#when literally my WHOLE LIFE is just occupied with school and it just kills any opportunity to be creative | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

banjjakz · 5 months

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bleed for me; hananene 5+1 oneshot

He’s amassed whole lifetimes of bad habits, and never has one felt more grievous than the way his lifeless body threatens to rise again after Yashiro launches herself off of him in mortified realization of their compromising position. A bad habit, thinks Hanako, watching his roommate flee away as he barely resists the urge to give chase. Predator and prey. A body drained dry. I’d take good care of you.

(Or: Five times Hanako is painfully, embarrassingly obvious about being a vampire -- and the one time he doesn't even need to be.)

wc: ~6.7k

warnings: vampire!au; horror elements; disturbing themes; graphic descriptions of blood & ensuing oral consumption; etc, etc

🖤 read on ao3 🖤

1. Garlic Bread

“I’m home!”

From his lax recline on the bed, Hanako calls out a lazy welcome back. He doesn’t get up because he’s far too comfortable watching old primetime reruns of ridiculous game shows, and also -- well.

He’s a little unhappy.

Ah, maybe not unhappy. That’s a rather strong word -- sensation? Feeling? For someone who’s felt a lot of them for a very long time, Hanako isn’t the most adept at categorizing his own emotions. Let alone experiencing them. It’s much more convenient to acknowledge that something probably important is sounding off in his chest, and then leave it alone to run its course. Hands-off is always the way to go. Less messy that way.

But then, he’s forced to deal with complex situations such as these:

The lovely, strange, absolutely enrapturing human being whose life he feels lucky enough to occupy even just a small, miniscule part of -- flouncing into his bedroom, all bright eyes and wide-lipped smiles and rosy cheeks and limbs jittering in excitement at seeing him after a mere handful of hours spent apart--

And Hanako, whose cold, dead heart threatens to jolt back to life at the mere sight of her.

How odd. He wonders what it means, and then immediately stops doing that. Hands-off. Mess free.

“Hanako-kun!” Greets Yashiro, rushing to stand at his side, her stockinged feet thump-thump-thumping at the hardwood in a rapid, red-blooded pulse. Her hair flows freely today, which is unusual. Normally, she has it pulled back and away from her face, in one neat platinum sphere at the base of her neck. There’s a decorative clip or three in there, somewhere, too.

Where are those tonight? What happened to the disturbingly skull-shaped barrette? He likes that one. “Hanako-kun, look! For you!”

Oh, she’s holding something. He hadn’t even noticed. Upon closer inspection, it seems to be…

“A greasy paper bag,” Hanako deadpans. “How kind of you, Yashiro.”

She rolls her eyes, and stomps her foot. He can see the vibrant red of her painted toenails even through those dark tights she insists on wearing out everyday. These are one of her nicer pairs, though. No rips or runs in sight. Not even when Hanako scans her legs up and down and up again, just to check. Just to make sure.

Yashiro’s irate scoff sends his eyes scrambling very rapidly back to meet her own. “You’re impossible. You gotta guess what’s in- side the bag, dummy.”

“Radishes. No, wait, we already have plenty of those on hand.”

“Oh my God, I am literally going to kill you. Do you wanna die?” Hanako almost laughs. “Last chance before I change my mind and don’t let you have any!”

“Ohhh. Something I can have?”

Yashiro nods. Hanako tracks the movement of her jaw like a vulture circling a corpse, freshly splayed open and vulnerable and tantalizing with how red the blood, how plump the flesh, how easy it would be to sink his talons in and bare his teeth and--

“I have no idea,” he muses, “what that would be, then.”

“You’re so weird sometimes, Hanako-kun. Anyways, remember how I went over to Kou-kun’s tonight? Because he needed a taste-tester for his school assignments? Remember?”

Ah, and here he returns to the root issue of tonight’s predicament. Hanako is swiftly delivered back into the strange sensation of discontent that plagued him mere moments prior to Yashiro’s arrival. She’d distracted him -- as she is so often does -- from his brooding.

Hanako remembers that he’s supposed to be brooding.

Hanako begins to brood.

It’s a pitiful attempt, really, because Yashiro is hellbent on injecting the evening with her unique brand of excitable fanfare, and Hanako has never been able to put up much of a fight against her. He’s weak to the sun and all it’s gifts of brightness, after all.

In a last-ditch effort to save face, he manages to pout. Yes, this will show her. This will express to her his deep-seated dissatisfaction!

“Hmph. I guess,” sighs Hanako, batting his lashes for good measure.

“Oh quit it. Don’t look like such a jealous puppy--”

“-- Excuse me--”

“--Especially ‘cause I brought you such a good gift! Look!”

And then Yashiro reaches into the bag and pulls out a slice of greasy, buttery, deliciously succulent garlic bread.

Hanako doesn’t even have the time to process her accusation of jealousy (which, hello? A little absurd if you ask him.) as he’s preoccupied with scrambling backwards to the opposite side of the bed, as fast as what will hopefully appear to be humanly possible.

“Kou-kun’s in the middle of his global unit in school, and he chose to make some Italian dishes, so I thought I’d bring home-- hey!! Where are you going!” Yashiro, clearly perplexed, pauses in her bubbly explanation. “Don’t be like that! I know you don’t like Kou-kun for whatever stupid reason, but really? He made it just for you!”

Of course he did, thinks Hanako, scathingly. He will deal with that overgrown menace of a mutt later, when his physical body is not in imminent danger and Yashiro is not growing steadily closer, brandishing the bread as though it were a sword, or rapier.

Oh, if only she knew.

Normally, Hanako would be elated -- ecstatic, even -- to see Yashiro crawling across his mattress, chasing him with a dark intensity in her eyes and a palm outstretched. But the issue here is that her palm, as sweet-smelling and milky soft as it looks and probably feels (Hanako wouldn’t know), is currently wielding a weapon of mass destruction.

He tries to placate her, or at least slow her steady advance, but it’s all for naught. “H-Hey now, Yashiro--”

He should throw her off. She shouldn’t even be in his home in the first place, let alone in his bed, but somewhere along the way Hanako had started making inappropriate, foolish, misguided allowances for this strange woman, and then he… never stopped.

Honestly? For a mistake as silly as entertaining a human of all things, he supposes he should go out in an equally as embarrassing fashion: death by sliced bread.

Yashiro is on top of him now, her thick calves bracketing the bony jut of his hips as she sits on his chest and leans over him, her cheeks incensed a bright and healthy rouge -- a mere few shades darker than those glittering fuschia eyes. Hanako can’t help but wonder just how red she can get; how much red she has to spare. How much red would be enough to burst her open and leak along the sides of her pristinely pale canvas like spilled acrylic in one big, gory, spattering mess.

For two (definitely, totally, absolutely) mutually exclusive reasons, Hanako feels his stomach contract.

“You’re being ridiculous,” announces Yashiro from her perch atop his body, blissfully unaware of the fact that Hanako could very easily toss her clean across the city if he so chose.

(Or maybe, it’s the fact that might know, and is unafraid of the prospect. As though she believes he won’t. Humans are such an arrogant, fickle species. He can’t say that he particularly misses being amongst their ranks.)

“It’s bread. Would it kill you to be agreeable for once and just take a freaking bite?”

Her heartbeat. He can hear it loud and clear even as he lays underneath the vice grip of her sturdy legs. Does she even know how fast her pulse rams itself against her veins? Like it’s begging to be rescued from the confines of that pretty, porcelain cage?

Fuck. Fuck.

Hands-off.

Mess free.

“I’m allergic,” says Hanako, slowly, face blank and clean as a slate as he stares unblinkingly back up at his captor. “To garlic.”

There’s a curtain of shimmering white that cascades around the two of them, shifting to block out any and all extraneous stimuli. He should remind her to pick up some more bleach the next time she takes a trip to Daiso. It’s time to touch-up her roots again.

“Allergic,” she parrots.

The way her lips shape around the word, tasting it and rolling it around in suspicion, is captivating. In all his years of dealings on this earth never has Hanako followed a journey so gripping, so intense, as the way that Yashiro Nene’s mouth moves across a sentence. “Allergic,” she says again, flat and faint.

He’s just barely able to nod. “Deathly.”

“You’re deathly allergic to garlic.”

Time grinds to a painful, halting stop. The gradual slowing of the outside world is so acute that Hanako can track with his eyes the moment that Yashiro’s gaze flickers down to his cracked lips and the steady in-and-out of her breath is all but frozen in place. It’s excruciating, the level of detail he’s been subjected to bear witness to as a creature borne of blood and misery. He hates that he can hear her lungs rattle in suspense. He hates that he can name each muscle that goes still and locks solidly into place, anchoring around him in a rigid, tense embrace. He hates that he can smell her fear.

“Precisely. And you are straddling me. Are we done stating facts or would you like to continue on, Yashiro?”

It’s a bad habit he has, relying on humorous deflection. He’s amassed whole lifetimes of bad habits, and never has one felt more grievous than the way his lifeless body threatens to rise again after Yashiro launches herself off of him in mortified realization of their compromising position. A bad habit, thinks Hanako, watching his roommate flee away as he barely resists the urge to give chase. Predator and prey. A body drained dry. I’d take good care of you.

The crumbs in his bed dig into his skin and burn there, serving as a very stark, very physical reminder of his worst habit.

He’s already served his penance. Is currently serving it. Is slated to serve it for the rest of whatever conceivable eternity awaits him.

So why, then, does his chest twist and ache with an ardor he thought had died with him, all that time ago?

2. Reflection

The only reason he’d agreed to tag along was because Yashiro promised him that he didn’t have to speak if he didn’t want to. He isn’t much inclined to converse with random humans -- especially not over cheap, young wine.

But this is, of course, exactly what he finds himself doing on a Thursday evening he would otherwise spend alone, holed up in his room, with his blackout curtains drawn to the side to bask in the glow of the full moon. Longingly, Hanako glances out of the large window he’d surreptitiously made a home next to immediately upon their arrival. Ah, well. Next month.

A round of boisterous laughter startles him out of his reverie. He chances a glance back to the sectional sofa in front of him and is greeted by the sight of Yashiro nearly doubled over in apparent amusement, wine glass tipping dangerously to the wayside. Her cheeks are speckled with the beginnings of a youthful pink. Unshed tears cling to her thin eyelashes. When she straightens up to catch her breath, she meets his gaze and allows her grin to melt into something soft and warm and entirely unsuited for the terrible, awful things that run through Hanako’s mind faster than the speed of light.

Having fun? She mouths discreetly, bringing the glass up to take another sip.

He nods, draining the red in his own grasp long and slow. It tastes like ash on his tongue.

One of the other humans speaks, then. It isn’t the orange haired fellow who’d immediately struck Hanako as a sniveling, blindsided, spineless fool of a man -- no, it’s his wife, who’s entirely too preoccupied with asking questions about Hanako’s personal life for his comfort.

“Hanako-san,” she begins pleasantly, gripping the wine bottle by the neck as she tops off his glass. Unprompted. “I’ve been wondering about something! Nene-chan is an Insta-freak, you know, right?” A what? “But you’re never on her page,” she continues with a pout, “And you aren’t tagged in any photos. Are you shy? That’s adorable!”

How can a woman speak so politely with eyes as cold as hers? They glitter at him underneath the fluorescent lighting of the living area, small and hard and blindingly bright, a twin set of enchantingly haunted jewels. Delicately, she tastes at the rim of her glass, and says nothing else.

Before he can conjure up a response that isn’t mood-killing and really little more than a thinly veiled threat, Yashiro pipes up. “Hanako-kun’s super off-grid!” She stresses, eyes wide, words comically over exaggerated as though she is delivering information of the utmost importance. “He has a very troubled childhood! He doesn’t like talking about it! So that’s why!”

“A troubled childhood,” muses the purple haired menace.

Yashiro nods solemnly, gulping another hit of her dry white. “Yeah! He’s got a bunch of weird allergies, too. Did you know that he can’t eat garlic? Not even garlic bread? Isn’t that so sad!”

“...Indeed it is. My condolences, Hanako-san.”

Right.

The evening doesn’t really improve from there, apart from Yashiro falling into his side after she gets a bit too wine drunk. Hanako can smell more than just the saccharine perfume she slathers on all the time; no, from this close, Hanako inhales and internalizes the scent of a robust, earthy musk, far richer than anything spritzed or patted superficially into the skin. Hanako can smell underneath her skin. Hell, Hanako can practically see -- can practically taste the delicacies hidden there, with how firmly she leans onto him. Would she still feel comfortable holding clutching onto his arm, if she knew the kinds of things he thinks about her? About doing to her?

They say good night to the amethyst wench and her sad excuse of a clueless human husband not long after that. The apartment isn’t far away and it’s too late to stumble into the car of a subway, so the pair of them trek home on foot.

A quiet night. The moon is as full as she is healing, and Hanako returns to himself a little bit more underneath her watchful, healing gaze.

“Now that I think about it… we really don’t have any pictures together.”

Although Yashiro has sobered up enough to stand straight, she still maintains a loose grasp on his arm. Her fingernails curl into the sleeve of his button down, a splash of bright, vivid red disappearing in the deep dark of a moonless night. Swallowed right up without a second thought. “Is it… is it because you’re embarrassed, Hanako-kun? Of, um… well. Do you not want to be seen with me? I’m sorry…”

He could break his own neck. He should. He would, if she asked him to.

“You own a Polaroid camera, yes?”

“Ah! You mean my Hello Kitty one? Uh-huh! Why?”

“When we return home,” Hanako says, like a fool, “We can take a picture.”

If he were a defendable creature, he’d point to Yashiro’s sudden and swift ascent into excitement as the justification for the latest manifestation of his long, long list of bad habits. Her strong ankles defy gravity and carry her as she floats on air, giggling as she skips the whole way home. Even as they make their way through the front door. Even as she must root around in her cluttered bedroom (that Hanako cannot follow her into, for obvious reasons). Even as she struggles to remember how to change the film, and inputs a decorative mascot-inspired roll, nicking more than a few of her pale, slender fingers in the process.

Even as she wades through darkness, Yashiro is so bright.

The actual photo itself requires some set-up which eventually results in Hanako reversing the contraption unto them and pressing down on what he’s only halfway sure is the capture button. He assumes that he’s done well when a thin strip of glossy paper leaks out from the bottom and Yashiro swipes at it in a giddy stupor, remnants of the Riesling from earlier that evening rendering her sloppy and uncoordinated.

“‘Kay, it’s gotta develop now… should only be a few more seconds! Will you keep it safe tonight? ‘M sooooo tired, and I really gotta shower before I pass out…”

Yashiro is already stumbling away, back towards her bedroom. She slips the rapidly lightening square in his palm as she slips back, lingering for one moment too long against the doorframe.

“Thanks, Hanako-kun. G’night.”

And then she is gone.

Which is probably for the best. The film has finally pulled itself from the murky depths of ambiguity. Hanako looks down at the picture in his palm and Yashiro stares back at him: her bold, red lips and silver-spun hair are two twin beacons of color, misplaced and incongruent within the impenetrable sea of blackness surrounding her.

Where Hanako should have been instead lies a lapse in composition. The photograph is blank and undeveloped around his general silhouette. But that is not the strangest thing about the photograph.

The strangest thing is howYashiro leans into the darkness, unafraid of the way it spindles into her own boisterous portrait and slowly eats at the brightly hued pigments of her warm flesh, her pretty, frilly dress, her smile. That unerringly loud, human smile.

How long will it take, he wonders, before the shot is entirely eclipsed by that cold, dead void.

3. Sunlight

It’s a bad day before he even opens his eyes.

As a creature of indeterminate longevity and supernatural capabilities, sleep is not the necessity it once was for him. But he indulges, from time to time, when there’s little to do during the daylight hours. After all, he’s confined to his bedroom from sunrise until sunset. Pacing the perimeter of a lion’s cage grows tiresome, even to eternally patient apex predators such as himself. Much easier to force his body to shut down and pass the time for him, as his consciousness wanders aimlessly through the realm of a deep, dreamless slumber.

This day is not one of those days. This day is the peak of Summer’s cruel, tyrannical reign. This day is suffocating. This day is warm. This day is bright.

This day maneuvers above and below and all around the blackout curtains that are always painstakingly drawn over his windows. This day leaks into his bedroom and weasels its way into his sheets, underneath his skin, scorching him from the inside out with such a ferocity that it renders him immobile. Every fiber of his being threatens to splice into terrifying, meaningless oblivion.

When Yashiro first asked, Hanako told her it was migraines.

It was a vague excuse that pinpointed some rare, untreatable immune-disease that left him inexplicably weak to sunlight. Yashiro really should have been more persistent in hunting down the real truth -- the actual truth -- especially considering her occupation as an urgent clinic nurse. He considers the idea that it’s an answer she doesn’t care enough to unearth. He mulls over the alternative, which is that she is too frightened by whatever she may find to go searching for it in the first place. He then decides he’s done thinking about her. Today is torture enough.

A gentle knock at his door renders all of his efforts fruitless, however. “Hanako-kun?” Her voice filters easily through the heavy fog clouding his awareness, like a blade through slackened flesh. “You okay?”

She’s still standing hesitantly in his doorway, as though waiting for permission to enter. He’d laugh if it didn’t hurt so badly to do anything other than lay still and flat as a corpse.

He can’t afford to expend any unnecessary effort lest he wear himself out completely, so he goes for the most direct course of action:

Snakes his arm out of the big, black ball of sheets and comforter in which he’s coffined himself inside. Holds back a curse as he’s made aware of just how weak he’s become. Struggles not to drop his cellular phone when he finally manages to blindly locate it. Unplugs the device single handedly with tremorous fingers. Holds it out to the open air.

“Take this,” says Hanako, voice dim and tepid. “Dial the contact ‘Tsukasa.’ Give him this address.”

Not for the first time, Hanako realizes that he should be grateful for this human’s absence of curiosity. He has amassed plenty of bad habits in the past, all of them metastasizing entirely too close for comfort until he’d been forced to handle them in a way that had been entirely hands-on and the very opposite of mess-free. For Yashiro to wordlessly collect the cellular phone from his trembling grasp and do as she’s told is what he’d call a blessing, if he still believed in feats as fickle as faith.

She is confused as she makes the phonecall. Hanako can hear the shift of her hair sliding past one shoulder as she tilts her head. He can feel the way her chest flutters in a muted gasp of surprise when the line connects after the first ring. She can’t be more than three or four feet away. Close enough for him to reach out and brush, with the pitifully pale pads of his fingertips. What a sight that would paint, muses Hanako, deliriously. Icarus and his glittering, lethal lover.

Time ebbs and flows and bends and breaks after that. He’s distantly aware that he drops in and out of consciousness. The hot wax slathering each of his limbs is an imagined thing, he’s sure, as is the sensation of free-falling to an anticipated, blunt death. These sensations are from the dreamscape that pulls him beneath its suffocating depths only to release him at the last second, in a cruel imitation of the sea and all her unfathomable terror.

(He has not dreamt in so very, very long. It’s a bad habit.)

The final time he breaks the surface, he surges up against something -- cold. The kind of cold that forces his own to bow its head. The kind of cold that relieves him of his fever, and sends a violent chill through his body, all at once. The kind of cold one should only absorb in small doses, with limited contact. A once-in-every-three-decades kind of cold. That kind of cold.

“Hi, Amane! You look terrible!”

Tsukasa’s hand on his forehead is frigid enough that it loops back into the realm of burning. Hanako must gently bat it away and blink blearily up at the sight of his twin brother, just as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he always was. Always is.

“Hi, Tsu.”

“Hold still, ‘kay? I brought the bendy straws you like. All you gotta do is sip. Open wide!”

Obediently, Hanako parts his lips and accepts the flimsy piece of plastic.

He tries not to think about what, exactly, it is that he’s doing. If he closes his eyes and holds his breath, Hanako can almost pretend that he’s being fed by different hands, in a different world, as a different person.

“Hey, Amane?”

Gulp, shudder. Resist the instinctive gag that claws its way up his throat like a beast bending the bars of its cage. “Yeah, Tsu?”

“Why are you starving yourself?”

Eyes closed. Mouth shut. Another swallow. Hands-off. Mess free.

“You have food right there,” Tsukasa whispers. “Is there something wrong with her? Is she sick? Y’know, I’m not picky. If you don’t want her, I can--”

Hanako, with newfound strength, launches upright into a sitting position. What wonders a couple of mouthfuls can do.

Oh, how to explain this. Oh, how to navigate his way through an intersection of muddled implications and unspoken subtleties, all of which will go right over Tsukasa’s head. How can Hanako pretend to be a creature of innuendo and self-control, when his biggest, most glaring lapse in judgement sits across from him in the damned den of his own design?

He struggles for a moment, running a tired hand down his face. “Yashiro is a -- friend.”

“A friend?”

“Yes,” confirms Hanako, desperately avoiding Tsukasa’s curious gaze. “And friends don’t eat friends.”

The words are slimy and leave a bad taste in his mouth. Well. Maybe the words themselves aren’t what lingers at the back of his tongue and stains his teeth. But they are odious, nonetheless, and hang in the air like empty nooses dripping down from a gallows.

“Friends don’t let friends starve,” is Tsukasa’s counterpoint. “If it were me, Amane, I’d let you. Even though you already did, I’d let you do it again. I’d always let you.”

Hanako has never understood why Tsukasa refuses to cover up the twin bite marks that marr his jugular. Is it to punish him? Is it not punishment enough, that Hanako has to see his face at all?

When his brother grins at him, it cuts like a knife. Hanako remembers a time where those cheeks stretched wider, when those eyes glistened with something other than black ice. Tsukasa plucks the bendy straw out of the cup and drinks straight from the rim, tossing his head back to give Hanako full view of the way his throat opens and closes around the infernal contents.

He can’t stop staring at the scars: two lone stars fixed in an empty, pallid, apocalyptic sky.

The younger boy is sated only when the cup has been drained dry -- and even then, he pants, exhilarated, pupils blown large and dangerously obsidian as they flitter back and forth as though in search of more, more, more.

Why are you starving yourself?

He’d always been a messy eater. His baby brother, Tsukasa. Tsukasa who loved Katanuki. Tsukasa who loved to paint. Tsukasa who still loves to paint, but now works solely in abstract monochrome. Tsukasa, who paints himself over and over and over again until he’s dripping, covered head-to-toe in a masterpiece of his own design. Tsukasa, who licks his canvas clean at the end of each night only to start anew in tomorrow’s dangerous twilight dusk. Tsukasa, who collects victims like portraits.

Tsukasa, who had once been a portrait himself. Hanako, who held the brush in his hands and created something freakishly beautiful that wretched, awful night.

Why are you starving yourself?

He feels full enough, watching Tsukasa pass his tongue over his chops. He feels like he’ll never need to eat again.

By the time his brother makes his departure, the sun has long since sunk beneath the horizon. Hanako’s room is once again as it should be: a thick, inky fog of opaque black. It’s so dark, in fact, that had he not been what he is, he would never have spotted the slight gap between his door and its frame, where a slender figure lingers in apprehensive wait.

Yashiro is checking on him, he realizes belatedly.

Why are you starving yourself?

“Good night,” She calls, softly. “I’m about to head out for a double.”

“Be safe.”

“‘Course! I always am… I hope you feel better soon, Hanako-kun.”

He couldn’t have this if he ate like an animal. He couldn’t have Yashiro -- sweet, gentle, lovely Yashiro -- living alongside him as he devoured bodies made in her image. Already, Hanako struggles with what his baser instincts urge him towards… to give into those temptations would be putting her in danger.

His door clicks quietly shut. His room is bathed in the cover of night once more.

Left alone to his own devices, the beat begins to roam its cage. A growl sounds, low and deep and mortally wounded. Not from his throat -- but from the very pit of his stomach.

Resistance is one thing, but ignorance, however feigned, is quickly ruled out of the realm of his personal possibility. There is no disregarding the sensations that fester inside of him. There is no course for his desires to run. There is only the ugly, maddening truth:

Hanako is hungry.

Hanako needs to put his hands on something.

Hanako needs to make a mess.

4. Silver

“Promise rings!”

“... Excuse me?”

“N-Not in a weird way, or anything like that!” Stutters Yashiro, fumbling with the miniature wooden box in her shaking, manicured grasp. “They’re just little cheap ones. I saw them on display at the mall, and I couldn’t just not… plus, do you even know what day it is?”

Hanako raises a brow. “Enlighten me.”

“It’s our six-months-as-roommates-a-versary!”

“Wow.”

“I’m really happy you recognize the importance here, Hanako-kun. Now stick out your hand so I can put yours on! And then you do me!”

If he didn’t know any better, Hanako would wonder how Yashiro gets anything done with those delicate fingers of hers. They’re as soft-looking and malleable and enticingly peachy as the rest of her, topped off at their gracefully tapered ends with a neat coat of ruby red. They dance along everything they touch, nimble little ballerinas hopping from pose to pose, commanding rapt attention wherever they leap.

As his own hand raises to meet hers, he must fight the urge to clench into an ugly, defensive fist.

The first touch sends something like electricity ricocheting down his spine like lightning through a weather vane. She is so gentle. How can she be so gentle? How can she be so round-edged and rosy-cheeked and expect him to just stand here, wordlessly, with nothing to do or say about it? How can she live in his house for six months and celebrate, rather than mourn? How can she look at him, a creature innate to unsightly presence and habit, and say to herself: this is something worthy of care.

The second touch is just as unnerving, but for all the wrong reasons.

“I thought you said this was cheap,” grits Hanako, exhaling sharply through his nose as the silver ring slides slow and meticulously down the length of his finger.

Yashiro pauses, eyes narrowed. “Is it not? How can you even tell?”

“A-allergic… !”

To her credit, she’s properly mortified. Yashiro almost falls all over herself to wrench the offending piece of jewelry off and away, apologizing profusely as she studies the burn wound on his middle finger. Her mouth twists into a tense little knot. Hanako wants to smooth it out.

Instead, he follows her obediently into her bathroom after she tells him to come inside and sit his ass down on the toilet -- which he does, sheepishly.

“I can’t believe -- oh, God, I’m so sorry, Hanako-kun… Just, hold still okay? It’s only gonna hurt a little, I promise.”

It’s an injury that would’ve long since healed itself by now, if he were in any other state than the one he currently occupies; which is to say that he’s rather unhealthy. Which is to say that the rats and possums and other small rodents he guiltily entraps in the alley behind the house do nothing besides sate a momentary desire. Which is to say that it is impossibly difficult to keep himself aware and conscious and disciplined enough not to careen head-first into Yashiro’s exposed clavicle and unhinge his jaw and feel his skull shift to accommodate the extra layer of fangs and sink his claws into her perfect, supple hips and feel her go paralyzed with terror as he--

“Okay! All done. Do you feel better now?”

“Yes.” It’s a pretty bandage. Pink and bright with tiny dancing radishes along the perimeter.

“I really am sorry,” mumbles Yashiro, encasing his frigid hands with her own, squeezing and rubbing with her soft thumbs. “I don’t ever want to hurt you. You’ve always -- you’re always so kind to me, all the time, and it just seems like… well, I don’t know. Lately I feel like I just never know how to help you, Hanako-kun. I feel like I just make things… worse. So can you promise me something?”

“Anything,” says Hanako, unblinkingly, because blinking is a sign of dishonesty.

“You have to tell me when you need something. Or when you don’t need something. Or when you -- uh, well, I really want you to be honest with me. Okay? Can you promise me that? Because it makes me really sad that you struggle with… a lot, and there’s not so much I know about how to help. So, please? Do you promise? To be honest?”

“I promise,” says Hanako, unblinkingly, because blinking is a sign of dishonestly and also because he can’t close his eyes without seeing her body splayed out in the bathtub behind her, limbs limp and gore overflowing past the rim and into his eagerly awaiting mouth. In this fantasy, he uses his tongue to follow the carmine droplets bulleting down the porcelain edge, licking and slurping until he reaches the source of the mess, the heart of the storm, the original inspiration to all his reverence. He would take his time.

(Or would he lose himself? Would it be hands-on? Would it be messy?)

“Thank you for trusting me. I trust you… with my life, you know. Maybe it’s naive, but I hope one day you could do the same.”

He can’t touch her, not right now, even though she looks like she’s about to shake apart at the seams. All Hanako can do is watch from a safe distance, and wonder. And want. And ache.

As always.

5. Blood

She comes home early.

Hanako has only just padded his way into the kitchen when he hears the front door unlock. Is it that time, already? No, it can’t be. Yashiro usually arrives when he is just settling in to go back to sleep. She brings with her the pale light of a budding dawn, and although Hanako regrets their sparse interactions and conflicting schedules, he’d rather not disintegrate into a pile of ashes atop the living room couch just because he felt like saying welcome home, honey.

Tonight is different, apparently. A cursory glance thrown over to the microwave clock reveals that it’s only a few minutes past the witching hour. And despite there being a total absence of sunlight when Yashiro opens the door, Hanako still falls to his knees in a sudden onslaught of unadulterated agony.

His vision turns spotty, only worsening as Yashiro rushes inside and screams at the sight of his crumpled body. “Hanako-kun? Oh my God! Oh my God, can you hear me?”

Barely, is what he wants to say, but can’t. His throat is too tight, too dry. His mouth begins to salivate at an alarmingly disgusting rate.

That smell.

Pathetically, he crawls over to her on his hands and knees, body running on autopilot as it drives him towards the source. Hanako can feel his body shift and transform with the pavlovian response he’s developed over the decades -- an instinct borne out of the memory of a chase, of a hunt,of warm flesh twisting and stretching and tearing underneath his capable grasp, of muffled screams and kicking legs and the eventual, gradual descent into permanent stillness, of hands scrabbling desperately into dirt, into pavement, into carpet, as they scream his name and beg him -- no -- no, stop -- what are you -- Hanako-san--!

Blood. But, not just any kind of blood.

Fresh, human blood.

Six months is a very, very long time to go without food.

The scent wafts from the messenger bag thrown haphazardly over Yashiro’s shoulder. Hanako claws weakly at it, burying his nose into the worn fabric and moaning in relief at the contact.

“Fuck,” he sighs, breathy. The debauched soundtrack of his own muffled desperation would embarrass him, probably, if he were cognizant of anything other than the metallic tang filling his nostrils.

The last thing he remembers is Yashiro running her fingers through his hair, shushing him quietly.

And then it all fades to black.

“Oh, Good. You’re awake!”

Hanako gets about halfway through a sarcastic reply before something is shoved past his lips. Something… familiar. Something -- bendy?

“Drink up,” huffs Yashiro, pushing the straw more firmly into his mouth. “You’re lucky we had a contaminated batch of bags today. I-it’s still safe to drink, though! Or at least… I hope… tell me if it tastes funny, okay? Jeez, Hanako-kun… I didn’t know you were so hungry! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?

His lack of a response only propels her onward.

“Well… I know you don’t like to talk about it… I’m sorry if this is making you uncomfortable, but I couldn’t just sit and watch you waste away--”

“You knew?”

“... Um. Was I not supposed to know?”

“You knew,” Hanako repeats numbly around the plastic in his mouth, dumbfounded. “This whole time, you knew.”

Unimpressed, Yashiro raises an eyebrow. “That you’re a vampire? Duh. Allergic to garlic? And silver? And sunlight? I’m not stupid, and you aren’t nearly as slick as you think you are, mister.”

The chuckle she gives after this quickly peters off into something more melancholy, a little bit darker in origin. From where she’s perched on the couch, leaning above him to adjust the straw’s positioning into the medical packet on his chest, Hanako can see the sorrow, there, in her big, doe-like eyes.

“You never brought it up… and I didn’t want to overstep any boundaries! I’ve never, erm, done ‘this’ before… if you couldn’t already tell. But since you never said anything… I just thought that, I don’t know? Maybe my blood wasn’t good enough to drink, or something like tha--”

“That is absolutely not the case.”

He’s quick to cut her off. Too quick. “Far from it, really,” he attempts to joke in an effort to lessen the intensity of the blow, but the damage has already been done. Yashiro’s hand freezes around the blood bag, her eyes flitting up to lock onto his own.

It’s unfairly attractive, the way her blush blossoms across her face. Hanako takes a long drag from the straw and swallows, never breaking his stare.

“I would… definitely be okay. More than okay. With doing -- ahem. That.”

“Drinking,” supplies Nene, so quietly that Hanako reads her lips more than he hears the charged word spill from her pink, glistening tongue. “You’d drink from me?”

What a question. Oh, if only she knew.

“Sure,” he hums, easily, “as long as you promise not to bring home anymore garlic bread. Especially not from that mangy mutt.”

“Hey, that isn’t very nice! Kou-kun isn’t… wait. You’re… you don’t mean…?”

“Yep.”

“Oh my god. That’s why you don’t like him!”

“His pack leader really, really hates me. Heh.”

“You know, you probably shouldn’t look so pleased about that.” She says, with a fond smile. Hanako wants to taste it.

On his next sip, he’s met with an ugly slurping sound. Normally, the fact that he’d sucked down a pint of blood in less than five minutes would be cause for concern. But his circumstances are not normal. His circumstances haven’t been normal for quite a good while, really, and Hanako can’t bring himself to think about it too hard. Not when his worst bad habit is within arms’ reach; not when she’s digging into her bag and procuring another packet of blood for him to puncture with the blunt end of his straw.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, awestruck.

“And I’ve got seven more where that came from! So just take your time, okay? No rush. I’ll stay here and make sure you get your fill… I promise.”

Hanako thinks he will hold her to that.

+1: Feeding

This is nothing like the first time, which is what he’d originally been terrified of. This is nothing like the second, or third, or fourth or fiftieth or hundredth time.

(How could it be? How could having her pliant and wanton underneath his capable grasp be anything other than pure ecstasy?)

Before he takes the plunge, he -- has to warn her. Again. Just in case she’s changed her mind. “Last chance,” Hanako breathes into the fleshy meat of her, the aroma of pumping blood doing unspeakable things to his mind. “This is your last chance to back out, Yashiro.”

She’s pretty as a portrait, the way she shifts and wriggles underneath his body reminiscent of the melding of a varied color palette coming together in one grand, epic composition.

But he’s about to stain her in monochrome.

“Don’t be gentle,” Yashiro gasps, dragging his hands to hold her down. “I’m not afraid o-of a little mess.”

You should have been, thinks Hanako, mournfully, as he paints his first stroke of bright, brilliant red.

#hananene fic #hananene ao3 #tbhk fic #jshk fic #hanako x yashiro #hanako x nene #amane yugi x yashiro #amane yugi x nene #toilet bound hanako kun fic #jibaku shounen hanako kun fic #my writing

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widow-maximov · 3 years

Note

Hi can I request the the boys of the OG6 acting like older brothers of Natasha and then literally interrogating ceo!reader or something bc they’re known for being a player?

Natasha’s just watching them and being embarrassed.

You don’t have to if you don’t want to:)

Anything for you

Pairing: Natasha x Reader

Warning: Language, fluff, angst :3

Summary: Your past impacted your future and others trust, are you able to change for her?

Word count: 3.7k

My requests are always open so feel more than welcome to pop in a suggestion for the next story :3

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Being in a relationship has never been easy in your life, especially since you are the richest person alive, along side with Tony Stark. Since your dad retired and gave you the company you were doing pretty good for someone your age.

You were a 'player' or well that's what people did describe you, but you liked to call yourself adventurous, it was more of a stress relief type of hook ups never more never less.

Half of the time you thought that since you have money people will use you for it so you kept your cold bitch face and kept going with life.

There was a reason behind that thinking, you remember like it was yesterday. Back when you had less responsibilities on your head, you did date.

There was this boy, who was the most respected person in school, he always helped everyone and even turned you into a bit more social and nicer person to which you gained popularity.

You were practically swooned over this guy, not him as a boy but his personality, he 'loved' you or at least that's what you thought. Since you gained respect of practically every person in the school, there were rumours that your boyfriend only used you for the money.

He had a whole plan of how to get your money, by marrying you like he was going to stick with you for a very long time just so he can take your money and leave you dry.

At first you didn't want to believe it until you overheard his conversation with his friends, he was laughing and just being a dick about your whole relationship, telling them what you told him in secret.

You ended up getting revenge, since you were able to get away with most things, you actually punched him and outed him to the whole school with how he treated you, he was suspended and your father moved you to another school for 'punishment' but he really did you a favour.

Every since that you questioned any relationships after that, whether it was with girls or boys, to you they all seemed the same as your ex. So you stuck with being single for sometime until you accidently slept with someone at a party and that's where you picked up the habits of sleeping around.

It did kind of stop when you took over after your dad retired but as soon as you were doing a good enough job and providing the best solutions for the issues that occurred, you practically had many women in your office, no matter the time.

You tried not to mix work with your sex life which meant your workers were your workers and nothing else but there was an exemption, there was a woman, her name is Ava, who used to work along side of your dad and now she works along side of you, she become your casual hook up which sometimes interfered with work.

Since you always believed in good, Ava suggested for you to work with the Avengers, you agreed and reached out to Tony and offered a deal to help him with anything he needs but you wanted intel on everything they do which meant you were there pretty often.

When you first met the team, it was only a couple of them as most were away from a mission, they were a family that you wanted and lacked. Your father never was a feeling type of guy and your mother never really cared unless she didn't get her money.

The Avengers were different and even if you weren't physically fighting with them, you helped them out a lot since they ruined a lot of property to which you were quick to act to some point you were considered their teammate.

When you met this one particular team mate, you instantly knew she was different. You knew she existed from them being featured on the news but face to face with these people were so different. She was the reason you changed so much.

The more you started to spend time with the Avengers the more you were fascinated by her. Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, the Russian, the redhead, you preferred stunning but Natasha would have to do.

She was just as into you as you were into her and you wasn't hiding it, you were obvious which only encouraged her to continue her exploring. Everyone warned her about you but she was too blind and stubborn to care.

You stopped sleeping around when you started to hang around the team more often, which didn't go unnoticed by your own company, especially Ava who worked with you, was she jealous? Of course, to the point where she tried to ruin your chance with Natasha.

You were busy that day, like really busy, ever since you were taking things with Natasha at some pace, you would neglect your work and overload Ava, she didn't mind it because in return she wanted you and she was going to succeed.

She was all over you to which you never paid any attention, your mind was occupied with Natasha, you literally did everything to spend more of your time with the Russian rather than here being a CEO.

You was standing near the elevators, talking to one of your other business partners and Ava was next to you since she was in a way involved into your business.

Natasha was planning to visit you at work as you couldn't leave this time, she wants to watch you be a badass CEO, it turned her on when you bossed people around plus it was more time together so she didn't mind.

Natasha appeared out of the Elevator to which she was spotted by Ava, there was a smirk at her lips as she started her plan. When you and the business partner made a joke, she laughed as she placed her hand gently on your shoulder.

Natasha saw it all, she narrowed her eyes and waited for you to push her away, here where the problems comes. The company didn't know who you starting to change for, so when the next person saw Natasha and where she was looking, they made a comment.

"I wouldn't look so surprised, they had a thing on and off all the time, since Y/n took over, Ava has been sneaking around but we all know"

Natasha nodded with a fake smile and turned around to the elevator, it took everything in her to turn around because all she wanted to do was walk towards you and Ava and literally kill yous on spot.

When Natasha arrived back, the team noticed her sudden change in her behaviour.

"Nat are you okay?" Steve questioned first as he observed the redhead.

She stiffly nodded and proceeded to walk out to her room but Thor stopped her "Okay, you're not okay now tell us what's wrong."

Natasha faced her team mates "It's stupid"

Clint shook his as he sipped his drink "It's not stupid if it's upsetting you"

Tony crossed his arms "Okay, spill Romanoff"

Natasha sighed as she walked over to where they were and sat in between them "I'm having doubts"

Bruce's head popped out from underneath a table "Doubts about what?"

"About what's going on between me and Y/n.." Natasha hesitantly told them.

Steve's frowned at her "Why?"

"I went to visit Y/n at work today and I hate to admit it but I don't think the player habits have stopped, it just worries me that I am being maybe used.." As Natasha finished, she was looking anywhere else but them.

Tony pulled Natasha into his side "It's okay, you have us to protect you, also I think Fury was looking for you so you might want to check that out first"

She nodded and just when she was about to stand up, Tony pulled her into a hug and suddenly everyone wants to hug her to which they did. They had their turn whispering sweet things to Natasha to calm her a little.

"We are having a party later" Tony announced just before the Russian left, she nodded at him and as soon as she left, they turned to each other.

"Okay, here is the plan, the party is there to keep her occupied whilst we question Y/n. I'm not going to allow a player break her sweet heart" Tony spoke up again as he looked from Steve to Bruce.

"I will get the ropes ready..." Clint stated as if he done this before.

Thor looked at Clint confused "I want to ask but at the same time I don't"

Tony rolled his eyes "It doesn't matter, we are going to find out and then decided what we should do with Y/n if it's true"

They all nodded and did their secret handshake that Natasha wasn't apart off because it was dedicated to her to protect her. They split and went to fulfil their parts of this secret mission.

Tony alerted you of the party, Steve kept his eyes on the door to see if you arrive, Bruce takes care of Ava or any other people, Thor takes you away as he is very convincing and Clint prepares for anything that could somehow disrupt the interrogation.

You were worried, each time you would message Natasha there would be no reply, that never happened before which was even more worrying. Your first irrational thought was to sleep with someone to take off the stress but after taking a deep breath you knew this isn't a way to solve this, you needed to talk to Natasha.

As soon as you received a text from Tony about a party, there was some sort of relief in your mind, she was busy with preparing maybe that's why she couldn't answer you.

You told Ava about the party so she cancelled any late meetings, any parties that Tony Stark planned had everyone invited so since you were a business partner of Tony, your whole company was invited meaning Ava was going to be there.

You always had a emergency suit in your office for unannounced parties when you had been stuck at the company for too long. You was ready within minutes and was out the door alone as quick as possible, in hopes that you will talk to Natasha before she gets lost in the part world.

You rushed over and as soon as you gotten into the building Thor stood in your way "Oh hello Thor, sorry I can't talk I'm in a bit of a rush.."

He simply smiled at you "It's okay but Tony really needs you, it has to wait"

You were going to protest but he pulled you along with him, he was much more stronger than you so you had no chance and just followed him.

He didn't simply let you walk in, he pushed you inside as he locked the door behind him, you huffed as you turned to face the door that now was locked, you looked around and suddenly Tony with Clint emerged from the wall.

"Woah, that's cool" You had your brows raised at their new thing.

"So why was I shoved in here?" You questioned now with a serious face.

Clint walked over to you and before you could move away he had you tied with this new invention, you looked at him with shock and then back at the ropes, he placed you down on a chair as suddenly everyone else but Natasha walk into the room.

Now you are surrounded by 5 Avengers death staring you like you had killed someone that was related to them "What is happening?"

Tony had a serious face "You're going to tell us about Ava"

You frowned in confusion "What are you talking about?"

Steve had his arms crossed "We want to know what is going on between you and Ava"

The boys tried their best to keep this whole thing a secret but Natasha was a spy after all so she knew what they were doing, she didn't want to stop them because if it meant somehow getting out the truth without lies she was okay with it, obviously to some extent, she didn't want them to hurt you so she observed from the other room.

"Is there suppose to be something going on between me and her?" You questioned as you stared at Steve with a serious face.

Bruce walked closer as he bend down to your face "There is 5 of us and just you, think wisely before answering Y/l/n"

Were you scared? A little, he was right you were alone and no one knew you were here, but you knew they wouldn't do anything to you well at least that's what you'd like to think.

"I will ask again, what is going on with you and Ava?" Tony spoke as Bruce walked back to where he stood before.

"Nothing is going on between me and her, what makes you think that?" You questioned this time.

Clint sighed as he dropped his hands "Because we know you were involved with her sexually"

You narrowed your eyes "So you five kidnapped me, tied and now you're asking me if I'm still sleeping with Ava, acting like this is your business because?"

Tony scoffed "Because you're messing with our family and we don't like people who hurt our family.."

"I'm not messing with no one-" You were quick to disagree but stopped yourself when you realised who they were referring to.

"You mean Natasha..." You spoke but rather to yourself than them.

"I'm not messing with Natasha" You stated simply.

"Then why is Ava all over you?" Clint asked as he crossed his arms this time.

"How am I suppose to know, I'm not a mind reader"

Clint faced Tony "Okay, I believe Y/n"

You smiled slightly at Clint, but his comment only caused an argument, your eyes wondered around the room, that's when you noticed that the corner of the room is different half way up as if there was glass, not making it obvious that you knew.

You cleared your throat "Can I say something?"

They all looked back at you and nodded in sync "I know yous don't trust me but I will try everything to show you that I don't have bad intentions when it comes to Natasha, now please can you let me go I really need to go"

Tony narrowed his eyes "If you want to show us that we can trust you then tell us where you are in such a rush"

You swallowed hard, you didn't want Natasha to find out this way so you tried your luck again "I can't tell you, I need to go"

Tony inhaled sharply as he looked over at the boys "Well what do you guys say about a round of beers and come back here in an hour to see if Y/n will say something then"

Thor smirked "We can also put the heating on, making it a little too hot here for our little Y/n here"

They all nodded and there was a sense of panic across your face "Okay stop, I will speak"

They all had a smirk and you just continued "I am in a rush to talk to Natasha.."

"Why?" Steve spoke as he walked a little closer to you.

"Well I was planning to do this face to face not through the glass but I'm head over hills with Natasha and I was planning to ask her out but I guess now she knows" You sighed with slight disappointment.

Tony was the one frowning with confusion "What do you mean? Through glass?"

You looked over at the glass "If you really think you know Natasha then think twice, because this woman is a spy, she is behind that glass listening to this"

Clint face palmed himself "I knew this was too good to be true"

Tony pulled out his remote that controlled the glass, he turned off the camouflage and there she stood, with her arms crossed and an embarrassed look across her face, well it was a death stare but you could tell them apart.

As your eyes landed on her face, a smile found it way on your lips really quickly, she always did that to you and you loved that feeling even if you were slightly terrified of it but you would do anything for Natasha even deal with your own issues for her.

Clint walked over as he untied you and allowed you to stand up with a little whine from the pain that the rope left behind, you looked at the boys and they moved out of your way, you looked at them and gave them a small nod as you proceeded your way out.

"You better not hurt her Y/l/n or you'll regret it" Tony simply whispered but just enough so you heard him, you looked at him and nodded with a smile.

You walked out of the room and shutting the door behind you, taking a deep breath and finally looking to your right as your eyes were met with the Russian's green ones, she was staring at you from across and all you wanted to do was pull her into you.

Nothing else but her was on your mind, you walked over to her and just stared at her without saying anything. You didn't even know what words would be right to say so instead she took your hand and pulled you to a less visited balcony.

She stood couple steps away from you to which she spoke up first "Did you mean it?"

Her naturally raspy voice was music to your ears, so you simply nodded because words could betray you quite easily, she sighed with relief as she looked down.

The boost of courage coursed through your body, you took those couple steps towards her as you placed your hand under her chin, making her look up at you.

"Natasha I am sorry if I made you feel like you were nothing more than some cheap hook up because you aren't and you never will be." You started off with an apology still holding her chin.

"You mean so much to me, you out of everyone could make me want to change is a lot for me, I knew the second that I would do anything for you that I was falling for you" This time you held her face with both of your hands as your eyes started to gloss.

"I also never told you how stunning you look" You manged to chuckle out before letting tears slowly fall from your eyes.

She chuckled with you as she wiped your tear of your cheeks "Thank you"

"I'm also sorry for them acting like that" Natasha tucked a fallen hair behind your ear.

You shook your head "You don't need to be sorry because if you made you more at ease then I would even let them kidnap me everyday if it meant you would feel better"

A smile made its way on her lips this time "I think I'm falling for you too" She whispered it as she searched in your eyes for any emotions.

You smiled with a relief sigh "We can take this at any pace you want and if you ever doubt anything, talk to me I will even take a lie detector test for you Nat"

She giggled as she nodded, instead of replying she hugged into your chest with a smile across her lips, you let your arms snake around her and close your eyes at her warmth.

You pulled away slightly just enough to be inches away from each other lips, you looked into her eyes and with confirmation from both parts you kiss her, your eyes flattered shut as if to see if this wasn't a dream.

You pulled away and rested your forehead against hers as you looked into her eyes, completely being pulled deeply into this moment, not realising that practically everyone could see this, but as long as you had Natasha with you, you didn't care.

The next day, you made Natasha meet you at the company along with Ava, Natasha worried rushed to you as she spotted you. Her eyes were quick to narrow at Ava.

You looked over at Natasha and with a smile you walked over to her as you took her hand and walked back to where you were, this time Ava had her eyes narrowed at Natasha.

"What am I doing here Y/n/n?" The redhead spoke up as she looked over at you.

"This is my way of showing that you can trust me Natty" You looked back at her with a smile.

She was still confused, so you looked over at Ava as you held a letter out to her, she hesitantly took it and opened it as her eyes scanned the paper so quickly.

"You're moving me to another work place?!" She screamed as she looked back at you.

You nodded with a smile across your lips "Yes, I have heard from so many people that you have been complaining about getting here so I did you a favour and moved you closer to where you live"

You pulled Natasha into you but kept your eyes on Ava, who pointed at Natasha "This is your fault, if you weren't here I would still have my chance"

You rolled your eyes, the Russian was ready to knock her out but you held her by her waist pretty firmly as you spoke "Don't blame this on others, this is all on you, it might be hard to understand for you but I didn't want anything else from you, now go pack your stuff as your new place awaits you"

She scoffed as she stormed away, you waved her goodbye as you giggled along with Natasha, you looked over to the redhead at your side, she smiled at you and without words, she kissed you to which you accepted it with open arms.

You wanted everyone to know she was taken by you and you were taken by her. She made you happy and you would do anything to prove to her that she is the one who has your heart.

⸻⸻⋙☸⋘⸻⸻

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#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha x reader #natasha fluff #black widow #natasha romanoff x reader #reader #marvel #the avengers #natasha romanov

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ghoulschooldropout · 2 years

Note

Literally had no idea you had OCs I would have been sending asks this WHOLE TIME spill the beans about them please and thank you 👁👁

you're all getting big ol' cartoony bugs bunny smooches rn i swear<3

OK SO most of my OCs are created through my writing, so a lot of them I don't have drawings of (yet! I'm working on it) and all my fics are WIPs but i can give you a brief intro/over-view of the main OCs that occupy my brain...

(BEWARE: VERY LONG)

Nathaniel J. Pearce (Nate) - the "canon" Sole Survivor - he/him

MY MAIN MAN i have like 5 WIP fics currently going for him...(the pic above is from a comic I’ve been working on, I’m not sure when I’ll finish it tbh, I’m currently in the process of redrawing old pages bc the style was so outdated)

He is the middle sibling of 3: younger brother Adrian & older brother Ethan- they have their own stories going on for them too but I won't get into that

He grew up poor in a very bad family situation, let’s just say his dad was out of the picture & he never had a great paternal role model (other than his brother who was only 4 years older than him). his mother also struggled with addiction & depression and was eventually institutionalized at Parson’s Asylum. so through his teenage years he and Adrian lived with their grandmother (Ethan left and joined the army straight out of high school)

Music was his passion & life's ambition before the war: he plays guitar, trumpet, and piano (his favorite). he also loves to sing & he writes his own music (but NOT the lyrics bc he thinks he is bad with words/poetry)

He was going to college for robotics & computer programming but he dropped out to pursue a career as a musician; this is how he ended up working construction as his day job, and spending his nights entertaining at a club as part of a band in the pre-war combat zone (where he met Nora)

Then of course to be canon compliant he was drafted into the war (turns out he is great at it) which killed a little bit of his soul and fucked up one of his hands; afterwards he swore off violence & promised himself he would never take a life ever again for any reason (which causes him a lot of pain, self-hatred, & inner-conflict post-war as you can imagine)

Before the bombs dropped he was planning to go back to school to become a music teacher

He struggles with PTSD, alcohol abuse/dependency, and grief; basically he's a mess mentally but like who wouldn't be in his position tbh?

Personality-wise he’s a people pleaser and a peace-maker, he gets nervous easily and feels awkward often but he is really good at hiding it. most people think he is very easy-going and likeable with a winning smile (but really he just smiles and jokes/laughs a lot when he’s uncomfortable)

He would probably consider Piper to be his best friend, with Nick and Cait as close runner-ups, but he’s also extremely close to MacCready & Deacon (they sort of fill the bickering brother-shaped holes in his life)

Nick is his love-interest; slow-burn, lots of pining bc they both think the other isn’t interested (& they have Issues) so they don’t get their shit together until after Far Harbor (After the Institute’s destruction)

I don’t really have an over-arching story for him, I just love using Nate to write scenes & give life & detail to the Commonwealth/Fallout 4. So I’ve created a lot of side characters/OCs by giving names, faces, and personalities to the NPCs he meets (such as Minutemen, Triggermen, & Raiders)

this is a lot of information and it’s not even Everything about him! so feel free to ask more facts about him I would be happy to share!!!

I’ve posted a little bit of him HERE, HERE, & HERE (His face is inconsistent, I know, I haven’t got him “just right” yet)

Lenora Mission-Pearce (Nora or Lenny) - she/they

(sorry the only pic I have rn is a doodle I made with the vague idea of her in mind- I’m working on a character sheet!)

Lenora is my sole survivor in an alternate universe where Nate never comes back from Anchorage, so she is a widowed single mother raising Shaun on her own (+Codsworth ofc)

Since there’s no backup Kellogg is less inclined to shoot her when attempting to kidnap Shaun, so in the end they kidnap them Both

The Institute offer her a place to stay there with Shaun, which she accepts at first (feeling she has no choice)

Of course she’s very nosy and asks too many questions & gets on the nerves of the Director, she befriends some Gen 2 synths (they are more human than the Institute gives them credit for) and learns about the organic synth plan (they leave out they are using her son for it), and THEN she finds out that the director kidnapped the rest of the Vault 111 residents and is using them for FEV experimentation which is the last straw leading to a confrontation with the director

the fight goes Very Badly and she asks to leave which presents a problem for the Institute bc they can’t let her go (she knows too much) but they can’t kill her (she’s befriended too many scientists and they would mutiny if her termination ever got out) so they end up forcing her & Shaun back under freeze in Vault 111 (they got what they needed from Shaun, but might as well keep him safe under freeze in case they need him again)

SO eventually she gets released 60ish years later and she’s fucking PISSED and ready to start a war with the Institute but she also has to face the difficulties of raising an infant by herself in the wasteland

So overall it’s Lone Wolf and Cub sort of adventures, with her desire for revenge against the institute keeping her from settling down

BACKGROUND & PREWAR INFO - she grew up rich, her parents divorced when she was young, her dad is Boston’s District Attorney, she went to boarding school where she met and fell in love with Jennifer Lands, so eventually when Jenny moves to Boston with Nick she becomes roommates with Lenora (causing Lenora to want to leave her apartment often and get drunk, which is how she meets Nate), Nate becomes her best friend very quickly and she loves him a lot & marries him but she never considered herself “in love” with him like he was with her

POST-BOMBS, her best friends are Nick and Codsworth

her love interest is Hancock, it’s an enemies to friends to lovers dynamic, they clash and argue a lot but they come to respect each other, Hancock definitely falls first. eventually they rile each other up for fun because they like arguing with each other (and the sex is great)

personality wise Lenora is very straight-forward and blunt, she is competitive, prefers to get her way, and is extremely smart. she speaks her mind and isn’t afraid to make enemies by doing so. honest to a fault. she has a bit of a temper, but she has it very under control (she is a professional after all). she loves her son more than anything in this world and will destroy anything or anyone that threatens her and her baby

Lucinda Mission AKA "Cinder" (Cindy, Cici, Boss, Cinder) - ghoul - raider boss - she/her (pre-war) they/them (post-war)

Lenora’s half-sibling (younger, father’s side)

They were a chemist before the war

They were on their way to Nora’s house to take Shaun to the park when the bombs dropped and they ended up ghoulified

By the time Nora finds them, Lucinda is the leader of a raider gang occupying the Ironworks by Finch Farm and goes by the name Cinder

They offer settlements in their “territory” protection from other gangs & defense from mutants in exchange for “taxes”

Eventually Cinder & Nora work together to create a unity/treaty between the settlements, minutemen, & raider gangs (but not without a lot of conflict and fights first)

Eventually they become the Nuka-World Overboss

They have an affinity for chems, fire, & demolition, and prefer to use the Shishkebob (flamesword) as weapon

Personality-wise they are a boss ass bitch and they know it, their sense of humor has been warped a bit over the centuries, they can be a hard-ass and even a bit cruel at times but they are a good person still at heart and command respect from their gang

No drawings of Cinder yet unfortunately :(

Amias - super mutant courier six - he/they

Amias’s story is a little muddy, especially to Amias himself who has a lot of memory problems already (getting shot in the head was no help there)

He was turned into a super mutant when he was twelve by his own mother who believed she was “saving” him - his memory of this is warped due to trauma so he thinks that someone was forcing her to do this

Since he was turned so young he is a bit smaller than most mutants, but also because of his age his body was able to adapt better and grow into his mutation than those that were turned as adults

He’s very smart, he has an affinity for computers and robots, and he loves to read and he writes poetry (his handwriting is not the best though)

After his mutation he is abandoned by his mother & “family” (the organization they were a part of) so for many years he wandered the west coast looking for them

Because of this he has wanderlust & gets restless being in one place for long

Eventually as he travelled people asked him to pass along messages & packages as he went and he found himself becoming a courier

He has forgotten most of what has happened in those years searching for his family and it bothers/haunts him, he remembers somethings in his dreams but they are startling & out of context and only serve to stress him out more wondering what part of him he is missing

During New Vegas he becomes close to Raul, Lily, and Arcade (and he never goes anywhere without Ed-e)

He develops a big crush on Arcade, but it is unrequited

He doesn’t like the NCR (and they don’t really like him either) and he hates the Legion, so after befriending Yes-man he fights for an independent (and mutant friendly) New Vegas - but he has no interest in running things so he leaves the Mojave afterwards

Eventually he hears rumors of the Memory Den and so he makes his way east, hopeful to recover his memory & the part of him he thinks is missing... (Where he can become a Companion and you can convince him whether or not the memories are important to his identity)

You can also see Amias HERE

Clyde T. Spade (Courier, Spade, or Clyde)- she/they/his (genderfluid)

I created Clyde by accident, they started out as just a courier I could juxtapose with drawings of Benny (because I find courier/Benny relationship vastly entertaining) but then I started giving her a personality

Spade & Benny’s relationship is volatile and defined by their attempts to kill each other, but they are also inexplicably attracted to each other which makes things weird and complicated

They end up taking over New Vegas together (after Spade has to chase Benny across half the damn Mojave and convince him they actually like the guy despite wanting to kill him sometimes)

I honestly don’t think I have much to say about him right now other than I love drawing a seductive little bastard giving Benny trouble

I don’t know, it’s like this:

you can also see Spade HERE & HERE

Sharps & Maverick (Troy Merritt & Brian Maverick/Z4-21, package deal)

these guys were my first ever fallout OCs, i think i first created them back in high school? I used to have a few drawings of them but they were on a flash drive that is unfortunately no longer with us (RIP)

Sharps & Maverick are business partners that run a caravan company out of the Commonwealth, at least that is what it is on the surface

Their company can be hired to provide protection (normal caravan guards, but also Advanced Protection), but they can also be hired as couriers & delivery across the Commonwealth

They don’t discriminate to whom they provide their services-- be it for the triggerman, gunners, raiders, settlers, the railroad, the brotherhood, etc.

They refuse to traffick people, but they do offer synths jobs on caravans so they can discretely leave the region

Sharps manages most of the business side, the money, the routes, etc.

Maverick doesn’t care much for the details of the business, he enjoys being hands on with the caravans and the people themselves, and he trains Deathclaws & Mutts to provide the company’s Advanced Protection services

The nature of their caravan is mostly hush-hush and underground, they do a lot of their transportation at night, so they’ve managed to go under the Institute’s radar for a long time until Maverick gets replaced by Z4-21

Sharps realizes something is wrong with Maverick pretty quickly, but he lacks the proof and conviction to do anything (but he does start filtering the information he tells Maverick)

This is where the Sole Survivor can come in, they can be introduced to their organization through the Railroad, the Brotherhood, or possibly the Minutemen (looking for an alliance to aid with supply lines)

(or I guess you can come with the Institute to try and destroy/take over the caravan company)

You can convince Sharps to hire you to investigate Maverick (it helps if you have Nick Valentine with you)

You can investigate Maverick’s bedroom & terminal, go to Maverick’s last known whereabouts before his noticeable personality change (according to Sharps), or you can tail Maverick to see/report if he does anything suspicious (you’ll probably have to do all three & make sure you get concrete evidence, Sharps takes a lot of convincing to betray/confront Maverick)

Of course you can confront “Maverick” directly and if you’re convincing enough he will confess to being a replacement, but he will tell you he means Sharps (and the company) no harm and doesn’t want to work for the Institute (it’s up to you to decide if he’s lying)

The ending and what happens to Maverick is really up to you

Depending on the outcome you choose, if you’re aligned with the minutemen but not charismatic enough for the local leader perk you can use Sharps’ caravan to establish supply lines between your settlements

If you got this far I am amazed, thank you so much for reading! If you have any questions about any of them, feel free to send me an ask or DM me! I’ll be posting character sheets eventually that will be much more palatable than this exhausting wall of text, so stay tuned! <3 <3 <3

#fallout #fallout 4 #fallout new vegas #fallout ocs #fnv #fo4 #sole survivor #courier six #ghoulschooldraws #dollhouse/oc tag #nate #lenora #cinder #amias #spade #sharps & maverick #ghoulschoolasks

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tomboyneedshercoffee · 4 years

Text

Lovedust Pt.8 || Peter Parker x Stark Reader

Summary: Y/N and Josh talk things over about where they stand as Y/N tries to build the courage to confess to Peter. One night on top of the roof, Y/N and Peter reveal any secrets they’ve been keeping from each other.

Word Count: 5k

Author’s Note: This is technically the last part of Lovedust but there will be an epilogue. I was going to go a whole different direction and make it too angsty because sometimes, life works out that way but you guys deserve a happy ending ;) This series was only meant to be about three parts long but because of ow supportive and kind you all have been, I just have no words except thank you all so much. I will give a better thank you for the epilogue but until then, enjoy the chapter.

Warning: adult language

part one || part two || part three || part four || part five || part six || part seven || part eight || epilogue

You stared up at your bedroom ceiling quietly, picking at the stitching of your blanket to the point where you had about four inches of loose thread massaged between your thumb and middle finger.

Three minutes.

Peter was presumed dead for three minutes as you were giving him CPR that was literally a race against the clock. One hundred eighty seconds was the span between life or death and you couldn’t help but think of what if you had stopped after a minute? What about one hundred and seventy-nine seconds?

Three minutes. Your mind was so fucked that the only thing you could compare the time to was that Peter was dead longer than the time it took to pop a bag of popcorn in the microwave.

You thought back to the time where you had gone to California with Tony where you were alone in the hotel room while he had a conference. You remembered how scared you felt when the ground started to shake underneath you as the earth rolled underneath.

That earthquake must’ve only lasted fifteen seconds tops and yet, you felt like it was an eternity of shielding yourself underneath one of the desks that would’ve surely broken if the roof caved in overhead.

It’s odd how times works, whenever you’re in a dangerous situation, your body literally slows downtime so you can have the best chance at survival. So while those three minutes didn’t seem like a long time, the lingering fear of losing Peter after everything sent your body through emotional distress like no other.

It felt like a cruel joke; you had only come to realize you were in love with him when he was dying in front of you. What was even crueler was that even though everything seemed less complicated now that you really understood how you felt about him, it was only the tip of the iceberg.

It had been a few days since you had seen Peter since the night of the party and you felt like you were slowly losing your sanity. Your dad tried convincing you that Peter needed to be monitored for a while but maybe he just wanted you two to stay away from each other since you practically almost killed him by kissing Josh.

You loved Peter and he “loved” you yet once he was cured, he wouldn’t share the same feelings for you. What would happen once he was cured? How different would things be between you, especially since you would be having feelings for someone who doesn’t love you back?

Loving someone who surely wasn’t in love with you felt like a whole new level of self-destruction.

Your phone rang from underneath your pillow and temporarily interrupted your thoughts. You reached under the pillow to pull out your phone to find that Josh was calling you.

You inhaled sharply as you practically leaped out from under your covers, unsure of what to do.

The last you heard from Josh was the night of the party but just like Peter, you hadn’t seen or spoke to him since. That wasn’t the full truth, Josh had been texting you to make sure you were okay but you didn’t have the strength to even reply to his worried texts.

Poor Josh. He felt like an innocent bystander who got hit in the crossfire of what was going on between you and Peter.

In past relationships, you were like Josh. Your past boyfriends seem to always treat you as a rebound, a backup in case things went south and as gross as it made you feel, it was like you could sort of understand why your exes felt that way.

You didn’t want to lead Josh on, he was too nice of a guy to deserve that type of treatment. Your thumb hovered over the screen and you answered his call at the last second. He deserved that at the least.

“ Hey sorry, I was um, preoccupied. Is everything okay?” You asked as you started to pace your room.

“ I was going to ask the same for you. You haven’t been answering my texts and I was getting worried.”

You bit the inside of your cheek as a wave of guilt washed over you,” Y-Yeah I’m sorry. I’ve just been going through some stuff. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“ You don’t have to apologize, I get it. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something in person, are you doing anything at the moment?

You rolled your shoulders back as you let out a deep sigh. In all honesty, you didn’t feel like leaving your room but if you were going to pick Peter over Josh, you also would have to owe him an explanation.

“ Okay, where do you want to meet?”

“ We can meet outside your complex, I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“ Oh that’s probably easier anyway, when are you gonna come over?” You asked as you fell backwards onto your bed.

“ Um...I’m already outside.”

Your eyes widened as you scrambled over to your window to squint out towards the entrance. Sure enough, if you squinted really hard, you could make out Josh’s car outside the front gate.

“ Oh fuck! Sorry um, I’m coming out now!” You didn’t bother to let Josh respond as you hung up the phone and practically rushed out of your bedroom.

You practically sprinted across the front lawn all the way to the entrance and once you opened the gate, you leaned your body against the side of Josh’s car to help catch your breath.

“ You didn’t have to run all the way here, I could’ve waited,” Josh said with a smile as he watched you struggling.

“ I know,” You huffed as you felt yourself calm down,” but it would have been awkward if you just stood there for five minutes and watched me walk the whole way.”

“ Okay, that’s fair,” Josh chuckled as he leaned against the side of his car beside you,” I wanted to talk to you about the night of the party. I just want to make sure you’re okay and I’m sorry if I overstepped by kissing you. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

You felt your heartstrings tug at his words as you looked down at your flip flops. You didn’t know how to explain to him that he wasn’t the one who overstepped but that the kiss was never supposed to happen.

“ You don’t have to apologize Josh and you didn’t make me uncomfortable at all. It’s just...I know how you feel about me and don’t get me wrong, I’m so flattered that you actually like me because to be honest, you’re way out of my league but um,” You awkwardly rubbed your sweaty hands against your pajama bottoms and let out a shaky breath,” I thought things were fine and that they would go back to normal but um, things kinda just happened and you were there and I thought hey he’s cute, like super cute, and Kim was being so pushy-”

“ I know you have feelings for Peter, it’s okay Y/N,” Josh interrupted as he took a moment before wincing,” I didn’t mean to interrupt you but I had a feeling that’s where you were heading with it. Plus you ramble when you’re nervous and I don’t want you to say something embarrassing. ”

Bless his soul, Josh really would be the death of you.

“ Is it that obvious I like him?”

“ Painfully obvious yeah. I kinda figured you two had something going on but after you gave him CPR and you two gave each other that look, that’s when it all clicked for me,” Josh said as you felt the tips of your ears get hot.

“ Josh, I am so sorry. I really mean it when I say that you’re the sweetest guy I have ever met and I really do wish you the best,” You answered honestly and you felt even guiltier when Josh only shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You couldn’t believe that even now as you were telling Josh you didn’t share feelings for him that he was still being incredibly sweet towards you.

“ Same goes for you, I hope he treats you the way you deserve to be treated. I have to be honest and say that I can’t get rid of my feelings for you overnight but hopefully we can be friends somewhere along the line,” Josh offered as you felt your heart snap in two.

As you looked back at Josh, that’s when you could really make out the distinct difference between the two boys. You weren’t sure if what Josh was saying was truthful, he was harder to read than Peter and even though his mouth was saying one thing, you could see that there was some pain behind his brown eyes that told a different story.

Yet nonetheless, you admired that Josh, despite having the full right to completely guilt you and make you feel like shit because of what happened, still chose to put any malicious intent aside for your own good.

“ Is it okay if I hug you?” You asked as Josh returned a sweet smile, embracing you in his strong arms.

Despite the heaviness in Josh’s chest, he felt his heart flutter at the feeling of your body pressed against his. The hug was short but even in those few seconds, Josh felt himself trying to take a mental picture of this moment, something he would replay over and over as he did his best to get over you.

After Josh had left, you made your way back into your cave and hid out in your room for the rest of the night. You had school first thing in the morning and yet, you found yourself tossing and turning yet again.

To cure your restless mind, you left your room and headed into the kitchen to make tea. You were never the type to drink tea but you didn’t have the patience to just lay in bed, at least this way you were occupying your mind with something else.

As the water boiled, you kept your eyes on Peter’s bedroom door, your knee bouncing up and down as if you were anticipating him opening it. You wondered how he was feeling, considering he almost died and all.

You just wished you could have the confidence to just go up and talk to him, to admit that it was him all along and that you chose him.

You poured the tea into a mug and cradled it in your hands carefully as a pair of feet made their way into the kitchen. You turned around, anticipating Peter’s face but instead, you looked up to see your dad.

“ You didn’t hear it from me but Peter is up on the roof waiting for you. Just in case if you were wondering,” Tony said as he nonchalantly dragged his finger across the countertop and peeked his head towards your tea,” aren’t you glad I made you learn CPR? I know it was part of your lifeguard course but I’m glad it came in handy.”

“ Too soon,” You sighed as you watched your dad haphazardly look through the cupboards,” and I wasn’t wondering about Peter. I’m just minding my own business and then I’m heading to bed.”

“ Minding your own business? That’s not the Y/N I know.”

“ Well, what would the Y/N you know do?” You asked as you looked down at the inside of your mug,” am I supposed to just run over to the roof and profess my love for him?”

Tony furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head,” I never said anything about love kiddo but the Y/N I know loves to talk so yeah, I expect some emotional reunion of the sort. You’ve always been known to be a bit theatrical.”

“ And who do you think I get that from?”

“ The one and only Potts,” Tony chuckled as a small smile crept onto your lips,” I don’t know what to say because I don’t think I can bring myself to give my daughter relationship advice about a guy who lives only a few doors down. If anything, it’s against my best interest but I will make this the one exception where I will intervene simply because if I don’t, no one else will. I think you should talk to Peter. He’s been through a lot and he has some things he needs to talk to you about.”

” Well he’s the one avoiding me so maybe he should come over and say it to my face,” You didn’t know why you turned so aggressive but you took a small sip of your tea to try and ease your nerves,” I know he’s been through a lot but we both have. That night of the party was just...too much for me. ”

“ You really are my daughter, always making it about you. You gotta give the kid a break.”

“ I- Dad it is all about me. That night fucking-not sorry- sucked and I don’t know what else to say. I jumped into a pool with my clothes on and I thought Peter was dead-”

“ But he’s not dead. He’s alive and breathing and waiting for you on the roof like I told you,” Tony interrupted as you exhaled slowly,” you love him, it’s a fathers worst nightmare but even I can see clear as day that you have feelings for him, are you going to tell me I’m wrong?”

You liked to think you knew yourself better than anyone else and for the most part, it was true. Tony was probably the closest to knowing who you really were as a person and yet, everything he was saying still wasn’t enough to make you less paranoid.

“ I wouldn’t say you’re wrong but I’m too scared to say out loud that you’re right,” You said as Tony rolled his eyes,” what? What did I say?”

“ You love to talk and yet, you never say enough. I don’t have the patience to stand here and listen to you beat around the bush,” Tony kneeled down towards one of the cupboards and grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the shelf,” you have a problem. Let me know how things go with Peter. Or don’t. I’ll find out anyway.”

You stood there, mouth wide open as you watched Tony playfully bump into your shoulder, what a bastard,” Yeah sure! You’re the one drinking at three am but I’m the problem?”

Tony only gave you a hasty wave before turning the corner to where the elevators were, leaving you alone in the kitchen. He was right, everything he was saying made perfect sense and yet, it annoyed you on how right he was.

You had absolutely no idea how to start a conversation with Peter now that you were sure of your feelings and yet, all you wanted to do was find him and reveal everything to him. You looked between your bedroom door and the elevators. You could either go back to bed or you could talk to Peter and nervously choke on your words like a schoolgirl.

Fuck no.

You walked over to your room with your mug in one hand but before you could open the door, your legs started to move in the direction of the elevators, seemingly with a mind of their own.

Fuck it.

You stepped into the elevator and made your way up the floors until you hit the roof access. You hardly spent any of your time on the roof since you had no reason to ever be up there in the first place but once you opened the door, you were immediately taken aback.

The greenroof took up almost half of the roof itself, the addition being nothing more than a general garden area to look aesthetically pleasing from the sky. Since most of the energy needed to run the facility was either solar or space related, the greenroof was more of a private garden that didn’t account for energy efficiency.

A mixture of moss and summer grass covered the roof in a thick blanket that never grew beyond the border of the garden and at first glance, the brightly freckled flowers planted along the pathway seemed random but as you walked down the graveled path, you could tell that there was some element of planning that went along with it.

Along the pathway stood different hues of green bonsai trees that stood tall and proud in their wooden boxes. You were so focused on the bonsais that you didn’t notice Peter sitting on one of the benches about a couple of yards away.

Your breath hitched in your throat but your feet continued to crunch along the graveled pathway as you made your way over to him. From Peter’s spot underneath the patio, he could hear you walking towards him but kept his eyes looking straight forward, unable to tear them away from the cityscape in the far distance.

You hesitantly took a seat beside Peter on the wooden bench and tucked your legs back so you could rest the mug on your thigh. The lights that Peter had strung up a few weeks back had lost it’s brightness, leaving behind a faded orange glow in its place but it was just the right amount of light needed to where you could read his expression carefully.

“ How are you feeling?” You asked quietly as you attempted to get a feel for what mindset Peter was in.

“ Good, I feel good,” Peter said back, almost quieter than the volume you started out with,” how are you feeling?”

While both of your minds were racing at the thought of the other person, the thoughts suddenly felt almost too personal, the atmosphere being instantly filled with the conversations you two weren’t having.

Out of the two of you, Peter felt like he had more to share and yet, more to hide. You were still completely clueless on the following; A) Peter was cured B) You cured him because of the kiss and C) He loved you back

It seemed like a dream come true, Peter was still in love with you without the lovedust and you felt the same way towards him and yet, he was still terrified. As everything began to feel more and more real, suddenly the idea of being with you made his chest tighten up.

He never knew if he could ever admit it outloud but he was scared that you liked him back because what if after all this time, after all the trials and tribulation the two of you had gone through, what if you two still didn’t work out?

There was so much history between the two of you and he was worried that all of the heartbreak and pining wouldn’t be worth it in the end. He loved you so much to where he knew that he needed you no matter what. It only hurt him more to think that from your last argument, you couldn’t even bring yourself to admit to him that you loved him.

Now that you were here in front of him, Peter would make sure you wouldn’t leave without hearing you say it back.

As Peter tried to carefully put his thoughts in order like he had practiced, you thought back to what your dad had told you and decided that you needed to start somewhere and you had to do that by being honest.

“ I’ve been struggling these last couple of days with what happened at the party. I can’t tell how you guilty I feel for putting you through so much pain and I wish I could take it all back. I feel so guilty because it was my fault you died- did you know that? I know the paramedics talked to you but you were dead for three minutes Peter and honestly, that was one of the worst moments of my life. I mean it’s up there with what happened to my parents,” You paused as you remembered to take a breath,” I don’t know what I would’ve done if something had happened to you.”

Peter felt his mouth dry up and for a moment, it was hard to swallow,” You didn’t kill me, you saved me. I still feel like I might be in shock from it all but I don’t blame you for anything that happened. I’m sorry I even put you through that cause I’m sure it was...a lot. But don’t ever say that you killed me, none of it was your fault.”

“ It was my fault. If it wasn’t for me and Josh-,” You stopped yourself before saying more. You didn’t want to talk about Josh, all you cared about was Peter but now, the thought was evident in Peter’s mind and he couldn’t seem to shake it out of him.

The image of you kissing Josh replayed in Peter’s head over and over again as his heart ached. Josh made things more complicated than they already were.

Peter’s biggest fear was losing you but to lose you to another guy? And yet, it still made Peter feel like he was between a rock and a hard place because Peter had only meant Josh on one occasion and it was enough to give Peter an idea that Josh didn’t have cruel intentions towards you.

Just because you loved Peter didn’t mean that you didn’t have feelings for Josh and that’s what made Peter crazy. You must’ve liked Josh enough to return the kiss right?

“ He’s a good guy, I see why you like him,” Peter finally said as he shifted awkwardly in his seat, not knowing what else to say,” he would make you happy.”

The comment shakes you in an uncomfortable way, was that supposed to make you feel better? Your annoyance was jealousy in disguise, you didn’t want to talk about Josh, you were here to tell Peter how you actually felt about him but because of how Peter was delivering it, it seemed like he was giving you an out.

“ It’s not- I don’t like Josh like that.”

“ You kissed him, I saw the whole thing. Do you just go around kissing people you supposedly don’t like?” Peter couldn’t help himself and let the words slip out so easily.

It was a low blow and the two of you both knew it.

It took every fiber of your being not to lash out at the accusation because you knew Peter had a right to be upset but you didn’t like what he was insinuating and you didn’t want the conversation to take a bad turn,” You don’t have to worry about Josh anymore. If you want me to be honest, yes, I thought there was something there but things changed. I came to talk to you because my dad said you needed to tell me something important but if you’re going to just sit here and belittle me, I’m not gonna take it. I get it, the lovedust is messing with your emotions but I’m extremely sensitive tonight, more than usual so just come back to me when you’re calm.”

You got up from your seat with a quickness but before you could step off the patio, Peter grabbed your wrist and pulled you back towards the corner of the bench.

Peter felt like such an idiot, whenever he got anxious on the fine details, he had a tendency to let the big picture escape him but it was something he knew he needed to work on while he was around you. He wasn’t going to let the conversation die just before it had started, he knew his big mouth tended to escalate conversations with you but he couldn’t let you go, not this time.

“ I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I’m just frustrated because this feels so one-sided. I never know what you’re thinking because you never tell me anything. You always avoid answering the question but I need more,” Peter practically begged as you felt yourself get a bit aggravated,” I am being calm but I’m desperate at this point. I need to know how you feel about me, don’t try to change the subject, I need to know. Tell me how I make you feel.”

Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth as you pulled your hand away from Peter so you could regain your thoughts without him distracting you. You were suddenly chickening out, you had never felt so nervous in your entire life and you wanted to tell him how much you loved him. You wanted to tell him what he wanted to hear but it wasn’t easy taking a step forward when you don't know where your foot will fall.

“ This is hard for me Peter, I’m trying my best and I’m sorry if it isn’t good enough but ever since the lovedust, the dynamic is different and you’ve changed. It’s so much to get used to because of...how I feel towards you,” You said as Peter let out a frustrated breath.

He hated this feeling of going back and forth, he didn’t want to hear any of it. All he wanted was to just shake your shoulders because in his mind, you had no reason to be hesitant on opening up to him,” The lovedust didn’t change just me, it changed you too! I was vulnerable and I opened up to you, I showed you how I felt about you every second of the day but you have given me nothing!”

Nothing.

That word made your blood boil because nothing? Just because it was hard for you to let your emotions out didn’t mean Peter was getting nothing back in return. Since he was infected with the lovedust, you had been doing your best to open yourself more to him and you thought you had been doing a good job.

After all those years of Peter belittling you and tearing you down, of course, you would be a bit hesitant to let down your guard and yet, you did it anyway. It took so much to get to where you were comfortable with Peter to be vulnerable, especially when you broke down from your nightmare of your parents.

To break down and crumble in front of Peter wasn’t an accident, you could only be that vulnerable if you knew that he could help piece you back together.

“ Nothing? I gave you nothing?” You spat as you felt your eyes tear up,” I saved your life! I gave you the breath in my lungs to stop you from dying! I don’t owe you anything, I don’t need to prove shit to you!”

Peter stood up from the bench and while his heart ached from seeing you so upset, he knew that he couldn’t hold back,” Don’t pull that with me Y/N, you know you haven’t been honest with me. We both know that we can’t live without the other so don’t act like you did me a favor by saving me. Why won’t you admit it, even after everything we’ve been through, you’re still scared to just admit that you might love me!”

And just like that, you felt yourself let go.

“Of course I’m scared! I’m fucking terrified Peter! Is that what you want me to say? Do you want me to admit that me almost losing you would’ve broken me? Because you’re right! Yes, I love you!” You cried out as you took in a shaky breath,” I love you so much it hurts me and I didn’t understand how badly I loved you until I almost lost you! All I could think about when I was trying to save you was never hearing your laugh and never feeling your touch and I swear Peter, if you died, I would’ve never forgiven myself. I’m sorry it took me so long to say it but I love you. But none of it matters, you know why? Because you’re sick in the head, the lovedust is fucking with you and now it’s fucking with me!”

There it was, finally. After all of that time denying it and trying to hide your feelings to save your own sanity, you finally confessed. You had so many chances to confess that yes, it really was him all along.

When he came into your room and comforted you through your nightmare to the two of you shouting at each other in the rain, you had always loved him.

Even though Peter knew how you felt about him, this was the first time he heard it with his own ears and it was like hearing the symphony for the first time. Like your own soundtrack that swelled during the climax of the movie that was you and Peter, Peter could listen to you say it over and over again.

He didn’t care that most of your confession involved a string of swear words because, without them, it wouldn’t have been your true self. He knew once he admitted to you that he was cured, there would be no going back.

“ The lovedust is gone Y/N. When you kissed me- or saved me by giving mouth to mouth- the lovedust flushed out of my system completely. Banner did extra tests and he confirmed that I’m okay and back to normal all because of you.”

Your heart dropped to the floor as your eyes raked up Peter, testing to see if he was lying but he didn’t falter. This is what you were afraid of, confessing everything to him only to find out that he didn’t love you anymore but who would’ve thought it would be you to make him go back to normal.

And yet, a huge part of you was relieved because finally, the lovedust was gone. You didn’t need to worry about it ever screwing with you and Peter again but as you studied his expression, your chest felt heavy.

You had seemingly set up your own demise,” Oh, that’s good...I’m happy for you.”

You felt yourself take a step back but Peter reached his hand out to softly hold yours. You pulled your hand away but Peter swatted your stubbornness away and held your hand tighter. He rubbed his thumb over your knuckles and when he looked back up at you, he felt his heart swell.

“ And yet, even though the pain is gone, I feel more love for you now than I have ever felt in my entire life. I understand what they mean when they say love hurts but if anything, it heals even more because you made me feel whole again. When you saved me and the first thing I saw was you looking back at me, it was like I was given a second chance to love you the right way, the way you were meant to be loved.”

“You were right, the lovedust made me fall in love with you but ever since you cured me, it was only a matter of admitting to myself that deep down, I’ve always cared about you. It opened my eyes and showed me that I will never have to look further in finding the one for me because you are everything and more,” Peter said as you moved your eyes from the floor to his figure,” I love you. I mean it. No exceptions, no strings attached, no lovedust required.”

Right then and there, you were at a loss for everything you could possibly hold; no words, no breath, no thoughts. Any resentment you held had shattered into microscopic pieces that would dissolve once crushed between something as delicate as your fingertips because he said everything you wanted to hear.

“ You love me?” You said quietly to where Peter made you repeat yourself,” Are you serious? Do you really mean it?”

Peter nodded and softly let out an ‘ of course I do’ as he brushed his fingers lightly over your cheek. He cupped your face gently with one hand as his thumb wiped away a stray tear,” Can I finally kiss you?”

Peter’s cheeks grew red as you nodded and leaned into his touch, innocently brushing your lips against his. Peter dipped his head down to close the space between the two of you and kissed you so softly, you had to pull him closer to you to actually kiss him back.

Even though Peter was the one who asked, he felt completely unprepared kissing you back. He had imagined over and over how warm your lips would be against his but now that he was actually kissing you, he didn’t think he had enough self-control to ever stop kissing you.

You never knew a kiss could be innocent and yet so intimate but as his lips moved in perfect sync, any other logistics of the feeling went away because all you could think about was Peter. You practically melted into his touch but before you could savor the kiss, Peter pulled away breathless.

“ S-Sorry, I forgot to breathe,” Peter gushed as you smiled back up at him,” what does this mean for us now?”

You traced your finger along Peter’s wrist as you thought quietly,” I don’t know but we can figure it out together.”

Peter hummed happily before dipping his head down to kiss you and when he pulled away, he fell himself falling in love with you all over again.

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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.

#jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x female reader #agent whiskey x female reader #jack daniels #agent whiskey #statesman #sweet home alabama #kingsman the golden circle #kingsman #jack ‘whiskey’ daniels #mandoclan #mandoclan writes

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babybamf · 3 years

Text

Meeting and Dating Warren Worthington III

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(We’re just gonna throw together a little au, alright?)

- You met Warren after Xavier brought him back to the school. Most people stayed away from him and rightfully so; he had teamed up with a malicious god and was partially responsible for the destruction of your school.

- You’d stayed away as well, which is what he seemed to want. He wasn’t exactly putting himself out there to make friends, not with his glaring and standoffish demeanor.

- A part of you figured that he really didn’t want people around him. That, no, he wasn’t just being “cruelly” ostracized by his peers; he was actively and consciously making sure people stayed away.

- But then another part of you reasoned that few people had actually attempted to get close to him, and to be fair, you hadn’t liked those people either.

- You’d contemplated going up and introducing yourself. In fact, you’d tried to, taking a deep breath and maneuvering your way across the school grounds towards him with that exact idea in mind. But the minute you came almost close enough to throw away any doubt that you were approaching him, he’d looked up at you with such cold and venomous fervor that you’d lost your nerve.

- Instead, you’d; thankfully, managed to continue on walking and coincidentally run into a younger student that you’d known, making it seem like that was your intention all along. You decided that day that Warren Worthington just hated people and you shouldn’t interfere with that.

- That would have been the end of it, and at the time you wished that it was, but that wasn’t the case. The moment you walked past the boy, it was like you’d painted a target on your forehead.

- Everywhere you went, Warren Worthington was there to stare at you from across the way. He’d set his sights on you and you weren’t sure which emotion was behind his gaze, though you were pretty sure it wasn’t one of the good ones.

- It took a few months of this, and you wondering if he was planning on killing you, for anything to actually happen.

- You’d been sitting in the lunchroom, reading a book when you heard the rooms chatter die down. There, at the entrance, stood Warren.

- He scanned the room, his eyes landing on you; much more passively than most other times, before moving to the nearly empty table across from yours. He made his way towards it, unfazed by the students who’d been occupying it scrambling to leave, and soon enough he was seated a few yards away with a perfect view of you.

- You tried to ignore him, turning to the book you’d brought in hopes of just forgetting he was there. Although, it was easier said than done when you could feel his eyes on you.

- More than once, you’d glanced over and caught him watching you; albeit it a bit more casually than usual. You wondered if he’d specifically come into the room just to look at you, you’d never seen him inside before; and he wasn’t eating, so you had to assume so.

- Finally, you turned back to your book and promised yourself you wouldn’t look at him, no matter how much your body was screaming for you to. The monkey part of you brain told you that this was a test and that averting your eyes was the proper move to make; so you made it ...up until you could feel someone standing in front of/at your side.

“I’m Warren,” Boy were you not expecting him to be British. His voice was like honey, even though there was a twinge of; what seemed to be, discomfort to it. He seemed out of his element. “I’ve seen you around. You’re Y/n, right?”

“Yeah uh, yeah, that’s right. ...Hi.” You answered nervously. He nodded and a long moment of silence passed between the two of you before he asked if he could sit down.

- It was awkward at first but then he asked you about a band and you started a near hour long discussion about music.

- Soon enough you were talking like it was a normal thing to happen, up until you were interrupted by a peer who told you that someone wanted to see you. You excused yourself and walked away, feeling more confident now that you knew you weren’t going to be murdered.

- Warren was sort of like a changed person after your first few initially awkward conversations; at least he was to you. He was still his intimidating self to everyone else but you; and in some regards Storm, seemed to be an exception.

- After a few weeks of you slowly seeing more and more of each other, he finally decided it was time to ask you out like he’d been intending all along. Well, he asked you out in his own way.

- It was late, he’d caught your attention with a “psst” and a flash of a bottle of liquor and motioned for you to follow him as he led the two of you outside. You soon found yourself sitting with him in the dark of the night, taking swigs from the bottle he’d snuck with you.

- You caught him watching you while you brought the bottle to your lips, taking a small gulp before moving to pass it back, only to be met with his face close to yours and his hand sliding onto your cheek. It was a matter of seconds before his lips were on yours but that short moment of anticipation had your heart racing.

- You spent the rest of the night talking and kissing and by morning you were official.

- Soo much Pda. He’s constantly touching you and trying to get you to kiss him.

- He loves when you kiss him. Surprise him with a little smooch; you’ll never see anyone look more in love than he will.

- Hand kisses.

- His hand in your back pocket.

- His arm wrapped around you constantly.

- Warren alternates between only calling you pet names and only calling you your name. When he is using pet names, he’ll call you things like babe, birdie, and love.

- He’s surprisingly loving considering how violent he used to be. You don’t expect it at first but he’s absolutely adorable when he’s around you.

- The instant he sees you, his day gets 100x better. Even if his face just goes from glaring to neutral whenever his eyes land on you, rest assured that his bad mood goes away the minute you appear.

- He’s always incredibly gentle whenever he puts his hands on you with innocent intent, like when he’s pushing your hair back or helping you put in an earring.

- He’s definitely affection starved and heartclenchingly so. You’ll go to gently touch his face for one reason or another and he’ll act like he’s never felt something better in his life.

- Cuddling is a bit difficult with the whole wing thing but you try your best. Sometimes you’ll just lay side by side and hold hands, other times he’ll cocoon the two of you while you lay on top of him, and other times he’ll lay down and you’ll just snuggle yourself into him the best that you can.

- Going flying. He rarely goes really high up with you in his arms, he himself is afraid he’ll accidentally drop you or you’ll get hurt in some other way.

- Stargazing or watching the sunset/rise on roofs of buildings.

- Sneaking out to spend time with each other away from everyone else.

- Blasting rock music as you drive through town.

- Abandoned building picnics? Abandoned building picnics. What’s better than being able to destroy everything around you and not being bothered by anyone.

- Nighttime walks around town. He sorta likes just wandering around the city with you.

- Helping him shop for clothes that will actually fit him, or helping him cut holes into his clothing.

- He’s grown to love his wings over the years so he always straightens up with pride whenever you compliment or touch them.

- Hickeys.

- Constant making out. He can’t get enough of you.

- Groping, blatantly too, just right in the middle of the street or hallway.

- Innuendos that make you blush.

- You’re either treated like a queen or being harassed like you’re dating a horny teenager. There is no in between.

- Kissing his scars.

- Occasionally, he’ll tell you stories about his fighting days. He finds it amusing to watch your face change whenever he recounts something particularly painful or malicious.

- He’s been known to get drunk for several different reasons so you’ll just have to find out which one it is while making sure he doesn’t die from alcohol poisoning or any dumbass decision he may make while wasted.

- Sharing booze.

- He probably has a tattoo of you or your name somewhere on his body. He’s a reckless person; it fits the vibe.

- He loves people knowing that the two of you are together, he’s so proud.

- Sooo many compliments.

- Sarcasm and affectionate name calling.

- He always gives you the cutest smile and a kiss on the cheek whenever you get him a gift.

- As surprising as it may be; considering the way he acts, he’s genuinely charming; and his face isn’t that bad either. He’s capable of making literally any girl swoon yet he still feels lucky to have you in his life.

- I feel like Warren just doesn’t like people and probably for a number of reasons. With that being said, he prefers to keep to himself, though he’ll tolerate social events; and your friends, for your sake.

- Warren is the type of boyfriend that would rather be seen than heard. Sure he loves talking with you, but he would rather listen to you talk instead of actually talking himself.

- With that being said, he can talk your ear off whenever he gets angry or jealous, wanting nothing more than to divert your attention from everything else and make you focus on only him.

- He’s a pretty jealous guy. He hates seeing other men around you, especially if it seems like you’re really close or that the guy has a thing for you.

- He’s definitely fought a man for flirting with or disrespecting you. The man does not play when it comes to you.

- Whenever the two of you fight, he’ll turn into the biggest sarcastic asshole that you will ever see. That being said, he’ll never yell at you unless you’re walking away from him and he’s calling after you in exasperation.

- If he’s in the wrong then he’ll apologize; albeit slightly begrudgingly. He isn’t very used to it so bear with him, he’s trying his best.

- He doesn’t tell you he loves you very often but you’ll definitely be able to tell that he does, especially as your relationship progresses.

- Though he may not vocally express it, he doesn’t intend on giving you up any time soon so let’s hope you’re in it for the long run.

#xmen headcanons #xmen imagine #xmen x reader #xmen headcanon #xmen imagines #angel imagine #angel headcanons #angel headcanon #angel imagines #warren worthington imagine #warren worthington imagines #warren worthington headcanons #warren worthington headcanon

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docholligay · 3 years

Note

Please rant/rave (well, we already know which one it will be here) about Harry Potter!

GEE I HOPE THIS WAS WORTH WAITING FOR

OH MY GOD. The level of hatred I have for Harry Fucking Goddamn Potter, the culture around Harry Fucking Potter, extending its poisonous tentacles even to the concept of young adult fiction, fantasy, and the United Kingdom as a country and people.

When you being on this, you may think, “Oh, Doc will explain that Harry Potter sucks because JKR hates trans women” and I will say, oh no, dear reader, that is a fantastic reason to hate the author, and I really suggest we all continue to hate her, and perhaps not purchase the QUEEN’S TONNES of officially licensed merchandise and movies and theme parks that give her stupid little fucking hands all that cash, but no, that is not why I hate the work. There are a number of great works done by terrible people, and the further out the lens of history gets the truer this is.

I hate Harry Potter because it fucking sucks, and mentally stifled an entire fucking generation.

“Well, Doc, Harry Potter was really there for me when--” Oh my god I could not fucking care LESS about your personal emotion connection to “orphan wizard boy turns out to be a rich aristocrat yet somehow less woke than Cinderella though” I have personally emotional connections to hot fucking garbage pails of media properties, and if someone came barreling through talking about the myriad ways in which they were horrible, I would be like, “Oh, you aren’t fucking wrong, pal”

Harry Potter gained wild ass popularity in part due to its magnificent sorting system of Smart, Brave, Evil, and Other, because there’s nothing liberals like more than being able to put everyone’s personality into an easily labeled box, which is why astrology is so popular, or for the intellectuals, Myers-Briggs, which is just as fake but with the veneer of science. This allowed people to give into the tribalism they so desperately liked to pretend they did not possess, and also allow them to write thinkpieces about “The misunderstood Hufflepuff” or “Slytherins aren’t all bad!” or really anything that allows them to write a very real piece about their very imagined oppression for being a part of a totally fake house in a children’s book. Excellent use of your sociology degree, Kai, I thought the addition of phrases like, ‘Content of socialization” and “axes of oppression” really spoke to the struggles you face when wearing a green and silver scarf.

The other reason it became popular is that it’s essentially wallpaper paste formed into characters. I have read all of the books, and I could not tell you even remotely what Harry’s defining personality traits are other than “protagonist”. In American, at least, a large part of it was the fascination with all things British, with the idea of boarding school and prefects and uniforms that aren’t inexplicably chinos and polo shirts for nine year olds. It allowed children to project onto something so bland that it could be anything. And for children, THAT’S FINE. There is a great deal of bland media made for children, but what I’m speaking to is the fandom, which is largely well over the age of 18.

Because if we look at the books, are they...actually good? Was it good, or did I experience it as a child? I mean, honestly, on a literary level, are they, or was it just like we all watched Friends, we did it because everyone else was doing it, because I have a distinct memory of a series that involves such greats as “magical geegaws with poorly defined rules that are quickly forgotten despite being able to solve later problems quickly” or “Everyone loves Harry or is a bad guy, or secretly loved Harry all along”

Oh, speaking of, man, if this was an actual well-written book, wouldn’t it have been wild to have Snape’s whole thing be to teach us that sometimes people do good things for the wrong reasons? Instead of naming your fucking child after the guy who ‘protected you’ because he still wanted to bone your mom? “After all this time” “Always.”

While all this could have been explained, we have Quidditch added into the mix instead because 20 pages of the goddamn Puppy Bowl is exactly what I was looking for while I was waiting for JK to move the goddamn ball on literally any of these actual magical concepts.

Harry Potter is a fucking trust fund baby, star quarterback, who grows up to be a cop and marries his high school sweetheart. (Speaking of, why were we shocked that JKR turned out to be a piece of shit when this was and always has been the conclusion of Harry Potter? Why are liberals so fucking into this series that upholds structures like it ain’t no one’s business? It’s a series that opines that those beneath us “Muggles” should be kept in the dark from us) Literally, he finds out he is a wizard and has a dragon-guarded fucking VAULT OF CASH. At 11. It’s such a series for little tyrants, you are special from birth and need do nothing to prove it, here is a letter certifying as such. Oh, not only are you rich and the greatest seeker and have excellent quips, but also your parents were not only rebels, but the best of rebels, and so deeply involved that your parents were killed by the big bad personally, again, because you are so special. His mother’s love literally saves his ass over and over again, because he was SO SPECIAL. He fought Voldemort FROM THE BEGINNING, and WON. It’s literally the most privilege baby fantasy in the world.

“But Doooooooooooc, it’s for chiiiiiiiiiiiiiiildren”

A) Yeah, and you’re 32, you’re making my fucking point about Harry Potter setting an entire generation up for intellectual failure to launch.

B) Okay, and? I can think of a bunch of kids’ books off the top of my head that in no way require specialness to be given by birth so as to roll out the red carpet for master protagonist. The Hunger Games. Watership Down. A Series of Unfortunate Events. The Chronicles of FUCKING NARNIA, about which I have only a small handful of particularly kind things to say. I’ve never read Percy Jackson, but it’s my understanding that despite his being a literal demigod, the attitudes of the supporting cast are allowed to fall between the extremes of “Appreciates Percy” and “naughty or will learn” Harry does nothing to improve himself even after knowing that he is HUNTED BY THE BIG BAD! “I won’t do this because I don’t like Snape”. So There” which, again, if this series were written with the slightest bit of care or know-how, could be a humbling fucking plot point! BUT NO THAT WOULD BE NAUGHTY.

But the real reason I hate Harry Potter so much has everything to do with the fandom surrounding it, and how it intellectually stunted a generation of adults. The promise of Harry Potter was that it was supposed to make a new generation of readers, and so the popularity of them was pushed, and so there was discussion of teaching them in schools, but I tell you fucking what, I know a whole lot more folks who grew up reading Harry Potter that never advanced beyond reading YA, or even just rereading the entire series every year and that’s pretty much them done and dusted.

In the attempt to recapture whatever it was about Harry Potter that attracted children (A lot of it was your peers doing it. I read them all as they came out, and it was literally the equivalent of watching the game so you could talk at the water cooler. That was never going to be recaptured) people, who by this time were likely in their teens, kept getting recommended stuff at the same and same level. No one ever felt pushed to read things that are challenging, to read things that have some of the concepts or themes of Harry Potter but maybe complicate. I know FAR more adults who read adult books that aren’t into Harry Potter, even if they were as children, than the reverse.

But Doc, why is reading only books meant for 14 year olds a problem??? I mean I suppose I can’t convince you that comfort is not the job of literature or of life, it is the job of an easy chair, because Americans especially are decadent as fuck about being comfy cozy all the time and if anything causes them distress or pain it should be immediately avoided. But Maybe I can convince you that you’re fucking up these books for actual ass children who deserve to have their own writing section without adults bringing their fucking asses into it. They deserve their own spaces. There’s a number of YA editors who have talked about the difficult space YA now occupies because since Potter’s blowup, it’s no longer a niche category, but basically “adult easy reads” and so they have been buying books that are more about the tastes of adult buyers than of literal 14 year olds.

Is that not...sad? To anyone else? Honestly, and this is not part of the essay because it’s a broader reaching problem, but CHILDREN’S MEDIA IS NOT FOR US. CHILDREN’S MEDIA IS NOT FOR US. CHILDREN’S MEDIA IS FOR FUCKING CHILDREN. The fucking 40-23 set really needs to get their shit together and grow up a little bit and engage in some fucking adult media, and maybe, if we support what we’re actually looking for FOR ADULTS, it will come to us. No one is saying you can’t read Harry Potter or watch some Cartoon Network show, but like, search your heart and come the fuck on. Engage in something more complex. If not for yourselves, for the kids getting shoved into simplified adult stories. It should not be about us.

ANYWAY, my larger point is that it was Harry Potter, a badly written series about a magical boy who was chosen and magic and also rich and also a favorite of the headmaster and also more clever than most adults and also spoke the same magical snake language as the big bad and was also star quarterback, but at least there was a system in which you could buy a scarf in block colors and feel like you belonged to a team.

(But not a sports team! lol handegg! I’m cool I don’t get into sports! Except Quidditch.)

#TO say nothing of the fact that I haven't been able to wear gold and burgundy together without some dumbass comment for years #despite being a favored color combination #Anonymous #Eight Days 2020 #Holligay Rants and Raves #I didn't even GET to every point I had but it's been over an hour #GOD I HATE THIS FUCKING SERIES SO MUCH #Doc do you hate me for liking it?#oh sweet thing allow me to reassure you: Yes. Absolutely.#also the prose is god-awful #I've taught teenagers with better rpose

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yandearest · 4 years

Text

May The Odds Be Ever in Your Favor (Hoseok x Reader Hunger Games AU) Chapter 1: The Reaping

Summary - Living in District 4 you never thought you would have to worry about being selected for the Hunger Games. With a training centre right near the dock of the houseboat you lived and fished from, your district was known for volunteers who trained their whole lives for a shot at glory and riches. But at age 18, your name is called and no girls volunteer to take your place. Your devastation is answered when Kim Namjoon volunteers for the males shortly after. Tall, muscular, highly intelligent and charming, the years of diligent preparation have bestowed Namjoon with the expectation of being the next District 4 champion after Finnick Odair last won 3 years ago.

Fishing for a living has granted you skills with a knife but, as your mentor Finnick is quick to describe, your beautiful face may well be your best asset.

Upon arrival in the Capitol you are quickly faced with the reality that Namjoon may not even be the biggest danger inside the Arena. Especially when you capture the obsessive attention of District 2′s own volunteer, and killing machine, Jung Hoseok. Hope soon fades from ‘survival’ to ‘the mercy of a painless death’ but Hoseok certainly has other plans.

Pairing - Hoseok x (fem)Reader

Genre - thriller, angst, yandere

Word Count 4.6K

Warnings - [in later chapters] major character death, graphic depictions of violence, swearing, obsession, dubcon-smut (smut will be marked so reading is optional), gore, unrealistically beautiful oc because I’m a sucker for that shitty trope and want to live vicariously through my writing (sue me)

The following is a dark fic featuring a yandere character, violence, obsession, and coercion. By no means does writing about this in a fictional setting condone any of those behaviours, much like Stephen King writing horror doesn’t mean he approves of psychotic killers in reality. Please avoid reading if any of these warnings makes you uncomfortable.

Cross posted on A03 so people can subscribe for updates/notifications

What little shred of hope for survival you may have had, after hearing your name announced from the reaping, was immediately squashed minutes later by two simple words. “I volunteer”.

Volunteers from District 4 were not uncommon. There was a not-so-secret training complex the capitol turned a blind eye to, in a warehouse near the docks. During your time in school you knew of several kids who trained before and after classes. At the age of twelve some of them dropped out all together, with the sole purpose of training every waking second of the day so they could volunteer at eighteen. There was no need for an education if your only purpose in life was to compete in a death match that offered a lifetime of rewards to the winner.

After the misfortune of having your name drawn you looked around, silently begging for one of the girls to come up and replace you, only for no takers. But when Kim Namjoon eagerly announced his intentions of volunteering (the reaped twelve-year-old boy on stage immediately bursting into grateful tears and rushing back to his mother in the square) it was easy to understand why no one had stepped up this year. Back when you had attended school, before dropping out to assist your father on his fishing boat after your mother died, Namjoon had been in some of your classes –although he very rarely showed up. He was immensely popular with everyone; in part because of his handsome physique and model like dimples, partially because of his superior intelligence, but mostly because it was well known he was by far the leader from all the kids in training.

You had never attended a training session (more fool you for thinking you would never be unlucky enough to have your name drawn, and banking on one of the girls who did train to take your place if you did) but the center near the wharf was close to where your family’s boat — that functioned as both a fishing ship and your house — was docked. During the many occasions you had walked past, you sometimes stopped to peer through a crack in the doorway and watch. A majority of the times you had seen Namjoon inside amongst the group of around twenty regulars; working out with weights, sparring with an array of weapons, or climbing the rope attached to the ceiling that was surely 30 feet high with nothing but cement to drop back down to. The years of work had turned the dimpled twelve-year-old you once shared a math class with into a lethal killing machine. And now you were going to be stuck in an arena with you as one of his targets.

You stood frozen as Namjoon strode up on stage, a grin on his face, waving to the camera before shaking the hand of the capitol’s representative — a pastel blue haired woman by the name of Periwinkle Eveweather. You could tell Periwinkle much preferred Namjoon to you from the twinkle in her eye at how well he was playing up to the camera. There would be no need for her to have to force him to act like being slaughtered like an animal was an honor, like she would for you. The next moments passed far too quickly in a blur, being lead off stage to bid farewell to your families. As you sobbed in your father’s arms, an only child saying your last goodbye, Namjoon was getting a pat on the back from his older sister, a previous volunteer and victor. Shortly after you were ushered on board to the train where you now sat, Namjoon at your side and your mentor sitting across the table.

A small part of your brain found it difficult to take Finnick Odair as a mentor seriously given he was younger than you. But your rational side was quick to silence that judgment with a reminder that exact dismissal of his age was a major contributing factor to his win three years ago. The feeling of despair ate away at your insides as Finnick took an immediate liking to Namjoon. You couldn’t blame him for it, Namjoon was by far the more likely of the two of you to survive, so it only made sense for him to put more attention on the candidate with the best chance, but it still made you feel awful none the less.

“And what about you YN?”

You jumped feeling Namjoon’s hand tapping your leg softly under the table, his head wordlessly nodding in Finnick’s direction without making any eye contact to you. You had become so distracted by the mug of tea in a decorative porcelain cup in your hands, you failed to recognize your mentor’s piercing sea green eyes were now focused on you.

“Sorry, what about my what?” you mumbled dumbly, feeling incredibly insecure at Finnick’s sigh.

“Your skills, what do you bring to the games?”

Well that explained why you had tuned out, there was no need for you to listen to Namjoon describing all the potential ways he was going to kill you within a week or so. And there were a hell of a lot of ways.

“I don’t know really, I’m not someone who’s trained like Namjoon,” you paused to think, pretending not to notice Namjoon’s smug smirk in the corner of your peripheral vision as Finnick frowned slightly.

“Neither was I, and that caused a lot of the careers to underestimate me,” Finnick replied, shooting Namjoon a pointed look which caused his smirk to disappear. You tried not to smile at that, settling instead for relaxing slightly into your seat.

“I can fish, so depending on the arena I can potentially find food, but more importantly I know my way around with a knife,” you declared, feeling a little more confident. The hopeless despair was still overwhelming but the least you could do for yourself, and your father, was to go out with honor.

“Very good,” Finnick nodded “don’t underestimate your face either.”

“My face?” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “How am I supposed to kill anyone with that?”

Finnick sighed, leaning further back into the lounge he was occupying on his own, pinching the bridge of his nose on his handsome face in exasperation.

“Both of you listen, this is potentially more important than all of those little training sessions or fishing catches the both of you have ever made combined. You’re clearly genetically blessed to continue District 4’s reputation of having the most beautiful tributes, you in particular” He paused to lazily point in your direction. “If you actually want to win the games, you want the people of the capitol to adore you. And they’re a city of shallow cunts,” another pause to shoot a charming smile in Periwinkle’s direction “no offense”.

“Offense taken!” Periwinkle gasped indignantly but Finnick was already speaking over her without a care.

“And as shallow cunts what these people love, more than anything in their pathetic little vapid lives, is beauty. You,” a point to Namjoon, “have been training your whole life for this and will have a body to represent that. Show it off. They love flair, they love confidence, they love a show. Flex those biceps for them, they’ll go mad. Flash your abs and they’ll fall in love. And work those dimples, cause these suckers sure worked for me, got me a trident,” Finnick grinned to show off his smile and twin indents on each corner of his mouth, Namjoon mirrored the gesture and you felt your heart clench at how easily he seemed to turn on his charm. Tall, well built and handsome, he was just as gorgeous as Finnick. Too bad he was very likely about to be the literal death of you.

“And you,” Finnick turned his attention to your direction and you felt Namjoon’s eyes burning into you from the side “you’ll be the prettiest thing they’ve seen in years, possibly in the history of the games”

Your face flushed at the comment, even though you knew it wasn’t intended as a compliment. There was no point in sweet little lies to butter you up and the fact of the matter was you knew you had an aesthetically pleasing face. Your facial features were in perfect balance, skin clear, thick hair that fell to the middle of your back and eyes that you had been told sparkled like stars in the night.

“They’ll love that shit,” his finger lazily circled around pointing to your cheeks that were flushed in embarrassment at his candid assessment of your appearance.

“These people are so used to artificial, that something so beautiful and pure will be coveted like the fattest diamond they could possibly hang from their necks. You ever fucked a guy, sweetheart?”

“Excuse me?” you balked at the invasive question, earning a sharp laugh out of Namjoon, a scandalized shriek from Periwinkle, and an eye roll from Finnick.

“I’ll take that for a yes and don’t worry I’m not interested. The capitol thrives on corruption, greed, and a need to claim rare treasures for their own. Put an innocent little dove like you, with a face like yours, in front of them and they’ll go insane. Act right at the parade and in your interviews and you’ll have sponsors gifting you everything you could ever need in that arena”.

You sat wide eyed not even knowing how to respond. You didn’t bother with arguing over the status of your supposed virginity because whether it was true or not didn’t actually matter, it was all about the perception. If getting dolled up and fluttering your eyelashes could potentially result in a knife being dropped from the sky in the arena, you could suck it up and give these disgusting people what they wanted.

The train ride to the capitol took just under three days in total. During that time Finnick and Namjoon spent a lot of time together, which you weren’t surprised with in the least. It was only natural to favor the tribute with the better odds, as much as Finnick’s little speech on the first day tried to make you think you could have a chance. Finnick still made some time for you though, which was mostly spent on guiding you how to attract sponsors. You spent a majority of the time in your room, a lot of it crying, most of it sleeping, and some of it playing around with technologies you had never had access to before in your life. The only time you really saw Namjoon was during breakfast and dinner where you ate together with Finnick to discuss district strategy. You weren’t surprised at all by Namjoon’s plan to join the career pack, but you were slightly surprised when he spoke of you as a part of that plan. You were a little annoyed he didn’t even think to ask your opinion, but logically speaking it’s not like you had any option. It was either join them or make yourself an easy target. Plus, any alliance with Namjoon reduced your need to have kill any other tributes personally. The only thing now was to hope districts 1 and 2 were as receptive to the idea as you were.

When you arrived at the capitol you were immediately ushered into a clinic that was like a fusion between a spa and a hospital. You were stripped, examined, and assessed by a doctor before being dressed in a paper thin hospital gown. After a painful injection (“that’s your tracker dear, so the capitol can monitor you in the arena”) you were passed over to the beauty department who scrubbed, exfoliated, waxed, showered, moisturized, treated, conditioned and polished your entire body from head to toe. But at the end when you were standing before a mirror, you could see the results were worth it.

As Finnick had stated, you were already beautiful to start with, but it was like taking an uncut gem and polishing the stone to make it shine. Your hair was a couple of inches shorter with all the damage from years of saltwater being trimmed off. A treatment of conditioners you couldn’t care to remember had tamed your thick locks into smooth waves that had been layered to frame your face and flow prettily down your back. Whatever impurities that existed on your skin before had been entirely lasered away, and your whole complexion was now soft and glowing. Your eyebrows had been plucked into identical manicured arches and some sort of needled gun had permanently filled them in. A gel had been applied to your lips to boost their plumpness, without overly inflating them or drastically changing their shape, giving your mouth a cherubic quality. Staring at your reflection you raised a perfectly manicured finger to poke at your cheek, feeling the new silky smoothness beneath your fingertip, watching as your mirror image copied the action. It was surreal. You recognized the person in front of you as yourself, all of your features were still the same, but just somehow perfected?

You mostly ignored the gushing of your newly assigned stylist team — a set of triplets named Ruby, Garnet and Quartz — as they picked out garments, stretched measuring tape across and around your body and argued over what colors would bring out your eyes the best. They were sweet and well meaning with their compliments, but the growing nerves over being prepped for the chariot parade in a few hours made you unreceptive.

The concept they eventually decided on for your fishing district was ‘Rulers of the Sea’ and you were dressed in a Grecian inspired gown. The iridescent blue and green material, that sparkled like the sun reflecting off the ocean, was clasped at the top of your left shoulder with a silver broach in the shape of a starfish. Intricate embroidery was patterned around around the waist where the fabric was cinched tightly to create an overly enhanced hourglass silhouette. The bottom half flowed to your sandal clad feet and seemed to sway with the slightest of moments, a split on the right ran to the middle part of your thigh. Your eyes were a smoky combination of the colors from your dress, lashes coated in extensions and a layer of mascara to give you a seductive yet doe eyed appearance. There was a strange dichotomy in your styling where they were attempting to preserve your ‘natural’ and ‘innocent’ traits whilst simultaneously taking full advantage of the fact you were eighteen in order to market sex appeal.

Your favorite part (that you hated to admit even liking given the circumstance you were even in) was your hair. A section from each side had been pulled away and pinned at the back in a princess style, with numerous tiny clips of glowing sea shells and starfish holding it in place. Glittery extensions had been clipped in tastefully creating an appearance as if your hair was literally shining. This was then finished off by an ornate tiara placed on the top of your head.

By the time you were finished your stylists were practically in tears, fawning over you and calling you’re their greatest masterpiece. They mistook your eyes watering as pride in their work and not disgust at their pride in dressing a cow off before sending it to the slaughterhouse.

“No dear, you can’t cry and ruin all that make up we just spent so much time perfecting” Ruby chided, dabbing at your eyes with a tissue as Quartz and Garnet guided you out the door and into the small vehicle which was about to take you from the clinic to the parade. You didn’t dignify her with a response, merely grabbing the tissue from her hand as you were forced into the car. As soon as you were inside the car sped off, arriving at the destination very shortly after. From behind your tinted windows you could see horses being lead to empty chariots and your first sight of the other tributes, the people you were either going to have to kill or be killed by.

When the car stopped, Finnick was the one to open your door and offer you a hand to get out, which you accepted. As you stood up he appraisingly ran his eyes over all the details of your make-over, before nodding his approval.

“They did well,” he stated and you nodded your head in passive agreement as he dropped your hand to press his to the small of your back and guide you towards your chariot. Namjoon was already there, dressed in his own Grecian toga of the same fabric with a crown on the top of his newly styled hair. Sensing your arrival, he turned to look at you. Namjoon’s eyes widened comically before quickly composing his features almost as instantly as he had reacted. “Very well,” Finnick whispered, and you allowed an amused puff of air out.

“Your chariot awaits my dear,” Finnick said with a mock bow as he nudged you towards Namjoon, who extended his arm for you to hold on to. Not sure what else to do, you placed your hand delicately on his forearm, his other hand then coming to rest over the top. For a brief moment as Namjoon guided you both into the chariot, you could almost imagine you were a princess being taken to a ball by a handsome prince, but any such delusions were ruined by what Namjoon whispered next.

“It’s such a shame there can only be one winner, you really look good by my side.”

Your jaw clenched and you moved to rip your hand off his arm but his grip over yours instantly tightened with a laugh, as if expecting that exact reaction.

“Calm down princess, I don’t plan on killing your pretty little face for a while yet.”

You looked up at him like he was insane as the chariot began to move forward. He thought your reaction was from fear he was going to kill you now? And not that he perceived your life as only having value from being pretty enough for him? You were furious and about to rip into him before you heard the approaching roar of the crowd ahead at the end of the tunnel. Namjoon was oblivious to your rage, a perfectly poised smile, flexing his dimples that Finnick would be proud of, already painted on his face. You paused, for all you knew that could be an attempt to psych you out before facing the crowds, potentially losing you sponsor opportunities. Turning away from Namjoon, you took a deep breath to try and compose yourself. You plastered the docile soft-smiled wide eyed expression on your face that you had practiced with Finnick on the train, as your carriage emerged form the tunnel and onto the road lined with screaming spectators.

The entire parade was a blur of flashing lights, fireworks, thunderous cheering and echoes from the microphone that distorted whatever message the president greeted you with. By the time your chariot returned to the tunnel your mind was entirely blank but with the satisfied nod from Finnick as he waited to welcome you both back, you knew you had done well.

“If District 2 is anything to go by then you’ve won yourself a lot of admirers tonight” Finnick practically sang as he helped you down. Confused by his words you turned around looking for the other district to see the duo from two, the carriage over from yours. Dressed in gladiator styled garments, that was common from them every year, the girl was fiddling with a ruby dagger (you hoped was just a prop) whilst the boy was staring straight at you. ‘Boy’ was the wrong word to describe him, as he definitely had to have been the same age as you, if anything he looked slightly more mature than the legal age to even be here. He was tall, though not as tall as Namjoon, and lithe. Beneath a decorative breastplate you could see his sun kissed golden skin adorned with the toned definition of his pectoral and abdominal muscles. His face was incredibly handsome, by far the most handsome of any of the male tributes. Rich copper hair had been styled to frame his aristocratic features; a high bridged pointed nose, high cheekbones, sharp jawline and rich dark chocolate brown eyes that were intently focused on you.

“Speaking to other tributes before training is technically not allowed, but it’s enforced the same way as your training centers are, so not at all. You’ve got five minutes until those cars arrive to take you to the living quarters, go talk to the careers and work out an alliance,” You broke the eye contact to look at Finnick as he spoke, clearly having witnessed your little interaction.

Namjoon took the lead, confidently stepping off the carriage with a winning smile and striding towards the pair from two. With a sigh you hitched up the long material of your dress and followed behind him. You could still feel the male’s eyes burning into your skull as you looked across to notice the pair from District 1 also making their way over — their own mentor likely having given them the same advice as your own.

“I’m Namjoon and this is YN,” you weren’t particularly pleased by Namjoon deciding to speak on your behalf, but chose to roll your eyes behind him rather than interrupting. “We’re interested in continuing a long standing tradition of successful career pack alliances. I assume from you joining us over here, that you are as well.”

“I would typically say that to assume only makes an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me’, but in this instance you are correct,” the other male from District 1 spoke. You tried to stifle a laugh, but the warning glare Namjoon shot you from the corner of his eye told you that it wasn’t successful. You merely smiled back and blinked innocently with a shrug.

“My name’s Yoongi, and an alliance would be in all of our best interests.” He was shorter than Namjoon and District 2, only an inch or two taller than yourself, but somehow still just as intimidating. His pale skin was contrasted by pitch black hair and sharp coal like eyes that were openly assessing the group of you.

“Krystal,” his district mate offered by means of introduction, and you wondered if the two were siblings. She shared his light complexion, dark eyes and her sleek midnight hair was dead straight down past her waist. Both were dressed in black, their outfits embodying the luxury their district was known for; Yoongi in a tailored suit with subtle embroidery detail, Krystal in an elegant fitted gown made of the same fabric, both topped off with luxurious fur capes draped over their shoulders.

“I’m Athena and he’s Hoseok,” the girl from two spoke. She appeared to be the same height as Yoongi but you noticed a heel on her sandals giving her an extra few inches. You couldn’t bring yourself to look across to Hoseok, knowing his gaze still hadn’t broken since staring at you from the carriage.

“Is that real?” you asked, gesturing towards the dagger Athena had been playing with before that was now held limply in her right hand.

“Why don’t we find out,” she replied with a smirk, instantly flipping the dagger in her hands to point the tip between your eyes.

“Athena!” Hoseok hissed dangerously, slapping the dagger from her hands and cause it to fall onto the ground below. The lack of metallic ‘clang’ revealing it as fake.

“Calm down, it was a joke!” Athena snapped back, reaching down to pick it back up, whilst shaking her head in annoyance. Before you could assure her it was fine, Hoseok stepped forward to present you with his own version of the prop. Reaching out he grabbed your wrist to place the ‘dagger’ in your hand.

“See, the material is just a type of fiber that gives the illusion of metal, but is really not hard at all.” Gently he ran the blade along your palm, and true to his word there was no edge at all. But the image still looked real and seeing a blade dancing across your skin, knowing someone was going to try to kill you with a real one very soon, made you feel ill. Sensing your discomfort from the trembling hand, Hoseok immediately pocketed the knife, but still maintained his hold on your wrist.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you, angel,” he spoke softly and you frantically looked to the others to see if they could hear him. Namjoon who was the closest merely looked amused, Athena was showing Yoongi the fake dagger, whilst Krystal had her eyebrow raised in your direction.

“I hope not,” you awkwardly tried to joke, pulling your wrist slightly to subtly try and break the hold, but he only tightened his grip forcing you to look up and back into his eyes again. His gaze from a distance had already been intense but up close it was heart stopping. There was a passion in his eyes you had never seen before in your life and it was solely focused entirely on you. It was frightening, you couldn’t imagine what you had possibly done to warrant being on the receiving end of something so intense. You tilted your head down and away from the others, humiliated over being so easily intimidated. If an attractive man holding your wrist and making eye contact with you was all it took to fluster you, you may as well just sign your own death certificate now.

“Hey, look at me,” he whispered, dropping your wrist to place his finger on your chin and raise your head back upwards, though you kept your eyes lowered, staring at his jawline to avoid direct eye contact again.

“I’m promise I won’t hurt you, love. Not now, not ever.”

You were about to ask him how he could possibly say something like that given you were about to become direct competitors in a battle to the death, when a sharp whistle stole your attention. Snapping your head to the side you saw Finnick jerk his head, indicating for you and Namjoon to return. You exhaled in relief, grateful for the reprieve.

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Namjoon said to the group, moving next to you and causing Hoseok to pull his hand away. You nodded to show your agreement with Namjoon whilst making eye contact with the other three you barely had a chance to speak to. You hoped they didn’t think that you were somehow forming something just with Hoseok based on his actions. You were going to need all the help you possibly could get if you wanted a chance to survive.

“Tomorrow,” Krystal agreed, making proper eye contact with you for the first time. She was smaller in height than you, thinner too, but somehow carried a cold and intimidating aura. You offered her a polite smile in return and a nod, relieved when she nodded back, before you returned to Finnick with Namjoon.

“How did it go? Looked pretty good” Finnick asked just as the capitol vehicle pulled up to take you to the tribute quarters.

“It seems our little dove here won’t just have the capitol for an admirer,” Namjoon smirked, getting into the car.

“So I saw,” Finnick muttered as a reply to Namjoon’s back, then turned to face you.

“Don’t let him psych you out,” he said, stepping aside so you could follow Namjoon into the vehicle.

You glanced at Namjoon before turning back to see Hoseok standing by his car but staring directly at you again. His eyes were still radiating the same intense passion from moments ago, you had no idea what to make of it.

“Who?” you whispered back to Finnick, ducking your head as you stepped inside. Finnick moved to shut the door.

“Both of them”

This is basically an introductory chapter to gauge reception. Future updates should be longer. I have the whole fic plotted and the outline itself is 5.9K words and this chapter was only based on the first paragraph. The next update will focus on the training sessions/interview with Caesar and the update after should be the one where they actually enter the arena.

Feedback is much loved, but please avoid asking for updates. I don’t have a schedule but I do have crippling depression so I write when the motivation hits lol

#yandere hoseok #yandere bts #bts x reader #hoseok x reader #yandere bts fic #hunger games au #hoseok fic #hoseok au #hoseok x you #yandere jung hoseok #yandere #dark jhope #dark bts #dark bts au

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wovenstarlight · 3 years

Text

rambling thoughts about hyj (canon vs ywbk)

yoojin is so so fascinating as a character to me... i think about him 24/7 he occupies every available inch of brainspace i have. like this man and his issues am i fucking right. so i’m going to talk a bit about how i see him working and how i chose to portray him in my time travel series

so canon hyj, right. he’s like. he’s such a funky narrator. he’s like if i occupy my mind with endless work i will avoid falling into the pit of depression and immense grief from all that i went through pre regression. but also what i went through pre regression wasn’t even that bad. but also everyone who hurt me back then is assholes. but anyway ignore all that because i have work to do.

and on top of that the way he interacts with people is very... i won’t say it’s utilitarian but he’s very focused on what he can do for people and what they can do for him. in a currently-unpublished but translated chapter, he says that (SPOILERS!) he’s asked his thoughts on shj, and he answers that sung hyunjae is a useful man, and yoojin has to be polite to him on the off chance he needs to rely on him in the future. a very “he’s useful” kind of answer. this despite the obvious chemistry he and shj have-- not even in a romance way (though i do like jinjae), they just? get along? they banter easily and they have similar senses of humour and even though sometimes hyj gets exasperated at his behaviour, he still chats with him in a friendly way all the same.

and yet he’s also like SHJ Is Useful And That’s It. I Don’t Like Him At All. and he saves him in his contacts as “skill” and generally acts like he’s completely uncaring. which, compared to how much love he has for hyh and then for byr, i understand- shj at the moment quite honestly does not rank up there at all compared to those two? but he does rank somewhere, i think, because then hyj gets annoyed and upset when shj doesn’t show up to help him, and past a “shit, i needed his specific skillset for this situation and now i’m not sure how to manage this”, he does react in a very... i’ve been let down by someone i had high hopes for, kind of way.

so basically he’s got this whole, i don’t care about people1, thing going on, but then he also very much does care. and hyj is a caring person! fuck, shj even says to hyh at one point that han yoojin-gun has a bad habit of letting people into his heart too easily. what that tells me is that hyj has like.... SEVERE trust issues. he won’t allow himself to care about people, to be aware of any feelings he holds towards people- he makes himself only think about the skills people offer him, about how he can use them. and even then, whenever possible, he does things himself and he avoids relying on others, sometimes because he “doesnt want to bother them [with adult matters]” (that one talk with yoohyun) and sometimes because he just doesn’t really trust them with whatever needs doing

1. as an aside i do think hyj’s moral sense is very funny because like. if anyone touches his fucking kids they’re as good as dead! he’ll kill them! he cares about no one but his kids and everyone else can die! [the world is in danger] ah, fuck, maybe he cares about people who aren’t his kids. he doesn’t want the world to die. but don’t BRING IT UP!!! JEEZ!!! HIS PRIDE!!!! but also if you get blacklisted for whatever reason then Die literally Die he will kill you himself. it’s a very funny, he’s a good person but oh, he’s also a little bit insane, actually. that sort of situation. i love him. go crazy go stupid, sweetie, you’re doing great.

WHICH IN CONTEXT MAKES A LOT OF SENSE, WHEN YOU THINK ABOUT PRE REGRESSION! like hyj was raised with the experience of his parents, the people in the world whose unconditional support he was meant to have, being tossed down the drain because he chose to take care of yoohyun. so he’s already like, yeah, i gotta rely on myself. he has that understanding that.... he’s gotta rely on himself first and foremost, rather than trusting people who are supposed to be taking care of him. not just caring for him, actually, caring for him and yoohyun, because then he basically has to dedicate his life to yoohyun growing up. he’s been acting as yoohyun’s primary guardian from age Baby. and age 17 to 22 was literally just him dropping everything he was doing for himself in favor of getting a job and making sure yoohyun stayed in school and was fine. yoojin himself dropped out of school so he must’ve lost his whole friend group and support system. and then post-dungeon shock, he gets thrown aside and pretty much discarded by yoohyun without so much as a goodbye from the kid, which-- wow! ouch! that shit must have hurted! talk about being fucking burned, jeez. and even after that, spending three years running after yoohyun, trying to “regain” his trust and love, yoojin would’ve seen his Unawakened self as ‘not good enough’ for s-rank yoohyun. and therein comes the “if it’s not useful it’s worthless” mindset. and then he Awakened as f-rank-- already a blow!-- and then on top of that he gets backstabbed by the dozens of people who were like “you’re an s-rank’s brother! go get Awakened, i’ll bet money on you Awakening to a good rank!” and then pulled out on him, leaving him with idk how much debt (this is all mentioned in early chapters somewhere, i’ll pull citations later). man, i’m not surprised he has trust issues.

so that’s already part of his difficulty trusting other people. but then it gets compounded when you think about it further because like, His Fucking Skills, Man. he has a whole skill focused around “if you make an emotional connection with someone and then they die, it’s useful to you.” holy fuck! no wonder he’s allergic to bringing people into battle alongside himself! no wonder he throws himself into dungeons solo just to get freebie skills that allow him to be some semblance of independently combat-ready! every time he makes a connection with people he’s wondering if one day he’ll get their dying memories! you ever wonder how many people he had on his list of “keyworded individuals” pre-reg? he’s stated that he used to be at the back of dungeon parties with a spear (the need for weapons with a longer reach because of his low defense, obviously) and so someone else always died before he did? how many teammates that he cared about has he watched die in front of himself, how many times has he gotten the dying memories of those teammates, how many times have the rest of his living teammates turned on him after finding out his ability and accused him of getting the dead person killed on purpose so that he could have their skills? like hyj brings it up when he’s first explaining last repayment, and hyj cares about people so easily that he’d never do it and yet he still thought of it. which means other people would undoubtedly think of it very easily. and they wouldn’t be as forgiving when there’s a body count right there.

just, last repayment basically took hyj’s (largely yoohyun-induced) fear of losing the people he cared about and slammed his head directly into a concrete wall. thanks for that, king. so now hyj forces himself to constantly asses people on a “what skills do they have? how useful are they to me?” basis if they try to get close to him, rather than allowing him to just go “friend :-) i care them“. and it makes him reluctant to get close to and rely on people, because again, Danger Lies Therein

and all of this also must have made him be used to... being unloved, i guess (from his perspective- yoohyun cared, even when he left, but yoojin didn’t know that until yoohyun died). because most if not all of the people who have cared about or pretended to care about him have later left him. he’s got abandonment issues up the wazoo. when people say they care about him (stw, shj) he reacts with distrust. when he reveals the slightest imperfection he’s convinced they‘ll leave him, regardless of how much kindness he’s shown them in the meantime-- remember when he told myeongwoo he’d lied about them being childhood friends? complete confusion that myeongwoo didn’t immediately renounce their friendship. (SPOILERS FOR UNPUBLISHED CHAPTERS!) and later, it happens again with yerim- he tells her that he wasn’t actually a friend of her parents, he just wanted to poach her for haeyeon-- and then wonders why she doesn’t react with betrayal, when what she says is “i’m glad! ahjussi was so kind to me, i was worried i’d bewitched him somehow. i’m glad he actually cares about me. it makes me happy you were so kind”. he expects to lose the people he cares about, if not by outside causes, then of their own volition.

though on the outside causes front, i suppose it does help that like, all the people he’s growing close to now are hypercompetent high-rankers and therefore less likely to get themselves hurt. versus last timeline’s f-rank and e-rank friends, who’d probably routinely get killed, rip. but then there lies the possibility of yoojin thinking “if i pull them into danger then they’re in that much more danger” (see: Literally The Whole Reason Pre-reg Yoohyun Died. he went to help hyj and got in over his head trying to defend hyj and keep hyung alive, when he should’ve been able to defend himself with ease. hyj and diarma both acknowledge this.) which, again, plays into the reason he tries to avoid relying on other people.

tl;dr hyj’s interpersonal relationships are fucked!

but anyways moving on to talk about my fic versions of canon yoojin (hyj): han hyunjae (hhj) and han yoojin jr. (hyj jr). and how i’ve given them both problems disorders based on hyj’s issues

so like right off the bat we have hhj’s major issue, repeatedly brought up in-fic-- his issue with relying on people. let me pull a quote about this from the author notes of ywbk chapter 11:

some of you might be wondering why the yoojins are so [pretends to be okay and centers self on taking care of others], particularly [hhj]. my thinking for that part was mostly... in canon we see yoojin surrounded by people he knows are competent and capable, almost all of them adults. even when he's "raising" them, he has some degree of confidence in their ability to watch out for themselves. plus he's had time to grow out of being the only one in charge of the family; he's seen his brother come into his own and he's pulled back from his caretaking role

but here, [hhj]'s been directly thrust into raising two kids (and yeah even if [hyj jr]'s 18 he's still very much a child). not only that, but his knowledge of the future makes him (in his eyes) more knowledgable than just about all the folks around him, even the adults. mostly, he doesn't want to drop all his baggage on them when he knows they won't be able to relate (and in some cases, he doesn't want them to live with that knowledge). so he kind of distanced himself from everyone and pushed himself further into the caretaking thing as a way of coping, without realizing that's what he was doing.

we have hhj who, as hyj’s au twin, has the same trust issues and forced utilitarian attitude rising from pre-reg experiences. and then we dropped him into a situation where that “prioritize work and handle all issues myself” attitude is-- i don’t want to say rewarded, exactly, but it’s definitely useful for him in the timeline he’s in. he’s the oldest han brother, so handling issues naturally falls to him anyway as the head of the family; with both boys in school, he’s the breadwinner of the family, so prioritizing work is good! he becomes a super-efficient worker and it satisfies the needs of everyone around him!

unfortunately yoojin is a caring person, so hyj jr realizes that hhj is very much overreaching when he’s not even begun to address the effects of the Very Obvious In A Non-Dungeon World pre-reg trauma. so he’s like. hyung. what the FUCK, dude. take it easy and rely on people once in a while.

and physically, sure, hhj can rely on them. he can get yoohyun to do chores, he can get junior to take on a part time job so funds aren’t a constant worry. he gets better at trusting them to manage regular life stuff, honestly! he’s pretty good about that sort of thing now!

but then it comes to emotional needs, and like, hyj jr is a kid? and hyh is a kid? so any trust hhj builds there is going to be a little one-sided, since he can’t dump all his emotional worries on children. whatever yoojin is, he is a good caretaker who addresses his kids’ needs, and the kids do not need to be hhj’s therapists.

and hhj doesn’t really have friends his own age, and even when he does (hello jiyeon and hamin and orv gang), none of them can quite- Get it, because there’s not really an easy way to explain “i have deep-seated trauma about my family leaving me and about the people around me dying brutally” without, uh, (a) a LOT of trusting them to take you seriously and not snitch (b) explaining some Context about his youth and also the dungeons. (like yeah he could say “i’m scared everyone i care about will die on me in horrifying ways, particularly if they try to get close to me”, but that’s an irrational fear (because why would everyone die horrifyingly, why would getting close to hhj be a death sentence)-- unless you know that “everyone i care about” consists of Hunters and getting close to hhj involves getting involved with dungeons, and then his fear is very real and very understandable, even without knowing about pre-reg. there’s a reason why, even though hhj had four years to grow close to jiyeon, it still took the dungeon shock occurring for him to finally tell her even the smallest bit about pre-regression.

(from jiyeon’s perspective, she doesn’t notice much amiss, because the things hhj is keeping from her are mostly pre-reg related. he doesn’t mind talking to her about his current life, though he is reluctant to talk about some personal issues with her. hamin is a little more distant, because he is still hhj’s boss, so hhj tries to stay mostly cordial with him. orv gang is a more casual relationship- not really the type where he can dump his personal issues on them; and anyway, they’re a tight-knit friend group themselves, so hhj feels a little more on the fringes, not excluded but not fully included, either. a little like hsy does, but without the whole “i have to play the bad guy of the team” mindset.)

and this distance he creates without anyone realizing, this inability of his to fully trust them with all the details of his life, is what results in the freakout around the dungeon shock. the whole, You Are Actively Dying, if you don’t explain yourself right now i’ll finish the job. (though i don’t blame him for not trusting them with his trauma! i don’t really think he’s ready to talk about it. especially with people who don’t yet have any context for even the start of the story. hopefully this’ll change post-dungeon shock, though.)

unfortunately even with his newfound ability to talk about things more freely, he’s still in a sticky situation-- over the years, he’s developed his ability to rely on people for non-life-and-death situations like “earn money on the side”. but sending his brother to take out the trash is very very different from sending his brother to fight dungeons and other Hunters without backup. is very different from needing to risk a life and choosing his brother’s. so despite his hard-won Relying On Others abilities, they don’t extend to dungeon world situations.

and what does this mean, practically? it means, like canon hyj, hhj is going to persistently overreach himself in trying to fight alone-- he’ll try to be competent, to take on adversaries, to build strength in every possible avenue so that he can keep yoohyun and hyj jr and the rest of his family out of danger. he’ll try to be a one-man army, just to defend the people he cares about.

(ONE DAY. one day he will learn that it may not be safe to care, he may still be hurt, but that doesn’t mean he should cut himself off in advance. he’s still allowed to care. he’s still allowed to be cared about. oh, hhj. i want to beat him up but more than that i want to hug him.)

and then there’s hyj jr. oh, junior, you’re a delight. i love the concept of a yoojin who’s never had the trauma of being left behind by yoohyun, who’s gotten to flourish and become everything he has the potential to be, fighting at yoohyun’s side and being amazing. it’s too bad the method i chose to achieve this through also left our prodigal son with extreme issues.

(FAIR WARNING: THIS PART WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR LATER PARTS OF YWBK VIS A VIS SOME CHARACTER DECISIONS AND ACHIEVEMENTS. mostly since hyj’s time to shine hasn’t come through quite yet, so we don’t have as much of him)

so our boy junior may not have the various traumas induced by pre-regression, but he does start off with the same parental neglect that makes him hesitant to rely on seniors. and when his parents die, it’s about a week or so before hhj shows up, which junior spends realizing that he’s really going to have to give up his life and completely dedicate himself to guardianship, huh? and then hhj appears, and rips that role out from under him-- not just the “head of the family” role, even the “primary guardian of yoohyun” role. because yoohyun trusts him instinctively, and looks to him with just as much respect as hyj jr. junior becomes desperate to regain that role he’s lived all his life, in whatever form he can, resulting in the chapter 11 blowup. and past me already covered this:

as for junior, he's suddenly gained a new brother out of nowhere who is demonstrably bad at taking care of himself; on top of that, the "head of house + reliable caretaker" role junior's played almost all his life has been stolen out from under his nose without his realizing, and he's not really been able to adjust to suddenly being made to depend on yoojin (and, to a degree, jiyeon). yeah it helps a bit that yoojin's his elder self but even so. so he's attempting to re-assert himself in the role he's familiar with, particularly now that he's due to [go to mandatory service and] not see any of these people for months

he’s trying to figure out where he fits in this new family setup, trying to figure out what he can do for his family. and he would’ve started out on a track similar to hhj, trying to be everything for his family, except then the dungeons start appearing.

and what does hhj reveal? that hyj jr is destined to be an f-rank. that most of the useful skills hhj has, the hard-won power that he has, it’s all earned from other places that hyj jr won’t be able to replicate, most likely. and hyh-- hyh is going to be the pride of the family, as always. s-rank, top of the nation, worldwide hero, peerless and amazing.

hyj jr starts feeling like he’s falling behind. he starts feeling a lot of pressure to keep up. as the dungeon shock hits, he decides he’s going to keep up, one way or another.

and then there’s the aftermath of the shock, and all hyj jr can do is- is sit in the hospital room and wait for hhj to be okay. there’s monsters on the streets, yoohyun is out there killing them and making a difference, and all hyj jr is doing is sitting around. all he can do is offer yoohyun emotional support when he gets back, all he can do is keep jiyeon sane when she calls for daily checkins, all he can do is wait for the nurses to check that hhj is still alive. all he can do is support the people around him without actually acting out himself.

all that determination he had during the shock doesn’t get killed by the realization that he can’t actually do much, with his strengths; by the realization that he can’t be a one-man army like hyung is, sometimes. he decides, instead, that he’s got his handful of things he can do, so obviously the only path left is to do them perfectly.

he throws himself into learning to fight; he throws himself into playing support whenever possible (though allowances are made for being bratty, sometimes, the remaining anxiety from the aftermath of the shock leading to him acting out); he throws himself into working for haeyeon, to the point of becoming the deputy guild leader. he throws himself into perfection so hard that he takes the slightest failure to meet his sky-high expectations hard. (”Why can’t i fight high-ranks without being afraid like hyung can,” says local E-rank without his hyung’s L-rank Fear Resistance) because he only needs to be good at these few things, he can’t do anything other than these few things, so why can’t he at least do this perfect, y’know? why can’t he keep up with his family? why is he never good enough?

(what if he gets left behind again for not being good the way they want him to be? he’d only wanted to take care of yoohyun, and look where that got them.)

so basically, hyj jr winds up with the same Need To Be Enough that hhj has-- but where hhj needs to be able to do Everything, hyj jr needs to be able to do Perfectly at his (self-assigned) Roles. where hhj wants to do whatever he decides needs doing, hyj jr has no illusions about his abilities; he knows he can only be the supportive brother, the hard-working guild leader, the caring friend, the perfect whatever. everything else is something he won’t dare to try for, because he Knows he’ll never be enough. and if he ever fails even slightly at the things he can do, it’s an instant game over, anyway.

congrats, junior, you’ve given yourself clinical anxiety!

but yeah, that’s. yoojins.

#star.txt #hyj let me study you [hand emojis]#my first exam is tomorrow and yet i wrote an essay for an hour and a half. time to do statistics now #i don't claim to be good at character meta. but i will still write it.#ugh i guess i should tag this with the fandom tags #han yoojin #my sranks #work: yesterday will be kinder

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