 5.5k

tags/warnings: SMUTTTT, virgin!reader, dbf!neighbor!joel faces moral conflicts (to fuck or not to fuck!?!?), porn with plot, sooo much tension, dirty talk, use of pet names, blowjobs, handjobs, cumplay, reader eats joel's cum, grinding, making out, oral sex, no!outbreak au, reader's innocent in the sense that she doesn't really know how to do a lot of things when it comes to sex but still has a ton of desires

masterlist

There was a certain shame that came with being infatuated with your dad’s best friend.

You were sitting around on the porch on a hot summer afternoon, wearing your shortest cotton shorts as you sipped the juice box brand you had loved since you were a little girl. Legs crossed, foot tapping the air, and most importantly, eyes absolutely trained on the ripple of Joel Miller’s biceps as he washed his car.

You didn’t know why you liked to stare at him so much. But you did know it was wrong. Immoral. Eyeing up someone in their forties? What was wrong with you? That was your dad’s best f—

“Hey, Mr. Miller!” You called over, shutting down every ounce of doubt in your mind.

He turned around without hesitation, and when he did, you waved. The first time you’d done that, he had to work a little harder to figure out the source of the voice, eyes searching in random directions before finally settling on you. But now, it was like he knew exactly where to look—And, well, that was all it took for you to decide you would be spending the next hour washing a car if it meant spending time with Joel.

So you settled your juice box down on the wooden floor of the porch and skipped over to his house. He must not have heard your footsteps behind him over the sound of the hose, so your simple tap on his shoulder resulted in him whipping around, hose in hand, as he consequently drenched you.

You yelped, breaking out into nervous laughter both from shock and how cold the water was. Joel fumbled to turn off the hose as he began profusely apologizing. “Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry—”

Then he properly saw you. From Joel’s perspective, your clothes were reduced to translucency, practically melting into your skin.

But you didn’t know that. You never fully grasped just how vulnerable you had become from his accident, so when you caught him averting his gaze as quickly as he could, you were a little confused.

“You—Uh—I,” Joel stumbled before clearing his throat, “There’s clothes. Inside. Sarah’s. You can, um, you can go and… y’know. Change into them. Walkin’ all the way back to your house doesn’t seem like a… viable… option.”

By then, a blush had already risen to your cheeks just from how delicately Joel was treating you. As if you were something he had to be careful with, like if he didn’t think long and hard about every word coming out of his mouth, there would be consequences. 

“Lead the way.”

Joel gave you a firm smile before swallowing the lump in his throat and motioning for you to follow him as he walked. Once he had the front door open, he let you go in first. Even as you carefully walked past him, you could feel his eyes staring at you.

“Up there,” Joel gestured, “Um, first door on the left. I’ll… be outside.”

As he explained, you subconsciously scanned over the planes of his body—probably a habit you picked up from the multiple weeks of watching him work. But then he was turning to leave, and you could tell he was still really tense. You didn’t know why a simple accident had him so tripped up, but you had the urge to alleviate his worry.

“Hey,” You called, arms wrapped around yourself in an effort to stave off the cold. He turned around, concerned until he saw your soft smile and relaxed a little, “On a scale of one to ten, how sick and tired are you of washing that truck?”

There was only one way to break Joel out of his nervous state; you had to make the situation lighthearted; you learned that from years of watching him hang out with your dad.

He searched your eyes for a beat, eyes completely unwavering, before muttering, “Like a fifty.”

You both breathed a laugh at that. For the briefest moment, you thought you noticed Joel’s gaze flitting to your chest. Your breath caught in your throat, but before you could do a double take, his eyes were glued to yours again.

“So then,” You started, regathering yourself and pushing away whatever your brain was conjuring up, “How do you feel about replacing one lousy chore with another?”

“What kinda chore we talkin’?”

“Well, my closet door’s all screwed up. And you know, instead of apologizing for soaking me by way of expensive concert tickets and a brand new car, like how I know you were planning on doing—”

“—Oh, of course,” Joel sarcastically remarked, playing along as you quickly noticed the worry on his face faded into a crooked grin.

“Well, I really think I can just settle for the closet door fix. Go ahead and save the brand new car for when you break my toaster.”

“Okay, okay,” Joel laughed, “I get it. Go change, then you can lead me to this broken closet door.”

-

Sarah’s clothes definitely belonged to a fourteen-year-old. Not your taste, but then again, if you were fourteen like her, you probably would’ve dressed like that too.

You couldn’t settle on a top, all of them were either too small or bore a graphic design too childish for you. You did find a pair of stretchier shorts that fit alright though, so you decided you’d just pick up one of Joel’s shirts from the pile of clean laundry you saw sitting atop the washing machine downstairs.

When you made it out the front door, the hose was away and his toolbox was resting on the ground by his feet. Joel was drying up his car with a cloth, and when he heard you hop down the steps and subsequently turned your way, you weren’t exactly expecting him to completely stumble at the sight of you in his shirt.

“Oh—You, uh, I thought you were gettin’ Sarah’s clothes?”

“I was, none of her tops fit so I grabbed one of yours from the laundry downstairs.” You absorbed Joel’s cryptic reaction and began to worry. “I’m sorry, Mr. Miller, I really should’ve asked—”

“—No, no, it’s fine. Really. Doesn't matter.”

Joel picked up his toolbox, then the both of you began walking over to your house. It wasn’t that far away at all, probably a couple of hundred feet at most, but he opted into small talk anyway.

“Um,” Joel began, “What’d you come over for in the first place? Didn’t really get a chance to ask ‘cause of this whole… debacle.”

You giggled at his old man vocabulary. Debacle.

“I wanted to help with your car, but looks like those plans got derailed.”

He breathed a polite laugh. “Yeah, well. Guess it turned out that way.”

Before an awkward silence could fall upon the both of you, your brain settled on something to bring up.

“Hey, my dad’s having that July 4th barbecue the day after tomorrow. You’re coming right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it, honey.”

Honey? Honey. Honey honey honey honey—

He cleared his throat. “Where is your dad, anyway?”

You were both standing on your porch now, Joel’s eyes raking you over as you fumbled with the front door.

“Um, I think he’s out working.”

“Great.”

Great?

Before you could ask him what he meant, Joel realized what he had said. “Wait, no, not great. I don’t—I don’t know why I said that. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

You pushed the door open. “Hey,” You brought a hand up to his chest and patted it, “You’ll give yourself a heart attack if you keep assuming all your mistakes are colossal and worthy of that much panic.”

His shoulders seemed to relax a little at that—you weren’t sure if it was your hand or your words that did it.

Eventually, you both found yourselves in your bedroom. You were sitting on the edge of your bed as you watched Joel work. Kneeling on one knee with a screwdriver in hand, he fumbled with one of the closet door’s hinges as he muttered little things to himself under his breath.

“Thanks for this, Mr. Miller.”

He turned to you, nodding as he seemed to process that he was in your bedroom. Your bedroom.

“So,” Joel began, as he dug through his toolbox, “Is your boyfriend visiting too? Or, y’know, girlfriend. Three months is a long ti—”

You softly smiled. “I don’t have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend.”

He turned to look at you again as he turned a screwdriver, this time scanning you over. “Hm, I don’t believe you. Sweet thing like you? Single?”

“Oh, stop,” You blushed, shooing him off.

Joel stood to his feet, dusting his hands off on his thighs. “All fixed. Next time you ne—”

“—I’ve never been in a relationship before. Actually.”

Joel stared at you for a moment before diverting his gaze to the ground. “I, um…”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. You don’t wanna know about my completely nonexistent dating history,” You lightly smacked your forehead, “Wait, it’s existent if we count the boy I dated for a week in fourth grade.”

Joel laughed, sitting down next to you on your bed. “It’s okay. I haven’t really dated anybody since Sarah’s mom, either. Long-term, anyways.”

“Yeah, well at least you’re not a virgin.”

Joel seemed to tense at that, and you immediately regretted saying it.

“Oh gosh,” You cringed, hands gripping your head, “I really just say anything, don’t I?”

Joel chuckled, head hung between his shoulders with his eyes squinted shut. You eventually laughed, too, simply because—and you realized it sounded stupid—Joel’s laughter was contagious.

“Alright, alright,” Joel beckoned, “Lemme be serious for a second. C’mere.”

You slumped down next to him, staring up at the ceiling before turning to make eye contact.

“That’s not something you have to worry about. You got time, honey, you’re in college. All that crap about late blooming isn’t real. It’s about whenever you’re ready, and whenever you find the right person to do it with.”

You smiled up at him softly. “Thanks, Mr. Miller.”

“Joel. Just Joel.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look away from him. So you stayed like that, searching his eyes for something you didn’t have the courage to say out loud.

“Joel,” You echoed, repeating his name back to him, bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“I, uh…” Joel trailed off, his gaze flitting down to your lips. “I…” He tried again, but it went nowhere.

You exhaled, and almost immediately, his hands cupped your face as he leaned forward and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to your lips.

It was warm, and gentle, and amazing, and you didn’t know if you could ever let him stop kissing you with how delightful the scruff of his beard felt against your skin.

He did break the kiss after a few seconds, though, and it left you breathless. “Joel…”

His muscles seemed to visibly tense as he mistook your speechless state for confusion. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why—”

“—No. No, I liked it,” You smiled softly at him, “I, um, you know. Wouldn’t mind if you kissed me… again.”

With reassurance that you weren’t absolutely appalled, his limbs relaxed. He leaned forward again until he was kissing you. Slow at first, languid. But then it turned fervent and desperate, breaths being exchanged into one another's mouths as lips slotted together like fingers intertwined—so perfect, as if they were biologically designed to do so.

It wasn’t long until he had your back flat against your bed, and you felt his growing hardness dig into your hip.

“Y’know what that is, don’t you?”

You nodded hesitantly.

“You know why it’s there?”

You shrugged.

He gripped the fabric of your—no, his—shirt as his voice rumbled, “You prancin’ around in my shirt did that.”

Without a second thought, you clumsily palmed him there through the thick fabric of his jeans and reveled in the consequential shuddering moan he let out

“Joel, I don’t… I don’t think I know what I’m doing.”

“That’s okay, honey, I’ll teach you.”

Propping himself up with his elbow, he placed his hand atop your own and guided the movements of your open palm. Things like pressing your hand further into him so as to increase the pressure between his legs, and encouraging back-and-forth motions that had his hips rutting and his breath hitching.

Once you got the hang of it, he removed his hand from your own. You felt his hand snake down your neck, then the side of your torso. 

“I trust you,” You whispered, fingers playing with the happy trail peaking Joel’s pants, hoping to absolve him of any guilt or doubt.

But the second Joel’s fingertips grazed the waistband of your shorts, he froze. He was staring off somewhere to the right, so you followed his gaze until you found what he was so disturbed by.

A framed photo on your nightstand, one of you standing next to your dad on vacation in Maui.

You understood immediately; that picture was an astute reminder of exactly who’s daughter Joel was about to debauch.

Your hand fell away from his crotch as he leaned back on his haunches and ran his hands through his hair with worried eyes.

“Joel?” You whispered, but then he was completely backing off of you as he muttered curses under his breath. “Hey, no, come back. What’s wrong?”

It was a dumb question. You knew what was wrong. Even though you were well beyond legal, it seemed to mean little in the situation—the facts were, if he touched you, it was betrayal.

“This is…” Joel panted, standing to his feet and raking his hands through his hair, “I shouldn’t have… Fuck. Fuck. I have to go.”

And just like that, he was gone.

-

That night, your lights stayed on and you didn’t close your curtains.

You stripped yourself of Joel’s shirt first, going excruciatingly slow in case Joel happened to be watching through his neighboring window. You occasionally shot glances at his window on the off chance that the window illuminated, but you quickly realized if the two of you made eye contact that wouldn’t be good either. You’d gotten all the way down to your underwear before you spotted his light flick on from the corner of your eye.

So you did the first thing that came to mind; You turned your back to your window. Panties halfway down your legs, torso bent with your knees straightened as you slowly shed your clothing. Hoping. Hoping for him to avert his attention ever so slightly and accidentally catch you like this. Hoping he would think of it every time he talked to you.

Without ever making eye contact, you would never know if Joel actually saw anything, and he would never know you hadn’t actually “forgotten” to close your curtains.

No pressure on either of you.

You went to sleep with a hand shoved down the front of your panties as you thought of all the things you wanted Joel to do to you.

-

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Jesus. What time was it? You stretched until sleep left you and opened your eyes as wide as you could (not very wide at all). From what you could gather, the sun was definitely up. You, however, did not have the willpower required to read off of your phone screen 5 seconds after waking up, so you answered the phone without reading the contact.

“Hello?” You groaned, voice gruff from sleep.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

You knew that voice anywhere. Almost immediately, you shot upright and cleared your throat as you rubbed your eyes. “Oh, hey Mr. Mill—uh, I mean, Joel,” You breathed a nervous laugh before remembering his question, “No. No, it’s okay I was like, basically awake already, um, so… what’s up? Why’d you—Why’d you call?”

“Right, so just to preface, I understand things are not... ideal... between us right now. But to be honest, you’re the only person available who I trust with this, and… let me just explain. I got called into work unexpectedly and Sarah’s gonna be home alone. Lately, she’s been getting into these rebellious fits, and I just don’t want to risk another situation where she sneaks out at night to meet up with her boyfriend again.”

“Sarah and rebellious fits? Really?”

“Yes, believe it or not. So do you think you could just hang around my place for, to be honest, a long while? It’s looking like I’m gonna be home really late tonight. Oh, and I can pay you.”

“Oh, shut up, you’re not paying me.”

Joel exhaled appreciatively through the phone. “Okay, well I’m home right now if you wanna come by and eat some breakfast. Least I could do. I gotta leave in like thirty minutes by the way, so. Take your time but also don’t take your time?”

You smiled, hoping he could hear it in your voice. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.”

“Thanks, honey.”

Oh god. There it was again. You thought you might actually pass out, but you quickly turned off your racing brain enough to mutter a small “mhm” before abruptly hanging up.

Okay. Joel Miller. Your dad’s best friend, who was this close to absolving you of every ounce of innocence in your body… just asked you to watch his daughter. What could go wrong?

When you got to his house, he had left already (you definitely took too long in the shower). He did leave out a plate of food, though, along with the message, “Thanks again. Enjoy the pancakes,” scratched out on a post-it note.

And boy did it turn out to be a long day. Sarah wasn’t that much of a handful, she mostly took care of herself. The hard part was lunch.

You attempted to cook something for the two of you, but it only ended in disaster when you left the quiches in the oven for too long. Then you decided Penne a la Vodka couldn’t be that hard, and you couldn't be more wrong. A whole box of pasta was ruined because Sarah didn’t realize the pasta went in after the water boiled, not before. Eventually, you both just accepted defeat and ordered Panera Bread.

Later, Sarah popped into the living room to let you know she was going up to her room to take a nap, and you figured you’d do the same on the couch.

The last thing you read was the time on the cable box; 7:37.

-

Metal clanking. The turn of a key. The creaking of a door. The blaring siren of an alarm system.

“Jesus—Fuck. I thought I told her to turn off the alarm at 8.”

And Joel’s voice.

You jolted awake, blinking wide as you moved to sit upright on the couch. The time on the cable box was 11:50.

Soon, the alarm stopped, and not long after, Joel’s figure came into view. He was wearing a denim button-up with work pants and work boots.

“Hey,” Joel called, setting his things down next to the kitchen island.

“Hi,” You replied, “How was work?”

Joel gave you a polite smile before pulling open the refrigerator door to retrieve a beer. With his head still poked inside the fridge, he replied, “The usual.”

“Well, what was the usual li—”

“—Were you asleep?”

“Uh…" You cleared your throat in an effort to stall as you debated whether or not you would lie. "Yeah, I was. Sorry.”

Joel took a swig of his beer, staring at you from across the room for a minute before blurting out, “The usual is busy. Extremely busy and tedious. But, um, how was Sarah? Hope you weren’t asleep too long.”

“Nope,” You lied, “I Wasn’t asleep long at all. Sarah was great. We had a bit of trouble with lunch, but everything ended up fine.”

“Good. Good. Well you can head out now, thanks for taking care of her.”

No. You did not want to "head out." You rose to your feet. “Joel?”

He looked around as he swallowed his beer. “Uh, yeah?”

“I actually wanted to talk to you. About yesterday.”

He peered down at the ground, swishing around the bottle in his hand. “That’s—That’s okay, honey. I think it’s best we forget that happened.”

“What? But why?”

Joel crossed the room and sat down next to you, leaning back against the couch while you sat back down on the edge with your elbows resting on your knees.

“Come on,” He started, “Don’t act like you don’t know exactly why we’re… this… is impossible.”

“Joel, I—”

“—I’m sorry. You should get home now.”

You turned around to face him. “Joel. No one has to know.” 

“As I said, I’m sorry. I handled yesterday… terribly. There were a million different ways to go about that, and I somehow chose the worst one. But we don't work. We can't work.”

You felt your eyes begin to water, but you tried to push the feeling down.

“Hey, hey,” He lulled, the hardness of his attitude falling away as he noticed the sad shine in your eyes, “Don’t cry.” He pulled you against him, rubbing your shoulder firmly.

“Joel,” You mumbled in a small voice, sniffling against his denim shirt with a frown.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to justify what he was quickly realizing was inevitable. You were an adult, somebody else independent of your father. It was your choice who to get involved with, just like it was his. This was mutual.

He knew he would regret it later, but your innocence and desperation allured him to the point of no return.

“It’s late,” Joel began, voice gentle as he offered you one last out, “You should go home. You need sleep, you’re not thinking straight. I’ll call you in the morning.”

“No,” You replied, removing yourself from his body so you could look him in the eye. “I don’t want to leave. I want you to… I want you to do what you said you��d do.”

Knowing exactly what you were talking about, he redundantly asked in a whisper, “And what’s that?”

You wiped a stray tear as you clumsily moved to straddle his lap. Almost automatically, his hands found their way to your hips, his thumbs rubbing circles into the slivers of skin peeking between your cami tank top and the waistband of your shorts. But it seemed at some point his consciousness realized what he was doing because his hands suddenly dropped to his sides. And, well, you just wouldn’t have that, so you grabbed hold of his wrists and returned them to where they were settled on your hips before you rested your own hands on Joel’s chest.

“You remember, don’t you?” You shifted in his lap, “You said you’d teach me.”

“How to have sex.” He said it more like a confirmation rather than a question.

You blushed at his blatant use of the word. It was like every fifth thing coming out of his mouth was sending your brain spiraling. You cleared your throat. “Yeah. Yeah, sex. Blowjobs, orgasms, literal sex. All of it.”

Silence for a beat. “I have one condition,” Joel warned.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“The second I suspect your dad is onto us, that’s it. It’s over. No more messing around, none of it. I can’t lose my best friend.”

You nodded. You probably shouldn’t have agreed so easily, but you didn’t actually think you and Joel would ever get caught.

“Okay, then,” Joel whispered. “Good. What do you wanna do first? Start off easy.”

You looked around the room nervously, careful not to make eye contact as you spoke. “Like. I dunno. Maybe for right now, I could just… touch you. Touch it, I mean.”

Joel nodded, and when your breathing began to grow the slightest bit uneven from nervousness, he noticed and rubbed your upper arm reassuringly. “Hey. Relax. Climb down and sit right there on the ground between my legs, and I’ll show you where to start.”

And so you did. Joel peered down at you with heavy lids as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, and thus began your first lesson.

“Unbuckle my pants.”

With shaky hands, you removed his belt and undid his fly. You couldn’t explain why, but as soon as you caught sight of the bulge in his boxers, your mouth watered.

“What…” You began, “What now?”

“Whatever feels comfortable.”

With a light, feathery touch, you delicately traced a singular finger along the outline of his cock. Joel shivered at the contact, hands shooting to grip the sofa. Touching it felt different this time, more intense because you could feel every ridge and vein; you blamed it on the much thinner fabric dividing your fingers and his cock.

Your breath shuddered before speaking, “Can I take it ou—”

“—Yes, God, yes.”

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulling downwards until his cock sprang free. It was thick, long, and wet at the tip, and you found yourself instinctively leaning further into it.

“Okay,” Joel sighed shakily, “Now just form a circle with your fingers and stroke it.”

You did as Joel said, and when your fingers finally made contact with his cock, you sighed at how velvety the skin was there. Soft and smooth, except for the trimmed hair surrounding the base. You stroked him steadily, biting your lip as you watched the wetness leaking from his tip spread down his shaft.

“Twist at the tip, honey, twist at the—Yeah, just like that. So good, you’re doing so good.” You couldn’t help but smile when Joel tilted his head back from the pleasure of it all.

With Joel still reeling from the contact of your hand, you took his momentary refusal to look down at you as an opportunity to surprise him a little.

You leaned forward and kitten-licked his tip, and it had him finally making eye contact with you as he whispered, “Oh, do that again.”

And so you did, adoring the look of pleasure strewn across Joel’s face.

Joel offered you a quick, crooked grin. “How’s it feel?” He asked, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip as your tongue played with his tip.

You pulled away for a moment to respond, “How’s what feel?”

“Licking a man’s cock.”

You let the spit that had gathered in your mouth drip down onto his length. “I have the urge to do more with it.”

“Like what?”

“Like put it all the way in my mouth.”

And so kitten licks turned into long stripes up his shift, which turned into eager suckling on his tip, which turned into forcing his cock down as far as it could go without making you gag.

Joel’s hand gripped the back of your head, but he never pushed you down. Whenever you did accidentally end up gagging, he petted your hair, mumbling encouragements as best he could through the blinding pleasure. Things like, “Yeah, honey, doing so good. That’s it. Just a little more. Mhm.” And his affectionate nature, his gentleness, his reassuring words—he was exactly how you hoped he would be like. Not to mention, the general hotness of it all had your hips canting down against nothing, in desperate search of relief.

“M’close, sweetheart. Take it—Take it out.”

“I don’t wanna,” You replied in a hoarse voice as you jacked him off.

“You’re not ready for that, honey, just take it out. Take it out.”

You reluctantly complied, removing him from the tight heat of your mouth, drool dripping down your chin as you stroked him rapidly.

“Joel, I… I think I’m wet.”

He moaned a curse at that, his chest rising and falling in rapid breaths as his orgasm approached him. “Jesus f-fuckin’… Tell me more.”

“I need you to touch it for me next time. Please. Maybe you could… Maybe you could put your mouth on it like how I put my mouth on you.”

“Yes, yes, oh fuck, I’m cumming, don’t stop stroking it,” Joel moaned, hot white spurts shooting up and all over your hand as you stroked him through it.

With his breathing still labored, he panted out in a high voice, “You’re lying. You’re f-fucking lying. Tell me the truth.”

“About what?”

“This isn’t—You’ve done this before. No way you made me cum this hard and it’s your first time.”

“Well,” You breathed a nervous laugh, “That’s flattering. But you’re my first. Trust me.”

When his orgasm fully subsided, Joel lay slumped against the sofa with his legs spread wide. You remained between them with your head resting on his thigh as you just stared at his cock. Took it all in, every curve, every vein, and inevitably, the cum that spurted itself over the surrounding area.

“What are you doing?” Joel chuckled, petting your hair as you smiled.

“I’m… I don’t know really. I just can’t stop looking at it.”

But then curiosity got the best of you, and you began to drag your fingers through the mess at his base. It caught Joel off-guard, his entire body stiffening as he watched you.

“What does it taste like?” You asked quietly as you examined the cum on your fingers. 

“Oh my god,” Joel groaned through his labored breathing, “I swear, if you do what I think you’re about to do, I’ll be hard again in five seconds.”

“I’ll take my chances,” You joked, bringing your finger to your mouth and licking it clean, ultimately wincing at the taste. “It’s like, bitter. And salty. And kinda sweet. But mostly bitter and salty. To be honest, it’s kinda nasty but I can see myself getting used to it.”

“Wow,” Joel sighed, “You just really know how to set the mood. Make things real romantic.”

“Oh, shut it,” You huffed, playfully swatting his thigh before getting up and plopping down next to him on the sofa as he got to work stuffing himself back into his pants despite the mess he made—that was a problem for future Joel. 

“Gonna miss you, little Joel,” You joked to his crotch.

“Oh my god, you’re the worst,” Joel chuckled painfully with his fists in his eyes. “I’m never letting you near ‘little Joel’ again.”

“Mm, no, because I just made you cum so hard you thought I was lying about being a virgin.”

He sighed at that. “You got me there.”

“I did, didn’t I?”

You both laughed at that; In fact, you both were laughing a lot. And at everything. In your head, you blamed it on the ecstatic high of being in each other’s presence this way.

When the mutual laughter died down, Joel looked at you for a moment, admiring you. Then, slow and hesitant as ever, he leaned in to kiss you.

“Do you taste it?” You whispered, breaking the kiss as you fought another giggle.

“Yes, actually. Wait, don’t say it please, this is actually a nice moment—”

“—Your cum!” You loud-whispered.

Another sigh. “My cum.”

You eagerly kissed him back after that, swearing off mood-breaking jokes for the rest of the night. Eventually, you even became too tired to kiss, simply letting your forehead rest against his. Your eyes fluttered shut as his hand snaked up your leg and inched under the leg of your shorts, using force to push your legs open wider.

“Need me to take care of this?” He asked into your mouth before letting his kisses travel down to your neck.

“Joel,” You breathed, breaths beginning to come out in rapid succession as your hips gyrated in response to how dangerously close Joel’s hand was to your pussy. “I… I’m tired.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to do a thing,” Joel breathed, removing his hand from beneath your shorts in order to pull down the waistband. “It’s a yes or no question. Just give me a yes or a no.”

Your breath hitched as you opened your eyes and stared at the little bit of empty space left between you and Joel. The throbbing between your legs was bad, but it was something about the delayed gratification of saving things for later that stopped you from saying yes. “No, I… I think that’s it for tonight.”

Joel withdrew his hand, reassuringly cracking a brief smile. “Hey, uh, spend the night. It’s way too late, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You shrugged. “Yeah, but what about Sarah?” 

“I came home super late, you fell asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

You thought about it for a second before agreeing. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Thank you. But I’m taking the couch.”

“What? No—”

“—Joel. I’m taking the couch.”

He looked at you skeptically but then agreed. “If you change your mind just let me know.”

“I will. Goodnight.”

Joel squeezed your leg before getting up and making his way to the stairs. “Goodnight.”

masterlist

A/N: strikethrough means i can't tag you, check your settings

taglist:

@basicoccult @myhusband2cool @fleuraimer @chunguk @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucufifluclu @pintsizedsunshine @s1eepy-bear @daddysuperduperlonglegs @worhols @evyiione @criesside @saph-cyare

@gswizzsstuff @baloobalee @gessmiller05 @trynasurvivelol @yazsos @marchai @pompii @alyssa1216 @daddy-din @msmagix4 @blooming-bubs @huffle-punk @whorrorain @iliketoeatstrawberrypocky @onlineplant @totallynotastanacc @hiddenbabynyc @thedoctorofpoop @kamcrazy123 @afterglowsb-tch13

@redplaidedandcladed @simping-soldat @martyluvsu @mingiast @teddybonkers1960 @brittmb15 @ellswilliams @laurasunsole @senaar-ika @whore4ellie @harrysbitvh123 @atremises @silkiers @bbyanarchist @pawnshopbluess222 @https-hann @cassiesolos @xanqels @jawgrinder

@daylighthrry @victoriamay1357 @jeezkiddo @its-spooky-these-days @pedro-luvr @chibimosa @sagethephantom @loathsome-gargoyle @alejaa-a @greenclues @june-julie @spenciesprincess @donttamethebeasts @alec0 @djarinsimp 

[pathologicalreid]

the archer | S.R.

in which a trip to your hometown leads to an exposed past and a wrongful arrest, you can't help but wonder who could stay

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category: angst

content warnings: normal cm violence/death. mentions of sexual assault and physical assault. mentions of miscarriage and dv. arson/fires. please take care of yourself while reading <3.

word count: 5.96k

a/n: if you or someone you know is a victim of domestic violence, the US hotline is 800-799-7233. be well and be safe.

can you see right through me?

Emily had called you into her office fifteen minutes before the briefing began to let you know that the case was in your hometown. “There are some things that may come to light in a small town, and I wanted to let you know that you can stay behind if you need to,” she told you, having shut the blinds to her office to give you the most privacy she could.

Giving it a moment, you thought about it before you met her eyes, “if someone tries to say something, I’d rather be there to clear things up than let them say anything.” You wiped your clammy palms on your plants before standing up, “and besides, who better to work on victimology than someone who knows the town.”

You stepped out of the office, holding the door open for Emily before the two of you made your way to the roundtable room.

The two victims had been killed a week apart, they were both women who you had gone to school with. The first was in your graduating class, Victoria Reynolds, kidnapped, sexually assaulted, and asphyxiated. The second was a year ahead of you, Melanie Baylor, kidnapped, sexually assaulted, and asphyxiated. The team had been called in by the lead detective on the case, Charlie Platten, and he had likely made the call without telling the police chief.

It had already been three days since the second body was recovered, and Emily didn’t want to waste any more time. You left the roundtable room to grab your go-bag, smiling when you felt a familiar presence next to you. “Are you alright?” Spencer asked, leaning against your desk while you reached underneath it for your bag.

Stepping in front of him, you looked up at him, “I’m okay, Spence.” You plopped your go bag on top of your desk, “it’ll be okay,” you whisper.

“And if at any point it’s not,” he prompted, placing a hand on your waist.

You simpered up at him, “You’ll be the first person I go to, love.”

He reached over and grabbed your bag off of your desk, carrying it to where the rest of the team is waiting for the elevator. “I’ll admit, I am interested in seeing your hometown,” he told you, letting you step into the elevator before him.

“Yeah, Y/N, maybe you can show us some of your old haunts once we solve the case,” Luke chimed in from the back of the elevator.

Laughing breathily, you turned your head to face Luke, “Do I really strike you as the kind of person to have ‘old haunts’, Alvez?”

A few of your team members chuckle. You faced forward, wondering how long it would be before one of them saw through you. When working with profilers, it was always a risk.

'cause all of my enemies started out friends

Emily sent you and Luke to the latest crime scene while she and Spencer set up at the precinct. JJ and Matt met with the latest victim's family while Tara and Rossi met with the medical examiner. Your stomach felt unsettled as soon as the plane landed, you had a bad feeling about this case. Spencer tried to ask you what was going on with you, but you just brushed him off.

You would tell him. After this case was over and you went home, you would tell Spencer everything. He deserved that.

“Did you know her?” Luke asked, using a gloved hand to inspect a shard of glass he found on the concrete.

Blinking rapidly, you snapped out of your stupor, “Melanie? Yeah, she was a year ahead of me in school. I graduated with Victoria though.” You used the toe of your boot to clear some dirt off of what looked like some sort of plaque. “I wasn’t all that close with either of them, but in a town this small, you kind of know everyone,” you explained.

Standing back up and walking back over to Luke, you looked at the building, it’s an abandoned factory on the edge of town. “Is there any significance to this building?”

“It was a functioning factory in the eighties,” you explained, looking at the vines growing up the side of it. “This business was the entire economy of the town, when the factory went down, so did the town.”

Luke nodded, taking a step back and eyeing the entire decrepit building. “And the church? Where the first body was found.”

You pursed your lips, “Only church in town, I was baptized there, when it burned down people had nowhere else to go, so they stopped believing.”

“How did the fire start?” He asked, turning the knob on the factory door, and looking surprised when it opened.

You shrugged, “lightning strike, I thought. I wasn’t much of a believer, especially once my mom died.”

Alvez nodded in understanding, “Would you say that both of these locations are important to the town and its history?”

Nodding, you followed Luke back to the SUV, leaning back in the passenger seat as you mentally prepared yourself for the scene your arrival at the precinct was about to cause.

When you got there, you immediately spotted the police chief ripping the lead detective, Charlie, a new one outside the front door. He saw you and did a double take, “And what the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

“Sir, we’re members of the BAU, our-“ Luke started explaining, obviously confused at the chief’s combative nature.

He held up a hand, “I wasn’t talking to you, agent.” Turning to face you, “You don’t show your face at home, leaving in the middle of the night ten years ago and now you’re what? A big bad FBI agent?”

You stiffened, pushing your shoulders back as you faced him. Stand tall, stay strong. “It wasn’t the middle of the night, and the FBI is only big and bad to the people who deserve it, Frank.”

The man in front of you scoffed, “I’m talking to your supervisor, you’re not working on this case.” He pushes past you, causing you to stumble back against the wall.

“What was that about? Who was that guy?” Luke asked, looking at you as you got your bearings back before walking into the precinct.

Bowing your head, you grumbled, “You just met my father.” At that moment, you were glad to be facing away from him, because you weren’t sure you could face any of it.

You’re still the newest member of the BAU, technically being a profiler but Emily pulled you in to help with public communications, since the old unit chief had been handling it along with Garcia, Emily did the same. When Spencer went to prison, she found she needed extra help, so you were snagged from your cozy office in sex crimes and sent to the BAU.

You fit in well with everyone, and you never really felt the need to prove yourself. Even taking the initiative to write letters to Spencer, because you didn’t want to be a stranger to him when he came back. So, when you met face-to-face last year, he thanked you. When you kissed him eight months ago, you both agreed to move slowly.

Seven months ago, he showed up at your door and told you he loved you.

Emily gave you an understanding look when she saw you walk into the police station, she, of course, knew everything about your situation.

“We don’t have enough for any sort of geographic profile yet,” Spencer said, standing in front of a whiteboard with a map over it, along with pictures of the two victims. He turned as soon as he saw you, smiling in a silent greeting. You winked in response, sitting down in the office chair next to him.

Luke stood in front of you, blocking your view of the whiteboard, “What do you mean that was your father? Why wouldn’t you say that your dad was the chief of police here?”

You shrugged, leaning back in the chair, “I may share DNA with the man, but I haven’t seen Frank Burris since I was twenty years old.”

“Doesn’t that bother you? Did she tell you?” Luke asked Spencer, who was still looking at the whiteboard, entirely unbothered.

“What did you find at the crime scene?” Emily asked, effectively ending Luke’s questioning. You had no idea if she had heard any of the previous conversation, but either way, you were grateful for the change in subject.

Taking a deep breath, you turned and faced her, “The dump sites are all places that are former symbols of the town, maybe the unsub wants to further desecrate these locations.” Emily nodded, prompting you to continue. “These kills are angry, the overkill and sexual assault definitely lean toward a male offender, I think the unsub is angry,” you said.

“Angry that his town is no longer what it once was,” Spencer suggested, taking his eyes off the whiteboard. “Are there any other locations that could fit that general description?”

Shaking your head, you crossed your arms over your chest, “Probably, I haven’t been here in ten years, it might help to talk to a local. Charlie could probably help.”

“Charlie can’t help with anything; the chief took him off the case. It belongs to me now,” a voice behind you said. Immediately, you straightened up in your chair, earning a strange look from Spencer. “Y/N, I’m looking forward to working with you,” the male voice said.

Swallowing thickly, you turned and faced him, “I wish I could say the same, Johnny.” You stood up, needing as much ground as you could get. “Do you know any places that would fit the description? Somewhere that used to be a symbol in the down, but is abandoned now?”

“The school burnt down about eight days ago, but you’d know that if you gave a damn about us,” he said indignantly, looking down at you.

You felt Spencer stand behind you, “do you have some kind of problem?”

Johnny eyed your boyfriend and you hoped he didn’t catch on to your relationship, “If I’m being totally honest, I’m not completely comfortable working with Y/N.”

“Our team was called in to help solve these murders and Agent Y/L/N is a part of that team,” Emily defended you. “If you have a problem, I suggest you suck it up until this case is solved.”

Angrily, Johnny stalked off. You turned around and grabbed a file off of the desk, glancing over at Emily and silently thanking her.

help me hold on to you

Later in your shared hotel room, Spencer looked at you curiously, “Was he an ex-boyfriend?”

You rolled your eyes and laid back on the bed, it wasn’t the worst bed you’ve slept in since joining the BAU, but it certainly wasn’t going to be winning any awards any time soon. “Don’t be jealous, Spence, it’s unbecoming," you deflected.

Spencer climbed on top of the bed and kissed your forehead, “I’m not jealous, I’m concerned.”

That made your heart clench, you sat up in the bed and cupped his face with your hands, “You don’t need to worry about me, okay?” You studied his face, the small crease in his forehead that told you he was overthinking the situation made you sigh. Gently, you leaned forward and placed a tender kiss on his forehead. “If I think you need to be concerned, I’ll tell you,” you whispered, allowing him to gather you in his arms.

“Okay, angel,” he whispered back.

You sighed and laid back against the pillows, “I have a bad feeling about this case,” you told him softly. Spencer doesn’t believe in intuition the way you do, but he’d never discredit your feelings.

He reached over and swept your hair behind your ear, “Me too.”

Pulling away from him, you looked at him curiously, “Why?”

He shrugged, “Both of them look like you. You’re the same age as them.” The victims, he was saying the victims were too similar to you for his own comfort. You hadn’t really given it much thought. If you start comparing yourself to the victims, you’d freeze up. That was a luxury you couldn’t afford.

“I’m not going anywhere, Spencer,” you comforted, curling up next to him.

i've been the archer, i've been the prey

The call came at five in the morning, only four hours after you had gone to sleep. Splitting up into two SUVs, half of you went to the precinct while the other half of you went to the crime scene.

“Katherine Meadows was dumped in front of the school,” Emily said, leading you, Tara, and Rossi into the precinct. You were still pulling your blazer on over your tank top, having been given approximately five minutes between waking up and getting out the door.

You stopped in your tracks; your mouth went dry. You knew of the other victims, but you were friends with Katherine. She helped you pay for your plane ticket out of here. You owed her your life, and now you’d never be able to repay her.

“What kind of school is it? Elementary? High school?” Rossi asked, flipping through a file that had been left on a desk.

Snapping out of your daze, you shook your head, “It’s K-12 all in the same building, that’s why it’s such a big deal that it’s gone.” You looked at the whiteboard, there weren’t any pictures of Katherine up yet, but you could imagine it. She looked more like you than the other victims, and you silently cursed Spencer for putting those thoughts in your head.

“Agent Y/L/N,” you heard Johnny call from behind you, he and your father were charging toward you at an alarming pace. “Are you armed?”

Your head snapped up, “yes,” you answered, putting your hand on your holstered weapon, watching as Johnny and Frank pulled their guns out.

“Please hand over your firearm to Detective Klein and put your hands up,” Frank commanded.

Taking a deep breath, you handed the weapon over to Johnny, facing him directly. It gave you tunnel vision, and you couldn’t even hear the protests of your team as you raised your hands level with your head.

Johnny grabbed your wrists, and you hissed as he cuffed you, the metal cutting into your skin when he made the handcuffs too tight. “Y/N Y/L/N, you’re under arrest for the murders of Victoria Reynolds, Melanie Baylor, and Katherine Meadows. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law.” He shoved you in the direction of the interrogation room, “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”

An officer opened the door, and he pushed you down into a metal chair, hooking your handcuffs to the table in front of you.He continued reading your rights, “If you decide to answer questions without an attorney present, you will still have the right to cease answering at any time until you are able to talk to an attorney.” Johnny said, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “Do you understand your rights?”

You glared up at him, “What the hell are you doing, Johnny?”

He slammed a palm on the table, “Do you understand your rights?”

Pursing your lips, you looked away and peered right at the glass window ahead of you, “Yes, I understand my rights.”

“With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?” He asked, leaning far too close to you, you could smell the cigarette smoke on his uniform. That smell was on you for years after you left, you were convinced you’d never be able to fully wash it off. Maybe you hadn’t.

You seethed up at him, “fuck no.”

Johnny nodded assuredly, opening the door to the interrogation room, and slamming it shut.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to pull the handcuffs away from where it was pinching your skin, you winced when it tore your skin. You set your head down on the cold table and sigh, knowing you should’ve taken Emily’s offer to stay behind when you had the chance.

Another officer came in later and told you they wanted your jacket and shoes for evidence, you didn’t fight them, numbly watching as he unlocked the handcuffs and took your jacket before putting the cuffs back on, just as tight. You kicked off your shoes for the officer and sat back down. Before he left, another officer came in and dropped an evidence box on the table.

It was an FBI scare tactic to leave an empty evidence box on an interrogation room table, but your box wasn’t empty.

They wanted to humiliate you in front of your team, and it was working. 

all the king's horses, all the kings men, couldn't put me together again

The next people to open the door were Charlie and Tara, they sat down across from you. “I’m really sorry about all of this Y/N,” he muttered to you, pulling some files out of the evidence box.

You shrugged and shook your head, “Nothing Johnathan Klein does to me anymore really surprises me.” You looked at the files.

Charlie was hesitant to open the files, “there’s some rough stuff in here if you’re okay with going over some of it with us.”

Swallowing thickly, you looked at the file, “I don’t really have a ton of choice, do I?”

You hated both of them for pitying you, but more than anything you hated your father and Johnny for doing this to you and wasting time while there was a serial killer on the loose. He opened the file and placed pictures of the three victims in front of you.

For a couple of minutes, he asked general questions. Do you know them? How did you know them?

Then Tara finally asked a question, “Y/N, how old were you when your mother died?” She asked you, placing a photo of you and your mom in front of you. You were probably seven in the picture.

“Ten,” you answered, looking at the picture. You wondered if you could keep it once this was all over.

“When you were ten, you started a string of hospital visits that lasted until you were twenty years old. Broken ribs, concussions, fractures, and… a miscarriage,” Tara said, your eyes snapped up to look at her.

Your mouth went dry “You had Garcia unseal my files?” You couldn’t help the hurt in your voice.

The way Tara looked at you, you could tell she understood you in a whole new light now, “we had to. She felt horrible doing it.” That you didn’t doubt, the whole team had a mostly unspoken rule on inter-team profiling. You nodded understandingly.

“Y/N, do you have an alibi for the murders? We already cleared up that you weren’t working, but can anyone account for your whereabouts?” Charlie asked impatiently, he knew you didn’t do this, and it might not be his case anymore, but you could still tell he wanted it solved.

Looking directly at Tara, you answered the question, “No, I wasn’t with anyone.”

Your coworker set her jaw as Charlie got up and left.

“How did you get those injuries, Y/N?” Tara continued her line of questioning, setting a packet of medical records in front of you. You were still cuffed, so all you could do was touch the papers with your fingertips.

The paper read of chromosomes and a D&C, you couldn’t help the tears that flooded your eyes, “I- uh. I don’t want to look at that, please.”

Quickly, Tara pulled the papers away, “who hurt you?”

You bit your lip to stifle a cry, “Tara, please.” You knew what was going on, the only person who knew everything was retaliating against the precinct. They humiliated you, so she was going to humiliate them. She repeated the question and this time you answered, “My father.”

“Was your father also the father of your baby?” She asked, looking down at the papers. Honestly, she looked just about as uncomfortable as you were.

Solemnly, you shook your head, “That was Johnny. We were together from when I was fifteen until I was twenty. My dad-“ Your voice broke off, “Frank never touched me like that.”

“Can you tell me more about Frank?” She asked softly, the way she spoke to victims. The one thing you had tried to avoid.

Blearily, you looked up at your friend, “Can we take a break?”

Nodding, Tara stood up. When she opened the door, you heard shouting. People asking if your cuffs could be taken off. You just let your tears fall for a moment. Charlie came back and unlocked your cuffs, looking at the dried blood on them and the still bleeding wounds on your wrists, “I- I think we have a first aid kit somewhere.”

You brushed him off, waiting for him to leave and for Tara to come back. She did, draping a sweater over the table, and you tentatively grabbed it. Sighing when you recognized it as Spencer’s, “Has everyone seen the paperwork?”

She nodded slowly, “are you alright to talk to me about Frank now?”

You used your newly freed hands to wipe under your eyes before pulling the cardigan on. “It was my mom, she took everything he threw at her to protect me,” you whispered. “He hit me when I was ten, I had gotten a bad grade in social studies. So, my mom and I planned to leave, but he figured it out,” you said, furrowing your brows at the memory. “He strangled her, and she died. He told everyone she hung herself. The whole town believed him because he was the chief of police.”

Tara wrote something down, “he killed her in front of you?”

You nodded, “He needed someone else to take his aggression out on after that, so he beat me.” You told her, fiddling with the hem of Spencer’s sweater. “So, when I was fifteen and I met a boy, I thought I had found the answers to all of my problems, but I really had just discovered more.”

“The boy was Johnathan Klein?”

Affirming her question again, you continued your story, “he was a horny fifteen-year-old boy, and he had sex with me even when I begged him not to. He told me he had to because he loved me, and I believed him.”

Tara leaned over and looked you in the eyes, “You know that wasn’t your fault.”

“Wasn’t it?” You asked meekly, tilting your head to the side. “He proposed to me the day we graduated from high school. I had already accepted the fact that I was never getting out of the town, but what I didn’t know was by getting engaged to him I was very nearly signing my own death certificate.” You took a deep breath and tried to ignore the ache in your chest, “I found out I was pregnant when I was nineteen, and looking back at it now, I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”

Tara didn’t speak, she just listened. You supposed that was the psychologist in her, letting you take the lead in your own story.

You furrowed your brows as you tried to bring memories that you had spent so long burying to the surface. “I knew I couldn’t make my baby go through the same thing I went through, so I tried to run, but I didn’t get far. He found me, he beat me, he brought me to the hospital, and he told me I killed our baby.” You could see the story was bothering Tara. When you told Emily, you told her in pieces over the span of a month. “The only people I was allowed to see after that were my dad, Johnny, and Katherine.” You wiped tears from your face, “the judge wouldn’t grant me a restraining order, my only option was to run. So, when Kath showed up with a plane ticket and an envelope of cash, I took the opportunity and left.”

“Y/N, do you think these murders could be somehow connected to your upbringing here?” Tara asked, flipping through another file.

You looked back at the glass that separates the observation room, having no idea who was on the other side listening. “I didn’t until Reid said the victims looked like me,” you confessed. It felt too convenient, victims looking like you, you being framed for their murders. Yet, you still made sure not to call Spencer by his first name, afraid of giving yourself away. “Do they have any evidence?”

“They found soil from the factory crime scene on your shoes, but your jacket is still being processed. Without an alibi, we can’t get them to release you,” Tara said.

Rolling your eyes, you leaned back in the chair, “Of course, they found soil from the factory crime scene on my shoes, I was at the scene yesterday.”

The door opened and Frank stepped inside, “Your alibi spoke up.” He sounded irritated, but not as irritated as he’s going to be once the BAU is through with him.

i see right through me

Spencer had settled you down on a desk in the corner of the precinct, disinfecting the cuts on your wrists made by Johnny’s handcuffs. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, watching as he cleaned the debris from your torn skin.

He didn’t respond, he just shook his head. You could tell he was thinking, as clearly as if you could see gears physically turning in his head.

“Spence, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” you whispered, bending your neck to try to catch his eyes.

He shook his head again, “I’m not upset, not with you at least.”

You raised your eyebrows in suspicion, “Then stop getting so lost in thought. What’s bothering you?”

He clasped both of your hands in his own, setting them in your lap, “Does it feel like a coincidence to you that the same night Johnny told us about the school the woman who helped you escape an abusive relationship was found dead at that school?” Spencer dropped your hands, reaching into the first aid kit and pulling out bandages before gingerly wrapping your wrists. At work, you tried to keep the public displays to a minimum, but you felt like these were extenuating circumstances, which was why you had secluded yourselves in the corner.

“I need to look at the crime scene photos again,” you said, trying to get off of the desk.

Spencer firmly placed both of his hands on your hips, effectively keeping you in place. “Once I’m done,” he whispered, securing the bandages on your wrists. “Are you alright?”

You tilted your head up at him and smiled sadly, “Everyone learned a lot about me today. Some of it I had never intended on telling them. I just feel… exposed? Raw?” You searched desperately for the right word to use to describe exactly how you feel.

Hanging your head low, your eyes traced patterns in the carpet when Spencer hooked a finger gently under your chin and lifted your head, so you were looking at him. His honey-colored eyes searched your face, and you felt like he was looking right through you. “You know nothing that happened today makes any of us see you differently, right? I don’t think of you as any less of a person because of what I learned today.”

You shook your head, “You don’t learn those things about your girlfriend and look at her the same.”

“You’re right. I don’t look at you the same, I’m even more in awe of you now than I was before. The fact that you’ve been through what you’ve been through and you’re this bright, shiny person sitting in front of me is astounding, but…” His voice trailed off.

Here it was, he couldn’t want who you were. He didn’t want the heavy history that comes with you. You shut your eyes.

He cupped your face with his hands, “it makes me worry that maybe I haven’t been there for you enough. Not in the same way you’re there for me.”

“Spence,” you whispered, swallowing back your emotions, and looking up at him.

Spencer shook his head, “I love you, and I have to make sure that you know that I’m always going to be there when you need me.”

Nodding rapidly, you stood up and wrapped your arms around him, “I know.” Your voice was little more than a rasp, “I know, I love you too.”

After assuring Emily and Tara that your friendship was intact, you turned to the team. “I think I play a bigger part in this case than I realize.”

“We were just coming to a similar conclusion, once we saw what Katherine Meadows looked like, it just confirmed our suspicions,” JJ said, looking at the whiteboard, which now had Kath’s picture on it, as well as yours. “The whole town seems to have it out for you, though. How do we narrow down the suspect pool?”

You stepped up to the whiteboard, “Because it’s not about the locations and their relation to the town, it’s about the locations and their relation to me.” You pointed to the factory, “When I was fifteen, this was the first place Johnny ever assaulted me.”

“You said he proposed to you at your high school graduation, right?” Tara said, “That’s the connection to the school.”

Nodding, you continued, “And we were going to get married at the church.”

Spencer wrote this all down on the whiteboard as you fit the pieces of this puzzle together. “Is there anywhere else that would fit in with these other locations?”

Flipping through a file, you set papers down on the desk in front of your team. “That’s our house, it was set on fire not long after I left,” you pointed out. “That’s where he’s going next.”

“But who will his victim be? If we can get to her before he can, then we can stop him before he gets to her,” Matt mentioned.

Slowly, you turned around and faced your team, “I don’t intend on letting anyone else get hurt. This is between me and Johnny.”

who could stay?

You sat yourself down at the dining room table. Nothing in the house had been moved, its charred remains were left defenseless against Mother Nature. You knew this table, there was blood ground into the wood grain. It was your blood.

You wished they had torn the rest of the structure down.

Spencer didn’t like the idea of you going alone, but you were armed, and you had an earpiece in. You weren’t alone, the team was nearby in case things went wrong.

“Incoming, blue pick-up pulling into the driveway,” Luke said through the radio. “Suspect’s getting out, it doesn’t look like anyone’s with him.”

Realistically, you knew nothing was going to happen to you, but there was some small voice in the back of your head that told you something was going to go awry.

You wiped your sweaty palms on the floral-patterned chair. Part of you was grateful that the team had enough faith in you to send you to get a confession on your own, but another part of you wished someone would’ve asked you if this is really what you want to do. Sure, you wanted Johnathan Klein to be put away for a long time, but you didn’t want to be in this house. When you left, you had hoped you’d never have to set foot in this godforsaken town ever again.

Sitting up straight, the front door opened. You’re not sure why he opens the door when there’s a hole in the wall leading right to you. “I thought you might come looking for me,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I always knew you’d come back to me, baby,” Johnny spoke to you in a low voice, but you knew the team could hear.

“I didn’t come here for you, Johnny,” you whispered, keeping your voice steady. “I came for the girls who were murdered. I knew them, we both did,” you told him. That was the truth, you felt like you owed them because they died while you got to live.

He sat next to you, placing a hand on your knee. It was all you could do to not flinch away from him. “Then why did you bring that guy? If not to make me jealous, then why?”

“Johnny, if I go with you, will it stop?” You asked, turning to him, reaching out your hand, and placing it on his arm.

Humming, he reached out and brushed your hair behind your ear, luckily not the side where you had your earbud in. “I don’t know what you mean, babe. You’ll have to spell it out for me,” he said, pulling you to your feet abruptly. You didn’t see the knife when he first walked in, you didn’t even know he had it until it was to your throat.

But you weren’t twenty years old anymore. You had grown up. You had learned self-defense.

So, you caught him off guard when you hit him, causing the knife to clatter to the ground. “You bitch!” He growled, “I’ll fucking kill you!”

“You won’t kill me,” you said, planting your feet on the ground. “You had five years to kill me, Johnny.”

He stood up, “No, but I killed a part of you. Didn’t I? When I killed your baby?”

After all these years, he knew how to get under your skin. He got one hit off, across your cheek, the strike so hard that your earbud went flying across the room. “You killed the part of me that you created, that’s not who I am. I recreated myself, a version of myself without this godforsaken town.”

“But I got you here, back home. I killed all those girls for you to come back to me,” he said, running straight at you.

You hit him with your gun, you physically struck him with the butt of the gun. You could’ve shot him, it would’ve been clean, but you didn’t. That would’ve been easy for him. He dropped like a ragdoll and the rest of your team came rushing in. Someone was calling your name, but you couldn’t hear.

Matt ended up being the one who cuffed him, you slowly walked away from them. Backing yourself into a wall, you watched it all happen.

When you left your hometown, you never quite felt like it was over. He was always still going to be around. But this? This felt final.

It made your chest ache.

Gently, Spencer took your hand and led you outside. “It’s done?”

He nodded rapidly, “It’s over, angel. Emily and Luke are at the precinct taking Frank into custody. They’ll both go away for a long time.”

“Spence, I want to go home,” you whispered, looking down the road and seeing houses that you recognize from your childhood. This whole town was filled with your own ghosts. “Can we go home?”

Spencer didn't answer, he just pulled you into him and held you tightly. You let him inspect the wound on your cheek before you went back to the hotel and put everyone’s belongings in an SUV.

On the jet, the two of you sequestered yourselves in the back where it’s darker. He offered to let you lie down, so you rested your head in his lap. He used one hand to hold his book and the other to smooth your hair back. Your eyes were shut, but you were vaguely aware of the rest of the team as they took turns peeking back at the both of you.

you could stay

please remember to like, reblog, and comment

[hyunsvngs]

kinktober !

kink: breeding

pairing: lee minho x fem!reader

wc: 2k

breeding kink: the intense arousal at the thought of being impregnated or impregnating someone.

You'd always loved kissing. Sitting on someone's lap as they hold you close, your lips connected to theirs. Feeling the motions grow in intensity as you both got more and more turned on - it had always been your favourite thing to do.

But kissing Minho? It was a whole different story.

The way his scent overwhelmed you every time, the way his taste flooded your senses. He would hold you so tightly, as though he couldn't possibly get you close enough. His hands roaming your skin, traversing the planes of your back, your waist, your hips, your ass. It was everything you needed, and you could never get enough.

It was inevitable as soon as it started. Your hips started to pick up a pace against his clothed erection, a desperate, grinding movement that made Minho smile against your lips. He didn’t stop you, only aiding the movement with his hands on your ass while he dominated your mouth with his tongue.

You couldn't hold back your whimpers, and Minho's smirk only grew. He pulled away from the kiss and you didn't even give him a second. "Minho, please-" 

"We don't have any condoms, baby. We're out."

You almost felt the ground collapse beneath you. "No! Say you're joking right now!" 

He wouldn't fuck you without protection, you knew it. He was too cautious. But that didn't stop you from trying. 

"Let's fuck anyways. I need it, Minho, I need you.”

Minho mirrored your pout back to you as he stroked your cheek gently with the back of his knuckles. "But what if I fuck a baby into you?"

What happened next was completely involuntary. His filthy words, coupled with his gentle tone, and his big dark eyes looking into yours. You moaned aloud, your hips grinding down hard, rubbing your pussy across his bulge once more. 

Minho's pout gave way to a shit-eating grin. "Oh, fuck. You want me to fuck a baby into you. Don't you? You want me to breed you like a little slut?"

"You can't talk like this if you aren't gonna fuck me!" you whined. 

He raised an eyebrow at you. "Who said I'm not gonna fuck you?" 

You stared at him, mouth slightly open. "You are? Are you gonna cum in me too?"

Minho gave a half-shrug. "If you're good."

"I'll be good!" you insisted. "M-Min, I'll be so good for you."

He smiled at your desperation. "Go ahead, then. Show me what a good girl you can be."

You didn't waste a single second. You tugged his t-shirt down impatiently, revealing his collarbones to your eyes. You attached your lips to his smooth, milky skin, licking and sucking all along his collarbone, until you found that spot that always drew the most delicious breathy moans from him.

“Oh, baby.” There it was. You had him. “You want me to fuck you raw that bad?”

You felt him get harder beneath you, his hips rolling to meet your core as you ground down onto him. Whining into his skin, you drooled against him with every movement, hands moving to clutch onto his shoulders. 

“Please,” You gasped, nipping at his collarbone. Minho grunted, nodding, and then he was pushing his joggers down to let his erection spring out. It rested heavy and thick against his t-shirt, a drop of precum staining the fabric with how aroused he was. “Please, please, Minho, I can’t, it hurts, I need you so bad, it’s-”

“God, be quiet,” Minho huffed, yanking your bottoms and underwear down altogether. He threw them to the side, and you yelped when he pushed you down onto the bed, back hitting the mattress. You were so wet you could feel it, folds slick and clit swollen with need. He shifted on his knees, pushing your legs apart and settling between them. 

Minho leaned in and captured your lips in a rough kiss, his hands beginning to roam over your body. You laid there, pliant while he rucked your shirt up and cupped your tits in his hands before moving lower. His lips moved to your neck, and you could feel his hot breath on your skin. His fingers teased your entrance, and you moaned, thighs clenching at the bare minimum of a sensation. 

“Ah. I was gonna prep you, but I don’t think you need it, do you?” He smirked, leaning back on his haunches. He grabbed his cock in a tight ring around the base, running his cockhead through your folds. The movement made you keen, legs thrashing and hips bucking into the feeling. Minho’s eyes were half lidded when he felt just how wet you were, hand moving to pull his shirt up just enough to expose his tummy. You pouted.

“Off,” You pointed at his t-shirt, and he grinned, tilting his head in mock confusion. “Take it off, Minho.”

“Okay, okay. Demanding tonight, aren’t you?” He quipped, and then he was pulling the offending fabric off. His tummy was toned, broad biceps and shoulders fully revealed to you. Before you could even take the sight in and enjoy the view of your boyfriend fully naked, he was positioning himself at your core again, tip just barely breaching your hole. You were so wet he could’ve bottomed out with one, slick movement, but he kept himself at your entrance with a cocky grin. “Do you want it? Do you want it raw like this, do you want to feel every part of me? Tell me.”

“Yes, Minho,” You wailed, trying to buck your hips enough for him to slip inside. He raised an eyebrow, shaking his head, pushing your hips down with one, firm hand. You sobbed out, eyes finally tearing up at the prospect of having your boyfriend like this. Raw, unfiltered, nothing separating the pair of you. “Please, please. Please, sir. I need it, I need it, need you to fill me up and cum inside me, and breed me- oh god, sir, breed me, please, gimme your cum, please-”

Minho groaned at your words, desperate and babbling, and then he was pushing inside. His cock always stretched you out just right, thick enough for you to feel the breach and long enough that he felt like he was in your tummy. He bottomed out with one, easy thrust, his eyes dark and lips parted as he gauged your reaction. You nodded, desperate breaths tumbling out of your lips.

“Don’t need to wait, just- just gimme, please-”

“Dirty,” Minho mumbled, and then he was positioning his forearms either side of your head and thrusting into you at a blistering pace. The sudden movement made you keen, tears finally slipping out of your eyes and pussy clenching around his length. You grabbed his arms for purchase, feeling yourself moving up and down the bed with the forcefulness of his thrusts. “Fuckin’ dirty. My dirty jagi, dirty little kitty wanting me like this. You need me to fill you up, don’t you? Look at you crying. Fucking pathetic, yeah?”

“Need it,” You managed to speak, whining and whimpering with every thrust. It felt so much better like this. You felt like you could feel every ridge, every vein on his cock and the way his pubic hair was rutting into your clit. It was too much, too sensitive, too big, but you couldn’t get enough of it. 

"Please! Minho I need your cum, I need it, so bad, please!" You were delirious at this stage - his cum was all you could think of. Thick and white, flooding your insides.

"No, no, baby," he urged you gently, thrusting his dick deep inside of you once more. "Wait, okay? The longer we go, the more cum I'll have for you." 

"Want you to fill me up, though," you protested.  

"And I will. That's a promise. Be patient." 

Minho cupped your cheek with his hand, and you took his thumb into your mouth, sucking on it lightly. 

"There you go, baby, that's it," he praised you. “Just feel. Feel my cock inside you, can you feel how hard I am? Does it feel better raw?”

You whined around his thumb, nodding. Your words were slurred around the digit when you spoke. “F-feels so much better, Min.”

The muffled words you spoke made Minho groan incoherently, and then he was fucking into you like a rabbit. His hips slapped against your thighs, your pussy making wet slicking sounds that would’ve made you embarrassed - but the way Minho stared down at your hole taking his cock, raw and unfiltered, made you proud of how wet he’d made you.

“I’ll have to fuck you raw everyday then, baby,” Minho grunted, his cockhead kissing your cervix with every rough thrust. “I’ll have to do it every fucking night, make sure my - oh, baby, this pussy - I’ll have to make sure my cum takes, baby, make sure it makes you all swollen with me.”

"Breed me, Minho, that's all I'm good for," you whimpered. 

He gave you a cocky grin. "You know your place, baby, I'm so proud of you."

"Are you close?" you asked desperately. "Are you gonna give me your cum soon?"

"Oh, baby, I could cum any second. I'm just holding off cause I don't want this to end."

"No, please, Min-"

"Shh," he cut you off. "I'm enjoying my jagi’s sweet, tight pussy. Never get to feel it raw." He grunted as he delivered a particularly hard thrust. "So warm in here. So wet and tight. Mmm."

"You like my pussy raw?" you asked.

"I love it," he confirmed. "Now be a good little whore, and let me savour it."

You thought you might die if he didn't give you his cum soon. You'd always loved his cum, you'd be stupid not to. Hot, white, salty. You loved it when he came on your tongue, down your throat, on your cheeks, your tits, your ass, anywhere. But deep inside your pussy? Fuck, you needed it.

"Are you ready for it, baby?" Minho asked, his voice strained. "Are you ready for my cum? Can't hold back much longer." 

His hair was sticking to his forehead with sweat, and his eyes almost looked wild. It was animalistic - he needed to cum in you, just as badly as you needed it.

You nodded impatiently, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I'm ready - deep inside me, please."

"Of course I'll cum deep, baby. I want this to take, wanna cum right against your cervix."

"Fuck," you whined.

"Legs up," he instructed, guiding your legs onto his shoulders, as high as they could go.

You swore you'd never been fucked this deep before. His dick was filling you completely, reaching places it never had before. It hurt, when the tip of his cock prodded against the ring of your cervix, but it was a pain that you craved. 

"Oh, fuck - fuck, here it comes," Minho groaned. "Look at me, baby, look into my eyes." His voice was frantic, and you obeyed within less than a second. 

He thrusted hard, hammering into your cervix one last time. You felt the pain ripple through your abdomen, and it was the last push you needed. 

"I'm cumming!" you squealed, not breaking eye contact for even a second, not even when your eyes continued to leak tears, vision blurry. Minho's pupils were blown out, barely showing his dark brown irises.

"Take it, baby," he grunted. "Take my cum." 

"Thank you, Min, thank you for filling me up," you babbled. "Thank you so much."

He slowly pulled out, before flashing the dreamiest smile you'd ever seen. "No, thank you." He fell onto the bed beside you, before pulling you in close and wiping your tear-stained cheeks. "Was that good? It didn't hurt too much?"

You shook your head, nuzzling into him. "Hurt a little. Was good though." 

"Good," he said, kissing the top of your head.

The two of you lay in silence as you caught your breath together. All you could hear was the racing of his heartbeat. 

"Min?" you asked.

"Yeah, baby?" 

"You are gonna buy me some Plan B, right?""Obviously," he snorted. "Way to kill the mood, though. Dork."

[rinneverse]

࿐ ♡ ˚ . 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞? — 𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒖 𝒈𝒐𝒋𝒐. ˒ ⊹

gojo pleads for your forgiveness the only way he knows how: making his baby feel good ♡

cw fem!reader / pet names used; baby, babydoll, princess, sweet girl / fingering / big dick gojo </3 / a crumb of unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it!!) / groping / just a quick little drabble to get back into the swing of things :3 NSFW CONTENT AHEAD, MINORS DNI

love, oak! hiiiiiii....... been awhile since i've posted any writing........... i've kind of been in the trenches w/ writers block !! and lowkey, i still am u_u. the only way i've been working through it is by writing little gifts for mooties !! lex, if u see this, yes this is one i've sent to u HAHAHA

"baby, you're really hurtin' my feelings here."

"hmph."

satoru frowns, pulling you further onto his lap. his broad hands cup the fat of your ass, teasingly squeezing. you bat at his shoulders and pout up at him.

"c'mon, baby," he coos. "what did 'toru do this time?

huffing, you turn your head away from him.

satoru clicks his tongue. "okay, if my baby won't talk to me, i'll just apologize in a different way. how's that sound?" he accompanies his words with a sinful roll of his hips, the bulge of his cock pressing against the thin fabric of your panties.

(satoru just loves when you wear skirts; not only do you look so cute in them, but the easy access is just such a bonus!)

"'toru," you hiss, hands clamping on his shoulders, you try to push him away to no avail - his grip on you is unforgiving and relentless. his hands grip your ass, pushing and pulling you against his hard-on to his whims. his slacks and your panties were the only barriers left and satoru was quite keen on getting rid of them.

"c'mon, babydoll," satoru grins at you, boyishly charming. "let me make you feel good. toru'll make it all feel better, yeah?"

disarmed by his sweet smile, or perhaps the way his blue eyes glimmer with want as he watches you keenly, you seem to crumble in his arms. just like that, you're putty in his hands, no longer fighting him as he pulls your panties to the side.

"m'kay," you sigh, running your hands over the hard plane of his chest. "you promise?"

"i promise."

he gives your ass another squeeze before he trails his hand along your hips, then down to the apex of your hips. he drags a calloused finger along your wet heat, circling your clit teasingly before he brings it lower and dips it into your hole.

you inhale sharply as he fingers you slowly, achingly, pulling you to the precipice but not quite letting you fall over. he only lets this go on for a little bit, at least until you're crying and begging for him to fill you up.

"alright princess, i won't tease you too much. c'mere, give me a kiss?"

and you obey, lips slotting to his in a messy kiss. his tongue slips into your mouth as you hear the telltale sound of a zipper being undone, fabric rustling as he pushes his boxers and slacks down just enough to free his cock.

he nips at your lower lip as he guides you to raise your hips. satoru's dick errs the side of too big; that's why he has to make sure you're soaking wet and ready to take him. so he pulls away only momentarily to smile up at you before he spits in his hand and fists his cock - he's sure you're wet enough to take him, but he likes to be thorough.

once he's satisfied, he guides the leaking tip of his cock through your sticky folds, slick with desire and aching all just for him. and when you're clawing at his shoulders, begging for him to just fuck you already, he chuckles deeply and finally, finally, he sinks into you.

and just like always, it feels world-shattering. he fills you up just right, pleasure erring just on the right side of pain as he stretches you out, pelvis flush to the apex of your thighs as he holds you there, letting you adjust.

you sniffle, looking up at satoru with that doe-eyed stare that he just can't get enough of. the thought that only you can feel satoru in this way - the only person he'll ever let feel him this way, you think - is enough to make the coil in your gut twist further. he raises an eyebrow at you, pressing kisses to your eyelids, kissing away the tears of pleasure that gather there.

"i haven't even started moving you yet, sweet girl. you're clenchin' so nicely around me. feel good? do you forgive me yet?"

"mhm," you sigh out, rocking your hips. his broad hands hold you steady, not allowing for much movement. when you nod your head up at him, pouting with those kiss-bruised lips of yours, he can't help but grin further and press his lips to yours again.

satoru is sure to make you feel him in every way possible; after all, it's the only proper way to earn your forgiveness ♡.

please don't repost on other platforms. rbs and comments are super appreciated ♡ !! @houseofsolisoccasum + @interstellar-inn

[theleotarot]

How Your Person Of Interest Sees/Thinks/Feels About You

Choose the image you are most drawn to or resonate most with… pile 1, pile 2, & pile 3 ✨

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Pile 1

(Knight of Pentacles, Nine of Pentacles, Three of Wands, Knight of Swords, The Unknown Card, Three of Swords, Mentor, Plane, & Thriving)

Hi Pile 1! Welcome to your reading. ♡

Your person of interest sees you as someone who is very hardworking in all areas of your life. Perhaps, right now you are pursuing a degree or job, or maybe you are working towards a goal that requires lots of resilience and financial responsibility. Your person sees you very successful as well. I am also getting this energy that they may think you are above them in some way, whether it be financially, emotionally, or mentally. I really think they do look up to you in every way regardless if you feel like you are struggling yourself or you feel like you can do better. They see you as someone who is very helpful to other people and the community. Your job or every day work may involve with interacting and helping people out, and this is confirmation that this is your pile! They might find you very funny and young at heart as well. I'm getting that some of you may not think you're funny, but your person definitely thinks that you are. I'm getting that you may be the type of person to also laugh things off when you feel scared or hurt, it's kind of like a coping mechanism, only for some. Besides that though, I really do think your person sees you as someone who radiates bright energy and that's why people and even animals enjoy being around you. Not only they see you as bright energy, but they also see you as someone who attracts very much positive things into your life, again, abundance, school, work, you name it. What your person thinks about you is that you have a huge future ahead of you, and you have the ability to achieve your goals if you just go for it. I believe that they also think that you are very good with your words. Again, I keep getting this energy from your person of interest that they do not think they are as good as you. Honestly, I feel like they are intimidated by your potential and success. I believe that your person is going through something difficult or heartbreaking. It may be because of a separation, insecurities, or any kind of past trauma, but it is unknown. I think that this difficulty they are facing has an affect on how they feel about you. I do think that their feelings for you are developing though. I think that this person just cannot show your their full interest or attention because they need to focus on themselves more. Even though they are facing their own difficulties, I do believe you cross their mind, and their feelings for you have potential in growing into something bigger within time. Overall, I feel like your person sees you as a light in their life. They really look up to your for your positivity and ambitions. I think that once they get their life together and feel better about themselves, their feelings for you will escalate and they will start to show how they truly feel.

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Pile 2

(Ten of Wands, Ten of Cups, The Fool, King of Wands, Eight of Swords, The Magician, Shape-Shifter, Flowers, & Transformation)

Hi Pile 2! Welcome to your reading. ♡

Okay pile 2, before I start your reading, I just want to say that this is the sweetest pile. 🥺 Okay let's carry on. Your person sees you as someone who carries or has carried a lot of baggage on themselves. Perhaps, you have struggled financially or educationally, or you have really struggled with your family or friend relationships. I also get this energy from you that part of your baggage has something to do with the fact that you always put others as a priority rather than yourself. You are always sacrificing yourself, even if it costs you your happiness. Even though you've been through so much emotional baggage, you continue to persevere through adversity, and your person of interest definitely sees this about you. They see how hard your life has been, yet you find the power to proceed with your life, and they find this absolutely inspiring about you. It's like, you have the choice to stay in despair and yearn for a better life, but you choose the opposite and make changes to your life to be happy instead. Your person sees that you have amazing grit and can also adapt to your environment, whether it be difficult or easy. They might also see you as someone who is very emotional and someone who wants to have their own family and children in the future. They can see you feminine as well. The way that your person sees you is very warm and precious. There are lots of pink and purple in your reading pile 2, so this means that your person sees you very delicate and they are really romantically connected with you too. I think they think you are confident in your actions as well, and whatever risks or actions you take, you are able to go through with it. I think your person thinks you're very playful as well. Even though sometimes you may feel stressed or upset about certain things in your life, your person knows that inside of you, at the very core of you, you are actually a very warm, delicate, loving, affectionate, and playful individual. I think that they believe that you deserve the best, pile 2, especially since you've gone through so much. They also think of you as a flower. Not only are they beautiful and delicate, but they're also a product of growth and transformation. Your person not only sees you for your beauty but for also all your hard work, tenacity, and sacrifice. Pile 2, I believe that your person has very romantic feelings for you, but they do not know how to come forward with it towards you. I believe that they want to turn your bond with them into something more, but they are intimidated at the same time. I think that maybe you have a chance to come forward instead, and this will save your person a headache lol because they feel for you so much. One more message I'm getting is that they see you as a butterfly. Again, you have transformed so much in your life. You may have felt stuck in the past and over worried, but you will grow into your wings and you'll be set free to fly. Your reading is beautiful pile 2. Your person deeply feels for you.

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Pile 3

(King of Pentacles, The Hermit, The Star, Seven of Cups, The Tower, Four of Wands, Servant, Unity, & Protection)

Hi pile 3! Welcome to your reading. ♡

Your person of interest finds you very, very attractive, and maybe even very addicting pile 3! I say this because The Devil card popped out twice in the back of the deck. You're quite appealing to them I would say. 😏 Anyway, I think you give off independent vibes to your person. You're very successful, and you're independent. You're not a loner, you're in solitude. There's a big difference between those two. I think they see you as someone who does not take bs either (I'm getting that some of you here are more mature so I can insert bs here lolol). I think they see you as someone very helpful to others. Maybe you are a people pleaser, for some? I just got that. Your person also might see you as quite mysterious. You may be more of the quiet type, and they are intrigued by you. They just want to know more and more about you. I get the feeling that your person also thinks that you may have a lot of people lined up for you in regard to romantic partners. Your person may think that they don't even have a chance with you because you're so hot lol. They do think of you as a star though. You radiate light in their life, and I think that they may admire you from a distance, and they keep their feelings to themselves at times. I think that when you or if you have conversations with them, they will feel very emotionally connected with you. Your conversations with them are easy, and they feel like they can open up to you about pretty much anything comfortably. I think this is what separates you from others. You just get them in a way that no one else does, this pertains to your conversations with them, as well as your looks. 😉 One random thing, I think they might like your hands lol. Your person's feelings for you are strong pile 3, it's a given here. I think they did not expect to be this attracted to you though. Maybe some people here are in a work or classroom environment with your person, and your relationship with them could almost feel "taboo" but they can't help but be so drawn to you. Another situation I’m seeing here is a friend dynamic. Just take what resonates. I think that your person does really want something more with you though. I think if you two were together, they would really make it known to the world that you are theirs and they would celebrate your love lol. They also feel very protective over you. Even if you are already strong on your own and independent, your person still wants to be the one to protect you at all costs and even be your knight in shining armor. I believe that your bond with this person does have potential to lead to something more pile 3, even if you do not talk to them, the both of you still have potential together. Overall, they are so attracted to you pile 3. Do you ever have that person that you like so damn much that they are ruining your life???!! Yeah, that's you to them. Lol.

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[precious-little-scoundrel]

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. 💋

[hughes86-43]

An Hour and Half | L.Hughes

summary - what happens when your flight seat mate happens to be a super cute guy and you only have an hour and half to talk to him

warnings/note- none; i have no clue how long a plane ride is from new jersey to detroit is sooo im guessing

Masterlist

“Hi, excuse me, my seat is by the window, if you don’t care to let me through?” You ask the young guy sitting in the middle seat in your row. He was wearing a ‘drew’ hoodie with black sweatpants.

Looking up at you from his phone, he immediately gets out of his seat. “Oh gosh, sorry! Of course, go ahead.” You give him a small smile and squeeze through to get to your seat. You loved taking the window seat, however you hated the awkwardness of getting through the row.

“Thank you,” You wince. “Oh, wait! Before you sit down, I hate to ask, but can you grab my water bottle out of the black and white carry on up above? I’m so sorry, I completely forgot about it!” The guy nods and opens the compartment and finds the water bottle.

“It’s no problem, really. Is there anything else you need?” He asks as he hands the bottle over to you.

You shake your head. “No, I think I’m all set.” The guy nods once again and sits back down in his seat.

You go back to getting comfortable in your seat and reply back to your mom telling her that you made it on to the plane. While the flight attendants go over the safety precautions, you can’t help but to side eye the cute guy sitting next to you. He had roughly curled hair and some small stubble on his face. He looked a bit tired.

He must’ve noticed you side eyeing him because he removes his earbud and asks, “Did you need out? Sorry, I can’t hear anything with these,” he points to his earbud.

Immediately blushing, because there’s no way that he totally didn’t see you checking him out, you reply, “Oh, no! I’m all good! Also, doesn’t seem like anybody else is in the row so that’s good!”

The guy smiles at your nervousness. “Yeah, it makes the plane ride ten times better when nobody is at the end of the row. Although for you, you would have to ask me to move but still, one person is better than two to get through,” the guy laughs out.

“Honestly though. Last plane ride I was on, none of the people sitting in my row would move, so I had to awkwardly try to go over them. Gosh, it was so embarrassing but why not just move out of the way!” The guy laughs at that, putting his earbuds back into his case.

“Well, if you need me to move, just ask and I will. Since we’re here for a bit, guess I’ll introduce myself, my name is Luke.” He sticks his hand out for you to shake and introduce yourself. You’re not one to talk much to the person sitting next to you on the plane, but something about him honestly has you intrigued.

Shaking his hand, you say, “My name is Y/N, nice to meet you.”

“Y/N, lovely name. So are you heading to Michigan as a trip or do you have family there?” He asks as he returns his hand back to his lap.

You lean against the window. “I actually have some family there, and it’s my grandmother’s 90th birthday so I’m heading back to that. I’ll stay for a bit. What about you? What has you going to Michigan?” You raise your eyebrow waiting on his answer.

“Wow, 90 years old, go her,” he smiles, “Well, long story is my team just finished for the season and I’m heading home to be with the family and spend time with friends that I need to catch up with.”

You nod. “If that’s the long story, what would the short story be?”

He laughs and tries to think, “Um, the short story would probably be going home, but the long story was better.” You laugh as you fiddle with the water bottle in your hand.

You go back to asking about his team he mentioned. “So your team? What sport do you play?”

He looks at you weirdly for a second before giving a toothy grin. “Do you live in New Jersey?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Have you heard of the New Jersey Devils?” Luke asks.

You think back to a sign you saw. “Honestly, I saw a billboard about them, and I think my co-worker is obsessed with them, but mostly no.”

He lets out another laugh, and you raise your eyebrow. “You live in New Jersey, and you barely know about the New Jersey Devils? Do you know or watch anything about hockey?”

“I mean, I seen that one movie. Gosh, what is it? Is it like called ‘sensation’ or something?” You try to think. “Oh gosh, no! It wasn’t called ‘sensation’ it was called—”

He cuts you off, “Miracle.”

You scream out, “Yes!” Then wince as you realize that was a bit loud. Lowering your voice, you continue, “Yes, the hockey movie called Miracle. My dad made me watch all the time, but that’s all I know about hockey really.” You shrug.

If Luke didn’t know better, he already knows that he wants to get to know you better. “Miracle’s a good movie. Anyway, back to my team, I actually play for the New Jersey Devils.”

You shake your head, not believing him. “No way, prove it!”

Luke grabs his phone out of his pocket and shows you a recent game day photo of him in his jersey. “See, jersey, skates, and everything. I play on the defense side.”

You take a minute, probably too long, to look at the photo. Gosh, he did look in his jersey, and his hair was a bit longer in that photo. “Okay, I believe you. So, do you like it? Sorry, if that’s a bit too much to ask, I’m just a curious person.”

“No, it’s okay. Honestly, I love it. Some days and games are a bit tougher than others, but I still love it no matter what. I actually play with one of my older brothers on the team,” Luke says, a bit proud of playing with his brother.

“That’s awesome, I couldn’t imagine playing with my brother on a team, so that’s really awesome,” you say.

“Yeah, it really is,” he beams, “Anyway, the season just ended for us last week due to getting eliminated from the playoffs.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. That must suck!”

“Yeah, but we have a chance to look over the season and come back better next season. Like yeah it sucks, but I also get to go home early. It’s a win lose situation,” he shrugs.

“Still, I see how it would suck, but if you didn’t get eliminated, you wouldn’t be on this plane talking to me right now,” you smile.

“Ha, I guess you’re right,” he guides a hand through his curls. “Enough about my job, what do you do back in New Jersey?”

You wince at the mention of talking about what you do for work. Your job recently wasn’t doing it for you. You had been working at an advertising agency for a while now, but after awhile, you decided it was not for you. You wanted a new job, but you also haven’t been looking. “Eh, I work at an advertising agency. Overall, it pays the bills, but it’s not my favorite.”

Luke replies, “Did you go to school for advertising or something related?”

You shake your head, “No, I actually went for public relations, but somehow I got this job in advertising. One of my friends put in a good word for me, but I have slowly started to dread going to work.”

Luke nods, “I’m sorry that you don’t like your job.”

You shrug, looking passed him to the couple across the aisle. “Honestly, I should really get a new job if I hate it so much, but the idea of going through the process of applying and interviewing is so nerve wracking for me.”

Luke listens to see if you’re going to add anymore before talking. Truthfully, you’ve never seen a guy take the time to listen so well about your problems, let alone a stranger you just met. He speaks up again, “Although that would be nerve wracking, it would mean that you get a chance to get a new job. I say go for it, especially since you’re not loving the job you already have. You should have a job that you love to do, not a job that just pays the bills.” Honestly, Luke has no idea where all these encouraging words are coming from, but he was just letting them spill out in the chance it would help you.

“You’re right, I totally should. You’ve changed my perspective, I guess when I head back to New Jersey I’ll look at job openings related to what I want to do,” you say, smiling up at him.

You and Luke continue to talk for the next hour on the plane. Talking about various adventures you’ll both get into when you’re back in Michigan, he talks about his brothers and how they both play in the NHL, and you talk about your grandparents and how they are you’re world. Time has a sense of flying by when you’re enjoying time with someone, and surprisingly you’re enjoying and loving the time talking to Luke. Even though you both just met, you two could talk forever. You really didn’t want to get off the plane as that would mean you wouldn’t be able to talk to him much more.

An hour or so later, the moment you had been dreading since talking to him has come, time to depart the plane. You’re walking down the hallway leading out of the plane when Luke speaks up next to you. “I know it’s crazy that we just met, but honestly you’re the easiest person to talk to that I have ever met. Hopefully that made sense?”

You nod, looking into his eyes, trying to savor the last look at him. “It made sense. I think the same goes for me. You listened to what I had to say, which is surprising because most people stop listening to me after awhile,” you blush at his intense stare, actually noticing how tall he was when you stood next to him.

You both make it through the exit. Luke turns to you again and tries to say, “Since we’re both gonna be here in Michigan for a bit, we should—” but he gets cut off by someone yelling. “LUKE!”

You both turn to where the sudden yelling was from. He mumbles, a hint of red touching his cheeks, “my brother, Quinn.” You nod, moving to the side so he can hug his brother.

Quinn must notice you, because he says to Luke, “Oh, sorry for interrupting, go ahead.” He pushed Luke to go back talking to you, but when he does, he notices that you have walked off to meet with, what he assumes is, your grandparents.

He smiles as he watches you hug and kiss them both. He watches as you hold a finger, signaling them to hold on for a second, and you walk back over to him. “I’m sorry, I gotta head on out, it was so lovely to meet you and talk to you, Luke.”

He smiles, “It was great to meet you, too, Y/N. As I was trying to say before, since we’re both in Michigan for a bit, how about we try and hang out?”

You try to stay cool, but you still let out a massive grin. “Yes, absolutely! I would love to!”

“Great! Reach out to me!” He moves closer to you, before he chickens out, he pulls you into a hug. You instantly hug him back, thinking it was crazy how you just met him and now don’t want him to go. “Bye, see you soon,” he says, pulling away and walking towards his brother.

You stand there a bit in shock before yelling across to him, “Wait, but I don’t have your number!”

Luke turns around, he gives you a grin, “Check your bag! I might’ve put it in there while I was getting it down!” You blush, giving him a thumbs up before heading over to your grandparents with the biggest grin on your face.

-

Later on, you finally get to unpacking your bag. Upon unzipping it, a piece of paper falls out. He must’ve written it when you went to the bathroom. Written on it, it says…

“It was great meeting you, and you’re the best person ever to talk to. If you ever need someone to listen, call me… xxxxxxxx”

Needless to say, you did call him, and he listened to you all night long. Both of you were in over your heads with each other.

[deadsetobsessions]

Okay I got some sleep- here’s pt. 2 of my nightmare:

——

They spoke to each other as they moved, the surroundings that had egregiously attacked the group of heroes earlier easily parted way for his sister.

‘How has everything been, habibi?’

They talked to each other in a language known only to them. The rest of the Justice League team, the members of this mission: Batman, Flash, Superman, and Zatanna did not understand the signs, a feat worthy of his sister.

‘Alright. They are not bad. I like it here.’ He told her, eyes not quite wary but fear of disappointing her running through his small frame apparent all the same. ‘I would… like to stay.’

She ruffled his hair once more, wistfulness growing in her heart. How her little brother had grown. It seemed like yesterday she held him as a babe, swaddled in even more opulent green and gold silks than her own clothing. Now, he stood in front of her, daring to express his own thoughts with a domino over his face and strength of free will in his eyes. ‘That is good. I am glad you are happy.’

Batman lurched forward to stop her from touching Damian, only to freeze as his son accepted the touch without a hint of resistance. Even Dick couldn’t get that reaction, not without some grumbling and scowling. Who was this…?

The rest of team agreed to wait and watch. Part of it was strategy. Most of it was the wonder of a such Bat-like Robin being so open with someone.

‘Have you been here before?’ Damian, relaxed as she all but gave him her blessing to stay with father, peered at the local fauna as it bowed away from her sister. She shrugged, his katana sheathed on her back. She was at ease with it as he was with her blade, the training they did to get there unwavering despite the time they spent apart.

‘Sometimes. The tower we’re headed to, I often go there to relieve stress by training with the monsters there. They like to… attack everything that moves.’

Something told Damian it was more of a one sided massacre on his sister’s part.

‘Why would the magician hide there?’

‘It would serve adequately as a natural barrier, should he have a safe space put there ahead of time.’ His sister tilted her head, masked face still in the way he knew meant that she was thinking. Her hands moved. ‘Perhaps it was Grorgiantue that attacked you. He often goes there to experiment with alchemy and demonic remains. He often wears a maroon headband.’

“That’s him.” Damian confirmed.

“Are you going to clue us into what you’re saying, you two?” The Flash zoomed around the pair, skidding to a stop in front of them. Damian’s sister simply stepped around him, slicing apart a thorn bush that attacked when it got startled by the Flash’s speed. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as Robin scowled at him and the unknown ally spared him one quick, neutral glance of displeasure.

“No. Do not ask again, you eavesdropper.” Damian curtly replied, surly Robin mask back up.

“Robin.” Father reprimanded. Damian acknowledged it, but did not offer an apology. His sister remained silent and watching.

She’s relying on him to navigate these allies, Damian realized. His shoulders went back at the show of trust. He does not acquiesce to Father’s silent command. Had it been Richard… perhaps.

“Ouch, but still, if your… friend knows what’s up ahead, it’s be good to let us know.”

“We do need to take care of this as fast as possible, Robin. And we’re not the best team against magic.” Superman hovered. He would have gone and scouted ahead, but magical planes always had nasty surprises that he found extremely hard to escape.

“Speak for yourself,” Zatanna joked. Regardless, she looked askance at Damian’s sister.

Damian scowled and opened his mouth. His sister placed a hand on his shoulder and Damian sighed, readying himself to act as a translator. He knew she could sign in practically every standard sign language there was, damn it. She’s lucky he loved her enough to be a translator when she’s unwilling to socialize.

——

“Your sword,” Damian tried to hand her sword back. Her little brother, for a genius, was an idiot. She huffed, pushing the sword back.

‘Keep it. How will you cut through a magical tower without a magical sword?’ She signed to him, emphasizing her amusement.

“What about you?”

‘I must report back. I am... a bit late. I’ll see you later, habibi.’ She tapped her hand four times. A reminder that she cared about him. Before she disappeared through a swirling portal of mist grey and acrid blue, she saw him repeat the sign.

Behind her mask, she smiled.

——

“Who was that, Robin?”

Robin stared up at Batman. Damian Wayne stared up at his father.

“She... protected me.”

Not quite an answer. But it was an olive branch, to tell him who she was to Damian himself, but not who she truly was in relations to Damian.

“That’s it?”

“That is all you’re getting.” He replied, hands tightening around the hilt of his sister’s sword. Her magic hummed beneath his fingertips, the feeling of indescribable violence softening to a sense of protectiveness the moment the sword felt his presence. Damian respected Father. He might even love him. But Damian loved his sister first, and he would not betray her trust.

A new file is added to the database. Nightwing gets an update. When a familiar masked face pops up, Dick Grayson sped out of Bludhaven to interrogate his littlest brother.

And so the wheels turned.

——

“Tell me, granddaughter, what it is you truly think of me.”

Despite the conversational tone, she knew it was an order. The scars on her back burned, a reminder of another rebellion and the cost of failure.

There were many, many ways she could answer. All of them unpleasant. Yet, she must be pleasant. He must hear how she’d been broken, or else he’d keep trying to break her.

She tilted her head down, so he would not glimpse the hatred brewing in her eyes.

“I respect you, grandfather.” Because she did respect his ability to bend her at his will, for all that she hated him. It took a special kind of scum to be so cruel to one own blood. “I wish to obey your every order.” Because if she didn’t, pain would follow. But that wish was a temporary one, only in effect until she managed to kill him and come out on top.

Ra’s laughed, a warm and rich sound. Hollow, because he loved none but himself and so only reserved warmth for his own flattery. It sounded like the sharpening of a blade and it felt like balancing on a precipice. On one side, an eternity of torture. On the other, the pain of those she loved. Damian... and maybe, just a little, Talia herself.

"Do you love me, granddaughter?" He crooned, mocking and cruel, in a way one might ask a jilted lover. The reincarnation held her breath and answered. She will not lie. She can not lie, not to him. He had gouged the order into her tongue with magic and brutality. And so, she will not lie.

"No, grandfather. But I do not dislike you." The reincarnation said, soft as velvet. It was true, because what she felt for Ra's al Ghul was the cold, pervasive hatred. "I respect you."

"I see I've managed to beat some of that foolish sentimentality out of you," he said, taking a sip of his wine. Oh, how she wished she could slip poison in his cup. How she wished to make him choke on his own words, his own blood. But she could not. Not. Yet. "Alas, I can not undo the magic. I suspect you'll be serving at my feet for... quite a long time more."

She snapped her mouth closed, phantom rage hovering between her teeth. The world swirled around her, greens and purples, and the revolting touch of his hands on her.

No, she will bide her time.

She knelt, the motion familiar, on plush carpet that she could not appreciate. Luxurious cloth rustled in front of her.

And when her time comes, she will revel in Ra's al Ghul's agonizing death.

——

"Damian, you have to tell me who that is!"

Damian could be stubborn at times, he knew that. He worked with him on it. Damian was as much, if not more, Dick's Robin as he was Bruce's Robin. So why...?

"And for what reason do you wish to know her identity, Richard?"

Dick paused. He couldn't. He couldn't tell him. No one knew, except for that masked person. It happened so long ago- not long enough- and Dick could not wash the taint, could not wash the trauma from his brain, his heart. Whispers that sounded like Catalina surrounded him when he thought of that rainy night, telling him how disgusted his family would be, if they knew. Those things went away, now that he's pulled up the file on the batcomputer. The whispers fade a bit as he looked upon the masked face of the person who saved him. Just in time.

"For your safety!"

Damian crossed his arms, a look that spoke of an unbending unwillingness present in his eyes. Dick knew then that Damian would not tell him. "I will never be in danger if it's her on the other side of the blade."

"Come on, Damian, I won't tell B. Promise. Don't you trust me?"

Damian's face softened, and for a second, Dick had thought that he'd managed it. "I do... trust you." Damian struggled to say. "That is hardly ever in question, you imbecile. But to tell you would mean betrayal. And I will not betray her trust. Especially not for your personal satisfaction."

Dick wondered what this masked woman did for Damian to be unhesitatingly confident in her. He wondered if his own desperation meant something he had yet been able to put into words.

"For what it's worth, Dick, I think we should trust Damian and not pry."

Dick and Damian turned to Tim in surprise. Damian, because it was an unexpected vote of confidence.

"Woah, I do not want to hear that from you, Mr. Tiny Tot Stalker McGee."

"It's called preparation!" Tim said hotly back. Then, he subsided. "She, uh, saved me once. Back then, before I was... associated with Bruce."

"What?" Dick and Damian demanded.

——

Innocuous. The worst and best things always happened on innocuous days.

The beginning of her slavery began on a regular, if painful, sunny day.

The beginning of her freedom began on a regular, if painful, cloudy one.

She'd have to thank the little photographer later, she decided. His work all but forced her grandfather to rely on a handful of backup Lazarus pools only he, mother, and herself knew about. She stared at the green pools as her grandfather stripped to his waist to step in.

"Guard me," he commanded her as he stepped towards the pool. The sting of the command settled familiarly around her neck. “Once I am done, you will depart to force Damian or the detective back to Nanda Parbat. By any means necessary.”

It was his first time ordering her to hurt her brothers, past physical pain disguised as training.

His first mistake today.

That's the thing with her grandfather, she mused as she silently unsheathed Damian's sword. He was so complacent, that he could fathom her betrayal.

His second mistake. His last mistake.

Then again, it was her who lulled him into it, with the shows of loyalty and seemingly willing obedience outside of her magical collar's commands.

After all, he had commanded her to guard him. From outside threats, surely, but he hadn't commanded her to guard him from herself.

"You-!" He coughed as her- Damian's- blade slid in between his ribs and straight towards the other side. It missed his heart by a hair's breadth, Ra's having moved the moment he felt the blade. Truly, it was hard to beat a near-immortal's experience.

"Kill yourself!" He barked at her, clutching at his chest, trying to stumble towards the pool.

To kill herself, she had to remove the blade lodged in his chest. The magic urged her to follow his commands immediately with searing pain. But she's had over two decades to endure and adjust to it, to grit her teeth and learn how to move with the torture of being alive. So she follows it just to dislodge the blade. The reincarnation then, with the magic trying to break her, cripples Ra’s with two blows.

He collapsed, screaming bloody murder and slurs at her. Before he could say another command, she stabbed down and to the side, cutting deep enough to cut his voice box and spill his life-blood, his unceasingly irritating throat, over the craggy rocks surrounding the pool.

Then, she slit her throat with a cut that was a touch too shallow to kill her right away.

"I do not dislike you," she said, the pain easing as she spoke to him. The red she's taken from others now spilled on the front of her shirt. She stared at his enraged glare, vicious glee at making him choke on his own actions. "No, I hate you."

She bent down, twisting and breaking his arms with little effort. She patted his cheeks and raked a trail of pain down his face with her metal tipped gloves. Her blood dripped onto him, blinding his eyes.

Fitting, she'd thought. "No one will come for you, grandfather. But... I do have to ask," She looked down, voice tilting in the cruel way that he'd unintentionally taught her. "Don't you love me, grandfather?"

She walked backwards until she reached the edge of the pool. She knelt once more, a mockery of every time she's knelt for him.

The reincarnation watched his blood spill, the light leave his eyes, and the way his body stilled and the way his rage was stifled like he'd smothered her voice so long ago. She memorized it, because hate was an active emotion. But she was tired, and she wanted to rest. So she watched him die and felt nothing but peace.

Then, as she felt the magic take hold and tear her soul from her body, she tipped backwards and plunged her corpse in the glowing pits that awaited her.

——

It felt like drowning.

(did y’all know cats lay on your chest?? bro i straight up couldn’t breath bc of that)

Breathless. Corrosive. Freeing.

The Pit felt like freedom.

And she’d long forgotten what that felt like.

It tasted like shit water though, and suddenly she felt bad for everyone whoever swallowed some of the water here. She’s going to need her stomach pumped out after this-

Her thoughts were washed away in a haze of green tinted fury.

——

“Habibi.”

Nightwing slid in front of Robin with a well practiced flip. Batman emerged from the shadows, followed Spoiler and Red Robin.

“Talia. What do you want?” Batman growled. Talia ignored him, an uncharacteristic action that had the vigilantes putting their guards up.

“I… you know I would not ask this of you- I would not ask you to return,” Talia said softly.

“Then don’t.” Red Robin cut in sharply, bo staff at the ready. Talia ignored him too.

“But she needs you, habibi. I can not… I can not help her.”

“Who?” Spoiler asked, curious but ready to rumble.

“What happened?” Robin stepped around Nightwing, who made an aborted movement to try to pull Robin back behind him.

“Something terrible.” Talia al Ghul closed her eyes, a sliver of vulnerability and regret showing on her face. Robin straightened, fear thudding through his heart. What happened to ukhti, he wanted to ask. But he could not, not without betraying the promise of silence he’d made to her. “I… I have failed her greatly. And she was paying the price for it, this entire time.”

“Wait, is this about the masked woman?” Nightwing asked.

“Alright,” Robin- no, Damian- stepped forward once more. His decision was made. Had been made, the moment his mother allowed the rare instance of vulnerability to come across her face. “I’ll be going back, once…”

“Of course. She would not let me keep you, habibi. She knows you are happier here.”

“Then, let’s go.”

“Robin!” His family tried to stop him but Damian slipped between and out of their reach. “Do not!”

“I’ll be back,” he declared, like he was daring his mother to say otherwise. “Try not to raze Gotham into the ground with your incompetence.”

“I’ll kill Ra’s if something happens to him.” Red Robin pointed the bo staff at Talia as she and Damian turned to leave. He stopped an alarmed Batman when he tried to lunge for Robin.

“No need,” she threw back. Damian whipped his head up at that. “He’s already dead.”

And they disappeared into a whirling purple cloud of magic.

——

Snippets of reality return to her bit, by bit. Her mother had cautiously entered the pit with her guards- worried, no doubt, by their absence- and stilled upon seeing her father’s dead body.

She laughed, and dug her hands into the bodies of the assassins she’d trained until her nails dripped with blood and pieces of organs. She felled them, one by one, until only mother was left.

She’d attacked, like a rabid dog, until the green slipped and her mother came into focus.

“I killed him,” she’d croaked out. And that was what broke her; the smooth way air wrapped her around her throat where only ripping pain had existed. Her voice came out unhindered and recklessly so, without the tinge of agony carefully picking her sentences.

“I killed him,” she repeated, and set Ra’s al Ghul’s body on fire. “I killed him.”

Her mother stared at her, hands dropping carefully to her side. “Why?”

She smiled, teeth bared and bloody- oh, she must have ripped into an assassin with her teeth, how messy- and endlessly joyful. “Because he dared to chain me- because he threatened Damian.”

She broke, and she told her mother everything. No, not everything. Just, enough. At the end, when her back is bowed with pain and heart empty, her mother knelt before her and quietly, tremblingly, apologized.

“I am sorry, habibi. I…”

The reincarnation’s made a small, wounded noise and lost herself to the green.

——

Damian trembled with rage. With grief.

With regret.

He followed mother into the caverns, mind turning and whirling with everything he’d learned in the hour that had passed since he’d left Gotham. His sister’s inclination towards magic was incredibly helpful, but Damian wished that she had never had the cause to go delving into magic like she did.

He thought it was passion.

His mother had informed him of what Grandfather had done to his ukht all these years. She told him of what his sister had sacrificed so that he remained free.

“Every time she spoke to us, to tell us that she loves us… father had made sure she paid for every word with unceasing agony.” His mother had muttered, eyes more lost than he’d ever seen it. “The magic at her neck ensured that she obeyed unquestioningly or she paid the price.”

“She is paying the price right now,” he’d snapped at her.

“Yes.”

Damian had thought ukhti’s collection of magical tomes were a sign of her interests. He thought it was passion for a subject. He had even envied how she did not have to hide her hobby like he had to with his art.

Now, he knew it wasn’t passion. No, it was desperation; a scrambling for freedom, a wish for dignity, and the fear of the same restrictions being placed on his ukht’s loved ones- him and mother.

When he entered the cave, lit up by swirling, sickly green, he saw his ukht, drenched in blood and sclera, tearing apart another group of assassins. There were ashes and the smell of burnt flesh around them.

Her eyes- green, glazed, furious- turned towards them.

His mother tensed. His ukht lunged, pitted sword aimed at his eyeball.

But if there was anything Damian knew, it was that ukhti would never hurt him.

So he stayed still.

And she stopped. Blade a centimeter from his eyes, his sister stopped.

“Damian?”

How his heart broke when she spoke, confusion in her voice that sounded as if she had been screaming for decades and nobody had heard.

As Damian’s hand wrapped around her wrist and she dropped the sword, he morbidly thought that she might have been doing that. It’s not like they heard her, after all, not until she’d freed herself with broken fingers and steel spine.

——

Bruce paced around in the cave. With the disappearance of their youngest, the entire family gathered in the cave, the night after. Except for Barbara, who had been scouring the cameras and had prior engagements, and Cass, who was on a plane back from Hong Kong, the family watched as Bruce slowly lost his mind.

“Relax, B. Look, even Dickface and Timbers aren’t worried, and you know how they get.” Jason said, kicking his feet up on the table.

“Ahem.”

Jason quickly put his feet down.

“We know nothing about this woman! She could be a danger- she could-!”

“B, if it really is about the masked woman, I think we should give Damian some trust.” Dick spoke up.

“And what if they keep Damian captive?”

“Then we go get him, Bruce. Simple.” Duke said, yawning.

Whatever Bruce would have said next was cut off by the opening of the cave’s underground entrance, with an approving beep of a recognized and authorized entrance.

Damian stalked in, hands wrapping around the hilt of his sword like he was going to cut through the next fool who tested him. His face was in a frown.

“Damian. Are you alright?” Bruce rushed towards his youngest, only to be dodged.

“I need to break something. Then, we shall talk.”

Damian headed towards the training dummies at let out his fury. He let out his heart break. Splinters of wood and cloth and ripped padding laid testament to his grief.

Then, the younger brother of the true heir to the Demon’s Head turned around to speak to his chosen family.

——

Clarity.

Her brother, her fool, dumb brother who had just stood there as she tried to gouge his eyes out, had been exactly what she needed.

She avoided his concerned eyes as she muttered calculations under her breath.

“Ukhti, what are you doing?”

“Freedom, habibi. I am… creating my freedom.”

At his confused look, she made the signs for Pit Rage. He nodded and guarded her back.

Damian was so adorable. And now, now that there’s not collar around her neck, she could say that without awaiting internal agony!

Her mouth spoke the words she’d found all those years ago, magic flaring bright white and blue as the circle she laid down on crumbling rocks shuddered.

The magic soothed her frayed mind and seeped the poison from her mind.

——

“I have a sister.” He’d told them. He turned to his father, who had a blank look on his face. “An older sister. She is yours.”

“You fucked Talia, twice?!”

A scowl. “Keep your trap shut, Todd.”

Bruce felt his world shudder to a stop.

——

Her fingers, her left hand as her right was busy scratching absently at Damian’s head, found purchase on her back and neck. The skin wasn’t so soft anymore, time and scars making for a rougher feel.

There were worse things than death. Bitter, painful things.

Loosing her freedom. Loosing her voice.

But… there were better things than life. Sweet, gentle things.

Regaining her freedom. Getting revenge. Securing her family’s safety and freedom from the grotesque thing that wore the skin of a grandfather.

Her brother, tucked safely against her side, and a mother that finally understood.

“Come to Gotham with me,” Damian had suggested. She hummed, delighting in the way the sound came out with out the ringing pain.

But one does not erase two plus decades worth of trauma in one night.

Her hands came up.

‘Not yet. Mother will think-”

“It is a good idea.”

Her gaze darted up. Her mother’s eyes… softened. Odd. No… her gaze was heavy with guilt.

“It would… do you good to be away from here, my daughter.”

Well.

It’s not like she was opposed to that, at all, but still…

‘Two weeks. I’ll tie up loose ends… and I’ll go to Gotham in two weeks, if that’s alright with you, Damian?’

“Of course.” He leaned against her, hand clutching at her shirt in a motion that she wasn’t sure was meant to comfort himself or her. “May I tell father about you?”

Ah. She hadn’t thought of that. The pit really scattered her mind. She nodded.

——

“Why… why didn’t you tell me?”

“She asked me not to.”

“And since when did you do things people ask of you, demon brat?”

Damian scowled. It did not make his next sentence any less genuine.

“Since it was ukhti that asked.”

Tim spun around on his wheel chair. “Holy shit. So the masked person was your sister. No wonder you were so….”

Protective, they all finished the rest of the sentence silently. They all sat back to contemplate that Bruce had one more kid… and that Tim had met her before Damian was even born.

“So, why were you so upset, baby bird?” Dick asked, an odd feeling of both gratefulness and mild jealousy towards Damian’s sister- his savior, because holy shit- gathering underneath his heart.

“Apparently, grandfather put her under an enslavement spell all these years.”

“Damian… say that again. I- I must have heard you wrong.”

Damian closed his eyes, hating how unsteady and fearful his father sounded. He obliged, because he knew what it felt like.

“Grandfather put her under an enslavement spell and used her to further the League’s reach.”

Damian had wondered why he had encountered his sister so often while passing by grandfather’s chambers and why she always looked tired when she goes past those ornate doors.

Now he knew.

“Does that- does that mean what I think it means?”

“Yes. She,” Damian’s hands gripped harshly on his forearms. He breathed in and out slowly. “She was… assaulted. Most likely regularly. To broker more favorable agreements. She could not refuse. The magic demanded complete obedience or risk the punishment of unbearable pain.”

Dick looked away. They had a lot in common. She saved him… but on her end, she was not saved. His hands itched to punch Ra’s al Ghul in the face.

“Fuck.” Stephanie cursed. Her eyes met Duke’s and Jason’s.

Tim’s hands stopped moving, eyes staring blankly at Damian. He should have tried harder to kill Ra’s al Ghul.

Bruce got up, trembling, and stalked over to the training dummy. They sat in silence.

“What else?” Bruce rasped. He hung his head.

“She was ordered not to speak a word.”

“But she… spoke to me.” Tim said. Damian felt an irrational flare of jealousy.

“Then it most likely caused her unimaginable pain as punishment.” Damian snapped.

“What do we have to do to free her?” Stephanie demanded.

“Nothing, Brown. She freed herself.”

“How?” Duke leaned in, expression serious. “Did Ra’s al Ghul free her before he died or something?”

“I… am not too sure of the details, but it involved killing him… and jumping into the pit.”

Jason stood up with a clatter. “She was in the pit?!

“Yes. I think… she might have died. I’m not… sure.”

Bruce closed his eyes, working on his breathing like Dinah had showed him.

“Is that why Talia came? Because you could stop her pit madness?”

“Yes. I- there-” Damian struggled to get the words out, the ball of upset sitting on his chest made it hard to breathe. “Ukhti would never hurt me. Unless it’s training, but even then, I am sure she fought against her orders to wound me.”

Dick nodded. Yeah. He would have too, if he were in her shoes.

“I… can ukhti come here to recover?”

“Of course. When?” It was at times like this when he appreciated his family’s sentimentality and ridiculously large hearts. Unhesitatingly kind, even when they should have been furious at him for keeping ukhti’s secrets.

“Two weeks.”

“Then we shall make adequate- no, better than adequate preparations. Master Damian, what were her preferences for food?”

——

She should probably prepare a gift. Multiple.

“Ukht.”

She tilted her head to show Damian she was listening.

“I am sorry.”

‘There’s nothing to be sorry for.’

“But-”

She squeezed his shoulder and forced the words to come out. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I should have noticed.”

‘I did not want you to notice. If I hid things from you, do you think you could find them so easily?’

“No, I suppose not.”

She smiled at him and tapped her hand four times. He tapped his own four times in response.

——

The dream ended there, well, no, there was actually some more nonsense about a corgi, a room full of strings and slenderman or whatever but I didn’t include that part. There’ll probably be a part three bc I kinda wanna know what happens when she comes to Gotham to recover from trauma.

The oc, relatively well adjusted: *dies*

The oc, reincarnated and got fucked over (figuratively and non consensually literally): “yes, I should go to Gotham (aka trauma central) to recover from my trauma. Sounds legit.”