#1940s AU

[georgiapeach30513]

Bullet In Your Heart, Part 8

Summary: you and Clark....

Pairings: Clark Kent X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, oral sex (F receiving), PIV sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, breeding kink, judgmental people, grief, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 4.2K

Previous

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

Your fingers dig into the sheets, and your eyes roll in the back of your head as your back lifts up off the bed. Holding onto whatever ounce of your senses you have left while you bite on your lip, it was the price you paid for having two small children.

Your back starts to rise off the bed, but his meaty hand press your stomach, holding you down. His right hand drives in and out of your core, while his mouth makes a meal of your honey. You can feel the rumble on your bundle of nerves as he chuckles when you slap a hand over your face. Muffling a scream you couldn’t stifle.

Clark’s mouth is a work of art. If you were artistic you would have already made a shrine to the godlike qualities he possesses. Starting to wiggle around, and then he curls those fingers. Hitting over your g spot over and over again until your body trembles. Still he begs for more. Using his shoulders to keep you good and spread. Your legs try to close at the overstimulation when his fingers pound into your sex. Seeing stars, you come undone, squirting into his mouth, and he laves up every bit of your juices like a man starved.

You’re left panting. Gazing up at the ceiling while your husband feasts, and you wait for the room to stop spinning. Lifting up to your elbows you watch Clark smirk at you as he wipes off his glistening face. “Don’t you look proud of yourself,” you huff out.

Clark nods as he stands up out of the floor. Picking your body up, he launches you up the bed before he’s splitting your legs, and crawling in between them. Slapping his cock over your clit, smiling even bigger, “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy that, my sweet little Cricket bug.”

“I really despise that nickname.”

“Why’s that?”

“The nickname of a child,” your eyes go cross eyed as he slams his girth into your body. “Oh my god.”

“You know why I like that nickname?” You shake your head no, and grab onto his hips as he starts a slow thrust into your body. Dragging his veiny cock out of you slowly, and leaving you breathless before he stabs back into you. “Because even though you’re not this tiny little girl anymore, there is this tight little cunt that I get use every fucking day.”

“Clark,” you whimper, and your nails dig into his back. “Clark, they’re gonna wake up.”

“And it’s time for us to have another one,” you nod your head up at him. Wrapping your legs around his waist, and you pull him even closer, yipping when his bulbous head grazes over your cervix, “You always did like me deep, huh? Like to feel me in your pussy for the rest of the day. Aren’t we going to that pool party?”

“What?” Pulling himself out of you, he goes harder than ever before. Moaning out loud, and he places a hand over your mouth.

“Quiet, Cricket,” he starts at an earth shattering pace. Leaving you begging for mercy. “I want you to go to that party with my seed dripping out of you. I saw Frank staring at you. There’s only one man you’re slutty for, and that’s me, understand?” You give him a head nod, and you cling to his back for dear life.

“Got me in a damn vice grip. My god, you’re coming aren’t you?” Another nod as your body becomes completely pliable for him. “Good fucking girl,” pulling out of your body, he flips you to your knees, before crawling behind you. Burying his cock balls deep into your cunt, he mounts you, and you have to hide your face into the pillows. “It’ll take this way. You're such a pretty little slut for me in the morning.”

You can feel him all the way your stomach as he splits you open. Using his body for his pleasure when you hear him use his strangled voice. “Are you coming a-a-again? It’s because you feel my cock throbbing, huh?”

“It’s because you’re fucking me so deep,” that was too loud, but you’re in a different world. Your body rocking with every hammer he does into you.

“Right…right there. Best pussy I’ve ever had,” Clark’s hands pull apart your ass cheeks, and he stares at where the two of you connect. Watching as he nearly turns you inside out, and your walls cling to him so tightly. “So fucking sloppy for me. Fuck — me!” One last hard push into you, and ribbons of hot cum fill your belly, and you look back at him with the softest smile. Your walls milk every last bit of his essence, making you all warm and tingly.

“That’s the one, Cricket. I don’t know if I want a little Lottie or a little Henny,” keeping himself inside of you, he adjusts himself down to his knees. Those crystal eyes look up at your satisfied face before back to the two of you. “I gotta keep it in there, okay?”

“Okay,” you whine. You didn’t want him to pull out yet anyways. “Clark?” He finally looks up at you, and you preen, “I love you.”

“Love you, too, Cricket bug. I meant it, you’re the best pussy.”

“I really don’t want to think of all the women you’ve been with while you’re inside of me.”

“Deep inside you,” he gives you a wink, spreading you wider apart. “You know, there is another hole back here,” you shake your head no, starting to giggle, “Dot let me…”

“Clark!” He starts laughing, spitting down to your ass, “No!”

“Come on. One time.”

“You’ve already came.”

“So if I get hard again?” You want to kick your husband off you, but then he looks back at your hole, starting to slowly slide himself out. Dropping out of your body when he just stares, “I love seeing how gaping I make you. God, I made such a mess.”

”Daddy!” The door handle wiggles a bit, and you’re thankful Clark was smart enough to lock it. It wiggles again when a big bang happens, “Daddy! Henny is in my room! Wake mommy up, and get your son! Daddy! I hear you laughing.”

“I’ll deal with this,” you say, standing up, and Clark points to your panty drawer. “Yes, daddy. Let me put this on, so I feel your mess inside of me while we’re with the neighbors, but you got to wash your filthy mouth. Lottie will want kisses. Go,” you motion towards the bathroom, and Clark walks towards it. But stops to pinch your nipples, and pull you towards him.

Slamming his mouth against yours, and you can still taste your arousal on his tongue. Moaning at how good he feels, “Daddy!” Lottie knocks on the door a bit, and he pulls back.

“I’ll make sure to fuck you again tonight, Mrs. Kent.”

“How about you let me fuck you?” He growls, and jogs into the bathroom, leaving you to pull on your panties and a nightgown. Opening the door to see your exasperated daughter stare up at you.

“What took you so long? Were you and daddy having a tickle fight again?”

“Yes, darling. Come on, let’s deal with Henry. He is just like your daddy, you know?”

“Wild man,” he really was. He was every bit as wild as Clark used to be. But marriage and children really calmed Clark down, and you couldn’t be more thankful. Life was different than you had planned, but you had finally learned to love where you are currently. Happy that you get to see Carter through Charlotte. She is every bit as sweet and loving as he was.

You give a curt smile to the host. Everyone here judged you for being with more than one man, and several hated you for taming Clark. He leans in behind you, kissing your neck, and placing another behind your ear, “They’re jealous that they couldn’t get me to settle down.”

“Oh, so Susie is someone you made a mess of?”

“Absolutely not. She’s someone I turned down. Such a prude. Here, take Henry, I’m going to go cook with the dads. Have yourself a cocktail,” he gives your ass a little swat before walking away, leaving you to kiss over Henry’s chunky cheeks.

“You know, I don’t know how you do it?” Judith, one of the more distant neighbors, says while walking up behind you.

“Do what? He’s really not that heavy.”

“Oh, no, dear, she means you and Clark,” you glance between her and Susie confused, and the host offers you a cocktail, “He can walk, right?” You answer yes, and she gives a point over to the kiddie pool. “He’ll be fine. I’m sure Clark won’t mind keeping an eye on him with you.”

Confused, you let Henry step onto the grass, and he runs right to his daddy’s legs. Crashing into them with a belly laugh, “See.”

“What about me and Clark?” You feared these women would never accept you as one of them. Bitter Betty’s. Throughout the years, the whispers never stopped. It didn’t help that you kept to yourself.

“Oh, honey, don’t get defensive. Of all the men that you could have found, you chose Carter’s best friend? Ain’t that a trip?” You smile sweetly at her, when in reality you want to gather your children and go back home. “How do they compare? I mean nobody was talking about Carter’s size, if you know what I mean.”

“What exactly do you mean?” Batting your eyes, you look straight at her, and thankfully her smile starts to fade.

“Don’t do that, it’s all good fun.”

“Yes, my first husband dying in a war is a riot. Thankfully Clark wasn’t drafted.”

“Did you ever, well, you know?” Judith shakes her head no at Susie, and you look between the two of them again. What were these women on. “I mean, everyone thought about relations with Clark. He’s practically slept with every woman in town.”

“Except you,” she shuts her mouth, clearing her throat. “No. I never once thought of Clark like that. In fact both of us were distraught when Carter passed. We fell in love during grief, and we fucked before we were married,” Susie gasps, placing her hand on her chest, and Clark turns around, now holding Henry. His face is full of concern as he watches you leave the women.

Leaning down to Charlotte in the water, “Lottie, come on, baby.”

“No, I’m playing with my friends.”

“Charlotte Abigail Baizen, out of the pool now!” You feel your cheeks inflame with anger as she pouts, climbing out of the pool, and Clark hands you the baby.

“I got her. Hey?”

“Don’t you thank them for inviting us either,” Grabbing Henry with a huff, and kisses his cheek you start to stomp home. Fuck all of them. They could go straight to the pits of hell for all you cared. They had no idea the inner battle you feel every single day. Feeling guilty that you can’t love Clark the way that you loved Carter because Clark would never be him.

But somehow in the midst of your turmoil you fell in love with Clark. The way he fathered your children. The way he looked at you every morning. You were feral for the way he treated you when it was just the two of you. It wasn’t the same, and would never be, but you and Clark had created something entirely different. You created a love that bloomed from grief and friendship.

Clark finds you in the living room, dancing around with Henry while an old record plays, shooing Lottie into her bedroom, when you kiss over Henry’s closed eyes. Humming along with the music when Clark comes back. He stands at the entrance of the living room, watching the two of you. “Cricket, go put him in his crib.”

“I need him right now.”

“Don’t use my son as a way to avoid this conversation,” looking up at him, you scowl. That isn’t what you’re doing. “Cricket, he’s asleep. Either you take him or I will.”

“Clark, you don’t understand.”

“Then put my son in the bed and explain it to me.”

“Your son,” you hold his body closer to you, wishing you could rewind the day, and never go to that stupid party. You didn’t need friends. “You never tell me what to do with your daughter. I guess because she’s Carter’s?”

“Go put Henry in the bed, and let’s talk about this because you’re being unreasonable. Now!” With a final kiss, you stalk out of the living room. Laying him down in his crib, and you pet along his perfect skin. He is one of the most beautiful little boys you have ever seen. Deciding it’s best not to make Clark wait too long, you walk back into the living room.

Clark is now in his chair, lighting up a cigarette when he looks at his watch, “That took almost five minutes. His room is just down the hallway.”

“You timing me? Can I not take my time to look at your son? I thought about stopping in Lottie’s room to help her change, but thankfully Carter’s daughter is smart enough to change out of her wet bathing suit.”

“What the fuck is your problem? Lottie is my daughter, Henry is my son, and they’re our children,” he watches your chest heave. Breathing angrily, you try not to shed a single tear. Clark has always been there. Was there the moment Charlotte was born, and you have built a beautiful life. “Why are we bringing up Carter?”

“Because he’s always going to haunt us. Because you couldn’t keep it in your pants, and you had to fuck his widow. Your best friend, Clark.”

“You weren’t complaining much,” you hate how he can be so calm when you are raging. You want to throw something at him. He is the reason you went to the party. “So why are we bringing him up?”

“Because those stupid bitches hate me. They hate that I married you, hate that I tied you down, and have your child.”

“They hate that you know what I feel like, and feel me everyday.”

“You’re such a slut.”

“Yeah, for you,” you roll your eyes, starting to walk away, but Clark stands quickly, grabbing your wrist, and pulls you into his body harshly. “You’re my little slut, and I’m yours. I don’t care what those women think.”

“But I do! You insist on trying to be friends with the neighbors, and going out and being social. And I go there and they talk to me like I’m trash because I’ve had two dicks.”

“Who the fuck cares?! Are we happy? Are our kids happy? Did I not fuck my seed into you just this morning? Cricket, I don’t care about them. I care about you. You don’t want to be social, fine. We’ll get us a pool. Get the kids a playground. You and them are all I care about. And I’m not going to spend the next six months arguing about Carter. He’s gone. And…I’m glad.”

You lean back to gaze up at him, tears filling your eyes while you search his face. “I wouldn’t want to have missed this with you. So yeah, you tamed the slut. If he’d come back, I wouldn’t have you and our home. I love you, Cricket Bug. You’re my favorite person, followed by a tie for second. I can’t change his death, but I can love you fiercely, and take care of you. But I will not be the other man in my home. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes,” he wasn’t coming back. You could have done so much worse than Clark. And this man adored you. Worshiped you every morning while he kneels before your altar. “But don’t say you’re glad.”

“I am glad. But I’ll promise never to say it again. Just like I promise I won’t make you go to one of those parties ever again. Now, let’s eat some sandwiches, and then we’ll go find a playset for our children. Okay?” You nod your head. They were yours and Clark’s, Carter’s in spirit.

His hands slide around your middle, lips starting to nip around your neck, and you let out the most adorable giggle. “Clark, where are the kids?”

“Lottie is out front playing on hers and Henry’s new playset. The swings are her favorite. And I just laid Henry down for his nap,” he twists you around. Grabbing onto your waist harshly, he places you up on the counter. Planting his body in between your thighs.

Clark’s hands swipe away the baby hairs around your face, and he starts pressing soft kisses all over your face, “The kids.”

“Shh,” he whispers. His mouth moving behind your ear, following on down your neck. “I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for the life you’ve given me.”

“It’s me that should be thanking you.”

“Why’s that?” His head pops up, and those baby blue eyes bounce around your face. You smile up at him, biting your lip. “Honey, why should you thank me?”

“You saved us.”

”Us? What are you talking about, Cricket bug?”

Your hands roam up his chest, and around his neck, “You saved me and Lottie,” he starts shaking his head no, but you cup both his cheeks, grinning. “You did. You didn’t have to stay with me, with us. I was a wreck, and pregnant, and you made sure I ate, and…you loved me when I couldn’t love myself. You took care of her when I was still learning to cope. You kept us alive. And…”

“Please, stop. I did that because I love you, and her. And I love this life that we made.”

“Aww, Clark does have some sweetness, and not just need to fuck me.”

“You’re ruining this moment,” both yours and Clark’s heads look towards the door when you hear your daughter scream. “Lottie?” Jumping down off the counter, you head towards the front door. That is a scared scream.

—

Charlotte climbs up the slide ladder before going down it again. Stopping at the end of it, and she looks back at the house exasperated. Henry always had nap time when she wanted to play. Huffing, she moves over to the sandbox, starting to play with the tools while she waits on her brother’s short nap.

A man walks down the road to the house. His eyes look around the property longingly before stopping far enough in the distance to see Charlotte. Not close enough to alert her, but close to hear her voice. She sings a sweet little song while her fingers dig into the sand.

The man’s fingers run over the picket fence, it has been freshly painted, and he sighs. Walking a bit closer, the girl spots him, and gives him an odd look, “Are you here to see my mommy and daddy?”

“Daddy?”

“They’re inside,” she gives a point towards the front door, and the door is open. Letting a light breeze blow through it, but he can’t see anybody. “Mister?”

“Yeah,” he asks, squatting down to look at your daughter closer. She gives him a little giggle. “What’s so funny?”

“Why do you have a beard? My daddy and grandpa don’t do that, no sir,” she said that word again. The man gulps before sitting down beside her. Sticking his hand in the sand. He picks up a wad of it before letting it fall back in the sandbox. “You don’t talk much.”

“I didn’t even know who I was for a long time.”

Scrunching up her nose, she looks at him funny. Giving a little scoot back, and even the man timidly scoots back, too. “What’s your name?”

“Charlotte. I was named after my angel daddy’s grandma,” the man gives her a soft smile, but then she looks into his eyes, “Why are you crying?”

“I’m overwhelmed right now.”

“Let me get my daddy. He’ll know what to do.”

“No,” he grabs her tightly, and she lets out a scream. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. Charlotte, don’t scream.”

“Stop! Mommy!” The man goes to stand. Dropping her arm, and he sees the door open. “Mommy!” She turns running towards you, and you and him stare at each other for far too long. Seeing a tall shadow walk up behind you, he turns to leave.

You can’t believe what you saw. Trying to calm your breathing. It was all right, and so wrong, “Carter?” The man freezes, and Clark places a hand on your hip. “Carter Baizen?” Slowly he turns around to see you, but sees his former best friend behind you. “Carter?” He nods his head, and you gasp, covering your mouth.

Visions of your life with Carter flash through your mind. The moment a sweet little boy gave you a dandelion and told you he was going to marry you. Your first kiss behind the school house while Clark kept watch for the adults. The first time Carter touched you and you felt actual sparks fly between you. That first ‘I love you’. Every moment with your best friend, and the love of your life plays like the greatest story ever told.

Placing your daughter in Clark’s arms you walk over to him. It was him. A bit grown out and rough, but it was him. The same eyes. And the way he looked at you was the exact same. “I thought you were dead.”

“I did, too,” he looks back at Clark holding Charlotte, and then down to you. “What’s he doing here?” His eyes move towards your hand, noticing the ring on your finger. “No,” he shakes his head as tears stream down his face. “I told him not to fall in love.”

“What?”

“Carter, maybe we should go inside, and have a talk,” you look back at Clark. Unsure of what you need to feel. But Carter is alive, and he’s here. Clark turns with Charlotte still in his arms, but leaves you with your husband? Former husband?

“Cricket, what happened?”

“Life. Come on,” you aren’t sure what this means. Aren’t sure what you should think or react. But your Carter was right beside you. Following you into the house that you made a home with his best friend.

Getting into the living room with Clark now in Carter’s chair and Charlotte hugged up against him. “I’m sorry, bud. I couldn’t keep my promise,” hearing a creaking door, Carter’s eyes look down the hallway, and sees a little barefoot boy running towards you. Outstretched arms and calling for his mommy.

“This is my son, Henry Carter Kent,” Carter’s eyes slowly close. Swallowing the bile that threatens to rise up his throat. “Cricket, we can’t have this conversation with Lottie.”

”What comver — comversay — saytion…why can’t you talk in front of me?”

“Don’t make me do this,” Clark stares up at you shaking his head. Hoping you remembered the last ten minutes over right now. While you had happy memories flowing through your mind, he felt like his happy moments were being stole from him. “She won’t understand.”

“Tell me!” Charlotte grabs his cheeks, trying to get him to look at her, “Daddy, I wanna know.”

“What are we supposed to do with them?” Your words come out stiff. If you allow all the emotions to pour out you might just collapse on the floor. Everything is so overwhelming right now, and you don’t know what to think. What to do. What you had to do. Was yours and Clark’s marriage now a lie? What did this mean for your family? What did you want to do?

Carter was your everything. And then life happened and you settled into your new something. Yours and Clark’s relationship could be volatile at times. Things never flowed as easily as they did with Carter. But you two fought to make them work. Because you wanted to. Or did you just not want to be alone? And Clark was there accepting you when other men would turn away.

“Your folks can get them. Don’t make my daughter try and understand this,” Carter clears his throat, and Clark shakes his head no, pointing at him, “Don’t. She is mine. Cricket, honey, call your folks. I don’t want the kids to be part of this until…please, just don’t.”

“Can you give — just a moment. Clark’s right. Okay? They’ll be right here,” Carter nods. Having a seat on the couch in front of Clark, glaring. That was supposed to be his chair. His daughter. His home. His family.

His wife.

His life.

His everything.

It was all stolen from him. It should have been Clark.

Carter

or

Clark

A/N: Yes, this will be a choose your own adventure. So who do you choose? Carter or Clark? What is the right decision? is the decision for you or your children?

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @missus-shadowsinger @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @charmed-asylum @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989 @mrsevans90 @slowdownbeforeyouregretit @suunnnieeeee

[bradshawsbaby]

Letters to My Love // Part X

Rosie the Riveter

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Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: When you signed up to volunteer with the USO, you never anticipated that you would meet a man like Ensign Robert Floyd. Fate brings you together one balmy spring evening in Charleston—the night before Bob is set to ship off across the Atlantic. Pen and paper become your only means of sharing your heart with the naval aviator who’s captivated it, igniting a correspondence that spans the distance between you. Can love blossom even as war rages and thousands of miles keep you apart?

Word Count: 2.9k

Author’s Note: I'm so sorry for how long it's taken me to update this story! One of my goals for 2024 is to get this series completed. Although it's taken me so long to update, Bobby and Peach are never far from my mind and are always in my heart. I hope you enjoy this latest installment of their story!

Set the Mood: If you’re looking for some 1940s vibes, check out the playlist I made to pair with the story.

The title of this chapter is obviously a tribute to the iconic figure of Rosie the Riveter. But it was also inspired by the song of the same name by The Four Vagabonds, which you can listen to here!

Dedication: As always, this story is dedicated to my dear friend, Clara (@luminousnotmatter). She was the first person to listen to all my endless ramblings about this universe, and she has never stopped supporting me or believing that I can get it finished. Thank you, Clara!

Warnings: Alternating POV, references to casualties of war and grief, slight angst, lots and lots of fluff.

July 8, 1943

My Dearest Peach,

I want to start by saying that I’m terribly sorry it’s taken me so long to respond to your last letter. I think I’ve worn down the paper to nearly nothing with how many times I’ve read it, but it’s been hard to get a free moment to sit and write you the response you deserve. Things are really heating up over here, and we have to be ready to move at a moment’s notice. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat down to start a new letter, only for us to be called up just as I set my pen to the paper.

To set your mind at ease, I want you to know that I’m alright. I’m not sure how much information they’re sharing with you all back home, but I know one of the fellas got a letter from his wife recently and she told him that three different families on their street got notified that their boys had been killed in action in just one week. It made her real scared that she was going to be the next one getting a knock on the door. I won’t lie to you, Peach, because I don’t think that’s fair—we’re losing a lot of men over here. It’s scary to think that any day now, it could be me they’re sending a flag home for.

I hate to start this letter off so morbidly, but there’s been something weighing on my mind lately, especially since my buddy got that letter from his wife. If anything happens to me over here, you won’t know. They’ll tell my family, sure, but not you. And I can’t stand the thought of you waiting for another letter that isn’t going to come. So I’ve spoken to Paul, Tommy Boy, and Benny about it. If anything happens to me over here, Peach, they’re going to write to you and let you know. It gives me some comfort to think that their words will be a little softer and kinder than the formality of Uncle Sam.

I hope this doesn’t make you sad, Peach, although I admit it makes me a bit sad to write. The truth is, I’m quite alright right now, like I said, and I don’t plan on letting anything happen to me over here. We have to take that drive to Folly Beach and get ice cream on the pier, after all. I tell you, that thought alone is enough to get me through even the hardest days over here.

Alright, enough of all this. Time to get back to your lovely letter. They’re calling us for dinner right now, but as soon as I’m finished, I’m coming right back to continue this letter. Nothing’s going to stop me from getting it to you.

I’m back, Peach. All the fellas were teasing me in the galley because of how quickly I scarfed down my dinner, but I didn’t care because I knew I was getting back to you and your sweet words, and that means a whole lot more than the crummy food they’re serving over here. Boy, I tell you, I sure do miss home-cooked meals. They even had—I’m not lying, I promise—they even had peach cobbler for dessert tonight. It made me think of you, but I’m sure it’s nowhere near as good as the cobbler your family makes, so I didn’t even bother giving it a taste.

Now I do have to say that you’re right, of course. I hate hearing you call yourself shy and mousey. If that’s the way you feel when I call myself boring, then I certainly promise I won’t ever do it again. It’s a deal—neither of us will talk about ourselves like that anymore.

Nothing you say could ever sound silly to me, Peach. Even though we only got to spend a few hours in each other’s company, your letters have made me feel like we’ve known each other for years and years. I’m honored that I’ve been able to make you feel seen. I do see you, Peach. You’re the most beautiful, interesting, intelligent girl I’ve ever known, and I hope you can see that in yourself. For what it’s worth, you’ve helped me to come out of my shell, too. Paul was just saying the other day that I look like a new man—that I’m standing taller and seem more confident than he’s ever seen in all the years he’s known me. I had just finished reading one of your letters when he said that. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. You’re turning me into a new man, Peach, and I like it. I like it a lot.

I’m glad that you passed along my well wishes to Emily. Even though part of me still thinks her fiancé is a dunce, I do wish them all the best. Has she heard from Eddie? I don’t know where he’s stationed, but if you’d like to find out and send the information to me, I can try to keep an ear out. How has the wedding planning been going? I’m still confident you’re going to make the prettiest bridesmaid.

I did pass along your invitation in my last letter home to my family, and my mother said she would certainly inquire after the Sheridan residence should she ever happen to find herself in Charleston. I think she’s happy that you and I are still writing to each other. She’s even happier about the thought of swapping recipes with you. Watch out—if the two of you ever do meet, I think she’ll hold you hostage in the kitchen all day.

Now I am very proud to hear about all the fine work you and Dottie have been doing with your Victory Garden. I’m sure there must have been a lot of progress since you last wrote to me! I eagerly await news about the beans, carrots, cucumbers, and tomatoes. I’m sure you’ve been able to make lots of hearty soups and healthy salads. My mouth is watering at the notion. Like I said, the food in the galley has been pretty crummy lately.

I’m sorry to hear there’s been some trouble back home. I’m sure it can’t be easy for anyone, with all the rationing and the fear and the worry. I promise that we’re doing our best over here to bring this war to an end quickly so that life can return to normal for all of you over there. For us, too. We really can’t wait to be home again.

Peach, I want you to know that it is our duty, our honor, and, quite frankly, our privilege to be fighting for you over here. I know the other fellas would agree with me saying so. So I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything at home to “earn” us fighting for you. That said, I think it’s incredible that you want to contribute to the war effort in that way. I’m sure you haven’t been waiting for my response or my approval—which you shouldn’t, by the way—but I give a wholehearted yes to you applying for that position at the air station. We just recently saw Mr. Norman Rockwell’s illustration of Rosie the Riveter on the cover of the Post, and I have to say that I think you’d wear those coveralls a hundred times better.

I’m so proud of you, Peach. I want you to know that.

Speaking of the war effort, we have a couple big campaigns coming up very soon. I can’t say much more than that, but your well wishes and prayers for success would be very much appreciated. I’m always thankful for them.

Until next time, Peach! I’m already counting down the days until your next letter arrives.

Most Truly Yours,

Bobby

P.S. I almost forgot! I told Paul how much you loved the fact that he sends drawings home to Clara and Paul, Jr.—by the way, that reminds me, how is little Frankie doing?—and he was more than happy to create a few illustrations for you. He did a couple portraits—one of me and one of you, based off your beautiful photograph. He said to apologize that he’s too much of an amateur to capture all of your beauty. He did say that he thought he did a fine enough job capturing my likeness—I’m telling you, Peach, I think my friends officially like you better than they like me. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

July 31, 1943

My Dearest Bobby,

Please don’t ever feel like you need to apologize for how long it takes you to write back to me. I can only imagine how difficult it is to find the time to write with everything that must be happening over there, and yet you always find the time to pen the most thoughtful and wonderful letters. I cherish each and every one of them, and I promise that I’m more than content to read your old letters as I await the new ones.

I’m so sorry to hear about how many of our boys we’re losing. Just last week, our neighbors, the Pattersons—you remember I mentioned Mrs. Patterson had helped me and Dottie with our Victory Garden?—received news that their son, Clarence was killed in action in France. It was devastating. Dottie and I had just been coming home from the grocery store when we saw the officer standing on their front steps with a telegram in hand. We knew what that meant. Mrs. Patterson has been inconsolable since. Mr. Patterson is equally devastated, but I think he’s trying to be strong for her. Dottie and I have been taking turns cooking meals for them and spending some time over at their house. We just want them to know that they’re not alone.

I admit, Bobby, that every time I hear news of someone else being lost in this war, I immediately think of you. It feels selfish, but I’m always so relieved when the news is about someone else and not you. I don’t know how I would bear it. I pray every day that I never have to receive that letter from Paul or Tommy Boy or Benny, but I am touched that you’ve thought about how I could be notified. Oh, Bobby, I hope more than anything that your parents never have to experience what the Pattersons are going through.

But you’re right—you’re going to come home safely. We have too many plans for you to do otherwise!

I’m sorry to hear that the food aboard your carrier has been so crummy lately. I wish that I could whip up a home-cooked feast and send it in the mail with my letters. Every time I sit down to dinner now, I think of all of you, and I count my blessings. Things aren’t perfect on the homefront, but I know that we certainly have no room to complain with all you boys are going through. I promise to have a peach cobbler waiting for you when you come home—and a pumpkin pie, for good measure.

If I’m turning you into a new man, Bobby, then you simply must know that you’re turning me into a new woman as well. I hardly remember the girl that I was before I met you. Can you believe that it’s been over a year now since our paths first crossed? I feel like my life is totally different now. The way that I see myself, the way I interact with others, the way that I’m not so terrified to step out of my comfort zone anymore—so much of that is thanks to you, Bobby. I’m still me, of course. But I feel like I’m a stronger, braver version of myself now. I like it, too.

It’s so kind of you to offer to keep an ear out for Eddie’s infantry! Emily received a letter from him around the same time that I received my letter from you, and he seems to be doing well, same as you, thank goodness. Eddie is part of the 1st Infantry Division. Emily said that last she knew, he was stationed somewhere near the Rhineland. The wedding planning has been going very well. Pretty much everything is set now—all we need is the groom. Emily can’t wait for Eddie to come home for good. Once he does, they’ll be able to officially set the date. Us bridesmaids are going to be wearing lilac-colored dresses. Dottie says she already knows how she’s going to style my hair. I hope that you’re home, too, when the wedding finally happens. Emily said that I could invite you to be my date. Only if you’d like that, of course.

I would be very happy to be kept hostage in the kitchen with your mother! I’m sure there’s so much I could learn from her, and it sounds like a splendid way to spend the day. I look forward to meeting her one of these days!

Oh, the Victory Garden, Bobby! You wouldn’t believe how it’s grown! Trust me, no one is more shocked than me and Dottie. Well, maybe Paddy. He knows firsthand what brown thumbs my sister and I normally have. At first, we weren’t so sure what was going to happen—the cucumbers seemed a bit small and some of the tomatoes didn’t really take. But by the end of June, everything was thriving! It’s been such a joy to watch, and I have to admit, both Dottie and I are feeling extremely accomplished. Frankie loves to spend time in the garden with us, although he spends a bit more time digging in the dirt than helping us pick vegetables, I’m afraid. Now that we’re in the middle of summer, we’re experimenting with zucchini and eggplant. We might also try radishes and turnips. We’re turning into quite the farmers! If your mother has any recipes to share, we’d be more than grateful and happy to try them out!

Now I admit that I’ve saved the most exciting news for last. At the beginning of June, I decided to go for it and I applied for the position at the air station in Goose Creek, the one Paddy told me about. I’m sure being his sister-in-law gave me a bit of an advantage, but it only took a couple days for me to hear back from them. I got the job! I’ve officially been working on the assembly line since the middle of June. It’s hard work, and I’ve never been so tired in all my life, but I have to say that I’m really proud of the work we’re doing. It’s funny that you mention Rosie the Riveter—my job these past few weeks has actually been to fasten pieces of the planes we’re assembling with rivets! So I guess you could call me Peach the Riveter. Doesn’t have quite the same ring though, does it?

I know that the chances are small that anything I’m helping to build is going to reach you specifically, Bobby, but I can’t help but smile every time we finish a new part, or get a new plane put together. I imagine you and Paul, or Tommy Boy or Benny hopping inside and it brings me more pleasure and pride than I could possibly explain. I feel like I’m doing something important, something meaningful and special. If spending hours riveting until my fingers turn numb brings you home even a day faster, then it will all have been worth it. And it gives me a real sense of purpose, driving to work each day with Paddy. I feel proud of myself.

I’ve made some new friends at work, too! Florence and Virginia—we call them Florie and Ginny—are the loveliest, kindest girls. They had already been working on the assembly line for a few months before I got the job, so they’ve been showing me the ropes and teaching me everything they know. They’ve made me feel so welcome, so a part of things. I have to admit that I was terrified my first week or so, terrified that I was going to mess something up or make a fool of myself. But I’ve settled in quite well, thankfully.

It means a lot to me to know that I have your support, Bobby. Truly, it does. Thinking of you and all that you’re doing to protect us is what really motivated me to take this job, so thank you.

Of course I’m sending all my best wishes for the campaigns you have coming up! Wherever you are right now, I pray that you’re safe and that your missions are successful.

You’re so brave, Bobby. Have I told you that lately? Even if I have, you deserve to hear it again. I’m so, so proud of you. You’re my hero.

I hope this letter gets to you soon. I wish it could grow wings and fly to you. I know time is going to pass so slowly until I’m holding a new letter from you in my hands. But until then, Bobby, I’m thinking of you and holding you in my heart.

Most Truly and Affectionately Yours,

Peach

P.S. Paul is quite the artist!!! I now have his portraits hanging right beside the photographs you sent me. Please tell him how talented I think he is, and how much I love the drawings he made for me! I was especially touched by the little note he wrote me on the back of your portrait. I hope he’s doing well. Send my best to him and Tommy Boy and Benny!

TAGLIST: @teacupsandtopgun @saturnsbabe69 @gigisimsonmars @marchingicenotes7 @high-speed-r @cadencebeat2662 @up-thereinthesky @lostinthefandoms11 @strangerparks @sweetwhispersofchaos @callsign-magnolia @the-wayward-daughter @becks-things @jostyriggslover96 @solo-pitstop-vibes @wretchedmo @muddwheelz123 @ryebecca @lewmagoo @withahappyrefrain @rhettabbotts

[fatherforgivethem]

The Crown: The Targaryen Family

Queen Mother Alicent: Alicent, mother of four, served her country strongly for years leading up to her late husbands death. When her childhood friend, Queen Rhaenyra, took hold of the crown, Alicent was finally able to live a life of freedom. With Daeron, her youngest, away at school and only visiting on the weekends, her house was rather empty.

Several years had passed before she met Captain Criston Cole. They met at a small dinner hosted by their close friends. The two began to meet every time that Criston was in London, and before long, they found themselves falling for the other. While Alicent had been nervous to introduce her children to Criston, they seemed to like the man. After years of being together privately, Criston proposed, and the two married at Westminster Abbey surrounded by the Royal Family, the prime minister and other members of the British government, and many other notable friends of the family. Alicent likes to spend her days riding her horses in the country side with her grandson Jace, tending to the gardens with Helaena, and creating as many dinners as possible for her family to attend.

Queen Rhaenyra: While still young, to the throne and in years, the mother of one tends to be kept busy with her duties as Queen of England. She can be found attending galas, international charity tours, and private meetings with the Prime Minister, as well as walking the halls of Buckingham Palace with her half-brother, Aegon, right beside her.

She married young when she was still just a princess and gave birth to her son, Jace. Her son was only two when her husband was tragically killed in a car accident and she vowed to never marry again. Instead, she put her focus into her duties as the heir to her fathers throne, and when her father passed away, she was crowed Queen. While she had intended for her own son to be her heir, Jace abdicated when he was only 15, and so, with the council of others, named Aegon her heir.

She likes to spend her free time with her beloved son Jace, as well as her close friend, Alicent. The two can usually be found at tea at Buckingham Palace with newspapers in their laps. She also makes sure to spend her time with her siblings and enjoys when her little niece and nephew run through the halls of the palace.

Criston Cole: Captain Cole of the Royal Navy had never imagined a life where he was married to the former Queen Consort, now Queen Mother of England. He had never given much thought to the Royal Family, and with the ever going war, it was the last thing on his mind. However, on a rare trip back home, he met the love of his life, Alicent. His life shifted from there, and as time went on, and the war was over, he finally allowed himself to be with her the way she deserved.

It was hard to win the favor of her children, now his. While Daeron and Helaena had decided that they liked Cole quite early on, Aemond and Aegon gave him a rather hard time, out of worry for their mother. All without Alicent's knowing of course. Aemond had refused to shake his hand and Aegon was set on giving him a stare whenever they saw each other. Though, as time went on, the more they got to know each other, and the closer they became. By the time Alicent and Criston were getting married, Criston couldn't see them as anything other than his sons.

Prince Aegon: The young heir splits his time between the workings of the crown and his family. Though, those two things tend to bleed into the other at times. He's happily married to Helaena and they share their beautiful twins, Jaehaera and Jaehaerys. At only three years old, they keep Aegon and Helaena busy.

He hadn't expected to become heir, but when Jace abdicated, a sixteen year old Aegon more than rose to the challenge as the new heir to the crown. From the time he was young, Aegon took his position very seriously and he has become passionate about his role. With his younger brother being an infamous playboy, someone had to keep the family name from tarnish. He can often be found walking just behind Queen Rhaenyra, offering his council and advice while he learns the ways of the monarchy from his older sister.

He likes to spend his time with his family when he's not busy working. He and Helaena like to take the twins to Balmoral, the Royal Family's home in Scotland when they can. And when Aemond is back, the two can usually be found on a hunt of some kind. Family is the most important thing to Aegon, and it just so happens that his family is also his job. He enjoys playing polo with his club when he's able to get away. While he prefers polo, his wife does jumping, and their home has a large farm full of beautiful horses.

Prince Jace: The young prince is furthering his education at Oxford university for his masters degree. He went there with Aegon when they were both younger and he couldn't help but fall in love with the school and his studies. Despite the gossip that went around, Jace had found a good group of people he could call friends. In the beginning, it was normal for him to hear the whispers of others behind his back about the inter workings of his family and making assumptions about his abdication. However, he learned to ignore these people and the rumors eventually died down.

The truth of it all was that Jace didn't want to be king. He loved his family more than anything, and aspired to serve them as a prince and valuable member of the royal family, but he had no wish to rule. And so, the smartest decision he ever made was giving it to Aegon. Jace had always looked up to Aegon, and so it only seemed right. The man was like an older brother to Jace, still was.

Jace, when he's not at school or a public family function, can be seen with his (technically) grandmother, Alicent. The two like to go on horseback rides together, and when they get lucky enough, Rhaenyra will join them. He spends time with Helaena and they usually watch the twins roll around in the garden. And when Daeron is back from school, the two like to spend their days playing tennis. Jace's favorite place in the world is Balmoral Castle, the family's summer home in Scotland, where they spend every Christmas and summer holiday together.

Princess Helaena: The young princess and mother of two likes to stay away from the politics of the family crown as much as she can, though she's known to attend many of the charity events hosted and attended by the family. Her wedding to Aegon was one that the public would never forget. The young princess is a favorite by many and their wedding at Westminster Abbey was said to be quite magical.

She loves to spend her time training her horses for her horse jumping career. Aegon had the farm built and decorated just for her. With her favorite colors painted all over the barn, and beautiful trees planted everywhere to make it seem like she was in a different world. Aegon is known to spoil her, but she's also known to never tell him off for it.

While balancing her time as a mother and wife to the heir of the crown, she does love to attend the ballet, and the twins enjoy it as well. She also enjoys spending time with other members of the family, including Aemond, Jace, and her mother Alicent. While she's a private person, she's prepared to become Queen Consort alongside Aegon when the the time comes.

Prince Aemond: With being in the Royal Navy, he tries his best to see his family as much as he can. Though he still finds himself at home very little. However, when he is home, his time is full of family dinners, public events, and private family matters. At the moment, he's been trying to defuse an argument between Helaena and Jace because the two disagreed about something in a book.

Public events are full of photographers trying there best to get photos of him talking to the young ladies in attendance. He's been given the title of Royal Playboy and while that might be true, he knows that his mother doesn't appreciate the title too much. Aemond, when not with his family, can usually be found at a club, where the girls are nice to look at and the alcohol is top shelf.

While his elder brother doesn't always like his partying tendencies, Aemond is more concerned with making sure Aegon doesn't sleep at his desk to care all that much. Aemond likes to spoil the twins as much as he can, and on special occasions he's known to spoil Daeron and Jace. Aemond also enjoys getting to hunt with his brothers and Jace while on holiday at Balmoral.

Prince Daeron: Prince Daeron is young and trying his best to take on the world one exam at a time. Being away for school makes him both excited to have freedom and has him missing his family. While he was always told to never use his title to get what he wants, using the prince card to visit home on the weekends is the only exception.

At school he's been lucky enough to make the tennis team along with a few boys he calls his friends. Tennis is something he's passionate about.. that and sneaking out of his dorm at night.

When he's home he can usually be spotted following his mother around, playing tennis with Jace, and hanging out with his siblings. He's not sure what he wants to do yet, but he's got some time before he finishes school and is expected to serve in the Royal Navy. For now, he's fine with playing tennis and spending time with friends and family.

Moodboards and editing done by @sidraofthewildflowers 💓💓💓💓

(This was a really fun collaboration!!)

** Repost because I missed some tags in the original 🫣🫣

[imaginedreamwrite]

I’ll Get By

A/N: There are things I’m bound to get wrong about the 1940s and asylum’s, so please forgive me. There was also a lot of prejudice for people especially if they were gay, and there is a gay patient mentioned in the first chapter. If you’re uncomfortable with it please don’t read. Thank you!

Part 1: An Anomaly

1946 — St. Catherine’s Asylum

The heavy coating of stagnant rain water on the streets had nearly taken you out the moment you stepped onto the stone staircase of the building. The breath had been ripped from your lungs the moment you felt your feet slip.

You squealed in surprise and if it hadn't had been for the railing, you would have fallen on your backside. After righting yourself and fixing the starch nurse’s uniform you were deemed to wear, you unfurled your nearly broken umbrella and carried on.

You were rushing this morning, rushing into the front door of the asylum with your nurse's bag bouncing against your hip. Once you stepped through the door and shook off the umbrella twice, you had blown a curled piece of your hair out of your face.

“Close that damned thing right now!” One of the patients lingering near the door smoking—seemingly unbothered by the nurse who was supposed to be watching him—barked a demand. “Don’t you know opening an umbrella indoors is bad luck, you daft girl!”

You could have responded with ire at the man wearing faded blue pinstriped pyjamas, many other nurses had. I like other nurses, you knew he wasn’t mad, you knew he wasn’t the kind of man who lost his mind over drink or injury. He was a man who was stalwart in his sexuality and attraction to men, and for that, he was committed.

“Good morning, Mr. Samson.” You closed the umbrella and folded it up, adhering to his superstitions while offering him a small smile.

Mr. Lyle Samson was a man with streaky black hair and rather odd coloured eyes—one almost iridescent blue and the other brown—a crooked nose from it being broken, and thinly pressed lips. He was a cantankerous man, one who had grown more ire-some from the treatment he had received in the asylum. The doctors held little care for the patients, even less for men like him, and as it was, he had suffered as well at the hands of his family.

“Your lipstick is a mess, girl. Fix yourself.” He lifted the cigarette to his lips, inhaling the Camel brand smoke and exhaling from the side of his mouth. He had glanced you over, once more, before he extended his hand and clutched onto your wrist. He squeezed once then relaxed and squeezed again, a telltale signal he had used when he wanted to send a message.

“There’s someone new.” He mumbled under his breath, inching forward while staring you down with his blue and brown eyes. “A famous fella.”

“Famous?” You looked past him to the first floor nurses station, toward the nurse who was disposed to be monitoring him. “Someone famous?”

“Used to be, before the damned shit-hole government stripped him of his title.” He turned his head and spat a few inches from your feet, the aftermath of sucking back a Camel cigarette. “He’s in the men’s ward, hates the doctors.”

“Mr. Samson, smoke is over!” The haughty nurse who had been on monitoring duty for the Lyle Samson started her approach. You could hear the clack of her heels on the aged and worn wood floor, the heady stride of her feet as she rushed toward him.

You knew that atmosphere wasn’t kind to men like him, men who hadn’t wanted a traditional life that fit society’s norm’s in the 1940s. He was a man who was attracted to men, and for that, he was punished by both the authorities and his family.

“He’s fine, he was telling me about a new patient—“ you rose to his defence, vocally, and had immediately been chided by the nurse.

“He is not fine.” Her voice darkened, and her eyes narrowed explicitly toward you with a tempestuous manner. “He is finished his cigarette, and you need to head to the men’s ward.”

Your breath had hitched in your throat, your hands tightened around the handle of the umbrella. Your nails dug into the varnish of the wood, though not deep enough to leave a mark, your mind immediately racing. The men’s ward was no nurses’ top choice when doing their rounds, and there was often a lack of willing volunteers. For you to be assigned to the men’s ward, you knew it was some kind of hazing because you were the newest.

They would hand you over to the men on a silver platter, leaving you to the men, who were frequently mad and violent. While there were some who were left solely on lockdown and very rarely got to spend time in the common area, others were left to roam—within reason. You had spent time in the children’s ward, which was a close second to the least desired floor, and the least amount of time on the women’s ward.

“Me—“

“I don’t have time to argue, Nurse L/N.” She cut you off with a stern and harsh bite, directing her inability to care beyond base empathy toward you. “Now.”

Your feet carried you in a rush, moving you near the staircase that led to the men’s ward. You nearly tripped over your feet before you had even taken the first step. Your hand rest upon the wooden railing that would take you up the winding staircases. You would wander through doors that were locked every night until you got to the fourth floor, which was where the men’s ward was.

The asylum was laid out in 5 massive floors that extended through winding hallways that were dimly lit by old windows. On the main floor was the receptionist’s and the warden’s office. The doctor’s offices for the children’s and men’s ward were on the main floor, unlike on the women’s floor. The doctors themselves had no special interest in spending more time than what was necessary in those areas.

The women’s unit was on the third floor above the laundry, kitchen, medical examination and treatment rooms on the second floor. Next had come the children’s floor that was not nearly comforting enough for kids left behind or admitted. The fourth floor was dedicated to the men that were admitted and held in their own contained unit, like the children.

And then there was the fifth floor that was exclusively held and dedicated to the incurables. They were the men, women, and children who were so manic and wild, deemed impossible to fix, that they should be locked away and forgotten about. Lyle Samson was unfortunately going to be moved to the incurable’s floor after Doctor Rollins had determined his sick pleasures could not be fixed, and all attempts were feeble.

“The men’s ward…” your feet carried you slowly, every step felt as if there was an ounce of lead sewn into your flesh.

You moved through the staircases from floor to floor, starting from the main floor to the fourth. You stopped at the double set of wooden doors with frosted glass. The lettering for the men’s ward was scrawled in faux painted gold—a decorative addition to make people believe that this place wasn’t as nefarious as it actually seemed. You reached up and placed your hand upon the wood and pushed slowly, just enough to be able to slip through the door and into the ward.

The door felt heavy behind you as it shut with a bang, the force tipping you forward. All the weight of your body shifted to the front of your feet, more specifically your toes. You had nearly toppled, almost flailing entirely, until you felt a steady hand on your arm acting as a support pillar. However, you were soon to learn that it wasn’t just one hand on you but another, a large warm hand on the small of your waist that was immediately followed by a voice.

“The door always sticks,” you could only describe the voice as honey-laced whiskey, something deep and smooth but afflicted with a weariness, “you’re not the first nurse it’s nearly knocked over.”

The honey-laced whiskey voice belongs to someone you’ve never possibly imagined would be in a place like this. The man whose face was plastered across magazines—who had comic books created about him and had even starred in movies to stir the morale of the country during the war—was standing so close to you, you could see the green in his blue eyes.

His blonde hair was brushed out of his face and styled like you’d seen so many times before. There was a firmness to his jaw that allocated your attention before it was quickly drawn to the rest of him. His shoulders seemed unnaturally broad, and his chest was firm, despite the starchy grey uniforms the patients wore. You could easily detect the size of the American hero who had liberated men in Europe, and saved thousands.

The hero, who had been a beacon of light and hope, was squandered after the war. The papers called him mad with grief, a man who had seen the horrors of war and lost all sense of self. It happened after he had lost one member of the unit he led. The Howling Commandos lost Sergeant Barnes, or Bucky as he was known as, and Captain Rogers was never the same.

Although standing here now, looking at him as he held you steady after you nearly fell, you see none of the madness he was accused of. There was nothing whatsoever in his blue-green eyes to make you think he was mad enough to be here.

“Thank you…Captain Roger’s…” you spoke with hesitancy and the sound of your voice was enough to break the spell he had you under. In a moments notice, you’d been called to the nurses desk, breaking the firm yet gentle hold he had on you.

You turned your back to him and fixed your nurses cap, only recognizing his eyes on you when you felt heat starting to grow in your belly.

[autumnillustration]

I was wondering if you'd ever be willing to draw 20s Ashoka again? You always make her look so lovely 😍

That I can do ☺️

[arminsumi]

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🐚 ꒱ BEYOND THE SEA

Armin x fem!reader

Chapter index / Chapter Ⅰ: Secret

Overview; a story of your forbidden love affair with Lt. Armin during the war.

Content; 1940s au, fluff, romance, drama

Warnings; angst, tragedy

A warm sunset light cast over Armin and Eren as they crossed over the bridge that lead to their barracks.

They kept a slow pace and absorbed the warmth of the dozing sun.

"So, are you going to tell me about that nurse who you've been swooning over?" Eren asked nonchalantly.

Armin responded defensively, "I'm not swooning!"

"Yes, you are." He replied with a smirk.

There was a pause of silence between them. Armin let out a suppressed sigh.

"I don't know her name," Armin began.

"You don't even know her name?" Eren interrupted.

"No, but," Armin continued regardless, "I remember hearing her sing down the corridors in the early morning. If I would hear her voice again, then..." He trailed off, almost murmuring dreamily at the end, because of the memory of you appearing in his mind.

Eren waited for Armin to finish his thought, but he never did.

"You can't find someone with just the memory of their voice. What did she look like?" Eren asked.

Armin was visibly struggling to recall the image of you in his mind.

"I can't remember too well." He finally responded, "But I recall her father; he had a sullen face that I won't forget. When he entered the ward once, he gave me this prejudiced look."

"A 'prejudiced look'? Oh, you've got to be kidding me, Armin. You're swooning over the Head Chief's daughter? Do you realize what kind of trouble that could get you into?"

Armin gave a sheepish smile, "I know very well the kind of trouble that it can cause, Eren. I already got in trouble once with him, when he walked into the ward while I was laughing with his daughter."

"What happened?" Eren asked half-sympathetically, half-curiously.

They descended the steps at the end of the bridge, and took a moment to look out onto the glistening sea.

"He called for her to meet him in private. They must have had a brutal argument, because afterwards I saw her wailing on her friend's shoulder, and the next day she didn't show up to administer medicine to the patients. I learned through her friend that she was moved to the East wing, and was forbidden from even walking near the West wing."

Armin distantly observed the rolling waves, feeling his spirit sink as low as the depths of the ocean.

But like a soldier, he quickly masked his feelings, and straightened his posture before his heavy mood affected Eren.

"Let's get back." He said.

Eren didn't say anything, but he mustered a sympathetic look for his friend. He could tell how great of an impression you had on him by how fondly he talked about you.

A deep navy washed over the sky, and dots of stars came out to gleam and twinkle.

The lamp posts lining the cobblestone road lit up. Armin and Eren headed down this road to the barracks, and just before they entered their bunk room, Armin turned to Eren and asked with great seriousness;

"Eren, can you promise me something?"

"What?"

"Promise me that you will keep this between us... if the Captain finds out, he's going to tell the Commander."

Eren scoffed, "I'm sure that would strip you of your 'lieutenant' title very quickly."

"Eren." Armin looked at him pleadingly, "I'm not the only one who would get in trouble; so would she, and I don't want that."

"Yes, yes, alright. I will keep it secret."

"Thank you." Armin thanked him with relief in his voice.

"What's a secret?" Connie smirked when Armin walked into the bunk room.

He had overheard enough of their exchange to become curious.

Armin immediately tried to brush off Connie's curiosity by acting a fool, "Huh?"

"I heard you guys! Come on, what's a secret? You can tell me. I'm the best secret keeper." Connie said.

Eren quipped, "Connie, you can't keep your mouth shut to save your life."

"Hey!" Connie frowned.

Jean snickered behind his sketchbook, so Connie spun around and looked at him.

"Don't you laugh! I'll snatch that thing outta your hand and show 'em what you're drawing — or rather, who you're drawing!"

Armin laughed under his breath while climbing into his cot on the top bunk, "What a promising secret-keeper."

"Mind your own business, buddy!" Jean snapped at Connie.

They playfully bickered, and to deter Connie's curiosity, Armin fueled their jokes. Anyone passing by their window would see the glow of light and hear the ringing laughter coming from within.

But by the midnight hour, the lights were out, and everything fell silent.

Armin tossed around in his cot, his mind buzzing.

"If you keep tossing around like that, your bunk is gonna come crashing down on me." Eren's voice sounded from the bottom bunk.

"You're still awake?" Armin whispered.

Eren spoke in a low voice filled with sarcasm, "Of course, I'm brooding on your tragic love story with that nurse." he said.

Armin excitedly sprung to life at the mention of you, "Oh Eren! I wish you could have met her," he rolled over excitedly in his cot to peer down at Eren, "She had something absolutely wonderful about her. I felt as fulfilled and peaceful in her company as I did when I first saw the sea."

Eren pondered Armin's words in silence.

Eventually, he replied teasingly, "Maybe if this whole lieutenant thing doesn't work out, you can become a poet."

"Hey now, you be careful with what you say. Remember, I'm on the top bunk; I could crush you." Armin warned.

"How intimidating. You should use that line on the battlefield next time, it'll scare them shitless."

The two of them giggled quietly.

"You're not the God of Destruction anymore, you're the Cot of Destruction."

Armin repeated the pun to himself to savor the humor. Connie stirred awake and grumbled for them to shut up.

"Hey, Connie, don't talk to me like that; I'm the Cot of Destruction, you know! I could crush you!"

"What on earth are you on about?" He mumbled sleepily and dozed off without catching the joke.

Eren and Armin's banter tapered off, the atmosphere became still again.

"Eren, do you think I'll meet her again?" Armin asked seriously.

There was a lengthy silence.

"It's more than likely." Eren speculated.

Armin fed on Eren's response as if it were the only thing giving him hope.

Once Eren fell asleep, Armin laid awake in his cot like a lonesome insomniac, daydreaming of you to whittle the hours down until the new day dawned.

The anticipation of his awaiting duties had his gut clenching with anxiety. He was no longer just a somebody on the Captain's squad, but a newly promoted lieutenant; expected to be the replacement of the Commander, should the war take him.

[4rtificialfolio]

It’s complicated, my darling - Series Masterlist

“Ada is an operative in the 1940s from Brighton, England, sent over to New York City to work with the Americans, uncovering secrets and spying on potential suspects. She meets a handsome young man, Nick Folio, on the train into the city; little does she know how that moment would change the trajectory of her life”

Pairings: Nick Folio x OFC (Ada Chapman)

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Smut, Angst, 1940s AU

warnings: 18+, set during WWII but no explicit details, brief mentions of injury & death, smut, fluff, angst, explicit language

Specific warnings will be used per chapter

* = smut

Character Introductions: pt 1 |

_________________

The Prologue | Chapter 1 |

[saintedcooper]

It's Complicated (Francis Ch3 | Frank Castle x Reader 1940s AU)

Chapter Summary: After the attack, you awaken with some pain and a lot of questions.

Series Summary: New York, 1949. You’re a waitress trying to find your place in the world and get your footing at your new job. That is, when you’re not being very distracted by the handsome, mysterious writer who frequents the diner.

Previous Chapters: 1 / 2

Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader

Content Warnings: memories of past violence as seen in previous chapter, hot man cooking you healing food (dangerous stuff).

Length: 2,908 words

cross-posted to AO3.

Your dreams are full of dark tunnels and winding paths. Shadowy figures shape-shift into terrifying creatures that you can’t escape. All you hear is the sound of your running feet and your heart pounding like a drum.

You turn down a dark path and stop. There’s a figure in this one but it’s clear, not shadowy like the others. It’s bathed in white light and glowing. It’s a man with his back to you, dressed in slacks and a white shirt with suspenders crossing his back.

As you move closer, the man turns. It’s Francis. Your eyes go first to the soft smile on his lips before traveling down to the twin guns holstered by his sides.

You start to back up slowly and he frowns.

“Sweetheart?”

As you take another step backward, your foot slips. You rear lands hard on the stone path. You’re trying to pick­ yourself up when you notice bloody scrapes on your legs. You turn your hands over to find they’re there, too.

A frown forms on your face.

How did that happen?

As you observe the scrapes, tiny streaks of red slowly bloom and quickly grow.

A gust of cold air draws your attention to your ripped tights. When you reach down a hand to inspect the ripped fabric, a hand appears in the darkness and wraps around your ankle. It tugs hard, pulling you down as you scream.

With a gasp, you startle awake, your eyes flying open.

Your eyes dart around a familiar room. It’s yours. You sigh a breath of relief as you grab your chest, willing your breath to slow down.

The sun is high in the sky, filling the room with warm light and humid air. Your body is covered in a light sheen of nightmare-induced sweat.

In the distance, you hear Maggie plugging away on the typewriter.

You let the rhythm of the keys fade into the background as your mind wanders to the night before. The alley. Those men. Francis.

Francis.

Why had he been there? Thank god he was, but, it was curious.

If you were being honest, there was always something odd about Francis. Sure, he was gorgeous, but there something dark and mysterious about him. It had never frightened you, it intrigued you.

He was kind, a bit sardonic sometimes, and funny. But he was also dangerous. You knew it when he’d shown up to the diner previously with bruised knuckles and scratches. You knew it the other night when you heard him taking down your attackers.

Francis Castiglione wasn’t like other men.

That's what had drawn you to him at first. But now, that hint of mystery was real and violent.

You’d heard the way he’d laid into those creeps, his fits pummeling their flesh like it was nothing. You’d heard him panting like an over-excited dog, telling them to get up so that he could brutalize them again.

It was one thing to know he had that darkness; it was another to witness it.

You hardly know him. He doesn’t owe you anything but you can’t help having more questions than you know what to do with. If the charming writer who’s been flirting with you for months is also the man you saw last night, which face is the mask? How can you trust anything he’s ever said to you?

Even with your confusion the undercurrent of fear you feel isn’t for you, it’s for him.

What have you gotten yourself into, Francis?

With a sigh, you flip back the sheet to get out of bed. Searing pain around your torso stops you in your tracks and doubles you over with a sharp cry.

The typewriter stops and a few moments later, you hear footsteps hurrying down the hall as you slowly try lower your body back to the bed.

Maggie appears a few moments later with a cool towel and a worried look on her face. The towel still drips with water, proof of how quickly it’d be gathered.

“Thank God you’re awake! You scared me half to death. Are you alright?”

You nod and attempt a reassuring smile. It’s more of a grimace.

Trying to lie back down is too painful, you end up sitting with your back propped up against the headboard and your feet out in front of you.

Maggie wrings the towel out of one of the windows before sitting on the side of your bed and brushing the towel across your forehead.

The cool water on your skin calms you enough to begin to relax. You lean into the towel and close your eyes.

“How do you feel?” Maggie asks.

“Like I got dragged down an alley.”

She sighs. “I’m so sorry, honey. I don’t know what to say. Just thank God you’re alright and that Francis passed by at the right time.”

Your eyes fly open. Francis.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Don't you remember?” Maggie says. “Francis was headed home and heard the commotion. Those men got spooked and scrambled away.”

“Right... And how’d I get here? Back home?”

Maggie flips the towel over and brushes it gently across the rest of your face.

“Well, early that morning, I thought I heard you coming through the door. I heard the keys and the floorboards creaking, then a man mumbling or something.” She laughs. “I thought you were about to get lucky. I came out being nosy, trying to get a look at your fella.”

You watch her face as she continues. She looks off to the side and stops brushing the towel against you.

“That’s when I saw Francis with you in his arms, covered in dirt and dried blood. Knocked out. I think I must have screamed because I remember him telling me to be quiet and asking about all kinds of supplies. I cleaned you up while he cleaned and dressed your wounds. Then he put you in the bed and left so that I could change your clothes.”

She sighs. “I’ve never been so scared or so certain. It was like I just knew what to do.”

You’d liked Maggie from the moment she stepped onto your doorstep asking about the room you had for rent. You knew a bit about her past but you mostly enjoyed each other’s company in the present. She’s like your wild and free little sister. It feels odd seeing her sad because of you.

You grab her hand and she looks at you.

“Thank you, Margaret.”

She gives you a slight smile as she squeezes your hand.

You finally take a moment to notice that Maggie’s wearing her audition clothes, a smart blouse under a grey wool jacket and matching shirt. “Audition day?”

“Oh!” Maggie stands abruptly from the bed. “I heard you call out just as I was about to leave.”

She gives you a guilty smile.

“I got a call back from that audition last week.” She gnaws on her lip. “I think this is the one.”

It couldn’t be better news. She’s been a struggling artist every day you’ve known her.

“Don’t feel guilty! I’m happy for you. Please, go. I can take care of myself.”

Maggie’s expression of guilt fades quickly into amusement. “You won’t have to.”

“Oh?”

Maggie grins and leaves the room, coming back quickly with a serving tray. The tray she settles around you is loaded up with chicken and rice soup, a hearty slice of bread, a glass of orange juice, and the morning paper.

You gasp. Maggie is a lot of things, but a cook she ain’t.

“Margaret! You cooked?”

She laughs and says in a sing-song voice, “Well, somebody did. Definitely wasn’t me.”

You open your mouth to ask who else it could have been when you hear the floorboards creak in the hallway.

“Hello?” you call out just as the visitor enters your room.

Francis leans up against the door frame. He’s fiddling with his hands and looking up at you under his eyelashes.

“How you doin’, sweetheart? Alright?”

You stare back at him. His knuckles are bruised but he otherwise looks better than the last time you saw him at the diner.

Maggie clears her throat, mouth twisted to the side as she hides a smile. “I should be heading out. Thank you so much for staying with her, Francis.”

“No problem, sweetheart.”

Maggie giggles on her way out of your room. Her footsteps recede until you hear the door open and close.

Looking at Francis, all of the questions floating around your mind earlier rush back in at once. You’re intensely aware of a chasm between the girlish fantasies you’ve entertained about him and the fact that you know so little about this man.

Neither you nor Francis speaks for minutes.

“’s gonna get cold,” he eventually says.

You nod, picking up a spoon. The soup smells delicious. You wonder how long he’s been here.

“What day is it?”

“Saturday.”

“Saturday! I slept an entire day?”

Francis nods. “Yeah. ‘s not uncommon. The shock, the overwhelm. When you’re safe, you just sort of…crash.”

You nod.

Wait, Saturday.

“What about Mister Cranston?”

“Museum guy?”

You nod.

“He was by yesterday. Pushy little guy. Grilled me for two hours about that night like I wasn’t the hero here.”

You smile. “How’s he gettin’ on at the museum? I hate the idea of leaving him alone. It’s a big project, he needs help with it.”

Francis wags a finger at you. “He said those would be some of the first words outta your mouth, worrying about him. He also said don’t worry about him.”

Francis gestures to an envelope on your bedside table. “He brought your pay by early.”

You scoff. Typical Mister C. You’re supposed to be paid on Saturdays for the work done that week. You’re certain that check includes pay for two days of work you didn’t do.

You turn your attention back into the soup. Some old, faint voice belonging to your mother pops into your head. “If you must eat in front of a man, dainty bites. No man wants a barn animal.”

But at your first bite of the soup, all ceremony goes out the window. The soup is delicious. There’s flavorful chicken, rice, and vegetables swimming in a rich and full broth. You wolf it down as fast as you can and quickly find yourself slurping up the broth after eating most of the bowl’s contents.

Francis’ laughter draws you out of your search for the last drops of the broth in the bowl.

“There’s more where that came from, ya know.”

You wipe your mouth, a sheepish smile on your lips.

“I haven’t eaten in two days, thank you very much.”

Francis finally steps away from the door, seeming more relaxed now. He sits on the bed, just past your feet.

You wait for him to speak, but he seems to be searching for words. He opens his mouth a few times, an “uh” or “um” coming out before he shuts it again.

You’d try to help him out but you don’t know what to say either. Instead, you grab the newspaper and start flipping through it. You’re hardly paying attention, just skimming to have something to do.

Then, an article at the bottom of the page catches your eye. As you start to read it, your breath quickens.

“WHO PUNISHES THE PUNISHER?”

Over the past several months, the criminal inhabitants of New York City have had a new kind of law enforcement to answer to. A nameless, masked vigilante—colloquially referred to as The Punisher—has been terrorizing the criminal sect, leaving in his wake a trail of dead and mangled bodies.

The Punisher has become a polarizing figure in the city, with many locals grateful to have a criminal who’s on their side, but with others wondering, “Just who does this guy think he is?”

Jeannie Serrano was a witness to The Punisher’s most recent outing in Hell’s Kitchen, during which he saved an unidentified girl from two ruffians in an alley two days ago. Neither man survived the attack.

Serrano says: “I heard a commotion in the alley on the side of the apartment. I went to the side window to check it out and there was a girl running from two men. She’s just screaming her head off and I ran to call the police but then I heard the men start yelling. I went back and there and saw some guy pummeling the creeps. You ask me, they got what they were asking for. Trying to interfere with a girl like that. It’s not right. I’m glad he did it. Maybe now girls can walk the streets without fear. Make those scumbags afraid for a change.”

But other residents aren’t quite as welcoming as Mrs. Serrano. “I don’t like it,” says Brooklyn resident Marvin Akeman. ”Who died and made him the law? Who even is this guy? I know I didn’t elect him, did you? What’s he want? We’re all just suckers sitting around thanking him and who knows what he’s got planned. He could be the worst of the bunch and you’re out here reporting on him like it’s nothing. You ask me, somebody oughta lock him up. See what’s what.”

Polarizing as he may be, if this week’s most recent events are anything to go by, The Punisher has no plans of stopping. Or being caught.

You finish with the article and find yourself just staring. You think back to the morning before the attack. You remembered seeing yet another article about the guy they’re calling The Punisher. He’s been in the news for months now but you haven’t thought much about it. You’re from a small town, you know how it goes. There are some things the law isn’t cut out to handle. You were really surprised there weren’t more people like him in the city, where there’s so much unnecessary danger.

Because you don’t have ill will or fearful feelings about the “Punisher,” you’d never stopped to wonder who he could be. You’d never asked yourself what kind of man might be wrapped up in this.

“What happened to you the other night?” you ask. “When you came to the diner. You looked like you’d just gotten out of a boxing ring. What happened?”

Francis, who had still been trying to figure out what to say to you, knits his eyebrows together and makes a gruff noise under his breath.

He shakes his head. “Nothin’. Just a little disagreement.”

You nod. Your hands subconsciously tighten around the paper in your hands.

“Like the disagreement you had with the men in the alley?”

“Exactly like that.”

An uncertain silence falls between you two. Francis doesn’t break eye contact until you do, looking down at the paper in your hands. As stoic as he can be, Francis is a fidgeter when he’s nervous. You watch out of the sides of your eyes as he cracks his knuckles, picks at his nails, and bounces his heel up and down.

You’re quiet long enough that when you speak again, Francis flinches so slightly you might not have noticed it if you weren’t so focused on him.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you say.

“Hm?” he says with a raise of his eyebrows.

You lift up and twist the paper around to show him the article. His eyes dart down to it and then back up to your face but he remains silent. You’re glad he doesn’t bother lying to you, but it’s clear you’re going to have to drive the conversation.

“D’you know I’m not from the city?”

“Yeah, I remember some of those stories about your growing up in the country,” he says with a grin. “Pretty sure you told me one about pushin’ some idiot’s face down into a cow pat when got fresh with you.”

“Exactly,” you shrug. “Where I come from, a girl had to look out for herself and failin’ that, we had to take care of each other. Maybe it’d be givin’ a face a slap and maybe that wouldn’t cut it.”

Francis nods. “I get that.”

You watch him for a moment that stretches so long he starts to get uneasy. He shifts his weight slightly on the bed and visibly swallows. A first nervously clenches and unclenches once where it rests on his leg. But he never breaks your gaze.

“I watched my gran run more than a couple of bad eggs out of town with her sawed off. Women beaters. Worse. Sometimes you have to take care of things yourself. Maybe I wish it was different but people doin’ what they’ve got to doesn’t bother me. But with you, I don’t know.”

He looks so handsome with his eyebrows knitted together and his lips pursed. You’d almost prefer to keep him confused.

“You don’t exactly owe me anything here, Francis, but I don’t understand it. It’s always gonna be someone but why you?”

Francis nods, seemingly to himself, as his eyes roam around the room. He stands and walks over to one of the windows, leaning his arm against the frame. The sun is still sat high in the sky and he squints against it.

“Sweetheart…,” he says quietly. He’s still gazing out the window, but he darts his head down as if he avoiding meeting your gaze. “’s complicated.”

You gesture at yourself.

“I’ve got time. Uncomplicate it.”

This chapter has been mostly finished for months but life does life and anyway, it's here now! I love writing these two. Let me know how you feel about this chapter. Comments and good-faith feedback are welcome.

mdni banner by @/cafekitsune | divider banner by @/saradika (sorry for the accidental tags! I have no idea what I'm doing!)

[thesugarclubs-blog]

If You Were Mine - AU Bucky Barnes x OC

warnings: 40's Bucky, pre-war, neighbours to lovers, smut, 18+

word count: 10.8k

WP: https://www.wattpad.com/1316972552-if-you-were-mine-beatrice

Masterlist

Heavy rain poured down as Beatrice stared out her window at the grey New York sky, still bright despite the deluge. Her window was open to the elements and a cool breeze ruffled the chocolate curls that framed her face. She took a sip from her mug, the tea warming her from the inside as she flipped through a book. Sighing in contentment, she was enjoying the ambiance of the day. It was a welcome relief from the usual chaos that could be heard throughout her apartment building. 

However, the relaxing atmosphere was short-lived. 

A loud banging at her door made Beatrice jump, hot liquid spilling out of the cup and over her hand. She grumbled to herself before standing, smoothing out the wrinkles of her skirt and wiping the tea away with a towel from the nearby sink. Another knock rattled the apartment and she hurried to look through the peephole into the hall, groaning as she saw what stood on the other side. She wrenched open the door and fixed the visitor on the other side with a stern glare. 

He was dripping with rainwater, droplets running down his cheekbones and nose and over a set of perfectly pink lips. A puddle was starting to collect around his feet and she could see every damp footprint he'd left from the beginning of the hall to her door, which was directly across from his own. 

"Bucky Barnes, the next time you knock on my door like you've got a death wish," Beatrice said dryly, a stark contrast to the soaking wet man in front of her. "I'll make it come true." 

Her neighbor rolled his eyes, the baby blue of them electric despite the dim hallway light. Beatrice refused to admit that she could feel the sparks from where she stood. 

"Come on, doll, I'm freezing my ass off out here," Bucky whined. "I lost our key."

"Well, that sounds like a big problem for you. I'm sure you can muster the brain power to solve the case." 

Beatrice attempted to close the door, huffing when one soaked brown loafer poked out and stopped her progress. 

"I know you've got a spare," he continued, raising a dark eyebrow before he smirked. "And you don't want Steve catching a cold, do ya?" 

Bucky gestured over his shoulder at his roommate and best friend. Steve stood equally soaked to the bone, his slender frame shivering. He gave her a small wave and the corner of her mouth turned up before she looked back at Bucky. For a brief moment, she imagined what it would be like to punch the stupid, sexy grin off his face. 

"Whaddya say, Busy Bea?" he smiled down at her, knowing he'd found her weak spot and won. "Gonna help a fella out?" 

Bea sighed loudly as she let both soaked men in. As Steve passed her, shivering like a leaf tree. 

"Barnes, you know better than to drag Steve through this weather."  Bea scolded the man with the brightest, bluest eyes she's ever seen that she could get so easily lost in, at the same time they belonged to the most infuriating person she's ever met. 

The boys took a seat at her small kitchen table as she rummaged through her drawer looking for the key they’d given her to their apartment in case of emergencies. She heard a scoff come from the table and turned her head their way. 

“I didn’t drag him through anything. If he hadn’t been picking fights in the first place we’d have been home already.”

She found the key under a mess of papers in the back of the drawer and folded her palm around it as she looked over her shoulder to level Steve with a glare over her shoulder, slowly turning on her heels and facing his shaking form, a perfectly arched brow aimed at him.

"Is that true, Rogers?"

Steve had the good grace to look guilty.

“Honestly, you’re such a knucklehead,” she sighed, walking back over to them and sliding the key across the tabletop.

“There’s still some tea in the pot. Warm yourselves up before you go back,” Bea ordered, nodding to the teapot on the table before leaving the room to grab a couple of towels.

She padded to the bathroom, snatching two fresh towels that were hanging off of the rack. Bea paused when she heard Steve.

"We don't have to get tea. She terrifies me," Steve whispered. "Can we just go?"

Bea smirked to herself. She should terrify him. Someone had to knock Rogers down a peg, and if the guys who were beating the hell out of him couldn't, she definitely could. He always picked fights he could never win. Bucky laughed.

"Bea? Bea terrifies you? She's a pussycat, Rogers. Sit the hell down. Where are her cups--" 

Suddenly, something smashed and Bea hung her head. She snarled, storming out of the bathroom. The towels were clutched in her fist like she was wringing his neck. Bucky stared up at her with a big smile as he pushed the broken ceramic aside with his foot so that it was hidden underneath the cupboard. Steve rolled his eyes and got to his feet, heading for the small cupboard where she kept the broom.

"Hiya, Bea!" Bucky chirped.

She glared at him.

"I let you in for two minutes and you're destroying my apartment?!"

"I didn't do anything!" Steve yelped from behind his friend.

Bucky raised his hands in mock defense, a cocky smile still lingering on his face.

"Destroying is a strong word. There was a crack in that cup, I was doing you a favor."

"Barnes, I'll put a crack in those pretty teeth of yours," she snapped as she lunged for him and Steve got between the two. For once, he was stopping a fight instead of starting one.

"Okay, let's just calm down. I'll clean this up, Buck, you sit the hell down. Bea, Buck is sorry about the cup."

"No, I ain't," Bucky sighed as he plunked down in her chair.

Bea shot him a look, teeth grinding as the corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched into a smirk. His eyes shone, crinkling at the corners and the moment he winked, Bea broke. 

She glanced away, struggling to hide her smile and Bucky chuckled, something deep and rumbly. As much as she wished it didn’t, the sound set her stomach fluttering. 

“Gotcha, sweetheart.” 

“I don’t know why I put up with you two,” she huffed as Steve finished cleaning and poured them all a cup of tea, “thank you, Steve. Although if you think you’re off the hook just because you cleaned up Bucky’s mess for a change, you’re sorely mistaken.”

"Aw, come on, doll," Bucky grinned at her, "I did you a favour, you need new cups anyways - half the ones in your cupboard are cracked or chipped anyways!"

Steve shot him a warning look, "Bucky..."

Bea's lips thinned, sure it was just a cup, and yeah, maybe he was right about needing to replace them, but they were her Grandma's cups.

She didn't say anything about that though, the last thing she needed was to give his stupid handsome face more fodder.

“Don’t touch anything else,” she hissed in Bucky’s direction, taking a seat at the table. She wrapped her hands around her mug and took a sip of tea. “I was having a remarkably peaceful day until you two showed up.”

Bucky’s laugh rumbled through the small kitchen. Bea didn’t want to look in his direction- she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction- but she knew there was a twinkle of mischief in those baby blues eyes.

She refused to look up from her cup as his shoes clicked across the laminate kitchen floor, instead intently stirring in a spoonful of sugar. His presence behind her was obvious, a new warmth radiating off his body as Bucky's clothes dried and his mind started to heat up. He leaned down, his hand coming to grip the back of her seat, and let his lips brush the shell of her ear. 

"Maybe we can come up with a way for me to make it up to you," Bucky whispered, a grin faint on his lips, and suddenly Bea's nerve endings were on fire. 

She pushed down the flare of desire, instead giving him a sarcastic laugh. 

"Oh really?" Bea chuckled, tilting her head back to look at Bucky. "Is that what you told Dot? Or Louise? Or Alice? Steve, am I missing anyone?" 

She looked across the table at the blonde who had a mouthful of tea cakes.

"Oh, there was Annabelle too," he snapped in the air, crumbs falling from his grin. "And Margar-" 

"Alright! Jesus..." Bucky grumbled over top of her, the moment between them broken.

Bea huffed out a breath. “What, did I hit something?” She stood up abruptly, causing the chair to screech in a high-pitched noise as she glared at him. 

“Ouch,” Steve whispered, dipping the piece of what was left of the cake into the tea. 

She tilted her head, lips in a firm line as she playfully patted his puffed up chest. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t make deals with the devil.” 

With that, she walked to the sink and grabbed a washcloth to wipe off the crumbs and spilled tea on Steve’s side of the table, trying her best to ignore the warmth that spread through her body when the brown haired man left a low and rumbling chuckle. Steve’s tiny voice of I’m sorry was at least helpful to get rid of that feeling this time.

''Doll…'' he started. Her head snapped in his direction where she watched him struggle to continue his sentence as if he was at a loss for words. For as long as she knew Bucky, he was always very quick with his wit. Annoyingly so. She couldn't make sense of the feelings he invoked in her. As much as she wanted to hate the reaction her body had because of him, she relished it.

Bea's eyes scanned his face as she waited for his next words. His crystal blue eyes stared back at her, brows furrowed in thought and a slight pout gracing his plump lips. She admired the wet fallen curls on his forehead, the tick of his jaw as he stood there as if his brain were replaying her refusal over and over. 

Bucky let out a huff of breath and walked towards her, his figure towering over her. He placed his hands on the counter on either side of her and looked down. 

"How about if I take ya dancin' tonight?"

Bea’s heart stuttered, there was no way he could mean… 

Determined not to let him see how much he got to her she gave him a smirk.  Raising her chin and peering over Bucky’s shoulder she caught Steve’s eye.

“Whaddaya say, Steve? A night out on Bucky’s dime?”

“Doll, you know that’s not what I-“ he retorted but was cut off by Steve’s enthusiastic agreement.

"Oh!" Steve yelped, eyes wide. "Can we go to Blue Note? There's this girl there with hu--"

Bucky clapped his hands together, trying to contain his annoyance behind a big, fake smile while Steve fell silent, cheeks burning at his almost humiliating outburst. Bea knew she hit Barnes where it hurt as he stared her down, his eyes piercing hers.

"Sounds great." He tried to control the growl in his voice. Shivers rushed up her spine. "Stevie? Let's go. Bea's gotta make herself look pretty for me."

"I'll be sure to wear my finest paper bag, Barnes," she quipped as she leaned back in her chair and the boys made their way to the kitchen doorway. 

Steve was the first to disappear while Bucky lingered, leaning up against the doorframe. His eyes scanned her body and she held his gaze despite the blush that was growing on her cheeks.

"You're a clever one, doll. What's the matter? Afraid of that old Barnes charm?"

"You're about as charming as a damn roach," she bit back.

He grinned, dragging his tongue across his bottom lip.

"I'll pick you up at 6:00. Sharp."

With a wink, he was gone, and the front door shut. Bea heaved a sigh, slumping down in her chair. She glanced at the clock, already knowing she had an hour to get ready. And that jerk was going to be right on time.

She did what she could with her hair in the little time she had and applied rouge carefully to her lips and cheeks.

Not that she was prettying herself up for Bucky. She liked to look presentable for a night out on the town as it was, and it had nothing to do with the cheeky, charismatic boy next door. No sir. 

When Bucky’s telltale knock on her door sounded out at six on the dot, she opened it with a cheerful smile. Only for it to drop when she realised just one of her troublesome neighbours stood on her stoop. 

“Where’s Steve?”

His tongue swiped across his bottom lip as his eyes trailed her figure, "has a cough from being out in the rain, so it looks like it's just going to be the two of us, sweetheart" 

Bea sucked in a deep breath and swallowed thickly, grabbing her shawl from the hook beside the door and brushing past the tall brooding man, "whatever you’re thinking is going to happen, Barnes, you can forget it. I am not one of those floozies you bring home every night."

When a deep chuckle came from behind her, mixed with the clicking of his shoes as he jogged to catch up, Beatrice had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling. No matter how much charm he poured on, she had to remember exactly who he was. She couldn't let her feelings get the best of her now. 

"Oh, believe me, Bea, I've known that for a long time," he mumbled from beside her, a soft smile plastered on his plump pink lips.

When they got down to the street, Bucky held his elbow out to her. Bea looked at it suspiciously, wondering what he was thinking.

"Bea, just take my damn arm - believe it or not, I can be a gentleman."

She hesitated with a huff, before sliding her hand around his arm, "Just this once, Barnes."

The Blue Note was the busiest she had ever seen, couples lingered outside in the cold leaning into each other and most whispering what she could only assume were sweet nothings based on the smiles plastered on the women's faces. A part of her felt a twinge of jealousy watching them. She couldn't deny how nice it would be to have someone but the pure idea of letting a man into her heart made her nauseous. 

"You're lookin' a little green behind the gills there Bumble Bea," she heard him say lowly, feeling him nudge her softly, "you alright?" 

Bea shot a glare up at him, "I'm fine Buckaroo, lets just get inside it's freezing out here." She looked forward again, ignoring the feelings creeping into her veins like vines.

Bucky opened up the door for them, letting her walk in first with a dip of his head and one arm behind his back, “my lady.” 

That eye-rolling boyish grin appeared. She bit back a smile, but it wasn’t enough to hold back the flushness that crept along her neck up to her cheeks. She quickly looked forward again to conceal her reaction as she walked inside with him behind. 

She couldn’t let him have that fun.

Inside, the floor was packed with dancing people. Couples entwined, moving to the music that a live band was playing on the stage at the far end of the room. 

"Can I buy you a drink, sweet Bea?" His voice rasped close to her ear, making the hairs of her neck stand up and a ripple of goosebumps released on her skin. 

"And risk poisoning? No thank you." 

"Come on, doll. Be good," His warm breath returned to the side of her neck, making sure she heard him over the volume of the music.

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as heat pooled at her center. She hated that he had this effect over her. 

Bucky Barnes with his smug grin and a jawline that could cut glass. 

She swallowed thickly before turning slightly to face him, "I'm not a dog Barnes, and I'm not your doll. You're buying me a Manhattan but I'm comin' with ya."

Facing him was almost a mistake because of the way he was leant in, their eyes were at a perfect level with each other and her legs felt like jello with how he was looking over her. The shiny blue pools of his eyes were almost hypnotizing her, almost all the noise around them disappeared for the few seconds that his eyes flickered over her face. 

As he straightened up, his tall figure back to towering above her, a dazzling grin broke out on James' face that had her turning in the direction of the bar and rushing ahead of him to hide the blush that she could feel spreading over her face that had nothing to do with the heat of the dancing bodies around them and everything with the handsome brunette. 

Bea straightened her shoulders and, with a confidence she didn’t really feel, stood at the bar waiting for Bucky to catch her up.

He sauntered up to her with his usual easy gait, his hands in his pockets and his goddamn dreamboat smirk fixed on his stupidly handsome face.

“Manhattan was it?” He asked, tipping his chin to get the bartender’s attention.

“You forgotten already?” Bea snarked.

"Nah, I just wanted to hear your voice again. You sound so pretty when you're not calling me a scoundrel." She drew in a breath and held it for a few seconds as Bucky grinned. "With a lemon twist, right?"

She blushed but held his gaze. Bucky definitely took notice as his eyes bounced around her face, almost unsure where to land.

"How did you know that?"

"Saw you drinking one on your balcony last summer." She went to speak but was cut off by Bucky ordering for her. He turned back to Bea as the bartender began to make their drinks. "Believe it or not, but I do pay close attention to you."

"What for? To drive me crazy?"

His eyes ran up and down her body and she felt that familiar heat flood her cheeks again. He looked good, in a crisp white shirt with a stiff collar, dark pants that had been pressed, and his hair was mostly slicked back with a few stray curls sticking out.

"Somethin' like that," he murmured as their drinks were slid across the bar. Bucky handed hers to her and grinned as he took up his own whisky glass, holding it in the air. "How about a truce tonight?"

"That depends," she replied. "Are you gonna do anything to warrant a slap?"

He leaned forward, that cocky smirk ever present on his plump lips.

"I'll be on my best behavior, sugar."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Somehow I doubt that."

“You wound me, Bea. Am I really that bad?” Bucky chuckled, his hand pressed to his chest in faux hurt. 

“Not bad, Barnes,” Bea said, taking a sip of her drink with a coy smile. “But I fear that admitting you have a certain charm will only make your head grow, and I’m not sure your neck can take the weight as it is.” 

Bucky tilted his head, eyes glimmering with mirth to match the lopsided grin on his lips, and Bea struggled not to reach out and fix the one stray curl that fell over his eyes when he moved.

“Are you saying it’s working? My charm?” 

She hummed thoughtfully, “we’ll see how the night goes.”

As Beatrice let her mind flutter to the idea of this night actually being something fun for the two of them, a small blonde skipped up to them and pressed herself between her and Bucky. 

"Heya Buck, I was hoping I'd see you here tonight," she twisted a curl around her finger and looked over her shoulder at Bea with a sly smirk, "come dance with me" 

Bucky cleared his throat as his eyes flickered from the blonde to the brunette, "Dottie, hi, I uh..." he rubbed his hand over the back of his neck as his cheeks turned pink. 

Beatrice cocked her eyebrow and scoffed as she took a large swing from her drink. Classic Bucky, one girl was just never enough. She could feel the heat rising in her neck as she turned away to try and avoid eye contact with him as he stuttered and talked himself into a circle. 

"Come on Buck," the girl pouted, "you always did prefer blondes," Dottie snipped.

"Uh, Dottie, I'm not sure -"

"Go dance with her, Buck," Bea muttered, "Since you prefer blondes and all."

She turned on her heel and stalked away, aiming for the bar to refill her drink.

"Beatrice," he called after her, her name on his lips. Leaving Dottie planted dumbfounded on the dancefloor he followed Bea to the bar.

"Leave me alone, Barnes," Bea said, knowing it was him who now stood behind her. His clean pine scent clouded her senses. 

"Look, sweets. I'm sorry. I'm here with you because I want to and not because I want to dance with other girls. Can you give me another chance, please?" 

No matter how infuriating this man was, he pulled her in like a magnet. And she was starting to realize that, that might not be that bad.

Bea puffed out her cheeks and pushed herself up her toes as she leaned onto the bar ignoring his plea. She called the bartender forward with a wave and a bat of her eyelashes. She was going to give Bucky a taste of his own medicine even if she wanted to kiss him with just as much ferocity as she wanted to slap him. 

"What can I get ya sweetheart?", the tall broad shouldered blonde rasped as he reached for her glass, fingers grazing her wrist. 

"Manhattan with a twist," she smiled. 

She watched attentively as the man prepared her to drink effortlessly paying no mind to the brooding brunette that huffed behind her. When the man walked back with her drink she pressed her hand to his before grabbing it. 

"Thanks, angel face.", she turned back to face Bucky with a smirk as she sipped on her fresh drink, "Oh I'm sorry Barnes, were you saying something?"

His face was red as she saw him glare at the back of the bartender's head who was already serving another woman down the line, paying no mind to Bucky and the look he sent his way. 

It made Beatrice giddy on the inside, knowing that seeing her flirt with someone might have the same effect on him as she felt when she saw Dot throw herself all over him. Even in the low light of The Blue Note and the cloud of cigarette smoke floating around, she could clearly see the tick in Bucky’s  jaw. His eye blazed as he took a step then another closer to her, effectively cornering her against the bar as he leaned in and she tried not to take a breath of his cologne in and give herself away. He leaned on one hand and the other pushed the stray strand that was resting on his forehead, her eyes never left his until his tongue swept over his lower lip and her eyes caught the movement. 

It felt like they were sharing the same air when he took a deep breath that was seemingly to calm himself, while it only served to knock the breath out of her.

"Please, Bea? I'm really sorry."

His voice was breathy, sweet with the hint of the whiskey he was drinking and it went to her head.

“Are you though?” Bea asked, meeting the ice blue of his eyes with every ounce of glare she could muster. “Or are you so doll-dizzy that you’re gonna get your head turned by every broad that walks in this joint, blonde or otherwise? Maybe Steve had the right idea after all.”

“You got me all wrong sweetheart. I’ve only got eyes for one girl and it ain’t no broad like Dottie.”

She looked him up and down. It was her turn to make him blush. And she did. Bucky bit his lip and she sipped her drink, using the silence to make him sweat a little. She could see it clinging to his brow as his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat. 

“Bea, I swear.” He stuck out his hand. “Can I prove it to you?”

She huffed and looked around the smoky bar. Dottie was standing alone, her hands on her hips, waiting for Bucky to come back to her. Bea felt like sneering at her, but instead, her eyes landed on Bucky. He smiled, those beautiful eyes sparkling in the dim light.

“Dance with me?” He asked. “Just one dance, and then you can slap me in the face if you still wanna.”

He wasn’t going to give up, and she knew it.

“Okay. One dance.”

He grinned as she grasped his hand and he pulled her toward him. Her shoe caught on one of the bar stools and she tripped, bumping right into his chest. Her hand pressed against him and she looked up. Bucky was just as red as she was.

“Sorry,” he stammered. “Got a little too excited.”

Bea couldn’t help but smile at the fumble, because the thing about Bucky Barnes was that for every ounce of cocksure smooth talker, he was an adorable idiot in equal measure. 

“It’s okay. Just maybe go a little slower on the dance floor.” 

“You got it, angel. We’ll sway nice and slow,” he murmured, soft and low as his hands found her waist. “I’ll hold you close, just like this.” 

Bea felt herself grow warmer, a simmering heat in her belly as Bucky’s lips grazed her cheek. 

“Let’s go then,” she pushes, trying to keep her voice steady despite her pounding heart. “Because right now you’re all talk, Buck.”

Bucky smirked, swiping his tongue along his bottom lip as he gently guided her to the dance floor. Beatrice ignored the eruption of butterflies and stomped them down as she followed. No man, not even Bucky Barnes was going to make her swoon that easily. He had a lot more work to do. 

He spun her slowly under his arm before catching her waist and intertwining his fingers with hers. Her free hand landed on his chest and curled into the fabric of his shirt as she bit the inside of her cheek. Coincidentally the band started playing one of her favorite songs "Prelude to a kiss", and she looked up to see a small smile grace the man's lips. 

"Let's just say I knew you wouldn't be able to say no..." He whispered, reaching up to brush a chocolate curl off her cheek. 

Bea shook her head, finally allowing herself to smile up at him. This cheeky bastard. Their eyes were locked as they swayed to the song, the rest of the crowd seemingly fading away as the tips of their noses just brushed together. 

"Bucky" A high-pitched whine came from beside them, snapping both of them back to reality. 

"You said you would dance with me," Dottie pouted, eyeing Beatrice as she crossed her arms over her chest.

Every warm feeling she had flooded out of her body as Dot continued to edge her way towards Bucky. 

"Sorry Dottie, I'm not looking for any other dance partners tonight," Bucky said, keeping his hold on Bea firm as the brunette kept his eyes focused on Bea. 

Dot shot a glare at Bea with a foot stomp, "You promised." She said through gritted teeth, as Bea let out a soft laugh. Dot's eyes narrowed, "Besides why would you want to dance with the loner on Montague St? Didn't take you for a Charity man though you do live with Stevie." 

Bucky let out a sigh, hanging his head as Bea let go of him, pulling herself from his grasp. The words coursing through her like a rapid river that only caused more and more destruction as they flowed through her. 

"Beatrice," Bucky warned lowly, his voice fading as the anger in her chest bubbled. 

Dot's eyes grew wider the moment Bea took a step towards her, "Dot do you understand what the word no means?" She tossed her a pointed look, waiting for an answer. 

But as soon as Dot went to open her poorly painted lips Bea opened hers, "Clearly not, so instead of following Bucky around like a lost little puppy dog, why don't you go find someone else to bother? Or are you just that desperate for attention?" 

The blonde once again stood dumbfounded, eyes flickering between Bea and Bucky. 

Bea tsked as the tension between the three of them grew, "I gotta say Dottie, didn't take you as the desperate type, but yet" she spread her arms out in front of her, "here we are." 

"Are you just going to stand there and let her speak to me like that?!" Dot exclaimed raging eyes moving to the brunette behind her. 

Bucky chuckled, the sound flowing through her calming the rage, "Like I said sweets, I'm not looking for another partner tonight, and come to think of it probably not for the next night," Bea felt him lean forward, resting his chin on her shoulder, "or the night after that and after--" 

Dot stomped her foot and huffed once again letting out a whine as she spun on her heel away from them not giving him the chance to finish the sentence that Bea almost wished was true.

Bea smirked as she saw Dot huff and pout all the way to the ladies’ room. Bucky straightened his back, standing tall as they continued to sway with the music for a few measures. 

She looked up at him through her lashes, all rage dissipating when she saw he was already looking down at her. Her cheeks grew warm. Bea felt something else bubble in her chest- this time, it felt like nerves. 

“I can see through your little game, Barnes.”

“Game?” A small, knowing smile pulled at the corner of Bucky’s lips. “What game?”

He continued staring down at her as his hands traced absentminded circles on the back of her waist. She could feel his fingers through all her layers and a small shiver ran up her spine. 

Bea couldn’t help but smirk back at him. “Yuppp,” she said, making sure to pop the last syllable.

“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about,” Bucky said and as the music swelled, he spun her out of his arms and back in, dipping her slightly. Bea got lost in his blue eyes, sparkling with excitement as he pulled her back upright. 

“Right,” she said, a little more breathlessly than she’d have liked, “You’re just full of surprises aren’t you?”

He laughed, warm breath fanning Bea's cheek and sending tingles over her skin. A smoky haze was filling the room and she blamed that for the sudden lightheaded sensation that hit her like a truck. She barely had time to blink before Bucky spun her around once more, her skirt swirling around her legs as her back met his chest at the end of the turn. She suppressed a whimper when she felt his lips brush the baby hairs at her temple. 

"I gotta few things I could still show you," he whispered. "If you'd like." 

Bea smothered her arousal with a snort, begging her face to not flare up pink. The music started to fade as she tilted her head up towards Bucky, turning. Her hands slid up his broad shoulders and she felt the muscles ripple underneath when Bucky pulled her body flush with his again. 

"Does that line usually work?" she murmured, looking up through her eyelashes. 

Not for the first time, she found the dark flecks in his ocean eyes as they focused on her crimson-colored mouth. He swallowed heavily, tongue darting out to lick his lips as his breathing became a little quicker. She could feel the hammering of his heart against her own and for once, Bea realized that Bucky Barnes might not be as sure of himself as it appeared.

"I don't know," Bucky drawled, still searching her face with a soft smirk. "You tell me...is it?"

"It might." Bea inched closer to him until his hot breath fanned over her face. 

"Oh, really? Tell me, sweets, what do you want to do now? I'm all yours." 

Her breath caught in her throat as a small whimper left her lips.

"Kiss me, you big, annoying boy," She closed her eyes as his lips descended down to hers, adding just the slightest pressure. Her mind reeled with intoxicating thoughts. Nothing could have prepared her for what kissing him felt like. It felt like an explosion.

His lips are so soft was Bea's first thought as their lips connected. Her hands slid up his big, strong arms and sank into the hairs at the nape of his neck hoping to anchor herself as he pushed against her lips. Gaining more confidence and pouring it into the kiss as she leaned more into him while his hands gripped her waist, almost stepping on his foot in the process. 

All too soon, the need for oxygen left them both breathless as he pulled back just enough to take a gulp of air but stayed close. So close that their lips were still touching as they caught their breaths, sharing them in the small space. 

Beatrice's body was on a high like no other. And it was just one, simple kiss that turned her to mush.

Bucky's smile could melt a glacier as he gently pressed the tip of his nose against hers.

"Whaddya say we get out of here, angel? No more pretending to hate me."

"Who's pretending?" She breathed.

Bea smirked, realizing that her hand was still on the back of his neck. Meanwhile, Bucky's lingered on her waist, moving toward her lower back. He gently pulled her toward him so that her body was flush with his and she was convinced that he could see her pulse in her throat. Her heart was hammering, and suddenly, those two drinks she had felt like two dozen. All thanks to him.

"You think that worked, huh?"

"I can tell by the look in your eyes that it did." He dipped his head, pressing his lips to her earlobe. "And I think we need to deal with this tension between us."

"What tension?"

Bucky's fingers danced up and down her spine and she shivered against him. His low, rumbling laughter rippled through her body like an electric current. 

"That tension."

Bucky grinned, his nose scrunching as Bea rolled her eyes. But the smile on her own face matched his and she tilted her head, chasing his lips for another soft kiss. 

“Is it too forward of me if I ask you to take me home, Bucky?” 

“You had enough of me already, sweetheart? And here I was thinking I was getting somewhere.” 

Bea laughed, and her hand wandered down Bucky’s arm to link their fingers together as she pushed up onto her toes and brought her own lips to his ear. 

“Take me home where there are no prying eyes…” she whispered.

For a split second, Bucky seemed to freeze. Then, without a word he abruptly squeezed her hand in his and tugged her out of the club. He was so eager to get them home, Bea had to jog to keep up with him, her skirt flapping around her knees.

As they approached the steps to their apartment building, Bucky slowed to a stop, pulling Bea close.

"You haven't changed your mind, have you?" He asked softly, face close to hers.

"No," She wanted to add on a snappy comment, but he kissed her then.

A few cold drops on her head were the only warning before the sky errupted over them in a downpour. They pulled apart in surprise, and then dissolved into laughter, clinging to each other as the rain soaked them to the bone.

Bea tilted her head back, letting the rain fall against her skin, little tiny droplets sticking to her as she lifted her eyes to his. She expected him to be looking up at the sky as well, but instead, he was staring at her. Eyes bright and neon against the dark sky. 

"What?" She breathed a smile playing against her lips. 

He reached up, pushing back strands of wet curls that had fallen out of place and plastered to her forehead as he shook his head softly, "nothing darling, you just look really pretty right now." 

Bea giggled, "I didn't realize drowned rat was your type." 

He smiled, that bright smile that always made her warm inside, "no, but you are."

Bucky leaned down and captured her lips with his, drawing her body flush against his toned front. He pulled away and nuzzled their noses. 

“Plus, you’re more like a drowned Pomeranian. A lot cuter, with a hell of a bite.”

Bea snorted a burst of laughter escaping her before she pulled Bucky down. She kissed him slowly, dragging his lower lip out between her teeth a bit before releasing him. 

“Get me inside and I’ll show you just how much I bite,” she grinned as Bucky’s eyes darkened. He laced their fingers together and began pulling her up the steps and into their building.

The walk down the hall to Bea's apartment was a dripping tangle of tongues and teeth, their hands exploring further with each step closer to the door. Quick kisses turned into long, heart stopping ones that made Bea's toes curl up in the damp leather of her shoes. By the time her key slid into the worn lock, both of them were out of breath and out of control. 

Stumbling inside, Bucky grabbed Bea's waist once more. She let out a squeak as she wobbled on her heels and a pair of eager, slightly chilled lips made a trail from her ear to her throat. 

"Bucky!" she exclaimed, righting herself by grabbing his shoulders. "You tryin' to kill me? These shoes are a mile high!" 

He grinned before pressing his lips to hers once more. Suddenly, Bucky dropped down to his knees and wrapped his hands around her ankle. The skin of his palm was rough through her stockings and she moaned quietly as he looked up, blue eyes blown out with desire. 

"How about I help you out, sweet thing?" Bucky murmured, grabbing her heel and lifting her leg into his lap. 

His deft fingers made quick work of the straps on her heels, eyes focused on her flushed cheeks and damp skin as he switched from one foot to the other. Every brush of his fingers made the heat in her belly build until finally, she couldn't take it any longer, pulling him up and back towards her bedroom.

When they made it to her bedroom, Bucky shut the door behind him, lit by nothing but the silvery wisps of moonlight that shone through the curtains. She expected another kiss, but he quickly moved behind her, grasping the zipper on her dress as he leaned over to press his lips to her ear. He turned her to face the big full-length mirror that stood next to the window. Bea could see her flushed cheeks, her damp hair that stuck to her head, and her dress was soaked all the way through. Bucky looked gorgeous, water dripping off of his hair and trickling down his face. 

"Can I undress you?" He purred. "I always thought about doin' it."

She stood completely still as one of his hands came to slide around her waist, fingers spreading out across her belly. He pulled her toward him, pressing himself against her. She felt the pressure of his cock against her ass and whimpered as his hand travelled a little lower, slipping beneath her dampened skirt. His hands were freezing in comparison to her scorched skin and he gently nipped her earlobe.

"Please, Bea?"

"Yes," she rasped.

Bucky grinned and she watched as he oh-so-slowly dragged the zipper down, watching her watch him in the mirror. It felt like an eternity. Her stomach swarmed with butterflies and her cheeks were so hot she felt like she might combust. She trembled like a leaf.

"You cold, darling?" He asked in that soft, husky voice that nearly brought her to her knees. His lips pressed against the back of her neck as he fully unzipped the dress and began to push it off of her shoulders. 

"A little."

He grinned, sucking gently on the spot between her neck and shoulder. Bea whimpered, her back arching as she reached behind her to wind her fingers in his hair. 

"We should warm you up, then, hmm?"

Bucky wrapped his arms around her bare waist as the dress pooled around her feet.

Her heart felt like it was going to explode out of her chest, it was beating so hard.

He chuckled lightly when she gasped, his lips grazing her neck as he trailed wet kisses down to her collarbone.

"Don't laugh - you're cold!" She hissed. Even though she was definitely enjoying his attention, he was pressed against her in his still damp, chilly clothing.

Bea spun around in his arms, pressing her hand to his chest. "I think it's my turn now," she grinned, dragging her lips along his jawline, "stay still for me." 

She ran her hands down his soaked shirt, tugging on the fabric just above his slacks. The white linen pulled free from his pants and hung loose around his hips. Bea grazed her fingers against the chilled skin of his abs before attempting to work the buttons on his shirt. 

Her fingers fumbled, a soft huff of frustration left her lips before she finally gave up and gripped the edges and yanked, tearing it clean from the fasteners. Buttons flew across the room between them as she ran her hands back down his bare chest, sending a wave of goosebumps along his kin. 

"Jesus Bea," His voice rasped as she looked up at him through thick lashes, "I liked that shirt." He grinned. 

"And I like it better off." She cooed, pressing her lips to his chest leaving perfect lipstick stamps against the toned muscle as her fingers trailed down to his slacks.

Bucky whined and bit down on his bottom lip. “I don’t think I’m gonna survive this if you keep talkin’ like that, sweets.”

Her fingers worked at his belt while her lips continued kissing his chest. She left small, chaste kisses along his collarbone, noting the constellation of freckles gathered near his shoulder. 

He was so beautiful, and he was putty in her hands. She wanted to savor every sound, every sharp intake of breath - she didn’t want this to end. 

Once his belt was off, she undid the top button of his slacks. “Is this okay?” Bea asked breathlessly.

“S’more than okay darling, please,” Bucky said, letting out a whimper when she bent down, squatting and lowering his pants as she went. She knelt in front of him, and stared up through her lashes. 

Bucky audibly gulped, lifting a slightly shaking hand to Bea’s cheek. He brushed his fingertips along her cheekbone, breath escaping his lips as he spoke. 

“You’re so beautiful Bea,” he murmured, and she flushed, grinning at him. 

“Flattery will get you nowhere with me,” she said despite her heated cheeks. Bucky shook his head and brushed her cheek again. 

“Not flattery, just honesty.”

Bea rocked back on her heels, helping Bucky take the last step out of his pants. They both giggled when he wobbled, unsteady as the soaked fabric tried to cling to his skin. Goosebumps raised on his thighs and stomach, the boxers underneath nearly soaked through. 

"Like what you see?" Bucky drawled, making her realize she'd been sitting there slack jawed for more than a few seconds.

"Maybe," she remarked playfully, running her nails down his thighs. "Or I'm just thinking about what I can't see...can I?"

"Fuck," he muttered breathlessly as his head fell backwards. "Yes. That...that sounds great." 

She giggled softly, reaching up to tease the strip of skin above his boxers before starting to work them down his legs. Every inch exposed was hard muscle and smooth skin, making her mouth water. When his cock sprang free, flushed pink and rock hard, she looked back up with the best doe eyes she could muster. 

"You ever have a girl put her mouth on you?" 

Bucky's head snapped down, eyes wide, and for a moment he looked just like the kid in high school that she first developed this horrendous crush on. 

"Christ, Beatrice," he laughed before tracing her bottom lip with his thumb. "Yeah, but none with a mouth like this one."

She stood and wrapped her fingers around his cock, stroking it slowly just to watch his eyes roll back and a curse spill from his lips. Her mouth ghosted along his stubbled jaw. Bucky was usually clean shaven, but she liked to feel a little bit of stubble and wondered what that would feel like between her thighs. 

"Get on the bed and I'll show you everything this mouth can do," she breathed.

"You like to boss men around, don't you?" He groaned as she squeezed his cock just a little. Bea chuckled.

"What's the matter, Barnes? Can't handle it?"

"Oh, I can. I just wish we had crossed this bridge a long time ago."

She kissed him, released his cock and shoved him backward so that he stumbled and collapsed onto the bed. Bea didn't waste time in climbing on top of him. She reached back, unclasping her bra and tossing it aside. Bucky's eyes nearly bugged right out of his head the second he saw her bare tits. His brain looked like it was going to explode and she put her hand on his chest.

"Lay back, sugar. I'll take care of you."

He whimpered as her lips began to glide down his chiselled chest, over taut muscle. She flicked his hipbones with her tongue and he squirmed as she teased him a little until he was quivering beneath her, his cock pulsing. Bea pressed her lips to the tip, her eyes locking with his. Bucky was a mess, with big glistening blue eyes, biting down on his bottom lip as his entire body clenched like a fist. She slowly stuck her tongue out and dragged it up his shaft, causing a high-pitched whine to fill the room. Bea giggled and Bucky's head hit the mattress.

"You're killin' me, princess."

"And here I thought you liked to be teased, Barnes."

A deep growl left his chest as he reached down and tucked a piece of damp hair behind her ear, "I'm usually the one on the teasing side, Bea, but I am not complaining," he rasped. 

Beatrice smirked, and pumped her hand up his cock, "Good boy," she whispered, pulling the tip between her lips and sucking lightly, pulling a moan from Bucky's lips as he gripped the sheets at his sides.

She hollowed her cheeks taking him further into her mouth, her fingers wrapping around the base squeezing gently the length she couldn't fit. Warmth pooled at her center as the sounds of his pleasure filled the room around them. Sweet praises and soft curses wrapped her in a blanket of lust as she bobbed her head. 

"Bea I ain't gonna last long if you keep doing that," he breathed in between gasps of air. 

She released him with a pop grinning up at him, "you better try because I'm taking my time with you," Bea flicked her tongue over the tip, running it through the slit and collecting a bead of precum. 

"Goddamnit," he groaned his head pressing into the pillow as his hips lifted, "You're going to kill me." 

"Maybe," she hummed against him, "but not tonight." She teased before taking him in her mouth again with her own moan that vibrated through them both.

Bea took him deeper, nudging the back of her throat and Bucky’s breath hitched. She slowly pulled off him, sitting back on her heels, a line of spit connecting them before it broke. Bea raised her eyes to Bucky’s, finding them blown out with lust and awe. 

He gaped at her, and she smirked. “Finally speechless Barnes?” He blinked, a grin sliding across his lips as he sat up, big hands smoothing over her thighs before gripping them tightly and lifting her slightly. He pulled her forwards into his lap, until she was straddling him. 

His eyes were locked on her breasts, and a whine slipped out of his mouth before he asked, “Can I?”

"Can you what?" Bea asked. "Use your words or you're not gonna get what you want. I don't care how many drinks you bought me tonight."

Bucky growled and somehow, she was flipped onto her back, caged in by his strong arms. She yelped as his mouth dragged down her throat. Bea couldn't help but whimper as he hit that spot again, this time sinking his teeth into it just a little.

"Taste you," he whispered. "Please, Bea?"

Bea laughed, and the sound only seemed to drive him crazier. He sounded so desperate, pressing his hips into her thigh and rolling them so that she could feel his cock throbbing against her. His mouth found hers in a desperate and aching kiss and he moaned against her lips.

"Say yes," he begged. "Please say yes."

She broke the kiss, pushing his damp hair out of his face.

"You haven't even gotten my underwear off yet." 

Bucky's eyes went wide and he sat on his haunches, grabbing the flimsy fabric with both hands and tearing it with ferocity. Bea gasped, reaching out to swat at him as he laughed.

"Buck, those were expensive!"

"Payback for my shirt," he replied with a grin as he stretched out between his legs, rolling his hips into the mattress. She watched as he placed gentle kisses up and down her thighs and those big blue eyes made her heart skip a beat. "I'll buy you new ones."

Beatrice combed her hand into his hair with a smirk, cocking an eyebrow at him, "you better" 

Placing gentle kisses and nips along the skin of her hip bones, Bucky smiled into her, a deep laugh sending a vibration of pleasure up her body, "sweetheart, I will buy you whatever you want," he took a deep breath and pressed his lips to her wet folds. 

A whine left her throat and she arched her back, "now who's being a tease..." she quipped. 

Bucky circled her clit with his tongue before pulling it between his teeth and sucking softly, "you taste just as sweet as I'd imagined Bea," he mumbled into her skin.

"Less talking," she moaned even though the vibration from his voice worked to drive her crazy. 

She felt him chuckle between her legs as her hips rolled against his mouth. Warm euphoria washed over her like sunshine as he ran his tongue through her, circling her clit in small tight circles as if trying to whisper something to her. 

Moan after moan spilled from both of them while her orgasm built. Her back arched further off the mattress when two fingers slowly slid into her causing her to gasp and tangle her fingers into the roots of his hair. 

"Jesus Bucky," she breathed, feeling his arm hook over her waist, holding her down to the bed.

He groaned into her, sucking on her clit lightly as he pushed his long fingers deeper inside her. 

“Oh! Right there, don’t move a damn inch,” Bea ordered and Bucky whined as she swore, keeping his fingers exactly where they were, rubbing over her sweet spot. “Harder Buck, oh Jesus,” she panted as he did as she said, crooking his fingers harder against her and making her legs start to shake.

He chuckled, keeping the exact pace and pressing against that spot. A warm tingling sensation engulfed her lower back and her clit began to pulse in his mouth. Suddenly, her spine arched and she draped one leg over his shoulder, digging her heel into his strong back as she came with a loud cry. Her hips snapped relentlessly against him as stars appeared behind her eyes. Bucky fucked her right through it, his mouth and fingers stroking her gently as she began to come down. When she was a panting, sweaty mess, he finally looked up at her.

"Never heard a woman make those kinds of sounds before."

Her head was too fuzzy to think of a slick comeback for him. He earned this. Her limbs felt like they were made of jelly and she pushed her fingers through his gorgeous dark hair.

"Good boy," was all she could muster.

That sent Bucky into a frenzy. His eyes flashed and he practically leapt on top of her, his mouth crashing against hers.

"Say it again," he begged through desperate and pleading kisses. 

"Good boy."

His voice broke.

"Goddammit." He pulled back, staring at her. "I need you, Beatrice. So damn badly."

"How badly?"

"Like sometimes, when you're watering the plants on your porch, I think about bending you over it and pulling your skirt up."

His eyes were nearly black, and he looked manic and consumed with lust. She giggled as she wound her arms around the back of his neck, biting down on her bottom lip. His eyes roamed her face and his chest heaved.

"Maybe I want that."

He practically dissolved in front of her, eyes rolling back as he kissed her again.

"I need to be inside you."

"Then get to it, big boy," Bea finally snipped when she caught her breath, bucking her hips up into him. 

A mix between a chuckle and a growl escaped Bucky as he moved his lips down her jaw, nipping the spot just under her ear as he reached between them and lined himself up with her entrance. He continued kissing down her neck, ghosting his lips along her throat before sitting back and catching her gaze. 

His eyes traced her features, "are you okay, Bea?" 

Beatrice nodded, and cupped his cheek, "I'm okay Buck, please... I need this, I need you" she whispered, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, letting herself be vulnerable for one moment. 

Of course, in a time of passion and lust, this man would take a second to check in on her. He always did have a soft side that came on in moments when it really mattered, but Bea had never thought he would be like that in a moment like this. 

Bucky took her words and nodded once, as he slowly pushed himself into her, capturing her lips once more and swallowing a moan as their sounds mixed together. He paused, letting her adjust to him before slowly pumping his hips against her, letting her whine into his mouth.

It surprised Bea a little that Bucky was being so gentle - perhaps she had imagined him to be a more demanding lover or rougher.

Not that she'd ever thought about what Bucky would be like in bed. 

Oh, who was she kidding - she'd definitely thought about it. More than once.

"Faster," She whined, "Please, Bucky -"

Bucky growled in her ear, "So demanding," He groaned, nibbling lightly on her neck before pushing himself up. 

Without stopping his thrusts, he positioned her legs on his shoulders, grabbed her hips and did exactly as she asked.

"Oh - f-f-fuck!" Bea cried out, her fingers curling into the bedsheets as he angled himself just right, hitting the sweet spot and making sparks fly across her vision.

Bucky groaned, planting soft kisses along her calves as he continued his pace though she only felt him. Her eyes were slammed shut, head thrust back into the pillow. Noises that she wasn't even sure if she was the one making were filling the room around them, the sounds of the built-up tension between them finally crackling like lightning. 

Years of unspoken words hung in the air like stars as she opened her eyes looking up at him. His hair was matted to his forehead from the thin sheen of sweat that covered his body. With flushed cheeks and muscles taut, he released her legs, bringing himself back down to press his lips against her own. 

"You have no idea how much I've needed you," he whispered against her mouth as her hands rested against his cheeks, holding his face to hers. It scared her to admit that she'd been wanting this too but she had a feeling he already knew. 

"Just kiss me again," was all she could manage as the mixture of pleasure and emotions swirled inside of her building with her orgasm.

Bucky crashed his lips down onto hers, their tongues mixing together. He rolled his hips deeper into her, pressing her down into the mattress, his toned body firm against hers softer one. 

Bea pulled away from the kiss, gasping, “Bucky! Oh god, please!”

“What Bea? Tell me, sweetheart, what do you need?” Bucky asked softly, trailing his nose along her jaw, pressing a kiss to that spot behind her ear. “C’mon pretty girl, lemme give it to you.”

Bea whined, head angled to the side to give him more room. “N-need to come,” she moaned as Bucky breathed against her ear. “Please, need you - need to come.”

Bucky kissed her forehead. 

"You first, angel. I need to feel you, need you to be a good girl for me."

She shivered against him and his hips began to snap faster and faster as Bea began to quiver around him. Her fingernails raked down his back, digging into his skin. She began to cry out and moan louder and louder until her cries were bouncing off of the walls. She felt self-conscious for a second, but once he started hitting that spot over and over again, it didn't matter. 

Finally, she crumbled, coming so hard that her eyes squeezed shut and his mouth crashed against hers. 

"That's my girl," he moaned. "God, you're incredible. I wanna make you scream like that every day."

She breathed a whine and mumbled something incoherently every nerve in her body still ignited from her orgasm. Bucky brushed his hand over her cheek with a chuckle as his hips continued to snap against hers. 

"I've got you, Bea," he groaned, the pace of his hips becoming uncontrolled as he approached his own climax. She could feel his cock twitch inside her, as the sensitive nerves of her spot were hit again over and over. 

Their sounds filled her apartment as his hips crashed against hers until finally, he came with a deep moan, burying his face into the crook of her neck. Bea racked her fingers into his hair, tugging gently with a whine as she helped him through the overwhelming pleasure that had taken both of them. 

His hips stilled and they stayed there for a few moments, Bucky pressed soft kisses into her skin, whispering praises into her ear with their breath mixing together.

Slowly, Bucky eased out of her, rolling to the side without letting Bea go.

She shifted, nuzzling against him, relishing the afterglow of what they had just done.

"Still hate me?" He asked, smirking as he pressed a kiss against her forehead.

“Not at the moment,” she grinned, giggling when Bucky feigned a look of shock. He kissed her gently, pulling back and opening his mouth but he was interrupted by a knock at the door. 

“I wonder who that is?” Bea murmured and disentangled herself from Bucky despite his protests. 

“Just leave it doll, they’ll go away.” He tried as she pulled on a robe, covering herself. 

“I’ll be right back,” she promised, slipping out of her room.

She tightened the robe around her and found Steve Rogers climbing in through her kitchen window. Bea cleared her throat and watched as his head snapped up and he yelped, falling inside and onto the floor with a grunt.

"Rogers, you know that's a crime, right?"

Steve clamoured to his feet and dusted himself off. He wasn't drenched, so the rain must have stopped. It suddenly occurred to her that she didn't hear it pattering against the windows, but then again, she was too focused on Bucky.

"You know where Buck is?" He asked. His eyes narrowed. "Why's your hair look like that?"

"Like what?" She snapped.

"All messy."

Bea flushed and cleared her throat.

"I was asleep."

"In your makeup?"

"Rogers, what the hell do you want?"

"Bucky's not home, I thought he might have gotten too drunk again and fallen asleep on your couch."

She sighed, not wanting to burst the little bubble she and Bucky had created. She wanted to go back to bed and feel his arms wrapped around her while she fell asleep.

"I left him at the bar talking to some floozy. He's probably at her place."

Steve sighed and she pointed outside.

"Go home, Steve. He's a big boy, he'll be back tomorrow."

"Yeah, okay." He turned toward the window and Bea snapped her fingers. "Use the door like a human being, please."

"Fiiiiiine," Steve groaned.

She watched him head for the door and take one last look at her over his shoulder, his eyes still filled with doubt. Bea went to lunge at him and he yelped, skittering out the door, slamming it behind him. She huffed and went to lock it before padding back to the bedroom.

"Barnes, tell Rogers to stop climbing in women's windows! He's gonna get punched one day!" 

When she entered her bedroom, Beatrice found Bucky, with his pants pulled halfway up. He cleared his throat and continued getting dressed with a shy smile. For a split second, a wave of hurt washed over her, thinking exactly the thoughts she had about him prior to their night together, but she did her best to push those aside. 

"Where do you think your going?" She faked a pout and wandered over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. 

Bucky groaned and placed his hands on either side of her face, giving her lips a soft kiss, moving to her cheek and ghosting her lips to kiss the tip of her nose, "I'm so sorry sweetheart, you must think I'm awful right now, but I really should get home to check on Steve..." 

Beatrice pulled her lip between her teeth, tracing her eyes over his features with a furrowed brow, "seriously?" 

He shrugged and pulled her tightly against his body, "he worries when I don't come home..." Bucky whispered, brushing her hair away from her face, "I promise we will talk tomorrow, okay?" 

With a small nod of her head, she breathed out and pressed her lips into a thin line, "yeah... yeah of course." 

There it was again, that small twinge of hurt and suddenly she felt like any of the other girls Bucky had dared to bring home. Despite knowing that it was true, Steve always came to her on nights Bucky didn't make it home, but it didn't make her feel any better as she walked him to the front door. 

Bucky captured her lips one last time, savoring the way their mouths fit together like two pieces of the same puzzle, letting his forehead linger against hers as their noses brushed together, "I promise, beautiful... First thing in the morning, I'm all yours" 

With a soft smile, Beatrice bid him good night and watched him linger in the hallway for a few minutes before walking into his own apartment and playing it off to Steve who did in fact sound worried about him. She let herself push away the hurt feelings and enjoy the time she'd spent with Bucky. A side of him she'd never seen before, and one she definitely hoped she'd get to see again. 

She flopped onto her bed with a lopsided smile and ghosted her fingertips over her lips, allowing the exhaustion to take over. Beatrice slipped into a deep sleep, with thoughts of her Bucky dancing through her dreams.

[angeletombee]

Our Finest Hour

Here we go again, cats.

Submitted for your approval: One WWII and postwar-era GO Human AU fanfic (Rated E) WIP. I was inspired by this piece by mushrooomfield some time ago and started doing research on the war in preparation. I've always wanted to do something from that era, so here was the perfect opportunity! I planned on a short one this time, especially after Just Like Heaven, so, as usual, I swore it would be a quickie -- 10k words max. No really. I'm serious this time!

Weeelllllll...

That is not happening, as I'm sure you can surmise. So, if you're interested in joining me through another historical Good Omens human AU slog, hop in the Jeep and grab my hand...cuz here we go...

[bradshawsbaby]

Letters to My Love

SERIES MASTERLIST

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: When you signed up to volunteer with the USO, you never anticipated that you would meet a man like Ensign Robert Floyd. Fate brings you together one balmy spring evening in Charleston—the night before Bob is set to ship off across the Atlantic. Pen and paper become your only means of sharing your heart with the naval aviator who’s captivated it, igniting a correspondence that spans the distance between you. Can love blossom even as war rages and thousands of miles keep you apart?

Set the Mood: If you’re looking for some 1940s vibes, check out the playlist I made to pair with the story!

JOIN THE TAGLIST!

Table of Contents

Part I // The Night We Met

Part II // Georgia on My Mind

Part III // Blue Moon

Part IV // Moonlight Becomes You

Part V // Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy

Part VI // May Your Days Be Merry and Bright

Part VII // Auld Lang Syne

Part VIII // We’ll Meet Again

Part IX // Dream A Little Dream Of Me

Part X // Rosie the Riveter

Part XI // COMING SOON

[bucky-barnes-diaries]

1940s!Boyfriend!Bucky x Female!Reader

Going on a double date with Steve and Peggy to the Carnival, but you and Bucky sneak away so you can fool around in The Hall of Mirrors 🎡

moodboard masterlist

[imaginedreamwrite]

I’ll Get By

A/N: There will be things that I get wrong/may not be historically accurate, please forgive me!

Part 2: The Small Things

1946 — St. Catherine’s Asylum

The fall swept in with a whirlwind and just as soon as it had approached, it felt as if it would be overshadowed by winter. There was an overlying sense of dread for the winter to come, if the 1946 Farmer’s Almanac was right. The winter was set to be cold, with heavy snow headed for NYC and the surrounding areas.

But it wasn’t the weather that you wanted to focus your time on, or your thoughts. There was something much more important bothering you, or rather someone. The news that Lyle Samson told you about the celebrity in the asylum had made you take a pause when you first heard him say it weeks ago. And in the few moments following his whispered secret, you found out it was Steve Rogers.

Captain America himself, the hero that had saved thousands of people being in the St. Catherine’s Asylum—for the feeble-minded as it was called—was as shocking as it was mystifying. There was a countless amount of heroism that was thrown aside just as he was thrown into the cursed building.

The things he had done in the war, and likely had seen, could have driven him crazy if he actually had a weak mind and yet, it seemed as if he was anything but. Aside from the lifetime guilt that would likely plague him from the loss of his friend in the war, his mind had seemed sharp.

It was intrigue that made you search for the cause behind his place in the asylum, on your days away from the cursed building. With the very few resources you had as a woman in 1946, struggling in a Brooklyn apartment that left little to be desired, you had attempted to feed your curiosity. It wasn’t just the resources that you had lacked in, it was a lack of opportunity to talk to the man himself.

The action of the nurse who had put you on the men’s ward to begin with, had been rectified by Dr. Rollins, who had removed you from that floor. It had felt as if you were in limbo between working in the direction that the lead doctor had wanted you to go in, and being hazed as the newest nurse. Those with seniority had often sent the new nurses to the men’s wards, fully knowing that their outside contact with women was limited.

It was a prospect that was anxiety inducing for the newer staff members, as you’d heard from a few other nurses working in that ward. The men were maddened by the asylum themselves or the newest treatments that Dr. Rollins had wanted to inflict on the patients.

You’d wondered if the treatments themselves weren’t the root cause for their mental state, treatments like electroshock therapy or even lobotomies if Dr. Rollins thought the case called for it. You had never bared witness to the treatments themselves, rather you had been assigned the task of giving medicine, taking blood or delivering the patients’ meals.

As it was, you had served a single shift on the men’s ward, being you were placed on the children’s floor. There was almost something more debilitating about seeing the children, young and innocent faces locked behind their doors, that ate at your insides. Those small children, those poor innocents left behind by parents or ripped from their homes by people who thought they knew better….

You hated the children’s ward more than you hated the men’s ward. There was such a lack of genuine care by some nurses, who had likened themselves to being babysitters for those little girls and boys, rather than caretakers. For weeks, you had done your best to extend all the kindness you could afford to them, while inherently feeling sickened by their treatments.

It was near the end of October when you had finally convinced Dr. Rollin’s to place you back on the men’s floor. The request itself seemed to turn his head and garner his curiosity, since most nurses would rather avoid the men’s ward at all costs. For you, for your ability to try to sleep at night, you could not be around children when the staff didn’t care about them. Your heart broke for those children, for everyone who was left abandoned in the care of those who treated them like a problem.

The children, who were most vulnerable in the entire asylum, had been treated the worst. There was a deep deposited hurt in your heart and soul that made you incapable of being able to find rest late at night. Insomnia had afflicted you in the quiet hours of night in your Brooklyn apartment, where you would toss and turn. Your mind was an impossible thing to turn off, as you thought about the patients you had come to know.

And the ones you wanted to know.

It had taken weeks for you to be placed back on the men’s ward. When you had gotten placed back on the floor, you were determined to treat them like the patients were people and not animals. The first day back on the men’s ward had started with an opportunity for enrichment for the men, a chance for them to get out of their rooms and do something with their time.

Although the task was simple—a chance to draw or sketch with charcoal pencils and cheap sketchbook paper—it was enough to occupy them. You were assigned the task, with one of the other nurses, of looking over the men as they sat in a large, somewhat airy room.

There was nothing but chairs that had faced the front of the room with sunlight streaming through dirty thin glass panel windows. The nurse assisting you with the task was as uninterested as you had imagined, choosing to take her time writing a letter to her lover, rather than care for the patients.

“They’re sketching, they won’t do anything.” She had quipped with a disinterest when saddling you with handing out the charcoal pencils and sketchbooks. She had preoccupied herself with the pen she had twirled between her fingers, and the smoke in her other hand that was lit yet not used yet. “Go!”

The temptation to speak what was on your tongue, a curse you’d wished you’d had more bravado to speak, had died quickly. Regardless of you being a nurse during the latter years of the war, the lives you had tried to save when they came to the hospital you were assigned, you felt like she was scolding you like she would a child. There was nothing you could have said currently to her, not with these men watching the two of you, and any aggressive attempt would only unsettle them.

You silenced yourself and started passing out the charcoal pencils and sketchbooks, working your way toward the back of the large room. With each passing second, you had been aware of the eyes on you, the men who were watching you. There was a level of unease around the room, a certain amount of tension from the patients, who had very obviously been aware they were outnumbering the two of you.

And yet as you approached the back of the room, the last chair and patient to receive a sketchbook, you’d felt your heart stop. Like the first time you had seen him, Steve Rogers was undeniably captivating. His blonde hair was messily brushed out of his face, and his blue-green eyes had once again made you forget how to breathe. He was a national hero, and his placement here in the asylum seemed to be completely improper for someone like him.

After everything he had done, after everything he had given up to save lives, he was thrown in here? To be forgotten and thrown aside? It seemed like such an injustice for him, to have him give everything and be locked in here.

“Thank you,” his deep voice was husky and alluring, and there was a moment when his hand brushed against yours, “nurse L/N.”

Electricity like you’d never felt before had passed from his hand to yours, further enticing you in a manner that felt impossible. Your tongue felt as if it was swelling inside your mouth with the inability to utter a single word, and with a stark nod, you turned on your heel and walked away.

**************************************

Your tongue had betrayed you. Your tongue and brain had both left you, faltering in a moment when you could have spoken to him. And it was a regret that you had carried with you late into the afternoon. With the inability to communicate despite your desire to ask him, even if it wasn’t your place, you thought you had squandered your opportunity.

And yet, as the medications were being handed out in the afternoon, it seemed as if a second chance was given to you. The same nurse you had spent the enrichment time with—wherein you handed out art supplies, and she did nothing—had left the room to belong to Steve Rogers with a harsh huff. The door slammed heavily behind her and her heels clacked angrily against the aged floor, the wood grain in desperate need to be sanded down and stained to look fresh.

“He wants you,” the nurse in question had slammed the clipboard down upon the nurses’ desk, her ire focused solely on you, “he won’t allow anyone else to administer his medication.”

The paper attached to the clipboard was dusted with small ink stains from her pen that had dripped from the leaking tip. On the top of the rudimentary chart was his name in black boldened letters, STEVEN GRANT ROGERS, with a complete lack of the title he had earned. There were notes on his attitude for Dr. Rollins, and perhaps people outside the asylum interested in the great America hero, however nothing new was added for today.

“Why?” You had already started rising to your feet, your hands reaching for the clipboard and your fingers curling around the thin side.

The edge dug into the creases on your palm, and your eyes had swept across the aggressive scowl of the nurse before moving toward the small rolling cart beside her. The tools needed to draw blood were set upon the metal surface, as well as the small white pills that Dr. Rollins deemed necessary. Besides the medication and the tools needed to draw blood, was a simple book—something he must’ve requested.

You could hear your heartbeat in your ears while you pushed the rolling cart toward the door of his room, the clipboard and rudimentary chart on top of the book. You only had to knock once to announce yourself and as you pushed the cart into the room, you closed it softly behind you.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about his room and he was given nothing the other patients did not have—a basic metal bed that seemed as if it was too small for him, an uncomfortable looking mattress, cheap sheets made from thin cotton, and the usual grey uniform.

In the corner of his room was a small selection of books, and to the left of the books were previous sketches he had done. Although most were landscapes that must have come from his recollection, many that you had not known yourself, the Empire State Building was the only monument that you had recognized. Its likeness was uncanny. So much detail had been captured by a simple charcoal pencil, it felt as if you could reach out and touch it.

You had been blindly captivated by the sketch, so much so that you hadn’t been able to address him. Not about the request to have you, and you alone, administer his medication, nor could you question why he was here. Your eyes were fixated on the sketch of the infamous NYC building, and then on every one after until the shift and creak of the bed had stirred you from your focus.

“Captain Rogers—“ you had begun to speak, reaching for the chart and setting it aside in favour of grabbing the needle. Your hand hovered above the tie for his arm and the vial for blood, as you took another pause that was triggered by him speaking over you.

“Steve,” he corrected you and switched positions, coming to sit on the edge of the bed with his left sleeve rolled up past his elbow, “they stripped that title from me.”

You were rendered silent again, only observing him as he was observing you. There was silence, but it wasn’t stagnant as you expected. There was a soft, lingering kind of tension as neither of you had really moved, and you were left to process the news he had given to you. You hadn’t heard anyone address him as the captain that he once was, however you had always thought it was by his choice. You hadn’t expected that it was involuntary, or an action that he had no control of.

“Oh.” It was a single syllable that you had let slip from your lips, one that had broken the silence before you had cleared your throat and shook your head.

The curls in your hair, deemed necessary as part of the uniform and the style that continued before and post-war, had hit your cheeks. Your lips were stained with the unwavering victory red that women had clutched to during the Second World War—which, along with heels and the starch white nurses’ dress, was part of your uniform—had become pursed.

“I’m sorry.” You relayed your emotional state through two words, and then you had mentally shaken yourself to do your job. You grabbed the tie that would go around his arm and lifted it from the metal rolling table, twisting it around your fingers before you straightened it out again.

You took two small steps toward the bed and cleared your throat, raising your head, only for his iridescent eyes to capture yours again. Warmth was instinctually present deep in your heart and soul, akin to an endearing glow from a flickering candle that lit up the surrounding room. You didn’t even have to speak before he extended his arm, and you were already leaning in, drawing the tie around his arm.

“I’m sorry if this hurts,” your voice was soft and there was a hint of a tremble hanging on to the edge as you preemptively apologized for the needle you hadn’t even used yet. You tied the knot to get a good vein, and then you reached behind you for the needle and vial, balancing them in your hands before you bent down to get a good glimpse at the vein.

“You’re nervous,” Steve’s voice had once again drawn your attention away from the needle, and his hand had reached toward you to steady your own. “You won’t hurt me, Y/N.”

Another jolt of electricity passed from his hand to yours, and back again. You were well aware of the lingering staleness that seemed to be ever present in the asylum, the smell of mustiness that seemed to be caked onto every surface possible. And it seemed to be less of an irritant in the room, or maybe there was more to focus on than the stench.

“Are you afraid of needles?” You took a slow deep breath to calm your racing heart and jumpy nerves, before you finally managed to push the tip of the needle beneath his skin into his vein. As you started to draw blood from him, he had answered your question with a very subtle shake of his head; however, there was something else on his mind.

“I know you want to ask why I’m here. Most of the nurses here have asked.” His eyes searched your face as if he were committing every feature, every single thing about you, to some corner of his mind. “They tell me I’m crazy.”

“You’re not crazy.” You recoiled once you had filled the vial and pushed the cap on, standing upright and replacing it on the metal tray. “I’ve seen crazy…”

You wanted to ask why he wanted you to be the one to give him his medication. You wanted to ask why he was refusing any other nurse and yet, you hadn’t been given the chance. There was sparsely a moment for you to say anything else before the door opened with a high-pitched squeak. Steve’s green-blue eyes had drifted away from you to the presence of the person behind you, and you immediately noticed the tension in his jaw.

“Nurse L/N,” Dr. Rollin's voice had hit your ears producing a tentative shudder that had run down your spine, “nurse Hattie had mentioned you were requested.”

You could count the seconds down in your mind before you felt a hand on the small of your back as Dr. Rollins approached the bed. The feel of his fingertips against the starch white material of your nurses’ uniform provided no form of comfort or even anything akin to friendliness. The touch made you want to recoil, and the warmth from his body was almost twisted and nausea-inducing. Your heart clenched, and you understood your mind was telling you to run, to get out of this space immediately.

“You cannot turn away the other nurses who intend to help you, Mr. Rogers.” The complete lack of empathy was evident in Dr. Rollin's voice, as was the blatant choice to not address him as captain. “Nurse L/N is not always available—“

“You haven’t given me my medication yet, nurse.” Steve was blatantly ignoring the doctor, choosing not to acknowledge him at all as if Dr. Rollins was no more than a ghost.

“Medication?” You turned your head, cutting yourself free from the daze that was afflicting you. Once you were freed from the tentative hold Steve had on you, you cupped the pills in your hand and held them out to him.

“Give him the pills and leave, nurse. Mr. Rogers and I need to have a conversation.” Dr. Rollins had addressed Steve with an air of superiority as well as the attempt to hold power over him.

You placed the pills in Steve’s palm, watching him dry swallow them, and then you were sharply turned on your heel. Dr. Rollins turned you away from the bed and Steve, ushering you out of the room with a heavy hand. When the door closed behind you with more force than necessitated, you took a single look over your shoulder. You took a quick glance, and then you moved back to the nurses’ desk, sitting on the wooden chair and exhaling slowly.

Only then had you noticed the feel of something in your pocket. You slipped your hand into the pocket of your nurses’ uniform, feeling sketchbook paper. Your hand recoiled with the paper in hand, and you unfolded it slowly and carefully, your eyes taking in the image you admired so much. The Empire State Building was there laid out in charcoal pencil, perfectly captured had been slipped into your pocket without you even knowing.

[arminsumi]

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🐚 ꒱ BEYOND THE SEA

Armin x fem!reader

Chapter index / Chapter Ⅳ: Farewell

Overview; the eve of the Scout's farewell party. Contents; 1940s au, fluff, romance, drama

Warnings; angst, tragedy

TAGLIST; @sad-darksoul @crazychaoticizzy @ringsofsaturnnnn

DM in my askbox to be added to taglists! 💕

Asking you to attend the Scout's farewell party was incredibly bold and risky, given the circumstances between you and Armin as well as the turbulent climate between Eldians and Marleyans at the time.

But the Lieutenant was excited – boyishly excited. His eyes had a sparkling quality about them that had once been lost.

When the eve of the Farewell party came, Armin craned his neck around searchingly; all the graceful dancers and tumbling drunkards created a loud and inviting atmosphere in the Scout's old headquarters. What better place to have a party than an old, grand castle?

The splendorous environment was wasted on the Lieutenant, who longed for the company of a particular nurse...

"Armin," Eren spoke to get Armin's attention, "Stop extending your neck like a goose. The Commander is approaching us." he said. "Right, sorry." Armin replied, ceasing his futile search for your face in the crowd.

"Not fond of dancing?" the Commander asked as he approached them, Levi at his side. "Not really, Sir." Eren replied.

"But young men like yourselves should be dancing the night away. Save your seriousness for the frontlines." the Commander said. Eren only shrugged, and Armin only wanted to dance if it was with you.

They held simple conversation with the Commander and the Captain, but Armin's attention was snatched by your entrance. You strode into the party from across the room, arm-locked with Maggie, clad in a dress that drove Armin's senses wild. He had to draw in a steadying breath.

As you wove through the crowd to the place where Armin and the others were gathered, Armin overheard a snippet of your banter with Maggie that amused him.

"Y/n, don't pull that expression!"

"What expression?"

"The expression of an old woman who's yearning for her doting Lieutenant."

"An old woman!? Oh, Maggie, with how much you insult me, it's amazing that we're still friends."

Armin smiled.

Commander Erwin noticed Armin's lacking attention. "Lieutenant, has something distracted you?" he asked. Armin nearly jumped.

"No, sir!" he replied quickly.

Erwin knew exactly what had caught his soldier's eye. "Don't just stand and stare; go ask the young miss to dance." he said.

Armin acted a fool, "The young miss?" he questioned.

"The one you have eyes for." Erwin said, "Nurse Y/n is her name, am I right?"

Armin went pink. "Yes sir, she is Nurse Y/n."

Connie laughingly ragged on Armin about embarrassing himself with the Commander. "You thought you could fool the mastermind?" Connie pointed out. "Anyways, who is this young miss that you have eyes for?" he teased Armin.

You had already taken to the dance floor with Maggie. Armin waited, wading through the partiers, looking much like a sailor lost at sea. His eyes lit up when you emerged, breathlessly, with Maggie from the dance floor; "Lieutenant!" you called for him, immediately joining his group of Eren, Connie and a famous soldier who you had only known by name before: Mikasa.

Armin fell into your charm right away. "Nurse Y/n – and Maggie – I'm so glad to see the two of you here tonight." he said politely, trying not to give your dress another desirous look-over.

Though Armin was eager to swing onto the dance floor with you, he patiently participated in a long and arduous group conversation. Finally, Maggie piped up, "Lieutenant, why are you not dancing? You have the perfect partner standing right next to you, and she seems bored stiff."

You stuttered and scolded Maggie for being too forward, but Armin felt immense appreciation for her forwardness; he couldn't have asked you himself. He felt too boyish about it.

Just before he took to the dance floor with you, he caught a snippet of a conversation between the Commander and the Captain who were idly drinking champagne nearby;

"Levi, don't be like that. They're just young lovers sharing one last night of bliss. Let them have it."

Armin felt his heart panging in his chest.

For you and Armin, at the time, it was frowned upon to hold hands, yet he held yours tight. It was frowned upon to dance, yet he swayed with you. It was frowned upon to be too close to one another, yet you and him were cheek-to-cheek.

Maybe those reasons made it all the more exhilarating.

In a book written about you and Armin decades later, Mikasa wrote; the Lieutenant and Nurse Y/n were forbidden from loving each other, yet there they were that night; looking at each other with a shared tenderness. It was beautiful to witness their love before it was tainted with shame and tragedy.

"Oh, Eren! Why are you not dancing? It's so much fun." you asked, as you and Armin emerged from the dance floor.

Armin chuckled, "You will never get him to dance." he said. "Is that so?" you looked at Eren.

Maggie piped up, "How miserable! You have the opportunity to dance with a dozen different beauties tonight, yet here you sit?"

Eren bore a stony expression at her, so Armin parroted the Commander's words to him; "Save your seriousness for the frontlines and have some fun tonight, Eren."

"Yes! Come on, join us." you encouraged him, adding: "You need to make good memories while you have the chance."

Armin contemplated why you might have said that. And then he responded, "Exactly, we need memories of a heavenly night like this to reminisce on when we're thrown into hell."

"That's true." you looked at him meaningfully.

He looked at you with a sort of glad melancholy that only a soldier could have at a farewell party.

Just before going to dance, Armin heard you let out a dreadful gasp.

"My father! Oh, what is he doing here?" you panicked, wringing your hands anxiously. Armin felt the urge to reach out and hold them.

Perhaps it was scandalous – even a bit cowardly – to grab your arm and make a break for it across the crowd. "Let's go." he said. "Let's 'go'?" you questioned.

In a flash of childlike naughtiness, the two of you escaped your approaching father; he did not even see a strand of your hair as you snuck away right under his nose with the Lieutenant.

The forbiddingness of it all made it all the more exhilarating, though neither of you addressed nor admitted it to yourselves or each other.

"I must say, it's quite unbecoming of the Head Chief's daughter to be running away with the Commander's best soldier." you laughed breathlessly.

You and Armin panted after running out the castle to the courtyard fountain. A long path stretched out to meet an overgrown garden.

"Soldier?" Armin teased you, "What happened to 'Lieutenant'?"

Your eyes glittered at him. "I'm sorry, my Lieutenant." The moon made you two feel drunk, or maybe it was just the aftereffect of narrowly escaping your condemning father.

From afar, you could hear the ballroom resounding with joy and laughter. It faded away, the symphonic night creatures overriding it. The both of you quietly marveled the entrance to the garden; it was like a labyrinth made just for lovers who needed privacy.

"This castle used to be the old Scout's headquarters." Armin told you as you and him entered through the rusted gates. "My first mission as a Scout was to clean the whole damn thing, head to toe."

"Really!" you laughed, "That sounds like a dangerous first mission for a kid to take on." you teased.

Armin nodded, "Yeah, it was quite frightening."

The two of you found a spot under a wildly growing oak tree; the overgrowth of daisies caught Armin's eye, and he went over to them to pluck one for you.

Armin wasn't a confident man, not even in his prime; he realized in old age that he really just faked his confidence until he believed he was confident. A forced courage ran through his veins on the eve of the Farewell party, because he thought this was the last night he would see you in months, maybe even years. Of course, it wasn't, but you have to understand that at the time, when war was knocking on the doorstep, everything felt hopeless and bleak, even during moments of bliss.

Though time was flowing as fast to him as it does when observing an hourglass' sand running down, Armin tried his best to savor every moment. He let nothing take his eyes off of you.

"Lieutenant, I'm disappointed. You've been staring at me all night and yet you haven't made one comment on my dress." you teased him.

He held back a smile in a futile attempt to remain somewhat soldierly and formal. "Well, all night, I've been wondering how I should tell you that you look divine." he replied truthfully.

You felt warmth across your cheeks, tingling on the crown of your ears.

A small silence passed.

"Maggie and I spent a whole day resewing them. Ah and for what... it doesn't frame my figure well at all." you said dejectedly.

"Actually, I think it frames your figure perfectly." Armin said, voicing his mind.

You stuttered. "Oh my..."

He went pink in the face. "I'm sorry! That was too forward of me..." he said and shamefully lowered his gaze.

"It's alright." you smiled at him.

Something in the air changed. The privacy of the garden brought an intimate stillness over the two of you.

A long silence passed.

"My father didn't want me to come tonight." you said quietly, lowering your head in shame.

You and him drew as close to each other as you desired. No prying eyes were there to judge.

You added, "He and I had a fight this morning. My father's completely condemned us." you said, emphasizing 'us' enough for Armin to understand.

He heard how your throat constricted as you spoke. There was so much he wanted to say but either he couldn't or he didn't know how to.

"Lieutenant..." you whispered, stifling a small sob. He brought you closer, damning your father in his head – never aloud, he had too much respect to speak ill of him to your face.

"It's okay." Armin reassured you, drawing closer to your wettened face. "We'll keep this a secret." he said, and stroked stray tears off your cheeks.

His touch was a cooling contrast against your hot cheeks; it reminded you of dipping your hand in a river during hot Marleyan summers as a child.

You laughed through your tears, "Oh, Lieutenant, I really shouldn't let myself be enamored by you. What if you die out there? Would your soul even be able to rest peacefully?"

Armin looked at you contemplatively, remaining silent for a while before speaking again. "If I die, it will be alright, because I will die with this memory of you. And that's all I could want."

He pressed a kiss to your quivering lips.

[nemmet]

my entry for @daryfromthefuture’s dtiys on instagram!! 💥📞

[beyondxmeasure]

Darkness Before the Dawn

by @beyondxmeasure | Cyantific

NR | 350 WIP | Hawk & Marcus | Origin Story | Post-World War II AU | PTSD/Trauma | 1940s Era

It’s June 1944, following the US offensive against the German-led Caesar line that tore through a small squad of the 141st Regiment, killing two men and wounding others, along with Sergeant Hawkins Fuller. Following the blast of the Nazi’s K5 railway gun, he underwent surgery to repair sustained shrapnel damage and is now recovering in the Army’s 32nd Evac Hospital. In the bed next to him lies Corporal Marcus Gaines from the 85th Infantry Division, also wounded in action.

This is the story of how they met.

Written for the FT Talk Hub's Sunday Drabble challenge.

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