The villain who has haunted your dreams and taunted your nightmares, is laughing as you choke.
"I don't know why you keep trying? Your life is pathetic, not even an excuse to keep living. No one is going to save you, the little hero who no one loves beyond the cape," they spit at your feet, it lands among the bile you already spilled on your boots.
They let up with their power, giving you enough room to cough. When you do no more than that they squeeze a warning.
"I do require an answer."
There would be no getting out of this. They were right. No one was coming. When you could no longer be you wanted to go out knowing you didn't go quietly.
"When the universe banged into existence," you push up to one side, finding your feet while using the wall at your back, "It gave something to the life it sparked."
The twitch of the villain's hand warned you before your air stopped. Stumbling forward you note distantly as the blood vessels in your eyes start to pop. You're past feeling pain. The villain doesn't think to stumble back as you fall into them. The knife you settle between their ribs fixes that problem. As their life bleeds into their lungs they lose the grip on your throat.
You are too weak to cough, a wheeze all you can muster.
"What did life take from the big bang?" The voice surprises you but your body refuses to respond to the new threat.
"Persistence."
They help you up, eyes only darting over the cooling blood on your suit before eliminating the space between rib cages and slinging your arm across their shoulders.
"I've always been more interested in the humanity of our heroes than their powers. Seems like you might need a friend."
The laughing cry you let out carries on until you reach the main street and are spotted by your team of other heroes. They swarm and separate you from the person who helped you.
"Wait!" Your weak cry is ignored until you snap at someone.
Turning in place you can no longer see them. Tears prick at your bloodshot eyes. A teammate weaves through the crowd around you.
"They said you needed this."
The small black business card takes your vision immediately. Gripping it gently you memorize its details in case it gets lost in the shuffle.
Part three is here, I'm done shopping and just feasted on half a chicken by myself 😅 so away we go!
John staying up late one night, shoving the paperwork aside and tucking his head into the collar of his bomber jacket. Hand rubbing roughly on his mark. Always itched from all those shitty tattoos, even had one booked for a few weeks. Some nice enough bird, maybe wife number four? That is until he saw that cyan blue, the sight causing his, or what was left, of his brand to burn. He's felt this when he was younger and first enlisted, what was the name? But that all flooded away as he followed the curve of his name on that broad arm. Thick with hair and scars, but looking all the stronger for it. Following it up his eyes widened at the clear liquid in the large glass. That wasn't whiskey...
✨✨💖 bit biased on this one but enjoy, kinda feel like running off with it 💖✨✨
SUCH A GOOD IDEA! I wanted to expand on this a bit so anything in italics is taken exactly from @lialucis' delicious ask.
Soulmate AU if you wanted to see more about John's tattoo before reading this.
John [is] staying up late one night, shoving the paperwork aside and tucking his head into the collar of his bomber jacket [as he slouched further into his office chair. The air was still on well into October. It was too cold to say in his office without a coat anymore]. Hand rubbing roughly on his mark [above his heart]. Always itched from all those shitty tattoos, even had one booked for a few weeks. Some nice enough bird, maybe wife number four? That is until he saw that cyan blue [of his computer giving him the blue screen of death], the sight causing his, or what was left, of his brand to burn.
He's felt this when he was younger and first enlisted, what was [his] name? [He could only remember his last name, plastered across his chest. John had never asked his first name. He thinks now he knew deep in his bones what his name would be].
They hadn't done more than grope each other in the dark of a closet as their lips sought absolution on the other's skin. It left him with an ache, unfulfilled desires and the linger of shame.
He wasn't ashamed now though. That thought rocketed through him. When had the shame disapated? Could it have been when more and more people came forward that their tattoos marked and matched more and more people who didn't fit the norms? Or could it be when legislation had been passed in nearly all countries to ban discrimination to couples who did not fit the old norm? Or could it be when his second ex wife found joy in the arms of her wife?
Unable to pinpoint when John had shifted to being okay with this possiblity he forced a restart on his computer and set to work about finding the man that had stood between him and happiness with any wife. It took him a few weeks to track him down. In those few weeks he booked some laser tattoo removal appointments and broke it off with the bird he had been seeing.
Once John found him, he owned a posh landscaping business up north, he booked a flight out. Landing at ten in the morning set John up to make it to the office.
Blowing in through the front door the recpetionist looked surprised to see anyone come in the front door.
"Hi, can I help you?" Her gravely alto took John by surprise, but he had a mission.
"Yes, I need to see about having a chat with your boss. Is he in by chance?" John layered on all of his charm.
"Sorry sir, today is his early day but I bet if you hurry you might be able catch him at the pub down the street." She pointed the direction out to him.
John nodded his thanks and turned for the door.
"Did you want me to take your name and number?" John glanced back at her, "In case you miss him?"
"No thank you lass. I appreciate your help though. Stay warm today," he nodded once in her direction before setting back out into the chill.
Following the directions given John steps into the pub, the comforting smell of hops and chips wafting over his nose. Throwing his gaze about the room John's heart skips a beat when he sees a face he hasn't seen in damn near fifteen years.
God had it really been that long already?
Starting across the worn floor John comtemplated how to approach this conversation. Terrorist negotiation training never did cover something like this.
Sliding into the booth John caught the flash of anger sliding across the almost familiar face before him. Once he caught sight of John all emotion stopped.
[Worry spiked] but that all flooded away as he followed the curve of his name on that broad arm. Thick with hair and scars, but looking all the stronger for it.
"Price. Long time no see," he started carefully. "Still with the military these days?"
John watched as his hands flexed around his glass.
"For now. Made it to captain." John waves away the waitress who appears to take his order and more likely check on her regular. "How 'bout you? Got a good gig out here?"
"Pretty good, got several people who work for me and we do a good job caring for the posh lawns out here." He tightens his fingers around his glass before glancing up at John, locking eyes with him. "What are you doing out here John?"
There it is. The opening that would let John wedge his finger in the crack and tear it open.
"I realized a few weeks back I never took the chance to learn your first name between all those visits in and out of the closet." John lays on the swuave, the confident captian.
His soul mate gives him a soft smile. "What finally tipped your scales into thinking of me?"
John smirked, "A blue screen of death oddly enough."
"Well, why don't I buy you some lunch and we can walk to my flat to see if we are as good a match as we were fifteen years ago?"
I love this story so much and I want to squee and cry at the same time because now I can only visit them as a spectator.
Part 1 is here. AO3
CW: Vague mentions of sexual acts.
It became a code between them, 150. Any time, any place, if they wanted an out or just a reason for intimacy the number would be said and you and John would disappear. The guys of the 141 caught onto it quick enough. When John starts leaning closer, dropping kisses on any small piece of you he can reach they all know to listen for that one number that meant the two of you were either leaving or they were getting kicked out.
The fifth time it happened Kyle, Simon, Gary, and Johnny were watching John flirt with you across the kitchen counter as you are putting away the leftovers from their team dinner.
Simon leans closer to Gary and mutters quietly, “If he says one-fifty I’m gonna need someone to fifty-one-fifty me.”
Kyle, who had the unfortunate timing to be taking a sip at the moment of this comment, shot beer through his nose. The coughing laugh drew both yours and John’s attention. Johnny was the only one confused at the table.
You pass John a towel and watch with concern as Kyle wipes his face and then the table where he made a mess.
Johnny turns to Gary and whispers, “What’s a fifty-one-fifty?”
Gary smirks as he replies in a hushed tone, “It’s the code for an involuntary psychiatric hold in the States.”
“Oh! Because they are h—”
The towel cut off Johnny’s suddenly normal volume voice from across the table. Kyle’s aim hit dead on even as his body still shuddered with coughs. Everyone knew that Kyle had finished his coughing fit because he is wracked with a massive sneeze.
John looks over his men at the table, eyes narrowed.
“Anything to discuss muppets?”
“Oh leave them alone John,” you call from your place head in the refrigerator.
Everyone but you watches as John catches sight of your half-bent state and his demeanor takes on a lascivious cast. Side eye is shared between the four men at the table.
Skirting the counter John sidles up to you as you straighten, one hand falling to your back, resting above the rise of your pants, and the other gently pushing the door of the fridge closed.
Despite what the guys assume to be his best efforts John’s hushed voice carries. Must be a side effect of either him using his captain’s voice for so long or the intrinsic quality in his men to tune into his voice.
“Can I offer you 150?”
Glancing up under your brows you fight down a smile. Your hands drift around John’s middle, resting on his waist.
“How ‘bout zero? I have drinks with my friends downtown in thirty minutes and your men are still here.”
Pouting is a new look for John. Gary makes a face as if he has just seen the devil’s ass and found it covered in boils.
“Love you, John, have a good time with your guys,” you lean up and press a kiss to his lips before stepping back and addressing the team. “Have a good poker night guys.”
You leave with a chorus of goodbyes on your heels. For all their annoyance with John and his inability to maintain focus with you nearly every one of the guys liked you and had added you to their mental shortlist of good people.
Simon started to rise to grab the poker supplies but froze at John’s abrupt hand slash. The familiar movement to wait caused all the men to hold their positions. When the sound of your car pulling away and down the road finally fades John looks at his men.
“I have something to show you. Stay.” He takes off from the kitchen, feet eating up the distance to his destination.
He is back in less than a minute. Simon sat back down while waiting for his return. Both Kyle and Johnny sent their sergeants questioning glances, but neither Gary nor Simon had any clues.
John set a jewelry box on the center of the table. Gripping the small knob between two fingers he pulled out the bottom left drawer. It sat empty except for two rings, one with a large clear stone that could be nothing but an engagement ring and the other a matching plain band.
“Gonna wife the bonnie up?” Johnny waggled his eyebrows at John.
Rolling his eyes John looked at the rest of them for their reactions. Simon shrugged, arms folded across his chest.
“She’s good people.”
Gary nodded, “I doubt you could ever find someone better for you. She treats us like the good side of the family.”
Kyle half stood and pulled both rings from the drawer.
“I would marry her myself if I thought I could fight her away from you.” He narrows his eyes as he looks at something on the inside of the band. “What’s the 150 by the way? Must be important if you had it engraved on the band.”
The men had never seen their captain embarrassed, let alone go beet red.
John straightens up, hand reaching back to rub the back of his neck and scratch at the base of his hair.
“I might have offered 150,000 to see her naked before we got together.”
Guffaws and full-throat laughter cloud the room as John snatches the rings from Kyle, shoves them back in the drawer and returns the jewelry box to its place of honor on your dresser. It sits next to a photo of the two of you at the first New Year’s at Kyle’s, the one taken before John disappeared and nearly died.
Stepping back into the dining space the laughter has died down into the random chuckle and snicker when anyone would look at John for too long.
“Alright boss, tonight we are betting on truths because I desperately want to the full story about offering to see your bird naked,” Gary launches the challenge across the table.
That is how the night goes, John fighting for his proverbial life to keep his secrets to himself and losing to odds that casinos would weep for.
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It takes him a few weeks. A few weeks of girding his loins after getting the needed approval from his men to ask you. He had spoken to your father who placed a firm hand on John’s shoulder and said “If she finds out you asked me before her no god will be able to save you.”
With that, deeply concerning and somehow still accurate, warning ringing in his ears John starts to plot. He wanted to give you a grandiose event where he paid for a flash mob and the biggest damn bouquet he could find. He ran the idea past Simon who blinked at him as if trying to dislodge the thought that he willingly followed an idiot.
Simon placed a hand on the same shoulder your father did and gave a single shake of his head.
“She would hate that and you know it,” he walks away as if he didn’t just singlehandedly ruin John’s plans.
Falling into bed that night John sits next to you, back resting against the headboard as he runs a hand over your shoulders. You don’t cuddle when you are ready to truly get to sleep. It’s hard to cuddle the way you cock one leg, twist and strangle your pillows and finally flop into the oddest positioning claiming it is for comfort.
The thought slips out, like every part of him but his mind is ready for your answer already.
“Would you marry me?”
Your breath hitches under his touch.
Pushing up to one elbow and one hand you look up at him. John focuses all his years of training on keeping his face even.
“Of course, I would marry you.”
“When?” He probes.
You tuck your knees up under you, kneeling on the bed now. John lets his hand fall to yours in your lap.
“Tomorrow.” The serious look on your face is enchanting.
“No white dress or cake or fancy party?” Narrowing his eyes at you he wonders at your response. You had no doubt imagined and even designed the dress of your dreams.
“The frills don’t change the goal, just the timing of it,” you thread your fingers through his as you knee walk closer to him. “I love you and would marry you now, except any judge we have to wake to marry us would probably tell us to piss off and come back in the morning.”
Lifting a hand to your cheek John’s heart swells in his chest at the weight you rest in his palm. The soft look on your face makes his decision for him. Leaning forward he drops a kiss on your lips.
“Close your eyes and don’t open them till I say.”
Your lids drift close without hesitation. John climbs from the bed, retrieving both rings he bought for you. Blowing a lung’s worth of air through his nose he kneels, one knee pressing him up from the floor and the other a resting place for his elbow as he holds out the ring with a stone. He tucks the other onto the pointer finger of his left hand. Would hate to lose that.
“Okay, open your eyes.”
It takes you a heartbeat to locate him, eyes blinking before settling on him.
“Yes.”
You don’t let him even ask.
“Typically I need to ask—”
“Nothing about us is typical. Yes.”
John laughs, nerves shivering through his body as he sheds the layers and layers of stress he had built up in his mind.
Sticking out your hand impatiently you wiggle your fourth finger at him.
“Hurry up John. I want to fuck the lights out of you. Now get up here.”
Never a man to turn down an offer like that John slides your new ring into place and stands to be devoured by your kisses.
As you ride him into oblivion he places the flat ring on the ring finger of your other hand.
Never has a man been more lucky than he to take a nap at a seamstress’ shop.
This story is almost over and I have never had a better time wrapping up a story. These two make me so ridiculously happy.
Part one is found here. AO3
CW: Mentions of off page sex and fluids
For as long as John had been living in your flat this had to be the first properly labeled ‘date’ between the two of you.
John is driving and has arranged the whole evening. You tease him about the suit not fitting quite right, and that you might need to fatten him up before he goes back on jobs. He laughed and kissed the back of your hand, fingers threading between yours as he pulled into traffic.
“How were the guys about you being back on base today?”
John rolled his eyes even as he answered, “You would think I had just gotten blown up yesterday by the way they tip-toed past my office. I could time them by the end of the day. Simon came by every hour and would refill my coffee every three. Johnny and Kyle alternated every thirty minutes but never on the hours as that is when Simon would check on me. Gary camped out in my office and kept me fed.”
“They love you, John,” you can’t help but smile as they had all kept you informed about how he was doing all day.
“They sure do love to annoy me,” John muttered under his breath.
Before you could retort John pulled the car to the valet. Stepping from the driver’s seat he leaves the keys in the ignition. He claps a hand on the shoulder of the young man in red. He has a quick conversation that doesn’t translate past the door of the car and then John is at your door, opening it and helping you out. As if taken from a black and white film he tucks your hand into the crook of his arm. Greeted by a stiff-looking maître d’ that matched the reflective marble flooring you hold tighter to John. This building must ache under the weight of its years. The faint clinking of silverware on plates and the mummer of voices echo around the space.
“Name?” Stiff bespectacled man asks.
“Price,” John replies succinctly.
Behind the podium, the man scans his tablet looking for John’s information.
The confidence with which he knows that his name will appear on the list tickles you. You love it when he is bashful with you, but you adore confident John. Confident John is the one who charmed you, though delusional John is the one who offered you 150,000 dollar bucks to see you naked. That still makes you laugh when you think about it.
When he peers down at you with a brow lifted you assume he must have heard the quiet chuckle bounce off the walls or the floor.
“Sir, if you will follow me this way?”
You both look to the maître d’ already three steps ahead. John winks as you as you start after the man on. The bump to your hip nearly causes you to trip and hold tighter to John’s arm. Shooting him a glare he only gazes at you as if you are the most precious thing in the world. When the maître d’ begins to weave through tables John lifts your hand from his arm and leads you from behind. The tables are close together. Intimate lighting and long-reaching table-cloths topped with taper candles and intricate candle sticks.
The maître d’ leads you beyond them all, past a wall decorative of cutouts to a large circular room with five other couples seated far enough apart to not overhear one another’s conversations. Once you settle into the table and the waiter has appeared, disappeared, and reappeared with the wine John lets his attention fall to you.
“Why the laughter as we were waiting to be seated?”
The blush must be stealing across your cheeks the way his smile warms.
“I was thinking about all the sides of you I have seen,” you lift your thick linen napkin from your plate and place it on your lap with a flick.
You might be avoiding his eyes but he won’t call you on it.
“Do go on my love, what about me?”
Glancing up you find John resting his chin on a fist as his elbow sits on the table. You look away as fast as you can, cheeks heating to an uncomfortable level.
Tonguing your teeth you aim for honesty as you direct your answers at your plate.
“Well, I was thinking about how I love when you get bashful. Then I thought about how confidence looks sexy on you…”
“And?” he prompts. His eyes are still on you. The trail of gooseflesh across your chest and peeps of cleavage confirm it.
“And then I thought about how a delusional side of you,” you flick your gaze to his now to drive the point home, “Offered me 150,000 dollar bucks to see me naked.”
It’s John’s turn to blush. He straightens, both hands disappearing below the tablecloth as he adjusts his pants.
“Don’t regret the offer. I would offer more if I thought you might accept it,” he grumbles.
Before you can respond the waiter reappears.
“The chef welcomes you tonight to this one-of-a-kind experience.”
He goes on, explaining each step of the five-course meal. John must have pulled out a black card for this date. You sent him sly looks as the waiter went on. He would have paid you the money offered to see you naked.
Dinner goes on and on, nearly a three-hour event. When you can tell it is starting to wrap up, the chef is making rounds to the tables greeting each couple in turn, John catches your eye.
“Can I offer you 150 to get out of here?” He waggles his brows slightly.
The confusion on your face must show as John is concerned until your mind clicks the pieces together. 150. He is asking to take you home and see you naked. The sultriest of smiles morphs his lips as he watches you comprehend the offer.
“Let’s finish meeting the chef and I’ll take your offer. I’ll only charge you 100.”
His boisterous laugh makes an appearance, bouncing around the space until every set of eyes has touched your table. Hiding your own giggles behind your napkin, you focus on being presentable again. You and John barely make it through meeting the chef before leaving the restaurant, your body tucked as close as can be managed with his hand resting at your waist.
Contact is maintained the entire drive home. Sometimes it’s John’s hand resting on your thigh or your lips pressed to his knuckles. He lets you lead as you enter your flat. After locking the door you tug him into the bedroom, soft lighting from your fairy lights and a spare candle you light.
Like everything before it sex with John is sweet, full of laughter, and fulfilling in a way that nothing else could broach. The night moves slowly as John is often frustrated with his lack of stamina as he is still recovering. You enjoy the prolonged amount of time to explore his body and commit it to memory. Not that you would ever let him leave after offering so much money for the privilege of your skin.
When morning crests it finds you both covered in various fluids and achy and in need of pain meds, coffee, and a shower though not specifically in that order. Life with John is more perfect than you could have asked for from a genie. Even him leaving on jobs again does not diminish the love that waters the well of your soul.
I have about two hours left of homework before I can touch this. But since I can see you are in need I will give you a preview of part 9.
Seamstress | Part 9
For as long as John had been living in your flat this had to be the first properly labeled ‘date’ between the two of you.
John is driving and has arranged the whole evening. You tease him about the suit not fitting quite right, and that you might need to fatten him up before he goes back on jobs. He laughed and kissed the back of your hand, fingers threading between yours as he pulled into traffic.
“How were the guys about you being back on base today?”
John rolled his eyes even as he answered, “You would think I had just gotten blown up yesterday by the way they tip-toed past my office. I could time them by the end of the day. Simon came by every hour, and would refill my coffee every three. Johnny and Kyle alternated every thirty minutes but never on the hours as that is when Simon would check on me. Gary camped out in my office and kept me fed.”
“They love you John.” You can’t help but smile as they had all kept you informed about how he was doing all day.
“They sure do love to annoy me,” John muttered under his breath.
The chapter is not done yet, but asks and prods and comments always light a fire under me and help me stay focused. 😅
@backseatsoldier Had a thought of the COD guys and colors. This is an installment of that thought.
Nikto's favorite color is sea-glass green. Hex code #919e97.
The first time he found a modicum of peace after all the horrible things he did or were done to him he found a piece of sea-glass, the beautiful green kind. He carries it with him in a special container in his pack.
@scaredyspooks since I know he is a favorite of yours.
When John opens his eyes it is to a ceiling. That is his first indicator that something had truly changed.
He remembered bits of his last few weeks. His men had found him and pulled him from a gulag, an outdoor prison in northern Siberia. He had lost a lot of weight to simply keep warm enough to move breath. Turning his head with aching slowness he found the other side of your bed rumpled and still releasing heat.
“I’ve got him. I’m sorry I didn’t see your calls last night. John was at the door knocking and once I got him settled I couldn’t spare a thought for my phone.” Your voice shifts as if you are pacing in the hall. “Can you bring by some clothes and his toiletries?”
John rolls enough to rest his head where your smell remains the strongest, listening to you and his muppets plan on how to care for him while he heals. John knew he would need time to heal from this.
“When you get here can you stay long enough to help me get him washed up? I know he will feel more human with a little care.” A pause as you listen to whoever is on the other side of the line. “Yeah, I will ask him. See you soon.”
He would smile if his cheeks could contract with his face on the mattress. John had decided in Siberia that if you would have him he would marry you the moment he could stand for longer than ten minutes without needing a rest. You had mumbled to him in your sleep when your eyes could no longer stay open last night. Resting on your chest he felt the most tethered to his body and this planet he had since he had been taken.
The door opens on silent hinges. You find him instantly with his face pressed into the mattress. He hears you moving but doesn’t shift yet, waiting to see how you would react. Two fingers touched his pinky. As that had not been what he expected John pushed up with one arm to look at you.
Kneeling by the bed, chin resting on the edge you watched him.
When he caught your gaze you smiled at him so gently he felt a knot of emotion loosen ever so slightly in his chest.
“Hi, John. Can you stand?”
“Yes.” His voice sounded damaged even to his ears.
“Alright, let’s go brush your teeth then and get you some breakfast. One of your guys will be coming over soon with clothes and to help you in the shower. I have just two questions for you about all of this okay?”
John braces for a question that will turn over pain, memories wriggling like worms in the warmer soil of home.
“First question, do you want eggs, bacon, and toast or oatmeal for breakfast?”
He blinked at you. The words should have all made sense in that order but they didn’t. You wanted to know what he wanted to eat?
“Oatmeal,” he creaked.
“Wonderful, I have fresh fruit and jams and syrups. Now second question.”
He braced again.
“Your Lieutenants would like to know how you got off base. Can you tell me?” You look at him with such concern, as if you were worried he did something that might hurt him further.
The broken laugh hurt his throat. It caused his chest to ache with unshed tears as well. You rubbed a hand over his wild hair as his laughs morphed into tears. When he had cried himself out, a wet spot on your bed and your eyes glistening as well he told you.
“I got to my desk, pulled out my emergency cash, and walked out.”
“You just walked out?” The incredulous look you give him warms him. Even frostbitten and thin you stare at him as if he could hang the stars for you.
“Yeah, waved by to the guards as I passed and waited for my cab.”
You stood on your knees pressing your forehead to his.
“I’m so glad you made it back to me,” you whispered, a single tear falling to his wet spot on the sheets.
“I fought,” he whispered back.
“And you made it. Now I won’t kiss you until you have clean teeth.” You send him a big, bright smile. “Up you pop. If you’re stable on your feet I will leave you in the bathroom and get our oatmeal started.”
To his chagrin, John was stable on his feet. He didn’t trust himself to not actually fall over if he faked it so he let you lead him to the closed lid of the toilet seat, hand him a new toothbrush, and slid from his view. The comforting sounds from the kitchen slid through the space. With his mouth clean he did feel more human like you said he would. Keeping a hand on a wall John made his way into your eat-in kitchen, the bright space warmed him from the inside out with bright colors and thriving plants on the counter.
The instant you heard him you turned and pulled him into your arms. You feel like home. He holds you until the oatmeal begins to bubble. Twisting in his arms you turn off the stove and try to move to get some bowls.
“John. You need a shower, one of your guys will be here soon to help you wash. You are already shaking. Go and sit down.”
He takes the command, getting a small thrill of you telling him what to do. You serve him up as much as he will eat and by the time Roach arrives, John is falling asleep at the table. He gives John a gentle hand and helps him in and out of the tub leaving John feeling cleaner than even the time his grandmother had washed him and stripped a layer of skin from him. Roach settles him into bed with only a pair of boxers, John’s preference of sleeping wear when given the chance and John is asleep before he is fully covered with the blankets.
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That’s how your relationship officially starts with John you think, with him sinking into your bed in the middle of the night after escaping unspeakable horrors. He recovers day by day. His men visit and often spend the night on the couch. They loved him and wanted to see for themselves that he had put on weight and started smiling again.
The day he went back to work again he came home early to take you on a proper date. He wore his Christmas suit and you wore your New Year’s dress. John told you he had informed all of his muppets to stay away tonight, and that he would shoot anyone who tried to crash your date.
You weren’t worried. You were almost positive that he wouldn’t shoot to kill. But you had also gone ahead and texted the guys that if any of them appeared at your flat tonight then you would personally take in all of their pants a centimeter at a time until they busted through seams like the Kool-Aid man through a wall. They had all gotten the message.
CW: Momma drama. If you have a bad mom relationship like I do please read with caution. Also John comes home a bit broken. He gets better but not in this part.
John appears behind you as you are stepping into your shop. When his hand pushes the door open wider from behind you startle.
“Jesus fuck me!” You jump and spin, eyes wide and chest heaving as you confirm who stood behind you.
The slightly worried look on John’s face tells you he didn’t mean to startle you.
“Sorry dove thought you heard me.”
“Apparently my thoughts were too loud,” sheepishly you push the door shut behind him and begin to flick on lights.
Waiting for you at the counter with John is your jewelry box. It looks better than before if that is possible.
“I didn’t stain it,” John runs a finger down the side and you wish that digit dragged down your side instead.
Fuck, bitch you can’t be this horny yet, he just arrived. Apparently, the earth-shattering orgasm from your vibrator last night with the taste of him on your lips wasn’t enough. When did you get so greedy?
“Why not?” You ask as you fold your arms, not one hundred percent sure your bra would be able to trap your steel-tipped nipples.
Glancing from the box to John you see a soft smile. When he looks up at you it grows.
“I noticed how much you seemed to like the grain of the wood and seemed sad at the idea of it being covered up. A few coats of clear lacquer to protect it and it was done.”
“I love it. I’m so glad you chose lacquer. I would have been happy with any choice you made but this? It’s wonderful.” Leaving the box at the counter you waved John to follow you.
“I made you something as well.” Putting a hand on the nob of the door to the back room you spun. “I know it’s not really a problem, but you have complained about going into what you call “power meetings” with only your slacks or your fancy uniforms so I made you something that should hold up against scrutiny.”
John’s arms are folded, head tilted ever so slightly to watch you with the smile tucked under his mustache.
Taking a deep breath you twist the handle and step back into the room. You hung the suit on the wall directly in front of the door so you could watch his face as he saw it. You had paid a pretty penny for the fabric, thread, and buttons. They all came together so seamlessly that even your friend who was a tailor wouldn’t have been able to know a suitmaker hadn’t put it together unless he started to pull it apart at the seams. You had also purchased the silk for his shirt and made that by hand as well.
The smile falls from his face as he steps up to the suit and runs a hand lightly over it.
“Holy fuck.”
Glancing from side to side you bite your lip.
“So what do you think?”
When he turns you know why people like blue eyes so much. John’s blue eyes are enchanting with the tears rimming his lashes. They remind you of the ocean in the photos you’ve seen of tropical places.
“I can’t think of a gift that has ever meant more to me,” he chokes out around the tears in his throat.
“Do you want to try it on?” You suggest, heart fluttering in your chest.
“I want-”
His desires were cut off by the sound of the bell.
Turning you call out.
“Sorry, we are closed today,” when you catch sight of your mom.
The warmth that had settled over you like sunlight as spring breaks chilled to the harshest of winter breezes. Shutting the door to the back room, and your joy from your sorrow you face your mother.
“You didn’t come to Christmas,” she starts.
“I told Pop I would be going to Nana’s this year.”
“You’re still mad at me,” she pouts with her eyebrows.
Your mother had skills in expressing herself without making a scene about it.
“I am not mad, I’m done.”
Your mother stepped up to the counter, slowly opening each drawer of your gift. Snatching it off the counter you placed it on your working desk next to your sewing machine.
“What does being done have to do with not coming to Christmas?”
She’s pulling that mom tone again, trying to force you into a child role whether she knows it or not.
“I do not enjoy the way I feel while spending time with you. I do not like the comments you make or the fact that even when my brother is being rude I am still in the wrong. And I am done putting myself in situations to be hurt because you happened to get knocked up and produce me.”
She had told you once that you were a birth control failure baby. She had been drinking, you had been ten.
“I did not happen to get knocked up,” she sputtered.
Taking a deep breath you point your eyes at the ceiling and pray for patience.
“That is not the point of this conversation and I apologize for bringing it up. What I am saying is that I won’t be spending more time with you until we can go to family therapy. I’ve told this to Pop several times. I will send you a few options between us and will set up the appointment as well.”
“But I am your mother!” She is getting shrill, a sure sign she is losing control of the conversation in her mind.
“And I am grown. Now I have a private appointment I need to get back to.”
“Is this because of the comment about no one paying to see you naked? I’m sorry that you were offended by what I said.”
Your jaw works as your fingers curl into talons and your shoulders stiffen.
“I am not having that discussion here and now. Pick a therapist from the list I send you or leave me alone.”
Mom looks shocked, scared even, at the tone you use. She turns leaving in a huff and you open the door to the back to see John, shirt unbuttoned and eyes blown wide as if someone dosed him with drugs.
“That’s an option? I can pay to see you naked? Is a hundred enough?”
“A hundred?” You ask, confused but slightly hurt that he thought you were so cheap.
“No? Okay, a hundred and fifty thousand?” He looks desperate and hopeful and lost and like he might combust all at once.
You choke on your spit. Did that man just offer a hundred and fifty thousand dollar bucks to see you naked!?
All it would have taken is a glass of wine, a smokey look, and an invitation to bed and your clothes would have disappeared from your body like they never existed. Like damn you had high self-confidence, forged out of hate comments online and in real life, but you weren’t worth that much. Maybe John did like you like you liked him?
He stepped forward, mouth opening to form words when his phone went off. The instant change told you it was work.
“Dammit all to hell and may it never return,” he snatched up his pants from the cot and answered the phone as he moved it to his ear, snarling. “What?”
You watched as the soldier overtook the man. His back straightened as he tucked the phone between his shoulder and his ear beginning to work at the buttons at his wrists. Stepping into his space you took over the task freeing him faster than he would have managed. Helping him out of the shirt you fold it over one arm, watching as he disappears below his shirt to reappear through the head hole. You don’t offer to help him remove the pants but take them when offered without comment.
John doesn’t spare you a glance as he pulls his cargo pants up, sheathing the deliciously thick thighs he hides. When he sits to tie his boots you toss the clothes from your arms to the cot and kneel to take over that task for him. Tying them tight you stand and offer him a hand. He takes it, holding on as he stands.
Still on the phone he pulls your knuckles to his lips and turns the phone away from his mouth.
“When I get back, we are talking about this.”
It’s all you can do to nod before he dons his coat and slips into the precipitation of January.
🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡
The last of the snowdrops are blooming when John makes it back home. Between the knocks at the front door and the vibrating of your phone from under your pillow, you wake enough to stumble to the front door. The door opens fully before your eyes do.
John looks haggard, as if he aged ten years in the three months he was gone. A full beard had grown in, the ends ragged and uneven. His eyes flick over you. No expression crosses his face.
“John? You’re home,” the sigh in your last word pulls him through the door and into your arms.
It’s too late for your mind to come up with reasons why dragging him into your room after locking the front door would be a bad idea. Stripping him of his boots and his pants you invite him to lay under the blankets with you by laying them atop him and letting him settle into the mattress. Crossing around the bed you join him between the sheets. Laying on your side you stare at him.
Something about him felt broken and you didn’t dare hold him and make it worse.
“What can I do John?” You ask the darkness between you.
The words settle on him like the ice blown around in the wind of the gulag.
“Tell me what happened while I was gone. I don’t feel real.”
You scoot closer to him in the bed, less than a handswidth between you.
“I brought your suit home. I missed you a few weeks after you left and had nothing but the photo from the party and your gift. My mom started going to individual therapy. We tried a couple of family sessions but the therapist recommended that she do some personal work before we attempt to do much more work on fixing our relationship. My brother called me on my birthday, which was unexpected. I bet my po-”
“I missed your birthday?” John’s broken whisper cut you off.
“Yeah,” you reach out and touch his pinky. He flinches so you shift your hand back, but before it can go too far his hand chases you locking your fingers together.
“When is your birthday?”
“Valentine’s Day.”
“You must hate that.”
The accurate observation surprises you. You’ve talked with other people who have birthdays on holidays, most Christmas and New Year’s babies hate it, birthdays on big celebration days that aren’t the big big ones tend to go either way but for you, it always felt required to have a date on your birthday. Were you out because your date wanted to celebrate you or show off for the table around you?
“I do,” you let out a small chuckle. “My brother was born on May Day, he doesn’t seem to mind it. When is your birthday John?”
“July second.” He pulls in a deep breath, “Will you hold me?”
Small and scared his voice pierces into your chest.
“However you want to be held,” you answer in earnest.
“Lay back?”
You adjust to settle on your back, fixing the pillow below your head. John follows you, as cautious as an alley cat. Once his head is resting against your chest, chin tipped between your breasts you curl your arm around his shoulder next to your ribs and rest your hand on his back. The shuddering breaths that start from him prompt you to keep telling him about what happened while he was away.
“Did you know your muppets came to visit me? They all brought in their own fixes and asked to use your cot. Every one of them woke looking like they had no clue where they were and agreed that they understood why you kept coming back for naps.”
You talk until you drift into sleep, but your dreams are full of stories so maybe you talk to John until you wake.
