#the curtains in my home were made of red flags; but so were the one's in my father's growing up; he did what he thought he was supposed to

[crosshairlovebot]

welcome home / hunter x f!reader

pairing: hunter x f!reader

description: you return home to find hunter in the shower, and he shows you just how much he missed you while he was gone.

word count: 4,036

warnings: NSFW 18+ explicit sexual content. heavy scent kink. plot only if you squint. p in v s*x. oral s*x (f receiving). slight overstimulation. lots of kissing. slight body worship. cr*ampie.

the need to write a part two to that hunter smut a couple of weeks ago was so strong there was no avoiding it. the hunter feels gripped me so hard they're shaking me around like a rag doll. i have never written a full smut sequence like this before, so please bear with me if it's not as perfect as i would like! i'm doing my best!

although the previous part (which is not essential to read to understand this) was written with gender-neutral pronouns, this part is with a female reader. i wanted to make sure i could actually write a scene like this since i've never done it before. gender-neutral smut is something i'd like to try in the future once i feel more comfortable writing in this style :)

also posted this on ao3. feedback is welcomed, reblogs are appreciated. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

You rode the slightly odorous lift up to your apartment floor, the doors sliding open slowly once it arrived. The hallway light flickered every minute or two as you approached the door to your humble abode, your body aching after working more overtime than you should’ve stayed for. Yawning, you pressed in the code before promptly walking into the still-closed door with a thud.

You frowned, suddenly more alert. You checked the panel and saw that you had just locked your apartment, not unlocked it. Living on Coruscant – especially in an area not known for being the safest corner of the planetary city – had informally trained you to watch for your safety almost constantly. And the possibility that your door may have been unlocked by someone who may or may not be waiting inside to hurt you was a red flag.

Heart beating faster, you pressed your ear up against the door, to see if you could hear anyone and your eyes widened when you heard a faint groan coming from inside.

Panic began to course through your veins, and you debated whether or not you should call the authorities before deciding against it. They wouldn’t get here in time to be of any use, and so many crimes happened on Coruscant that you doubted anyone would even come at all.

Instead, you steeled yourself and then typed in the code again.

Save for the single lamp you always left on; the apartment was dark. The yellow light bathed the small space in a soft glow that made everything look a little less like a standard-issue Coruscanti apartment and a little more like a home. You quietly dropped your bag by the door, picked up a vase from the entryway and crept into your apartment. It was then you heard the shower running and the soft hum of a smokey tenor echo through the apartment. Your shoulders instantly relaxed.

There was only one person who would break into your apartment and take a shower.

You placed the vase down on the kitchen bench, a smile biting the corners of your mouth as you walked to your small ensuite bathroom, the humming getting louder. Your smile only got wider when you saw his armour stacked neatly next to the dresser. You could hear the hum louder from here, and your heart squeezed itself against your ribs. He was happy.

You opened the door slowly, knocking softly even though he would sense you were there as soon as the door opened. “Hunter?”

The humming stopped and Hunter’s wet head poked around the shower curtain. If he was a sight when he was dry, he was completely ethereal when wet. His hair stuck around his shoulders and neck, water dripping down his tattooed face onto his neck. He smiled out the side of his mouth, eyes bright at the sight of you. “Hey, you.”

You grinned, just as pleased to see him. “Hey. You’re back.”

“I am.”

You nodded to the steaming shower. “Can I join you?”

He wordlessly pulled back the shower curtain as his answer, revealing half of his bare muscular body. You undressed quickly, piling your clothes on top of his blacks that had been kicked near the privy before stepping in with him. Almost instantly, you were engulfed in Hunter’s arms, his wet body pressed against yours as he pushed his nose into your neck, breathing deeply.

“Someone missed me,” you smiled, hands holding his upper arms and squeezing them gently.

You felt his breath on your neck as he nuzzled his nose against your skin. It was always the first thing he did when he saw you. “You have no idea how much,” the words buzzing against your skin.

At the feel of his half-hard length pressed into your stomach, and you chuckled. “I think I can guess.”

Hunter trailed his hands down your body, nose still buried in your neck. He loved the way you smelled. Something about it drove him crazy, though you weren’t sure what it was specifically. But you’d never complain.

You felt him pull you closer, and his wet hair fell onto your shoulder as he dragged his hands up and down your thighs and hips. The water cascaded over you both, and when his hand dipped between your bodies down to the place between your legs, you tipped your head forward to rest on his shoulder as you moaned. “Hunter,” you choked out as his hand moved in slow circles there, and you felt yourself slicken at the touch.

Hunter pressed light kisses to your neck and shoulder, marking a trail up to your ear with his lips. “Been waiting for you to get back.” His voice was ragged like he’d been running, rasping out of him all breathy.

His fingers still moved slowly between you, and you whimpered before telling him quietly. “I thought someone had broken in.”

Hunter pulled back to look at you, his hand stilling as he searched your face with a crease between his brow. He placed a soft kiss on your forehead. ��Sorry, cyari’ka, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You shook your head and looked in his brown-grey eyes as steam continued to rise from the running water. “I heard a loud groan…what were you doing?”

The corner of Hunter’s mouth lifted before those eyes of his darkened. “What do you think?” He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw.

You hummed. The idea of him getting off in your shower as he waited for you to come home conjured up so many salacious images in your mind you had to squeeze his arms to steady yourself. The thought of him in here, cock in his hand as he stroked himself to just your scent…it only made the arousal building inside you burn hotter.

“Couldn’t wait for me?” You croaked out.

“Kriff, no. As soon as I stepped inside you were everywhere,” he continued his kisses, sucking at your jaw. “And it only got stronger. Every breath I took you were there, inside my lungs, seeping into my skin. You know how insane you make me, and it’s been months…” He drew back and brushed his nose against yours. “Are you mad?”

“God, no,” you breathed against his lips.

“Good.”

Hunter finally kisses your mouth then. His mouth slants over yours and it’s impossible not to moan into it. His tongue moves over your lips and slides against yours. To think when you met him, he had no idea how to kiss and now he knew the inside of your mouth better than you did.

He groaned into the kiss, and you knew his senses were in overdrive right now, the hot wet of your mouth only driving him crazier. He pushed you back against the tile, his solid body trapping you between the cool of the tile and the heat of his skin. His hands gripped your hips as you snaked one leg around his. With his now hard length pressing between you, it was so close to where you needed it. You arched into him, the need to have him as close as humanly possible so intense you could comprehend nothing but Hunter’s kisses and hands as he did everything he could to consume every part of you. Your only thought was how badly you wanted him to.

You had missed him too, after all.

Your hands went into his hair, tugging at the wet strands as he continued to explore your mouth. He broke away but only to resume his kisses down your neck, his tongue lolling out to lick the skin and the droplets of water in between the kisses. Steam from the water clouded your vision, or was that because of the sensation of Hunter’s hands against you? You didn’t know. You moaned as his kisses travelled down your torso.

“Hunter,” you choked out as you watched him lower to his knees in front of you.

“Missed you so much,” he said again, the words vibrating against your skin.

You caressed his temple with your thumb. “I missed you.”

He groaned loudly against the skin of your stomach. “You smell incredible.”

You whimpered, so incredibly turned on as he moved his mouth down, his lips dragging across your skin, and you watched him descend lower, his eyes half closed and rolling back. You could see just how hard he was, up against his stomach. The water continued to flow down his shoulders and half-tattooed torso, down into the hair that covered most of his front.

You raked your fingers through his hair, nails against his scalp and you felt his moan on your stomach, and the sound ignited your insides with desire. It felt like your whole body was electrified, pulsing with need and he’d barely even done anything.

“Hunter, more, please,” you breathed out.

Hunter didn’t need to be told twice. He groaned, standing up and shutting the water off as he kissed you once more. He pulled back, sliding the shower curtain roughly across its pole before picking you up effortlessly. Your arms and legs went around him as he buried his nose in your neck again as he walked to your bed, both of you still dripping wet but neither of you caring enough to do anything about it.

Hunter lay you down gently, moving you up to the pillows as he climbed on top of you. His hair fell forward, dripping onto your chest and he leaned down to suck the droplets off your skin.

You moaned as his mouth travelled to your neck again, kissing you there, his lips sucking gently, and you knew there would be a nice mark there tomorrow that you would grumble about trying to cover for work. But right now, the idea of him laying a claim to you made every nerve ending in your body tingle, especially the ones between your legs.

His lips then made their way to your chest, and he moved to one breast, taking the nipple between his teeth, making you whine before he circled his tongue around it, sucking gently. Your back arched off the bed and you felt his hand slide underneath you, between your shoulder blades, drawing you into his mouth more. He sucked gently, then moved on to the other one, repeating the same ministrations with his tongue.

You panted, mewling with every pinch of his teeth grazing your nipple. He was taking his time with you, as usual, savouring every single part of you. You knew he’d be tired after spending months completing gruelling missions, but he was still eager to pleasure you slowly, work you up until you were begging for a release only he could give.

Exhausted, but never for you.

He released your breast, wetness from his mouth glistening the peak in the dim light. He continued down once again, leaving open-mouthed kisses as he lowered himself between your legs.

He looked up at you, eyes dark with want before he sat back on his heels to spread your legs a little wider, holding the inside of your thighs down with his hands. His thumbs circled the soft skin there as he gazed at you all spread out for him.

He looked beautiful like his. His brown skin illuminated only by the light that managed to creep through the blinds, his tattoo etched down one side of his body which still shined with the water from the shower. His cock was so hard with need, precum already pooling at the tip – you’ve barely even touched him. He was just worked up over touching you, breathing you in. He was average in length, but his thickness set him apart from any other sexual partner you’ve had. You ached to feel it inside you, but if he was taking his sweet time with you, it would be a while before you felt him stretch you.

Hunter was nothing if not thorough.

“Hunter…” you whined, sitting up on your elbows.

“Look so pretty like this,” he told you, not an ounce of insincerity in his tone as he crept down to his elbows, arms wrapping under and around your thighs as he pushed his nose against your centre. He breathed in deeply, and the groan that erupted from the back of his throat buzzed against your core.

“So good…” he murmured as he pushed his nose against your clit, making you jerk. He placed a kiss there before gently bringing it into his mouth to suck. You cry out, hips bucking up into his nose and he moans again before his mouth finally moves over you completely.

You arch your back off the bed as his tongue moves artfully against you. The sensation continued to stoke the fire that had been building the minute he wrapped his arms around you in the shower. You moved your hands to his hair, clutching the roots with your fingers and pushing him closer as he licked and sucked like a man starved. And in a way he was. Your hand was no substitute for this. He licked a line up, before bringing his lips around the bud again and sucking gently. You couldn’t think about anything but his hot mouth and tongue against you. You ground into his mouth, needing more friction as the pleasure began to build in your belly, coiling in hot spirals as Hunter continued. He groaned into you through his ministrations, and when he felt you clench on his tongue, he pulled you impossibly closer to his mouth as he moved his tongue faster. Your breaths filled the room, pants loud and moans echoing in the space. You could feel the mattress move underneath you and you looked down at him with hooded eyes to see him rutting against the mattress, getting off to the pleasure he was giving you.

“Hunter, please, I’m so—” Your words were barely audible, but Hunter knew what you meant as he pressed his tongue harder against you, bringing your clit into his mouth and sucking one more time, flicking it with the tip of his tongue. You cried out, the band inside you snapping as pleasure erupted.

Your back arched and you cried out his name like it was an incantation, over and over as he continued to move his tongue through your undoing, groaning against you as you came all over his tongue. Your hands tight in his hair, you tugged as you shuddered underneath him until the tremors slowed, and you lay breathless, limbs heavy. You looked down at him as he emerged from between your legs, mouth glistening with your come, coating his lips and chin. He licked his lips and groaned. The sight of it was so obscene you felt your body flush.

“Good girl,” he told you before he climbed over you, capturing your mouth in a kiss. You could taste yourself in his mouth and you moaned at the way his fingers briefly dipped inside you. “So good for me,” he told you against your lips. “Always so good.”

“Need you inside me,” you mumbled back.

Hunter groaned and you watched as he drew back to lean on his heels again, using the fingers he’d just brushed through your folds to lubricate his length. He hissed as he circled the tip and down the shaft before he coated his fingers again and slid them in his mouth, sucking them gently with his eyes closed, savouring the taste. You watched him, mesmerised.

Was this man really yours?

He positioned himself at your entrance, holding himself above you with strong arms, face over yours. His eyes were so intense, their brown-grey colour boring into you. He gave you a look, one that differed from the wanting gaze he’d been giving you. This look was one of tenderness, one that asked if you were still good – still okay with this. You nodded and he pressed his lips against yours once more before he eased himself inside you.

You gasped as you stretched around him, clawing at his shoulders as you locked your legs around his. He groaned as he bottomed out, filling you completely. He caught his breath and when you clenched around him, he made a choking sound, swearing.

“Been too long,” he whispered.

“Too long,” you repeated before he drew himself back out slowly. He pushed his nose into your shoulder again as he groaned loudly. Then he slowly began thrusting, the sounds of your moans and groans filling the room, along with the indecent sound of his skin hitting yours as his movements increased in speed.

“Hunter,” you moaned his name, and he groaned in response. His hands found your hips and he adjusted his position so he could reach deeper, and he continued to roll his hips against you, your hands clutching at his forearms as the headboard hit the wall repeatedly.

Sex with Hunter always felt amazing. Full of the kind of passion that almost didn’t feel real. It was full of moans and groans and tantalising touches that built you up and up so when you finally let go, the fall felt so good it was almost immeasurable. It was filled with kisses and though he wasn’t much of a talker, he would whisper how good you felt against him. No matter how rough he was being, you felt safe in his hands and cared for – he made sure of that. Being in the throes of pleasure with Hunter was an all-consuming feeling for you both, one that you relished whenever you got the chance. His time home was so fleeting, that anything you could both do to tell each other how much you missed the other, how much you loved the other, you would do. Later, you would use your words. But right now, your bodies spoke instead; each press, clench, shudder, whimper, and groan said the words for you both.

You could feel those familiar hot coils building again each time he buried himself in you, and you could feel his movements falter slightly as he came closer to his own release. He’d come up from your neck again and you looked up at him, mouth agape as his hair, now half dry, fell over his handsome face and the curled ends tickled your cheeks. You reached up and placed some behind his ear, hand cupping his jaw.

“Hunter—”

Hunter nodded quickly, eyes dark and pupils blown. “I know.”

Of course, he did. His senses were so in tune with your body he could feel the subtle changes of your arousal and smell the way your body was on the precipice of falling.

Hunter’s hands held your hips and the headboard, and he rocked himself into you, faster this time. He panted, a husky noise from the back of his throat sounding with each thrust as he brought you closer. You rasped out a string of yeses as the sensation that had been building rose to its peak. You locked your legs around his thighs, clawing at his back as you clenched hard around him, crying out.

Your back arched into him, fingernails forming crescent moon carvings in the skin of his arms as you shuddered against him. His name fell from your lips as you writhed underneath him, riding out your orgasm as he continued to sink into you on the verge of overstimulation.

“Come on, cyare,” you whispered to him as you were still trembling. "Still got my implant."

It wasn’t a second later until he gave a ragged cry as he stilled, spilling inside you. His eyes screwed shut and his teeth gritted as he groaned loudly – the way you had heard him through the apartment door before. Half collapsing on top of you, he pushed his face into your shoulder again, this time biting the skin there as his thrusts became languid, drawing out as much of his release as possible. You hissed as his teeth claimed your skin, but no matter how worked up Hunter was, he always made sure his bites weren’t too hard.

When Hunter’s shudders stopped, both of you caught your breath. You could feel his breath tickle your shoulder, and this was the first time since you’d been home that you registered the familiar musky smell of his skin. You smiled and kissed his shoulder while he was still on top of you, the tangy taste of his sweat on your lips.

Hunter slowly emerged from your shoulder and looked down at you, eyelids heavy and hair all tangled. You smiled, still dazed, and reached up to push it out of his face, tucking it behind his ear again. He smiled warmly at you before kissing the inside of your wrist.

He hissed as he pulled out of you, and the loss of him down there was so prominent you felt an ache. Hunter rolled off you and lay beside you on his stomach for a minute, his eyes drooping shut for a moment before he forced them open again.

“Hang on,” he said and kissed your shoulder lightly before pushing himself up and heading into the bathroom. You giggled as you heard the cupboard door open and shut before the tap turned on. You turned on your side, still half-limp, watching him wet a towel and then re-enter the room.

He sat next to you as he wiped between your legs sleepily, the warm towel a gentle caress on your skin before he placed it on the bedside table and lay down next to you.

You smiled and pulled the covers back so you could get under them together. They were damp from your hasty decision to not dry off beforehand, but they would dry as you slept. You watched as Hunter nestled himself in the mattress, eyes closing, but when you didn’t move closer to him immediately, he peeked an eye open. He reached out to you under the covers, with a frown.

“Come,” he said, his voice thick with exhaustion.

“I did. Twice,” you smirked as you let his hands circle your arms and pull you in closer.

“Shuddup,” he slurred, but he still smiled, kissing your temple as he tucked you against his chest. You breathed in the scent of him as you rested your head on him.

You chuckled. “You smell like me.”

“Good. Need to smell like you forever,” he pushed his nose in your hair, taking a deep breath in. “What is the name of this soap, anyway? Gonna place an order.”

You laughed. You loved he was like this – all soft and sleepy after you’d come together. It was a side only you saw, the shedding of that broody exterior he reserved for his service to reveal the tenderness that was a secret for your eyes only. “I think it’s generic brand vanilla and starflower.”

“Smells fucking incredible,” Hunter mumbled, making you laugh again. You kissed his chest and after a moment of silence where all you did was breathe together, he said, “You okay? I didn’t plan to do all that the second I saw you.”

You smiled. No matter how exhausted he was, he always had to check in with you.

“I’m really, really okay, Hunter,” you told him. “There are worse ways to be greeted upon returning home.”

“I at least wanted one conversation with you before I had my way with you,” Hunter murmured in your skin, kissing your shoulder again, this time where he had bitten you, his lips soothing the slight ache there.

“Talking is overrated,” you joked with a shrug, snuggling into his chest. You felt it thrum with a deep chuckle. He knew you loved to hear him talk.

“Tomorrow, we can talk. I have so much to tell you,” he breathed, lips brushing your temple.

You smiled. “Me too. Tomorrow.” You patted his chest gently. “Sleep now, cyare. I know you’re exhausted.”

Hunter hummed, on the cusp of slumber. “Tomorrow.” You felt his body relax. “Love you, cyare,” he mumbled into your hair.

You heard his breathing become deep and even, his chest rising and falling, his heartbeat steady against your palms. You smiled, closing your eyes. “Love you more.”

banner art by @vimse thank you for reading! <3 again, this is my first time writing a full smut scene like this so feedback (delivered kindly) is really appreciated!!

🏷️ @starrylothcat @sinfulsalutations @moodymisty @nahoney22 @freesia-writes @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @bobaprint @crosshairsnose @jesseeka @thegalaxys-edge @chopper-base @wenalena @shredderwest @leavingkamino @r2d2staser @beckbucket @pb-jellybeans @mylifeisactuallyamess @padawancat97 @littlecrowtime @jedipoodoo @ezras-left-thumb @lovelycurls @fruitsaladtree @literallydontlook

TAGLIST FORM

if you're a regular on my tag list but haven't been tagged, it's bc your age isn't in your bio/have said you prefer sfw fics.

#larissa writes #hunter x reader #hunter x reader fic #hunter bad batch smut #hunter x reader smut #hunter bad batch #huter fic #hunter bad batch fic #the bad batch hunter #the bad batch smut #tbb huter #tbb hunter x reader #tbb x reader #bad batch smut #hunter smut

[plutodetective]

It is again early morning, but I have rested and enjoyed the last twenty-four hours. I slept till late in the day, and awoke of my own accord. When I had dressed myself I went into the room where we had supped, and found a cold breakfast laid out, with coffee kept hot by the pot being placed on the hearth. There was a card on the table, on which was written:—

"I have to be absent for a while. Do not wait for me.—D." I set to and enjoyed a hearty meal. When I had done, I looked for a bell, so that I might let the servants know I had finished; but I could not find one. There are certainly odd deficiencies in the house, considering the extraordinary evidences of wealth which are round me. The table service is of gold, and so beautifully wrought that it must be of immense value. The curtains and upholstery of the chairs and sofas and the hangings of my bed are of the costliest and most beautiful fabrics, and must have been of fabulous value when they were made, for they are centuries old, though in excellent order. I saw something like them in Hampton Court, but there they were worn and frayed and moth-eaten. But still in none of the rooms is there a mirror. There is not even a toilet glass on my table, and I had to get the little shaving glass from my bag before I could either shave or brush my hair. I have not yet seen a servant anywhere, or heard a sound near the castle except the howling of wolves. Some time after I had finished my meal—I do not know whether to call it breakfast or dinner, for it was between five and six o'clock when I had it—I looked about for something to read, for I did not like to go about the castle until I had asked the Count's permission. There was absolutely nothing in the room, book, newspaper, or even writing materials; so I opened another door in the room and found a sort of library. The door opposite mine I tried, but found it locked. (dracula)

When I woke up, I was alone, lying on a sofa in a simply furnished little bedroom, with an ordinary mahogany bedstead, lit by a lamp standing on the marble top of an old Louis-Philippe chest of drawers. I soon discovered that I was a prisoner and that the only outlet from my room led to a very comfortable bath-room. On returning to the bedroom, I saw on the chest of drawers a note, in red ink, which said, 'My dear Christine, you need have no concern as to your fate.  You have no better nor more respectful friend in the world than myself.  You are alone, at present, in this home which is yours.  I am going out shopping to fetch you all the things that you can need.' I felt sure that I had fallen into the hands of a madman.  I ran round my little apartment, looking for a way of escape which I could not find. (the phantom of the opera)

The parallels are so chilling. The note. The locked doors. Christine is more desperate than Jonathan because she already knows for a fact that she’s been kidnapped (and I love the inversion too. She fell into the trap because she thought Erik was a supernatural being, an Angel sent by her father, when his danger lies in the fact that he’s just a normal man. Jonathan fell into the trap thinking he was going to meet a normal man, and fell in the clutches of a dangerous vampire), while Jonathan is frightened of the red flags, but still hasn’t enough evidence to fully realize what happened to him. And I love the differences too. Erik, under the delusion that he’ll later manage to make Christine into his wife, almost seems to care about his captive’s comfort. She has the means to do her toilette, and assurances that she won’t be touched without her consent. Of course, that’s nothing. He has fucking kidnapped and imprisoned her, and she’s right to despair. But even at these early stages, when Dracula has yet to show his true colors, Jonathan is being offered less than Christine. Dracula later claims to love him, yet he’s already deprived of mirrors and is already being touched in ways that make him uncomfortable. I love and am fascinated by both the similarities and the differences in these two passages. I love Jonathan Harker, Gothic Heroine.

#dracula #dracula spoilers #the phantom of the opera #gothic heroine jonathan harker #dracula daily #re: dracula

[illfoandillfie]

waking up slowly with Javi the morning after eloping on a whim in Vegas

Blurb Advent 2023: Day 3

Lauren here helping keep my pedro girlies fed lmao.

Not really any warnings - it's suggestive with references to sex but nothing explicit. Also minimal editing lmao.

It wasn’t unusual for you to wake up naked next to Javi, so you weren’t at all alarmed to once again find yourself in that position, only just registering it before you shut your eyes against the intrusive light. And it wasn’t so surprising that you couldn’t quite remember the previous night. That also happened with Javi a bit. He tended to make strong drinks. You’d watched him a hundred times pour in a very generous amount of alcohol while he swore up and down it was only a drop. So only having some hazy recollections of your night together wasn’t a red flag. You could recall a few things – you'd been somewhere loud for sure – though mostly just how good he’d made you feel. But you’d been dating long enough that you were used to that sort of thing and you trusted that he’d looked after you because he always did. People thought he was a grumpy hardass but you knew he was really a softie at heart, although maybe that was mostly where you were concerned. Either way, with nothing more than a looming potential headache and a bit of a dry mouth to worry you, you rolled over and snuggled closer to Javi’s bare back, with the intention of sleeping things off for a couple more hours.  

But something was different. It wasn’t until you were lying there trying to go back to sleep that the pieces started falling into place. Your bed didn’t usually face a window so you couldn’t have been at home. And things sounded strange. You hadn’t noticed it at first but now, with one arm slung over Javi’s side and your face pressed into his neck to try and block out the rest of the world, you began to realise that you couldn’t hear the usual bird calls or the scrape of the tree branch that was too close to the side of the house. There was more road noise too – nothing like normal. That was what finally made you stir from the warm comfort of the bed. A bed decidedly not your own in a very unfamiliar room. You sat up and took stock of your hastily scattered clothes on the slightly faded blue carpet, the open curtains (a very bland beige you hated on sight), the empty champagne bottle beside what had to be a minibar.  

Things started to click into place then, memories returning as you pieced the night together. The hastily packed bags. The scribbled note you’d taped to your front door in case anyone came looking for you. The way Javi had squeezed your hand excitedly on the plane. Elvis telling him he could kiss the bride. Suddenly the mess in the room made much more sense – you'd obviously been celebrating. And glancing down at your hand as you extracted it from the sheets, you couldn’t quite believe the ring glittering from your left hand.   You squealed. Javi groaned beside you, rolling onto his back and throwing his arm across his eyes. The movement let you catch a glimpse of the matching ring he wore and you had to bite back another squeal.  “Whats with all the noise?” Javi sounded groggy still and you decided to have some fun breaking the news to him.   “Nothing sweetheart.” You shuffled down to lay across his stomach, pressing a quick kiss to his chest, “Just wondering if we should start the day with some blackjack or wait until after breakfast. Or maybe skip both and just spend all day fucking. It’s our honeymoon after all.” You watched gleefuly as the words sank in and Javi suddenly opened his eyes.   You scooted back just in time as he pushed himself upright, looking around the room like you had moments before. Finally his gaze landed on his ring and you reached out to grab his hand, letting him see yours.   “Fuck,” he breathed out, eyes finding yours, “we really got married.”  You stroked his hand and nodded, “We really did.”  “In Vegas.”  “In Vegas.” You agreed.   “Gonna be a few pissed off people back home.”  “They’ll get over it, I’m glad we eloped.”  He pulled your palm up and kissed it, “You finally made an honest man of me.”  Laughing you tried to push him away but he caught you and tugged you into a proper kiss, encouraging you to straddle him as he leaned back against the headboard.  

You hummed happily at having your husband (that’d take some getting used to) under you, one of his hands already moving to fondle your still bare breasts.  “Blackjack can wait.” He said suddenly, half against your lips.  “Huh?”  “All that stuff you said, everything can wait. Right now all I want to do is fuck my wife until we’re both too exhausted to cum anymore. Then we can talk about gambling and food and whatever else. At least until we get our strength back and I can fuck you some more.”  “Bit stereotypi-” you began before Javi covered your mouth with his hand.   “We ran off to Vegas and let an Elvis impersonator marry us, you can’t complain about stereotypical.”  You were giggling when he let you go but you didn’t bother arguing or agreeing or speaking at all. You caught him in another kiss and rolled your hips against his. 

#my writing #my blurbs #blurb advent 2023 #pedro pascal x reader #javi pena x reader #javi pena smut #javi pena imagine

[boydepartment]

I'm sorry, I'm late- Hwang Hyunjin: Chapter One

Description: Y/n is an art teacher's apprentice in a small town in France. Hwang Hyunjin is an idol who decided to run away after trouble started to arise again. He finds himself in the class where she trains, quickly they peaked each other’s interests. Both of them ran from something and it landed them in this small town in the middle of practically nowhere. One thing they both know is that the past always catches up and it is only a matter of time, so they better make the most of it now.

Warnings for Chapter 1: none

WC- 5k

links are at the bottom of the chapter :)

Song- It’s so peaceful in the country – Mildred Bailey

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Chapter 1: His eyes

You sat up slowly, feeling the sun through your thin curtains. You felt refreshed, oddly enough. Looking over at the clock on your wall you hopped up.

Oh my gosh you were late to class! You ran to the wardrobe to get a quick outfit. Throwing on some old clothes the ever so kind old lady, Gram, across the street gave you when you first moved here as a housewarming present. She also made you her special pasta, the thought made your mouth water, but you didn’t have time to relish that thought. You rushed to your bathroom washing up to look presentable enough to be running around a classroom helping the teacher. You grabbed your flats which were by the door and threw your book bag over your shoulder. Feet out you started running down the worn old street.

                “Morning Y/n!” One of your neighbors yelled from across the way. You mustered a morning as you kept running. You could not be late! That would look unprofessional! You started to see the town in the distance and took a second to breathe. What time was it now? You dug through your bag and found the watch you bought from the general store. 7:45am.

Alright! Finally slipping your flats on you took note to remind yourself to take a bath when you got home, especially since you ran barefoot all that way. You started to run again down the hill not noticing the person at the bottom. You ran straight into him, your bag swinging around you.

                “DÉSOLÉ! JE SUIS EN RETARDE! (Sorry, I am late)” You yelled and kept running. Normally you learned not to apologize much here, but you really rammed into him.

However, it was worth it! You got to the small classroom in the tiny-tiny school in time.

                “Bonjour, Y/n. (good morning, Y/n)” Your higher up greeted you. You greeted him back with a nod and sat down in your desk which was sat by his. You were learning how to teach art here. Since the teacher was getting old and Mr. W noticed that you weren’t one of the young people to just leave the small French town after his semester class, he decided to take you under his wing. He would tell you how to thoroughly teach an art class, as well as help you with your French. For the most part a lot of people in town would cut you some slack, they pretty much picked up that you were young and at least trying to speak to them as much as you possibly could.

The classroom started to fill with young adults, it was the usual class, until someone who wasn’t ordinary showed up. It was the guy you rammed into at the end of the hill. The more you looked at him the more he stood out to you. His hair was chopped horribly, and his clothes had what you assumed to be the logos removed. You have read an abundance of true crime books in your youth so to say this man didn’t raise all the red flags would be a lie. He didn’t look like he would harm anyone though, that is what truly through you off about him. He looked like a scared ally dog.

Eventually you got tasked to clean up the brushes from last class, you quickly got up and went to the broken-down sink at the back of the room. You let them soak and you listened to the head teacher guide the class through the lesson. Soon that will be you leading the class, you couldn’t wait. Mr. W really knew how to captivate the learning starving artists, soon everyone was working as the record player near his desk started to play famous classical pieces. Your eyes drifted to the young man in the corner, once again catching your interests. You watched as he deliberately and carefully let the small delicate brush hit the thick paper. The sun hit him beautifully and you started to notice little details about him. Then he made eye contact with you, and you quickly went back to soaking and cleaning the brushes, you even went as far as cleaning various old materials used earlier on in the week.

As much as you tried to get your mind off him, you couldn’t. Huffing you grabbed a stool and sat next to him. He looked at you with a terrified look, he looked as if you caught him sneaking a cookie from the cookie jar before dinner.

                “You’re new here, I ran into you…” You mumbled and kept looking at him, he looked down quickly at his work.

                “I- yeah. It’s okay…” The young man went back to his painting.

                “Do you speak French?” You watched his line work again; his eyes watched the brush intently.

                “Very little, I have visited Paris many times, but I don’t stay long.”

You let out a small huff of a laugh, “Paris is quite far from here.” This caught his attention and he looked at you.

                “Good.” He said softly then turned back. You two have been talking in a soft tone due to people around you trying to focus.

You decided to keep talking, “did you just move here? I haven’t seen you around.”

                “Yes, a couple weeks ago. I was at the Inn until I moved into the neighborhood above the hill.” He dipped his brush in the paint again and kept the steady hold.

                “You live in the same neighborhood as me.” You said, “you’re also mainly a landscape artist.”

The man looked stunned, and he dropped the brush, “how can you tell?”

                “The way your lines are deliberate, you’re calculating in your head instead of feeling out the page and medium emotionally.” You said and made eye contact with him; he was a total mystery to you. After living in this town a couple of years, you learned about almost everyone. The town only sometimes got any new visitors until this guy just showed up.

                “You can pick up on that?” The man spoke softly, he seemed to walk on eggshells around you. Did you hurt his feelings? There was nothing wrong with deliberate and calculated lines.

                “Yes, mainly because I wish I could do that in my art.”

He picked up the brush again and dabbed it on the paper, “what mediums and styles do you work in?”

                “Portrait and abstract. For portrait I work in charcoal and watercolor, for abstract I work in all different types of stuff I can get my hands on.” You spoke softly. When a ghost of a smile graced his features, you almost felt your heart stop and you didn’t know why.

                “I hate working in charcoal and abstract.” His eyes followed his brush strokes again.

                “Which house do you live in?” You asked him.

He smiled again, “you ask a lot of questions.”

                “We haven’t had someone new actually move in since I moved in.” You quickly answered back.

The man acknowledged your statement, “the one with the dead rosebush in the front.”

                “It’s not dead forever!” You said rather defensively, mainly because you live right next to this house which you thought was vacant still, “it just needs some help.”

                “Ah so you know the house I live in?” He picked up a thicker brush.

                “Yes, you’re my neighbor. It is a small neighborhood in a small town. Also why is-“ you were going to ask him about his hair when Mr. W called you by his desk. You excused yourself and walked over. He ended up tasking you to clean up the chalkboard, something about his arm hurting him. If you translated that correctly.

As you cleaned up the old-fashioned school board you felt eyes on you, you knew they were the mysterious stranger’s.

Well, your mysterious neighbor.

After the class was dismissed, you helped clean up for the day and Mr. W excused you. When you grabbed your bag and walked out of the classroom you saw the mysterious stranger again. He saw you and you noticed he got nervous again.

                This guy was very odd.

You approached him, “you can go home now.”

                “You wanted to ask me something though.” He said and you two walked out of the school building. You looked up at him trying to remember what on Earth you were going to ask him earlier. You pouted a bit trying to remember.

                “If you don’t remember then I live next door.” The man said, he went to turn to the direction of the neighborhood, and you stopped him again.

                “Wait, what’s your name?” You had grabbed onto his sleeve. His lean figure whipped around.

                “Hwang Hyunjin.” Part of his expression told you he was nervous to say this, but still answered you.

                “Can I give you a nickname to help me remember?” There was no way you wanted to forget his name let alone accidentally pronounce it wrong. Between speaking English and now heavily studying French, sometimes your pronunciations could get a little wonky.

You saw him smile warmly at you, “Sometimes people would call me Jinnie.”

                Jinnie… How cute.

You nodded and repeated it then introduced yourself, “I am Y/n. Y/n L/n.” You put your paint-stained hand out for him to shake. He gladly took your hand and shook it. His hand was quite larger than yours and the next thing you knew he turned away and waved. You stood there dumbfounded, this man, Jinnie, was odd. But he was interesting and young like you. Part of you felt like you had to help him, no one really helped you when you moved to town. You didn’t want this man to go through that too. You made up your mind, you would show up at his door tomorrow and walk to school with him.

Your feet made their way to the heart of the small town, you greeted the locals, they were now kind to you and warm. You belonged here now to them. It was a foreign feeling, being a part of a community that was kind to you. Walking into the bookstore where you help part time you were greeted by your coworker.

                “Ah… Vous n'avez qu'à balayer le plancher. (I need you to sweep the floor)” She didn’t always give you tasks like this, most of the time it was restocking shelves or working the counter. However, you didn’t mind sweeping the floor. You nodded and went to the back room to retrieve the broom and dustpan. Everything was older and you thrived in this environment. You could be doing nothing at all, or cleaning, and you are happy. You loved it here. Maybe you romanticized a little too much though. The thought made you smile to yourself. After your sweeping your boss had you tidy up some shelves.

                “Um, Y/n!” She peeked her head in from one of the shelves, “A demain(see you tomorrow)??”

                “Oui. (yes)” You said simply, you planned on popping in tomorrow after school anyways, if she wanted you to help out too, you would gladly do so. You saw her smile at you then nod, walking off to other tasks. Once you were done you said your goodbyes and started to walk back home. Your little neighborhood wasn’t far from the town. Part of you felt excitement bubble up in you, remembering your new neighbor.

When you walked up the hill it was already nighttime, you honestly think you should start carrying a walking stick especially because it was a pretty empty field surrounding the small jumble of brick homes. The trees didn’t start until the back of the neighborhood. You never went that way though. Whenever you walked into the beaten path you found yourself once again becoming happy, seeing someone new here really greatened your appreciation for this town. You wondered if Jinnie had the same appreciation as you.

You unlocked your small house which you would be lying if you said it wasn’t some little cottage. You decorated it the past two years like that on purpose. Kicking off your flats you remembered how dirty your feet were. Letting out a small laugh, you walked towards the bathroom and drew yourself a bath. As you waited for the water to fill, you made yourself some tea. It was dark out now and you felt it would be a great way to end your night. As you washed your hands in the sink, you had a perfect view of your neighbor’s living room. You didn’t want to be creepy, so you closed the curtains, but not before taking note of how peaceful he looked reading a book that clearly enthralled him. Your heart pounded and next thing you heard was the kettle whistling. Quickly shaken out of your thoughts you waited to pour yourself a cup and head back to the bathroom.

Slipping into your nightgown which was yet another gift from your birthday last year from the kind lady across the way. She wanted to always repay you for bringing her your homemade pumpkin bread once every other week. She was your first friend here. You went under your covers and made sure your alarm clock was on this time. You had to get up a little early anyways, you wanted to walk with Jinnie to school.

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Shockingly, your alarm did wake you up. Excitedly you hurried to get ready, your feet pitter pattered to the wardrobe. You grabbed a dress and another sweater; you were always one for layering even if summer was quickly coming. That means you would have another year of student-teaching experience under your belt. It also meant you would spend more time at the bookstore soon, which made excitement bubble in your stomach. You walked to the bathroom and once again got washed up for the day. Teeth, hair, the homemade lip balm you made yourself, all done!

You slipped your socks and boots on, today felt like a boots day. The breakfast menu was some fruit and toast, you really had to pick up more food soon at the market. Maybe you would go in a couple days on Sunday, the town always had merchants come in and it was outdoor. You nodded to yourself and finished eating. Grabbing your bag you headed to the neighbor’s home, the one with the sad rosebush.

To say you were a little nervous would be a lie, you weren’t used to being the one to almost chase after someone, but Jinnie intrigued you. You knocked a couple times and he answered, seemingly already dressed.

                “Good morning, Y/n.” His voice was soft. Jinnie’s eyes looked tired.

                “Good morning Jinnie, do you want to walk with me to the school?” You really hoped he would say yes, he could be the only friend you have that was actually your age. Jinnie smiled down at you.

                “I would love to actually, let me grab my things.” He went to shut the door but then opened it, “you can come in.”

You took up his offer and decided to look around the house, it had been vacant since you had moved in. But it surely didn’t look like it got worn over time. You saw how he had already had stuff hung up, his art which looked recent, there was no sign of dust stains.

                “I have been painting a lot since I moved here.” He said now next to you, you nodded slowly.

                “I see most of them are of the town.” You noted, you recognized the general store and the fountain in the middle of town.

Jinnie hummed, “I used to paint flowers a lot, sometimes people or still lifes. But after moving here I have been inspired by the architecture.”

You finally got a look at his clothes, “you are wearing normal clothes today. No torn off logos.”

His brows furrowed, “you take note of everything don’t you? Our neighbor across the street gave me these. Said I was her old husband’s size.”

                “She did the same for me too.” You smiled at the memory, “if you want to thank her, I bake her bread once every other week. You can join me.”

His eyes, which were once tired, lit up, “I love bread.”

                “We will have to make extra then.”

After you talked about the pumpkin bread recipe you two started your walk to the school, the sun now just rising over the town.

                “It is hard to not romanticize this town.” He suddenly spoke, “although the people here sometimes act like they hate me.”

You let out a small huff of a laugh, “they do that to newcomers, if you want, I can help teach you some basic phrases. It will help them warm up to you more.”

                “You would do that?” Jinnie asked you, the cool spring breeze brushing through his hair.

                “Yes, in exchange that you help me with landscape art.” You said and put your hand out again, to shake on it.

                “Deal.” This time he actually grinned and shook your hand. You saw his toothy grin for the first time that morning. This man was dangerously charming.

You really couldn’t help the small glances you two would exchange during class, the small smiles, everything. He was an instant click for you. However, you didn’t let him distract you from your work though, Mr. W would kill you if he found out you were getting distracted by some random boy. You started to study the art history books Mr. W assigned to you to study, he always said if you wanted to teach a subject you had to know the history behind it. Your favorite artists were all landscape-based artists, mainly because you couldn’t do it. Your art was either the small details of people’s faces, or complete disordered abstract. Your mind once again wandered to Jinnie who was now cleaning his brushes, his art study on the town that was hung up by the door of his home was almost perfect in a way. You wondered how Jinnie himself just did that.

After the class, you picked up your history books and thanked Mr. W. Since it was Friday you wouldn’t see him until Monday, unless he called your landline asking you to come in. When you walked out you saw Jinnie waiting there for you once more.

                “Mr. W really knows how to capture the attention of students.” Jinnie spoke and held the door open for you. You walked out and waited for him this time.

                “I am very thankful to be able to learn from him, he wants me to take his teaching position when he is ready to retire.” Your bag swung a bit when you flipped around to face him.

                “You are very welcoming; I am sure you will be a good teacher.” Jinnie said, you two walked down the dirt path, almost to where the crossroad was.

                “Thank you,” you smiled at him, “I have to go to work… Which is in town…” You weren’t very good at goodbyes or see you laters.

                “I can bring you dinner tonight if you want, I mean you are helping me out with getting settled here. It’s the least I can do.” You two now stood at the crossroads.

                “I get home sort of late… Tomorrow though would be better, since I work in the morning and will be done by the afternoon.” You offered, you were curious to how good his cooking is, and you would never pass up on a free meal.

                “Alright, Saturday evening, I will cook and bring over the plates.” He nodded to himself. Before you were about to say goodbye he already flipped around and waved to walk home.

Jinnie was certainly a person you wanted to figure out, you even found the urge to try and paint him in your sketchbook. That urge hasn’t happened to you since high school.

While doing your chores in the little bookstore you saw some tourists, it seemed like your little town was gaining traction and that made you nervous. You liked how it was a small place to live, under the radar. This sort of put a damper on your mood, it had you overthinking.

It kept you over thinking into the next day as well, especially because that Saturday morning more tourists came by, and it scared you. You didn’t want people here, you realized while sweeping you had no right to say that. You were once a foreigner here too. Sighing, you kept mopping the same spot over and over.

                “I think it’s clean.” Someone spoke softly behind you, you turned around to see your other shop owner’s daughter, she was your second friend in town. She got you a job here with her mom in exchange of you tutoring her in English.

                “I-I’m sorry. There is just a lot on my mind…” You mumbled; she turned her head in confusion.

                “The recent abundance of tourists or that handsome man every girl in town is raving about?” She had a wicked grin on her face, “there are whispers about him living in the same neighborhood as you.”

You set the mop to the side, “it’s just the tourists, you know that makes me nervous and there seems to be more of them.”

She nodded, “you can head home early if you want, I need to make some extra money some of the girls in town want to make the handsome man cookies this weekend and I need to buy powdered sugar tomorrow at the market for the finishing touch.”

You thanked her and started to pack up, before you left you turned around, “oh by the way, his name is Jinnie.” You winked at her and walked out. The shop owner’s daughter felt like your sibling, although she wasn’t around often due to her schooling in the next town over. The time you spent with her you cherished. You took a deep breath then smiled to yourself, you had something to look forward to tonight and that was dinner with ‘the handsome man.’ You thought it was so cute that the girls were gossiping about him.

To thank Jinnie you stopped by the general store and picked up some flowers, that weren’t dead like the ones in his front yard.

                “Y/n!” You flipped around and saw your other neighbor, the kind old lady, Gram. You grinned at her; you had already paid for the flowers, so you went over to her.

                “How are you, Gram?” It was nice to see her out and about.

                “Well, I made friends with your next-door neighbor, Hyunjin.” She said and put stuff in her basket. You decided to walk with her and help her with her shopping.

                “Did you?” You asked and got something from the shelf she pointed to. Gram let out a small hum.

                “Yes, and I found out stuff about him for you.” She spoke slyly.

You laughed a tiny bit, “oh really?”

Gram let out a huff and nodded, “yes, he is a few months older than you. He traveled a lot, and he used to sing.”

                “That’s new information to me.” You mumbled to yourself.

                “I can’t hear you when you mumble.” Gram said back.

You apologized quickly and repeated yourself again.

                “There is a lot of things I feel you two could learn from each other.”

Your brows furrowed and pondered what she could mean by that. It was quite an odd thing to say but then again, she was odd herself. You helped your neighbor with the rest of her groceries and walked her back home.

                “Oh, tomorrow, Gram, I am going to the morning market, I will make pumpkin bread for you tomorrow as well, all fresh ingredients.” You said as you helped unpack her groceries in her kitchen. It was filled with old photos of her family; she also had a little collection of porcelain bunnies.

                “I am so excited for that dear.” Gram spoke from her chair in the living room. You finished up and walked in her very floral living space.

                “Is there anything else you need?” You asked.

                “Tell Hyunjin to bring me back my recipe when he’s done with it.” Gram then waved you off.

He borrowed a recipe?

You walked across the street to your humble abode and started to get ready for dinner with Jinnie. You set the red roses down on the table then started to your bathroom. You took a quick sponge bath and tried your best to look presentable. You had thrown out all your makeup a few months after you moved here, and you didn’t want to check the chest at the foot of your bed which was locked up with your old stuff for a reason. Out of sight out of mind. You dug in your wardrobe and saw a nice floral dress and slipped it on. Tying the back you smiled, Gram had a very good fashion sense in her youth. You rummaged through the little box of sewing supplies she gave you and found ribbons, you tied your hair with them. If he was making dinner you had to look presentable. Skipping to the kitchen you dug around your cabinets; you had wine somewhere around here. It was a housewarming present from the man who sold you this home. It had to still be okay… right? You never opened it. As you were rummaging there was a knock on the door, startled you hit your head on the top of the cabinet.

                “Ow…” You mumbled and wobbled up to the door. When you opened you saw Jinnie standing there with a basket in his hands, he must’ve gotten dressed up as well. He looked astronomical even with his choppy hair messed up hair.

                “Can I come in?” He spoke, a smile gracing his features.

You stepped out of the way and let him in, “do you like red wine? I am pretty sure I have a bottle here. Somewhere.” You mumbled and he followed you into the kitchen.

                “I could use a glass.” He set the basket down by the flowers. You had already resumed crouching by the cabinet, next thing you knew he was next to you helping you search.

                “Oh, the flowers on the table are for you. Figured you’d want something alive.” Chuckling at your own joke you moved the olive oil.

                “There it is.” Jinnie said while laughing slightly with you. He grabbed the bottle and set it on the counter, then put his hand out to help you up. You gladly took it and his soft hands held yours, then quickly let go when you were situated. Much to your dismay.

                “I do love the roses; they are my favorite actually.”

The corners of your mouth curved, “we will have to nurse the bush in your yard then.”

                “That we will.” He walked to the table, and you grabbed your glasses and the wine. Meeting him at the table you saw that he made pasta.

                “Gram said you really liked her pasta, so I tried my best.” Jinnie said and set the table.

                “I love her pasta; she made it for me when I first moved here.” You were quite surprised that he did this. You set the glasses down and poured the wine.

                “So, she said.” Jinnie motioned for you to take a seat and you did, he quickly followed. You saw he was waiting for you to take a bite. When you did you swore you could cry. It tasted so good, it wasn’t quite like Gram’s however, it was still so amazing to your taste buds.

                “You really- wow.” You wiped your mouth with a napkin, “this is really good.”

Jinnie grinned and took a sip of his wine, “I am so relieved, I was a little worried.”

                “You shouldn’t be, this is amazing Jinnie thank you.” You took another bite then washed it down with a small sip of wine.

Jinnie started to eat his food and he looked surprised, “you weren’t just lying to make me feel better, wow.”

Him being surprised by his own cooking made you laugh, hard. He looked up at you and started to laugh.

                “I thought you were just lying to be nice. Honestly.” Jinnie spoke between giggles. You kept giggling.

                “Tomorrow I am going to make that pumpkin bread for Gram, I just have to go to the market in the morning.” You said and took another bite of this amazing recipe.

                “May I join you? I heard the guy at the general store talk about the Sunday markets.” Jinnie asked. You nodded.

                “Of course, you can come with me, I’d love that.”

The way he was so charming and thoughtful really had you entranced. Jinnie was still a mystery to you and maybe that is what made you attracted to him. Or maybe the fact he has been the only guy around your age staying in this town longer than a semester. You didn’t know, but you weren’t complaining.

~

masterlist

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taglist: @alyszaen @moon-on-a-golden-thread

comment or send in an ask to be added to the taglist <3 it's open!

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authors note: hi everyone! if you are new here to my blog i do little authors notes at the end of each of my chapters! i give little tidbits of what's going on behind the scenes and i will give out small advices!

this weekend has been sort of busy for me! i got caught up on laundry and did a great abundance of homework! i also have been watching a ton of movies on disney +. right now i am going through different marvel movies and watching them. as i type this i have age of ultron in the background. watching the foreshadowing to infinity wars and endgame is INSANE, the build up is insane and so fun to watch. it truly makes me so giddy and excited to go back to avengers campus soon.

remember my dear reader that sleep is important, i have learned that the hard way. sleep is important for your body's health and you need it to function. just like your body needs food, water, and sunlight to function. please take care of your body, it is the only one you have <3

i love you and please have a nice day!

#hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin #hwang hyunjin imagines #stray kids #straykids #kpop #skzxreader #skz #straykids x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids hyunjin #hyunjin #bangchan #bang chan #lee know #lee minho #changbin #seo changbin #seochangbin #hanjisung #han jisung #lee felix #lee yongbok #kim seungmin #seungmin #jeongin #in stray kids

[ltwilliammowett]

Sailors Needlework

Due to the fact that sailors had to mend their own clothes and there was always a sailmaker with his mates, many on board were very talented sewers. Therefore, many of them went beyond simple mending and created their own clothes. Or began to embellish their pieces with embroidery or make presents for their loved ones. Or earning some money on the side with their skills.

Sailor doing needlework, c. 1850 by unknown in: Jack Tar a Sailors Life, by J. Welles Henderson

It is not possible to pinpoint the exact origins, as many pieces have been lost over time.

A knitted wool hat and handsewn pants, from HMS Invincible, 1758, in: The First HMS Invincible (1747-58): Her Excavations (1980-1991), by John M Bingeman

Some pieces date from the 18th century, while most seem to date from the 19th or 20th century. However, it can be assumed that there are also much older examples.

Embroideries

This type of decoration was embroidered with coloured silk or wool threads on the shirts or duffle bags. But also ribbons, bags or money belts were decorated.

Sailor blouse and poke bag, made by George W.W. Dove, c. 1860 - Sailor’s Hats, c. 1850-1900 in: Jack Tar a Sailors Life, by J. Welles Henderson

Then names, mottos, stars, figures, ships, flags or anchors were embroidered on them.

Money belt, c. 1850 in: Jack Tar a Sailors Life, by J. Welles Henderson

Often the work was done in simple chain-stitch and the material was either taken from home or bought in a harbour.

Wollies

This type of embroidery is a very special form of embroidery, the embroidered woolen pictures, called woolies, which have been around since the 1840s. Most of the materials used to make woolies were found on board ships. Sailcloth, duck cloth from sailor's trousers or a simple linen or cotton fabric served as the backing. The runner was usually made from surplus wood with simple mortise and tenon joints, without wedges.

Theatrical curtains, often depicting trade union banners, suggest the artist was a merchant sailor. c. 1875 - HMS Trafalgar, c. 1865 (x)

Only the Berlin wool, cotton or silk had to be brought from home or purchased in a foreign port. The sailors mainly chose vivid colours - especially white, blue, red, brown and various shades of green. Early Woolies are made from naturally dyed wool. After the development of chemical dyes in the mid-1850s, sailors could obtain a wider range of colours at a cheaper price.

HMS Cumberland, c. 1842 - A third rate together with a paddle steamer, c. 1860-1880 (x)

When making a woolie, the sailor sometimes first sketched the outline of the ship and rigging in ink. With only these schematic designs, he then sewed these images freehand directly onto the canvas, using both rudimentary and refined stitches. Indeed, many Woolies show charming liberties taken with the appearance of elements other than the ship.

Multiple ships raise the value of a piece. This one showcases a second-rate ship, fourth-rate ship, frigate, and smaller ship, 1875 - HMS Queen a present from my son, c. 1855 (x) in: Jack Tar a Sailors Life,by J. Welles Henderson

The sailors used a wide variety of stitches, such as cross stitch, chain stitch, darning and the quilting technique called trapunto. Many of these pictures were appropriately made for the dearest ones at home. As the Victorians liked to collect, the pictures quickly became very popular and were often sold.

Knitting

The men on board also did this. Even though it's hard to imagine how old salts sat there and knitted. But for the cold days, the men needed warm clothes and so they knit socks, gloves and scarves.

British sailors knitting or crocheting (and looking like they enjoy it!) during WWI (x)

(Those who have read the Hornblower novels by CS Forester will perhaps remember that in some books it is mentioned that the men sat there and knitted.) It is verifiable that the Sailors knitted from the 18th century onwards, but since this art had also been known since the 13th century, it must have come on board earlier.

#naval history #sailors handicraft #needlework #age of sail #age of steam

[babblydrabbly]

My Heart's In Atrophy || Rick Flag x Reader

Rick Flag x Depressed!Reader

Warnings: Major warning for depression/depressive thoughts/etc. Anti-mental health ideals. Angst. Hurt/comfort.

Wordcount: 2k+

[ A/N: [shrug emoji]. Just me in my feelings u know???. ]

Rick Flag starts piecing together all the things you've left out of your life with him, and realizes he partly to blame.

He surprises you. His footfalls muffled by the closed bedroom door, Rick gives no warning as he pushes it open, searching for you inside your shared bedroom.

He's home early. You startle from your spot under the covers but it's too late. Rick's brow furrows at the sight of you.

In the cold of November, you've laid out layer after layer of blankets, a hoodie pulled over your head as you sit up slightly beneath it all. Your hair disheveled, eyes bruise a ruddy red, Rick's never seen you in such a state. His eyes flicker to the wet tear tracks running down your cheeks.

"[Y/n]?" He's instantly taller, broad chest pulled wide as he pushes into the room with sudden alarm. It's dark inside, the curtains drawn to block out the afternoon light— The pale white of the outside world only a square halo around the only window in the room.

Rick stops in his tracks at the side of the bed when it's him you're reeling away from. You stare back at him, your eyes still wide and vacant, your mouth falling open as he tries to assess the situation.

You didn't think he'd come home today.

There was no mission this time. Nothing to occupy your mind with worry or at the very least, curiosity. There were the things the two of you didn't talk about— namely, his secrets. Rick Flag had plenty. And you were content with leaving them buried; It was only fair. There were so many things you didn't tell him either.

And how could you?

You weren't some world saver. You weren't a superhero or vigilante. Hell, hiding a villainous secret identity would have carried more dignity than him finding you like this. He'd been at base the past few days prepping for another operation, his busy schedule leaving you to your own devices again.

"[Y/n]," He tries again carefully, inching toward you with splayed hands. Like you were some animal. You felt like it— Like a deer caught in his headlights. "What's wrong?"

The simple question makes your face crumple. You press your lips together, muffling the sudden sob that tries to wrench itself free.

He wasn't supposed to come home today.

Before Rick, before this little home you had made together, you weren't any different. It had always been there— Been apart of you. When you had found him, the thing you had built together felt like the solution to so many problems.

It wasn't, of course.

You'd been so busy being excited to move in with Rick, you hadn't considered the consequences of sharing such a personal space with him. It was easy when the two of you lived separately, when you could control the way you were around him like a careful mask. He didn't see the ugly parts. Didn't know about everything it took to keep yourself together when the two of you began seeing one another.

How could you explain that there was no explanation at all? That the dark days came and went without much reason. Episodes, your therapist called them— And Rick didn't know about that either. He'd made comments about psychiatric help in the past, and unbeknownst to him he was making comments about people like you.

"I don't bother with that shit." He muttered once, when you suggested help for his nightmares, for the PTSD that made him wake up shouting some nights. Rick grew up in a certain kind of family— Lived a certain kind of way. He dealt with the most unimaginable kind of shit and still lived, in spite of it all. Why would he need some yuppy telling him how to feel?

So, you tell him your Thursday evenings were for your friends, the ones he wasn't really close with. He doesn't know about the hour you spend every week trying to hold together the things in your head that so very much like to come apart. You keep your medication in a small container under the sink where he has no reason to venture. You save your episodes for when he's gone.

Rick slowly sits on the end of the bed, his eyes never leaving you. A millions scenarios run through his head— Every possible thing that could have happened while he'd been gone all week. You hadn't called, hadn't texted. Rick expected to find you napping, or in the bathroom. He doesn't expect it when you choose to say nothing at all, your back pressing down into the mattress again as you pull the blankets over your head to make the look on his face go away.

"Baby." He says firmly. His hand flexes in surprise when you jerk away from his touch, turning your back to him suddenly. Had he done something wrong? Had he forgotten something important? Rick waits for you to react further. When you don't, he sits there idly, the most uncertain he's ever been with you.

"I didn't know you were coming home." Comes your small voice from under the covers. And it comes out like an apology. Didn't know you be here to see me like this.

"I— figured I surprise you." He responds, shifting a little closer now that you were speaking. "Thought maybe you were asleep."

You clamp your jaw shut, but your shoulders give away the broken sound that wracks through you. Rick's hand is there on your arm now, unable to keep away from you as something hurts you like he's never seen before.

"Talk to me, [Y/n]. Please."

A sniffle punctuates the quiet room. You wipe your eyes from under the blankets before you pull them down from your face, the cool air latching onto your wet eyes.

"I..." You tried to begin. Where to begin. "I just, get like this sometimes."

His face twists in confusion. "Get like this?"

A hot flash of humiliation stabs at you. He was going to make you spell it out for him.

"I'm— I take medication for it. But sometimes it just sneaks up on me and I— I..."

His brow furrows further at the word medication, but he doesn't press further— Because in that moment, your face is falling again, your chin tucking into your chest as you hide the fresh wave of tears spilling freely now. He's crossing the bed in an instant, boots and hat and all as he pulls you into his arms. It spills out like a shattered dam then, his embrace finally there after years of wishing it was. After years of hiding it.

"I know you don't like talking about it, s-so I just—" You try through unfiltered sobs. You cut yourself off when your voice cracks, pressing your face against his chest instead.

Rick Flag stills at your words. Was this on him?

Rick Flag, who made a career out of trying to control things out of his control. Of anticipating the worse case scenario— For every scenario. What had he missed?

The nights of you calming him down. Of patient strokes against his temple as you brought him back from the brink. Your repeating suggestions of getting help— And his repeated denial of the idea.

Because Rick was in denial. Knew you were right. He'd brush it off every time, because admitting it meant he was broken. Needed fixing.

Rick squeezes his arms around you as you weep.

"How long," He grits out, his warm breath in your hair.

You swallow.

"Since before I met you."

You may as well have put a bullet in his heart. Rick's jaw locks, his teeth on the verge of cracking as he holds you— kind, strong, beautiful you— In his arms as you break, and all the while, you'd been breaking alone.

"You didn't tell me." He whispers. If it had been anyone else, you would have thought it was an accusation. You blink through bleary tears at the sudden shift in his tone, the tenseness from earlier evaporating.

"I thought— I didn't think you'd want to hear about it."

He'd do any-fucking-thing in the world for you. Live for you. Kill for you. Fucking die for you. Anything, apparently, but make you feel safe enough to tell him something as important as this.

You pull away when he fails to respond. Looking up, you're startled to see him staring at you with an aching expression you've never seen before. Rick bores into you, hazel eyes forcing themselves to take in your tired face. There's shock, and something pained.

"I know you go through so much— I mean, I don't know." You scramble. "I know there's things you can't talk about so I— I don't talk about my stuff either. It's trivial anyway, compared to—"

"[Y/n]." He cuts you off, hands grasping your arms firmly. You shrug them off, pressing on.

"You come home with— with stitches and burns and broken bones. And I just— Sometimes I can't move. I can't breathe." You push out, "You have a reason. And I don't."

"[Y/n], if you couldn't tell me this, then I've done somethin' wrong."

You shake your head, using your sleeve to clear up your tears. "You didn't want to talk about it."

Rick's mouth snaps shut. Fuck. Fucking hell.

For every time he shut down the idea of talking about his demons, how many times was he really shutting down the opportunity to talk you through yours?

Rick reaches for you again, his grasp feather light this time. He smoothes the thick material of your hoodie down your arms, his eyes shining as his gaze falls down between the two of you.

You take in a deep breath as you try to steady the shaky cage of your chest.

"...There are days I don't want to be here. Days I can't look in the mirror. There's people out there who have to fight for their right to live, and sometimes... I wish I could just give them my time, instead of squandering it away hiding from the world. I'm not like you, Rick. And I didn't want you to see this part of me because— I don't want you to leave."

The last word breaks off in your throat, and you feel the hot press of wetness behind your eyes.

Your stomach sinks when Rick gets off the bed. You don't know what he's doing as he stands there, turned from you. Hands on his hips, he processes something behind a trained, blank face.

You watch him remove his cap, his jacket, tossing them right onto the floor. You've never seen him put his things away anywhere but where they belonged. He says nothing still, as he sits to undo the laces of his boots, shucking them off one after the other in silence.

"Rick?" You finally whimper.

Rick turns, not looking at you, but your hand. He takes it in his, guiding you off the bed. Drawing the covers all the way back, he moves you until you're back on your side of the mattress, and Rick is joining you on his. He lies down without a word, pulling the layers back over the two of you in silence. You settled down on your side, Rick's body mirroring yours so that he can look at you. He puts his palm on your wetted cheek.

"How many nights do you spend healin' me?" It's a question aimed at himself as he searches your bloodshot eyes. "All those times you tried helpin' me. And I was hurtin' you."

"You didn't know." You say quietly.

"And that's on me."

"Rick."

He shakes his head. You watch as it wells in the corner of his eye— a tear threatening to fall. You watch it roll over the bridge of his nose, falling onto the pillow under his head.

"You're not anything trivial. Full stop." He says. You bite your lip as a swell of emotion overcomes you again. "I love you. I should have listened."

"I could talk a little more." You admit, mustering a small smile. "You could too."

He nods, stoic face as hard and thoughtful as ever. "I—... I should. If I lose you because of all this shit that I can't deal with in my own head—"

You place a hand on his chest, stopping him. "I've been trying to tell you, Rick. It's not about dealing with it on your own."

You're aware of how the advice sounds in your own ears, how it's something you should have been doing yourself. Your lip quivers involuntarily. You inhale. "We've both been hiding in our own little corners. I hate it. I want to be with you— While I have you.”

Rick takes your hand in his, drawing it up to rest it on his jaw with a nod.

"Not goin’ anywhere, [Y/n]. I wanna be with you, too." He says. Then, hesitantly: "Show me where to start?"

You press your brow to Rick's, a solid, grounding gesture, the rest of your body following. The two of you slot together like two familiar pieces. You stay like that for awhile, the outside world a distant, quiet thing.

"Think we already started." You murmur with a sliver of hope.

#rick flag x reader #rick flag x you #rick flag fanfiction #rick flag #dceu fanfiction #mywords*

[thickness-protection-program]

there was this dude I'd been lusting after for months that used to frequent the same dive bar as me and my friends and coworkers (food service life). i thought he wasn't into me, as the dudes i wanted the most never were, but one night we drank together, bonded about video games, then made out in one of the filthier men's bathrooms I've had the displeasure of being in. both of us were wasted and got catcalled by friends when we came out. all very fun, very messy. first red flag but y'know, i was having fun

on the ride to his place after, he revealed to me that he was an aspiring actor and my drunk brain was even further wooed, not seeing this as a second red flag (no offense to other aspiring actors but trust me it just was). we picked up a movie on Redbox on the way and he insisted, like insisted on Don Jon, which had just come out and he guaranteed was great. i wasn't interested in whatever movie since we both knew it was just pretense before getting to shenanigans so i missed yet another red flag 😆

we get to his apartment and his door is unlocked. that freaked me out a little, but in an amused way, assuming out loud that he'd forgotten to lock it. he assured me that he didn't forget anything, he just never locks his apartment! and we both laughed and i made a joke that he was definitely gonna lock it tonight... and i missed red flag number cuál? his place had a ton of nice shit in it, im talking nice ass TV, three gaming consoles, just a whole bunch of expensive shit that an unemployed actor living in northern VA should not be able to afford lol

we watched the movie (barely), got to the bed, and i got some good dicking. all was well and good, we went for hours. 5-star experience so far, no regrets on my mind. he falls asleep, cause he's home, and i get restless cause I'm at a new place and too broke for an Uber home, so I'm laying there doing mental logistics about how the fuck imma make my next shift in 4 hours, and i go to the bathroom for the first time

i had very very much sobered up by then and... the unmitigated fucking horror

bright orange ring of nasty inside the toilet bowl (how?). crusty, disgusting sink and sink drain (how??). i opened the shower curtain and the fucking FILTH like—all of a sudden i was COMPLETELY sober. i started taking in the entire bathroom. short hairs, grime, stains, stickiness—all the things you never want to encounter in a strangers bathroom after having unprotected sex 😭

so i quietly exit that nightmare and make my way over to the bed but suddenly start seeing things for what they really are. expensive shit, yes, but carelessly placed. living room curtains wide open w the lights on and the window wide open (the neighborhood was not THAT safe ok). clothes strewn everywhere. and when I do return to bed? the morning light is just coming in and yea, his shirtless back looks amazing against his black sheets but... the nerve of someone this dirty having black sheets

i just noticed hair. everywhere. not my hair! i was a bald, braided bitch at the time. not his hair!! he had a short crewcut at the time. long straight blond hair, medium length brown hair. and it's like—all over the sheets. like when you share your bed with your fuckin dog. the pillow was, naturally, the most cluttered with strangers' hair

and there i was, abruptly stone cold sober and stuck in a den of filth, sin, and my own poor decisions with no ride, no cash, and no way out til morning

at least i came four times?

GIRL! My ass woulda hopped out that place like

Yes I'm glad you got that good cum pump but bestie this is actually a scene in a horror movie I'm shaking 💀

#tell me your hoe stories

[namjoonchronicles]

impression | yg

↳ genre fluff, domestic, established relationship

↳ words 5.5k

↳ summary many forgot that when you marry someone, you marry their family too, at least that’s how Asian family is like

↳ warning that side of adulthood, lockdown because of pandemic, self-worth, over-sensitivity, pisces dude, married life conflicts

↳ song ariana grande ‘pov’ 

Just this morning you woke him up with ‘Daechwita’ blasting on his ear drums, dancing and prancing around the home gym in your spandex bra and sweatpants, rapping to every word he wrote, with more swag than ten Yoongis combined. Forehead glistened with sweat, rosy cheeks and more life in you than he ever had. He leaned by the door sill just watching in utter disbelief and renewed admiration to just how much you loved his music. It never gets old. But how the tables have turned, two minutes before midnight.

You’ve locked yourself in the bathroom, him leaning his back on the wall, speaking through the closed door, calling out for you.

“Talk to me. Please… Say something. Anything,” he puts his lips inches away from the door, covering his hand over his mouth to direct the sound towards you, hoping it would get through. Fat chance, but at least he tried.

Must be something in his drink last night for him to hear his own song even when he is sleeping, Yoongi thought. But he didn't drink last night? Yoongi pulled the duvet down his head, contorting his entire face and the blaring boom bass music, rippling through the miniature figure standees of famous baseball players he had lined up on the TV cabinet. The music was so loud, the pictures hung on the walls began rattling at each beat drop. Where is this music coming from??

Two seconds in, and the empty spot next to him spoke volumes. All answers were as clear as day.

Yoongi sat up on the bed, duvets pooled around his waist as he yawns loudly and his bed hair flopping on either side leans towards, some baby strands standing in all directions. He scratches his arms, neck and belly as he comes awake. Face puffy, eyes barely open, and cheeks as circle as they could be. He gathered the duvet to the side and pushed himself off to the edge of the bed while shoving his feet into his indoor slippers. He tried to fetch his phone from the bedside table and saw it vibrating on its own from the loud music.

"Better stop her before the neighbours come complaining…"

He waddles about the room lazily, dragging his feet, his arm reaching for the switch panel before he even arrives to have the curtain open and let the sun in. The automated curtain aligned and folded creases perfectly as it gathered itself to each designated side. The bed, the bed will be made up later after he advises his wife not to deafen the whole neighborhood with his albums and he could finally think.

The teal-colored walls that extended along the hallway of the house, decorated with wedding pictures, family pictures, his signed baseball jerseys, picture of his basketball days (the one he jumps for a slam dunk and especially proud of, you know the one), your graduation picture (with him professionally photoshopped in) and some lovely polaroids of your first unofficial date that he insists was official. More on that later. Yoongi walks pass this memory lane with a stern face, shooting glares ahead, marching in the direction of the music, which seems to be coming from the gym. What he saw was a petite figure, all hyped up, sweaty, holding up a water bottle to your lips like a microphone, mouthing his rap like it was your own. You saw him in the mirror reflection but instead of coiling away, shy, you spat his rap to his face with flaming confidence. Yoongi looks down with a shy smile, eyes turning small and polite, skin blushing pink with second hand embarrassment. His face is hot and your sweaty skin, hair plastered to your neck and forehead, in revealing spandex was not helping. Neither is your swag. He clamped his lips with his teeth while you pulled his arm so he would join you. He protested lazily but didn't resist as hard. He throws his head back, whining dejections but you couldn't care less.

"Are you making your own concert here? Plagiarising my songs?"

You heard him and grinned widely at the mirror. He folded his arms and watched you dance seductively and just as the rap got to the 'my tongue sends boys and girls to China' part, the music stops and he is no longer next to you but by the stereo and turning it off.

"Yoongi! I was working out!" "People are gonna come and complain…" "They know who you are…" "They know my name from you…"

Screaming underneath him, that's what he meant. You rolled your eyes at him. He passed you a face towel with a sheepish smile. Wiping your face with it, you watched Yoongi unplug your phone from the sockets. It reveals several missed calls from your mother in law, Yoongi's mom.

"Mom called…" "Really?"

You moved closer to him to see. Yoongi reads the message she sent you outloud and the colors drained down your face.

"What do I cook? What do I do? What does she usually have for lunch? OMG, I don’t know. Do we even have kimchis left? I hadn't restocked…" "She likes fried dumplings and soy garlic chicken stew… it'll be okay. She said she is coming around noon. It's just a little over 8 am… Go take a shower."

You scurried to the bathroom and did as told. Yoongi made the bed while he waited. He turns the cordless vacuum cleaner on but it beeped soullessly because it wasn't charged. He sighed. You always forget to charge them after using them. He opted for a broom and dustpan instead. Yoongi disappears into his home studio, to take the shampoo he had been using and after-shower lotion for you to use. He twisted the knob, knowing you wouldn't lock them when you shower. Knock on the glass door of the shower and told you to use them. You nodded, passing him a look over your shoulder but he was out as quickly as he entered. That cold, cold steely husband.

You stepped out of the shower wrapped in towels with your hair dripping wet, hurrying to the hairdryer to dry your hair. Yoongi walks in with nothing but a towel around his waist. He passes you a chaste kiss on the shoulder first, then your cheeks before he continues to unravel his briefs and showered as well. The water trickles down his face, neck and shoulders, cascading down his speckless back, over the bum of his ass and wetting his happy trails at the same time. He aggressively rubs water over his face, the tips of his hair appear darker as it gets wet. You dressed up in your oversized hoodie, a pair of jeans and red converse, hair tied up in a bun, grabbing your purse for a quick run to the store. If your mother in law is coming, the least you could do is cook an all korean cuisine, prep nicely on the table so she knows that her son was taken care of nicely. Giving her a lasting good impression was your core priority as of now. And Yoongi would have been more than happy to do the grocery for you but this time, just this once, you want to show him that you are dependable too.

If there is anything you learned from korean cuisine is that food is prepared meticulously like you would, a form of art. Everything is placed neatly on a plate, and wrapped tightly. Taste and looks must be perfect. Everything had a sequence. Tradition and culture shapes the good people of Korea to what it is today. And for Daegu native, Yoongi's deep accent and habits become one of the most significant traits that flags a Daegu representative. You are obsessed with getting it right. Although you mostly don't understand the heavy accents he tends to let slip out once in a while, you were expecting to guess the words as it comes. His accents are one of the things that you loved about him. Daegu dialects are strong, and oozing masculinity. They are often direct and unapologetic so it might be heard as harsh. You couldn't tell apart if he is cursing or if he is just plainly just talking about his day when his friends stop by. He caught you a few times, staring blankly at him when he blurted out dialects out of frustrations, and he laughed them off when you accuse him of lying to you about what the words actually mean.

With his mom stopping by, the dialects are going to be thick and you would probably stare blankly most of the time. Communications are limited and Yoongi had to come back and forth to translate some of them.

Korean cooking is not your forte. Let's put that out there, in the open for everyone to see and understand. You are not familiar with it, and although you love some of it, some just don't fit your taste buds. But Yoongi is a full blown Korean. You make adjustments here and there, but it's not like he is always around for you to cook them often. That's why your korean cooking skills deteriorated. Even simple things like choosing which mushrooms to cook with takes 10 minutes longer than it probably should. You went with your heart and took the one you saw first.

Yoongi came out from the baths to see an empty room. Your perfume wafts over his nostril and it tattles about your whereabouts. Just as he was about to investigate, his phone shrieked a calling tone. It was Jungkook. Asking for a chord. He sounds desperate and bored to death. Being a good friend, Yoongi speds to his home studio after clumsily putting on some white tee on top of a grey shorts, halfway through and sending him several chords the little guy could work with, then pulling the rest of the shirt down as it loads. He swore he didn't take long but he found you already changing your clothes and starting to chop things on the chopping board, sloppily. He knows that it was not you to do things sloppily so he offered to help sharpen the knives.

"Soy garlic stew?"

You chewed your lips at him as he asked and nodded. Anxiety was written all over you. Your hands were already so shaky, and that's why you couldn't hold the knife properly, aside from it being blunt. You turned to the sink and began chopping the scallions with another knife Yoongi handed you.

“There are some potatoes I bought in the paper bags, I brought the mushroom I am familiar with, I am not sure if it's the one used in the stew. What time is it already? Is this enough time to even cook the stew? The chicken hasn’t thaw has it? I am not going to have enough time… She is going to know that the dumpling is store bought and I am putting my pride on the line…” you spoke nonstop, didn’t even hear Yoongi if he was saying anything, which you assumed he was quiet, so you became annoyed and, “Why aren’t answering any questions I have??”

Yoongi stood there, with a blank expression, “You wouldn’t even let me talk…”

You answered your own questions, and he was here listening to everything, opening his mouth and closing it before any word could come out because you bulldozed him with words, as he dug out the potatoes you were talking about, as well as the mushrooms.

“I’m sorry, I watched the youtube video on making the stew on the way to the mart and it seems pretty complicated, but doable… I think that the ginger and garlic goes in first,” you paused and sighed, “It’s been awhile since I cooked a proper meal for myself. I don’t know if I had it in me to even do this anymore…”

That’s right. While Yoongi was always away from the last two years, his work trips extended from 3 months to a whole year, and while studying for your master’s degree, you opt for simpler food, just enough for you to get by the day with a filled stomach. Most of your time is dedicated to your studies and laundry. Stopping by Daegu was hardly done, and if anything, you would just send some gifts her way. It is pretty awkward between you and his mother; language barriers, interests, and principles. You didn’t notice when Yoongi was standing behind you, his hand was on top of yours, soothing over your knuckles and he hijacked the scissors from your hands gently.

And he whispered softly atop of your head, “I got this.”

Just like that, he took over kitchen duties and let you handle the simpler stuff like, putting the pot on the stove, fill water in it, skin the potatoes, chopped them into large cubes, unstub the capsicum, peel the skin off of the chicken, peel the garlic and ginger. Yoongi’s instructions are clear and easy to follow. After all the things are chopped and prepared, he hands the ladle to you.

Your eyes widen. And you shook your head. Stepping back. Yoongi clicked his tongue and chuckled through his nose. Coax you. But no, you stepped farther back. He then took your wrist gently and placed the ladle handle in your palm.

“Trust me?” “I trust you, it’s me I don’t trust.”

“I’ll help you every step. Let’s go. Have confidence!” “You’re the multi billionaire, I’m just the struggling degree student with a part time job.”

“You’re Min Yoongi’s wife.” “I find that hard to believe sometimes…”

With another scolding tut of his tongue, you conceded. With a heavy heart.

The chopped chicken pieces are placed in a boiling water pot, and when its reddish flesh turns white and is cooked, it is drained and washed underneath cold running water to remove impurities. You watched quietly as Yoongi cleans them with his capable hands. His veins protrude, extending well over his forearms. The tip of his fingers were pinker than the rest of his hands, and he smoothes over those nooks and crannies the chicken pieces have. As ridiculous as it may sound, you were quite envious of the fact that those chickens have his full attention now. Next, the carrots.

The carotene source is peeled and chopped in large size. Yoongi helped guide your hands over the handle of the knife, because he is pretty particular on how big he wanted those carrots to be.

“Isn’t that too large?” You asked him in a small voice. They are half the size of your thumb. “No, it’s just nice…” he replied in a low voice, his lips just behind your ear, “It has to be in the same size as the potatoes, so it will cook at the same time.”

Your bottom grazed over his front and he learns to just keep you sandwiched in between the counter and him, so it won’t turn to something else. He is just as anxious as you are with his mom coming. Therefore, the percentage of him turning frisky is zero to none. The onions come next. They are chopped in half and then into fours. Yoongi paused and braced himself for tear gas attacks only there was none. He asks where you bought those onions, and you replied, it was grown in your colleagues garden. They were given for free. And he comments,

“They should sell these, we will be their first loyal customer! It doesn’t sting!”

You laughed as you prepared the fruits you bought. It was rock melon and some papayas. You avoided buying tangerine because you know she will bring some from her hometown, knowing how much Yoongi loves them. Daegu’s tangerines are very sweet and plump. There is nothing like it. Yoongi sliced green onions for the stew and extra hot chili peppers because his mom likes them spicy. Then he prepares the mixture for the broth.

“Now watch,” he instructed you, “Soy sauce, rice wine, red chilli pepper powders, minced garlic, two cups of sugar, red pepper paste, sesame oil, pepper. Mix well.”

Yoongi prepared a pot and placed the cleaned chicken pieces in them, added potatoes, carrots and water with the mixture he made just prior. Then, boil. After the chicken is cooked thoroughly, he adds onions. Then the scallions. Then salt to taste. You prepared the oven and Yoongi carried the pot to it to keep it warm until his mom arrived. Dumplings were pan fried. That one was simple. His mom doesn’t like her beverages too sweet, a simple plain water is enough.

When all the food is done, you turn to him at the same time he did. Sweats rolling down his sideburns and his thin white shirt clinging on his skin like he ran a mile. You approached him with a huge smile, swept his hair back to reveal his forehead and dabbed your inner wrist to wipe away his sweat all around his face. He sniggers through his nose. Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, you can’t help but plant a kiss on them. Nuzzling your face on his neck, you draped your arm around his shoulder and mumbled, “Thank you…”

He leans his cheek on your head and kisses one side of your brain, before exclaiming that you both need another shower after cleaning up the kitchen and turning on the air humidifier to chase away the smell of cooking.

“How was the journey?” you chirped. “The weather is scorching hot, the sun is melting me away before I can meet my son,” Yoongi’s mom complained in a thick Daegu accent, and when she stepped in, she gave you a glance and straight away went looking for her precious son. As expected.

“He was just out of the shower, he will come soon, mother,” you said the last word awkwardly, it doesn’t really roll off your tongue as comfortably as it should. She replied to you with a dejected “Hmm.”

You blinked and cast your eyes downwards, then up again to change the topic, “...Let me take you some cold drink… it must have been a torture, to walk around in such hot weather,” you sped to the kitchen and grabbed her a cold water in a tall glass.

“Hello mom…” Yoongi revealed himself from the hallway, gave his mother a hug that you didn’t receive when she walked in. “It wasn’t torture when I’ve come to see my son!” She suddenly changed her words, now she is all bright and cheerful, and you disappeared from her sight completely unless Yoongi looks over to you and includes you in the conversation. That too, wasn’t permanent. Yoongi learned that his older brother’s wife is carrying a baby and Holly had been snuggling to her tummy at every chance she gets. The sight would have been adorable and they were able to take a picture of it so Yoongi’s mom excitedly showed them to Yoongi. They both are sitting on the sofa while you were in the kitchen scooping up cooked rice into bowls of three.

“This sofa is new isn’t it? I didn’t see it the last time I was here,” his mom asked. “Yes, yes… do you like it?” Yoongi said and said you chose them. Then her enthusiasm dissipates. “I like it better without one. Now it’s too westernized,” his mom’s lips turned lopsided, continuing, “Did you know that hanging your legs down will disrupt the blood flow up to your brain? We better sit down on the floor when we eat, too…”

Yoongi prepared a Japanese folded table and pushed aside the coffee table that was there. Everything you’ve prepared on the dining table was moved to the Japanese one. When everything is set, you and Yoongi wait for his mom to start eating before you both do. It’s tradition. Even between man and wife, the older one begins eating first. Yoongi sips the stew and then you begin scooping the stew into your bowl. You were the only one eating mostly with a spoon instead of chopstick since you aren’t too accustomed to it. Yoongi’s mother said in a joking tone that you should start using the training chopstick used by toddlers.

Why are you extra sensitive today? She was just joking, but smiling is so hard right now. Your cheeks feel heavy and your shoulders stiffened. Yoongi carried the rest of the conversation effortlessly. The deep Daegu accent is already shifting your attention towards the fried dumpling instead. It was just a little over 45 minutes since she arrived, why does it feel like days?

“Dumplings, mother?” You chirped, attempted to use the chopstick and successfully landed them in her bowl.

Then she puts them back where they were, and said, “I don’t eat store-bought dumpling, darling,” before resuming to tell Yoongi the story about her neighbour getting into a real estate feud. You hold your breath in your throat and try not to think about it too much. Although you’ve finished your bowl of rice, Yoongi still hasn’t. He was busy nodding away to what his mother was saying. She barely touched the stew. When she turned to her food, you tapped Yoongi’s knee underneath the table and he looked at you wide eyed, darting at the stew. And Yoongi’s lips turned to the shape of an “O”.

“How do you like the stew, mom?” He asked. “It’s okay…” “My wife made it…” Yoongi said with a smug smile.

You smiled, shyly.

“It tastes exactly how Yoongi would cook it. I thought you cooked it, I know how horrible her korean cooking is, Yoongi… You don’t have to lie to me,” his mom passed.

After bidding her farewell at the door, Yoongi accompanied her to his brother’s incoming vehicle that fetches her. His brother made a promise to stop by when the baby arrives and when the Covid cases reduce a bit. You watched from the window from your bedroom and when the car drove off with Yoongi waving goodbye to his mom, your heart thudded differently.

Your eyes stung, and tears impending to fall as it collected around the brims. As you heard the front door beeping open to Yoongi returning, your feet dashed to the bathroom door, pushing it open as your tears rolled down your face like a dam broke.

Sensitive? Too soft? Was I too emotional? Am I not trying hard enough to be enough?

Yoongi walks in, to an eerily silent house. Ridding his shirt by pulling it over his head as he walks down the dimly lit hallway. His heavy footsteps heard across the floorings and you covered your mouth with your hand to not make any sound. He noticed that the bathroom light was on unlike the rest of the room.

“You’re showering alone? Traitor…” he pouted and wriggled the door knob and noticed it was locked from the inside. “I have a stomach ache,” you hoped you sound convincing. Your voice didn’t sound as shaky and you hope he didn’t catch on. “Okay…” he said, after a long pause. You turned the shower on to reduce the sound of you crying, and went back to sitting on the floor by the door, dug the heels of your palm into your eyes socket, and hugged your knees, sniffling.

“Hey…” his voice muffled through the door. “Hmm?” you replied, through a broken smile.

“Are you okay?”

Another dam broke.

Shit, I’ve started crying again. Why can’t I stop crying?! He is going to find out now… Fuck.

“Talk to me. Please… Say something. Anything,” he puts his lips inches away from the door, covering his hand over his mouth to direct the sound towards you, hoping it would get through.

“Was it mom? She says something you don’t like? You know how mom is, right? She doesn’t mean any of it…” now it’s Yoongi’s turned to bulldoze you with questions he himself answered.

Unable to take it anymore, you had to speak out, even if it means behind closed doors.

“I know she doesn’t like me as a daughter-in-law…” you spoke in broken voices. “Nonsense…” Yoongi passed, nonchalantly.

“No, will you please just listen to me?!” you raised your voice a bit, “I am not like your brother’s wife who cooks great Korean food, who sends her nice homemade desserts to her likings, and now is bearing a grandchild for her. I can’t cook, and had to rely on you a lot. She came over and she didn’t give me a hug like she did you, and the whole she doesn’t even speak to me unless I speak to her first, and even then, she shuts me down so I couldn’t say another word. I can’t even use a damn chopstick or make homemade dumplings she’ll eat!”

It’s Yoongi’s turn to lean his back on the door and hug his knees, then hang his head low.

“Suddenly the sofa is too westernized. And the glass doors letting in too much sunlight when I renovated it the way she wanted. It seems like everything I do is wrong and I just have no place in the Min’s household no matter how hard I try,” you sniffed, and, “To make matters worse she brought up the girlfriends you had in high school and how they cook her favourite food! Girlfriends! Plural! Here I thought you only had one… Jokes on me, I guess… It’s fine, honestly.”

There's nothing more terrifying than the word ‘fine’ you threw when you’re sad and Yoongi knows it. It signifies so many things. It indicates that you’re done, and you’re ready to let go of it, by shoving it under the rug like many other things your mother in law did to you ever since you met her. Yoongi shot his head up when the door opened and his eyes followed you in silence, a little solemn. You dried your hair, sitting on the makeup chair table, running the cool air Dyson hairdryer over the lengths of your hair. Yoongi crawled on all four and knelt behind you to hug your waist, nuzzling his face on your lower back. Then the tears returned, and kept falling.

Your gaze is stuck on the reflection of you in the mirror. What have we become?

It was one of those moments where no words seemed to suffice. Regrets and guilt becomes almost the same thing. Pointing the blame is the last thing on your mind. Choosing sides is difficult when so much is at stake. You may have unclasped his arm from around your waist, heard his wordless gesture and refused to see his face, but so much of him is in you. The fact you held on for so long was because of that man you love and married. Is this going to happen everytime your mother in law stops by?

Even then, you didn't want him to go against his own mother, nor do you want him to side with her… It was such a confusing situation.

Yoongi needs to return to the studio. He packs a few toiletries and clothes for him to wear while he is there. You helped him pack leftover food so you are not burdened to finish everything alone. The conversation shifts to what matters now. You carry your duty as a wife, his partner. You make sure that he is able to provide for this family and even though your emotions are once again neglected for the time being, you were glad that it actually occupied your mind and heart.

At the door, his manager carried his things and instead of leaving along with his manager, Yoongi told him to go first. You already know what comes next. But you aren't sure if you had it in you. One look in your eyes and Yoongi knows that you will rather die than have that conversation all over again. He ran his finger through your hair, lowered his lips to your forehead and stayed like that for awhile, and you said,

“Take care of yourself,” you spoke to his chest, breathing in his musky cologne for the days ahead without him. He stepped back, thumbed your cheek and pinched your chin, tilting your head back. He glanced at your lips while biting his own then backed away, to leave. As the view of his back got smaller and smaller, he exclaimed, “I’m going.” Not once did he turn behind to have one last look. And it was something Yoongi would do. Doesn’t matter if it's at the airport, or at the backstage, he will never look at you after he leaves you, even when he knows you’re right there standing, and looking at him. He says that, if he saw you standing there waiting for him, he will not be able to fight the urge to run to you. So he never looks back. The one thing that he always does before a work trip, is to kiss your forehead. Dr. Laurel Steinberg says, a forehead kiss indicates strong emotional intimacy.

But Yoongi says that a forehead kiss to him signifies a bond that goes beyond lust and love, it was your soul. It is to say, “I might be too far away to hold you, but my soul is yours.” It sends butterflies and confettis your way when he does it. It always feels warm and you always feel protected with a stamp of Yoongi’s lips on your forehead. It feels like a talisman. That no matter what, Yoongi is here.

Recovery. The emotional turmoil, the rollercoaster. You fill your time organizing the photos Yoongi took. With your final exams finished a week ago, you’re given a month off before you begin your final year. Yoongi now lives in his studio office because the album recording session begins and he is in every process. He is in charge of doubling and finalizing the tracks, directing and whatnot. Yoongi sends you a 1 minute 23 seconds video. Scowling at it, your face softened at the sight of him, recording himself in the studio. Dark circles doubled in size and his cheeks sunken. Poor thing hadn't been eating well did he?

“Hey, sweetie…” his familiar guttural voice resonated with your heart strings, “Sorry I haven’t been able to properly give you a call. It’s too late when I’m free, and I’m asleep when you’re awake. So I figured I’ll just send you a damn video, to hell with it.” You chuckled softly as your visions turned blurry.

“I think I will be addressing the recent issue we tucked away for later day. It’s later. You have never been good at fighting for yourself. It was something I don’t really understand because I’ve seen you fight my fight for me,” he glanced to the side and smiled fondly. You were unclear what situation he was talking about but you kept listening.

“You told me that I shouldn’t side with you because that would mean I am against my mother. Here’s what I truly think…” he breathed in and sighed loudly, “I think I should side with you. I spoke to my mom a few days ago, asked her how she is, and I told her several things I don’t like, like bringing up my past ex girlfriend, or how you can’t use the chopstick yet, or how your korean cooking isn’t great yet… how upset it made you and me. She told me that she was just jealous. I left home when I was 16. Come back when I am 20, married at 25. I will always be her son, I let her know that. But I am now someone’s husband, and I happen to cherish this someone, her heart and her wellbeing is my responsibility. I am not stolen from my mom, I consciously chose this person to be with me, to be her husband and built a home with her. And if she can’t respect that, then she cannot return to our house…”

You had to set the phone down and wipe your tears with the back of your hand.

“I’m done being a referee,” Yoongi continued after a long pause, “You’re gonna cry again, and I won’t be able to pass you tissue or give you a hug, I hope you understand what I’m trying to say. I am proud of you and all the little things you do. Daegu dialect is difficult to understand ha? That’s alright. You’re getting your degree, and you help pack my things even though you’re sad as hell the day I left. I couldn’t… I couldn’t ask for a better wife, and I hardly think I deserve you. Until we meet again, soon. Your husband, Min Yoongi.”

The video cuts to him winking.

Another text from him,

[Yoongi, 1.03AM] Impression is never permanent. I hope you give mother another try…

Wife is typing...

[Wife, 1.04AM] Erm. [Wife, 1.04AM] Sends a pic.

[Wife, 1.05AM] How’s this for a lasting impression?

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copyright © 2020 namjoonchronicles do not repost, and thank you for reading

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[sconnie-doesnt-know]

So Wrong

Characters: Lee Bodecker, Reader, Jane Bodecker, assorted OCs, also gonna go ahead and say Lee is kinda soft/dark in this one

Word Count: 8000

Warnings: Infidelity, alcohol usage, smoking, somewhat dub-con sexual stuff, but not really

Summary: The Reader is a young single mother and widow new to the town of Meade. She gets drawn into a social circle that includes the Sheriff’s wife, while also being drawn to the Sheriff himself.

A/n: I truly don’t know where this came from or why I wrote it. I watched TDATT and suddenly this whole thing just popped into my head complete with a Patsy Cline soundtrack. There’s infidelity on Lee’s part, and his wife is terrible, and these are fictional characters so I am trying to not feel guilty for making that happen. 

There’s more to this story, probably extending into 1 or 2 more parts. I don’t know what to say for myself, I cannot pwp. Feedback and constructive criticism are welcome. Not beta-read, so please let me know if there’s an error. 

Hope you enjoy!

Meade is as good a place as any to settle. Surrounded by wilderness and small towns, it’s quiet, far from anyplace and anyone you know. A welcome adventure and a place to dispose of your grief, finally - hopefully. 

You pull up on a quiet street and sit there just a moment to breathe, to look at the life you had that is settled in between the few boxes and suitcases of belongings, the folded up flag, and the little boy you buckled into the seat.

Through a tangled web of connections, you are able to rent a little upper duplex apartment from the widow in town. She claims she doesn’t mind a little noise as your son stomps up the stairs and gives you an open invitation to join her at church on Sundays.

It is six days into your new residence, the first Monday in town when the apparent welcoming committee shows up at your door. She wears a gentle smile on her face and presents you with a warm pie still wrapped in cloth.

“My name is Jane Bodecker, my husband’s the Sheriff. I wanted to introduce myself…”

You know the routine after moving around a few times already. You imagine the conspiring during the luncheon after church yesterday, the ladies munching on dry cookies and deciding who would be the first to talk to you.

You nod and smile, and accept the offering. 

“Some of us like to get together to play cards and socialize on Tuesdays, it would be nice to have you join us and let us get to know you.”

Of course she means that they are chomping at the bit to know why a single woman with no family ties has moved into town. You’re familiar with the ritual and know you need to go along if you want to make it work in this place.

You return her smile, “That would be so kind of you, as long as you don’t mind my son coming along.” You gesture to the little boy hiding in your skirts behind you.

“Of course he can. He can play with my boy, Robert. We will see you at two.” She leaves you with her address and directions over, telling you to look for the house with the red shutters.

Their house is in one of the newer, more developed parts, with some manufactured homes lining the street and looking boxy compared to the traditional farmhouses, but it's charming. The red shutters stand out, that’s for certain. It doesn’t take long to figure out that Jane is a proud host, head of the gossip chain, and is required to mention “My husband, the Sheriff” at least once per conversation.

You let the ladies ask their questions and nod politely as they give you the required chorus of condolences. You feel the shift when Jane steers the conversation to what they all want to know. “Now, I don’t mean to spread gossip, but some folks were wondering why you rented a place here instead of goin’ home to your family.”

Your shoulders stiffen, ‘so much for not putting me on the spot’ you think, but you still smile politely as you answer. “I have no other family. My daddy was gone when I was a girl and my momma dropped me off with an aunt and uncle when she was with husband number three and I don’t know where she is. They said it was the first thing she did that made a lick of sense,” you try to joke. “Well, they didn’t exactly approve of me and Jimmy, so when we married they told me not to go back.”

“And the boy’s other kin?”

“Ain’t no other kin. Jimmy’s family was small, they’re gone now.”

“Well, ain’t you a tragedy,” she says in a chirpy, high voice. 

Your face tightens and you stare at your lap, “We get by,” you weakly mutter. 

They all assure you that they have some nice gentlemen they can introduce to you, and go on about how fortunate you are they are pulling you into their group. You hear about faceless people and their minor transgressions, but get bored with it fairly quickly and use the time to look over the Bodecker home. It’s nice, a mixture of modest and a few state-of -the-art updates. There’s more dust than you expect, the sofa cushions look worn down, with only a few photos on display. The sheriff’s face shrouded in shadows in the one you can see, but you figure their son must take after him since he doesn’t have the pinched look his mother seems to naturally have.

You don’t even meet ‘her husband, the Sheriff’ until your third Tuesday afternoon of cards at their home. Jane herself is practically giving a campaign speech since the election so close. You never paid a lot of attention to local politics, and you try to give her your attention, but when she starts to ramble on it’s just too much. You happen to look to the side to avoid rolling your eyes and catch just when he strolls in, as if on cue with the uniform all perfectly in place. He scans the group of women until he stops on you, eyes lighting up with interest.

Your own breath catches in your throat at the sight of him as he removes his hat and looks you over.

“Well,” he drawls, “You must be the sweet new thing that’s got all the fellas in town rioting.”

You have to look down, lest the embarrassment make you combust.

“Now, Lee,” Jane scolds, “That’s no way to say hello. Come over here and introduce yourself properly.” She guides him over, and you almost say it with her when she recites, “This is my husband, the Sheriff.”

“Apologies, miss. I know you aren’t trying to get them all riled. Janey told me ‘bout your husband. War is Hell, shame to be losing boys like that.”

He holds his hand out to shake yours, his hold firm and warm and you are hesitant to let go.

“I appreciate that, thank you, Sheriff. Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he nods, eyes flicking over you one more time. “What are your plans in this lovely town of ours?” 

“Oh. Well,” you freeze up for a moment, it’s the first time someone’s asked and you don’t have your answer prepared. “Well, I was thinking that I would get a job. We get by right now, but once my boy is in school, I would like something else to do.”

Jane jumps on your answer, “Let’s just see if we can’t find you a bachelor around here. Plenty of boys can use someone to take care of ‘em, but if you want a man who will be home on time, you stay away from any of the deputies. I can’t remember the last time Lee wasn’t busy with something or other from the county. I suppose that’s the life we’ve chosen though, isn’t it?”

Her voice sounds overly sweet, but you can sense the daggers in her words. It’s the way he reacts, shifting on his feet and rolling his jaw like he’s annoyed. Jane doesn’t even pay attention to anything but the cards in her hand. Some of the other ladies nod, but the sheriff just lowers his head before he pulls Jane to the side to talk to her quietly.

You track his movements, fascinated until you shake yourself out of it. It’s been years since you felt like that or even saw a man that caught your attention - not since Jimmy. It’s alarming, unnerving.

The wave of guilt that washes over you is more than you can handle. 

“Please excuse me, but we must be going.” You get up without waiting for any response and practically yank your son right out of the house as Jane calls after you that she will see you again soon.

You brush off the incident after having some time to think, convinced that it is just because you were caught off guard, and try to go on as normally as you can.

Your days end up filled with social calls, running errands or helping your landlady, and keeping your son busy. He asks to play with the Bodecker boy nearly every day, but you try your best to keep your distance when you can, especially when she starts trying to arrange dates for you even when you politely decline.

You look at the other ladies sometimes and wonder how many of them are just tolerating her the way you do. There’s just something grating about the way her voice goes especially nasally when she has something not-very-Christian to say, or the way she talks so openly and obscenely about the apparent whorehouse in town. She doesn’t even seem the least bit shameful when she begins to complain about her sister-in-law and the trouble she gets up to despite her brother being the sheriff.

Sheriff Bodecker, on the other hand, is a bit more friendly than you anticipated, expecting him to be cold or rude, but usually he’s the one pushing his wife to extend a coffee or supper invitation your way and making small talk when you are still around when he gets home from work or if he catches you around town. Your own mind suspects that it’s maybe just a sense of civic duty to know his neighbors, but it’s nice to have company nonetheless. 

Conversation with him comes easily. He talks with you about interesting news stories, about the boys, about some of the other towns, and even plans for the county. It’s interesting, not just debate on whether the new curtains chosen by someone or other are tacky. There are times you get lost talking with him and need to be corralled back in by Jane or Steven getting antsy.

The way he draws your eye is a mixture of curiosity and interest. It makes you notice when he’s driving the patrol car or when you see him around town. You catch how tired he seems at the end of the days, how he’s usually got a piece of candy to slip to kids when they come by and are brave enough to ask. You notice how he knows everyone in town and seems to have an eye on everything, checking in at the shops and breaking up the young men when they start to roughhouse.

In a place like this, Jane Bodecker is far from the only gossiper in town, so while she might not share much about herself or her husband, plenty of others do. Some of the things they say are just nitpicking and you try to drown it out. They’ve been decent to you since your arrival, but it’s hard to ignore the constant whispers of how power went right to their heads.

When the election is over and she gets the right to continue to say “My husband, the Sheriff” you start to really see what they say. She loses the facade of playing the good wife, but still hosts her weekly card meetings to keep up to date. Instead of just coffee and tea, she starts slipping sips of whiskey and gives her opinion a bit more freely than before, and often hurling insults anywhere they can land.

It’s painful to watch her put down everyone, but especially the sheriff when he gets in her way. When you catch him sending a frustrated look at her turned back or rolling his eyes at her complaints about the town and its people, you pretend not to notice and remember to keep a smile on. Her outbursts get more and more unhinged and brazen, and the defeat and exhaustion in his stance makes you ache. There’s a hurt you can’t vocalize without overstepping, but it eats at you, chips at your patience bit by bit.

When the sheriff pulls the cruiser over one day while you’re walking between stores to say hi and make some small talk, you’re pleased. He seems less worn down, it’s nice to see.

“Oh, Sheriff, you’ve got some good timing,” you reach into one of your shopping bags, pulling out a paper bag of hard candies you bought from the candy shop. “While doing the washing, I found a handful of wrappers. Turns out the boys were getting into your candy stash. Thought you might need a refill.”

You hand him the bag and the smile he gives you in return makes your chest tighten up and ache.

“Sweet things from a sweet thing, thank you darlin’.” 

You bit down on your lips, desperate to not react to his flirtatious words. “It’s nothin’, Sheriff.”

“Not to me.”

You start to sway from foot to foot, looking down at the sidewalk with a hum and trying to come up with something else to say. Silence hangs in the air for a moment before his radio crackles with a call from the station. You take the opportunity to make your exit.

“I’ll be seeing you, Sheriff.”

He shoots a glare at the radio, but looks back at you with what you could only describe as longing. “Sure will, Sweets.” Usually something like that would sound condescending, but from him it sounds endearing. He winks and pulls the car away, talking to the dispatcher while he drives.

‘Sweets...sweet thing...darlin’’ his voice repeats over and over in your head, fingers trembling and clumsy with the rush they give you and the way your heart races.

You get nearly sick when you recognize the feelings you’re having. It’s like it was when you were first with Jimmy. When you couldn’t even look him in the eyes because you felt too overwhelmed by your feelings for him. When you flushed and overheated when he got close and said pretty things. When you used to hold onto his hand and promise yourself that you would care for him every day and prove your love to him.

That’s when you realize you’re coveting another woman’s husband.

It’s Thursday, which means you need to head down to Main Street to visit the pharmacy for your landlady, Mrs. Martins, and gather some groceries for the week. You had made plans with Jane to let the boys play together while you took ran errands. You don’t have a good excuse to change the plan, but you can’t help but ask again, “You sure you don’t mind him being here?”

“Not at all,” she smiles, a bit wider and more manic than usual, “Now if that handsome Wilford boy happens to ask you for supper, don’t you worry about rushin’ back, ya hear?”

You laugh at her latest unsubtle attempt, “I will keep it in mind, thanks.” She and a few others had started to meddle, putting eligible bachelors in your path and setting up dates on your behalf. You do try. You talk to them, let them flirt, but none hold your interest. They’re boys - lanky and lean, still all reckless and rowdy. Not what you’re looking for, nothing like the solid, filled-out figure of a man, someone secure and stable and in a uniform. But that’s something to think about another day.

Wilford does indeed ask. 

You do not feel so inclined to take up the offer, especially when he pinches the round of your ass as he asks you to consider dessert before any supper. 

He has you pressed against the wall outside the hardware store, letting the sun blind you and bring tears to your eyes as the bricks snag the delicate threads of your dress.

He only backs away when a loud voice booms out, “There a problem here, son?”

He turns his head to find Lee pulled to the side of the road, window down and arm resting on the frame, his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed.

“No sir, Sheriff, just makin’ some supper plans, ain’t we?” Wilford looks back at you with a leer. Your hands press flat against the building and your knee twitches with the urge to jerk up and hurt him.

“I thought we were expecting you tonight, isn’t that right?” Lee asks you pointedly. 

Your attacker looks back at Lee, then to you, and you nod. Finally, you’re given some space. 

“I imagine you need to be moving along then?” Lee checks, waiting impatiently for Wilford to answer.

“Yessir.” He gives you a wicked grin and spins away to go back down the street. “Maybe another time when you’re free.”

You shake your head, eyes narrowed at his back as you glare.

Lee taps the side of the cruiser, “C’mere.”

You take a shaky breath and gather yourself with a nod before taking the few steps across the sidewalk. Leaning down you take a moment to look him over in his uniform, the badge gleaming in the sunshine and eyes clear blue as the sky.

“You alright, Sweets?” he asks, voice low and gentle. He’d taken to calling you that since the candy incident, always in that same tone - like it’s precious and important. The way it hits you right in the center of your chest hurts more than the physical damage done a moment ago. You know he isn’t asking if your heart is aching, or if you’re alright being lonely, or any of the ways you’re feeling it right now, but it strikes you in an unexpected way.

“I’m fine,” you smile tightly, “Thank you for checking.”

“These boys just don’t know how to handle themselves when they see a pretty lady.” Your cheeks ache as you try to keep from beaming at the off-hand comment. “Ya know, I’m getting ready to head on home, you need a ride that way? I’m guessing your boy is stirrin’ up some shit with mine?” He turns and scans the road and sidewalk around you, fidgeting a bit as he asks.

“I still have to make another stop and my car is at the end of the block, but thank you.” You stand up.

“Well, I mean it, you and Steven stay for supper tonight, I’ll square it with Jane.”

“You don’t hav’ta do that-”

“No worries, darlin’.” He winks, taps his fingers on the shell of the door by the painted logo and waits until you nod in agreement. “See you soon, then.” And with a nod he pulls off the curb.

You watch the cruiser drive away, then look up and down the street, but no one else is there. You finally manage to draw in a full breath, and rush to get to the cool air of the pharmacy to ease the flush burning you from the inside out.

You make it back to the Bodecker’s before the sheriff, glad to have a few moments to smooth things over with Jane since she clearly had not expected you to turn down the date she arranged for you.

“He wasn’t too much of a handful, was he? I told him before I left that he better mind you today.”

She waves you off, sitting back down at the table with her abandoned cigarette in the tray and a small glass of brown liquor.

“Well, the boys’ll sleep tonight, that’s for sure. They’ve been running circles round the whole damn house.” She ashes the cigarette before taking another puff and settling against the backrest of the chair.

You take a moment to look over the kitchen, a pot is just about to boil over so you make your way to it. “Can I help you out with anything? Give you a moment to freshen up ‘fore Lee gets home?” 

“I suppose that’s the least you can do.” Her cheeks draw in another puff and she hums, taking her glass with her as she goes to their bedroom.

The boys run inside, breathless and sweaty, both shouting while they tell you about a nest they found outside before you order them off to get washed up themselves. You look down the hall, waiting to see if Jane was on her way back or if she was expecting you to finish her cooking. Rather than let it burn, you do just that, taking care of the potatoes, adding a few seasonings as you go, and pulling out the meatloaf from the oven. 

The screen door squeaks and boots thud through the house when Lee enters and makes his way to the kitchen. You nervously look over your shoulder, catching him leaning against the door jamb, spinning his hat in his hand, a soft smile on his lips as he looks your way.

“This is a sight. If I didn’t know better I’d think I wandered into the wrong house.” 

You let out a bit of a nervous laugh, then look back down to the greens you were tending to, “I am so sorry, I kept your wife busy longer than I should’ve. She’ll be out in just a minute.” You go back to busying yourself with finishing up the meal.

“Not complainin’,” he mutters under his breath, but you still hear it and it makes your breath hitch. Jane could set you on edge with her snide remarks, so could Lee, but for completely different reasons - some that had been dormant for so long you didn’t know what to do. 

Just then Jane makes her grand reappearance, hair freshly combed and lips tinged with a touch of color; her cheeks look ruddy, but you can’t tell if it’s rouge or flush from the alcohol she’s been sipping.

“Don’t you go adding too much milk to my potatoes, nobody likes ‘em all runny. Here, let me,” she says and nudges you out of the way, “See you gotta mix in just a little bit right there.”

She overpours anyway, her hands moving unsteadily as she mashes the potatoes up, making them runny just like she warned you about. 

From behind you, you see Lee go to the table, picking up the liquor bottle and examining the contents, making marks with his fingers against the side of the bottle and shaking his head. He takes a swig himself and sets it back down.

He mumbles something about being sober, then walks down the hall to where Jane disappeared, stopping to say something to make the boys giggle on the way before they wrestle each other at the bathroom sink to wash up for supper. 

The meal starts off quiet, just the utensils scraping along the plates, but Jane being the gracious host, finally tries to perk it up with conversation.

“I know Wilford might be a little rough ‘round the edges for someone from a bigger town, but there are still several other young men I can introduce you to,” she offers, unprompted.

You choke a little before you recover and finish chewing your bite of food.

“You needn’t go through the trouble, Mrs. Bodecker. Really.” 

“It’s just, you’re so young to be widowed already and all alone. What kinda home will it be for the boy with no man around? And don’t you want more kids? I bet you just glow. Some of the ladies at my bible study wouldn’t mind setting you up.”

The idea makes you squirm. No, you aren’t dead inside, but there’s no way for you to get what - who you really want.

The sheriff speaks up then. “My old man took off on my ma, sister, and me. That’s just the way shit happens sometimes,” he says and you feel the dark cloud start to clear just a bit. You nod at him, acknowledging the little bit of affirmation.

“What was your husband like?” Jane presses, digging a little further into that painful wound. “Maybe that will help me out.”

Your Jimmy didn’t have much to give you, but he gave you all he could. He gave you the kind of love that made your cheeks hurt from smiling, and your stomach swoop with butterflies. Your eyes flick toward Lee and you think again about how alike they seem to you, handsome, intuitive, assertive, strong-willed. He catches your gaze and pauses his chewing for a brief second while he waits for your answer. 

“He was a good man, strong and fair. I’d like to think he and Mr. Bodecker would’ve gotten on quite well,” you finally say, smiling kindly at them both in turn.

Lee’s lips curl into a smile while he finishes chewing, then sits back with a stretch. “You’re makin’ me sound like an old man,” he whines, “Call me Lee when I’m not on duty.”

“Yes sir,” you automatically reply. “Lee.”

His smile grows. “Say, Janey? Why don’t you go get that jug of wine up for us?”

She nods and gets up.

“Wine?” you ask, surprised.

“It’s nothin’ special, someone up the road makes it. Tastes better than that church wine, but don’t burn like the shine some other folks are brewin’ up.”

Jane comes back with three glasses and pours generously for you all, her own motions increasingly sloppy from her afternoon drinking.

You sip at it, the taste a little tart, but not as acidic and thank them for their generosity.

“Jane, you do something different with the seasoning tonight?”

“No,” she answers, then goes right back to her chat with you, you think about speaking up, but she goes back to leading the conversation. “So, you still thinking about becoming a working gal?”

“Not right away, but yes.”

“Oh?” Lee asks, “Something at the diner? I think the grocery is hiring?”

“Nuh uh,” her voice takes on a nasty tone, “Nothing like that for her. She went to secretary school.” The lilt in her voice makes it clear that she doesn’t care for that little fact. “Can you believe that? School just to learn to file a paper or take a message.”

“There’s more to it than that,” you quietly defend.

“Jane, what the hell do you know? You haven’t worked a day in your life?” Lee asks.

Jane rolls her eyes, body slumping a bit in her chair. “Well, whatever you do, just make sure you don’t go working at the Tecumsah.” She snorts into her glass as she takes a sip. “That’s where Lee’s sister works. I told you ‘bout her before.” She gives you a look. “That place is a den of sin, if you know what I am gettin’ at.”

“You’re are gonna spoil my appetite talkin’ like that,” he says. He drops his fork and you startle, his glare at his wife making clear this is another sore subject. 

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing,” she mutters. “I’m gettin’ tired of mending the buttons on your clothes.”

Your jaw nearly drops. You wring your napkin on your lap and scramble for something to change the subject and break the tension, “Jane, there are such lovely flowers planted right by the library, is there a gardening club around here that you haven’t told me about?”

She’s bored by the topic, but it does enough to distract her and send her on a tangent. You nod and hum while you pick at your food. Occasionally you glance to Lee at the side and find him looking at you appreciatively.

You keep turning the conversation away from yourself, getting her to talk about anything you can as she keeps refilling and sipping down more of her wine. 

You use the next lull in conversation to make your exit.

“This has been lovely, and I am so thankful for everything today, but we really oughtta get back home. I need to make sure Mrs. Martins gets her items from the pharmacist and I need to try to fix the old projector she’s given me.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Lee asks, leaning forward.

“No idea,” you laugh. “I was hoping to puzzle it together.”

“I can take a look for you,” he offers.

“If you have a moment,” you turn to Jane, “And you don’t mind sparing him.”

She scoffs and waves her fingers, “Nah, take Robert with you.”

He grunts in response while the kids leap up, excited for more time together. You do what you can to clean up and ease the load for Jane, but she’s getting more irritable by the minute, so you shuffle to the door to leave.

You head to the driveway where your car’s parked, waiting for him outside while the boys chase each other around the cars. He steps out the door, swinging his key ring on his fingers, looking at ease without the uniform on, but still strutting with an air of authority. It makes your stomach swoop.

“The Martins place? What road is that on again?” he asks jarring you out of your staring.

“Just follow me, Sheriff. I mean - Lee,” You nod as you get into the driver’s seat, Steven climbing in on the other side.

“Don’t mind if I do.” He mutters it loud enough that you hear him. The tilted, teasing grin on his face as he climbs into his own car almost makes you certain it was his intention.

When you get out, there’s a lump in your throat and the air suddenly feels heavy. Thankfully, the short walk up your drive is quiet, the sheriff walking leisurely next to you and laughing at the boys as they race each other down the sidewalk. 

“I gotta go in the back way,” you swallow thickly as you tell him while you open up the gate, “There’s a private staircase for us there.”

He nods and follows. 

When you enter the small apartment, you’re grateful that you don’t have much to fuss over and that it is tidy by default.

“Why don’t you boys go play with the Lincoln Logs or race cars? Nothing too loud right now,” you suggest and push them off toward the small room Steven occupies. “I got the parts all together right here, but I think something is missing.” You point to the box with the projector parts and reels.

“No problem,” Lee’s voice is quiet in your small space. He takes out the parts and starts to fit things together, checking a few switches here and there after a couple of minutes before patting the top of it with a, “There you go.”

You smile widely, “That’s it? Really?”

“That’s it, Sweets,” he matches your smile.

You suddenly hate the idea of him leaving so quickly, so you look around for something else.

“Coffee?”

He nods. “It’s like you read my mind,” there’s a glint in his eye as he gives you a generous once-over.

You feel a flush and quickly turn away to the kitchen.

Your hands tremble as you fill the kettle with water and scoop grounds into the press.

The boys break into a fit of giggles and before you can call after them, you feel the warm presence of Lee shuffle up behind you. His boots scuff against the floor as he stops, then seconds later his arms cage you in from behind, his palms resting against the edge of the countertop.

His breaths are deep, his nose just tickling along the neckline of your dress and you feel your back stiffen at the rush.

“You’re so lovely Sweets,” he whispers.

Your breath shakes as you suck it in. “S-sheriff,” you swallow thickly, “Lee? What’re you doing?”

“You’re beautiful, y’know.”

You remain still, unable to whisper anything but his name again.

“I see the way you look at me,” he presses a kiss to your skin that’s so gentle and tender but nearly makes your knees buckle. “Like you want somethin’.”

“I’m not - I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you weakly deny.

One arm leaves the counter to wrap around your middle, pulling you even closer to him while he steps right up behind you, the whole front of him up against your back. The movement makes you gasp and arch just slightly. You’re unable to catch yourself from rolling your head back to lean against him fully and feeling him grunt.

“You don’t need to make any excuses. You want me, dontcha?” he talks with his lips pressed right against your neck, heavy breaths tickling at your hairline.

God, do you want him. The sudden feeling of a warm, masculine body against you is something you didn’t realize you missed so much. For years it’s just been you and your boy and focusing on the day to day, not thinking about the way a strong arm feels pulled around you with fingers just tickling at your sensitive skin - until suddenly that’s exactly what is happening. And how you’ve missed it, your muscles nearly seize up with tension as you try to fight how good it feels.

It’s like trying to drag yourself from a dream, slow and muted as you try to make sense of everything at once; a sharp clarity punches through hard and fast.

“Your wife,” you reach down to cover his hand with your own, ready to try to pry him off.

“That fucking pig? I don’t love her, I don’t want her. She don’t want me either.”

“Don’t say that. You can’t say that,” you tell him and start to pull away, squirming away but getting nowhere since he doesn’t budge an inch. He allows you to spin around between himself and the countertop. “Lee? What is this? What’re you doing?”

It’s a stupid question. You know what this is. You can remember moments like these with your late husband, but Lee is not your husband. You know his wife. You just spent the evening with her in their home.

He doesn’t answer. Instead his free hand starts to skim up along your side until his thumb catches at the curve at the bottom your breast, then slides up so that he can rub his thumb back and forth over your dress, teasing at your hardened nipple.

It makes you whimper and nearly fold in half with how sensitive you feel.

“I’ll make you feel so good,” he coos, his lips parted and eyes tracking the movement of his thumb.

You lift your arms to his shoulders, uncertain yet if you’re planning to push him away or pull him close when you hear the quick footsteps of the boys.

Lee steps back to give you some distance and your hands flutter mid-air as you try to compose yourself.

The boys start to whine over each other-

“Momma. Robert keeps knocking over my building.”

“No, he keeps takin’ the blocks I’m using.”

Some kind of clarity forms and you rush out a solution for them, “Why don’t you get out your TinkerToys and split it all up? Alright? Go back to the other room,” you nudge them away.

Problem solved, they run back to the room, leaving you standing in the kitchen, Lee lingering just feet away and the half-finished coffee press on the counter.

“Jane must be expecting you home by now.”

He grunts and shakes his head ruefully, “She’s probably passed out by now.”

“Oh,” you nod. You search for something, anything to excuse yourself and catch your breath, “I need to go to the bathroom. Excuse me a moment.”

You slip out of the kitchen and into the door just down the hall. Taking a moment to relieve yourself then press a cool rag to your cheeks. You’d nursed the glass of wine Jane had poured, so you knew deep down you weren’t tipsy, you were just overrun by the feelings the sheriff gave you. Once you get your first full breath in minutes, you feel better, calmer and more controlled. You look at yourself in the mirror and decide - you just need to send him on home.

You barely crack open the bathroom door when it’s pushed open wide, Lee wedging in when it’s wide enough and nearly slamming it shut behind him.

“Don’t hide from me, Sweets,” is all he says before he’s got one arm around your middle again, and the other holding the back of your neck while he presses his lips against yours. After gasping in surprise, you instinctively return the kiss - your tongue and lips tentative against his dominating mouth. 

It’s strange - all of it so strange after so long. It’s been years since your last kiss and you feel clumsy, out of practice, but he doesn’t hesitate one bit, doesn’t seem turned off by your uncoordinated motions and hands that can’t keep still over his middle and shoulders.

He takes in a deep breath, pausing for just a second to position himself better, then he’s back on you, and you feel ready for him this time. One hand resting on his chest while the other hooks up around his neck, your fingers stroking through the soft, short hairs at the back of his head. He turns the both of you, pressing you against the vanity sink.

“Lee,” you whimper when he wedges a leg between yours.

“Shh, shh, sshh. I got you.”

His kisses are relentless and make you light-headed, gasping for breaths every time he slightly lets up. His hands push and pull, struggling against your dress and your undergarments until he’s freed one breast and can drop his head to suckle at your hard peak.

Your mouth falls open in a silent cry, mind painfully aware of the children in the room nearby. You crack open an eye to make sure the door is still closed and try to focus on the sounds the kids are making, but his tongue and lips are too distracting. He pulls as much of your breast into his mouth as he can, greedily swirling his tongue all over the sensitive bud, and pulling away with a loud pop.

You slap at his shoulder while he just looks up at you with a shit-eating grin.

“Feels good, right?” He places his hand to cup your breast, thumb flicking at your nipple. “Let me have you, I’ll make you feel so good, my sweet girl. Please?”

His own eyes close as he ruts up against you, his hard length pressing against your hip and sending a tremor through your body, practically shaking your bones. You don’t move though, your hands stay frozen where you hold onto him, but he continues to lead and coax you along.

One wide hand holds you at the back of your neck, just holding you in place. His mouth moves across your cheeks and at the hinge of your jaw. He whispers quiet promises of satisfaction, telling you how lovely you are and confirming every word with a kiss. His other hand leaves your breast after one final and quick pinch and grabs at the bottom of your dress. The fabric bunching in his fist as he gathers it until he can feel your thigh.

Then he teases you with just the tips of his fingers, sliding right up and over til he meets where your thighs meet. It tickles, makes you shake a little, and then you’re sucking in a hard gasp when he keeps going until he pets and presses over your sex with the pads of his fingertips.

“So wet,” he says on an exhale, pressing right where you feel your excitement leaking. “You want me too. It’s alright.”

To prove his point, he presses harder, flattening his hand until he’s cupping you and making your body jerk between him and the sink. You bend your knees to open your thighs wider with the touch, and he groans and presses hard against you again, the heel of his palm putting pressure to your throbbing clit. You struggle to not hook your leg right over his hip to let him in.

“Lee,” you start to beg, “Please. Oh my god, please.”

It’s so overwhelming you start to sob, the tears already prick at the corners of your eyes. Just being touched, feeling the warmth of him, and the words - it’s all that you remembered being with a man to be and more. His hand keeps a rhythm against you, driving you higher. You hadn’t had a man’s touch in years, but suddenly you need Lee like you need air.

“Please,” you say again. Your body tingles with electricity that has nowhere to go.

“So pretty. You’re so pretty, baby. I’m gonna take care of ya. Am I what you need?”

“Yes,” tears start to roll down your cheeks. He pulls back slightly until he can slip his fingers underneath your panties, gliding right through your arousal. You feel two of his fingers slide into you, and you squeeze around them instantly.

“Fuck,” he grunts. Your wetness drips down his fingers into his palm. He presses the heel of it against you again, right against your sensitive clit this time. “Come on my fingers, sweetness.”

He fucks you with his hand, his thick, solid fingers caressing you while he sends jolts of pleasure through you with pressure on your sensitive button. You squirm to get away, but the hand still at the back of your neck tightens and holds you down, making you take it.

“It’s alright,” he whispers, “It’s alright.”

And that’s it. You freeze for a moment as the pleasure peaks and then you’re trembling as the shocks of it rush through you in a blaze. You can hear the wetness drowning his fingers as he keeps pumping them into you while you clench over him repeatedly and sob as quietly as you can, which must not be very quiet because he starts to shush you and slow the movement of his hand, gently attempting to calm you down.

“You’re okay, s’alright baby, just breathe, c’mon,” you hear him coach, but all you can focus on is the thumping beat of your heart as it races and trying to catch your breath between sniffles, the tears falling freely down your cheeks.

His hand slides out from your panties to grab you steady at your waist, the hand from your neck moves so he can use his thumb to wipe away your tears. He presses his forehead to yours and tells you to breathe with him.

You blink your eyes open, eyelashes glittering with wetness and you take a minute to focus. Once things are clear, you tilt your head back to look at him. His cheeks are flushed, lips wet and rosy, and his eyes - they nearly glow as he looks you over. It’s something to see - awe, tenderness, pride all in the twitches of his lips as his lips turn up with a smile.

“Sweets, will you touch me?” he asks. For such a big man, his voice is suddenly so small.

“Lee, I can’t-I haven’t…” you struggle to find the words.

“It’s alright, that’s alright,” he assures you, circling your wrist with his fingers still sticky from your arousal, and guiding them to the bulge in his trousers. You flinch, but don’t pull away, your arm tenses, but goes with the motion. He presses your palm against the solid length, pushing down to give him some relief. His hips press against you in return and once he’s sure you aren't going anywhere, he lets go of your wrist, then starts to undo the belt and button in quick movements. He tugs the waistband of his trousers and boxers down together, just to release his cock.

You feel the fabric move under your palm, but keep pressing against him, your hand sliding just slightly out of remembered instinct. When the fabric of his boxers slides away and you’re met with the heat of his cock, you gasp. Your hand wraps around him, fingers circling around his shaft to hold him and pulling a strangled moan from him.

“Shit-fuck,” he hisses. “Won’t be long.” He wraps his hand over yours, pulling your fist up and down over him while he pumps his hips into it. Precome drips down from the slit, easing the glide. 

His eyes close and he presses his temple to yours, his face pulls up in concentration, focusing on the pleasure, “You’re so soft, so sweet,” he rasps, “Want you so bad, want you all to myself.”

You can imagine it, if you’re ready to be totally honest, you have imagined it.

“Kiss me?” you whisper.

His lips meet yours roughly for a long press, then he tilts his head and licks at the seam of your lips, making you open up to him. His hand and yours start to speed up, he keeps guiding you up and down, just the slightest twist at the head with each stroke.

The kiss turns sloppy, more sharing air and pecks than anything as he spirals with the pleasure you’re helping to give him.

“You’re gonna -you’re gonna make me-” with a pained expression, he nudges you away, his hand stroking frantically as he leans over your sink until he starts to come, streaks hitting the porcelain as he chokes down groans. You watch his neck and face go red, trying not to watch, but you can’t help yourself and catch the way his cock twitches with his release, all swollen and red. You don’t think you could possibly blush more, but still fire burns underneath your skin.

When he finishes coming, he reaches for you again, pulling you into another hard kiss. “God, darlin’. Fuck,” he whispers while he attempts to catch his breath. “Fuck. Haven’t been tugged off like that since I was a deputy.” He chuckles, the laugh coming out in hard puffs of air.

You struggle to look at anything in the bathroom, eyes straying back to Lee, to his softening cock, to the come dripping slowly in the sink basin. Just then you hear the boys start to giggle and reality hits you again, making your chest seize up in panic.

“Oh, Lee. No,” you raise a hand to your mouth and quickly rush out the door, piecing your wardrobe back together as you walk back into the kitchen. You hear the water run in the bathroom and murmuring as Lee talks to himself.

Your movement must have distracted the boys because they manage to sound like a stampede heading toward you. You wipe at your nose and eyes as best you can before you turn to see what they want.

Both the boys pause, but it’s your son that speaks up, knowing how you look when you cry. “Momma, you alright?”

Lee exits the bathroom then, shirt tucked back in, belt and trousers back in place - only the flush from the neck up giving anything away. His eyes bore into you with heavy emotion that you are ashamed that you can read so well - concern, sympathy, desire. A mixture that you remind yourself you don’t deserve.

“Yeah, baby. I am. You know I get sad sometimes, I’ll be fine. Are you boys ready to say goodbye for tonight? I think it’s well past your bedtime.”

You grab Steven and fuss with his hair, with his messy shirt, and then turn him around and hold him against you like a tiny human shield. “Say thank you to the sheriff for fixing the projector and for letting Robert play.”

“Thank you, sir,” your son dutifully responds.

Lee can see what you’re doing and he’s not happy with it, his mouth going flat and shoulders heaving as you pressure him into leaving.

He just nods, then nudges at Robert’s shoulder, “Say thank you for indulging us.”

“Thank you,” Robert quietly says.

You send Steven down the hallway to get ready for bed, and then you follow behind as they step toward the door, Robert too tired from a full day of play to put up a fight. Lee opens the door to the back steps, telling Robert to be careful going down. When the boy starts down a few, Lee turns back to you.

Before you can react, he’s giving you another kiss, quick but meaningful. “We’re not done,” he whispers. 

“We are. Go home, Lee.”

He gives you a long look before stomping down the steps. “Til next time, Sweets.”

...

#lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker smut #lee bodecker angst #lee bodecker fanfiction #hoedecker club #hoedecker cult #tdatt fanfiction #my writing #fic title so wrong #lee bodecker x you #lee bodecker x female reader

[hexpea]

Ch. 25 - Shibuya

"So the cursed spirits are confirmed? More than just one that can hold a coherent conversation?" You asked after Satoru finished his long schpiel. Kento looked like his headache had returned as he deeply rubbed his eyes.

"Yep!" He said simply and excitedly. "Also, Yaga says you and Nanami banned from school grounds." Kento gasped audibly, hand retracting from his face to grip the sofa - Satoru's phrasing nearly giving him a heart attack.

"WHAT?" You shouted into the phone.

"I'm just kidding," he chuckled, "but you're suspended from campus for at least a few weeks. He'll give Nanami a few missions but he's not allowed on school grounds. As for you, well, just enjoy some time off!"

"Seriously?" You grouched. "I miss all the action and now I'm being forced to stay at home. I don't get to see any action!" You had to admit you felt kind of worthless, hoping that the next crazy event would include you - but you somehow missed each one.

"Hey, be thankful," Satoru scolded in a joking tone though something beneath it sounded serious, "just enjoy your time with your boyfriend." You swallowed hard at the word. You two hadn't specifically decided on any of that despite the words you always exchanged. "What?" Satoru asked at your silence. "Nanami really hasn't made it official yet?! Really?!" His voice was shrill and you had to hold the phone away from your ear. Kento rolled his eyes and rested his chin on his palm, elbow on the armrest of the sofa. "Damn, I figured you two would be getting married at this point."

"Okay, goodbye!" You quickly said, feeling a ball of anxiety in your throat. You had pressed the red button without hearing Satoru's goodbye. "Nanami," you looked down at the man you were still straddling. He looked up at you and cocked his head, waiting for you to continue. "Why aren't you my boyfriend?"

"I...figured I already was," he blinked hard once. You also blinked as a response before becoming visibly (jokingly) upset.

"You have to ask me!" You begged. There truly wasn't a point and Kento was right, but, like your brother, you hated losing - and also just wanted to hear him say the words.

"Fine," he sighed loudly before settling into a smile, "Y/N, will you be my partner?"

You but your bottom lip with excitement and began quickly nodding like a crazy person. He gave a low chuckle to your response as you leaned forward and hugged his neck. His hands came up to secure your back as he suddenly stood. Your legs instinctually wrapped around his waist.

"Where we going?" You asked, muffled into his neck as you held on tight.

"To make it official," you could just hear his smile as he took you down the hall to the bedroom.

You lived your next few weeks of suspension in bliss. You primarily stayed at Kento's, ultimately taking over one of the drawers at his place. Over time Satoru whined about how you should just move in with him seeing how serious things were getting between you both.

"What about this one?" You turned your laptop in Kento's direction. The two of you were apartment shopping on the sofa together, if you were going to move in you'd prefer more space.

"Where's that one?" He leaned forward to get a better look at the pictures.

"It's just down the street from the school! We'd be able to walk!" You were completely stoked of your find. "But you know what..." your mind went to retirement once more, "I heard Hokkaido is a nice, quiet place to live."

Kento was just about to speak up when your phone started ringing. Satoru's name lit up the screen and you quickly answered.

"Hey!" You answered happily, putting him on speaker phone.

"Hey, something's happening in Shibuya. Lot of us already here but we're guessing something big is going to happen seeing how large this curtain is. You want to see some action? Come out here and get it." He sounded so serious which was a major red flag. The fact that he also immediately hung up also told you that.

"A curtain?" You mumbled worriedly to yourself.

Kento walked to the window seeing as his current apartment sat relatively close to Shibuya. He stared for a moment before turning back to you.

"That's at least a 400 meter curtain," he sighed, heading to the bedroom to dress.

"400 meters..." you repeated with a hint of fear in your voice. "Could it be those smart spirits?" You asked as he came back out dressed in his usual button-up and suit.

"More than likely," Kento answered as he adjusted his watch on his wrist. "Sounds like we could be in for quite a night."

"Yeah but you've got two with limitless," you playfully wiggled your eyebrows, finally ready to be of use.

"Ijichi wants us to meet at Meiji-dori Avenue," he now had his phone out and began typing back. "Do you think you can get us there?"

"Is that really a question?" You teased, snapping your laptop shut and hopping over beside him.

You grabbed his forearm and in the blink of an eye you found yourself on the streets of Shibuya.

"Nanami! Y/N!" Kiyotaka yelled down at you from a pedestrian bridge. He was there with Megumi and Takuma.

"Hey!" You waved happily and ascended the stairs with Kento.

"It's a curtain that only contains civilians," Ijichi informed you both. "Civilians can only enter. As for windows, that depends on the person. Jujutsu sorcerers as well as auxiliary managers can come and go as they please."

"How long have you been here? Is there any reception?" Kento asked.

"Blocked," Kiyotaka replied. "All communication will have to be done outside the curtain. Or through us, the managers."

"Sounds like quite the pain," Kento sighed. "Where's Gojo?" He asked as Takuma began spewing off obvious information about curtains to Megumi.

You frowned, realizing your brother was getting the spotlight yet again though you were just as useful.

"He was instructed to act alone. We're all on standby for anything that gets past him," Kiyotaka pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

You sighed audibly, pouting and crossing your arms, "sometimes I wish he'd just disappear." What you said sounded harsh, but it was all in the context of wanting to be useful.

The four of you sat around for quite some time, only hearing some rumbles in the distance, somehow sounding like they came from underground. Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, you came to a stand after sitting cross-legged on the concrete.

"You okay?" Takuma asked, the three men staring up at you with blank looks on their faces. Things were otherwise eerily quiet.

"Something's not right with Satoru," you snapped an urgent look at Kento who then came to a stand next to you. "I don't know how or why but...something feels incorrect. Like something physical is missing."

"Do you have any idea what that could be? Do you know where he is?" Kento asked, placing a caring hand on your upper arm.

"The noises were coming from the subway before they stopped. That's likely where he was," you answered. "Otherwise I have no idea what happened..."

"Alright then, Fushiguro-kun, Ino-kun, begin rescuing civilians where you can. Y/N and I will head to find the enemy who initiated the curtain. We can no longer idly stand by."

The four of you began to walk together toward the disaster when you suddenly heard a familiar voice shouting from a rooftop.

"NANAMIN!" It was clearly Yuji who was yelling. "NANAMIN, ARE YOU THERE?! GOJO SENSEI HAS BEEN SEALED!"

"Sealed?" Your face paled. "As in the prison realm? As in the thing that Gojo recently got rid of the things that opened it?"

"He did what now?" Kento looked back at you.

"I told him it was a bad idea," you whispered shyly as if you were the one in trouble.

"Okay, change of plans. We need to find Itadori as soon as possible. If this sealing this is true, it's over for the humans in this country."

All the while, you all could hear Itadori calling Kento's name over and over again. He sounded so desperate. You felt like you could cry. Your brother, the one that stood up for you and protected you even after the wrong you did was trapped with no sight of a solution. You could only hope he wasn't in pain wherever he was.

"Can you pinpoint where his screaming is coming from?" Kento sighed in exasperation.

"Yeah. Looks like he's up on that tower," you casually pointed, all thanks to those Six Eyes of yours. Without being asked, you warped the four of you up there.

"Fushiguro! Nanami! Y/N!" Yuji exclaimed in relief. "And who?" He motioned to Takuma.

"Ino Takuma!" He greeted happily.

"Anyways," Kento interrupted, "did you see who or what is causing all of this?"

"Some guy with long black hair, half-up and half-down - wore traditional Buddhist priest clothes," Yuji described. Your face quickly paled.

"Sounds like Geto Suguru," you gulped.

"Geto did," Kento looked down in thought to how that'd be possible.

"Yeah! That was the name Mechamaru gave me in my ear piece! Technically someone acting as Geto!" Yuji confirmed. "Shibuya Station is in pandemonium right now!"

Yuji then turned up the volume on his ear piece to where you all could hear Mechamaru explaining things. It was clear that the first step would be to lift the curtain. Kento took charge and gave instructions to Takuma to take care of Megumi and Yuji - telling them to get the curtain out of the way. From there, you followed him away from the trio.

Somehow, you found yourself back at the pedestrian bridge where things started only to find Kiyotaka desperately clinging to life in a puddle of his own blood. Kento stood there, frozen, clearly going through some kind of PTSD episode - likely from Haibara.

"Ijichi!" You were the first to kneel at his side, trying to carefully help. "What happened?!"

"How dare they..." Kento muttered.

He then helped bring Ijichi to a stand and the two of you carried him to a safe place, finding Nobara and Nitta on standby. They clearly had seen action of their own.

You then followed Kento hesitantly to B5F. As you entered the station you came across Maki and Naobito who had quite the sour look on his face while he stared you down.

"Well, we'll, well, if it isn't the whore herself!" Naobito boomed with an evil grin.

"I'm no whore," you muttered, you and Kento coming to a stop before the pair. Maki seemed quite irritated being paired up with Naobito. "Watch your mouth old man, or I'll tell everyone one of the special grades got to you."

"Naoya said you were a brat," he narrowed his vision at you.

"Nah, you should've raised a better son," you shook your head. To that, Naobito softened his expression slightly.

"I unfortunately can agree with that."

You all then began your dissent further into the station.

"Gojo Satoru is sealed, correct?" Naobito continued. "I can hardly believe it." Your body tensed as he casually mentioned your brother.

"Yes, even if he may just be a fake - it seems Geto is involved," Kento answered him for you. "We can assume he is the cause of this mystery."

"I for one wouldn't mind letting things be and bearing witness to the decline of the Gojo family," Naobito snickered.

"I'm still here," you grouched but then remembered the deep-seeded misogyny in the Zenin family. You figured Maki was having a hard time keeping her mouth shut.

"Go home if you're not gonna' help!" Maki hissed, her weapon slung over her shoulder.

"Go home? I'd say that's more for you, Maki. Right, Grade 1 sorcerer Nanami?" Kento sighed.

"As far as this is concerned, I have to agree with Naobito. It's too dangerous here for you."

"Pretty sure I'm more useful than a drunk," he sneered at her relative.

"You've been drinking?" Kento asked the old man, completely baffled.

"Not even on sip!" He shouted, then breathed hard as a way to give proof.

"Maybe I'd be better off alone," Kento mumbled. You elbowed him in response.

"Nanami-san!" Maki pointed before rushing the creature.

"Yes, I see it!" He replied.

Behind a column was a strange creature that looked like some kind of walking sea creature. Maki and Kento burst into action. You were about to join them, but similar to Naoya - Naobito was able to split the creature into frames with his speed.

"You three are a little too slow," he smirked before punching through the frame and into the creature's gut.

The thing appeared weak. It moaned and rolled about on the floor with Naobito grinning down at its pain. Suddenly the thing came up and lurched, vomiting all kinds of bones.

"Heh, how many did you eat?" Naobito asked as the being started to cry.

"How dare you? How dare you?" It began to rumble and come up. "How dare you kill Hanami!"

"No wonder you were so weak," Naobito looked as the creature began to transform, "you were just a cursed womb." Its new form looked completely buffed out and ready for battle.

You decided to take a step back from this battle. You wanted to save any energy for something larger - like Geto motherfucking Suguru. You'd kill him for what he did to your brother.

The battle itself seemed slightly one-sided which left you unworried. It wasn't until the creature expanded its domain that caused you to panic - it sucked in all three except you, leaving you stuck outside of a dark bubble.

#nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento smut #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento lemon #nanami kento x y/n #nanami kento x you #kento nanami #kento nanami x y/n #kento nanami smut #kento nanami fluff #kento nanami lemon #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen

[wkemeup]

Losing Riley

summary: Before she met Bucky, Y/n’s world was shattered. Sam was the common thread that helped her pick up the pieces again.  pairings: riley x reader, hinted future bucky x reader warnings: character death, grief  🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

You woke to cold sheets. A hand slid over to the left side of an empty bed and your heart clenched. The startling realization settled in each morning as the distant glow of the sunrise peered through the curtains – Riley was still an ocean away and you were still emphatically alone. 

But you were determined to make the most of the day, even if Riley wasn’t there to spend it with you. It was his mother’s birthday whether he was stateside or not and you were insistent not to let the ocean waters sweep you under in his absence. So, you pressed on a smile and dragged your feet to the bathroom to tame your hair and dry your eyes. His family would be expecting you and one of your homemade cakes by the evening.  

You dared a glance at yourself in the mirror, clad only in the US Air Force t-shirt Riley had left behind. It was rich in army green color and the logo stood bright against your chest. You wondered how much wear the shirt could handle before it started to fade. It had lost Riley’s scent after you’d worn it for a week straight, the lingering glimpses of his presence dimming night by night. You could only hope it wouldn’t shrink in the wash.  

You spent the day perfecting the cake his parents had grown to crave; three-tiered and coated in layers of chocolate frosting. Billy Joel sang on the radio and you mumbled your way through the verses of We Didn’t Start the Fire to distract yourself from imagining Riley seated at the countertop, watching you with love struck smirk on his face and a dab of frosting at the corner of his lips. The book on the counter held a gentle layer of flour on the pages. It kept you company until the timer rang.  

The dress you wore was one you’d purchased with the intent to wear for a date night when Riley came home after his first tour. Though it was red in color, it was not striking or bold – instead, it was soft, almost muted, and it carried a sort of gentle effervescence to it. Modest but charming. You’d hoped it would make him smile. You hadn’t counted on how the war stealing his ability to do so.  

It was the first time you wore the dress since you bought it. Maybe you’d ask his mother to take a picture of you with the cake to send to him. He might like that. He seemed to be himself more when he was away than when he was home in your arms these days.  

You had the cab drop you at the end of the driveway. It was long enough to catch the glow of Christmas lights still draped around the trees outside and hidden under layers of snow, despite the fact that it was well into January. The suburbs were so quiet compared to the city; you’d forgotten how much you enjoyed spending time at his parent’s house. They’d welcomed you to their table, even in the months Riley was overseas. It was a burden you shared together – to be left behind.  

You’d only made it halfway up the driveway when you noticed the two men standing at the porch. They were dressed in formal uniforms, white hats held down by their hearts. You hadn’t realized you’d stopped moving until the snow started to soak into your shoes. It piled on the pointed toes of your heels.  

Riley’s mother stood in the open-door way, a vacant look upon her face. Her husband was at her side, shaking his head as he struggled to grab onto his wife before she let out a wail that echoed so painfully, birds scattered from nearby trees.  

Her knees gave way from under her as she fell to the ground in sobs. The two men in uniform did their best to comfort her, only to be shoved away. They stood back and watched a mother grieve her only son at a respectful distance. 

“Y/n?” 

Your hands were shaking. The cake tray had slipped from your fingers and fell into the snow. A mess of sweet chocolate amongst pavement and ice. The voice called your name again, concerned, frantic, and you could only vaguely make out a blurred figure racing towards you.  

Everything around you tunneled, your knees weakening as you struggled to fight against the ice under your heels and the weight suddenly barreling down on your shoulders. All you could hear was the screams of Riley’s mother as she held onto her husband, unable to move from the comfort of the ground.  

“Y/n, come with me,” the voice eased and you looked up to find Sam Wilson standing a few paces ahead of you dressed in his formal Air Force blues, gold wings on his shoulder and a series of colorful pins on his left breast. He held out a hand to you. 

“Let’s go inside, okay?” he tried again but you shook your head, eyes darting back to Riley’s mother.  

You tried to take in another breath but found it shallow, as if your lungs had collapsed beside your heart in mutual surrender.  

“You’re having a panic attack,” Sam told you calmly. “I need you to listen to me, okay? Focus on my voice.” 

You nodded quickly, tears burning in your eyes, though you couldn’t tell if it was from the shattered remains in your chest or the light headedness pulling your vision under. Sam bent down and grabbed a handful of snow. 

“Here. Feel this,” he ordered evenly, placing the snow in your bare hand. He stepped back, shaking out his gloves. “It’s cold, right?” 

Yes, you tried to say though the word didn’t quite leave your lips. It stung, but there was a comfort in it. You watched as it melted in your palm, your skin burning from where it had been.  

“Smells like Christmas trees out here, doesn’t it?” Sam added, taking in a deep breath. He smiled. “Reminds me of the tree farms I used to go to with my dad every year growing up.” 

You followed his lead, taking in as much of a breath as your body would allow. He was right, it did smell like pines. Riley’s family planted a few along their property line because his mother loved Christmas so much. It smelled like Fraser and Balsam Fir all year round.  

You concentrated on the smell of the trees, the chocolate that had scattered into the snow in clumps of frosting and cake; the sound of Sam’s voice, of Riley’s mother’s cries; the feel of the chill on your skin and the snow in your hand. You focused until you could draw in a full breath enough to make sense of the destruction around you. 

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” you asked, voice trembling on the verge of tears.  

Sam’s shoulders fell, a terrible longing pressed over his features. “I’m so sorry, Y/n.” 

Despite your efforts, your knees buckled in mirror to Riley’s mother. Sam caught you before you could hit the ground, his arms encasing around you as your body fought the violent tremors shaking through you. You cried against his jacket, as the snow built upon your shoulders and wet your hair. You cried until there was little else your body could give. 

*** 

You barely remembered the funeral.  

A folded flag had been placed in the lap of Riley’s mother as she sobbed. A casket had been lowered into the ground. Guns fired in salute and you flinched at each one as they echoed against the stormy grey skies. Sam held your hand through the entire ceremony, squeezing it hard enough to leave a mark when it looked like you were teetering on the edge of an endless void. He stayed on your couch that night and pretended not to hear as you cried yourself to sleep. 

There was an emptiness that took hold of you when Riley left for his first tour, but there was still a lingering hope. You’d managed to hold onto the image of a man at war and his woman waiting for him to return. He wrote often and you kept each letter in a shoe box under the bed. It was a script of a movie you’d learned to follow – the scraps of love you could grasp from the shores of the Atlantic.  

When he came home, he was hollow. He wasn’t the man you’d kissed goodbye with a cheesy, hopeful grin on his face. He’d lost the spark behind his eye and the glow in his skin. He became withdrawn and angry; lashing out when you reached to him with an anchor in your hand as if he favored the unforgiving currents pulling him under.  

The time you spent with him before he left again hurt worse than when he was gone. He longed for the sky like a bird with a broken wing. It was within reach, so close and so impossibly far from his grasp. He pushed you away, convinced you would never understand the resentment he carried towards civilian life and the utter inability to conform to it.  

Perhaps he was right. You’d shouted it yourself one night until you were both hoarse and in tears. You would never understand, but it didn’t mean you couldn’t try, that you didn’t love him any less.  

You’d seen the way the war had hurt him. It shoved nightmares to his dreams and panic in his veins. It made him hypervigilant and paranoid. It isolated him from his friends and family. It made him feel like a monster in the skin of a man, pretending to be someone he wasn’t; smiling through aching muscles as if he were a portrait hanging in a museum.  

He pretended to be fine. He pretended to try. He never was.  

It didn’t surprise you the day he told you he was going back.  

Still – you begged. Despite the tears, the months of heartache and panic attacks and night terrors, you were desperate for him to stay. You were desperate to rebuild what the war had broken between you. You loved him and it wasn’t enough.  

After he left, you tried to pretend as he did – that everything was fine, that you didn’t feel an ache in your chest at the thought of him, that you were a woman waiting on your soldier to return home.  

He was more himself when he called. He became the Riley you remembered in the beginning; full of hope and eager to prove himself. He smiled often and laughed as his friends teased him for the blush in his cheeks when you appeared on the screen. It was those moments that encouraged you to hang on, that reminded you why he was worth the pain and heartache.  

Those moments gave you hope that this time would be different. When Riley came home, the two of you would be just fine. The soldier and his girl.  

Always optimistic. Always sunny. Always finding silver linings. 

You should have known better than that.  

*** 

Mrs. Jefferson was surprised the day you showed up at work dressed in shades of grey and black, returning the piles of books you had yet to read.  

“You should go home, dear,” she eased, slipping the glasses from the bridge of her nose to rest on the beads against her chest. “It’s too soon for you to be at work.” 

“I’m fine,” you mumbled. You didn’t put much effort into the lie but you couldn’t stand to be in your apartment another second longer. It was too quiet, too empty. You’d never lived with Riley but his things were scattered around your place. The Air Force shirt sat crumbled at the foot of your bed.  

“Honey, you forget that I know what you are going through,” Mrs. Jefferson sighed, placing a trembling hand over yours. You paused. “Be patient with yourself. Have kindness for the man you lost. You’ll see the sun again, my dear. I promise.” 

You didn’t know whether it was the tenderness in her words or the way her aged hand curled around yours that broke you. Tears blurred over your eyes and you sank into her embrace as she drew circles against your spine. If the visitors noticed your grief, they did not say anything. For that, you were grateful.  

*** 

It took time before you could think of Riley without crying. Months, maybe, but it was progress. Sam stopped by daily in the beginning, showing up with coffee and donuts from Luciana’s and forcing you to get out of bed just to open the door for him before he woke the neighbors. You’d come to expect him and started to ready yourself before he arrived.  

He swung by after work some days with takeout and some weekends he dragged you to his friend Steve’s house where they watched football and you filled your stomach with nachos and buffalo chicken dip.  

He taught you to smile again despite yourself because Sam was infectious no matter how deep the void you’d caged yourself in. It was impossible not to return his smile, impossible not to try for a man who so genuinely wanted you to succeed. He was Riley’s partner and he knew Riley on a level not even you had seen. Sam grieved different than you did, but he grieved nonetheless. It was something you shared in. Something you overcame together, too.  

The day he brought you to the VA, you’d dragged your feet the whole way.  

“Trust me, kid,” Sam urged, yanking your hand along the sidewalk, but you planted your feet. Sam rolled his eyes. “Do it for Riley.” 

Your jaw dropped, though Sam started to smirk. “Don’t evoke Riley’s name to guilt me into working for the people who took him from us, Sam!”  

“I’m guilting you into volunteering. Let’s make that clear,” Sam retorted. “I’m not paying you shit.” 

You laughed despite the frown on your face.  

“Second, these guys aren’t the big shots who sit in their cozy offices while our boots on the ground see the real fight,” Sam said, squeezing your hand. He wasn’t teasing anymore. His smile was genuine as his features softened, a sad sort of memory on his mind. “They’re guys like Riley, Y/n. Guys who could use the help he should have had.” 

Your lips parted, unable to come up with an excuse to say next. You thought of Riley curled up on the floor with his hands pressed over his ears as fireworks lit up the sky on New Year’s Eve. You thought of the dark circles under his eyes from sleepless dreams and the toll it took on your relationship. You thought of the shame he felt for pushing you away, for being unable to stop himself from hurting you, too.  

You shook your head. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough for that, Sam.” 

“Just come with me to the open house,” Sam tried, tugging on your hand and this time, you let him drag you a few steps. “If it’s too much, I won’t push it again...” he bit his lip, “until next year.” 

“Fine!” you laughed, falling in stride with him as he fist pumped the air in victory. “I don’t know how Riley put up with you for so long.” 

“With much reluctance,” Sam snickered. 

It felt nice to be able to talk about Riley without it hurting. It still ached, but it was a pleasant ache – like maybe remembering him didn’t have to be a bad thing, like maybe it could bring you a little joy, too.  

Sam brought you into his office first to draw you away from the crowds. It gave you a chance to take off your coat and ease yourself into the surroundings before Sam inevitably threw a handful of strangers on you with terrible stories and sad faces to convince you to stay.  

“I just gotta find a file for Steve and we can head out to the main room, alright?”  

You nodded, taking the time to look around Sam’s office. It wasn’t anything like you’d pictured it to be. You’d expected it to be in chaos – disorganized, with papers stacked high on the desk and a basketball hoop hanging over the trash bin – but it was rather professional. He had awards framed on the wall, metals encased in glass. File cabinets labeled and not a pen out of place.  

But it was the photo sitting on his desk that drew your attention. You picked it up, recognizing Sam at the center in his Air Force uniform and a younger, more doe-eyed Steve Rogers who stood beside him dressed in army greens. But there was a third man hanging off Sam’s left shoulder you didn’t know. 

He was handsome. Smile bright enough to rival even that of Sam’s. With short, brown hair and eyes as blue as you’d ever seen, you wondered whether his face might be one you’d see out in the crowd of veterans gathered in the lobby.  

“That’s Bucky,” Sam grinned, pointing to the man in the photo. “He’s still out on tour.” 

You handed Sam the picture, tucking your hair behind your ear nervously, and he seemed to enjoy how flustered you were.  

“He’s scheduled to be home next year though,” Sam added, studying for your reaction. “I’ll see if I can get him to swing by if... you know... you’re volunteering here.”  

You glared at Sam until he broke into laughter.  

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to the regulars,” Sam grinned, grabbing your hand and dragging you out into the crowd in the lobby.  

You knew before Steve’s presentation on the services at the VA even began that Sam had tied your heart with string to this building and the people in it. You saw Riley’s face in everyone who shook your hand – from the petite, red headed woman with a questionable background and kind eyes to the son of a billionaire who had joined the Air Force in rebellion and found he rather liked being just ‘one of the guys.’ 

It was as if you could feel a hand on your back, urging you forward, into the arms of these people and the compassion they could give to you. You wondered if Sam knew that it would be as much a kindness to you as you could be for them, to be able to give your time to this place. Ideas began to spring in your mind of how you could bring your love of books to your work here and how much you’d missed reading yourself. 

Maybe this place could heal you, too.  

It took a single glance from Sam across the room to know he’d convinced you. He smiled, raising a glass of cheap red wine, and nodded. It was the first time in months you’d felt a glimmer of hope, a reason to be excited, a possibility for good amongst the broken.  

You clung onto it with everything you had.  

#Idk how to tag this? #riley x reader #bucky barnes x reader

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Dead Man’s Cell Phone--Chapter 2

Summary: When Emma Swan starts getting phone calls and texts from an unfamiliar number, she decides to check it out–only to discover the number belongs to a Killian Jones, who was killed in a robbery gone wrong six months ago.  With some help from a medium, Merlin Emrys, Emma hopes to find out why a dead guy is contacting her–and why she feels such a strong pull to someone she has never met before.

Rating: K+

Tagging a few people who may be interested (Let me know if you want to be added or taken off the list): @sailormew4 @annaamell @flslp87 @emmateo26 @bethacaciakay @ultraluckycatnd @effulgent-mind @ilovemesomekillianjones@kat2609 @brooke-to-broch @missgymgirl @galadriel26 @the-lady-of-misthaven @charmingturkeysandwich @jennjenn615 @laschatzi @kimmy46 @snowbellewells @iamanneenigma @daxx04 @nickillian @a-rose-for-a-savior@in-spirational @gillie  @britishguyslover @ginnyjinxedandhanshotritafirst@kmomof4  @linda8084 @golfgirld @captain-swan-coffee @searchingwardrobes @hollyethecurious @laughswaytoomuch@allyourdarlingswans @winterbaby89 @facesiousbutton82 @cssns @therooksshiningknight, @lfh1226-linda @tiganasummertree @eastwesthomeisbest @dreamingdreamsalways @xsajx @justren21 @laughterandbooks @cocohook38​ @therealstartraveller776​

Welcome to my entry for the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer! A big thank you to @cssns​, the ladies on the Discord!  Thank you also to @eastwesthomeisbest​, my artist and my beta @veryverynotgood​!

Other Chapters: Prologue 1 3 4 Epilogue 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"So after the phone calls, the text messages started coming," Emma said, settling into her best friend's plush sofa.

"Texts?" Mary Margaret asked curiously before taking a sip of her tea. "What kind of texts?"

It felt like Emma had known Mary Margaret forever. Both girls were placed in the system at young ages-Emma, because her parents abandoned her on the side of a road as an infant, and Mary Margaret, because her parents both died of illness. They ended up in the same group home, and quickly became the best of friends. They were closer than sisters until the day Mary Margaret was adopted by Cora Mills, and then eventually, Emma was fostered by Ruth Nolan.

Even after being placed with other families, Emma and Mary Margaret kept in touch-letters, phone calls, even the occasional visit. On one such visit, Emma's foster brother, David, was home from college, and as soon as he and Mary Margaret met, it was love at first sight.

They were so in love it was honestly a bit nauseating.

When they got married fresh out of college, Emma couldn't be happier. She'd always considered Mary Margaret her sister in all the ways that counted, and now they truly were.

There was no doubt about it - Mary Margaret Nolan was the person Emma was closest to in the entire world, and so it was only natural that when the weird stuff with the cell phone started happening, Emma decided to discuss it with her.

"Weird ones," Emma answered, taking a sip of her own hot cocoa with cinnamon. "Stuff like Help! or You're the only one who can save me!. And then some of them were even stranger. Just...random letters and symbols, almost like someone was randomly pressing buttons on a keyboard."

"So what did you do?" Mary Margaret asked, sitting on the other side of the sofa and turning toward Emma.

Emma shrugged. "I tried answering at first. You know, you hear about people who are abducted and, like, stuck in a basement for years and stuff like that. I kept thinking, what if someone really needed help and I just...ignored them?"

"And what happened when you answered?" Mary Margaret asked.

"Nothing," Emma answered before taking another sip. "No answer, just another cryptic text several hours later. Finally, I decided I'd had enough. Either someone needed help, or someone was messing with me. I decided I'd call the number, decide whether I needed to help them or tell them to go f-" She stopped, glancing over at Mary Margaret's toddler playing with blocks nearby. "Well, go do something not at all child-friendly to themselves."

"Let me guess, your call didn't get through."

"Nope," Emma confirmed, "but it was even weirder than that. I dialed the number just after receiving a text, but it went directly to voicemail."

"But that's not possible!" Mary Margaret exclaimed.

"Right?" Emma said. "So I tried to ignore the whole thing. Maybe the phone was just...I don't know..glitching or something, although I don't know how a technological glitch could make phone calls and text someone. Anyway, for some reason, I just can't let go. Even though I don't know him, somehow I feel a...connection...to this Killian Jones. I just-I don't know what to do about it."

Mary Margaret was silent for a moment, taking several sips of her steaming beverage, before turning back to Emma with a cautious look in her eyes. "There is...there is another possibility, if you have an open mind."

"Just how open are we talking?"

"Pretty open," Mary Margaret said. "What if-and just hear me out, I know this is crazy-what if Killian Jones is contacting you from beyond the grave."

"What, like a ghost?"

Mary Margaret shrugged. "I mean, I know it sounds crazy, but why not? One of the other teachers I work with was talking about this medium. His name is Merlin Emrys. Supposedly he can contact the dead and see ghosts and stuff like that."

"A medium? Seriously?" Emma asked, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. "Mary Margaret, you know those people are frauds. It's all about researching their marks ahead of time and then cold reading them. They're only in it to bleed as much cash out of vulnerable people as possible."

"I know it sounds crazy," Mary Margaret conceded, "but what if it's not? I've thought about going to him myself. If I could just talk to my parents one more time-make sure they're okay, make sure they've moved on, or whatever happens after someone dies. Well, it would provide a lot of comfort."

Emma's heart turned over, and she took her friend's hand. She knew how much Mary Margaret missed her parents. It was different for Emma. She'd never known her parents, only knew they'd tossed her out like garbage. She wasn't sure she even wanted to find them.

"I know you miss them," Emma said.

"I do," Mary Margaret said, "but that's not the point. The point is...what do you have to lose? Maybe this Merlin is just a quack like you said, but maybe not. Maybe he could be the key to unravelling the whole mystery."

Emma was silent for a moment. It was crazy; she knew it was. A medium wasn't going to give her the answers she needed if all her bail bonds tricks had failed her, but what the hell?

"Fine. I'll go see Merlin," Emma caved.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Emma's eyebrows rose as she took in the small, ranch-style house Mary Margaret had directed her to. She was skeptical before seeing the place, but now-now red flags were going up everywhere.

There was a huge, gaudy sign out front that read "Merlin, the great and powerful. Wizard of the unknown and medium of the great beyond." The sign-indeed the entire front of the house-was decorated with all kinds of astrological signs and symbols.

Was this guy even for real?

Emma seriously considered turning around and getting back in her car, but she'd promised Mary Margaret she'd at least check this Merlin out and give him a chance, and Emma was a woman of her word. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

A moment later, an older man with longish, thinning gray hair and a rather unkempt gray beard opened the door. He was wearing long robes. Really playing the part, apparently.

"Merlin Emrys, I presume?" Emma asked as the man welcomed her inside with a sweep of his hand.

The man chuckled. "I'm afraid not. I'm merely his apprentice. Who might I tell Merlin is calling?"

Emma cocked an eyebrow. "You mean your all powerful boss didn't see me coming with his second sight or whatever?"

Emma stepped inside and the apprentice shut the door after her. "My master isn't clairvoyant. He merely has the ability to speak with the dead."

"Right," Emma said, not even trying to tamp down the skepticism in her voice. "I'm Emma Swan, and I'm here to-"

He stopped her with a raised hand. "Don't say too much. Merlin does not wish to be influenced by his clients. He wishes to sense the energy around you for himself."

Emma shrugged. "Sorry."

"It's quite alright," the apprentice said, moving toward large drapes at the far end of the room. "I'll be just a moment. Please, make yourself comfortable."

Emma looked around the room while she waited, and it took everything in her to keep from rolling her eyes. This guy was really playing up the whole "psychic" thing. It felt like she was in some sort of fortune teller carnival tent. All the signs and symbols. This guy even had a crystal ball. An actual crystal ball.

This trip was a massive waste of her time, but maybe it would at least prove to be entertaining.

"Emma Swan, welcome!"

Emma looked up at the handsome black man who made his way through the curtains. He was dressed in much the same way as his apprentice, only he wore a sorcerer's pointy hat on his head.

"Uh, thanks," Emma said, stepping forward and offering her hand. "Full disclosure. I'm more than a little bit of a skeptic, so if this is one of those 'it can only work if you truly believe' deals, we might have a problem."

"My gift can withstand the doubts of the skeptic," he chuckled before reaching out and taking her hand.

No sooner had his hand touched hers than he gasped, taking a step back, eyes going wide. "Would you-would you care to follow me back to my private sitting room, Miss Swan? It's far more comfortable back there."

Emma cocked a brow again, wondering what this odd man was on about. Still, she didn't sense any overt deception in him, and he didn't seem to be any threat to her, so she shrugged before following him through the curtains.

This backroom was far more ordinary than the room they'd just inhabited. Emma took a plush armchair, and Merlin sat on a sofa across from her.

Merlin pulled off his hat and sat it beside him. "I apologize for all the theatrics, Miss Swan," he said, reaching for a pot of tea and then raising an eyebrow in question. Emma declined the beverage with a small shake of her head, and Merlin proceeded to pour himself a cup. "I attempt to play up to what most clients expect from a psychic. Unfortunately, most poor souls who come to see me are out of luck. The loved one they wish to contact has passed on. For most, all I can do amounts to smoke and mirrors. I could tell the moment I shook your hand that you were different."

Emma inwardly scoffed. She knew enough about cons not to be fooled by a clever con man. Made sense he'd use a different tactic with a skeptic than he would with some poor, grief-stricken sap who was a true believer.

"No offense, but I still think you're full of crap," she said.

Merlin smiled. "It seems those with the most energy surrounding them always do."

"So, what?" Emma asked. "Are there ghosts all around me or something?"

"There are a few spirits here with us today," Merlin confirmed. "There's one who's quite insistent. It's a man; looks as though he died rather young. I don't sense he's family, but you were close. Maybe coworkers? Perhaps friends?"

Emma took a deep breath, a face coming to mind. Surely he couldn't mean-

"I'm getting a G in the name," Merlin said slowly. "Greg or Gray….no. Graham."

Emma's heart turned over. Graham. Sweet, slightly dorky Graham Humbert. They'd worked together on more than a few cases, and they'd become good friends.

In fact, they'd been teetering on the precipice of possibly becoming more than friends when he died suddenly.

"How did you know to mention Graham? How did you know that name would get the biggest rise out of me?" Emma demanded, voice hard.

"I don't choose the spirits who come to me," Merlin explained calmly, "I merely give them a voice. Graham is pleased to see you again. He's glad you're doing well."

The anger came then, spurred on by the pain the memory of Graham's death brought back. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"He died quite suddenly, didn't he?" Merlin asked, ignoring her question. "I'm feeling a tightness in my chest. Something with his heart?"

"Heart attack," Emma confirmed tightly. "He had a heart attack right in front of me and died in my arms."

"He's sorry, so very sorry you had to go through that," Merlin said, putting a comforting hand on her arm. "He never wanted to be a source of pain for you."

Emma felt the tears at the back of her eyes and had to take a deep breath to keep them from falling. "Yeah, well, he didn't exactly have a say in the matter. Look, I don't know how you knew to bring up Graham, but I'm still not buying it."

"He apologizes he couldn't bring you a bear claw today," Merlin continued with a smile. "Oh, and he asks if you remember the day he thought he saw a wolf. He wants you to know he wasn't drunk. It really was there-in spirit at least."

Emma gasped, remembering the night she and Graham had gone to the Rabbit Hole for a drink after a long shift and Graham swore he spotted a big, gray wolf right there on the main street of town. Emma had made fun of him for that, telling him he'd clearly imbibed a bit too much that night. There's no way Merlin could have known about that incident. He couldn't have found it in any newspaper or online article about Graham's death.

Was it...was it possible this guy was the real deal?

"Okay, I admit, it's weird you'd bring that up," Emma said. "Let's say I believe you, can you ask Graham if he's okay? If he, like, moved on or whatever?"

"You just asked him," Merlin said. "He's here with us and can hear you. He wants to tell you that he is okay. He's more than okay; he's happy. He's moved on, and he's at peace, more than he could have ever thought possible."

Emma smiled, feeling comfort at the thought.

"There's someone else here with us as well," Merlin said. "Another male presence, but I don't believe you know this one. This one seems angry, desperate."

"Um...should we be scared?" Emma asked.

Merlin shook his head. "He doesn't mean us harm, only wants his story told. He's too indistinguishable to speak now, but I sense he'll be accompanying us on our journey today as well."

Wonderful. An angry, desperate ghost guide. Just fantastic.

"So, Emma," Merlin said, after a moment, "what brings you to me tonight?"

Emma pulled out her phone and laid out the entire story for Merlin. She told him about the calls, the texts, everything. Merlin took her phone in hand and gasped as soon as it touched his hand.

"There is a huge amount of energy here," he said. "There's no doubt a spirit has attached itself to you-or at least your phone."

Emma felt a chill. "My phone is haunted?"

"Not precisely," Merlin murmured, turning the device over in his hand. "Someone wishes to get your attention; wishes for you to help him, but there's something odd here, something I can't quite place."

"What do you mean?"

"The spirit is...indistinct," Merlin said, "hazy and just beyond my reach. I've never experienced anything like this."

Emma waited, her curiosity more than piqued at Merlin's odd reaction to her cell phone.

After a moment, Merlin's eyes widened. "Your friend Graham cleared up the mystery for me."

"What?" Emma asked. "What does Graham say is going on?"

"The reason I can't get a clear read on the spirit attached to your phone-this Killian Jones-is, well, because he's not dead."

Notes:

-So there you have it. For those of you who have wondered how this story could possibly have a happy ending since Killian is dead-this is how. He's not actually dead!

-Up next: With Merlin's help, Emma finds out how this is all possible-and she finds the not-dead Killian Jones.

                                                                            Next Chapter-->

#cssns21 #captain swan supernatural summer #my franfiction #cs ghost story au #dead man's cell phone

[amonrawya]

The Greatest Gift of All

(Inspired by^ for the people who asked :D hope it was worth the wait!)

*

Long before the war, before Captain America or the Winter Soldier, there was simply Bucky and Steve. At least, that's what history says. But they missed out one very important person, a girl called Y/N.

Women in those times often found themselves with little opportunity, and only two easily attainable pathways in life: wife and mother. But Y/N carved out a life for herself that defied all expectations, and it all started in Brooklyn.

She dived headlong into scuffles, usually next to Bucky in defence of Steve. Regardless of the opponent, Y/N stood by them both, and often held her own quite impressively.

Her dress style borrowed from more masculine cuts, and Y/N was never seen without her cap. A lot of people had a problem with this, but she shut them up fairly swiftly.

Everything about this girl drew Bucky in, a battle he fought with little effort. They reveled in each other, flaunting their love at every opportunity. More than a few were jealous that the rough and tumble girl got the best looking boy in town. 

In a way, before even coming of age, they started an adult life together. The three of them moved into a flat. Y/N and Bucky took hard labour jobs, or anything they could get. They had little room to be picky. 

Both managed to hook steady summer jobs at the local docks. They used most of their money to keep a roof over their heads, buy food, and pay for Steve's medical needs. He attended art school, and sold his work every now and then; but physically, he was in no condition to work.

The war appeared on the horizon, just as they started to pull themselves an inch above the poverty line. Y/N saw it coming, the inevitable. She treasured every second they spent together, and dreaded the day when the draft came.

A lot of the older women she worked with were disrespectful, looking down on her pre-marital relationship with Bucky. They claimed she couldn't possibly understand their grief, despite the fact Y/N had seen Bucky off at the docks that very morning. 

In truth, they already planned on being married, but at the time, they simply didn't have the funds. Bucky promised, once the war ended, that ring would be on her finger.

Except, he never came home. Not properly. The person Hydra gave back to Y/N was damaged and jaded, angry at the world, angrier than she ever saw. But still, they loved each other. Though she never forgave them for stealing away his innocence, for trying to snuff out the light in his soul. A part of him would always belong to them, and she hated it.

Refusing to stay home while they risked their lives, never knowing, Y/N trained as an army nurse, working specially with the Howling Commandos unit.

Then one day, she went out to welcome them back from a mission. Every face looked devastated, but none more so than Steve. His eyes, red-raw and streaming, seemed incapable of rising from the ground. At first, the realisation didn't process, the idea simply incomprehensible. He promised.

Dugan was the one to finally break through and catch Y/N as she fell, holding her as the tears poured. Once he shook off his daze, Steve took his place, sharing in her grief.

Her world fell apart so quickly, with no warning and no mercy. Their commanders celebrated the capture of Arnim Zola, while Y/N and Steve sat, staring at an empty place at their side.

Everyone mourned Bucky, and swiftly after, began to mourn Y/N, too. The loss took a part of her...the sparkle, the happiness, the laugh that lit up her face. It all vanished. She worked hard, looked after them all, but only Steve was able to make her smile. Even then, it looked pained.

So when Steve went down with the plane, the very last shred of Y/N died with him. No tears left her eyes, no screams ripped up her throat. A cold numbness took over, freezing the woman from the inside out. 

V-Day came and went. The Commandos stood and drank to their lost comrades, and Dugan silently drank another...for the loss of a bright, fiery girl who had virtually nothing to lose, and still lost everything.

She spent her days as a robot, doing nothing but going through the motions of badly imitating life. The flat was empty and quiet, yet somehow, bursting with the ghosts of her loved ones. Nightmares plagued her, terrible images of Bucky's body, forever trapped in a freezing hell, nothing but food for the birds. And Steve, his body...was it cast adrift in the ocean? Or destroyed, burnt to ash in the belly of a metal beast. 

They were simple folk before the war turned them into soldiers, into weapons. Before symbols and flags stole away their names, driving them to sacrifice their lives for a greater cause.

Y/N knew their fight against Hydra was important...knew the honour behind their sacrifice. But when it's you left sitting at an empty dinner table, it's much easier to be angry and bitter.

She never married, never settled, bouncing around countries working as an army nurse. The Commandos slowly died around her, each one fading to grey as the curtain drew the show to a close. Each death, each funeral ripped open her wounds, bigger and deeper each time. Until eventually, Y/N let the blood flow freely.

Or at least, that's what would have happened. But one choice, one decision, made by a boy she thought dead in the far future, changed it all.

*

Bucky Barnes struggled to find himself again. His memories were mostly all returned, if a bit hazy and fragmented. He had Steve there to right any wrong recollections, and connect with on their shared experiences. But something always seemed to be missing, a piece of the jigsaw that hadn't been found.

He remembered Y/N. He remembered her clearer than anything. She was glowing like honey in the sun when Bucky closed his eyes and brought her back to mind.

Face covered in muck, hair tousled and streaked with grease from the boats, soot on the very tip of her nose and a cap perched jauntily on her head; wearing the deepest expression of concentration as she aimed a hanful of rotten fish guts at the sleezy Connell boy from Fifth, who decided his opinion on her backside mattered. The image shone crystal clear. Her laughter, rolling out from between curved lips, beautiful and full of mischief. 

It never failed to make him smile. Or cry. Or sometimes, both. He missed Y/N than he thought possible for a human being. 

Bucky often wondered about her life, whether she went on to marry, or maybe even have children. Was she happy? Did she bury him and move on? If they met today, would Y/N even recognise the man he was now? 

More importantly, in his mind, something he both feared and longed to know: would she still love him?

Unbeknownst to Bucky, Steve saw all this. Understood, to a degree, his pain. But he and Peggy never got the chance to bond so strongly. He knew Bucky needed him, but Steve also knew he needed Y/N more.

So once his goodbyes were said, he looked one last time at Bucky, and smiled beneath his suit as he vanished into time.

*

The living room looked exactly the same as he remembered. Bucky's coat, slung over the back of the chair, his sketchbooks strewn around the desk. Every rip and chip. His heart swelled with nostalgia, and pain, thinking of the life they were supposed to have.

What must have been in their heads...running off to fight, so eager to throw everything away. And who was left to stare at empty beds and eat breakfast alone every morning? Y/N.

His chest constricted, hearing the keys in the door, the lock rattling three times before letting her in. His nerve faltered for the briefest second, wondering if he was ready to see her again.

"Who the hell are you?!"

Time's up.

Slowly, he turned, and watched as Y/N's eyes widened, all the bags in her hands falling to the floor with a crash.

"...Stevie?" The name came out as a whisper, nearly inaudible.

He grinned, laughing as tears stung his eyes. "Hey, spitfire. Long time no see."

"Steve!" She launched herself at him, arms wrapping around his neck and clinging on for dear life. 

Catching her by the waist, he swung Y/N around, burying his face in her hair. They held onto one another as if they might vanish if they let go. But after a minute, Steve gently pushed her back.

"How? How are you here? What are you wearing? I don't understand, Steve, they said you died! Your plane went down in the ocean," she stammered, hand on his forearm with a grip like a vice.

"I survived. The serum kept me alive in the ice for seventy years," he said, questioning his own sanity momentarily; standing in the flat again made everything that happened seem like a distant dream.

Y/N frowned, brows knitting together. "What? Did you hit your head? Steve, this is 1945."

"I know, I came from 2023. I'm alive," he said, and saw her mentally backing away, so added, "I'm alive, and so is Bucky."

Her head snapped up, eyes immediately filling with tears. A dozen emotions whizzed through them in a second; disbelief, pain, hope. It shone clearly in her face as she stepped closer.

What did you say?" She asked, voice choked as she brought her shaking hands up to her mouth.

"Bucky's alive," he repeated softly, "and I can send you to him, in the future. But we don't have a lot of time. You need to listen to me, carefully, and do what I say."

She spluttered, struggling for words. "I, but...what about you?"

"I've made my decision," Steve said, and gently took her hands in his, "now, please, listen."

*

Bucky watched the machine, feeling a wave of numbness wash over his insides. Nothing was a better deal than the pain, the cruel sting of betrayal fighting to be felt. But he beat it back, unable to allow those thoughts validation.

Steve gave up so much for him, he fought for years to get him here. Steve deserved this. And no matter how wrong those words sounded in his head, he resolutely stood by them. 

The seconds ticked by, noted by Bruce's countdown. A flash of guilt almost made Bucky explain what was going to happen, explain that Steve left them. Left him. But he possessed no energy to speak, they'd see in a second, when no one appeared-

Zap. A blinding flash of light.

There's someone there.

Bucky frowned, hands falling from his pockets. Did Steve change his mind? Did he...

All the thoughts in his head stopped as the figure stepped down. Too small, too lithe for it to be Steve. Bucky's heart rate quickened, something in his unconscious already registering his recognition. 

The suit fell away, and if he weren't frozen in place, Bucky wouldn't have been standing. A quiver shot through him, nearly buckling his knees. Shock, fear and pure disbelief all delayed his reaction.

Y/N looked around, amazed, but turned to stone as she set eyes on him. Her face went utterly blank, a strangled sound leaving her lips.

Wearing her yard slacks, with a small bag on her shoulder, her face covered in dirt, hair streaked with grease, cap perched on-top, slanted to one side...she was everything he remembered, and his heart tried to leave his chest to go to her. To be whole again.

But fear held him back. She didn't know the things he'd done, the person he became after the train accident. What if-

"Who is she?" Sam asked, glaring as he stalked towards her, an accusation rising on his lips.

Bucky answered without hesitation, or thinking; the question had been asked countless times over the years. It always recieved the same reply. "My doll."

Sam stopped short, glancing between them, the way neither took their eyes off the other. He nodded, brows still closely knit, and backed off.

Slowly, Y/N approached, encouraged by the sound of his voice. She reached out carefully, when she got close enough. Trembling fingers brushed his cheek, and a shudder ran through her. 

"My Bucky..." She said quietly, eyes roaming over his face, a small smile tugging at her lips, "...you're here, in front of me. Alive."

He swallowed dryly, heart thundering away beneath his skin. "I'm different...you don't know..."

No sooner had the words left his mouth that her eyes found the cold metal where his flesh used to be. In reaching to hold it, she'd been taken by surprise.

Gently, Y/N took the hand in her own, examing the limb with a careful gaze. Moments passed, and she met his eyes again. Bucky steeled himself for rejection, for the disgust and horror.

Her hand went back to his cheek, and he involuntairly leaned into it. The warmth seeped into his blood. She stood on her tip toes, the smile on her lips blossoming into a bright beam of sunlight. "You've always been my Bucky, and always will be. Metal appendages and all."

He fell apart and dove down to capture her lips, clutching her to him with the hunger of a starving man. She pulled herself in, hands tangling in his brown locks, and both tasted salt on the others' lips.

So filled with joy his heart could burst, Bucky revelled in the feeling of holding his girl again. Laughing through the tears, he buried his face in her neck.

Thank you, Steve, for the greatest gift of all.

#marvel #writing #creative #youtube #movies #sacrifice #steve rogers #endgame #captain america: the first avenger #bucky barnes #bucky angst #bucky barns x y/n #bucky fic #bucky x you #bucky imagine #sam wilson #lovers #i love him #love story #time travel #angst with a happy ending #here you guys go #i hope this is okay!

[cinnamonrusts]

together, we can make it out alive - 1

[a/n: originally posted on my Ao3 and I decided to revamp my series some with my updated writing techniques. Hope you enjoy.]

                                                                  ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚

*BEEPBEEP BEEPBEEP*

The electronic chimes from your alarm clock blared loudly in your ear. Groans escaped your dry throat as the clock stirred you from your slumber, "Not yet--," your hand fished for the large snooze button on the top of the clock. Five more minutes, that is all you would need. Well, five minutes came and once again the alarm beeped in your ear. Your eyelids slowly lifted as you read the blurry red digits that stared in your face. "3:45 PM", it read. "Shit..." you cursed as you knew that you needed to get up and get around for your nightshift turn.

Your legs swung around the edge of your bed as you stretched with a loud yawn. Daylight peaked in through your blinds and shined directly into your eyes, "I really need some black out curtains," you mumbled to yourself as you made a mental note. This was just your daily routine now. You slept in the morning after getting off work from the Raccoon City Police Department and woke up around 3:00 PM. Ate, exercised, showered, and relaxed all before you pushed pencils on the clock at your desk.

Don't get it wrong. It was a job and you were thankful, but your duties weren't exactly what you expected them to be after the headache that was the police academy. You didn't hate your job, you just didn't -- like it. Also, you really fucking hated Raccoon City. It was not the same place that you remembered as a kid, not to mention all the weird things that had been going on lately. You just really wanted out of there. Maybe go to a warmer city... like Los Angeles or something.

You pushed yourself to a stand and turned around on the balls of your feet to head to the bathroom. When you reached the shower, you turned on the faucet and ran your fingers under the warm water. Just as it reached the perfect temperature, your phone rang. You ignored it and waited for the voicemail to pick up. But it just rang again.

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" you yelled at the telephone as you stomped through your apartment to the device on the wall. "Hello?" you answered.

A familiar, yet unwelcomed voice barked from the other end of the line. "[L/N]! Where the hell are you?!" It was Lt. Branagh. "Home. My shift doesn't start until 10." your eyes rolled as you pinched the bridge of your nose. "Get your ass over to the station! We've had reports all day of violent attacks all over the damn city!" He couldn't be serious -- it was 6 hours now until your shift! "I don't come in until--," Branagh cut you off, "I expect to see you soon, [L/N]." the call ended.

You kicked the open moving box that sat in front of you in anger. It flipped onto its side and the contents spilled out onto the floor. It was a bunch of papers that you failed to file away and as you picked them up, you noted a familiar picture on top of the mess. The photo displayed two very recognizable faces that had smiles displayed happily.

You and Leon S. Kennedy.

He was your partner in crime during the police academy. Leon was the only one who didn't see you being a woman as a weakness. The two of you hit it off immediately after he introduced himself and complimented your skills.

On top of your heads were colorful party hats that seemed to be a bit too small. Both of your arms were slinked around his shoulders as you pulled him in for a close hug. His right hand was rested on your waist and the left held up a large mug of beer that was about to spill out onto the floor. Your thumb caressed the image of his handsome face and a smirk spread across your lips. You flipped the picture over and in faded pen was your handwriting: "Graduation Celebration! JULY '98"

Leon crossed your mind often. The two of you lost contact with one another after something happened between the two of you. It was as if that party happened yesterday -- the night that he kissed you. Your eyes closed and you could picture Leon's face perfectly - the way that his lips puckered and the way that they felt.

The two of you stood outside of the bar on that warm summer night. Leon was leaned against his shitty blue car that was wrapped in faded paint and rust. You stood in front of him with your arms crossed and your eyes focused on the clear sky that hovered above. Then the sensation of fingers over your skin drew your attention from the sky, to the man. Your gazes locked and his lids were half shut but a smile was on his lips. "Leon, you're drunk, aren't you?" you chuckled. His fingers wrapped around your bicep, "Maybe," he cooed as he brought you close to him. You could feel and smell his breath, it was warm and stunk heavy of booze.

With his free hand, he moved it to your cheek and tickled it lightly with his knuckle. Your [E/C] eyes stared deep into his moonstone ones, Leon's pupils dilated before they closed. His lips met yours. They were smooth but a bit chapped - he must be an avid user of Chapstick, you thought. The kiss was quick but meaningful. When he pulled away, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him in for another. When the two of you broke apart, you noted the way those moonstone pools in his head looked at you -- you could get lost in them -- forever.

The fond memories brought warmth to your heart that you lost the track of time. Pounds from beneath you interrupted your reminiscence. Your neighbor below screamed through the floorboards. "Hey, you fucking idiot! Stop using all the hot water! You're not the only one who fucking lives here!" he continued to pound and yell. "Shut up, you fuck!" you screamed back as you scrambled to your feet. Your clothing was stripped from your body as you dashed to the shower, and jumped directly into the lukewarm stream.

You knew that Branagh was most likely boiled over in anger because of how late you were already. Once you finished your shower, you pulled on your police uniform, styled your hair into a neat bun, grabbed a bagel, and ran out the door. Your car was parked pretty far down the road and rain began to fall from the sky. What a perfect start to the day. You shoved the bagel into your mouth and dashed for your car. The key slipped in your hands as you fiddled with them to get the door unlocked. Just as you grabbed the correct one, they fell onto the ground and so did your bagel.

"I've already had enough of today," you cursed and sighed to yourself as you bent over to pick them up. When you stood back up, a woman came from nowhere and threw herself onto you. She cried in panic and spoke incoherently. You noted the large wound on her shoulder and blood was seeped heavily into her shirt. "P-Please! Help me!" she grabbed onto your shirt with blood stained hands. "Ma'am!" you yelled and pushed her off of you for your own safety. She stumbled back and fell to her knee, "Let me call an ambulance!" you started to run to a nearby pay phone but she stopped you with a stutter that it was too late. "There's more of them!" her head turned in the direction of an alley to the left, then she took off from the ground in a haste. "Ma'am, wait!" you yelled as you watched her run away around the corner and into the city.

"Who's coming?" you whispered. With curiosity, you walked toward the alley that the woman had looked down but saw no one. Maybe she was one of the crazy people that were noted to be around the city and around the Arklays... If you saw her again, you'd probably call in some backup... the crazy look in her eyes... it unsettled you. You managed to shake the image of them from your mind and focused on getting out of the rain.

As you walked back to your car, you noticed the red stains that were now stained into your uniform. Whatever. You would worry about it after you made it to work. Once you got into your car, the radio started talking about more and more unrest that had spread more and more through the streets. Your finger pressed the power off, "Enough of that." the news was just the same and you just knew that you had to deal with it first hand once you arrived at the station, it just made it worse.

In front of the parking garage for the RPD were several cars that seemed to have been in an accident. Your car couldn't go any further than where you were at, so you hopped out of the vehicle to walk the rest of the way. People dashed around the streets in a panic and it seemed as if it were the apocalypse. You tried to flag people down to stop them but they all ignored you. What the hell is going on?! When you entered the station, there was even more chaos. Officers ran around like wild and some seemed to be injured as well. You felt anxious and confused by everything that was going on. What had gone on in your brief time away?

Phones rang, people yelled, doors slammed, and everything soon overwhelmed you, you could feel yourself going into an overload. But a strong hand on your shoulder was a saving grace. "There you are, [L/N]!" it was Branagh and a brief look of relief washed across his face. "I left a stack of paperwork on your desk. Sort through it and then you're going out on patrol. Some crazy shit is going down..." he gave you a light push in the direction of your desk.

As you walked to the back of the office, you noticed the banner that was spread across the ceiling in blue and yellow.

"WELCOME LEON"

Your heart pumped in your chest and you could feel your skin begin to turn clammy. There was only one Leon that you know of that was a cop. The man that you shared a kiss with and so many more feelings... Leon -- Kennedy? Was he actually on his way here? He always told you that after the academy he would eventually come find you in the city and be your partner again. You thought that it was just a joke -- but now, it didn't seem that way. How could he come here without saying anything to you? No call? No email? Nothing?

Your eyes remained on the banner and you asked your co-worker who sat on the desk beneath it, "Hey, Rita. Who's this, Leon?" She didn't look up from her desk, "I dunno. Some new guy from out of town. Last name starts with a K or something like that. Ask Neil, I'm sure he knows." You could feel a knot in your stomach and you darted to your chair. The desk that was across from you was normally piled high with boxes of paperwork, but now it was cleared off. You leaned over the divider and snatched the piece of paper on the desk. Your eyes darted across the text:

"Leon S. Kennedy, we're putting you on a very special case for your first assignment. Your mission is to... unlock your desk! The key to your success is in the initials of our first names."

The note confirmed it. It was indeed that Leon. You plopped back into your seat and gnawed on the nail of your thumb. Your thoughts were now consumed as to how both Leon and yourself would react when he arrived. You could see it now...

He would laugh with the other officers as they shot the shit with him. He would be in the center of the group, they would slap him on the back and tell him how happy they were to have him on the force. His gaze would eventually land on you and he would excuse himself from them. Leon would smile and show off his perfect teeth. He'd saunter over and slowly shake his head, "I didn't expect to see you here, [F/N]."

You swallowed hard but your thoughts were interrupted when the sounds of glass shattered right outside of the office's door.

The chatter and hubbub in the office halted as everyone's attention turned toward the door.  An officer who wasn't much older than you rushed toward the noise, he couldn't make out exactly what it was from behind the glass of the door but drew his gun in preparation. He looked back at the office filled with you and your co-workers before opening the door slowly. "Hello?" he called out. His gun was pointed out into the hallway but found that there was nothing there. Then a sound of something you had never heard before or ever would forget echoed loudly in the empty hall.

It sounded like a monster, there was no other way to explain it. It pierced through your ears and then the sounds of the officer's shrieks shook your core. A loud gurgle erupted from his throat as he was tackled by a person onto the floor. This - person, dug their teeth deeply into his throat and proceeded to rip it out. Bright, red liquid sprayed from the wound across the floor. Two male officers threw themselves onto the assailant and tried their hardest to pull him off but soon were attacked as well. Gunshots blasted off in the office which then were accompanied by more sounds of broken glass. The assailant dropped dead beside the officers on the floor and everyone exchanged glances of pure terror.

"More are out there!" yelled Branagh as he held his weight against the door to stop any more of these "people" from killing everyone his subordinates. "Pistols aren't going to keep us alive for much longer," Rita cried out. "But Irons insisted we hide everything else away, remember!?" your fellow officers shouted at each other as tension rose - fear and panic began to set in.

"I know where some are," you piped up. "I have the keycard for the weapons locker," you reached into your shirt pocket and pulled out a white, plastic card. "Perks of being the newbie, I guess. I'll go." you walked toward the back door but stopped when Branagh barked at you, "You can't go alone!" You shook your head, "I will be right back, I promise." you disregarded his arguments and with a deep breath, opened the door and took off on your mission.

The hall was dark and quiet, the electricity must had been cut out in this section of town. You swallowed hard and with your pistol in on hand with the flashlight in the other, you took quiet yet brisk strides down the long stretch of hallway. All you could hear was the sounds of your bootsteps and the groans of those things that lurked just outside of the fences that kept the building somewhat safe. You needed these guns, no matter what. Or you and your co-workers would end up just like those officers - dead. Your breathing was heavy and your heart raced which could be felt in your skull, "Easy girl," you spoke out, "Just a few doors and you'll be there."

Time was not on your side, so you took off in a sprint. The feeling of being so vulnerable next to a stretch of windows worried you as you could fall victim to whatever those things were at any time. They weren't exactly "things" they looked human and most likely were but maybe they were deranged with some sort of illness. But nonetheless, they were dangerous and deadly... Just as you feared, one of them crashed through the window. Their greedy palms reached for you over the broken glass and managed to snag you by your hair. You screamed in pain and terror as their strength pulled you in but when you pulled away, you only pulled them closer. Your pistol flew from your hands and slid across the floor, too far for you to reach.

Their bloody jaws snapped as they tried their hardest to sink their teeth into your soft flesh. You could feel their breath on your skin and you struggled but could feel your strength giving way to theirs. There was only one thing you could do and it was to grab the knife that was attached to the side of your right leg. Your fingertips were just barely able to reach the handle but with one quick lunge of your body, you grabbed hold of the weapon. The desire to survive charged your strength and you began to saw through the strands of your hair that were gripped tight in the clutches of the creature. Tears poured down the sides of your face as you sawed through the strands that were the barrier between you and certain death.

The creature was now halfway over the window and their hand still had your [h/c] hair in between their fingers, jaws still snapped at you as they begged to taste your flesh. You scrambled on all fours as you attempted to gather yourself so that you could press on. Your foot slipped on a large piece of broken glass which sent you across the floor, you then landed onto a large chunk of broken glass. The sharp piece embedded itself deep into your knee and you cried in pain as you held your leg close to your chest. The creature dug its nails into the tile floor and started to crawl toward you with dead eyes, and bloody teeth. You took several deep breaths as you prepared to yank the glass from your leg and with one last deep inhale, you yanked it out. You cried in pain but knew that you had to keep going, your muscle burned as it now was exposed to the air. You made sure to grab your pistol from the floor before you continued on.

Your sprint was now resorted to a quick limp but you managed to make it to the locker room. To your dismay, it was mostly empty besides a couple of shotguns and some ammunition. "Fuck! Fuck! This isn't enough!" you screamed as you pounded your fist against one of the lockers. Inside one of the open lockers was a weapons bag which you were able to fill with the lackluster amount of supplies. As you zipped up the bag, the metal door to the room opened and the sound drew your attention. Your pistol was ready and you limped around the corner to hide behind a row of lockers to hide from who or whatever it was. The room was dark but a flashlight flipped around the room, whoever it was, they were there to look for those guns or you. Your thumb slowly pulled the hammer back on the weapon and rounded the corner, "Stop right there!" you yelled.

It was a man and he seemed to be normal for the most part. He complied and raised his arms in the air. "Turn around!" Again, he complied and did a slow 180. Through the faint glow of his flashlight, your eyes caught a glimpse of a set of familiar moonstone pools.

"[Y/N]?!" his voice raised in shock. The entire city was faced with an apocalypse scenario or even the whole world for all you knew and the one person you run into is Leon -- Leon Kennedy.

He dropped his arms and grabbed hold of your, then pulled you into a tight hug. Leon smelled of sweat and cologne, the very cologne that you bought for him as a graduation gift. You breathed him in as it registered to you that this was real, he was really here. But you pulled away, "Leon, we have no time for chit chat. We gotta get moving, people need these guns!" you pointed to the bag that sat on the floor by your feet. As you tried to throw it over your shoulder, you winced in pain. "Here, let me get it." Leon attempted to take it from your hand but you paused before you surrendered the precious cargo, "I can trust you with this, right?" your grip was tight on the strap, "When have you ever doubted me?" he asked with a smile, "You don't want to know that..." your grip released as you responded but also pointed the fact that your leg was injured.

"Sorry to be a liability," you apologized, but Leon pulled you to his side, "Nonsense. I got this and you, just keep an eye out for zombies."

You led Leon down the hallway that you had your close brush with death in, the zombie, as Leon called it, was now gone. But when the two of you reached the door to the office, it was eerily quiet. Not a good sign. You pushed the door open to find the office void of any life, nothing but blood. Lots and lots of blood. Your heart hurt as you felt a pain in your chest, was everyone dead? The lifeless body of Rita laid on the floor with her eyes opened, her brown orbs were absent of the vibrant life she once had.

Tears welled in your eyes but as you turned to flee, you bumped into Leon's chest. A look of horror on Leon's face matched yours, "I-I left them not even an hour ago..." you cried into his shirt for a moment as he held you lightly with one arm. When you pulled away, you wiped your eyes and Leon took your hand from your face.

"I'm happy you're alive, [Y/N]," you examined your matured features and you did his. His hair grew a little longer than when you had seen him last and he examined your frazzled locks. Just as you opened your mouth to speak, a door behind Leon opened and shut. A man walked out from the shadows and into the light, it was Branagh. He held onto his side and you could see he was injured with his shirt heavily stained with what was most likely his blood.

Leon pulled his pistol out and pointed it at your superior while he had a protective hand on your arm. Branagh coughed a wheezed laugh and shooed his gun out of his face. He looked over to you and smiled, "Good to see you're still breathing, [Y/N]." The Lieutenant approached your male companion and placed a bloody hand on his shoulder,

"You must be Leon Kennedy -- well, son, welcome to Raccoon City."

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