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luci-in-trenchcoats · 4 years ago

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By My Side (Part 6)

Summary: The reader and Jensen discuss their relationship moving forward while Jensen learns more about the reader’s family situation. He still has a bad feeling about something though and his gut may prove to be right...

Masterlist

Pairing: Bodyguard!Jensen x reader

Word Count: 5,700ish

Warnings: language, angst, mention of prior suicide attempt, minor violence

A/N: Enjoy!

_________

You woke up to Jensen bundled up in bed, covers tugged to his chin as he sleepily watched you stretching in bed. You giggled at him and his bed head, rolling closer and kissing him good morning.

“That is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” you said.

“Obviously you don’t look at the mirror much,” he said. You smiled and he reached his arm under the covers, putting a hand on your waist. You scooted over, Jensen blinking slowly. “We need to talk about this.”

“Talk about what?” you asked. He bopped your nose and you smiled, tucking down into the sheets.

“Do you want a relationship?” he asked.

“Do you?”

“It would make my job...difficult.”

“Oh.”

“Not impossible. Just difficult.”

“Is it any more difficult than it was? I mean honestly. What’ll have changed? You still keep me safe and I still hide and run if you say so.”

“That part hasn’t changed. But there is something that has. A wildcard factor. Wildcard factors aren’t great in this job.”

“What’s a wildcard?”

“In a dangerous situation, if we were in a relationship, there’s the potential that you would do something to put yourself in harm’s way to protect me.”

“If that happened, regardless of us being in a relationship, if your ass is on the line, I can’t guarantee I do as told.”

“I don’t like that answer.”

“Jensen, if we do this, you need to trust me. I will do what you tell me when it comes to threats but I can’t say for sure that I won’t try to help you if I can.”

“So if it comes down to it, you’ll do whatever you want in the end.”

“Exactly.”

“If when I’m in bodyguard mode, you do what I say...I will learn to be okay with that very small possibility.”

“Good choice,” you said. You slid a hand around his back and traced up and down his spine, feeling a thin line raised on the skin. “What happened there?”

“Not advised to jump from of a speeding vehicle,” he said. You raised an eyebrow and he chuckled. “I was four wheeling once. Went off trail accidentally. Had to ditch my ride in a hurry. A bit of gravel-”

“Liar,” you said quietly. You smiled and he looked over your head.

“How’d you know?”

“I’m pretty good at knowing when people are acting,” you said. “You get it in combat?”

“Shrapnel got my vest.”

“You’re still lying.”

“It’s not pleasant. I’d rather not...scare you.”

“You don’t scare me,” you said.

“I was held captive once. Very, very briefly. I got a little beat up,” he said.

“You?” you asked, Jensen nodding, sliding his hand up and playing with the end of your hair. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want.”

“Thanks. I don’t like to talk about that stuff a lot,” he said.

“If you ever change your mind, I’m a good listener,” you said.

“Thanks,” he said. “You like scrambled eggs?”

“Who doesn’t?” you asked. He smirked and kissed your cheek before he popped out of bed.

“Well I’m about to blow your mind with the Ackles special,” he said. He walked around the bed and picked up his underwear, turning when he noticed you watching him. You looked him up and down, Jensen laughing to himself. “I saw you checking me out when I was swimming you know.”

You groaned and pulled the sheets over your head. He moved around for a moment and you felt the sheets come down, Jensen leaning over you.

“I had to tease a bit, make sure things were mutual,” he said.

“Of course you did.” You stretched and yawned, closing your eyes.

“Doing anything fun with your family today?”

“Shopping with my mom will be fun. I’m not the biggest shopper but she likes it. We’ll get lunch, hit a few stores, get a massage after. I think Chuck and the guys are going looking at houses for the boys. Sounds like they might get a place together again.”

“Would you like your brothers to live closer?” he asked. You sat up and held the covers to your chest, Jensen handing you his shirt. You pulled it on over yourself, shrugging as you sat on your knees. “Why do you interact with them if you don’t like them?”

“How long have your parents been married?”

“All my life. Before that,” he said.

“No step siblings, half siblings?”

“My brother and sister share the same parents I do,” he said. “I don’t quite know what it’s like to live in a family like that I guess.”

“My mom went to a very dark place after my dad died. I didn’t know how to fix it. Chuck made her laugh for the first time in six months. He made her smile. He helped her and she helped him too. His wife died earlier on that year. He made her so happy, makes her so happy. I will put up with a few mean step-brothers to never see her go to that place again.”

“I would understand if they resented your mom but it’s you it seems they don’t like.”

“I was the youngest by quite a bit. Chuck would spend time with me. I think the boys were jealous and they probably could have done with more time with their father back then. They’d lost their mom that year too. But I needed him, mom needed him, he was mourning himself...he did the best job he could considering how fucked up we all were. They’re both successful. I just don’t think they liked having a little sister honestly.”

“Sucks for them. Little sisters are cool,” he said with a smile. “My big brother loves to mess with me but he doesn’t treat me the way those two do.”

“Well, even if they move here, I don’t have to hang out with them,” you said. You crawled into his lap and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. “I heard someone’s a little cocky about their scrambled eggs.”

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know,” he said. He stood up with you before letting you get your feet under you. You pulled on your underwear and followed him downstairs, whistling as you took in his backside. “Y/N…”

“My bodyguard is hot and he should know it,” you said. He shook his head and headed into the kitchen humming to himself as he started to make up some breakfast for the two of you. The doorbell rang and you groaned. “I bet that’s my mom, early as always. I’ll get her out of here.”

“You don’t have to,” he said.

“I plan on doing things to you after breakfast and I do not want her around for that,” you said. He laughed as you padded down the hall and to the front door. You cracked it open a smidge and saw a man in a suit standing there, his back to you. He spun around with a smile and you nodded. “Oh, hi Jake.”

“Good morning!” he said. “I apologize for being late this morning, my car-”

“The meeting,” you said, slapping yourself in the face. “I totally blanked on it.”

“That’s alright. Is now a good time?” he asked. You looked down at yourself and peeked back around the door. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah! It’s perfect, all perfect,” you said.

“You’re not...are you sure-” he said before Jensen was suddenly stepping into view and pushing you behind the door. “Good morning, Mr. Ackles. You uh, appear to be missing most of your clothes.”

“It seems I am,” said Jensen. “Ms. Y/L/N is very well. She would like to reschedule for ten am if that’s possible.”

“Uh…” he said before you rolled your eyes and opened the door all the way. You stared at him and he looked between you both. “Oh. Gotcha. You two…”

“Mhm,” hummed Jensen, crossing his arms.

“Jake would you mind setting up in my office? It’s just down the hall. Jensen and I were about to eat breakfast. We’ll only be fifteen or so minutes,” you said. He stepped inside and you pointed the way, Jensen pouting as you headed back into the kitchen. “Oh, I’m still gonna do things to you. Just tonight, pouty boy.”

“Alright. You told me David was going to be your manager I thought,” he said, going back to the fridge to get the eggs.

“Well I went with Jake. Is that a problem?

“No. I need to be made aware of decisions like that though. I’m going to have to work with him quite a bit for events, your work schedule, that stuff,” he said.

“I thought you’d be happy. You said you liked him.”

“I do. I am happy. I’m just not happy that you didn’t tell me.”

“He’s been my manager for like a day, calm down,” you said. He put his hands on the counter and you saw him drop his head, his back to you. “Jensen, no evil person is out there looking to snatch me away the second you turn your head. It was one day.”

“In the future, please make me aware of staff changes when they happen?” he asked. He looked back at you, his face softer than you were expecting.

“Okay,” you said. While he whisked some eggs in a bowl, you walked over beside him, watching over his arm. “Looks good.”

“I haven’t even done anything yet,” he chuckled. You rested your head against his arm, Jensen adding in some spices to the mixture. You scooted up on the counter as he went to the stove, watching him scramble them on low, pouring in a dash of cream.

“Can I ask why the Jake thing bothered you?” you said quietly. He scrambled the eggs for a minute before sliding them onto a few plates.

“Because I have a bad feeling that there is someone out there that wants to hurt you and I have nothing to go off of besides a gut feeling and trusting that you’ll be honest with me, always. You didn’t do anything. I overreacted.”

He got out a pair of forks from the drawer, handing you one along with a plate.

“Your gut feelings are normally right?” you asked, taking a bite of the eggs.

“Normally. They were at the restaurant,” he said. You nodded, putting a hand on your arm where a barely there bruise was. “I’m sorry if I hurt you that night.”

“I get hurt worse walking into a wall cause I’m dumb. You had me on the ground before I even knew what was going on and stopped that guy from doing who knows what to everyone. I’m not sorry about that.” He was quiet but gave you a nod. “Your eggs are great. Permission to brag granted.”

“Thanks,” he said, the doorbell ringing again. “I better get dressed. We’re gonna talk about getting a gate at the end of the driveway too by the way.”

“I second that,” you said as you heard the front door open. “Oh my God, my mother, just walks wherever she wants.”

He took off upstairs, ducking down the hall just as she walked into the kitchen.

“Hi mom,” you said. “You are...three hours early.”

“I know, you have work things. I wanted to make you some food you can have for leftovers the next few days. You have hardly any food in your house,” she said.

“Ma, I can barely cook and most of the time, I don’t have the actual time,” you said. She rolled her eyes and you hopped off the counter.

“Well I’m here so might as well,” she said. You glanced up to the balcony and saw Jensen pop into view wearing some jeans and a long sleeve henley. His holster was clipped on under his shirt and you smiled as he came down. “Oh, good morning, Jensen.”

“Mrs. Y/L/N,” he said.

“Any particular reason my daughter is wearing your shirt and no pants?”

“Uh,” he said, opening his mouth when she made a face.

“Two plates of eggs? You think I was born yesterday?”

“No mam. Your observational skills are impressive,” he said.

“Mom, could you lay off. We like, just started dating,” you said.

“Can you cook?” she asked him.

“A bit,” he said.

“Bodyguard, he can cook and he’s handsome. He’s fine by me,” she said. You put your head in your hands, your mom whacking your shoulder. “You’re so overdramatic. Now get out of my kitchen. We’ll get lunch and shop later. I assume Jensen is coming with us?”

“I would love to spend the day with you ladies but I trust you two will be okay on your own. I’d like to go over some things with Y/N’s new manager if Y/N’s okay with that,” said Jensen.

“You will join us for dinner though, won’t you? We’re going out with Chuck and the boys. Our treat,” she said.

“Mom,” you said, getting a look from her. “Jensen always goes out with me at night, that’s our rule. I’ll pay for his meal.”

“But we’re taking you kids-”

“He is my employee. You don’t-”

“He’s your boyfriend who happens to work for you. I’m paying for his dinner, alright?” she said. You held up your hands and padded out of the kitchen, Jensen following you upstairs.

“I’m sorry about her,” you said back in your bedroom as you started to pick up last night’s clothes. “She’s-”

“She misses her daughter. She’s happy I’m here. It helps her sleep better at night,” he said. “Told me herself.”

“I love her. I love her to death but I was a kid when my dad died. I know it was hard for her but for six months, until she met Chuck, she acted like I didn’t exist. She likes to forget that sometimes.”

“People grieve differently,” he said. “Still, it wasn’t on you to do that.”

He took the dirty clothes from your hand and cupped your cheek, kissing your temple quickly.

“Don’t know how anyone could not notice you. Good thing I get paid to stare at you all day,” he smirked. You lightly smacked his chest, Jensen giggling. “As much as it pains me to say it, get that tush dressed. We’ve got a very long meeting with your manager this morning.”

That Afternoon

“What about this one?” asked your mom, holding up a dress.

“You know I hate award shows,” you said.

“I mean for tonight. Or a date with Jensen sometime,” she said. You did your best to keep your face neutral but she caught the slight down turn of your lips. She slammed the dress back on the rack and put her hands on her hips. “What? All morning you have been short with me.”

“Mom I just started dating him like half an hour before you got to the house. You are going way too fast. I have dresses and I honestly wasn’t even going to say anything until it got more serious.”

“You pay him to protect your life. How much serious does it need to get?” she asked. You rolled your eyes and she made a face. “You barely pick up the phone and talk to me anymore.”

“Cause you changed after dad and not in a good way. For a little while, I lost both my parents. Even after Chuck, you two were so involved with each other you didn’t spend as much time as me as you did before dad died. When I was a teenager, when I really needed my mom, you weren’t there all the time. I’m sorry I grew up to be independent. But-”

“Do you think I don’t realize that? I know I made mistakes,” she said. She sighed and took a seat on a bench outside a waiting room. “I just want you to be happy and Jensen...I haven’t seen a smile on your face like that since before Brian died. He makes you happy, even when you two looked so annoyed with one another earlier in the week, he would stare and you would stare. I feel good about this one. I just want you to enjoy falling in love, if you do end up going that route with him.”

You sat down next to her and shrugged, crossing your arms. You leaned back against the wall and rubbed your sneaker against the floor.

“How do you know that’s your guy,” you asked quietly. “I mean, you’ve done it twice. How do you know?”

“It was different with Chuck. I was slower to admit to myself that I was in love with him. Your father was very quickly. I didn’t share that information with him until much later but I knew, a part of me, the part you don’t justify with logic or facts or details, that part always knew. It knew with them both. Nowhere does it say you only have to have one soulmate. I know you don’t want to hear that but I love them both equally, Y/N.”

“Mom, I love Chuck. It’s not the same as dad but I do. He makes you happy and he tries to be a dad to me but he gives me the space I need too. I’m happy you have him. I’m happy we both do.”

“Why do ask how you know the man you’re with is the one?” she asked. “Or are you asking because that part you can’t explain already told you something you’re not even willing to think yet.”

“I was curious was all,” you said as you stood.

“You’re a horrible actor,” she said. You pushed on her shoulder and she laughed. “Fine, fine. No more boy talk. Let’s try another store. I’m at the very least not letting you walk out of this mall without a new pair of heels.”

Later That Night

“Y/N?” asked Jensen outside your bedroom as he knocked on the door. You checked the back of your fancy bun one last time in the mirror before you walked out and into the room.

“One sec,” you said, bending down and putting on the five inch heels, zipping them up in the back. After a moment of looking yourself over in the mirror in a sleek, mostly backless black dress, you opened up the door. Jensen was in a tailored black suit with a deep navy tie. “You look-”

“Wow,” he said, looking you up and down. “You look so fancy.”

“Fancy?” you laughed. “Is this because you hardly ever catch me out of my sweats?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love the sweats and the leggings. I love all of it,” he said.

“You look very handsome,” you said, skirting past him and hearing a quiet whistle. “Knew you’d appreciate that.”

“Damn right I do,” he said as he caught up. “Ready to head out?”

“After you.”

“That’s great you guys found a house,” you said an hour later at the restaurant, mouth full of some cheese fries. Nick rolled his eyes at you and you licked your lips. “Wha? I’m hungry.”

“Actually it’s for mom and me,” said Chuck. You raised an eyebrow and he smiled. “I’m a writer so I can work from anywhere and your mom got offered a great position at a clinic here.”

“That’s great guys. I’d love to get to see you more,” you said. You looked at Michael and he had a curious smile on his face. “Did you get a house too?”

“Penthouse apartment hopefully. We’re looking at some tomorrow. Gonna be on my own for the first time. Nick and I talked and he’s not sure if he really wants to move out here yet. We decided we’d see what it’s like living apart for the first time,” he said.

“Worst case I can always get a professor job at one of the colleges if I change my mind while I try to get into a school district,” said Nick while he played with the remnants of some crust on his plate.

“You’ll come eventually,” said Chuck. “Get everyone living in the same timezone again. It’ll be good.”

“So are you two like a thing now?” asked Michael to you, looking as innocent as could be while he hid his shit eating grin.

“Yes,” you deadpanned. Jensen looked up from his salad but you went back to eating. For the most part the evening was what you were expecting. Your step-brothers acting oh so pleasant in front of your parents and Jensen getting a few questions about his job. You did smile though when Jensen was able to upstage Michael about some law usage. You were pretty sure even Michael was impressed with him at that point.

“That went well,” said Jensen an hour later after you’d parted ways with your family and were walking back to your car. “Michael’s growing on me. He seemed better tonight. Nick not so much.”

“I’m actually really proud of him for getting his own place. I get that they’re twins but they’re in their thirties. Neither one of them has had a girlfriend in years.”

“Michael’s like a workaholic though,” said Jensen, holding your hand when you walked past a guy in a jacket with his hood up.

“True. Maybe he’ll cut back some out here.”

“How do you think Nick will handle that?” he asked. You stopped walking and pulled out your phone. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t particularly like Nick most of the time, don’t get me wrong. But he might do something stupid,” you said as you dialed your brother. It rang a few times before he answered.

“Yeah?” he said.

“Hey Nick. You want to come over tomorrow while Michael apartment hunts?”

“Uh, sure,” he said and you knew he must have been around your parents still.

“Great. Come over around noon. We’ll have lunch and a swim or something.”

“Okay. See ya.”

You shook your head before you were walking again, Jensen bumping your shoulder.

“Something I need to know about?” he asked.

“The file you did on Nick, what’d you find.”

“Arrest record for when he was young. A few drunk and disorderlies, nothing Michael couldn’t ever get cleared up for him. Hospital stay for a few days in his twenties when he fell down some wet stairs. I’m going to go ahead and guess out of all of that he didn’t fall, did he.”

“No,” you said as you stopped outside your car.

“What happened?”

“I came home from school early and Nick had tried to kill himself,” you said. Jensen blinked a few times and you let out a dry laugh. “It’s hard to surprise you but I think that took the cake.”

“You need to tell me everything.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a threat to you. You can’t see it but I can. He doesn’t like you and if he’s tried that before, it means-”

“Can we talk about this at home?” you said when you saw someone down the street recognize you. He nodded and they wandered up, asking for a few pictures. You posed and put on a smile, Jensen watching careful with a hard look in his eye.

“Woah, woah,” said Jensen half an hour later as you sat in the family room at one end of the couch in some sweats and an oversized tee, Jensen sporting a similar look but wearing the hoodie you’d given him. He had a notebook by his side but he’d put it on the coffee table in favor of throwing his hands up. “He tried to do it in your bedroom? He left a note on your bed?”

“My closet,” you said. “My closet had attic access so he’d tied a rope up on a beam. He had just kicked the chair away when I walked in. I was skipping last period. Senior year and all.”

“What’d you do?”

“It was very obvious that Nick knew he’d made a mistake. I grabbed him and held him up as best I could until he could untie himself. He fell down pretty hard cause I couldn’t hold him anymore and landed on all the junk lying on my closet floor. He told me we were gonna lie and say he fell down some stairs to account for all the bruises.”

“Why’d you help him lie?”

“Cause I thought he tried to kill himself because of me. I thought he hated me that much. He was in my bedroom after all,” you said.

“You read the note?”

“Jensen-”

“I need to know, Y/N.”

“Why?”

“Because my job is to protect you from threats. If your step-brother doesn’t like you and now his whole family is moving away from him to be closer to you, depending on a lot of things, this could get messy.”

“Jensen-”

“Did you read it?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And?” For a moment you looked past him and outside, Jensen’s foot nudging yours. “I’m sorry but I gotta know.”

“He felt like a failure. He was in the car with his mom when she died. He saw how well Michael did and I did and he felt distant from his dad and he felt like his life was crumbling around him and honestly, he wanted to go be with his mom again. He felt like he didn’t belong. I fucking bawled reading it.”

“You guys ever talk about it or was it over like that?”

“I slapped him in the face and told him he was pathetic. His mom, my dad, they didn’t get a choice to live or die. I was so angry at him. He apologized and he promised me that if he ever felt like that again, he’d tell me. A few years later, he came to me and thought he might do something stupid.”

“His teaching sabbatical he went on.”

“He got some professional help. I paid for it all. He stayed out here, nearby. I visited him everyday on the way into work. He got better. He learned a lot about himself, how to cope, how to deal with things in his life. He still sees a therapist every week I pay for on the down low.”

“He’s no threat to you.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because he loves you and you love him, even if you don’t like one another or act like you care. If something bad were to happen, he would help you and you’re gonna do it right back.”

“How do-”

“Because your step-brothers who are assholes to you at times, they wanted to ensure that I would protect you when I first met them. I think it’s finally all clicking into place,” he said. “Hence why you never say a word about their behavior to your mom.”

“I will take prickly siblings over dead ones, even if I didn’t pick them,” you said.

“Are you worried Nick will take a bad turn with everyone else moving here?”

“I don’t know. I know he associates this place with bad memories, some of his darkest memories. I don’t blame him for not wanting to live here,” you said. Jensen nodded and ran his thumb over his lips. He propped his elbow on the back of the couch, resting his head in it.

“I’ve always thought you were kind. But helping your brother like that, in secret when I’m sure you want to tell your family, that’s not easy.”

“Yes, it is. There was never really a decision to be made though. The only one was to tell my parents and Michael and as long as Nick is honest with me, I will keep his secrets from them.”

“You’re more loyal than some of the people I served with,” he said, looking out the back windows. “It’s only an easy decision if you’re a good person. I wish I’d worked with more of those.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked. He smiled and ruffled his hair, frowning after a moment.

“Jared saved my life you know. After I healed up, I transferred to his unit.”

“He’s a good guy to call your friend,” you said. He hummed and you crawled over to him, wrapping your arms around him. “I’m glad we’re finally friends.”

“Me too,” he said. He pulled you into his lap and rested his head on your shoulder. Your fingers ran through his hair, eyes drawn down to how his back flexed and relaxed. “Sorry for playing twenty questions with Nick. I won’t say a word to anyone, including him.”

“S’okay. Just doing your job.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost nine. Why?”

“Do you want to go to bed?”

“Counter offer. We make out in my hot tub and then go to bed.”

“Counter counter offer. I make ice cream sundaes we eat in said hot tub and then make out and then go to bed.”

“I’ve always had a thing for intelligent men,” you said. You kissed his cheek and he chuckled. “You’ve never seen me in a bikini before, have you.”

“I’m in for a treat then, aren’t I?” he said. “Go on and change.”

“I’ll meet you out there,” you said. You departed from him and headed upstairs, poking around in your closet for the perfect one to put on. You spotted him come out of the hall in his orange and blue striped shorts, a whistle on his lips as he jogged downstairs. In your closet you took a seat on the small bench, holding up your black teeny tiny bikini and your aqua blue that honestly made your butt look great.

You opted for the black top and blue bottoms to get the best of both worlds. You were midway through pulling your shirt off when you heard Jensen come in the room.

“Oh come on-” you said, something whacking you in the back of the head. Instantly you fell down, strong arms catching you. You looked up wearily, someone in a black mask looking down at you. The eyes weren’t green and you kneed him, putting an elbow to the back of the guy’s neck and making him groan. You got to your feet as fast as possible and sprinted out of the room. “Jensen!”

You knew you weren’t going to make it to the stairs without the guy catching you so you grabbed the railing and vaulted over the balcony to the ground below. You rolled when you hit the ground, spotting Jensen by the base of the stairs. Your eyes spun upwards, Jensen following your gaze and seeing the man standing there. You turned and saw Jensen running towards you, a loud thud right beside you. The man was on the first floor now and you ducked down, missing his arms as you dove into the dining room. By the time you had your head up, you saw Jensen tackling the guy, a gun going flying out of the intruder’s hands.

You stood up, watching the two of them wrestle, the intruder getting a good hit on Jensen’s face.

“Y/N, go!” you heard Jensen yelling at you, the pounding in your ears finally growing a little quieter. Jensen told you when you were going over his book of rules that was the adrenaline in your system, trying to get your body to only focus on survival. The gun was laying fairly close to you and you heard Jensen shout, eyes darting over to see he had a cut on the back of his shoulder.

He had Jensen pinned face down and was working on restraining him. He was still shouting at you and the man looked up the second he had pulled the tie taut. You ran over and picked up the gun, the man revealing a knife.

“Put that down or I kill him,” he said. You swallowed, Jensen yelling a frenzy of things at you, all of which involved you running away as fast as possible. Instead you aimed the gun and fired, the man falling backwards as it hit his vest.

You ran over and kicked the knife he dropped away, keeping the gun on him as Jensen rolled over to it and cut himself free. He gave you a dirty look but searched the guys pockets and found more restraints, slipping some on the intruder before taking the gun out of your hands.

“Call the police. Now,” said Jensen.

________

A/N: Read Part 7 here!

#spn #supernatural #jensen ackles #jensen ackles au #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #au #bodyguard!AU #bodyguard!jensen #bodyguard!jensen x reader #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction

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blackswaneuroparedux · 4 years ago

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Anonymous asked: As a beginner in Classics I love your Classicist themed posts. I find your caption perfect posts a lot to think upon. I suppose it’s been more than a few years since you read Classics at Cambridge but my question is do you still bother to read any Classic texts and if so what are you currently reading?

I don’t know whether to be flattered or get depressed by your (sincere) remarks. Thank you so much for reminding me how old I must come across as my youngish Millennial bones are already starting to creak from all my sins of past sport injuries and physical exertions. I’m reminded of what J.R.R Tolkien wrote, “I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread.” I know the feeling (sigh).

But pay heed, dear follower, to what Menander said of old age, Τίμα το γήρας, ου γαρ έρχεται μόνον (respect old age, for it does not come alone). Presumably he means we all carry baggage. One hopes that will be wisdom which is often in the form of experience, suffering, and regret. So I’m not ready to trade in my high heels and hiking boots for a walking stick and granny glasses just yet.

To answer your question, yes, I still to read Classical literature and poetry in their original text alongside trustworthy translations. Every day in fact.

I learned Latin when I was around 8 or 9 years old and Greek came later - my father and grandfather are Classicists - and so it would be hard to shake it off even if I tried.

So why ‘bother’ to read Classics? There are several reasons. First, the Classics are the Swiss Army knife to unpick my understanding other European languages that I grew up with learning. Second, it increases my cultural literacy out of which you can form informed aesthetic judgements about any art form from art, music, and literature. Third, Classical history is our shared history which is so important to fathom one’s roots and traditions. Fourth, spending time with the Classics - poetry, myth, literature, history - inspires moral insight and virtue. Fifth, grappling with classical literature informs the mind by developing intellectual discipline, reason, and logic.

And finally, and perhaps one I find especially important, is that engaging with Classical literature, poetry, or history, is incredibly humbling; for the classical world first codified the great virtues of prudence, temperance, justice, loyalty, sacrifice, and courage. These are qualities that we all painfully fall short of in our every day lives and yet we still aspire to such heights.

I’m quite eclectic in my reading. I don’t really have a method other than what my mood happens to be. I have my trusty battered note book and pen and I sit my arse down to translate passages wherever I can carve out a place to think. It’s my answer to staving off premature dementia when I really get old because quite frankly I’m useless at Soduku. We spend so much time staring at screens and passively texting that we don’t allow ourselves to slow down and think that physically writing gives you that luxury of slow motion time and space. In writing things out you are taking the time to reflect on thoughts behind the written word.

I do make a point of reading Homer’s The Odyssey every year because it’s just one of my favourite stories of all time. Herodotus and Thucydides were authors I used to read almost every day when I was in the military and especially when I went out to war in Afghanistan. Not so much these days. Of the Greek poets, I still read Euripides for weighty stuff and Aristophanes for toilet humour. Aeschylus, Archilochus and Alcman, Sappho, Hesiod, and Mimnermus, Anacreon, Simonides, and others I read sporadically.

I read more Latin than Greek if I am honest. From Seneca, Caesar, Cicero, Sallust, Tacitus, Livy, Apuleius, Virgil, Ovid, the younger Pliny to Augustine (yes, that Saint Augustine of Hippo). Again, there is no method. I pull out a copy from my book shelves and put it in my tote bag when I know I’m going on a plane trip for work reasons.

At the moment I am spending time with Horace. More precisely, his famous odes.

Of all the Greek and Latin poets, I feel spiritually comfortable with Horace. He praises a simple life of moderation in a much gentler tone than other Roman writers. Although Horace’s odes were written in imitation of Greek writers like Sappho, I like his take on friendship, love, alcohol, Roman politics and poetry itself. With the arguable exception of Virgil, there is no more celebrated Roman poet than Horace. His Odes set a fashion among English speakers that come to bear on poets to this day. His Ars Poetica, a rumination on the art of poetry in the form of a letter, is one of the seminal works of literary criticism. Ben Jonson, Pope, Auden, and Frost are but a few of the major poets of the English language who owe a debt to the Roman.

We owe to Horace the phrases, “carpe diem” or “seize the day” and the “golden mean” for his beloved moderation. Victorian poet Alfred Lord Tennyson, of Ancient Mariner fame, praised the odes in verse and Wilfred Owen’s great World War I poem, Dulce et Decorum est, is a response to Horace’s oft-quoted belief that it is “sweet and fitting” to die for one’s country.

Unlike many poets, Horace lived a full life. And not always a happy one. Horace was born in Venusia, a small town in southern Italy, to a formerly enslaved mother. He was fortunate to have been the recipient of intense parental direction. His father spent a comparable fortune on his education, sending him to Rome to study. He later studied in Athens amidst the Stoics and Epicurean philosophers, immersing himself in Greek poetry. While led a life of scholarly idyll in Athens, a revolution came to Rome. Julius Caesar was murdered, and Horace fatefully lined up behind Brutus in the conflicts that would ensue. His learning enabled him to become a commander during the Battle of Philippi, but Horace saw his forces routed by those of Octavian and Mark Antony, another stop on the former’s road to becoming Emperor Augustus.

When he returned to Italy, Horace found that his family’s estate had been expropriated by Rome, and Horace was, according to his writings, left destitute. In 39 B.C., after Augustus granted amnesty, Horace became a secretary in the Roman treasury by buying the position of questor's scribe. In 38, Horace met and became the client of the artists' patron Maecenas, a close lieutenant to Augustus, who provided Horace with a villa in the Sabine Hills. From there he began to write his satires. Horace became the major lyric Latin poet of the era of the Augustus age. He is famed for his Odes as well as his caustic satires, and his book on writing, the Ars Poetica. His life and career were owed to Augustus, who was close to his patron, Maecenas. From this lofty, if tenuous, position, Horace became the voice of the new Roman Empire. When Horace died at age 59, he left his estate to Augustus and was buried near the tomb of his patron Maecenas.

Horace’s simple diction and exquisite arrangement give the odes an inevitable quality; the expression makes familiar thoughts new. While the language of the odes may be simple, their structure is complex. The odes can be seen as rhetorical arguments with a kind of logic that leads the reader to sometimes unexpected places. His odes speak of a love of the countryside that dedicates a farmer to his ancestral lands; exposes the ambition that drives one man to Olympic glory, another to political acclaim, and a third to wealth; the greed that compels the merchant to brave dangerous seas again and again rather than live modestly but safely; and even the tensions between the sexes that are at the root of the odes about relationships with women.

What I like then about Horace is his sense of moderation and he shows the gap between what we think we want and what we actually need. Horace has a preference for the small and simple over the grandiose. He’s all for independence and self-reliance.

If there is one thing I would nit pick Horace upon is his flippancy to the value of the religious and spiritual. The gods are often on his lips, but, in defiance of much contemporary feeling, he absolutely denied an afterlife - which as a Christian I would disagree with. So inevitably “gather ye rosebuds while ye may” is an ever recurrent theme, though Horace insists on a Golden Mean of moderation - deploring excess and always refusing, deprecating, dissuading.

All in all he champions the quiet life, a prayer I think many men and women pray to the gods to grant them when they are caught in the open Aegean, and a dark cloud has blotted out the moon, and the sailors no longer have the bright stars to guide them. A quiet life is the prayer of Thrace when madness leads to war. A quiet life is the prayer of the Medes when fighting with painted quivers: a commodity, Grosphus, that cannot be bought by jewels or purple or gold? For no riches, no consul’s lictor, can move on the disorders of an unhappy mind and the anxieties that flutter around coffered ceilings.

Caelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt (they change their sky, not their soul, who rush across the sea.)

Part of Horace’s persona - lack of political ambition, satisfaction with his life, gratitude for his land, and pride in his craft and the recognition it wins him - is an expression of an intricate web of awareness of place. Reading Horace will centre you and get you to focus on what is most important in life. In Horace’s discussion of what people in his society value, and where they place their energy and time, we can find something familiar. Horace brings his reader to the question - what do we value?

Much like many of our own societies, Rome was bustling with trade and commerce, ambition, and an area of vast, diverse civilisation. People there faced similar decisions as we do today, in what we pursue and why. As many of us debate our place and purpose in our world, our poet reassures us all. We have been coursing through Mondays for thousands of years. Horace beckons us: take a brief moment from the day’s busy hours. Stretch a little, close your eyes while facing the warm sun, and hear the birds and the quiet stream. The mind that is happy for the present should refuse to worry about what is further ahead; it should dilute bitter things with a mild smile.

I would encourage anyone to read these treasures in translations. For you though, as a budding Classicist, read the texts in Latin and Greek if you can. Wrestle with the word. The struggle is its own reward. Whether one reads from the original or from a worthy translation, the moral virtue (one hopes) is wisdom and enlightenment.

Pulvis et umbra sumus

(We are but dust and shadow.)

Thanks for your question.

#question #ask #classical #greek #latin #horace #poetry #literature #arts #cambridge #classics #personal #study #habits #reading #books #culture #personal growth

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wordupcomics · 4 years ago

Note

We would like to see more about the adventures of the boys (Violet, Scoops, Becky and Tobey) when they were teenagers we really love to see our favorite team interacting with each other 💗

Hey Anon! Sorry this took so long! It took me a while to think of things and then when I did I wanted to draw them but by that point I'd already kept you waiting for a while so I only have two drawings but I have a lot of ideas I will share through text instead!

First lets do the moment with the drawings

So it starts with the gang as teenagers, all four of them in detention. The girls and the boys got detention for different reasons, and ask the other why they are there. First Becky and Violet ask Tobey and Scoops why they're there. It's a long answer, so I'll just have Becky sum it up for you

Becky:...So...let me get this straight...Scoops saw Mr. Smith and Mrs. Stevens kissing in the parking lot, and decided to right an article about it and why we should remain loyal to our partners...and then Tobey pointed out that if anyone saw that article he could damage Mr. Smith and Mrs. Stevens marriages and get in trouble. So to avoid getting in trouble you two decided to flush the article down one of the toilets in the boys locker room and it clogged the pipes and flooded the boys locker room and you two got detention for causing damage to school property????

Tobey: Yes we hear the irony that we did that to avoid Scoops getting in trouble and then ultimately got in trouble because of it

Becky: Not even on my list of concerns right now. First of all...why did you have to destroy the article? Why couldn't you have just not published it? You could have hidden it or thrown it away?

Violet: No they should have recycled it!

Scoops: What if I recycled it and someone found it? Or what if I lost it and someone found it? it would spread like wildfire!

Becky: Okay, but why flush it down the toilet??? You could have shred it?

Violet: Or painted over it!

Becky: Or used one of Tobey's robots to destroy it

Violet: Or you guys could have thrown it in my fire pit when you came over next weekend to roast marshmallows!

Tobey and Scoops (realizing they're right): ...

Becky: And secondly (Looks to Violet as they both try to choke down a laugh) Mr. Smith and Mrs. Stevens are married

Scoops: I know, that's why I wrote an article on cheating Becky!

Violet: No, you guys, they're married to each other

Tobey and Scoops: ...What..??

Becky: Mrs. Stevens wanted to keep her last name so she never changed it

Violet: They've been happily married for twenty years

(Tobey and Scoops then realize they got detention for basically no reason at all as Becky and Violet burst out laughing):

Tobey: Oh yeah! And why are you two here, hmm? What bad thing could the two most rule-following students in the school have possibly done to end up in detention with us?

Becky and Violet (paniced): No reason

Scoops: No no no! We told you, now you gotta tell us! What'd you two do?

Violet: ....Well...Becky brought her laptop to school today so we could look at Pretty Princess fanart at lunch...

Scoops: At lunch? A teacher shouldn't give you detention for goofing off on a computer at lunch

Becky: Yeah the problem wasn't when we were looking at it...the problem was the particular fanart that just happened to be on the computer when the teacher passed by...

Tobey: ... What in the world kind of fanart were you two looking at?????

Becky: We were just looking at normal fanart! As it turns out some people one the internet are...messed up and we accidentally ran into some fanart that...um...

Violet: Will haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life...

Becky: and was ultimately deemed "highly inappropriate" by the teacher...

(Tobey and Scoops then burst out laughing):

I'm gonna put some more scenarios under the cut!

Becky begged Tobey to read this amazing book she just loves:

Becky: Have you read it yet?! Wasn't it amazing?!

Tobey: ...Becky you are one of my dearest friends but I have to be honest with you-This was the worst book I have ever had the displeasure to read

Becky: (Yanks the book out of Tobey's hands and "covers it's ears") (Gasps) IT CAN HEAR YOU!!!

Tobey: ....please see a shrink...

Mrs. McCallister is finally ready for Tobey to meet her new boyfriend and Tobey is super nervous. Scoops gets this idea that he'll look up the guy in the phone book, call him, and pretend he's randomly interviewing people on the phone for a school article, when instead he's actually getting information Tobey needs to get to know the guy better so he knows what to expect (fun fact: this man would later become Tobey's stepdad, his name is Alex). Scoops has the phone on speaker so Tobey can hear

After a bunch of oddly specific questions:

Alex, on the other end: ...Are you a friend of Claire's boy, Tobey?

Scoops: ...

Alex: ...

Tobey: ...

Scoops: Bye! (hangs up in panic)

Tobey: SCOOPS!

Scoops: He was on to us! I panicked! What was I supposed to do???

Tobey: NOT THAT! YOU MAY AS WELL HAVE SAID YES!

Scoops wrote an article about WordGirl. He didn't see anything wrong with it...Becky did...

Becky: How could you say that about me!?

Scoops: I didn't think you'd care!

Becky: Well I do!

Scoops: I'm sorry, Becky. I didn't know you felt so insecure about this or I never would have written it, I promise!

Becky: Insecure! I am NOT insecure!

Scoops (raising an eyebrow): ... define insecure

Becky: ...

Scoops: ...

Becky: I'm leaving! (leaves)

Tobey is in the park reading, Violet is also at the park, doing an art show. She walks up to Tobey all sad and sits next to him

Violet: Hi..

Tobey: What's the matter?

Violet: Someone came to my art show and said he thought all my art was terrible...

Tobey: ...Who in the world would say such a thing???

Violet: That guy over there...

Tobey: You know he's probably just jealous of how talented you are and is masking his insecurities behind rude comments

Violet: ... You really think so?

Tobey: Oh yes, I used to do it all the time..I still catch myself doing it to be honest

Violet: Well now I feel bad for him..

Tobey: Well there's nothing you can do about him, so if I were you I'd just go and continue your art show like normal

Violet: You're right Tobey! Thanks! (leaves for her art show)

Tobey: (pulls out his remote) Insult my dear innocent friend? Not on my watch

Becky and Violet talking about Pretty Princess

Becky: I mean...I know none of it is canon but it's still a good idea right?

Violet: Becky! This is the best AU idea I've ever heard!

Becky: (gasps) I'll write fanfiction for it and you draw fanart for it?

Violet: YES!

Becky and Violet: (Excited screams)

Tobey, now officially having given up crime, is doing community service (of his own volition) to make up for his past actions. Becky, Scoops and Violet come up

Becky: How's community service going?

Tobey: It's awful! But I'm glad I'm doing it

Violet: Want some help?

Tobey: No, it wouldn't feel right

Scoops: Well, can we just sit here and keep you company then?

Tobey: ... Of course!

In high school, Violet got into acting and often performed in school plays. Her first play ever she invited all her friends to come see, and of course they were happy to watch her have fun on stage! However when they saw the play it was....horrendous. Worst thing they'd ever seen. After the play was over Violet happily came over to ask them what they thought of it. Important note: Violet and Scoops were dating at the time

Tobey, seeing Violet coming: What do I do??? I can't tell Violet it was terrible! It would break her heart! But I can't lie to her either! That's wrong!

Becky: Tobey, relax, just do what I do

Violet: Hey guys! What'd you think?

Becky: you looked like you were having so much fun!

Tobey and Scoops: Yeah you did!

Violet: I was! But what did you think of the play itself?

Becky: ...Well...honestly you guys mispronounced so many words I couldn't really enjoy it. I mean it's not your fault, no one uses those words anymore but you know...I know how they're pronounced and can't stand when words are pronounced wrong so...

Violet: Oh that makes sense! We'll work on that! Maybe you can tell me how to pronounce them!

Becky: Sure!

Violet: Tobey what did you think?

Tobey: Um...I wasn't really a fan of the genre so I probably didn't enjoy it as much as I could have

Violet: Oh, what kind of genres do you like?

Tobey: ....a consistent one...

Violet: (laughs) You're so silly Tobey! Scoops! What'd you think?

Scoops: ... Um... I loved it of course! I mean, you were in it! And I love you! So how could I not love it!

Becky, having learned from the WordGirl stuff, later told Violet the truth and explained that she didn't like the play at all and only liked that Violet seemed so happy doing it. Violet took this well. Tobey and Scoops however...:

Scoops: PROBLEM PROBLEM PROBLEM!

Tobey: What?

Scoops: The school paper wants me to review the school play! I can't say it was good, that goes against my oath as a reporter! But I can't say it was bad either, I already told Violet I loved it!

Tobey: Ask someone else to do it

Scoops: No one else has the time to take on any more assignments! What am I gonna do?! I don't wanna upset Violet!

Tobey: um...uh...could you post it anonymously?

Those actions eventually lead to Scoops and Violet breaking up (don't worry, they did get back together years later)

Scoops took his and Violet's break up particularly hard, and Tobey tried to cheer him up by finding weird things happening in the city for Scoops to write about. It didn't help a whole lot, but Scoops appreciated Tobey trying to cheer him up. Meanwhile Becky, who by this point all her friends knew she was WordGirl, essentially tried to fix Scoops and Violet's now ended relationship, and between trying to help them, school work, hero work and family life, she ended up stretching herself a little too thin to the point that all her friends had to do an intervention and tell her to stop because it wasn't good for her.

I've mentioned before that Becky's necklace in Word Up in significant and special to her. This necklace was actually made by Scoops, Violet and Tobey. Note the fact that her friends made it isn't the reason it's so important to her, but it is sweet they took the time to make it for her.

For one of his birthdays Tobey invited his friends to a demolition derby. When his friends said they thought it odd he'd be into that, he stated it was his new outlet for seeing destruction now that he was no longer doing crime.

Hmm that's all I have for now! If you are wanting more and have any particular questions or ideas, feel free to send more asks! If they are a little more specific I'll probably get to them a little sooner

#wordgirl #word up #becky botsford #tobey mccallister #violet heaslip #todd scoops ming #scoops ming

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blkgirlcafe · 4 years ago

Text

Professor Nasty Pt. 2

Professor! Florian Munteanu x Black! Reader

Warning: Rough sex, unprotected sex, cheating, undefined age gap, dirty talking, slight degrading.

I keep my description of the reader pretty vague, make her how you want, but she black fosho. I am trying to get better at writing from a Y/N perspective, so any constructive criticism is welcomed.

Thank you @dersha89 for the inspiration. Thank you love!

The Chinese food they ended up ordering was just being pushed around her plate.

“What's wrong, you've been so quiet since you got here. Did he fail your paper again, dude can be so hard.” Fynn shoved fried rice into his mouth, bits dropping everywhere.

“Just tired.”

Fynn rolled his eyes, “Then go to bed.”

Y/N stood, taking her plate and shoving it in the fridge.

“I’m going home, you can play your game without being worried about me.”

Part of Y/N knew she was taking her bad attitude out of Fynn not that he deserved it, she had literally cheated on him hours ago and now she was being bitchy.

“Fine, maybe we can link when you fix your attitude, I didn't do anything to you.”

Y/N didn't even stay to hear the rest, just grabbed her stuff to head back to her apartment, where she should have gone in the first place.

Thank god her two roommates were out, she closed and locked the door to her room, not wanting to be disturbed. Y/N turned on her soft music playlist and tried to get some studying done, but nothing was clicking. She kept thinking about Mr. Munteanu and what had happened. She opened the text thread a few times, reading the message, trying to decipher things that weren't there. His message was clear and concise, he wanted to see her again. And Y/N wanted to see him too.

So she texted him back.

Where am I headed?

“Hello trick, you off in LaLa Land?” Chris waved her hand in front of Y/N’s face.

Y/N snapped out her daydream, today was Friday and she was absolutely frazzled by what could happen tonight. He had sent her an address, one not far from the school, and told her to dress sexy.

“No, just tired.”

“If I hear that shit one more time, I swear.” Chris grabbed a fry from Y/N’s uneaten plate.

“Well I am, what you want me to say.”

“The truth, first you fight with Fynn for no damm reason, you been MIA all fucking week, and I finally track you down and you barely can string a sentence together. I’m not stupid.”

“You sure, cause you went back to Jason 4 times.” Y/N snapped.

“Ohh that was low, you def hiding something chick. Let me find out.” Chris was staring her down and it made Y/N squirm.

“Look I am sorry, that was low, my bad. But I am stressed, school, being away from family, being one of the few black women at this school, not being able to find decent hair products. I could go on.”

Y/N could tell that Chris was not buying it at all. They had been friends since freshman year and they could read each other.

“Imma let you slide, but when you are ready to tell me the truth, just know I am here. And Fynn getting on my fucking nerves, he keeps asking me whats wrong with you and how he can make it better.”

That made Y/N feel even worst, Fynn was trying his hardest to be a good guy and here she was out here being scum.

“I’ll make it up to him.”

“Hopefully with this that you ask me to bring.”

Chris put a bag on the table, and Y/N smiled on the inside. Chris was the queen of dressing fly and sexy. She made anything look good. Whenever Y/N need an outfit she shopped Chris closet.

Y/N had asked Chris to bring her dress and she had delivered. Y/N pulled the dress out, giving it a look. A blue mini dress that sparkled, it left very little to the imagination. This was a no bra type of dress, the straps super thin.

“Damm this is dope, thank you.”

“No problem and I dont need it back, what is it for?”

“Going to surprise Fynn.” Y/N lied.

“Pair it with those clear pumps you have and girl you will be looking irresistible. Promise. Look I gotta go, hit me up and let me know how it goes.”

Chris stole a few more fries before blowing Y/N a kiss and leaving her to sit and wonder if she was making a good choice.

Y/N checked herself one more time before she went downstairs to wait for her cab. The blue mini dress looked perfect against her brown skin. The twist out that she did had came out perfect, light makeup, a gold necklace with her initial sat center on her chest. Another coat of lipgloss and finally a spray of Rogue by Ms. Fenty and she was ready to go.

And of course Chris was right about the clear pumps, they went perfectly with the dress. She looked great, Y/N snapped a quick picture before grabbing her clutch and heading out. Trying to sneak past her roommates was not an option, they whistled as she walked past, paying her compliments and saying how lucky Fynn was.

If only they knew that Fynn wasn't the lucky one.

The whole ride to his condo was nerve wracking, Y/N alternated between bouncing her leg and checking her phone obsessively. Part of her hoped he would cancel, and she could go see Fynn and make it up to him.

The cab dropped her off in front of a high rise, she didn't know the going rate for a professor but she didn't think it was this. The place was nicer than she expected with a doorman outside.

Stepping into the elevator Y/N knew there was no turning back, she was here and her panties were already damp and the possibility of fucking Mr. Munteanu again. The quickie they had on the desk was just a taste, a teaser of what it was like to be with a man.

“You look gorgeous Miss Y/F/N”

Y/N shyly looked down as Mr. Munteanu looked her over, he sucked his bottom lip in as he traced the hem of the short dress.

“Thank you Sir.”

“Here, you can call me Flo or Daddy sweetie, come in.”

The door closed behind her and suddenly she was pushed against the wall. Florian grabbed Y/N neck, making her look up at him. He kissed her, soft at first before aggressively overpowering her. Y/N hands landed on his chest, the feeling of the hard muscle of her hands. Y/N gasped when he pulled away, her chest heaved as she gulped down air.

“This is going to be fun Miss Y/F/N.”

“If I can call you Daddy, I'm sure you can find something better to call me.” she smirked.

“Is that right babygirl, don’t worry I have all night to come up with names to call you.” Florian dragged Y/N to the couch, pushing her over the arm.

Y/N ass was in the air, the dress which was already short, pushed up. Florian parted her legs, standing between them as he ran a finger up and down the wet crotch of her panties.

“Guess I should call you slut for being wet already, I’ve barely touched you.”

“I’ve been thinking of you all week.” her voice was weak.

“Good.” was all he said as he pulled her panties down. Florian kneeled between her legs, the first bite surprising her. Y/N squirmed and Florian gave her ass a light smack.

“Let Daddy take care of you.”

Y/N moaned as Florian bit and sucked her thighs, slowly working his way up to her dripping wet pussy.

“I like to take my time baby, what's the point if I can't slowly devour you.”

“Please…”

Y/N was not used to this, Fynn was only her 4th sexual partner. Foreplay usually lasted a few minutes if she was lucky.

The first kiss to her wet core sent shivers up her spine. The professor slowly made out with her pussy, the sloppy kissing turned into his tongue slowly licking her from top to bottom. His pace was so slow and torturous that Y/N’s hips tried to follow his movement. He repeated the same move and his teasing was too much for her to take.

“Please Daddy, more.”

Y/N pleas feel on deaf ears, he was enjoying this too much. Y/N gasped when he sucked her clit into his mouth, the small bundle of nerves suddenly over simulated. Y/N never felt a pleasure like this, he was being a teacher in more than one way.

His lips released her clit, his wide tongue driving into her wet slit. Quickly diving in and out, Y/N rocked on his face. Y/N fist balled as her legs shook, Florian was being merciless, eating her with a passion that she never felt. Y/N was just paralyzed with pleasure, the way he changed pace from slow to fast, back to slow. The way he sucked her clit then tongue fucked her. He was a man that knew what he was doing, a skilled man.

“Oh my God!!” moaned Y/N, the way the orgasm took over her whole body, she felt it rushing through her veins.

Florian stood, his jeans grinding against her wet and sensitive pussy.

He leaned down, kissed her neck before whispering,“ Do you want to know what I'm going to do to you all night?” Right in her ear.

Y/N was still breathless from the mind shattering orgasm, that she couldn't speak, she just shook her head. Florian grabbed her hair, so that she was facing him.

“I’m going to fuck you like a man should, you will never want a boy again when I am finished with you.”

With one hand still tangled in her hair, something she would never let Fynn do, Y/N heard the sound of his jeans being undone. Her body still recovering from the tongue lashing that he gave her didn't have time to prepare for him or his thick dick.

“Fuck!” they both said. Y/N from the way he stretched her out, and Florian from the way her walls wrapped around him.

Florian released her hair, putting his hands on either side of her, slowly feeding her inch by inch, wanting to savor the feeling of her walls hugging him. Y/N didn't want that, she wanted all of him and now.

“Please go deeper Daddy, I need it.” she begged, her nails dug into his arm. Y/N pushed back, wanting all of his thick length to be inside of her.

Florian moaned, he promised himself he would take his time, but he couldn't hold back. He snapped his hips into hers, burying every last inch into her. Gone was the slow tender strokes, he pounded into her.

“Give me a kiss baby girl.”

Y/N turned her face to kiss him, but couldn't focus because of how he was fucking her. Soft kisses barely made it to his lips until he stopped moving. Florian grabbed her jaw and kissed her, tongues battling it out, he grinded his hips into her, watching her melt. Florian finally pulled away, resting his forehead on her back.

Y/N felt surrounded by him, his powerful arms on either side of her, digging into the material of the couch. His chest against her back, she couldn't move if she wanted to, she was trapped and happy about it.

Pain mixed with pleasure as his strokes sped up, both chasing their own orgasm. Y/N clung to him as her legs trembled and she let out a loud moan.

Florian kept fucking her through the orgasm, he never experienced this with any other woman, wanting to completely consume her in each way possible.

“Fuck, Im cumming baby.”

His body went riding on top of her, as he released a flood inside of her. Y/N wasn't sure she would move if she wanted to, she felt drained of energy and completely happy.

When Florian finally moved off of her, pulling up his boxers before sitting on the couch, Y/N stood on unsteady legs. Y/N looked around for her panties and bag. She fixed her dress, she could feel his seed dripping out of her. She had turned around to pick up her panties when she felt his presence behind her.

She stood, panties in hand.

He moved her hair out the way, softly kissing her neck, “You don't need them, I am nowhere near done with you.”

#Florian #florian munteanu smut #florian x reader #florian x black!reader #creed #smuttywriter

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dubersbutt · 4 years ago

Note

can there be a second part of pld and the cheating girl? if not totally understand! i love your writing

TW: cheating

Lol I may or may not have gotten carried away this one

The Drabble in question can be found here

You let yourself slump against the steering wheel once you pulled into the parking lot. You just got off the phone with your boyfriend after fighting about something stupid. You’ve been dating for a year now, and lately you just couldn’t stop fighting. Every little thing he did upset you, and vice versa.

You made yourself take five minutes to collect yourself before you get out of the car to go to work. When you walk into your physio office you set your bag down and start to get into your routine of spraying and wiping down the table before the boys start rolling in. You’re working on three of the boys today before their game.

The first two come through with no issues and their normal routines. But you sighed when it came time for the third. Pierre-Luc Dubois - tall, muscular, and the reason for your current relationship problems. A few weeks ago one of your friends had come over for a girls night. A few glasses of wine later, your tipsy brain had let it slip that you found him very attractive. Unbeknownst to you, Sam was listening from your shared bedroom. From that moment, until the you stumbled up to the room, he had convinced himself that you were cheating on him - apparently not liking that your job consisted of having your hands on half naked men all day. He confronted you the next day. It took you awhile to convince him that it wasn’t true, but he eventually believed you. However, it still came up once in a while.

This morning he made a side comment about keeping your hands to yourself and you may or may not have lost it on him. You spent the whole drive thinking about how you were going to break up with Sam once you got home after the game. You ran through different scenarios in your head while you worked on Boone Jenner; would he take it well? Would he scream? Then you thought about who would gain custody of your puppy.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Pl says when he walks in.

“Hi Pl,” you respond, “Take your shirt off and sit on the bed,” you say as you turn and see he has already done so.

He grins at you and you roll your eyes, “Hockey players, you’re all nudists.”

“You don’t enjoy the view?” He says as he stretches on the exam bed. You have to tear your eyes away from the pale expanse of skin after you’ve been looking for probably a little too long.

You roll your eyes again to play it off before you start working on his shoulders. You are a professional, you’re used to the feel of taunt muscles under your hands but Pierre is just so damn good looking you let your mind wander. You think about what it would be like to run your hands under his body in a different circumstance, one where you could lean down, kiss the exposed skin of his throat, run your nails down his abs.

“You alright, (Y/N),” he asks, “Your grip is a little tighter than usual.”

“Sorry,” you apologize hastily, pulling your arms back quickly, “Just a lot of stuff on my mind.”

“It’s alright,” he says, “Anything you need to talk about.”

When you give him a look he flashes a smile at you, “C’mon, we’re friends, aren’t we.”

“I think I’m contractually obligated to say no.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” he grins, and his stupid smile wears you down.

“It’s nothing, just men really suck sometimes,” you say before you realize your talking to a man, “sorry.”

“Nah, I get it. I just got of the phone with my sister and she just gave me the ‘all men are trash’ speech.”

You laugh and change the subject before finishing Pl’s session.

~~~

Since you have to be there for the game you go for lunch with some of your colleagues instead of going home. You knew that Sam got the afternoon off today, and you were planning on spending time with him this morning, but now you have no desire to see his face.

By the time the game rolls around you do your pregame checks and ensure everyone is ready to go. Once puck drops you can relax, your job is done until the end.

The jackets win 5-3 and you join the boys for a quick celly in the lockers before you need to get back to your office and prep for the boys post-game checkups. Cam is first, wanting to check his shoulder quickly before going to his family. When the next person arrives you’re surprised.

“Pl, Were you scheduled with me?”

“No,” he says. He’s panting a bit, like he ran here, “Boone’s on his way, but I just wanted to let you know that I’m here for you.”

You just cock your head at him in confusion.

He walks closer to you, getting closer. You know you should back away, create space between the two of you, but you don’t want to. You let him get closer until hes inches away from you, let him hold your hands in his.

“I mean,” he leans close enough for you to feel his breath on your face, “I’m here if you ever want to...talk.”

You think he’s going to lean in all the way and kiss you. Do the one thing you’ve thought about since you first saw him, but he pulls away when he’s centimetres away from your lips. He starts walking to the door, and you’re calling out to him before you can stop yourself.

“Pierre,” you call, “I’m parked in the employee parking garage, by the lamppost. Meet me by my car, I’ll be 20 minutes, 30 tops.”

He gives you a small smile and a nod before he leaves. You lean against the desk to take some deep breathes to control yourself. Sam was basically your ex at this point. Spending the night with Pierre wasn’t cheating if you were going to break up with him right after, right? All these thoughts keep running through your head until you hear Boone knock at the door.

~~~

When you get out to the parking lot Pl is inside of his car, now pulled next to yours. He drove a spacious SUV - which might have been odd considering he was single with no kids, but perfect for your plans. When he sees you he steps out of the car.

As soon as you get near him you fist his jacket and pull him down to kiss you. He’s taken aback at first, but kisses you back with the same passion, pushing you back against his car. You reach behind you, fumbling until you can feel the door handle, and falling inside. His car is, thankfully, warm and the backseat provides enough space for your plans.

Once Pl is settled underneath you, you lean down to kiss him again, gripping the short hairs on the back of his neck.

“Fuck,” he grunts when you grind down on his lap, “You’re so fucking hot. I’ve wanted to do this since I’ve met you.”

He leans up, kissing your neck. He trails down and unbuttons your dress shirt on his way down. You grind down on his thigh again you stop him.

“Take off your pants,” you command, “I’ve been horny for hours, I just want your dick.”

He laughs but undoes his belt, but faulters when he starts on his zipper, “Fuck, do you have a condom?”

You pull one from your jacket pocket, “I swiped one from the supply closet.”

“Those are in there?” He asks as he takes the packet from you.

“I dont buy the supplies, I just use them.”

He gets the condom on and holds your hips while you lower yourself on. You let a deep breath as he bottoms out.

“Fuuuck,” you moan, “Your dick is so big, you’re going to have to give me a minute.”

“Take all the time you need,” he murmurs as he kisses your neck. He notices the way you moan when he kisses behind your ear so he does it again, scraping his teeth against it. His fingers rub along your hips as you star to rock back and forth.

You clench around him and he has to dig his nais into his palm to get a grip on reality again. He thrusts up to meet your hips, taking control back and setting the pace. He sets a quick pace, both of you too wound to take your time. Your hand comes down to brace yourself on the seat next to him. Your hair falls in your face, he reaches up to move it so he can lean up to kiss you.

He reaches between you to circle your clit. You moan, the sound muffled by his kiss.

“Pierre,” you moan as you feel that familiar pressure building up, “Don’t stop, please.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it baby,” he says.

A few thrusts later you’re cumming with a scream, biting down on Pl’s shoulder to muffle the noise. You fall limp against him, letting fuck you until he follows. You stay in the backseat, breathing heavy, lying against Pierre as you try to collect yourselves.

“You know,” Pierre says as after a few moments, “I thought you were just going to invite me for drinks.”

You laugh as you pull away from him, giving him a quick peck, “So was this as good as drinks?”

“Way, way better,” he says leaning up to kiss you again.

You make out for a few more minutes before you decide leaving is absolutely mandatory. You put his number in your phone before you finally get on the road to your apartment.

On the drive there you start to feel guilty. Sam never treated you wrong before, was always a god boyfriend - minus the last month. But you decided it was poetic; he thought you were cheating on him with pl but you only did because he was an ass.

When you get home he’s sleeping on the couch with your puppy in his arms, the TV playing quietly in the background. There’s some take out containers on the coffe table in front of him.

You grab the remote from under him, walking him up.

“Hey,” he says quietly when he recognizes you, “you’re home late.”

“Yeah, Boone’s hip took more time than anticipated,” you lie smoothly, “And I swear I kept my hands to myself.”

He presses his mouth into a thin line, “Fuck, I’m sorry about that.”

You roll your eyes as you move to pet your puppy but he catches your hand and looks at you with remorse, “I mean it. I don’t know what’s gotten into me these past few weeks. I’m so so sorry. When you didn’t show up for lunch today I realized I’ve been such a stupid jerk.”

“Yeah, you have been,” you say, fully intending to tell him off but something stops you when you look a him.

“No I mean it, I’m sorry,” he says as he grabs your hand, “I really hope you can forgive me. I was stupid and jealous and I was acting way out of line.”

You have to take a deep breath.

“Let’s put it past us, okay? let’s just move on. I know you’d never cheat on me, and I’d never cheat on you.”

“Okay.”

His face lights up, “Really?”

You nod your head, “I’m willing to give this another shot if you are.”

You bite your lip nervously as he pulls you in for a hug. He pulls you on top of his lap to give you a kiss and your muscles start to feel heavy with guilt. He starts to deepen the kiss but you have to pull away.

“Sam, baby, I’d love to but I’m really tired. I’ve had an extremely long day.”

He nods his head standing up and pulling you with him, “Of course, let’s go to bed.”

You plug your phone into the charger when you notice you have one message notification.

Pierre: Tonight was fun, but let me take you on a date so we can do it again

#pierre Luc dubois #nhl smut #nhl imagine #ran writes

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caretaker-au · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 07

Time was hard to measure inside the prison cell. With no clock, Chara could only rely on the artificial daylight peeking through the cell window and the three meals they received. They had already been given lunch, which meant it had been two and half days since the bloody morning that brought them here. Far longer than Chara could have ever anticipated.

Chara closed the dense monster history book—one of the few requested items that had been delivered to the jail—and stacked it on top of the others. Closing their eyes, they laid back on the thin cot that had once served as Frisk’s bed and took a deep breath. Chara reached out for their power.

Nothing happened.

It was maddening. Chara was confident killing the child would trigger time to fall back. Any place would have been better than that suffocating stand-off in the living room. When killing Frisk did nothing but upset their family, Chara had assumed the power had returned to its rightful owner. Unfortunately, all attempts to wield it proved futile. Chara told themselves it would return to them in time, suppressing the fear that killing Frisk had destroyed the power permanently.

Until then, they had to suffer the worst possible situation: the Dreemurrs were distraught, Frisk’s soul was gone, and Chara was forced into dull detainment. To stave off their worries, Chara mulled over possible contingency plans. Once the Dreemurrs forgave them, Chara would have some viable options.

Outside the prison walls, the muffled sound of voices leaked into the cell. Chara sat up, grabbed their book, and pretended to read. The heavy exterior doors creaked open, and Asriel approached Chara’s cell. He was dressed in a long dark cloak, fatigue seeming to permeate every cell in his body. Chara glanced up from their book with a coy smile, “You are here earlier than yesterday. Did you miss me?”

Asriel winced at the playful greeting. He looked down at the ground and took his time finding the words to say. “We buried Frisk today.”

“Oh?” Chara intoned. They reached out for their power once again, but felt nothing.

“Yeah…” Asriel’s nod was shallow. A long pause filled the space between them. He spoke again, “Mom said that… that eventually human bodies turn into dust. In the end, I guess we’re all made of the same stuff, aren’t we.”

It wasn’t a question. Asriel spoke slowly, as if rushing his words would break his composure, “I can’t understand. Chara, why did you do it?”

Chara closed their book and set it on the bed, “How many times are we going to go over this.”

“Until it makes sense.”

“It does make sense. You refuse to see reason.”

Asriel shook his head, “I’ve been trying to see it your way, but there’s nothing reasonable about it. How does… does doing that to a defenseless child save monsterkind? And don’t tell me about how Frisk hurt you again. I’m sick of that excuse.”

“Excuse?” Chara laughed, then slapped their hands down on the mattress, standing abruptly. Asriel tensed as Chara swept their arm out in a grand gesture, “Then how about this, Asriel. If I have committed a crime, then my crime is carrying out the will of the Underground.”

Asriel’s brow furrowed, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Can’t you see? I have sacrificed everything for you. Every sin I bear, I did it all for you, Asriel.”

“No,” Asriel shook his head, “I never wanted this to happen.”

“Really, Asriel?” Chara approached the door and Asriel took a step back. They threaded their arms through the bars and spoke with ease, “You monsters are all the same. Weak. Sentimental. You lack the determination to do what must be done. But you are more than happy to make me pay the price. To kill. To collect. The blood is on your hands as much as it is mine.”

Blood. Asriel cringed at the word. “That’s not true.”

“It is true. You let me walk out the door to collect souls every day for nineteen long, long years. But as soon as you see just how dirty the work is, you turn on me; your one salvation.”

“I didn’t let you, I⁠-I⁠—⁠!” Asriel stammered, “There were times when I tried to stop you!”

“But you didn’t stop me, did you? In the end, you sent me off to do what you know had to be done.”

Asriel clutched the scar on his arm, “I had so many doubts but—but I trusted you. You said the souls belonged to humans that were evil or couldn’t be saved. But now, I… Now that I saw what you did to Frisk, I don’t…” his voice hitched, “Chara, were they innocent?”

Chara glowered at Asriel, “No human is innocent.”

Their answer said everything. Asriel turned away from Chara, holding his chest as though it hurt. He tried to be subtle, but Chara could tell he was wiping away a tear or two. They sighed, leaning against the bars. How many days of this would they have to endure before Asriel let them out?

Chara waited for Asriel to calm down before breaking the silence, “Well. Anything left to say?”

Asriel took a deep breath. “Yes.”

His voice was soft but steadfast. Asriel faced Chara, but didn’t look them in the eye. Instead he reached out and took one of Chara’s hands that was hanging through the bars. Chara jolted at the contact and clutched his hand back. They hadn’t realized how much they’d missed physical touch.

Asriel turned Chara’s palm up and set something inside it. “Goodbye.”

His locket.

Chara’s eyes widened. They looked up at Asriel as cold panic washed over them, “What… What do you mean?”

Asriel turned to go. Chara’s fingers raked towards his cloak that billowed behind him, but failed to grasp it. “Stop! Answer me!” they demanded, but Asriel didn’t look back.

“You cannot just walk away from me! We share the same destiny!” Chara grabbed the bars, making a futile attempt to rattle them, “Come back, Asriel! Freedom is within our grasp⁠—you just need to listen to me!” The panic was giving way to terror. In all the years Chara had known Asriel, in the multitude of done and undone arguments, never had he walked away from them like this. The years of careful guidance and future planning was unraveling in mere seconds.

“Please, don’t leave me!” Chara’s voice cracked as they strained their body against the bars, shouting even louder as Asriel passed through the exterior doors of the prison, “I should have never upset you! I will make it right, if you give me a chance! Please, Asriel—I need you!”

***

The temperature dropped. Chara crashed forward, catching themself just before they hit their head against the prison bars. The first thing they noticed was that Asriel’s locket was no longer in their clenched hand. The second thing they noticed was Frisk.

Frisk⁠—alive and well—detained inside the jail cell Chara was just in. The child looked about and flexed their hands before reaching up into a stretch. Chara stepped back and checked to the left and right. They were in the hallway of the prison, just outside of the cell. The past. Three days in the past, to be precise, before the Dreemurrs brought Frisk home.

“You…” Chara growled, “What did you do?!”

Frisk hesitated before answering, “Were there consequences for killing me?”

“Sadist!” Chara grabbed the bars, their eyes flashing with hatred, “You think you can toy with me? Torture me? I’ll make you suffer for what you put me through!”

“What I put you through?” Frisk laughed softly and shook their head. Unfazed by Chara’s outburst, they took a seat on their bed, “When I was in that dark place, waiting to come back... I had a lot of time to think.”

“H-How?” Chara blurted out, “How did you delay revival for that long?”

“I just… waited,” Frisk picked at the blanket on the bed.

“That’s ridiculous.” Chara scowled. It seemed impossible, but in truth it had never even crossed their mind to wait in the space between time periods. “It has been three days,” they added.

Frisk’s eyes widened at the number, but they said nothing and continued to avoid eye contact.

“Loathsome creature,” Chara snarled, “Humans like you are why all deserve to die.”

Frisk looked back over at Chara with an annoyed expression, “Stop saying that. I realized that no matter how badly you want to kill me, you can’t. Not really. And that means I don’t need to be afraid of you.”

“No. You should be afraid.” Chara’s knuckles were white with tension, “You have no idea what I am capable of.”

“Didn’t you say you used to have this power?” Frisk asked. When Chara didn’t answer, they added, “How does it feel to be ordinary again?”

“Silence!” Chara grabbed onto the door as if to open it, before remembering it was locked. They stormed off and snatched the prison key from where it was hanging near the front door. Chara’s hands shook as they fumbled the key into the lock of Frisk’s cell. Frisk remained unperturbed. The child closed their eyes and took a few deep, slow breaths.

The key vanished from Chara’s hands. The prison doors were now a couple feet away from where they were just a moment before, and Frisk was standing in the center of the cell once again.

The detestable thing crossed its arms, “I’m not letting you come in here.”

Chara growled and went to retrieve the keys again, only to find themselves reverted back to the same spot.

“Stop toying with me!” Chara hissed. They kicked at the bars of the jail, which did nothing but make a loud reverberating sound.

Frisk gave Chara an incredulous look, "Trying to survive is toying with you?"

“Do not mock me, human," Chara glowered through hair that hung in their face, "I have been chosen to carve the world into a beautiful haven, free from vermin like you. I will not let a mere pest stand in my way.”

“I seem to be doing a pretty good job.”

Chara roared and kicked at the jail bars again. It did nothing to alleviate their rage and left them feeling only more pathetic. Frisk covered their mouth with one hand. Chara couldn’t be certain, but assumed they were hiding a smirk. Amusing. It found their agony amusing. Humans truly were wretched creatures.

Chara pressed their palm against their eyes and heaved out a shuddering breath. They wanted nothing more than to tear this child apart, but Frisk wouldn't allow them the satisfaction. How long would they be forced to keep going in circles? They were trapped with no exits in sight. Was this the end of the line?

No. Chara was never one to surrender.

Chara thought back to their prison sentence. The feeling of futility had been suffocating, yet they vigilantly focused on forming contingency plans. The effort was going to pay off. After all, Chara didn't need their power back to succeed. They never did.

Chara's shoulders shook as a low chuckle bubbled up inside of them. It unfolded into a full laugh, and Chara straightened up, pushing their hair out of their eyes with a wild grin. Frisk wasn't smiling anymore. Good.

"Human," Chara cooed, "Your confidence is admirable... but futile. You have no idea how far I will go to fulfill my destiny."

"We don't have to be enemies," Frisk responded, "Maybe I can help you. What do you want?"

"I want you to die."

Frisk sighed, "Nevermind."

Chara smoothed out their robe and began walking towards the exit, "Good bye, human. I look forward to killing you later."

"Chara!" Frisk rushed to the bars to call after them, "You don't have to do this! No one has to die!"

The sound of the heavy door closing was their only answer.

Frisk let them go. They had no interest in using a reload to suffer more of their presence. Instead they closed their eyes and focused on doing the opposite, creating a new save point. Their concentration was interrupted by a voice behind them.

“You know, I never really liked them.”

chapter 07 // end

[ ✧ START ] [ « BACK ] [ NEXT CHAPTER » ]

#undertale #chara #frisk #chara dreemurr #the caretaker of the ruins #undertale spoilers #main comic #chapter 07 #story summary #aren't you tired of going apeshit?#don't you just wanna be nice?

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saebyeog-i · 4 years ago

Text

bitter brews (i) | syh

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

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

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

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

pairing | Johnny Seo x fem reader

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✧ ✧ ✧

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

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

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

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

What a joke that turned out to be.

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

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

Right. The whole summer.

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

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

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

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

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

“What? What do you want now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

✧ ✧ ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✧ ✧ ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was going to be a long summer.

✧ ✧ ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe.

✧ ✧ ✧

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

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

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

Back to your task at hand.

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

“Sigh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How come? That seems so—”

“Impulsive?”

You frowned. “Yeah, exactly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✧ ✧ ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✧ ✧ ✧

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

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

Distracted? Peeved? Worked up?

Horny.

The word you were avoiding was horny.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jesus fuck—”

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

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

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

You scream again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✧ ✧ ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, everything okay in here?”

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✧ ✧ ✧

Johnny never asked you about the panic attack.

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

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

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

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

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

Two months…

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

“We?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Navigation?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But salmonella—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had to get him out. Fast.

tbc.

—

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

#Johnny x Reader #Johnny Seo #Johnny Seo x Reader #Johnny Seo fanfic #NCT fanfic #NCT Fluff #NCT Angst #kinda lmao i dunno leave me alone #panic attack tw #mental health issues tw #anxiety tw #idk if i'm even happy with this or if I'm gonna go back and edit that last 5k i wrote tongiht w/e #shrugs this is fine #johnny: bitter brews #swamp witch writes

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keanureevesisbae · 4 years ago

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Mister Cavill, your dog is kinda fat - Chapter 11

Summary: Veterinarian Olivia Tran has zero time for bullshit. After becoming a mom at age twenty three, the one thing she wants is a good life for her daughter Vanessa. Her ex didn’t want anything to do with her nor the baby and she decided that man are officially banned out of her life. But then she meets Henry Cavill at her clinic and her ban slowly starts to crumble apart. Henry on the other hand is looking for one thing: a family. And when he meets Olivia Tran, he finds just that.

Henry Cavill x Olivia Tran (ofc)

Warnings: It starts off with smut - so yeah

Wordcount: 3.7k

A/N: Do I have tons of chapters I have to write before the ending of this fic is near? Absolutely. Did I already write the epilogue? You bet I did. Did that make me cry a little bit? Yes...

Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter

Marianne took Vanessa out shopping today for the Christmas dinner tomorrow at the Cavill residence and originally I had the plan to clean up the house a bit, pretending like I’m an okay housewife, but Henry obviously had other plans.

And trust me, I’m not complaining about the change of plans.

With lightening speed he had undressed not only me, but the both of us, pushed me on the bed and wrapped his arms around my legs, as he pressed my hips deeply into the mattress. He has been kissing my inner thighs for a while now and I tug his hair, hoping for him to stop teasing me. Henry looks up as he lets his tongue slide between my folds.

‘What has gotten into you, Cavill?’ I ask him with a chuckle, as I shiver in pleasure underneath him.

For a few seconds he ignores me, as he moans against my wet entrance, before he looks up again, this time with a sly smile on his face. His chin, lips and tiny mustache are glistering with my juices and I never thought that would turn me on even more. ‘It’s your own fault really,’ he says to me. ‘You look so fucking hot.’ He dives back in, his tongue flicking around the sensitive nub.

‘I hate you,’ I whine out.

‘Sure you do,’ he chuckles and the vibrations make me nearly scream out of pleasure. ‘That’s my girl, let me know how I make you feel.’

I feel the familiar feeling coil up in my abdomen, but like the little fucker Henry is, he pushes himself up and lays down next to me. ‘I really hate you,’ I groan out, feeling the orgasm slowly subdue.

He chuckles and kisses me, as I taste myself on his lips. ‘Just teasing a bit never hurts,’ he shrugs, as he wets his fingers between my folds. He pushes one in, followed by another one shortly after. I moan against his lips, arching my back. He knows exactly what works for me and I secretly love him for knowing me so well. Not to compare (but I will do it anyways), but sex with Wesley was good, but generic. It was pretty much the same every single time and I could almost look at the clock, to know in how many minutes I would have an average orgasm.

With Henry that’s never the case, like ever. He takes me by surprise and it’s mindblowing each time.

His fingers roughly slip in and out of me and I bite my lip to prevent myself from screaming out of pleasure. On any normal day I would, because I know the neighbors aren’t home, but since it’s the day before Christmas, they are constantly home and the walls are pretty thin.

His thumb brushes against my swollen clit. ‘Don’t you dare tease me now,’ I tell him, as I feel the orgasm building up inside me again. ‘Please,’ I add in a more desperate tone.

Henry crashes his lips on mine and bites my bottom lip, earning him a soft moan. ‘You’re close now, aren’t you?’

‘I am.’ I push my thighs together, as the tingling feeling takes over. I let out a desperate cry. But unlike other times, I feel fluids gush passed his fingers, staining the sheets underneath me. He doesn’t stop, of course he doesn’t stop. This is Henry Cavill and he only stops when I use our safe word (that I never have to use before) or when he thinks it’s enough. The insides of my thighs are completely wet, just like the drenched sheets. He slowly pulls out his fingers as my body jolts with the aftershocks of the orgasm of a lifetime.

‘Holy shit,’ I choke out, before I let out a chuckle of disbelieve.

‘You can say that again. When I thought you couldn’t get any sexier, you do this.’ Henry’s lips fall on mine and he smiles underneath the kiss. ‘I’m such a lucky man,’ he says and I notice he is beaming with pride, while I should be the one after that lovely compliment he just gave me.

I push him on his back and straddle his hips. ‘You are,’ I say, cockiness dripping through every letter I say. His hands grab my ass, when I slowly guide his painfully hard cock near my entrance. I take him in, letting him stretch out my walls and he lets his head fall back in the pillow with a muffled moan. I dig my nails in his chest and he looks up at me again, with a beautiful smile that makes me fall in love with him even more.

‘You have a look on your face,’ I notice. ‘What’s going on inside your head?’

He shakes his head. ‘I don’t want to say,’ he chuckles. ‘Little secret of mine.’

‘Then I won’t continue,’ I say. ‘And I can handle being in this position for hours on end, but I highly doubt you can.’

He tsks, but the blush on his cheeks give away his real feelings and I can’t believe he gave himself away just like that. ‘I was just wondering something.’

‘Enlighten me.’

‘I was thinking about our future,’ he says, as his hands slowly force me to slightly grind on him. Since I have a feeling he’ll let me in on his thoughts, I let him.

‘Why would that be a secret of yours? If it’s our future, shouldn’t you tell me about it?’

He swallows hard, as the minimal friction is driving him crazy. ‘I was thinking about the day we found out you were pregnant.’

Now it’s my turn to blush. ‘You want me pregnant, mister Cavill?’ I ask him.

‘Not right now, but in our future,’ he quickly says. ‘Do you ever want to get pregnant again?’

‘With whose baby?’ I chuckle.

He rolls his eyes, before he lets out a laugh. ‘You’re cruel, Olivia.’

I lean forward with a chuckle, so I can kiss him properly. ‘Well, I only want to get pregnant again, if I know for sure you’re going to stay. I don’t want to put Belle through my moods again and i also don’t think I want to go through it again without a man by my side.’

‘Of course I’m going to stay,’ he scoffs. ‘I would be the lowest kind of man if I left. I want to expand our little family with you one day.’

I blink away some tears, because that is by far the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. ‘I would love that too.’

He turns us around, so I’m on my back and he slowly sets the pace, as his hand is cupping my face. ‘I love you so much, sweetheart,’ he whispers. ‘You have no idea.’

I buck my hips to meet his thrusts, as I wrap my arms around his neck, so I can feel his broad chest against mine. ‘I love you too, Henry. I want you to be my baby daddy.’

He laughs. ‘That’s not a title I ever thought I’d earn, but I’m here for it.’ He buries his face in my neck, slowly picking up the pace. I close my eyes and I let out a soft sob. ‘You okay, love?’

‘I’m good,’ I say. ‘You just make me feel really good, like usual.’

His thrusts become a lot harder and I clench around him, digging my nails in his muscled back. ‘I can feel you’re close again, sweetheart,’ he says.

I simply nod, as I’m thrown over the edge again, filling the room with strangled moans, before they are muffled as Henry kisses me. I ride out my high, but Henry is not stopping. I cry out, wanting to press my thighs against each other, but he large frame prevents me from doing so. ‘Almost there, sweetheart,’ he tells me with a smile.

His thrusts turn sloppy and I feel his thick cum spurt inside me. It makes me wonder: what if I got pregnant pretty soon? I wouldn’t even mind, because he told me (and I know deep down) that he will indeed stay. He is not going to go and put me through this alone.

Henry nearly suffocates me, as he lets his heavy frame almost collapse against mine. I can’t help but laugh. ‘You want me dead before you get me pregnant?’ I ask.

He chuckles. ‘Of course not,’ he says, before he gently pulls out and plops on his back next to me.

I curl up beside him and let myself engulf in Henry’s strong arms. ‘How soon do you want to expand our family?’ I ask him.

‘Whenever you are ready,’ he says.

‘I feel like you and I should wait a bit longer,’ I say, ‘however, if it happens sooner, rather than later, it simply happens and we can handle that too, can’t we?’

‘We sure can, love,’ he says, pulling me closer so he can kiss me. ‘And… I can’t believe that I met you, that we are talking about this kind of stuff and that this is my life right now.’

≫≫≪≪

The next day the entire Cavill family is happy to see us. On the first Christmas day, Vanessa and I are spending our time here here. Tomorrow we are going to Belle and her parents over in Liverpool, since they have a big party and Belle is terrified of facing them alone, because she still doesn’t have a boyfriend.

Maybe I should try and see what Cavill boy I can help her out with. I mean, she might be single and desperate, but these guys are on another level, if I’m being honest.

Despite that, there is still one thing I can’t stop thinking about and that is how Henry and I have talked about expanding our family. That feels like such a grown up thing to do and since I’m going to turn thirty next year, I shouldn’t be that afraid right? I mean, I have a daughter already, that’s pretty grown up.

I take a sip of my hot chocolate, as I watch Henry, Simon and Niki helping Vanessa with roasting marshmallows in the fireplace. Kal has his head placed on Henry’s shoulder and that sight alone makes me realize that I have found the perfect guy with the perfect dog, just like the drawings of Vanessa predicted.

Marianne, Piers and Colin are finalizing something in the kitchen, but they forced me out of there, because I should relax and enjoy my time here.

‘It fits him right?’ Charlie asks, as he stands next to me and I look up.

‘What do you mean?’ I ask.

‘The dad role.’

I chuckle. ‘It sure does.’

‘Out of all of us, it bothered him the most, that he was single and didn’t have a family yet,’ Charlie continues. ‘Before we met you, he sat down with us individually, but also together in front of mom and dad, to talk to us about how we should behave. At first we thought he was joking, but that man was dead serious.’ He can’t help but laugh at the memory. ‘Kept saying to us that we can’t embarrass him too much and that he doesn’t want certain jokes around the two of you, because he was afraid it might scare you away.’

I nod, before I burst out in laughter. ‘Well, I know that I could’ve handled it, growing up with two brothers and always have their annoying friends over, but… Vanessa is a serious kid, she might’ve been scared away indeed.’

‘He is really fond of you,’ Charlie continues. ‘And we are too.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Also, he looks at you in a way, that is both romantic and disgusting.’

‘Means he loves me a lot,’ I say with a chuckle. ‘Listen, Charlie, I… Thank you, not only to you, but for everyone, because they have been so welcoming. It truly means a lot to be part of a family again.’

Charlie chuckles, his cheeks burning up slightly. ‘It’s great having you here and we hope you never leave again, because I think my dad would also leave this family and exchange us for you and Vanessa in a heartbeat and I don’t think I would survive that.’

‘Mommy,’ Vanessa says, as she walks over to me, ‘would you like a marshmallow?’

‘But you fed me four, honey,’ I say with a pout. ‘Have you given uncle Charlie any?’

Her eyes widen and she says: ‘No…’

‘That’s okay, little princess,’ Charlie says, crouching down in front of her.

‘You want this one?’ she asks.

He nods and she feeds him the marshmallow, giggling as the corners of his mouth are covered in sticky marshmallow.

‘You should clean up,’ she deadpans.

‘Well, you should help me, because because of you I look like this.’ He throws her over her shoulder and she screams out, before she starts laughing.

I walk up to the fireplace and scratch Kal—who only has one more kilo to go, before he is sixty kilos and he looks so much better now—behind his ear. ‘How much have you guys been feeding her?’ I jokingly ask.

‘Not much,’ Simon says. ‘Niki here ate everything.’

‘Well, now I feel like I’m throwing up, instead of Vanessa, so I feel like I took one for the team. Be a little more grateful.’

I crouch down next to Henry and Kal. ‘Is she being a bit nice or…?’’

‘She’s being an angel,’ Henry says with a smile, ‘as usual.’

‘You have raised an amazing young girl,’ Simon interferes. ‘I can’t believe she is real from time to time. I feel like we were monsters when we were her age.’

I blush. ‘Thank you, that’s very sweet.’

Marianne orders us to go to the dinner table and Simon and Niki quickly grab the marshmallow left overs and go to the kitchen. Henry pulls me up and presses a long kiss on my lips. ‘I love you, sweetheart,’ he says, ‘and I’m glad that you get to spend Christmas with us.’

‘I’m glad too,’ I say. ‘Thank you for having such a great family.’

He has a knowing look on his face and I know exactly what he is thinking, because like me, it’s the only thing on his mind.

‘We’ll talk about that later, mister Cavill,’ I whisper.

‘I’ll hold you to that.’ He grabs my hand and we walk to the dinner table.

‘Mommy, I’m going to sit with mister Colin, do you mind?’ Vanessa asks.

‘Sweetheart, I don’t mind. You can sit next to anyone you want to here.’

I take place next to Marianne, who sits at the head of the table. Henry takes places next to me and Marianne clears her throat, as she wants to say something first. ‘So, before we start to eat… Simon, where are your manners? Don’t touch the food.’

‘Mister Colin,’ Vanessa attempts to whisper, but fails miserably, ‘you shouldn’t touch your food either.’

I try to suppress a chuckle, but I can’t seem to exactly do that.

‘What I was going to say is that I want to thank Henry for overfeeding his poor dog and having the guts to ask Olivia out on a date. You have truly brought not one ray of sunshine in our home, but two and we, as an entire family, are so thankful that you did that.’

Henry’s hand find mine under the table and he says: ‘Thanks mom.’

‘And Olivia and Vanessa: we are truly grateful that you two are part of the Cavill household. It lacked females and now we are slowly catching up, very good. So, that’s all I wanted to say: thank you for being here.’

I hold her hand and say: ‘You sure have welcomed both Vanessa and me with open arms.’

‘You have, mrs. Marianne.’ Vanessa chuckles and Marianne practically orders us to eat it all, because she worked hard on it.

I can hear the conversations being picked up, but Marianne gets my attention and says: ‘Henry told me about how Vanessa calls him dad nowadays.’

I nod with a smile. ‘Yeah, she is a little hesitant to do it when other people are there, because she is afraid that they might correct her, but at home she does it all the time.’

‘I’m so happy for you.’ She looks at her son with a knowing look, one that I do not understand and says: ‘You did well, my dear.’

Henry chuckles. ‘I certainly did.’

We continue to talk about all sorts of things: the clinic, the story of how I met Henry (though they already know it, they just really like the part: “Mister Cavill, your dog is kinda fat”) and I listen to his brothers talking about work. I look to the side, to Henry, as he listens to Vanessa telling a story about how she kicked Gigi from her class, because Gigi was being mean to Tessie, Vanessa’s best friend.

I wrap my arm around his, mindlessly as I feel tears coming up. When Vanessa wraps up her story, I stand up and say: ‘Excuse me.’

Of course I could’ve expected Vanessa following me, because when I’m near the bathroom, I hear her tiny footsteps following me. ‘Mommy, are you okay?’

‘I’m fine,’ I say, as I turn around. ‘Why are you following me, sweetie?’

‘You look sad.’

‘I’m not sad,’ I say, pulling her with me as I sit on the floor, placing her securely on my lap. ‘I’m happy.’

‘Is it that happy tears thing again?’ she asks.

She is such an adorable little thing. ‘It is.’

‘Why?’

‘You know, sweetie, for years I have been wanting to find right family for you, but deep down, I wanted to be part of one too. You haven’t ever met my family, my mom, my dad, my brothers… But I have. They were part of my life for twenty three years and then they all of the sudden didn’t want me anymore, because I was pregnant with you. So for seven years now, I have been doing this by myself.’

‘While you wanted a family,’ she fills in.

I nod. ‘And now we have one. A big one and a family that makes not only you, but me feel happy and welcome. But that feeling… I haven’t had that is such a long time and it makes me a bit emotional.’

‘I understand,’ she says with a smile. ‘You are very sweet, mommy. You deserve it.’ Vanessa gives me a big hug and when I bury my face deep in her hair, I can’t help but let out a tiny sob. ‘Don’t cry,’ Vanessa says in the same voice I use when she is crying. She pats my hair and I hear Kal walking over to us. ‘Even Kal is here to comfort you.’

He licks my face and I chuckle. ‘Hi, big bear,’ I say to the dog, who sits next to us and now gives Vanessa a lick. ‘Thank you for comforting me, sweetie.’

‘You always comfort me, even before I could remember.’ She tilts her head and admits: ‘Yesterday I took your phone and looked at the pictures.’

‘What pictures?’

‘Of you being pregnant with me and the years after that,’ she tells me. ‘You are very pretty, but you are also a good mommy.’

‘Oh sweetheart,’ I say. ‘I might be a vet, but the most important job I have is being your mom and you know? I enjoy every single second of it.’

‘Even when I’m not being a nice girl?’

‘Even then,’ I say, ‘because that’s the funny thing. You could do anything, literally any thing and I would still love you like crazy and love being your mom. Am I happy that you are doing something you shouldn’t be doing? No, but that’s all part of it.’

‘So you think my real dad is an idiot?’

‘Oh yeah, I totally think so. He is the biggest idiot on earth, for leaving me when I found out I was pregnant with you. He is missing out on so many amazing stuff.’

Vanessa chuckles. ‘But now I have a dad who does love me.’

I nod. ‘You do and remember: sometimes sad stuff has to happen, before good stuff happens.’

‘You are right, like always.’ She gives me a kiss and asks: ‘Are you going to have another baby soon?’

‘What?’ I ask.

‘I mean, since Henry is my dad now, I feel like I should become a big sister soon.’

I chuckle. ‘Well, I want another baby, but not right now,’ I say to her. ‘Maybe a little later.’

Vanessa nods. ‘I understand, I think.’

‘But don’t go around and tell people that, okay? Can you keep this a secret? Between you, me and Henry?’

She nods. ‘I promise.’

‘There you are,’ Henry says, walking over to the three of us. ‘We were wondering what you two were up to.’

‘Mommy looked sad, so I followed her. She was doing the happy tears thing again.’

Henry slides down until he is on the floor as well and wraps an arm around my shoulders. ‘Why was she doing the happy tears thing again?’

‘Because we are here,’ Vanessa says, cuddling up against me. ‘Dad, are you happy that we are here?’

‘I am,’ he says. ‘So insanely happy.’

Vanessa nods, thinks about it for a second and says: ‘Do you want to wait for another baby?’

He nearly chokes and I hold back a laugh. ‘Sorry?’

‘Do you want to wait for another baby?’ she repeats her question. ‘Mommy wants to wait.’

‘Well,’ he says, ‘I’m with your mommy on that one.’

‘But you want one?’

‘In the future, I sure want one. Then I have two kids,’ he says with a chuckle. ‘That means double the hugs and kisses, right?’

Vanessa chuckles. ‘Yeah, you’re right.’ She gives both me and Henry a kiss and ushers Kal to walk with her, back to the table.

‘You okay?’ he asks, when we watched her going back to the dining table.

‘I am, it just seems to hit me a little different every time I realize I have a family now.’

He nods. ‘I know and I understand. I just hope that Vanessa keeps quiet about the whole baby thing for a while.’

‘She will,’ I say. ‘Guarantee.’

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x oc #mister cavill your dog is kinda fat #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x Olivia Tran

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devendrasbeard · 3 years ago

Photo

The Goat Is Part Of The Family

Prompt: Meet The Family Relationships: Ciri/Cahir Rating: T Content warnings: Just a slice of life, oh and Lambert being Lambert Summary: Ciri and Cahir are newly engaged, so it's time for the guy to meet her family. He quickly learns Ciri's family is unlike any other. And there's also a goat.

Also on ao3!

My final prompt! I DID IT FOLKS!

"Hey mom," Ciri put her phone on speaker as they drove through the interstate.

"Hey daughter, grandpa wants to know how far away you are - he and Eskel are too eager to start grilling but they don't want the food to grow cold before you arrive."

Ciri shot Cahir a questioning look and he quickly checked his watch. "Thirty minutes," he whispered.

"Yeah, we should arrive within half an hour," Ciri smiled at her phone, even though Yennefer couldn't see her. She listened for a moment to the background noises coming through the speaker. "Is there... Did you really invite the whole family over?" she huffed.

"You know that if it were for me, I wouldn't even invite your father," Ciri could exactly imagine that evil grin and raised eyebrow on her mom's face and she was damn sure she's heard Geralt's groan in the background. "Your family has invited themselves over, as soon as they've heard the big news. You better prepare your lover for the goat." With that she hung up.

Cahir gave Ciri a suspicious and only slightly scared look. "Is 'the goat' like your family's code for something?"

"No, unfortunately," Ciri laughed. "It's a literal goat. My uncle owns it."

"I'm both intrigued and scared," Cahir admitted. "I thought I was only going to meet your parents first... As in mom and dad."

"Yeah, I thought so too," Ciri looked out the window. "But alas! You're gonna meet everyone," she slapped her knees, her palms tightening around her thighs for just a second.

"Then walk me through it, is there anything I need to know about anybody before we arrive?"

Ciri looked out the window, worrying her lip between her teeth. A smirk was dancing at the corner of her lips and Cahir noticed that little spark in her eye that always showed up when she was deeply amused but didn't want to admit it. She turned to him after a while and exhaled.

"The only thing you really need to know is that my mom hates hugs and kisses, so don't try that with her. My uncles on the other hand are extremely huggable people, so expect to become a part of a hugging pile as soon as they feel comfortable around you."

Cahir hummed. "I think I can work with this," he smiled.

"Oh, and of course don't put any valuables on the floor or the goat will eat it," Ciri said with an absolutely serious expression. "Last time I was home and Eskel brought her over, she ate my brand new pair of Converse, and I've only put the box on the stairs for a moment to hug Dad!"

Cahir couldn't help but laugh, which earned him a smack on the shoulder. "Okay, It seems that we're here!"

They parked the car and got out, Ciri leading the way to the house. A white haired man, clearly Ciri's dad, leaned out of the kitchen window and waved at them with a slight smile on his lips. "Get in the backyard, everyone's waiting for you there!" he shouted at them.

"Ready?" Ciri asked, grabbing Cahir's hand reassuringly.

"I guess I never will be, so let's just do it."

Ciri opened the little gate to the backyard and they stepped into the garden.

"I swear to god, I'm gonna kill that fucking goat!" A red-haired man, equally red in the face was screaming at a taller, bulkier man.

"That goat is part of the family, so watch your tongue, you bastard!"

"I'm gonna kill it and I'm gonna cook it! Next week we're gonna eat goat shish-kebabs!"

"Don't you fucking dare!"

Ciri and Cahir stopped in their way and stood dumbfounded in the middle of the garden, watching the two men, Ciri's uncles, fight. The goat's bleating was heard above the men's raised voices. Cahir squeezed Ciri's hand just a little bit tighter.

A man materialised suddenly at Cahir's side, moving smoothly and quietly like a cat, and patted his shoulder. "Welcome to the family, boy. I hope you don't mind people being loud."

Ciri rolled her eyes and turned to the man, hugging him. Cahir watched him discreetly, noticing his tall muscular physique and the long dark hair and beard, and the tattoos.

"I was hoping that Mom and Dad would be the first ones to introduce themselves to you, but as you have probably noticed, my family is unlike any other," Ciri smiled and introduced the man to Cahir. "This is Aiden. He's married to my uncle - the shorter but definitely louder one."

Aiden shook Cahir's hand and raised a brow at Ciri. "Since I'm married to Lambert, your uncle, this makes me your uncle too, kiddo. Time to call me that too," he pointed finger guns at her and started walking backwards to the garden table. "C'mon kids, let's get you something to drink, you must be thirsty after the trip, and then we can introduce Cahir to the rest of the family."

As they took the first sips of their cider, a man, seemingly in his late twenties, came out of the house, carrying a big plate of various cakes. His jeans were ridiculously tight and he wore a flowery shirt that had already half of the buttons open.

"Ah kids, finally! I couldn't wait to meet you, Cahir!" the man stretched out his arms to hug both Ciri and Cahir and then he placed kisses on both their foreheads.

"That's uncle Jaskier - definitely the most affectionate one," Ciri winked at Cahir.

"Hey! I hear you call him 'uncle' and he's also only married to your dad's brother," Aiden shouted at them from the snacks table and frowned theatrically.

"Ugh, that's because uncle Jaskier has been around since I was a child," Ciri replied sheepishly. "And you're," she gestured towards Aiden. "Well, you're pretty fresh!"

"He's fresh meat!" The shorter of the quarrelling men shouted to their group, loudly. "As in his meat is-" he got cut off by the other man's big hand on his lips.

"Jaskier, can you please tell your idiot husband to stop fighting with my idiot husband while we're having guests over?" Aiden sighed.

"Excuse me, but in my marriage, I am the idiot husband," Jaskier flicked his hand. "And also, what is today's fight about?"

"Lambert wants to grill Lil' Bleater again," Aiden replied deadpan.

"Same shit different day," Jaskier sighed and turned to Cahir. "Okay, since you've already met the cutest members of the family, besides Ciri of course. Are we doing mom and dad, or dad's crazy brothers?"

Cahir looked even more dumbfounded than in the moment they'd arrived, so he gave Ciri a questioning look. Or maybe a desperate plea for help, since his pupils were unnaturally wide and his eyebrows were almost at his hairline.

Ciri grabbed his hand and moved her lips in a silent "I'm sorry" and then dragged him into the house.

They made their way straight into the kitchen, lured in by delicious smells and the sounds of quiet chatter. The first people Cahir noticed were the two completely different women, who were chopping vegetables for some salads. One of them had deep black hair and was wearing black skinny jeans and a simple white t-shirt, her only jewelry being a thin choker with a purple stone. The other woman had fiery red hair, freckled skin and was wearing a maxi dress with a flowery print and a lot of bracelets.

"Hi everyone!" Ciri shouted, pulling Cahir to her side.

The woman in black nodded at them with a delicate smile from her spot over the kitchen counter. The other one left her stuff immediately and approached them, pulling Cahir into another hug this afternoon. "Ciri has probably told you that her mom hates hugging, but luckily I'm quite the opposite," she laughed.

Ciri rubbed the back of her neck, sending her mom a faint smile and getting a nod of approval in return. "So, this is my mom, Yennefer, and her wife, Triss, and these two grumpy snowmen in the back, these are my Dad and Gramps."

"Hey, I might be old, but I can still hear ya," the older white-haired man pointed his fork at Ciri. "Hello, boy."

The younger of the men stepped closer to them, wiping his hands in a towel. "Hi, Cahir, I'm Geralt. Nice meeting you in person and not seeing you sneak out of Ciri's room while we Face Time," he laughed, stretching his hand out to shake Cahir's.

Ciri suppressed a groan. "For gods' sake, Dad, just once could you not embarrass me on the spot?"

"Not possible." Geralt replied with a grin and returned to his station at the kitchen counter. "Cahir, care to help me and Vesemir with the steaks?"

Cahir felt his cheeks turning redd and he smiled sheepishly at the men. "Guess it's not the right time to tell you I'm a vegetarian?" he said quietly.

"There's room for everyone in the family," he heard a low, rumbling voice coming from the back door. One of the men who were quarreling earlier entered the kitchen, taking up almost all the free space. He was tall, bulky and would've looked threatening if it wasn't for the soft eyes and the baby goat cradled in his arms. "I hope you like goat cheese, though, 'cause we have a lot of that," he laughed.

Ciri gave up on trying to pretend that any of her family members were normal, letting her arms drop to the sides. She motioned towards the man with a smile and he approached her and hugged her awkwardly while also trying not to drop the goat. "Yes, this is my uncle Eskel and his baby goat, Lil' Bleater. He, obviously, owns a goat farm and is married to Jaskier."

"Hi," Cahir waved at him, laughing at the way the goat stayed cradled in Eskel's arms like a baby, but also silently admiring the man's strength and posture. "I love the goat," he added.

"Great, you're already one of my favourite family members." Eskel smiled.

"Okay, get that dirty baby out of the kitchen," Yennefer let out an annoyed huff and ushered them all out into the backyard. "I don't want her eating up all the apple pie again."

"Yeah, bring her back here, you fucking coward!" the red-haired man shouted at Eskel, clicking theatrically with the grilling pliers. "Asshole ate up all my bacon and broke half a dozen of my beer bottles," he complained while approaching Ciri and Cahir. "And this bastard still keeps defending her, can you believe?"

Ciri threw her head back in laughter and turned to Cahir with a theatrical whisper, "Final family member to introduce - uncle Lambert. He taught me all the cuss words I know," she added with a grin.

"And did a fucking good job while at it," Lambert laughed, shaking Cahir's hand firmly. "Alright, let's start eating, before the fucking omnivore wreaks even more havoc. C'mon, kids!"

Later that evening, with their bellies full of delicious food and eyes still prickling from tears of mirth, Ciri and Cahir snuck out to her room upstairs. They sat on her bed - or rather Cahir did, while Ciri plopped on her back with a resigned huff.

"Okay, so this is my crazy family. You sure you still wanna marry me?" she asked with a cocky smile. She tried to play it cool, but a flicker of doubt was seen in her eyes.

Cahir cradled her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. "Of course, stupid. What you have is so different from what I had, being just me and my mom for the most of our lives... So this is totally new but so exciting. I can see your family loves you and they all have each other's backs. Even the uncles that have different views on the goat issue."

Ciri laughed and sat up. "So we're doing this?"

"We're definitely doing this. But I will have to think of a way to keep the goat out of our house. Don't tell Eskel."

------

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

#final prompt!#witcher rarepair summer bingo #ciri x cahir #cirilla fiona elen riannon #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #ciri / cahir #the witcher fic #slice of life

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let-it-raines · 4 years ago

Text

Black Velvet (1/1)

1919. The War is over, but life is far from normal. While the imminent danger is gone for many, it is not gone for Emma Swan. Her secrets have always been dangerous and had the ability to control her, but they have never been more dangerous than now as she is forced to work undercover as a barmaid and keep her true intentions hidden from the most notorious gang leader in England.

Her life depends on it, but unfortunately for Emma, Killian Jones can read her better than anyone ever has.

Rating: Mature

a/n: I was going to wait to post this next week since I’ve been catching up on posting other things this week and flooded you all with words, but I am sooooo excited for this one! Like, I haven’t written a big one-shot in awhile, and this one is a little different for me. But I love it, and hope that you do as well! For my Peaky Blinders fans, I think you’ll recognize some similarities because this is def based on it😘

Found on AO3 | here |

-/-

There is a sudden crash of glass shattering against the battered wood floor, stains of alcohol, blood, and the scuff marks of boots covering it to make it a darker wood than it originally was. She’s scrubbed that floor until her hands were dry and cracked, but the stains are as imbedded in the wood as the Jones family is in this place, their place. The stains might well be purposeful, and really, they could have been, a sure sign that the Joneses are not scared to let anyone know they do not mind getting blood on their hands or mind leaving the evidence behind. In fact, they are likely proud of it.

Loud cursing fills the usually subdued pub, arguments over whose fault it was for the spilling of the whiskey, but Emma knows that it doesn’t matter whose fault it was when she’s the one who has got to clean it up and scrub the damn floors clean when all is said and done.

Damn drunk men and their damn petty fights over what always amounts to being about a woman who has no interest in either of them.

Sighing, she turns on her heels behind the bar where she was polishing tumblers and other glasses and walks back into the storage room to retrieve the broom and dustpan along with some cloths. She is not supposed to leave the bar and the alcohol unattended, but she has been working here long enough to know that anyone who stumbles into this particular pub is smart enough to know not to steal from the Jones family.

They’ll be dead faster than the rum can pass their lips, and the Joneses don’t give out the good stuff to just anyone so that would be one pathetic last drink.

Twisting on the lights in the closet, her eyes scan over shelves of supplies and half-empty bottles that have somehow made their way back here, until she finds the broom, unattached from the pan.

Of course. Why would the broom ever be stored away with its matching set?

“Fuck,” she mutters, adjusting her trousers. They are too large around her waist, but she hasn’t had time to buy any new clothes lately. From what she’s gleamed, trousers on women are not widely accepted in Birmingham, but some days she cannot be bothered to wear a dress that squeezes the breath out of her. Today was one of those days, but unless she wants her knickers on display for everyone to see, she is going to have to buy new clothes soon.

“That’s no language for a lady.”

Immediately, she twists around to look at the other side of the room where the deep, accented voice originated. He’s standing with his gray suit clad legs crossed over another, arms stretched over his chest so that his shirt tightens around his muscles, and there is a bloody smirk plastered on that ever-handsome face under the dark brush of his facial hair. He’s without his cap and suit jacket today, but he’s never without his vest and the shirt that stays indecently unbuttoned. It is the one thing that never changes about his appearance, and the day she sees his shirt fully buttoned, Emma knows shit will start flying in every direction.

“Well, as you know, I’m far from a lady. I work here after all.”

Blue eyes flicker up and down her body, taking in the curves of her hips and her breasts even under her loose clothing, the bastard, and if possible, the smirk intensifies, curling from one side of his lips to the next.

“Now, darling,” he croons, uncrossing his legs and taking three strides forward to stand in her space, hovering just enough above her to make her feel smaller than she already is, “you and I both know that is not true.” “Do we?” she argues, raising a brow in his direction.

He chuckles, something dark that heads straight between her thighs, and then warm hands are on her hips, rough fingertips brushing against the skin at her waist, and hot breath brushes over her ear and down her neck while whiskers prick her skin.

“Did you miss me, love?” Killian whispers before pulling back, putting space between them as quickly as he closed it off.

“Were you gone?”

His head tilts back with laughter, and she watches him roll his shirt sleeves up, revealing angry red scars and marks on his left hand. She’s heard the rumors of how he received those scars, but when it comes to Killian Jones, rumors are not reliable. He’s done things the average person could never dare dream of, and fiction and reality toe a thin line, both of them crossing until everything is blurred.

“I was in London for two weeks, love. I cannot believe you didn’t notice my absence. I would have thought it would be at the forefront of your mind.”

“Well, I know this may be hard for you to believe, but my thoughts do not revolve around you.”

His brow lifts, lines on his forehead moving with it, and he cocks his head to the side, disbelieving. “A woman as fascinating as you must have too many things to fill her mind other than me, so I can actually believe it if you must know.”

“You flatter me.”

Killian clicks his tongue. “I intend to.” He moves around her, footfalls quiet, and presses open the hidden door in the closet he must have walked through to be in here. “My brothers and I will be in our dining room today. Get the good stuff from the safe.”

Emma mockingly bows. “It would be my pleasure.”

He stares, blue eyes bright compared to the darkness of the rest of him, and then he slips out, moving through the back hallways and compartments that were installed during the War but are now used for the family to avoid their enemies and the coppers, who are usually paid off but can sometimes still question the Joneses’ business practices, especially when there’s a new hire for their more questionable ventures. It is a fascinating thing to watch how a family who supposedly manufactures automobiles and distills rum has such a varied number of enemies. Maybe that is simply how it is for all businessmen, but Emma wouldn’t know.

She is simply a barmaid after all.

When she exits the closet with both broom and pan in hand, the argument is over, but the shattered glass remains. She quickly cleans it, dumps the glass outside, and gets back to tending bar, talking to the men who wander in and out of the place. Half of them fancy her, she knows. It’s obvious in the way they speak to her, even more obvious in the way they will often attempt to touch her, but Emma does not get paid to appease the baser desires of the patrons of My Fairest Lady. If she did, she would be in an entirely different type of business where her purse would be full for once.

As the day passes, men come in and out in their tailored suits and carefully curated ties, and Emma watches all of them, seeing where they go and what they order. She watches as some walk up the stairs and only appear again hours lately, but mostly she watches the ones that walk into the pub and immediately turn right into the private room the Joneses sit in when they decide they are going to conduct business at the pub instead of in one of their offices. When the rest of the place quiets, she can often hear them, especially if she decides to rest near the small trap door through which they order their drinks.

Tonight, they are talking about needing new men, but she cannot hear well enough as to why. This has been her problem for weeks. She gleams a little information, but not enough, and if Killian Jones wasn’t so in tune to every noise in the place, she’d sneak through the back tunnels and listen from there.

That would surely get her killed.

The sun sets early, the smog from the factories outside aiding in the darkening of the world, and when her shift is over for the night, Emma grabs her things and leaves, walking through the streets of Birmingham until she is at her flat, a small, dingy little place that reminds her of the homes she grew up in. It wasn’t her first choice, but so often, things aren’t.

Emma twists the key in the lock and walks inside. For all of its faults, the place has electricity. That makes her life much easier since she does not have to go about striking matches and blowing out fire every few hours.

“Hello, dearie.”

Emma’s skin pales, and heaviness settles in her stomach, weighing her down to keep her from moving. Sitting at her kitchen chair is Robert Gold, and no matter how long she has worked with him, she will never feel comfortable when he decides to show his face without notice.

She will never feel comfortable even when he gives notice.

“Gold,” Emma nods, straightening her back. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Slowly, he stands, using his gold-encrusted cane to prop himself up, and Emma shuts the door behind her. She has a knife in a strap around her thigh, and while she technically works for him, she doesn’t trust Gold as far as she can throw that knife.

“Have you located the guns?”

“If I had, you would know.”

“That doesn’t work for me.”

Emma tilts her head back and scoffs, her rapid heartbeat calming as her skin heats, rage and fire and disbelief settling in the bumps of her skin. “Oh, my deepest apologizes. It is obviously a simple bloody task to infiltrate the most notorious gang in the city and gleam where they keep stolen guns. They don’t talk so openly about their business!”

Gold walks closer, beady eyes reflected under the lamplight, and Emma stays steady. “We hired a woman to do this because women are Killian Jones’s weakness. Get to know him, get in his bed, and then you will be in the inner circle.”

She spits. “I am not sleeping with him for your cause.”

“Is my cause not your cause? Getting rid of undesirable gangs and criminals that disrespect the Crown and steal from our arms factories?”

Emma laughs, her heartbeat racing again. “I work for you because I have no other choice. It was this or death.”

He shrugs, tapping his cane. “You shouldn’t have made a deal with me, and we wouldn’t be in this position. Alas, we are, and you must deal with the consequences of your actions, dearie. All deals have a price. I’ll be returning.”

Gold steps around her, making Emma move to the side, and then he exits her flat. His presence, however, lingers, and she feels as if grime and smog are coating her skin. That is a feeling that never goes away, but it is especially present after one of Gold’s visits. Emma curses and stomps her foot, despising her situation. She is only twenty-three years of age, but she has lived the life of an elder. Growing up in orphanages does not set a woman up for a good life, and seven years ago when she fell pregnant but couldn’t afford to take care of the baby, she went to Gold for help. He was known to be able to do anything, especially find homes for children without charging the birth mother exuberant prices, but no one told her the price of his services would be to work for him and the government in backhanded deals. It was this, death, or harm done to a child she has only held once but loves as if she was allowed to raise him.

She couldn’t be a mother, doesn’t know if she ever will be able to again, but she will not let harm fall on that child.

So, now, she is shipped across Europe, putting her life at risk every day. After all, what is the potential of death when compared to certain death?

-/-

Days pass, and Emma learns of no new information. She works long hours, taking extra shifts and standing behind the bar until her feet bleed from blisters, her heels too small with swollen feet. Every day, Killian and his brothers Liam and Lee walk inside, often with William Scarlet and Rob Locksley following behind them, but they say nothing more to her than greetings and drink orders. Killian will spend additional time leaning over the bar, his voice deep with his flirtations, but she pushes them away. She will not sleep with him to get information, and she will not sleep with him because he thinks she is easy prey.

Men like him, no matter how enticing, do not lead to good things.

Knowing he’s the head of a gang doesn’t reassure her.

Knowing one day he will have a price on her head, well, it does not give her any confidence that she could ever be anything more than a warm body in his bed. Most likely, he wouldn’t give her the curtesy of taking her there, instead taking her behind the bar.

If only she had been born into a family with means. Maybe then she could live a life where death did not linger so closely.

“Swan, darling,” Killian calls from his private room, “can you come in here?”

Emma stills, gripping on her glass, but she quickly composes herself. It’s not often she is called into the room, and while she would like an invitation to the inside, she knows it comes with risks. Slowly, she moves around the bar and heads toward the door. Liam opens it for her, nodding, and she steps inside as Liam closes the door behind her. Killian, Lee, William, and Rob are sitting in the cushioned booths, and Killian pats the seat beside him. She nods and sits next to him, keeping her posture straight and face neutral.

“Emma, love,” Killian starts, “you’re educated, are you not?”

“I am not.”

Killian twists and looks at her with wide eyes. “You speak like you’ve been educated.”

“Natural intelligence,” Emma shrugs. Gold gave her an education, but she refuses to give him any credit when most of it has been of her own doing. “I attended school as a child, but not much else. Everything has been self-taught.”

“See,” Lee sighs, “I don’t need more schooling.”

“You damn well do if you want to be a part of this business! We are educated men, and you will be no different.”

“Where did you go to school?” Emma asks, not able to help herself.

“Oxford. Though, my studies were interrupted by my needed service in the War.”

“It’s a shame.”

“I think I’m doing well for myself, regardless, love.”

“You should go to school, Lee,” Emma tells the youngest Jones brother, a bastard child of their father they brought into the family business. “You have the Jones Corporation to fall back on, but if you want to be a true asset, you should better yourself as much as you can.”

“Oi, am I bloody well supposed to take advice from a woman? A woman who is a barmaid no less? What could you possibly know?”

Killian slams his hand down on the table, glass and silverware shaking. “This woman is far more competent than you, lad, and I suggest you respect her. Everyone is your equal, no matter what dear old dad told you to make you believe otherwise.”

Lee curses under his breath, and Emma slinks back into the booth as the room stills, the air heavy with unspoken words waiting to be set free. She doesn’t know if she should stay or walk out of the room and back to her job, but Killian makes the decision for her. “Why don’t you all go? Get back to work.”

“What about what we were discussing?” Liam questions, but he still grabs his cap and his coat.

“We will discuss it later.” The men nod and then begin to shuffle out of the room. Emma moves to join them, but Killian reaches out and grabs her wrist, the warmth of his hand spreading over here. “Stay, Swan.”

She doesn’t dare deny him as she cannot give up any opportunity to learn more about him, so she turns and takes the seat opposite him, smoothing out her skirt and her hair. “Is everything alright?”

“The horse race is this weekend, as I’m sure you know, and I’d like to bring you as a guest.”

Emma blanches. “Excuse me?”

A smile creeps onto his face, and he reaches into his pocket to slide a bag of coins across the table. “I’d like to take you to the races as my companion. You should use this to buy a nice dress and hat.”

“Are you trying to buy my affections?”

“I think we both know you cannot be bought.”

If only he knew.

Emma studies him, trying to read past the smile and the friendly invitation, but she sees nothing of any use. “Why me?”

Killian leans forward, elbow pressed to the table and chin resting on his knuckle. “I fancy you from time to time when you aren’t ignoring me, as I have made no secret.”

Emma thinks to all the times where she’s forgotten herself and has allowed Killian to get close in the way she doesn’t want, all the times he has lingered close to her and pressed his lips to her neck before she pulls away. She will not sleep with him for money or for Gold’s cause, but she would be telling a lie if she said she has never considered it for her own personal reasons. Her mind is constantly contradicting her there, and Emma has never been able to settle her thoughts one way or another.

Getting into bed with dangerous men leads to getting into bed with dangerous things.

Emma has already put on the sheets and started slipping out of her shoes despite her best efforts not to.

“So, you expect me to buy a nice outfit and spend a day away with you as nothing more than an ornament on your arm because you fancy me?”

“I expect nothing of you. Every choice is up to you.”

Emma reaches her fingers across the table and takes the purse of coins. “Any color in particular you’d like for my dress?”

“Surprise me.”

-/-

Her dress is red, and when she walks into My Fairest Lady on Saturday morning, she can feel the eyes of the entire place on her. It’s made of a delicate lace and flowered accents and flares out at the hips, but the corset makes her breasts push up, cleavage showing where she usually hides it. Her heels were dyed to match, her hat too, and it is the nicest thing she’s ever worn. It feels foreign on her skin, and while Emma would prefer comfort, she doesn’t mind feeling elegant for once. Anna, the woman who lives next to her, saw Emma carry her dress home, asked where she was going with it, and insisted she allow Emma to roll her hair with hot curlers and apply paint to her lips. She thinks the redness of her lips along with the cleavage may be the thing that brings down the Jones Company, and if she’d known that, maybe she would have dressed like this earlier.

“You look,” Killian begins.

“I know,” Emma finishes, taking his hand as he helps her into the carriage. “You look nice as well.”

“And much like you, I did know that.”

The drive to the races doesn’t seem long, but Emma knows they’ve traveled for at least two hours. Killian doesn’t talk for much of it, but when he does, it’s to point out something on the side of the road. He’s able to tie everything in with a story from the War or something William Scarlet has done, and Emma chuckles, seeing the lighter side of them. She knows how they spend much of their time, and it is not taking all of Killian’s suits out of his closet and replacing them with Lee’s so they’ll be several sizes too small.

When they arrive at Cheltenham, it is like nothing Emma has ever seen before. The building around the track is glamourous and obviously newly built, and everyone around is in their nicest clothes. To Emma, this is foreign, every bit of it. Her life is a life in the shadows in tattered clothes and normal things. Her life is not spent betting on horse races and wearing dresses worth more than her flat to accompany the head of a gang while she secretly attempts to discover where he’s hiding the guns Gold wants.

She does not even know why Gold wants those guns so badly when the factory can surely produce more, but her entire life is about finding them.

She should have never stepped foot in his house had she known these would be the consequences, but she needed to give that kid the good life he has.

“This is spectacular,” Emma says as the carriage stutters to a stop amongst all the others, motors slowly dying out.

Killian takes her hand and guides her out of the carriage, placing his hand on her lower back when they set foot on the gravel. “You haven’t seen anything yet, love.”

Killian is right in that she hasn’t seen anything because when they walk inside, the floor is lined with black and white tiles, and the ceiling is home to ornate paintings and chandeliers that look too heavy to stay there. Emma shouldn’t feel overwhelmed by it all, but she does. Killian knows every other person they pass, some greeting him with reverence and some greeting him with fear, but they all greet him just the same. His hand stays steady on her back as he moves her though the hallways, and he introduces her to several other women before disappearing into another room. She wants to follow him, to see what business he’s doing, but she knows she can’t.

“How do you know Killian Jones?” a woman with long brunette hair asks. Emma thinks her name is Ruby, but she cannot remember. It was too much talking at once.

“How do you?” Emma counters.

“I was his lover years ago.”

Emma arches her brow. “Well, that does not shock me.”

“Oh, you don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

Ruby steps closer to her, whispering so no one around them can hear. “He had an affair with the wife of a powerful man, and the man killed his wife in front of Killian and burned Killian’s hand. After that, he slept with anyone who so much as looked like his lover because he was often too drunk to realize the difference. So, you, you’re different. I have never seen him go with a blonde.”

“Well,” Emma steadies, trying to keep her heart from racing after what she heard, “I am not his lover, so I imagine you’ll have to keep waiting to see that.”

“Not yet,” Ruby tells her before stepping away, dress trailing behind her.

“You ready to watch the races?”

Emma jumps at Killian’s returned presence, and he chuckles, placing his hand on her back again while looking down at her, amused. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” Emma lies. “Just fine.”

She flashes a smile that reaches her eyes, making it as genuine as possible, and before Killian guides her to their seats, she sees a spot of blood on his shirt. She doesn’t know if it is his or someone else’s, but she does know that whatever business he had at the races has very little to do with horses.

-/-

Emma’s feet ache when she settles into her seat in the carriage, and she immediately toes out of her shoes and tucks her feet underneath her. Killian eyes her with curiosity, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he shrugs of his jacket and lays it over her lap.

“You may not have been able to move, but you cut quite the figure in that dress.” Her cheeks heat, but she doesn’t say anything, simply smiling at him. “Did you enjoy the races, Swan?”

“I did. Though, not as much as you.”

“What makes you say that?”

Emma hums and taps her fingers over Killian’s suit jacket, moving it to cover more of her. “Well, your purse is fuller. Your horse won, and if I heard correctly, you are now in charge of all bets.”

He turns to look at her, and if she were talking to any other member of the gang, she would back away. For some reason, however, the leader doesn’t scare her tonight, not like he should. She had one too many glasses of fine wine.

“How exactly do you know that?”

Emma points to the small blood stain on his shirt. “I’m assuming that is the blood of someone from the Mills family, who all mysteriously went away before the races even started. Everyone came to Rob and Liam to make their bets. It does not take a genius to figure things out once the pieces begin to fall into place.”

“Not a genius, no, but someone with an observant eye.” He leans forward, invading her space like he so often does. “You, love, know a little too much.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Emma whispers, breathless.

He leans closer, until her air and his air are the same, and Emma closes her eyes to brace herself, not knowing what is coming next. His lips ghost over hers, but they do not firmly touch. Instead they linger, and Emma feels every move he makes. “Keep you close,” Killian finally says. “I believe you would know too much for me to let you go.”

Enough but not what she needs.

“I believe you may be right.”

Killian rests his hand on her thigh before pulling back, their air separating into their own entities once more. “Lee would have a bloody fit if he ever knew you so quickly figured things out. The boy has potential, but he is too much like our father. I believe that will be his downfall.”

“I believe underestimating women will be his downfall.”

Killian clicks his tongue and nods. “You see, that stems directly from our father, the bastard of all bastards, and you are correct. Many a man was brought down by the kiss of a woman, but few of them have the smarts to know it was her brain that truly brought them down.”

“And you know that?”

“Aye, I do.”

Emma wants to ask about the woman Ruby mentioned early, but she doesn’t dare. She’s already toeing the lines of danger tonight, and mentioning the deceased woman Killian used to love seems ill advised.

So, she stays quiet and keeps her place, knowing she is one step closer to where she needs to be. She is gaining his trust more and more each day, but she also feels herself slipping into a place from which she cannot return.

Fuck.

-/-

Weeks pass, and the weather chills, Birmingham’s winter quickly creeping upon them. Emma freezes every day on her walk to the pub, but one day a coat appears in a box with her name on it. It is long and warm, and besides her red dress, the nicest thing she owns. Killian never confirms it is from him, but she knows it was. She knows the coat, the gloves, and the scarves are all from him, and while she tells him thank you, he never accepts any of her words. Instead, he invites her more into his life. She knows about the gambling and the illegal businesses of the Jones Corporation, and her knowledge gets her foot in the door.

Everything that happens inside is up to Killian.

He brings her in from the pub to settle arguments, to help with the numbers after he discovers she’s better with them than Rob ever has been, and when Liam goes away for some time to take his wife to visit her family in France, Killian often has Emma sit in Liam’s seat with his hand on her thigh underneath the table.

Killian Jones is not a man who takes his time courting women, but Emma cannot help but feel like that is exactly what is happening with her. It is surely not proper, but there’s too much lingering between them for it to be anything else.

Though, it does always stay lingering, never crossing the line, and Emma finds herself thinking more and more about the woman he loved and the string of women who followed.

She finds her resolve to keep her heart away from him teetering over the edge of no return.

She also thinks of Neal, of how much he promised her, of how much he let her down. He was going to give her a better life, but then he disappeared into the wind, never to be heard from again when she realized she was pregnant.

Surely she must take some blame for her situation, but Emma always remembers that so much of it is because of Neal.

Tonight Killian is allowing singing in the pub. He never does, says it makes the place too cheery when that is not his style of pub, but once a week, he allows the men to sing after she leads them off in whatever song she knows. The joyous mood leads to more drinking, which is more money for them, and she imagines that is the only reason Killian allows it.

If she were a conceited woman, she would say he allows it to hear her sing.

The Joneses and their associates march into the pub, some of them disappearing into the back room, but most come to the main part of the pub, moving around the crowd and disappearing into the thick of it. Emma watches Killian, and she can feel his eyes on her no matter where he is.

He never does come to the bar for long periods of time, not while the place is full of people at least, but then when Arthur Pemberton’s hand gets a little too close to Emma, suddenly Killian is there, standing with her, hand possessively on her hip while he warns Arthur not to let his libations get to him.

“I can handle myself,” Emma hisses when Arthur has stumbled away. “I do not need you.”

“Of that I have no doubt.”

“Then what was that? You wanted to show off who had the bigger cock?”

“Darling, I know that would be me.”

Emma’s head tilts back with feigned, exasperated laughter, but Killian does not seem amused. She waits for him to laugh, for the blue of his eyes to light up, but instead his jaw clenches from beneath his whiskered chin.

“Fancy a song then, sailor?” Emma asks to change the subject and keep them from getting into a row. For all the nights they have spent talking about small little details of their lives and their wishes, so, too, have they spent nights arguing. She knows when they’re on the verge of both.

“Why would I fancy a song?”

“To make you smile.”

“Alright then.” He taps his hand on the bar top before helping Emma up to her new vantage point, arching his brow while he looks at her. “Sing me a song then, lass.”

Emma nods and inhales, knowing the entire room will be listening, but she only focuses on the one man with blue eyes as clear as the ocean on a sunny day.

“In a neat little town they call Belfast, apprentice to trade I was bound. Many an hour’s sweet happiness had I spent in that neat little town. A sad misfortune came over me, which caused me to stray from the land. Far away from my friends and relations, betrayed by the black velvet band. Her eyes, they shone like diamonds. I thought her the queen of the land. And her hair, it hung over her shoulder, tied up with a black velvet band.”

When she finishes, the room is silent, her voice echoing between the four walls, and when she looks at Killian, she can see water in his eyes, a new ocean amongst the blue.

“Another!” someone in the crowd yells, but Emma doesn’t turn away from Killian.

“Oi, the lady sings one song. If you want a new one, sing it yourself!”

Emma chuckles and allows herself to sit down on the bar top, Killian helps her to the ground, her heels clicking against the hardwood. His hand lingers, warmth spreading through her, but as soon as it warms her, it disappears as Killian walks away, disappearing upstairs.

“Are you truly not going to sing us another song?”

Emma rolls her shoulders back and turns around, Leroy standing in front of her. She smiles softly and takes his glass, pouring him another drink. “If you ask me nicely, I just might.”

The night passes quickly, My Fairest Lady filling as it does on this day every week, but eventually everyone leaves, the place emptying as the streets quiet outside, the drunks all returning to their homes or their mistresses. Emma takes her time sweeping up, toeing out of her heels to let her feet rest, and she hums all of the songs sung today, their lyrics filling her usually tired mind.

She doesn’t hear him come in, and it would startle her if he didn’t step directly to her, taking her hands in his and pulling her close, joining in the songs she was singing. She didn’t think he could sing, but he carries a tune almost better than she does.

“I don’t dance,” Emma whispers.

“That is because you have never had a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

“And this partner is you?”

“Aye.”

Emma hasn’t danced in years, and she doesn’t know any of the traditional ones. She would be out of place at a ball for many a reason. She could wear the dress, have the nice man on her arm, but her footing would give her way. One wrong step, and everything would be over.

One wrong step here, she could be dead.

Once more, she has no interest in thinking of the real reason she’s here. She wants to stay in this moment, allowing Killian to sing sweet melodies to her, and she wants to forget about Gold and her mission and everything else.

Emma wants to pretend that for now she is nothing more than a woman dancing with a man she has come to fancy despite herself, no darkness and secrets between them.

What a world that would be.

Emma tilts her head up, looking at Killian, at the softness of his lips and the length of his dark lashes. He is different in this light, softer than his usual hard edges, but Emma knows they are still there, just below the surface.

“I took a stroll down broadway,” Killian sings, continuing her song from earlier, “meaning not long for to stay. When who should I meet but this pretty fair maid come a-traipsing along the highway. She was both fair and handsome. Her neck, it was just like a swan.”

Here, he runs a finger down her neck that ricochets into a tremor down her spine.

“And her hair, it hung over her shoulder, tied up with a black velvet band.”

“I thought you didn’t like music,” Emma whispers as his fingers toy with the ends of her loose hair. She’s enchanted by him, and for once, she isn’t afraid to admit it.

“That’s because not everyone sings like you, love.”

Slowly, Emma presses up on her toes, and her lips go gently over his, feeling the softness that resides there. He lingers, not pushing her forward, but before Emma can do just that, his hand comes to cup the nape of her neck, tilting her head for him to control the kiss. She never did imagine Killian Jones wouldn’t be the one to take charge of a kiss, so no part of this surprises her. He tastes like rum, the alcohol burning her tongue as heat overwhelms her, and Emma is so consumed by him that she doesn’t notice the way he’s backed her across the room until the edge of the bar is pressing into her lower back, leaving a mark that will linger longer than the burning of this kiss.

When Emma gently bites at his bottom lip, he growls, moving his hands to pick her up until she’s resting on the top of the bar. Emma cups his cheeks, the prickle of his beard scratching her palms, but she pays no attention to that when her legs wrap around his back and she feels his hips roll into hers, the firmness of him pressing into her in ways she hasn’t felt in too long.

It feels damn good, and if Emma were a proper woman, she would have stopped this and kept it from going too far.

She is not a proper woman.

Killian, however, seems to be a proper man, because he pulls back, sweat slicked forehead leaning against hers, and then he moves away, putting more space between him than Emma wants now that they’ve finally closed the gap they’ve lingered near since her first day on the job. All she wants now is to feel him pulsing inside of her, creating a rhythm that matches with the beat of her heart and brings her the pleasure she so craves.

“I am not having you on this bar,” he grumbles, his voice deep and hoarse. His hand falls down her back, grabbing onto her hip and pulling her closer to him. “You deserve more.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” And she means it. She once thought that he wouldn’t care enough to take her to a bed, but now she finds she’s the one who doesn’t care. Her blood is running hot, and she would be fine with it right here even if the countertop digs into her arse. “This is fine.”

He kisses her again, all teeth and tongue and rough determination, and she thinks he’s given up on his sense of chivalry, especially when he encourages her to wrap her ankles around him, but then he’s stumbling with the kiss and lifting her off the bar. She gasps at the sudden movement and circles her arms around his neck to keep from falling.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Emma protests, pulling away as Killian runs his mouth down her neck.

“I said I wasn’t having you on this bar, and I meant it. I have a private room upstairs for when I can’t sleep at home.”

There’s a dark hunger in his voice, one that thrums between Emma’s thighs, and while she’d much prefer to walk herself to the room, she allows him to have this moment. Her legs are likely too shaky with desire for her steps to be steady.

This is not what she intended to do when she kissed him, but she should have known. It’s been building for months, and Emma has shown enough restraint.

She is tired of convincing herself that she wants anything other than this. s

When they get to Killian’s room, he lays her down on the bed, and Emma immediately starts unlacing her dress at her breasts as Killian undoes the buttons on his shirt, pulling it off before he leans down to assist her, his tongue and teeth tracing her exposed skin and leaving red marks with all of his kisses. The heat between her thighs is a sharp throb now, and Emma writhes underneath Killian has his mouth touches the hollow of her throat and his hand reaches behind her knee, pulling her up until he drags against her in the perfect way that has them both moaning.

“You have tempted me since the moment you walked in this damn pub asking for a job.”

His mouth is eager with its ministrations, especially when he finds her nipple, and Emma is left searching for words as her heart threatens to beat out of her chest. Snow falls outside, cold white flakes coating the ground, but Emma is nothing but warm. Parts of her feel like she is on fire, and even as things progress and clothes no longer lay on her body, she might as well be wrapped in down blankets with a fire burning next to her and a hot drink in her hand.

Instead, she’s pressing into the mattress, Killian’s hand palming her breast while his mouth goes lower and lower until her back is arching into the air and she’s dragging her nails down his back and up into the soft tresses of his dark head of hair. Sweat is beading down her chest and collecting at her hair, and Emma never thought it would be possible to sweat in December in Birmingham.

“Killian,” she moans when he does something sinful with his tongue. “Oh fuck.”

He doesn’t say anything back, simply keeps working how he’s working, and for a long while, it’s like the pleasure is never going to end. It’s a constant working up and up and up until she’s dangling off the cliff, ready to let go.

Killian barely gives her any time to recover from her fall before he’s working his way back up her body, settling over her and settling against her so she can feel him bare where she wants him. Emma licks a stripe up his neck, salt on her tongue, and he grunts in response, rolling his hips against hers until both of them are messes.

Shifting beneath him, Emma moves until Killian is face to face with her, his lips lingering over hers and his wild, sweat slicked hair in front of her. She imagines her hair is tangled as well, and it’ll likely never be the same.

“Hello, beautiful,” he whispers, cupping her cheek with his hand.

“So, this isn’t the bar anymore,” Emma jokes, looking for levity in a moment that seems heavy.

“No, no it isn’t.”

They’re both quiet as he presses into her in a slick stretch of heat, and Emma immediately spreads her legs wider for a better fit, allowing him to settle. He’s thick and heavy inside of her, and Emma digs her nails into his back, holding on tight as she moves her hips to get a more perfect fit.

She is going to leave her mark with him tonight, red scars from her nails stretching across his back.

“You are wonderful.” He kisses her again, muttering soft words while his hips start moving, creating a rhythm that might just burn Emma alive, especially when Killian’s hand slides down to her arse and helps himself slide in deeper. “So fucking wonderful.”

“You are too.”

He groans above her, and his hips become that little bit more frantic as his chest hair creates friction against her breasts. This is the best Emma has felt in months, maybe even years, and she wants to chase this high for as long as she can, even as she feels herself tumbling over with each thrust of Killian’s hip and swipe of his thumb as his lips devour hers, only stopping to mutter filthy encouragements.

This is not how she expected today to go.

She wouldn’t change it for a thing.

Her skin is boiling now, and if the curtains were closed, Emma wouldn’t know it was winter outside. Sweat is slicked everywhere, but she doesn’t care.

She doesn’t care about anything except how good it feels when Killian engraves her name into the side of her neck as he succumbs to pleasure as well, his bodyweight pressing down on her, melding them from two to one.

After, Killian is gentle when he helps her clean up, and they settle underneath the blankets. Emma presses her right leg between his and rests her cheek against his collarbone as her fingers tread through the dark hair on his chest. She moves it around from where sweat has matted it, and she traces the red scars that make up so much of him. They look almost silver in the moonlight.

They look stunning.

Emma feels lips press to her temple, and she smiles, burying her face in his neck and breathing him in.

Happy. This is what happiness feels like. It’s been so long that it surprises her.

“I have to go.”

It’s like she’s been slapped.

“Sorry?”

“I have to go,” Killian repeats, but Emma can’t quite come to terms with the words. “I have…business to attend to.”

Her walls immediately come back up, brick by brick.

“You have business to attend to? Seriously? What the fuck kind of excuse is that? What? You fuck me and then leave? Were you using me because – ”

Emma pulls back away from him, sitting up and pulling the blankets with her, and Killian stays settled against the headboard, hands behind his head. “I had this business before I slept with you. Believe me, there is nothing I would rather do than stay in bed with you until I’m bloody dragged out of it, but I have to do this tonight.”

Emma scoffs and crawls out of the bed, getting finding her undergarments. “I’m coming with you.”

“Swan.”

“If I’m jumping into bed with you, I want to know the exact details of the man I’m jumping into bed with.”

He arches his brow, mouth curling into a smirk as his head nods to how exposed he is. “It may be a little too late for that now.”

Emma should be flustered, but she’s not. She’s determined that she won’t be left behind.

Her hands fall to her hips. “That depends on if you let me come with you.”

“Grab your damn coat and a scarf. You’ll freeze without them.”

“Are you a gentleman now?”

He clicks his tongue. “I’m always a gentleman.”

They take Killian’s carriage, only with him driving this time instead of the two of them sitting in the back, and they don’t speak wherever it is they’re going. Anticipation courses through her veins, gooseflesh spreading across her skin wherever it can reach, and a lump permanently lodges itself in her throat. She doesn’t know what to think, what to feel, and when they drive to a graveyard, Emma is certainly confused. When Killian grabs a shovel out of the back and leads her to his mother’s grave, her skin crawls for a reason entirely unrelated to the cold.

“She’s not buried here.”

“Oh?”

“No. I had a stone made, but she is closer to the ocean. It’s the place she loved the most.”

“Then what is – ”

Emma doesn’t bother finishing her question when she sees the gleam of guns underneath the moonlight. Her heart drops to the pit of her stomach, and for all that Emma has pushed away her thoughts of Gold and his threats lingering over her, there is no denying them now.

She found the guns.

Rather, Killian showed her.

She knows where they are, and by sunrise, she could be out of this place and out of this damn deal.

But Emma knows better than to think she’ll truly be free from Gold. He’ll find her again and bring with him new threats, and she’d be a fool to think otherwise.

Life as a moll has not seemed too bad lately, especially now that she knows how Killian feels when he kisses her, but she’s still torn between two places.

If she tells Gold where the guns are, she’ll be under his control for the rest of her life.

If she tells Killian, he’ll surely kill her.

For a moment, she contemplates a third option, one where she both keeps her breath and is able to truly live. It would never work, however. Gold would manipulate her, and she’d spend her entire life leading a double life, betraying the man who has obviously given her his trust.

The strange thing is, she has given him the same.

It’s not enough, and Emma, surrounded by all these graves, already knows she will have no headstone. There will be no one to mourn her.

She needs time to figure things out, and she’s running out of time.

Emma floats through the rest of the night, not knowing what she’s saying or doing, and when Killian leaves her at her flat with a resounding kiss that shakes her to her core, she thinks of running away with him. It should be easy. She’s been doing it her entire life.

“It’s late,” Killian whispers, “You should go inside and get some rest, but tomorrow, I have different plans for you.”

“Oh?”

He kisses her again, warming every bit of her body that is chilled. “Goodnight, my love.”

“Goodnight, Killian.”

Emma exits his carriage and walks into her building, a smile on her face until she unlocks her door.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Fuck,” Emma mutters, her senses coming back to her as Gold stands across from her. She hasn’t seen him since the last time he broke in, but he’s here now.

It’s too late for her to run away.

She is no longer floating through tonight.

“Where have you been?” Gold asks, his voice as cold as the snow outside.

“Working.”

“I noticed that Killian Jones himself drove you home.” The floor creaks underneath him, and his cane thumps against the floor at the same beat as her heart. “Interesting that. You didn’t come from the direction of the pub either.”

“We went for a drive.” Emma takes off her coat in an attempt at nonchalance.

“To where exactly, dearie?”

“Around the town. Nowhere in particular.”

“Is that so?” He steps closer and taps his cane. Emma doesn’t have a gun on her. She can’t risk anyone finding it at work, but she knows Gold has one on him. Fuck. She doesn’t even have her knife today, and they’re both across the room where Gold is. “Would your drive happened to have gone near the cemetery?”

Emma’s skin goes colder than the outside weather could ever make it, and it is difficult to keep her breath from shallowing.

She’s been caught, and Gold is most likely going to kill her for her disloyalty to him.

“The guns are in Allison Jones’s grave.”

She had to tell him. She had no other option.

She hates herself for it.

“That is what I needed to know. Meet me in Nottingham in a week. I’ll have a new assignment for you then.”

Emma nods and backs against the wall as Gold moves around her, his hand turning the knob on her front door. “What are you going to do with the guns? Return them to Churchill?” she asks against her better judgment.

He laughs, and gooseflesh appears on her arms and down her legs, pebbling her skin as nausea settles in her throat. “Well, I’m going to return them to Churchill, of course, but not before I have a little fun with Killian Jones. Wouldn’t you know that a gang leader was mysteriously shot in his home in the middle of the night? Must have been one of his many enemies that did it.”

“Why?” Emma whispers.

Gold smiles. “Jones is known for sleeping with another man’s wife years ago, and well, I was that other man.”

And then he’s gone, limping out of the room with that slow, aching walk of his. Emma feels as if she’s been slapped across the cheek by his cane, and she immediately turns to her sink, releasing her insides and heaving, waiting for her breath to come back.

It never truly does.

Gold’s carriage sputters to life outside as Emma heaves once more, and even though her brain is functioning at half of its capacity, she knows what she needs to do.

She has to tell Killian.

Everyone in town knows what he does is illegal, but there’s no proof of his family’s crimes. They make it all as legal as possible through their legitimate businesses, and often the local coppers are on their side.

Gold, Churchill, and the Constabulary on not on their side.

Gold is going to murder him just like he murdered his wife.

Emma grabs her coat, shrugging it on as she runs out the door, and she wishes she had a carriage. She doesn’t however, so as snow falls down around her, Emma runs through the streets of Birmingham, taking the alleys she frequents so often, to get to Killian’s home. She’s only been there a few times, nearly all of it for business reasons, but she knows the way.

Her lungs are heavy, her breath short, and her feet ache from the heels of her boots. She imagines frostbite is hitting her toes, but she can’t stop. She was foolish and allowed herself to develop feelings for this man, to fall in love with him in the midst of all her protests otherwise, and she can’t let him get arrested.

She certainly cannot allow him to be murdered. Gold has an agenda against him, and Emma knows the only reason Killian isn’t dead is because he wanted the guns first to cover up his crimes.

Fuck.

When Emma comes across the house, she runs into the door, banging her fist against the wood before picking up the clapper and hitting it. It seems like hours before anyone comes to the door, but eventually someone does, Lee opening it with his gun in his hand.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” he grumbles.

“Where’s your brother?”

“If you’re here to fuck him, you’ll have to get in line.”

“What?” Emma gawks, her heart still pounding. She knows he’s fucking with her, but of all the people she doesn’t fully trust, Lee Jones is near the top of the list. She’s heard Killian talk about his similarities to their father too much to think of him as trustworthy. “No, it doesn’t matter. I need to talk to Killian.”

“If it’ll get you to be quiet, fine. First door on the right upstairs.”

Emma nods and hurries up the stairs, her steps as loud as a heard of elements, and while she does hesitate to enter his room because of Lee’s words, she still does. He’s sitting in his bed, alone, and now is really not the time for her to be focusing on how Lee is constantly trying to fuck with her because he spent too much time with their arse of a father.

“Swan? Bloody hell. What are you doing here?”

She may get murdered for this, but she’s trusting that she won’t. Maybe he’ll understand that she’s done him wrong in the past, but she’s trying to save his life now.

“Robert Gold.”

Killian immediately sits straighter and moves the blankets off him until he’s standing in front of her, looming. “How do you know that name?”

Emma rolls her shoulders back, the adrenaline pushing her words forward.

“I got pregnant when I was sixteen, and I didn’t have a job or a family. I had nothing. I heard of this man who could help with discreet adoptions, get the baby into a good home, you know? So I went to Robert Gold, and he took care of me and my baby, and he found the kid a family who could love him. I believed I didn’t owe him any debts, but he’s threatened to hurt me and my son if I don’t do what he says. I don’t think he’d hurt the kid anymore because I now know the kid’s parents are in the government, but I know he’ll hurt me.”

Emma starts pacing. She can’t look at Killian. She cannot look at the blue she loves so much because it is surely about to turn black while looking at her.

That would break her heart.

“I’ve been working for him. This entire time. He had me gain employ at your pub to learn the location of the guns you stole from the arms factory. All this time I thought it was because Churchill wanted them so they could send them to where they were intended. But tonight Gold was in my flat after following us to the cemetery, and he told me you had slept with his wife, which means the man who shot his wife and your lover in front of you was Gold. He’s going after the guns, Killian. He’s going to get them, and then he’s coming here to either kill you for your crimes against him or arrest you for your crimes against the Crown. Either way, he’s going to kill you.”

Emma doesn’t notice the silence between them as her heart is still pounding like the loudest of drums, but the silence is surely there, being filled second by second with Killian’s rage toward her and toward Gold.

She gained his trust, and then she betrayed him.

“Why are you telling me this?” he whispers, his voice as even keeled as she’s ever heard it.

She nearly falls to the ground at the sound of it.

“Pardon?”

“Turn around and look at me.” Emma braces her shoulders and turns, having no idea what she’s about to see, but she imagines it will be a low-burning fury. She’s wrong. “If you were anyone else in the world, I would have your head for this. I don’t take betrayals lightly, and I will not take this one lightly even though I understand what it is like to be under Gold's thumb. Do not be fooled. But for fucks sake, Emma, I love you. I haven’t loved a woman since Milah was taken from me, but I love you. I also believe all sins can be forgiven when you love someone, but that does not mean I forgive you tonight.”

Emma doesn’t know what to do or think.

There are too many thoughts stampeding in her mind, and she isn’t caught up with it enough to process it all. For now, all she can think is she isn’t dead.

But Killian may be soon.

“What are you going to do about Gold?” Emma asks even when she meant to say something else entirely. She meant to say the three words that reside at the tip of her tongue, but they keep being pushed back.

More important matters are at hand.

“How long ago did he leave your flat to go after the guns?”

“I don’t know. I ran here as soon as he left.”

Killian nods and cups her cheek, kissing her soundly, before he turns around and starts pulling luggage from his drawers before quickly grabbing onto clothes. “Find a few warm things for you. Quickly.”

“Why? What the hell is happening?”

“It’s not safe for us here. We have to go until I can figure something out. There isn’t time to ask every bloody question.”

Lee comes rushing into the room at the same time that Emma grabs a thick blanket and some of Killian’s shirts and what she can only assume are clothes women left here. She doesn’t have much time to process that particular fact. “What the fuck are you two doing?”

“We have to go. Gold is coming after us. Pack a bag and start the carriage.”

“What about Liam? He’s in France. We have to warn him.”

“Liam isn’t set to come back until February. We’ll have time to get him a message. Gold is only coming after me for now. Go, go, we don’t have much time.”

“I thought we didn’t run from a challenge.”

Killian’s jaw clenches, and he turns to face his younger brother. “We’re not running. We’re allowing me to conjure a plan so we don’t get our heads blown off. Fucking go or I’ll leave you here!”

Lee nods, and then he’s out of the room, his footsteps echoing in the hallway for a quick moment before he’s heading out the door and the carriage turns on with a rumble. Emma’s collected enough clothes to last her weeks, and she watches as Killian stashes money into his suitcase before handing some to her.

“For if we get separated,” he explains.

“Where are we going?”

“I have a place in mind, but I can’t tell you yet. Now, come on, go get in the carriage. He works fast, and he shows no mercy, as I’m sure you know. Don’t worry, love. We’ll be fine. I’m a survivor.”

Killian’s hand finds Emma’s back, and as they walk down the stairs, she takes in the beauty of his home. A lot of love has been put into it, and by all accounts, it looks more like a house than a home.

Emma would have liked to have this place as a home. She’s still aching for that place she can call her own.

Now is not the time to think of that.

The cold hits her when they walk outside, and it doesn’t fade away when she climbs into the carriage next to Killian, Lee sitting behind them. Emma clutches onto her luggage, her knuckles white but her fingers pink, and Killian quickly reaches down and hands her a pair of gloves. She takes them without protest, and in the dead of night, she begins moving with the Jones brothers, leaving a white-covered Birmingham behind them.

She doesn’t know what��s going to happen to anyone, not to William or Rob or any of the other Jones Corporation associates. Gold will surely go after them to try to learn of Killian’s whereabouts, hers too, but there’s not time to drive to their homes and tell them. They’re smart and resourceful. They’ll figure things out. At least, Emma hopes so.

There’s no way for them to avoid Gold forever. Emma knows firsthand that he has connections across Europe with his ties to the government, and he’ll never stop until he gets to Killian. She has so many questions about what happened between Killian and Gold’s wife, a woman he obviously loved, but now is not the time for questions when she’s being driven to who knows where, every breath she bringing her one closer to her last.

Now is not the time for a lot of things, but since she didn’t say it earlier, Emma whispers a quiet “I love you,” not knowing if Killian or the wind catches it.

When he places his hand on her thigh, the comforting movement he’s been doing for months now, she thinks she knows.

Emma’s exhausted, but she dares not fall asleep. Instead she sits silently, Killian’s hand still on her thigh, and she watches the sun rise, bright lights reflecting against the pureness of some of the snow. In some places, it is nothing more than slush, but in others, it is beautiful. She can smell water around them, the salt of the ocean becoming clearer with each passing minute, and eventually, she can see the budding activity in a port, a large ship waiting in the water as people walk on board.

“Where are we going?” Emma asks.

Killian turns to her and flashes a tired but bright smile. “America, my love.”

-/-

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