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the-heaminator · 10 months

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@apersonwholikeslotus's admittedly late birthday gift, Have the spy fic, bastard <3

Featuring: Mental breakdowns, attempted dissociation, cuddling and children being children

Morning came....and went, Arthur had set an alarm for 7 in the morning, they didn't have to clock in today so at least they were safe on that frontier, but neither woke up from it, both were simply not present in this current dimension whatsoever, Arthur's face was buried deeply into Ivan's strangely soft chest, and his nose ad nearly nuzzling Arthur's greying hair, but neither woke with the alarm, no matter how loud it rang.

They just slept through it, clearly, their bodies were trying to make up for lost time or something because neither usually slept this deep, or this long, they had both slept sometime past midnight, and now it was two in the afternoon, about 14 hours sleep was not something they were used to, not in one night at least, they'd both gone entire weeks on less sleep than they had gotten that night, and if you add the four hours they slept earlier, that was 18 hours of the past 36 being spent asleep. That was half the bloody time!

Arthur was the one that stirred first, he tried to stretch but was inhibited by Ivan's arm, warm, soft, but also very strong, oh he would not be moving anytime soon, not if sleepy Ivan had anything to say about it, he tried to move, he really did, but just as he had gotten somewhat somewhere, Ivan grabbed him back down and snuggled him like one would do to a teddy bear.

Well, it couldn't be that late could it, he could have a bit of a lie in, goodness knows when was the last time he did that eh? Not 5 minutes later he was back into a deep sleep, 2 and a half more hours, it was four thirty in the fucking afternoon, and only then did Ivan get up, not even wanting to get up, he needed to piss, only then he realised that he was hugging the everliving fuck out of Arthur, and let him go, which did wake him up, albeit slowly, they both squinted in the light, what bloody time was it????

Turns out waking up at four fucking thirty in the afternoon was not something they had even considered the possibility of last night. That just simply was not something they thought they were even capable of doing and had of course not factored it into the schedule, because why would they, Ivan checked the clock, Arthur was sleepy and couldn't see it very clearly at the best of times, he just usually kind of guessed based on what he could see, usually an hour or at least 5 minutes off.

Ivan stared at the clock for a while "Ivan, what is it?"

He spoke oddly "Arthur, am i going blind or does the clock say 4.35?"

Arthur looked at it, it looked close enough to what Ivan said, and he agreed, albeit mildly "Yes, i do think it is 4.30 in the afternoon."

Neither of them pointed out that they had very much been cuddling not a couple minutes before, that would fuck with the severity of the situation, besides, what could they do, from this point onwards they would be doing this more often, so why not start getting used to it, and oddly enough it was very comfortable for the both of them, neither received much physical touch normally, nor really at all, this was likely the most either had been held earnestly in decades, and neither could bring themselves to hate it right now.

Ivan got up, "I should be heading home, i have already stayed long enough, and you probably have things to do."

Strangely Arthur didn't want him to leave, not just yet at least, don't ask him why, he did not know, "Don't we have a couple more things to sign?"

Ivan groaned and very resolutely said "Fuck paperwork, sincerely with a chainsaw, but i do have to go home, these clothes are not going to last much longer, we need them signed by the end of the week no? You sign the documents you need to, pass me the ones I need to, job agreements you know, and anything that needs both signatures on them, you do first and drop it by whenever."

That was absurdly logical and he couldn't really come up with anything against it, but then remembered "Wait, we can at least do the marriage agreement now can't we?"

Ivan raised his eyebrows, Arthur was acting a little erratic, he was usually a lot more controlled than this, like a lot more, he hadn't eaten anything odd, had he? Ivan was watching whatever he ate, and knowing Arthur it was unlikely that he ate anything before or after that, so what was up?

Arthur himself didn't frankly know, he was feeling odd himself but had no clue why, he mentally cursed when he saw Ivan looking at him with genuine concern, this wasn't cause for concern probably, he just needed to get the work done, yes, that was it, if there was anything else underlying then it is doubtful that even Arthur would know what it was, so let him have his fun.

"Arthur, you are acting strange, are you hungry?"

That was completely fucking out of the blue, since when did being hungry made him act strange, bullshit this was, yes, why were his thoughts so fast, they weren't usually like this, more controlled, more precise, less erratic, they were jumping around and he couldn't catch head or tail of any of them, what the fuck was going on, he needed his tea, yes that, why was Ivan looking t him like that. why did he want to hit him, rather why didn't he want to hit him, he would hit anyone else that looked at him with, that wasn't pity, that wasn't concern, what the fuck was that?

"Arthur?"

Breathe.

"Yes, Ivan?"

"I asked whether you were hungry, but you didn't respond, are you?"

Was he hungry, probably not, so he answered as much.

Ivan most certainly was hungry, but they may have used all of the food Arthur had in his house for their meal yesterday, so he couldn't even cook anything "Fine, then shall we sign the marriage agreement and then I have to be off."

The agreement was signed, as any little piece of paper would be, this wasn't real of course, this meant nothing, nothing at all, Arthur gave him the papers that only he needed to sign and deal with, and with that Ivan bid his farewell, leaving Arthur alone once more.

It all of a sudden just felt very empty, his house never felt like this, not even when he hadn't slept in his bed for a week or more, or when it was clean to the point of it almost being sterile, it felt many things, but not just plain empty.

He fiddled with his ring, caught himself doing it, and stopped it, Ivan had gotten into his head far too quickly, though a nagging part of his mind insisted that he had always been there, ever since they first met each other thirty-odd years ago, he never left really, and this was just making it worse.

He never wanted to tell his mind to shut up more than he did now, what on earth was even going on in his head right now to be thinking like that, it almost bordered on disgust really, he never acted like this, no wonder Ivan thought him to be acting odd because he was acting fucking odd, maybe he was hungry? Nah screw that, he wasn't, last night's dinner(?) was bigger and better than he was used to eating, he was full.

He just had to get back to his work, yes, and he needed his bloody tea.

As for Ivan, he could've walked home, but chose not to, the buses were running just fine and even after that extremely extended nap they took, he was tired, he was not normally this tired, not at all, he also found himself fiddling with the ring, the blasted thing was just a little too small, that was fucking embarrassing wasn't it, he could still somehow feel Arthur's lingering touch on his hands, kind yet firm, he'd never truly thought about that before, well he had but he was never particularly aware of it when he did think so, maybe just in passing, perhaps?

As you can see neither are particularly in tune with their personal thoughts, not at all, and all of a sudden that was literally the only thing he could think of.

Something was off, a small sensation never stayed in his mind this long, he could deal with broken limbs easier than he was dealing with this, the all-consuming need for simple touch had taken over and he had no idea why, he should not have slept with Arthur, that was probably what caused this, I mean what else could, he hadn't gotten particularly close to anyone before or since.

This was bullshit, his door was stiff as usual and he had to ram into it a bit, he really needed to clean his house, besides he would be moving out quite soon, he would have to get to work, no matter how much he hated cleaning, he had to do it, and he was good at it quite frankly, he knew exactly how to get many choice stains out of clothing, lemon juice helped with a lot of them, and it wasn't nearly as harsh as using bleach to get blood and shit out of his curtains.

Eh, where was he again?

He needed groceries, yes, that was what he needed, he was hungry as all fuck right now, and he knew for a fact that his fridge was empty, he hadn't the time to go get stuff lately, but first he needed a shower, and new clothes, he was fine sleeping in a shirt and all but it wasn't that comfortable he wouldn't really do it if he had a choice, he did not then, plus it would clear his mind, yes.

Too much had happened, and all of a sudden everything just sank in, he knew he was meant to be a parent, a husband, he had been many things at many times in his life, spy, killer, arsonist, criminal, saviour. He had been many things.

A parent and husband, he had done separately, for short periods of time maybe, and even these were getting to be a while ago, they were n longer used for high profile missions often, not as the main at least, they were limited to the dirty work now, because they were good at it. This was not dirty work, this was acting, he was a good actor, but together he had not done. Especially not for a long time.

Hell, he was supposed to be a father, how would he fucking do that? He could barely remember his father, and what he did remember was not particularly good, a lot of shouting, then it was only his sisters, this was a long time ago, what would he do, what would he fucking do, his heart sank like a stone, he didn't want to fuck up the kids, they were bright, bubbly children, every one of them, he didn't want to fuck them up.

Shit, shit, shit this was not good, could he pull out yet?

No, he probably couldn't, Yao was decisive, he wouldn't turn back on a decision unless he fully cocked up the mission, which he would frankly do if the children weren't involved, he had his own reasons, but he had already not much left of his humanity, there wasn't even much, to begin with, but even that was chiselled away over time, but the children still had all of it intact, he couldn't just shatter that because he was being a selfish prick.

Jesus Arthur's vocabulary was wearing off on him, Mother Mary save him because he knows not of what to do otherwise, shower, he was going for a shower before all of this hit him like a bowling ball, yes he could do a shower.

Picked himself up off the bed and was gone, to wash his worries away as it was, or maybe even just ignore them for a bit, even that would help. He was not an anxious person, but this rush of fear was more than he had experienced in decades, even when his own life was at stake there was less fear, and he had no clue why.

Neither of them did, Arthur was not good with children, he wasn't good with people at all, described to be a weasel in how he could get out of tight corners and could not be trusted, Ivan a bear, brute force and intimidation, neither of these was particularly known to be caring, not to each other and scarcely to anybody else.

So why were they so worried?

Arthur broke out in a sweat, hurried into the bathroom, and hurled his guts into the kitchen sink, why? He wasn't ill, what the fuck was this, he was just fine, and then he proceeded to hurl up more.

His head fucking hurt, he needed to stop, he had already slept enough, and he had eaten enough, so what was up.

He would deal with that later, bent over the sink, he looked at himself in the mirror, a right mess he was, he couldn't focus on himself in the mirror, he didn't look this old, nor this pale normally-wait why was he crying, what the fuck was going on, why was his heart doing this, pounding so hard he could feel it in his ears, what happened, it needed to stop.

Had this happened before? What do you do?

Water on the face, count to four, breathe, and move on. He did not have time for...whatever this was.

This was not normal, he had to get, and keep his shit together, he was good at it normally, he could deal with this, once he figured out what it was, but first, he needed to sit down, fully dizzy he was, blurry and multicoloured, a little lie down would help, yes. He had to be at full capacity tomorrow, he had to get to work on time and get the shit signed.

He couldn't let Yao, or Ivan down, not the kids, and somehow this felt worse than the possibility of losing his own life. What the fuck was going on, he would deal with that later, he wasn't normally this weak, this cold, this forgetful, he needed to stop, breathe, shit it wasn't working, breathe, breathe, breathe, that was the priority.

Ivan walked about his house lost in thought, he wasn't precisely sure what he was doing, like he was looking in third person, he felt woozy, he hadn't had anything to drink, maybe he was just hungry, the fridge was empty, oh dear. He couldn't get the door to open for some reason, not that it was stuck, moreso he couldn't grab the handle, he always misjudged the distance, and it kept moving ever so slightly.

Breathe.

He sat down, he would deal with food later, he needed to get his mind out of the gutter right now, it felt empty, no longer fear, just empty, he couldn't feel it. And so he sat there scarcely moving for longer than he thought, it had started to get dark.

He did not realise.

Eleanor had been quiet today, oddly so, she was not as outward as Alfred or Jack, but she seemed withdrawn, Alfred and Jack had gone somewhere, and she shuffled close to Matthew as she could, he could tell she was worried, he gently spoke, he knew from experience how to deal with each of them when they were in the moods despite not being the oldest, for all his smarts he was frankly worthless at dealing with emotions, and Matthew shouldered the burden for the four of them, and he did so well.

"Eli, what happened."

"Will they take us?" She didn't even sound afraid, she sounded blank, and it broke his heart a little, he knew what she was referring to, just because they were small, they weren't even that small anymore truthfully, they knew they were a drain on the agency and its resources, they had never expected to provide board for 4 children when they first came here, Eleanor was 4 years old, four, they had been here a little over three years, Jack was 6, and he was scared, he and Al weren't too much better off, Alfred had just hit the double digits, Matthew wasn't even there yet.

They all knew they were burdens, but they had grown to love the place, the operatives at the very least had a soft spot for them, a lot of them had definitely not genuinely interacted with a child in years, and it showed, but they were nice to them, they had been educated faster than most children their age, they had a tutor come in to aid them with what they needed, plus each of them liked to hang around some of the classrooms often enough that some of the teachers took it to heart to teach them what was going on when they had the time.

It worked for the most part, all of them could read, all to a higher level than was supposed for their age, Eleanor was scary smart, and while Jack was fidgety if you interested him in something, he would break every single barrier stopping him from learning everything about the topic, Alfred was very similar, he was just a whole lot more nerdy about it.

It may have not been perfect, they were still often ignored and forgotten about by many and knew they weren't even meant to be here, but it was the closest thing they had to home for the past 3 years, they didn't just want to leave it.

He knew letting her down gently would only make this worse, and he sighed, he felt so much older than he was sometimes "Yes, most likely. They seem like nice people no?"

She huffed "Scary, you mean, and I don't think they can look after themselves very well."

He had to admit, she had a point, he had seen them about, and they usually looked quite functional if nothing else, but both seemed a little sick yesterday "They were probably just tired Eli."

She then looked at him, she was painfully good at hard looks for a 7-year-old, "Does that mean we have to go to school? I saw some..." she looked confused while she stammered "For, Agreemen-no, Documents! Documents, I saw some documents, will we go to school?"

Matt hadn't actually thought about that, he had never actually been to school, Father and mother had kept him and Alfred homeschooled, something about not wasting their potential with simpletons. But they were dead now, so maybe "I-i think so actually, I've never actually been to school."

She brightened significantly, "Really! I thought you did."

"Was homeschooled, this is the closest I've ever had to school. I wonder what it would be like?"

She got off the bed and patted down her shirt, one of Jack's old ones, they were fucking sturdy, that's what they were.

She could hear Jack from a mile away, he and Alfred were probably racing to get inside, she better steer clear of the door, Jack always won, he was shorter but had more leg than you think he would have, Alfred had never won, but had gotten very close.

Jack burst in, Alfred huffing along behind, he collapsed on the bed clutching his side"Christ alive Jack!"

Jack grinned stupidly before he saw Matt deep in thought and Eleanor writing something and he faltered "What happened?"

"Jack, we're gonna go to school, you know."

"Yep! I saw the forms, this is going to be so fun."

They clearly had differing views of how school was going to go, and Jack seemed so happy that she didn't want to divulge her fears that it wouldn't go as well.

Alfred rolled over to face Matthew, face still a little red "Mattie, what's up." deep breath "With you?"

"Nothin', you know we will have to go to school you know, when we get... it's not adopted, uh, assigned?"

Alfred sat up "Yea, and, we're smart, we'll be fine no?"

"That's not the problem, for example, you're a fucking weirdo, don't you think people will find you off-putting?"

"Pfft, as if, if they would then that means they just couldn't handle my awesomeness!"

Matt nicked Alfred's glasses, and much to his chagrin, Alfred's vision was proper -6 nearsighted in one eye and -5.25 in the other "Right, anyways its time to sleep now, it's getting late, and tomorrow we were meant to do something weren't we, check out the house or something."

"Oooh, yea, that."

Matt put the glasses on the side table, he put his own down, his were much tamer, -2 and -2.5, Eleanor got into bed after some cajoling, Jack had to be wrestled as usual, yet he was the one who was out like a light the instance he got warm enough.

Ivan finally stirred, he hadn't realised he fell asleep, he had to sign the housing forms, they would be looking at the house tomorrow, Arthur had already signed them last night, his signature was needed, he would sign the rest later, hunger forgotten for the moment, Arthur got no better, he must be ill, no other explanation for it, curled up under his covers shivering like nothing else provided any heat, he stopped trying to calm down, it would pass, it would, he would have it no other way, the fact that he needed to visit the house tomorrow completely escaped his mind, and who would blame him, his alarm was set though, it would pass over the night.

All thoughts of food or work or anything were gone, replaced with what could only be described as jumbled radio tones, Ivan was dealing with static and the floaty feeling you get when you read too much.

The human condition is admittedly a strange one is it not?

#the heam writes #hws england #hws russia #ruseng #hws new zealand #hws australia #hws canada #hws america #whooo i love writing shirt snappy mental breakdowns

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kaizenkhaos · 1 year

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Harringrove Flip-Reverse It Challenge ^^

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ It's finally here and I can unleash these fics into the world, woo hoo! Thanks so much to @harringrove-flip-reverse-it for the wonderful prompts for this week. Here's my fic for Monday. I also have fics planned for Wednesday, Friday and Sunday :D

CW: sexual themes ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Monday 27th March SFW: School Project

"How much longer do I need to carry him for Harrington?!"

It shouldn't be funny. It really shouldn't, and he knew that he would get into so much shit for finding it so. But there was something about the scene which made Steve wish he had a camera on him. Maybe it was the lumbering around as if he'd just gotten off horseback. Maybe it was the cursing and the occasional grunts of disapproval. Maybe it was how he looked overall. Maybe it was all of the above. But what he'd have given to have a polaroid of this moment to smirk at for years to come. To smile at in times where smiling seemed hard to do. Glancing over his shoulder, Steve smirked at an increasingly pissed off Hargrove marching a short distance behind him. White flour bag strapped to his chest by a thick harness and the most grumpiest look on his face that Steve had seen in a while.

It was day 2 of their school project for Mrs Glass' class and it seemed like already Hargrove wanted to shift full parental responsibilities over to him. Not that that was gonna happen. They'd already agreed Monday, Wednesday and Fridays were his days and Hargrove would have him Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. Sundays were a free for all at the moment, over which neither could agree on. So today was Hargrove's turn to carry the baby and attend to its imaginary needs. Saying that, the smug look on Steve's face, the glint in his eyes, were probably another cause for Hargrove's foul mood. Because as soon as the teens had been paired up in class, they'd been making things difficult for each other. For example, he'd nearly dropped the baby twice yesterday. Admittedly, yeah one was his own fault but the other had been deliberate sabotage by Hargrove who'd let go way too early and left him hitting the deck rather than the baby. Visions of white powder and a disapproving tut and 'F' from the teacher had played in slow motion as he'd just managed to catch him, to sniggers from above. Bastard. Clearly didn't give a shit about their grade. At least that's what Steve thought. The guy might not give a shit about detention either for messing around but Steve wanted to actually get something higher than a C at some point this year. Wanted to bring home a card which didn't go straight in the trash. He was sick of seeing that look on his dad's face when he merely glanced at the card and then either tore it up or put in straight in the kitchen bin. As if that's what he thought that's what it was worth. Not the paper the ink had been scribbled on.

"Come on man, it's just around the block," he grinned, motioning to the corner with his head and then continuing down the street casually. Hand in one pocket, cigarette in the other. Still keeping distance between him and Hargrove and the "baby". He even made sure the wind wasn't blowing in their direction. Hargrove though. He'd nearly set fire to the baby yesterday when lighting up. Just shrugged and put the baby on the table like the bag of flour it was. "Shouldn't av gotten the baby so close Harrington. Irresponsible parenting man," was the response he'd gotten after shouting. Irresponsible parenting geez…like he wasn't familiar with that concept. And who'd been the one putting fire near paper. Jesus.

Now finally at his, Steve dug the key out of his pocket, opening the door and smirking as Hargrove strode quickly through it as if he didn't want to be seen dead the way he was. "After you ma'am."

A hefty swipe and Steve was left sans cigarette, staring at Hargrove as he barged past and beelined straight for the kitchen. Not even stopping to take off his shoes or anything, and the cigarette was still lit. Great.

"Hey no smoking in here! Or around the baby! Jesus…." Banging the door shut in frustration, Steve quickly slipped off his Nikes, hurrying through to the kitchen and leaning on the doorframe. Expecting carnage. If Hargrove had done something stupid like stubbed a hole in the baby or ditched him on the counter or something, it was gonna be his turn to be pissed. It was bad enough that he had to work with him with the first place. Without even thinking about the complications their teaming up was causing.

Like seeing Hargrove sat there in his kitchen the way he was was doing things to him that it really, really shouldn't have been. Apparently for now, Hargrove had decided to play nicely. A window had already been thrown wide open and the now extinguished cigarette was behind his ear. Not a spot on the baby to be seen. Sat casually on one of the chairs, he'd pulled it out so he could casually drape himself over it, carefree with the baby now on his lap. Derpy marker drawn face staring directly at Steve. Their eyes met for a moment before Hargrove's headed south and then shot back up, a great grin where a smirk had been as he leaned further back. Studying Steve with amusement before looking around. Then he spotted it and Steve looked away as a full throttle laugh blow out of Hargrove, who after grabbing the baby, stood up and started to make his way to something on the floor. A Moses basket.

"Holy shit Harrington." Hargrove's snorts continued as he now started to scan the room as if looking for more baby paraphernalia. "Something you're not telling me pretty boy?" "Shut up man. Mom brought it down from the attic so it would look like like I was taking something seriously for once in front of my dad." A partial lie. The first part but not the second. His mom had been too preoccupied with packing last night to even notice the flour baby or acknowledge her son. His dad however had at first making the same assumption as Hargrove seemed to have done. That there was a real baby out there with a piece of paper that had Steve Harrington's name on it. But when he'd finally noticed the school project, he'd just muttered something about his son finally taking something seriously for once and then had walked out to sort the car.

"So defensive man. Maybe you do need this more than me." A smirk, but Hargrove only tapped the cigarette. Not making any attempt to hand it back over. Not that Steve really cared at all. The other teen loved to try and get under his skin, in any way he could. But he had plenty more where that came from. So what was one? He was soon driven to finding another though, heading back out into the hallway to go and find his cigarettes. Hargrove's eyes burning on his back. Snatching up his jacket, he rooted through all of the pockets to find his pack and then paused. He didn't even have to turn around to know Hargrove was now stood right behind him. He'd not even heard the guy coming.

"Relax Harrington," Hargrove chuckled as Steve slowly turned around, an unimpressed look on his face. Seriously did this guy not know personal place? He was stood way too close for Steve's liking. "Baby's down for now. Nice and cosy." That shit eating grin just drew an eye roll from Steve who managed to nudge his way out with his shoulder and made his way back to the kitchen. Like hell he trusted Hargrove's word. He'd probably stuff him in the sink or something. But on looking in from the door, he saw that nope. Hargrove had actually proved him wrong and wasn't actually just yanking his chain. The baby was safe and sound in the Mose blanket. Little face peering out from the blanket and Hargrove's denim jacket, which somehow Steve hadn't even noticed the other had taken off. "You gonna have to trust me man. Can't be watching me all the darn time."

Spinning on his heel, Steve was met with Hargrove being way closer than he had been before, causing him to brush up against him in a manner he'd tried to avoid. Had he not been so darn fixated on making sure the other teen had done what he'd said he had, he wouldn't be in this mess. Now trapped up against the doorframe with nowhere to go. "Feels like you could do with relaxing in more ways than one." "Bite me." That shit eating grin, those narrowed eyes as one hand came over his head. It was so hard to not stare at him. Not notice that his shirt was done down like it always was. Showing off his chest in a way Steve had really tried his hardest to not stare at. Darn it was hard and well, he could feel the effects it had had despite his best not to. Instead though, he concentrated on staring back, fire in his eyes as the other finally chuckled and shook his head. Lips now brushing against Steve's ear. "Don't tempt me." He couldn't breathe. It was like the world shrank to a pinpoint and then he was gone. A whole chasm between them as Hargrove studied him, practically pushing himself up against the door so Steve could keep himself upright. Shit. The vein in his neck was pulsing, as if it was waiting to be bitten. To be torn into, and the look that crossed Hargrove's face suggested that maybe he was thinking the same thing. The other teen's stare draping over his neck before looking downwards. Shit, shit, shit. He couldn't move his leg fast enough, the snigger telling him he'd been seen. Not like Hargrove couldn't have felt him earlier

Don't tempt him….what the hell…. Fucking little…that look now saying that Steve should be more careful with his words. His own look swirling in warning and something else which he didn't want to be seen. Too late. Hargrove had taken the look and twisted it, using it as a challenge. Almost looking as if he was gonna take it as an invite. But he didn't. Just leaned against the fridge and watched him. Well Steve wasn't in a submissive mood or in the mood for this bullshit. Either Hargrove's or his own. What the hell was going on with him today? "Hormones giving you hell huh?" It was a slight cackle, a tone which Steve didn't appreciate as the other teen continued to stare him down. But it was more hunger than anything that Steve now saw. His own eyes now darting across the heated blues which were spearing him. Making him feel like he was still pinned against the door frame. Steve didn't really know where this was going but as Hargrove just stood there. His look saying nothing more than, well King Steve. Your move. -----------------------NFSW Incoming in 3, 2, 1 ;)-------------------

Bang

The door slammed against the wall, echoing into the hall as a whirlwind of limbs and a back up against it announced the arrival of the two horny teens. Steve briefly pinned against it, fierce lips tugged at Hargrove's before he was pushed into his room. Hands hastily grabbing at fabric and hair as they both clumsily made their way to his bed. It seemed that after many shower "incidents" and much hair pulling, things had finally come to a head. That they were finally doing something about the testarone (sp) filled rivalry which had ruled their days. Just probably not in the way that most people would have expected or wanted. But fuck them. Who else needed to know?

If anything, it was Mrs Glass' fault for putting them together in the first place.

Falling onto the bed, shirts were soon on the floor. Pants being worked down with as much haste as their kissing. Their hands fondling anywhere they could reach. So much time wasted when they could have just got on with it, or maybe it hadn't been. Maybe the tension had been required for them to get to this point. Would either of them made a move otherwise? In this town? Yeah right. It was behind closed doors where they were safe. Not at school, not in the car park. Not even up at the quarry. Here. With his parents gone and no Hargrove-Mayfields about to walk in on them either.

"Top drawer, on the right." No arguments for a chance. Just the other teen pushing off him, finally shedding his jeans and chucking them onto the pile of their clothes which had been rapidly growing. Leaving Steve just in his boxers and Hargrove in his chain. Cigarette tossed onto the desk as he started to rummage through the drawer.

"Lube?" "Should be same drawer."

A pause and then a smirk as Hargrove threw him a knowing look over his shoulder and a bit of cheekiness in there. "All out Harrington." There were a couple of packets now in the other's hand. His ring catching the light as he moved slowly back over to the bed. Widening grin as he saw Steve's look. The way he now stared at him without hiding but a tiny bit of shame. He'd been certain that he still had some packets left but maybe he'd thrown them for being out of date or somethin'. "'Tis fine. I got a better idea anyway." Knees either side of Steve's waist, the teen leaned over him. It didn't matter he was the shorter, he still seemed to tower over him. Hands on the wall and pushing himself up as if he was about to start to do press ups on him. Staring down with eyes that caught his own and made him swallow hard. The look from his dreams. Cos yeah, he'd dreamt about something like this. Maybe even jerked himself off to it. It had made him feel ashamed but the feeling it had given him had been worth it. And now, being here, having him actually on his bed….. It was like he was dreaming all over again. He didn't even realise how zoned out and lost thinking about his fantasy he'd been until a surprisingly gentle hand reached under his chin and tilted it up. Eyes now staring as if into his very soul. "You didn't hear a word I just said did ya?" A shake of his head and a hearty small laugh from Hargrove, who shook his head in turn. Flicking blonde hair over his shoulder before turning his attention back onto Steve. Amused as all hell but there was a brightness to his eyes which hadn't been there before. "Wanna help me out with the lack of lube issue Harrington?"

Now it was Steve's turn to chuckle, sucking in his bottom lip. Not sure really how to respond. Put it this way, it wasn't a no. It was just the fact he couldn't get over how ridiculous this all was. They were supposed to be downstairs doing a dumb assignment, writing in the journal that they were meant to. Keep. Not up in his bedroom about to do each other. It was crazy, it was madness and the more he thought about it, the more he thought this may have been one of the dumbest things he'd ever done. He knew it was his dick talking, it had to be, but bizarrely, this also felt right. "I' ain't getting' on my knees for you." "Ain't expecting you to. Though it'll just make it harder for you man." Harder? Oh the connotations of that and boy was Steve's mind in the gutter. Smiling up at the other, he merely watched as Hargrove started to move towards him, itching his backend up bit by bit until he was practically sat in Steve's chest. Making him come face to face with the massive dick which he'd tried to always divert his eyes from when they'd showered together. When they'd been dressing in the changing rooms and Steve had had to stare ahead to stop himself from even snatching a glance. He'd already seen that Hargrove went commando. The lack of brief or boxers in his clothes pile when they did gym and basketball had told that story. But he'd not known if it had been all the time or not. Now he figured that it probably was the first. And apparently he also used cologne….down there. Because it felt musky but not in the way he had imagined it, or smelt on his own hands after he'd finished giving himself one. Who the hell….never mind. Hargrove did. That was the quick answer to that one. Hopefully his dick wouldn't taste bad then. He didn't imagine that he actually used it on his dick …did he?

"Liking the view down there?" An eye roll and then his eyes glanced upwards. Amusement of course was what he saw but he realised that whilst he'd been musing about things, Hargrove hadn't taken his eyes off of him. He'd been watching and he wondered if now he was about to get down to business, actually do this for the first time in a while, if he would continue to watch. Only one way to find out. His tongue flickered across his lips before he raised his head a little to meet soft skin. Running his tongue and down before drawing his tongue out to lap slowly. Feeling the heat on his cheeks and the gaze down on him as he heard a groan above him and a slight shiver, before Hargrove steeled himself again and tilted his head up a little.

"That's it pretty boy."

There'd been a time when those words would have bristled. Caused his skin to prickle in a way that said fight. But now it was prickling through anticipation, as he placed his tongue back on and started to work it. He needed to be all wet after all but why make it a quick job. Hargrove seemed to like it slow, given his reaction and were they really in any hurry? Depended how impatient Hargrove was he guessed. Maybe the teen wouldn't appreciate it. But as before, he could only try and find out.

#harringrove #harringrove flip reverse it #kaizen's writing kreations #lemon ahoy #harringrove boys doing harringrove boys stuff heh heh #flip reverse it 2023

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melisusthewee · 2 years

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WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tags and the content today @dreadfutures @effelants @cleverblackcat

I've been busy the last little while so don't have any new art progress to share, but I have been working on the fic to accompany this art piece. Apologies to those of you who have already seen snippets of this, but it's all I can share!

It should not have been this fascinating to watch someone work. Morris - no, Ser Morris now as he'd reminded them all constantly this year - was not a particularly gifted painter, but he had enough talent that it seemed he was wasted working among the knights of the Grand Tourney. Every time anyone brought it up, he would scoff and say that there wasn't good money in art unless you sold yourself to some wealthy Orlesian ponce. Better to get in with a knight and maybe end up with a lordship one day if he did well enough. And Morris - sorry, Ser Morris now - seemed to have been just lucky enough to figure it out.

Not like Quinn Trevelyan, who wasn't a knight, was the most unlikely of all the lads to ever become one. The Little Lordling as most called him behind his back was saddled with squiring to the most insufferably proud and least liked knight in the lists. Even if Quinn did aspire to move anywhere within the ranks, it was unspoken knowledge that Ser Emile Trevelyan would keep his polished armored boot on his free family labour for as long as he kept winning in the lists. And Emile Trevelyan was a damn good jouster.

"Trevelyan, you're blocking my light."

Quinn had not realized just how close he'd leaned towards Morris, too focused on watching the way the other man's hand held steady as he detailed in the mane of the family's heraldic horse in bold black standing out against freshly dried coats of deep reds and blues. Clearing his throat to try and hide his embarrassment, he straightened back up, making a distracting show of brushing away dust or smoothing creases in his woolen tabard.

"I'm just making sure I'm getting my money's worth."

Morris snorted and shifted in his spot, working out a kink in his shoulder before returning to his work. "One day, I'm going to say no to you and then where will you be?"

Quinn scratched absently at his chin, only vaguely considering the question. "Probably burned on a pyre for not using the right shade of Trevelyan blue."

"It's teal."

"My point exactly."

Morris made a noise that sounded suspiciously like laughter as he went back to work. Quinn hovered over him a little longer, watching his brushwork and thinking perhaps it wouldn't be such a terrible thing to tell Morris he thought he had talents that were wasted on knighthood, but when the man turned and gestured that he was once again interfering with his lighting - rather rudely this time - Quinn decided against it. Instead he took a few steps back and began to wander about the area, picking his way through the stacked barrels and crates in the hopes of finding either anything interesting or anything edible.

One of the barrels looked to be full of apples which was a pleasant surprise. But as Quinn made a sound of triumph and began to examine them for one that looked particularly appealing, he caught sight of a group of younger boys. They had been preoccupied with some game they'd been playing in the dirt but their attention had now turned to him. Making direct eye contact with the one he felt looked the oldest, he brought his finger to his lips. But instead of returning to their game, they instead hurried over, pushing each other as they did so to try to be the first in line.

Quinn looked the three boys over carefully. Each one wore a simple tabard in various colours and patterns. New squires, it seemed, which he supposed made sense as the oldest in the group looked like he couldn't be much older than twelve. From his seated position among the paint pots and both their satchels, Morris chuckled to himself.

"You boys don't have places you're supposed to be?" Quinn asked, leaning on the edge of the barrel's top to keep the lads from helping themselves. "No squiring that needs doing instead of playing about in the dirt?"

To Quinn's surprise, it wasn't the oldest looking one that spoke back but one of the smaller boys with dusty brown hair. "Do you?"

"Ha!" Quinn glanced over to see Morris grinning at him from over his shoulder. "He's got you there."

"You're very lucky I'm too impressed with your cheek to be offended," Quinn replied, sniffing haughtily to emphasize his point. But he reached into the barrel and tossed each boy an apple all the same.

Tagging with no obligation: @kita-lavellan @ellie-effie @noire-pandora @silvanils @morganlefaye79 @thedastrash @inquisitoracorn @bluewren @rosella-writes @darethshirl @bogunicorn

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flydotnet · 6 months

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Excess of Care

WHUMPTOBER 2023, DAY 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.” Borrowed Clothing | Bridal Carry | “Not much longer…”

I guess writing one (1) interaction between Camilla and Hikaru in the early chapters of "Promotion to Parent" has always made me interested in more Camikaru (let's call it that lol) content for the HSAU. I don't even know why that is, I just felt like they'd be interesting to write interacting; and if this fic being there is proving something, it's that my writer hunch wasn't wrong.

This story is set a year after the main timeline, around the same time in the (school) year Promotion to Parent was set in. Since it serves as a bit of an indirect sequel to it, it does contain implied spoilers for it - so if it's ever interested you, please read that one first! It's not too long and also filled with all of the good stuff (read: family angst and lots of sibling love).

It's another short one that I thought I'd be more inspired by, or that would be angstier, but oh well… Brain is slowly stopping to function properly. It's another one of those I'll probs revisit in the future.

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Excess of Care

Summary: Camilla Nohr has always cared too much for others; but it doesn't have to be a bad thing.

Fandom: Crossover (FE Fates/CT), high school/teacher AU

Word Count: 1K words

AO3 version available here.

---------------------------------------------

Camilla has lost count of the number of times she’s been told she cared too much about people she didn’t know anything about. She’s been warned not get attached to students no matter what. She’s been blamed for lacking perspective and thinking with her heart rather than her brain. Mind over matters, duty of detachment, all that jazz that has turned into background noise inside her skull.

And yes, maybe Xander is right when he points out to her it will one day make her miserable, the one day she’ll be powerless yet too involved. But what do you want her to become, then? A heartless machine of an employee? Very little for her, thank you.

Today is proving Xander’s concerns for her habit of “over-caring” right once more, she does suppose. She’s meant to just deliver some papers her brother forgot to give to one of his workmates that couldn’t wait: with the upcoming class council season upon the school, teacher comments and grades have become the latest emergency. He’s himself swamped with comments to write for all of his students – who are a lot more than anyone would expect, to be fair – so she volunteered to deliver something he apparently needed to give to someone as soon as possible. Leo was the one to call her out, this time, but she replied to his concern the same way she always does: with a smile and truthful words.

This someone has turned out to be one of the few workmates he has she knows about, from last year’s Xander-related fiasco. Elise most often calls him by an affectionate nickname used by the entire school, it’d seem, while Leo is always a lot more detached when referring to him, and neither case comes to her surprise. What surprises her more was that she’s already met and spoken with him once before, yet when he opens the door, she’s still a bit starstruck. It’s like meeting her sibling’s idol in an intended context.

Perhaps it’d be closer to meeting someone and realizing they need help, however, because this is exactly what she’s doing.

Camilla has no doubt in her mind that, would’ve it been anyone else but her in this situation, they’d have just called someone close to the person they barely know anything about and left when it was clear it’d be taken care of. This is the sort of things Leo and Xander have warned her not to do, because she cares too much, and it’s not good for her.

On the other hand, this poor boy needed a helping hand, and he clearly is home alone: not only have Xander and Leo both mentioned his fiancée was out of the country for the week, but she also knows from second-hand accounts Elise’s favourite teacher is a chronic workaholic with… questionable self-care. Hinoka and Shun have both corroborated that, although considering Shun’s own lack of routine, she can only guess his judgement came from first-hand experience.

And this is how Camilla is finding herself with her brother’s colleague in his arms. From what she can tell through touch and sight, he’s slightly feverish and very much exhausted, but he should be fine with some rest.

The first order of action, when someone passes out in front of you, is to carry them to a bed. Luckily, she’s always had a lot of strength in her arms to carry her siblings and help Xander out, so it’s not an issue for her to carry the fairly lightweight Hikaru (she isn’t sure if she can call him by his given name, but it sounds like a good compromise between the formal “Mr Matsuyama” Leo uses and the much endeared “Matsu” Elise calls him instead) to his bedroom.

It doesn’t seem like he’s been here for long periods of time lately, with half of the twin bed undone yet the other undisturbed. She quickly takes the time to put it back into shape before tugging her patient in, just making sure he isn’t wearing anything too uncomfortable. To his luck, he was already wearing a very casual combination of old t-shirt and sweatpants. (Come to think of it, this doesn’t match the casual yet strait-laced enough looks Leo usually describes his literature teacher wearing).

With that taken care of, she can proceed to the next stop, which awaits her downstairs. With the supplies in the kitchen and the tools at her disposal, she wipes up a quick get-better package: a steaming mug of camomile tea with a generous spoonful of honey, lightly toasted bread straight from the machine and, of course, a good, tall glass of water.

To her surprise, when she comes back into the bedroom, he’s already awake, and quite confused to see her in his house. It’s… a surprisingly realistic outcome of the situation, she must admit.

“Uhm… What’re you doing here?” He asks, voice hoarse and slightly on the morning side of things.

“My apologies, I must’ve scared you,” she replies without advancing. “My brother sent me to deliver you some papers for work, but almost as soon as you opened the door, you lost consciousness. I brought you back to your bed so you could rest properly.”

“Papers for work… Oh, right, Xander.” His shoulders slump. “You’re Camilla Nohr.”

“It’s indeed me,” she answers with a smile. “Can I come closer?”

“O-oh, yeah, don’t even ask.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Sorry for that, by the way.”

“Sorry for what?”

“For passing out on you.” She puts the trail on his lap. “Oh, you’re too kind, damn, thanks.”

“It’s no problem, don’t stress yourself about it.” She remains standing on the side of the bed. “I was just very concerned, truth be told.”

He drinks the glass of water first. As always, her guess was right on the money.

“I get it, that must’ve been a rough way to get greeted at the door.”

“It’s not just that. You’re just as tired as Xander, but unlike him, you’re all alone.”

“I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine.” He clears his throat. “Even though I realize I can’t be very convincing on the matter.”

Her face grows sterner. This is sounding all too familiar to her.

“You’re right, you’re not very convincing.” She uncrosses her arms. “You know… It’s okay just to say you’re not okay. Especially when you’re alone like you are right now.”

“Right,” he replies with a slight smile, as awkward as it is. “You’re right. It’s just, I don’t know who I’d be telling this to.”

“I’m sure you have friends and family willing to listen to it. If you find yourself without someone, then…” She smiles again. “You’ll find my phone number written down on a note on your fridge.”

“That’s a radical way to get me to take care, damn.” He chuckles anyway. “I’m very thankful for that Camilla, I really am. Still, please tell me you’ll go home. I don’t wanna keep you here.”

“As long as you promise to rest, at least until the break comes in.”

“I will. Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome. Although, for now, I think I’ll just take some time to call Xander and tell him I’ve delivered his parcel.”

Hikaru almost jolts in place.

“Shit, the docs, yeah!”

“They’re on the drawer in the hallway.”

“Oh, good. You’re really good at this.”

“Years of experience.”

As she turns on her heel and gets her phone out, Camilla unanimously concludes she can’t care too much about people.

#whumptober2023 #no.30 #lyric #bridal carry #crossover #fic

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nimata-beroya · 2 years

Note

Thanks for your answer (it was well worth the wait)! First of all, yippie for continuing Rough Awakening - I've reread it a few times and still love your take. In regard to the SWR parallels: Though I like fics that reunite Cross with TBB, I think a long redemption arc is much more meaningful and - if well executed - would illuminate the struggles that weren't shown by Kallus' redemption arc. There's a lot of potential for powerful story-telling (1/2)

Aww! 😊🥰 I´m glad that I didn't lose you as a follower during my absence. And yes!! Long, well-crafted redemption arcs are the best! I also wish we had had that for Kallus but we might have it someday. There's a post in my queue for today or tomorrow that says that since Andor and Ahsoka are having their own shows, Kallus needs his. That way all known Fulcrum agents have a show. I wholeheartedly agree!!! Can you imagine? They could show everything we didn't get to see in Rebels. Anyway, sorry, I went off the topic.

You're right, my confidence in the TBB writers to pull that kind of storyline off is not the best. There are some issues that irk me with what they've done so far. It could improve in season 2 tho. I'm hoping for the better, but I'm preparing myself for being disappointed, just in case.

Crosshair is such a complex character that I could go on and on about each of his layers. Again, you're right. Part of his motivation is to prove to everyone that he's the best. Many can see it as arrogance, and certainly, there's some of that. But I think it goes much deeper than that. To me, that implies self-esteem issues as in If I'm not the best then I'm nothing. And he's not the only one with similar thoughts, I might add. Both Rex and Echo had said a similar thing ("We're soldiers, what else is there?"). Isn't it ironic that, out of everyone in the BB, Crosshair who despises the regs is the most similar to them?

Anyway, Echo and Rex don't take that sentiment as far as Cross does, but we can only imagine how his cadet days were like. Just as any clone, not meeting the Kaminoans' expectations meant death at best and reconditioning at worst, and even when the batch had "desirable" mutations, they were not exempt from that threat. The trauma of that has Crosshair in survival mode 24/7. Even now. It's that so, that he says it to Hunter in 1x15, that they'd be safe with the Empire. He wants them all safe.

As for which scene confirmed to me that Cross has still the chip in, nothing major. Just a voice-over of him saying YET AGAIN "Good soldiers follow orders". Granted, it could be a voice-over from season 1, but why use it on the trailer? Why do they insist on that, a phrase that means that the clones are controlled if Cross isn't being controlled anymore? It doesn't make sense! the only explanation I can find is that Cross in fact still has the chip. I will die on this hill until I get 100% confirmation, via scan done by Azi3 or Tech. And even then, I might ignore it 🤣. In the GFFA everything is possible, so if Palpatine somehow returned, Crosshair can still have the chip.

And just for you, a tiny teeny bitsy sneak peek from my fic below the cut. It's a bit angsty. Don't kill me! 😅

"What if something is wrong?" Omega asks no one in particular, stopping halfway through her path. "They should be done by now."

Hunter approaches her and goes on one knee to get to her eyes' level. "Nothing is going wrong, ‘Mega. Dr. Kinall and Azi are taking care of Crosshair. He'll be fine."

"But they're taking too long. It was faster when we were on Bracca."

"Probably because there's no surgical pod here like in the cruiser's medbay. The doctor and Azi have to go by hand and hence why it’s taking longer."

"Echo is right. They're going slow because they're being careful. We just have to be patient, okay?"

Omega looks at them in turn and huffs sadly. "Fine!" Then, she returns to her pacing. Hunter and Echo share a worried glance. Even when their arguments to pacify Omega are true, it's hard to ignore her concerns. Same concerns have crossed Echo's mind as well.

#mare replies #tbb crosshair #the bad batch #tbb

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theshadowedqueen82 · 3 years

Text

what you’ve kept hidden (i’ve always known), 7.2k words, Marinette Dupain-Cheng/Jim Lake Jr.

My Jimari Secret Santa gift to Aly (let me know if I should tag you!) combining the prompts for a confession with angst and a cute first date. Also on Ao3.

The video is blurry, filmed from a cellphone camera just behind a nearby building, but it's the best they have. There aren't any news crews in the area, but Toby is diligently looking for any other coverage on his phone. Jim doesn't think he could be watching this without him.

The camera is shaking as it shows the back of a man in a purple suit, holding up a girl with one hand and reaching for her earrings. Ash falls from the sky around them, and there are sirens in the distance.

It can’t end like this, is all that Jim can think. Ladybug's too strong, too skilled, too smart to be caught like this. She must have some sort of plan, some kind of power that can fix this. He’s seen her do it before.

Reports of magical heroes in Paris had slowly made their way to Arcadia a year ago. While most people had thought it fraudulent or some kind of publicity stunt, Jim was far less likely to dismiss claims of magic these days. He’s followed her rising career through a few blogs and home videos, watched a couple of newscasts, and found some comfort in the idea that he's not the only hero out there. He almost envied Ladybug for being able to go public with her identity, being able to see and communicate with the public she was protecting. At the moment all he feels for her is cold dread.

Hawkmoth makes a quick movement, and there's a shimmer of pink light. Jim wants to look away, grant her the privacy he knows is being violated, but can't seem to make his eyes move. As the costume falls away revealing a very familiar looking face, his jaw drops.

“Marinette?”

—

Jim doesn't quite remember when it started. Somewhere on the forums for one of the many games they both played, teaming up to defeat virtual monsters and chatting only through text. Over the years they’d grown closer, started voice chatting and then video chatting, beginning to share a little more of their lives and themselves. Their relationship had lasted far past the usual expiration date of online friendships and they were still going strong. She was the only reason he still spoke French, and he helped her with her English homework. They had fallen into an easy pattern of late night gaming marathons in middle school and homework sessions in high school, calling each other to chat during the time zone window where neither of them were sleeping to chat and swap baking tips and laugh over bad jokes.

She was the first person he’d told about Claire, back when he had time for things like crushes. She’d encouraged him to ask her out, and Jim had countered asking when she was going to do the same for Adrien. He wanted to tell her about the amulet, but knew that there wasn’t a chance. Besides, what would she be able to do? She was an ocean away, and even if she was here it wasn’t like she could grab a sword and fight Bular for him. Or so he’d thought.

“Is it Steve again?” she’d asked one afternoon, when training had gone rather poorly and he’d signed into their video call exhausted and with the beginnings of a rather sizable bruise on his shoulder. She couldn’t see it, but she was perceptive enough to notice the wince every time he moved.

“It’s not him,” he promised. “I’m doing some… extra curriculars. After school credit stuff.”

“Oh?” Marinette asked, her eyebrows rising. “Like what? I thought you had to turn down culinary club.” It felt like almost a lifetime ago, when he’d been occupied with trying to keep his grades up and take care of the house, when the fee for participation had been enough to make him put off joining until he could find a summer job and pay for it himself.

“Yeah, I joined… wrestling,” he decided, racking his brain for what kind of extracurricular could involve physical injury. “Trying to get my phys ed mark up, I haven’t been doing so great.” Which was true, due to a lack of attendance rather than ability but Mari didn’t need to know that.

“Wrestling?” she echoed, confusion in her expression. Jim had wondered if she was going to press, felt a cold knot form in his stomach at the thought of lying more to her. But to his relief she’d only frowned and accepted it, saying that it sounded dangerous and she hoped he’d try to be safer before changing subjects.

Now his mind is running through those old conversations, wondering if he’d missed any of the same signs from her. Any sprained ankles or healing cuts, any sign of a burden they could have shared.

“Marinette is Ladybug? Your Marinette?” Toby is saying, but Jim can hardly hear him over the buzzing in his ears.

Hawkmoth has dropped her, and she's coughing. Jim realises that he’d been strangling her, that she’d have a necklace of bruises marring her neck tomorrow. If she makes it that far, a nasty voice in the back of his mind whispers, one Jim immediately shoves away.

“Come on, Marinette,” he whispers, leaning closer to the screen like he could reach her through it. Hawkmoth has grabbed her arm and is starting to drag her away, but another figure strides forward and stops him. Chat Noir, Jim thinks with a rush of relief, and then anger, because how dare he let this happen to her? How could he let it come this far, let her be unmasked on live video, let her stand up to a supervillain by herself?

He redirects that anger, since Chat Noir has been trying to protect her, is probably taunting Hawkmoth right now trying to get him to release her. They're too far away for the video to pick up on their audio, but not far enough to keep Jim from seeing how he raises a hand, threatens to slap her. And how she flinches.

Then Chat Noir moves, lunges forward and there’s a flash of light that turns the video into a blur of static. They sit there in horrified silence for a moment before the feed shuts off completely, leaves them staring at a dark screen with an error message.

“NO!” Jim screams, and Toby’s scrolling through his phone but he’s not fast enough, Marinette is in danger RIGHT NOW and Jim doesn’t know what’s happening. Can’t see if she’s hurt more, can’t see if she’s gotten free, can’t see if she’s even still alive and nothing matters in this moment except the fact that there’s an ocean between them keeping him from helping her and he’s terrified.

It’s the longest two minutes of his life until they find another video, but this one’s only Rena Rouge. “-all okay,” she’s saying to the reporters who have finally showed up, far too late to catch anything other than a repaired and empty street with their cameras. “Hawkmoth has been defeated and turned over to the proper authorities, and everybody is safe.”

The reporters are falling over themselves asking questions, most about Ladybug ( what’s her name , like it’s not going to be all over the internet within the hour), and Rena declines to comment. “There will be an official statement released in the future,” she says before leaving, a pale and shocked reporter taking her place in front of the camera. She can only repeat facts Jim already knows, so he turns off the television and sits there in silence.

“She must be okay,” Toby finally offers, and Jim nods. Marinette has to be okay, not because of the reporters’ questions or Rena’s composure or even because she’s Ladybug, but because the alternative is too terrible to think of.

“Do you ever feel like you need to be perfect?” Marinette had asked him once, when Jim had noticed the dark circles under her eyes and the flat tone of voice, dulled from her usual vibrancy. “Like everything’s depending on you, and if you aren’t enough then people will get hurt?”

All the time, was his answer, but he couldn’t say why so he didn’t say it at all. “Do you feel that way?”

“Sometimes, yeah,” she said, and he knew that she too really meant always. “It’s just a lot, you know? With school, and the bakery, and…”

“And the akumas,” Jim guessed. The previous day had been a particularly drawn out fight between Ladybug and an akuma, and while he’d been confident Ladybug would win he still worried. This was Marinette's home, her friends, her school. And although they hadn’t discussed it in detail, Marinette trying to change the subject whenever he asked questions until he figured she simply didn’t want to discuss it, he knew the akumas fed off emotion. What was that like, being unable to let yourself be truly angry or afraid, with the constant threat of being weaponized hanging over your head?

“You don’t need to be perfect,” he’d told her. “You just need to be you. That’s all anybody can expect.”

“And what if I’m not enough?” Mari had asked, and Jim had wished that he could place a hand on her shoulder.

“You’re always enough,” he’d said.

Now he's wondering how many other conversations they’d had that were really about Ladybug, and wondering if there was anything he could have said that would have been better. Encouraged her more, made her job the tiniest bit easier. He can't remember saying anything monumentally stupid like let Ladybug handle it, but he wouldn’t put it past his memory to be a bit faulty on this matter.

How had he not known? How had he missed all the signs? Him of all people, who knows exactly what it's like to be fighting evil in between classes, how it feels knowing that you're the only person standing between genuinely evil beings and your home, what it's like keeping everything secret as you attempt to live a double life without either side crumbling.

He’d messaged her as soon as he got home, a quick are you okay before he realised that her phone was probably turned off if she wanted to have any peace. If Jim was exposed as the Trollhunter, everybody would be too busy with the underground secret society of trolls to really bother him. Ladybug was a national figure, and she’d just been unmasked on live television.

So Jim starts stress baking, because while he can’t make sure that Marinette was okay he can make sure that this pie crust stays perfectly golden brown. It doesn't help much, Marinette and baking being permanently linked in his mind after too many nights spent on the phone trying out new recipes together, but at least he’ll get some muffins out of his anxiety instead of just a sleepless night.

“What happened?” his mother asks when she comes home to a kitchen filled with assorted baked goods. She knows him too well for him to pass it off as nothing, and besides he’s tired of lying, but he doesn’t want to tell her about Ladybug. Maybe she’ll find out, but it’s not his secret to give.

“Marinette’s in trouble,” he says. “I haven’t heard from her, and I can’t...” he trails off, unsure what to say. Can’t stand not knowing, can’t help her from here? Can’t breathe properly until he hears her voice, hears from her that everything will be okay? All true, but saying it won’t change it.

“Oh honey,” his mom says, and she’s hugging him and Jim lets himself fall into the embrace. He hopes Marinette has her parents with her right now, hopes they’re hugging her and letting her melt like he is now, hopes more than anything that she’s safe and happy because she deserves to be.

If she were here nothing would keep him from getting to her house. He’d scale the wall and meet her on her balcony, wait by the back door until somebody let him in, do whatever it took to see her. But all he can do is wait for her to reply.

His phone is ringing. In the moment it takes for his half asleep mind to register the noise he’s already reaching for it. The ringtone is a familiar rock song, one he associates with Marinette before Jagged Stone, and a shot of adrenaline clears all the remaining drowsiness from his mind when he remembers why this call is so important.

“Marinette?” he says, the words tumbling out of his mouth as soon as he presses the button and lifts the phone to his ear, and he hears ragged breathing on the other side.

“Jim,” she gasps, and he feels as though a weight has been lifted from his shoulders.

“Are you okay?” he asks, standing and starting to pace.

“I’m fine,” she says, and then she’s crying. “I wanted to tell you. I’m so sorry.”

“Mari,” he says, wishing that he could be next to her, wrap an arm around her shaking shoulders and hold her close. “I don’t care about that, I’m just glad to hear that you’re safe. You don’t know how worried I was.”

“I didn’t mean to,” she replies, and he can still hear the tears in her voice. He hates the sound, hates her choked gasps as she cries, but would take them any day over not hearing from her at all. “I wanted to tell you, I just couldn’t. Hawkmoth... “

“I know,” he says. “I understand.” And he does, more than she knows, and a knot of guilt forms in his stomach. He knows how it feels to want to tell, to share this incredible burden with your best friend, and he understands exactly what prevents that. “I’m just glad you’re okay. You don’t know how scared I was.”

“I know,” she says, and she sniffles. Her tears seem to be running out, and Jim takes a deep breath.

“What happened?” he says, and then it all comes spilling out. She talks about the plan they had, how she was going to be the distraction, how it all went wrong when they found Hawkmoth’s identity (and something in his chest clenches at that, the scar of an old betrayal aching again), and how the ladybugs repaired all the physical damage but they couldn't undo the unmasking. All of Paris knows who their hero is, after she’s worked so hard to keep it a secret.

“I was so worried you’d be upset,” she says. “It’s been such a big part of my life, and I wanted to tell you, but… ”

“I understand,” he says. “Superheroes always have a secret identity.” She gives an embarrassed laugh at that, and he could picture the blush spreading across her face. “Marinette, would you promise me something?”

“What?” He had been sitting down but now he stands, walking over to the window as he decides how exactly to make his request.

“Please, don’t do this again,” he says. “I know you’re a hero, I know you’re smart and capable and strong, but please. Don’t put yourself in danger like that again.”

“Jim… I don’t think I can promise that,” she says, and Jim nods. It’s part of the job, and he can’t make the same promise back. Though she doesn’t know it he's been as much danger as she was, if not more. And he probably will be again.

“I know, I know,” he sighs. “Just… be careful. Seeing you in danger, and I was too far away to do anything, and I… I haven’t even gotten to tell you…” he trails off as his mind catches up with his words. Tell her what? That she makes him smile more than anybody else, that hearing from her always makes his day better, that when he thought she might have been killed the world felt wrong until he heard her voice? All true, but not what he’d been about to say.

“Jim?” Marinette prompts, and he mentally shakes himself.

“We haven’t even gotten to meet,” he says. “In real life. And you’re not allowed to be hurt before that happens.”

“Right,” she says, a bit of a smile returning to her voice. “But all bets are off after, right?”

“It’ll be different after we meet!” A smile begins to tug at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll be able to protect you.”

“Which one of us is the superhero again?” And just like that they fall back into their usual easy banter, and it feels like nothing has changed. It’s like he always knew, like no secrets have ever hung between them, because more important than her being Ladybug is her being Marinette. Yet woven through it all is a pattern of relief, a whispered we’re here and we’re safe as steady as a heartbeat carrying their conversation.

They talk well into the early hours of the morning, and when his alarm wakes him Jim finds the phone fallen on the pillow next to him. They must have fallen asleep talking, as the phone informs him they spent far more hours on call than he remembers, and there’s a text from her. Goodnight Jim! Thank you.

He holds his phone to his chest and stares at the ceiling, eyes stinging from not enough sleep, and wonders just what he had been about to tell her.

—

They parked a news van outside her house. She kept the curtains drawn and couldn’t go out, communicated to her friends and other heroes over phone calls and video chats. The official press release had been delivered by Rena Rouge and Carapace. Chat Noir had vanished; Marinette told him that his identity wasn’t her secret to share, but he was safe and recovering. But Paris still wanted to hear from Ladybug, and she just wanted to be left alone.

Chloe had surprised both of them by hiring a full bodyguard detail to guard the shop. Marinette thought it was her way of apologizing for some of her earlier behaviour at school, but she was mostly grateful that she hadn’t asked any questions. Her parents were trying to run the shop but kept getting people who just wanted to meet her, and had ended up resorting to mainly doing deliveries to keep gawkers out of their house. Marinette couldn’t leave, and although she tried to stay positive Jim knew she was feeling trapped.

“Come stay with me,” Jim had said, the words out of his mouth before he could think them through. But it made sense. In America less people knew or cared about Ladybug’s secret identity; she could take a vacation and wait out the media storm, return when she could take a walk outside without needing to worry about paparazzi.

It had been a whirlwind of planning, dates and phone calls from both their parents, but the day has finally arrived. Chloe lent Marinette her private jet; her parents will follow in a few days once they can close down the shop and move into a small condo they’ll be renting. So Jim has prepared a spare bedroom, given what little Ladybug memorabilia he has to Toby with threats to keep him from showing her any of it, and warned the trolls that he’ll have a houseguest. He has not informed them that he’ll be telling her about being the Trollhunter. It’ll be easier to ask forgiveness than permission, when they don’t know Marinette like he does. She can keep a secret, and she deserves to know.

He had thought about bringing a sign, but was worried it might call unwanted attention so refrained. Now he wishes that he brought one, if only to have something to hold. What’s he supposed to do with his hands? It’s ridiculous, this is Marinette, but it’s also the first time they’ll be seeing each other in person and he can’t help but feel suddenly uneasy, like something will go very wrong the moment she steps off the plane. What if he steps forward to greet her and steps on her foot? Or trips and falls into her? And that breaks her nose? Or maybe he’ll knock her over completely, and...

His catastrophic thoughts ground to a halt the moment he sees a flash of hair so black it’s almost blue, and suddenly he’s running forward and so is she. They have never met each other before but they’re flying into each other’s arms, and she fits so perfectly it’s like they’ve done this a million times before.

“Hey,” he says, a little breathless as he pulls back to look at her in the eyes, and he’s smiling so broadly that his cheeks hurt. Marinette’s smile is even more beautiful in person.

“Hi,” she replies, and they stand there for a moment in each others’ arms only to jump apart when his mother clears her throat.

“Marinette, it’s good to meet you,” she says, pointedly ignoring the blush spreading across Marinette’s face. Jim can feel his own cheeks heating and suddenly finds the floor very interesting as he attempts to gather himself, to concentrate on all the words he was planning to say instead of only thinking of the way she felt in his arms.

“It’s lovely to meet you too Ms Lake,” Marinette says, composing herself quickly and holding out her hand.

“Please, call me Barbara.” His mom shakes her hand with a warm smile. “How was your flight?”

“It was good, thank you,” she says.

“First class treatment! What was it like?” Jim asks, and she grins at him.

“I saved you some of the pretzels,” she says, pulling out a package of them from her pocket.

“And this is why we’re friends,” he says, and she laughs.

“Because I give you food?”

“No other reason,” he says.

“Glad to hear your friendship is so easily bought,” she teases. “A single pack of stale airline pretzels?”

“Private jet pretzels,” he says. He returns her grin and then their smiles soften. “It’s really good to see you.” The words aren’t enough, can’t convey the sense of rightness he feels at having her here, but she seems to understand anyways.

“You too.” Marinette blushes and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. The moment is broken by a man clearing his throat, somebody who looks like he just walked out of a Men in Black movie which is contrasted by the pastel pink suitcase and duffel bag he’s holding.

“Excuse me ma'am, we can bring your luggage to the vehicle,” he says, and they’re both stepping forward in tandem.

“Oh, thank you but that’s okay,” she says, while he’s saying “I can take that for you,” and thankfully the man doesn’t fight as they pull the luggage from his hands (her with the duffel, him with her suitcase) because even with his Trollhunting-obtained muscle Jim’s not sure he would win a tug-of-war with him.

“Shall we?” his mom says, leading them out to the car, and Jim feels a rush of excitement as it begins to sink in that he can finally show Marinette his home.

“It’s not a limo, but I hope it’s fancy enough,” he says, and she rolls her eyes.

“I’m sure I’ll manage.” Then her mouth quirks up in a grin that he recognizes, and she takes off after his mom. “Race you!” she calls.

“You don’t even know which one is ours!” Jim shouts back, while trying to convince the wheels on her suitcase to maintain a pace they were never built for. They fall into the backseat with flushed cheeks and racing heartbeats, and he spends half the drive home pointing out things for her to finally put an image to and the other half admiring how much better she looks in person compared to a video feed.

—

The creaking floorboard wakes him up. Not that he’d been sleeping too well anyways, his dreams a confused muddle of anxiety he's thankful didn’t break out into a full nightmare. He considers rolling over and trying to go back to sleep, but then remembers that Marinette is here and there’s a chance Draal has ignored all of his warnings and decided a midnight snack is appropriate right now. It takes a moment to locate his house robe and shrugs it on over his pyjamas before creeping into the hallway. Marinette’s door is also open.

He finds her in the kitchen, softly opening cupboards. She’s already located a mug and it’s waiting on the kitchen island, and her eyes go wide and she winces an apology at him when she sees him.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” she says, and he shrugs as he heads for the drawer where they keep their tea bags.

“It’s fine,” he says, holding them up for her to inspect. “Chamomile?” She nods and he starts the kettle boiling. “Jet lag? Or something else?” She looks away, and the dark rims under her eyes are too pronounced to come from one night.

“I don’t think I want to talk about it right now,” she says, and Jim nods. He pours them both a cup and beckons her over to the couch.

“If we use subtitles we can watch something,” he says. “Unless you’d rather be alone.”

“No,” she says, sitting down next to him. She’s wearing a blanket over her shoulders and pulls it up, tucks it around her until only her head and her hand holding her tea are poking out. “Company is good.”

They don’t say anything else as Jim pulls up Beauty and the Beast (the Disney animated one, she’d told him years ago it was her comfort film) and sets the subtitles to French. They’d been speaking English all day with only occasional slips into French, but he thinks she might need something familiar right now. Halfway through the villagers singing about how strange Belle is she shifts and her free hand creeps out of the blankets to the couch cushion between them.

“I keep seeing their faces,” she whispers, the words solemn and heavy. “There were casualties when we fought him.” He hasn’t heard anything about casualties, probably because Lucky Charm always fixes everything at the end of the battle. Everything but the guilt in her voice, the fear in her eyes, the way she flinches when he reaches out and takes her hand in his.

“It was his fault,” he says. “Not yours.” Her breath hitches a little, and he knows she’s on the verge of tears. “You saved them. You did everything you could, and you won.”

“Are you disappointed?”

“What?” He turns and looks at her, the movie forgotten as he tries to figure out what on earth he has to be disappointed about.

“I know you admired her,” she says, her eyes flicking over his face. “Ladybug, I mean. And to find out that it’s just me, and that I’m…”

“Marinette, you’re amazing,” he says honestly, squeezing her hand. “You’re brave and selfless and kind, and the only difference between you and Ladybug was that she had superpowers. You’re a hero with or without them. I could never be disappointed.”

Maybe she moves towards him or he moves forward first, but however it happens they’re bundled together in a hug. She’s shaking, and Jim wishes more than anything that he could take this from her. She doesn’t deserve this burden even if she is strong enough to carry it, and it’s a tragedy she has to.

She pulls back a little and they watch Belle sing about adventure, still wrapped in an embrace made mostly of blankets, and when Maurice heads into the castle he shifts slightly and reaches forward for the box of tissues, silently offering it to her.

“Thank you,” she says, grabbing a few.

“I wish I could help more,” he says, and they both know he’s not talking about the tissues. She looks at him, eyes still a little too wet, and gives him a smile.

“You did,” she says, quiet conviction in her voice. “Jim, you were my rock. Some days the only thing that kept me sane was knowing that I’d be able to talk to you afterwards, even if I couldn’t tell you the details.” He tightens his arm around her shoulder but says nothing, and her face scrunches up in a frown. “It’s true, you know,” she says. “I didn’t need you fighting beside me. I just needed a friend. And you were always there, no matter what time it was or how little I was saying.”

Their minds are likely both flashing over other midnight conversations, texts sent in the middle of classes and calls made by sneaking out of study hall, and although they were sparse on some details like names and events they certainly hadn’t hidden how they were feeling.

He still feels guilty, still wishes that he could have been next to her in that final battle and all the previous ones, but he has to trust that whatever little he was able to offer was enough.

The movie goes on and he feels something in his chest tighten at the library scene, as all the characters sing about something there that wasn’t there before. But was it really, he wonders? He always wants to protect his friends, always wants to help people, but sometime when he wasn’t looking Marinette quietly claimed a piece of his heart that he only just realised was missing. Falling in love with her was so easy, so natural, that the landing was soft enough to go unnoticed.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he whispers as Beauty and her Beast dance through the dazzling ballroom, and his stomach falls at her silence until he looks down and realises she’s drifted off to sleep, head using his lap as a pillow and hands curling around the blanket.

I’ll tell her soon, he promises himself as his own eyelids start to droop. But they have time, and right now they both just need to rest.

—

It was an awful fact that whenever one promised to do something tomorrow the fated day never arrived, forever shoved aside in favor of endless todays until it's suddenly Marinette’s last day staying with him. She still likely has a few more months in Arcadia, but the packed suitcase in the hallway makes him feel like his window's closing. It was so easy to let their conversation be light and easy, to spend their days biking through the town and introducing her to his friends, that he’s managed to put it off until now. But today would be the day.

They’d planned a picnic. Just the two of them, and if he’d actually had this conversation before this could be their first date. She’d insisted on finding a red checkered blanket to spread on the ground (they’d eventually found one in a thrift store) and they’d made each other weird sandwiches (peanut butter, bacon, and banana for him, pear walnut for her), and everything was loaded in his picnic basket. The amulet was in his back pocket.

Maybe it’s better this way, he thinks, staring at his bike like it'll offer some sage wisdom for the situation. If she doesn’t feel the same it would be awkward if she was still in the same house. Or if the trolls freak her out he supposes she won't mind moving, but he can’t help but feel that confession will be the easier out of the two. After all, he’s met Tikki, and kwamis seem a bit more shocking than trolls.

“Ready to go?” Marinette asks, closing the door behind her, and Jim nods and smiles as she mounts her bike.

“No earrings?”

“I think Ladybug deserves a day off,” she says, and he wonders if Tikki knows some of what he wants to say and has decided to give them alone time. “Let’s go!”

She’d memorized the layout of the town very quickly, something she credited to years of biking being her main transportation through Paris. She also had a bad habit of looking for cars driving the wrong way while crossing the road, and he was trying to at least get her to look both ways before darting out into the street. His caution has sadly not yet caught on, and she’s quickly outpacing him as they ride towards the woods.

They dismount and leave their bikes behind a bush before walking further into the woods, Marinette admiring the surroundings with wide eyes.

“No forests in Paris?” Jim asks, and she shrugs.

“There’s some parks, but nothing this size,” she says. “And this is just here. You can walk in any direction and run into more forest.”

“Maybe we can go camping,” Jim suggests. “When your parents have gotten settled in, we can spend a weekend at Yosemite or something.” He hasn’t gone camping in years, but he’s learned plenty of wilderness survival skills from Blinky. Granted he was fairly certain only a few of them applied to humans, but it would still be fun. He’d probably find trollish lessons fun if he was doing them with Marinette.

They plan their camping trip as they cross a river, and Marinette’s laugh distracts Jim enough that his foot slips off a rock and ends up drenched in river water. She’s concerned at first but soon enough they’re both laughing over it, and they finally reach the clearing. Buttercups and daisies dot the grass between dandelions, and they spread the blanket and lie down, looking up at the cloudless sky.

“I bet the stars out here are beautiful,” Marinette says. “We have to come back some time at night and stargaze.”

“I can try and borrow Toby’s telescope,” Jim agrees. “Have you gone stargazing before?”

“Not really,” she says. “You can’t see too many in Paris from light pollution, and my nights were usually too busy to stop and look. You?”

“Same,” he says. “I’ve tried to pick out constellations a few times, but I’m terrible at it. They all look the same to me.”

“You just have to start with what you know!” Marinette says. “Find Orion’s belt or the Big Dipper and go from there.”

“So you have gone stargazing!” He props himself up on an elbow to look at her, and she shakes her head.

“No, I’ve just used star maps,” she says. “I was making a skirt design that used constellations and I wanted it to be accurate!”

“You know you could probably just make random dots and nobody would know the difference, right?”

“I would know the difference!” she says, sitting up. “Haven’t you ever taken pride in your work? Done it right for the sake of doing so?”

“Of course! I used to drive my mom crazy by insisting on making pie crusts from scratch.”

“They taste better that way!”

“Exactly! But I never had time to make them, so we went without pie for a while until I caved and went store bought.”

“Jim!” she gasps, her hand covering her mouth in faux horror. “Never let my parents hear you say that, they’ll never let us speak again!”

“Scandalous, I know!” he agrees. “But if I have you to ask for help I won’t need to resort to such desperate measures in the future.”

“You can spend all day baking with my dad, he’ll love it,” she says. “He thinks that’s the best way to get to know somebody, so expect an interrogation while making a layer cake.”

“An interrogation? Don’t they already know me?” Marinette blushes and looks away.

“They do, but not as well as they want to,” she says. He sits up, but she still refuses to meet her gaze. “After all, they think… well…”

Tell her now, his mind screams at him. This is the perfect time! But suddenly his tongue is made of lead. “Marinette,” he says, and it’s a wonder she can hear him over the sound of his suddenly too loud heartbeat. But hear she does, and her head turns towards him maybe a little too quickly.

“Yes?”

“I…” And despite how much he wants to tell her, for whatever reason the only words he can force out of his mouth are “Would you like a sandwich?”

“Oh,” she says, deflating a little. “Yeah, sure.” His hands tremble a little as he opens up the picnic basket and passes her the food. He grabs his as well; the plan is for them to take the first bite at the same time, but he’s not sure if he can manage to eat anything from the way his stomach is twisting. “Ready?” Marinette says with a grin, but it’s not as wide as it was before.

“Wait,” he says, and she wrinkles her nose at him.

“This is a bad time to tell me you’re allergic to peanut butter,” she says, and he smiles.

“Not that,” he says. “I was actually going to tell you… well, I…” She doesn’t say anything, just stares at him with eyes bluer than the sky, and Jim wonders why this moment is harder than leaping into the Darklands.

“Marinette, you’re a great friend,” he says, and he wants to kick himself as he sees her face fall. “That’s not what I meant!” he says, and now she just looks confused. “I mean, I wanted to say that while I love our friendship, I also… I might think of you as more. More than a friend.” HIs cheeks are ablaze and he can’t meet her gaze, instead choosing to focus on his sandwich. The pickle juice will make the bread soggy, but eating it is the last thing on his mind.

“Jim, is this a date?” Marinette asks, and her voice is soft enough that he can’t discern her feelings.

“Maybe,” he says. “It can be, if you want it to be.” And he’s so ready to hear her gently turn him down (he knows she likes Adrien, and he’s just Jim! He can’t hold a candle to an actual model) that he almost misses her reply.

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes, I’d like this to be a date.” He looks at her, and he’s never seen anybody look as happy as she does in that moment.

“You mean you-”

“Yeah,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I think I’ve liked you for a while now. I just wasn’t sure how to bring it up.”

“Me neither,” he says. “I thought Adrien-”

“We’re friends,” she says. “And Claire?”

“Friends,” he says. They went on a date once and it was terribly awkward, and at the end they agreed a platonic relationship was better. But he doesn’t want to think about Claire right now, not when Marinette is there and she apparently likes him too. “I figured it out when I was watching the battle,” he confesses.

“Because you learned I was Ladybug?” she asks, and he shakes his head.

“Because I realised I couldn’t lose you,” he says. “It was more of a catalyst than a deciding factor.” It’s not Ladybug he fell in love with, it’s Marinette and all the little things about her that make her extraordinary.

“I figured it out on the plane ride over,” she says. “Alya told me to tell her all the details about ‘my new boyfriend’ and I spent the whole flight thinking about that.”

“Oh,” he says, and his cheeks are beginning to hurt from his smile. “I should have told you sooner, shouldn’t I?”

“Yes!” Marinette agrees with a laugh. “We could have been dating this whole time!”

“It’s only been a few days,” he says. “And besides, I don’t think we would have done anything too different.” Now that he thinks about it a lot of their excursions around the town could have been dates: going to the museum, petting the dogs in the pet shop, eating at his favourite cafe, visiting the library.

“I could have done this sooner,” she says, and she leans forward and kisses him. It’s a quick peck on his cheek, but he feels as though a shock of electricity has gone through him. “Sorry,” she says, pulling back. “I should have asked first.” But he puts down his sandwich and reaches out for her, slowly cupping her cheek.

“May I?” he asks, and she nods. And he lowers his lips to hers.

It’s not like a dream, or something magical. It’s better than that because it’s real, he’s really and truly here with Marinette and they are kissing, and when he finally pulls back he can’t help but marvel at the flushed and beaming expression she’s wearing because of him.

“You’re lucky I did that before I ate the sandwich,” he says, and she laughs.

“I’d let you even with pickle breath,” she says, and not even the strange food combinations they’ve made can cause their smiles to dim. They eat and exchange the second half of their sandwiches, and drink lemonade and eat apples and toss the cores as far as they can (he’s got more strength, but yo yo throwing has made her accuracy unbeatable). And as the shadows are beginning to lengthen he doesn’t want to leave, exit this perfect afternoon and go to the next moment where he’ll have to let the rest of the world into this new and wonderful thing, but decides that since the future will hold second and third dates and hopefully many dates after that it won’t be so terrible letting this one end.

“I'm really glad that you finally told me,” she says as they pack up the picnic, shaking the crumbs off the blanket before folding it. “Despite how hard it was to get the words out.”

“Next time I’ll just use Romeo’s speech,” he says. “But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Marinette is the sun.”

“I’ll need to brush up on my Shakespeare if I want to keep up,” she says, and he shrugs.

“If you want, but I can’t think of anything better than you,” he says. “The words you speak, I mean. And the way you say things.” His cheeks are burning again, but she smiles at him and gives him another kiss.

“Sometimes you talk too much,” she says, and he nods and kisses her again. All good things must come to an end, as kisses are limited by lung capacity, but he can’t bring himself to mind now that the prospect of many more kisses await both of them in the future.

“If this is the result, I don’t think I mind being unmasked,” she tells him, and he nods. “Plus, we don’t need to play the awkward secret identity game this way.” With a flash he remembers that there were two things he wanted to tell her about, and while he doesn’t think this will be a dealbreaker he’d much rather get it out of the way sooner rather than later. He’s learned his lesson about hiding things from Marinette.

“Actually, there was one more thing I wanted to tell you about,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the amulet.

#my fic #jimari #jiminette #ml fic #trollhunters fic #jim lake jr #marinette dupain cheng #trollhunters #miraculous ladybug #today on fics that turned out much longer than i thought they'd be #'i can write fluff!' i say 4k words into this. 'it just takes some time!'#i don't think i'm capable of writing about these characters without thinking about the implications #jimari secret santa 2020

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itsonlydana · 3 years

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Hello! Could I request a cc! platonic bench trio fic, where reader is fencing and they have to get ready for their first competition and they're nervous and doubting themselves and just some friendly flull w bench trio comforting and reassuring reader? Thank you <3

-🍬 anon

"the hype troop" ➷ bench trio

➛ pairing: c!bench trio x gn!reader

➛ idea: a few minutes before your very first fencing tournament you start to doubt your skills, luckily that's exactly why your best friends are there for you and help you distract yourself from your fears.

➛ tags/warnings: fluff, reader is panicking a bit

➛ an: hellou 🍬 anon! Long time no see, hope you enjoy this one! I´m sorry for not being that active at the moment D:

"I can do this, I can do this" you softly whispered these words to yourself over and over again. You were waiting for them to convince you of themselves, but that effect failed to set in.

From the gym to your right you could hear the moderation of a match, the clapping of the audience as one of the competitors won. In a moment it would be your turn to compete in your very first fencing tournament, and the idea made your stomach turn.

Restlessly you paced back and forth in your small locker room, trying to remember all your training sessions where you had prepared for this day and you knew you used to know all the steps and moves... so why wasn't any of it coming to mind right now?

The only thoughts were anything but memories of training, much more an unhealthy mixture of self-doubt and fears that trapped you in a spiral of growing panic from which you couldn't escape.

What if you couldn't make it? How would your parents react? They had taken the extra day off today so you could make the four hour drive to the competition early in the morning, and you didn't want to have left them driving across the world on this Saturday for nothing. Or your coach who had been helping you improve your techniques for months?

They would all be disappointed in you, you were already disappointed with yourself and you hadn't even finished the first duel yet.

With this growing nervousness, you fell onto the bench in the middle of the room, burying your face in your hands when there was a loud knock on the door and you pulled yourself back up.

You were expecting your parents or your trainer, but when you called out "Yes?" and the door opened, you momentarily forgot all your worries.

"See Tubbo, I knew they'd be in this locker room!" rumbled Tommy, taking a few quick steps toward you.

"We knocked on like four wrong doors because you weren't really listening," Tubbo complained, stepping into the room behind the blond who had pulled you into a tight hug, then grinning at you. "Hi (y/n)!"

Ranboo entered last, immediately closing the door again as well, snapping you out of your numbness in which you had barely noticed the boys' hugs with the bang. "(y/n) old house, that suit suits you!"

Still confused, you looked down at yourself, tugging at the white protective suit with your school's logo on the chest. "What are you doing here?" you finally managed to get out and sat back down on the bench where Tommy had spread himself out and was rummaging through his backpack.

Two folded posters appeared, on which you could recognize your name in neat handwriting, as well as the three pairs of sunglasses with which the boys had picked you up after a particularly hard practice and invited you to a burger as bodyguards.

With one hand in his backpack- how much stuff did they have in there, please?!- Tommy grinned at you. "Tubbo drove us! Your parents gave us the address and time after you forgot, you idiot."

Slightly horrified, you looked at Tubbo, who nodded proudly. "I was scared, though, because I've never driven four hours straight, but we took lots of breaks."

"We almost took longer breaks than we drove." Ranboo shoved his hands into his jacket pocket and pulled out several receipts. "We spent every break in a Tesco. You don't want to know how much stuff we bought."

"I can imagine," you said, glancing at Tommy and the packed backpack. "But why are you here?"

Finally finding what he was looking for, Tommy held out a blue lunch box to you. "We'd never miss your first competition, would we? Here, Tubbo already ate one of the muffins, so you know they're not poisoned or anything."

"If you hadn't said it, I wouldn't have thought of it, now I'm scared" You opened the lunch box and examined the three leftover muffins and the crumpled paper, with the crumbs as proof that there were once four. Still, you smiled at the boys, the effort that was behind those muffins warming your heart and taking away some of the excitement. "Thank you guys, but I don't think I can get one down right now," you admitted, closing the box and playing with the cap a bit, distracting yourself with the regular click and busyness of your fingers.

"Are you too excited?"

You looked up at Ranboo leaning against the wall, nodding slowly at him.

Beside you, Tommy stirred, exhaling audibly. "Don't be, you're fantastic! How long have you been training now? Five months?"

"Six! They signed up for the tournament before my birthday party," Tubbo corrected, which only made Tommy shake his head harder.

"Six months, (y/n). You don't train for six months and not get better"

"Yeah but-" you started, but were interrupted by Ranboo kicking his foot lightly against yours, "No but. Every time we picked you up or watched you train you were so good, you never made a mistake twice and learned from suggestions for improvement every time."

Tubbo, who had sat down on the floor in front of the door to the hall, nodded, letting the mop of dark hair bob up and down with the wild movement and fall in front of his eyes. "You're the best from your school. Look, none of the others had dared to sign up, you've not only been good, but confident enough to know what a talent you have. Otherwise, you never would have signed up. You will kick those guys in the butt!"

Admitting to yourself that your friends were right was almost a harder pill to swallow than your fear of failing. For hours each week you had done your best to memorize every position, every move, every action, every technique. There had been many afternoons when you had practiced with the boys and sticks.

You knew you could fence, you knew how to hold your foil, how to score points, and yet-.

"And what if the others are better?" you asked in an agonized voice, putting the lunchbox beside you and your gaze falling on your foil. You had cleaned it carefully last night and had it on your lap the whole car ride, so that nothing could happen.

Tommy jumped up, using his outstretched arm as a weapon, and swung it in a wide motion toward Ranboo, shouting "Ha!" and "Allez!" over and over during the brief attack. Ranboo's attempts to duck away from the blond finally made you laugh, a relieved laugh that lifted your worries off your shoulders.

As Ranboo was cheered on by Tubbo and ran in circles around the bench, you relaxed. Watching your friends chase and jab each other with their index fingers was too funny a sight and one you needed just then.

"You just do a fleche," Tommy gasped, jumping up next to you on the bench and catching Ranboo on his shoulder.

"Flèche," you corrected the blond laughing, careful to pronounce it with the proper French emphasis "That move is forbidden in tournaments because you're not allowed to cross your legs. You're supposed to do a flunge instead, that is, make a jump" Startled at your own words, you widen your eyes. "I remember the techniques!"

The distraction of Tubbo, Ranboo and Tommy must have cleared the block in your brain and now that you were much more relaxed it was much easier for you to think of your steps and your coach's tips.

But most of all, you looked forward to the competition with much more positive excitement instead of fear.

How could you lose when you had your three boys sitting on the benches?

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yandere-wishes · 3 years

Text

MONSTERS

👹 Yandere Ryomen Sukuna x Reader

👹Summary: Monsters aren’t born they're made, but Sukuna stumbles across the rare exception...

👹Warning: dehumanization, mention of gore, blood, slight dub-con mentioned in passing, death, past trauma, and abuse

👹 Edited: By the lovely @tealyjade-libran !

👹 Wordcount: 2,480

👹Alternative Tittle : If Roxanne ( from the Police song) lived in ancient Japan.

👹First Jujutsu kaisen fic! I hope you guys like it, please let me know your thoughts! Likes and reblogs appreciated!

Monsters were made.

Slowly created as once blazing ideals, withered and died under harsh strokes of reality. Stitched together with broken promises and the ashes of rotting memories.

Monsters were made

whisked into a role they once dreaded, once feared. Beaten into the role of the villain, the reprobate, the sinner.

If anyone ever asked Sukuna when was the exact moment he turned his back on the laws of "good" and "evil", shedding his human skin to regrow a pelt of hate and destruction,

He would simply answer, "Never".

Because skin is skin no matter how much it decays. Even if the epidermis turns into a rotting orange shade, littered with eyeballs and teeth that shouldn't grow there.Even if the blood from all those he's slain has finally stained his dermis, tainting it in a permanent crimson that all the waters of Lake Biwa could never wash off. Even if his hypodermis is no longer made of fatty tissue but rather spiritual energy sucked from the atmosphere. It's still skin, the same old skin he was born with.

Sukuna had never shed his skin, he'd only perfected it, enhanced it, molded it into its perfect form, until he was no longer held back by foolish human limitations.

He'd never been "reborn" only recreated; only perfected.

Spike, talon and teeth covered arms sprouting from oozing, bleeding scars, charred over by begriming infections that burned worse than the strikes he'd endured as a child. Knuckles and bones cracking over and over and over again until they grew as solid as the rocks that were thrown at him when he was all too little to understand the malice behind the insults and threats. Breaking until they could break no more, until they'd become strong enough to split a boulder with a mere flick.

There had come a time when he'd given up licking his wounds, leaving them to be kissed by the mold-covered worms who left an urticating sensation he'd soon come to associate with victory. Rotting flesh growing covered in thick layers of black tar tattoos that hid every cut he'd endured when he'd once been too weak.

Monsters were created from quarter truths buried neck-deep in fables that snipped like red-eyed scorpions.

Until the blood dancing through their veins was as black as the void they now called home.

Sukuna knew the exact moment he realized he was a monster. The day he realized he liked the crunch of skulls beneath his feet, the pitiful spark in mortified eyes staring at the heavens for a scrap of mercy. Mangled mouths barely held together by fractured jaw bones, uttering prayers and pleas that died in the scorching air.

Sukuna knew he was an abnormality, patched together by broken heirlooms and shattered family traditions. Sitting on a throne made from skulls of those who thought they could ever kill him.

You can't kill a monster, for you can not kill that which was never born.

You can't slay something made from good intentions with malevolent methods, something so vile that it might actually be pure. At the end of the day, no monster really admits that it is a monster, a nightmare that should have never existed.

Yet...

Tattered hearts and cruel orbs are never quite enough. No monster is complete until they dive off that last edge, plummet into the sea of nothingness, and finally, finally break their souls on the spiked soil. Monsters, spirits, curses any malicious being that had been mended together like a half-done ragdoll was not complete until they truly let go. Until they erased all the former humanity that they had been born with. Until their eyes reflected nothing, no emotions, no malice, no want, no need. Just the absolute emptiness.

The void in all its glory.

that was the symbol, the true markings of a real monstrosity. The void that took over their existence, that had replaced every inch of their former self. Only then could it be said that you were above all other beings, the true perfection of this world.

There are worse things created than monsters, things that are made from nothing and everything. Things above "Yin" and "Yang". Things that have no scrap of humanity, monstrosity, or anything in them.

Things that are just empty.

So maybe -just maybe- that's why when Sukuna's rotting orange eyes landed on the epitome of emptiness, a...girl, whose face was sculpted to disreflect emotions and intents. Someone who was the void of darkness itself. The true personification of nothingness.

His heart -for the first time in countless centuries- began to throb.

a truly dead face swarmed by a sea of buzzing ants, chasing their routine happiness. Smiles of delight and carelessness carved on their aging faces with sunlight knives and the melody of golden coins. The lust for life leaking from every pore of their bodies.

With every face being a carbon copy of each other it was no wonder yours stood out.

There was a silver chain of attraction, dragging Sukuna towards the village girl. Not love, never love, the king of curses was beyond certain, that neither you nor he could feel such a honey-laced sensation. It was more like....something. Something paranormal, inexpiable. Some magnetic force outside of everything's control.

It was easy enough to explain why he liked you. Why you stood out from the other insects of this middle-of-nowhere-village.

You had dark matter for blood and dead seas for brains.

Your eyes radiated an endless abyss. Making others shy away from your lifeless gaze. Scared to look into the void in fear that it may respond.

You were a thrown away doll,

A living dead,

A dying star,

You were the daughter of the number zero,

The monster that had no maker nor mother.

Something not born nor created.

Just an entity that roamed the earth, with no desire nor hope, no wish nor dream. Not leaving, not dying, just existing in the space between today and tomorrow.

There'd been no need for pleasantries, for hiding behind ghostly tree branches and frozen windows. There'd been no need to kill or ravage for you. No competition to eliminate, because no one ever came near you. Humans don't like what they can't explain, Sukuna knew that all too well.

Sukuna watched from a close enough distance to almost touch. Lingering around like a phantom begging to be noticed. Orbs trailing over you, but never approaching. Until one day he'd just stood still. Waited for you to turn your head just a fraction to the left, just to see him in all his menacing terror. To finally notice the clawing, crawling sensation that had been creeping up your spine like a hoard of spiders.

And when your dead eyes did finally land on him. Sukuna could swear that his breath hitched in his throat for the first time in his seemingly endless life.

You weren't human. Humans didn't have hollow faces or marbles for lips.

You weren't a curse. Curses didn't lack venom dripping from their souls.

You were something better than a monster. You were the divinity of monstrosity, the void itself. Black holes for eyes, answerless paradoxes for hands, and an endless maze where your torso should have been.

Exploding suns danced around you, burning, burning, till they died out, leaving behind no trace that they once lit up the universe.

The space after the end, that's what you were.

Perfect, to Sukuna you were perfect.

You hadn't run, hadn't screamed, hadn't even bothered to talk. You didn't care about him, couldn't care about him. That's what made him want you, made his mouth salivate with the thought of your flesh between his teeth.

That night the world stood still, as Sukuna's claws penetrated your flesh like twirling needles. You were as light as a feather. You weighed nothing, were nothing. All so easy to pluck and throw about. You never made a noise when your body collided with the bamboo walls, just letting gravity and Sukuna play a twisted ball game with your lump of a body.

You hadn't protested when he violated you. As his lips bit every inch of your body raw. For some unearthly reason that even the gods couldn't understand, would never want to understand, you had found the Curse's violent actions rather...adoring. Taking every slap and slash with the earnest pride of a small child getting praised for a day of relentless chores. letting the dawn-tinted-haired monster adorn your body in blue and purple jewels. It felt right, in a pathetically, nauseating, twisted way...it just felt right.

It was disastrous, sure, but it was right. Like two universes crashing. Destroying each other with every kiss and every bruise.

But...

For the first time in your meaningless life, you had truly understood what "happiness" felt like.

For the first time in his endless life, Sukuna had truly understood what "intimacy" felt like.

///

Was it wrong to kiss you? For a fraction of a second Sukuna hesitated, blood tinged lips hovering millimeters away from your own stone-set ones. The moon's cursed rays acting like an unnoticed barrier, keeping two things out of each other's grasp. His lips curled back revealing two rows of knife-like teeth. The last resort, a final hope that you'd run away, that you'd act somewhat normal. The king of curses, the evil among men, didn't mind your lack of regularity. He didn't mind how you leaned into every bitter strike, every painful display of fading affection . He adored how you merely giggled as he slashed open your uncharged skin, creating slits for your blood to spill through, onto his waiting tongue. He admired your lifelessness, the way you radiated death.

Oh, how you filled him with a startling aftershock every time he touched you. Every time his tongue lapped at your bleeding skin he'd feel the sort of electric shocks that came after the storms had passed. Your body had no shape, it molded to his touch, turning his favorite shades of red, with just a little pressure.

But sometimes, in fleeting, endless seconds. He wished he had a name for what you two were. You weren't his per se, you could never be his. Being his would indicate that he cared about you, or heck even loved you and that could never be true. The king of curses did not love, nor care. He merely tolerated you; you fascinated him, that's all.

It had been many moons since he first found you in that no-name village. Months upon months since you'd been by his side. You'd watched as he'd destroyed cities, helped him even. Eyes never shedding a single tear. Mouth never uttering a single protest.

The two of you had become the best, the King of curses and the Queen of nothingness. With the dying speed of laboring bees, Sukuna had carved himself inside of you. Twisted emptiness into flower-covered destruction. Into molten gold lava.

Leaving you with wounds that were stuck in a cycle of healing and opening. Until they began to harden like his. Until the need for spilled blood lingered on your tongue like the burn of boiled tea. Until under your nails were coated in a decaying crust of dried blood. Sukuna hadn't turned you into a monster, he'd simply showed you the powers that came with your apathy. With a heart as torn and cold as yours, it was a shame to let it go to waste.

"You're not half bad," his tone is never approving. It's always laced with a strictness that keeps you nailed into place. His words are oxymorons sounding like praise, but once you peel back the lather layers they're just taunts in disguise.

You don't answer, words die on your tongue as quickly as they are born. Sukuna can't even remember what your voice sounds like outside of small whispers in heat filled nights.

However, to the two of you, things like that didn't matter. Your lack of being even semi-alive and Sukuna's endless abuse had become a norm for the two of you. Where else were a two-faced monster and a lifeless girl going to find love anyway?

Sukuna was all you had, all you ever had. You'd die for him, kill for him, turn into anything for him. Because he gave you life.

A purpose to life, made out of raging fires and endless screams. A life fabricated from the pain and suffering of others. That was what the king of curses had given you, all wrapped in a human skin parchment. Maybe that's why all logic withered away the first night he kissed you, maybe from the first second that you sensed his presence you had finally gained a reason to be alive.

///

Whoever said the end of the world was beautiful? Whoever said the final days would be bright and glowing and pure?

It's just a blaze of stray flames and red crystal droplets that may or may not be your blood. Funny, Sukuna had always thought that your blood would be as black as the moonless sky, not a mundane red like everyone else's. He'd expected a grander death from you. Some sort of black hole opening to swallow the world whole. Not just another corpse motionless in a pool of their own blood.

Although he's not one to talk. His own 'death' is lingering on the horizon. Sukuna's head tilts back looking for the flashing jujutsu sorcerers.

"S-sukun-a..."

He smirks, fangs sticking out at odd angles. Your voice is sweet, for the first time in forever he'd even dare say it held some semblance of emotion.

What that emotion is, he doubts he knows or even really cares. He'd long since stopped trying to identify all those "feelings" and their associated names.

His orange eyes lock with your fading orbs, one last time. No, not the last time, just the final time in this lifetime. He's sure he's going to see you again. In any other life, Sukuna knows he'll be able to recognize you despite whatever flesh suit you'd be wearing.

"Shh little one," he's halfway gone before he finishes his sentence, leaving you to relish in his memory in your final moments. "We'll see each other once more, someday in another life..."

His four eyes lock on the approaching sorcerers. He finds it humorous how desperate they look. How alive and ready they seem, such a stark contrast to your ever lifeless face and dead eyes, it repulses him.

"Or maybe in one of the circles of hell."

The flames encircling his fingers remind him of the heat your body radiated in the dead of night. The crack from bones hum as they meet his knuckles, flash memories of your days wasted together doing nothing and everything.

The two of you will meet once more, he's sure of it. After all...

Monsters never die.

How could something that was never even born in the first place, ever die?

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interlagosed · 2 years

Note

Lando said he’s going to the beach after the race…

I BEG of you please write a Carlando beach date fic after todays race🙏🏼

Please please please

*finishes reading about Intoxication in the criminal law, cracks knuckles* Alright anon, you asked for it.

SFW, Carlando, post-Qatar GP.

"Lando..." Carlos began, skepticism - and concern - in his voice. He was eying his fiancé while carrying a tote bag filled with beach essentials. Lando had pushed the bag into his arms before declaring they were going to the beach, and Carlos had to trust that Lando'd packed for two. "I don't know if this is a good idea."

Lando huffed his way alongside Carlos, face flushed red and sweat prickling his forehead. "What do you mean?"

Carlos sighed, casting his eyes heavenward. "I mean, Lando, that you're going to pass out."

Lando laughed, though it didn't come out very convincing. "Carlos, Carlos, Carlos. If I was going to pass out from the heat, surely I already would have done? I was stuck in that goddamn McLaren for two hours."

"That...does not make me feel better. We can go a mall." Actually, that sounded really nice. Carlos eagerly continued, "You know how late these Middle East malls stay open. We could watch a shitty movie." He waggled his eyebrows as he added, "It will be cold and dark."

Carlos could see Lando's resolve briefly waver before he started glaring at Carlos. "No. I want to go to the beach."

Carlos knew when Lando turned into an unmovable force. He sighed, swinging the tote over his shoulder. If the promise and titillation of making out in a movie theater wasn't enough to stir Lando's heartstrings, he really must be dead-set on going to the beach. Besides, Carlos thought, watching Lando's face, he'd had a rough day. Rougher even than Carlos'. So long as he saw Lando happy by the end of the night, Carlos could tolerate whatever idiosyncrasy Lando wanted to throw at him.

As they trudged through the wonderfully cooling sand, Carlos began to feel increasingly suspicious. He'd known Lando long enough to instinctively sense when a plot was being seen through to fruition. But he didn't have any proof other than his own instincts and Lando's doggedness.

For a moment, he wondered if Lando was about to propose. Then he felt stupid; his engagement dog tag was one of the few cooling things on his body at present. Then he wondered if this was about to be a McLaren ambush. But nah, they'd target Charles for that instead. And Daniel didn't seem like he was in the most ambushing mood.

But he needn't have thought too much harder or longer. Carlos eyes widened as Lando led him to a beautiful cabana, richly appointed with Bedouin colors. The entrance flap showed a luxurious interior, with a double beach recliner, several carpets and ottomans, an ice bucket with bottles of something deliciously cold jutting out of it, and multiple, surprisingly beautiful, fans to keep the air flow cool.

Carlos looked over at Lando, unable to hide his surprise. Lando looked smug and embarrassed all at the same time.

"Landito," Carlos exclaimed, delighted. "Is this a date?"

"Maybe," Lando purred, and Carlos felt the promise in Lando's voice down to his toes. "Flap closes for privacy. Told them to leave all the drinks there. Some snacks, too."

Lando moved aside to let Carlos enter the cabana first. Carlos looked around, gaping. He glanced upwards: there was a transparent, plastic cut-out in the cabana roof and a smattering of stars managed to make themselves known despite the light pollution. The moon, a waning gibbous, shone at him bright and beautiful.

He looked over at Lando, bright and beautiful himself at the entrance of the cabana, beginning to look slightly more self-conscious than he had previously. Carlos smiled, setting his tote down and walking slowly towards Lando.

"Do you like it?" Lando asked, and Carlos wanted to give him a noogie for having the audacity to ask.

Carlos reached around Lando, pulling the flap closed. Lando's cheeks flushed an even deeper red; any heat that had caused the blush was entirely internal. Carlos stepped right up to Lando, cupping his cheek, and grinning at him.

"Let me show you how much."

#hibi writes #carlando #carlando headcanons #carlando headcanon #qatar gp 2021 #carlos sainz jr #lando norris #formula 1 fanfic #carlando fanfiction #carlando fic #hibi answers

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champagnebrock · 3 years

Text

b,s&t | four

SERIES MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

SUMMARY — in the aftermath of your [lack of] dinner with jungkook, taehyung and jimin, you find yourself alone in the practice room dodging hoseok’s attempt at a team bonding exercise when namjoon shows up. // dinner with your sister, suki is a bust when you realize that jimin’s managed to convince her that you two not getting along is your fault.

PAIRING — eventual yoongi x fem!reader

WORD COUNT — 2,504

WARNINGS — you being angsty bc your sister believes jimin over you, nail biting, anxiety

NOTES — thank you for all the love and support for this fic, i honestly wasn’t expecting anyone to read it thank you, thank you, thank you 💖

POSTED — 08/23/21

CHAPTER FOUR: practice // lonely

February 3rd, 2014

—TWO DAYS LATER YOU find yourself standing in the dance studio, it's saturday. a day you’re supposed to have off. yet, you know that the only way to win any of the boys true respect is to work as hard if not harder than them. you got up extra early as to escape hoseok's attempt at dragging you along to whatever activity they'd planned today. you only briefly stop practicing, to pick up a call from your dad.

"hey y/n/n!" your dad calls enthusiastically into the phone.

"hi dad," you replies, trying to suppress your heavy breathing as you take a swig of your water. "how's work?"

"oh you know, work-y. i'm actually being placed back in tokyo,"

"we'll be back in the same time zone!" you squeal, twisting the cap onto your water bottle.

your dad chuckles, "yeah, it'll be nice to pick up your calls instead of having to listen to voicemails. how'd your dinner with the boys go?"

"oh you know, dinner-y," you giggle nervously, which your dad picks up on immediately.

"they bailed on you, didn't they?"

"how do you do that? i swear to god you've got a fifth sense,"

"or, i'm your father, and i know when you're lying."

"that sounds more likely,"

‘y/n/n, you can't let them walk all over you like this. you have to do something—"

"the older members are under enough stress, i can handle jimin. seriously dad, i had worse bullies in high school."

"y/n/n... i worry about you,"

"don't dad. i'm fine, really everything's good. i got it all under control." you hate how well your dad knows you, but you also hate how you would've ended up telling him anyway. "i'm just going to give them time, and space. tattling like a small child will do nothing to help. it'll only make things worse, and besides, hoseok's keeping an eye on jimin."

your dad sighs, and you can hear his glasses clatter to the desk he's likely sitting at. "if things get worse, promise me you'll tell sihyuk."

"there's only so much he can do, especially if the minute he turns his back, nothing changes. he's a busy man, and can't babysit us because jimin seems to hate me dad."

"but, he could reinforce good behavior in him..."

"dad, if things become to much for the two of us, he could pull me, or jimin or both of us out of the group all together, and i refuse to let a small rift get that bad. i'll stay out of his way as much as possible if that makes him happy, but i am not sacrificing my dream to deal with a bully."

your dad lets out a short laugh, "you are your mother's daughter..."

"yeah, well i better go dad, i gotta get back to practice." you try to keep the annoyance out of your voice, but finds it rather difficult.

"i thought you didn't have practices on the weekends..."

"i'm practicing by myself dad." you reply, no longer trying to hide the annoyance in your voice. "bye dad,"

"bye, y/n. i love you,"

"love you too," you sigh, hitting end call, before tossing your phone back across the room to your bag.

it lands on top, and slides onto the floor. not caring, you make your way to the sound system, and quickly gets into place before the song starts. you run through the song twice before you notice namjoon standing in the doorway, his practice bag slung over one shoulder.

"hi," namjoon smiles, dropping his bag beside yours. "wasn't expecting anyone to be down here."

"same," you reply, chest heaving as you try to steady your breathing. "hoseok's thing over already?"

"yeah, the whole point was to help you and the younger members bond. hoseok gave up as soon as he realized you were gone. he means well you know?"

"i know, i just don't think that trying to force them into spending time with me is going to help anyone. i think that giving them as much space as i can right now will benefit us all, especially you, jin, yoongi and hoseok. less stress with babysitting us." you shrug, looking down at your feet.

"hey, you're not a burden to us. it's not your fault that for whatever reason jimin thinks he has to justify how he's treating you right now, and it's not okay. hoseok yelled at him pretty good yesterday over it."

"i heard... but you guys shouldn't have to keep an eye on us like that... you really shouldn't have too. i'm trying really hard to do the exact opposite of provoking him. i stay out of his way, and try not to be alone with him for very long."

"but you shouldn't have to worry about that, jimin is old enough to know his behavior is unacceptable. you shouldn't excuse it."

"i'm not, i just think that maybe me joining the group has upset him, which is fair, because you guys were doing so well before me."

"we trust sihyuk, y/n. if he thinks that we need you to make it, then we need you. there's no changing my mind that you were destined to join us. besides, i'm glad you're here. do you wanna keep running the choreo? i'm having trouble with the foot work in the chorus... and by the looks of it, you have it down already."

smiling at namjoon you nod, "i got you," you laugh turning back to the sound system to restart the song.

as the weeks progress, you find your anxiety getting worse. instead of going straight back to the dorms after dance practice is done, you and namjoon stay back to keep working on the choreo. it feels almost as if namjoon can sense your growing anxiety, because he's always trying to help lighten the mood. you definitely are thankful for namjoon being by your side while they get ready for the comeback, and your debut.

"stop biting your nails, it's bad for your teeth," namjoon scolds re-entering the practice room, one iced americano coffee in each hand.

"sorry," you mutter, hands dropping to your sides. namjoon hands you one of the coffees, and just shakes his head.

"you should probably go get a manicure before our comeback," he sighs, taking a sip from his drink. "i'll come with, we can have a day to just chill."

"i dunno, i think i should keep practicing..." you mumble, taking a sip of your own drink, and silently thanking the gods for coffee.

"you know the choreography y/n, when you practice you're not even thinking about it. it's all muscle memory now, you have nothing to worry about." namjoon says, "besides, we still have time to practice if you're that worried. one night off will not erase all your hardwork and practice."

you look at your nails, and cringe. namjoon's right, you do need a manicure. your nails are so short and ragged it looks like your fingers got caught in something. "okay, you're right... tomorrow maybe?"

"sounds wonderful," namjoon nods, taking another sip from his drink before setting it down beside his bag. "shall we continue?"

you take a few mouth fulls of your coffee before setting it down, you cross the small space to the sound system, and hit play. you both hurriedly take your positions, and begin going through the choreography for probably the millionth time. it takes a few seconds before you realize namjoon's right, you’re not thinking about how you’re moving at all, you just are.

"y/n/n! over here!" your head snaps to the right, a smile breaking out on your face under your black mask.

"su!" you cry, breaking into a brisk walk. you propel yourself straight into your twin sisters open and waiting arms.

"i've missed you," you both say in unison, pulling away from each other, you both giggle.

"wow, you've lost weight," is the first thing suki says, eyebrows knitting together over top of her big black sunglasses. "have you been eating?"

"of course i have! jin won't let me not eat." you reply, rolling your eyes. "i'm probably eating more now than i was in my training days."

"are your nervous?" suki asks, linking her arm through yours and gently tugging you along toward the restaurant you’d agreed on.

"of course, how could i not be? especially when you're such a big star already. we're the same age, yet you've been in the game for three years already and i'm just making my debut, in an already established group." you mutter, you’re not bitter, and suki knows this. "i'm sorry, all i mean is i'm scared the fans will hate me because i'm going to be a change within the group that they may not love."

"or," suki says, "they could absolutely adore you. darling sister, you have to stay positive."

"i'm scared." you admit, and suki abruptly stops in her tracks.

"how do you think the boys feel? namjoon? jin? jimin?" you glare at your sister from under the brim of your bucket hat.

"that's not fair, he's being so, so mean for no reason at all!"

"you sound like a child, y/n/n." you pull your arm away from your sister's grasp, crossing them across your chest.

"why are you taking his side?! you don't even know how he treats me." you snap, then your eyes go wide, a realization dawning on you. "you're friends with him aren't you?" when suki just stares back at you, you scoff, "that's why you wanted to have dinner... you wanted to force us into a room together... suki, you don't get it. he'll be back on his bullshit as soon as the night is over. until he gets over whatever resentment he has towards me, we'll never be friends. no matter how much you, or anyone wants us to be. he has to want to be friends, otherwise, it's no use trying."

"can't you at least try? for me?" suki asks softly, sound almost like a child. she's pleading, "i really like him, y/n/n."

"su! you're not hearing me! it's not for a lack of trying on my part, i try, it's him who's not trying." suki just stares back at you, and she shakes her head. "i'm just going to go back to the dorm, enjoy your dinner."

"y/n/n!" suki calls, but it's already too late, you both have already made up your mind.

February 21st, 2014

the next day, after vocal rehearsals, namjoon and you venture off to a nail salon.

"so, did you put any thought into what you want to do with your nails?" namjoon asks, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"are you actually curious? or are you trying to fill the space until i finally come out with what's bugging me?"

"well—" namjoon says, the word coming out high pitched. his eyes cast down at you from under his harry potter-esque glasses. "that is if you want to share what's bugging you..."

"apparently, my sister's friends with jimin!" you say angrily, then quickly backtrack, remembering you’re talking to someone who is one of jimin's friends. "i'm not trying to shit talk jimin—"

namjoon let's out a deep chuckle, "i know, go on."

relief washes over you as you begin your rant, "i just— i'm so frustrated by the whole situation! i don't understand why he hates me so much! however, i'm even more frustrated because it feels like he's pitting my own sister against me! i can understand him wanting to mark his territory with you guys, because he knew you first, but my own sister?! she thinks i'm being childish because i'm attempting to avoid him to avoid conflict, but she doesn't take into account my mental health over this. if it had been up to me, i wouldn't have been placed in an existing group, mainly for the whole point of stepping on the original members toes. i'm not saying i'm not grateful for the opportunity, but c'mon! those fans that are saying this is a scandal waiting to happen are right! you know she—my sister—text me last night after i walked off, to tell me i'm—me, i'm—the one being unreasonable! it's not for a lack of trying! i always try to be so nice, and that just seems to spur him on more, namjoon, i don't know what i'm doing! why does he hate me so much?"

namjoon sighs, and stops waking, you stop as-well, turning to look up at him. "he doesn't hate you, y/n. he just— he's worried he's not good enough and he's taking it out on you. it's not right, i'm not making excuses for him, but we don't know what else to do with him. hoseok's threatened him half a dozen times but it just makes things worse. we really don't know what to do with him,"

you rub the back of your neck, as frustrated as you is with the whole situation, talking about it seems to frustrate you even more. namjoon starts walking again when you doesn't reply.

"thank you," you mumble, trying to keep instep with him.

he casts a quick downward glance at you, then looks back up, "for what?"

"for listening, for not pushing the subject... for being my friend... you could have just as easily ignored me, made me want quit all together..."

"you know, i remember you from training..." namjoon says, his voice soft. "you never really made friends with any of the trainees. why?"

"i didn't see the point... i have trainee friends at sm, but we were all always so busy that we'd never follow through on plans... i figured why get my hopes up."

"that seems kind of lonely..."

"if i'm being honest, the only reason i made friends at sm is because of my sister... she's the social one. people drain me."

"and you thought a job in the entertainment industry wouldn't?" namjoon chuckles, shaking his head.

you shrug, "almost any job there is you have to deal with people to some degree, at least with this one i get to dance..."

"that's fair... oh, here we are!" namjoon grabs the door, holding it open.

"thanks, joon." you stop halfway into the salon, looking back at him. "i'm sorry, i should've asked before just—"

"it's okay," namjoon chuckles, you can see his eyes turn into crescents, indicating he's smiling behind the ash grey mask covering his mouth and nose. "you can call me joon if you want," he says dropping all formalities.

"well in that case you can call me y/n/n," you beam up at him, before entering the shop.

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totiredtowrite · 3 years

Text

"ＴｈｅＲｅｖｅｒｅｎｄ"

Warnings - Religious themes

Note: Lowkey hate the minimalist pic for this one bc it's not how I think kita would look but whatever yk. This didn't feel very wild west-y, lowkey hate the fic too 🤨

FEM READERS (SHE/HER, SHE/THEY), DO NOT INTERACT

/̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿

There are two sides to every coin.

This town is no exception. Tourists, visiting family or friends, people who just stop through, they only get one side of it. They get the kind people with bright eyes and even brighter smiles. They get the easygoing townsfolk who have absolutely nothing weird going on under the surface.

The reverend, on the other hand, gets the other side of that coin.

The church was put together. Well taken care of, cleaned regularly, polished and bright. The townsfolk, (aside from a few stragglers), came in on Sundays for the regular sermon, then they'd leave. Occasionally a funeral would be held there.

Of course, that wasn't all that happened. In fact it was far from it. Kita, working in arguably the most energy filled place in the whole damn town, has witnessed multiple things he wouldn't begin to explain. Birds who looked a little too human, whispering in the steeple, oddly quiet older women and men during Sunday service who he never sees again. He'd considered finding someone to work alongside him, though nobody was very willing.

At this point, he's just gotten used to it. And he's gotten used to you.

Hearing your voice in his head, seeing you prowling around his dreams, watching you occasionally lurk in the halls. Hell, he'll even say something back to you if your constant comments in his head about his 'stupid cross' got too annoying.

Not to say that he knows what you are though. What your name is, where you came from, if you're good or evil. He's just settled on neutral, much like an anarchist who would come through to say something about the church.

When it all started, he almost thought he was being punished for something. That some wayfaring god had sent you to torment him for the multitude of sins he's gathered during his day. Though, the longer it went on, the clearer it became that you were no lackey.

Tonight though, he could tell something was different. He could tell the moment you didn't disappear as he approached. You just kept sitting in his chair, feet propped up on his desk.

"What're ya doing here." He'd asked coldly. Kita hardly ever saw you. Usually you only showed in his dreams, or just as a disembodied voice in his head. When he did see you it was only for a couple seconds.

Your head shot up from the paper in your hands. (One that you clearly plucked from his desk). "Oh-! Hi father," you said, dragging out both of the words. Kita could already tell that this interaction was going to be hard to get through.

You, on the other hand, were elated. The cute human who you may or may not have a crush on is standing less than fifteen feet away from you, and you weren't booted back into the veil! Maybe today you could actually stay here.

Kita watched you pull your legs off of his desk, leaning forward to grip the edge of the chair visible between your thighs. The only reason why he wasn't startled or frozen at the moment was how...non threatening you looked to him. Maybe others would say otherwise, but he's seen you enough in his dreams or out of the corner of his eyes to be fine.

The abnormally large bat shaped ears jutting out from the sides of your head shifted with every expression you made, reflecting whatever you said. Two small horns, one larger than the other, grew out of your forehead. Aside from that and your weirdly glowy (e/c) eyes, you looked more human than he thought you'd be. Still, he could just feel that you weren't.

"Well," he sighed and leaned against the doorway. "Is there something you needed, demon?"

You gasped in faux offense, chuckling shortly after. "I'm not a demon, father," you rolled your eyes. "I'm more...meta human." You gave him a toothy smile.

His look didn't falter.

"Right," you deflated at his lack of interest in your antics, dragging out the word. "I jus' wanted to see you."

That caught him off guard, his hand instinctively reaching to the cross strung around his neck. "For what reason," he started slowly.

"Mm I dunno," you gave him another insufferable smile, "Maybe I jus' really like cute humans with grey hair."

He still looked far from impressed. "Well, leave," he said.

You looked shocked for a moment. You knew he was blunt but you didn't think he would just straight up tell you to leave. You shuffled awkwardly in his chair. "You don' wanna learn about me? N'my kind n stuff," you nervously trailed off.

He sighed heavily, dragging his large, well worked hand through his cropped hair. "No, I do not. Unless you've got something important to tell me, or show me, I do not need you here."

Your ears drooped a bit. You don't know why you thought this would actually go anywhere. The longer you watched him, the more you built up this image of how it would be in your head. You'd meet, he'd fall head over heels for you, you'd be 'stuck' in this realm, an adventure would ensue, and eventually it'd end with you staying and getting married to him.

Childish, sure. Childish and rather stupid, but oh well right? As it turns out, you were far less charming to him than he was to you.

He turned to leave. He hadn't anything important to do in his office anyways, though now he just wanted to head home. "Wait!" You called.

Kita could make out the sound of his chair being pushed out as you stood up. He paused, giving you a brief invitation to say what you wanted to say. "Can you just give me a chance! Please? I'll be good, promise," you nervously tugged on your larger horn.

He looked down, eyes closing. "A chance for what."

You ignored how it sounded more like a demand than a question. "I dunno! Just hangin around? I'll even work at the church! Just let me stay with you, only for a week!"

He perked up at your offer to work at the church. Turning around, he finally looked you dead in the eye. "Only if you work."

A smile split your face, head nodding up and down feverishly.

No way in hell was this a good idea, but at least he could keep an eye on you.

Do not repost, translate, or copy my work on to other platforms.

#kinda hate this but whatever #hq x male reader #m!reader #anime x male reader #x male reader #male reader #haikyuu x male reader #kita shinsuke x male reader #kita x male reader

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qyllenhaal · 3 years

Text

God’s Face in the Fire || Part 2

Dark!Lee Bodecker x Dark!Reader

Summary: A wife who would do anything to give her husband the world, even if it means getting herself involved with his trouble.

Word Count: 10.3k

Chapter warnings: dark themes!!! contains mentions of murder, non-graphic death scenes, smut (loss of virginity in a flashback scene), manipulation, brief mention of sexual assaults, misogyny, uncomfortable situations. Please heed the warnings!!! 18+ only

A/N: It's been forever since I posted. The last two weeks have left me discombobulated that it was hard to find time to sit down to write and edit this, but I'm glad I got to it! The next part is going to be the last part but I have plans to do one-shots for this universe. I'm going to be posting a Senator!Chris fic tomorrow so stay tuned for that.

Enjoy!

"You remember when I took you out for milkshakes and you spilled yours all over me? You were wearing that exact same color," Lee said pointing at the dress she was pressing.

"All those years ago, and you still remember that?" Y/n wanted to drown in this tender moment she's having with her husband. Hearing him laugh, his stomach shifting, and his eyes wrinkling.

"How could I? Watching you get all flustered and cute really got me goin’. It's when I knew I was gonna marry ya."

The days have been incredibly warm and beautiful since Y/n had done what she did. It was cruel irony that she was enjoying another day while someone’s body was rotting. The softer moments of life were few and far between these days, but right now she’s offered her a wonderful distraction.

She had taken on more tasks than usual to distract herself from the intrusive thoughts she had. She even accepted a last minute invite to help put on an event at the local rental hall with some of the other mothers in town. It gave her an excuse to look nice and show herself off to anyone who had some doubts about Lee. Things were looking good for him, but there was always something to do to further rehabilitate his image. She always looked her best as the sheriff's wife. Keeping up the appearances exhausted her since they have become more frequent for her. However if she wanted the people to fawn over her lovely family, she had to show up. An arts and crafts event for the kids is also a good chance to get their daughter out of the house.

Teenage Y/n did not see herself becoming a housewife so young. It was unsavory to think about being a homemaker for one of the boys’ at school. She surmised that she would’ve stuck by her original plan if she had not been so lonely. All of Y/n's friends left within a year of graduating high school. She didn't have that many friends to begin with, but she thought that at least one would always be there for her. Rose went to college, and Barbara found a man to marry and moved to upstate New York. Only one stayed for some time, Judith, but she eventually left after having a shotgun wedding. It was selfish of her to think that someone would stay just because she got rejected from the only college she had applied to. Other people had lives and Y/n was just not at the center of them.

The absence of her friends made her pregnancy more lonely. Her baby shower consisted of her family, Lee’s sister, and his co-workers and their wives. None of the women seemed to be fond of Y/n. It always plagued her mind to know if they thought she was too young and stupid or if it was just something else

She found solace in some of the other mother's in town. When she began showing up around to volunteer at bake sales and food drives she expected them to look at her face and then down at her belly and reject her. She is younger than them and feared they'd find her naïve. She had kept to herself for so long that she thought they'd write her off as the sheriff's meek wife.

Y/n didn't get a chance to mingle with anyone prior to her marriage and Lee made it harder by insisting in little ways that she stay in the house. No one was at fault that Lee wanted to keep her to himself. It was possible he did it out of insecurity, but Y/n now speculates that it was because he didn’t want to hear or even see what he may have been doing.

One of the ladies who Y/n only knew by her dark hair and distinct, pointy nose joked that Lee had, "finally let Rapunzel out of the castle." When the other mothers joined into laughter, she felt small. It was only a harmless joke that was steeped in the truth. It took her persistence to no longer wanting to feel alone while being pregnant to get the women to warm up to her, and the did.

"I remember spilling the milkshake, but I was too embarrassed to remember anything else about that night," she admitted.

Lee remembers that night very well. He wishes that she didn't end the night so quickly because she ruined a pair of trousers that could easily be replaced. He had only bought them to impress her, but it didn't take much to get her to swoon over him. No other man was giving her the time of day.

"We should go out to that diner Friday night. Now that we have someone to watch the little one, we don't have to stop by your parents to drop her off anymore. I can just scoop you up and we can have a night together," Lee pressed himself into Y/n's backside. She giggled when his hands lightly danced against her ticklish sides.

Lee had also been aware of the slim moments of intimacy with his wife. He was serious about this race but he truly underestimated how much time and effort he'd have to put into this. But people really did love the old mayor. The only slight Lee had against him was his old age and how some believed that if he kept going then he might run into some health problems. The rumors about him becoming more and more forgetful were minute compared to the dark gossip swirling about Lee though. Some of the people in town would probably vote for a paper bag before Lee.

His biggest fear is that he loses the election and drives his wife away. He could lose the race, but if his wife somehow slipped away, taking their baby with her, he’d drink himself into a stupor. Lee tried his very best to hide his insecurities from her. When he worried, she worried too and it made it much harder for him to plan his way out of whatever hole he is in when he has a hysterical wife to deal with. That's why he'd rather not tell her anything.

Lee also wasn't the young man in his prime anymore, he believed that his good looks were fading, and he has gained a considerable amount of weight. The fear of Y/n just up and leaving him for someone younger than him and riding off to the city always plagued him. The birth of their daughter should've assuaged him, but his self-doubt always lingered like a cloud that made him stick to his vices.

"I've really missed ya honey...missed this body of yours."

Y/n flinched when his hands ran down the front of her body, over her stomach and then circling up back to her breast. Her body has changed considerably since giving birth and the hormonal imbalance left her feeling tired, sad, and alone. Her mother told her that all she had to do was look at her child and she'd feel better, but every time she looked at her little girl all she did was worry. Was she a good mom? Why was her daughter crying so much without much working? Was Lee staying at work for long hours to avoid the crying and her? Did he still find her attractive?

They’re both too busy thinking Lee's mayoral bid to realize they felt the exact same way as each other. If there was any other time that proved they were an extension of each other, it was now, but they were too blind to see it.

"Lee y-you're going to be late for work," her voice was weakened by his lips now nipping at her neck.

"Don't give a damn," he whispered against her skin, inhaling her familiar scent, "just wanna feel my wife."

Today, Y/n felt herself slipping back into her normal self and normal life. She melted into Lee, hoping that maybe they could have a moment to themselves, but they were interrupted by the phone ringing downstairs. Every early morning and late night phone call had her on edge. They never seemed to be about anything important but it hasn't failed yet to make her stomach churn.

Lee groaned and pulled away from her. She watched him disappear to go answer the phone.

It has been nearly two days and the only thing on her mind is what happened after she left that brothel. The anxiety made her feel sick. Hours later after it happened, around 2 a.m., she woke up and darted to the toilet. Lee kept asking her if she was pregnant as he held her hair back while her face was in the toilet. She dismissed his claims, knowing full and well that she was just sickened by her actions.

Lee had not mentioned a death or anything related to that brothel, so had he even been found? Was his death even reported? The girls who worked for him were probably too worried about their own arrest than the death of their abusive boss.

She wiped the look of worry off of her face when she heard his heavy footsteps coming back up the stairs.

"Who was it?"

"Your brother," his tone held disgust, "invited us to dinner on Sunday. He asked to speak to you but I told him you were still sleep."

"Lee!"

"I don't want to hear it," his voice boomed, much more dominant and rough than hers, "I ain't having dinner with him and I don't want to hear your mouth about it."

Y/n stayed silent and watched him grab the police hat resting on the dresser. She hated for him to leave on such a sour note, but she wouldn't dare say anything in fear she might make things worse.

He started towards the door of their bedroom before turning back to his wife, "Sandy supposed to stop by Saturday. I don't know why, so don't ask, but she claims she's comin'. Who knows if she'll stick to her word."

It’s like Lee did that on purpose, as some sort of sick payback for her brother calling. Y/n was not fond of Sandy and did not like to be around her for more than ten minutes. Sandy was a nice girl, a bit unsavory at times, but her husband Carl was a stain on her life. There was something about him that reminded her of the men her mother had warned her about when she was a young teenager; a man with a slick tongue and a creepy air around him. However, she found Carl much more sinister than that. The look in Carl's eyes when he looked at her and flashed her that unsettling smile was imprinted into her brain. They did not come around much, but when they did it was always a traumatic experience for Y/n.

Lee left the room before Y/n could respond. He knows how Y/n feels, but he can’t bring himself to care right now. She’s not going to protest against it because she knows better than that. He focused on the sound of soft babbling from his daughter as he walked into her room.

"Hey you," she looked up at him with her big eyes and her widening smile that made his heart swell, "you gonna be good for your mama? You've been on a mean streak lately and I'd hate to make good on my threat and put you in baby jail."

His daughter reached up and tried to grab at his face. Lee was clean-shaven now, but for the first few months of his daughter's life he had enough hair on his face for her to grab a hold of. It was funny to see how she still tried to grab at his non-existent hair, pinching his skin in the process.

"Miss the beard little lady? You're just like your mama," he kissed her forehead and felt a deep sense of guilt that he had to leave her to go to work. But everything he did was for her and if he believes that the long hours are going to pay off. All of his work is going to pay off when he wins that race.

The dress her daughter wore was blush to complement her mother's golden one. She looked around at every single building and person they passed as if it was her first time seeing it again. Her sense of wonder always made Y/n adore her even more. Y/n wondered what was going on in the little mind of her and what sense she made of the world.

She was never fussy when they were out, which was good for Y/n, but also good for the rehabilitation of Lee's image. He has such a good daughter and pretty wife, he must be doing something right. Every single person who stopped to say hi or coo at how cute her baby was, Y/n wondered if they have ever said something negative about Lee. Y/n never received weird stares or grimaces that would make her paranoid, but she still felt on edge. She always wanted to be on her best behavior, especially when Lee was not with her.

Y/n was forced to be her normal self; cheerful even though her mind was reeling over two nights ago, her sister-in-law, and what the conversation between Lee and her brother this morning may have sounded like. When one of the toddlers thrusted their drawing her face she feigned an excited smile. She hoped the mother's didn't notice her lackluster attitude.

"Y/n , can I speak with you?"

It was Sally's voice that called to her. She looked at the blonde woman with a bit of panic on her face. She thought that she was going to get chewed out by her, especially since she pulled her far away from the other children, and her daughter who was being held by one of the recently graduated girls.

"Is everything alright Sally?"

"I should be asking you that. Why am I hear things about Mrs. Blackwater sayin' she seen your Lee dumpin' bodies in the river behind her house?" At that moment Y/n could not hear her despite her lips still moving. Her blood ran cold at that last name being mentioned. It's been years, close to a decade, since she thought about that old woman, but the mere mention of her name brought Y/n back to a place she didn't want to be.

"I-I...I don't know what she's talking about-"

"My husband and I made a sizable donation to your husband's campaign, and it would be a shame to see him lose," the sugary voice and fake smile on Sally's face made Y/n's stomach ache. She didn't like how some of these women could be so fake because it always made her question if they really liked her or not. But Sally didn't care what Y/n would respond with, all she cared about was her and her husband's reputation, "you're not that much younger than me so you remember them days when that old bitch would be on her porch spewin’ whatever nonsense she could think if at any girl who walked on her sidewalk. No one likes Mrs. Blackwater, but don't think for a second they won't consider what she has to say about that husband of yours. I've heard too many whispers about him and I don't like it. I'll pull my endorsements if you don't fix this shit."

Was murdering one person not enough to save her husband from losing this race? The brothel owner was one person, someone who would not be missed by many people, but could she do something about Mrs. Blackwater?

'That's not right, that's not right.'

No matter how much she tried to shake that evil idea off, it kept creeping into her mind. Murder was the unlikely tool she had in her arsenal all along. It was morally wrong to kill someone, but her victim and the potential one had not been nice people. Mrs. Blackwater's stain on this Earth paled in comparison to Reed's, but that woman made her blood run much colder than the brothel owner.

It was so ironic that Mr. Blackwater was a beloved man in town because no one could stand his wife. They knew not to cross her path and that pies and home cooked meals would not abate her disdain for people. A man who was so kind and friendly was married to the most antisocial person Y/n has ever come across. But he never wasted a moment to sing her her praises. Y/n remembers one of her sons and he was mean just like his mother; a school yard bully that would beat up on anyone he saw as weak and alone. Y/n was lucky that he knew she had an older brother to protect because the Blackwater’s youngest boy never tried anything with her. However, she was not lucky enough to escape the wrath of Mrs. Blackwater. The irony was that she probably would've been better off being a victim of her son. That woman was nasty and wasn't afraid to show it.

"Don't you two get tired of dressing like whores?"

They had to pass the Blackwater house to get to Rose's house. Her house used to be at the end of the street before it got burned down, leaving the Blackwater house the last one on the street. It was nice, and had a big, big porch that Mrs. Blackwater always sat on for most of the day. She didn't stop at calling them just "whores'' and "wenches" either. Y/n never could understand why they always took the brunt of that woman's anger. Rose went home in tears every time she walked by that house. Maybe Y/n's anger is displaced, but she blames Mrs. Blackwater for why Rose was so eager to leave. There wasn't much here, but Rose always promised she'd stay. But ever since they encountered Mrs. Blackwater's misery, Rose had changed.

She could imagine that same venomous voice saying awful things about her husband, "Lee Bodecker put that body in the water. I saw it with my own two eyes!"

The thought of her husband killing someone shouldn't sound so crazy, especially after being able to do it herself. But her Lee can't be a cold-hearted man who slept with whores, murdered people, and ruined people lives. He was so sweet to her, he wasn't always was, but his touch was so soft against her skin, how could he hurt anyone?

Y/n had just turned 19 when she met Lee. He was a deputy, closer to being the sheriff than either of them knew at the time. Their age difference scared her somewhat; she only gave him a chance so she could distract herself from reminding herself that she should be finishing up the last year of being a college freshman. She had the grades and thought her test scores were satisfactory but she got rejected from Indiana University. Her father told her that there is always next year, but her mother told her she should just figure out a new plan.

It was the uncertainty and loneliness that made her get closer to Lee. He was close to his late 20s, unmarried, and he didn't exactly make his loneliness unknown.

He left a sour taste in her mouth in their very first encounter; pulling her over as an excuse to get her number. She gripped the steering wheel to stop them from shaking so much. She only had her license for a few weeks and made sure to be careful in fear of this exact situation happening. His slick talk didn't make her feel that much better either. She was too shaken up to even look at him in the eye or take in any of his features. She just remembered seeing his badge the words DEPUTY SHERIFF etched into it.

Lee let her off, saying she had a "pretty face" and that he hoped to see her around. She didn't think much about their interaction the days after he pulled her over, but she began to see him more than before. Y/n couldn't remember a time she had seen him prior to that one night and found it odd that his face kept reappearing. (He later told her that it was fate, but it was not. Lee purposefully put himself in her orbit. It was not hard to learn what her routine was and when she went out.)

She was weary about his advances, unsure how to react to them because the most experience she's had was with two boys, only one of whom she kissed. Their first date was not by choice either, he just decided to stick by her side while she was at the local dinner by herself.

And he has always stuck by since then, always hovering around her until she realized he was not going to go away and it’d be futile to ignore him. Lee never gave her the chance to make the decision for herself, but his girl was so sweet and she just needed a few cushy words for her to understand that this was where she belonged.

"Do your parents know you're out here meeting me?" It had only been a matter of time before she learned to be very obedient to him; always accepting his plans, even if it meant sneaking out of the house in the midnight hour. The smirk he wore on his face every time he watched her walk up to him left her feeling enchanted.

"Don't talk too loud. If my brother hears you he'll kill you and have my head."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her front to him. Lee groaned at the feel of her breast against his chest. She was so nervous to do anything with him that she only let him kiss her. It was fine for a while, but he had grown tired of waiting. Tired of being teased by her in those soft, pink dresses that would ride up whenever she had to bend over even just a little bit. He couldn't believe how naive she was to believe he was always dropping things like a pencil or his wallet on accident; he just wanted to see her bend over for him just for a chance to peak at what pretty panties she wore that day.

Getting her to come out with him at night was surprising, but the idea of riding in his patrol car was so alluring. The sparkle in her eyes gave him an overwhelming sense of machismo; enough for him to realize he just needs to take what she wants.

The full moon hung in the clear sky and they had a vast, open field in front of them. He took her just to the edge of the county that was secluded and was his favorite spot to go for some quiet (or getting his dick sucked). The moonlight and a few street lights that were actually working were the only light they had.

"You look so pretty today baby," his hand rested on her thigh the whole entire drive but only now did he actually move it to stroke her skin, "you always look so pretty for me. I'm the luckiest man in town."

Y/n giggled and her face felt like it was burning up. No one had taken the time to compliment her sweetly, and that was obvious to Lee. He cradled her face in the palm of his hand and watched her turn into putty. His hand inches closer to her heat causing her to jump like his hand was made of actual fire.

"Relax baby...just relax for me," Lee planted his face in her neck and nipped at it. His lips tickled the skin on her neck and she did her best to suppress her giggles but they spilled from her lips. Lee smirked against her skin, "there she is. There's my girl."

She let a laugh slip through, but she suppressed the moan that was stuck in her throat. It was so odd to feel him on her neck but it was an unfamiliar feeling that she liked. His hand never left her thigh, in fact he had sneakily moved it closer to her sex. She felt ashamed about the growing wetness that she could feel sticking to her.

Lee grabbed her hand and placed it right over the bulge straining in his pants. She let out a heavy sigh when she realized what it was. "That's how hard you make me. You making me so fucking hard girl," he growled in her ears. This was something only the senior girls from her high school could dream about when they talked about hooking up with their boyfriends. None of them were even half the man Lee was, and here he was: hard and ready just for her.

"L-Lee," her voice broke into bits, her body overheating from Lee taking control, "wait, can we slow down?"

"You taste so sweet baby," he continued kissing her, ignoring her until she was pulling away from his grasp. "What's wrong girl?" The furrowing of his brow made her worry that she pissed him off. Lee was all she had, he convinced her to put away her dream of going to college and stay here for him, if she ran him off then she'd have nothing else.

"I'm just nervous. I’ve never done this before Lee," she hoped her honesty went a long way and would make him take her home instead. But all it did was make him readjust himself in his seat and pull away from her rather coldly.

Lee was irritated with her, she got him all hard, but he did his best to temper his anger. She's lucky that he was on the job all day and didn't have a chance to drink yet or else she'd see the side of him that he purposely hid from her.

"Don't be nervous baby. You know I love you right?" She nodded her head with her wide eyes holding a sad look in them, "good girl. Let me show you something."

Lee patted his lap and Y/n looked at him with apprehension.

"C'mon now," he patted his lap once again, this time with a bit of impatience in his voice.

Y/n awkwardly shifted over the center console of his patrol car and found herself in his lap. His strong arms wrapped around her waist and he rested his chin on her shoulder. She tried to ignore how his bulge poked at her slit through her cotton panties.

"You ever been in a car this nice before?"

"Uh-uh," she shook her head, somewhat distracted by the beautiful interior and his cock poking at her. The only car she's ever drove was the shitty one that was passed down to her. Lee's patrol car doesn't look like it's more than five years old.

Seeing her look in wonder at the dash made him even harder. He began to rut against her, trying to feel as much friction as he could, but it wasn't enough to satiate a man who has been waiting a few months for this.

He sat back and started fumbling with his pants. Y/n heard the sound of the metal on his belt and unzipping of his pants but she froze on top of him instead of moving. She grabbed the steering wheel and held onto it as tight as she did the night he first laid eyes on her. Her alarm rose when Lee lifted her up a little to push her panties to the side.

"Lee what are you doing-"

"Shhh baby don't worry, I got you."

The sensation of his head poking at her slit and her sliding down him was unspeakable. She was uncomfortable with his splitting size, but he didn't move her at all, trying to give her some time to adjust but it was just so hard for him to restrain himself. She was so tight and warm, and definitely untouched by any man. "Fuck," he mumbled warmly in her ear. She felt him wrap his arm tighter around her, almost as if he was afraid she was going to somehow run away from him. Even if she wanted to, she wouldn't know her way back home and she'd be stuck out here. She was safe with Lee even though she found herself feeling more confusion than pleasure.

Those girls from her high school days had to been lying to her, sex didn’t feel all that magical; his patrol car was not a romantic place to lose her virginity. Lee rocked her on his cock slowly as she tried to find the same pleasure that he was experiencing. His heavy breath was on her ear as she stared straight up into the night sky.

"You feel so good. You feel so fucking good baby."

His pleasure is what made her want to stay on top of him like this. She cared for him so much and she just wanted Lee to be proud of her. The "good girl" that continuously spilled from his lips sounded like a hymn she wanted to memorize.

Y/n let Lee have his way with her body. He groped her breast through her dress and then let his hands graze her sides. She wondered what he was doing when his hand slipped into her panties, but the warmth that shot through her made her mind go blank. Lee rubbed at her sensitive bud and she constricted around him. Instead of whimpering, she was now fully moaning; the way it felt so good had put her discomfort into the back of her mind.

"Oh fuck -- move your hips girl. You feel so good."

He rubbed her harder as a reward for swirling her hips against him. She began to bounce on top of him and he no longer had to do the hard work, just lean back and feel her engulfing him in her warmth.

"Lee," she whimpered, unsure of herself, but then she called his name again, "Lee," as if to let him know that he was the one giving her pleasure.

Lee knew he wasn't going to last, not when she was as tight and wet as she was. He can't remember the last time he took someone's virginity, nor when he was this hard. It was clear to him that she had no idea what she was doing by the way she bounced on him without a rhythm. Sometimes she'd stall herself before moving fast again. It didn't irk him, he found it endearing that she was so inexperienced. He was going to have to show her a lot of things and get her to fuck him to his liking.

Y/n gasped when Lee pulled out of her and jerked himself until white liquid was splashing on the back of her panties. She'd have to wash them before her mother saw the stain.

"You did so good baby, taking my cock like a big girl," he placed a sloppy kiss on her cheek, still trying to catch his breath while she shifted on top of him. He put himself away and nudged her towards the empty passenger seat. She was silent the entire time he drove her home. A sense of pride filled her because she had made Lee feel good. The sex itself was too weird to describe as being good, but she liked how she felt inside when he told her she felt good and that she made him cum. That's all she wanted to do was please Lee.

Saturday morning proved to be another beautiful day. It seems as if Summer didn't want to leave just yet even though October was near. There wouldn't be many more opportunities for Lee to make his impressions and sway the last few voters not on his side.

The event had been boring at most, but Sally's words really shook her up. No one in town would deny that Mrs. Blackwater has always been a bitter women, but they also wouldn't necessarily turn the other cheek if she starts going around saying that Lee Bodecker is a murder. Y/n's new problem made her forget about the decaying brothel owner. She doesn't care how mean the whole town thought the old woman was, she wanted her gone.

"You slept in. Did I tire you out last night?" Lee had the same smug smirk on his face that has been imprinted on her brains since their early years together.

Y/n nodded even though it wasn't completely truthful. She slept so hard because she's mentally spent and it was finally catching up with her body. Lee had been too distracted to notice how distant she was last night and how she is still distant now. In his eyes, as long as she was eager to lay under him then everything was fine.

Most mornings started like this: Y/n waking up next to her still tired husband and waiting to hear her daughter crying for her. He trudged out of bed and she heard him beat a path down the hall to the bathroom. There was still no sound of her daughter needing her, giving her some time alone. It was nearly silent except for the faint sound of the shower going. She breathed deeply and found herself feeling serene. Just five minutes without the memory of Sally threatening to pull her and her husband's support taunting her.

"Y/n! Do you not hear her crying?" Lee held a stern look on face, he must have been standing there for a few minutes. His towel was wrapped around his waist, stomach hanging over the soft white cotton, "what's wrong with you girl?"

She shook her head, "nothing Lee. I'm just still a lil' tired."

His face softened at her explanation but he nodded his head towards the door so she could take care of their daughter. Y/n hurried not to upset him for the rest of the day.

Their baby was just fussy and hungry. Her little eyes weren’t that red so she hadn’t been crying for long. “You hungry?” Her daughter somewhat understood what her mother was saying because her eyes went wide. The nightgowns Lee had bought Y/n made it much easier for her to pull herself out of them to feed their girl. She could see her daughter calming down, eyes closing once again. Y/n thought about keeping her daughter with her but she needed to rest in her crib. She placed her down gently as not to disturb and wake her again. At least one person in this family deserves peace.

"Back to sleep?" Lee's voice startled her, but the hand on her hip soothed her. Y/n nodded, never taking her eyes away from her girl. "Precious isn't she? So sweet when she's not fussin' about."

"She only fusses because she's teething, and she misses her father."

"Honey, you know why I'm at work longer than usual. It's for her. It's for you. It's for us. Do you know how much better her life, your life, is going to be better after I win that race?"

"But what if you don't win?"

Y/n rarely questions Lee, not even over small things, so he was confused as to why she was questioning him now. Did his wife not believe in him? She worried a lot, but when he first ran for sheriff, she was not this doubtful.

"What are you trying to say?"

"Lee, I didn't say that. It's just that people been talkin' and -"

"And you believe them? So my own wife doesn't think I'm going to win because a few people can’t got some things wrong?”

Y/n flinched as his voice got louder. The brashness of his voice woke their girl up from her attempt to fall into a deep sleep. Instead of waking up and silently looking around, the first thing that came from her was a cry. It served as a way for Y/n to escape Lee's wrath. She pulled her crying daughter into her arms and held her close to her chest. One glance at Lee's face and she knew he was going to deal with her later. But for now he just sighed and walked out of the nursery.

"Aww don't cry honey. It was just your daddy, okay? He's not mad at you sweetheart. Don't cry...don't cry," Y/n's voice cracked and tears slipped down her face. Her pleas were more for herself than they were her daughter.

Lee's hesitance to address the obvious problems he faces in regards to the election made Y/n feel uneasy. All she wanted was for her husband to just outright say he never did those things, but he never did. And if Y/n has resulted to murder, then she knows deep down that he did some of those things that people allege. There were just things that were too loud to drown out. The business when it came to solving a string of murders that happened a few years ago and people talking about him didn't affect him when he was going for re-election. There was no one else that had a strong enough presence to go against him and the folks in town figured that Lee gets enough done as far as crime goes, even though he could do more.

Y/n should be tired of trying to clean up his mess when he was so short with her. However it is not entirely his fault; he does not know. Maybe one day he'll learn and be grateful for what she has done for him.

Lee just couldn't stop reminding her that Sandy and Carl were coming over. It's almost as if he knew it got under Y/n's skin and used it against her after she hurt his feelings this morning. He's a sensitive one, even though he hides it well from most people, but her moment of vulnerability wasn't meant to hurt him. Though if their conversation had progressed any further, she might have spilled what she did to the brothel owner. She may want to believe Lee would be proud of her, but she cannot be so sure. It's sickening to assume that someone would be proud of a murder. She quickly began to feel dirty after a few minutes with her own thoughts ever since Lee snapped at her.

"Can you clean up? We're going to be having guests soon."

There were just a few baby toys on the floor but it was best not to make things worse with Lee (even though those toys were going to end up in the same place anyway).

Lee stepped outside as Y/n put their daughter in her high chair. Ever since her birth Lee was mindful not to smoke in the house; it was one of the house rules Y/n proposed that he was surprisingly very accepting of. She had taken away most of the things that he used to destress: alcohol, cigarettes, and candies.

She heard the motor of a car and Lee's muffled voice. She knew it was them, but hoped they were just making a short trip over. It's not like Lee likes Carl, and he's constantly complaining about his trouble making sister. Y/n hates that Sandy uses their daughter as an excuse to come over. She wouldn't mind if Sandy came alone, but she hated Carl around her little girl and she's sure Lee feels the same way.

Y/n's mother had gotten their daughter such a stupid gift when she was born. A baby that's not even half a year old yet didn't need a toy that had a million little pieces they could easily choke on, but of course it was her favorite thing to place with. Lee never cleaned up the mess, it was always Y/n who was doing it. She tried her best to pick everything up before they stepped inside but she heard the front door open. She tensed up, but she only heard the heavy footsteps of one person, and god did she hope it was Lee.

"What you doin' down there?"

Her eyes trailed up and Carl was gazing down at her. Words got caught in her throat and she clutched her hand around one of the toy pieces, the edges of it painfully digging into her palm.

"Did I scare you?"

The smirk on her face made her want to shriek. She noted that he didn't call her "darlin'" like he used to. She can only guess what Lee did to him when he "took him out back" after calling her that for a few years.

"Where's my niece?"

Y/n shot up, not caring about the toys still on the floor. She'll be damned if Carl is alone with her daughter for even a second.

Sandy came in with Lee following behind her. He gave Y/n a look of understanding, he too hoped this was going to be a short visit. The sound of Sandy fawning over her niece overtook the room. Their daughter giggled and babbled at her aunt as if she could understand her.

"Y/n go make us some ice tea."

Usually Lee doesn't command her to do things, unless he was stressed or horny. She knew her was the former by the look on his face. He was aggravated and this visit wasn't going to make him feel any better. As Y/n left the room, Sandy sat down on their couch with their daughter in her arms. Carl sat next to them, making the alarm in Lee rise.

"I got you something honey," she pulled out a little doll from her purse. It looked tattered and Lee wondered where she got it from.

"You know she already has enough dollies," Lee joked. It didn't matter to his girl, it was a new toy, "got anything for your brother?"

Sandy eyes him before pulling out a small bag of candy. She tossed it to him and he caught it, "I knew you'd ask for somethin'"

He opened it and instantly popped a sweet cherry candy into his mouth.

"Y/n's not letting me drink since the girl is so young. This is the only thing I got, even though she's on my ass about that too," Lee knew that Sandy wasn't too interested in the ins-and-outs of his everyday life but he gets tired of complaining to his deputies.

"Yea, I bet," she kept a snide comment about her sister-in-law to herself. The box of cigarettes she had calling her name we're going to have to wait. "How's that mayor race going?"

"It's going."

"Heard that whore house owner croaked," Carl's voice carried to the kitchen and Y/n paused, "found in unusual circumstances...chairs pushed up against the door...poisoned. Reckon one of those girls got tired of him holdin' them down-"

"No smoking in the house," Lee interrupted when he noticed Carl reaching for the pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket. Carl laughed as if he wanted to challenge Lee, but his hand went back to resting on the back of the couch.

"Wouldn't want this little darlin' smellin' like a bar."

Anytime Carl spoke at or about her daughter, Y/n wanted to vomit. Carl is not nice. She wonders how twisted Sandy might be to marry someone who is awful to women and has no filter.

There was a cloud of fear over her head when Carl was around. She wishes Lee was more apprehensive but Sandy's his little sister, and he cares for her no matter how much those two causes. Things would be different if Y/n had told Lee about that time Carl pressed himself against and put his hand up the skirt of her dress. His threat would forever bounce off her skull and it only got louder when he was near. "Shut you're fucking mouth or else your husbands gonna see his slut wife bending over for another man." She was five months pregnant and had no way to defend herself. He only groped her, but she always wondered if he would've gone further if Sandy hadn't come in looking for the cooking tongs Lee told her to fetch. Sandy knew something had happened, but she said nothing. Y/n's disdain for her only grew from that day on.

Lee redirected the conversation from what Carl had started to something a bit more asinine. He didn't want to talk about something work-related because he didn't need to be stressed out any further. Reed’s death wasn't another blow to his reputation like Lee thought it would. It was going to be another unsolved murder from the way it was looking though. The people assumed one of the girls did it. The place had been emptied out; it surely looked different from when Lee was last in there. Lee was lucky that Reed was extremely disliked, unlike that preacher Roy who died some years ago. More people said "he had it coming" instead of "why isn't the sheriff doing anything?"

He laughed about it though. When he was alone in the car after leaving the crime scene, he laughed. There was no more worrying about the rumor that Sheriff Lee Bodecker beat one of his girls. When Lee did go to that place, he was never forceful. Lee could be mean towards women at times, but he was never violent.

If Lee was called in on a Sunday morning, then it was very important. He woke Y/n up at 5 am and kissed her out of her confused state to say goodbye. She only slept for another hour after laying her head down back on the pillow.

This morning felt so different.

The morning she woke up knowing her task was to deal with Reed, she was distracted and jumpy. But she had grown so accustomed to her guilt that it's become a comfortable feeling. Mrs. Blackwater was a more personal score to settle. That woman was throwing dirt on Lee's name, but the turmoil she caused her teenage friend would never leave her mind. Y/n had learned how cruel someone could be without physically hurting you. The boys on school grounds were annoying brats, but that woman had a truly awful mouth.

The Petersons’ daughter was over right after church. She had a wide smile on her face, happy that Mrs. Bodecker was giving her another opportunity to make some money.

"She's been a fairly good mood lately," Y/n handed her daughter off to the shorter teenage girl, "she slept through the night for once, but she's still gonna need a nap. Once she starts fussin' put her in her crib. I should be back before Lee."

Y/n wished her well and the Petersons girl wished Y/n a good time running her errands. It was comical to think of this as an errand, even though today she was going to treat it like one.

She was in Lee's nice car again meaning she was going to have to temporarily get rid of it. Y/n put much more effort into this, her haphazard plan to take out Reed could've gone horribly wrong. She spent her time snooping around town when she was out with one of her mom friends. The plan had been simple: park the car at the crowded grocery just two blocks away from the Blackwater house. The house sat at the end of the street, a bit separated from the other row of houses because of the larger amount of land they owned. It wouldn't be a problem to walk to the house seeing as others in this neighborhood do the same thing.

When her mother had made that dress for her to wear to the Spring Formal, Y/n cried, saying she was going to look like a nurse instead of "the prettiest girl in town" like Jim, the guy who asked her to the dance said. A teenage grievance had somehow come in handy almost a decade later. It was under a long coat that was a bit abnormal for this warm day.

Y/n felt sickly confident. That only thing she worried about was Lee cruising through and seeing his car in the parking lot. But the grocery store offered a great cover. The sun was covered by a thick cloud as she walked away from the grocery store and to the old Blackwater house.

That porch still looked the same. It was old and rickety, squeaking as she stepped on it, she's surprised it didn't give it away some years ago. The rocking chair Mrs. Blackwater sat on while terrorizing people was no longer there. At least her days of scaring off the newer generation of kids were over.

Y/n knocked on the door and waited. She had to knock again, and by the third time she wondered if the old lady did the job for her!

"Who is it?" The voice was much more frail, but it was that voice.

"I'm here to help!" The upturn of her voice at the end made her statement sound more like a question.

The locks on the door began to click and Mrs. Blackwater peered at her.

"You're not the one they always send."

"Oh, she's sick today! I'm just filling in for her today!" After two weeks of watching, Y/n learned what days Mrs. Blackwater's nurse came and went. She came everyday but she was absent on Sundays. It's somewhat astounding that Mrs. Blackwater didn't ask about Y/n turning up on a Sunday.

"Ahh whatever," she dismissed, unlocking the screen door, and wheeling backwards in the wheelchair that she had been relegated to a few years ago.

Y/n didn't know what to expect when she stepped inside, but it wasn't too far off from how her parent's house looked; black and white photos littering the walls and stacks of paper that probably could've been thrown away a decade ago. What is different from her parent's home is that this place is an utter mess. The nurse that usually comes to take care of her could at least tidy it up a bit. With how much she hated everything, Y/n would've assumed she hated mess too, but her home says otherwise. This lady was an absolute hoarder.

"Don't bother me," Mrs. Blackwater sniped at her. She wheeled herself next to the couch and glued her eyes to the black and white television screen.

Y/n doesn't know how many hours Mrs. Blackwater spent sitting there and watching The Andy Griffin Show. She didn't laugh when something funny happened, she just sat there still, sometimes grumbling to herself in reaction to what was happening on screen.

The least Y/n could do was tidy up a bit. It would be a kind gesture to leave her to die in a presentable place.

Mrs. Blackwater is not going to die a violent death. She was awful, but she did not deserve the brutality like someone who has done physical harm did. (If she was just a little bit braver, she would've hacked him to death, but the sight of blood makes her ill). Mrs. Blackwater was up in age, nearing her 90s, and it would be time for her to go soon anyway. Y/n dusted around the TV, one of the last things this old woman may see. All the photos of people on the walls were staring at her as she moved about cleaning the dust from the frames. So many people, many dead but most probably alive. Mrs. Blackwater had children and probably grandchildren but no one came to visit her. Her tongue was sharp, but how could no one come and visit their aging mother?

"Stop moving so damn much. Sit down girl."

The venom was still in her voice. It would never go away, at least not until she dies. This woman didn't appreciate anything and enjoyed being miserable. Y/n listened to her like that scared little teenager she used to be. She sat on the couch, a few feet away from Mrs. Blackwater who had not taken her eyes off the TV or moved at all. Y/n was spending time with a woman who was going to die at her hands today. If she's going to die then at least she's going to die doing what she loves; watching her shows and bitching out the closest person in reach.

She had only moved to grab the newspaper from the table on the other side of her. It was Friday's addition, Y/n could tell from the photo on the cover. She couldn't help but eye the old woman as she read the paper. It has been probably three hours and she hasn't even asked for anything to eat.

"People droppin' like flies in this shit hole."

Y/n's ears perked up, but she didn't say anything, she just let the lady talk.

"Leroy should know better not to do that shit here...especially with that corrupt sheriff around...would've had an easier time gettin' away with it in the city. Everyone in the city already does all that illegal shit so it probably wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Now he’s dead."

Y/n had heard that name before. She remembers vividly Lee chewing someone out on the phone and saying their name with contempt. Leroy, Leroy, Leroy. The name "Bobo" also came up in the conversation a few times. Y/n wanted to be mad at Mrs. Blackwater for referring to her husband as "corrupt" but something nagged at her to keep the conversation going for her sake.

"W-what do you mean?" Her voice cracked but it was ignored by the old woman.

"You must not be from here. Everyone knows that if you get caught up with that fat bastard sheriff you must be doin’ some awful shit. The only reason why he keeps gettin' re-elected is because everyone is scared of him. It doesn't matter how many babies that man has, he's a killer...dragging that man's body and fucking up carnations..."

No one had ever talked to Mrs. Bodecker about her husband like this. Town gossipers had the decency to wait until she left the room to say something about him. But she's not Mrs. Bodecker right now. It does not matter anyway because the old lady doesn't know what she's talking about. She hasn't spent the hours with Lee, with him being sweet and so soft with his daughter. Y/n firmly believes that if Lee did indeed kill someone then it was for a good reason. She knows her husband involves himself in dirty things, but it had to be for a good reason. Lee did not show brutality for no reason; he didn't get his rocks off on hurting innocent people.

"People can change. I'm sure he's a different man now."

"Why!? Because he got a bitch and a bastard? You are too naïve...at least the other girl they send has some more sense in her head. No man is going to want to marry a dumb girl."

An awkward silence surrounded them but it was mostly felt by Y/n. She found herself frozen with a ball of rage and anxiety in her stomach. But she had no time to dwell for much longer though.

"I'm thirsty...go make me something."

Y/n noticed Mrs. Blackwater flinching when she grabbed the remote to turn the volume higher. She either had arthritis or just pain in her hands.

"Okay...do you need to take any pills at this time?"

"My husbands gone and my children don't visit me. You think I care about taking my pills?"

Maybe Mrs. Blackwater would be kind to her if she knew Y/n was going to take her out of her misery. Breaking open the capsules and dumping it in the tea she made for her is going to do the job. She might succumb to a heart attack, or pass peacefully. The only person Y/n felt bad for was the poor nurse who was going to find her dead tomorrow morning.

Lee was able to leave his shift earlier than expected. Sundays are very quiet, the only thing he got up to was paperwork at the station. He could go home early to his wife, play with the girl while Y/n makes dinner, and get a nice ride from his wife while their daughter sleeps. Y/n said something about needing him to pick up some chicken stock from the grocery store.

People filled in and out of the grocery store as the sun began to set. A few people spoke to him, never for too long knowing that he's not fond of small talk. But more people being friendly with him was a good sign. Even without his sweet wife next to him, no one shied away from saying hello to the man running for Mayor.

Two boxes of chicken stock should be enough even though his wife sent him for three. The brand she likes isn’t exactly cheap. Lee promptly made his way to the cashier who greeted him with a smile.

"Good evening sheriff!" her voice was sweet and she batted her eyes a few times. Lee offered her a smile, but a small laugh escaped. This girl couldn't be younger than 20 but she fawned over him like a young school girl. Her behavior reminded him of Y/n when she was that age. "Darlene said she saw your car in the parking lot but didn't get a chance to catch Mrs. Bodecker herself."

Lee stopped caring about the items (a few snuck in there for him) being rung up. His brows furrowed and the girl realized that she had said something maybe she shouldn't have.

"My wife was here?"

"That's what Darlene said. Her shift ended right as I was coming in so I wasn't there when it happened...do you still want the chicken stock?"

"Yea yea just ring it up."

Lee's mind was too preoccupied with the weird behavior his wife has been exhibiting for the last several weeks. She often hovered over him when he was on the phone like she was interested in what he was talking about. All the swearing and terms she didn't understand kept her from asking what his loud, and often abrasive, phone conversations were about. But now she was listening a little too hard for his liking.

The only time Y/n was supposed to drive their car is if Lee told her she could or if there was an emergency. A trip to the grocery store did not fall under either of those categories. But it was particularly weird to him that she would go to the store when she told him to go himself. If she had forgotten something, she would have not hesitated to call the station. Something was up with her.

Everything felt normal as he stepped into the house. The smell of what she was cooking hit his nose and the familiar noises of his daughter babbling louder than the Y/n moving around the kitchen. If he had no questions for his wife, then he'd feel all warm inside walking into his home in this current state.

Y/n was talking to their daughter as if she was holding a real conversation with her. Their daughter started squealing when she saw Lee appear in the doorway. He put his index finger to his lips to tell her to quiet herself, but she was only louder.

"I couldn't believe it either! They said the hairdresser purposefully dyed Marie's hair darker," she spoke, thinking her daughter was just squealing because she was talking to her and not because her husband was creeping up behind her.

Hands snaked around her waist and she nearly jumped. "Oh yea? Is that what the town is gossipin' about today?" Lee's familiar voice soothed her and she turned around in his arms. She deftly kissed him and looked up at him.

"Wanna know what else I heard?" He whispered to her. Y/n nodded, a smile spreading on her face as she rested her forehead against his, "heard the sheriff's wife been out and about and driving his nice car."

Y/n's smile fell from her face, but it only made Lee smile wider.

"You wanna tell me what you were doing out?"

"I needed something from the store."

"So my task to pick up the chicken stock after work was for nothing?"

"No...I went to my parents house...didn't want to go empty-handed. You know how my mother gets."

What a sweet little liar.

But she still had the smell of an old house lingering around her so maybe it wasn’t completely a lie. Still, he knew something was up with her.

“How was work?” She quickly tried to change the subject. Lee was not really in the mood to interrogate her, it was Sunday after all. He sat down in the chair next to his daughter's high chair. She started reaching for his hat but he was too far away, so Lee rested his head on the tray and let her have her fun. Y/n was probably going to be mad at him for putting his head where she eats and getting all of his “outside germs” all over it, but he didn’t care.

“I’m tired,” he confessed, a heavy sigh escaping him, “I’m really fucking tired.”

Y/n wishes she could lift more of her husband’s burdens. Killing people who were talking about him did not get rid of the core problem. Sometimes she wishes he never decided to run for mayor. Life was so much more comfortable when he would run unopposed for county sheriff. Instead her husband had a bigger dream. From the very beginning she felt like it was a long shot that this would be successful, but they had gotten so far in changing how most of the people viewed Lee. And even though they felt a way about him, they still respected the sheriff.

“It’s going to be over soon. I promise.”

He truly wanted to believe her, but the sinking feeling that the past was going to catch up with him was not going away.

#lee bodecker #lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker x you #lee bodecker x y/n #lee bodecker smut #the devil all the time #dark fic #lee bodecker fic #sebastian stan fic

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