#sailboat to be clear. she would want me to make sure that is clear. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jodilin65 · 29 years ago

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SUNDAY, APRIL 30, 1995 Yesterday Tom was gonna fire up the spa, but something’s wrong with the filter or whatever. He got it up to 80º, but it felt like it was in the 50s! Well, at least the weather’s getting hot. We were out there early yesterday morning and I never heard a peep out of next door.

We went to screw yesterday and although it was fun, I couldn’t cum. Guess that makes two of us now, but I didn’t deliberately hold back. Now that the fact that he’ll never cum has fully hit me and sunk in, I can be pleasantly selfish during sex. He claims that for him to get off, he has to go really slow. I like it fast. I used to be like - well, let’s go slow so we can see if he cums, but now I’m like - he won’t cum, so why not have him go fast? I’m the one that cums.

We got a treadmill last Friday. I had to rearrange our rather small living room to get it to fit in. I walked for 10 minutes earlier, as well as used my thigh master. Soon I’ve got to do my sit-ups and push-ups. I don’t know why I bother when I’ve always had the same lousy shape (proportioning) and always will. It just makes me feel better I guess and I am still smaller and more fit than the average person. It’s funny, though, cuz Tom not only sees my body differently than I do, he sees my level of fitness differently too. Out of 100% fitness, he sees me as 70%. I see myself as 40-50%.

I finished and taped that cactus puzzle and I began the sailboat one.

Tom got me a big book of over 200 word-seek puzzles for $9. Nine bucks! Can you believe it? Well, I love them anyhow and have already done several. Hope my subscription gets here soon enough, though. And my CD. I can’t wait for that CD!

Got a letter from Kim yesterday and one from Bob the day before. I sent letters out to them, my parents and Lisa, Becky, and Sarah. It’s been a while since I wrote them their own letters and I used flag pictures to decorate their envelopes.

FRIDAY, APRIL 28, 1995 I got my folk’s catalog of the flags they sell. It’s pretty neat. I cut out most of them, kept my favorites, and intend to decorate the backs of envelopes with the rest. Unfortunately, I can’t decorate envelopes for Bob. The prison won’t go for that.

Their work number was listed in two different areas which were crossed out. Just when I thought they trusted me. Now, why in the world would I want to call their work number? Wait till I tell her I could still see through to the number! Even so, you know, that was kind of insulting to see.

Also, in the package was a water-resistant clock/radio. That’ll be nice for our romantic weekend get-together at the pool. Oh, I only hope and pray those kids stay quiet, cuz that’d really spoil the mood.

There were two puzzles. One of a desert mountain with cactuses. Another of boats at a marina. This was great and they never would’ve known if I hadn’t mentioned Marge getting me into puzzles. They also remembered how I said I like around 500 pieces and not 1000, cuz then it becomes more of a drag than fun. Guess they do pay attention to what I say.

Lastly, in the package were 3 pairs of shorts, a vest, and a jacket. They all fit perfectly and are stuff I’d wear. The jacket was a bit big but beautiful, so I don’t care. My favorite was the denim shorts with gold studs, triangles, and clear gemstones at the top of the rims of the pockets.

Marge called right after Tom went to bed to see how my ear appointment went. That was nice.

Later…

I have only one edit tape left to cut. That oughta go fast, cuz there are reps on there for sure. I called them ‘edibytes’ when I was telling Tom about it. Last night Andy and I had about a 20-minute conversation with Karson which I taped. I edited all of that and yes, she sure makes great edits. I edited a message a friend of Marla left Andy. Also, the weather report in Springfield a few months back where we were laughing at the 0º they had. Marla got a kick out of it, but said, “I don’t know if Maryanne would appreciate her conversations being taped.” Andy let her know we didn’t; she left that message on his VM, then Marla said, “OK. Just checking.”

Last night Andy wanted to call and talk to Nervous, believe it or not, but the number was disconnected. There was a Kevin T in W. Springfield, but it wasn’t him. I can’t see him having anyone to call who’s long-distance, so if he’s still with Crystal, my guess is she rang up a bill. Unless they broke up and he rang up a bill calling 900#s.

I was wondering why Kim didn’t have a typewriter or a computer since she could afford it, but what would be the point? She’d never be home enough to use it, so it’d be a complete waste of money.

Later…

I’m trying to stay up as late as I can so I can sleep later. That way I’m up more during the days this weekend. I’m too tired to do anything, though, so I’m kind of bored.

I don’t know why I’ve had no appetite for sex lately. It’s the lowest it’s been since I’ve known Tom and he certainly didn’t do anything. Well, the desire’s always lower after my period, so I’m sure it’ll pick up. The desire to have a kid is way down too, but I’m glad. I hope and pray that this is how it stays and doesn’t fluctuate on me. I can’t afford to be running around dwelling on that with my being sterile and with a guy who doesn’t cum. Regardless of what he says, I knew many months ago he’d never cum. I just wasn’t ready to admit or accept this. Not back then, anyway.

I think I’ll go grab a bite to eat now, then go do whatever else I can think of.

TUESDAY, APRIL 25, 1995 First of all, we went out last Saturday and mostly browsed around. We did get a couple of things, though. A fan on a stand that’s in the living room, and I got two CDs. Not counting Living in the USA and the 70s one I ordered, I now have a total of 108 CDs. At Best Buy I got Hasten Down the Wind which has several songs I sing. Also, her latest one in English is called Feels Like Home. It’s a lot like her older stuff and even Tom likes it. I haven’t learned it all yet, but I will.

Before we went shopping and looked around, we went to Red Lobster. That was great.

Kim called this afternoon. She’s still madly in love with Doug and says it’s mutual. She hasn’t told Doug yet that I’m the one behind the letters and is gonna wait till I send 1 or 2 more. I mail them to her along with the letters I send her with an addressed envelope to his PO Box in Vernon, CT, then she mails it to him.

She still says that she wouldn’t be one bit shocked if I told her I was pregnant and says she sees it happening. I told her that sometimes I see it, but mostly I don’t.

She told me Minnie was a nice, down-to-earth, cool person that Bob would hardly look at or acknowledge. True to his letter, he “couldn’t keep his eyes or hands off of her.” She still believes in his innocence but sees no way any more than he does that he’ll get out alive. She thinks he’ll die in there of some heart-related issue. Well, it’s been a long time since I ever felt he’d make it out of there alive.

She also promised to write him more on the condition that he destroys every one of her letters. She doesn’t want anyone to ever see them.

I’m 99% sure no one would call, let alone come here concerning any of my letters (should he die or whatever), but I’ve got a request of my own for him. Not to destroy my 100-and-something letters, but to destroy all my envelopes that have address labels on them. Also, any letters with any addresses, names, or numbers. Then, from there on out, I’ll ask that he rip off and destroy my address labels or destroy the whole envelope. I still want to use address labels, so anything that needs to be returned to me can be.

Great news today at the doctor’s office. I was so nervous beforehand like most people and fearing the worst. Like him saying, “Jodi, I hate to tell you this, but the skin graft is all messed up. I have to operate again.”

However, as Tom said, and as I knew deep down in my heart, he said it looked great. Tom kept insisting I’d have to wear a bathing cap this summer and I told him I was determined to get around that. How the hell would I get all this hair up into it anyway? So, when I went to ask the doctor about it, Tom looked at me as if to say, sorry, but you aren’t gonna get your way with this one. Sure enough, though, and thank God, the doctor said due to the fact that everyone’s different I’ll have to experiment and see what my ear can or cannot tolerate. Growing up at beaches every year and swimming most of my life in so many places, I know I’ve never had Swimmer’s Ear or any kind of ear infection that I can remember, so that’s a good sign. One advantage the bad ear has is that it’s drilled straight in, whereas the good ear’s not, cuz that’s how normal ear canals are. Anyway, he says my ear canal is almost the size of a regular one and to just tip my head over when I get out of the water. I do that anyway with the good ear. If there are any problems, there are drops I can get to help avoid infections and problems like that. He said you can get it other ways, too. From showers, rainstorms, etc. Well, I grew up doing an awful lot of swimming for 3 months at the beach and where it rains a lot, and have never had a problem, so that helps to know.

Little by little I’m getting color. Arizona’s definitely back, thank God! Did I mention how our weather was like Massachusetts for about a week? It was cold, damp, rainy, and it really sucked. It was 88º today and tomorrow it’ll be 93º. The pool temperature was 74º today and this weekend we’re gonna heat it up. I hope the temperature stays where it is. Better yet, goes up.

Later…

I don’t know if the owner of that dog came to pick it up or not, but all’s been quiet enough from over there, so that’s cool. I hear an occasional scream, but nothing I can’t deal with. They’re still playing out front, but they’ve been quieter at it. I’m still not sure if I’ll leave her a note to come over to chat or have coffee. She’s probably too busy and who’d watch the kids? She’d have to haul the herd over here and no way! This place isn’t baby-proof and never will be unless we have one and I’m still almost sure we won’t.

Now here’s some very strange, funny, weird, yet great news. I wish to hell I taped the conversation I had with my mom earlier cuz it was great. I forgot to ask how long Dad’s gonna be gone to New England and also if they cracked my secret code in fingerspelling. I typed the alphabet and interpreted that up top of the message which said - I love and miss you both.

Also, in 3-4 days a package will arrive from them. I started next week’s letter to them and jokingly said, “So, ma, when’s the package gonna be here?” as I usually do.

Anyway, if Andy, who’s seen the bad side of her, heard us talking, he wouldn’t believe it was the same Dureen O he used to know. Dad was there too, and they had company. It sounded like they could’ve been playing cards.

Later…

Continuing with what I was last saying - I told her about my ear and said (which is shockingly true) he didn’t even have to vacuum me today! Then she said, “Have him do your carpets, then.”

Then I told her our vacuum was broken and she asked why. I told her my hair jammed it up and she said, “You’re not supposed to vacuum your hair with it, you idiot.”

So then she goes, “Tell me. Is Tom really that caring or are you just putting on a show and bullshitting me?” Then after I reminded her that I tell her like it is and know how to dump a jerk and wasn’t bullshitting her, she said, “Well, he’ll get the stamp of approval only when I meet him.”

Of course she was teasing me, but I told her in their letter that it’d take a hell of a ton of bricks to fall on Tom’s head to turn him into a psycho, and how if that were possible I’d call them just like I did at the NHA and say, “Look. I’m in a really bad situation here and I need help to get an apartment till I can dance the money back to you and get on my feet. No pun intended.” Then to make her feel better, cuz nobody’s perfect I said, “I’ll tell you something negative about him. He’s a slob, an occasional procrastinator, and doesn’t always pick up after himself.”

She also told me I was really growing up and she just may like me after all. Well, I certainly didn’t expect either of us to like each other, even though we always loved each other. And it’s good to know we can get along, even though we’ll never be alike or agree on everything. She asked if there was a place to sleep when she got here and she said she was getting the bedroom and I had to sleep on the couch and wait on her. I told her I’d dress like a whore just to piss her off while I waited on her. She said, “Oh, yeah. Same old little whore.”

We were cracking up and she said when she gets here we can discuss my gift to her. She said with all those computers I said we had she was sure we could put something together. I really wish we could and we hope to someday. It may take a while, though.

We were teasing each other when I said I wouldn’t trade this life I’ve got today for the old one. She said she’d never take me back and I was like, “Good! I’d never go back with you. You’re a bossy nag.”

SATURDAY, APRIL 22, 1995 Last night’s live chat with Alex was fun. Confusing, but fun. I could send him instant messages, but I wasn’t getting any from him. After a while of not being able to find him, I sent him an instant message to go to the Starfleet Academy room. From there, we created our own room called Trouble. We chatted about odds and ends. He asked how Tom was and he told me how in love he is with this hearing woman named Mary.

I insisted to Tom today that I blew my schedule right out the door, but he insisted, “I expected this. This is good. You’re doing fine and are making great progress.”

Then I asked him, “What if we had a kid? I mean, I was so tired and there’d have been no way I could’ve kept up with it.”

He said, “You won’t get to be in that situation when the time comes.”

OK, whatever. I’m still not quite sure what he means. I may be able to fall back asleep and take naps more often now that I’m not going through all the shit I was in the past, but how the hell I’ll ever maintain a schedule beats me. I had set the alarm for 8 AM yesterday and after 4 days of 5-6 hours of sleep, I was dead exhausted, so I kept hitting the snooze till 10:30. My allergies were giving me hell and I felt really miserable, so at 1 PM I fell back asleep till 5 PM. I just couldn’t keep my eyes open. He may sleep in here tomorrow night instead.

Not a sound all day or night from that dog next door. Only 8 van door slams at 10:30 PM or so.

Minnie shocked the shit out of me by giving me a call. She said Bob gained weight, cried when he saw them, and that was it. She told me how lousy motherhood’s been on her, the kid went off, and that was it. Tomorrow I’ll have a letter going out for Minnie.

Kim left a message, too. She and Doug are going to her grandmother’s in Maine for the weekend, but she’ll call back Sunday night.

Tom and I talked to my parents earlier. All’s well with them.

THURSDAY, APRIL 20, 1995 Yesterday, a federal building with several different federal offices in it was bombed and 200-300 people were killed. A lot of kids too, as there was a daycare office in this building for employees there. The bomb caused damage as much as 5 blocks away. Tammy thinks it’s Middle Eastern terrorists. Tom thinks it’s US citizens pissed off at the government, but authorities have no suspects or motives.

This is really scary. Especially since it happened in Oklahoma City and not some bigger, more well-known place like New York City, Boston, L.A., Chicago or Miami. Tom said the nearest federal building to us is miles away, but it sure reinforces the fact that we’re just not safe anywhere.

We still want a child, but it made me wonder once again if the joys and rewards of having a child are worth all the risks. No one can protect them 24 hours a day. Even Tammy said how it pisses her off that kids in school have to be taught how to defend themselves against guns when they should be learning their ABCs and 2+2=4. I can almost bet you, though, that the kids who were killed had great parents. Those who survived probably had assholes for parents.

In an hour and a half, I’ll be chatting with Alex live on AOL. We’re gonna chat for 10-15 minutes, he said, so he doesn’t charge up too much. This will be part of my 5 hours a month, but I’ll have to ask Tom when the billing cycle begins and ends.

Every time a good deal is offered by a phone company, Tom grabs it, so we’re going from Touch One to AT&T. Our monthly bills are $25 - $30 bucks and now we can make twice as many calls for that amount for 6 months. Plus, they’re giving us one free weekend and a $20 check.

Got a letter from Bob today saying Kim and Minnie did get to see him, so he’s happy about that.

Tom’s gonna sleep in here tomorrow night. I don’t think I mentioned how it went last week. The shocking part of it was that when he got into bed a few hours after I did, I never woke up! However, I did after another hour, then went back to bed a couple of hours later. He said it was a great start and great that I didn’t wake up when he got into bed and that I could get back to sleep, even though it took a while. Yeah, it sure helps to not be fuming over constant noisy neighbors who you know are doing it deliberately or who just don’t give a damn.

We got one prank call today for the first time in ages. The person never spoke and hung up after a few seconds, but someone was definitely there. The caller made a slight breathing sound that made me think of Nervous, but why would he bother after all this time? We don’t live alone and close by with no lives and I believe his obsession’s long over. If it was him, then maybe he got bored, broke up with Crystal, and just decided to see if I was still here for curiosity’s sake. I doubt it was Fran cuz he would’ve said something. Or had someone else talk. I still can’t believe what a good boy he’s been, but I would believe it if every handful of months he tries calling as if nothing ever happened and as if we’ve been great friends all along. I wonder if he calls Nervous. He’s local and I know there have been guys as well as females he’s called for years.

The guy next door is on his way out again. After the mail came, I went out to see if any packages were left outside. Both dogs were tied to their trees and there was Lenore. She told me that the dog was not even theirs and that the owner’s picking it up in a few days. Yes!! Thank you, God! She said the reason they were out front was cuz they exterminated the back area.

Anyway, she really is a sweet person and if things continue to go cool I might leave her a note saying: I’ll understand if you’re busy, but feel free to ring the doorbell if you want to chat or have coffee, as I’m home a lot, too. We’ll see in a few weeks to a month.

Well, I’m gonna go do word search puzzles till it’s time to go online with Alex.

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 19, 1995 What a depressing, scary, and sickening day this has been. I’ll start with the petty stuff that’s quite minor first, compared to the biggie that’s going on elsewhere.

For about an hour next door today, I was really damn close to going over there and saying, “Look. I appreciate your keeping the kids down, but I refuse to be compensated with that new dog of yours!”

I can be controlled and have to make sacrifices within normal and acceptable reasons by family and friends, but not someone else’s dog. I’m not gonna sit by and be forced to wait till it adjusts and becomes like their other dog. I want so bad to live in a house where if a neighbor gets a dog we won’t know about it. Just cuz it may be better than their other one which went off round the clock and just cuz it may be better than hearing the kids doesn’t mean I’ll deal with its daily half-hour to 1½-hour of adjustment bullshit. All the more so when I’m in my room trying to read, write, or whatever.

I finished copying this year’s horoscopes. I also typed quite a bit of 83.

Tom will be home in a little over a half-hour, so I’ll write about the federal building that was bombed in Oklahoma City and why it both pisses me off and scares me, sometime later on.

TUESDAY, APRIL 18, 1995 Thankfully I hardly ever heard their new puppy today. On Tom’s way into the garage, he said he saw it and they also still have that other one. He also said the kids were out, but shockingly I never heard a peep out of them. Fine with me. I only heard that dog twice this morning for a couple of seconds. Out back it was really faint, but it was much louder as I was heading into the bathroom. This tells me they must be keeping it in their carport, cuz if their living room window was open and it was there, I’d hear all those kids, too.

Tom’s job’s looking more promising. Meaning, he just may be able to stay there. That’d be great.

I sent Alex a message a couple of days ago about us chatting live today at 3 PM my time. However, there was a message left from him today saying he’d be in Lesbianville. (Northampton) So I zapped a reply back suggesting 10 PM my time on Thursday night, so we’ll see what he says about it.

No mail for me today, and Tom “predicts” I won’t get that CD. I had an unfortunate feeling about that too, cuz I really want it bad. If I didn’t care about it that much - no problem.

Speaking of CDs, boy did I make a shocking discovery today! Back when I lived out on Bell Rd., I got 3 CDs from this same company. One of them was pretty sucky, so I tossed it aside and have ignored it ever since. Well, I hadn’t begun listening to oldies stations till the winter of ‘93 or so. This song by the Chi-Lites that I’d never heard of before called Have You Seen Her is a song I came to like. I requested it 6 months before we were married, dedicating it to my fiancée who Tom was at the time. I never caught the very beginning of it on tape, though, cuz they talked over it. So, a few months ago I retaped it, catching a little more of the beginning. Then, today I picked up that CD and there it was! Hell, I’ve had this song for nearly two years, maybe a little more, and I never fucking knew it!

Can’t think of anything else at the moment and I got up at 6:30 AM, so I won’t be up more than a couple more hours or so.

MONDAY, APRIL 17, 1995 I have lots to write about, so I’ll get on with it now. Last Saturday Tom trimmed that ¼” off my hair which is really on its way to getting a lot healthier.

Sunday was when we were out for 4½ hours or so. First, we cruised around Camelback Mountain. I filmed as he drove.

Then we went to a 50s cafe where a very friendly butch waited on us.

Lastly, it was off to the racetrack where we stood for two races. First, we betted on an important race in Kentucky which they showed throughout the place on TV screens. Then they paraded the horses around a small circular area for the people to see. Then they returned with their jockeys riding them. Cuz racehorses are high-strung, they’re led by calmer non-racing horses I’d call “the tranquilizers” to keep them calm. They galloped to the other side of the track to warm up. A few minutes later they’d race. They race a different group of 6-12 horses every 15 minutes.

Tom taught me a few things. A quarter horse is trained to accelerate really fast to chase down any runaway horses. These races consisted of fillies and mares. A filly’s a female horse under 5. A mare is a female horse over 5.

We betted $2 on a few tickets but had no real luck. We also got soda and popcorn there and I got a huge gumball.

I forgot to mention the biorhythm charts we got printed out from a machine for 50¢ at that cafe. It gives you your levels between low, good, and high in luck, romance, creativity, health, sex, ambition, endurance, finance, friendship, and leisure plans. Tom’s was higher than mine overall.

Later…

The kids next door are still barely noticeable. The only thing I hear is their van coming and going, but I don’t know if they still have that red van. I haven’t seen it lately. I saw some other weird-looking truck over there. I also wonder if they got another dog. Every now and then I hear some weird howling. Sometimes it’s really low, others really high. Amazingly, I don’t think anyone was there this weekend, but it was Easter, so that’s probably why.

I wonder if my parent’s flag catalog will come today. I wish the CD would get here earlier, but I doubt it. It probably won’t be here for another 2-3 weeks. I totally lost track of when my first puzzle book is due to arrive, but I’ve still got about 80 or so here to do. Yesterday I did about 50.

Yup, this journal’s surely gonna last an extremely long time.

I did some singing earlier as well as copied in more horoscopes. I’m up to mid-October now. It’s been a while since I’ve edited or worked on my story but I wanted to get the horoscopes out of the way first.

Later…

Tom will be home in about an hour. In a half-hour from now, I’ll start dinner. I’m gonna make us pork chops and tater tots.

Tomorrow’s my curse and it’s nice to know I only feel it physically and not mentally. The only thing I feel is a little sluggish due to this damn weather. It’s been a lot like New England. It’s really damn chilly and once again I’ve got my portable heater on. This shit started yesterday and it’s gonna stay like this till the weekend. Last night we had major wind and rain.

I worked on something else I’ve been putting on hold also and typed up more of 83.

Anyway, today’s a good day in the way that I’m glad we’ve got no kid now.

Tom’s home. I’ll finish later.

Later…

Anyway, as I was saying, this disgusting weather which has me feeling rather energyless makes me glad Tom’s “feeling” will be wrong. He feels I’ll get pregnant between May - July. This is almost getting funny. As July’s on its way out, he’ll tell me it’ll be between August - October.

He came home with groceries, then left to get louvers which are supposed to go up on the roof to prevent the air in here from going out the vents and through the cooler on the roof. Two places didn’t have them and one was closed, so he came home and threw some wood in. He also fired up the wall heater in the back room.

There goes that whining dog again and it is next door and it isn’t the dog they’ve always had. I’ve been hearing this on and off all day. What? Is this what I’m gonna get instead of the kids? Well, it may be better, but no way! I believe I’ve heard this for 3 days now and if it keeps up, they’re getting another letter.

Later…

I just asked Tom if he thought they got a new dog and he said yes, but don’t worry cuz it’ll stop barking sooner than the other one did when they moved in. He said the other one may have died and older dogs tend to bark more and for longer when moved to a new environment. This one sounds like a scared puppy and it barks, or whines I should say, for only a few minutes an hour. That other one was 24/7 when they first got here. Well, I do understand and feel it’ll stop soon. If not, I’ll take care of it. How the hell can they afford this, though, with so many people to feed? As I said before, this is probably why they’re all crammed into a tiny house. Where have they got this dog? It’s definitely not out back, so it’s got to be in their living room and they always have their windows open. With all that body heat, they probably don’t need any heat on now. It’s amazing that I can’t hear the kids scream cuz they’re even louder than the dog. Fine with me, though.

Later…

Tom’s going to bed now and I am going to repolish my pitiful-looking nails. I’ll be back to write later on.

SUNDAY, APRIL 16, 1995 Yesterday we went to Turf Paradise. It's definitely not something I'd ever really be into in a big way, but it was still fairly interesting. He showed me around the place first. There was a little gift shop, places to eat, and stuff like that. We went to the top of the bleachers and the view was pretty nice. Actually, I'm not really in the mood to write at this time, so I'll write all about Turf Paradise and the filming we did some other time.

FRIDAY, APRIL 14, 1995 I talked with my dad yesterday. He’s sending me a catalog of all their flags. He’s going up north on May 1st. I teased him about part of their motto and said, “You said if you don’t have it, you can get it, so where’s my flag of Gloria?”

He said he’d go by the old neighborhood and see who lives there. I told him he could give them a certain finger.

He thought the fingerspelling font was cool.

Later…

It sure isn’t too easy writing in this book in bed. I’ll get used to it, though.

I finally got around to making a GYN appointment. I’ll have to go for that on May 24th.

I laid out back for a while as I read my book. I scrubbed the kitchen floor and typed letters to Kim, Bob, and my parents. I called Tammy who was about to leave for the weekend to go see Bill at his hotel. I let her know I have 6 songs on their way to her.

Let’s see…what else did I do? I sang and copied more horoscopes. I haven’t attempted to put music to any of my lyrics yet, but maybe I will soon.

When I go to type up this journal, I wonder how easy, or even possible it’ll be to put it on the music stand.

Later…

I just ran out back for a cigarette. The lounge chairs we have out there are not only uncomfortable, but they’re falling apart. We need to get new ones that are comfier.

I just kicked on the radio hoping to catch a goodie. I’m not wasting my time bothering to call in a request cuz they never play it. They say something like, “Yeah, I think we have that song. I think I can get that on for you.” Yeah, right.

There are these two songs by the Sylvers I’d like to have, but I haven’t heard them yet. A while back they played Best of My Love by the Emotions. It was like their one hit. I used to love that song so much. My cousin Lisa and I would play that 45 a lot at each other’s house.

HA! HA! HA! Some girl just called and requested Blue Bayou by Linda Ronstadt. The DJ said, “Sure,” but he’s playing Hurt So Bad, instead. Yup, they really know what they’re doing at this station.

It has been so wonderfully peaceful with the kids next door. I hope it stays this way!

The reason why I made a GYN appointment is cuz no matter what he says and no matter what my song says about the word “never,” I know I’ll never have a kid. So, putting off the appointment until I get pregnant is just a fantasy. If I did that, I’d never see a GYN again in my life. It’s still important for me to get regular check-ups, as much as I hate to, and Tom and I know all is fine.

Awesome! They just played YMCA which I taped.

Tomorrow Tom and I are gonna go to the racetrack. We’re also gonna explore the chat line on AOL, and it’s time for him to take and trim ¼” of my hair. I’m not sure what else we’re gonna do.

He’s not sure if he’s gonna end up staying at Bank of America. He says there are too many people and too little work.

THURSDAY, APRIL 13, 1995 Today I’m gonna make the GYN appointment I’m late for. It’s only once a year, so I may as well get it over with.

Right now I’m feeling typical PMS dullness and blues.

There are a few things I want to bring up and say to Tom. However, I’m afraid he’ll feel pressured and I don’t want him to get the wrong idea. Meaning that I don’t want him to think I’m being selfish, trying to change him or have him please only me. If he had a request of me, I’d try to do whatever I could for him and I don’t ever want him to do anything he doesn’t want to do.

It’s not that our relationship is boring in and out of bed and I like the gentleman in him, but why not add even more flair? I want so badly to tell him to be more romantic. This means both of us. I wish he’d be a little more adventurous at times. Not be afraid to grab my butt in public when no one’s looking, not be afraid to grab a quickie in the car in a more secluded parking lot, not be afraid to talk dirty to me more often, etc. I know he knows when to draw the line. One time when we were in the car, I slid my hand on his leg. He said he was a big boy and could wait till he got home. I don’t want him to always be a “big boy.”

I also wish, with no misunderstandings on my part for thinking it’s the real thing, that he’d pretend and say he came occasionally in bed. Cuz even though he’s said and I know it’s not my fault, I know he could have always cum and will always have that choice, I’d still feel more like a real woman who’s doing her job right. It still has me feeling a bit abnormal and different with a low sense of confidence when it comes to how I make him feel sexually.

Sometimes I wonder if I should even hold myself back from cumming to see how it makes him feel. Maybe he’d be able to understand how I feel better. It just seems too hard to do. After being built up and made so horny, I’ve got to be relieved or else I’m so frustrated. I just don’t know how he does it!

Anyway, as I said before, I’m afraid to bring this up to him. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable or suggest he get into stuff he doesn’t want to do.

We both admit we do contradict ourselves a lot in the things we say. I also think we should work on improving this and keeping our word if the situation permits it.

Later…

Oh, I feel so much better! I told Tom everything I just wrote about in my last entry and as I should’ve known better, it was no problem. He totally agreed and understood all I said and told me we should never hesitate to make suggestions.

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 12, 1995 Not much to say today on one of the most unfavorable dates in my life 12 years ago.

No “strange noises” yesterday, thankfully.

To make copying in this year’s horoscopes easier, I called Prodigy and spoke them into my box. One by one I’m copying them in. For the most part, I think they’re way off. Some things they mentioned, I sure hope don’t come true. Some would be nice if they came true. They must’ve gotten bored when they got around to December as they had lines in them from earlier months.

I still don’t always get the difference between the words “effect” and “affect.”

Believe it or not, the scale said I was 97 pounds. I feel it and feel like I look smaller, but according to my measurements, I’m still the same. Still, I say it’s nice to be like this 6 days before my period. In a few more days or so, the water, tenderness, and constipation will hit.

It’s hard for me, especially at this time of the month, to remain realistic. How do I convince myself that no matter how much Tom says he wants a kid he’s never gonna cum and we’re never gonna have a kid? How do I accept this? What will make it easier for me? I’ve got to find a way to accept and deal with it, otherwise my life’s gonna be much harder than it needs to be or should be.

I’ll be damned if I’ll try praying again. Not after what happened, even though I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for it. Besides, the bulk of me still doesn’t believe in it.

TUESDAY, APRIL 11, 1995 Boy, have I got a major project for this journal!

Before I get into it, though, I’ll write about an experience I had early yesterday morning that really freaked me out. It was freaky, weird, and even scary. At about 8 AM, I decided to chat with God once again. I laid down in bed, turned the fan on, turned the lights off and shut the bedroom door. I first began to say, “I want to believe in Your existence and a lot of the time I do. However, how do I know You’re not just a myth? A made-up character cuz most people want to believe in a higher power that’s good. However, I need a sign that You can at least hear me, if not understand me and help me with my requests. Something not too freaky, but would let me know You’re there and you hear me.”

The next thing I know I hear a sound that’s quite hard to describe. I believe it came from near the bedroom door. That’s the first place I looked towards anyway. It scared the shit out of me and I froze in sheer terror. I ran and checked the house out, but all was fine and locked up tight. It wasn’t windy out, so I don’t think anything could’ve blown against the house. It sounded like a knock/tapping that had a creakiness to it. The closest place and type of sound that I can describe it as is a knock on my bedroom door.

Tom suggested a test by knocking on the front door. Nope. Way too soft. I was so spooked out that I slept on the couch.

Anyway, perhaps I’ll never really know for sure what that sound was and if it was a coincidence with a logical explanation or a true sign from God. Tom said that if it was God - why be afraid of Him? I’m not, but that sudden, unexpected, unknown sound sure scared me. Maybe if it was really Him, He figured that freaking me out and scaring me was the only way to give me that sign I asked for. Well, I sure as hell won’t ask for a sign again! It was too creepy!

Tom disagreed with one other theory I had. I asked if he could be mad at me for wanting more than the wonderful things I’ve already got and Tom said no.

I got two letters today. A finger-spelling one from Alex. I read it OK, but it was too small. I got one from Kim today too, on really nice stationery with multicolored lines. She loved her fingerspelling letter and said to send more anytime.

Now for my project. I copied horoscopes off of Prodigy to copy in here, but shit! It took nearly two hours to do April and May. I thought it’d be neat to have a “book of horoscopes.” I don’t know how far I’ll go with this, meaning, how long. Maybe be a few months, maybe the whole year of 1995. The whole rest of the year would be nice. If I do decide to do that much and end up needing a few more pages from another journal for it, I’ll use #91.

A jackpot for Andy too, cuz I had to copy these down somewhere first. I copied them onto a notepad. One of my old Barbie ones my parents sent me when I first came here. Andy will love it cuz he loves passing notes out. In stores, restaurants, people’s cars, etc.

I’m 98 pounds! Wow! Just when I was feeling like a fat blimp. I have been exercising, though. Wait till I get closer to my period on the 18th. Then I’ll be feeling it as I bulk out with water.

MONDAY, APRIL 10, 1995 Where the hell is that weirdo next door going at this hour? And does he ever sleep?

Anyway, I just got done reading some of the book I’m reading. Gonna do some editing now.

First of all, though, Tom liked my songs and gave me the feedback I asked for. He rated The Strangers are Waiting an 8½, Visions a 5, and Dreams Are Not Enough a 7. However, he says we can rewrite Dreams Are Not Enough to be a 9. He showed me his ideas about it and I liked it much better.

SUNDAY, APRIL 9, 1995 Well, I’ve known Tom for two years as of today. God, that’s amazing!

Anyway, what my parents sent wasn’t a card or a letter. It was a newspaper article with a picture of my dad in it holding one of the flags they sell. Apparently, a law was passed, then tossed out, about businesses putting up flags that’d make the place look like a circus. It never was intended, though, to stop people from decorating their homes. This would’ve also meant bad business for them and as I said in a letter I typed them, people should have the right to decorate as they wish and not be controlled.

I jokingly asked Dad how much he was paid for his modeling contract. Also, I’d use the search mode to make sure I didn’t leave the letter ‘l’ out of the word flags.

I had a discussion earlier with Tom on how I feel he’s indirectly blaming me for reasons why he doesn’t cum. I said, first it was my attitude, then certain things I’d wear that don’t create tan lines as he likes, then my talk of getting pregnant. Next, how do I know it won’t be cuz I have red nail polish on or whatever? He reassured me it was not my fault and that I can’t control his dick, but that I should control, worry, and take care of myself and give him the benefit of the doubt. Meaning, wear what I want and don’t worry about him. Another example he gave me was when he said he doesn’t believe in premonitions and vibes but doesn’t try to change my opinion of it. In other words, it’s OK for me to believe he could’ve always cum at any time, but don’t throw it up in his face and challenge it. The man has a point. How do I really know for sure what’s on his mind about what he says about not cumming? I should do unto him as I expect him to do unto me. He takes me for face value, gives me the benefit of the doubt, lets me think and feel as I please, and doesn’t tell me what to wear and do. This excludes if he says - Jodi can you please get me a soda? Or - can I help you decide what to wear occasionally?

There are times when I like and ask him to pick out outfits for me. I know he appreciates all the little things I do for him, and that to him they’re big things that all add up. Still, I sometimes feel slow, stupid, and inadequate cuz I love him so much that all the more I want to be able to make him happy. I know it’s harder for me to wait for certain things, whether or not they’ll happen. He said I accepted waiting for a dishwasher easier, for example, but to me, that’s cuz it’s a material thing and those are easier to wait for.

Later…

I am in a lazy mood as I begin this journal.

Getting back to our earlier conversation about acceptance. He was saying I was getting worse at not accepting some things I can’t have right now, as I did with the dishwasher. The dishwasher is a material thing, but I would just totally love to be able to do that with the singing and the kid as easily as it is to say so. I want to be able to say to myself that if I can ever have a kid, I can’t have one now, and if I can, it’ll possibly be months from now or maybe even a few years. People don’t normally get pregnant just like that.

I should’ve known him better and I should’ve known that when he said I’d be pregnant soon, maybe he really did think that and that he wasn’t knowingly, intentionally, and deliberately trying to lead me on or play with my head.

I cooked up some spag and potatoes earlier, so I think I’ll go chow down now. I also typed a letter to my folks as well as one for Kim and one for her to mail to Doug. Soon, after eating, I may do some editing, work on my story, do puzzles, or whatever. I also have my library book to read. Maybe I’ll call the radio station and see if I can request a few songs.

Later…

I got the bandages off, so why am I still getting headaches? They’re not serious and painful, but they’re annoying. It can’t be my hair. My hair’s not that long anymore.

SATURDAY, APRIL 8, 1995 Yes! Guess what I’m getting in the mail in 3-4 weeks? Well, it’s a club that’s even better than Columbia House and BMG for music. It operates a little differently, less pushy. I saw a commercial for a CD called Sounds of the 70s. They had several songs I love on it. I called for it under a fake name and every month or every other month they automatically send you a CD making it very convenient for you to send it back if you don’t want it.

I’m in the mood to write till Andy calls me around 2:00, but I just can’t think of anything to write about to fill up these last 12 pages.

Oh, yeah - I figured out the intro to that Abba song for Andy. I left it on his machine. He left me a message all psyched up about it saying I’ve got it and he can’t believe how I figured it out so fast. Especially when I hate the song to begin with. He had just come in from work and said he was gonna watch his soaps while I was checking out that movie. He’ll probably call in 15 minutes to a half-hour.

Later…

I talked with Andy for a little over an hour. He called that 800# and ordered that same 70s CD under a bogus name.

God, this journal just is never gonna end! It feels like it’s a 300-page one. That big one I got has 160 pages in it, but it’ll be like 320. Double. When I was writing the two middle pages in it, I mentioned seeing ones with spiral binders on them to make it easier to write closer to the center of the book. I may get one someday, now that they don’t only have them in soft covers. I had an idea for if I get one, but am not sure if it’s a good one or worth it. That would be to detach its pages which can easily be done. Then, set the margins on the computer to fit the print on its pages. Type and print its pages, then buy some of those reinforcers to reattach them with.

Later…

I’m starting to tire down but I hope to see Tom before I conk out. If not, he’s off this weekend.

Lately, the thought of having a kid is like - ugh! I love it and wish it were like this all the time. I know, however, I’ll probably have my moments when I want one here and there throughout my life. I don’t think either Tom or myself will ever get serious about trying to get me pregnant no matter what we say. I think we both know that we’re so busy, we have plans, aren’t rich, and want each other with no one in the way. This is regardless of my probable sterility and his never cumming.

I had told him, and even he said any time’s good for him to move into my room. He’s been stalling and I’m so glad about it. I mean, I share the rest of the house with him and everything else. I want my own space and room. I don’t want his snoring and movements constantly waking me up any more than I want a screaming kid to. I want so much to say to him, “Look. I want my own room. Even lovers who get along 99% of the time need their own space and we’re not having a kid.”

However, I’m afraid this would hurt his feelings. Maybe not, though, cuz why isn’t he in here? It was gonna be after the December surgery, then after the last one. If he really wanted to, he’d be in here and he could’ve made the time. I’m not gonna bring it up and I sure hope he doesn’t.

FRIDAY, APRIL 7, 1995 Deadly Game is about to come on with Norah in it, so I’m writing and doing puzzles while it’s on.

Earlier yesterday morning I talked to my parents and let them know about my ear.

Before Tom went to his first day of work at Bank of America (not Bank One), he surprised me with a letter in fingerspelling. He had said he’d do one for me when I did one for him and I really didn’t think he would. I put it in my binder with all my other letters.

Tom said he really enjoyed his first day of work. He said the work was easy and we really hope all continues to go well and that he ends up staying there.

Tomorrow after work we’re probably gonna go out and get that large journal I mentioned before.

I renewed my library book today.

We have sex more often which is good. We screwed earlier where he gets hard and I get off. I have a feeling more and more and am pretty sure he’ll never cum. Not by this June. Not by next June. It’s his choice, though.

I wonder if he’s read any more of my story? I doubt it with how busy he’s been. I never feared him reading any of the journals I typed up for two reasons. One, he’s too busy. Two, I don’t think someone’s past is of interest to most people. We’re mainly your typical kind of people who live for today as well as the future.

Later…

I got a reply from Alex at AOL. He mentioned us chatting live on their chat line. Last night Tom mentioned setting that up for me, too. Maybe this weekend, but Tom will have to help me through it the first time around, cuz I have no idea what to even do.

Earlier Tom and I went out to get that big 8x11½ journal. At least I think that’s what it said its size was. The cover’s really pretty and I can’t believe it was only $12. I wrote the two middle pages with no paragraphs. It looked cool seeing so much writing all crammed together in one area where you could see the whole thing. I also got a regular journal, too.

Tomorrow night we may be going to his parent’s house. Ma’s sister Neva (Geneva) is in for a month or so from Michigan. She wanted to escape the shitty weather and ice storms they were having there. Also, she wants to meet me and I haven’t seen my in-laws since that Christmas get-together. No. The last time was when Steven, Carol, and her son were there from California. This was sometime last January, I believe.

Andy had wanted me to figure out the intro to an Abba song and I just did. I’ll teach it to him in person.

That movie called Appointment with Death is taping right now. When it started I saw Norah. Her clothes were plain rather than pitiful like I thought they might be since this movie’s set in the 1930s. It’s an Agatha Christy mystery. Her face looks alright but her hair’s too short. She definitely looked the best in The Guardian and second-best in Hold the Dream.

THURSDAY, APRIL 6, 1995 Yesterday was my dad’s 64th birthday. I tried calling on and off all day but got no answer. At 11:00 last night, I left a message on his machine. They’re now 3 hours ahead of us once again.

Kim called again today to tell me about Doug’s reaction to the letter I sent him. It looks as if I may have forgotten to mention that. I sent a wacky letter to his PO box in Vernon, CT. Kim says he thinks it’s a guy writing a woman who had his PO box before him. He just recently got this PO Box. I’m gonna write a letter to her to send to him and then she’ll spill the beans on him, as she put it, and let him in on the joke.

I also heard from Kim the same thing that Andy heard from his friend Mary. Just when they thought they’d have an easy winter (and they did) and thought spring was coming, they had a huge snowstorm and are absolutely freezing! HAHA.

A while back I had begun to put contact paper down on some of the kitchen shelves, ran out, and never finished it. So Tom picked up a few rolls and I did the remaining shelves and drawers.

Tom got a temporary job that he hopes becomes permanent if he likes it. I hope he likes it cuz they start off at $9 an hour and have good benefits. It’s Monday-Friday, 7 AM-4 PM at Bank One. It’s doing office work which is kind of new to him, using computers and word processing.

We spent around $200 today. We got a new lamp and other stuff we needed. A lamp for the back room, I meant to say, and $100 went for getting him 4 new shirts, 2 ties, socks, and undershirts.

Tomorrow we have to renew my library book.

I have so much to do. There are still journals to be typed up and my story to work on, editing to be done, letters to be typed, as well as other shit. Andy wants me to try to figure out the intro to an Abba song on the keyboard and teach it to him. I’ve also had some lyrics for new songs going through my head here and there, so soon I’ll see what I can get down on paper.

I can’t believe how long this journal’s been running. It’s the longest one since 42 back in the fall of ‘93, but I’m out of here for now.

TUESDAY, APRIL 4, 1995 I can’t sleep yet, so I figured I’d write before I got too backed up. My ear is itching now and driving me nuts. Right in the hole, so that oughta be a good enough sign that it’s healing well. Tomorrow’s the big day! Can’t wait to get these bandages off.

Two days ago Tom got that fingerspelling font from AOL. It is so cool. I wish I got it long ago. I sent letters with it to Alex, Kim, Tammy and my parents. For Tammy and my parent’s letters, I wrote out the words for them, naturally.

We replaced the kitchen faucet which is great. No more leaking or having a hard time turning it off.

Our living room ceiling fan died, so he had one at his parents’ house with a light that he brought over.

His ma gave me a plastic placemat with all kinds of drawings of cactuses on it and their names. I tacked it up over the sink.

Later…

No more bandages!! What a relief to get those off. Then to come home and shower and wash my hair. Dr. Nielsen said my new outer graft looked great as well as the inner ear and graft on my arm. How does it look to me? I am really amazed and impressed. It really doesn’t look much different than before. It just looks shorter. I really was afraid it’d be quite gross and discolored. It’s not reddish and black like before. The hearing still isn’t like the good ear, but it is better than before and the hole is wide open. He could touch and wiggle it all over which normally would’ve been excruciating. It was great to listen to my stereo with the big headphones. I’m gonna be able to lay very comfortably on that ear. Nothing he did today hurt at all. He even said he was pleased with how calm I was.

I called and told Tammy all about it and tomorrow I’ll be calling my parents.

Got a letter from Bob today and I’ll let him and everyone else know that everything’s great. I mean, really. Good riddance to the frame, which as Dr. Nielsen said, was my problem all along. I will be forever grateful to both Dr. Nielsen and Dr. Joganic. It’s amazing how I had that discomfort and pain for 6 years and how this man put an end to it in 15 minutes. Then as a bonus, Dr. Nielsen gave me hearing.

He said I could remove the bandage on my graft today and I did. This summer I may also not necessarily have to swim with a bathing cap.

Tom’s gone to a job fair and I’m very tired now. Whenever I fall asleep it’ll be for a long time. I need it and haven’t gotten much sleep with all this on my mind.

Yes, I still want a kid, but after this, I’m glad it’ll be a long time (if ever) before I have to deal with that. There’s no comparison between all this ear stuff I’ve been through and having a kid. Having a kid is a million times more painful with a million more problems. One after another for life. Anyway, getting pregnant is hardly anything I need to worry about. In the meantime, I shall surely enjoy my freedom and how much better I feel.

I go back to Dr. Nielsen on April 24 and May 15. I don’t need to ever see Dr. Joganic.

SUNDAY, APRIL 2, 1995 Well, two more days and counting very, very slowly. Can’t wait to get these bandages off!

Tom got a new faucet to replace our old one in the kitchen. The one we have now leaks and is hard to turn on and off.

The weather’s been nice and they’ve been such sweethearts next door. When I was sitting out there, I told myself, you know on such a beautiful day like today, they’d be screaming on and off if you didn’t write that letter. Thank God it worked, as I really had my doubts. I wish I wrote it a long time ago.

I talked with both Tammy and Larry today. Larry was very tired when I called, so we didn’t talk for long. All he really said was that the visit with Tammy was boring, he heard half the tape, liked it, and will call soon.

Tom also got 3 more tape dispensers, parts for the cigarette machine, a new fluorescent bulb, and something you plug the refrigerator into that’s supposed to save money.

I’m sure there’ll always be a part of me that will want a kid, but there are some things that turn me off about it the more I think of it. And this isn’t just the things I always said that scared me about it like the lack of sleep, etc. This may sound funny, but at the same time I believe Tom wants a kid, I believe more and more that he may be doing more than trying to drive patience into me. I believe he may be leading me on, but time will tell. I have so many different theories, that I’m not sure which one, if any, could be right. Maybe he really doesn’t want a kid but doesn’t want to let me down or say so. Maybe he does and doesn’t want one. I feel that way a lot. I definitely don’t believe he can’t cum or that he came last winter. He’s even admitted this, even if in an indirect way. Not with the way he’s “always so close.” There’s always an excuse, too. He’s tired, he’s sick, his back hurts, his hip, etc. He’s 37, not 87. If he’s truly playing a game with me, what’s he gonna do when he can no longer play it? Other than Kim, I know he has and would tell lies pertaining to sex. If this is how he feels, then I don’t want to have a kid with him. I don’t want to play any games, or for either of us to keep kidding ourselves. I kidded myself about a woman, about singing, and I sure as hell ain’t gonna kid myself with no baby. If he doesn’t cum by June, then he’s gonna say the same things he’s said about it since day one. He’s “going to.” Anytime now. He’ll be cumming in no time. Same thing with the kid. It’s gone from having one in November to conceiving in March, then April, and now it’s within the year. Well, I’m not gonna play this game every year, he can fuck having a kid for all I care and either speak up about what’s really on his mind or quit fooling the both of us!

Later…

When we were laying in bed one time he said it’d be best for me to cum first when we’re screwing. Then, I had said that if he came first he could always go down on me to get me off. He said he wouldn’t do that with his cum down there. Well, if he really came last winter like he said he did, then why should he worry when he doesn’t discharge anything? He’s slipping and his own game is catching up to him. If he wants to hold back and spare me the mess, the smell of bleach, more power to him. I’ll be damned if I’ll blame myself for his choice. This doesn’t turn me off from being his wife. I love the man to death and I always want to be with him, but it certainly turns me off of the idea of a kid. I think we have enough going on now in our lives and should keep things as they are for the most part. If he doesn’t tell me, only time will tell me what’s going through his head. I can thoroughly believe anything he tells me, but not anything pertaining to sex or a kid.

SATURDAY, APRIL 1, 1995 Tom sure is confusing when it comes to having a kid. The bottom line is yes, he really does want one, but he’s dropping more hints that he can cum, but won’t till he feels the time is just perfect for getting pregnant. Probably after my appointments with Nielsen die down and maybe after the dentist and GYN. He said I’d be pregnant soon. Then it became sometime within the year.

Earlier I said to him, “You’re always right. You know when the kid’s gonna come.”

He said “Mhm,” with confidence.

He said that if nothing changes in our sex life (meaning if he doesn’t cum), to ask him about it on June 1st. I don’t know what he meant by that, but I kind of felt he may try for June. He said June didn’t mean anything. He said I could get pregnant in March or April. I still say that if he doesn’t cum by June, he never will. I will tell you this for sure. Maybe he’s trying to make me more patient. Maybe he wants it to be a surprise (and it surely would be no matter what and when), but I’m not gonna play these games. The bulk of me still wants one, but if I’m not pregnant this year, I’m just gonna go get a hysterectomy. I’ll be damned if I’ll play games for too many more months! I know he won’t cum in April or May, but if he doesn’t let himself in June, forget it.

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dinoshimaaa · 2 years ago

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woah (i think?) first genshin written piece on this blog hmmm

so i've been obsessing over sagau lately but make it that not everyone worships the character + kazuha being one of them!!!!!!!!! bc taking kazuha's character into account he just doesn't seem like one to devote all his life to some random god that "supposedly" created him so!!!!! contribution to kazuha kissers and sagau eaters ig

story is also based on how FUCKING spiteful i am mthat kazuboy didnt come home and sent one (1) heizou instead. who needs kazuha when you have heizou (delusional but also actually starting to like heizou)

she/her pronouns for reader/The Creator, @foxic sorry if you didn't want to be pinged (please let me know if its ok with you) but i wrote something finally hehehhe

ty @souglias for screaming over what i wrote, lots and lots of emotional support <3333

There is one thing that not everyone knows about Kazuha, and it is that he does not like The Creator.

It is not that he hates her, but he does not idolise her like the rest of Teyvat. Kaedehara Kazuha has never been one to bind himself to religion and worship — he is a leaf in the wind, a sailboat out at sea, constantly wandering to where his surroundings take him. Kaedehara Kazuha does not anchor himself to one place or one person because it is just not something he would do.

However, Kazuha has heard the multiple times The Creator has tried reaching out to him with affectionate words and actions that clearly spoke of her devotion to him. Words after words of her admiration and hope that he would be a property of hers filled Kazuha’s mind everyday. And while it made Kazuha feel slightly guilty that he did not return The Creator’s feelings, it still did not change the fact that he would not come home to her to be controlled by her.

So when The Creator had tried to use her hard earned Intertwined Fates to wish for him, he expertly dodged them, refusing to let an outside force take control of his own body and use him to her will. Just like he expected, he got weird looks from the characters waiting to drop down from the skies above into the arms of their beloved creator.

It didn’t mean that he didn’t feel bad when The Creator groaned when the zombie child from Liyue, Qiqi, dropped down instead of him though. His friend Shikanoin Heizou, who had yet to come home to The Creator, also noticed his hesitance and reluctance.

“Why don’t you just go home to her?” Heizou raised an eyebrow, noting the way Kazuha’s ones furrowed as he looked down at The Creator. “She’s been hoping you would come to her since last year. It’s not everyone that catches The Creator’s eye. Sure, I understand why you aren’t worshipping her like everyone else does, but since you feel bad, why don’t you just… well, go?”

Kazuha does not say a word.

Heizou sighs and scratches his head as a divine light shines down upon him, indicating his time to drop down to The Creator. “Oh well, you do you, friend. I’m also not religious, but I don’t think it would hurt to humour The Creator for a while.” He pats Kazuha’s back with a sympathetic smile before jumping from the skies into The Creator’s world.

Kazuha watches as his friend becomes The Creator’s newest vessel, who was still upset that the red samurai did not return home. His mind was in turmoil, a big contrast to how it would usually be clear and free after the Vision Hunt Decree ended. He knew that The Creator would inevitably use his body as a vessel once he came home, which was exactly what he was dreading, but a part of him wondered if he was being far too mean to someone who had been relentlessly hoping for him— only him— to come home to her.

Do you hate me that much? Kazuha hears The Creator’s soft voice in his head.

I do not know, he replies in his head, in hopes that The Creator will accept his sincere apology that does not hold any promise of relieving her distress.

Kazuha thinks he’s dreaming when he sees the divine Creator strolling around in Inazuma in all her glory.

As surreal as it might have seemed, there was no doubting the identity of the divine entity walking around Inazuma City with the Shogun. Even if he convinced himself otherwise, the constant chattering of the admiring and curious onlookers would continue to deny him. Even your striking appearance could wash away all doubts of a non-believer. Naturally, everyone would be curious of The Creator’s sudden appearance in Teyvat, because she was believed to have controlled the world from another dimension and never step foot in her own creation, but also because you were so dazzling and divine that even Kazuha’s breath was taken away when he caught a glimpse of you.

What was truly a sight to behold, however, was that the Shogun, one of your (self-proclaimed) most devoted acolytes, was following you around like an affectionate puppy. The Shogun. The Raiden Shogun, the Electro Archon, User of the Musou no Hitotachi, Her Excellency The Almighty Narukami Ogosho, was following you around like a lovesick fool, bidding to every demand (or rather, polite request) you gave her. Tomo would’ve loved to see this.

A part of Kazuha knew that he would eventually need to meet you at least once, since one: he already knew that you were inclined towards him slightly more than the other vision holders in Inazuma, and two: you seemed pretty adamant about meeting all the vision holders in Inazuma. And even if they wanted to refuse meeting you (not like any of them, apart from Kazuha, were against meeting your excellency), who in their right mind would reject seeing their very own creator?

Kazuha, that’s who. He’s sure you already know he isn’t as fond of you as Teyvat is, so he’s been dragging his inevitable meeting with you. Even when you look around in hopes of meeting a certain white haired samurai, even when Thoma and Ayaka convince him to just say hi to you, even when Ayato and Yae Miko try threatening him into meeting with your divine self, Kazuha always finds a way out to not see you.

But when he hears from the citizens that you’ve been walking around Narukami Island with Detective Heizou, one of his closest friends, he already knows today may as well be the day that you finally see the man who has been rejecting you from a different world.

(Despite him convincing himself that he does not like you, a sick, egoistic part of him wants to see you run up to him and profess your love for him.)

Kazuha curls his hands in fists and gulps when he sees you and Heizou approaching. When Heizou spots him, he excitedly tugs at your sleeve and pulls you over to a smiling Kazuha.

“I suppose you already know who Kazuha is, Your Grace,” Heizou winks, and you laugh lightly, not meeting Kazuha’s eyes. “After all, he’s the man who has been playing hard to get, constantly refusing to be your vessel before you entered this world.”

Yikes, Kazuha groans internally, but keeps his smiling facade on. Way to go, Heizou.

(Kazuha wonders what you will do when his eyes meet yours. He wonders if you would blush or stutter over your words cutely. He wonders if you would shyly tug on his clothes and ask if you could spend more time with him. He wonders how he would respond to that question.)

When his eyes really meet yours, he expects to see some emotion. All you do is stare wordlessly for a second before smiling and turning back to Heizou, greatly surprising Kazuha.

“Is he your friend?” You try asking the detective, who is in a similar state of shock as he is. Seems like he wasn’t the only one expecting you to swoon over the samurai on first meeting (but really, who with dignity would do that in public, let alone The Creator?)

“Uh… yeah! He just returned from a trip with Captain Beidou from Liyue, so you’ve chosen the right time to visit Inazuma if you want to meet the one and only Kaedehara Kazuha,” Heizou replies awkwardly, desperate eyes searching Kazuha’s in a silent request for answers. “Um, Your Grace, is there anywhere you’d like to visit? Perhaps Kazuha would like to accompany you— Kazuha, hey, say hi to Her Grace—”

“Ah, it’s fine,” you interject, to Kazuha’s and Heizou’s surprise again. “I’m sure Kazuha’s tired from journeying around with Captain Beidou, so we should spare him the trouble and give him time to rest.” With that said, you give a curt respectful bow to Kazuha before walking off towards Tenshukaku, Heizou following behind dazed and confused.

Not as confused as Kazuha, though. The samurai’s face twists in shock when you walk by him nonchalantly. No longing looks, no flustered face, no hopeful words, nothing he had expected you to give him. Just a polite but distant attitude and would’ve fooled him into thinking that you never cared about him in the first place.

But that can’t be, because way before you arrived in Teyvat, he had heard your constant pleas for him to come home to you, to finally be yours so you could use him as one of your favourite vessels. He was not oblivious to your desire for him, so why…?

(How odd. He should be enjoying the fact that you aren’t clinging to him, but the strange ache in his heart suggests otherwise.)

Before he can stop himself, he turns around and loudly calls out, “Wait…!” successfully gaining your attention. Kazuha didn’t know what overcame him when he decided to call for you without reason, and now you’re staring at him curiously. Heizou, on the other hand, had a slightly amused look on his face, since he was not expecting Kazuha, the Kazuha who had always rejected your advances, to call for your attention after you nearly ignored him.

That makes two of us, then. Kazuha gulps and puts on an apologetic, reassuring smile. “Sorry about that, I was mistaken about something. Please enjoy your stay in Inazuma, Your Grace.”

(Kazuha somehow dislikes the way you nod politely at him again before turning away, never once looking back at him.)

Kaedehara Kazuha has not been feeling well since you arrived.

Ironically enough, it wasn’t because of your presence, but the opposite. There was no effort needed in order to avoid you, because you just never seemed to look for him. He did try to take his mind off this, and it did work for a while— until he walked out of Komore Teahouse and saw you and Heizou giggling while walking out of Inazuma City together.

You and Heizou. Heizou and you.

You and Heizou.

Heizou and you.

Kazuha doesn’t deny the envy that comes when he sees his own friend hanging around the divine Creator so freely. (And perhaps it wasn’t just simple envy.)

That wasn’t the only time that made him wish he had been nicer in his attitude towards you. The other time when he was in the teahouse, he walked across a private room that so happened to house you and Heizou that day, and let’s just say that Kamisato Ayato should’ve made the walls more soundproof.

“I’m not sure, Heizou,” you laugh, but anyone can hear the small dejected feeling in your voice. “I get the feeling that he doesn’t like me very much.”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who that “he” refers to. “Your Grace, please don’t say that,” Kazuha hears the frown in Heizou’s voice, “He is just unable to adhere to your desires because of… certain reasons, but I promise you he doesn’t dislike you as much as you think.”

“Well that clearly wasn’t the case when I tried wishing for him, only for him to reject me twice,” you’re clearly joking when you say that. A part of Kazuha wonders just how much sadness you were masking when you said that. “I’m afraid I’ve unknowingly done something to upset him.”

Through the thin translucent walls of the teahouse, Kazuha sees Heizou’s silhouette put his hand on top of yours. He doesn’t bother to watch the conversation unfold any further and walks away.

By now, he had come to a devastating conclusion that perhaps he was more fond of you than he thought. He had been constantly trying to convince himself with his own morals, thinking his strong personal ideals could overpower the small part of him that admired you. Perhaps that small part of him, too, wanted to be yours, belong to you, and only you, contrasting his belief in leading his own life completely. Perhaps that small part of him, too, did accept you as his Creator and wished to be able to show the love that he had hidden for you all along.

And perhaps that small part of you, he might daresay, was jealous of Heizou for spending time with you.

The thought alone makes Kazuha want to pull all his hair out. It felt impossible for Kazuha, possibly the only vision holder to reject being The Creator’s vessel, to be jealous of someone who had every right to be loved by The Creator because he came home to her when he asked her to. This was retribution. It was his fault for rejecting you in the first place, and now he reaps what he sows.

His migraine is not at all relieved by more intruding thoughts of you and Heizou being together. Images flash in his head at random times with no apparent reason, all of which include you and Heizou being affectionate together. Laughing together, holding hands, feeding fried food to each other, going on strolls together, maybe even sharing an intimate kiss—

Kazuha’s cheeks flush in a dark red at the mere thought of it. What an unpleasant feeling. Forget you, what would anyone think of him imagining obscene images of The Creator in his head?

“Oh, Kazuha— Hey, you’re unusually red, are you alright?” Fortunately (or unfortunately), you rush over and break Kazuha’s train of thoughts. He only flushes more when you lean in to measure his forehead temperature with your hand, pure concern written all over your face.

“Goodness,” you pull back and bite your bottom lip — bless your caring self — “Kazuha, your body temperature is a bit high… do you need to rest somewhere? I can help you over—”

“Your Grace,” Kazuha interrupts you and wraps a hand around your wrist, using it to pull you towards him. It does nothing to stop the raging blush on his face, but said blush appears to have spread a little bit to you.

This time, he forces you to look him in the eyes for real. You don’t look away or ignore him or leave him hanging with a curt bow. He asks for your attention, all of it for a short while, through eye contact. You let him do so through silent consent.

“I…” Kazuha gulps, like he did many times during your first meeting, “I apologise for my rash behaviour, Your Grace. Please forgive me for this, and forgive me for my doubts towards you.”

You don’t speak, so he continues. The expression on his face is no longer flustered, but ashamed and regretful. “I wasn’t too keen on meeting you because a part of me didn’t want to acknowledge you as my Creator, my ruler, my god, and perhaps… I might’ve liked you more than I gave you credit for. I understand if you’re upset that I rejected you when you asked me to come home many times before—”

“No, no!” You interject nervously. “I- well, I didn’t want to force you home if you didn’t want to, so you don’t have to blame yourself over that.”

You’re not quite sure why the Kazuha before you is greatly different from the Kazuha in Teyvat when you were wishing for him. What caused his change of heart?

“...Your Grace, I must admit…”

Threats?

“I’ve been feeling a little peculiar lately…”

Influence?

“I was wondering if you would know about it. It only happens on certain occasions…”

Guilt?

“Like when you and… Detective Heizou were walking around together.”

Jea— oh.

Oh.

Oh!

“Don’t tell me you suddenly fell in love with me because Heizou was being friendly to me,” You teased him, “Goodness, just what must I do to gain your attention for once?”

“Huh?”

“I…” You awkwardly tuck your hair behind your ear, admitting, “I didn’t want to bother you in this world because I thought you would continue to dislike me.”

Kazuha stills, his expression morphing into one of regret and love. “My sincerest apologies, Your Grace. I never intended to make you feel unloved by me. I was earlier doubtful of my devotion to you, but it seems that the winds have brought me my answer.”

There is one thing that no one knows about Kazuha except you, and it is that he does not love you, he does not worship you, and he does not wish to be at your every beck and call because you are his god.

Or so he says, because if anyone saw how softly he was caressing and looking at you under the sakura trees of Inazuma City, they would think otherwise, artists would start painting a portrait of the two of you, and poets would immediately begin writing about how The Creator had finally chosen her favourite acolyte.

#dinowrites #genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #heizou #shikanoin heizou #kazuha #kaedehara kazuha #kazuha x reader #kaedehara kazuha x reader #sagau #sagau genshin #sagau x reader

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kendrene · 2 years ago

Text

Her personal phone buzzes almost as soon as they end the call. True to her word, Sam has already sent her an email.

Lena scrolls through it and logs into her Spotify account to peruse the selection. Sam has linked some True Crime shows — while hearing about murders may give her some fresh ideas on how to dispose of Sam's body, Lena doesn’t think they’ll help her sleep — several horror ones — “are you fucking kidding me?” — and no less than five finance focused podcasts.

The latter may actually put her to sleep, Lena isn't sure the quality of her rest will be improved.

She's about to write back and admit it was a legitimately good prank, when her eyes fall on a link at the very bottom of the email.

I think this one's right up your alley, Sam wrote, punctuating the statement with a ;) Give it a shot!

Lena sighs and clicks on it without bothering to see what it's about.

Can't be worse than the others, can it?

She presses play.

"These ancient stars are incredibly dense." A woman's voice fills her office. "So dense in fact that a teaspoon of their matter would weigh as much on our planet as an elephant— 5.5 tons to be exact. Can you imagine?" The speaker laughs, soft yet bright. "White dwarfs are tiny too, if compared to the sun we're all familiar with. Typically, their radius is .01 times that of Sol. Mass wise they are about the same."

Lena pauses the recording and releases a breath she hasn’t realized she was holding. For a moment, the stranger's voice transported her elsewhere. To the top of a quiet hill, a sailboat at sea, away from the city and the headache pounding against her skull and L-Corp's very pressing problems. Someplace where it is already night, where this unknown woman is sitting next to her, whispering the ancient secrets of the stars in Lena's ear.

A quick internet search — the podcast is aptly named Starstruck— yields a photo and a name.

Dr. Kara Z. Danvers, graduate cum laude of UC Berkeley and one of the youngest astrophysicists in the country, is a tall, handsome-looking blonde with shoulders for days, and the sort of perfect smile that’d put a dentist out of business. Her eyes are such a vibrant oceanic blue she seems to be staring out of Lena's laptop screen and right into her soul. Lena feels, somehow, that she should already know her.

Fuck. She inhales Kara’s accompanying biography slack-jawed.

She’s exactly her type, too.

You could have put her podcast at the top, Lena types to Sam, unable to tear her eyes away from the photo. Actually, she could have been your only suggestion.

I know, Sam sends back, almost immediately. I wanted you to suffer a little.

I hate you.

Will you still hate me after I tell you she has a Youtube channel too?

Lena types up an answer, deletes it. Types it up again — some slightly more colorful language included — and doesn’t hit send.

Thought so.

Sam is lucky that there’s a country between them.

One extra round of Googling later, Lena pulls up the YouTube channel in question, which makes things a 100% better, but also 1000% worse. Because now she has visuals — now she can watch Kara talk about the mysteries of the universe in crystalline clear 4k resolution. She stares enraptured as Kara talks about solar eclipses and climbs the sheer side of a mountain in the Italian Dolomites in a tight tank-top, all bronzed arms and powerful back muscles. The moment she gets to the top and turns to the horizon, the shot panning dramatically to take in the view, the montage shifts forward into night.

A different angle. There’s so much noise the camera can barely pick up the shot. Kara points to a light hovering shy of the nearest peak, and as the image zooms past her finger to bring it into focus, she explains the concept of planet alignment.

The screen fades to black, changes to a feed of Kara walking along the crest, her shoulder camera shuddering a little with each step. Another climb, this time by moonlight, and Lena’s heart is racing every step of the way. But, seemingly bottomless ravine right at her feet notwithstanding, Kara is calm — collected. She leans against the cairn at the very end of her trek as the sun is breaking over the horizon. Looks straight into the camera and smiles. Pink, otherworldly light illuminates her.

She isn’t even out of breath.

“Miss Luthor?” Red-handed, Lena jumps and shuts the laptop’s lid. It’s only Jess. “I, uh, was going to go home? If there’s nothing else?” Jess frowns at her tablet, then at Lena’s face which must be burning supernova-bright. “Are you alright?’

“Yes. yes of course.” God, it’s well past 6. Did Lena really just waste her afternoon on YouTube? “And no. There’s nothing else. You can go home.”

“If you’re sure…”

“Positive.” Lena cautiously re-opens her laptop. The video looped back to the start and froze on a frame of Kara halfway through the first climb. “Please, close the door on the way out.” She ought to watch it a few more times, Lena thinks, hitting resume as soon as Jess ducks out of the office. To better understand its concepts.

For science.

She goes through the rest of Kara’s content like a madwoman, and Sam was right, it helps her sleep, but she runs out of things to consume in a matter of days.

Lena is addicted. She’s a junkie and she’s hooked. Without her fix she becomes intolerable to be around.

The Venus transition - Lena is a CEO with insomnia. Kara is an astrophycisist with a podcast. OR A different Supergirl reveal. Read it on Patreon.

#the Venus transition #supercorp #kara x lena #dren writes #patreon update

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potter-imagines · 4 years ago

Text

A Worm? - Fred Weasley

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Prompt: It’s three in the morning and Fred can’t sleep. Luckily for him, his girlfriend has to most random questions on her mind.

Notes: I've seen this on tiktok as trend to text your boyfriend so I made it into a write, hope you enjoy (:

Warnings: None (: (making out if that counts ???)

Word Count: 3.9k

You know that feeling of finally retreating to your room and crashing down on your bed after a strenuous day? Getting to snuggle into the warmth of the soft mattress and engulf your body in massive heaps of blankets, it was one of the greatest feelings in the world to Fred Weasley. Although what made it absolute perfection was the nights when his girlfriend, Y/n Y/l/n, would join him. Sleepovers were no rarity for the couple- nor for their roommates who had begrudgingly accepted the constant giggling and whispering throughout the night. Weekend sleepovers were his favorite as it meant neither of them were scrambling to get out of bed for class in the morning and he could lay with her for as long as they wanted.

Tonight was no different. Nearly every living soul occupying the lands of Hogwarts was fast asleep, lulled into a galaxy of dreams. Fred wondered if he was the only one awake at such an hour. The darkness from the nighttime sky poured into the room through the glass windows. The light casted shadows around the room making it difficult to make out the different shapes. Fred could barely make out the sleeping frame of his twin brother, George, who was tucked in his bed feet away. Similar was Lee, however his thunderous snores echoed off the walls giving confirmation that was in a deep sleep.

On Fred’s half of the room the silence was deafening. Lee’s snores had become second nature for Fred to block out and in all honesty, didn’t bother him much. Growing up in a home with eight other people, he had that keen ability to muffle out the noise around him. He had to in order to keep a piece of his sanity intact. No one in their sane mind could sit and listen to Ron and Ginny bicker for longer than five minutes before wanting to rip their hair out of their skull. In the same way, noise was comforting to Fred. Yeah, he ignored it for the most part, but it was a familiar feeling to be surrounded by loudness. It was discomforting in a way how still the world felt. Few and far between were the moments when Fred had time to himself. Now that he did, he didn’t want it.

Stealing a glance down to his chest Fred smiled at the sight. Y/n’s head was pressed against his sweatshirt covered chest and her hand was clenched around the material. Her body was cuddled close to him with a blanket draped over them. Fred watched as her stomach lightly rose and fell with every breath. He had lost track of time, not entirely sure how long he had been holding her. Seconds meshed into minutes which grew to hours. He was sure he’d been staring at the ceiling for almost three hours. His attention flipped back and forth, like the pages of a magazine. From the angle he laid, Fred wasn’t able to see if Y/n was awake like him or passed out like his roommates. In a cruel way he wanted to wake her on purpose just for the selfish purpose to hear her voice. He resisted the urge to ‘accidentally’ break her slumber.

Fred’s hand traced patterns on her back absentmindedly as his thoughts drifted like a sailboat floating along the ocean waves. The Quidditch match had taken a large toll on his muscles and all he wanted was to rest. Playing Slytherin was a sure guarantee someone would walk away with an injury- or be carried away. Although Fred knew he wasn’t injured, his arms ached with every slight move from the force he had exhilarated during the match. As much as he desired to switch positions and lay on his side, he couldn’t bring himself to disturb the girl resting in his arms. From her steady breathing he figured she had fallen asleep, that was until her head suddenly popped up from his chest causing the warmth of her head to flee his body. Her quick movement took Fred by surprise as his hand halted and his eyes fixed on the girl. The feeling of sleepiness was fading as her large doe eyes glanced back up at him. Oddly enough, she appeared to be wide awake.

Arching a brow at her Fred looked utterly confused. If her alertness hadn’t startled him enough, her next actions would leave him mind boggled. Y/n perched herself up to a sitting position and wiggled over to place her legs over either side of Fred’s body so she sat in his lap as he laid. A childlike smile graced her lips at the small gasp of surprise from Fred. Tiredness vanished in her eyes as she tilted her head.

“Hey, Freddie?”

“Yes, angel?” He asked cautiously.

His hands reset to her waist to keep her steady as she sat. The stained glass window to the side of his bed allowed a glimpse of moonlight to create a beautiful gradient across her face. The moonlight, a glowing yellowy white, projected an ethereal glow around her. He swore he could see millions of tiny stars sprinkled along her skin, gleaming pin pricks of sparkles gleaming in her e/c eyes.

Y/n leaned forward to wrap her arms around Fred’s neck causing him to mimic her and sit up so his back was pressed to the bed frame. He grabbed the heavy cotton blanket from behind her and draped it over her shoulders. She smiled bashfully in gratitude. Peeking up to Fred, whose face was only a handful of inches from hers, she whispered,

“If I were a worm, would you still love me?”

Fred’s features scrunched in an instant at her question as he pulled back slightly. Half expecting for her to start giggling and the other half completely flabbergasted, Fred gaped at her in confusion. Yet Y/n’s face remained stoic in seriousness as she awaited his reply. He gave her a funny look, as if she’d grown an extra eye. Repeatedly his mouth fell open, then closed again as he failed to formulate a proper thought.

“I’m sorry- if you were a what?”

“A worm.” She repeated once again.

Fred forced himself to bite his tongue to hold his laughter in. As much as he wanted to chuckle at her randomness, she seemed so invested in his answer he didn’t know what to do. Fred averted his gaze to the window in search of an answer. His brain was stuck frozen, like the tracks in his mind were broken. Turning his attention once more to Y/n, Fred squinted his chocolate brown eyes as if examining her peculiarly.

“And why would you be a worm?”

Clearly annoyed by his constant string of questions Y/n let out a breathy huff as she rolled her eyes. Her hands waved up briefly, shooing his inquiry away without second thought. Shaking her head she pressed further. “Because I just am, now answer the question.”

Stillness entered the room while Fred pondered to himself. This time he didn’t hold back the teasing grin that spilled on his face.

“Well, am I worm too?” He asked, wiggling his eyebrows to her suggestively. Y/n shoved his shoulder back playfully as she giggled softly. Fred always knew how to make her smile, even if the situation didn’t call for it. Even if it was three in the morning and the two of them should be flying through a dreamland of sleep.

Fred’s back leaned into the wood of the frame as he allowed his head to touch against it. Locks of ginger hair brushed against his face. Instinctively Y/n moved her hand out to skim them away from his eyes so she could see them. Fred fought a mental war against the shiver that threatened to escape his body from her gentle stroke. Shaking her head, Y/n shot down his interrogation. “No, you’re just a regular person.”

“So I would be a Muggle in love with a worm?” Fred chuckled at the bizarreness to her rules for her imaginary prompt. Although he hadn't a clue where this was heading, it was entertaining and he had every intention of paying into it, including teasing the girl a tad. There was something so adorable about the flashes of anger and frustration that snapped across her face at his procrastination to answer. Fred found it irresistible. The way her cute face knotted into uncomfortable glares and frowns while he continued to toy with her. He loved it.

Y/n sighed to herself, certainly growing exhausted then reiterated,

“No, no, you’re still you, I’m just a worm.”

“A magic worm?” His eyes widened in feign excitement while her’s narrowed. As much as she loved the childlike nature that was weaved into her boyfriend’s soul, it made it impossible at times to have a serious conversation- not that she truly considered this to be a serious conversation.

A deadpan mien was planted on her face. She turned for a moment to make sure George and Lee were still passed out. Then, she moved her head back to Fred before raising her voice a notch to ensure the message was received loud and clear.

“A worm, Fred.”

His fingers fiddled with the loose strings on her shorts as he pretended to debate his answer. Lips pursed into a thin line, Fred brought his pointer finger up to his chin and hummed.

“I mean… sure?”

Y/n’s grip around his neck loosened immediately at his answer. Her mouth skimmed the ground as genuine displeasure entered her veins. She pulled her arms back to cross them tightly against her chest. Fred’s hands found their previous position on her waist in order to keep her from falling off. She pouted over to Fred with her bottom lip poking out. She tried her absolute best to put everything she had into the over dramatic sad puppy look she had mastered. Fred only cooed at her and pinched the skin of her cheeks between his fingers lightly. Y/n grabbed his hand, pulling it away from her face with a scowl. Despite her glowering appearance, Fred felt a smug grin sneaking up.

“That isn't reassuring at all.” She said with a pointed tone.

Fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose, Fred groaned dramatically as he ran his calloused hand against his skin. Peering up to Y/n he brought his hand up to occupy the warm skin on the back of her neck. He drew his hand closer, pulling her towards him, causing their foreheads connected in a tender touch. The bottom hem of his old tee that she now used as a nighttime shirt tickled his arm as she happily leaned in. With their faces barely an inch apart, Fred lifted his hips to place a sweet, chaste kiss to her lips.

“But angel, you’re not a worm.”

“Just pretend!” She grumbled. Although Fred smirked right at her and, in a very snarky manner, said ‘no’. Y/n clenched her jaw in annoyance at his stubbornness and just as she went to tell him again to play along, a light bulb of an idea sparked in her head.

Stealing a glance over either shoulder, Y/n checked to assure both George and Lee were still snoozing. George was practically laying off his bed in a sideways fashion while Lee was spreading starfish across the whole mattress. She swore she could see the drool dripping from his chin from across the room. Her focus swerved to Fred as she felt him adjust under her. Providing him with absolutely no leeway to her plan at all, Y/n locked her arms around Fred’s chest and shoved him down so he was forced to lay on the bed. His breath hitched as his head smacked into the fluffy pillow. The darkness obscured his view leaving him lost at the turn of events until he felt the pressure of her knees pinning his arms to his side. Just like a war attack, she ambushed him. Y/n danced her fingers at lightning speed across his chest and under his arms. Fred broke out into a booming fit of laughter at the abrupt tickle war imposed on him as he desperately fought to get her body off of his. His feet kicked wildly as he tried to free himself but she had too strong of a hold. Fred tried to hold his laughter back but it was all too much for his bdy to handle and the uncontrollable giggles wouldn’t stop.

Y/n laughed at him as she continued to tickle every inch of his upper body that he wasn’t successfully covering. His frantic squirms made it difficult for her to torture him to the best of her ability, however she put up a considerable fight until Fred managed to slip his hand out from between his waist and her knee. Once he did, Fred clamped his hand to her side and flipped the pair around so he was the one sitting on top of her. Both of their chests heaved rapidly as they attempted to catch their breath, both grinning like fools. Fred moved his body to sit in front of her as Y/n took over his previous spot. His hand still remained clenched around her side to keep her from attacking once more. Struggling to regain his composure, Fred gave the girl a teasing glare.

“Fine! Yes, I would still love you very much, even if you were a slimy little worm.”

A satisfied gleam adorned her face as she gave a small cheer. Her arms extended as a welcoming for him to enter. He bent towards her to allow her arms to be thrown around his shoulders. The hug encapsulated his body in a blanket of comfort and love from the feeling of her skin. Fred pressed his lips to her neck and just as he did, her voice broke the air.

“And you’d still give me kisses and cuddles?”

His loud sigh was audible to everyone in the room as his head fell to her chest.

“How in the bloody hell am I supposed to cuddle a freaking worm-” Before he could finish his sentence, Fred saw the look of sadness clouding over his lover’s features and stopped himself. That famous, moody pout had crept its way up and Fred fell victim like always. He reached his hand out to pick hers up from her lap and laced their fingers. Lifting her hand, his lips kissed each of her knuckles then set her hand down on his leg.

“You’re unbelievable… but yes, I would still give you kisses and cuddles. Just not in front of people-” Y/n snatched her hand away from his and threw it across her chest with an animated scoff.

“So you’d be ashamed of me?”

“I hate you so much right now, why the hell are you even asking me?”

The jokingness of the situation breezed out from the room as Y/n tensed. Fred watched her eyes flicker from over his shoulder, then up to his eyes. It was impossible to read the rambunctious ideas bouncing off the walls of her mind and Fred knew better than to speculate but rather give her the time to process. He always said that her mind ran faster than the Hogwarts Express. There was a small smile on her lips, though one he couldn’t read. The spark of glee still flashed through her yet at the same time she seemed uncertain. Her hand pushed loose strands of her hair away from her view, a nervous habit of her’s Fred had picked up on early in the relationship.

Swallowing her nerves, Y/n let her body sink into the plushness of Fred’s bed as she shrugged her shoulders.

“Just wanna make sure you’d love me no matter what.” She mumbled hushly.

Fred furrowed his eyebrows as he studied her in bewilderment. As silly as the conversation was, he could feel a tang of guilt budding in his gut from teasing her. The two had discussed some of the most random, weird topics out there and it was usually just that, a random discussion. Fred was a bit stunned there was a bubble floating around in her thoughts that there might be a time where he stops loving her, because for Fred, the idea of not loving her was simply implausible. Besides, he had fancied her since they met their first year and there was no chance Fred was willing to lose her.

“Okay, well,” Fred crawled to sit next to Y/n’s side as he went on, “I’ll entertain the thought. If you were a worm I would still love you more than any other living creature on this planet. I’d also protect you from all the birds who want to eat you for dinner.” Fred finished by placing a gentle peck to her nose. There was no sense in hiding the contagious grin

“So sweet, Freddie.” The scent of peppermint from her chapstick wafted to Fred’s nose drawing him closer in. Y/n snaked her hand to his cheek and dragged his face towards hers. Right before their lips connected, she paused for a moment. Her e/c orbs flickered to his plump lips, then in one swift motion, she closed the gap with a pucker of her lips and a collision with his. Fred had expected the kiss but was taken aback by the fire she brought to it. The sheer force of her lips caused Fred to sit up and take notice.

Y/n nudged at his side, a silent signal for him to get on top. Fred didn’t need her to ask him twice. He was quick to kick the blankets covering his legs and repositioned himself between hers. Fred leaned forward to spark the flint once again. His hands attached to her face immediately as he pulled her in tightly. This embrace nearly knocked Y/n right off the bed. She parted her lips and felt him washing over like a tsunami of passion, curling her toes, unfurling all her senses as the taste of him impaired her. Her whole body tingled, the pressure of his fram leaning on hers as his arms wrapped around her felt like an array of fireworks during the finale of a grand show. Her lips parted against his and the abrupt swipe of his tongue inside her cheeks sent a rush of shivers through her body. The intensity was overwhelming as she struggled to keep hold of his shoulders.

Y/n came to at the need for air and pulled away from Fred. A sharp breath filled her lungs as her hands pressed against his chest keeping him in place. However, Fred was growing impatient by the second and the need to be as close to her as possible was too strong of an urge for him to ignore.

Fred pulled her in, claiming her mouth again, hungry and intense, until her arms gave in and she was using his body to support herself. She was nearly slipping from the bed from the pure force of his kiss. Fred kept his free hand steady on the back of her neck to ensure she wouldn’t fall but in the moment, she really couldn’t care. Wasn’t like they hadn’t had a makeout session on the floor- come to think of it, George had walked in on them just last week.

Their hands roamed over each other as if it was their first time touching another. His fingertips grazed the side of her neck earning a muffled moan from the girl. She tugged at his red hair, which was a guarantee to keep his adrenaline pumping. A vibration buzzed in her mouth as Fred groaned into her from the lustful pain. His body was ever moving as his hips grinded into her. This was a familiar position yet the passion was what made the kiss so electrifying. His elbows were placed on either side of her head to hold himself up as he moved his lips against hers and continued to work his tongue with hers. Y/n trailed her hand down from his fiery locks to his sharp chin where she pressed his lips as deeply into hers as she could manage.

Softly as possible, Y/n slowly pulled herself away from Fred. His eyes cracked open at the lost of warmth against his skin and he glanced down at her. Both smiled at each other until Fred rolled over and slid under the covers. He fixed the blankets around until he felt satisfied then opened his arms, as if inviting Y/n to enter. She obeyed without question and coozied herself into his arms. He wrapped her in a loving cuddle as he pressed a quick kiss to her temple.

Y/n leaned into his body, resting her head against his arm that was linked under her. There was a comforting silence that replaced the steaming air. The clock on Fred’s night stand shone bright with the time, ‘4:08am’, meaning morning had practically arrived and Fred had yet to catch a wink of sleep.

Just as Fred was preparing himself to welcome his slumber, a notion came. Propping himself up on his elbow, Fred reached out to shake the girl’s shoulder.

“Hey, Y/n?”

Y/n gleaned over to him in curiosity. Twisting her body she set her gaze directly on Fred, as if to show him she was intune and listening.

“Yes?”

“If I were a worm, would you still love me?” Fred asked in a whisper. Y/n leered up at him in a disgusted fashion. It looked as if she had been force fed a full can of lima beans and sardines. Those sleepy eyes were replaced by saucer like eyes of revulsion. Poking her tongue out she pretended to gag as her eyes twisted shut.

“Ew, no, why would I be in love with a worm? You can’t even talk and if I kissed you, I might accidentally kiss your butt, gross!” Y/n covered her mouth to mask her fit of laughter that shook through her chest. Fred’s mouth dropped in shock at her words as she unwrapped herself from his hold to shift to her side. He stared at her in astonishment as she threw her legs over the side of his bed. His hand reached out to yank her back but she was already up on her feet smirking to him.

“Are you kidding me? Get back here!”

“I need to use the bathroom- I’ll be back in a flash, wormie.” She blew him a taunting kiss and a wave, then quietly shut the door as she journeyed down the hall to the restrooms. Fred still heard her unruly laughter from behind the large wooden door. As her footsteps grew shallower, Fred tossed his head into the pillow and rolled his eyes. Just like earlier, silence overtook the room and this time, Fred was overjoyed because it meant he no longer had to hear about worms. That was at least until she got back, then he’d surely be having a discussion.

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einsteinsugly · 2 years ago

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October (Fictober) 8, 2022. The Night Chicago Dies?

A/N: T7S, Eric and Donna. Super future fic (hence, do you remember), takes place in 2022.

*****

Donna's old, gray eyes glimmer, with bright flecks of blue. Like a vast ocean, sitting beneath a soaring sun.

And as they sit beneath the starry skies, amidst a buzzing, gurgling darkness, Eric can't help but smile. Pressing his hand into hers, as the city lights blur his vision. As once, those lights were once a warm welcome, like setting a fire in their young souls.

But now, he's tired. So, so tired. "Do you remember when we merely wanted to cross the Rio Grande? Now, we..."

"I'm not traveling the world with you on a sailboat, Eric." Her lips form into a lingering frown, etched onto her aging face. "You'd drive me crazy."

"Staying here would drive you crazier." His green eyes sink below the horizon, as years and years of the daily grind have rendered him hesitantly jaded. "Retire, at the end of the year. Leave those guns and cannons behind, and leave them for the..."

"No. Not yet." It's a battle cry, from a fading fox. Her scarlet locks have dulled and her stance has withered, even as her eyes desperately sparkle. Like the stars in the sky. "Give me some more time, and I..."

"You said that last year, and the year before." Eric sighs, tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, pressing his lips on her waiting temple. As her hands now thoroughly intertwine with his, albeit with some notable hesitation. "I've been twiddling my thumbs, waiting and waiting..."

But the frown deepens, like Mariana's Trench, where true darkness awaits. "I waited for you. For almost a whole year, and you dumped me."

"I was holding you back." The answer is apparently far from music to her ears, as her hands rip away from his now reluctantly wavering grasp, and he awkwardly clears his throat. "And that was a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away. Before we started at the rat races, at the very beginning..."

She glares at him, hitting him with a pitch black sky. Without even the faintest of stars. "It wasn't a very good start."

"But we got the hang of it, didn't we? Then we traveled the world, got married. Settled down, had the girls. It was a wild ride, but it's time to pass the torch. And it's time for us to really, really settle down. To hang out on a sailboat, or on a beach, and travel again..."

The sun still fails to rise again in her stormy eyes, though. Instead, the gray lingers, and refuses to fade. Until...

The front door swings open, and a redheaded boy proudly presents himself to the big, bad world. "Mina, you said I could teach you how to play Minecraft!"

Donna lovingly smirks, ruffling his hair. "Are you sure it wasn't Fortnite?"

As his wife feigns ignorance, the second grader predictably protests. Like clockwork. "No, I hate Fortnite!"

Eric can't help but wistfully smile, glancing at his loving, passionate wife, as their grandson amply reminds him of their daughter. Way back when, when things were simpler.

But back in the day, when the whole world was at their fingertips, it was also firmly on their young, boisterous shoulders. Weighing them down, and down, and down...

As he pats the young boy on his young, boisterous shoulder. "Hate's a strong word there, buddy."

He hates how Donna is forcing him to endure those youthful burdens, working herself to the bone, as he anxiously waits in the sidelines.

Where those burdens still hurt, like hell, as he anxiously counts down to midnight. Waiting for his wife to join him, to embark on their twilight years.

But she refuses to budge, and neither does their grandson. As he loudly clears his throat, to make a particular declaration.

"But I hate even more that you wanna move away, Poppy. On a stupid sailboat..."

Donna nods in agreement, desperate to shake things up. For one last time, for one last hurrah. One last fight, a type of written rebellion, now seldom seen on paper.

"This is my home, Eric." Donna lovingly gazes at the city lights, as if the sun is shining. "I don't want to leave."

And as she gazes at their grandson, at the brownstone they've owned for thirty-seven years, and then back at him, Eric sighs. Pulling her close, as Caleb loudly protests, falling on increasingly deaf ears.

Instead, Eric's green eyes glimmer, and he wistfully smiles. Kissing her temple, and holding her waiting hand.

"We don't have to go anywhere. I don't care where we live, as long as I'm with you."

#that 70s show #that 90s show #eric and donna #eric forman #donna pinciotti #caleb hyde #fictober22 #fictober event #fictober #my fics #super future fic

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damn-stark · 3 years ago

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The Trouble ch.7

A/N- sorry it’s taken so long to post but I plan on finishing this now, so expect more frequent posts. :)

Warning- angst, talks of death, ptsd, blood, light fluff

Pairing- Jesse x fem!reader

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

——

You could still see it, as clear as day. You could still hear the sound of the gunshots, and the sound of his body thumping the ground.

That’s the only memory you could see now. The memory of Jesse's face contorted into that single painful memory of his death. Everytime you tried to recall a happy and blissful moment, he appeared with his bloody face and the wound that killed him.

As much as you tried to forget, his death haunted your dreams and your mind every waking hour. It wasn’t as bad as it was in the first couple of months after you returned home, but you still couldn’t be the same. You could never be the same. No one who went and came back with you was the same.

Sometimes...you could even see him appear to you…it was so strangely vivid, it seemed like he was actually with you. But you knew he wasn’t, he couldn’t be.

“Y/N, hey kiddo….” You look over your shoulder and notice Tommy welcomed himself inside the house.

You weren’t even aware when he walked inside, or if he even knocked. He most likely did, you just didn’t hear. Albeit sometimes out of instinct, he just walked inside the house; it happened once when Maria was home, she didn’t say anything though, he was the only one embarrassed.

“...I thought you’d be holed up in here,” he continued as he set down the tupperware filled with food.

You turn off the sink and completely turn around to face him, leaning back on the counter and shrugging nonchalantly. “I was just going to go out, you just caught me in here before I could.”

Tommy rests his hand on the counter across from you and releases an airy chuckle. “Right, with which friends may I ask? Maria says you’ve lost them all.”

Your eyes flicker away from him and you scoff as you nod slowly. “They lost me...man,” tears fill your eyes and you feign a grin, “..they...lost me.” You clear your throat and raise your head, letting out a quiet sigh and changing the mood before the tension rose. “Anyway, what’s with the surprise visit? I thought we were meeting for patrol later this week?”

“Well,” Tommy says as he shrugs and averts your gaze. “Just thought you might like the visit.”

You cross your arms over your chest and nod stiffly, smiling softly and then clicking your tongue. “Sure did. But,” you begin to say as you narrow your gaze on him, noticing he looked strange; his stiffened posture, his perplexed expression beginning to show itself on his face. It was hard to tell, he hid his true intentions well, but you saw the truth. “...you’re not here just to visit are you?”

Tommy stands up straight and drops his head to shake it without having to face you. “No,” he mutters before he moves his hand to search the pocket hidden inside his jacket, slowly scrummaging through it to pretend he was looking for something, when in reality he only had one thing, a folded up map. “I wanted to show you this.” He puts the map on the countertop and unfolds it on the surface to flatten it out and show a part of some state, he doesn’t reveal it right away, he instead just waves you over and waits for you.

However you don’t move right away, first you let your eyes scan the wrinkled paper, noticing the marks and the city names. You didn’t recognize the cities so you didn't instantly catch what his intentions were—it could be just some city he needed some supply from, some part of the state where he wanted to visit for some reason, you truly didn’t know. If you were being completely honest you didn’t want to know. Something was telling you to not press further. But you did.

After a couple seconds of hesitation you walk up beside him and take a better look at the map he was showing you.

“First of all, before I get to explaining, I want you to know that I’m not asking anything of you, you don’t owe me anything, okay?” Tommy explains as he turns his head to look at you, waiting in silence for you to assure him. “You understand that?”

“Yeah,” you nod hesitantly. “I understand...why?” You lift your eyes from the paper and meet his gaze. “What’s up?”

“Well,” he swallows thickly. “Recently this guy who’s heard my story, shared to me that while he was moving through California…..” he pauses and looks back at the map, waving his hand around as he chooses to continue. “He traded with a woman that he described was built like an ox.”

“Okay,” you nod, feeling the explanation he gave instantly matched with the women that also plagued your mind, knowing that he was referring to no one else but her.

“He said she was traveling with a kid with scars across his face.” Tommy proceeded to then shift the map around, pointing to a part of land by the ocean. “He said they were living along the coast in a beached sailboat. Right here.” Tommy says as he points to the specific location. “That’s gotta be her.”

Your eyes flicker up to him as you let silence take over for a few minutes as you tried to collect your thoughts, as you tried to process the news and what he was really asking of you.

“Is this…” you ask slowly as your eyes remain away from him. “About Joel?”

“No,” Tommy instantly answers, “not for you anyway...this is about Jesse.”

“I see,” you nod as you step back, feeling your throat begin to burn and your eyes begin to cloud with tears. “I see.”

And it’s at the sound of his name that you see him appear close to Tommy.

Jesse looked so real, so insanely real that it really seemed like he was there listening to Tommy with you. But that was the point, right? The game your mind tortured you with.

The only thing that distinguished him from actually seeming real was that he appeared to you how he was when he died; with the bullet that punctured his face, and the blood that poured from it. Otherwise you’d have a hard time actually believing he wasn’t real, otherwise you’d always be looking at his illusion your mind created, unlike how you were now, you couldn’t even fathom looking at him for more than a second before you looked away in horror.

Tommy noticed that reaction but he didn’t hold back. He was too mad to do so.

“I went to Ellie about Joel, but she let me down.”

“What?” You gasp as you snap your head up to look at him. “You went to Ellie? Why would you do that?” You demand with anger beginning to lace through your voice.

“Because she promised she’d do something about her.” Tommy remarked, making you shake your head and blink in disbelief.

“But why would you break that peace she’s trying to find? That’s why she and Dina moved.” You snap. “Why would you go to her with this?”

“That peace she’s trying to find his bullshit,” Tommy scoffs as he grabs the map and begins to fold it. “You know that.”

“That doesn’t matter!” You interject furiously, “why would you go to her?”

“Because she needs to do something about Abby, just like you do too. Are you really going to let her get away with killing jesse?” Tommy counters, instantly making you stiffen and feel your breath hitch at the sound of his comment. You wanted to talk back, but you were struck with disbelief and grief to manage to muster anything out.

All that you could show was the pain on your face, in your tear filled eyes. Tommy noticed that and hesitated, he stepped back and wanted to try and apologize, but he waited too long. Maria walked in and didn’t want an explanation, she recognized the pain on your face that she saw everyday since you returned. She, unlike Tommy, knew more of what you were struggling with and she wasn’t going to allow someone to just worsen the pain. Not even Tommy.

“What do you think you’re doing Tommy?” She demanded after she also took note of the map in his hand.

“Just came here to talk to her,” Tommy said as he hid the truth. “That’s all.”

“Well,” Maria scoffed, “then that’s enough for today. Get out.”

Said man didn’t argue, he stopped under the kitchen doorway to add one last thing to you. “Think about it y/n, you know I’m right. And then go talk to her. Do what’s right.”

You slowly look up at him and catch a brief sight of the anger burning on his face before he turns and limps out of the house, leaving you a scrambled mess and only causing you to see him again. It was brief, but you saw Jesse's dead figure under the doorway right before Maria broke you from your stupor and didn’t hesitate to embrace you, trying to comfort your withered soul. But not succeeding. Not like the times before.

——

“I’m giving you ten minutes.” Jesse informs you as he leans by the tree trunk a few feet away. “You better have your eyes closed already.”

“I’m already asleep,” you add sarcastically, “you just keep talking to me so.”

Jesse scoffs and keeps talking to you even after he gives you a time limit to take a very short nap. “We don’t have a lot of time to waste here if we want to catch up to Ellie and Dina.”

You pull the small blanket over your head and sigh. “If only we did have time. I’d love to stay here. It’s very pretty.”

You hear Jesse's feet shift and you imagine he was now looking at you over his shoulder, but you couldn’t know with your back turned his way. All the indication you had to know that he was still listening was the fact that he responded without thinking of his answer. “After we find them on our way back home, we could get “lost” and just arrive a few weeks after them.”

You open your eyes, but you don’t turn to face him, you keep yourself facing the forest you stopped in to rest and smile as you continue to play along. “They’d be worried.”

“Yeah, but we’ll go back, we’ll just be a few days, or weeks late.”

“You’re right,” you say as you turn back and close your eyes again. “And we won’t tell them that we just wanted to spend time together.”

“No,” Jesse agrees, “it’ll stay between us.”

“Sounds good,” you finish with a content sigh and a giddy smile. Jesse doesn’t answer, but you didn’t need him to know he agreed with you. You were content with the quiet comment he made a few minutes after the comfortable silence.

“Goodnight, y/n.”

——

“Goodnight...Jesse.”

You shift around in your bed and face the ceiling, wiping the tears off your cheeks and watching as the sun slowly begins to peek inside the room, slowly reflecting the soft light on the ceiling. You had gotten a few hours of sleep, but not so much, not as much as you would before. And well it seemed that Tommy’s words kept you up. You just couldn’t stop thinking of the fact that he had gone to Ellie, that he had tried to put salt over the wound.

You just couldn’t help but think of what she was doing. It had been months since you heard news of Abby, since anyone heard news of her, and it’s not like you or anyone else expected it, that part of everyone’s life was supposed to be over. That meant no chasing revenge schemes.

Yet here Tommy was, wanting people to chase after a woman he couldn’t. Knowing that he shouldn’t put such a heavy burden on anyone, knowing that you wouldn't do it, you weren’t that person….however that’s why he didn’t come to you first, that’s why he went to Ellie, because he had hoped she would.

Only you hoped she wouldn't….she went through so much, she has a happy life, a good family. Joel wouldn't want her to throw that away, not for some revenge plan that could end up with her dying this time—you hoped she knew that. You wished Tommy would realize that.

Yet...something told you she didn’t….shit—you let out a deep sigh while you sit up and swing your legs over the bed to quickly slide off. You hesitated continuing for a bit, but you needed to do this, you needed to talk to her.

No more holing up in your house, no more avoiding.

——

“This is it.” You mutter under your breath as you stop in front of the porch, looking away from the land that surrounds the house and looking at the house. “No more avoiding.” You draw out a small breath and walk up the stairs to make it to the front door, hesitating again but this time with your knuckles hovering over the door. Your eyes slide to your fist, and you’re tempted to pull it away and just walk back home since no one seemed to know you were here.

But, no. You needed to remind yourself that you were here for a reason. So you let your hand go and knock on the door and wait. And it actually didn’t take long before you spotted someone peeking out the creaked door, before they spread the door open and revealed their face.

“Y/N, hi,” Dina greets you with a very faint smile and swollen eyes. “What a surprise.” She steps forward and wraps you in a hug, seeming to use all the strength she could muster to keep you close.

“I know,” you smile as you return the embrace. “I’m sorry, it’s just been….hard,” you sigh, letting her be the first one to pull away after some minutes. “How’s JJ?”

“Good,” she assures you as she steps to the side. “Come in.”

You do so slowly to take in the nicely decorated space you’ve seen so far.

“He’s just sleeping,” Dina continues as she walks further into her house, while you come to stop in the living room and keep searching, this time for Ellie; “water? Tea?”

“Oh, no, I’m fine.” You assure her while you watch her peek her head out the kitchen. “Thanks. Uh, Dina, where’s Ellie?”

Suddenly at the sound of her name you see Dina stiffen once she’s out of the kitchen, she drops her gaze and shakes her head before she continues to walk and join you in the living room. “She’s...not here.”

Your eyebrows furrow and you take a step towards her to press for a clearer answer. “What do you mean?”

“I mean she left.”

“What?” You queried ere as you blink in disbelief, for the first few seconds not getting why. Not until it hit you. That’s when you let out a deep sigh and dropped your own gaze. “I’m guessing this had something to do with Tommy.”

“Something like that.” Dina scoffs.

You nod slowly in comprehension and clench your fists, choosing to share what happened to you too. “Yeah,” you scoff, “he came to me too. I came here to tell her not to go, to remind her that...Joel wouldn't want that for her.” You look up and see Dina was now closer to you, her eyes were watery and her frown was deeply formed. “But I’m late.”

“You know nothing would’ve changed her mind,” Dina shares as her voice quivers. “She’s stubborn.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “I know. But at least then I could’ve tried something else.”

Dina stays quiet for a moment while her eyes search your face, her own seeming to come to a realization. “Don’t do it, y/n. Don’t go after her.”

“I,” you pause and think to yourself; you didn’t even think of doing so at this ínstant, the intention didn’t cross your mind. But it was beginning to slowly break through your mind, you suppose she got that impression before you did. Now it’s the only thing you could think of.

You exhale deeply and your impulse answers for you. “My friends' problems are my problems."

Tagged- @protect-lev , @expecto-nox, @vintage-and-hypnotic , @kokomaesadie , @0j-b0, @itsyellow , @minheoly @traceylader

#the last of us #the trouble #Jesse tlou #jesse fanfiction #jesse x reader #jesse imagines #jesse imagine #Jesse #tlou Jesse x reader #Jesse tlou fanfiction #Jesse tlou imagine #tlou Jesse fanfiction #the last of us imagines #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us imagine #tommy tlou #tlou Tommy #dina tlou #dina the last of us

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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years ago

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Little Border Town Pt. 3

Summary: It begins with a man and a woman, as it always seems to. One lives in France and the other lives in Italy, technically, but they’re also neighbors. Various issues arise between these two and they can’t ever seem to see eye to eye on anything. Will they ever move past their petty fighting or is the little town they live in doomed to only gossip about what Harry and Y/N are fighting about today?

Part 3: the one with the boat and the beginning of a storm

IT’S BEEN AGESSSS I AM SO SO SORRY I LOVE YALL SO MUCH AND EVERYONE WHO HAS EVER READ THIS THANK YOU FOR BEING PATIENT

also harry is wearing this fit in this part just no tie?? i think i cant remember

college has been incredibly crazy this year already and i just dont have time to write like i did before i went back. i honestly had this mostly finished and i havent reread so i have no idea what even happens so lmk what you think, i can’t imagine that it will get a lot of notes but if it did id be very happy about that - anyways lots of love and feedback appreciated as always...pls enjoy

Word Count: 6.6k | Warnings: ?? Swearing? idek, more yearning bc slow burn

Catch up here! part 1 | 2 |

“Isn’t the weather not ideal for boat sailing today,” she ponders as her face looks up at the sky. She’s walking into Harry’s store again after running back to her place to grab a jacket and lock up. She placed a notecard in the door’s window that says “closed today, see you tomorrow” with a smiling face as punctuation.

Harry grins, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He had sailing boots on his feet with a smart big-collared printed shirt and marigold trousers. Instead of a belt, he had suspenders that matched the color of his pants and a pearl necklace as his final accessory other than his rings. He must have repainted his nails this morning because they were a light lavender shade that hadn’t been noticeable last night.

“It’s just fine. We’re entering fall and the sun is out today!” He gestures to the sky above them and she nods in agreement that the sun is indeed out. However she wasn’t sure if she’d categorize it as a nice day to go out on the sea still. With the sun there were also many clouds, they were mostly white and fluffy, but she was sure they could turn sinister any moment.

“Ready?” He beams.

“As I’ll ever be.”

On the boat, Y/N felt her stomach churning. Was she giddy or unnerved? Likely, both.

Harry was tying the boat off the dock after helping her onto the deck. It wasn’t a huge boat, not a yacht or anything, but it also wasn’t a tiny sailboat. It had an upper deck where maybe four people - at most - could comfortably be. Then a lower deck, inside a hatch in the upper deck. She couldn’t discern how much space was down there, but she was sure Harry would show her. He was talking through everything he was doing on the boat. Ad nauseum for an extremely nontechnical girl, such as herself.

Still, she sat in the spot he had directed her to next to the closed hatch and watched him move gracefully around the boat. Maneuvering the sails and different parts of the boat was a dance for Harry. Each step, each twist and knot, moved by a song unknown to her. It was beautiful. He was completely in his element, surprisingly. Again, Harry surprised her. She knew he had a boat, but whenever she thought of a jerk with a boat she didn’t think of what she was seeing with her own eyes. It was beautiful - or at least, it would be, if he’d shut his big mouth that was now making her roll her eyes as he made a pun about boats.

“So,” Harry starts finally, finishing up whatever he needed to do to get the boat off the dock and on the path he wanted. They were moving out into open water, she could see the little town, but it was growing smaller by the minute. Her stomach churned again as she looked up at the man she had just trusted to take her out onto the ocean. She grimaced slightly at the thought.

“Do you want to see the inside?” he continued.

She nods eagerly, “Finally!”

He chuckles lightly before opening up the hatch and gesturing for her to go first. She looks at him hesitantly.

“This isn’t a trap right? It’s not going to be all...murder-y down there?” Her voice is pitched higher, she’s almost completely serious.

This time Harry’s laugh comes from his belly, almost doubling over at the word ‘murder-y’. Between laughs, he tries to reassure her. “God no...oh my god.” More laughter, then a deep breath. “The only evil entity on this boat is the diavola I invited on here,” he gestures to her standing in front of him and her eyes narrow. Displeasure washing over her features.

“You’re ridiculous,” her hand swats at his sternum before she turns from him and climbs down to the underdeck area.

When she’s down, she’s surprised with her surroundings and she doesn’t notice Harry follow quickly behind her. It’s neat and stylish. Well, she’s not completely surprised, Harry was very fashionable. But the neatness dissipated all thoughts of the improbable scenario where Harry had lured her on his boat to murder her. It was what she had been freaking out over when she had at first refused to enter.

There was a small daybed at the end of the hall that doubled as a couch, a door to a bathroom, a dining area, a kitchenette, and then the random area they were standing in. It wasn’t super spacious, it was a hallway with things around it, but it was clean and it smelled nice. Everything had a place and they were neatly put in their places. After a moment, she turned at the feeling of Harry’s presence behind her.

He grinned, scanning the areas her eyes had just taken in for the first time. His green eyes were filled with admiration. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah, smells like you.” She nods matter of factly.

“Huh?” His head whips to her, sure he hadn’t heard her right.

“The whole place is very you,” she looks away from him and walks down the hall to the daybed and takes a seat, “Styles-ish.”

He follows quickly behind, shaking his head out of his own thoughts.

He mumbles a thanks, not catching the play on words she’d used with his last name. She smiles to herself, pleased. He stands in the doorway, not really wanting to sit beside her. Maybe he didn’t trust himself with being in such close proximity with her anymore. No, not after last night.

Her eyes widen slightly when he leans against the doorway and crosses his arms. The sleeves of his button-up had been rolled up when he had been working with the sails. Her lips suddenly are dry and she wets them with her tongue, eyes moving to the fabric of the blanket she’s sat on top of.

“I meant to say,” Harry breaks the silence, obviously not a fan of the quiet. A hand leaves his pose and runs through his hair, rings classically tugging at his curls. He swallows before he speaks again, “Thanks, uh, for stopping me last night. That would’ve been weird…”

He trails off and her eyes go wide again, but now they’re trained on his face. His eyes are downcast now, watching the way light plays off his rings. She tries to make out the sound in his voice, the expression he’s trying to hide with indifference. Her teeth tug her bottom lip into her mouth as she thinks, silence once again taking hold of the small, small room. The air is tense, static, unmoving, the complete opposite of the water that rushes just outside the walls of the boat.

She clears her throat and Harry locks eyes with her, “No problem...alcohol and atmosphere, clouds the head. I get it.” She did, but she also hadn’t wanted the gratitude Harry had just placed on her.

“You booze, you lose,” he smiles, straightening up and she looks at him quizzically.

“That’s such an odd phrase.”

“No it’s not!”

“It’s a play on ‘you snooze, you lose’ right?” She leans forward, face looking smugly up at Harry’s offended face.

“Well, yeah,” Harry admits.

“I can’t believe you made that up and got it tattooed,” She states breezily and then stands. She brushes past him to look around the rest of the cabin.

Harry scoffs, not even noticing the way her fingers had brushed over his naked forearm as she passed, too focussed on his indignation. “How’d you know about the tattoo?”

“Naked neighbor? Never closing his shade? Do you seriously need a refresher course already? Seriously, boat boy, I really thought you were smarter than that,” She talks as she snoops around the different parts of the cabin. She pokes at figurines and looks at little photos and paintings. Her head looks over her shoulder and she laughs happily at Harry’s face of irritation. It was so easy to push his buttons.

“Don’t call me boat boy,” he seethes, but she knows he’s not really mad. More like he’s a child who got told no dessert before dinner. A laugh rocks through her body again and bubbles to the surface. It causes Harry to soften, this time there’s no alcohol in his system to account for the feeling he just felt. He mirrors the smile she has. That is until she reaches the kitchenette and finds a rack of CDs sitting beside the sink.

She turns from him and begins to leaf through them, most of them are artists she recognizes. But then she reaches some that are just titled “Demo” with various numbers beside the word. Her fingers nimbly pick out “Demo #1” and turn back to Harry with an inquisitive gaze. His green eyes are bigger than usual, the smile gone from his face.

“These from the boy band days?” She smiles wider as he turns a little red. She crosses closer to him, remembering the sight of a cd player in the main area where the entrance to the cabin was.

“Erm..no.” She flips around again, confused again, but then it dawns on her. “Demos for my solo work.”

“That you put on hold to take over for your Uncle.”

“Great Uncle.” He corrects.

“I know.” She waited a second, where she was about to be quick to play the CD, she now wanted to get Harry’s permission. It might be a little more personal than she had first thought. “Can we listen to this one? You’d technically be taking me up on the request to play for me sometime.”

“Yeah, they’re rough - obviously. So if you could try to not bruise my ego, at least not more than you usually do,” he grins and she looks at him with dead eyes. A smile cracks on her face quickly, still.

“I wouldn’t...this is different,” she struggles to find the right words. She would never make fun of something he cared a lot about, not now. She wasn’t that person, it was odd to think he maybe saw her like that. She shook away the thought and focused on placing the CD in its player correctly.

The first song begins to play, he’s right it is rough, it’s a demo. There’s no backing vocals or beat of any kind. Just a voice and a guitar. And it’s amazing. After the guitar intro, she lets out a breath she had been holding when she hears the voice. His voice. It’s beautiful. And she’s shocked, her eyes flash to Harry. He’s nibbling at his bottom lip, watching her hear it for the first time. His voice from all those years ago.

“Brooklyn saw me empty at the news, there’s no water inside this swimming pool.”

Her eyes light up again at the lyrics and she smiles, finding it melancholic yet slightly funny at the same time. It was interesting, the words, his voice, the meaning. Some bits of information eluded her, but she knew she enjoyed the song.

“And I’ve been praying, I never did before.”

Even as the song moved on from this one lyric, she felt it replaying in her head as she watched the singer in front of her. Years older than he had been when he had written this song. She was filled with questions and paused the CD as the guitar faded out.

“That’s it?” Harry laughs, “Just one song? It was really that horrible?”

“Oh my god, no!” She is emphatic, needing Harry to understand she’s serious. She takes a step closer to his figure. He had traveled closer to her while the song had played. They were almost chest to chest and her hand goes out to touch his forearm. “I really liked it, genuinely. I just needed a moment before the next one.”

“Bracing yourself?”

“Stop, I’m serious. It was beautiful. Your voice is wonderful, Harry.”

His eyes sparkle at the praise, finally believing she’s not taking the piss. Then his eyes dropped from her gaze, “I was a lot younger then, was 21 I think when I recorded this demo.”

“So? A voice like that doesn’t just disappear, dude.” She looks at him with a finality in her expression before dropping the hand that was firmly gripping his tattooed arm and turning back to the CD player.

Harry bites his lip as another one of his early songs plays over the shoddy speakers. His voice repeats “Meet me in the hallway” over the solo guitar. There’s no echo or bass, no count in like the final song was supposed to have. It’s just him and his guitar, before he chose to leave it all behind.

His voice is sadder here, she notices and she visibly winces at “just take the pain away” and “just let me know, I’ll be on the floor” and his repetition of “gotta get better.”

How did this man, who seemed fazed by practically nothing, have so much hurt in him to write both of these songs? Her eyes welled with water, but she blinked them back still staring at the singer before her. He was watching the CD spin in the player as his voice came through the speakers. He was lost in thought, in memory. Maybe she was lucky, these weren’t memories for her, she was only hearing his interpretation of his life. She hadn’t had to live that pain first hand. This time she doesn’t pause before the next song.

The next one seems more produced than the last two. This one starts with drums, a step up from the last two acoustic demos in respect to production. A big crash and then a wailing guitar and an accompanying voice. His voice is stronger here, more sure of himself. And then it changes again, melancholic once again and her heart strings are yanked at again.

“We’re not who we used to be, we’re just two ghosts standing in the place of you and me, trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat.”

The guitar continues that sad tone for a riff and then goes back to strumming beneath his voice. She shifts her eyes to him again and sighs softly, it weighs heavy on her soul that the man next to her has seemingly been through so much heartache. He looks up at “We don’t see what we used to see” and she holds his gaze, brows knit together in confusion and sadness. She pauses this time, finger reaching out without looking.

“This is depressing, please tell me they’re not all sad songs or I might as well have turned on a pet rescue commercial.”

His smile etches on his face, in a small knowing smirk and he crosses into her personal space. She’s about to step back, but he reaches out and softly bats her finger away from the pause/play button. She smiles back, shuffling to lean against the counter beside him. It was unusual for them to be on the same side of the counter, much like last night at the bar.

“There’s six songs on this demo. Three sad, three…” he trails off, looking at her expectantly. She nods. “You gotta learn to be a little less impatient, hmm?”

“Not impatient, just trying to brace myself for more sadness. I thought I had been promised a day of fun,” she grumbles.

“I wasn’t the one who suggested a demo listening party,” his brows raise and she twists her mouth to the side at his smug response.

“True,” she finally concedes with a murmur.

He presses play and a new song comes on that is more upbeat than any of the other’s that have played so far. It also seems to be a bit more produced than the first two. Her hand rests on the countertop and begins to tap, she quirks her brow at the first lyric “she’s got a family in carolina, so far away, but she says I remind her of home.” A girl who likened Harry Styles to the South of the United States, interesting. As she listens to the lyrics, she smirks at the massive crush he must have had to write this song. The “good girl” lyrics bounce around in her mind and her mind drifts back to last night. Would it have felt good? To kiss Harry?

Then, she’s brought out of her reverie with “I met her once and wrote a song about her”. Her eyes widen and look to Harry again inquisitively as his past self muses over how good this girl felt. He wrote about a one night stand? That woman must have been magic. That was all she had to say about that.

“Really?” She asks incredulously, folding her arms over her chest. His gaze flickers at the movement, human nature. He presses pause.

“What?”

“A one night stand earned that?”

He looked at her seriously, like the answer was obvious. She laughs before continuing.

“You’re a simp.”

“I’m sorry?” He sputters at her statement immediately.

She raises her brows as a response now. Nothing else to say.

“She wasn’t a one night stand,” he defends, “She was a blind date...and it had been after a dry spell.”

She starts to laugh, about to give another snarky response, but he adds, “And I was twenty-one.” The numbers specifically enunciated.

“You’re still a simp in my book...but I liked the song. It was catchy, rock vibes in there. I don’t know about her telling you remind her of Carolina - north or south, I don’t see it.”

He eyes her warily, still not happy with her titling him that gen z term that was super popular all over the internet. He took her in and he knew she was only three years younger than him, he was pretty sure, yet she used ‘simp’ and ‘vibes’ like they were lexicon words. He didn’t hate it, it was just different than what he usually heard in the little border town. Italian not having translations for things like that, English was so interesting, internet language was so interesting.

“I-” He starts and stops. “She said it. Was she right? That’s not my place to judge.”

“I don’t know,” Y/N pressed, words dragging out playfully, “Personally, I wouldn’t want to be a reminder of the U.S. South, but okay...simp.”

“I swear to god if you call me that one more time, I’m throwing you overboard and I won’t feel bad about it.”

Her eyes widen and then she smiles, he cracks a smile too. They huddle back around the CD player, ready for the next song. It starts with a strong guitar and drums, again well produced compared to the acoustic earlier ones.

His voice in this is far more shaky, unsure of himself again. “Let me take my medicine, take my medicine, treat you like a gentleman,” comes through the speakers. She shivers and looks at him, her fingers tapping along to the beat. The instruments are strong where his voice is soft, it doesn’t exactly fit, but she likes the lyrics still. When it gets to the pre-chorus, that’s when she knows she loves the song.

“I had a few got drunk on you and now I’m wasted, and when I sleep I’m gonna dream of how you (tasted)”

When his voice pitches high for ‘wasted’ she loses it. Her body moves with the instruments and her eyes close and her head wiggles. Harry smiles happily as she dances for the first time to one of his songs. The last word must have been shouted by his bandmates, because she doesn’t hear him say it.

Then the chorus hits and she wonders how it got even better. Her eyes shoot open and she just stares at Harry, her jaw slightly dropped.

“If you got out tonight, I’m going out tonight cause I know you’re persuasive! You got that something and I got me an appetite now I can taste it”

His past self sings of getting dizzy and his voice moans into the mic the demo was recorded on. She’s blown away. It sounds so hot, his voice gaining confidence during the pre-chorus and the chorus to have an all around rockstar sound.

The present Harry just taps his rings together as he watches her, studying her reaction with an even-tempered expression. Why isn’t he screaming like she is on the inside? When it gets to the second verse she’s bracing herself for what’s to come. This song has her pulse racing and blood flowing wildly around her body. She’s buzzing from it.

“The boys and the girls are in, I mess around with him and I’m okay with it”

The electric guitar follows the line up and she thinks she’s going to pass out on this boat right now. Flamboyant Harry. Was this what Marie had been talking about. The wild side of Harry she really had never seen, embodied in one song. She wanted more of it. Still all she got was the Harry on the demo rocking out to his song. She can hear him smiling through the recording, the sad boy from a few songs ago was now feeling euphoric. She just wanted to dance the night away with him.

Then another pre-chorus: “I’m coming down, I figured out I kinda like it, and when I sleep I’m gonna dream of how you (ride it)”

His voice goes high again for ‘like it’ this time and her question of what is to follow is quickly answered with the bandmates screaming ‘ride it’ into the mics they must have had. It’s punctuated with the drums and other instruments. A noise escapes the back of her throat and Harry looks at her both smugly and amused. She rolls her eyes in response, trying to convince Harry that she hadn’t just had images of him singing about how good someone rides him flash in her mind. Even more so with the images of someone, namely her, being the object of his dreams. Doing the things he said he’d dream of. That, that was definitely not what she was thinking about. Definitely not. Her throat was dry and she swallowed hard. Harry’s eyes never left her face. Watching every reaction, gauging it and storing the information elsewhere for the time being.

She sings along to the chorus, trying to focus on the song, it was easy to pick up, but then the damn moans. And then there’s a guitar solo that sounds like sex itself and she’s baffled that this was an unreleased demo, not a famous rock song. Harry in front of her can’t stop himself from tapping his feet at this part, a little dance forming on his body as his eyes finally leave her figure. They close as he feels the music, the memory of his friend playing the riff clear in his mind and how much he had loved it. It builds up again and then there’s a final chorus. She watches him now as he dances in the confined space. His mouth opens to sing along to the “la la la’s”

It ends and goes straight into another upbeat song. It seemed like a complimentary song to the one that had just played.

“I don’t want your sympathy, but you don’t know what you do to me, oh Anna!”

His voice sings strong again. Harry before her composed himself again, going back to his watching position. He took in her tapping and smiling to the song. He also mouths the words slightly as it plays, the lyrics clear as the day he finished writing them almost 4 years ago. One of the final ones for this demo.

“Hope you never hear this and know that it’s for you, don’t know what I’d tell you if you asked me for the truth”

She smirks at him, now, with the earnest lyrics, about to say something, but then notices the change in the guitar. It switches from the epic riff that was going to a more familiar tune, “Faith” by George Michael. She looks at him, a cheesy grin on her face as the voice begins to sing the chorus of that song. Her body begins to dance to it, like an old man doing the twist. She’s not ashamed and Harry loves it and joins her by mirroring the movements.

When the song comes to an end, they’re one large giggling mess. She falls into his arms and he holds her steady, their laughter coming out with freedom.

“Thanks for making me be patient,” She looks up at him, “it was worth it!”

He smiles, backing up slightly, “It’s like I knew what I was talking about.”

“Ok smart guy,” she teases with a silly voice. “I’m assuming whoever Anna is, isn’t actually named Anna then...?”

Harry hums and makes a twitch of his brows, but doesn’t respond. Instead he grabs her hand and she squeaks slightly, he pulls her to the ladder and prompts her to go up. She obliges silently and lands back on the top of the boat now. She looks out and sees the little town to be off in the distances now, shining blue water all around the creamy white boat.

Harry stands behind her now and shuts the hatch easily. She looks at him warily, confused by his silence. He extends his hand to her this time and she takes it. He leads her to the front of his boat. They’re moving, but so slowly you’d barely notice. There’s a loveseat of sorts right at the front and Harry sets her down in it. She smiles at him with caution, still bewildered. He leans against a part of the boat that stands in front of the seat.

“It’s beautiful, right?” He asks.

Her eyes have been looking around her, but they’ve mostly been trained on Harry. She was mesmerized by him now. His music, his boat, his clothes, his everything. She was seeing him in a new light. In a completely brand new way that had her unable to take her eyes off of him.

She nods finally when Harry looks at her expectantly. “It’s amazing,” she breathes.

His smile is the half-sided grin again. Beautiful big teeth on display with a little part of space between them. His dimple pops out and once again her eyes are on his face. She realized going on this boat with Harry might not have been such a good idea.

He folds his arms, her eyes flicker down. Every movement he makes, she doesn’t want to miss it. Even if she also is telling her mind to shake it off, she can’t. It’s like a spell.

“Obviously Anna is a pseudonym,” he says finally, eyes watching where the boat was taking him. She nods in approval. He pauses, watching the little waves, but she knows he has more to say.

“What did you think of the rest of it?” He asks quietly, gaze never going back to her. He knew she’d teased him a little and had danced along to some. She’d looked at him with wide eyes at some lyrics, but he wanted to know what she really thought.

She can tell he’s nervous, but she doesn’t understand why. They were all very good songs, his voice was beautiful, the lyrics were interesting. She didn’t understand his lack of confidence. His first time not exhibiting his usual self-assured - self-absorbed, even - personality. She bites her lip in confusion and his brows knit together, further showing his apprehension. The wrinkles in his forehead show up more prominently and she’s reminded that Harry is 26. He’s a different person now then he was back when he recorded that demo. Maybe there was a reason he kept them on the boat. She felt unsure in her response now.

“They were all great, Harry.” His face softens immediately. “Each one was beautifully written and sung. The ones that were acoustic sounded wonderful as did the ones with your whole band. I’m honored to be someone who got to hear those masterpieces.”

She wanted to tell them they should be famous songs, but she had a feeling that might not have the effect on him that she wanted. He had chosen a little quiet life in the little border town. She didn’t think he would want to hear how his music could have made it big time.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, just about the sounds of the sea. He lets a closed mouth smile twist onto his face, but it feels like he doesn’t fully believe her. She wants to kiss his worry away, but again, she knows it’s not possible. His words from earlier rang in her head. It would make things weird. Yeah, you’re right. Ugh, why had she agreed. She didn’t agree, not at all, not anymore.

“Did you have a favorite?” He stands up straighter with his question.

She laughs slightly, “I liked the second to last one a lot. It was hot.”

“Hot how?” He steps closer, smirking.

She jumps up from her reclined seat, in indignation, “Oh come on, you know it’s hot. Now you’re just looking for me to stroke your ego! It’s obviously about sex.”

“And? You’re the one who’s saying it’s your favorite and blushing.” He arches a brow at her, arms going to his hips and looking at her teasingly.

“Well, you’re the one who was singing about sucking dick and dreaming of how someone rode you.”

“Is that what it’s about?” His voice raises as he purses his lips and raises both of his brows.

She realizes just how worked up he’s gotten her in such a short amount of time. She huffs and turns away from him with a flick of her hand. “You’re infuriating.” Is all she can say. She looks out at the waves now, ignoring Harry even though he’s less than a foot away.

He’s laughing behind her for a little. Then when she doesn’t turn around, he quiets and she’s not quite sure where he’s gone. Then his breath fans over her neck and right shoulder, where her jacket hasn’t managed to cover her. It’s warm and a little minty as the scent travels over the salty sea air. She doesn’t turn or move a muscle for that matter.

A hand reaches out to her shoulder, but still she makes no move to turn. It rests there for a minute and she simply huffs again, letting her shoulders rise and fall dramatically. A single laugh slips from Harry’s mouth.

“C’mon diavola, don’t be like that. S’all in good fun.” His voice is low in her ear, sultry even. It reminds her of his voice in that song once he got into it. His voice sounds like sex in her ear and this time when she sighs it’s not because she’s irritated with him. No, she wants him. The sigh has an undercurrent of that desire and she hopes Harry doesn’t understand that. But otherwise she stays quiet, letting him murmur into her ear with his hand on her shoulder and his chest pressed to her back now. The only witness of this exchange is the ocean before them.

His head leans closer and if she didn’t know any better it felt like he was about to press a kiss to her neck. Instead all she feels is the brush of his mustache, it tickles the shell of her ear and she can’t keep in the giggle. She twists away from the sensation and Harry is grinning at her when she faces him.

His hand still on her shoulder and his body still pressed close to hers. He’s so warm and so close and so shiny new in her eyes, even if he still manages to irritate her. Her eyes flicker up to his as their laughter quiets down. She realizes her own hands have gone to his waist to steady herself and she follows his feet as he backs them up from the edge of the boat that she had brought them too.

It’s quiet again. They’re staring at each other intently. Her eyes are swirling with emotion because she just wants to know what’s going on in the brain of the man before her. She wants to know everything about him, but she knows that’s not how he feels about her. Sure, they’re friends now, but nothing else.

Why did she have to come on this stupid boat and find his stupid amazing music? Why did he have such a stupid amazing face?

These questions and other silly things were racing around her head as she gripped his waist. He didn’t mind her quietness, he found her gaze to be a little unnerving, but he was just glad he had made her laugh. He found that he didn’t enjoy her anger at him as much anymore.

Just as he was about to start another conversation, there was a cloud that drifted over the shining sun. It was her original fear come to life. Harry’s brows furrowed as he looked up at the clouds. They were turning grey. Fast.

“Shit, shit, shit,” He began mumbling and released his hand from her shoulder. He pulled away from her hold and began moving swiftly around the boat. He needed to get them off the water, there was a storm coming.

Her eyes went wide as she noticed the approaching storm as well. Her brows furrowed with worry as she watched Harry begin working on the boat, his only words being curses to himself at first.

Then he enlists her help, asking her to hold onto a specific part of the boat for him after he threw her a life vest and made her put it on. She wore it with great dissatisfaction. He only shrugged as he continued to move nimbly around the boat, turning them around, back to the dock.

The boat moved much swifter into the shore than it had on their way out. The waves were growing choppier by the minute and she would admit she was more than a little scared. Thankfully, Harry knew what he was doing and got them there quickly and safely. Once at the dock, he tied them there and then helped her off the boat. She stood on the dock uncomfortably as the rain started to come down.

“Give me your lifevest!” He gestures from the boat.

She quickly takes it off and flinches when the first bout of thunder sounds from far off. He takes it from her and throws it haphazardly down the hatch along with his own before jumping off the boat himself. He surveys the boat from the dock to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything. Then he looks at her. She’s wrapped her arms around herself and is ducking her head, looking like she’s attempting to ward off rain but failing miserably.

She looks up at him and he offers a soft smile of reassurance.

“Take my hand!” He shouts slightly over the growing sound of rain and thunder. He wants to get them out of the rain, but he’s also apprehensive to leave his boat to the mercy of the weather. Still, that’s all he can do.

She puts her hand in his and his fingers weave with hers. Then, they’re off racing back to their street in the little border town.

“I should go back to my place!”

“Don’t be silly! France is much too far for you to go in this weather!”

She laughs and grips his hand tighter as he fumbles for his key. His wet hand slipping as the rain droplets soak their clothes and skin. Even though her door is a mere few feet away she allows Harry to pull her into his shop. The warmth and dryness appreciated after running a few blocks in the now torrential downpour. There weren’t storms often in the little border town, but like the old adage said ‘when it rained, it poured’ quite literally. The less she had to travel in the rain the happier she was, even if it was three measly feet.

It also occurred to her that she’d be able to sit out her first storm with someone by her side. And she would admit that didn’t sound like the worst thing in the world. She wasn’t necessarily a fan of storms and being in a new place with a storm she’d never weathered before was daunting. Harry inviting her in was a blessing. She didn’t have to be asked twice.

Once inside the little shop, their wet frames begin to form puddles beneath themselves. Harry sighs and takes off up his rickety stairs. She looks after him in confusion but stays put when he calls a quick “Wait there!”

She shakes a bit of the rain from her and shivers as she listens for Harry’s movements barely audible above the crashing of the rain water. When he returns, her breath catches in her throat, like she just choked on something, yet there’s nothing.

As he walks down the steps, far slower now, his wet hair shakes out around his head forming some ethereal halo. The light from upstairs illuminates him and the darkness outside casts an ominous darkness as he descends.

“Un ange…” She whispers after finally catching her breath.

If he hears her, it doesn’t matter. He’s already beginning to smile widely just from seeing Y/N before him.

He skips the last step and crosses to her swiftly. “Let’s get you dried a little more,” he begins to dote. A matching smile spreads on Y/N’s face out of appreciation. She still can’t manage to fend off the shivering and Harry’s smile falters. His hands leave the towel and trace her exposed skin. Her cheek feels like ice, only slightly warming under his touch.

“You need dry clothes,” he mumbles.

Her eyes widen as she looks up at him. He’s so close and so attentive and she wants to ask him to kiss her because they’ve been going back and forth all day, but he’s right she’s freezing. His eyes are so intense though she can’t even maintain eye contact. Instead her gaze flits up to the droplet beginning to swell down one of his rogue strands of hair that flopped over his forehead moments ago.

She doesn’t respond as she watches and Harry begins to worry more. Her eyes seemingly unfocused, her shivering, and her silence. He thumbs over the apple of her cheekbone and finally breaks her reverie. The droplet splashing between them without her as its audience.

“C’mon,” he tugs her hand now to bring her upstairs.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fan fic #harry styles series #little border town #harry styles one shot #harry styles af #ahghsgjfgkjdfkg #literal keyboard smash #its been so long #and no one is going to read #do y'all even remember me omg

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phykios · 3 years ago

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honesty and promise me part 6 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]

Ah, the age old question: what to get for the guy who has everything and also when you’re trying make up for the fact that you actually missed his birthday entirely while spending as little money as possible?

“Where the hell are you taking me?” Percy asks as they wait their turn to disembark. “I haven’t been to Staten Island in ages.”

Annabeth has never been at all. She knows there’s a handful of Greek revival buildings in the Historic District, but she’s never had a car to get there, or the stomach to get on the ferry. Percy had practically climbed onto the bow, his own personal reenactment of Titanic, arms thrown out to the wind, while Annabeth attempted to keep her breakfast down.

Having spectacularly flamed out last week in Philadelphia, she can’t let Percy’s birthday go without some sort of commemoration. The Staten Island Ferry is just part one. “All in due time,” she says, checking her phone for directions. They still have a bus they need to board, and Annabeth is getting sweaty in her leather jacket. Thank God Percy volunteered to carry the backpack with all their gear; otherwise, when this jacket comes off, it’s going to smell worse than his tights at the end of a long day.

Like a magnet, his gaze is glued to the strips of the bay he can spot through the bus windows, his head resting on his chin, a soft, serene smile lifting his lips. All the tightness, all the stress he’s held in his shoulders the last few times she’s seen him, it melts away at the sharp, salty tang of rust and sea air which suffuses every corner. She doesn’t even mind that he isn’t looking at her.

Hand in hand, finally, they get off the bus, and walk to the overlook. Slinging the backpack off his shoulder, he sets it down at his feet, eyes fixed on the strip of shoreline which can be seen, even all the way over here. “What is that?” he breathes, shielding his eyes against the glint of the sun on the water.

“That,” says Annabeth, “is the Staten Island ship graveyard.”

Still stewing in her guilt over how she missed his birthday--despite the fact that he didn’t even tell her--Annabeth decided to swallow her pride and ask for help. It took an inordinate number of coffee orders and one instance of her actually getting down on her knees and begging, pleading to their long friendship together and swearing that Annabeth would never use this information for evil, but she had finally wheedled the secret out of Thalia: Percy’s greatest love, after the ballet, was sailing. Ship construction, naval battles, maritime history, they were, according to Thalia, the only things which could entice Percy to actually set down the tights and “get some frickin’ sunshine for once in his life.” Annabeth hadn’t believed her, until Thalia had dug up an old photo which had never been posted to his socials--and Annabeth had certainly scoured them for long enough, she would have recognized it had she seen it before--of Percy, on a glittering, jewel-like sea, a rope wrapped around his fist as he leaned over the side of a sailboat, eyes squeezed shut, mouth wide in a graceless, unrestrained joy.

“Back in the eighties, there used to be over four hundred ships down there,” Annabeth says, coming up beside him. “A lot of it’s been scrapped or sold, but there are still maybe a hundred or so boats, including the USS PC-1264, one of the--”

“One of the two predominantly African American crewed Navy ships from World War II,” he interrupts, eyes light. “No way!”

“Yes way,” Annabeth grins, unzipping her jacket. The midday sun beats down on them, the air sticky and heavy, and she needs this thing off, pronto. “And, there’s a ship that was supposedly the command post for the General Slocum disaster.” Not that she really knows what that is.

He whirls around. “The Abram S. Hewitt is there? Holy sh--”

His jaw drops. His eyes bug out.

Part two of his present was the ship graveyard. Part three is the outfit.

Annabeth, one hand on her hip, slings her jacket over her shoulder with the other, the leather hot against her bare skin. She has chosen to forgo a shirt entirely, wearing nothing but her nicest pair of black jeans with the thick suspenders and a shiny, red bra. And yes, she had Thalia touch up her hair, five inches of curls lopped off on one side, undercut sharp and severe.

“I thought we could have a picnic here,” she says, a smile curling her lips without her permission. “Then, if you want, we could do some light trespassing? See the ships up close?”

Percy swallows. He breathes in through his nose, shuddering. “Sure,” he whispers, hoarse. “Sounds good.”

Dropping to the ground like a rock, studiously not checking her out, Percy unpacks their picnic, laying out the blanket, something blue, old, but soft Annabeth had knitted in a fit of pre-finals’ anxiety in college. Annabeth had hinted the night before that he should make them some food, as no one could make a grilled cheese like Percy, and she sure as shit wasn’t going to buy them some prepackaged, tasteless garbage.

Percy’s sandwiches, just like the man himself, are stacked: thick, sourdough slices (which she suspects he made himself), bacon, turkey, apple, tomato, lettuce, avocado, mayo for her but none for him. She’d always been under the impression that dancers needed to watch what they ate, endlessly in pursuit of some unattainable ideal of beauty. Nope. Percy eats everything and anything he can get his hands on, high carb and high protein and high everything else. It makes sense, she guesses, for someone who basically has to bench their own body weight daily. Every inch of him is tailored for power and velocity, to propel him out of the grasp of gravity--rabbit food just isn’t going to cut it here.

Munching down, he maneuvers himself into a number of splits and stretches, unable to give up his routine for a single day. “When I was probably thirteen or fourteen,” he says, halfway through a tirade of reminiscence, “my dad took me and Triton and Kym to Cyprus, for some family bonding time.” He rolls his eyes. “You can probably imagine how well that went. Most of that trip was… well, Cyprus was definitely the best part. We went to Kyrenia Castle, which has this amazing museum that holds one of the oldest known ships in the world. Like, this thing was operational during the lifetime of Alexander the Great, and it sank about a mile away from the harbor.” He takes a heroic bite, chewing with his lips firmly shut.

“Cool.”

He swallows. “Very cool. I love really old ships, but you can imagine how few of those are still left, and not just because we haven’t found them.”

Annabeth feels her neck heating up, despite the shade they sit in. “Well, I hope these ones are old enough for you.”

“Oh, these are incredible--don’t get me wrong! I had no idea there was anything like this so close to home. Who needs Cyprus when you have Staten Island?” He grins, placing his sandwich down, throwing his arms in a stretch.

“I know it isn’t Tokyo or Moscow or anything…” she trails off, self-conscious even as she doesn’t actually ask the question that’s on her mind.

Shamefully, she has found that she still thinks about what Will had said at his apartment over a month ago at this point: Percy Jackson, boy toy of the rich and famous. But if she actually asks, it will make her look like some totally jealous girlfriend or something, like she honestly cares about Percy’s past sexual conquests.

She doesn’t care. She doesn’t.

He’s just led a really interesting life, and she wishes she could relate. That’s all.

“It’s not,” he agrees, bending his back with an audible pop. “It’s better.”

“Really? A little ship graveyard is better than the sites of Tokyo?”

“I didn’t see any sites in Tokyo,” he said. “Mostly just Mittie’s hotel room.”

“Mittie?”

Percy looks at his sandwich, suddenly very interested in the crust.

“She’s someone important, then?”

Silence.

Annabeth laughs to break the tension. “Okay, I'll bite--who’s Mittie? Another model?”

Taking a small bite of sandwich, he chews, methodical and deliberate. He swallows, clearing his throat. “Margherita Savoy.”

The name doesn’t ring a bell. “Who?”

“Princess Margherita Elisabetta of Sardinia.”

Her mouth drops open a little. “A princess?”

Percy shrugs. “Technically. The throne of Sardinia doesn’t exist anymore, obviously, but she’s big into the money and the titles and stuff.”

A princess. A fucking princess. “But she lets you call her Mittie.”

He looks a little constipated. “She didn’t… until she took me to Tokyo.”

“Oh,” she says. Because what else is there to say? She’s certainly no princess.

“She was nice,” Percy says, softly. “You know, eventually. Once we got to know each other.”

Her phone is hot in her pocket, like it’s preemptively searching Google for pictures of Margherita Elisabetta of Sardinia, downloading them all so Annabeth can scribble all over her face like a bad high school movie. “A pretender?” She scoffs, exaggeratedly, her fists tight against the grass. “Talk to me when you get a real princess.”

His ears go red. “Um…”

No way. “No fucking way.”

“Look, Eugenie was just kinda pissed when Triton broke up with her, and so she just thought that we’d have some fun.”

“Oh my god.” She says, looking at him in something like horror. And telling herself at least it wasn’t her distant cousin Madeleine.

“It was only for like a week or two,” Percy protests. “We went to a club in Berlin she knew Triton liked to go to so he would see us and get annoyed.”

“A princess dated you because she was pissed at your brother?”

“Only twice,” he says, casual, like any of this is normal and not absolutely insane. “Eleonore is one of Kym’s friends. And she’s technically, like, an archduchess, not a princess. But I don’t know. A couple of his other girlfriends wanted to get back at him, and I was in Europe and available, so we just…” He trails off. She can hear the ellipsis, hanging hot and heavy over them, each dot dropping like a stone. What is this, fucking Mamma Mia?

“When was the last time this happened?” she asks, not really wanting to hear the answer.

He rubs a hand over his mouth, gaze unfocused as he thinks. “Um… not since the week after Frank left, I think. Mittie wanted to go to Bora Bora but she didn’t want to go alone, you know?”

“No, I meant,” she pushes through as her stomach flutters, tight and uncomfortable, “girls using you to get back at your brother.”

His face falls, just a bit. “Oh. Last year, I guess.”

“Who was she?” And where is she so Annabeth can punt her off a building?

“Calypso Atlas.” He sighs, wistful, with more reverence than he had given any of the princesses, and Annabeth’s stomach flops, different from the flutter. Painful this time. “She actually liked me.”

“Everyone likes you,” she says, faintly. Maybe wearing the leather jacket is giving her heatstroke.

“You know, they really don’t. Not how it counts, anyway.” He picks at a blade of grass, rubbing it between his fingers. “Most of the girls who wanted to use me to get back at Triton only did it because they knew how much he liked to bitch about me--the ‘half-breed bastard.’” He rolls his eyes, huffs a laugh. “And even Kym’s friends didn’t actually like me. Like, yeah, they’d fly me all over with them, but they didn’t want to be seen with me. Mittie and I were on and off for years, and she gets photographed constantly. I’m not in any of them.”

Annabeth thinks she might actually be sick.

But he doesn’t stop. “It wasn’t so bad when they went around saying that I was a dancer with the Paris Opera, because I was, and I was proud of it. But it wasn’t… I don’t know. It wasn’t like with Frank, whose family does have a ton of money, but who only ever dated me because he liked me.” He picks another blade of grass, tearing it between his fingers. “Calypso, though. She was different.” And he smiles, a little.

“How?”

That smile grows wider. “She just called me one day, out of the blue, and very publicly asked me to be her date to Milan Fashion Week after she and Triton broke up and he immediately turned around and got engaged. She was super up front about it, didn’t try to sleep with me or anything, even though I know she was friends with some people and probably heard about my various talents.”

She knows exactly which talents he means. He winks at Annabeth, ironic and self-conscious, and she forces out a little laugh, as though the idea of him going down on someone else is charming.

“But then we actually had a good time together, and a few weeks later, she called me up again, and again, and again, until eventually she introduced me to her father--which was a hell of an experience, let me tell you. The Atlas family puts the Olympianides family to shame as far as dysfunction goes. But it was nice, in its own way; if I’d ever asked Mittie to introduce me to her dad, she’d have laughed in my face.”

“Sounds like you were pretty serious,” Annabeth manages.

“That was the problem.” He looks away, towards the sea. Always towards the sea. “She wanted to leave Paris, travel the world. And she wanted me to go with her.”

“To leave the Paris Opera?”

“To leave ballet entirely. I just…” He holds the silence for a moment, lost in the fog of reminiscence, the mist of possible futures long since dissipated. Sighing, he shakes his head. “I couldn’t do it. So, in March, she went to Dubai, and I started making calls back to New York.”

“You broke up with her this year?”

“She broke up with me,” he clarifies, turning back to her. “It was all very romantic. I always left my comp at the box office for her. She didn’t come to my show, but she showed up at the stage door the day before she was set to leave, telling me that she had an extra ticket with my name on it. I turned her down.” And then he looks her in the eye as he says, “I don’t regret it at all.”

She swallows, her face flushing, tongue numb as she searches desperately for something to say to that. “Atlas, you said her family was? It sounds familiar.”

“Oh, you’re probably thinking of Zoe Atlas,” Percy says, easing off for the moment. “You probably know about her because she and Thalia were archenemies in boarding school. Or maybe girlfriends? I have yet to get a straight answer.” Annabeth’s eyes nearly bug out of her head. Thalia, in boarding school? What? “But I like Zoe. She’s an activist, and absolutely hates her father. Like I said, there’s a lot of dysfunction. And she came to my first show way back when, and she wasn’t even weird when I dated her sister when we ran into each other in Paris. So that was nice.”

“She went to your first show?” What in God’s name is up with these one-percenter families? It’s like they all overlap in one big incestuous slurry. And as the daughter of the Chases and the Pallases, she tries not to think where she might fit into that.

“Thalia brought her. Her first not-date. It was Thalia’s first ballet ever, too. It… it meant a lot.”

“What show was it?”

He smiles, wistful. “The Nutcracker. I was one of the kids at Clara’s party. Most scared I’ve ever been. When I got out backstage after intermission, Thalia was waiting for me with my mom. She punched my shoulder, called me ‘Kelp Head,’ and told me I did great. Then I hugged her,” he says, snickering. “She punched me again.”

Annabeth laughs, huffing through her nose. “Good to see some things never change.”

“That’s our Thalia for you--looking out for everyone, even when it kills her inside.” He glances at her pointedly.

It’s her turn to share.

Annabeth’s mouth is dry, like sandpaper.

She grabs her backpack, pulling out a sketchbook and a pencil. Beside her, Percy sighs, deflating a little.

Annabeth flips open a new page, and starts drawing.

Each sketch delivers a challenge: bringing order to the whole through design, composition, tension, balance, light and harmony. Sometimes, buildings spring to life on the page, fully formed. Sometimes the page stays blank, an empty pencil.

Pencil to paper. Letting whatever wants to come out, come out. “My mom invited me to lunch one day,” she says. Her eyes follow the line of her pencil, ninety degree angles and symmetrical shapes. “I had moved to New York like six months before. Single girl, in the big city, to follow her dreams.” She’d gone to boarding school in New York before that, but it wasn’t the same as picking out her apartment and taking the train to the Manhattan skyscraper her office was held in. Sometimes she’d walk down the street, feeling like she was smack dab in the middle of Sex and the City, which she and Piper use to watch in secret, huddled under the covers in the dorms at Miss Minerva’s. “Unfortunately, my mom didn’t love my dreams.”

“She didn’t approve of anarchist architecture?”

Annabeth’s laugh is hollow. “She thought I should have been charting some new path in business for a woman. But not in a feminist way. In, like, a capitalist way. But architecture was not really negotiable for me. And once that became clear, she had her own expectations about that, too.”

Annabeth has always been a prideful know-it-all. If all her mother had wanted from her was ambition, they probably could have made it work. Annabeth wanted to reshape the skyline, she wanted her name on buildings that would last and impress.

But even Annabeth couldn’t do that in six months.

“She wanted the best schools, the best companies, the best projects.” She sighs. “I was lucky to find a job in New York that wasn’t just carrying coffee.” She had gotten a bigger offer from a more well-known firm where she had interned one summer, but it had been for an assistantship, heavy on the assistant. Her eventual Junior Architect label hadn’t been great, but it had been something, being a rising star at a smaller firm. It seemed like a good fit. “I did not make my mother proud. I… she lived in New York, and I lived with my dad all over.”

Percy frowns. “Your mom didn’t have custody of you?”

“My mom didn’t want custody of me,” she laughs, bitter. God, it feels weird to tell someone else this. Piper and Leo and Luke knew, obviously, but they had witnessed it all firsthand. Telling someone else, out of the blue… Well, Percy had divulged his tragic backstory without complaint. It’s only fair that she does as well. “I mean, my dad didn’t either. But when it became clear my mom wasn’t an option, well, there we were. He stepped up as best he could. That wasn’t always a lot, but when compared to my mother, he seems like a perfectly involved parent.”

“Are you trying to make my parental situation seem more reasonable?”

“Is it working?”

“If you ever meet my dad, we can compare notes.” He shudders at the thought, playfully. “So, what happened with your mom?”

“She made her displeasure known.” Annabeth sighs again, shading a corner. “I mean, she’s always made her displeasure known. I wasn’t getting good enough grades, I wasn’t in the right activities, I wasn’t going to get into the right school, yadda yadda yadda. But for a long time… I don’t know, it at least seemed like she was worried about me.” She thinks of the Eta party, of the man in the brown suit, tutting about Athena Pallas’s druggie daughter, and scowls. “My mother has always had an all or nothing outlook. If I wasn’t the best, I might as well be nothing. But the thing was, this time I thought I was making real progress. And when she invited me to lunch after six months in the same city, I thought she would see that.”

She had not. Because to Athena Pallas, having a daughter who was an architect instead of an executive Vice-President on her way to CEO, having a daughter at a small but growing architecture firm instead of the best one in the country, was like having a daughter who was drunk in a gutter somewhere.

And Annabeth had realized as much that lunch.

All her work was never going to earn her mother’s love.

And suddenly, she wasn’t sure what work had been her’s and what had been her mother’s ambitions.

She’d started crying. In the cafe and right now, on Staten Island, with Percy. “I’m sorry,” she sniffs, wiping her nose on her arm. “Wow, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He reaches over and wraps an arm around her, gently, rubbing her shoulder, and she more or less crumples into his side. “It’s fine. Take your time.”

Her arm, still free, keeps moving. The drawing takes a shape that she can’t quite name yet. A tree, maybe, in a box. A window to another world, possibly. She spills tears on the paper.

“She disowned me.” Her thin line trembles, before righting itself. “I ran out of there. I stumbled into the first tattoo parlor that didn’t smell like piss, and got my owl done.” She brandishes her left arm, the grey shape blurry and faded against her elbow. She had had a stuffed owl as a little girl, her protector against the spiders in the closet. “I cut off my hair, got my eyebrow pierced, found a club, and just… had a rough couple of days. Got really really drunk that night.” Like, too drunk. Crying on the floor of a filthy bathroom drunk. “Thalia found me under the bathroom sink, took me back to her place, helped me kick the hangover the next day, and that was that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” Annabeth says. And most of the time, she isn’t. She wipes her eyes, smudged makeup getting smudger.

“Your mom sounds like she sucks.”

“She does.”

“What about your dad?”

She sniffs. “What about him?”

“You just haven’t really mentioned him. What’s he like?”

Shrugging, she wipes a tear from her cheek. “He’s a history professor.”

“And?”

“That’s about it.”

“I mean, do you like him?”

She shrugs again. “Sure.” There was a lot to like about Frederick Chase. “I haven’t really spoken to him in a while.”

Mouth in a sympathetic twist, he brushes the curls from her eyes, a gesture so sweet it makes her heart pound. “You should call him,” he says. “I’m sure he misses you.”

Her phone burns in her pocket, heavy with the weight of unread texts. “Maybe.”

“Do you want to change the subject?” he asks.

“Please,” she blurts out, digging the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. “God, please. Let’s go back to your cute backstory. Tell me more about your first ballet. I want to hear all about the time you were in the Nutcracker.”

Percy fishes out a napkin from somewhere, handing it to her. Grateful, she blows her nose into it, wet and disgusting. “I hate to tell you this,” he says, “But I have been in the Nutcracker, like, fifteen times.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he nods, “It's the big moneymaker. Have you ever seen it?”

“It's a holiday classic,” she scoffs, a little wetly. “Of course I’ve seen it.”

He snorts. “Like, for real, or the recorded one they play on Netflix with Macaulay Culkin?”

“I've seen it live! My dad lived in San Francisco when I was in high school. They have a fancy ballet there.” She’d seen it as a little kid in NYC, she thought, too. Maybe when her parents were still married, or her mother was still willing to take her for Christmas.

“Would you be willing to see it again?”

“Like, for real,” she parrots back at him, “or the recorded one they play on Netflix?”

“Ha ha. I mean for real.”

“I mean… maybe if they switched things up a bit.”

“It's a classic!” He protests. “I mean, it isn’t like we do the Balanchine everywhere, every time. But… it's a classic.”

“I’m sure the dancing is fine.” Annabeth says. She remembers going with Luke in Boston and thinking it was nice, but also hoping Luke would kiss her at the end of the night, so she hadn’t really paid attention. “But they get to design a land of magic and sweets and fairies, and every time the costumes and the sets are just, like, pink glitter and white gauze mixed with weird racial stereotypes. There’s no imagination.”

“Well, okay then.” There’s something in his smile, in the turn of his head that she can’t quite identify. “What would you do?” he challenges.

She holds his gaze for a moment, looking into those eyes that almost reflect the color of the sea around them. Her eyes feel a little puffy still, but he doesn’t look away. Then, without breaking away, she flips open a new page in her sketchbook.

“Space,” she says. “It needs space.”

“Outer?”

“Negative. Lots of space for dancers to move around.” Her pencil scratches over the paper, familiar blocky shapes springing to life. Doric fluted columns split the wings, because of course. “It’s Christmas, so we want color: no sterile, snowy landscape. We know it’s all frozen over--we don’t need to see it again. Obligatory Christmas tree here,” she sketches a crude triangle off to one side, approximately along the golden ratio, “and a big fireplace in the center, preferably a functional one.”

“You know there was this dancer in the nineteenth century that died because her costume caught fire, yeah?”

Annabeth tilts her head, capitulating. “Fair point. We’ll raise it up on a pedestal, keep it out of the way.” She draws a little platform beneath it. “But color is key.” Up above, she draws a pediment crowning the proscenium. She scribbles in the empty space, a placeholder. “Everyone knows the story, so you lay it out up here, episodes merging into each other from start to finish.”

Percy peers down at her page, his chin perilously close to resting on her shoulder. She can’t draw like that. “Kind of reminds me of the Parthenon.”

“You’ve been?”

He nods, his hair tickling the side of her face. “Couple of times. I thought you said you wanted color, though. The Parthenon’s all white, isn’t it?”

“Not originally,” she says. “Do they not explain that on the tours?”

“Um…” Sheepish, he looks away. “I, uh, I’m not always great at listening.”

God. It’s so endearing. What the hell. She kisses him on the cheek, enjoying the way he flushes lightly. “Me either.” He is so fucking handsome. “But no, the original Parthenon, all those white statues, they were painted. Ergo, color.”

He blinks, momentarily stunned. “Wouldn’t--uh, wouldn’t that distract from the dancers? People would just be staring at the ceiling.”

“Then… it’s only lit up before and after the show. During the show, you turn the lights down, bring the focus back down onto the stage.” She considered it. Something she’d worked on for a production once, a fashion show Piper had done at Pratt. “Or, you set it up so the colors are mostly lights. Lights that shine through during the snowflake dance and when Clara rides off with the prince. But then you also get the white for the frosted look. But, they’re still too pink, so I don’t think some color variety is bad.”

“So, not to kill your vibe,” Percy says, pulling back a bit, “but I gotta say, I don’t see how this is that different from the billion other Nutcrackers out there.”

She glares, lips pursed. He’s trying so hard not to laugh. Dick. “The set is only half the problem,” she says. “You'd need to redesign the costumes, too.”

“Tell you what. Why don’t you come see my show in December, and then you can tell me all about how you’d fix it.”

“Me and every tourist in New York at Christmas time?”

He nods, like he was expecting it. “Then come to my current one. September isn’t Christmas, so it’ll be a lot less crowded.”

“I don’t know,” she grimaces, sketching a star in the corner of the page. “I don’t really think I’d fit--'' Fit in with those people like the ones from the Eta awards, who thought not being her mother’s lackey was the same as being in rehab.

“Annabeth.” Percy takes her drawing hand, lifting it off the page entirely. The pencil is caught between them, an ineffectual barrier to the sweet, rubbing thumb on the mound of her palm. “I want you to come to my show. I’ll leave you a ticket. No one will care what you look like, I promise.” He stares at her, baby seal eyes in full effect.

Fuck.

“As long as you leave me a ticket,” she says, weakly. “I mean, I wouldn’t be able to afford a good seat.” The lie slips out, easy as anything. She can’t help it.

He smiles, soft and warm and way too inviting. “And in the meantime,” he says, softly, you can come with me tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“I’m going to my parents’ for dinner. It’ll be just my mom, Paul, and my sister. They’d love to meet you.”

“I can’t,” she replies, immediately, almost without thinking. “I’ve got--I’ve got work to do.”

She doesn’t. But boys don’t bring girls like Annabeth home anymore. She isn’t meant to settle down. She’s meant for grimy bars and ship yards. She'll leave it to the princesses to be brought home.

He deflates, just the slightest bit. If she hadn’t had so much up and personal time with his naked chest and the movement of his shoulders, she probably would have missed it. “Maybe next time, then?”

“Yeah,” she agrees, not entirely certain if she means to follow through. “Maybe next time.”

#ballet au #percabeth #pjo #the rivalry ends here #darkmagyk #perseannabeth #byima #uhhh whoever else #my fic #pjo fic #look at them having a real conversation and then immediately blowing it

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candycityy · 3 years ago

Text

waltz

Synopsis: He'd chase her to hell itself, and beyond, if he had to. Greek mythology/PJO-inspired reincarnation AU.

[Click here to read on AO3 instead.]

The first time, Levi dies quietly, in his sleep.

He does not go out in fire and fury; it is a peaceful death, one he goes into with grey in his temples and sickness in his blood, unbecoming of humanity's strongest soldier. But Levi has never been a hero. Never wanted to.

He wakes to the gentle, rocking motion of a sailboat. It's dark, cavernous, but there is no ceiling as far as he can see, only steep walls of grey rock that stretch into the sky, lined with candle sconces that curve upwards and throw eerie blue light onto the dew-slicked surfaces.

He moves to sit up. His head spins, his consciousness threadbare and fragmented. When he glances over the edge of the boat, he sees a strange reflection in the black water.

It's him, but...different. Paler, younger, gaunter. The ghostly light casts shadows that pool in the hollows of his cheekbones and underneath his eyes, making him look almost skeletal.

Appropriate, he supposes, considering he's dead.

The figure that sits silently at the other end of the boat smiles, a flash of white, pointed teeth in a silhouetted face. "Levi Ackerman," it pronounces. Its voice is soft but grating, like its vocal cords are made of rusted iron instead of soft flesh. "I finally meet you. It's an honour."

"More than I can say for you." His voice is unnaturally loud, bouncing off the rock and echoing into the silence. "Am I supposed to know who the fuck you are?"

"I am Charon." It inclines its head, and Levi catches a flash of its eyes; they're the same strange blue-grey as the flames that light the cave. "You don't know me, but I know you. Oh, if I could count all the times I've heard that name on the lips of the newly-dead...as if you were a demon, or a god."

When Levi doesn't respond, Charon continues, its conversational tone clashing with the rasp of its voice. "But now that I see you here, as dead as any of your soldiers, I see you are no more than simply human."

The boat bumps roughly against the shore. In the distance, a city emerges, like magic, from the darkness. It glows with a warm light, delicate towers of glass rising up into the sky, which is already lightening into a soft, clear blue. As Levi watches, the grey rock of the shore metamorphoses into an endless, rolling green field, blades of grass shifting and swaying in a nonexistent breeze.

"Your fare?" Charon extends a bloodless, expectant hand. Levi stares back uncertainly.

"What?"

"There is always a price to pay, to cross over into death." Charon's withered lips curve into a smirk. "Blood, or wealth, or sorrow...and in your case, that." It nods at his clenched fist.

He uncurls his fingers, revealing a tattered soldier's patch, torn from their uniform, embroidered with the emblem of blue and white wings he thought he'd never see again. It sits among a sea of red, crescent-shaped imprints, carved into pale flesh.

Before Levi can react, the ferryman reaches over and plucks it from his open palm. In its skeletal grasp, the patch shrinks and changes, turning into a single heavy, gold coin.

Charon stands up, its spine curving into a low, mocking bow.

"Welcome to Elysium, Levi Ackerman. I wish you a pleasant death."

Levi doesn't remember much about his death.

He'd died in bed, he thinks—he remembers the sharp, acrid scent of medicine and disinfectant, the way the illness crept into his bloodstream, making his bones brittle and his lungs constrict. But already, his time on earth is becoming a distant memory, colours and textures and emotions once cast in sharp detail softening into a sighing, distant grey.

Such is the spell of Elysium, he hazily guesses. The pain of life has no place in paradise, and his life has been so little apart from pain. Some memories remain, though, either unable or unwilling to be pried from his mind—a strange, lilting lullaby in a language he doesn't recognise. The crisp aroma of fresh tea leaves. Hair the colour of a sunset, a shifting mass of reds and golds. A name.

He struggles to remember, and fails.

The ground is soft, unresisting, under the crunch of his boots, and Levi isn't sure if it's been minutes or years when he finally steps onto dry sand. When he looks up, he's engulfed by the radiance of the golden city—Elysium.

"Welcome, hero." The woman that appears before him smiles. She is undeniably beautiful, and yet not quite right; there is something unnatural, inhuman, to the curve of her mouth and the brightness in her cerulean gaze. Her white dress drapes her every curve and flows to the ground, gossamer-like and almost liquid. A closer look reveals that it is constructed entirely of tiny white flower petals, stitched together with a silky, translucent thread—spiderwebs, he realises with an inward shudder.

"I am Persephone, queen of the Underworld, goddess of spring." She lifts a hand, and a sighing, heady breeze envelopes her, making her hair and dress ripple. "Levi Ackerman—I must admit, I expected you much sooner."

"Sorry to disappoint," he says flatly. "Although, you can't really blame me for trying my damned best to avoid, you know. Dying."

"Well, no matter." She lifts an elegant shoulder, in a guise of a shrug. "You're here now. I'm delighted to welcome you into my realm."

She spreads her arms in a dramatic gesture, and the otherworldly light coming off her intensifies to an almost blinding degree. He winces wordlessly. "Could you turn that goddess thing off?"

"Hmm." Persephone casts him a thoughtful look, and then smiles, catlike. "Maybe you'd prefer this, instead, then?"

As he watches, her statuesque form shrinks until the top of her head reaches just below his eye-level. Her elaborate crown of braids, as pale gold as a wheatfield, softens and falls to her collarbone, and darkens into a honeyed copper. Her features blur and bubble over, revealing amber eyes and a too-familiar smile.

The elusive name—he forgot, how could he forget?—is torn from his throat, a ragged whisper. "Petra."

The word is a hook, tugging to the surface a lifetime of memories, and all at once, he remembers.

The first time he'd seen her, she'd been participating in a titan drill. She'd swept through the air like quicksilver, tumbling past her comrades in a graceful choreography of movement, silvered blades like deadly extensions of her slender arms. But far more arresting was the look in her eyes: her amber irises set ablaze from within, bright with ferocity and triumph.

She'd been the first person in the Survey Corps who'd ever been kind to him; who'd looked him straight in the eye and spoke honestly, defiantly. Levi doesn't know exactly when, but she'd cut a hole into his chest with that warm, reticent smile. And for the first time since he was nine years old, he'd allowed himself to be weak.

An initially uneasy truce had grown into a comfortable companionship, and after months of push-and-pull, polite banter turned into shared moments in the corridors, and evening tea sessions turned into late nights spent in his office, fingers intertwined underneath the table.

And he remembers, with startling clarity, the day he'd been walking in a Sina marketplace and found that silver ring, set with a stone the exact colour of her eyes. He remembers how it'd seemed to burn a hole in his pocket after he bought it, day after day, week after week. Impatient. Demanding.

It'd burned all the more when he'd found her that day, sprawled against the tree, her neck thrown back at a grotesque angle, empty eyes trained at the sky.

"So you do prefer this." The goddess who is not Petra smiles, cold and otherworldly, and the expression looks desperately wrong on her face. "How terribly unsurprising. Humans are all the same, in every age and time...I suppose even being humanity's strongest wouldn't change a thing."

"Is she here?" is all he manages to say. Persephone waves a slender white hand, carelessly.

"Perhaps, perhaps not," she drawls. "But we are not here to talk about your long-lost love, Levi Ackerman. We are here to talk about you, and that all the wildest desires that your fragile little soul can muster." Her lip curls. "You are in Elysium. What is your heart's desire, hero? What do you ask of paradise?"

"Isn't that your job, to figure that out?" he shoots back. She sighs.

"Well, yes, I suppose. I'd hoped you would be different, but you seem just as human as the rest." She pronounces the word in a manner similar to the ferryman, with a kind of amused scorn. "For most humans, it's either love and power—only two things satiate them."

Her ageless green eyes seem to pierce him like knives. "Which do you want, Levi Ackerman? What drives you?"

Kenny once said, everybody needs to be a slave to something. A god, a drug, something to be drunk on, to keep the air circulating through their lungs and to force them to wake up day after hellish day.

Levi doesn't agree. He'd lived years and years without anything, after all; a shell of a man driven by pure survival instinct, by the sheer virtue of a heart that refused to stop beating, all the way until it did.

But Petra had been different. She'd believed in the old stories, the ones in the countryside hymns she used to sing. Of a purpose, a meaning, something greater. Sometimes she'd close her eyes, her lips moving in a soundless prayer, and he'd close his eyes as well and wish with all his heart to believe, too.

He looks straight at the goddess. "Nothing," he replies, truthfully.

Persephone laughs, a too-perfect, bell-like sound, that is so utterly unlike Petra's that it sounds nearly obscene coming from her lips. "Oh, you are just delightful, hero. You're telling the truth, aren't you? That's adorable. And yet—this girl," she gestures down at herself, "I saw her at the top of your mind. Your biggest regret, isn't she, Levi Ackerman?"

He grits his teeth. "So what if she is?"

"She is not here, hero." Persephone smiles, her pale irises alight with an icy glee, and for a second, a wave of cold dread crashes over him—could she have ended up anywhere else? No, she was a soldier, brave to the end. She couldn't have.

"Not anymore. You're too late." An exhale of relief—she had made it here, after all. "Petra has chosen a different path, to be reborn again, and to try for the Isles of the Blessed."

"The what now?"

"It is a paradise above all," she explains airily. "To reach it, you must live and die thrice, and each time reach such heights of heroism or courage that so suffice to earn you entry into Elysium."

Levi exhales, a low hiss escaping his teeth. Of course she would have—she was always so restless, so fierce, a caged bird striving constantly for the sky. She could never stay in one place, never settle down into comfort and domesticity. Elysium would never have been enough for the girl with fire in her eyes and an unquenchable thirst for more.

"What will you do?" She surveys him with her cool, immortal gaze. It rankles him.

"I'm going, too." He straightens, fixes her with a a cold glare. Persephone cants her head to the side, her expression shifting to something akin to amusement.

"Then, will you give up Elysium to follow this girl?" She waves a hand, and the city's glow reaches almost blinding heights, forcing him to turn his gaze away.

"How much does she mean to you, hero? In this city wait so many who you know and love, who have yearned to see you. Your men, who gave up their lives for you. Your friends, who rode with you to their deaths. Your mother, your own flesh and blood.

"Petra Ral has the spirit of a warrior," she adds, almost conversationally. "Do you, Levi Ackerman? You, with your heart that has ever only wanted peace and comfort?” Her lips twist, mocking. “Or is your heroism a mere product of your circumstances? Do not expect to be blessed with Ackerman blood again, this time. And if you fail—you will never see any of your loved ones again."

Some paradise.

"Do I have to make this decision now? Don't suppose I could stop to sightsee first?" His words are gelid but his tone is raw—not that he'd fool the goddess either way, he supposes.

"Of course not. That wouldn't be any fun," she goes, with that chilling bell-like laugh that makes his hair stand on end. He hesitates.

He thinks of Isabel, that trusting, childlike gleam in her eyes. Furlan, arms folded, leaning against the doorframe with that knowing smirk ghosting over his lips. His mother, singing him lullabies in the dark of the brothel. Erwin, who he'd told, in no uncertain terms, to give up his dreams and die.

And Levi knows it isn't there—he'd slid it onto the finger of her corpse, all those years ago, and it'd be little more than tarnished metal against bleached white bone by now—but he feels the phantom heat of the ring in his pocket, scorching hot. No regrets.

He's never had a single regret, except for her.

Levi lifts his head, and meets the goddess's gaze, unfaltering. Decisive. "I'm going."

"If you wish. But know this, hero." Her voice seems to thunder through the city. "If you succeed, upon your third death you may enter the Isles and live a life of eternal bliss.

"But, if you fail to reach Elysium even a single time." Persephone's eyes gleam with a predatory eagerness, "you are doomed to spend eternity in whatever realm you are sentenced to. The light of paradise will be barred to you...forever."

Talk about dramatic.

"Get on with it, then," he almost spits. It figures, it really does, that even in death, he wouldn't get a second of fucking peace.

Persephone casts him a quelling look. He ignores it. With a roll of her eyes, she waves a hand, and immediately, the glow of the city begins to crumble away, even the sand beneath his feet, and he feels himself fall. An incredible wind rises, and he finds himself being shoved backwards, the fields and the cavern roaring in his ears.

"As a final gift to you, hero..." The goddess's teeth flash tauntingly in the fading light, like pearls set against ebony. "I grant you memory."

The last thing he sees is the glint of cruel delight in her eyes.

#rivetra #levi ackerman x petra ral #i was reading madeline miller's circe and it reminded me of this fic which never materialised #much to my FRUSTRATION #candycity writes #levi ackerman #petra ral

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bluesylveon2 · 4 years ago

Text

My My, I Could Never Let You Go

Summary: Sasha Zoe just wants her dad to walk her down the aisle. There is only one problem: she doesn't know who her dad is! Sasha invites 3 men in hopes of finding out which one is her father. What could possibly go wrong?

Pairings: Levi x Hange, Sasha x Niccolo, and other background relationships

Disclaimer: This is a Levihan Mamma Mia au. This fanfic is inspired by Mamma Mia which is directed by Phyllida Loyd, written by Catherine Johnson, and uses music from the pop group ABBA. Attack on Titan is a manga/anime series written by Hajime Isayama and published by Kondasha

A/N: Sorry for the wait! I had many tests and essays within the past two weeks. One of them sounds like a tragic fanfic backstory (Sorry Armin. He was in it lol)

Need to catch up? Catch up here!

Ch 6: Our Last Summer

After Hange leaves the goat house

Sasha and her friends waited a few minutes after Hange left to make sure the coast was clear. She gave her friends the signal to get out of their hiding spots after a few minutes had passed.

"Was the 'throwing me in a barrel' really necessary, Annie?," Hanami complained as she rubbed her sore head.

"You were taking too long getting in the barrel, and I didn't want us to get caught by Hange. Sorry about that," Annie replied cooly and got out of the barrel. She turns around to help Hanami get out.

"Well, at least it got the job done" Hitch jokes as she left her spot behind a crate with Mina.

Historia laughs at her friend's conversation. She was lucky enough to hide alone.

While this was going on, Mikasa was busy helping Sasha get out of the barrel and fixing everything in the barn to look normal.

Sasha zoomed out of the barn to find her fathers as soon as Historia fixed the final piece back to where it belonged.

Everyone sweatdropped, especially Mikasa and Historia.

Looks like we're going running again after all

---

“Sasha! Wait!” Mina yells. Sasha was running like her life depended on it (which it did, in a way). She was tired and exhausted, but Sasha’s adrenaline was too high to stop running. Sasha didn’t know which exact pier her fathers were in, so she was determined to check every pier Kalokairi had.

She couldn't stop thinking about how this happened. How was there a flaw in her plan? The plan was for her and her friends to wait until her fathers walked past them and jump them before her mom caught them. She didn't think far ahead of where to dispose of the bodies. Probably somewhere in Mike's yacht. Sasha also wanted to slap herself. They must have left through the window or through the hatch on the roof! No wonder they managed to leave without Sasha noticing!

Luckily for Sasha, it only took two piers to finally spot Mike's yacht. There was only one ship nearby and three male figures on it. Sasha had an 80% chance of being right, and it increased the closer she got.

"Wait!" Sasha yells at the trio. She prayed it was her father's, or else she yelled at total strangers. She noticed how her father's changed their outfits to suit the hot weather. Erwin wore a long sleeve polo shirt rolled up to his elbows with the first button open and shorts. Mike kept the same shorts on but was shirtless to show off his muscles. Levi was also dressed similarly to Erwin, except he unbuttoned his shirt all the way to show off his abs. None of the men seemed to notice Sasha’s call.

Sasha stopped running once there was no pier left to run on.

Fine, she thought in her head. I have no choice but to swim. Thank goodness for Hitch's beach day idea, or else she would’ve been doomed.

Sasha turned to her friends. It seems as if they read her mind based on the shocked looks on their faces.

"If Niccolo or any of the guys asks about my whereabouts, give them a random location, but not the beach. Send them on a wild goose chase if you have to."

"But what about our plans for today?" Hitch exclaimed, referring to why everyone had their swimsuits on.

Sasha took her clothes off, leaving her in only her swimsuit. She hands her clothes to the nearest person, Historia. "We'll move it to tomorrow!" She yells back and jumps into the water. Sasha starts swimming to the yacht.

The girls could only watch with shock as their friend swam away. Historia, who got over her's first, clears her throat to get everyone's attention.

"C'mon girls. We got a job to do."

---

Levi was the first to hear Sasha swimming towards the yacht.

"Oi! Sasha is heading over here!" He points out to Erwin and Mike to get their attention. Erwin and Mike look at where Levi was pointing and headed over to meet up with Sasha.

"Were gonna sail around the island. Wanna come? I could use more hands since I let my friend explore the island" Mike yells.

"I thought you weren't coming to my wedding?" Sasha yells back as she swims nears the yacht.

"Well, Four-Eyes wanted us to leave, so we decided to get out of her hair," Levi says with monotone. He, Erwin, and Mike kneel down to pick up Sasha from the water.

Huh, Sasha thought. Levi never used Four-Eyes in front of her before. That was news to her. She always hears everyone refer to her mom as Hange and never any nicknames.

(Levi only referred to Hange at first out of respect to Sasha. He is letting it slide more now that first impressions are over.)

"You're mom freaked out when she saw us? What was that about?" Erwin asked once Sasha was on the yacht. He hands her a towel to dry herself off.

"No!" She replied hastily. "She's just not thinking straight! She's been so stressed about the wedding. Things like decorations, food-"

Sasha stops rambling when Mike holds his hand out as a sign to tell her to slow down. She turned red out of embarrassment much to Mike's amusement. Sasha reminded Mike of Hange. Once Hange starts talking, she won’t stop even after the sunset.

She clears her throat. "Sorry. What I meant to say was my mom would be so happy to see you all as her surprise tomorrow!"

"You think so?" Levi asks skeptically.

"Mhm" was all Sasha says and takes a look at her surroundings. She has been on sailboats a few times. Mostly to travel between the mainland and Kalokairi. She would go when she and her friends rented a boat to explore the island or party. Sasha looks at Mike’s yacht in awe. She wants to buy one day to explore different parts of Greece with her friends and Niccolo. As Sasha was amazed by what she saw, she noticed something that definitely didn’t belong in Erwin’s arms.

"You took Mom's guitar."

Erwin stops tuning it to look up at Sasha. It was a simple classical guitar to Sasha’s eyes, but it held more meaning to Erwin.

“I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it. See-” He turns over the guitar to show Sasha there was more than what she originally thought. Engraved on the wood were the letters H.Z and E.S. “-Hange Zoe and Erwin Smith.”

Sasha’s opened her mouth in shock. Meanwhile, Levi and Mike just glanced at each other. They didn’t expect that out of Erwin.

Erwin notices everyone’s faces and chuckles. “Contrary to popular belief, I actually know how to play the guitar,” he says as if he can read everyone’s minds. “I bought her this guitar here on the island actually. There was once a shop here, but it is long gone now. I know because I checked when I arrived.” he adds solemnly.

Sasha sits down next to Erwin as he started plucking the strings to see if it was tuned. He starts playing it once he was satisfied with the sound. Sasha, interested in listening, sat with her legs crossed and rested her left elbow on her left knee. Sasha’s head rested on her fist as Erwin played.

Levi and Mike still stood nearby awkwardly watching the two. The two looked at each other with mutual understanding and left Erwin and Sasha to bond as they prepared the yacht to set sail.

---

“So what was my mom like?” Sasha randomly asks. Her mom's diary only showed one side of her story. Hearing from her fathers introduces a new perspective.

Erwin chuckles just thinking about Hange. “She’s a very happy and intelligent woman. Her smile was very contagious, and it can make anyone’s day.”

Sasha smiles at Erwin’s words. “What is your fondest memory of her?” she asks out of curiosity.

Erwin ponders on Sasha’s question. There were a few minutes of silence before Erwin looks down at the guitar on his lap fondly.

---

"Can I open my eyes now?" Hange asks for the fifth time since they left her house. She was beginning to lose her patience, and she was too excited for the surprise.

"Not yet." Erwin laughs at Hange’s excitement.

“Is it a new book?” Hange guesses as she walks blindly to wherever Erwin was leading her.

“No” Erwin chuckles and continues leading Hange to who knows where.

Hange can feel the surface shift under her sandals as she walked. She could tell Erwin was guiding her on the beach based on the unstable sand, the wind blowing on her sundress, and the sound of waves crashing the shore. Apparently, Erwin had a big surprise for her, and they only knew each other for 3 days! He gave Hange a cloth that morning and instructed her to tie it around her eyes. Of course, Erwin made sure to take off Hange’s glasses first and put them in his shirt pocket before proceeding with his plan. Erwin has been guiding Hange by the shoulders for a while now. Hange wonders what the surprise was.

Suddenly, Erwin stops moving, and Hange follows along. She feels Erwin’s hands moving to untie the cloth around his head. Hange flinched as the sunlight hit her eyes. She felt Erwin gently grab her hand and places her glasses on her palm. Hange puts her glasses back on and waits a bit for her eyes to adjust.

"Surprise, Hange." She hears softly behind her and looks down. Hange starts tearing up.

In front of her was a big blanket full of food, drinks, and neatly placed towels that looked like it was set up for a picnic. There was a brown classical guitar in the center. The same guitar Hange kept staring at for the past few days. She never bought it because she didn't know anyone who could teach her.

Hange put her hands over her mouth in shock as her tears became more prominent now.

Erwin smiles at Hange’s reaction. He takes one of her hands away from her mouth and guides her to sit down next to him. He picks up the guitar and sets it down on his lap.

"H-how did you know? Erwin, I'm truly grateful for this, for everything really, but…" Hange was too shocked to even talk. "I'm speechless."

"I work spontaneously.” Erwin jokes, “In reality, I asked a few people to help set this up. You know the couple who were selling the guitars?"

Hange nods. She wasn’t getting over her shock just yet.

“Well, their children helped me set this up for you. I've noticed you eyeing this guitar for quite some time now.” Erwin continues and gestures to everything laid out in front of her.

“Do you like it?" He asks although he knew the obvious answer based on Hange’s expression.

“Like it? I love it! Thank you! Thank you!” Erwin quickly puts the guitar away before Hange could accidentally hits it as she jumped on him. She wraps her arms around his neck and rests her head on his shoulder. Erwin wraps his arms around Hange to hug her back.

“Thank you.” She says softly next to his ear. Erwin smiles “You’re welcome, Hange.”

Hange pulls away from the hug to look at Erwin’s face, her arms still wrapped around his neck. Suddenly, she leaned forward and kissed Erwin on the lips. Erwin felt like he was dreaming and kisses Hange back. Oh my goodness, he is whipped for her! This was the first time they kissed since they had met. He wanted to thank God personally for giving him a chance with Hange.

Hange pulls away from the kiss to look at Erwin’s blue eyes that held love to the woman in front of him. Her eyes had the same emotion too. Both of them had goofy smiles on their faces. Her eyes wander over to the guitar laying next to Erwin. She gasps. “You know how to play? Can you teach me?”

Erwin smiles at Hange’s excitement. “Of course,” he said. Hange leans over to Erwin to pick up the guitar. She starts plucking random combinations of strings and going on about how he should’ve got it engraved.

Their kiss was the pivotal point of their relationship. Erwin, for the first time since starting his career, felt relaxed being around Hange.

---

Sasha was grinning from ear to ear after hearing Erwin’s story. She thought it was cute after hearing how her mom reacted to receiving the guitar. She could recall the times her mom taught her how to play the exact guitar Erwin held in his lap.

“I’m going to be honest with you Sasha.” Sasha perks up after Erwin spoke. He looks up at the sky and curves his upwards into a small smile. He turns to face Sasha with the same smile on his face. “I’m thankful for you inviting me here. Experiencing all of this-” He gestures to the space around them. “-makes me realize what I am missing out on in life. Thank you for that. You’re a good daughter, and I know you make Hange proud.”

Sasha smiled back. She would never expect that from one of her potential fathers. Maybe it’s a sign? She prays her mom would be proud of her during her wedding day. The day her family will be reconnected again.

They continue talking and sharing a few stories until Mike walks up to the pair. He cleared his throat to get their attention. “Hey, Sasha. Do you mind sharing some sites around the island? You’re the most familiar one out of all with the island.”

Sasha nodded. “Sure.” She stands up to look around her surroundings. She wasn’t paying much attention to where the yacht was sailing through during Erwin’s story.

She scanned her surroundings until she notices a familiar cliff she and her friends like to go cliff jumping on. Sasha points to the area and turns to Mike.

“I know a stop.”

---

“Is this safe?” Levi asks. Levi was thankful that Hange didn’t force him to engage in cliff jumping. The cliff itself was 20 feet. Levi watches as the waves crash onto the cliff below them. It seems as if his luck of cliff jumping ran out after meeting Sasha. She’s definitely Hange’s daughter.

Sasha gave Levi a big grin. “Of course! My friends and I used to jump off this very same cliff all the time!”

Erwin and Mike smirked.

“Of course it is, Levi. You just have to not think about it.”

“I’ve jumped from higher cliffs before. This one isn’t that tall. Just like you. Shorty.”

Levi glared at Mike as if that would wipe the smirk off of Mike’s face. Mike was lucky he was not standing next to him. Sasha was trying hard not to laugh too much and risk loosening her grip with Erwin and Levi.

“On the count of three!” Sasha started swinging her arms a bit. “One… Two... Three!” she yells and jumps off the cliff. The others following as they were jumping and falling at the same time as her.

Yep. She is definitely Hange’s daughter.

---

The group sailed around the island some more before taking a break near the coast. They were sitting under a tree and eating some food Gelgar had made before leaving the yacht to Mike. Sasha wore one of Mike’s shirts to keep her warm after swimming earlier.

“Who’s Gelgar?” Sasha interrupts Mike while eating her umpteenth sandwich within the fifteen minutes since the group started eating.

Mike swallows the food in his mouth before answering. “He’s a friend I met while traveling around Europe years ago. He’s also the one to watch over my yacht when I’m away. He mostly uses it to sail around the Mediterranean anyway. I trust him. I get the satisfaction of knowing my yacht is safe while I’m on the other side of the world. Gelgar has something he can use to visit other countries and drink the number of drinks he wants. It’s a win-win situation.”

Sasha nods in understanding. It seems like a fun idea to go travel around and see the world. She wants to do that one day. Oh, the number of foods she could eat! It made Sasha’s mouth water.

Erwin chuckles at Sasha as she continues to eat more food. She’s like Hange, who is hungry for knowledge, except Sasha is actually hungry.

The group starts sharing stories after they finish eating. This time it was Sasha’s turn to answer the questions.

“So what was your childhood like with Four-Eyes?” Levi asks. He leans forward a bit from where he sat.

Sasha was quiet for a bit to think. She was unsure where to start. She looks up to find everyone staring at her. The look of their eyes reassures her they didn’t want her to rush the story.

“Well, I lived alone here on the island with my mom until I was 2. My mom had hired her current assistant, Moblit, to help her around the hotel and babysit me when I was young. Remember the tunnel I lead you through to get to the goathouse?”

The men nod.

“That was only one of the tunnels I would hide from Moblit and sneak food in as he searched for me.” Sasha laughs nervously and rubs the back of her head. “Moblit is a nice and reliable guy. I don’t know where my mom and I would be without him.”

Erwin and Mike smile. On the other hand, Levi was jealous of this Moblit guy. He got to see some of Sasha’s milestones growing up. It’s no secret to Levi’s family that Levi dreams of raising a family (with the right woman that he loves. Not someone who he is forced to love). He did a good job watching over Farlan and Isabel’s kids. Plus, his mother wanted her son to give her a grandchild someday.

Erwin, as if reading Levi’s mind, spoke. “Is your mother dating Moblit?”

Sasha laughs out loud that she had to hold her stomach for support. “Definitely not!” she says as she wipes a tear from her eye. “Moblit is too concerned with mom hurting herself and fixes the hotel. Mom is too busy trying to keep the hotel afloat and raise me! Trust me, those two would put dating each other as the last thing on their minds.”

Sasha continues on and on about her childhood after she calmed down. She talks about how she met her current friends, how she used to run track, her first boyfriend, Hange’s shenanigans, her current friends, her love for food, and her fiance.

Levi notices how she never brought up the archery medals.

"Sasha," Levi calls out to get her attention. Sasha turns to face Levi. "I noticed the archery medals in the attic. When did you start competing?"

Sasha facepalms. How could she forget something like that?! She places her hands on her lap. "My mom had mentioned it one day when I was 6, and I begged her to find someone to teach me. She managed to find someone on the mainland who gave me private lessons on the weekends. In fact-"

Sasha rolls up her sleeve on her right arm to show off her arms. The males noted Sasha's muscles. She's athletic after all. "-I was pretty much a natural at it. I picked it up really quickly, and I’m a talented hunter. I can even hit a target with my eyes closed!" She starts flexing her right arm and smirks. "I'm a tough person to mess with."

Erwin was impressed. It seems as if he judged Sasha a bit too soon. She was hungry to learn new skills such as archery. Meanwhile, Levi kept staring at Sasha and analyzing what she said. Her talent almost reminded Levi of himself. His Uncle Kenny used to train him with how to fight with a knife (Kuchel almost had a heart attack when she saw them practicing one day. Kenny claimed it was for self-defense.) Levi was a fast learner and is skilled with knives and guns. Levi shook his head to stop thinking about it. Maybe he's just looking too deep into this? Nevertheless, he kept the thought in the back of his mind.

Mike smiles at Sasha’s challenge. He raises up his right arm and starts flexing. "Me too Sasha. Me too." He says as he looks at Sasha’s eyes. They were challenging each other in a staring contest.

Almost two minutes passed when Mike gave in and blinked. Sasha let a loud whoop and jumped up and down with glee. Erwin clapped for Sasha’s victory, while Levi awkwardly pats Mike's back for reassurance. He's not that much of an asshole.

"Ok ok. You win Sasha. Now, what do you want?"

Sasha makes an L with her left hand and rests her chin on it. Her left arm was resting on her right arm that she placed across her stomach. She taps her foot as she was thinking.

"Hmmm, what about you tell me a story about you and my mom? Also your views of her."

Mike looks at Erwin and Levi expectedly. Levi shrugs, and only Erwin speaks up. "She asked me the same question before." His mouth opens in an o with realization. Looks like it's his turn to share his story.

"Well your mom is energetic and the most intelligent woman I've ever met. She contributed to my decision of becoming a travel writer."

---

“Everything is all set, Hange.” Mike adjusts his outfit to make himself look presentable to Hange. He wore a pair of jeans he rolled up, a T-shirt, and sandals. To him, he looked like nothing compared to Hange. She wore jean shorts, a flowy long-sleeve blouse that showed off her shoulders, and flip-flops.

Hange was excited about her lesson with Mike. She had asked him if she can go sailing with Mike after their first night of stargazing. Hange was hoping to at least steer the wheel once. Mike walks up to Hange. She was steadily holding onto the wheel of the yacht. The afternoon sunlight gave Hange a glow around her figure. The wind was perfect for sailing.

Hange had a huge grin on her face. She couldn’t hide her excitement, and she was interested in learning about sailing and the mechanics behind it. Mike had promised to teach her about steer first before going into the complicated parts of sailing. Hange struck a pose when Mike stood next to her. He held something behind his back and out of Hange’s view.

“How do I look? Do I look like a captain yet?”

Mike laughs at Hange’s question. She looked far from a captain with her outfit.

“You don’t look the part but-” Mike moves his arms from behind his back to reveal the captain's hat he was hiding from Hange. He walks up to get closer to Hange and places the hat on her head. Mike smiles at Hange fondly once he was sure the hat was placed firmly on her head.

“Now you do, captain,” he says with a suggestive tone in his voice. Hange snorts and lightly punches Mike on the shoulder. Mike laughs out loud at her reaction.

“Shut up, Mike! You still have to teach me how to steer before I can do anything else.”

Mike walks behind Hange and places his arms over hers. He lightly grasps Hange’s arms and positions them in the correct position on the wheel. Mike moves to place his body close behind Hange’s. He rests his head on her shoulder.

“Ok.” He says next to Hange’s left ear. She shivers a bit from Mike’s voice. “This is what you do.”

---

It was sunset by the time Hange’s sailing lesson ended. Mike instructed Hange how to turn and he had her do figure 8’s and circles near the sea. The two were now sitting on the deck and drinking some wine Mike had brought. They were sharing childhood stories as some music from the radio played in the background. Hange was still wearing the captain’s hat.

“Wait so you were just born with that nose of yours? There was no accident, and no one in your family had one before?”

Mike shook his head. “Nope. I just had this ability since I could remember.”

Hange nods in understanding. She was curious about her smell now that she thought about it. She can recall the times she was busy in college or exploring the island to even bother taking a bath. Levi used to point it out and even forced her to take a bath once or twice during their time together. Thinking about him did make her heart hurt, but now she’s moved on. She doesn’t need him.

“What do I smell like?”

“You can smell some musk and vanilla. I can smell it the first time we met. Sorry about that.” he says quickly.

Hange waves him off and smiles. “Don't worry about it. I think it's really cool and unique! It must be a useful thing to have especially around food!”

Mike chuckles at Hange. “It’s a blessing and a curse.” He can smell delicious foods from around the world, but he can also smell horrible smells like trash. The two continued sharing stories until the song on the radio changed to one Hange was familiar with. She suddenly grabs Mike’s arm and stands up. “Dance with me, Mike!” Mike, who was falling for Hange every second, agrees.

They danced to the music around the yacht. The song was upbeat enough to dance the tango to. Occasionally, Mike would pick up or dip Hange around. This caused Hange to laugh from all the fun she was having. The two were obviously not professional dancers, but they were having fun. Hange was surprised by how well Mike could dance. She felt like a princess dancing with her prince under the stars.

Mike dips Hange one more time as the final notes of the song play. He pulls her back up and keeps her close to his body. One arm was behind Hange’s back and the other held her head. Their eyes met and their heavy breaths fanned each other's faces.

“That was...wow,” Hange says in between breaths. “You’re a really good dancer, Mike.”

“You too.” Mike continues staring into Hange’s eyes and Hange stares into his. It was as if there was an invisible force pulling them together as they leaned closer to each other. Mike moves his hand from behind Hange’s head and cups her cheek. He and Hange closed their eyes, and they kissed each other on the lips.

At that moment, Mike knew there was no turning back.

---

Sasha smiles after hearing Mike’s story. Maybe Mike is her father? Sasha has a talent for smelling meat from a mile away.

Erwin checks his watch and stands up. “It looks like we’ve been here for quite some time. Shall we head out?” It was almost 5:30, and they’ve been out for over an hour now.

Everyone nods and stands up to begin packing their things. Sasha made it her mission to speak to Levi next.

---

Sasha manages to speak to Levi during the walk back to the yacht. Erwin and Mike were conversing up ahead, so it gave Sasha some private time with Levi.

“Hey, Levi.” she starts and looks at Levi as they walk. Levi hums in response. “What did you think of my mom?” Sasha was expecting good things similar to Erwin and Mike. Sadly, Sasha doesn’t know Levi well enough to know how he speaks. Bluntly.

“She’s reckless, loud, annoying, and a bit crazy (that is an understatement from Levi). She even asked me to go with her to Kalokairi after five minutes of meeting her!” Sasha wanted to roll her eyes. Levi was also crazy for agreeing to go with her mother. What a hypocrite. (In Levi’s case, Sasha did not need to know why he said yes).

“Yet,” Levi's voice turns from irritated to gentle. Sasha was shocked by the sudden tone change. “She is an intriguing woman.”

Sasha stops walking and stares at Levi with her mouth wide open. To her, he doesn’t look like a guy to think of her mother fondly like that. His stoic face doesn’t give Sasha much to work with. Levi notices Sasha stopped moving and turns to face her.

“Oi! Stop standing there or else you’ll get flies in your mouth!” he yells and Sasha snaps out of her shock. She runs back to Levi and they continue walking in silence. This time Levi looks at Sasha.

“Do you want to hear one of my stories about Four-Eyes?” Right. Four-Eyes is a nickname Levi has for her mother. Sasha nods her head.

---

“Get back here, Four-Eyes!” Levi yells as he chased Hange across the beach.

“You gotta catch me first, Levi darling!” she yells back and continues running away from Levi.

Hange and Levi were hanging out at the beach on a sunny day. Levi laid down to rest his eyes for a few minutes while Hange was busy making sandcastles. Apparently, Levi slept long enough for Hange to bury him in the sand saved for his head. The worst part was when Hange decorated his body with whatever she could find and took a polaroid picture of Levi. Levi considers himself lucky to wake up to the flash. Hence the situation going on right now.

Luckily for Levi, Hange accidentally tripped from running in the sand and fell. Levi pounces on Hange and pins her to the ground. He was determined to get that photo. They wrestle on the sand for a bit, but Hange was too stubborn to let go.

"Stop it, Levi!" Hange laughs as Levi tickles her sides. She slaps her arms around in an attempt to get Levi to stop.

"You did this to yourself, Shitty Glasses. I'm just returning the favor." Levi continues to tickle Hange. She began loosening her grip on the photo.

"You have such a way with nicknames, Levi. I feel honored!." Hange laughs.

Levi wanted to roll his eyes, but he was determined to get that photo back. Even if he has to change tactics.

Hange didn't see it coming. Levi stopped tickling Hange, grabbed the back of her head, and picked her head up to kiss him on the lips. Hange was too shocked to react.

Hange was still stunned after Levi pulled away. She didn't notice Levi grab the photo out of her hands. He pocketed it away from Hange’s reach.

Hange shakes her head and notices her now empty hands. "Hey, that was dirty!" She exclaims and attempts to search Levi to get the photo back.

Levi tsks at her many failed attempts. "That wasn't dirty Four-Eyes." He gets off of Hange (much to her confusion) and extends an arm out to help her up. Hange takes Levi’s hand but was suddenly swept off her feet as he carried her bridal style.

"What are you doing?" Hange squirms in Levi's arms. Levi doesn't loosen his hold on her and starts walking to the ocean.

Oh no, Hange thought. This must be payback from a few days ago.

"Look. I'm sorry Levi! What happened a few days ago was a joke!" She exclaims nervously and tries to free herself from Levi. To Levi, he thought all of Hange’s attempts were cute, but he continued walking anyway.

Levi stops walking the moment the water hits his knees. Meanwhile, Hange continues to squirm in his arms despite having no progress. She stops when she notices Levi staring at her. He smirks. (That asshole)

"This, Hange, is playing dirty." Levi suddenly drops Hange into the water. She sits up quickly and coughs up some water. She was ready to drag Levi in for revenge but stopped when she heard an unfamiliar sound coming out of him. Levi was laughing!

Levi laughed like there was no tomorrow. Hange could tell he enjoyed it by the way he wrapped his arms around his stomach. Well, he was laughing at her, but Hange never heard the man laugh since they first met!

Hange smiles. She'll let Levi enjoy his fun for now.

---

The couple returned back to Hange's house to shower (and maybe a bit more but Sasha didn’t need to know that) after their rendezvous at the beach. They laid in bed together hours after coming back. The house was dark except for the moonlight spilling into Hange’s bedroom. Levi only wore shorts and was absentmindedly playing with Hange’s hair. On the other hand, Hange was wearing her underwear and one of Levi’s button-up shirts to bed except kept the buttons open. She was laying on Levi’s chest with content. It was quiet and peaceful. The only sounds they could hear were their own breaths. Hange could stay like this forever.

Levi was too busy playing with Hange’s hair to notice when Hange started humming to herself. The song didn't sound familiar to him at all, but it sparked his curiosity.

"What are you humming?"

Hange looks up at Levi from her spot and rests her chin on his chest. She stares into his blue-grey eyes. "A song I used to listen to as a child. It's actually one of my favorites."

Levi continues to stare at Hange. "What is it called?"

Hange smiles. "” I Have a Dream” by ABBA. The tempo is a bit faster than this and more upbeat. I just slowed it down a little bit."

"Can you sing it for me?"

"What?"

Levi rolls his eyes. "You heard me. I asked if you can sing for me." His face turned red from embarrassment and he looked away from Hange's gaze.

Hange squeals inside. She thought Levi was too cute. She sits up and places a hand on Levi’s cheek. Levi looks up at her with shock.

"Of course." She leans forward to peck him on the lips. "I'll sing it for you."

Hange leans back and sits criss-cross on the bed while Levi sits up to get more comfortable. She takes a deep breath and starts to sing the first line.

“I have a dream. A song to sing”

Levi was amazed by Hange’s singing. He genuinely thought she was a talented singer, and she should sing to him more often. Heck, she sounds better than Isabel and Isabel is the best singer he knew.

Levi smiles as Hange continues to sing. He felt as if he could relate to the song in a way. Meeting Hange and spending time with her has been like a dream. She was a dream come true for him. A dream Levi longs for without the responsibilities life throws at him. He felt free and didn't want to wake up. He was happy, content, and in love with the woman singing in front of him now.

---

Sasha smiles sadly after Levi finished his story. Levi spoke about her mother bluntly and with a stoic look on his face earlier. She noticed the light in his eyes, the hint of sadness in his voice, and he had a longing look in his eyes. She never got the chance to ask Levi anything else as they had already reached the yacht. Levi had walked ahead of Sasha and boarded the boat, leaving Sasha to not see the sad expression on his face.

---

It was already almost 6 when Mike’s yacht set sail again. Mike was busy steering the yacht. Erwin was laying on a bed reading. Sasha was sneakily trying to find a way to speak to Levi after their last conversation. She stood a good distance away from Levi and (tries to) subtly look at him.

Levi was sitting at the front of the yacht, looking out into the distance deep in thought. Sasha noticed from afar but was too nervous to approach him. She wanted to talk to him more about her mother. Sasha lightly slaps herself on the cheek. Get it together! You already talked to him before, with others around, you can do it again! Sasha looks around the boat to see if anyone noticed her pep talk before walking up to Levi with confidence.

She was just two feet away from him when he spoke. His gaze was still looking out at the sea. “You know, you’re not exactly subtle when you slap yourself like that. I’m not that much of an intimidating guy to talk to.” Levi turns to Sasha with a small, yet subtle smirk on his face.

Sasha felt all of her confidence go down the drain, and nerves got to her again. She took a deep breath before asking a question that's been haunting her since she read her mom’s diary.

"Did you really love my mom? After you met her, I mean."

It was a simple question, but it took Levi aback. He didn't expect that from Sasha. Maybe she asked Erwin and Mike a similar question?

"I did." That was all Levi says cryptically.

Sasha raises an eyebrow and waits for Levi to expand on his answer. When he didn’t, she decided to lead the conversation.

"So why did you leave and never come back?"

Sasha notes the shock that passed Levi’s eyes. It seems to her that he thought about the question before. Levi took some time to recover from his shock but remained quiet. Why did he not come back? Would Hange really forgive him if he came back days after leaving and begging her for forgiveness? He looks up at the other men on the boat and frowns.

Probably not. She had Erwin, Mike, and now this Moblit guy who was basically living his dream. That asshole. Levi looks at Sasha expecting annoyance from his silence. He was met with the opposite instead. Levi could see the curiosity in her eyes as she waited patiently for his answer. He was nervous to reveal his reasons.

"I didn’t come back because I-" He stops because of his nerves getting to him. He takes a deep breath. Sasha was waiting with anticipation. "I didn't come back because-"

"SASHA!!!!" Levi was interrupted by someone yelling from the beach nearby. The man was tall, had wavy blonde hair, and was shirtless. He looked over at Sasha questioningly. “You know the guy?” he asks and uses his thumb to point at the man.

Sasha wanted to facepalm herself. Of all the times! Right before the juicy part too! Niccolo is going to suspect something is up if she does not hurry!

“Yeah. That’s my fiancee calling for me.” She laughs nervously and takes off Mike’s shirt to hand to Levi. Mike and Erwin gather around her confused about the man calling for her.

“I am so sorry, but I have to go. You will be at my wedding right?” Sasha asks hurriedly. She starts running towards the edge of the boat so she could jump in the sea. She could still hear Niccolo calling for her.

“Absolutely.” Mike pats Sasha's arm.

“We’ll be there.” Erwin smiles.

“Promise.” Levi nods his head.

They watch as Sasha swam away from them and towards the shore.

Mike put his hands on Erwin and Levi’s shoulders.

“Let’s head back to shore. I don’t want Gelgar to come back with a hangover before we explore the island some more.

---

Sasha runs into Niccolo’s open arms. He hugged her tightly and spins her around on the sand. “Where have you been, Sasha? I’ve been looking all over for you all day.”

Sasha lets go of Niccolo as he sets her down and rubs the back of her head nervously. “I’m so sorry Niccolo. I’ve just been all over the island.” She laughs and reminisces about her father-daughter bonding time. Today has been nothing but wonderful.

Niccolo didn't want to ruin Sasha's happiness, but who was Sasha with earlier?

Author’s Note:

I just realized that I want to write in present tense and I wrote in past tense before. Oops lol.

The next chapter should be out on Sunday! The infamous “Lay All Your Love on Me” scene! I’m excited 😁

#levihan #levi x hange #levihan fanfiction #nicosasha #erwin x hange #mike x hange #mikenana #aruani #hitch x marlow #marco x mina #pokkopikku #snk #aot

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years ago

Note

For mermay, #25 siren for Sternclay, rating up to you? Thank you so much, I love your fics!

Here you go! I went with SFW and it's set in the same universe as the other siren prompt I got this year

Joseph has sailed so far over the horizon of regret that he’s landed right back on the shores of resolve.

The highway curves through low mountains, extends in interminable straight lines of super-heated asphalt, and he drives both stretches with purpose, eyes fixed on his goal so as not to see the last forty-eight hours lurking in his rearview mirror.

When the sign reading “Kepler: Population 3,000 on land, 50 in water” reflects the setting sun he slumps back in the driver seat, too tired to be glad, excited, afraid, or anything else at all.

He passes the Cryptonomica, proclaiming itself the premier place to learn about the Roadside Sirens. Rolling his eyes means he nearly misses the drawbridge warning, the barrier dropping and bridge rising to allow a small sailboat to pass. It’s aboard this he sees his first siren; dappled tail hanging in the water as she converses with the other passenger and waves to the siren working the bridge.

The bridge lowers and he continues forward as the early evening overtakes the main road. Neon crackles to life, creosote and rabbitbrush drift through the window when he rolls it down. The sign on Amnesty Lodge declares vacancies, so he pulls into the parking lot. It’s a strange lay-out, little cabins dotting the patches of pools that, once upon a time, must have been enclosed in rooms. Now they glisten under the emerging stars, some surrounded by lawn chairs and set ups to play horseshoes or cornhole. The building housing the lobby is precariously perched on the bank of the slow flowing river, another building whose neon is unlit sitting beside it. He pays the young lady at the counter for a week to week cabin and lugs the remainders of his life inside.

In the bathroom mirror, the wear of this trip is clear in the wrinkles on his suit and the dust on his shoes. He strips down, rinses off, and heads into the night in his shorts and T-shirt from Puget Sound. On a whim he turns right, follows a trail that leads him into the state park. He pays the five dollar fee in a little envelope as he continues on his way. Just as he reaches a scenic viewpoint, the singing starts.

Joseph can’t see any of the singers, can only pick up six or so distinct voices swirling around him.

It’s said the roadside sirens will tell you what you need.

It’s said the roadside sirens are the only way Kepler gets new residents

It’s said the roadside sirens will lead you to your hearts desire.

It’s said the roadside sirens are not always gentle.

All that tugs at Joseph’s heart is exhaustion. When footsteps creak across the boards behind him, he turns to find a man in a ranger uniform. Their eyes meet a moment and the man nods in greeting, “Evenin sir, you got any questions?”

“What do you hear when they sing?”

The ranger shrugs, “I hear them singin’. Never been all that susceptible to ‘em. Well, except for one, but he don’t sing all that often and the last time it was to tell me he missed me while I was out here workin’.”

Joseph raises an eyebrow. The man comes close enough for him to see his name tag. All it says is, “Duck.”

Duck chuckles, leans his arms on the railing, “S’okay, most folks don’t believe me when I tell ‘em that. See, thing about sirens is, you gotta have unfulfilled desires for the song to take hold. First time I was in Kepler, didn’t have a goddamn clue what I wanted from life. When I came back, found the two things I wanted right away. Been pretty content since.” He glances at Joseph, “why, you hear somethin that worries you?”

“I don’t hear anything besides-”

A burst of blue and orange light spills across them; the building beside Amnesty Lodge has come to life, and Joseph can see a line out the door from here. More importantly, someone is singing and his body moves towards the source without him noticing.

“I mean, if your main want is you’re hungry, Lodge is a damn good place to start. Put Kepler on the map. Or, uh, guess the sirens put it there and the Lodge kept it there once the novelty wore off.

“Uhumm” Joseph nods, waving an absentminded goodnight as he follows the path back to the Lodge. He’s about to join the others waiting to get through the door when he gets a flash of an image; a draft on a desk, announcing the Lodge needed a cooks assistant.

What the hell, it’s worth a try right?

A knock on the back door summons an older man in a “Joshua Tree” shirt.

“Howdy, if you’re lookin for the line-”

“I’m here about the assistant job.”

“Uhh, o-kay. Not the best time for it, but follow me.”

The man leads him down a set of stairs to a kitchen that is half in and half out of the water in a way that defies logic and physics. Swimming about are several sirens, plus two humans on the shore, cooking and sending food up to the main building in a dance that borders on chaos. In the middle of it all is a siren with a deep copper tail that matches his short beard and long hair tied back in a bun.

“Barclay! You got a minute?”

“Not really!”

“Okay then. I’ll just have this fella wait in your office until dinner rush is over.”

“Sure great yeah Moira wheres the crawfish for table ten?”

Which is how Joseph finds himself sitting in a cabin, twiddling his thumbs. His manners fight his boredom until he pulls a paperback from the nearby shelf and loses himself in the exploits of a someone recreating dishes from ancient civilizations. Doesn’t look up until the door opens and the same man, now with legs instead of that beautiful tail, walks in.

“Phew” he shuts the door with a satisfied smile, rests his head on the wood, then whirls and slams his back against it when Joseph clears his throat.

“GAHWHATTHEFUCK”

“I’m, I’m so sorry, I thought you heard, um, Thacker, tell you he was having me wait here.”

“W-wait here for wh--Oh, oh right, the assistant thing.” The siren scrubs his face, “yeah, uh, guess Mama must've put the ad out. Uh, would you say you’re organized?”

“Extremely. But honestly it doesn’t seem like you need that much help on that front.”

A deep, rich laugh, “I cleaned this morning, last night it looked like an earthquake hit this place. Guessing from the fact you didn’t freak out in the kitchen you’re cool with the supernatural?”

“Yes. It’s an area of interest for me.”

There’s suspicion in Barclay’s voice, hidden but very much present, “why’d you end up in Kepler?”

“I came here on purpose. I wanted to be somewhere where strange things were celebrated and out in the open. Not...not kept from the world.”

Barclay leans back on his desk, arms crossed, “Where’d you work before now?”

“The…” he sighs, resigns himself to finding somewhere else to go, “the FBI. UP branch, I was at Nellis when they, um, relieved me of my duties.”

For a long moment, Barclay studies him. Then he turns to his desk, setting stacks of papers in order as he hums. Joseph closes his eyes, takes calming breaths; all he wants is to be safe, to not have to run. All he wants is for Barclay to hold him, he’s never seen a man so handsome and a useless, primal part of him fixates on that fact. Also he’s starving, god, he hasn’t eaten since his breakfast of black coffee.

Barclay stops humming, “Come with me.”

Joseph follows him back down into the strange kitchen (“couple of friends of mine are pretty powerful magicians. They rigged up the kitchen for me”). All the lights are off, and without them he discovers Barclay’s eyes glow an eerie yellow-green. When he smiles, Joseph sees only the points on his teeth, not the crinkle at the edge of his eyes.

“Hungry?” Barclay rumbles.

“Starving.”

“You eat fish?”

“...Yes?” Will the wrong answer get him drowned.

The cook leaps towards the water, tail appearing and clothes vanishing at the last moment before he hits the dark surface. Joseph stands, on edge and curious, until the siren emerges, newly-dead trout in his hands.

“Tastes best fresh.” Barclay swims to his grill, turning it on in a click of a knob.

“Why not just stay human when you cook?” Joseph makes his way over to the station as Barclay butchers the fish and sets it into a heavily buttered pan.

“The charm only holds for so long before I need to be back in the water, and I get so busy during meals I don’t want to risk passing out because I went too long on shore. Besides” he spins elegantly to grab two spice jars, “I learned to cook in the water, so this is the most natural way for me.”

“Fascinating.” Joseph sits down, keeping himself out of arms reach of the water. Barclay seems nice, but sirens did not become famous for offering people things and then following through; hundreds of dead travelers prove that much.

“Where are you from?”

“Chicago, originally.”

“Ever see the great lake mers?”

“No.” He can’t help but feel disappointed that he’s only learning of their existence now.

“Quite a few out there. Sirens too.”

Well, that introduces some new reasons for all the shipwrecks.

“How do you know? Are you from there?”

“Nah. Been in Kepler my whole life. Even during the bad years, singing people into that godawful, overpriced casino buffet. Convincing them the shitty cold cuts were prime rib.” His hand stills a moment, clenches and then releases, “yeah. Every now and then” he starts chopping shallots, “one of the drunks would get it into their heads to pet the sirens tail or hair and I had to sit there and let them. My tail” he shudders, swipes the shallots into the pan so roughly Joseph starts.

“Sorry.” Barclay mumbles.

“Don’t be. I’m on edge, that’s all. And you have every right to be angry. Being forced to do something you know is wrong is....there’s no winning.”

“That why you just want a place to feel safe?”

It’s so easy to confess in the darkness of the cave.

“I put up too much of a fight about something. Refused to do something that went against my conscience. They let me go, which I feared but expected. Then I found my bank accounts were cut off and someone had manipulated the records to say I’d been fired for criminal activity so it’d be harder to find a job.”

A clink of metal on china, and then Barclay is holding a plate out to him with tenderness in his eyes, “I’m so sorry, Joseph. Here, at least you won’t be hungry.”

Joseph murmurs out his thanks.

“You a wine drinker?”

“Right now I could certainly go for some.”

A few flicks of that stunning tail and Barclay returns with a glass of white for each of them.

“To getting free of shitty pasts.” The cook raises his glass and Joseph bumps his against it. Barclay brings it to his lips, but smiles rather than sip, “and by the way: you got the job.”

-------------------------------------------------------

Being Barclay’s assistant is fifty percent clerical work and fifty percent following the siren around as he gathers ingredients or tests recipes. On Ned Chicane’s recommendation, Barclay had published a cookbook of both traditional siren foods and his own creations. It became a bestseller which, among other things, means Joseph has a brand new wardrobe, regular deliveries of gourmet food, and his cabin is now full of books. Whenever he points out that Barclay is already paying him and doesn’t need to buy him things, the siren simply rubs their cheeks together (a thing Joseph is only now getting used to) and tells him he likes doing it.

So when he’s not getting his recipes in order or typing up scribbled note cards into something legible, he’s following Barclay on foot or in a boat while he harvests or buys ingredients. Sirens have permission to fish and forage in areas, including the park, that humans don’t, which means he runs into Duck and his siren husband, Indrid, on more than one occasion while hauling lines into the boat.

The one time it gets stuck, Barclay pulls it out all on his own. Almost like he’s showing off the muscles in his back, arms, and tail.

The only thing Joseph won’t do is get in the water with the siren. He can’t get the images of drowned sailors, of fishermen torn to shreds, from his mind. Barclay is powerful, sharp-toothed and slit-pupiled, dangerous yet so gentle he once purred when Joseph complimented his food. And if Joseph never goes in the water with him, he’ll never have to confront the fact he wouldn’t mind if those pointed teeth dug into his skin and that tail trapped his legs while he thrashed in Barclay’s hold.

He assumes Barclay doesn’t notice; after all, swamps and marshes, even the river, are far less suited to a human swimming in them than an ocean or lake. This conclusion is bolstered by Barclay never, ever asking him to join him in the water. The siren is less careful about singing; he usually just hums as he works, but sometimes he sings wordlessly and Joseph nearly dives head first into the water (Barclay’s lap, if they’re on land).

Tonight, he’s cleaning up after Barclay’s test session of new recipes in the kitchen. The cook went out to visit some friends who live further in the state park, so when his voice drifts across the stones Joseph is surprised.

Cool, calloused hands on his cheeks, a tail stroking his thighs, his lips tracing up a sturdy leg. Copper hair twined in his fingertips, a heart beating in time with his own, teeth sinking into his skin, marking him, claiming him.

Water fills his nose and his body jerks back to the present, standing up in the shallow water that he stepped and stumbled face-first into.

“Joseph? Oh fuck, are you okay?” Barclay rounds the corner, swimming over to look up at him with concern.

“Yes. I, um, I think I got caught up in your song.”

“I’m sorry, I thought you were already upstairs or I wouldn’t have sung so loud. I know you can’t swim.”

“I can.” Joseph kneels, face down-turned in shame, “I was scared to, um, to be in the water with you. It’s, I was afraid of what might happen.”

Barlay swims back, “you thought I was gonna eat you?”

“No! Or, um, at first I didn’t want to foolishly assume that sirens in Kepler were harmless, since death isn’t high on my to-do list. Then I thought suddenly starting to swim would tip you off to the fact I’d been suspicious and I didn’t want to hurt you.” He runs a hand through his hair, “that song, though, Barclay, lord almighty is that what I want?”

“It’s what I want, I never sang it to bring you to me.”

“Oh.”

Barclay swims back to him, rubs their cheeks together, “Can I try something?”

“Anything” is all he gets out before he’s pulled into deeper water. He gasps for air, his own moans ricocheting across the room as Barclay bites his shoulder. On instinct his body tries to tread water, but copper scales trap his legs together, keep him flush against Barclay’s body.

“It’s okay babe, you can relax. I got you, I could keep us both afloat in my sleep.” He hums as he trails his lips across Joseph’s throat, “you’re safe. You’re with me.”

“Don’t make me leave.” The song pulls it out of him, because he wants to say it, wants to admit that losing what he has in Kepler terrifies him, just so he can hear-

“Never. You make me so fucking happy.” Barclay kisses him tenderly, keeps tracking his bite marks with a finger, “please stay. Stay for as long as you want."

"What if I want forever?" He rests his face on Barclay's shoulder as the siren spins them, dance-like, in the water.

"I think we can manage that."

#mermay #sternclay #agent stern/barclay #TAZ Amnesty

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nicb0723 · 4 years ago

Text

Find Your Worth

On Ao3 Find Your Worth

John Wick x Reader

Summary: You meet John in an unconventional way.

Notes: Depression trigger warning and mention/thoughts of suicide

Word Count: 9,279

Chapter 1

This is a pretty lake.

You probably should take the time to come here more. There are sailboats in the distance and kids swinging at the playground on the other side of the blue water.

It’s pretty here.

It was pretty here. It was a pretty lake. You correct your own thinking, your own thoughts absentmindedly. You’ve been doing that a lot lately. You probably should have taken the time to come here more.

The picnic table you picked is far away from everyone else, like a private little island, except you can hear echoes of laughter and screams of fun as families splash in the water. The wood is hard under your ass and your feet tap on the bench as you wait, trying to be patient. The sun is hot on your back even as it slowly starts its descent in the late afternoon. The sun will be out for a few more hours. It’s two days before the Fourth of July and it’s been really hot, the days are long and nights short.

This would be a pretty place to watch the fireworks.

You breathe in deep, knowing that you probably won’t see any fireworks this year and that’s okay. You’ve made peace with it.

The sound of tires on gravel startle you out of your thoughts and chills run down your spine. This is it. Your skin tightens with anxiety but you’ve come this far. You’ve made your choice.

Steady, confident footsteps follow the car door opening and closing. The rocks under their shoes crunch loudly and the pace is slower as they approach your back. You don’t really want to turn and see whoever it is, but this is the last hard part. Everything else will be easy after this. It’ll be done.

They don’t say anything so you push your sunglasses up over your hair and rub down your face, fingers pressing hard over your temples. You’ve got a headache again. The dull pain gives you enough of a reason to turn your head and nod a hello towards the stranger.

The sun is behind the tall man, making you squint and you have no idea what to say. Maybe he’ll say something first but you wait a few beats and you know that won’t happen. He’s just standing there, looking at you. From your quick glance, you see that he has dark hair slicked back and his body is slim. He’s wearing far too many clothes for this heat, dress slacks and a turtleneck. Maybe he works in the city? Maybe this is his second job?

“Are you him?” Your voice doesn’t sound shaky like you thought it would. You’re slightly proud of yourself for that.

His voice, even though he spoke just one word, makes you shiver. “Yeah.”

“Okay great, um, hello.” You say awkwardly as you shift your body around to fully face him. He steps towards you slowly, coming more into view and his brown eyes are narrowed at yours. His strides are long and his arms carry a lot of strength, his hands and fingers twitch like they’re ready to pounce at any sudden movement. Maybe he’s military? No, but maybe he’s retired because he has long hair and a beard that probably wouldn’t be allowed. It really looks good on him though.

Whoever this man is, it’s not what you were expecting.

At all.

“Thanks for coming.” And now your voice does shake a little because this is a scary thing you’re about to do and suddenly your throat is dry. Did you really decide to do this?

He doesn’t say anything and continues his intense gaze. His eyes finally flicker down your body, it’s nothing but a quick assessment. He nods for you to continue and you sigh deeply. It’s now or never.

“Yeah okay, so I’m assuming you know why I called you?” You didn’t really call, you left a message with a homeless man in the city, who somehow had text you this location, time and day to meet.

He comes even closer and the sunlight shines over his face briefly until he’s in the shade. You wonder how old he is because his skin is smooth, except for the fading scab of blood on his forehead. “I understand you need a hitman.”

Oh, god. He seriously just said it outloud. Like it was nothing.

You clear your throat and sweat breaks over your skin. “Yeah. Yes, that’s right.”

He almost looks disappointed or concerned, you can’t really tell.

“For who?” He asks easily.

“Well, um. Can you tell me how much it’ll be first? I’m kinda curious.” You half heartedly chuckle at your own stupidity. What an amatuear.

“No.” He keeps his stare sharply trained on you, but something tells you that he really doesn’t want to be here, like you’re wasting his time with this. Like this is below him. “Tell me who.”

Moment of truth right here. You close your eyes, take a deep breath of air and face towards the water again. As you open your eyes you barely whisper, “Me.”

Silence. You figured as much. It’s probably not often a hitman gets hired to take out the person who hired him.

“Excuse me?” He asks incredulously.

You look at him again, this tall, dark, handsome stranger who might be the last person you’ll ever see again. “I said... me.”

“You?”

“Yes, me.”

His eyes drop in confusion and he shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. When he looks back at you they’re no longer calculating. You hadn't realized he was reading you until now, now that he looks at you with confusion and worry. “Why would you want that?” He finally asks and it startles a bitter laugh out of you.

“Why? I don’t think you want to know. You’d be here all night. Will you do it?”

For a second you think he’s going to say no and your mind races with what you’ll do. How the hell will you find another hitman?

“Tell me why.”

You think about avoiding the question again but he kind of scares you. So what if he knows? It couldn’t possibly hurt anything for him to hear about your depressing life, a life you so desperately want out of. “Why? Okay… well, let’s see...” You want to know his name at least and you raise your eyebrow in question.

He realizes what you want and he says his name, like he’s surprised you somehow don’t already know it. “John.” He says slowly, and it seems like he rarely has to introduce himself.

“Okay, John.” That’s probably not even his real name but it’ll do and you don’t really care. You rub your fingers across your temple again. The ache is starting to spread and you just want this conversation over with as soon as possible. “My grandmother just died. She was the only family I had left.” You pause and look over at John, but he’s just waiting. “She was in the hospital for almost a year. And in hospice for almost two years before that.”

Grandma was a fighter, that was for sure and you savored every single minute you could have with her. But...

“Do you have any idea how expensive hospital bills are? Funeral bills?” You don’t bother to wait for an answer, but you do see John look down, like he did know something about it. “I’ll have to pay for years, which would be fine but see I have a real shitty job. Doesn’t pay a lot at the local gas station.” You don’t add that it was the only job you could find that worked nights and let you be with grandma during visiting hours.

“And not only is working at the gas station bad enough, I have an even shitter boss. He likes to harass me, John. You know anything about getting your ass grabbed on a daily basis?”

No. You thought not. John is looking at you intently now.

“I’d quit but I have no real skills. I barely graduated high school. I love her, but taking care of grandma was a full time job and we didn’t have money for help. I thought I could afford the hospice but…”

You just couldn’t. You were in way over your head. No one taught an 18 year old how to take care of a dying guardian. No one taught you about credit cards and loans and interest and bankers taking advantage of you for years after you graduated. And now, over a decade later you’re still paying for every mistake.

Sighing, you shift towards John and let your legs dangle off the table. “Anyway, my boyfriend, well ex-boyfriend, gets out of jail in a month.”

He looks at you expectedly.

“Oh I put him in there too. Domestic abuse and stuff, you know, the usual.” You cross your arms over your chest in a weak attempt to protect yourself. “So, if you don’t do this I’m sure he’ll find me and I’ll be tied up in a basement somewhere.” You bat your eyelashes, trying for some guilt. “You wouldn’t want that would you, John?”

He doesn’t speak after hearing you spill problems that a normal person could probably handle, but you’re tired. Oh yes. You forgot to mention that. “And I live across the tracks there.” You point out west, towards the bad part of town. “My apartment sucks and I haven’t slept in two years. Like, real sleep, ya know?”

Obviously he doesn't because John still doesn’t say anything. “The sink drips at night and keeps me awake. Drip. Drip. Drip.” You can hear the sound of the water splashing in your bathroom sink as you talk about it. The annoying sound that you’re now obsessed with because it repeats in your head over and over and over again for hours. All. Night. Long. Driving you insane.

“I can’t afford a repair man and the apartment manager could care less. So I don’t sleep. Well, sometimes I did while I was at the hospital with grandma, in a chair. Oh, and there's the dog across the alleyway from my living room that barks during the day too, so that’s nice.”

John is watching you squeeze at the back of your neck now, trying to ease some of the tension pulsing there. You don’t mention the chronic pain that your body is in and how your stomach hurts because of all the pain killers you take. You don’t mention that your car is crap and will probably die soon. You don’t tell him about your parents. You skip the part about being severely depressed. You don’t tell him about a lot.

“So, will you do it?” You ask again.

John pauses and opens his mouth but nothing comes out. You think for sure he’ll say no, but then you remember that this is his actual job and he needs money, right? He can’t really say no. You could go to the police and turn him in. You could threaten him… well, you could try to. You look him up and down again. Maybe.

“Um.” He starts off slowly. “I guess… why don’t you know, just do it yourself?”

Oh. You didn’t really think he’d care about that and you weren’t expecting to provide an explanation. “Are you a religious man, John?”

He shrugs and looks at the silver cross you wear around your neck. “Then you would know I can’t do it myself. I want to see my grandma in Heaven.”

John nods at that and shuffles his feet a little. It’s the first real movement he’s made since he got here.

“I thought about suicide by police, but I don’t want anyone else to get hurt…” You think for a few seconds before you lose a thought, wanting to say it before you forget. “Can I ask you something? I mean, if you decide to do it… like, I just don’t want to know when or how, obviously. I don’t want to know anything. I just want it to be done. I want it to be quick.” You swallow thickly, talking about your own death is really different than just thinking about it constantly. “I just don’t want anyone else hurt, like if you were to cut the wires on the breaks of my car or something? I could potentially crash and hurt someone in another car. And um… could you maybe not do it when I’m in the shower?” You smile weakly at your own request. “I mean, I don’t care if you like, come and do it in my sleep or whatever, but I have this thing while I’m showering… I’m at my most vulnerable, ya know and I just…”

“Yeah. I get it.” He walks a few steps towards you and puts his hand on the table, close to where you’re sitting. He has really long fingers and his knuckles are a bit bruised. There's a tan line where a ring used to be. He stands close to you now and he smells faintly of coffee. His body isn’t as rigid either, now that he knows you’re not a threat and just some small pathetic girl who can’t get her shit together.

“You do?” Relief floods you. Thank God. He understands. That means he’ll do it, right? “So, you’ll do it?”

John just stares now, his eyes soft and unblinking.

“What’s wrong?” You ask. You thought you had explained yourself well enough. What could he possibly be thinking about? It’s his job.

Looking away, he shakes his head. “This is just… not what I expected.”

“Oh.” Okay, that makes sense. You wonder who John thought you’d want to kill. He should still want to get paid though, but you don’t think that’d be the best thing to tell him. You feel like you’ll get scolded or yelled at for some reason. You decide to let him think and keep quiet.

His whole demeanor suddenly changes and he mutters under his breath, “Fucking Jimmy… fucking favors.” He folds his arms too, like you and leans his narrow hip on the tabe, casual now. You take offense.

“Look, I’m serious about this. I can’t keep living like I am. I know that it could be worse, okay? I know I could be homeless or I could… it could be a lot worse. But I’m just done. I’m tired. I want out. So just… please?”

John nods silently. Finally he answers as he stands up straight, broad shoulders squared and readies himself to leave. “I’ll let you know.”

You feel the panic tighten in your lungs. “Wait. What? You can’t tell me now? That’s bullshit!”

“That’s the way this works,” he says calmly. “I get to think about it and get back to you if I take the job.”

You’ve been planning this for months. None stop thinking about this very moment. The disappointment you feel is familiar though. Nothing in your life would ever be easy. “Yeah, okay.” You sigh sadly. “Could you at least tell me how much it’ll cost if you do decide?”

John unfolds his arms and puts his hands on his hips. “Fifty thousand.”

“Fift-- what? Are you serious?! That’s insane.”

He shrugs again and doesn’t say anything. He actually does look very serious. In fact, that could be a smirk on his pretty mouth.

You may not be smart, but you aren’t stupid either. “Fine. I’ll just get someone else to do it. This city is full of scumbags who need to make a buck.” Jumping down from the table you stand and you realize how tall John is compared to you. “Just leave. I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

“No. No. Don’t do that.” The urgency that suddenly comes from him surprises you and it causes you to take a step back. “Just. Promise me. You won’t get anyone else, okay?”

You scoff in frustration. “Well what the hell else am I supposed to do? I don’t need all of this…” your hands gesture to his expensive clothes and for the first time you see the shiny classic car that’s parked a few yards away. You sigh loudly, unimpressed. Usually guys who have a car like that are complete douche bags. “Fancy.”

“Fancy?” John gives you a disapproving look.

“Yeah, you’re very fancy, I don’t know.” You’re pissed off and he seems to finally get it, putting his hands up like you’re a scared kitten.

“Okay, okay, fine. Look, I’ll do it.”

Call it a woman's intuition but you don’t believe him and it shows. “How much?”

John searches the ground, scrambling for an answer that won’t make you walk. “Three hundred.”

That’s not what you were expecting, but whatever. You just want to go and lay down before your shift starts at work. You don’t really have to go in, knowing it won’t matter in a few days, but you want to live normally in complete bliss of denial that this whole thing ever happened. When it’s your time to go, it's your time. Sort of.

“I want it to happen within a week of today. I don’t care if it’s tomorrow, tonight, or three days from now. But in seven’s day time… it’s done.” You reach your hand out for John to shake it. “Deal?”

He looks down at your hand. It’s like everything John does is precise, every move made is methodical. Your hands meet and shake twice, his fingers engulfing yours and you pull away quickly.

“How do I pay you?” Do you leave the money on your kitchen table or something?

John takes out car keys from his pocket. “I’ll contact you.”

“You don’t even have my phone number. You don’t even know my name.”

Now he really does smirk and you feel slightly dumb at questioning him. “I’ll be in contact,” he repeats. You have no doubt that he knows exactly where you live, your phone number, even your social security number. He probably knew all your information before meeting you today.

“Fine.” You grab your purse from the bench and swing it over your shoulder. “Thank you, I guess.”

John steps back towards his car and stops. “Just… one thing?”

“Yeah?”

His voice is soft, hopeful even. “Tell me if you change your mind?”

You shake your head no. “I won--”

“Just...” He stops you before the protest starts. “When I contact you, let me know then.” With that he turns towards the parking lot.

You can hear the roar of his car as you start to walk home. You did it. It’s done. You smile to yourself, the first in a very long time and it feels foreign on your lips.

The dog is barking again as you try to rest. Your headache isn’t much better, but the thought of a cold energy drink at work makes you get up and dressed.

It’s very rare that you look at yourself in the mirror anymore. The last time must have been months ago. Your hair is stringy and long, not having a cut in years. Dark, shallow circles engulf under your lifeless eyes. Your cheeks are sunken in but you put on a few pounds lately, sugar being the only thing to keep you up and going. It’s not a cute sight.

The only clothes you have now either have a hole or a rip somewhere. Your shoes are worn thin and probably contribute to the constant pain in your lower back.

You look decent enough and the thought that this might be your last night of work gives your stomach a sharp twist. John could come tonight. He could be in your apartment waiting for you when you got home. Will he have a gun? A knife? Maybe he’ll strangle… you need to stop thinking about it.

The small apartment is sticky hot when you lock up, and you’re glad for the short walk to the gas station for some fresh air.

Gary’s car is parked in front of the car wash and your heart falls. He really is the worst manager ever and even though you’re not really scared of him, he gives you the creeps. You don’t want to deal with his shit tonight, not after today, and you wonder how long he’ll be there since he’s only supposed to check in a few times a week.

“Hey,” You mutter to him as you walk briskly to put your purse in the back and grab the soda you stuck in the fridge on your last shift.

Gary’s smiling and leering at you. “How are you, sweetheart?”

Grimacing weakly you nod and glance at his bald head. You never really look at him and avoid all possible eye contact. You ignore the question though and move to grab your apron under the counter and start to stock the shelves of assorted candy and gum. Hopefully he leaves you alone today.

“I like that color on you.”

You hear his comment and close your eyes for strength. The door suddenly opens, signaling a customer and you hurry to the register to help. Gary must give up and heads to the back storage room.

The lady pays for her gas and a bottle of water but the register jams and you have to work your magic to get it open. The register is a piece of crap that’s way older than it should be and you’re surprised it still works, but you’ve mastered it and know every trick to get it functioning. You always have to teach the guy who works in the mornings and the other employees who work on the weekend how to fix it.

Gary finally leaves after you don’t pay him much attention and keep yourself busy. It’s a fine line between being rude to the guy and keeping your job. And although you could tell him off because John could technically come for you tonight, something tells you that you’re better than that. But barely, because you really don’t want any other girl to go through what you have in this place. Maybe you’ll leave a letter to corporate that John can mail for you after he’s… done.

You close up at midnight like usual and glad the night wasn’t eventful. Walking home is a different experience than any other night. You’re hyper aware of your surroundings, expecting a tall figure to approach you at any second. It’s slightly disappointing when nothing happens and you make it just fine.

There’s no one in your apartment either. You kind of thought John would be waiting in the closet, waiting for you to sleep or something, but he’s not here.

You lay in bed, restless. Should you even plan out your day tomorrow? John could slip in the middle of the night and you would never know. He said that he would be in contact, but you’re not sure how long you’ll have to wait. Your thoughts are a jumbled mess and it’s oddly quiet. So odd that you sit up a little wondering what’s going on. There’s no dog barking. You dare get excited enough to open the window, finally letting in a cool breeze that you’ve been longing for since the warmer months. You would always drown out the barking by keeping the window closed, but this feels amazing.

You creep into your own bathroom with the lightest of footsteps. Could this actually be happening? There’s no water coming from the facet. No sound of drip. Drip. Drip.

It’s silent. For the first time since you’ve lived here it’s relatively quiet and you jump back in bed suddenly exhausted from today’s big meeting. Images of John float through your mind and you close your eyes and finally sleep.

You wake with a newfound energy. How amazing it is to sleep well and get a full night rest. Your body feels lighter and mind alert. You take the time to stretch, breathing in deeply. You actually have time to do things. Usually you lounge around in bed before you have to get up for your shift, resting all you could. It feels good to pick up around the apartment, throw some things away that you don’t want anyone finding...well, after…

There’s a pep in your step when you get to work, plus Gary’s car isn’t in the parking lot. In fact, there’s a strange woman behind the counter bustling around, shoving papers here and there.

“Hi… are you new?” You ask. She’s a nice looking lady, with blue eyes and soft blond hair above her shoulders.

Startled, she turns and smiles. “Hi! No, not really. Well, I’m one of the district managers. Gary suddenly quit so I’m trying to figure out where everything is and what I can do to help. I’m Carla, by the way.”

A slow grin spreads on your lips. “Gary quit? Seriously?”

“Yeah,” she sighs. Still flipping through a stack of papers that you recognize are the schedules for you and your co-workers. “Said he was moving across the country, I’m not sure. Now who are you exactly? I’m sorry, I haven’t met anyone. I came in to open up this morning and I’ve been here all day.”

You introduce yourself politely and offer that she take a break and go to get something to eat or go home. You can handle closing up, after all.

Carla nods and grabs her purse. “You’re sweet, thank you. I remember your name from the records the company keeps on file. Your cash handling skills are great and you’ve never called out. You’ve never had any warnings. How would you like a promotion today?”

You can’t do anything but blink at her.

She laughs warmly at your reaction. “Look, why don’t you think it over, okay? It’s actually not a bad gig. An assistant manager is what I’m looking for. You’d work under me, but you’d be in charge of all the scheduling and hiring. I’d need you to be full time but that means benefits and a raise, of course. There’s a folder on the counter about the training program. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Nodding, you go behind the counter as she leaves through the front door. You’re glad there’s no customers around right now because you just sink into the chair and stare, jacket and backpack still on. You think she must be joking and shake yourself out of it. The folder is blue and laminated with thick paper, very professional. You briefly look at the benefit section in the back. It’s typical medical, dental, vision… and mental health? Therapy and counseling included for a small fee.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter anymore. You’ll have to tell Carla no tomorrow. If you have a tomorrow. You push the folder to the side and pay attention to the flow of customers starting to come in for the after work rush. It stays busy well after the sun goes down and you realize it’s Fourth of July, so it’s busier than normal. You briefly feel sad that this is how you’ll spend your last holiday.

After a quick break when it’s quiet you reach to check your phone. You have a text from an unknown number.

Did you change your mind yet?

You scoff and shake your head. Yet? Yeah right. You type out No and send it back, putting John’s name into your phone first. You wonder if he’ll destroy it after… or hide it with your body… ugh, there was a reason you couldn’t do this yourself. It’s morose.

You’ve already gone through every single emotion though. The turmoil, the grief, the anger, the shame, and finally the acceptance. There’s no talking you out of it now. You don’t have anything that would be worth something, so your stuff will probably be thrown out or donated. You do wonder about the debt and what will happen, but you just don’t think about it too much.

Your phone beeps again a few hours later, as you’re packing up to go home.

Relax. I’m not coming tonight.

A breath you’ve been holding without realizing escapes and you hadn’t known how tense you were the entire night. You think John might be trying to fool you, but you also don’t think that’s his style.

The car ride home is oddly smooth and your car seems a lot less bumpy than usual. Maybe that means it’ll break down soon, you have no idea.

You wonder what will happen to your car after you’re gone.

The next day you have nothing to do in the morning, but you need to do laundry so you head out early with your dirty clothes stuffed in a bag, swung heavily over your shoulder. You decide to treat yourself on the way to a sweet, rich coffee that tastes so good as you take a long sip. No one is around and you settle in a hard plastic chair to wait after you throw the first wash in the machine.

He could poison me, you think to yourself, staring at your coffee. That’d be a good way to do it. Nice and easy. No witnesses he’d have to deal with. No investigation. That’s what you’re paying him for, right? No messes to clean up.

The door to the laundromat swings open and here comes John himself, almost walking in slow motion in his dark suit, and you feel like you’ve just been punched in the gut. This is how he decides to do it? Now? At the laundry place? Where you’re wearing old clothes and wrinkled underwear? Perfect.

“Hi.” He stands over you, tall and brooding. You notice that he has a faint trace of a black eye and a small cut on his lip.

“This is happening?” You ask, still not really believing your shitty luck. This beautiful man seeing you in such a state of upheaval is embarrassing.

“No. Not right now. I wanted to see if you changed your mind.” John’s voice is stern, determined. His hair is slicked back, making him look intimidating, much more now that you’re both under fluorescent lights rather than the soft sun rays at the park.

Your eyes track down his body, taking in those shoulders and slim waist, long legs in a perfectly fitted suit. “Do you always dress up? Like every day?”

“What?”

You gesture to his clothes. “What’s with all the suits? I mean, you look very nice but this is the cheapest laundromat in the entire city.”

For the first time John really looks around. His eyes had darted past you to the backdoor as he walked in, but otherwise his gaze was completely on you. “I um… I have another job after this.”

“Oh. I didn’t know hitmen were in such demand.”

John clears his throat. “Assassin.”

“What?”

“I’m an assassin.” He says it slowly, making sure you understand. “Not a hitman.”

An assassin? That makes sense, you knew he was too fancy to be a hitman. “What’s the difference?”

Still speaking slowly he says, “A hitman usually gets one target. I get them all.”

“Do you like… shoot guys from a rooftop or something?”

“No, that’s a sniper.”

“Of course. I apologize.” What a completely ridiculous conversation you’re having right now.

He cocks his head at your words and raises an eyebrow.

You take a sip of your coffee. “What?

“You aren’t scared?”

“Of what?” You smile, almost teasingly. “You? No. I kinda knew you were in the business when I hired you, remember?”

“Oh, so I’m your employee?”

You swear he’s almost teasing back and it surprises you because up until now he’s been so serious. You shrug your shoulders though, looking him up and down again. “I mean, I guess. You must be really desperate for that three hundred bucks.” It comes out sarcastic but you can’t help it.

John presses his lips together, disapproving again and sighs. “Why don’t you call this off, huh?”

Sure, work has gotten immensely better and you can actually sleep through the night. Two huge changes all in just two days, but you still have a mountain ahead of you. “I have thousands of dollars in debt, John. I have an ex boyfriend who is literally going to hunt me down in a month. Changing my mind is not an option.”

He unbuttons his suit jacket and puts his hands on his hips, starting to pace.

You sip your coffee again. “I appreciate you asking, but I don’t see a way out so… a deal is still a deal, right?”

You watch as he doesn’t answer and thinks. He really is a good looking assassin. You feel bad that he has to see you in this state of disarray. Beautiful women are probably all over him.

John stops suddenly. “What's the ex boyfriend's name?”

“Huh?”

“His name? Tell me what it is.”

You usually wouldn't in a million years, but you totally lied before because John actually does scare you. “It’s Max. Max Brickson.”

John looks up at the ceiling, like he’s cataloging all the names in his head for something familiar but it doesn’t seem like he knows it. “I’ll take him out instead.”

“Huh?” You haven’t talked to many people lately, wanting to keep to yourself, but usually you can at least articulate actual words.

“I’ll take your money,” John is talking fast now and sits down in the plastic chair next to yours. “And I’ll kill him. Instead of… well, instead of you. Problem solved.”

“Um, problem not solved.” Your voice is squeaky. “What if he hurts you? No way.”

There’s that pensive, disapproving look again. With a flick of his wrist you suddenly see a very sharp knife in his hand. Without even looking he throws it smack in the center of the poison sign on the wall all the way in the back.

“Okay, stupid point.” You swallow thickly because that was awesome and frightening all at once. “But I can’t have someone killed. Are you insane? There’s a difference between doing it to myself and someone else.”

John is rattled with confusion. “But he hurt you? Abused you, probably.”

“So what? No, absolutely not.” You shake your head and cross your legs, giving John your own don’t mess with me right now look.

“Well what if I scare him off? When he gets out? I could come to your place for a few nights, see if he comes around and if he does…”

You narrow your eyes.

“I’ll just beat him up, I swear. That’s all I’ll do.”

He’s lying. You both know it.

“Yeah right.” The plastic chair creaks as you get up to put your laundry in the dryer. “Besides, that still leaves the bills, John. My back hurts, my feet hurt, I’m lonely, I have no one. I don’t have anything to live for. So just forget about it. The deal stays as is. I don’t know why you care anyway.”

The air is weighted with thick tension and he’s up, walking to get his knife that’s still sticking in the wall. He doesn’t say anything as he passes you and slams the door shut after him.

As far as visits to the laundromat go, this was by far the most exciting.

It’s been five days and you’re still alive. Yes, you’re less tired and yes, work has been better but still. You groan at the pile of mail on your table and decide to open the envelopes you’ve just added from emptying your mailbox, probably for the last time.

The first papers you open have red ink all over, littered with the words over due and late. You decide to leave them in a nice pile for whoever will find them, somewhat organized. The next envelope is thinner though and you have to look at it twice. Zero balance. Paid in full.

Great. Some sort of mistake. Something else to deal with. Although, you don’t really have to do anything about it. You toss it on top and clean the kitchen a little, read through one of the free magazines you got from work, but curiosity eventually gets to you.

After twenty minutes of answering questions about your account, the nice lady from the collection agency tells you that your balance is in fact, zero. Not only that, but the other account you have in your name is also at zero. They were both paid two days ago but she can’t tell you what happened.

You have to get to work anyway and you’re still thinking about it when Carla asks you what’s wrong. Telling her briefly about the situation you confide that you’re baffled, but she shrugs it off.

“Your grandma probably had life insurance. Mine did, and my father didn’t find out about it until after she passed. She probably knew how expensive all of this would be for you.” Patting you on the shoulder, Carla’s eyes are full of sympathy as she goes behind the counter to help someone.

You knew all of grandma’s finances though. At least, you thought you did. Maybe she was keeping secrets.

The front door swings open and Sam greets you, “Hey buddy.” He’s a new kid Carla hired a few days ago to help on your off days and he's here for training. He’s still in high school and seems really sweet.

Carla is texting away on her phone and tells Sam to put his stuff in the back and grab a water before getting started. Then she touches your elbow and whispers, “Do you think you could train Sam today? I know you told me no about the assistant manager position, but my daughter is having a meltdown about a boy right now. I’ll make sure to give you a bonus and buy you one of those coffees you like!”

You smile and nod. At least the day will go by faster. “Just the coffee will be fine,” you tell her and she shoots you a grateful look. She tells Sam what’s going on and flies out the front door, both of you giggling at the sight of her dress blowing in the wind.

The night goes really smooth and Sam is goofy, making you laugh more than you can remember. You learned shortly after Carla and you had a conversation a few days ago that Gary had been keeping you on nights alone, saving the salary of the extra person who would have been with you for at least a few hours before closing. He had been doing a lot of things wrong, like not letting you take lunches or refusing to pay you overtime. Carla was shocked when she looked at the logs and it had all stopped immediately.

You feel pretty proud at the way Sam gushes over how you know all the tricks to the register, especially when he locks it up a few times and you know how to troubleshoot it easily. You hope he remembers all these tricks because even the girls from the day shift have to call you sometimes for help.

Before you know it, Sam is leaving and you’re heading out. The ride home is short and your apartment quiet.

You sit at your kitchen table, eyeing the zero balance written in black ink you left on top of the pile of envelopes.

Not red.

Well, fuck.

Your life is kinda good right now. It doesn’t actually royally suck. Yeah, you still have to worry about Max, but you could always take John up on his offer. If you don’t have to use your entire paycheck to pay the credit bills, and you took the promotion, that’d leave you enough to start saving… and maybe buy some new shoes. Maybe you could go to counseling. Get your head back on straight. Maybe go back to school.

Your fingers are cold when you reach for your cell phone. You think that you might change your mind in the morning, but knowing a good sleep is in the cards for you tonight, you decide to just make the call now.

“This is Wick.”

“John?”

“Oh hey… how are you?”

His full name is John Wick and the thought barely processes before you continue to talk. “I think I changed my mind.”

“You think?”

Of course he wasn’t going to let you off that easy. “Fine. I did change my mind. Don’t do it.”

You can hear him smiling through the phone. “This is the first job I’ve ever been fired from.”

“Ah, John. I’m sure you would have done an excellent job. Thanks for not… well, you know. Not doing anything to me yesterday. Or even this morning.” You tell him, tapping the zero on the folded bill with your fingernail. “I appreciate everything, in a really weird way.”

“I didn’t do anything.” He says softly.

“You gave me time. Things suddenly seem to be working out so… yeah.”

John’s voice is kind and you vividly remember him throwing the knife with such force in the laundromat. You’re sad that you’ll never see him again. You wonder if he wasn’t an assassin and if you weren’t such a wreck maybe you could ever be friends. “I’m really happy for you.”

You don’t say anything as you hang up on him. You can tell he’s not one for goodbyes anyway.

It takes a few weeks, but therapy is a good look on you. Things that were very black and white in your world suddenly had color. Smiling more and crying less, laughing instead of eating your feelings away. The new job is just challenging enough that you excel at it, but still have time for maybe taking some classes when school starts.

You did buy new clothes, new shoes, and a new mattress. You don’t have enough for a new car yet, but surprisingly it’s running just fine. Turns out your apartment manager only speaks Russian, and simply didn’t understand when you tell him things are broken. Now you have new light bulbs, and new shower head, and new carpet.

Your savings account is slowly growing too. You’ve gone out to lunch a few times with Carla and even helped Sam with his homework once or twice. Your confidence is building and you feel the strength in your mind and body. It’s amazing what can happen when you sleep and pain isn’t throbbing in your back, and the headaches seem to have gone away too.

In fact, you’ve taken up running and currently you’re at a good pace around the lake early this morning. The music is blasting in your ears and the sweat at your brow feels good. You feel alive.

And that’s when you spot him. You’d know that stride anywhere, John being on your mind as a handsome acquaintance instead of an assassin you hired… and then fired.

“Hey! I can’t believe you’re here!” You pull out your earbuds and catch your breath as you take in John’s appearance. He looks different in dark blue jeans and a white t-shirt. He has the cutest bulldog on a leash who is patiently waiting by his side.

“Hi!” He looks almost as surprised as you are. Almost. He smiles widely and puts his hands shyly in his pockets.

“What’re you doing here? You live close by?” You ask, still sucking in air. You’re so out of shape, but you learned in therapy that even ten minutes of movement is a milestone.

“Uh, yeah. I live in Mill Neck.” He points across the lake, towards the nice side of town. You live on the opposite side of the lake.

“Ah, of course. That’s cool.”

“You look nice. You look happy.” John says, still smiling softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

Blushing you glance down at the dog and ignore his words. “Who’s this big guy, huh? Can I pet him?” “Yes, of course.” John replies. “I only got him a few weeks ago actually, still figuring out a name.”

“He looks like a pooch, don’t ya?” You forget John is even there as you crouch down and talk to the dog, who has a beautiful silver blue coat of fur and you laugh as he licks at your chin.

“I think he likes you.” John bends down too and gently pulls the dog away. “Pooch, huh?”

“Well anything’s better than hey dog .” You shrug and stand back up. “He’s really cute.”

“Yeah, I think we get along just fine.” John agrees.

You start to put your earbuds back in and give him a little wave, suddenly feeling awkward. You don’t want to intrude on his walk.

“I’ll be seeing you, maybe?”

John chuckles and bites at his lip. “Not if I see you first.”

What the hell does that mean? A huge flock of ducks fly down into the lake and you hear the leash pull as John lets out a low sound of a commanding heel, which makes you tingle.

However, it doesn’t faze the dog because he barks. Loudly. And you stop cold. You know the sound of that bark. It’s tattooed in your brain. You turn around slowly and now you shiver all over, but not because of attraction. You slowly stalk back towards John and you can hear him mutter to himself. It sounds like shit. It sounds like he just got caught.

“You stole the fucking dog across from my apartment.” Your voice is low and accusing, a statement because you already know the answer. You lean in close to John, your jaw ticking in anger. “You kidnapped a dog!”

“Shh. Look, come over here.” He leads you to a nearby bench and sits you down.

You feel a panic attack coming and you try to think of what you learned in therapy. The lightheadedness gets to you fast though and John pushes your head between your legs. You’d be embarrassed but you’re too upset. “Oh my God. You did everything, didn’t you? You… you…. Oh my God. I’m so fucking stupid.”

John sits down and tries not to crowd you, but he doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. The dog seems unfazed and curls up at his feet. “He was starving,” John explains, his fingers lightly brushing your elbow. “That’s why he was always barking. He was chained up with no food, only rainwater to drink. No shelter. I couldn’t just leave him there.”

You look at the dog and even now through a panicked haze, you can see that his ribs are sticking out slightly. He’s happily panting and staring down the ducks, completely oblivious of your anxiety.

“Tell me what else. Oh my God, you made them give me a promotion? I couldn’t even do that by myself.”

John pauses and shakes his head. “No, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh my God… did you kill Gary?”

“.... no”

“Oh my GOD.”

“I just threatened him.” John’s voice is loud now and he looks around guiltily. You glare at him to start talking and he’s almost whispering. “Really. I didn’t kill him. I went over to his house in the middle of the night when no one else was home and---”

“I don’t want to know.”

“Look, he needed to go. He really was a scumbag. Not kill worthly, but still. The town is better off without him here.”

You look at John in disgust. He’s telling you all of this so calmly. Another thought pops in your mind that makes you sick. “You paid off my debt, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t answer, just sits back on the bench and gazes out to the water.

“Tell me.” Your stomach turns, but you need to know.

He nods once, not looking at you. Avoiding your eyes entirely.

“You asshole.” You mutter, your hands forming into a fist. “You complete asshole.”

He catches you before you can punch his shoulder and forces your arm down with ease. You know he’s holding back his full strength, but you can see his muscles bulge a little under his tight t-shirt. It’s very distracting.

“I thought I was helping. I would have tried to help anyone in your situation. I’m sorry, I should have told you. I didn’t know how.”

Slumping, you sit back too. Well this is a good mindfuck. Your brain starts to function again and the cold sweat from the panic attack is fading. You stare at your new running shoes that are so comfortable. The new purple wristband that shows how far you’ve gone and what your heart rate is at. You even got your haircut at the expensive new salon in the city. It’s so shiny and healthy now.

“I can pay you back.” You whisper, not knowing how long it’ll take. You can’t really return anything you bought, but maybe you can pick up some shifts at work. Get a second job instead of going to school.

John laughs, but nothing is funny and it comes out humorless. “This is not how I wanted you to find out. I had no intention of you paying me back. That was not the deal.”

“Fuck the deal. The deal has changed and I didn’t even know it.” You tell him, still staring at your feet. “Are you really even an assassin? How is this possible?”

“Oh, I’m an assassin,” John says, like he’s been doing it for years. “That homeless guy you gave your number to? He’s an informant for the police. I did my undercover cop friend a favor, he twisted his ankle the morning we met and needed someone to take his place.”

“Uh huh…” You’re starting to feel really dumb now.

“I was never going to kill you.” John continues. “Or anyone, I was just there to get information. Usually when a woman wants a hitman they want parents or husbands dead for the insurance or inheritance money. And you were obviously not a threat, so I told my friend you didn’t show.”

“Obviously.”

John rubs his hands up and down his legs and you’ve never seen him nervous. “I just take care of really bad people, in case you were wondering…”

You weren’t. You were only thinking of yourself. Flooding feelings of shame come crashing down. How could you be so selfish?

“Bad people?”

John mumbles “yes,” and you start thinking about the money again. “I need to pay you back.”

He shifts on the bench and gently guides your chin to look at him. His touch makes you dizzy all over. “Can I tell you something and you really hear it right now? Like, really listen to what I’m going to say to you.”

You nod and meet his eyes, and it doesn’t look like he believes you, but he starts anyway. “I have plenty of money.” His tone is very soft and he’s speaking slowly, like you’re a child. “I don’t need your money.”

“You don’t need my money?” You ask, still not completely with it.

“I don’t need your money.” He confirms. “You’re not going to pay me. If you do, I’ll find a way to get it back to you.”

“Oh my God.” You sit up with a gasp. How could you be so oblivious? “Did you fix my bathroom sink??”

John looks guilty again, hands now falling in his lap. “You needed to sleep. And you need a new lock on your door, it was too easy to break in.”

“And you fixed my car.” You say in a daze, not really listening to him anymore.

“Well, it was easy to steal while you were at work and my friend is a mechanic. All it needed was some new tires and a tune up.”

Your eyes are wide and you blink to keep from screaming at him. “Anything else?”

“No. No, that’s it.”

As if it wasn’t enough.

You don’t remember leaving the lake. You barely remember John calling out your name, his fingers grabbing at yours to stay with him.

You do remember getting home and calling your therapist for an emergency session. It took three hours to explain it all. She tried to hide it, but she looked pretty horrified at your plan to hire a hitman. You’ve only seen her a handful of times anyway, and you hadn’t even breached the surface of your problems, let alone get to the part about John. She manages to calm you down, and gives you some coping skills to get through the rest of the day. She also asks if you still plan on hurting yourself, but you can confidently tell her no. You promise when you go home you’ll do some deep breathing exercises that you admit actually do work.

You think any sane person would thank John for doing all he did, but you’re too proud and it pisses you off. No one gets help like that. Everyone should fend for themselves. Fight their own fight. And you had, and you thought you’d figured it out. You didn’t need someone to save you. You were going to escape, however it had to be done.

At the end of another therapy session a few days later, you come to terms with it. You realize John is an adult and acted on his own will. You couldn’t have controlled him or his actions. For some reason he decided to help you and somehow you need to know that maybe you’re worth it. That’s later down the road though, you’re still not ready to see that yet.

You decide on a whim one night to text John that you forgive him and thank him for the things he did.

He sends you back a smiley face emoji and you melt a little more.

It’s only been three weeks since the day at the lake when your phone rings with a private number. It’s the officer who arrested Max and helped get him behind bars. He’s being let out tomorrow and Officer Sanders wanted to let you know as a courtesy. You thank him, your throat dry and he tells you to call him immediately if you need help.

You think about John’s offer at the laundromat, but can you really ask him to do something else for you? It’s a little desperate and you’ve become so independent in this last month that the thought really doesn’t sit well. Instead, you berate yourself for not taking self defense classes and briefly consider buying a gun when your phone rings again.

“Your ex is getting paroled tomorrow.” John tells you, before you can even say hello. “I’ll be at your place for a few days. No argument.” Gone is the guilt ridden guy at the park, the assassin is back and you don’t have the guts to tell him no.

“The couch is really uncomfortable.” You try instead and you can almost hear an eye roll.

“Be safe.” And John hangs up.

You lay down on your bedroom floor and reach under your bed for the baseball bat you hid there a long time ago. You could totally take care of yourself and practise a few swings, going a little too hard and somehow you end up with a good size bruise on the top of your foot.

Sighing, you sit down on your bed and come to accept that John Wick, the assassin, is just going to stay with you for a couple days. Not an issue at all. No problem. All very normal.

You tell yourself this over and over, but in the back of your mind you know it’s all lies and denial.

TBC Chapter 2

#John Wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #Keanu Reeves #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves x reader #romance #fan fiction #fanfic #john wick x y/n #slow build #find your worth #chapter 1

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