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deadcactuswalking · 9 months

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REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 06/01/2024 (Sabrina Carpenter, Saltburn)

Content warning: Discussion of the Astroworld Festival crowd crush and brief sex references

It’s that time of year again, where all the Christmas songs flush out - no, I’m not going to list all of them as dropouts - and we get a rush of songs gaining or returning with extraordinarily high peaks at extraordinarily high rates because hey, that’s just how the chart is on the first week of January. It’s usually one of my most work-heavy episodes, but also because of the incredibly low barrier for entry on a first-week-of-January chart, it ends up pretty fun and kind of goofy sometimes, so this is actually a pretty exciting week for me, even if this episode will be lengthy to write. Regardless, Noah Kahan gets his first ever week at #1 with “Stick Season”, and welcome back to 2024’s REVIEWING THE CHARTS!

Rundown

Now, it would be really easy - and also really tedious of me - to just list all of the songs in the UK Top 75, which is what I cover, and you know, I considered doing that, but I think I’m going to be quite subjective and selective here, especially given there are less debuts this week than I expected. Just know that the vast majority of Christmas songs are no longer charting and have been replaced with, for the most part, songs that were charting in the last couple weeks. I will not be listing every return, but I will list songs that have returned to new peaks or songs that I just think are interesting or strange, including songs that haven’t charted in a while or have fascinating stories, or are just goofy little novelties of the January week, and we actually start dead-on at #75 with those.

“Take on Me” by a-ha is back. The Swedish band peaked at #2 with this track, blocked off the top by “The Power of Love” by Jennifer Rush, in 1985, and a largely inferior boy band cover by A1 spent a week at #1 in 2000 because the world isn’t fair. We actually see another #2-peaking classic pop song return to the charts this week… at #8. So - spoiler alert, even though I haven’t seen it either - the film Saltburn which was widely released a few weeks ago ends with “Murder on the Dancefloor” by Sophie Ellis-Bextor, and naturally TikTokers have Kate Bushed it to streaming success. Now you may be interested in how this song debuted at #2 in 2001 and spent two weeks there behind “Gotta Get Thru This” by Daniel Bedingfield (hot take: better song), or that this is Ellis-Bextor’s first time charting since 2014 - “Young Blood” peaked at #34 - but I’m personally more inclined to welcome the return of the man, the myth, the legend Gregg Alexander, who co-wrote and produced the song, to the top 10. Welcome back, king. Also, “Baby Shark” is at #47.

Then we just have the re-entries that reached new peaks, which is a few: “Evergreen” by Richy Mitch & the Coal Miners at #50, “FTCU” and “Pink Friday Girls” by Nicki Minaj at #41 and #30, as well as “Everybody” featuring Lil Uzi Vert at #26, “Body Moving” by Eliza Rose and Calvin Harris at #38 - still really disappointed by that one, “Surround Sound” by JID featuring 21 Savage and Baby Tate at #35, “Runaway” by Ye featuring Pusha T at #23, “One of the Girls” by The Weeknd, JENNIE and Lily-Rose Depp at #21, and of course, the GOAT, Paul Russell back at #20 with “Lil Boo Thang”, then “I Remember Everything” by Zach Bryan featuring Kacey Musgraves at #16, “On My Love” by Zara Larsson and David Guetta at #15 and “Lose Control” by Teddy Swims at #14.

As for our gains, I’m also just going to list the new peaks, as we have “Entrapreneur” by Central Cee at #36, “leavemalone” by Fred again.. and Baby Keem at #11, “Rich Baby Daddy” by Drake featuring SZA and Sexyy Red at #10 (Sexyy’s first top 10… maybe I should just call her Red), and, to my pleasant surprise, “DNA (Loving You)” by Billy Gillies featuirng Hannah Boleyn at #9. When you factor in that “Water” and “Houdini” are also here, this latter half of the top 10 is fantastic.

Then finally, in our top five, which isn’t nearly as good, we have almost a status quo ante bellum, with “Cruel Summer” by Taylor Swift at #5, “greedy” by Tate McRae at #4, “Prada” by casso, RAYE and D-Block Europe at #3, “Lovin’ on Me” by Jack Harlow at #2 and of course, “Stick Season” at #1. Now we have a smaller than expected but still… curious batch of new entries, so let’s run through whatever we have here.

New Arrivals

#71 - “MY EYES” - Travis Scott

Produced by Travis Scott, Wheezy, WondaGurl, Vegyn, Buddy Ross and Justin Vernon

I’m gently surprised UTOPIA has had this much longevity, especially considering that the album didn’t really have bonafide “hits” on it, and especially not this one: two very different ideas spliced together with possibly Travis’ most introspective bars on the record… all of those being in the second half, because in the first, he wastes our time with such inward-looking gems as “Rollie-Pollie on my wrist” and “I need no beef, no cheese, even when I eat, they cheat”. These are elementary bars. Yeah, I hated this song on release and I hate it still now. The first half is a slog, filtering a perfectly fine The Japanese House sample to compressed nothingness, as Justin Venron of Bon Iver croons incoherently with no leading melody or really any lyrics worth caring about. It perfectly embodies uncertainty, which could perhaps be intriguing if Travis hadn’t confused being abstract for being interesting so you have these arbitrary vocal effects attempting to make up for lack of substance over this drone for as long as he can stall before Sampha comes in for nine seconds more soulful than the other four minutes and change combined… seriously, what a terrible use of your Sampha. It’s not like the flashy synthscape eschewing anything memorable for “vibes” and a stagnant trap skitter after the beat switch … and amidst all the meaningless flexing, comical controlling of women, it gets kind of ugly.

Travis throws out possibly his one explicit line about the Astroworld festival disaster on the album: “I replay them nights and right by my side, all I see is a city of people that ride with me… if they just knew what Scotty would do to jump off a stage and save him a child”… and yeah, I don’t want to start this year off on such a negative note but - go to Hell. The explicitly self-centred nature of these lines and those surrounding it show a complete misunderstanding of the festival’s failures to keep people safe, with Travis wanting to be seen as the “hero”, complete his rags-to-riches story, swoop in and “save him a child” as if he’s Superman, whilst pointing fingers at the unknown “they”, which if it refers to critics is sad and if it refers to those who were at that crowd crush, is utterly despicable. Just after disgracing his critics for not looking at themselves in the mirror, he brags about how he stands on the stage and he gives them “the rage” and there’s “no turning it down”, you “can’t tame it”. But it’s not like it matters to the main character of our story, Travis Scott, because his life is just a movie, and if you lived it, you can’t blink because everything just goes crazy fast. I mean, life would go pretty fast and easy without consequences, wouldn’t it? If we’re looking forward to 2024 in popular music this week, I’m pretty confident that I want to leave this mess, and honestly, Travis Scott as a whole, far in the past.

#65 - “You’re Gonna Go Far” - Noah Kahan

Produced by Noah Kahan and Gabe Simon

Sadly not an Offspring cover, but anyway, I promise the rest of this episode won’t be as… controversial. At least Noah Kahan won’t be, right? Another track from his deluxe reissue of Stick Season, Kahan sings about knowing that letting this person leave is for the best, and they’ll go far without him and his sticks tying them down. It’s pretty self-loathing in its acoustic frolick, so I completely understand why this would turn people off... but I’m starting to grow fond of Kahan’s voice, and even through his somewhat bitter chorus and seemingly non-sequitur observations in the verses, I still quite like this. What can I say? I’m a human, I find this reassuring, especially with Kahan digging into his falsetto range surprisingly well, including on that mantra of a post-chorus. It’s almost weird how little I have to say for a song nearing five minutes, but it does feel pretty self-explanatory and the folk-rock stammer of the instrumental feels genuinely home-grown, fitting with how the narrative is strung and the connotations of them moving far away from Kahan’s more hapless rural area. At its heart, it’s a “life goes on” song, but one knowledgeable of his own fate that he sets out for himself here, one that by the outro, he seems weary of, or at least convincing himself maybe he should do the same as this person. Though left seemingly vague in terms of what the exact relation is, given some of the verses I can imagine this is about a sibling or, looking into the future, a child leaving the house for education, and it would definitely work out with the context we’re given, but I’m sure there are many interpretations of this. Mine is that the song is great regardless of them. Man, this guy is really uneven, isn’t he?

#63 - “Never Lose Me” - Flo Milli

Produced by gerreaux

So it’s about damn time Flo Milli charted. Even if I’m not a big fan of all of what the Alabama rapper puts out, she’s got a particularly vibrant personality that becomes increasingly obvious when her overdue breakout hit is essentially a remix of Babyface Ray’s “Ron Artest” with 42 Dugg which is still a pretty good song given the incessant yet timeless-sounding vintage soul loop under a trap groove sounding like it splits time between 2000s Dirty South classics and modern plugg bangers. It’s just that when you hear Babyface Ray go on for one exceedingly long verse followed by an… oddly solemn and badly-mixed 42 Dugg performance, you kind of wish Flo Milli was on the beat instead. So she just is, and it works out brilliantly. Sure, Milli isn’t saying much of interest and you could definitely see that chorus as tedious, but she’s just so much more dynamic with her flows and encompasses the mix much more effortlessly than those it was first made for. It’s mostly just about being in love with this street guy, and honestly, I’m probably overrating it when I look at it outside of its context… but man, there’s just something hypnotic about this beat. Now there are two separate remixes that helped this chart, for a little remixception, those being from Bryson Tiller, who I couldn’t imagine on this at all, but delivers very explicit sex bars with a verse that slides much more effectively than I expected… and Lil Yachty, who is such a perfect fit for this beat that I swear I see him on the original intro anyway. In fact, the Lil Yachty version was released on the same day as the original. He says “I’ma snack on your booty like Scooby”, so I think we’ve found a definitive version of “Ron Artest”.

#46 - “Toxic” - Songer

Produced by Songer (supposedly)

When I typed this into Spotify and saw the Britney Spears song of the same name, I had a sinking feeling… and sure enough, my suspicions were proved correct the moment I pressed play on the song and swiftly paused it in disappointment. This is a white guy rapping over the “Toxic” instrumental with flows and bars that sound like a pastiche of drill freestyles, as if he spent a couple weeks researching them and thinks he can do it better. The original “Toxic” spent one week at #1 in 2004 and I am not giving this dignified character-actor any time of day. Let’s just hope this doesn’t get any higher.

#40 - “Perfect (Exceeder)” - Mason and Princess Superstar

Produced by Mason

Ah, it’s been a while since I’ve been able to say this: who the Hell are these people? And in addition, why does this song have enough versions on Spotify to reach nearly 52 minutes? Also, why is this song from 2007 charting and once again, who the Hell are these people? Okay, so one at a time: this song from 2007 is charting because it was in Saltburn. Also, it technically already charted but we’ll get to that. Secondly, it’s an electro house song, of course it has that many versions. Thirdly, and this will take the longest, Mason is a Dutch DJ active since the 90s who released an instrumental jam “Exceeder” in 2006 and yes, suddenly I know this song all too well, just never by name - I always heard it as background music in ads or on the radio, but never actively listened to it. It’s fun, growling, fidgety fun with a lot of slick edges and refrains, from before electro house got too festival-ready, so it’s still a little dirty. Now here’s where it gets weird - according to the Official Charts Company’s website’s archive, this is the version that charted, peaking at #3 in 2007, behind MIKA’s “Grace Kelly” at #1 - “Starz in Their Eyes” was at #2 by the way, that’s a… trio and a half. Despite this, the article OCC wrote about the song says that this is a re-entry of “Perfect (Exceeder)”, which makes more sense to me since that version was released on Ministry of Sound and is the cover art for the song on the OCC archives, so this probably isn’t a new entry at all. If this song’s story wasn’t so weird, I’d chalk this up as an error and briefly touch upon it in the rundown, but technically, this isn’t a remix, it’s a mashup, and one from 2007, far before I started reviewing, and it was only the 44th biggest song of the UK in 2007 so it’s not like it would have returned naturally so either way you slice it, it FEELS like a new song - stretching the definition of new here - is charting here.

So who’s Princess Superstar? Well, she’s “Pennsylvania’s top female Jewish rapper”. O…kay, so her song “Perfect” from 2005 failed to chart, and it also may be one of the worst songs I’ve ever heard but hey maybe we wouldn’t have… Kreayshawn without this, so maybe I should be grateful. To be fair, she did chart in Australia, so Iggy Azalea can probably attest to being influenced by this. Therefore, I’m not grateful whatsoever. She had a minor chart hit with “Bad Babysitter” in 2002, which is somehow even worse, but someone somewhere decided to mash her failed single “Perfect” with the club jam “Exceeder” and create the malformed “Perfect (Exceeder)”, which is… a song I’ve never heard before. I have only ever heard this instrumental version, and the addition of the Princess Superstar just makes the song genuinely insufferable, at least there was a goofy novelty to the original “Perfect”, this feels like it’s taking itself half-seriously… when nobody should be taking Princess Superstar all too seriously. I don’t know, if this was the original “Exceeder”, I’d probably give it Best of the Week in all honesty, but this weird remix oddity… yeah, keep it in 2007, guys, it even has the gymnastics in the video like “Call on Me”. I don’t think we need to start with a 2024 revival of… whatever this is.

#24 - “Feather” - Sabrina Carpenter

Produced by John Ryan

Well, we started with controversy and we may end with controversy as the scandal surrounding the music video erupted… I’m going to stop pretending like I care. Madonna’s “Like a Prayer” did all this and then some decades ago, let’s just talk about the music which is… utterly serviceable. It’s a good kind of serviceable, it’s not slop, just a Dua Lipa rip-off that doesn’t like filling up space in the mix, or at least isn’t very good at it, and it leads me to like it, bizarrely enough. Despite how breezy she is, she’s desperate to fill up space with riffs and stray melodies filtered with reverb and echo over this vague funk-pop that doesn’t even have the guts to go full disco. I may have more to say about this song as the year goes on? I don’t know, I’m kind of fascinated by how I just… feel sorry for this pathetic little dance-pop song. Weird note to end on, but I mean, she’s hitting all kinds of weird notes so…

Conclusion

Strange week, as is to be expected, with a lot of interesting stories, for the better and for the worse. Okay, mostly for the worse, and Travis Scott nabs Worst of the Week pretty easily for “MY EYES” - sorry, Sampha - and that Songer doofus can get the Dishonourable Mention for his “Toxic” freestyle, I guess, but let’s just ignore that exists. As for the best, it is actually pretty difficult but I think Noah Kahan eases it out here for “You’re Gonna Go Far”, with Flo Milli - and realistically, Lil Yachty - pretty close behind with the Honourable Mention. As for what’s on the horizon… God knows. Welcome to 2024 in pop music, I’m pretty sure anything can happen. Thank you for reading and I’ll see you next week!

#uk singles chart #pop music #song review #sabrina carpenter #saltburn #sophie ellis bextor #mason #princess superstar #songer #flo milli #lil yachty #bryson tiller #noah kahan #travis scott #bon iver #sampha

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radiocity · 1 year

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actually season 2 is the peak shane/jenny season so forgive me for who i will become when i gif those

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sunnydaleherald · 2 years

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The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Thursday, February 23

JENNY: Well, I mean, I-I practically had to fold back every single page. So finally I just, I just started underlining all the pages I really wanted to discuss. GILES: U-u-underlined...? JENNY: But then, of course, I spilled coffee all over it, I can't even read it... GILES: (can't believe it) It's a first edition! JENNY: I'm lying, Rupert. (smiles) The book's fine. (holds it up) I just love to see you squirm. (hands him the book) GILES: (smiles in relief) Yes, well, I, uh... trust I gave good...squirm.

~~The Dark Age~~

The Sunnydale Herald is looking for at least one new editor. Contributing to the Herald is a great way to get your Buffy on! Find out more here.

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Dancing by disco_tea (Buffy/Spike, G)

Crystal Clear by Electroflora (Willow/Faith, T)

Dancing by disco-tea (Buffy/Spike, G)

[Chaptered Fiction]

Divide & Conquer - Ch. 1 - 2 by Removes_and_Cleans_Glasses_00 (Buffy/Giles, E)

Called Into Darkness - Ch. 8 by desicat (Buffy/Spike, E) COMPLETE!

The Wayward Bug - Ch. 3 by calikocat (Xander, crossover with "Herbie" and "Fast and the Furious", T) COMPLETE!

Old and New - Ch. 5 by RavenLove12 (Buffy/Spike, E) COMPLETE!

What Lies Within - Ch. 31 by cawthraven (Buffy/Spike, E) COMPLETE!

Zen and the Art of Vampire Maintenance - Ch. 2 by ynyseira (Buffy, Giles, Spike, T) COMPLETE!

Concentrated Sarcasm - Ch. 12 by gracerealized (Buffy/Jack, Stargate SG-1 xover, T) COMPLETE!

All That Is And All That Seems - Ch. 95 by MalkMcJorma (Faith, OMC, M) COMPLETE!

Bleeding Poetry - Ch. 67 by Dusty (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Rewrite - Ch. 23 by hopelesswanderer (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

The Scooting And The Scowling - Ch. 1 by Manchester (Fast and Furious xover, FR13)

Bleeding Poetry - Ch. 67 by Dusty (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

[Images, Audio & Video]

Gifset: [that is a great houseguest] by starryeyesxx (Spike, Xander, others, worksafe)

Artwork: dru from that dress earlier by spikedru (Drusilla, worksafe)

[Recs & In Search Of]

Reaction vids rec: love her (naj) reactions [ATS 4x01 "Deep Down" Reaction by naj] recced by bespangeled

[Fandom Discussions]

Anya Jenkins + Being like a moth to a flame (Self-destructive) by beatriceeverytuesday1

I think season 3 was peak Buffy, and from then it... [season rankings] by wikiangela

Every spuffy anti says they hate the canon comics... [pro Spuffy] by diaryofateenageslayer

Discussion of 4.10 "Hush" updated by Angelkiss

Did Oz cheat on Willow with Veruca? updated by Angelkiss

Spotted: Dru in Criminal Minds S7ep19 by lodav22

Buffy stars on cameo [messages or video calls] by Al_to_Zi

Ughh, their relationship in S7 was so awful, especially after LMPTM [Giles and Buffy] by Opening_Knowledge868

When did you first watch Buffy? by madame_mayhem

Question about vampire lore by m_mason4

OMFG Buffy is back...but she might be Evil. [SMG on Wolfpack SPOILERS] by EmotionalPhysics2038

So we know what some monsters do for fun. [poker with kittens] What else, do you think? by GoblinQueenForever

If Buffy wasn’t catatonic in 5x21, would she have been able to figure out the Ben-Glory connection? by ginime_

Submit a link to be included in the newsletter!

#ats #angel the series #btvs #buffy the vampire slayer #fan fiction #meta #fan art

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thesmithsbackyard · 2 years

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hey all. anyone wanna know my top five favorite episodes per season?? too bad, here we go!!

First off: the season counts are weird. Season one either has 7 or 23 eps and season 11 either has 3 or the normal count and the episodes on the fanwiki have 22-23 per season and thus there’s 17 but other sites have the weird count and thus there's 19 and…we’re going by the fanwiki. SOOOO:

[the christmas eps, and ten other episodes that i have...painstakingly decided are top-tier, are not on this list. gotta give the rest of the show a chance]

Season 1: francine’s flashback finances with wolves a smith in the hand con heir not particularly desperate housewives

dear god already making HARD CUTS. oh these are not in order of preference by the way. my brain would Actually break actually

Season 2: the american dad after school special dungeons and wagons joint custody black mystery month when a stan loves a woman

Season 3: stanny slickers 2: the legend of ollie's gold spring breakup office spaceman widowmaker tearjerker

Season 4: 1600 candles the one who got away one little word jack's back choosy wives choose smith

WAAAAAAHHH THERES SOOO MANY GREAT ONES NOW I AADFHDFDSGDFG GDSGFDSHFS HFHHF GHGNDGMG

Season 5: great space roaster bully for steve man in the moonbounce moon over isla island in country…club

Season 6: 100 AD son of stan jenny fromdablock stanny boy and frantastic school lies

seasons 4-6 are PEAK to me i think. hardest eps to decide between. which is weird because i still love 99% of this show i swear

Season 7: hurricane! the unbrave one stanny tendergrass wheels and the legman and the case of grandpa's key the kidney stays in the picture

Season 8:

adventures in hayleysitting national treasure 4: baby franny, she's doing well: the hole story da flippity flop blood crieth unto heaven the full cognitive redaction of avery bullock by the coward stan smith

Season 9: steve and snot's test-tubular adventure poltergasm vison: impossible she swill survive news glance with genivieve vavance

Season 10: now and gwen the shrink a star is reborn manhattan murder mystery tour holy shit, jeff's back!

Season 11: standard deviation n.s.a.: no snoops allowed the devil wears a lapel pin the unincludeds mine struggle

Season 12: portrait of francine's genitals the witches of langley camp campawanda the long bomb the bitchin' race

Season 13: paranoid frandroid shell game death by dinner party one woman swole the legend of old ulysses

Season 14: rabbit ears the long march pride before the fall enter stanman downtown

uh oh. first season where personally, love one or two, the rest is 'eh.' still not awful or anything tho

Season 15: ghost dad 100 yrs a solid fool into the woods roger needs dick tapped out

Season 16: russian doll stan & francine and stan & francine & radika mused and abused henderson dancin' a-with my cell

Season 17: last but not least??? dressed down smooshed: a love story echoes hayley was a girl scout? gold top nuts

ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh dear god lmao

there are eps that are my faves that didn't make the top five per season. especially between seasons 4-6. rabble rabble hubbub hubbub we're stopping now before i change my mind again

#american dad #jibber jabber #episode ranking #kind of

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edgewaterfarmcsa · 1 year

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CSA WEEK 14

P i c k l i s t

watermelon - roma tomatoes - garlic - poblano pepper -

Cherry tomatoes - carmen peppers - lunchbox peppers - carrots

THIS WEEK AT EDGEWATER…

We remain swimming in field tomatoes. I believe the crop of plums might be at peak, or nearing peak yields right now. The plants are dripping with fruit, and this abundance is simultaneously soul-nourishing-farmer-pleasing and totally overwhelming. Being rich in tomatoes lends itself to a real feeling of urgency. A crop based time crunch.

For one, as soon as the fruit ripens, we have only so much time until the juice of the tomato bursts through the skin and rots the fruit. The crew has done an incredible job of staying on top of the pick, however it is inevitable that some of the cherries and plums will rot before we move/sell/cook/eat them.

The second feeling of urgency comes when the weather turns and the nights move toward fall and flannel. This is that moment in between seasons that makes me want to harvest everything all the time by day and preserve via canning or freezing all the time by night. This harvest rush makes for a real crazy person (i.e. me).

This week’s CSA share 100% reflects that crazy. Please join me as we get into it and go deep with tomatoes. By Sunday I expect everyone of your countertops to be tomato splattered and every dish piled high in your sink. But come JANUARY, you will be so pleased that you followed suit and took to heart the farmy foodie canny pro-tips.

Let’s CAN people!

(wait wait let me try again)

We CAN do this!

FARMY FOODIE PRO-TIPS the canners edition:

by far my fave way of preserving cherries and plums

It is simple and the only ingredients you need are tomatoes/salt/pepper/GARLIC/olive oil.

READ ON…

Cherry, grape or small Roma tomatoes

Whole cloves of garlic, unpeeled

Olive oil

Herbs such as thyme or rosemary (optional) Preheat the oven to 225°F. Halve each cherry or grape tomato crosswise, or Roma tomato lengthwise and arrange on a parchment-lined baking sheet along with the cloves of garlic. Drizzle with olive oil, just enough to make the tomatoes glisten. Sprinkle herbs on, if you are using them, and salt and pepper, though go easily on these because the finished product will be so flavorful you’ll need very little to help it along.

Bake the tomatoes in the oven for about 3 hours. You want the tomatoes to be shriveled and dry, but with a little juice left inside–this could take more or less time depending on the size of your tomatoes.

Either use them right away or let them cool, cover them with some extra olive oil and keep them in the fridge for the best summer condiment, ever. And for snacking.

JENNY’S NOTE: Smitten’s slow roasted tomatoes stop there… but I am suggesting you take it one step further. Let’s can :)

STEP 1: Prepare your jars and lids- clean them, dry them/ get em lined up and ready.

STEP 2: Prepare your water bath (big pot with boiling water)

STEP 3-STEP 100: is an excerpt from Tart and Sweet: 101 Canning and Pickling Recipes by Kelly Geary and Jessie Knadler (Rodale, 2011). The excerpt is from Chapter 6: Summer. I am also going to provide their favorite recipe to can tomatoes in case you want to go the “whole” tomato route. However, if you want to take your newly roasted tomatoes and skip ahead to the canning part, go ahead and ladle your warm batch of tomatoes into jars, skip to bullet point 3 and proceed with the lemon juice. But do not add water- any juice leftover from your smashed down cherry tomatoes is enough!

Canned Tomatoes

• 12–15 pounds tomatoes, blanched, peeled, andcored • About 8 cups water per quart jar • 2 tablespoons bottled lemon juice (or 1 tablespoon per pint jar) • 1 teaspoon kosher salt (or 1/2 teaspoon per pint jar)

1. Leave the tomatoes whole or quarter or halve them, as desired.

2. Bring the water to a boil in a large saucepan (you may need more or less, depending on the size and cut of the tomatoes). Reduce the heat, but keep the water hot.

3. Place the appropriate amount of lemon juice and salt in each hot jar. Top with raw tomatoes.

4. Ladle hot water into the jars to cover the tomatoes, leaving 1/2 inch headspace. Check for air bubbles, wipe the rims, and seal. Process quarts for 45 minutes, pints for 40 minutes, adjusting for elevation.

YIELD: 4 quarts or 8 pints

Ok DO YOUR BEST HERE PEOPLE! I Highly recommend you get yourself a copy of this book. It is extremely user friendly and chock full of all my fave ways to preserve. Writing it one more time for the boys in the back:

Tart and Sweet: 101 Canning and Pickling Recipes by Kelly Geary and Jessie Knadler

And if you are not ready to can, but do want roast your maters go ahead and these little gems on toast, with eggs, by the spoonful, or make soup:

Roasted Tomato and Goat Cheese Soup from the cook book: lucid food

serves 4

12 ripe tomatoes

2 cloves garlic, peeled and smashed

1 yellow onion, coarsely chopped

1 tablespoon honey

2 sprigs fresh rosemary

2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar

4 tablespoons olive oil

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

1 dried bay leaf

1/4 cup fresh goat cheese

Preheat the oven to 425°F. Core and quarter the tomatoes and scoop out the seeds, reserving the seeds and cores for the stock. In a large bowl, toss the tomatoes with the garlic, onion, honey, rosemary, 1 tablespoon of the vinegar, 3 tablespoons of the olive oil, and a dash of salt. Spread the mixture on a baking sheet and roast for 40 minutes, stirring occasionally. Remove the rosemary and set aside. Combine the tomato scraps, bay leaf, and 1 cup water in a pot and bring to a boil over high heat. Decrease the heat and simmer, uncovered, for 15 minutes. Strain the stock into a bowl and discard the solids. Rinse the pot and return the stock to the pot. Add the roasted tomatoes. Bring to a boil over high heat, then decrease the heat and simmer, uncovered, for 5 minutes. Let the soup cool for 10 minutes, then pour into a blender. Add the cheese and blend until smooth. With the blender running, add the remaining 1 tablespoon olive oil. Season to taste with salt.

Garnish the soup with the remaining 1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar and a few grinds of pepper and serve.

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lydiaas · 1 year

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OMG, this little sneak peak sort of, of s2 of The Summer I Turned Pretty just dropped on Entertainment Weekly by Jenny Han, and is it July yet??!!?

https://ew.com/tv/jenny-han-the-summer-i-turned-pretty-season-2-script-page-cocoa-scene/

THIS IS SO CUTEEEE. I actually haven't even read the books so while I know the general details of how everything unfolds all these small scenes are going to be brand new for me. I cannot wait.

#tsitp

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hexonthepeach · 2 years

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dark & stormy 5: blue skies

summary: you’re a housekeeper in a seedy hotel working through the worst hurricane of the season when you’re invited to spend the evening with your two sexy but enigmatic co-workers. when you accidentally uncover their secret identities you're dragged into a darker world—one you may already know too well

pairing: jaehyun (nct) x johnny (nct) x fem!reader (code name: jenny)

genre: the late-70s/early-80s miami vice/nice guys/secret agent johnjae/reader au no one asked for or: a work of madness inspired by the infamous w korea shoot

word count: 11.6k of 63k

warnings: explicit sexual content (m/f, m/m, mmf threesome) [see chapters for detailed tags], dark themes, implied murder, drug-use (alcohol, quaaludes), drugging w/o consent, stalking, kidnapping (non-sexual), bondage, minor knifeplay/gunplay, slight age gap [y/n early 20s, jj late 20s/early 30s], y/n implied dark origins/criminal history (OC vibes but history left open for interpretation), sleep paralysis/nightmares, walk-on guest appearances from other nct members inc. sungtaro in later chapters

fic masterlist

read on AO3

chapter warnings: mild violence, descriptions of gore and suturing, a whole lotta angst, mild sir kink

“So a priest is drowning in the river when a boat comes along. No, no, the priest says, I don’t need help I have God on my side—”

The bells of the Duomo di Modena ring over the square, drowning out the next part of your partner’s joke. It’s just in time as the waiter brings your second espresso. You tuck your hair behind your ear, looking into your hand mirror, self-conscious not of the flyaways but the empty yellow cobblestone behind you.

“Grazie,” you say, adjusting your sunglasses to look over them at your partner in crime. “You’ve already told me this one before, Woo. God gets upset because he sent three boats.”

“Way to kill the punchline,” Jungwoo says dejectedly. He picks at his cornetto, long-lashed eyes flitting over you to fix on the waiter and offer them a smile. You give him a look of mock sympathy.

“You need to work on your repertoire,” you offer. “Maybe throw in a rabbi or a nun.”

“It’s not my fault you remember everything,” he says while scoping the town square behind you. “Know any jokes about nuns?”

At this hour in the morning foot traffic is at its peak, but more pigeons are navigating the entrance of a historic monument than passerbys. The Romanesque architecture reaching to the heavens seems altogether mundane when there’s tourists stepping around the cordoned blocks of stone to capture it in film.

“I promise if you have a fresh joke I’ll listen to it,” you offer as consolation.

“How about this one, it has a clown—“

“Is he me? Or the doctor?”

“No,” he sniffs, mock offended, crossing his impossibly long legs. “Maybe.”

You check your earpiece, thumbing the mic in your trenchcoat’s lapel. You leave it on, the dual echo of your partner’s mic catching the occasional car horn or loud conversation. That first sip of fine roast from the cup in your hand is enough to keep you breaking and running.

“Nervous?” Jungwoo catches you off guard, rosy lips splitting into a knowing grin.

“No,” you counter immediately, both knowing it’s a lie.

It wasn’t your fault you’d landed on the European continent with much less of a professional discipline than your previous missions. It wasn’t just that the stakes were higher, with you in charge of reconnaissance and intelligence gathering, but that you’d been sent without much of a lead.

While your partner was largely useless in physical combat he was more than talented at espionage. Agent Kim had talked you into and out of dozens of situations, and he had a nose for danger that had saved you before. But you couldn’t help but feel you were being thrown to the wolves.

The debriefing with the Deputy Director had been short and to the point: prevent the acquisition of a stolen asset at a drop somewhere in northern Italy. You’d chased leads though museums and hotels in Paris, even taken a short trip to the Alps, until a tip in Monaco. You'd been given the message while Jungwoo flirted with a Carabinieri to avoid being taken into custody at a murder scene you’d stumbled into.

“Find Guinivere stolen by a hippocampi.”

A cursory lead for research had landed you in Emilia-Romagna, conveniently the site of a festival and a scientific conference, and a cathedral with some odd Arthurian history you didn’t have time to dive into but had a gut feeling would work in your favor. You were beginning to think you’d chosen correctly.

“Eleven o’clock. The man with the newspaper he isn’t reading. He’s been at the same spot, eyeing the gate since Mass let out. I think he’ll move soon.”

“I see,” Jungwoo says, glancing over his shoulder for a moment before drinking from his Americano. “Need a scene?”

“Nothing too overt, please,” you say. You can’t help but be haunted by the incident involving a wig where he’d been dropped out of a casino by security, killing your conversation with your first lead in weeks.

“Got it,” he says with an easy smile. “You going to church?”

“Hopefully I don’t burst into flame the moment I walk in,” you sigh.

“I have a little something for you. For courage,” Jungwoo says, reaching into his inner jacket pocket. You watch as he performs a magic trick, pulling out a long length of scarf. The attention from the café residents around you is negligible but you blush all the same.

“You shouldn’t have,” you say, as he deftly folds the square of silk into a triangle. The leopard motif is immediately recognizable as an Yves Saint Laurent piece you’d eyed in Milan, pretending to be the kind of clientele who could afford it.

“For courage,” he says, reaching over the wrought-iron table and your forgotten pastry breakfast to tie it over your head and behind your high bun. “There, you look like Audrey in Charade now. Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“Do you know what’s wrong with you?” You ask him as he stands up.

“No, what?” He asks, puzzled. You let him realize you’re telling a joke by the way you pull down your sunglasses to wink at him.

“Nothing,” you quote, waiting for him to get it.

Jungwoo tips his black hat with a grin, not bothering to head for the exit of the cafe patio but instead simply walking over the low fence, making a beeline for the empty square. You finish your coffee, steeling your nerves and checking your surroundings in your pocket mirror before following in his wake.

It’s easy to become lost in the bustle, tourists mixing with the crowd leaving morning service. You keep your focus ahead but watch out of the corner of your eye as the slim man in black rounds your earlier target and stands besides him. He pulls something from his pocket and throws it on the ground.

Your cue to continue is a rush of wings as every bird in a 100-yard radius descends on a free breakfast.

“Good work,” you say into your hidden mic. “I’m going in.”

The cathedral is open between services but surprisingly empty except for a few parishioners and visitors. You cross yourself upon entering, taking a seat in the back and allowing yourself to bask in the impressive gothic vault and bare brick arches, leading to an apse illuminated in gold and quaint paintings of Christ, Mary, and saints.

Once you have your bearings you pretend to drop your purse, leaning down to scan the dark wooden benches for anything left beneath them. Within a few seconds you’ve caught sight of the steel briefcase—it was always a briefcase—towards the front and left.

“Your friend is bird-free,” Jungwoo’s musical voice is in your ear.

“Intercepting the package now,” you answer in a whisper.

“Looks like he has company.” The response spurs you to move faster, slipping out of your seat and rounding the columns so as to be out of the eyeline of the central nave. You’re almost to your goal when you see an uncharacteristic group of three men enter under the giant rose window, shadowed against the exterior.

Immediately you drop down and crawl to the case, startling an old woman sitting at the other end of the pew. You look up at her, startled, as you fight to undo the lock chaining it to a wooden leg, finally deciding to pick up the bench with a loud squeak and pull it to you.

“Scusi,” you whisper, moving past her knees and still crouched as you head towards the nearest exit on the north side. The door is right ahead of you but so is someone else, hidden in the dim corridor.

“Dove stai andando con quello?” You can see the short man reach into his jacket pocket and respond automatically: you bull rush him with the case, knocking him to the floor before turning on your heel and sprinting in the opposite direction.

“Fermala!” He calls out behind you but the other men have already split to chase, sidling down the rows and around the columns to cut off your escape. You knock down an iron candelabra to ward off the fastest of your pursuers, barreling out the massive south-side door and past the stone lions guarding the entrance.

“Fourth door, fourth door,” you repeat, veering right to head back towards the square. At the sound of the gate opening again you duck into another entryway. This side of the Duomo is much more busy, crowded with vendors and tourists.

“I’m on the north side, too much heat. Heading into the tower,“ Jungwoo says in the channel.

“It’s a little late to set up a lookout!” you hiss.

“I’ll cover you. Head to rendezvous point C.”

You bite your lip reflexively, pulling out the Beretta Compact in your trench pocket. You peer around the stone wall to see the thugs pausing a stone’s throw away, scanning the crowd. You duck back just as a shot rings out—chips of stone explode over your head, but not from the door. Two more men approach, shouting.

You’re effectively pincered. so you do the only sane thing under the circumstances and sprint into the crowded square, the second and third reports just as unnoticed over the band playing near the street.

A woman screams behind you but you can’t afford to look, knocking aside a number of people as you break free of the throng and past a row of cafes. You’re nearly taken out when the heel of your leather pump breaks in a cobblestone crack but it also saves you, another bullet zinging overhead. You turn to see the gunman aim again, raising your own weapon but two seconds too late—

He crumples to the ground without you having to fire.

“Nice shot,” you say, line of sight leading to the massive tower.

“Wish I could take credit for it.” You can hear the surprise in Jungwoo’s voice. There isn’t time to consider who else has your back, breaking off your other heel with a kick and streaking down the nearest alleyway crowded with crates and empty wine barrels. You’re catcalled by a number of delivery men sitting around smoking until you pull your gun on them.

“Can I get a ride?” you ask, Italian forgotten, commandeering the fastest looking of their scooters. You grip the case between your knees, twisting the throttle to zoom down the bumpy corridor towards the nearest road.

“Two cars in pursuit, black Mercedes, looks like they’re heading to—”

You can barely hear him over the irritating whine of the small engine, avoiding pedestrians as you break out onto a main thoroughfare trafficked with taxis. You don’t make it far before you hear the familiar rev of a car engine and horns honking, your pursuers weaving between cars to follow you.

You’d chosen your escape vehicle poorly but it did have one advantage—you bank off the road again and down a side street that turns out to be a stairway, teeth clacking as you hit each step and are yelled at with insults you save for later by an old man flattened against the wall.

“—not that direction!” Jungwoo says, but the only way out is through, holding on for dear life until you’ve finally spotted the windows of the street-level shops. You explode out of the alleyway and into traffic, swerving wildly to avoid colliding with another bicyclist. You end up in an intersection, the sound of horns exploding around you.

For a moment you’ve lost direction, facing back towards where you came from, and that’s when you see the familiar shape of a black car barreling down on you, just one block away. You head towards the next pedestrian side street but this one is at a standstill, forcing you to navigate parked cars and lose speed. Behind you the screech of tires indicates your pursuit is almost at an end—a bullet pinging into a rear windshield just two feet beside you.

“Come on, come on,” you mutter as you end up on the sidewalk, scattering people left and right and overturning carts. Somewhere nearby sirens pick up, sending your heart skyrocketing into your throat.

This was about to get much more messy, but you were trained for this, you think. You’re almost there, almost free—

A red sports car cuts off your path, swerving in such a tight turn you’re immediately braking and on your side. Luckily you weren’t going faster and the scooter is light but you’re thrown to the ground, case skidding along with you as you desperately hold on to it.

The passenger door swings open, revealing the absolute last person you want to see in that moment, as winded and battered as you are and on the verge of being riddled with gunfire.

“Hey babydoll. Need a ride?”

“Please, just pull over,” you say for the dozenth time. Outside the car windows the landscape is a yellow-green blur, each curve in the road making your head spin as Johnny takes them at breakneck speed. You’re being held hostage on your own operation, and as grateful as you are to be out of a firefight you’re only getting more angry by the minute.

“No one is following us now,” you say, “you can slow down. I need to get out of this car.”

“What are you going to do, hitchhike?” Johnny asks, more than a little sarcastically, his hand on the shifter. “Get friendly with the local livestock?”

“I said stop!”

You have to grip the dashboard, burning rubber as he brings the Ferrari Quattrovalvole from 140 kph to 0 in a matter of seconds. The screech of tires fades away until the ticking of the engine is the only sound.

“Well?” He asks, his gloved hands flexing on the wheel. “Happy now?”

“Get us off the road,” you say. “Please.”

Up ahead is a break in the crumbling stone wall fence and he pulls the car out of its wide spun-out turn, idling into the dusty entrance of an orchard. You fly out of the passenger seat well before the engine’s cut off, immediately dropped into the pink embrace of a pastoral fantasy—ancient cherry trees in full bloom.

A small band of sheep watch you curiously from down the row as you do the only thing you can to let out your frustration: you scream.

The sound echoes for what feels like miles. Once you’ve regained your composure you turn to find Johnny losing it, laughing like he’s seen the funniest thing in his life. His body shakes with suppressed laughter as he leans against the red roof of the sportscar, tall enough that it barely provides cover when you remove one of your ruined shoes and launch it at his head.

“Shut up!” you yell. Johnny barely manages to duck, doubling over.

“I won’t say a word.” He raises his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender once he’s through his fit. You throw your other shoe at him, going wide enough that he collapses again in mirth.

“I had it under control,” you say, no longer embarrassed. “I would have made it on my own.”

“I never doubted you,” he says, walking around the car. “Just figured you could use a faster way out.”

Johnny is dressed much more casually than you’d expect for the kind of asshole who could take a new Ferrari straight out of the factory: tight jeans and leather jacket over an incredibly loud Versace shirt . He lifts his Wayfarers to wipe the tears from his eyes, as always amused at your expense.

“If you didn’t doubt me then what in the hell are you doing here?” you shout. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Istanbul?”

You turn away from him to hide your expression. You didn’t mean to let on that you knew where he was. You certainly couldn’t let him know that you always knew where he was, thanks to your contacts in the Agency.

“Had a break in the schedule and a craving for Bolognese,” he says. You automatically register the smug tone in his voice and wish you had another shoe to throw.

“Did the Director tell you to come?” You ask, rounding on him again.

“Absolutely not.” He shakes his head, more seriously.

“It was his idea then.” The words feel like acid on your tongue.

Johnny doesn’t respond.

“You think I don’t know about you shadowing me in Mexico City? New York? Wasn’t Iceland enough for you?”

His face doesn’t give away anything but you watch his jaw shift, smile fading.

You continue, emboldened by finding blood and grit on your leg from where you’d skidded across the pavement.

“Is this how it’s going to be, then? You just conveniently pop up every time I’m on assignment like the world’s most unemployed superspies?”

“Listen—“

“You know who gets yelled at? Me!”

Your voice upsets the sheep not scared off by your scream, their belled necks ringing as they move out of range of your anger.

“Internal Security drilled me for an hour about going rogue, and I covered for you! I really thought I was compromised in Reykjavik. Do you know how hard it is to lose two dedicated agents on an island the size of Kentucky?”

“It was impressive,” he admits, not hiding that feline look of amusement.

“I bribed my way onto a fishing boat in a storm,” you yell, pacing in your ruined pantyhose. “They had to extract me from Finland. Qian thought I was defecting.”

“I’m sorry—“

“No. You’re not. You had no business being there,” You cut him off, voice shaking with unleashed anger. “I’m tired of being part of whatever twisted little game you’ve concocted. I’m not here to be your plaything. Or your damsel in distress.”

You pull your hand through your hair, relieved to find your scarf still there but realizing how wild you must look, raving on about your silly little adventures in avoidance.

Johnny is uncharacteristically quiet, eyes on the old road as he considers what to say next.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, finally. “I never thought of it as rescuing you. Or playing a game.”

He sounds so distant it makes you walk back a little of the anger that had been building in you. It’s been there since your first field assignment, when your instinct that you had an invisible tail had proven right. At first you’d chalked it up to standard oversight, but then it had happened again. And again. The fuse had finally caught when you’d been dressed down for it.

Surely you could have dealt with it sooner—you could have confronted him before you left for this trip. But old habits die hard, and you’d gone out of your way time and time again to dodge him.

“What was the reason, then?” You ask.

You watch him squint up at the cloudless sky, brushing back the black-dyed hair that’s fallen over his forehead.

“Professional curiosity.” He looks at you again, almost wistfully. “Chasing you around the globe wasn’t all my idea.”

“Of course,” you say, exasperated.

You knew who was really causing you grief in this scenario—Johnny would have just been dragged along. The certainty of it makes you feel guilty for venting your frustrations on him, but also a little heartsick.

You weren’t that important to him, after all. Just another fling.

The NCTA didn’t have a strict hierarchy but it was clear within a few months he was at the top of those in field action, if not actually in charge. As such, he was frequently brought in to do supervision on new agents or missions. An unavoidable eventuality in your case.

It had been so easy for him to slip into his role with you in the handful of unavoidable home office encounters. He’d been nothing but kind, willing to joke and flirt in his usual, offhand manner. Not once had he danced close to confrontation. You’d been grateful but it had nagged at you how little he seemed to care.

You remember the first time you’d been in a shared briefing, the sharp smell of his cologne from a few seats down triggering sense memories so potent you’d gone to smoke on the rooftop afterwards. Or your anniversary dinner last autumn when you’d brushed into him joining the others on your way to the coat check, finding yourself caught in his easy stare like a moth pinned to a board.

Every time you’d heard him laugh in another room, or seen him walking around with that maddening self-assurance on the way to another meeting, you’d felt like your entire world was spinning off-axis.

It had been a long time since you’d felt so small, back in a worn-out uniform with bleach burns on your knuckles. You didn’t like feeling that way, not after everything you’d been through to succeed in this new life.

“Are you putting down roots here or are you ready to go?” Johnny asks gently, breaking your reverie. He opens the passenger door for you.

“Where are you taking me?” you ask. You’re not letting your guard down, now.

“That was too coordinated of a situation to be bad luck on your part. Best to lay low for the next few days. I’ll take you up north to a safehouse and do the hand-off for you.”

He notes your pinched brow and continues, “We would have been called in regardless. This is above your paygrade.”

“What about Agent Kim?” You knew better than to abandon your partner, even if it seemed there wasn’t much you could do without help.

“He’ll be fine,” Johnny says, cracking a careful smile. “He has back-up.”

You feel the disdain twisting your face but he doesn’t say anything, pulling his sunglasses down again.

“It’s a long drive. Do you mind if we take it to speed?”

“Go as fast as you like,” you offer, slipping back into the plush leather seat and taking the time to brush off the bottoms of your feet to free them of crushed cherry blossoms before you close the door.

“Thank you,” the words slip from your mouth unbidden.

“For what?” He asks, incredulously.

You shrug. “For giving me a moment to think.”

You roll down the window to finally pay attention to your surroundings, lost in bird song and the light breeze sending pink confetti-like petals to the ground. “It really is beautiful here.”

“It is,” he says, leaning towards you, his arm brushing against your chest. You stiffen only to find he’s reached across you to pull the seatbelt tight, buckling it smoothly.

“You’re welcome.”

The engine purrs into life and you’re back on the way towards your destination, a new kind of tension keeping the words you wanted to say and the stray feelings of remorse buried deep inside of you.

Hours later finds you well out of the endless cycle of farmlands and vineyards, and back into a coastal city that you only recognize as Verona from signage and the maps you’d memorized. Buildings made of time-grayed stone blend into one another past your open window, the evening air redolent with spring flowers and the promise of rain.

The safe house is a narrow two-story number with a view of muddy river waters, illuminated gold by the setting sun and the warm glow from former gas lights. Johnny has already told you where to find the key and how to avoid the ancient landlady in the apartment below, but he doesn’t move from his seat even when you say your farewell.

You find yourself leaning down beside the car, unsure how to conclude.

“Will you be coming back?” you ask. You can’t hide the almost hopeful quality of the question, your heart racing in your chest.

His face is hidden to you in the dim light, hands gripping the wheel and shift stick again. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“Thank you, again,” you say, in lieu of something more apologetic, or pleading.

“You’re right, you could have handled—”

“No,” you say quickly. “I’m glad you were here. I needed you—I mean, we needed you there.”

He seems to want to say something but after a pause he shakes his head, eyes on the road.

“I’ll see you back at HQ,” he says. “Get some rest.”

You step back and watch him drive away, feeling the first raindrops begin to spatter on to the warm stone beneath your feet. You’re soaked through by the time you remember to go inside.

It’s midnight when the pounding on your door begins and you rush to the heavy wooden door to open it, heart racing and gun hidden under a silk robe that had been part of the surprisingly stocked complement of the house.

Your spirits fall a little when you hear it’s a woman yelling in Italian–most of it unrecognizable but for some of the curse words you’d picked up in your travels.

“Oh mio dio,” the old woman says when you finally open the numerous locks. She appears to have been woken up, hair in curlers and just as similarly dressed for bed.

“Posso aiuturla?” You ask, hiding behind the door.

“Le tue scarpe,” she says, thrusting a glossy bag through the opening before making her way back down the stairs, lamenting just as loudly as she had through the door.

You place the delivery on the wooden table, next to the remnants of a cold dinner of meats and cheese and slightly stale bread, along with the bottle of Barolo you’d found in the en-suite kitchen.

There’s no label on the box but inside is a beautiful pair of handmade leather heels, the quality better than anything you’d buy even with your generous salary. You’re still burdened by the spendthrift nature of a survivor, not sure if such beautiful things are meant for you.

You try them on, not surprised when they fit perfectly.

Your grandmother had once told you never to give shoes as a gift, that the person would walk out of your life. Just a silly superstition, you thought, but it makes you quickly take them off, feeling a little dumb for walking around in them while mostly naked.

Another knock on the door has you back without a second thought, expecting to find the landlady.

The stranger darkening your doorway in a motorcycle helmet doesn’t wait, breaking through the unclosed locks to force his way in. You kick the door closed but it’s wrested open, and you reach behind you for anything that can save you.

“Y/N,” the person says, raising their hands.

The safety on your Beretta is already disengaged, finger taut on the trigger expecting the heavy pull of a double action. You don’t relax, putting space between you and the open door, the knife on the table calling just as surely as the gun in your hands.

Slowly, carefully, they remove their helmet.

You’d had a gut feeling just from their build but you gasp a little when you see the bruising on that familiar face, blood streaking the left side of his jaw.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, not lowering the weapon.

Jaehyun drips water onto the floor, hands still raised. He turns to close the door and lock it, as if forgetting you’re there, discarding his helmet on the table as he checks the window over the sink and closes the lacy curtains.

You lower the gun as you follow him around the old suite, struck dumb. Jaehyun turns off the bedroom light before closing the open balcony door, cutting off the white noise of rain outside.

“Were you followed?” You ask in a panicked tone—not just from the circumstances but because you’re alone with him in the tiny space, your eyes still adjusting to the lack of light.

“No,” he finally says, peering through the space in the drapes. His answer doesn’t instill you with confidence.

“What happened?”

You follow him into the tiny bathroom with its claw foot tub, watching as he turns out the light even though the only window is high-placed and just big enough for ventilation. The candle you’d lit for your bath still flickers on the shelf, allowing you to see the look of pain on his face in the mirror when he removes motorcycle jacket, revealing the familiar glossy crimson of blood soaking through his dress shirt.

“My god,” you exhale. “Sit down before you pass out.”

You can’t chide him for coming here instead of going to a hospital or a back-alley doctor; you know that’s out of the question in your line of work. Instead you set the gun down and retrieve the field medic bag from its usual place in the closet, sneezing from the dust that coats it.

You return to find him slumped against the sink, wet hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and blood.

“I’m going to need more light,” you say. You reach to flip the switch but are stopped by his hand on your back.

“It’s not bad,” he says. “Just looks bad.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” you say, ripping off his ruined shirt. Underneath you find an ugly, deep gash through his shoulder blade, a graze by the looks of it–no exit or entry wounds, just a powder burn. Whatever he’d gotten into had happened in close quarters. You knew him well enough now that it had to have been a last resort.

“You idiot,” you say, cleaning the edges of the wound with an alcohol-soaked wad of gauze. “Why are you here?”

What possessed you to ride two hours in the rain just to bleed all over my bedroom? Is what you want to ask, but you hold your tongue.

A sharp sound escapes his teeth as you debride his wound without warning him, continuing once you have assurance he’s still conscious. You’re a little more careful as you dab at the exposed muscle, watching his back twitch with each touch, but he doesn’t complain again. He’s hunched over, almost penitent, as you work.

Jaehyun whispers something inaudible, and you have to lean in to hear him repeat it.

“Wanted to make sure . . .”

“You could have called, you know. This place has a secure line.”

“. . . I’m glad you’re okay,” he mumbles.

“Stay with me, there’s no way I can carry you,” you say loudly, throwing the ruined towel in the sink. “I’ll need to do sutures. Can you get to the bed first?”

It’s a fight to help him up, his mass so much bigger than you remember it, but you make it to the small bed, helping him remove his heavy boots before he collapses. The bed cover stains immediately, his clothing dripping watercolor pink patches into the old fabric.

Even if he isn’t in a position to fight you about it you throw your scarf over the nightstand light before clicking it back on. It’s your only illumination as you drink from the wine bottle to steady your hands. No training on banana peels could prepare you for your first attempt at stitches on living tissue, and as much as you think you’re prepared your first subject is too precious for trial.

“I don’t have a topical anesthetic in here,” you say, rummaging one last time through the bag for a vial to match the needles inside. “Can you handle it?”

His face is turned away from you, but you think he assents.

“I’m sorry,” you say, digging in with your silver hook.

Each pull of the needle through his dermis makes your spine tingle with sympathy, but you manage to close the wound. He endures the pain face-first in a pillow, not making a sound until you’re done and cleaning up your hands and the mess in the bathroom.

“Thanks,” Jaehyun says, finally, voice muffled.

“You’re going to want to get that restitched by a professional,” you say. “Turn over.”

You help him onto his side, checking the wounds on his drawn face and opting to treat them topically. Most of the blood you clean from his neck and chest appears to be from an unknown source. You don’t want to think about that–how much you’d give to have been by his side when he’d given them hell.

“Is Kim alright?” You ask. He blinks against the cotton swab you’re using to apply ointment to his cheek.

“Yeah,” he says. “He made it to the rendezvous.”

“Thank you,” you say, repositioning him to cover your shoddy work with dressings. His skin is soaked with sweat by the time you wrap another layer of gauze around it.

“I missed you,” he says, once you’ve met his eyes. They’re a little glassy but he seems awake, searching your face for a response. You don’t allow the words to touch you, just feeling them in your gut, like you’ve been weighed down with stones.

“I know,” you murmur. “So you and Johnny were there the whole time?”

“I missed you,” he repeats. You check his forehead for fever but he catches your hand, pulling it to his bare chest. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

You pick a crust of blood from under your fingernail, reaching for the wine bottle again.

“You’ve never scared me,” you say. Yes, you’re scared, right now–for different reasons. You know better than to show it.

“Why did you leave, then?” he asks.

You offer him the bottle rather than answer, turning your face away. You listen to him get up, propped against the pillows, and fight the flinch when his cold hand closes over yours to take it. His touch lingers after you’ve let go.

“It was easier than saying goodbye,” you admit. A tear leaks out of the corner of your eye, and you quickly wipe it away on your sleeve. “I’m sorry for stealing your watch.”

His fingers brush your cheek, bringing you back to look at him again. He’s a portrait of quiet regard in the half-light, lashes low over his dark eyes as he takes you in.

“Don’t apologize for that. I wanted to give you more.” Free of the blood you can see that creasing in his cheek where his dimple is, the one you’ve only seen when he was truly happy.

“I know.” You can’t fight the tears anymore, so you let them drip down your nose and onto the bedspread. “I couldn‘t. I can’t.”

That’s as honest as you can be, with him and with yourself. Trust was not something you’d ever had, not even with family, not with friends, and certainly not with a stranger you’d known mostly in your periphery for one summer.

You hadn’t lied when you’d said you wanted to know him better, but what you had hidden was even worse: you didn’t want him to know you. Not your weaknesses, or your loneliness. And certainly not the magnet-like pull you’d felt every time he was near, even when he was just a ghost on the edge of your world.

It was easier to pretend it was something physical, something temporary.

Something never to be spoken of again.

Your face is buried in your hands when he pulls you into a careful embrace, pulling you into the wedge between his head and uninjured shoulder. There’s a featherlight brush of lips on your temple, just the smallest gesture but it unburdens some of what’s been weighing you down for as long as you can remember.

“Can we start over?” He asks.

You let out a trembling breath, catching your tears before they can slip through to his collarbone. “Are you and Johnny going to let me be?”

“I didn’t . . .“ he begins. “Do you know why we got you into the Agency?”

“Just figured you wanted something more,” you say. Something I couldn’t give you, you think.

“We didn’t want you to feel like you were alone anymore.”

The feral part of you is clawing and spitting at the idea of being taken care of. You let the hand on your hair quiet her into submission, until you feel ready to speak again.

“I need to know that I belong here on my own terms, by my own merit.”

He sighs. “You do.”

“I mean it,” you say, sitting up to make your point. “I can’t be your . . .“

Your words die on your tongue. You’re shocked to see his eyes are as red as yours must be, his jaw ticking with emotion.

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just wanted to be with you?”

The blood drains from your face as you watch him break. He covers his eyes, head knocking against the headboard as he tries to keep it together. You can't miss the tracks of wetness on his cheekbone, mingling with the rain and sweat that’s collected there.

Not once had you ever seen him this undone. The rawness of his emotion terrifies you.

“I felt so stupid,” he says, smiling ruefully beneath his arm. “You needed space but I didn’t know how . . . I guess I had this idea that if you had a choice you’d come back to me."

He swallows the thickness that's built up in his voice. "But you didn’t.”

The lump in your own throat isn’t going away anytime soon. You feel heavy, made of lead for how little you can react to him in this different kind of crisis.

“Every time I saw you it felt like I made it worse,” he says. “After that day at the shooting range I knew . . . ”

That day had never been one you could bury: the first and last time you’d spoken to him since Florida. You’d had plenty of warning on who would be your combat arms instructor in the first months of intensive training, and you’d gone to your assignment with the iron resolve to see the course through.

Jaehyun had been waiting for you, field-stripping an impressive, long-range rifle. The silhouette of his shoulders and his bent head against the green of the firing range were just as natural to your landscape as if he had been in that hotel room again, palm slapping against a malfunctioning TV. You'd stood there, as speechless and uncertain, waiting for him to turn around.

Toughen up, toughen up, toughen up. The words repeating in your head had done zero except distract you from the simplest thing you could have done: just say ‘hello.’ You’d watched the careful smile disappear from his closed mouth, replaced with cold politeness, and a part of you had gone with it.

You made mistake after mistake, occupied with even just the smallest changes of distance between you physically, unable to hide your distraction. He hadn’t reprimanded you. Maybe that was worse, seeing his face screw up with disappointment at every wide shot, repeating the same instruction in a flat voice.

The next day he was gone—a temporary reassignment the Deputy Director said, but one that never finished. You’d trained with Agent Nakamoto instead, grateful for the new teacher even if he was less forgiving in his own brand of quiet discipline.

“I was sure you hated me,” he says, voice strained. “But it was worth it. It felt like there was something broken inside of me, and the thought that you might be happy and safe fixed it.”

You shake your head, knowing the damage can’t be undone.

“I’m sorry for being your shadow." He sinks into the pillows, staring at the ceiling. "I can leave you alone, if that’s what you want. Johnny makes it look so easy, man, but he’s not okay either. He’s just better than me at hiding it—”

“I’ve never hated you,” you speak, at last, still stuck a few sentences prior. “I loved you.”

Jaehyun is unable to process the words, rolling over. “What?”

“I left because of that,” you're unable to repeat it. “That’s what scared me. Not you, not what happened.”

“But you—why . . .“

“I didn’t know you. Didn’t know what you saw in me. I still don’t believe it,” you say, getting up and putting distance between you so you don’t lose the slim shard of confidence behind your confession.

“I figured I’d get some relief in knowing what you really were like once I joined,” you admit. You pace, bare feet catching on cracked tile. “Like every awful thing I’d made up in my head to distance myself was true.”

Your fingernails are digging into your arms, trembling despite the solace of finally saying it out loud. You can’t look at him, eyes dry but your lip is chewed to stinging. Jaehyun is silent in that old, familiar way, emboldening you.

“The worst part is . . . I think you're actually a good person.”

Everyone had stories about him—even that asshole Donghyuck had showered Jaehyun in praise, once you’d earned his trust. The bitterness at hearing your ex-lover’s name had dwindled until you’d stopped leaving the room or—in Jungwoo’s case—asking for silence. You’d listened to every passing aside, every heroic yarn, registering the admiration and awe as if it was your first time encountering it.

All you’d found out was already there in your memory: his quiet perseverance and kindness, his odd sense of humor. He had a willingness to do the worst work for no reward, regardless of how much it distanced himself, unable to understand why it brought others closer.

All things you’d seen but willingly would have blinded yourself to if it meant you could move on.

“You weren’t my secret friend on a bus bench anymore. Or something more, you know. You were perfect and untouchable and larger than life and I was just . . . I’m just me.”

The words hang, growing more pathetic as you realize what you’ve said. There wasn’t another person on the planet that could make you question yourself that way. You feel more wrung out than the towel in the sink, and just as dirty.

“But that’s all I wanted,” Jaehyun says, right behind you. “Just you.”

You hadn’t even heard him get up. He’s so close the heat of his body feels like burning. He has a fever, you think, but before you can turn around he’s wrapped around you, face in your hair.

“Why?” You ask, voice tremulous.

“Because you trusted me, even when you shouldn’t have. You protected me.” His arms are tight around your own, practically crushing you. Somehow, you don’t feel trapped.

“Where do we go from here?” you ask aloud.

“Don’t know,” he says, head resting on your shoulder. “But I know that I . . .”

You reach up in reassurance, finding his forehead cold and clammy. In the time it takes for you to turn he’s somehow grown heavier, your knees buckling under the weight.

“You need to lie down,” you say, gently. “You’re going into shock.“

“I–” he says, eyes fluttering into his head. He collapses, taking you with him.

For once you’re grateful for the excruciating regimen the Agency has put you through—you manage to put up a fight before you reach the floor.

Jaehyun barely responds as you elevate his legs with a pillow, making you rush to the icebox for the emergency saline storage you hope isn't expired. Another day, another first: this time finding the vein in his death-pale arm so you can feed the IV line in.

You think it’s enough to abet the hypovolemic shock but you pick up the phone and dial the emergency code all the same. You’d never forgive yourself if something happened to him, and you’re sure Johnny wouldn’t let it rest for your natural lives, either.

Now that he's in repose you can tell it’s not just the trauma written on his face that's made him look so different. He's lost weight and his hair has grown out past his ears, messy over his forehead. He looks like a boy again. One you’d never know but might learn, in time, if he let you.

“I love you, too,” you finish for him, resting your cheek against his chest as you check his breathing, the slow but steady beat of his heart in your ear.

They called it the Tiger’s Den, and though you’d never been called up here before, you’d always known it was an inevitability. Like walking through the gates of Hell when you eventually met your end. Hell has to have some nice places, you think. Maybe you'd get a nice desk in Limbo.

You’re just beginning to feel at ease when the secretary in the spacious front office gives you a look like you’re meant for the deepest reaches.

She picks up the telephone, buzzing the interoffice. “Director? Juliet is here. Yes. Yes, I know. Of course, sir. Your 15:00 is postponed.”

She places the receiver down, leading you to the door and punching in an elaborate code.

“You can go in,” she nods. “Director Lee and Agent Suh are expecting you.”

You open the double doors into the office hesitantly, like you’re moving underwater. You’re immediately struck by how vast the space is, the late-afternoon sun outlining the topography of the city in gold past a wall of windows.

It's beautiful, you think, less sterile and brown than the rest of the headquarters—a testament to the mid-century period the Agency was founded in. The Director's taste is immediately obvious in the vibrant Joan Mitchell piece on the showcase wall behind his imposing and yet very empty desk.

You find the gray-haired man sitting casually at the conference table. He’s much younger than you expected, or it could just be the way he looks and is positioned: legs akimbo and leaned back.

Director Lee studies the projector feed in front of him, horn-rimmed glasses halfway down his nose, seeming to come back to reality only after you've made it a few feet away from him.

“Hello, sir,” you say, giving him a half bow. Keeping your attention on the agency head is the only possible distraction you have from the six-foot-something demon on the corner of your vision. You don't turn to acknowledge him, sure one look will break your manufactured calm.

“Hello, Y/N, so glad to finally meet you.” Director Lee’s voice is gentle, if a little distracted. He’s smaller than you expected, too, blinking up at you owlishly from where he sits in front of a pile of microfiche.

“It’s an honor, sir,” you say with utmost conviction, reaching out to take his slender hand in a polite handshake before dropping back.

“Agent Suh.” You nod in the other man’s direction, trying to remain neutral.

The attempt is futile, at best; Johnny is staring at you with his usual reserved but in-on-the-joke expression. You’re not surprised when he looks you up and down while nodding in return.

You’d prepared yourself for this meeting like it was going to be your last on earth, getting an emergency fitting of a black suit dress from one of the Agency’s recommended vendors. You know you look better than usual, but you can’t tell how he feels about it.

You size him up as surreptitiously as possible. Johnny is in a midnight navy three-piece, his longish bronze hair tucked back behind his ears. It's more than a little embarrassing to find yourself staring at him, pretending to study the schematics on the screen behind him.

“You two know each other, I hear?” Director Lee breaks the tension with little regard for either of you as he reads through pages.

“Yes, sir. Agent Suh was kind enough to provide my original referral. I wouldn’t be here without him,” you say. The double-meaning is underscored by your lips twitching.

You don't know what to expect but it certainly isn't the way Johnny immediately relaxes, smiling easily as he places a hand on the back of one of the replicate Eames chairs circling the polished wood table.

“Good to see you again, Jenny.”

The warmth in his eyes gives you pause. It didn’t look like he was expecting you to take a lashing—unless he found it funny. That had to be it, you think.

“Good, good. Moon speaks highly of your work, says you’re a natural.” The Director assesses you, finally. “Do you know why we called you in here?”

You wonder if this is a trick question, your carefully planned admission and apology forgotten.

“I expect it’s to go over our failure in Modena, sir.” You keep your voice and face clear of anxiety.

“Failure?” Director Lee looks at the other man quizzically.

Johnny only shrugs. “The intercept, sir.”

“Oh, you mean the firefight, in the middle of a packed city in broad daylight. The one with multiple casualties, including my best agent?" Director Lee doesn't have to raise his voice to instill terror in you, but it's clear he's directing his sarcasm at the other man in the room.

He pinches the bridge of his nose above his spectacles. “No, we reviewed that already. Agents Suh and Jeong have taken responsibility for compromising the mission and will be reprimanded accordingly.”

“Sir?” You sway a little in your heels, taken aback.

“Consider my report a formal apology, Agent L/N,” Johnny says, gesturing to the pile of paperwork in front of him. “We went off-plan without informing you in advance and were flagged by the other party.”

You stare at him, waiting for some continuation of the punchline.

“You and Agent Kim couldn’t have known what you were getting into,” he says. “Think of it like walking into a mousetrap set for a bear.”

“Kun give you an earful, I expect?” Director Lee asks, taking a drink from the delicate china cup in front of him.

“Yes, sir,” Johnny nods, solemnly. You see the twist at the corner of his mouth that indicates he's enjoying this.

“Good. Make sure Jae checks in with him once he’s discharged from Medical, otherwise he’ll send me another one of those awful memos.” Director Lee shudders visibly as he sets down his tea, turning to you.

As clouded as his expression is, he looks at you much more kindly. "You have nothing to be concerned about, L/N. Your quick thinking saved the day, we have what we need.”

You wish you could feel relieved but the reminder of Jaehyun’s stint in the hospital has you sinking into the polished granite floor.

It'd been over a week since you watched him loaded into the Agency’s emergency transport in the early hours before dawn. The lack of communication had worn you down but you’d also done little to move past it, only confirming he was safe. Medical was strictly off limits as part of the wing of research laboratories and you told yourself you didn't have the clearance, much less a valid reason, to check in on him.

You were getting good at lying to yourself, these days.

“Thank you, sir,” you say. “I appreciate your trust—“

“Oh yes, so why you’re here,” Director Lee stands up and looks awkwardly around, searching the table for something before flitting to his desk.

Johnny turns away, coughing to cover his amusement.

“Here we are,” the older man says, pulling something from his briefcase and offering it to you across a surface covered in oddities and stacks of files.

“We don’t have much by way of ceremony here for promotion to acting field agent status, but this should do. Congratulations, Agent Y/N.” Director Lee nods at you, his small face pleased. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you, sir,” you say, opening the case. You stare at the silver and black timepiece inside, stomach twisting. It’s a similar make to one you’d traded in at a Miami pawn shop almost two years ago, smaller and elegant enough for your build. You already know what the custom engraving on the back will look like but you don't take it out, feeling empty.

“You’re going to want to run by the lab and have Dr. Huang help set it up, it being a new model and all.” The Director checks his own watch, shutting his briefcase. “Sorry. I have a previous appointment I'm already late for."

Your shock of not being berated but rather being graduated now shifts to something you're far less sure you can handle.

"Agent Suh will fill you in on the next mission,“ he says, buzzing past you.

“Is Deputy Director Moon joining us?” You ask aloud, already knowing the answer.

“He’ll no longer be your point person,” Director Lee says, waving off your offered closing handshake from ten feet away. “Feel free to use the office for as long as you need.”

“We’ll be out of your hair in no time,” you blurt out in his wake, watching him dart through the doors you’d just come through. As much as you’d imagined your first meeting with the Director going differently you’re unsurprised by his departure; it was common knowledge he kept an impossibly busy schedule.

“Have a seat,” Johnny says once the massive room is empty. You turn back to him slowly, watching him as you take your place at the table, choosing an empty chair far from the Director’s.

“It’s good to see you, too, sir,” you say. He doesn’t respond to the affectation, his profile colored black-and-white by the plans projected on the massive screen behind him.

“Have any questions about Italy?” Johnny asks. He slides a folder across the table to you with a flick of his wrist, still standing.

“No, sir. Is there anything mission-critical I missed in the debrief?”

“Nothing that won’t cover,” he says, nodding at the file. Some of the tenseness you feel slips away.

“How are you doing, Y/N?”

The question catches you off-guard, drawing your attention away from the xerocopy.

No one has asked you anything personal in your time in basic field training, you certainly didn’t expect that level of disclosure now. It’s not like he’s asking it with the tone of someone who knows your answer. No, you suspect he’s probing for an honest reply.

“More than fine,” you say after catching your breath. “I like it here, sir.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He smiles. You can tell it’s not in his eyes by the lack of creasing at their corners. It should feel strange to be able to read him so well after so long, but even in Italy you’d sensed it—a familiarity that no formality could kill.

“Do you have any questions?” he asks, deliberately.

It’s so subtle, the way his eyes drop to your mouth and then back up again, but your heart skips a beat as if he’d touched you with a look. More than a touch—like he’d run his hand down your face. You quash that impulse as quickly as you can, trying to focus.

“No, sir,” you say. Your heartbeat feels like it’s louder than the hum of electricity from the projector. “Do you . . . do we need to go over anything?”

Johnny moves across from you, bisected by distorted gray lines. He picks up a dossier, nodding at its twin within your reach. “Nothing that isn’t mission-critical.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Stop calling me ‘sir’,” he says, voice suddenly cold.

You blink up at him, again frozen mid-scan of the report. His usual air of joviality is gone and replaced with displeasure. This is new to you, and not altogether unwelcome.

“My promotion couldn’t have been that good,” you venture. “Sir.”

Johnny crosses his arms, suit straining against the tension in his wide shoulders. “Now who’s playing games?”

Heat flares in your cheeks. The words slip out of your mouth before you can calm down. “Did you lie about compromising the mission in Modena?”

“No,” he says, flatly. You give him a withering look, waiting for him to laugh it off or at your expense, but he’s just as stiff as before. “Scouts honor.”

“Good,” you sigh.

“Good? Not going to throw another shoe at my head for almost ruining your first op?"

You don’t have a response, looking down at your feet to escape his scrutiny. This is why you hadn’t wanted to be placed with him so many times before–you felt like an open book in front of him, incapable of hiding how you felt.

“I don’t think I can do this.” Your thoughts are unfiltered as you shift in your seat.

“A mission brief or . . .”

“Work with you.” You know the words hit him hard, but the blow circles back to you. Guilt immediately wells up inside you, fizzling the rage you've begun to feel. Out of the corner of your eye you see him drop the file, hand running through his hair.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.” He waits for your response before continuing, but your tongue is firmly tied. “If it’s about what happened before, I can promise that it isn’t going to affect any working relationship–”

“It’s not about that,” you blurt out. “I just don’t think I’m a good fit for this team.”

His eyes narrow. “I hate to break it to you, but there’s only one team for active field agents. And you’re on it now.”

“I can ask for a reassignment,” you say lightly, moving to get up. ”I’ll put a petition in with the Director tonight.”

“Running away, again?” It’s not the barb that makes you stop but the way Johnny says it, more bitter than cruel. You find yourself wishing it was the latter, so you could be angry at him, at anyone but yourself.

“Please just sit down.” He exhales loudly.

“I’m not running . . .“ you begin, unconvinced by your own words.

“Consider it an order, then,” he says, quietly. “I’m still your supervising agent, for as long as that lasts.”

You comply, hands gripping the arms of your chair to keep it from rolling back.

“I promise I’ll make the transfer request, myself, if it’s necessary.” Johnny paces around the table, leaning against it a reasonable distance away. “But you have to tell me why.”

Because you can barely concentrate when he’s around? Because you have to remember how to breathe when he’s in the same room? None of it is acceptable even without your line of work, where distraction is deadly. That professional distance had been there before and you know he can maintain it.

It’s all down to you.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? You can’t even be mad at him for the right reasons, that coal-like lump in your chest not squashed pride or indignation. The more you try to stoke it the more you understand how petty it really is.

The one time in your life where you’re required to pretend to be someone else, the one thing you’re good at, and you can’t be. Instead you’re an exposed nerve, unable to meet the eyes of the person standing next to you. You realize he’s turned the projector off when the only sound in the room is the ticking of the watch on the desk, somehow loud beneath the closed lid.

“I just don’t want to be a liability,” you say.

“You’re not a liability.” Johnny sounds bemused. “We don’t bring liabilities on as assets.”

“You watched over me–”

“As hard as it is for you to believe, it is standard operating procedure to observe and grade new agents.”

“Then why did you pull strings to get me here?” you snap.

He shifts uncomfortably. “Is that what this is about?”

He picks up the box from the table, before your stare can burn a hole in it. “So you think this is a consolation prize?”

You wait a spell, mostly to keep from erupting at him but also because now that he’s within reach the anger is bleeding into a different kind of intensity inside of you.

“Did you ask the Director to promote me?” you interrogate him.

“You’re not going to believe me even if I say ‘no’, are you?”

You don’t have to answer. You don’t think you could without slipping.

“Give me your hand,” Johnny says. You don’t know how to respond until he leans forward to lift your arm from the chair with surprisingly little force for how rigid you feel.

"Yes, we helped you get into the NCTA. Yes, I've monitored your progress at every step.”

He waits until you relax to continue, as if he’s afraid you’re a bird that will take wing. “But that’s the extent of it. As much as I wanted to help you, I kept my hands clean. Except for convincing Moon to stay on as your handler. I don’t think you understand how much work that was.”

That surprises you, but you catch yourself before you can look up at him quizzically.

“He was always meant to be a temporary assignment. Older agents like that, he’s more at home doing dirty work than being stuck in an office."

He lays the watch cuff over your wrist, snapping the clasp shut, not letting go even after it’s securely weighed down by it.

“I’m sorry if you felt like you didn’t earn this. Because you can be assured there's nothing I could say or do that got you this," he says, tone softening. "That was all you."

His grip changes carefully, a long-fingered hand enclosing your own. That livewire current you expect in touching him for the first time in years isn't numbing at all. No, your head is buzzing with errant thoughts, heart flip-flopping in your chest.

“Now do you still want to leave?” he asks.

You shake your head slightly, mouth dry.

“Since we’re going to be on the same team from now on, do you think you can try trusting me?” Johnny asks, gently.

You realize you haven’t exhaled yet, long after you find your answer.

“I trust you.” You’re surprised by how easy it is to say it.

“Then what’s the matter?”

“I don’t . . .” you muster the courage to be honest. “I really don’t trust myself.”

“You earned this,” he says, squeezing your fingers assuringly.

“That’s not what I mean.” Your voice cracks. You glance up to find him watching curiously, relaxed and half-seated against the table beside you. Surely he can feel it, if he can’t see it–the way you’re vibrating in his grasp.

“Why don’t you tell me?” He asks, his thumb running over the back of your hand in lazy circles.

“Because I’m not sure if that would be appropriate, sir.”

Your eyes go wide as you realize your verbal slip, pulling back but unable to escape as he holds your wrist firmly, tugging. It’s easy for him to hoist you up, and you catch yourself with a hand on his chest before you can stumble into him.

Just like that, you’re a magnet flipped in the right direction.

You don’t move away, and he doesn’t either, long enough that you can feel his heart pounding beneath the layers of tweed and dress shirt and muscle, the way his breathing is just as quick as yours.

Jaehyun was right, you think. He was better at hiding it.

“Look at me,” he says, a fingertip tapping underneath your chin.

You tilt your chin upwards, meeting his gaze, melting into what you see there—a reflection of your own nervous expectation, colored not just by desire but something much, much more enticing.

“Whatever you’re thinking right now, I just need you to know one thing,” Johnny says, breath washing warm across your forehead. “You can only call me that if you want to.”

Do you want to try . . . ? echoes from a million miles and minutes ago, when he’d had you feeling just as vulnerable sitting on a hotel bed, playing games for children. The difference now is that you don’t feel small, anymore.

This time, you know what you want. And you aren't going to let the invitation you see written plainly in his face go unanswered.

You rise up on your toes, heels leaving the floor as you do the one thing you’ve tried to avoid since you’d first seen him again: you kiss him.

As desperate as you feel, you take your time, letting your buried emotions translate into your exploration of his plush mouth. You don’t sense any hesitation when his lips part and allow you in. You wrap a hand around his neck, bending him down until his grip finds your waist, helping you reach him.

You stay like that for awhile, calves aching by the time you slide down him, tongue wetting your bottom lip as if to taste the sweetness of him there. His pupils are dilated, cheeks flushed, but otherwise he’s still patient beneath you, waiting for your next move with an almost shy half-smile.

“Is that what you want, sir?” You glide your hand beneath his vest, feeling his pulse quicken and his breath stutter.

"You don’t want me to answer that here,” Johnny muses, back to holding onto the table behind him. You can see the whites around his knuckles, feel how he’s poised as if to keep from caging you in.

“Why?” You move your hands to his tie, caressing the dark red fabric.

He leans in conspiratorially, brushing your ear as he whispers into it. “The Director likes to record his meetings.”

The rush of excitement guiding you fizzles into mortification. You pull back only to feel the tug of his teeth on your earlobe, making you yelp in surprise.

“I thought that didn’t bother you?” He laughs as you glare up at him.

“It didn’t bother me before.”

“We should probably find a place to talk about this,” he offers, voice a purr under your fingertips. “Why don’t we go get a drink to celebrate?”

“I’d like that,” you say, before tugging him down by his tie. “After.”

This second time you meet neither of you are holding back. His hands are in your hair to keep your teeth from colliding, tongue licking into your mouth. You don’t realize you’re halfway up his frame until he’s hoisted you off him, dropping you on the table.

You’re closer to eye level here, but his attack subsides—nose nudging yours as he kisses your face, smearing your carefully-applied lipstick. Some of it has transferred to his own mouth, making you wonder what it would look like elsewhere.

"This was not what I was expecting when you walked in this room." He says, containing himself.

Johnny's palms are flat on the table as he pushes against it between your legs, probably getting more relief than what you are with your ass deep in the sharp cardboard edges of a pile of slides.

"This isn't me forgiving you for Italy," you say, scooting forward to wrap your legs around his hips. "You can make it up to me."

He loosens his tie, but you stop him from taking it off, kissing his neck and tentatively licking the sweat that's beaded under his starched collar.

“I’m going to need a verbal affirmation that you want to continue,” Johnny says with bated breath.

“Is that agency speak for ‘covering your ass'?’” you whisper, too turned on to be annoyed.

“No, babydoll,” he says, throatily. “It means I’m going to fuck you right here and right now unless you tell me otherwise.”

“Please fuck me, sir,” you say, reaching for his belt.

“God you have no idea how much I missed you.”

It doesn’t take long for his words to catch up to you in deed, neither of you bothering to undress, exploring each other under layers of clothing. He stifles a groan when he finds you're already soaked through the expensive silk underwear you'd worn expecting your own funeral.

“You sure you want a quick–”

The sudden chime of the door breach stops you both, frozen mid-makeout, and you have all of a few seconds before there’s a rush of air as the office entry blows inward.

“Sir, I told you there’s a very important meeting happening,” an unfamiliar male voice rings out from the other room, in the wake of the man who walks in.

“And I told you, I left the discovery file here this morning and it can’t wait–” Kim Doyoung makes it in a few brisk steps before he freezes, registering the scene with appropriate horror.

“Oh for the love of god, not again.” The lawyer hides his face with his briefcase, red to his dark hairline.

“Again?” you hiss.

“Not me!” Johnny protests under his breath, fighting to zip his pants back up.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t see this,” Kim says loudly, still shielding himself as he rushes to the Director’s desk to retrieve a thick, green file.

You bury your face in Johnny’s suit jacket, appalled. “I’m going to be fired. On my first day . . .”

“Hey Doyoung,” Johnny says, startling you both. “Remind me what the employee contract–”

“Clause 10(b) of Interoffice Relations,” the other man says automatically, regretting it instantly. “Really, Suh? We eat on that table!”

You see the devilish glint in Johnny’s eye and cover his mouth before he can say another word.

“Thank you, sir,” you call out.

“I expect a Consensual Relationship Agreement on my desk by tomorrow morning, Agent,” he says, icily. The door slams shut with a shudder, leaving you both a mess of laughter and relief.

“What’s the odds on that happening to us a third time?” you ask, but Johnny is already retrieving one of your shoes from the carpet, slipping it back on from where he’s kneeling on the floor.

“You like them?” he asks. You brush the hair from his forehead, admiring the view.

“My favorite pair,” you say.

“Time for that drink, then?”

“After,” he kisses your calf before standing up and offering his hand. “I know someone else who'd like to congratulate you.”

previous > next

#nct smut #nct 127 smut #jaehyun smut #johnny suh smut #nct scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #johnny scenarios #jaehyun scenarios #johnjae x reader #nct x reader #nct reader insert #nct fanfic #nct 127 fanfic #nct fic #nct 127 fic #ncta au

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pradaksj · 4 years

Text

the swimming lessons

↳do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.

❧ pairing⟶ jungkook/reader

❧ genre⟶ swimminginstructor!jungkook , fluff, a bit of comedy? head canon/bullet points

❧ rating⟶ e for everyone??? none??? idk how ratings work lol i just know that m = the dirty, which this story has none of

❧ word count ⟶ 5,000

❧ summary ⟶ accidental swimming lessons with jungkook were definitely worth the money

❧ a/n ⟶ i literally dreamt something similar to this in like january and told myself i'd write about it when i had the time so hear i am :)) this goes out to all my folks who can’t swim !! i'm on the same boat with you , get it? cause we can’t swim ... ok anyways ... enjoy ! (note: i have not proofread this yet so sorry for any mistakes!! ill get to it soon !! )

“hello, welcome to lucky duck swim school, how can i help you?” the receptionist, who was loudly chewing her gum, sounded more like an automated voice message than a person...

see today was your first official swimming lesson

yay!!

how fun!! ...

://

totally not embarrassing for someone your age !!!

honestly, it wasn't your fault you didn’t have any family members or friends with a big pool you could learn in growing up

and by the time you did, you were too much of in an awkward phase to be properly taught

aka your body absolutely refusing to float on its own anymore

but after several trips to the beach with friends and attending different pool parties, you were tired of being made fun of !!

no longer would you remain at 5 feet and under !!! not on your watch !

and so here you were, ready to start your journey into the world of swimming :))

“hi i um have a swimming lesson at 3 with um ... i believer her name was um—”

hmmm what was her name ??? jennie??? no, maybe it was aaliyah ??? no that wasn’t it....

the receptionist taps on her keyboard buttons, her long nails making a noise

pop, her bubblegum goes

“jungkook”

“yeah jungkook” you mindlessly say.

wait

WAIIITT

jungkook????

ummmmm

that was not the game given to you by the last receptionist

jungkook is a boy’s name !!!

you didn’t want a boy instructor !!!

not with the way you were looking

“i um—i had asked for a girl instructor—” you awkwardly mention

she rolls her eyes

um RUDE

she continues clacking with her keyboard, looking for god knows what

she sighs

“there’s no slots with female instructors available for today, nor for the rest of the month, the earliest i can probably squeeze you in by is july.” she bluntly states.

JULY???

july was when you needed to already know how to swim !!

that’s the peak of summer !

there was no point in knowing during winter or any other season besides summer for that matter

and you were not going to get made of by your friends this year

no no NO

“soo do i reschedule you or.....”

you sigh

“no ill take it” you pout, resembling a child.

“it it makes you feel any better, jungkook’s our best instructor, most popular too”

wink

oh yeah that makes you feel so much better

>:(

you were going to make a complete fool out of yourself in front of the so called “best instructor”

“well go get yourself washed up, get into the pool, and jungkook will be with you shortly” she smiles, her attitude now changing now that (what looked to be a supervisor) was passing by.

what a bi—

flip flop. flip flop. flip flop.

your sandles press onto the water on the floor of the girls locker room, a grouchy look now on your face

this wasn't fair

you made an appointment with a female instructor!!

you didn’t care if he was the best instructor or the most popular ...

squeeaaakkk , you twist the rusty shower handle

...because now you were you were going to be judged for your lack of skills

not that you had any to begin with, but still!

god, you sounded like such a karen ...

it’s just ...

a guy instructor ???

really???

you understood that this wasn’t elementary school anymore and boys certainly didn’t have cooties anymore but like ://

no no, you had to give this jungkook guy the benefit of the doubt

if he was one of the best, it was clearly because he was professional and good at what he does

putting your worries to rest, you turn off the shower

this was going to be fine

just fine

clearly your worries were not put to rest

just a temporary halt

pat. pat. pat.

okay let’s get it !

making your way out to the pool, you dip your foot in

ooooo

cold

VERY cold indeed

1 ...2...

you dip your whole leg in, quickly using the momentum to place your whole body in

“5 feet and below ... you’re my bitch !!” you think to yourself

your hand still clearly gripping onto the ledge, still afraid of accidentally reaching 6ft

.... now to wait

“megan seems to have fractured her leg last weekend on a rollerskating day gone bad, so you’ll be taking up her appointments for the next month of two until she’s cleared for work”

huh ???

“but—”

“also she, well now you i guess, have a lesson to teach at..”

jungkook’s supervisor looks down at his watch

“oh i guess in 30 minutes, could’ve sworn it was at 4..” he mumbles that last part to himself

30 minutes?!

“don’t worry i’ll up your pay for the remaining time that she gets better”

he winks ;) making a clicking noise with his mouth before leaving the staff room

jungkook sighs

today was supposed to be an easy day :/

a simple cleaning of the pool along with a couple of measly hours of being the lifeguard and that would’ve been it but noooo

he just had to be the highest rated swimming instructor on the company website

he couldn’t complain though, sometimes it was fun reading the reviews past students left, even if sometimes they were a little too...

whats the word...

provocative?

it often made him wonder if he was in fact an actual good swimming instructor or if the high highly rated reviews were for other reasons....

honestly it’d be dumb of him not to acknowledge the amount of googly eyes he’d get ranging from the mother’s of his younger students to his actual adult students (female and male)

he just liked to think that didn’t come into play when they wrote their reviews

hehe

changing into his black fitted rash guard, he glanced at megan’s schedule

name : y/n

age: 23 grown

swimming level: beginner aka noob.

he chuckles to himself

well won’t this be fun

he couldn’t lie beginner adult swimmers were always a spectacle to watch

they almost reminded him of baby ducks learning how to swim

only that they’d verbally curse their frustrations here and there

quickly showering, he begins to make his way to the pool

hmm, he wonders..

what should he eat after today’s lesson?

a bacon cheese burger sounded really good

maybe even grab himself some birria tacos from that new restaurant that just opened near his apartment

hmm no he had to start spending less on takeout

sigh

looks like it’d be rame—

woah

as corny as it sounded, he could’ve sworn he felt his heart skip a beat

because whoever it was in that pool was pretty, like really pretty

hOly ?????

wowzers

you couldn’t be y/n ... could you?!?!?!

you were the only person who looked 23 years of age in the pool ...

ermmmmmm

mayday mayday

jungkook.exe has STOPPED WORKING

whoever this jungkook person was, sure was taking their time

deciding to have some fun before your lesson, you begin to gently play with the water

swish. swoosh , the water goes

soon you’d be well on your way to becoming the next michael phelps

hehe

maybe with time you’d even be able to a somersault in the water like your friend always—

“y/n?” a voice from behind says your name

ah finally

taking in a deep breath, you turn your attention to the so called “best swimming instructor”

OH.

MY .

GOD.

WHAT ??????

this man looked like he came straight out of GQ magazine !!!!

this HAD to be some mistake , there was just no way ...

your cheeks feel as if they were burning up

probably because they quite literally were

there was no way you’d be able to come here every saturday for the next month, not without fawning for this dude every single minute

“u-um”

of course you were a stuttering mess

of FuCkiNg course

“that’s me”

cue the awkward smile

“be professional” jungkook tells himself

at the end of the day, you were his student

any crush on you would just have to wait until of course ... you were no longer his student

for now the only goal was : teach you how to swim

the next one down the list being : to take you out on a date !

he offers you a handshake

wow he had a strong grip

“i’m jungkook, i’ll be your swimming instructor for the next month”

he flashes you his all too famous smile

there was just no way this man was real

just nO wAy

“um..”

crap, you were still holding his hand!

idiot, idiot, idiot !

“sorry” you awkwardly laugh

ha ha ha

so funny

god did you just want to hide to disappear

“it’s fine” he laughs

even his laugh was attractive :(

ugh

“so y/n, before we begin with anything, i think it’s important to review about what kind of things you already know and what you don’t”

oh right ...

for a moment you had COMPLETELY forgotten you were here for swimming lessons

how embarrassing

“oh um..”

um, um , um.

IS THAT ALL YOU KNEW HOW TO SAY????

“so like floating, holding your breath underwater, pushing, gliding, arm movement, that kind of stuff,” he explains

you knew a cool trick to make it look like you were water bending :D

of course you weren’t going to admit that here

silently you nod your head no

he gives you a reassuring smile, sensing your timidness

“that’s fine, only more for us—” he corrects himself, “for you to learn,” he laughs

hey you weren’t complaining

;)

“so i personally always like to start off with teaching my students how to float. as long as we get that down then you’ll have no problem learning the rest”

gosh his smile was so infectious

shaking your head, you reminded yourself that this was your teacher

+ you paid 300 bucks for these classes, so you couldn’t afford to be giving him the googly eyes all day

you were so cute :(

jungkook couldn’t help but find you so endearing

the color of your swimming goggles even matched your swim suit :((

so cute !

“okay so the first thing i want you to practice is going underwater for a couple of seconds, just so you get used it,” he instructs, “i’ll demonstrate”

taking in a deep breath, he goes down under

1...2...3

he’s back up

pausing for about another three seconds, he takes in another deep breath of air before going back under

1...2....3...4....5

he repeats the same thing over and over, until the max count becomes 20.

“use my finger as your reference of when to go up, but come up for air whenever you feel like you need to. it’s important to go at your own pace, so don’t feel pressured to get it the first try”

no pressure at all

okay

“you ready?”

you nod your head

“okay, deep breath in”

you sink your head underwater, mentally counting the three seconds before going back up

“good job,” he gives you a high five, and you almost feel like a schoolgirl, “now let’s try to five seconds”

woo!!! 5 seconds here you come !!

taking in a deep breath you go down under again

1....2.....3....4...5

easy peasy ... LEMON SQUEEZY

“okay now to ten”

1.....2......3......4.....5......6....7

umm

now why were these seconds going by slow all of a sudden?

sucking it up you manage to make it to 10, but not without being out of breath

“you okay?” he’s quick to ask

yup, totally fine !

you definitely didn’t see the gates of heaven for a quick moment :D

nodding your head, you enthusiastically say, “let’s go for 15″

he smiles at your enthusiasm

ahh so cute

“1....2.....3......4......5.......6......7......8......9.....10.....11.....12....13...

nope nope nope

you were not going to make it to 15

immediately you make your way back to the surface, trying to catch your breath

“hey you did amazing,” he immediately reassures you, “remember as long your going your own pace then you’re doing just fine”

well doesn’t that make you feel better

you wonder if he’s this kind to all his students

besides the most obvious reason, there was no question as to why he was the “most popular” instructor

and to think you had been complaining earlier !!

and soon you’re back underwater, going at your own pace until finallyyyy you’re able to make the 20 second count

“nice !!” he genuinely celebrates with you, making you feel completely proud for yourself

“okay now that we have that done, we can move onto learning how to float facing both front and back”

ohhhhh

he was just thinking ahead

cool :o

“so what i want you do is first relax,” he laughs, gently pushing your stiff shoulders down

as if your blush couldn’t get any deeper

“now my personal belief is that all humans can naturally float, just that for others, it takes a bit of a push to get them at that state,” he begins to explain

others meaning people like um you

“the key to floating is to relax”

oh you’ve heard that before

many MANY times and each time you’ve tried to so called “relax” you just end up sinking

“the moment you fight or stress for even a tiny bit, you will sink. now i know what you’re thinking, ive heard that before”

damn

he was good

“but sadly it’s true, until you learn to relax then you’ll be able to swim”

you sigh

this was where it became hard

you were the queen of stress

you and stress went hand in hand almost like a married couple

it was just that deep water was scary !! very very scary !!

the amount of horror stories you’d seen on tiktok was enough for you to know, ocean = scary

“so here’s what i need you to do, i need you to place your arms on top of the water like as if you’re going to fly”

you follow his commands

he separates your arms, which had been too close together, giving them a small rub

“remember you need to relax y/n,” he chuckles, feeling the tension in your arms

“relax, i need to relax,” you repeat

“okay now right now when i tell you, you’re gonna take a deep breath in and look down, from there you’re gonna let you body move forward. so remember you’re not gonna jump, you’re just gonna let your body glide forward and float. almost as if you’re flying to me,” he explains

mm it was easier said than done

“you ready?”

“okay deep breath in”

you inhale a deep breath in

“look down”

you do that as well

“and let go”

slowly your body begins to rise on its own

oh my god !!!!!

you were about to float!!!!!

the day has come !!!

no more staying at 5 feet and under

you were ready to hang with the big kids :D

but as quick as the momentum came, the faster it left because soon you felt yourself sinking, the breathing exercise jungkook had made you do now coming in handy

no!!!!

you almost had it :(

it was right in your grasp, only to have it snatched away

not wanting to offend you, jungkook keeps his giggles to himself

“hey at least you almost had it,” he comforts you, “let’s just try again”

you sigh, now letting your doubts creep in

because of this, this time your body almost immediately sank this time

he frowns

you were losing confidence :/

“come on i’ll help you”

grabbing your hands, he signals for you to follow his breathing pattern

“deep breath in”

“deep breath out”

god, was his voice soothing

“i need you to relax y/n, let everything go”

a soft feeling of relaxation washes over you, similar to that feeling you’d get when you were on the verge of sleeping

“i’m gonna let you go at the count of three, and then you’re going to float, okay?”

silently you nod, knowing that speaking would only cause you to tense up again

“1...2....”

he lets go, and soon you’re floating, just like he said you would

you hold your breathe for a good while before standing back up, a huge smile on your face

“holy shit! i did it!!”

he gives you high five with both of his hands, for a second holding them before letting go

“now let’s try floating on your back”

he notices that there’s now a fire in your eyes that wasn’t there before

clearly you were now more determined to learn, excited too

preparing yourself to float once more, you realize you were missing something....

“jungkook...”

he tilts his head, confused by the faint blush on your cheeks

“do you think you can um—”

now it was his turn to blush

“o-oh yeah”

what was his problem???

you were a student asking for help

that was all ...

point blank.

he helps you get on your back, his hand placed under your back as a way to keep you up

“1....2....”

you float easily again!!

“nice!!” he smiles

summer, here you come !!

“okay so we’re gonna keep practicing that for the remaining time that we have and next week i’ll start teaching you about stroke techniques and which ones are easiest to do”

nodding your head, you practice your floating by the end of the hour having it practically mastered

the two of you get out of the pool, now drying off

“you’re a really fast learner y/n,” he compliments you

hehe

you mean, you didn’t wanna brag butttt

you were a fast learner indeed

“thank you,” you say in return, “but that’s only because you’re a great teacher”

woah

did you really say that :o

aren’t you feeling a little bold today y/n

his blush returns for the second time today

well technically you weren’t in class anymore ...

a little flirting wouldn’t hurt right?

if only he knew what to say ....

hmmmm

“well at least you won't ever drown!”

HUH???????

jungkook, you idiot !!!!!

someone needed to smack him straight in the face for that !

at least you won’t drown????

no fucking shit

well there goes his chances with you now going down the drain

but to his surprise, you laugh

“you’re right, i won’t,” you say in return, “well i’ll see you next weekend jungkook”

you flash him a smile, and he was certain he felt butterflies in his stomach

walking into the girl’s locker room, you let out a sigh of relief

wheeeeew !

faking confidence was hard !

very VERY hard

“so today you’re going to learn how to stroke so you can officially be called someone who knows how to swim, next week you’ll learn to tread water and continue perfecting your swimming, and then the final week i’ll teach you some fun extra things”

“sounds good,” you say, definitely excited to learn more.

“okay so now that you know how to float, right now when you float facing downward, you’re going to pull against the current with your arms, alternating each one. now the tricky part is that while you do that, you also have to paddle your legs a little and come up for air when you need to, and when you’re back in the water you should slowly be exhaling bubbles of air rather than holding your breath”

well that sounded hard :/

“let me give you a demonstration,” jungkook says

he’s quick to float facing downward, showing you the maneuver he wanted you to learn while coming up for air every five seconds

thought it was a little childish, he somehow still looked good doing it

he truly was blessed with the looks of a god

he comes out the water

“okay now your turn”

you nod your head, that determined look you had on your face last week now returning

following his example, you begin your attempt at paddling and stroking your arms at the same time

SPLASH! SPLASH! SPLASH!

immediately you begin to panic and water begins to splash everywhere, including on jungkook

noticing your panicked state, jungkook is quick to grab you and place you back on your feet

“hey hey, i got you,” he comforts you, not wanting you to feel discouraged

you sigh

well that was embarrassing

“remember y/n you have to learn to coordinate everything, so think of it this way. your legs have to always be paddling, it’s the arm and coming up for air that switch roles. when you come up for air, it’s only your legs paddling, while when you’re head is back underwater it’s both your legs and arms paddling. once you get that pattern, the bubbling will come naturally”

you make an ohhhhh face

you could do that !

“remember what i told you last weekend y/n, you need to relax and be comfortable so you can build confidence. there’s no need to panic because i’m here,” he smiles at you

gosh this just wasn't fair >:(

cute and charming ????

this boy really had it all

not wanting to disappoint, you try one more time, failing once again

now you were frustrated :/

“damn it,” you mumble to yourself, a sadness to your voice

jungkook feels his heart swell

he didn’t like seeing you sad :(

but doggy paddling was the most basic technique he could teach you so he couldn’t really cheer you up by offering a different technique

you needed to learn to doggy paddle before you could move on to the more bigger strokes

damn it ://

“hey don’t feel bad about not getting right away,” he gives you a small smile, “i remember when i first started learning it took me forever to even learn how float, so the fact that you’re already at this point is enough of an accomplishment”

well that makes you feel little better ...

“but you were probably a kid, im ...”

old , is what you want to say

figuring what you were gonna say, he only laughs

“who said i was a kid? i was probably like 19″

whaaaaaattttt!

assuming he was your age (which he was), you do the quick maths in your head

that was like .... 4 years ago !

how the hell did he get so good in such little time???? enough to be teaching courses ???

“not knowing how to swim is nothing to be embarrassed about y/n, if anything it takes a lot of courage to even sign up for a class so don’t beat yourself up too much for not getting it right away”

he ruffles your wet hair, a small affectionate gesture

you didn’t know how it was possible but you were falling for this man and QUICKLY at that

he was just so ??$%@^!

UGHHHH

“so let’s try one more time, and if you still can’t get it then we’ll push it to next week, a free extra lesson on me”

eeeeek

though the temptation to purposely fails was very intriguing indeed, you still had to try for the sake of it

if you got it, you got it, and if you didn't well ....

an extra week with jungkook it was :D

“you ready?”

you nod your head

“1...2...”

you float and begin to paddle, this time actually getting the hang of it !!!

you hear jungkook’s muffled voice from above the surface, “there you go!!”

holy shit !

you officially knew how to swim !!!

at least enough to save your own life if push came to shove

once you were out of breath, you stand back up, a grin on both of your faces

for jungkook it was hard not to tackle you in excitement so instead he settled for a very enthusiastic high five

“you did it!” he cheers

“ahhh!” you giggle like a child

“from here on out, the rest is a piece of cake!”

yay yay yay !!!

“now let’s start working on deeper strokes, maybe we’ll even have time to throw in backstrokes!”

:////

noticing your changed expression, he awkwardly laughs while scratching his neck

“or maybe not”

this week was the final week of swimming lesson with jungkook

:((

last week’s lesson of treading water and perfecting your swim seemed to had gone by in literally the blink of an eye !

and so today was possible the last time you’d see jungkook unless you managed to grow the balls and ask him out once that clock hit 4, once you were no longer his “student"

by now you were 100% sure you liked the dude... like a lot

and he was definitely someone you wanted to get to know outside of this pool

you just weren’t sure if he liked you the same way

you mean yeah there were definitely times that had you raising an eyebrow here and there, but you always excused it as him simply being a kind hearted person by nature

because clearly his five star rating on the company’s website had to come from somewhere

not that you checked or anything....

who were you kidding

yes you did

your favorite review was the one that went..

“wow!! this dude is amazing !! came here for beginner lessons and even i found myself fawning for the dude , and i don’t even play for that side of the team !! not only were his lessons thorough, but he’s a very charming person ! 10/10 recommend!”

and so you were stuck

did he liked you or was he just treating you like he treated everyone??

“ahh y/n,” jungkook’s voice suddenly brings you back to reality

“today’s our final lesson!” he announces, not sounding too sad

in fact he sounded excited

damn :/

he playfully jumps into the pool, today being his so called “fun day”

“so since today’s your last lesson i thought i could teach you how to do a.....”

he pauses for dramatic purposes

“SOmERSAuLT!!”

immediately your eyes light up

ahhhhhHHHH!!!!

you always wanted to learn how to do a somersault in water, remembering the number of times you’d look at your friend in jealousy whenever she did one

“you ready??”

eagerly you nod your head yes

“okay so the steps to doing a summersault is first of course, you need to take a deep breath”

okayyyy

“from there you tuck your chin to your chest, next you do the moment of the somersault by swinging your chest forward and gently kicking out your legs, so basically forming a ball and then kicking out. naturally, if you have enough momentum, you’ll spin, but if you don’t just use your arms to complete it”

“think you can give me a demonstration?” you innocently ask

he winks at you, “of course i can”

taking in a deep breath, he follows his own instructions, and you watch he perfectly executes his somersault

“woahhh, that was so cool!” you say, even now finding the trick to be amazing

“now i dont expect you to get it right away, so right now that you try i’m going tog hide you thought the movement so you get the gist of it”

sounds fair enough

you weren’t trying to drown on your last day either

“okay, you ready?”

“yes”

“let’s get it!”

taking a deep breath in, you feel jungkook’s hand get placed on your back, ready to push you so you could do the somersault

“1...2...”

and slowly you feel yourself spin with the help of jungkook, a smile already forming on your face

“ahhh!” you smile big and wide, causing Jungkook to smile along with you

“you think you’re ready to try it on your own???”

“yes sir”

“okay 1....2....”

mustering up as much as force you possible could, you push yourself into ball and successfully do the somersault

YUPPPPP

WHOSE DOING IT LIKE YOU???!$%@$!

feeling an immediate rush of adrenaline, you begin to splash water all over once you come back up for air, declaring an all out water fight with jungkook

soon the two of you are chasing one another, you now using your new swimming abilities to get away

hehe

you’re a swimmer

the sound of jungkook’s infectious laughter fill the air and soon you feel him grab your waist at an attempt to stop you

“gotcha” he says, and he turns you around to face him

slowly each other’s heavy breathing becomes relaxed, and it’s as if you’ve felt a shift occur in what you considered your new “friendship”

“so....” he awkwardly says, hands still wrapped around your waist

his was was RED

like cherry tomatoes red

this only makes you giggle

if you had doubts before, you DEFINITELY didn’t have em anymore

he liked you :))))

and you liked him :))))

and in ten minutes you were officially no longer his student so......

“there’s this new restaurant that opened near my place....” you say

immediately his eyes light up

“cancun eats?”

you nod your head and he gives you a toothy grin

“i was wondering if you’d want to go out some time...” you muster up the courage to ask him out

%^@%!@&!@^&@%! = jungkook’s brain

holy crap !!!

you liked him!!!

he wasn’t just delusional !!!

“hello?? jungkook??” you laugh, waving a hand in front of his face for jungkook.exe had truly stopped working this time

nodding his head yes like a child, the two of you being to lean closer to another, the clear goal in mind being each other’s lips

because honestly you’d come this far now, might as well give him a ....

“wait!” he suddenly interrupts he glances at the digital clock on the wall, remembering your final lesson officially ends at 4

because no way in hell was he going to get fired for kissing a student on the clock

3:59

.....

4:00

“okay now,” he smiles, and you only roll your eyes, happy to have taken up on those swimming lessons.

a/n : i was gonna make this longer but this was always meant to be a small little head canon so :))) pls give this a like, comment, or a reblog if you enjoyed it !! (if u can of course) and my ask box is always open for whatever !! :)) see yall next time 💞

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killian-spey · 3 years

Text

Death Would Be Kinder [Ch. 2]

Prev. Ch.

[Drusilla/Spike/Calendar!Reader]

Words: 2276

Fic Concept: Jenny Calendar’s sister spends some “quality time” with the Season 2 Vampire Squad. This chapter takes place during [BtVS S2:E15]

TW/CW: violence, kidnapping, chains?

AN: Idea came from @prose-for-hire ‘s submission to the fic title game. Taglist is at the bottom, let me know if you want to be added!

You’d been sitting silently, watching Spike wheel himself back and forth across the factory. If you didn’t know better he looked like he was pacing. In reality, he was probably checking behind the pillars and corners of the factory for any sign of your friends. It seems the vampires were expecting Buffy to come looking for you. As the time dragged on, your suspicions became reality; Buffy had prioritized the threat of the Judge over saving you. You had to admit, it stung a little, but it was only logical.

Spike peeked his head into each doorway adjoining the main factory floor. You could tell he was getting restless. You contemplated your odds carefully before you decided on taking a calculated risk.

“You lose a sock?” you yelled.

“Did I what?” Spike wheeled back into the room, an odd expression on his face.

“I asked if you lost a sock.” You paused, his intense glare caught you off-guard. “You know… Because of all the pacing. And popping your head in and out of every room in the place. Somebody’s going to think you lost a sock.”

“Well, I didn’t.” He chuckled a bit before going quiet again and stalking around the factory in his wheelchair. You nodded to yourself, deciding to quit while you were ahead. After that, the only sounds left in the factory were the spinning of wheels and an occasional bumping of door frames and frustrated curses.

It had only been a couple hours of his pseudo-pacing before Angelus and Drusilla stumbled their way into the factory. Spike took one look at the state Angelus was in and hid a smirk under his hand by scratching his nose.

“Well, you’re home early. Slayer hasn’t even tried swiping the girl yet.”

Spike’s good mood vanished as he watched them come down the steps. Drusilla was beside herself, and for a moment you found yourself feeling bad for her. Then Angelus opened his big fat mouth and you remembered who these people were.

“Yeah, well things didn’t go exactly according to plan, Spikey.” He prowled the room, circling like a big cat before he gravitated towards you. Your nerves peaked and you swear you saw a glint of pride behind Angelus’ eyes as he heard your heart pick up. He stepped within arms’ reach of you and sneered.

“What I can’t figure out is, why would she abandon you like this?”

“Where’s your big blue friend?” You swallowed your anxiety and stared up at him in challenge, you weren’t going to tell him a goddamn thing. Might as well give yourself a fighting chance. If he figured it out, you were dead already. You were going to be careful, of course, but that didn’t mean you were going to let him win.

Angelus roared, grabbing your face by the jaw. He was suddenly wearing his game face front and center. ‘Buffy really rattled him, huh?’ You remained stoic, as statuesque as you could muster. If you had misjudged his mood, this might be one of your last moments alive.

Drusilla had floated her way over, leaning into Angelus and hugging his arm to her side. Your staring contest interrupted, Angelus pulled away from you. You took the free moment away from the spotlight to run your fingers against the grain of the armrests, trying to ground yourself in the feeling of the wood underneath you. Your panic was bubbling to the surface, tension and pressure building in your ribcage. You caught Spike’s knowing glance towards you as your eyes flickered between the vampires. You dropped your eyes to the floor, frozen as Drusilla subtly coaxed Angelus away from you. Before long, Angelus had stormed out of the factory again, mumbling about sending Buffy a message.

You were grateful and more than a little stunned. Drusilla saved your life. In her own, subtle way she’d dismantled Angelus’ rage and directed it somewhere else. She’d spun him out of the factory towards Buffy with little more than a subtle flirtatious gesture. You practically gawked at her as she made her way into Spike’s lap. She had these men wrapped around her finger and they didn’t even know it.

Well, maybe Spike knew, but he certainly didn’t mind. He was running his fingers through Drusilla’s hair, comforting her as he spoke.

“If you like the hostage so much, maybe you should have a little fun, Ducks.” He wrapped an arm around Drusilla’s waist to steady her as he wheeled towards you, continuing. “She was supposed to be the distraction for the Slayer, after all. That is what went wrong with the plan, wasn’t it?”

Drusilla lifted her head, gears turning as she looked between Spike and you. Your mind rushed with your fears of what she was contemplating. You didn’t put it past them for ‘playing’ to mean something rather unpleasant for you. Drusilla hummed under her breath excitedly, springing from Spike’s lap and practically skipping out of the room. Spike nodded at you, raising his eyebrows as if to say “Hey look, I fixed it!” and wheeled himself into a good position to watch from, a smug grin on his face.

Drusilla returned with two fistfuls of chains and your heart dropped. She fussed with them somewhere behind you and left the rest in a pile as she ducked off again to the other room. Spike flicked his eyes between the chains and his girl curiously, but said nothing as she flurried about the factory. When she returned, she was holding a long carrying case and a small over-the-shoulder bookbag. She dropped them beside the chains and left again without a word.

“Ducks, what is all this stuff?”

Spike called out to her and wheeled over to the bags. He unzipped one when she didn’t answer. You couldn’t see into the bag from your position and Spike’s exasperated reaction didn’t help you either.

Drusilla returned one final time, holding a large blank canvas in each hand. The left was maybe a 20”x24” and the right was maybe a 24” square. (50cmx60cm or 60cm square).

“Which one does the artist like best?”

You paused, unsure if there was a right answer. After a couple moments you pointed weakly to the left canvas. Drusilla smiled at you and put the square canvas down. Spike scoffed as Drusilla set up an easel from the carrying case and put the bookbag on a table beside it.

She dragged the chains over to your chair and kneeled, carefully untying the knots around your right leg. You studied her face; she bit her tongue lightly as she worked, pulling at the ropes with deft, perfectly manicured fingers. After she’d untied your legs and shackled them, she let your arms off the armrests.

She took your hands in hers and pulled you up to stand for the first time in almost a day. You scanned her expression and glanced backwards towards the easel, then back to her with trepidation. She glided you in front of the daunting white canvas and left you, sinking backwards and sitting in Spike’s lap.

You stood, dumbfounded at the prospect of Drusilla wanting you to paint, of all things. She seemed unimpressed by your inaction after a few moments, and had begun whispering into Spike's ear. He'd leaned into her, pulling her closer and snickered at what must have been a rather amusing comment. He flicked his eyes at you through his lashes, a predatory glint flashing behind his eyes as his smirk grew. He straightened in his seat with satisfaction, head held high.

“Paint for the lady or get eaten. Your choice.”

Drusilla’s eyes wandered back to you and provided no comfort, but then again, why should it? You turned back to the canvas, feeling both their eyes staring at you. A calming breath later, you assessed the materials on the table.

The canvas bag she'd brought had a full set of oil paints- far nicer than you'd ever been able to afford. You didn't dare think of the poor shopkeeper she'd probably killed for them. A person just like your Uncle. He was just another obstacle in these people’s way, and for that he was murdered. You shoved the paints to one side of the small table and began assessing the tools. A somewhat rudimentary selection of spatulas and brushes. You could make do just fine with these.

You set up a palette with some blue, red, white, and black to start. A color palette often was the first thought you gave to a painting. This painting would be mostly blues, purples, and grays. Without turning your head, your eyes flicked towards the vampires just off your left shoulder in the periphery. You had never really let anyone sit and watch you paint. It was hard enough showing a finished piece to someone other than family.

You mixed a deep lilac and raised a palette knife to the canvas. You paused, unsure where to place the landscape. The creeping feeling of being watched was throwing you. The white snow canvas was taunting you, paralyzing you. But you weren't about to let it win. Any of them. You closed your eyes and just swiped the palette knife confidently in a bold first stroke. Now you had a puzzle. How does this fit into a landscape? There was no going back now, it had to work.

It was a mountain slope. The hue you used was suitable for a distant fixture seen from a twilit glade. You could lean into that, thinking on how to keep the morbid whimsy of the piece consistent as a theme. You blocked out the clearing and plotted out the forest behind and around it. It fell silent in the factory as you worked, only the scraping of palette knives and brush strokes echoing in the room. Pieces fell in place as you added gnarled willows at the tree line, white ghost pipes and fungi crawling on the foliage, and sickly green fireflies in the weeping branches and crooked thorn bushes. You didn't like how the overall feel of the piece was so damp and dreary. It felt too muted, too blue for what you'd envisioned. You added nettles to the glade in a redder purple, almost magenta, to tie the piece back into the mystical tone you wanted. A few more touches, a ray of silver moonlight here or there, and you stepped back. You contemplated the piece, for some reason feeling unfinished. The glade felt completely untouched, too alone by itself.

You almost jumped when you heard Drusilla shift off Spike’s lap behind you. You froze, dropping your gaze to the floor, unsure of her intentions. With three clicks of her heels against the concrete flooring, she stopped just behind you. So close you would have felt her breath on your neck if she were human. She leaned forward and pulled your hair behind your ear. She placed one hand on your shoulder and raised your head with a finger under your chin, guiding your eyes back to your work.

“Don’t you like it?”

“It’s not bad, actually.” Spike wheeled forward a pace or so to take a closer look at it. Drusilla still seemed to be waiting for your own answer. You studied it again silently.

It did feel telling, in an odd sort of way. It was invisibly and indescribably alive, despite the darkness and isolation. Could be a good metaphor for vampires... Alive and free only after their own deaths. Sure, they may not exactly live up to society’s expectation of a good neighbor, but you couldn’t say they let being dead keep them from living.

Still, the painting felt unsatisfactory, felt incomplete. You shook your head and pondered. You drew up a couple new colors, a ghostly blue and a red-brown clay. You loaded a palette knife with the clay tone and hovered over the painting, indecisive. The central piece as of now was a large, twisting willow on a small inclined mound of earth. The whole painting felt like background to an invisible subject. Nothing tied the eye to the painting, there was nothing to follow. No movement in a living place.

Drusilla took the palette knife from your hand and set it down. She pulled you lightly to step away from the painting, lightly petting your hair.

“Let it rest, you’ll do more later. With a clear mind,”

You let a heavy sigh escape your lungs. She was right. If you kept going now, at the end of your rope, you’d risk doing something that detracted from the painting entirely. You jerked your head up at a loud scraping sound from above you. Angelus had swung the door open on the mezzanine of the factory. He had a vicious grin and a playful look in his eyes, leaning on the guardrail and looking down at the three of you.

“Did you have fun with the Slayer, then?” Spike called up to him.

“Oh, she makes it so easy!” Angelus threw himself at the spiral staircase and rushed down them with glee.

“I barely had to lift a finger to throw a wrench in her little puppy problem.”

Drusilla twitched her head and glided towards him. She was staring at his face, fixated on something you didn’t pick up on. She swiped her thumb across the corner of his mouth and brought it to her own lips.

“Did you bring any home, Angel? I taste a young one on you.”

“Not today, darlin’. Besides, you have that one.” Angelus gestured to you and sauntered off, calling back as he left. “She wasn’t really any use anyway.”

[Next Chapter Soon!]

Tags: @prose-for-hire @soggy-enchilada @misselsbells06

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