#i forgot how to tag in my absence so no tags for you except that one. HAVE FUN
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weird stray cats appearing on my canvas . please come pick them up
fellas belong to @xxthunderthedragonxx !!!!!!!!
art is mine!!!
#silly.doodles#i forgot how to tag in my absence so no tags for you except that one. HAVE FUN#posted by popular demand (my bestie said i should and i am easily swayed)
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hey, I could ask the royal boys (Leona, Kalim and Malleus) with the male reader who is already the king of his country, like the boys thought he was a prince like them, but then on any given day he lets out a complaint how difficult it is to govern the kingdom and study for exams at the same time, sometimes he just wanted to be the prince and not the king.
characters: leona, kalim and malleus x king!male reader
tags: platonic, canon compliant, fluff, imagines + scenario format
warnings: a little bit of negativity towards reader in leona's part, a bit of swearing in kalim's
author's notes: loving all the male reader requests rn. i think i strayed a bit from the prompt but i hope you like it anyway <3
Leona Kingscholar
Though being a prince himself, he’s not as “diplomatic” with the other princes at that school - except for you probably. No don’t ask him what happened, he’s ready to accept it as it is
At least because of your (assumed) status, he finds it easier to communicate with you; at least you’re not one of the top five most powerful mages in the world or the most optimistic person in Twisted Wonderland
Hangouts with him still consist more of silent chilling though; both of you just need to get away from it all for a while
He doesn’t question the days that you’re gone - sometimes people just end up needing you to do this and that. He tries not to dwell on it too much, lest his inferiority complex gets the best of him
Until one day, you come back after one day of absence, which is normal enough until-
“*sigh* I swear, being king is less appealing as my retainers make it sound, especially since I also have to go to school all the while.”
I’m sorry, being what now?
He knew you were royalty, that much he got from everyone whispering about you back when you enrolled and since you made little mention of your background, he just assumed you were a prince like him
You let out a tired chuckle then and comment on how you forgot that you never told him you’re an actual king of a nation
He has mixed feelings over this - he thought he finally met someone a little bit like him, yet you’re just another one of them and you never bothered telling him who you are?
But don’t worry, he gets over his feelings of betrayal after a while; it’s not like the reveal changed who you are as a person. You’re still the same guy who he’s been hanging out with and he knows his brain is trying to defend itself
You apologize for not telling him sooner and despite your complaints, you try not to sound ungrateful, especially considering his issues
At some point, even Leona himself starts to forget about that fact
It doesn’t matter if you carry a whole nation on your shoulders because - and he will never say this out loud - he knows you’re capable and if you start to crumble, he’ll be there for you.
Kalim Al-Asim
Though he’s not one to really care about someone’s social status, he’s happy to have more royal friends
Doesn’t stop him from spoiling you. Haven’t you heard? Any friends of Kalim are also friends of his many, many fortunes
He invites you over to Scarabia for parties every so often and either you are surrounded by people or everyone leaves you alone out of intimidation
But hey, if the latter happens, Kalim is more than happy to help you make some friends (unless you’re uncomfortable with it of course but he’ll still try to help)
One time, at one of his many parties, you two were simply laughing over something and it reminded you of something-
“That makes me think of the time this creature took a shit on my throne back at home - it took a few days for the stench to fade!”
Oh, of course, your throne! Everyone totally has a literal throne back home! Until Kalim realizes that is, in fact, untrue
As if he wasn’t already excited at the prospect of a new friend, he gets more excited at the fact that you have your own throne and is, he concludes, a monarch
You brush him off, light pink decorating your cheeks, saying that it’s not really that special - and you mean it
You tell him of the experience and you couldn’t help slip in a few complaints; it isn’t easy to juggle both school and royal responsibilities at the same time
He only listens in and tries his best to understand; he is no king, and though he is a housewarden and a prince, your struggles differ from his by a long mile
From that day on, he makes sure to check in on you and if you’re feeling less than, he’ll drop everything and do anything to relieve you of your stress
When he drops by your nation and your palace, he brings in a whole parade. It’s so Kalim that you can only laugh
You knew that story about a creature shitting on your throne was gonna be a good story at parties.
Malleus Draconia
Your presence is an absolute delight to him; it didn’t occur to him to ask what kind of royalty you are but it didn’t matter either way
He finds himself more comfortable talking about his heritage around you, knowing that you can somewhat relate to being of nobility
If you’re not part of his club, sometimes you tag along on his gargoyle crusades for the hell of it - seeing him so passionate about something brings a smile to your face
On one of your many escapades, he points out a gargoyle and begins to ramble about its features
Hearing it suddenly makes you remember-
“Ah gosh, I just remembered I should be back home right now, some of my people will be coming over to construct some gargoyles around my castle.”
He doesn’t question it at first but then the phrase “my people” registered in his mind. Wait, what do you mean your people?
You start to apologize for not telling him and also the fact that you have to leave that very moment
After you came back after the whole ordeal, you sit him down somewhere and tell him about your position
As mentioned, it doesn’t matter to him what responsibilities you have, as long as you can be his friend
You breathe out a sigh of relief and invite him to continue where you two left off last time
Nothing changes much between you two, except for the fact that you share more of your kingly experiences
He definitely drops by your place at least once - he could never miss out a chance on seeing some new gargoyles
And as he looks on at those beautiful waterspouts, you can’t help but be grateful that they can serve as a source of happiness for someone too.
#writing#twst#twisted wonderland#twst x reader#twisted wonderland x reader#platonic twst x reader#platonic twisted wonderland x reader#twst x m!reader#twisted wonderland x m!reader#twst x male reader#twisted wonderland x male reader#leona kingscholar x reader#leona x reader#leona kingscholar#kalim al-asim x reader#kalim x reader#kalim al-asim#malleus draconia x reader#malleus x reader#malleus draconia
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Fall (Aka The Repairman WIP)
Continuing @ninzied tag game! It took me a while to find this one in my WIPs…then I decided to finish the story 😆 Enjoy!
“It’s only eighty degrees!” Karen rolls her eyes playfully at Foggy.
“Only eighty degrees!?! Only eighty! Karen -” Foggy holds up a limp piece of paper from the copier. “It’s so hot in here the paper is molting!”
“Alright! Alright! I’ll call the air conditioning guy back.” She spins on her black heels as if she can’t escape the break room fast enough.
Foggy sighs, wiping the sheen of sweat off his brow. He wishes Matt hadn’t stayed on vacation in LA after that swanky legal conference was over. He needs those super senses right now.
Something is going on with Karen and he can’t figure out what it is…
…Or why the air conditioner is such a point of contention.
When the AC went out in mid-June, Karen jumped on the task of getting it repaired.
Combed through Yelp and Google reviews like she was their office manager again - not the firm’s PI. After she’d narrowed it down to her top choice, Karen did what any self-respecting millennial would do: She made an appointment with the AC company online.
Foggy was sure he’d return from LA to a cool and comfy office - not a humid, oppressive Amazon jungle.
It was…weird. Karen’s not the type of person to let things fall by the wayside.
(Though he was impressed with the indoor plants Karen bought to decorate Nelson, Murdock, & Page in his absence. There’s a tall fiddle leaf fig tree in the waiting area, some pathos hanging from the bookshelf, and the vase of white roses on Karen’s desk is a nice touch.)
“Thank you,” he calls out to her closing office door. Silence except the sound of Karen rummaging through her purse for her cell phone. Then…
“Hey…”
He can hear her talking to someone, but the tone sounds…odd. How he wishes Matt was here to eavesdrop.
Two days later, Foggy walks into the office at 7am and practically dies of shock. Karen is already there: She’s leaning against the break room counter watering the nearby spider plant. An iced coffee and a single white rose are shielded by her purse – as though she tucked them away in hopes he wouldn’t notice.
***
He pretends not to; he has more important things to discuss…like the state-of-the-art Dyson Pure Cool fan in the corner.
“Where did that…Why…Why are you here so early?”
“The air conditioning guy came by. He needs a part to fix our unit. Left us the fan in the meantime.”
“But it’s seven in the morning.”
“He had a full schedule.”
She says it so matter-of-factly that Foggy decides to drop his interrogation. He just nods and goes over to the filing cabinet to look up the notes for his upcoming deposition. It isn’t until an hour later – as he’s basking in the blessedly cool breeze of the Dyson – that he realizes how early the repairman must have stopped by.
“Karen…?”
“Hmmm?” She’s sipping her iced coffee, scanning through a stack of files.
“Nothing.”
He returns to his case preparation. So what if his friend flirts to get the AC fixed. Who is he to judge.
***
It isn’t until later that evening – when he pops in the bodega by Marci’s apartment to get some tomatoes for the spaghetti sauce he’s making her – that Foggy begins to suspect the cause of Karen’s absentmindedness.
Whatever Happened to the Punisher?
The New York Bulletin headline glares up at Foggy from beside the register.
Suddenly he remembers that summer day Frank Castle’s face was all over the news for escaping Metro General. He remembers Karen walking into the office half a day late with no shoes on. It’s been…however long it’s been since then doesn’t matter. The day still holds significance for Karen.
***
Two nights later, he runs three blocks back to the office; he almost forgot his apartment key in his desk drawer. Foggy can feel the humidity sticking to his skin and it makes him irritable. The new silk shirt Marci bought him will need to be cleaned and not even stepping back into the office will provide relief.
When the hell is that air conditioning guy going to…
-
-
-
Foggy stops short as he opens the door to the lobby. The first thing that hits him is the cold feeling of circulating air. The second thing is the sight of tools strewn by the AC unit. The third thing…is the realization that a broad-shouldered man in a black t-shirt and jeans is cradling Karen’s hand to his cheek.
Upon hearing the door open, Karen and the man both jump up from the couch.
“Foggy! I…this…our AC is fixed!” Karen’s face is so red she might as well have been at the beach all day.
He bobs his head, eyes blinking at the air conditioning guy.
“Counselor. Good to see you.” Frank Castle’s deep voice is still as scary as ever, but the slight pink blush of his neck helps Foggy relax some.
“I…you. The papers said you’re dead. But you’re not…You’re…here…with Karen.” And now Foggy wants to die.
Castle gives a small chuckle. “I made a…big career change…couple months back. Buddy of mine who's good with tech stuff help me set up my website…And…yeah. I’m with her as long as she’ll let me be.”
Foggy doesn’t miss the hopeful look the former vigilante shoots Karen.
Karen – composure regained – smiles. “Give me a ten percent discount and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
To his surprise they both laugh. He smiles at Karen – happy to see her happy – as pulls up a chair.
There’s a story behind all this and at least Foggy has a cool, comfy spot to listen as his friend shares.
#kastle#frank x karen#kastle ff#kastleff#kastlenetwork#karen page#frank castle#kastle fic rec#kastle fam is the best fam#foggy nelson is a good bro#foggy nelson
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(OOC: Update + Apology—Long Post)
So I've been pretty much non-existent for the past 4 months or so BUT I can explain!
Basically what happened is that I emigrated to not just a different country, but a different continent on literally the other side of the world from where I grew up. And I left behind all my friends and family at home, meaning I came here alone and I'm still alone and probably will be alone for as long as I remain in this new country. So for the past few months I've been dealing with moving and settling down and making plans to secure my future in this new country—heck, just making sure I can have a future in this new country. I'm more or less settled into my new life now (except for the planning for the future part) but before that I kind of forgot about Melody for a while 🫥
So anyway the guilt ate away at my subconscious and Melody's voice came to me in a dream and berated me for abandoning her, so I woke up and quickly came to check on my baby. And I realise, to my utter mortification and horror, that I never paused my Tumblr queue, so all the half-baked ideas, the rough drafts, the tentative-but-not-in-chronological-order character development, had been posting itself while I was away 🫠. So if during the past 5 months you saw my blog degenerate into a bigger and bigger mess and wondered "What the heck is going on"—it's not you, it's me. Right now I'm just trying to salvage what I can of my blog (and my dignity) and reorganise everything I originally planned for Melody (tbh I forgot half of it but I'm sure the memories are in here somewhere, I just have to clean out the dust and oil the gears first).
Honestly I have no idea how many people follow(ed) Melody's story, I might as well be posting into the void for all I know. But like so many of the other RPers on this blog I started because I was bored and had some ideas in my head that wouldn't leave me alone, and over time I became attached to my OC and her story (perhaps unhealthily so). That's part of the reason why I decided not to just delete my blog and make my absence permanent. Because working on this self-indulgent project used to make me happy, and because I still have some ideas I want to share with whoever might be lurking around. Another reason is because of the community that welcomed me and that I personally watched grow. Even when this blog was at its 'most active' I probably didn't interact with other RPers as much as I should/could have (again, it's not you, it's me) but what little interaction we did have I truly did enjoy as we built and connected our own stories and characters while also interpreting the DC ones. I don't think I've said this before, and I don't think I'll ever say it enough, but really, thank you all for being willing to indulge me and play with me. This has been a lovely space to be in, and you guys combined are like 80% of the reason ❤️❤️❤️❤️
@florence-wayne-official @kit-the-nonbinary-wayne @that-one-gotham-kid @amira-wayne-al-ghul @warren-wayne-kyle @teagrayson + anyone I missed, knowing the rate at which this community grows there's bound to be at least one person I didn't tag (it's not a snub—again, not you, it's me and my bad memory—please don't be offended 🥺)
((idk if tagging everyone is proper etiquette after my prolonged absence, I was just going to say 'you know who you are' at first and leave it at that but I'm not sure if you guys actually know who you are 😅 so if I'm breaking some kind of unspoken Tumblr code of etiquette I apologise again))
(((I didn't mean for that above note to sound as rude as it did)))
ANYWAYS if you've read past the wall of text above to make it down here congratulations and thank you, I'll be doing my best to clean up/revise my blog and my OC and her story in the coming weeks and hopefully get some sort of continuity back on track :) I'm also trying to figure out what happened in the rest of the RP community in my absence so if I reply to a three-month-old post now: once again, it's not you, it's me, and there's totally no obligation to engage with.
Can't wait to hang out with the Batfamily again ☺️ plus all my RP siblings, half-siblings, future siblings, stepsiblings, undead siblings etc XD
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10 lines tagging game
Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway ❤️
thanks so much for the tags @unspeakable3 @leogichidaa @yletylyf ❤️
from padfoot regulus au [evil author's day] we have -
The fridge stood barren and empty. Sirius let the door go and it closed with a thump. Rummaging through the cupboards and drawers, he found them to be in a similar state, empty boxes and containers messily thrown in. How long has it been since he last properly lived here?
2. next, from feeling unmoored -
Hidden in the shadowy cover of trees, Sirius witnesses the people he once called family crowding each other, dressed in long black robes. Their faces are tight and worn, grim. Two funerals in a year, both from the main family, doesn’t pose as the best omen for the future of the family, he supposes.
3. from the longest fic I've published to date, Remembered Beauty -
The calm air of post-breakfast was disturbed by blaring noises, travelling to the kitchen through the static of Sirius’s Muggle radio. Regulus recognised the heart-racing sound as that of sirens—noises the Muggle ambulances made to declare emergency. Alarm and dread permeated his bones, settling into their favourite corner, by his heart.
4. then - our hearts beat as one
Stars faintly embroidered the premature night sky, twinkling behind thin rolling clouds, as they had done decades ago when Regulus had walked to his death. On the horizon, he saw the fading yellow of the setting sun. It was as if time hadn’t passed at all.
5. troubling nights
Ginny shudders as she wakes, the images behind her eyelids slowly withering away—creepers with inky leaves gnawing at her, snakes with swaying heads and stony bodies.
6. er—i'm a ghost now (tbh i forgot this existed)
“Wait, are you opening it now?” comes an indignant voice from behind Harry.
7. I wanted to add in some unpublished works too, so this is one from squib regulus au (Sirius POV) -
Halfway into his breakfast, Sirius noticed Regulus’ absence from the dining table.
8. this is from the first chapter of a fic I was co-writing with @green-and-grey-kenaz , a ghost!Sirius + time travel + Regulus lives AU
His eyes opened to a thick gloom. Sirius blinked, more than a little bit disoriented, and stared at the unfamiliar rocky walls surrounding him. It felt as if he were waking from a sleep, vision fogged, the last traces of a dream lingering in his mind.
I have more WIPs but most of them are in poor conditions so I'm going to stop here. I've come to the conclusion that my first lines contain a lot of description, and never dialogue (except once, and that was from 2021). which makes sense, since dialogue is one of my weaker points.
tagging @green-and-grey-kenaz @limetimo @artemisia-black @regulusarchieblack @broomsticks anddd anybody who sees this! I feel like most of you have been tagged already
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Valentine’s Day Blues
Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader
Synopsis: In the midst of planning Valentine’s Day and his brothers party, Tom forgets your birthday
happy birthday to @bluelilly21 !! 🥳
Masterlist
The first time you met Tom, you were crashing his brothers birthday party. In your defense, it was Valentine’s Day, as well as your birthday, and you didn’t want to be alone. So when your best friend said she was going with her boyfriend to some party, you tagged along.
“Hey mate. Thanks for the party. We’re gonna be heading out soon.” Tuwaine shouted over the music of Harry and Sam’s birthday party.
“Thanks so much for coming.” Tom said as he pulled him into a hug. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
“You too, mate. Wait one second.” Tuwaine turned around and found his girlfriend in the crowd. “I want you to meet my girlfriend”.
“Hi. I’m Yara.” A girl came from behind Tuwaine and put her hand out to shake Tom’s.
“And I’m bored.” You announced as you stumbled into Yara’s arms. “Can we go, please?”
“In a minute.” She laughed as she held you up. “I haven’t said goodbye to everyone yet.”
“But I did and if I stick around it’ll be awkward.” You whined in her ear, making Tom laugh. Yara gave Tom a look that told him this wasn’t her first time having to take care of you.
“I said my goodbyes already. I could stay with you until Yara is done.” Tom offered. You picked your head off of Yara’s shoulder and squinted at Tom, finally noticing that he was standing there.
“Yeah. Why don’t you stay with Tom?” Yara spoke in a motherly tone as she helped you stand up straight.
“But I don’t know him.” You whispered to her, just loud enough for Tom to hear. He understood you not wanting to be left alone with a stranger while drunk, so he didn’t take any offense to it.
“He’s Tuwaine’s best friend.” She assured you. “I wouldn’t leave you alone with someone I didn’t trust.”
“Okay.” You sighed before facing Tom. “But don’t try anything. I have a gun.”
“She doesn’t.” Yara whispered behind her hand. “Play nice.”
“Bite me.” You nipped at her, making her laugh.
“I will.” She smiled and pulled you into a hug. “Love you, girl.”
“Love you.” You mumbled before letting her go. She disappeared back into the crowd, leaving you alone with Tom. You were a little too drunk to remember your manners, so you just stared at him, unapologetically sizing him up.
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Tom.” Tom reached out to shake your hand.
“Y/n.” You told him as you dapped him up. Tom laughed a little at your movement and checked you out.
“How come I haven’t seen you before?” He asked, taking a step closer so you could hear him over the music.
“Excuse me.” You put on a voice. “I am homeless. I am gay. I have AIDS. And I’m new in town.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” Tom frowned. “Do you need a place to sleep tonight?”
“Dude, I’m joking.” You laughed in shock. “Haven’t you heard of John Mulaney?”
“No.” Tom shook his head. “Is he your friend?”
“He’s a comedian.” You said like it was obvious. “Don’t they have comedy in England?”
“Our teeth are pretty funny looking.” Tom shrugged, making you smile.
“Hm.” You looked him up and down. “Cute and funny.”
“So how much of what you just told me was true?” Tom asked as he took a sip of his drink.
“Nothing except for the fact that I’m new in town.” You seemed to sober up a little. “But Yara and I go way back.”
“Same with me and Tuwaine.”
“I know. He’s been talking you up to me for a year now.” You chuckled as you pulled a water bottle out of your bag.
“Has he?” Tom raised an eyebrow. “What did he say?”
“That what you lack in height you make up for in charm.” You insulted him flirtatiously.
“What’s the verdict?” Tom stepped closer again. “Was he right?”
“You’d really let me sleep at your place if I was homeless?” You questioned him and you decided whether you liked him or not.
“I would.”
“Well, then he was right.” You batted your eyelashes and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “You’re definitely short.”
“Damn.” Tom shook his head as you pulled away laughing.
“I’m sorry.” You chuckled. “But you’re pretty charming as well.”
“Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself.” Tom flirted.
“Guess what?” You went up on your tip toes to whisper in his ear. “It’s my birthday today.”
“Is it really?” He asked. “It’s my brothers birthday too.”
“Isn’t this their party?” You realized, and Tom nodded. “I hope you don’t mind I tagged along with Yara. I just broke up with my boyfriend and I didn’t want to be alone.”
“I don’t mind at all.” Tom told you. “I’m sorry about your breakup. Now that I know you’re single, you know what it really makes me want to do?”
“What’s that?” You raised an eyebrow.
“Get you a cab and make sure you get home safe.” Tom smiled softly as you as he gave you a comforting squeeze on your arm.
“That would be lovely.” You said in appreciation. You took Tom by the hand and began to walk with him towards the exit. “I’m glad I met you Tom.”
“I’m glad I met you too, darling.”
You didn’t kiss him that night, though you wanted to. It took about a month of knowing each other for you to finally kiss him. But once you did, you were inseparable.
It was a full year since the party, meaning yours and the twins birthday had come around again. It was also Valentine’s Day, your very first one with Tom. You woke up before him and walked into the kitchen, smiling at the dozen roses he had set on the table. Next to the roses was a box of chocolates at your spot at the kitchen table, but no birthday card. You furrowed your eyebrows a little but didn’t have time to think about it when your phone rang. You answered it and thanked the person for the birthday wishes as Tom entered the room.
“Sorry.” You smiled as you put your phone down. “I had a phone call.”
“Good morning. Happy Valentine’s days.” Tom’s voice was husky with sleep as he pulled you into a long kiss.
“Happy Valentine’s Day to you too.” You smiled against his lips before kissing him again.
“I have to call my brothers before I forget.” Tom kissed your forehead before pulling away. “Then I’ll make you breakfast.”
“Yeah.” You narrowed your eyes at him to see if he was joking. “You wouldn’t want to forget a birthday.”
Tom didn’t take the hint as your phone began to ring again.
“Your phone is ringing again?” He raised his eyebrows. “Someone’s popular.”
“I guess I am.” You mumbled, realizing that he had indeed forgotten. You took your phone call and tried to give Tom the benefit of the doubt. It was his brothers birthday, after all. Maybe he was just waiting to say it to them first. You came back to the kitchen after the call just as Tom was putting pancakes on the table.
“There you are.” He grinned and made grabby hands at you. “I want to spend every second together until the party. It kinda sucks our first Valentine’s Day together is also my brothers birthday. I’d rather spend the day with you.”
“It’s okay.” You shrugged sadly. “Birthdays are important.”
“I know.” He ironically agreed. “Maybe we can leave early and have some alone time.”
“Sure baby.” You faked a smile. “Let’s just eat, okay?”
You didn’t want to fight with him, especially on Valentine’s Day, so you made peace and sat down with him to eat breakfast. You were hurt that he had forgotten your birthday, but he at least remembered Valentine’s Day. You decided that that was better than nothing and tried to push it from your mind.
Tom had a few last minute errands to run before his brothers party, which you were slightly relieved about. You didn’t really want to spend the day with him after he forgot your birthday. He kissed you goodbye multiple times, harping on how sorry he was to leave you on Valentine’s Day. You sighed deeply once he left, feeling tears threaten your eyes in his absence. Every time he mentioned the party or Valentine’s Day, you were reminded that he had forgotten about you.
Tom came home once you had already started getting ready. You had your dress on and were talking a phone call as he got dressed.
“Are you almost ready to go, love?” Tom asked as he buttoned his shirt.
“One minute.” You mouthed as you pointed to your phone. The conversation finished up quickly and you hung up.
“Did someone leak your phone number or something?” Tom wondered. “It’s been going off all day.”
“Oh, you know.” You shrugged, not wanting to start something. “It’s a special occasion.”
“Valentine’s day is not that special.” He laughed as he came behind you to look in the mirror. “But you look beautiful.”
“Thank you.” You smiled tightly as you put in your earrings. Tom went in to kiss you, but you moved so he’s only get your cheek. He clocked your strange behavior but shrugged it off as he grabbed his keys.
~
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY BITCH!” Yara screamed from across the room when she saw you at the party. She ran to you and threw her arms around you, squeezing you tightly. She kissed both your cheeks before placing a tiara on your head.
“There. So everyone knows you’re the birthday girl.” She smiled proudly as she fixed your hair.
“Thank you.” You grinned as you squeezed her hands. “I appreciate you.”
“Well it’s my best friends birthday. I had to do something.” She shrugged playfully. “What did Tom get you?”
“Tom forgot.” You blurted, trying to keep a straight face. “He hasn’t said anything yet.”
“What?” Yara’s face fell. “He threw his brothers this party but didn’t even wish you a happy birthday?”
“There’s a lot going on today.” You tried to defend him. “He wished me a happy Valentine’s Day. And he got me roses.”
“It’s your birthday.” She didn’t let up. “It is his girlfriends birthday. He should know that.”
“It’s okay.” You shrugged it off, but she could tell you were upset.
“It’s not.” She didn’t let up. “Where is he now?”
“Last time I saw him, he was with Tuwaine.” You told her. “I didn’t really want to be around him right now.”
“Good.” Yara nodded as she fixed your hair. “Leave him be until he figures it out.”
“Is that the birthday girl?” A familiar voice came from behind you, making you smile.
“Happy birthday, you two.” You greeted Sam and Harry as you handed them separate birthday cards.
“Happy birthday to you too, princess.” Harry teased as he flicked your tiara. They pulled you into a group hug that lingered while Sam rubbed your back.
“This is for you.” Sam handed you a card.
“And this is from us.” Harry winked as he handed you a small black box.
“Thanks guys.” You smiled in appreciation. “I put your gifts in the back room. Should I get them?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Sam waved his hand. “Open it.”
You opened the box and found a thin black brackets with a straight metal pendant. The pendant had dots and lines going across it, making you look at the twins in confusion.
“It says “Holland” is Morse code. We have them too.” Harry explained as he showed you his matching bracelet.
“It’s to show that you’re part of our family now.” Sam added. “So people know you’re our sister.”
“Thats…” ,you stared at the bracelet for a moment, feeling sentimental tears coming to your eyes, “that’s really sweet, guys. Thank you. That means a lot to me.”
You pulled them into another group hug before letting them get back to their party.
“They remembered.” Yara gave you a pointed look.
“I should probably get back to the party.” You changed the subject, not wanting to sit in self pity. “Thank you for the tiara. You’re the best best friend I could ask for.”
“You’re welcome.” Yara told you as she hugged you tightly. “Happy birthday. I’m sorry your boyfriend is dumb.”
You gave her a look before heading back to the main area of the party. The second you saw Tom, you felt a disappointment in your stomach. He was laughing and having a good time while you were upset. You wished you didn’t care as much as you did, but you were hurt. He had forgotten your birthday and didn’t seem to care.
“Hey. There you are.” Tom smiled when he spotted you, already tipsy as he tried to hug you. “Are you enjoying the party?”
“Yeah.” You said flatly and moved away from him. “I’m gonna go get a drink.”
Tom pouted briefly at your odd behavior as Yara and a friend of yours approached him.
“Where’s your girlfriend?” Your friend, KC, shouted over the music.
“She just left to get a drink.” Tom told her. “She’ll be back soon.”
“Good.” KC nodded. “I have to wish her happy birthday. I called her first thing this morning but I want to tell her in person.”
“It’s my brothers birthday, actually.” Tom corrected her. “They’re over by the pool table.”
“I know.” She laughed shortly. “But it’s Y/n’s birthday too.”
“She’s a Valentine’s baby.” Yara said sweetly while shooting daggers at Tom. “Isn’t that so cute?”
“What?” Tom jutted his head back. “It’s not her birthday. Her birthday is-“
“Today.” KC raised an eyebrow at Tom. “Did you not know?”
“I think he knew.” Yara stated with a hand on her hip. “He just forgot.”
“Oh no. I’m such an asshole.” Tom covered his mouth with his hand. “I can’t believe I forgot her birthday.”
“She couldn’t believe it either.” Yara shrugged. “You’re not gonna live this one down. This is exactly what happened last time.”
“Don’t say that.” KC said in a hushed tone, making Tom grow concerned.
“What do you mean?” Toms eyes darted between the two of them. “What happened last time?”
“Her ex did this last year and she was totally devastated.” KC told him. “He texted her “happy v day” and did nothing all day. They didn’t last a day after that.”
“Really? That’s why they broke up?” Tom began to panic. He knew about the ex, but you had never told him why you broke up.
“Yeah. She felt ignored.” Yara said unsympathetically towards Tom. “She was crying at my apartment until I brought her to your brothers party. That’s when you met, dummy.”
“Oh no.” Tom whined and looked around for you. “Do you think she’ll forgive me?”
“I’m not so sure.” KC shook her head.
“Why do you say that?” Tom panicked at her confidence.
“Because I’m pretty sure she just left.” KC said as she pointed behind Tom. Tom wiped around right as you walked out the door. Harry and Sam were standing near by, still waving to you as you left. Tom rushed over to them, already seeing the disappointment on their faces before he got there.
“Dude, what did you do?” Harry asked, a little annoyed with Tom. “You didn’t wish Y/n a happy birthday?”
“You literally met on her birthday last year.” Sam added. “How could you forget that?”
“I don’t know!” Tom groaned, angry with himself. “It completely slipped my mind. I got her chocolates and roses though.”
“For Valentine’s Day.” Harry interjected. “Not her birthday. You’ve been together for almost a year and you didn’t wish her happy birthday. That’s cold, mate.”
“What did she say to you guys?” Tom asked. “Was she upset?”
“She was crying.” Sam told him, making Tom hang his head in shame.
“I gotta go.” Tom decided. “I have to make it up to her.”
“You can try.” Harry shrugged. “I don’t really think she wants to talk to you.”
“And I don’t really blame her.” Sam mumbled under her breath. Tom let out another sigh before getting his things and leaving the party. He stopped by the store to get a few things before driving home to you.
~
Once Tom got home, he peered around a wall and found you sitting on the couch reading a book. He took a deep breath before putting on his most apologetic smile.
“Happy birthday.” Tom said weakly as he presented you with a cupcake. He sat down on the couch next to you but you didn’t budge.
“Who told you?” You asked without looking up. Tom sighed and set the cupcake on the coffee table so he could talk to you.
“Yara.” He admitted, and you nodded like you were expecting that. You continued to read your book, putting a nervous feeling in Toms stomach.
“I’m so sorry, princess.” He apologized as he put a hand on your knee. “I completely forgot.”
“I noticed.” You replied coldly, removing his hand.
“How can I make it up to you?” He asked sweetly, hoping you’d give a little.
“It’s fine.” You sighed. “There was a lot going on today. It’s Valentine’s Day and it’s your brothers birthday. And hey, at least you remembered those.”
“It’s not fine.” He frowned. “I can tell you’re upset. I’m so sorry.”
You finally put your book down and stared straight ahead, not knowing what you wanted to say yet.
“I am upset.” You said, like you were admitting it to yourself. “And I’m not sure why.”
“Because I forgot your birthday.” Tom reminded you quietly.
“But it’s only your first offense.” You thought out loud. “This is just strike one.”
“What?” Tom furrowed his eyebrows. “I’m not following, love.”
“I’m trying to say that you’ve been a really good boyfriend so far.” You finally looked at him. “You pay attention and communicate your feelings and go out of your way to make me happy. You have been a picture perfect boyfriend for the past year and all the sudden…”
“I fucked up.” Tom finished your sentence for you. You laughed softly and nodded.
“Yeah.” You agreed. “So I’m not sure how to react. On the one hand, you forgot my birthday. On the other hand, you were busy all day getting me roses and chocolates and throwing an amazing party for your brothers because that’s the kind of guy you are. Should I be mad that you’re so thoughtful that you took too much on?”
“Are you asking me?” He laughed a little.
“I am.” You softened up and smiled at him. “Because I don’t know what to do. I’m upset you forgot my birthday, but I also know why you forgot. So I’m at a bit of a crossroads right now.”
“Well, the party was no excuse to forget.” Tom didn’t let himself off the hook. “I should have remembered.”
“Yes, you should have.” You agreed. “But this has happened to me before. And the last time it happened, I didn’t get an apology and a cupcake.”
“Yara told me about your ex.” Tom said softly as he put his hand on your knee again. This time, you let him. “I’m not like him.”
“I know you’re not.” You smiled weakly. “You’ve spent the past year proving to me that you’re nothing like him. So yes, I’m upset. But I’m also ready to forgive you.”
“You are?” He asked hopefully, leaning closer to silently ask for a kiss.
“I am.” You accepted his kiss and he smiled in relief. “Just don’t do it again.”
“I won’t.” He promised. “Thank you for forgiving me. I love you.”
“I love you too.” You smiled at him. “Now give me that cupcake.”
Tag List 🏷
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#tom holland x reader#tom holland x you#tom holland fluff#tom holland fanfiction#tom holland imagine#tom holland angst#peter parker x reader#peter parker x y/n#peter parker x you#iron man#peter parker fanfiction#peter parker imagine
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Fives - Anchor
Pairing: Fives x reader
Word Count: 1450 words
CW/ TW: Angst; mourning/loss, death, letter, anniversary, pain, brooding, it’s very heavy and sensitive so please proceed with caution and let me know if I didn’t TW something you deemed necessary; also a bit more hopeful/ light toward the end because my heart couldn’t handle that much sadness tonight
Tags: @chaoticvampirejedi @loth-wolffe @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s @tacticalsparkles @imalovernotahater @canwestayinthisdream @wakeupjackthisisntfair @namesmox @badbatch-simp24 @lightning-wolffe @maddieskywalker @for-the-love-of-clones @m-e-w-117 @99squad
@ladykatakuri @firelordillyria @andiebell2023
Notes: I guess I missed him a lot tonight… Sorry for the pain
Some elements included in this fic are inspired from chats I had with @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s ; thank you little moon for being an inspiration to me ���
Iridescent - Linkin Park
.
0000.
Happy anniversary Fives.
Though I don’t see how it could be happy, when you’re everywhere but here. I never grew used to your absence, I never could; not when you’re haunting my every move, haunting this place and this world, finding your way back to me through faint memories and thousand of faces walking up to my office every day, asking me about my day and if I feel well.
I have to look at the ghost of you, every single time, and lie.
“I’m fine. What can I do for you?”
And I hear your voice again, and again. It tells me about the pain running through your back, the nightmares hitting harder than usual, and the fear eating you alive every time you get out of your hard, cold bed.
But it’s not you. It never is. I never could be.
I stopped buying your shampoo. I couldn’t even bring myself to finish the bottle we had in the shower. It’s still there, hidden somewhere in the bathroom, waiting to be emptied and thrown away carelessly, in such a mundane way one could so easily forget about it. But I can’t throw it away; it’s not mundane anymore.
I hid the jewels too, except for the bracelet. I hate to wear it, but I hate even more to put it away. I just feel…I feel naked when I don’t have it, and empty when I do. I can’t help but see you – feel you – through the shades of blue and black. What was once the purest blessing turned into the worst curse, and I can’t break it. I almost did – breaking the bracelet. I almost did.
I could if I really wanted to; but then I would lose you again, and I just…
I gave your aprons to the boys. I couldn’t stand to see them, neatly hanging in the kitchen. They were silly anyway, and I had no use for them. I’m a doctor after all, not a cook.
I published my thesis on the clones’ rights, and it is being presented to the Senate by Senator Amidala as we speak. I told her I wouldn’t be able to be there for her discourse, and she simply hugged me. I wish she hadn’t.
0527.
It’s been a year, yet it feels like yesterday. Everyone moved on; everyone but me, and I can’t help but be mad. I am mad that they forgot so easily about you, that they brushed you off as “another collateral damage”, another…clone. It’s the way they say it when they try to comfort me.
You were more than a clone. More than a soldier, and more than a man.
You were Fives.
You were my anchor, and I was your ocean.
I miss the way you said it. Coming home to me, tired, features drained and eyes darkened by the horrors of your latest campaign; but always soft and caring through the hoarseness of your voice as you whispered it against my skin. You always found a way to be there for me; for everyone, even when you were losing yourself in your own prison.
I am mad at you because of that. Because you couldn’t stand back for once, be egoistic and think of yourself instead of trying to play the hero in the dark. They killed you because you didn’t wait, not even when I asked you – begged you to. I am so angry because I called you an idiot, and all you could answer me was “I love you too, my ocean. My anchor.”
You didn’t even let me say it back.
1134.
I am mad at myself. You trusted me enough to tell me everything, and you knew I would believe you. And when you tried to do something about it, I called you an idiot. I wasn’t even there with you; I should have been there with you. I could have saved you.
Fives…
I remember the first time you came home. At the time, it was still “my place”, but the moment you stepped in it stopped being mine only. I always told you to come by if you needed; and the one time you did, we ended up laughing so hard the neighbour had to knock at the door. But it felt good. I guess that day I gave you a part of myself, and you carried it with you ever since. I suppose it died with you, too.
I know I shouldn’t be so broody; I can almost hear you, your chuckles filling the room, your hands pressing down my shoulders as you tell me “it’s a celebration, smile for me!”; and the smell of that shampoo tickling my nose as you come close to lay a kiss on my cheek…
But now the only thing I can feel are the tears, and that twisting ache in my chest, burning my skin and ripping my lungs apart. I can’t even breathe correctly anymore, I…
1745.
I’m sorry I had you waiting.
I fell asleep on the table, and woke up because of the cold. It’s always cold in here now. I borrowed one of your old sweatshirt - I hope you don’t mind. I kept them. I almost gave them to the boys, along with the aprons; but then I thought they could always come in handy.
They do. When days like today happens; days where I feel too lonely, where I miss you too much and it just feels too cold, I slip into one and hold it so close to me it almost feels like you’re here. My arms become yours, your faint perfume comes back to me fresh and soft, and I sometimes swear I can feel your warmth against my skin. I close my eyes when I do that, and it stops being a dream for a second.
For just a second, you’re back. You never truly left.
And when I open my eyes again; when I realise what it is all about, I still feel you. I see the bracelet, smell the black tissue, watch one of these B movie we used to laugh at and somehow I feel the best and worst I’ve felt in a long time.
I wish you were here. I wish I could tell you how much I missed you and how beautiful you are; if I could hold you tight, one last time... I didn’t even get to hug you one last time. I didn’t know it would be it; else I wouldn’t have let you go.
Echo is supposed to come around today. He told me he would. He didn’t forget about you either, you know. Neither did Rex, or Jesse, or Kix. Your vode didn’t forget about you. They always make sure to keep you alive, tell everyone about you and remember them of who you were.
Echo always says you’re his best friend. He never uses the past tense. I can’t blame him; I still say you’re the love of my life whenever people ask me. I guess we know deep down these things will never change. We don’t want it to change.
Wait, someone knocked.
2226.
When was the last time we laughed like that? For once, we turned the tears into something better; lighter. I’m sure you would be proud of us.
Of course, you would be proud of us.
It almost feels good to see you through Echo; to find glimpses of you in his smile, the faint spark in his eyes when he retells your best pranks, and the way he chuckles...I almost feel at home right now. With you. Not quite, but close enough.
Enough to make me smile, for the first time today.
Echo says hi. He’s watching me writing to you. He asked me to tell you that Rex lit a candle for you this morning, and the boys had a little something for you; but I can’t know what; apparently I “wouldn’t understand anyway”. So I hope – we hope – that you liked it. We’re probably going to watch a bad movie and mock the poor acting until we fall asleep, and tomorrow we will…We’ll probably think of you again, but hopefully there won’t be as much tears as today.
I guess it’s a battle worth fighting. Not for the Republic or the Greater Good; not for the Senate or the Chancellor. Not for the Jedis or the Galaxy.
No, it’s a battle we fight for you, Fives. Let us be your anchor, for once, and rest easy now, because more than anything or anyone else out there… you deserve it.
2359.
Happy anniversary Fives.
I love you too, my Anchor.
- Your Ocean.
#star wars#the clone wars#tcw#fives#arc trooper fives#letter#echo#arc trooper echo#fives x reader#arc trooper fives x reader#fives my beloved#Sad Hour for Fives#again i am sorry for the pain#mesa writes#tcw fic#sw fic
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The Right Chapter 3 || Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader
Hey gang, I wanted to give y’all another update this week because I know there wasn’t a lot of hotch in the last chapter. This is a long one!
Read previous chapters here!
wordcount: 3.6k
warnings: canon-typical harassment and violence, swearing
tagging: @the-modernmary @greeneyedblondie44 @angelic-kisses13 @wanniiieeee
It’s closer to the afternoon than the morning when you finally get out of bed the next day. Aaron had set you up in his guest room before going to bed himself, and had dutifully woken you up every two hours. You emerged into the kitchen to see him sitting at the table with his laptop open, surely working even though he was technically out on sick leave.
“Good morning” he says when he sees you appear in the doorway. “The coffee’s still hot, if you want some. I don’t have any RedBull, though.”
You rolled your eyes as you crossed the kitchen to make yourself a cup. “Is it still morning? It feels like I must have slept through the whole day.”
“Well, you needed it. Long night.” He tells you, and you let out a little hum in response. “Hey, uh. Your cell phone is on the counter. It was making a lot of noise and I didn’t want it to wake you.” he admits sheepishly. “I didn’t read anything, but Josh’s name popped up a lot.”
You pouted a little. “I guess I did kind of just disappear. I probably owe him an explanation,” you said, crossing the kitchen and picking your phone up.
“You don’t owe him a god damned thing.” Hotch said a little harshly, but you knew his tone wasn’t aimed towards you.
You powered your phone on-- Hotch must have turned it on after he took it. 13 missed calls and 27 texts, sheesh. Not all of them are from Josh, thankfully. You shoot a quick text back to JJ, Garcia and Emily, who had all individually checked in when you didn’t show up at the office. With a little more trepidation, you opened up your thread with Josh.
“Where are you?”
“You never came to bed last night.”
“Off fucking the boss man?”
“Did I catch you before you got down to anything good?”
“Fucking slut.”
“Couldn’t even finish cleaning the carpet before you left.”
“Fucking answer me.”
“Did I bash your skull so hard that you forgot to pack my lunch before you left?”
“This is ridiculous.’
“So you’re just running away?”
“Don’t be such a baby.”
“You are so in for it when you get home.”
“I should have killed you.”
There’s more, but you’re not sure you can stomach it. You drop your phone to the counter, swallowing back a bit of bile that has risen up from your stomach. Aaron is at your side in an instant.
“Can I look?” He asked quietly. He’s looking you right in the eye but you feel like you can’t see him at all, like he’s not really there. You must have nodded your head, because he picked up your phone and started scrolling, but you have no way of knowing how you even told your body to do that. After a moment, he sets your phone face down on the counter, and turns to face you, placing a gentle hand on each of your upper arms. “We are going to figure it out, okay? You’re not in this alone, and I’m not going to let you get hurt again. You did the right thing. You got out. And now you have help.”
He’s staring into your eyes as he promises to keep you safe, and the dam breaks. All of the emotions that you’ve bottled up for the last ten hours are flooding through you, and you’re sobbing uncontrollably before you have even recognized how upset you really are. Aaron gathers you up in his arms in an instant, and you wrap your arms around him, crying into his old sweatshirt.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you. Let it all out,” he whispers in a mantra, rubbing your back.
You realize in this moment that Aaron is truly your best friend-- you’d always known that you were closer to him than anyone else in the office, and the same was true for him, with the possible exception of Dave. What you hadn’t realized, is that somewhere along the way, your college friendships, your academy friendships, your girlfriends, had all faded into the background, and Aaron became the person you wanted to tell good news to, the person you drew comfort from, and the person you called when you realized you couldn’t get the blood out of the carpet. The realization surprises you, enough to let you get a few deep breaths in and calm yourself down, untucking from Aaron’s shoulder and dabbing at your eyes with your shirt sleeve.
“Thank you,” you say through your choked voice, even though it could never be enough.
“How’s your head?” He asked, looking over the top of your head to the clock on the stove to see if it was time for you to have more pain meds.
“Ah, well, I don’t think the crying really helped.” You shrugged, attempting to bring some levity back to the situation as you picked your phone back up.
“What are you doing?” Hotch asked, eyeing you and the phone.
“I’m calling Josh back.” You said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Okay, now I’m sure you hit your head,” he said, swiping the phone out of your hand before you could place a call.
“Hotch--”
“Can you at least tell me why you want to do this?” He said, and you can see the concern etched into his face.
“I’ve got to go back at some point. I’m sure it’ll be easier for him to cool off if I’m not completely ignoring him in the meantime.”
“Go back? What are you talking about?” Aaron asked
“I live there, Hotchner. I can’t avoid him forever. Even if I move--”
“You’ll stay here. For as long as necessary. It’s not safe for you to go back there.” He says, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“Do I get a say in this at all?”
“Not if your only defense is that you don’t want someone else to take care of you. Because right now you need caring for, and I’m not letting you talk your way out of it.” Hotch said resolutely, and you sighed. The silence lingers for a moment before you speak up again, quietly.
“I could use some more pain meds.” You admitted.
“You shouldn’t take these on an empty stomach. Let’s get you some toast, drink your coffee to clear up your sinuses and then you can take your next dose and go back to bed.”
“Hotch, the day’s half over. I can’t go back to bed.” You argued, with significantly less heat behind it, lifting the steaming mug of coffee up to your face at his suggestion.
“It’s a sick day. You’re injured. You’re supposed to rest all day and let your body heal. You won’t be arguing with me once you’ve taken the pills.”
Hotch had tried to get you to take the rest of the week off, but you couldn’t stand the thought of sitting around in his apartment doing nothing. You also knew that an extended absence would catch the attention of your teammates-- and you weren’t sure if you were ready to share all of this with them yet. That was why you were perched in front of the mirror in Hotch’s guest room, liberally applying concealer and powder to your healing black eye. Aaron had made you promise to take it easy, and you already know he’d have eyes on you all day to make sure you weren’t overdoing it. No need to attract any more attention. There’s a soft knock from the hall.
“Come in,” you called.
“Hey,” Hotch said, swinging open the door. “We’ve got to leave in a few minutes.”
“I’ll be ready,” you assured him, dipping your brush into the powder before brushing it over your nose and cheekbone, wincing a little.
“When did you learn to do that?” Hotch asked softly.
“Hotch…” You responded softly.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. You don’t need to answer that.” He apologized, averting his gaze to the floor.
“If I answer, are you going to stop blaming yourself for not noticing?”
“I can’t promise you that.” He shakes his head.
“I wasn’t… I’m not a battered woman, Hotch.”
“Of course you aren’t.” He’s quick to affirm you, to make sure you know he doesn’t see you as a victim.
“No, I mean, this was excessive. Was he rough? Sure. Did he leave marks? Yeah, he did. But I wasn’t getting tossed around and beaten like that. He’s not really like that, normally. He was just drunk, I think.”
“You’re not seriously making excuses for him, are you?” Hotch asked, and suddenly you’re indignant, even though you know he’s right.
“He had a bad night.” You protest weakly.
“He almost killed you!” Aaron raised his voice, just a tad.
“He was just trying to scare me.” You countered.
“He was escalating. I know that you know that,” Hotch said, searching your face, looking for something to profile. You didn’t blame him, you knew your behavior was erratic. You draw a deep breath, your chin quivering as your eyes welled up.
“It worked. I’m scared.” You squeaked out, trying not to let the tears fall and ruin the makeup you’ve worked so hard on. Hotch wrapped you in his arms again and you breathed in deeply, letting his cologne fill your lungs and lull you into a calm.
“You don’t need to be scared. I’ve got your six. I’ve got you.” He reminded you, and you pulled away from him.
“I don’t think I’m ready to share this with the team yet.” You told him, and he nodded.
“Like I said, your pace. When you’re ready, you’ll tell them, and if you want my support, I’ll be there. I’m gonna go make us some coffee, meet me in the kitchen when you’re ready.”
You were silly to think that you could hide anything from a group of profilers-- none of them have guessed it, yet, or if they have, they’re too polite to say anything about it, but they’ve certainly noticed something. They surrounded you with concern and peppered you with questions the second you walked into the office, and Hotch’s devotion to making sure you weren’t pushing yourself too hard certainly wasn’t going unnoticed. It was during one of your Unit-Chief-Mandated-Breaks that you snuck into the kitchen to refill your water bottle. Almost silently, JJ slipped in behind you.
“You know, you can just say the word, and we’ll all stop pestering you.” She says, and you can hear her gentle smile.
“That’s okay. If I call you off, I lose the right to fuss over whoever’s next.” You tried to crack a joke.
“Good point.” She chuckled.
“I really am okay, Jayje.” You assured her.
“No, honey, you aren’t.” She shook her head. “But you’ll tell us when you’re ready, and we’ll support you even if the secret dies with you.” She laughs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you walked out of the kitchen together, sharing a small conspiratorial laugh, your heads thrown back as you pass through the doorway. When the ping of the elevator doors opening grabs your attention, you drop your water bottle in shock.
“You okay?” JJ asks, bending over to pick up your water bottle as he storms through the glass doors of the BAU.
“You whore!” Josh spat out, catching the attention of the whole bullpen. So much for keeping them out of it.
“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” Morgan asked, rising from his desk immediately.
“Josh?” Emily says, the first one to recognize him. Your eyes dart around the bullpen, and you spot Reid at his desk phone, no doubt calling security.
“You fucking bitch!” Josh says, still advancing towards you. Your brain is screaming at you to run but you can’t get your legs to move. It’s a literal childhood nightmare, playing out in the flesh.
“Come on, let’s go back into the kitchen” JJ says softly, her tone betraying none of her fear as she practically shoves you back into the kitchen. You stumble into a chair, and the sound is muted because of the door, but you can still see and hear everything through the glass. Josh takes another step into the bullpen, but Morgan’s in front of him.
“Turn around and walk out of here, man, because there’s no other way this ends well for you.” Morgan puffs out his chest, trying to stop Josh from looking over his shoulder and seeing you.
“Not until that slut gives me some fucking answers,” He spits out, and you feel JJ squeeze your hand, but you’re too laser-focused on the scene in front of you to acknowledge her.
“I’m going to give you one more chance to walk away.” Morgan hisses through his teeth, advancing closer to Josh.
“I’d listen to him if I were you.” Hotch said, suddenly appearing on the other side of Josh. You hadn’t seen him come down the stairs.
“Ah, good old boss man.’ Josh jeered. “How’s my sloppy seconds? I hope she’s treating you real good seeing as how you stole her right out from under me in the night.”
Without warning, you watch Hotch’s fist connect with Josh’s face. Josh stumbles away, holding his nose, when security comes in through the elevators.
“I’m leaving, I’m leaving.” He says, raising his hands in surrender. He turns around to face Hotch once more. “This isn’t over.” He says, bringing his hands back to his nose and following the security officer into the elevator.
There’s a stunned sort of silence that hangs over the unit for a few moments before you hear someone break out into a sob. When you feel JJ’s hand start rubbing across your back, you realize that it came from you. The door flies open and you startle, but when you look up, you see a clouded figure of Hotch through your tear-saturated eyes.
You hear JJ and Aaron whisper to each other, but you can’t focus enough to hear what they’re saying. Whatever it is, the conversation ends with JJ slipping out of the kitchen just as quietly as she came, and Aaron sliding into the chair across from you.
“Can I touch you?” He asked, his voice only just loud enough for you to hear over the sound of your own labored breathing. You nodded, unable to verbally respond. He smoothed his hands over your shoulders, down your arms, taking your hands into his own. “You’re okay, he’s gone. Security knows who he is now, he won’t be allowed back in the building.” He tells you, and you nod again.
“I’m okay.” You manage to choke out.
“I need you to take some deep breaths for me, okay? You’re going to make yourself sick.” He asked of you, disarmingly calm, as he modeled the deep cleansing breaths for you. You take a deep, shaky breath in, trying to force the oxygen all the way down into your lungs before letting it back out in a huff. “Good,” he told you. “Good job, sweetheart, keep going.” he encouraged you, tucking a piece of hair that had gotten stuck to your tear-stained cheek behind your ear. When you were finally calm enough to look up at him, you did so. “There you are,” he smiled at you. “You’re okay.”
“I’m okay. Your hand--”
“I’m okay--” He assured you, but you flipped his hand over in your own anyways. It’s swollen.
“You need ice.” You said, standing up and crossing to the freezer.
“You need to sit down before you fall.” Aaron stood up to follow you, shaking his head.
“I took my deep breaths, Hotch. I’m not an eighty year old woman.” You chastised him as you pulled a few ice cubes out of the freezer, putting them in a plastic bag and wrapping a paper towel around it.
“My hand is fine.” He argued with you as you pressed the ice pack to his knuckles.
“You are in absolutely no position to argue with me about letting someone else take care of you, hypocrite.” You fought back, with nothing but concern behind it.
“Okay, fine, but can you sit down, please.” He begged of you.
“Don’t I owe the rest of the team an explanation for all of that?”
“They can wait. Sit down.” He said, and it was no longer a request. You sat down in the seat across from him. “How’s your head?”
‘It’s been better.” You tell him honestly.
“Take a few more deep breaths, please.” He tells you, and you roll your eyes.
“Hotch, I’m--”
“You’re holding your breath. Your shoulders are practically touching your ears. Plus, it would make my hand feel better.” He says, shooting you a grin that would be wholly inappropriate for the situation if it didn’t make you feel so at ease.
You roll your eyes at him in mock-contempt, taking the breaths to appease him and dropping your shoulders. “How is your hand, seriously?”
“I’m fine. I’ve thrown my fair share of punches.” He smirked at you, still trying to distract you, to lighten the mood. “We can just leave. You must need more pain meds, if not a nap. We don’t have to get into all of it today.”
“Well, they all basically know now. We should probably just go to clear the air that I’m not sleeping with you for a promotion.”
“If you’re not up to it, we can--”
“No, Hotch.” You stand up, shaking your head at him through a smile. “Let’s go get it over with.”
The team, of course, didn’t need you to explain that all of what Josh had said was false. Your integrity and the trust shared between all of you was louder than any stupid asshole that could bluster in through those glass doors. You’d cried all of your makeup off, so your black eye was now fully exposed to the team. Aaron left a protective hand on the small of your back the whole time you spoke, never once speaking over you or interrupting. As soon as you finished, you felt silly for ever thinking you needed to hide this from them-- they were supportive without being pitying, and JJ, Emily and Garcia had wrapped you up in hugs just as soon as you finally got it all off your chest.
“We’re going to head out, obviously call us if there’s an urgent case notification.” Aaron explained to the team. “You all should feel free to leave as soon as your paperwork is done.”
“Hotch, I’m really fine,” you tried to insist.
“Are you gonna tell the team they have to keep working?” Aaron quirked an eyebrow at you and you scowled, knowing there was no going back now. “I’m just going to pack some of my stuff up.” He told you, turning back to his office. You followed suit, going to your desk and tidying up.
“Hey, cupcake.” Morgan whistled to get your attention before crossing the bullpen to get to you. “If I had known--if I had seen that bruise on your face before he walked in here -- I would have taken him down myself. Hotchner showed an... impressive amount of restraint.” He told you with a humorless chuckle.
“Thank you, Derek. But he’s not worth it, seriously.” You told him with a smile.
“No, he’s not.” He agreed. “But you are. Don’t you forget that, okay? If you need anything, I’m here.”
Instead of responding verbally, you pushed yourself up onto your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his neck in a hug. He wrapped his arms around you snugly, crushing you into his chest. It hurt, a little, but the overwhelming security you found with him holding you was far stronger than any pain.
You pulled away and bid your goodnights to the team, following Aaron out to the car taking off towards his apartment.
“You were really brave back there. I’m proud of you. As your friend, not your boss. Or, I guess as your friend and your boss.” He tells you, taking one hand off the steering wheel to squeeze yours briefly.
“I didn’t really have much of a choice,” you rolled your eyes with a small smirk.
“There’s always a choice. You chose to get out, and you chose to let your team in. That’s not nothing.” He told you as he parked the car in front of his place.
“Thank you,” you said, choosing to accept the compliment even though you didn’t believe him. Aaron saw it in your eyes, but he let it slide. You’d see, eventually. At her pace, he reminded himself.
“I was thinking I’d cook tonight. Do you have anything particular in mind?” He asked as you settled into the apartment, hanging up your coats.
“Aaron Hotchner, you can cook?” You laughed, turning around and beaming at him. He couldn’t help but return your smile.
“I’m not Dave, but I manage.” He said coyly.
“I’m sure whatever you make will be delicious.” You told him graciously. “And I’m very excited to try it.”
He tossed you an orange from the bowl of fruit on his counter, and then your pain meds. “Go take a nap.”
“Hotch, I’m---”
“Nope, I don’t want to hear it. I let you spend six hours squinting at screens and paperwork under fluorescents. None of that was good for your head. Go.”
You rolled your eyes at him goodnaturedly before going to the guest room, stripping your work clothes off in favor of a pair of sweats and an FBI Academy t-shirt. Truth be told, everything that had gone down at work had been exhausting, and it wasn’t long before you fell asleep.
#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fic#criminal minds#criminal minds fic#aaron hotchner x reader#hotch x reader#aaron hotchner x y/n#hotch x y/n#aaron hotchner x you#hotch x you
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OwO i like to scrounge thru random blogs occasionally and i found yours via the very nice tags you left me when you reblogged my art. (TYSM BTW!!!) if you're looking for any sort of prompts atm, i think it'd be really cool to see more pollux and/or castor pjo content around if it speaks to you atm? if you're feeling particularly hurt/comfort i'd love to see you expand your hc on pollux crashing w/the demeter cabin after his bro's death <:3c regardless, i hope you have a good [timezone]!!!
oh! oh! oh! ily this is great tysm (and yw about the tags!!! your art was so good!!!)
Okay I will gladly expand on Pollux and the Demeter cabin hhhh
headcanons below, because they got really long.
I think the Demeter kids were really messed up, too? Like, not Pollux's level because no one could ever understand the situation that way he did, but they were really messed up for a while. Nothing grew for a few days, and all of the plants growing on/in their cabins and most of the strawberry fields died and wouldn't grow back. (The satyrs tried to make them grow but it only worked on very small parts)
Because Demeter isn't the most involved with her kids who aren't Persephone, it takes a lot to get her attention. This got her attention. She tried to cheer them up by sending them gifts and blessings, but Katie and Miranda insisted that the only thing that would make it better would be bringing Castor back from the dead.
Pollux was completely devastated for two weeks after his brother's death. It was only because of one of Demeter's blessings that he survived. He never came out of the Demeter Cabin except for once - Castor's funeral.
I want to say that Pollux had a good support system in the Demeter cabin, but they were wrecks too, and it was really hard for a while.
Nobody made eye contact with Pollux, and no one really liked to look at him at all, because him and Castor were identical twins.
Pollux didn't look at himself in the mirror until months after Castor died.
I think Pollux prayed to Castor a lot. At first it was sort of like a crutch, or a way to talk to him like he was still there. He would tell him about the cutest boys in camp, or how their friends were doing, small stuff like that. And he'd do it every day, usually around dinner time. Occasionally, like on their birthday or other holidays, he'd sacrifice Castor's favorite foods into the fire for him. Eventually he stopped praying every day, and now he only does it to ask for guidance, like a normal prayer.
The other two weeks Pollux stayed in the Demeter cabin were bittersweet. He laughed and had a good time with them, but it just felt empty without his brother there. And then when he went back to the Dionysus cabin...
It wasn't great. At first Pollux didn't want to touch the room, but after a few nights of restless sleep and constant crying, Miranda Gardiner helped him clean up most of Castor's stuff and put it into boxes to put in the closet. Pollux hated that he just packaged up Castor's stuff and put it away, but he told himself he could look at it anytime if he needed to. He wasn't a bad brother for trying to heal. Castor would want that for him.
Pollux decided he couldn't take Castor's absence hanging over him anymore and moved the boxes to his mother's house, where he stayed for the school year. She had always wanted their demigod lives to be separate, but he had to have his own life at camp if he wanted to live there and be better.
Dionysus was estranged, distraught at the loss of his son. He wanted to reach out to Pollux, but he didn't know how. He finally worked it out, though, and he and Pollux began to spend even more time together.
Pollux always remained grateful for the Demeter kids and their mother for the rest of his life, and he never forgot what they did for him.
Do you want some happier ones of when Castor was still alive? Of course you do.
Pollux was older by like a minute, and he always teased Castor about it.
Castor got the nickname "Castiel" because Katie Gardner had a big Supernatural phase and... you get the idea
Castor had so many crushes, but he never really got the date. He was a sweet kid, but he was really nervous and awkward at first when it came to relationships. Pollux was smoother and suaver, and constantly had everyone falling for him, not the other way around.
Castor had maybe one real boyfriend ever, and then one 'girlfriend' in like first grade.
I'm a sucker for Castercy now (thanks to @caffeinatedflumadiddlebutpjo) so he definitely had a big crush on Percy. They would have made a cute couple, but alas, Annabeth was Percy's true love.
Castor was best friends with a daughter of Athena named Otrera (after the first Amazon queen) but she joined the titan side of the war and then disappeared to Alaska half way through the war.
Castor's favorite color was purple and Pollux's is olive green
im always willing to talk about these two so just ask if you wanna know anything about them
#pjo castor#pjo pollux#bird likes to write#katie gardner#miranda gardiner#pjo demeter#tw death#death tw#tw mourning#mourning tw
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The Home I Crave - Chapter 8
Title: The Home I Crave
Genre: Fanfiction
Pairing: Tobirama Senju x reader
Rating: teen and up
Word count: 2769
Chapter: 8/?
Symbols: ⭕ | ➕ | 💛 | ▶️▶️
Read the previous chapters here: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7
N. A.: I want to use a different gif so badly but I'm afraid that the change would difficult for readers to recognize my story in the tag. Maybe in the next chapters I will change it 😅
Chapter 8 - Invitation
The following days of your marriage were not so different from the first one in terms of establishing a routine and working to follow it, making the necessary adjustments along the way. You convinced yourself that focusing on this while performing your tasks as your father’s advisor was the best way to adapt to your new life.
However, you weren’t still convinced that this was enough to diminish your discomfort, specially when you were at home with your husband.
Tobirama’s routine and habits were not so difficult to understand after all: he had his time to take care of everything and never procrastinated; you soon saw that thanks to his Shadow Clones, he reached a level of competence that a normal person would take years to achieve, or never would. You were still getting used to see them around the house without getting a fright and even worked with them sometimes; they did you favors in return, such as offering you help when you had to do something outside the house or giving you valuable information to make your life easier in the village.
None of this could make you feel that it was easy to deal with the man himself, though. After trying to maintain a light conversation with him two or three times without success – if it was because of his lack of interest in this type of conversation or because you didn’t know how to start them, you couldn’t tell – you found yourself avoiding his company whenever you don’t have to work together. It wasn’t hard: you only had lunch together (Tobirama took his dinner to the office), and when one of you was at home, the other was probably in a meeting with Hashirama, so that you didn’t spend much time in each other’s company. Besides, you barely spoke between yourselves in the few times you both were at the Hokage’s office. It was true that the light mood of the older Senju brother turned things a little easier, but the weird sensation that established itself between you would come back as soon as you left his presence.
Things were even stranger at night. You rarely would go to bed at the same hour: you used to sleep earlier, and while you prepared yourself to bed you would only see Tobirama leaving his office when you went to your bedroom; most of the times, however, he even left the office at all. Sometimes you wondered if he spent the nights there, but there was this time when you woke up in the middle of the night and found the other side of the bed empty; you touched it and noticed it was cold, as if nobody laid there that night, which confirmed your suspicions.
Days have passed since you started living together, but he never took you nor made any advances towards it. Yes, you both agreed in delaying the wedding night because you were tired and weren’t comfortable – you didn’t have a single chance to talk before the ceremony, after all. But the days would come and go and almost no familiarity grew between you two: except for the forehead kiss he gave you during the ceremony, you haven’t kissed yet; you haven’t shared a hug or holding hands either. At first, you considered the possibility of taking the initiative instead of just waiting for him: with only you two living in that house, you had enough privacy; besides, just like the portrait you found at Mito’s house, the real Tobirama was indeed an attractive man. It wouldn’t be that hard to give yourself to him – but he didn’t give you any chance. You never spent much time in the same room except when you were working, and you would sleep first and not see when he’d come to bed while he would wake up and leave before you can notice.
He seemed to be fleeing from you as much you were fleeing from him now.
***
That morning in particular came quieter than you expected, even though you were already used to the silence that dominated the house whether Tobirama was with you or locked inside his office. Maybe this quietness was the reason you didn’t notice the sun was high in the sky and got late to your tasks.
You took care of yourself in a few minutes and went to check your task list: most of the things there still could be done immediately, but some of them you’d probably have to leave for the night now.
You started working as soon as you finished your breakfast and when you looked at the clock again, it was close to lunch time. You stopped what you were doing and went to the kitchen to prepare something.
Most of the times you took the initiative in doing it, both because you were used to make your own food since you started to participate in shinobi missions and because you finally found a weakness in your husband’s lifestyle: sometimes he could get so involved in his work that he would forget to eat or to send a Clone to prepare his meals, so whenever you started to cook, he would know it’s time to stop.
That day, he didn’t appear when the lunch was ready. You found that strange, but soon you were convinced that your delay could be the cause of it. You left the table organized and went to his office.
When you reached the closed door and knocked, nobody answered the call. You knocked again and the silence persisted on the other side. It was when you realized that the abnormal quietness you’ve been sensing was provoked by the absence of the Clones: you haven’t seen a single one of them since you left your bedroom.
That was unusual, you thought. Tobirama didn’t tell you he would leave home the day before, as he used to do. You turned the door handle and frowned: the door wasn’t locked. Could it be that he forgot it open or did he leave in a hurry, maybe to solve some urgent matter? You couldn’t tell.
You pushed the door and for the first time since the day he showed you the house’s rooms, you saw yourself in Tobirama’s office. It was empty as expected. You noticed the same organization and tidiness of that day as you looked around… except for a corner of the table where you saw a white sheet and ink.
You approached and immediately recognized the text of a correspondence. You started reading it without noticing what you were doing. It was a reply to a letter received recently. It wasn’t finished yet.
To the head of the … clan, Fuyuki-sama:
In the name of our Village, it is with sadness and preoccupation that I, Tobirama from the Senju clan, reply to your previous letter. The decline in your second daughter’s health is indeed a worrying matter. But as you asked in your previous letter, I kept this information out of your advisor’s knowledge until further notice. At the same time, all the support Konoha can offer you must be asked in your next letter regarding the preparations for your people’s travel…
You didn’t even touch the paper while reading it, but you stepped away from the table as if you got burned by the text. So, your husband was writing a letter for your father as a reply to a message he sent to Konoha with bad news involving your immediate family and you weren’t informed? Your sister was sick, and nothing was said to you about the nature or the gravity of her state, and not even the possibility of a delay in the travel was discussed with you, your head’s advisor? How could your father do that? That didn’t sound like him! Who could have suggested something of this kind…
- What are you doing here?
You startled when you heard his voice coming from the room’s entry, but you didn’t scream or throw weapons at him this time. Instead of the fear or shame one would feel when caught in a place they shouldn’t be at, you only felt a growing anger.
- Me? I am the one who should be asking – you grabbed the sheet and shook it in your hand for him to see – What are you doing here?
Tobirama didn’t need an explanation to understand what you meant. You didn’t see a hint of embarrassment in him when you showed the letter, not even irritation: the only thing he had for you was something between tiredness and exasperation, as someone who is used to work alone and now sees themselves forced to share their methods with a new and unprepared partner.
That irritated you as nothing else did since you arrived in that place.
Still, you heard what he had to say.
- This morning, a bird with a message from your clan arrived at my office’s window when I was about to leave it. It was sent directly by your father. He said your second sister, who stood in your place after you left your compound, fell sick. He explained that this could cause a delay in the travel because she was chosen to be one of your people’s Captains thanks to her knowledge of farthest territories and he was reluctant in sending someone less experienced as a substitute.
- And what were you going to say to my father about this? – you crossed your arms to hide the trembling in your hands.
- I am going to suggest him to wait until Konoha send a team of experienced ninjas to replace her and work with your clan’s team. They are in better conditions to help your people as they approach our lands. Your sister must stay in your compound and recover.
You were forced to agree that this was the most practical solution to the problem. But you couldn’t agree with Tobirama acting all by himself without consulting you, no matter what your father asked in that letter: she was your sister, after all!
- So you were going to solve this and leave the explanations to the day when my people would arrive at the village’s gates and I start looking for my sister and can’t find her?! Isn’t it absurd to your standards?!
- This absurd, as you say, is the will of your father, y/n-san – he replied without rising his tone – I cannot disrespect it even in his absence.
- She is my sister! I have all the right to know what happens to her! – you started screaming even though it wasn’t your intention, but that was too much – Besides, my father would never ask something like that from an ally! It’s obvious that some grumpy elder suggested that to him!
You tossed the paper back on the table, but didn’t see where it fell. Apparently this attitude of yours displeased Tobirama.
- Maybe they suggested it because they knew this would be your reaction once you found out about your sister – he pointed at the place you threw the paper at; and, after a sigh – Worrying about a sibling is what any normal person would do. I know that. However, your clan sent this letter in an official envelope, so that we must reply according to its content. And the said content included this request. I could not act in contrary, whether you like it or not.
You leaned your hand on the table’s corner, your fingers tapping its surface with anger.
- And where have you been?
- I just came from the Hokage’s office – he replied without hesitation – I asked my brother to send a medical ninja to help in your sister’s treatment. He could not send one of his Wood Clones, because it would not last the whole travel, so he sent one of his apprentices.
You raised an eyebrow.
- And who I should thank for this? Him or you?
This time you sensed a sign of irritation in his manners.
- The best you can do to thank us is to put yourself together and reconsider what you already know about these type of…
- And the best you can do for us now is not speak to me like this! – your patience was now gone and you interrupted him without caring about formalities – I know about all of this better than you can suppose. I have been working on this for years. I know my clan’s head and each elder that works with him as I know myself, so I could even tell you who suggested the secrecy to my father and guess what? He’s not so different from you! That’s why you agreed with that so easily!
You walked toward the door to leave, but afraid that he would stand in your way. Fortunately, that didn’t happen.
But that didn’t mean Tobirama would let you leave without hearing a last word from him.
- You are right, y/n-san – and after seeing you turning your neck in surprise – I do not know your leader and your elders as you do. But whoever this person you talked about is, you should recognize his value in your council. Thanks to the work of people like him, the personal matters of each community member can be kept separated from the public ones, and the individual passions cannot become the cause of a clan’s ruin.
There was something different in his tone this time, though you were unable to tell what. Maybe he was really offended by what you just said, or he was speaking about an old experience with another clan. You immediately remembered what you knew about the legendary rivalry between the Senju and the Uchiha and supposed that his statement had something to do with it. Whatever the case, you wouldn’t stay to discuss it.
You were done with it.
- You have a point in this. Things would be difficult if we didn’t have anyone to guarantee that the laws are being respected. But I am not asking you to disrespect anything. I am asking you to stop underestimating me.
You turned your back without waiting for a reply and left the room. You weren’t sure of what you were going to do with those new, serious information you got by accident, but you would need time to think of something.
A time you didn’t have at that moment, because you didn’t take two steps outside the office when someone knocked on the front door. You went to answered it and found Mito Uzumaki standing on the entry. She was alone, carrying a small bag on her left hand.
You were polite, of course, but didn’t hide the fact that you weren’t expecting visitors.
- Mito-san...? How can we help you?
You must have stared at her for too long or looked too desperate, because she startled at your reception.
- You look pale, dear. Are you alright?
You shook your head, praying for her to give up on asking.
- I am. I just woke up a little late today, so I’m on a hurry with my tasks. I’m a bit tired – and standing out of the door’s way – Do you want to come in?
Mito smiled.
- No, thank you. I have my own things to take care of and besides I don’t want to bother you. I just came to make an invitation – she looked over your shoulder and raised her voice – For both of you.
You glanced behind and saw Tobirama approaching the door. When he stopped close to you, she continued:
- Hashi and I want you to join us for dinner tonight. He knows this has been a busy week for you two, but there are matters he wants to discuss and he might not find another opportunity in the next week.
This last sentence sounded peculiar to you. Hashirama might not find an opportunity to discuss something with his advisor? You looked at Mito again and read the subtle message in her eyes: Hashirama wanted to check on his brother, as much as she wanted to make sure that everything was going well with you. You didn’t know if you should silently thank her or run.
Whatever the case, the final decision ended up not being yours.
- Tell my elder brother that we accept the invitation – Tobirama’s voice was heard behind you – And thank him for us.
Mito nodded.
- I will. See you tonight.
She left in an instant, as if she didn’t want to give you a chance to change your mind.
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Come What May, Chapter Four
Masterlist
Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Original Female Character (Second Person Perspective)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: brief description of panic attack -- there is a warning in the body of the chapter as well! Don’t worry.
Tags: main character has social anxiety, teaching a class with Obi-Wan, sexual tension, lightsaber fights, Obi-Wan continues with the cute pet names, some teacher/student fantasizing, Obi-Wan is still a massive tease, fucking in a supply closet
Word Count: 6.9 K
It's infuriating to know that Obi-Wan is back in the Temple, but that he's too busy to see you. Between Council meetings that drag for hours, more private gatherings with members of the Senate to discuss what the next move in the war should be, and allowing the poor man time to rest, Obi-Wan has been home for more than a week. You've barely caught more than a glimpse of him. Still, it's nice to have him present in your mind.
You know he's still in the Temple every day you wake up to a glowing good morning, love, his happiness to be near you radiating like sunshine even if you haven't had the time to see one another. It’s not safe to talk back and forth, but sometimes if one of you is particularly bored, you’ll trade a few sentences.
Master Yoda is on a roll today. Send help. Starting to think backwards I am.
Pity you I do.
Very funny, petal.
Then he’d be gone again, fading out before anyone got suspicious. The sudden absence hurts, but not as much as having him gone from the Temple entirely. At least here, you can feel him. You know he's safe.
In contrast to Obi-Wan's breakneck schedule, you've had almost nothing to do. It's full-on spring on Coruscant now, the warmth driving cold and flu season away. You have no colicky little ones in the creche to fuss over, no sick Padawans. The most you might see are some old Masters who need their aching bones tended to, or a quick training accident that needs mended. You haven't shipped out to a war-stricken planet in a while, either. It's strange to have downtime. Strange and frustrating, knowing Obi-Wan is nearby but still not close enough. Having a spare moment between all the illness and injuries is a good thing, and you're grateful. If only you weren't so restless.
-----
It’s rare -- almost impossible -- that you get to take the entire day off, but that’s exactly what you’ve been told to do. The medbay sits empty except for a couple of droids, instructed to deep clean while there are no patients. Even Master Allie appears to be taking it easy; her Force is calm as she bids you goodbye. She insists that if anyone turns up in need of healing, she and Barriss Offee would be on call to take care of it. You bow to her and leave, excited about what possibilities this could open up.
The first thing you do is check for Obi-Wan. Of course, he’s preoccupied. You duck out after feeling the level of concentration he’s exerting at something-or-other; it’s mixed with frustration and you don’t want to distract him. Like you, he’s getting more and more impatient with how busy the Council has kept him. You try not to let yourself be disappointed; it would be too lucky for both of you to be free at the same time, on the same day. All you can do is hope that you can find the time to be together before he has to leave again.
With your schedule more open than ever, you head to your favorite courtyard. The least you can do is soak up some Coruscanti sunshine. But only a quarter of an hour passes before you’re interrupted by the sound of footsteps on cobblestones, headed fast in your direction. Around the corner, scattering the kiros birds, comes a youngling you recognize. It's Gil Graven, a spitfire of a youngling you see in the medbay far more than others his age. He drives his minders crazy with his recklessness, but he’s a sweetheart. Even if you swear you have him admitted once a month for sprains and cuts.
Even now he trips and topples, would have earned the Halls of Healing their first visitor of the day, if you hadn't righted him with a quick pull of the Force.
"Easy, Gil. Where's the fire?" You smile, watching the kid tug his too-large tunic back onto his shoulder.
"Fire? There's no fire, miss. I was looking for you!"
His eyes go round with confusion, cheeks red from running. You forgot how literal younglings could be.
"I meant -- wait, looking for me? What's wrong? Who's hurt?"
Kriff. You should've known taking a day off would backfire. Something had happened in the fifteen minutes you’d had your butt parked in the grass. You get to your feet, gripping the pouch of emergency bacta on your belt.
"Oh! It's not a healer thing." Gil bounces in place, thinking. "But you're needed in the training halls! And they told me to find you quick!"
"Gil, calm down for a minute, okay?" The training halls? Why on Ryloth were you wanted there? "Who told you?"
He shrugs, unhelpful. “I dunno. I’ve never met ‘im before. But he told me to go get the Knight from the Healing Halls ‘cause no one’s been admitted today, and you’d be able to help him.”
You’re still not sure if this is a healer problem, or a matter of simple confusion. Gil’s got a touch of what healers like to call bouncy brain. Sweet as he is, he talks at lightspeed and can’t seem to concentrate if he isn’t moving. There’s a real possibility that he’s got something mixed up here. Still, it’s not as if you’re doing anything else. The Force must have decided that you need to keep busy.
You decide to see what he’s going on about. “Okay, Gil. Lead the way.”
-----
Lingering outside one of the larger training rooms is Master Ki-Adi-Mundi, who smiles when he spots Gil leading you over by the hand.
“There you are!” He crouches down to greet your youngling escort, clapping him on the shoulder. “Thank you, Gil, I am so glad you found our friend. You may go now.”
Gil bows to him, his Force blooming under the praise. “Yes, Master.” You both watch as he takes off the way he came, speeding back up to a run.
“No running!” You scold after him. He barely slows before he’s out of sight.
Master Ki-Adi-Mundi chuckles. “That one reminds me of our own Anakin Skywalker.”
You nod, seeing the resemblance. Anakin is five years your junior, but he was still notorious when you were Padawans. Always turning up where he shouldn’t have been, Obi-Wan always three steps behind. Nothing’s changed, Obi-Wan often tells you.
“Master,” you say, hearing the low buzz of voices coming from the room you’re standing in front of. “Gil said you needed me? Is someone injured?”
“Hm? Oh! Oh stars, no.” Master Ki-Adi shakes his head, looking sheepish. “But I was rather hoping you’d be able to help me with a little problem I’ve run into.”
“Of course.” Okay, now I'm suspicious.
Ki-Adi tugs the end of his beard. “My squadron is being called out to fight on very short notice, I’m afraid. I was meant to teach today’s lesson, and was lucky enough to find a substitute for myself on short notice. But my instruction partner is leaving as well, and I haven’t yet found them a suitable replacement.”
“O-oh,” you hear yourself squeak.
Karabast. He wants you to teach? Your stomach drops somewhere near your ankles. This is so far from what you were expecting when Gil led you here. You can’t do this. You can’t.
Ki-Adi must feel your panic, because he continues quickly. “Don’t fret, my dear! My substitute is a very capable instructor. Follow his lead, and everything will be fine.” He claps a hand on your shoulder, turning away.
“Thank you again -- and now I really must be off.” And with that, he’s gone, walking at a brisk pace down the corridor.
CW starts here!
You’re so anxious that you feel like you’re about to be sick. You’ve done many things on behalf of the Council, often without knowing what they even were, but this? You can’t do this. There’s too many people. You lean against the doorframe, struggling for breath.
What’s the matter? Obi-Wan’s concern comes rushing in, and you’re grateful you have him to latch onto, to focus on.
Someone's asked a favor of me -- and I don’t think I can do it. You’re gripping your saber hilt too tight, the metal biting into your hand.
Please try to calm down. Find somewhere to sit and meditate, collect yourself --
Your anxiety is affecting him, making his own thoughts race even if he doesn’t know the cause. This sometimes happens. You’ve jolted awake in the middle of the night more than once with nightmares that weren’t your own, or had thoughts that didn’t make sense ‘til you realized they weren’t yours.
I can’t.
Why not?
You don’t reply. You have to go in there. Master Ki-Adi said that he was already late. Remembering your breathing, you focus on a count of four in through your nose, then hold the breath for a count of seven. When you exhale, you count to eight. After repeating the exercise several times, you can think straight. It’s not the more in-depth meditation Obi-Wan would have preferred, but it helps. All you can do is hope that the instructor carries much of the class, as Master Ki-Adi said he would.
When it feels like you’ve released much of your fear and uncertainty to the Force, you open the door and step in.
CW ends here!
Immediately, twenty pairs of curious Padawan eyes move to follow you, and you cringe. They all sit cross-legged on the padded floor. Three of the walls are lined with mirrors, the better for students to see fighting forms and sparring matches from every angle. On a side wall, a flimsi depicting each form of saber combat stretches the length of the room, cut off only by the supply closet where training accessories are stored. You’ve been in this room and its adjacent siblings dozens of times. But all that isn’t as important to you as the instructor, who’s turned to see why the room’s gone quiet.
It’s Obi-Wan.
Standing bare-foot on one of room-length training mats, in the middle of handing out sparring sticks to the class, he freezes when you lock eyes.
Oh, he says, equal parts shock and happiness.
Yeah.
I say this with the greatest respect, darling -- why did Master Ki-Adi send you?
Because the Healing Halls are completely empty. Also to torture me. You grimace, joining him at the front of the room. He nods to you in greeting, as if you aren’t having a mental conversation.
“Knight Courtee. Glad to see you could join us.”
“I apologize, Master. It was short notice for me, as well.” You bow to him.
Is this what you were so worked up about? They’re only Padawans. They don’t bite -- much.
Once the group realizes that you’re the other instructor that Obi-Wan’s been waiting for, the chatter resumes. They stop ogling you. From the looks of the group, they’re all in the late teens, and bubbling over with energy. Right in the middle of Padawan and Knight, but with all the arrogance to think they’re already the latter. Away from their Masters in a group like this, they tend to get far rowdier than they would otherwise. Each has a lightsaber strapped to their belt.
“Run me through the lesson?” you say, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
“Quiet!” Obi-Wan demands over his shoulder, and you jump. The loudest cluster of Padawans instantly falls silent behind you.
Sorry, he thinks at you. I’m starting to see why Ki-Adi jumped on the first ship leaving the system.
“Amina, lose the gum. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Yes, now. Navo, do I have to move you to the other side of the room? Don’t think I won’t.”
Mumbles of yes, Master, break out before he turns back to you, satisfied. You don’t smile but know he feels your amusement.
“We’ll be running through some more advanced katas,” Obi-Wan says. “Then we’ll break them into pairs and focus on the saber technique of each pair. At the end of the lesson, you and I will give a demonstration on a chosen form. Perhaps more than one, if the class requests it.”
“Doesn’t sound too bad,” you admit, thinking back to your own group Padawan lessons. You’d dreaded the paired sparring sessions, having your own form broken down and scrutinized. In the end, though, it had improved your skills. Being able to do the same for this group would be an honor. This is a big piece of being a Jedi, after all; skills passed down from Master to Knight to Padawan.
“It isn’t. Just don’t let them smell your fear,” he grins. “Let’s get started.”
As noisy as the group is, you can tell they’re genuinely excited to be in a session led by Master Kenobi. And Obi-Wan really knows how to lead the room. While you stand stiffly off to the side, nodding whenever he finishes saying something and hoping you don’t look like an idiot, he uses the space. He explains the lesson to them as he explained it to you, then asks if anyone has any questions.
The girl who’d been caught with gum earlier, Amina, raises her hand. Her other hand is busy twirling her long Padawan braid, like she can’t help but fidget with it. “Um, Master Kenobi, why are we using sparring sticks? We’ve had lightsabers for a while now.”
A murmur of agreement washes through the crowd, and Obi-Wan smirks.
“Good question, Padawan. Everyone, close your eyes and reach through the Force. Do you feel how tumultuous the energy in this room is? How excitable? If any one of you lit your saber in this room, I fear someone would lose a limb. And that’s something that Knight Courtee can’t fix for you. So we play it safe.”
Another hand punctuates the air, from the very front of the crowd. This Padawan seems younger than the rest, with hair that sticks up everywhere and eyes focused only on Obi-Wan. He starts speaking before he can be called on.
“All due respect, Master,” he says, in a way that makes you think that he’s used to sharing unorthodox opinions. The corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth quirks up as he fights a smile, and you feel him think of Anakin.
“Why are we here? We’re fighting a war. Many of us have already seen combat alongside our Masters.” He lowers his eyes to the mat, afraid he’s gone too far. When his fellow Padawans start nodding and whispering, he tugs on the end of his nerf-tail, as if unsure of what to do.
Obi-Wan takes a moment to consider this question, hand going to his beard as it often does when he’s thinking.
“I appreciate your honesty, Caleb. And you’re correct. It might seem...redundant to spend your time here when even now fellow Jedi are fighting real battles.”
He pauses, thinking of how to continue. The Padawans are hanging onto his every word, the room silent. “But that’s why it’s so important to refine your technique when we can spare the time, in a secure environment. It will make you stronger when you face a real opponent. It might even save your life. Does that make sense?”
Wow, you think to yourself. He’d handled that beautifully. Even though Caleb had spoken out of turn, Obi-Wan hadn’t belittled him or made the teen feel bad about what was an honest and important question. He’d taken the time to consider the Padawan’s feelings, and had given him an equally honest answer, not something to pacify him. It takes you back to your own Padawan training, when Obi-Wan had been your instructor.
“Yes, Master,” Caleb ducks his head, looking relieved. “thank you.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes search the room. “Anything else?”
After a pause, another hand goes up, toward the back.
“Millu?” You love that he knows everyone by name. Some Padawans turn around to reveal a burly Mon Calamari boy.
“Yeah.” His bright yellow eyes dart over to you. “Uh, speaking of Knight Courtee. Why are you teaching us? I thought you were just, like, a healer.” There’s no real malice in his tone, more like an off-handed curiosity, but Obi-wan stiffens.
Luckily you think of something to say before he can open his mouth. It wouldn’t look good for him to get upset defending you.
“That’s an excellent question, Millu, thank you.” You shoot him a smile, and you swear his scales darken with a blush.
“Being a Jedi with healing abilities does not mean that you get to neglect other aspects of your training. On the contrary, your connection with the Force must be powerful at all times. Healing will swamp you physically and emotionally, so you must keep both body and mind strong to withstand it.”
Your smile widens. “Of course, if you’re asking if you can best me in a fight, we’ll see how you match up during paired spars. Sound good?”
Laughter breaks out, and Millu blushes even darker before muttering, “Sure,” and looking away. Even if it seemed like he was questioning your ability to teach them (as you yourself are), you’re grateful the interaction’s lightened the mood.
Nicely done, says Obi-Wan.
“Very good,” he says aloud, clapping his hands together. “Now if we’re done heckling Knight Courtee, let’s begin with some stretches, please.”
------
Obi-Wan was right, you think, walking around the room. This...isn’t bad at all. You walk from pair to pair, taking in the angle of their weapon, how they hold their bodies, making minor corrections and leaving comments as you go. They look up when you come by, eager to see what you’re going to say to them. It’s much easier to interact with the Padawans on this smaller scale, and you find yourself joking with them, smiling. After a while, they even start asking for you, looking to see if you can demonstrate a move or if they’re holding the training stick the correct way. They aren’t scary at all -- just excitable kids who want to learn.
I’m sorry, Obi-Wan was what?
Looking up, you see Obi-Wan grinning across the room, demonstrating his own correction. In the middle of all this excitable teen Force energy, it’s easy for you to have a conversation and go unnoticed.
You were right. I like this.
And you’re good at it; they adore you. You’re going to make a wonderful Master. He shows you a brief image of a happy Padawan trailing behind you, eager to follow wherever you lead. It’s the best feeling, love.
Unexpected emotion rises in your chest at his pure sincerity. He knows how insecure you are about the fact that you’ll soon have your own Padawan to look after, but he doesn’t have a single doubt that you can do it. For the first time, you let yourself think of the situation in a hopeful light. It was a path you never pictured for yourself, but one that you know you have to follow. Obi-Wan makes it look so easy. Anakin, and even Anakin’s Padawan Ahsoka, look at him like he hung the stars. Of course, so do you.
“Last twenty minutes!” Obi-Wan calls over the noise of sparring sticks clacking together. “Take a seat, class.”
The Padawans rush to do as they’re told, everyone clamoring for the best spot to view your spar with Master Kenobi. They go completely silent, waiting for you to join him. A hush even falls over the Force energy in the room, like they’re all holding their breath.
Obi-Wan sinks into a bow when you’re opposite him, one hand on his saber. When you glance down in confusion, he sends a wave of amusement.
I said I didn’t trust the Padawans, darling. Not you.
Not sure if that’s wise. You bow in return, unclipping your saber also. He ignites his blade, the blue glow casting light over all the reflections of the mirrors. Taking a deep breath, trusting the familiar feeling of your own weapon, you ignite your lightsaber. The bright green light shimmers over your hands, crackling with your energy.
You’re surprised at how nervous you are. It’s one thing to watch him from across the room, to be taught by him as a Padawan yourself, but to spar with Obi-Wan as an equal? He’s going to wipe the floor with you.
“What form does Knight Courtee use?” You hear somebody whisper.
“Form five -- she told me.”
“Oooh, really? That’ll be fun to see against Master Kenobi.”
“Shhh!”
Obi-Wan waits until the group is quiet again to ask if you’re ready to start. Your saber hums hot in your hand, a little less controlled than you’d like it.
“Ready as I can be, Master.”
“Then let’s begin.”
No sooner are the words out of his mouth than he’s in your space, much closer than you want him with a lightsaber in hand. You strike out instinctively and he expected that, anticipated it. He was baiting you. Your blade bounces off of his far more harshly than you like, the zyoom echoing through the room. You take a step back, try to calculate an opening. He mirrors you, waiting to react. It takes you longer than it should to realize that he’s shielded the bond up tight, not giving anything away. The only thing you can hear is your heartbeat and the crackling of the sabers, each one fueled by its master’s adrenaline.
He keeps his blade held at eye level, and you lunge in for a mid-range attack. Obi-Wan blocks but you keep it coming, getting back into the groove of Djem So after spending so long out of combat. It feels good to have the saber be a part of you, to have it grow lighter as it remembers your touch.
Strike, block, strike, block. You’re working at a breakneck rhythm trying to get through his defenses, but Obi-Wan won’t give an inch. Sweat pours down your temple but still you press, using the Force to try and search for a weak point but finding none. He’s too kriffing fast.
There’s a reason they call him Master of this form. It’s infuriating, the almost lazy way he flicks your lightsaber aside every time, using your energy against you. There’s not a hair out of place on him. Every time you lower your blade, wondering what to do, he simply resets, content to wait again. You can tell from the look in his eyes that he knows you’re getting tired.
The Padawans are anything but quiet now -- some shouting Get her, Master Kenobi! while others insist that you can hold your own. Your eyes flick over to them once. Some lean forward towards the fight as far as they dare, a few are even on their feet in support.
When Obi-Wan finally tips his saber in retaliation, you barely manage to block, caught off guard at the change from defense to offense. He strikes again, again, again -- each blow more brutal than the last, each one so close to your skin that you can feel his blue saber’s sizzling heat. He’s driving you back against the wall. Despite your best effort, you’re losing ground where you’d previously held it. When you feel your back slam against the wall he was driving you toward, you gasp and fumble a block -- your last move. The blade of Obi-Wan’s saber hovers near your throat, a win.
“And that’s your head,” he says easily. You lower your saber and extinguish the blade, holding your hands up in a show of defeat.
The room erupts.
“Master Kenobi, that was so wizard --”
“Knight Courtee was letting him have it! Did you see --?”
“I wish I could have recorded that for the holo!”
“Settle down,” Obi-Wan says, but he’s smiling. “I’m glad that you all have found this lesson so illuminating.” He bows to you, signalling the end of the match, and you follow suit.
“You’re dismissed,” he says to the room. The declaration is met with mixed reactions; half are glad to be free, half don’t want the lesson to be over yet.
“No need to hang around and help tidy this time. You were such a good group that Knight Courtee and I are glad to take care of it.” It’s traditional for students to stick around after the lesson is done and help roll up the training mats, collect the sparring sticks, and clean the room in any other way that needs it.
That statement really gets them out the door, though several of them whine about him being far cooler than their regular teacher and why can't he teach them all the time?
Once everyone’s filed out, Obi-Wan locks the door behind them. He turns to you with a long sigh, relieved that the loudness of all those teenagers in one place has dispersed.
“Well,” you say. “That’s not how I expected my morning to go.”
“I’m glad,” Obi-Wan replies. “I was beginning to think that I wouldn’t see you at all in my time home, yet here we are.”
“Like the Force willed it.”
He beams at that, drawing you tight against him. “C’mere. My bright little instructor.”
You grumble, cheek pressed against his chest. “You flayed me within an inch of my life, Obi-Wan.”
All he does in response to your grumpiness is chuckle, placing warm kisses everywhere he can reach on your face. “Yes. I did.”
“It was embarrassing.”
“I couldn’t exactly go easy on you, could I?”
No, he couldn’t. Everyone knows the extent of Obi-Wan’s skill, and while you aren't untalented with a saber, winning or even overcoming him would be unlikely. You’d fought honestly, and so had he. Anything else would have invoked suspicion.
He takes your silence for the correct answer, then gently pries your cheek from his body.
“Would it help if you got kisses as a consolation prize?” He’s looking at you so fondly, like you’re his favorite thing in the galaxy. You nod, already leaning on your tiptoes to reach.
Obi-Wan hums against your lips, sinking against you like he’s been waiting for this -- because you both have. The kisses stay close-mouthed, but he’s pressing them onto you fast, his hands roaming you urgently. Your bond tells you that he wants to take his time with you, would have each moment stretch out for as long as possible, if he could. He wants to savor you. But arousal is winning out.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, pulling back to brush his nose against yours. “Do you know how much restraint it took not to pin you against the wall and have you, at the end of our fight? To resist sending all the little Padawans away right then?”
You gasp, feeling heat stirring deep in your stomach. The honey-sweetness of his tone contrasts with his words, but he’s just getting started.
“There was such fire in your eyes when we sparred, kitten." Kitten. Yet another pet name to add to your already large collection. This one makes you blush, and you don't miss Obi-Wan's pleased grin. "I had to shut you out so that you wouldn’t get distracted by my, er, distraction.”
His distraction presses up against your leg now, thick and hot. Obi-Wan tugs the end of your braid hard, tilting your head back to expose your neck. You whimper against him, all but letting him hold you up at this point. He loves it -- going to work at once nipping and kissing everywhere he can get to. His breath is heavy on your skin as he ruts against your thigh, trying and failing to bite back his own ecstatic moans.
“We’re alone now,” you choke out, hardly aware enough to string the sentence together. “s-so you can -- do whatever you want with me.”
This makes him pause. “Is that so?” Obi-Wan’s tone is still so light, like you’re having a conversation about what they’re serving in the refectory today, not how badly you want him to fuck you.
“Yes,” you say, embarrassed at how desperate you sound, how easily you melt for him. You can see yourself over his shoulder in the mirrors, and you blush, burying your face.
He laughs a little at your reaction. “What if I want to take you into that supply closet and bend you over?” His hand roams down your body, landing on your crotch. Two fingers rub a strong circle through the material, and you lean into it. “What if I want to take you from behind, make up for all the time we haven’t been together?”
“I’d ask why -- aren’t we already there,” you huff, blinking up at him.
That’s all the answer he needs. In one motion, he grabs you round the middle and hauls you over his shoulder like a sack of meilooruns. Your breath whooshes out, surprise and a lack of air keeping you from forming a sentence as he marches you to the closet as promised. The ground bounces and sways in your vision as you’re jostled -- it’s a strange sensation, being carried. Thankfully, it only lasts a few seconds.
Obi-Wan opens the door and closes it just as quickly once you’re both inside, making you aware of how small, how dark, the space is. You find yourself deposited on the storage bin that the mats are kept in, your legs dangling high in the air. He leans in to kiss you, nothing but hot breath and hungry hands, and you fist your own in the front of his tunic. It spurs him on, and soon his tongue is pressing into your open mouth, exploring every corner.
You moan into him, your fingers going beyond clothes to scratch against his chest. Obi-Wan picks you up again and you lift your legs around his waist, rubbing tight against his cock. He bears your entire weight like it’s nothing, continuing to kiss you as if your legs are planted on the ground. Stars, the strength, the eagerness of him, is overwhelming. His arms are pillars, holding you steady, crossed firm around your back.
"I thought you said," you gasp out, shivering when his tongue flicks out to catch your earlobe, "something about -- bending me over --"
“So eager today,” he says, his voice a tantalizing purr.
“Can you blame me?” you blurt.
"And what does that mean, dearest?"
He already knows what you mean. It’s everywhere in your mind. You can’t hide how you feel when you’ve been this close to him for so long, forbidden to touch him, to even think about it until you’ve reached your breaking point.
Obi-Wan, hands behind his back, patiently watching the Padawans demonstrate their forms. Nodding and sometimes stepping in to correct, placing his hand casually on an arm or leg to shift the balance of their weight. Then the Padawan he’s correcting becomes you, and his touch is no longer innocent. The group is melting away, and his mouth is trailing down your neck, whispering things that have little to do with the kata you’re struggling through.
“Oh,” he chuckles. “I see.”
You bump your head into his shoulder, too embarrassed to answer. As if to reassure you, Obi-Wan sends you an image back.
Both of you in the same training room, but you stand among your fellow Padawans, now all Knights, shuffling anxiously from foot to foot. You don't look that much different from the way you do now, but for the traditional Padawan's hairstyle.
Though you're seeing things from his perspective, the mirrors give him away; Obi-Wan looks younger, too. There are no lines around his eyes here, he holds himself more loosely. Like there isn't a galaxy-wide war. And he's less certain as he flits from student to student, new at this.
"You were always a pleasure to speak to, you know," Obi-Wan tells you, low voice right in your ear. He knows that he's teasing you, knows exactly the effect it's having on your body. You squirm in his tight grip, unable to go anywhere to get away from the softness of his voice.
"Polite and passionate. Made your Master very proud. But…" he trails off, and you shiver, anticipating his next words.
"So anxious whenever you saw me, weren't you?" He muses, fingers flexing on the curve of your ass. "And now I finally understand why."
"Obi-Wan…" you protest, unsure of what you're going to say next but just knowing that you need the teasing to stop. Both mental and physical -- he's hard against your abdomen, almost painful with how tight you're wedged against him.
"Down, love," he says. With effort, you extract your legs from around his waist and plant your feet on the floor, with his hands to guide you. "Turn around."
For a moment, you get excited, thinking that he's done teasing you. Obi-Wan makes quick work of your belt, dropping it to the floor seconds before your pants and underwear. You step out of them, breathing heavily, feeling his chest against your back. There's a clink, and you realize that he's dropped his belt as well, one hand bracing on your shoulder as he fumbles out of his own bottoms.
There's nothing between you now. Obi-Wan's bare dick rubs against your tailbone, leaving a warm dribble of pre-come.
"Now bend forward for me, darling -- that's it --"
You lean on the storage bin, heart thumping a tattoo in your throat. Obi-Wan lines himself up behind you, breath ragged, and sinks inside you in one long push.
"Obi-Wan, oh," you cry out, not expecting how full you'd feel from this angle.
"I know, sweetheart, I know," he says, taking a moment to adjust to the sensation. His mind is a high buzz of pleasure, looking forward to taking you apart in this new, delicious way.
Then he moves. So, so deep and slow. You let out a broken whine, toes curling. He pauses, holds his breath. Then thrusts again, just as unhurried as the first time, and your fingers scrabble for purchase on the smooth material of the bin in front of you.
“Hmm,” Obi-Wan sighs. “Do you know, this reminds me of something.”
You groan, not out of pleasure, but because he’s stopped. How? Where and how did he find the restraint to torment you like this? You’re not sure which part of today’s interaction set him off, but you sorely wish that he’d get down to business and fuck you.
“What does it remind you of?” you ask tightly, figuring that playing along will get you where you want to be faster. As if rewarding you, Obi-Wan’s hands come around to find your breasts, teasing your nipples with the barest of touches. Gods if he doesn’t go faster --
He can hear your mind loud and clear, but says nothing, only sending a feeling of amusement back before answering your question.
"Watching you go through katas in this very room. Or, well, the room outside." Obi-Wan presses into your back, finally starting to push into you in a slow but satiating rhythm.
"Mmm," you manage, pressing your lips together hard to avoid reaching an inappropriate volume.
“Do you remember the criticism I had for you, little Padawan? You were so tense. Why was that?” All the while he’s languidly thrusting into you from behind. As if he expects you to form a coherent response.
“I l-liked you,” you stammer out, bracing yourself on the edge of the storage bin.
"Oh? Well, I liked you too. You were a wonderful student."
"That's not what I --" Thank the Maker that it's pitch black in this closet, because your face is burning.
"But for some reason," he continues, enjoying himself, "you always needed correction in solo practice. The other Masters told me, several times, that that was not an issue in their own lessons."
You can only whimper as he bears into you deeper. He knows exactly what he's doing to you. When you place a hand on your stomach, just above your belly button, you can feel him inside you.
"Tell me, sweetheart. Did you need my hands on your body, as desperately as you do now?"
"Yes, Master," you all but sob. "I need, I n-need --"
"Need me to fuck you?" Obi-Wan supplies, voice going rough and breathy. "Need me to wreck you, the way your mind is screaming for it?"
You slam the palm of your hand on the top of the bin, and it makes a hollow thud, sending pain shooting up your arm.
"Obi-Wan, yes! Please, please fuck me, I need it!" You're aware that your words border on incoherence, but not enough to care.
And he doesn't either.
Just as you've reached your limit, so does Obi-Wan. One of his hands grabs your wrist and pins it, hard, while the other squeezes your hip.
"Are you ready?" He pants in your ear, pausing only to nip at your shoulder blade. Already he's fucking you deeper, so good so thick inside you, that you're writhing under his every touch.
"Wanted to do this -- for s-so long --" Obi-Wan gasps out and so do you, the heat of orgasm reaching a crescendo in your thighs as you feel him come apart in your mind.
"Want to come so deep inside you, darling, oh please, please --"
You know that he's barely hanging on, waiting for your permission.
"Gods, Master, yes --" Like you could deny him this, when you want it so desperately too.
His forehead drops to your shoulder as he rams into you, shoving you against the bin. It takes everything you have not to scream his name when you come, gripping his arm -- the only part of him you can reach from this angle.
Obi-Wan isn't far behind, moaning loud behind you as your orgasm makes your pussy clamp down even tighter on him.
"Yes, yes, oh my Gods --"
The bond flares up sudden and white-hot between you, carrying the sensation of Obi-Wan's pleasure just as it had that night on Odryn.
"Kriff," you say weakly, clutching his arm like it's the only thing connecting you to the planet.
Sweetheart, I'm there, I'm right there
I know, and I'm -- me too --
Again?
Yes
Oh fuck, fuck -- I'm coming, stars, I'm coming, oh --
You come a second time when Obi-Wan starts to spurt inside you, tears spilling from the intensity of it all. With him this tight against your body, you swear you can feel every hot spurt of come shoot up inside you. Obi-Wan's teeth are caught in the material of your tunic, muffling his shout. It feels like you stand there, taking his come for minutes, as he shudders against you.
When it's over you whimper, leaning against his chest on aftershock-weak legs. Slowly, as if his head is one step behind, Obi-Wan puts his arms around you.
"Stars above, Obi-Wan," you mutter, every coherent thought fucked out of your head. Your brain feels like static, but your body's floating. Pulling out and turning you gently to face him again, Obi-Wan plants a line of soft kisses from your forehead to your mouth. His release runs heavy down your thighs, but there's not much you can do about it here.
"Not tense now, are you?" he says, tracing slow, wet circles over your sensitive clit.
You laugh. "You're unbelievable."
"No, I'm committed to a scene," Obi-Wan corrects, as if this was all an elaborate game.
You consider saying something along the lines of, I'm going to commit my boot to your rear end if you don't quit it, but think better of it.
Instead you re-dress, wincing at the mess you'll have to tolerate down your crotch and legs until you can get to the nearest fresher. This is the downfall of spontaneous sex. No easy cleanup.
"Next time, would you like to come with me?" Obi-Wan's asking. You snort, buckling your belt back into place.
"Pretty sure I just did. You didn't notice?"
He pauses, then opens the closet door, letting in a blinding slice of light. Though he's dressed, Obi-Wan looks disheveled and wide-eyed still in a way that you always adore.
"That's...no. That's not what I'm talking about, love," he says, a hint of amusement in his tone.
"I mean, the next time I have to leave. Come with me. I think we've both come to realize that being apart is painful. And that being together isn't just a physical concept anymore."
His voice has dropped to a near-whisper, but you're hanging on to every word. Though you'd never admit it aloud, this is exactly what you want. To follow him instead of lying awake every night, worrying he won't come back from the last distant system he's shipped away to. You want to be beside him, no matter how rough things are.
You are a Jedi, not a housewife. And frankly, being kept in the Temple while he's away risking his neck, the bond blocked for days or weeks at a time, is torture.
Obi-Wan listens to all this, your outpouring of emotion through the bond you never meant to forge with him. He shows his understanding, his respect, his compassion for you, in return.
"Okay. Okay," he says, more to himself than you. "I'll speak to the Council. Knowing them, it may take some time to get an answer, but --"
You cut him off with a kiss. It doesn't matter. As long as you're together.
#come what may ao3#wickedscribbles#obi wan smut#ziva courtee#obi wan x you#obi-wan series#obi wan kenobi#obi wan x oc#obi-wan x oc
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‘run into me sunday’
1/2
summary: natasha wants to help, you have no other option.
warnings: this fic deals with the topic of anorexia, so please don’t read if this may trigger you. yes im projecting my issues into fics again im sorry.
notes: future wanda? idk :p
tag list: @natasha-danvers
requests are open.
natasha was articulate with everything she did. whether it be something as big and important as a mission, or something small as organizing the research she was studying. she was careful, picked up on all the small things other people did in life and remembered them.
so when it came to her attention you were beginning to skip meals, she didn’t push it to the back of her mind and forget about it. instead, natasha treaded carefully, tried to push you lightly to have breakfast with the team or stay for lunch – to spend time with everyone at the dinner table.
but when nothing worked natasha confronted you. she didn’t expect it to go well, she knew it wouldn’t, but the redhead didn’t think you would completely disappear on a four month mission the next say.
there was nothing she could do after that. except wait.
during the four months of your absence, natasha took her time to better educate herself on how to help a loved one with an eating disorder.
don’t be too pushy.
don’t not push at all.
leave the person be.
offer support.
force feed the person.
inpatient recovery.
there was no solid answer as to how to fix you and that bothered nat, more than she liked to admit. it was a tricky situation, but natasha knew you – knew you before your eating disorder. so rather than listening to every little thing every eating disorder resource website said, she figured to trust herself.
the redhead almost forgot about the house she bought. she rarely ever went there because it was so far away from everything and everyone, but her house seemed like the only reasonable option for you.
the week before you came back natasha spent day in and day out cleaning up the place so it would be ready for you. she removed the guest bedroom mattress, per a rule that you would have to sleep with her so she could monitor what you were doing.
when you arrived back, you were in worse shape than she expected you to be. your suit hung heavily atop your body, loose and unfitting. your face was gaunt and sunken in, your hair was thin and your nails were tinged blue. what was most surprising was the smile on your lips as you greeted your teammates.
you’d completely missed the worried glances wanda, steve, tony and everyone else held. you were too excited to be back, ready to perfect yourself even more. surely no one could see any kind of difference, right? you couldn’t. 35 pounds lost and you still felt the same.
wanda was the first to hug you. her hugs were the warmest. an overwhelming urge to protect you overcame the witch as she rubbed her hand up and down your sickly body. her fingertips met with the aggressive ridges of your spine.
bump after bump after bump.
the witch pulled back and kissed your forehead. “i missed you.”
“i missed you too, wanda.”
the rest of the team welcomed you back in their own ways, but you couldn’t help but feel a bit awkward – out of place even. your footing with the group didnt have the same grip as it once did.
twenty minutes later and you returned to your room only to find that your stuff had been packed and loaded in suitcases. panic began to spark in your body and you scrambled to your bathroom. pushing away bottles of advil and pepto bismol, your laxatives were nowhere to be seen.
“i took them away, if that’s what you’re looking for.” a voice came from behind you.
your eyes fell on the redheaded spy leaning against your bathroom doorway. her arms were crossed, but her face remained unreadable.
“why?”
“i think you know why.”
“i-i don’t understand-“
“you’re coming to live with me. away from here, away from everyone else.” at this, you huffed and rolled your eyes as you shoved past natasha.
“this is non negotiable y/n-“
“i know how to take care of myself, natasha.” she chuckled. “yeah, if you call slowly killing yourself self care.”
you didn’t laugh, instead shooting her a glare that told her to get the fuck out of your room. when she didn’t budge, you moved to push her out but to no avail. your muscles had weakened significantly the four months you were away. natasha slightly faltered the second time you shoved her, but her movements were nothing past that.
biting your lip, you looked into natasha’s emerald eyes. her eyebrow was raised and you knew there was no getting out of the inevitable.
without warning natasha pulled you in her arms.
“lets talk.” she murmured quietly. you tensed, but followed natasha to the edge of your bed.
“you’ve got two options. either way you’re benched indefinitely. the first choice you have is to be admitted to a facility that specializes in eating disorders. there, they will be a lot more stricter than what i have planned. your second option is to come live with me. you’ll be expected to eat three meals a day. you can talk to me, or i can find you a therapist and you can talk to them if you feel that is more beneficial or comfortable.”
by now you’d moved to rest your head in natasha’s lap, her fingers rubbing your scalp ever so lightly to ease your anxieties.
“every option you have, you have a say in. i don’t want you to feel forced, but i cannot, will not stand by and watch you do this to yourself.”
there was a gap of silence before you finally spoke. “when do we leave?”
“tonight. everything is set in place for whichever you choose.”
“i’ll go with you,” you sighed. natasha smiled above you before bringing you closer in her lap. “okay. let’s get going.”
#natasha romanoff imagine#tw: eating disorder#natasha romanov x reader#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha x reader#black widow x reader#avengers x reader#avengers imagine
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Daisies (a short “anyone you want it to be with” story) Part II
part I | masterlist
__
According to one of the many dictionaries around the world wide web, the word regret can be described as ‘a feeling of sadness about something sad or wrong, or about a mistake that one has made, and a wish that it could have been different and better’.
No human being is spared of the particular feeling of regret at some point in life, and as such, it exists to teach us new views and ways of doing things differently. After all, we, people are born to make mistakes, to repent and to carry the consequences of things we did or things we do, and in the end, we are made to learn from our experiences.
Still, humans wouldn’t be humans if there weren’t exceptions, and he knows he is one of them.
As he sits up and reaches out for his watch that had been resting on the bedside table, he adds another thing to, what it felt like, a never-ending list of the things he is going to regret sooner or later. Like hypnotized, he finds himself staring at time as it slowly ticks away – each second feeling heavier than the one before, and it takes him a good, full minute before he blinks and looks down at her.
She has a questioning look on her face, but she doesn’t say anything as she pulls the cream-coloured sheet over her chest, which in return, exposes her smooth leg that he eagerly touched, just a handful minutes ago, but now, it makes him sick just to think about his own behaviour. He feels like an awful person for using her as a distraction; for giving in into yet another act of intimacy that meant very little once the moment of bliss and satisfaction left his body.
But, fight fire with fire, they say.
He gives her a small smile – just a lift of one of the corners of his mouth before he looks away and smoothly gets up to put his clothes back.
Both his heart and his head were a mess.
The mess he created with his own behaviour and poorly made decisions.
What are you doing?
He wasn’t supposed to be there, in this minimally furnished bedroom, sitting half-naked at the edge of this enormous bed.
He was supposed to be on the other side of the city, at the airport, just like everyone else who cared about her, and as he slips his t-shirt on, he cannot help but wonder if she even had the tiniest clue about why he couldn’t bring himself to be there? If she expected his absence?
A coward at his finest.
Truth to be told, and he can only be honest with himself when he thinks, he wanted to be there.
He wanted to be there to give her a hug, to wrap his arms around her and breathe in the faint traces of her perfume that seemed to be stuck in every item of clothing she owned – daisies-patterned or not. He wanted to be there for her, like he should, to whisper in her ear to take care of herself and to call him often; to visit whenever.
More than anything, he wanted to admit to her how much he cares, and even if his own idiocy caused her pain in the past, he wanted to be a selfish bastard one last time and ask for another chance for a future together.
He wanted to tell her how much he wants her, every bit of her; how much he needs her.
How much he regrets that he let her slip away.
If only he had the guts to be there and to be honest with her for once. Maybe she would have changed her mind and stayed? Maybe she would have, just like in the movies, turned around just before boarding her flight? Maybe she would have ran into his arms and he was sure that he would have held her, never letting go.
If only.
He knows that he is being foolish.
To think that some empty words would change her mind and make her stay was the most ridiculous thing to do, because, how can he even begin to ponder that he deserves another chance? That he has any right to be selfish?
Deep down he knows that he doesn’t, because, when she held her heart on her sleeve for him to take it, he ignored it, pushing it aside; toppling it over with force and shattering it.
Because all the others were more interesting, more exciting, more everything.
He trampled over the field of daisies, leaving a trail of broken stems behind.
How can he even think that some words would make them heal; make them flower again.
“You can stay, you know,” she speaks as she props herself on her elbow.
He shrugs a little, getting up. “I have some plans for later.”
No, he doesn’t.
She doesn’t say anything, but he knows that she’s watching him because he feels her eyes following his every move, but he finds it difficult to look back. Ashamed, disgusted and annoyed with himself – that’s how he feels because he knows how wrong it is to keep this farce of a relationship going; to keep hurting her, to use her as a distraction. Many men and women would have been more than happy to have someone as stunning as she is as their partner, and at one point in his life, he was one of them, but now, nothing about the relationship felt right.
Empty, shallow conversation that didn’t matter, curt answers, with silence filled moments, and occasional sex was all that was left out of them ever since he realised he was in love with someone else. Ever since he began to imagine some other lips kissing him, some other body in his arms, some other fingers crawling at his back; some other breaths and moans against his cheek – his relationship with the girl who watches him curiously as he dresses himself in a dimly lit room he once was familiar with, deteriorated.
Daisies.
When he finally leaves her apartment, clutching his phone in his hand, he isn’t surprised to see several missed calls and few unread text messages – all of which came from the same person – his teammate, and one of the people who tried to take off the blindfold he carried over his eyes.
As his eyes scan over the screen, each line of the text slaps him harder than the previous one.
You should have been here.
You owe her that much.
Are you really not going to show up?
And then, the last slap that knocks him out – figuratively – is the photograph.
Five people that he cared about so dearly, all huddled together as they grinned at the camera, but his eyes stay locked at one face in particular, and that’s when the regret for not being there overwhelms him even more than before.
Is this how it will end?
Will their story end before it had the chance to begin?
Seeing their faces in that single picture; seeing her bright smile, and those eyes shadowed with sadness – he wishes that he was there as well, next to her, having his arms around his friends, pulling a face or telling a bad pun that would make them laugh before the flash goes off.
The watch on his hand ticks away slowly as he sits in his car, slamming the doors harder than he wanted to. Even if he starts to drive now, breaking every speed limit and ignoring every red light on his way, he wouldn’t be able to get there on time.
He wouldn’t be able to get there on time to hug her, to say every word that was on his mind; to make her stay.
Like writing a poetry book, he adds another verse of regret, lined up perfectly – one after another as he backs his car onto the road, taking the opposite direction to the one that would take him to the airport.
He was late.
🌼
part III
Hope you liked the second part, there will be third part as well, if not tonight then mid-week. I had a really rough and busy patch at work last week so I wasn’t able to update. Make sure to check out my masterlist (pinned post), and to tell me what you think about this one. As before, I kinda want to tag people here because I think they are all amazing writers and mutuals.
@rosie7703, @emwritesfootball, @avenirdelight, @alexajanecollins, @afootballimagines, @footballerimaginess, @footballxwrites, @just-imagines, @donkeykai
If I forgot someone, please message me and I will add you :)
#Football Fanfiction#footballer fanfiction#footballer imagine#football imagine#soccer fanfiction#soccer imagine#soccer oneshot#soccer imagines#harry winks imagine#leon goretzka imagine#roman buerki imagine#antoine griezmann imagine#ben chilwell imagine#jesse lingard imagine#marcus rashfoord imagine#hector bellerin imagine#marco reus imagine#kepa arrizabalaga imagine#dele alli imagine#julian brandt imagine#eric dier imagine#dom calvert lewin imagine#mats hummels imagine#marco asensio imagine#james rodriguez imagine#virgil van dijk imagine#you can reblog and add more players#i cannot come up with anyone else
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bitter brews (i) | syh
“Johnny laughed again, eyes crinkling at the sides. Your mind wandered briefly to a half formed thought about how endearing that was. “Maybe so, but despite your efforts to make me an enemy, I think you’re actually a really good person. You even guessed my favorite coffee drink, so that has to count for something.””
genre | not quite a coffeeshop!au, (mild)slow burn, this thought about being an adversaries to lovers fic for six minutes
rating/warnings | a stupid amount of exposition about coffee plants, catch me throwing in the random recipes that have been my go-to for cooking during quarantine, is this angsty?, discussions of mental health issues {see tags for details}, overall mature content/themes {foul language, alcohol consumption, references & discussion of masturbation, awkward boners, future smut}, some soft moments, and some good ol’ tooth rotting waxing poetic nonsense fluff. Don’t expect too much out of this I just got tired of editing this part so I’m finally posting it.
word count | 19.6k (I meant for this to be a super long one-shot but it’s turning into a story in parts for the sake of ratings w h o o p s)
pairing | Johnny Seo x fem reader
writing playlist | Egotistic - Mamamoo, Black Swan - BTS, Sober - HYO, I Blame On You - Taeyeon, Heartbeat - BTS, Close to Me (Red Velvet Remix) - Ellie Goulding feat. Red Velvet
—
“So, what you mean to say is… you’re not coming? Like, at all?”
The bright yellow plastic of the rotary phone was slightly cool against your overheating skin, which was constantly veiled in a thin layer of sweat whenever you stayed on the farm property instead of the main house on the opposite side of the island. It was the first week of May, which meant it was already humid again. If it wasn’t the time for the daily afternoon rain showers, it might as well have felt like it was raining with how saturated the air was.
“I’m sorry, Bean, I just can’t get on a plane right now. I thought it would be fine it we stretched out the time between flights, but all my doctors are saying I need to just stay here between now and the birth, so…”
Your sister’s voice trailed off and you had to wait for a moment to be sure it wasn’t the poor reception for the phone call running across the four thousand miles that separated you— the four thousand miles that would continue to separate you for the rest of the summer.
You exhaled and twirled the aged spiral phone cord that could barely hold its shape around your index finger, staring at the concrete floor and scrunching your toes. “Well, I’m already here, obviously… do you… you want me to stay here then? Take care of stuff?” You asked hesitantly, already having a feeling of what the answer would be.
A crackly sigh of relief came through the other line. “Little Bean, you are the best, Yunho was worried about asking you to stay and man the farm for the summer harvest but I knew you would just offer! You’re the best like that, you know?” You gritted your teeth and forced a smile through, even though no one was there to witness it. “Okay, so we’ll ship out the supplies in the next few days. Yunho is gonna email you a list of delivery dates of materials for the projects he had planned for the summer and a few contractor contacts…”
Her voice warbled on, and you could only nod your head and vocalize an ‘mhmm’ every so often, listening to her rattle off instructions and information that you knew would be sent in an email too. You’d been looking forward to spending the summer with her— you hadn’t gotten a proper chance to visit for more than a weekend since she and Yunho had gotten married about two years ago— but it turned out this wouldn’t be it. You couldn’t blame her though; she was approaching the third trimester of her pregnancy. You’d do anything for her, even this, even isolating yourself on a farm for four months. Alone.
Not exactly the leave of absence you’d been hoping for from work, but it would have to do.
✧ ✧ ✧
This was supposed to be a vacation. A break. Some much needed time off, away from your job, your career, and your “normal” life. You told yourself over and over again you were looking forward to it. And besides, it would all be worth it, because of all the time you’d get to spend with your sister after so long.
And then she had to betray you by going and getting fucking knocked up, with twins no less.
Fucking happily married couples with their god damn healthy ass sex lives and family planning and wanting to raise children. What the fuck was that all about?
It had been so long since your last vacation. Years, in fact. So long, you had over two months of paid time off accrued at work, and back at New Years you’d made the preliminary plans to spend a month on the farm in Hawaii with her, bonding and just relaxing. Sure, it would require some manual labor for the business here and there, but mostly just to rest.
What a joke that turned out to be.
The farm in Hawaii. You know, the coffee farm your brother in law bought four years ago on a dare from your sister, because he said he could totally pull it off as a side hustle, and she said he wouldn’t be able to? Yeah, that one. Fast forward to today and the side hustle became a full fledged passion that roped in a good amount of the family into the business. Siblings, cousins, parents, all involved in different aspects of package design, social media marketing, distribution and wholesale— everyone except you, who stuck with your soul sucking job in advertising, the same industry your brother in law had since left behind.
The farm and roasting wasn’t an overnight success by any means, but in the last year the brand had really taken off in the craft coffee scene. After all, Kona coffee was well sought after, and one could only claim the name ‘Kona’ if it was grown on the same two thousand or so acres of land on Hawaii’s big island. You know, the same area of land you were living on for the remainder of the summer?
Right. The whole summer.
It was just supposed to be the month of May. And then it turned into May and some of June, when you’d asked your sister to make more concrete plans, and she kept brushing it off. And then the week before you actually got off the plane, you hadn’t booked the return ticket, because you were still waiting for her answer. And then the phone call, and now, this was… indefinite? No, that was being too dramatic; if anything, it would be up through the birth. Based on the number of projects Yunho had planned for the farm, through the remainder of the summer was how long everything would take. Just you and a little over five acres of land and the summer heat. The thought of an extended isolation had your breath catching in your throat, but the last thing you wanted to do was complain or call for help. Stubborn and proud, you wouldn’t have made the offer to stay if you didn’t mean it, if you didn’t think you could handle it. There was no way you were backing out now.
When Yunho had first bought the farm, it had been a rough first few years of refining the coffee plants that had been on the land and uncared for for a number of years, but the last two summers had provided a steady increase in the harvest yield. There was a small farmhouse on the property, with two small bedrooms, a shower, and a small kitchen and living area. A few miles down the coast was the nicer, newer condo that the business had bought, a multi-bedroom unit with some better amenities for when more of your family wanted to visit. It felt weird spending time there— it was too nice, too clean, and quite frankly you had enough to keep yourself busy with on the farm property, you’d rather not have to spend time driving back and forth every day. So you opted to spend most of your nights sleeping here, even though it meant only ceiling fans and no air conditioning.
The farmhouse had very shitty, very limited wifi and a grand total of three electrical outlets outside of what was used to power the oven and refrigerator. One of those outlets was, of course, dedicated to an espresso machine on the kitchen counter, which you had gotten acquainted with over the last two weeks. It was an older model and a little temperamental (the one at the condo was much nicer), but it was still from a decent manufacturer, and you could still use it to pulled a decent shot.
Most of the time you worked in silence, and most of the time you were never too aware of how much time had passed, other than when the sun went down and it was suddenly dark out. You weren’t always this absent minded, you swore— maybe it was a byproduct of being alone for so long—
A loud, high pitched whine filled your ears, followed by some scratching at the door that lead to the lanai outside. You sighed, standing up from the kitchen table and walking over to face the monster that had made it.
“What? What do you want now?”
Staring back at you from the the other side of the screen door was what you’d affectionally referred to as The Thirty-Three Pound Menace— the medium sized stray dog that your brother-in-law so conveniently forgot to mention had been living on the farm for the last few months. It had been waiting outside the farmhouse when you first arrived, and you’d learned from the neighbors that Yunho had taken a liking to the stray and had arranged for them to feed it in his absence. But now that you were here, taking care of the dog was added to your list of daily chores. It seemed to not want to leave the farm property unless actively accompanied by you, with the assurance that you’d be bringing it back with you.
With a roll of your eyes you hip checked the door open just enough to let the dog inside the house. It circled you several times, sniffing at your knees before sitting and panting, staring up at you expectantly. In the two weeks you’d been here, the majority of your conversations were between you and this, a being that couldn’t talk back. Maybe you liked it that way. “What, dinner? Fine, fine,” you grumbled, shuffling to the cabinet and pulling out a can of wet food.
Your meals had consisted of relatively simple dishes, but today you were cranky at the confirmation that your summer was not going to go as planned. Tonight’s dinner featured a bowl of cereal and a coffee mug full of cold white wine.
You ate in silence. You drank in silence. The only noise came from the hum of the ceiling fan overhead, and the occasional sound of the dog, cleaning its paws and laying by your feet protectively. Why it seemed so determined to win over your affection, you had no idea.
After sitting in silence with only your thoughts and the now sleeping dog to keep you company for what felt like hours and downing a second mug full of wine, you found yourself letting out a loud yell, startling the dog and waking it. In a fury, you pulled out the laptop you had for the sole purpose of checking once a day for emails from Yunho and connected it to the shitty, sub-par wifi with just enough patience to navigate to an airline’s website and search flights back to the states. You were looking for the cheapest, most reasonable one you could find. After all of five minutes of research and a quick round on mental math, you clicked on a date and hit the ‘book now’ button before you could second guess yourself, slamming the computer shut once the payment went through and shoving it away from you across the table.
“September 10th,” you grumbled out loud for only you and the dog to hear. Standing from the chair, the legs scraping loudly against the floor, you crossed the room and stopped in front of the wall calendar your sister had put up the last time she’d visited the farm just after New Years. You lifted a few pages and flipped forward to the month of September. Red marker in hand, you found the date and circled it rather aggressively, several times over. You looked down at the dog, watching you patiently with its head tilted. “You got that? I’m getting off this fucking island on September 10th.”
✧ ✧ ✧
The day your life fell apart came twelve days later just before nine in the morning.
Mondays were the delivery day, that’s what Yunho had laid out in his instructional emails to you. Your only source of personal transportation was an older jeep, one you didn’t enjoy driving, given that it had no top and needed some mechanical work done. So you’d made arrangements and had your groceries delivered on Monday mornings, buying mostly direct from another farm on the other side of the island, and they were always kind enough to act as the courier for whatever additional miscellaneous supplies you’d request, regardless of where they’d have to go to procure them.
There was a winding driveway that lead up to the house from the main road, and a larger, wider drive up a less steep hillside for larger vehicles for delivery. You were fully expecting the truck that lumbered up the delivery road and came to a stop just outside the barn which housed the massive coffee roaster and stored most of the processed green beans from harvest. Even though it had only been three weeks, there was a routine that had slowly been settling into place: the sound of the truck coming to a stop riled up the dog, the dog came running from wherever and started barking, you’d get your groceries and any other assorted items, the dog would get a treat because your delivery boy had a soft spot for the creature, and you’d pay for your goods. “Hey Jin,” you called out over the barking from the front of the barn, hands currently full with a sack of processed coffee beans you’d hoisted over your shoulder. “You can just leave the groceries on the porch, I’ll put them inside in a few. Did you manage to get me the bags of fertilizer and some wood stakes?” A loud thud sounded as you dropped the bag to its resting place on the concrete floor.
“I mean, I can go put these inside if that’s easier. And yeah, there’s ten bags to get us started, we can have more delivered next week if you still need ‘em.”
You whipped around to face whoever had just spoken, because that voice was most certainly not Jin.
He was tall like Jin, had wide shoulders like Jin, and his hair was kept just a bit long and looked ridiculously shiny and soft and like you could run your fingers through it like Jin’s. It was a lighter brown with some honeyed highlights running through it, compared to the dark brown almost black of Jin’s. You tensed, seeing him carrying a brown paper bag with a loaf of bread and the leafy green tops of carrots sticking out the top. He wasn’t looking at you, rather, he was far too occupied with bending down slightly and scratching behind the ear of the dog who was currently whining and wagging its tail at his feet. Some guard dog it was.
Without a second thought, you reached for the first sharp object you could find, which happened to be the box cutter you used to cut open the burlap bags the beans came back from the processing plant in. “You’re not Jin,” you said tersely, holding the utility knife by your hip defensively.
“Chill out killer, he’s harmless,” a more familiar voice called. Seokjin, your regular delivery driver whose family owned the farm you bought directly from, came into view carrying another two bags of produce and a small pile of envelopes. “Picked up your mail on my way up, the box was practically overflowing. Do you ever check that thing?” You’d first met Jin two years ago when you’d come to visit your sister and Yunho for a long weekend. He’d become a good friend of Yunho’s and was one of the people who would take turns feeding the dog when no one else was here.
Ignoring the unknown man, you relaxed your shoulders slightly and placed the knife down on the table behind you. “Thanks,” you grumbled, taking the small pile of letters from him. Admittedly, you hadn’t checked the mailbox since the day after you’d arrived on the farm, mostly out of sloth and spite. You sifted through the letters— mostly junk mail, with a few bills and notices relating to the business. You put those in front so you could look through them later, when you’d finished the physical work for the day. You tore one envelope open in particular when you noticed it was addressed directly to you and had your sister and Yunho’s Illinois address in the upper corner. It was a letter postmarked from two weeks ago, which struck you as odd, because what the hell would he bother writing in a letter that he couldn’t just send you in an email or a text or a phone call? You started reading aloud softly to yourself.
“‘My Dearest Bean… First of all I want to apologize for the change in plans, but with your sister’s condition her doctors just don’t recommend her traveling,’ God, he’s so dramatic she’s not terminally ill she’s just pregnant. Blah blah blah, I don’t care, you’re full of absolute shite, Yunho,” you began skimming through his lengthy pre amble, looking for the purpose behind the note. Without reading the middle you flipped the stationary paper over to see his handwriting covered the entire back of the page, too. “God, he’s so long winded. Oh, here we go, the very end— ‘I promise we’ll make it up to you, thank you for running the farm and taking care of Puppy, please be nice to Johnny and treat him well, he seems like a good kid.” You stared at the words written on the paper and looked up at Jin. “Who the fuck is Johnny?”
The man next to him cleared his throat and held his hand up. “Johnny! I’m uh, that’s me. You must be _____— I’ve heard a lot about you from Yunho! I’m Johnny Seo, it’s nice to meet you,” he said with a smile, reaching a hand out.
You eyed it but made no move to reciprocate the action. “Cool. You know Yunho. Lots of people know Yunho, he’s a huge fucking flirt, social butterfly of the century, the man never shuts up. Why should I be nice to you?”
He shifted on his feet and his outstretched hand retreated. “Oh. Uh. I’m uh, here for the summer,” he explained, sounding almost confused. “Didn’t— didn’t Yunho tell you?”
Your eyes bugged out and you looked over to Jin. “Jin who the fuck is this and why is he on my farm?” You whispered.
Your friend laughed. “You read the end of Yunho’s letter. I’m sure if you read the whole thing it would explain more. This is Johnny, and he’s here for the summer. He’s gonna help you out! I know the list of all the projects you need to finish this summer is lengthy, and plus look at the guy, he’s jacked! You could use the muscle for manual labor. More work for him, less for you, right? And look, the poor dog you refuse to give a name to even likes him!” Jin gestured comically at Johnny. You looked over, sizing him up some— Jin wasn’t wrong. The stranger was muscular on top of being tall, and under the capped sleeves of his tee shirt you saw his arms that looked the size of your head. The dog was still circling him, sniffing and begging for attention.
Johnny tried smiling again. “Yunho mentioned there was a lot of construction type work to do. I uh, had nothing else planned so he said I could stay on the farm for the summer and work in exchange for food and a place to sleep. I take it he uh, didn’t run that by you first, did he?”
Your grip on the papers in hand tightened and you felt your jaw tense involuntarily. “No, he managed to not mention that once to me. How did you even get here?” You hissed back.
“I picked him up at the airport this morning,” Jin answered calmly, “Yunho gave me a buzz a few days ago to ask if I could bring him here with this week’s groceries.”
“So he managed to arrange for him to get on a plane and secure transportation to the farm but couldn’t be bothered to call me and let me know?”
Jin only laughed, his eyes crinkling. “I’m pretty sure he knows you well enough by now to know that this would have been your reaction whatever way he told you.” Despite the kinship you’d felt growing between the two of you, Jin was Yunho’s friend first, and it only made sense that his allegiance would be to him first. Of course he’d side with Yunho on this matter. “And yes, like Johnny said I did bring a bundle of plant stakes and ten bags of fertilizer— they’re in the back of the truck bed.”
“Oh, I could get those—” Johnny started, moving to step towards the truck.
You could barely think straight. First they bailed on you unexpectedly to spend the summer on the farm alone. That was fine— you’d gotten that through your head, and had come to terms with that. But suddenly springing a plus one on you, without your consent? Absolutely the fuck not.
“Yeah. Don’t need help. Thanks,” you spat, grabbing the bags of groceries from him and brushing past, stomping your way back to the farmhouse.
Johnny stood frozen for a moment before stammering, looking from Jin to your retreating figure and back again. “I should— I should talk to her, right? Or do I—”
“Whoa, don’t think too hard there handsome, I can smell wood burning. Don’t stress about it. She’s just a little… touchy. Let me talk to her,” Jin patted Johnny on the back before heading up the path to the farmhouse after you.
You’d stormed into the house and slammed the groceries down on the counter and let out a screech of rage before picking up the receiver of the yellow rotary phone and dialing. Tapping you foot incessantly, you waited as it rang.
“He-llo~?” The singsong voice that came through the other end was far too amused with itself, more so than usual, and that’s how you knew he knew why you were calling.
“Jung Yunho you better be thankful you knocked up my sister because if it weren’t for the babies in her womb I would fly myself across the Pacific and flay you alive,” you seethed through gritted teeth.
In true unbothered fashion, your brother in law only laughed at your threat. “Ah, so I take it your employee has arrived safely! I’ll have to thank Seokjin for getting him from the airport. Can you give the Kims a pound of the special medium roast as a token of my gratitude?”
“No!” You yelled back, “No! I will not! I’m already beyond frustrated that I’m on this island alone for the entire summer, I’m doing this as a favor because we’re family! I’m not your slave, Yunho! Where was my warning, huh? When were you going to ask if I was okay with you sending some stranger to live in the same house as me, huh?!”
The familiar ache in your chest started to swell, and breathing became difficult. ‘Not now,’ you thought bitterly, ‘Please not right now-’
You curled your free hand into a fist and pressed your nails into your palm, hard, grounding yourself. Yunho’s voice on the phone blurred out and by the time his words started making sense again, you’d already missed what he’d been saying. “I’m not saying you have to like the kid, just show him some hospitality, yeah? You just said it yourself, you didn’t want to be alone this summer, and now you won’t be. I know you’re a good cook so that’s why I told him food would be included. Don’t worry, I’ve already sent some pre-payments to the Kims, so your grocery orders are doubled for the rest of the summer.” His voice went quiet for a second. You rubbed at your temple in frustration, squinting your eyes shut and forcing the mere thought of tears deep back into the recesses of your brain. “Bean? You still there?”
“Don’t get all pretend concerned, Yunho. And stop using my childhood nickname any time you want something from me.” Your voice was quieter now, the intensity of your emotions subsiding, but the betrayal you felt still running strong. “Fine. I’ll tolerate him. But there better be a case of wine in next week’s groceries to make this bearable.”
“Done and done! You’re gonna love him Bean, he’s really great. He’ll be good company.” The continued use of your childhood nickname from anyone other than your sister always gave you pause.
“I said tolerate not befriend. There’s a difference,” you clarified quickly. A knock at the door startled you, and you jumped and looked to see Jin standing by the front door, a roll of wooden stakes under his arm. You rolled your eyes and waved your arm to shoo him away, pointing at the phone pressed to your ear. “Look, Yunho, I don’t know what you’re hoping to see me get out of this, but if he drives me insane I can’t promise that he’ll walk away from this unscathed.”
His laugh echoed through the receiver and reverberated against your skin. “I just think it would do you some good to have some human interaction, that’s all. Your sister too. She says hi, by the way,” he added softly, “And so do the little ones.”
You scoffed. Yunho always brought up your sister as a way of diffusing your temper. He knew it would always work. “They’re still in embryonic fluid, they can’t talk and they certainly don’t have cognitive function.” Sometimes you wondered if even Yunho had that with the wild ideas that went through his mind.
“Ever the romantic, you are. You know, soon they’ll be able to think! And they’ll be thinking of their favorite auntie, and how much they can’t wait to meet her! So she can’t be arrested for murder between now and when they’re born, because babies can’t go to prison!”
“I’m telling your sister you said that,” you challenged. With an exhale, you did your best to let go of the frustration and tension inside and politely ended the phone call. You were trying to clear your head and collect yourself before heading back outside when you heard a yell that sounded all too much like Jin’s voice.
“What fresh hell—” you started, shuffling back outside in the direction of the commotion where you saw Jin, somewhat struggling under the weight of two bags of fertilizer, and Johnny, now with a baseball cap turned backwards on his head, easily hoisting a stack of four bags without slouching.
Your eyebrow ticked up upon the realization that it was almost seventy pounds that he was slinging around like it was nothing. “Anywhere specific you want these?” He asked innocently, looking up at where you stood on the lanai just outside the door. You almost cursed him out when he blinked at you twice.
You pointed your left arm down the hill, the opposite direction of the way to the barn. “Shed. Next to the vegetable garden.” You wrinkled your nose at him. “And lose the hat. Or at least don’t wear it backwards. Makes you look like an ass.”
Johnny’s mouth hung open for a moment before he hummed and winked. “You got it, Boss! Come on handsome, if you can carry those good looks you can carry some dirt,” he called back to Jin, who was currently grumbling about how manual labor wasn’t a part of his delivery arrangement.
The hairs on your arm stood up on edge as you watched Johnny laugh deeply as he ambled his way in the direction you’d pointed. The thirty three pound menace next to you whined and wagged its tail, panting as it went from watching you to watching Johnny’s retreating figure. You looked down and made eye contact. “If I survive this, I’m going to kill Yunho.”
✧ ✧ ✧
There was no case of wine in the grocery deliveries the following week. The reasoning Yunho gave was that per Jin’s investigation, the liquor stores were all out of your favorite wine, so there was no point in sending you a sub par alternative. It was absolute crap, but you had better things to do than chew out your brother in law over the phone. Took way more energy than it was worth.
So far, Johnny was making good on his word and earning his keep. At first, you’d tried avoiding him as much as possible, intentionally waking up hours ahead of him and starting your day when the sun rose. You never made much noise in the mornings, the loudest thing you did was make coffee, and lately you’d opted for a pour over versus pulling shots of espresso. You weren’t personally one for breakfast, choosing just coffee and maybe a piece of fruit instead. This morning you felt a little hungrier than usual, so you thought you’d get yourself a bowl of cereal. Peering into your pantry, you saw that on the shelf where there had been a stash of cereal boxes, there was now nothing.
“Where the fuck are my cocoa pebbles?” You swore in shock, not realizing you weren’t alone in the kitchen.
“Shit sorry, I ate the last of those yesterday.”
You whirled around to see Johnny, still seemingly half asleep and with some gnarly bedhead, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. His lips were so perfectly pouty, one small part of your brain almost thought he looked cute like this.
But no, he wasn’t cute, he was a thief— he’d stolen all of your cereal stash. “Did you seriously eat through four boxes in a week?” You asked incredulously.
“It was three and a quarter! And yeah I don’t know, I’m always hungry and just one bowl of cereal isn’t filling enough, so I usually have two, or three...” He mumbled, voice trailing off as he rubbed a hand behind his head sheepishly.
You snorted. And then a thought came across you. “Johnny,” you said calmly, the feeling of his name on your tongue foreign and strange. Was this the first time you’d addressed him by name since his arrival? You couldn’t remember. “Do you not know how to cook?”
He hummed thoughtfully for a second. “No-pe!” He popped the p sound in the word. How was he this cheerful, even first thing in the morning? “I mean, I can like, boil water and cook pasta and stuff like that. I think I successfully grilled pork belly once, though it was probably doused in too much oil and too many spices. My college experience was funded almost exclusively on instant dinners and takeout for two years, and then for the second half one of my roommates was an actual chef, so, no one was allowed in the kitchen ‘cept for him.”
“Honestly, I am shocked that you haven’t perished in some tragically strange idiotic accident yet,” you sighed and shuffled to the fridge, pulling out a carton of eggs and a pack of bacon. You grabbed a frying pan from the cabinet under the stove and clicked the burner on, reaching for the oil bottle that lived on the counter top and drizzling some in the pan.
Johnny shuffled closer to inspect what you were doing and let out a gasp of appreciation. “You’re making me eggs and bacon?”
“I’m making me eggs and bacon,” you corrected, “But I guess I’ll make enough for you too,” you said as you peeled the strips off the packaging and placed them into the pan with a sizzle. You reached for a few eggs and cracked four into the pan directly, cocked your head at the amount of food, and then grabbed two more eggs and added them in before taking a fork and scrambling them all together, adding salt and white pepper to the bubbling liquid. You glanced up at Johnny, still watching you, slightly curious. “I don’t trust you. You say you’re an adult but you eat like a teenage boy still. There’s never any leftovers.” After a few minutes you flipped the strips of bacon over and then quickly chopped up a green onion and scraped it onto the scramble just before the eggs finished cooking.
Johnny watched you the whole time, and you felt only slightly uneasy under his gaze. When you turned off the stove after plated your food and stepping away to pour yourself some coffee and he didn’t move, you gestured at the pan in a fashion as if to silently ask him ‘What?’
“Oh!” He gasped out lightly, springing into action and plating the food for himself. You hadn’t bothered to sit down at the table, instead holding the plate in front of you as you leaned against the counter and ate. Johnny followed your lead, taking a bite and groaning audibly in enjoyment at he chewed. He smiled and his eyes shone, almost sparkling. You watched him curiously for a moment before he mumbled out “Your cooking is really good! It uh, reminds me of my mom’s. She’s a great cook.”
You kept your lips tightly shut at the apparent compliment. “It’s just eggs, you weirdo. Finish up and do the dishes. When you’re done meet me by the shed. Today you’re stripping off the old paint and removing any of the rotting boards and disposing of them,” you instructed while placing your empty plate in the sink. His tasks for the day were the next phase in slowly rebuilding the dilapidated shed on the west side of the property to make it useful for storage of all the tools you used to tend to the fruit trees and vegetable garden nearby.
He flashed a smile at you and gave a mock salute. “Aye-aye, captain, I am at your service.”
“Oh shut up,” you grumbled, downing more of your coffee before trudging off.
It was going to be a long summer.
✧ ✧ ✧
“I’m telling you Wendy, I’m going to need an alibi, I really am going to murder my brother in law.”
“What, for giving you live-in eye candy for the summer and hinting that he thinks you need to get laid?”
“Ugh, no, that’s not— hold up, you don’t agree with him, do you?”
The sound of your best friend’s laughter through the phone had you dragging your hands over your face and pulling down at your eyelids dramatically, as if she could see your reaction.
On Thursdays, you finished up your work for the day around 4pm so you could pull up a chair next to the rotary phone and make time for the weekly scheduled phone call with Wendy. She’d insisted on the arrangement after you went six days without texting her, which you’d insisted was because service was spotty, but she’d accurately called you out on being cranky and stewing by yourself.
You and Wendy had met during your freshman year of college. By graduation, you’d lived together for three years, and made a vow to move to the same city together post grad, hence why she was still your roommate now— or was, seeing as you were on the island instead of back in the two bedroom apartment you shared. There was a five hour timezone difference between Hawaii and Chicago, so you’d figured out a schedule that worked for both of you. The calls had a tendency to last for several hours, and depending on how much wine you’d drink while on the phone with her would include bathroom breaks and you inevitably swearing at whatever you were cooking for dinner than night.
“Honey, please. I love you. Dearly, and against all other advice, you’re my best friend— but you need to get laid. You haven’t been this tense since our last finals week of senior year. And clearly you’re not opposed to the idea of Eye Candy banging your brains out, otherwise you wouldn’t have described him as, and I quote, ‘dumb hot and stupidly ripped’. When are you gonna send me a photo so I have something better to work with?”
“Okay but are you sure you’re not the sexually frustrated one here and you’re just trying to live vicariously through me?”
Wendy’s hum sounded through the line. “I mean, can’t we both be desperately horny and in need of getting some? It’s not ideal but it is possible. Plus, I’m not the one that didn’t pack her vibrator—”
You let out a whine interrupting her as you leaned back in your chair, swirling the wine in your glass a few times as you held the phone to your ear with your shoulder. “Shut up stop reminding me! I regret it but no I’m not letting you send me a new one, especially not with a guy living with me. Come on, my stories are boring, it’s the same thing every day. I wake up, I feed the dog, I tell him what to do and then I hide away doing my own chores. When are you gonna tell me more about that girl you were seeing— what was her name, Joo-something?”
“Nice try, we’re not changing the subject with my dating life. Seriously, babe, you should just think about it.”
“And what, make it awkward for the rest of the summer? No thanks,” you shot her idea down quickly.
“I’m willing to bet money you’ll cave before the end of the summer. Plus, who doesn’t love a good ol’ summer fling? And who says you ever have to see him again once it’s all over?”
As much as you’d loathe to admit it, Wendy had a bit of a point there. “Cute, but you and I both know I’m too high strung for a temporary fling. Plus, I’m not in the mood to catch feelings right now.”
“If I find a way to replenish your wine supply, would that help?”
You groaned dramatically once more. “Not with the sexual frustration, but with my overall wellbeing, yes, yes it would.”
Wendy squealed on the other end of the phone. “Ha! So you admit it, you are sexually frustrated!”
“Woman, when in the years that you’ve known me have I not been at least some kind of frustrated?” You acknowledged.
Your best friend laughed in agreement, understanding she wasn’t going to get much more out of you about Johnny, and began a lengthy and detailed story about her last three dates with a girl she’d met through a friend of a friend. As you listened to how her voice held a dreamlike quality to it when she talked about her, you couldn’t help the pang of jealousy you felt and a sinking feeling in your gut that you’d been lying through your teeth earlier, and that maybe, subconsciously, you did want to catch feelings.
Maybe.
✧ ✧ ✧
“So… is there a story or a reason why you’re here instead of Yunho?”
You lifted your head from your focused task of sorting out the peaberry beans from the regular beans. It was tedious, time consuming, annoying as all hell, and made you want a drink stiffer than the coffee that you were certain made up more of your body fluids than blood or water did at this point. “Yes,” you said curtly after studying his face for a minute, not providing any further explanation. Johnny had his hands in his pockets and pursed his lips, nodding for a moment where he stood in the entrance to the barn.
You had set up your mad scientist level organization for the process all across the concrete floor of the refinished barn. Over the last week, Johnny had finished replacing the boards on the siding of the shed, stained the wood, and sealed it with a protective coat. He even managed to remove all the broken glass from the windows without sustaining any injuries, which you hadn’t thought possible for him. This morning you had him weed the vegetable garden, prune back the hedges along the back side of the house, and clean the deck of the lanai. How did he possibly still have any energy left? He was definitely a harder worker than you’d first given him credit for— you shook your head, not wanting to continue a spiral on Johnny and any detailed thoughts about him.
Back to your task at hand.
The harvest had been divided into several metal basins of five pounds of beans each, and in front of each basin you’d placed two dishes on either side. The point was to be able to weigh how many beans ended up being peaberry from each five pounds of harvest, and to see if you could leverage a steady average from the yield and better plan for how many pounds of the limited roast you could advertise for and set the price per pound accordingly. You wore a face mask and nylon disposable gloves while sorting, and despite being an annoying task, after a while it became a way for you to zone out and let the hours pass by. When the dishes were empty and you first started sorting them, there was a distinct echo of the small beans hitting the metal dish over and over again, until enough beans were lining the bottom that it started to dull the noise.
“Sigh.”
A slight puff of air washed over you. Did he just say the word ‘sigh’ out loud? And was he hovering over your shoulder?
“Can I help you?” You asked, pausing your sorting for only a moment.
“Isn’t it my job to ask you that question? I’m not some layabout, I am trying to earn my keep, you know,” Johnny said in response, rubbing his hands together and eyeing the basin of beans in front of him. You were almost inclined to hand it to him. Over the last four weeks, you’d gotten a lot of decent work out of him, even if you did feel somewhat micro-manage-y half the time with the tasks you did give him. “Okay, how does this work?”
You groaned exaggeratedly and excessively, rolling your eyes. When you didn’t answer, he reached forward and plucked a single coffee bean from the basin and examined it closely. “Hey, this one’s funny looking!”
“Don’t touch them with your bare hands, that’s just going to waste them.” You swatted the bean out of his hand and then looked at your own gloves and sighed. “If you’re insisting on helping, fine. But you need sanitary gear to handle them. Go wash your hands, there’s masks and gloves by the sink,” you grumbled, standing up and taking off your own gloves to dispose of them and replace them with a fresh pair.
Johnny followed obediently, trailing behind you a little too innocently for someone of his size. “Yes, the beans still need to be roasted and that’ll kill any bacteria, but I just like to be extra cautious, okay? Because it’s a mutation there’s no rule to how much of a yield I’ll get with each harvest so I don’t like wasting even a single bean,” you reasoned, settling back down and folding your legs back at the now half-sorted metal bowl.
“So, we’re just sorting the weird ones from the normal ones?” He asked while picking up another peaberry bean, this time with gloved hands and a mask over his mouth and nose.
You took a quick glance and nodded to confirm that yes, the bean in his hand was one of the weird ones he should be looking for. “They’re called peaberry. Normally, a coffee cherry has two seeds in it, or beans. Those two seeds mature in the center of the cherry and you get one flat side and one side touching it. Sometimes people call them ‘flat beans’ but those are the ‘normal’ beans, as you said,” you explained, sifting through your bowl rather quickly. “But the peaberry ones only have one bean inside. The bean is round, so that’s where the name ‘peaberry’ comes from, because—“
“Because it’s round so it looks like a pea, oh I get it! That’s funny,” he laughed, examining the rounded bean in front of him. “Okay, got it, so we’re sorting the peaberry from the flat beans?”
“You proud of your new vocab words?” You snorted, listening for the well known tink of a bean hitting the empty metal bowls. He giggled in acknowledgement.
You worked in relative silence, a small rhythm growing between the two of you. Johnny worked at about half the speed you did, but you couldn’t knock him for it, as it had taken you a while to pick up the pace when you first started hand sorting like this.
“How do you even know Yunho?” You finally asked. Four weeks since he’d arrived, and you’d never bothered to get to know him well enough to listen to the full story of how he’d ended up here.
Johnny shifted in his seated position, clearly a little taken aback that you’d bothered to ask him anything, given your track record. “Oh. Met him in Chicago when I was home visiting. At a local coffee shop, where my buddy Jaehyun is the manager. I went to go bother Jaehyun at work and he was just, shootin’ the shit with one of his coffee suppliers who was doing a visit. That supplier was Yunho. Started talking about how he owned the farm where the beans were grown, and that he wasn’t going to be able to spend the summer out there like he’d planned, so he was looking for some reliable help to uh, take care of things. Mentioned someone else would be on site and in charge, but offered the whole ‘room and board in exchange for copious amounts of physical labor’.”
“And you said yes? Just like that, no questions asked?” It seemed a little too easy, but then again, Johnny had proved to be a little too easygoing.
He shrugged. “Well, yeah. That’s kinda the point of my whole year. Just, go with the flow.” You glanced over, but Johnny was looking down, focused on the task at hand.
You nodded and hummed and turned back to your own basin to continue sorting. A few beats passed by before you couldn’t help yourself— “You’ve said that before. ‘Go with the flow’, or that you ‘had nothing else going on’. What do you mean by that?”
Out of the corner of your eye you saw Johnny’s ears perk up, followed by movement of his cheeks implying the curve of a slight smile. “I’m on a gap year, I guess is what the kids would say. Or maybe sabbatical? Though it’s not like I have any tenure enough to qualify for the real meaning of the term. But yeah, anyways— year off from work. Not getting paid or anything, but, when it’s over if I want it, my old job is waiting for me.”
“How come? That seems so—”
“Impulsive?”
You frowned. “Yeah, exactly.”
“Yeah, exactly,” he repeated, but not in a mocking manner— it was in agreement. “I guess the best way to explain it is this: I was a huge workaholic. I’ve only had my one job post grad after studying business, and I woke up one morning a month before my twenty-fifth birthday and realized it was sucking the soul out of me. It was all I ate, slept, breathed, and it wasn’t even what I wanted to be doing with my life, I realized.”
His pain started sounding all too familiar. “What is it you wanted to do instead, then?”
Even under the mask covering the lower half of his face, his smile reached his eyes. “Photography. I got into an art school when I was applying to colleges, but it just seemed so… risky. I would’ve had to take out loans and instead I got almost a full ride for a bigger university, so I went for that instead. Studied business, managed to grind through undergrad and grad school in four years and walked out with a combined BS and MBA. Took classes every summer to make it happen. I think after graduation, I went back to my parents house and passed out and slept for twenty-three hours straight,” he laughed, clearly recalling a specific memory. “I felt really accomplished when it was over, and even had the job offer already lined up. But I wish I had had more courage to study what I was truly passionate about.
“So after an almost three year long stint at the company and a vested 401k, I decided to take a year off to just, travel the world a bit. I grinded so hard through college I never got the chance to do study abroad, so I guess I wanted to make up for that? I never used to act on impulse or follow my heart, so, that was the goal for this year. To do only that.”
His words struck you differently. This was a whole new side to Johnny that you really weren’t expecting— not that you had a particularly three dimensional view of him to begin with. “And your heart lead you here… to my brother-in-law’s coffee farm?”
He laughed again, trying to hide just how thrilled he was that you were actually engaging in a full on conversation with him. “Well, sort of. My year off started back in February, day before my birthday. Got on a plane and did a few months backpack trip around Asia. I had no clue what would be next, thought maybe Australia, maybe Europe, but when I got off the plane in Chicago to see my mom and regroup on my packing, I decided to go straight from the airport to surprise and bother Jaehyun at his coffee shop. That day I met Yunho. That was a little over six weeks ago. And now I’m here, with you.”
There was something about the way he said that that didn’t sit well in your stomach— with you, like it was a good thing, like he liked it. You didn’t deign him with a response to the end of his story. Like an extension of the current state of your mind, your hands were reaching, feeling around for something, but you were only met with the flat surface of the bottom of the basin.
You looked down to see the last of the metal bowls was empty. Somehow, you’d managed to sort through all twenty pounds of coffee beans. You pulled the face mask down under your chin as you stared at the metal surface for a moment before standing abruptly and turning on your heels.
Confused, Johnny called your name out after you questioningly. “It’s getting late and I’m hungry. You uh, bag up the peaberry and set it aside and then wash out all the metal trays,” you gave him his next set of tasks quickly to make your escape back to the farmhouse to put some distance between the two of you.
A little over an hour later, you’d put together a curry on the stove with some stew meat and a base that included apples, carrots, potatoes, and melted dark chocolate for a more mellow sweet taste to balance it out. You thought about the first time Johnny complimented your cooking when it was just eggs, and how he’d continued to compliment it with every new meal you’d make. You wouldn’t call yourself a chef by any means, thinking that enjoying your go-to recipes would be a more acquired taste, and were in the midst of serving yourself when Johnny came inside with the dog trailing behind him. You didn’t bother saying much, you never did when you’d finished cooking a meal; just a grunt acknowledging his presence and a head nod at the food before you took your bowl and went through the door to go sit on the lanai by yourself. Absent-mindedly, you whistled for the dog to follow you.
Johnny kept to himself that night, eating at the kitchen table, content with looking up out the bay window to see you hand feeding small chunks of meat from your bowl to the dog, even going so far as to pet its head. He shook his head to himself thinking about how you pretended to be so opposed to the dog, and how you still hadn’t given it a name, and smiled as he took another bite.
✧ ✧ ✧
At five weeks, you stopped watching Johnny like a hawk, and started giving him more lengthy tasks that you, quite frankly, just didn’t want to do yourself. Though, if you were being honest, every task you gave him was one you didn’t want to do yourself.
Such as his current one, which was to prep the ground for a new row of sapling fruit trees. You’d walked down from the farmhouse over the hill to the open area next to a row of lemon and guava trees where you’d set him to the task of digging a row of four foot wide, four foot deep holes. The week after next, Jin’s delivery would be a much larger one, and include a number of sapling fruit trees from his family’s farm— rambutans, limes, and mangos, to name a few. You wanted to make sure the holes got dug and the irrigation system set in place properly well in advance.
When you came to a stop at the end of the row of freshly dug holes in the ground you blinked once. Twice. A third time. The sight before you was impossible to comprehend. Because not only was Johnny finishing digging the last of ten massive holes having taken less than three hours to do so, but he had been digging them shirtless.
“What. What?” You asked, staring, eyes wide and brow furrowed.
“Huh?” He asked, looking up from the bottom of the last hole and swishing his head to get his bangs, matted with sweat against his forehead, out of his face. The sun had crested over to this side of the hill now and it was blisteringly hot out. Standing in direct sunlight, doing physical labor, obviously he’d worked up a sweat.
You had to tear your eyes away from the shine on his torso and return them to just his face. “Where the fuck is your shirt?”
He pointed to where a lump of fabric was off to the side next to a water bottle. “It’s fucking hot out, I was dying,” he reasoned.
“You’re hot,” you mumbled under your breath, turning on your heel to give yourself reprieve from the onslaught that was Johnny’s unexpected number of defined abdominal muscles that were usually covered by cotton t shirts.
“What was that?” He called, squinting up into the sun from the bottom of the hole.
“I said, put a god damn shirt on before you come back in my house,” you called back, already wrapping your arms around yourself and heading back to the farmhouse. “And dinner’ll be ready in twenty, so finish up,” you added, trudging off before he could respond.
What you would have seen if you’d turned back around was an open mouthed smile curl across his face, as Johnny hummed to himself at the joy he felt for this, the first time you’d bothered to warn him when dinner would be ready.
✧ ✧ ✧
Ever since you’d seen Johnny shirtless, you’d be restless.
Well, restless was the polite word. The word to better describe what you’d been feeling was… frustrated?
Distracted? Peeved? Worked up?
Horny.
The word you were avoiding was horny.
Wendy had been the one to get you to admit it during your last weekly phone call. You told her about the shirtless incident and the first thing she asked was if you had plans to throw out the washing machine and instead start doing your laundry on Johnny’s abs, which did not help your predicament any further. It was also Wendy who had pointed out that you’d been alone on this farm for almost two months with a dog and a man too pretty for his own good, and despite how he represented everything you were annoyed at in life at the moment, after seeing his half naked figure, it would only be natural for you to have been a little turned on. And a little turned on was exactly where you were— for the last week, you had been going on runs every night to release the excess pent up energy you suddenly had.
The last time you exercised this much you were still in college. Back then you went on hour long runs through the city with your phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ because it was the only way you weren’t constantly bombarded with an on onslaught of messages from classmates, friends, family, or your on campus job that took up way too much of your time. And now, you found yourself returning to old habits, this time because what, you were too proud to just rub one out like the rest of humanity? (That phrasing, too, was courtesy of your best friend, when she again reminded you of your failure to pack your vibrator.)
After another eight miles up and down the road outside the farm that ran along the island’s coast your legs felt like absolute jello when you finished, but your head was empty enough that you were able to return to the property and exist near Johnny in peace. You walked by the barn on your way up to the farmhouse, sticking your head inside briefly to look for him. You didn’t hear any noise, and didn’t find him at first glance, but didn’t think much of it as you went back inside.
The dog was already in the kitchen, so that should have been your first clue. You opened the fridge and peered inside, pulling out a number of assorted ingredients to make a lemon cream sauce for pasta with chicken.
You set a pot of water to boil, turned the oven on to preheat, and began melting butter, garlic, oil, and a variety of herbs in a sauce pan. That plus the low hum of the overhead fan meant just enough noise that you couldn’t hear the water running from the small shower on the other side of the house, and you didn’t think twice as the heat cast off by the appliances made you feel even stuffier post-run, and you peeled your shirt off your body and rolled the waistband of your shorts down an inch, pressing your bare feet flat against the hardwood flooring to try and get some semblance of cooling relief.
It was only a few moments later, with the water boiling and pasta cooking inside and the chicken already seasoned and in the oven, when you peered over the bubbling sauce pan and dipped the edge of your pinky into the mixture to bring just a taste up to your mouth. Just like you’d hoped, it was light and had a kick of citrus to it from the lemon, but not so much that it was overpowering. You closed your eyes and hummed in appreciation as you licked the sauce off, which, in retrospect, probably sounded far too much like a moan for your own good.
“Jesus fuck—”
And suddenly, you realized you weren’t alone inside the house.
You screamed at first from the shock of being startled by the noise, and then again when it registered in your brain that Johnny was standing in the kitchen, hair dripping wet, chest bare and abdominal muscles just as defined as the last time you’d seen them, face flushed in some sort of embarrassment with a bath towel wrapped around his hips.
Johnny was fresh out of the shower, nearly naked in your kitchen, clutching his clothes balled up in his left hand.
You scream again.
“What are you doing?!” You shrieked out, raising your voice over the dog’s excited barking at the commotion the two of you had begun making.
He stammered for a moment, clearly frozen in place. “I was just! You were gone, and I was done for the day, so I took a shower but I— I forgot my change of clothes in my room and these towels are small and just— Jesus why are you wearing so little clothing?!”
Your fury returned full force at the comment. “Why am I wearing so little clothing? You’re in a towel for fuck’s sake! This is my house, I live here! I should be the one asking you where your clothes are!”
“They’re here, in my hand!” He yelled back, waving the bundle around frantically. “I just said I forgot them when I went to shower!”
Your eyes bugged out of you head as your gaze traveled down, taking in the entirety of the figure before you and— oh.
“Are you… are you hard right now?” You asked in bewilderment.
The way the color drained out of Johnny’s face and the speed with which he moved the bundle of clothing to hold it over the space between his legs answered your question.
“Oh, my god.” Exasperated, you slammed your eyes shut and held your hands up by your sides. “What the fuck, John.”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean— fuck, shit I made it weird— please don’t get mad, I can totally fix this,” he started spewing apologies, and you heard him take two steps closer to you. “Wait, were you looking at my dick?”
“Ah!” You spat out, turning away from him. His question was valid but you had no intention of acknowledging it. “Out! Get out of my house, go… somewhere else until that goes away or you can, I don’t know, take care of it!” You instantly thought of the implication of your words and then yelled again. “No— don’t— fuck, don’t do that! Jesus for the love of god don’t take care of it while I’m standing here—” you were stammering and beyond flustered. How the fuck were you supposed to talk to someone who had just gotten a fucking boner by looking at you, sweaty in a sports bra, while sucking a cream colored substance off the tip of your pinky?
You exhaled deeply, eyes still closed. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You are going to go to your room. I am going to finish cooking my dinner. You will be absolutely silent until you hear me leave. I will be staying at the condo for the next week. You will either ration the leftovers or fend for yourself, I do not care. Got it?” You signed out again, eyes flicking open. Johnny held his bundle of clothes in front of his legs and nodded his head once, not bothering with any comeback before he shuffled to the guest room and shut the door quietly.
It took another twenty minutes for the meat to finish cooking and the dish to be full prepared. How you managed to keep your head empty and shut off your internal monologue during that time, you’ll never know, but you were thankful for it nonetheless. You packed two servings into a Tupperware container for yourself before shoving some clothes in a duffle bag and grabbing the keys to the jeep you hated driving. It was only about ten minutes down the road to the condo, but it was almost fifteen miles, so you figured this was the lesser of two evils. You whistled for the dog to follow you, and it was all too excited to jump in the passenger seat of the car. The farmhouse was now dry of liquor, what with Yunho not making good on his promise a month ago and your weekly wine dates with Wendy, but you knew the condo definitely had some spirits stashed somewhere in a cabinet. You were going to need that and a nice hot bath to destress after that encounter.
Meanwhile, Johnny sunk down on to the floor inside the guest room, his back pressed against the door. When he heard the sound of the jeep’s engine turning over, he sighed in relief and ran a hand through his hair. There were no better words to describe it: he was truly and utterly fucked.
✧ ✧ ✧
You stayed at the condo only for three days, and did little other than sleep, binge watch some TV since there was better electricity and internet here, and eat your way through slightly stale bags of chips and frost bitten freezer dinners that were months old. Because you couldn’t just open the door and let the dog out to run through the property for whatever exercise or bathroom needs it had, you had to actually walk it with a leash and everything. You paid less attention to how domestic the action of clipping the leash on to the collar you’d found in an unopened delivery package on the kitchen table was, and thought more about how slothful you’d felt over the last 60-odd hours of self isolation, especially after two months of working outdoors every day.
It was childish to keep hiding from Johnny. It’s not like you could prove that he’d gotten hard looking at you, and really, shouldn’t you take it as sort of a compliment? (Well, maybe you wouldn’t go that far.)
It was Monday when you returned to the farm, parking the jeep back by the barn and hip checking the door shut after the dog went running off in search of Johnny. It found him carrying pruned branches of trees down to the area where you burned excess brush, and you could hear the excited sound of his voice at the return of the creature as you walked slowly down the hill towards him.
“I missed you! It’s been so lonely without you, but I guess I’m glad your mommy had you with her, huh?” He cooed at the dog, rubbing its face in his hands after dropping the bundle of branches and flopping its ears from side to side. Hearing Johnny refer to you as a mother, even of the animal, had you grimacing.
“Ew,” you said, making your presence known. He stood up suddenly, possibly just a little embarrassed.
“Oh! You’re uh, you’re back.” You nodded, lips pressed together in a flat line. Your hands were full, carrying two takeout coffees from a shop down near the condo you’d stopped at on the way back. You’d forgotten how much the farm felt like a different planet, a different space in time almost, because of how isolated it felt. The act of ordering a coffee to go rather than making it yourself in the morning was equal parts bewildering and soothing.
You had no idea what compelled you to order an iced americano along with the cortado you’d gotten for yourself. You didn’t really know much about Johnny beyond the one conversation you’d had about how he ended up meeting your brother in law and crashing on the farm with you in the first place. But somehow, ordering the drink had felt right, and you thought of it as a potential peace offering to cut the tension.
“This is yours,” you said plainly after some thought, trying to remove any and all emotion from your tone.
He blinked a few times before taking three steps towards you and reaching his hand out to take the drink. He mumbled a soft thank you and sipped without bothering to ask what was inside.
“You’re just going to take the drink a stranger offers you, no questions asked?”
“Ooh!” His eyes perked up when he tasted the coffee. “I mean, I’ve never questioned any of the food you’ve made me so far, why start now? Besides,” he shrugged, taking another sip, “I trust you.”
You snorted. “That’s a stupid thing to do.”
Johnny laughed again, eyes crinkling at the sides. Your mind wandered briefly to a half formed thought about how endearing that was. “Maybe so, but despite your efforts to make me an enemy, I think you’re actually a really good person. You even guessed my favorite coffee drink, so that has to count for something.” He nodded to the paper cup in your hand. “What’s your poison?”
“Cortado,” responded curtly, ignoring his comments that were cutting a bit too deep for ten in the morning.
“Ah, a strong espresso pull with a balance of steam milk and a touch of foam. Nice choice. I can definitely appreciate one, but I’m a little too impatient and drink them too quickly— I think that’s why I love americanos so much, because it lasts a little longer.”
You tilted you head to the side, puzzled. “Wait. You… actually know things about coffee?”
“I mean, yeah,” he laughed, “What do you think I spent three hours talking with Yunho about the day we met? I did my time as a barista in college. Free coffee every shift was hard to pass up when you’re doing almost a double course load every other semester. I’ve always been curious about the growing and roasting process, and I know a lot of people do home roasting as a hobby but I just never made the time to explore it.”
Well, duh, you thought, that actually made sense. “Oh god, and here I’ve been making my lame ass bitter pour over all summer— you know how to pull a shot of espresso then I take it? You’ve seen the La Marzocco on the counter, how come you’ve never used it?”
He pouted his lips out in a flat line and shrugged comically. “Dunno. I mean, I’m a guest and a worker first, and it’s not mine, so, I didn’t wanna make any assumptions. But if this is an open invitation to use it, I’m more than happy to accept.”
You chewed on the inside of your mouth for a moment. You could feel it in the air as the hairs on your arms stood up slightly, goosebumps running down your skin. You hoped in wasn’t too noticeable. Maybe this was it— maybe it really was time to extend an olive branch and have more than half a conversation with him every four days. “It’s a little older and sort of temperamental, but it’s still a good machine. I’ll… show you the quirks tomorrow morning, or whenever you want something to drink,” you offered.
It was then that you discovered this: Johnny was not a great actor. He wore his heart on his sleeve. You figured this to be true because he could barely contain the smile that spread across his face, and the energetic nod he gave, and the mild soft exhale (squeal?) of excitement. You rolled your eyes gently and turned away, drink in hand. “When it cools down later after dinner, I’m roasting tonight. You’re welcome to join.”
You gave him the benefit of not bearing witness to the fist pump he made as you walked away.
Dinner that night was stir fried ground pork with carrots and zucchini from the garden served over rice. It was one of your comfort dishes, easy to make and easy to clean up after, since it used only two pans. As soon as you’d finished eating, this time sitting at the table together with Johnny, he’d cleared the dishes and got to cleaning up right away. You stretched your arms overhead and leaned back in your chair far enough to crack your back slightly with a loud pop.
“Oof, that sounded like it felt good,” he laughed from the sink. You hummed in agreement. “So what’d you do before this? Desk job hunched over a computer like the rest of us?”
“Mmm something like that. You may have been bored out of your mind in business, but I sold my soul years ago to work in advertising.”
“Why does that like, fit?” He asked, turning the water off and drying the pan you’d used for cooking by hand.
“You saying I have no soul?” You challenged.
He shrugged. “Hey, you said it, not me. We’re both just cogs in the machine that is late stage capitalism, I guess.”
You didn’t know how deeply you wanted to get into it with Johnny just yet. Maybe eventually, but, not right now. “Yeah, well, I was just a Project Manager, not like a Copywriter or anything. Did you know Yunho was a staff Art Director before he switched to the coffee business full time? We used to work at the same agency a few years back.”
Johnny snapped his fingers and pointed at you. “Ah, that’s right! I remember him saying something about that, made the same jokes about having no soul. You two are a lot alike for not being related by blood.”
Well, he wasn’t wrong; sometimes you wondered if you’d become closer with Yunho that you were with your sister at this point. “Enough about that. If you’re done follow me, it’s probably cool enough to fire up the roaster. I just want to do a test batch of like, five pounds with the regular beans to see how this year’s harvest takes to our standard roast,” you explained, heading to the door and slipping on your sneakers. “Don’t let the dog out, it gets scared from the loud noises and I don’t need it freaking out.”
Johnny dried his hands and followed after you to the barn. You flicked on the lights and went straight for the sink to pull your hair out of your face, wash your hands, and put on a pair of gloves and a mask. Johnny followed your lead, even going so far as to tie up the top layer of his hair on top of his head. “Hey look! It’s like an apple,” he bobbed his head from side to side to make the tiny ponytail move back and forth, and you couldn’t help but snort as you tried to suppress your laughter.
“Dork,” was all you said. You went to the storage racks to pick up one of the sorted burlap bags of beans and hoisted it over your shoulder to carry it to a metal prep table where you carefully opened it and began scooping out the green beans and pouring them into a bowl on a metal scale that had been zeroed out. “So obviously you know that coffee is counted by weight in pounds. That monstrosity,” you jerked your head in the direction of the massive eight foot tall machine in the corner of the room, “Can handle up to twenty-five pounds of beans in the barrel at a time. Because it’s so big, it’s best to not do super small batches, otherwise you risk burning the beans. Since I’m going for five pounds, it’ll be okay, but if I was doing any less I’d use one of the table top roasters, since they have a smaller barrel.” You finished weighing out five pounds and handed the container to him to carry.
You continued explaining the full process of roasting and science behind it as you flipped switches, checked that the exhaust was hooked up properly, and set the dials for the heat and time on the industrial roaster before pulling the door to the funnel open and having Johnny slowly pour the beans inside. “God you’re a fucking giant, I always need a step stool to reach that high,” you commented as he made the reach with ease.
You weren’t kidding when you said the roaster was loud when it was running. Thankfully with the size of the machine and this batch, it was only eleven minutes of the two of you standing just a few feet away in case anything went wrong and you had to hit the emergency stop, holding your hands over your ears to block the sound. Johnny began jokingly exaggerating mouthing something out, and you felt almost like friends as you laughed at his antics. You were never the best at reading lips. Especially not Johnny’s, they were too full and distracting on their own for you to make sense of the mouth shapes. When the machine came to a grinding halt and the noise suddenly stopped, he was still shouting words and his voice echoed around the space in the absence of the noise, “I said, I think you’re— oh, wow, that was fast,” he quickly diverted, catching himself from finishing whatever it was he was about to say.
Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of trying to pry out of him what he was in the process of saying under the protection of the loud noises. You shook it off mentally and showed him how to remove the beans from the roasting chamber. “So you take them out like this, and then they’re still going to be warm for a while, so it’s best to let them rest for a bit. If you were to brew them right away, the flavor might not be what you’re expecting, so if you wait for them to sit for a few days, you’ll notice a considerable difference in the flavor profile—”
You stopped suddenly, a sound in the distance suddenly registering to you. You left Johnny standing there with the roasted coffee in hand and trailed to the edge of the barn and then you heard it more clearly— the sound of the old rotary phone ringing. “Oh, shit,” you swore and took off running back up to the house. The only person who had the number for the landline other than Wendy were Yunho and your sister. Wendy didn’t call you outside of your Thursday night appointments. You did the math in your head— it was the end of June, your sister’s due date wasn’t til the end of August, but early labor was always something you’d heard about, especially with more than one baby.
Hands shaking, you got to the phone on what could have been the last ring and panted out a greeting of Yunho’s name, already knowing it was him.
“Oh thank god you answered, I’ve been calling for the last twenty minutes, where were you?” He chastised immediately. You felt uneasy at the tone in his voice.
You stammered in response. “I— we were in the barn, I was roasting so I couldn’t hear the phone— what’s wrong? Is she okay?”
Yunho sighed out heavily and was quiet. “She’s going to be okay, but there was a… scare,” you could tell he was choosing his words carefully. “I don’t want to freak you out, but I don’t want to not tell you either. She slipped getting out of the shower, landed on her hip. Started having lower abdominal pain right after. We thought maybe it was going to be now, but, she’s fine. The doctors think they were phantom contractions? Whatever they were they’re gone now. The babies are fine, but she’ll most likely be in the hospital until the due date. If she starts experiencing any kind of contractions between now and then, though, they’ll want to induce labor.” You could tell he was still stressed and worried, but you nodded and listened as he explained some of the medical details a bit further. “Anyways, all this to say, the next time I call, it could be to tell you that you’re an auntie.”
From the moment you heard the phone ringing this late at night and calculated that it was almost two in the morning in Chicago, the tightness in your chest had been building. Listening to Yunho speak delicately about your sister’s condition was one thing— you thought it was a sigh of relief when he said that everything was fine, but then it was most certainly not fine when the gravity of his last words really hit you.
“Little Bean are you listening? Is the signal bad? I know the connection isn’t always great—”
You inhaled sharply as the pressure inside came to a head. “Yunho I gotta go,” you gasped out, barely able to make sense of thoughts to get the words out.
Before you could hear his rebuttal you slammed the phone on to the receiver to end the call and covered your face with your hands still in their nylon gloves. Despite standing in an open space, you suddenly felt like the room was spinning and the walls were closing in on you. Out, out, you had to get out—
“Hey, everything okay in here?”
Fuck.
Johnny was standing in the door, a look of concern on his face. You heaved into your hands and choked out a sob, feeling the wetness in your eyes building. No no no, everything was most certainly not okay in here. You shouldn’t have made eye contact, you should have known better, because looking at his face, his stupid perfect face and his genuine care for your wellbeing, it set you free falling over the precipice.
You were spiraling, and hard, and needed to land. It was instinctual, the way you cried out and ran pushing past him before breaking into an all out sprint down the hill to the fruit trees. Your legs barely kept up with the velocity of running at a decline, stopping short of tumbling and falling forward. The only thing that you knew to help this, the thing that had worked for you in the past, and you raced through the grove of trees for the larger one at the very end. It was one of the older trees, well mature and established with its root system, so you could always expect it to produce fruit.
But you’d harvested a large amount of the fruit in the last few weeks from the lower branches, and the only remaining fruit that would be ripe enough for your purposes was on the higher branches just out of reach. Over the sound of your pained sobs, you couldn’t hear Johnny’s approach or him asking what was wrong, your one track mind just trying desperately to jump and reach, fingertips barely brushing on the fruit you were reaching for.
“Hey hey, calm down, what are you—” he started.
“Shut up! Just shut— don’t tell— don’t tell me calm— calm—” you couldn’t make the words make sense, in your head you were screaming don’t tell me to calm down, but the act of translating that into words on your tongue was downright Herculean right now, it just wasn’t happening. Your knees began wobbling and standing too started feeling impossible. The tightness in your chest had expanded to reach your back, and though you were clearly still getting air by the fact that you hadn’t passed out yet, you felt like you weren’t breathing at all. You were crying outright now, tears wet and hot and painful as the sobs escaped your throat.
It didn’t take a genius to figure that you were trying to reach a fruit on a branch just above your wingspan. Johnny placed one large hand against your back gently and reached all the way up, fingers wrapping around what he assumed was the object of your fixation, before twisting and pulling to release it from the tree. “Hey,” he said softly, “This what you need?”
As soon as you made sense of the object in front of you you seized it from his hands, biting directly through the rind of the lemon. A muffled sob came out as your knees buckled and you sank to the ground. The bitter rush of citrus did part of its job, and brought your consciousness back down to earth. But your breathing didn’t steady, and your heart was still pounding, and the tears were still falling.
It wasn’t working, your grounding technique; not like it had the previous times, like the night you’d first gotten the phone call from Yunho saying they weren’t coming, and not like the time you bit into a lemon in the kitchen at work after first getting the phone call that your sister was pregnant, and even the time before that when she told you she and Yunho were moving, or when Yunho had asked you if he could marry your sister. If you were more with it, you would have thought for a moment longer about how all of your largest panic attacks of the last several years seemed to be linked to things about Yunho and your sister. Biting into a whole lemon had been your go-to for years, and suddenly, it wasn’t working.
“Fuck!” You cried out, spitting the lemon into your palms, “Fuck fuck fuck! Why isn’t it— why isn’t it working?!” Your words were absolutely frantic, and you were yelling at yourself more than your companion who, quite frankly, you’d forgotten was even there.
Until you felt a shadow pass over you in the moonlight and a pair of arms enveloping you in an embrace.
The top of your head was pressed against his chest and his hands found their way to the planes of your back and began rubbing soft circles. Softly he tutted out a shushing noise, voice barely above a whisper, steady. “Come on, let it out, I’m right here. I’ve got you, you’re not alone,” he said calmly, “You’re gonna get through it. Try to take a deep breath, that’s good now hold it as long as you can— okay, that’s okay, try again, try to hold on to it and let it out slowly this time.”
You’d never had anyone physically with you and help you through a panic attack before. You’d had them around people in the past, but no one had ever made a move to help you through it— not like this, not like him, not like he was doing right now by attempting to guide your breathing. The one time you had one in front on Wendy, you’d locked yourself in the bathroom and refused to answer her while you came down, and she never pressed you about it afterwards.
You had no idea how much time passed as Johnny held you in his arms, keeping a steady rhythm of his palms on your back and letting you cry it out into the fabric of his shirt, your hands wringing the material so strongly you thought you’d tear holes where your nails were.
One hand traveled to the back of your head and he stroked that too. “I’ve got you, I’m right here,” he said again.
After a longer period of silence, your ears stopped ringing and you could finally make out the chirping of the crickets in the night. You sniffled and rubbed the last of the trails the tears had left on your cheeks into his shirt, mumbling an apology into it.
“Don’t do that,” he said softly, keeping his voice low, almost as if he was afraid he’d scare you off if he raised it any higher. “I mean— haha, don’t apologize. It’s okay, whatever it is, it’ll wash out. If it doesn’t, it’s just a tee shirt, I can always buy another.” His tone was even paced and calm, and in pressing your ear against his chest you could hear the reverberations as he spoke.
The humid summer air was heavy as usual, even this late at night. You don’t know how long you sat there in silence, wrapped in Johnny’s arms listening to his heartbeat, but eventually you acknowledged that your heart was beating in time with his. Whether you liked it or not, he had been the thing to ground you, and not a stupid fucking lemon.
You shifted slightly, making a move to stand, but Johnny stopped you. “Whoa whoa, hang on lemme get ready— okay, hold on to my shoulders, that’s it.” Your fingers dug into his arms as he adjusted his legs and hooked one arm under your knees and the other around your back and stood up, taking you with him.
“Shit,” you mumbled out, head rushing at the quick movement and the realization that your legs were still bent over his arm, and Johnny was now carrying you. “Hey, heavy,” your words were still soft.
“Mmm, nah, nothing I can’t handle,” his response was easy, dismissive of your complaint, but not in a bad way. “You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to but— anxiety? Panic attack?” You sucked in a breath at the word. You hated that word. That word made you feel weak, even if it was exactly what this was. You dug your nails into his skin slightly on a reflex of bracing yourself, not with this intention of inflicting damage. “Got it. I get it,” he had approached the house and walked to the door, reaching for the handle with the hand under your knees. “I’ve had a few myself. Not recently, but back in college, maybe two or three? Don’t think they were ever as strong as that, though. I tried the lemon trick once, it actually worked pretty well for me. Didn’t make the next time I did a tequila shot all that fun though, couldn’t enjoy citrus for at least a month after that.” His soft laughter shook his chest and you leaned in further. Listening to his voice was comforting. It was keeping you steady. It made you feel safe, and in this moment, you were too tired to think about how you probably should have hated that. “Think you could swallow some water? Rehydrating is important.”
Your head nodded. “Okay, I’m gonna put you down now.” He used his foot to push one of the chairs away from the table and set you down on to the seat gently. The dog was immediately at your knees, whining lowly and attempting to give as many kisses as you’d accept. “Here,” he said gently, crouching down in front of you and holding a glass out. “Drink what can, but not too fast. There you go, that’s it,” his large hand clasped over your knee, thumb rubbing circles on the side. “Feeling any better?”
“Yeah,” you rasped out, voice raw from all the crying earlier.
Johnny smiled softly. “Good, that’s good. Okay, I think you need to get to bed, yeah? Or do you wanna take a shower or something first?” You shook your head. “Okay, just washed your face then?” You nodded. Your conscious monologue was returning, but bringing words from your mind to your mouth was still proving difficult. Johnny didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he offered you his hand. “Need help getting up?”
You answered by gripping on to his hand and using his shoulders to help you stand up. Johnny walked you to your room, holding his arm out for you as a guide. You were able to bear weight on your feet now, and though your steps were slow, you made it to the bathroom to wash your face and and change into sleepwear. Johnny waited by the door, averting his eyes for privacy for you, and returned to your side to help you into bed.
When he leaned over you to pull the sheets up, you reached for his wrist and asked, “Why are you being so nice to me?”
His face went blank before it softened into a smile. “Because. I told you earlier, didn’t I? You’re a good person. Should be simple as that, yeah?”
You didn’t have a response for him, only shifting deeper into the pillows. He turned off the light and retreated to the door frame. “Try and get some rest. Call me if you need me, okay?”
Your head managed a nod, and Johnny finally left, leaving the door to your room slightly ajar. You listened for the sounds of him milling about the house, his footsteps softly shuffling against the floorboards, a few mumbled words to the dog that followed at his heels, until you finally fell asleep.
When you dreamed that night, you dreamt of him, the sound of his voice, and the way your blood felt on fire whenever he looked at you and smiled.
✧ ✧ ✧
Johnny never asked you about the panic attack.
He didn’t bring it up, he didn’t ask what caused it, he didn’t even allude to it in any conversation over the next week. The next day he was just a little bit more gentle with you with the tone and volume of his speaking voice, but when you showed no signs of still be affected from the previous night, he let it go and didn’t bother you about it.
You couldn’t tell if you loved him or hated him for it.
Confusion on your feelings aside, as June came to a close and the morning of July 3rd came, you woke up to the sound of the espresso machine running. Johnny had very quickly proven that he was worth his salt as a barista, even though it had been several years, and had a very nice shot pull. He even figured out the steamer, which was the most finicky part of the machine, and had been making you cortados every morning. That’s what you were sipping now from a metal camper mug, as you walked with him to the shed.
“I think that all that’s left is nailing down that last sheet of roofing and then we’re done,” he hummed cheerfully, inspecting the building. It looked brand new, a marked improvement from the broken windows and bleached paint job it had sported two months ago.
Two months. Was that really how long he’d been here? You didn’t want to think too much about it, about how those two months gone meant you had reached the half way point, and that there were about two months left.
Two months…
“We should celebrate,” he said suddenly, and you looked up puzzled.
“We?”
“Sure!” He exclaimed, “I had no idea what I was doing. I just did what you told me to. This was one of the biggest projects for the summer, right? And plus, not that I care too much for the holiday, but won’t there be fireworks and stuff for the Fourth? Come on, this house has been dry for weeks, let’s go get some booze and live a little, huh?” He prodded your side with his elbow and began needling at you, saying huh, huh, huh over and over until you groaned and relented.
“Fiiiiiine, let’s go before the stores get crowded when everyone realizes everything’s gonna be closed tomorrow.”
The dog was less than pleased that you’d sent it back into the house when you picked up the keys to the jeep. Usually you took it with you, but this time you decided against it, since you weren’t sure how the liquor store would feel with you bringing the stray dog off leash into the store with you.
“All you, big guy,” you said to Johnny as you tossed the car keys at him.
“Aren’t you gonna ask if I know how to drive first?” He quipped back quickly while walking to the driver’s side.
“Nah,” you shrugged comically, hoisting yourself up by the frame of the car. You buckled yourself in and watched as he did the same and adjusted the mirrors for his height. “Besides,” you looked down to inspect your fingernails as if they were the most fascinating thing on the planet, “I trust you, or whatever.”
“Bit of a stupid thing to do, but alright,” he smiled, echoing your words back at you. “Kidding, I’m an excellent driver. Alright, co-pilot! You have the most sacred duty bestowed upon you—”
“Navigation?”
“No, music selection, duh,” he scoffed and handed you the aux cord and pulled out a cell phone you’d never seen him hold before. You stared at the device as he unlocked it and pulled up his music library. Johnny noticed your surprised expression out of the corner of his eye. “What, it’s not like I have a use for it out here. Your wifi sucks and I’m not about to rack up a huge cell phone bill, so it stays off in my duffle bag most of the time. Anyways, this is a test! Pick whatever your heart desires.” The smirk on his face was beyond mischievous as he handed it to you.
You sighed and settled into the seat and began scrolling. What to pick, what to pick…
Surprisingly, there was a decent number of songs you recognized, and one album in particular you were a fan of. You scrolled down the track listing to about the half way point and pressed play.
The sounds of The Killers and the familiar guitar chords that were practically sewn into your DNA began to filter through the speakers. Johnny smiled and started clapping as the car reached the bottom of the driveway and he flipped on the turn signal. “Oh my god, Mr. Brightside, excellent choice! Okay, you passed the first test. But do you know the words?” He teased.
You gasped in feigned offense as the lyrics came to the chorus, and as he accelerated up to speed you began to belt the words out as loud as you could manage. For once you weren’t thinking about how you hated that the jeep had no top while the wind whipped past you on all sides as Johnny sped down the highway. As the song played, the magic high of belting the words to something fifteen years old that were still imprinted in your brain didn’t seem to wear off like you’d expected it to.
“Alright, chop chop what’s next maestro!” He called over the sound of the wind as the song came to a close. You already had something queued up, something a little more recent, and you smiled as the words to the next song began filtering through the speakers, letting the music carry the drive and not belting along with it this time. You tried to not think too deeply about the lyrics of the chorus as it played.
'Cause you're the last of a dying breed
Write our names in the wet concrete
I wonder if your therapist knows everything about me?
I'm here in search of your glory
There's been a million before me
That ultra-kind of love
You never walk away from
You're just the last of the real ones
As the bridge played and you neared your destination, Johnny tilted his head towards you while keeping his eyes on the road. “Growing up, it was like, a badge of honor as a Chicago kid to have gone to a Fall Out Boy show when they still played the smaller clubs. I snuck into one when I was 16— it was an 18 and over show— felt like I was hot shit when I got away with it.”
“Don’t know why, but you don’t strike me as a Fall Out Boy fan,” you admitted. From your scroll through his music library, you saw most of their discography saved to his phone.
“Hey, I had my embarrassing wannabe emo phase too.”
“Had?” You couldn’t stop yourself from teasing. Johnny didn’t give a response to that one, and as another Fall Out Boy song played through the speakers you let yourself rest in a comfortable lack of conversation, instead sharing the music with him as he drove. It only took to the end of that third song to reach your destination and based on how he handled the drive and parking, true to his word Johnny was an excellent driver.
Johnny followed you closely once inside, his eyes scanning up and down the shelves of the tiny liquor store before he reaches and picks up a six pack of pilsner. “You ever try this one?”
Your nose wrinkles in disgust. “I don’t do beer.”
Johnny blinks twice in response and plops the six pack back down on the shelf. “Noted. What do you drink?”
“If I’m picking?” He nods. “I’m a slut for rosé or champagne. Any sparkling wine, really, it makes me feel fancy and you get to turn basic days into little celebrations.” You follow him as he walks down the aisle to where the selection of wine was shelved and starts looking through the options. “Hang on, you’re not gonna grill me about the beer thing?”
“You say that like your friends usually give you shit for it.”
You crossed your arms and shuffle your feet underneath you. “Well, yeah. Usually.”
“Then I would say,” he trails off for a moment, bending and squatting to see a label on a lower shelf before picking up two bottles of the same brand, “You need new friends. Or that your current ones need to learn boundaries, take your pick. How’s this look for one option? Since this is a celebration and all,” he says with a wink.
Leaning forward, you study the label on the bottle for a moment before nodding in approval. You agree to his point that since they were 15% off if you bought six or more bottles, it only made sense to buy more, and besides, “It’s not like you won’t drink them eventually when you’re on the phone with Wendy.”
Your eyebrows shot up at that. “How do you know her name?”
“I’m quiet not deaf, and you’re louder than you think you are,” he says matter-of-factly before heading to the cashier to pay for your selection. You bite your tongue then, hoping to whatever deity was watching you (and probably laughing) that he’d overheard one of the conversations that wasn’t about Wendy insisting you should bone him.
Johnny picks the music on the way back, opting for some Bleachers and Paramore now that he knew at least part of your music taste and how it aligned with his.
Your new selection of wine goes into the fridge as soon as you get home, and Johnny heads to the shed with a ladder in hand to climb on top and finish nailing down the roofing. You opt to help with this task, spotting from the ground and continuously yelling for him to ‘be careful’ and ‘you better not fall and break your neck while I’m watching’. It takes a little over an hour, and it’s late afternoon when he finishes, but when you climb the ladder yourself as he holds it steady from the ground to inspect his handiwork you have to say you’re impressed.
“You sure you never did construction work before? You’ve got shockingly good craftsmanship for a newbie.”
“My dad’s pretty self sufficient so he was always doing the handiwork around the house. Picked stuff up here and there from him growing up, but anything I didn’t know I could just look up on the internet.” You shoot him a pointed look. “What! I said your wifi was shitty not that I didn’t use it every now and again. There’s a YouTube tutorial for everything these days.”
Johnny insisted on cleaning up the last of the debris on his own while you worked on dinner— another pasta dish, orecchiette broccoli rabe, and while that was cooking you boil a pint of blackberries with water and sugar to make a flavored simple syrup. Since you were celebrating tonight, it only felt right to put in a little extra effort even to the drinks of choice. Kir Royales were typically made with a blackcurrant liquor, but it was a niche product you hadn’t found in the store, so the syrup and a slice of lemon for garnish would have to do.
While you waited for Johnny to finish up and take his shower (after the last time, you gave him plenty of space out of an abundance of caution whenever he showered), you started rummaging through the pantry cabinets and making sense of the dry ingredients you had on hand. You had time to kill, why not make a dessert with it?
You hadn’t talked about it much with Johnny, but you actually did enjoy cooking and baking. Something about spending time and energy making something and having someone consume it and tell you they liked made you feel good. You still remember the first time you made breakfast for a hungover Wendy in college and she raved about it for days, though you were pretty sure back then it was because the carbs soaked up the remaining alcohol in her system and stopped her from puking.
Dinner was finished when Johnny finally came out of the shower, this time fully clothed and his hair more dry. You explained that you’d gotten bored and made cookie dough but the oven hadn’t finished pre-heating yet so nothing was baked.
“Fuck it, cookie dough is always better than the cookies themselves,” he shrugged.
“But salmonella—”
Johnny held up a hand jokingly as he stopped your interjection and turned off the oven. “Still convinced that’s a myth parents made up to stop kids from actually enjoying childhood. Plus it’s hot as balls, chill the dough while we eat and then it’ll be even better after. Plus, you haven’t poisoned either of us yet, I think your track record is pretty good so far.” (There he went again, referring to you and him as an ‘us’.)
So you did just that, putting the cookie dough into the fridge and taking your dinner outside with the cocktails you’d made. You didn’t have any wine glasses here at the farm house— after breaking one stemmed glass during your first phone call with Wendy you’d moved the rest to the condo and replaced the drink ware with mason jars because the clean up was too annoying. Plus, you didn’t want to risk the dog stepping on stray shards of thin glass and getting them stuck in the pads of its paws. (You were still decidedly apathetic towards it, but that didn’t mean you were cruel).
So it was in the wide mouth Kerr jars that you poured your blackberry syrup and a half a bottle of champagne, after a comical exchange of Johnny insisting he wasn’t scared of the pop! that corks made coming out of pressurized bottles and the yelp he let out anyways when it happened as expected. The lemon slice garnish was more of an aesthetic touch than anything but you liked it nonetheless.When Johnny pulls out his phone for the second time that day and insists on playing music and making a dramatic toast before you could drink, you could only laugh and agree.
“To the best Boss I’ve ever had,” he said with a raised glass, “Even though you used me for cheap labor and to do all the hard shit.”
“Rude! I cook every day, look at all the chances I’ve had to poison you and how many times have I done it? Absolutely none because I am a saint and you know it.”
You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol, the music, the low hum of crickets, the starry night sky, or the summer heat that did it, but time flowed so easily, and so did the conversation and teasing banter. Over the course of one meal you’d exchanged more words with Johnny than you had in the whole two months you’d known each other. Two hours later and you’d finished all the dinner (of course there were no leftovers, Johnny was still Johnny, but the amount of manual labor he did in a day made sense of how much he usually ate, you’d come to realize). The bowl of cookie dough was now sitting on the step of the lanai and you and Johnny were side by side on the deck, looking out over the farm and taking the occasional spoonful of dough into your mouths. He was right— the dough did taste better than the baked cookies probably would have, especially after it had chilled for a bit. With the way the stars and moon were hung in the cloudless sky, you could see the soft glow of their reflection in the water beyond the highway and the cliff leading to the beach.
“You ever go down to the shore?” He asks suddenly, and it feels out of nowhere and like he’s inside your head because how else would he have known you were just thinking about the ocean? But then you register that Andrew McMahon’s voice has just crooned something about Venice Beach and the California summer in the music that had still been playing through the speakers of Johnny’s phone.
You hummed for a moment before answering. “Not really. I should make more time for it, but I rarely ever leave the farm, as you probably noticed. I know this place is paradise for so many people, the vacation destination on a lot of bucket lists, but I think my… circumstances made me bitter towards the island, conceptually speaking anyways.” You watched the water with a bit more focus as a few waves crested, but you couldn’t see enough of the shore to see them actually crash. “I know I don’t talk about it much but, I needed a break from my work too. That’s… part of the reason I’m here, why I was waiting for my sister and Yunho to come out. It’s a much less interesting story than yours, so I won’t bore you with the details,” you wanted to reroute the subject before any questions started getting asked, but deep down you knew Johnny wasn’t going to press you for anything you weren’t ready to share. He’d figured that much out about you anyways.
“Anyways, maybe you’re on to something, Seo. Maybe I should take some time to actually relax a bit, seeing as now that I’ve tricked you into finishing the most difficult and time consuming of the summer projects Yunho had planned,” you stuck your tongue out between your teeth jokingly in an effort to mask the vulnerability you’d briefly shown.
Johnny took the hint and changed the subject. “The Killers, Bleachers, Paramore, Fall Out Boy… not saying I don’t like your taste in music, but I’m surprised it’s your picks were so astoundingly pop-punk-rock. Woulda taken you for a—”
“If you finish that sentence by saying ‘country kinda girl’ I’m locking you out tonight and taking the cookie dough with me,” you warned.
He laughed and shook his head. “No, you strike me as too high strung to enjoy country. Like it’s typically too slow for your tastes, or something like that.”
“Oh I’m obnoxious about my taste in media, if you couldn’t already tell. I’ve listened to mostly the same artists for the last ten years. In high school I was that kid that thought making it known that I ‘didn’t listen to the radio pop main stream’ was a personality trait, whatever that meant.”
“Oooh, so edgy and mysterious, did she used to cut her own bangs too?” He giggled into his mason jar, taking another sip.
“Nooo, that was only one time and I swear it was on a dare and not because of a break up!” You jokingly wailed out, throwing your head back in exaggeration. “Although I do regularly trim Wendy’s bangs for her because she can’t be trusted with sharp objects. Knives, needles, scissors, none of it, girl’s a total klutz,” you took another sip and uncorked the bottle again to refill your jar. You held the remainder up for Johnny to see, silently asking if he wanted a top off to finish the last of the second bottle you’d opened.
Johnny was a big guy— tall and muscular, you were sure it would take him a bit more than a bottle or two of shared champagne to get him tipsy. That’s why you didn’t think too much of it as he stared into the reinvigorated fizzing bubbles as he quietly said, “I’d like to meet her someday. Wendy, I mean— you talk about her so fondly, she seems like a great person. Like she’s good for you in your life.”
Why did you feel a little uneasy at the way he spoke about Wendy? He had no idea what she looked like, it was only from the stories you’d been telling that he knew anything about her. And it wasn’t even the real her, it was just her as she existed to you, so what was there to be uneasy about? You were overthinking again, so you had to come up with an answer to fill the silence you’d created— “Yeah well, Wendy’s sick of dick, she’s very bisexual and I’m pretty sure she’s head over heels in love with this Joohyun she started seeing recently, she’s just too much of a chicken shit to tell her how she feels,” you hid behind you glass and drank deeply, not minding as the floating slice of alcohol soaked lemon rested against your nose.
“Sounds familiar,” Johnny said quietly. “I… can relate, I think,” he mumbled out, and you glanced over in time to see him place his now-empty cup on the wood beside him. “Sometimes you just feel the way you do and you don’t really have a reason for why, but you can’t even put it to words to the person it matters to.”
This time when your breath caught in your throat, it wasn’t because of a mounting attack, but in anticipation of what Johnny would do next. The space between you had slowly waned as you’d been drinking, your bodies inching closer to each other without you even realizing it, almost like the way the moon pulled the tide to the shore over and over again. When your eyes traveled from where his hand was pressed into the deck flooring up to meet his hooded gaze, you don’t really know what you were expecting, but Johnny’s parted lips shining slightly (probably from that last drink of wine) was not it.
You knew this feeling. This was when you were supposed to lean in, right? That’s how this usually went. Your hand shifted closer towards his for a moment and then pulled back, and the end joint of Johnny’s fingers flexed as he pressed his fingertips into the deck.
You didn’t lean in. Your heart was hammering in your chest far too loud for you to be able to do so; instead, you look away, his eye and his lips and his face and his everything suddenly too much, and your turned your cheek to him instead.
Instead, he leaned in, and for just a brief moment the crickets stopped chirping, the distant ocean stopped moving, the music stopped playing, and your heart stopped beating as Johnny’s perfectly pouty lips pressed against your cheek, and then your temple, and then your throat. And then his head tilted down and his nose brushed against your skin delicately, leaving a trial of burning in its wake, and time didn’t start turning again until the snort of his laughter broke the silence and he fell into your shoulder in a giggle fit.
It took all of your patience and self control to make your lungs continue to function as you listened to Johnny giggle so much he stopped making sounds until he was spewing out between fits of laughter ‘The bubbles make everything funny, why is everything funny with bubbles?’
‘Why indeed’, you wondered silently, letting the clearly tipsy Johnny rest his head on your shoulder as he continued his giggle fits, stroking the palm of your hand against his back as he’d first done for you under far different circumstances, trying to not think about how much faster your heart was beating while doing so, and how if your accelerated heart rate was from his proximity to you, you didn’t mind.
How long did you stay like that, in such a familiar embrace with Johnny? Long enough, it seemed, for the playlist on his phone to come to an end and for him to start dozing off while resting against you, his light snores the thing that finally made you disturb him so you could go back inside. It was late anyways, nearing midnight you said softly and you tried to wake him gently—
A surprisingly loud boom shook the sky followed by a burst of light and color. Immediately the dog inside woke up and started barking, and Johnny bolted upright, eyes darting around in search of the source of the noise that had disturbed his snoozing.
“Fireworks,” you breathed out, more to yourself than to him. “Guess it’s midnight already.” Johnny didn’t say much, but his eyes twinkled as he watched in earnest as a few more went off before you tugged on his sleeve and insisted that he needed to make his way to bed and sleep. There were sure to be more tomorrow, and he could watch them then.
You didn’t sleep for hours that night. After helping the mildly intoxicated Johnny to his bed, you sat on the floor of your room, knees pulled into your chest and a hand laying flat against your cheek where he’d planted his trail of kisses. “He was just drunk, he’s just a flirty drunk, that didn’t mean anything,” you repeated to yourself over and over again.
But something about the way Johnny’s lips felt against the apples of your cheek and the hollow of your throat when he’d been nuzzling against you stayed with you all night long, sending a shiver down your spine and igniting a flame where your heart lived. You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes and inhaled deeply, breath shuddering on the exhale.
Against all your hopes and intensions, Johnny Seo had slowly chipped his way through your armor and into your heart.
You had to get him out. Fast.
tbc.
—
author’s note | Me: this first part is gonna be like, I dunno, 5k? 6k? Also me: writes 19,000 words. We call this ✨processing your own trauma through writing as an outlet✨ Originally this was going to be one really long one shot and then I decided to split it up for ratings purposes because I am a thirsty whore for Youngho. The ending is rushed but honestly I was so sick of editing and overthinking this lmaooo. No I have not spent a summer living in Kona working on a coffee farm. Most of my coffee knowledge is second hand from the time my brother in law bought a coffee farm and started a roasting business because my sister dared him to by saying “do it you won’t” (an exact quote I shit you not). There’s more to this story and uh I dunno I’ll maybe post it eventually if people don’t hate this one *shrugs*
#Johnny x Reader#Johnny Seo#Johnny Seo x Reader#Johnny Seo fanfic#NCT fanfic#NCT Fluff#NCT Angst#kinda lmao i dunno leave me alone#panic attack tw#mental health issues tw#anxiety tw#idk if i'm even happy with this or if I'm gonna go back and edit that last 5k i wrote tongiht w/e#shrugs this is fine#johnny: bitter brews#swamp witch writes
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**After All This Time**
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TAGS: Cheating, ANGST
*LET ME KNOW IF I FORGOT TO TAG ANYTHING*
******
He tried calling you, tens, hundreds, maybe thousands of times, at first, but your phone had gone straight to voicemail almost every time. Sometimes if he was lucky, it would ring. Once. Maybe twice. It would fill his heart with hope. Hope he knew was futile. Yet he couldn’t help it. He knew that no matter how many times he tried, you wouldn’t pick up.
Maybe if he left a message? Would you even listen? Would you hear his desperate pleas of ‘I love you’ and come back? Would you give him another chance? Would you let him prove his love for you?
Of course not.
So why?
Was it weak to let someone consume him the way he had allowed you to? Of course, it was, but he would do anything to feel your arms around his waist again. Feel your warm embrace once more. Be consumed by the scent of your coconut shampoo just one more time.
Most of all, though, he longed to hear your voice. Even if all you did was scream at him. Even if all you did was tell him how much you hated him. Even if all you did was let him know how you wished him dead. Even if it was just for a second.
Sometimes he imagined what it would be like if you picked up the phone. What would he say? Would he selfishly beg you to come back? Would he go off listing the reasons why he loved you? Or would he just not say anything at all? Too shell shocked to even speak.
What would he do?
What would you do?
He never let himself linger on that thought for too long, though, because it was useless. You weren’t ever going to pick up his calls. He’d given up that privilege the second he had decided to cheat.
So why did he keep trying?
The first month after you left, he’d dialed your number so many times that the sound of your voice repeating The phrase ‘You’ve reached y/n I’m not here right now but leave a message, and I’ll call you back’ will forever be ingrained in his memory.
He sought you out. Called your friends. Called your family. But none of them would admit to having seen you or even having talked to you. Ushijima knew they were Lying straight through their teeth.
At first, it had enraged him. How could they hide you from him? Hide you from your Boyf-oh. That’s right; he’s nothing. He’s the man who broke your heart. The man who threw your love away for a cheap fuck.
He didn’t deserve to know how you were doing. He didn’t deserve to think about you. He didn’t deserve to love you or to have been loved by you.
He tried his best to move on, he did, but every time he did, he remembered the way you sat at the dining room table all those months ago. Remembers how your face had scrunched up in indescribable pain.
He tried his best to have meaningless sex, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t touch a body that wasn’t yours.
It felt wrong.
Nobody’s skin felt quite as supple and smooth under the harshness of his calloused fingertips. Nobody’s skin felt quite as warm. Nobody’s body succeeded in lighting his skin aflame like yours did.
Nobody could even come close to comparing to you.
How he wishes he had realized it before he lost you.
Your absence hasn’t gone unnoticed by the Alder’s, either. While Ushijima was usually stoic and silent, he was never distracted. Never off his game. Never less than perfect.
The difference was palpable. He had permanent dark rings around his eyes, and he was missing spikes left and right. Nobody on the team had ever seen him look as bad as he did. None of them dared to mention it. No one wanted to touch on the subject, so they let him be.
Watched as he got worse.
Watched him drown in his grief.
He’s not himself. He can’t be. Everything reminds him of you. He’s yet to throw out any of the things you left behind, hoping that one day you’ll come back to claim them, even when it doesn’t make sense. What kind of sane person would claim expired lotion or near-empty tubes of deodorant?
Yet there they still sit.
Months pass, and his grief has yet to lessen. He still feels hollow. He still feels empty.
He still misses you, except he’s much better at hiding it from his team. He can’t let his feelings get in the way of his career. If he didn’t have you, his only consolation was volleyball. He threw himself into it. Harder than he ever had before. Training until odd hours of the night and forfeiting team outings.
He was ‘dedicated.’
His ‘dedication’ pays off in the long run. He’s stood clad in red with the rest of his team, ready to face off against the rest of the world.
He should be over the moon, and yet, his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
He gets to face off against Oikawa once more. Defeat his rival on a much larger scale than he did before.
Before that would have filled him with adrenaline. Set his skin ablaze with the need to destroy, to conquer.
Yet. All he can think of is you.
He plays a beautiful game. He’s in top shape. Slamming down ball after ball after ball. Fills Argentina’s team with fear. He’s larger than life, and yet it isn’t enough. His team still loses.
It’s a punch to the gut to see Argentina celebrate.
To see Oikawa celebrate.
He supposes they were the better team: Oikawa, the better player.
He sets off to congratulate Oikawa, be the bigger person until he sees it.
His blood runs cold, and he stops dead in his tracks.
It’s you.
You’re running onto the court, one of the brightest smiles he’s ever seen donning your face.
For a second, he thinks it’s directed at him until he sees your line of sight.
Oh. You’re running towards Oikawa.
You jump into his embrace, and you look...healthier.
Happier.
His heart seizes with hurt in his chest, and for the second time that evening, he feels the crushing weight of defeat because, after all this time, it’s still you.
part 1!! : part 2!!
A/N: AH THANK YOU FOR ALL THE SUPPORT ON PARTS 1 AND 2 OF THIS SERIES!
I had originally intended for this to be a 3 part story but, I like to make Ushijima suffer.
LET ME KNOW IF YA’LL WANT PART 4:)
As always I ALWAYS enjoy feedback so please if you have any drop it in my ask box:)
Likes and Reblogs are very greatly appreciated!
VERY SPECIAL THANK YOU AGAIN TO @astrablossom AND @kzumeskenma FOR PROOFREADING!! (I Love You)
pspspspsps @roronoa-imagines ; @kenji-futakoochi ; @comically-sleep-deprived ; @janin1ushijima come get your food:)
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tread softly
S4 Canon Divergence + Mythological Creatures AU
Mermaid!Sasha, Pheonix!Tim, Selkie!Martin
cws apply - see tags
Peter Lukas has always prided himself on the timing of his entrances.
He is not there, then he is. The ward slips colder, down into single digits. Martin gives a jerking shoulder-hunch motion when he notices his unexpected arrival, coupled with an intake of breath. No noise this time, no jumping, no explications of suddenness or surprise. Martin Blackwood takes well to both shock and silence with a delightful sufferance, and Peter is indulgently proud.
The lad is, as expected, by the Archivist’s bedside. Crone-backed, ringed with an satisfying corona of misery. It’s after visiting hours, but Martin likely hasn’t even realised that the gaze of the ward staff and orderlies has simply grazed past him when he came up, when he took his traditional post, when they do their rounds. Martin has not wanted to be noticed, so he won’t be.
Peter idly watches the machinery and tubes threaded though the Archivist like mechanical embroidery. This one seems eminently more worse for wear than Gertrude ever was. Stronger, though. Peter watches Elias’ chosen as he lies still and sedate for all he stalks the landscape of dreamers, and wonders if he might see the Eye’s favoured come to fruition in a way Gertrude never did.
All the more reason to talk to Martin, it appears.
“What do you want?” Martin says. Dulled, thick-throated. He’s wiping his face free from damp with his baggy jacket sleeves, glowering at Peter with a delayed annoyance, as if he’s interrupted some no doubt tender petition for waking. The antiseptic stench of the hospital worsens the tension in his bones.
He is perfect for their God. Peter’s so pleased the Archivist wasn’t so careless to have lost this assistant like he nearly lost both of the others. Elias told him that the Corruption had already sought to burrow into the debris of this lost soul, that Martin has taken the mantle of archivist well, while Beholding’s chosen was indisposed. And it is true that Martin’s gaze is more assessing than he would like. But Peter knows that Forsaken has long laced Martin’s lining with mist and dew-damp cold, filled his stomach with fog far longer than those petty chancers have tried to have him in their maw. That his God’s touch has been settling like thronging, subdued snow in place of Martin’s sealskin.
“I wanted to see if you’d thought about my offer,” Peter replies genially. Pushing his hands in his pockets, ignoring Martin’s radiating desire to be left alone.
Martin has. Peter doesn’t need Elias’ pretty little parlour tricks to know that Martin has likely thought about little else.
“I’ve been a bit busy.”
“Oh right!” Peter says after a moment’s pause. It visibly annoys Martin that it didn’t come to mind faster. “That spot of bother with the Flesh. All sorted now, I’m sure!”
“Why didn’t you do something to stop them?”
Peter crinkles his face in a deliberate confusion. Casting out his line.
“Why, what should I have done?”
Martin takes the bait with ease.
“It’s your job, isn’t it?” His voice pitches with accusation. His hands ball into fists, and he moves to standing, the chair complaining as it’s pushed back. “It’s your responsibility! You’re in charge now Elias is gone.”
“Thanks to you,” Peter replies smoothly. “And your companions seemed to do a good enough job. A few bruises here and there, a few near misses. Nothing they won’t heal from.”
Peter slides closer. Just a step. It makes his skin sing discordant at the proximity, but Martin stiffens, an anxious intake of air despite himself, and Peter knows he’s paying attention.
“I could ask you the same question,” he says.
“What do you mean?”
“Why didn’t you do something to stop them?” Peter doesn’t sound judgemental. He doesn’t have to, Martin will paint on layers of meaning without overdoing this particular nuance of his game. “It was very impressive, watching you all. They all held their own very well. Except you. You could argue I suppose, that it’s not the same. That you’re not like the mer or the firebird or the sphinx, no added little genetic extras, and you don’t get any boost from any old helpful Power like that police officer, or the angry one touched by the Slaughter. You’re just Martin. And that’s… that’s the problem, isn’t it? Just Martin. Nothing to offer in the fight, no way to protect them. Holding them back. They could have been hurt, and you wouldn’t have been able to do, well, anything at all.”
“I…” Martin says, and Peter takes another step.
“The Extinction is a pressing threat. There isn’t time for me to wait while you finish your grave-side widow routine. I need you to help me, and it would be only fair, in return, for me to help you.”
“Oh, what, you can fix me then?” Martin snaps.
“Not at all,” Peter says. Smiling, because he is so funny, with his rage sputtering in a fog that seeks to tamp it flameless, stumbling headlong and blinded into the conversational pitfalls Peter’s dug behind him. “No, no, I’m afraid you’re broken, Martin. I speak from experience when I say you’ll never grow your skin back.”
Martin freezes. He looks Peter up and down like he’s expecting to see something different, the scales fallen from his eyes, but this is the only skin Peter has worn for so long now, and he endures the slightly prickling gaze of Martin’s Eye-touched observation.
“You… You were – ?”
“A long time ago. Before the Lonely granted me a better shroud to cloak myself in. It is not a selfish God, Martin. It offers gifts, or payment, if you prefer that way of understanding it, to those who work in aid of its ends. Benefits that could protect your friends, should something as unfortunate as the Flesh’s assault occur again.”
“And what about Jon?”
“He’ll wake up. Or he won’t.” Peter replies cheerily. “Either way, you can’t do anything for any of them like this.”
Martin gives him a scowl. Peter lets it pass over him. He knows, before Martin even opens his mouth, that he’s won.
Sasha avoids the sea.
She does not know why. Its pull is no lesser through her absence. She has dreams of sinking and never coming up for air, and she does not know if it is serenity in the ceaseless drop or despairing surrender. She marks the high days and festivals of her people alone and unremarked upon, speaks to her landward kin infrequently and vaguely. She needs to be here, she tells herself harshly. She can’t go off when there’s so much to do, when she’s in the process of losing so much. One of her family cold and vanishing, one breathing through a machine, and one… he died, died properly, and although he came back purged of something poisonous, the shrapnel scarring of collapsed masonry on his skin and the reddest, warmest wings sprung from his back, this does not settle her terrors.
She cannot leave. Not when she could lose sight of her splintering shoal so easily. Not when she’s unsure the temptation to dive down and out, deeper, further away, wouldn’t ensnare her to cowardice.
She finds the first scales in the shower. It’s a myth that any water will have the skin of her legs go slick, then bumpy, fusing into one muscled tail with her scales folding outwards. She can have showers and baths without impact. It’s the sea, that is the essential component. The same for most deepwater kin. Not the sea, maybe, or exactly, but what it represents in the change. It’s something about floating out into endless space clad only in human skin and human lungs and trusting not to drown. The letting go of one form with the tide and permitting the waves to bring forth another.
Her scales are dimmed, like they’ve smudged. Their colour diminished.
It’s not a molt. Her people don’t. Tim does, normally annually. Before they travelled to Yarmouth, he’d been dropping feathers around the office almost continually with stress. Nesting, and growing in new and painful sections of wing, snapping with a yo-yoing temper.
Tim notices. Maybe because he’s the only one left. Basira is holed up somewhere of course, as is Melanie, but it’s not the same. They weren’t here before, they don’t have the context for how much their group is diminished, falling to pieces slowly like her own skin is.
They’ll be visiting Jon later. She hasn’t seen Martin in weeks.
Tim approaches slowly. Looks at the flakes of blue in her hand. Understand flowers gently in his eyes, and he reaches out and touches her arm, and she forgot the world could manifest in ways other than hurtful.
“You OK there, Sash?” Tim asks.
“I don’t know,” she replies. “I don’t… I just… When did it all go so wrong?”
“I dunno,” Tim repeats, and he doesn’t move away and she doesn’t want him to. “God, I – I don’t know, Sash.”
Jon’s clothes are dirt-clotted, ripped up by the grind of rock, and holding him tarnishes Tim’s feathers grey, smudges the pattern on his t-shirt into obscurity. His teeth are chattering, goosebumps bobbling up his arms and making the dark hairs up his arms stand on end. Tim suspects it’s more shock than cold.
Sasha brought him a glass of water, holding her palm under it because Jon’s long-fingered grip is so shaky it’s sloshing the water up the sides.
“Told you the rib was a shit idea, huh?” Tim says. Played as a joke and deliberately shorn of any accusation. He breathes in-and-out and Jon follows the rise and fall, and it benefits both of them. Tim’s getting better at control. He’s had to. His anger grows in like pinfeathers but so does his grief these days, a full plumage of emotions he is learning to deal with.
Jon coughs up something that could be agreement, but is mostly dirt and grave soil over Tim’s shirt.
You should have waited for us, Tim thinks but does not say because there would be too much teeth in it, and Jon’s skin is already whittling down to skeletal. We asked you not to go, we wanted a better plan, why didn’t you wait.
You could have died, down there in the dark, and we wouldn’t have even had a body to mourn, he does not say.
We love you, you idiot. We love you and even that wasn’t enough to stop you leaving, he does not say.
We’re already losing Martin, he does not say.
A room full of looping, chattering, overlapping tape recorders. Neither Tim nor Sasha stacked them, and Jon would not have thought to.
It should be a reassurance, that Martin’s been here.
God, Tim hopes he knows what he’s doing.
Sasha rubs at Jon’s back, helps him sip another small trickle. Tim’s wings, voluminous and unwieldy, knock over recorders in a clattering collapse as he scoops them around to shield them both. Against the balmy heat Tim’s throwing out, Jon’s shivers gradually subside.
“Daisy?” Jon murmurs. His teeth are grimy with soil.
“She’s with Basira,” Tim replies.
Sasha’s picked up the rib that’s dropped out of Jon’s clenched palm. Wiping the grime off it and staring at it without clear expression.
“Why, Jon?” she asks.
“I wanted to help,” Jon says. His words small, like he’s embarrassed that he even thought of it. “Even if it was one person. I wanted to be able to do something good for a change.”
“You could have died,” Tim says.
Jon’s horrible flat chuckle scrapes over his lips.
“I’m not sure I can anymore.”
“Yeah…” Tim replies subdued. He glances at the red daggers of his feathers and thinks he understands that.
“I wonder what it would take,” Jon says idly, slurring with exhaustion, and Tim grips him closer and hopes he never finds out.
Martin doesn’t react when Sasha sits down near him. The breeze, a vicious snagging chill tussles his hair, some wisps twisting into nothingness like smoke from an extinguished candle. She is still getting used to this Martin, or perhaps the Martin he never let others see. The toned-down stillness of him, the undisturbed waters of his expression. His skin not quite solid, the patches that have returned pale, sickly-pallored in the softening dim of moonlight. The rest of him is a coalition of fog, a hazy motion to his image like he’s wave-rocked, smoked out.
Long minutes pass. Sasha sits down cross-legged. The waves ripple up the stones that make up the strip of beach surrounding the loch, and they’re hard and uncomfortable under her.
“I can’t swim, you know,” Martin says finally. The sea is louder than he is, and he can make himself so quiet these days.
“No?”
Sasha keeps her tone light, inquisitive without intensity. Martin shakes his head, and his image lags, skipping disjointed, like his connection is poor.
More silence. Sasha doesn’t know what she should say, where Martin’s thoughts are at. She scratches behind the base of her gills, rubs at the dorsal fins sitting mostly flat under her sleep shirt.
“I didn’t live too far from the sea,” Martin continues. Looking at the wavering mirage of his hands without comment. She doesn’t even know if he recognises her presence. “We had Liverpool about an hour away. Even Blackpool, I guess. My primary school had a swimming club, where they’d pack them off to the big leisure centre on a coach afterschool. Kids’d get these little medals for managing like five metres, or ten, fifteen. But there was a small fee, and Mum said…” He snorts out a dismissive breath and his face twists, and neither of these actions suit him. “Doesn’t matter. I never went, and I never learnt, and that was that.”
“You could always come swimming with me?” Sasha proposes slowly. Lost in the swell of this conversation, why Martin’s talking about the sea, what this has to do with anything. She wishes he’d look at her.
Martin doesn’t answer immediately. He might not have even heard her.
“I told Peter, and he said that made it even better. That it was a such a – ” he says the word with a sneer, the words sharp-toothed in his mouth “ – gift, that I’d never even had the opportunity to know what I would miss, not even a memory to embellish or to sour. That there was so much that could root in absence. He said I should be grateful.”
“Peter Lukas said a lot of shit,” Sasha says.
She shuffles closer to him. Puts her hand on his knee.
“Whatever he told you was bollocks, you know that right?”
Martin blinks. After a moment, his hand joins over hers. His image grows denser, less likely to be stolen by the midnight air.
His eyes, fixed out on a horizon point in the slick dark of the loch, are still distant.
“I just wish I understood why she did it,” Martin murmurs.
“Who?”
“I did some research. After Elias… after I found out. I couldn’t have been the only person, and it’s rare enough but there are – help groups… you know, therapists that specialise in that kind of stuff. But I didn’t… I couldn’t face going to one. I thought that… knowing what was so wrong with me would make it easier, but it didn’t. All my life, I…. I was stupid enough to think it might be something I could fix. If – if I changed myself enough, if I said the right things, loved the right people, then I might… that someone could fix me. But it can't be fixed. That’s what all the leaflets said. That it was best to think of it like a permanent injury. Like having a stroke, or some sort of brain damage or something like that. Something irreparable.”
“Martin, sweetheart…” Sasha starts. She doesn’t understand. The flotsam of Martin’s speech grows erratic and he’s started shivering, and it’s no wonder, dressed in a t-shirt, pyjama trousers and some thick socks.
“Do you know much about selkies, Sash?” Martin powers on. Chattering teeth and goosebumps and it’s like he’s drawing something out of himself, some infection long done its damage. “Not many of them left, and they don’t usually venture landward like some of the other deepwater species. They mate for life apparently. Staunchly social communities, and some of them can’t… can’t cope, if they lose their group, or their partner. They take off their pelt, and just swim off to drown. A-and those help groups and therapists, those people who had theirs stolen, or destroyed… they’re, god, they’re all terminal. They last six months, maximum. Because it kills them, losing it. They waste away and they die. And here’s me…” Martin’s face twists again, and it’s bitter and angry and despairing all at once, “and I just get to keep going.”
“Selkies…?” Sasha says. “Why are you….”
She trails off in a gradually dawning horror.
“Martin?”
“She burnt it,” Martin says, his tone stringing higher now, distress sweeping in like a squall to break up the unnatural apathy in his voice. “I don’t think she knew what it would… I mean, I don’t know, maybe she did, maybe she wanted me gone just like dad, I don’t know, and I’ll never know because I can’t ask her why. I didn’t even… it was so long ago. I was sick and then I got worse and it was awful and I didn’t understand why I was so ill, why everything hurt just so much… and after, when I was better, Mum said it was appendicitis. I believed her. Course I did, why wouldn’t I. I didn’t know… not until Elias, and I’ll never know what I’ve lost, or why it didn’t kill me, maybe it was because I was so young, or because it’s only from one side of the family, I don’t – I don’t know! I’ll never know! It’s a whole part of me that she just… she just took a-a-and…”
Martin’s back bows like whalebone. He takes long shuddering breaths like his words are keelhauling across his lungs.
Sasha’s never heard of a selkie with only half their soul. She can’t imagine, what it would do to someone.
She moves in front of Martin and he moves forward against her like a wave crash. He’s taller and heavier than her, and the impact pushes her back momentarily before her arms catch him.
“Breathe, sweetheart,” she says, “You can do it, breathe.” She holds him so surely, and she always will. And he starts crying then, the first time since Jon was in hospital, and he won’t or can’t stop shivering, and it is horrible to hear every emotion inside him claw itself back from the brink.
She keeps telling him to breathe, and he keeps following that instruction through sniffling and sobbing and broken-voiced confusion, and she counts it as a small victory nonetheless.
Jon’s mouth cannot scream.
Tim’s in the next room, the kitchen, drying plates and bowls and cutlery, within shouting distance, and he’d be here in a moment – he’d help if only Jon could speak a word other than his unbidden, unwanted recitation.
Jon’s mouth doles out its terrible missive, and he doesn’t not feel like a person as Elias rolls out the triumphant red carpet of his plotting and scheming, the self-satisfied weave of his grand finale. And no, he’s not a person, not for a long time now; he’s a catalogue, a testimony, an archive, and he would never have chosen this.
His hands scrabble at his throat, and his eyes are blurred with tears, his vision obscured, but it does not seem to matter, for his skin ripples and sloshes like an inkwell and a hundred eyes swell and pop and inflate again like bubbles against his skin.
Someone else screams. And the multitude of Jon’s eyes are newborn, fractal-imaged, gummed up with a feast of far-reaching horror all witnessed by him, overseen and devoured in his sight, and it is hard to translate what his original set of open, weeping eyes see. There is motion. Commotion. There are apologies being spoken in his ears, fervent, petitionary, but he is hearing the rising insistent thrum of the summoning and it is as sickening as it is beautiful. Someone is holding a hand hard over his mouth, the grip painful and punishing but even then the words burble out through the cracks. Another hand clamps over his eyes, and he shrieks and thrashes as his words gather to a crescendo.
A hand tears the paper from his grip. There is an acrid whoosh of smoke. Jon drops like the rigging of a ship being torn down. The hands at his mouth and eyes lower quickly to loop around his waist, catch him and hold him up.
Jon sees Tim, wide-eyed and shimmering with terror even as his skin burns gold and his feathers shine and there are only sooty flakes left of Jonah’s statement, scattering down from his palms.
He thinks it’s Martin behind him. Jon folds further, all his weight pitching forward and Martin’s forced to come down with him as he retches the leftover words in his mouth; king of a ruined world, he vomits up with bile and ink, and it splashes with a disgusting slop over the living room floor.
Sasha’s partially webbed hands are holding back his hair as he hacks and gags, his lips stained black, his stomach heaving as he chokes on everything that comes up, his stomach roiling with an overwhelming nausea. Conduit of fear, he brings up, dribbling from his lips like paper pulp.
After a long while, it’s over. Sasha carries him to the bathroom, and helps him clean up, although Jon has little memory of it.
He wakes, feeling like a shipwreck, and Tim is there. Sat nearby, his head in his hands. His fingertips stained with ink and soot. He can hear Martin and Sasha talking in low tones nearby.
They're still here. Even now, he’s surprised that they haven’t left him.
And Jon has no words remaining, so his body betrays him with airless, silent tears, at all he could have wrought upon this world, at all the suffering he could have brought to their door to still be granted forgiveness for.
It is not the end. It is an interlude, a reprieve. In some ways a kindness, and in others, waiting is its own cruelty.
They’ve bought blankets to the beach in order to cushion the hardness of the stones rounded by tide and time. It’s the first time they’ve gotten Jon to come outside for more than a few minutes. The scratches up the column of his throat healing. His voice still damaged, scratchy and scraped from misuse.
They’ll have to be moving on soon. To make plans for whatever future they need to avoid.
She sits up, and stretches out from where she’s been lying against Tim’s thigh. Glances at Jon, barely four metres away on a separate towel. Grey-haired and tired-eyed. Martin’s holding his hand, the left one crinkled by burns, as they talk about something treasured for its meaningless. Despite everything, Jon’s face practises relearning its smiles, even as he touches tentative at the marks around his neck, the bruising at the edges of his mouth.
The tension has not faded from Tim’s shoulders. His plumage sharp and strange even now. Her own scales patchy and bare, whole sections that have not grown back.
She considers her battered but striving shoal, and wants to show them that their past is not all there will ever be. That there will be an after-this, whatever that looks like. She wishes they spoke her tongue, so she could gift them names, new names, for the things they have become, this things that they have survived, and all that has survived them.
“Martin!” she shouts over, a sudden inspiration seizing her. “Want to come in the water with me?”
Martin’s expression barrels through at least three iterations before it hovers between wary and uncomfortable.
“I – er… I might just be better off here, actually.”
“No pressure,” she tells him, and she means it, for all she remembers that he has never had the chance to know the sea as she has, to feel his whole weight held up by the water. “But I am a pretty spectacular swimming teacher. I promise I won’t let go.”
Martin, to his credit, thinks about it. Gnaws on his lip, stares away from her and at his knees. Next to her, she can feel Tim bite back an enthusiastic declaration of encouragement for fear of spooking him.
Martin stands gingerly, and she is so proud of him.
“I haven’t got a costume,” he says.
“Your boxers will be fine.”
“We want something pretty to look at, show us those legs, Martin!” Tim says. He times the tone playful, the perfect balance of joking and complementing, and it works, with Martin’s blushing and ‘shut it Tim’ distracting him from the enormity of his decision as he neatly folds up his jeans, and takes off his shoes and socks. Sasha peels off her long skirt, rolls down her tights. She dislikes shoes on principle, and rarely wears them.
The rocks dig into the soles of Martin’s feet as they waddle down to the shore, slow going and interspersed with wincing.
She takes his hand as they stop, stand a foot from the border between land and sea.
“We’ll just go a little way out,” she promises. “The water’s fairly calm but for your first time…”
“I don’t think I can do this,” Martin whispers. He hesitates, and she waits for his decision. And then, he creeps forward, and she follows. He swears vehement as the water hits his toes, and he almost balks to feel the frigid temperature, but he pushes forward, his swearing getting more and more creative the further he walks out against the tide.
From the headland, someone cheers, likely Tim.
“Don’t look at them,” Sasha says. “Come on, this is all you, ok?”
Her legs unfuse into her tail, and she shivers out a feeling like cramp, luxuriating in the sensation against her skin.
Martin tentatively wades out. He’s tall, but there’s a point where he stops, knowing to move forward means his feet won’t touch the ground.
“A little further, yeah?” Sasha encourages, and he nods jerkily, a frantic up-and-down, his expression petrified. “You can do this. Don’t look at the water. Look at me.”
Keeping her eyes fixed on his, she pulls him slowly into deeper waters. His fingers are pressing rounded marks into her forearms. His leg gestures are sloppy, thrashing, and at one point he dips below the surface with the disturbance he’s making, and he splutters as he resurfaces, surging up, eyes bulging in a betrayed panic. She continues to reassure him and doesn’t let go as they stop and simply float, the shoreline easily in sight.
“How does it feel?” she asks.
“Wet,” he grumbles. Clearly concentrating, he treads, kicking out in a motion that gradually finds rhythm.
For a long while, it is them and the sea. The waves rub up against the bare patches in her scales, but the reminder is not painful.
Martin’s breathing calms. His terror recedes, and he looks down at the obscured water under them.
“Can we go out a bit further?”
She’s not doing as much pulling now. She shows him how to use his arms to push himself through water, and stopping and starting, correcting his gestures and posture and breathing as they go, they drift further out before stopping again, hanging suspended above the depths.
Martin smiles at his own unexpected success. He lets out a long, satisfied sound like something’s loosened in him for the first time.
His eyes, completely black, reflect the dour and overcast midday sun.
“Martin, your eyes.”
“What’s wrong with them?” Martin says, but no – he doesn’t say, he barks, and then gasps, and then barks again, stunned, unsettled. He doesn’t look upset. He’s bitten his lip with his too-sharp teeth that now line his gums, and he touches the sharp pain it has caused with incredulity, his still human fingers marking out the sensation of the new.
“What’s happening?” he asks and Sasha grins, and says “I don’t know, Martin, I don’t know” and he’s splashing, a seal without skin, something entirely himself, shivering minutely in the cold shock even as his smile shows off his pointed teeth. He barks again, the sound almost jolted out of him as he figures out how it works, and she trills in delight, and it sets him off grinning and kicking. And for the moment, for this moment, the Lonely is banished entirely landbound, and there is only them treading water, surrounded by the endless sea and trusting they will not drown.
They have to go back to land eventually. The waves around them start to wash choppy, the sky colours grey with the surety of rain. They swim back, and sometimes Sasha lets go, bobbing near his elbow as he swims slowly but steadily on his own.
Martin’s teeth flatten when they crawl onto the shore, panting and burbling out the dregs of their laughter. Tim and Jon have come over to greet them, Jon holding the towels and garments like an overladen clothes tree. Tim chucks Sasha a towel to fold around herself into a makeshift skirt before her tail bisects back into legs.
“Tim, Tim, Tim!” Sasha says excitedly, waving her hands and gesticulating. “Did you see, did you see?”
“See what…?” Tim starts, but he glances at Martin, whose eyes are slow to fade from black to blue, and Tim might not realise what exactly has happened, but he senses the tenor of the mood because he’s barrelling in, knocking into Martin, wrapping him in a hug and nearly smothering him with his wings. Once released, Jon approaches slowly, putting his burdens down. Martin glances up at him, almost anxious now that the initial buzz is wearing down, but Jon goes softly to his knees, and his smile spreads across his face like paint in water.
The grey of the sky feels far off as they allow themselves the momentarily uncomplicated gift of being happy.
#the magnus archives#tma#cw emotional manipulation#cw ableism#cw potential suicidal ideation#cw emetophobia#cw being sick#ask to tag#jonmartin#sasha james#tim stoker#jonathan sims#martin blackwood
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