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crybabyjam · 4 years ago

Text

ego

ship: bakudeku

rating: t

au: regency era romance, maybe?

summary: Being selfish isn't all bad.

word count: 5k

available on ao3 here, based off of art

---

Gentle light filters through a stained-glass window, and Izuku tiredly rubs at his eye as he watches squirrels chase one another up a thick maple tree trunk.

His breakfast has gone cold, plate settled on his lap as he sits on a stool he'd dragged over from the bar. The window is open, angled in a way that it paints pretty colors across the porcelain dish stained with strawberry juice and pancake syrup.

The smell of it mixes with the smell of summer outside: of sunlight through sweet tree boughs, and the perfume of freshly watered azalea bushes.

All of it together is too cloying, almost.

Izuku sighs to himself, fiddling with the half-eaten food for only a moment more before he sets it on the windowsill.

"I'm not cleaning that if it falls and breaks."

Izuku startles at the deep voice, fumbling with his own hands as he twists his head out the window.

On the other side of the wall, Katsuki rests. He's leaning against the stone, taking a rest from yard work by the ruddy stains on his knees and the dirt clinging to his forearms.

He shoves away perspiration from his brow, watching Izuku with an appraising eye, and Izuku laughs nervously.

"I won't break it," Izuku says as he moves the plate away anyway. "I'd clean it up myself, either way."

Katsuki only grunts.

His hair has grown longer over the past spring season. It was the beginning of summer, but already wisps of his sunlight colored hair tickle at his dark eyelashes. Just a bit. Izuku can see some of it clinging to the side of his face, sweat-slicked.

He glances away when Katsuki quirks an eyebrow at him. They're separated by a wall, but Izuku feels like Katsuki can see right through him at any moment.

(read more)

He gives a wobbly smile, eyes darting up again, but Katsuki has already turned away. He's rubbing at his callous-hardened palms, probably aching after working all morning.

Izuku had woken up an hour or so prior, and he remembers seeing Katsuki already hard at work in the garden.

A marble statue had gotten sun-bleached over the years, and Izuku had finally decided it was time to get it repaired. He hadn't expected them (that is, Katsuki and the other help) to get to it so soon, but they'd always been fast.

Katsuki most of all.

Others may have come and gone, but Katsuki had always stayed. He'd been with them— with Izuku— for years, even before Izuku's mother had passed and left him the estate, and knew more about the home than Izuku did, probably. More about the grounds, definitely.

Sometimes Izuku will sneak off with a good book to a quiet, untouched part of the garden, and some hours later would find flaming red eyes watching him from afar.

And, every time without fail, Izuku would find that 'hidden' part of the garden repaired the next day, in a way that he can sit comfortable in the sun for hours; fresh cushions placed upon marble benches, or grass beds cut low so that bugs can't hide in them.

Izuku can't help but be enamored with his ever-so-watchful groundskeeper.

"Would you like something to drink?" Izuku asks, quiet as if he doesn't want Katsuki to hear as he begins to walk away.

But he does hear. He turns, broad shoulders relaxing, and his eyes go dark and lidded as he appraises Izuku again.

Katsuki steps forward. The window is just low enough that he can cross his arms atop the sill and lean his head in.

"And what are you offering?"

Izuku laughs, high pitched and for too long. Katsuki watches him the entire while, and Izuku is sure his face goes red like the chopped up strawberries on his plate.

"Just… j-just a moment."

Izuku jumps up, and the stool teeters on one leg. He catches it midfall, and Katsuki's laugh is like liquid gold being poured over him, like he was a gilded ornament made to be strung up onto a glass chandelier.

He shivers as Katsuki's smooth, enticing voice calls after him, "Water's fine."

Izuku chooses his favorite glass to fill with the pitcher of water he keeps in the fridge. It's ice-cold, freezing against his clammy palms, so he doesn't bother with actual ice.

Instead, he fills it to the brim and takes carefully measured steps back to the door so that he can present it to his groundskeeper.

The glass is engraved, designed with a pale bird midflight, air jets circling down across the glass until the eye follows where it's near landing in its nest.

It reminds Izuku of the summer he had found a baby bird at the base of a tree, long ago. He was still a kid, and had cried and cried at the thought of it being stuck there until its parent got back.

He'd cried harder when he ended up stuck in the tree himself trying to put it back, too scared of heights.

Katsuki hadn't yet been hired then, but… it was a good memory despite everything. Sometimes, now, Izuku imagines if Katsuki had been there. If he would have helped Izuku down, laughing and teasing him all the while.

Izuku minutely shakes his head, both to clear it and to admonish himself. They were barely friends, after all.

"Here you go…" He murmurs, shooing the stool away with his foot so that he can lean out and place the cup directly in Katsuki's palms.

"Thank you, young master." Katsuki's voice is completely teasing as he says it, low and rough like a bass instrument being tuned.

Their fingers brush.

Izuku holds his breath as the pads of Katsuki's fingertips feel against the jut of knuckles. Neither of them move for a moment, the glass of water hanging between in limbo as neither grabs and neither lets go.

Katsuki purposefully lifts his other hand, eyes staring Izuku down to his unbreathing core. Then, he places it against the back of Izuku's. His thumb rubs a soft circle across the skin, softer compared to his own, and Izuku breathes in so sharp that his lung protests with a sharp pain.

Izuku pulls away first, with a cough.

They'd never really touched hands before. Never touched anything before, not even in passing brushes or accidental stumbles.

It was always as if the air between them was thick, impermeable. Not solid like brick, but thick like water waves, and Izuku couldn't read the tide well enough to breach the surface.

Izuku so desperately wanted to break through, and hold Katsuki tight. To promise him the world and the moon and the stars, and actually get them for him if he so wished.

But Izuku couldn't ask that of him, not when there was a very real chance of him saying no.

Katsuki's livelihood relied on their relationship, after all. He had to stay atleast somewhat cordial with his master if he wanted to get paid. Izuku was sure he thought that way, which is why he teased and darted away.

If Izuku were a better person, he'd make it so Katsuki wouldn't have to do that song and dance. Make it so he could come and go as he pleased without worry of Izuku— or give him all the money Izuku had just so he could choose his own path.

But Izuku was selfish.

And that touch, the simple brush of rough skin against skin… He couldn't let it go. Izuku would still keep him, pay him double even, if Katsuki said he hated his guts.

Katsuki laughs again, at the way Izuku jerks away. Just once, even quieter than before. And then he drinks.

His head tips back as he swallows down the water greedily, throat bobbing with each heavy gulp. Izuku watches as a drop slips past the curve of his lip and paints his neck translucent.

It trails lower, following the swell of his neck and briefly getting caught at the clavicle and pooling there. Katsuki shifts, breathing in a deep breath, and it journeys further, dipping lower and lower still.

Izuku jerks his head away before he gets hypnotized past the point of no return, eyes darting away from the shirtless groundskeeper.

The glass makes a dull sound as Katsuki sets it on the windowsill, thoroughly emptied. It stays silent between them for a moment, until Izuku nervously licks his lips.

"Back to work?"

Katsuki tilts his head, leaning back against the windowsill. He shifts up onto his toes, just a few inches, and leans in far enough that the smell of him encompasses the entirety of Izuku's head. He swims in it, eyes fluttering shut briefly before he forces them back open.

Katsuki angles close enough that the ends of his hair tickle at Izuku's forehead. Izuku tips forward, subconsciously, to chase the enticing feel.

Like this, the sun is entirely blocked, light let in only by the glass window. The colors, reds and blues and greens, overlay across Katsuki's face until he's like an oil painting come to life.

Izuku traces the shapeless shapes with his eyes, losing himself between the shadows cast across Katsuki's face and the curve of his lips.

Katsuki calls his attention back by grinning, clicking his tongue, and dropping back on his heels.

"See you around, young master."

Then, Katsuki stalks away. He stops briefly to pick up his shovel, hooking his foregone shirt over his shoulder, and then disappears around the corner in the blink of an eye.

Forgotten condensation rolls down the bird-engraved glass. A real bird sings in the distance, far beyond the treeline.

Izuku doesn't know what to do with himself in the aftermath.

His hands shake, just a bit, and he holds them close to his belly to get them to calm. And, just like he can't stop them from trembling, he can't stop the smile lighting up across his mouth.

Katsuki smells of lemongrass and honey. Sharp and sweet.

Izuku closes the window so that it stays with him a few moments longer.

---

Izuku lays himself across freshly trimmed grass, unworried at how his crisp, fresh shirt will stain. He has ever many more in his closet to romp around in, after all.

Instead, he worries about the book in his hands. The pages are small against his palms, and the spine is well worn. It's a favorite of his, and has been for many years.

He settles down into the piece of earth laid out for him that afternoon, rolling onto his belly so that he can lay the book flat, and hums happily to himself as the words wash over him.

Katsuki watches him from the house. He's settled atop the roof, just having finished repairing a few thatches and cleaning out the gutters. After he washed up, he'd take his lunch break and spend the hour or two keenly examining his mental picture of the young master, as he always does in his downtime at work.

Izuku is unaware of the eyes he has on him, by the way he twists in the grass and lets his shirt get untucked from his pants.

Katsuki has a perfect view of the strip of skin that gets exposed to the summer heat, and watches as Izuku idly fiddles with the hem, as if he's ready to take the entire thing off.

He's in a quiet part of the garden, in the small backyard rather than the vast front. He's all but surrounded by flowering shrubs and trees and dandelions that he refuses to let the gardeners get rid of. He loved to lounge on boring days and blow their white tuffs out across the landscape, to encourage more to grow.

Katsuki rolls his eyes at the thought. He'd be the one who had to deal with the shitty flowers, but it wasn't his estate. So he'd let the young master do what he pleased without fuss.

Katsuki settles back against the roof, leaning against one of the crown of the chimney spire that juts out of it.

He rests his head against his palm and watches as Izuku laughs out loud to himself and rolls onto his side, taking his book with him. His face is buried so far down in the pages that the ink might as well be staining his nose and freckles.

The pages have been rebound with leather, to keep them all together after the many years of love they've received from their owner. Katsuki feels his jaw tense for a moment, idly caught between wanting to tear it apart and replace it with himself in Izuku's hands, or turning away.

How idiotic, to be jealous of paper.

Izuku had a gentle touch, though.

Though he was rough on his hands, always nicking and grazing them with stupid actions, he was ever so gentle. He could cup an egg in his palms and go tumbling down a mountain, and the egg would be in better shape than it was before.

It was so strange, too. Despite his beansprout attitude, Izuku was a full-course meal. Strong around the middle with expansive shoulders. Large hands, strong thighs.

Though he was older than Katsuki by a handful of years, he still acted like a baby lamb, just barely taken from its mother's breast. It was astounding to watch, really.

Especially when the lambskin shed and he became a wolf. Not to say Izuku was dangerous— would always and forever be the furthest thing from that— but rather… fierce. Headstrong. Stubborn as a fucking ox and impulsive like a long-horned goat.

(Katsuki snickers, imagining a green-haired, fuzzy goat animal like that. What a sight his young master would be, if he were anything else but human.)

If Izuku got an idea in his mind, it'd be a hard-pressed ordeal to knock sense into him. Katsuki was the only one willing to try, it sometimes seems.

Yeah, well. Katsuki was never one to turn down a challenge. Not one like that, anyway.

Izuku may now own the lands, but the grounds were Katsuki's. Had been urged up by his fingers and conquered solidly by his will. Not a thing happened on this estate without his say-so, inside and out if he were being honest.

If Izuku were less stubborn, or Katsuki more nefarious… it'd probably be a problem. But Izuku was an alright master of the manor.

Was… kinder than Katsuki deserved, half of the time.

So Katsuki would treat him kind back, from the shadows. Where he belonged, as servant to his young master.

That was all he would ever be.

Because despite the way Izuku ogled him and let Katsuki get in his space, he'd never once reciprocated the advances. Never tried to get closer beyond passing by in the halls.

The closest they'd ever gotten was Izuku ducking out of the way as some extras carried furniture from one end of the estate to the other, accidentally breaching into Katsuki's personal bubble in the process.

They didn't even touch, then, but it haunted Katsuki even now— the feel of Izuku's body heat breeching against his own.

They were always orbiting one another, but never in the same galaxy. Katsuki was waiting for Izuku to reach for him, but was too stubborn to reach out first.

And he was too selfish to let Izuku go.

To quit and let him find another man to tend the grounds of his estate. To leave and let Izuku be swept up in whatever mess he did, and not care because his beautiful, fucking stubborn, eyes weren't on him anymore.

If Katsuki were a better person, maybe.

Katsuki stands up straight, tongue sour and heavy like lead in his mouth. It was time to be done with his daily glare at the estate owner.

He sighs, stretching his arms high above his head.

Izuku sits up, partially drawn by the motion in his periphery, but mostly from whatever is happening in his book. He gasps outwardly, soft but audible even from where Katsuki sits on the roof, and that is enough to startle the wildlife.

Butterflies burst from a small shrub to Izuku's front. A plethora of them, mostly in one color— must all have been from the same brood. They cyclone out of the greenery, and then lazily drift through the open air to find a new place to rest and eat at the flowers.

Katsuki growls beneath his breath at the sight of them, thinking only of the many larvae he'll have to cull lest they get an infestation all over.

That thought process stutters, though, when the young master gasps again and jumps to his feet to watch the cacophony of colors class across the clouded sky.

It's as if he'd never seen color before, with the way he drops his precious book to step into the mass of wings. Katsuki settles his chin across his hands, hugging his chin back against his palm to watch all over again.

Izuku holds his fingers out to the bugs that want nothing to do with them. They leave a wide berth around him as they flutter up towards the trees, etching an Izuku-shaped hole in their swarm.

Izuku pouts when not a one stays to give him butterfly kisses. His nose scrunches up as he does, lips soft-looking and plush as he juts the bottom one out.

Katsuki snorts and, once the last butterfly has gone to find a new branch to perch on, turns to get back to work.

---

It's been a number of days since their last significant contact, but Katsuki is (as always) a beautiful sight; resplendent even in the shade of the oak tree.

Izuku isn't sure, exactly, what excuse he could have for being out there at that moment, other than just wanting to see Katsuki in the sunlight and the shade. He was stunning.

And, at the moment, he was between tasks. As he seemed to be more frequently these days, when Izuku would sneak out of his own house and sit in the grass for no reason at all.

For that reason, Izuku was avoiding eye contact with the imposing figure he created. Even relaxed, lounging in shade as he waited for the sun to go past its apex, Katsuki was sharp like a poisoned dagger, but sweet as though he was dipped in honey.

He was alone, too.

Not that Izuku had many hired help, but generally Katsuki was barking orders at them because their work wasn't up to his standards. And, even though Izuku often had to convince him to take it easy on them, he did appreciate the effort.

Izuku could see it clearly in the cut of the landscape and the shine of his estate. Not a brick was chipped, not a hedge overgrown. Katsuki worked hard.

He deserved the break.

Izuku watched as he lifted his hands behind his head and settled against the oak tree's trunk. The bark must be uncomfortable against his skin, but he doesn't seem to mind as he lets his sweat and the shade cool him off.

And though the shade is thick, wisps of sunlight still filter through. Everywhere it touches seems to turn his skin to gold. Everything about him is magnificent, from the hard curve of his workers' muscles, to the soft of his eyelashes.

"Your stare is heavier than fuckin' lead, Deku."

Izuku startles and turns away as Katsuki squints his eyes open all of a sudden.

He feels his face go red and getting caught so easily, so soon.

There's a shift of clothing and grass, and then Katsuki stands and stretches. Izuku pointedly doesn't look his way at the soft sounds, even as something blooms deep in his tummy. Almost like the flutter of the butterflies from the few days prior, it was like he was being swarmed.

They weren't incredibly close together; Katsuki under a tree, and Izuku closer to the middle of the yard. Still, it's close enough that Izuku can feel him move without seeing.

He was coming closer.

Izuku glances up as Katsuki stops in front of him, arms loosely crossing. He has an intense look on his face, that would be stinging sharp if Izuku hadn't gotten to know Katsuki's mannerisms by now, over the years.

He's pleased. His eyes sparkle with a tinge of mirth and his lips are just barely traced with a hint of a smirk.

"Somethin' I can do for you, young master?"

Katsuki squats, slow so that he can get in Izuku's face, and the latter loses himself in the motion. His eyes dart all across the twists of Katsuki's body, as if it were being offered to him, before he catches himself and looks up at the bright sky instead.

Izuku breathes in deep. Shyly says, "Sorry…" even as he smiles.

Katsuki tilts his head.

He eyes the way Izuku's shirt, half open from the chest down, reveals the way his blush has painted across the skin of his pecs. Tilts his eyes lower to watch Izuku squeeze his thighs nervously, tensing them in the tight material of his silken pants.

"How long are we gonna keep playing this game, Izuku?"

Oh how the sound of his given name from Katsuki's lips is like a gift from the heavens. Would it be too much to hear it again, Izuku dazedly wonders as Katsuki stands straight.

He openly gapes as Katsuki watches him over his shoulder, stalking across the yard to finish up his job of the hour.

Katsuki laughs to himself as he feels Izuku's eyes on him the entire time. Always, he felt those eyes on him— sweeping across Katsuki like he held the secrets of the universe beneath his sternum.

It was a rush. A luxury that half of him felt he deserved and that the other half desperately worked for.

He shoves his boot against the head of his rake, digging it as deep as it can go in the earth. Izuku hadn't requested this but Katsuki was building him long rows of sunflowers to outline the sidewalk.

How presumptuous for him to not even consult his master before he changes the makeup of his yard, right?

But this spot was in perfect view from Izuku's bedroom. In the mornings, when the light was low on this side of the house, the sunflowers would remind him of everything good in the world.

And, after the sun has risen higher in the sky and painted the ground yellow and bright, the sunflowers might just make Izuku think of Katsuki. Was it selfish to want Izuku to think of him always?

It wasn't much off from what already happened.

Though Katsuki has already gotten into the rhythm of sowing the ground, Izuku's eyes have not left him. Katsuki can see him in the same position as before, legs curled beneath him and palms flat against the earth. His reflections in the rakes and shovels are warped, but it's still him, watching Katsuki.

Every so often, under the pretense of taking a breather, Katsuki will lift his head up and watch how Izuku's eyes crinkle at the corners as he unwittingly smiles. Watches how he blushes deep and red when Katsuki stretches a crick out of his neck and groans purposefully loud.

Sweat pools down his bare back and Katsuki doesn't have to glance up to know Izuku is following the trails they daub across the small curve at the base of his spine.

Katsuki finishes the first few rows where the seeds would need to be planted, and still Izuku has done nothing more than stare.

Katsuki wants to hold him.

A breeze dances between them, curling around their bodies and urging them closer.

Katsuki contemplates resisting for a moment, thinking first of the work he has to get done today. Second of the chance that Izuku may just be content in ogling and not actually feeling him. If maybe he was risking it all on an inkling, a hope, a dream.

He doesn't think of anything third, because Izuku perks up when Katsuki turns to him, handsome face melting from a pleased smile to an enamored, open-mouthed gaze.

Never before had Izuku seen Katsuki look like that before; never so vulnerable than he looked in that moment. His eyes were awash with want, and they were focused only on Izuku.

They both seem to hypnotize one another, all at once.

Katsuki steps forward, hesitant as the shovel lands soft in the dirt, and Izuku shifts a leg beneath him to stand.

They move together, closer.

How desperately selfish they were, to do this to the other.

Izuku shoves hair from his face, wavy like layered grooves in a cliffside or rivers cutting through a forest like a new wonder of the world. Would Katsuki want to see the world with him?

Katsuki holds his hand out to him, hands rugged and cut and harsh. But gentle, for once offering everything he could. Would Izuku be content with a rough hand such as this, holding his close?

The wind picks up and pushes them closer.

They meet in the middle.

The yard is completely open, to both the air and the stare of any help that might be watching. Katsuki doesn't care, and neither does Izuku. Not when they touch, skin to skin.

First a little, like the spill of a cup, and then a lot: like a tsunami.

Katsuki crashes his full body against Izuku and drags him down to the earth, toppling him down down down like a dragon taking out a mountain. Izuku flops to the grass with hardly a sound beyond tinkling laughter.

"Kacchan," Izuku sighs, voice strumming across Katsuki like gentle chords from an old guitar.

"Deku," Katsuki responds, straddling Izuku's waist. Their fingers are weaved tight together, like yarn in a mitten, and he squeezes down when Izuku murmurs something soft and sweet beneath his breath.

"Is this okay?" Izuku asks, as if he wasn't shoved down flat by his groundskeeper and about to be ravished like a meal for a starving man. Katsuki desperately wants to know how he tastes.

"You hold the power, young master." As always, the title is a joke, a tease. This time it was a plea, too. Katsuki lifts their joined palms and presses the back of Izuku's to his mouth as he says, "My life is in your hands."

The words wound Izuku, accidentally. If he were a better person…

Izuku's fingers loosen, but not to pull away.

Katsuki kisses them as they go, and then sucks in a breath when Izuku presses them to Katsuki's jaw and pulls him in close. He holds all of Katsuki in the palm of his hands, and he treats him gently like Katsuki always knew he would.

"Katsuki." Izuku whispers his name like a promise and the world's sweetest curse. There wasn't much that Katsuki could offer to Izuku beyond his body and his work, but he would promise it all just for him to say his name like that again.

Izuku nods encouragingly when Katsuki begins to thumb at the few buttons still done in his shirt. Katsuki was already shirtless, always was when Izuku was around.

Still, the motion of trust leaves his heart feeling thick and syrupy inside, sticking to his ribs with every beat of it. His lover trembles as Katsuki kisses across where Izuku's own hides, peeling the shirt off of him and offering him up to the sunlight.

As more and more of his skin gets revealed with each button that gets unlatched, Katsuki falls deeper in love with him.

Izuku is broad all over. His chest is wide and full, and his belly is stout and strong. His shoulders are broad as ever, and if he were ever anything but soft, he'd be imposing. Now, he's water in Katsuki's hands— or clay, ready and waiting to be lovingly shaped by him.

Izuku shivers when he swipes his fingers across the thick of his skin. He's covered in hair, dark but thin and soft. Katsuki likes the feel of it against his knuckles, and then against his chin when he leans down, briefly, to hear how his heart beats in his chest.

Izuku lets him do as he will, encouraging by the hand cradling the back of Katsuki's head. He keeps him close, desperate and clinging, but lets Katsuki explore at his own pace.

He stops breathing when Katsuki kisses at his neck, teeth nibbling at the heartbeat felt through his veins there. And he starts breathing again, deeper, when Katsuki whispers his name: "Izuku."

Katsuki thumbs at the hair sprouting from Izuku's chin, rubbing across the stubbly hairs until he's satisfied. Then he presses a kiss to it, the curve of his chin. Izuku whimpers, almost, or moans maybe. It all gets lost in the loud silence of his own head, focused on Katsuki and Katsuki alone.

Freckles dot his young master all over, carefully placed in each inch of his skin as if the painter of life wanted to be sure they were appreciated. Katsuki appreciates them happily, lips grazing them over and over and over again.

They arc all the way across Izuku's breast until they get hidden from sight by the shirt still wrapped around Izuku's arms and back.

Katsuki lets them hide away, and promises himself to give them as much attention as Izuku can stand, later.

Instead, Katsuki wants to kiss him. Wants to brush their lips together and feel the tingle of it echo across his skin, and he wants to see how Izuku would react to it. Would he still blush pretty and coyly twist away, or would his eyes go wide like he wanted more?

Katsuki has to shove his knee against the grass to get high enough again, and Izuku grunts as the weight of Katsuki comes to rest flat against his chest. His hand, at the back of Katsuki's neck, tightens briefly to keep both of them steady, and the other only idly squeezes at Katsuki's wrist when they settle in their new position.

He's waiting, breathless from the way Katsuki laved love across his skin moments prior.

His lips part when Katsuki stares at them, and he bites his lip when Katsuki doesn't instantly give him what he wants.

So, Katsuki kisses him.

For Izuku, it's like everything he'd ever dreamed. He feels like he's drowning in stardust, or like Katsuki was reaching into him deep inside and tying their souls together. It's only a kiss, but… it's everything.

It's a chaste kiss, lips against lips and barely anything more. Izuku fleetingly opens his mouth to gasp, and their tongues hardly brush before Katsuki pulls away.

For once, he's blushing in the way he makes Izuku blush every day. Instead of like gold, he's like the blooming peonies in the garden, fragile and soft and oh so beautiful.

Izuku pulls him back for another kiss. And another, and another, until they're drunk off the taste of one another. It's overwhelming and addicting, finally doing this.

Neither of them can ever go back to being the same after this. No more uncertain glances or wistful stares from the shadows.

No, now they get something better.

They get to have each other.

---

"I've never kissed anyone before," Izuku admits, softly against the curve of Katsuki's cheek when they end up just holding one another in the soft grass. The hurricane of their want passed, but who could say if it was over or if they were just in the eye of the storm.

They're twined together, face pressed to face and chest pressed to chest. Izuku can feel Katsuki's rumble when he laughs and speaks, and it's more than Izuku ever imagined.

"Mm. Me neither."

Katsuki tilts his head back to watch as Izuku hides his smile away. Katsuki brushes hair from his face so he can see it anyway.

"Guess we'll be teaching each other, hm?"

Izuku wraps his arm tight across Katsuki's chest to hold him close, as he'd always longed to do. Katsuki feels himself melt the embrace, and presses his lips to the tip of Izuku's nose just to look him directly in the eye, just as he's always wanted.

Maybe they weren't so selfish after all.

---

ao3 link

#bakudeku #bkdk #bnha #boku no hero academia #fanfic #long post #writing tag

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sarcastic-bubble · 5 years ago

Text

Even Jedi Get Nervous

Paring: Obi-wan Kenobi x Reader

Word Count: 2.2K

Request: heya! Could you do an obi wan fic where before the clone wars obi wan meets a painter on the side of the street and falls head over heals, stuttering and blushing - Anon

A/N: This was fun to write! Like just imagine the crap Obi-wan had to put up with while Anakin was still young. (Also I hit triple digits on my follower count and I feel loved so thank you!)

Masterlist

You dipped your brush into the paint and smeared the light blue pigment over the entirety of the blank canvas. You weren’t quite sure what to paint just yet, but you had learned early in your career that sometimes putting down that first stroke was the hardest. You looked around you for some inspiration. You currently sat on a stool surrounded by your various works of art. Some were hung on the walls of the small stall you rented out others were stacked against each other inside various sized boxes. You looked out a little further, despite the clean and peaceful manner you attempted to keep your stall in the rest of your surroundings had the usual characteristics of a rather seedy flea market. Off in the distance, you could see someone being arrested, most likely for stealing. That was a very big problem among these parts after all and sadly not a great inspiration for a painting. You couldn’t wait for the day you managed to save enough to save credits to move out of this hellhole and buy a proper studio in the nicer part of Coruscant. Of course, that was a far-off dream at the moment. It was hard to find clients in a place like this, but it was even harder still to afford the rent anywhere nicer.

You dipped your paintbrush into a small pot of paint having come to the conclusion that you paint the Coruscant skyline; it was lovely after all. But before you could start something caught your attention. You rarely saw new faces. The market had a very loyal set of regulars and others rarely ventured in. The two newcomers had to be Jedi judging by their outfits. It struck you as odd until you remember that one of the local crime lords and been making things very difficult for the Senate. You watched the Jedi for a moment, trying to take in as much of their appearances as you could in the short amount of time you had. Both appeared to be young, far from the wrinkly old master you usually pictured when someone mentioned the order. The younger of the two was a small boy, you imagined he was no more than eleven. He had short blonde hair and a single long braid. He had to be a padawan then. You turned your attention to the older one; he was quite handsome you noted. His features were strong, but his expression was still soft as he spoke to the child next to him. You forgot your original plan of painting the Coruscant Skyline and instead picked up your stylus and began to sketch his features; you worked quickly not knowing how long he’d been within your sight.

You were quite engrossed in your work when the voice a child asked for your attention. You set the brush down on your palette careful not to let it roll off and looked to the boy; it was the Padawan you had been observing earlier. “Can I help you?” you ask with a friendly smile.

He pointed a finger at one of your larger paintings, “What kind of starship is that? I’ve never seen one before.”

You shrugged before gently placing the canvas you were previously working on onto the table. “I don’t really know, actually. I just paint and draw things as I see them. Do you want to see more? Maybe you can tell me about some of the starships in my sketchbook?” You weren’t entirely sure why you offered the kid to come see more of your work. After all, you had paintings to finish and future clients to chase down but you had always had a soft spot for children and the way he grinned at your offer warmed your heart in the most wonderful way.

You pulled up a stool for the young boy and riffled through your bag until you came to one of your paint covered sketchbooks. It looked like it had gone through hell and back. The bindings were coming apart and the leather cover was peeling in far too many places, it had been well used and loved to say the least. You took a seat back on your stool and opened the sketchbook to the first page. It was a watercolour painting of a cruiser half-submerged in a lake; you had come across it during your travels. You looked to the young boy, “I don’t believe I got your name.”

“Anakin.”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you Anakin. I’m (Y/N)”

-------

You weren’t sure how long you and Anakin talked but it was nice to have some company. You told him about the places you had travelled to before decided to settle down in one spot and he told you all about the ships in your many paintings. You had started working on the painting of his master again. You had assured Anakin that you were really enjoying his company but that the paint was drying so you had to work and listen at the same time.

It didn’t take long for Anakin to become curious about your current project. “Are you painting my master?” he asked tilting his head to the side trying to get a better view.

“I suppose I am,” you replied with a laugh, “but why don’t we keep it to ourselves? I’ve found some people don’t react well when they find out I’ve been painting them without their permission.”

Anakin’s smile turned into a wide grin, “Obi-wan isn’t like that. I bet he’d love it! You should show him!”

You couldn’t help but laugh the kid’s enthusiasm and confidence. “Oh, I really don’t want to disturb him, I’m sure he has important work to do.”

“I don’t think it’s too important. I mean he’s coming over here anyway,” he said gesturing towards his master who was, in fact, approaching your stall. You were quick to tuck the painting away.

When the other Jedi arrived, he wasn’t paying any attention to you and you were just fine with that. His focus was purely on his Padawan. “What have I told you about running off Anakin? I’m sure this lovely lady has lots of work to do and no time to answer all your questions.”

You couldn’t let Anakin take all the blame for this; you had been the one to offer to show him your paintings. “He’s actually been great company, Master…” you trailed off at the end, realizing you didn’t know his last name.

“Kenobi,” he replied quickly giving his young Padawan another scolding look. “I really am sorry though; he tends to get…” His words caught in his throat when his eyes met yours. Maker, but you were gorgeous. He stood quiet for a moment trying to get his body under control. There was no way he could effectively scold Anakin if he was blushing like an idiot. He opened his mouth as if to say something to you but then closed it again. He grabbed Anakin’s hand and looked back at the boy; finding it far easier to speak when he wasn’t looking at you. “Let’s go Anakin.”

Before he could pull the boy away you grabbed the sketchbook you had been showing him and quickly slipped it into his free hand. You held a finger up to lips indicating to him that this was supposed to be a secret. As you watched the boy get pulled away you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. He was such a kind kid and well you didn’t know much about his Master, but he was certainly something to look at. You went back to your painting of Master Kenobi, wanting to get as much done while his features were still fresh in your mind.

-------

That evening Anakin found himself sitting in his master’s quarters as he flipped through the book you had given him. He went from page to page telling a rather distracted Obi-wan all the stories you had told him earlier. He was quite excited to share all his new knowledge with his master.

“She visited Tatooine once, you know. It’s too bad we didn’t know each then, it would have been fun if she had visited. I could have shown her all the best places to paint.” Said Anakin as he admired a painting of a desert with a single bantha standing in the distance.

“Who visited Tatooine?” asked Obi-wan. He wasn’t very interested in the answer but if he didn’t show any interest Anakin would get bored with talking and most likely find some trouble to get into.

“(Y/N)”

“Who?”

“(Y/N). The painter in the market,” answered Anakin turning to the next page in the sketchbook.

“Is that where you got that book from?” asked Obi-wan looking over his shoulder at his padawan.

“Yep! She’s really nice! She told me all about the planrts she’s visited but we didn’t have time to look at the whole book, so she gave it to me! We talked a lot about starships too!” replied the young boy. He was obviously very excited about the new friend he’d made that day. “I want to go back and thank her tomorrow.”

“Well I, I suppose that would be appropriate. We’ll go first thing in the morning,” stated Obi-wan, if Anakin didn’t know him any better, he would have missed the slight blush and hint of nervousness in his voice.

“You think she’s pretty; don’t you Master?”

Obi-wan scoffed. Of course, he had thought you were pretty, you were easily one of the most beautiful women he had ever laid eye on but his young padawan didn’t need to know that. “Go to bed Anakin.”

“So you do think she’s pretty?”

“Go to bed,” he repeated this time voice firmer.

-------

Obi-wan and Anakin arrived at the market just as it opened the next morning. “Now Anakin,” started Obi-wan, “you’re just here to say thank you. Please don’t take to long. Now go on, I’ll wait here.” He waived his young padawan off and turned his gaze to you. He admired the way you happily turned to greet the young boy. He would have loved to go up and talk to you himself, but he was afraid that if he tried, he wouldn’t be able to get many words out. Admiring from afar was much easier anyway, he didn’t have to worry about embarrassing himself. He watched you give Anakin a gentle hug and then look up at him. When your eyes met, he tried to look anywhere else but you. He didn’t want you to know that he had been staring.

Once he had determined it safe to look again, he found you kneeling by Anakin laughing about something. He couldn’t hear your laugh over the noise of the market, but he could only imagine it being as beautiful as you. He had decided he really was quite content just watching you when Anakin waved him over. Had something happened? He couldn’t just ignore his padawan, so he approached with his eyes focused on the ground ahead of him.

“Master! (Y/N) invited me for tea and we wanted to know if you’d like to come too!” said Anakin with a wide grin.

Obi-wan looked from his padawan to your smiling face. “I.. I would, um…” He tried so hard to answer. Of course, he wanted to go for tea, after listening to Anakin spend the better part of the day before and the evening talking about how wonderful you were he wanted nothing more but his mouth just wouldn’t form the words. Maybe it was the way you smiled at him or the way your gentle eyes reflected the sunlight.

“Is everything all right Master Kenobi,” you ask kindly.

“He’s fine. He’s just nervous cause he thinks you’re pretty,” states Anakin very matter-of-factly.

Obi-wan’s heart stopped and he was ready to drag Anakin away to keep him for embarrassing him anymore. He glared at the young boy while trying to suppress the heat he could feel rising on his cheeks. Your laugh pulled his gaze back to you. He had been right in assuming it would be beautiful. It was absolutely magical if he was being honest with himself, if he could hear that sound again every day for the rest of his life he would count himself a lucky man.

“Well,” you said holding Obi-wan’s gaze with you own, “Tell your Master that I think he’s incredibly handsome and my offer for tea still stands.”

Obi-wan didn’t have any words, he just stood and stared at you as you spoke. There was no doubt in his mind that he was blushing, but you were now too. It was much less embarrassing when he wasn’t the only one. “I’d like that very much,” he replied in an even and gentle tone as he could manage.

Anakin couldn’t help but make a disgusted noise at the way the two adults were looking at each other. At least his master was happy.

Tag List: @psionicsnow @in-the-frap-of-the-gods @glitchnovax

#obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker

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cetacian · 4 years ago

Text

The Fall and Rise of Orca: One-Shots

Warning: child trafficking

Under Cut for Length

Keeping Resolutions (With a Little Help) in New Year’s Evil Vol 2 Issue #1: Poison Ivy in“Auld Langs Ivy”

This story followed Poison Ivy as she tried to make an effort to be more people friendly, leading her to the C-List, a bar for lesser regarded supervillains.

Among the crowd inside was Orca, preemptively toasting the new year with Ten-Eyed Man and Scorpiana:

Orca seems to be back hanging out with lesser known rogues again here (something the New Earth version did shortly before her murder). It doesn’t really seem to fit her self loathing, loner persona we’ve seen in other storylines, but whatever.

Ivy soon found several rogues who were having trouble keeping their resolutions: Penguin (who wanted to quit smoking, due to a city-wide restaurant smoking ban that kicked him out of his own club), the Abacus (an underworld accountant, too shy to talk to women) and Orca (who was having trouble with her eating habits):

Hearing all these sob stories prompted Ivy to want to make positive change for them:

As a side note, Orca sitting on that little stool is hilarious to me.

As the clock struck midnight, Ivy used her mind-controlling pheromones to get Penguin to give up smoking, to help Abacus be more confident and to help Orca stick to eating healthy:

At first, Ivy believed she had helped them (as the pheromones were just a temporary push in the right direction), only to find out her pheromones worked a little too well in the case of Abacus, who turned out to be just as much of a creep as she thought. This lead to her causing a dead Christmas tree to tear him to pieces, reviving itself as Ivy finally felt she had helped someone (the tree).

Summery Thoughts: This story’s just okay. I do feel like writer Jim Krieg might’ve been making a fat joke at Orca’s expense, but it thankfully doesn’t go as far as it could’ve. It’s interesting to see Ivy’s mind control used for a good cause and it’s nice to see some of the lesser known rogues doing something other than being cannon fodder for once. Though they’re definitely going to need a new accountant.

High Seas Heroics in DC: The Doomed and The Damned Vol 1 Issue #1: Orphan and Orca in “The Hunt”

At the East Docks in Gotham Harbor, a cargo ship was bringing in contraband during a heavy rainstorm: weapons and trafficked children. However, the crew were soon accosted by Orphan (Cassandra Cain), who knocked them out and rescued the kids.

Meanwhile, the ship began to rock as Orca arrived on her own mission to deal with the crew on deck and began tearing the ship apart.

Orca is at her scariest here with that gaping maw and using her deadly bite to convey her animal predator nature taking on human predators (something that would go even further with her Injustice 2 counterpart, which I’ll cover next post). Kudos to artist Dominike “Domo” Stanton and colorist Marissa Louise for the creepy visuals.

The remaining crew soon found themselves between a rock and a hard place as Orphan and Orca took them out separately:

Once they’ve finished the crew off, Orphan confronted Orca, as both explained their motivations for attacking the ship, before deciding to work together to go after any remaining conscious crew members:

Summery Thoughts: This one-shot’s a little better with its brief team-up. There’s some decent narration from an unknown criminal commenting on how the lines between heroes, villains and monsters blur in Gotham City like nowhere else. There’s also good action here, though the story could’ve been slightly longer if Orphan and Orca had met up soon and had more dialogue together. As I said before, the art is the real star here, fitting both the dark aesthetic of the anthology, as well as the fact that the human monsters end up in a horror movie of their own thanks to a couple of Gotham’s vigilante figures. This has been the most recent appearance from Prime Earth Orca, so her future remains unwritten.

Next post, we find the light at the end of a very dark tunnel with Orca and Killer Croc’s love story in the Injustice 2 book.

#Landlubber (OOC)#Apex Predator (Muse Images)#Whalelore (About The Muse)#new year's evil #jim krieg #dc the doomed and the damned #alyssa wong #dominike domo stanton #marissa louise #orca #grace balin #dc comics #tw child trafficking

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mychemicalficrecs · 4 years ago

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Frerard angst PLEASE I need to feel something again

Fair warning, Nonny: I’m not super into angst (like, I don’t avoid it necessarily, but I don’t specifically seek it out and if there’s no happy ending I’m out), so these might not be as angsty as you’re used to? I’ve read and really liked all of them, though, so there’s that :’D

Angsty Frank/Gerard

Bread and Butter by jjtaylor, 18k, Mature. Frank unfolds the extra blanket at the foot of the bed and quietly drapes it over the outline of Gerard under the covers. It’s Tuesday and Frank is headed into the bakery to do battle with brioche.

Hey Bulldog by orphan_account, Lindsey/Frank, Frank/Jamia, Dewees/Frank, Frank/Gerard, 3k, Explicit. Frank has sex with three different people during the Death Spells tour.

The Truth Is I'm On My Way by samanthahirr, 6k, Teen And Up Audiences. Frank's been drawing on himself since elementary school, up under his sleeves and pant legs where his teachers and classmates won't see; he knows how to color inside the lines. He doesn't need Gerard to do it for him. (A high school AU.)

Fit to be tied by maryangel, 56k, Explicit. Frank is a bartender. Gerard is an alcoholic. They were clearly made for each other. Also, Frank is a werewolf.

Day Late, Dollar Short by jetblackmirror (orphan_account), 3k, Explicit. Grin and bear it, little zombie.

In the Music of Time by greedy_dancer, 13k, Explicit. It’s Frank’s last day off before the North American leg of the World Contamination Tour begins, so he’s not particularly happy when his nap is interrupted by a frantic phone call from Gerard. Gee’s clearly upset about something, but the urgent instructions he gives Frank as he rushes back to their hotel room are not making much sense. And why does Gerard keep asking Frank if he’s alone? Frank’s confusion only grows from there. The next thing he knows, Gerard is right there, kissing him - which should be impossible, considering Gee’s still on his way, and talking to Frank on the phone. It is Gerard kissing Frank, though. A blond Gerard. Gerard, circa 2006. And if that wasn’t enough to give Frank the mother of all headaches, it appears that there are actually not only one, not even two, but three Gerards come from various dark times in Gee’s past, congregating in the hotel room, looking for hints of a brighter future. This is the tale of Frank and the four Gerards, and of the afternoon that set everything in motion.

Your Heart The Only Place That I Call Home by dear_monday, 30k, Explicit. When Frank and his crew of morally ambiguous ethernauts (pirates, as Imperial law would have it, but that's such an ugly word) fetch up on the doorstep of the fabled Sanctuary, they aren't expecting to find much - least of all a long-lost brother, a garden in a box and the key to an ancient riddle.

The Circuit by stoplightglow, 24k, Mature. In the world of competitive motorcycle racing, nothing is more prestigious than the Grand Circuit Tour. Americans everywhere gather to watch as the twelve best racers in the nation compete for the title of Circuit Champion and $100,000. Gerard Way is no stranger to the race. When he was a teenager, his name was practically legend - but after disappearing without explanation six years ago, he's become little more than a relic of the past. Now, at age twenty-six, Gerard is back on the Circuit with something to prove. It's Frank Iero's first year on the tour, but he's more than ready. No one has seen a kid blast through the ranks so fast since Gerard Way first appeared on the scene a decade ago. With a cocky attitude and the whole country swooning over him, nothing can slow him down. The stakes have never been so high. Welcome to the Fourteenth Annual Grand Circuit Tour.

I’m Gonna Love You With My Hands Tied by ciel_vert, 1k, Explicit. Frank thought they were done with this.

Promises, Promises by silentdescant, 31k, Explicit. "Sources on our investigative team say this was a bank robbery gone wrong, and that, when faced with a police task force surrounding the building, the suspect grabbed the nearest person and is now holding that young man at gunpoint as he makes his getaway."

Strays by Gorgeous Nerd (gorgeousnerd), 14k, Explicit. Frank and Gerard's life off-tour is all about grocery shopping and blowjobs and general domestic happiness...until Gerard goes missing, and bloody scraps are all that's left behind. So when a stray dog turns up on Frank's doorstep, can anyone blame him for wanting a little normal back in his life?

Rock and Roll Never Looked so Beautiful by corruptedkid, 58k, Explicit. Gerard Way is a rising solo artist, set to become the next big thing in the alternative scene. Frank Iero is a trashy punk with a reputation of his own as the frontman of Pencey Prep. When their paths cross, a love story is born, only to come crashing down when Gerard hits it big. As Gerard ascends to the A-list, Frank adjusts to life on his own. He almost manages it - until two years later, when fate puts him face to face with Gerard once more. Everything has changed, but the connection between them is still there. Their story has ended once before, but if they're lucky, they just might make a new one.

Catching Pieces of a Fallen Sky by snarkydame, Ray/Mikey, Frank/Gerard, 21k, Mature. Ray and Frank are the only survivors of the Jersey Queen, an independent freighter hit by (space!) pirates. In the chaos, the doomed ship took a blind jump through the hyperways, leaving them stranded in a dark and lonely quadrant of space. Mikey and Gerard are the last remaining crew of a legendary "ghost" ship, the Ravenkroft, which has been lost for the fifty years since the War that Broke the Stations. They've been avoiding inhabited space due to emotional scarring from the loss of their crew, and a feeling of isolation due to the fact that they are in fact cyborgs. They pick up Ray and Frank's escape pod, and promise to help them. In the process, old feeling of guilt are assuaged, new emotional ties are wrought, and the legendary ship comes home.

Skin of the Canvas by sinsense, 42k, Mature. The typical nude model is someone like Phil. Phil is forty-nine and paunchy. He's starting to go gray at his temples and in his pubic hair; he likes to pose on a stool, curving his back and curling his fingers together between his knees. Phil is secretly awesome -- he likes the Misfits and builds model trains -- but he's not what Gerard would call prime ogling material. Neither are any of the other models who have posed for the life modeling or anatomy classes Gerard has taken. This semester, Anna was kind of cute, but she whined about the conditions the entire time she was there. In his four years of art school, anyway, Gerard has never once dealt with being attracted to the model. But this guy is hot. --- Or: Gerard goes to art school. Frank is a nude model. Somehow their relationship gets off the ground, in spite of everything working against them.

Paradox 'verse by stoplightglow, 42k, Mature. You know the saying. The best part about hitting rock bottom is that you get to meet a hot psychic.

#frank/gerard #frerard #fic rec list #angst

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thebookofus-depravity · 4 years ago

Text

Skinny Bone Jones

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 coming soon!

9k words

This is my baby Park Jaehyung and an AU in which y’all are dealing with the coronavirus together in LA. Jae grew up with Y/N and you were childhood friends. You stayed close but haven’t seen each other in ages. Now you’re both back.

Teeth rotting fluff, possible smut in future chapters (lets see if I have the balls to post it), Y/N has a strong proclivity for a certain guitarists hands. And honestly, who can blame her? TW: Confrontation with a nasty old ex, Coronavirus, Quarantine, overbearing parents.

...

This fucking sucks.

Closing your laptop, and shoving it off of your lap to the side of your bed, you are struck by exactly how warm the underside of your Netflix Machine was in contrast to the chilly room. Well, 3 hours of To Catch a Predator in, and sure, your old 2011 Dell dinosaur is going to be a little mad at you. I've got to do something today. Anything.

Week 3 of your quarantine is coming to a close and on this breezy LA Thurs-Fri-Turday (who the hell knows anymore) you can feel the last tendrils of your sanity escaping with the setting sun. It just doesn't stop setting. And rising. And setting. And rising. Tortuously slow some days and before you can even get out of bed the next. Not that you get out of bed much.

Alright. That's it. I'm gonna do something. I have to. It's time to make some art, bake some cookies, go for a run, tell someone around me how much I value them, topple the patriarchy. I am going to get up and do something with my life and damned if I get in my own way again. I am unstoppable. I am formidable. I am inevitable.

Rising from your rumpled bed clothes with the steadfastness of a slightly anemic Viking (whoa I’m woozy, I shouldn't have stood up so fast. Shit, when's the last time I ate?) you cross to the large bay window that faces the street. You throw your curtains open, ready to face the day, only to be faced with… stars starting to twinkle at you out of the inky blackness. Dammit. I'm gonna have to defeat systemic oppression tomorrow.

Squinting from behind your glasses, you see that the stars are not stars at all but helicopters blinking down at you. You haven't seen real stars since your trip to Big Sur last summer. Although you moved to LA when you were 7, you have vague recollections of the Korea that you loved as a young child. Your parents had picked up and moved to the States after years of struggling through VISA's and citizenship red tape. Your mom and dad had originally meant to get married and have you in the US. The land of opportunity.

You now chafed slightly under that blanket of opportunity as you are far too aware of the responsibility you have been given to make the absolute most of it. From the ripe old age of 8 you had been conditioned to follow your dreams to their fullest. As long as those dreams were to become a doctor, lawyer, or marry a CEO. Your parents cared about you greatly and you knew that. They only want security for you, happiness comes from security. Now 25, you can't quite remember the last time their overbearing nature had been quite this...potent. You were in your final year of medical school at USC and there was nowhere to run. It was time for you to begin your foray into the 'real world' of residency. The same post-undergrad 'real world' that you had watched all of your non-premed friends crash land into. They had all distanced themselves from you, both figuratively and literally; intentionally and inadvertently. Divorced, Beheaded, Died: Divorced, Beheaded, Survived. You had watched you friends get married, have kids, sabotage marriages, buy houses, do well, do poorly. And here you were in some kind of bubble both safe and isolated from all of the uncertainty beyond the classroom.

Jokes on you, Jessica, now we're all screwed, you find yourself thinking for the upteenth time over the past month. You had been watching the Coronavirus since December and knew exactly what was to come. You did all that you were capable of as a not-quite certified medical professional and tried to convince people of the reality of the threat, convince them not to panic, and to exercise a reasonable level of preparedness. Well, that didn't work. You found yourself sunk into a deep well of frustration and futility at the action and inaction that was being exhibited throughout the States. For the first weeks of quarantine you found yourself glued to your phone, helplessly watching the tragedy unfold and the stupidity that was ensuing. By week 2 your empathy had burnt out and you knew you couldn't watch that world anymore. K-drama's it is. After completely obliterating Crash Landing on You, Itaewon Class, and rewatching Descendants of the Sun for the eighth time just because it's so. damn. cute!, your parents started to get a little concerned.

Your stomach growled and you realize you, in fact, haven't eaten since early this morning. As you consider what the consequences of emerging from your cave of a bedroom might have, you resign yourself. Five minutes later you are hovering in the kitchen with a bowl of leftover whateverthefuck in hand, you turn to see both of your parents at the bar stools staring at you with a look of concern that you haven't seen in years. Shit, I keep forgetting, they think I'm functional. Your parents had shipped you off to Health Careers College Prep school, a boarding school in Sacramento, when you were 16. Upon graduation there with your high school diploma, nurses aid, and dental hygienist's certificates, you immediately started at USC premed. You hadn't lived at home since your Jonas Brother's phase. As much as your parents loved you, they didn't really know you. This had been overwhelmingly obvious when the USC campus closed and you returned home to open arms and your bedroom frozen in the clutches of 2009. Your parents had welcomed you home with tearful hugs and a new gift for your room. I know how much you love that Kevin- boy. And your room is so old. Come. Come. Already wary and wondering who the hell is Kevin? you allowed yourself to be led to your old room and set your bags down with a deadened thump. You tried so hard not to laugh, You really did. They're trying so hard. But like, Where did they even find this monstrosity? You had been staring up at the largest poster of Kevin Jonas that you had ever seen every night for 3 weeks and it was starting to get to you.

Regardless of the decor (purple fuzzy lamp shade included), there were so many parts of living at home that were so foreign to you. Although everything was completely the same, you were worlds different and it was disorienting. Your bed seemed smaller, the walls shorter, the colors dimmer. Everything that made that house your home was still there, only you had changed. It was like you were in a coma and had just woken up, the rest of the world unchanged but with 10 more years under your belt. Your therapist would tell you that you were reverting into a childlike state because of trauma and surroundings. Hush, Mollie, I don't need that right now. I need food.

Food was honestly what was keeping you sane and civil. Your parents own a pho shop just down the street that was still taking carry out and delivery orders for pho, crawfish, whatever they had lying around. You had been helping out in the kitchen and with deliveries since you had been home. As freeing as the drives have been, you really come alive in the kitchen. You had been watching your mom make pho and dumplings for years and although she sent kimchi to your apartment every month or so, you missed your moms cooking. And her kitchen. You immediately took to cooking just like you had when you moved off of USC campus and into an apartment with some friends. You had 12 burners! That all worked! A convection oven! Two of them! Kitchen Aid's! You had no problem opening up shop at 8am every morning to prep the dough and get the stock boiling and all of the other things that her mother and father had been doing for the past 20 years.

Returning to your room after rinsing out your bowl and chopsticks, and exchanging goodnight's with your parents you sit on your bed and tell yourself to go to bed. You have to be up at 7am for the kitchen. You need to chop scallions for the pork and chive dumplings so it has time to coagulate. Come on, Go to bed. No phone. It was a pitiful attempt, really. You had been pulling med-school grade all-nighters since your junior year of high school and nothing was stopping you now. Turning on your side for easy access to your charger, you plug your phone and coast through Instagram, Youtube, Twitter, Tinder for an indeterminate amount of time before your eyes start to get heavy. Instagram was just filled with all of your peers from USC recklessly meeting up with friends for picnics and drives and all of the other things they thought they were free to do because they were young and healthy and beautiful. Fuck off. Youtube provided a lovely escape from the actual outside. Mikey Chen showed you around TaiPei's street food scene, Binging with Babish gave you a new hand pulled noodle recipe to try, Bon Appetit made you glad you weren't Claire Saffitz. Tinder was a joke but an adequately funny one. Instead of your bog standard USC fuckboi's you were able to talk to fuckboi's from Korea, Dubai, Indonesia, Guatemala, Brazil. How fun. You had downloaded it 6 months prior after yet another guy in your department was just 'too busy, i'm sorry' to make the date that you had planned. You generally tried to avoid Twitter as it was just an echo chamber of panic and 24 hour news cycles and didn't do much for your anxiety. See, Mollie? I'm being smart.

You flick open the little bird app and scroll for just a minute. A particular notification picques your attention. Jae tweeted. Well, Day6 tweeted, but we all know who runs their twitter. Your throat tightens with nerves as the post loads. You worry about him more than you'd like to admit but with tours cancelled and travel suspended, you know how hard it can be for people whose livelihoods revolve around entertainment and travel. The post loads and you let out a sigh of relief to see Jae surrounded by his band mates and smiling. Brian starts speaking Korean and delivers his message about their newly acquired tiktok. Brian gestures for Jae to speak and Jae delivers the same message in English. Ah, he went back to blonde. It looks good on him. Wait is he- oh god, he's wearing a crossbody fanny pack. Jae, you're old. Stop. Shifting to get more comfortable, you let the video loop a few times before closing the app. Jae's okay. You roll over onto your side and set your phone to the side. Jae's voice echoes through your ears for the next few minutes but you resolve yourself against it. I'm not getting fucking tiktok. I'm a grown ass woman. That app is for 12 year olds. And Jae. Resolved, you burrow into your Jonas brothers duvet cover for the night.

Sweating and on the verge of tears, you wake with a start. The dream was already slipping from your consciousness with a blessed haste but the uneasy feeling that the nightmare gave you seemed to coat the inside of your skull and taint it's entire contents. A thin light filters through your still open window and your eyes creak open. Morning? Sure, why not? Rolling over, you flick open your phone and are greeted by an all too unfamiliar, 5:17am. It's too damn early. Even for you. You still have an hour or so to kill before you have to get up but you didn't fancy the idea of trying to go back to sleep after that dream. Propping yourself up on a few of the approximately 67 pillows that litter your twin sized bed, you open your phone. 3 new emails from USC congratulating you on your graduation and asking for some documentation of something or another or evaluation of some class you hadn't thought of in weeks. Skip. 2 emails from residencies that you had applied to before the coronavirus urging you to reapply in the fall. Great. You couldn't even bring yourself to feign concern over the missed opportunity. 1 email from Twitter informing you that Jae had tweeted. Again. You follow the link to another video of his side project EaJ. You had been following his new releases and you were surprised by the tenderness and vulnerability that they showed. He was always such a funny guy, it was the only side that he really showed much to the media. Sure, fans got glimpses at concerts, but not many knew just how deep the well ran in that man.

Today's Tuesday, apparently. The next episode of How Did I Get Here? comes out today. I'll have something to listen to while I food prep. You never admitted to yourself how pleased you were when he started the podcast. You missed hearing his voice on a regular basis. Hollered up into your window, whispered between giggles in the back-most church pew, hurled across crowded hallways. Of course, the voice was different than it is now. Pocked by pubescence and the LA accent, you remember a far squeakier Jae. He was the first person you met when you moved into the neighborhood at 7 years old. He was 9 so of course, he took it upon himself to show you exactly where you could and couldn't go and what taco trucks would give out fare for free to little kids on weekends. You remember those years fondly as finally having the big brother you never had. Skinny Bone Jones, you called him. He stood up for you when the kids in middle school called you smelly for bringing kimchi in your lunch. He called you smelly just for being you. He was well liked in school and by extension so were you. You had the cool big brother. You were more than happy to play second fiddle and be his backup. Tagging along to parties, helping him record his yellow post-it note covers on Youtube, letting him know when his hair looked stupid.

And so it stayed until Jae actually made it on KPop Star. As much as you loved him, you didn't think he would ACTUALLY make it. Sure, he could sing. He had a beautiful voice but that wasn't enough. The boy danced like a drunk chicken and was 6ft tall and 120lbs soaking wet. He didn't even know Korean. What was he thinking? He was thinking he was going to prove you wrong. And he did. You watched as Skinny Bone Jones transformed into Park Jaehyung with a perfect balance of immense pride and terror. You knew you wouldn't lose your friend entirely but during his trainee days he had very limited access to the outside world, and you just weren't a priority. Honestly, you would've been offended if you had been. He has a mom, dad, an older sister, bandmates, college. It only makes sense that the steady stream of communication turned into a trickle. It wasn't until Every Day6 that you were more of an insistent presence in his life. You burrowed your way back into his inbox with the tenacity of the annoying little sister that you were. You were worried. You watched him on After School Club and in the deluge of content that Day6 was serving their slowly growing fanbase. He looked tired. You once again rekindled your relationship but it was different now. Instead of you leaning on him for social support, you became his confidant. He was struggling. Burnt out, and questioning so many things, he didn't want to go to his bandmates because he didn't want them to worry. His parents would pull him immediately if they knew exactly how rough his condition was, his 'friends' from college had proved fake. He now had Alpha Phi Omega blocked because they wouldn't stop asking for favors: Day6 tickets, Twice merch, Got7 tickets. He felt alone but you reached out and he was able to lean on you. The trials passed and he was happier than ever and Day6's growing popularity meant good things for his lobster funds.

You stayed in contact over the years and shared with each other the going on's of your lives. You had even managed to go to the Gravity World Tour date in LA. Jae got you backstage and you were able to meet the rest of his bandmates that you had heard so much about. It was an act of God that you managed to keep your composure. I mean sure, he's just Jae but you're still backstage at a concert for the first time! Your cheeks still redden when you remember how Jae caught you ogling at YoungK. Heart in your throat, and voice barely above a whisper YoungK had walked directly over to you and asked what you were doing backstage. After a solid 15 seconds of pointing listlessly at your Press badge and making just the strangest of noises that were meant to approximate speech, Jae finally caught wind and rushed over, knocking your sense back into you and introducing you to the members.

Oh! Y/N! It's so nice to finally meet you! Jae talks about you all the time, I'm so glad you were able to make it! Your cheeks inexplicably reddened further to a violent shade of pink but the boys slowly defanged themselves in your mind. They're truly lovely people and you're glad Jae has them. That being said, you still can't quiiiite look Brian in the eyes and Jae thinks it's hilarious.

The Gravity tour feels like ages ago as you shrug on some jeans and a tee shirt for your walk to the shop. August 2019 at the Novo may have only been 8 months ago but it seems like a different reality. The Novo will be closed for the forseeable future and concerts are cancelled. That stings but not as much as the radio silence from Jae. First it was his tour schedule that rendered communication difficult and now the virus. You know he's busy and it's been a weird few months for the entertainment industry, but a 'Hey I'm alive.' would be nice. From his podcasts and twitter you've been able to keep some thread attached but you feel it stretching thin as the months stretch on. You really don't want to be annoying. You're sick of feeling like a fan. Yeah, you support Jae and Day6 and would call yourself a MyDay, but that's not all you are. You know him. You dragged him through the mud when he convinced you to try sledding down a muddy hill on a trash can lid. You set up his camcorder for his covers when he still had that stupid swoopy hair. You posed as his angry girlfriend when a crazy fan wouldn't leave him alone. You're starting to feel like just a fan and not a friend and it's only exacerbated by the glee that you feel when you get the notification from dive studios that How Did I Get Here? has updated. I miss my friend.

Not bothering to flip the sign on the front door from closed to open, you shoulder open the front door of the shop after fumbling with the keys. Tying an apron securely around your waist, and flicking on your noise cancelling headphones to a comforting thrum, you wash your hands and begin to chop the largest pile of scallions you've ever seen. Crunching through the pile, you start Jae's podcast and everything is gone but him. You can almost imagine him in the room with you, perched on the counter talking your ear off about the Mandela effect or how weird elbows are or something equally as ridiculous. Today he's talking about soul mates. As you listen to him joke and banter and pontificate, your eyes well up. It's just the scallions. You know damn well it's only partially the scallions. You miss Jae. And you're in the middle of a pandemic. And your family barely knows you. And you're not sure if you even want to be a pediatric oncologist. Fuck. Jae's words turn into white noise in your ears as you toss your headphones to the side and place the knife on the butchers block, perhaps more aggressively than necessary. You pause the podcast and let yourself sit in the feeling. You're lonely and sad. See Mollie? I'm letting myself feel things. Making room for every emotion. You cast your mind around and recall all of the little wounds that prick a little too deep today. You feel a squeeze in your abdomen and your eyes shoot open wide. Shit, my period. I've got to be PMSing. Even Jae recognized the trend in your emotions before you did. The week before your period, you were notoriously mushy and weepy and indulgent. Well, that's one mystery solved. I'll be okay. Mollie's voice echoed through your brain with her familiar argument that hormones only heighten the emotional distress, not fabricate it. These feelings are valid and aren't fake just because you're hormonal. You steadfastly ignore that point, wipe your eyes, and pull your headphones back on. You finish up the pile of scallions and a few other morning chores before the podcast ends. It's Jae's sign off that sends the bowl of mandu filling that you were holding clattering to the floor. "I'm coming to you from my childhood home, so if the audio is a little finnicky… blame Byron." Jae's home.

…

After sweeping up a pound of pork, beef, mirin, soy sauce, and chives and disposing of it, you stare at your phone- hands shaking slightly. Jae. What the fuck. You rip off your apron and your mind races. Should I call him? Should I go see him? I can’t believe he’s right here. 2 houses down. Fuck. Your rational brain knows that it’s okay to feel excited about Jae being home. But the sneaky little bitch that lives in the back of your brain is telling you that if he wanted to hear from you, he would’ve called. You feel a little bit of yourself fragment at that, but you push it to the side. You open up your phone and slide over to his contact in your phone. What greets you is your last text conversation.

Jae: I’m so glad you had fun, Y/N! But if you ever look at Brian like that again, I might have to put a ban on you at our concerts. His head was way too big.

Y/N: Look at him like what?! I didn’t do anything and you know it!

Jae: Of course you’re didn‘t. You totally weren’t drooling over my bassist.

Y/N: Fuck off.

Jae: Gladly, love. ;)

8 months ago. Sure you’d DM’d quite a bit since then and called a few times. But it just seemed so sparse. You don’t want him to just humor you. You’re an adult and perfectly capable of being alone. You’re not going to text him just yet.

You finish up your morning chores and head back to your house, pausing for perhaps just a little too long in front of the sandstone house with the tan shutters and shoes out front. You knew that house so well. You knew how much weight the tree outside the upstairs bedroom window could hold. You knew where the kimchi refrigerator was tucked away in a back corner of the garage. You knew there was a blonde boy in there that you wanted nothing more than to run inside and get a hug from.

You shower and let the hot water run over you, hoping it will relax the knotted up muscles in your back. It’s not like I can go see him anyway. We’re in quarantine. He probably just got back to LA and just hasn’t gotten the chance to-. You run the same conversation over and over in your head until you can’t take it anymore. You need someone else’s voice in your head. Curling into your covers, you sigh and go to the App Store. A few short minutes later and you hate yourself more than you ever have. Tiktok. Here we go. You watch the video of Day6 introducing themselves to the social networking platform once, twice, three times until your eyes start to ache. All of a sudden you’re met with a new post that pings up. Your breath catches in your throat as you see Jae standing in his living room, attempting to keep up with Amber Liu’s dance challenge. You can’t help but giggle as he flails to the left, to the right, oversized black hoodie always falling into his face. BM would be proud. Express not impress. You find yourself shocked at the weight that he’s gained. He looks healthy and happy. You remember the conversations in middle school about how much he hated being skinny. The evenings in the weight room in high school. Failed doctors appointments. He looked good before but you see that in recent months his chest has been swelling and not just with pride. His shoulders sit a little bit broader than you ever remember in the past and you’re happy for him. Good for you, Jae.

You like the tiktok and let it loop a few more times before sighing heavily and opening your messaging app.

Y/N: I got TikTok for you, ya little shit.

You chuckle but leave the text unsent. You’ll think of something better later. You toss your phone to the side in the face of the mountain of laundry on your bed that needs to be taken care of. As you hang the last of your shirts, your phone pings. You pick it up to a notification from Jae.

Skinny Bone Jones: Language!

Skinny Bone Jones: Do you think Amber approves?

You feel a flare of indignation wash through your limbs at the mention. Apparently it had sent. Oh well. As the thrill of a reply ebbs out of you, it is replaced by a rising indignation. How dare you?! Not tell me you’re in town and pretend like you didn’t?! Really?!

Y/N: I don’t really care what Amber thinks.

Maybe that was a little snippy. You love Amber, truly. But how can he have time for TikTok but not me?

Skinny Bone Jones: Yeah? Do you still care what I think?

Your heart catches in your throat. So he’s caught on that you’re pissed.

Skinny Bone Jones: Y/N, can I call you?

You swipe up to the phone icon and call him on auto pilot. Talk to me, Jae.

“Y/N?” you hear Jae’s voice.

“Jae.” Your voice comes out whispier than you meant it to. You try again.

“Jae! How are you?”

“Oh, y’know, just got off a plane that smelled like bleach and got to my house that isn’t really my house anymore, left my guitar to be sanitized, was “strongly encouraged” to make a TikTok by my company, and then got my head bit off by my best friend. Just quarantine things.” There is a touch of acid in his voice but Jae mostly sounds tired. Your empathy comes surging back and you sigh.

“I’m sorry Jae. I just- I didn’t know you were in town until I listened to your podcast this morning. I was a little hurt that you didn’t call or anything.”

“Look, kid. I just got home. I’m a diva. You know I require at least an 18 hour period of naps and boba to function properly. I’m a KPop Star now.” You laugh at the callback to your irate spiel a few years ago about how fame had changed him and he was a diva and just ‘wasn’t the Jae you knew’ anymore. It wasn’t his fault he was allergic to everything and turned down all of your food suggestions.

“Jae, you’ve been a diva since day one.” You quip back, tension resolving as you fall back into a familiar playful banter.

“And don’t you forget it, Y/N.” There's a slight pause before Jae continues,

“This diva is really sorry he didn’t call you. It’s just been a lot the last few days. The tour just got cancelled. And our album comes out in a few days. Our team has been going crazy trying to figure out how we’re supposed to publicize in this climate and I just-“

“Jae. Chill. When I preordered mine last week, it was the most popular album on the site. It’s gonna sell. Don’t worry too much.” There’s a beat of silence in which you can hear the air whoosh out of Jae’s lungs.

“You-You preordered Demon?” Jae sounds shocked but endeared at your admission and you laugh.

“Of course? I’m really pumped to hear that sexy, soothing voice of Wonpil’s. Maybe I’ll even get a Dowoon photo card this time! I keep getting Jae ones in my other albums and I give them to my little cousin.” This isn’t entirely true. You have 3 of Young K, 2 of Dowoon, and 1 each of Wonpil and Sungjin. You’ve been waiting for a Jae photocard for ages. You would die before you told him that, though.

“You little shit. If you don’t want to see my face, why are you following Day6 on TikTok?” Jae ribs back.

“Brian. Duh. He’s fine as hell.”

“Yah! Haven’t you found a boring ass Orthopedic surgeon or some shit, yet? Why do you have to terrorize me like this?”

“Why? Haven’t you found a Twice member that’ll marry you yet, Skinny Bone Jones?”

“I’ll have you know, I gained 10 pounds the past 8 weeks! I’ll be big as BM soon!” You can picture the expression of childlike pride in his face even if you can’t see it.

“You look really good, Jae. I’m proud of you. You’ve been working really hard.” The sudden sincerity catches the both of you off guard and you clear your throat.

“Thanks, Y/N. That means a lot.” A comfortable silence is followed by a lengthy conversation recounting the previous weeks, the various states of the other members, your own eviction from college, and the status of the shop.

“You know, Y/N, if you or your family need anything I’m more than happy to help. I mean I know how hard it can-“ You cut him off before he can go any further.

“We’re okay Jae, honest. I know you’d be good for it but we don’t need anything right now. Business is good at the pho shop and we’re okay.”

“Okay, okay. Just know I’m here.”

“I mean NOW I do, no thanks to youuu,” you wheedle, whining about his failure to let you know he was in town.

“Come on, Y/N, I said I was sorry!” He laughs but you can hear the desperation of sincerity in his voice.

“I know, Jae. I’m just kidding. I just really missed you.”

“I missed you too Y/N.”

You get off the phone upon the realization that you needed to go to the shop and prep for the dinner deliveries. Sometimes you abhorred that you were “essential”. You run downstairs and tell your parents the good news about Jae and inform them you’ll be back soon.

“I know you’re excited, Y/N, but remember we can’t be going and visiting people like that. Only essential work.” You roll your eyes slightly but assure them that you know. As if you hadn’t been telling them the same thing for weeks. I had to convince you not to go play mahjong in the park, eomma. You might be excited, but you’re not stupid.

You had just started filling the mandu when you hear the bell over the door chime. Pardon me, are you stupid? We've been closed for weeks, why do you think it would be okay to just walk in? You wipe your hands on your apron and start to walk to the counter.

"Hello? I'm sorry, we're only open for call-in deliveries." You round the corner and lift your head from your hands to see the form of the gangliest, tallest, loveliest man you've ever seen in your life.

"Special delivery." Jae remarks smoothly, arms open wide in invitation and head cocked to the side as if he was bracing himself for the crash landing that was to come.

"Jae!" you yell, and launch yourself from behind the counter and into his arms. His arms fold around you and everything else melts away. Your face burrows against his chest and you inhale. He smells like home and cinnamon. You can feel tears welling up in your eyes with the tide of emotions that wash over you. Jae's hand cups the back of your head into him and he hugs you just as tightly as you hug him. You press yourself into him with everything you have and in the deafening silence and warmth all that you can think is I love you.

"Y/N" He whispers, not loosening his grip on you.

"Mmph." you respond weakly.

"My shirt's wet." You jump back from him a bit and see that he's correct. Your eyes are leaking. All over his white shirt. Oops.

"Oh! I'm-I'm sorry." You laugh a bit and swipe at your eyes before patting at his shirt in futility.

"It's okay, love. Come here." He welcomes you back into his arms and you wrap your arms over his neck this time.

"I missed you." You whisper, voice cracking a bit.

"I know you did." You jump back from him. Bitch.

"Hush. I missed you too, you idiot. Why else would I be standing here right now?"

You cast your eyes around in a panic. He's here. He's right here. In the store. Here. He shouldn't be here. He should be in quarantine with his family. You're unessential to him.

Sensing the realization in your eyes, he pushes past you, walking to the back and puts on the latex gloves hidden behind the counter.

"I figured it was about time to get a 'real job' like everyone keeps telling me to." He smiles smugly and picks up the knife to start chopping the bok choy. You stand there in shock for one second, two seconds, three seconds until you realize he’s about to cut his fingers off.

“Jae! Stop!”

“Look, Y/N, I don’t care what you say, I’m going to do this. I want to help. And I’ll be damned if I’m not allowed to see you in the time I’m finally here-“

“No, Jae. Stop. I know I can’t argue with you. I’d be thrilled if you’d work with me. But Brian is gonna kill me if I let you cut your damn hands off.”

“I… what?”

“You’re a guitarist Jae. We can’t have you cutting off your pretty little fingers. And if you keep chopping it like that, that’s exactly what you’re going to do.”

Jae looks down at his hands and stretches his fingers wide as if considering them for the first time.

“Pretty?”

You roll your eyes, but unbidden, your eyes are still trained on his hands. They really are pretty.

“Just. Let me show you.” You show him how to tuck his knuckles up against the blade and chop in smooth rocking motions so as not to take off his fingertips.

You work in relative silence for the next hour, packaging meals and portioning combos as your mom and dad peek in and out to pick up the orders. You can feel a warmth flowing through you as you take in your surroundings. The loneliness of the past weeks leeches out of you and dissipates into the warm atmosphere, homey smells, and murmur of conversation. It’s almost as if your limbs wake up bit by bit, like a tree waking up after a long frigid winter. You feel yourself stretch and shine and the bubbles of contentment flow through you. By the time the last combo is out the door, you find it really difficult to take the smile of your face.

Jae seemed to be in the same boat. On more than one occasion you caught him staring at you. Every time you caught him he just shook his head and laughed in that infuriating way of his. But you really couldn’t be irritated at him. It was impossible. He was your happy fairy, even if you wanted to kick him in the shins every two minutes for saying something dumb. Mom and dad said goodnight to Jae in the same way they have been since he was 10. “Tell Mrs.Park I say hello and don’t be a stranger.” Right after they leave and you’re washing the last dish, while Jae sits on the counter telling you about production for Day6’s new album, the phone rings. Before you can tell Jae not to answer it, he’s already taking the man's order. Fine. One more can't hurt. You weren’t anxious to end this day and return to bed alone, so you welcome the post-closing distraction. Cobbling together a plate from the leftovers you were about to bring home, you grab your keys and beckon Jae to follow you.

“No need to bug mom and dad, we can take this one.”

As you walk outside toward where your little yellow bug is parked, you feel Jae move behind you. You can feel his body close to yours and you stiffen instinctually. You’re not used to skinship anymore and you can feel the blood in your veins carbonate as Jae’s breath ghosts across the back of your neck. You stop dead in your tracks, eyes wide, flush creeping up your neck as you feel his hands- those damn hands- ghost along the side of your left arm. You squeak when his fingers brush against the back of your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. Your world spins. Fuck is he holding my hand? Do I want this to happen? He’s so close to me. Can he hear my heartbeat?

“Jae-“ you begin to say, with absolutely no idea as to where the statement would go after.

Luckily you don’t have to think of any sort of decisive move because Jae immediately snatches the keys from your now limp left hand with a cackle, running ahead to the car.

“I’m driving!” You little fucking- oooh!

You’re thankful for the cool evening breeze and dim street lights or you were sure to get a ribbing for the blazing red cheeks that you were sporting. You climb into the passenger's seat with the food on your lap and do your best to sink into invisibility. It doesn’t work. You’re convinced that he can hear your brain jackhammering away at the night's events.

Did I want that to happen? Did that happen? He was so close to me. He felt so warm and the way he touched me. Running your hands over your arm, you could feel his touch like it had raced a burning path down your whole left side. Do I… like Jae?

You glance over at him now and again as he puts the car in drive and begins the route to the destination. Jae, of course, is jabbering away about how everything has changed since he’s been gone and, “Omigod, is that ANOTHER pinkberry?” You find yourself nodding along passively while actively trying to figure out what the hell was going on in your brain. Much like his podcast, his voice became white noise by which you asked yourself questions you weren’t sure you wanted the answers to. Of course I love him. But do I like, like him? Never in your life have you felt more like a horny, confused teenager but as you glance over and watch Jae with one hand on the steering wheel, wind blowing through his hair, you know one thing for sure- Jae isn’t a kid anymore. And he isn’t your brother.

It isn’t until you pull into a neighborhood about 10 minutes later that you remember that you’re here on a delivery. Yanking yourself from your reverie, but with unease still firmly lodged in your thoughts, you address the task at hand.

“Jae, where are we?”

“Uhhhh, 3051 Driver Rd.”

Driver Road. You know this neighborhood but you can’t quite place where. If your previous safari into your possible romantic interest in Jae wasn’t jarring enough, you feel panic rising through your system like so much bile. Why do I know this neighborhood? Jae, unaware of any turmoil on your part, pulls up to the house in question and when your headlights wash over the yard your heart sinks into your throat. You’re going to be sick. 3051 Driver Rd. This is where Sean lives.

You had met Sean Avery in your sophomore year of premed and had fallen head over heels in love with him. He was tall, attractive, ambitious, and he wanted you. You were star struck. It wasn’t until a year of ‘dating’ later that you unearthed the whole messy truth of his long string of side pieces and general douchebaggery. If that wasn’t enough, in the past year you heard the report of him almost catching a case with a high school senior in the area. You knew now that he was nothing but a predator and a coward. You had managed to avoid him since your explosive breakup but now it seemed you had very little choice.

“Sean fucking Avery” you seethe in the seat next to Jae.

“What did he do to you?” Jae asked, taken aback by your sudden vitriol.

“Shit, that wasn’t in my head was it?” Jae laughs a bit but sobers up quickly at your expression.

“Y/N you look really pale, are you okay? I don’t know your history with this guy but hey, you don’t have to deliver this. I’ll do it. Don’t you worry, love.” Jae places his hand on the top of your head and ruffles your hair a bit in an attempt to be comforting. The attempt helped. Your heart pricks up a bit at Jae’s term of endearment but it feels more deadened than it should. You’re sick of feeling like this. Of letting Sean steal your joy from you. It’s been too long for that shit. Pulling yourself together a bit, you shake yourself out of your head and steel yourself.

“No, Jae, I’ve got this.” Jae looks at you with slight concern but shrugs nonetheless.

“Alright, well, I’m going with you okay? This dude really must’ve done a number on you if this is your response. And I’d like to see the bastard.” Jae’s eyes glinted with something dangerous that you’ve never seen in him before and it causes the same fire in you to spark. Let’s do this.

With Jae by your side, you march up to the door with the delivery order and set it on the front steps. The doorbell is deafening in the still night and you have to remind yourself to breathe. You jump as the door swings wide and a pathetic looking man sporting a robe and a beer belly peeks from the inside. All of the breath that had been waiting in your lungs released and you feel your head go a little bit light with the realization that this was the man that you were in love with. 7 years later, gone was the debonair gentleman who could sweep you off your feet. In his stead stood a balding, fat, stiff man in boxers and a moth eaten robe. He grunts in acknowledgment of the presence of other humans but it’s obvious that the Neanderthal hasn’t recognized you. He retrieves his food and goes fumbling in his robe pocket for his wallet. He fishes out a card and hands it to you. You take it from him and process the payment.

Declined.

“Sorry, Sean, your card- it declined.”

He huffs and makes a sound in the back of his throat that you can only describe as gross as you hand it back to him.

“It what!? What do you mean declined?” He stumbles forward a few steps and you automatically flinch backward into Jae. Jae’s hand comes up to your shoulder to ground you, a reminder that he’s still there. Sean’s movement wafts a smell of body odor and brown liquor. He always was a mean drunk. You decide to cut your losses while you can and keep the transaction as minimal as possible. No games.

“Your card, Sean, it declined. Do you have an alternate form of payment?” Sean whips open his wallet and roots around for a minute before retrieving a few crumpled up bills. He extends the cash but before you can swap his card for cash, his arm whips back. Looking at you sideways, suspicion drips from his slurred speech,

“How do you know my name?”

Shit. Fuck. Dammit.

You watch helplessly as the cogs turn in his inebriated brain and recognition washes over his face.

“Y/N! It’s you! What do you want from me now, bitch? Trying to take my money now too? Get out of here!” His voice steadily rises in volume and you can feel the walls of your panic closing in on you. Suddenly Jae steps in front of you, arm outstretched to the belligerent man.

“You’re talking to me now. You’re done with her.” Jae holds himself with a confidence that you had only seen from him onstage.

“Just pay for the food and we’ll be going.”

“And who the fuck are you?” Sean spits back, as if Jae were something distasteful that he had found on the bottom of his shoe.

“I’m Jae. Y/N’s boyfriend. Now I’d really love to take Y/N home tonight before it gets too much later. So if you can just pay for your meal, we’ll get going.”

Sean crumples up the bills and throws it into Jae’s chest.

“Good luck with that bitch, kid. You’re gonna need it.” And with that he retreats inside and slams the door shut behind him.

Jae immediately rushes to your side and wraps you in a big hug. Although similar in mechanics to the hug earlier that day, this one was far different in intent. You could feel it in his soul, that hug was meant to squeeze all of the fragmented pieces of you back together again and hold them until they stuck. You can feel your heartbeat slowing to match his and your breathing slowly regulates.

Mollie is gonna have a lot of fun with this one.

Jae escorts you back to the car and there’s a thick silence that you can’t quite bring yourself to cut as he puts the car into drive. You know he is forming his own story of what happened between you and Sean in his head and you can’t tell if that’s better or worse than just reliving it and telling him the whole story- cops and testifying and court and all.

Once out of the neighborhood, Jae heaves a sigh and chuckles a bit.

“Well he seemed lovely.”

“Uh huh. He’s a real peach.”

Jae looks over at you with an expression of dual concern and amused what-the-fucker-y. Did that really just happen?

There is a beat of silence and solid eye contact before you both start cracking up. Unable to restrain yourself any further, you both dissolve into a kind of healing, deep belly laughter that shakes the entire car. Pulling up to your house, Jae throws the car into park and then turns to face you.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, you know? It’s not my business. You’re my business. But asshats like him aren't. Just that I’m around to keep them away from you.”

You sigh deeply, still recovering from the laugh attack, before giving him a brief bulleted list of the sheer shenanigans that Sean had pulled on you all those years ago. You watched as Jae’s face contorted over the course of the story, hardening into yet another study in fierceness that you were yet to see from him.

“I really am okay, though Jae. He had me pretty fucked up for a little bit but honest, I’m okay. I did the therapy, I fought my battles. I just hadn’t done the last closure step of actually looking him in the eye and saying goodbye and good riddance. And I probably never would’ve if it weren’t for tonight.” You reach out and grab his hand instinctively.

“Thank you, Jae. I really appreciate you doing that with me. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“You would’ve gotten your ass handed to you is what you would’ve done.” Jae states, deadpan.

“Jaeee!” You laugh, hitting him on the arm.

“Oh, so now you can throw a punch? Okaaay, nice.” This little shit.

Banter aside, Jae takes the key out of the ignition and gathers his things to get out of the car. As he closes the door, you hear him mutter “You need to pick better guys. You’re too great to end up with someone like that.”

You don’t have any kind of answer to that, but you feel a lightness in your chest as his eyes burn into you. Jae walks you to your front door and all you can hear in your head is an echo of Jae’s declaration of “I’m Jae, Y/N’s boyfriend.” Is that what I want?

You end up at your front door far too soon and the twinkling of the helicopters in the sky signals to you that it’s more than time for Jae to go home. Your heart sinks into your stomach at the thought of him leaving and you inwardly groan.

Jae gives you one last hug goodnight and you know before he even releases you that this isn’t enough. Not even nearly. Your feelings, whatever they may be: love, like, general affection, haven’t been correctly quantified and expressed. This has been the best day you’ve had in months, and he was the deciding factor. You were grateful to have him there on your front door step, in his arms. But maybe, just maybe, if you’re able to express to him exactly how you feel about him in this moment, he’ll be able to help you out and translate exactly what this feeling means for your future together. Without thinking about it too much, you retreat from the hug and angle your face up to his so that your noses are almost touching. You sit like this for just a second. That sickening second that would allow him to retreat and tell you you’re an idiot for even thinking it. But he doesn’t retreat. Instead, your lips are brushing against one another in just the barest of whispers of a kiss. His lips are so soft. It’s over in an instant and as the chilly night air cuts between the two of you, you are all too aware of how disproportionately warm your face and neck have become. You smile up at Jae and he carries a similar, if not slightly more shocked, half smile.

As if reading one another’s minds, you both understand that it’s wise to let one another think about the night's proceedings before any further rash decisions are made. In an attempt to preserve the spell of the night sky and the kiss and the chirping cicadas, neither of you say another word to one another but instead exchange content smiles that convey more than a goodnight ever could. With a slight bow of his head and a glide of his hand down the length of your arm, Jae walks backwards down your front steps and slips into the night, shaking his head slightly, trying and failing to conceal his smile. You watch him from the porch as he skips up to his house, before slipping into the warmth of your own home.

...

GIVE IT A LIKE IF YA LIKE

FEEDBACK IS MY LOVE LANGUAGE

#kpop #day6 #day6 jae #park jaehyung #slow burn #fluff #kpop fanfiction #day6 fluff #day6 au #fanfiction #skinny bone jones #friends to lovers

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mollymauk-teafleak · 5 years ago

Text

Help Wanted (chapter 3)

Huge thanks again to @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian who continue to be amazing beta readers!

Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3, it really helps

Chapters: 1, 2, 3

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Caduceus loved it when little kids would come into the Blooming Grove. It didn’t happen all that often, most of his customers were students from the academy or the nearby art school, coming in talking about their projects or dissertations, magic runes scrawled up their arms in biro and paint under their fingernails. But every so often, usually on sunny afternoons, parents would come in with strollers or tiny, pudgy hands held securely in their own, coming from the park or the fountain or the markets. The little ones would soon find themselves thoroughly spoiled, pressed with free cookies and cakes to go with their juice, the tall, nice man behind the counter always eager to listen to their nonsense and coo over whatever treasures they clutched. He kept a box of toys over in the corner for them to play with, picture books to read and there was always a napkin within reach when one was needed.

There were some skills you couldn’t shake, even if your siblings were miles away.

He was just helping a little drow toddler clean off some cookie crumbs before his mothers could notice when there was a yelp from behind the counter, accompanied by a loud hissing like some immense dragon.

“Caddy! Help! Emergency, Captain!”

“You don’t have to call me that!” Cad gave the little boy a pat on the head and went running over.

Fjord was being enveloped in bursts of steam that smelled like burnt coffee, belching from the ancient coffee brewer, coughing and waving his arms in an attempt to stave them off, “I told you, Caddy. Helga hates me.”

“She does not hate you,” Cad insisted, wading in and turning dials and pushing levers back up, slapping his palm against the sides in a particular rhythm.

Eventually it worked, the steam abating and the guttural hissing stuttering into silence. There was a final worrying rattle and a small tide of black, steaming, bitter sludge plopped from the dispenser into the waiting cup.

“Ew,” Cad’s ears flattened and his nose wrinkled, “Okay, maybe Helga does hate you. What did you do to her?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Fjord sounded indignant but clearly, like Cad, he was barely holding in laughter, “I tried to follow your instructions but I couldn’t remember them and I couldn’t find her manual…”

“She doesn’t have a manual, I bought her at a flea market,” Cad shook his head, slapping the immense bronze machine a few more times before nodding in a satisfied manner, “That should do it. What was the order?”

“Cinnamon coffee,” Fjord scratched at his jaw, still giving Helga a scandalised look.

“Right,” Cad moved to grab the right jars from the small, mismatched army of them that cluttered the bench, “Did you put the cinnamon in with the beans or did you add them separately?”

Fjord paused, eyes widening and jaw slackening in realisation, “Ah. The wrong one.”

Cad chuckled, nudging him lightly with a bony elbow, “Don’t worry. You’ll get it next time.”

For some reason, that seemed to make Fjord shrink a little, like he’d been expecting another step but his foot had found thin air instead. But only for a moment, then he was smiling again.

“Well, it’s my mess so I’m definitely cleaning Helga tonight.”

Cad let him have that, waving him back to work his usual magic with the customers so he could finish the drink. It had been a few months since he’d started working here and Fjord was clearly strongest when he was interacting with people, a relief seeing as conversation had never been Caduceus’ strong suit which he supposed came of growing up in the middle of the forest with only six other family members, talking to plants more than people.

In fact, Cad had learned a lot about Fjord, seeing him nearly every day, working elbow to elbow with him. He hummed while he worked. He didn’t like huge bits of onion in his food but if it was cut up small, he’d never notice. He’d gone to high school with Beau and Jester and become friends with Molly and Caleb and Veth through them. He’d been a sailor since he left school, speaking about the waves the same way Caduceus spoke about the forest. He always had a battered paperback in his bag, bought from a thrift store, even if there’d be no time in the day to read it. He woke up early and stayed up late, living on an amount of sleep that would have Cad wilting like a tulip in the heat. And he really needed a haircut but seemed in no hurry to get one.

Cad found himself filing away every new thing he learned, despite telling himself his crush had been a brief thing, just something silly his brain had spat up in amongst all the stress and change. Fjord was handsome, of course, but he was also becoming his friend on top of his employee which was way more important. He wasn’t going to put him in an awkward position by blushing like a teenager every time he opened his mouth. It wouldn’t be fair to him.

And besides, there was Avantika.

She was rarely in the cafe itself, which Caduceus couldn’t help but be grateful for, as selfish as he felt over it. Even so, her presence was felt almost every day, in the way Fjord would come in muttering under his breath, agitated and red faced, still reliving an argument he’d left behind. Or in the way he’d get calls sometimes that he would get anxious about taking, dropping whatever he was doing in the cafe to answer them coming back apologetic and shamefaced, with a tension in him that hadn’t been there before. Or the way clear up would run late- usually because the two of them were talking and laughing or Fjord was showing him a new song on the radio- and he’d sigh resignedly and head out for the bus stop rather than getting a lift from her. He never said anything directly about it but the pieces weren’t hard to put together. Fjord knew Cad would offer to drive him home and he also knew he wouldn’t be able to say no. And there would be something unacceptable about that, some rule broken by that action that he didn’t understand.

There seemed to be a lot of rules in Fjord’s...whatever he had with Avantika. One of them seemed to not be speaking about her at all, Cad had to base everything on what Fjord said with his muscles. He’d always been able to read that language better than anything, realising what people were trying not to say more than what they were actually saying. And he had learned shortly after that that people didn’t like it when you would state what it was out loud. He’d been working on that since coming to the city.

But no matter how many times he told himself it was none of his business one way or the other, that he needed to keep his broad, flat nose out of his new friend’s affairs, Caduceus did care. He did.

Fortunately, the rest of the Nein also cared and seemed determined to talk to him about it.

Beau and Caleb were in the cafe at the moment, as Caduceus tried to soothe Helga and get her back in working order by thumping his fist very carefully around her casing. They tended not to sit down when it was just the two of them, usually just on a pit stop in between class and a library session. They took different classes, of course, but they studied together which Cad found very strange, as they seemed to constantly bicker whenever they were within five meters of each other. Maybe they really didn’t know anyone else even remotely studious. Their significant others certainly wouldn’t qualify.

Fjord was taking orders, efficiently and smoothly, putting them together with barely a pause. He’d really been getting good at this, even in such a short space of time. Cad could see why he’d been so good on ships. Any task he was given, he threw himself into it fully until he’d mastered it and could move through it confidently. Cad barely ever had to show him something twice.

Thinking that he had this in hand- it was still an hour away from lunchtime, they were still in the ebb rather than the rush- Cad slipped over to Caleb and Beau, where they were leaning against the tall stools up against the counter, probably already arguing about something complicated to do with magic. Cad didn’t understand what there was for them to learn about magic for so many years. You just thought about it, asked nicely and it happened?

“Morning,” he rumbled congenially, setting their cups down in front of them. They came so often, he’d just started taking their own travel cups and filling them. Beau’s was scuffed and scratched from being shoved deep into her backpack with all her stuff, the logo of the Cobalt Soul still just about visible, clearly a freebie from her orientation nearly three years ago. Caleb’s was covered in cartoon kitty paw prints. Both were filled with black, incredibly strong study session grade coffee brew. Cad refused to sell them more than three cups a day, five cups a day during finals week.

“Hey, Cad,” Beau was bouncing on the balls of her feet, like she was shaking out all of her energy before having to stay still for an extended period of time.

“Good morning Caduceus,” Caleb had eyes only for his coffee, making grabby hands towards it before Cad had even passed it over.

“Only three, remember,” the firbolg warned him, not liking the look on his face, “I am keeping track.”

“I know,” Caleb said meekly, trying to look restrained and a little less like an addict, just taking one small sip before lowering the cup, as if to prove he could.

“Saw Fjord nearly send your coffee machine up in smoke,” Beau leaned a bandaged elbow on the counter, tipping her cup in the direction of the half orc, now chatting companionably with an elderly dragonborn woman as he put her granola bowl together.

“Easy mistake to make and no harm done,” Cad smiled in the same direction, just to himself, “He’s actually doing brilliantly. Starting to forget how I managed without him.”

Cad’s gaze was elsewhere, being much less subtle than he thought, so he missed the glance exchanged between Beau and Caleb.

“So, uh…” Beau leaned forward, bringing Cad’s eyes back her way, “You and Fjord, you get on well, huh?”

Cad was frowning over that, confused as to why she’d ask that when it was obvious, when they were both interrupted by a chime from Fjord’s apron pocket. The apron Cad had made him, done exactly to match his height, with waves stitched along the hem. He’d been delighted with it.

It went just as it always did. Fjord seemed to shrink in on himself a little, jaw tensing, teeth closing on his lower lip. He gave the woman her change quickly, eyes darting to Cad, gesturing apologetically and pointing at his pocket questioningly. Cad gave him a wave, there was no one else at the counter anyway.

Now Beau’s face was dark as thunder and even Caleb had a disapproving set to his jaw, like he’d swallowed something bitter other than his coffee.

“How many times a day does he get calls like that?” he asked, watching Fjord’s back disappear around the corner to the back room.

Cad shrugged, “A few. More some days than others. I’m not counting.” It wasn’t strictly a lie. He was trying not to count.

Beau muttered something into her cup that sounded unkind. When Caleb gave her a look she threw her hands in the air, nearly sloshing coffee on the wooden floor, “What? You know I’m right! She’s checking up on him like he’s a naughty kid!”

“I am aware,” Caleb sniffed, “And I don’t like it any more than you do. But we said we weren’t going to say that kind of stuff when he’s around.”

“Oh come on, he can’t hear us,” Beau rolled her eyes exaggeratedly.

Cad looked between the two of them anxiously, already feeling guilty but too curious to go and do something else, “So...you guys know about his girlfriend? Avantika?”

“Girlfriend is a strong word,” Caleb allowed, while Beau snorted derisively in the background, “More like...force of mutual destruction. Part time nemesis. Live in life ruiner.”

Caduceus wrinkled his nose, “Oh…”

“They’ve been like this since high school,” Beau’s lip curled, “They both got deep into this really dodgy patron, you know, how most people do at that age? Neither of them had a great childhood and it kind of just happens that way. Fjord started to have second thoughts once he became friends with us but she kept dragging him down into it. We all thought they were done when Fjord signed up with the Tide’s Breath, the ship he worked on? But now he’s home and they’ve just fallen right back into making each other miserable and making our lives shitty into the bargain!”

“That doesn’t sound...healthy…” Cad said slowly, taking his tail in his hands and wringing it anxiously.

“It’s not!” Beau slapped Caleb’s arm, “See! Cad gets it!”

“Ow! I’m on your side!” Caleb protested, rubbing his arm, “We all are!”

“You’re ridiculous, I barely touched you.”

Cad sucked in a breath, “People sometimes do things that don’t make sense because they don’t see that it’s hurting them. Or because something else is hurting them more and listening to someone else is easier. Even if what they’re telling you is bad.”

That got him an eerily twin set of concerned looks. Cad realised that maybe that should have been something he kept to himself, one of those things that made conversations awkward.

“We sort of get why he’s doing it,” Beau eventually said, slowly, “I mean, we’re basically Team Gone Through Bad Shit. Doesn’t mean we like it.”

“No one does,” Cad said quietly, eyes casting down to his tail, still clutched tight in his long fingers, “But saving people from themselves is difficult.”

“Hence why they’re still together,” Caleb murmured, “We know we can’t just go telling Fjord all of this without upsetting him and making things worse.” At that, he gave Beau a very significant look. She gave him the finger in return.

When Caleb ignored it, she sighed and hopped down from the stool, “We need to head out. Just...help us keep an eye on him?”

Cad glanced over. Fjord was back behind the counter, tapping his fingers restlessly on the wood, looking red faced and anxious. Clearly the conversation hadn’t been a pleasant one. Cad thought of all the times Fjord would look uncomfortable when he reassured him or instantly forgave an error or mistake. The way he’d get awkward about compliments, like he didn’t know how to hold them or where to put them. The way he needed to hold his overgrown hair back with a band but every day his tusks were freshly filed down, right to where it had to be painful, just so they wouldn’t be visible past his lip.

He couldn’t have a crush on him, it wouldn’t be fair. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t care about him. Far too late for that.

“Of course I will,” he said softly.

Caduceus was starting to enjoy closing up more than any other part of the day. Everything slowed down, there seemed to be more space to breathe and the whole evening stretched out in front of them, feeling like forever. And it would suddenly be just him and Fjord in the quiet, able to choose their favourite songs on the speakers and talk across the freshly wiped down tables and sing and joke.

It had started off tentative, back in the first few days. Neither of them were hugely eager to talk about the usual ice breaking questions like family, home, where they both were before now. Instead they’d talked in the present, about their interests. Cad had talked for hours about his rooftop beehive before realising he was rambling, except Fjord had still been listening intently, almost as if he didn’t care how much time had gone by. Fjord talked about how he was getting back into the battered old acoustic guitar he played, whatever book he was reading, whatever podcast he was listening to.

But, as it often went, talk about small things became talk about big things without really meaning to.

Tonight, Fjord was wiping down the tables and Cad was moving from plant to plant, watering contentedly. As he worked, the half orc was explaining some interesting historical magic experiments he’d been reading about in a book Caleb had lent him.

“...I used to think that kind of stuff was so interesting when I was younger. How people know what they know now, how all these big ideas became fact, y’know? Used to have all these daydreams about being at the academy and seeing the places all this big thinking happened…”

Cad looked over his shoulder, interested, “You want to apply to the academy?”

And then suddenly Fjord was tense, awkward, ducking his eyes to focus on the already clean mosaic table top, acting like he’d said something he shouldn’t have.

“I mean, I used to. When I was younger. A lot younger.”

Cad felt the urge to back off, the sensation that they were suddenly standing on some kind of line. But he couldn’t help but feel letting it go would be breaking the promise he’d made to Beau.

“You still could,” he said quietly, “They take students of all ages.”

Fjord still didn’t look up, “I, uh...I don’t think that’s the path for me anymore. I mean, when would I fit it in now? Not gonna be long before I’m back out on the ocean.”

Cad frowned delicately. He had mentioned that a few times, the fact that this was temporary, a stop gap until he found hire on another ship. But there was always something so rehearsed about the way he said it. Like he was copying someone else’s words.

“Paths can change,” Cad allowed after a pause, “But sometimes you can think that way but old loves come back, ones you thought you’d outgrown. And they’re stronger than ever.”

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience?” The attempt to change the subject was obvious but Cad let him have it. He wasn’t looking to make him uncomfortable.

He smiled softly, fingers gently brushing the almost silky leaves of his yucca plant, “My whole family worships Melora, the Wildmother. Have you heard of her?”

“I don’t think so,” the bridge of his nose scrunched up adorably when he was thinking.

“Not many people have,” Cad reassured him, “She’s mostly for the quiet places, where nature’s grown over the scars in the earth. Places like where I grew up...she was practically another family member growing up, you could feel her everywhere. She’s soft and gentle and kind and there’s nothing she can’t heal.”

Fjord’s expression softened, “She sounds nice.”

“She is,” Cad chuckled wryly, “And I was raised to be her cleric from the moment I was born.”

“Really?” Fjord’s eyebrows shot up and Caduceus could understand why, even as he cringed internally. He’d never mentioned having any kind of magic, he never used it around the cafe except in ways too small to notice. It was quite deliberate. Every time he reached for the well of power inside himself, the quiet place where he could smell damp moss and fresh grass and feel it under his feet no matter where he was, he’d feel a tug of homesickness. Even with the long conversations he’d had with the Wildmother, one sided conversations where he was answered by breezes and bird calls, even with his certainty that he had her support, his magic had a bitter taste to it these days.

“Really,” Cad murmured, hoping Fjord wouldn’t press the matter, “And there was a good few years where I resented the hell out of it.”

“Oh,” Fjord’s eyes widened.

Cad smiled coyly, “I had a full teenage tantrum. Pouting, breaking things, yelling. No one in my family yells… I made a complete fool of myself. It was a week out from my cleric initiation and suddenly I was tired of having all of my decisions made for me and wanted the world to know it.”

“How old were you?” Fjord grinned.

“Thirty five. Just a kid.”

“Oh…so what happened?”

“One night, I got it in my head that I was going to run away,” Cad turned back to his plant, practically petting it, “I packed a bag, climbed out of my window in the middle of the night...I told myself I was never coming back, without so much as a goodbye.”

Fjord had abandoned his table entirely, looking at Caduceus with his full attention, “Really?”

“Yep,” the memory of his own stupidity still made the fur on his neck stand up, “And I would have done it, if I hadn’t taken a wrong turn. I’d lived in those woods all my life and somehow I took a wrong turn, tell me how that happens without divine intervention. But all of a sudden, I wasn’t on the path anymore. I was in this beautiful clearing, waterfall gently bubbling...the place I was meant to take my initiation in a few hours, the very thing I was supposed to be running away from. And it occured to me that I’d been feeling all of this anger and sadness and confusion, it had been tearing me up inside for longer than I’d even realised...and I’d never talked to anyone about it. I couldn’t tell my family, not when they’d had this image of me as their perfect, devoted son. So...maybe I could tell her.”

“And you did?” Fjord sounded a million miles away, Cad lost in his own memory.

“I did. I talked until my voice ran out, until the sun came up. I told her everything and afterwards I felt so...so clean. People had been telling me all my life to follow the Wildmother and I had, because they’d told me to. That night was the night I decided to follow her because I chose to. I took my oath then and there.”

“Wow,” Fjord murmured, “I can’t imagine feeling that way about...anything, really.”

Cad was about to ask how come Fjord had his own patron then, before realising he’d have to explain how he knew that. And then realising he probably wouldn’t like the answer.

Instead he smiled, “It’s always waiting for you, Fjord. For all of us.”

That brought a laugh, the kind he only did when he wasn’t thinking because it would show his filed tusks, “That’s a nice idea, Caddy.”

He grinned back, moving to the next plant, caring for each of them as devotedly as he could manage, each one a growing, green prayer, “It is. Even nicer for being true...the Wildmother helped me realise I wasn’t happy at home, years after that night, when I was actually ready to make that decision. She brought me here, to this cafe and to the life I have now. She helped me not feel so lost. And there’s something out there that will help you feel the same, Fjord. Maybe it’s the academy. Maybe it’s your next ship.”

Maybe it’s here.

The words were on his lips without thinking, desperate to be spoken, straining to tumble into the air between them.

Caduceus swallowed them back. It wouldn’t be fair. And there was no guarantee that saying it would make it true.

“Thanks, Caddy. For sharing that with me,” Fjord’s voice seemed different somehow, in a way he couldn’t put his finger on. Maybe he was just tired.

“You’re welcome… you know you can talk to me anytime, right? About whatever you want... doesn’t have to be work stuff or, um…I mean anything.” Cad winced at himself. How had he gone from being so articulate to tripping over his own feet when he wanted to ask a simple question?

Fjord seemed on the verge of his usual tension when help was offered but then he seemed to shake it off, like rainwater, “Thanks. That means a lot, Caddy.”

Cad resisted the urge to clap his hands. He’d done exactly as Beau asked and made Fjord smile into the bargain.

“Why don’t you clean out Helga? That might make her like you. I can finish up the plants and tables.”

Fjord seemed grateful for the chance to move, like just accepting help had filled him with restless energy, “Oh, I’ll do that! She’s going to end up loving me, I swear.”

“I’m sure,” Cad chuckled quietly as he jumped up and headed for the counter.

He’d make sure they were wrapped up in time for him to get a ride home. One personal leap a day was enough, he felt.

Cad moved to the next plant, a terrarium full of mushrooms he’d taken from the grove, already softly starting to glow as the light dimmed. Just for a moment, he placed his palms on the smooth curve of the glass, the green luminescence filtering through the gaps between his fingers like he held a heart in his hands.

And all he could smell was fresh grass, new fallen rain on green things. He felt his nerves alight with power he’d had inside himself since that promise he’d made. And it felt right.

Cad smiled, leaning close and whispering just in case, “I’m going to keep an eye on him...but maybe you could too?”

The mushrooms immediately grew brighter in his hands, far brighter than they should be for the time of day.

Caduceus took that as a yes.

#fjorclay #teahaw #modern au #coffee shop au #toxic relationships #also good excuse to write my fave empire siblings #fjord #caduceus clay #caleb widogast #beauregard lionett #critical role #cr fic

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celestelavie · 5 years ago

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Food for Thought || Celeste & Luce

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @divineluce and @celestelavie SUMMARY: Celeste gets off work early and decides to drop off some lunch for Ulfric. He’d already gone home for the day, so Luce and Celeste enjoy a nice lunch together.

While she wasn’t quite sure she’d say Ulfric liked her, Celeste could pick up on the fact he felt less tense around her. Of course, he was never anything less than courteous to her and she was doing her best to show him as much kindness as possible. After all, he’d opened up his home to them and was working diligently to insure Ariana’s safety. Since she had cut from work early for the day, she decided she could bring lunch by the shop for Ulfric on her way home. There was no doubt in her mind that he’d be a fan of red meat if Ariana’s affinity for it was any indication. She’d brought two burgers and some fries with her to the shop, hoping she would catch Ulf during a break between appointments. She didn’t love hanging around in her Al’s uniform, but a short lunch wouldn’t hurt. As she walked into the shop, she saw no sign of Ulfric. She walked up to a young woman who was sitting at the counter and asked, “Is Ulfric around?”

Usually, Luce wasn’t in the business of covering the receptionist desk. She’d done her time doing that as an apprentice, answering phone calls and getting the calendars all set up. But, the girl who usually ran the desk today had to run because of a family emergency and Luce had time to kill. The design for her appointment later today was finalized and she was more than happy to get some work done on her own art pieces. Which is why she was sitting at the desk, sketch book in front of her. When the bell above the door jangled, Luce glanced up woman who approached. Older, probably around Bea’s age or so, but cute. The uniform helped too. “Ulf? You just missed him.” Luce said with a shake of her head, glancing at the bag of food in her hands. “Let me check his calendar though, see if he might pop back in soon.” She said, scrolling through the computer, “Damn. Sorry, he’s gone for the rest of the day.”

Damn. Celeste hadn’t taken into account he may have not had appointments for the rest of the afternoon. It was usually a little later in the afternoon that she’d see him come home. Oh well, she supposed she had entirely too much food now. She looked to the woman who had been working on a sketch. She wondered if this was the woman Ariana mentioned was helping with Ulfric’s birthday gift. If she had to guess, the woman was a few years younger than her but clearly established in her trade. Good for her. “I probably should have called first, I was bringing lunch since I got off work early today.” Looking down at the now greasy bags in her hand, she said, “Hey, you must be the artist helping Ariana with Ulf’s birthday gift. Care for a cheeseburger?”

“Eh, shit happens.” Luce said with a shrug. She still wasn’t entirely sure why this woman was here-- she didn’t think that Al’s was doing delivery. And if they were, they needed to work on making sure to send the delivery folks to the right location. But, when the woman mentioned her project for Ariana, bringing up Ulf again, Luce raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, that’s me. She’s a good kid, I’m surprised she wanted to do something this big for him, but it’s a cool project for me to work on.” At the offer of food, she leaned back in her chair before tilting her head towards another one of the other empty stools nearby. Perhaps it was just because of the value of magic, of everything being a give and take, but she didn’t particularly like handouts. But, a trade? She could get behind that. “Tell you what. I’ll take a cheeseburger in exchange for company. It gets boring at the desk.” Figuring that wasn’t much of a trade, Luce added, “I’ll throw in a drawing for some fries, if you’ve got them.”

Celeste was glad to hear that this was in fact the woman helping out Ariana. From what she’d seen of the updates so far, it was shaping up to be an impressive piece. Though she was sure from the outside looking in, it was odd that a teenager was making such a big gift for Ulfric. If it hadn’t been for their shared nature, Celeste would have found it odd as well. She shrugged with a toothless grin on her face, “I think she’s really excited about diving into the whole carpentry thing. Plus, he’s done a lot for both of us. She tends to be very go big or go home or whatever it is the kids are saying these days,” she explained with a laugh. The prospect of company that wasn’t a teenager or a werewolf who was merely tolerating her presence actually sounded quite nice. Taking care of tables at Al’s was truly about as social as she got these dies though as much was probably wise all things considered. Lunch with Luce sounded like good fun. She smiled wide at the woman being sure to overlook the bruised nose, “Company would be delightful. I haven’t had the chance to make many friends since moving here so most of my conversations are ‘how would you like your eggs’, teenager things, or Ulf swearing in Norweigian.” She said the last bit with a laugh. It was actually quite amusing, but she was sure he didn’t think as much. At the mention of a drawing, Celeste smirked and said, “Well, I guess it’s my lucky day then since I brought fries. I suppose if we’re dining together, I should properly introduce myself.” She extended her hand, “I’m Celeste, Ariana’s older sister and waitress extraordinaire.” She motioned to the ridiculous little 50s get-up she had to wear to work every day.

“Sounds like it’s working out really well for her. The piece of wood she gave me should make for a good table. I’m just hoping that the design turns out how she wants.” Luce said with a nod before grabbing one of the chairs from around the desk and cleared a spot for the woman to join. “Well, I’m not ordering eggs, the teenager ship set sail a long time for me, but I do know some choice Norwegian swears, courtesy of the man himself.” She said with a grin. “Turkish is my language of choice for swearing, though.” Luce said with a wink before scooting out of the way to let the woman sit beside her. “Nice to meet you, Celeste. I’m Luce, the best thing that happened to Ulf’s shop. Short of him, you know, opening up the place.” She said, before switching gears. “How’d you and Ulfric know each other?” Was she the totally not kinky lady who was looking for the rope and mayonnaise?

While this wasn’t her original plan, Celeste was pleased with how it worked out. She had the feeling Luce would be a little more chatty than Ulfric was with her. Bless his heart, he did try and be as kind to her as possible, but the underlying tension was hard to ignore. One day, he’d be able to trust her fully and she could hardly blame him that it was something that needed to be earned. It didn’t mean lunch with a woman who was close enough in age to her wouldn’t be a welcome change of pace. “Thank god,” she said with a laugh, “If I have to hear over-easy, YEET, or faen one more time today, I might actually lose it.” She joined her for a seat and pulled out the burgers and fries, passing Luce’s lunch down to her. “Turkish, huh? You speak fluently or are the swear words your specialty?” There was a small smirk on her lips before she picked at a few of the french fries. The next question should have been expected, but she wasn’t quite sure how to answer it. It’s not like she could just say Ulfric was her sister’s wolfy mentor or protector. She couldn’t even quite define it herself and knew it wasn’t something she was meant to understand. “I guess you could say he’s a family friend. He’s helped Ariana and myself out a great deal with things as of late, I thought it’d be nice to drop by some lunch for him on my way home.” Celeste found herself curious about Luce as well. Her face was a little bruised up which was a call for question in itself, but she seemed young and established. “How long have you known Ulfric? It seems like you’ve made quite the career for yourself here.”

“I’ll be sure to keep my extensive knowledge of memes out of lunch, then.” Luce laughed, accepting the container with the burger and fries with an appreciative nod. It beat the sandwich she’d thrown together this morning, for damn sure. She was usually pretty on top of her shit, but after the run in she and Nell had with August after the coven meeting… it had rattled her, more than she’d like to admit. Pushing the thought from her mind, she focused on the woman next to her. “Fluent, nah. Conversational enough to piss off the grandparents? Bunu kolayca yapabilirim.” She said, the language rolling off her tongue. “I can certainly teach you some swears, if you’re interested.” Luce smirked and took a bite from her burger. She hadn’t forgotten her part of the deal, but getting burger grease on her sketch pad was the last thing she wanted. So, she watched the Celeste speak instead. “He’s a good guy, he does a lotta shit like that.” She nodded, thinking back to his request for some kind of magic protection thing from her sisters. He still owed her for that. She’d have to cash it at some point. Swallowing, Luce wiped her mouth with a napkin before flipping her arm over, showing Celeste the inside of her right arm and the large lightbulb tattoo that lay there. “He did this for me when I was 18. We got to talking, about art and shit, and he told me I was wasting my time in college. Turns out, he was right. I quit school and took an apprenticeship here within a month.”

“I’m not that old, I still enjoy a good meme,” Celeste retorted with a laugh. Memes she could deal with. Her patience was running a bit thin when it came to TikToks though, especially since Ariana had discovered she could make them herself and took to pranking Celeste. It was funny how technology cycled. When she was Ariana’s age, MySpace had just been dying and was being replaced by Facebook. Now there was a whole slew of channels that she couldn’t quite be bothered with. She took a bite out of her burger and had to choke back a laugh, “Nothing quite as fun as pissing the grandparents off, or the parents too if you’re me. Do I get a translation for that bit?” She smirked as she set the burger down to trade for a few fries, “I may just have to take you up on that.” She had a mouth full of burger as she listened to Luce speak. There was no doubt in her mind that Ulfric was a good man. She knew her invite to stay in his home was primarily due to Ariana, but allowing a hunter in his home, even one that didn’t hunt wolves, was more kindness than she could have expected. She had no doubt he showed kindness to others as well. “I could see that,” she said simply, not wanting to touch too much on how Ulfric had helped her and Ariana personally. She imagined it had to be nice discovering a career and diving in at such a young age. She was happy Ariana was able to do as much as well. “That’s pretty impressive, I thought you seemed pretty young to be so established in your field. I’ve always imagined tattooing to be a pretty fun job. What’s the most fun piece you’ve ever given someone?”

“My b,” Luce raised her hands innocently and laughed herself before grabbing a couple fries from the box. Chewing, she shrugged. “I said, I can do that easily. My sisters and I learned English and Turkish at the same time, but since we speak English all the time, it’s the one that stuck the most. That said, I can tell you all the fun swears that Ulfric doesn’t know. Like… ciğerini sikeyim.” She said with a roguish grin. “Literally, it means fuck your liver, but it basically is like… a really strong version of go fuck yourself.” She explained and took another bite from the burger before setting it back down in the tray. Dusting her hands free of crumbs, she flipped to a clean page of her sketchpad. “Thanks. It’s a good time, gives me a lot of freedom to be as creative as I want. Within the realm of what my clients are looking for.” She said with a nod. Tapping her pencil on the sheet, she began to do some rough sketches, drawing aimlessly. “Depends on what you think is fun. Visually fun, I once did a rad Neo-traditional sailing ship and mermaid scene. Fun for me personally to create, I did a great blackwork leg sleeve.” She said. “Both were great, I liked them a lot.”

“Ciğerini sikeyim,” Celeste said slowly, trying to get the pronunciation correct, “I like that one. I’m definitely using it the next time someone pisses me off.” She laughed as she picked at more of her french fries, “I get that, my parents tried to teach me French and German growing up, but really English is the only one that solidly stuck. I can order a beer in all three languages though. Clearly, I have my priorities straight.” There was a small smirk on her lips before she took another bite out of her burger. A slight pang of sadness hit her listening to Luce talk about her own career. Being on the run since the age of sixteen didn’t make for great career opportunities. Maybe one day, if things settled down and she no longer had to worry about her parents, she could actually pursue Nursing School as she had always wanted to do. “It sounds like you made a great choice hopping into the field then. I hope to get on the better late than never track with some sort of actual career. I definitely have a limited number of years of this getup still looking good on me,” she remarked with a chuckle as she gestured down towards her ridiculous 50s get-up that was customary at Al’s. She watched curiously as Luce pulled out her sketchpad. “Both sound fascinating. I’ve always toyed around with the idea of getting a tattoo, but have never actually committed to an idea. I did used to want to be a mermaid when I grew up. Given, that was six year old me’s aspiration.”

Pleased with her quick grasp of the pronunciation, Luce nodded. “For sure, give it a shot the next time someone decides to be a dick at Al’s or something.” She said. Raising an eyebrow, Luce grinned. “I dunno, beer is very important. Alcohol’s an essential food group in my book.” She joked, amused. Though Turkish was one of the two languages she’d learned growing up, she’d been forced to take a foreign language in high school which meant she’d suffered through a couple years of Spanish. The most she could remember, beyond asking for a beer and saying that was a tiger in bed, was probably asking where the library was. “It’s never too late to start doing something new,” Luce agreed. “What are you thinking of doing, hm?” As the woman mentioned something about being a mermaid, Luce’s pencil shifted. Pulling away from the odd doodles and random assortment of shapes in uniform patterns she’d done as a warm up, she glanced up at the woman. “You like the ocean? Or just the idea of it?” She asked, beginning to scrawl some curving lines onto the page.

A proud smile appeared on Celeste’s face as she realized she had gotten the pronunciation spot on. She’d enjoyed learning new languages, but being out of practice made it easy to forget them. “You are just filled with good ideas. I can’t get written up for swearing if no one knows what I’m saying,” she mused with a small laugh. Some of the middle of the night drunk crowd deserved that level of swearing. She’d polished off her own burger and neatly crinkled up the wrapper and placed it back in the paper bag. Her eyes drifted to the sketchpad and she found herself in awe of how people could just bring things to life on paper that way. Luce’s question caught her attention and she found she felt somewhat sheepish about it. “One day, I’d like to do the whole nursing school thing. I’ve always enjoyed helping people and I’m good with first aid. Not at all squeamish, but we’ll see. Ari is starting to work now too, so it's a little less pressure on me to put in so many hours myself.” She looked down momentarily before adding, “Maybe don’t mention that to Ariana though. I wouldn’t want her to feel bad.” She smiled easily again at the talk of mermaids and the ocean. Much easier to think about than trying to tackle college after thirty. Logically, she knew college when she was taking care of a five year old werewolf wasn’t realistic, but the part of her that had been a perfectionist back in grade school still felt off about the whole thing. “What can I say? I really loved The Little Mermaid growing up. I think it was more about Ariel than it was about the ocean though,” she answered with a chuckle, “The ocean is fascinating. More of a mountain girl myself, but there’s something serene about listening to the waves.”

“I know, right? I should start charging for all the good ideas I’ve got rattling around.” Luce replied, her easy smile still on her face. “First one’s free, next ones cost ya.” She said roguishly before returning her focus onto the image at hand. Listening came easily to Luce-- after all, it was part of her job. People liked to chatter while they were in pain. They liked to talk, to distract themselves, so she was no stranger to being able to hold a conversation while also working on a tattoo. And this wasn’t all that different. “A nurse, huh? That’s pretty cool. Helping people and doing good and stuff. And don’t worry, my lips are sealed.” She said with a shrug. Leaning back from the small ocean scene she’d drawn up, Luce scrutinized the cresting wave before taking her eraser to it. Not quite what she wanted. At the mention of the woman’s interest in the Little Mermaid, she raised an eyebrow. Oh? “That’s a big fucking mood. Ariel could get it. Then again, pretty much any of the Disney princesses can.” She said. At the mention of mountains, Luce began to draw a scene just along the shoreline of the beach. She drew in a forest scene, something similar to the way the beaches outside of White Crest looked, with tall pine trees looming just beyond the sand. “How’s this looking?” She asked, holding up the image.

“You might be onto something there. The illusive they always say if you’re good at something, don’t do it for free,” Celeste smirked and added, “Thanks for the introductory freebie.” It was nice to have someone outside of her coworkers and current roommates to talk with. She’d never really expressed her own aspirations before. With being on the run and having her parents try to track them down, it never seemed like something feasible anyhow. Ariana was dead set on staying here though so she supposed she could go ahead and enroll for classes at the community college. Luce was nice to talk to though she supposed it was part of the job. “Yes, I was thinking about enrolling in classes at the community college for the fall now that we are permanently staying somewhere and Ariana also has a job. And thanks.” Celeste had never been great at drawing or painting, so it was fascinating to see someone work at it so naturally. Luce seemed to be really in her element and there was something sort of relaxing about it. She found herself immediately laughing at the remark about Disney princesses, “I really vibed with her because of the parental defiance thing, but you’re not wrong. All the Disney princesses are pretty hot. If we’re going for hot animated chicks though, the Sailor Scouts are where it’s at. Tuxedo Mask can also get it on that note.” She looked over the drawing and grinned widely. A mountain beach scene was what she’d always hoped for in a place to build a home. She answered, “It’s looking perfect.”

“Damn straight.” Luce said approvingly, the only time straight could be used to describe her. “You’re more than welcome. Next one though, you’ll have to pay me back. I’ll be keeping track too.” Adding a bit more detailing work onto the curl of the wave, she began to shade, adding in some of the finer lines and curves to the way it crested. It was all coming together, into one coherent piece. Her pencil flowed over the page, the image forming just as it had in her mind. “That’s a solid plan. Save money where you can and all that, nobody will knock you for community college.” She nodded. Money had never been a thing that she’d ever had to worry about-- Mom and Dad had always had that on lock. But, still. She could relate, sort of. She’d been hellbent on trying to get away from their influence on her life. Getting her cabin had been a part of that and taking her apprenticeship was an ever larger part. “Parental defiance, huh? I get that.” Luce said, gesturing to her sleeve of tattoos. Her parents had been... disappointed when they’d seen her first tattoo. But, whatever. “That’s the whole, Sailor Moon thing, right? Some of the guys at the shop have done tattoos of that show for people. I was never into it. I might have to check it out.” She said, though her eyes flicked meaningfully over Celeste. She’d much rather check her out. “Awesome. I can ink it and then we’re square for lunch.”

“What’s the running rate on your good ideas? Have to make sure I’m not taking more ideas than I can afford and all,” Celeste joked with an eyebrow raised. The normalcy of their whole conversation was a welcomed change. No talk of hunters, werewolves, or eggs and burgers. It didn’t hurt that Luce had a pretty good sense of humor and was easy to talk to. She tried to keep an eye on the page as Luce drew. There was clearly some natural talent there backed by years of practice. “Yeah, I’m pretty good about being frugal with money, given for a while it was more out of necessity.” Running off with a werewolf child aside, one of the bigger cruel shocks of the real world was how fucking expensive everything was. Growing up, she’d always had money because of her parents. It had been a rude awakening, but somehow they’d made it. She laughed a bit over their shared parental defiance. “Can’t say my defiance was quite so visual, but I’m effectively disowned,” she said with a shrug. It was a subject she tried to be casual about. The news of her parents having a bounty on her and Ariana and wanting them both dead was a little extreme by most standards. “I loved it as a kid. Then again, I tend to enjoy anything where it’s the girls saving the day. A little cheesy as an adult, but you may appreciate the outfits,” she explained catching Luce’s look over her. Color rose in her cheeks and looked down with a small smile before looking back up to Luce. She certainly wasn’t subtle, but she kind appreciated that. “Right, totally square. I still think I got the better end of this trade, but I’ll take it.”

“Depends on what you’d be willing to pay.” Luce teased as she sifted through the cup of pens on the desk for a fine ballpoint. “Could be some good conversation or a new idea for a sketch. Or a kiss.” She flashed a cheeky grin at the other woman before setting to work with the inking. The lines were already pretty clean, but inking it in was what really brought it all together. “For sure. It’s a good way to live.” She said, though she really didn’t have much room to speak. Though she might have bought her own cabin, her parents had still done a lot for her. A lot more than she’d ever wanted. At the woman’s admission of her own familial situation, Luce said nothing. Instead, she focused on her linework. People had told her things like that before-- how they were getting a tattoo as a final ‘Fuck you’ to their parents, or as some kind of cleansing to erase the past that haunted them. And it was always better to say less, rather than more. “Makes sense why you’d relate to her then.” She replied, keeping her tone neutral. “Well, now I have to give it a watch.” Luce laughed and blew on the wet ink for a moment before taking her eraser to the picture. “Oh? You don’t think my trade was fair?”

“Hm, seems I can afford another good idea then,” Celeste retorted with a smirk. Maybe flirting with a member of Ulfric’s staff wasn’t entirely appropriate, but it was probably harmless. It was nice to get attention that wasn’t entirely inappropriate from older men during breakfast rushes. She watched Luce continue working on the finishing touches of the sketch, relieved she didn’t push further on the parent thing. Everyone had their own family issues of some sort and it was a lot more comforting to not go into the details. She rested her head on her knuckles as she observed Luce incredulously. She made the whole process look so effortless and she seemed to be really in her element. It was a nice sight to see. She imagined that applied even more when she was behind the tattoo needle. At the mention of relating to the sailor scouts, she laughed, “Thanks. And I thought that little bit of information might win you over.” Her head tilted a bit on her palm watching Luce dry the ink, there really was so much that went into drawing that was beyond her. “Oh,” she answered, “I think new art and your company is a little bit better than a not quite hot lunch, but no complaints here.”

“How about this one-- You and me, getting drinks sometime. It sounds like a good idea in my book.” Luce asked, looking at the woman with an earnest expression. Celeste was hot, she was hot, it’d be hot. And besides, what was she gonna lose by shooting her shot? The worst that could happen was she’d get turned down. With a final look at the picture, Luce nodded to herself before putting her signature on the bottom right corner of the page. A large looping L with a slash of a V. “You thought right.” She said as she held out the completed picture for the woman to take. She could still see some places she didn’t like, some spots where the waves met that looked weird, a tree with some branches that didn’t make much sense. But, it was a quick drawing. “The way I see it, I came out with some good art practice, good conversation, and,” She picked up her half eaten burger and bit into it, “The satisfaction of eating my boss’s lunch.”

The suggestion has caught Celeste a bit off guard, but she figured what harm could come from it? It’d been a long while since she’d actually been out… with well, anyone. She’d enjoyed hanging out with Luce and there was no denying she was a beautiful woman. What could it hurt? “I think that may be your best idea today,” she answered with a wide grin. Grabbing a pen out of the pocket in her uniform, she scribbled her number down from a paper on her order pad and handed it to Luce with a small smile still present on her face. “Text me sometime.” she advised, keeping her tone cool. As she looked over the finished product, she was somewhat in awe. Luce had finished it so quickly yet it came out lovely. A perfect little scene that she’d have to hang up in their current room. It was definitely more tasteful than that one creepy painting Ari insisted on keeping up. “I love it,” she said, “And alright, alright. We can call it even then.” She picked up her purse again and looked to Luce one last time as she left, “Hope to see you again soon.”

#food for thought #luce #wickedswriting

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justjensenanddean · 6 years ago

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CW Star Jensen Ackles Invites AD Inside His Family Home in Austin

Jensen and his wife, Danneel, worked with a local Austin team to devise a lakeside home with tongue-in-cheek touches and a musical through line

Kathryn Romeyn

NOVEMBER 27, 2018 10:30 AM

There’s a lot going on inside the Lake Austin home of actors Jensen and Danneel Ackles—a lot of color, a lot of texture, endless elements begging their stories to be told. If you need a quick snapshot: The living room is scattered with guitars and, on the shag rug, Technicolor floor pillows; antique Venetian dioramas of Lilliputian-sized rooms are embedded into the white-oak walls, while a hanging cage traps gilded Barbie dolls by Micky Hoogendijk; on top of a shelf housing a record player, a photograph of Tom Waits sits next to a chicken skeleton; a regal white peacock perches on the side of the mercantile-style bar. There’s the master bedroom swaddled in Trove wall covering bearing vintage photography of 1920s opera boxes. And the two-story screened-in porch holds a table crafted from a 2,000-year-old cypress sinker log, a storied Boyd Elder cow skull, and four-foot glass lanterns from Tony Duquette’s estate.Indeed, Danneel and Duquette share a similar philosophy. “More is more is more!” Danneel says emphatically. “More is the most.” Still, the Ackleses' five-bedroom, 7,500-square-foot residence isn’t actually an ode to opulence but rather an evocative tribute to key passions at the core of their personalities: the music and aesthetics of the late ’60s, Austin’s art scene, and imaginative oddities and occultist ephemera, perhaps appropriate considering Jensen’s longtime role on the CW’s Supernatural.After deciding to leave Brentwood, California, and coming this close to putting in an offer on a Lake Austin fixer-upper, the couple set their gaze on a house three doors down, sans “for sale” sign. “As we drove by, Danneel and I both looked at our real estate agent and were like, ‘See, that is the kind of house we’re looking for,’” recalls Jensen. Adds Danneel, “we wanted something less ostentatious.” Fortunately, the owner was willing to sell, but the property was far from turnkey and required an overhaul to go from what Danneel calls the “Texas Tuscan look"—generic stuccoed track mansion—to a wood-clad ranch-style stunner.

Danneel, a Tony Duquette superfan, was over the moon when Santini brought the stained glass pendants she’d bought from his estate. Photo: Douglas Friedman

The slightly sunken living room with the deep blue banquette couch, white shag rug, macrame chair, and muscular oak beams is Jensen’s favorite space.Photo: Jeff Wilson

Jensen and Danneel enlisted Austin architect Paul Lamb and Abode principal interior designer Fern Santini to kickstart what ended up being a very collaborative renovation—even the Ackleses' eldest child, five-year-old JJ, got into the fun, choosing everything in her Pinterest-worthy bedroom. At their initial meeting with Santini, the potential for partnership was evident when she pulled up in an auspicious 1967 E-Type Jaguar. “I mean, it’s just like the coolest thing ever,” says Jensen of the car, which was made in the same year Danneel had said she wanted to recreate in the Austin home so as to pay tribute to the Laurel Canyon bungalow where the couple once lived. “People like Carly Simon had played guitar there,” Danneel says. “It was a magical little place. So when Fern pulls up in that car ... We just bonded over music and a love of that time period and had our vision right off the bat.”

Executing that vision involved blowing out the majority of the house’s interior, taking it down to the studs, and reconfiguring it. “It was very closed and very ‘90s,” says Santini. Extensive structural work was devised by Lamb, one of Santini's frequent creative conspirator. “Paul is from New Orleans and I’m from Louisiana, and we have the same odd sense of humor and style,” says Danneel, who saw a residential elevator he’d done entirely in red velvet and said, “That’s the guy for me!” The foursome worked beautifully together—that is, after Jensen learned early on to keep his mouth shut if and when he doubted any stylistic choices. When shown the idea for a rich, royal blue sofa, “I was like, ’Y’all are crazy!’” says Jensen. “But then I just thought, I’m not going to get in their way.”

Smart man, considering a highly personalized space began to unspool under Santini and Lamb's direction. “It was imperative that the house express the Ackleses—young, bold, and irreverent,” Lamb says. “It had to be full of humorous and endearing eccentricities and it needed to radiate a comforting yet exotic familiarity.” He simplified and opened spaces, flipped the feel from a masonry house to a wood-framed home—thanks to exposed beams, larger expanses of windows, and rich wooden ceilings—and, perhaps most transformational, added a breezy two-story screened porch that altered the entire profile. “The former house was straight-laced and vaguely Mediterranean,” Lamb says. “Now it is an eclectic, free-spirited, Austin-style lake house.” Santini calls it “a cross between Joni Mitchell and the Serge Gainsbourg–Jane Birkin thing that was going on in Paris at the same time. It’s very hip but it’s low-key.”

Musically, the home is rich with sound, thanks to Jensen’s collection of guitars and the McIntosh turntable Santini says she “has real fetish for, after spending my entire career trying to hide stereo equipment.” There’s also a surfeit of historical and meaningful music-related artwork—think photographs of Yasgur’s Farm in Woodstock and a house where Bob Dylan recorded. “The hand-scraped wood floors undulate quite heavily, and we’ve got these giant beams and wood all around that feel like you’re in the hull of a giant ship,” Jensesn says. “What that does is it creates an amazing acoustic sound. We’ve always had music in our lives, and we wanted to pass on that tradition.”

The parents of three also are active supporters of local art. “We’re not the type who need it to all be the same. That’s criminal to me, almost,” says Danneel of their home full of diverse pieces from Austin and Marfa, including female artists from galleries like Women and Their Work. Santini describes the pair as risk-takers who both led the charge on outside-the-box thinking and let her push the limits. In their third home together, the Ackleses hit their stride, nailing a personally reflective infusion of edge, humor, and spirit.

“It goes to that having a history, having a story,” says Jensen, who, with his wife, selects works based on a gut feeling as opposed to popularity or perceived value. It’s the same way Danneel approached design. “We have so many friends who come into the house and are like, ‘Oh my gosh, I love this—it’s so crazy and unexpected. But man, I would have never picked out all these things, and I wouldn’t have been brave enough to do it!’” she says. “I’ve heard this over and over, and I wish more people would just be brave and go with what makes them happy.”

The home’s entry was designed to feel like an outdoor living space according to Santini, who sourced an 1850s English table and unusual Swedish lantern from the 1820s to anchor the room. The woven stools are from Tidelli, and the headless deer with ferns are by Italy’s Imperfetto Lab.

Architect Paul Lamb’s significant removal of walls led to a feel-good expansiveness where there are no boundaries. “It all kind of flows,” says Jensen. “You never feel like you’re in just one room.” In the media room, they did the least amount of work, painting the dark ceiling trusses to lighten the space and putting a German smear on the orange-y fireplace to tone it down.

The most Texas room in the house is the Marfa-imbued dining space, where the couple’s cherished Boyd Elder bull skull hangs. It’s part of a 10-piece series from the ’70s, the most famous of which was on the cover of the Eagles’ Their Greatest Hits album. “Back in the ‘60s and ‘70s bands on tour wanted to have an artist with them, and Boyd was like the muse for the Eagles,” says Danneel, adding of the late artist, “I believe he dated Joni Mitchell, and she has one of the pieces.”

The slightly sunken living room with the deep-blue banquette couch, white shag rug, macrame chair, and muscular oak beams is Jensen’s favorite space. “There are just so many textures in that living room and vibrant colors, and it’s all surrounded by this amazing wood. I can just sit there and pick away at a guitar or play records all day long,” he says.

Behind the sofa is a gold birdcage artwork by Austin artist Micky Hoogendijk. It’s an observation on “women who seem to be trapped by money and possessions and they’re OK with it; they like living in that gilded cage,” says Danneel. “It looks intense but when you get close to it they’re all smiling and happy and unaware that they’re in this cage because they’re gold and perfect. For me that’s just somewhere I never want to be, so I was really attracted to that.”

Danneel spends a lot of time in the babies’ room (22-month-old twins Zeppelin and Arrow) and the kitchen, where the kids’ favorite toy is a rolling acrylic table from the ‘50s. (“Fern would have a heart attack,” she laughs.) They tore the space down to nothing and built it back from scratch. “It was a totally different feel, and very kind of country looking, which didn’t blend well with the rest of the house,” Jensen says. Now, to Lamb, “the kitchen’s glossy painted wood boards look like pinstripes, crisp and good-natured, like a happy kitchen in the Hamptons.”

“There’s not a space they don’t use,” says Santini of the house she worked on with Jensen and Danneel. The reimagined pool room taps into their proclivity for spooky oddities with framed tarot cards and a game table that could work for board games or even séances, says Lamb, who added a secondary kitchen for big gatherings with access to a barbecue area on the lawn, and a wine room.

A native Southerner, Danneel fought hard for the addition of a screened-in porch, which Lamb had the vision—inspired by Greenwood Plantation in St. Francisville—to make two stories tall. “I wanted more than anything to be able to sit out there, not get eaten alive by mosquitos, and look at the lake and watch the boats go by,” says the actress. Jensen’s favorite piece in the house is the long table, custom made using a 2,000-year-old cypress log that had sunk and was buried on the West Bank of New Orleans.

The bar—black walnut with black and white veined marble—is on one end of the large living room and is the site of frequent small parties involving music, either live or from the McIntosh turntable. The cabinets were specially made to light prized bourbons, and on the side is a white taxidermy peacock Santini tracked down over months. Flooring throughout the house is hand-scraped Texas post oak with character to spare.

The master bedroom and the adjacent sitting room are clad in reclaimed barn wood, juxtaposing the whimsical wallpaper covered in sections by Japanese-inspired barn door panels that allow for flexible boundaries. Jensen said of the scheme, “You guys are losing me, but it sounds awesome, so knock it out!” Danneel already owned the two petrified wood and resin log tables that sit in front of the vintage ‘50s daybed with Mongolian lamb, though the majority of what’s in the home was selected or made specifically for it.

Inspiration for their master bathroom shower came from an Architectural Digest story featuring a steel and glass shower in the home of Neil Patrick Harris and David Burtka. Lit by Apparatus fixtures, Lamb conceived a simple vaulted space with a white oak board ceiling and fumed and cerused walnut cabinets with a slight Tansu feel. A Kyle Bunting cowhide rug is centered on the room, and Holly Hunt ombre-dyed handkerchief linen window treatments frame the lake view.

The pair’s five-year-old daughter, JJ, helped pick out all her own bedroom decor. “The more color the better,” says Danneel. Santini calls it “hippie in training.” Like in the rest of the home, her walls are plaster.

The ultra-private home looks out at a nature preserve across the water. Durable throw pillows around the house were made of old quilts purchased online. “We bought a lot of them and mixed them all up,” says Santini. “There’s nowhere in the house where you feel like you have to tip toe around or can’t sit. That was definitely intentional.”

Inside and out, Lamb and Santini ensured that the Ackleses’ Austin home “expresses them—young, bold, and irreverent. It had to be full of humorous and endearing eccentricities and it needed to radiate a comforting yet exotic familiarity.”

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#Jensen Ackles #Danneel Ackles #JJ Ackles #Zeppelin Bram Ackles #Arrow Rhodes Ackles #Ackles Home: Austin #Architectural Digest Photoshoot 2018 #*#long post for ts

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