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anyoneseenadam · 3 years

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sub!azriel but the reader and him aren't together yet and she keep teasing him without knowing until he finally has enough and goes and begs her

Pairing: Azriel x reader (acotar)

Warnings: smut, sub!az, slight degradation, lotta fluff tho

A/n: so i kinda did the ending of this drunk while watching pulp fiction so if it’s confusing that’s why and I apologise lol

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He had first met you while training the priestesses. You were a friend of Emerie’s. A fae woman that almost brought him to his knees with a single look.

You had nervously spoken to Cassian about joining in the training and had progressed past his group and into Cassian’s within two weeks.

That was probably for the best.

Besides your original nerves, you had thrown yourself into training - eyes always on him as he spoke and went through moves, moved which you copied with the precision of a ballerina.

He had withered under your kind gaze, soft eyes making him want to fall into you and let you fight away all his fears. And whenever you had spoken to him it was with undivided attention, always listening carefully and providing whatever he needed - whether it was someone to complain to or someone to laugh with.

The night he fell in love with you however was different. He had gone into the library searching for Nesta and found her with Emerie, Gwyn and you, all relaxing in soft clothing.

He had almost fallen over when he saw you in an oversized hoodie with tight shorts and baby pink toenails, your face clean of makeup and still somehow the prettiest he had ever seen.

You had smiled brightly when you saw him, patting the empty space beside you and - unable to deny you - he had come to sit beside you, shivering when you lay your head on his shoulder with your book abandoned in you lap.

As he sat, Gwyn carried on explaining a new concept she had been exploring with her tutor when you spoke up, “But you’re basing that hypothesis presuming the butterfly effect doesn’t exist.”

He tilted his head down then, as you sat up, frowning at the loss of contact while Nesta barely hid her smug grin behind her hand as she watched the interaction.

“The butterfly effect?” Gwyn asked, grabbing a notebook as you smiled.

“We’ll you’re talking about fate, saying that everything is predetermined. But the butterfly effect proposes that anything, even something as small as a butterfly flapping it’s wings, can change the whole course of the future and can split reality into different pathways. This creates alternate realities, one were the butterfly flaps it’s wings and one were it doesn’t, and even such a small change is still a change.”

He didn’t really understand your concept but Gwyn was furiously scribbling things down and scoring things out as you continued.

“So yes, there is a large chance that maybe once there was a predetermined set of events, but as things change and as people are born and stray from these paths, there is no feasible way to ensure everything goes exactly as determined.” You spoke with your hands, something he had never noticed before. You explained the concept slowly and clearly to Gwyn as you discussed the topic in depth, your face lighting up as you spoke about the unknown.

He fell in love then, when he watched you speak so enthusiastically about a topic he had no idea about. But even with a lack of knowledge he wanted to hear all about it - wanted to become so well versed in it that one day you might look at him the way he looked at you.

The problem there was that in his love drunk state, subtleties went out the window. You’d had suspicions before but now, with him blatantly staring at you, you were sure.

You had spoken to Nesta about him before and discovered he didn’t have the greatest track record of admitting his feelings so you decided to step it up a notch, ready to bust out all the tools that would make him confess.

You decided to start simple; removing your top during training and continuing in your sports bra, leaving lingering touches on his shoulders or hands, turning on what Emerie lovingly deemed your ‘sex eyes’ when you spoke to him. And it seemed to be working, he started avoiding your gaze and would pause speaking whoever you touched him, subconsciously leaning into your hand or gently laying his head atop your when you placed yours on his shoulder.

It wasn’t for a couple weeks however that you made a startling discovery. You had decided to make some cupcakes and Azriel had run into you in the kitchen - accepting your offer to help. He had been doing an amazing job delicately filling the cases with batter and you smiled when he finished without spilling a drop.

“Ugh perfect! You did amazing Az!” You had exclaimed, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before opening the over with one hand and balancing the tray in the other.

He had made a sound under his breath and when you turned back you found him bright red and looking down with a shy smile on his face. Then it clicked why your beautiful, strong spy always seemed so nervous around you. He was a sub.

You were ecstatic the rest of the day, having hit the jackpot with Azriel and with a plan forming in your head. He wasn’t likely to admit his feelings to you but you had an idea that would make sure he had them before you did anything else.

The next day you saw him at training, smiling warmly at him as you usually did and hopping over to speak to him before you got started.

“Hey Az, did u get a cupcake last night?” You asked, smiling brightly when he blushed bright red having run off soon after receiving your praise with a half assed excuse about finding Cassian.

“Yeah they were amazing,” he said, finally meeting your eyes as you looked up at him expectantly.

“Ah couldn’t have done it without your help,” you praised and he blushed looking down again. You heard Cassian call your name impatiently and turned to stick your finger up at him, “Gotta go but we should hang out again tonight.”

He nodded with a smile, equal parts delighted and terrified at the idea of spending so much time with you.

“That’s a plan! See you tonight pretty boy,” you said, walking away while he stared dumfounded at your back. That - that was new.

He fumbled his way through training the priestesses, maybe pushing them slightly too hard because it meant he had plenty to do that didn’t involve thinking about you or about what seeing you tonight entailed.

Or that you thought he was pretty.

You on the other hand, couldn’t get through training quickly enough. You were finishing moves and sequences before Cassian even said them so used to his rhythm that he ended up just letting you leave when you were finished before everyone else - not without rolling his eyes dramatically however.

As you walked out Azriel couldn’t help his eyes from following you as you sauntered away with flushed, glowing skin and your hair swaying with every step as you shook it out. You shot a final look over your shoulder as you left to go shower, waving at him when you caught him staring with mischievous eyes.

You left quickly to go shower and get somewhat ready, ensuring you smelt good and pulling on your favourite underwear. You then decided to fuck with him and pulled on an oversized t-shirt that you kept from an ex-boyfriend on account of how soft it was and your smallest, softest shorts. You had finished getting ready and were making yourself an ice coffee when Azriel walked in with flushed cheeks, wiping sweat from his forehead with his shirt.

You whistled when you saw him and his eyes met yours, widening comically when he saw your bare legs - shorts barely visible beneath your large shirt.

“You alright hot stuff?” You asked as he moved to grab some bread from next to you. He inhaled sharply when you spoke and you barely contained your giggle,

“Want an ice coffee babes?”

“Um sure I don’t I-“ he stumbled over his words as his brain slowed trying to form a single thought other than your soft legs and even softer lips.

“I’ll make you one,” you said with a laugh, “so what do you want to do today?”

“I really don’t mind,” he muttered, watching as you mixed the drink for him and pressed it into his hand with a smile.

“What about a spa day, when was the last time you got to relax?”

“Cauldron I don’t think I’ve ever done that,” he joked and you smiled.

“Let’s do that then, I’ll get you so relaxed your bones will liquify,” you grabbed his hand as you pulled him out of the kitchen and started leading him to your room.

“Do- do I want that?” He asked and you squeezed his hand,

“You’ll understand soon,” you laughed.

You started with face masks and manicures, conversation flowing easily between the two of you despite Azriel’s nerves and the electricity that shot through him every time you touched him.

You were sitting reading together a while later when you shoved your book down and turned, your eyes focusing on him. He felt your heated gaze and tilted his head to meet your eyes, furrowing his eyebrows.

“What?” He asked,

“You’re pretty,” you said suddenly, reaching a hand to trace his jaw gently. He went comically red and you smiled.

“What? I- you think I’m,” he stuttered and you giggled, nodding.

“Yeah you’re so pretty,” he could feel himself grow hard, blushing impossibly hard at your words.

“Say it again,” he forced out and you smiled - reaching a hand to rest on his thigh, stroking it gently as you spoke again.

“You’re so pretty, and I’m sure you’d be so good for me would you?” Your voice got lower as you spoke, Azriel whimpering as you slid your hand up his thigh. “Do you want that? Wanna be my good boy?”

Azriel’s eyes widened and his hips bucked up slightly as he nodded, movements small and insecure.

“Words sweet boy, I need you to say you want this,”

“I want this!” He practically shouted and you laughed sweetly,

“I’m so glad baby, I’ve wanted you for so long,” you confessed - stroking his face gently as you moved to straddle him.

“You- you have?” He was confused and feeling a million feelings at once but so happy with the position he found himself in.

“Mhm and if I’m correct I think you have to,” he nodded quickly underneath you, his hands flying up to grab your hips as you started slowly rolling your hips over him.

“I have,” his voice was already so desperate and you had barely touched him, smiling as you leaned down to press kisses gently into his jaw.

“Mm good boy,” you whispered, “would you like me to touch you now?”

He shook his head and you furrowed your eyebrows, looking down at him with concern filled eyes.

“Wanna touch you instead,” he whimpered out and you cooed stroking his hair.

“Awe baby, go ahead,” you giggled, climbing off his lap as he crawled off your bed and kneeled on the floor - eyes wide as you spread your legs in front of him. He gently removed your shorts and panties, inhaling sharply and your pretty pussy was revealed to him. He looked up at you with his doe eyes, whispering as he silently begged you for permission - but you just smiled and laughed at him with a gentle hand stroking through his hair.

“Please miss I’ll be so good for you, please just wan’make you feel good,” he begged and you relented.

“Okay baby boy,” he swung forward so quickly and buried himself into your pussy, spitting on it before devouring you. His long fingers spread your folds open and he probed your tight hole with his tongue, thumb coming up to rub circles on your clit as he moaned against your heat.

He ate you out like it was his sole purpose in life, putting all he had into the task - almost delirious as he finally got what he had wanted for so long. The days he had spent daydreaming about your soft legs that were now wrapped around his head, the nights he had spent thinking of your pillow lips and how sweet you would sound as you told him what you wanted him to do.

“Oh baby you’re doing so well for me, so good baby. My good boy,” he moaned loudly against your pussy, hips rutting into air.

“M’ yours, all yours,” he cried, pushing two long fingers into your tight pussy and twisting them as he looked up, meeting your eyes as you tangled a hand in his hair.

“Make me come then baby, prove you’re my good boy,” he nodded against you - desperate to make you happy as he worked with renewed vigour. “Azriel baby you’re so good at this.” Your moans were like music to his ears as he scissored his fingers inside you, sucking on your clit hard enough to make you see stars. You swore - hand tightening in his hair - as he pressed into your sweet spot and sucked particularly hard on your clit at the same time, coming hard with an arched back as Azriel stared up at you. Awed at how he had tamed the goddess above him.

You ended up having to pull him off of your pussy as he whined, wet lips pouting as they tried to get back to you.

“No baby no more,” your voice was stern and he whined as you pulled him up to his feet, standing with him and spinning the two of you around.

He was considerably taller than you but even the height difference didn’t negate the power you had over him and when you shoved him down onto the bed and straddled him - kissing him harshly with your fingers squeezing his cheeks together.

“You’re so good baby, so good,” you whispered into his mouth.

“Did I do well?” His voice was so soft that you cooed and kissed him again.

“So, so well that you deserve a reward,” he looked up at you with those hazel eyes you loved so much, “do you want that, want to fuck me?”

“Yes miss, yes please wan’ fuck you so bad. S’all I think about,” you could never resist Azriel and now he was begging, you couldn’t deny him anything.

You reached down to pull his cock out of his pants, choking on a breath at his size. “Fuck baby, you’ve been holding out on me,” your hand moved on its own accord, pumping him slowly - needing two hands to hold him.

He was moaning lowly as you pumped him, precum leaking out the tip and making it easier for you to slip onto him, sinking down until you were fully seated and you could see a faint bulge through your belly.

“God you’re so big baby, filling me up so well.” You moaned as Azriel tried to form a single coherent thought other than how tight and wet you were.

“Do I feel good baby? Do you like having me wrapped around you?” You asked and he simply moaned in reply. You continued bouncing as you waited for a response but when he didn’t reply you slapped his cheek lightly.

“Words Azriel I asked you a question.” Your words were harsh but you spoke with a sickly sweet tone.

“You feel so good, didn’t know you could feel this good. So tight,” he moaned loudly when you clenched down on him, his words making a new gush of wetness coat his cock.

You smiled, drawing a hand over his hair as you bounced in his lap, the strength in your legs only letting you lift yourself halfway up his cock before you’re sinking back down.

“Fuck Az, baby you’re so big,” you whined into his mouth as you kissed him and he responded with a low grunt - his mind and body completely under your control, despite your intentions.

“I’m gonna come miss, please please let me come,” he begged after a few minutes of your hips rolling slowly over his and you laughed, holding him in your arms.

“Awe such a needy baby,” you cooed, “gonna come so early baby, needy slut.”

He whimpered underneath you, hips rutting into you as his hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise - desperately trying to stop himself from cumming as you were yet to give him explicit permission.

But that was a losing battle as he lost himself in the warmth of your cunt. He was throbbing within you, pulsating as you clenched around him, the sounds your pussy made as he pushed into your body. He was addicted to the small whimpers leaving your mouth and as he watched you move he knew he would never be able to let you go. He had fallen so hard over the short time he had known you and now he watched you take over his body when you had already taken his soul.

“Please can I come miss, please,” his begs were so soft that you nodded, kissing him again.

“Let go for me baby, show me you’re mine,” you commanded and he shook underneath you, coming with a string of curses.

“‘M yours miss, all yours please,” his eyes were teary and voice broken, but he looked so happy as he stared up at you - mouth hanging open in a silent sob.

He reached a hand between you rubbing your clit gently as you came all over his cock with a loud moan and shudder. He guided you through your orgasm, refusing to take his eyes off of you, completely entranced with you.

When you had both come down from your powerful orgasms, you climbed off him and stood to retrieve a wash cloth and to relieve yourself in the bathroom. When you returned Azriel was staring up at you with tired and nervous eyes.

You cleaned him up gently, pressing gentle kisses into his face and lips as you did so.

“You okay baby?” You asked when you were finished, pulling him into your arms as you lay back down - his head on your chest.

“I’m so good right now,” he whispered, propping his chin on your chest and looking up at you, “was that- was I alright?”

His voice was so small and you furrowed your brows, “baby you were so good, perfect.” You promised, stroking his hair and leaning to kiss his head gently.

“Are you sure cause I-“

“Baby,” you cut him off, “you’re all I want, I’ve wanted this for so long and you were so good. Was it good for you?”

He nodded furiously and you laughed as he came up to kiss you, “then we’re all good baby.”

“I think I love you,” he whispered into your mouth and you smiled.

“I think I love you too.”

#acofas #acotar #acomaf #azriel #acowar #azriel x reader #acofs #acosf

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let-them-read-fics · 4 years

Text

Empress of the Heart (Pt. 2)

Synopsis / Request: “Reader is an actress, and she meets Jennie at an event. They have a one night stand afterward, and months later they meet again.”

Pairing: Jennie x Fem!Actress!Reader

Warnings / Misc: Smut (only in Pt. 1), Angst, Fluff

Here’s the second half of the request for you lovely peeps! Enjoy :)

Part 1

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

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"Y/N, more people are arriving and management wants us to greet them. Something about photo ops." Jackson, your fellow lead, says as he pokes his head into your dressing room. His entrance intruded on your thoughts of the beautiful brunette that effectively stole your heart away within a night, leaving you completely at her mercy despite being worlds away.

"Alright, just give me a second." He nods and goes to stand outside your door -- you're expected to be seen together for a good portion of the night. Thankfully, though, Jackson is a good guy; he cares a lot about you, always doing everything in his power to keep you happy. The feeling is mutual; it's nice to have someone in your corner in an industry as unforgiving as this one.

"Ready?" You ask, opening the door after you've checked yourself in the mirror and smoothed down any unruly hairs or clothing. Looking presentable is a must tonight -- you can't appear as wistful as you've been feeling lately.

"Sure am." His answer is a bit unnecessary, seeing as how you asked a rhetorical question, but you send him a smile nonetheless. He offers you an arm, and soon the two of you are walking back towards the entrance of the building.

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Waves of flashing cameras greet you for the second time tonight, now capturing you in your full glammed-out look. The first time had been a few hours ago when your team arrived to begin setting up and get all of you ready.

The entire cast now stands stretched out in front of the large screen that will air the movie later, your arms around each other as you smile for the cameras. Promotional pictures shine behind you on the screen, serving as a perfect backdrop as they cycle through their predetermined slideshow.

Eventually, you all disperse to greet some guests.

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Choi. It's wonderful seeing you again."

"I hope you enjoy our performances, Mrs. Lee. Your support has meant the world to us."

"Ah, Jeong! How've you been?"

Countless faces pass by as you work hard to greet everyone, knowing full well your company will be upset if you slack off now. It's everyone's big night, so they obviously can't have their leading lady stopping for even a minute.

You're almost ready to run to the restroom in order to have a moment to yourself, free of prying eyes and judgemental stares; but what you hear next sends a chill down your spine, an all too familiar ache in your chest.

It's Jennie. She's laughing that wonderful laugh of hers, taking you back in time to when you first heard it. Her members must've said something really hilarious, because all of them are doubled over, clutching their stomachs with laughter.

"Hey again," Jackson greets, and for a second you almost want to tell him to leave you alone. You don't, though, knowing you have no right to pull something like that.

"YG's girl group just got here. Do you want to say hello?" Of course you do. You want to run into Jennie's arms and spin her around, reveling in the way her arms would surely wrap around you in that warm embrace that's so uniquely hers. You want to tell her a stupid joke to make her laugh again, like she had just a few moments ago. You want to talk to her.

But you don't.

"No, not right now. I'm going to visit with my family, if that's alright with you."

"Sure, sure." He says considerately, unwrapping his arm from you. You press a friendly kiss to his cheek as a thank you, letting it serve as a goodbye as well.

"Eomma!" You shout, squeezing through the crowd when you spot her at one of the banquet tables lining the front of the room. The rest of the space is filled with rows of chairs, already set out for when the movie premieres.

"Ah, baby girl. We're so proud of you." She says, holding you in a tight embrace as tears spill from her eyes. Her arms bring you comfort like no other, and you're beyond grateful to have her here tonight. Some of your friends stand behind her, too, waiting for their turn to say hello.

Jennie watches you interact with them from across the room, and she feels a pang of sadness run through her. She's not naive to how these things work: your other cast mates had come over to greet her and girls, snapping pictures and even starting meaningful conversations in some cases -- all of that meaning you had been given the opportunity to do the same, but turned it down. Do you not want to see her? Maybe she had misjudged your night together. You are an actress, after all.

She shakes her head, physically willing the thoughts to go away as she turns her focus to whatever new person was talking to them now. She continues stealing glances in your direction, finding you looking somewhere else every time. She'd give just about anything to have you look at her, if only for a moment. Just a glance, she thinks to herself, praying the universe hears her pleas. They seem to fall on deaf ears, though, because before she knows it the MC is calling all of you onto stage and the guests are directed to their seats.

"Let's welcome the cast of Empress of the Heart!" The MC says cheerily, tucking his notecard underneath his arm in order to clap along with the audience. "They've spent months working hard for this project, travelling to filming locations in different countries, learning new languages, and facing their fears. We hope all of you thoroughly enjoy their performances. Now, I'll hand it over to our leads."

You and Jackson bow towards the audience, waving at them politely as they applaud you again. He looks at you, a silent question of if you want to speak first, and you nod. Taking the mic from him, you say, "Firstly, I'd like to thank our incredible cast and crew. They played just as important a role in this movie as Jackson and I, and we're endlessly grateful for their hard work." More cheers ring out at your kind hearted show of appreciation, and you speak up again once they've died down.

"These past few months have been some of the best of my life, and I owe that to people like you, and my fans. Thank you for taking a chance on me and supporting me. From the bottom of my heart, thank you." You say sincerely, looking into the camera that's recording all of this for exclusive content. When the movie drops for the public in a couple weeks, they'll be able to buy this tape as well and see highlights from the premiere. The thought of your fans watching it from the comfort of their own homes, yelling praises at their screens, makes you smile.

Jackson takes over now, smoothly transitioning into his own mini speech of thanks. You stop your eyes from meeting the one pair that they so desperately want to, always keeping them trained on other parts of the crowd. If you allow your resolve to crumble, you'll get lost in her all over again and potentially screw up one of the biggest nights of your life. You can't take a risk like that.

You laugh at something Jackson says, some joke about how you had to face your fear of heights for a scene in the movie, and Jennie takes a deep breath. She's not exactly jealous, but yet that's precisely the feeling that creeps its way into her chest. She knows that you're avoiding her for some reason, but she has no idea why. Did she do something wrong?

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Why, why, did they have to sit Blackpink in the row right behind you? It's karmic, the universe's way of pushing you back to each other, but you don't know how to feel about it all. You can feel her eyes boring into you as each new scene plays, silently begging for you to turn around and talk to her, even if it's impolite to do so in the middle of a movie.

You don't, though, fighting every fiber of your being to keep yourself from giving in.

Despite the emotions that swirl within her that pay little mind to the number they're doing on her heart, she actually finds herself enjoying parts of the movie. It's bittersweet, seeing you up there, but you command the screen in a way that seems to steal all coherent thoughts from her brain. You're truly skilled, and she gets a kick out of watching you hide behind your hands in embarrassment when your co-stars offer whispered praises.

During one scene in particular, though, Jennie's eyes drop to the floor, her teeth clenched together tightly. Your character just saved Jackson's from certain doom, and the two of you are sharing a long-overdue kiss. The rest of the crowd lets out approving noises at this, but Jennie is comforted by her members' soft smiles and reassuring touches. You feel guilty, for some reason, knowing that anything you were a part of made Jennie so upset. It shouldn't matter, though -- I mean, it's not like you and Jackson are actually together -- but still, it hurts Jennie to see him kiss you and hold you in the ways she wants to.

The rest of the night carries on much the same, but later on, once you get enough courage to look for Jennie, she's gone. The other girls are too, and a sinking feeling settles in your chest. Gone -- again -- just like all that time ago. Your reasons for staying away from her were legitimate, but they felt nothing of the sort as you glanced around the crowd again.

The movie ended earlier, already getting good marks and reviews from the critics who came to view it, and now the "afterparty" of sorts was kicking in. You hadn't expected the girls to stay long after the movie, but you'd at least hoped to utter a word to them, if nothing else. A smile would've sufficed.

Realizing she's really gone, you let out a sad sigh and make your way down the hall, towards the large doors that lead to the balcony. If anything can clear your mind right now, surely it's a chilly breeze.

You lay an arm against the sturdy railing, leaning on it as you massage your neck. All of the stress you've been put under is showing in the form of painful knots, far too many to get rid of in one go. You sigh, letting your head lull forward and lay against your arm.

"And here I was thinking I wouldn't see you again."

At the utterance, you turn around to find her leaned up against the stone wall of the building with a playful smirk on her lips. She's back to her old self in an instant, but you can sense the undertones of nervousness in her voice.

The darkness of the night that envelops you two makes her eyes look even more feline -- even more alluring -- and it takes everything in you not to lose your train of thought.

"Jennie." Her name comes out as a pleased declaration more than anything else, a familiar flutter taking over your heart at the sight of her. It's a warm feeling in your chest, and you never want it to go away.

You try not to focus on the sensual swaying of her hips or the teasing look in her eye as she pushes herself away from the wall to approach you.

"I thought you left." You breathe out, remembering how sad you were earlier.

"Without getting you alone first? How could I?" The implication behind her words gives you pause, causing a blush to begin forming on your cheeks. You curse yourself for being so easy.

"I've missed you like crazy," she confesses, allowing herself to be vulnerable again. Now in front of you, she brushes the back of her fingertips against your cheek as you look into her eyes.

"I've missed you, too -- more, probably," you say, the declaration sounding like an embarrassed sigh as it leaves your lips. She smiles at that -- her genuine, gummy smile that you've missed so much -- and your heart flutters again.

She debates on asking the question that sits on the tip of her tongue, waiting to be answered. "Why didn't you greet me before, at the party?" Her voice is small now, insecure, as she avoids your gaze and stills her movements.

"I-..." you start, finding yourself at a loss for words. Should you tell her how you feel?

"I was afraid you'd throw me off my game. You're pretty distracting, you know?" You reply, nudging her shoulder playfully. A hint of a smile tugs at her cheeks, unsure if it should finish the job and turn into a big one.

"I thought I did something wrong." She informs.

"Not at all. In fact, you did things a little too right, if you ask me. I can't stay away from you, Jennie." Her heart trips and stumbles over itself in its pursuit of gaining a steady rhythm again, thrown off course by your words.

Growing brave, she suggests, "Go on a date with me, then. I wanna have more nights like that with you." She whispers that last part, ghosting her fingertips over your skin to awaken the memories.

"I'd like that," you smile, leaning in to kiss her lips. It's soft and gentle, much like your first one, and your heart hammers in your chest. It seems to forget that you've done this before, choosing instead to subject you to the giddiness you felt that first time with her.

She pulls back to rest her forehead against yours, settling her arms around your waist, saying, "I've wanted to do that all night." You smile for the millionth time because of her, happy with how things have turned out.

"Do it again, then."

And she does.

#jennie kim #jennie x reader #jennie x fem reader #jennie kim x fem reader #blackpink #blackpink angst #blackpink smut #blackpink fluff #blackpink oneshots #blackpink imagines #blackpink scenarios #kpop #kpop girl group #kim jisoo #lisa manoban #rosé #park chaeyoung #let-them-read-fics

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notmrskennedy · 4 years

Text

Noticed

Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

A/N - Howdy! Here’s another little something from my drafts. It’s a draft and a half again so be gentle with it. Also, I’m touch averse and I would be so happy to find someone I wasn’t upset with touching. But c’est la vie! I hope y’all enjoy!

Summary - The touch averse agent starts getting touchy....

W/C - 2.5k

Warnings - none I think, but lmk if there is something

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If Morgan was being honest with himself, he thought you were dying. Or maybe ill. Or so feverish you’d abandoned every single principle you had. Because he’d been there that first day of yours, waltzing up from the coffee machine to see you nervously trailing behind Hotch. It was painful to watch, he remembers, so terribly nervous you’d envy the kid on one of his bad days.

He had smiled at you and stirred his coffee and remained optimistic that someone so obviously terrified would be a decent field agent. (You’d been decent and then some, especially in an interrogation room). There’d been one non-committal wave—distinctly reminiscent of a certain genius—and the first full sentence of, “I’m sorry, but I just don’t do the touching thing. Handshakes included.”

Every little touch plagues you. You’re six inches away at all times, lest someone accidentally bump into you or get the wrong idea that you might be willing to brush shoulders. There’s no friendly pats. No high fives. Certainly no hugs. Garcia is furious in her attempt to loosen you up—to no avail—but Morgan knows better than to push. Something makes you hate skin to skin contact and he’s not looking to share trauma stories with you. Not yet.

So this, Morgan thinks as he wanders into the bullpen while stirring his coffee, is a sign that you’ve lost your mind.

He watches as you carefully extend one palm to one Dr. Spencer Reid. Perched on the edge of his desk, you’re a regular fixture, just another cute figurine to add to the collection. It’s the end to some wild discussion he could hear in the kitchenette, full of flailing limbs and butchered sentences. Everyone always thought it was cute, if you stripped away how irritating it could be.

This is the point where you two are caught up in whatever moment you’re having, so much so that you extend an upturned palm between the two of you. Reid threads his hands through his hair, stunned at your peace offering. Or maybe an offering of something more than friendship. Morgan assumes its something more; not only because you have the softest grin he’s ever seen, but because your fingers are practically begging the kid to hold your hand.

Reid’s careful in how he asks his question—Morgan doesn’t know what it is, but he can just tell. The wide eyes. The scared contemplation. The are you sure parting the kid’s lips.

Grinning and blushing, you just wiggle your fingers. Murmur something that Morgan isn’t allowed to hear. Something only for Spencer. There’s surprise before he grips onto your hand, wriggling all ten combined fingers together. You giggle as you spin him around in his desk chair and get tangled up.

Dropped jaw and grinning, Morgan can’t believe you, so touch averse you, are willing engaging in such risky behaviour. There’s a weird few moments when he wants to remind both of you to wear protection in such endeavours.

And as he’s wondering if hands need condoms, the two of you let go and move on like nothing’s happened. You go back to punctuating your points with your flailing hands. Spencer goes back to distracting from his blush with paperwork.

Morgan goes to get more coffee, trying to stop imaging that you two were his kids, growing up without his consent. And maybe also the hand condoms.

It’s shortly after JJ’s wedding—about midnight as the cleaning crew are picking up the straggling drunks—both Hotch and Rossi notice. They’re leaned up against the bar, each smoking a cigar, watching a slightly tipsy you teach an awkwardly sober Spencer Reid how to swing dance.

It’s no secret that you and Reid get on like a house on fire, two nerds that couldn’t shut up about whatever weird ass shit was on your brains. Rossi never made much move to care. Hotch was too stressed to think about what the pair of you did off company time. Everyone, them included, imagined that what time you did spend together was three feet apart. In museums. Wherever. No one questioned what kind of weird nerd shit you did, especially stuff that they couldn’t really be bothered to care about.

Now, they’re forced to carefully consider the implications of how touchy you’re getting. With Reid.

He’s even more gangly and uncoordinated than normal, as Hotch and Rossi watch on, getting thrown around like a rag doll. It’s kind of adorable, Rossi thinks and shares a well meaning look with Hotch. The two of you would be cute and he’s hoping that you do get together. Rossi always knows about these things, even if Hotch is positive that you two are just friends. And as two professional gentlemen do, they made a bet.

Twenty bucks.

Your laugh—one that no one gets tired of hearing—echoes around Rossi’s whole yard, even into his house. Reid’s voice is about two octaves too high as you spin him around on his wobbly feet. You go from three feet apart to chest to chest and back again. Rossi remembers high school dances vaguely and Hotch absently thinks about Hayley’s old infatuation with Grease.

Rossi takes another long drag from his cigar, grateful for the indisputable proof that you two are shacking up. There is no way that two people so touch averse could be touching this much without prior exposure. The yard is a ruckus of both of your laughters, year after year of awkwardness falling off you both in sheets. They’re no denying you two shut in nerds are finally having some fun.

It’s warming both Hotch and Rossi’s hearts.

And their bet.

Penelope notices next. Who knew that such a simple interaction could leave her speechless? Stammering and stuttering over not even a full minute of insanity.

She didn’t know how she’d gotten sick, or what she’d come down with, but the only thing that was keeping her in her work chair was you. And the endless buckets of soup that you kept pouring down her throat. Without a case—thank god—for the last couple days, all that you’ve done is sit in the bat cave, keeping her and her soup warm.

It’s as you are finishing some corny ass joke that she thinks how sweet you are. How loving. Penelope’s love language has always been touch—she’s given too many hugs to count—but it’s taken her a minute to figure out yours. And as she stares into the chicken soup in her hands, she realises that it’s everything you do for her. Your love is literally palpable.

It’s in the bright keychains you bring back. Or the crazy pens. Or the way you always drive her home after drinking.

As she’s opening her mouth to tell you, tell you just how much she appreciates everything, when Reid pops his head in, whole body following. He’s got too much of a grin this early. But when he’s far enough into the room, he spreads his fingers out over your shoulder and squeezes. Says something about a case and you follow behind him with a wave of your hand at Penelope. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like Penelope hasn’t been the one furiously trying to break you out of your shell. The predetermined first to get a hug in the office.

You’re still up and still waving and by the time she’s got her wits about her, she’s asking, “You let Reid touch you?”

The empty room and the closing door don’t answer.

JJ is nearly the last to find out. Well, your little touching relationship with Spencer has been the only topic of gossip between anyone for the last six weeks. They can’t believe they hadn’t picked up on the little bits of affection passed between the two of you.

Hand touches. Shoulder squeezes. Quick brushes. The mystical hug Morgan claims he once saw.

For the rest of the world, you and Spencer were nothing but friendly. Maybe even best friendly. To the team of highly trained profilers who had been friends with the pair of you for a combined 15 years, this was marriage material. This was you and Spencer screaming the pair of you had eloped.

You two crazy kids had to be together, but the team was left to sussing it out for themselves. Neither of you two would ever say anything, never give anything up. But surely, the three of them—using Penelope would be cheating of course—could figure out when you two had started up. Because you had to have. There was no way all of this was just friendly.

And it isn’t. That much is clear when JJ gets a phone call from you while she’s looking a crime scene over for what feels like the gazillionth time. Some un-sub with the usual cocktail of daddy issues, anger issues, and a healthy dose of narcissism.

It’s rare you call anyone without good reason. You aren’t the type to just chat—everyone has speculated you got enough of that from Spencer. And once JJ says hello, you start bawling.

You’re sobbing and JJ has no idea what to do.

“Y/n, y/n,” she tries, hoping you’ll calm down enough to breathe properly. “You have to tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s—it’s Spencer,” you hiccup. JJ can hear you sniffling into your sleeves. Can hear the blinkers go as you change lanes. “He’s not answering—not answering his phone. And he said he’d—that he’d call, but he hasn’t. And JJ something’s wrong.”

By the way your breath hitches and your sobs crackle into the phone, JJ knows exactly how bad it has to be. Spencer, however, is supposed to be following up a lead with Emily. Some paint huffer in his mom’s garage—nothing more than a routine witness report. She almost can’t believe something would go wrong.

“What happened? Where are you?”

“JJ,” you sniffle before the flood gates open again, “I can just feel it. Something’s wrong.”

JJ’s mind scrambles. As much as you played it off, you had a sixth sense. Every time, every countable time, someone got hurt, you knew before it happened. You had a gut for these things and JJ didn’t want to think about how bad this was going to be. How bloody. So she scrambles for her car and doesn’t wait for the other detectives to figure it out.

JJ’s halfway to the witness’s house when you make it there yourself. You’re still on the phone, doing a horrible attempt at trying to keep each other calm. You’ve traded the sobs for hiccups, thankfully. JJ can hear you climbing the porch stairs. She’s taking corners at 65 miles an hour.

Nothing seems fast enough when JJ hears the phone clatter to the floor and the shout of “oh my god, Spencer!”

Nothing is fast enough when you’re sobbing out, “You can’t die on me like this.”

Nothing is fast enough when JJ quietly but distinctly hears, “I love you too much for you to fucking die, Spencer Reid.”

Spencer Reid always thinks he’s the last to find out. He’s blunt and oblivious and thinks too much to just see what’s in front of his face. He was so sure they had all seen how in love he was, just how desperately he was clinging to the hope they wouldn’t notice. If they didn’t notice, you wouldn’t. Not while wearing the same sort of blinders he wore.

But once everything had come out? He was positive everyone else had known. That he’d come into work one morning and there would be a cake engraved with the words, “Congrats on Shacking Up!”

It never happened. No cake. No lights. No surprises. No one seemed to know or notice or anything. Spencer and you went on like nothing had changed—it really hadn’t anyway. He liked to laugh when you told him the two of you had been practically dating since the first time he’d offered to take you to a Korean film festival.

Two years later and he’s become very aware of you. And also the ache. All of the very dull and consistent ache in his body. Another scar to add to the collection, he bitterly thinks, out of anaesthesia enough to know that he’s in a hospital. That he’s been hurt. That someone’s holding his hand.

It’s calloused and soft and just perfectly latched onto his. A hand he’d waited to hold for too long. One that he’d be holding for the rest of his life.

Attached to the hand is you, sleeping haphazardly between his bed and a plastic chair. Your fingers are tangled in his, head rested on the crook of your arm and the bed. There’s too much of you curled up in a chair. It’s one of his favourite bits about you, just how dedicated you could be. How you were always there when he woke up and always would be.

He smiles and chuckles despite the pain in his ribs. You wake with a start, one startled gasp followed by a shuddery exhale as you realise again where you are. That nothing’s changed. That everything’s changed.

Through lidded eyes, he watches your eyes light up, matching you grin for grin. He watches the anger flash across your face for not even a second, and he knows exactly how bad you want to murder him for scaring you so bad.

Instead, you press frantic kisses to the back of his knuckles, message fully received. You missed him. You’d been terrified. You’d cried so hard, he can still feel the salt on your lips.

“Spencer,” you breathe, giving his hand one more kiss for good measure and pressing his knuckles to your cheek. “God, I’m so glad you’re alive.”

“I’m alive, y/n, I promise,” he whispers back. Hoarse and adorably okay. It’s one thing to expect to get shot going after un-subs. It’s another to get attacked by a PCP addled grandmother.

He wiggles a finger against your cheek. Even though he can’t see your red rimmed eyes or the dark tear tracts on your cheeks, he can feel the tear that pools on his finger. But before he can reassure you one more time, you shush him and tell him to get some sleep and that you’ll both worry about this later. Maybe over jell-o.

He grins.

The team, visiting the next morning, doesn’t have the heart to wake up either of you. Reid looks happy for the first time in—years—with you carefully curled into his side. Sure, there’s a scratchy hospital gown and some pesky lines overriding everything, but it’s cute. No denying that. Thank god you two knuckleheads are finally being open about it. Even if you’re sleeping.

Emily smiles to herself as she readjusts her sling. Morgan and JJ are trading exclamations of shock, while Hotch passes Rossi twenty dollars. You readjust and Reid’s arm moves to rest across your cheek. JJ isn’t subtle when she takes a photo, sniggering.

Emily is even less subtle when she snorts. “I guess I can finally let the cat out of the bag.”

Everyone perks up; she swears she sees Reid open an eye.

“Nearly six months ago, y/n drunkenly confessed to dating Reid. She’s a real wild card on tequila, let me tell you.”

“You knew?” Morgan screeches, “and you didn’t say anything?”

Emily shrugs, winces with her busted up shoulder. “Does it matter? Didn’t we all know?”

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #Criminal Minds #mgg #mgg fluff #fluff

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pricetagofficial · 3 years

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State Fair -CK

Warnings: Language, fluff, Clark is a dork, Bruce is a good brother

Masterlist

Word Count: 3.2K

Check out my pinned post if you want to be on my taglist!

A/N: Just like Sweet Tarts, whether Reader is adopted or biological is up for interpretation seeing as I never specified. Also, big thanks to Fish and Elle for reading this and helping me out!

“This has to be your worst idea yet.”

“I agree because you are clearly going to back out.”

“I will not!”

“Sure, Clark.”

With a huff, Clark crossed his arms. “You’re insufferable.”

Bruce chuckled and waved his friend off. “Just go sit down, this will work I swear.”

Clark gave Bruce a look before taking his paddle and sat in his chair. This really was a stupid idea, what would happen when it didn’t work? He hated the idea of paying for a date, letting alone having Bruce pay for it so he could ensure he got one. But all the funds went to various charities, so that was a plus.

You peeked out of the curtain, and saw the crowd gathering in the auction room. Bruce had set up an auction where various socialites would be auctioned off for a single date to the highest bidder. Being a Wayne, let alone Bruce’s sister, you were a shoo-in for some really high bids.

Each person represented various charities, and you were assigned to various orphanages across Gotham. You thought it would be good to support other kids who were victims of losing their parents considering you lost yours along with Bruce that night.

Taking another peek into the crowd, you saw Alfred sitting there with Dick, who looked too excited for a thirteen-year-old kid to be at an auction. Dick caught your eye and waved happily at you, his eyes sparkling with amusement. You waved your fingers at him, earning a smile from Alfred who totally caught you peeking.

Next to Alfred was Clark, Bruce’s best friend, and fellow Justice League member. Feeling the heat rise in your cheeks, you quickly hid behind the curtain and closed your eyes. What the hell was Clark doing here?

“Y/N, you doing alright?”

Turning to look behind you, you saw Bruce standing there with his signature charismatic smile. He was being auctioned off for a date a well tonight,

“Why didn’t you tell me Clark was here?” you hissed.

“I didn’t know he was coming,” he shrugged. “Dick was excited to see him.”

“That’s because the kid looks up to him, figuratively and literally,” you argued.

Bruce watched you with a sly smile. “Besides, why is it such a big deal that Clark is here or not?”

“I-- oooh,” you growled. “You know exactly why, asshole.”

Letting out a chuckle, Bruce patted your shoulder. “Go get ready, we’re about to start.”

Giving him a glare, you went and found your seat and crossed your arms. Stupid Bruce and his stupid plans. You weren’t sure what he was hiding up his sleeve, but when you’re older brother was The Batman you learned to watch out for the tiny giveaways.

Bruce was planning something, and you were going to figure out what it was.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Welcome to our annual Charity Auction! This year we are auctioning off a single date with some of Gotham’s most notable residents! The funds for this year will go to several charities predetermined by our wonderful participants! Now without further ado, let’s get on with the show!”

The announcer walked to the podium as the curtain rose to reveal a grand stage and all the participants off to the side hidden out of sight. Across the stage sat Bruce, leaning back in his seat as he talked with several friends of his.

“So, what did Bruce do to convince you to join this year?”

Looking to your right, you saw Kate was hovering over your shoulder.

“Last year, Dick was sick and Alfred was called away for a family matter.” You explained, Kate should remember why you weren’t at the auction last year. She helped come up with the cover story.

Batman and Robin had a rough time that night on patrol, thanks in no part to Scarecrow. Dick had gotten a large dose of his fear toxin, and Bruce was too injured to console him. Alfred had to make sure Bruce was alright before the next day, and left you with a hysterical Dick until the antidote kicked in.

You had decided to stay that night because Dick was plastered to your side, and Bruce understood completely. Surprisingly enough, during the auction, Clark had shown up and helped you take care of the little boy wonder, even going as far as falling asleep with Dick curled into his side.

Thinking back on the memory, you couldn’t help but smile. That was one of the first times you and Clark had any time alone together.

“And now for bachelorette number three, Y/N Wayne.”

Jerking your head up, you smiled and rose to your feet, and walked onto the stage. You must have spaced out the first two people during your trip down memory lane. Waving politely, you caught the eye of Clark who only smiled brightly at you.

Seeing his smile made you feel lighter than air.

“Miss Wayne represents the orphanage charities all across Gotham, hoping to restore the buildings and ensure a bright future for the children.”

Looking at the auctioneer, you gave him an impressed look. He was playing it up really well, not like he needed it to. You were a Wayne, and was guaranteed to rake in some serious money. You just hoped it would be enough.

“We’ll start the bidding at $500,000. Do I see $500,000?”

All at once, several paddles went up, including Clark’s. You couldn’t fight the confused look on your face, what the hell was he doing? That had to be almost five times the amount he made in a year working for the Daily Planet! So what the hell was he doing spending it all on a date with you?

You stood on the stage as the prices ranked higher and higher, Clark’s paddle not once lowering. The price was almost $2,000,000 and Clark was fighting off with another guy, all for a date with you. You would be feeling proud if you weren’t so concerned for Clark’s livelihood.

“$2.5 million? Do I see $2.5 million?”

Watching the crowd, you watched as the second guy gleaned at Clark and loosened his tie almost as if he was afraid of what would happen to him if he kept trying to outbid him. He lowered his paddle, and Clark just beamed.

“Sold for $2.5 million!”

Clark let out a sigh of relief, Dick looking at him with astonishment. “How’d you get all that money?”

Shrugging, he sent Dick a smile. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

Maybe, this wasn’t such a bad plan after all.

It took a few hours, but eventually, the auction ended and Clark was escorted out of the room with Alfred and Dick beside him.

“You know, this could be a dream come true for you.” Dick grinned. “How long did you have to bully B into giving you the money?”

Looking down at the kid, Clark chuckled. Of course Dick figured it out, he was living with Batman after all. “Not long, he wanted to make sure his sister didn’t end up with some creep.”

Dick chuckled, adjusting his jacket. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

The three of them waited for you and Bruce to show, ready to take you home for a well-deserved rest. The auction went off without a hitch, and it was all thanks to Bruce and the effort he put in.

Turning the corner, you and Bruce smiled seeing them. Nudging his shoulder, you looked up at him. “Are you going to tell me how Clark got $2.5 million?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Crossing your arms, you gave Bruce an unimpressed look. “Sure, but why do I feel like it has something to do with you?”

“You think everything has to do with me.”

“Do I need to bring up your nightly activities?”

Bruce didn’t get another word out before Dick came running up to you with his arms wide, diving in for a hug.

“Y/N! You did great up there! Sure beats last year right?” he chuckled.

Smiling at him, you ruffled his hair. “I don’t know kiddo, I actually enjoyed my time with you.”

“I agree, it was nice to relax for a night.”

Looking up, you saw Clark smiling down at you with his signature boy scout smile. You always loved the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and the little scrunch of his nose.

“You want to talk about relaxing? Where the hell did you get $2.5 mil?”

“Yeah, you were practically shooting lasers, Clark.” Dick chimed in.

Looking between you and Dick, Clark shrugged with a smile. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

***

You stood in the Batcave, by the zeta transport waiting quietly for Clark to show and pick you up. Bruce and Dick stood by your side to keep you company while you waited. Bruce was half-dressed in his Batman suit while Dick was nursing a cup of Earl Grey tea.

“What time did he say he would be here?” you asked, checking your watch again.

“Relax, Y/N.” Dick chuckled, “You know, if I didn’t know any better I would think that you have a thing for Superman.”

“Well, you do know better.” you huffed. It wasn’t the standing that bothered you, in all honestly it was the wait. What if Clark decided to cancel on you? Yeah, he already paid over $2 million for it but that didn’t mean he had to show up.

You shook the thoughts out of your head. Clark wasn’t that kind of guy, you knew he wasn’t. Clark Kent was one of the sweetest guys in the universe, there was no one else you would rather spend your night with than him.

Which brought up other thoughts. Bruce was instructed to not let you dress fancy at all, leaning you closer to casual jeans and a shirt as your attire. Whatever Clark was planning, you weren’t going to find out until he told you.

There was a bright flash and Clark stepped out of the zeta tube, wearing his normal apparel with his glasses propped up on his nose.

“Hey, you ready to go?”

You gave him a nod, grabbing your purse. “Born ready.”

Clark smiled and looked at you. He thought you looked perfect tonight and hoped you would enjoy the date he was taking you on.

“Be sure to have her home on time,” Dick scolded, grinning into his cup of tea. “And no funny business.”

Bruce looked down at him and nudged his shoulder ruffling his hair. “Isn’t that my job, chum?”

“Let’s be real here B, no one takes Batman seriously without Robin there to kick their face in.”

You couldn’t fight the giggles, covering your mouth to muffle them. Walking over, you squished Dick’s face and kissed his forehead. “Make sure you listen to Bruce and Alfred okay?”

Dick gave you a nod, hugging you tightly. “Have fun.”

Running your fingers through his hair, you kissed the top of his head before letting him go. Turning to Bruce, he pulled you tightly into a hug and kissed your cheek. “Be careful, we’re just one call away if you need us.”

“Bruce, I’m with Superman. I’ll be okay.”

Looking at Alfred you pointed at the two boys next to you. “Give me a call if none of them are listening, okay?”

Alfred smiled, “Of course Miss Y/N, now go have fun.”

Turning back to Clark, he offered you his arm before leading you back towards the zeta tube. “Don’t worry, she’ll be safe with me, and we’ll be back before midnight.”

Bruce nodded, waving you two goodbye as you disappeared into the blinding light. Coming out on the other side, you were greeted with the fresh air one wouldn’t normally get in Gotham. The scent of fresh crops, dirt, and manure filled the air as you opened your eyes to the setting sun of the Kansas skyline. It was a beautiful shade of orange with pinks and blues dusted across the sky, you never got sunsets like this back home either.

“Clark, it’s beautiful out here.” you smiled.

He watched you fondly, his eyes not leaving you for a second. “It really is.”

Turning to look at him, you felt the heat rise in your cheeks. Keeping a hold of your arm, Clark led you down the streets of Smallville towards a truck that was parked against the curb. Opening the door, Clark reached in and pulled out two plaid shirts, and handed one of them to you.

“Clark, what are we doing?” you laughed, sliding your arms into the flannel sleeves as he pulled on his own.

“You’ll have to wait and see,” he grinned. “Hop in.”

Giving Clark a look, you walked to the passenger seat and climbed into the truck. Starting it up, the air was filled with an old Randy Travis song effectively setting the mood for the drive. Leaning back in the seat, you looked out the window as Clark drove off, heading out of town limits.

With the window open, you felt the wind blow in your face and embraced the fresh air. Cornfields flew by as Clark drove down the highway, towards a large empty field. Off in the distance, you could see tall structures you made out to be a ferris wheel and various tents.

Keeping your concerns to yourself, you watched as he turned into the field and parked the truck. Turning it off, Clark quickly hopped out of it before you could even open the door. Walking around to your side, Clark quickly opened your door and held his hand out to you.

With a smile, you took it as he helped you out of the truck. “Shall we?”

“A state fair?” You laughed, hopping out of the vehicle.

Once on the ground, you noticed you were practically pressed against Clark’s chest and were forced to look up at him. You were so close, you could smell his body wash and felt his breath fan over your face.

Clark smiled down at you, holding your hand tightly in his. Brushing his thumb over the back of your hand, he pulled it up and pressed a soft kiss to it. “I thought this would be a great place to take a city girl such as yourself.”

Trying to hide your embarrassment, you pushed the bridge of his glasses up too high and huffed. “Stop doing that,” you muttered and walked towards the entrance to the fair. Clark’s laughter could be heard from behind you as he jogged to catch up with your fast pace. Slipping his hand back into yours, he paid for tickets and led you into the fairgrounds.

Walking around, you couldn’t help but admire the things around you. Banners were hung everywhere, with signs pointing to all the attractions. There were rides, games, and food stands all over the place.

Gripping his hand, you pointed at a booth selling cotton candy and grinned excitedly. “Come on Clark!” You laughed and pulled him towards the stand and watched him order a large cotton candy for you to share.

Finding a spot on a nearby bench, you sat and pulled off pieces and stuck them into your mouth humming happily as they dissolved. You couldn’t remember the last time you went to a fair like this, and the feeling excited you.

Clark watched as you ate the sugary snack, his blue eyes shining in adoration. He loved the way your eyes lit up with every bite and the cute little hum you made when you tasted it.

“Now are you going to tell me where you got the money to buy our little date?”

“You’ll just make fun of me,”

“I make fun of you anyway,” you giggled.

Clark gave you a look before taking the piece of cotton candy out of your hand and ate it with a grin. “Now you’re just being mean,”

Nudging his shoulder, you looked up at him. “Did you forget who I have for an older brother?”

Stifling a laugh, Clark nodded and leaned closer smoothly wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “You’re right, being mean is a Wanye trait. I’d hate to see how mean an offspring of Bruce could be.”

Laughing along with him, you couldn’t help but agree. A biological offspring of Bruce would be a nightmare, you only hoped that the kid’s mother would be a calm and relaxed person.

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll just assume you got the money from Lex.”

Clark gave you an unimpressed look, “Now that’s not funny.”

“I find that I am quite funny,” you grinned.

Dropping his head in defeat, Clark huffed. “Bruce gave me the money,” he admitted. “He wanted to make sure his sister didn’t end up on a date with a creep.”

Taking another bite, you looked at him. “I’m going to assume there is more to this, you don’t go on a lot of dates Clark.”

If you had a dime for every time you saw Superman blush, you would only have five cents which isn’t a lot but it was worth it to see the man of steel blush.

“Clark?”

Turning away, Clark bit his lip. How was he supposed to tell you he set this up with Bruce, so he could get a date with you? But he didn’t need to say anything, you watched his expression and the sudden uptick in his nervousness. You grew up with the world’s greatest detective, of course, you would notice when he was crushing hard on his best friend’s sister.

“You and Bruce set this up, didn’t you?” you asked.

Clark’s silence only confirmed it.

“Clark, you know all you had to do was ask,” you smiled, putting a hand on his shoulder. Clark turned to look at you. “I would have said yes.”

Adjusting his body, Clark turned to face you fully. Cupping your face in his hands, Clark pressed his lips to yours in a soft kiss.

Letting out a gasp, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer. After a few moments, Clark pulled away and rubbed his nose against yours with a smile. “Maybe next time, I’ll just start with that.”

“Maybe you should, watch Bruce have an aneurysm.” you giggled.

Pecking your lips once more, Clark looked around and saw it was getting dark. “Come on, I have a special place to watch the fireworks.”

Rising from your bench, Clark threw your empty cotton candy stick in the trash and pulled you down the path towards a secluded area. “Hang on tight,” he grinned.

“Hang on to wha-- ah!”

Before you knew it, Clark had his arms wrapped around you before he flew into the air. Gripping onto him for dear life, you buried your face in his shirt afraid to look at the things around you.

“Y/N, open your eyes.” he chuckled.

Carefully peeking an eye open, you saw that both of you were hovering a good height above the ground and watched as the fireworks exploded in the distance with loud pops. Once you got comfortable, you leaned your head against his chest and held on tightly watching the fireworks timing them to the beat of his heart.

“It’s beautiful up here, Clark.” you smiled.

“Not as beautiful as you,”

Leaning up, you pressed your lips to his with the fireworks going off behind you.

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142 notes · View notes

izzielizzie · 3 years

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Now I’ve Seen You I’ve Seen It All Chapter Four

this took forever but i hope it’s worth the wait!!!

(chapter one)

(chapter two)

(chapter three)

“I can’t believe our parents just… left each other,” Ellen whispers later that night. Their mutual dislike long forgotten, the two girls had worked together to push two beds together, where they now lay, side by side.

“You can’t?” Ali asks after a moment, startled by the conversation change. They had been discussing the merits of the third season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, a show both girls love despite the fact that they are probably a little too young to be watching it.

“You can?” Ellen counters.

Ali props herself on her elbow, looking down at her sister as she shakes her hair back. “Yeah I mean we didn’t get along did we? Like daughters like parents right?”

“I don’t believe that’s the saying.”

“Oh shut up,” Ali says, laying back down.

They lapse into a peaceful silence, nearly drifting to sleep until Ellen bolts upright.

“Something wrong there El?” Ali asks, wrinkling her nose in confusion.

“I was just thinking-”

“Did it hurt?”

Ellen swats at her sister. “I was just thinking that we look identical right?”

Ali shrugs. “More or less, yeah.”

“And if we look identical, Mom and Dad wouldn’t be able to tell us apart if we switched right?”

“Ellen, are you saying we should… switch places?”

Ellen waves her hands around like she’s had a brilliant idea as Ali sits up to look at her sister. “That’s exactly what I’m saying Ali! Okay, think about it. We look identical, we could pull it off.”

Ali looks, understandably, very confused. “How?”

Ellen’s face falls. “Well… figuring that out is the next step… obviously.”

Ali smiles. “I wouldn’t mind it,” she says thoughtfully.

“Wait really? I had a good idea?”

Ali laughs and nudges Ellen’s shoulder. “Yeah, little sis, you did.”

“I’m older,” Ellen says.

“Are you sure about that?”

Ellen seems to be considering this, so Ali continues talking. “I mean, if we were hypothetically going to do this- hypothetically!” Ali adds quickly as Ellen perks up. “How would it work? I take the plane to Connecticut, you go home with Dad?”

“Yep,” Ellen says.

“But… isn’t it risky?”

“What do you mean?” Ellen asks, sitting up and tucking her legs under her. Ali does the same. She waves her arms around for a moment, finding the right words.

“I mean I have a strawberry allergy. What if Mom gives me something with strawberries that she knows you can eat and then I eat it and I die?”

“You do realize that people invented this thing called an EpiPen?” Ellen asks.

“Yeah, well sometimes they go missing when they’re needed.”

Ellen rolls her eyes. “Come on Ali please this is my only chance to meet Dad. And you want to meet Mom right?”

“Right.”

“So then we’ll do it for a… for a month! Yeah, we’ll switch for a month and then on a predetermined day we’ll tell the truth.”

“And then they’ll have to unswitch us,” Ali says, slowly catching on to what Ellen has been trying to say.

“And then they’ll meet. Aunt Maeve said they still love each other right? Then they’ll get married and we won’t be separated. See? Ali, we have to do this.”

Ali licks her lip and nods slowly. “Okay. Yeah I can see where you’re coming from.”

Ellen grins. “And of course we’ll tell each other everything we need to know: rituals, bed times, favorite books and movies, stuff like that.”

“Yeah.” Ali runs her hands through her hair and then freezes.

“What is it?”

“Ellen, I have long hair. And pierced ears.”

Ellen has neither.

“So?”

So?” Ali repeats. “You can’t go to camp with short hair and unpierced ears and come back with long hair and pierced ears.”

“Why not?”

Ali gives Ellen a look.

“Okay, okay. I can cut your hair, right?”

“What?” Ali asks, staring at her sister in surprise. “You can’t just… cut my hair… Can you?”

“Of course I can. My Aunt Keely does it all the time. It’s easy.” Ellen says this with confidence she does not have, her desperation to meet her father overriding her usually ample logic.

Ali bites her lip and then nods. “Okay, fine, go ahead.”

With a giggle, Ellen jumps out of the bed.

“Wait, now?” Ali asks, scrambling out of the bed after her sister.

“No better time than the present!” Ellen sings as she rifles through her stuff for a scissor.

“Oh boy,” Ali mutters and Ellen pulls out a pair of scissors from her bag - why Ellen has scissors Ali doesn’t want to know.

“Okay now just sit in front of the mirror and just… hold still.”

Ali does as she’s told, staring at her waist length hair in the cracked mirror. She spies Ellen approaching her from behind and shrieks. Ellen shrieks in response and jumps back.

“What? What!”

“Sorry, nothing, it’s just, should I really be trusting you with scissors?” Ali turns around to face her sister.

Ellen sighs and puts her hands on her hips. “If you must know, I cut the ribbon at my school’s playground opening ceremony last year. I’m kind of a scissor expert.”

Ali makes a face. “Please don’t ever say that again. God, you're going to be eaten alive in high school.”

Ellen ignores her sister, turning her back to face the mirror. Ellen holds up a lock of Ali’s hair, positions the scissors, and then pauses. “What? What is it?” Ali asks.

“I can’t do this if you’re watching me. Maybe you should close your eyes?”

Ali sighs. “Fine. Fine but if you mess it up…” Ali trails off, leaving the threat hanging.

Ellen gulps. “I will not. I promise. Just close your eyes.”

Ali closes her eyes, and Ellen, after measuring the length of her hair in the mirror, cuts a lock of Ali’s hair. Then another. Then another, and soon both girls relax. Ellen makes the last cut, and steps back to examine her work.

“Uh, oh,” she mutters. During the fifteen minutes it took for Ellen to cut Ali’s hair, Ali had started to slowly tilt her head, causing Ellen to misjudge how much hair she was cutting. The resulting look is rather… slanted, with one end half an inch above Ali’s shoulder, and the other end halfway down her back.

“What? Are you done? Can I look now?”

“Um, no. Not yet. Actually, um, want to go for an adventure?”

“Ellen? What? I’m gonna open my eyes.”

“No, no!” Ellen cries, lunging forward to grab Ali’s beanie from her bed. She picks it up, and in one deft motion she twists the remains of Ali’s hair into a knot and stuffs the beanie onto Ali’s head.

“Ellen what in the world?”

“Nothing! Nothing, come let’s show your hair to Aunt Maeve!”

“At two in the morning?”

“Yes. Come.”

“I’m looking at my hair,” Ali says, and before Ellen can stop her, Ali opens her eyes, pulls off the hat, and shrieks - again. Ellen flinches. “Ellen what did you do?” Ali asks, turning back to look at her sister. Ellen puts her hands to her mouth.

“Oh I don’t know. I’m sorry!”

“Sorry! Ellen, I look awful!”

“I know, I know!” Ellen cries. “Come on, can we just let Aunt Maeve fix it?”

Ali nods. “Okay fine, but you are never coming near me with a pair of scissors again, understood?”

Ellen laughs. “Deal.”

“Girls, what?” a very tired Maeve asks as she opens the door to her cabin.

“God why do kids never just sleep when they’re supposed to?” Luis asks, running his hand through his hair as he steps behind his wife.

“We had an emergency,” Ellen informs her aunt and uncle.

“Oh have we gone back to murdering each other?” Luis asks. Maeve turns around to give him her very best “shut up or else” look.

“Well, no. Maybe you should just look.”

Ellen steps to the side to allow Ali to be seen. Maeve looks at Ali’s hair and does a double take. Luis has to duck back into the cabin to hide his laughter. “Ali, what in the world?” Maeve asks, her husband’s laughter almost drowning her out. She reaches a hand out to run her hand through the long part of Ali’s hair.

“Um…” Ali says.

“Ali fell,” Ellen says confidently. Maeve stares at her for a moment before deciding that sometimes a lie is better than the truth.

“Right. And, I assume you want me to fix this?”

Both Ali and Ellen nod, Ali’s panicked expression bordering on hysterical.

Maeve sighs and pulls the door open further. “Come on in, girls.”

“Okay now, unpin the next layer of hair. Yeah, just like that.” In her defense, Keely really took being FaceTimed at ten in the morning by Maeve Santos because she needed instructions on how to cut hair pretty well. Even if she was late for work. Keely nods as she watches Maeve do as she’s told, combing Ali’s hair down and snipping off the ends. “So, what time is it over there?”

“Two. In the morning,” Luis grumbles from his spot on the bed, Ellen happily in his lap.

Keely raises her eyebrows, nodding at her phone, the ghost of a laugh on her face. “So, it really looks like you take after your father, huh Ali?”

Ali smiles at the pretty lady on the other end of her newfound aunt’s phone. She’s not quite sure what to say, but if she’s Addy’s wife then she must be thousands of shades of perfect.

Keely tilts her head. “But you’ve got Bronwyn’s looks I think.”

“Spitting image of Bron,” Maeve agrees as she spins Ali around to look at the front of her face. “What do you think, Ellen? Beautiful or what?”

“Or what,” Ellen mumbles, eyes fluttering closed.

“Ellen.”

“Okay, okay, she looks like me.”

“She does,” Keely agrees from the phone.

Ellen perks up suddenly, remembering the reason for this adventure in the first place. “Uncle Luis, will you take me to get my ears pierced tomorrow?”

Maeve looks over at her niece, recognition dawning in her eyes. She looks at her husband, who, as always, is on the same page as her. Those clever girls. Maeve smiles to herself as she waves goodbye to Keely and hangs up her phone.

“Sure, I’d be happy to Ellen,” Luis says, grinning at his wife.

“Yeah, he has to get clothes for Nick anyway, he’s growing like crazy.”

Ellen grins. “Thanks!”

“Any time. Oh also Ellen, did you know that Ali’s full name is Alejandra?”

“No, I didn’t,” Ellen says to her aunt, looking at her sister.

Luis shakes his head at Maeve, but she just grins back. If the girls insist on trading places, they might as well know each other’s full names.

An hour later, Maeve and Luis carry the girls back to their cabin with the promise of a trip into town to pierce Ellen’s ears.

“These girls are insane,” Luis says quietly.

“Well, they are Bronwyn and Nate’s daughters,” Maeve says as she gently puts Ali down on her bed. Luis does the same with Ellen, and they slowly back out of the cabin, shutting the door behind them.

“And your nieces.”

Maeve looks up at him. “Are you calling me insane Santos?”

“Always, Maevey.”

Maeve laughs and tucks herself into Luis’s side. He kisses the top of her head. “Do you think Bronwyn and Nate will forgive me for what those two are about to do?” Maeve didn’t need to ask her nieces to know that they were planning on switching places. She would have done the same thing at their age.

“Not at all.”

“But hopefully they’ll be too in love to notice me?”

Luis laughs as he stops to catch Maeve in his arms and swing her around. “Keep dreaming girl.”

#maeve rojas #luis santos #keely (oou)#izzielizzie's fics

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arqinnovations · 4 years

Text

10 things that I want from FF7 Remake 2

Some of these are a given, but just for fun, others are a bit of a long shot. Spoilers abound, so turn back now if you're still making your way through Midgar as we speak. In no particular order:

Jessie. I'm going to be honest, it took some self-restraint to not make this a 10 things I'd like to do to see from Jessie list. One thing that Remake did incredibly well was flesh out the Avalanche crew, and Jessie was undoubtedly the one who benefited the most, going from ponytailed plot device to forward and fiery courter of Cloud. I absolutely dreaded her inevitable death scene, and nearly jumped out of my chair at the suggestion that she may have actually survived this time around. I won't ask for a pizza and chill side quest, but I would be thrilled to just see her alive and well in the next chapter.

Gold Saucer. It's not a question of if it'll be in the game, but of how it will be presented. I'm expecting that a lot of love and care will be put into this locale, and I want everything: Chocobo racing, roller coasters, a beefed up haunted house, battle square, a potential date with a pissed off Barrett...all of it. Saying that I'm excited to see an updated Gold Saucer would be a massive understatement.

Open world. Or not. I'm fine with either. I remember how massive the FF7 world seemed to me as a kid while playing the original game, and I just can't see how something of that size will scale to the table that Remake has set so far. I loved - loved - roaming forests and taking long road trips with the boys in FF15. But Remake has a completely different world with different stakes. While the idea of a free-roaming epic is indeed attractive, there will inevitably be other games that have done an open world on a far grander scale, and it'd almost be a shame to see Remake try to draw from Skyrim when the reality is that it doesn't have to. Midgar was linear in nature and it was still beautiful and felt massive in its own way. I'd be fine with a series of mostly contained villages and towns with the second installment.

Playable Turks. This one falls into the long shot category, but you can already feel how badly the creators are itching to turn the Turks into good guys. We know that this timeline has forked off into a direction different from the one that we grew up with, so perhaps we can get a few missions with Reno and Rude running point? I'm not holding my breath, but it would be awesome.

Bahamut. And not just one, I want all three back. Vanilla Bahamut, Bahamut Neo, and Bahamut Zero! Heck, give us even more. Omega Bahamut! Ultima Bahamut! Bahama Bahamut! Nobody goes into battle without a Mut!

No more squiggly dust ghosts. Yeah, enough of those guys. I can go as far as to say that I appreciated what the Whispers provided the story, but now that our heroes have apparently ripped through the threads of fate and are playing with a freshly shuffled deck of cards, I could do without seeing them again.

The Highwind. I don't think there's any doubt that we'll be seeing the Highwind, given it's importance to Cid's character and the fact that the airship becomes the party's main mode of transportation towards the latter half of the story. What is in question is to what degree players will be able to control the massive aircraft. While we had the ability to manually fly exactly where we wanted to in the original, there's understandably some doubt as to how this will work in Remake with the game's open world status still very much in question. I'd bet on control being limited to the bridge of the ship with the option to select predetermined destinations from a world map. And I'd be fine with that. Just give us that sweet Highwind music.

More of Rufus in action. Seriously, look at that pimp. A character this cool deserves to be seen in battle more than once.

And less of Zack. Assuming he's alive and well in this reality, I could go without seeing too much of the guy. The original FF7 was such a fantastic story about life and identity because Zack passes on and symbolically entrusts his hopes and dreams to Cloud (who somewhat hilariously takes things way too literally). That story doesn't work quite as well if Zack is just hanging around being...uh, alive and stuff. And if he is, what has he been doing all this time while Aerith was getting harassed by Turks every day? Swell guy, that Zack. Or are we to assume he's alive, just not in this reality? Honestly - and it might just be me - I thought the reinsertion of Zack into the fray was one of the few missteps Remake made.

Aerith has a chance? Square knew what they were doing when they opted to establish a new timeline. I'm not saying that Aerith surviving would make the story better. On the contrary, I'm not sure if it works at all without Sephiroth jumping in and making her into an Aerith-kabob. What I do know is that there's now some definite intrigue to that moment, and they've effectively put all the suspense back into a scene that we had assumed would end in a familiar, heartbreaking fashion. It's a smart move, regardless of what eventually does happen.

#final fantasy 7 #final fantasy VII #final fantasy 7 remake #ff7 #aerith #cloud #squaresoft #ff7 remake #sephiroth #Final Fantasy #rufus shinra #jessie rasberry #video games #tifa lockhart

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aiikawarazu · 3 years

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Hourglass Chapter #22

Title: Blue & Grey

Rated: M

Summary: Blue was the color of ocean. Grey was the color of sky in winter. In March of that year, before the cold winter melted into spring, these group of adolescents at the very center of this story experienced love, pain, heartbreak, and joy. Life was a series of choices, after all. And it was as mysterious as it could be.

FFNet here || AO3 here (AO3 is late update)

Disclaimer: I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin

In March of that year, Armin found a ring.

Ymir lost her job, while Historia got a letter.

In March of that year, Ayako finally fell in love, while Mikasa fell into despair.

But for a short while, in March, they had all experienced happiness in various sorts of ways.

March was the moment which witnessed many strange happenings. Some bonds were broken, while others were strengthened. At the beginning, no one could have seen how these seemingly random events were all connected, but then again, perhaps none of them were a coincidence.

Even months, and years after that, Mikasa still sometimes thought to herself – what would happen if she had chosen to do things differently?

If she had given a different answer, would things turn out the way did?

Or, was everything a predetermined setup from the beginning, flowing in one direction towards the inevitable outcome?

If only she had the answer to that.

It was a tale in the strange city of Shiganshina – when the weather was about to turn from piercing cold to warm, when the icy winter was about to give away into spring. Along with the coming of spring, these adolescents in the very center of this story had also melted away their youths into maturity.

It had all started on one chilly winter afternoon, when Armin picked up a lost ring.

- Winter Flower: Daffodil -

At first, Armin wasn't really sure whose ring it was. As usual, he was on his way home from school to the train station. Eren and Mikasa were off somewhere together that afternoon. They had been together a lot as of lately and to be honest, Armin knew what's going on between them. There was such subtle openness in the way they were casually behaving in one another's presence now – as though it was just natural for one of them to be with the other, just like the waves and the sea being of one existence. It was as if they had known each other for all their lives, even those hellish months full of fights and misunderstandings in September last year up to this January now felt like something that had happened a long, long time ago, probably from another lifetime. Indeed, life was as mysterious as it could be – a lot of things were set in motion after he met Eren and Mikasa, and the rest was history.

If only Armin knew, that him walking these streets today was also history in the making. Life was a series of choices, after all.

He was walking in a hurry in an attempt to catch the next train in five minutes – when suddenly he felt his foot kick a peculiar object on the side of the pavement. The small sound of metal clink brought the object to his notice. The circular thing glistened a little under winter sunlight, rolled half a meter away before losing balance and fell sideways, circling a few times before it finally settled down on the ground. Armin frowned. Carefully, he made a few steps to approach the object and slowly picked it up, feeling curiosity rising inside him.

A ring.

He turned the object in his hands. It was a modest ring, made out of metal and silver. Judging from the color, it was certainly not a new one. It had been worn out due to age – but at the same time, this ring was beautifully polished, proof that the owner was taking a good care of it despite of its age. If it was such an important thing – the owner must be looking for it now.

Armin ran his fingers on the outer circle. The size was small, the owner was probably a woman. He tried to turn it around for more clues. Could this ring belong to someone in Shiganshina North? It could be. After all, all the students had to travel past this road if they wanted to reach the station. And Armin knew that for a fact, a lot of students went to school by train.

If this belongs to a student – I could easily give it at school, Armin thought. He tried to look for name engravings, and his eyes glistened in silent triumph when he finally found it. There, on the inside of the ring, was engraved the name of a person, most likely the owner of that ring, in cursive letters.

Annie L.

"Annie…" Armin brows furrowed at the name. He was plunged deep in thought for a few seconds. The name seemed to ring a strange bell in his brain – he had heard that name somewhere… only he couldn't remember it.

Was there a student named Annie in their school? He couldn't recall anyone in his year – but she could be a first or third year. He stood still for a moment, the mysterious ring still intertwined between his fingers. Annie… What if she wasn't a student in his school after all? Shouldn't he be turning this to the police as a lost item?

He tried hard to remember. Every time it seemed like he was so close to remembering, his memories went up and over like thin smokes. He gave out a sigh of frustration. He couldn't let it go.

At that moment, Armin didn't know why he did it. He could have made a detour to the police before resuming his walk to the train station. He could have turned the ring in as a lost item – it was the most sensible thing to do. Armin was usually a pretty sensible person. But this time – just this time, something stopped him from doing it. Probably because he wanted to know who Annie was. Probably because he wanted to find out why exactly she took a really good care of such a modest, old ring. Or probably – because the image of this ring itself had made him curious about the owner.

Whatever the reason was, he squeezed the item carefully inside his hand and slipped it in his pocket. Then, he continued his walk toward the station, as if nothing happened. He had chosen to keep that ring.

- Winter Flower: Plum Blossom -

It was a chilly afternoon indeed. Even though it was March, the temperature was still freezing. Not a weather Jean would have preferred for this activity he was about to carry, but still he couldn't have chosen any other day.

He washed his face with the freezing cold water, turned the tap shut, and faced his expression in the foggy bathroom mirror. He looked scared. Scared, but ready.

"You got this," he said to himself as he slapped both hands to either side of his face. It was an attempt to bring him down to reality, a slap of truth on the face that he needed to have to perform this action. Swiftly he walked out to the bathroom, past the corridors, ran down the stairs, and finally reached the central courtyard.

And there she was, sitting on a bench at the far end of that courtyard. She wasn't looking at him, instead, she was looking upward toward the sky – it was almost as if she was waiting for the skies to open, and snow to fall.

Without wasting any chance, Jean drew in a deep breath and called.

"Mikasa!"

The girl turned to him.

"Jean?" she said, sounding both surprised and confused. He knew why she was behaving that way, of course. He would have to explain it to her.

"Ishijima told me you'd be here."

"Ayako..?" for a moment Mikasa seemed to be processing the fact, until she connected the dots together, and a hint of understanding finally passed on her face.

"She set me up, didn't she?" Mikasa asked, and Jean nodded, looking a bit guilty. "Yeah… I kinda… asked her a favor," he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Sorry for that."

Mikasa drew a long sigh and shifted uncomfortably on the bench, deliberately not looking at the boy standing before him. This air, this awkwardness and tension between them… she knew where this was going and she didn't like it. Damn it, Ayako. Why would she set her up like this? She already knew what's going to happen anyway.

"I just… I have something to say to you," she heard Jean say, and suddenly, her chest seemed to weigh a ton. She drew in another long, deep sigh and closed her eyes.

This was exactly the roots of all trouble, the beginning of it all. All the hurricane that seemed to turn her school life upside down had started from here. It was so simple really, just one event, and one wrong decision from her side.

But that one decision had branched into another mistake, and then another one, and… soon it had developed into a web caused by her series of bad decisions that slowly entangled her and trapped her inside. If there was one thing she did not understand back then when she rejected Jean, it's the fact that what happened between two persons were never only about the two of them.

She had thought that what happened between her and Jean was a matter between them both – but it was a clear mistake. It was not, and it never was. There will always be something, someone else – be it Nanako or other people, who were just as interested, as invested emotionally as both of them –in that relationship. These people's feelings would then become intricated, tangled, and as a result – all the emotions came together to cause complications that happened down the road. She was never an expert in interpersonal relationship – she didn't quite know how to deal with human emotions. A single mistake could cause a whole lot of chain reaction, which triggered the other events. But deep down, she might have known that this was an event that was bound to happen. Sh was going to have to face this, no matter what road she chose.

Slowly, slowly, she opened her eyes again to look at Jean. It took almost all of her to not run away from the spot. Jean looked conflicted, there was a lot of emotions on his face that she couldn't name. For a while, she thought of a way she should end this, in the least painful way possible, but then there was something on his eyes that just left her in a quiet reservation.

His sharp golden eyes spoke neither of hope nor anticipation. Those eyes just spoke of sorrow. They spoke of defeat. Somehow, it was the only emotion that kept her grounded. And in the next moment, she regained her senses back.

"What is it you wanted to tell me?" she asked.

She knew what was coming, she knew she might make another mistake here – just as that time when she rejected Jean but said that they could still be friends, when she accepted his invite but stood him up on their dates, twice – and when she decided to tell Nanako that she knew her feelings for Jean. She knew, and she wanted to offer her support, but Nanako just so mercilessly slapped her hands away, before proceeding to shatter their friendship to pieces. She had made countless mistakes back then – what would happen this time if she made yet another bad decision? When the inevitable happens, what then?

"I want you to know that I've given up on you."

Jean's words prompted Mikasa to look at him in surprise. There was a long silence when she gathered her thoughts, but Jean didn't interrupt her. He was looking at her, but he didn't say anything.

"What?" she opened her mouth, but that was all she could say.

"I give up," Jean repeated. "I give up chasing you, on liking you. I give up trying to make you look at me. I realize… that I am mighty stubborn at times. But I really… I want you to know that… it all ends today. I'm sorry if I ever made you feel uncomfortable before. Sometimes… I just cannot help it. I couldn't control my feelings and I caused you trouble. I'm sorry."

"You don't need to be sorry," she said before she could stop herself. "Jean, you're not at fault. I'm –"

"No, listen to me, Mikasa," he interrupted her gently, and she was silent, only her eyes imploring him to go on.

"I know I haven't got a fair chance on you. Even before Yeager came in… before all this shitstorm happened… I told you how I felt already but I got rejected. I should have given up then but I was too stubborn… I couldn't accept defeat, especially, my pride wouldn't allow me to give in. So… I kept going, over and over to chase you. I did like you but at some point…," he paused. "I realized, it might have been more about my pride than my feelings toward you."

His sorrow was replaced by something else now, a quiet, more subtle emotion. It was resignation.

"So… that's why I'm here today. To admit my defeat. Like I said… it all ends today."

"Jean…," she started, but then stopped. She didn't know what to say. She surely didn't expect any of this, but she was even more surprised that Jean would admit that the real reason he kept chasing her was because he didn't want to lose… because of his pride. For a while, she wanted to say sorry – sorry for all the things she did to him, for rejecting him and getting him entangled in her mess… It was almost at the tip of her tongue, but then, another word came up.

"Thank you, Jean," she said quietly. She could see his eyes widened in surprise. "For telling me this," she elaborated. "Thank you."

There was a speck of relief in his eyes. He was not sure how he expected her to take this – to be honest, he was actually prepared for feeling even worse, to admit a crushing defeat, but her words of gratitude set a huge burden off his chest.

"Well I guess…," he said to fill in the long stretch of uneasy silence between them, "I guess I should… thank you too." He shot her an awkward smile, which she returned just as nervously. Again, she heaved a deep sigh, and shot an upward glance.

"It's too cold here, we should –" but at that time, something caught her attention.

"It's blooming," she said almost in a whisper.

"Pardon?" asked Jean, clearly not following her. She pointed upwards, toward the tree branches that stretched above the park bench she had sat on earlier. "The flowers," she said. He followed her finger, and immediately understood what she meant.

When he found her earlier, she wasn't looking at the sky. She wasn't expecting the sky to open, or a heavy snowfall. She was probably looking upwards at these.

"Plum blossom," the said both in unison, and stared at each other in surprise.

"You didn't strike me as someone who knew about flowers," she commented, her surprised expression had changed into a somewhat soft smile.

"I guess… there are some things you might not know about me," Jean shrugged and answered rather bashfully. "I can see why you are excited, though," he shot an upwards glace again at the plum blossom buds, which had begun to blossom silently in the cold weather. "It takes a while for them to bloom this year."

"They bloom in the most adverse weather," he heard her say. "In the coldest winter climate – they survive and blossom. Don't you think it's amazing?" He stared at her face, which had softened considerably. She was still silently admiring the early blooms. He could sense a somewhat deeper meaning behind her words, but he couldn't dare to probe.

"I agree," he said finally. "People say flowers are weak because they live only for a short while, but for sure they're stronger than us. I mean… look at us now." He suddenly realized that he had been shivering. It was damn cold. "Listen, it's been a good talk, but we should probably go inside, yeah? Let's not catch cold."

Mikasa laughed. It was probably the first time ever that Jean was able to make her laugh, and he was taken aback.

"You were the one who asked to meet me here," she said. "Idiot."

Wow. That's two times she made him surprised today. The entire time he knew her, she never used any kind of bad words, even those that people normally considered as mild profanities.

"You have changed," he commented. Only after seeing her look of surprise did he realize that he had been saying it out loud… yet again. He covered his mouth in embarrassment. Him and his big mouth. One of these days, he should really learn to control it. But since he already said it anyway….

"Is it Yeager?" he asked. For a long while, Mikasa didn't speak. Her hand jumped to the red scarf she always had around her neck. It was just lately that she began wearing it, Jean had never seen her with it earlier, and yet, these days she was almost never seen without it. Mikasa tightened the scarf nervously, burying her lower face in it. Jean could still see her face glowing with hint of scarlet. Her reaction had said it all.

"Alright, I won't ask again," he said, sounding resigned. He was somewhat satisfied to have found his answer, though it did hurt a bit. But he had known this for a long while, so what difference did it make? He considered her again carefully, and speak, from the bottom of his heart this time.

"You look happier these days, Mikasa. I'm happy for you."

Beneath her scarf, Mikasa silently thanked him with a grateful smile.

***

"So? How did it go?" Jean just slipped his uniform open to change it with a T-shirt for a drama club practice, when a voice made him turn.

"Ishijima!" he yelled. "This is boys' locker room."

"You know no one cares about that rule," said Ayako, walking leisurely toward him and sitting on the bench nearby. "What did Mikasa say?"

"No – still, this is invasion of privacy, you know."

"What did Mikasa say?" Ayako asked again, more urge in her voice this time. Jean sighed.

"What else could she say? And just so you know, I did not confess. I went there to tell her that I'd give up on chasing her."

"Oh –" this came as a surprise to Ayako. Then, after a slight pause, "Jean… I'm so sorry."

"Don't be – it was my decision." He finished putting on a T-shirt and closed his locker with a clank. "And if anything… I was wrong about her." Ayako looked curious at this statement.

"About what?"

"Well," Jean sent her a sideways glance before continuing. "How should I say it… I think she's changed. The old Mikasa that I knew… she was beautiful but so cold, you know? It was like she never had life instilled in her. But these days, she's more… lively. I mean.. she called me an idiot for having her to meet me outside in the cold." Ayako burst out laughing.

"You probably deserved," she said. "Were you surprised?"

"Took the life out of me," Jean replied sarcastically. "It was Yeager after all… right?" he directed this question at Ayako, who only replied with a discreet smile.

"So you don't want to answer too? Damn it," Jean sighed. "Anyway, I'm over her now, I just wish her plenty of happiness." He shrugged, and began to walk toward the exit.

"You know, Jean..," he could hear Ayako call him from behind, but his words exploded before he could help it.

"I know… I sound like a loser, don't I?"

I wish you plenty of happiness was a bunch of bullshit. It took him a lot of courage to say that. To swallow his own pride, his own feelings for her, and to admit that he would bow out gracefully and declare defeat. It was a defining moment where he decided that he should never look at her again with a different feeling other than friends.

And still, in that damn little corner of his mind, there was a small voice that never wanted to shut up.

I wish you all the happiness. But when will I get my own happiness?

"Don't say that," said Ayako, rising up from the bench. She walked nearer to him, and sent a gentle squeeze on his arm. "How about… a consolation date?"

Jean turned, and regarded the brown-haired girl with a surprised look.

"What?"

"I'm free this Saturday," she said playfully. "So… let's have a date." Jean blinked a few times.

"Are you… are you joking, or…?"

"Really…. Are you seriously going to hurt a girl's feelings after I ask you out like this?" Ayako crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Are you free this Saturday, or not?"

"I –" It took a while for Jean to process her question. She really was serious.

"Of course. I'm free," he finally relented.

"Great!" she broke into a smile, and Jean was taken aback. For a split second, with smile lighting up her face, Ayako did look positively lovely. "Let's decide where to go later after practice then. See you!"

And with that, she trotted out of the locker room, leaving Jean in stunned silence.

- Winter Flower: Camellia -

"You can't do this," Ymir said, half in desperation, as she stared to the person standing in front of her – who returned her plea with a very cold expression.

"I'm sorry."

"No!" Ymir screamed. "What are you saying… you can't just – up and fire someone like that, you know? I'm – I'm the longest employed staff here, I never come late to work, never caused any trouble, why… why are you doing this?"

"Like I said," the staff who stood before her repeated with the same cold, bored expression. "This is boss's decision."

"Then let me talk to boss!"

"No use. That's why he wanted me to talk to you instead."

Ymir clenched her fists, her breath hitched up her throat in frustration. "I've got bills to pay, Takagi-san," she said, trying to keep her voice down, "You know I live alone, you know how my situation is, right? The boss knows too! Why are you doing this to me?"

"Business isn't exactly easy these days," Takagi replied with a sour smile.

"And so is my life!" Ymir's voice rose again. "If you fire me, I won't have any source of income, how… how am I supposed to live?" she clutched the front of her shirt, trying very hard to keep her emotions in check. "Are you telling me to go out there and die, Takagi-san?"

"Enough!" Takagi raised his voice too now. "The boss has already done enough for you, Ymir! Don't you realize it? We're employing an underage kid here, in a bar! We falsified your age and thanks to the boss, we never got discovered though we've come pretty close to it many, many times! Who do you think covered for your ass all those times?" Ymir looked away in guilt. It was true, the boss was the only one who took her in and employed her here despite her being underage after hearing about her situation. Thanks to that, she was able to cover for her rent, bills, and tuition for school. If not for the boss' kindness, she would be wasting away out there in the street since a long time ago.

"You should be in the social service, not here," Takagi told her, and Ymir eyed him with deep resentment. "I'm saying the truth," he said, not wavering under Ymir's look of profound distaste. You are underage, you are still in school. You shouldn't be working here. After shift is over today, pack your things." Ymir didn't say anything, she only looked down with her fists still clenched. Takagi sighed, then slowly put his arms on Ymir's shoulders.

"You need to be where you belong, Ymir."

She shook his hands away. "What do you know about where I belong?" She shot back sharply, her eyes glistened of fury, but also of tears. "In the end, you're just trying to make yourself feel good about this decision, aren't you? You kicked me out, and now I won't have money to survive! What a bunch of bullshit, saying you do this for my sake!" she shouted bitterly, and slammed her fist to her locker door in her anger outburst. She ignored Takagi's hurtful and surprised expression. Why was he the one acting like he's hurt – when clearly she was the one being kicked out here?

"If you want me out, fine! I don't need until the end of this shift. I'll get out now!" She grabbed her bag and her coat, and dashed to the exit, eyes blinded by tears. She felt angry, but more than that – she felt miserable. Once again, someone she thought she knew had betrayed her trust. Once again, she was left with no place in this world.

***

A sound of broken glass from her sister's room alarmed Frieda Reiss. She ran upstairs, and immediately knocked on her bedroom door.

"Historia?" she asked worriedly, "What happened? Are you alright?" after a few seconds of tense silence, she was relieved to finally hear her sister reply.

"Yes… I'm fine."

Her voice sounded a bit shaky and Frieda raised her eyebrows, looking unconvinced.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes… I'm sorry, I'm just a little bit tired. I knocked over the cup when I was moving some stuff," she answered again. Then, after a slight pause, "I'll clean this up immediately and go to sleep, I'm sorry…"

"That's fine," Frieda said. "Do you need any help?"

"No… I'm alright. Thank you," she said politely.

"If you say so," Frieda said, and she began to walk away from her sister's door. Inside, Historia waited until she heard her sister's footsteps going away down the stairs, then sighed in relief. Hurriedly, she gazed down to the letter in her hand. It looked like an ordinary, simple letter. The envelope had an ivory hue, the thickness indicated that it was of good quality. It might have passed for a wedding invitation, had it not been for the wax seal on the front of the envelope bearing an intricate capital letter 'R'. Once Historia saw the wax symbol, she knew who that letter was from, and that's practically why she dropped the cup she was holding on the other hand.

She glanced at the sender's name scribbled on the bottom right of the envelope, her heart racing when she saw the name.

Rod Reiss.

- Snow Flower -

Armin lay on his bed, his hair still damp from shower, carefully holding up the ring he just found back in the afternoon between the thumb and index finger of his right hand.

Annie.

He knew he had heard that name somewhere. He tried racking his brain, tried searching the internet for it – for an Annie that lived in Shiganshina, but there were too many results that he couldn't possibly dig in one by one.

Was he behaving stupid right now? What if the owner was frantically searching for her lost ring? Why didn't he just turn it in to the police station?

Maybe tomorrow I should just wait for the owner to show up near the place I found this ring, Armin thought. She will show up, and I can tell her I found this yesterday and decided to keep it.

Armin didn't know when he fell asleep. He was pretty tired, he didn't even wake up when his grandfather knocked on his door, found his grandson fast asleep, then turned off the lamp. However, just a few hours after, he suddenly he found himself wide awake. He didn't know exactly what woke him up. Floating between his consciousness, he sent a quick glance at the bedside table, and found that it was past 2 in the morning. Armin lay back down and tried to go back to sleep, but suddenly, a strange voice was ringing on his ears.

Annie… what are you doing here?

Eren's voice. Where did he her it before?

Armin tried to focus. Then, the memories came to him all at once.

That breezy autumn day in October, when Eren had just moved to Shiganshina North High, Armin had walked to the school front gate and found a female student waiting for Eren. Blonde hair, icy blue eyes, pale face as pretty as an ocean in winter. She gave him chills when she spoke.

Her name was… Annie.

***

"No."

"Please, please please… can we just ride the Takabisha one more time?"

"Hell no! My life was flashing before my eyes during that ride, you know?"

"Exactly! That's why it's so fun, right?"

"Stop it."

"Oh come on… just once? After the steep drop it wasn't too bad."

Jean regarded the girl standing before him, who was practically bubbling with excitement, jumping up and down, trying to get him to ride the Takabisha one more time with her. He sighed, then sent a dark look over the towering figure of that coaster, which rose straight up toward the sky from the ground level to 43 meters in height. Why would anyone design something so incredibly evil, Jean would never know. Not only it was high, they had to drop the coaster from 42 meters high in a world-record steepest angle of 121 degrees, took them through multiple twists and turns, going from 0 to 100 km per hours in only 2 seconds, before finally stopping in the finish line. It was only roughly a minute ride, but it was enough to scar Jean for a lifetime. He could painfully feel all the regrets in life coming back to him during the ride – and couldn't be more relieved when it was over.

But Ayako seemed to think otherwise. When she said she wanted to go on the ride again, Jean was struck with horror.

"Must you really pick something so scary?" he asked miserably. "Why can't we… have some normal rides or just…"

"Then how about the Haunted House?" she asked, and Jean's heart sunk. This park's haunted house was famous as a labyrinth modelled after some old, abandoned asylum, in which the visitors were responsible to find their own way out, with no guarantee what kind of ghosts or terrors they would encounter on the way. It was a gigantic attraction, and some visitors even couldn't find the way out for hours.

Something about the combination of being stuck for hours in a dark, scary place, modelled after some abandoned mental hospital really didn't have Jean running enthusiastically for it. No, he didn't even want to go inside, if he could. He sighed.

"Why don't we… just sit here, okay? I'll buy us some coffee." He motioned to a bench near them, and was relieved when Ayako finally nodded okay. "Latte for me," she said, and Jean nodded, quickly making his way to the nearest coffee shop before she changed her mind again and try to get him on another scary ride.

He had known that Ayako was pretty energetic and all, she was always such a contrast to Mikasa's calm and collected demeanor. When she suggested they should have their date at an amusement park, he agreed, thinking that it was a mighty fitting place for her. What he didn't know was – how much she was into scary rides and horror stuff. She breezed through all the stuff like it was nothing, enjoying them even, while he could barely even stomach it. After a drop tower ride, a 360-degree vertical rotation, a pirate ship, and finally, the infamous Takabisha which gave his stomach a dangerous turn he was almost sure he'd throw up his lunch – Ayako asked him to get on the ride one more time with such glimmer in her eyes like she'd just experienced her dream of a lifetime coming true, while he felt like he was on the verge of death.

He couldn't believe her.

Thankfully she agreed on his idea to sit down over a cup of coffee. He would have to think what he'd say to her later when they started moving again, though. Why can't they ride something that will plant their feet on the ground, for once? Jean was determined to not go to another coaster or a haunted house.

"Thank you," she said enthusiastically, retrieving her cup of hot latte from Jean, who proceeded to sit beside her.

"This park is so fun!" she commented. "I'm glad you found it so," Jean muttered darkly. He gazed down at the cup of hot americano he held in his left hand, slightly slouching with both elbows resting on his thighs. His dark tone didn't escape her attention. She raised her eyebrows, then, after a few moments of studying the boy in silence, she spoke.

"You were really scared, weren't you?"

Jean turned to face her. She sounded curious, but he saw a look of genuine concern in her face. He had to turn away quickly then, for the sight of her bright hazel eyes and blossoming pink cheeks were suddenly too much for him to bear.

"I'm sorry. I got too overexcited."

He heard her speak, and he blinked. Ayako looked a bit sheepish. "I was so excited to finally come here – I wanted to try everything so I just dragged you without thinking. I'm sorry… I was inconsiderate."

"No, don't apologize," Jean cut in quickly, as he felt his guilt sank in. "I mean I – I should be the one to…" he stuttered out, feeling devastated at her words. He couldn't help but mentally slap himself. Damn it! What kind of guy was he? Why couldn't he have handled a few scary rides? She was having so much fun, and he completely ruined it for her.

"There's a reason I want to go here, you know," she said, playing with the latte cup in her hands. It's… um… but, promise you're not gonna be mad?" she eyed him with a look, and he, feeling curiosity had taken over him, simply nodded.

"It's that… extreme rides trigger an experience that releases adrenaline. And Adrenaline helps you forget the bad things easier," she said, and he frowned, not quite getting what she meant.

"Oh God, you are so slow," she laughed, half in desperation. "I want you to have a good time. I want you to make good memories. I thought after everything that's happened… you would need to unwind, relax, and release the tension. That's why… that's why I chose this place. But to be honest, I didn't know you would be scared instead," she twirled her brown locks in her hand, looking somewhat guilty. "Sorry."

"No," Jean started. He didn't know why she would say sorry – he should be sorry instead, for ruining the experience for her, after everything she did to cheer him up. He felt so stupid.

"It takes a while to get used to, these things," she said, and Jean blinked.

"Roller coasters?"

"No, you silly," she laughed. "Moving on from someone you loved."

Her words were met with a stunned silence. She gave out a sigh.

"It's not like it is something that can happen overnight," she said. "People talk as if it's an easy thing to do – but it's not. That's why you shouldn't worry. Just take your own pace, do one thing at a time. And slowly, slowly you will heal." She smiled. "You have to."

He couldn't bring himself to say anything to her. He'd had this thought a few times about Ayako, but it was always just a fleeting thought. After all, he was always too busy paying attention to Mikasa that he never had eyes for anything else. Despite being in the same club, Jean never even had a proper time to converse with her. It was as though this was the first time Jean had really ever seen her. He knew Ayako mostly from the school rumors, she was pretty, goes to blind-date a lot, easy to get laid with and would probably do it for money. She's an easy-win, that's how guys would often call her. There were still various other names that people used to describe her. But it never really captured the essence of her as a person, and this was the first time Jean realized that Ayako, despite everything else that people might call her, really could be considered quite mature and thoughtful for her age.

"It's nice," he said finally, with a relieved smile.

"What is?" she sent him a curious glance, looking at him through the brim of the latte cup, which she was drinking to fill in the empty silence.

"Discovering a new side of someone we thought we knew." This time it was her turn to not follow his words.

"Sorry?"

"I'm talking about you," he said quite humorously. "Ishijima."

"Oh, just drop the formalities," she said. "You can call me Ayako."

"Ayako," he liked the way that name rolled off his tongue.

"Jean," she replied. They looked at each other for a few stunned seconds, then, a hint of smile began to form at the corner of her lips. He didn't know why, but he suddenly found this hilarious also. As he mirrored her expression, his eyes lit up. And the next second, they both burst into laughter.

***

It's not here. It's not here. It's not here

Annie was searching frantically, retracing her steps back from yesterday, turning every stone, every nook and cranny, but still she couldn't find it.

Her ring was gone.

She clutched at her chest with devastation. She had always worn the ring every day, dangling it on a silver chain around her neck, but yesterday, the chain was broken, and she only realized she had lost her ring when she arrived home.

She couldn't sleep that night and couldn't pay attention at all to school the day after. When the fourth period bell rang, she slipped out of class and retraced her steps back, from the train station to the streets she walked to the places she visited, but none of them resulted in any good news. It was almost hopeless, she knew. But she couldn't give up.

She let fatigue overtake her when she finally rested a bit on the way uphill to Shiganshina North High. She was here yesterday, looking for Eren, but she couldn't meet him. She leaned back against the stone wall on the side of the street and slowly sank down, crouching. The cold of winter was biting her cheeks. She was exhausted. She covered her tired eyes with both her hands, sighing in frustration. What would happen if she didn't find that ring? She didn't want to think. She had to find it… she had to. It was the only memento she had left from her father, from their earlier years together.

From their happier years.

"Excuse me," a voice came up, and she burrowed her face deeper in her hands, hoping it would go away.

"Excuse me," the voice repeated, and she ignored it even further. This voice was quite persistent, so annoying….

"Annie," now the voice called her name, and she immediately looked up. A pair of big, blue orbs were staring back at her, those belonging to a boy of her age. Blonde hair was framing his face, and he looked concerned, but relieved. Annie frowned. She remembered him.

"You are Eren's friend," she said, almost matter-of-factly. "How did you know my name?"

"About that…," the boy reached out to his trousers' pocket, and brought out something inside his fist. Slowly, he opened his hand in front of Annie, revealing the object he was holding. The girl immediately let out a gasp, and covered her mouth.

"It's yours… right? I found it yesterday."

She stretched out her trembling hand to pick up her ring from Armin's hand, her breath seemed like it had stopped in her throat all the while. She had almost given up all hope to find it, but here it was now, by some kind of miracle, this boy had somehow returned this ring to her.

She clutched the ring tightly inside her hands and brought it in front of her chest, closing her eyelids so hard and drew in a deep breath to stop tears from pouring out.

"I thought… it might be an important thing for you. That's why I didn't give it to the police," she heard his soft voice, and she slowly looked up again. She was too relieved in finding her ring back, she'd forgotten to even thank him.

"Thank you," she said, genuinely. For a while, her never-ending cold expression was replaced with a smile, which Armin regarded with surprise. She looked completely different when she smiled. And if her frosty eyes were filled with some kind of cool animosity toward him before, now it was more of a quiet, yet still distant, acknowledgement of him.

"You are welcome," said Armin. He returned the girl's smile with a speck of relief. "I'm glad."

She looked surprised. "For what?" she asked.

"Ah, well… I'm just thinking….," Armin paused. Should he say it? But he's rarely ever going to see her anyway, so… might as well take his chance now.

"I just think… you look really nice when you smile."

She looked surprised, but, Armin noted in huge relief, not in a bad way. It seemed she was taken aback at his comment, but it's not in any way unwelcome for her. She stared at him for a few long seconds, before asking.

"What's your name?"

"Armin. Armin Arlelt."

She seemed to think for a while, then…

"If there is anything I can do to thank you, let me know. I'll do it if I can."

Armin hesitated for a while. "There is… one thing I would like to ask then," he said.

"Yes?"

"Do you mind… do you mind to give me your number?"

- Blue Side -

"An Instax?"

"This kind of thing is all over the social media lately. Gives you the kind of retro feels," Armin showed up his brand-new polaroid camera to Mikasa. He had got an Instax Mini 90, a nice and compact polaroid camera with well-polished black faux leather and silver metal body, which, like Armin said, completely gave Mikasa retro vibes.

"Can I try it? I promise not to waste any films," she asked, and he smiled.

"Don't have to worry about it," Armin handed the camera over to her, and she pointed the camera to his direction, capturing him in the viewfinder window.

"Okay, smile," she said. Armin gave her a huge grin, then she clicked.

The camera produced a whirring noise, then the film came out, still looking like a blank piece of paper.

"It's going to take a while to develop," Armin said and she nodded, setting it aside.

"Eren!" she called out to the other boy, now pointing the camera to him. "Look here."

"What?" Eren was laying on his back on a wide space near the window sill, playing with the basket ball that he had somehow snuck out from the sports warehouse. He threw the ball upwards into the air, and caught it as it came back down, sometimes twirling it on the tip of his index finger. He didn't seem to be paying attention to Mikasa or Armin.

"You're going to break something in this lab with that ball soon, I just know it," said Mikasa.

He grinned. "You wish," he said, and continued to bounce the ball upward and caught it mid-air.

"When that happens, I'm not gonna cover up for you, by the way."

"Me either," Armin chimed in.

"Well, why should we meet up in a science lab anyway?" he protested. "There are other safer places I'm sure. Somewhere we're not at risk of breaking things."

"We are not at any risk of breaking things, mind you."

"Yeah, only you are, Eren."

"Also, everywhere else is full. The third years are having their cram period before the exam so we can't use the classrooms. And the home economics lab is locked cause some students from first year blew up a fuse during their cooking practice today."

"Sounds lovely," Eren commented.

"Hold that pose," said Mikasa finally, when Eren just caught the ball for what must have been the hundredth time. He looked at her, questioning, but she already clicked the camera shutter quickly. She pulled out the polaroid film, and set it aside with Armin's, which had turned out nicely.

"Nice lighting," Armin commented. "Nice use of the window light there, Mikasa."

"I'm bored," Eren interjected, finally rising from his place. "Isn't there something we can do?"

"I don't know about you – but I'm broke," said Armin. "Spent all my allowance to buy this camera."

"I don't have that much too," Mikasa commented. "Have to last until the end of the week with what little I got left."

"How much does everyone have?" said Eren. "Let's put them together."

Armin and Mikasa sent a sideways look, but they grabbed their wallets anyway to pull out their remaining pocket money. They didn't have much indeed.

"We can't go very far with these," said Eren, thinking.

"Told you."

"How about just going to that convenience store down the road to grab some cup noodles and hot coffee?" Armin said, and Mikasa was about to agree with his idea, when Eren suddenly cut in.

"No wait… I got a better idea."

***

"Whose brilliant idea was this to go to the ocean in winter?" Mikasa protested through her chattering teeth.

"Shut up, you already agreed to it anyway, so don't protest!" Eren shot back, annoyed.

The three of them now stood on Shiganshina's open coast, having just exited the bus that took them to this place. The bus driver sent them a look as if they were crazy for going to the ocean in this weather, and Mikasa definitely had to agree.

They set out on the descending staircase that brought them all the way to the beach, the freezing wind blew mercilessly all the while, cutting through their skin, and sending chills all the way down to their bones. Mikasa's hair was blown away by the fearless wind, hopelessly tangled now in all direction. Half of her regretted going here, but she knew anyway Eren wouldn't have let her say no to his plans. She had no choice but to go along with him. Once they had descended all the way to the bottom, she began taking out her socks and shoes, while Eren and Armin sent her a look.

"Might as well," she tried to bite back the cold that seemed to seep through her bones. "Go all the way now that we're here."

She put away her bag, socks and shoes, then ran bare-footed toward the ocean to catch the waves. She winced when her toes came into contact with the waves.

"Cold!" she muttered. "Eren, Armin, come on," she waved at them. "Let's have a contest to see who can last longer in these cold waves!"

Eren already took off his shoes and socks and was now running to catch her. Armin was worried about catching a cold, although he couldn't help but follow in his friends' footsteps.

"Shoot! It's so damn cold!" Eren shivered as he stood now with his feet planted in the sand, waves sweeping freely at his feet. Mikasa, who noticed the close distance between them, quietly bent down, scooped a handful of water, and splashed it at him.

"Ouch! Hey, Mikasa? What the hell?"

"That's for making us going to the ocean in winter," she said, her eyes glinting humorously. Then, she ran away before Eren could have got back at her, smiling as she heard his frustrated groan. From the reverberating sounds of footsteps though, she knew that Eren was chasing after her. He could try – he'd run a marathon before she ever let him catch her. Knowing that it was futile, Eren soon stopped his attempt. He paused to catch his breath. Mikasa wasn't called the fastest runner in class for nothing, after all.

"Eren, Mikasa!" Armin called, waving his hand to both of them. He was standing a little way up, closer to the staircase, where waves wouldn't reach him. "Get here, I'm taking your picture." He had his polaroid camera ready in hand.

Mikasa came close, still slightly wary of Eren, wondering if the boy would somehow try to use this chance get back at her. Eren noticed her, then held up a 'peace' sign.

"Let's call it a truce," he said. She frowned. She couldn't trust him at all.

"Get closer!" Armin shouted over the sound of the wind and waves crashing, "You're not even on one frame!"

So – after sending quick glances toward one another, they began to walk closer, and stood side by side. Armin peeked through the viewfinder, and gave a frustrated groan.

"You guys look like an old married couple who's fighting and haven't said anything to each other in weeks," Armin said. "Can't you just be a little more… peaceful?"

At this, Mikasa felt Eren's right hand circled down her waist. Before she had a chance to react, he had jerked her closer, and now they stood side by side without distance, his chest to her back.

"Now?" he asked Armin, almost as calmly as if they were making a commemorative class photograph. Her breath seemed to have stopped in her chest. She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut in.

"Be quiet," he said, locking his eyes with hers with an obvious grin, "Or else I'll kiss."

She could feel the heat radiating from her face upon hearing those words. God – surely this was his way of getting back at her. Despite how they were behaving in private, he knew how reserved she was when they were in front of others – even if that someone other happened to be Armin. She couldn't find any retort to give him, so she just stayed silent and looked down, until Armin shouted at her to look at the camera.

"Much better," Armin grinned in satisfaction, when she finally did. He clicked the shutter before Mikasa could say anything else, and soon he had flicked the undeveloped film inside his hand. He felt rather amused. Just because he knew what's going on between them – didn't mean he shouldn't give them a tease.

He was about to go up to retrieve more polaroid films from his bag, when he suddenly heard a scream from behind him. Alarmed, he quickly looked back. Apparently, Eren had been successful in getting back at Mikasa by splashing her with a handful of cold, freezing water. And now he's got a very angry Mikasa chasing after him. Armin sighed, and continued his climb. He will not be responsible if both of them catch colds tomorrow.

#eremika #hourglass #snk #snk fanfic #aot #aot fanfic

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onyxiana-is-obsessed · 4 years

Text

Doubt | Tamaki Amajiki x Reader | Soulmate AU

AN: Hiya! This was a server prompt for the server I’m in! I got Tamaki, so here we go! Here is the main master list for the other characters!

Part 2!! Part 3!!

Pronouns used: They/them Length: 4.9k words

Summary: Everyone in the world has a soulmate and Tamaki Amajiki is no different. The thing is, he’s terrified to meet or talk to his soulmate because he’s scared they could a villain. That is... until he’s finally able to talk to you.

Full Name: (y/f/n) Quirk: (y/q) Age: 18

Every single person in the world has a soulmate. A predetermined pair, courtesy of the universe. Soulmates had a link, a way to communicate with each other. At the age of 18, anything someone wrote on their body would appear on their soulmate’s body, in the exact same spot.

Tamaki Amajiki knew he had a soulmate, someone bound to him for life. He just couldn’t believe that could be the case. Fated pairs were a scary thing due to the limited amount of knowledge surrounding the concept. No one knew why this weird ability existed, no one knew how these pairs were determined, and whether or not there was a person doing this.

Tamaki always feared who his soulmate would be. One of the main fears was if they’d be a villain. What would he do? Every single fated pair fell in love the second they saw each other. What if Tamaki’s other half was a villain? How could he, a hero, fall in love with the enemy?

As his 18th birthday drew closer, Tamaki felt panic and anxiety rather than excitement. Both Mirio and Nejire did their best to convince him his other half wouldn’t be a villain, but how could they be so sure?

“Come on, Tamaki, it’ll be ok!” Mirio smiled. “I highly doubt your soulmate could be a villain! I bet they’re someone awesome with an amazing quirk!”

“Mirio… you’re too loud.” Tamaki muttered, stuffing his face into his arms that laid on his desk. His 18th birthday was just a few days away and then he’d have to face his soulmate.

“Oh hey, you could be worrying for no reason,” Nejire suggested, her legs swinging back and forth on the desk. “Maybe they’re only 16 or 17. You wouldn’t be able to talk to them then.”

“Huh,” Mirio said, “I didn’t even think about that. She’s got a good point.”

“What if they are over 18?” Tamaki argued, turning his head up toward them. “What if they’re like 20?”

“Well…” Nejire giggled sheepishly. “Then you’ll be talking to them! Imagine, Amajiki! What if they’re some awesome celebrity!”

“Or a super cool hero? Maybe from another country?” Mirio added. Tamaki tried his best to let them ease his worries, but no one could drown out that little voice in the back of his head. This was all speculation. They could be wrong.

***

Tamaki sighed as he looked at the clock on his nightstand. 11:43 pm on March 3rd. 17 minutes until he turned 18. He already had his pen ready and he’d decided where he’d write his little message. His mind was in a flurry of emotions, he wasn’t sure if he was excited or not. Well, he was, to an extent, but he was also scared- no, terrified.

What if they didn’t like him? What if his shyness and anxiety was too much for them? What about him? What if they were loud and mean like that Bakugou fellow? What if they were blunt and less understanding of his anxiety? He couldn’t handle that! There’s no way.

11:53 pm.

Mirio and Nejire had offered to stay with him but he declined, wanting to be alone. Both of them reminded him multiple times that they would be completely ok with him coming to their rooms for any reason.

11:54 pm.

Tamaki’s hands rubbed his cheeks as he tried his best to calm down. His eyes kept returning to his little clock and it almost felt as if time was moving slower. His desperate need to talk to his love equally matched his need to run and hide from them, which didn’t even make sense!

“Coward…” He mumbled to himself as he fell back on his bed. His indigo eyes stared up at the ceiling and for once, he attempted to think positive thoughts about his fated lover, or at least, force himself to.

They could be like Mirio, a bright ball of sun who would be there to support him, always encouraging him no matter what the situation. Someone who would wrap their arms around him and whisper comforting words in his ears during his panic attacks or just when the world got too much to handle. Someone who could love someone like him unconditionally.

Tamaki jumped slightly when his phone rang, indicating he’d gotten a text. He picked it up and stared at it. He’d gotten 2 texts, one from Mirio and another from Nejire. Both of them said “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” with a million emojis. Right as Tamaki was about to respond, he felt his blood run cold, numbing him as the realization of what would occur now filled him.

18. He was 18 now. Shakily, Tamaki grabbed his pen and gingerly pulled back his sleeve, finding the perfect spot to write his greeting.

Hello

Tamaki waited patiently for a reply. He thanked both Mirio and Nejire, who wanted to know if his soulmate responded, to which he said no.

Five minutes went by, then ten, then 20. But he received no response. Tamaki frowned, falling on the bed again. Shouldn’t he be happy? He didn’t want to talk to his soulmate. He was too scared to face them. That wasn’t true, deep down, Tamaki was desperate to talk to his soulmate. He needed to talk to them, to know exactly who they were. Guess that wasn’t happening tonight.

Without saying much to his friends, Tamaki turned off his lights and tried to sleep. He stared into the darkness, that dreadful feeling building up in the pit of his stomach. The feeling was overwhelming, especially when he came to the realization that he’d need to wait longer for the identity of his lifelong partner. It made him feel trapped and none of these overpowering emotions helped the tears that slid down his cheeks that night. What a great way to start his birthday.

***

Tamaki’s indigo eyes fluttered open, slowly adjusting to the brightness in his room. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, looking at the clock next to him. 6:32 am. He quickly got up and went to the bathroom to get ready for school.

Tamaki quickly took a shower and brushed his teeth. As he walked out to his room, he took off his shirt, walking to his closet to grab his uniform. He froze when he saw his wrist.

Happy birthday, love

They… responded!? Tamaki scrambled to find his pen, cursing when he failed to. He grabbed his backpack, quickly fishing out a pen and wrote his message underneath.

Good morning

Tamaki impatiently waited, hoping he’d be able to talk to his soulmate right now. He felt an odd tingling sensation on his wrist as he watched the letters slowly appear.

Good morning! How did you sleep?

Tamaki sat on his bed, shakily writing out his response.

Good, you? And thank you

I slept well! Sorry I responded late; I was a little busy! I’m so happy I finally get to talk you <3

How old are you? Did you wait long?

I turned 18 on (birthday)! Gosh, I was so nervous! What’s your name?

Tamaki debated whether he wanted to reveal his identity. What if they were a villain? It… didn’t matter. Tamaki felt something weird in his chest. He felt comfortable and happy now that he’d been able to talk to them. That anxious feeling he had was no longer there, almost as if it never was.

Tamaki Amajiki. Yours?

(Y/f/n)! That’s a super cute name

Tamaki’s face turned red at the compliment as their name swirled around in his head. (F/n). It was cute. He really liked it.

“(F/n)... it’s nice to meet you.”

“No way! Let me see!” Nejire said, yanking Tamaki’s arm.

“H-Hado! W-wait!” She pouted as he held his arm close to his chest. He unbuttoned his jacket and slid it off, letting his arm sit on the desk. Both Nejire and Mirio leaned in to read what they’d said.

“Wow! I’m so happy for you Tamaki!” Mirio smiled. “When do you plan to meet (f/n)?” Tamaki looked away. Wait… meeting already? Hold on! No one said anything about meeting anybody!

You’re still in school, right? What school do you go to?

Nejire read the message aloud before handing Tamaki a purple pen, which he thanked her for and wrote out his response.

I go to UA

No way! That’s awesome! Congrats on getting in! What course?

Hero

Omg! Omg! Omg! My soulmate’s a hero!!!!!

Both Nejire and Mirio chuckled at their response while Tamaki’s face turned a bright red. He immediately stood in front of a wall, holding his wrist against his chest.

“Guess they’re not a villain after all.” Nejire giggled. Sure, (f/n) could be lying to them and pretending to be an innocent civilian… but it felt different. Before, when Tamaki thought about his soulmate, he was so hesitant, confused, and uneasy. But now, a simple thought of his soulmate… and all those thoughts of uncertainty were put to rest. He wasn’t scared, he wasn’t uncomfortable, he wasn’t uneasy. He was content and relieved.

Tamaki felt his wrist tingle again, making his eyes move to the writing. He noticed how… adorable their writing was. The way the E’s curved, the way they wrote their T’s, the way some letters were connected and others weren’t.

You’re not in hero school? Tamaki wrote down, his head still against the cold wall.

‘Not really. My quirk’s (y/q), it’s not the worst with fighting villains, but I just don’t think I have it in me to be a hero’ After the words appeared on his skin, he watched as the others started to disappear. They must’ve been washing their arm to make more room for more writing.

“D-Do you g-guys have a wi-wipe?” Tamaki asked, turning to them. Nejire smiled, grabbing her back.

“Need to clean off the writing?” She asked, reaching into her bag. As she handed him a small wipe, Tamaki quietly thanked her, applying it to his arm. He cleared off most of the writing, while some remained as illegible smudges. “Here, keep it.” Nejire smiled, holding out the entire pack.

“Thanks.”

‘That’s an interesting quirk, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it.’

‘Wow, I surprised a hero! That’s a point for me.’ They quickly responded. ‘HEY! We should meet! I work at (workplace). You should totally come by! ‘ Tamaki’s anxiety spiked at the thought of meeting his soulmate. That calm, serene feeling fled almost immediately and he clenched his fists. No way. That was too much!

‘Maybe’ he responded, pulling his sleeve down, not bothering to see his soulmate’s reply. He felt the tingling, but ignored it, returning to his seat when the teacher came in. Tamaki felt awful, but there was no way he could meet his soulmate, just the thought of it was too much to handle.

Throughout the class period, Tamaki felt his arm tingle a couple of times, but he didn’t look to see what his soulmate wrote. He couldn’t.

“I’ll look for you, if you want!” Nejire chirped, while munching on her apple. All morning, Tamaki had ignored his soulmate in fear of seeing their response, however, at the same time he was desperate to see what they said.

“O-ok.” He said, holding his arm out. Nejire gently rolled his sleeve up and smiled at the response.

“Look, Amajiki!” He looked down at his arm, his indigo eyes widening a bit at the letters sprawled on his wrist.

‘Oh! I understand, it’s too much! We can wait!’

‘Why aren’t you responding?’

‘Are you upset?’

‘Oh! Duh! You have class! Have a good day, love’ Tamaki immediately searched for a pen, which was halted when Mirio held one out of him.

“Here.” He smiled.

“Thanks.” Tamaki took the cap off and began to write out his reply.

‘Yes, I’m sorry. I had class. Thanks for understanding.’

‘No problem, love!’

“I think it’s adorable how (l/n) keeps calling you love!” Nejire said, dreamily. She placed her hands on her cheeks and looked away. “How romantic!” Tamaki’s ears turned red and he covered his face.

“C-c-calm d-down!” However, he couldn’t help the smile that took over his lips at the thought of his soulmate. They were already understanding and caring. He wondered why he was so worried in the first place.

~**~

It had been a little over a month since (f/n) had started talking with their soulmate. They were a bit upset that he still didn’t want to meet up. Of course, they were willing to give him as much time as he needed, but it still hurt. Was there something wrong with them? Was Tamaki unhappy with his soulmate not being a hero? Probably, he was training to be one, so he’d need someone of his caliber standing at his side.

(f/n) frowned, sitting on the dinner table with their family. They were quiet throughout the entire dinner, staring at their clean arm. Tamaki was busy today, so they hadn’t been able to talk at all. (f/n) missed him. A lot more than they thought was possible.

“So, how are you and your soulmate getting along?” (m/n) asked, making (f/n) look up and smile.

“Good, we’re doing good.”

“Do you planning on meeting?” (d/n). (f/n) looked down at the plate of food in front of them at the question. Were they? So far, (f/n) was sure they weren’t.

“I… no.” (f/n) answered, taking a bite of their food.

“Why not?” (m/n) inquired, taking a sip of their drink. (f/n) shrugged, unsure of how to explain their situation.

“He’s got anxiety, so I think it’s just too difficult for him to meet me. I… I’m ok with it. I’ll wait until he’s comfortable.”

“Do you guys know what each other look like? Do you still talk through your skin? Are you friends on social media?” (d/n) asked, looking over at the clearly upset (f/n).

“No, yes, no.” (f/n) answered rather bluntly. “He just needs time. Besides, he’s really busy. He’s a hero in training, you know.” (f/n) informed.

“Oh? That’s awesome! What’s his hero name?” (f/n) frowned at the question again.

“H-he was too shy to tell me.”

“He’s not lying is he?” (m/n) asked, genuinely concerned. “I don’t mean for that to sound rude or anything, but… I worry about you, love.”

“I trust him,” (f/n) said. “I… trust him.” Dinner didn’t last long. (f/n) wasn’t able to eat anything, so instead, they chose to eat at another time. They went upstairs to their room, where they grabbed their pen and wrote out a short message.

‘Hope your patrol is going well! Stay safe, love! ‘ Sighing, (f/n) sat at their desk and started working on their homework for (college course). It was a good distraction because about two and a half hours had passed and (f/n) was exhausted enough to go to bed. They quickly changed into their pjs and got into bed, taking another look at their arm. Nothing. Not a damn thing. (f/n) desperately tried to keep their emotions under control, not wanting to cry for no reason. Stupid emotions.

Tamaki abruptly stopped, placing a hand on his chest. He felt an inconsolable sorrow deep in his heart. He looked around, thinking it could be a villain’s quirk.

“What’s wrong, Suneater?” Fat Gum asked, looking back at him. Unable to really respond, he just looked up at his mentor, a frown on his face. “Suneater?”

~**~

(f/n) smiled at their coworkers as they walked into their workplace. Walking to the elevator, they took it to the third highest floor, which was the 23rd floor. They were greeted by their coworker as they stepped out of the elevator and went to their office to start the day.

For the first hour, everything was rather uneventful, (f/n) found themselves getting lost in their work, when they suddenly felt the building shake with such force, followed by a thunderous explosion. (f/n) frantically looked around, the atmosphere becoming tense as everyone looked at each other. Panic surged through the room, catching everyone off guard with a second explosion, another following right after, making the building shake once more.

“IT’S A VILLAIN ATTACK!” Someone yelled, causing fear to surge through them all. Everyone started to run towards the stairs in an attempt to get downstairs to get out of the building and far away from the scene.

(f/n) screamed as they were shoved down to the floor by the swarming crowd. There was another explosion, much closer to the room everyone was in. They pushed themselves to stand and try to escape, but as everyone ran across the large floor, it started to collapse. Slowly crumbling and falling apart, the group was separated, (f/n) being one of the few still stuck far away from the door. The remainder ran back towards the walls in an attempt to find some stable flooring.

The floor beneath (f/n) started to give in and break apart, they attempted to leap towards one of the more stable spots on the floor. But before they could even attempt to jump, they fell through.

“(L/N)!” Their friends screamed, trying to reach out and catch them, but they were too late. (f/n) shrieked as they fell through the floor. Unfortunately, the next two floors had also broken apart, which meant (f/n) was going to plummet at least twenty feet more! As a last ditch effort to save themselves, they quickly activated their quirk in an attempt to break their fall somehow.

(f/n) landed on a broken column but wasn’t able to grab onto anything, causing them to slip and fall onto a block of concrete, then roll and slam into the ground on their side. A loud groan escaped their lips as they pushed themselves to stand.

An intense pain shot through their spine, making them fall to their knees, with a yelp escaping their lips. Their head was spinning, they felt nauseous, and when looking down, they could see bruises already starting to form and splotches of blood leaking through their now dirty clothing.

“RUN! (F/N) YOU HAVE TO RUN!” (f/n) looked around, but the doors were blocked off with rubble.

“I-I c-can’t!” They yelled back. “I-I can’t…” (f/n) fell to the floor, leaning against a piece of concrete as pain shot throughout their battered body.

***

“Suneater! Let’s go!” Fat Gum yelled, interrupting Tamaki, whose mind was on his food. “There’s an attack nearby at (workplace)!” Tamaki’s heart sank as fear filled his being. His… soulmate was there. His (f/n) worked there! Without another word, Tamaki quickly followed Fat Gum and the others to the scene of the crime, determined to save his other half.

Fat Gum was right, (f/n)’s workplace was ten minutes away from where they were. When they got there, their eyes widened in horror. Multiple parts of the building were blown apart, smoke emitting from the destroyed sections. People had gathered outside, a distance away, making it difficult for the heroes to get through.

“There’s still people in there!” Someone yelled when they noted the multiple heroes behind the large group.

“Get out of here! Get away!” Fat Gum yelled, then looked down at Tamaki who grabbed his arm.

“M-My soulmate’s in there! I-I have to get them!”

“Where?”

“I don’t know.” Fat Gum could see the fear and panic swirling in Tamaki’s eyes and took him by the shoulders.

“It’s ok. Come on, let’s save them.”

***

“Uh… wh-what the hell…” (f/n) stuttered as loud cracking echoed through the room. “N-no way!” They looked around and saw more cracks appearing on the floor. Their eyes scanned the room in an attempt to find anything to grab onto or use to not fall through, but there was nothing. Everything was just rubble, the previous two ceilings had broken through, destroying everything in the room.

Still, unwilling to give up, (f/n) crawled to the corner of the room, hoping the floor would be a bit more stable there. The cracks got louder and louder, making tears spring to their eyes.

“I-I don’t kn-know what to do… Tamaki…” they whispered, “Help me. I’m scared.” Finally the floor collapsed, making everything around (f/n) start to fall apart, including the wall they leaned against. They stood up, pain shooting through their body as the floor broke once again. (f/n) quickly grabbed onto a large piece of concrete and held on tightly as it plummeted through the next floor. A scream escaped their lips as the concrete broke apart on impact. (f/n)’s body slammed onto the ground causing them to scream out even louder. After a few moments of not moving, they pushed themselves to sit up and looked around.

Movement had become impossible at this point, making them fall onto their back. Their glossy eyes stared up at the ceiling, tears sliding down the sides of their face as a sob escaped their lips.

“Dammit…” (f/n) mumbled and coughed due to all the dust around the room. The exits were still blocked, but this time there was a large window to the left. It didn’t matter much, (f/n) couldn’t move, no matter how much they willed their body. They weren’t made like heroes were, (f/n) couldn’t shrug off the hits their body had taken. “T-Tamaki… p-please fi-find me…”

(f/n) tilted their head to the side, in an attempt to find something, anything. How would they look with a hero as a soulmate, but they died without fighting. By pure, utter luck, they spotted a pen not too far away. Their eyes widened and they tried to stand, but the pain that shot through their body stopped them.

“N-No…” They mumbled as they rolled over onto their stomach, a scream erupting from their lips at the sheer, intense pain. (f/n) knew something was horribly wrong, but they didn’t even want to think about the injuries right now. Forcing themselves to crawl, they slowly- at the pace of a snail- inched towards the pen.

After a few minutes, they reached out and snatched the pen off the ground, tearing off the cap and immediately writing on their palm.

HELP

Tamaki felt the tingling sensation and his eyes shot down to his palm. He saw the message and grabbed Fat Gum’s arm.

“P-Pen! I-I need a pen!” He exclaimed, looking up at his mentor, who looked at him confused.

“I don’t have a pen, Suneater,” He looked at the other heroes. “Do you have a pen?!” They looked at him with a confused expression.

“No?!” One of them yelled back.

“I-I have a pen!” A civilian yelled, reaching into her purse. Tamaki ran to her, giving her a moment to find it. He took it from her, writing underneath it.

Where are you?

Not sure. Hurt. Help.

I can’t find you like that.

Near 20th floor, by large window

Tamaki’s heart clenched as (f/n) slowly wrote out their answer. Their writing was messy and short, a clear indication of their current situation. His indigo eyes shot to the top of the building, as he desperately tried to find their room. But before anyone could do anything, the building started creaking and leaning backwards.

“W-what?”

“THE BUILDING’S GONNA FALL! HAWKS!” Fat Gum screamed out as the said hero rapidly used his feathers to gather as many people as he could in the area he was currently. (f/n)’s eyes widened as they felt the building tilt, their body slid against the dirty floor, hitting the slab of concrete they had fallen with.

“He won’t get there in time…” Tamaki muttered, almost feeling wrong saying that of the fastest hero. “B-But I-I don’t know where they are.”

“Go!” Fat Gum commanded as he tried to help more civilians escape. “GO!” Large, feathery, white wings sprouted from Tamaki’s back and he quickly flew up to the 20th floor. His eyes quickly looked through all the windows and he was shocked at the debris he saw inside. Where was (f/n)?

The building started to fall and (f/n) closed their eyes, ready to accept their fate. They tried, they tried to contact Tamaki and no doubt he tried to find them. It just… wasn’t meant to be.

Tamaki darted in between all the window’s stopping when he saw a figure leaning against concrete, their back to him. The building was already falling and he had no way to get to (f/n). He used his tentacles, which immediately shattered the thick window between him and (f/n).

(f/n)’s eyes shot open and they turned their head, seeing large, purple objects shooting towards them. Their arms came up to protect their heads, but the large tentacles wrapped around their torso as their body slipped in between the gap of the shattered window.

Wide, terrified (e/c) eyes watched as the building fell and collapsed onto the ground below, tearing apart the road and the other buildings it landed on. The back of (f/n)’s hand landed on their mouth as tears spilled from their eyes. The damage was awful and frightening, but they felt relief wash over their body as arms wrapped around their torso.

“I got you.” They heard a deep male voice behind them. Tamaki quickly turned (f/n) so that he was able to hold them up in bridal style, wanting to make sure he wasn’t going to drop them. “You’re ok,” he soothed as he slowly moved towards the ground. “Everything’s ok. You’ll be just fine.” (f/n) was silent, their eyes landing on the hero saving them.

Suneater. That was Suneater, a student hero they’d seen plenty of times on the news. He was the shy type, he got easily embarrassed and scared when it came to cameras or big crowds.

“Suneater…” (f/n) whispered, making his eyes widen. He felt an odd sensation flow through him as his indigo eyes met their glossy (e/c) ones. He caught sight of something on their wrist... words?

No way.

“... (f-f/n)?”

“Tamaki?” His feet touched the ground and he immediately hugged (f/n) tightly, holding them close to him as his own nerves started to calm.

“I was so scared,” he said, his hands raking through their hair to calm them down. “I’m so glad you’re ok.” Their arms wrapped around his torso and they buried their face in his chest. They were silent for a moment, before (f/n) broke it.

“Y-You really smell like food.” His cheeks flushed red and he looked away, pointing to the pouches on his chest.

“Th-there’s f-food in here. For m-my quirk.”

“Right, manifest. It’s amazing… you’re amazing. Thank you for saving me, Suneater.” His cheeks were now a darker shade of red but he smiled regardless.

~**~

“Tama! Here!” (f/n) happily waved from the small booth they sat in. It had been a few days since the incident and they’d been meeting up pretty much every single day, whenever they had gotten the chance to. The day of the rescue, (f/n) spent at the hospital before Recovery Girl was brought in for healing most of the injured, including themselves. That day, Tamaki had visited them and had continued to meet up with them since.

Tamaki walked over to (f/n)’s booth and slid into the seat in front of them. (f/n) immediately reached out and took his hand, holding it tightly.

“How are you?” He asked.

“I’m good, feeling much better.” They responded, taking a sip of their favorite drink. “I missed you.”

“I m-missed you t-too.” He answered, getting shy again. Though the two hadn’t spent too much time together physically, they felt the natural attraction between them, thanks to that soulmate connection, but also the entire month they’d been communicating with each other. Their personalities melded well together and they felt an overwhelming amount of comfort by just being with each other.

Moments like that truly made Tamaki wonder why he was so scared to begin with. Sure, his fears of his partner being a villain were valid, plenty of heroes had to deal with that. However, he did feel a bit bad for judging (f/n) the way he had. He’d apologized a couple days back and they’d confirmed feeling the same way, which is one of the reasons why they were so happy to find out Tamaki was in the hero course.

“Wanna go on a date today? Like not here, but somewhere else.” He nodded, his large hand gently squeezing (f/n)’s.

“Sure. Wh-where?”

“Wherever you want. I just want to spend time with you.” Tamaki blushed at (f/n)’s statement, but he couldn’t help the smile that graced his soft features. Lifting their hand up, he pressed a gentle kiss on it.

“Anything for you, my love.” Now it was (f/n)’s turn to blush, he’d finally used the term of endearment they’d been using for him this whole time. Unable to handle it anymore, (f/n) moved to sit next to him, then pressed their lips against his warm and soft ones. Tamaki’s eyes widened and a violent blush spread to his cheeks, but he closed his eyes, melting against (f/n)’s touch. Their lips gently and slowly moved against each other and they were a perfect match, like two puzzle pieces.

Every single person in the world was bound to another through some magical, unknown force. A predetermined pair all thanks to the universe. No matter what anyone thought, no matter how much someone thinks they and their soulmate are incompatible, that just wasn’t the case. Their soulmate was theirs until the end of their time. Much like Tamaki and (f/n).

#mha #mha imagines #mha tamaki #mha tamaki amajiki #bnha #bnha imagines #bnha tamaki #bnha tamaki amajiki #tamaki amajiki #tamaki amajiki x reader #tamaki x reader #mha amajiki #bnha amajiki #amajiki x reader #soulmate au

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aaluminiumas · 4 years

Text

敵

Corazon opened the window, leaned over the windowsill and lit another cigarette.

He didn’t imagine his life to be like this. It seemed to have turned upside down on the day when he wrote a word on the card he used to communicate with Doflamingo. A single word.

てき.

敵.

Enemy.

When did he become an enemy to his own brother?.. When he heard an angry cry of a capricious kid who had realized no one would ever satisfy his whims? When he, weeping, stared at the crowd ready to impale them? When he begged, hysterically choking with tears, to stop and not to kill their father? When the Marines found him and took him along with them?

Or when he decided to spy on Doflamingo not to let him create the pandemonium he had gone through himself?..

No one impelled him to return. Sengoku was against the mission till the very end: he didn’t want Rosinante to take such a dangerous assignment. Even Garp who kept a firm hand on his own grandchildren banged the table with his fists growling he would never send a rookie to the wolf’s lair, and if he, Corazon, was so desperate to get a good punch, he needn’t leave the Fleet Admiral’s office at all.

Rosinante smiled and closed his eyes feeling the familiar warmth filling his lungs and flowing across his body up to the tips of his nervous pale fingers squeezing the cigarette. The whole organization seemed to take care of him: he could remember each and every one who watched him during the first days at the base. In a couple of weeks they started training him: no one was sure as to what to exactly do with the kid who had appeared out of the blue but Sengoku commanded to mention him in the documents as a novice, and soon enough Corazon managed to reveal his best qualities.

How old was he?.. Six?.. Eight?.. He had lost practically everything, and it was still astonishing how much they managed to give him as if in exchange: gentle, open and sociable by nature, he made such a good impression on nearly everyone – especially on the incumbent Fleet Admiral who replaced his father. Currently it caused him to give out a sad smile: Sengoku was so influential that Corazon could do whatever his heart desired knowing he would never be scolded for his tricks that were, though, completely innocent. For instance, he shunned away from vice-admiral Akainu and did his best to avoid his attention: even more so, when he discovered that Sakazuki adored bonsai trees. When he whispered it to his sworn father, the Fleet Admiral immediately guffawed, and shared the information with Garp who had been trying to steal a cookie for at least half an hour. Both wisely advised the child to stay silent about this but it was highly doubtful that the secret of Sakazuki’s touching hobby would not make its way out of the office.

Kizaru didn’t seem to notice the kid’s presence at all, although sometimes he condescended to show several fighting techniques. As for Aokiji, he didn’t even lock the door to his office and sprawled across the floor, so inquisitive Rosinante perused orders, documents, short and clumsy remarks jotted by a pencil stub, training and mission schedules as well as the dusty awards on the shelves. He was also a huge fan of brief squabbles: vice-admiral Kuzan was practically impossible to vex (mostly because he tended to fall asleep in the middle of the sentence), so the skirmish came to an end without even starting. At least he didn’t forget to grab his favorite yellow camping cot that accompanied him throughout his missions.

O-Tsuru-san was way stricter and far more demanding: she vigilantly watched Rosinante without being too shy to punish him the way he deserved. Every once in a while Sengoku tried to resist and to stand up for his ‘son’ using his power and influence but he normally got tactfully trounced himself – and went back to his office to deal with correspondence and paperwork along with Garp, also chastened by Tsuru.

His future was predetermined. It became clear when he woke up on board of the Marine ship. But none of the people who prepared him for service aimed to pit him against Doflamingo.

That’s what Corazon himself decided.

てき.

敵.

Enemy.

He became an enemy to his own brother.

Someone knocked at the door – and Rosinante, turning to the sound, set his own coat on fire: he hadn’t had enough time to change his clothes for he arrived to deliver a report on the results of the first phase. Trying to put out the feathers, he instantly fell on the ground and froze for a couple of moments – he didn’t need to hurry anyway.

“Rosinante?” came a familiar voice. “Won’t you talk to the rookies? They have a couple of questions.”

The young man slowly stood up and raised his head.

“In a couple,” he lit another cigarette, “of minutes. I hope O-Tsuru-san won’t be around to check my knowledge.” He smiled – and lost his balance trying to show a thumbs-up.

Well, no one asked him to be a graceful feline. Did they?..

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mandadoration · 5 years

Text

you’re a fine girl - i

summary: Agent Whiskey would really like you to say his real name for once, and you refuse, playing this little game of his until he finally makes you say it. The circumstances for it aren’t exactly ideal, though.

word count: 3, 758

pairing: agent whiskey (Jack Daniels) x reader

warnings: canon-typical violence (and then some), swearing

a/n: Don’t ask me how the layout of Statesman HQ works. I really don’t know, and I’ve watched the movie to try and glean some more info, but I’ve decided, like many things, to bullshit it. This will have a predetermined length of three chapters!

chapters: i

Read this on AO3

You think it’s hilarious just how stereotypically American the Statesman agency was. Besides the front of it, a Bourbon whiskey distillery that just happens to have racehorses (you never understood that part) on a large expanse of land and have a large influence on the liquor industry all over the US, the agents that were a part of it were just so in-your-face full-blooded American. Hell, even your equipment reflected that, with electric lassos and souped-up sawed-off double barrel shotguns, to cowboy boots with razor sharp spurs and Stetsons designed for stealth and espionage. Statesman was 100% committed to proudly showing off their roots. But you couldn’t really shit on them too much since you were one of their agents as well. That would be severely discrediting you and the work you do.

Even if some of the agents teasingly call you a city-slicker.

Although you were a Statesman through and through like your mother before you, you had been raised on the less… southern half of the country because of where she was mainly stationed. Good ol’ New York was a whole different territory than Kentucky. She had still made sure you kept up with your training and be ready at a moment’s notice to take over for her. Statesman were proud of their line of agents, names often passed down from parent to child. Built in loyalty, you supposed, and a good way to keep an eye on those who knew secrets. As the world expanded and keeping the peace grew harder by the minute, they’ve strayed far from that tradition, and the organization grew to include people that had no prior connection to it. Your mom had been insistent she at least stay true to that part of Statesman, and often showed you how to watch over New York from the high rise building to groom you for the position in the future until you graduated from your unofficial codename of Ice Tea. But you had moved south to live on a small ranch a few miles from the distillery after she had died on a recon mission instead of staying up north in the concrete jungle. You inherited her position and her moniker as Agent Brandy, supervisor of the intelligence part of the agency and relocating to home base at the same time, but Agent Whiskey had taken up position up in New York in your stead.

Speaking of Whiskey, there he was, sauntering up to you with a smile playing on his lips as you flicked through reports on your tablet. You spare him a quick glance and a polite smile before you turn your attention back to the reports and mission debriefs, hoping that was enough to leave you alone, but instead he leans against your desk and crosses his arms, and you try your damndest not to look at how his arms make the seams on his jacket strain.

There’s no animosity between you and Whiskey at all, and you’ve said as much when Champagne informed him he would be taking over the New York territory instead of you. You didn’t feel guilty or mad or anything really that you decided to move closer to Statesman because it was your choice, and Whiskey had taken it in stride. You two were just doing your jobs, and that was all. You would even go to say that you were close friends with him, giving him pointers about the secrets of New York while he told you all the gossip about the other agents. The work he did would make your mother proud.

But why was he so insistent on hanging around at the Statesman headquarters in Kentucky so much?

“Your mission debrief isn’t scheduled until Tuesday, Agent Whiskey,” you say, eyes roving over your calendar before swiftly swiping it off your screen to pay closer attention to Tequila’s report. That man was awful with writing. Did he even have the spell check on? You click your tongue and run the editing software, intent on letting that run in the background while you browsed through various agent requests (there was Gin asking if you could fashion a 200 proof liquor), but Whiskey puts a hand on your tablet and pushes it out of your view.

“I know, sugar,” he says in that damn Southern accent that manages to make your ears burn. “Just thought I’d come down here to see my favorite intelligence supervisor.” You roll your eyes, but can’t help the smile that threatens to split your face. You turn your tablet off and put it down.

“Do you know many intelligence supervisors?” you ask, but your efforts to get him to leave are already an afterthought at the back of your mind. Every time you hold a conversation with him, the amalgamation of your New York and Southern accent sounds crass compared to the honeyed drawl of Whiskey. Two completely different regions. You suppose he might feel the same whenever he’s in New York. Perhaps you two had more in common than you had initially thought.

You’re off track. It’s maddening how easily he is able to pull a smile or a laugh from you and completely derail you. Even on the worst of your days, he’s able to ease you with just a reassuring smile or touch. Whiskey shrugs and shifts where he sits.

“You got me there,” he laughs. “But that don’t mean I can’t come see you, does it?” You rest your chin on your hand as you fiddle with your tablet pen. He’s trimmed his mustache, you note.

“I suppose it doesn’t, Agent Whiskey,” you say. Anytime he flies over to the Statesman HQ, you usually see him the same day he lands, if not, you’re the first thing he goes to see. It’s sweet.

“What does it take for me to convince you to call me Jack, sweetheart?” Whiskey asks, nearly whines, really. He’s been insisting you call him by his real name in private recently, insisting that you were far past those formalities.

“When you stop calling me those pet names of yours,” you retort back. He looks mock-offended.

“That’s never gonna happen,” Whiskey says. You raise an eyebrow.

“Then there you have your answer,” you say simply, and go to pick up your tablet again when it chimes, but Whiskey stops you and pushes it back down flat against the desk.

“You work too much,” he says, as if that was a decent enough reason to interrupt your work. “Pay some attention to me instead.”

“And I’m starting to think you don’t work enough,” you sigh, and slide the tablet out from under his hand and you turn it back on and check over the editing software. “God knows you spend enough time pestering me.” You don’t tell him that you don’t mind. In the hectic pace in your lives, Whiskey is a nice constant that you find yourself falling back on.

The software has managed to fix most of the typos and obvious grammar issues, but it’s mangled the nuances of Tequila’s informal writing. You sigh again and swipe the report onto your computer screen to manually edit it before you can send it to Champagne. Whiskey hops off of your desk, and he walks around it to lean over your shoulder to skim the report as well.

He’s close enough for you to smell his cologne. Smoky, mellow, and warm.

“Why don’t you just send that off to Ginger to edit? Or Soda?” he asks, voice rumbling in your ear. “‘m sure you have other things to do other than grade Tequila’s piss poor work.” You clear your throat and try your best not to become too distracted.

“They don’t have high enough clearance to read this report,” you answer. “Nor do I think they have the patience to. Besides, Ginger is tech and Soda is medical. They’d either shoot themselves or shoot me.” Whiskey laughs and leans in a little closer.

“But I have the clearance to read this as you edit?” he asks, voice low. “You flatter me, Brandy.” You blink, then gasp, whirling around in your chair and narrowly missing clipping his chin with the back of your chair as you push him away from you and back around your desk, smacking him as you do.

“You are a menace!” you exclaim. Whiskey just laughs, humoring you and letting you push him when it would be frightfully easy to just stand there. He blocks your hits and eventually grabs a hold of your wrists to stop you.

“You love it,” he says, and your face flushes as you try to scowl at him.

“Get out of my office so I can finish this report,” you order, pointing at the door. Whiskey pouts, but makes his way to the door.

“Yes, ma’am,” he sighs. He tips his hat at you. “You be a good girl while I’m gone, sweet thing,” he says in a sing-song voice, and the door clicks shut behind him before you can do some serious bodily harm to his person.

---

You don’t really know what constitutes being “a good girl”, and you don’t really have the chance to find out because you meet with Whiskey again a few hours after he had barged into your office when Champagne calls you up to discuss some technicalities that he had remained vague on.

It’s a short underground tube ride to the Statesman office building a few miles outside the distillery, and an even shorter elevator up to the top floor. Whiskey is already there when you walk in, so you go ahead and take a seat across from him, pulling up your notes in case anything important pops up. You give him a small wave, and he tips his hat at you with a smile. You turn to the man sitting at the head of the table.

“Well, Champ,” Whiskey says, “why’d you call us here?” Champagne fiddles with the lid of a decanter of whiskey before he smacks his lips together and leans back in his chair.

“Statesman is considering adding another location in California, and I need your expertise,” he announces. He motions to you. “Sent the plans to your tablet, Brandy, but here’s the gist.” The t.v. screen at the other end of the table switches from Statesman stocks to a blueprint of a high rise located in San Francisco, alongside some smaller buildings scattered over the city. “I’m planning on sending Chardonnay over to oversee construction, but this is only the third location to be located in such a large city.” You skim over the notes. Although they wouldn’t be building a distillery, there would be a sub-HQ over there, as well as some Statesman-sponsored bars to keep up surveillance. “The first one being New York, and the other in Nevada.”

“Is there something we should keep an eye on?” you ask, scrolling through various material requests. While the other could handle the usual materials, you would have to put in a special order for the military grade stuff. “What’s the occasion?” Champagne shrugs when you glance over your tablet.

“It’s been something I’ve been thinking about,” he says. “Stocks are doing good, and there's no looming threat- seems like a good time as any.” You nod.

“Then why us?” Whiskey asks. “I think Brandy is more than capable of handling this herself.” Champagne furrows his brows.

“You are in charge of our New York office, aren’t you?”

“Brandy grew up preparing to take over for it,” Whiskey says.

“Well--”

“He’s right, sir,” you pipe in. “Whiskey’s about to go in for a mission anyways. There’s no point loading his already full plate. I can handle it.” Champagne presses his mouth in a hard line, but eventually taps the table.

“Alright then. Brandy, I’ll let Chardonnay know you’ll be taking part in it so he can refer to you with questions. Agents, you’re dismissed.”

Whiskey moves for the door, but pauses when you don’t follow him. You wave him off. “I’ll catch up with you; just need to talk to Champagne about something.” He nods, and leaves. You back around to face Champagne with narrowed eyes. “What are you up to, old man?” He tilts his head and pours some whiskey into his glass.

“What do you mean?”

“Bringing Whiskey into this,” you clarify. “You know I can handle this project by myself; why try to rope him in?”

“Thought it be a good experience,” Champagne says, taking a sip and swishing it around his mouth before he turns to spit it out into the spitoon. You wrinkle your nose.

“For Whiskey?”

“For the both of you,” he corrects. “Whiskey gets to learn more about the technical aspects, you get to, well, spend time with him.” You raise an eyebrow.

“And I want to spend time with him because…?”

“Don’t you know?” Champagne asks. You shake your head.

“What? We’re good friends, but we’ve got different jobs,” you say. “So I don’t see a reason why I should be spending time with him outside of what’s necessary.” Champagne just hums with a pensive look on his face.

“Alright then, girl.” He waves a hand at you. “Off to work.” And Champagne doesn’t elaborate any further.

---

You are far too busy trying to sort out the semantics of some sort of stirrings of a coup on a Chilean website to go and debrief Whiskey when Tuesday rolls around, so you send Ginger in your stead. She accepts without complaint, but you can see how she frowns when you tell her so. You’ve never gotten the details as to why the two never seem to get along, but Ginger is the most capable person you can think of to take care of things when you’re not able to.

It takes you a solid 45 minutes to try and go through the Chilean Spanish compared to the Castilian variant you know, but you determine that the rumors of a coup bears no real weight and all it is are empty threats despite the traction it’s gained so far. You suppose you could’ve run the translation, but there were too many nuances and codes that couldn’t be translated over. Just to be sure, you set up a surveillance bot to continue to track the progress and alert you if anything significant happens. By the time you do, Ginger walks in, looking a little frazzled. You frown. “You good, Liz?” Ginger just puts down the debrief folder on your desk as she plops down in the chair across from you. You raise an eyebrow, but slide the folder over and survey the notes she’s taken during the debrief. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just Whiskey complaining that he has to fly to Spain to deal with some black market firearms dealers that have gotten too confident. Apparently last time he was there, some sailors tried to swindle him. There’s some quotes of his with choice words in the margins saying so, accompanied by a doodle of him with an angry expression. “Whiskey give you a hard time?” you guess. She nods and takes off her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“I honestly don’t understand how you can stand him sometimes,” she says. You shrug.

“He treats me fine, if not a little persistent,” you note mildly. Ginger snorts and puts her glasses back on. “Hasn’t given me a reason to dislike him. Yet.”

“That’s ‘cause he likes you,” she says. Your stomach flutters at her comment. Then after a moment of pondering, Ginger says, “Think he was in a bad mood because you weren’t the one debriefing him.” You frown.

“Would it have mattered if I did?” you ask. “You’re perfectly capable.”

“It’s not capability,” Ginger sighs, leaning forward and resting her forearms on your desk. The motion jostles the cup of pens on your desk and you reach to adjust it back to its place. You click a few things on your computer to pull up the flight details for Whiskey. Scheduled for 5:50pm, an overnight flight that lands in a remote location in Madrid where then he would be promptly escorted to Andalucia.

You wonder if he’ll come visit you before he leaves.

You shake the thought out of your head before you go back to look at Ginger, who’s looking at you curiously. “If not capability, then what?” you ask, fighting to keep down the blush that’s threatening to overtake your face.

“You really don’t know?” she asks, almost critically. You furrow your brows. There’s that question again.

“Is there something I should know?”

Before Ginger can answer, a knock resounds at your door. You give Ginger an apologetic look before you call out, “Come in!” You don’t know why you’re surprised, but it’s Whiskey, again, with a bright smile on his face before his eyes darken at the sight of Ginger. She bristles.

“I’ll see you later,” she says, reaching over and giving your hand a small pat before she gets up to brush past Whiskey, and she closes the door behind you. Whiskey seems to relax at that, and takes the seat she was in.

“If you’re here to complain about going to Spain, Agent Whiskey, I can’t do anything about it,” you immediately say before he can get a word in. He takes off his hat and puts it on your desk, running a hand through his hair.

“I wasn’t here to complain,” Whiskey says, chuckling. “You wound me, Brandy.” He puts a hand over his heart and stares at you with a woefully sad face, looking at you with big, warm brown eyes, akin to a kicked puppy. “Missed my favorite intelligence supervisor at the debriefing.” You throw a pen at him, but he just catches it and puts it in with the rest without breaking eye contact.

“Doubt you’re here just to see me,” you say. “Shouldn’t you be packing for your flight?”

“I’ve got time,” Whiskey says. “If I remember correctly, it’s not until 6:00. Gives me a little under 2 hours until I gotta leave.”

“5:50,” you correct him automatically. “So less than that. You’ll wanna leave in an hour or so to account for traffic.” The grin that spreads across his face makes your heart beat a little faster.

“You keepin’ track of when I’m ‘bout to leave?” he purrs, leaning forward. You scoff, but think in the back of your mind that there’s some truth to that.

“I’m the one that booked your flight with Triple Sec,” you say dryly. “Be weird if I didn’t know what time exactly, Agent Whiskey.” Whiskey hums, but leans back in his chair and spreads his legs in an almost obscene matter that leaves you thrumming in your skin.

“Jack,” he says.

“Hm?”

“My name is Jack.” You laugh.

“I know what your name is, Agent,” you say. “It’s kinda my job to know everybody. Feel like we’ve already talked about this about a million times by now.”

“Still, it’d be nice to hear you say it,” he says, almost absentmindedly as he picks at his nails, brows furrowed in a vulnerable expression. Your face falls at his soft tone. To be honest, your refusal to say his name was more because you perceived it as a game. Whiskey would press you to actually call him by his name, and you would coyly refuse, and he would leave with a promise that he would get you to say it one way or another. But something is clearly bugging him.

You reach a hand forward, towards him, touching the other edge of your desk. Close enough for him to reach for it. His gaze snaps to your hand, and something tells you that Whiskey wants to. There is some kind of longing in his eyes that the firm, hard line of his mouth is trying its hardest not to betray. “You okay?” Whiskey’s fingers twitch. Something holds him back.

He clears his voice, forcing a smile on his face, and the moment is broken. “Right as rain, sugar,” he says. “Pre-mission jitters, I suppose.” You suppose that’s not totally unwarranted. Whiskey would be going on into the field on his own due to the delicacy of the mission, the only backup available being Triple Sec piloting the plane. And, well, Whiskey didn’t exactly blend in with the typical Madrid population with his loud voice and louder personality. Statesman didn’t have a base out in Europe either. You give him a reassuring smile, and you try not to think too hard at how the tension seems to melt out of him at that.

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” you soothe. You retract your hand, and honestly at this point it seems as though Agent Whiskey has taken up permanent residence in your mind because you swear you spot some sort of deep emotion as his eyes trail after it. “Just like you always do, Whiskey.” The muscles in Whiskey’s jaw work as he clenches his teeth together before he claps his hands and stands up, that same charming smile on his face but not quite reaching his eyes.

“Well I suppose that is some improvement!” he says. You tilt your head.

“What do you mean?” Whiskey pulls the flask off his belt and takes a swig.

“Got you to say my codename without all the preamble, now, didn’t I?” he says, winking at you. You stammer and flush red with embarrassment. He holds up his hands in surrender. “Now before you start wailing on me like last time,” he says, “I’ll see myself out. Like you said, I still need to pack. I’ll see if I can bring back a souvenir for you while I’m across the pond.” You cross your arms.

“That won’t be necessary.” Whiskey shrugs and heads for the door.

“Can’t stop me, can you?” You smile at him.

“Guess not,” you say, almost to yourself, then your gaze falls to his hat still sitting on your desk. “Wait, Whiskey, your--” He holds up a hand.

“Hold on to it while I’m gone, ‘kay?” he asks. You nod. “Good girl. Give me something to look forward to when I come back.” You make a motion to grab a pen, bursting out laughing when he moves to catch it when you feign a throw. He smiles, too, more genuinely this time. “See you in a couple days, darling.”

And you can’t help but start to miss him when the door clicks shut behind him.

---

Forever Tag: @mabelleen @mando-vibes @isaissafail @adikaofmandalore

#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey reader #agent whiskey x you #whiskey x reader #whiskey x you #whiskey reader #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels reader #jack daniels you #kingsman reader #kingsman #agent whiskey #whiskey #jack daniels #kingsman the golden circle #my writing

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echoes-of-the-clockwork · 4 years

Text

Book Three: Pestilence (Ignis x Reader) Chapter One

A/n: I sound like a broken record right now, but this is for those who are not familiar with this series. Yes, this is an x reader, but the only thing you can't decide is your hair color because that is predetermined by which role of the Four Horsemen you are in the book. Honestly, you can change it if you like! Also, I want to apologize if these first couple of chapters are rough and how long ago I promised this book. It's hit many bumps and I've rewritten it a total of 5 times. I hope you all enjoy! Love you all!!! ••••••••••••••••••••

"We just pilfered some ancient temple and all we got is this..." Prompto groaned, examining the white orb in his hand. Inside the artifact was a small wisp of silver, seeming to pulse with life as it bounced around the interior.

"For someone who was whining the entire time and wanting to leave, you're really disappointed," Gladio scoffed from the backseat of the Regalia.

"That place was crawling with daemons!" Prompto groaned. He rolled the orb in his hands, watching the silver wisp surge all around. The boys had wandered around an ancient temple in search of another royal arm, but the only thing they found was the artifact. "You think we could sell this for some gil? It looks pretty expensive."

"We could use the extra gil," Noctis chimed in.

"Only a collector of rarities would purchase an artifact of such caliber," Ignis said.

"Does that mean we're stuck with it?" Noctis asked.

"For the moment," the advisor replied.

"So much for another royal arm," the prince sighed.

With no other known locations of any royal tombs, the group decided to head to Lestallum. They had meant to check in on Iris after taking back the Regalia from Aracheole Stronghold, but they had been sidetracked when they heard from a few tourists about strange ruins in the Duscae region. Apparently, a group of hunters discovered the ancient temple while on a daemon hunt near the Alstor Slough but were run off by a large horde of daemons. Morosely, they were just unknown temple ruins and weren't home to a royal tomb. The four felt it was a waste of time and decided to camp at a nearby haven before departing on the road the next morning.

While crossing the bridge over Taelpar Crag, Ignis spotted a convoy of black cars heading their way. They were driving on both sides of the road, forcing the tactician to slam on brakes. He noticed how they were heading straight for them and went to back up, but there were three more cars blocking their way.

"What the hell are they doin'?" Gladio snarled as he watched the six cars surround the Regalia, blocking any points of entry or exit. They parked their vehicles and several men surrounded the royal retinue with weapons of all calibers in their grasps.

One man stepped through the throng of people, his hands clasped together in front of him with a grin plastered on his face.

(A/n: Already throwing tons of pictures at y'all! Enjoy! I don't own any media used in this story unless stated otherwise!)

His azure and raven hair flowed in the breeze as he eyed the boys in the car. "I'd suggest stepping out of the vehicle and refrain from drawing your weapons. We know exactly who you four are."

"W-What do we do?" Prompto whimpered as he slid lower into the seat.

"It's in our best interest to do as they say," Ignis stated calmly. "We stand no chance of a skirmish in such limited space. The risk of falling is too great."

"Get out of the damn car. I'm not gonna repeat myself again," the leader of the group growled in a low tone.

Gladio clicked his tongue in annoyance as he and the others exited the Regalia. They stepped away from their ride and closer to the railing of the grand bridge.

"What the hell do you want?" Noctis demanded with a glare.

"The prince and his royal retainers," the man chuckled. "You four headed to the newly discovered ruins near the Alstor Slough. I believe you have something of ours."

"Of yours?" Prompto questioned and glanced down at the object in his hand.

"The orb," the stranger hissed. "Hand it over."

"You really pulled us over and threatened us just for an artifact?" Gladio scoffed, crossing his arms.

"It's not "just an artifact." What you posses is far more powerful than you could ever imagine."

"O-Okay, just take it." The blonde tossed it toward the man, but Ignis nimbly caught it midair. The advisor somehow knew handing the orb over to this man and his group was the wrong thing to do. "I-Iggy?!"

"You will not get your hands on this artifact," Ignis declared.

The stranger stepped forward, eyes blazing with anger. "What you posses is-!"

"Mine," a feminine voice sliced through the tense, hostile atmosphere. The royal retinue turned around when they heard the gentle voice and saw the men surrounding them eyes widen in fear. Behind them standing on the stone railing was a young girl in strange attire.

Her feet were bare and her snowy locks whipped in the breeze. Noctis, Prompto, Gladio, and Ignis were confused as to where she came from since she wasn't standing there a few minutes ago.

The leader of the highwaymen stepped past the boys, his arms outstretched toward the girl with an adorning smile on his face. "You are more beautiful than I ever imagined."

Her stoic expression remained as he tried to touch her. She stepped back, only half her feet now on the railing. Seeing that she was trying to avoid him, Gladio quickly inserted himself between the man and the young girl, pushing him away from her. The stranger snapped at Gladio for his intervention. "How dare you!"

"Sorry, pal, but the lady clearly doesn't want you touchin' her," the shield retorts with his own death glare.

The girl met Ignis' emerald gaze with her (e/c) one. "May I?" She gently asked. The advisor only responded by handing her the orb. She thanked him before her expression morphed into a dangerous one. She held the artifact tightly, eyeing the man closest to Ignis.

When he suddenly started crying out in pain, all eyes fell upon him. The man placed a hand over his mouth as he hunched over. Blood seeped through his fingers before he vomited a large amount of blood. He reached out to the man next to him and grabbed his arm, seeing the fear in his eyes. "H-Help...me..."

The man he latched onto pushed him away with a fearful scream while stepping back. The one vomiting blood toppled over on the ground, lifeless. All the men scrambled to their vehicles and drove away. Only one car remained. The leader watched in anger and disbelief as his men ran and left him to the wolves. Instead of running, he tried to approach the girl once again and managed to grab one of her ankles. He stared up at her with begging eyes. "We only wish to use your powers for good."

Ignis was the quickest out of the four to react and summoned a single dagger. He threw it, piercing the man's arm and forcing him to let go of her. Gladio grabbed the man by the collar as the dagger vanished from his arm. The brute tossed him towards his car, his tone threateningly low. "Get the hell outta here."

The man scurried back to his car and drove away as fast as the vehicle could go, leaving puffs of exhaust in his wake.

Prompto sighed in relief, his shoulders slumping forward. "Glad that's over."

"And who're-" Gladio turned to face the girl, only to find her walking further down the bridge on the stone railing. "You..."

"Uh, shouldn't we stop her? She's walking on a railing over a huge canyon!" Prompto shouted at his friends. "What if she falls?!"

The boys hopped back into the Regalia and Ignis slowed the car down to keep pace with the young girl, who didn't spare them a single glance.

"Uh," Noctis stuttered. "Hello?" He called out to her.

Gladio grinned as he watched the girl. "Not sure what the hell you did back there, but you did save our asses. You not gonna let us thank you properly?"

The girl stopped, her eyes falling upon the four boys in the car beside her. "You owe me nothing. It was my fault there was a target on your back."

"How so?" Ignis questioned.

"The orb..." Her voice trailed off before she continued. "If I had not dropped it, you wouldn't have been put in that situation."

"We're the ones who picked it up," Noctis said. "By the sounds of it, I'm glad we were the ones and not that weirdo."

"Silas is a pig who only desires power."

"What power does this orb incarcerate?" The tactician pondered.

"Even if I told you, you wouldn't believe me," she sighed dejectedly. "I suggest you run along before Silas decides to return."

"Try us," Prompto said. "I mean, you made a guy vomit blood just by looking at him. It was really disgusting, but it saved us!"

The girl stopped, causing Ignis to press his foot against the brake pedal. She glanced between the four of them, reading their expressions before making her final decision. "What knowledge do you possess of the Four Horsemen?"

"Like, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?" The gunslinger asked. "I thought they were just a freaky fairytale."

"His Majesty spoke of them once," Ignis stated. All eyes fell upon the advisor, confused at the revelation.

"Really?" Prompto gasped. "W-What did he say?"

"The Horsemen shall walk amongst the living once more," Ignis and the mysterious girl said in unison.

The girl smiled and giggled. She turned her body toward them and hopped down from the railing before curtsying. "A pleasure to meet you, gentlemen. I am Pestilence, but I prefer to use my real name-(Y/n)."

The four boys introduced themselves before Prompto decided to be a gentleman and gave the front seat up once the guys agreed that having a Horseman along for the ride would prove to be beneficial.

As they headed to Lestallum, Prompto asked (Y/n) myriads of questions. Ignis did ask one question, which everyone was curious about.

Why were the Four Horsemen on Eos?

"My sisters and I are tasked with the duty of annihilating the monsters that escaped the Inner Sanctum a few weeks ago. The seal preventing them from leaving shattered and before we could repair it, a handful of monsters escaped to Eos. I'm not sure how my sisters are faring in their search, but I haven't been able to find an inkling to where my targets have wandered off to. I pray to the Astrals they haven't killed anyone," (Y/n) confesses.

"What targets?" Noctis questioned.

"The draugr and the grootslang," Pestilence responds. "I've checked with reports from hunters around the regions, but none have reported either of them."

"Now that you're along for the ride, maybe you'll find them," Prompto said, looking on the bright side of the situation. "It's also a nice change of pace to have a girl around."

(Y/n) peered into the backseat with a mischievous smile. "Oh? Do you grow weary of your friends, Prompto?"

"Wha-no! It's just...it's nice to have a girl in the group."

Gladio chuckled and elbowed the blonde in the side. "You like her. It's that simple."

"I-I do not!" Prompto vehemently denied with red cheeks. "Like I said-a nice change of pace!"

"Yeah, keep tellin' yourself that, blondie," the shield scoffed. "You just might convince yourself."

(Y/n) giggled before turning forward, watching the scenery pass by. She's only known the group for a few minutes, but she was already enjoying their company. After being alone for a few weeks, it was nice to meet people who were lively. Inside her mind, she mentally thanked the boys for allowing her to tag along even after sharing with them her status as a Horseman. They weren't her sisters, but she couldn't have asked for a better group of strangers to come across.

<-----<<<<<<

Arriving in Lestallum, the boys and their new companion headed to the Leville. As they were walking through one of the alleyways, (Y/n) suddenly came to halt. Ignis was the first to notice since he was walking directly behind her. "Is everything alright, (Y/n)?"

Pestilence blinked a few times before casting a gentle smile in the advisor's direction. "Yes. Everything is well. I seem to have ventured deep into thought for a few seconds."

Ignis knew she was hiding something, but he didn't pry. He nodded and accepted her reply. "Then shall we?"

"Yes. Apologies for the delay. Let us proceed forth."

When they reached the hotel, (Y/n) spotted a young girl standing in the lobby. Tears streamed down her face as she sniffled. When Gladio came into view, she spoke in a feeble tone. "Oh, Gladdy."

The shield was confused as to why his sister was crying. "What's wrong?"

"I let you down. I never made it to Caem. The empire came while you were gone," Iris said through her tears.

The six head upstairs and to Iris' room, where she told them everything. "None of us said a word about Noct. They just showed up and then...poor Jared."

"What do you mean? What happened to Jared?" Gladio pressed, wanting answers desperately.

Iris shook her head, voice raspy from all the crying. "There was nothing we could do!"

The door to the room slowly opens beside (Y/n). She glanced down and sees a little boy crying. Her (e/c) eyes widen at the heart-wrenching sight, placing a hand over her heart as she listened to the child cry. Noctis kneels down in from of him, azure eyes brimming with sorrow. "It's...not right. We should've been here."

"I...I couldn't stop them," the little boy sniffles weakly.

Before the prince could respond, (Y/n) sat on her knees in front of the little boy. She slowly took his hand away from his face so he would stop rubbing his eye. "I know this is our first time meeting, but I hope you will see me as no stranger." She rubbed her thumb across the back of his small hand, hoping the small gesture would comfort him enough to stop the tears. "I, too, lost someone I dearly loved and I still blame myself today. And I know exactly what's running through that head of yours right now. You blame yourself for your grandfather's death, but you should know even though you're powerless, it's not your fault for other people's actions. Never blame yourself for the actions of others. You'll drown in your own sorrows and linger on the past. Don't focus on what happened, focus on what you can do. We'll make sure the empire pays for what they've done. We promise you that."

The tears streamed down his face as he stepped through the door and wrapped his arms around (Y/n)'s neck. She scooped the sobbing boy into her arms and excused herself from the others.

#ffxv x reader #ffxv #ignis x reader #ignis scientia #final fantasy xv #final fantasy xv x reader

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hi-hey-haechan · 4 years

Text

Self-Harm ~ Mark Lee

Disclaimer: If you are in anyway uncomfortable or triggered by mentions of depression or self-harm, I wouldn’t suggest reading this. Also, this is NOT in any way, intended to romanticize mental illness or self-harm. Love is not a magical cure for either of these. This is not an unfamiliar topic for me. I may not be a professional, but if anyone ever needs to talk to someone, feel free to message me or leave an ask. I’ll help. Always.

Pairing: Mark Lee x reader

Genre: Angst, it’s very sad

Word Count: 1.9K

Summary: Y/n, after trapped in a train of depressive, hopeless, worthless thoughts, attempts to escape her mind by hurting herself physically. However, later that day, her boyfriend Mark finds out.

Warnings: Mentions and description of self-harm and depression

The thoughts trickled in slowly, a small drizzle of negativity. A thought surfaced in your mind, and against your will, some part of you latched onto it. The painful words, images, and scenes in your mind became front and center in your brain. And that’s when the rainstorm came in. More negativity became to surround the central thought, every single word on the brink of your consciousness being a negative one. The rain poured down around you, driving you insane, everywhere you turned, being obscured by the rain, the pain within your mind, your soul. And just like that, you were drowning.

This pain ate away at you, toying with your sanity. You couldn’t even begin to comprehend what you were feeling. There was this pit in the middle of your chest, this dark, gaping hole of pain. It was as though every negative emotion you had ever experienced was screaming at you, horrible winds in your mental storm. You couldn’t understand if you were sad, angry, fearful, guilty, or resentful of yourself. Each of these emotions were ones that you felt with so much intensity, that they tangled together, becoming a giant ball of knots that you couldn’t take apart. You didn’t know what you were feeling. In your head, in your heart, you felt everything at once, the pain so blinding that it was numbing. You were so pained, to the point of numbness. The numbness ate a dark hole in your heart and created a lump in your throat.

This, of course, wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. You had dealt with this before. You dealt with it every day, in reality, some days more intense than others. There was comfort in your pain, at times. Worrying about something made you feel in control, as though your paranoia would prevent something from occurring. Happiness scared you. It was a fight with in your mind, these thoughts against your sanity. You’re fighting an internal battle, with no obvious point: the winner is already predetermined.

Mark’s positivity was a bright light in your life. His smile and laugh filled your heart, softening the tangle in the middle of your chest. Without realizing it, he was gentle with your feelings, his words to you therapeutic and warm. You wanted to be strong for him. Often times, you were: You held back your feelings when you needed to, and Mark’s arms were always there to embrace you when tears slipped down your face.

There were some days when you could hardly get out of bed. You dragged yourself through the endless cycle of days, a dark cloud hanging over your head. You wanted to get out. You needed out of your mind, and its dark thoughts that created a hurricane. You needed out of your body, which you loathed each time you looked in the mirror.

You cried. Of course, you did. What else could you do? When you felt enough intensity of one emotion, you managed to cry, your body wracking with sobs as searing-hot tears cut trails down your cheeks. You were a wreck, disgusted at yourself for crying over what you felt.

Then again, what did you feel? Worthlessness was prominent, for sure, side effects of dating an idol. He could have anyone in the world, but he chose you. This made you question why he would choose you. Mark could have chosen a girl with a different body type, and one in which she was fully secure. You felt he could have someone prettier, someone smarter and funnier and kinder and better. Despite his assurances of this being untrue, that he loved you with everything he had, you still felt this way. Your mind was trapped in this state.

At the same time, you were fearful. The weirdest phobias in the darkest parts of you were eating you alive, taking over your life slowly. At the same time, you lived in paranoia, always feeling unsafe and unprotected. You wanted to stop living every day in fear, but how could you, when it was a part of everything you did?

Did Mark make all of this go away? No, of course not. Not even close. Love wasn’t some magical cure for mental illness. However, his sweet ways of understanding you, and the way you smiled uncontrollably around him, most of the time, were what made the pain disappear for some time. Instead of pain being front and center in your mind, it would temporarily move to the back of it, giving you moments of peace. For some moments, your depression wasn’t always with you.

Depression. What an odd term. It was thrown around so much in society, commonized enough to be a simple emotion. It was used for attention, or even as an excuse for some actions. Depression was misunderstood, but those who didn’t understand it, still used the term without realizing its true meaning and power. This infuriated you. Depression was more than just temporary sadness. It was a dark cloud hanging over you 24/7, It was a mental illness that brought on feelings of constant hopelessness, helplessness, and worthlessness. This was something that impacted you day after day.

Mark knew about your depression, of course, and did everything in his power to help you. However, regarding your personal situation, he only knew as much as you told him, which really wasn’t much. Anything else he knew about it was based on his own observations. You constantly felt guilty, wondering if he wanted someone more mentally stable than you.

Thoughts built upon one another, one negative thought bringing on two new ones. Every depressing part of your life became front and center, forcing you to focus on pain, and pain only. You had to write up a report for work, but it remained half-written on your desk, the evils of your brain choosing to consume you instead.

You were desperate, in need of an escape. Everything was something you’d tried: stress eating, binge-watching Netflix or YouTube, reading, writing, sleeping...nothing worked. You were too far past that stage to even consider attempting one of those. It was impulsive, but you needed the escape. It felt like the only way.

Your safety pin was exactly where you had left it: Your bathroom cabinet, left in there just for emergencies: these kinds of emergencies. Settling yourself on the bathroom counter, you pulled off your socks -- thank goodness it was winter, so you had an excuse to wear socks, and you began to inflict pain upon yourself.

You scratched into your skin with the sharp, cold silver of the pin, seeing it flake away as the sting grew more prominent, moving the pin back and forth. The pain was a jolt in your entire being. You scratched the skin of your feet and ankles, for they were usually covered. What had once been skin were now small, angry lines, where blood had barely met the surface. They were painful. Hurting like hell, but were not enough to cause a large amount of blood, or mess, for that matter.

What did I just do? There was always that question after you’d attempted to reciprocate your mental pain with physical pain. Even if you cut, cut, and cut some more, it would never amount to the aching inside of your soul, brain, and heart.

Later that day, Mark had returned home. You two were changing for bed, and you slipped off your socks, having forgotten about the scratches on your feet and ankles from earlier (which hurt like hell whenever you put weight on that foot). You had grabbed your fuzzy socks and were changing into them, but you weren’t fast enough for Mark. Your seconds of forgetfulness lead to a consequence.

“Y/n?” Mark’s voice was small and quiet, sweet enough to almost move you to tears. He was looking right at your scratched-up foot.

You knew what he was looking at and referring to. Before he could say another word, you claimed, “It’s just from a cat in the park.” It was the first lie that came to mind.

“No, they aren’t.” His words were spoken plainly, without a doubt in his voice. He kneeled down and grabbed your foot, not daring to touch the cuts and hurt you further.

“Mark,” you said, your voice almost failing you, “stop.” It was a plea and an apology, broken with pain.

Your boyfriend stood up and sat on the bed next to you. “Why?” he inquired, and it sounded as though his voice had been ripped from his lungs, cracking in the process. Though you didn’t dare make eye contact with him, you knew he was crying.

“I’m sorry.” The words spilled from your lips as a whisper. A tear fell from your eye, landing on your hands, which had been balled up into fists on your lap. When Mark tried to grab your hand, you shrugged away his touch.

“You don’t need to apologize. You never need to apologize for being so hurt, that you do this to yourself.”

A sob escaped your throat, passing your lips against your will. You tipped your head down, trying to mask your cries, to no avail. Cries were ripped from your lungs, and you were blinded by the tears that continually welled up in your eyes, falling at a fast pace. A shattered “I’m sorry,” was all you could sob out, hardly able to breathe. This is me, you were kind of saying. This is broken Y/n.

Mark scrambled onto the bed and embraced your crumpled-over figure, which you couldn’t refuse. His body shook with silent cries against yours, and you hated yourself for this, for having broken him the way you did. “Y/n,” he sobbed out, and he sounded so broken that your heart shattered more. “My baby. Please,” His final word came out as a plead, and it spoke a thousand statements. It told you that he loved you. It told you that he was begging you to go to him, to confide in him, to let him help. It told you that he wanted this to stop, that he wanted you to be nothing but happy for the rest of your life.

Thousands of “I’m sorry”s came from your mouth, the utterance of your words barely audible, but Mark heard them perfectly.

“Why are you sorry? For feeling so low that you do this to yourself? That’s a cry for help. Why am I so stupid for only seeing this now?” He was blaming himself, and that broke you more, guilt becoming more prominent and lost in your tangle of feelings. You hated this. You hated that he saw you like this, weak and fragile, in your worst moments.

“I’m sorry that I’m not perfect for you--” you cried out, not in response to his words, but as a simple sentence that summed up everything you felt in that moment.

“You are! Y/n--” his voice cracked, “I’ll help. Let me fix you, please.”

“This thing,” you whispered, “the harm I inflict upon myself...it helps. It reanchors me. It’s an attempt to reciprocate my mental pain. But Mark, you can’t fix me. Nobody can.”

#nct angst #nct imagines #mark lee imagines #mark lee angst #mark lee #nct mark #nct #nct fanfiction #nct 127 #nct dream #nct u mark #nct u #nct dream imagines #nct dream angst #we_will_winwin

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atths--twice · 4 years

Link

The Eighth Month 5f/6

Chapter Six

Questions and Answers

I’m just gonna let the picture speak for itself. ; )

“There is one more thing,” Mulder said into her hair as he held her. He pulled back and looked at her, holding her face in his hands.

“You have to close your eyes,” he said with a smile.

“Mulder,” she said, a suspicious look on her face as she let go of him.

“Come on, Scully. Humor me,” he said crossing his arms.

She looked at him, narrowing her eyes, then she closed them, her eyebrows raised. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around, her back to the door. She laughed, but kept her eyes closed. She could hear him moving around and her curiosity began rising.

“Okay,” he said quietly.

She opened her eyes and Mulder was kneeling on one knee with a jewelry box in his hands. With a greater ability than she thought she could handle at that stage in her pregnancy, she fell to her knees in front of him.

“Mulder,” she said breathlessly, her heart racing. “What are you doing?”

“Scully,” he said, lightly grasping her hands, setting the box down, his other knee dropping to the floor. “I know I’ve asked you this question before..”

“Four times,” she responded quietly, her mind finding every one of them, like files stored away in a drawer.

The first time, after they lay hot and sweaty in a motel room awash in the afterglow, running for their lives. The second time as they were stuck in traffic coming back from dinner at her mother’s house. The third time sitting on the porch one evening, her with a glass of wine and him with a beer. The fourth time, New Year’s Eve, the two of them on the couch.

Every time she had said no. Sometimes laughingly when the mood had felt light and he had seemed half serious. Sometimes with a long speech as to why she felt it was unnecessary for them to need a piece of paper to state who they were to each other. How marriage was an antiquated practice and she was happy with what they had.

The only time she had come close to saying yes, was on New Year’s Eve. She had been sitting with him, homemade popcorn and the dark chocolate fudge her mother had sent back with them after Christmas dinner on the coffee table, remembering a New Year’s Eve long ago. The first time he had kissed her and the butterflies she had felt. The way he had smiled at her and how she felt happier in that single moment, than any other she could remember.

She had leaned her head on his shoulder and grasped his hand. A minute left and she had thought of how this could possibly be their last year. If the world was going to end, by his side was the only place she wanted to be. He squeezed her hand as the seconds counted down.

As the ball hit, he had leaned in and kissed her, the same soft kiss from years ago, and the same smile as he had pulled back. It was like he could read her mind at times. She had held his face as she kissed him back, deeper and with more intent. She had slid in his lap and began to slip her hands under his shirt.

“Marry me, Scully.” He had said, stilling her hands.

She looked at him, his eyes serious and full of so much love. She could hear the music on the television and could not think of a better moment to say yes, to agree to be with him forever in every way possible. She had stared at him, felt the answer climbing up her throat, the word “yes” preparing to tumble out, but it got stuck along the way. Jammed up by a force she did not understand.

He had sighed, his disappointment showing, but then he had given her a small smile. He had held her face and kissed her, softly and so sweetly.

“One day, Scully,” he had whispered, resting his forehead to hers. “One day, I will figure out how to get you to say yes. One day, I will find the key that will open that lock.”

That was the last time he had asked her. The next year they did not celebrate New Year’s Eve. The predetermined date that had been set, had come and gone, and nothing happened. Mulder did not understand why and he began to fall down the darkest hole he had ever been in before. She could no longer reach him, the distance was too great.

Seven years. It had been seven years since they were in a place where he would have thought to even ask her again. What a waste of such precious time. She felt her heart growing heavy as her eyes filled with tears and he gently wiped them from her eyes. He held her face in his hands, looking at her with the eyes she loved and could read so well. She saw such love and tenderness reflected in them, she wanted to weep.

He pulled her close and held her. Their growing baby between them, the love they shared which created a new life, nestled within her body. He pulled back and leaned back on his calves.

“It’s been seven years since the last time I asked you. Almost, anyway. Seven years full of ups and downs, mostly downs. Deep downs. I.. I know we’re moving past the pain and suffering I put you through, put us through. But it happened and I know I fucked up." He took a deep breath and he closed his eyes.

“Do you want to stand up?” he asked her, as he opened his eyes.

“I don’t think I can,” she whispered, and he nodded, helping her to sit cross legged as he continued kneeling. She thought maybe he was doing penance, by staying on his knees, again asking for absolution.

“When you left, Scully, I was broken. I was angry and hurt. But, I know now, it was what we both needed. You were right to go,” he said, holding her eyes with his, being sure she understood.

“But, Scully,” he said shaking his head. “the moment, that defining moment when I realized exactly what a huge mistake I had made, pushing away the one person I loved and needed in my life, was that day I stopped reaching for you.”

She looked at him with tears in her eyes again. His head was bowed, his eyes closed. He looked up at her and he had tears in his eyes as well.

“Every morning, I would wake up and reach for you, as if I forgot during the night that you were gone,” he said quietly, his eyes full of sadness. “Every morning for two years, Scully, I would reach for you and my arms would come up empty.”

She bowed her head and cried. Those days always so fresh in her mind. The days without him, the nights even worse. Missing his warm body beside her. His scent, his arms around her as they slept. Their conversations in bed which were some of the most intense and soul searching they had ever had. His touch on her skin, making her tingle. Their lovemaking and the way he knew just how to please her.

“That morning,” he began again, taking her hands as she looked up at him. “I got up and walked into the bathroom. I took a shower, got dressed, went downstairs to make coffee. As I waited for it to brew, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong and it hit me as the coffee finished brewing. I didn’t reach for you that morning.”

She bit her lip to stop the tears she felt building. She needed to hear this again as much as he needed to say it. To take this pain they both suffered and finally move past it.

“As soon as I realized what was wrong, I sat at the table and wept. That it had become so normal to not have you there, I forgot to try and reach for you. I cried for everything I had put us through and then I cried for me. I didn’t know how to get you back, or even if you would want to come back. I had pushed you so far away,” he said and she squeezed his hands.

“I sat there at the table for a long time. Making decisions and plans to get you to come back. To be with me again, happy and whole. But, in the days after, I did nothing about it. I grew angry with myself at my lack of action. Angry at you even though you hadn’t done anything. Then you called me and asked me about Tad O’Malley." He shook his head, his eyes closed. “I was still sore at myself and you by association, so I was short with you when I saw you. I made callous comments that I knew would rankle you. I wanted you to hurt the way I was hurting, so I pushed when I should have reached out. So many times..” He trailed off, shaking his head again.

“It has taken us a long time to get back to where we are, Scully. For me to even consider asking you. To have the balls to even venture taking this chance. I’m not asking this of you now because we are on the verge of this crazy new chapter of our life together,” he said, letting go of one hand to hold her face. “I’m asking because, I don’t ever want to wake up one day and not reach for you again. I want to reach out and find you there, right where you have always belonged. By my side and close to my heart.”

She wrapped her hand around his wrist and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and tears spilled down her cheeks. She opened her eyes and he was staring at her. She could see fear and hope intermingled in his eyes. She let go of his wrist and held his face, pulling him down for a kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck and his went around her waist. They sat there for a few moments before he pulled back and gave him a small smile.

“Mulder, I have said no in the past because marriage is not something I felt was ever “us,” she said quietly. “I don’t need to see your name and mine on a piece of paper, or have a ring around my finger to know where I belong. I’ve known that since I first met you. You challenged me from the moment I walked through the door. You ran headlong into me and I didn’t try to stop you. Your desire for everything was contagious and I willingly became infected with it.”

He smiled at her choice of words. It was a good explanation for their relationship. A contagious desire to find answers. It had infected them both until she wanted out and he did not. None of that was worth the price he paid losing her and she him. She knew he knew that now. Knew they both knew it.

“I almost said yes the last time you asked me. I felt it, but I couldn’t do it. But look where that would have left us. Married and separated within two years. Of course we didn’t know the future, but would it have made these past four years harder or easier? Would being married have made us try harder? Would we.. have gotten divorced? God.. that hurts to even think about, let alone to say." She clutched her chest and took a sobbing gulp of air.

“Scully, we can't change the past. I.. I don’t even know that I would,” he said and her head jerked up. “Seven years we were partners, the only person the other trusted implicitly, best friends, until the night we took that step forward. Would you change that past? Move it forward or back?”

She stared at him. So many moments raced through her mind. Moments where they had been so close to moving forward. Nights she had stood outside his hotel room door, wanting to go to him. Nights she had wanted to call him and tell him how she felt. Times when he had driven her crazy, but all she wanted to do was kiss him, push him against the wall and rip his clothes off.

But then she thought of the what the morning after those times would have been like, how they would have proceeded. Would they have gotten closer or pushed each other away? Knowing what they went through then, his brain anomaly, his abduction, his death and then resurrection. No. She would not change that past. It all led to where it needed to go. The heartache that came with it, that was a learning tool. Preparing them for the future. This future.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, I wouldn’t change that past. It all transpired the way it was always meant to.”

“Exactly,” he said, reaching for her hands again. “Things happened the way they did for a reason. We may have wanted them to go quicker or wish they had slowed down when we knew their outcome in the future, but then it wouldn’t be our past, Scully. Our story is ours because of it. These past four years have been hard and so goddamn lonely, but they have made me appreciate you more than ever. I can’t say with total honesty that I would understand that, if I hadn’t lost you. If you walking out that door hadn’t woken my ass up. I can’t say where we would be.”

She nodded and they looked at one another. Relying on their unspoken communication to speak to the other the best way they knew how. She heard so much when they spoke this way; his eyes had always been her guide. She knew something was wrong when he would not look at her. Had seen his heart laid bare to her so many times when his eyes were on hers.

He took a deep breath and reached for the box. She took a deep breath too, feeling anxious, nervous, and excited all at once. This was it, this was the last time he would ask. The last time he would need to. She knew she would say yes, but she wanted to tease him a little first.

“Can I see what’s in the box before you ask me?” she asked him, a teasing smile on her face.

“No, you cannot,” he said, staring at her hard, an exasperated huff coming out of his mouth.

“Well, I’m just a little curious because, as you know, they say two months salary is what you should spend. And Mulder, seeing as how you don’t have a job right now…” She shrugged her shoulders and raised her eyebrows.

“Shut up,” he said through this teeth. She smiled and crossed her hands in her lap, looking up at him expectantly. He cleared his throat and shook his head. She smiled wider and he grinned back.

“Scully, I’ve asked you this many times. Sometimes I’ve asked halfheartedly, trying to get a rise out of you." She chuckled and he smiled. Then his face was serious. “Other times, I’ve asked and been completely serious, my heart breaking a little when you said no. But, I always knew it wouldn’t matter if we were married or not, because it was still us. You’re right that a piece of paper and a ring does not a marriage make, but..I’d like it anyway. Knowing that we have been bound by law as well as by heart,” he paused and reached for her hands, setting the box down.

“What it comes down to Scully,” he said quietly, looking in her eyes. “Is that I love you. I want to be joined with you in every way. So, I ask you this now, reaching out from my heart to yours. Will you marry me?”

She stared at him, here on the floor of their baby’s room. Him on his knees, her sitting cross legged and heavy with their child, their hands joined together. There was no fancy dinner, no ring in the champagne or fancy dessert. Just them, in a room of new beginnings and journeys that lay ahead. It seemed fitting that it would be here in this room, in this house they turned into a home together. This was where they became them. Here they would remain and add to the fray. She took a deep breath and said the only words that seemed fitting to such an important question.

“I guess,” she said with a smile. He smiled the goofy grin she loved every time she saw it, raising his fists in the air and throwing his head back.

“She said “I guess”!!” he shouted loudly in the quiet house.

She laughed and then put her lips together, trying to hold back her smile. She failed horribly. She felt so happy and he was so adorably excited, she felt her soul light up. He put his hands down and looked at her and she could see her happiness reflected in his eyes. They both reached for each other at the same time, her wrapping her arms around his neck again as his went around her waist. He chuckled into her hair and she smiled.

He pulled back and held her face in his hands, kissing her deeply, all of his love seeming to pour into this particular kiss. She felt it all over her body and her heart was fairly singing.

“You guess?” he asked, rolling his eyes as he pulled back and stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. He smiled at her and shook his head.

“Well.. I still haven’t seen what’s in the box..” she said playfully, as she eyed it on the floor.

He laughed and took his hands off her face. He picked up the box and turned it toward her before he opened it. She was looking at the box, waiting for him to open it, then she looked up to find him staring at her. She kept her eyes on him as he opened it. The ring did not really matter, not nearly as much as the man holding the box did.

She heard it creak open and she glanced down. She gasped and then her eyes flew back to his, then back to the box. It was not a ring at all, but a gold cross necklace, just a bit bigger than hers, with a stone in the middle. An opal. It was beautiful.

“Mulder..” she said as she touched the necklace, shaking her head at the colors that were captured from the light in the opal.

“I know you’ve said you’re not a ring person,” he said, taking the necklace out of the box, closing it and setting it back down. “But, you are a necklace one. I also know that eventually, boy or girl, you would want to pass your necklace on." He raised her chin up to meet his eyes. “So, I wanted to get you a necklace that was still you but a little different. Just as you are now.”

He held the necklace in his hands, hanging it by the chain. She looked at it as it swung lightly, before she caught it in her hands. He let go and she stared at the beauty of the stone inside it. So many colors danced and played in the light, it was absolutely beautiful.

“You know,” she said as she touched the opal and marveled at its perfection. “Some cultures believed that opals had supernatural powers, or fell from the heavens when lightning hit the earth. Some people thought it could guard them from disease. Some even considered it as a symbol of hope and truth or simply good luck,”

“Who needs Google, when you’ve got Scully?” he said with pride in his voice.

She looked at him and her brows furrowed. She pulled him to her and buried her face in his neck, breathing in the scent of this man she loved so much. The man who knew her so well, he bought her a necklace instead of a ring.

She put her head on his shoulder. “My answer definitely wasn’t good enough,” she whispered and he chuckled, pulling her tighter. He breathed a deep breath and rubbed her back.

He pulled back and looked at her. “Will you marry me?” he asked again with a smile on his face.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Phew, that was a close one,” he said as he reached around to unclasp her necklace, both of them chuckling. He handed it to her and exchanged it for the one in her hands. He leaned back and looked at her, the goofy smile back on his face.

“It looks beautiful,” he said, holding the cross between his fingers. “You’re right about the history of the opal, but that’s not why I chose it." He released it and let it fall back onto her chest.

“I chose it because it’s the only stone that captures the colors of every other stone. All of our birthstones reflected in one. Yours, mine, the baby’s, and William’s,” he said as she reached and held it in her fingers, softly caressing it. “All of us together, close to your heart.”

She smiled and felt tears in her eyes. “God, Mulder. Seriously, you are getting so mushy and sentimental in your old age.”

“Hey!” he said, feigning outrage. She leaned forward and kissed him. She held his face in her hands and stared at him.

“I love it, Mulder. It’s perfect. It’s exactly what I would have picked.”

He smiled and kissed her again. Then he leaned back and started to get up. He moaned and she laughed as she heard pops and cracks as he stood all the way up, putting a hand on his lower back and swearing a couple of times.

She put her hands out and he pulled her up carefully, holding her while she regained her balance, and stealing a kiss while he did. He took the necklace she still held in her hands and walked over by the crib, where there was an empty nail on the wall she had not noticed before.

He hung the necklace there, his fingers stroking it, before he ran the cross between his thumb and forefinger. He shook his head and turned back to her, pulling her close as they looked at the necklace hanging there.

“Think of it, Scully. Think of how much has happened with that necklace. How many times it has been lost and found it’s way back. It’s like us in that regard. We’ve lost our way many times. Yet here we are, together, as we were meant to be,” he said against her hair, as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

She sniffled lightly, but these tears were tears of happiness. He was right, the necklace was symbolic of them. It may have lost its way from time to time, but it always came back.

The new necklace would never lose its way. She knew where it, and she, would always be and always stay. Here, in this home with this man who had been like a strike of lightning in her life; bright and full of energy. The man who found a cure for her disease and was her symbol of hope and truth. He had surely picked the best stone when he picked that opal. He knew what he was doing. She held him tighter and closed her eyes. She loved him so much. He squeezed back and kissed her head.

“I love this necklace, Mulder. I do, but.. hmm I don’t know. I kinda feel like maybe, I might, be a ring person. Maybe?” she said into his chest, joking but not wanting him to see her smile.

He laughed and let go of her, stepping back and smiling at her, as he turned and walked back by the box. She looked at him quizzically as he picked it up and walked back to her.

He opened the box and took out the necklace holder. Underneath, lay a simple gold band with a small diamond set in it. She gasped as he took her hand and slid the ring on her finger. It fit perfectly.

“I’m not an idiot,” he said, giving her a knowing smile.

“Oh, Mulder!” she exclaimed, looking at the ring. She was speechless.

This too was perfect. Nothing too grand...simple and beautiful, just what she would have picked. She shook her head and looked at him and he smiled at her raising his eyebrows.

“I love you,” she said, staring at him. She felt surprised, but also not, all at once. Of course he would have a ring. Of course the man who asked her four times and had been rejected every time, would be traditional, but also so Mulder about it. The necklace was the real gift, but the ring was for her.

As much as she said she did not want to get married, that it was not necessary, deep down she knew she did. And he knew she did. And he knew she wanted the ring, too.

He stepped back and put his hands out wide, gesturing to the room, to her, and the room again. She smiled and then stepped toward him.

“You did a great job painting the room, Mulder. I’m sure Skinner appreciated your help as he put all the furniture together,” she said cheekily.

“You wound me, Scully. Right in the heart,” he said, as he put his hands over his heart. She laughed and wrapped her arms around him again.

“It’s perfect, Mulder. All of it is perfect. Aside from the room, when did you have time to plan all this?”

“Well,” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. “As you so kindly mentioned earlier, I am unemployed. It’s amazing the things you can find to do when you have nothing but time and the drive to find what you need. Both of those pieces of jewelry are antiques. I knew what I wanted, I just had to find them.”

She thought of him, spending his days searching for just the right items, and her heart filled with love. He had grown and changed so much in the last couple of years. She loved him more than ever for it.

She looked around the room. The paint, the pictures, the furniture, the chair, everything was perfect. It felt good. They were ready. They were engaged. Jesus..

She pulled back and looked at her ring again. She looked up at him and he was watching her as she looked at the ring. She shook her head and smiled at him.

“Is it time for bed yet?” she asked him, putting her hands on his chest. The ring catching the light and lighting a fire inside her.

“Bed? It’s the middle of the afternoon. Are you tired?” he asked, surprise showing on his face.

“Oh, no. I’m not tired,” she said, her hands running down his chest to the bottom of his shirt. She looked at him and watched his eyes widen.

He grabbed her hand and whirled her around, pushing her shoulders to get her through the door. She laughed as he kept going until she was in their bedroom and he closed the door firmly behind them.

Her laughter echoed down the hall, filling the recently lonely house with happiness and love.

_______________________________________________

This has been another fun and challenging story to write. I love them at this stage in their lives, happy and together. Hope you all enjoyed this story.

#The X Files #XF Fanfic #Post MSIV #Love #Happiness #Domestic Life #Domestic Fluff #Asked and Answered #Changes about to come their way #One month to go

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coraxaviary · 4 years

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Sister-in-Arms | CHAPTER 1: Toccoa, GA

(Part I, Run the Gauntlet)

Summary: June arrives at Camp Toccoa.

Word Count: 5.8K

AO3 | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Author’s Note: Welcome to my main fic. This is the start of a long journey. I am proud of this fic, and I hope you like it. If you have any questions, refer to my first post or shoot me a question. Once I get about five chapters out, I’ll start posting on AO3.

Warnings: None

Taglist: @keoghans @papercinders (ask to be added)

June Hazel Diedtrich stood at the depot in Toccoa, Georgia, wondering how she’d gotten there so soon.

Cars rushed by; buses passed and young men crowded the corners of the plaza, supply trucks being loaded and unloaded. More than a few men in uniform were about the area, their jackets and pants creased and tucked, berets cocked at a slight angle. The town was rushed, hot, and dusty, but bursting at the seams with a dynamic energy: the energy of hope, and dually the uncomfortable undercurrent of lingering expectation.

Most of the men would eventually ship out. Maybe it would be months, or even years. But it was going to happen, and with combat came the unavoidable reality of pain and death that were the bounty of war.

June gripped the handles of her suitcase tighter, eyeing the military men, most her age or only slightly older. They looked energetic and diligent. Spirits were high. And yet the feeling of a held breath remained.

Such was the nature of a nation at war. The Japanese had made sure of that.

June took a deep breath of the Southern air, the dry smell of red dust drifting from the ground. A few pigeons pecked errantly at the dirt, and some flock birds chittered overhead from rooftop to rooftop. A car horn honked; someone shouted in return. Boxes and crates knocked together.

She craned her head, looking for a taxi. She didn’t expect many: Toccoa was a sort of backwater area except for the military presence that brought in a lot of soldiers and trucked-in supplies. She’d have to wait for the bus.

Some other women milled about. June figured at least some of them might know the bus schedule, and she approached one woman dressed similarly to her – in a light cotton shirt and a knee-length skirt – and cleared her throat.

“Excuse me, would you happen to know the bus schedule?” June asked, already feeling lost in the new environment.

The other woman turned around. She was blonde, tall, and her red lips curved into a pleasant expression.

“Sure. There’s a bus coming in a few minutes, heading out to the base,” she said with a mildly Southern twang. “Where are you headed?”

June exhaled, relieved that there was a bus. “I’m trying to get to the base, too.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, um…” she trailed off.

“June. June Diedtrich,” June supplied.

“Nice to meet you, June. I’m Bea,” she responded cheerily.

“Likewise,” June said, adjusting her sliding grip on her suitcase handle as her palms started to sweat in the hot Georgia air.

“You know, it’s always nice to see a new face around here,” Bea said, smoothing down a piece of hair that had come free from its pin. “Sometimes it gets a little old seeing the same few people.” She glanced quickly at June, and added, “Working up at the base is nice and rewarding, because we’re helping the war effort. Never bad work, I’ll assure you.”

June breathed a brief laugh. “I’m sure it’s that way,” she said, not sure how to relate to the woman who most likely assumed June was there for secretary work. “Good all the same.”

“I wouldn’t want to scare you off on your first day,” Bea said. “Typing isn’t bad overall.”

June watched Bea’s face, careful not to encourage any new questions about her position. She was sure it was coming, though, and she prepared for how to answer inquiries about the place she was stationed. Bea was going to ask sooner or later.

“Are you a typist?” Bea asked innocently, and June straightened, breathing deeply.

“No, I’m not,” she said, not sure how to respond. “I’m not working in the office.”

Bea looked at her curiously. “Nurse? I didn’t take you for the nursing type, but I suppose we could take on more nurses. The men are always getting injured out there, God knows how.”

June looked at Bea, careful not to interrupt, trying to find a way to explain that no, she was not going to be a nurse. She was not going to shuttle papers, pound a typewriter, or drive jeeps – half of which women were rarely permitted to do. She would not be a WAC or a WASP or a WAVES woman or another ridiculous acronym, though God knew they were needed too.

Bea kept talking, and June took that as a good sign.

“... last week, another one came in with a broken leg. And that was after he’d been denying that he needed to get it fixed, can you believe it? The nurses down at the aid station must get at least three sprained ankles a day, the way it would seem.” June understood then that Bea was an avid talker. “There ain’t much scrapping, between the boys, you know, but there are some mysterious injuries that the nurses gotta figure out. Gosh, how does a guy get all those bruises?” she finished, looking to June for some kind of acknowledgement.

June coughed into her sleeve hollowly, to stall for time, and then got out a weak, “I wouldn’t know.” Which wasn’t exactly true because James taught her to sock a guy in the eye – and knee a guy in the balls – but June didn’t know a broken arm from a dislocated elbow. “I’m not a nurse,” she said.

“Oh, then where are you? Do you drive?” Bea asked, clearly confused. “Have you not been assigned yet? Because then I’d think you’d just be a typist like me,” she said nonchalantly. She picked a fold out of her skirt and let it fall back against her legs. “Do you know yet?” she asked, blue eyes searching June’s face.

“I’m―” June started, when the bus pulled in, in front of the depot. She glanced at Bea. “It’s complicated.”

“I can handle complicated,” she said brightly. “My dad is a biology professor down at Emory.” The bus came and the women began filing inside one at a time. “I mean, he talks about very complicated things,” she said, connecting her anecdote to the conversation. “You can tell me once we’re seated.”

June stood in line with Bea, trying to come up with a way to explain. Despite her preparation for Toccoa, both mentally and physically, June somehow neglected to prepare a predetermined statement on why she was there. She’d glossed over it, probably assuming that she’d just be inducted into the barracks fairly quickly without much prelude. With the road to Toccoa looming in front of her, June was forced to reconsider how optimistic that thought had been.

She moved through the bus silently, sitting down mutely beside Bea, and when all the women were on, the bus started to drive down the road. June felt more than a few curious looks to her, the newcomer.

“Well,” June started. Bea looked at her expectantly. “It’s hard to explain,” she said, betraying a little frustration on her face.

“Aw, honey, are you trying to get a job near a husband or something? I hadn’t pegged you for the already-married type, but with a face like that, I’d be married outta school too,” Bea said.

“I’m here to join the Army,” June said quietly.

Bea looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “Sorry, girl, but the Women’s Army Corps doesn’t have much of a presence at camp, if that’s what you’re looking for.” Bea shifted, placing her bag on her lap. “You sure you’re in the right place?”

June pressed her lips together. “Mm, no. Not the WAC. The Army. The Paratroopers, to be exact.” The truth, she found, was best in some situations.

Bea squinted, trying to make sense of the statement. “You’re stationed with the Paratroopers? What, writing papers?” She half-laughed, expecting something out of June.

June cringed internally. “No, I’m going to be billeted with the men, training. Basic training. At least, that’s the plan. After that, I’m trying to become a combat paratrooper.” It was hard for June to say at this point for some reason, but she pushed out the words with diligence, as if putting them out into the world for the first time would make them more true. Her future had never seemed more remote, though. She wished she could explain more, but the words didn't exist. It was a simple statement. “It’s the plan,” she ended, not knowing what else to say. One shoulder lifted in a shrug.

Bea blinked at her, and leaned back in her seat with eyebrows knitted together for a few long seconds.

June looked concernedly at Bea, trying to gauge her reaction. Damn, if everyone reacted this way, June was going to have a hard year. Even worse, June realized, if she had this hard of a time telling people why she was here, it would be even harder than she expected.

Pale grass blurred under the blue sky outside the windows. Sparse fences passed by, and then the rare supply truck or car. A tree appeared every moment or two, and June watched it all flow together after some time trying to clamp onto the image of the clouds or the birds. It was better to just watch from afar and see the colors blend.

“So, you want to do a man’s job?” Bea said slowly.

June nodded.

Bea failed to say something multiple times, starting and stopping before settling on a phrase. “Why?” she got out.

June saw confusion in Bea’s eyes. She searched for judgement, but there was none yet, mercifully so.

“I want to make something of myself.”

That was what June’s father and younger brother had said when she was admitted into West Point. She was making something of herself, they’d said, and June took the phrase to heart. She was doing it alone, herself, and for her only. It turned into a mantra. She’d made something of herself yet: a girl from an apartment above a small grocery, smack-dab in the middle of the middle class, vying for a spot among the political and the academia. This time, she was aiming for a spot that many men didn’t even achieve. The paratroopers had one of the highest wash-out rates in the nation. She’d make it, just like she made it to West Point and out in three years. She’d do it, and make something of herself.

She’d do it, and maybe die trying.

Bea shifted somewhat uncomfortably, fiddling with her hands in her lap. June looked out the window, not as fidgety as before she’d explained, but still pulling at her fingers incessantly.

“Why didn’t you want to be a WAC? It’s safer. As a woman, you know, you should be doing more appropriate things. The men fight. And we do our own fighting away from the front lines, but it’s just not holding a gun.” Bea’s voice was starting to rise in indignation.

June looked down, then decided to straighten and face Bea. This was June’s decision, and it had been approved by the military. She was going regardless of what Bea thought.

“How is this even possible?” spluttered Bea, in disbelief. “Who let you? And why do you feel the need to–to do something like this?”

June sighed, fearing the reaction. “I sent correspondences to the military base and some other branches. I got support from my local politicians. I suppose the West Point degree didn’t hurt,” she said, trying for some levity.

Bea still looked concerned and scandalized. “West Point? You don’t mean–” Bea looked intently at June’s face. “You don’t mean you’re one of them?”

“The graduates this year?” June offered, neutrally.

Bea nodded, eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, I graduated with the class of ‘42. This month of June, actually.”

Bea wore the same expression on her face, half confused and half dismayed. June told herself that minds changed slowly. People like Bea were in the majority. Most Americans found any challenge to their status-quo unbearable. She was just like June’s mother when she’d been admitted.

And because Mom was against it, so was Sharon.

June had a very distinct memory of Sharon trying to talk her out of it.

“Mom doesn’t like it, you know,” she’d said, a frown on her face. “She says it’s ridiculous. Just go to University of California or something. You wouldn’t even have to go that far.”

June told herself that she’d consider Cal. Her family had even visited – many of the young people from their area went there and it seemed like a natural progression for a girl like June. She didn’t like it – not because of the area or the attitude emanating from the school, but because for some reason, she’d already had her heart set on West Point. Assuming she got in.

When June left for West Point, Mom cried and Sharon grudgingly gave her a hug. She left with a pit in her stomach. Leaving for Toccoa had created a similar reaction.

“Stay safe,” her mother had said, probably hoping Toccoa would refuse June from the start, despite their promise in the letter to consider June’s military-style education. Sharon probably thought June would wash out. It was an elite division with high drop-out rates, after all. Paratroopers.

Paratroopers. The word was unfamiliar and sounded wrong. She figured the concept of dropping from the sky was in itself, wrong. Humans had figured out how to fly close to the sun and now they were falling voluntarily, too.

June wasn’t really sure she could do it. This wasn’t West Point, where intellectual and memorization skills could supplement your success if your other scores were lacking. This was the Army. It was physical. It was about survival and combat. She couldn’t just be there, passive, and study at night to play catch-up. She had to take her future into her own hands, once again.

It didn’t matter if she thought she could do it. It only mattered if she did it.

And here she was, having a hard time explaining her situation to an amateur typist, God forbid her struggle when she got up to base.

June checked her watch. They were going to get there soon.

Bea looked into June’s eyes suddenly. “I knew I saw you somewhere else. The newspapers…” she muttered, looking as if she didn’t know what else to say despite being full of questions.

“I know it would be a lot less audacious of me to just stay on the home front.” June said, waiting for the storm. “That’s what people have already told me. You wouldn’t be the first.”

Bea furrowed her eyebrows again, taking in the grass and trees out the window. “No,” she said quietly, suddenly uncharacteristic. “No, I won’t say that.” She sat in silence for a while, and something came up on the horizon: a peaked hill, poking up from the trees and bushes, ringed with clouds and sitting against a blue sky. “Times are changing,” she said, shifting to look once again back at June. “You seem like a nice girl. I don’t think you’ll make it. You’ll drop out in a week or two, tops,” she said, shrugging, then paused. “But in the instance that you somehow make it, you’ll have done a great thing, female or not.”

June didn’t know what to say. No one had said anything like that to her. Be it with wonder or disgust, people who knew her story would always look at her with a sort of alien strangeness.

The bus was entering the base, and gates loomed in front of them. Wooden structures started to appear along the path, and men became more and more common along the path. The bus finally broke through the fading trees and the base was spread out before them: half paved, half dirt, with wood and brush and trucks everywhere. And the sheer volume of young men, all in uniform, all making their way to a specific destination. Each soldier here was here to train.

June intended to become just like the men.

She’d almost forgotten about Bea beside her, and there was a brief touch on June’s hand as Bea got up to walk towards the front of the bus.

“Wait,” June said. Bea turned around, expression unreadable. June couldn’t figure out whether Bea had concluded that she disliked her, but it didn’t matter. “I’ll see you,” she decided to say, the statement impersonal but not too remote, because in the back of her mind, June genuinely hoped she’d see Bea around base. She’d soon have no friends and have to start all over.

Bea gave her a half-smile. “You’ll know where to find me.”

And with that, June was the last woman on the bus. She made her way out in a daze, memorizing the leather of the seats with her fingers as she stepped out into the hot sun, the sounds of the base flowing over her.

June stared up at the sky, trying to gather her thoughts. She was here to be like the other men. A girl named June couldn’t make this trip to the finish, unscathed. But maybe a soldier named Diedtrich could.

She was here to fight, to learn to kill the enemy – to advance the mission of democracy throughout the quickly darkening age. The task of the U.S. Army was something huge and something glorious.

If June’s nation was embarking on the greatest mission of faith and attrition on God’s good world, she wanted in. She wanted in, bad.

And here she was, with the hardest part far ahead.

♤

She found herself gawking at the place. The other women scattered quickly after leaving the bus, reporting for their jobs in various directions. June was left standing in the dust, taking in the huge hill rising above the camp, drowning in blue sky and flanked by hastily built wooden buildings.

A few groups of men – platoons – jogged past, running around the base. The pop-bang of rifle fire drifted distantly from somewhere to June’s north. Some yelling voices floated over the din of engines and footsteps.

A man came walking briskly out from a corner of one of the offices, in his service greens. He immediately spotted June and made a beeline towards her, dodging a passing truck. He came closer, and June noted the triple chevron on his shoulder and kept a smile to herself, preparation already paying off. Sergeant, she thought. He was dark blonde, of medium build, and tall. As he arrived in front of her, he slowed.

“Sergeant John Coates,” he said, extending a hand to her. June took it and gave a firm handshake.

After a moment of indecision, June decided in a beat to introduce herself the civilian way. “June Diedtrich, sir,” she said with a smile.

He nodded, already leaning around to take June’s suitcase. She pulled away. “That’s not necessary, but thank you,” she said hastily.

“Alright,” he said brightly, not looking put off. “I’m going to take you to Colonel Sink.” He turned away, starting up a cement path pointing away from the road.

June hauled her suitcase along, switching hands, and followed quickly after the Sergeant. Her heels clacked noticeably against the ground as she picked up speed in comparison to Coates’s boots. They were jump boots: the pride of parachutists and the envy of non-paratrooper infantrymen. June tore her eyes from Coates’s uniform when he spoke, suddenly aware that she was staring.

“So, you’re here to join the Army,” Coates commented, from a few paces ahead. June blinked in surprise. She figured no one would know other than Sink and some upper-division ranking officers. There was no way to tell, except for her suitcase, which wasn’t really an obvious indicator in itself.

“Yes, I am, sir,” June said.

“Interesting thing, a woman wanting to fight and all,” he said, voice curiously devoid of judgement. People always had to comment on the idea, and June expected nothing less of Coates, even if he seemed courteous at first glance.

“I think so, sir,” she responded cautiously, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It always did. People always had something to say about her outlandish ideas.

The two were passed by another jogging platoon in silence. June felt the weight of their curious stares, probably sizing her up as another new nurse or secretary to try and take out to the movies.

More buildings passed. June looked out over the field to her right, a large expanse of flat green grass, which had a primitive track lining the perimeter, and forest beyond that, fading into a gradient of thin trees and ground cover. There were rows upon rows of barracks between her and the field – wooden row houses, long and narrow with square windows and thin walls. Some of them were covered with tarp fittings over the roofs and sides. June thought of winter in those poorly-insulated boxes and wondered how the men stayed warm.

“Look, I just want to tell you one thing before you go in,” Coates said suddenly, rounding a corner and facing her. June straightened again. “Colonel Sink may have let you in, but he’s not a nice man,” Coates said, looking slightly down at June, who was a good deal shorter. His tone was not harsh, but it seemed to be genuinely honest. “You’re here for a unique reason. I know that you are aware you will have to prove yourself more than any other man here.”

June looked seriously at him. “I know, sir. You have no idea how well I know.” She immediately reconsidered her statement. Was it too disrespectful? She searched his face. He didn’t look particularly upset. She told herself not to push it.

He nodded, looking at her sidelong without malice. “You will know if you didn’t before,” he said lowly. “I don’t envy your position, Private.”

June looked up, startled. This was the first time she’d been acknowledged as a military person, let alone a hopeful.

Private Diedtrich. She would have smiled to herself if not for a wave of overwhelming nervousness as she looked at the door that would lead to Sink. Coates broke eye contact and rose back up to full height.

“Colonel Sink is in here,” he said, holding open a door and following June into the building.

Inside, the air was cooler, but still warm. A narrow hallway led down the building to the left, and office doors – some shut, some open – punctuated the wood wall every few feet. June stepped aside to let Coates pass, and she followed him down the corridor to the last door on the right. Coates knocked.

“Come in,” a voice drifted out from the room. Coates nudged open the door and held it open for June, who slipped past him into Colonel Sink’s office.

The office was filled with light from the window behind Sink, who rose from his chair at the sight of June entering the office. June heard the shift of fabric behind her as Coates stood at attention, and after another brief moment of panicked debate, she too snapped her heels together and raised her right arm in salute, feeling a little strange doing it in her civilian clothing: skirt, lipstick, pin curls, and all.

The Colonel looked at June for a few seconds with an unreadable look, then back at Coates.

“As you were,” he said in a strong, slightly nasal voice. He had gray hair and a composed mannerism.

June heard Coates’s uniform shift again, and a half-second later, she relaxed her arm, not wanting to be found incompetent. She was feeling out-of-place already. Knowing how to salute and drill and address officers in the book was different than when the Colonel of Camp Toccoa was standing right in front of her.

Would he offer his hand for shaking? Was she supposed to take it and shake once or twice? Thankfully, Sink didn’t offer a handshake, but instead dismissed Coates with a brief wave.

“Sergeant Coates, please wait outside,” he said, and then turning to June, he pointed to a chair in front of the desk. “Have a seat, young lady,” he said, and June obediently pulled out the chair and sat down, setting her suitcase down next to her. The thought that Sink hadn’t called her Private briefly flashed through her mind, but June’s thoughts were so jumbled that she pushed the useless observation out of her mind and tried to breathe deeply to calm down her rapidly beating heart.

Sink sat down in his chair across from June and folded his hands, looking at her, the beams of noontime sun slatting through the blinds in the window and giving Sink a backlit glow. June met his eyes straight on, challenging him to make any assumptions before he talked to her first.

This was the man to impress. If anyone, it was Sink. He could throw her out of the camp right then if he wanted to. June was no Congressman’s daughter, no relative of a high-ranking official. Sink had the right to deny her requests immediately without repercussions, and they both knew.

Yet Sink had been the one – the only one – to answer June’s request, asking her to come on base to begin training that September. That had to mean he had some sort of hope for her when the others didn’t. It had to. Right?

Sink’s letter promised her a shot. It might have been a shot in the dark, but June took it.

“June Diedtrich. We finally meet,” Sink said, leaning back in his chair.

June nodded. “Yes, sir,” she said steadily. Sink laughed, probably at her stiffness, or maybe at the ridiculousness of the entire situation.

“Well, let’s get into it,” he said with an air of business, turning to a few papers on his desk and laying one on top of another. He had a particular habit of enunciating syllables and drawing them out in a Carolina accent. It reminded June of her grandfather, though she wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to make that comparison.

“In your letter you stated that you specifically wanted to join the Army. Not the WACs, or other female divisions,” Sink said, looking fleetingly at the mentioned letter and back at June. “You do realize how strange and frankly abstract an idea like this is, June?”

June kept her face stoic, but she felt a cold flash of nervousness. “Yes, sir.”

Sink scanned the rest of the letter and put it back down. “Your request has been approved by the top brass, as you already know,” he said, drumming a finger on the table and leaning back once more. “This is something that has never happened. Not once in the history of the United States Armed Forces has a female actually entered front-line combat,” Sink said with an air of finality.

She nodded, not knowing what else to say. A growing fearful anticipation of rejection grew in her mind, and she shifted in the chair uncomfortably. She reasoned with herself: why would Sink kick her out now? She’d taken a train all the way from California to get here. Sink seemed to be a man of practicality. She told herself she was being ridiculous by having anything to fear, but her own voice of logic was drowned out by anxiety.

Their correspondence had been constant, but June still knew nothing was ever concrete with such a tenuous plan relying on scant approval. Was Sink preparing to drop her right here and now? Was that why he’d kept Coates outside the office, so she could be driven back into town? June’s heart sank, even though she knew in her mind that she’d been approved to this position.

“You’re a high school valedictorian, West Point graduate, and women’s distance running champion. You have political contacts all over the country in top positions, a secure home in San Francisco, and job prospects open everywhere because of your degree. You’re smart. You’re also a woman. You have the option,” Sink said, clearing his throat and leaning forward, “of completely ignoring the war as someone who will not be affected by any possible future drafts. In fact, there will be more jobs for you when men start draining out of the country by the millions.”

June watched his face, trying to follow his logic.

“So, when I ask this, answer me honestly, because I want to know,” he said. “Why are you here?”

Bea had asked June the same thing on the bus but curiously, it seemed different when the words were coming from the mouth of a distinguished Colonel, sitting here with June’s fate in his hands. She twisted a finger in her lap and stopped herself, knowing Sink could see.

“You could be in danger if you wanted, Diedtrich,” Sink said. “You could fly a plane. You could make yourself useful by manufacturing artillery shells.” He snorted. “Hell, you could even haul ass to Europe and do some fighting yourself without being–” he waved an arm around, one side of his mouth lifting below his moustache in a scowl, “restricted by the organization of the U.S. Army. God knows we haven’t been as welcoming as some Holland revolutionaries could be on the other side of the world.”

June pressed her lips together, thinking. “I’m not bilingual, sir,” she started, and Sink laughed for a moment, his stony exterior breaking for just that second. “I don’t have a pilot's license. I don’t want to work in a factory, sir,” she forged on, wondering if her use of sir was too frequent. No matter – it was better to sprinkle in too many than too few. “I feel love for my country, this great nation I was born into. This is the land of the free and the home of the brave. And if I am daring enough to count myself to be among the free and the brave, then I intend to take up arms and fight for it too.”

Colonel Sink had asked why. Why was she here? She paused just for a few seconds.

“And if not for Europe or the free people of the Pacific, I want to fight for my country. The United States of America.”

Sink looked down at the papers without reading them, up at the ceiling, and then back at June, exhaling. Then he nodded. “That’s exactly why every other man is here,” he said. “I’m glad you feel so strongly about our country. But I’ll ask you this.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Are you prepared to watch your comrades die? To have the cloud of death and blood all around you as you pack yourself into trenches, waiting for the artillery to tear some poor boy’s arm off? To be hit by the blood and guts of the man next to you, deafened by gunfire and blinded by flares?”

June swallowed, trying to picture the carnage, knowing it was a reality that was all too near, men torn limb from limb just across the sea.

“The taste of ash and metal doesn’t leave your mouth. And if you yourself get hit in battle, sometimes it’s a mercy to not have to watch your brothers bleed out in front of you or get their helmet shot through with some German machine gun,” Sink concluded. “If you ever get through the training and somehow make it into battle, can your female mind and soul bear it?”

June stared into the distance, trying to imagine it – a familiar mental choreography she’d replayed again and again for months, trying to picture the mud and screams and rivers of red. She’d watched war films when she could, but she had a premonition the worst was never shown. She’d known veterans from the Great War, hollow and haggard, missing limbs or parts of their skin or sections of their face. Burns. Amputations. Bullet wounds. Broken arms that never healed. Big scars that were never named, but pointed to some greater wound inside their soul. Empty eyes.

June hoped she’d never get to that point. Empty-eyed was the worst that you could become.

“I know it, sir,” June said, knowing it was a woeful lie. “In the event that I am eventually deployed overseas, I am prepared for it.”

Sink grimaced. “You will never be prepared. You do not know. But I have faith that you are willing to learn what it takes to become a brother-in-arms.” He paused. “Sister-in-arms.”

June nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“You are not one of them yet,” Sink said, pointing over his shoulder into the window, framing a scene of men doing drills, running, and standing at attention. “You may never be one of them. You have to make them understand, Diedtrich. You must make them. No one else will do it for you.” A brief shake of his head. “But the battle for now is not to make friends. You will earn their respect by your actions, your fortitude, and your resilience, something each man must do. And now you are a woman attempting the same thing. If they accept you,” he said, “and that is a big if, you will do it by surviving Toccoa. There is no shortcut. You either shape up or wash out, same as the others, West Point degree be damned.”

June’s eyes narrowed slightly, hating that her degree was probably going to be held over her the whole time she was here, if she lasted longer than a few days. She hated being told about her own education, because she was reminded of how she’d been given exceptions that made her class graduate in three short years.

If she ever earned something, it would be her place in the Paratroopers.

“I cannot stress this enough, Diedtrich,” Sink said. “You must earn this. The Army men will not be easily convinced of your competence unless you demonstrate it.”

June nodded firmly, face hardening. “I will try my best, sir.”

Colonel Sink looked as if he was going to try to say something else, but then decided against it. “Well, Private Diedtrich, I wish you the best, but that’s all I can do. Welcome to U.S. Army training,” he said, rising from his chair. “The Basic Training exam is in a few weeks. I’ll see you then.”

June stood up quickly too, and Sink offered a hand for a shake. June gave him her firmest handshake, and Sink nodded at her.

“Survive this, and you make history,” Sink said, face serious.

June felt the unsaid implication hang in the air.

Fail, and you’re just another drop-out.

June didn’t intend to fail. She’d weather this, just like she had weathered her other obstacles. This time, the obstacle was called Toccoa. And maybe – just maybe – she’d eventually face down the forces of Europe.

#band of brothers #band of brothers fic #hbo war #hbo war fic #band of brothers imagine #fanfic #sister-in-arms #run the gauntlet #writing

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