#kona fic tag

[the-elder-polls]

It would be a shame if someone. Indulged a Miraak obsession.... Oh no......

Headcanons 🥺

azure you speak to me with such beautiful words i love you /pl

pre-apocrypha:

he was a bulky dude. strongman type body, relatively tall (about 6ft/183cm).

he had a perpetual tan. he ALSO had very distinct tan lines because of his robes.

he and kona wanted to have kids, but that never happened for. uh. story reasons. almost, though, almost. they got so close. alas!

he kept his beard trimmed/shaved to stubble because he hated the feeling of it against the inside of his mask.

his ritual scarifications were on his arms and back.

his master was sahrotaar. they had a good relationship prior to The Horrors. then, The Horrors happened. yk how it is

there were rumors he was vahlok's son because vahlok mentored him and they looked alike.

he loved to read as a child and was close with the lead librarian of bromjunaar.

the discovery of him being dragonborn was incredibly traumatic and awful.

apocrypha:

his face is messed up from the time spent apocrypha. the mask is fused to his face, especially his nose and mouth. (hence my art including part of his mouth/cheek being missing/damaged!) taking it off physically hurts and runs the risk of causing his face more damage.

he doesn't age right in apocrypha. he does age, but it's so warped and weird that he might as well not be. he's perpetually in his 30s.

his skin color is gradually losing pigmentation. his tan is completely gone and he's practically gray. his skin texture is like that of waterlogged corpse.

he gets tormented by mora with apparitions of kona that are always in his peripherals, just out of the direct line of sight and reach.

he has lost a significant amount of his body fat. he's not skin and bones, but he's definitely thinner than he was in life and almost looks withered.

[egrets-not-regrets]

Chef’s Kisses

(Of Fins and Feathers AU/Living Waters AU) Talos teaches Lana how to make the fish rolls she enjoyed from her picnic with Keed. Unfortunately, their date is not without interference.

Author’s Note: Another fun fic co-written with @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan. This story follows up from Keed’s picnic with Lana. Every one of Lana’s harem bonded will have their own spotlight, or at least that’s the plan. I love this chaotic polycule so much. Lol.

~ Also, apparently gannet chicks are called gugas in Scottish. That's where I came up with the term "guglets". ~

Tagged: @shadowfirecat , @kit-williams , @bleedingichorhearts , @barn-anon , @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@sleepyfan-blog, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @bispecsual , @ms--lobotomy , @whorety-k

Talos returns to the Gannet roost after his patrol. Playfully dodging the pouncing gannet younglings, he makes his way to Lana and who was looking after a small creche of fluffy hatchlings. Setting his helmet to his hip, the Alpha Legionary wraps his arms around the gannet harpy from behind and nuzzles her. Lana churrs and turns to kiss his cheek. 

“Hello Talos.” She greets him affectionately. 

A pleased hum emits from his throat as the Alpha Legionary kisses his harpy, “Hello, my cherished one. How are you?” 

“Good. How was your patrol?”

“It went well, the Black Templars are in the territory, but far away from this area.” Talos rests his chin on her head. 

She sighs and relaxes against his armored chest, “That’s good to hear. But I am glad you returned.”

He presses a kiss to her temple, murmuring, “Always. We will always return to you.”

“Oooooo…” a small chorus of voices sing which promptly dissolve into giggles when they break the couple’s focus. 

“Uncle Talos, are you mates with Auntie Lana? You act like Ma and Pa would when they come home.” A bright-eyed fluffy chick asks. 

“Yes, my brothers and I are mates to your Auntie Lana.” He replies jovially. 

The “ooo”s became loud whispers of wonder. Lana and Talos laugh, hearing his and his brothers’ names and discussion on how Lana has so many mates at once and who’s her favourite. 

“Alright, alright. Little guglets shouldn’t be gossiping about Auntie Lana and her mates.” An adult harpy chides the younglings as he picks up his child, thanking Lana for her care before leaving. Another few adult harpies then arrive to pick up the rest of the chicks from the creche. 

Talos feels a tug on one of his tentacles. He looks down to see dark eyes sparkling with mischief. The chick lowered their volume to comically conspiratorial levels, “Uncle Talos, can I tell you a secret?”

He chuckles and wraps a tentacle around the chick, lifting them up, indulging the youngling with a listening ear, “Of course, what secret do you want to tell me?” He whispers. 

The fluffy guglet giggles and whispers back, “Auntie Lana really likes the rolls you make. She wants to learn to make them.”

“Is that right?” Talos asks. The guglet nodded enthusiastically. 

“There you are!” A voice called out. The guglet in Talos’ tentacle bounced in excitement, “Mama!”

Their mother comes up to them carrying a basket of fish,“I hope Kona didn’t bother you too much.” She says, eyeing her precocious child. 

“Not at all, Kiri.” Chuckling, Talos hands the youngling back to their mother. 

“Thank you for taking care of the guglets, Lana.” Kiri smiles. She lifts the basket to show the fish inside, “I caught a few extra skipjack, would you like to take them?” 

Lana shared a grin with Kona before answering their mother, “You’re welcome, they were good little guglets today. And we would love to take the fish.  Thank you, Kiri!” 

Mother and child say their goodbyes, then left to return to their nest. Talos looks at the few skipjacks cradled in Lana’s wings. 

“These are a good size.” He commented, taking two by the tail in his large hand, lightening the load on his bonded. 

The corners of Lana’s eyes crinkle with amusement, “What are you thinking of making with them, love?”

Talos straightens his posture and smiles at her term of endearment, loosely wrapping a tentacle around her hip as they make their way back to the food prep area, “A little bird told me that you want to learn how to make the fish rolls.” He teases in a singsong voice. 

Her crown fluffs when she remembers that she wanted to thank him for her starlight picnic with Keed, “I almost forgot! The food that you made for Keed and I was delicious. Thank you for that. That was very thoughtful of you.”

Talos preens at her compliment. Lana adds with an exasperated smile, “And yes, I would love to learn to make the fish rolls. That was Kona’s secret, wasn’t it?”

“Yes it was, my lovely Lana,” He says with a smug teasing lilt in his voice. “Kona was quite pleased to tell me their little secret.” Talos pulls her closer to him, slowing down to cuddle Lana some more with a happy trilling purr. The harpy can’t help but laugh and wrap a free wing around him in a half hug. She nuzzles into the mer’s shoulder, giggling, her crest feathers rising, “Talos! You and Orlys are so touch-starved. You act like no one has hugged you for years!”

“What if no one had?” He joked back. 

Her crest fell as Lana frowned, “Oh… I’m sorry, that’s so sad.”

His hearts warm at her words; his mate is so undeniably sweet. Talos quickly pecks Lana’s lips a few times to reassure her, “I was just teasing, love. Don’t be sad for me. As long as you are willing, I am always happy to receive your hugs and caresses. You’re my bonded and I want to spend as much time being as close as possible during my allotted time with you, and take advantage of the time when I don’t have to share you with anyone else.” He purrs, nuzzling her. 

Casting him a fond exasperated look, Lana kisses him back, “You silly mer, then I will remember to give you more hugs and kisses when I see you. Let’s go and you can teach me how to make those rolls you made last time.”

With a grin, as Talos follows after her to the food preparation area. After putting the fish down, they take a moment to wash their hands and claws thoroughly. He happily takes his mate through the process, brandishing the skills he learned while he had been undercover as a chef at a high end restaurant. This recipe was a relatively simple one and doesn’t need to take long for the food to be ready. Talos made sure to confirm that the ingredients and the food itself was something that Lana and her fellow harpies could eat without ill effects. While his Astartes biology allows him to ingest almost anything, harpies don’t have the same luxury. 

“Do we have some sort of citrus?” Talos asks as he looks for the ingredients to marinate for the fish with. Lana hands him a few yuzus. 

He then mixes a handful of salt and sugar together in a bowl while instructing the harpy to soak several pieces of the thinblade kelp. Lana spots a container of brightly coloured blossoms. She asks, “What are those?”

“Ah good! We have some nasturtiums left. These flowers give it a bright peppery flavor as well as make the dish nice to look at.” Talos explains.

There is a difference between edible and enjoyable, and since they aren’t in a survival situation, Talos prefers to make things that are enjoyable, and nutritious, whether that nutrition is for the body or the soul. The flavors and enjoyment of the meal helps the food be processed better, or at least that was a fanciful phrase one of the chefs at that place taught him.

He tells her a little story while he works, carefully editing it so that it would seem more relatable, of one of the times that he had learned how to actually cook well, rather than just survival cooking. Including a funny story about one of the people he had worked with, mixing up the salt and sugar (the labels had been removed). 

Though he doesn’t mention that the person got fired from it- and that someone had laced the food with a contact poison, nothing deadly, but dramatic enough that it had helped further destabilize the political hierarchy of the area, which had been part of his mission, outside of gathering intel.

Lana listens and watches with rapt attention as the Alpha Legionary quickly and cleanly guts and disassembles the skipjack, showing off with a few fancy tosses of his knife in between. She claps her claws and laughs with delight when her courting mate bows with a flourish and looks at her with a cheeky grin. 

“My dear Lana, care to help me with the next step?” He asks, giving her the handle to a second knife. 

The harpy takes his knife and asks playfully, “What do we do next, Chef Talos?”

Talos teaches Lana how to cut filets of the skipjack into thin slices so that the fish would marinate quickly. They arrange the slices into a single layer on a stone board, sprinkling the fish with the mix of salt and sugar. Then they squeeze yuzu juice over top. While waiting for the fish slices to marinate, Lana and Talos cut the rehydrated thin blade kelp into smaller pieces and placed them in organized stacks. 

He chops the fileted skipjack into smaller pieces. Lana places the pieces of skipjack and organs into separate cold rune-lined communal chests. Bones and organs can be used in nutritious soups, healing potions, or to make other dishes or snacks. By the time they are done, the fish slices are ready for the next step. 

“Try a piece and tell me how it tastes.” Talos dangles a piece of marinated fish and watches intently as Lana delicately plucks the slice of fish from his fingers with her teeth. He smirks as her crest fluffs cutely in surprise at the flavor.

“Good?” The mer asks. 

Lana trills in delight, “Oh wow! It is a bit different from the ones at the picnic, but it is delicious!”

“This is a different recipe. The one from your picnic with Keed requires more time to prepare.” Talos answers. He takes another and rolls it up with a few nasturtium petals. He holds it out to her, “Now, try this one.”

Lana takes it from him, chewing on it thoughtfully, “You’re right, the flowers do add a peppery taste.” She exclaims. She then takes a slice of fish and holds it to his mouth, “It’s only fair that you should try a piece too.”

“You’re right.” Talos gently bites onto the fish, pulling it from Lana’s claws. He playfully nips her claw, a grin tugging his mouth when he sees his bonded harpy’s feathers fluff as she gets all flustered, “That is quite delicious.” He purrs. 

A quiet “eep” escapes Lana’s mouth, her facial feathers rising as heat flushes her cheeks. She cranes her neck to give him a quick peck on the lips and lets out a shy giggle, “We should make these rolls then. We shouldn’t let the kelp dry out.”

“Agreed, my lovely Lana. Now follow my lead.” Talos chuckles as he lays a piece of kelp down on the work surface, then three slices of marinated skipjack, and rolls it up. His harpy follows him, step by step. As she continues making the seaweed wraps, Talos sidles up behind her and wraps his arms and two of his tentacles around her waist. She shivers when he starts to trail kisses from her temple down the side of her neck. 

“Talos…” her quiet whisper lilting into a mewl. 

“Keep working.” He murmurs, smiling as he nuzzles into her crown feathers, “I can work over you. Just want to have you close.”

Lana tilts her head and meets him in a kiss, “Touch-starved much?”

“For your touch? Always.” her Alpha Legion mate answers, and tightens his embrace. 

It doesn’t take them long to finish and soon, they have two containers full of the fish rolls: one with nasturtium petals inside the rolls, the other, without. 

“Say ‘ah’.” Lana asks, the roll in her claw shakes with her laughter when Talos pulls her closer to him and opens his mouth. The mer lets out a pleased hum as she feeds him. 

“You should have one too.” Teal eyes sparkle with mischief. He puts one end of a roll into his mouth, leaving the other end hanging out. Lana giggles at his flirty antics and reaches up to bite the other half off, kissing him at the same time. She nuzzles him, relaxing contentedly in his arms, “Thank you for teaching me.”

He purrs, “You’re welcome, my love.”

They continue to talk and steal kisses and bits of food from one another. As their flirtations become more heated; their touches, more insistent; Talos hears a low, angry growl and flicks his eyes around, spotting the silver and blue form of Draco skulking about and starting to fly towards them. He grabs something from his belt, “Hold on for a moment, Lana, there is a pest trying to interfere.”

He lobs the metal, spherical devices that Draco dodges, but still gets entrapped in them when the metal balls open up and wrap him up in an electrified net that will zap him if he struggles or tries to break it. Not enough to actually cause him any damage, but it will sting like a bitch and be annoying to get out of.

Talos and Lana wander over just as the Grey Knight removes himself from the netting, ignoring the stinging sensation from the electrified net. Finally freed, Draco glares at the Alpha Legionary who has his arm and tentacle wrapped around his mate, his Lana. If his harpy mate wasn’t in the way, he would’ve thrown the net back at the traitorous Hydra. See how he likes a taste of his own trap. 

Draco waits for the couple to get within his vicinity before charging at Talos, grabbing the startled Lana, who was still attached to the Hydra by one of his tentacles.

Lana scowls and scolds him sternly, “Stormbreaker! This is my bonding time with Talos individually. You know the schedule! Put me down and go on patrol or something.”

They had gone through this before. This negotiated time that they had all agreed was for her and Talos, unless it was an emergency. Lana tries to struggle out of the giant merAstarte’s grasp. 

Draco tightens his hold and hisses at her, his white eyes blazing, “The Hydra should not be taking their liberties with you!” He had watched the other Alpha Legion traitor, Keed, seduce his Lana on the beach of the Trail of Stars Cove; his dirty, vile hands and tentacles roaming all over his mate’s body. It makes him incensed that she just allows him to. 

Draco had touched this Hydra’s mind; hearing his thoughts and feeling his desires. How dare this one want to sully his mate with his touch! 

“Let go of her.” Talos growls, one of his tentacles still wrapped around the harpy’s waist. Both Grey Knight and Alpha Legionary size each other up with Lana sandwiched tightly in between. 

The harpy squawks in discomfort, forcing the two merAstartes to back off slightly so she can breathe. 

Lana rounds on Draco angrily, “Taking liberties with me? How dare you! They are my mates as much as you are! And I consent to their affection and touch!” 

“Why would you agree to that? You are my mate!” The Grey Knight glares at her. 

“Lana has every right to accept affection from any of her mates!” Talos snarls at him, tightening his grip on Lana, noticing her increasing distress, “She’s not exclusively yours!”

“You Hydra traitors don’t deserve her.” Draco growls back. 

Lana screeches, feeling indignant and incredibly insulted, “Talos and his brothers were my mates for far longer than you! I have taken my liberties with every single one of them before you even appeared on this Earth, so don’t you dare say that I have no right to the affection of my other mates just because I’m your mate too!”

She beats her free wing futilely against Draco’s armor, “Let me go and let me have my time with Talos!”

White eyes stare back at her, a mixture of anger, worry, and something akin to betrayal and hurt flashing behind them. A sudden pang of guilt strikes Lana’s heart when their eyes meet, causing her to give up, her body sagging in his arms.

Draco knows that the Alpha Legion traitors had been Lana’s bonded mates prior to him. A strange uneasiness twists his gut at the thought of his Lana willingly engaging in romantic trysts with the Hydra traitors. 

Why does she so easily accept the affections of the Hydra brothers, yet accept his affection with quiet reluctance? Why does she argue so passionately for these weak, multi-faced mers? And willingly grow their weak bonds that keep them tethered to her? Was he not also a strong, worthy mate for her? Draco’s arms keep Lana in his iron grip, unwilling to let go. 

Lana looks away from her silver mate, refusing to meet his gaze again, “Just release me and leave.” She says despondently, “I’m tired of having the same argument with you again and again and again.”

“Please, just leave me alone, Stormbreaker.” 

Her breaking voice left him little room to argue. It was clear that his continued presence is causing her distress and that she doesn’t want him there. 

He slowly set her on the ground. Leaning down and gently pressing his forehead to hers, Draco murmurs, “Forgive me, my Lana. I overstepped.” 

They touch for a moment, but the harpy doesn’t let him linger and quickly shrinks back, “Just go. Please.” She pleads. Feeling the sting of her rejection, the Grey Knight mer lets go. He glances at his mate one more time and swims away. 

Lana could feel Talos’ tentacle lightly tug her over to him. She wraps her wings around him tightly and hides her face against his chest armor. Her heart is hammering so loudly in her ears after that altercation that she was having a hard time grounding herself. Why did Draco have to make things so difficult? 

Talos embraces his harpy and kisses her crown, stroking her feathered back to comfort her, “It’s alright, Lana, my love. He’s gone now. It’s only us two here… It’s alright.” He frowns when he feels her tremble and hears her frantic heartbeat. 

Lana’s muffled voice croaks out an apology, “I’m sorry. Can we just clean up and go back to our nest?” 

“Of course, Lana. Are you sure you don’t want to go back to the nest first?” He asks worriedly.

She lets out a shaky breath and pulls away, “I need to do something to take my mind off of all of this for the moment.”

Cupping her face in his hands, Talos tenderly brushes away the trails of tears from her feathered cheeks. She closes her eyes as her mate kisses her forehead. “Let’s clean up quickly then and we can get back to the nest earlier.” He murmurs. 

Lana nods. They quietly work together, cleaning the knives and plates, putting away the rolls in a basket with a cold runestone to take back to their nest. 

Lana is glad that Talos still has his tentacle wrapped around her waist, albeit loosely now. His touch is grounding and it gives her something else to focus on as they work together. She gives his tentacle a light squeeze to indicate she has finished her task. 

Talos picks up his gauntlets and basket then goes over to hug his bonded, “Ready to go?” He asks. 

She smiles wanly and nuzzles into his chest, “Yes.”

The Alpha Legionary lets Lana take his hand and lead him back to their nest, knowing that she needs to feel some sense of control and regularity right now. At least her heart rate has calmed somewhat and she doesn’t seem as stressed as before. But her eyes and smile have lost their earlier brightness. He internally curses the obsessive Grey Knight for making his dear Lana sad. 

Once they returned to their nest, Talos put on his helm to quickly send a quick vox to his brothers, letting them know that his date got cut short and that they had returned to the nest; requesting privacy for the next several hours and to not engage the Grey Knight aggressively so as to not stress Lana further. He receives questions about what had happened and confirmation from them with Zarius saying that he can keep an eye on the Grey Knight. He sends his thanks and promises his brothers to update them with details, before turning his attention to Lana again. 

Lana waits patiently for Talos to finish, still holding his hand in her claw, “Please tell your brothers to not engage with Stormbreaker. I don’t think I can take any more stress today.” She asks, a worried expression on her face. 

Talos brings her claw to his lips, pressing a reassuring kiss, “Already done, my cherished one.” 

He takes off his armor and settles into their nest, embracing Lana as she crawls into his arms. She sighs as she snuggles against his chest, “I forget how warm you are when you don’t have your armor on.”

Talos chuckles and wraps several tentacles around his harpy mate, keeping her close as he starts to pet her. They fell into a comfortable silence laying in the cozy atmosphere. 

“I’m sorry our time together was ruined.” Lana suddenly mumbles, her voice quiet and sad. 

Concerned, Talos gently tilted her chin up to look at him, “Why are you apologizing? You've done nothing wrong.”

Her eyes are wet with unshed tears, “It’s frustrating and unfair to you that the argument with Stormbreaker brought the whole mood down. I wish I kept it together better.”

“Captain Ass barging in was out of your control.” Talos insists, kissing her crown, “Don’t blame yourself for any of this. He had no right to act the way he did.”

Hearing that, the emotions that she has been holding back, breaks. Lana sobs into Talos’ chest. 

“Why is this so difficult? I just want to be fair to all of you! I… I…” her cries break his hearts and the air seems laden with the scent of her tears. It is easy enough to share Lana’s time between his brothers and himself, but no amount of Alpha Legion manipulation of events had prepared them for the Grey Knight to share an intense bond with their harpy mate. Truly, whatever warp magic or entity out there, had thrown Lana (and them) an unfair hand. 

The Alpha Legionary let out deep comforting purrs to calm his tearful mate, one hand gently scratching the back of her neck, the other securing her in his embrace. He nuzzles into her crest feathers, “Lana, my sweet harpy. You didn’t ask to be bonded with us, let alone bond with Captain Stormjerker. Yet you do your best to keep and grow our bonds. Don’t put all this emotional burden upon yourself. We will help carry that burden for you.”

Lana doesn’t acknowledge him, and only hides her face in his chest; the hitching tremble of her body slowing down being the only indication that she had heard what he said. 

“Lana, please look at me.” He rumbles, cupping her tear-streaked face in his hand as she looks up at him. Talos gently cleans her face with a cloth. She gives him a watery smile and warbles a thanks. He smiles back, his teal eyes bright and warm. 

Talos kisses her forehead, “Lana, light of my life. It's okay to be overwhelmed.”

Then her feathered brow, “You are doing so well. We are ever thankful that you fought so hard to keep our bonds.” 

Then the tip of her nose, “Let us take care of you.”

He hovers over her lips, so close that their lips almost touch, “May I kiss you?” He whispers. 

Entranced by her mate’s soft caresses; Lana murmurs a “yes” before pushing forward and seals her lips against his. She wraps her wings around him to pull him closer. Talos obliges and tightens his embrace, wrapping another tentacle around her, deepening the kiss with the sole purpose of making Lana forget that the incident with Stormbreaker even happened. She reciprocates with equal fervor, caressing his tongue with hers, her lips barely leaving his when she needed to take a breath. 

The couple share a fond smile when their lips finally part. 

“Thank you.” She murmurs softly, touching her nose tip to his. 

“Always at your service, my cherished one.” He chuckles. 

They share another short, loving kiss. Lana settles against his body, clinging to him tightly, “Just hold me, please?” She asks. 

“Of course, my lovely Lana.” She can feel the vibration of Talos’ reply through her cheek. Her eyes start to flutter close as she relaxes from the gentle pressure of his fingers running through her feathers as he strokes her back. He softly purrs and nuzzles her gently in his arms.  Once Lana falls asleep, Talos reaches with his tentacle to grab his helmet. He puts it on and sends a vox text message to his brothers with a quick update on the Bastard and how much he upset their bonded. Teal eyes glimmer with satisfaction knowing his brothers are planning to execute revenge on StormShithead for making their Lana cry.

[taesanluv3r]

a bit about me 🐭

hi!! im kona ♡

im gonna start writing little fics n stuffs for boynextdoor!! (but if u wanna request any other group or anything pls lmk n i'll see wht i can do!)

i hope i can write things u guys can enjoy so pls pls pls interact n lets be friends!! feel free to send me asks (anything!!!) your thoughts, prompt requests literally anything ˓˓ก₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎ค˒˒

find my work in the first tag down there (kona's work ♡) ♡ॢ₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎ or in my

masterlist

(im very picky w my writing so apologies if i take a rlly long time to do anything ㅜㅜ)

[ci5mates]

First Line Tag Game

Rules: Post the first lines of your last 10 fics posted to ao3. if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics. 😊

I was tagged by the lovey @wheelsupin-five thank you  😊💛 I only have 7 uploaded and only one 911 fic so far but here goes.

Jealousy Complex (911 - buddie)

“You don’t have to do this Jonah…please…I’m begging, just let him go.” Eddie’s voice hitched around the bulge in his throat. He was tied to a chair with ropes so tight he’d lost feeling in his hands and feet, but he didn’t give a fuck about himself. It was Buck, laying comatose on a table just an arm’s length away, cardiac electrodes dotted across his bare chest and an intravenous drip in the back of his hand pumping him full of a powerful sedative, that was turning him into a teary, snotty-nosed, emotional wreck.

Ticking Time Bomb Part 1 (H50)

Danny Williams lay on the narrow mattress in the Kailua-Kona hotel room staring at the ceiling as he contemplated the McGarrett-shaped lump in the opposite bed.

Love Letters Part 2 (H50)

Danny woke in his own, otherwise empty bed, cranky at the morning light coming in through the gap in the hotel curtain and even more cranky at his relentless pessimism which prompted him to abandon the bed of the Adonis he was partnered with, the regret just another to add to the pile when it came to being honest about his feelings for Steve.

A Fresh Perspective (H50)

Steve’s decision weighed heavily as he stowed his bag in the overhead locker and took the window seat.

His earlier resolve was beginning to waver, replaced by an uneasy feeling, now that his departure was imminent.

Did I really just leave Danny sitting on the beach alone, a week out from hospital?

Smoke & Mirrors (The Professionals, Bodie and Doyle)

The bullet pierced the fragile bone, shattering her skull and carving a path through her brain like it was semi-set jelly.  Blood sprayed, slapping surfaces within reach; the floral wallpaper, the plastered ceiling and the tapestry fabric of the sofa as well as the family portraits positioned with care on the mantle, although by chance, a smaller image, set back from the others, miraculously escaped the bloodbath. A young curly haired PC photographed with his arm draped over the shoulder of the smiling, recently graduated police woman, lay silent witness to the tragedy.

A Trophy Highly Prized Part 1 (The Professionals, Bodie and Doyle)

George Cowley was agitated. Far too restless to sit so he stood at his office window and loosened his tie while he watched storm clouds roll in, hoping like hell it wasn’t an ominous sign.

A Prize Highly Valued Part 2 (The Professionals, Bodie and Doyle)

The corridor was depressingly familiar. They’d been here often enough, when one or the other had been injured, even the cracks in the ceiling were imprinted on his memory and if he closed his eyes he could visualise the water stain by the door, right where a small piece of forgotten tinsel was impaled by its rusty tack. Some things never changed.

tagging any writers who haven't already been tagged and would like to share, put me down as tagging you 😍

[arialis]

hey @se-rarepair-day I HEARD TODAY’S THE DAY AND I HAVE A THING :D 

MANY MANY THANKS TO @soundofez FOR ALL THE ENCOURAGEMENT AND UBER PATIENT BETAING, YOU’RE THE BEST <333

They're standing under an overpass, the stink of paint soaking into their bones and highway air seeping into their lungs, when it all crystallizes into a reality for Maka. It's a reality as precious as gold and diamonds in her shaking hands, and yet, somehow, she's not scared of it.

Because it's not a reality like spun glass, beautiful and delicate and so, so breakable. She can lean into it and trust, despite everything, that it won't shatter around her in a heartbeat, that its broken weight won't break her, too, on the way down.

It's unsurprisingly reminiscent of Star himself.

This kind of reality, the one they've found themselves in, is sturdy and strong because they made it that way. She's realizing she wants it to last as long as she does in this life, and maybe the next couple ones too.

.....

They're standing under an overpass, paint on their hands and cold air biting their skin, when he turns to Maka and suddenly it all slides into place.

It's the middle of the night, it's dark and it's cold and they're tagging an old bridge because this is their thing now, apparently, and there's nowhere else Star would rather be because she wouldn't be there.

And that's what all this was leading to, in the end - it was always building to this. He just had no idea for most of it because he’d always been completely blind when it came to her, and even now still was sometimes. Maybe it was because Maka was just that kind of bright, burning more than any star could dream of and blinding him in her brilliance, or maybe it was all on him.

Either way, there's nothing else they could've become.

.....

First impressions are useful, but they can still mislead. Of course, in the end it didn't matter that they couldn't stand each other at first, because they still gravitated around one another like stars in a binary system, forever orbiting. They balanced one another in a way that helped fill the holes in both their lives, even as they each became their own sun with their own solar systems, too.

In retrospect, it's a kind of funny and completely unsurprising case of animosity at first sight. They grew on each other and grew up together in the way kids do, learning life's rules and how to break them at the same time.

Maka's life was written in his bones, as surely as his was intertwined into her roots.

.....

By the time they were teenagers, meisters, soldiers in all but name (scared, brave, battle-scarred), they already knew they weren't just friends. (As if being friends could ever be, could ever mean just anything - they had been one of the most important parts of each other's lives as long as they could remember, even when they were 'just' friends and nothing else. Friendship mattered: Maka and Star would argue that to their dying day, both of them ready and willing to jump in front of anything to protect their weapons, each other, and the rest of their ‘just friends.’)

Regardless, they were a different kind of thing. Not friends, exactly, but not something else, either.

There wasn't time to think about it - not in the middle of the insanity, literal and figurative - so they didn't. Still, the feelings were there, real and undeniable in a way that changed things, made them different.

.....

Acknowledging that difference... that didn't come easily.

Becoming an 'us' from a 'you and me' was a process that happened in fits and starts, lunging forward a mile a minute and taking two- three- four steps back every other second in return. They were stubborn and they clashed, and somewhere in all that there was learning, because they didn't hurt each other as much these days, and never as deeply.

……

At some point along the way, tagging, graffiti, whatever you wanted to call it... it became their thing, a way to run away from the world they knew and paint themselves a new one (a better one), even if only for a night.

Star liked the thrill of potentially getting caught, while Maka enjoyed the process itself. They always went together, starting at opposite ends of their canvas and meeting in the middle, crossing over until they’d left their mark.

Sometimes he’d show up at her window at three in the morning, and sometimes it was her at his door too late to be normal for most people, but they’d always go, because it was an escape, a way to not think and just make. There was no expectation, no pressure to succeed, no one they could let down, because it wasn’t something that ever tied to them, wasn’t something anyone had a say in.

It was nice, to know that these hands of theirs could do more than just fight, that they could do something good and something wonderful. They left the world prettier than they found it, leaving a mark that wasn’t a bloodstain, for once. For all that it was illegal, their art was so much less morally ambiguous than destroying kishin, and so much more peaceful. Maybe it was cowardice, to think of it that way, to let it help them keep their sanity, but cowardice wasn’t always wrong. For all that Maka and Star believed in bravery, this cowardice kept their smiles more real, even as everything else around them imploded, and maybe there was nothing wrong with that.

Somewhere along the way, they got their acts together and started being honest, first with themselves, and then with each other. It was a completely new and different kind of happiness that bloomed between them, unique from anything either had felt before, but it was good and it was strong.

It was a hearth, a home - a warm flame to keep them safe and light their way as they moved forward in tandem, helping each other up when they stumbled and pushing one another to keep going. They got better, stronger, brighter, happier... together, hands wrapped around one another’s as a reminder that they weren’t alone, never would be.

……

A can of spray paint clatters to the concrete as Maka moves forward, voiding the distance between them, her hands gently cupping Star’s cheeks.

“Marry me?”

He gapes at her for a solid moment, breath catching in his lungs as he struggles to reconcile all his hopes coming true and it actually being real. The look on her face is determined, absolutely sure and confident that this is something she wants.

Star is quiet for too long, too stunned to react, until Maka’s eyes start shuttering closed from him. She’s retreating, hiding away to pretend it doesn’t hurt. He jolts into action. “Yes! Of course!” His grin could outshine the stars he was named after as he picks her up easily, swinging her around in a delighted hug as if she isn't made of just as much solid muscle as he is. “I’d always marry you, in this and every life we might ever have.”

Laughing at his words, relieved and so, so happy, she buries her face in his shoulder even as his hair tickles her and nearly makes her sneeze. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Star says, setting her down, though he doesn't pull away from the hug, and isn't going to, at least not anytime soon. “Kinda sucks though.”

“What does?”

“I was planning to ask you and then you beat me to the punch - that’s so unfair. I even have a ring!”

“You what?” she shrieks, wincing at the noise, expression immediately turning back to a beaming grin when he pulls a small box out of his pocket. “Wait, you brought it here?”

“Why not? You never know when the mood might strike - like it did with you, apparently.”

“We’re standing under a highway! In the middle of the night! Graffiting a giant column!”

“You’re the one who ended up proposing in this setting, so don’t even start-”

They’re grinning like idiots even as they bicker - this is them, and it’s absolutely and utterly perfect.

Star slides the ring onto her finger. Their hands are stained with paint, and nothing about this is traditionally ideal, but neither of them would change it for the world.

[deducingcircumference]

Fic: The Science of Deduction, the Art of Seduction Chapter 1

Rating: G (this chapter only)

Tags (for this chapter only): Canon-typical violence

Summary: At twenty-four, Mouri Ran is a journalist at a national newspaper. Kudo Shinichi is one of the best detectives in Japan. They have never met.

When they do, sparks fly — the kind that burn down a city and everything in it.

Author’s Notes I am hugely grateful to @mirrorfalls and @gisachi​ for initial brainstorming and cheerleading, as well commenting on intermediate drafts. Some of the phrasing is directly theirs. Thank you! This is for both of you.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

RAN

“Toast for breakfast again?”

Ran fixes her father with a glare. “Who went to the racetrack yesterday, got drunk because he lost, and forgot to bring home the rice?”

“I thought we still had a little left!”

“I used it for today’s bentos,” Ran retorts.

“I didn’t realize we were that low,” he grumbles back. He dumps his natto onto a slice of toast and takes a big bite.

Ran sighs. “Don’t forget tonight, okay? And the vinegar.”

“Got it, got it. Leave it to me.”

Her father goes downstairs to the detective agency after breakfast while Ran washes up. Then she heads to work, two train transfers and a ten-minute walk. Her phone begins to buzz as the escalator disgorges her from the heated station and into the morning chill.

“Hello? Mom?”

“Good morning, Ran. About lunch tomorrow, I’m afraid we’ll have to reschedule. I do know this is the fourth time—”

“Fifth.”

“Fifth. But there’s a client who absolutely needs that time slot. I’m sorry, baby.”

“Okay, okay,” Ran sighs. “I get it, Mom. We can have lunch the same time next week.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you then.” Kisaki Eri hangs up.

The newsroom of the Asayomi Shimbun is housed on the fourteenth floor of a massive office building. Some of its thousand-some staff are already there, taking calls, typing up articles, or just flitting about when Ran enters.

“Great work on the Kirima-Kona engagement article, Mouri-kun,” says Ran’s managing editor, a thin, blonde woman named Santemillion, passing by as Ran’s hanging up her coat. “We highlighted it in this morning’s section,” she says.

“Thank you, it’s an honor! Um, did you think about the article I pitched?”

“Yes, it’s an interesting idea, but it doesn’t quite fit in Culture and Society. You should tell the Moroboshi-san about it, though,” she says, meaning the Crime editor, “I’m sure he can find someone to follow up on it. You should be focused on cracking the Matsubishi infidelity story, anyway. It seems like you’re getting close.”

Ran hitches her smile higher. Culture and Society is mostly celebrity gossip and breaking scandals, and it’s true that she’s good at weaseling information out of secretive celebrities and tight-lipped scions. But writing for Culture and Society notoriously leads to only more of the same, and she already feels like she’s been writing the same three articles since she started.

She scans a copy of the morning edition when she gets to her desk. The lifestyle sections are in the back, but she flips through the first few pages first. On page five there’s a photo of a grinning man under the headline, “Heisei Holmes Does It Again!”

The smile in the picture is the most cocksure she’s ever seen.

-

SHINICHI

The house is quiet when Shinichi wakes. It’s always quiet.

He brushes his teeth, notes that there are cobwebs in the corners of the bathroom. Which means there are cobwebs in the dining room, the living room, the parlor, his parents’ bedroom, the spare bedrooms, and probably his own, too. Everything but the library and the kitchen.

He scoops up the Asayomi from his doorstep on his way to his car, a sleek black hybrid. The agency is a short drive away, and he gets there the same time Hattori does. The latter jostles Shinichi with his elbow as Shinichi unlocks the door.

“You’re late, Kudo!”

“So are you,” Shinichi retorts.

Hattori moved from Osaka after losing a bet — although the man keeps insisting he let Shinichi win that deduction battle. To which Shinichi always responds that a pair detective agency in Osaka wouldn’t do half as well, anyway.

Their shared office is smaller and more cramped than befits two world-class private eyes. Most of the room is taken up by three squashy armchairs facing each other around a small coffee table, all a little too close for comfort, not that any guest has ever complained. Their two desks are squeezed next to the outer wall, which is mostly window, looking out onto the buildings across and the street below.

Shinichi pours himself a coffee from the sectioned-off kitchenette and sits down at his desk, opening the newspaper to find an article about himself, with quotes he’d given a few days ago. It’s rather flattering. They always are.

On a whim he flips to a random page in the back, one of the ones he rarely reads, the culture and entertainment and sports sections. His eye lands on the highlighted article in Culture and Society, about the engagement of a restauranteur and an actress.

Shinichi reads the whole thing, then pitches the entire newspaper away in disgust. It skids across his desk and cascades into the wastebasket.

“You fine there, Kudo?”

“Who writes this garbage? What a waste of paper! Anyway, you have a lead for that extortion case?”

-

Hattori’s lead is an auctioneer by trade. They trail the man to a grand hall and stand at the very back of a large audience in their tuxedos and cocktail dresses, as their target calls for bids on a calligraphy piece, a Ming Dynasty vase, and an impressively ugly abstract sculpture. Shinichi’s eyebrows raise as the price on the sculpture reaches thirty million yen.

“Thirty one million, do I hear— gkh!”

The auctioneer clutches at his chest. His eyes bulge. He slumps onto the podium.

Shinichi and Hattori leap onto the stage.

It’s a thrilling case, involving a gang of robbers, cyanide ice, extortion, and of course, string and duct tape. They solve it in record time. After the murderer’s confession, Megure pulls Shinichi out to the back lot for some more questions, and Shinichi is happy to provide.

As he’s about to head back in, hand on the doorknob, he stops. There are voices on the other side. One is Hattori’s.

The other says, “Wow, that’s incredible, Hattori-tantei! To think that duct tape can do that!”

The voice is a woman’s — sincere, eager, bright — and it jars every single one of Shinichi’s nerves.

On the other side of the door, Hattori demurs politely, but he sounds both smug and pleased. “Ain’t it, Miss?” Shinichi catches.

“Of course, would you mind going on record with this?”

A reporter. Shinichi swings the door open just as Hattori’s harrumphing, “Ah — sure, but Kudo’s the one you wanna talk to about this one—”

The woman on the other side is younger than he expects, brown hair bound up in a long ponytail, semi-professional attire of a blouse tucked into slacks. She’s holding a notepad and a pen, and currently has shining violet eyes turned toward Shinichi’s partner. Shinichi’s irritation spikes.

“Press isn’t allowed here, whoever you are. Besides,” he adds snidely, “he’s taken.”

“Here he is now!” Hattori says. “Be nice,” he says to Shinichi.

He doesn’t have to remind Shinichi of that. Shinichi can handle the press. Shinichi is amazing with the press. Shinichi can charm interviewers in his sleep. But this overeager, cloying reporter sets him on edge.

She swings around to face him fully, and he sees that she’s only his age — and that she’s absurdly, unacceptably beautiful.

As his mind almost blanks, she asks angrily, “Do you always assume the worst of people?”

He pulls himself together. “I don’t assume,” he says simply. “I know. For example,” he begins, taking in her neat but old clothing, her bare fingers, the faint scent of bleach in her clothes, “you live with your father, who is a habitual drunk, and do most of the housework.”

The act of deduction steadies him. Her eyes widen as he steps closer. The usual response. He puts his hands in his pockets, remembering the way her gaze skittered around the chalk outline of the corpse.

“You’re terrified of dead bodies, so either you’re not a crime reporter, or you’re new to the beat.” She’s wearing an expensive wristwatch, at odds with the rest of her person. “Your mother is the wealthy one, but she doesn’t have time for you, and blows you off with expensive presents.” Behind the reporter’s back, Hattori’s doing something strange, flapping his hands at Shinichi like a wounded duck, but Shinichi ignores him. “So,” he continues, musing, “she can’t care much about y—” and it’s then he realizes he’s missed something big.

Professional-level martial artist, his brain supplies, as the room sails past and agony bursts from somewhere around his solar plexus. He goes straight through the police tape, lands on his ass, and skids three more meters across the stage.

“Kudo!” Hattori shouts, running over as Shinichi doubles up on the floor, gasping like a fish. He hears stomping footsteps.

“H-hey, neechan,” Hattori’s voice says nervously from somewhere above him. Then Hattori gulps.

He looks up. The reporter looms over him, her expression ominous.

But suddenly her face softens and she’s eye level with him, crouched down. “Are you alright?” She sounds genuinely concerned.

What does she think? He’s on the floor clutching his ribcage, and she’s the one who hit him!

“Let me see,” she says, and hands push gently in the area of his wounded middle. While Shinichi clenches his teeth against each pat, she says, “I’m Mouri Ran. Reporter for Asayomi News. You’re Kudo Shinichi, aren’t you? I’ve seen your picture in the paper.”

Shinichi’s brain works. “Mouri… Ran?” He tries to remember where he knows that name from, but the pain is making it hard to think. Then he remembers. “Gossip. Pointless… drivel.”

When her hands withdraw and her brows lower thunderously, Shinichi realizes he’s made another mistake. He flinches, squeezing his eyes shut.

He waits ten seconds. Twenty.

Something pokes his cheek. “Hey, Kudo.”

Shinichi cracks open an eye. To Hattori’s mirthful mug; the man looks like he’s trying his best not to laugh. The violent reporter — Mouri Ran — is nowhere to be seen.

“Those were some… interestin’ word choices there,” Hattori says.

“She’s gone?” Shinichi mumbles.

“Stormed out,” Hattori says, offering a hand to help him to a sitting position.

Shinichi takes it. His middle hurts, a lot. “Good riddance,” he wheezes.

-

RAN

Kudo Shinichi. An arrogant, heartless, high-handed bastard.

She looks him up in the Asayomi archives as soon as she gets back. There are eight clippings, dating back twenty-four years to a birth announcement in Culture and Society. She reads all of them and learns that both his parents are minor celebrities, that he grew up jet-setting around the world, and that he’s made a name for himself as a private investigator after coming back to Japan.

“Ooh, handsome, isn’t he?” another Culture and Society reporter gushes, breezing in from nowhere to plop down at the table Ran’s spread the clippings out on. Suzuki Sonoko, one-time heiress to a mind-boggling corporate empire, now Ran’s fellow newswoman and best friend. (“I like gossip!” she’d said of her career choice, grinning.)

“If only he were anything besides handsome!” Ran returns. A thought occurs to her. “Have you met him?” Sometimes Sonoko knows the rich and famous, just by dint of being rich herself.

“No, but I saw him at a KID heist once! Are you doing a piece on him?”

“As if! Who’d want to report on this egomaniac?” Ran flips to another clipping that’s just half a page of Kudo Shinichi’s cocky grin.

“Hmm,” says Sonoko meaningfully. Then, “Well, he is good-looking.”

Ran looks up from her idle consideration of Kudo’s cheekbones. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, all kinds of celebrity connections come in handy in Culture and Society, right? Just, like, don’t get hurt.”

It takes a while for Sonoko’s meaning to percolate. When it does, Ran almost whites out from mortification. “He’s the smarmiest, least-deserving jerk I’ve ever met,” she says flatly. “I want nothing to do with him!”

“Sorry, sorry! Whatever you say!”

“Anyway,” Ran continues optimistically, “It’s not like I’ll ever see him again, right?”

Sonoko giggles. “Well, you never know!”

 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

More author notes: That’s Chapter 1! I make no promises regarding an update schedule.

NSFW chapters will be posted solely to AO3, but all updates will be announced on Tumblr.

AO3 link is in the reblogs, to keep things SFW for ShinRan week.

Have a good day!

[saebyeog-i]

bitter brews (i) | syh

“Johnny laughed again, eyes crinkling at the sides. Your mind wandered briefly to a half formed thought about how endearing that was. “Maybe so, but despite your efforts to make me an enemy, I think you’re actually a really good person. You even guessed my favorite coffee drink, so that has to count for something.””

genre | not quite a coffeeshop!au, (mild)slow burn, this thought about being an adversaries to lovers fic for six minutes

rating/warnings | a stupid amount of exposition about coffee plants, catch me throwing in the random recipes that have been my go-to for cooking during quarantine, is this angsty?, discussions of mental health issues {see tags for details}, overall mature content/themes {foul language, alcohol consumption, references & discussion of masturbation, awkward boners, future smut}, some soft moments, and some good ol’ tooth rotting waxing poetic nonsense fluff. Don’t expect too much out of this I just got tired of editing this part so I’m finally posting it.

word count | 19.6k (I meant for this to be a super long one-shot but it’s turning into a story in parts for the sake of ratings w h o o p s)

pairing | Johnny Seo x fem reader

writing playlist | Egotistic - Mamamoo, Black Swan - BTS, Sober - HYO, I Blame On You - Taeyeon, Heartbeat - BTS, Close to Me (Red Velvet Remix) - Ellie Goulding feat. Red Velvet

—

“So, what you mean to say is… you’re not coming? Like, at all?”

The bright yellow plastic of the rotary phone was slightly cool against your overheating skin, which was constantly veiled in a thin layer of sweat whenever you stayed on the farm property instead of the main house on the opposite side of the island. It was the first week of May, which meant it was already humid again. If it wasn’t the time for the daily afternoon rain showers, it might as well have felt like it was raining with how saturated the air was.

“I’m sorry, Bean, I just can’t get on a plane right now. I thought it would be fine it we stretched out the time between flights, but all my doctors are saying I need to just stay here between now and the birth, so…”

Your sister’s voice trailed off and you had to wait for a moment to be sure it wasn’t the poor reception for the phone call running across the four thousand miles that separated you— the four thousand miles that would continue to separate you for the rest of the summer.

You exhaled and twirled the aged spiral phone cord that could barely hold its shape around your index finger, staring at the concrete floor and scrunching your toes. “Well, I’m already here, obviously… do you… you want me to stay here then? Take care of stuff?” You asked hesitantly, already having a feeling of what the answer would be.

A crackly sigh of relief came through the other line. “Little Bean, you are the best, Yunho was worried about asking you to stay and man the farm for the summer harvest but I knew you would just offer! You’re the best like that, you know?” You gritted your teeth and forced a smile through, even though no one was there to witness it. “Okay, so we’ll ship out the supplies in the next few days. Yunho is gonna email you a list of delivery dates of materials for the projects he had planned for the summer and a few contractor contacts…”

Her voice warbled on, and you could only nod your head and vocalize an ‘mhmm’ every so often, listening to her rattle off instructions and information that you knew would be sent in an email too. You’d been looking forward to spending the summer with her— you hadn’t gotten a proper chance to visit for more than a weekend since she and Yunho had gotten married about two years ago— but it turned out this wouldn’t be it. You couldn’t blame her though; she was approaching the third trimester of her pregnancy. You’d do anything for her, even this, even isolating yourself on a farm for four months. Alone.

Not exactly the leave of absence you’d been hoping for from work, but it would have to do.

✧ ✧ ✧

This was supposed to be a vacation. A break. Some much needed time off, away from your job, your career, and your “normal” life. You told yourself over and over again you were looking forward to it. And besides, it would all be worth it, because of all the time you’d get to spend with your sister after so long.

And then she had to betray you by going and getting fucking knocked up, with twins no less.

Fucking happily married couples with their god damn healthy ass sex lives and family planning and wanting to raise children. What the fuck was that all about?

It had been so long since your last vacation. Years, in fact. So long, you had over two months of paid time off accrued at work, and back at New Years you’d made the preliminary plans to spend a month on the farm in Hawaii with her, bonding and just relaxing. Sure, it would require some manual labor for the business here and there, but mostly just to rest.

What a joke that turned out to be.

The farm in Hawaii. You know, the coffee farm your brother in law bought four years ago on a dare from your sister, because he said he could totally pull it off as a side hustle, and she said he wouldn’t be able to? Yeah, that one. Fast forward to today and the side hustle became a full fledged passion that roped in a good amount of the family into the business. Siblings, cousins, parents, all involved in different aspects of package design, social media marketing, distribution and wholesale— everyone except you, who stuck with your soul sucking job in advertising, the same industry your brother in law had since left behind.

The farm and roasting wasn’t an overnight success by any means, but in the last year the brand had really taken off in the craft coffee scene. After all, Kona coffee was well sought after, and one could only claim the name ‘Kona’ if it was grown on the same two thousand or so acres of land on Hawaii’s big island. You know, the same area of land you were living on for the remainder of the summer?

Right. The whole summer.

It was just supposed to be the month of May. And then it turned into May and some of June, when you’d asked your sister to make more concrete plans, and she kept brushing it off. And then the week before you actually got off the plane, you hadn’t booked the return ticket, because you were still waiting for her answer. And then the phone call, and now, this was… indefinite? No, that was being too dramatic; if anything, it would be up through the birth. Based on the number of projects Yunho had planned for the farm, through the remainder of the summer was how long everything would take. Just you and a little over five acres of land and the summer heat. The thought of an extended isolation had your breath catching in your throat, but the last thing you wanted to do was complain or call for help. Stubborn and proud, you wouldn’t have made the offer to stay if you didn’t mean it, if you didn’t think you could handle it. There was no way you were backing out now.

When Yunho had first bought the farm, it had been a rough first few years of refining the coffee plants that had been on the land and uncared for for a number of years, but the last two summers had provided a steady increase in the harvest yield. There was a small farmhouse on the property, with two small bedrooms, a shower, and a small kitchen and living area. A few miles down the coast was the nicer, newer condo that the business had bought, a multi-bedroom unit with some better amenities for when more of your family wanted to visit. It felt weird spending time there— it was too nice, too clean, and quite frankly you had enough to keep yourself busy with on the farm property, you’d rather not have to spend time driving back and forth every day. So you opted to spend most of your nights sleeping here, even though it meant only ceiling fans and no air conditioning.

The farmhouse had very shitty, very limited wifi and a grand total of three electrical outlets outside of what was used to power the oven and refrigerator. One of those outlets was, of course, dedicated to an espresso machine on the kitchen counter, which you had gotten acquainted with over the last two weeks. It was an older model and a little temperamental (the one at the condo was much nicer), but it was still from a decent manufacturer, and you could still use it to pulled a decent shot.

Most of the time you worked in silence, and most of the time you were never too aware of how much time had passed, other than when the sun went down and it was suddenly dark out. You weren’t always this absent minded, you swore— maybe it was a byproduct of being alone for so long—

A loud, high pitched whine filled your ears, followed by some scratching at the door that lead to the lanai outside. You sighed, standing up from the kitchen table and walking over to face the monster that had made it.

“What? What do you want now?”

Staring back at you from the the other side of the screen door was what you’d affectionally referred to as The Thirty-Three Pound Menace— the medium sized stray dog that your brother-in-law so conveniently forgot to mention had been living on the farm for the last few months. It had been waiting outside the farmhouse when you first arrived, and you’d learned from the neighbors that Yunho had taken a liking to the stray and had arranged for them to feed it in his absence. But now that you were here, taking care of the dog was added to your list of daily chores. It seemed to not want to leave the farm property unless actively accompanied by you, with the assurance that you’d be bringing it back with you.

With a roll of your eyes you hip checked the door open just enough to let the dog inside the house. It circled you several times, sniffing at your knees before sitting and panting, staring up at you expectantly. In the two weeks you’d been here, the majority of your conversations were between you and this, a being that couldn’t talk back. Maybe you liked it that way. “What, dinner? Fine, fine,” you grumbled, shuffling to the cabinet and pulling out a can of wet food.

Your meals had consisted of relatively simple dishes, but today you were cranky at the confirmation that your summer was not going to go as planned. Tonight’s dinner featured a bowl of cereal and a coffee mug full of cold white wine.

You ate in silence. You drank in silence. The only noise came from the hum of the ceiling fan overhead, and the occasional sound of the dog, cleaning its paws and laying by your feet protectively. Why it seemed so determined to win over your affection, you had no idea.

After sitting in silence with only your thoughts and the now sleeping dog to keep you company for what felt like hours and downing a second mug full of wine, you found yourself letting out a loud yell, startling the dog and waking it. In a fury, you pulled out the laptop you had for the sole purpose of checking once a day for emails from Yunho and connected it to the shitty, sub-par wifi with just enough patience to navigate to an airline’s website and search flights back to the states. You were looking for the cheapest, most reasonable one you could find. After all of five minutes of research and a quick round on mental math, you clicked on a date and hit the ‘book now’ button before you could second guess yourself, slamming the computer shut once the payment went through and shoving it away from you across the table.

“September 10th,” you grumbled out loud for only you and the dog to hear. Standing from the chair, the legs scraping loudly against the floor, you crossed the room and stopped in front of the wall calendar your sister had put up the last time she’d visited the farm just after New Years. You lifted a few pages and flipped forward to the month of September. Red marker in hand, you found the date and circled it rather aggressively, several times over. You looked down at the dog, watching you patiently with its head tilted. “You got that? I’m getting off this fucking island on September 10th.”

✧ ✧ ✧

The day your life fell apart came twelve days later just before nine in the morning.

Mondays were the delivery day, that’s what Yunho had laid out in his instructional emails to you. Your only source of personal transportation was an older jeep, one you didn’t enjoy driving, given that it had no top and needed some mechanical work done. So you’d made arrangements and had your groceries delivered on Monday mornings, buying mostly direct from another farm on the other side of the island, and they were always kind enough to act as the courier for whatever additional miscellaneous supplies you’d request, regardless of where they’d have to go to procure them.

There was a winding driveway that lead up to the house from the main road, and a larger, wider drive up a less steep hillside for larger vehicles for delivery. You were fully expecting the truck that lumbered up the delivery road and came to a stop just outside the barn which housed the massive coffee roaster and stored most of the processed green beans from harvest. Even though it had only been three weeks, there was a routine that had slowly been settling into place: the sound of the truck coming to a stop riled up the dog, the dog came running from wherever and started barking, you’d get your groceries and any other assorted items, the dog would get a treat because your delivery boy had a soft spot for the creature, and you’d pay for your goods. “Hey Jin,” you called out over the barking from the front of the barn, hands currently full with a sack of processed coffee beans you’d hoisted over your shoulder. “You can just leave the groceries on the porch, I’ll put them inside in a few. Did you manage to get me the bags of fertilizer and some wood stakes?” A loud thud sounded as you dropped the bag to its resting place on the concrete floor.

“I mean, I can go put these inside if that’s easier. And yeah, there’s ten bags to get us started, we can have more delivered next week if you still need ‘em.”

You whipped around to face whoever had just spoken, because that voice was most certainly not Jin.

He was tall like Jin, had wide shoulders like Jin, and his hair was kept just a bit long and looked ridiculously shiny and soft and like you could run your fingers through it like Jin’s. It was a lighter brown with some honeyed highlights running through it, compared to the dark brown almost black of Jin’s. You tensed, seeing him carrying a brown paper bag with a loaf of bread and the leafy green tops of carrots sticking out the top. He wasn’t looking at you, rather, he was far too occupied with bending down slightly and scratching behind the ear of the dog who was currently whining and wagging its tail at his feet. Some guard dog it was.

Without a second thought, you reached for the first sharp object you could find, which happened to be the box cutter you used to cut open the burlap bags the beans came back from the processing plant in. “You’re not Jin,” you said tersely, holding the utility knife by your hip defensively.

“Chill out killer, he’s harmless,” a more familiar voice called. Seokjin, your regular delivery driver whose family owned the farm you bought directly from, came into view carrying another two bags of produce and a small pile of envelopes. “Picked up your mail on my way up, the box was practically overflowing. Do you ever check that thing?” You’d first met Jin two years ago when you’d come to visit your sister and Yunho for a long weekend. He’d become a good friend of Yunho’s and was one of the people who would take turns feeding the dog when no one else was here.

Ignoring the unknown man, you relaxed your shoulders slightly and placed the knife down on the table behind you. “Thanks,” you grumbled, taking the small pile of letters from him. Admittedly, you hadn’t checked the mailbox since the day after you’d arrived on the farm, mostly out of sloth and spite. You sifted through the letters— mostly junk mail, with a few bills and notices relating to the business. You put those in front so you could look through them later, when you’d finished the physical work for the day. You tore one envelope open in particular when you noticed it was addressed directly to you and had your sister and Yunho’s Illinois address in the upper corner. It was a letter postmarked from two weeks ago, which struck you as odd, because what the hell would he bother writing in a letter that he couldn’t just send you in an email or a text or a phone call? You started reading aloud softly to yourself.

“‘My Dearest Bean… First of all I want to apologize for the change in plans, but with your sister’s condition her doctors just don’t recommend her traveling,’ God, he’s so dramatic she’s not terminally ill she’s just pregnant. Blah blah blah, I don’t care, you’re full of absolute shite, Yunho,” you began skimming through his lengthy pre amble, looking for the purpose behind the note. Without reading the middle you flipped the stationary paper over to see his handwriting covered the entire back of the page, too. “God, he’s so long winded. Oh, here we go, the very end— ‘I promise we’ll make it up to you, thank you for running the farm and taking care of Puppy, please be nice to Johnny and treat him well, he seems like a good kid.” You stared at the words written on the paper and looked up at Jin. “Who the fuck is Johnny?”

The man next to him cleared his throat and held his hand up. “Johnny! I’m uh, that’s me. You must be _____— I’ve heard a lot about you from Yunho! I’m Johnny Seo, it’s nice to meet you,” he said with a smile, reaching a hand out.

You eyed it but made no move to reciprocate the action. “Cool. You know Yunho. Lots of people know Yunho, he’s a huge fucking flirt, social butterfly of the century, the man never shuts up. Why should I be nice to you?”

He shifted on his feet and his outstretched hand retreated. “Oh. Uh. I’m uh, here for the summer,” he explained, sounding almost confused. “Didn’t— didn’t Yunho tell you?”

Your eyes bugged out and you looked over to Jin. “Jin who the fuck is this and why is he on my farm?” You whispered.

Your friend laughed. “You read the end of Yunho’s letter. I’m sure if you read the whole thing it would explain more. This is Johnny, and he’s here for the summer. He’s gonna help you out! I know the list of all the projects you need to finish this summer is lengthy, and plus look at the guy, he’s jacked! You could use the muscle for manual labor. More work for him, less for you, right? And look, the poor dog you refuse to give a name to even likes him!” Jin gestured comically at Johnny. You looked over, sizing him up some— Jin wasn’t wrong. The stranger was muscular on top of being tall, and under the capped sleeves of his tee shirt you saw his arms that looked the size of your head. The dog was still circling him, sniffing and begging for attention.

Johnny tried smiling again. “Yunho mentioned there was a lot of construction type work to do. I uh, had nothing else planned so he said I could stay on the farm for the summer and work in exchange for food and a place to sleep. I take it he uh, didn’t run that by you first, did he?”

Your grip on the papers in hand tightened and you felt your jaw tense involuntarily. “No, he managed to not mention that once to me. How did you even get here?” You hissed back.

“I picked him up at the airport this morning,” Jin answered calmly, “Yunho gave me a buzz a few days ago to ask if I could bring him here with this week’s groceries.”

“So he managed to arrange for him to get on a plane and secure transportation to the farm but couldn’t be bothered to call me and let me know?”

Jin only laughed, his eyes crinkling. “I’m pretty sure he knows you well enough by now to know that this would have been your reaction whatever way he told you.” Despite the kinship you’d felt growing between the two of you, Jin was Yunho’s friend first, and it only made sense that his allegiance would be to him first. Of course he’d side with Yunho on this matter. “And yes, like Johnny said I did bring a bundle of plant stakes and ten bags of fertilizer— they’re in the back of the truck bed.”

“Oh, I could get those—” Johnny started, moving to step towards the truck.

You could barely think straight. First they bailed on you unexpectedly to spend the summer on the farm alone. That was fine— you’d gotten that through your head, and had come to terms with that. But suddenly springing a plus one on you, without your consent? Absolutely the fuck not.

“Yeah. Don’t need help. Thanks,” you spat, grabbing the bags of groceries from him and brushing past, stomping your way back to the farmhouse.

Johnny stood frozen for a moment before stammering, looking from Jin to your retreating figure and back again. “I should— I should talk to her, right? Or do I—”

“Whoa, don’t think too hard there handsome, I can smell wood burning. Don’t stress about it. She’s just a little… touchy. Let me talk to her,” Jin patted Johnny on the back before heading up the path to the farmhouse after you.

You’d stormed into the house and slammed the groceries down on the counter and let out a screech of rage before picking up the receiver of the yellow rotary phone and dialing. Tapping you foot incessantly, you waited as it rang.

“He-llo~?” The singsong voice that came through the other end was far too amused with itself, more so than usual, and that’s how you knew he knew why you were calling.

“Jung Yunho you better be thankful you knocked up my sister because if it weren’t for the babies in her womb I would fly myself across the Pacific and flay you alive,” you seethed through gritted teeth.

In true unbothered fashion, your brother in law only laughed at your threat. “Ah, so I take it your employee has arrived safely! I’ll have to thank Seokjin for getting him from the airport. Can you give the Kims a pound of the special medium roast as a token of my gratitude?”

“No!” You yelled back, “No! I will not! I’m already beyond frustrated that I’m on this island alone for the entire summer, I’m doing this as a favor because we’re family! I’m not your slave, Yunho! Where was my warning, huh? When were you going to ask if I was okay with you sending some stranger to live in the same house as me, huh?!”

The familiar ache in your chest started to swell, and breathing became difficult. ‘Not now,’ you thought bitterly, ‘Please not right now-’

You curled your free hand into a fist and pressed your nails into your palm, hard, grounding yourself. Yunho’s voice on the phone blurred out and by the time his words started making sense again, you’d already missed what he’d been saying. “I’m not saying you have to like the kid, just show him some hospitality, yeah? You just said it yourself, you didn’t want to be alone this summer, and now you won’t be. I know you’re a good cook so that’s why I told him food would be included. Don’t worry, I’ve already sent some pre-payments to the Kims, so your grocery orders are doubled for the rest of the summer.” His voice went quiet for a second. You rubbed at your temple in frustration, squinting your eyes shut and forcing the mere thought of tears deep back into the recesses of your brain. “Bean? You still there?”

“Don’t get all pretend concerned, Yunho. And stop using my childhood nickname any time you want something from me.” Your voice was quieter now, the intensity of your emotions subsiding, but the betrayal you felt still running strong. “Fine. I’ll tolerate him. But there better be a case of wine in next week’s groceries to make this bearable.”

“Done and done! You’re gonna love him Bean, he’s really great. He’ll be good company.” The continued use of your childhood nickname from anyone other than your sister always gave you pause.

“I said tolerate not befriend. There’s a difference,” you clarified quickly. A knock at the door startled you, and you jumped and looked to see Jin standing by the front door, a roll of wooden stakes under his arm. You rolled your eyes and waved your arm to shoo him away, pointing at the phone pressed to your ear. “Look, Yunho, I don’t know what you’re hoping to see me get out of this, but if he drives me insane I can’t promise that he’ll walk away from this unscathed.”

His laugh echoed through the receiver and reverberated against your skin. “I just think it would do you some good to have some human interaction, that’s all. Your sister too. She says hi, by the way,” he added softly, “And so do the little ones.”

You scoffed. Yunho always brought up your sister as a way of diffusing your temper. He knew it would always work. “They’re still in embryonic fluid, they can’t talk and they certainly don’t have cognitive function.” Sometimes you wondered if even Yunho had that with the wild ideas that went through his mind.

“Ever the romantic, you are. You know, soon they’ll be able to think! And they’ll be thinking of their favorite auntie, and how much they can’t wait to meet her! So she can’t be arrested for murder between now and when they’re born, because babies can’t go to prison!”

“I’m telling your sister you said that,” you challenged. With an exhale, you did your best to let go of the frustration and tension inside and politely ended the phone call. You were trying to clear your head and collect yourself before heading back outside when you heard a yell that sounded all too much like Jin’s voice.

“What fresh hell—” you started, shuffling back outside in the direction of the commotion where you saw Jin, somewhat struggling under the weight of two bags of fertilizer, and Johnny, now with a baseball cap turned backwards on his head, easily hoisting a stack of four bags without slouching.  

Your eyebrow ticked up upon the realization that it was almost seventy pounds that he was slinging around like it was nothing. “Anywhere specific you want these?” He asked innocently, looking up at where you stood on the lanai just outside the door. You almost cursed him out when he blinked at you twice.

You pointed your left arm down the hill, the opposite direction of the way to the barn. “Shed. Next to the vegetable garden.” You wrinkled your nose at him. “And lose the hat. Or at least don’t wear it backwards. Makes you look like an ass.”

Johnny’s mouth hung open for a moment before he hummed and winked. “You got it, Boss! Come on handsome, if you can carry those good looks you can carry some dirt,” he called back to Jin, who was currently grumbling about how manual labor wasn’t a part of his delivery arrangement.

The hairs on your arm stood up on edge as you watched Johnny laugh deeply as he ambled his way in the direction you’d pointed. The thirty three pound menace next to you whined and wagged its tail, panting as it went from watching you to watching Johnny’s retreating figure. You looked down and made eye contact. “If I survive this, I’m going to kill Yunho.”

✧ ✧ ✧

There was no case of wine in the grocery deliveries the following week. The reasoning Yunho gave was that per Jin’s investigation, the liquor stores were all out of your favorite wine, so there was no point in sending you a sub par alternative. It was absolute crap, but you had better things to do than chew out your brother in law over the phone. Took way more energy than it was worth.

So far, Johnny was making good on his word and earning his keep. At first, you’d tried avoiding him as much as possible, intentionally waking up hours ahead of him and starting your day when the sun rose. You never made much noise in the mornings, the loudest thing you did was make coffee, and lately you’d opted for a pour over versus pulling shots of espresso. You weren’t personally one for breakfast, choosing just coffee and maybe a piece of fruit instead. This morning you felt a little hungrier than usual, so you thought you’d get yourself a bowl of cereal. Peering into your pantry, you saw that on the shelf where there had been a stash of cereal boxes, there was now nothing.

“Where the fuck are my cocoa pebbles?” You swore in shock, not realizing you weren’t alone in the kitchen.

“Shit sorry, I ate the last of those yesterday.”

You whirled around to see Johnny, still seemingly half asleep and with some gnarly bedhead, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. His lips were so perfectly pouty, one small part of your brain almost thought he looked cute like this.

But no, he wasn’t cute, he was a thief— he’d stolen all of your cereal stash. “Did you seriously eat through four boxes in a week?” You asked incredulously.

“It was three and a quarter! And yeah I don’t know, I’m always hungry and just one bowl of cereal isn’t filling enough, so I usually have two, or three...” He mumbled, voice trailing off as he rubbed a hand behind his head sheepishly.

You snorted. And then a thought came across you. “Johnny,” you said calmly, the feeling of his name on your tongue foreign and strange. Was this the first time you’d addressed him by name since his arrival? You couldn’t remember. “Do you not know how to cook?”

He hummed thoughtfully for a second. “No-pe!” He popped the p sound in the word. How was he this cheerful, even first thing in the morning? “I mean, I can like, boil water and cook pasta and stuff like that. I think I successfully grilled pork belly once, though it was probably doused in too much oil and too many spices. My college experience was funded almost exclusively on instant dinners and takeout for two years, and then for the second half one of my roommates was an actual chef, so, no one was allowed in the kitchen ‘cept for him.”

“Honestly, I am shocked that you haven’t perished in some tragically strange idiotic accident yet,” you sighed and shuffled to the fridge, pulling out a carton of eggs and a pack of bacon. You grabbed a frying pan from the cabinet under the stove and clicked the burner on, reaching for the oil bottle that lived on the counter top and drizzling some in the pan.

Johnny shuffled closer to inspect what you were doing and let out a gasp of appreciation. “You’re making me eggs and bacon?”

“I’m making me eggs and bacon,” you corrected, “But I guess I’ll make enough for you too,” you said as you peeled the strips off the packaging and placed them into the pan with a sizzle. You reached for a few eggs and cracked four into the pan directly, cocked your head at the amount of food, and then grabbed two more eggs and added them in before taking a fork and scrambling them all together, adding salt and white pepper to the bubbling liquid. You glanced up at Johnny, still watching you, slightly curious. “I don’t trust you. You say you’re an adult but you eat like a teenage boy still. There’s never any leftovers.” After a few minutes you flipped the strips of bacon over and then quickly chopped up a green onion and scraped it onto the scramble just before the eggs finished cooking.

Johnny watched you the whole time, and you felt only slightly uneasy under his gaze. When you turned off the stove after plated your food and stepping away to pour yourself some coffee and he didn’t move, you gestured at the pan in a fashion as if to silently ask him ‘What?’

“Oh!” He gasped out lightly, springing into action and plating the food for himself. You hadn’t bothered to sit down at the table, instead holding the plate in front of you as you leaned against the counter and ate. Johnny followed your lead, taking a bite and groaning audibly in enjoyment at he chewed. He smiled and his eyes shone, almost sparkling. You watched him curiously for a moment before he mumbled out “Your cooking is really good! It uh, reminds me of my mom’s. She’s a great cook.”

You kept your lips tightly shut at the apparent compliment. “It’s just eggs, you weirdo. Finish up and do the dishes. When you’re done meet me by the shed. Today you’re stripping off the old paint and removing any of the rotting boards and disposing of them,” you instructed while placing your empty plate in the sink. His tasks for the day were the next phase in slowly rebuilding the dilapidated shed on the west side of the property to make it useful for storage of all the tools you used to tend to the fruit trees and vegetable garden nearby.

He flashed a smile at you and gave a mock salute. “Aye-aye, captain, I am at your service.”

“Oh shut up,” you grumbled, downing more of your coffee before trudging off.

It was going to be a long summer.

✧ ✧ ✧

“I’m telling you Wendy, I’m going to need an alibi, I really am going to murder my brother in law.”

“What, for giving you live-in eye candy for the summer and hinting that he thinks you need to get laid?”

“Ugh, no, that’s not— hold up, you don’t agree with him, do you?”

The sound of your best friend’s laughter through the phone had you dragging your hands over your face and pulling down at your eyelids dramatically, as if she could see your reaction.

On Thursdays, you finished up your work for the day around 4pm so you could pull up a chair next to the rotary phone and make time for the weekly scheduled phone call with Wendy. She’d insisted on the arrangement after you went six days without texting her, which you’d insisted was because service was spotty, but she’d accurately called you out on being cranky and stewing by yourself.

You and Wendy had met during your freshman year of college. By graduation, you’d lived together for three years, and made a vow to move to the same city together post grad, hence why she was still your roommate now— or was, seeing as you were on the island instead of back in the two bedroom apartment you shared. There was a five hour timezone difference between Hawaii and Chicago, so you’d figured out a schedule that worked for both of you. The calls had a tendency to last for several hours, and depending on how much wine you’d drink while on the phone with her would include bathroom breaks and you inevitably swearing at whatever you were cooking for dinner than night.

“Honey, please. I love you. Dearly, and against all other advice, you’re my best friend— but you need to get laid. You haven’t been this tense since our last finals week of senior year. And clearly you’re not opposed to the idea of Eye Candy banging your brains out, otherwise you wouldn’t have described him as, and I quote, ‘dumb hot and stupidly ripped’. When are you gonna send me a photo so I have something better to work with?”  

“Okay but are you sure you’re not the sexually frustrated one here and you’re just trying to live vicariously through me?”

Wendy’s hum sounded through the line. “I mean, can’t we both be desperately horny and in need of getting some? It’s not ideal but it is possible. Plus, I’m not the one that didn’t pack her vibrator—”

You let out a whine interrupting her as you leaned back in your chair, swirling the wine in your glass a few times as you held the phone to your ear with your shoulder. “Shut up stop reminding me! I regret it but no I’m not letting you send me a new one, especially not with a guy living with me. Come on, my stories are boring, it’s the same thing every day. I wake up, I feed the dog, I tell him what to do and then I hide away doing my own chores. When are you gonna tell me more about that girl you were seeing— what was her name, Joo-something?”

“Nice try, we’re not changing the subject with my dating life. Seriously, babe, you should just think about it.”

“And what, make it awkward for the rest of the summer? No thanks,” you shot her idea down quickly.

“I’m willing to bet money you’ll cave before the end of the summer. Plus, who doesn’t love a good ol’ summer fling? And who says you ever have to see him again once it’s all over?”

As much as you’d loathe to admit it, Wendy had a bit of a point there. “Cute, but you and I both know I’m too high strung for a temporary fling. Plus, I’m not in the mood to catch feelings right now.”

“If I find a way to replenish your wine supply, would that help?”

You groaned dramatically once more. “Not with the sexual frustration, but with my overall wellbeing, yes, yes it would.”

Wendy squealed on the other end of the phone. “Ha! So you admit it, you are sexually frustrated!”

“Woman, when in the years that you’ve known me have I not been at least some kind of frustrated?” You acknowledged.

Your best friend laughed in agreement, understanding she wasn’t going to get much more out of you about Johnny, and began a lengthy and detailed story about her last three dates with a girl she’d met through a friend of a friend. As you listened to how her voice held a dreamlike quality to it when she talked about her, you couldn’t help the pang of jealousy you felt and a sinking feeling in your gut that you’d been lying through your teeth earlier, and that maybe, subconsciously, you did want to catch feelings.

Maybe.

✧ ✧ ✧

“So… is there a story or a reason why you’re here instead of Yunho?”

You lifted your head from your focused task of sorting out the peaberry beans from the regular beans. It was tedious, time consuming, annoying as all hell, and made you want a drink stiffer than the coffee that you were certain made up more of your body fluids than blood or water did at this point. “Yes,” you said curtly after studying his face for a minute, not providing any further explanation. Johnny had his hands in his pockets and pursed his lips, nodding for a moment where he stood in the entrance to the barn.

You had set up your mad scientist level organization for the process all across the concrete floor of the refinished barn. Over the last week, Johnny had finished replacing the boards on the siding of the shed, stained the wood, and sealed it with a protective coat. He even managed to remove all the broken glass from the windows without sustaining any injuries, which you hadn’t thought possible for him. This morning you had him weed the vegetable garden, prune back the hedges along the back side of the house, and clean the deck of the lanai. How did he possibly still have any energy left? He was definitely a harder worker than you’d first given him credit for— you shook your head, not wanting to continue a spiral on Johnny and any detailed thoughts about him.

Back to your task at hand.

The harvest had been divided into several metal basins of five pounds of beans each, and in front of each basin you’d placed two dishes on either side. The point was to be able to weigh how many beans ended up being peaberry from each five pounds of harvest, and to see if you could leverage a steady average from the yield and better plan for how many pounds of the limited roast you could advertise for and set the price per pound accordingly. You wore a face mask and nylon disposable gloves while sorting, and despite being an annoying task, after a while it became a way for you to zone out and let the hours pass by. When the dishes were empty and you first started sorting them, there was a distinct echo of the small beans hitting the metal dish over and over again, until enough beans were lining the bottom that it started to dull the noise.

“Sigh.”

A slight puff of air washed over you. Did he just say the word ‘sigh’ out loud? And was he hovering over your shoulder?

“Can I help you?” You asked, pausing your sorting for only a moment.

“Isn’t it my job to ask you that question? I’m not some layabout, I am trying to earn my keep, you know,” Johnny said in response, rubbing his hands together and eyeing the basin of beans in front of him. You were almost inclined to hand it to him. Over the last four weeks, you’d gotten a lot of decent work out of him, even if you did feel somewhat micro-manage-y half the time with the tasks you did give him. “Okay, how does this work?”

You groaned exaggeratedly and excessively, rolling your eyes. When you didn’t answer, he reached forward and plucked a single coffee bean from the basin and examined it closely. “Hey, this one’s funny looking!”

“Don’t touch them with your bare hands, that’s just going to waste them.” You swatted the bean out of his hand and then looked at your own gloves and sighed. “If you’re insisting on helping, fine. But you need sanitary gear to handle them. Go wash your hands, there’s masks and gloves by the sink,” you grumbled, standing up and taking off your own gloves to dispose of them and replace them with a fresh pair.

Johnny followed obediently, trailing behind you a little too innocently for someone of his size. “Yes, the beans still need to be roasted and that’ll kill any bacteria, but I just like to be extra cautious, okay? Because it’s a mutation there’s no rule to how much of a yield I’ll get with each harvest so I don’t like wasting even a single bean,” you reasoned, settling back down and folding your legs back at the now half-sorted metal bowl.

“So, we’re just sorting the weird ones from the normal ones?” He asked while picking up another peaberry bean, this time with gloved hands and a mask over his mouth and nose.

You took a quick glance and nodded to confirm that yes, the bean in his hand was one of the weird ones he should be looking for. “They’re called peaberry. Normally, a coffee cherry has two seeds in it, or beans. Those two seeds mature in the center of the cherry and you get one flat side and one side touching it. Sometimes people call them ‘flat beans’ but those are the ‘normal’ beans, as you said,” you explained, sifting through your bowl rather quickly. “But the peaberry ones only have one bean inside. The bean is round, so that’s where the name ‘peaberry’ comes from, because—“

“Because it’s round so it looks like a pea, oh I get it! That’s funny,” he laughed, examining the rounded bean in front of him. “Okay, got it, so we’re sorting the peaberry from the flat beans?”

“You proud of your new vocab words?” You snorted, listening for the well known tink of a bean hitting the empty metal bowls. He giggled in acknowledgement.

You worked in relative silence, a small rhythm growing between the two of you. Johnny worked at about half the speed you did, but you couldn’t knock him for it, as it had taken you a while to pick up the pace when you first started hand sorting like this.

“How do you even know Yunho?” You finally asked. Four weeks since he’d arrived, and you’d never bothered to get to know him well enough to listen to the full story of how he’d ended up here.

Johnny shifted in his seated position, clearly a little taken aback that you’d bothered to ask him anything, given your track record. “Oh. Met him in Chicago when I was home visiting. At a local coffee shop, where my buddy Jaehyun is the manager. I went to go bother Jaehyun at work and he was just, shootin’ the shit with one of his coffee suppliers who was doing a visit. That supplier was Yunho. Started talking about how he owned the farm where the beans were grown, and that he wasn’t going to be able to spend the summer out there like he’d planned, so he was looking for some reliable help to uh, take care of things. Mentioned someone else would be on site and in charge, but offered the whole ‘room and board in exchange for copious amounts of physical labor’.”

“And you said yes? Just like that, no questions asked?” It seemed a little too easy, but then again, Johnny had proved to be a little too easygoing.

He shrugged. “Well, yeah. That’s kinda the point of my whole year. Just, go with the flow.” You glanced over, but Johnny was looking down, focused on the task at hand.

You nodded and hummed and turned back to your own basin to continue sorting. A few beats passed by before you couldn’t help yourself— “You’ve said that before. ‘Go with the flow’, or that you ‘had nothing else going on’. What do you mean by that?”

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Johnny’s ears perk up, followed by movement of his cheeks implying the curve of a slight smile. “I’m on a gap year, I guess is what the kids would say. Or maybe sabbatical? Though it’s not like I have any tenure enough to qualify for the real meaning of the term. But yeah, anyways— year off from work. Not getting paid or anything, but, when it’s over if I want it, my old job is waiting for me.”

“How come? That seems so—”

“Impulsive?”

You frowned. “Yeah, exactly.”

“Yeah, exactly,” he repeated, but not in a mocking manner— it was in agreement. “I guess the best way to explain it is this: I was a huge workaholic. I’ve only had my one job post grad after studying business, and I woke up one morning a month before my twenty-fifth birthday and realized it was sucking the soul out of me. It was all I ate, slept, breathed, and it wasn’t even what I wanted to be doing with my life, I realized.”

His pain started sounding all too familiar. “What is it you wanted to do instead, then?”

Even under the mask covering the lower half of his face, his smile reached his eyes. “Photography. I got into an art school when I was applying to colleges, but it just seemed so… risky. I would’ve had to take out loans and instead I got almost a full ride for a bigger university, so I went for that instead. Studied business, managed to grind through undergrad and grad school in four years and walked out with a combined BS and MBA. Took classes every summer to make it happen. I think after graduation, I went back to my parents house and passed out and slept for twenty-three hours straight,” he laughed, clearly recalling a specific memory. “I felt really accomplished when it was over, and even had the job offer already lined up. But I wish I had had more courage to study what I was truly passionate about.

“So after an almost three year long stint at the company and a vested 401k, I decided to take a year off to just, travel the world a bit. I grinded so hard through college I never got the chance to do study abroad, so I guess I wanted to make up for that? I never used to act on impulse or follow my heart, so, that was the goal for this year. To do only that.”

His words struck you differently. This was a whole new side to Johnny that you really weren’t expecting— not that you had a particularly three dimensional view of him to begin with. “And your heart lead you here… to my brother-in-law’s coffee farm?”

He laughed again, trying to hide just how thrilled he was that you were actually engaging in a full on conversation with him. “Well, sort of. My year off started back in February, day before my birthday. Got on a plane and did a few months backpack trip around Asia. I had no clue what would be next, thought maybe Australia, maybe Europe, but when I got off the plane in Chicago to see my mom and regroup on my packing, I decided to go straight from the airport to surprise and bother Jaehyun at his coffee shop. That day I met Yunho. That was a little over six weeks ago. And now I’m here, with you.”

There was something about the way he said that that didn’t sit well in your stomach— with you, like it was a good thing, like he liked it. You didn’t deign him with a response to the end of his story. Like an extension of the current state of your mind, your hands were reaching, feeling around for something, but you were only met with the flat surface of the bottom of the basin.

You looked down to see the last of the metal bowls was empty. Somehow, you’d managed to sort through all twenty pounds of coffee beans. You pulled the face mask down under your chin as you stared at the metal surface for a moment before standing abruptly and turning on your heels.

Confused, Johnny called your name out after you questioningly. “It’s getting late and I’m hungry. You uh, bag up the peaberry and set it aside and then wash out all the metal trays,” you gave him his next set of tasks quickly to make your escape back to the farmhouse to put some distance between the two of you.

A little over an hour later, you’d put together a curry on the stove with some stew meat and a base that included apples, carrots, potatoes, and melted dark chocolate for a more mellow sweet taste to balance it out. You thought about the first time Johnny complimented your cooking when it was just eggs, and how he’d continued to compliment it with every new meal you’d make. You wouldn’t call yourself a chef by any means, thinking that enjoying your go-to recipes would be a more acquired taste, and were in the midst of serving yourself when Johnny came inside with the dog trailing behind him. You didn’t bother saying much, you never did when you’d finished cooking a meal; just a grunt acknowledging his presence and a head nod at the food before you took your bowl and went through the door to go sit on the lanai by yourself. Absent-mindedly, you whistled for the dog to follow you.

Johnny kept to himself that night, eating at the kitchen table, content with looking up out the bay window to see you hand feeding small chunks of meat from your bowl to the dog, even going so far as to pet its head. He shook his head to himself thinking about how you pretended to be so opposed to the dog, and how you still hadn’t given it a name, and smiled as he took another bite.

✧ ✧ ✧

At five weeks, you stopped watching Johnny like a hawk, and started giving him more lengthy tasks that you, quite frankly, just didn’t want to do yourself. Though, if you were being honest, every task you gave him was one you didn’t want to do yourself.

Such as his current one, which was to prep the ground for a new row of sapling fruit trees. You’d walked down from the farmhouse over the hill to the open area next to a row of lemon and guava trees where you’d set him to the task of digging a row of four foot wide, four foot deep holes. The week after next, Jin’s delivery would be a much larger one, and include a number of sapling fruit trees from his family’s farm— rambutans, limes, and mangos, to name a few. You wanted to make sure the holes got dug and the irrigation system set in place properly well in advance.

When you came to a stop at the end of the row of freshly dug holes in the ground you blinked once. Twice. A third time. The sight before you was impossible to comprehend. Because not only was Johnny finishing digging the last of ten massive holes having taken less than three hours to do so, but he had been digging them shirtless.

“What. What?” You asked, staring, eyes wide and brow furrowed.

“Huh?” He asked, looking up from the bottom of the last hole and swishing his head to get his bangs, matted with sweat against his forehead, out of his face. The sun had crested over to this side of the hill now and it was blisteringly hot out. Standing in direct sunlight, doing physical labor, obviously he’d worked up a sweat.

You had to tear your eyes away from the shine on his torso and return them to just his face. “Where the fuck is your shirt?”

He pointed to where a lump of fabric was off to the side next to a water bottle. “It’s fucking hot out, I was dying,” he reasoned.

“You’re hot,” you mumbled under your breath, turning on your heel to give yourself reprieve from the onslaught that was Johnny’s unexpected number of defined abdominal muscles that were usually covered by cotton t shirts.

“What was that?” He called, squinting up into the sun from the bottom of the hole.

“I said, put a god damn shirt on before you come back in my house,” you called back, already wrapping your arms around yourself and heading back to the farmhouse. “And dinner’ll be ready in twenty, so finish up,” you added, trudging off before he could respond.

What you would have seen if you’d turned back around was an open mouthed smile curl across his face, as Johnny hummed to himself at the joy he felt for this, the first time you’d bothered to warn him when dinner would be ready.

✧ ✧ ✧

Ever since you’d seen Johnny shirtless, you’d be restless.

Well, restless was the polite word. The word to better describe what you’d been feeling was… frustrated?

Distracted? Peeved? Worked up?

Horny.

The word you were avoiding was horny.

Wendy had been the one to get you to admit it during your last weekly phone call. You told her about the shirtless incident and the first thing she asked was if you had plans to throw out the washing machine and instead start doing your laundry on Johnny’s abs, which did not help your predicament any further. It was also Wendy who had pointed out that you’d been alone on this farm for almost two months with a dog and a man too pretty for his own good, and despite how he represented everything you were annoyed at in life at the moment, after seeing his half naked figure, it would only be natural for you to have been a little turned on. And a little turned on was exactly where you were— for the last week, you had been going on runs every night to release the excess pent up energy you suddenly had.

The last time you exercised this much you were still in college. Back then you went on hour long runs through the city with your phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ because it was the only way you weren’t constantly bombarded with an on onslaught of messages from classmates, friends, family, or your on campus job that took up way too much of your time. And now, you found yourself returning to old habits, this time because what, you were too proud to just rub one out like the rest of humanity? (That phrasing, too, was courtesy of your best friend, when she again reminded you of your failure to pack your vibrator.)

After another eight miles up and down the road outside the farm that ran along the island’s coast your legs felt like absolute jello when you finished, but your head was empty enough that you were able to return to the property and exist near Johnny in peace. You walked by the barn on your way up to the farmhouse, sticking your head inside briefly to look for him. You didn’t hear any noise, and didn’t find him at first glance, but didn’t think much of it as you went back inside.

The dog was already in the kitchen, so that should have been your first clue. You opened the fridge and peered inside, pulling out a number of assorted ingredients to make a lemon cream sauce for pasta with chicken.

You set a pot of water to boil, turned the oven on to preheat, and began melting butter, garlic, oil, and a variety of herbs in a sauce pan. That plus the low hum of the overhead fan meant just enough noise that you couldn’t hear the water running from the small shower on the other side of the house, and you didn’t think twice as the heat cast off by the appliances made you feel even stuffier post-run, and you peeled your shirt off your body and rolled the waistband of your shorts down an inch, pressing your bare feet flat against the hardwood flooring to try and get some semblance of cooling relief.

It was only a few moments later, with the water boiling and pasta cooking inside and the chicken already seasoned and in the oven, when you peered over the bubbling sauce pan and dipped the edge of your pinky into the mixture to bring just a taste up to your mouth. Just like you’d hoped, it was light and had a kick of citrus to it from the lemon, but not so much that it was overpowering. You closed your eyes and hummed in appreciation as you licked the sauce off, which, in retrospect, probably sounded far too much like a moan for your own good.

“Jesus fuck—”

And suddenly, you realized you weren’t alone inside the house.

You screamed at first from the shock of being startled by the noise, and then again when it registered in your brain that Johnny was standing in the kitchen, hair dripping wet, chest bare and abdominal muscles just as defined as the last time you’d seen them, face flushed in some sort of embarrassment with a bath towel wrapped around his hips.

Johnny was fresh out of the shower, nearly naked in your kitchen, clutching his clothes balled up in his left hand.

You scream again.

“What are you doing?!” You shrieked out, raising your voice over the dog’s excited barking at the commotion the two of you had begun making.

He stammered for a moment, clearly frozen in place. “I was just! You were gone, and I was done for the day, so I took a shower but I— I forgot my change of clothes in my room and these towels are small and just— Jesus why are you wearing so little clothing?!”

Your fury returned full force at the comment. “Why am I wearing so little clothing? You’re in a towel for fuck’s sake! This is my house, I live here! I should be the one asking you where your clothes are!”

“They’re here, in my hand!” He yelled back, waving the bundle around frantically. “I just said I forgot them when I went to shower!”

Your eyes bugged out of you head as your gaze traveled down, taking in the entirety of the figure before you and— oh.

“Are you… are you hard right now?” You asked in bewilderment.

The way the color drained out of Johnny’s face and the speed with which he moved the bundle of clothing to hold it over the space between his legs answered your question.

“Oh, my god.” Exasperated, you slammed your eyes shut and held your hands up by your sides. “What the fuck, John.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean— fuck, shit I made it weird— please don’t get mad, I can totally fix this,” he started spewing apologies, and you heard him take two steps closer to you. “Wait, were you looking at my dick?”

“Ah!” You spat out, turning away from him. His question was valid but you had no intention of acknowledging it. “Out! Get out of my house, go… somewhere else until that goes away or you can, I don’t know, take care of it!” You instantly thought of the implication of your words and then yelled again. “No— don’t— fuck, don’t do that! Jesus for the love of god don’t take care of it while I’m standing here—” you were stammering and beyond flustered. How the fuck were you supposed to talk to someone who had just gotten a fucking boner by looking at you, sweaty in a sports bra, while sucking a cream colored substance off the tip of your pinky?

You exhaled deeply, eyes still closed. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You are going to go to your room. I am going to finish cooking my dinner. You will be absolutely silent until you hear me leave. I will be staying at the condo for the next week. You will either ration the leftovers or fend for yourself, I do not care. Got it?” You signed out again, eyes flicking open. Johnny held his bundle of clothes in front of his legs and nodded his head once, not bothering with any comeback before he shuffled to the guest room and shut the door quietly.

It took another twenty minutes for the meat to finish cooking and the dish to be full prepared. How you managed to keep your head empty and shut off your internal monologue during that time, you’ll never know, but you were thankful for it nonetheless. You packed two servings into a Tupperware container for yourself before shoving some clothes in a duffle bag and grabbing the keys to the jeep you hated driving. It was only about ten minutes down the road to the condo, but it was almost fifteen miles, so you figured this was the lesser of two evils. You whistled for the dog to follow you, and it was all too excited to jump in the passenger seat of the car. The farmhouse was now dry of liquor, what with Yunho not making good on his promise a month ago and your weekly wine dates with Wendy, but you knew the condo definitely had some spirits stashed somewhere in a cabinet. You were going to need that and a nice hot bath to destress after that encounter.

Meanwhile, Johnny sunk down on to the floor inside the guest room, his back pressed against the door. When he heard the sound of the jeep’s engine turning over, he sighed in relief and ran a hand through his hair. There were no better words to describe it: he was truly and utterly fucked.

✧ ✧ ✧

You stayed at the condo only for three days, and did little other than sleep, binge watch some TV since there was better electricity and internet here, and eat your way through slightly stale bags of chips and frost bitten freezer dinners that were months old. Because you couldn’t just open the door and let the dog out to run through the property for whatever exercise or bathroom needs it had, you had to actually walk it with a leash and everything. You paid less attention to how domestic the action of clipping the leash on to the collar you’d found in an unopened delivery package on the kitchen table was, and thought more about how slothful you’d felt over the last 60-odd hours of self isolation, especially after two months of working outdoors every day.

It was childish to keep hiding from Johnny. It’s not like you could prove that he’d gotten hard looking at you, and really, shouldn’t you take it as sort of a compliment? (Well, maybe you wouldn’t go that far.)

It was Monday when you returned to the farm, parking the jeep back by the barn and hip checking the door shut after the dog went running off in search of Johnny. It found him carrying pruned branches of trees down to the area where you burned excess brush, and you could hear the excited sound of his voice at the return of the creature as you walked slowly down the hill towards him.

“I missed you! It’s been so lonely without you, but I guess I’m glad your mommy had you with her, huh?” He cooed at the dog, rubbing its face in his hands after dropping the bundle of branches and flopping its ears from side to side. Hearing Johnny refer to you as a mother, even of the animal, had you grimacing.

“Ew,” you said, making your presence known. He stood up suddenly, possibly just a little embarrassed.

“Oh! You’re uh, you’re back.” You nodded, lips pressed together in a flat line. Your hands were full, carrying two takeout coffees from a shop down near the condo you’d stopped at on the way back. You’d forgotten how much the farm felt like a different planet, a different space in time almost, because of how isolated it felt. The act of ordering a coffee to go rather than making it yourself in the morning was equal parts bewildering and soothing.

You had no idea what compelled you to order an iced americano along with the cortado you’d gotten for yourself. You didn’t really know much about Johnny beyond the one conversation you’d had about how he ended up meeting your brother in law and crashing on the farm with you in the first place. But somehow, ordering the drink had felt right, and you thought of it as a potential peace offering to cut the tension.

“This is yours,” you said plainly after some thought, trying to remove any and all emotion from your tone.

He blinked a few times before taking three steps towards you and reaching his hand out to take the drink. He mumbled a soft thank you and sipped without bothering to ask what was inside.

“You’re just going to take the drink a stranger offers you, no questions asked?”

“Ooh!” His eyes perked up when he tasted the coffee. “I mean, I’ve never questioned any of the food you’ve made me so far, why start now? Besides,” he shrugged, taking another sip, “I trust you.”

You snorted. “That’s a stupid thing to do.”

Johnny laughed again, eyes crinkling at the sides. Your mind wandered briefly to a half formed thought about how endearing that was. “Maybe so, but despite your efforts to make me an enemy, I think you’re actually a really good person. You even guessed my favorite coffee drink, so that has to count for something.” He nodded to the paper cup in your hand. “What’s your poison?”

“Cortado,” responded curtly, ignoring his comments that were cutting a bit too deep for ten in the morning.

“Ah, a strong espresso pull with a balance of steam milk and a touch of foam. Nice choice. I can definitely appreciate one, but I’m a little too impatient and drink them too quickly— I think that’s why I love americanos so much, because it lasts a little longer.”

You tilted you head to the side, puzzled. “Wait. You… actually know things about coffee?”

“I mean, yeah,” he laughed, “What do you think I spent three hours talking with Yunho about the day we met? I did my time as a barista in college. Free coffee every shift was hard to pass up when you’re doing almost a double course load every other semester. I’ve always been curious about the growing and roasting process, and I know a lot of people do home roasting as a hobby but I just never made the time to explore it.”

Well, duh, you thought, that actually made sense. “Oh god, and here I’ve been making my lame ass bitter pour over all summer— you know how to pull a shot of espresso then I take it? You’ve seen the La Marzocco on the counter, how come you’ve never used it?”

He pouted his lips out in a flat line and shrugged comically. “Dunno. I mean, I’m a guest and a worker first, and it’s not mine, so, I didn’t wanna make any assumptions. But if this is an open invitation to use it, I’m more than happy to accept.”

You chewed on the inside of your mouth for a moment. You could feel it in the air as the hairs on your arms stood up slightly, goosebumps running down your skin. You hoped in wasn’t too noticeable. Maybe this was it— maybe it really was time to extend an olive branch and have more than half a conversation with him every four days. “It’s a little older and sort of temperamental, but it’s still a good machine. I’ll… show you the quirks tomorrow morning, or whenever you want something to drink,” you offered.

It was then that you discovered this: Johnny was not a great actor. He wore his heart on his sleeve. You figured this to be true because he could barely contain the smile that spread across his face, and the energetic nod he gave, and the mild soft exhale (squeal?) of excitement. You rolled your eyes gently and turned away, drink in hand. “When it cools down later after dinner, I’m roasting tonight. You’re welcome to join.”

You gave him the benefit of not bearing witness to the fist pump he made as you walked away.

Dinner that night was stir fried ground pork with carrots and zucchini from the garden served over rice. It was one of your comfort dishes, easy to make and easy to clean up after, since it used only two pans. As soon as you’d finished eating, this time sitting at the table together with Johnny, he’d cleared the dishes and got to cleaning up right away. You stretched your arms overhead and leaned back in your chair far enough to crack your back slightly with a loud pop.

“Oof, that sounded like it felt good,” he laughed from the sink. You hummed in agreement. “So what’d you do before this? Desk job hunched over a computer like the rest of us?”

“Mmm something like that. You may have been bored out of your mind in business, but I sold my soul years ago to work in advertising.”

“Why does that like, fit?” He asked, turning the water off and drying the pan you’d used for cooking by hand.

“You saying I have no soul?” You challenged.

He shrugged. “Hey, you said it, not me. We’re both just cogs in the machine that is late stage capitalism, I guess.”

You didn’t know how deeply you wanted to get into it with Johnny just yet. Maybe eventually, but, not right now. “Yeah, well, I was just a Project Manager, not like a Copywriter or anything. Did you know Yunho was a staff Art Director before he switched to the coffee business full time? We used to work at the same agency a few years back.”

Johnny snapped his fingers and pointed at you. “Ah, that’s right! I remember him saying something about that, made the same jokes about having no soul. You two are a lot alike for not being related by blood.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong; sometimes you wondered if you’d become closer with Yunho that you were with your sister at this point. “Enough about that. If you’re done follow me, it’s probably cool enough to fire up the roaster. I just want to do a test batch of like, five pounds with the regular beans to see how this year’s harvest takes to our standard roast,” you explained, heading to the door and slipping on your sneakers. “Don’t let the dog out, it gets scared from the loud noises and I don’t need it freaking out.”

Johnny dried his hands and followed after you to the barn. You flicked on the lights and went straight for the sink to pull your hair out of your face, wash your hands, and put on a pair of gloves and a mask. Johnny followed your lead, even going so far as to tie up the top layer of his hair on top of his head. “Hey look! It’s like an apple,” he bobbed his head from side to side to make the tiny ponytail move back and forth, and you couldn’t help but snort as you tried to suppress your laughter.

“Dork,” was all you said. You went to the storage racks to pick up one of the sorted burlap bags of beans and hoisted it over your shoulder to carry it to a metal prep table where you carefully opened it and began scooping out the green beans and pouring them into a bowl on a metal scale that had been zeroed out. “So  obviously you know that coffee is counted by weight in pounds. That monstrosity,” you jerked your head in the direction of the massive eight foot tall machine in the corner of the room, “Can handle up to twenty-five pounds of beans in the barrel at a time. Because it’s so big, it’s best to not do super small batches, otherwise you risk burning the beans. Since I’m going for five pounds, it’ll be okay, but if I was doing any less I’d use one of the table top roasters, since they have a smaller barrel.” You finished weighing out five pounds and handed the container to him to carry.

You continued explaining the full process of roasting and science behind it as you flipped switches, checked that the exhaust was hooked up properly, and set the dials for the heat and time on the industrial roaster before pulling the door to the funnel open and having Johnny slowly pour the beans inside. “God you’re a fucking giant, I always need a step stool to reach that high,” you commented as he made the reach with ease.

You weren’t kidding when you said the roaster was loud when it was running. Thankfully with the size of the machine and this batch, it was only eleven minutes of the two of you standing just a few feet away in case anything went wrong and you had to hit the emergency stop, holding your hands over your ears to block the sound. Johnny began jokingly exaggerating mouthing something out, and you felt almost like friends as you laughed at his antics. You were never the best at reading lips. Especially not Johnny’s, they were too full and distracting on their own for you to make sense of the mouth shapes. When the machine came to a grinding halt and the noise suddenly stopped, he was still shouting words and his voice echoed around the space in the absence of the noise, “I said, I think you’re— oh, wow, that was fast,” he quickly diverted, catching himself from finishing whatever it was he was about to say.

Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of trying to pry out of him what he was in the process of saying under the protection of the loud noises. You shook it off mentally and showed him how to remove the beans from the roasting chamber. “So you take them out like this, and then they’re still going to be warm for a while, so it’s best to let them rest for a bit. If you were to brew them right away, the flavor might not be what you’re expecting, so if you wait for them to sit for a few days, you’ll notice a considerable difference in the flavor profile—”

You stopped suddenly, a sound in the distance suddenly registering to you. You left Johnny standing there with the roasted coffee in hand and trailed to the edge of the barn and then you heard it more clearly— the sound of the old rotary phone ringing. “Oh, shit,” you swore and took off running back up to the house. The only person who had the number for the landline other than Wendy were Yunho and your sister. Wendy didn’t call you outside of your Thursday night appointments. You did the math in your head— it was the end of June, your sister’s due date wasn’t til the end of August, but early labor was always something you’d heard about, especially with more than one baby.

Hands shaking, you got to the phone on what could have been the last ring and panted out a greeting of Yunho’s name, already knowing it was him.

“Oh thank god you answered, I’ve been calling for the last twenty minutes, where were you?” He chastised immediately. You felt uneasy at the tone in his voice.

You stammered in response. “I— we were in the barn, I was roasting so I couldn’t hear the phone— what’s wrong? Is she okay?”

Yunho sighed out heavily and was quiet. “She’s going to be okay, but there was a… scare,” you could tell he was choosing his words carefully. “I don’t want to freak you out, but I don’t want to not tell you either. She slipped getting out of the shower, landed on her hip. Started having lower abdominal pain right after. We thought maybe it was going to be now, but, she’s fine. The doctors think they were phantom contractions? Whatever they were they’re gone now. The babies are fine, but she’ll most likely be in the hospital until the due date. If she starts experiencing any kind of contractions between now and then, though, they’ll want to induce labor.” You could tell he was still stressed and worried, but you nodded and listened as he explained some of the medical details a bit further. “Anyways, all this to say, the next time I call, it could be to tell you that you’re an auntie.”

From the moment you heard the phone ringing this late at night and calculated that it was almost two in the morning in Chicago, the tightness in your chest had been building. Listening to Yunho speak delicately about your sister’s condition was one thing— you thought it was a sigh of relief when he said that everything was fine, but then it was most certainly not fine when the gravity of his last words really hit you.

“Little Bean are you listening? Is the signal bad? I know the connection isn’t always great—”

You inhaled sharply as the pressure inside came to a head. “Yunho I gotta go,” you gasped out, barely able to make sense of thoughts to get the words out.

Before you could hear his rebuttal you slammed the phone on to the receiver to end the call and covered your face with your hands still in their nylon gloves. Despite standing in an open space, you suddenly felt like the room was spinning and the walls were closing in on you. Out, out, you had to get out—

“Hey, everything okay in here?”

Fuck.

Johnny was standing in the door, a look of concern on his face. You heaved into your hands and choked out a sob, feeling the wetness in your eyes building. No no no, everything was most certainly not okay in here. You shouldn’t have made eye contact, you should have known better, because looking at his face, his stupid perfect face and his genuine care for your wellbeing, it set you free falling over the precipice.

You were spiraling, and hard, and needed to land. It was instinctual, the way you cried out and ran pushing past him before breaking into an all out sprint down the hill to the fruit trees. Your legs barely kept up with the velocity of running at a decline, stopping short of tumbling and falling forward. The only thing that you knew to help this, the thing that had worked for you in the past, and you raced through the grove of trees for the larger one at the very end. It was one of the older trees, well mature and established with its root system, so you could always expect it to produce fruit.

But you’d harvested a large amount of the fruit in the last few weeks from the lower branches, and the only remaining fruit that would be ripe enough for your purposes was on the higher branches just out of reach. Over the sound of your pained sobs, you couldn’t hear Johnny’s approach or him asking what was wrong, your one track mind just trying desperately to jump and reach, fingertips barely brushing on the fruit you were reaching for.

“Hey hey, calm down, what are you—” he started.

“Shut up! Just shut— don’t tell— don’t tell me calm— calm—” you couldn’t make the words make sense, in your head you were screaming don’t tell me to calm down, but the act of translating that into words on your tongue was downright Herculean right now, it just wasn’t happening. Your knees began wobbling and standing too started feeling impossible. The tightness in your chest had expanded to reach your back, and though you were clearly still getting air by the fact that you hadn’t passed out yet, you felt like you weren’t breathing at all. You were crying outright now, tears wet and hot and painful as the sobs escaped your throat.

It didn’t take a genius to figure that you were trying to reach a fruit on a branch just above your wingspan. Johnny placed one large hand against your back gently and reached all the way up, fingers wrapping around what he assumed was the object of your fixation, before twisting and pulling to release it from the tree. “Hey,” he said softly, “This what you need?”

As soon as you made sense of the object in front of you you seized it from his hands, biting directly through the rind of the lemon. A muffled sob came out as your knees buckled and you sank to the ground. The bitter rush of citrus did part of its job, and brought your consciousness back down to earth. But your breathing didn’t steady, and your heart was still pounding, and the tears were still falling.

It wasn’t working, your grounding technique; not like it had the previous times, like the night you’d first gotten the phone call from Yunho saying they weren’t coming, and not like the time you bit into a lemon in the kitchen at work after first getting the phone call that your sister was pregnant, and even the time before that when she told you she and Yunho were moving, or when Yunho had asked you if he could marry your sister. If you were more with it, you would have thought for a moment longer about how all of your largest panic attacks of the last several years seemed to be linked to things about Yunho and your sister. Biting into a whole lemon had been your go-to for years, and suddenly, it wasn’t working.

“Fuck!” You cried out, spitting the lemon into your palms, “Fuck fuck fuck! Why isn’t it— why isn’t it working?!” Your words were absolutely frantic, and you were yelling at yourself more than your companion who, quite frankly, you’d forgotten was even there.

Until you felt a shadow pass over you in the moonlight and a pair of arms enveloping you in an embrace.

The top of your head was pressed against his chest and his hands found their way to the planes of your back and began rubbing soft circles. Softly he tutted out a shushing noise, voice barely above a whisper, steady. “Come on, let it out, I’m right here. I’ve got you, you’re not alone,” he said calmly, “You’re gonna get through it. Try to take a deep breath, that’s good now hold it as long as you can— okay, that’s okay, try again, try to hold on to it and let it out slowly this time.”

You’d never had anyone physically with you and help you through a panic attack before. You’d had them around people in the past, but no one had ever made a move to help you through it— not like this, not like him, not like he was doing right now by attempting to guide your breathing. The one time you had one in front on Wendy, you’d locked yourself in the bathroom and refused to answer her while you came down, and she never pressed you about it afterwards.

You had no idea how much time passed as Johnny held you in his arms, keeping a steady rhythm of his palms on your back and letting you cry it out into the fabric of his shirt, your hands wringing the material so strongly you thought you’d tear holes where your nails were.

One hand traveled to the back of your head and he stroked that too. “I’ve got you, I’m right here,” he said again.

After a longer period of silence, your ears stopped ringing and you could finally make out the chirping of the crickets in the night. You sniffled and rubbed the last of the trails the tears had left on your cheeks into his shirt, mumbling an apology into it.

“Don’t do that,” he said softly, keeping his voice low, almost as if he was afraid he’d scare you off if he raised it any higher. “I mean— haha, don’t apologize. It’s okay, whatever it is, it’ll wash out. If it doesn’t, it’s just a tee shirt, I can always buy another.” His tone was even paced and calm, and in pressing your ear against his chest you could hear the reverberations as he spoke.

The humid summer air was heavy as usual, even this late at night. You don’t know how long you sat there in silence, wrapped in Johnny’s arms listening to his heartbeat, but eventually you acknowledged that your heart was beating in time with his. Whether you liked it or not, he had been the thing to ground you, and not a stupid fucking lemon.

You shifted slightly, making a move to stand, but Johnny stopped you. “Whoa whoa, hang on lemme get ready— okay, hold on to my shoulders, that’s it.” Your fingers dug into his arms as he adjusted his legs and hooked one arm under your knees and the other around your back and stood up, taking you with him.

“Shit,” you mumbled out, head rushing at the quick movement and the realization that your legs were still bent over his arm, and Johnny was now carrying you. “Hey, heavy,” your words were still soft.

“Mmm, nah, nothing I can’t handle,” his response was easy, dismissive of your complaint, but not in a bad way. “You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to but— anxiety? Panic attack?” You sucked in a breath at the word. You hated that word. That word made you feel weak, even if it was exactly what this was. You dug your nails into his skin slightly on a reflex of bracing yourself, not with this intention of inflicting damage. “Got it. I get it,” he had approached the house and walked to the door, reaching for the handle with the hand under your knees. “I’ve had a few myself. Not recently, but back in college, maybe two or three? Don’t think they were ever as strong as that, though. I tried the lemon trick once, it actually worked pretty well for me. Didn’t make the next time I did a tequila shot all that fun though, couldn’t enjoy citrus for at least a month after that.” His soft laughter shook his chest and you leaned in further. Listening to his voice was comforting. It was keeping you steady. It made you feel safe, and in this moment, you were too tired to think about how you probably should have hated that. “Think you could swallow some water? Rehydrating is important.”

Your head nodded. “Okay, I’m gonna put you down now.” He used his foot to push one of the chairs away from the table and set you down on to the seat gently. The dog was immediately at your knees, whining lowly and attempting to give as many kisses as you’d accept. “Here,” he said gently, crouching down in front of you and holding a glass out. “Drink what can, but not too fast. There you go, that’s it,” his large hand clasped over your knee, thumb rubbing circles on the side. “Feeling any better?”

“Yeah,” you rasped out, voice raw from all the crying earlier.

Johnny smiled softly. “Good, that’s good. Okay, I think you need to get to bed, yeah? Or do you wanna take a shower or something first?” You shook your head. “Okay, just washed your face then?” You nodded. Your conscious monologue was returning, but bringing words from your mind to your mouth was still proving difficult. Johnny didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he offered you his hand. “Need help getting up?”

You answered by gripping on to his hand and using his shoulders to help you stand up. Johnny walked you to your room, holding his arm out for you as a guide. You were able to bear weight on your feet now, and though your steps were slow, you made it to the bathroom to wash your face and and change into sleepwear. Johnny waited by the door, averting his eyes for privacy for you, and returned to your side to help you into bed.

When he leaned over you to pull the sheets up, you reached for his wrist and asked, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

His face went blank before it softened into a smile. “Because. I told you earlier, didn’t I? You’re a good person. Should be simple as that, yeah?”

You didn’t have a response for him, only shifting deeper into the pillows. He turned off the light and retreated to the door frame. “Try and get some rest. Call me if you need me, okay?”

Your head managed a nod, and Johnny finally left, leaving the door to your room slightly ajar. You listened for the sounds of him milling about the house, his footsteps softly shuffling against the floorboards, a few mumbled words to the dog that followed at his heels, until you finally fell asleep.

When you dreamed that night, you dreamt of him, the sound of his voice, and the way your blood felt on fire whenever he looked at you and smiled.

✧ ✧ ✧

Johnny never asked you about the panic attack.

He didn’t bring it up, he didn’t ask what caused it, he didn’t even allude to it in any conversation over the next week. The next day he was just a little bit more gentle with you with the tone and volume of his speaking voice, but when you showed no signs of still be affected from the previous night, he let it go and didn’t bother you about it.

You couldn’t tell if you loved him or hated him for it.

Confusion on your feelings aside, as June came to a close and the morning of July 3rd came, you woke up to the sound of the espresso machine running. Johnny had very quickly proven that he was worth his salt as a barista, even though it had been several years, and had a very nice shot pull. He even figured out the steamer, which was the most finicky part of the machine, and had been making you cortados every morning. That’s what you were sipping now from a metal camper mug, as you walked with him to the shed.

“I think that all that’s left is nailing down that last sheet of roofing and then we’re done,” he hummed cheerfully, inspecting the building. It looked brand new, a marked improvement from the broken windows and bleached paint job it had sported two months ago.

Two months. Was that really how long he’d been here? You didn’t want to think too much about it, about how those two months gone meant you had reached the half way point, and that there were about two months left.

Two months…

“We should celebrate,” he said suddenly, and you looked up puzzled.

“We?”

“Sure!” He exclaimed, “I had no idea what I was doing. I just did what you told me to. This was one of the biggest projects for the summer, right? And plus, not that I care too much for the holiday, but won’t there be fireworks and stuff for the Fourth? Come on, this house has been dry for weeks, let’s go get some booze and live a little, huh?” He prodded your side with his elbow and began needling at you, saying huh, huh, huh over and over until you groaned and relented.

“Fiiiiiine, let’s go before the stores get crowded when everyone realizes everything’s gonna be closed tomorrow.”

The dog was less than pleased that you’d sent it back into the house when you picked up the keys to the jeep. Usually you took it with you, but this time you decided against it, since you weren’t sure how the liquor store would feel with you bringing the stray dog off leash into the store with you.

“All you, big guy,” you said to Johnny as you tossed the car keys at him.

“Aren’t you gonna ask if I know how to drive first?” He quipped back quickly while walking to the driver’s side.

“Nah,” you shrugged comically, hoisting yourself up by the frame of the car. You buckled yourself in and watched as he did the same and adjusted the mirrors for his height. “Besides,” you looked down to inspect your fingernails as if they were the most fascinating thing on the planet, “I trust you, or whatever.”

“Bit of a stupid thing to do, but alright,” he smiled, echoing your words back at you. “Kidding, I’m an excellent driver. Alright, co-pilot! You have the most sacred duty bestowed upon you—”

“Navigation?”

“No, music selection, duh,” he scoffed and handed you the aux cord and pulled out a cell phone you’d never seen him hold before. You stared at the device as he unlocked it and pulled up his music library. Johnny noticed your surprised expression out of the corner of his eye. “What, it’s not like I have a use for it out here. Your wifi sucks and I’m not about to rack up a huge cell phone bill, so it stays off in my duffle bag most of the time. Anyways, this is a test! Pick whatever your heart desires.” The smirk on his face was beyond mischievous as he handed it to you.

You sighed and settled into the seat and began scrolling. What to pick, what to pick…

Surprisingly, there was a decent number of songs you recognized, and one album in particular you were a fan of. You scrolled down the track listing to about the half way point and pressed play.

The sounds of The Killers and the familiar guitar chords that were practically sewn into your DNA began to filter through the speakers. Johnny smiled and started clapping as the car reached the bottom of the driveway and he flipped on the turn signal. “Oh my god, Mr. Brightside, excellent choice! Okay, you passed the first test. But do you know the words?” He teased.

You gasped in feigned offense as the lyrics came to the chorus, and as he accelerated up to speed you began to belt the words out as loud as you could manage. For once you weren’t thinking about how you hated that the jeep had no top while the wind whipped past you on all sides as Johnny sped down the highway. As the song played, the magic high of belting the words to something fifteen years old that were still imprinted in your brain didn’t seem to wear off like you’d expected it to.

“Alright, chop chop what’s next maestro!” He called over the sound of the wind as the song came to a close. You already had something queued up, something a little more recent, and you smiled as the words to the next song began filtering through the speakers, letting the music carry the drive and not belting along with it this time. You tried to not think too deeply about the lyrics of the chorus as it played.  

'Cause you're the last of a dying breed Write our names in the wet concrete I wonder if your therapist knows everything about me? I'm here in search of your glory There's been a million before me That ultra-kind of love You never walk away from You're just the last of the real ones

As the bridge played and you neared your destination, Johnny tilted his head towards you while keeping his eyes on the road. “Growing up, it was like, a badge of honor as a Chicago kid to have gone to a Fall Out Boy show when they still played the smaller clubs. I snuck into one when I was 16— it was an 18 and over show— felt like I was hot shit when I got away with it.”

“Don’t know why, but you don’t strike me as a Fall Out Boy fan,” you admitted. From your scroll through his music library, you saw most of their discography saved to his phone.

“Hey, I had my embarrassing wannabe emo phase too.”

“Had?” You couldn’t stop yourself from teasing. Johnny didn’t give a response to that one, and as another Fall Out Boy song played through the speakers you let yourself rest in a comfortable lack of conversation, instead sharing the music with him as he drove. It only took to the end of that third song to reach your destination and based on how he handled the drive and parking, true to his word Johnny was an excellent driver.

Johnny followed you closely once inside, his eyes scanning up and down the shelves of the tiny liquor store before he reaches and picks up a six pack of pilsner. “You ever try this one?”

Your nose wrinkles in disgust. “I don’t do beer.”

Johnny blinks twice in response and plops the six pack back down on the shelf. “Noted. What do you drink?”

“If I’m picking?” He nods. “I’m a slut for rosé or champagne. Any sparkling wine, really, it makes me feel fancy and you get to turn basic days into little celebrations.” You follow him as he walks down the aisle to where the selection of wine was shelved and starts looking through the options. “Hang on, you’re not gonna grill me about the beer thing?”

“You say that like your friends usually give you shit for it.”

You crossed your arms and shuffle your feet underneath you. “Well, yeah. Usually.”

“Then I would say,” he trails off for a moment, bending and squatting to see a label on a lower shelf before picking up two bottles of the same brand, “You need new friends. Or that your current ones need to learn boundaries, take your pick. How’s this look for one option? Since this is a celebration and all,” he says with a wink.

Leaning forward, you study the label on the bottle for a moment before nodding in approval. You agree to his point that since they were 15% off if you bought six or more bottles, it only made sense to buy more, and besides, “It’s not like you won’t drink them eventually when you’re on the phone with Wendy.”

Your eyebrows shot up at that. “How do you know her name?”

“I’m quiet not deaf, and you’re louder than you think you are,” he says matter-of-factly before heading to the cashier to pay for your selection. You bite your tongue then, hoping to whatever deity was watching you (and probably laughing) that he’d overheard one of the conversations that wasn’t about Wendy insisting you should bone him.

Johnny picks the music on the way back, opting for some Bleachers and Paramore now that he knew at least part of your music taste and how it aligned with his.

Your new selection of wine goes into the fridge as soon as you get home, and Johnny heads to the shed with a ladder in hand to climb on top and finish nailing down the roofing. You opt to help with this task, spotting from the ground and continuously yelling for him to ‘be careful’ and ‘you better not fall and break your neck while I’m watching’. It takes a little over an hour, and it’s late afternoon when he finishes, but when you climb the ladder yourself as he holds it steady from the ground to inspect his handiwork you have to say you’re impressed.

“You sure you never did construction work before? You’ve got shockingly good craftsmanship for a newbie.”

“My dad’s pretty self sufficient so he was always doing the handiwork around the house. Picked stuff up here and there from him growing up, but anything I didn’t know I could just look up on the internet.” You shoot him a pointed look. “What! I said your wifi was shitty not that I didn’t use it every now and again. There’s a YouTube tutorial for everything these days.”

Johnny insisted on cleaning up the last of the debris on his own while you worked on dinner— another pasta dish, orecchiette broccoli rabe, and while that was cooking you boil a pint of blackberries with water and sugar to make a flavored simple syrup. Since you were celebrating tonight, it only felt right to put in a little extra effort even to the drinks of choice. Kir Royales were typically made with a blackcurrant liquor, but it was a niche product you hadn’t found in the store, so the syrup and a slice of lemon for garnish would have to do.

While you waited for Johnny to finish up and take his shower (after the last time, you gave him plenty of space out of an abundance of caution whenever he showered), you started rummaging through the pantry cabinets and making sense of the dry ingredients you had on hand. You had time to kill, why not make a dessert with it?

You hadn’t talked about it much with Johnny, but you actually did enjoy cooking and baking. Something about spending time and energy making something and having someone consume it and tell you they liked made you feel good. You still remember the first time you made breakfast for a hungover Wendy in college and she raved about it for days, though you were pretty sure back then it was because the carbs soaked up the remaining alcohol in her system and stopped her from puking.

Dinner was finished when Johnny finally came out of the shower, this time fully clothed and his hair more dry. You explained that you’d gotten bored and made cookie dough but the oven hadn’t finished pre-heating yet so nothing was baked.

“Fuck it, cookie dough is always better than the cookies themselves,” he shrugged.

“But salmonella—”

Johnny held up a hand jokingly as he stopped your interjection and turned off the oven. “Still convinced that’s a myth parents made up to stop kids from actually enjoying childhood. Plus it’s hot as balls, chill the dough while we eat and then it’ll be even better after. Plus, you haven’t poisoned either of us yet, I think your track record is pretty good so far.” (There he went again, referring to you and him as an ‘us’.)

So you did just that, putting the cookie dough into the fridge and taking your dinner outside with the cocktails you’d made. You didn’t have any wine glasses here at the farm house— after breaking one stemmed glass during your first phone call with Wendy you’d moved the rest to the condo and replaced the drink ware with mason jars because the clean up was too annoying. Plus, you didn’t want to risk the dog stepping on stray shards of thin glass and getting them stuck in the pads of its paws. (You were still decidedly apathetic towards it, but that didn’t mean you were cruel).

So it was in the wide mouth Kerr jars that you poured your blackberry syrup and a half a bottle of champagne, after a comical exchange of Johnny insisting he wasn’t scared of the pop! that corks made coming out of pressurized bottles and the yelp he let out anyways when it happened as expected. The lemon slice garnish was more of an aesthetic touch than anything but you liked it nonetheless.When Johnny pulls out his phone for the second time that day and insists on playing music and making a dramatic toast before you could drink, you could only laugh and agree.

“To the best Boss I’ve ever had,” he said with a raised glass, “Even though you used me for cheap labor and to do all the hard shit.”

“Rude! I cook every day, look at all the chances I’ve had to poison you and how many times have I done it? Absolutely none because I am a saint and you know it.”

You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol, the music, the low hum of crickets, the starry night sky, or the summer heat that did it, but time flowed so easily, and so did the conversation and teasing banter. Over the course of one meal you’d exchanged more words with Johnny than you had in the whole two months you’d known each other. Two hours later and you’d finished all the dinner (of course there were no leftovers, Johnny was still Johnny, but the amount of manual labor he did in a day made sense of how much he usually ate, you’d come to realize). The bowl of cookie dough was now sitting on the step of the lanai and you and Johnny were side by side on the deck, looking out over the farm and taking the occasional spoonful of dough into your mouths. He was right— the dough did taste better than the baked cookies probably would have, especially after it had chilled for a bit. With the way the stars and moon were hung in the cloudless sky, you could see the soft glow of their reflection in the water beyond the highway and the cliff leading to the beach.

“You ever go down to the shore?” He asks suddenly, and it feels out of nowhere and like he’s inside your head because how else would he have known you were just thinking about the ocean? But then you register that Andrew McMahon’s voice has just crooned something about Venice Beach and the California summer in the music that had still been playing through the speakers of Johnny’s phone.

You hummed for a moment before answering. “Not really. I should make more time for it, but I rarely ever leave the farm, as you probably noticed. I know this place is paradise for so many people, the vacation destination on a lot of bucket lists, but I think my… circumstances made me bitter towards the island, conceptually speaking anyways.” You watched the water with a bit more focus as a few waves crested, but you couldn’t see enough of the shore to see them actually crash. “I know I don’t talk about it much but, I needed a break from my work too. That’s… part of the reason I’m here, why I was waiting for my sister and Yunho to come out. It’s a much less interesting story than yours, so I won’t bore you with the details,” you wanted to reroute the subject before any questions started getting asked, but deep down you knew Johnny wasn’t going to press you for anything you weren’t ready to share. He’d figured that much out about you anyways.

“Anyways, maybe you’re on to something, Seo. Maybe I should take some time to actually relax a bit, seeing as now that I’ve tricked you into finishing the most difficult and time consuming of the summer projects Yunho had planned,” you stuck your tongue out between your teeth jokingly in an effort to mask the vulnerability you’d briefly shown.

Johnny took the hint and changed the subject. “The Killers, Bleachers, Paramore, Fall Out Boy… not saying I don’t like your taste in music, but I’m surprised it’s your picks were so astoundingly pop-punk-rock. Woulda taken you for a—”

“If you finish that sentence by saying ‘country kinda girl’ I’m locking you out tonight and taking the cookie dough with me,” you warned.

He laughed and shook his head. “No, you strike me as too high strung to enjoy country. Like it’s typically too slow for your tastes, or something like that.”

“Oh I’m obnoxious about my taste in media, if you couldn’t already tell. I’ve listened to mostly the same artists for the last ten years. In high school I was that kid that thought making it known that I ‘didn’t listen to the radio pop main stream’ was a personality trait, whatever that meant.”

“Oooh, so edgy and mysterious, did she used to cut her own bangs too?” He giggled into his mason jar, taking another sip.

“Nooo, that was only one time and I swear it was on a dare and not because of a break up!” You jokingly wailed out, throwing your head back in exaggeration. “Although I do regularly trim Wendy’s bangs for her because she can’t be trusted with sharp objects. Knives, needles, scissors, none of it, girl’s a total klutz,” you took another sip and uncorked the bottle again to refill your jar. You held the remainder up for Johnny to see, silently asking if he wanted a top off to finish the last of the second bottle you’d opened.

Johnny was a big guy— tall and muscular, you were sure it would take him a bit more than a bottle or two of shared champagne to get him tipsy. That’s why you didn’t think too much of it as he stared into the reinvigorated fizzing bubbles as he quietly said, “I’d like to meet her someday. Wendy, I mean— you talk about her so fondly, she seems like a great person. Like she’s good for you in your life.”

Why did you feel a little uneasy at the way he spoke about Wendy? He had no idea what she looked like, it was only from the stories you’d been telling that he knew anything about her. And it wasn’t even the real her, it was just her as she existed to you, so what was there to be uneasy about? You were overthinking again, so you had to come up with an answer to fill the silence you’d created— “Yeah well, Wendy’s sick of dick, she’s very bisexual and I’m pretty sure she’s head over heels in love with this Joohyun she started seeing recently, she’s just too much of a chicken shit to tell her how she feels,” you hid behind you glass and drank deeply, not minding as the floating slice of alcohol soaked lemon rested against your nose.

“Sounds familiar,” Johnny said quietly. “I… can relate, I think,” he mumbled out, and you glanced over in time to see him place his now-empty cup on the wood beside him. “Sometimes you just feel the way you do and you don’t really have a reason for why, but you can’t even put it to words to the person it matters to.”

This time when your breath caught in your throat, it wasn’t because of a mounting attack, but in anticipation of what Johnny would do next. The space between you had slowly waned as you’d been drinking, your bodies inching closer to each other without you even realizing it, almost like the way the moon pulled the tide to the shore over and over again. When your eyes traveled from where his hand was pressed into the deck flooring up to meet his hooded gaze, you don’t really know what you were expecting, but Johnny’s parted lips shining slightly (probably from that last drink of wine) was not it.

You knew this feeling. This was when you were supposed to lean in, right? That’s how this usually went. Your hand shifted closer towards his for a moment and then pulled back, and the end joint of Johnny’s fingers flexed as he pressed his fingertips into the deck.

You didn’t lean in. Your heart was hammering in your chest far too loud for you to be able to do so; instead, you look away, his eye and his lips and his face and his everything suddenly too much, and your turned your cheek to him instead.

Instead, he leaned in, and for just a brief moment the crickets stopped chirping, the distant ocean stopped moving, the music stopped playing, and your heart stopped beating as Johnny’s perfectly pouty lips pressed against your cheek, and then your temple, and then your throat. And then his head tilted down and his nose brushed against your skin delicately, leaving a trial of burning in its wake, and time didn’t start turning again until the snort of his laughter broke the silence and he fell into your shoulder in a giggle fit.

It took all of your patience and self control to make your lungs continue to function as you listened to Johnny giggle so much he stopped making sounds until he was spewing out between fits of laughter ‘The bubbles make everything funny, why is everything funny with bubbles?’

‘Why indeed’, you wondered silently, letting the clearly tipsy Johnny rest his head on your shoulder as he continued his giggle fits, stroking the palm of your hand against his back as he’d first done for you under far different circumstances, trying to not think about how much faster your heart was beating while doing so, and how if your accelerated heart rate was from his proximity to you, you didn’t mind.

How long did you stay like that, in such a familiar embrace with Johnny? Long enough, it seemed, for the playlist on his phone to come to an end and for him to start dozing off while resting against you, his light snores the thing that finally made you disturb him so you could go back inside. It was late anyways, nearing midnight you said softly and you tried to wake him gently—

A surprisingly loud boom shook the sky followed by a burst of light and color. Immediately the dog inside woke up and started barking, and Johnny bolted upright, eyes darting around in search of the source of the noise that had disturbed his snoozing.

“Fireworks,” you breathed out, more to yourself than to him. “Guess it’s midnight already.” Johnny didn’t say much, but his eyes twinkled as he watched in earnest as a few more went off before you tugged on his sleeve and insisted that he needed to make his way to bed and sleep. There were sure to be more tomorrow, and he could watch them then.

You didn’t sleep for hours that night. After helping the mildly intoxicated Johnny to his bed, you sat on the floor of your room, knees pulled into your chest and a hand laying flat against your cheek where he’d planted his trail of kisses. “He was just drunk, he’s just a flirty drunk, that didn’t mean anything,” you repeated to yourself over and over again.

But something about the way Johnny’s lips felt against the apples of your cheek and the hollow of your throat when he’d been nuzzling against you stayed with you all night long, sending a shiver down your spine and igniting a flame where your heart lived. You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes and inhaled deeply, breath shuddering on the exhale.

Against all your hopes and intensions, Johnny Seo had slowly chipped his way through your armor and into your heart.

You had to get him out. Fast.

tbc.

—

author’s note | Me: this first part is gonna be like, I dunno, 5k? 6k? Also me: writes 19,000 words. We call this ✨processing your own trauma through writing as an outlet✨ Originally this was going to be one really long one shot and then I decided to split it up for ratings purposes because I am a thirsty whore for Youngho. The ending is rushed but honestly I was so sick of editing and overthinking this lmaooo. No I have not spent a summer living in Kona working on a coffee farm. Most of my coffee knowledge is second hand from the time my brother in law bought a coffee farm and started a roasting business because my sister dared him to by saying “do it you won’t” (an exact quote I shit you not). There’s more to this story and uh I dunno I’ll maybe post it eventually if people don’t hate this one *shrugs*

[salrtiaki]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Hawaii Five-0 (2010) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Steve McGarrett/Danny "Danno" Williams, Chin Ho Kelly/Kona | Kono Kalakaua Characters: Steve McGarrett, Chin Ho Kelly, Danny "Danno" Williams, Kona | Kono Kalakaua (2010) Additional Tags: Abduction, Case Fic, Romance, Nightmares Summary:

In which there are stakeouts and a kidnapping (in that order), and Steve’s threats are not idle.

[scribeofmorpheus]

Himmeløyne [1/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Words: 4995 | Warnings: Violence | Translations in Italics

A/N: So I’ve had this fic in my WIP’s for like a year now. I wanted to finish the rest of my projects before starting this one, but... Oh well! The dialogue is in Norwegian but this is strictly for the opening chapter because it sets the scene and I didn’t anticipate how much work it would be to try and write in two languages. My translations are a bit shoddy! Like and Reblog, and don’t be shy to ask to be tagged!

NOTE: Thanks to the amazing @mejohanssonwrites for helping me with the translations! I have made slight alterations to the Norwegian dialogue and I cannot express how much I appreciate someone taking time to help me and my little blog along! You the best xx.

<<previous ○ next>>

~Trønsberg, Norway 1065AD -A Hundred Years after the Battle of Tønsberg

A glimmer of magnificent colours spilt through a hole in the sky. When the glass like visage ended, a man dressed in glimmering armour -adorned with a two-horned helmet and a sweeping cape- stood at the centre of a runic pattern that had been scorched into the earth.

In one hand he held a stave and in the other, an ornate box carved from wood. There was a small symbol carved into the box: eight arms spread outward from a circular focal point.

With a shimmer of brilliant light, the man’s otherworldly clothes dissipated, only to be replaced by humble rags. The man stepped away from the cliff face, making his way downhill to what appeared to be a small fishing village.

~Trønsberg, Norway 1265AD

You and your mother lived in seclusion, away from the rest of your Nordic tribe. Your little stone and wood hut was built close to the village cliff face, overlooking the frosty glazed tundra’s -a view you had spent hours marvelling at since childhood.

You loved spending hours imagining trekking up those dangerous snow-covered slopes in order to get to the summit where, in your mind, you would shout out to the heavens and the stars and they, in turn, would hear you and thunder back words of praise and acknowledgement.

Your life was a hard one. Everything you had, from the furs you slept on to the fish you ate, you had either earned through hard sweat or fought for.

This life, this simplistic life, was not for everyone. This hard life had calloused your hands, making it so they would not bleed as easily, and it had worked your legs to the point you could fortify yourself when a sword crashed against your shield. Barely into your mid-twenties and your life had already sharpened you to a bleeding edge. You were a survivor, but you were also an outsider since birth.

Your mother was a crone, one blessed with foresight. Her abilities presented themselves when she read the future in the raven bones and spoke in tongues as a conduit to the stars. Many respected and feared her. They believed her to be a sign of divine intervention, declaring her a blessed one -proof that the heavens were not empty and Odin looked down on you all.

As will all power that evokes otherness, with such important responsibility came a deep reverence. Worse yet, a stigma. Despite being a part of the tribe, the both of you were also apart from the tribe.

Being one from her blood, you had inherited an ability all your own, though it was much weaker. It presented itself as a sixth sense. Beginning with a tingle that would rush up your spine and then finishing with the draining of blood from your cheeks. On restless days, dark days, your blood would sometimes turn to ice in your veins, prompting shivers to chatter at your teeth. It was an early warning system, a deeply disturbing sense that warned when danger was near. Where your mother read raven bones, your body fortold of the rising of a bad omen.

These abilities usually affording you some fearful glances, sometimes coupled with rigid nods of respect. Everyone in the village kept a safe distance from you and your mother, unless they sought you out of their own volition seeking guidance and sage counsil.

However, this wasn't all that was special about your bloodline -about you. As odd as it seemed in face of premonition and foresight, what stood out about the women in your family was the colour of their eyes. The colour of your eyes.

Azure was the colour of your eyes. The colour of the sky, clear and strikingly bright. It was this notable trait that afforded the women of your family the title of Himmel Kvinner; Women of the Sky -even though it was a title sparsely used. Instead, your family had adopted the name Himmeløyne. But your eyes were different than the women of your family, just slightly. A ring of gold enveloped your iris. It had an odd behaviour to it. some days it shimmered and glowed like something otherworldly, almost molten. Dancing as though the gold was alive with wondrous secrets.

Your mother used to say she could see the whole universe in your eyes. Something you shared with your father. A man you never knew. But that wasn't all he had bestowed upon you. You didn't resemble many of your kin with skin less fair and hair less tame. Whenever you asked your mother about him she would say he came from the heavens and that he had loved her an eternities worthwhile in a mortals world. She had told you he was quiet and stoic, a man whose truest thoughts were never spoken aloud but realised with his gaze alone.

The day began like any other. You had spent the early mornings fishing by the stream, and once you had scaled and cleaned the fish you went on your way to gather wood for the fires. While wondering the woods you ran into a familiar group of curious children who made sure to keep a good distance between you and them.

Like hunters eyeing a prized elk, they followed you from one edge of the woods to another, tittering from delight at getting to steal a glance of your face. On occasion, you would let the children get close before scaring them with playful shouts. They would scream and run for cover behind large tree trunks, shivering one instant only for laughter to follow abruptly afterwards. It was a secret game you played with them. A game you hoped would allow them to grow out of their fear of you. As a child, you had hated being seen as the witch in the woods. Children could be mean, and fear could be a terrible teacher. An unpleasant memory from those years and the scar above your brow ensured you'd never forget the power fear could have over people.

As you bent down to pluck some wildflowers growing next to a berry thicket, you heard the voices of several men making their way into the village from a successful hunt. Cautiously, you ducked low, hiding behind the thicket -not because you were afraid they'd see you, but because you wanted to know what they talked about when they weren't aware of your presence.

"I kveld skal vi spise som konger!" One of the hunters exclaimed proudly.

Tonight, we shall feast like kings!

"Ikke hvis Olav får hendene på villsvinet først! Han er større enn Inger! Og hun spiser for to! " Another said with a hearty laugh.

Not if Olav gets his hands on the boar first! He's larger than Inger! And she's eating for two!

You recognised who they were talking about. Olav was the chief's oldest son, as well as his burliest. Even though you'd never been invited to a banquet, your mother had, and from what you knew from her stories, the hunter's rendition of Olav was spot on. Feeling courageous, you peeked over the thicket until your nose tickled the line of leaves where the bush stopped.

"Ja, men han gjør absolutt ingenting! Han bare spiser og driter. Vedder på at han ikke klarer å få’n opp for kona!" The tallest of the hunters said, his hand rubbing at his groin mockingly.

Yes, because he does absolutely nothing! All he does is eat and shit! I bet he can't even get it up for his wife!

The hunters laughed.

A stout hunter with braided red hair turned and huffed at the joke, his tone slightly wistful, "Hva jeg ville gitt for å stikke den i henne." He sighed as though he were some forlorn lover.

What I would give to stick it to her.

The rest of the men playfully slapped his back and bellowed in laughter.

With the hunters now ahead of you, you decided to sneak after them. Their strange comradery and energy drawing you near them. You wanted to hear more, to see more, to know what it was like to live with them, not just near them.

"Forsiktig nå, Bjørn, sånn som du holder på kommer du til å bli far til halve landsbyen!" The youngest hunter teased.

Careful Bjørn, at this rate you'll father half the village!

The red-haired hunter -Bjørn- grumbled something like an insult and stomped over to the younger, smaller hunter. He looked as though he were about to throw his fists at the blonde boy, but instead, he wrangled him in a headlock and ruffled his short curls roughly. The young hunter protested against Bjørn's large arms, but his grip seemed impregnable. The rest of the men laughed as they watched their two friends tousle about.

You gasped in shock, setting your half stocked basket on the ground and trotting near a large tree to get a better peak. A scamper of tiny feet sounding out behind you.

After a few tumbles on the ground, the younger hunter finally yielded and tapped Bjørn's arms, "Jeg gir opp! Jeg gir opp!"

I give up! I give up!

Bjørn released his grip and staggered to his feet. Patting the young hunter with a satisfied grin on his face, "Ikke alle kan være like kjekk som deg, Baldrick. Det er derfor vi har stygge sønner; for at du ikke skal stjele alle damenes hjerter."

Not all of us can be as pretty as you, Baldrick! That's why we have to have ugly sons to keep you from stealing all the women's hearts!

"Ja, ja!" Baldrick sighed in annoyance. His cheeks were red with defeat. He kicked the dirt around him as the men continued their trek.

Yes, yes!

That had been enough excitement for the day. You stood out from behind the tree and went to retrieve your basket. As you picked your basket and turned to leave, your foot stepped on a twig and the crunching snap it made echoed around you. You gulped, afraid that maybe the hunters had heard you. A thought that was instantly confirmed when the sound of their laughter and banter faded behind you. Surrounded by dead silence, you remembered something your mother had said when she had caught you stealing berries from the winter stores, "Hvis du ser skyldig ut, er du skyldig. Selv om du ikke er det."

If you look guilty, then you are guilty. Even if you aren't.

So, you straightened your spine, relaxed your eyes and pulled a sweet smile across your face, turning to face the men as though they had been the ones to disturb your walk. You tilted your head slightly and strolled to another patch of wildflowers.

The men gave you a nod out of courtesy and continued walking, albeit much quieter than before. You noticed the youngest hunter -Baldrick- sneak defiant looks your way, smiling more and more each time. When you smiled back, he beamed with a toothy grin that he tried to hide from the rest of his company. You felt your cheeks begin to grow hot and you didn't understand why.

The sound of children giggling behind you alerted you to the fact your little friends had returned. Feeling a little mischievous, you hooked an eyebrow up and turned swiftly in an effort to spook them.

"Raaaaah!" You shouted.

The kids screamed just as expected and scattered away from you with bubbly laughter. You watched them run to the group of hunters.

A young lass, around four or five, stopped for a moment to give you a clumsy wave.

You paused, holding your breath.

That was the first time anyone had regarded you so openly... so warmly. When the child waved at you, there was no fear in her eyes, only genuine happiness.

Reluctantly, you smiled back at her, slowly picking up your arm to wave back. When Baldrick looked back, possibly to sneak another look, he saw the young girl standing still and waving at you, his grin returning. He held out his hand and called after the little girl, "Sigrid, kom."

Sigrid, your smile grew. That was your mother’s name.

The little girl was ushered out of her daze and trotted after Baldrick, taking his large hands into her two small ones. Soon the group of children and hunters disappeared from your line of sight and you began to make your way back home with the supplies you gathered. All the while, an odd feeling began to settle inside your stomach. It made your nerves tingle and your spine shiver.

When the sun was at its peak, you had decided to go down to your favourite cavern. There was a hidden hot spring there and you were in need of a bath. As you were preparing your satchel with the necessary herbs for aroma, your mother walked into the hut with a worrying expression on her face.

"Mor er alt okay?" You asked her with worry clearly showing on your usually stoic face.

Mother, is everything okay?

The lines on your mothers face creased as she smeared on a pained smile, her eyes on you but her thoughts elsewhere. She placed a reassuring hand on your cheek and a warm kiss on your forehead.

"Ja, kjære, alt kommer til å ordne seg ,"she said softly before she took her leave and sat on the furs by the fire. The embers casting bright colours onto her aged face in a splendid kaleidoscopic show.

Yes, my daughter. Everything will be alright.

There was that feeling gnawing at your stomach again. It made you unsteady and lightheaded. The world seemed to tilt about like a boat swaying helplessly against the unforgiving waves of the sea. It was the feeling of dread. The feeling of a bad omen approaching.

Thinking yourself simply more wired than usual, you had cast those unwelcome feelings aside. You took solace in the fact your mother had shown no signs of fear, only distraction. And if the crone of the village was not in a panic, then there was no reason for her daughter to be.

She took out her black leather pouch filled with raven bones and runes and tossed them onto the floor. As her slender, wrinkly digits hovered over the bones, you caught a glimpse of the Ægishjalmar branded onto her forearm. A brand you now bore too. You asked her once what its purpose was, why it was carved into the door of your house, all she said was that it protected the source of your power. A rite of passage.

With your mother focused on the task at hand, you thought it best to leave her be. Now was not the time for interruption, not while she was summoning her powers of foresight.

You grabbed your stave and an extra cover of furs as you made your way out of the hut. Before you were out of earshot, you heard your mother whisper to herself once more, " Ja, kjære, alt kommer til å ordne seg..."

It was a steep climb to get up to the cavernous space where the hot spring was hidden. Not many knew of it, which meant it was the perfect place to be alone with your thoughts. As you made the climb, something strange occurred, a powerful surge rippled below your feet, shaking the trees and the dirt around you. In the distance, a bright blue light flashed. It came from the same direction as your home. When you looked back to get a better view, you were relieved to see nothing amiss. Still, something felt odd.

It must have been my imagination, you thought when everything had returned to normal. You kept on your way.

Once inside the dimly illuminated cave, you stripped off your clothes and poured a handful of herbs and essences into the bath waters to fill the air with the sweet yet earthy smell that you loved. You then slid your aching body into the waters, letting the heat untangle all the knots and tightness from your muscles. With heavy lidded eyes, your fingers tracing the lines of your brand absentmindedly.

The silence in the cave was almost euphoric. The feeling of letting all worries and burdens go turning you lighter than air -retirement from the uneasy feeling that had been slowly building inside you all day. Before long you had lost yourself in that feeling and you fell asleep within the waters. You would not awaken until your skin pruned and the aurora touched the evening sky. Realising just how much time had passed, you grew nervous and began to hastily gather your things.

"Mor vil bli misfornøyd," you whispered to yourself knowingly.

Mother won't be happy.

Just before you reached the exit of the cave, something green and bright caught your attention. You followed after it, unable to ignore the urge to know what it was. When you got close enough to see, you realised it was a snake. Small and unthreatening.

It had curled itself into a knot, unable set itself loose. Its scales were the most brilliant shade of green you had ever seen. Darker than the pine forests to the south of your village, yet somehow, also brighter than the summer grass that grew on the lower fjelds.

Without much thought for your own wellbeing, you picked up the snake and helped it uncoil itself. It's slippery form twisting itself playfully around your open palms. You let out a soft laugh as you watched the colours from the night sky dance and bound off its shiny scales as though it were made of crystals.

"Du er så vakker, lille grønn," you told the snake, knowing full well it did not understand the common tongue.

You are so beautiful, little green.

The snake uncharacteristically lifted its head and stared straight into your eyes. Its eyes seemed to mesmerise you because you had lost all sense of time. Sound had been blocked out of your ears and all light had been leeched away from your vision, leaving only the bluish-green colour of the snake’s eyes in your vision.

It wasn't until you heard a thunderous noise echo through the cavern that you broke free from the trance. Fear and panic once again took root in your stomach as you scurried to race after the sounds of screams and battle cries and shields breaking.

The snake tightened its grip on your hands. It was terribly strong for such a small, inconsequential creature. You mustered all your strength and pooled it around your bound hands. The snake's scales cracked and strained against the tension.

The sounds of the battle in the distance grew lower and lower with each passing moment. Your mind kept going back to that look on your mother's face and the last words she spoke before you left.

Ja, kjære, alt kommer til å ordne seg.

You fought against the snake's grip even harder. Twisting and turning your wrists and arms and elbows, trying to find an opening. It felt futile.

Another thunderous crash echoed through the cavern and this time the screams that followed were louder.

Who did those screams belong to? Was it the pretty faced Baldrick who made your cheeks flush earlier? Perhaps it was the stout and burly, Bjørn wielding his trusty axe as he rushed forward with a resounding battle cry.

Your heart was racing, your palms sweating and your chest constricting.

What was happening in your village? Were you under attack? Was your mother safe?

All you knew was that you needed to stop speculating and find a way to loosen the snake’s hold of you. Almost as though your unspoken desires had been heard y the gods, the snake's grip seemed to be falter. Using anger and fear to fuel your strength, your muscles broke free from its coiled form. However your freedom came at a price. The snake had opened its jaws, extended its fangs and sunk them into your flesh. Warm venom oozing into your veins like honey.

If the venom was poisonous you couldn't tell. Not just as yet. You threw the snake back where you had picked it from and raced back out of the cavern. You ran down the slope as you saw grey smoke crawl over the treeline. You raced passed the trees, seeing a myriad of broken shields and bloodied snow. Ash grew thicker and hotter the closer you got to the village. An ember flew into your eye and scorched it. Ignoring the pain, you kept racing passed the longhouse where you saw the entire village afire.

For as far as the eye could see lifeless bodies covered the white snowy ground, blood and soot turning it a sludgy consistency. They appeared to be struck down by frostbitten wounds. Your mind went numb, unable to process the carnage and death spread out across your feet. Sagging and limp, your body began to grow heavy. It was unclear whether it wwas from the venom or seeing this horror unfolding around you. 

Shrouded by the wall of flames, you saw giant men wielding jagged swords that looked nothing like steel. Their weapons buried themselves within the helpless villagers you had once wished to have known better. You clenched your fists, fighting the urge to turn to stone in the very spot.

You had to keep going.

As you forced your legs to work, you instinctively began to search the faces of the scattered bodies in the snow; searching for all the faces you had grown to know the names of. You held your breath in anticipation of the sorrow that would follow once you saw their faces. Would it hurt more than what you felt now? Could it? After all, even if you never broke bread with any one of them, or traded jokes after a day’s work, they were still your people and you were one of them. You always had been. And now… Now they were all dead. When everything seemed to be at its bleakest, a spark of hope lit up inside you. Maybe, just maybe, not all of them were dead.

You raced to the edge of the cliff face where your hut was. Your legs beginning to waver and shake helplessly. When you got over the hill between the village and your hut, your blood went cold as you helplessly watched your house burn to the ground. A scream rippled out from your lungs, piecing the eerie quiet that now hung over your village.

Utterly defeated, you fell to your knees. The venom began to take effect, making its way into your heart. Your arm clenched around your left breast as the world began to spin around you. Your vision blurred over and your body felt like a sack of potatoes falling onto the soft snow.

Ja, kjære, alt kommer til å ordne seg...

As you began to lose consciousness, a giant with blue skin walked towards you. He looked upon your chest and when he realised you still drew breath, he raised his sword and buried it into your right lung. When he removed it from its temporary home, a pool of blood spurt from your body as you felt your lung fill with your own blood, drowning you from the inside-out.

The pain was beyond excruciating, but somehow it was nothing compared to the feeling of loss that clung to your entire body.

Your head rolled lifelessly to the side. Unable to close your eyelids, you were forced to watch in eternal silence as the flames continued to devour your home. Your lungs were on the verge of collapsing when, suddenly, a beautiful collage of striking colours rained down around you. It was like being under a melting rainbow. And despite the fact the tips of your fingers were bluer than they had ever been, you felt warm.

Memories came to life around you. The image of you and your mother drinking ale beside the fire. The young girl, Sigrid, waving at you with a tender smile. The hunters laughing as they carried their boar to the village. You as a child with blood running down your face from where another child has thrown a rock at you. The green snake coiling around you.

And then… everything went black.

~HEIMDALL

Heimdall, the ever watchful eye, stood on his observation platform. His sword placed firmly within the bridges helm. As he watched over all nine realms he sensed strange activity on Midgard. He focused his sight, conjuring the dark magic’s to help him better see what was unfolding. When he saw the familiar wisp of Jotun magic leave its tell-tale tear within the seams of the universe, Heimdall's grip tightened around the hilt of his sword, his breathing turned purposeful.

The Frost Giants had travelled to Midgard, but Heimdall could not see where to. His sight was obscured by something, by another source of magic. Asgardian magic.

It was disconcerting, the fact he had never sensed this magical signature until now. It felt primaeval, ancient. Where ever it came from, it had managed to stay hidden for an unknowable amount of time.

Why is it making itself known now? He wracked his mind for answers it could not possibly have.

A garrison of royal guards came riding down the bifrost accompanying the Allfather and his youngest son, Loki.

"My King," Heimdall bowed as he still gripped the hilt of his sword.

"Heimdall, open the bifrost, the Jotun’s have attacked a village on Midgard," Odin ordered. Beside him, Loki rubbed his wrists, faint markings hidden beneath his long sleeves.

For all of Loki's cunning, Heimdall could tell that he was bothered by something. His eyes looked out into nothing, his presence whole fully distant from everything around him.

"But my King, I have seen no such attack," Heimdall said.

"But you felt it, yes?" Loki asked, his inquisitive eyes possessing knowledge he should not have, "The shift in the realms when they used their magic to travel to Midgard?"

Heimdall eyed the dark prince with a weary expression. "Yes…" was all he said before he sheathed his sword completely into the hilt at the eye of the bifrost and turned it clockwise.

The bridge between realms ripped the seams of the universe open and trailed a path of magnificent colours down to Midgard.

Odin and his guard stepped through, but he had not permitted the young prince to follow. Heimdall watched quietly as the young prince paced from one corner of the room to the next. His eyes squinted in deep thought while his eyebrows furrowed in silent anger. Every now and again, Loki would rub absentmindedly at his bruised wrists. Soon the All-Father returned and the bridge reopened.

Odin's head hung low, his eyes weary. The smell of smoke clung to his cloak. He looked to his son with what seemed to be regret and then he looked upon Heimdall's face. His face spoke volumes without uttering a single word. With a heavy hand placed on Heimdall's shoulder, he finally said: "Close the bifrost."

When the last of the Kings Guard crossed through, he did as his king commanded. Heimdall noticed one of the guards carried a young human woman in his arms, wrapped in the Allfather's cloak, barely alive. Her light was fading and her life would soon be forfeit. Heimdall felt his magic warded off by her own.

She was the one who had obscured his vision. Something about her felt familiar.

"Get her to the healers," Odin ordered his guards. They complied with no delays. In his peripheral, Heimdall noticed Loki let out a breath of relief as a small smile fought to make itself known. He hid it beneath a clenched jaw.

Heimdall had an uneasy feeling about this.

As soon as the girl was removed from his vicinity, the shroud that obscured part of Heimdall’s sight disappeared for good and it was like his eyes had been reopened.

Then he saw it.

The destruction previously unknown to him. All the carnage, the death… It was sickening. The soldier in him felt it was his fault, like he had failed in his duties to protect all those people.

"No," was all he had the strength to say as sorrow filled his eyes and he sunk to one knee, staying anchored only by the grip he had on his sword.

~ODIN

"Will she live?" Odin demanded to know from the healers.

They were looking over the young woman’s body, a curtain of gold hovering around her as they tried to heal the wound caused by a Frost Giant's blade.

"It is too early to tell. It is unheard of for a human to survive such injuries, but we found traces of a paralytic in her body. It appears the venom slowed her heart rate and kept her alive long enough for you to bring her here for healing," the head healer informed the All-Father as she bowed respectively and took her leave to join the other healers.

Frigga joined his side, a look of wonder on her face. "There was much commotion in the palace today. Everyone is whispering about the human their king brought with him from Midgard." Her lips parted in question as she brushed her hands over her husband’s arm.

"That girl, I sense something powerful about her. She may yet survive this," Frigga said softly before turning her head to look upon Odin's face. "And you, my husband, what troubles you so?"

Odin slowly blinked his one eye, a weak smile on his lips, "Nothing you need worry about." He said before placing a kiss to her knuckles.

"Your proud brow says otherwise," she pressed, running a finger along the lines of his forehead. "Tell me."

Odin sighed, "The Jotun’s… they attacked Midgard. Loki, he- they almost discovered the location of the tesseract."

"The girl, “Frigga took a deep breath, "That's why Heimdall couldn't see the attack. She's one of them isn't she?"

Odin glanced at the unconscious woman hovering in the air, "She is the last."

One of the healers made her way towards the Allfather, her expression grave, "Allfather, Queenmother… There is something you should know. The girl, she's- she's not entirely human." 

 <<Chapter Two>>

Permatags: @electroma89  @gruffle1 @thechickvic @notawarriorjustyet   @lokis-butter-knife  If this isn’t your cuppa tea, lemme know and I’ll untag!

[iloveurscratchybeard]

Snow in September

Today’s Advent calendar fic prompt was “Snowman” and I felt like I needed a break from the darkness of writing Mulder’s trauma with Scully’s abduction (in the multi-chapter work I should be working on today instead). This was supposed to be a tiny little ficlet and turned out to be a bit longer. No beta.

Set sometime post-“Per Manum” but full of fluffy sweetness. Rated PG

Tagging @only-txf-fanart @today-in-fic @txf-prompt-box and anyone I’ve hurt with my recent angst.

***

"Scully, didn't you ever have snowball fights as a kid?" he asks as she sends another wad of paper into the bookcase behind the trash can, falling alongside a pile of another dozen discarded paper balls from the report she was trying to close out. He winces.

"Actually, despite all of the moving we did as a kid, we rarely lived where there was enough snow to stick during winter. We spent most of our time on the coasts."

"So no snowball fights? No sledding?" She shakes her head as he continues, "No homemade sno-cones or snow angels?" Mulder is in disbelief. He may have had a shitty childhood, but all of these things are a rite of passage.

Scully shrugs her shoulders and turns back to her report. She just wants to finish this thing up so she can start her weekend with a long, hot bath, and with all of Mulder's jabbering, she can't seem to string a full sentence together.

A minute later, she's startled by his hot breath on her neck as he leans down behind her. "Scully? Have you ever built a snowman?" She lets out an exasperated sigh. "Mulder, Skinner's waiting on this. If I don't finish the report on my medical findings, we're never going to be able to go home!"

He raises his hands up and starts backing out of the room. "Okay, okay....I'll just give you a few minutes of peace and quiet so you can concentrate."  He grabs his coat and heads to the door before turning back to her at the doorway and winking. "I'll be back in a few to help you wrap things up." And he's gone.

Scully rolls her eyes and tries to gather together all the focus one can muster after a long week of cramped rental cars, shitty motels, and autopsies. What she wouldn't do for a hot meal, some cozy sweats, and a good book. Any reading that didn't involve studies of how extremely high altitudes (i.e. being in a spacecraft for days at a time) affected hemoglobin concentration sounded like a fine change of pace for her.

Thirty minutes later, Scully was finally, finally, putting the final notes on her report when she heard Mulder exit the elevator on his way back into the office. She looked up as he was rounding the corner and her jaw dropped.

"Mulder- what is that?"

In his arms was a very large styrofoam cooler. He didn't answer her, just wagged his eyebrows as he walked over to deposit it on his desk. "Finish up the report yet?" he asked casually.

"Yes-" she drew out slowly, lowering her eyebrows at him and pursing her lips as she stood to investigate what he was up to.

"Now, now, now..." he shielded his surprise from her by moving to stand in front of her,  causing her nose to briefly crash into his tie. "Sorry," he smiled and grabbed her elbows to steady her against him.

"Mulder, what are you up to?" she asked, raising on her tiptoes pointlessly to sneak a peek over his shoulders. The curiosity was getting the better of her. Even though she tried to play it cool, Mulder knew that she loved surprises.

"Now, Miss Scully, good things come to those who are patient." Another wag of his eyebrows and she hated how much he was enjoying her eagerness to get at his little surprise.

He leaned in close to her face, studying her eyes for a moment, and then reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I was thinking about what you said earlier and I - um, well, I thought we could kill two birds with a single stone. So, I ran to the store real quick and got you this." He held up a plastic bag from the corner market in his hand and waved it in front of her face.

"What's in the bag?" she quirked her right brow at him.

"Well the investigator in me suggests you open the bag and find out for yourself."

She wanted to scoff at him but was too curious, so she reached inside and procured a box of raisins and a snack mix of baby carrots. "Okay." She looked up at him in utter confusion.

"And-" he reached in his coat pocket and pulled out two twigs and what looked like a piece of rubber from a blown tire. Scully was sure Mulder had finally lost his marbles.

"I don't get it."

Mulder held up a single finger, continuing to draw out the longest reveal in history. He then reached inside his inner coat pocket, and like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, he revealed two paper cones and a small water bottle of red liquid.

Scully was utterly and completely lost.

Mulder watched her face with entirely too much satisfaction that she hadn't figured out his plan. He set everything out in a row on his desk and then picked up a pencil in his hand and started twisting it in the air. "With the flick of my wand and the magic words....'presto magnifico- let there be snow!'" He tapped the styrofoam box twice with his pencil and then slowly lifted the lid to reveal several gallons of very finely shaved ice.

"Mulder- it's September. There is no snow."

"Ah-ha, Miss Scully. That's why it's called magic!" He lowers his voice to a whisper, "And some help from the guy that runs the Kona Ice food truck down the street."

Taking her by the shoulders, he guides her around his desk and pulls out his chair so she can take a seat. Then he flips the lid upside down on his desk and scoops several heaping piles of ice on it.

"Scully- would you like to build a snowman?"

She is in shock. "Are you serious?"

"Hell yeah, I'm serious. I brought all the components for a perfect snowman to you, M'lady. We've got raisins for eyes and a mouth, a carrot nose, twig for arms, and while there were no miniature top hats lying around, this little black piece of rubber looks awfully majestic."

Scully is in awe of the creativity of this man and the lengths he will go to make her smile. "Mulder-" she doesn't even know what to say.

"Scully, I'd start rolling if I were you because pretty soon we're not gonna have snow anymore, we're just gonna have....well, a wet and ruined desk."

For the first time all week, her heart feels light and she's smiling, really smiling. He perches on the corner of the chair beside her rolling a miniature ball for a head to accompany her larger body balls and then they layer them on top of one another. She grabs the box of raisins and pops a few eyeballs into the head while Mulder tries his best to jab a baby carrot into the center. The weight of it rolls the head right off the body and Scully snickers under her breath. She extracts the carrot from the head and brings it to her mouth, biting it directly in half before reinserting it carefully into the newly attached head. Mulder watches her mouth with amazement and then nods his approval at her methods. A few twigs and a tire fragment later, and Scully's first snowman stands before them in all of its crooked half-melty glory.

"I think he needs a name," Scully giggles.

"Hmmm....how about 'Ice Flukey'? I mean, he's kind of horrifying."

"Stop! I think he's cute."

"Oh- wait! I forgot the finishing touch!" Mulder reaches into his pants pocket and procures several sunflower seeds. He presses them gently into the snowman's body. "Buttons. Now he's styling." Then he rounds the desk to grab the remaining items from his bag of tricks. He fills the two paper cones with the remaining ice from the cooler and then opens the water bottle of mysterious red liquid and douses the top of each cone.

"Voila! Homemade sno-cones"

"Mulder- this...." her voice breaks a little. She's exhausted and her hormones still don't feel like they've equalized after the failed attempts at in-vitro. She's had the emotions of pregnancy, without the blessing of actually being pregnant. "This means a lot."

"I just wanted to give you a little something. After all you've been through lately- and..." he feels suddenly shy. "I just want you to know. There are good things, too. I mean, we spend so much time in the dark chasing after mutants and monsters, but I want you to never lose sight of that. I want you to have good things. I want you to laugh and eat sno-cones. I want to help you build a snowman, and I want... I want us to have it all." He places his hand delicately under her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Just- tell me you won't lose hope. We can still have it all."

She's crying at his words, at the implication that he wanted the baby just as badly as she did. They struggled to talk about it, but she knew he was trying. In the thousands of little ways that were purely Mulder, he was trying to keep her dream alive.

She takes his hand and squeezes it. For the first time in weeks, she feels hope. If this man can make a snowman in September, maybe he can bring her other miracles as well.

[the-elder-polls]

also any time i mention hlirlef/malaar/silkoraav/sosaalkro/konahrik (that's all the same person lol) aka kona they're my version of konahrik from a fic i'm writing :} similarly, the same goes for me mentioning vahlok or miraak or any of the dragon priests in general (outside of polls of course)

mom said its my turn with the dragon shouts

[vamprefaggot]

another question thing

i was tagged by @trashforjam​ iLY YA SHIT

1. name: kona

2. nickname(s): blub(but dont call me that i will stab you), bean, toad, plant daddy, garbonzo lord of the hats, cone and i’m sure there’s more but i can’t remember them lmao

3. zodiac sign: leo

4. height: somewhere around five foot even??

5. orientation: i’m your friendly neighbourhood nonbinary lesbian cheers

6. fav fruit: umm maybe peaches?

7. fav season: winter

8. fav book series: the touchstone series by andrea k host its really good aksfjh

9. fav flower: how do i cHOOSE ACK(i love all flowers aksjh)

10. fav scent: rain probably or night

11. fav colors: warm grey one and really dark navy blue

12. coffee, tea, or cocoa: coffee or tea i’m not a huge fan of hot chocolate lmao

13. average sleep hours: my what now

14. cat or dog: boooth??

15. number of blankets: depends on the season and which blanket but it ranges from none to all eight winter blankets i have on my bed

16. dream trip: munia lmao but probably the uk

17. blog created: ummmm last year ish maybe?? i made it to send fanart for @parmesarn’s fic and now we’re here

18. number of followers: 50 woo

imma tag @phanjumpers, @heckinhowell, @pastel-prince-of-darkness and @nifflers-and-obscurials cheers

[arialis]

lunar--resonance said::DDDDDD

lunar--resonance said: see I’m not completely evil

ya but like... it’s the beginning of chapter 5 so... still kinda evil

[denilmo]

Get to Know Me

I was tagged by the lovely: @meliss-cake @moonfox22 and @bouncyirwin Thank you :)

Rules: Answer these 92 statements and tag 20 people however many people you want

THE LAST: 1. Drink: Tea 2. Phone call: My mom 3. Text message: Hubby 4. Song you listened to: (널 사랑하지 않아) I Don’t Love You by Urban Zakapa [also, if you love a nice ballad, good harmonies well thought out music, and a sad touch - give the song a listen *sobs*] 5. Time you cried: Listening to the above song and getting all kinds of sad fic ideas

HAVE YOU: 6. Dated someone twice: Yes 7. Kissed someone and regretted it: No 8. Been cheated on: Yes 9. Lost someone special: Yes 10. Been depressed: Yesssss Life story                                                                 11. Gotten drunk and thrown up: Once. I can hold my liquor pretty well :D

LIST 3 FAVORITE COLORS: 12-14: Purple(any shade, it’s my favorite), Cerulean, Crimson - any dark colors really

IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU: 15. Made new friends: Online 16. Fallen out of love: No 17. Laughed until you cried: Yes 18. Found out someone was talking about you: Yuppers 19. Met someone who changed you: No 20. Found out who your friends are: Oh yeah... oh well, screw them. I don’t need fair weather friends. 21. Kissed someone on your Facebook list: I’m not on FB anymore

GENERAL: 22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: When I was on there I knew everyone on my list. But fuck that site. 23. Do you have any pets: Two puppers - a German Shepard and a Laborador (a Labrador retriever and border collie mix) 24. Do you want to change your name: No 25. What did you do for your last Birthday: Wasted 100 dollars on dinner that I ate at home, cold, by myself cause everyone else wanted to be a bag of dicks. 26. What time did you wake up: 6 AM 27. What were you doing at midnight last night: Watching the end of this drama called Bad Guys - it was so good (it’s basically, use bad guys to catch the bad guys - and find  out who the real baddie is along the way).  28. Name something you can’t wait for: July 4th, KakaSaku Month and my birthday (which is the same month so yayyyy) 29. When was the last time you saw your mom: a couple days ago, she came over to do laundry 30. What is one thing you wish you could change in your life: Less debt, more happiness, and maybe for my dad to be an actual presence? 31. What are you listening to right now:  CAMO - by BoA (I seriously love her new song!) 32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: Yes 33. Something that is getting on your nerves: This freakin puppy chewing on everything even though he has toys, another dog to play with, and lots of outside time. And lots of other things, but this one was the lightest lol 34. Most visited Website: probably youtube??? I dunno

LOST QUESTIONS. I JUST PUT IN RANDOM INFO ABOUT ME 35. Mole/s: Yurr, a beauty mark on my cheek and then a few dozen others scattered across 36. Mark/s: ?? Like scars? Birthmarks? 37. Childhood dream: I’ve always wanted to be an actor, singer, or writer ever since I was a wee little Deni 38. Haircolor: dark brown, almost black 39. Long or short hair: medium length, but I prefer long hair. I’m never cutting my hair short again after the last butcher ruined it  40. Do you have a crush on someone: who doesn’t 41. What do you like about yourself: my intuition I suppose. It’s saved me a lot haha 42. Piercings: only my ears - like 4 on each side 43. Bloodtype: O- 44. Nickname: Deni, KoNa, Joey 45. Relationship status: married  46. Zodiac: Leo; Rat 47. Pronouns: She/Her 48. Favorite TV Show: Supernatural, Rick and Morty, Last Week Tonight, Forged in Fire

49. Tattoos: I have 6 and more planned 50. Right or left hand: Right 51. Surgery: Yes, I’ve had a cyst removed from my eye 52. Hair dyed in different color: Not currently, but it’s been pretty much every color before 53. Sport: I don’t play anymore. I was on dance team and played softball.  I still dance though... so there’s that? 55. Vacation: Please?? But I want to go somewhere where people don’t typically go cause I live at the coast and we’re flooded with tourists right now 56. Pair of trainers: I love my black and purple skechers right now

MORE GENERAL: 57. Eating: currently nothing, but I’m an adventurous eater in general 58. Drinking: Water. 59. I’m about to: Plot out my KakaSaku month writings 61. Waiting for:  Stupid new fridge to get delivered 62. Want: a day to myself 63. Get married: Already am 64. Career: I just want to enjoy it

WHICH IS BETTER 65. Hugs or kisses: Hugs 66. Lips or eyes: Eyes 67. Shorter or taller: for my S/O? Taller then. 68. Older or younger: Older 70. Nice arms or nice stomach: Arms are my weakness 71. Sensitive or loud: ??? Not sure... 72. Hook up or relationship: Relationship 73. Troublemaker or hesitant: In me? Hesitant. In someone else? Troublemaker. I like a challenge hahaha

HAVE YOU EVER: 74. Kissed a Stranger: No 75. Drank hard liquor: Yes                                                                                   76. Lost glasses/contact lenses: No 77. Turned someone down: Yes 78. Sex on the first date: Yes, but it was someone I’d known for a long time 79. Broken someone’s heart: Yes 80. Had your heart broken: Yes 81. Been arrested: Close, but no 82. Cried when someone died: Yes 83. Fallen for a friend: Yes

DO YOU BELIEVE IN: 84. Yourself: Depends on the situation  85. Miracles: it’s a nice sentiment, but not really 86. Love at first sight: No - even though my hubby does. He still says to this day that he knew he was going to marry me the first moment he saw me. And we’ve been together for 14 years now... so.. that’s something. 87. Santa Claus: No  88. Kiss on the first date: Sure, if it feels right.

OTHER: 90. Current best friend name: I... don’t have one. I guess hubby counts, so Luke. All my long time friends don’t talk to me much so.... *shrugs* I have to initiate every conversation or get together, and I like to feel like I’m worth it sometimes, ya know.  91. Eyecolor: I don’t discriminate lol. Eyes are beautiful 92. Favorite movie: That’s such a hard question! The Star Wars movies are up there, along with The Outsiders, House of Flying Daggers, The Boondock Saints, V for Vendetta, a long list of superhero movies... gah I love my cinematic adventures

I tag: @natanije @eeearnest @meelomango @thecalamityqueen @ohsotiny @quaintaffairs and anyone else that may want to give it a go!

[the-elder-polls]

my fic has a name now. not to brag

[arialis]

hi i wrote a thing :P you can thank @mystery-shrouded for its existence b/c she helped me come up with the shenanigans that ensue in a v funny phone convo + read it and encouraged me enough that i wanted to post in the first place

She first met him in prison.

Admittedly, not the most common of meeting places, but such is life.

Inej had been leaning back against the wall of her cell, quietly thankful that at least it was dry, even if she could see her breath. And then, a voice came from one of the cells to her right, amused and obviously flirtatious.

“To my beautiful neighbor: so, you come here often?”

There was no one else in their block - Inej knew it was aimed at her. “I try not to, to be frank.”

The boy laughed, merry and bright even in this forsaken place, only quieting as one of the guards came stomping down the corridor. “Quiet, you two!” he commanded, striking the bars of their cells and making them rattle.

He kept silent even after the guard let, though the sound of his quiet breaths, steady and unafraid, was oddly comforting in this eerie emptiness. The silence wasn’t cowed, only contemplative.

That was fine. The time gave her space to think.

The next time the boy talked, it was two days later.

“So, I know I was joking earlier, but are you really a first-timer?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Inej replied lightly, somewhat surprised he remembered her comment.

“In that you’ve never done anything before or that you’ve only gotten caught now?”

“Take your pick.”

A dry laugh. “You’re a walking mystery, sweet… what’s your name, then? Or is that top secret too?”

His tone carried no trace of hurt, or anything but amusement, really. Inej rolled the answer on her tongue for a moment, before deciding it couldn’t hurt. “Inej.”

“A pretty name for an even prettier girl.”

“You’ve never even seen me,” she exclaimed, chuckling despite herself.

“Your voice is too beautiful not to belong to a pretty girl,” was the suave and ready response, delivered without a flicker of hesitation or self-doubt. “Aren’t you curious to know my name?”

Inej paused for a moment. “Not really, no.”

“It’s Jesper.”

Laughing quietly, Inej nodded, forgetting briefly that he couldn’t see her. “Alright.”

“So, do you have a crew or do you work solo?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not gonna help me keep up the conversation at all, are you?”

Inej hummed in response, smiling when she heard a groan of consternation.

“Alright, alright. You from Ketterdam?”

“Not born.”

“Really? You speak like a native.”

“I’ve been here awhile,” Inej answered evasively, ignoring the discomfort in her stomach at that. “What about you?”

He crowed in victory, cheering, “I’m growing on you! You’ve finally asked a question!”

“Nevermind.”

“Born in Novyi Zem, been here for ages though.”

Inej didn’t know what to really say to that, so she gave another hum of acknowledgement, letting the silence settle in around them like leaves falling from their trees.

And so they lived, light conversation and offhand remarks occurring more and more. Despite herself, she even came to expect them.

The conversation was never serious, but Jesper’s voice and words were surprisingly easy to read, so she felt like she learned him anyway. Slowly, they became something like friends, their interactions a bright spot in this cold place. They stayed there, trapped in tiny cells day-in and day-out, for a month.

Then, everything went the way of dying stars.

Inej jolted awake to the sound of alarm bells ringing, sitting up in her tiny cot, heart pounding. “You there, Inej?”

“Still here, Jesper,” she replied, having regained her bearing and pulling back into the shadows. “What did you do?”

“Why do you always assume everything is my fault?”

“Isn’t it?” she muttered, a tiny smile pulling at her lips at his snort.

Before Jesper could respond, there was a heavy thump at the end of the hallway, where the door to the block of cells was. A moment later, it slammed open, a guard flying through and landing on the floor in a crumpled heap, clearly unconscious. After him came two teenagers - one a walking mountain and the other a shadow in human form.

The shadow led the way down the hallway, cane thumping in rhythm with every step, the other boy stomping after a step behind. Inej couldn’t help but mourn the loss of her knives again at their presence, knowing she was with far less protection than she’d like in this moment.

The two kept walking towards them, completely unfazed by the sound of distant shouts coming closer and even the explosion that rocked the floor and made dust rain from the ceiling. They passed by her cell, neither of them noticing her in the darkness, and stopped in front of Jesper’s. The tall, blonde one stayed back, scowling as he kept an eye on the door and a hand on his rifle.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, Kaz, but what took you so long?” Jesper asked, clearly relieved despite his cranky tone.

Instead of answering, Kaz instead replied patronizingly, “Have you learned anything from this?”

Inej, even though she’d never seen Jesper, knew he’d blanch at this.

“Do we really have to have this conversation right now?”

The boy raised an eyebrow as he stared at Jesper cooly. “Yes.”

“Kaz!”

“Have you learned?” he repeated, calm like they were out shopping.

“Yes! I’ve learned! Now get me out!” Jesper shouted, hands audibly slamming into the bars in his frustration.

Kaz glanced at his watch before looking back at Jesper, expression bored and deadpan. “I suppose.”

He didn’t even blink in surprise at the noise when a soldier appeared at the end of the hallway and his companion shot him. “Right on time too - unlike you, Jesper.”

Inej stifled a smile at the sound when Jesper knocked his head against the hollow bars, making them rattle. “I can’t believe you set aside time to mock me.”

“He was very insistent on it, actually,” the unnamed boy said, his voice low and gruff.

Kaz rolled his eyes, but didn’t respond, turning around and moving off down the hallway.

The cell door swung open behind him with a squeak, to Jesper’s astonished sputtering. “When did you even-”

“Hurry up, Jesper, you’re wasting time.”

Shaking his head, Jesper followed after his friends, finally giving Inej a glimpse of her prison mate. He was surprisingly tall, but everything about him seemed to suit him, from the swaggering way Jesper walked to his short, dark curly hair.

He strolled after them before stopping at Inej’s cell and peered into the darkness there. “Do you want to come with?”

Inej saw as Kaz and the blonde soldier stopped, clearly surprised, even if Kaz hid it much better. She glanced between Jesper’s serious but genuine eyes and Kaz’s cold features as he turned towards them, distant, not even deigning to take interest in the proceedings.

Everything about Kaz’s expression seemed to say, in the most bored way possible, “I’m not responsible for your decisions.”

“I’m alright, but thank you for the thought,” she replied, even as the sound of the cane tapping on the stone floor began to ring again.

“Are you sure? I know Kaz is… Kaz, but his bark’s worse than his bite.”

“I think Rajin’s missing arm would beg to differ,” snorted the blonde, but waited anyway for him anyway.

“Shut it, Matthias. I apologize in advance for anything he says and does, but still.”

Inej looked at Jesper, really looked at the genuineness in his mischievous eyes and saw the shreds of kindness in there. She glanced at Kaz, noticed him glancing back at her with nothing but utter coldness and disregard, only pausing for a moment before he continued onwards steadily.

She knew, then, that this was not a man she ever wanted to be indebted to if she could help it.

“I’m sure, but thank you.”

Jesper gave her a solemn nod and said brightly, “See you around, then!”

“Oh, and Kaz opened your door when he leaned against it for a moment.”

Jesper grinned. “Oh, I see. Thanks!”

The cane’s rhythm faltered for a second.

A heartbeat later, Jesper was gone, sprinting after Kaz with the blonde as they left the prison.

Releasing a breath of tension, Inej settled back into her cot and ignored the blaring alarms as best she could.

When the guards came to ask her what had happened, what she’d seen and what the intruders said, Inej just gave them an beatific smile and said she’d slept through it all.

It made her chuckle, knowing it was the kind of answer Jesper would’ve laughed at.

A couple nights later, Jesper was drinking in the Crow Club, celebrating a job done well, when he heard whispers of a break in the prison.

One of the inmates had just vanished like a ghost. A wraith - there and gone so fast she may as well have never even existed. It was only days after Kaz and Matthias had gone to get Jesper and they’d subsequently upped security, too.

Jesper didn’t say anything, only smiling into his drink as he sipped it quietly.