#is there a ship name yet? Fanfics? If so | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

precious-little-scoundrel · 8 months

Text

Masters of the Air Fanfic

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

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

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

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

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

Word count: a monstrous 12k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Suggestions” was Egan’s term for regulations.

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

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

“-I don’t have the authority-“

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

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

-Americans and their nicknames.

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Damn.” he swore, playing at dejection.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And now the texas girl has-“

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

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

“Well, no-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s that?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

“To the Poles?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Other performances. For instance, in bed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“-Do I what?” you prodded softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was hugging you, you realized with delayed surprise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess that’s true.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A cherub.” he repeated in disbelief.

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

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

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

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

“None.”

“I’m terribly sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Only to kiss you.

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

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

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

“Not Wordsworth!” Harry clarified.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you’d have only known.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There are things of which I may not speak;

There are dreams that cannot die;

There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,

And bring a pallor into the cheek,

And a mist before the eye.

And the words of that fatal song

Come over me like a chill:—

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

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

Strange to me now are the forms I meet

When I visit the dear old town;

But the native air is pure and sweet,

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

As they balance up and down,

Are singing the beautiful song,

Are sighing and whispering still:—

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.” he agreed miserably.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess you did.” you agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No?”

“No.”

“So where’d they go?” Buck asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I’m yours.” he concluded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, Buck?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

825 notes · View notes

youhavelessproof · 2 months

Text

reminder that even if you don't ship batcest you should be upset with DC sanitizing their found families. 🩵

if you like fanfic where the Batfamily is a perfect loving family with no issues, more power to you, but you should still be upset about the current state in canon. because liking something in fanfic is not the same as liking something in canon.

story potential is actively being taken away from us because no one is allowed to have complex feelings about each other. Dick and Bruce aren't allowed their impossible to name relationship, Dick and Jason aren't allowed their love/hate relationship, Dick and Cass aren't allowed to have mutual but different negative feelings about each other, Dick and Babs' relationship has to be squeaky clean, etc. etc.

what's the point of having a group of characters to focus on if they're never allowed to have lasting conflict?

found family should never be forced to follow the heteronormative nuclear family propaganda we've all been fed and yet here we are. Bruce doesn't need to be Dick's dad for it to be understood that Bruce helped form Dick into who he is today. Dick and Jason don't need to be strictly brothers for them to be family. there is more to family than strict labels. especially in the context of queer history.

there is nothing wrong with liking fanon, but letting it be applied to canon without a second thought isn't good for anyone. I promise you that even if you're enjoying this now, it will be detrimental for canon stories.

and before you think to yourself that you don't care about canon anyway, yes you do. these characters wouldn't exist in fanon if not for the fact that canon existed. you might not have read a single comic in your life and never plan to, but you should still care because comics are the only reason you have these characters to begin with.

I have so many more thoughts but I'll end with this. Dick especially will never fit into a picture perfect family according to nuclear family standards because, in his own words, "Nightwing belongs to two families." (he's talking about the Titans here fyi. because the Titans are also family. family that is constantly dating each other.)

#yes this in relation to the batfamily ships poll #but is also a general statement that I stand by #the other found families are suffering this too but they're not my wheelhouse so I don't feel comfortable speaking on them with authority #batcest #moon's ship talk #this isn't really ship talk but it's not really rambles so #whatever #jaydick #dickjay

241 notes · View notes

cinnbar-bun · 8 months

Text

Straw Hats- Reversed AU HCs

AU: In which YOU are the character of a very famous franchise, and they are regular people who are fans of your series.

Note: GN!Reader, crack, very unserious

Luffy

Thinks you’re neat! Super cool!

People think he doesn’t really “get” you and just likes you for your awesome powers and/or cool appearance, but he drops like an innocent yet profound tidbit about you that shows he really is thinking of you.

Honestly probably only has a bootleg figure of you courtesy of Ace. It’s goofy as hell but he adores it.

Maybe has one of those printed graphic tees.

Ace and Sabo joke about his love for you but then Luffy throws his slippers at them.

If he sees anything with you on it, he’s just gushing over it.

Loves finding funny comics with you online.

Zoro

Guy who likes you for your powers.

The same guy who is also a weeb in front of the mirror and tries to replicate your awesome moves.

Help his roommates caught him-

I think he’d get those compression shirts/shorts with you or a symbol of yours for when he works out.

Also the guy who’s working out to your voice like those ASMR videos so he can pretend you’re praising him and congratulating him.

Gets into fights with Sanji about who’s the bigger fan.

I don’t see Zoro as the type to “collect” things, but he’d probably have a keychain of you around his belt or something as a good luck charm.

Might even have an action and poseable figure of you like a Figma.

Nami

Likes you lots, but also recognizes your merch potential.

Works alongside Usopp to produce fan merch or zines for you to make money.

Has a unique piece of jewelry with your symbol/iconography to wear.

She’s not wearing “obvious” for merch, because she just isn’t about that.

Probably has a few very expensive figures of yours that are special edition or anniversary editions that she managed to get at a steep discount.

Reads a bit of fanfic but tends to mostly peruse fanart of you.

Tends to have multiple ships for you- she doesn’t really favor one over the other she just thinks they’re interesting.

Likes to do cosplays of your fits, though. She’s gotten very popular for her lovely cosplays. She tends to handmake most of her cosplays, but Usopp and Franky add to the amazing accessories.

Plays the gacha game for your series, and her amazing luck means she gets practically all your units easily.

Usopp

The artist of the group who has seen and had to do heinous things for a commission.

Unlike the others, he IS making a self insert and HE IS DOING ART AND COMICS WITH YOU AND HIM AS THE MAIN COUPLE!

Has made a name for himself of making doujins and art for you. His store has seen lots of purchases for his doujins.

Nami basically is his account manager and has made him raise commission prices many times in order to pay their rent and so he can realize how valued his work is.

He mostly just posts his work but does like answering questions from fans and posting about how awesome you looked in the new episode.

Always making art and stories from you.

Has done fanfiction for you but it’s mostly with his OC/SI and his artwork tends to be more well-known.

Always does special drawings for your birthday and various holidays.

Plays the gacha and has bad luck so he has to whale for your unit. He insists he prefers just regular console or PC gaming instead of gacha.

Sanji

Number one fan, he WILL get into arguments about you and inject you into everything.

All your figures, all your merch, all of it in one specific room dedicated to you. Sanji even has a lifesize figure of you in a cool/cute pose he religiously cleans (and prays to ngl) every day because AINT NO WAY HIS LOVE IS GOING TO GET A SPECK OF DUST ON THEM!!

His work as a chef makes him busy, but he likes to wear small things of you like a brooch or something on his uniform to cheer him up through the day.

Makes videos cooking things you cooked or dishes you liked within the series.

He sometimes shows off his collection and Zoro calls him a loser and they get into fights in the comments.

Commissions art of you (probably Usopp) to hang up in the (Y/n) room.

I feel like he would do a persona/self-insert but also I feel like he’d be like no!!!! I cannot sully my beloved like that!!! So he focuses on just you.

Blocks people who are fans of you and does not like shipping anyone with you, hell no his mellorine is HIS!!!

Has done fanfic, mostly self-insert, and that’s pretty much all he reads. No ships.

Robin

“Oh, (Y/n)? Yes, they are an interesting character. I like them.”

[1 Million word count fic series, tagged: slow burn, character exploration, heavy angst, found family, Book 4 of 7]

“I just think they’re neat.”

Probably the mother fic writer for you and/or one of your ships.

Doesn’t socialize much online, just tends to post and scroll through the fics for you and answers comments under her fic.

Likes to support her fellow creators so she does look into the art and projects other fans have made.

Does try to create her own aesthetics for her blog and fics, but sometimes she just commissions Usopp to make her things for her fics to fit her vision.

Is really into unique and often abstract or “dark” art of you.

Yes you’re her favorite character, yes she will still make you suffer in her fics and art for the ~development~.

It’s a running gag with her peers where they ask her how she will torture them next.

She finds the Nendoroids of you are quite cute, so she bought one to go on her desk.

Franky

Franky likes making garage set figures of you.

He’s also a bit of a dork, so he will often make you pose with a super sentai outfit or large gundam robots (since they’re also a part of his crafting hobby).

Makes videos showing off the new figures he made of you.

He loves you cuz you’re his hero, you just amaze him!

Printed a photo of the art your creator did where you guys were all dressed like super heroes or something- suuuuppper up his alley and he loved seeing it.

He likes collecting the manga/comics for your series and keeps them on his personal shelf.

Franky also helps Nami/others with specific cosplay accessories. Franky is known for his craftsmanship, so he’s made plenty of cosplay gear for others that are above and beyond.

Him and Usopp have collabed to create the original figures of you that Franky adores.

Does those videos where he takes cheaper/smaller figures of you and adds to the base and design to make it more “epic”.

What the hell is “fanfiction”?

Brook

Goes by the username “Soul King” and uploads his covers of your franchise’s music.

He really loves you though so he’s often rocking your shirts while he’s recording the music.

He does a lot of different genres for your theme covers- jazz, heavy metal, lofi, piano, music box- he’s done em all.

Whenever he’s not recording covers of his music and does streams, he very proudly shows his figure of you and a poster he has hanging up on his wall.

Also plays the gacha game, has pretty good luck but never with your units.

“Wow! 5 Sugo-rares! Who are they- GOD DAMN IT IT’S JUST THE OTHERS!!! RATE UP IS A LIE!!!”

Brook is a menace though and I’m gonna keep that under wraps for various reasons.

Maybe in the future I might explain further.

Jinbei

Jinbei is classy, unlike many of the others here (we will not name names).

He’s more likely to “make” his own merchandise for you.

Handmade doll with a lovingly sewn kimono, for example.

Fancy tea set that is painted with your symbols but it’s so subtle and chic that some of his viewers don’t even realize it’s from some random franchise he likes.

He prides himself on his traditional and handmade crafts and you’re just an avenue to experiment with them.

He likes to design the kimonos and outfits with you in mind and the season. He shows the process of creating it in these calm and quiet BTS videos.

Really they are beautiful and the amount of love and skillmanship put into the work he does is fantastic, it’s awe inspiring.

Does not know what a fanfic, a gacha, or what a “fan edit” is. He’s an old man he’s got things to do, man.

459 notes · View notes

additiva · 20 days

Note

can u rec some lestappen fanfics pleaseee i feel like i’ve read everything and ur an amazing writer so i trust ur taste (even ones you haven’t read and want to read will do) tyy

Ooh I love this. Also that's so lovely thank you 🤍❤️

Lestappen Fic Rec List

Below the cut.

Ok not an exhaustive list, but here are the ones I remember LOVING.

Some are well known, some less so.

I can't rec any I haven't read yet sorry I'm super picky about the writing style, which you don't know until you get into the fic.

I've tagged some authors, some I couldn't remember their Tumblr names even though I follow them. I'll try to remember to tag them later, but also feel free to do so, if you know them.

Please leave kudos and comment on these fic if you check them out 🤍

I'll try to remember to update the list in future if I can.

Every Other Sunday by Anney

Obviously

Home (is wherever I'm with you) by actparci

Charles leaves Ferrari. There's a million of these, and this is my favourite.

Grapefruit Mignonette by slapshots

Restaurant au. The best of the trope in my opinion though the others are also good.

Set My Midnight Sorrow Free by PrincessElectra

-LOVE this series. Ugh. NOT an au.

Violent delights by grandprix

-ABO. Adore this series esp the second one.

Straight Lines by @alphatinies

Yes. Can't describe just read.

Blood Soaked Gown by sixteenthirtythree

ABO. Friends w benefits. Max is retiring and wants Charles to take his Red Bull seat. Adore it.

Canine teeth in the side of my neck by mintchocolatechip97

Silly! Biting. Don't look directly at me.

If I had words by @formula-fun

ABO. Charles has a miscarriage. Don't let the pregnancy themes scare you, it's perfect. The dynamics are 🫠 I adore this Max 😖

Called to the devil and the devil said hey by @creabirds

Yes. Sticks in my brain like glue.

A life in your shape by weiwuxian

- Max is Batman. This bit, I'll never forget:

But it was what made it fun — being taunted and kissed in the same breath. To fight and fuck and feel worshiped the whole time.

Top of the world (looking down on creation) by eaurouge-sangnoir

Sex worker Charles, virgin Max. 😖

Breathe You In (Like a Vapour) by @fabbyf1

🌶️🌶️❤️❤️

I'll Be Right Beside You by @fabbyf1

Max has amnesia. Charles is perfect.

Curious by LaurawritingF1

Charles is bicurious. Max is happy to help.

Heart Out series by @drivestraight

Girl!Max. Charles is bad at sex, but for some reason Max keeps doing it with him. Underrated. One of my fave series ever. Charles is a simp. He cannot handle Max, but he tries anyway, and I LOVE him.

Panem et circenses by Anney

SO underrated wow. Dystopian future of F1 fic, and like. Wow. Perfect. Wow.

Dirtbag, baby by mondaycore

All of their lestappen. Again, don't look directly at me. Look at the fic instead.

The Skirt by Anonymous

Silly! And short. But I love it.

Says he's going to teach me what fast is by @foggystars

Their lestappen are great but actually this Charlos one is my fave 🤌

And these are not Lestappen. They're Maxiel primarily, which I don't seek out in my life but they're SO perfect it makes me sick. I think anyone would enjoy them. The writing is just perfect.

To the Victor Belong The Spoils by @powerful-owl

Hunger Games AU. Wow the writing. The characterisations. Wow. It's all perfect. Wow. Please read it. You'll love it.

Steal the air out of my lungs by nahco3

Resident doctor au. Both accurate and compelling. Max is so dear to me. And Lewis. Love of my life, ugh.

Leave this blue neighbourhood series by tiredtiredsharl

This whole series I must've read 20 times. Multi-ship, though not Lestappen. Found family. It heals me with every word, it's just 😖😖❤️❤️.

Okay that's it for now. Lmk what you think.

#lestappen #fic #ao3 #fic rec #rec list

201 notes · View notes

junkissed · 1 year

Text

squeaky clean

member — bf!seungcheol x bf!mingyu x reader genre — smut, fluff/comfort, poly relationship (see warnings!) word count — 2.7k synopsis — after a long day, a nice relaxing bubble bath is exactly what you need, and your boyfriends are more than willing to help you unwind. good thing your bathtub is big enough for three. smut warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, unprotected sex, bathtub sex (this is fake. fiction. made up. do NOT have sex in soapy water), slight mxm (cheol gives gyu a handjob), kissing (reader x cheol & reader x gyu only, no cheol x gyu) nicknames (pretty girl, angel, baby, sweetheart, etc. you know the drill; gyu is called puppy once or twice but not in a pet play way), soft dom!cheol, gyu & reader are mainly sub leaning, lots of dirty talk & praise, a little bit of voyeurism from cheol but it's soft (you'll see) notes — this is a poly fic! meaning all three of them are in a relationship, meaning all three of them are having sex, meaning yes there is a little bit of mxm in this. i am in no way trying to ship them or imply anything about them, this is just for fun and because i believe poly relationships also deserve representation in fanfics. if you're not comfortable with that please feel free to skip this fic! you are the one responsible for what you choose to read, and i encourage you to read the warnings first so you have a sense of what happens. i still do not write solely mxm and i probably won't do fics like this often; this is very different from my usual content but i'm branching out a bit and trying new things!! feedback, asks, and reblogs are always super super appreciated :) (also ps this is a special present for @duhnova and @onlymingyus i hope you like it !!)

when mingyu and seungcheol get home from work, they're surprised to find you laying across the couch, arms hanging over the side and your face smashed against a pillow.

immediately cheol walks over and sits on the couch beside you, putting the back of his hand against your forehead with worry. "baby, what's wrong? are you feeling sick?"

"just tired," you sigh. "i think i need a nap, maybe." he starts to stand up, offering to get the thermometer to take your temperature and make sure you don’t have a fever, and he pouts when you tell him you’re not sick.

"have you showered yet? i'll make dinner," mingyu offers, already slipping his jacket off and starting for the kitchen.

"no, not yet." you sit up and wince, rubbing your neck. "i'll have to do it in the morning."

"don't you have a meeting tomorrow morning, though?"

you groan, remembering that your schedule tomorrow will be just as busy, if not more, than today. "then i'll wake up extra early, i guess."

cheol glances at mingyu, exchanging a look with his partner. "why don't you take a bath?" he suggests after a pause. "we'll get it all ready for you so you don't have to worry about a thing. you can have a nice, relaxing bubble bath, and you'll sleep so good afterwards."

"mm, that does sound nice," you concede, leaning back against the back of the couch. "alright, fine."

cheol stands up, putting his hand on your shoulder. “we’ll let you know when everything’s ready. for now, you just sit and relax.” you nod, and he walks away out of your view and waves his hand at mingyu, motioning for him to follow him to the bathroom.

a while later you hear your name being called, and you pull yourself off of the couch and follow the sound of mingyu's voice down the hall.

when you walk in, cheol is sitting on the edge of the bathtub and mingyu stands at the sink. as promised, the tub is filled with thick bubbles, the sweet scent of vanilla and peach soap filling the room.

"all ready for you," mingyu says with a grin, and as you step towards him to kiss him he wraps his arms around you, drawing you closer as he deepens the kiss. you sigh against him and relax into his hold for a moment, letting him hold you up. it's a soft, slow moment, and when you finally break apart it leaves your insides feeling warm.

as you slide your shorts down to your ankles, you can almost see the bulge in his jeans that he casually tries to hide with his hands, and your stomach flutters and your cheeks warm at the sight. but before you can say anything about it cheol motions you to come closer, pointing at the bathtub. "come make sure the water's the right temperature," he says, directed at you though his eyes are locked with mingyu's behind you, a wordless conversation between them.

you cross the room, feeling every bit as exposed as you are and suddenly very aware of the fact that you're the only one in the room that's half naked.

dipping your hand into the water, you instinctively shudder at the warmth on your fingertips. it's perfect, as usual, and you pull your hand out, wiping the wetness on your bare leg. "just right," you say, and he smiles, leaning over from the edge of the tub to kiss you.

out of nowhere it crosses your mind that seungcheol must be able to taste mingyu on your lips, and you try to hold back a moan at the thought but it escapes you too quickly, a strangled breath against his mouth that's too quiet for mingyu to have heard but more than loud enough for cheol to notice.

you pull away, about to pretend that didn't happen, but the look on your boyfriend's face means you aren't getting out of this that easily. cheol raises his eyebrows and you turn your head to glance at mingyu, who is still leaning against the counter, trying very hard to be casual and draw attention away from his obvious erection.

"it's okay, angel," cheol whispers, nodding his head over at mingyu. "go ask him. i know you need something, don't you, my pretty girl?"

you stay quiet but nod, and with a smile cheol kisses you once more before you turn and walk back over to mingyu. you tuck your arms behind his back, holding him against your body. "will you… join me, gyu?" you ask, looking up at him through your lashes as you tug at the hem of his shirt.

he attempts to stifle a groan, his hands ghosting just inches above your bare back as if he's holding himself back from touching without your permission. "i’d like that," he says finally, trying not to appear too eager, though his body language speaks volumes.

"yes, please," you answer, then turn to look behind you again. "but only if cheollie joins us, too."

cheol laughs, already pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor with your pile of clothes. "fine by me."

with the two of them following close behind, you finally strip out of the last of your clothes, leaving your bra and panties at the foot of the tub as you climb into the water. as soon as your skin dips beneath the bubbly surface you let out a long sigh, sliding lower and lower until your whole body is submerged up to your neck.

it’s only been a few seconds since you’ve gotten in the bath, but you can already feel the stress melting away. but as you watch mingyu walking towards you, nearly tripping over his own feet in his rush to get out of his pants, you’re reminded that the heat between your legs isn’t just from the water temperature.

at your nod mingyu climbs in after you, soapy water sploshing out of the tub as he sinks down in front of you. his long legs get stuck for a second, but he soon adjusts so he’s straddling you, bent knees poking up above the layer of bubbles.

making sure everything in the house was big enough for three was one of seungcheol’s priorities back when you’d moved in together, and as he watches mingyu giggle and splash water at you, he’s glad he decided on the extra large bathtub, too.

he waits a moment before he joins the two of you, studying the way you sit with gyu and the smiles that light up both of your faces. you’re the two most important people in his life, and he loves watching you interact with each other, the sweetness bubbling up more than any bath soap could ever do.

but cheol’s thoughts are quickly interrupted when your whispered talk with mingyu suddenly turns into heated kisses, the sound of your airy moans drawing his attention to the soap suds running down your chest. leaning forward, mingyu takes one of your breasts into mouth and you sigh, leaning against the edge of the tub and arching your back into him.

seungcheol gently pushes you to sit up as he finally gets into the tub behind you, and you rest your back against his chest as mingyu continues to suck at your breasts. you can feel cheol's hard cock pressed against your ass, but you don't think about it for more than a few seconds because immediately one of his hands slides around your hips, trailing down your body beneath the bubbly surface until his fingers find your clit, making you jump as your breath catches in your throat. his other hand curls around your chest, squeezing your other breast in his palm.

you wiggle around in their grasp, almost overwhelmed by all the attention from your boyfriends, but the feeling is so comfortable that you can't help but relax back into the water, giving up your control. it doesn’t happen too often, but the nights when the both of them are focused on pampering you are some of your favorite, allowing you to shut your brain off for a while they take the lead.

mingyu coos as you close your eyes, rolling your head back against seungcheol's shoulder. "that's it, sweetheart."

"let us take care of you, pretty girl," cheol adds, twisting your nipple between his fingers and drawing a soft moan from your lips.

cheol moves his fingers from your clit to spread your folds apart, and when he finally inserts his finger you can already feel yourself clenching down around him. you whimper out his name, reaching out to grab onto mingyu's shoulders as he begins to curl the tip of his finger just right against your walls. mingyu sits up, changing his position only so he can move his teeth up your neck, grazing them against every inch of skin and biting and sucking to make sure you're completely marked up.

you're sure your nails must be leaving marks on mingyu's skin as well, from how tightly you're gripping onto his broad shoulders, but if he notices he doesn't say anything; he just continues moving his mouth up and down your neck and collarbones, little whines escaping him all the while.

"you want him or me tonight, baby?" cheol asks, his fingers still stroking your clit. "or both of us? whatever you want, we're all about you tonight."

absently mingyu starts to grind down on your leg, rocking his hips back and forth along your thigh and it distracts you from whatever you were about to answer. "gyu, first…" you moan, your hands sliding down his soapy body to grab at his hips. "please—"

"then gyu it is, baby," seungcheol whispers affirmatively, his cheek pressed against yours as he tucks your wet hair behind your ear. "feel how hard he is for us? for you? he's all yours tonight, angel, tell him what you need."

"need you to– fuck me, gyu," you gasp out, trying and failing to stop his hips from moving. all three of you are more than familiar with how sensitive he is, and it wouldn't take much for him to cum just from grinding on your leg and whimpering like a needy puppy, but he's too strong for you to be able to stop him. "gyu, please, want you inside."

"listen to how prettily she begs for you, puppy," cheol says, and he moves his fingers out of you to rest on mingyu's thigh as you whine at the loss. "better not leave her empty for long, you know how bratty she gets…"

normally you would have something bratty to say in response, but you're so exhausted you don't have it in you to talk back. "please, need you, gyu," you repeat pitifully, already so gone that you can't think of anything you want more than to be stuffed full of cock and fucked into oblivion.

at your words mingyu stops moving his hips with a groan, leaning forward to smash his lips against yours. you can vaguely feel cheol kissing at the side of your temple, but mingyu's ferocity and passion makes it hard to think about anything except how good it feels to have his tongue in your mouth, teeth clacking together with the force of his kisses.

impatiently you slide your hands down from mingyu's waist, wrapping your fingers around his girthy cock. he groans into your mouth, pulling away sharply to catch his breath as you begin to line up the tip with your hole, eager to feel his cock hug your walls.

but before you can push him inside you, you feel cheol's hand on top of yours, gently prying your fingers away. beneath the water he runs his fingers along the length of mingyu's cock, and the other man shivers at the feeling. your hands were so small compared to cheol's, and his touch was much rougher than your gentle grip.

slowly at first seungcheol begins to move his hand up and down, gradually beginning to increase his pace in time with mingyu's panted breaths.

you can barely keep up with what's happening in the water just inches above your cunt, too intently focused on watching the way mingyu's face contorts in pleasure with each skilled flick of cheol's wrist. in fact you don't even mind watching and waiting, the intimate act between them more than enough to satisfy you.

but you can tell mingyu is getting close by the way his eyes squeeze shut and his shoulders tense up, and you know cheol can tell, too, because he slowly loosens his grip, making mingyu whine in frustration.

"don't forget about our little angel, gyu," cheol hums, letting go completely except for a single finger that he traces across the thick vein along the top of mingyu’s cock.

he groans but leans forward to begin kissing your neck again, his lips trailing along your jaw as you thread your fingers through his wet hair.

with mingyu’s cock still in his grasp, cheol angles him at your entrance, and after running the tip through your folds a few times to tease you he finally helps the man push into you, guiding him inch by inch into your throbbing cunt.

all you can do is moan and hold on to anything you can, one hand still in mingyu’s hair and the other gripping cheol’s thigh behind you for support. water pours over the side of the tub as mingyu begins to rock his hips into you, arms and hands and legs spread out in a tangled mess everywhere.

for a moment you start to worry about how you’ll ever be able to clean up the bathroom after this, but the thought is quickly pushed to the back of your mind when you feel cheol’s fingers on your clit once again.

“i know you’re close, baby.” you hear cheol’s low voice speaking into your ear, and your hips jerk at his tone. “so tight and so perfect for our mingyu, making him feel so good. so sweet for us, so perfect…”

with the way cheol’s mumbling praises you would almost have thought he’s the one getting fucked right now, but his words pass right through you, too focused on the sensation building in your core to process what he’s saying.

seconds later you cum with a stifled cry, your eyes wrenched shut as the men on either side of you continue to work you through your orgasm. two pairs of strong arms sandwich you against their chests, the familiar weight that surrounds you a grounding feeling.

the rest of the bath passes by in a haze after mingyu and cheol get out of the tub, leaving you to soak for a little longer and have some time to rest. though the water has already started to go cold and most of the bubbles are long gone, it’s still a very pleasant bath, and by the end of it you’re completely relaxed and ready for a nap.

when you decide you’re done for the night, mingyu lifts you out of the tub and wraps a towel around your shoulders as cheol pulls the plug, the remains of the bath water swirling down the drain with a quiet slurp. both of them help you dry off, exchanging gentle kisses and soft touches until you’re tucked into bed wearing a fresh set of pajamas.

cheol helps you pull the covers up to your chin, the sheets feeling cozy and comfortable against your clean skin. he sits at the edge of the bed, running his hand along your forehead in soothing motions.

“you feel better now, baby?” he hums. “less stressed?”

“mhm. thank you, cheollie,” you reply, letting your eyes fall shut as your tiredness from the day starts to catch up with you. “and mingyu, too. i love you both.”

cheol smiles, leaning over to kiss your forehead as he stands up. “we love you, too.”

> taglist | @wonderfulshinee @noniestars @just-here-to-read-01 @darlingvernon @wonuziex @enhacolor @yourfavoritefreakyhan @dkakapizzaboy @skzzooyaaa @zozojella @rainyjeno @jwnghyuns @uwuheeseungie @miriamxsworld @synthetickitsune @simeonswhore @junhour @foxdaisy @chocolate-cookies @honglynights @limesorbets @98-0603 @fairybinie @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan @ifuckcheol @mingminghao @photographic-girl

> strikethrough means your blog cannot be tagged, please check your visibility settings and make sure they are turned off to ensure i can tag you properly!

> if you want to be notified when i post a new fic, you can join my taglist here!

#1k #kflixnet #k-labels #[📌] — june.writes #mingyu smut #scoups smut #seungcheol smut #cheol smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #mingyu imagines #mingyu scenarios #scoups scenarios #scoups imagines #svt imagines #seventeen imagines

1K notes · View notes

wangxianficfinder · 11 days

Text

In the mood for...

Sep 12th

~*~

1. In the mood for wangxian fics where:

A) Mo Xuanyu and We Wuxian are siblings/besties or any platonic relationship which makes them very close a la siblings (anything goes except fics set in CQL verse)

B) Dragonji AND dragonxian fics (if smutty then bottomxian AND non cql only)

C) werewolf wangxian (if smutty then bottomxian AND non-cql only)

D) childhood friends to lovers/growing up together/wei wuxian grows up in gusu [any AU/universe] (if smutty then bottomxian AND non cql only)

E) Soulmate AU's where elements like soulmate marks, strings, etc or any other obvious signs of having a soulmate exist (if smutty then bottomxian AND non cql only)

F) wangxian age difference fics...how much or less the age difference is doesnt matter (older lwj, if smutty then bottomxian AND non cql only)

G) what if/no war canonverse AUs (if smutty then bottomxian AND non cql only)

Thank you for all you do Mods!! <3 @stellatosparkle

1A)

what builds a home by Stratisphyre (T, 45k, WangXian, MY & WWX, Canon Divergence, Adopted WWX, POV Multiple, warning for JGS behaving exactly as expected, child endangerment, Brother Feels, Minor Character Death, [Podfic] Cold read of "what builds a home" by Stratisphyre by KeriArentikaiPods (KeriArentikai))

1D)

soft-hearted by sarahyyy (G, 6k, wangxian, alternate universe, childhood friends, hurt/comfort, getting together, first kiss, wedding fluff)

When we were small by deliciousblizzardshark (T, 7k, LXC & LQR & LWJ, LQR & WWX, WangXian, LQR & JFM, Modern, Kid Fic, Good Uncle LQR, Neurodivergent LWJ, Baby LWJ, Baby WWX, Parenthood, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, POV LQR, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort)

1E)

🔒 Bright the Day We Met by ereshai (G, 1k, WangXian, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, POV Outsider, Fluff, Supportive LXC, Soulmates)

Bleachwhite Linen by MonocerosRex (T, 44k, WangXian, LXC & LWJ, LXC & WWX, JYL & WWX, JC & WWX, LSZ & WWX & LWJ, Modern, Soulmates, not the traditional kind of soulmates exactly, Hospitals, Fluff, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Touch-Starved, lwj and wwx are the softest husbands and they aren’t even together yet, Getting Together, Marriage Proposal, Sibling Bonding, handwaving medical procedure and magical systems, worldbuilding is for chumps i’m here for the sugar, Sickfic, or more like convalescence fic but that isn’t a tag, POV Multiple, Family Feels, Family Fluff, lxc is a troll and he ships wangxian so hard, wwx deserves and gets gets hugs, Sharing a Bed, Hair Washing, Sleepy Cuddles, Hugs, JYL is a queen)

it goes like this by moonsteps (T, 15k, WangXian, College/University, Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, Humor, Fluff, Oblivious WWX, in which wwx is jealous… of himself, some drunken LWJ shenanigans, someone pls save JC, two idiots in love)

leading tone by silencemostofall (G, 32k, WangXian, Modern AU, Soulmates, with a lil twist, Eventual Happy Ending, Music, Orchestra, [Podfic] Leading Tone by silencemostofall by Beria1021)

pastel by antebunny (G, 6k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Soulmates, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Self-Esteem Issues, Misunderstandings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Unrequited Love, but not actually, no courtesy names)

(( 💖 nothing you confess by PorcupineGirl (T, 31k, WangXian, Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, POV Alternating, Golden Core Reveal, Depressed WWX, WWX Has PTSD, JC & LWJ Friendship, friendship may be too strong a word more like allies who are gonna love the shit outta post-burial-mounds WWX whether he likes it or not, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery) It is cql only tho, I didn't realize before adding the rec, that said I'll let it there because I know other people might find the fanfic interesting 😓 ))

1F)

Many happy returns. by orange_crushed (E, 25k, WangXian, Modern AU, Mistaken Identity, Misunderstandings, Grief/Mourning, Loss of Parent(s), Implied/Referenced Suicide, Past Suicide of a Parent, References to Depression, Anxiety, Therapy, References to Anti-Depressant Medications, Escort Service, Loneliness, Everybody’s Abandonment Issues, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Moving In Together, Oral Sex, Penetrative Sex, Hopeful Ending, Recovery, References to Escorting/Sex Work but No Actual Escorting/Sex Work)

Wangji's Beautiful Stranger by xxxMiaHikarixxx (G, 47k, WIP, WangXian Modern AU, Soulmates, older lwj, younger wwx, Minor NieLan, LWJ is So Whipped, Top LWJ/Bottom WWX, Modern: No Powers, Not Jiang Family Friendly)

Like stones on an unseen board by Vir_Abelasan (Not rated, 11k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Dark LWJ, Older LWJ, Teacher LWJ, dark twin jades, Age Difference, Manipulation, Protective LWJ, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Corporal Punishment, Relatively canon-typical abusive Jiangs, WWX Get a Happy Ending, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Not JC Friendly, Not Jiang Clan Friendly)

1G)

For you by 10thNoNamePerson (T, 16k, WangXian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, Canon Divergence, No War AU, Teen Wangxian, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Jealous WWX, Soft WangXian, No Sunshot Campaign)

Dispersing Clouds by dreamingofcake (E, 283k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Abusive YZY, Canonical Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Eventual Sex, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm (Background Character), Background Character Deaths, child deaths, Canon JC, Good Uncle LQR, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Cultivation Sect Politics, Homophobia, Heteronormativity, Feelings Realization, WWX is Not Oblivious) What if the Wen clan is too busy to attack anyone & WWX has time to think about his place in the Jiang sect

Just go forward like you mean it by tawaen (M, 101k, WangXian, WWX & WN &WQ, WWX & JYL, NHS & WWX, Canon Divergence, WWx does not attend the Wen indoctrination, WWX saves Lotus Pier, Inventor WWX, No Golden Core Transfer, Sect Leader JYL, JC Has No Golden Core, Bad Parents JFM & YZY, Not JC Friendly, but he gets a happier ending than canon so don’t look here for bashing) What if WWX doesn't attend the Wen indoctrination

Righteous at a Cost by thunderwear (G, 21k, wangxian, LQR & WWX, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, no one dies, LQR finds out about WWX’s core, WWX and LQR are friends??, In My Fic?, its more likely than you think, LWJ in the bg like whats happening?, Fluff, WWX goes to Gusu, Mutual Pining, Golden Core Reveal) What if LQR finds out about WWX's missing core (note: this one is tagged as both mdzs & cql, but I don't recall any specific cql stuff in there

the breaking of your soul (upon my lips) by sunsandships (M, 40k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Mutual Pining, Golden Core Reveal, Happy Ending) What if WWX realises who the mysterious 'maiden' who kissed him is (also tagged as both mdzs & cql, but I don't recall if there's any cql stuff in there)

The Fire Lapping Up the Creek by notevenyou (E, 66k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Injury, Injury Recovery, Blood, Respiratory Illness, Major Illness, Fever, Grief/Mourning, Burial Mounds, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hunger and food scarcity, Surgery, Fix-It of Sorts) What if WWX doesn't take WN with him to Lanling (also tagged as both mdzs & cql, but I don't recall if there's any cql stuff in there)

~*~

2. Hi is there any fic about wwx sleepwalking?

Mud on Your Feet by AvoOwO (Not Rated, 59k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Nightmares, Sentient Burial Mounds, Burial Mounds, Possession, Panic Attacks, Night Terrors, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Good Sibling JC, Hurt WWX, Soft WangXian, Feels, Blood and Injury, Hallucinations, Delusions, JC Loves WWX, Insomnia, Good Sibling WWX, Sleepwalking, Sleeptalking, LWJ just wants to sleep with his husband, Protective JC, WWX Sees Dead People, LJY pulls through, POV LWJ, Cloud Recesses, PTSD, Post-Canon, YLLZ WWX, resentful energy, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Thirteen Years of WWX’s Death, WWX’s Three Months in the Burial Mounds, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, WWX is tired, LWJ literally just wants to sleep with WWX again is that too much to ask for??, Soft JC, Yunmeng Siblings Feels) THE wwx sleepwalking ff

who could stay? you could stay by martyrsdaughter (G, 12k, WangXian, Meet-Cute, Modern AU, Fluff, Sleepwalking, Literal Sleeping Together, Crush at First Sight, Neighbors)

~*~

3. I'm In The Mood For a fic that embraces how much of an exquisite bitch Lan Wangji can be. "You are not qualified to speak to me", etc. Please and thank you! @aralintheobsessive

the only way out by cafecliche (T, 12k, WangXian, JC & WWX, JC & LWJ, Post-Canon, this is one part character study, one part comedy of errors, and one part fix-it, WWX is a people pleaser in this essay I will, my event planning experience rearing its head again, Podfic Available)

🔒 The Second Jade of Lan’s late but incendiary sexual awakening by KizuKatana (E, 41k, wangxian, First Time, LWJ’s Horny Grip, LWJ does not know what hit him, and yet somehow he still realizes it before WWX, canon wangxian dynamics, college AU, LWJ starts off annoyed at WWX, But quickly discovers both his competency kink and a caretaking kink, Genius WWX)

🔒 Revenge is a Side Dish Best Served With Tea by merakily (G, 7k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Protective LWJ, Petty LWJ, Fluff and Humor)

💖 Nice work if you can get it by deliciousblizzardshark (M, 11k, wangxian, protective LWJ, genius LWJ, post-canon, fluff & humor, getting together, chief cultivator LWJ)

🔒Here With Me by iamwish (T, 58k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, wwx turns this into a no war!au, Canon-Typical Violence, Period-Typical Homophobia, Bad Parent YZY, POV WWX, POV LWJ, POV JC, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, WWX Has PTSD, and also depression sometimes, Unreliable Narrator, (all of them)) It's a small part of the fic, but time traveller LWJ decides to befriend JC & JYL for the sake of his future husband & his thoughts on this are hilarious

~*~

4. Hi I have an itmf request! Favorite fusion-style aus? For example wangxian fic in an AtLA setting, but more obscure crossovers are fine too

To Prepare for a Hidden Knife by liverbiver9 (T, 103k, WN/WWX/LWJ, Inspired by Mr. Queen (TV), Emperor WN, Empress WWX, Trans WWX, Gender Non-Conforming WWX, Political Intrigue, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Isekai and Transmigration, Gender Identity, Slow Burn, chapter 11 rated E but entirely skippable!, Gender Exploration, Gender Changes, Female JGY, Female NHS, Scheming NHS, Scheming JGY, Trans Female JZX, JZX & LWJ Friendship, Polyamory, BAMF WN, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Romantic Comedy, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Out of character WN, I mean I don’t think he’s ooc but he certainly doesn’t follow the fanon characterization)

🔒 Season of Resurrection by Pyrrti (G, 1k, WangXian, Sky: Children of the Light Fusion, POV Multiple, Pre-Relationship, Reunions, POV LSZ, POV LWJ, POV WWX)

The Weight of the World by KouriArashi (T, 67k, WangXian, XiYao, XuanLi, Pacific Rim Fusion, Robots, Monsters, robots fighting monsters, Family, Romance, Developing Relationship, Angst, (but not about the romances), Hurt/Comfort, Politics, Happy Ending)

Across the street to another life by danegen (M, 99k, WangXian, Modern AU, unleashed au Family Fluff, Set in America, Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse, Addiction, Crime, Amnesia, Ableist, Language, another fridged mother, POV Alternating, past wwx/ofc, past wwx/omc, Medium parent YZY, A-Yuan is wwx’s biological son, Musicians, Happy Ending)

So You Accidentally Kidnapped A Qilin by Mikkeneko (T, 83k, WangXian, Juuni Kokki | Twelve Kingdoms Fusion, mdm yu’s a+ parenting, Identity Issues, Cultivator Politics, Yin Iron Poisoning, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Feels, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, WWX Needs a Hug, Mutual Pining, Miscommunication, Getting Together, Temporary Character Death, Happy Ending, Pacifist WWX, MXTX Big Bang 2021)

our reflections as seen (when the water stills) by chatonnerie (E, 121k, WangXian, JYL/JZX, Modern, Tokyo Ghoul Fusion, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, This is a ghoul au, but everyone is also in university, so dumb energy is peak, Gore, Body Horror, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Biting, both the goryand the horny, WWX's inability to Shut Up)

Stars bring us apart (Stars pull us together) by Sixlayerhouse (sixlayerhouse) (E, 124k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, (Vaguely) Star Trek AU, Canon-Typical Violence, Psychological Trauma, PTSD, Body modifications, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Recovery, married!wangxian)

🔒 some lovely, perilous thing by varnes (E, 24k, WangXian, Inception Fusion, Criminal Associates To Lovers, Heist, Case Fic)

🔒 and having a marvelous time by varnes (E, 108k, WangXian, Yúnmèng Siblings, Sound of Music AU, (i know!!! i know. stay with me on this.), Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Family Feels, spies to lovers???, Protective Siblings, Sometimes You Just Want Your Dads To Admit They’re Your Dads, Angst with a Happy Ending, podfic of and having a marvellous time by varnes by Spinifex)

Castle in the Wastes by ailuridae (abigailnicole) (T, 41k, wangxian, Howl’s Moving Castle fusion, personified Chenqing, canon typical violence)

🔒 Half Agony, Half Hope by queenklu (T, 105k, WangXian, LXC/JGY, JC/WQ, JYL/JZX, LXC/NMJ, Jane Austen Fusion, persuasion au, Pining, Broken Engagement, Secrets, Espionage, Child Injury, Terrible Parents (YZY & JFM), Past Child Neglect)

🧡 The World We Made by updatebug (T, 80k, WangXian, Modern AU, The Old Guard fusion, Immortals, Immortal LWJ, Angst with a Happy Ending, Junior Quartet is the best Quartet, JYL is the best, NMJ Lives, Reincarnation, The Old Guard AU, Temporary Character Death)

🔒 the red dark shifting by typefortydeductions (E, 15k, WangXian, Star Trek Fusion, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Ambiguous/Open Ending, But it will be ok, PTSD, Nightmares, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, Mild Gore, Tarsus IV, mentions of medical procedures, attempting to accept the love you deserve, pangs!)

Beneath The Skin by daltoneering (E, 40k, WangXian, Fairytale Retelling, Canon Adjacent, Beauty and the Beast AU, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, farmer LWJ, he has a braid and the fact that everyone knows this is very important to me, Chronic Illness, (not any of the MCS), sad LWJ, LQR is in this purely as a plot device, vague background nielan, One-Sided XiYao, JGY is a real creep in this im sorry but someone had to be gaston, Dark WWX, WWX: master of crows agenda, self-worth issues like woah, Blood, Body Horror, Crows galore, this is incredibly gothic and melancholic don't @ me, Drugging, Canon-Typical Violence, Smut, Anal Sex, Some questionable worldbuilding, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, (or in wwx's case), (loved), LWJ POV, please read a/n for further warnings)

I will be chasing a starlight by feyburner, sundiscus (E, 71k, WangXian, Star Trek Fusion, Vulcan LWJ, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Eventual Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pon Farr, Mind Meld, Fuck Or Die, Anal Sex, Hurt/Comfort)

~*~

5. hii this is for itmf!

I'm sure someone has already asked for this before 😅

fics which focus on, or significantly mention, lwj raising a-yuan after he gets whipped, like while being heavily injured (no wips if possible 😅)

ty! @bunnycoffeeumcat

🔒 the map of days by everythingispoetry (M, 20k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Permanent Injury, Recovery, Disability, Parenthood, Character Study, Thirteen Years of WWX’s Death)

Gathered Herbs & Sweet Grasses by hansbekhart (Not Rated, 19k, LSZ & LWJ, WangXian, dad wangji, LWJ’s Questionable Parenting Skills, Grief/Mourning, Recovery, Injury Recovery, Hopeful Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Gathered Herbs & Sweet Grasses [podfic] by someplacelikebolivia)

Inquiry by incendir (G, 10k, LSZ & LWJ, WangXian)

🔒 no new age Series by everythingispoetry (M/T, 145k, WangXian, XiYao, NieLan, Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Permanent Injury, Recovery, Disability, Parenthood, Character Study, Thirteen Years of WWX's Death, Growing Up, Family Dynamics, Self-Discovery, Mental Health Issues, Grief/Mourning, Families of Choice, Developing Relationship)

Meet you at a different place by tawaen (M, 57k, WangXian, Ghost General WN, Ghost WQ, Canon Divergence, Cultivation World Critical, Not JC Friendly, Wen Remnants Deserve Better, Sīsī Deserves Better, MXY Deserves Better, POV WQ) It's not a major part, but as soon as LWJ finds out WQ is trying to help piece together the fragments of WWX's soul, he insists on tagging along on the quest with LSZ, despite his injuries

~*~

6. In the mood for: I wonder if there is some fic where Lan Zhan dies at that cliff battle instead of Wei Wuxian. Or maybe if they both die there together. And then someone would ressurect them both. That would be really interesting to read.

💖 Regrets by antebunny (G, 37k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Time Travel, Fix-It, Temporary Character Death, Angst, Explicit Descriptions of Love, and other squishy feelings, Angst with a Happy Ending) LWJ accidentally kills WWX during the fight & they both find themselves back in time during CRSA

🔒 Turnabout and Start Again by runningondreams (T, 34k, WIP, WangXian, Temporary Character Death, Role Reversal, Soulmates, Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, SuicideI, mprisonment, Violence, Minor Character Death, Mild Gore, Pining, Identity Issues, Getting Together, Happy Ending) this is similar, LWJ isn't present for the First Siege of the Burial Mounds but due to a soulmate bond, he dies instead of WWX. 13 years later, he's resurrected. (It's a WIP and hasn't been updated since 2020, but well worth reading anyway IMO)

~*~

7. Hi! Do you have wwx and nhs friendship in comp fic? If not, i think you could consider adding that to the upcoming comp fic list (We can add it but I'll also add it here in a Itmf for you ^^ - Mod C)

Story-Shaped by lingering_song (T, 13k, NHS & WWX, wangxian, Post-Canon, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Inventor WWX, Found Family, NHS needs a new hobby, And apparently that’s spoiling his Wei-Xiong, Mentioned Character Death, Alcohol, Protective NHS, WangXian Endgame, Not JC Friendly, Not particularly gentry sects friendly overall tbh)

while covered in mud by merthurlin (T, 12k, NHS & WWX, NHS & NMJ, NHS & Wen remnants, mentioned wangxian, canon divergence, fix-it, NHS goes farming and Hates It)

I Have Arranged to Tie You to Me by xxxMiaHikarixxx (G, 82k, WIP, WangXian, Lan protective team, Time Travel, Past, LWJ oriented, Arranged Marriage, Boys In Love, Soulmates, Fix-It, Jiang siblings, not jiang parents friendly, Soft LWJ, Protective LWJ, Genius WWX)

Gone Shopping by nirejseki (G, 2k, NHS & WWX, WangXian, Crack, Post-Canon, Mad Scientist WWX, Too Clever For His Own Good NHS, WWX is High INT Low Attention Span, WWX Joins the Nie Sect, Sort Of)

The Core Issue by Hauntcats (T, 21k, WangXian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Not JC Friendly, Canon Divergence) WWX reaches out to NHS while living in the Burial Mounds

IF by Remma3760 (Not Rated, 94k, WangXian, QingJue, Aftermath of Violence, Canon Divergence, Everybody Lives, Fix-It of Sorts, BAMF LWJ, Golden Core Reveal) NMJ decides to give sanctuary to the Wen Remnants, so WWX & LWJ stay in the Unclean Realm & spend a lot of time with NHS

~*~

8. Hi! This is for ITMF

A) Age reversal. Like nhs is the older sibling or jyl is the youngest, etc

B) Role reversal. Like sect leader jyl, wwx is a weak cultivator, instead of jyl and jzx it was wwx and lwj who are in arrange marriage, etc

C) Personality swap. Like between yunmeng trio, etc

Thanks! @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

8A)

Role Reversal series by Cosmic_Biscuit (T, 13k, NHS & NMJ, JGY/NHS, JGY & XY, NHS/WRH, Major Character Death, Age Swap, Dysfunctional Family, Murder, Necromancy, Guilt, Heavy Angst, Nightmares, Mixed Adaptation, Physical Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, One-Sided Attraction, NMJ Is This Close To Committing Murder, Assassination Plot(s), Implied/Referenced Abuse, Gallows Humor, Character Undeath, First Meetings, Fluff and Humor, Family Dynamics, NHS Stress Cooks, Pre-Relationship, Developing Relationship Protective Siblings Terminal Illnesses Implied/Referenced, Euthenasia, Angst and Feels, Murder Implications, Canonical Character Death, Politics, In Which Everything Goes To Hell, Verbal Abuse, Reunions, Assassination, Wakes & Funerals, Intrigue, Undead, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Family Issues, Sibling Rivalry, Of The One-Sided Sort, Period Typical Attitudes, Implied Favoritism, Family Drama, Baby Steps To Reconciliation, Sibling Bonding, Fluff and Angst, Sick Character)

🔒 Wooden Sabers and Paintbrushes series by East_Of_Akkala (T, 11k, NHS & NMJ, NHS & LXC, NHS & Sect Leaser Nie, Age Changes, Age Swap, Sect Leader NHS, NHS is da-ge, Onesided XiSang, Fluff, Light Angst, Brotherly Love, POV LXC, NMJ gets a birth name as a treat, Humor, Canon Divergence, Light XiSang, Light NieYao, POV NMJ, NHS gets a birth name as a treat, Nie Siblings Feels, Nie Siblings Dynamics, Scheming NHS, POV NHS, NHS-centric, Violence, Qi-Deviations, Mental Instability, Character Death)

Three Figures on Your Heart (all of them will be me) by MarsDiogenes (M, 6k, LXC/NHS, slight LWJ/NHS, WangXian, WIP, Age Swap, Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort)

🔒 Nie Huaisang's Guide to Political Nonsense by Tavina (M, 58k, NHS & NMJ, NHS & WX, NHS & JGY, NHS & WQ, NHS & WRH, NHS/WX/OFC, Sect Leader Nie & NHS, NHS & LQR, Canon Divergence, NHS-centric, BAMF NHS, Scheming NHS, Nie Brothers Age Swap AU, NHS Needs a Hug, NMJ Needs a Hug, Intergenerational Trauma, Politics, Poison, Medical Conditions, Hiding Medical Issues, Chronic Pain, The Da-ge!NHS Agenda, there’s a Nie-zongzhu loose in the jianghu, NMJ & JZX Friendship Agenda, Wildly Inaccurate Qi Deviation Lore, Unconventional Relationship, Polyamory Negotiations, Age Swap, Mental Health Issues, Entire Nie Sect Needs a Hug, LQR Needs a Pay Raise and a Spa Day, JGY is a Mess, JGY is deeply long suffering, Pray for WX, WRH is his own warning tbh, Everyone's Obsessive Sibling Feelings, NHS Jianghu Goose Agenda, POV Outsider)

~*~

9. Can I submit an I'm in the mood for? Fem Wei Wuxian and fem Lan Wangji? @starrie-amethyst

A Touch To Calm This Aching Heart by Multifacetedinterests (E, 12k, wangxian, F/F, fox WWX, dragon LWJ, fem!wangxian, not YZY friendly, face slapping, touchstarved, emotional manipulation, enemies to lovers, miscommunication, hurt/comfort, non-con collar usage, smut)

~*~

10. Hii, this is an ITMF req/question:

Do you know any fics that address wangji’s punishment after wuxian has been cleared of crimes and/or the elders realizing they were wrong all those years ago

~*~

11. Heloooooo can you please give me badass mafia fics where everyone EVERYONE except Wei Ying is mafia/ gangster/ underworld person. I don't mind Jiang bashing, but I'd like reading good Jiang fics too ✨✨ @constellationdks

~*~

12. Hi! This is for ITMF. An aftermath of sunshot campign where wwx is not in sunshot side. Like he is a hostage/a wen weapon/a wen soldier. Something like Make Me Your Villain by YilingSani or At the end of the winter, I met you who became the spring by abCEE

Thanks! @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

burning camellias by AvoOwO (M, 284k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Prisoner of War, Genius WWX, Aftermath of Torture, Blood and Violence, Blood and Injury, BAMF WQ, BAMF WWX, BAMF WN, POV WWX, Hurt WWX, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Sentient Burial Mounds, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Attempted Sexual Assault, No Golden Core Transfer, WWX Has No Golden Core, Golden Core Destruction | Golden Core Melting, Poisoning, Protective WQ, Medical Torture, Cannibalism, PTSD, Dubious Consent Consent Issues, Heavy Angst, MIND THE TAGS) please mind the tags

~*~

13. Hello! I have a request for the next itmf.

I'm in the mood for

A) longer omegaverse wangxian that explores politics of the cultivation world

B) preferably longer (20k and above) post-Sunshot Campaign fic that focuses on Wei Wuxian and his mental health, his relationships with other people (can be the Jiangs, Nie Huaisang, Wen sibling or others) and Lan Wangji. It would be awesome if the Lans or the Nies found out about his golden core.

Thank you so much for all your hard work! @broodyelii

13A)

and the calm is deep where the quiet waters flow by izanyas (E, 321k, WIP, WangXian, A/B/O Dynamics, Rape Recovery, Unplanned Pregnancy, Discrimination, Slow Burn, the slowest burn imaginable, Violence/Gore, Child Abuse, Suicide, post-partum depression, a painful but gentle journey into the intricacies of bodily autonomy) mind the tags

13B)

Field Trips with Wei Wuxian by antebunny (G, 42k, WangXian, WQ & WWX, NMJ & WWX, JZX & WWX, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Found Family, Angst with a Happy Ending, Misunderstandings, Miscommunication, protective Jiang siblings, Unreliable Narrator, due to WWX assuming ppl hate him, JYL is gonna dropkick her baby bro into having friends)

Practical Considerations by teawater, the_anthropologist (E, 97k, WangXian, JC & WWX, LXC & WWX, LQR & WWX, Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence, Found Family, Spouses to Lovers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Politics, Scheming, Lán Elders are assholes, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, eventually BAMF LXC, learning to make decisions, Learning Self-worth, Self-Esteem Issues, Sweet Wangxian, Domestic Fluff, Fix-It, JC is a big asshole, he improves somewhat but it's open-ended, WWX learns to stand up for himself, Quote: Come Back to Gusu With Me, POV wwx, POV LWJ, POV JC, Golden Core Reveal, Teacher wwx, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Alcohol as a Coping Mechanism, Past Suicidal Thoughts, Post-Sunshot Campaign, WWX Protection Squad, Feelings Realization, WWX protector of the twin jades, Protective LWJ, Protective WWX, Protective LQR, Demonic Cultivator WWX, WWX is Loved, Married WangXian, Genius WWX, Everybody Lives)

Weep You No More, Sad Fountains by athena_crikey (T, 59k, WangXian, LXC & LWJ, LXC & JGY, Canon Divergence, Fix-it fic, Whump, Curses, Fever, Delirium, Stabbing, Loneliness, Confessions, LWJ’s emotional repression, WWX giving everything as always, LXC realising sympathy is not support, LQR Being an Asshole)

Grave dirt by esama (T, 92k, WangXian, canon divergence, yiling wei sect au, demonic cultivation, farming, found family, pre-slash, politics, fix-it of sorts)

The Fire Lapping Up the Creek, the breaking of your soul (upon my lips), The Core Issue, & IF that I've linked above for other requests probably also work for this request (links in 1G & 7)

~*~

14. I'm looking for fanfics where Wei Ying dies in Guanyin Temple

~*~

15. Hiiii, how are y’all doing? Today itmf three things, hopefully at least one already exists:

A) jfm makes wwx sect heir right before indoctrination so he has to go and jc can stay behind

B) jyl confronts her brother for the position of sect leader with the support of the sect

C) jc is the one who pushes wwx away from danger in nightless city

I hope your day/night is going great. Tyvm!

~*~

16. Hello, Itmf works, where Wei Ying is living in extreme poverty in his adulthood and his brilliant mind can't provide him with means, because government is blocking all the ways for his case or he is an invalid ( permanent injury or severe chronic illness). Second option in modern settings is preferable.

I've already read the one where he stock counts the warehouse with lan zhan and the one where he lives in school and lqr finds him and the one where he is living in the veteran house.

Any other suggestions are welcome 🤗 Thank you!

~*~

17. I’m itmf something where wwx or lwj can read the others mind in some way- either thru like a cherry magic au or a curse or anything, just something where one or both is aware of the others thoughts and they work thru their communication issues lmao

beneath six layers of silk by darkredloveknot (enheduane) (E, 12k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Getting Together, Confessions, Curses, Embarrassment, Vulnerability, Swearing, Dirty Talk, Hand Jobs, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Honesty, Communication, beneath six layers of silk by darkredloveknot [podfic] by Rhea314 (Rhea) )

🔒 the language of flowers and silent things series by Reverie (cl410) (M, 107k, WangXian, LXC/NMJ, LWJ & Madam Lan, NHS & LWJ, LWJ & LXC, LWJ & NMJ, LWJ & NHS Friendship, Developing Relationship, POV LWJ, Minor Injuries, Autistic LWJ, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, aka the YZY warning, Genius WWX, Light Angst And Hurt/Comfort, WWX Protection Squad, Gusu Lan Sect, Slow Burn, Protective LWJ, LWJ-centric, Politics, Canon Divergence, No Sunshot Campaign, Cultivation Sect Politics, Protective WWX)

Rarely Pure and Never Simple by thunderwear (Not Rated, 3k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Truth Spells, Curses, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Post CQL, Getting Together)

So Why Not Crack Your Skull When the Mind Swells by greenteafiend (E, 13k, wangxian, Hurt/Comfort, Curses, Case Fic, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Confessions, Drunkenness)

Too Beautiful For Words, Will My Thoughts Suffice? by Watermelonsmellinfellon (T, 8k, wangxian, fluff, crushes, flirting, telepathy, falling in love, LWJ pov, drama, golden core reveal)

My Heart is Yours to Fill or Burst by anancites (E, 67k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Inspired By Cherry Magic, Telepathy, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Major Character Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Cherry Magic AU)

💖 Blossom by triedunture (E, 26k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Curses, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, virgin LWJ, Touch-Starved, Telepathy, Cherry Magic AU, Misunderstandings, Angst with a Happy Ending, sad masturbation, First Time, canon typical self harm, Bisexual Disaster WWX)

i'm the one for your fire by occultings (microcomets) (E, 43k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Mind Reading, Enemies to Lovers, it's only enemies to lovers in WWX's one braincell, Misunderstandings, Compulsory Heterosexuality, Whump, brief illness/injury, Pining, light bdsm in the first chap, Cherry Magic AU, Getting Together, Podfic Available)

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

138 notes · View notes