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cr4yolaas · 6 months

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for lovers who hesitate — tsukishima kei

synopsis: you find your old academic rival at your new job. every bone in your body says it’s fate, but everything else seems to be stopping you.

notes: puking cuz idk how i feel abt this one. i worked on this all thru out my trip and there was a lot of scrapping and rewriting and deleting the entire thing and rewriting it again, but i think this version is the best i could get it to. i <3 tsukishima kei

tags: fluff → angst → fluff, self-indulgent long fic, reader smokes, reader has trauma w/ their parents, mainly fem reader oriented but gn pronouns used, reader has self-destructive habits, themes of self-doubt from both, tsukishima is probably ooc, slow burn but not really, the most awkward love confession ever, mitski rdr x radiohead tsukishima (sorry), proofread but not really

tsukishima kei, for once, was at a loss for words.

there you stood beneath the bright green foliage, your face marred by the heatwaves of the sun and still all too familiar. he thought, for a moment, that he had the wrong person — you had taken on a rougher appearance, but his body, heart, and soul still recognized you. and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to speak to you.

where had the last decade gone?

he coughed into his fist and walked past you, feigning ignorance to your arrival. when you followed after him with a keycard of your own, he found himself flustered.

no words were exchanged. he was playing the silent game with you, although he quietly hoped you would say something first.

and thus, he continued his shift as usual, with the added oddity of you shadowing him alongside his boss. he just couldn’t find the proper words to place on his tongue, nor the right gestures to show that he did want to talk, he just didn’t know how to.

but truthfully, what was one supposed to say in such a situation?

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

you believed that tsukishima hated you. and you wouldn’t blame him.

when you applied for this job, you had no expectations going into it, save for the hope of a higher salary and a lighter load than your previous job. what you had not anticipated was to stand face to face with the man you swore to hate in your youth.

a sliver of hope embedded itself within you; an overwhelming desire to perhaps refurbish a long lost relationship had taken root. but when he looked away so persistently and spoke not a word to you, that sliver dissipated into meaningless sand.

you continued your work as best as possible. it was a routine job — set up the displays for the day, guide whatever visitors came around, and leave in the afternoon. but when a certain blonde was sneaking glances at you and somehow always in your vicinity, it proved to be easier said than done.

you were too afraid to admit that his presence was refreshing. that, in the midst of the mundane and borderline unhealthy cycle you had formulated within the past handful of years following graduation, he had proven to be an odd factor; he stood as a disruptor to the routine. it was unwelcome. and even still, you craved it and more.

tsukishima kei had always been a constant in your life. you just didn’t expect him to reappear so soon, so suddenly.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

it was a wednesday. an uneventful shift had come to an end. and just as you rid yourself of your work attire, a verbal invitation to a work party was sent your way.

the prospect of it was almost laughable. you were under the impression that the body of employees in a museum would be too reserved to host parties such as this, and you were quickly proven otherwise. thus, you accepted instantly.

as soon as you sat down, you regretted it just as quickly.

the moon had just barely begun to hang bright in the sky, and yet the table was already full of drunken coworkers that you hadn’t seen before. loud chatter filled the room, as if this table was the only one in the establishment. it was overbearing.

before you could take even a sip of your drink, you excused yourself under the pretense of needing to use the restroom. instead, you escaped outside, the gentle breeze reestablishing your senses and reeling you back in.

he was also there.

“oh,” he exclaimed softly. his eyes drifted away from yours, the warmth of his cheeks illuminated by the dim lamp above. oh was the first word he had ever spoken to you since graduation. you nearly laughed.

“hello,” you offered quietly, still testing the waters of conversation. your gaze fell to his fingers, slim and cherry-kissed and blemished, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “um… i didn’t expect to see you here…?”

tsukishima laughed lightly at your tone, as if to conceal his own anxieties. “likewise.” he watched as you pulled out a cigarette, the stick meeting your lips like it were more than natural. “did you come all this way to stalk me? or to follow me? after all those years of silence?” he teased, although a tinge of bitterness dripped from his words.

you shook your head aggressively. “no, no, i just…” you bit at your lip for a moment before continuing. “i’m taking a break from my actual job. i needed to wind down before i return.”

tsukishima hummed at your response, evidently oblivious to your lie. he looked at you for a moment too long, his eyes grazing over each alteration and unfamiliar feature. he could not help but admire you in this light — the soft strings of moonlight in contrast with the neon signs glaring against your complexion painted an image he hadn’t seen in ages.

for the first time in a long time, tsukishima kei thought you were unbearably pretty.

what he didn’t catch wind of was your nervous shuffles and your incessant skin-picking as you stood beside him. he didn’t realize that the cigarette was a distractor, a tool to pull you back in. and he failed to acknowledge the stutter in your voice as you spoke to him, for it hadn’t crossed his mind once that you thought he disliked you. not that it would matter to him, anyways.

it’s too soon, he thought to himself. this is stupid, he argued. i’d mess it up if i did anything reckless, he reasoned. all of which were excuses to fight against the overwhelming reality of his vulnerability.

you turned your head away, the extended silence whittling away at whatever confidence you once bore. tsukishima watched with framed eyes and a calculative stare, as if scrutinizing each and every action you took. unbeknownst to you, it was the exact opposite of that.

the soft call of your name from inside the bar pulled your attention away, much to his dismay. he witnessed your frame disappear through the doors, your eyes flitting towards his so quickly he might’ve imagined it.

this was foolish. tsukishima decided that much. but despite his claims of how stupid it was, he was getting reeled in faster than he could pull out.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

despite how hard he tried to display his ignorance, tsukishima was caring at his core.

silent glances exchanged between shifts morphed into small conversations shared whenever possible, as if the tension that previously barred you from interaction had dissipated into nothingness.

at some point, he dropped off a neatly wrapped bento box to your desk, the fabric littered with small dinosaur doodles.

“what is this?” you questioned, an amused lilt to your voice. you failed to notice the way pink rose to his ears, too enamored by the intricate arrangement of veggies and rice.

“don’t think anything of it. i just had leftover food and didn’t want to waste it.” the excuse slipped through his lips as if it were truth, earning him a soft smile from you.

there were butterflies whipping their wings against his ribcage so aggressively they might have bulged out from his skin.

eventually, you invited him out for a walk to the convenience store nearby during your break. and after that, it became routine. with an umbrella in one hand and his wallet in another, tsukishima walked with you down the street to buy onigiri and sandwiches and sometimes a sweet treat nearly every day, and that shared hour became his favorite part of work.

it was silly.

you sat beside him in the booth, your blistered hands carefully unwrapping the plastic from your meal. to your left sat a can of soda. and to your right, he was there.

“i need to stop living off of these,” you complained while motioning towards the onigiri in your grasp.

tsukishima shook his head. “what else would you eat?”

“your bento boxes,” you commented absentmindedly, your bites becoming larger as you neared the center of the rice. “i liked it, when you gave it to me that one time. you should make it again.”

he looked away, his chin resting atop the sweat of his palm. slowly, he turned towards you. “it’s just a bento box. surely you can handle making one.”

“oh, shut up!” you laughed while shoving him lightly. “the fact that you can even make one is shocking. all you have in that head is volleyball and shit.”

“our old test scores say otherwise,” he quipped. the shift in your eyes left a bitter taste on his tongue.

“whatever,” you muttered before leaving to throw out your trash. a pit grew in tsukishima’s stomach.

the blonde mustered the last of his resolve and made an offer. “i’ll teach you how to make one.”

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

of all the things tsukishima was bracing himself to see, a thinly-walled apartment that was less than well-maintained was the last thing he was prepared for.

you came out from your bedroom in clothes that were far more casual than his, your hair disheveled and your steps uneven. “sorry for the mess,” you uttered while bending down to pick up a hoodie sprawled across the floor, alongside a plastic bag that looked empty. he could only watch in awe.

he placed his bag down on your counter before arranging the ingredients, each brought from his own home. the clatter of your rushed cleaning echoed behind him. and when you finally stood beside the man, he could not contain his grin.

tsukishima decided to hold his tongue. instead, he opted to gently guide your hands through each step, the perspiration collecting on his skin a stark contrast from the rough texture of yours. he realized how little you knew, despite your insistence that you were more than knowledgeable in what you were doing — it showed in your unstable cutting and your hesitance when preparing the pot for boiling — but he refrained from commenting, in fear of disrupting the peace he’d constructed.

on the other hand, you were horrified.

to admit that you were inferior to him in yet another aspect uprooted the envy you had burrowed deep within yourself, and you were terrified of letting it overspill. he was so calm — at least, that was what it looked like — and you’d be damned to ruin it.

mitski’s soft hums reverberated in the background, your shaky chopping filling in the rest of the noise. it was almost satirical — the solemn melodies coated your bare bones and rendered you silent, a strong juxtaposition to the warmth exuded from the closeness of your skin to his. neither of you did anything to interfere, save for an earlier comment from the man questioning your music taste.

(“then what do you listen to?”

“… radiohead.”

“wow. as if that’s any better than mitski.”)

tsukishima found himself smiling at your pride in your creation. messy, yes. but within each ingredient lay a remnant of him, and that was enough.

a stream of small talk emerged into you sitting on the couch together. the music dimmed down to white noise and an old romcom that had only two star ratings played on your TV, the poor quality adding to the humor. your legs leaned against his beneath the blanket. and there was peace.

tsukishima knew what it was. he knew what this would blossom into, and he could only hope and pray he didn’t mess it up in some way. your quiet yet crude commentary disappeared into the tender air, and he remained silent, as if absorbing each syllable that fell from your lips.

it was so quiet, and so vulnerable, and so delicate that he felt like he was going to explode.

he didn’t question it when your head fell onto his shoulder. he didn’t make fun of you when your colorful reviews on each scene turned into sleepy ramblings. and he didn’t say a word when you dozed off against him, your whole body against his.

instead, he looked around. he took note of the dust collecting on the cabinets, the water marks on the windows, the clothes and food and plastic scattered all over your living room, the dead plant on the shelf, and the half-empty pack of cigarettes sitting on the arm of the couch. it was all a far, far cry from the cleanliness and stability of his own home, and yet, he thought to himself, this is so like them. and he thought, i could live in here, if it were with them. and again, he thought, this could be a home.

tsukishima kei was of the belief that he did not have a type. but as he observed your house and reflected on its singular (?) inhabitant, he figured that this was his type. his type was your quiet laughs and your sharp remarks and your wrinkled clothes and the scent of cigarettes that always seemed to cling to you. his type was you.

he exchanged one last glance to your sleeping figure before getting up and leaving you to rest. not without wrapping up your lunch for tomorrow, and not without a small smile on his lips.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

hell came to you on a thursday morning — the day following whatever had happened between you and tsukishima. you hadn’t put on your uniform just yet, and your belongings sat outside of your locker.

your boss scrambled into the office, his brows furrowed and his larger hands closing the door as quickly as he could without slamming it. the sweat that collected between his wrinkles shined beneath the dim lights. his breaths were haggard and rushed and shallow.

for the first time in a long time, you felt fear.

“there’s people who want to talk to you outside,” he whispered. “they want to talk to you now.”

there was no one else in the building. no one other than you, your boss, and the people who were so adamant on speaking to you.

so why was it so loud as soon as you stepped out?

the eyes of your mother came into your vision first. then, the stare of your father. and finally, their faces blended into one large picture that made sense.

“what the fuck are you doing here?”

withered hands slammed against the table. you watched the papers and the dinosaur trinkets rattle. “that’s no way to speak to your parents.” you could feel it — the air seeping out of your lungs, depriving you of breath; the trembling in your palms; the cloudiness in your peripherals. you could hear them, but you couldn’t hear them. at some point, their vocabulary was solely financial, and at another point, it grew cruel and violent, akin to wild dogs gnawing away at your skin. you didn’t know where it was going. the hastened footsteps of an unidentifiable coworker neared, and the shaky breaths of your boss behind the door grew louder and louder.

you needed to leave.

your feet led you away before your mind could. the yelling softened, until finally, the only sound was the chirp of birds and the whirring of cars.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

tsukishima didn’t see you for a week. he didn’t hear any mention of your name, didn’t find your face in a crowd, didn’t feel the vibrations of your voice against his chest. you had disappeared, and no one told him why. it wasn’t until your name didn’t show up on the schedule that something clicked.

it was cruel. you were cruel, he decided.

tadashi sat on the couch while his roommate leaned against the counter. the hum of the air conditioning blinded the blonde’s senses.

“i don’t fucking know what i did,” tsukishima groaned into his palms for the twentieth time that night. “they just left. they quit and i can’t even contact them because i was stupid enough to not ask for their number or email or anything. i don’t- i don’t fucking know, ‘dashi, i don’t.”

“i’m sure they had some good reason,” his friend attempted. “i don’t think they’d do that if it weren’t within some sensible limit. it was fucked, yeah, but… i don’t know. i think they’ll come back when the time is right.”

it was tiring. it was tiring to be left alone not just once, but twice. and it was tiring to have it hurt so much more the second time.

tsukishima ran a hand through his hair. “it’s so stupid.” another groan spilled from his tongue. “i’m so fucking tired of this.”

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

this was just about the fourth job you had applied for.

the museum could no longer be a part of your routine — instead, it morphed into loud nights and bustling men and the clinking of glass; it emerged from quiet and gentle tours around dinosaur exhibits to noisy cheers and yelling and the more-than-occasional bottle thrown at your head; it turned into pure, devastating loneliness.

it was compact. it was suffocating. it was overwhelming. it was everything the museum was not. but you could not return there, no matter how much you ached for it.

you were avoiding him. avoiding everyone.

a gentle nudge from a blurred face reminded you that your shift was over for the night, coupled with an apology for the gash that formed on your head from another drunken man who had no outlet for his anger other than you. with heavy steps, you trudged back home, thankful for the week’s pay and the free food and drinks.

it was quiet.

the lights were off, and the LED numbers on the microwave read way past midnight. a dull pounding resided in your chest.

just the other day, it was so vibrant. you were alive, and so was he, and it was going well. but it was wrong. you realized that much when your parents came to remind you, and you realized it again as you quit the same day.

the thumping in your chest spread to your head, and your back met the wall with a force that was sure to upset your neighbors. carefully, daintily, you slid down, your body reaching the floor gently.

you missed him. but it was wrong.

that night, for the first time in a long while, you cried.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

tucked away in a small alley in sendai resided an establishment with only three tables and a bar that was worn down from years of use. and behind it, tsukishima found you.

he was only out for a walk. at least, that was what it was until his feet brought him elsewhere and he stood face-to-face with the most suspicious of buildings. and when he saw you, it felt as if all the anger and guilt and distress that riddled his bones and flesh and blood withered away, as if it hadn’t coalesced within his veins over the past month.

before you could hide, his hand snaked around your wrist, his touch light yet desperate. “can we talk?”

talking entailed bringing him back to your apartment. and by extension, it included him witnessing your house somehow being worse than before.

tsukishima found himself sitting on the floor with his back to the couch, and you found yourself sprawled across said couch. he picked at the blisters on his fingers before quietly asking, “why did you do that?”

he could hear your nervous habits — the shifting, the fidgeting, the harsh lip biting. “i don’t know.”

“bullshit,” he muttered under his breath.

you turned over onto your side to face his back. “my parents found me,” you explained meekly. improper guidance leads to destructive tendencies. tsukishima kei, in his high school years, was deemed your only obstacle to complete succession — always a few points ahead, a few questions ahead, a few steps ahead — and your poor influence from youth only fueled such a fire. and so, you felt that it was reasonable to loathe him. your judgement was clouded beyond repair.

tsukishima listened. he listened to every detail, every portion of your retelling of each segment of your childhood, and your teen years, and your silly hatred for him. he listened to you talk about what you did after graduation — how you got into a good university but dropped out and hopped between a multitude of jobs (thus proving your claim at the work party to be a lie), and how you were constantly escaping from both the stress and your parents.

he listened so intently that it was overbearing. you didn’t tell him that. instead, you talked and talked and talked until you sculpted him into someone who knew your entire life, as if he were there from the beginning.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered through stubborn tears. you hated it — how exposing it was, how you had practically dumped everything onto him in one go, how you couldn’t help but beg for forgiveness in the end. most of all, you hated how easily he gave you his forgiveness.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

tsukishima didn’t leave your house at all that week. you found no energy to complain.

in the morning, you’d find him cleaning whatever disaster you left behind, whether it was the pile of laundry on your bed or the collection of full trash bags next to the front door or the food (or rather, the lack thereof) in your fridge. he was silent all the while, and that hurt more than any berating he could have done.

“why are you still here?” you asked him one night. you had finally moved from the couch to the bed, and tsukishima couldn’t be any prouder. (any movement at all was enough to be proud of, he felt). “you shouldn’t want to be here.”

you watched him heave a heavy breath as his shoulders drooped. “because i want you,” he admitted, his voice unmistakably tender and soft and ridden with a youthfulness that he unearthed from deep within himself. “i want to be with you and i want you to be happy and i just want us to be happy together, for once.”

he spoke of his affections so fluently, as if he were born to share them with you. and still, every bone in your body was whispering otherwise.

even so, tsukishima promised that he would be willing to wait. even if it meant watching you down an unreasonable amount of beer at an unreasonable hour.

he promised to sit through it all with you, even if it meant listening to you call his name out in long, drawn-out tones. even if it meant hearing you confess your long-harbored affection for him. even if it meant hearing you say that you never told him, not even in high school, because you felt like you didn’t deserve to tell him.

tsukishima didn’t understand.

he failed to comprehend how you didn’t feel deserving, when his whole body, mind, and soul was bound to you; when, in the depths of the night, he’d burn pink in the night at the mere thought of you; when he was so uncharacteristically smitten for you. he didn’t get it. he didn’t think he ever would.

not that he said anything about it — at least, not in that moment. not when you were inexplicably drunk, to the point where you couldn’t move a limb without tumbling over.

but, without a doubt, he went to bed with a stupid grin and a berry-kissed face.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

it took another couple of weeks before tsukishima would see you at work again. you entered through the doors as if you never left, and he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be excited or neutral or anything else, because his guts only knew tenderness with you at that point — all the fake ignorance and stubbornness and denial had been cast aside.

you basked in a shared silence in the locker room, until you finally admitted that you were, in fact, healing. to some degree, at least. you asked him to come over again under the pretense of seeing how clean your house was. you detailed every segment of your life, from when he last saw you to your entrance into the museum, including how you made yourself breakfast for the first time in forever and how you drank a cup of water almost every day. and he was so overwhelmingly proud, so much so that it spilled over and he couldn’t contain himself.

“i love you,” he blurted out, his rushed admission cutting off your rambling. you whipped your head towards him, but he was looking everywhere except for you.

“what?” you exclaimed.

“i said i love you. i’m in love with you. what don’t you get?”

your jaw hung open, just like that of a fish. “wait- what the fuck?” much to his amusement, you jumped up and began pacing around the room. “i like- well, i guess, love,” you paused, the vocabulary uncomfortable on your teeth. “you too, but like- what the fuck? who told you that?”

“you did.”

“what?”

tsukishima kei was laughing. he was laughing at you, and yet, you weren’t as angry as you expected to be. he was laughing, and all you could do was relish in the noise.

“so,” he hummed delightfully, an amused smirk on his lips. “am i still coming over?”

you (begrudgingly) agreed. again, he laughed — this time, at the heat rising to your face.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

through the cracks between your blinds, silk strands of sunlight crawled through, a soft reminder of the morning. beside you, a mountain of warmth lay, with his glasses still on his face and his hoodie misshapen on his body.

tsukishima was always the first to rise. he would wait for your eyes to flit open gently before getting up and making breakfast, despite your protests that your food was probably better than his. he never listened.

the splatter of coffee into your cup served as the only noise in the room, save for the dull noise of the morning news on the TV and the cars passing by outside the window. you watched intently as the blonde set up the table, his lip drawn in a tight line but his eyes shimmering with contentment. “eat up,” he spoke quietly as he took a seat in front of you.

tsukishima kei was, by no means, a cruel person. he was just a little rough on the edges and occasionally didn’t quite know how to say things without being mean. but as he sat with you, eating breakfast made by him in your shared apartment; as he pressed a fleeting kiss to your forehead before leaving to change, ignoring your groans about the remnants of syrup on his lips; as he drove you to work as the sun settled in the sky; you realized he was simply a man in love.

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staryuee · 1 month

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WHAT THEY DO WHEN THEY’RE IN LOVE!

꒰warnings꒱ not proofread, dainsleif/pantalone may be ooc (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)

⠀꒲ ` synopsis . . . just cute habits, actions etc that they do, whether intentionally or not, after being struck with cupid’s arrow.

⠀꒲ ` characters . . . jean, diluc, zhongli, xiao, nilou, xianyun, dehya, wanderer, arlecchino, pantalone, dainsleif

⠀꒲ ` notes . . . scrolling through the genshin tag makes me wanna die sometimes…i’m trying to do investigative work and i have to quickly scroll past the same smutty language like it’s booktok torture + also i’ve been playing baldurs gate 3 for the past several days and i think i’ve developed a problem…

G. JEAN — 琴

ʚ jean is very subtle in the way she loves someone, she doesn’t want to keep it secret per se, but her love is always almost adjacent to a puppy crush; something that seems fleeting but in the long run returns harder and hits oh so much worse.

ʚ she can’t necessarily abuse her powers, and she wouldn’t dare dream of messing up the order she so carefully has managed to maintain, so the way she tries to convey her feelings across isn’t too brash or loud.

ʚ simple things like letting her hands brush against yours when she passes you documents, allowing you to visit her office whenever you please even if it’s to just sprawl down at a nearby couch and read a book you found in the library while meandering, and even letting you join her on her daily walks across the courtyard.

ʚ during windblume festivals she won’t hesitate to strike up a seemingly harmless and friendly conversation, all the while sneaking a flower into your hair that resembles the feelings you stir up inside her fuzzy heart.

ʚ jean is overall quite an awkward person when it comes to anything related to romantic or plantoic ties, she’s a bit of a people pleaser in that way where she prefers to assume everyone’s a friend before an enemy… or in this case, “interested”.

ʚ with backup and sought guidance from her good friends lisa and kaeya, she’ll try a myriad of tactics to get you to notice her; a little shoulder massage there, a heartfelt sticky note placed on your workstation there, inviting you to classic candlelit dinners etc.

ʚ yes, believe me, she even tried the cartoonish “rose bit between teeth and uncomfortably arched side lean on a wall” approach before deciding it’s much better to listen to herself than the flamboyant duo.

R. DILUC — 迪卢克

ʚ diluc is the actual epitome of a gentleman. his love is so pure and genuine you can’t help but flower press every petal from the various bouquet he personally delivers to you on special occasions (anything from you completing a particularly hard or draining mission to doing something you thought you’d suck at).

ʚ his coat is also yours now. it’s like a six sense at this point to notice when you’re shivering out in the cold winds, and it’s become even more of a routine for him to simply shed that fluffy coat of his and drape it appropriately over your shoulders, trying to maintain a comfortable distance between you two as he adjusts it both to ease your tension and assure the pounding of his heart goes unheard.

ʚ diluc doesn’t enjoy using his riches to woo someone, it’s uncouth and just shows a desperation unbecoming of someone who dates to marry. if he wants to know you’re in it for the long haul, he’ll be much more sensitive and thoughtful when picking out gifts for you, each them have to hold some level of significance in your life.

ʚ the whole fiasco with his poor maids and some sneaky, perverse stalkers and diluc’s flaming great sword certainly applies to you as well; he’ll quietly ensure your safety in the night, helping you walk home with his arm hooked under yours, and in broad daylight he won’t hesitate to swing that polished wolf’s gravestone of his against any onlookers.

ʚ diluc is extremely closed off but deeply sentimental, he can so easily find himself rambling about his childhood stories to you; anything from how he used to collect seashells with kaeya to bring back to their dad, or how him and jean used to let baby barbara braid their hair together while babysitting…to things that are slightly more troublesome and heart wrenching to even mutter.

ʚ he may be less vocal than most in terms of feelings, but that doesn’t mean he won’t commit to it if he’s in love with someone. diluc isn’t the slightest bit dumb, he understand in order to get his feelings across he needs to do more than take random days off to spend time with you, he needs to at least hint it in a way that clearly gets his intentions across.

ʚ believe me, whenever you come by to dawn winery per notice, everyone raises a brow at you with curious smirks and gazes as diluc nearly stumbles on his words to get the phrase: “you look lovely tonight” out.

ZHONGLI — 钟离

ʚ he has up to thousands years of romantic customs under his belt, he understands the vague signs and ways to further communicate how much he adores you.

ʚ … that would be the case in its full if not for the fact for the first thousand couple years of his life he wasn’t busy maiming other gods and shedding blood. safe to say, his memories of mortal “courting” is slightly, if not absolutely, a massive, weaving and overlapping trail of various centuries and cultures he’s been accustomed to; anything ranging from the days when khaenri’ah was still in its prime to nowadays with newfound slang.

ʚ he’ll recite the most beautifully heartfelt and awfully sincere poem all the while you’re fighting your life in a haunted house (he’s heard this activity is helpful to get couples closer to one another, and given the fact you’re clinging on for dear life at the edge of his coat, he assumes he’s on the right track!)

ʚ he wants to impress you while also maintaining an air of genuineness to his actions, and while that does sometimes end in awkward situations where he ends up wearing regal attire to what’s supposed to be a casual dinner at wangmin, his heart remains completely pure in its endeavours.

ʚ oh, let’s not forget this man is quite literally a dragon too!

ʚ sometimes he can forget you don’t have the same complexion as him and will proudly present you some sort of glimmering relic from his hoard, forgetting that certain materials that existed back in the day were deadly and or toxic for mortals to touch let alone possess.

ʚ with a little nudge in the right direction, he’ll quickly learn everything there is to know for how to properly handle your precious heart. whatever you’d like, you may have — if it’s within his reach, that is. but it doesn’t mean he’ll stop at what’s available, no, just how much he’s willing to risk for you.

XIAO — 魈

ʚ he’s already embarrassed and awkward enough with accepting the fact he likes you, so accepting the fact that he loves you had left him with a lengthy exorcism spree down in some forgotten areas in liyue (it didn’t help).

ʚ in all honestly, not much changes; both because he’s rather emotionally constipated but also because he’s more than sure he’s loved you for longer than he seems to currently acknowledge.

ʚ letters that came only on special occasions like your birthday or his became much more frequent and a lot less poetic, it felt more like he was writing about his thoughts at the time, a little akin to how you’ve made him feel less constricted and much more free; he can finally have the courage to step out of his comfort zone.

ʚ all those small acts of love he used to subtly express (i.e gifting you two crystaflies, personally inviting you to come hang out, etc) he manages to double, he can’t have you thinking his intentions are the same as before. no, they’re much stronger now.

ʚ his guard softens around you regardless, but when you randomly fall asleep on his shoulder on your weekly visits at wangshu inn, instead of taking you to one of the rooms, he’ll sit there and allow you to rest, and if he’s assured you’re not awake to ridicule him, maybe, just maybe…he’ll sneakily loop his arm around your waist.

ʚ even just the thought of you makes him spiral into daydreaming, sitting atop a tree and swinging his leg back and forth carelessly as he stares up at the night to await for a new light, knowing full well the only sun he wants to see is you…just imagining his hands holding your waist like they did so long ago makes him shiver (hopefully this time he’ll get to do it when you’re not falling, and instead are falling for him)

NILOU — 妮露

ʚ nilou is basically a disney princess, if you see her singing to random birds that come watch her performances, everyone in the grand bazaar already knows it’s because you’ll be in the crowd that night.

ʚ each step within her routines are done with the little more passion, if that even is possible given her character, all because she imagines that pride and hopeful heart eyes in your eyes as all the attention is on her.

ʚ sometimes this fixation can lead to dumb mistakes on stage which bring her to sulking away with a hand on her forehead dabbing away at the sweat, but even the mention of your name as you pass by several sumeru streets is enough for her to brighten, do a quick wardrobe switch and run off to tackle you within her embrace.

ʚ nilou is not loud, but definitely not subtle. the exact representation of how she feels when you come to encourage her at her lowest (though those days are few). you’re there for her in ways you don’t imagine, and that alone is enough for her to daze away into the night as she cuddles her pillow, legs wrapped around it and all, and begins thinking about the what ifs of your relationship.

ʚ sometimes it’s a little comedic the way she speaks about you, it almost sounds like she’s reminiscing about a fictional book character with how much she takes pride in whatever little thing you do. no one tires of seeing her footsteps lightly tap against the ground in circles as she gushes about how when you complimented her the other day, you touched her cheek seemingly subconsciously ∩^ω^∩

XIANYUN — 闲云

ʚ she’s a little embarrassed at just how obvious she can be sometimes, it doesn’t help the fact her own children keep using this love of hers to their advantage.

ʚ she keeps nagging them about not taking care of themselves (she’s all too keen about their health and whereabouts now that she dwells alongside liyuean people) and yet just the mention of your name has her slightly stuttering in a ditzy trance as she hooks her glasses back up her nose bridge.

ʚ without hesitance, she’ll show you a photo album she has of all those close to her; would you like to see the drawing little ganyu made when she just barely had her horns? or perhaps the polearm young shenhe broke when she miscalculated her own strength in training?

ʚ her family is her pride and joy, it’s only natural for her to want you to be part of it even if it’s something as silly as raking through photos of a chubby ganyu eating the stem of a flower or teeny shenhe napping on a tree.

ʚ a peaceful life mingling with mortals has left her with ample time to enjoy the trivialities of life, and yet she finds her mind all too quickly wandering to you; had you been taking care of yourself? were you feeling lonely? did you need her to make something for you?

ʚ a secretive worry wart that quickly becomes that ancient adetpus she used to pride herself as soon as your delicate hands accidentally brush against hers; suddenly she’s perked up, chest heaven up high with a confident hand on her shoulder: you wouldn’t even think that flurry of pink hues gushing across her cheeks was real if not for the light providing evidence.

DEHYA — 迪希雅

ʚ oh she’s absolutely ecstatic!!

ʚ there’s genuinely nothing better than love in her eyes, especially just having the ability to love and trust someone fully when you haven’t been able to do so for a plethora of years.

ʚ doesn’t try to hide it, like at all, if anything she makes it rather obvious with the way she constantly pulls you closer as if you were already an item, arms constantly clinging onto you and your sides or her hands messing up your hair as you greet her.

ʚ she’ll take you anywhere you ask, free of charge of course (just promise to smile…and maybe if you’re up for it give her a kiss on the cheek, that’s sure to be enough reimbursement).

ʚ she’s already quite a confident and outwardly friendly person (if the price is right that is) but when in your presence? what’s wrong with just a little bit of showing off…

ʚ dehya needs you to see the best side of her!! maybe then you’ll finally give in and realise that her constantly asking for you to come join her on her travels and commissions isn’t brought out of mere timed coincidence

WANDERER — 流浪者

ʚ i saw that a few people were upset and confused by wanderer’s sudden switch up into being more kind/friendly, but i think we all forget what kind of person he was before his betrayals.

ʚ he loves wholeheartedly, if he adores something it consumes him in a warm pit of mushy domesticity — he doesn’t hate love or being kind, he hates the way it makes him vulnerable and the way it reminds him of the way he used to be.

ʚ that also means he’ll completely ignore you, or, try his best to rather.

ʚ wanderer knows within his heart that he completely years for you, just the accidental slip of his gaze meeting yours makes his brain go haywire, sending volts of electricity down his spine — you make him feel so alive.

ʚ it’s terrifying to return to a person you once were especially now with the knowledge of how being the way you were lead to some sort of tragedy, he’s managed to build up these walls so high and here you were, sneaking in through cracks he didn’t even know he had.

ʚ and he both loves it and hates it; loves the fact he can still feel, but hates how he’s so easily susceptible.

ʚ loving you turns into self-loathing and brooding, his feet pacing up and down every street at night to clear his muddled head. small distractions like taking strolls in meadows or sleeping up in the vines of trees lead to just thoughts of you and you alone.

ʚ wanderer refuses to be overly friendly and buddy-buddy with you even if he’s aware that if you decided to just one day hold him sincerely he’d burst into tears, but he can compromise with being less cutthroat.

ʚ “shut the fuck up” turns into him just rolling his eyes at you as you ramble (he soaks up any piece of information he can and locks it away), items you gift him now are more apparent in their value as he yells at those who dare question the dumb aranara pin you bought him and placed sneakily on his hat…oh and he gives you hat privileges.

ʚ it’s raining? …get close to him so you don’t begin complaining about the way the rain feels on your skin.

ARLECCHINO — 阿蕾奇诺

ʚ she starts treating you less like an asset in her “contact if in need of assistance” roster and more like a friend — of course, she maintains that distance between you two, but she lets you wriggle around in her heart to see if you manage to fit.

ʚ chances are, you will — unknowingly she’d grown to love you in ways that may have even gone unnoticed by her given how natural they were; inviting you to random gatherings when the whim arises, pulling your chair out for you when out for brunch, or even tucking away strands of hair and twirling it around playfully.

ʚ arlecchino’s love isn’t something immediate or expected, she’s a woman who keeps every card close to her chest and her children even closer, you have to prove to her that you’re worth it, in a way that doesn’t necessarily mean spilling blood but more so answers the question: do you care, and are you willing to accept her blinding love?

ʚ it’s like a shepherd dog with a lost lamb, but that little sheep is just you, and she’s a wolf in need of a muse.

ʚ cute tea parties aren’t uncommon with the two of you, she’ll happily let you indulge yourself in treats as she leans back with scorching tea in her hands while memorising every curve of your lips as you chew and swallow, she loves watching the way your eyes crinkle when you smile and the little sway from side to side you occasionally do as an expression of joy.

ʚ once arlecchino notices that she’s began treating you as another authority figure in the house of hearth, she’ll reach and collar you gently, intertwining her dark, cursed hand into your flowery one.

PANTALONE — 潘塔罗涅

ʚ one of the most attractive qualities a man can have is knowing when to shut the fuck up and to slide his card over during a dinner — both such things pantalone can do effortlessly, especially when it comes to you.

ʚ arlecchino claims that: “he allows his actions to be governed by the vengeance and hatred locked in the depths of his heart.” something that definitely translates into his love affairs in more than obsessive manners.

ʚ don’t be afraid of the massive hauls of clothing and sparkling jewellery galore that are being trudged in by multiple men, darling, it’s just a menial souvenir from his latest travels and newfound connections that he thought you might enjoy ^^

ʚ while his grandeur usually stems from his deep hearted desire to overthrow the imbalance between immortals and mortals, rest assured the luxury he provides you purely stems from his desire to make you his.

ʚ whether that entails you being his pet for him to seek comfort from on the occasion or a genuine connection where he can comfortably hold you at night purely depends on you.

ʚ oh, you’ll let him chew your ear off about his recent expedition and extravagant plan? consider your rent payed for the next few months and a few kisses on your cheek that certainly aren’t actually part of the snezhnayan custom (let him indulge in those little cravings or else he’ll undoubtedly be petty).

DAINSLEIF — 戴因斯雷布

ʚ has a breakdown.

ʚ a little dramatic, but honestly if his entire life wasn’t a disgusting mess already, you’ve come to make it worse. fate is deliberately mean to brooding blondes it seems, given the fact he’s now stuck pacing around back and forth on a trail of dead abyss mages as he rereads a letter you’ve sent him weeks ago.

ʚ everything you give to him, everything you say, do, write, whatever, he remembers implicitly. each word you say is engraved into him as if they were important artefacts regardless of how pointless and mundane.

ʚ it can honestly get a little…scary at times? you’ll mention liking something once and all of a sudden you find it within your possession at least a few weeks later.

ʚ dainsleif doesn’t have enough time to wallow in the glory of mushy, all consuming love despite desperately wanting to imagine how your hand would feel caressing down past each of his scars, but what he can do is protect you, and to him that’s a greater blessing than intimacy he knows will end eventually.

ʚ a big tough man who would honestly fold the moment you call him any variation of a pet name, specifically with the word “mine/my” at the beginning — hey, it’s nice knowing you mean something to someone the point they view you as inseparable.

ʚ the timings at which he comes to aid you are all too convenient and believe me he’ll try his best to downplay it as coincidence, all the while he’s breathing heavily both from the face your eyes are scanning his so closely and the fact he used up so much energy to merely make a portal to sneak into your space.

©STARYUEE do not copy, steal or repost ♡ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ɪʜᴇᴀʀᴛɢᴀɴʏᴜ

#genshin x reader #soon as i finish bg3 i’ll be reborn anew. IM STUCK ON ACT 2 BC OF THAT DUMB MYKRUL #genshin x gnreader #genshin x you #genshin x gn!reader #jean x reader #diluc x reader #zhongli x reader #xiao x reader #nilou x reader #xianyun x reader #dehya x reader #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader #scara x reader #arlecchino x reader #dainsleif x reader #pantalone x reader

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rileyslibrary · 10 months

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Ghost is forced to dress up as Santa for the day and talk to kids.

You’re ordered to tag along as his Elf and do some damage control if necessary.

———————————————————————

You lean against his armchair, watching the chaos in front of you. Children are crying, tugging at their parents’ clothes, shouting both in excitement and fear, all while looking at you. A young boy keeps waving at your lieutenant, desperate to get his attention, but Ghost is too preoccupied with coming to terms with his new reality to notice.

You return his wave with a smile.

“Try to stay still, Santa,” you remind Ghost as you nod towards the boy. “Kids are watching.”

He snaps back into focus and redirects his attention to the queue. He stretches one last time, pushing on the armrests, before settling into the chair.

“Try not to tell me what to do,” he murmurs and waves back at the child.

You straighten up and tweak your green hat, triggering the bell at its tip to jiggle in your ear. You feel for him; you really do. He’s not supposed to be here; he’s not built for this. Unfortunately—for him or the kids, you haven’t decided yet—the “real” Santa broke his hip at the last minute, and your military base stepped in to provide a new Santa for the local community.

And what better replacement than Ghost, you may ask? Well, literally anybody else.

Dressed in a red costume with white faux fur trim, the lieutenant looks nothing like the man you experienced on the battlefield. His shoulders threaten to rip through the rented outfit, and the seams at the back hold onto each other for dear life. Since his belly wasn’t big enough to simulate Santa’s, you asked him to stuff a pillow under his uniform. Surprisingly, Ghost complied almost instantly, leaving you to wonder if he was using the pillow as Kevlar, a barrier between him and the kids or if he was secretly enjoying this.

You also convinced him to ditch the balaclava for the time being since he would now have plenty of props to conceal his face—a wig, a long beard, glasses, and a red hat with a white pom-pom, to be exact. Additionally, you attempted to trick him into applying some blush on his cheeks, but he side-eyed you and told you to ‘be careful now’—ironic for a man who paints his face daily.

You rub your temples, trying to keep calm amid the chaos of the mall as you prepare for what’s about to happen during the next few hours. You have no idea why Price chose him to be Santa, but you didn’t question it either. Ghost seems to be the least qualified for the job out of everyone in the base. It feels like a last resort, so to speak—a ‘that’s all we have left in the store’ solution.

On the other hand, you know precisely why the captain chose you to accompany him. “To monitor the situation,” he said—“To make sure we don’t get sued,” you heard. And, under normal circumstances, you’d be happy to tag along with Ghost—be it on patrol, on missions, or even transporting confidential documents. But in this situation? Acting as a troubleshooter rather than a teammate? You’d rather be anywhere else than here, with anybody else than him.

You take another look at him while he sits on the chair. He’s tugging at the uniform, scratching his head, and instinctively pulling the beard to his nose.

“Stop doing that,” you whisper. “It’s a beard, not a balaclava.”

“Price would have been perfect for the job, for fucks sake,” he spits. “He has the fucking moustache for starters.”

“Stop with the ‘fucks’ and the ‘fucking’ Ghost; you’re about to talk to kids! And, as for the captain, he said he couldn’t do it.”

“Oh yeah?” He asks, lifting his hands from the armrests. “And what makes him think that I can?”

“I wish I knew, to be honest, but we don’t have time to go through this again,” you murmur, looking at your watch one last time. You approach the barrier, unclip the rope from the stanchion, and turn over your shoulder.

“Operation ‘Santa’ begins now,” you declare. “Ready?”

“Do I have a choice?” He replies, shrugging, and gestures for you to proceed.

And so it begins. Your first ‘customer’ arrives, and many more follow. You guide one family at a time into the enclosure and escort them to Ghost, who handles the rest. Some children are hesitant, peeking out from behind their parents’ legs, while others are much more direct with their intentions as they scream in horror at the sight of him.

On the other hand, Ghost is neither your typical jolly Santa nor the irritated lieutenant you’d expect. He appears to be... understanding. He reassures parents that it’s okay and there’s no need to force their children onto his lap if they feel uncomfortable. He initiates conversations with the kids from a respectful distance. He smiles with his eyes and hunches his shoulders to appear less imposing. Sometimes, he lures the shy ones into a handshake, a fist pump, or a high five by lowering his gloved hand to their level.

And then there are those other types of kids: the curious ones, the social butterflies. The ones who look forward to sitting on Ghost’s lap, diving into full-blown conversations with him. That’s when you stiffen up and switch into damage-control mode to ensure he won’t lash out at them. You begin hovering above them, listening, jumping into their conversations and sometimes interrupting Ghost and replying to the kids instead of him.

You would have thought he’d be grateful to have you managing the situation. Ghost, however, seems more irritated by you than by the little girl who’s currently playing with the pom-pom on his hat.

“Oi, Elf!” he says calmly, yet visibly annoyed. “Emma and I are chatting about how she spilt tomato juice on her Elsa costume and wants a new one for Christmas. Could you please falala off and go wrap some presents?”

“B-but I need to know because I’ll be sewing it for her,” you reply, smiling at the little girl. “Isn’t that right, Emma?”

And, although Emma nods her head, more out of necessity than agreement, you get his point. He’s doing surprisingly well with those kids, even without you. Actually, he’s doing remarkably well, especially without you.

More kids come and go, and Ghost slowly adapts to his new persona. He starts making bets with you, predicting which kids in the queue might ask for a PlayStation or an iPad and even speculating who might wipe snot on his costume. You, in response, adopt a more laid-back approach and let him do his thing. After each child’s visit, Ghost turns towards you, whispering in your ear about their Christmas wishes, as if he’s indeed Santa, and keeps logs.

“My man wants a full-sized car wheel,” Ghost murmurs as the young boy leaps off his lap, “can you believe him?”

“What did you say to him?” You ask, stifling a laugh.

“I told him I’ll get it for him,” he shrugs. “What else should I do?”

“Alright, but what did you really want to tell him?”

“That his dad already has four of them screwed in his car.”

As the day winds down, and the final announcement for the day echoes through the speakers, parents and children walk past you and towards the exit. They wave at Ghost and occasionally at you. The parking lot empties, the stores shut their doors until tomorrow, and the holiday lights that decorate the inside of the mall switch off one by one.

You stretch your back and tap on his shoulder, signalling that both of you should pack up and return to the base.

“Nuh-uh,” he says, grasping your wrist with one hand and tapping his thigh with the other. “You didn’t tell me what you want for Christmas.”

You’re exhausted but still manage to smile as you comply with his request. You sit on his lap, and he leans back to take a better look at you.

“Let’s think about it another way,” you say. “What would you, as Santa, give me for Christmas?”

“Coal,” he replies. “And a muzzle, so you don’t interrupt me while I’m talking. What was that all about?”

“Was afraid you’d say something bad,” you explain. “But you were pretty good with those kids.”

He shakes his head and plays with the fur trim on his sleeve. “Nah,” he murmurs. “I’d never say something bad to a kid.”

“Speaking of bad and coal,” you say, combing his fake beard, “you never asked the typical ‘have you been a good kid’ to any of them.”

“There’s no bad kid in the world, love,” he whispers. “All kids are good, even the naughty ones.”

You smile at him, but he doesn’t look back at you. He’s examining his uniform as if trying to find something else to discuss. He finds some crumbs a kid left on his suit and brushes them off.

“Ready to head back to the base, Lieutenant?” You ask, tapping his thigh before standing up. You extend your hand to him, and he gladly accepts it, helping him rise from the chair he’s been sitting in all day. You begin walking towards the exit, and he wraps his arm around your shoulder. You reciprocate by hugging his waist.

You walk up to the parked military vehicle that brought you here earlier, still discussing the day. He opens the door but pauses and turns to look at you.

“Resilience,” he declares. “That’s what I would gift you for Christmas.”

“Why?” You ask, turning to look at him. “You think I need it?”

“We all do,” he replies softly, just like when he used to talk to those kids. “Since I can’t protect you from every obstacle life throws your way, I might as well give you the ability to recover from them.”

“That would make me very happy, Lieutenant.” You say, smiling.

He smiles back at you and reaches for your hat to fix it better on your head. His hand moves to your forehead, and he tucks a stray hair behind your ear.

“It’s Santa to you.” He replies.

———————————————————————

A/N: Bruh, I was so tempted to make the reader pull off a Mariah Carey and say, “All I want for Christmas is you,” when Ghost asked what they wanted, but my gag reflexes kicked in every time, and I was cringing galore.

So, there you go: resilience. That’s what I would like to gift you as well. I wish I could shield you from whatever has troubled you in the past or is currently doing so. To protect you from future worries and make everything ‘falala off’. Unfortunately, I can’t do that, neither for you nor for myself.

But this is why comfort characters and stories exist—so we can imagine, when no one is there for us, that someone actually is.

Just like Santa. Just like Ghost.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley #simon riley x gn!reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley #cod ghost #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley fic #cod mw ghost

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caitlinsclark · 2 months

Text

GOOD LUCK BABE! caitlin clark PART I. IT'S FINE, IT'S COOL caitlin clark x reader ✰ bree's notes: bet y'all weren't expecting this one yet mwahaha. had to write about this specific game.. for no specific reason! you'll see xoxo gotta keep you on edge. as always, i hope you all love it! thank you for all the support, you guys make me love writing again, i adore you. word count: 3.2k series masterlist masterlist and tag list

“You’re gonna be there early tonight, right?” Caitlin cringed at the longing tone that always somehow slipped in when she was talking to you. She was thankful she’d called you so you couldn’t see the way her palm hit her forehead in a silent scolding.

You remained perfectly unaware on the other end of the line, the same way you’d remained unaware the last few years. The brunette could’ve watched a closed gallon of paint dry in the time it took you to notice that she was hopelessly in love with you.

“Of course!” Your sweet voice had her forgetting entirely about the slip up, “I’m just running out with Luke and then I’m on the way.”

Any joy from talking to you was suddenly washed away by the natural disaster referred to as your boyfriend Luke. Luke, who you’d been with for three years now.

Three long, agonizing, pitiful years and counting that Caitlin had been skillfully avoiding a gag at the mention of his name.

The brown eyed girl didn’t know when exactly the light changed and she suddenly saw you in a rose-tinted lens, surrounded by hearts and rainbows every time her gaze met yours.

If she had to think, it was probably years ago during high school, a time where you were both unexperienced and eager to get your firsts done. You were just as attached to the hip as you were now, only Caitlin wasn’t knowingly burdened with the weight of loving you yet.

As you did many nights in your high school years, the two of you were having a sleepover tucked away in the comfort of your room. You were being entertained by the screen of your phone in the late hours of the night, texting an older guy in one of your classes. He’d offered to come pick you up and take you for a drive if you were willing.

As a teen who had never done anything remotely rebellious, you jumped at the opportunity to agree. You’d peaked over next to you, finding Caitlin deeply asleep and cuddling into your side. She had her head laying on the edge of your shoulder, undisturbed by the bright light of your phone when she was so cozy with your skin against hers.

You leaned over to kiss her head softly in an apology, sliding out so slowly from under her and replacing yourself with a pillow. Being so careful to be quiet despite Caitlin being one of the heaviest sleepers you knew, you tiptoed over to bathroom to make yourself look presentable and freshen up.

It was only two minutes later when the door gently pushed open and Caitlin groggily entered the bathroom with you, a blanket draped around her shoulders and her ponytail askew.

“What are you doing? How did you even wake up?” You looked at her in the mirror, confused on how she woke up so fast.

She put her head on your shoulders, keeping her eyes closed as she used her arms around you to make sure the blanket enveloped both of you.

“Go back to bed, Cait,” You giggled, rubbing moisturizer onto your skin as you looked at her tired figure, “you’re so tired.”

She nodded without argument, “Okay,” and wrapped her fingers around your arm to tug you back with her. You tried to fight against her hold, softening at her childish pout.

“Dave wants to pick me up,” You informed, too busy to see how her face fell when you started applying lip gloss. She shifted on her feet, suddenly a lot more alert at the mention of the boy you’d been fawning over.

Maybe it was manipulative at best but Caitlin needed to stop you from going, “You’re not scared he’s gonna make a move on you? What if you’re not ready?”

You frowned, anxiety now building at the possibility she pointed out, “Do you think I’ll be bad?” Toying with your rings, you started to bite your bottom lip and Caitlin couldn’t stop her eyes from focusing on the action.

“Even if you are, you’re too hot for him,” She put her hands on your shoulders encouragingly and squeezed them, “But we can always try really quick to get your nerves down.” Caitlin spoke far too casually for what she was proposing and you did a double take at her in the mirror.

Though she kept her eyes on you in the reflection, trying to gauge your reaction and you tried not to shake under the intense gaze.

“Stop.” You shook your head like she was kidding, continuing to brush product onto your skin. Though she could tell you were doing this out of nervousness as you started fumbling around and looked anywhere but her.

She grasped both your hands in hers, successfully stopping you from ignoring her, “I’m offering.” Regardless of your previous nervousness, the sure look in Caitlin’s eyes had you and your heart beat settling down in the blink of an eye.

It would be a lot less embarrassing to be told nicely that you suck at kissing by your best friend than a possible boyfriend making fun of you. Worst case scenario, you were still more comfortable taking the leap with Caitlin than anyone else.

With the confirmation that she wasn’t kidding, you leaned into her and exhaled out slowly as her hands slip down to hold your hips.

The gentle touch of your hands on Caitlin’s face was committed to memory, an intimacy she could still imagine to this day if she tried. But the softness of your lips was a feeling she kicked herself for not being replicate.

And the fear of how much she enjoyed it kept Caitlin from ever mentioning it again. The fragility of how close to her heart she held that moment could never hold up if you were to downplay it in a conversation.

“He’s not coming to the game though?” The athlete shook away from the everlasting memory and held her breath, closing her eyes and crossing her fingers during the moment of silence.

“No,” You sighed and Caitlin has never felt more apologetic for being so ecstatic at your disappointment, “him and Courtney are working on a pitch tonight.”

The brunette thanked whoever the hell Courtney was and moved on, impatiently changing the topic to something that couldn’t be poisoned by the mention of that guy.

“Are you ready for game day?”

Tonight was a game that had both of your nerves rising. You could taste the redemption calling to you, eager to beat New York Liberty after having been bested the last three times before.

“Wait, can I FaceTime you really quick?” You’d asked and it was a little embarrassing the speed in which Caitlin said yes. But the opportunity to see your pretty face wasn’t one she’d ever pass up.

She didn’t answer the second call right away when her screen flashed the contact picture, pausing instead to admire it as it continued to ring. It was a picture from the draft, when you’d exited the stage to see her standing and waiting for you. The matching Fever jerseys in each of your hands were proof of your dreams being within reach, the fabric wrapping around you both as you jumped into Caitlin’s arms unexpectedly. You were wearing beaming grins in the picture, as you pulled back just slightly to be face to face with her and say a small, sentimental ’we did it’ when the flash went off. Courtesy of Kate.

Caitlin shook out of her infatuation fueled daydream and pressed accept, patting herself on the back when she got rewarded with the sight of your dazzling smile so close to the camera.

You set the phone down, doing a quick twirl in frame to show off your outfit, “Does this look good?” The black pantsuit hung off your figure deliciously in Caitlin’s eyes, framing you perfectly with a white cropped top showing off your soft skin.

If the way she was ogling you didn’t answer the question, the stuttered ‘yes’ she let out did. You’d giggled, stepping out of frame to slightly fan yourself at the sudden heat spreading unexplainably through your body.

“Thank you,” You had black heels in your hands, ready to slip them on when Caitlin stopped you.

“Wait,” She bit her lip at the idea, wondering if she was basically torturing herself at this point but she couldn’t stop, “Do you have those beige ones?”

To the side she glanced at her outfit laid out, almost a reverse of yours. She had her beige set and black heels planned for about a week, though you had no idea.

You paused to scrunch up your face mid thought, Caitlin bit back her smile when your tongue poked out like it always did.

“I think so,” and you disappeared off camera for a moment while ruffling could be heard from little ways away. You walked back into frame, hair slightly messy and adorable in Caitlin’s point of view, with a pair of beige heels in your hand that managed to match the shade of Caitlin’s outfit.

You slipped them on and took a step away, doing another twirl to show off the completed look. Caitlin started clapping from the other end of the line when you posed, cheering and wolf whistling loudly in a way that had your face heating up bashfully.

“Alright, alright,” You waved her off with a laugh, “I’m gonna see you to walk in, right?”

She loved the fact that you knew she’d be waiting, confident like you didn’t even have to ask, “Right, I’ll be waiting.” And the tiny sigh that she let out afterward held all the dreaminess she’d been clinging to for the last 3 years she couldn’t speak on.

And you were about to respond when a knock rang out on your door. Right on time, Caitlin hid her growing smile behind her hand as you excused yourself to get the door.

When you came back, you were not only sporting a large bouquet but possibly an even bigger smile that made your eyes crinkle and face scrunch up.

“Caitlin.” You said with a monotone voice, trying not to let excitement overwhelm you as your insides lit on fire with a blazing adoration. She swore she even saw a row of tears start budding on your waterline, wishing she was there to wipe them away for you.

“What are these for?” You clutched them to your chest, a beautiful array of dipped roses that had a little navy blue bow on them.

She simply grinned, a sweet sight that you took a live photo of, “I wanted to wish you luck today. And I made sure they were safe for cats too so Perry would be okay with them.”

The outward ‘awe’ you let out was loud and still incapable of showing how touched you were, as you brought the phone to your lips and kissed the screen with a louder ‘mwah’.

She did the same back, hating the way she craved for it to be real. You lifted the gray cat up off the ground where he was circling your feet, “That was the sweetest and most thoughtful thing ever. Perry says thank you too.”

Caitlin took her own live photo, her heart growing in size as she admired you while you held the flowers tucked in one arm and cuddled the furry animal in the other.

“Just as pretty as you,” She muttered just loud enough for you to hear, slipping your face behind the flowers to try and shield the fact that you were most definitely reacting to the praise.

Your best friend knew you too well, chuckling on the other end and you knew that she knew, “I’m gonna go finish getting ready, I’ll see you in like five days.” Caitlin groaned the last part dramatically all while you watched with an amused delight.

“I’m seeing you in like three hours, not days, C,” You laughed with a small head shake. You set the flowers in a vase as you side eyed the camera and put them on display in the center of your table where they deserved to be.

She still kept up her disappointment, “Feels about the same if it’s time without you.”

“I’ll see you in a little bit,” You promised, sending her an air kiss which she caught obediently and saluted to you. If you had to hang up quickly to giggle like a school girl, that was no one’s business.

You’d sat dazed with a lingering smile as you slipped your phone into your side pocket. You hummed a tune, in a delightful sort of daze and you twirled a petal of the rose between your fingertips. Your blissful environment was halted by the presence of an incessant buzzing and you groaned at the caller ID of your mother. You went into the living room and sat on the couch, debating letting it go straight to voicemail.

Luke had walked in at the same moment, barely saying a word to you as he headed right into the kitchen. He popped his head out a few seconds later as you were preparing to press the green answer button

“Who are those flowers from?”

The first thing that he’d cared to speak to you about and you stopped from rolling your eyes. Your voice came out monotone and hesitant, “Caitlin.”

He made a face you couldn’t quite describe and nodded before disappearing back into the kitchen. With fingers pinching the bridge of your nose, you tried to get back even an ounce of happiness you’d felt earlier.

“Hi.” You’d spoke curtly into the phone, trying not to sound too displeased, though you most definitely were. And talking to your mother never helped that.

“What is the attitude for?” She questioned, already adding a layer of tension and you muted the call to scream into a pillow before unmuting it.

“Sorry, I was just moving laundry, out of breath.” You’d rolled your eyes at your own lie, “What’s up?” The quicker you could get off the phone the better.

She made a noise like she didn’t believe you, “How are things with you and Luke?” There was no segway to the conversation, treated like a simple business interaction of information rather than a comforting mother and daughter exchange.

Should have expected it, you thought as you squeezed your eyes shut, “We’re great, he’s working on a big project at work right now.” With a silent prayer that the conversation would stop there, but it never did.

“I don’t see why you and Luke haven’t gotten married already, you’re settled in the league, he has a steady job, he loves you. What more are you looking for?”

Opening your mouth for a rebuttal, you couldn’t find one in your chest. What more were you really looking for? In reality, you were content with the way your life was going. You were playing professionally basketball with your best friend in the world like you’d dreamed, you had a healthy and adorable little cat, and you had a steady boyfriend. Though your face scrunched up at the order in which you casted your priorities.

“I don’t know, I’m not in any rush. We haven’t been spending much time together with his work and mine.” You hated having to clue her into any part of the negativity that your relationship had been facing.

You loved Luke, you truly did, but you felt like he resented the fact that you had gotten into the WNBA. Things had shifted once you got drafted and it seemed like Luke was the only one falling behind. It was a stark difference to the way he’d supported you in your career during college and you weren’t a fan of the change.

Your mother made yet another hum of disapproval, “You know, your father and I aren’t going to be around very long. You should be rushing to get married and having a family for us to see. As long as I can remember, you’ve always run away from people who treat you better than you deserve. You’ll never find someone else like, Luke.”

You could’ve mouthed the words in sync with her, knowing exactly what the conversation was going to come to, “I’ll keep that in mind while I’m prepping for one of the most important games of my season, mother.” A bitter undertone slipped its way in and you quickly hung up the phone with a loud groan.

The white picket fence life was one that was forced onto your mother, one that she seemed not too happy with. And it showed in the way she forced it onto you since such a young age. Find a nice man, get married, have kids. Nothing else in between or after mattered to her.

You were tense and rigid when Luke entered the room again about twenty minutes later, with your head in your hands and tears forming. It didn’t seem like he had any idea of your state, or maybe he did and didn’t care.

“You look hot,” Luke commented and you lifted your head to stare at him for a silent minute. When he didn’t seem to have anything else to say, you nodded in weak acknowledgement.

It was a quick decision, moving away from his lustful eyes that seemed to devour your figure. You wished it made you feel the way it used to, the way you used to melt and have to shy away from his gaze purely because it made you nervous. Now you shied away from his gaze because it made you anxious.

“You excited for the game today?” Luke put his hand on your waist now that you were standing and you resisted the urge to protest by running far away, “You’re playing the Knicks right?”

You couldn’t help the sigh, a difficult swallow to hold back the words you wanted to say, “We’re playing Liberty. The Knicks are the NBA.” It was a gentle reminder, but the tiredness was evident in the way you spoke.

Luke had the audacity to look surprised, “Oh, you didn’t tell me that.” He squeezed the skin of your waist and you suddenly started to feel suffocated.

You did the other three times you played them. But that was beside the point. A sigh was your response as opposed to correcting him, turning to grab your keys from the kitchen counter.

You were about to completely leave when you noticed the absence of a very colorful and bright part of your day. The flowers that Caitlin had delivered were missing and you almost ran around your apartment looking for where they could’ve been moved.

“What happened to my flowers in the kitchen?” The question was frantic when you approached Luke on the couch, a little too frazzled but those were beautiful flowers.

“They were dying, so I replaced them with new ones,” Luke smirked with a shrug, seemingly unapologetic as he nodded toward the trash. The attitude he had made you more mad than anything.

You sped walked over to the can, ripping out the cartons littered on top of the beautiful flowers Caitlin had gotten you. A part of your heart broke when you saw half of them bent and broken.

“These were brand new, Luke,” You scolded him like a child, sighing in disappointment as you laid them out on the counter to save them the best you could.

“And those will kill Perry.” You sighed with a point to the flowers he had gotten. Not even feeling the slightest bit bad as you pulled out the Lilies and tossed them in the trash to replace where Caitlin’s used to be before heading out the door.

taglist: @lovermcres @glorioushamsterqueen @miedmead @blueagle45 @pbloverr @cavillary @elizabethkitley @1-800-fantasy @into-f0lkl0re @mysticchildsuit @sapphicmermaid @ureleesian

series taglist: @wnbaforthewin @stefanshope @sewiouslyz @kaelaheartsyou @caitlin-clark-obsessed @trinscam @julienbakerloverr @muhlsfilm @paigebueckresfan8282 @sadie-bug7 @madismadmad @dinosaurstrandedonnublarisland @kenzlovesyou @gaydonutdino @jujubuckets @elliewilliamsthang @princes21w

#caitlin clark #caitlin clark x reader #wbb x reader #wnba basketball #wnba #basketball #caitlin clark x y/n #caitlin clark x fem!reader #caitlin clark fic #indiana fever #caitlin clark headcannons #caitlin clark fluff #ncaa women’s basketball #fever basketball

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bro-atz · 11 months

Text

all tatted up

in which: you meet san at a bar, and he's way different from what you were expecting.

pair: san/afab!reader

word count: 3.7k

content: smut, bedroom sex, unprotected (consensual) sex (remember to wrap it up irl!), tattoos, he calls you kitten a lot, creampies, spanking, completely consensual!

tag list: @k-hotchoisan apply for the permanent taglist here! part one | part two | part three

Every Thursday night, you went drinking. Why? You didn’t have to go into the office on Friday, and you hated the crowds at bars and restaurants on Fridays and the weekend. So, Thursday was your night of choice to wind down after the stress of the week.

Your bar of choice was the bar that you had been going to ever since you were a college student. You knew everyone that worked there, and they knew you. They knew what you liked to drink, and they always severely undercharged you because you were a friend. Why would you even think about going anywhere else?

When you got to the bar that night, you noticed that there were more people than usual— more to the point where there weren’t even any barstools at the bar itself. You turned to your bouncer friend and asked, “What’s going on?”

“A birthday party. Someone called in and requested the space.”

“When?”

“Earlier this morning,” he said after thinking about it.

“Fuck… Do you think you could grab me a stool?”

“I’ll see what I can do, Y/N.”

Sighing, you nodded and walked over to the bar. You flagged the bartender down, the bartender immediately nodding and making your drink. You stood at the bar and tapped your fingers on the wood as you waited for your drink. Someone approached you from the side with a stool.

“Oh, thank—” you choked on your words when you saw that the person who gave you the stool was not the bouncer, but a gorgeous man instead. “God…”

“Would you like to sit?” he asked, his low voice tickling your nerves.

“Ah, thank you…”

He pushed the bar stool in as you took a seat. He then remained standing next to you, a drink in his hand. When you got your drink, he held his up. You clinked glasses and took a sip before fidgeting with your glass.

You couldn’t even keep your head on straight. The man standing right next to you was so beautiful, and he only got more and more beautiful the more secret glances you made towards him. His muscles were bulging through his dark long sleeved shirt, and his jeans made his waist look incredibly small— maybe he had a small waist to begin with— but what you really couldn’t get over was how the collar of his shirt hugged his neck so snugly that it made his neck look so appetizing. You didn’t even think you were into necks like that until you met him.

“What’s your name, stranger?” he asked you as he leaned against the bar top, one leg crossed over the other.

“Y/N. And you?”

“San.”

“Nice to meet you, San.”

“Nice to meet you, too.”

You nursed your one and only drink as you spent the night talking to San. At some point, one of the people from the birthday party asked if they could steal the stool from you, so you and San ended up standing right next to each other. You didn’t even realize that hours had passed since you met him. You walked into the bar at six, and it was almost ten by that point.

“What brings you here?” you asked him.

“I’m friends with someone that brought me to the birthday party,” he explained. “But I don’t really know the birthday boy, and I’m also not a big drinker.”

“You’re not?”

“No. This is ginger ale,” he said with a laugh.

“So then… Why did you stay? If you don’t really drink, that is…” you mused out loud.

“Well, I was going to leave, but then I saw an incredibly attractive woman standing right at the exit talking to the bouncer, and when I saw her walk into the bar…” San whispered as he got closer to you. “It made me want to stay right where I was.”

By that point, San was standing right behind you. He had trapped you against the bar, his hands on either side of you clinging to the wood. His lips were dangerously close to your ear, and you could feel his hot breath on your neck.

“Am I to assume that I was the woman by the exit?” you breathed out.

You turned your head to look at him, your face mere centimeters away from his.

“Why else would I be talking to you all night, kitten?”

Your heart thudded wildly in your chest when he called you kitten, causing you to turn away abruptly. It took everything in you to keep yourself together when you felt his chest press against your back and his nose brushing against your ear.

“Would it be alright if I took you back to my place?” he asked you in that sweet, low register of his.

“Take me to wherever you want, San.”

It was only when you left the dark lighting of the bar did you realize that San had tattoos galore on his fingers. Each finger (except for his thumbs) had the same paint stroke type tattoo near his knuckles. Needless to say, they were fucking hot.

“Can I get you anything?” San asked.

He had brought you back to his place. You were sitting on his couch in his… Room. You wanted to say living room, but the man lived in a studio apartment. Right behind the couch was a bed, and a couple feet away from the couch was the kitchen.

“No, I’m okay,” you shook your head.

Moments later, San joined you on the couch. He sat right next to you and put his arm around you, his arm bringing you closer to him. His other hand remained on his lap, which you proceeded to hold. You just kept holding his fingers and turning them so you could observe the tattoo even closer, only for San to lace his fingers with yours. He brought the back of your hand to his lips and left a whisper of a kiss.

“I didn’t know you had tattoos…” you said quietly.

“I have more than these,” he responded with an airy chuckle.

“You do?”

Smirking, San leaned away from you slightly. He took his hand back from you and removed the one around your shoulder to pull his shirt off and reveal a very elaborate portrait of a wolf’s head the word “warrior” across his ribcage. He also had two thick, solid rings around one arm and one thin one around his wrist.

Also, forget about the tattoos for a second. San was fucking sexy. His shoulders were broad, his chest was defined, and so were his abs (the way he was sitting was doing wonders for his abs). Not only did you want to touch his tattoos, but you also wanted to trace the outline of his abs.

“Wow…” you breathed out, your hand unsure of whether or not you could touch him.

“Go ahead, kitten. I’m all yours,” San said as he pushed himself closer to you, his arm going over your shoulders once more.

Gently, you laid your hand flat on his chest over his wolf tattoo. Your thumb traced from the tip of the wolf’s nose up to in between its eyes. As you traced the tattoo, San brought his face closer to yours. He rubbed his nose against your jawline and let out a little moan.

“For someone with so many tattoos,” you said quietly. “It’s kind of surprising that you don’t drink.”

“Why does the amount of ink on my body have to do with what I consume?”

San’s head moved so that his eyes could meet yours. His face was solemn, but his eyes had a glint of amusement in them.

“You know what? It doesn’t.”

You bit the inside of your cheek as San hummed in agreement and returned his head to the nook of your neck. Hugging you closer with one arm, he held onto your waist with the other, his fingertips pressing into you lightly. Your hand moved from his chest to his ribcage, your thumb now running over his warrior tattoo. Your other hand was pressed against the couch, your nails nearly digging into the cushion.

“You smell so good, kitten,” San said with a sigh. “I need you so bad.”

“Have your way with me, then.”

You felt him smile against your skin before leaving the lightest kiss. He got off the couch and wrapped his arms around your waist before lifting you up and carrying you to his bed. When he sat down on the bed, you were trapping his waist with your knees, making you sit on his lap.

The man had yet to properly kiss you, which was making you antsy as fuck; and while you could’ve kissed him first, you just didn’t have the guts to. You were still trying to calm your fluttering heart.

San held onto the bottom of your shirt and began to lift upwards. Soon, your shirt was scattered somewhere on the ground, and your hands were clinging to the back of his neck. You heard San suck in a breath through his teeth, a small groan emanating from him. He exhaled erotically when you ran your hand down his neck, down his chest, and over his ribcage. Suddenly, he pulled you closer to him, making you straighten your back. His nose brushed against the nook of your neck once more, and when he bit your neck, goosebumps erupted all over your skin. Those goosebumps only intensified when he licked your neck, and you felt butterflies rampage through your entire body when he grabbed your neck to choke you lightly and finally, finally kissed you.

God, the man was an amazing kisser. He was kissing you hungrily as if he was starved for days. You had to hold onto his shoulders to keep yourself up, but you felt yourself melt almost immediately when he ran his fingers through your hair and held the back of your head. His other hand was working on unhooking your bra and pulling it off. The second your bra was off, San immediately cupped your breast before massaging firmly. You moaned desperately into his mouth the more he massaged, your entire body aching for him as your hips unconsciously started to grind against his clothed crotch.

Realizing your consternation, San leaned back and pulled you with him so that you were pinning him down on the bed. You were pretty much laying on him, your chest pressing against his. Your lips were still locked in frenzied kisses when you felt his hands move down to your raised ass. He slipped your panties down so that he could rub your soaking wet pussy— skin-to-skin contact. You moaned delightfully into his mouth as you felt his fingers go past your clit repeatedly, only to let out a much louder moan when both his hands spanked both your ass cheeks.

“You like that, kitten?” San asked with a smirk.

“Uh huh,” you hiccuped, still taken aback by his sudden action.

San grinned. He kissed you again, his tongue repeatedly slipping into your mouth, and his hands repeatedly smacking your ass. You, meanwhile, decided to start working on his jeans. You unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans to reveal his briefs, and you felt for the waistband to pull down, his huge, thick cock popping out. You started stroking his dick, your ass shaking with excitement when you felt pre-cum leak along with a sensual groan from him.

“I want my cock in your mouth. I want to hear you gurgle and choke, kitten,” San nearly growled.

Your mouth immediately began salivating when he spoke to you like that. You ran your tongue over your lower lip and moved down to suck him off while kicking off your panties. You heard him inhale sharply the second you took him into your mouth. You teased him by only bringing the tip of his penis into your mouth with resounding pops every time you moved away. His breathing became ragged when you finally decided to start working with more of him, and you watched his hands grip the bedsheets as you swirled your tongue around his length. He flung his head back when you hummed with his dick still in your mouth, the vibrations stimulating him further.

Hearing San gasp and whimper was so fucking hot for you. You wanted to make him cry for you even more, so you did as he requested and brought him into your mouth entirely, completely gurgling and choking on his length.

“Fuck!” San exhaled loudly and ran his shaky fingers through his hair.

It was all too much for him to handle when you looked up at him with half open, hazy eyes. While you wanted to continue sucking him off until he came, San wanted differently. He reached out to you and put his hand under your jaw to bring you back up to him. Hollowing out your cheeks, you sucked one last time then released his cock with a little giggle.

Wordlessly, you knelt so that your pussy was right above his erect dick. You brushed your hair out of your face and held it back, elongating the curve of your waist.

“Shit, Y/N, you’re so fucking sexy,” San said with a sigh, his fingers running through his hair, then resting his hand on the back of his head while his other hand ran from your waist to your hip.

“Right back at ya, big guy,” you held back a light laugh, a small smirk appearing on your face.

Feeling suddenly impatient, you held his cock and positioned it at your entrance, but San grabbed your arm before you could sit.

“Kitten, wait. Let me—” San started only for you to interrupt him by pressing a finger against his lips.

“I like it raw,” you whispered sensually, causing San’s face to turn red.

“Well, as long as you’re clean, I don’t see why not.”

With a small smile, you nodded. You lowered yourself down, a crying moan leaving your soul. You knew that he had a large girth, and you mentally prepared yourself to take him in, but you weren’t expecting him to stretch you out so much. San held back a groan when you full sat down, your walls automatically clenching around him.

“You doing okay?” San asked as he saw you bite you lower lip to keep your face from twisting in pain.

“Mmhmm…You’re just so big,” you murmured.

San couldn’t help but snicker. He nodded understandingly and rubbed your thighs as you prepared yourself to begin moving. His hands moved to your ass the second you lifted yourself up slowly, and he began to guide you as you rode his cock.

Sighs, moans, and whimpers echoed in the apartment, the occasional slap of your ass overpowering the noise. San continued to cup your ass in his thick, warm hands, and every so often, he would smack your cheeks quickly, earning a louder moan from you. And at some point, he decided that he wanted more. He firmly held onto you and slammed your ass down as he thrust upwards, his cock hitting your cervix.

“Yes! More!” you cried loudly. “I’m almost there!”

You thought San was going to let you cum, but you were sorely mistaken. He suddenly lifted you off him entirely and sat up before turning you around so that you were on your elbows and knees.

“Not yet, kitten,” San drawled, his lips right next to your ear. “Wait for me.”

Nibbling lightly on your ear lobe, San slipped his cock back inside you slowly, his leisurely pace driving you insane. You could feel him throbbing wildly inside you, especially when you clenched your pussy (this time intentionally).

“Oh, fuck yeah,” you heard San hiss under his breath. “You’re so fucking good to me, kitten.”

He suddenly slammed into you, making you cry loudly. You moaned loudly as he sped up quickly, and you would let out a yelp anytime he slapped your ass. While his slaps stung painfully, you didn’t want him to stop. It felt way too good.

San grit his teeth as he felt himself getting close. “I’m gonna cum, Y/N,” San groaned.

“C-come inside, San” you replied breathlessly, your words hitching as you felt your orgasm nearing as well. “Fill me up.”

Those words sent San over the edge. He held your waist tightly and pushed himself into you as far as he humanly could, his cock twitching wildly as you felt him releasing his load, his hot cum warming you up inside. When he pulled out, you came as well, both his cum and your fluid leaving your body. Your thighs shook wildly and you let out a loud, pleasureful cry, the cry fading into an exhale as the high of your orgasm wore off.

Watching your pussy quiver as you came, and then seeing the trail of white leaking out of you turned San on all over again. He loved how raw and red your pussy looked in that moment, not to mention your red ass cheeks.

You pushed yourself up with shaking arms, attempting to get off the bed, but San immediately grabbed your waist while saying, “C’mere. I’m not done with you just yet, kitten.”

Letting him manhandle you, San flipped you over again and pinned you down, your back hitting the mattress and your head hitting the pillow. He caressed your face and kissed you sweetly one time before his tongue dove deep into your mouth. You spread your knees for him, allowing him to slip his dick into you. His body rolled into yours fluidly as he continued to lock lips with you, his hand rubbing your ass as he slid in and out of you.

Suddenly, San pushed himself up and grabbed onto your waist. He sped up his gyrations— he only needed a couple thrusts when he entered you again because watching you cum was so hot to him that he was near his climax from before he flipped you over. San’s eyes were squeezed shut as he flung his head back. You watched him shudder and cum, the look on his face sending your heart racing. He looked so picturesque, so beautiful as he came, and it just made you want to fuck him over and over again so you could have that beautiful view etched into your mind. Cum spurt out of your cunt when San pulled out, which just made you want him inside all over again.

San’s eyes fluttered open to see you frothing for him again. You watched San’s chest expand, the wolf on his chest getting bigger as he inhaled deeply, trying to calm down his rough breathing. You sat up and knelt before him, your hands reaching for his neck and chest. You pet the wolf, your pinky brushing past his nipple, while your other had pulled his face close to yours. You both gazed into each other’s eyes, your lips quivering to meet his.

“San…” you breathed out.

“Y/N?”

“Let’s go again.”

“You sure?” San whispered with a hint of amusement. “Do you think you can handle more?”

“I need more,” you said while petting his bicep, your fingers running over his bulging veins. “I need all of you. I need to see your tattoos dance as you pleasure me until the sun rises.”

“Okay,” San smiled and kissed you lightly. “Anything for you, kitten.”

The two of you didn’t sleep the entire night— San listened to you and literally pleasured you until the sun rose. You both only woke up in the afternoon, the sunlight pouring into the apartment. Your head was lying on San’s arm when you woke up, your hand resting on the wolf tattoo.

San had yet to wake up, and you didn’t want to just up and leave without saying anything to him, nor did you want to wake up him. So, you stayed in bed and traced over the wolf tattoo with your fingernail, which ultimately woke up him because it tickled.

“Mmm, good morning beautiful,” San smiled and wrapped his arms around you, hugging you into his chest.

San calling you beautiful made your heart flutter. “Good morning, hot stuff,” you responded softly as you pressed your head against his chest.

You heard his heart beat slightly faster upon you calling him “hot stuff,” and you felt him leave a light kiss on your forehead before smiling against it. You both remained in bed hugging each other for a solid minute or two before you moved your hand up, your fingers running along the side of his neck and tracing lightly over the small pink marks you left.

“San?”

“Yes, kitten.”

“Would you ever consider getting a neck tattoo?”

After a moment of silent thought, San responded, “I never really thought of getting one… Do you think I should?”

“I mean… You’d look really hot with one,” you mumbled. “Especially if you had one running down your neck here.”

You demonstrated where by running your nail along his skin from behind his ear and down his neck, making the man shiver slightly. “What do you think I should get if I do get one?”

“I don’t know…”

“What if I got your name tattooed on my neck?”

You gasped and slapped his neck lightly as you said with shock, “Oh my fucking God, please do not.”

San laughed lightly. He tilted your chin up so that you would look at his face, and he left a small kiss on your lips before pulling away and saying, “Why don’t you help me come up with one over dinner sometime?”

You pressed your lips together to prevent a shy smile from blossoming on your face. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Yes, I am, kitten. Name a time and a place— just not a bar. Please.”

You couldn’t hide your smile any longer. “Of course, babes. Let’s go out on a date that won’t be at a bar.”

#ateez #choi san #san smut #san x reader #ateez san #choi san ateez #san ateez #broatz #choi san smut #ateez smut #gee i wonder what inspired this piece #i had to write it... he looked too good to not do it

1K notes · View notes

munson-blurbs · 5 months

Note

Hehe for since you asked for fluffy smut, what if reader has had a long day at work and Eddie maybe fixes a bubble bath and they take one together, but then it gets a lil frisky

Is this more smut than fluff? Yes. Am I apologizing for it? Nope.

Collab with @corroded-hellfire who is once again the only reason there's any fluff at all.

CW: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), roommate!Eddie, accidental boners, grinding, lots and lots of touching, mention of oral (f) WC: 1.9k

Home might have been a tiny, two-bedroom apartment that perched above the heart of Hawkins, but at the end of a long shift, it’s Heaven.

You kick off your shoes; apparently they’re one of the most supportive brands, according to the other waitresses, but your feet still ache.

The throbbing in your feet is nothing compared to the roaring pain that inflames your lower back. Just pressing the heel of your palms into it makes you wince and groan.

“You okay?” Eddie calls from his room. You hear him fumbling to put away his guitar before you can even reply.

The door swings open and he stands there, posture sagging when he sees how beaten down you look. Whatever makeup you had applied that afternoon had long faded, and the stains on your apron certainly added the finishing touch.

Eddie, meanwhile, is refreshed—infuriatingly so. Today was his day off, and though he put in a lot of work the other six days of the week, you still yearned for the well-restedness that had him bounding over to you.

“Bubble bath?” When you two had first moved in together, he used to try and talk to you about your day. He took it personally when you retreated to your room without glancing in his direction. But now he knew that you talk when you regain your energy. And there’s no shortage of gossip after eight hours at Benny’s.

You nod, offering him as much of a grateful smile as you can muster. “That would be great.” You weren’t sure how you managed to find a great friend like Eddie, but you weren’t about to question it, either.

None of the guys you’d actually dated had ever been so understanding. But Eddie…he managed to always know what you needed.

He offers you one of his signature grins that always brighten your day and heads down the hall to the bathroom. You take off your name tag when the loud gush of the tub faucet reaches your ears and you barely have time to yank your socks off before Eddie’s back in your doorway.

“Your spa awaits,” he says. “I would’ve prepared you some music but I don’t think any of my metal cassettes have the ambiance you’re looking for right now.”

You shake your head as you pass by him and step towards the bathroom door.

“Not really,” you agree. “I’ll let you know if I need it for some inspiration working out or welding or something.”

Eddie huffs a laugh and slips his hands into the back pockets of his black jeans.

“Wasn’t that Flashdance?”

“Yeah, but that music wasn’t my thing,” you admit with a shrug before you step into the bathroom. The door clicks behind you as it closes and you’re immediately shedding the stained, greasy uniform you’ve been dying to ditch all day.

A trail of clothing is left in your wake as you step up to the tub, the bubbles fizzing and giving off a calming jasmine scent. Not wanting to scald your skin as the cherry on top of this already grueling day, you slip your hand into the water to test the temperature. It’s perfect. You don’t know how Eddie does it; he must have the magic touch.

The water, the bubbles, the scent, it’s all too inviting. You lift one leg over the side of the tub and climb in, quickly bringing the other in as well. In your haste to start your relaxation, you slip a bit as you begin to sit down. Instinct has you catching yourself on the sides of the tub almost instantly, but it causes the collection of soap, shampoo, and conditioner bottles to tumble onto the floor in a large heap. You stare at the pile for a moment.

“Ah, I’ll deal with you later,” you decide under your breath and sink further down into the warmth waiting to heal you from your long day.

The bubbles tickle your skin as they gradually make their way higher. They stop around your breasts and the warm water wraps itself around every achy muscle in your body.

Suddenly, the bathroom door busts open, a frazzled Eddie charging in with wide, concerned eyes. He’s only in a Corroded Coffin t-shirt and boxers now, so maybe the loud bang woke him from a nap.

“I-Is everything okay?” he asks as he eyes the pile of bottles on the floor.

“Oh yeah, I just knocked those over when I got in,” you explain.

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief but the moment his eyes land on you, his body tenses up even worse than before. He’s clearly trying not to stare at you—especially your chest—but he’s failing miserably. You look down to find that your roommate has a pretty good view of the tops of your boobs.

When you look back to Eddie, you get a pretty nice view yourself. Since he’s only wearing boxers on his lower half, his boner is quite evident.

A smug sense of satisfaction settles over you, even seeing how uncomfortable Eddie seems to be at getting caught. But you’re not going to tease him or make him feel bad about anything. On the contrary, you’ve thought of yet another way he can help you relax.

“Do you wanna join?” you purr.

When Eddie looks your way you give him the most innocent, wide eyed look you can manage and flutter your lashes a few times.

Worry blooms within you when he doesn’t immediately respond.

Did I overstep? Is he completely freaked out? Oh my god, what if his boner was completely unrelated to me and I just assumed—

His voice, smaller than you’ve ever heard it, interrupts your thoughts. “Mhm, yeah. I mean, if that’s cool with you.”

You nod, watching as he peels off his shirt and tosses it aside, exposing the soft tendrils of hair across his chest. There’s a tattoo on one pec; you want him, need him closer so you can run your tongue over it.

He sheds his boxers next. Though you knew he was big just from seeing the bulge behind the fabric, nothing prepared you to see him fully on display. The reddish-pink tip leaks pre-cum as the shaft bobs in desperate search for the warmth of a body.

“Where should I…” He’s gained a bit of confidence from the way you stare unabashedly at his naked body, but he’s still hesitant to push his luck too far.

Scooting forward, you gesture to the now empty space behind you. Nerves buzz throughout your naked body —now wet in more ways than one.

Eddie swings a leg over the edge of the tub, getting his balance before bringing the other to join. The way he places his hands on your shoulders results in an electricity that you can only hope he feels as well.

His lower body disappears beneath the bubbles and he lets out a relaxed groan. You lean back until your head rests on his chest, his considerable length pressing against your lower back.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers. Whether he means to speak that softly or he can’t manage anything louder, you can’t be sure. “Be careful.”

“Careful?”

He nods, lips grazing the shell of your ear. He’s so close to you, and yet he’s still too far away. “You’re so fucking tempting like this.”

You shift slightly, enough to see the blush in his cheeks that you know isn’t from the steamy bath. “Maybe I want you to be tempted.”

One tattooed arm snakes around your waist, fingers trailing upwards and stopped just shy of your breasts.

“Don’t tease me,” he begs. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it.”

You take his hand and place it on your left breast. He whimpers, and you swear you could climax from the sound alone.

Water sloshes around the tub as he hooks his legs around yours, gathering the stability he needs.

“Fuck…” His hips move as he ruts up against you, desperate for relief. The way he pinches your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, starkly contrasts the gentle kisses he leaves on your shoulder blades.

You want him. You need him.

His other hand lays in the water and you guide it between your legs, now spread in anticipation of his touch.

“There?” He asks as he finds your clit, rubbing it when you nod in the affirmative.

Eddie increases his pace, fingers working in tandem to bring you pleasure. You arch your back, exposing your neck for him to bite and suck.

“When we’re done,” he murmurs, “I want you splayed out on the bed for me. I need to see if your pussy is as pretty as I’ve imagined.”

His words awaken something within you. “Y-You imagine me…?” You start, unable to finish your sentence.

Eddie nods. “Every time I jerk off, Sweetheart, I imagine being inside you. How you’d feel around my cock—mmph, fuck.”

“I picture you, too,” you confess. “Your fingers, or your cock, or—”

He raises a brow. “Or?”

“Or your mouth.” The admission spills from your lips.

“Yeah? You want me to eat that pretty little pussy of yours?” Your own desire for him amps up his confidence. He’s impossibly and impressively hard, and you would do anything for him to stretch you out.

You nod. “Please.”

“Okay, Sweetheart. Soon as we’re done here, yeah?” His breath hitches, his rutting becoming sloppier and needier as he nears orgasm.

Bubbly waves crest over the side of the tub, drenching the bathmat and flooding the tile floor, but neither of you care.

“Eds, little more, I’m gonna…”

He follows your every order, your pussy clenching around nothing as he takes care of your clit.

“Wanna make you feel good.” Eddie kisses your shoulder again. “Please let me make you feel good.”

You can only offer a moan as you come, chanting his name over and over. It’s a name you only ever dreamed about chanting so loudly; it was usually relegated to quiet whispers alone in your room.

A new warmth, different from the bathwater, coats your lower back and drips down to your ass when Eddie finishes, the hand on your breast squeezing tight, pain and pleasure intermingling harmoniously.

“Oh my god,” he pants. “That was…”

“Amazing.”

Eddie nods. “So fuckin’ amazing.”

He lifts a bubble-covered hand to your chin, tilting it slightly so he can kiss you. His lips are soft but move with determination, his tongue sliding between yours. You let him in, your fingers playing with the wet tips of his hair.

“Meant what I said about eating you out,” he mumbles into your mouth before stealing another kiss.

Splayed out on the bed. His to ravish. The thought has you lunging for the towel hanging behind the door in an attempt to dry off.

But when you stand, Eddie reaches out his hand and pulls you towards him, now eye-level with your pussy. “Knew she was perfect,” he says with a smirk. “Bet she tastes even better.”

The kiss he presses to your folds nearly buckled your knees.

“You wanna find out?” He nods eagerly, and you giggle. “It might be a little lavender-y from the bath soap, though.”

Eddie shrugs. “Don’t care. Need you.”

And who are you to deny a man his needs?

#eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson smut #smut #requests

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pavosnoctua · 1 month

Text

(un)holy

cw: non-con touching, mdni, minors dni, yandere, imprisonment, forced marriage, isolation, spanking mention, some physical and mental abuse mention, obsessive and possessive behaviors, whatever is going on with diluc, masturbation (m.receiving/doing). let me know if i missed a tag! afab!reader.

he hungers to corrupt you - but yet, to do so would mar you with sin.

Diluc is surprised when you don't fight against him as he gently lifts you up from the bed, where you'd been crying just moment before but he's glad that you don't. He's not sure his heart could handle another moment of having to spank you the way he did to get you to behave. You don't seem to understand that you are a danger to yourself and he's just trying to get you to understand that.

He tries to convince you that the room you stay in is not some ornate prison, but a place for you to get used to your new life, away from the rest of the stressors, and so he can make sure you won't do anything that could hurt you (and therefore, him).

You think he's crazy but say nothing - you know what happens when you try to challenge his reality. And it's better to not do that. The first few times were emotionally painful lessons, that soon became physical. A few strikes here and there, as if you were a disobedient child. Then he started to add a bit of fire to his open palm, and you learned faster.

The bath is warm, set to a temperature that you like and it is scented. And he stares at you with desperation and hunger, feasting his eyes upon your naked form as though you were a goddess. He touches you with reverence, as if he did not have you over his knee just ten minutes ago. His skin is rough in comparison to your own.

Soap is gently rubbed into your skin, shampoo in your hair - he must make sure you are clean of todays filth and sadness. It's not the smells you like, these are too strong, they burn your lungs and your nostrils.

He can't even look at you in the eye when his hands move along the curve of your breasts and how for a moment, they linger. And how, for a moment, you fear the beast inside of him will finally win out tonight. Diluc starts to work faster, ashamed of his growing arousal, uttering apologies and how good you are and pretty you are. This is how he tortures himself.

"Just - let me bathe myself, please." You beg, after a moment - unsure of what you're most afraid of.

"No." Diluc answers. "You - you may hurt yourself."

And you don't say much else to that, the soapy water is rinsed off, and he does his best to rinse out your hair before relenting and letting you dip under. He massages your scalp as he helps rinse the rest of the shampoo out, followed by putting in the conditioner.

He's too gentle for a man who took you and locked you up - too gentle for the man who easily bends you over his knees when you act up. The reverence he has in this moment, it's too jarring. You consider fighting against Diluc when he helps you out of the tub, helps dry you - the towel being ran along your body in a manner that makes you shiver.

Diluc pauses for a moment - he longs to touch you so intimately, but he cannot. He is a filthy man, and would rather keep you pure and away from his sin.

One dry, he kisses every bruise he has caused in various areas - mainly focusing on your bruised wrists because he doesn't dare go any lower. He had already applied a cream to help the burn. It is almost like a ritual - a devout follower kissing his goddess. That he has imprisoned. But you are not a goddess and he is not a man of worship. You are his human prisoner, and he, your warden. Your 'husband'.

Finally, once lavishing you with tender kisses as he had gotten away from himself, Diluc dresses you in a fine nightgown. It is made up of the finest of threads, it can so easily be ripped, and averts his gaze. It has a much lower cut than he thought it did - and you know it will be gone by tomorrow night.

Once in bed, he looks as if he's considering kissing you good night but when you turn away - you hear him let out a heavy sigh.

"Good night."

Your skin is always so soft and supple when he touches you, and guilt gnaws at him when he finally reaches his own room - the door shutting and locking behind him. He's clawing to get his pants and shirt off. You are too pure for him, and he wishes to corrupt you. But he cannot mar you with such sin - such a terribleness that is him.

Yet his hand goes around his already hard cock, barely making it to his bed in time, slowly pumping it and he groans. Diluc imagines what it would feel like to have your soft hands touching his cock, to have your pretty mouth wrapped around it. To feel you under him, moaning his name - your pretty eyes looking at him with lust and not fear.

His touch is erratic, pumping hard. He hates this part of the night, hates it so much - as pre-cum drips from the head of his cock. Diluc imagines you spread open for him, how warm you would feel around him, and how sweetly you'd moan his name. You'd look pretty plump and pregnant.

Diluc releases his seed over himself, cumming with a soft groan of your name as he grips at the blankets. His seed covers both himself and his blankets. He has to take a moment to catch his breath, to close his eyes before the guilt comes.

Tomorrow morning, he cannot look at you in the eyes.

#yandere diluc #yandere diluc x you #yandere diluc x y/n #yandere diluc x reader #yandere diluc imagines #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #mine.txt #diluc.txt #noctua.txt

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charlottecutepie · 8 months

Text

｡ꪆৎ ˚ Bully (Michael Afton x fem!reader)

while I'm writing fics with William (and making some people’s requests!), i decided to post Michael smut bc there’s lack of content about this boy :)

summary: you're mad at both Simon and Michael for not helping you with project. But guys only mock you, saying stupid jokes about your ex. Wait, was it you or Michael’s voice sounded rather… jealous?

tags: Michael is jealous and kind of possessive, bully!Mike, mention of break up, smut, vaginal sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, kind of rough sex?? (Michael can’t control himself), William Afton mentioned

"Stop smoking." in a loud, angry tone, you tell to a couple of guys beside. One of them turns around and blows smoke right in your face, laughing. "Fuck you, Simon."

"Don't tell me what to do, tuts," Simon frowns and leans against his friend Michael, who was busy reading comics, not paying attention to you. "You've been too nervous and angry lately." guy notices. "Is it because of your ex?"

"Of course, no dick and she's all worked up." Michael adds fuel to the fire without even bothering to turn to you. However, his back stiffened.

"What are you talking about? What does this have to do here? We have a fucking project together and I'm only one doing something, that's why I'm mad at you!"

Simon didn't answer because he just didn't know what to say. You were right. He and Michael didn't do shit, only you worked on the task. Simon just gave you a blank look, raising his eyebrows mockingly. There was a rage boiling inside you that almost made your face turn red.

"Ran after him like a tail." Michael lets out a strangled laugh, finally turning to you, his fingers clutching the comic. "You really loved that boy so much, didn't you?"

Now it's your turn to shut up. Insults and obscenities rise in your throat, threatening to jump out. Michael's face didn't flinch for a second as he continued to pierce you with blue eyes, as if trying to make you uncomfortable, which was puzzling. Michael has always been like this: aggressive, with cruel and stupid jokes, cheeky taunts. But why do his words sound like he's jealous now? Why so much attention to your personal life?

"You two are completely useless, I'll have to ask teacher to pair me with other students." you sigh, putting all your notes, notebooks, sunglasses in your bag, and the next second you leave both guys behind.

Their behavior, especially Simon, who was like Michael's faithful dog, doing everything just to get approval from its owner, infuriated and caused indignation. But more than that, you were hurt their comments about your personal life. Your ex has nothing to do with it.

You go back to school walking through empty corridors since classes have already ended. Of course, you'd have been home a long time ago, too, but thanks to a couple of jerks, you're stuck here until tonight. You angrily punch Michael's school locker, ripping off the poster of his favorite rock band.

"Fuck you, Michael Afton!" you swear, crumpling the poster in your hands and throwing it on the floor.

You had no idea that someone was following you slowly and carefully through the corridors.

Upset and frustrated, you enter lady's bathroom, go to the mirror and look at yourself carefully. Why, you think, he broke up with me? What happened between us?

You straighten your hair, carefully laying it on your shoulders, without interrupting eye contact with your reflection. You need to push these thoughts away, now is not the best time for self-reflection, you need to gather your strength and finish this damn project.

You try to find something in your bag as you take out a lip gloss from your makeup bag. And again feeling of sadness and longing comes through. Now it feels wrong and hurtful whenever you look at that gloss. Your boyfriend always liked it when you applied it. And now it's a painful reminder that will haunt you for a long time. It's just not fair.

Just when you're about to throw that lip gloss in the trash, someone comes into the bathroom. You think it's another girl, so you don't pay attention.

"It was my favorite poster." Michael's voice is slightly angry. An unpleasant surprise is reflected on your face as you turn to him, pressing lip gloss to your chest. This is definitely not what you expected to see in the women's bathroom.

"What the fuck are you doing here?!" you hiss at Afton, looking him up and down. "You've been following me?"

"Knowing what a crybaby you are, it was the right decision." Michael shoves his hands into the pockets of his ripped jeans, leaning against the wall. "What if you went to hang yourself? And then Simon and I would be accused of driving to suicide."

"Stop your idiotic jokes at least now! Can't you see that I feel too bad?" you grit your teeth and frown. Your voice sounds offended. Michael's behavior has always been infuriating, but now it crosses all boundaries.

"My father taught me that if a girl is upset, she needs to be supported. That's how all gentlemen behave." the young man says with a sneer.

"Fuck you and your dad, Mike," you shout. "you're just like him, you selfish jerk!"

"Mmm," Michael nods, grinning. "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

You are silent again, not knowing what to say to this insolence. Does Afton really think that in eyes of other people, he's all cool and cocky? Doesn't he realize how stupid his behavior is? Yes, he is certainly a copy of his dad, Mr. Afton, but with a slight difference. The last one has at least some brains.

"My eyes are up here, honey," Michael grins, noticing your gaze. You blink in surprise, raising an eyebrow. "Come on, aren't you ashamed of yourself?"

"I didn't even look there, you idiot." you fold your arms over your chest and turn away, lifting your chin. That's when Michael pushes you against the wall, towering over you.

"Sure." he can't help but smile stupidly. "I must say, you have beautiful eyes, princess. That's what he called you, right?" there was something wrong with Michael's intonation, even this mockery sounded like he wanted to hurt not you, but himself. There was definitely a hint of jealousy in the young man's tone, although you didn't pay attention to it.

With every action and word of Michael, anger grows inside you, which has been accumulating all this time. And then the mixture of all the negative emotions finally reaches the top. You can't get over how much of an asshole Michael is. You'd do anything to shut him up, just to show him his place. But it doesn't take much time, the anger breaks out. Putting the lip gloss back in the bag, you raise your hand and slap Michael hard in the face.

Afton's cheek burns from your blow, it hurts unpleasantly so it takes him a couple of seconds to come to his senses, then he raises his head at you. His hand instantly reaches for the red mark, stroking it to ease the pain. Yes, it was insulting, even a little humiliating, but again he hides it behind an arrogant and satisfied grin.

However, his next words are strangely surprising.

"You know what?" Michael says in a calm voice. "That was hot."

You look at him, not even hiding your disgust at his words. Michael is such an asshole, even much worse than Simon and their two other bully friends. No wonder why Afton is the leader of their stupid bully four.

Just as you're about to slap him again, Afton grabs your wrist, pulling you closer to him. Your eyes widen with shock from his his behavior, you try to break free. Your heart is beating faster from misunderstanding. Being in the hands of a bully, in such an intimate position, when anyone can enter here, makes the situation even more dangerous.

"How stupid of him to lose a beautiful girl like you," Michael whispers, looking at your face, at how your lips are trembling. "I'll repeat, my father taught me to support when girl is sad." the last thing he says before leaning in for a kiss.

For a second, everything in your body, especially brain, stopped working, you froze. Even though Michael is holding you, you don't even try to pull away. Afton's actions become bolder because he sees no resistance, so he tries to get his tongue into your mouth. And that's when you finally realize what's going on and push him away.

"Fuck off, you idiot." you mumble, looking at him point-blank.

"I see that such support isnt enough." Michael bares his teeth and pushes his knee right between your legs what makes your skirt rise a little. At that moment, you blush and try to pull it back, but Michael's hand stops you.

You froze in another shock from another sudden kiss. You expected him to do everything but that. You try to push him away, but it's hard to get out of his grip. Or is it you who's fighting too weakly? At first kiss doesn't seem so pleasant, but then Michael deepens it as his hand moves to your waist, hugging you. The kiss gets more intense when you start responding, your body melts under Afton's touch. You don't even have time to keep up with your thoughts, confused by your own actions.

His lips suddenly feel so warm and pleasant which makes you want more, crave even more of this feeling: to be held like this, to be kissed like this even if it's Michael damn Afton. You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him harder. This isn't what you planned when you went here.

When he pulls away from you, you are in oblivion, heat is burning inside. Michael looks at you hungrily, not understanding why you responded. He lets you go and you stumble away from him, but after a moment your back hits wall. You're trying to figure out what just happened. Did he really just kissed you? And you responded with same? Why did this happen at all? There are more questions than answers.

Your heart is pounding as you stare at him, into his eyes, trying to read the answers in them. He caught you off guard, but you didn't push him off right away, you even started responding. The bitter truth is that you liked it more than you wanted to admit. The way he kisses, kind of rude but so hot… It caused an exciting pleasant feeling. But you don't understand how you can be attracted to this bully, in fact, a tormentor, a brute. All thoughts are fucked up and your legs feel like cotton wool.

Michael is elated to see the confusion on your face.

"Little miss hard-to-get," he says, running a finger over his lips. "always trying to be unapproachable." you're staring at him, heart is still pounding from the kiss. You can't find words. Michael feels your vulnerability and it only gives him confidence. "Don't pretend you didn't like it," he says with a sly grin. "I know it by the way you melt in my arms.

So he's also a romantic. However, he sucks at making tremulous speeches.

Feeling of annoyance reappears.

You try to deny it, but deep inside you know that Michael's words are true. You hate what's happening, what you've gotten yourself into. You blame yourself for enjoying it. A feeling of incomprehensible and inexplicable resentment grows inside: why couldn't HE make you feel like this? Why does it have to be Michael? It's unfair.

It's wrong to be aroused by Michael, to feel a pleasant tingling in the lower belly. Wrong, you keep telling yourself. You need to slap that cocky face one more time and get out of here. Forget about everything that just happened.

Why the hell does it have to be Michael? You have to act like this with your boyfriend, it's almost cheating. But a second later, a bitter realization comes to your clouded mind. Right… You don't have a boyfriend anymore.

Michael sees the contradiction on your face and decides to try his luck, as if reading your mind.

"Maybe I'm the one you should be with," he leans closer. "I mean look at me," he says, pointing at himself. "I'm handsome, confident and I know how to treat a girl." he chuckles softly.

No way! You shake your head trying to come to your senses. You know what he's doing, trying to manipulate emotions by hitting on your weak spot: ex. But for some reason, you don't deny his words. It's strange, the feeling of impermanence, misunderstanding is infuriating. And Michael is like some kind of drug right now that you can't resist. Your palms sweating.

You're trying to regain your composure, push him away. But you don't don't strength, especially moral one, to do that. So you just look into his blue eyes, trying to understand the strange feeling inside.

"Have you been jealous all this time?" you ask, without realizing the question yourself, now you are acting only on emotions.

That's when the picture finally starts to show up… Michael's words, actions. All those stares, all those sneers. It was Michael's jealousy, which he could only show in this way.

"Jealous?" he repeats, his eyes widen slightly at your question. Michael was even surprised that you understood so quickly. "You have a rich imagination."

But you know better now. You didn't notice it at all before, spending all your time with your boyfriend. But others, especially Michael's friends, noticed the way he looked at you. Now it's getting clearer, now you see it. He was motivated and is still by something more than just hatred and the desire to mock you forever.

"Don't lie, you're really jealous." it seems that your words hurt him more than you thought. He looks away, staring at the floor.

"Maybe," Michael admits quietly. "maybe i am."

You feel a strange sense of victory, realizing that you've figured out reason of his stupid behavior. But at the same time, you feel guilty. You shouldn't like how the situation is developing and where it's all leading.

When you look into Michael's eyes, the tension only increases. It's as if all the pent-up emotions have been spilling out for so long, turning into an inexplicable lump that confuses both of you.

Suddenly his hands pull your hips closer to him, and you feel his erection through his pants. You both sigh from the close contact. Michael leans in kissing you again, his fingers sliding under your t-shirt, tracing the outline of your breasts. You moan softly into his mouth. Afton pulls away and begins to cover your chin line with hot, wet kisses, then your neck. You tilt your head back, closing your eyes, surrendering to the sensations. You don't want to think so you drive common sense and thoughts away.

Michael slips his fingers behind your bra, unbuttoning it. After that, he gently rolls your nipple in his mouth, sucking on it a little. You exhale, clutching at his hair. This is madness, it's impossible to stand it anymore. Michael's lips leave a trail of passionate kisses along your collarbone, his fingers teasingly descend to your stomach. He stops for a moment to look at you, a smirk playing on his lips.

"You know," he begins, his voice already hoarse with arousal. "I can get any girl I want."

You bite your lip, trying not to show how much you enjoy it. You realize that Michael is just trying to play on your nerves.

"Yeah?" you ask, trying to hide a groan. "Then what makes me so special?"

Michael grins darkly, his fingers tracing your sensitive nipple.

"I don't know," he replies, and gets a menacing look from you that says he's about to get a smack on head. "Maybe it's because you're so damn sexy when you play hard to get."

His compliments and flirting, if you can call it so, are pretty stupid and dumb, but then why do they cause pleasant goosebumps that cover the whole body? You want this. You need him. You can feel desire intensifying with every second, body craves his touch. You turn to face the wall, pressing your butt against his hard-on, letting him know exactly what you want, even though Michael understood everything a long time ago. And he wants the same thing.

"That's it," he breathes, giving you a kiss on the neck. "You want me to fuck you, don't you?"

"Yes," you're squirming. "I want you to fuck me." you meet his gaze, giving him puppy eyes.

Without wasting a second, he lowers his hand down, his fingers push your soaked panties aside, exposing your already dripping pussy to the cool air.

"God, you're so fucking wet…"

Michael's fingers slide between your folds, exploring your wet cunt. Your knees are buckling, and you have to lean against the wall to keep your balance. Michael smiles slyly, his fingers sweetly toying with your clit. You're whimpering, snuggling up against him, pushing up your skirt. He sighs noisily, thrusting two fingers into you at once, sliding them deeper and deeper inside, stretching you as your body shudders with pleasure.

"Lovely, such a good girl." he mutters, still moving his fingers. "cum for me, cum on my fingers." he whispers.

You grab onto the wall as a pleasant shiver runs through your whole body. Michael continues to stimulate your clit, making you arch. And you reach the peak, your body shivers.

"I've wanted you for so long." his hand turns your face to him, Michael looks deep into your eyes. "Your ex," he says in a low and angry voice. "he's a loser, a real idiot, because he couldn't satisfy you. That's why you're here, with me, in my arms."

Your desire is mixed with guilt, realizing what Michael is hinting at. You think you've somehow betrayed your ex by falling into the hands of someone else. But it's not like that. And Michael will prove it to you.

"You're mine now. That bastard missed his chance." Michael says, pressing his lips to yours.

As soon as Michael's words reach you, he straightens up and pulls your body closer, spreading your legs. He rubs his hard cock against your wet entrance and you shudder again in anticipation, responding to his caresses.

Michael pushes inside you, trying to stifle the desire to fuck you hard and rough, to make you cry, to make you forget that you ever dated anyone before him. Jealousy devours him and a disgusting picture forms in his brain… of you hugging and kissing HIM. But not Michael.

He stops, he pulls almost out only to slam back inside again, this time much deeper. Your walls tighten around his cock, waves of pleasure overwhelm both of you. Michael exhales loudly, squeezes your hips and picks up speed, furiously driving into you.

He can't control himself.

You scream into your own fist, all thoughts of the wrongness of the situation disappear, Michael hits all the right places, causing you to moan sweetly. Each hard thrust echoes with vulgar sound of skin slapping against skin, which only excites you both more. Michael holds you tightly, fucking you as you move your hips in response to his thrusts. The orgasm grows again, a tight knot of pleasure twists in your lower abdomen.

"Michael, I'm… I'm gonna!…" you whimper.

Michael growls in response, already breaking into a wheeze. Sweat rolls off his forehead and he frowns as he continues to ruin your sweet pussy. He likes to hear you lose touch with the world around, knowing full well that he's reason of it. Pushing into you harder and faster, he lowers his hand between your legs, finding your clit with his thumb, ripping off another moan from you.

You cry, arching your back, his finger starts tracing your sensitive nub. The additional stimulation pushes you to the limit, your pussy walls clenches hard around his dick. Orgasm hits you like a wave, forcing you to swallow air.

But even when you're shaking from overstimulation, Michael doesn't stop. He continues to thrust, desperately driving deeper, already reaching your cervix, determined to show you what good sex is. Aggression, jealousy and resentment flare up inside him, regardless of the fact that you're completely his now, he cannot contain his emotions. He grabs you by the neck, squeezing just a little. Michael buries his nose in your hair, hiding his face in it and breathing heavily.

Michael fucks you so hard, so furiously, so fast that there's lack of air in your chest.

"His cock wasn't good as mine?" he pulls back slightly, leaving a kiss on your shoulder. It's like he purposely leaves bite marks and kisses to make sure that you really belong only to him.

You can't think, your eyes roll back in pleasure. You can only mumble plaintively to yourself.

"Yes! Your cock is so good, so good!. . ." you admit between ragged breaths. Michael smiles dreamily, feeling a sense of triumph, such recognition fills him with pride.

"That's right, baby," he bites your earlobe. "all you need is me."

The pleasure becomes all-consuming, hitting right into brain. Michael growls raggedly, feeling that hes also close. Another orgasm snaps in you, a discharge passes through your body. Mike also reaches his climax. His body is shaking. He pulls out of you at the last moment, cumming on the wall, moaning through clenched lips.

Both of you are just standing there, panting and trying to come to your senses. But you feel weak, still not understanding a single bit of what happened. You almost fall, but Michael holds you tight, both bodies sweaty and hot. Michael closes his eyes, breathing down your neck. Unlike you, he is aware and understands well what happened because he planned it all. Anger leaves him, but not jealousy. Michael is a very jealous person, especially when it comes to you.

The muscles begin to relax, a pleasant fatigue covers your body. Suddenly you feel his teeth digging into your neck, leaving a small painful bite. Michael runs his tongue over the small wound, at the same time his hands begin to squeeze your breasts, as if he is afraid to let you go.

"You're disgusting." you're mumbling.

"I take after my father." Michael answers you, not hiding the joy in his voice.

Though Michael will throw away the lip gloss anyway.

#fnaf x y/n #Michael afton smut #fnaf x reader #fnaf smut #michael afton x reader #michael afton #michael afton x you #michael afton fnaf #fnaf x you #five nights at freddy's

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precious-little-scoundrel · 2 months

Text

|| Sanchez ||

Requested? ☑️

Circa: October 1943

Summary: Upon being shot down on his last mission, Major Gale Cleven finds himself in the company of a female officer -and not one from the 100th. While already inclined to show solidarity, the increasing threat towards his fellow officer forces him to act. The jeopardy such action puts him in is more than he could have ever estimated, as is the fallout upon finding women he knows in the stalag

Cast: Cleven, Sanchez, Demarco, Brady, Egan, Kendeigh, Lu Smith, Ida Brady

Author’s note: the first portion of this segment is in the immediate time frame of Gale being downed. The second portion follows the events of What Took Him So Long? the mirroring of both these segments will hopefully prove enjoyable but I worry perhaps confusing

Content Warning: due to the disturbing content listed below the cut, I understand some may choose not to read this segment. If you’d like an abridged summary of the events herein to keep up with the series, I’d be happy to supply that 💋🌹

Warnings: usual universe warnings apply 18+ additionally for this chapter there are warnings for depiction of rape. This entire arc was produced on popular request, i have tried to portray the brutal events found herein in the most elevated and respectful terms I found effective. I would not call it graphic, however, it’s not vague either. And it’s rape. Male and female. Depiction of rape and discussion of past rape. Violence as well, obviously, fucking Nazis, ptsd from said assaults, choking, hints of childhood trauma, mentions of medical experiments. General cloud of dread. With light at the end of the tunnel.

Note: my blog and writings are strictly 18+, this means that we are all adults here enjoying free connection and art. The themes of this particular story are mature, at times harrowing and for some, potentially intolerable. No worries if the latter is your case, feel free to move on or block tags. On the other hand, please take responsibility for your reading, I provide warnings as a courtesy but I cannot cover them all and if something doesn’t sit right, please exercise adult autonomy and make your way to the nearest exit. Xo

When Gale extended his hand to aid the next prisoner up into the truck, he hadn't anticipated one so small or so brown. Busted knuckles that had rivulets of crimson pouring over copper flesh; he was mildly fascinated by it. His concussed mind flashed to ‘Lu Smith and her shaded face, before belatedly realizing it was indeed a woman’s lighter frame he was hauling in beside him to the shrill insistence of German threats.

The woman who flopped on the bench opposite him, legs spread wide and boots braced with a brow like a thundercloud, was not Smith. And for that Cleven was relieved.

Last he had seen of Ida and Graham’s fort, they’d been carrying on over Breman, and while he had every reason to think few had made it back, who’s to say they weren’t lucky? And Ida could fly a tin can on the fumes of an alcoholic's breath. Smith wasn’t here, Ida either, and he tried to arrange his mind to that, to not even let the doubt creep in, and instead took to studying the newcomer in between the passing of more downed airmen filling the benches.

The incessant barking of their dogs must have been half strategy, the throbbing in his back working its way into his head as the minutes went by. It had taken too long for them to be brought to Luftwaffe jurisdiction, he knew that much, even with giving them the benefit of the doubt for wartime communication failures and muddy roads. He’d been well read and prepared and braced for the outcome of being downed since before they left the states, grilled his men on procedure, on their rights, their privileges as prisoners of war, also on their duties to silence. The fact he’d never truly thought it would happen to him didn’t mean he wasn’t perfectly knowledgeable about the requirements.

So far Cleven had managed not to say a single word to anyone, the farmer with the pitchfork probably didn’t speak English and a wheezy “please don’t kill me” seemed like a flaccid bunch of last words that Gale refused to let off his tongue.

Instead he let them haul him to the nearest company of Wehrmacht soldiers and had been marched for ages by them, had seen and given Benny a nod when his column of prodded, sheepskin wearing sad bastards merged with Buck’s column of the same. Kendeigh hadn’t been there; crew get themselves killed in a hard landing as often as an exploded plane.

Cleven thought about breaking the silence now to ask the woman opposite where the hell she came from, her patches not what he was used to. But no, bad precedent, he stayed quiet and watchful as the Krauts pushed the last of the men into the overcrowded truck and snapped the tailgate shut. Someone could easily make a run for it by jumping out, but the jeep following behind at a steady few yards with a bristling assortment of machine guns suggested against it.

Once the truck began to move, Benny leaned forward beside him on their jostling journey and motioned in an ingratiating arc at the woman’s patches. “I don’t know those.” he said what Gale had been thinking, half yelling over the clamor of voices and the roar of the truck engine, “Looks half like varsity shit.”

Gale wasn’t sure his kindhearted co-Pilot meant those sorts of digs out of innocence or as a tactic to get reticent folks to defend themselves with the very information they might has previously withheld. As said, Gale didn’t know, but he knew it never failed. The woman went from scowling at Cleven -a pastime she had set herself to with such diligence that every time he tried to make discreet observance of her she already had her eyes on him- and turned to Benny.

“201st, fighters.” well that explained nothing and everything. “Sanchez.” she offered Benny after a beat, maybe knowing her name was hardly damning considering her looks.

Kinda like how Benny looked and sounded likely to have a name that started with “De-“ and a dog named meatball. “Eagle Wings, huh?” Benny nodded at the patch. “And a uh, uh triangle.” he couldn’t make it out all the way from his seat, but Buck could -the patch read ‘Mexico’ above a magnificent spread of Eagle Wings with a green triangle as the body.

They were all a long way from home.

“Aztec,” Sanchez tweaked it, “Aztec Eagles.”

“Mexican?” Benny asked, the accent wasn’t one he commonly heard in Philly but even crappy shows and movies got some things right, and Benny had seen his fair share of westerns.

“Sanchez.” she repeated instead and was back to scowling at Buck.

They seemed to drive for all day, until the light began to dim and what was a pleasant day turned into a misty chill as evening grew near.

The truck came to a halt at last, barbed wire and mud about them and the painted checkpoint arm whirled by as they drove into the dulag and came to a final stop. In the quiet that followed the cut of the engines, the rain was suddenly audible, pattering on the canvas above them. At the resumption of barked order and harsh commands the prisoners stood up, gingerly hopping out of the truck with just enough quickness not to be hit and just enough slowness not to be shot. Didn't help much anyway, muzzles were pointed quite liberally around here and you just had to hope the trigger fingers weren’t so generous.

The dulag guards turned away a good seven of those remaining after the packed truck had dispensed its human cargo. They didn't have enough room.

Go up further, to the next one, go to Frankfurt -those seemed to be the directions.

Directions their drivers and guards took poorly; it was late, it was drizzling and Buck could guess how little they enjoyed the on-edge detail of ferrying outnumbering prisoners around the countryside. They cut down on the number of guards, five to go with: a driver, two in the jeep, one more in the cab and another supposed to be with them in the truck back.

After a bit more haggling, the Dulag accepted three more prisoners. Cleven made sure to stay put, he didn’t know the foreign arguments well enough to decipher all but half the protesting seemed to be over who got Sanchez. And he sure as hell wasn’t leaving her here without a superior officer as defense. A dulag guard had hopped up into the truck and shined his flashlight at Buck’s markings, that’s when he mentioned something about Frankfurt.

Benny didn’t move without Cleven and so, when the truck took off again into the evening gloom, it was Buck and Benny and Sanchez and another hapless kid who looked all of fifteen and was, according to his over liberal offer of conversation, a scared shitless waist gunner.

“They’re arguing over you.” Cleven finally chose to speak up. It could get rough, the guards’ distinction of her. He felt it with a premonitory dread that came from too many right predictions as a child. He hated this feeling, he hated how right it usually was, he hated how it was usually met with folks telling him he worried too much. He’d taken to not saying much the older he grew, watching things play out, grieving over foreseen misfortunes all on his own. Until he met Bucky. But right now he had to speak up, this time he had to.

Yet Sanchez remained scowling, “They argued over you.” she retorted.

Gale gave her a tight smile, “I’m a major.”

“I’m a lieutenant.”

“I can see that.” he proceeded cautiously, “But they just took in a baker's dozen of lieutenants. No problem. But they didn’t take you.”

“Didn’t take him either.” she nodded to Benny.

“His captain’s ass never left the seat.” Cleven said, “You were on the ground, ready, they put you back. I’m tellin’ you, if they can’t decide who you are, where you go, I’m gonna need your assurance you’ll fight like hell with me. For recognition of it.”

-Just don’t say I worry too much, Gale thought desperately, he could almost feel Bucky’s gentle squeeze of his shoulder, like shaking out the tension in a cat as he said the same; his back was so stiff he thought it might snap if Bucky did it now but -but John wasn’t here. Thank Almighty God.

“You know you look more German than most of our guards.” Sanchez replied and Benny suddenly snapped to attention beside him at that. “I’m not assuring you of shit.”

“He’s not a damn spy!” Benny insisted, more loudly and vehemently than was maybe best with guards all around.

“You know this how?” she asked, unmoved.

“He’s my goddamn co-Pilot.”

“Pilot?”

“Ya think he just ripped his own cheek open for a part?”

Sanchez swayed with the jerk of a pothole and shook her head, “Maybe you both are.”

Smart, and a worse worrier than himself. Cleven liked her immensely and stared out the flap of the tarp, watching the rain pour down, dusk fully settling over everything outside and the trailing jeep’s headlights poured into their little haven, whiting-out his vision of the road.

“I’m not leavin’ this seat ‘till a Dulag takes you.” he told her, it was all he had to give. For her part she seemed determined to wait and see before expending any thanks. He didn’t expect it.

They weren’t in any city when the truck brakes checked them in a squeaking lurch, followed by the sound of tires turning off gravel and into squelching mud and then the echoing silence of the engine being cut once more. This wasn’t Frankfurt, and this was no engine failure. From the headlights of the following jeep, all Gale could make out was trees. So many damn trees. It had stopped raining.

“This isn’t Frankfurt.” He remarked to the guard sitting with them, the sullen fellow had not said a word for five hours and he didn’t start spilling now.

The others made an appearance when they joined them in the truck, hopping up with muddy jackboots and the clatter of what seemed to be a portable camp stove, along with rucksacks, utensils and the like. They unwound rope from the cloth neck of one sack and poured out oats, and another seemed to have been wrapping some preserved sort of meat. Gale eyed the discarded rope where it lay on the floor with the lust of a man used to working with what he was given, while Benny stared with barely concealed longing at the now simmering concoction on the tin stove.

These guards made conversation, or at least they tried. But not even the scared little gunner was in the mood to reply, and so it remained one sided. His boys hadn’t eaten since chow this morning at the crack of dawn, and Cleven didn’t blame them for their hunger but his own stomach was in loathsome, uneasy knots, and by observance of Sanchez’s wary sullenness, he figured he wasn’t alone in that. A dinner break for the Germans was one thing, he guessed, but the solitude was oppressive along with the forced proximity of all these grinning enemies stirring and chopping their porridge bits and laughing amongst themselves on the benches and floor next to them.

When they offered Demarco a hunk of whatever they had prepared, to his credit, Benny didn’t even acknowledge them. Their offer had been mocking enough, even without understanding the language.

“You must be hungry, ja?” The one with sergeant stripes cajoled, greasy teeth flashing, the muggy smells of rain and sweat and steaming food were all so noxiously trapped under the tarp, Gale had to bite his cheek to keep down the salient precursors of vomit.

The sergeant tried it on Sanchez next, insistently holding out a hunk of the meat impaled on the knife tip. She wouldn’t even look at him and that was an admirable thing until it served to anger him, and the man reached out, hand snagging in her waistband and hauling her smaller body beside him on the bench with ease. Benny was almost to his feet when Cleven fetched him back with a grip of his own, sitting him down firmly.

He managed to keep his voice perfectly neutral when interrupting the man’s flashlight lit perusal of Sanchez’s frozen features, “Hey, she doesn’t mean any harm, you let her go now.”

The sergeant looked up, less surprised to have gained a reaction from Gale but maybe at hearing his voice at last. “Only trying to be good hosts, ja? She von’t eat. Neither you?”

“Just not hungry.” Gale countered mildly.

“But ve must thank you,” the Sergeant laughed, and Sanchez stayed stiff as board in his grip, shying away from the still offered meat as much as the touch “so many parcels of gifts you drop.”

“Let her go.” Gale insisted, gently.

“She not drop zeez parcels?” The sergeant asked.

“She’s not a bomber.” Gale grit his teeth, “I do the dropping.”

The sergeant pulled her jacket apart in curiosity, thumbing at the patches, “Not’z a bomber?” Cleven felt his tongue go numb as the man tugged at her clothes, it was a curious inspection so far and yet- “Then it’s you should be given meat, ja?” The man left off his tugging and rose from his squat on the floor to approach Gale, the man was huge upon closer acquaintance, “For Hamburg,” he insisted through gritted teeth, his anger more palpable up close, and he pressed the meat to Gale’s tightly shut mouth, “and for ze little ones you turned to ash with your parcels.”

Gale kept his jaw locked and his mouth shut, eyes meeting the sergeants’, unblinking and unsorry.

“Open!”

Gale didn’t obey. The man sighed as if he were actually a host turned down. Gale could feel Benny’s eyes on him, wary, careful, his whole posture shockingly good at blending in, a damn good man to have next to you in a place like this.

“We have no beer,” the man confessed, knife and meat still pressing insistently, “or else we would offer it for such heroes. But not to fret, you have provided refreshment, ja? Full belly and beer iz ze best, full belly and a voman iz better.”

Carefully Gale turned his head away from the offered chunk, “That's a prisoner of war, not a woman.” He saw how little effect that had and added for benefit, “And your superiors are waiting for her.”

The man scoffed loudly and turned towards his men who were, Gale could now perceive past his bulk, scraping the last of their tin plates without so much as looking at the bowls -they were eying her. With intent. The kind of intent Gale wished he didn’t recognize but he did, carnival dins and race tracks after dark being hardly the best places to grow up unless you wanted to learn how often folks really would act on their worst impulses.

Not tonight, not if he could fucking help it. By Benny’s taut posture beside him, he knew he had an ally in the assumption that this would end in a fight. He eyed the rope lying on the floor.

“Eat with us.” The sergeant insisted, “She von’t be alive to tell on you, prisoners make a run for it all ze time. Must be shot. Ve’ll let you fuck her too.”

Oh Jesus- “Your superiors know-“ Cleven reminded, voice starting to shake in rage from the keyed up adrenaline he was barely keeping a lid on.

“-zey know emergencies happen.” The man snapped, almost annoyed at Gale’s persistence, as if he expected less protest from an airman at the prospect of one of his own being abused. “Zey would send more guards if zey cared as much as you ‘sink.”

The men had finished their bowls, they set them aside on the bench, pushing the stove away as well. Clearing the floor.

“Or fuck, oh fuck.” the gunner kid, who Gale had almost forgotten about on his end of the bench, began to panic, sounding like he was retching his prayers.

Gale met Benny’s eyes, then down to the rope on the floor, then back up. It was good to have a man who got it. Always got it, his Benny.

“Can I go first.” Gale asked, and held his breath.

“Vat?” The sergeant lowered the knife in surprise, the meat chunk slid and fell to the floor but neither cared.

Gale let his lips twitch, his eyes conspired, “I don’t wanna catch whatever shit you fuckers got.”

He could hear more than see Sanchez begin the thrash on her bench but she made no progress, maybe already being held. “And you von’t tell?” the sergeant asked.

Gale gave him a look that could be universally interpreted as ‘whadda ya think?’ and bent to retrieve the meat nugget from the muddy floor, right by the sergeant’s boot, the rope was just out of reach. When he straightened his back he popped the soiled peace offering in his mouth, he chewed it loudly, the rush of an imminent attempt thrumming so strongly in his body it replaced the queasiness for a moment. The sergeant clapped his hands together, once, in appreciation for the despicable deal.

Gale knew they wanted nothing more than sport of him, it was no comradely favor to allow him to go first, it was blackmail and it was likely something worse once he got his pants down. But they could all play along, he just needed to get close to her. They had her jacket off already, her boots, too.

This didn’t really have a chance in hell but if she was like Ida, or Smith or anyone else, she’d rather be shot barefoot than have this happen to her. Gale supposed dying with German ham stuck in his teeth was about a draw with being killed via pitchfork prongs through the belly.

He didn’t process much when he stood up: not beyond the two paces it took to get to her, the men holding her on the bench seat and wrestling at her clothes, the way Benny didn’t say a word. He really was thinking of Benny in those paces, hoping his co-pilot was ready -it didn’t occur to him even once that Demarco might be as fooled as these sick fucks around them, letting go of her all too quickly at the prospect of a degrading show.

Cleven had his hand around her necktie, pulling her off the bench before he’d even really registered being close enough, he’d forgotten how to hold his face for this act but maybe the mad determination passed for lust, he didn’t think of anything but yanking her up when he felt a sudden, stinging slice against his right cheek. She’d been waiting for this moment, smart thing had a penknife hidden somewhere, it was something one of the Banshees would have pulled, and the mirroring slice was disorienting enough that he wasted a good two seconds in smarting surprise as warm blood trickled down his chin and the guards began to shout.

Someone else wrested the knife from her grip, someone else held onto her wrist now, his moment of shocked pain wasted his fucking plan.

Still, he tried.

Cleven yanked her further toward the middle of the space, spun her around despite her incessant clawing -and maybe the actions seemed to the guards in accordance with his plan, plus some anger from the wound. He didn’t know what they thought, he only knew that no one halted him, they just gathered closer to see, never expecting it, just as he didn’t expect to manage it when he got her turned to the open flap of the tarp and bodily hurled her out its back, into the night.

Benny must’ve tripped the first one, a clunky helmet clattering as the guy fell flat at Cleven’s feet, right as he turned around to help. It wasn’t ever gonna be a nice fight, or a likely chance for her to have even a ten second start but it was something besides sitting on a bench and watching them violate a fellow officer. He’d have done the same for Benny. Just as Benny now looked pretty resigned to dying in this fight, getting in a couple of excellent, unapologetic punches with the next guard who manned up and realized what was what. -It’s gotta be a let down to be keyed up for a nice orgy in the woods only to end up having to play guard again. Gale wanted to manage to kill one before he got shot, that’s all he really wanted anymore.

And for the girl to get out, for all the girls to get out wherever they were.

He was grappling with the closest one, the guy nearest the flap who almost managed to give chase to her right away, when he felt something that gave him a chill of horror he never expected. Rope; he registered it slipping down his chin, making him let go of his opponent to try to slip his fingers between the twine and his collared throat -too late. He felt himself bodily yanked back, a burn in his throat all consuming and the sudden deprivation of air turning him into a desperate mess, nothing useful about his scuffing feet and clawing hands.

They were giving orders to go after her, and two men were scrambling out the back as Gale began to sag. From his new position gasping on the floor, Gale could see that they had a gun to Benny’s gut, while the gunner kid hadn’t needed such firmness, he was braced at the back of the truck in absolute terror.

Well this was over faster than desired but -to be expected. Fuck.

“Halt.” Cleven felt the sergeant’s boot kick at the side of his head, emphasizing his order to cease his struggles.

World grew fuzzy then, not at all like drowsy sleepiness in a hammock but instead like being caught in the river current when you thought you’d managed to strike the ford just right. Gale’s pulse thudded between his temples like the blows of a sledgehammer on his skull, his lungs burned, the cuts on his cheeks blared their pain like screaming infants demanding to be heard above the rest of the pain and terror and fury. He could taste the blood gushing out of them from the pressure, the cuts spurted and dribbled down into his already choking mouth.

What a way to go.

He felt cold air, he felt himself drug and a painful drop to what was likely muddy ground, felt himself dragged some more and his own finger -wedged between the rope and his throat- hurt him worst of all, that knuckle digging into his windpipe.

When some slack finally came, it was minimal, only enough for his body to heave and gag and try to force air into collapsed pipes, enough for sounds of cries and shots and clanking metal to flood into his consciousness. He was either at heaven’s gate or on the cold hard ground at eye level with the beaming jeep headlights -that would explain the blinding glow in his vision.

Or else, heaven wasn’t half what it was cracked up to be.

Someone or a few someone’s, were standing over him and he could see then that he was tied by the makeshift noose to the trailer hitch of the truck, tarp flaps widened far above him like stage drapes. Was Benny still alive in there?

“Maybe you defend her because you too are female?” One guard suggested while prodding at his crotch with a boot, and that made Gale’s frozen, sluggish, oxygen deprived blood begin to pound. “Hübsch.” they complimented him repeatedly -pretty, so very pretty. Too pretty for a man. “We should check, ja?”

He spared one single hope, that Benny wasn’t watching. He didn’t hope they wouldn’t act on their threats, and he hadn’t any hope left that he could actually save Sanchez from what they were even now wrestling her to the ground for. But it felt worsened somehow at the idea of his co-pilot seeing him this way, he yanked his head against the noose and regretted it after. The constriction made his eyes burn, and all his efforts were once again concentrated on grappling with his breathing as they tugged at his clothes and made sport of discovering he was not, in fact, lying about being male.

They laughed, they touched, they said he was some mistake. A face like that had no business owning a cock. He wished he knew less German, in fact he knew little but there are kindnesses and there are cruelties that need no articulation to be understood.

The earth beside him, the mud beneath Sanchez’s hands, was tilled up from her nails, like furrows for planting and her face was so near his when they threw her down, he could make out the spit and blood on her lips.

“Should I?” One was saying and they had their knife out, Gale’s panicked mind had a generous moment of hope that they would cut the rope, that he would soon be able to breathe again. Or else his throat, and he’d not breathe anymore. Both sounded perfect.

They cut open his flight suit instead, a hand heavy on the back of his head, turning him fully over, and then there was the feeling of a warm and sweaty body beginning to roll on top of him.

The mud was cold beneath his cheek, smooth on the forest floor, none of the rough gravel of that endless road, only mud and pine needles sticking to his face now, their knobby little ends roughing up the older wound on his cheek. Every time the guard pushed closer, it scraped him -that blade to his other cheek. The metal tip glittered in the periphery of his one good eye, shining from the headlights.

Sanchez had begun to scream.

Hoarse, wounded, fox like.

It felt very much like a demented dream, even down to the hunter’s attitude above him, the grunts, the prey-like waiting for the lethal blow. He wasn’t sure how long he had floated with only her wounded cries as a grounding agent when he felt a splatter against his lower back and consciousness came back with a heave of his chest and a revolt so strong he fought again against the noose. Predictably, it only tightened. There was cold on his skin then, when the man drew away, fresh night breezes mocking the mess he’d made of Gale, kerosene and exhaust fumes ruining the smell of soil beneath him. Then the heat was back, someone else draped over him, and Gale dug his fingers into the earth too, readying for what the other had spared him. It didn’t matter, if they tired themselves out with him, that was one less -now two less- to use her instead. There had been only five.

This one flipped him over, Gale went easily, both hands occupied straining to get even a finger between the asphyxiating pressure of the rope and his throat.

“He is easier now.” he heard the man laughing, foggy, hazy, unfairly. “The bitch has gone quiet, maybe he will make music, huh?”

Gale frantically turned his head to seek her out, desperate to find her alive -she couldn’t be dead. Not just from this, surely not, what could they do to kill her?-but his own vision was spotting and his throat spasmed in protest. They surely could kill them this way, they could do anything they wanted because they could kill them. And no one would ever hold them to account.

His poor girls. What were they doing to his poor girls?

It burned enough to jolt him awake again, both the forceful entry and the smack to his cut cheek. They wanted him awake, aware, he refused to look at them. This was reminiscent, bright lights and unwanted hands and all but the carnival music missing. He kept staring to the side at her, and at her face, at the way the headlights lit them both up like a carnival spectacle and cast the shadows of their tormentors in looming, grotesque proportions against the treeline. She had her eyes closed, face almost suffocated in the soil, balled fist growing lax beside his own, just out of reach. She didn’t even react when the next replaced the other. There were only five, Gale repeated to himself, there were only five.

No, no, no.

“Smith,” he begged her, “Smith don’t fuckin’ give up on me now.”

His poor girls.

Gale’s own voice made him cringe, how hoarse it was, how young, what a beg it sounded like, how punctuated each word was with the winding pain of a fresh thrust. But her eyes flew open at his call.

Sanchez, her name was Sanchez, he reminded himself. And Smith was with Ida, probably throwing the ball at the flack house after making it back from Breman. She had to be. He didn’t want to live in a world where Lu felt what he felt now as the man shuddered inside him, used him like a skein, a shell, a vessel, hot breath stinging at his cuts.

“Stay with me Sanchez.” he muttered, wondering if he had it in him to do the same. He didn’t have the luxury of ignoring his tormenter any longer, he felt his face gripped and turned, cuts smarting beneath calloused fingertips, cheeks being squished like Bucky used to do in play. The yeasty splatter spit landing on his own tongue was somehow more revolting than all the rest. He gagged, he struggled, his body was on fire.

Smith was screaming again.

There were only five.

He refused to remember more until there was a sudden absence of the heat and the breath and the tearing pain, and if he wasn’t so drugged on misery he might have thought everyone seemed a little rushed at the end. Not how he expected them to be with all the time in the world to wipe their pricks, close their pants, pull out a pistol and deliver a headshot. One apiece here in the mud. See ya there, Benny, he thought dismally, not bothering to open his eyes.

But then there were sounds of squealing tires and the roar of engines and the white bright glow behind his eyelids grew in intensity until he realized -in a fumbled state of what felt like being redressed- that someone else had pulled up to this horror show. There’d only been five and now- now, oh fuck, he didn’t think he could, no, no, no, he yanked at his noose, half hoping to strangle himself or at least be caught fighting this.

If he didn’t know much German when lucid and keen, he certainly wasn’t adept at deciphering the angry babble above him when half dead, half uncaring about listening for an order to flip him over for the next or to blow his brains out. No, no he was far away in the Silver Wings and Maureen’s boot was dug into his shoulder as she turned himself and Egan into scaffolding, all to smoke the club’s ceiling with testament of their survival for their 20th. No big bash like for 25 but it had been a milestone, as terrifyingly hopeful as it had been all too fortunate. He’d seen her cry for the first time that night, hands shaking, admitting she felt in her bones they’d not be lucky, that she’d never really thought about this part, not when she joined up, about getting so close and now she wanted to see it through she was sick to death of the idea of seeing it though being a fiery death. Well, Gale knew now she’d managed to jump, she’d not known fire.

But what else, oh what else?

Next time Cleven woke he was face down on the same old bench seat from hours before, burning ribs nothing compared to the lapping flames below his waist. The truck beneath him was moving and his cut face was only partially gentled by the feel of someone’s meaty thigh beneath him. Horrified, he startled up, hating the idea of being someone’s pet after-

-but it was Benny, looking busted as hell but alive and holding onto him lest he jolt off the bench with the next pothole. As far as he could feel, Gale had his clothes on, muddy and cold and it was daylight and they were moving. A guard he didn’t recognize was on the opposite bench near the flaps, watching them curiously with a rifle slung easily over his lap. He had wings on his lapel.

Sanchez was sat as far from him as possible near the front of the truck, alive and looking for all the world like she might kill the sniffling and unharmed gunner on the floor.

“Luftwaffe.” Benny informed him and Gale winced at their good fortune before giving his friend a pat and letting the sludge of insensibility take over again.

————————————————

“What was done to you: I am horrified.” Lt. Hausmann’s eyes were warm but his smile was cold, as cold as the holding cells, an odd dichotomy, opposite to most but not foreign to Gale. “I have heard they had intentions to hang you, yes? You, a prisoner of war. An officer. Horrifying, base, cowardly, I can only apologize for my countrymen’s attitude, they will be held to account. Was there anything else? I shall make a note. Are you well? Was there anything else?”

“There was a fighter pilot with me.” Cleven did not miss the eagerness in the man’s body language when he let loose his voice at last, hoarse from the rope and suppression of his cries. He’d been sat at this frigid desk with its proffered whiskey and smokes for half an hour already. “She was brutally raped, Lieutenant. And it is my understanding she is under Luftwaffe command now. Held here. I’d like you to make note of both, treat her accordingly.”

“Appalling.” Haussmann insisted, pen scritching away at his pad, “Noted, I-i will see that they are brought to account. Appalling. And you, Major, were you treated well? Besides your throat, I mean. Satisfactory? Honorably? I will make a note.”

The gnawed and broken thumbnail he’d bitten off hours ago slipped from between Gale’s molars. His teeth grated against each other for a split second. It was the only sound that filled the room. There’d been only five.

He passed Benny in the hall when they drug him back to his cell. But he never saw Sanchez again.

———————————————-

He didn’t see Sanchez again, not until a month later when she came with Smith. And all the others. Not until after a month of a John Brady biting through his lips with well placed anxiety over the absence of their female fellows. A month of Gale acting like he actually thought they were alright. As far as he knew, the boy’s sister was fine. Until she came through that gate, head shorn, cheek disfigured, half her buttons missing and a look in her eye that was half fury, half woe.

He was angry for Ida, but she didn’t belong trapped in a dog run with all these men. So Gale protested.

“If it can happen to you-“ John Brady had the gall to suggest at the gate, to suggest something Cleven had never confirmed. But Brady was like that, and Cleven had stopped his fight against the girls' inclusion all the same. Perhaps his fight had been less about the rules being broken, and more at the idea of having to see any more of their mistreatment, being witness to it, his rank proving useless once more. Never again. Not if he had to barter the golden gates for their safety.

———————————————--

“You ok?” Cleven asked Brady on the second day after their arrival as he counted out the syringes on the rough hewn table, one by one. He didn’t doubt the kid’s promise to get the supplies but instead the stalag doctor’s elusive provisions and willingness to comply. But sure enough, there was one for each of the girls, and a spare.

Brady gave him a tight lipped nod before expounding, “Sunnuvbitch wouldn’t dish on the iodine, I could see the damn relief package right there behind him but -no swabs. Dry stab. I guess.”

“It’s ok.” Cleven insisted, eyeing him still; he had his coat bundled about him even indoors but the buttons of his shirt beneath were redone, Gale knew that because they skipped one and started again wonky, wrong buttonhole, twice over. Like they’d been redone in haste. It hadn’t been that way when he left. “These are what we need.” he glanced up from his task at Hambone who was animatedly informing Benny of his visit.

Cleven had tried at subtlety, listening in with discretion but he couldn’t help it anymore, too curious himself. “You went with him, yeah?”

“Yes sir.” Hambone gestured to his newly smoothe cheek, stitches gone.

“So, what’s he like? The doc?”

Hamilton gave a signature sneer, “Weird as fuck and a little weirder than that. Wouldn’t fuckin’ shut up.”

“Yeah? What about?”

“Yeah!” Hamilton insisted, pissed off by it apparently, “On and on about psy- psycho -sam-“

“psychosomatic.” Brady rescued him boredly.

“-reflexes and shit. On and on. Just want the stitches out, ya know?”

“Yeah.” Cleven agreed. Waiting for the shoe to drop. He stared at the extra shot, his stomach curdling. “Just want some shots.” he added, eyes drifting up to land on Brady and his sightless stare at the opposite wall that bunked his motionless sister.

“Yeah, that was a whole other debacle.”

“Oh?” Cleven prodded, the picture of nonchalance as he started to divide the shots into groupings. He was seeing things, he was projecting, he was doing what Egan told him not to ever do -assume what has been is now what is. What he’s experienced is what everyone else has. He knew that deep down, but there was a brittle bravery to Jack Brady these days that reminded Gale too much of his own fraudulent brand of survival.

“Hammy it’s- how about you leave off.” Brady muttured. “Don’t bother the major with it.”

“Weird as fuck.” Hambone confirmed stubbornly.

“I’m the one who asked you if you thought he was weird.” Brady corrected, irritated enough by impression to continue.

“And it was! I said he was.”

“I’ve been telling you guys.” When Brady said it, it was without heat. “Him and his stupid little hammers.”

“Yeah what was all the hammering for?”

“Reflexes, Hammy. Psychosomatic.”

“Weird as fuck.”

Gale bit his tongue so hard he hoped it cleared his head before daring, “He make you take your shirt off for it?”

There was a pause in the slapping sounds of the card game ongoing behind him, Kendeigh and Demarco and Crank all freezing at the question.

“He keeps checking the shoulder.” Brady finally said, it was admittance enough.

“And the fuckin’ knee.” Hambone chipped in.

He shrugged, meeting Cleven’s eyes stubbornly, “He’s obsessed with reflexes.”

“You hurt your knee landing?”

Brady’s flat line of a mouth tugged up wryly, his eyes flitted over to his sister's motionless form. “A tad. Uh, the shots sir, he said they go in the hip. Didn't have the pamphlets, no instructions.

“I remember.” Gale had some knowledge of it, they’d all gotten a few vaccines in training, and he knew enough to ask for them in the first place, to help with whatever the poor girls might have contracted. His own eyes skittered to Kendeigh who sat at the table, making a poor show of holding her deck of cards. “Well, you first?” he pleaded.

She looked a little cross but she didn’t fight him, she rose from the table with stern imprecations on anyone skipping over her turn and cast about for a place. Gale put his hand on her shoulder and gently guided her to a corner by the bunks, it was really all the privacy he had to give.

“You’ll have to undo my belt, Ida had to do it up-“ she flashed her swollen hands again, “-my hands.”

“I got you.” he whispered, gently reaching around and loosening the belt so that her borrowed trousers sagged enough for him to get at the meat of her hip.

Johnny was rolling Ida over in their bunk beside him, and Gale wasn’t sure who should give Ida her shot but he supposed her brother was the best candidate. Much as he hated the boy having to. But, perhaps, it wasn’t the worst thing he had to do tonight, and that made Gale’s stomach sour. He willed his hands to steadiness and undid the cap off the needle.

“Jesus Christ.” Johnny was suddenly exclaiming, hoarse and infuriated, Gale glanced aside and saw the boy had uncovered a hip alright, with his usual meticulous precision, and still, there wasn’t a spot of skin on Ida not green or else blue or else near to black. Gale stared back at Maureen and the jagged little scratches on her hip, crescent moon ditches, the blooming bruise here and there and swore not to count his blessings.

What did he know? Nothing, he knew nothing about any of them really. Except he knew such injuries didn’t have to show to hurt like hell. He drove the shot home with merciful force, squeezed in the stinging contents and retracted it, smooth and fast as anything.

“Hell, fuck, damn! Son of a carpet wearing Methodist-“ Maureen hopped around on her one good leg in barely contained frenzy at the sting.

Gale tried not to smile, “Bad huh?”

She scowled back at him in between pained giggles, “If I could give yours just for pay back, I would. Damn!” she held her hands up up once more and Cleven kept his eyes above, “But I can’t, sorry, can’t help with the other girls either, fucking useless.”

Johnny was standing, straightened up again, syringe empty, sister still just lying there. Bucky Egan out cold beside her. Gale couldn’t even allow himself to question if those two would be alright. They had to be, he didn’t think he could make it without them, make everyone else make it along with him. “She didn’t even budge.” Jack muttered.

What was there to say to that?

“She didn’t make it all the way here just to fuckin’ die.” Kendeigh assured him while straddling her chair again, voicing her peculiar brand of kindness and her true opinion on Ida Brady, “She’d never be so wet. They had a whole day to kill her on that train and they didn’t manage to.”

A day? A train? Gale didn’t know what to make of it; he was just glad that Bucky was dead to the world for now and not getting riled again by every new tidbit so that Gale would have to talk him down and also administer shots to a bunch of traumatized women.

“We’ll help sir.” Crank offered to him as he stood over the divided piles of syringes again.

“Alright,” Gale agreed, “but some may wanna give it to each other instead, you let them. Give ‘em space. I don’t think they’ll fight it, they know they need ‘em.”

Benny sauntered up beside him, flicking at the supplies, “This one yours, Buck?” he asked casually, fiddling with the spare.

Gale glanced at Brady and found him looking back at him. “Yeah.” He told Benny. “For the cuts.”

“Here, let me-“ Benny was already at it. Gale tugged his waistband down to assist, just enough to expose a sliver of pale hip and leaned a little over the table, there were bruises on his hipbones, he knew, but they could be from anything.

It did sting like hell.

“Alright you take those, and that’s enough for, yeah-“ Gale divided the supplies to each man, lingered just a moment as they went into the hall to brush by Brady, and murmured to him him lowly, “That was real thoughtful, thanks. You need one?”

To the credit of his poker face, the boy didn’t startle a bit, except for an infinitesimal flutter of an eyelid. “No sir?” he asked as if that were an idiotic question.

It was the only way Gale knew to ask him: to ask about something more. -Tell me son, just tell me you need a shot and I’ll know I’m not imagining shit. That I’ve not become paranoid and irritable and callous, too.

But then, “No sir?” and that incredulous face that left even the strongest man feeling like a dunce.

Well, that was it.

“I’ll help you tell them.” Maureen was by his side suddenly and Gale appreciated that, Smith was the only other female Lieutenant and he could use Kendeigh’s unapologetic pragmatism. “Ida told them she’d ask for remedies. Think she meant for pregnancies but, this is a start.”

There really wasn’t much of an announcement to be made; who didn’t understand what penicillin was needed for? It was needed for the dreaded thing that was hung over every bathroom stall door at canteens and on the underground in London, warning of having too good of a time and catching something. No one needed explanations, even though Gale watched their faces as Kendeigh announced and helped distribute the shots one room after another, he was trying to detect if any were hesitant or unconvinced. He found none.

He did find Sanchez, across one identical wooden room and still in her jacket with the eagle patch. She must have washed her face with the others, the mud was gone. When they locked eyes he saw a hard and warning look harden her eyes further; it made his cheek throb. Stonefaced, she broke the stare after a moment and advanced to grab her allotment, even as her fingers dragged along his palm, even when she passed him, Gale could not get her to resume it.

In one of the last rooms he went in alone -Maureen was delayed with one of the girls doing poorly, one who was not well enough to rise from her bunk. “They about drowned her” Maureen told him casually, and that was something else he dreaded learning about.

“Drowned?” he’d repeated a bit dumbly, and he deserved her

annoyed face.

“To get info from us.”

“Us?” he repeated again, low and slow, “You too?”

She gave him another of those looks before nodding at the last parcel in his hand, “Go take care of Smith’s girls before Johnny gets to them first and helps them with all the tenderness of a mortician.”

When Gale had stepped back into the hallway, Johnny’s voice could be heard still two doors down with Benny, fighting a fine line between helping and making themselves scarce. Personally, Gale felt Johnny was a gentle fucker when he needed to be. This wasn’t one of those cases, none of the girls wanted pity from them. Or acknowledgement even, judging by Sanchez’s cautioning venom.

In the last room, Smith and Tong had the girls sorted efficiently, and it was a little thing to ask the ever obliging Graham and the other men to step out briefly. Same old script here as before, Gale felt in a numb sort of loathing for his lack of originality -he distributed a shot a piece and apologized for the lack of iodine to sterilize the injection site and they all assured him it was fine, and everyone knew he was apologizing for far more than the lack of iodine and they knew that they’re assurances were more than about it either. Gale liked these girls for how well they knuckled under, it had made them pretty great in the crews after a shaky mission. They shoved a bad thing down as well as the next man, and if they punched their bed frames at night or cried in the showers, just like how it was for his men, that wasn’t Gale’s concern.

Only Lu Smith’s face went off script when he pressed the needle and its cartridge in her hand, something besides tight lipped thanks or a nod of efficient understanding. There were questions in her eyes, dancing slow and swirly and blatant as sorghum specks in molasses. A rich dark pool of uncertainty. Some girls were already discreetly headed for corners of the room to make the stab or else rolling up a shirt sleeve and insisting to the giver that they wanted it given there. Lu glanced away from him only to watch these proceedings with something like fear and then she was looking back at him, a hesitant plea written on her face. He didn’t know she was scared of needles.

“Major, is Ida awake?” his lieutenant asked, voice scratchy and a little closed, like how it got when she tried her hand at professionality or had to present a solution in front of a crowd. “I need to ask her something.”

That was a remarkably vague sentence, not at all professional. “No, she’s not.” He told her, watching as the fear grew more pronounced around her mouth and chin, “You ask me, Lieutenant.”

“May I?”

“Course,” Gale nodded his head toward the door, “step out here.”

He strode down to the very end of the combine, by the locked double doors, just far enough away from the windows not to invite a guard to come in and give them shit about it. The bright orange lights of the camp came in from the general darkness outside, glowing through the always dusty glass and making Smith’s skin shine a pretty bronze, even with the dark spots on her chin. Those made his blood thud quicker. It was quiet down here, as private as he could get.

“What’s up Smith?” he urged.

“I’m sorry sir I-I’ve got a few questions.”

“Told you to ask, Lieutenant.” Gale reminded, “So ask.”

“Yes sir.” She’d developed a tick since he’d last seen her, an odd sort of hugging of herself, arm crossing her chest and hand gripping her opposite clavicle, fingertips curling just over her own shoulder. “It’s about the shots. Ida’s been teaching me but she never mentioned about those.”

Gale took a deep breath, only the faintest bit of mirth left at the reminder of the ‘condom balloon’ incident. Ida had needed a stiff drink after taking her engineer aside and informing ‘Little Lu’ those were rubber socks men put on their members, and not in fact balloons. And yes, Benny had lied out of niceness, and yes men’s bodies sprayed things like cattle’s did when they got excited, and yes it’s for the purpose of making babies. Gale had heard all this from Ida after three stiff shots she’d downed like medicine, she’d relayed it in a perfect montone and Gale had not asked but she told him all the same, then said she needed to hit the sack and Ida Brady was gone while Gale remained at the bar with his cider and shaking shoulders. The memory had been amusing only weeks ago, when Douglass came to loot Benny’s footlocker for more rubbers and they’d all made a joke about Smith having beat him to them -for balloons.

“Everyone else seems to know and want them and I’m the slow one again.” Smith was muttering, a petulant look of annoyance crossing her young face, angry at herself.

“It’s about the guards.” Gale murmured.

Smith looked so hurt by that he wasn’t sure where he’d misstepped, but then, “Is it for what they did? Or is it such a sure they’re gonna keep hurting us and these- how do these help, sir?”

Gale startled and laid a heavy hand on her shoulder out of pure, gut instinct to impress on her his next words, “Not a single thing is goin’ to happen to you again, not like that, you hear me, Lu?” he shook her a little and it dislodged her own hand from her chest.

“Yes sir.”

“These are for anything you might’ve caught.” he tried to explain, coming up short and he knew it. If Bucky were here he’d use all manner of crass slang and common vernacular phrases to jog the poor girl’s memory about magazine advertisements, the sorts that warned of ‘diseases’, the underground posters and the bathroom stall flyers urging chastity or safety. Gale could not manage it back then and he couldn’t now. “Diseases Lu.” he tried again, “Men who aren’t- careful, or- disciplined, they, they spread diseases to the girl they’re with. Uh, with- intimately. If they’ve been with other girls before.”

He hoped to God that Ida had used the word ‘intimate’ when educating Smith on these finer yet so utterly crude aspects of human interaction. ‘Intimate’ seemed like a word Ida Brady would use, he thought he recalled her accusing him of being intimate with Kendeigh. Maybe the accusation had been ‘fraternizing’. Or ‘getting familiar’. Gale wasn’t sure, he only recalled that it had not been complementary and he had blushed into the floor under her stare but her accusation had been vague. He knew Ida had been vague.

Was she equally vague with Smith? Did that mean Smith was as uneducated as she’d been before Ida gave her an ineffectually Catholic lesson?

“They can spread it with-“ Smith paused only a minute before deciding to trust him, “-with their bodies? Like a wound?”

Gale gave her nod, trying to stay teacherly, “With their bodies. Yeah. They don’t need wounds it comes from- well, other places. Intimate places they- look, Smith if you weren’t hurt that way, you don’t need the shots.”

Grueling as this conversation was, nerve wracking as her dense innocence could be, it fed that traitorous bit of hope he’d been harboring since he lost all hope for himself that she might’ve been alright. It wasn’t fair to Kendiegh or Ida or Sanchez or any of the others to hope for that, but none of this was fair anyway. Maybe her lack of comprehension was a kindness.

Smith’s eyes were latching onto one surrounding thing and then another, a good long beat between each new object, not darting but roving, now latched on the doorframe and now on Gale’s coat buttons and then on to the glass window panes beside them as if she could see through the bubbled glass out into the dark yard. He could tell by her change in breathing more than the light when she began to cry.

“I didn’t want the girls to think I’m stupid.” She admitted, and she was definitely crying, “I’m their officer, I should know these things.” she explained, lips going into a full tremble, all the harmless jokes of before suddenly not a bit funny, “But I don’t know at all, I didn’t know they’d-“ Gale kept his hand on her now jolting shoulder, spending a little too much time thinking how to mould his own face to some correct expression for this as she began to crumble, it was better than watching too closely as she broke apart, “When they beat us and put the bags over our faces I- I expected it. It wasn’t right, we weren’t treated like prisoners but, I expected it. Ida had told us. Then they started saying things to her, the ones that could speak English and I-i really didn’t know what they meant, not at first until they started- oh Major, they, they started touching her, like lovers in a movie.”

Lu had her eyes squeezed shut like that would get the image out somehow, one brief flash and Gale could remember everything about laying there and seeing Sanchez’s face -and he knew nothing wiped the image out. “They had her chained to a bar and they kept doing that,” she went on, “It was over her head, the bar was over her head and I could tell how much she hated it, and she couldn’t do anything and they weren’t hurting her anymore, they were- they were touching her. They stopped beating her and started touching her, sir and I- that’s when I realized that, there could be something worse. They wanted us to start giving up ranks, and they kept doing that until we did and I wanted to give up then more than any time else. Just to make them stop doing that to her.”

Gale squeezed her shoulder and she jerked under it but cried afresh, she stayed still next to him and just kept crying. “Smith, right here and now I need to know if you’re alright.” he steered her away from memories back to now, as gently as he could, “Ida is gonna be alright, and she’s proud of you, and she expects you to take care of her girls, you hear me? And I need you well for that, Lu. I need to know if you’ve been hurt.”

Smith pulled herself back into a shaky composure, her neck still trembling so badly her head made tiny little jerks from time to time. “They did hurt me.” she agreed.

“Hurt you where you need these shots?” he gently clarified, hoping she was catching on, dreading the confirmation all the same.

“They put -they kept putting themselves inside me.” she got it out, her face dazed like she still didn’t understand it even as her voice cracked from a soul deep knowledge of the wrong done, “I didn’t know they could- they could use their bodies like that. I didn’t know. They kept doing it.”

-There had been only five.- Gale felt his belly lurch, some bowel deep memory of the same torture taking over him, like a haunting he couldn’t prevent. He’d thought he had it locked far down enough, hardly thought on it these days, but maybe he’d shoved it down to where it hurt in the first place, with his belly in knots all again and Sanchez’s cold face sneering and Benny’s worried eyes making his stomach shake and salt flood his mouth. He wanted to vomit.

“Oh Lu.” he muttered ineffectually, “C’mere.” and he had her hugged and cradled to his ratty jacket before his ingrained and temperate habits could interfere. He had her turned to the doors, her sobbing eyes pressed into his sweaty layers and it was better that way. With his lips pressed to the crown of her head he watched the rest of the hallway go on without them, men going back into the rooms once the shots had been administered, Benny darting into one with a bucket in hand. Gale saw Brady as Brady saw him, only making a small pause in his stride as he watched Gale hold Smith before he turned away, face still a blank slate, the boy went back to his sister.

Maybe if Gale had been closer or the hallway brighter he might’ve seen the same hurt and tears there as he and Smith were sharing, but Brady wasn’t close and he wouldn’t say and maybe Gale was a fool to think his own experience wasn’t a fluke. But Brady just went back to Ida, and Gale still felt the damning weight of the shot in his palm even as he hugged Smith’s narrow shoulders.

His own hip still smarted from the injection, -the shot for his cuts. Just his cuts.

“I’m sorry sir.” Smith was trying to say in between sobs, no doubt finding her emotions galling in the face of her prized professionalism.

“Don’t be.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll be fine-“

“I know.”

“I’ll be fine i just, I didn’t know-“

“I know, Lu.”

“It hurt so much.”

“I know.”

She pulled her face away, he was glad to see that while it was puffy and reddened, she looked far calmer. The suddenness of her recovery should have warned him. “Do you sir?” she whispered, pained.

“What?”

“Do you know, sir?” she asked again, harmless yet intent, “Did they hurt you that way too?”

Gale felt a rush of heat, heat and numbness where his hands fell from their grip on her and shook by his sides instead, and he hated his limbs for that betrayal. Heat, like she could see it so clearly on his face, like the harmless cuts on his face really spelled it out. Everyone’s suspicion of them put him on edge, wondering what was wrong with his bearing, his walk, the way he took a seat, that somehow exposed him. With her dark, pitying, horrified little face staring up at him, he felt like he was back on the bench with Benny holding him there, knowing most likely why he had to lay on his belly and not his back.

“Smith you can’t-“ Gale sounded young again and he hated it, when he was ready he began again, and this time he sounded like Major Cleven, “-don’t ever say shit like that again, alright? You can’t say shit like that. Not about- men. Not about me.”

She looked affronted and close to tears again, but his tone couldn’t be helped, last thing this stalag needed was news their Major had been so easily overcome. “I was just asking sir-“

“Not something you ask a man.” he informed her. “Like ya said, there’s lot of things you don’t know, it’s alright. But you don’t ask that, Smith.”

Harsh but necessary, he told himself again. Except she looked less hurt now and closer to something like anger, if her kind self could be angry. He’d seen her get angry when someone kicked a dog once. He’d seen her angry after a shit mission. She looked close to it now, like some grave injustice was firing her up. “But it can happen to men.” she was suddenly wise and he picked a cuticle bloody in trance-like distress, his face was motionless, “I know because they- they can put themselves both places.”

Fury took the place of numbness in his being and he grabbed her again, pulling her close and tucking her under his chin, she made a wounded noise when their chests collided despite the layers, but she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed back. “They’re never gonna do that again, Lu, never again. I’m gonna make sure of it. Bucky’ll make sure of it.” he swore, his voice gone so low it shook. “They hurt you other places?”

Smith shook her head against his chest, “I’ll take the shot, sir.” she murmured meekly. “Would you give it? I don’t want the others to-“

“Sure, Lu.”

He waited until she pulled away, her eyes downcast but the look on her face broke no argument that she wasn’t in a humor to be less than her rank. Gale shifted the shot in his palm and bit his lip, willing away any sentiment about it.

“Goes in the hip. Mark my words, those bicep shots that Tong went for- gonna hurt for ages, you don’t need that. Lemme put it in your hip.”

Smith nodded and cast a furtive glance behind her at the empty hall, only looking down again to undo her belt when Gale moved his body to block any hapless onlooker.

There were bruises when he gently aided her in tugging the drab olive aside, some nearly as dark as the ones on Ida and welts from what looked like a belt strap, even on the high swell of her hip. Gale knew the smarting bite of a belting.

“Did you wash these?” he whispered to her, crouching to better see his work as he made a harbor of unmarried muscle between his thumb and index finger, bunching up the meat of her leg and holding it for her to relax into his touch before he jammed the shot home.

“When we showered.” Lu wasn’t crying anymore but her voice matched his in its softness, tense anticipation for the jab mellowing the longer he kept her staid under his hold.

“Good.” he commended her, voice muffled by the needles’ cap between his lips.

She only stiffened when he drove it in, pressed down on the plunger with his thumb, kept his hand gripping her hip, shaking the muscle just so, “Loosen up.” he ordered, it would hurt less that way. Cleven heard her take a breath and try.

When he stood straight again he took the cap from his mouth and clicked it back on the needle, acting like it took great concentration and focus to do so, all while she pulled her trousers back up and refastened them discreetly. Her cheeks were wet once more, either from before or she’d begun crying again.

“You ok?” he asked.

She gave him a long series of nods as she got on top of the embarrassed anger. “Yes, thanks Buck.”

“I’m right down there.” he reminded, thumbing at his own quarters. “You feel the least bit sickly or- or anything, you come get me. Same for your girls.”

“Yes sir.”

“Alright, well get in there Lu,” he patted her toward her room, “one thing the krauts are picky about here is bedtime.”

Smith sucked in a breath between her teeth, a shuddering thing, “Alright, I’ll remember. Bedtime.”

“So you’re gonna remember bedtime and what else?” Gale catchized her.

“Bedtime and that…you’re -right down there.”

“Very good, Smith.”

“Night, Buck.”

“Night, Lu.”

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

MOTA taglist, I only have one so ignore if this is not the universe you signed up for:

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

@crazymadpassionatelove

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#masters of the air #those who can #mota #mota fanfic #mota fanfiction #Gale Cleven fanfic #Buck Cleven fanfic #gale cleven

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felibrary · 1 month

Text

╭──╯ POUR THE ALCOHOL HEART OUT !

PAIRING: aventurine x reader

SYNOPSIS: they say love comes when you least expect it — does that also apply to former romantic relationships?; alternatively: in which a drunk aventurine gets dumped onto you by his colleagues for you to take care of.

wordcount: 4.3k (IM CRYING WHAT THE HELL) | content & warnings: consumption of alcohol/drunk aventurine, unestablished relationship (exes), angst if you squint, topaz is referred to here by jelena (her real name), reader is mentioned to wear jewelry, hints/implications of starvation/ed (?)- not eating, insecure!aventurine, kind of rushed and open ending - interpret it however you'd like :-) ; oneshot

tags: @azullumi (hi pookiemon who def wont read this also its 4:20 rn and I'm writing ur note before my synopsis. send help pls)

AUTHORS NOTE: someone praise me for the creative title :p and sorry that this took so long i'm currently experiencing writers block or whatever also just because this is long doesn't mean its good - don't get your hopes up too high 😭 if i said id like this, id be lying. but still that doesn't change the fact that id be crying if this flops..like all of my other recent works..

ding, ding, ding

the shrieking noise of your doorbell invades your ears, ringing continuously. it's annoying — unbearable even, and to worsen things you've been stuck in this predicament for the past 2 minutes now.

with your head buried in between your fuzzy cushions, you try to drown out the noise thus completely ignoring the way your phone buzzes on the nightstand next to you.

hopefully, your neighbors won't file a complaint about loud noise against you, but that's a problem for tomorrow. right now you're faced with a worse matter: making those who interrupted your sleep leave.

do these people not know what a peaceful slumber is? (apparently not when they have the time to pay you a visit during this time.)

almost as if your prayers were heard, the noise dies down and you sigh in relief. lazily you shift around in your bedsheets to be in a more comfortable position, nuzzling your head into the cool pillows once more.

but just when you think that the people have finally left, the agitating noise starts once again, and you have to stop yourself from letting out an irritated groan.

slowly you roll yourself out of the comfort of your bed. now sitting on the edge of your bed you’re contemplating; dwelling if you should really stand up now and open the door.

it could be a bunch of strangers, and who knows which danger will encounter you.

you let out a defeated sigh. whatever it may be, it can't be that bad. turning sideways you try to search for your phone, and upon finding it your lips curl up into a small triumphant smile.

your fingers hover over the buttons on the side before pressing a finger onto the power button. upon seeing the bright light you blink a bunch of times, lashes pressing against each other in a repetitive motion to get used to the light first.

(2) missed calls by an unknown caller ID +xxxxxx: mx. [name] please be so kind as to open the door. thank you. +xxxxxx: it’s urgent, please. +xxxxxx: would you be so kind as to do us this favor, for his and our sake?

a bunch of notifications light up on your screen but you decide to ignore them. instead, you use your phone as a flashlight to guide you through the dark of your apartment.

who in the right mind decides to ring your doorbell at this time? and who in the right mind chooses to open the door despite the possible dangers? (you.)

despite the door serving as a separation between your apartment and the hallway, you can clearly hear two people bickering outside your apartment door.

“..ritas, hold him tighter. you're letting him fall,” the voice belongs to a woman, and she seems to be concerned about someone, that's the most you can tell.

“i am not. it's not that dark to tell that that is clearly your arm which is slipping from his body,” this time a man speaks up. his voice is hoarse and stern as he corrects the woman.

well, this is going to be fun. you take a deep breath before opening the door, let's just hope for the best.

as you open the door, you're met with two unfamiliar faces.

amidst the dimly lit hallway stands a woman with white hair and a red streak on her bangs. her eyes look like shards of crystals that have been puzzled together, simply magnificent.

next to her stands a tall man, his golden eyes are hidden beneath his dark bangs which stick to his forehead, nevertheless, the warm light that radiates from the pair of honey-colored eyes shines through the depths of the night.

and squished in between them is someone else. hanging from above the ceiling there are a few lamps that adorn the hallway. the warm light that they shed lands upon the back of the person's head making their golden hair look like a shiny coin that swims amidst the ocean.

from the clothes and their silhouette, you'd figure that they're a man, however, you can't be sure due to their face being hidden.

so many questions race through your mind, who are these people? do they know what time it is? and what are they doing in front of your door?

but the only thing you can utter at this moment is a curt and groggy: “sorry, how can i help you?”

an apologetic smile finds its way onto the woman's lips, and this time you're able to take a proper look at her.

there are dark circles surrounding her colourful eyes and you can only wonder why she's up so late when instead she should be getting well-deserved sleep.

“apologies, how rude of us to not introduce ourselves. you can call me to- jelena. and next to me is doctor veritas ratio,”

the man she tilts her head towards only nods in acknowledgment which you can only return. “well, it's nice to meet you, jelena and veritas. is there something you need from me?”

both names feel familiar to your ears as if you've heard them once or twice before, although you're not sure where you've heard them.

“and, that in the middle might be who?” your eyes drift over the person whose arms are draped around the backs of topaz and veritas.

“that's exactly why we're here,” hearing veritas’ voice makes you look up in surprise. “we're aventurine’s colleagues and we brought him here for you to take care of him,”

this has to be some sort of dream if not a nightmare at worst.

you're completely awake now, with furrowed eyebrows and an awkward smile on your lips you stare at the person — well aventurine as you now know, in utter disbelief.

the only thing you're able to choke out at this very moment is a strained. “i’m sorry?”

“you've heard me the first time, i don't like repeating myself — you're supposed to take care of that guy of a nuisance here.” veritas nudges aventurine’s shoulder to make his point clear.

your ex and his colleagues standing in front of your door at maybe like two am in the morning had to be some sort of torture-like fever dream.

“no, with all due respect: no.” you quickly mutter with gritted teeth before trying to slam the door shut as soon as possible.

jelena, on the other hand, doesn't seem to be a fan of your idea and quickly puts her foot into the space between your door and the hallway as a way to stop you from closing the door.

“i..” she starts, but you notice the heavy side-eye she receives from veritas that makes it known that she's not the only one who's tired of aventurine and his shenanigans, and thus makes jelena quickly correct herself.

“well, we know that it's unbelievable — unbelievably stupid if you might even say so, but hear us out okay?” she pleads.

she's making it hard for you to say no, so the only thing you can do is lean against your doorframe and listen to her.

(what other choice do you even have when veritas is shooting burning stares right through you.)

jelena sighs embarrassedly. “aventurine invited us out to drink today, i’ve — no, we have found it suspicious and weird right off the bat, but he insisted and the tab was on him so it would've been rude not to go.”

“well, our instincts were right because he kept mourning and babbling our ears off about how he'd be drinking this glass of wine with you on your guys' anniversary today instead of this bar,” jelena begins before taking a small pause as if contemplating what to tell you next.

her eyes take the shape of crescent moons and she proceeds to press her lips into a strained smile before continuing. “it was kinda endearing to watch at the beginning but over time it became unbearable,” she murmured more to herself than to you.

you can only try to imagine the scene. aventurine with red-tinted ears and a flushed face babbling about how he misses you.

great, how dreamy.

veritas coughs to bring the attention to him, snapping you out of your thoughts “well, after that he fell flat onto the counter and we thought that he had suddenly fainted,” he adds. “until he then started whining about how he wanted to go home. so here we are.”

now you're just confused. now, why is he here again?

“how does home refer to my place now? his place is or at least was much bigger than mine,” you scoff skeptically before realizing that that have might come over as rude. “sorry, i’m just confused and don't see any connections here. also, how'd you know where i live oh, and my number?”

jelena mutters out a small it's fine and veritas only sighs. “so you see, we tried to drive him back to his place but when we arrived he started complaining that he wants to go home — you.”

“he started pulling out his phone and set your address on the GPS before demanding or well ordering us to drive him to your place,” he lets out an exasperated sigh upon explaining.

“as for your number, due to his phone still being on we went through his contact list and found you right on top — saved at his emergency contact. endearing, really, ” veritas remarks sarcastically.

you're surprised — pleasantly surprised. aventurine still thinks of you?

“correction: i was the one who drove.” jelena suddenly objected as she threw veritas a heavy side-eye.

“yes, but it's still us — we were the ones who brought him here and drove together to this place despite you being behind the wheel, jelena,” veritas scoffs.

“in whose car did he purge into? correct, mine. my whole car reeks of vomit now,” jelena shudders upon remembering the sight of aventurine throwing up.

“well yes but that doesn't change the fact tha-” veritas isn't able to finish his sentence, you stop him from doing so. interrupting his complaint with one of your own.

“okay, if bickering is the only thing the both of you came here for, i don't wanna hear it. i’ll take him in, but just for tonight, is that clear?” your offer is simple. you take care of aventurine and they stop their banter so you can continue sleeping.

it honestly benefits them more than it benefits you.

“a nice compromise which went easier than i thought.” jelena’s face lightens up with a triumphant smile. “we'll leave him in your care then.”

they dump aventurine onto you and he slightly topples before landing in your arms, head buried in the crook of your neck and arms tangled over your shoulders.

his warm breath fans over your neck and the close proximity makes you stiffen in place. it's not like you haven't felt this sensation before, but this time it's under different circumstances.

it's not the same as back then.

as soon as they leave aventurine in your care they bid their goodbye and leave.

aventurine’s flushed cheeks gleam pink in the warm light, his breath tickles the exposed skin on your collarbone which almost makes you drop him.

but your arms cling onto him. grip firm and steady as you claw your hands over his clothed back, steadily holding onto him as if scared that once you lose hold of him, he'll slip out of your grasp (once more.)

anxiety cowers at you like a child who's lost their parents and is helplessly seeking for them in a crowd of people.

hand scarily empty as its eyes sway through the sea of people, blurred faces who will never hold one’s hand like your parents once did.

despite meeting several people who could hold your hand, whisper sweet nothings into your ear — love you; teach you what love is.

his hand is the only one you'd wrap yours around, no matter the stains and scars it leaves.

you continue to cling to him — you always did.

well, this is certainly going to be a fun night to remember.

———————

golden rays of sunshine that beam with warmth seep through the curtains and proceed to bathe aventurine’s lying figure in the warm essence.

the sensation tickles his skin and he lets out a muffled groan, shutting his eyes several times before eventually indulging in the morning tenderness. slowly (and after many attempts) his lilac eyes are used to the brightness.

he’d be lying if he said that being engulfed in the luminous light wasn’t overwhelming — especially as someone who’s gotten it taken away early on and has only later been introduced to it once again.

(although the sparkle that once resided in his eyes was long gone, there was no longer a child whose eyes once glimmered in joy upon being caressed by the sunlight.)

being embraced by the warmth and its radiating light, he can’t help but feel like a trapped and helpless stage actor. one who despite fleeing and running away, continuously gets followed by the spotlight, thus standing in the limelight and having to perform a show for the people who are seated together in the rows below.

regardless of the people watching him, applauding for him, praising him, he feels utterly empty — empty and alone.

although there were people to assist him on stage, co-workers around him who offered help which he reluctantly also somewhat relived accepted.

the emptiness that houses within him remains.

(perhaps he has become so accustomed to the feeling of being alone that it has been a while since he’s ever felt lonely.)

as soon as his eyes have adjusted to the brightness of his surroundings, they widen in shock.

this surely must be a dream, right? he promised himself that he’d never return to this place despite longing to see it you again.

his eyes quickly flicker around the room in confusion. how’d he get here? this wasn’t his room or well it technically was. it’s the room he once shared with you.

it’s no wonder he’s slept this well.

his once sleepless nights which were haunted by nightmares and resulted in hourless sessions of just staring at his ceiling, eyes trailing after the fan as it spun around in circles until the chirping of the birds outside awakened him, turned into calm nights after moving together with you.

a cloud of nostalgia fogs his mind as he recalls how you never understood why he insisted on moving into your apartment despite his being much bigger. (he supposes his place never gave him that certain sense of belonging that he sought after.)

aventurine’s eyes dart through your room to search for any changes that might have occurred.

the books you always read before going to sleep (sometimes even reading him a snippet of the part where you’re currently at) are still messily stapled on your nightstand.

he smiles fondly before continuing his search, eyes wandering through the room and halting as he sees all the jewelry he’s bought for you, all tidily arranged on your vanity.

which contrasts with all the sticky notes that are loosely hanging off your mirror and the trinkets he's brought you from other planets that are messily splayed out on your desk.

his pink eyes pause as he catches sight of the chair next to the bed. his clothes that you “borrowed” (he always found it endearing how you walked around in his clothes as if you owned them — not like he minded) once and never gave back even after the breakup, sit neatly folded on the white chair next to your bed.

everything is kept in place and remains the same as before: the books, the trinkets, the jewelry, and well.

his eyes drift from the chair down to his body. you changed his clothes for him.

the uneasiness that lingers in his chest slightly melts away, slowly and torturously like wax dripping off a candle.

you didn’t throw the things he gifted you away.

aventurine slips out of the covers that were once his, the sheets slightly rustle and leave behind creases as he sits at the edge of your bed. with the amount of force that aventurine uses to press his elbows against his knees it almost feels like daggers piercing into his flesh, and with his head buried between the palms of his hands, he can only laugh — a mocking grin plasters itself on aventurine’s face.

it’s ridiculous, almost pathetic the way he’s relieved. he has no right to feel so after being the one who suggested the breakup.

he doesn’t even understand how he ended up here. jelena and veritas insisted on bringing him home, so why’s he here? everything from the former night is mushed up and blurry, he doesn’t recall the reason why he was brought here.

neither does he understand why you offered him a place to stay, he feels like a dirty pup shamelessly returning to its owner after choosing to abandon them.

aventurine sighs before slipping into the pair of clothes that have remained untouched in the past few minutes. the shirt is a bit bigger than expected and the pants hang loosely off his hips but the scent remained the same. from the moment he let you borrow his clothes to now, the present the smell is one he’s all too acquainted with — his own.

the only thing that he can picture at this moment is his clothes rotting in the depths of your closet, long forgotten as they get engulfed by the scent of your clothes.

his hands are hidden in the pockets of the pair of pants to conceal the way they’re trembling, fingers itching as they anxiously tap against his thigh.

he’s nothing but a coward.

he takes a deep breath before getting up, the goosebumps that prickle on his skin, the clenching of his teeth, and the constant urge to just storm out and leave now — they’re all suffocating him. gnawing at his skin like a rabid animal chewing the remaining flesh of a dead body.

as he enters the living room, his coat draped over the chair he’s standing in front of and you are the first things he spots.

(as if you haven’t occupied his mind the entire time whilst being away from you — there isn’t a single day in his entire life where he doesn’t mourn after people. it’s pathetic, really, the way nostalgia torments him, but he’s a man with nothing on his hands other than the scars of the past. so what other choice does he have?)

you look up from your phone, eyes flickering around the small room before landing on the end of the dining table but aventurine’s eyes are glued to the neatly wrapped flower bouquet lying in the middle of the desk, perfectly lying there on the white table cloth.

nausea bubbles in his stomach. have you already moved on? he shouldn’t care — he’s not supposed to care, but he can’t help it.

he exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding in and a wave of relief washes over him, he snaps out of his thoughts and follows your gaze, and only then does he notice the plate of assorted fruits and the bowl of steaming soup, standing on your dining table.

as if noticing his hesitance you reluctantly speak up. “you don’t have to eat if you don’t want to, i won’t force you to,” the smile you give him is somewhat strained and the way your eyes quickly fly down his body doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

his eyes widen in surprise and his immediate response to that is to quickly seat himself on the chair. “no..it’s fine,” aventurine gulps. “no need to check me out either. i’ve always liked your homecooked meals a lot, no?” he chuckles as if trying to throw a joke into the room that’ll lift the tense mood that he’s created.

(he hopes that now his body is at least somehow concealed by the table so you won’t have to stare at him any longer. he’s not worth looking at.)

“thank you for the food,” he mumbles under his breath and if you hear it you don’t acknowledge it. aventurine stares down at the food, contemplating what to do. he picks up the metal spoon lying next to it and dips it into the soup.

breathe in, breathe out.

breathe in, breathe out — you’ll be fine.

aventurine continues to stir the soup inside the bowl, sometimes lifting its contents only to let it droop down into the soup again. “so, mind telling me what happened yesterday?”

your eyes lock from across the table and you give him a deadpan expression. “you seriously don’t remember?” the little smirk that quirks at your lips is contagious and he can’t help but smile a bit himself.

“well obviously not, when i’m asking,” he remarks back sarcastically.

he missed bickering with you. it felt so familiar, so nostalgic — so right.

you put your phone down on the table and start explaining. “well to put it short, your colleagues, jelena and veritas if i recall correctly, brought you here because you were drunk since you kept whining about wanting to go home and well considering me as your home.”

oh.

“right and as soon as i brought you into my place you purged all over your clothes and my floor” you quickly add. “but don’t worry i washed it for you, it’s behind you.”

“ah really? how rude of me,” he utters bashfully. “apologies then, as compensation, i’ll head home now and send some credits to your bank account although perhaps that might not be a good idea. seeing your partner’s ex (the word lies bitter on his tongue) still lurking around in their home and even sending them credits — that’d be shameless of me. apologies.”

you let out a small laugh that slightly lifts the uneasiness that has been resting on his shoulders. “aventurine, what are you even talking about?” although you seem to find fun in this, your voice is filled with confusion.

the metal spoon he has been firmly gripping for the past few minutes sags against the bowl as aventurine points at the flower bouquet sitting on the neat tablecloth. “the flowers,” he murmurs to himself more than to you.

“oh,” you laugh. “i bought them for myself,” you admit sheepishly before getting up to unwrap the bouquet, revealing a beautiful arrangement of colorful flowers.

you quickly scurry into the kitchen to fill up a vase with water before gracefully setting the flowers down into the now with water-filled vase. “they’re pretty, aren’t they?” you admire the flowers with a smile on your face. “very pretty indeed.” aventurine smiles as his gaze is focused on you.

only then as you rearrange the flowers, making sure that they won’t sag over the rim of the vase, he notices the ring you’re wearing. a promise ring.

aventurine blinks a few times to assure himself that he wasn’t dreaming, but he’d recognize this ring everywhere. how could he not when it’s the same ring that adorns his ring finger?

“is there any particular reason you kept the jewelry i gifted you?” his gaze drifts to the ring that is in full display and which is glowing under your living room light.

your eyes that were focusing on the flowers just now, suddenly look down to peek at the ring. “well, it’d be a shame to throw it away. it was expensive after all,” you express truthfully.

“but you also kept the sticky notes i wrote for you every morning in your room — you kept everything i gifted you. the pressed flower bookmarks, the shitty handmade bracelet, my clothes — everything,” he notes.

your response is nothing but short. “oh, uh yeah.”

why? he wants to ask but he knows that trying to force an answer out of you is no good, if you don’t want to respond you needn’t.

“i guess i missed having you around. the things you got me served me as a reminder that you're somehow still with me,” despite your admission being no louder than a whisper it clearly reaches aventurine’s ears.

but he’s in no position to tease you — he’s way too stunned for that, as if not being able to believe your words.

he feels like a small child who discovers that the fables and tales adults tell aren’t real, that those were made-up stories with made-up people which he so desperately tries to deny.

“i see,” he mumbles. “yeah,” you nod your head and look away.

the awkward silence that follows is unbearable — it’s killing him.

to know that you still think about him, he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t at least the tiniest bit happy but he also knows that it’s ironic and that he shouldn’t feel like this.

as if you’re able to read his mind you snap him out of his thoughts with a mere question. “aventurine, what’s on your mind?”

“you always knew me too well for my own liking,” he chuckles in defeat, and in return, you can only smile.

“but, i suppose, i’m just..relieved?” he admits while staring down at the untouched soup that reflects his pleased expression.

“relieved about what exactly?” you ask curiously, head tilted to the side as you await his response. “relieved that i’m not the only one who thinks of the other,” he smiles, letting out a small sigh when doing so.

“so you were jealous or what?” you jokingly scoff. the smirk on your lips is mischievous, but your eyes deceive you. they’re soft as they stare down at him.

“don’t ask questions to which you already know the answers to.”

END NOTE: as yall can tell i seem to enjoy writing aventurine and alcohol together (ref. wyws & ttol) does the "a" in aventurine atp stand for angst or alcohol...(both) /lh

#—stellaronhvnters.#felis staple of books ⋆·˚ ༘ *#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #aventurine x reader #honkai star rail fluff #aventurine fluff #hsr fluff #aventurine x you #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you #aventurine angst

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