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bonny-kookoo · 3 years

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Remedy | JJK x Reader | 💜☁️🔞🤖

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Android!AU, Android!Jungkook, AI!Jungkook

Warnings: mentions of war, PTSD, Panic attack, confused!Koo, soft reader, like my god I just wanna put her in my pocket and keep her safe, aka that’s what Koo wants to do, protective!Koo, praise kink, unprotected sex but izz fine Kookoo can’t knock her up anyways, soft sex, it’s very soft ngl, there’s a bird, some sad Koo, kook cries here and there, comfort and rehabilitation

Summary: JJK, Or J-Jungkook097 was a tactical fighter-type Android, used in modern war as a simple weapon and nothing more. Now retired after serious injuries, he has to adjust to modern life outside the war zone or he’ll get scrapped; and that’s where you come in, a rare human being ready to take on that challenge.

"Ah, what a waste, really." A worker says, looking the body of the Android over. "You sure you don't want him?" He asks, and the older worker shakes his head.

"I can't let him around my kids by himself, and I don't want him to snap around my wife either. He's not suited for my home and family." He says, looking the male robot over, before he pulls out his phone. "I think I know someone who just might take him." He says, hurriedly texting, before he gets a call back.

"Huh. Is he factory reset, or still running?" You ask, as Seokjin connects cords to the back of the android's neck.

"We tried to have him reset himself, but there's been problems." He explains. "He told us he did already, but that can't be true since he'd need a command to do it- his model isn't equipped with those AI options. Maybe his memory overloaded and deleted stuff as a survival protocol, we don't know. He's a military model, after all, they didn't let us see his original save data- they just downloaded it and went their way, leaving him for us to dismantle if he couldn't reset him properly for a new system." He says, as you type in some stuff, before viewing the screen you hold in your hand.

"So he's technically still running on his original warzone-system?" You ask Jin, and he nods, sighing. You furrow your brows, and the older male looks over at your tablet to see what you're looking at. "Are you sure? This is.. his AI settings are all set to.. look at this; companionable, friendly, all his settings are set to a companion-android, not a fighter type." You mumble, confused by this.

"Wait no no no that wasn't like that when I last looked at him." Jin says, taking the tablet from you as he types in some stuff. "Huh. This is weird." He says, showing you something. "Look at the protocol."

You do. "Huh." You say, looking at the last line of code.

Last change made by: JJK_OSADMIN

"He changed his own system." You say, and Jin is standing up now.

"I'm taking him with me, I can't let him-" He starts, but you do as well, placing your hands ontop of the Androids chest as if you're guarding him.

"NO! I already signed, I own him- Jin, I have to look into this- and he's set to friendly, he won't get hostile that easily." You try to reassure him, and he sighs after a while, taking his jacket from the chair close by.

"Keep me updated." He says, as he leaves you be.

The Android still sitting limply on your chair.

"Alright JJK. Time to wake up." You say, closing the small panel before you sit in front of him, waiting for his system to run the commands you had typed in before unplugging him. It takes a moment, but there's movement after that; his body slowly starting to sit properly, muscles moving into place, and system running it's diagnostics to detect any change in hard- or software made. It marks down his eyes, the small patches of skin re-made, and that his body-liquids had been replaced.

He feels good.

His eyes open slowly, iris moving and focusing in Various degrees before they meet your form. "Hello." He simply says. "Are you my new owner?" He asks, and you nod, expecting that question. He's not been factory reset, which means even though his memory was scattered, and his system had been changed, he was still aware of everything vital. He nods, before he looks around. "I'm now supposed to run on the companion protocol, correct?" He asks, and you shrug. He's confused, as you suddenly smile at him.

"I don't know." You tell him. "Companion, Individual- what would you like?" You ask, knowing it will bring his current system to it's limits. He's not made to make decisions like that, and you think it's quite endearing to see him suddenly think like that.

"I.. choose?" He mumbles, before he looks at you seriously. "I'd like to be given a small time frame to properly research before I come to a conclusion." He says, and your eyes widen.

You look at him, still friendly as ever. "So, you want to figure out what you want first?" You ask, and he nods, a bit hesitantly. "Okay. Just tell me when you've made up your mind then." You say, and he nods.

"What are my daily tasks?" He asks, and you shrug again. "This is frustrating." He says, and you laugh at that.

It's weird to hear it. But he notes it down as a positive response from you.

"Just don't burn the house down while trying to cook or something." You joke, and he seems to take it seriously.

"Why would I set your home aflame while attempting to cook? I'm not even capable of either task.." He says, and you get up, grinning.

"Don't worry so much. Just properly charge for now- we'll see what's gonna happen as it happens." You say.

He nods.

Jungkook knows that around 75% of fatal accidents occur in a mere household. He also knows, that a regular home is the safest place to live. Yet there he was, on the floor, holding his ears as an attempt to block out the sound of his nightmares. "Jungkook?" You ask, as you turn off the microwave. He's still shaking as you sit down in front of him, close- but not touching, unknowing if he would react to that negatively or not. "Can you hear me?" You ask, and he hesitantly retracts his hands from his ears, letting the sound in again. The beeping of the microwave is now gone, only the soft ticking of your clock on the wall and the buzzing of your fridge remain. "I'm sorry that scared you." You say, smiling apologetically as he shakes his head, face serious. His eyes move frantically as they glow an orange hue, showing his system status.

"No, I should apologize." He says. "I don't know why I displayed this reaction to a mere household object." He admits, and you open the microwave to take out your meal, before sitting down on the kitchen floor. "You shouldn't do that- the tiles are very cold-" He starts, but you wave him off.

"Its fine. Both." You say. "You're probably still confusing some sounds and things with your past use as a warzone model. So it's normal- your system has to adapt. You have to adapt." You say. "We all need some time to heal after what you've been through." You say.

He sits quietly after those words, watching you as he goes through his research on you. You're a very unusual individual, displaying a lot of behaviors he hasn't seen before. You take care of everything with a sense of care that makes him come to the conclusion that you're probably treating the machines and robots like living beings. Such as the oldschool robot-dog that he's seen under your living room table. It's currently charging, but he's seen you interact with it- genuinely displaying happiness and excitement at the very basic AI of the pet-robot that's missing a leg.

Its broken, just like him. But you're taking care of it, just like you take care of him.

You're very caring with him, too. He's seen you search for skin patches that match his color almost perfectly, even though they were more expensive than the usual models found in stores. You apologize for 'hurting' him, even though it's sometimes nescessary to repair him. You ask him about opinions, and let him roam around freely around the house.

You're a very friendly person.

And he, unknown to you, starts to create new files inside his system.

You're not there when he wakes up the next day.

He scans the house for any movement, but there is none that would lead him to the conclusion that you're there. There's no sign of you, and he becomes frantic, suddenly.

If his system would've worked properly like it should have, he would've remembered that you had told him yesterday that you would make a small trip to the local grocery store around the corner. But his system isn't working properly, already displaying several scenarios of you getting hurt, or vanishing, or leaving him alone.

He’d seen it before, so many times, hell; he’d been the reason of so many deaths in the first place and it never bothered him. So why was his internal system going absolute haywire at the mere idea of something happening to you? It was to be expected really- with how fragile you are, mentally and physically, it was bound to happen at some point. So why, if he knew it deep down already, did it make his pulse race and his skin feel weird?

You’d told him to stay home, but there was no way he’d be able to let you out of his sight. Because no, there were no emotions involved; they’d been restricted for him at the beginning after all, he was simply looking out for you. Probably a bug, maybe his system thought you were someone to be protected, a new mission to keep him occupied, that was probably it. It wasn’t because you had been so sweet with him, it wasn’t because of how gently you were in correcting him whenever he did something bad, it wasn’t because you were an absolute divine being in his eyes.

“Kook?” You said, an almost painful huff of breath escaping you when he crashed into you, holding you, his arms squeezing you a bit and his face burying itself into the crook of your neck, every sense drinking you in, saving the proof that you were okay, you were real, you were completely fine. “I-“ you started, and his eyes ripped open, suddenly realizing that he may be hurting you. As if burned he reacted, hands hovering over your shoulders as he looked you over.

“I apologize, I’m so sorry, does it hurt bad-“ he spoke hurriedly, eyes already glazing over with tears he didn’t even knew he could shed. Why did he suddenly feel so upset? His entire system was overloading, tears finally flowing and disrupting his sight so badly that he didn’t see your face anymore; sending him into panic even more. “I’m sorry- I’m-“ he pressed out, but there was nothing working anymore it seemed.

Only a few minutes later did he slowly come back to his senses, first thing he noticed being the way you held his body close, softly speaking to him while you were petting his head. It was such a weird sensation, yet it somehow soothed his mind back, as he realized that you were both on the ground. He was way too heavy, why were you doing that? But when he tried to get up, you held him tightly. “Take a Moment, Jungkook. You’re okay, I’m okay, just a breathe, yeah?” You said, and he nodded. “Let’s go back inside then yeah?” You softly said, and he nodded.

“But you need to buy groceries. We don’t have sufficient stock of-“ he started, but you giggled, the sound something he knew he liked. He didn’t quite know what to think of his newly found preferences for things, but he simply let it happen for now.

Because liking you could never be a mistake, he decided.

He calls out for you one day, his hands holding something you can't see yet. His eyes are wide open, his optics moving around frantically as he calls again. "Creator, please!" He calls, as you finally spot him, walking over as he looks at you with a worried expression. "Please- I don't know what to do. She flew against our window and probably has a concussion- you can help her, right?" He says, and you don't get curious as to why he immediately knows the birds gender and diagnosis; he can scan the tiny body, after all.

"Ah, come into the kitchen." You say, and he follows quickly, still delicately holding the tiny body in his palm, careful not to drop it. "Lets put her in a box and a nice quiet place, yeah? She'll recover on her own probably." You reassure him as he watches you place her in an old box without a lid. "Put her where you found her, okay? That way she'll know her way back easier." You tell him, and he nods, determined, as he walks back towards where he had found the bird.

Jungkook, in a way, was slowly changing nowadays.

He was a curious being, always eager to learn about the most mundane things. True to his purpose he picked up on things very easily; learning how to draw and paint very quickly. He had recently gotten interested in a video game you used to play before your work took over your time- and you loved seeing him have genuine fun with it.

He wasn't doing things anymore because they were asked of him. Or because they were an order.

He was developing hobbies, you'd noticed.

Of course you kept Jin updated about all of these things, and he had been happy to learn that his reboot was going well- joking around that he was glad he hadn't killed you in your sleep yet. And while, at first, you were quite wary of him walking around the apartment, nowadays, you couldn't imagine Jungkook even hurting a fly.

Just like with that tiny bird.

He was a gentle soul, simply a bit clumsy sometimes- apologizing over and over after breaking your alarm clock once, the alarm setting off another one of his 'episodes'- moments of flashbacks he got from his past purpose in war. You had reassured him and had let him watch as you fixed it again, praising him along when he gave you the right tools.

Praise. That was something he seeked as well.

And it wasn't just that he wanted aknowledgement of his own achievements. It was more your attention that he wanted. He wanted to be around you whenever possible, even sometimes dancing around the topic of maybe sharing a bed one day- but he had also been wary of hurting you in your sleep, by rolling over or something alike.

Always so thoughtful.

But he would be able to hold you that day; when you had complained about being tired, he had suggested a nap to you. Instantly taking on that chance, you laid down, rolling over as he was still on the couch with you, already having laid down prior. He was unsure at first where to put his hands, until he decided to just go for the common human way of affection; holding you close.

And he made a note inside his system, that he truly deeply enjoyed the feeling.

He finds you on the couch, crying, after an argument on the phone. That in itself isn't the issue he's having, however- it's the sudden wave of protectiveness rolling over him, drowning his senses as he walks over to you, his orange glowing eyes now scanning your form. "What did he do?" He asks, knowing that it was a former partner of yours, constantly calling you asking for money. It's a bad habit of yours that you can't seem to say no; and now that you did for once, he had bitten your ear off with bad remarks and names you'd rather not repeat. "I'll hurt him, just say the word. He needs to feel the same pain you do-" He's shaking a little, you can see it now; his hands unsure where to place themselves, his eyes watching over you, his breathing a little faster. He starts again, and you put a hand on his shoulder to stop his words.

“Jungkook no, he didn’t hurt me in like, a physical way.” You tried to explain, tears now forgotten as you try to calm the Android on your couch down- still absolutely terrified by your state. “I’m gonna be fine.” You say, but he doesn’t seem convinced. Or is it something else?

“But why am I hurting?” He asks suddenly, and your eyes widen. Well, why was he? Technically he was capable of understanding emotions, that wasn’t shocking. What was confusing to you however was just how he was able to share your pain. And it was obvious he did; the way his eyes glistened and his body shivered, overwhelmed by whatever was happening. “Why does it hurt to see you hurt?” He almost whispers, lost with the situation.

Jungkook was indeed a very weird android- you’ve noticed that long ago already. He was emotional, sometimes moody, and slowly began to develop an actual personality the more he was living with you.

Something his model shouldn’t be capable of.

And maybe that should scare you- maybe that should worry you, maybe you should call up support for answers, but you don’t. You do what’s best for yourself and what you think is best for him in that moment; you lean forward, and wrap your arms around him. And it doesn’t feel at all like an android you’re hugging in that moment, because an android wouldn’t cry with you. An android wouldn’t hold you like this, wouldn’t tremble in your hold like this. It makes it easy to forget that Jungkook isn’t human.

And that in itself is absolutely dangerous.

Somehow, his system had bypassed the blockade to his emotional capacities.

He had noticed it ever since you had been out to restock groceries by yourself, but he had been a little unsure back then. He now knows, for sure, that something had happened.

It was confusing, to say the least.

So many things were somehow suddenly starting to fall into place for him; his favoritism to being close to you, or his system failing whenever you weren't nearby. It also makes sense that he's standing right in front of your bedroom door that night, knocking as you open it. He feels a weird sense of protectiveness seeing you tired and vulnerable like that, and he sits down on the side of the bed where you join him. "Is everything okay?" You ask, and he shakes his head.

Nothing is okay, everything is confusing, and he's unsure what to quite think of all of this. "I feel.. confused. Scared. There's.. fear, in me, boiling up and interrupting my thoughts." He explains, and you nod.

"Feeling is scary, huh?" You ask, as he looks at you.

"How do you do it?" He asks, and you lean your head a bit to the side in question. "There's.. so much of it. How do you.. separate it, keep it in order? Its all over the place, and it's.. so distracting. Its so overwhelming- I can't seem to calm down." He mumbles, serious face turning frustrated as his fingers play with the fabric of his pants.

"We don't." You say. He looks at you for a moment, before you continue. "We just.. let it run through us, I guess. If you don't, it'll make you sick after a while. " You say, and he looks at you.

"But.." He starts. "I fear I might start to display reactions a male android model isn't supposed to openly display." He almost whispers.

"You don't have to openly do it." You reassure him, placing a hand on his shoulder, before moving a bit, body facing him as you open your arms. "It's just me; and I won't judge. You can be whoever you want with me, Jungkook." You say, and he lays down next to you in your arms, momentarily enjoying the quietness and closeness of the affectionate gesture.

"There are no bad feelings, Jungkook." You tell him, and he listens, as he lets them run through him, just like you told him. The sadness, the comfort of your body against his, the.. adoration he feels towards you. Everything, even though it hurts him, physically, something he only ever thought was a artistic way of describing emotions. "There are only wrong actions." You say. "If you feel the need to cry, cry. If you're angry, scream, shout, or find something to channel that into. But if you bottle it up-" You say, "they will lead to mistakes. They will bring pain, and they will bring remorse."

His voice is strained as he talks. "But how do I know when to act on them, and when not to?" He says, and you chuckle.

"You'll learn, Jungkook." You reassure him. "You'll learn."

And he nods against your shoulder, before you can feel him shake a little less, quiet sobs racking through his body until his exhausted body falls asleep to charge.

"Remarkable." Jin comments, as he watches the lines and lines of codes. "He has started to self-code his own system. He's quite literally learning." He says. "All by himself. This is amazing." He says, before he disconnects Jungkook.

"He's still a bit jumpy sometimes, and the microwave is still his worst enemy-" You say, as Jungkook reboots again, eyes slowly focusing as they start to glow again. "But he really is amazing." You say, and Jungkook beams at that, proudly smiling.

It's rare for an android to display such emotions, and he's still often very much void of any clear visual feedback in terms of facial expressions- but he's learning, and he's evolving, growing, in a way. Seokjin closes the panel on the back of Jungkooks neck, as the android stands up to walk closer to you. "Jungkook." Jin says, and the android turns towards the young man. "Do you look after her well?" He asks, and Jungkook nods. "Make sure she stays hydrated during the day, yeah? I highly doubt she's told you she struggles with that." He says, and you whine, as Jungkooks head whips around, eyes scanning your body as he furrows his brows.

"Creator, you need to drink at least 2.5 Liters of water per day. It's vital for your health, which is already very delicate." He says, and you glare at Jin for telling him anything about that.

"I'm fine- and also, please don't call me creator. I'm not anything like that." You say, picking up the walking puppy-robot as Jungkook nods.

"What should I call you then?" He asks, and Jin perks up.

"Call her baby!"

"Jin NO-!"

"No matter what she tells you-" Jin says, holding Jungkooks shoulders as he looks at him seriously. "She likes it." He says, and Jungkook, serious as ever, nods, noting it down, as you groan.

"I hate you both!" You say, and Jungkooks eyes widen.

"You.." He says, voice almost not heard over the laugh of Jin. "Hate me?" He asks, and you immediately regret your words. Jungkook still hasn't figured out sarcasm yet- the entire concept still a little too complicated for his system to grasp, so you walk closer to him, holding his cheeks in your hands.

"No no no, I don't, I could never-" You promise him, as he nods with already glossy eyes. "I just said it as a joke, okay?" You say, and he nods again, biting his lip a little before Jin clears his throat.

"I'll head off now." He says, already putting on his coat. "Thank you for letting me see him- it's really amazing to see him grow like that." He says, and you nod, giving him a short hug before he leaves.

And for some reason, Jungkook feels jealous, watching you so close to him.

Jungkook is in love with you.

He's come to that conclusion all by himself, and he's proud of it, but he's also very unsure about it. He has done a lot of research, scanned every source he could find and validate; and he has found a new interest in activities humans do in relationships to show their partner love and affection. He's not stupid, he knows what intimacy is, and is also aware that he's capable of doing these things with you; but he's also a little unsure, if you'd want that.

After all, there's nothing he could give you.

So one night, he stands in front of your door again, knocking, as you open it.

"Do you think.." He starts. "I'm capable of love?" He asks, and you look at him. "Because I think.. no, I am very sure I love you." He admits, and you get up, but there's no stopping him. "I don't know what it's like for you, but I have observed my newfound emotions, and there's a pattern I've detected; whenever I'm with you, around you, whenever you give me attention, or when you touch me, theres always the same emotions involved; there's this need to take care of you, to keep you safe, to be close." He rambles, and you listen to him as he talks, walking closer to you as his hands find your shoulders. "There's this.. urge, to partake in human intimacy with you. I want to.. show affection the common way, like kissing you, or holding you, things like that." Your cheeks grow a little red. "But I don't know if you are experiencing the same things. My research shows that.. that we could only do these things, if it's the same for you." He says, and then, almost as if hes whispering. "Is it?" He asks, and you struggle to answer. "Do you.. feel the same.?" He asks again, waiting for you to say anything at all.

You stay silent.

Its a sunday when a letter arrives at your home.

When you open it, there's several papers inside; Jungkooks personality tests, official papers that make it possible for him to leave on his own. When he reads them, he's serious, as he watches you smile at him.

"Jungkook, this is great, isn't it?" You say, trying hard to not let it show that you dread letting go of him. "You can finally get an apartment- maybe make something out of your talents, and earn a living. You're free to go now." You say, biting the inside of your cheek as he looks at you with wide eyes.

"But.." He starts, softly. "I'm yours." He states, and you shake your head, swallowing hard.

"Jungkook no.. you're you. No one owns you anymore." You say, and he suddenly shakes his head, throwing the papers in the kitchen sink as he walks towards you, his hands on your shoulders.

He looks at you, serious, as his optics focus on you. "You were the one who told me that every machine should be treated with respect." He states, as you look away from him, his hands shaking you a little as he tries to get your attention back on him. "You said even we androids have souls." He says.

"I did, but-" You start, but he cuts you off.

"And if we do, if we really do-" He speaks, his hands now holding your head, his face drenched in desperation. "Than it belongs to you." He states, and your eyes widen. "It's yours." He repeats. "If having it for myself means I have to leave you, I don't want it."

"I don't.. want to take advantage of you, Jungkook." You say. "You're.. everything is still new to you, I don't want you to regret this-" You start, and he leans down.

"I won't. I've run every possible scan I could, calculated every possible outcome, you know I can't lie to you. I could never regret this.." He says, as he leans down a little. "Can I..?" He asks, and you smile, jumping over your own shadow in a way, as you give him a nod. "I.. can you.. say it?" He asks. "Just once?"

You take his hands in yours, as you lean closer. "I love you, Jungkook." You say, and he gasps, his systems going absolute haywire in the best ways possible. He's again filled with emotions, but this time, they don't hurt; they make him feel light, as if he weighs nothing, they make him close his eyes because suddenly even the slightest light is too bright for his optics.

"Again." He asks, and you comply.

"I love you."

"Again."

"I love you."

He sighs, as his lips finally meet yours.

There's no magical fireworks or anything like that- but Jungkook decides that he doesn't need these things. The feeling itself, the emotions flooding his body are enough to outshine any beauty of reality itself. There's nothing he could ever compare to this, he decides.

He's unsure if Androids have instincts, but in that moment, for the first time, he doesn't care. This seems to be one of those situations to let his emotions run through him, lead him, show him what to do, he decides. His hands roam over your skin, ears catching every sound you make as he moves on autopilot it seems. He's letting go, he's finally doing something he really wants.

And it's all thanks to you- you've given him the chance to be himself.

You've given him the gift of feeling loved, as he finally comes as close to you as lovers ever could; entering you carefully, senses on high alert as he feels your walls around his length. He had been unsure of why pleasure seemed to be described as fun and intimate, but now he can relate to these claims fully. He's so full of love, so overwhelmed, that he simply rests his forehead on your naked shoulder, eyes closed as he simply lets himself feel. He doesn't care about his whines and groans, only focusing on you and your body, on the feedback every muscle sends to his systems, enjoying the way you make him feel.

Its truly magical, he notices.

He doesn't even notice his nor your orgasm at all, but it doesn't matter.

Because at the end of the night, he finally holds you close. Not like before, but this time, as lovers.

"I've given her exactly 0.26 milliliters of a 1 to 1 water and fruit sugar mixture every day at appropriate times." Jungkook seriously tells the vet, as he looks at the bird on the metal table.

"I see. Good job." He praises, before looking at you. "A warzone-type?" He asks, and you nod. "Barely noticable. I have one too, that's how I knew." He comments, before he turns to Jungkook again. "I'd say the bird simply likes your company, Jungkook. She just want's to stay with you That's why she comes back." He explains.

"Like me and Baby?" He asks, and you giggle at the nickname Jungkook keeps using.

"Yes, like you and her." Namjoon says, utterly entertained by you and Jungkook. "So I'd say let her be around. She's perfectly healthy, otherwise." He says, and Jungkook turns around, box in hand, as he smiles.

It's quiet that evening, sun slowly setting and drenching the walls of your shared apartment in a golden glow. Jungkook watches your sleeping form, leaned against him on the couch, as he simply remembers all of the things he's experienced because of you.

He truly is a machine capable of love.

Because you taught him how.

#bts imagine #bts #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #bts smut #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook #Android Jungkook #robot Jungkook #bts reactions

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serendipityrogers · 3 years

Text

sunday’s with a solider || b. barnes

part one

summary: after a good date with bucky, (y/n) figures out who she’s really getting involved with.

pairing: bucky barnes x female!librarian!reader

warnings: kissing (??), swearing

an: im honestly speechless, the first part of this series has 150+ notes! i’m so happy you guys liked it! i’m debating on make this a three or a four-part series, please let me know what you think, but there will definitely be at least another part. one of the next, or the next, will include some spice, if you know what i mean. and who do y’all want me to write about next? im thinking mr. steve rogers.

tags: @biixlv

“Please tell me you’re a booth person and not a table person.” You chuckled, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Uh, yeah.” He laughed and rolled his eyes at you. He began walking towards one of the booths. You followed happily behind him, scooting into the opposite side of the booth. He pulled off his hat and both his gloves, setting them on the seat next to him. You propped your head on the palm of your hands, stopping yourself from looking at his metal hand, you weren’t even sure if it was metal.

The diner was one that had been in this town for, at least, forty years, and it definitely showed its age. It was trying to be a ‘retro diner’ in the eighties, so that aged it another thirty years. You grew up coming here with your family, the food was good, and you thought the inside was cute. The building was longer than it was wide, and the floor reminded you of a checkerboard. There was a long bar on the left, space for waiters to maneuver, and a long panel of metal enclosing the kitchen portion. Bright red bar stools were implemented into the floor, screwed into the floor, every two feet or so. On the right, were five or six booths, the same shade of red as the bar stools, big enough for about four people max.

“Hey, sugar!” A familiar voice chirped to your left. Your eyes met a familiar pair of green ones, and a smile immediately filled your face. “Hey, Mabel!” You cooed, half-standing under the table and wrapping your arms around her small, fragile frame. She smelled like coffee and smoke, as she always did. The two of you pulled away, and her eyes instantly went to Bucky. “Who's your friend?” She asked, raising her eyebrows at you. “Mabel, this is my friend James. James, this is Mabel.” You explained, quickly introducing the two. He smiled at her and stuck out his ‘normal’ hand to give her a handshake, which she was very fond of.

“Well, it is great to meet you, James! What can I get you to drink?” She had abandoned her notepad well before you were born, her ability to just remember someone’s order still amazed you. “Coffee please, no sugar or creamer please.” She smiled at him, and turned back towards me, “Regular for you, dear?” She asked, and you smiled, scrunching up your eyes and nose. She practically pranced away with a huge smile on her face. Bucky chuckled, pulling you from your thoughts, turning your head back towards him. His eyes were scanning over the faded laminated menu.

“How do you know Mabel?” He asked, looking up and unzipping his jacket, pulling it off his abdomen and onto the seat beside him, with his gloves and hat. “I grew up coming here with my family, she’s known me since I was in my mother’s stomach.” You explained, pointing to a picture above the bar. It was pretty faded after sitting in direct sunlight for over two decades, but it was a picture of Mabel, your mom, your dad, and you, you all had on party hats. “I had my first ten birthdays at this diner.” Bucky squinted his eyes and smiled once he made out the picture of baby you.

“That’s awesome.” He said looking back at you. He opened his mouth to say something else, but Mabel cut him off. “Here is that coffee, Mr. James.” She slid the coffee in front of him, “And a regular for you, (Y/M/N).” She wiped her hands on her apron, “What can I get you two to eat?” Bucky looked at me, wanting me to order first. “We’ll both take the ‘67.” You smiled. She copied, “You got it, dearie.” And she walked away. Bucky cleared his throat, “Just trust me, Bucky,” You chuckled, placing your hands on top of his, “You’re gonna love it.” He paused for a moment, “I’ll hold you to that.” He winked at you. Did he just wink at you? Was he flirting? You immediately shot back at a wink and a flirty response, “Deal.”

The two of you ate and chatted for about an hour and a half. “Okay, you were right, that was the best food I’ve ever had.” He said, stacking your plates and utensils together, making it easier for Mabel when she took them off the table. “Can I get you two anything else?” She asked, picking up the two plates with ease. Bucky looked at you and you nodded a ‘no,’ and he looked back at Mabel, “No thank you, ma’am, but I will take the check.” He smiled.

“No, Mabel, split the check pl-” But Mabel cut you off, “Sorry, dear, my hearing aid died, I can’t quite hear you. I’ll bring that check right to you, Mr. James.” Quickly walking away. “Bucky, no, I will pay for mine.” You insisted, going to reach for your purse. You looked around you in your seat in a panic, and then you remembered, it was in the saddlebag attached to his bike. He laughed at you as you came to that realization. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” You sighed, taking a sip of your drink. He simply shrugged and smiled, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket.

Once Mabel returned with the bill and Bucky’s card, the two of you stood, and he let you walk out first. It was a lot colder now, goosebumps layered your exposed arms, like a reflex you wrapped your arms around yourself. “Here, you take this.” He insisted, placing his heavy leather jacket on your shoulders. “No, I can't, you're gonna get cold too.” You began to shrug it off, but he placed his hands on your shoulders, stopping you. “I’ll be fine.” He smirked at you, his hands lingering for a little longer than normal.

“Ready?” He asked as he straddled his bike, once more. You stuck your arms through the long sleeves, which went way past your fingertips. You took your seat behind him, and he handed you the helmet, and you slid it over your head. Similar to earlier, you snaked your arms around him, clasping your hands together, and resting around his mid-abdomen. His hands, once again, landed on your thighs, pulling you even closer to him, making a different type of goosebumps cover your arms.

“Hang on tight, doll.” He said as the bike came to life. You were so glad you were wearing a helmet, so he couldn’t see the brush creep onto your cheeks. As you two rode, he used his prosthetic hand to steer the bike and kept his flesh hand on your knee the entire time. The sky had ditched the orange, pink, and red hues and was now littered in stars and moonlight. You didn’t want this to end, you felt like you could stay there for hours, but the library came into view a lot sooner than you wanted it to.

The next day came and you got excited, as always, to see Bucky. Today was a little different though, after your date last night. Wait, was that even a date? It had to be, right? I mean he paid and flirted with you.

“Bucky, why do you come in here every day?” You asked, peering at him over the book in your hands. He didn’t move for a second, you assumed he was finishing the sentence he was reading. “Well, all the libraries in New York City are crowded and noisy.” He explained, “So when I found this place while scoping out new libraries, even though it is quite a distance, I knew this place was it for me.” He smiled at you. “At least that was the reason initially.” He muttered, picking his book back up.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” You set your book down this time, squinting your eyes at him, and propping your head up on your hands. “Well obviously, I now come back because the shitty coffee you offer is to die for.” He said sarcastically. You gasped and threw one of your pens at him, bouncing off his chest and onto the floor. He broke out into a fit of laughter, and you soon followed.

“No, but now I come back to hang out with you.” He admitted to you, avoiding your stare. “Oh that so sweet…” You started, “...Dork.” Throwing another pen at him, this time hitting the bill of his hat. Bucky had come in every day for a little over a month now and missed not a single Sunday. “Hey (Y/F/N)?” Bucky asked, looking back up from his book. Your eyes didn’t leave the pages of your book, but you answered, “Yes, Buck?” You asked back, flipping the page.

“I won’t be here tomorrow, and for a couple days after that.” When the words left his lips, a wave of sadness washed over you. Your lips twisted into a pout, looking towards him. “Why?” You asked, dragging out the word. “I have some obligations.” You rolled your eyes at him, “Okay, Mr. Mysterious.” You scoffed, feeling a bit upset. How long had he known? Why was he just now telling you? “I’m gonna be so bored without you.” You whined, leaning back in your chair with a huff.

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

It was closing time now, and as usual, Bucky walked you to your car. “You better bring me a souvenir from wherever you’re going.” You joked, tossing your purse into the passenger seat, and turning back towards Bucky. “Would you prefer a T-shirt? Maybe some socks? How about a shot glass?” He joked back, leaning against the side of your car. “Surprise me.” You laughed, pushing his chest.

As you went to pull away from his chest, his flesh hand wrapped around your wrist, softly. He placed it back on his chest, and his metal hand went to your hip, pulling you closer to him. The only distance between both of your chest was being occupied by your hand. You swore up and down that he could hear your heartbeat, but you were soon reassured because you could feel his heartbeat racing just as much as yours was. Bucky glanced down at your lips, and you did the same.

You closed the space between your lips, and without thinking your eyes fluttered closed, taking in everything happening over your entire body. His lips were soft, tasting like coffee and mint. The growing stubble on his chin rubbed against the softness of your cheeks. His flesh hand was warm around your wrist, gripping it softly, he never wanted to hurt you. But the gestures with his metal hand were very different. It was leaving a cool tingling sensation against the small patch of exposed skin, and his grip was tighter, pushing you impossibly closer to him. You took your free hand, and placed it on his face, thumb running over his cheek, and your other four fingers resting on his neck.

After what feels like minutes, but was probably only about thirty seconds, you pulled away from him. Reluctantly, of course. The two of you just stood there, not moving, relishing at the moment for as long as you could. “You know I meant to surprise me souvenir-wise, right?” You chuckled, messing with the hair on the nape of his neck. “Oh okay, we can just never do that again.” He sighed, messing with you.

“No, no, we can definitely do that again.”

It was the first Sunday without Bucky in a while, he had been gone for almost a week now, you assumed working on his ‘obligations.’ You had been keeping yourself busy with a new book series, one that Bucky actually recommended to you. But today would be full of dusting, reorganizing, putting away some newer books, and vacuuming. It was probably around 3:30 in the afternoon, and you were dusting the large bay windows by the front of the store.

You could feel the music moving through your body, making it impossible for you not to dance, at least just a little wiggle. You swayed your hips, the music taking over, singing into the duster like a microphone. Your free hand ran up the side of your body, from your thigh all the way up to your face. You threw your arm up over your head, and prancing around the tables, shifting the duster from a microphone to an electric guitar. When the song was finally over, and you were very much out of breath, you made your way back to the window. And when you did so, your heart dropped to your toes. There was a man standing on the opposite side of the window, watching you.

It only took a few seconds for your fear to turn into relief. It was Bucky. You dashed to the left towards the door, unlocking the door, and running out to greet him. Practically leaping towards him, you wrapped both arms around his neck, and his arms snaked around your waist. After a few moments of swaying and just taking in his presence, you pulled away. He was smiling widely, “I didn’t mean to end your concert so soon, I was enjoying it.” Adding a chuckle. Your face blushed, and you put your hand over your eyes, peeking at him through your middle and ring finger, “Did you see the whole thing?” You asked, dreading his answer. “The whole thing.”

The two of you walked back inside, the music still playing loudly. There was a slow song playing, and you grabbed your phone to turn it down, but Bucky stopped you. “Wanna dance?” He asked, putting his hand out for you to grab. You smiled, happily taking it. He pulled your chest against his. Your arms rest on his shoulders, your fingers loosely interlocked. Both hands on your hips, both of you just rocking side to side. The music wasn’t even registering in your brain, you were just focusing on this moment with him.

“I remember when this song came out.” He said softly. You cocked your eyebrow at him, “Didn’t this song come out in the fifties?” You asked confused, what did he mean by that? “So you really don’t know who I am, huh?” The question caught you off-guard, it sounded very egotistical. “No..?” You asked more like a question. And that’s when he explained everything, making a very long story very short. He explained the arm, the serum, and the ‘obligations.’

“You’re a fucking Avenger?” You asked, head in your hands, elbows on your knee. “Well, technically I’ve never been asked to be one, but kind of.” His hand on your back, rubbing it in small circles. “So you’re the James Buchanan Barnes from the Captain America museum?” He nodded. Everything kind of flooded back to your memory, you knew you heard the nickname “Bucky” before, and you knew he looked somewhat familiar, but you assumed he just looked kinda similar to an actor or something.

It was silent for a good five minutes, but Bucky broke it. “Hey, guess what?” He asked, trying to hide the upturn of his lips. What now? Was he gonna break some more news to you? Was he also part alien? “Hmm?” That was all you said, running your fingers through your hair. He moved his hand to reach into his backpack and pulled out a book, sliding it towards you.

“Russian Urban Legends.” You read the title, quickly flipping through the book with your thumb. “Flip to page 48, and tell me what it says.” He said, propping his head upon his hands. You did as he said and landed on page forty-eight. “The Winter Soldier.” You read the words written in a bright red font, the page decorated in grainy photos and ridiculously cheesy government lettering and drawings. Bucky looked at you, prompting you to continue.

“A ghost story or a real threat?”

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes one shot #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan one shot #bucky barnes x librarian!reader #mcu #mcu one shot #james barnes #bucky barnes x reader

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akeirm · 3 years

Text

━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ𝙬𝙤𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙗𝙤𝙮

⋆ pairing: tsukishima kei x gn!reader

⋆ genre: fluff but not all that fluffy. think of like. faux fur on a claire’s store jacket that was like $10. with sum metallic rainbow on the sleeve that lights up while the jacket falling apart. yeah that’s the type fluff yall dealing with here (+ sum slight angst at the end)

⋆ synopsis: tsukishima think way too dam much

⋆ warnings: none

⋆ word count: 2.4k

⋆ author’s note: imma b real with yall its like 6 AM i am running on ZERO and i mean ZERO sleep. so this a disclaimer. a very heavy disclaimer yo. you have been warned this my first ONE SHOT posted tho so woo lmao enjoy i did my best so now im sleep

You hold one of his hands in your own, tracing the faint lines across his palm. It's comforting being in Tsukishima’s presence, to be beside him, softly nagging along the way. “Have you gotten your hair cut lately?” You ask, examining the length of the blonde tufts resting just at his neck, curled up in cirruses. Tsukishima merely tilts his head up at the now orange-red sky, scoffing quietly.

“I think it was the last time Akiteru came to visit. He isn’t particularly great at trims,” he holds his arm out to you as you both make your way over a crosswalk, withering leaves kicking up in the winded path.

The chill passed over you, and in response, you pull his blue coloured scarf closer to your face. “Suddenly interested? You haven’t had the greatest time with your hair ventures either.” he states a-matter-of-factly with a knowing smirk.

Narrowing your eyes at the remark, and willfully choosing to forget the many horrifying cuts and questionable dye jobs you’ve had since knowing Kei, you divert his attention to a single stray leaf of a bare tree, falling nimble to the ground. There isn’t anything especially strange about how the foliage looks or the way it lands and yet Tsukishima eyes the movement intently as it gently cascades down. It was a habit of his, you noticed, he was lost in his own head so often; living in momentary thoughts of wonder. Even with it becoming a growing tendency he’s hidden it far too well under his cool exterior, and you discovered this yourself not long ago.

You caught him from where he sat at his desk in class, staring out through the large glass windows that opened to the student pavilion adjacent to his line of sight. “Must be someone real stunning, huh Tsuki.” you bitterly remark under your breath, sulkily looking down, feigning more interest in your blank notebook than his unreadable expression. From the corner of your eye, you could still see him, his head angled and viewing aimlessly. It was admittedly hard for you to take your eyes off him, so you figured maybe one more small glance couldn’t hurt. But even then, as you peered up, he was staring for much longer than you thought anyone normally would to simply admire scenery or an attractive figure.

Lambent rays of summer light leaked from out the translucent panels, reflecting off the clear lens of his glasses, embracing his form in a soft glow. Even just sitting there, still and impassive, he was handsome under the warm gleam; a desert-like mirage of beauty. You wondered what on earth could this rippling, distant illusion ever be thinking. Tsukishima never gave away anything about himself, even in what seemed like an openly unaware and vulnerable moment.

But before you could ponder any further someone halts the wandering thoughts with a loud clearing of their throat, and you immediately snap out of your trance upon realizing that your teacher was pointedly looking at you – and had likely called your name several times before you even noticed. You can still recall your teacher’s immense exasperation, already irked from the sweltering humid as the only first year classroom conveniently furthest away from the ventilation system. “Now that I’ve gotten your attention, care to answer the blanks from the notes on the board? Or are you too busying dreaming?”

“When two objects...” You didn’t even attempt to wrack your brain for a half-assed guess, and your notebook was still painstakingly empty.

“When two objects collide, they exert equal magnitude and opposite-direction pressures on one other. Newton’s third law. Of gravitation.”

Much to your shock (and demise) the same boy who had just gaped in awe for the entire lesson had answered the question in minute detail. Not even subtly glancing but looking straight at you as he let the words deliberately flow from his mouth in jest. And you could tell he added that last part just to smite you. He truly was a smartass revered amongst smartass-es.

The teacher thanks Tsukishima for his “perceptive” and “sharp-witted” response then continues with the lesson on the board. His eyes remain on you for a moment too long, as if trying to gauge something about you, but then he turns away from you almost instantly – as if he was the uncomfortable one. You bury your face in your arms lying on top of your desk, sort of paying interest in the lesson and sort of shielding yourself from making eye contact with him ever again.

You’re confused as to how you’d even piqued his interest for that long, your deathly glare usually held fairly strong against any opponent, but you also want to dig your own grave over the fact that you caught his interest in the first place because of something that made you look so embarrassingly stupid.

On the other hand, Tsukishima wasn’t unaware of or blind to the pair of eyes he felt boring into his skull for a whole thirty minutes, had it not been for that probing annoyance he clearly would’ve turned out stumped the same way you did. Oddly enough while he was already used to getting the stares and whispers of strange adoration from others and he could barely notice them now, being under the scrutiny of your eyes bothered him more than anything for some reason; even more so upon realizing that rather than a plain look of ardor... you were trying to pick him apart. How annoying.

With the small disruption, time in class passed quickly and ended quickly—which you were thankful for. Your notebook however was still, well, blank... and you knew exactly who’d have them detailed word for obnoxious word.

As soon as the melodical tune of the bell rang you stood up to approach Tsukishima, giving a small wave to Yamaguchi waiting at a desk near him, who you already knew well due to his more agreeable nature. Cheeks growing warm and heart thumping when you ask to look at Tsukishima’s notes for yourself, grateful for an excuse to talk to him, but still embarrassed and feeling indignant that you had lost your own focus because of him. Yet he was stubborn as ever in handing the notes over, even with Yamaguchi’s attempted kind prompts all he gave you was an outright, “No.”

Now discouraged and truthfully pissed you begrudgingly cease your attempts. Tsukishima doesn’t think all that much of it then, but a flicker of thought appears in his mind as he looks at you again, blatantly upset. He can hardly register the oddly foreign feeling he has.

“No, I won’t just give you my notes. I don’t trust you with them.” he continued, mockingly dangling the stack of papers above your head, lines of cursive black ink embellish the pages. “Meet me at the library.”

You gaze up at him questioningly, relieved that he’d caved, but still wondering why he changed his mind so suddenly. “What? Just me and... you?”

“Nope, Yamaguchi is just as hopeless as you are and needs some notes from me as well. He’s coming along.” He inches closer to your face, and cocks his head to the side lightly, giving that same telltale smirk. “Did you think it would be a date or something?”

If it wasn’t for your own pride, you would have certainly made a fool of yourself, fortunately you manage a wavering sidelong glance at him. “For someone real full of yourself you sure do spend a lot of time gawking at everything but – even me,” you purse your lips accusingly. “I’d think that you had some weird crush on me for years or something.”

You hadn’t fully comprehended what you said until it lingered in the air of awkward silence. You didn’t even want to look at Tsukishima, he’d probably been stifling a laugh at the thought and find it more of an absurd accusation to say the least. Even you thought so, if you liked him, you were still just one person amongst other admirers, no use in being hopeful just to watch him from afar. Instantly feeling mortified you rush out of the classroom letting out an incoherent jumble of ‘Seeyouatthelibrary’ before he could make any smarter remarks.

Completely oblivious, you sped out and instead left Tsukishima to his own devices; he was a blushing mess. His bashful expression was still glaringly obvious even with a hand attempting to cover his reddened face. Yamaguchi’s faint giggles in response to your alecky comments weren’t helping either.

“You’re one to talk, how am I supposed to focus when... when you’re...”, he grumbles to himself. How the hell could he lose all composure like that in front of you no less...

The hours of day spent in the library passed like an infinite second; in a snarky remark, came pointed pointless banter, a heavy sigh of exasperation masked as a yawn, tumbling into a stifled trademark giggle of amusement, scrawling and scratching on paper, two pairs of hands now alone, tense air of suspended silence, a laugh slips, following connected laughter, accidental brush of arms and accidental trapezing on fingertips, an accidental brush of lips and accidental kisses, flushed cheeks of red adorned with filtered strains of sunlight – a beautifully phasing lunar eclipse. Days in the library with Tsukishima had eventually become some of the best days you’d ever had. Sometimes you hoped the feeling would truly last forever.

Granted, despite the ups and downs you and Tsukishima had, that fateful summer season became one neither of you would likely ever regret. The wonder felt boy didn’t fare so well if he was under your lilted gaze, which remains the same now. Even in the cool of autumn as third-years quieted times like these are the only matter that exists constant between you both. Though never expressed aloud, in silent understanding those moments of fondness made your love for each other grow bounds.

Sensing your observing gaze with ease, Tsukishima swiftly turned to face you, pinching your cheek.

“Hey – ow! What was that for?” You gently punch the side of the arm of his you held in response.

“Nothing.” he states plainly, but the ghost of a small smile is spread across his features.

After a few more minutes of walking together, you both round the drafted corner entrance to your neighborhood. Even if it was becoming colder, it nearly looked like an entirely different world of bright life in autumn. The fronts of buildings were colorfully painted with raked mounds of the pigmented red of maple Momiji, covering the roads and pavement almost completely, contrasting the newly greening fall ferns growing along stone walls and upside homes. You note all this to Tsukishima, as if he couldn’t let go of any minuscule details, as if he’d forget you lived here in a small – but quaint! – nook in Miyagi or forget you existed somehow if he had misplaced even a single frame about you.

He kisses the top of your head reassuringly. “Don’t worry too much, got it? You’ll drive yourself mad otherwise.” You nod sheepishly, he really saw right through you. He’d been here with you countless times, the charm of this neighborhood always reminded him of you – the memories you share are nothing but precious to him. More than you knew. He wouldn’t ever forget someone like you. He couldn’t.

You stroll along the familiar pavement path with Tsukishima trailing behind, and slow your steps, purposely stalling in your tracks once you're a block away from the wooded entrance of your house.

You break the apprehensive silence.

“Well. This is it.” The words felt heavy on your tongue.

“Wait. You don’t have to say anything, I – I understand.” Tsukishima said unsurely, his voice cracking.

“But you should stop worrying too!” You pout. “Sendai is a great city! You’ll be close to home, your mom won’t need to trouble herself too much with work either to watch the matches in person, everyone you need here is here with you. Just think of the opportunity Kei, playing volleyball with the Sendai Frogs it's great for y –!”

“I don’t only care about them.”

“Don’t tell me you’re already back to selling yourself short playing professionally has always been your dream.”

“It's nothing like that and you know it. You were always a part of it.”

“Tsukishima I won’t even be here with you!” tears begin to prickle, pooling in your eyes. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opening. Studying abroad is a chance for me too, you can’t just be the only one moving forward in life.” You turn away from him to avoid meeting his eyes, but he takes your hand, tugging you closer.

Hurried thoughts rush through your minds.

I just need you.

I just want you by my side.

“But I don’t want to lose you.” he gently cups the side of your face, wiping your escaping tears away with his thumb. “There has to be some sort of way. I know it. We can still be together. We just –”

“After a year apart? You and I both know that isn’t true.” you give him a small, sad smile, and remove his hand from your face. “Might as well rip the bandage off now, right?”

Tsukishima doesn’t even reach out to you as you walk away.

You look up. The sky is completely dark, spilled over with night. The stars are always especially bright from this side of Miyagi, the moon usually large and looming in the same respect, but tonight it was hidden from your sight beyond the cumulous mountain clouds. You wish your pride hadn’t engulfed you like this; you wish he wouldn’t leave you; you don’t want him to give up on you or forget you or love anyone else but –

If I turn around, would he still be there? You come to a standstill and swallow your insecure born self-conceit if only for that single moment.

There Tsukishima was, his arms open wide.

Without a single thought you run straight into him, uncaring if you were a sobbing mess. All you wanted now was to be close to him.

He pulls you in tighter, scared of letting you go again, whispering soothing words. “I know, I know. I know.” he repeats lullingly.

You both stay close together in warm embrace on a cool autumn night sewing and threading your parted hearts with what time is left in hours and seconds, days and weeks. In a years' time maybe you’ll part like this again, but until then, you’ll hold Kei closer as his one and only wonder.

⋆ author’s note: likes, follows, and especially reblogs are always welcomed and appreciated! if you have any thoughts on this fic pls hmu in my ask inbox im always glad to respond ♡

#thesleepdeprivationgonworktoday #tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima fluff #tsukishima fanfiction #haikyuu fluff #tsukishima angst #tsukishima x you #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fanfiction #tsuki unfortunately #first post #no beta we die like tsuki's trust in his brother #haikyuu oneshot #yamaguchi tadashi

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free-pancakes · 3 years

Note

Ok this is super cheesy but here goes; hanji: "you don't look like a professional criminal" levi: "oh sorry, let me go make myself look like Hannibal lector or something" sorry its rlly cheap but I wanna see some sort of crime au or whatever. Love ur drabbles btw! Keep it up! :)

oh gosh anon, this has been sitting in my inbox for months, i'm so sorry! might be a lil boring, but! i'm all for stupid levihan banter and it made me really happy to write this :) hope u like it!

Under the cover of night, a hooded figure crept through darkness. On the security cameras, it was nothing but a questionable shadow—blink once and it was gone. That’s how it always went.

“What the—“

Reiner turned, peering down the outdoor alleyway. His fellow security guard was no longer standing under a small lamp hanging above the corner of the building.

“B-Bertholdt?” he called?

Before Reiner could call out once more, he heard a voice whispering behind him into his right ear.

“If you open the door, I’ll let you off easy.”

Eyeing the crowbar on the ground, Reiner reached quickly. But he was too late—a hand grabbed him by the forearm. He struggled and was quickly brought to the ground.

“How could someone so small bring me down so fast??” he thought. Before he could even elbow back, he felt a needle sink into his neck, and he yelled out.

The hooded figure stood up.

“Just a small sedative—don’t worry. You won’t remember that a guy half your size took u down in less than...” He peered at his wristwatch—“20 seconds.”

As the hooded teen stood up, a small buzz vibrated in his pocket.

He unlocked his phone, the glow lighting up his face, the dark circles under his eyes now looking much more prominent.

A text from Erwin: “Levi, thermal imaging shows no one else in the building. Meet back with Nanaba in an hour.”

Levi shoved his phone back into his pocket, and got to work. He lifted a limp Reiner off the ground and dragged his arm up to the sensor, pressing his thumb against the fingerprint scanner—“Access Granted” blinked on the small screen as he heard the little click of the door unlocking from the inside. He dusted his hands off on his grey denim jeans, and crept inside.

The slight squeaking of his sneakers on the metal floor panels echoed as he searched for the room he was looking for. On his way he saw a pair of glasses resting on a side table at the end of a hallway, which he found quite strange—who’d just forget their glasses? Erwin confirmed no one else was around. After a few seconds, he decided to shrug it off.

Finally, he reached the last door in the winding hallway. Shining a special penlight, he watched as fingerprints appeared on the keypad on the doorknob, and once he figured out his code, he punched it in with the end of his penlight, and he was in.

Levi breathed a sigh of relief, and pulled down his hood. His least favorite part of the job—he had always been more of the fighter of their team, the brawn, not exactly the brains. But Mike made sure he learned how to break into computer systems, and Levi absolutely hated that process, with Mike’s constant teasing at how dense his brain was to this stuff. Levi grumbled as he sat down, figuring his way in.

Maybe 10 minutes passed, and he continued to struggle figuring his way through the complicated firewalls. In frustration he buried his head into hands for a few seconds, and took a deep breath. Before he could look back up, he suddenly felt a hand pat his back encouragingly.

“There, there, you almost got it!”

Completely startled, Levi jumped up, knocking down the chair he was sitting on and assumed a fighting stance, fists up beside his face. He was caught off guard and completely unprepared: he had no more sedative syringes left, no other weapons on hand. He stared at the person who stood before him, probably the same age as him—no more than 19—a smile on their face, brown hair falling out of the poor hair tie trying to hold the mess up, a can of soda in their right hand and a small bag of chips in their left and— they were wearing the same pair of glasses he saw outside?

His mind raced.

How did they sneak in without him noticing just now? Why are they holding snacks in their hands? Why in God’s name were they smiling at him? And most importantly, they were wearing those glasses, so they had to have been around when a Erwin did the thermal scan—how did they manage to go undetected??

Obnoxious crunching roused him from his thoughts. Mouth full of half-chewed chips, they answered: “Oh! Yes! My friend Moblit and I managed to invent this little guy help us evade thermal scanners! No one knows we’ve been spending nights here for years!” They said as they pointed down to a small metal band around their ankle.

Levi was so shocked, he didn’t even realized he said that last thought out loud. He didn’t know what to do exactly, but they didn’t… seem like a threat…

Levi grumbled, and returned to his work, and she blabbered on and on about how their “cooling band” or whatever the hell they called it work as he kept trying to break through the firewall. He almost regretted not tying them up and slapping tape over their mouth so he could concentrate—the next comment was the last straw.

“You’re pretty scrawny, I was quite shocked when I watched you take down those 2 buffoons that call themselves security guards. You know… you don't look like a professional criminal!”

Levi almost threw the keyboard against the wall.

“Oh sorry, let me go make myself look like Hannibal Lector or something, Four-Eyes!”

They smiled.

“Wow, a nickname! So we’re friends already, Levi!”

Levi paused, “…How did you know my name?”

“It’s right here! Levi Ackerman… Address: 126—“ they listed off as they read off the driver’s license ID they pulled out of his wallet.

Levi snatched his wallet back. “When the hell did you take that??”

He almost screamed in annoyance. “Instead of just sitting here annoying the hell out of me or some shit, why don’t you help me or something??”

They walked up behind Levi, rested their chin nonchalantly on his shoulder, and reached their arms around him towards the keyboard.

Levi felt blood rush to his cheeks. Why—what? Why did they have to type this way?? Why was he blushing??

And in less than 30 seconds, they broke into the computer, the “Zeke Inc.” logo disappearing, and the desktop glowing, open on the screen.

Levi’s jaw dropped, and when he finally registered what happened, he yelled:

“WHY DIDN’T YOU DO THAT FROM THE BEGINNING??”

They put their hands on their hips and retorted:

“Well, you didn’t ask until now!”

Before Levi could flip the desk in frustration, an alarm sounded from his phone. He only had 5 minutes left before he had to make his way out of there. Quickly, he rushed in, scrolling through shipments for supplies, rerouting their destinations.

“Oh… so you’re like a… a gloomy Robin Hood huh? Small boy steals from big boy company to distribute resources to those who need it? A criminal… or an anti-hero maybe!”

“Oh wait!” They leaned in next to Levi once more—“Here, this is faster,” they whispered while hitting a few more keyboard shortcuts, doubling the amount of shipments.

“Hange, what are you doing??” A young boy stood in the doorway, the same metal band on his ankle.

Levi’s alarm sounded, and he began to wipe down the keyboard of his fingerprints and grab his backpack.

“Hange are you sure we can trust him?” Moblit asked as Hange took off the metal band from their ankle.

Hange winked in response.

“Oi, Levi!”

Levi turned in the doorway, quickly raising his hands to catch the band Hange threw at him.

“Take it!” They yelled, and the heavy door shut right in front of him, leaving him alone in his thoughts.

Levi stared at the band in his palm, and gently wrapped his fingers around it.

“Thanks,” he whispered, and ran off.

As Levi ran under the night sky, he looked at the intricate tech in his hand, and noticed the color yellow peeking out from under it. Flipping it over in his palm, he found a yellow sticky note, which read:

“We’ll trade you our tech for housing if you have space, gloomy Robin Hood! Maybe we could even steal from something big like Marley Corp. someday! If you’re in, find me back here tomorrow night! - Four-Eyes”

Levi carefully folded the note and put it in his pocket.

“Levi?” Nanaba called as he approached.

“Didn’t recognize you—are you… happy about something?”

Levi inadvertently reached his hand up to his face, feeling how his lips curved upwards. He couldn’t remember the last time he ever smiled. His mind was fixated on the note in his pocket, the image of Hange’s face smiling at him etched clearly in his mind.

“…I guess I am, Nana.”

#levihan #levihan fanfic #levi ackerman #hange zoe #levi x hanji #levihan fanfiction #ask #replies #drabble #moblit berner #erwin smith #nanaba

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littlemisspascal · 3 years

Text

Death and an Angel part 8

Helmetless + Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary: “You have become the only one in the universe who can claim to uniquely know him.”

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,002

Warnings: fluffy fluff, some plot, swearing, reunions, soft!Din, Kuiil thinks Cupid is a fool, Kuiil’s backstory from canon, surprisingly little angst (it shocked me too)

Author Note: I want to apologize to those on the tag list not getting notified. I have no idea why Tumblr isn’t cooperating and I feel horrible about it. I love each and every one of you who spares time to read this segment/series and I hope you all have a wonderful holiday season.

Links to Part 1 and Part 7 and Part 9

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

The next morning you find Kuiil outside welding together two pieces of metal at his workbench. IG-11 tends to the small herd of blurrg the Ugnaught keeps in a large pen, feeding the two-legged creatures their breakfast. Although you were initially wary, the former assassin droid has been nothing but kind to you, if not a little obsessive about checking the bandage on your head every few hours.

“IG was explicitly warned by Death what would happen if your health declined in his absence,” Kuiil had informed you the previous evening when your attempt to stop the droid’s incessant fretting failed.

“He’s such a worrywart,” you muttered as IG-11 scanned your temperature, heart skipping a beat as it always does when you think about Din’s protective nature. There’s something unbelievably attractive about him making threats when it came to your wellbeing.

“A worrywart who left his gunship in my yard.” Kuiil aimed a sharp look towards the entrance of his home, as if he could see the Razor Crest from this distance.

You snorted a laugh at him calling Arvala-7’s desert landscape a yard of all designations, only for the rest of his sentence to register a beat later, making your eyebrows rise to your hairline. “Wait, what? He seriously left the Crest here? Why would he do that?”

“The quicker his trip to Nevarro, the quicker he returns to your side,” was the response, accompanied with a shrewd look implying you were a fool for asking such a question.

Your Ugnaught host reminds you of a grandfather figure; a bit prickly and blunt at times, but ultimately kindhearted and selfless at his core, wanting only what’s best for those in his care. Between his insistence you keep resting in his bed and IG-11’s nurse programming, you no longer wonder why Din chose to leave you with them, thoroughly convinced you’re receiving better around-the-clock care than most people experience in medcenters.

Kuiil turns when you approach him, pushing his goggles back to the top of his cap as he clicks off the welding torch, eyes giving you a cursory once-over. You feel better than you had yesterday, both headache and dizziness gone, and he must sense that since his head dips in a firm nod, satisfied with what he sees.

“Good morning,” you greet, smiling.

“Morning,” he replies. His expression turns repentant, eyebrows lowering. “My apologies for waking you, but I could not let these repairs remain unfinished.”

“It’s okay.” You tilt your head up towards the sky, enjoying the warmth of the early sunshine after spending the entire previous day cooped inside his home. “I’m supposed to report back to headquarters later today, so I needed to be up anyways.”

Hearing the words out loud grounds the upcoming meeting in reality. It’s really happening. Hours from now, you're going to have to tell your bosses everything, now including your new title as Din’s soulmate. Maker, you can just imagine Hess staring you down with those beady, rat-like eyes of his, asking question after question about you and Din.

And if Hess was serious before on the comlink—and you highly doubt the bastard’s ever told a joke in his life—then there is also the very real prospect of Moff Gideon being there to take part in your interrogation.

“Are you alright?” Kuiil asks, noticing how pale you’ve become. Without waiting for an answer, he ushers you over to a nearby stool. You sit, mouth opening to reassure him you’re fine, only to be startled by the knowing glint in his eyes. “I recognize your anxious face from my years as an indentured servant. You fear punishment from your superiors.”

Your eyes widen, stomach suddenly feeling hollow. “You were a servant?”

“From my birth until my hundredth year, yes.” The nauseous feeling intensifies. You knew Ugnaughts typically lived up to two-hundred years, meaning Kuiil had lived half of his lifetime in servitude. “Earning my freedom did not occur without harsh discipline.”

You draw in a shaky breath at that. It feels wrong, being worried about meeting with your bosses when there are others, such as Kuiil, who have endured far worse horrors.

“Those with power think it comes from weapons and control over others through means of fear and violence,” he continues, returning the welding torch to its proper placement in his toolbox. “True power comes from the strength of one’s hope. It allows you to believe in a better future for yourself and so long as you cling to it, no enemy can break your spirit.”

His rumbling baritone washes over you, calming the worst of your worries. You press your thumb against your soulmate marking, a nervous habit that has developed since you first saw it yesterday. You’ve become addicted to the warmth the mark emanates as it reassures you you’re not hallucinating its appearance.

“I just keep thinking about what their reactions are going to be when I tell them about me and him being together,” you confess, feeling shy as you duck your chin to avoid eye contact.

“Are you embarrassed of Death being your soulmate?”

Your head snaps back up, shocked by his bluntness. “What? No. Din means everything to me.”

The words seem too loud against the quiet atmosphere of the planet. They reverberate off seemingly every surface—the desert rocks, the Razor Crest’s steel paneling and the metal roof on Kuiil’s home—echoing for miles in every direction. Despite knowing that isn’t truly possible, you are unable to stop yourself from wincing.

“You gave Death a name?” Kuiil’s bafflement is visible in the way his head tilts, looking at you in a way that is reminiscent of Omera’s puzzled expression back on Sorgan.

"I didn’t.” You shake your head, for some reason feeling the need to clarify, “He named himself. It’s just something for me to call him when we’re around mortals.”

“I have known Death many decades now,” he begins, sounding no less confused despite your explanation. “He’s quite...particular about the mortal traditions he chooses to adopt, such as appearing as a human male and piloting a gunship.”

“Yeah, I know how picky he can be,” you say slowly, not understanding what his point is.

“Not once has he ever felt compelled to use a mortal name because, in his opinion, names establish ties."

“What does that mean?”

“Without a name, he is but another stranger amongst trillions of beings, unrecognized and unmissed,” Kuiil explains, and you find yourself leaning forward, elbows on your knees. “By giving you a name to call him by, he has tied himself to you in a way he has not permitted anyone else. You have become the only one in the universe who can claim you uniquely know him.”

“Huh.” You let out a long exhale, suddenly aware of your heartbeat pounding deafeningly in your eardrums as it begins to sink in just how monumental the gift of Din’s name truly is. “Well how bout that.”

And the shrewd look from last night makes a reappearance, conveying once again how foolish he thinks you are.

“I have spoken.”

People tend to forget a Cupid’s bow is first and foremost a weapon of defense. Comprised of wood from a Brylark tree, sinew from orbaks, and a thin layer of a mudhorn’s horn, it can be compared to Din’s armor in that it is virtually indestructible. A Cupid carries two types of arrows: one made from kyber crystal meant to lighten one’s emotions or, on rare occasions, induce lust, and the other one made from a kyber crystal coated in ichor, meant to inflict harm against enemies. Once a target is hit, the effects are instantaneous and the arrow vanishes in a burst of sparkling light, regenerating in your quiver seconds later.

You underwent rigorous training to learn how to become a master of archery. Your bow is bound to your Cupid abilities, capable of being summoned to your aid and dismissed with a mere thought. You were taught how to control your breathing, learning that the expanding and contracting of your chest cavity during a shot can ruin your aim. Missing a target is one of the worst mistakes a Cupid can commit, meaning you must make every single shot count.

All that to say, Cupids are fierce archers as much as they are dedicated matchmakers.

They are also dangerous when startled unexpectedly.

You’re in the middle of tidying up Kuiil’s tiny kitchen space, a task you had insisted upon after he’d served you a delicious lunch, humming to yourself quietly as you scrub at the dishes when hands wrap around your waist, pulling you backwards towards someone’s chest.

You react completely on instinct, teleporting out of their hold and reappearing on the other side of the room, bow ready with an ichor arrow aimed directly at the assailant. It is only when the meager light of the nearby lantern reflects off their beskar helmet do you realize who you’re facing.

Immediately you lower and dismiss your weapon before pressing a hand over your chest where your heart is fluttering like a trapped bird. “I’m so sorry, Din,” you tell him, limbs trembling as it sinks in just how close you were to shooting him. “Maker, you scared me and—and I thought I—well, I don’t know what I was thinking, just that I had to—”

In between blinks he appears in front of you, yanking his helmet off with such ferocity your words catch in your throat. You have only the slightest of seconds to glimpse the arousal darkening his brown eyes before he slips a hand behind your neck and crashes your lips together.

He kisses you as if you’re gravity and he’ll float away if he dares to spare a moment to breathe, sending a current of warmth surging through your body. You thought the mere touch of his hand had been life-altering, but it is a mere candle compared to the wildfire his lips spark. Your eyes fall shut as you kiss back with an equal amount of fervency, bringing him closer by wrapping your arms around his neck, grinning at the groan the action spurs from deep within his chest.

There is the heavy thud of his helmet striking the ground before he’s wrapping his hand around your waist, slotting a thigh between your legs to ensure every inch of your bodies are touching. Your cheeks rub against the scratchiness of his facial scruff, an invigorating burn you think you could easily become addicted to.

An embarrassingly high-pitched whine escapes your lips when he pulls away a minute later. He’s never looked more attractive, mouth swollen and hair disarrayed from your roaming fingers. His hands cup your face, and it occurs to you as he swipes his thumbs over your cheekbones he isn’t wearing his gloves.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, sounding slightly hoarser than usual and out of breath. His gaze roams your face, like he’s trying to re-familiarize himself with your features after the time spent apart. “Especially with your bow. When you pointed that arrow at me, there was this...fierceness in your eyes I’ve never seen before. Fuck, angel, you looked so gorgeous.”

“Seriously?” you say, raising an incredulous eyebrow, because of-kriffing-course he’d be the one being in the whole universe who is turned on by a weapon being pointed at him.

“Seriously.” He leans in, forehead pressing against yours, noses brushing. It’s hard to focus when he’s this close, like you’ve again entered that separate realm where it’s just you and him.

“Din, look,” you whisper, fighting the magnetic pull insisting you kiss him again long enough to show him your marked hand. “It’s real. I’m yours and you’re mine.”

The smile that stretches across his face when he sees it is nothing short of breathtaking.

“Angel,” he says, tilting your head so the words are spoken right against your lips. “I’ve wanted to hear you say those words ever since I gave you my name.”

Tag List: @leilei-draws, @theocatkov, @vintagesaph, @stardust-and-starlight, @adrieunor, @remmyswritings, @gallowsjoker, @rhiannon-russo, @randomness501, @sylphene, @softly-sad, @maytheglitter, @melobee, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @eleinemk, @captain-jebi, @aerynwrites, @promiscuoussatan, @stilllivindue2spite, @coaaster, @lin-djarin, @becauseican2, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @nicotinebirds

#death and an angel #my fic #Din Djarin #din x you #din x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mandalorian x reader #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #soulmate au #my writing

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mosswillow · 3 years

Text

Iced Coffee - Dark!Stephen Strange x Reader.

Summary:

You met Stephen Strange your last year of medical school. He was godlike and you were infatuated. You liked him and in return he humiliated you. Years later you were over it; made a career for yourself.

He saw you again, remembered you, wanted you. He was going to show you that he had changed, win you over. You would be his and he would protect you forever, he just had to prove himself.

Series Warnings:

18+ adult content, Dark, Rape/noncon, obsessive behavior, stalking, doctor/medical themes, mild/moderate doctor kink, needles (chapter one, not sex related), violence, abuse, kidnapping, forced marriage, smut, escape attempt, dirty talk (my best attempt at least).

Potential warnings, a non-exhaustive list: Oral, praise kink, mild degradation (Will not include whore or slut)

You can join the tag list here.

A/N: Now that I’ve been writing for a few months I’m experimenting with different styles. If you’ve read my other stuff lmk what you think (ask, comment, message, whatever.)

Thank you to the unnamed requester and @couldntbedamned for this request. 🖤

By Clicking keep reading you confirm that you are over 18 and understand that this content is mature and potentially triggering.

CHAPTER 1

Stephen was the most brilliant man you had ever met. School was a joke to him, he easily outperformed everyone no matter the subject. He was confident, lived his life with this air of superiority, and you were obsessed. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of him, sat next to him in class, helped him when he asked. He was nice to you too, he was an asshole almost all the time but when he talked to you it was gentle, respectful.

It was October third when it happened, the date would forever be burned in your memory. He turned to you and asked you the date.

“It’s october third,” you smiled.

He thanked you and touched his hand to your arm and you felt a spark, you were sure he felt it too.

But he didn’t feel it, you were so very wrong.

You found out just how wrong you were that evening in the worst possible way. It was so unexpected, so hurtful. You walked into the small coffee shop you and your friends frequented and saw them all in the corner, socializing. A stab of pain struck you in the chest; nobody invited you. Maybe you should have backed away, recognized you weren’t wanted but you heard your name. You thought they had seen you, called you over.

They hadn’t seen you though, weren’t talking to you.

They were talking about you.

“Poor thing, thinks she has a chance with me,” you heard Stephen laugh.

You walked behind him, tears welling in your eyes and someone nudged him awkwardly. He looked up and made eye contact with you. A tear fell down your face as you backed away from the group. It was like a nightmare, like looking down and seeing you were naked, but this wasn’t a dream. It was horrifyingly real.

“Pathetic,” you heard him say to the laughing group of people you called friends.

It broke you.

You spent the remainder of your time in school avoiding him and every friend who had been there. You poured yourself into your studies and came out of it stronger than before, like a phoenix being reborn - You were brand new, beautiful, powerful.

You became a doctor and scientist and a damned good one at that. But Stephen was always better. Every conference, every medical magazine, he was there; always at the top. You could never escape him.

Until his accident.

He was suddenly gone, you couldn't believe it. Dr. Stephen Strange, the most accomplished neurosurgeon, lost his hands. The shock wiped through the medical community, a travesty they said. It wasn’t a travesty to you though, It was almost uncomfortable how happy you were at his downfall. It felt so freeing to see the great and mighty Doctor Strange fall so far, for your bully to lose the thing that was most precious to them. He became irrelevant, dropped from magazines and conferences and disappeared without a trace. You were truly content for the first time in your life. You were free.

Stephen flexed his fingers and smiled. It was a long road to recovery but he did it, he was a neurosurgeon again and even better now. He was godlike, able to perform surgeries that he could only dream of before. He wasn’t just going to get his life back, he would flourish, go above and beyond his already impressive list of accomplishments, he would dominate.

He walked into the conference full of confidence, an arrogant smile plastered on his face. The gasps and stares made him stand even straighter, walk with even more purpose. He always loved being the center of attention, it made him feel superior.

It was his addiction, to be special, better than everyone around him. The craving for greatness was a consequence of his birthright. He needed to be better because he was better. His brain was like a radiant flame, he shined brighter than everyone around him and he knew it.

“Stephen, good to see you,” a group of colleagues surrounded him, patting him on the back. He felt at home, this was where he belonged.

The auditorium started filling and he followed the group in, sitting in the back and opening his pamphlet. It wasn’t usually his type of lecture to listen to but he had time to kill before his next panel. The speaker, a specialist in infectious disease, worked at New York Hospital where he would start back on Monday. He closed his pamphlet and waited patiently for the presentation to start.

She walked onto the stage and his body tensed as he watched her prepare for her speech. Stephen’s brain was on fire, the attraction to this stranger like nothing he had ever felt. His thoughts turned less than appropriate as he stared at her ass. He saw no panty lines and couldn’t help but imagine what did or did not lie beneath the skirt's thin fabric. She wasn’t a conventionally attractive woman but that made her even more beautiful in his mind. She was perfect for him, a mix of everything he was physically attracted to in one person. Women had thrown themselves at him but he didn’t want any of them, he wanted her.

Then she started speaking and a new wave of attraction washed through him as her intelligence became apparent. Who was this woman? He rarely felt attraction like this, attraction that consumed onto his whole being. He needed to get to know her, needed to touch her, smell her hair, hold her hand. He was obsessed.

He didn’t even realize her presentation had ended until everyone started applauding. Stephen stood and clapped along. He watched her exit the stage and as he walked closer her face suddenly flashed into his memory. He knew her years ago in med school. She liked him, she followed him around like a puppy.

Excitement built as he approached her, but she gave him one look and her face fell into a grimace.

“Stephen Strange,” He held his hand out.

Her reply was cold, “We went to school together,” she spit, ignoring his outstretched hand.

“Yes, we did, didn’t we. I’m very interested in what you’re working on. Maybe we could get together, have dinner?”

“No,” she turned and walked away from him.

“Hey,” He yelled at her, but she kept walking, giving no acknowledgement of his obvious frustration.

It didn’t take him long to catch up, he reached out and grabbed her shoulder pulling her around to face him.

“What is this hostility about?” He asked.

Her body went rigid and she wrenched her shoulder out of his hand, “Poor thing, thinks she has a chance with me,” She said through gritted teeth.

He remembered in that moment what had happened, how he used her for short lived friendships.

“I’m not that person anymore, I’m sorry, let me show you,” be begged.

“You called me pathetic,” She snarled.

“It was so long ago, please.”

She stood up tall and leaned into him. “Pathetic,” she called him before walking away again.

He stood there dazed, never having been discarded so callously. He couldn't leave it like this, he would show her he had changed and she would forgive him. He was determined. He was the great Doctor Strange and he could do anything.

A sob took over your body as you read the little piece of paper. It was over, no more money for research. The conference was your last hope to find funding and you didn’t succeed. You looked at a little blue vial and picked it up. It was a bad idea, you knew it was, but this medicine could help so many people. If you didn’t try it right then you may have never known if it worked or not. You removed your jacket, swabbed your arm and filled a syringe. A tear fell down your cheek as you depressed the plunger.

It immediately started burning, beginning in your arm and flowing throughout your veins until you were screaming in pain. The room spun around and your vision started to blur. You stood and took a few shaky steps before falling to the ground and curling into a ball. Quiet whimpers escaped your lips as you struggled not to pass out from the pain.

A knock rang through your ears and you lifted your head slightly.

“Hey, it’s me,” called a voice from the other side of the door.

Stephen, of course he would show up at the worst moment possible. You were in so much pain and part of you wanted to ask for help but you couldn’t. If anyone found out you could lose your licence and Stephen was someone you were sure would turn you in.

“It’s not a good time,” you yelled.

“I just wanted to apologize for my behavior, I was an asshole but I’ve changed. I really have.”

“Go Away Stephen.”

The doorknob jiggled and you held your breath. You had locked it, you were sure you had.

“Hey, I’m getting worried, open the door,” he demanded.

“I’m sad, ok, lost funding for my research. I don’t want you to see me cry. Happy? If you’ve actually changed you’ll leave!” you put your hand over your mouth to cover a groan, the exhaustion of talking having caused intense pain in your lungs.

“Oh, um, sorry to bother you,” he murmured.

You sighed in relief as the sound of his footsteps disappeared and then hugged your aching body, shivering and crying softly as excruciating pain moved around. It suddenly felt like you had been thrown in a freezer. It Was so cold, why were you so cold?

You shivered and cried on the floor for hours until sleep finally took you, giving a slight respite from the worst day of your life.

Series master list ~ Next Chapter

#dark!stephen strange #stephen strange x you #Stephen strange x reader #dark!stephen strange x reader #dark fic #dark marvel #dark!mcu

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tare-anime · 3 years

Text

SxF Chapter 49

(Beware spoilers)

We're almost 50 chapters!! Wohoooo 🥰

Still.... after the ending of chp 48, I have no clues at all of how the story in this chapter will go.

Thus, I am not prepared at all, when Endo slapped me with this much angst 🥲

I mean, I love hurt/comfort. But this chapter is all about hurt without comfort (yet)... I'm....🥲

Ahem. Okay, let's see the lighter part of this chapter first.

Anya being worried for her mom's safety is sooo cute!! She really tried her best, but after playing all day, she got sleepy.

And day by day, she started to took her parent's trait, I found that cute 🥰

Like mother, like daughter.... LOL

On Loid's side.... a bit of TwiYor content here. Loid really misses his wife. Especially, since he had to watch over Anya all day long, and he got really tired from doing so.

Now you understand how Yor feels when you went all around town for your mission, eh???

I can't wait to see his expression when he reunited with Yor 🥰

(The rest will go under the cut, because this is a loooooonnngggg post.)

Now unto the villains...

It looks like Steve Jobs is a sniffing freak! That's one scary ability there..... yet, that ability could become a weakness too. But by the his inner monologue... apparently this man was one of those who responsible in eliminating the Gretchers. Which means, he's one formidable enemy. The "boss enemy" of this arc.

I am both excited and terrified in anticipating the match between him and Yor 🥶

But, I say, the most terrifying enemy is the "evil Frankie". Informants always works in the shadow. Made them those with higher chance of survivals, and yet they held the important things/cards in their hands. With enough strategy, they will able to use it to evil deeds. Scary. And just look at this. He already prepared to save himself, should things went south.

Now, on the lighter note...

Soft boy detected!

Furseal, whose real name turn out to be Zab, already admired Olka for a long time!! Awww... and he even noticed how distressed Olka (and the baby) are, and thus take action to be the goofy one, so that they could relax a bit.

Olka knows this, which made her commented that he’s a nice guy.

Awww.... I just hope.... really hope.... Zeb didn't die protecting Olka. After what had happened to Olka, I want her to at least has someone she could rely on, someone that will not betrayed her under any circumstances. That person being Zab here. (Please Endo....hear my praaayy....)

From his backstory, however.... now we get a timeline. We are currently around 10 years after the war.

And that apparently the Gretchers were not at the same side with the current government, despite their enormous power. Which might be one of the reasons why they're eliminated. The government needs their resource for weaponry, but they refused to cooperate. Thus they're eliminated.

This made me think.....

The Gretchers are friends with Garden. Garden was said to serve the shadow government. And in that term, Garden might also be at the side who don't want any war....

Which means.... Garden and WISE might be at the same side!!

I really hope so.

That means we have a possibility of Loid and Yor doing join mission, buuuuttt then we might have a Yor vs Yuri??? (Okay, I'll stop here)

Continue to Garden member. I am awed by McMahon.

He is one awesome character!! By the way he act here, we can conclude that he is one with enough experiences. Good one and bad ones. He might had seen so many things in this world, thus he understand the nature of human beings. Him being the soldier who would do things necessary for his country? Ugh... total badass!! And unlike Yor, he knows how to use different type of weapons. Fire weapon, close range weapon, throwing weapons.... wow!! wow!!

And once again, I got the feeling that he’s Yor’s mentor. He knows when to scold her (forgeting the knocking code?? Yor!! Don’t be too nervous!), but he also acknowledge her as one of the strongest assassins in Garden.

Btw, somehow I got the feeling that McMahon is there to watch over Yor too. He seems like the loyal butler of Shopkeeper. And Yor is the princess (Shopkeeper’s daughter). And thus Mc Mahon is responsible of her safety too. I mean, look at him. Cleaning after the mess, preparing them food, smoothing their cover story, and for the night, he asked “the three of them” (Yor included) to ‘rest’ while he ‘cleaned’ the enemies.

He really got the ‘loyal butler’ and ‘mentor’ vibes here.

Now aside from Furseal, I am also afraid that he might die in doing what he has to do (protecting Yor).

Uuuhh but please Endooo!! If you want to kill someone, let it be Steve Jobs!! pleaseeee!!!

(btw, could we have McMahon at the cover of the 8th volume?? but we haven’t even got Handler yet!!)

Leave it to Endo, to make this supposedly warm panels, hurts so so so sosooooooo muccch T.T

Now, the last but not least, the source of this chapter’s angst...

Yor... oh my dear Yor...

She’s so afraid of getting hurt because she thought it might hindered her to return to the Forgers. She was reminded that the Forgers are just ‘fake’ family.

Yor is a simple person. All this time, she do whatever she has to do, doing all the dirty jobs, all for one purpose: Raising Yuri.

Now that Yuri had able to stand on his own two feet, suddenly Yor felt lost. And for the first time, she also has wants. Yor wants something, that is to be loved by a family. Yet she felt that she isn’t allowed to have what she wants. Ugh!!

Not having a goal in her live, currently doing an unusual job, and now she also wants to be with the Forgers but she felt she wasn’t appropriate in doing so.... And by sitting alone in the dark quiet room, her mind wanders: She felt lost and she is depressed T.T (and my heart breaks!!)

But by the next chapters, I hope she realized, that the Forgers are not ‘fake’. At least, Anya really see her as the mother. Anya needs her. And that getting hurt to protect her family is worth it. (I have a feelings that Yor might get hurt in protecting Anya, who in her own way tries to help, but the kid didn’t realized that these assassins are dangerous.)

So, all in all, this chapter really make me feels.... (still a wonderful chapter though!)

In next chapter I think we’re finally entering the climax of this arc (the countdown begin!).... I can’t wait!

#spy x family #sxf #review #chp 49 #yor forger #loid forger #anya forger #mcMahon #olka gretcher #spoiler #spoilers

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spvce-cowboy · 3 years

Text

a strange beauty

chapter 1 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

next-ch.2: “gentle things”

rating: Explicit

5.8k words

summary: The Mandalorian crashes on an unknown planet. Severely injured, he follows the sound of singing until he, literally, lands in your lap. A trained medic, you begrudgingly decide to help the bounty hunter in order to continue evading a dark past.

warnings: Violence, descriptions of gore, masturbation (m), brief panic attack description, hurt/comfort, angst/fluff, suggested sexual assault, canon divergent (post-season 1), slow burn, eventual smut

a/n: i wrote this after reading the Rough Day series by @no-droids as well as @cptnbvcks ‘s fics. i continue to be inspired by their work so i must give credit where it is due ! my first reader insert/mando thing so let's see how this goes !! thank you for reading <3

What he hears first is song.

It’s nearly night on the unfamiliar planet. At first he thinks the sound is some kind of bizarre hum of wind. He’s crash landed and between the hole in his chest and the blood in his eyes, he can barely stagger forward, let alone think things through, as he stumbles out of the smoldering Crest.

It stuns him, for a moment. On the verge of it all ending, the pain vibrating through his body, and he literally falls into some kind of melody so haunting he can’t help but think he’s already in some cruel kind of afterlife. Underworld would be equally fitting, he deserves that more.

He tries to pull in a breath. The sound that leaves him could only be described as a gurgle. It’s followed by a cough. Something hot and metallic tasting comes up with it, coating the inside of his mouth and dribbling over his chin.

Maker, he’s screwed.

He hadn’t realized how much worse it was going to get until he was finally safe in the Crest. In a daze, he opened the med-kit only to find the last Bacta treatment in a shattered mess. In the fresher, he tried to stuff some remaining gauze into the gaping hole on his right pectoral. He really tried not to pass out. He wasn’t successful. He wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion or the knife wound, but every breath exited in a fluttering wheeze he was barely able to push through. It must have punctured a lung. Fucker was able to get right up under the armor.

Delirious with blood loss, he could barely register the one-handed climb into the cockpit and typing in whatever coordinates first come to mind before he blacked out again. It was in and out from there. He thought he entered Naboo, somewhere safe and familiar and not teaming with others who’d like to do much more and worse than he had already weathered, but a glance at the red-orange slicked control panel told him he was quickly approaching an uncharted planet. His hands were uncontrollably shaking, covered in his own blood and who knows who else’s. He had no idea if the Crest has the ability to dampen the landing but it was too late to start asking favors of some higher power now.

“Sorry, kid.” It’s all Mando could think to say, voice barely registering over the modulator.

The child was fast asleep already. He had to mend Mando’s spine in order for Mando to drag himself back to the Crest once the smoke of the battlefield had settled.

Mando’s entire body was still vibrating from the energy of it, probably the only thing keeping his heart beating. He was barely conscious long enough to slide the shields shut on the child’s cradle before impact.

It had been a long day.

He woke, miraculously still breathing—if the futile gasps trying to be made around a collapsed lung could be called something like that. He swung his heavy head around, blindly grasping the child’s cradle and pulling it behind him. The child was still asleep—unharmed save for a dent on the side of his crib that sputtered with an occasional spark. It took Mando a moment to register the alarms blaring, the flashing lights and acrid smell of scorched plastic and metal.

He doesn’t remember staggering out of the Crest. Just that now he is in a field of some sort, staggering forward with the kid’s cradle following close behind.

It is only then that he hears the song.

An idyllic hillside stretches before him, tall grass dotted with small, yellow wildflowers reach to meet a light fog. In the distance there’s the shadowed suggestion of mountains. If he didn’t know any better, he would really think this was Naboo. Mando can’t even begin to comprehend how his brain is able to process any of it. Really? You’re about to take your last handful of breaths and you’re taking in the flowers of all things? Though maybe he isn’t, if he is able to. His head begins to fill with a kind of static where nothing makes any sense.

He can hear, at least. Very well. Well enough to recognize that there is some kind of singing, some kind of song, reverberating through the sensors of his helmet loud enough to bring him back to reality.

A song isn’t necessarily the right word for it—there are no words, or, at least, no words Mando could distinguish. Sound, more like. Melodious sound. Long, whooping notes of crisp sound. A siren’s call. So he follows the singing.

Mando doesn’t know how long it takes to reach its origin—between his quickly blackening vision or the equally disorienting fog, it is hard to navigate the expanse of green before him, let alone determine the time it takes to see the slight silhouette in the distance. Once he does, it’s a stumbling, panting race to reach it before his legs give out. Mando falls once, then pushes himself up. He doesn’t have the ability to call out around the useless, deflated bag of tissue leaning against the right side of his ribcage, so he keeps pushing forward. And it’s like he’s running in a dream, the pace as which he lurches forward, trailing blood and gore behind him. And he’s trying to move but he keeps almost falling and the figure is getting closer but it isn’t moving and he’s half certain he’s hallucinated it all and this is it. It’s over. All this for almost nothing and what about the kid. What about this kid if it’s over and. It’s over and. And.

And it’s you. Standing there. A long dress lifting slightly with the breeze. Your back is to him, hair swept over and through itself in an intricate braid. When you turn, your face is already contorted in shock.

And still, you are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

The Mandalorian falls to his knees, colliding with the ground before he can even process losing feeling in the lower half of his body.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure.

In it, he is Din again. For the first time in a long time. He knows this in the way one just knows things, in dreams.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure.

He is kneeling before it, in defeat or prayer he does not know. It is one in the same, either way.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure.

It touches his face gently. When it does, he vomits ticks or leeches, depends on the day. They spill into his hands and he is left there. Staring at them. Writhing, they slip through the fingers of his cupped palms. He always wakes before they reach the ground.

On waking, the first thing he notices is that the grass is trying to reclaim the house.

He knows that he is in a house because of the soft mattress beneath him, pressing up and into his body as if in some kind of forgiveness. It’s a single room cabin, a dirt floor, a single bed, a kitchen to the far wall. Incredibly bright with three windows of varied size above the sink. As he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees are sparse but tall green stalks brushing the leg of a sturdy looking olbio-wood table, a messy collection of bloodied bandages, glass bottles, and bowls resting atop its surface. A flower dots the top of only one of the stalks, its petals no bigger than the nail of his thumb. He hears two soft voices, speaking from somewhere above him. Darkness clouds his vision as soon as he realizes he is awake.

When his eyes open again he is already in the process of sitting up, holding his shoulder with a grunt. He fully gains consciousness in the middle of the action, in time to barely recognize a cry of surprise as something clatters to the floor. He swings his head around, right hand automatically going to his holster despite the burning pain the motion conjures. Empty.

He turns sharply and it’s you. It’s you, again, looking all the more surprised at his sudden waking than you had when he was dragging his half-dead body towards you.

Your hands are pressed against your stomach, the wooden bowl of some sludge-like salve at your booted feet. Your eyes are wide, frozen as if he had a weapon to draw. The skin beneath them is puffy and discolored with exhaustion. Your dress is now smeared with what he can only assume is his own rust-brown blood. The dress presses tightly against your chest with your heavy breathing. Mando’s gaze catches there, for a moment, in spite of himself, before traveling again to your face. Wide eyes, plush lips slightly parted--your hair is in a loose bun that has barely managed to contain itself, escaped pieces gently framing your face. You’re one of the most beautiful creatures he has ever seen. His resolve hardens immediately because of it.

You press your lips together firmly in annoyance, almost in tandem with Mando clenching his own jaw. You stoop low to snatch the bowl and pestle from where they lay at your feet, irritation radiating off of you in waves.

“You’re taking my bed, Mandalorian.” Your voice is steady for the most part, but falters slightly with his name. It betrays the fear in your eyes, nearly masked by the tightness in your tone. Regardless, you persist. Straitening with the bowl pressed between your hip and forearm, you gesture with your free hand towards where he is still reaching for a non-existent weapon. “It is unbecoming to start our acquaintance with threats.”

“I was here with a… a companion,” his voice sounds absolutely ragged over the vocoder. Mando whips his head back around to scan the room, heart pounding. His shoulder feels like it is on fire. He begins to struggle to his feet. He fails.

“The little one is fine, resting.” You blow an offending strand of hair off your forehead with a frustrated, upward huff. “You’ve been out for days. We’ve been up every night trying to keep you breathing. Frankly, I could care less if you choked on your own tongue.” Your voice gets less biting when you’re facing him directly, as if the courage for your snark is dependent on not being able to see him. You continue, “Am’ile, however, is an old friend of an acquaintance of yours. You’d care to show her a little more respect.”

With another huff, you’re turning away and pushing through the piece of fabric that functions as a door. He watches you as you reappear through the wide window stationed just above the kitchen sink. Mando sags against the bed’s simple headrest.

There are little pieces of stained glass that have been strung from the tops of the windows, dripping down like raindrops. He watches them for a moment, clattering into one another. Mando swallows, shaking his head. He tries to take a few deep breaths before attempting to stand once again. He isn’t successful.

“I wouldn’t test that one, Mandalorian.” This voice is much older, slightly raspy in a way that automatically demands a lowered head or a knee pressed into the earth. A long-fingered hand pushes past the fabric still swaying from your exit. An elderly Bardottan woman enters, regarding him a moment. The child coos in the arm she cradles him with, his hands reaching out towards Mando. The Bardottan smiles, wobbling over to the bed and laying the child at his side. “She doesn’t like it when kindness is taken for granted.”

She turns, pulling out a chair from the table and sitting down with a sigh. He can tell her age by the halting way she walks, one four-fingered hand resting against her lower back, her leathered yellow-green skin’s pale stripes dulled by time. “Am’ile Dovalien of Naboo. I am an old friend of Caraynthia Dune, from her Republic days,” she takes her time with her words, and then even more to regard him. “You’re looking rough for wear, Mandalorian. I’d ease up on that shoulder before you put all the girl’s work to waste.”

An old friend of Cara’s. He doesn’t know why it’s surprising by any means. Cara’s discussed her time before the war enough, and it is not like she is… inhibited, he guesses, is the right word…by the Way. So of course she would have “old friends.” Good friends. Maybe it’s surprising because he feels like there are similarities between the two of them that he has not shared with anyone else, odd to think she is able to having something that he does not.

“Who is she? The girl?” The words leave his mouth abruptly, before he can think them through. They hang there for a moment before Am’ile answers.

The Bardottan says your full name, he’s noticed she has a habit of doing so. Between that and her syrupy accent, it lends anyone she mentions in the conversation a kind of regal stature that he can’t help but admire. “She is my student. I hope she didn’t… frighten you too much. It’s rare we get visitors from outside the local village. You’re the first of her kind she’s encountered in almost six years now.”

The child chirps, clambering onto Mando’s chest. The pain is sharp and immediate. The man makes a sound he can’t control, using his good arm to pull the kid off and tuck him into his side. “Thank you, for all of this.” He’s ashamed he didn’t manage to get it out sooner, his lips pressed together firmly under the beskar. “I… I had to retreat before I could complete the job. I don’t have many credits on me but—"

“Do not, Mandalorian,” Am’ile shakes her head. “I would be insulted if you do.” She stands with a struggle, using the edge of the table to help herself up and waddling to his bedside, extending both boney arms for the child. Mando does what he can to help prop him back into the crook of Am’ile’s elbow. “Keep resting, if today’s treatments take well, you can start repairing your ship by tomorrow morning. The locals are a secluded people, they do not like strangers staying for very long.”

“Thank you,” he says. She hums something low in her throat in affirmation, flicking her hand in Mando’s direction with her back already turned. The fabric of the door only stills after a few minutes of swaying.

After your first—well, technically second—encounter, you don’t really make conversation when you come in to check on Mando’s healing and clean up the medical station Am’ile and you had established on the kitchen table. It’s all matter-of-fact, from the tilt of your shoulders to the set of your jaw. When you do directly address him, he notices that you stare at the space just above his helmet, never into the t-shaped visor. Never right at him.

He deserves it, he supposes. Never one for talking unless necessary, he’s fine with the complete silence interspersed with: “Okay breathe in, breathe out,” as you check if his stitches can hold, or “try and stand up, walk around the table” hovering a few inches away in case he falls. It seems like Am’ile is the one who takes over the more internal matters, coming in to check on his lung capacity, if his ribs were healing in the proper place.

Apparently the child had to mend the worst of it, now all that was left over was a grinding, bone-deep soreness that comes with being put together from the inside out, as well as some particularly nasty scrapes, the surface remnants of the near-fatal stab wounds. The child had tried to heal those, too, later that morning, but Mando pushed his tiny hand aside, just as he had done the first time.

“No need to waste your energy, womp rat. Save that up for someone else,” he pats the kid’s head as he say this, placing him on the ground with a wince to toddle around the room in search of trouble.

You have your back to the both of them, washing a bowl once filled with Mando’s dirty bandages. You pause as he says this, head tilted slightly over your left shoulder as if contemplating turning around. After a beat, you seem to reevaluate and continue washing the blood out of the bowl, scrubbing at it with a brush heavy with soap. You’re wearing a different dress now, looser, cinched at the waist with a green-brown apron. You dry the bowl with the corner of your apron and start on the next object, a gleaming pair of surgical scissors.

It seems as if you’ve just come from a bath, hair wet and tucked behind your ears as you work. When you first entered, he thinks he heard you mention something about it, now that his condition had stabled. It was mumbled so quietly he almost believes he’s imagined it.

He wants to ask you where the glass hanging from the window is from, how you managed to string it up so perfectly that when the suns get to a certain place, as they were in that moment, it sent a kaleidoscope of colors onto the floor. A kaleidoscope of colors that dapple your face in such a beautiful pattern he half expects he’s in the middle of some torturous spice-dream.

When you turn to leave again, Mando turns his head to stare forward, feigning sleep.

When Am’ile confirms that the treatments have taken well, pointing out all the signs to you as you stand back with your arms crossed and nod intermittently, a diligent student. A part of him is okay with being a living anatomy model as long as it means you actually looking at him.

Once given the clear, he spends the next two days working on the Crest. It was, thankfully, in much better shape than he thought. A bit difficult to go about making the repairs the first day with one of his arms in a sling, but breathing is easier and the deep pain has been replaced with a dull ache that is less difficult to push aside for the time being.

You bring him meals and check his stitches at the crash site—you seem to continuously clarify that you’re only doing this because Am’ile’s hips cannot take the inclines of the hills anymore. Every time you hike up the grassy slope towards him you seem to get a little bit braver, looking him evenly in the eyes for short periods each time.

He’s grateful to see you each time. It’s been a long time since he’s eaten anything that wasn’t from a cantina or a freeze-dried bar. Even though he eats quickly, pushing his helm just below the tip of his nose to do so, he savors it all the same. You turn your back to him as he eats for privacy, playing with the child.

His third morning working on the ship, he gets up at dawn. He’s restless and wants to finish the build as soon as possible, get out of here before Greef Karga starts getting antsy with his absence. A very small, very weak part of himself also knows the longer he stays, the more he becomes a threat to a place like this. It’s too warm. Too gentle. He doesn’t belong here. Something about his presence is disruptive. He just knows this.

Mando still can’t bear the weight of the beskar against his bad shoulder. He pulls on the button-down tunic Am’ile had asked him to wear in order to get better access to his stitches with a wince. It’s a dark green kind of fabric, loose enough to fit both him and the bulk of his bandages comfortably. He’s still a bit light headed on his way to the Crest, but once settled beneath the hull he’s fine.

You come up with breakfast at around the same time as the previous day, setting it on the ground a few feet away from him as if he were some kind of cornered animal you were trying to lull into some sense of false security.

The child babbles something unintelligible from your arms as you turn your back and sit down in the grass. The child had been spending nights with you and Am’ile in the neighboring cabin, since Mando had taken the cabin you’d been sleeping in previously. Am’ile told Mando it was so he could get the rest he needs, without having to worry about the little one. One glance at the way you act around the kid makes it plainly clear that you’re absolutely smitten. It’s hard not to be.

Mando eats quickly, lowering his helmet and turning to give you the clear. You don’t respond, too consumed with attempting to thwart the child’s attempts to catch a hopping bug the size of your palm. You’re wearing a tank top and long, brown cargo pants, seated with your legs crossed and leaning forward every so often to plop the kid back into your lap every time he toddles too far.

There’s a moment where he allows his eyes to trace the elegant curve of your shoulders. Something in his throat tightens. Shaking his head as if to clear it, he pushes himself to his feet and resumes the task at hand. Leaning down to pick up a replacement panel, he straightens with a grunt.

“What are you doing?” Your voice surprises him enough to drop the paneling. It barely misses his booted foot. Small hands wrap around both his biceps, pulling him back. “Stars, stop that you’re gonna—”

And suddenly you’re in front of him, a whole head shorter yet already fussing over him like some family pet. You keep talking to yourself as you do so, maneuvering him to sit with his back leaning against the Crest, kneeling beside him as you pop the buttons of his shirt open. It’s like you started in a moment of complete vindication, and how have to keep up the act despite a deflating confidence. “I feel like the best bounty hunter in the galaxy could maybe use some common sense after getting fresh stitches, just a thought but you obviously could care less…”

You keep talking, he knows that because he sees your mouth moving, but after that last word your hands are against his chest, unwrapping the bandages to check the punctured skin underneath. Your bare hands, on his bare chest. Any possible thought he could have formed after the fact left his head instantly.

He couldn’t even remember the last time someone had touched him, especially like this. Before, when you and Am’ile started patching him up, he was out cold. When you checked on his healing wounds the day before, you had politely asked him to remove his shirt and bandages with an undeniable warble in your voice, standing with your hands clasped behind your back and only glancing at his chest before instructing him to refresh his gauze.

They are soft and a bit colder than he’d expected. So soft. One hand is wrapped around his right trapezius, thumb resting in the dip of his collarbone, and the other cupping his left ribs as if he was trying to get away somehow. Something in him instantly stills. You keep your hands like that as you observe the wound. You give another huff,

“Don’t move.” You turn away, scooping up the kid and walking back down the hill.

He’s not sure if it’s in obedience to you or pure shock, but by the time you return, mumbling something about Am’ile taking over babysitting, he hasn’t moved a muscle. You dab on another layer of ointment, rewrapping his bandages. Satisfied with your work, you sniff, placing your hands on your hips to look back up at him. “What do you need lifted?”

Mando blinks, pausing long enough that you narrow your eyes, chin raised. “Well?”

After a beat, he gestures to the panel he dropped earlier. You both work together, in complete silence, for the rest of the day.

When both suns sit low and heavy in the horizon, you raise your hand to your to your forehead and squint at the place where they are held by the two ragged lines of distant mountains. “It’s a strange kind of beauty, isn’t it.”

He looks at you, looking at the suns. When he doesn’t say anything, you wipe at the sweat and grease smeared across your forehead with the back of your forearm. Wordlessly, you brush your hands off on your pants twice before turning back down the hill.

Mando continues soldering wires. He only pauses an hour or so later, when he hears the song again. He puts down his tools and sits in the grass with his back to the Crest, staring out and into the mountain range before him, the two rocky faces cupping two entangled suns, one indistinguishable from the other. The song is as sweeping and ethereal as when he first heard it, heard you. He takes off his gloves, closes his eyes, and runs his fingers through the grass. He curls them into fists.

Later that night, he has to stumble out of the house and into one of the fields in order to keep the thoughts silent. He has the dream again, it is always impossible to keep sleeping after. He’d been up for hours at that point, trying to breathe through bursts of absolute, vision-blurring panic.

Usually he rests in hour-long bursts, whenever the time allows. He’s gone days without it, to the point that it’s more comfortable to refuse it than give in. It always gets worse when he allows himself to sleep at night. Whatever it is, it always gets worse.

But there’s nothing to fucking do here but think.

It’s the bed. There’s something maddening about your mattress. He hadn’t been touched by another, skin to skin, in so long--the trails of fire your gentle hands left made something in his lower abdomen squirm, restlessly. Hopelessly. Without thinking, he lifts his cock from the waistband of his pants.

Nothing in him can keep the images out. The curve of your knuckles brushing his collarbone. His hand rises in a hard stroke. The low hum you gave once you pushed aside his tunic, unraveling the bandages. Eyes searching for damage. Another stroke, this one even more forceful than the last. The light from the glass against your skin, against the elegant curve of your throat. His thumb comes up to catch the head, already seeping with pre-come. Your gentle palm, dwarfed by the bicep it was pressed against yet steady and determined all the same. He’s so hard it’s excruciating and—

That first morning. The way your chest pressed and swelled against the tight fabric of your bodice, your breasts nearly pushing themselves up and over the gentle ivory neckline with each inhale.

“F-fuck. Fucking sick,” he chokes out in horror as he finishes, his cock pulsing in his hand, his releases onto the damp ground before him. Shame settles itself in place of the writhing desire in his stomach. It is a much deeper feeling, he realizes, as he lowers himself with barely enough energy to tuck himself back into his pants, wiping his hand on the grass already wet with dew.

The girl is just trying to piece you back together and this is all you can think? But he really can’t remember the last time he was touched. With such kindness. Your hands were the softest thing to grace his body for as long as he could possibly remember. He already knows that this, whatever it is, will be devastating. Absolutely devastating. For this reason, something in him will cling to it for as long as he can.

The cold ground welcomes him, it’s the only measure he is given to realize his skin has quickly grown feverish. He almost falls asleep, right there on the ground. But there’s a gentle cry, from the neighboring house, just across the field from his—er, your—cabin. A gentle cry that quickly turns into an all too familiar hiccuping wail. From where he is curled on the ground, he can see right through one of the house’s windows as a lantern flicks on.

It’s just your silhouette, backlit by a warm orange light. You pace in small circles, bouncing the child on your hip, occasionally leaning your head down in what he could only think is to whisper something, just for you and the child. To press a kiss to the dip of his wrinkled forehead. He calms quickly afterwards, but you keep walking anyway. It’s a strange beauty, being able to watch your two forms, the way they bend and lean into the other, rendered indistinguishable by the lantern’s low light. Mando stays there for a long time.

“What is that sound?”

It’s almost nightfall again, the next day. Both Am’ile and Mando are seated at the table in your cabin. The Bardottan woman is playing a card game across from him that he’s been silently observing as they wait for one of his final treatments to sink back in. No bacta, here. Am’ile informed him on his first day. Too isolated of a planet. Her remedies are equally good if not better treatment, just needing some patience.

The singing has started again. It’s the only hint of your presence he’s gotten since the morning, when you unceremoniously plopped a plate of food at the food of his bed and told him you had informed everyone to steer clear of the cabin so he could take his time eating without “that thing on your head.” It was the best meal he’d had in a long while, sugared bread with a fruit jam and a piece of meat that tasted like some kind of mutton.

You start singing right as the healing muscles in his right shoulder have started to go warm and tingly with the salve Am’ile applied. When she doesn’t remove her gaze from her cards, he asks her again.

“What is that sound?”

Am’ile glances up, regarding him for a moment. She says your name, softly, turning her horse-like head towards the window to stare out into the gently moving grass, the empty orange of sunset turning the cut faces of the mountains a dull purple. “It’s a traditional song, from her home planet. It’s how they would call in the seasons, pray for the weather they needed to survive—the people here ask her to sing at nightfall. They say she summons a calm night. When she first arrived it… took some negotiating to allow her to stay.” Am’ile has the gentle, warbling voice of an old grandmother. There is another note from outside, long and slow and beautiful, ending in a sharp, high whoop that reverberates against the sides of the hills. “We look after their children when they go for hunts, it’s how we pay for our place here. This planet has been untouched for centuries, but the beasts are fierce. Would put any Endorian boar-wolf to shame.”

“And why is she here, with you?”

Am’ile is quiet for a moment. Her gaze remains fixed out the window. “She is escaping from a new kind of debt, Mandalorian.” The phrasing hangs in the air, static with its own weight. “The, ah… ex-Imperial officials who turned into warlords after the Civil War...” She looks like she does not want to continue any further. Mando waits in silence. She caves, they always tend to.

“The girl was a nursemaid, by label. They have drugs now, that tell your body you are with child. Lactation, pain of the body so deep it keeps you complacent. It’s a fetish for them, functional for their wives with babies they want nothing to do with. Miserable existence. Caraynthia Dune and I did much work trying to free as many girls as possible years ago, when she was still a soldier. I’d given up the fight, started this farm—began working as a healer for the locals, a peaceful people. The girl found me herself. I still have no idea how. She’s a fighter. Stronger than most any I’ve come across.”

Am’ile’s eyes grow sharp in a way Mando never expected they could. He’s taken aback momentarily, she can’t see his hands flex from under the table. “I have trained her to the best of my abilities, she’d be accepted as a distinguished medic at any Republic facility without a bat of the eye.” She doesn’t have to see Mando’s face to know that he’s in the process of rolling his eyes. “The girl is in danger staying here—they don’t care about what they’d consider to be former cattle as long as they don’t mock the warlords by staying sedentary. She may not be an engineer, but she’s professional--one of the best medics I’ve trained. Kindest, too. You’ll need someone to look after that lung,” Am’ile leans forward, resting a boney elbow against the table and extending a long forefinger to circle the space in front of Mando’s chest. She continues, “Amazing with children. Can hold her own well enough in a fight. Please don’t ever tell her I’ve told you this, but she has asked me to ah… propose this to you. Since the first night of your arrival she has asked to help on board. I know you’ve been looking for a… a… caretaker. The girl is it, Mandalorian. I know you’re an honorable man. I know you would treat her fairly, with kindness. It’s what she deserves. She’s all you could possibly ask for.”

The words hang in the air for a long time. Mando leans both forearms against the table, looking down at his loosely clasped hands. He takes five breaths, then looks back up at Am’ile. “One of the best medics you’ve trained?”

“The best,” Am’ile smiles to herself. It appears as if she already knows his answer. “Without hesitation, the best.”

“With that bedside manner?”

There is a beat of complete silence. Then Bardottan woman bursts into gleeful laughter, nodding her head as she does. The joy of it is enough to fill the entire room.

Mando looks down at his hands and allows himself a small, private smile. It was the closest thing to: yes. Absolutely, yes, that he’s brave enough to voice.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure. In it, he is Din, again. For the first time in a long time.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure. He is kneeling in prayer.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure. She touches his face gently. He reaches out to her.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #reader insert #i'll be here in the morning #i'll be here in the morning ch.1 #fanfic #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din and grogu #mando and grogu #grogu

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junkworldusa · 4 years

Text

on comics

[tl;dr i was worried for most of my life about being a ‘good artist’ but now i just make comics and you should too]

i spent april, may, and half of june 2020 rendering geometric objects in soft charcoal. i threw myself into what’s colloquially known on /ic/ as grinding fundies-- perspective exercises, bargue plates, and figure drawing. my intent was to git gud and finally launch a narrative webcomic-- something visually pleasing, digital, and well-written. i had finished scripts, thumbnails, character designs, etc. i had to take advantage of all this sudden free time from losing my job! this was my chance!

then last month i realized abruptly that i was not that kind of artist, i had never been that kind of artist, and i would never be that kind of artist. i could not go SCRIPT->THUMBNAILS->PENCILS->INK because it would kill me. i had to accept i could not “finish” anything that way. if i thought too much about the work i lost interest; if it took too long i got bored. even now, every comic is a race against my own attention span.

i think there are a couple factors at play here. one is my own brain. but another is a deeper problem inherent to the medium: i believe “writing” a script or words ahead of time sucks the life out of the work. (will eisner talks about this in “Comics and Sequential Art.” ideally the writer and artist should be the same person and it should be done at the same time; if they cannot be the same person, then the artist must have liberty to change the script as they see fit to better suit the pacing/visual storytelling.) comics are the interplay of words and image. the words feed the image, the image feeds the words. the fragmented process of, say, a typical DC comic-- script/pencils/ink/color all done by separate people hundreds of miles apart-- is antithetical to the medium and also why these comics are mostly bad. to go even further, the words and images should be done with the same tool. if i put the brush down to switch to a pen the words are not the same, and the disparate style is jarring on some level. the simultaneous creation of words and images is essential. there’s immediately life. your hands come up with things you didnt expect. what i very recently learned is that i have to work like a rollercoaster: start to finish, without looking back, and without stopping. thinking is not necessary-- “skill” is not necessary. (i still struggle with this last point but the mild popularity of a few of my left-handed comics prove it to me: people will respond to a shaky scribble as long as the scribble is alive.)

i got this practice from lynda barry. who else? when i first read that she just sits down and draws a comic from start to finish, i was horrified and jealous. she writes the words for a panel, draws the image, then moves on to the next. that’s it. it seems straightforward but it haunted me. i thought i was incapable of this and that anything done like this would be TRASH! (unless lynda barry did it, of course.) but that is how i am trying to work now.

it’s not easy. self-consciousness, self-criticism, and the years of thinking art must look a certain way are all against us. it gets easier, though. i think it got easier once i realized how fun it can be. i use crayons, cheap paper, collage, non-dominant hand drawing, anything to help me realize it’s not that serious. the tactile and permanent aspect of traditional art is another aid. some of my favorite cartoonists and inkers work digitally but my brain doesnt grok it-- on some level it doesnt think it’s real.

working this way, i am not making the type of comics i wanted to make. i am not making comics that a lot of people will like to look at or read. but i am making comics, and before this i was not.

everyone can and most importantly SHOULD make comics. i tell everyone i know that they should draw more, that they should make comics. the usual protests: “i can’t do that, i can’t think of anything, i can’t draw.” how do you know? i think the same things and these thoughts are the death of art. everyone has something to say-- if you draw a comic and show it to me i will love it because it’s something new.

i have nothing further to say about art that hasn’t been said by lynda barry, GOAT, whose books on writing and drawing i recommend to everyone. (”What It Is,” “Picture This” and, appropriately, “Making Comics”. i feel like these should be mandatory reading for humanity.) tom hart, one of the greatest living cartoonists in my opinion, has a big free [!] e-book available about cartooning and creativity with lots of exercises-- http://www.tomhart.net/how-to-say-everything.html

finally:

ok thanks for reading my manifesto xxx

#not comics #but also #comics

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lsvdw-blog · 3 years

Text

Not a Minute More: Part 2

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings; Rating: Mentions of a cyberattack, Angst; Teen+

Premise: MC's perspective on the day that rocks Ethan to his core and threatens to change his life.

Author’s Note: I was going to wait to post this, but I'm loving the flood of content we're getting rn, so I thought I'd hop on too. I cried writing this... I'm so sorry 😭. Part 1 here. I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading 💖

~ Monday, 8:20am ~

"Good morning, Mike!" Serena greets the security guard right inside the door.

"Hey! How are ya? How's that Dr. Ramsey?"

"We're both doing well, thanks! How about you and the family?" She asks as she puts her phone in a cubby and unplugs the Wi-Fi enabler from her laptop.

"It was the wife and I's anniversary this weekend! We went to Martha's vineyard and saw the most beautiful proposal! You and Dr. R gonna get going on that soon? Aly has been talking about going to y'alls wedding since she met ya!" Mike gives a playful wink.

"Oh, congratulations! That's wonderful and send Aly my best wishes. But you'll have to talk to E on that one," she laughs before opening the door to a stairwell that leads to a classified area.

After keying in her pin, the door clicks open. She grabs a static protection lab coat, walks through the entrance, and is met with a plethora of state-of-the-art equipment. Floor-to-ceiling grey switch panels, curved monitors as far as the eye can see, and countless probes, clips, and wires.

She walks over to a few familiar faces. “Good morning! How’s it going?”

“Nice of you to finally join us! Dr. Ramsey keep you this morning?” Isla, one of the engineers, jests.

“I saw your check-in on the monitor — you walked in two minutes before me!”

“Those diagnostic skills at work, I see,” Isla retorts and they both laugh.

Isla had become a fast and faithful friend since Serena joined the project. They bonded quickly over both being minorities in the world of science and supported each other in every work facet. They had lunch together everyday and gradually, their work bond grew into a personal friendship as well. They’ve become so close that Isla now also regularly spends time with the original Edenbrook gang.

“Alright, enough chit chat. Let’s get this show on the road.”

The team nods and responds, “Yes, Doctor.”

~ 12:00pm ~

Serena exits the classified area with some colleagues and they all make their way to retrieve their phones.

"No new patients. Stuck in meetings and doing paperwork. I miss you and wish you were here."

She immediately breaks out into a large grin after reading Ethan's text and hits the dial button.

"Hey, ready for lunch?" Carmen, one of the lead scientists, asks.

Serena nods and moves her phone slightly away from her ear. "Be there in a minute. You guys go ahead."

She waits for a few more rings. He’s probably busy, I’ll call again later. She hangs up and makes her way to the cafeteria.

~ 12:40pm ~

"We did all the necessary prep work this morning to begin testing after lunch. Everything is looking good. We can begin running our tests since everyone is here. Are we all ready to begin?"

"Yes."

The system engineers are sitting at connected computer stations, inputting the required credentials to start. The rest of the team is standing behind them, waiting and nervously watching the screens. After a couple minutes of tense silence with nothing but the clack clack clack of keyboard keys, Vincenzo, one of the lead engineers, speaks up.

"This is weird… we're having some trouble accessing the necessary data. Did someone put up a firewall?"

Everybody looks around at each other, shaking their heads and muttering "no."

"Isla, are you seeing this? Can you get through?"

Isla continues to type, not saying anything. After a few more seconds, she turns to look at Vincenzo with a concerned expression. "I don't recognize some of the items in our system."

Just as she finishes her sentence, everyone's attention is pulled abruptly to a wall monitor on the right as it starts showing nonsensical images and patterns. Two seconds later, an alarm goes off and a red warning light begins flashing within the building. Everyone's eyes go wide as realization dawns on them: they've been compromised and shelter-in-place has been activated.

~ 12:55pm ~

Everyone begins to evacuate the classified lab area, grabbing their phones on the way out, and peering through the one-way windows. They can occasionally hear Mike speaking rapidly into the phone with a 911 dispatcher, when he's not being drowned out by shouts from colleagues.

On the descent to the bunker, the tension is palpable. Individuals clutch onto each other, others try frantically to reach loved ones, and some are in complete disbelief and shock. As they all descend the five flights of the winding staircase to the basement, windows are no longer available, but the ceiling bulbs keep flickering on and off. Each time it happens, everyone stops in their tracks, ducks down on instinct, and picks up the pace when the lights come back on.

~ 1:15pm ~

The entrance to the Harvard labs bunker is protected by a vault door that has a counter system. When the system is in place, the door can be opened once for people to get in. Once it's been closed, it can only be opened when there's one person on either side working together — it's futile with only one person. The only other way it can be opened is by shutting down the counter system from the outside, with the correct override pin, which only a handful of the most trusted team members know.*

As the vault door comes into sight, the wheel on the outside is turned, and the door opens with a whoosh. People slowly start filing in and head towards the back. However, not everyone can stay in the safety of the bunker. In case of an emergency, the project they’re working on must be erased, to protect it from falling into the wrong hands. Certain people have been assigned particular instructions to delete specific portions.

Serena is one of them.

She's walking next to Isla and their arms are looped together. As Isla enters the bunker, Serena lets go of her arm, stopping at the threshold. Isla whips her head around.

"What are you doing?! Get in here!" She reaches for Serena’s arm.

Serena shakes her head. "I'm the only one currently here who knows the medical codes."

Isla's eyes are frantic in realization. "I'll go back with you! I'll be your lookout! You're not going alone!"

"You'll be safe here. This is my responsibility."

Serena reaches behind her neck and unclasps her gold necklace for the first time in 7 years. She grabs Isla's hand and places the jewelry into her palm, closing Isla's fingers around it.

Serena stares at their clasped hands. "In case anything happens," they both flinch at another flickering of lights. "Promise me that you'll get this to E."

Their eyes are locked now, having a silent battle: Isla begging her to stay and Serena finding the strength not to.

"Isla, promise me. Please." Serena squeezes Isla’s hand that much tighter.

Isla realizes that there's no use in fighting Serena. Risking her life to delete the project is part of the job. They all made a commitment and if the roles were reversed, Isla would be the one fighting to go back.

Isla slowly nods. "I promise, Serena. I promise. But do your best to keep yourself safe. Try and stay near the corners, away from any large equipment that could have aftershock effects, and—"

Serena shakes her slightly. "I know, Isla. We did take the same training," she smiles, trying to make a joke to lighten the mood, but Isla just stares gravely at her.

A booming sound rattles the building and Serena knows it's time to go. She gives Isla a quick hug, before pushing her backwards into the bunker. Before Isla has regained her footing, Serena has closed the bunker door with a resounding thud.

~ 1:30pm ~

On the way back to the classified area, Serena takes out her phone. Ethan hasn't returned her earlier call. Her heart is pounding and with trembling hands, she hits the call button on Ethan's contact card for the second time in less than two hours. After a few rings, his voice comes through.

"You've reached Dr. Ethan Ramsey. I apologize for missing your call. Leave a message and I'll get back to you."

Just as she’s about to start speaking, the lights go down for good. "Hey E," she tries her best to keep her voice from shaking. She puts the call on speaker, places the phone out in front of her, and turns the flashlight on. "I don't know when this will hit the news, but we're currently under cyberattack. I don't know from who or what, but they’ve already gotten into our mainframe and power supply. Everyone has sheltered-in-place and is awaiting further instructions." She takes a deep breath as she inches down a corridor.

"Everyone except me, Vincenzo, and Carmen. We’re the only three here right now trained to completely delete the project in the event something like this happened. I'm walking back to the lab as I speak."

Serena rounds a corner and the lab comes into view. Thinking about what she has to say next, silent tears stream down her face.

"Ethan, sweetheart, I need you to know that the last eight months by your side have been the absolute best eight months of my entire life. You are the light of my existence and mean everything to me." She lets out a deep breath. "I wish I could hear your voice right now… I'm really scared. But I made a commitment, so I need to go back in and finish the job. If something happens, know that you are unequivocally the love of my life and the one for me. I know we haven't talked about it yet, but know that I want to spend forever with you as your wife and have you be the father of my children." She sniffs and continues, "you would be a fantastic husband and dad."

She comes to a stop in front of the keypad located right outside the lab and swallows past the lump in her throat. "But if the universe has other plans for me, I'll be waiting for you and I can't wait to spend forever with you in the next life. This isn't how I wanted to tell you, but until next time, whenever that is, I love you so much, Ethan Jonah Ramsey, more than words could ever properly convey."

She ends the phone call with tear-filled eyes, stashes her phone on a nearby workbench, punches in her key, and enters the classified area one more time.

~~~~~~

*Disclaimer: I have no idea if Harvard labs has a bunker and if they do, what kind of door/system they utilize. This is all purely AU!

#ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #choices open heart #playchoices #ethan ramsey fanfiction #ethan ramsey fic #open heart fanfiction #open heart fic #choices stories you play

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mandoclan · 3 years

Text

SWEET HOME KENTUCKY // Jack Daniels (Agent Whiskey) x F!Reader

A/N: 14.8k. Yes, this is a spinoff of Sweet Home Alabama. I love that movie and I love Whiskey, so here you go! This is Jack Daniels x Female!Reader, but there’s no Y/N mention (unless I missed one).

Warnings: Character Death (mentioned in passing), Fluff, Angst, Divorce, Physical Abuse (a punch and a tight grip), Drinking, Drunkenness, (basically, if you’ve seen the movie, I’ve deviated but no more than normal).

She still dreamed about that night. The one where Jack took her out to the meadow behind his mama’s house and told her he wanted to marry her one day. To which she asked, “Why would you want to marry me for anyhow?” and he replied, “So I can kiss you anytime I want.” Her first kiss. Her first love. And they were only twelve at the time.

It didn’t come as a shock to her when Jack had asked her to marry him right out of high school. She was his first love, after all, and Jack swore he’d loved her since before he ever kissed her in that meadow. But then he never showed up to their reception because he was still drunk from his “bachelor party” the night before, he was always gone on missions and attempted to stop her from doing the same even when they worked for the same intelligence agency, and she eventually got shot in the head in a mission gone wrong, resulting in medical having to use Alpha-gel on her to bring her back.

That fatal injury had broken her and it had broken Jack too. He hadn’t been able to protect his own wife when she was his partner, and that killed him inside. After that, he became almost overbearing in his protectiveness and you’d eventually asked Champagne for a transfer after a whole year of turmoil in your home, explosive fights, and missions spent arguing. Champ loved you and Jack like his own kids and wanted you and your husband to fix this, but he did as you asked and you’d transferred to New York without telling Jack with the instructions that if he were to ask that Champ would tell him that you were safe and in another Statesman office.

That’s where you found yourself now, leading the New York office after the last agent had retired. You’d built up your reputation from scratch, leading missions and directing agents in the Northeast region of the United States. You kept in touch with Champ barely, but it had been seven years since you left Kentucky. You refused to even think about Jack unless you were sending another copy of the divorce papers or unless you had that damn dream about the meadow again.

You woke to the sound of your office door opening, and you lifted your head from the desk you occupied on the top floor.

“How come you let me sleep?” You grumbled to your assistant when he stepped into the room with a mug of coffee and a mission report from one of your top operatives.

“You needed it, boss, but it was only for a few minutes. Long enough for me to grab your coffee and fetch the report from downstairs.” He shrugged. “Y’know, that accent of yours gets a whole lot thicker when you’re dreaming.”

That boy had the audacity to smirk before you narrowed your eyes at him.

“And what exactly did I say?” You demanded.

“That I’m gonna get a raise when you realize how awesome I am.”

“We’ll see how good your coffee skills are, then.” You laughed, finally smiling at him through your exhaustion. In all reality, you liked this kid. He’d just been assigned to you and hadn’t earned his agent name yet, but you had a feeling he would do just fine and you already had plans to promote him come next quarter.

“Enjoy.”

“Mhmm,” you hummed, “I’ll see you tomorrow for that meeting in the conference room, alright?”

The kid agreed and you nodded at him before making your way to the elevators.

Your apartment on the lower levels of the Statesman New York building was modest, but well-lived in. You’d wanted to make it seem as much like home as possible. This time, however, your apartment wasn’t as empty as usual. The entire entryway and living room were filled with rose petals and rose bouquets in glasses of water.

“Goddamn that man,” you swore, stepping around the petals and heading to the panel you had on the wall where an orange light was blinking, signifying you had a waiting message. A button was pressed and suddenly your boyfriend’s voice filled the room.

“There’s a rose for every moment I thought of you last night. God, you must be exhausted. Sweetie, listen, I’ll see you tomorrow at our meeting. You’ll do great. I love you. Bye.” The message ended and you rolled your eyes before heading over to the largest of the bouquets.

You loved your boyfriend, Agent Rum, but this was too much. You hated huge, sappy gestures like this and he knew it, but you supposed it was a bit sweet. Very few other ladies you knew had such attentive men at their sides and Jack had never done anything remotely like this. A sharp breath was inhaled in an attempt to nix that thought from your mind before you headed to your front door and made your way to the ladies’ dorms. You left an embarrassingly big bouquet in front of each door and sighed in satisfaction once you’d swept up and removed most of the flowers in your apartment.

_________________________________________________________________

The meeting you’d scheduled came sooner than you’d liked, this being a collaboration between the Texas office and your own New York one. Rum walked in and kissed your forehead before the meeting could even start and you smiled at him. He could always brighten your day in an instant.

“Thanks for the flowers, babe.” You smiled at him, squeezing his hand in yours. He grinned, asking if you really liked them, and kissed you before sitting in his spot along with a few of your other agents. You both slipped on your glasses and started the meeting, knowing that you could talk properly once the collaboration was agreed upon.

It felt like hours went by before all positions were assigned and the intel was decided upon. You groaned once you were able to remove the glasses needed to see everyone in their remote locations, rubbing your temples. Hands were felt on your shoulders, and you knew it was Rum. Your glasses blinked a light on the side and you sighed, placing them back on your face.

The blinking was due to a message from Agent AppleJack, one of your own agents whom you’d taken a shine to and often spent weekends going about the city with. She was a nice girl from Maine who had an affinity for seafood you couldn’t quite get behind, but you’d consider her one of the closest friends you had in this city.

“Please tell me he has a flaw somehow.” She had typed out. You rolled your eyes before moving your eyes on the on-screen keyboard to type a reply.

“He asked me to go to California for Christmas.”

“He’s gonna ask you a lot more than that,” was her reply.

“You think so?” You were suddenly nervous. You’d only been dating Rum for six months and your divorce still wasn’t finalized.

“Sweetie, let’s go for a walk.” Rum took you from your conversation, and you nodded, slipping the glasses back off your face. “You’re so stressed, but you did so well today.”

You both made your way to the elevator, hand in hand, and eventually you meandered around Central Park just talking about your jobs and how your last missions went. You rarely went on them anymore, but you made sure that Rum had as many as he liked to keep him happy.

“So have you made a decision?” He finally asked, bright eyes boring into yours.

“About what?” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“California.”

“Babe, California? That’s four months from now. We don’t even have to decide right now because we can literally jump on any jet we have and go within 6 hours if we want.”

“I was thinking maybe 200 guests, tops.” Rum continued in his words, but you stopped him with a pull to his hand.

“For Christmas?” You asked, still very confused. “Rum, are you on some kind of medication I don’t know about? Should I take you off of field duty for a bit? Did you get shot or something?”

All of a sudden, Rum was kneeling in front of you in the middle of a pathway in Central Park, and everything finally made sense. He held a diamond ring in his hand, the light hitting it just right and you gasped.

“Brandy, and I should probably know your real name by now, will you marry me?”

“Are you sure? Because if you’re not sure we can just go back to work and forget all about this. It’s only been six months.” You floundered, not even sure what to say, but he looked so hopeful and you really did love him.

“Brandy, I love you. I didn’t come by this decision lightly, and I really hope you’ll say yes. I want to build a life with you.” Rum stood, looking you right in your eyes. “So, I’ll ask again. Brandy, will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice and felt the ring slip on your finger. It felt strange, another ring being there, but you were suddenly overcome with joy that your life was finally falling into place and you had a man who loved you and wanted to build a life with you. That’s all you could ask for. So you kissed him.

He grinned once you’d let yourselves out of his arms and released him from your kiss, hand reaching for his agency-issue watch.

“I’ve got to tell my family.” He gushed, “Wait until you see the look on the guy’s faces!”

“Babe, do you mind if we keep this to ourselves for a while? With this collaboration mission with Texas happening and everything else, I’d rather just keep this quiet for a bit.”

“You don’t want to tell your family?” Rum asked, a bit confused. You cursed yourself in your mind because he didn’t know. The only person close to being a family to you was Champ, and you hadn’t really talked to him in ages. Close to seven years, actually, which was downright awful. The guilt gnawed at you.

“Sunshine, I don’t really, um, have a family.” You stated calmly, fingers soothing the back of his hand as he pulled a face.

“But—” he started.

“I have a mentor who I looked up to as a father, but I haven’t seen him in about seven years. I think I should tell him in person.”

“Okay, whatever you want, sweetie. I’m happy as long as you’re happy.” Rum smiled, and you sighed in relief.

“He’ll love you, eventually.” You reassured him.

_________________________________________________________________

First thing the next morning, you caught a plane down to Kentucky and found yourself driving along the battered country roads to the little farmhouse where you and Jack used to live. Your watch buzzed with an incoming call, but you didn’t answer, knowing it was AppleJack. You’d fill her in later.

You parked the car next to the oak tree that still held your swing. A dog came rushing down the steps, howling at you, but you didn’t mind. It was your dog, after all. A tall man in heavy work boots busted out the door, hollering at the dog and telling you that “he don’t really bite.”

The man looked at you without really seeing you, seeing only a woman in worn out cowboy boots and aviators covering much of her face. Her hair was different, so she didn’t really expect him to recognize her.

“What can I do for you?” The man drawled in his southern accent. You shuddered, not forgetting the way that voice sounded when you were in bed together at all times of day or night.

“Well, for starters, you can get your stubborn ass down here and give me a divorce.” You snapped, pulling the sunglasses off your face. Jack’s eyes widened once your words registered. “C’mon, Jack, I mean it. The joke’s over. We need to finish this so I can get back to my office and take care of my job.”

“You’re shittin’ me, right?” Jack spluttered.

You finally got a good look at him. He had shaving cream on the side of his face as if he hadn’t got a chance to finish before your hound was howling, but he’d kept his mustache. You hated to say that he looked good, but it was the truth. The years had been kind to him.

“You know, I’ve never actually understood that expression, but no, I’m not “shitting” you.” You groaned, pulling a packet of papers out of the glovebox of your rented truck and spreading them out in the bed. “Look, it’s even got these idiot proof tabs so you can’t mess this up. I’ve got one copy for you and I both and one for my lawyer. So c’mon.”

When you looked up at him again, he didn’t say anything but he certainly looked like he had quite a few things to say.

“Well?” You demanded, irritated that he wasn’t coming down off the porch to sign the papers like you’d asked him to.

“You show up here after seven years without so much as a ‘Hey there, Jack, remember me? Your wife?’ Or a “Hi, honey, lookin’ good! How’s the family?’” He had the audacity to laugh, finally stepping closer to the edge of the porch.

“You expect me to tell you that you look good? Bless your heart. Sweetheart, we’ve been separated for seven years. I’ve had it with your bullshit.”

“They like that attitude wherever it is you’ve been?”

“Cut the crap, Jack. You knew where I was. Champ told me you accessed my records.” You spat, moving closer to the porch. “And don’t you dare tell me you’ve spent all this time missing me.”

“Oh I missed you alright, but I’ve been going to the range more and practicing so my aim’s gotten a lot better.” He drawled, leaning against the railing.

“Is that a threat, Jack? I’ve got a lawyer who charges me an arm and a leg. He charged me every time you sent these damn papers back without your signature on the dotted lines.” You lifted the papers as you spoke, but he scoffed at you.

“Well, I’m glad to see you got the message.” He smirked, going to say something else but you were both cut off by the dog howling again due to your hostile tones.

“Shut up, Coal!” You shouted, but Jack shouted a different name. “What happened to my dog, Jack?”

“He died. You weren’t here.” He grumbled, turning to go back into the ranch house. You stood there in shock for a second before realizing what he was doing.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“I’m leaving!” He shouted, back turned to you, “You done it, so you should recognize the process. I need to finish shaving my damn beard.”

“Jack, can we please just keep this civilized? For God’s sake, we’re both adults and agents. Please just sign the papers so I can go back home.” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. This was a mistake, you thought. He wasn’t going to sign the papers.

“What do you know from home?” Jack spit, finally turning around to face you, fire in his eyes. “Hell, I bet Champ doesn’t even know you’re here, does he? That old man took you under his wing and trained you himself and you have the audacity to avoid him like he’s some annoyance?”

“That’s my business, Jack, so you stay out of it.”

“Honey, he’s the only family you got.”

“Don’t you ‘honey’ me, honey!” If looks could kill, he’d have died about ten times by now with the murderous look you were giving him.

“Get your ass back in that truck, drive over and see him, and maybe we’ll talk after.” Jack demanded, pointing his finger at your vehicle. He was headed back inside before you could even think, and you started shouting at him as you followed him up the porch.

“Jack, you idiotic, stubborn, no good agent! The only reason you won’t sign these papers is because I want you to!” You yelled, hands on the doorknob of the windowed door he’d just slammed in your face and locked.

“Wrong!” He shouted, trying to pull the blinds on the door that he could never get figured out. “The only reason I ain’t signin’ is because you’ve turned into some hoity-toity, wine-drinking, Yankee bitch and I’d like nothing better right now than to piss you off!”

He finally maneuvered the blinds mostly over the door as you dashed to the back of the house, but he locked that too before you had a chance to get there in time. He could hear your frustrated shout from outside and he chuckled in disbelief before heading to his bathroom to get rid of the rest of his beard.

“Divorce, my ass.” He grumbled. Jack came out two minutes later, wiping his face with a towel to find you lounging on his bed. He froze.

“Hey genius,” you smirked, anger still evident in your eyes. “Next time you wanna lock somebody out, make sure they don’t know where the spare key is.” You waved the offending object in the air, and Whiskey made a mad dash for it but you closed your fist before he could snatch it.

“Knew I should’ve changed those damn locks. It’d be nice if my wife had told me where the spare key was!” He growled.

“I’m not your wife anymore, Jack.” You said softly, “I’m just the first girl that climbed in the back of your truck. But you’re right, I have changed. I don’t even know the girl you married anymore.”

“Then let me remind you.” Jack sneered before grabbing his cell phone and heading back into his bathroom, locking the door behind him.

Ten minutes later, Jack popped his head out of the bathroom.

“You bring any clothes with stripes on ‘em?” He asked, and you looked at him in confusion.

Red and blue lights flashed through the windows suddenly and your eyes widened.

“You called the sheriff?!” You gasped, jumping off the bed you used to share with the man looking at you with a satisfied grin on his face. “You know that old bastard hates me!”

“For good reason!” Jack shouted, still in the bathroom.

You made to run for the back door, but it opened to reveal a man you knew.

“Well, hell’s bells!” The man grinned, “If it isn’t our favorite Agent Brandy!”

“Tequila?”

“Hot damn girl, did we miss you! The agency wasn’t the same without you!” Tequila laughed, picking you up and giving you the biggest hug you’d gotten in a long time.

“I can’t believe you’re the sheriff!” You pulled on his badge for a second and knocked his cowboy hat off kilter to mess with him.

“Yep, I get to frisk pretty things like you all day and get paid for it.” Tequila put his hands around your waist and you slapped his chest.

“Aaron, can you try and be at least a little more professional? We got us a crime suspect here.” Jack emerged from the bathroom and you were struck with the fact that you hadn’t known Tequila’s real name until that moment. You quickly snapped back into it, though.

“Now, Brandy, you can’t just go breaking into your ex’s house whenever you feel like it, no matter how much they might deserve it.” Tequila—Aaron, you had to remember that—said.

“I didn’t break in. I used a key. My key, if you must know.” You snorted. Clearly, “Aaron” didn’t know that y’all were still married.

“Well, it still ain’t your house, Brandy. I’m gonna have to escort you out.” Aaron made to take your wrist in his hand, but you pulled away and grabbed the divorce papers you still had with you. You waved them as you heard Jack tell Aaron to use the cuffs on you.

“If you can get that asshole to sign these papers, I’ll let you run me out of town.” You smirked and Aaron laughed at your antics.

“Now that’s none of your concern, Aaron, you hear me?” Jack started, but Aaron was already taking the papers from you to look over.

“Well, what do you know. A bill of divorcement?” He asked. You nodded, and Aaron turned to Jack. “Hell, Jack, I thought you took care of this.”

“I thought I did!” Jack protested.

“Obviously not! Well, if y’all are still married, it’s her house too. This here ain’t nothin’ but a domestic dispute.” Aaron handed the papers back to you, and you smiled at him.

“He didn’t hit you, did he? If he took a swing at you, I’ll take him in right now.” Aaron told you quietly, out of earshot of your husband. You shook your head, because no, that man had never harmed you in ways that were physical. He’d only wounded your heart.

“No, he never hit me.” You replied quietly. Aaron nodded.

“Well, seems y’all got some catching up to do, so I’m gonna leave y’all to it. There’s nobody for miles, so Jack here can make ya scream all he likes.” Aaron winked at Jack, and you shouted in indignation. “G’night, lovebirds!”

“Aaron, I saved your life at least four times back in your Statesman years! You owe me!” Jack shouted, rushing to follow the sheriff’s retreating figure. He wanted you gone from his house in handcuffs if that’s what it took to get you to leave him alone about those divorce papers that he didn’t want to sign.

“Why can’t you just sign the damn papers, Jack?” You yelled after him, and he fixed you with the nastiest stare you’d seen in a long time.

“Listen, Jack. There’s nothing I can do. Your wife’s done nothing wrong, so I can’t just haul her in for nothing. Y’hear me?” Aaron blocked the doorway with his large frame as he lifted his hands in mock surrender.

“I suppose shoplifting steaks at the grocery store’s okay.” Jack spat.

“I took ‘em back and you know it!” You screeched back.

“You remember that vandalism out at the stockyard? Totally her!”

“Like I could tip a cow by myself at sixteen.” You growled, and Jack groaned. He couldn’t hit you with anything from your Statesman years either because that was all “classified information” you didn’t have to answer to. But Jack got an idea.

“Hey Aaron, isn’t there some outstanding warrant for whoever dumped your old man’s tractor in the fish pond?” Jack smirked triumphantly, making eye contact with your horrified expression. And then the cuffs were on your wrists and you were making your merry way to the county jail in the back of his cruiser.

“Now you know I didn’t have a choice, sweetheart.” Aaron smiled ruefully once y’all reached the station. He’d ended up hauling you off in cuffs just like Jack wanted and you were seething.

“This all could have been avoided if he’d just signed those damn papers.” You grumbled. “Can I make a call?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart. You’ll get a couple minutes once I book ya.”

You rolled your eyes, taking the photos Aaron needed to do for “legal purposes.”

“You know that’s gonna get wiped once I make my call, right?” Aaron had the audacity to laugh, knowing exactly who you were going to call.

“I know. Tell big daddy I miss him.” Aaron pointed towards the phone.

It rang for a few seconds before a secretary's voice filtered on, saying the usual crap the Statesman company was supposed to yodel on about.

“Hi, I’ve got a word for you, lady.” You spit out, “Lemon drops suck.” You heard the operator say something about holding on for a moment and then a familiar voice was asking who you were.

“Champ! It’s Brandy,” you shouted, “Listen, I need a favor.”

“Name it, darling. You know I’d do anything for you and that wonderful husband of yours.” He drawled on for a moment and you smacked the phone receiver into the box.

“I need you to pick me up.”

“Well, where are ya? I’ll send a car or whatever it is you need.”

“That’s the thing. I’m in town. But, I need you to come get me from the jail.” You said after a moment. A groan came through the receiver and you winced.

“Alright, darling, I’ll be right there. I’m assuming it’s the usual one, then?”

“Yeah.”

Fifteen minutes later, the man himself was strolling through the door.

“I’m here for my girl, Tequila.” Champ rolled his eyes at you once he saw you waving. He had you out and your record erased within five minutes, and then you were back in his familiar old truck that smelled like whiskey and gunpowder. He accepted a muttered thank you while you drove off towards the Statesman offices.

“So what put you in jail this time?” Champ finally asked.

“Jack and his big, fat mouth.” You grumbled. “It was just a misunderstanding, that’s all.”

“Kinda like that wedding I officiated, huh, darling?” You refused to make eye contact.

“I would hardly call that a wedding.”

“The boy was nervous.” Champ chuckled.

“He was still drunk from the night before!”

“Can you blame him?”

“Yes, I can! We’re supposed to be professional agents and he goes and gets piss drunk the night before we’re supposed to get married. I went to the reception by myself with his puke on the side of my dress while he slept it off at the hotel. And you’re still siding with him!”

“I ain’t siding with nobody, so get rid of that idea. Y’all two are my best agents and I need you both.” Champ stated firmly. “The boy’s changed is all.”

“Can we just not talk about Jack? I know he’s like the son you never had, but you also called me your daughter and all that, so can you just ask me what’s new with me or something instead?”

“Sure. Shoot.” Champ looked disinterested, and you had the feeling that he’d kept up with you better than you’d kept up with him. Curse the archives for always spilling your secrets before you ever could.

“I met somebody. And he’s quite a catch.” You started, and Champ raised an eyebrow beneath his larger than life cowboy hat. “And I’m happy. Really.”

The rest of the drive was held in silence, neither of you feeling like talking much. He pulled into the Statesman gates and led you inside, scanning his ID card on an empty apartment in the back of the warehouses where agents could sleep during the longer missions.

“Sleep well, sweetheart. We can talk about all this in the morning.” He kissed your forehead and you hauled your bag inside. “I’ll take you to get your truck in the morning, don’t you worry ‘bout a thing.”

_________________________________________________________________

In the morning, you were on the phone with your lawyer, walking around the Statesman compound and attempting to avoid the various tour groups that were unaware of the real reason this distillery existed.

“How long does a contested divorce take?” You asked, exasperated that you had to do this now of all times because your no-good husband wouldn’t sign the divorce papers. “18 months? Mr. Collier, I don’t even have 18 days, really!”

The man told you that was how it had to be, you informed him that this arrangement wouldn’t work, and he was informing you of a different option when you heard someone wolf whistle at you, throwing out some jab.

“Ain’t seen the likes of you around this place much!” The man shouted from his horse.

“Mr. Collier, that’s just not going to work for me.” You groaned, trying to block out the man catcalling you from his horse. Clearly this was some junior agent. “Mr. Collier, I’m gonna have to call you back.”

“Listen here, bubba, why don’t you kiss my ass!” You shouted up at the guy, but screamed in happiness once you realized who it was. “Oh my god, Moonshine?!”

“Let’s go inside then, missy, because I don’t do that kind of thing out here in front of the guests.” Moonshine smirked at you, jumping down from his horse.

“I guess your mama raised you right, then.” You laughed, hugging him. You’d missed Moonshine, who’d been one of your first friends in the agency aside from Jack, of course. “I better back off of you before your little lady tries to come beat me up.”

Moonshine looked sheepish.

“There is a little lady, isn’t there?”

“I can hardly afford me and my unhealthy addiction to firearms and whiskey, let alone some high-maintenance babe.” Moonshine laughed.

“What about Cara what’s-her-name? From the class outside of ours? Y’all had real chemistry on some of the missions I supervised.”

“She transferred out to the Alaska branch, and uh, I wasn’t her type.” Moonshine scratched the back of his neck and you hummed, understanding the situation.

“That answers a few of my questions. Guess we all have our secrets, don’t we, Moonshine.” You grinned, your suspicions about him batting for the opposite team nearly confirmed.

“Yeah, we sure do.” Moonshine climbed back up on his horse, tipping his hat on the way. “I gotta get back to work now, missy, but are you gonna be in town for awhile? Me and a few of the guys are going down to our normal watering hole later tonight if you’re up for it.”

“I hope I won’t be here long. I have to go see Champ, but I think I’ll see you boys tonight.”

“Well, I better scram if you’re seeing the boss man.”

“Very funny. I’ll see you later, Moonshine.” You waved the man off and made your way inside, scanning your own ID card on the entry doors and taking the elevator up to Champ’s office.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in. If it isn’t my favorite agent.” Champ drawled from his seat at the head of the conference table.

“Hey boss man, care to give me a ride to town so I can get my truck?” You asked, leaning up against the door jam and waving your keys. He laughed, standing up and grabbing his own keys from his desk.

“C’mon then, little lady. I did make you a promise. You can tell me all about why you’re here on the way over.”

_________________________________________________________________

Once you’d picked up your truck from the jail’s parking lot, you made your way to the bank. You hadn’t accounted for Jack taking as long as he was to sign the divorce papers, so you needed some cash for necessities.

Of course, the bank didn’t have an ATM. You cursed yourself for forgetting as you stepped inside. The bank guard’s eyes widened once he laid eyes on you, telling whoever it was in the teller’s booth that he was going to take a break outside. You winced once you remembered that this was the same man whose farm you and Jack and a few of your old friends had gone rolling pumpkins in year after year. He probably hated you.

You approached the teller, but didn’t recognize her. She clearly recognized you, though.

“Well, if it ain’t the queen of the New York Statesman office.” She grinned. You narrowed your eyes, attempting to figure out who she was when the lightbulb clicked.

“Jenny? Oh my god. I haven’t seen you since you and Tequila got hitched! You look amazing!”

“Thanks, sweetie! So do you. What can I do you for?”

“I need to make a withdrawal from my—“

“Joint account?” Jenny smiled like she knew something you didn’t, which knowing her, she probably did.

“My what?”

“Your joint account. With Jack? From what I hear, y’all are still married.”

“Why yes, yes we are.” You grinned, a plan already formulating in your mind.

_________________________________________________________________

It was after five when Jack got home, but you’d already got to work. You had on one of his favorite dresses that you’d found in a trunk somewhere, one of your homemade aprons, and a wide smile once he walked in the door.

“Hi, honey! Lookin’ good. How’s the family?” You grinned up at him, serving food onto two plates in the dining room.

“Cut the shit. Where’s my stuff?” Jack growled, chucking his hat on the couch along with his whip and lasso.

You smiled where he couldn’t see it, glad to see he’d noticed what you’d done to the place. There were new appliances in the kitchen, a new couch and loveseat, a flatscreen tv, a new rug, and Jack assumed you’d also done something to the bedroom. None of the things he’d had laying around since you left were where he could see it, and the sight agitated him.

“Now what kind of wife would I be if I didn’t pick up after my husband? Dinner’s ready in five.”

“The kind that don’t live here.” Jack groaned, hands raking over his face. “Now, I’m gonna ask you one more time—where is the house key?”

“I had the sweetest talk today with Tequila’s daddy.” You started as you ignored him.

“Nice to see you got your accent back.”

“Oh, I stumbled on a few things today.” You said, noticing Jack had gone to the kitchen, likely in search of a beer.

“Holy shit!” He shouted, and you stifled your laughter. “What happened to the stove?! And where are them little magnets I got from my travels, huh?” He opened the fridge and groaned.

“What the hell is this? Chick food?” He gestured to the fridge that you’d restocked with fresh fruits and vegetables, and new groceries that weren’t stale takeout containers.

“Light beer. Less calories, honey.” You smiled brightly, missing Jack’s murderous expression. He grabbed a can anyway and popped the top off.

“I tried to pick out a new bed today, but the mattress store only had old models. I’ll have to order something from New York.”

“Whatever floats your boat, honey.” Jack muttered, taking a deep swig of the beer you’d bought. He’d have to find his stash of whiskey and hope you hadn’t gotten rid of it.

“Oh, but darlin’, I thought you said we should think of it as our money.” You saw him freeze where he stood, and continued your crusade. “Just a guess, but I’m thinking the words ‘joint checking’ are flashing through your mind right now.”

“How much did you take?” He whirled around, effectively forcing you into the kitchen.

“All of it.” You replied simply, enjoying his facial expression.

“Son of a bitch!” He cursed, chucking the now empty beer can into the trash can and rubbing his face with his hands.

“You wanted a wife, you got a wife, honey,” you spat, “and what were you doing with all that cash? Why don’t you invest it? We work for a perfectly good company with shares for sale, don’t you know anything?”

“I know if you don’t get out of my house right now—”

“Sign the papers and I’ll give it all back.”

“Fine—fine!” He shouted, “gimme the pen.”

You rummaged in your packet for the pen and laid out the papers on the dinner table. You made to give him the pen, but thought better of it.

“Hold on. What are you doing with all that cash saved up? And since when did you tell Champ not to put you on anymore active missions? You aren’t doing anything illegal, are you Jack?”

“So what if I am? I don’t ask you about your boyfriend, you keep your nose out of my life.” He spat out, not making eye contact with you. You deflated.

“Who told you?” You asked quietly.

“Honey, just ‘cause I talk slow don’t mean I’m stupid.” He said in a much quieter tone. He almost sounded hurt.

“Look, Jack—” you trailed off.

“For god’s sake, nobody finds their soulmate at twelve years old.” He mumbled.

“Yeah, I guess,” you murmured.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Jack almost smiled. Your eye caught something on the mantle and you looked up to see a horseshoe and a photo of your parent’s old farm.

“I can’t believe you kept that all these years,” you murmured, eyes trailing over the familiar old farm. It had burned down four years after that photo was taken, taking your parents’ lives with it. Jack looked at you before looking at the clock on the wall.

“Oh, hey sweetie, you know what? I just remembered I got myself a hot date.” Jack grinned maliciously, unbuttoning his collared shirt as he spoke. Your eyes moved from the picture to the skin being revealed and suddenly were at a loss for words. “You don’t mind if I have my lawyer take a look at these, do you?” He tossed the papers back on the table and left the room.

“What?!” You gasped.

“Hell, I’m just a dumb intelligence agent with no regards for the law. There’s words in there I don’t even know. You might be takin’ me to the cleaners for all I know.”

“The cleaners? You? You ain’t been there since our wedding, if you even washed your suit for that,” you scoffed. “Can’t you just sign the damn papers?”

“Nah,” he grinned from the doorway to his bedroom, “but thanks for stoppin’ bye. It’s been a real treat.” And then the door was slammed and you screamed into a newly-purchased throw pillow.

You’d realized after about ten minutes that Jack wasn’t coming back into the living room. In fact, his dramatic ass had jumped out the window and you heard his truck starting up outside.

Tequila had made an offer, though, and you planned to take up the social obligation. Besides, if Jack was as predictable as he’d always been, his “hot date” was probably at his mama’s bar where everyone in that little town went to unwind.

Your phone rang once you were outside the noisy bar near Jack’s truck, and you answered at once knowing it was your fiancé.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” You smiled into the phone and Rum’s happy voice spilled out.

“Are you sitting down?” Rum asked.

“Why? Bad news? Did the mission blow up or something?” You panicked. You knew putting this in Rum’s hands would only backfire if something happened.

“No, no! Nothing like that. I was just going to tell you that I read the mission reports and everything went exactly to plan just like you said it would. You might be up for another promotion, babe.” Rum reassured you.

“Oh my god, really? Oh, I needed that almost as much as I need to see you.”

“What is that noise?” Rum finally asked, and you assumed he could hear the loud music and shouts coming from inside the bar.

“The sound of my past.” You grimaced.

“Have fun. I love you.” Your fiancé finished, and you returned the sentiments before hanging up the phone and waltzing into the bar. You were immediately greeted by a screech and an older woman who was still spry was pulling you into a tight hug and yelling over the music.

“Batten down the hatches, boys! Trouble done just walked back into my life disguised as my favorite daughter-in-law!” Helen grinned at you. “Honey, gimme a hug, it’s been too long.”

You laughed while you hugged her and stepped back to show her your ring.

“Soon to be ex-daughter-in-law.” You stated proudly.

“Ooh, who’s the lucky guy?” She asked, inspecting the diamond on your finger.

“His name’s Blake and he works with me.” You winked, and she nodded in understanding. She knew about a little of the work you and her son did, but she mostly stayed out of it, claiming that the stress would bring her to an early grave.

“Well, he’s got my vote if he picked out a ring as pretty as that. It’s good to see you, baby girl.” Helen gave you a pat on the shoulder and told her bartender to give you whatever you wanted. You asked for a whiskey on the rocks and nearly laughed at the irony of the situation.

Once your drink was in hand, you scanned the room, looking for your husband. You spotted him in the corner with some young blonde thing and rolled your eyes. A quick march found you standing right behind Jack and you flipped the edge of his cowboy hat.

“Mind if I join you?” You asked sweetly, leaning up against the pool table beside him.

“Actually we do.” Jack said, raising an eyebrow. He was challenging you, but you ignored him in order to set your sights on his date.

“You must be Jack’s hot date.” You grinned at the girl and she put a hand out to shake yours.

“I’m Carly.”

“Hi, I’m Y/N, Jack’s snotty, Yankee-bitch wife whom he refuses to divorce even though I’m engaged to another man.” You shook her hand, and the girl gasped once she saw your ring.

“Hot dog, Jack, look at the size of that thing!” She gushed. You nearly rolled your eyes at how dumb she was acting just in an attempt to impress your husband.

“Honey? Why don’t you get us a couple of drinks, yeah?” Jack turned to Carly and handed her a few bills. The girl smiled, popped her gum, and proceeded to ask you what you were having. You rolled your eyes then. “Not ‘me and her’ us, ‘you and I’ us.”

The girl agreed and scurried off, and then you turned to Jack.

“Why do you make me be mean to you? Is that what you want? To be humiliated in front of all your friends?” You snapped, frustrated that he was taking this so lightly. He shook his head and downed the rest of his own glass of whiskey.

“C’mon, Brandy, they were your friends too.” You heard Jack mutter, nodding towards a few agents who’d just walked over with their drinks. You recognized a few guys who’d been in the class behind you along with Moonshine. He nodded at you and ordered a beer before heading over to say hello.

“Alright, Brandy, you sit down while I teach your husband here how to lose at pool.” Moonshine grinned, pulling a bar stool over to you.

“Now Moonshine, I’m not really a watch and see kinda girl, am I Jack?” His expression was priceless as he took up the challenge.

At least six drinks later, you were definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol and you landed somewhere near Moonshine as he lined up his shot.

“Come on, now, Moony, you got it. Don’t blow this one, okay baby?” You drunkenly giggled and Moonshine laughed at your inebriated state.

“You can take the girl out of the honky-tonk, but you can’t take the honky-tonk out of the girl.” He missed the shot, but you didn’t care anymore, more focused on the conversation Jack was not-so-quietly having with Cognac? Coors? You couldn’t remember his codename, but it didn’t matter. Jack was talking about you.

“So, Whiskey, are you gonna divorce this girl or what?” The agent asked. Jack shook his head.

“She’s waited seven years. A couple more days won’t kill her. Unfortunately.”

“Like it’s gonna make a difference.” You snorted, nearly falling into his arms but stabilizing yourself at the last second.

“You never know,” the agent started, “you might be interested to know that Whiskey here has been—”

“Hey, hey, Cognac, let her think what she wants. She made her mind up about me a long time ago.” Jack cut him off, making you wonder just what it was that he didn’t want you knowing about.

You quickly forgot that thought, though, when Moonshine started yelling and telling Cognac he owed him fifty dollars. Cognac groaned, forking over the cash.

You didn’t really know what happened next, but you got into a shouting match with one of the other agents and eventually asked Helen for another round of drinks, but she quickly cut you off. Then you were shouting again as Jack dragged you out of the bar by your arm, yelling at you, saying that you couldn’t just insult everyone in the bar because you’d made it out of Kentucky but they were happy where they were.

“What makes you think you can treat them like somethin’ you stepped in, huh?!” Jack demanded as he put you right up next to his truck.

“You asked for it!” You yelled in his face, trying to get your keys out of your pocket. Jack quickly grabbed them.

“You show up here, you steal my money, you rearrange my house, and then you insult our friends, actin’ like you’re better than them.” Jack spat. He was angry and you knew it, but you couldn’t seem to stop.

“I am better than them! And you stole my keys!” You whined, wanting to be anywhere but here with your husband who was telling you that you were wrong. He was right, but you wouldn’t admit it.

“That’s all that matters to you, huh?” He asked in disbelief.

You tried to say his name, but he cut you off.

“God, ever since you left, this has been a nightmare. The money, the fancy office, the city, you’re pathetic!” He raked a hand through his mustache and you got lost in the action right before spitting out a comeback.

“Oh, like you’re goin’ places!” You groaned, a splitting headache appearing out of nowhere. “I certainly am once I get my keys back.”

“No, you don’t. No. You want to kill yourself driving, you do it somewhere else. But not here, not on my watch.” Jack said, putting your keys into his own pocket.

“At least I’m doing something with my life. So what if you and I aren’t partners anymore, you can still go on missions. You don’t have to worry about me anymore!”

“Get in the truck, Y/N.” Jack opened the door and guided you inside, defeated. His date was waiting by the door and you noticed them having a quiet conversation before he handed her your keys and made his way back to the truck.

You fell asleep before Jack even got on the two lane highway that led to the Statesman offices where he knew you’d been staying. Champ didn’t say anything when Whiskey carried you inside your temporary apartment, snoring away, but he wished things would work out between the two of you. His hopes were dashed as soon as Whiskey asked for a pen to sign the papers you’d brought with you.

When you woke up, still hungover from the night before, the divorce papers were stuck on top of the pillow beside you. You wished you could say you were happy about it, but you couldn’t deny that a pit was in the bottom of your stomach.

Once you rolled out of bed and had some coffee, the papers were sealed into an envelope and you drove to the post office to mail it out. You’d talk to Jack afterwards and apologize for your behavior.

When you got to the familiar farmhouse, you found Jack’s dog Midnight lounging at the base of the porch. You scratched his ears, and he whined happily at the attention he was receiving. The dog got up and raced up to Jack when he came out of the house with a crate.

“What’s she doing here, huh, boy?” He asked the dog before turning to face you, “Thought you’d have high-tailed it out of here by now.”

“I put the money back in your account.” You said quietly, searching his face for any emotion whatsoever.

“Thanks. Saves me from bouncing a lot of checks.” He smiled at you, a genuine smile, and it caught you off guard. “I like what you did, though, to the house. Should help it sell quicker.”

“You’re moving?” You were surprised. This was the house you and Jack had gotten and fixed up together in the early stages of your marriage and it held a lot of good memories along with quite a few bad ones.

“Well, I’ve been spending a lot of my time a bit south of the distillery, so . . .” he shrugged.

“Oh.”

“Look, hon, I signed your papers.” Jack sighed, finally hauling the crate into the back of his truck.

“Jack, I never meant to hurt you, or anybody else for that matter. And I just came out here to say thank you.” You finally said.

“You might want to move your toes.” Jack nodded towards where your feet were in reference to his truck tires. “Wouldn’t wanna run ‘em over since you need them for field work.”

“You can’t just leave!”

“Sure I can.” He chuckled, hopping into the cab. “You want to come?”

“Where you goin’?”

“I want to show you something.” Jack said solemnly, and you wished you could go. Something made you stop, though.

“I can’t.” You finally answered, defeated.

“Can’t or won’t?” Jack asked you, already knowing the answer but asking anyway.

“Both.”

“The girl I knew used to be fearless.” Jack leaned against the steering wheel to get a good look at you. You looked so much like the woman he’d once known so intimately, and yet so different. A lot had scarred you both and he recognized that.

“The girl you knew didn’t have a life.” You smiled weakly, fighting back tears.

“Well, I guess you better get back to living it then. C’mon, Midnight.” Jack got his dog in the cab with him and drove off, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

_________________________________________________________________

You didn’t know what possessed you to stay in town now that the papers had been signed and mailed out, but you found yourself in the town square that evening for the weekly square dance night.

“Hello.” You murmured sheepishly once you’d spotted Tequila and his wife, Jenny, and Moonshine, and a few of the agents from last night at the bar. “I just wanted to apologize to y’all. Last night was so uncalled for, and I’m sorry. Really sorry.”

“Brandy, forget it.” Tequila told you, a smile gracing his face. “You know we don’t stay mad for long.” The group nodded, and you smiled in relief.

Jenny pulled you to the side and handed you a glass of sweet tea.

“You know, he went up there.” She said, sort of secretively.

“Who?” You were confused about what she was talking about. But then she looked at you oddly and you suddenly knew. “Jack? When?”

“About a year after you left. He doesn’t know I know, but Aaron “big mouth” Tequila over there can’t keep a secret to save his life nowadays.”

“Jack was in New York?” You asked, completely surprised. You’d never seen him. He’d certainly never come to see you and say hello. Jenny nodded.

“He told Tequila he’d never seen anything like it. He realized straight off that he’d need more than an apology to win you back. He needed to conquer the world first. He’s been tryin’ ever since.” Jenny told you, downing her own tea.

“That’s why he kept sending the papers back.” You murmured, and Jenny nodded at you again.

“It’s funny how things don’t work out.” She sighed.

“It’s funny how they do.” You smiled warmly at her, knowing she was happy with her life and how it was turning out.

“Hey, look who I found wandering around the edge of the party.” Moonshine cheered, shoving Jack in the center of the group you were with. He had the nerve to look a bit sheepish, knowing you were there, but you were the one who blushed. After that, it was a whirlwind of everyone catching up on the times and you found yourself smiling at Jack.

The band finally started playing a slow song, and Tequila got up to ask you to dance, leaving his wife to drag Jack into the square. The both of you danced for awhile before Tequila stole his wife back, which left you and Jack standing face to face. Jack held out a hand to you to offer a dance, but you hesitated.

“Maybe we could just talk?” You asked him quietly. He shook his head and walked off, a sigh escaping your lips once you realized you were alone.

The night wore on with you on the sidelines, drinking sweet tea, and finally you made your way down the street towards your truck. Something stopped you, though, and you made your way into the coon dog cemetery on the edge of town. Maybe Coal was in there. You didn’t realize Jack had been watching you and finally ended up following you, and maybe you wouldn’t have been so honest in your talk with your old dog if you’d known.

You knelt beside the dog’s grave, his collar and your old license plate stuck to the stone placed above him.

“Hey there, buddy. Sorry it took me so long. I would’ve come sooner if I’d known you were sick.” You sniffed, fingers running along the etching of his name in the stone. “Actually, that’s probably not true. I’ve been pretty selfish lately. Dogs don’t know anything about that, do they, though?”

“You were always a big old pillow after missions. Like when everything went pear-shaped after I got shot, you never left my side. And then I just left you. Oh gosh. I bet you sat there on that big old porch, wondering what you done wrong.” You sobbed, wiping the tears away.

“I told him it was my fault.” Jack’s voice broke you out of your concentration and you whipped around to see him kneeling behind you.

“Quit bein’ so nice.” You sniffed, a small smile breaking through your tears. Jack offered you a hand to help you up and you accepted it. He led you to a bench right near Coal’s grave and kept holding your hand.

“It’s the truth.” Jack stated.

“How come everything has to be so complicated,” you asked tearfully. Jack smiled softly at you.

“What?” He asked finally.

“Truth, life, this,” you gestured between the two of you and towards the hand he was still holding in his grip. Jack didn’t answer that, not that you expected him to.

“He was one hell of a good dog, wasn’t he? You looked like you were having fun out there tonight before I got there and ruined it.” Jack mumbled. You brushed a thumb over your intertwined hands softly.

“I’m happy in New York, Jack.” You laughed wetly, “But then I come down here and this fits too.”

“Since when does it have to be one or the other, darlin’? You can have roots and wings, you know.” Jack told you. You nodded.

“Maybe I could just fly south for the winter.” You joked miserably.

Jack finally pointed out towards the woods and nudged your shoulder, “Look.”

“What?” You asked.

“There, see ‘em?” You followed his pointing finger until you realized that he was pointing at fireflies illuminating sections of the woods with their blinking behinds.

“Only you,” you laughed fondly, looking up at him. You couldn’t deny it, Jack was still just as handsome as the day you married him even if the years had gone by.

“You know, I still go out there sometimes. To the meadow, I mean. I hear the crickets and I go and sit in the field and stare up at the stars like we used to. It’s like a religion.” Jack revealed, turning to look down at you to gauge your response.

“I had a dream about it the other night, our first kiss when we were twelve. Remember that?”

“You ever wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t gotten shot and died on that mission?” Jack asked bluntly. You were surprised and whispered his name.

“Just, let me get this out before I can’t.” Jack started, “I thought us working together on missions would be an adventure. I loved seeing you be this beautiful badass and I loved being the one who got to love you. And it took me awhile to realize that being tied down to me would be your only adventure.”

“I guess that thug knew what he was doing then, aiming at me. I was so ashamed, Jack, ‘cause I felt so relieved once I woke up and remembered everything. And all of a sudden, I just . . . Needed a different life. Y’know? I had to get away.” You were almost frantic in your story, the painful memories resurfacing of how you just ran away from your husband with no explanation. Gosh, the number you did on him.

“You done real well for yourself. I’m proud of you, sugar.” Jack told you sincerely, fingers brushing your hair away from your wet cheeks. “I’m just sorry I never danced with you at our weddin’. I’m sure this next one’s gonna go better for ya.”

You looked up and suddenly your lips were on his and it felt like you were breathing real air for the first time since you left his home and abandoned him. It felt good, his lips brushing yours in just the right ways, but you couldn’t do this.

“Jack, I can’t do this.” You whimpered through your tears. He nodded.

“I know. Go home, Brandy.”

And just like he’d appeared, Jack disappeared in the dark, leaving you alone with your conflicted emotions.

_________________________________________________________________

The next morning found Jack entering the Statesman offices as a man on a mission. But he found an unfamiliar man with flowers in hand, pacing in the lobby.

“Y’alright there?” He asked. The man whipped his head up and sighed.

“I’m here to surprise my fiancée. The secretary won’t let me in because I don’t have a Kentucky Statesman badge, only a New York one.”

Jack quickly realized the situation, knowing immediately that the man was there to see you without needing to be introduced. He also knew that you were probably in Champ’s office, talking smack about missions like you used to do.

“Well, I’m headed upstairs to see a friend of mine, but you’re welcome to join.” Jack motioned to the elevator, and your fiancé quickly nodded and followed him inside the cab. Jack rolled his eyes at the guy’s eagerness.

“So, fiancée huh? Which one of our lucky agents is it?” Jack drawled, knowing full well who this man meant.

“Agent Brandy.” The man answered, “and you are?”

“I’m Agent Whiskey. Who might you be?” Jack smirked.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m Agent Rum.” Rum laughed sheepishly. He was quite a bit smaller than Jack and had to look upwards to make eye contact.

“Ah, so you’re the man Brandy was talking about.” Jack couldn’t help but meddle a little in his ex-wife’s affairs.

“You know Brandy?” Rum asked, surprised.

“Course I know her. I know all about her.” Jack grinned down at the man, “I know her name, her whole life story, everything. She was my partner.”

“She never mentioned you.” Rum stammered. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same girl?”

Jack described you, and Rum nodded, but that description would match a few agents and Rum wasn’t sure Jack really knew who you were. Joke’s on him.

Moonshine got in the elevator and froze once he saw Jack with your fiancé. He’d looked Rum up as soon as you’d mentioned him, and the look Jack had on his face was downright scary to someone who knew him. It was like a lion playing with its prey.

“Uh, uh, hey Whiskey.” Moonshine stuttered.

“Morning,” Jack smiled. “Brandy here?”

Moonshine nodded.

“Yeah, yeah she’s here. She’s with big daddy.”

“Wonderful. I’m just escorting her fiancé here up to meet him.” Jack nodded towards Rum who waved a hand. Jack couldn’t figure out how this man got to be an agent, all timid and shy next to Southern guys. He seemed like a schmuck.

“Oh, that’s great.” Moonshine nodded emphatically.

“I’m sorry, you are?” Rum asked, in reference to Moonshine.

“Name’s Moonshine. I’m Brandy’s, uh—” her turned to look at Jack to figure out what to say.

“Her other partner.” Jack finished. Rum smiled at the two.

“Wow! Two partners while she was here. That’s something.”

Jack rolled his eyes behind the man’s back.

“So what do you like about our Brandy?” Jack finally asked him, directing the both of them to exit the elevator. Champ’s office was just down the way, but Jack wasn’t ready to leave this man with you yet.

Rum spouted off a lot of things that Jack knew you weren’t like whenever y’all were married and he quickly realized that the woman you were with this new guy wasn’t anything like the woman he married. The woman he’d seen in the last few days. This was a woman who had completely changed herself to fit New York, and that just made Jack’s stomach churn.

Finally, he pulled Rum over to Champ’s door and he threw open the doors. You were sat inside, alone, staring at a few photos on the wall before you looked up and made eye contact with your ex-husband. You stood quickly, walking over to the two men standing before you.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, looking at Jack.

“Well, I came to deliver your fiancé.” Jack stared at you real hard.

“I, uh, think she was talking to me.” Rum cut in, handing you the bouquet of flowers he’d been holding.

“Jack . . .” You trailed off.

“Must be exhaustin’.” Jack started.

“What?” you asked softly. Rum echoed the question beside you, finally realizing that you and Jack were talking to each other in a way that wasn’t normal to him.

“Livin’ a lie.” Jack finished, hand shoving his hat further on his head. You shook.

“What’s he talking about?” Rum asked you, and you looked back at Jack, pleading for him to be kind.

“You and I are in love with two different people.” Jack said with a shake of his head as he left the room.

“Who is he really? He said he was your partner.” Rum asked you, staring after Jack’s retreating figure.

“He’s my husband.” You answered.

“Your what?” Rum was dumbfounded.

“I mean my ex-husband.” You gasped, correcting yourself.

“You married your partner?!” Rum was running his hands through his hair, trying to wrap his mind around the situation and realizing just how little he knew about you. Had you up and married another man while you were down here? Were you married before? You interrupted his thoughts with a quiet answer.

“No, I came down here to finalize my divorce.” You sighed.

“Hey darlin’,” Champ burst into the room, “just saw your precious hubby and took his resignation.” He froze once he saw who was with you. “Oh! You must be my baby girl’s new someone!”

You groaned internally.

Rum threw up his hands and made some new noise you’d never heard before then promptly left the room. You scurried after him, trying to get his attention.

“Blake! Wait!”

“I just—” Andrew started as he pressed the button on the outside of the elevator.

“Let me try and explain, you don’t understand!” You tried to wedge your way between him and the door, but he easily slid past you. You slammed your arm against the side of the sliding doors to keep them from closing. “This isn’t who I am anymore!”

“Look, I don’t know who you are or what else you’ve lied about, but I do know one thing. There’s a helicopter parked outside in the field, and I am on it.” Rum’s face was stony as the doors closed.

You stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, trying to grasp the situation. A sigh escaped your lips before you made your way back to Champ’s office to slump down in a chair.

Champ was sitting at his desk, Statesman glasses perched on his nose and a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. He looked up right as you made eye contact and gave you his signature “I told you so” look. You groaned.

“I know you’re thinkin’ I spoiled things real good this time.” You grumbled, chucking your hat on the table.

“Now, sweetheart, don’t go accusin’ me of thinking. I ain’t done anything of the sort.” Champ snorted. “Anyway, I don’t think you spoiled what you think you did. You got a good head on your shoulders kid, and I love you.”

You talked for awhile, catching up on life and missions and things you hadn’t spoken of in years when a knock sounded on the open door of Champ’s office. Champ nodded whoever it was inside, but you didn’t even look up until Champ looked at you with a knowing smile.

“Hey, you two. Look who I found wandering around by the weapons labs.” Moonshine nudged someone forward and you finally looked up. Agent Rum, your fiancé, was in front of you with the sorriest look you’d ever seen on his face.

“I thought you’d be halfway to New York by now.” You said slowly, not sure why he was still here. Your little interlude an hour before sounded like a breakup if you’d ever heard one. You stood up and moved to stand beside Champ, knowing he’d back you up if needed.

“So did I.” Rum smiled sheepishly, nodding toward Champ.

“Oh, this is Agent Champagne, but we call him Champ. He’s basically been my daddy since I started here.” Champ reached up squeezed your hand in reassurance and you moved closer to Rum. “And this is Moonshine. He’s been my best friend for a long time, well, as long as I’ve been good to him. He’s always been a better man. This is where I started, where I grew up, and my home.”

“Well,” Rum started, “it’s nice to meet you both. I’m Agent Rum, Brandy’s fiancé. That is, if she’ll still have me.” You looked at him in surprise. “ Look, I don’t really care what just happened back there. So you have a past. I mean, who doesn’t? We’re all trying to escape something in this life. What I need to know is if there is a place for me in your future.”

“Good Lord, he’s saying all sorts of sweet things.” Moonshine muttered and you laughed at him.

“Well?” Rum asked. You nodded with a small smile.

“Crap, guess I need to plan my vacation days to go to New York then.” Champ grumbled at his desk.

“What vacation days, old man?” You sassed Champ. You turned back to Rum, “Babe, what if we had the wedding here? I have so much history here, I’d like to end it all here and start fresh with you.”

Rum smiled and agreed and Champ started hollering about how he couldn’t believe you were going to do this to him again, how he’d have to officiate yet another wedding, and how many times does his only daughter get married? Apparently the answer was twice.

_________________________________________________________________

A month went by before you knew it, full of missions and planning and setting up temporary groups while you’d be on your honeymoon. In between all you had to do in the Statesman offices, you were also wedding planning. Luckily, you had Champ and his wife to help with all that along with AppleJack and your assistant.

Mr. Collier, your lawyer, had been calling nearly every day, but you’d assured him that you had everything handled and that he could clear the divorce without you. You’d been calling Jack a lot too. You wanted to talk to him about what Champ meant when he said Jack had retired, and why no one seemed to want to talk about what he was doing. But he never answered his cell and your old home phone seemed to be disconnected.

It still didn’t feel real that you’d be getting married on Saturday afternoon as you stepped off your Statesman jet at the airfield in Kentucky on Thursday with Agent AppleJack and your assistant—now newly minted Agent Smirnoff.

“You guys remember that mark from a year ago on that mission I was on for about three months, right? The Spanish one?” AppleJack was telling you. You nodded, remembering who she was talking about. He’d been rugged and good looking, and you’d told her as much when you handed her the mission. “Well, he proposed to me, and I think I loved him despite his obvious attraction to black market trading.”

“Then why didn’t you say yes?” Smirnoff asked.

“Because I hesitated long enough to realize my head and my heart were saying two different things. And he was on the other side of the legal fence.” AppleJack scoffed.

You guided the two of them towards your waiting truck and chucked your bags in the bed of it. Theirs followed as they argued.

“Well, it’s a big decision.” You added in.

“It’s supposed to be the easiest one you ever make.” Smirnoff said. You’d always thought he was a romantic, and now you were sure of it.

“Hey, y’all, I want to stop somewhere before we head to the office. Okay?” You turned to look at the two of them, and they shrugged before agreeing. It wasn’t like y’all had much to do today anyway. Champ had already assured you that the cellar was decorated and pretty for you and Rum to tie the knot, and that he’d already arranged everything for your honeymoon too.

You drove the forty-five minutes it took to get to your parents’ old farmhouse where you used to live before it had burned down, taking both your parents with it when you were nineteen. You hadn’t been there since a few days after the fire when you’d set up headstones for your parents on the property, but you wanted to tell them what was going on.

The driveway was long, but you were surprised to see how well kept it was. Then the house came into view along with Jack’s pickup truck and a familiar black dog lounging on the steps. You slammed on the brakes and parked right off the driveway, jumping out of the vehicle.

“Oh my god.” You gasped, looking at the place. It looked nearly identical to the house that burnt down, but there was a new barn in the back of the house and fence posts as far as you could see down the drive that kept going. Your dad had never cleared that far into the woods, but it looked good. It looked like a really successful ranch had been started right where so much devastation had taken place.

“Brandy, do we know the people who live here?” AppleJack asked, finally catching up to your quick walk towards the house. “What is this place?”

A man walked out of the house and froze once he saw you, and you hardly heard both AppleJack and Smirnoff arguing about if he was single.

“Jack,” you breathed. He stepped down off the porch and came over to you, greeting you with a sad smile. “I tried to call you a couple of times.”

“Listen,” he started, completely ignoring your previous statement, “since you’re here, you and your friends should look around. Say hello to the horses in the barn or something. It’s nice out today.” He tipped his hat towards your two companions and called his dog, making his way back into the house before you could say anything else.

You shook your head, trying to clear your eyes of the tears that had somehow started filling them. As you looked around the ranch, you saw all the little things that Jack had done, as well as the big, that made this place feel so much like home. It was almost exactly the way it had been when you lived there so long ago, and you were reminded of the photo Jack had on your old mantel. You’d asked him why he kept it, but he hadn’t answered then. And the times when the guys you used to work with were trying to tell you that Jack was successful now, but Jack had cut them off. Now you knew why. He’d built this place for you.

_________________________________________________________________

When you got to the Kentucky office, Champ was waiting for you downstairs.

“Hey, little darling, there was a man here for you. He straight up asked about your whole name and everything. Did you have a guest coming for the wedding we didn’t know about who’d know your civilian name?” He asked. Your brow furrowed as you shook your head. “Alright, well we sent him on his way, anyhow. I’m sure it’s fine.”

You introduced him to your two companions and Champ grinned, happy to meet two people you trusted with your life. You asked him if Rum was here yet, to which Champ nodded and guided you all inside. “Got here about two hours before you, sweetheart.”

Once you were inside, it seemed like a whirlwind of things happened as you readied yourself to get married for a second time. The next 36 hours were hell, waiting for everything to be finalized so you could get hitched.

It was Saturday morning and Champ had stationed two low ranking agents to man the guests as they filtered into the cellar where you’d be holding the wedding. So far, only agents were to be in attendance and a few plus ones, but you’d wanted to keep it small. So when a balding man appeared and introduced himself as Mr. Collier, telling the two agents that he wasn’t on the list, they promptly told him that he couldn’t come inside as he wasn’t invited. The man insisted he had urgent business with a Ms. Daniels, but the agents weren’t having it and escorted him out of the cellar.

Meanwhile, at your old house, the one you had shared with Jack, your ex-husband was adding the last few crates and boxes of his and your things to his truck. He groaned once he saw his mama leaning up against her car in the driveway since he hadn’t seen her pull up.

“Hey, sweetheart, there’s a wedding goin’ on.” She said softly, helping him throw a gym bag into the backseat of his truck.

“Yeah, I heard mention of it a time or two.” Jack shrugged, “I sure hope this weather cooperates. It’s supposed to be a big storm.” He didn’t want to give into his mama and tell her how he really felt about all this.

The truth was, Jack was devastated. He’d spent so much time trying to get his wife back, and now she was marrying a man he knew she didn’t love as much as she loved him, and it hurt. It felt like something had died inside his chest, and he supposed something did. His heart.

“You know, Jack, you’re my only son and I love you, but sometimes you are too much like your daddy.” Helen sighed.

“She made her decision, Mama.” Jack set the last box in the bed of the truck and covered them up with tarps to keep ‘em dry.

“For somebody who’s been holdin’ onto somethin’ so hard, you’re pretty quick to let it go.” Helen eyed him.

“You know I can’t control her anymore than I can control the weather. I gotta go. I wanna get these inside before the rain ruins whatever I’ve got left.” Jack tipped his hat at his mama and climbed inside the cab. Helen shook her head in disappointment.

Champ stood in the corner of the apartment you’d been occupying in the Statesman office that weekend, watching you adjust your dress and cowboy boots. He smirked once he realized you’d be getting married, Southern style with the boots and a dress that he swore he’d seen in one of those fancy Southern Living magazines his wife was always reading. Or was it Southern Weddings? He didn’t know, but you looked beautiful. Even more so than the first time he’d officiated your wedding to Jack.

You kept fidgeting, causing Champ to speak up.

“It’s just nerves. You’re doing the right thing.” He attempted to reassure you.

“Am I?” You asked, unsure.

“When I married my wife, Lord, I was a goner for that woman. I couldn’t put one foot down in front of the other, despite being an agent with perfect balance, mind you. I remember standin’ there thinking, ‘Oh preacher, better hurry up before this woman changes her mind.’ And look where it got me. Sometimes she drives me so crazy that I could shoot her, but—”

“But you still love her.” You cut him off.

“God knows I do, and only she knows why.” Champ laughed, his eyes teary as he looked you over.

“Champ, I think I—”

“He can give you a life in this company, honey. You’ve always wanted this. And he adores you.” Champ said firmly, not letting you get back on the confusion train.

“He does, doesn’t he?” You sighed, “Well, even if he is a Yankee, at least he’s sober. Let’s go, Champ. I’m ready to get this over with.”

Champ led you down to the cellars, and then down the aisle. He didn’t get you two very far, though, when a man’s shouts were heard yelling “Ms. Daniels! Ms. Daniels!”

You whipped around, confused about why someone would be calling you by your married name. “Mr. Collier?” You asked in surprise. The two agents supposed to be manning the door had grabbed him by now, but you were quick to dismiss them.

Rum called your name, but you held up a hand to stop him from speaking. You didn’t know why Mr. Collier was here, but it had to be important if he was trying this hard to get in contact with you. The man took a moment to catch his breath.

“You are one hard woman to get in contact with.” Mr. Collier wheezed as he bent over to breathe.

“Mr. Collier, he signed the papers.” You said quietly. “What are you doing here?”

“He did. You didn’t.” You finally noticed the papers he was holding and sucked in a breath.

“What? You mean I’m still married?” You asked, unsure how you felt about this new information. You thought for sure you’d signed the papers when you’d sent them off the day after Jack had signed them. Apparently, you hadn’t. Mr. Collier pointed at the line above Jack’s name, and sure enough, it was blank.

“Well, not if you don’t want to be.” Mr. Collier replied gently as he handed over the papers.

“For goodness sake, Brandy, I thought you took care of this?” Rum groaned as he made his way to stand in the aisle beside you.

“It’s an honest mistake, Blake.” You shook your head in disbelief.

“Well, then, can we fix it? We’ve got agents who need to be on missions soon and we have a honeymoon to get to.” Rum snorted. Your brows furrowed as you watched this normally kind man getting frustrated over a mistake you hadn’t even realized you made.

“Does anybody have a non-deadly pen?” You asked, knowing no one would have one on them unless it had ten functions to kill someone and not one of them being the purpose of a real pen with ink that would actually stay on the paper. You’d made the mistake before of signing something with ink that removed itself within two hours and you didn’t want to make that mistake again.

No one around you had one, not even Champ, until a woman behind you cleared her throat. You turned around to face your mother in law, Jack’s mom.

“These things don’t just happen, y’know.” Helen said with a knowing smile as she held out a fountain pen. You took it and uncapped it, placing it on the paper but not moving to sign it.

“You can’t ride two horse with one ass, sweetheart.” Champ said from beside you. You looked up at him and with a watery smile, you told him you couldn’t sign the papers.

“Blake,” you started, taking his hands in yours, “You don’t want to marry me.”

“I don’t?” He asked, eyes almost looking dangerous.

“No, you don’t. Not really. You see, the truth is—” You hesitated before continuing. “I gave my heart away a long time ago, my whole heart, and I never really got it back. And I don’t even know what else to say besides ‘I’m sorry.’ I can’t marry you, and you shouldn’t want to marry me.”

“So this is what it feels like.” Blake muttered, eyes definitely glittering with anger now. “You can’t just do this to me. That’s it? You’re just going to leave me for the man you haven’t even wanted to be married to for seven years? God, Brandy, what the hell!” He shouted.

You took a step back, attempting to make space and remove your hands from his, but he held your hands tightly. You gulped, knowing Blake wasn’t done.

“In my entire career, and I have a good one, I have never met someone so deceitful and manipulative! I should’ve known, considering our occupations, but this is so disgusting what you’ve done.” Blake spat.

“I’m just trying to be honest.” You whispered.

“You are such a little bitch.” Blake roughly dropped your hands and Champ immediately stepped in, crowding the shorter agent.

“Now, look here, Agent Rum. She said her piece and there’s no need for name-callin’, you hear me?” Champ growled.

“Oh go back to your office and get shit-faced.” Blake spat at Champ’s feet. You saw red.

“Nobody talks to my daddy like that.” You growled, throwing one of your best punches. Agent Rum was soon on the ground and you chucked your engagement ring at his head. It hit his cheek and bounced off somewhere, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“Praise the Lord, my baby’s back.” Champ cheered, pulling you away from your ex-fiancé.

“Hey y’all!” You shouted as you stood up on an empty chair in the venue, “If you’re friends of the bride, stick around! I’m gonna go find me a groom!”

And then you were off, grabbing your keys from Moonshine and hopping in your truck, wedding dress getting stuck in the door. You didn’t care, though. You knew exactly where Jack would be and you planned to go get your man back.

You roared into the meadow, truck chassis bumping around on the uneven ground. The door was flung open and you were racing across the field, dress bunched in your hands. Rain had started falling, and Jack was sitting in the bed of his truck getting sopping wet. He had a bottle of whiskey in his hands, but he hadn’t quite noticed you yet.

“Hey, cowboy!” You shouted above the rain and he whipped around to face you, eyes wide beneath the brim of his hat. Rain dripped off the edges and you almost laughed at how bedraggled he looked, but refrained. “You owe me a dance.”

“Nice dress. Where’s your husband?” Jack finally said as he capped the whiskey bottle and set it down beside him in the truck bed.

“I’m lookin’ at him.” You said, and Jack froze. “Apparently, you and I are still hitched.”

“Is that right?” He asked slowly as he got off the tailgate. He made his way over to stand in front of you, rain still pouring over the both of you to the point where you could only really see him anymore.

“Why didn’t you tell me you came to New York?” You asked desperately, needing to know if he still wanted you, if he still loved you.

“I needed to make somethin’ of myself.”

“About done?” You asked in disbelief. This man was already enough for you, how could he not see it?

“What is it about you Southern girls? You can’t make the right decisions ‘til you tried all the wrong ones?” Jack scoffed. He was sure this was some elaborate joke, that your fiancé would hop out of your pickup truck and laugh at him any minute now.

“At least I fight for what I want!”

“Oh, what do you want, honey? Hell, I don’t even think you know.” Jack shook his head.

“You’re the first boy I ever kissed, Jack, and I want you to be the last.” You said as you stepped closer to him, dress dragging in the grass and dirt. You didn’t even care, not if it meant you could get your husband back.

“Maybe you and I had our chance.” Jack muttered, hoping you couldn’t hear him, but you did.

“Fine! Have it your way, stubborn ass!” You yelled.

“Whatcha wanna be married to me for anyhow?” Jack asked, repeating what you’d asked him all those years ago when you were twelve. You grinned, catching up to his game.

“So I can kiss you anytime I want.”

And then you were in his arms and he was kissing you, his hat dumping water on the both of you but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You were already soaked. You’d gotten your man back, and you sighed into his mouth. You didn’t want to move again, the feeling of his kiss bringing life back into your lungs and giving you space to breathe for the first time in a long time. He just felt right. Hands wandered up his back and you knocked off his hat in an effort to get even closer to him. He groaned when fingers locked into his now soaked hair, tongue slipping into your mouth when you whined.

You only broke away when you heard someone yelling at the both of you, lights shining right onto your interlocking figures.

“What the hell are you two trying to do? Get yourselves killed?” Tequila yelled. You laughed, breaking away from Jack just long enough to shout back.

“What seems to be the trouble, officer?”

“I’m here to bring you in again, little lady!” Tequila called back, hands on his hips and looking downright hilarious.

“What did she do this time?” Jack shouted. He walked you both closer to Tequila and the man had the audacity to grin at the two of you.

“Well, the way I hear it, seems she run out on a perfectly good cake!”

You laughed and smooched Jack on the cheek before reaching down to grab his hat from the ground.

“Get in my truck, cowboy!” You grinned, “Seems we finally get our reception!”

You raced your husband to your truck, hopping in and laughing at the way you both shivered from the cool air you’d had blasting. Jack swore and turned on the heat as you got yourselves out of the meadow and started following the red and blue flashing lights of Tequila’s patrol car.

You reached a hand over to hold Jack’s and he lifted your fingers to his lips to press a kiss to the knuckles.

“I love you.” He murmured and you returned the sentiments, happy for the first time in a long time.

Tequila led you to the bar Helen owned, and you laughed once you realized where the guys had decided to hold your reception. It was only fitting that the place where you’d originally hosted your first reception was now the place of your second, and with the same man no less.

Tequila made his way indoors first and introduced you, yelling out a “Ladies and gentleman, Mr. and Mrs. Jack Daniels!”

You rushed inside, nearly tripping over your boots and dress, but Jack steadied you, dipping you for a deep kiss just inside the door.

Catcalls filled the air as Jack lifted you back up, a boyish grin gracing his lips.

“I do believe I owe this lady a dance,” Jack nodded at his Mama by the jukebox and she smiled at the two of you.

“You sure do!” Moonshine shouted.

“Hey Helen,” you turned to Jack’s mama, “make it a slow one.”

She saluted you, and then hit a button, playing Tennessee Whiskey. Jack snorted at the song choice as he held your waist in the middle of the space they’d cleared for a dance floor, but you didn’t mind. You’d always joked that the song was about him with his Statesman name, and he hated it. You loved him, though.

You had your husband back and you weren’t ever going to give him up again. You swayed to the song for a moment before leaning up to kiss him. Finally, you were home.

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