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klaus-littlestwolf · 1 year ago

Note

I can say for sure that we all loved the Catholic school smut and therefore it just made me a new dark desire so heree comes request with our favorite hybrid

Something horny and dark at the same time

(by the way I ALSO read and write to heal religious trauma 🙏🏻)

Reader is a werewolf raised by a very conservative family and there is a lot of abuse in it specially because they think she is demoniac (they aren't werewolves)

In his path to make hybrids klaus finds her and decides to take her, he saw the way she was tortured and remembered the way mikael used to beat him, so he kills her parents

He thinks she will be scared but she was relieved and didn't even blink or tried to help when they were being murdered

She was raised apart from the world so literally everything is new to her and klaus loves to show her all the beautiful things and teach her how to be a hybrid

Obviously she also doesn't know anything about sex (innocence kink maybe?) and eventually she and klaus starts to date but she has no idea of how a relationship should work and klaus makes a good time teaching her all about how to give and receive pleasure and ends with a really good smut like the last one you wrote

Love uuu

The way you said ‘horny and dark’ I assumed you wanted a Yandere Klaus so that’s what I did

Warning: Conservative views from parents, religious trauma and bashing, smut bordering on Dub-con with how naive she is, Don’t Like=Don’t Read

DD:DNE

If your parents had known you were a werewolf when they adopted you they would have given you back immediately. Sadly there’s no way to know that until you’re in an accident.

Your family was always abusive to you, from the moment you were given to them from the 100% definitely illegal agency (since a man with as many arrests as your ‘father’ can’t legally adopt a child). When you turned however, it became worse.

It was sad how it happened, you had saved your parents by grabbing and turning the steering wheel out of the way of an oncoming 18 wheeler, sadly as you did you ended up in the way of a man on a motorcycle who crashed into your car and fell down the side of the mountain you were driving up. The bike should have been driving slower, your father should have been paying attention, but of course only you suffer the consequences.

Your first shift was agonizing and your father, being the religious man that he was, knew you were a demon! A demon who changed on the full moon and every full moon he chained you up like a monster and left you in the woods outside to suffer. They prayed over you , sometimes spraying you with a hose or whipping you while promising God that your suffering was repentance or some shit like that. You decided a long time ago that if their God was this vengeful then you didn’t want anything to do with the “Heaven” they promised. Not that you knew anything different, the outside world had been cut off from you since you were given to them to live in the mountains like the religious zealots that your parents are. Your mother wasn’t nearly as abusive, she just spends her time praying over you for the safe return of your soul and ranting like your father about how the government is controlled by demon possessed people like you.

You never believed that anything could change, especially not because of Ray. Ray had found your house on a hike up the mountain and stumbled upon you chained up in the woods after a full moon. He tried to help you but your parents chased him off, your father shooting his shotgun at him and screaming about ‘demons sent to help fellow demons’ before he hosed you off and took you inside. You always spent the day after a change with your mother patching up your quickly healing wounds and reading from the Bible you had read 60,000 times in your life.

Ray came back to check on you every few weeks, he would bring you food to hide away and some books to read that weren’t the Bible. He told you that you were not a demon but we’re in fact a werewolf, a gene passed down from your real parents (probably a father) and though he tried to convince you to come with him, you knew your father would track you down and hurt him and his ‘pack’ as he called it.

Ray had left you last time with the promise of bringing you more food, it turns out he brought quite a bit more than that.

You heard his voice before you saw him, as well as another voice with him as they approached.

‘I told you I’ll do what you want but we get the kid first, that’s the deal if you want my pack.’ Ray snapped and a weird accented man responded.

‘I’m not taking care of a kid Ray, you didn’t say kid-‘

‘She ain’t a kid but she’s…you’ll see. Now shut up before her father hears us-‘

‘Everything can hear you stomping like that Ray.’ You stated, picking up the last few pieces of firewood you had chopped and putting them into the wheelbarrow.

‘Shit kid, I’m sorry…your face-‘

‘I know. I’m the one in pain, trust me, I know it’s there. He got my ribs real good this time too.’ You looked up to see Ray standing beside another 2 men, one had fluffy brown hair and looked like he didn’t give a shit about anything and the other was staring at you. He had blond hair and bright blue eyes, prettiest shade you’ve ever seen and he wasn’t shy about how he was looking you over.

‘Hurry up and grab your stuff kid, we’re busting you outta here.’ You rolled your eyes, lifting the wheelbarrow and walking it towards your house.

‘You’re delusional. My father will shoot you all and chain you up right beside me, next thing you know he’ll be beating the demons out of you too.’

‘How many times do I have to tell you, you’re a werewolf, not a demon-‘

‘Look, I believe you Ray…sorta, but he won’t. He will see that you’re like me and he’ll either kill you or hurt you. Take your friends and go before they get hurt too.’ You began piling the wood up on the back porch where it needed to go and Ray grabbed your shoulders, stopping you.

‘Please Y/n, please come with me? He’s going to kill you one of these days and I can’t stand to see that happen-‘

‘Then stop coming here Ray! You’re risking your life for a girl you don’t know who is never getting out of here! I don’t know anything besides this, I’m an idiot, I don’t even know how the light up box works!’ He tried hard to hide his smile at that, knowing what you meant.

‘Once again, it’s called a cellphone, and I will teach you-‘

‘You don’t know what a phone is? Seriously Klaus, this is a waste of our time.’ The brunette stated to his friend and you felt tears welling up in your eyes, knowing he’s right.

Klaus’ POV

‘Shut up Stefan, Ray is right.’

‘He is-‘

‘I am?’

‘Yes, he is. This girl needs our help, and after all, I am on the search for werewolves. It was Y/n, yes?’ The girl nodded, clearly wary of me and I couldn’t blame her. Living up here off the grid with nothing but your seemingly abusive adoptive parents must be a new form of torture and werewolf or not, I couldn’t let this beautiful girl continue to suffer…I also had some ideas about a few fun things I could teach her. ‘Okay Y/n, why don’t you get your things you want to keep and you can come with us? Don’t worry about your father, he won’t hurt you-‘

‘He’ll hurt you! Don’t you get it?! He will shoot you Klaus, why would you risk getting hurt for me?’ I stepped forward, tucking this girls long hair behind her ears and making her look at me.

‘Number one I can’t really die, and while I can get hurt it won’t last, number two, because I want to. You don’t deserve this kind of pain, I know what it’s like and you need my help so I’m going to help you.’ She stared at me momentarily as if I had put the stars in the sky before her eyes hardened again. ‘Come on, I’ll come with you.’ I took her arm in mine and walked up to the door beside her. ‘Invite me in gorgeous.’

‘What…you can come in?’ She was clearly confused and it was actually kind of adorable as I walked into the house beside her and into her bedroom which was just off the back door. The amount of crosses that hung on the walls was dizzying, pictures of Bible scenes and Jesus on the walls…this girl is going to need some serious therapy. ‘What do I pack?’ I looked down to see her holding a backpack and sighing. She’s never gone anywhere in her life, of course she doesn’t know what to pack.

‘Here, I’ll put clothes in here. You grab anything else you want to keep.’ I shoved clothes into the bag and noted how desperately I needed to get her appropriate clothing and not ‘Jesus’ clothing. When I stood she put a few books into the bag and a picture of herself with a dog but nothing else.

Just as we were about to walk out we were cut off by a gunshot and I pulled her behind me as we ran outside, she gasped at seeing her father aiming a shotgun at Stefan and Ray. ‘Y/n! How dare you allow this thing into our home! You whore!’ My body tensed up as I felt her hands clutch into the back of my shirt. This girl was innocent and terrified much like I was, she has been kept from experiencing the world and knowing anything besides this Hell and I won’t allow it any longer. Besides, she will be a very fun person to have along the ride, I’ll have to teach her everything but on the plus side, I’ll get to teach her everything.

‘If you call her that again I’ll shove that gun down your throat.’ I growled and he turned his gun on me.

‘No! You could hurt Y/n-‘

‘Our whore of a daughter made her choice when she opened her legs for this demon! You’re like her, aren’t you? Cursed?!’

‘Not anymore. My curse was lifted, I’m just a werewolf now…well I’m also a vampire but that’s beside the point. You’ve crippled your child keeping her here like this, beat her, chained her and you don’t care one little bit, do you?’

‘That thing is not my daughter! It never was! It is a beast from the circles of Hell!’ I dropped her bag, taking a step forward when her hand grabbed my arm and stopped me from moving any further. I turned to look at her and held her face to make sure she paid attention to me.

‘It’s alright love, I promise. You will never be hurt again, you are mine now. Understand?’ She shook her head “no” and I should have known she wouldn’t get that. ‘I take care of you now, you stay with me. I’ll teach you everything and you won’t leave me, promise me.’ She looked shocked but nodded her head, smiling excitedly and hugging me tightly with her head resting on my chest. It was actually adorable how short she was…sexy as well.

She suddenly gasped in pain as she was yanked away from me, her ‘father’ clutching her wrist too tightly. ‘You will die today, demon! And then I will punish my demon child for whoring herself out to the Devil!’ As he raised the shotgun again I grabbed it, bending it in half and watching his eyes widen before pulling him to me by his collar.

‘Interesting choice of words. She hasn’t even begun to whore herself out for me, but you can be sure she will. I should thank you for that I think, she doesn’t know anything about the world and she will be quite easily moldable…I’m not going to thank you of course, you’re an insane child abuser but at least in your last moments you can know that she will be everything you didn’t want her to be. Interesting how things work out that way, isn’t it?’ He tried to fight to his credit but it was much to easy to pull his heart from his chest. I dropped his body to the ground and heard his wife screaming bloody murder but I tuned that out as I looked to Y/n who was staring at his body before looking up at me, excitement in her eyes which I loved instantly. I turned and snapped the women’s neck quickly, irritated with the screaming before turning back to Y/n who grabbed a rag that was on the porch and began cleaning the blood off of my hand like it was her job. ‘Thank you, Kitten, you’re just too sweet.’ I pulled her to my side and turned to walk back over to Stefan and Ray.

‘Why are we taking her? She’s just going to be a distra-‘ I reached out, grabbing ahold of Stefan’s throat before growling down at him.

‘You don’t need to worry about her again. Y/n is none of your concern Stefan. Shut it.’ He nodded and I released him before turning to Ray. ‘Now to you, where are the wolves?’ I asked him and he sighed, pulling out his map as I handed Stefan the duffel bag and turned to lift Y/n onto my back, not wanting her to have to hike up the mountain. As Ray showed us where we were and where the wolves were I could feel Y/n playing with my hair which made me smile.

As soon as he gave up the location of the pack I snapped his neck, Stefan being left to carry his body up the mountain with us. It wasn’t a long hike from Y/n’s home and we got to the clearing in about half an hour, changing all of the wolves before sitting and waiting for them all to wake up which would take a bit of time, about an hour if Ray suddenly waking was any gauge of time. As he woke though his eyes began to bleed and he suddenly lunged forward at Y/n who screamed and clutched to me tightly. Stefan tried to grab him but only ended up with a werewolf bite on his arm before Ray was gone.

‘Well, you best go get him.’ I told him and he glared making Y/n whine.

‘Aren’t you gonna heal me?’ I shook my head.

‘Once you come back with Ray? Yes, and I would hurry. That looks bad.’ I stated before Stefan ran off after the hybrid, leaving Y/n and I alone.

‘I don’t like him.’ She spoke up and I snorted.

‘He doesn’t like you either so I would say you’re a good judge of character.’ I joked making her smile.

‘I like you though.’

‘Well, everyone is allowed one mistake.’ Her eyes widened and she shoved me playfully, leaning into my side. ‘It’s gonna be a while before they wake up, why don’t you come sit on my lap and snuggle with me?’ I proposed and she looked up at me, tilting her head.

‘What’s snuggle?’ My eyes widened before I sighed.

‘It means let me hold you. You’re mine now, I’m allowed to hold you all I want.’ Y/n nodded her head, clearly thinking as she moved to sit on my lap and lay her head into my neck.

‘What does being yours mean?’

‘Hmm, that’s a good question Kitten.’ She blushed a dark shade, clearly enjoying her nickname. ‘It means that only I can touch you, no other man should be too close or putting their hands on you. It means that it’s my job to take care of you and make you feel good in every way I can, to protect you and ensure you’re happy…does that make sense?’ I wondered, knowing those concepts should be things she understands at least and she nodded her head.

‘Are you mine?’ I took pause at that, considering that question. It’s been a long time since I’ve considered only having one women in my life, and I know if I say “yes” she’s not going to want me to be with any other women, she seems the jealous type which was actually a very cute thought. As I considered this I began to realize how attached to her I’ve become already and I suddenly knew I couldn’t let her go.

‘Yes I am, Kitten. I’m all yours, no one else’s. But that means that you can’t leave me, okay? We belong to each other, that means I take care of and protect you and you take care of me, in every way I need.’ She nodded her head, before looking nervous.

‘Can…can you tell me what I’m supposed to do?’ She asked nervously and she was the sweetest thing I had ever seen. Her innocence is precious and she makes it too easy to take advantage of it, but I actually find myself not wanting to hurt her, just have her be mine.

‘Oh Kitten, of course I can! I will always help you baby, do you want to start now?’ I offered and she nodded, excitedly with a smile on her face. ‘Okay, can you turn and straddle my lap for me?’ She turned herself and threw her leg over my lap, gasping as I pulled her close and pressed her cunt against my hard cock through our clothes. ‘Good girl. Now just relax, and let me play with you. Can you do that?’ She looked confused but nodded her head anyway. ‘That’s a good girl.’ I leaned back against the tree behind me and pulled her down to press our lips together gently, letting her get used to the feeling as I molded my lips to hers before pulling her back and reaching up, my thumb pulling her chin down to open her mouth before pressing inside, my thumb brushing up her tongue. She looked unsure but soon closed her lips around it, sucking on my thumb like a pacifier…a thought that hardened my cock even more to an almost painful extent. I rolled my hips up into hers and groaned, feeling the heat of her cunt through her pants and wanting to be buried inside of her so badly. I pulled my thumb back, opening her mouth again. ‘Stick your tongue out, Kitten.’ I demanded and she did as she was told instantly. ‘Such a good girl, I need this mouth on my cock baby, can you do that for me?’ She nodded quickly before pulling her tongue back into her mouth and speaking.

‘What’s a cock?’ My eyes widened in shock at just how ignorant she is, but of course she is.

‘Okay…you’re a girl and you have a pretty little pussy right here in your panties, right?’ I unbuttoned her jeans and cupped her pussy in my hand through her cotton panties and she gasped, the new feeling being overwhelming I’m sure. ‘Well I have a cock, and my cock wants more than anything to be buried inside your tight little pussy so that I can make you feel good, but I need you to help me first.’ I took hold of her thighs and lifted her, helping her to her knees right between my legs and she rested her head on my thigh, looking up at me with such an innocent look on her face that I almost felt guilty for corrupting her…almost. I unbuttoned my pants, pulling them and my boxer briefs down just enough that my cock escaped and slapped against my stomach. She stared at it in shock and curiosity, reaching her hand out and sliding her finger up my shaft which sent a chill up my spine. ‘Fuck! Okay Kitten, open those pretty lips for me and stick that tongue out-‘ I grabbed ahold of her jaw firmly and made sure she was looking up at me. ‘Absolutely no teeth, understand?’ She nodded and I leaned down, licking over her tongue and kissing her roughly. ‘God you’re so perfect, do you know that?’ She whined before leaning down and licking her tongue straight up my cock before suckling on the head, she was so good at it that in any other situation I would have been convinced she had been doing this for years. ‘My good girl, so fucking good!’ I pushed her head down slightly and she got the message, taking more of me into her mouth and bobbing her head up and down.

I don’t know if this is the best blowjob I’ve ever had or if the situation is just turning me on so much that it’s ethereal but it feels as if she is sucking my soul out through my cock. If this is how good she is for me in only a few hours, I can’t imagine what kind of whore I can turn this girl into if I just make her feel good and needed.

‘Fuck! Shit, I’m gonna cum…I’m gonna give you a tasty little treat, okay? Are you ready?’ I asked, grunting as I felt that perfect tongue push me over the edge and just as she whined an affirmation I held the back of her head and came hard, straight onto her tongue. I tossed my head back, feeling myself cum more than I ever had before and she swallowed before using her hand to catch what leaked out the corner of her mouth. I had yet to have sex since becoming a full hybrid…maybe the werewolf in me makes me cum more than before…the image of how full I could fill my Kittens cunt was the driving force of my cock hardening all over again so quickly.

‘I like it, tastes yummy.’ Y/n spoke, licking her hand clean and before I knew it I had moved, snatching her up into my arms and pinning her down to the ground underneath me. ‘Klaus?’

‘Daddy…call me Daddy. Can you do that for me, Kitten?’ She smiled up at me, nodding her head before wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me sweetly. I quickly reached down, pulling her jeans and panties off of her legs which caused her to whimper. ‘What’s wrong?’ She looked around quickly and I turned her eyes back to me. ‘It’s okay Kitten, talk to me.’

‘What if someone wakes up, or Stefan comes back?’ She worried and I just smiled.

‘Don’t worry Y/n, you’re Daddy’s now, and Daddy will never let anyone see your pretty little pussy but me, and if they do I’ll remove their eyes.’ I teased and she giggled as I nipped at her neck gently. Lifting her thighs up around my waist I groaned as my cock touched her pussy. ‘This is gonna be uncomfortable for a second, but I promise Daddy’s gonna make you feel so good that you’ll never want me to stop touching you.’

‘I trust you.’ She mumbled, nervous but allowing me to do as I wanted.

I considered that for a moment. If anyone else told me that they trust me I would call them crazy, it would be a horrible decision, but not her. I want her to trust me…in that moment I realized how much I needed her to love me. Y/n is mine now and there is nothing that will ever be permitted to take her away from me. ‘Good. Daddy will take care of you, just breathe until the discomfort is gone.’ I instructed and pushed my cock into her. She hissed as my eyes rolled back into my head, this girls pussy possibly being the tightest I’ve ever experienced if not just in hundreds of years considering it had been centuries since I had fucked a virgin, but virgin or not she is tight as fuck.

‘Daddy, Ow! Oh! It stings!’ I leaned down, pressing my lips to hers to distract her as I stayed still, allowing her to get used to the feeling before pulling back out. She squealed as I thrust back into her which I loved, setting a steady pace until her face relaxed and I could see that she was now truly enjoying herself. As she did I lifted her legs around my waist and fucked her tight little cunt the way I desperately needed to.

‘Such a good girl letting Daddy fuck you like this, so tight! Perfect little Kitten cunt!’ She whined as I spoke and I looked down to see her with watery eyes and her mouth hanging open.

‘Perfect, Daddy?’

‘Fucking Perfect!’ I confirmed, feeling her pussy squeeze me tighter. The need to be even deeper inside of her was overwhelming and I grabbed her waist, lifting her against my chest and pinning her to the tree beside us, now thrusting up into her even harder. She gasped, wincing and I could see she was in pain but she didn’t object, not once leaving me to ease up just a little bit before feeling my balls tighten and digging my face into her neck, biting into her throat as I came inside of her. Once again the amount of cum that I filled her with was fantastic and as her pussy squeezed down on me I knew that she was enjoying herself as well. ‘Do you like that Kitten? You love being full of me, don’t you?’ She nodded quickly, arms tight around my neck as she held on like she was afraid I would disappear. ‘Don’t worry, Daddy’s gonna fill you with cum everyday from now on.’ I told her, licking over the bloody bite mark on her neck.

‘Really? We can do this again?’

‘Are you kidding? You’re mine now Kitten, remember? Daddy is gonna fuck you everyday, multiple times a day, every which way you can imagine.’ I explained, pulling my cock out of her and looking around briefly before setting her down on a sleeping bag, using tissues to clean us both up.

‘How many ways are there?’ She questioned, excitedly before it was followed by a yawn making me smile.

‘Daddy’s gonna fuck you everywhere we go. In the hotel, in the car while Stefan drives, against every surface I can find!’ I watched as my cum dripped out of her hole, loving the sight of her being so full of me before cleaning her off and pulling her panties and pants back up her legs. ‘You’re a flexible little baby too, aren’t you Kitten?’ I teased, latching her bra before kissing her head, enjoying the topless sight in front of me. ‘That means I can bend you any way I want to stick my cock in you, Daddy’s never gonna stop fucking you, in every hole I can.’ I wrapped my arms around her from behind as she looked for her shirt, kissing behind her ear and hearing her gasp. ‘Do you want to make Daddy feel extra good and let me put my cock in your little asshole?’ I was teasing her, expecting her to be unsure and nervous about my playing with her ass, however she shocked me completely as she turned and pressed her lips to mine hard.

‘Yes Daddy!’ -Kiss- ‘Want your cock!’ -Kiss- ‘All the time Daddy! Anywhere you want, wanna make you happy!’ My eyes widened and I looked down at her in shock.

‘You want to let Daddy stick his cock up your ass?’

‘Will that make you feel good, Daddy?’ She asked as if it was the most important thing in the world to her and I suddenly realized how much of a complete fucking cum slut I’m going to turn my girl into.

‘Yes Kitten, and Daddy will make you feel good too, Daddy wants you full of my cum all day every day forever, I want my cum leaking out of both holes every time we go out, there won’t be a single chance people don’t know that you’re mine.’

‘Okay Daddy.’ I turned her around, pressing my lips to hers and lifting her up against my chest.

‘I think you’re gonna be the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time Kitten.’ As soon as this pack is turned I’m turning her as well and ensuring that I can keep my little mate around for eternity, she’s too delicious not to. I’m going to teach her whatever I want and have the sluttiest girl on earth for the rest of my endless existence.

‘Daddy?!’ Y/n pulled back quickly and I could see the terror in her eyes, shocking me at how quickly she turned.

‘What is it Kitten? Did I scare you? You don’t have to-‘

‘Daddy! Are They Supposed To Look Like That?!’ I turned around and just barely moved before one of the wolves bit into my Kittens shoulder. His eyes were bleeding black blood and he looked like some kind of zombie.

‘No…stay right here, Don’t Move! Do you hear me?!’

‘Yes!’ She responded as I set her on the fallen tree and turned to the 2 Hybrids that were now awake, examining them carefully before one tried to sink his teeth into me and I quickly ripped his heart out. I was trying to figure out what happened when 2 more were suddenly up and pissed off, leading to me tearing their hearts out as well, moving on as the rest of them quickly began jumping up and screeching or growling and trying to bite at me. I had just killed the last one when I suddenly heard Y/n scream and I spun around to see her backing away from a girl who lunged at her. She turned to the trees and I grabbed the women, ripping her heart out before moving to grab Y/n and holding her arm. ‘No! Daddy-Help!’

‘It’s me! It’s okay baby, you’re okay.’ She gasped, breathing a sigh of relief and hugging me tightly, crying into my chest. ‘Daddy will keep you safe, I promise. You’re okay.’

‘Are you?’ I hesitated as she asked and realized I wasn’t. ‘Daddy? Are you okay?’ I nodded before she pulled away and turned to the campsite to see the 15 dead wolves.

‘After all of this, I finally break the curse and I still can’t make more hybrids…FUCK!’ I screamed, knowing my hybrid visage was on display as my anger was running way too high.

‘It’s gonna be okay, we can find out what went wrong and fix it, right?’ Y/n held onto my arm, unafraid of me like everyone else would have been and it was a bit shocking. ‘You waited this long, you’ll make it work! I know it, and I’ll help you!’ I sat down against the tree and sighed heavily, knowing in that moment that as long as Y/n is here, I won’t be alone again…I just need to figure out how to turn her before she’s gone too.

‘Thank you Kitten, you’re Daddy’s good girl.’

Just as I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to figure out what went wrong, Y/n kneeled on the ground in front of me and leaned against me, kissing my jaw. ‘Can I make Daddy feel good again? Maybe it’ll help?’

This girl may just be the death of me. ‘Yes Little Wolf, I think that will help very much…’

Klaus Mikaelson Masterlist

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jimlingss · 4 years ago

Text

Kale’in Me Softly

➜ Words: 17.1k

➜ Genres: 90% Fluff, 9.5% Angst, 0.5% Smut, Farm!AU

➜ Summary: After your grandfather's passing, you decide to take over his farm and plant the trendiest vegetable: kale. It's a struggle to be in the countryside when you've always been a city girl. But there's someone less than sympathetic — a grumpy farmer across the acres who's constantly trying to pick a fight with you.

➜ Warning: Strongly implied smut

cr.

Home — you left it all behind for this. The tractor chugs and wheezes. Its wheels roll over the craggy and unpaved road, making you feel every bump and pebble through constant jolts and bounces. The sweltering heat of the scorching sun was already making you break into a sweat and you sigh, listening to the buzzing of cicadas and the sputtering engine. But otherwise, it was quiet. More than what you were used to. There isn’t any traffic, honking, construction or the noise of motorcycle engines or sirens of ambulances. There’s just the rustle of leaves and the swaying of grass strands. “I can’t believe Old Man Seok had such a pretty granddaughter.” A laugh bubbles out of you. “It’s all in the genes. Did you know my grandfather?” “Everyone knew Old Man Seok. Everyone knows everyone here. But it sure helps that our farms are next door to each other. Just down yonder.” The middle-aged farmer grips the steering wheel. A good-natured aura in spite of his intimidating disposition, he feels like a strict but caring father figure. “He was very kind even to the end of his life. Offered my family a lot of jam throughout the years. A good man through and through. My condolences.” Your smile softens. “Thank you.” “I gotta say, it’s nice to have a new face around these neck of the woods. Doesn’t happen often.” The corner of the man’s mouth pulls and the wrinkles by his eyes crease. “You should come meet my son sometime.” “I wouldn’t mind.” The tractor pulls up to the worn house you’ve seen in your mother’s childhood pictures. “I always love making new friends.” You hop off the tractor the moment it comes to a stop and the man wishes you luck before you thank him again and he’s on his merry way. With only one packed suitcase in hand, you walk up to the house and push your Gucci sunglasses to the top of your head to get a better look. The fence, door and roof are made with a cherry wood that compliments the forest green walls. The patio, on the other hand, is out of oak that matches the rocking chair in the corner. There’s white trim lining the rectangular windows, giving you a peek at the purple, paisley curtains inside. The house looks tattered through time, but cozy. “You’re leaving?!” — “Do you really think this is a good idea, Y/N?” — “Do you even know what you’re going to do there?” The voices of the friends you left behind echo in the recesses of your mind while you fiddle with the hem of your dress in the shade of classical blue — 2020’s pantone colour and a fantastic fashion statement. It’s not farm-appropriate, but better than most of the things in your closet. You went shopping for the last time before you packed your one pink suitcase, but you’re starting to realize those tight, denim overalls might not work like they do in the movies. “You think you can run a farm?!” — “I didn’t raise you so you could go back to the countryside!” — “You don’t even know what you’re doing, Y/N! Grow up already and stop being ridiculous.” An exhale squeezes out of you as you dispel away your family’s discouragement and you grip your grandfather’s letter as you finally muster the courage to approach the house. When your grandfather passed away, you inherited ten thousand dollars and his five acre farm. It’s small. Nothing worthy of bragging about and one of the hundred of reasons everyone thought you would sell it. They even urged you to, so they could get a split of the money. But they never thought you would refuse. That you would leave everything behind and come all the way here. It’s a mess. Thick layers of dust coat the antique furniture and peering out from the kitchen window, the field is littered in leaves and twigs, wooden planks and debris. A sense of guilt overwhelms you. You can’t believe your family let it become this way. You set down your belongings and almost immediately, you begin to look around. Pacing the backyard, the field, the barn, trying to figure out what is what. And it’s not long before a dark-haired man with doe eyes and a permanent dear-in-headlights expression finds you. He nearly startles you to death with his timid greeting. “H-Hi...” “Holy shit!” You press your hand to your chest, spinning around and he boyishly grins. “You scared me!” “S-Sorry…my bad...” Boots, jeans and a white shirt, he looks like a newly graduated high school student who stumbled into the wrong place. “Are you Y/N?” “That’s me.” You wonder if he’s here to kill you. The farm setting was the perfect location after all and serial killers these days have the potential of looking as cute as he does. “You’re...?” “I’m Jungkook. I used to work with Old Man Seok. My mom told me you’d be comin’ today and that I should show you around, so….” He scratches the back of his neck, oddly endearing for how awkward he is. You let him guide you despite having already gotten the chance to peek at almost everything — a detail you leave out to spare him from being disheartened. But with Jungkook here, he has the strength to widen the doors of the old shed out back and you get a better look at the storage and old equipment. “God.” You cough and bat your hand from the dust piles arising. “It’s so dirty.” “Yeah. The tractor needs a bit of fixin’ up which I can help you with, if you need.” It’s clear that towards the end of your grandfather’s life, he was too weak to properly take care of his property. You can tell by the way the field is in tatters, all his crops long dead and his machinery is in desperate need of repair. But as you gander at the space, you discover that there’s everything you need right here. Shovels. Wheelbarrows. Sickles and spades. “Thank you. I would appreciate that.” Jungkook nods, wearing a small smile. “Your grandpa used to help me out a lot, so it’s the least I can do. If you ever need any help, I’m down a few acres West by the market. Just give a holler.” Your cheeks warm, realizing he’s not as young as he appears to be. “I will.” After a while longer, Jungkook leaves you to get settled down and you bid him farewell. You know it’s going to take a bit of time for you to get used to this change, but with a sigh, you try your best to familiarize yourself with the land and surrounding climate. // Back in LA, you were a fashion design marketer. Originally, you set out to fulfill your childhood dream of being a top designer for a big brand like Chanel or Dior, but along the way, you ended up in the marketing sector. It wasn’t as bad as what people thought. A kind of niche you actually quite enjoyed and while you might've left it all behind for the farm life, you know the first step to starting anything is doing market research. So at nine in the morning sharp, you enter the farmers’ market. Open every Sunday, there’s a certain bustle and liveliness in the atmosphere. People from surrounding communities and even far away cities have come to get their fresh produce and dairy products. The market place is held in an open building with doors and massive garages wide open, practically held outdoors itself, and as you walk along the stands, you notice goat milk to beeswax lip balm being sold. There’s everything someone could ask for, bath salts and herbal soaps, baked goods and handmade aprons and quilts. You didn’t know farmers’ markets had so much to offer. “Would you like to try some raspberry jam, darlin’?” A plump lady offers you a spatula. “Sure. Thank you.” The sweet taste ends up bursting on your palette and you hum at the taste, considering buying a jar for breakfast. But she interrupts with a curious stare and a bigger smile. “I haven’t seen you around before, dear. Did you come from somewhere far?” “Oh no, I just moved in. My grandpa was Seokjin….” “You mean Old Man Seok?” Her entire spine straightens, face lighting up. “I never knew he had a granddaughter!” You warm, proud that your grandfather’s made such a lasting impression. “I just moved in a few acres away.” “Taking care of your grandpa’s farm?” she asks and when you nod, the woman practically swoons. “Why, what a gracious thing you’re doin’! Old Man Seok would be proud to have a granddaughter like you! Keepin’ his legacy alive like that. Heaven knows I can’t even get my boy up to milk the cows!” You laugh and she ends up handing you a small jar of raspberry jam for free, wishing you the best of luck. Apparently word spreads fast in this place. After ten minutes of exploring the market, kind and overfamiliar strangers approach from behind their stands, greeting you and taking your hands. Some muse how similar you are to your grandfather while others happily send you some cheese and bread. By the time you’re at the end, it looks like you went grocery shopping. But in the midst of it all, you get the chance to talk to some customers. Making conversation with a pregnant woman, an elderly man, and a little kid overly excited to use his allowance for some candy. People are receptive and friendly, more than what you’re used to back in the city. But you study what they purchase, their spending habits, what people seem to be interested in. Then, your attention is caught at a cute honey stand — jars of honey sealed being sold with beeswax candles tied with pastel yellow ribbon. More importantly, you recognize the doe-eyed boy at the cash register. “Jungkook!” He greets you with a big smile. “Oh, hey, Y/N! I didn’t expect you’d be here.” With your previous lifestyle, the attention of a cute boy like Jungkook isn’t enough to make you bashful — a few years too late on that — but you can still appreciate how endearing he is. “I’m just taking a look around. Thought I should get to know the place since I might be here soon.” “How’re things going? Did you settle in yet?” “I did actually.” It wasn’t in the realm of your expectations to make friends so quickly out here, but to have such pleasant small talk with Jungkook proves your anticipations were wrong. “It took a lot of time to clean the house, but totally worth it! I strung polaroids above the mantle and I found a vintage armchair that’s really in style, so I’d say things are going pretty well.” The boy grins from your enthusiasm. “It sounds like you’re adapting better than I would.” “I’m trying.” Your smile becomes sheepish. “I’m still figuring out the fields and the land. I haven’t even gotten started in clearing out the shed yet.” He nods, lips parting to respond. But then there’s a call of his name behind him and he sighs before sending an apologetic expression. “Sorry. My ma has more honey to unload from the truck. I gotta skedaddle before she yells, but I’m glad things are working out for you!” Jungkook’s undoubtedly cute, even when he says goodbye and promises to catch up with you soon. You don’t dwell either, continuing to parade through the market by yourself and discover all the places you missed on your first walk that was overwhelmed with others intercepting. What piques your curiosity this time is a wooden stall with a soft green cloth draped over the flat surface and a sign that reads ‘Romaine with Me’. What’s offered in the crates are lettuce. Lots and lots of different heads of lettuce lined in rows like plush animal prizes on display at carnival games. You don’t pay much mind to the man behind the stall that’s sleepily blinking and leaning his head in his hand, elbow propped up and figure slumped over. He looks like he’s dozed off but somehow kept his lids peeled back. You approach and read the labels underneath. Red. Green. Romaine. Boston. Bibb. Arugula. Batavia. Radicchio. Iceberg. “I didn’t know there were so many types of lettuce,” you mutter to yourself. “It’s two dollars for each bundle or head,” the man suddenly pipes up in a raspy tone, nearly startling you to death. You realize his pupils have darted right on you and that’s he’s not in fact sleeping with his eyes open. “Romain is three. And there’s a sale on the radicchio.” The man has an oddly intimidating disposition for looking so tired. He has tender features and seemingly soft skin that makes you wonder about his skin care routine. Yet, his hair is as dark as his cat-like eyes that have narrowed in on you. You suddenly feel pressure to make a purchase lest you waste more of his time. “What are the differences?” you ask, studying the lettuces in front of you. “Iceberg, romaine and radicchio are crispy. But iceberg has a clean and fresh taste. Romaine is more bitter and radicchio is a bit bitter and spicy. Boston and bibb are butter lettuces which are softer and have a sweet taste. Boston's leaves are wider and lighter green than bibb's. Arugula is peppery. Batavia is your usual with more crinkled leaves. Red and green are your standard.” The man breathes the explanation out with only one lazy inhale in between and when he’s done, he gives you a look as if asking if you’re satisfied. But you’re more than that. You’re genuinely impressed. He spat facts at you and you’re not sure what to do with the information. “You know a lot about lettuce.” “I’m a lettuce farmer,” he deadpans. “Really?” The corners of your lips pull, even more intrigued than before. You didn’t take him for much of a farmer. The man has a kind of bad-boy vibe that you’re accustomed to and without much thought, the clumsy words stumble out of your mouth— “I thought farmers were dirtier.” “What?” “Like sunburnt, straw hats, overalls.” You nod, studying the produce and missing his offended expression. “Like that’s totally the farmer’s aesthetic.” “Aesthetic?” “Yeah,” you hum, not realizing the man was glaring holes into you. “I’ll take a bundle of the romaine, please.” You end up going home shortly after, trekking underneath the sun with recyclable bags full of food that fills your fridge, sure to be enough for a whole week. You’re not sure what to exactly do after that — there’s plenty of tasks and jobs to be done, but you’re not certain where to start. So you decide to take a break — partly to relax and partly to procrastinate. With your sweat wiped away and a fan whirring in the corner, you plop down into the vintage armchair and grab one of the magazines you brought with you. But it isn’t a good read, not when you had already looked at most of the pages on the plane ride over here…. Your mind ends up wandering, considering what you should do with grandfather’s land, if there was anything new you could offer at all. And at the same time as you’re flipping through the magazine, you stumble on a particular page. A recipe for an avocado kale poke bowl. You skim it and your eyes stop at a single word. Kale. Kale. It sticks to you like glue and you squint at the text, the four letters in print. Your mind searches and it hits you that kale was never sold at the farmers’ market. There was everything, every fruit, every vegetable. But not kale. A smile stretches across your face, determination blooming in your chest. Organic kale was a total new fad. Good for you. Healthy. Sought after in the city, but yet to be prevalent in the countryside. It was a perfect opportunity, one that was sitting right in front of you this entire time. Relief overwhelms you as you make a decision on your niche: kale. // It starts off with books. Gathering as much information as you possibly can, you also learn through guides and internet articles on your chosen crop. You find out that kale becomes bitter over the summer, sweetest in the Fall after being touched by a light frost. It bolts in Spring, so sowing seeds is most appropriate around April to May while they can still be planted throughout the seasons. It provides a yield between late September to early May, direct seeds maturing in fifty to seventy days while transplants take a bit less than half the time. You learn how to protect seedlings from pests, purchasing lightweight fabric to cover rows, and you begin to plow the fields. It takes time to clean up, to get your grandfather’s equipment fixed, to become financed. But you start right away and soon, you’re sewing the seeds eighteen to twenty four inches apart. Getting transplants. Watering them appropriately. Working day and night. You’re not exactly sure if you’re doing this right. Especially on hot days when you’re sweating buckets, dirt has marred your skin and your lower back screams. But you know that even if you fail and have to pack your bags, the effort of trying would be enough for you to feel satisfied. So, you persist. And day by day, the seeds begin to sprout. The dirt is littered with tiny green specks and you feel thrilled that it’s actually growing. Slowly, but surely, you would return this farm to its former glory by your own hands. // It’s another Sunday when you take a trip to the farmers’ market. In spite of having only been here for a short amount of time, you’ve become acquainted with the market. You don’t get lost anymore in the bustle and many like to stop you to ask about your day. It’s a hospitable place, never making you feel uncomfortable or awkward, and you feel relieved that your grandfather was surrounded by such warmth till the end of his life. You’re also starting to become familiar with one particular wooden stall and the sleepy man behind it. No matter what week it is, he’s always there, wearing the same loose flannels but in different colours, flipping through a pamphlet or dozing off. He only looks up when someone comes to buy lettuce. But today, he’s joined by an older man that recognizes you all too easily. “I almost didn’t see you there without being so gussied up in those city clothes. Looks like you’ve gotten yourself comfortable with farm life. Almost reminds me of Old Man Seok back in his heyday.” Immediately, the younger lifts his head up, brow cocked. “You know her?” “She’s Old Man Seok’s granddaughter. I gave her a ride to his farm when she first came,” Mr. Min introduces and his son gives you a better look, one that’s ridden with a modest amount of distaste. “Y/N, this is my boy, Yoongi, that I was talking about.” It never occured to you how similar they are. Their husky voices and quiet yet intimidating dispositions are unparalleled. But the older seems more open and friendly than the younger who has a blank expression and his eyes narrowed in at you. Although you don’t get much time to dwell, ask him that the issue might be or if that’s simply who he is. Some people naturally have a resting bitch face and Yoongi might be one of them. “How’s the countryside life doing for you so far?” his father asks and you smile, attention redirected. “It’s not too bad. But the sun’s hot and I didn’t know farming could be so hard!” Your head quirks to the side, still awed that this was the lifestyle of so many. “I always thought it would be easy cause the organic edamame plant back at my apartment wasn’t so bad to take care of.” Yoongi scoffs. “Yep, it’s difficult alright.” Mr. Min’s engrossed and asks, “What’re you growing?” Enthusiasm and a sense of pride makes you exclaim the answer— “Kale!” Yoongi winces at the volume of your voice while his father is made even more curious. “Kale?” “I was thinking about what wasn’t being sold at the farmers’ market and I found that kale was underrepresented,” you rant, “Kale’s totally the new wave. It’s a trendy, super food and packed with antioxidants. Did you know that kale is among the most nutrient-dense foods on the planet?” “Can’t say I knew that.” Mr. Min has his mouth upturned into an amused smile. Yoongi, on the other hand, sighs. “I’d love to hear more about it. My wife’s quite passionate about these kinds of things too. She practically runs the entire farm! You should come over for dinner sometime, Y/N.” “She should?” — “I’d love to!” Both you and Yoongi talk over another, but you don’t hear him. You’ve never been invited to this kind of thing before and your family rarely ate together. So, the aesthetic of sitting down for a countryside meal with a farming family, like it’s Thanksgiving, is a fantasy you’re eager to fulfill. // Unfortunately, dinner at the Min household has to be held off when your first harvest comes. Finally after a month of waiting, there’s actual kale out in the fields that are ready to be collected. The leaves are small, a little bitter and it’s not a large yield — but it isn’t bad for the first time. You’re happy enough that you’ve grown something, so you don’t nick pick for now. Instead, you focus on wrapping up the bundles, on preparing a stall, on organizing a spot at the market to sell. And when the days of busy work and high pressure accumulate into the first Sunday of the month, you’ve arranged crates of freshly washed, organic kale ready for purchase. It’s exciting. One week you’re walking around as a customer and the next, you’re on the other side of the stand as a vendor. You get to witness the behind the scenes of other farmers, the doors opening at nine sharp, the increasing bustle of the market. But for some reason, you only have a few people who stop by and only one who buys a bundle. “Don’t be worried,” Jungkook comforts, having stopped by once he noticed you. “People tend to buy what they’re used to, so just wait a while. You’ll eventually get your own set of customers!” You can only hope he’s right. By five in the evening, it’s over and you hold in your sigh. You wonder what you should do with the abundance of kale you have left, but you try not to linger as you close shop and the market shuts its doors. Everyone seems to disassemble their stalls with ease, carrying crates to their cars, collecting their earnings. Most are gone within ten minutes but you struggle, unable to keep up when it’s all too new to you and before you know it, you’re the last one left in the space that’s still cleaning up after yourself. The only person you catch is Yoongi who’s walking off, passing you with a crate of two lettuce heads, having already sold most of it. You notice he’s in one of his open flannels again, this time it’s yellow and gray, and you send a friendly smile. But he doesn’t say anything or make a change from his indifferent expression. But then he stops. Five meters away. “You should stop treating this like a joke,” Yoongi deadpans, swiveling around on his heel. You freeze, halfway from grabbing the mason tip jar that you decorated with washi tape the night before. You blink, not sure if Min Yoongi is actually and willingly uttering words to you or if it’s your imagination. “What?” But it isn’t. He is very much talking to you. “The market isn’t here for someone like you to play games.” Now, you’re just confused. “But…...I’m not playing games...?” “It’s obvious you’re not serious about this.” You scoff. You’ve had your fair share of running into mean girls in the fashion industry and in High School, the ones who are snarky and make passive aggressive insults that are disguised as compliments. You just never expected to run into something like that here. And in such a straightforward way too. Usually people are more subtle when they show that they don’t like you. “You can’t accuse me. You don’t know anything about me!” Yoongi stares at you boredly. “You’re making a mockery out of people’s livelihood.” “I’m trying to learn.” You cross your arms, standing your ground. You suppose from his perspective it might be off-putting that you’ve come from nowhere and you’re trying your hand at the farm life. But you swear you haven’t been condescending nor have you ever looked down on anyone. At least you hope it hasn’t come across that way. “I don’t know what I’m doing, but if it seems like I’ve been mocking you then I’m sorry.” This isn’t just a hobby to you nor is it a spectacle for your amusement. You’re serious. Even if you might come across as ditzy, insincere and inexperienced. “But you don’t need to go out of your way to insult me. I already know I was stupid for coming here. Why do you think I came alone? This is a whole new world for me and I’m trying, so I’d appreciate some empathy.” Yoongi stares at you. You stare at him. The two of you have your eyes locked in one another’s, and you want to throw hands, but then he suddenly walks away as if he didn’t hear a word you said. You glare at his backside, huffing out in frustration. As if your day wasn’t bad enough, he had to make it worse. // “Stop being ridiculous, Y/N!” Your mom’s voice is jarring on the other end of the line. It’s grating to your ears. There’s a strong urge to hang up, but you’re not sure if she’ll call again. You’re surprised she called you in the first place — the likelihood of a second time is slim. “I’m actually doing well, thank you very much.” She ignores you. “Sell the land and come home. Do you really think you can do this?!” Tears sting your eyes against your will. You inhale to keep your voice even and steady. “I do actually. I’m learning while I’m out here and it’s not as hard as I thought it would be.” “You’re making this harder than it needs to be. You had a high paying job. An apartment. Clean water to drink. Lots of food to eat. You were comfortable! And you gave it all up, why?!” “The air’s fresher here,” you quip much to your mom’s chagrin and frustration. “I’m a grown woman, mom. I can make my own decisions.” “Until you make others pick up after you!” You wince, hand tightening on your duvet. You try your best not to cry. She doesn’t need to know that you’re running out of money, that your kitchen is filled with leafy greens you couldn’t sell, that your back aches from working out on the fields. “Don’t come running to me when you finally get bored or you’re halfway to starving to death.” You know they think sooner or later, you’ll show up back home with your packed bag. But you refuse to give in. You’ll prove your friends and family wrong — you’ll follow through with this. If there was one thing you were good at, it was being stupid. Being stupid made you at the bottom of the class, it made you have friends who used you, it made you struggle. And it made you resilient. It made you know what working hard to get to where you want meant. It made you determined. And you’re gonna fucking give it your best! Even if the smarter route would be to give up! So with your sleeves rolled up to your elbows, you brace yourself and enter your kitchen full of kale. If you can’t sell it raw, then there are other things that you can try. // “Get your kale kombucha! Your kale smoothie! Full of vitamins and nutrients!” You’re holding a tray of paper cup samples, voice loud with a wide smile. A woman who’s looking at your stand curiously passes by and you steal the chance, smoothly intercepting her way. “Would you like to try one, ma’am?” “Sure.” She takes a sample and once she sips, her eyes light up and her expression becomes inquisitive. The woman approaches your stand, looking over the products you have. “It’s really delicious. How much is it for a smoothie?” “The three sizes are here.” You gesture to the display and she hums. “Two dollars for a small, two fifty for a medium and three for a large. We also have salted kale chips, kale guacamole and kale pesto.” “Is this all homemade?” “It is!” Your enormous smile is proud. “I grew the kale organically and made these with fresh ingredients.” “I’ll take a large smoothie, this guacamole and a bundle of just regular kale then.” “Coming right up!” You’re no stranger to the art of advertising — it’s one of your strengths with your marketing background. You’re pretty sure the chalkboard signs are doing a good job of directing attention to your stall and the samples are certainly going a long way too. “Can I try one, miss?” A little kid tugs on your green apron and you lower yourself down to their eye-level, happily handing them two. “Of course you can!” Sunday after Sunday, you do better and better. Of course, it’s not without constant trial and error, honing in recipes and packaging, learning how to keep products as fresh as possible. But the improvements make the labour all worth it. You notice how Yoongi watches you across the floor and when you smile, he immediately looks away. But there's little time to pay attention to him when the lineup at your stall gradually becomes longer and longer. Jungkook helps you out when he can, whether that’s manning the register beside you or handing out samples to draw in curious customers. “You’re gonna run me out of business soon, Y/N.” Jungkook says in the midst of a slow down when you’re finally able to catch your breaths. “Please,” you giggle. “I’m sure you’re the one drawing in the business. Weren’t those last two customers trying to get your number for the past ten minutes? Last time they kept on asking me about you too.” The boy laughs shyly and it’s all too endearing. “They’re just bein’ nice. If anything, you’re the one drawing in the customers since you’re so pretty and all.” More giggles bubble out of your throat and you lean closer to him. “So you think I’m pretty?” Jungkook realizes what he said and his face reddens. He awkwardly scratches the back of his neck. “I mean...isn’t that a fact?” “You’re too sweet, Kook,” you sigh wistfully. “Thank you for helping me.” “Anytime, really.” Jungkook’s smiles softly and his lips part, but before he can say anything, his peripheral vision finally catches the weight of a third party’s stare. His eyes travel across the market floor to the wooden stall of lettuce — right on the man behind it who’s rolling his eyes. You follow his line of sight and a knowing smile appears on your features. “Jungkook, can you hand me the sample tray?” You might not be the brightest crayon in the box, but you’re not that big of an idiot. For the past two weeks, you’ve noticed how Yoongi keeps staring at you. You don’t suspect it to be sudden infatuation either. Most likely, it’s surprise that you’ve proven him wrong or reluctant admission that you’re on your way to success, or perhaps passive aggression too. Whatever the case is, you approach him and witness him visibly stiffen as you come closer. Your smile remains bright when you ask, “Is everything okay, Yoongi?” “I’m fine,” the man deadpans. “You should move. You’re blocking my customers.” “You have no customers.” “I would if you weren’t standing there.” You scoff. “You are not cute.” Yoongi’s brow lifts, amused at your comment. “Excuse me?” “I want to make peace,” you outright declare, having no shame with confronting him. “I’ve had my fair share of drama back home and I’m not looking forward to picking fights here, so I forgive you.” Yoongi snorts as you raise your sample tray as a peace offering. “I know you’re curious, so you try one. My kale kombucha is my most popular item. It’s a fermented tea that has lots of healthy yeast and bacteria.” “No.” The dark-haired man rejects without needing to blink. “Kale is disgusting. There’s a reason no one sells it here.” You’re shocked, not knowing where to start. But there’s no point in arguing with him and spewing nutrition facts. Your pride is much too high to insist too, so you merely lift your chin. “Fine. Suit yourself. But one of these days, you’re going to fall in love with kale, Min Yoongi.” It’s a challenge — but a one-sided one. Yoongi simply sighs as you strut away, feeling more tired than he did before. // The engines of the moving truck rumbles and coughs as it rolls down the dirt road. It’s drawn the attention of several, including his dad and mom. They’re peering out the front window, curtains tugged with their noses pressed to the glass. Usually, Yoongi doesn’t care much for what the neighbours are up to or keeping up with community gossip, but for some reason, his curiosity is piqued enough that he glances out as well. “What’s going on?” “There are trucks coming back and forth from Old Man Seok’s land.” Yoongi wonders if you’ve given up and you’re moving out. He wouldn’t be surprised. But suddenly, before he can walk off and mind his own business, his mother whirls around. “Yoonie, go check up on our new neighbour.” He exhales exhaustingly. “Why?” “Well, you’re friends, aren’t you?” “We’re not.” It’s a firm fact, but his mother doesn’t hear him. She’s already moving into the kitchen and making him follow her. He knows arguing is futile — once she’s set on her mind on something, no one can change it. “Go on and deliver some cheese too.” She hands him a paper bag. “We haven’t welcomed her properly yet and it’s customary to at least give a greeting and gift.” Yoongi begrudgingly obliges and minutes later, he finds himself making the trek across the acres to the cottage that always reminded him of Christmas with its cherry red roof and forest green walls. The polluting trucks drive away in the meanwhile, wheels turning against the gravel fading, and the countryside returns to its quaint atmosphere. As he comes closer, Yoongi notices the wooden spools on your lawn and some barber chairs littered around, akin to a dumpster yard, but he avoids them and walks up the porch, knocking twice on the door. He can imagine thrusting the bag in your hand, muttering a greeting and question or two before getting back to the farm. Yet, what he doesn’t anticipate is silence and then noises farther away. The man sighs and decides to follow the sounds lest he spends the rest of the afternoon waiting at your front door. He rounds the house to the backyard. “What are you doing?” Yoongi discovers mason jars, picnic blankets, wooden crates sprawled all over on the grass — things he guesses the trucks brought over — and he finds you on a ladder with fairy lights tangled around your limbs. You jolt. In horror, Yoongi watches the ladder dangerously wobble back and forth, but luckily, it steadies and you twist yourself around. “Holy shit! You almost scared me half to death!” “What are you doing?” he repeats, more urgently and concerned than before. “I’m setting up fairy lights obviously.” Your smile is big, cheeks swelling with it. “I’m gonna decorate part of the land with hipster furniture and channel the farm aesthetic. It’s going to become an Insta spot. Hashtag kale-in-farm.” Yoongi doesn’t understand half of what you just said and he’s not sure if he should even ask. “What’s a hashtag?” “You don’t know what a hashtag is?” Your eyes are perfectly rounded, looking at him like he’s an alien and he chuckles. The irony isn’t lost on him. He isn’t the weird one — you are. “Should I know what it is?” You don’t answer, merely climbing off the ladder and his breath hitches at how you don’t watch your step. Yoongi doesn’t get stressed easily, but he swears he’s going to get a heart attack looking at you. You pull out your phone suddenly from your back pocket and after some tapping, you thrust the screen in his face. “This is Instagram, see? It’s an app where you can follow people and see the pictures that they post. An Insta spot is a place where you can take good Instagram pictures. Hashtags is a way to label the posts, so others can see and search it up. Or at least that’s what I think it is. It’s kind of hard to explain, it’s one of those things that just catches on and you get after using it. This is my page, see?” You’ve given your phone to him and Yoongi eyes your bikini photos before handing it back. “Uh-huh.” “I can’t believe you don’t have an Instagram. You should make one and add me!” “No thanks.” You huff, pouting at him and Yoongi’s mouth twitches as he resists the small smile. There’s something in the way you react to him being mean to you that makes it all too entertaining. “My mom wanted to give you some cheese.” He hands the paper bag over and you excitedly peer inside. “It’s just goat cheese. Usually she makes a cherry pie as a housewarming gift, but today….was a bit last minute.” Yet in spite of the measly present, Yoongi’s taken aback at how happy you seem. “This is so sweet! Tell your mom I said thank you! I should probably give her some kale—” He lifts his palm, stopping you in the middle of your sentence. “There’s no need.” “Well, tell her I said thank you.” You put it down on the wooden patio steps and move towards the ladder. Then something by his foot catches your eye. “Oh, can you do me a favour and put that typewriter on the wooden crate?” Yoongi doesn’t know why you have a broken typewriter, but he follows your instructions. His eyes travel to several worn bikes you have leaning against the railing. It’s strange considering you don’t seem like the type to bike. As if reading his mind, you laugh. “They don’t work. It’s just for the aesthetics.” “Uh-huh.” He turns back, about to bid goodbye and leave this mess behind him. But as he turns away, he witnesses you step on the highest prong of the ladder. The part you’re not allowed to step on. With the danger warning signs plastered on it that says ‘STOP’ in big, red letters. Yoongi’s breath hitches and he lurches over, grabbing the ladder to steady it as it wobbles. “Woah!” You regain your balance and turn to grin at him. “Thanks for that. You saved my life!” “Get off.” “What?” “Get off the ladder before you die.” His stern command has you obeying and you come down to the ground again. Yoongi sighs and takes the lights from you. “I’ll do it. Tell me where you want them and hold the bottom rung for me.” You’re bewildered, but you don’t reject his offer of help. Yoongi follows your instructions too, working quickly and more efficiently than when you were, and you can’t help but giggle as you watch him string the fairy lights. He glares at you. “What?” You look up at him, beaming a grin. “For being such a mean, old grump, you’re actually pretty reliable and considerate, Yoongi.” He diverts his vision elsewhere. “Whatever.” But it’s all too true. In many ways, Yoongi reminds you of peppermint candy. Hard on the outside but with just a bit of melting, all too sweet and sugary on the inside. // It starts off with you. A post, a cute caption, the hashtag. You manage to get Jungkook to follow suit and then it’s a group. A person who shows up with their friends, stopping by to enjoy your kale farm and haphazardly filming their adventure to put onto their social media. Then it’s three or four, more and more of the hashtag being used, of pictures being taken, of others catching wind of the trendy new place to take photos, of fresh kale being harvested and kale kombucha being sold. It’s an exponential growth and before you know it, there’s a bustle at your farm. Strangers that park in the designated area, families enjoying the picnic spots, young adults posing for photographs underneath the strung fairy lights after dark. Your kale chips and smoothie sales skyrocket and after constructing a website, you know you’ve made a name for yourself. You hire Jimin, Jungkook’s cousin, to help you out. Recently turned eighteen, he’s gentle and luckily attentive. He excels in customer service and in between selling your products and doing measly tasks to upkeep the farm, you know you’ve finally found a sustainable income aside from the farmers’ market alone. “This ‘s what I call innovation,” Yoongi’s dad muses as the two of them stand near the tractor, looking over the field to the figures prancing on your land and listening to the laughter that leaks over. “It ain’t often a smart woman suddenly shows,” he says, glancing at him. “You should take advantage of it.” “It’s not smart.” Yoongi turns away. “It’s dumb luck. There’s nothing impressive about it.” His dad sighs at him, but as they retreat home, Yoongi can’t help glancing over his shoulder. // Yoongi has accepted that you’re a complete wild card — when he thought you were making a spectacle of this rural life for your own amusement, you make a whole declaration about how serious you are. When he expects you to move out, you instead bring bits and bobs to your farm. When he expects you to completely and utterly fail, you thrive. Yoongi always thought that he was the enigma — hard to understand, hard to get to know, one of the many reasons he isn’t particularly close to anyone. But in reality, you are. At surface level, it looks like you’re simple-minded, overly enthused, optimistic. Yet you continuously defy his expectations. And he has to applaud you for it. But of all things, Yoongi most certainly did not expect to see you on his porch one afternoon. “I got invited by your mom for dinner,” you explain with another infamously bright smile and your arm lifts with a bag. “I brought kale!” “You did.” He holds in his sigh. “I don’t know how you want to eat it, so it’s raw….unless…..do you not have electricity? I can go back to prepare it.” “What?” “You know, electricity.” When he stares at you, you begin explaining to be helpful. “The stuff that gives you light and power and you can turn on the stove—” “I know what electricity is!” Yoongi shouts. He’s almost always calm, but you have a talent for being condescending without even realizing. “What’s with all the noise?” His mom emerges and her face immediately lights up, lips forming into a warm smile. She wipes her hands on her apron and comes to embrace you. “Y/N! I thought I heard your voice! Come in, come in! Oh my word, what’s this? Kale? Thank you! Was the walk here long?” “Not at all.” You smile, being ushered in the kitchen. It still amazes you how much Yoongi looks like his mom. They both have tender, soft features. Albeit, the male took on his father’s personality and characteristics, his physical appearance compared to his mom is nearly a carbon copy. “It’s only a few acres away. I love your home, by the way. It has a good energy to it.” Yoongi wonders when you got so comfortable with his parents. “I’m preparing dinner right now. Should be done fairly soon, but Yoonie! Why don’t you show dear Y/N around the farm?” Yoongi knows he doesn’t have a choice and you hold in your giggle at his dejected expression. It’s not often you can witness him being obedient and when he takes you through his backyard, you can’t help poking fun at him. “Yoonie?” “It’s a childhood nickname,” he grumbles. There’s an urge to squish his cheeks together. They’ve always reminded you of jello or bread loafs, but for the sake of not being slapped, you control the desire. The Min property is vast. Chicken coops and several sheds are close to the house, but in the distance, cows and goats graze in the open pastures. The lush fields seem to stretch to the horizon, only broken up by the occasional tree left to grow in peace. It’s a tranquil landscape and there’s an urge to sit back in a rocking chair and knit. Even though you don’t know how to knit. “How big is the farm?” “It’s a hundred acres.” Yoongi says it like it’s nothing impressive, but it’s still fifty times the size of your own farm. “Is that all lettuce?” You look over the plowed fields filled with green. “Some of it is asparagus and carrots, but it’s mostly different kinds of lettuce,” he explains, “We don’t sell all of it at the market. We got a few contracts from grocery stores and those get shipped out, so we’re always busy year round.” You’re amazed. His family manages to do a lot more than you and you already feel swamped half the time. But you suppose you still have a long way to go before you can call yourself a real farmer. The pair of you approach the fence and you watch the goats chewing on their grass, bleating at you. You grin and mimic their noises, oblivious to the way Yoongi steals a glance at you. “What do you do with all the animals?” you ask. “They’re for personal usage. We eat chicken eggs and my mom makes cheese a lot.” Yoongi diverts his vision at your intense stare and clears his throat. He didn’t know all of this was so interesting to you. “Have you ever milked a cow before?” “No!” “Do you want to learn how?” “Yes!” This time, Yoongi can’t hold back his chuckle at your childlike enthusiasm. He leads a smaller cow into the stall, introducing her as August, and you help him brush her down. Yoongi shows you how to wash August with warm, soapy water, how to clean her utters and let the milk down by relaxing her. He demonstrates as well, clamping the top of the utter between his thumb and first finger before squeezing. You follow his instructions, mimic his movements and milk squirts into the silver pale successfully. “It feels kind of weird.” The corner of his thin lips pull. “Is it supposed to feel nice?” When your hands get tired, Yoongi leans over to help you out, explaining how often someone can milk cows for, where August came from and how long she’s been around. You never expected how awfully endearing it would be to listen to a farm boy talk about his precious cow, but it is. Or maybe that’s just Yoongi being Yoongi. Everything that comes out of his mouth is interesting to you. “—months ago and…..are you even listening?” “Of course I am!” You totally weren’t and he doesn’t seem to believe your assertion either, so to divert his attention, you turn the direction of the utter and squeeze. The line of milk squirts directly at Yoongi’s kneecap, dampening his jeans and you laugh at his scandalized expression. “What the fuc—!” “Stop! Stop!” You stand, giggling incessantly while blocking your arms up when Yoongi lunges down and squeezes two utters at you. The milk is warm and sticky against your skin. “I’m sorry!” “Too late!” His cheeks are swollen with a gummy smile, happily taking his revenge. Before any of you have realized, the sun has gone down and there’s a lingering scent of milk on your clothes. But no one other than you and Yoongi notices or at least his parents don’t say anything. “How are things going, dear?” his mom asks you with a satisfied smile as she watches you devour her dessert apple pie. Dinner at the Min’s was all too cozy and welcoming. Food had filled the rounded table and the family, albeit only three members in total, had gathered together. For the past few months, you’ve been eating by yourself with a magazine by your side or in front of the old television with some obscure show on. You missed having conversations over delicious meals and part of you wonders how you’ll return to your regular routine after tonight. After a taste of the forbidden fruit, you’ll wish every night was like this. “Better than expected actually. It’s a learning process, so it goes up and down, but everyone’s been so helpful to me that it hasn’t been bad.” Yoongi’s father nods solemnly. “All on your own too.” You become shy under their praise. “It’s nothing, really. I just wanted to preserve the memory of my grandfather and all I have is his land, so....” Sometimes you lay awake thinking about how much your life has changed. A year ago, you were still in LA in a high rise apartment working, and in an effort to connect with your family roots again, you left it all behind. But you don’t regret your decision whatsoever. From the moment you came here, no matter what challenges you faced, it all became worth it in the end. It’s a hard life, but a peaceful one. A simple and serene way of living that you always needed. “Bless your heart,” his mother swoons and you realize Yoongi’s gazing at you too — with an odd sense of gentleness that you aren’t used to. Or maybe that’s merely the dim lighting of the small dining room. “You are the hardest working, gosh darn smartest young lady I have ever met.” You look away from Yoongi, face warming at the compliments. “No, I just try my hardest.” “And try hard you do!” His mom leans across the table, eyes bright. “Don’t you think so, Yoonie? Isn’t Y/N marvelous?” You turn to him expectedly, but Yoongi’s eyes are suddenly down at his empty plate. “Well, there’s nothing else to do out here but work, so isn’t that the default?” You scoff and it takes his attention. “You aren’t cute at all.” The corner of his mouth tugs. “Excuse me?” “Don’t pay any attention to him, Y/N.” His mom bats at your arm. “He’s too much like his dad.” “You mean, he took after my best traits?” The older man at the table has his brow cocked and you smile at the banter, but the woman beside you doesn’t entertain it. “He took after your temper and grumbling.” “Which is why no one ever bullied him.” Yoongi’s father slaps him on his back and he sighs. His mom turns her head to continue, “Never mind them. I swear, Yoonie used to be the cutest kid in the whole country. I don’t know when he changed. Do you want to see his baby pictures?” Your spine straightens and your eyes widen. “I would love to—” Suddenly, there’s the ear-piercing noise of the chair leg scraping against the wooden floorboards. Yoongi has stood up and tosses his napkin down. “It’s getting pretty late. Probably time to go home, right?” You laugh, but oblige only because it gives you reason to come over again. Yoongi’s mother at least assures as much, promising that next time you’ll be able to see all the albums and photographs of that time he cried while being chased by a goose — something you’re looking forward to, much to Yoongi’s dismay. He’s just too much fun to tease. The more and more you get to know Yoongi and the people in his life, the better you’re coming to realize that he’s not that much of a grump at all. It’s a facade, really. A thin curtain that hides how soft and pouty he actually is. Less like the bad boy you initially thought. More like a farm sheep. “You didn’t need to walk me home, you know.” You turn to him, glancing at his profile. “It’s only a few acres away.” “Yeah, but then I would never hear the end of it from my mom. It’s dark out anyway and it’s not like I mind.” You nod and the pair of you fall into a comfortable lull. There’s a lot from tonight that you have to think about and it’s not just about Yoongi and his family. After seeing how they run their farm and how much they’ve expanded, you wonder if you’ll ever get to that size too. “What do you think if I started growing quinoa and soy?” He gives you an incredulous look, still visible in spite of the darkness, and it makes you laugh. “What would you do with quinoa and soy?” “I don’t know. Make different smoothies or flavours of kombucha? I would have to look into it. But it’s just a thought for no—” The pitch of your voice raises as you lose your footing, about to plunge. But then Yoongi yanks your arm back, steadying you before you trip in the ditch. “Oh my god! I almost died!” “Watch where you’re going, woman,” he scolds and his hand boldly wraps around yours, palms clasping together firmly. You glance down, foreign to the feeling of his affection and Yoongi notices. He looks straight ahead, but quickly explains, “If you die and haunt the farm, that’ll bring down the value of the land nearby.” You scoff. “You’re lucky you have a cute face, Min Yoongi.” His lips curl. “I thought you said I wasn’t cute.” “Your personality isn’t, but your face is alright.” If anything, you’re downplaying it, but he doesn’t need to know that. “Out here, you’re a good eight, but where I’m from, maybe you’re a six and a half.” His laugh is mellifluous, and it infects a smile on your own features. “What about you?” You look down to where you’re joined at the hands and muse how much larger his palm and fingers are to you, how his skin is calloused from working the fields, how warm and secure it feels. “Clearly, I’m a ten wherever I go,” you quip. “Can’t you see?” Yoongi apologizes, “I’m sorry, I might be blind then ‘cause I can’t see you as attractive at all.” Another scoff tears from you, a lighthearted one that makes his grin widen. “You know what? I take it back. You aren’t cute at all. Not even your face can make up for your sour personality.” Yoongi chuckles, squeezing your hand, and it’s awfully unfair how your face heats more. // Despite how busy you get managing the Insta spot, planting and harvesting kale, and cooking and packaging products, you never fail to find time to be at the market every Sunday. While your other sources of income are slowly increasing more than what you get from the farmers’ market, the atmosphere and sense of community is enough for you to scrape up time out of your week to set up your stall. And it’s often the time that you get to have your conversations with Jungkook too. “So….did you try it out?” Your eyes glisten, locked into his. “What did you think? Did it work?” The boy scratches the back of his neck. “I...don’t think kale shampoo is it, Y/N.” You deflate, keeping your sulking to a minimum. It didn’t work for you either, but you were trying to see if it was just your hair that was the strange one. “Really? But it looks soft.” You reach over and plant your hand in his black bed of hair. To your surprise, it’s even silkier than it appears. “Woah! It’s soft!” Jungkook ducks his head, colour blooming on his cheeks. He doesn’t bat your hand away nor does he lean into your touch when you pet him incessantly. “It isn’t that soft…” “What shampoo and conditioner do you usually use? It feels so nice, Kook.” The both of you are oblivious to the flannel-wearing man from across the market who’s glaring above the heads of lettuce. He bores his gaze into you, wondering what the hell you’re doing in the middle of the farmers’ market and putting on a show for all the older ladies to watch. Don’t you know how gossip and rumours start at this place? Merely chatting is enough to grab attention, but to be outright flirting like this was downright reckless. His jaw ticks, nostrils flaring. He’s uncomfortable. It isn’t any of his business, but Yoongi feels an urge to do something. It’s utterly irrational. Completely out of the norm of his usual behaviour. But somehow, he finds himself abandoning his stall and crossing the floor. “What the hell are you two doing?” “Yoongi!” You turn, greeting him with a big smile and suddenly that irrational emotion is replaced with something else that sits at his chest. To have your attention, he feels…..satisfied. Even if it’s childish. “I was just talking about the kale shampoo I made, but I think it’s an idea I’m going to have to scrap.” “Shampoo?” “It left a sticky mess on my head and took me ten minutes to wash it off,” Jungkook tells and his smile softens at your sigh. “Sorry, Y/N.” “Maybe kale conditioner would work better....” At the same time, Jungkook’s name is called by his grandma nearby, so he bids goodbye and a see you later to the both of you. It’s a slow down period right after lunch, so there’s fewer people around and with Yoongi here, you take the opportunity. “Can you watch my stall for me?” “What?” “I need to go to the bathroom.” You clasp your hands together and bat your lashes, trying to appeal to him. “Pretty please, Yoongi? I would really, really appreciate it.” He exhales and waves his hand boredly, not sparing you a glance. But you already know he’s relinquished before he says it. “Fine.” You jump up with a smile. “Thanks! You’re the best!” In the next three seconds, you’ve jogged away and Yoongi’s left standing at the market, watching your stall and his stall from across the floor that he abandoned. He wonders how he got into this predicament, but doesn’t dwell when his eyes stray to your bottles of fancy kombucha on display. He picks up a bottle, curious as to how you made these fancy labels, and he snorts when he notices in tiny text it says, ‘don’t kale me’. You’re such a dork, it’s impossible to believe. Then again, his mom decided to make a pun for the lettuce stall too, so he’s not one to talk. For a moment, Yoongi ponders what the hell this kale kombucha tastes like. He got a chance to try it before when you waltz up to him all those weeks ago with a tray of samples, but he denied you out of pride and stubbornness. He knows it must taste somewhat decent if you’re making all those sales. He’s seen people drinking it as they walk around too, but he’ll be damned if he actually went up to you and bought one. He’s sure you’d throw a celebration and do the whole ‘I told you so’ dance if it was actually delicious. Relinquishing, he places the bottle back on the display. But then the awful happens. Time slows — there’s a noise and the entire dainty shelf is collapsing. Yoongi is helpless to the way the bottles collide against the ground deafeningly, how the dark green liquid splatters on the concrete, to the way the glass shards spray. He cusses and manages to catch one bottle before turning around. There are people staring at him — customers alarmed and vendors sympathizing. But more importantly, you’re standing meters away, returned from the bathroom. He catches your shock, your confusion, and then the heartbreak — even if it only lasts for a blink before you’re smiling again. You come over, looking down at the mess. “I didn’t know you hated me this much to sabotage my stuff like this,” you quip jokingly. But there’s no banter or excuses being made. There’s silence. And you lift your eyes to meet Yoongi’s, realizing how mortified he is. “Hey, it’s alright. I knew the shelf had a few loose screws, but I didn’t know it would fall like that. I should’ve fixed it sooner.” “I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.” “You don’t really need to do th……” “I’ll make it up to you,” Yoongi states more firmly than before, eyes darkened and you swallow hard. He knows you’re trying to cover up how hurt you are, how you’re trying to save face and not only is he embarrassed, he’s guilty. “You were supposed to sell all this, weren’t you?” You give in and Yoongi grabs a broom, aiding you in cleaning up the mess. You’ve never seen him so serious and solemn before, but it makes you glad that he’s the one here to help. // At six in the morning, you wake up and less than ten minutes later, you hear the wheezing engine of a truck out front. The sun was barely on the horizon, but when you walk out to the porch, you discover Yoongi shutting the door of his vehicle and coming up to you. He’s dressed in an oversized purple and black plaid flannel and gray shirt underneath, black hair flopping to the side, features softer than usual. He’s yawning and rubbing his eyes, all too endearing that you have to admit it. “Mornin’,” you greet with a grin and he merely grunts, gesturing inside your house. A laugh draws out of you and you open the door for him. “You didn’t need to do this, you know. I told you I was totally fine.” “Just accept my help, lady,” he sighs and looks around your living space, glancing at the polaroids strung above the brick mantle, the recycled jar of flowers on the kitchen counter, and the couch cushions made from flour sacks you reused. You grow warm under his scrutiny, realizing that no one has ever entered your home before. But while you expect to get criticism, Yoongi instead says, “I like what you did with the place. It’s cozy.” You smile, still a bit self-conscious. “Thanks. Do you want tea? Coffee? Kale juice?” “I’m fine.” He follows after you, stepping into the kitchen. The space is crowded or maybe it’s just you feeling small with him so close. “I’m here to help. What do you usually do at this time?” “Well, I usually start by harvesting whatever kale I can. The weather seems good today too and there are some fields that need to be plowed, so I should do that and then plant some seeds…” “Okay.” He’s already tugging his sleeves up. “Let’s get to it.” It’s unusual to have someone join you during your morning chores, but it isn’t unwarranted. Granted, you have to teach him a little on the way you do things, but he already knows a lot from working on his own farm and you find Yoongi is a great listener. He might have a blank expression and be exceptionally quiet, but his occasional questions are insightful and he’s attentive when he mimics you. It’s peaceful — the sun not yet sweltering in the sky or giving an unbearable heat that makes it hard to work, the animals in the far distance not awoken, the breeze curling through your hair. When you look up from your spot, you see Yoongi working as hard as you are and it tickles the corners of your lips into a subtle smile. Things finish twice as fast and then you’re taking a break, making breakfast for Yoongi. His company is nice at the table, even when he complains that your sunny side up eggs are too overcooked and you threaten to throw him out. It’s a kind of banter that doesn’t so much irritate you — rather, it keeps you on your toes, making you giggle at witty remarks while he rolls his eyes. After breakfast, Yoongi insists on washing the dishes and succeeds when he whines and feigns annoyance on how you don’t trust him to clean your plates. He ends up fixing a light fixture in your kitchen too after you mention that it sometimes flickers off and startles you. He’s helpful and handy, more than you thought he would be, but you try not to get used to it. “This is where you keep your kombucha?” he asks as you show off the pantry that you’ve practically changed into a cellar. “Yep.” You tap one of the large jars on the shelf. “It takes five to seven days for it to ferment after I make it. Then, I have to add in the kale and let it ferment for another three days. These babies will be ready for tomorrow. But I have to make a new batch today.” “That’s a lot of work,” he comments. “Oh. You haven’t seen it yet.” You brush past him, smirking. Yoongi looks all too cute in the pink apron. It’s a comical sight and albeit, isn’t actually a part of your usual routine to wear one, you made it up on the fly just to see him wear it and he’s too cute. “What?” His head whips up, brow cocked at the way you’re grinning. “Nothing. Hand me that bowl.” It’s a bit of an irony that Yoongi hasn’t tried any of your kombucha, but is first to learn the recipe from you. You show him how to brew the gallon of black tea, how to add the cup of sugar in and allow it to cool before pouring it into the jar. “What’s that?” he asks when you’re sticking a rubbery flab into the jar. “It’s a scoby. It has a bunch of yeast and bacteria that helps with fermentation. It’s made from kombucha, sugar, black tea.” You seal off the jar and Yoongi goes quiet. You look up at him, discovering a thoughtful expression on his face as if he’s impressed you know what you’re doing. “I’m not completely stupid, you know. I know I come across as—” “I never thought you were dumb,” Yoongi suddenly states without missing a single beat. Your eyes become rounded and the corner of his mouth pulls. “Maybe insensitive and ignorant, but not stupid per se.” “Hey!” “There’s a difference,” Yoongi laughs and insists, “Being ignorant means you just haven’t learnt yet, but being stupid means you can’t learn at all.” He ducks when you half-heartedly swing and more chuckles fill the home, including your own. But Yoongi’s right. You had no clue what you were getting yourself into when you first arrived. Everything’s been a learning process, but it finally feels like things are falling into place. Yoongi helps you wash the kale out back and stays by your side, peering over your shoulder, as you make the kale chips, guacamole and pesto. He stirs and gets ingredients when he can, and you find he has quite a knack for packaging things neatly. He’s somehow careful yet efficient. “I didn’t know you did so much.” “Yeah.” You wipe your sweat with the back of your hand. “I try to space everything out, but sometimes everything falls on the same day and I’ve been running low on products, so I can’t put it off.” He hums, sealing the jar of pesto shut and then working on smoothing the label on the surface. It’s mid-afternoon already. You didn’t realize how quickly time was going. The golden sun is already coming through the windows of the kitchen as you and Yoongi work across from one another, falling into a lull. You turned the staticky radio on, but it often acts as background noise when either of you start another conversation. You giggle and he tilts his head up at the noise. “What? Did I put the label on upside down again?” “No.” You shake your head, smiling to yourself. “It just kind of feels like we’re a married couple, that’s all.” Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi freezes. But then he eases, the corner of his own mouth tugging. “You’re not trying to seduce me, are you?” “Seduce you?!” You scoff, looking up to see him focused on tying the ribbon around the jar. “I have higher standards than that, Min Yoongi.” “Says the one who’s been flirting with me all morning.” “I’m not flirting with you.” “Uh-huh. Don’t tempt me with the suggestion of marriage then. I might actually do it.” You’re baffled, made speechless with how he twists his words and how sweet he can talk. Your face heats and you know that if you open your mouth, you’ll blubber and make a fool out of yourself. So you opt for a huff and silence which only spurs on his chuckles and inadvertently makes you sulk harder. If anything Yoongi was the flirt. But you’re not about to declare it in case he asks if that means you’re affected by it. Because you are. The rest of the afternoon is spent finishing on packaging and storing away the products to sell tomorrow when the Insta spot opens and the following day at the farmers’ market. But as you dust off your hands, you feel the gurgle of your empty stomach and you offer to make him an early dinner. “Is there anything you want to eat? My cooking skills aren’t that great—” “Clearly.” You glare at him. “—but I can look up any recipe you want.” Yoongi makes a disgruntled noise and he leans over to open your fridge. You peep over his shoulder and at once, blood drains from your face. “There’s nothing in your fridge, Y/N.” He turns around with puzzlement on his visage. “How did you make breakfast this morning?” “I….used the last of my eggs to make breakfast. I didn’t think you would actually stick around long enough for dinner.” “And what would you have eaten tonight if I did leave?” With one foot keeping the fridge open, he starts taking out several things like a maid cleaning out your kitchen. “The strawberries have gone bad...and there’s….mold on the bread. How do you live?” “My budget was a bit low for this week and I underestimated how much groceries I would need.” When he pulls out the drawer with bundled kale, you stop him. “That’s for me to sell.” “You don’t eat what you grow?” “Not really,” you admit. “I don’t actually eat much kale….I brought lots of instant noodles from the city, but I ran out two weeks ago….” He shuts the fridge. “I’ll talk to my mom and bring more eggs and milk to you more often.” “You don’t need to do that.” “No, but I want to.” Looking at you, Yoongi realizes that you’re really just a girl who came from nowhere to start a whole farm. Partly hopeless and causing an urge in him to take care of you, but for some reason, he doesn’t seem to mind as much as he thought he would. “Move. I’ll make dinner. You have some iceberg lettuce and kale that I can work with.” He starts rolling up his sleeves again and you don’t let your eyes linger on his exposed veiny forearms for long. You feel a bit embarrassed that you didn’t prepare more and that he caught you at a struggling week. But more than that, guests are supposed to be treated better. “I’m sorry, Yoongi.” “Don’t be.” As he passes, he plops a hand on your head and you look up at him, surprised at the unusually affectionate gesture. “I’m quite the chef, you know. I make better breakfast than you do.” Yoongi probably does, but your pride won’t let you admit it. “Psh. You haven’t started yet. Don’t get so cocky.” You help by setting the table and then pulling a stool to watch him cook. Maybe it’s a bit lame, but you’re impressed at his knife skills and how fast he chops the lettuce and kale into thin strips, keeping a constant rhythm and never once stopping. You scoff when he glances at you with a smirk, but there’s little you can say, especially when he sautes it in a pan with oil and half an onion you have left. The house is filled with a mouthwatering scent and it’s even more delicious than expected once the plate is plopped down in front of you and you get a taste. “Oh my god….how did you make this?” Yoongi smugly shrugs. “I made it up on the fly. Can’t help that my talent is inborn.” You’re too busy eating to retort with a snarky comment. “Maybe I should marry you.” He laughs and quickly eats before you steal his own portion. The sun eventually goes down and it’s hard to say goodbye after one of the best days you’ve had since coming here, but you know you’ll see Yoongi tomorrow and the next day — whether that’s across the acres and through a giant wave or arguing as you do at the market. He’s always been around, an addition to the farm life itself, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

When Yoongi returns home, he announces that he’s back. There are storming steps, his mom enthusiastic and racing down the stairs to ask him how it went. His dad looks around the living room corner as well, and he sighs at their intrusiveness. “It was fine.” Yoongi tosses the keys aside, scratching the back of his neck. “She’s actually a lot more hard-working than I expected.” He walks off before they can bombard him with any more inquiries, but they understand their son well enough and they exchange knowing smiles.

You never expect to see Yoongi awkwardly lingering on your porch like a car salesman, especially considering you were once doing the same thing at his house not long ago. But while he’s here just to deliver some apple pie his mom made, you eagerly pull him inside. “Why? Why?” he whines childishly, but stumbles after you anyway. “I need you to try something for me.” It was an Insta spot day, cars filled in the lot you designated, people from the city out in the back and the chatter loud enough to leak inside the kitchen. Families were strolling about, children picking kale, young adults posing for countless pictures by the picnic blankets and decorations. Yoongi can’t quite understand what their fixation and fascination is to drive all the way out here for such frivolous things, but if it works then it works, he supposes. You set the apple pie on the table and notice Yoongi peering out of the window, primarily watching the brunette boy fussing about and working the register behind the cute stall you made. “Oh, that’s Jungkook’s cousin, Jimin,” you tell him, even though he probably already knows. Everyone knew everyone around here. “I hired him to help out.” “Doing well enough to hire people?” he asks, brow lifted and a smile raising on his cheeks. “I guess you could say so.” Your pride is supported by the bustle outside the window. “I need all the help I can get.” “Are you trying to get me to help out too? Because I don’t work for free, lady.” “Pft. No. I thought you might want to try out the kale kombucha you made with me last week. You came right in time actually. I just got it packaged and everything. Wait here. I’ll go grab a bottle.” Without another word, you pull the door open and Yoongi sighs with a softened smile, watching you march across the land to chat with Jimin. But within seconds, his attention is taken away by the squeak of the door and a middle aged woman sticking her head through. “Excuse me,” her voice is shrill, “is there a bathroom in here?” “Uh…�� He’s fairly certain you don’t let anyone inside your house and that he caught sight of fancy porta potties you set up on the side. “No. If you turn the corner, there’re some bathrooms you can use.” Yet, she blinks blankly at him and Yoongi holds his long exhale in his nose. Whatever your intentions are, it seems like he’s working for you anyhow. “I can show you.” Yoongi hopes he’s not wrong or it’ll be terribly awkward, but luckily for him, there’s indeed bright blue stalls and the woman thanks him as she waddles off. But he can’t take refuge inside your home when he’s interrupted by someone again. “Excuse me!” This time it’s a group of girls around his age giggling with caked makeup and dressed in short rompers. They thrust their phones forward before he can utter a word. “Can you please take some pictures for us?” “Uh, sure.” Yoongi feels out of his depth. Embarrassed. While you knew nothing about farm life, he knows nothing about city life. You might’ve disproved a lot of prejudices and stereotypes he held, but he still feels awkward and out of place in their scrutiny. Like he’s part of a completely different world, and he’s not sure what to say or how to act. But he still tries and crouches down, trying to frame the photo and catch the trees in the back with the stringed fairy lights above. “One. Two. Three. Smile.” “Thanks!” The girl comes forward to look, but before he can ask if it’s good enough, her friend comes up to him with another phone. “Can you take another one?” “Alright.” He gets back into place and times it. “One. Two. Three.” Yoongi hands back the device and is about to duck his head and seek refuge no matter who calls out to him, but the girl stops in front of him with a brightened smile. “Is it alright if you take a photo with me? I’ve never had a picture with a farmer before!” Yoongi sputters, speechless. For one, he hasn’t taken a photo in years, much less for a stranger’s personal collection. And secondly, he’s not some spectacle to be gawked at. He’s not some dancing monkey or clown. Not a poster boy or a cardboard cutout. This is his life— “I’m sorry.” A voice calmly cuts through his annoyance and Yoongi feels a hand against his shoulder. You’re beside him with a polite smile. “Staff aren’t allowed to be photographed.” “Oh. Okay.” They walk off and resume their activities. You take Yoongi’s hand and tilt your head towards the door. “C’mon. Let’s go back inside.” He feels safe inside your house again when he can remain an observer and not a participant. “Sorry about that. Some people can be a bit insensitive, but most of them have good intentions.” “It’s fine.” You pour out the bottle of amber liquid into a tall glass. “They probably just wanted a photo since you’re good-looking.” “What?” Yoongi snorts and turns around with a grin. “So you think I’m good-looking?” “Isn’t that a fact? That’s why people were staring at you. The whole rugged look works well for you.” You plop down the glass in front of him before you can think twice about the honesty that just unabashedly spilled from your mouth. “Try it. You had a part in making it, so it’s only right, right? And if you like it, I’ll even let you bring some home.” He rolls his eyes at your mischievous smile and lifts the glass to his lips. It’s fizzy, and the taste is both tart and slightly sweet. It reminds Yoongi of sparkling cider, but with a herbal hint that he assumes is the kale. He doesn’t utter a word, even when you’re watching him intently. But after Yoongi smacks his lips together, he goes for a second sip. And you take that as a positive sign. “You like it?!” He’s startled at your overly excited voice. “It’s not bad.” “See?! I knew it! All you needed to do was to try my amazing kombucha recipe and your mind would be changed. Didn’t I say that? I totally told you I would get you to like kale!” “Hold on, hold on.” Yoongi stops you in your ramble. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I only said it was decent.” You laugh. “Sure. Whatever you say.” He sighs, but ruffles your hair as he walks past, already bidding goodbye. “Get back to work.” “Yes, sir.” You dramatically salute him and he leaves through the front door. But then it hits you a moment later. “Wait a minute….” This is your farm. Not his. // You’re thriving in more ways than one. Aside from your personal projects on the farm, you’ve gotten yourself established at the market, like one of the decade long vendors who’ve spent their whole lives here. After a few months of setting up your stall, now everyone knows you by first name basis. A few older ladies even gave you the nickname of Sunshine and it only makes you love them more. “You’re staring at her a lot, Yoonie.” His mother nudges him and he tears his eyes away from you across the market floor. “No, I’m not.” He’s not sure why he bothers. Yoongi feels like a child trying to deny the obvious. “Go talk to her. Lookin’ is not gonna do you any favours, young man. You have to talk.” Yoongi already knows — he doesn’t need his mother to tell him. “She’s busy,” he grumbles, “I’ll talk to her later.” Fortunately, a customer comes up and Yoongi takes the opportunity to escape the conversation, immediately moving to ring them up and leaving his mom with a hopeless sigh. At the same time, someone approaches you. After taking a sample from the tray, she decides to purchase a whole case of pesto much to your delight. “I actually bought smoothie and kombucha from you last week,” the lady mentions as you’re packing it up for her and you nod. “I know. You bought two large smoothies and half a case of kombucha, right?” Pleasant surprise takes hold of her expression. “How do you remember? Don’t you get a lot of customers?” “I remember most of them, but I especially remember your Chanel classic handbag,” you point out with a smile. “The medium pink is a rarer one, plus it’s not the kind of thing lots of people wear in this sort of place.” “You have a good eye,” the lady notes and you take the compliment. “It’s the only flashy thing I own and I have no other place to wear it aside from running errands.” “Oh trust me, I’m like that too.” You grin, finishing up and passing the machine card for her to tap and pay. “I find that as long as you have confidence, you can pull anything off and it makes running errands a lot more fun.” The lady laughs and easily agrees. She takes the box you offer her, but lingers. “Your kombucha and your smoothies are delicious by the way, and the pesto seems pretty good too.” “Thank you. It took me a while to narrow down the recipe, but I think I nailed it.” “You did.” She affirms and then out of the blue, asks, “Would you be willing to sell your products at the supermart? It’s a local grocery store I run with my husband, five miles from here, just down Imlings road.” You’re speechless, blinking twice at her as your mouth opens and closes. The older woman waits patiently with a smile and you muster a half-coherent answer. “I-I would definitely consider it!” “Great.” She smiles and then reaches over to her pocket. The woman hands you a business card. “Some folks around here have contracts with me too, and I’d love to add your products on the shelf. Give me a call some time tomorrow and we can chat about the details.” You’re stunned and only broken out of your trance when a customer comes up and clears their throat. It’s a triumphant day. You feel like you’re floating, walking on clouds — and Jungkook notices how you’re humming to yourself too and boyishly grins. “Something good happen, Y/N?” The pair of you are walking out, Jungkook carrying your boxes as you lug your totes with you while waving goodbye to the other vendors that were leaving for the evening. “Just everything. I feel like things are going right for me, you know? And that’s kind of rare for me.” “No, I get you. Pop always says there are rainbows after the storm. Then again, he always says how the Kim’s are running around like chickens with their heads cut off.” That makes you laugh, but then the two of you interrupted by a sharp cry of your name. “Y/N!” You witness Yoongi running up to you, completely out of breath. “Hey. Are you okay? Where did you even come from?” “Never mind that.” He straightens out. “Let me drive you back.” “Oh, Jungkook was just going to….” “Nah.” He insists and takes the boxes from the younger boy. “Our houses are closer together anyway. I don’t mind.” “What about your mom?” “She’s already left since she’s having dinner with a friend.” You look at Jungkook who’s wholly confused, a deer in headlights and you decide to spare him from the trouble. “Well, alright. Thanks then.” It feels a bit odd, but you take him on the offer and bid Jungkook a goodbye. The rest of your kale and belongings are packed into the back of Yoongi’s truck before you’re getting in. It’s old and worn, but the vehicle feels like it’s full of memories. You buckle yourself in and then he’s driving off with the fuzzy radio playing in the background as the golden sun sets over the horizon. “Jungkook ain’t shit,” Yoongi suddenly pipes up after a moment. You glance over to discover him looking straight out the windshield, hands gripped on the steering wheel. And you burst out laughing. “What?” “He was seeing Aria for a while and then left her for the hills, so he’s got a reputation around here. I thought I should let you know.” You see him peek at you in the corner of your eye, but you can’t repress your grin. “You sound like a boyfriend.” “Yeah, well, I’m actually a good one.” “Oh yeah?” Yoongi’s knuckles are white and with the way his tongue peeks out to lick the seam of his lips, you wonder if he’s nervous. “I could show you.” A giddy giggle that belongs to the sixteen-year-old you bubbles out. “And what would dating Min Yoongi look like?” Yoongi plays off of your playful tone. “For one, I haven’t gotten to show you around properly yet and you still haven’t gone to one of Taehyung’s bonfire parties. He’s the guy with the strawberry farm. And I have access to his exclusive parties cause we went to school together, so you could use me to get in.” “Hmmm….you drive a hard bargain, Min Yoongi.” “I know how to cook a mean dinner if you give me real ingredients too.” You laugh again, leaning your head back against the seat. “You’re too good at sweet-talking. Does your mother know you chat up girls like this?” “Maybe. But I only really sweet talk you.” He’s bold tonight and it’s not doing good things to you. Your face is heating and you’re incessantly tapping your fingers against your leg. Beneath the lighthearted flirtation was a sort of simmering nervousness that’s filled with questions of if the line is going to be crossed and when that would be, and who would be the first to make the move. Yoongi parks the car in front of your house and pulls the keys out of the ignition. The pair of you naturally shift and look at one another. Your gazes lock together and there are three seconds of tense silence — neither wanting to get out, to break the rather intimate moment. Where you muse how brown his eyes are and Yoongi, himself, hitches his breath. And then you’re lurching over for a kiss. It’s all mouths and noses bumping together, obscene and sloppy, but a long time coming. His lips are softer than expected, only chapped at the corners, but you don’t get to think about it for too long or deepen the kiss. Not when you’re too busy giggling and laughing against him. You pull apart, hands grasping onto the collar of his loose flannel. “You’re so eager.” It’s a bit unusual to see Yoongi be anything other than annoyed or composed, but you soak it up as much as you can. The sunset is painting his skin golden and the car smells like him too. It seems like you’re surrounded in Min Yoongi and it’s fully welcomed. “You are too,” he retorts on an exhale, hand skimming down to the dips of your waist. But then Yoongi swallows hard and retracts. He leans his arm on the steering wheel and looks out the window in disappointment. You wonder if you did something wron— “I can’t stain the truck. My mom has hawk eyes and she’s gonna know if we do something, and I’d rather she not.” You scoff and lean forward, swift enough to plant a kiss on his cheek and pull away. “For such a good talker, you sure are stupid, Yoongi. There’s a whole house behind you and no one in it.” A gummy smile spreads into his face and you feign a tired huff, lifting your chin and sticking your nose in the air. You add, “But for your information, I only give people the time of day when they make it worth it for me.” He’s already opening the door and accepting the challenge before you can finish. “Oh, I’ll make it worth it alright.” You find out that Yoongi has a dirty mouth and an even nastier tongue. Part of you always wondered if he hated your guts, but you couldn’t be any more wrong. You’re tugging on the strands of his hair, chest rising and falling as you pant. “W-Where did you learn how to do that?” The bastard shrugs with a smug smile. “I might be unlikable, but I’ve had plenty of practice before.” “Oh yeah?” The corner of your own mouth tugs. “With who?” Yoongi grins and lifts himself up to plant a sweet kiss against your lips. “You wouldn’t know them. But they’re not as important as you are.” “I’m going to choke over your greasiness, Min Yoongi.” “Good. Choke.” “You’re gonna have to stuff me with your cock first.” Yoongi laughs at how you’re desperately tugging him closer to you, but he easily agrees with one condition— “Only if you’re good for me.” The pair of you are sweaty when you finish. You thought the old bed frame was going to give up mid-way. Luckily, it held up even with all its loud squeaks and creaks. But you wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a dent where the headboard slammed against the wall. But you’ll count your losses later. You’re just relieved that there was no one in the house. While Yoongi might’ve been all soft groans and rapid exhales, he made you absent-minded to your own noises that somehow leaves your throat sore. You’re sure anyone who would’ve stood by your porch would’ve heard and been scandalized for the rest of their life. “You know.” You turn to Yoongi, having stared at the ceiling. His eyes meet yours. “You’re pretty good for a farm boy.” The playful quip ticks him off enough that he does it again. Yoongi pins you underneath him and is merciless. Your bubbling giggles turn to tears leaking down the side of your face from overstimulation, but you climax again through a moaning apology. When you’re spent, Yoongi collapses next to you. You’re surprised at how cuddly he is, how he naturally reaches for you, torso molding against yours and arms wrapped around your waist. In spite of feeling hot and sweaty, Yoongi holds you against him and you relish in it. “How is it possible that no one’s snatched you up yet?” “Maybe it’s because I’m known to be standoffish.” He smiles against your temple, soothed by the way you run your fingers through the strands of his hair. “And what about you? Do you have a boyfriend or a husband I don’t know about that’s waiting in the city?” “No. No one’s drawn me in quite like you have.” Yoongi’s smile pulls into a grin, and the pair of you are lulled by each other’s inhales and exhales, unintentionally falling asleep in one another’s embraces like lovers underneath tree canopies on a Summer afternoon. It’s some of the most peaceful sleep you’ve had, but then you’re shaken awake by a rattle and an ‘ow’. Your eyes open to find the other side of the bed empty and Yoongi nursing his hip after presumably bumping into your nightstand. You sit up, disoriented as he’s hopping up and down, barely getting his pants on. “I need to get home before my parents find out I was gone the entire night and start asking questions.” His voice is thick and husky, hair in a disarray, eyes bleary and barely awake. His panic makes you giggle and you watch him struggle to put on his clothes. Peeking outside, the sun isn’t up yet and the clock reads that it’s five in the morning. “Are they even awake this early, Yoongi?” “I don’t know. Sometimes.” He fiddles with his flannel, putting his arms through the wrong holes, and even when he figures it out, he doesn’t realize it’s inside out. “I’ll...see you later?” “Wait. Yoongi.” You stop him for a second and he turns around. It feels awfully juvenile, like you’ve reverted back into your sixteen-year-old self that giggles over crushes, but Yoongi always seems to make you feel that way. “Are we….dating now?” “If I didn’t make it any more clear last night and by sleeping over, then I don’t know what else to do.” It takes a beat for the words to sink in, but once it does, a bright and overexcited smile overcomes your features. Yoongi snorts before the corners of his own mouth tickles. When he’s gone, you discover that you miss him already.

The morning alarm rings at six. But by then, you’re already up. You’ve fallen into a natural schedule, a cycle that your body has picked up on and has awoken before anything needs to call you. And after brushing your teeth and running a comb through your hair, you’re taking care of your farm. Plowing fields. Harvesting kale. Having breakfast. You also package the last of the pesto and guacamole, pouring the kombucha into the bottles with the proper labels. Some of which are prepared for the grocery store to pick up while others are packed for tomorrow. Afterwards, you come to the farmers’ market and meet Hoseok, a boy you’ve hired to help you take over. He helps you man the stall and the cash register, giving you the freedom to chat with customers and other vendors or complete other tasks with Jungkook. By afternoon, you come back to the farm to check out the Insta spot and aid Jimin in running things smoothly. “This is beautiful, Y/N.” Today, you’re graced by a few friends from the city. They drove out here after you reached out to them again and you couldn’t be more pleased from their genuine reactions. “When you said you were coming out to start a farm...I didn’t imagine this.” “It took a lot of work, but it’s not half bad, right?” Mina leans in, eyes flickering around. “Where’s this infamous Yoongi?” A laugh spills from you. “He’s busy. You’ll see him next time.” “I keep hearing about him, but I haven’t even seen him or his picture once,” Tiffany huffs. “I’m beginning to think he’s fake.” You grin and insist, “I promise you he’s real.” “Oh my god!” Yeri startles the group by the sheer urgency in her voice, but when you all swivel to her, she has her phone held in the air, screen directed to her face. “This is the perfect lighting! Guys, come here and take selfies up before the sun moves!” You can’t help smiling as you watch them, matching their footsteps as they approach the fields. You can tell that they’re still surprised, that they love what you did — and you couldn’t be prouder. At ten at night, the last people have filtered out and you bid them goodbye. “Great job, Jimin. Thanks for the help as usual. It didn’t get too busy when I was gone, right?” “Not at all.” The brunette with the polite smile shakes his head. “Oh, but the customer feedback box was full. I put it in the living room for you.” “I saw that. Thank you. I’ll take a look tomorrow.” Looking ready to go, you walk him to the door. “Rest up then! I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Goodnight, Y/N.” But as one man leaves, you catch another down the road. The familiar truck is chugging, head beams piercing through the darkness settling across the horizon. Jimin recognizes it too after months of the same routine and smiles at you before he’s on his way. The truck is parked on your lawn and the dark-haired man in the flannel is already smiling when he catches you through the front windshield. He opens the door and slams it shut as you lean against the doorframe, arms crossed and the screen door held behind you. “Well, well, well. Look at what the cat dragged in.” Yoongi chuckles and grabs a crate from the back of his truck. “It’s groceries from my parents.” He meets you at the porch and plants a chaste kiss on your lips as a greeting. You follow him into the kitchen as he beelines to it. It’s almost like this is his home — an idea that tempts you greatly. “Aw, she packed me more pie.” There’s goat’s milk too and you store it in the fridge as Yoongi organizes your cabinet, making sure there’s enough sustenance to keep you healthy for the week. You’ve already told him that you could take care of yourself, but he’s stood firm and you didn’t argue. It was a guilty pleasure to be pampered by Yoongi after all, and you weren’t about to refuse it. “My parents want you to come over soon. They keep asking me about you.” You nod. “I’m happy to come over whenever they want. But I should probably bake something. Your mom always makes me food.” “Nah. She does it cause she likes to. How about Tuesday?” “That works for me.” “Have you eaten yet?” One shake of your head leads to him cooking and then the pair of you sitting at the table across from one another and sharing a warm meal. You ask Yoongi about his day and he tells you about bailing Namjoon and Taehyung out of jail. Apparently, they landed themselves into trouble after they lost their cow and went looking for it. Yet somehow, they ended up miles away on an orchard farm where they had a confrontation with an old grump and got arrested for trespassing. But as exasperated as Yoongi likes to act, the irony isn’t lost on you how he drove that far out to bail them out and keep the secret from their parents. He’s the kind of man that conveys his feelings through his actions instead of his words and you’ve come to endear that quirk about him. After dinner and cleaning up, you turn on the twinkling fairy lights strung along the backyard and stand on your patio, leaning against the banister. The land and rows of kale are strangely bare without people and the ruckus of crowds, yet there’s a certain peacefulness of the uncertain horizon. “What’re you thinking about?” A husky voice sounds beside you as Yoongi meets your side. “Nothing.” You shake your head. “All day I’ve been feeling proud of myself, that’s all. I think...my grandfather would be proud of me too.” “Of course he would be.” Yoongi drapes his arm around your shoulder. “I’m proud of you too.” As calm and detached as Yoongi may be at times, he still has the effect of catching you off guard when he sweet talks. And it’s a kind of duality that makes you adore him even more. You wrap your arm around his slim waist, grinning and he plants a wet kiss at your forehead. “Hey, Yoongi. Since you love me….does that mean you love kale too?” “Those things are mutually exclusive.” “But kale is my lifeblood.” You look up at him. “You can’t love me without loving kale.” He scoffs at your ridiculous argument, but it’s pointless back and forths like this that you enjoy the most. Especially when Yoongi gives in. “Fine. I love kale. But for the record, I love you a lot more.” You laugh and lean your head on his shoulder. “I’m glad I came here.” You’re glad you never gave up or gave in to the discouragement of your family, the apprehension of your friends or the voice inside your own mind. You’ve finally found your place. “I’m glad too.” There’s no need to go home when home is right here.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fluff #yoongi scenario #yoongi reader insert #bts farm AU #bts farm!AU #YOONGI AS A PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE BOY IN FLANNELS #AND OC AS A GIRL WHO KNOWS WHAT'S TRENDY #welcome to my first and only farm AU lol #hope you enjoy

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drabbles-mc · 4 years ago

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I Know A Place

Juice Ortiz x F!Reader

Request by Anon: can you do a Juice x female reader where she's out with Juice as part of a small errand that she needed to do, and her dad Piney insisted she needed an escort due to the shit happening with Zobelle - and they have to hide at one point and (there's already some tension going on at this point) after impressing him with how much she can run, at one point he needs to pull her flush against him, and his hand gets a feel of how ripped she is and it all comes to a head when they reach a motel

Warnings: language, unprotected sex

Word Count: 3k

A/N: I did tweak a few things from the original request, hope that’s alright! I try not to be too descriptive of body types when I do reader inserts because it’s just not as inclusive, so I left it kind of vague as I do with all of my fics that are written in this style. Also, instead of a motel it’s a safehouse. But Juice still gets some so it all evens out haha. Enjoy! xo

SOA Taglist: @mijop @adela-topaz-caelon @masterlistforimagines @garbinge (As always, if you want to be tagged in anything going forward just let me know!)

You couldn’t deny that you were a little annoyed when the club essentially assigned you a babysitter. You’d fought Opie and Tig on it for a hot minute, only caving when Piney spoke up. There were a lot of people that you could afford to piss off but he really wasn’t one of them. He told you that you were going to have someone with you until things calmed down again, and that was that.

“Oh sure,” Opie said with a shake of his head, “you’ll listen when he says it.”

“Yea, ‘cause you’re not my father,” you shot back at him with a roll of your eyes.

“And you’re also not as scary,” Jax piped in with a laugh.

You wanted to hold onto your frustration but you couldn’t help but to crack a smile, knowing that he was completely right. Opie might’ve been tall and stoic, but he was still your brother and you still knew too many embarrassing things about him to ever be fully intimidated by him the way that you were with your father. Opie had a softness in him that your father never had.

“Who’s gonna be babysitting me, then?” you asked as you plopped down at the bar.

“Got a preference?” Jax chuckled, “I’ll see if I can make it happen.”

You looked over at him, clearly unamused, “I’d prefer to not have anyone stuck to me like glue.”

“Well that’s out of the question,” Piney spoke up with a shake of his head. He paused, turning to Juice, “Juice.”

He looked up from his laptop, eyes bright, “Yea?”

“You’re gonna be keeping an eye on Y/N for a while. Got it?”

He nodded, always glad to be given a task. You don’t think that he’d ever said no to the guys the entire time he’d been involved with the club, even when he probably should have. You looked over at him, and as annoyed as you were that you were going to have a protective detail with you, you had to admit that there were much worse people to be stuck looking at all day while you ran errands. The two of you never got a whole lot of quality time together, but he seemed sweet enough.

“Let me know when you’re ready,” you looked over at him, trying not to take your frustration out on him, “I got some shit I gotta take care of.”

“Now,” he stammered slightly as he shut his laptop, “N-I’m ready now. I’m good to go,” he nodded.

You chuckled, “Alright,” you tossed him the keys to your car, “then let’s hit the road, Juan Carlos.”

He caught the keys, but barely. You bit back a laugh as you shook your head. He tossed his laptop to the side and made his way over to you. He led the way, opening the clubhouse door for you. You flashed him a smile as you walked out, wondering how a man like him ended up in a club like this.

Letting Juice drive was a calculated decision on your part. You felt like you’d learn more about him from the passenger seat. Plus he was nice to look at and that was difficult when you needed to have your eyes on the road to drive.

“This because of what happened to Gemma?” you asked, breaking the seal of silence in the car.

“Wh-what?” his body tensed.

“All of the women being assigned body guards,” you clarified, “Is it because of what happened with Zobelle and Gemma?”

You could see him hesitate, but that answered your question as well as anything. After a moment he nodded, “Yea. Protocol until further notice.”

You nodded slowly, “Gotcha,” you looked over at him as he parked your car, “You pissed that you’ve been demoted to babysitter?”

There was a small smirk on his face as he turned and looked over at you, “Guess I didn’t consider this a demotion.”

There was something about his tone and the look in his eyes that made your face suddenly feel warm. You smiled and shook your head, “Right,” you took a deep breath to try and get your mind right, “You ready?”

He nodded, hopping out of the car so he could come around and open the door for you. You smiled, surprised by the gesture. He held his hand out to you and you took it despite the fact that you didn’t need it. You saw the way that the muscles in his arms flexed as he helped you and you found yourself involuntarily biting your bottom lip.

“You okay?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

You cleared your throat and nodded, “Yea. All good. Let’s go.”

He chuckled just loud enough so that you could hear it and you shook your head at yourself. You went from extremely annoyed with the entire situation to very into it in the matter of one car-ride and you wished that your hormones would stay out of your thought pattern. There was a reason he was assigned to make sure you stayed safe, it wasn’t exactly the best time to be gawking at him.

As you continued to check things off of your to-do list, you found that Juice really wasn’t bad company. He was sweet, and funny. You didn’t remember the last time someone made you laugh that hard while you were grocery shopping. He pushed the cart for you and you really wondered why someone who had so much gentleness in them would want to be part of an outlaw motorcycle club.

“Can we stop and grab a coffee?” you asked after you’d stacked your grocery bags in the back of the car, “My treat, since you’ve been so helpful today despite the fact that I was kinda shitty to you about it at first.”

He laughed, “Yea, coffee sounds good.”

“I know a good spot a couple blocks up. Up for a walk?”

“Sure,” he nodded, waiting for you to start leading the way.

The two of you walked together, and you chuckled as Juice provided commentary on everyone and everything that you walked past. There was something about him that made you think that he was the kind of person to never run out of stories.

Your conversation was interrupted by the sound of yelling and cursing coming from farther up the block. Juice stopped in his tracks. Throwing his arm out in front of you to make you do the same. His brows furrowed as he listened intently, trying to figure out who was making all of the noise and why.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath before turning to you, “you gotta go.”

“What?”

He nodded back in the direction the two of you had just come from, “Get back to the car. Quickly. I’ll meet you there.”

“Juice what’s going—”

“Just go,” he nudged you in the right direction as the voices got closer, “please.”

You saw him reach into his kutte for his gun and that was the moment you decided that whatever the problem was, it was above your paygrade. You took off at a swift run as the voices got louder, and you could hear Juice yelling something back at them. You were nervous, but the only thing reassuring you at all was that you didn’t hear any gunshots. Whatever was happening, the chaos must’ve been somewhat controlled.

The run back to your car felt much longer than the walk away from it. You were practically gasping for breath as you fumbled around for your keys in your purse. Just as you were about to slide the key into the lock, you felt someone’s body press firmly up against yours. You started to let out a scream but they clapped their hand over your mouth.

“It’s me,” Juice sounded about as winded as you did, “Sorry, it’s me,” he let go of you, but his body was still flush up against yours, “Quick, unlock the door.”

You wanted to make a smart remark about how that’s what you had been trying to do before you got body-slammed, but your brain wasn’t working well enough for that. You were trying to turn your key in the lock while not thinking about the way his chest pressed against your back with each deep breath he took to recover from his run to you.

You were finally rewarded with the clicking sound of the door unlocking. You flung it open and scrambled over to the passenger seat, letting Juice climb in after you. He slammed the door shut and immediately turned the car on, throwing it in drive and peeling out of the parking lot.

Both of you were silent as he tore down the streets of Charming. You wanted to ask what that was all about, but you weren’t sure how much you really wanted to know.

Once his breathing started to level out, he glanced over at you, “You’re fucking fast,” he laughed.

You chuckled, leaning your head back against the seat, “Adrenaline and fearing for your life will do that,” you looked over at him, trying to search his face for some answers. Despite your better judgment, you asked, “What was all of that about?”

Juice sighed, knowing that he wasn’t going to be able to lie to you about it, “Zobelle isn’t the only person the club has pissed off lately.”

“Really racking up popularity points, huh?” you shook your head.

He laughed, “Yea. Mayans called off the truce. So it’s pretty much on-sight at this point.”

“Jesus Christ,” you ran your hands down your face, “So what now?”

He shrugged, still with a white-knuckle grip on his steering wheel, “Um. Good question. We can head back to the clubhouse, or we can find somewhere to lay low for a couple hours.”

The last thing you wanted to do right now was face your father and your brother. You looked at him, watching the way he stared intently at the road, “Where’d you have in mind?”

“Hm?”

“To lay low,” you sighed, “I don’t wanna fucking deal with Opie right now,” you let out a humorless laugh, “And if I don’t, I know you definitely don’t.”

He laughed despite the stress weighing on his brain, “That’s fair. I think I know a place.”

He didn’t elaborate further, and you didn’t ask him to. You rested back against the seat and watched the buildings and yards fly by your window as Juice drove you off to wherever he figured was a safe place to land. The longer he drove, the more relaxed he became, which in turn made you feel a little better as well. There was a tiny part of you that wanted to reach out and rest your hand on him, but you knew that was just the adrenaline talking, or at least that’s what you told yourself.

The car came to a stop in the driveway of a small house in a town that neighbored Charming. You’d never been there, and it didn’t look like anyone had been there in quite some time. You looked over to Juice, eyebrows raised as you waited for some kind of an explanation.

He looked over at you and gave a small shrug, “Club safehouse. Seemed like as good of a place as any to kill a couple hours.”

You shrugged and nodded, “Fair enough. It got a fridge? I don’t want all my groceries going to waste.”

He laughed, “Yea, it’s got a fridge. Your ice cream will be fine.”

You grabbed the bags out of the back of the car while he went and unlocked the house, checking to make sure that everything was alright. You knew the chances of anything happening to the two of you were slim to none. It wasn’t likely that they were able to tail you, Juice had driven all over god’s green earth to make sure that didn’t happen. Still, you felt a little better knowing that this was a designated place for laying low and staying out of trouble.

Setting the bags down on the counter, you started to take out everything that needed to be in the refrigerator or the freezer. It wasn’t much, but Juice was right when he called you out about the ice cream. It was the first thing you took out and tossed to be chilled.

You spun around to grab one last thing out of the bag and collided directly into Juice. Your hands landed on his chest while his grabbed onto your hips to keep you from stumbling further. You let out a nervous laugh, your face instantly getting hot. There was a small smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. Your entire body was trembling and as much as you wanted to blame it all on the chaos of the day, you knew there was a little more to it than that.

“You good?” his hands slid up your sides as he asked, pushing up the fabric of your shirt.

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on maintaining feeling in your legs as you nodded, “I’m good.”

He could feel the way your body was trembling slightly underneath his fingertips, “You sure?”

Your brain couldn’t come up with a single coherent thought. You were too distracted by the heat radiating from his hands, the way his chest rose and fell beneath your palms. The day had already been a trip and you figured there was no way that you could really make it all that much worse. So you gave in to the impulsive, needy part of your brain that had been quietly nagging at you all day.

Before you could try to reel yourself in, your lips crashed into his. It must’ve been exactly what he had been expecting, because his arms instantly snaked tightly around your waist and kept your body flush up against his. A quiet moan slipped past your lips as your hands roughly cupped his face, keeping his lips pressed against yours.

Hit bit down on your bottom lip with a quiet moan and the thought crossed your mind that it was one of the most beautiful sounds you’d ever heard. You pushed the kutte down off of his shoulders and instantly started to lift his shirt off over his head. He let out a quiet, breathy laugh as he obliged, gripping onto yours to help you do the same.

With no hesitation he scooped you up off the floor and carried you to the bedroom. You let out a gasp as he dropped you onto the bed and instantly began undoing your shorts. You lifted your hips to make it easier for him to slide them down your legs. He smiled as he tossed them aside, along with your underwear. You sat upright and your hands instantly went to work on his belt. You looked up at him for a moment and when you saw the way he was smiling down at you, it became almost impossible to focus on the task at hand.

Despite the distraction, you were rewarded with the sound of his jeans falling to the floor in a denim pool around his ankles. He stepped out of them and back you onto the bed, hands roaming over your body the entire time.

His lips found yours and within moments you felt his tongue running along your bottom lip. He situated himself between your legs as he kissed you, one hand sliding down your stomach and landing between your legs. His fingers traced lightly over your folds and he moaned into your mouth when he felt how wet you already were.

He took his lips off of yours only long enough so that he could position himself at your entrance. He looked up at you, eyes searching yours for the go-ahead to continue. Your hands gripped onto his hips and pulled him into you, causing both of you to moan. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, biting down onto your shoulder as he thrusted into you.

Your nails raked down his back as you lost yourself in the feeling of having him inside of you. His name fell from your lips repeatedly as his body continued to connect with yours. His hands traveled all over you, caressing every inch of exposed skin with a gentleness that didn’t at all match the intensity that he was using to fuck you, but it felt right nonetheless.

You gripped onto his biceps, nails sinking into his tattoo as you felt your orgasm building. You cursed as his pace continued to increase, his hands finding their home on your hips as he pinned you down.

“Fuck,” every muscle in your body tensed as you came. Your hands grabbed and scratched at his back and shoulders for a grip that they couldn’t find.

Juice wasn’t far behind you, quickly pulling out of you a few moments later before he did something he’d regret. He collapsed onto your chest with a deep sigh, hands gently sliding up and down your sides. It was the first time all afternoon that your body stopped trembling. After a few moments of nothing but the sound of your breathing filling the room, you heard Juice let out a quiet laugh.

You looked down at him, “What’s so funny?”

He rested his hands on your chest before placing his chin on them. There was a tiny smirk on his face as he fought to get his breathing evened out again, “Told you this wasn’t a demotion.”

You laughed, shaking your head, “You’re ridiculous.”

“C’mon,” he joked, “you gotta admit that this all could’ve gone so much worse.”

You rolled your eyes but you couldn’t wipe the smile off of your face, “I guess so,” you locked eyes with him, “How much longer you think you’ll have to keep an eye on me?”

He laughed, leaning up to place a soft kiss on the side of your neck, “Probably for a long time. Just to be safe.”

#soa #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy imagine #juice ortiz #juice ortiz x reader #juice ortiz x you #juice ortiz imagine #juan carlos ortiz #juan carlos #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 4 years ago

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Howlin’ For You – Drabble

I’ve had this idea stuck in my head for months now and decided to just finally give in a write it.

Some protective Biker!Dad!Bucky and a wee bit of Amelia

Bucky and Amelia were driving back from school.

By some miracle, Bucky knew enough not to pick her up on his motorcycle. He learned the hard way that that his daughter was starting to find it embarrassing. There once was a time – when she was still a kid and not a teenager – that Amelia thought it was cool that her dad drove a motorcycle.

Now she was embarrassed by it. The comments about how hot her dad was didn’t go unnoticed by Amelia and made her want to throw up. She also just hated unwarranted attention of any kind.

Bucky had been asking Amelia about her day when his cell started ringing.

“It’s mom,” Amelia said, seeing the screen before him.

He picked it up right away. “Hey, doll.”

“Are you guys too close to home? I realized I forgot a couple of things for dinner. Would you mind stopping by the store for me real quick?”

“Yep. Just text me what you need. Me and Amelia will grab it.”

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” Y/N answered before hanging up.

“Mom forget to buy ingredients again?” Amelia smirked.

“Yep,” Bucky chuckled. “Mind running in and grabbing it if I give you my card?”

She nodded.

A few minutes later, they were pulling into the parking lot of Whole Foods.

Amelia jumped out.

“Hey,” Bucky grabbed her attention before she could run in. She paused. “Buy some flowers for your ma, too.”

She rolled her eyes. “What kind?”

“The prettiest ones,” Bucky told her with a chuckle.

Amelia scoffed, “That’s helpful…”

She pretended to be grossed out and annoyed by her parent’s loving marriage and partnership. But she also saw how different it was from her friends’ parents, who all seemed to hate each other.

Bucky watched his daughter walk towards the entrance.

But his attention quickly averted to the group of young men that were loitering just outside the entrance. All of their gazes were fixed on Amelia, ogling her body up and down.

If his window hadn’t been down, Bucky might’ve missed the disgusting catcalling that was aimed at his daughter.

His grip immediately tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles going white.

If Amelia had heard it, she pretended not to and continued on walking.

Bucky wondered when she learned the womanly skill of ignoring the disgusting behavior of men.

He hated that she had to. He also hated that she was only 15 and men were already targeting her as if she was a grown woman. They had to be in their early 20s, which only infuriated Bucky even further.

‘Breathe, Bucky. Just breathe.’ That’s what Y/N would tell him if she were here right now. She’d try to calm him down and prevent him from doing anything rash.

But she wasn’t here and Bucky’s anger was getting the best of him.

Before he could change his mind, Bucky shoved his car door open and slammed it shut behind him.

His walk alone was murderous. And it caught the attention of one of the guys. He hit his friends’ chests and nodded toward Bucky, grabbing everyone else’s attention.

“Hey! What did you just say to her?” Bucky asked.

He’d give them a chance to look guilty for their actions, to immediately realize that what they’d just done was wrong.

But they weren’t that smart.

However, they did seem to know what he was talking about and started laughing amongst themselves.

“Why don’t you fuck off, old man?” One of them muttered without looking Bucky in the eye and turned his back on him, bringing his attention back to his friends who were laughing again.

It only made Bucky’s anger worse.

Alright. He’d tried it Y/N’s way. And that didn’t work.

Now it was his way.

Bucky grabbed the one who had talked back to him and slammed him against the car they were all standing near.

“Hey! Hey! Whoa, man! Chill the fuck out!” One of the friends panicked.

They weren’t so tough now, realizing that even though they were outnumbered, this stranger was taller and stronger than they were. It probably didn’t ease their panic that they saw a knife attached to the back of his waist on his jeans.

“How old do you think that girl was?” Bucky hissed, his grip on the shirt tightening.

His voice and tone were disturbingly relaxed. Through his military training and being around too many alpha males, Bucky learned that the man with the most control and composure always came out on top.

“I-I-I don’t know, man! 21?” The guy stuttered, eyes wide with fear.

Bucky slammed against the car again. “She’s 15 years old.”

“How was I supposed–”

“It doesn’t matter how old she is,” Bucky snapped. “No girl or woman wants to be catcalled. Do you understand me?”

The guy just stared up at Bucky, hoping that he wasn’t going to get hurt.

“I said, do you understand me?” Bucky repeated, annoyance evident in his voice.

The guy nodded his head quickly, realizing that showing his understanding was the only way he was going to survive this interaction unscathed.

Bucky released him roughly and then turned to acknowledge the boy’s friends.

“You idiots ever heard of the Howling Commandos?”

They all looked at each other and gave one another a reluctant nod.

Everyone in the area had heard of the biker gang in some way or another. Some people knew they existed and others were convinced they were just an urban legend.

“If I or any one of them ever see you talk to another woman that way again, I think you can imagine what’ll be in store for you.” Bucky tilted his head and raises his eyebrows, offering them the chance to make the mistake of asking him to elaborate.

With that, he slowly walked back to his car.

As soon as his back was turned to the guys, they all scrambled to get into their car and make a run for it.

A few minutes later, Amelia was practically skipping back to the car.

“I got mom a bouquet of Dahlias. I feel like their weird and creepy, so she’ll like them.”

Bucky chuckled. “Good choice.” He was trying his best to act like nothing happened.

He knew how much Amelia got freaked out when Bucky turned all biker on the world.

If Amelia noticed her dad acting more tense, she didn’t comment on it.

But Y/N, however, wasn’t one to let things go unacknowledged.

When Y/N and Bucky were finally alone in their bed at the end of the night, she asked him what was going on.

Bucky reluctantly told her about his little altercation.

“Should I talk to Amelia?” He asked her.

Y/N sighed. “It’s not about talking to Amelia or teaching her anything. It’s about making the world a safer place for her. And you know how you do that?” She asked him gently with an encouraging smile.

“Huh?”

“By raising boys to know better. And I think we did a pretty good job with the twins, don’t you think?”

Bucky shrugged. “If I ever heard the boys say those things to a woman…” he got angry just thinking about it.

“They would never, Bucky. You know that.” Y/N defended.

He knew Y/N was right. But he was grumpy and pissed off, quite frankly. Owen and Grayson were just two young men out of millions. It didn’t really feel like much of an impact to Bucky. It was other people’s sons that he was worried about – not his own.

A moment of silence passed between them.

“You feel helpless, right? Like you can’t control what other people do?” Y/N asked.

Bucky nodded, realizing that’s exactly how he felt.

“What you are experiencing is minuscule to what every woman feels like every day of her life.”

Bucky blinked as he processed what she meant. “I’m sorry, doll.”

She chuckled and laid her head on her husband’s chest. “You don’t have to be sorry, Buck. Plus, ‘sorry’ isn’t going to stop other men from being misogynistic assholes.”

He brushed her hair out of her face and off her neck. His hand then moving to rub her back.

In minutes, she was fast asleep.

But Bucky couldn’t find rest so easily. All the women in his life taught him different things about the way the world saw and treated women. He just never expected his daughter to be the one to teach him another lesson.

---------

I missed writing for Howlin’ For You, so there ya go.

#howlin' for you #howlin' for you universe #howlin' for you drabbles #howlin' for you one shots #biker!bucky #biker!bucky x reader #amelia barnes #biker!dad!bucky #dad!biker!bucky #protectice!bucky #dad!bucky #dad bucky #hfy!bucky

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lloydskywalkers · 4 years ago

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any port in a storm

Pixal and Lloyd and the evolving nature of friendship, as highlighted by the regular burning down of your city.

(desperately trying to break through writer’s block and classes again, this was supposed to be under 2k and it is...very much not hdfjkgh but! i’ve been meaning to write for Pixal and Lloyd for a while so here are a whole bunch of feelings about the two of them and s8)

Pixal meets — truly meets — Lloyd Garmadon shortly after his brother’s been blown to pieces.

She says truly, because if you ask her, Pixal will tell you she met Lloyd Garmadon at exactly 8:48 in the evening outside his father’s monastery, moments before a horde of nindroids led there by Pixal herself descended upon them.

But Lloyd argues that since they said about two words total to each other, it doesn’t really count as meeting, and by the time Pixal’s spending the better part of her day with him running high and low around Ninjago City, she’s learned that it’s easier not to press the point.

Lloyd can be stubborn, like that.

She’d first learned that when she’d met him, just after they’d lost Zane. That loss hadn’t lasted long, especially for Pixal, but the immediate aftermath of it had been devastating. She’d watched with blank eyes as the team had fractured, splitting at the seams as they all fled their separate ways, too heartsore and dizzy with grief to do much otherwise.

All of them had fled, save Lloyd. She hadn’t paid him much attention before that point, the surprisingly small bearer of the Golden Power. Of course, he wasn’t the bearer of that power anymore, but his eyes alone had shown the experience of it. There’d been a brief, lost look that had crossed his face as the others had mentioned leaving, before it had been swept under a mask of stubborn, determined blankness. He wouldn’t be leaving. Someone had to stay behind and watch out for things, he’d claimed, even as the loss had bled through his voice.

Pixal hadn’t quite grasped the concept of empathy at that point, but she’d felt something dangerously close to it.

At any rate, the only interaction they’d had alone was brief. In fact, the only one Pixal can truly remember — and her memory never fails — is the quick exchange they’d had in the hospital lobby directly after the battle. The hospital was for Mr. Borg, and for the ninja’s minor injuries.

There was nothing any hospital on earth could do for Zane.

Pixal had found herself next to Lloyd in the waiting room, trying to distract herself from those thoughts while Lloyd stared at the stark white tiling with dull eyes.

“They never mentioned what your power was,” she’d asked him, almost absently. Collecting data, processing information — anything she could do to distract from the crushing grief.

“Oh.” Lloyd had blinked, startling back into awareness. He’d suddenly looked painfully young. “It’s, ah, I guess it’s just green, now.”

It had been Pixal’s turn to blink. “Green.”

“Yeah.” Lloyd had bit his lip, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly, two habits he’ll never quite lose. “I mean — it’s more than that, but it’s like — energy, I guess, is the best way to put it?”

“Interesting,” Pixal had remarked.

“Yeah.”

They’d stared at each other in silence after that, before they’d both been called off to other errands — and then they were having Zane’s funeral and then Pixal was making realizations she never got to tell anyone, and that had been that in her early introductions to Lloyd Garmadon. Quiet, awkward, and possessing an incredible power he hardly even knew the name of.

Looking back, Pixal figures her introduction hadn’t gone much better.

They’d continued as passing acquaintances as time went on, separated by danger and the confines of Zane’s head, and Pixal had figured that’s all they’d ever be. But then their Sensei goes missing and, despite Pixal’s increasing disappearances on Zane as she rebuilds her own body, she’s been given the role of watching out for Ninjago city along with Lloyd.

She quickly learns that quiet is not a term fit for Lloyd Garmadon when you’re trapped alone with him.

************

“How is there not a single station playing actual music?” Lloyd seethes, flicking through the channels almost manically. “It’s two am, who’s gonna be listening to your stupid commercial for toothpaste now, are you kidding me?”

“Statistically speaking, this is the prime time for long-distance driving near Ninjago City,” Pixal supplies, her voice a hint scratchy where it comes through the his car’s radio speakers. “Or, if you factor in the construction in the east district, there could still be traffic from late-night bars.”

Lloyd groans, thunking his head against the steering wheel as another ad screeches through the small space. “Wonderful.”

“Your vocal tones suggest you find it otherwise.”

“Dont trust ‘em, my vocal tones are traitors.” As if to solidify his point, Lloyd’s voice cracks in the middle of his sentence, shooting up an octave higher. Lloyd goes bright red, and thunks his head against the steering wheel again.

Taking pity on him, Pixal aims for reassurance. “It is normal for your voice to break, Lloyd. It shouldn’t last too long.” She pauses, momentarily scanning through another article. “On second thought, this one suggests it could also take two to three years for your voice to stabilize.”

Lloyd gives a strangled moan. “End me.”

“Unfortunately, that would defeat the purpose of why I’m here in the first place.”

Lloyd tilts his head, cracking an eye open as he glances at the camera feed he knows she’s watching him from. “Unfortunately, huh,” he muses. “So you’re saying if Zane hadn’t made you promise to look out for me, you would end me?”

“That — no, that is not — of course I wouldn’t end you,” Pixal backtracks. An odd feeling flickers through her, almost as if she’s lost her place, floundering.

Or embarrassed might be more accurate, she thinks wryly. She briefly considers projecting a a glaring face at Lloyd from the monitor. This is his fault. She rarely stuttered before Lloyd started teasing her at all hours of the morning.

“I mean, you wouldn’t be the first,” Lloyd continues, conversationally. “And if we’re being honest, I’d definitely rather you be the one to off me, instead of like, random bad guy number eighty-five—”

“I know you think you are funny,” Pixal cuts over him. “But casually planning for your death is something Kai listed I was not to let you do. Also, it is not nearly as funny as you think it is.”

“Ouch,” Lloyd mutters, though he looks chastised. “Never mind, you just took me out in one sentence.”

Chastised might be the wrong term.

Pixal studies him through the monitor, then sighs. “I am, however, honored you think highly enough of me to offer the right to murder you,” she gives in.

She’s rewarded as Lloyd breaks into a bright grin.

He still looks painfully young these days, but it’s less obvious. His voice is pitching lower and he wears his hair different, and he’s gained a whip-like tendency to quip at people, as Pixal’s experienced firsthand. Kai calls it sass in grumbling but fond tones, and Nya calls it snark somewhere between the fourth book series she’s sent for Pixal to try.

The ninja have been kind like that, sharing the interests they have in an attempt to make her feel…well, more human, she supposes. Less confined to a voice in a computer. Of course, Pixal isn’t confined to a voice in a computer anymore, but they don’t know that yet. She’ll tell them someday soon, she promises herself. Any day now.

In the meantime, it’s easy enough to keep up with Lloyd by lurking in his car radio, as he spends half his time in there anyways.

************

“You’d think we’d have found their hideout by now,” Lloyd notes, as they wait in a darkened alleyway again. It gives them an excellent view of the major highways, so if the rumored biker gang does show up, they won’t miss it.

If they show up being the key point.

“Whoever their leader is, they certainly know how to keep a low profile,” Pixal answers, closing out another dead end police report in frustration.

“It’s weird,” Lloyd says, propping the notebook he’s sketching in on his knee as he squints at the paper. “Normally the boss types aren’t this quiet. They like to show off, y’know? Make a big scene, dramatic speeches and all.”

“Are you referring to the villains, or yourselves?”

“Touché,” Lloyd snorts. “But still, you gotta admit it’s weird they haven’t even made any demands. What’s their end game here, elaborate advertising for motorcycle design?”

“I would hope not,” Pixal says. “Their color coordination is lacking.”

Lloyd fights back a smile, his pencil scratching as he shifts his notebook again. “I don’t know, I kinda like the punk look.”

“I noticed that, when you tried to redecorate the car.”

“Hey, skulls are cool.”

“They are also conspicuous, especially when they come in acid green colors.”

“Everyone’s a critic,” Lloyd sighs, making a face as he scrubs the eraser across the paper. Pixal tries to tilt the camera further, to see what he’s drawing tonight, but the angle he’s holding it at remains just out of sight.

She could probably guess what he’s drawing, if she tried. The notebook is one they’ve been steadily working their way through on these late-night patrols, the pages filled with little hangman games and Lloyd’s sketches of animals and his teammates. He’s drawn her a few times from memory, and she’s been tempted to ask him to draw her in the new Samurai X armor more than once.

Soon, she tells herself.

“What are you drawing?” she finally asks, curiosity getting the better of her.

Lloyd’s cheeks tinge pink, and he quickly plasters the notebook to his chest, hiding it entirely from view. “Nothing.”

Pixal waits, letting the silence fill with her judgement. “Lloyd, I have seen your drawings before.”

He doesn’t reply, and Pixal tries again. “It gets boring, being stuck with the car monitors for eyes.”

“I know you can hack other cameras,” Lloyd mutters, but he sighs, relenting as he turns the notebook over. Pixal’s eyes rake over the detailed sketch — it’s a comical little thing of her and Lloyd, jammed together on a tiny lifeboat in the middle of a darkening ocean. She can spot the smudges where he’s redrawn her head several times, and the numerous attempts he’s made at his own hair. Pixal studies Lloyd’s portrayal of himself, which is noticeably lacking in facial features. While Lloyd draws the others plenty, it’s a rare occasion that he draws himself, and she can’t help but be curious.

“I thought you were drawing the others again,” she admits.

“They’re on the ship,” Lloyd says, absently. “I’ll draw them when they remember to pull us back in.”

There’s nothing bitter in his tone to suggest it has any bearing on their actual lives, but the lost expressions Lloyd ends up giving their tiny caricatures feel familiar nonetheless.

“Zane has assured me they will be back as soon as they can,” Pixal speaks ups quietly.

Lloyd finally looks up fully, and flashes the monitor a smile. “I know,” he says. “So we better have this thing busted by the time they do, or they’ll never let us run a city on our own again.”

“If only we were truly running the city,” Pixal grumbles. “I could do a better job in two days than the current leaders could do in a year.”

“I’d vote for you,” Lloyd says, sincerely.

It’s a sweet gesture, but Pixal is unable to resist. “You don’t know how to vote.”

“Yes I do, it’s not hard!”

“Really? Then why are you not currently registered in the Ninjago voting system?”

Lloyd makes a strangled noise. “That’s a thing?”

She’s unable to keep the smugness from her voice. “I make my point.” Lloyd scowls, and scribbles a mustache on his drawing of her in revenge.

Pixal thinks it looks nice nonetheless.

************

She can’t really hold it against Lloyd for talking as much as he does, considering she does the same. It gets dull, sitting on patrol for hours on end, and there are only so many hours of light reading they can do before the silence begins to drive them both insane.

Pixal finds herself talking about more useless things with Lloyd than she has in her existence, pointless conversations in circles with each other. She also finds she doesn’t entirely mind. She’s become quite good at quipping back and forth with him, at least. It’s different than the kind of talk she has with Zane, lacking in the depth of feeling with the love they share. Her exchanges with Lloyd are lighter, though that’s not to say they’re less sincere.

For example, Zane hasn’t tried to teach her how to redesign a gi in poor lighting in the early hours of the morning because he’s bored out of his mind, that’s for sure.

“I’m teaching you how to sew,” Lloyd corrects, wincing as he accidentally stabs himself with the needle. “And I’m not redesigning the whole thing, I’m just adding some designs to spice it up.”

“I did not know you were allowed to wear colors other than green,” Pixal comments.

Lloyd pauses, squinting at the monitor. “You’re teasing me,” he finally says. “You’re making fun of how much green this gi has in it.”

“I would never,” Pixal replies, her tone flat and even. “The intricacies of your human humor evade me—”

“Human humor, nice—”

“—unlike the unusually bright shade of green you’ve chosen will fail to evade any eyes of your enemies.”

“I knew you were making fun of me!” Lloyd accuses, then flinches as he stabs his finger again trying to point at her. “And bright colors are our thing. Being subtle is, uh…not. Usually.”

Pixal is losing the battle to laugh at his expression by the minute. “I am shocked.”

Lloyd glares at the monitor, shifting his sewing to rest on his knees as he slouches in the car seat. “How’d you even get so good at sarcasm, anyways,” he mutters. “Zane still doesn’t get it half the time.”

“Perhaps it is part of my glowing personality,” Pixal says. Lloyd gives a huff of laughter, relenting.

“Fair enough,” he says, shifting in his seat again. “Fine, you win. The green is probably too bright, but that’s not the point. I’m gonna show you how to do a backstitch."

Pixal falls quiet, letting Lloyd gesture with the needle as he explains. There are a hundred, a thousand tutorials she could pull up online, digitized knowledge instantly learned on all the countless types of stitches she could use, sorted and categorized in neat columns of use and effectiveness. All of them more detailed, more easily understood than Lloyd’s absent rambling and unsteady hands as he struggles with the end of a knot.

Not one of them will care whether or not Pixal learns the odd way Zane likes to loop his stitches, or will quietly add which stitches knit skin back together quickest.

So Pixal ignores her programming, and does her best to follow Lloyd’s rambling instructions, watching as his scarred fingers tug another thread of dull gold through the green mess of fabric, the city quiet around them.

“You never did tell me where you learned how to sew,” Pixal says, as Lloyd starts up a new thread of black on the other side of the gi. “Was that something the others taught you in training?”

“They’d have to know how to be able to teach it,” Lloyd snickers. “And, uh, no. I taught myself to back at Darkley’s.”

“Oh,” Pixal falters. She’s heard about Darkley’s, both from Zane and the legal reports she’s read online. Neither gave a positive impression of the place. Her mind is suddenly filled with images of a younger Lloyd trying to give himself stitches, and her heart twists.

Lloyd starts, seemingly having picked up on her train of thought. “I mean, I did it for fun, mostly. I like sewing,” he explains. “It’s useful. You can pull things back together, and fix ‘em.”

Pixal is quiet, but she hopes Lloyd takes her silence as agreement with his motive. She likes to think he knows her well enough for that, by now.

************

Pixal finds, somewhere during their fourth month alone, that she’s glad the team elected to stick her and Lloyd together. Not because she doesn’t want to be with Zane — there’s never a moment she doesn’t miss him, and with every day that passes her resolve to keep her secret from him grows weaker, as the longing for actual connection grows stronger.

But there are conversations she can have with Lloyd that she can never have with Zane, and the dangerous thing about spending time with Lloyd, Pixal finds, is that they’re more similar than she’s realized.

“Sometimes I think I’m jealous,” Lloyd whispers to her one night. It’s one of the bad ones, the ones where their enemies struck too sudden to stop, and the mission ends in the hospital. “I think I’m jealous of Zane, and I hate myself for it.”

Pixal is quiet, trying to pick apart the tone of his voice in the words he’s just spoken, and factors in the victims they’ve just left behind at the hospital. She finds herself no closer to an answer.

“Is it the metal skin part?” she finally asks, though she knows that’s wrong. “The, what was it, technical immortality?”

“No,” Lloyd shakes his head. “I’m not afraid of dying,” he says emphatically, his fingers fluttering at over the steering wheel, tapping incessantly with unspent energy. “I don’t want to, but that’s — it’s not what I’m scared of. I’m more scared of how I go out.”

He swallows, and his fingers move to dance over the woven bracelet on his wrist instead, twisting at the tiny beads and tracing senseless designs in constant, steady movement. It’s a motion he does often, and it had puzzled Pixal at first. She’d decided to write it off as an odd tick, a way to spend excess energy.

Now, she recognizes the desperate kind of reassurance that movement gives. She understands too well the need to remind yourself that you can move — that your body will obey you and you alone.

Pixal thinks back to the other factors in tonight’s accident, of the way the drugged man’s eyes had cleared when they’d finally turned him over to the police, the way he’d sworn he’d never do such a thing in his right mind. She thinks of the way the first victim had thrown themselves over their companion.

That victim hadn’t made it to the hospital.

“Ah,” Pixal says, quietly.

She’s silent again, and she thinks back to when she’d met him, the very first time. She recalls the way her programming had rebelled against her in favor of the Overlord, corrupting her body and forcing it against her, twisting everything she was and wanted to be into something different.

She thinks back again, to the searing-hot anger, the terror, the despair as she was torn apart, piece by piece like a machine, burning out at the whims of another. Her end purposeless, her demise belonging to someone else, just like every other part of her.

She thinks of the last glimpse she’d caught of Zane, bright and beautiful as a supernova. Burning with the terrible brilliance of his own, determined choice. Terrible, because the death of something always is. Beautiful, because it was his own. Zane died, not a machine, not a weapon, not a tool of anyone or anything, but as himself. Zane died to save the ones he loves. Pixal could’ve died for spare parts.

Never again, she promises herself. If she goes out, she goes out on her own terms. This time, they choose the end of their own destiny themselves.

In hindsight, it’s the kind of promise they’re both too young to make, but neither of them have ever seen themselves as such, and promises like that are easy.

“Love can be terrible, sometimes,” Lloyd murmurs. Pixal watches him scrub at the blood on his uniform, and thinks how ironically well-timed it is that he finished the stitching on his new gi this morning. “Sometimes I forget how ugly it can be.”

************

The end of their nighttime stakeouts begins with a break-in at Mr. Borg’s tower. Lloyd argues that she should get to call it her father’s tower, if she wants, but the ninja aren’t the only ones Pixal’s hiding herself from.

And then Lloyd gets very tense at the thought of fathers very fast, and they never finish the conversation.

They stay at the edge of the bridge long after the parachute, emblazoned with the unmistakable visage of Lloyd’s father, disappears from sight. Pixal wonders if it’s burned into Lloyd’s eyes, like the way she’s read black spots linger in humans’ vision after they’ve looked at something too bright. The way Lloyd stares at the river, his shoulders tense and his teeth worrying at his lip, she thinks she might be right.

They’re waiting on the report from the commissioner —they’re waiting for anything, anyone who can offer them any explanation of what’s going on. Pixal’s reminded of how much she loathes this kind of waiting.

“It could be—” Lloyd begins, then breaks off, his voice wavering. He swallows, and Pixal can see the way his fists clench tightly from the cameras they’ve put in his car. There’s a fierce part of her that longs to reveal herself, to meet his eyes herself and offer some semblance of comfort. But there’s a time and place for things, and Pixal isn’t ready.

“It could be anything,” Lloyd finally continues, his voice small. “It could — it doesn’t mean anything. It could mean nothing, right?”

Pixal is silent, her mind racing. She’s run the calculations over and over in her head already, scouring the internet for anything related to the bikers. She’s been foolish, she realizes — they both have. Letting the gang go unnamed for so long, thinking nothing of it. Now, with the name flashing vibrant across Pixal’s vision, a part of her wants to let them go nameless just a bit longer.

Before she can answer, Lloyds phone goes off with a sharp ping, just as Pixal’s sensors alert her to the message from the commissioner. Lloyd snatches for his phone like it’s on fire, and Pixal’s already scanning the message frantically, as if she can salvage this if she’s fast enough, save Lloyd from this one pain.

Lloyd’s gotten much better at reading quickly though, these days.

She can pinpoint the moment he reaches the last paragraph, because his breath hitches. There’s a long, pressing pause of silence, Lloyd’s hands trembling as they clutch weakly at his phone. Then it’s punctured by a reedy, wheezing gasp, and Pixal’s suddenly wishing she’d revealed herself after all.

Instead, all she has is her voice as Lloyd crumples, crouching over in visible distress. Pixal’s mind races, recalling everything Zane’s ever told her about his team, the way their panic manifests in different shades. Lloyd’s is quiet but desperate, rapid breathes that stutter as his eyes slide more and more into a frightening kind of blankness.

“Lloyd, please, listen to my voice,” she begs, trying to reach him in the only way she can. “Please, you have to breathe—”

“He’s gone,” Lloyd rasps, unhearing of her words. “He’s s’posed to be gone, it’s supposed to be over, I’m supposed to be done—”

Pixal fights back the sense of overwhelming helplessness. She knows loss. She knows how to finish his sentence. He’s supposed to be done grieving, done mourning, done clinging to false scraps of hope that his father isn’t lost forever only to be met with heartbreak.

And now, to be met with the possibility of something so much worse.

“We’ll stop them,” she tells him, unflinching. “We won’t let it happen.”

Lloyd’s eyes are a vivid green where they stare at her through the monitor, almost ghostly in the misting light reflecting from the river.

He’s silent, but Pixal is, too.

Pixal remembers the way her head had spun when she’d first picked up the traces of Zane in the system, how the world had rushed then steadied, flooding with color as she’d realized he might not be lost after all. She remembers the surging, overwhelming flood of joy, that someone she’d thought she lost might live after all. She remembers being so happy, at even the smallest chance to get him back, because the voice was Zane’s, without a doubt.

She watches the color seep from Lloyd’s expression as his shoulders shudder, the words from the commissioner’s message almost echoing through the air. Watches the terror as the both of them fill the silence.

Will we?

The radio scratches, as if echoing Pixal’s anxiety. Love can be terrible, sometimes. She’s underestimated how it also be so cruel.

************

She’s also, apparently, underestimated how the universe on the whole could be so cruel.

She should’ve revealed herself to them from day one. That way, when Harumi’s corrupted programming suddenly ravages through her like an electric shock, she could be reassured they’d at least be familiar with the person they were fighting.

Instead, she doesn’t even get to scream. Pixal’s only able to force out a desperate, broken warning before she’s lost again, drowning in her own body as she’s forced under. Furious panic grips her as she screams without lungs, bashing herself against the overwhelming helplessness that’s taken over her.

Not again, not again, not again—

Her limbs creak and jolt against her will, lashing out at the people she cares most about, and Pixal can’t even rage back in her own voice. She’s sworn, she’s promised herself she’d never let anyone do this to her again — she’s sworn she’d die before she let someone reach into her head and snatch control away, and yet here she is, frozen as her body’s used to target her friends.

If she could cry, she might.

There’s not much more to say than that. She breaks free, her body her own once again, but by then it’s too late.

************

If Pixal had the same gift of foresight that Zane did, maybe she would have seen it coming. Maybe she’d have remembered how similar her and Lloyd are, and that this kind of pained desperation always yields impulsiveness and mistakes.

She doesn’t, though. She barely even manages to do what she’s trying to, which is convincing Lloyd to join the others while they celebrate their victory. Their off-key singing is something he normally wouldn’t hesitate to join in on, she thinks, and she hates Harumi a little more.

Maybe she’ll try his mother next. The expression on Lloyd’s face screams unapproachable, and remains fixedly sullen.

Almost to her surprise, he meets her eyes as she draws near— it’s odd, being able to meet his back — and his own eyes are dark, from despair over Harumi or despair over his father, Pixal isn’t sure. She’s thinking it might be both, when his eyebrows crease, and a flicker of concern cuts through them instead.

“You good?”

It takes her a moment to realize why he’s asking, but the answer is obvious. Her head tilts downward, and she watches as her fingers curl and uncurl. Her movements, her choices. She lets out an even breath.

“As I can be,” she replies. Lloyd nods, and his eyes are understanding. His lips twist in a scowl.

“She shouldn’t have done that to you. That was a low blow.”

Pixal’s mouth curves into a humorless smile. “That it was. She’s rather good at those, isn’t she.”

Lloyd’s eyes shadow again, and he looks away, crossing his arms. “This isn’t supposed to be about me,” he mutters.

“Yes, it is,” Pixal counters. “It is why I came over here, in the first place. She hurt—”

“All of us, and who’s fault is that,” Lloyd snaps, his arms crossing tighter.

“I would hope you know it’s hers,” she says, holding firm.

Lloyd looks away again, biting his lip, and Pixal shifts anxiously, rolling her wrists. The sensation of control sliding away still haunts her, worse than it had the first time. She should be better than this, she tells herself hotly. She’s lived without a body long enough that losing it so briefly shouldn’t effect her this much.

Curse her programming, she thinks, tapping agitatedly at the banister. She knew she should have reinforce it sooner.

“Hey, um.” Lloyd is looking at her again, hesitant. He twists at his bracelet, and his eyes lose a fraction of that darkness. “Kai made this for me, after Morro,” he says. “I kept shredding the sleeves of my uniform, so he told me to mess with this instead, when I needed to remember that…that I was in control.”

He shrugs, hesitant. “We could make you one too, if you wanted. It helps, having something.”

Pixal lets out a steady breath, despite not actually needing to. The action is grounding, she’s found. “I would like that.”

Lloyd gives her a ghost of a smile in return. “Soon as this is over, then.”

There’s a heavy weight to his words, and Pixal’s eyes narrow.

“Lloyd,” she says. He looks at her, his eyes dark. “Don’t do anything foolish.”

He’s quiet, not meeting her eyes, and this is where Pixal should stop him. This is when she should see the end of the road they’ve been on since they started this, and force him to turn before it’s too late.

“I know what I’m doing.”

She doesn’t.

************

Lloyd is battered and bleeding by the time they drag him onto the ship, a gruesome portrait of cruelty. Pixal is frozen as she watches him writhe in Kai’s hold, his screams cracked and wet as he thrashes erratically like a broken thing.

Nya is already barking orders before they’ve even gotten Lloyd fully on the ship, and Zane is running scans with a horrified, wavering focus. Pixal follows Cole as he carries Lloyd to the medbay with a blank numbness, the rush of wind streaming past the Bounty sails thunderously loud in her ears.

This isn’t Lloyd, she thinks, staring at his crumpled form. Lloyd isn’t this battered, broken shell of a person. Lloyd isn’t hazy eyes that fail to recognize them and frantic murmuring through bloody lips. Lloyd is bright-eyed and gentle and would rather die before he screams the way he does when Cole moves him to the table.

Lloyd is her friend, and this is where that promise they made has led them. She knows why Lloyd set out for the prison, hot on the collapse of his own star. She also knows he wouldn’t have chosen to burn out like this.

Cole calls out for Zane, his voice ringing in panic as Lloyd screeches in pain again. Pixal thinks of quiet words in the safety of his car, and she feels sick. This is the ugliness of love, the terrible, hideous side of it.

And Lloyd would hate it, if he could see himself, if he were any semblance of lucid. He’d hate to know just how much better he was at breaking himself than Morro ever was.

Zane is gentle as he pushes past her, but Pixal can feel the tremble in his hands. He’s every bit as rattled as she is, if not more so — Zane’s heart is larger and softer than hers has ever been, and he cares about each and every one of them with a painful intensity. It’s a cruel thing, to have to pull those same people back together with your own hands.

Kai’s eyes are streaming as he clutches at Lloyd’s wrists, pinning him in place. Zane’s hands waver again over one of the jagged wounds near Lloyd’s ribcage, the green of his uniform already dyed dark in blood, soaking over the careful stitches Pixal watched him put in himself.

Pixal finally finds her footing, reminding herself of the solid wood beneath her feet. She recalls the steady, smooth stitch Lloyd’s scarred fingers traced out for her.

“Here.” She takes the needle from Zane’s hands, squeezing his briefly before letting go. “I can do it.”

She sets the needle against Lloyd’s skin and wonders what kind of stitch it’d take to pull your heart back together.

************

Pixal cannot cry. It’s one of the features Mr. Borg spent hours debating, weighing the pros and cons of giving her the ability before he was truly sure how rust-proof she was. He’d never gotten the chance to, as the Overlord had interrupted him, then Pixal had lost any body to give the ability to cry to, which had eliminated the need entirely.

She cannot cry, but she can hurt, and the rain that streams through her hair, dripping down her forehead spotting raindrops on her cheeks, could be tears if she pretended.

She doesn’t, though, because tears are a waste of water and overall useless in the grand scheme of things. She doubts they’d have helped her fare any better in the battle with Colossi, either.

Tears won’t bring anyone back.

Lloyd cries anyways. She can’t see him, but she can hear it in his voice, the way it wavers and breaks over the radio, nasally tones pronounced.

He’s barely able to gasp a few coordinates to her before he cuts the radio off abruptly. Pixal’s spent enough time with him to envision his scarred fingers snapping it off with a particular desperation, green sparking from his hands in distress.

She reminds herself those sparks are gone, now, bled away into nothing like the vivid green of Lloyd’s eyes had. The thought makes her sadder than she’d expected. She had a joke, about his eyes, she had wanted to make. Now that she has a body, and her own set of glowing green eyes, she’d — there was something he would’ve laughed at, she thought —

It doesn’t matter, now. Neither of them are likely to laugh anytime soon.

The coordinates blink brightly in her vision, and she’s almost surprised she managed to key them in. She’s running on autopilot, she supposes. It could be ironic — she’s been so desperate for control, it’s been so important that she’s the one feeling. Now, she’d give anything not to feel at all.

She lets out a shaky breath, dispelling the mist in her vision left from the rain. She leans forward, just over the edge of the building she’s crouched on, and her loose hair falls forward, silvery and synthetic and horribly tangled. Irritated, she reaches for another hair tie, and her hands falter around her wrist.

Lloyd had promised her a bracelet there. But he’d promised Kai would make the bracelet, hadn’t he, and Kai couldn’t make the bracelet if he was dead, could he.

Pixal blinks, her breath hitching. She’s been so numb to the pain of Zane’s loss, it hasn’t yet occurred to her that she’s losing Kai, too. And Jay, and Cole, and—

She sucks in the same shuddery kind of breath she’s seen Lloyd do, and carefully fists her hand in the area of her uniform above her chest. Her fingers dig in tightly, clutching in a hopeless attempt to feel some sort of comfort she knows she’ll never find.

But perhaps, for these few seconds, she can pretend the action is holding her together.

************

“It was inevitable,” Pixal tells Lloyd blankly, as he rasps out his third apology in the dark cover of their small hideout. “That one of us would fall, eventually. It had nothing to do with you.”

Lloyd swallows thickly. “It could’ve — it should’ve been—”

He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t need to. Pixal’s hand shoots out, clamping tightly around his wrist, and there’s a beat of gratitude that she doesn’t need to rely on her voice alone anymore.

“Don’t.” Her voice is strung tighter than the tension in their shoulders. “You cannot change anything. You can’t, Lloyd, and you should not wish to — to change it that way.”

Lloyd jerks his hand free, wiping miserably at his eyes. He sets it back down within her reach, though, and if Pixal were any different, she’d take it.

But Pixal isn’t that different from Lloyd at all in the end, and neither of them reach for the other’s hand, no matter how desperately they crave the contact. Fear is more familiar, and it’s easier to give into it than it is the clawing need for comfort in your chest, after all.

“Still,” Lloyd finally whispers. “Still.”

Pixal swallows. She doesn’t disagree. If one of them had to fall, she knows she gladly would have taken it upon herself. She knows the others care for her, certainly, but she also knows her place in the grand scheme of things. They were six before she came along, and even now she’s kept far too many secrets to be fully counted among them.

She listens to Lloyd’s quiet, cracked voice, and she wonders if he’s thinking that they were five before he came along, younger than Pixal got to know him as.

Now they’re three, hollow and heartbroken. Though counting herself as one whole feels like cheating, right now.

Pixal squeezes her eyes shut, and wonders what it’s like to cry. Perhaps it helps, though Lloyd doesn’t look any less miserable.

************

“I was thinking,” Lloyd tells her, during one of the precious few quiet moments they have while trying to overthrow Garmadon and Harumi. Pixal’s turning the tiny tea flower he’d given her over in her hands, a part of her mind already marking articles about flower-pressing, another part wondering if it’s already too late to save the blossom. “About that promise we made, before all this.”

Pixal finally tucks the flower into the pocket of her uniform, pressed close to her chest. If anything, it can be a reminder of the lives that are safe — the life that’s coming back to her, if she has to drag him back from another realm herself. “And?”

Lloyd’s hands twist together. “Maybe we should focus more on staying alive.”

Pixal coughs out a laugh, breathless and startled. Lloyd wrinkles his nose at her, but his eyes are amused, even with their light lost. “I mean, the emphasis would be on keeping everyone else alive, but it’s kinda hard to do that if we’re dead, so…yeah. Priorities.”

“Staying alive should always be a priority,” Pixal corrects him, but she tugs the edge of his armor out of place with a smile.

“Why didn’t you teach me how to graffiti?” she nods at the designs on the green leather. “Or was this another Darkley’s tradition.”

“This is a refined art, called whatever I had on me that showed up on dark green,” Lloyd grumbles, fixing his armor. “I’ll teach it to you when we get out of this.”

“Another reason why staying alive would be a more productive focus,” Pixal points out. “I’ve heard teaching is easier when you’re alive.”

“And I’ve heard you’re a real riot,” Lloyd mutters. “It’s a promise, okay? I promise to teach you how to do cool armor design if you promise not to disappear into another realm on me.”

Pixal nods, adjusting her own armor tighter as screams ring out from a street nearby. “A promise, then.”

She keeps both the promise and the flower, the tiny blossom dried and faded by the time she’s escaped from the prison, heart racing with leftover adrenaline as Zane sweeps her into his arms. She clutches back every bit as tight, listening to his breathless laughter as cheers rise from the streets behind them, the smoke drifting across the early morning sky above them pale against the lightening blue. Pixal buries her face in his shoulder and breathes, tucking the moment away in her heart where it won’t fade. There’s a future stretching out before her, and she’s got the limbs to walk her path on her own, but all she wants right now is the steady ground beneath her feet and the bright laughter of what she’s managed to keep.

Lloyd meets them shortly after, his own promise kept as he tears his gaze from his father, handing him off to the authorities before sprinting for the others. Pixal barely snags a moment alone with him, and even then no one’s particularly keen on letting him out of their sights.

He meets her eyes as they pick their way through the wrecked streets, the city more alive around them than it’s been in weeks. In the dark of the early morning, Pixal’s eyes glow a bright green, reflecting oddly in the windows they pass. It’s always been her preferred color, in contrast to Zane’s bright blue. Lloyd glances at her, his own eerily green eyes glowing back. He bites his lip, but it’s to hold back real laughter this time.

“My eyes were green first,” she tells him.

“Sue me,” he shoots back, before Kai’s throwing an arm over his shoulders again, tucking Lloyd neatly in between him and Nya. Pixal smothers a laugh at the look on his face, and tightens her own arm further where it’s linked firmly in Zane’s.

It’s going to be an easy promise to keep, she thinks.

#lego ninjago #ninjago #lloyd garmadon #ninjago lloyd #pixal #there was a point to this but it got lost in pix and lloyd do arts and crafts #either way i'd die for both these characters #ninjago where is the pixal love i miss her #my fic

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sortasirius · 4 years ago

Text

Programing The Winter Soldier

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, heavy angst, this is seriously big sad hours

AN: This is so very sad and I definitely cried writing it lmao. I love Bucky Barnes so much.

Pairing: Steve/Bucky

Words: 3873

Read it on AO3 here

January 23, 1945

General,

Sgt. Barnes has undergone an initial mind wipe. Dr. Zola has succeeded in attaching the weapon to his shoulder. He has been put in the cryo-chamber as a test, and after some initial pain it looks as though it has worked.

We will begin reprogramming shortly.

Longing

Bucky wakes up in pain. His arm hurts. After a few moments of long, deep breaths where he decides he’s not, in fact, dead, he tries, experimentally, to move his fingers. To his relief, he finds he can, but something feels different, wrong. The clicking in his index finger, from where he had broken it when he was twelve defending Steve from some guy he had tried to fight in an alley after the creep had tried to grab at a woman on the street, was gone. The pain is gone there too, in fact he can’t feel anything below the burning where his shoulder meets something cold, something foreign.

He tries to look around, but it’s pitch black wherever he is. It’s also brutally fucking cold. He shivers violently, trying to get away from whatever cold metal is touching his skin, but no matter how far he leans, he can’t seem to get away from it.

Suddenly, without warning, fluorescent lights above him burst into life, and Bucky screws his eyes up against the sudden brightness. Blinking away the mild pain, he sees a man he vaguely recognizes coming toward him. He’s a shorter man, wearing round glasses…

Like another switch flipped, Bucky suddenly remembers this man, remembers a saw taken to the shattered remains of his arm, remembers being tied down, with a rag stuffed in his mouth to keep him from biting off his own tongue. He remembers the arm that doesn’t belong to him attached to his left side. He remembers throwing someone across the room as though he was weightless.

“Sergeant Barnes,” the man looks him up and down, ignoring the way Bucky shied openly away from his gaze, “Let us begin.”

They don’t release Bucky from the restraints while the doctor, Zola, measures him from head to toe, has him flex his new arm, takes his blood pressure and heart rate, checks him for infection. He only occasionally stops to speak to an assistant, who all keep their distance from Bucky, or say something in German to a soldier watching everything. He makes Bucky watch a grainy video of ever-changing shapes, and sticks him painfully with a needle whenever he tries to look away.

“Now Sergeant,” Zola addresses him after nearly an hour of poking and prodding, “Can you tell me a memory of yours?”

Bucky doesn’t even consider, just says the first thing that comes into his brain. Whatever this guy wants, it’s going to be easiest to just give it to him.

“Steve and I were walking along Rockaway beach two years ago. I remember it was nearly dusk, summer, we were watching the sunset and Steve brought some bread to feed the birds. I remember they were swarming us, you show them any kind of food and they all come swooping in. Steve kept laughing because they were trying to land on me. I remember the smile on his face and his eyes matched the water. It was the first time he really laughed since his mother had died. He told me later that he really needed that laugh.”

Zola looks at one of his assistants and gestures to the red book on the table next to him.

“First word: Longing.”

March 10, 1945

General,

We have had limited success reprogramming Barnes so far. Zola has been working extensively with him, and while we are now seeing less incidents of outward aggression to staff or soldiers, his rate of noncompliance has skyrocketed.

Please advise on any alternate methods we should attempt.

Rusted

Bucky tries not to think about his new normal, but the repetition of each day makes that difficult.

Each morning, he’s awoken by a prison alarm and the instantaneous switching on of all the lights in his cell, followed immediately by his first meal of the day served through a slot in the door. Steel door, reinforced, at least four feet thick. Even the new arm doesn’t make much of a dent in it, though he’s tried. God knows, he’s tried.

After breakfast he’s led to the combat cage where he meets with Zola, before being led through drills that he must comply with. Noncompliance leads to pain. Stepping out of line leads to pain. Not eating leads to pain. Not answering a question leads to pain. His whole life revolves around inflicting pain and trying not to get pain inflicted on him.

On bad days, when he’s been too slow or asked one too many questions, they wipe him before lunch. He wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy. There is nothing else to say. It’s beyond unbearable.

On good days, they’d give him lunch and Zola would run his usual tests. Ask him about a memory, ask him about his family, his parents, his sister, his friends. For some reason, it always came back to Steve. Every time, no matter how Bucky tried to steer his brain away from him, it always came back to Steve.

This time he tells Zola about an old motorcycle they had rescued from the junkyard one summer. It was more scrap metal than anything, rusted out from the wind and the rain and the New York winter it had suffered through outdoors, but they had scraped together pennies from odd jobs and had gotten it to run again. It was a blast, to go zipping through the streets of Brooklyn in the dead of night, looking for trouble or whatever they could find, having to stop what felt like every ten minutes to fix some part that had fallen off or sprung a leak. A total hassle, but totally worth it.

After his tests, Zola would send him back to the unnamed soldier who was responsible for his physical activity, this time to put him against enemies. In the beginning, Bucky would refuse to fight them, but in his new quest of not putting himself through more pain if he could help it, he had started obeying the commands given to him, even if that meant using the strange attachment to his body that he hated looking at, that was welded to his skin, the burned and tortured flesh above it just a reminder that he used to be fully human.

After his second round of drills, they either send him to bed and give him dinner an hour later, or they put him in cryo. He longs for the cold metal of the room they keep him in on the nights when he goes to cryo.

It’s the same every single day.

Zola starts saying a new word to him: Rusted.

May 7, 1945

General,

After three weeks, Barnes’ hunger strike has ended. He can barely stand anymore, let alone lift the arm, but he is willing to eat. Zola has suggested that we put him back in cryo and get his weight up so he can at least stand. Your suggestion of a controlled shock each time he refused to eat worked perfectly, we always appreciate your input in the construction of our new weapon.

Seventeen

They let him out of cryo after what they tell him is four weeks. When he looks down at himself, he can’t see his ribs or the sharp definition of his hipbones anymore. They make sure he can stand, that he can punch, that he can shoot a gun. They work on the strength of the punch. Zola is angry that it’s been weakened.

The hunger strike was a stupid idea, it was too much like what Steve would have done, and Bucky would never be Steve, or be with Steve, no matter how much he would like to.

His body is littered with burn marks from the shocks they gave him when he wouldn’t eat, and Bucky winces at the memory of the pain, the memory of his body seizing up and being outside his control. He supposes he should be used to the out-of-control thing by now, but he isn’t, he can’t, because then he’d really have lost.

Bucky hates cryo, he hates cryo almost more than he hates the mind wipe, because at least when his mind was wiped he could still dream. They couldn’t control what he dreamed about, and they didn’t know what he dreamed about. Rather, they never asked him what he dreamed about, therefore they didn’t know.

Bucky thinks about his last dream, the one where he and Steve were on a beach somewhere. Not the Northeast, somewhere tropical, maybe California. They have their toes in the sand and Steve remarks that the sand is so hot here, how do people walk on sand this hot?

“Sergeant Barnes,” Zola breaks him out of his thoughts, “Tell me why you stopped eating.”

Bucky looks up at him, he’s so tired. He doesn’t want to fight anymore but he has to, the skinny little kid from Brooklyn with blue eyes and a blinding smile would want him to.

“When I was seventeen my family couldn’t afford food for the week,” the words pour out of him of their own volition, and he’s too tired to stop them, “Dad was out of work, we were desperate. Steve and his mom brought over dinner and made us keep the leftovers. It was a pot roast, best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t want to be a weapon. I don’t want to be your weapon.”

Zola leans back and considers him. A smile spreads across his face.

“What you want doesn’t matter. It never did.”

Bucky wants to hit him with the weapon on his left. He wants it more than anything. But he can’t. He’s not allowed. He really just is a lapdog for them now.

Zola adds a word the next day: Seventeen.

June 15, 1945

General,

It has been noted recently that Barnes is unwilling to lash out or attack any combatants that fit the following profile: blond, blue eyes, male. Zola has insisted this weakness is an asset in his reprogramming and that it will not last. We have brought in two soldiers that match this profile at Zola’s request, I will report any findings.

Daybreak

He’s not Steve, Bucky tells himself over and over as the handsome blond solider smiles at him when he brings him his dinner. They open the door now, just so Bucky can see the man clearly, just so he can see his smile and the slight edge to his light blue eyes. They’re lighter than Steve’s but something in Bucky simply doesn’t care anymore. The eyes were wrong but they were something he could cling to. The hair was just a shade too dark but it reminded him of a different time. The smile was just a little too wide, but he remembered one that was a little softer, a little more slanted.

“I remember watching the sun rise in Germany during the war,” Bucky tells Zola blankly in their meeting that day, so used to the stab of the needle in his skin that he doesn’t even feel it, “Steve told me his favorite time of day was this early in the morning, right at daybreak. He told me that before, too, before he was Captain America, but we got to just sit quietly and watch it, watch the colors. I don’t remember them.”

“Very good,” Zola stands, beckoning to the blond solider to take Bucky to his next assignment.

Bucky walks along silently, head held high as he approaches the cage, where a larger soldier is waiting for him, outfitted head to toe in combat gear. Shouldn’t be a problem.

“Soldat,” Zola stares through the bars of the combat cage minutes later, where Bucky has paused, fist raised above the quivering man in front of him, “Don’t hesitate, you wouldn’t want to disappoint your audience.”

Bucky looks over to Zola, the blond soldier who smiled at him the night before is watching.

Zola’s right, he can’t disappoint him.

“New word,” Zola mutters as Bucky straightens up, shaking his hand to get rid of the red on the metal knuckles, “Daybreak.”

July 4, 1945

General,

Barnes had an unfortunate breakthrough during today’s training. He seemed to remember something from prior to his fall and was unable to complete the mission set in front of him. I am becoming frustrated with Zola, he insists that this is all part of the process, that to break a man down there will be moments of pure weakness, but Barnes is looking less and less like the man we thought he was.

Furnace

Steve is the only thing he thinks of when he has a clear mind anymore.

He doesn’t remember little details of his memory anymore, but he remembers Steve. He doesn’t remember his birthday, but he knows when Steve’s is. He doesn’t remember the smell of spring in Central Park, but he remembers the way Steve wore newspapers in his shoes. No matter what, he knows Steve.

Zola knows this, he uses it against him. Every day, the talks get longer, the punishments get more painful, and the amount of times he’s wiped go up.

“Tell me a memory,” it feels like Zola’s asked this a thousand times now.

“Steve’s furnace in his building broke last winter. We had him over for two weeks until the landlord could be bothered to fix it. Mom loves him so much, she would have him around all the time if he’d let her. He always thinks he can do everything himself.”

“You speak of him as if he’s here. Why?”

“I don’t know.”

That’s the truth.

Zola adds Furnace to the list of Bucky’s words. He can feel himself slipping away every time they’re uttered.

August 12, 1945

General,

Thank you for your visit last week. Your insight into our project is much appreciated. I agree that we must continue to press on, we have no put so much man power and energy into the project it would be a shame to shut it down now. Zola believes that we are close to a breakthrough, despite occasional noncompliance by Barnes.

Nine

It’s starting to get harder and harder to fight against the constant onslaught of change they were forcing on his mind.

He can’t dream anymore, so the cryo chamber at least lets him rest, because the only dreams he has are dark and shadowy. He’s losing his already tenuous grip on himself, his memories becoming indistinct, with only a few bright spots left to cling to in his mind.

“Tell me a memory.”

It takes him a second to think of one. He cowers as Zola stands over him.

“When I was nine we went on a field trip to the Met. Steve made me read all the little cards next to the paintings, even though it made us lag behind everyone else.”

“Do you still think of him?”

Always.

“No.”

“Good. Add Nine.”

September 1, 1945

General,

Zola chose to move forward with giving Barnes the news of Steve Rogers’ death last week. So far, it has proven an excellent tactic in breaking his resolve. After an initial disruption in his usual pattern of behavior (consisting of a violent outburst that left his entire holding cell destroyed followed by a complete emotional collapse), Barnes has been much more compliant in the process.

I believe we may be close to a breakthrough.

Benign

Bucky has been unmade, strand by strand, bit by bit, atom by atom, he has been unmade and put back together for the purposes of following orders, of being a human weapon of mass destruction. There has been so much pain in his unmaking, so much unrelenting physical and mental pain from being ripped apart and put back together over and over and over again.

And yet, none of that pain was like the pain of knowing that Steve Rogers was dead.

Bucky would take it all over again, spend a thousand lifetimes in this room, in the cell, in the combat cage, in the cryo chamber, having his mind wiped like a problem on a chalkboard just so he could unlearn that Steve was dead.

Zola is the one that tells him. He shows him a newspaper in English, then Russian, then German, all with the same headline: Captain America Dead!

Bucky feels like a feather caught in a windstorm, torn to shreds by the whipping downdraft of mother nature’s power, by the power of his own grief.

Bucky knows better than to move while Zola is in the room, but the second that he leaves, the rage, red, blind, hot, overtakes him, and he uses the weapon attached to him, which has become a part of him, to destroy everything he can. The metal table, reinforced with steel, comes apart like wet paper in his hand. He destroys the sink, leaving nothing but powdered ceramic and plumbing hookups behind. He gouges marks into the walls with his fingers, he slams his arm onto the floor. And then? He collapses in the middle of the cold metal room with his cold metal arm, just a cold metal soldier who’s lost the only reason he wanted to get out of here, to stay who he was.

“Come on Buck, we don’t have to do this.”

“When was the last time we snuck into a Dodgers game? It’ll be fun, I promise.”

Steve rolls his eyes, pausing as they waited to cross the street to cough into his jacket. Bucky, almost subconsciously pats his jacket pockets. Good, he’s got an extra one of Steve’s inhalers in case it’s a bad night for his asthma.

“Come on Steve,” Bucky nudges his shoulder as they approach the stadium, “I know it’s been hard recently, but hey, at least we have baseball.”

Steve laughs at that, and gives Bucky an almost radiant smile. Whatever it was, it makes Bucky feel like he has the sun in his chest.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say this was a date,” Steve jokes as they sneak in behind an older couple, heading up to their favorite spot to watch the game.

“Who says it isn’t?” Bucky is glad his face is hidden in shadow as they make their way up the stairs of the stadium to the very back row, “But don’t think I’m gonna buy you a hotdog or anything.”

“Come on, what kind of girl pays for her own hotdog?” Steve winks at him, and Bucky can’t hide his wide smile at the words that settle themselves right in the middle of his beating heart.

“Soldat. Stand up,” Zola’s voice comes through the speaker, and Bucky can’t comply, he tries, but he’s crushed by the weight of the loss of Steve Rogers, the only person that could pull him out of this, that could undo the work of HYDRA that had been inflicted on his mind and body.

He hears the stomping of boots outside the door, but he still can’t stand, he still can’t make himself be the good lapdog he’s supposed to be. He’s broken, empty, unusable, unloveable.

“Steve,” Bucky gasps, not even thinking about fighting as the soldiers pull him up to standing.

Zola’s voice comes over the little speaker they have in the room, the one that Bucky couldn’t reach to rip to pieces.

“Next word: Benign”

October 29, 1945

General,

Zola had a long conversation with Barnes today. The loss of Steve Rogers is still affecting him. Zola tells me he has a plan, that our work is almost finished.

Homecoming

They take him to the combat cage again. There’s someone waiting for him.

“We have a test for you today,” Zola swings the door open, and he sees that it’s the blond soldier who reminds him of Steve, tied up and bound and already bloody.

Bucky takes a step forward, staring at the terrified man. He feels something, he can’t identify what it is.

“Tell me a memory.”

Bucky doesn’t take his eyes off of the soldier as he speaks.

“When Steve brought us back from the HYDRA base, they called it our homecoming. I wasn’t used to him yet, him being taller than me, being okay with being the center of attention. I wasn’t used to him being different. But sometimes I saw flashes of the old Steve, when he looked at me, when he was drawing on a scrap of a napkin, when he made a joke that everyone laughed at. And then, sometimes I thought he forgot about me. He didn’t need me anymore.”

He looks down at the soldier.

“Kill him, soldat,” Zola tells him, “You don’t need him. You never did.”

The cowering blond soldier might as well be Steve, Bucky can’t tell the difference anymore. He snaps his neck anyway, pretending that he doesn’t feel the shattered remains of his heart split just a little bit more.

“New word: Homecoming.”

December 15, 1945

General,

Only a few more weeks I believe, Barnes has become more and more compliant, completing missions with ease and without hesitation. We put him in front of a live target yesterday, the man captured at the border three weeks ago. Barnes did not even seem to hear his pleas, even though we have been assured he can hear and understand them.

One

He kills easily now. He does it without thinking.

“Tell me a memory.”

“I don’t have one.”

“Good. Add One.”

January 23, 1946

General,

Congratulations. The asset is ready to begin service.

Freight Car

The Winter Solider does not hesitate. He does not disobey orders. He pulls the trigger as easy as breathing. He’s a ghost story, a legend, the new fist of HYDRA.

Zola speaks to him, he answers. A soldier speaks to him, he answers.

“There is one last word to add,” Zola tells him, walking around where he stands, straight, like a steel rod. He’s more metal than man now, anyway, “Tell me about the day you fell.”

“I ziplined onto a freight car. I took out the targets. I fell. I was found by HYDRA.”

Steve was there. He tried to save me. We joked about Coney Island. I miss him, I wish I was with him. I wish I had died when I fell. I wish I could just be Bucky. I don’t want to be a weapon, I just want to be Bucky.

“Very good, soldat. Final word: Freight Car.”

As each word is read, Bucky departs his mind, taken over by The Winter Solider. Each word takes away a layer of memory, a layer of who he was, who he had fought so hard to stay. Now it doesn’t take weeks of time, or months, to unmake him. All it takes is ten words, ten words that connect him completely to Bucky Barnes, yet somehow, ten words that remove him altogether.

Zola finishes the list. Bucky Barnes is long, long gone.

“Ready to comply.”

#stucky #my writing #stucky fanfic #mcu #not spn

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neverdoingmuch · 4 years ago

Note

I’m here for the ‘swords not as pets’ agenda. Swords as cars: solid, get you from place to place, potentially dangerous, customizable, something people name. Wwx losing his license taking the fall for a mistake jc made (idk, dui maybe?) and just choosing to mod the hell out of a self-balancing scooter or segway or something so it goes dangerously fast. Alternatively: spending 3 months inventing the first functional actual levitating hoverboard, with an insane top speed. 3 months in the (1/2)

sawdfert this is delightful!! i saw segway and i immediately started wheezing,, there was no time for laughing i went straight to the wheezing. i think it would make more sense if wwx lost his car and got a motorcycle? like hoverboards and segways are cool but motorcycles have that big reputation of being dangerous and there’s the whole ‘rebellious teen gets a motorcycle and becomes a delinquent’ thing? like motorcycles are fast and if you crash it’s so much worse than if you were in a car and there’s no airbags or anything. but also?? wwx rocking up to school on a segway while playing his flute like the shittiest entrance ever? iconic. but let’s stick with chenqing as a motorcycle/scooter (motorcycle-esque scooter not the ones that try and take out your ankles).

okay so all the major sects are super rich so in a modern au it would make sense for all the sect heirs to get cars. i’m not saying that jc and wwx complain about jzx being stuck-up bc he was given a porsche for his birthday even though they were also given cars for their birthdays,,, but i am. at first it would have been this major point of contention between yzy and jfm bc wwx isn’t even their son so why is he getting a car too but wwx is like ah it’s so i can drive jc and jyl to school! you wouldn’t want their cars being left outside the school all day would you? someone in my maths class had their car get keyed and it was super expensive to fix,, and yzy is like yes wwx may have a car only to protect my children from parking hassles,, also wwx must pay for his own parking. so wwx and jc both get given cars for their bdays.

now wwx gets bored easily,, so you could translate him being a cultivation genius to him being really good at driving. im talking that jc is still getting the hang of switching gears and wwx is out there casually drifting around corners. (this does mean he has to get new tyres really frequently but he’s friends with wen ning, whose family runs the mechanics that wwx likes to go to so he just helps around the shop for a bit and gets a discount (yes its the family discount)). anyway wwx really enjoys driving, also! he just rocks up to wen ning’s place one day and is like dude, i wanna pimp my ride, wanna help and wen ning is like heck yeah. so wwx pays for some upgrades with his own money and he spends hours doing some custom work to make it look cool,,

it’s all going well until wwx and jc go to wen chao’s party one night and jc gets absolutely sloshed,,, like completely hammered. wwx had walked in, grabbed a cup of lemonade or something and was gonna hang with his friends but lwj was there for some reason so he spent the entire night talking to him in the back garden. which means that when jc wanted to leave he saw wwx hanging out with lwj and went ew gross and just decided to drive home himself. he crashes and when wwx comes home the next day jc gets super pissed at him bc he was meant to be the designated driver and if he hadnt been screwing around with lwj jc wouldnt have tried to drive home and now his parents will be super pissed and wwx is like woah chill my grandmother is a mechanic and she can fix this up just give me a couple of days.

so wwx goes to baoshan sanren mechanics (which is just the back entrance to the wen sibling’s mechanics) and spends the next three days getting rid of all of his customisations and mods so his car looks exactly like jc’s. does he cry when he has to spend like five mins spraying the inside of the car with axe body spray to get the jc stench going on? maybe a little. but he does it and returns the car to jc! and jc is like oh wow my car is fixed, your grandma is a miracle worker and wwx is like haha yeah (:

anyway wwx mysteriously and suddenly discovers a passion for public transport,, it’s a good way to stay humble jiang cheng, he says, also i used all my petrol money buying porn from nhs or whatever. anyway wwx is doing the whole pt to school thing but then one afternoon wen chao and wzh find him and idk maybe the party got too rowdy so the cops came and wc got in trouble with his dad? he assumes wwx called the cops on him so he shoves wwx into his car and drives him out to the middle of no where and dumps him in the burial mounds scrap metal recycling place or whatever.

the train line isn’t running that day and there’s no phone service either so wwx is stuck there overnight. he gets super bored. so what does he do? he finds an abandoned scooter and starts scavenging for parts. he’s not expecting it to actually work but by the time the sun rises he’s found some actually decent parts and he thinks that he could get it working. tbh he kinda forgets to go back home and just walks into town to buy some food and then goes back and continues fiddling with the scooter. he doesnt live there for the three months but the people in yiling just accept that this random teenager has all but moved into their scrap heap and adopt him anyway. so he goes and visits the burial mounds every day after school so none of his friends or family really see him anymore.

until! one day he rocks up to school on his scooter. scooters,, are kinda like sad pathetic motorcycles,, but wwx mods his scooter with like a powerful engine and new steering and everything so people see it and go oh! a motorcycle! even though it’s not actually (can you do that with a scooter? idk but suspend your disbelief pls). so lwj is like hnnngg wwx in a leather jacket on a motorcycle but also wei ying, stop riding a motorcycle, *enter statistics about motorcycle crashes here* and wwx is like no! you cant take chenqing away from me. and jc is pissed bc they were meant to be brothers and have matching cars and be able to work on them and give them cool paint jobs together! but now wwx has this bike which has been modded to hell and back and refuses to drive his car bc it’s not as cool as his bike. so we get to have the whole ‘everyone thinks wwx is doing something dumb and dangerous’ bc he has a motorcycle and why isnt he just driving his car anymore? but we also get to keep some of the nuance of the demonic cultivation bc yeah it’s more dangerous than driving in a car but wwx doesnt have a car anymore and scooters are a loottt safer than motorcycles (if my two seconds of research is correct).

so! wwx won’t abandon chenqing and he did most of his work using scrap parts so he goes back to the wens and is like wen ning my best bro check her out and he’s like oooooooh and they start modding chenqing together. wen qing doesnt know why wwx is constantly over at their shop all the time but jc keeps arguing with wwx and wwx grows more distant with his family and friends bc he’s making ~bad decisions~ and a motorcycle is a gateway to idk teen delinquent shenanigans like smoking and doing graffiti so he’s kinda ousted from respectable rich people society and wen qing is like i have two (2) brothers now and they’re adorable not that i’ll ever tell them that. and wwx modding chenqing got him a reputation in yiling like everyone saw him walk in one day and then drive out with this sexy sexy bike so people start coming to him for mods and stuff and wwx earns the title yiling patriarch and wen ning, his trusted best friend and helper, gets called the ghost general bc idk he helps a lot but the customers never meet him. so they become some dynamic duo for car and bike mods!

anyway,, yzy delivers him an ultimatum one day: the car or the bike (or more accurately: the family or the bike) but wwx can’t drive the car anymore so he just gets quietly disowned and drops out of school. (we’ll save jzxuan the suffering in this au he can keep his car). he goes to the wens and theyre like hey whats up? wait no you cant live in a scrap heap,, not even if you buy a tent,,, just live with us please. and then wwx gets adopted by the wens and idk i want them to have a happy ending so wwx and wn go off and do some actual mechanic and modding training with some expert (sqdcfgt imagine if it was the real baoshan sanren who just happened to be in the market for some apprentices and saw wwx and wn’s work and was like them and then later realised it was her grandson). so they get their apprenticeship and they disappear off somewhere for a year or two - when wwx had been disowned he’d deleted everyone’s contacts and was like if they text me i’ll add them back but im not gonna have a contact list cemetery. (no one contacts him).

eventually the 13 years pass and wwx has been helping the wens raise their little nephew a-yuan who is showing a real aptitude for being a mechanic even though he’s just a kid and just generally enjoying the quiet life of being a mechanic while doing fun mods and lil baby projects. then one day lwj’s car breaks down while he’s driving through the area and he calls up the local mechanic and guess who rocks up? it’s wwx. and then we get to have them dance around each other and wwx being like lwj doesnt trust me, he’s just sitting here and watching me work all day ): and lwj is like dont let him go dont let him go dont let him go,, and eventually they get their romance but this is way too long already so im im gonna end this here

i didnt mean to make this an entire au but i adored your idea so much anon so i kinda had to!!

#mdzs #modao zushi #wei wuxian #wangxian #lan wangji #wen ning #wen qing #my aus #asks #cql #the untamed #i might come and add a read more later but i dont have time now sorry!#Anonymous

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ververa · 5 years ago

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Safe in Her Arms

Wilhemina Venable x Reader

Words: 1,500

Wilhemina loved you more than you knew. Yet at times she wanted to slap you in your beautiful face. It wasn't because she was mad. She couldn't be mad at you even if she tried. It usually happened when you did something incredibly stupid, irresponsible or dangerous. Mina hated to admit it, but she was just really worried about you. Worried and scared that she might lose you. If she could she would most likely wrap her hands around your waist and keep you close to herself, hidden from the whole world all the time.

But you, of course, were way too curious about the world and everything around you to sit still and let her protect you. She both loved and hated that about you. She couldn't deny that it was what made her fall for you. You were so stubborn and didn't give up on her even though she was pretty awful to you at first. She had tried to push you away, as she usually did with people, but you kept trying and eventually got to her. You were precious. And she was doing her best to show you how much she appreciated you.

Wilhemina loved everything about you, but she still couldn't understand why would you opt for extreme sports. Parachute jumping, bungee jumping, diving, climbing, car and motorcycle races - all that was what you were doing in your free time. For Mina it was ridiculous. How someone right-minded could do all of those things so willingly? Who sound in mind wouldn’t be afraid of getting hurt of even dying doing all those things? Was she dramatic? It was hard to say. But she didn't have time to think about it.

She was on her way to the hospital. It wasn't the first time you ended up being hurt because of your dangerous interests, but regardless of it Mina was worried as much as always. She hated all those negative thoughts that were clouding inside her head, but she couldn't help it. The nurse, who called her, only told her that you got injured and were transported to the hospital. The uncertainty of whatever your state was really bad or no, was killing her. She also hated hospitals as they brought back negative memories of the time when she herself had to spend there a lot of time, because of her scoliosis. Yet you and your well-being were more important than that.

Wilhemina got to the hospital as soon as she could. She immediately found your doctor and got all the necessary information. She sighed with relief when he told her that your state was stable and you only had some minor injuries. He allowed her to go and see you, but before she managed to get to the right hospital room she came across a group of your friends.

They were sitting at the hall, next to the door of the room in which you were, but as soon as they spotted Wilhemina they immediately stood up. They were all scared of your girlfriend after she had yelled at them once for not keeping you safe. They were terrified of what was going to happen this time.

"Wilhemina..." one of them, the one who considered himself brave enough to face her, spoke up

"I don't remember me letting you to use my name" she said dryly stopping right next to him

"I..." he hesitated, in a split second his confidence and bravery were gone

"Will anyone tell me what have happened exactly?" she turned, so that she could face him properly

Your friends explained how you were riding on jet skis and how you noticed a little dog drowning. You loved animals, so obviously, without thinking, you moved to help him. You managed to get him out of the water, but as you were getting on your jet ski you lost your balance and fell down hitting your head on the steering wheel and then falling into water.

Wilhemina rolled her eyes. She couldn’t believe all that was happening for real. After her mind processed all the information she actually got mad. Why were you so irresponsible? Why couldn't you find a different hobby? Couldn't you just stay at home and read or play video games instead?

She composed herself, or at rather thought so, before entering the hospital room. There you were - asleep with your head bandaged and a few scratches on your cheek. Wilhemina approached the bed and sat down on the chair right next to you. She carefully took your hand and kissed it. That's when you opened your eyes. Your head was pounding and you were so dizzy that for a while you were seeing double. You didn’t really feel any pain, because of the strong painkillers they had given you. You felt funny, kind of as if you were drunk. It was hard for you to comprehend what was going on exactly and for some reason you wanted to laugh. Yet seeing Mina’s face your good mood disappeared.

"Hi..." you said softly

You could feel that she was angry. You couldn't blame her, she had the very right to be mad at you.

Wilhemina said nothing. She only kept holding your palm with her one hand and squeezing her cane with the other.

"Are you mad?" you asked, but still there was no response "Oh Lord, here we go again. I hate when you do that. I hate when you're giving me the silent treatment... It was an accident. I haven't planned it, neither have I expected it to happen..."

"You might have drowned!" Wilhemina shouted cutting you off at the same time

She couldn't help it and hold it back anymore. She was too worried and scared to remain calm.

"Yes! I'm fucking mad Y/N, because things like that keep happening!" she stood up "I know it's fun for you, but it's no fun for me. It's not funny at all when I get a call from a hospital and hear some doctor telling me you had an accident and I need to come, and I can't get any further information about your state on the phone. The time I spend on getting to this fucking hospital and that uncertainty... whether it's just something minor or not. Like maybe you only have your leg broken, but what if you're bleeding out... This is the worst feeling in the world! I know you love what you're doing, but for God's sake..." she hit her cane on the floor "have some mercy on me Y/N!"

Only seeing your face did Wilhemina realize that she had raised her voice more than it was necessary. You seemed so scared and confused that she immediately felt bad for snapping like that.

You needed a moment to process everything she said. You had never really thought about all that. You had never considered how she might have felt every time you ended up in hospitals.

"I'm sorry" you said and felt the tears springing into your eyes; you didn’t mean to make her feel like that

"No, I am sorry” she began panicking as she saw the tears in your eyes “I didn't mean to yell" she sat down next to you again "I'm just worried about you"

"I know” you sobbed “I’m sorry. Really. I didn’t realize it’s affecting you this much”

“Shh. Don’t cry” she carefully embraced you “Just promise you’ll be more careful” she kissed your temple

“I promise” you said wiping the tears “I’m sorry”

“It’s okay. You apologized once and that’s enough”

“I feel like it’s not. I promise I’ll make it up to you”

Wilhemina shook her head.

“You don’t need to make up for anything darling. I just get nervous and worried, because I fail to understand how you’re not afraid of doing all those things? You seem so fearless, but also stupid at times”

“I am fearless…” you hugged her tighter “As long as I’m in your arms” you added

“Such a charmer… Ughh I can’t even be mad at you for too long” she complained

“Well, I’ll make sure you don’t get mad at me at all anymore”

“We’ll see about that. For now you should get some sleep. You need to get better, because I’m not planning on spending a whole week in this hospital with you”

You laughed.

“Of course ma’am” you kissed her cheek “But will you stay with me tonight?” you looked at her pleadingly

Wilhemina rolled her eyes once more. You had her wrapped around your little finger.

“I will, but you’ll be the little spoon”

“Aye aye” you laughed

You knew very well that secretly she enjoyed being the little spoon – and you often teased her about it. But you weren’t going to complain this time. It felt way too good. You felt safe in her arms and nothing could compare to that amazing feeling. You loved it more than anything, even more than the rush of adrenaline.

#wilhemina venable #wilhemina venable x reader #sarah paulson imagine #AHS #ahs imagine #ahs apocalypse

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name-me-regret · 3 years ago

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If The World Was Ending 15/?

If The World Was Ending Chapter Fifteen: A Reason To Live

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

“When I die, I wanna die with my Chucks on Pair of jeans and a shirt with MJ on I’m gonna die, yes, but I'ma live in style Time is golden don’t you waste a second Make the most of everything you’re getting Cause you’re gonna die too, so best you live in style

All I know Is I’m not giving up I’m gonna go Until my time is up…

When I wake up I'ma look in the mirror Take a look and see my vision clearer Oh I’m gonna give, my everything Went to church the other, Sunday morning Preacher told me ‘Put an end to the moaning Cause you’ve got a reason, a reason to live’...”

~Chucks - Mi Casa, Younotus

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

The man had literally an endless supply of ammo it seemed, since they had to continue to avoid being shot at from the grenade launcher, and he was still too close to the residential areas that Rhodes didn’t want to use his heavy artillery. Also, the police that had been following the assassin were too close. So, he stuck to repulsor blasts, but when they did manage to connect, didn’t seem to harm him that much besides some first or second degree burns. That wasn’t enough to take down the man that was clearly enhanced in some way, judging by the way he’d picked up his motorcycle and threw it at Buck with ease. The man wasn’t fast enough as he was slammed by the 400 pound vehicle, flying back as he tumbled across the ground. Thankfully, there wasn’t anyone or anything around.

“That’s it, I’m putting him down,” Rhodes growls. Buck lifts his head and sees the man’s suit shift as a missile comes out of his shoulder as well as his mini-gun.

Buck wants to stop him, because he didn’t want him to kill anyone regardless if the other was trying to kill them. Before he could, Rhodes is unleashing the missile and then the mini-gun when the assassin dodges the projectile. As he was dodging the bullets, Buck saw his opportunity and stood, flew to where the motorcycle was at. He took hold of a flash grenade JARVIS provided that was apparently part of the armor’s arsenal. He attaches it to the motorcycle and then was amazed as he was able to lift it, and started to swing it around and then let it go in the man’s general direction.

As expected, he was able to dodge, but he wasn’t expecting the flash grenade which exploded close enough to knock him off his feet. This wasn’t the movies so the motorcycle didn’t explode, but the one of handle bars did rip the rest of the way off after the second throw though. Buck is already in the air moments after he throws the motorcycle, so he arrives as the Winter Soldier is starting to get up and kicks him across the face. It knocks the mask off his face, as well as quite a bit of blood from his mouth. Buck winces, but knows he doesn’t have a choice. War Machine is on them in the next moment, knocking into the man with all the strength of a battering ram as he had tries to stand a second time.

“Hold him down!” Buck quickly jumps forward and helps Rhodes, who forces the still struggling man onto his stomach. Rhodes puts a pair of heavy duty handcuffs on him, but it extended from the wrist all the way to his forearm. Their newly secured prisoner struggles but isn’t able to break out of them. “Good luck breaking out of that, buddy. It’s Starkanium.” He pulls his fist back and punches the man in the back of the head, finishing in knocking him out before he looks at Buck. His faceplate lifted as he gives him a grin. “Good work, Evan.”

Buck is breathing heavily, from exertion and the adrenaline coursing through him. His own face plate lifts and he grins back at the other, since that was the single most craziest thing he’d ever done. It was also the first time in a long time he’s worked with someone and felt trusted. “Thanks!” He swallows as he tries to regain his breathing back to normal. “And it’s Buck, by the way. No one calls me Evan anymore.”

Rhodes laughs and claps him on his armored shoulder. “Sure thing, Buck.”

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Bobby was very concerned, because Athena had called him a few minutes ago but she couldn’t really get out much from in between her sobs. So, a heavy feeling was quickly building in his chest and choking him; a feeling he was very familiar with. It was the same feeling from when he’d lost Marcy, Robert Jr., and Brooke. So, as soon as he managed to find a parking space —that may or may not end up with him getting towed— he’d jumped out and started to make his way toward the medical center. Before long he was jogging, and then running as that feeling started to build.

Finally, he sees his wife and there were tears running down her beautiful face, and slows to a stop as he reaches her. “What? What’s happened?” Bobby demands, wrapping his arms around her to try and offer some kind of comfort to the woman he loved. It was just, he was too freaked out to properly do so.

“Buck... his...” she tries to get out, thus further confusing Bobby. It was then she pulls away and hands him something that his heart dropping down through his stomach, because he recognizes it. He was holding the charred remains of Buck’s license plate.

Bobby suddenly realizes with a horrifying clarity that he had just lost another son.

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Eddie zipped up the hoodie over his sweaty, battered body with a wince, since he had taken more body hits in order to not get punched in the face. It would be harder to explain away a black eye than hide a bruise to his stomach. And not for the first time, he wondered if he was making a big mistake, and then remembered the winnings that were burning a hole in his pocket and all he could do with it.

Originally, he had gone to the street fights to release his anger and forget about things that he didn’t want to think about. He didn’t want to think of Shannon and how she had left him twice, once by choice and the other unwillingly, and that she would have left him willingly anyways if she hadn’t died. And how pathetic that he was angry at a dead woman, even months after her death.

Then there was almost losing his son in the tsunami, and the one that had almost killed himself searching for him; and found him in the end. Buck. He was the one he didn’t want to think of the most, and the look on his face the last time they’d seen each other and Eddie had spewed hurtful words that weren’t true. And Eddie had never felt more like his father than in that moment, and he wished he could push the words back into his mouth so they could have never caused such a look on Buck’s face.

He was just angry, angrier because he couldn’t see him. Mostly at himself, because if he was being truthful, he had preached about all of them having problems and needing to suck it up, and when he had examined his words he realized he’d sounded like his father. His old man had always drilled into his head that he couldn’t whine about his problems, that he had to be a man.

‘No puedes llorar o te verás como un maricón. Aguántate como un hombre.’

You can’t cry or you’ll look like a faggot. Hold it in like a man.

It was those lessons that always reared their ugly head whenever he tried to deal with his own emotions. He knew it was because of this, the machismo taught to him by his father that his marriage with Shannon had failed. Also, because he hadn’t been there to help her when she needed him. That was also tied with it though, because a man’s job was to provide for the family and the woman to raise the children. It was wrong, of course, but it’s what he’d been taught growing up, and he had let it control him for so long.

Now, he was making the same mistakes all over again with Buck, even if he knew that their relationship wasn’t that of a couple. It wasn’t to say that he was adverse to the idea of them together, but he knew that Buck and Tony were together, and that was one of the reasons he had lashed out. That as well as that sleazy lawyer bringing up Shannon and reminding him all over again where he had failed.

As he got into his new truck, having made enough money to make a sizable down payment on it, Eddie turned on the A/C. His phone started to ring as he pulled out of the parking lot of the run down factory, and frowned when he saw that it was Bobby. He was wondering what he needed and hoped he didn’t need him to come in for an extra shift, since he wasn’t exactly in a position to do so. Besides, he had seen the man earlier at the end of their shift. The grocery run had been the last thing they did before they were finished, having to extend it because of the road rage incident in the parking lot.

“Hey, Bobby,” he greeted as his phone connected to his truck’s bluetooth. That’s another thing he loved about the truck, since he could answer his phone and not have to worry about taking his eyes off the road. “What’s up?”

‘Eddie,’ came the man’s choked voice, making Eddie immediately snap to attention. Something was wrong.

“What’s wrong?” His heart was already beating wildly in his chest, fingers gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were turning white.

‘It’s Buck.’

Eddie felt his heart jump up into his throat and images of the truck bombing, the pulmonary embolism, and the tsunami coming to him so abruptly that he had to pull over before he has an accident. “What happened? Is he alright?” It didn’t even matter that he was mad at him at the moment, because in the end, Buck was Eddie’s best friend and would come running if he needed him.

‘He... his Jeep... you should come to Kaiser Medical Center on Sunset Blvd,’ he finally said, clearly unable to finish what he had wanted to say.

Eddie immediately swiped up on his screen to get his phone to the main menu and brought up his map amp as he found the complete address on there. “I’m on my way,” he told him before ending the call. Then he pulled away from the curve, hearing as someone blared their horn behind him as they had to stop when he pulled into traffic so suddenly. Eddie didn’t pay them any mind and floored the gas pedal, the feeling of dread building more and more the longer it took to get to where he needed to go.

When he was unable to get through due to emergency vehicles, he felt his heart stop in dread. “Buck,” he whispered, before he’s out of his truck and running toward the scene. When he gets to the police line, he can’t see much besides the red lights and black smoke of something manmade on fire, like a building... or a vehicle.

Eddie is suddenly under the police line before he knows what he’s doing as Bobby’s words echo in his ears. ‘It’s Buck. He... his Jeep...’ And also the last thing he said to him in that grocery store. The words that he didn’t mean, but had said them anyways.

‘Because you’re exhausting! We all have our own problems, but you don’t see us whining about it. No, somehow, we just manage to suck it up. Why can’t you?’ And Eddie hadn’t meant them, not really, he was just mad. Eddie was mad that he couldn’t speak to him, that Christopher was having nightmares and calling for Buck, and the man couldn’t contact them.

In that moment, none of that matters, and all he’s thinking and praying, is that Buck is alright. That if that’s his Jeep burning, then he isn’t inside of it. Because if he’s... If Buck’s...

He’s stopped by some officers as they try to hold him back. Eddie only doesn’t swing at them because he’s so desperate to get through and make sure Buck is okay. Then he hears a voice that makes him stop and he sees it’s Athena, and she saves him from getting arrested, again.

“Is it Buck’s Jeep?” he demands of her. Normally he wouldn’t ever speak to the older woman like that, but he needs to know. Eddie wants her to tell him that it isn’t Buck, and that he’s just being irrational right then. She shatters his world with her next words.

“Yes, it’s Buck’s Jeep.”

A strangled sob escapes him and she’s suddenly hugging him, and he’s never ever hugged or even touched Athena besides a brief pat on the shoulder. However, in that moment her arms are the only thing holding Eddie together.

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Buck flight back toward Kaiser is much better than when he left it. He thinks he’s getting the hang of the suit, even if he didn’t really think it was a great idea. After all, even if JARVIS had said that Tony had built the suit for him, it couldn’t really be for him... surely not to keep. Buck can’t really think that he will. That’s just crazy.

He sees mayhem when he flies over the medical center, the lights of police and other medical personnel and he knows that he’ll have to answer for some of it. Rhodes had told him not to worry about it, since it was only a few damaged cars and a few minor injuries, but luckily no one died. He told Buck before leaving to secure the prisoner, that after the attack in New York, Tony had created the Stark Relief Foundation and that the destruction caused today would be covered by the Foundation.

Buck had of course heard about it but the day had been wild that he hadn’t really been thinking of that at the time. He also really hoped that meant he’d get his Jeep as well, since he had just gotten it back from the shop after the tsunami, and he needed his Jeep. It wasn’t the same one that his sister had given him, which had quit on him when he was six months into his probationary year.

The Jeep he had brought afterwards wasn’t the latest model, because he hadn’t been rich or anything. All that mattered was that it was a Jeep and he’d managed to keep the word JEEP from the one Maddie had given him and had it put on the dash. It and a few other things he had added to his new one, so it wouldn’t feel that much different. The damage had been extensive after the tsunami, but nothing that couldn’t be repaired, especially after the water had receded and the vehicle recovered. So, he hoped it could be recovered again this time.

Although as he flew over the parking lot and saw the remains of the Jeep, or what he assumed was the Jeep after being hit by the projectile from the grenade launcher, he was sure it wasn’t recoverable. He was only thankful that he hadn’t left his wallet in the middle console as he normally did when he drove. Then again, he had been trying to keep Tony awake on the way to Kaiser, so he hadn’t thought to pull his wallet out of his pocket.

His phone, however, had been in the console since his maps app had been guiding him to the medical center and had forgotten to grab it when Rhodes and the Rescue armor had arrived. So, it had likely been destroyed, and he wouldn’t be able to call anyone for a ride, or even order an Uber or a Lyft. There was no way he could take the suit back to his apartment, since his neighbors were still asking him about Iron Man, or Tony Stark, as if they weren’t the same person.

He could just imagine the gossip if he stepped out of a suit of armor of his own. Oh boy.

Buck was thinking about landing the suit on the roof where no one would see him leave it to check on Tony, but heard JARVIS’s distinct voice suddenly. ‘Mr. Buckley, there appear to be several police officer’s trying to get your attention from down below.’

“Shit... uh, what do I do? Should I go down there, J?”

‘It does seem to be a good idea to speak with the officers about what Colonel Rhodes has told you, Mr. Buckley. Although, if I may suggest, it would probably be better to keep the faceplate down. The Rescue Protocol was only a last resort, and revealing your face would paint a target on your back. It’s prudent to stay off HYDRA’s radar for now.’

Buck inhaled and nodded. “Y-yeah, I think I can do that.” He started to pilot down, now a bit more confident that he can land now without causing anymore property damage. It’s a bit rough but not too bad, and two police officers are suddenly there, and he realizes that one of the has the Captain’s rank and the other is none other than the Chief of Police.

“Iron Man?” the Chief asks, uncertain.

Buck tried to will his voice not to shake as he opened his mouth to answer. “No, I’m not Iron Man,” he told him, surprised when his voice came out warbled like Tony’s does when he speaks without lifting the faceplate. He saw them wait for him to identify himself and he wasn’t sure what to say, and latched onto what JARVIS had called the armor. “I’m Rescue.”

He saw the reporters being kept back by the police lines snap pictures, their flashes lighting up the night along with the lights of first responders. Buck was a bit thrown that their cameras were aimed in his direction, but then again, he guessed he could understand. He did have on armor like Tony, and of course they wanted to know who he was. “Can you tell us what happened here, Rescue?”

“Yes, of course,” he said, clearing his throat and was glad that wasn’t heard since he didn’t want all of them to know how nervous he was. He was surprised as words started to appear on the HUD, and realized that JARVIS wanted him to read it. So, that’s what he did after he took a deep breath to calm his nerves. “At proximately 5:47pm, Iron Man was attacked in a safe house by an assailant that has yet to be identified.” He wondered why the AI didn’t want him to say that it was the Winter Soldier. He wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t about to offer it up and decided to stick to what JARVIS had written for him.

“He managed to escape in a suit of armor that only had flight capabilities and met up with a friend, who took him here for medical treatment. However, his attacker followed him here and proceeded to attack myself and War Machine, who had arrived to offer backup.” He noticed that the ‘statement’ didn’t mention Buck’s name, which was just as well. “We left the area to prevent anymore destruction of the surrounding area, as well as the medical center. The assailant followed us from the ground and managed to cause destruction on a residential home. I was able to rescue the people trapped inside, who were a married couple and their daughter. Afterwards, War Machine and I were able to finally restrain our attacker. War Machine has gone ahead to secure the prisoner while I came back to see to Iron Man. The Stark Relief Foundation has already been informed of this incident and will be on both scenes within the hour.”

“So, Iron Man is inside the medical center receiving treatment at the moment?” the Chief of Police asked. Buck couldn’t remember the man’s name for the life of him, and JARVIS wasn’t giving him anymore information. He nodded instead of speaking again. “Then we shall provide a protection detail for him,” the man told him.

Buck refrained from breathing in relief and turned away from them. He hadn’t taken more than a step when he heard a shout and paused when he recognized the voice. Buck turned and saw three figures heading toward him through the police line; Athena, Bobby and Eddie. He froze, since he hadn’t expected them to be there. Also, he couldn’t really greet them as if he knew them, since there were too many cameras still pointed at them. He also wouldn’t put it past the news reporters to have microphones pointed toward him to try and capture something.

“Yes?” he said, his head tilted down when he saw Athena’s badge attached to her belt. “May I help you, officer?”

“I’m Sergeant Athena Grant, and the friend that helped Iron Man is also a friend of ours. We found the remains of his license plate and we want to make sure he’s uninjured.”

Eddie and Bobby looked like they were really trying not to interrupt her, the former’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. It was hard to make out the expression on his face due to the darkness, but Buck could imagine he was angry. “Sergeant Grant, this isn’t the place to discus these things,” he told her, trying to keep his tone neutral. Buck did not want them to know it was him and risk them revealing his identity. “I’m sure Dr. Stark will get in contact with you about... your friend as soon as he can.”

Buck’s gaze turned toward Eddie as he jerked forward, looking like he wanted to get into his face if not for the hand that Bobby had put on his shoulder to hold him back. “Where is he?!”

He looked at his best friend, not sure if he could call him that after everything that had happened, and wanted to say something. Buck wanted to wipe the angry expression he could see due to the suit, since JARVIS had turned on the night-vision. “I have nothing further to say.”

Buck turned and blasted off, leaving Eddie, Athena and Bobby behind.-

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

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heresyourramen · 4 years ago

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Lucas WayV AU

A Lucas (Yuk-Hei) imagine, it is a bit of a haters to lover’s imagine.

Oh how you hated working with Yuk-Hei. He was always late for his shift, and he’d always have the audacity to stroll in with that infuriating smirk on his face and that leather biker jacket slung over his broad shoulders, with his stupid docs and stupid perfectly fitted ripped jeans. If that wasn’t reason enough, he half-assed nearly all of his responsibilities, took hour lunch breaks and left early.

If you were honest with yourself you didn’t even know why he worked at the restaurant if he wasn’t going to at least try and do his job. You, the barely surviving dumpster poor student occasionally scraped by with the change you found in your couch.

But today was different, you had a date for the first time in months and you weren’t going to let him stop you from leaving on time. Today, you decided, was the day you weren’t taking any of his half-assing.

The bell on the door dinged announcing his entrance and you walked right into the middle of his path. He towered over you but you stood ready, your head held high and arms crossed. He gave you one of his stupid, swoon inducing grins but this didn’t stop you.

“Oh, good morning Y/N. What did I do to deserve this pleasant greeting?” he tilted his head amused by your attempt at looking intimidating.

“I have a date tonight.” He quirked a brow, his smile turning into a smirk.

“And I need to know this, why exactly?” He shifted taking the motorcycle helmet from under his one arm and holding it next to his side.

“Because it means that for once I’m the one leaving early, you got it ?” You stuck your index finger close to his face threateningly and he lazily looked down at it, his smirk disappearing.

“Yeah, I got it.” He said, taking your small wrist and encircling it with one of his big hands, moving your finger out of his face as his gaze wandered up and down your figure. “I just hope you don’t plan on going like this.”

Suddenly angry you ripped your wrist from his grasp. He kept his face straight before simply walking past you to go put his things away and you huffed frustrated.

No, you wouldn’t be going like this, you’d make sure he knew that later.

As soon as the time turned to six you made your way to the bathroom to get changed. You took off your skinny jeans and plain t-shirt, changed into short summery dress, you quickly laced up your platform docs and made your way back to your locker to put the bag with your work clothes away. There you stood looking in the small mirror as you touched up your make up. Finally you pulled your free from the bun on top of your head, the curls softly falling around your face and you smirked pleased. You grabbed the oversized denim jacket and put it on before closing your locker door. While running your fingers through your waves of hair you made your way out and back into the restaurant.

When your eyes met Yuk-Hei’s where he was whipping down a table, you swore you saw him visibly swallow as he straightened himself.

“Y/N?” he half whispered, raising a brow as he quickly regained his composure.

“Yuk-Hei don’t tell me you thought I’d actually go in my work clothes?” You said satisfied with his reaction. “That doesn’t matter, don’t forget you have to help, Kun lock up today.”

You gave him a small tantalising wave before tugging open the door, the bell ringing as you did so, and you strutted out onto the street making your way to your date.

“Did Y/N leave?” Kun, the manager asked as he poked his head out from the kitchen and Yuk-Hei nodded.

“Kun, did she tell you anything about her date?” he inquired, curious about your sudden outfit and personality change.

“No, nothing besides it being her first time going out in months.” Kun said leaning in the doorway of the kitchen. “You know I’d really appreciate it if you started cutting her some slack? I know you’re being forced to work here by your parents but she actually has to earn money.”

Yuk-Hei looked down at the table he was cleaning.

“And I know you enjoy seeing her mad, but your 21 Yuk-Hei, if you like her you should tell her, not tease her like an elementary schooler.”

Yuk-hei looked up ready to argue with his friend but Kun had disappeared back into the kitchen. He obediently helped Kun lock up the small restaurant, while mulling over what he’d said earlier, it wasn’t that he didn’t like you, but it felt strange to say that he liked you, the truth is he hardly even spoke to you, in fact he couldn’t think of an explanation why he made work difficult for you but then again he also couldn’t figure out a reason why he showed up for work if it wasn’t to at least you.

“That’s everything, let’s go grab a drink to celebrate your first time leaving on time.” Kun said and threw his arm across Yuk-Hei’s shoulders and steered him down the street and towards his bike. They walked into the bar it’s red lighting and dark furniture aiding it’s punk theme, the speakers played rock music and Lucas thought he’d finally rid himself from the thoughts of you with the distraction of the busy atmosphere until he spotted you sitting at a table with who he presumed to be your date. Kun followed his gaze and then directed Yuk-Hei to the bar where they found seats. Every now and again Yuk-Hei couldn’t stop himself from looking back at you, he couldn’t help notice that you seemed bored and how you’d half heartedly laugh at whatever the guy was saying. At one point he turned to see what was happening and saw that the table you were previously had been occupied by strangers. He abruptly stood up frowning and pushed his way through the crowded bar and out the door. He whipped his head around looking for you as soon as he stepped outside. He could see you standing uncomfortably pinned between the guy’s body and a tree close to the bus stop.

It was so sudden you stood still frozen. Your less than interesting, yet insistent date, had reminded you why you haven’t been dating for months but for two hours you had waited patiently for it to end. Unfortunately he had other ideas, he had stopped you on your way to the bus stop and in the midst of you thinking of an excuse to get away he had suddenly stumbled away. You turned your head to face the direction of where the punch had come from to look at Yuk-Hei, slack jawed.

He didn’t even give you the chance to object before he grabbed your arm and dragged you towards the motorcycle you presumed was his. He forcefully put a helmet on your head and shoved you onto the back of the bike. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his waist when he suddenly pulled away from the curb. Your head and your heart felt like it was moving at 100 miles an hour, whether it was because of what just happened or because you were tightly pressed to the back of Yuk-Hei, very aware of his abs under your hands and the thin t-shirt that covered them.

A few blocks later he had stopped outside the restaurant again. You quickly got off the back of the bike slipping the helmet off your head. Yuk-Hei still sat on the bike and watched as you fumbled to get the helmet off.

“What just happened? I mean I could’ve sorted that situation out myself!” You couldn’t seem to calm your heart or stop the words that tumbled out of your mouth. You looked up at Yuk-Hei who sat looking at you with a strange expression, painfully aware of how blood red your cheeks must be. You looked at his one hand to see the knuckles bright red and starting to bruise.

“Look at your hand now, oh my go-” You stumbled over your words again. “Why’d you hit him?” Your voice was unusually high pitched in your state of shock and you forced yourself to try and calm down. You pulled a set of keys from the pocket in your jacket and sighed as you walked to the door of the restaurant unlocking it. You turned on your heel before indicating to Yuk-Hei to come inside. He followed you in wordlessly and into where the lockers were with the first aid kit. You pushed him to sit down on a small bench before venturing into the kitchen to fetch ice. You came back to see him now have taken off his leather jacket and you could see his muscular back through the thin t-shirt flex as he sat fiddling with his hurt knuckles.

“You like what you see?” His deep voice snapped you out of your trance and you went to sit down across from him. You gently took his big hand that dwarfed your own as you held it and slowly removed the rings on his fingers, you could feel him watching you as you gently ran the ice over the red knuckles on his hand and couldn't help your heartbeat from suddenly trying to imitate a formula one car as it raced in your chest. When you looked up at him his face was a lot closer than you anticipated and you felt his noxe brush your own. You looked into his dark eyes before it darted to your lips, you sucked in a breath as he looked back into your eyes. You were faintly aware of his hand now holding your wrist in his hand as he tilted his head slightly and pressing his lips against yours. He slowly brought your wrist up so it could rest on his shoulder and you immediately draped it around his neck comfortably, his kisses had gradually gone from soft to intense as he used his arm to pull you closer to him by your waist as he sat with his legs on either side of the bench, his fingers causing sparks on the bare skin of your back.

You weaved your fingers through the hair on the back of his head as he pulled away his lips trailing down the side of your neck only pausing to nibble on a spot that had you take a sharp intake of breath at the feeling. His hand was resting on your thigh, his thumb slowly brushing the inside of your thigh and he brought his mouth back to yours using your gasp as an opportunity to smoothly slip his tongue into your mouth. You could tell he was holding himself back as he let you set the pace. You gave him a soft peck before pulling away, not quite sure how this happened. You looked up at the handsome man in front of you, his big eyes half lidded and lips swollen because of the kiss, his grip on your thigh was strong and you could tell he wasn’t happy with you pulling away so soon.

“Yuk-Hei, I…” you started but trailed off, unsure of where you were going with the sentence because his grip on your thigh was distracting you.

“I like you.” He said suddenly and his big puppy dog eyes looked at you earnestly. You frowned and got up.

“Excuse me? The last time I checked you don’t treat someone like balls if you like them.”

“Sorry?” He said, his brows dipping in confusion.

“Well you haven’t been particularly nice to me, have you?” You said frustrated and turned your body away from him, you heard him get but didn’t expect to feel his hands spin you around and pin you against the lockers. He leaned in close his lips barely touching yours. Your heart stopped. His head dipped down and you felt his long lashes brush against you cheek, his breath fanning your jaw.

“Then let me show you how nice I can be.”

46 notes · View notes

oohfluffy · 5 years ago

Text

TIHM Ch.6 | BBH

Group: EXO

Member: Byun Baekhyun

Theme: Angst | Fluff | Rated M | University!AU | Football!AU

Word Count: 1,751

chapter 6

When your breathing evened, Baekhyun slowly opened his eyes as his fingers halted in rubbing your arm. You fell asleep within 5 minutes. He would've drifted to dreamland as well if not for the realization that you're actually with him, and you shouldn't stay here in the cold.

Especially evil people are lurking within the party lights.

"Hey, Saejin-ah?" He carefully called your name, lightly tapping your arm in attempt to wake you up. You stirred in his arms, groaning at the annoying wake up call on your side. "Let's get you home, hm?"

"...here." You mumbled as you buried your face on the crook of his neck more, the warmth of his skin lulling you to sleep. This has to be one of the most comfortable places to be sleeping on.

"Hmm?" Baekhyun's voice turned much lower and gentler as he watch you looking like a baby in her mother's arms. He fondly fixed the strands of hair falling on your face, fingers caressing your cheek in the process. "We can't stay here for long. It's too cold, and those people are still here."

He paused for a while, trying to see if you would respond. When a minute has passed and you didn't, he chuckled as he pressed your body closer to his. Welp, he can't help it if you don't want to go.

You can wake her up continuously though! You just want to stay like this—

"SAEJIN-AH!"

Baekhyun broke out of his thoughts when a worried voice rang through the air. A wavy and dark-haired girl ran towards you, her face scrunching in relief when she saw you safe and sound. She was immediately in front of you, checking your face and body for scratches or wounds, and sighed when she saw none. Baekhyun was totally surprised when she didn't even glance at him.

"Those fucking bitches really want me to kill them!" He flinched as the girl suddenly shouted, not caring if he was there—does she even know he was there? When her eyes drifted down to him, they slowly widened as he smiled. She finally saw him.

"HOLY—"

"Shh." Baekhyun shushed her as he glanced down at your sleeping figure. Jiwon immediately shut her loud mouth, lips trembling as she kept her scream in. "Are you done partying?" He quietly said to Jiwon, recognizing her as your only close friend.

Jiwon gulped before speaking in a soft voice. "Yes. I was just searching for Saejin when I heard she's here with the bitch—Irene's squad."

"She went with them?"

"Yes. I wasn't surprised when I heard that since she's been hanging with them for a while, but she never went to parties with them. So, this is new." Jiwon looked at you, eyes dimming with something Baekhyun cannot comprehend. "I knew those girls won't do any good to her, but still, she kept being friends with them."

Baekhyun's eyes rested on your parted plump lips, his system went wild as you breathed in and out on his neck. Jiwon just noticed that the two of you were in some cute position, like lovers in a rendezvous at night when the wind was cold and the moon shone in the darkness.

She cannot wait to tease you after this.

"What did they do?" His eyebrows furrowed as he remembered the dj mentioning your name earlier. Was it that time?

"I didn't get to see what happened, but I heard the others talking about the shots game being started by Saejin." Jiwon sighed as she looked at you. "She doesn't drink, so that alarmed me already. I knew those girls forced her to do that."

As Jiwon continued to narrate what those girls and the crowd had done to you, Baekhyun's eyes quickly went sharp and filled with irritation. He pursed his lips as his arms wrapped around you more.

"I'll take you guys home." Baekhyun didn't ask, he straight out said as he gently slipped his hands on your back with the other under your knees. Jiwon almost squealed at the sight as he easily took you in his arms. Just like a prince carrying his princess.

She almost forgot that Byun Baekhyun is a fucking playboy.

Realizing this, Jiwon's smile turned into a frown. Her eyes glinting in annoyance.

"We can handle ourselves, Baekhyun." Her voice suddenly went stern, turning a 360° change in Baekhyun's hearing. "The night's still young, and I know you don't want to miss anything—"

"My car's just at the back of this garden. It's too crowded in front of the mansion." Baekhyun ignored what she said and started walking deeper into the garden. Jiwon didn't have a chance to argue as she watched his back on her. "You staying here?"

"No! I'll go!" She exclaimed as she quickly followed him.

You were still in deep sleep as Baekhyun arrived in front of his black Mustang, Jiwon gasped as her eyes feasted on their ride.

"Can you open the door?" She snapped out of her fantasy when Baekhyun called. She quickly opened the passenger seat, and let him carefully place your sleeping figure inside.

"Get in the back. We'll go now."

The ride was silent, only Jiwon's instructions to your apartment were heard. Baekhyun kept on glancing at you, with his hand grasping on top of the steering wheel. Your best friend couldn't help but to clear her throat as she watched him almost bumping on to the motorcycle in front.

"It's quite near the campus, huh?" Baekhyun broke the ice as he slowed down on the side, in front of the building Jiwon pointed earlier. Jiwon just hummed as she opened the door. Baekhyun quickly went out and opened the passenger seat door.

"I can handle from here." Jiwon was fast enough to get to you before him, her hand slipping behind you. You groaned as your eyes slightly opened. "We're home, Jin-ah. Stand up."

Recognizing your best friend's voice, you complied. Jiwon guided you out of the car with her arms on your shoulders. Baekhyun just watched as you mumbled under your breath, making him chuckle.

"Thank you for taking us home, Baekhyun." Jiwon said before waving at him with a smile. "Enjoy the rest of the night!"

Baekhyun just nodded as he closed the door, eyes watching your back until you were inside the building. He sighed while walking back to the driver's side. He remembered how sad your eyes were when you talked to him.

He doesn't feel like having fun now.

"Those people need to be taught a lesson though." Baekhyun muttered irritatedly as he drove off. He unconsciously gripped on the wheel harder, his eyes dimming with annoyance. They made you break down like that.

Maybe, he can have fun in a different way.

—

"Urgh."

Your forehead creased as your eyes squinted open, hands sliding up to your head as it felt like it was being smashed on by tons of bricks. With half-opened eyes, you glanced at the windows and saw that it was almost morning. The dark blue sky was slowly getting lighter, the bright stars slowly being unseen.

"The same old Saejin." You mumbled with a wince as you recall what happened last night. You were deceived once again, taking the bait with tears in your eyes. "How come you never change?"

"Jin-ah?"

You tried sitting up without whimpering at the pain in your head as you heard Jiwon knocking on your door. You groaned as you failed, leaning back on the headboard. The door opened as Jiwon's head peeked behind it.

"You awake?"

"Yeah, but my head's about to burst. Get me some ibuprofen and water, please?" You said with a weak smile, glancing her way. She nodded before running out again. You let out a deep breath as you closed your eyes again.

"I feel so tired facing them...I'm so tired fighting."

"We'll face them together then."

Your eyes shut open, mouth gaping at the sudden memory from last night. Your hands fell on your sides as your mind worked back to the happenings. You looked down at your palms.

You scooted closer to him as you felt comfort in his warm embrace.

Your cheeks flared as you can still feel the warmth of his hug. You hugged him back, didn't you?

"I couldn't have done that to Byun Baekhyun, right?" You mumbled to yourself as you clicked your tongue. "You did, dumbass." You slapped your hand on your forehead, which you quickly regretted as you head pulsed hard. You groaned.

"It's not everyday that I see the prim and proper Saejin slapping herself while having a hangover."

You looked up at the grinning Jiwon beside your bed with a glass in her hand and a capsule on the other. She gave you the two things that will probably lessen your headache, you smiled gratefully.

"So, I bet you remembered what happened last night?" She slowly said as she sat next to you, her eyes observing your reaction. You gulped down everything first before looking back at her. "Why'd you go with them?"

"They said you'd be there, and you wanted me to be there." You explained, eyes on her. When she sadly smiled, you looked away. "I knew you probably didn't, but I still went."

"I wouldn't have wanted you to be around those people, Saejin."

"I know. I'm just too stupid to even hope I could at least try to go back to—"

"Stop going back there." Jiwon's usual cheerful voice was not present, instead, she spoke in a hard and stern one. "If they want to keep their ears closed, let them. If they don't want to believe in you until this world ends, let them. Fuck what they think!"

You flinched at her words, but you felt your heart being held onto gently. It comforted you so much even though you know she's probably the only one who's on your side.

How come just because of one incident, my life will change forever?

"I cooked breakfast." Jiwon said as she stood up, eyebrows furrowing. "It's better to eat on the counter than here." She mumbled before turning her back to you.

She must be upset. She's been reminding me every time, no wonder she's getting tired of it.

You nodded as you looked at the empty glass in your hands.

"Yong Sun-ah, what curse had you brought to me?"

If only you didn't follow what she said, all of this wouldn't have happened.

It wasn't me.

—

♫ Ch.7

55 notes · View notes

scattered--pages · 5 years ago

Note

For the lukanette lyric prompt." Stop there and let me correct it. I wanna live a life from a new perspective" because I love panic! at the disco and I'll make everyone else love them too. Also this is a cute lyric I love 💘

Thank you so much for this one and I’m sorry this took ages! Work and uni were hectic as hell suddenly and then I got sick so this took forever, but it’s finally here! ♡ I mainly used the way I understood the song and kind of a sudden fierce need to change the usual and the casual in a relationship with someone to something finally as serious and stable as they’re craving it to be, mixed with how a person just wants to relax and throw all their cares and everything everyone else might be thinking about them away and just have fun with the person they trust and love the most , so I hope it worked out how you expected it to in the end? ♡ It’s filled with fluff and Lukanette being happy and in love and in that recently-finally-officially-started-dating phase so I’m also hoping you’ll like it anyway, let me know how you feel about it ♡

Send me a lyrical prompt for a Lukanette fic ! ♡

______________________________________________________

I wanna live a life from a new perspective

Words: 4647 pfff this used to be a ‘drabble or a ficlet’ prompt request whoops

Rating: Teen +

AO3 link: here ♡

______________________________________________________

Marinette giggled slightly, leaned against Luka’s coat, her arms holding onto him firmly as the chilly winter air whipped against her face in the way that was just strong enough to be refreshing and invigorating in this sunny winter’s morning.

“Hm?”, Marinette more felt rather than heard Luka through the vibration against his back as it was unfortunately incredibly difficult to talk to your motorcycle driver both due to the wind, helmets and the fact that it’s not very good to turn your head to talk to someone while you’re rushing down the road 100 km/h. When he’s alone, Luka, even though he’s very careful about laws and regulations, did like to try and practice a stunt or two ever since he was able to pass his A1 driver’s license for a moto légère and finally legally drive a motorcycle he’s been saving for since ages now, and even though she knew he was too careful of a person to do anything stupid, Marinette still disapproved of him doing any out-of-the-ordinary stunts whatsoever on a vehicle realistically far more dangerous than a car and she was very grateful that, until he’s eighteen, he isn’t eligible to drive a bike faster stronger than this one and faster than 110 km/h.

However when she was riding with him, she actually didn’t have to worry at all. Luka was a picture perfect example of caution and precision in his driving, making it very clear that, with her there, he wasn’t risking anything even remotely bad happening, adamant on not allowing anything from her not actually getting hurt but just feeling a slight discomfort because of sudden turns or bumps, to far, far more horrible options he didn’t even want to think about. Turning his head, even ever so slightly so she could hear him through their helmets, was one of those things he would not do, which was fine on smaller routes, but excruciating today, of all days. Because they’ve been driving for almost forty minutes now and the endpoint was a surprise he was planning for their two months dating anniversary. And Marinette was a responsible, calm, understanding young woman.

Patient and immune to insanity-inducing curiosity, however - she was not.

“I gave up on trying to get clues out of you about”, she shouted through the glass of her helmet loud enough so he could hear the teasing tone in her voice before it grew a bit more warm and sensitive, “I was thinking of something different now… Almost a year and a half ago, I was riding behind you on a much slower bike and you had just told me that you were almost finished with your song for me…”, Luka couldn’t turn around but she could almost swear that he was smiling right now and, for the lack of being able to do anything else, he very gently nudged his helmet against hers in a way that made her chuckle. “You know if we were already there, you could have even kissed me right now, but instead, you must suffer, I must suffer in my ignorance of any details about today, it’s all rather tragic…”, the teasing tone was back and she could feel him sigh, followed by what she recognized was a chuckle, sending warm shivers down her spine and brightening her smile even more. Content, with her curiosity eased down for now, she leaned against him even tighter and gazed at the gorgeous French fields stretching on both sides of them, sprinkled with frost, blurring next to them as they passed them by.

Soon, they came near a more inhabited area, embraced with a perfect mixture of urban and rural charm and, upon reaching a specific cottage at the edge of what seemed to have been a wooded area, they stopped.

“We’re here?! We’re finally here?!”, the raven haired girl practically shouted as he turned the engine off, one foot on the ground, arms clapping excitedly, but her helmet still on her head.

Carefully stepping off of the motorcycle, Luka laughed softly, took his own helmet off in one fluid motion, placed it to rest against the steering wheel before helping his girlfriend take hers off and placing a kiss atop her forehead.

“Yes and no.”

The sound she produced, frowning deeper and deeper, sounded almost like a quiet growl.

He laughed again, putting away their helmets and pulling his bike a bit further aside to park it next to the cottage’s entrance. “You waited for almost an hour, now you can’t wait for fifteen more minutes?”

When he reached her, she immediately jumped into a hug, but the eyes looking up at him from the ruffles of his scarf were those of the most adorable rage he has ever seen in his life. “I have had my waiting, Couffaine, give me hints or risk dire consequences!”, she murmured against the woolen material and he cupped her face, bringing it up closer to his as he leaned down to kiss her.

“Soon, my small bundle of anger and rage, soon.”

She moved away and swung her glove at him at that with feigned anger and quickly hopped back to give him one more peck as they both laughed.

“This place here,” he nodded towards the cottage, “Is where a really good friend of my mom’s lives. He works here. And therefore we have special privileges and access that hardly anyone else has, just for us, just for today”, he took her hand and lead the way into the wooded area.

She chuckled. “So… Driving five kilometers per hour faster on the road was out of the question, but trespassing into a strange wooded area outside of Paris is perfectly fine?”

“Hey, it’s not trespassing if it’s…”, he looked aside, puzzled, “Authority approved type of trespassing?”

Marinette went from holding his hand to hooking her arm around it and hugging herself against his side, “You know, everyone keeps thinking you’re this bad boy with a guitar, or just a heartthrob badass rocker on the rise, but in fact, you’re just a teddy bear.”

He laughed pressed his lips against the top of her head, “Yeah, but I’m your teddy bear.”

She smiled, looking up at him with loving eyes, “Yes you are.” And she wouldn’t change it for the world. Her perfect mix of prince charming and a dashing rogue, of sunshine and moonlight, the perfect combination of absolute kindness and softness with a perfectly fitting edge of just enough of exhilaration and wildness. And to think that, a year and a half, after first hearing the first version of ‘her song’, in front of her parents’ bakery, she was still partially capable on letting him slip away for Adrien. Now she wouldn’t let him slip away even if the entire universe offered itself up to her.

“But wait, technically… We are trespassing?”

“Today, you are not to worry about secondary things like that.”

“Luka!”, she nudged his ribs with a genuinely concerned expression now that she realized he really wasn’t joking.

He chuckled again, “It’s gonna be fine… We’re not going to get into trouble and it’s worth it, trust me!”

“Hmm…”, Marinette mused, excited, but quite puzzled and just a bit nervous. In a way, it was a good feeling, to break away from doing everything by the line for a change, and she knew she was not only safe with Luka, but also that he, as mentioned, never would do anything dangerous or fully illegal with her, not to mention that she fully and unconditionally trusted him. So she decided to be brave.

And she didn’t have to stay in her mildly perturbed state for too long as, very soon, they reached the end of the small wooded area.

Marinette clutched at his hand tightly, standing there fully astound.

“Welcome to…”

“Versailles…”

Luka chuckled slightly, “With it’s premises entered by an ever so slightly backdoor way.”

She turned to him, still in a state of absolutely blissful, overjoyed shock, “How did you know that I…”

At her sudden lack of words, he smiled and pulled her into a gentle hug. “Juleka told me you’ve never been here yet”, he shrugged pulling away gently, “And to have grown up in Paris and never been to Versailles is a crime that I had to rectify”, he joked, and she felt an urge of happiness to sudden, she could have cried. Hopping in one place twice, she clapped her hands and turned to the gorgeous, stunning vast fields of flawless shrubbery, grass and blue winter skies, stretching in front of them all the way to the magnificent palace at the garden’s end.

“Screw trespassing…!”, a sudden bout of courage grabbed onto her in her euphoria, “We’re getting to that castle!”

Her hand clasped tightly onto his and they shared a grinning, determined look of agreement, as though they somehow read other’s minds in that very moment, before they began sprinting through the perfect trails amidst the trees, bushes and winding pathways, all preserved perfectly under a thin layer of eyes, making the whole place seem even more like a location springing to life right out of a fairytale.

Peering behind one of the trees, Marinette stuck her tongue out playfully and smirked at Luka, laughing running towards her, “Catch me if you can, Couffaine!”

With a chuckle, he smirked back in a fiendish way that was just charming enough to make Marinette feel an array of fireworks of tingles all over through her body. “Challenge accepted, Dupain-Cheng”, he replied completely confident, causing her to giggle out a tiny squeal of faux panic before she set of to find cover behind the next rich green topiary, luscious even in a winter as cold as this one, as was, somehow, the entire garden.

Reaching the stunning Colonnade grove, Marinette stopped next to one of the beautiful columns, catching her breath quietly as she glided her palm across the smooth marble, admiring the texture of the perfect icy cold surface. Each column the a stunning fluid shade of red or blue, one following the other in a perfect circle with the Abduction of Proserpina by Pluto statue placed right in the middle - a perfectly white vision in marble. She felt like she was in a fairytale. How on Earth did she never come here before…

Suddenly, she felt a hand graze her other palm and in a second, in unique kind of instinct where her hand recognized the other one before her mind did, she instantly intertwined their fingers, only to be spun around and swiftly wrapped into a familiar warm embrace.

"Got you now, my princess", he whispered before placing a soft peck against her lips, the sparks within her vivid once more, spreading from her heart to every corner of her body, causing an array of sensations from the soothingly knotted yearning at the pit of her stomach, to the utmost tender tingles she felt all the way to the tips of her fingers, like pure happiness sparkling through her, so strong and genuine that it couldn’t be contained.

She giggled and locked her lips with him before pulling away only so they could catch their breaths, rosy-cheeked and chuckling blissfully, their foreheads and noses still pressed together.

“Come on my brave trespassing knight”, she stepped away, taking his hand with a grin, “Show me more of your kingdom before the royal guards catch us and give your mom and my parents a heart-attack when they call to tell them their kids have been arrested in a castle outside of Paris”

“I honourably promise that I shall let no guard come anywhere near you, my princess! I swear by my life that I will protect you and our parents’ health for I have fallen for you far too much to jeopardize either of those two”, he grinned and made a surprisingly authentic and gallant knightly bow before her, causing her to break into a fit of blushing giggles again for a moment.

"I bet you say that to all the girls you take on romantic, secret walks around the Versailles gardens in winter", she pouted teasingly.

"No", he shook his head with a smile, “I only say it in hopes of making this one girl in front of me as absolutely and entirely smitten with me as I am with hers.”

"And is it working?“, she interlocked their fingers.

"You tell me, my fair maiden.”

Her shoulders shrugged as they walked, a jokingly disappointed look on her face, “I don’t know… I mean a true princess is never fully charmed until she’s had her first romantic waltz with her dashing suitor.”

Still grinning, he quirked an eyebrow, “What happened to the incredibly-scared-of-dancing-especially-if-it’s-a-real-ballroom-dance-Marinette?”

“You happened, you goof!”, she punched him jokingly and he laughed. “And, that Marinette has never been in the middle of the most beautiful winter outdoor ballroom in the vicinity of one of France’s most stunning castles”, her hand let go of his only to tip-toe a few steps away, spreading her arms and spinning around as she took in the gorgeous view of the Roccocco Grove. The massive, gorgeous stones adorned with decorations and fountains all around them and, even though the fountains didn’t work at the moment, even though the breath-taking arena-like structure lacked the marble flooring, colors, vast audiences and lights that it featured when it was originally built centuries ago, the whole vision of the entire outdoor ballroom structure, covered by thin translucent snow, sparkling in the light winter sun as if it was thousands of little diamonds spilled and strewn across the cold stone, was as if it somehow appeared all around them straight out of a dream. A dream from which Marinette never wanted to wake up.

Regarding the waltz and dancing in general, partially, she was only joking and, partially, she still was a bit terrified to embarrass herself in front of him and to therefore singlehandedly somehow ruin a moment like these, so she wasn’t truly expecting it when he closed the distance between them again, took another graceful small bow that he probably thought was silly but to her it was so charmingly dashing and perfect that, with his smile and the absolute magic radiating from this particular garden grove, it honestly caused her to instantly feel irrevocably and entirely smitten and taken aback by the now increasing levels of dream-likeness of this entire situation.

“Well than…”, he offered her his hand, “May I be so bold as to ask you for a dance, princess?”

And, also somehow without expecting her own courage, but also fully well knowing that there was no way she was capable of uttering anything else right now, she took his hand and with a shy, adoring smile replied, “You may.”

She always forgot how good of a dancer Luka actually was. Coming from a musical family and loving music so much, one would assume that, other than having a huge passion for guitar and, so far secretly, singing, he would also enjoy dancing in more casual, modern music-related situations. So she was incredibly surprised to have learned that he actually could, and very well at that, waltz! Of course, she knew the basic steps, for which she was insanely grateful currently because it was the only thing allowing her to be able to follow his lead, but Luka was gathering more and more points for secretly being a prince behind that façade of just a calm, introverted, punk-rock boy. In fact, it reminded her of that day more than a year ago at the ice rink where she was too busy and blind chasing after Adrien to fully appreciate the down-right movie-like way he spun her around, lifted her and held her in his arms on that rink before Philippe was akumatized.

This time, on the other hand, she was entirely without any other care, focus, or distraction in her mind, now for her the only thing that existed was him and how light and free and so incredibly loved and beautiful she felt in his hands. The ballroom around them might as well have had actual candles, diamonds, fountains and decorations behind them, there might as well have been real music behind them and even if she stumbled in her steps a few times, even if she faltered a bit occasionally, he was there to help her, to catch her, and she never stopped being amazed at how easy it was to just laugh in each other’s arms, ignore life for a moment and just… be, when she was with him.

“Hold on to my shoulders with both of your hands now”, he said suddenly, smiling, and she obeyed, although a tad confused, before she found herself lifted up by her waist slightly mid-spin and swiftly brought back down into his embrace, like they were in scene from Beauty and the Beast.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug as she laughed in that breathless, entirely interwoven with joy way in which only people in love can laugh when they’re completely overcome with how they feel when they’re with the person the care most for.

“If this isn’t reality, never wake me up, please…”, she kept chuckling, “How are you even real, Luka, how did I ever even deserve someone like you?”

She giggled a bit more, but quickly turned dead silent and pulled away as she felt Luka’s smile against her neck fade away slowly, his hands around her losing the strength of their grip. The sudden cold change of attitude was so strong it Marinette snap out of their dreamlike state within a second, replacing it with a string of panic and worry.

"Luka?”, her tone was quiet but nervous, “What’s wrong?”

"Marinette… I need to tell you something… I need you to know, really know something…“

He stepped back a bit, carefully plucking her hands from his neck and placing one of them in both of his own.

The dark haired girl turned an alarming shade of pale that matched the lithe frost covering the surfaces around the grove. "What… is it?”, her voice was cautious and silent, but upsetting her was the last thing Luka wanted to do right now, so he tried to muster up a small sad smile, gently squeezing her hands in his own.

„You’ve been kind of stressed lately and it’s only been so briefly since we’ve been… an actual couple…”, a pause and a shy smile graced his features that Marinette could only describe as breathtakingly adorable, but after that, heartbreakingly fast, his smile faded. Slowly, she studied his eyes with hers, puzzled and worried, as he ran the fingers of his free hand down his scalp through his teal locks before stopping to rub at his neck with a brief sigh, a habit of nervousness and a sign of hesitation, she knew how to recognize these small signs when they painted themselves across his features when he tried his best to hide them and when everyone else thought they were just random quirks. But she knew. “And suddenly“, he continued, torn, silent, suddenly avoiding her gaze, „I feel like I haven’t been as good anymore at keeping you happy or relaxed, and I think it’s because I know everyone’s still saying that…”, his cheeks reddened, but his face somehow grew even more somber. He sighed once more, “Literally, someone from our group said to me a few days ago that they all know I’m just that boy who’s going to be someone to ‘keep you busy’ while you’re getting over Adrien, someone to check all your ‘firsts’ with, until you gather some confidence from this before you finally get together with Adrien for the long term…”

“Luka… Who said that, was Chlo-…”, Marinette tried to stop him, reaching out to place a hand against his cheek, but he caught it and cradled it again in his own palms instead, this time both of his hands held hers in a way in which a person craddles a final drop of water that’s helping them cling to their very life amidst a desert. Lovingly, tenderly, and almost desperately in the way they shook ever so slightly.

“I’m sorry, please, I-I just need to say this, cause if I don’t, it’ll take me getting akumatized again and fearing that I’ve hurt you or lost you to say anything, and than I’ll stay silent again for six months until I muster up the courage to try to again attempt saying something that’s been hurting me bit by bit on the inside, until it’s almost too late to say anything, like the last time, cause…”, he gave her that heartbreaking small but growingly sad smile again, “I could write and play a thousand of songs, melodies and tunes to show you how I’m feeling, but sometimes, as much as I’m… very clearly horrible with words, sometimes they need to be said and something nothing else is enough when things like this bubble up unspoken… I’ve seen it with my parents, with other people, and I swear to always be completely honest with you, even with things that are scaring me.”

Marinette had to fight an urge to touch his cheeks and somehow smooth the sudden immensely strong fear and lack of his typical mellow optimism off of his face, but she suppressed it, for now, and simply carefully nodded, urging him to continue.

“The worst is, the person that said this… They, I’m pretty sure, didn’t mean it as a necesarrily bad thing, they just said it kind of as a casual humorous observation cause they, somehow, thought I was okay with it, that I was the kind of chill, fairweather guy that am in on that… Of course, people like Juleka knows I’m not, maybe Rose and Ivan know, people really close to me that spend almost every day with me…but the truth is…”, he frowned for a moment, shaking his head before his eyes met hers again with an earnestness so fierce and pure she could swear she could feel it, “I’m not. I’m not okay with it.”

His fingers caressed her knuckled with the kind of gentleness she’s never felt before. It didn’t matter it was icy cold outside, it made her very core light up with a summer-like warmth and she had to once again fight the urge to grab his face, scream if needed that 'I know you’re not like that, I know!’, just to extinguish this ridiculous notion that she shares this opinion of him with this insanely cruel person, but before she got the chance to, he hesitantly parted his lips to speak again. “I know I’ve told you this before, but to me, this is more than just having another crush or a girlfriend to date for a few weeks or months cause we’re teenagers, and you’re still getting over Adrien, and I’m the easy-going yet rebellious punk rocker who’s here as your rebound and that��s how relationships go in our age …”, he shyly rolled his eyes, angry at the very fact that things like this are expected from people their age because eighteen and sixteen isn’t old enough to know love, when he knew the love he felt well enough to propose to this girl right here and now and not regret it until they’re old and grey and shrivelled up, and he saw the kind of honest, strong love in other people their age all around them, in Alya and Nino and Rose and Juleka and Ivan and Mylene and shattered his heart that he finally found a girl that made him feel like he was constantly dreaming, even when loving her made him hurt, even when being by her side meant that he wasn’t the one she would prefer there, even back when standing by her made him feel both more happy and broken than he’s been in a long time, perhaps ever, he knew how terrifyingly, beautifully, most assuredly different and strong this was. To the point Juleka even mocked and teased him for a while until she realized that this was actually real and very much happening to her introverted, strong but bad with emotions big brother that hardly ever even having had a proper crush or two before.

“What I mean is… What I want to make sure you know about and what I say to anyone thinking or saying stuff like that, because I know more of them have thought something like that as well but were perhaps too polite to voice it and what I mean to say to those people and that outlook on love and on us is…”, he held her hands just a bit tighter and took a deep breath, his eyes searching hers with an unmistakable sense of fear for her reaction, but his words were determined, “…to hell with that, and to hell with what we have being anything close to just that. You’re the first thing in my life that anchored me this strongly or made me feel this way this hard and now that you’re finally with me and are perhaps feeling at least an inkling of what I am, after everything, I am not letting this be a typical cliché teenage passing thing, no matter who thinks that it is and it’s so, so important for me that you know that too…”

His expression, locked with hers, soon grew fully terrified when she didn’t immediately respond, but in reality, Marinette was only out of words for an entirely different set of reasons than the darkest case scenario that he was imagining.

She now firmly placed her second palm onto his hands and squeezed them, smiling and shaking her head in disbelief of what this amazing, mature, selfless boy was somehow made to believe she thought of him. “Luka, I never thought you were like that in the first place and you have nothing to prove to me… The fact is, you are the most kindhearted, empathetic, caring boy I know and I definitely agree with saying ‘to hell’ with what anyone thinks of us…”. She glanced aside with a small rueful sigh, “I know that after more than a year of my very obvious and embarrassing pining for Adrien… it may seem like I need more convincing than necessary but, my truth and my opinion is… You’re not Adrien… And it makes me so happy that you’re not and that’s why I love you. Because just meeting you slowly made me finally realize that, all this time, I needed and felt best and truly loved not Adrien, but you, you silly thing! All of what you just said,“ she chuckled happily, „I’ve known it already. And I am very happy to be here to stay for as long as you’ll have me…“, giggling quietly, she hunched her head down a bit, flush rosyness coloring her cheeks swiftly though, through a set of thick black eyelashes.

And just like that, his lips pulled into that gorgeous, bright grin that accentuated his cheekbones in a way she loved so much and lit up his eyes so that their teal to aquamarine shades almost seemed to have all grown a hue brighter.

„For as long as I’ll have you?“

Suddenly, his arms were wrapped around her as he spun her around, causing her to instantly squee and laugh loudly as she held herself tightly against his chest.

When he put her down again, he brushed a stray lock of dark hair from her face and pressed his lips to her forehead, then against her lips. “How does forever sound?“

#lukanette #lukanette fic #marinette x luka #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #my fic #miraculous ladybug #ml #words #long post

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rwbyremnants · 4 years ago

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This one's for all the Kali fans. Sorry for all the long stretches between chapters. Truth is I just don't have any motivation anymore; not just for writing. But whatever, life is dumb. See you all soon.

=Chapter 21

Once the police came, they took one look at the situation and sided with the two women. Though they could serve as a terrible reminder for the rest of their lives, the bloody welts on their faces and arms provided explicitly clear evidence that they had not attacked the man of the house without provocation. Whitley looked shocked and saddened to find out he might actually have been mistaken in his estimation of the situation, and retreated into his room once the officers were through questioning him.

By the time they were wrapping up the scene, carting Jacques off in an ambulance with handcuffs binding him to the stretcher, Pyrrha had shown up out of nowhere. Of course, it wasn’t truly out of nowhere; the presence of police vehicles with their sirens wailing had drawn the attention of quite a few people in the neighbourhood. Weiss could tell her mother was embarrassed at all of the attention, even on top of her behaviour for the past several years of their lives and the truly awful experience of confronting her husband’s true nature.

“It’s good to see you looking more yourself again,” Pyrrha finally breathed as she embraced Mrs. Schnee gently, as if worried she might break her.

“You, too,” she said with a weary smile. “I’ve missed your face around the house. And I’m… I can’t even begin to-”

“Mother had a problem,” Weiss interrupted. “And she’s working on it. That’s all.”

Though the elder woman looked even more ashamed of herself, Pyrrha let out a sigh before smiling and patting her forearm. “Well, that’s all we can do, isn’t it? Work on our problems. I have faith in you.”

While tears were streaming down her face again, Weiss steered her into the living room and sat her down in a chair. She could tell she needed a moment, so she slipped back out the front door again to talk to her friend.

“I don’t know what to think,” she whispered, staring down at the ground. “She’s… this is really hard on her. And you were right about my father. Somehow, I just thought if I kept ignoring the problem, it would go away - and Salem was counting on me to-”

“Shhh.” Her index finger rested against Weiss’s lips just long enough to silence her before she dropped it. “Take a moment to breathe. I know…” She shook her head for a moment. “You’re really in a pickle, Weiss.”

“What am I supposed to do? I’ve lost my father, my mother is barely holding it together… Yang’s mother hates me. I’ve made a choice to stand by my gal no matter what, but that doesn’t mean everything is about to magically get easy.”

Pyrrha tapped her chin for a moment. Then she straightened and said, “Salem.”

“What?”

“Let’s ask Salem. I believe she would be understanding of your… problems. Besides, you have to tell her about losing your ‘in’ with your father.”

Though she didn’t want to admit it, she knew Pyrrha was right. Salem may have terrified her but it was unwise to sit around, waiting for the High Dragon to find out from someone else. Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly before saying, “I suppose I’ll need to ask you for a ride? Although I could probably borrow my father’s car at this point; I doubt he’ll be needing it soon.”

“I’ll drive you,” she chuckled. “We shouldn’t have to risk you getting in trouble for stealing a whole car. What about your mother, though?”

“Oh… go and get your wheels. I’ll be right back.”

Her mother hadn’t moved, other than to curl in on herself again. Weiss knelt at her side, taking her hand between both of her own. “Mommy?”

“Yes?” she sobbed.

“I’m going out now. I… well, there’s something I have to do. With the Dragons. I know you probably hate that I’m-”

“Go on. Don’t worry about me.”

“Of course I’ll worry about you! I just… need to do this. Will you be alright until I get back?”

After a brief pause, she took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yes. As long as you do me one favour.” It cost her a lot to continue. “Go… into the cabinet under the sink and throw away the bottle of bleach all the way in the back. Take it with you and dump it out somewhere, or… or just make sure it’s gone.”

“What?” she asked, completely confused. “Why would I need to do that?”

“Because it’s filled with wine. It’s… I hid it there, because I’m weak… I’m so weak!”

A fresh sob erupted as she pushed her hand into her mouth again. Weiss could understand; if the whole reason her mother had become a wino was because she was upset about their family situation, then she might not be able to resist on a night like this. She was reaching out for help, acknowledging her own limitations. Standing up, she pressed a kiss into her cheek.

“I love you. I’ll take care of it. And… a-and this isn’t forever! You’ll… Pyrrha’s right, you just…”

It seemed they were both out of words. But unlike other times in the past years, Willow reached up and ran her fingers through Weiss’s hair, smiling at her. Really seeing her instead of looking through her at the demons.

“I love you, too, my little angel. See you soon.”

----------------------------------------------------------------

Again, Weiss felt awful for lying to someone. This time, it was a small lie.

“Maybe… you should slow down on that,” Pyrrha said in mild alarm as she watched Weiss tip the bleach bottle back again, swigging down the bitter red liquid.

“I’ll stop after this,” she gasped, capping it just as she had promised. “But… Salem scares me. My brand hurts right now from having it smacked with a belt, so I definitely can’t forget how scary the last time was.”

“But you sat with her waiting for Yang, didn’t you?”

Shrugging, she put the wine under her arm as Pyrrha pulled into the lot behind Shopkeeper’s. “We didn’t speak. And she still wore that big cloak. Why do you think she does that? Why is she so, so… shadowy?” But knowing her friend would have no answers, she sighed and smiled weakly. “Thank you for being such a good friend. Maybe… maybe after this, I’ll get my own motorcycle. Start taking care of my own transportation. And then you won’t have to be my chauffeur, which isn’t fair, and it isn’t-”

“I’m happy to do it,” she reassured her with a wide smile. “You’re in an impossible situation, and doing the best you can. Don’t worry about me.”

The corner of her mouth twitched up a little higher. “My mother said the same thing. Not to worry about her, I mean. I have so many selfless people in my life.” Her hand reached over to take up Pyrrha’s. “Come in with me. You know Cinder will be happy to see you.”

“Oh, please,” she tittered, rolling her eyes. Her cheeks did pinken, but Weiss was reasonably sure it was just all the attention; she was still fixated on that blonde boy from her class. Still, she did get out of the car and enter the den of sin.

By the look of all the girls in the restaurant, no one had heard what happened. Either that, or they didn’t care; most of them were relatively unconcerned with Weiss and barely knew her. Only the girls from the high school lit up when they saw her approaching their corner.

“Hey, hero,” Coco said with a huge grin. “Dove right in to get Yang patched up. Not bad, not bad.”

“Maybe we were wrong about you,” Cinder conceded, her manner more reserved as she inspected her fingernails. “Maybe. But I’m fairly sure I’m right about this tall drink of water.”

With a nervous little laugh, Pyrrha waved briefly to her. “Hello, again. We’re actually here because Weiss has some news for Salem. Is she in?”

Inwardly, Weiss felt herself cringe at the way she put that - as if this were some kind of impromptu doctor’s visit. But none of the others seemed to feel the same. Emerald immediately said, “She’s back there, yeah. But she’s in with, um, a client.”

Suddenly, Pyrrha’s question didn’t sound so out of place.

“Wait with us,” Cinder encouraged in a velvety smooth voice, looping an arm around Pyrrha’s back and leading her to the table. Weiss had to suppress an annoyed sigh or a stern comment, but her friend could handle herself. “I’m sure you have some fascinating stories that I’d love to hear.”

Even while Emerald was rolling her eyes, Pyrrha was allowing herself to be seated. Meanwhile, Velvet approached timidly and gave her a quick little hug.

“That was a brave thing you did for Yang, and that boy. Quite brave.”

“Don’t mention it,” she said with an awkward smile. “Are Kali and Blake here?”

“No, sorry.”

“Damn,” she sighed, folding her arms over her chest and staring anxiously at the door that would lead to her fate, whatever it may turn out to be. “I was hoping for some support.”

“What do you mean? We can support you!”

Wincing at how that ended up coming across, and at the earnestness in Velvet’s fair features, Weiss flashed her a pained smile. “Oh… no, I didn’t- well, it’s only… Blake and her mother have become close friends of mine. Especially Kali, with how supportive she is, and always, well, mothering! So… it’s nothing against you and the rest of the Dragons, of course. But you know how Cinder and Emerald and those others can be sometimes.”

“Yeah,” she said with a clearly nervous laugh. “I do.”

That brought back a memory. “What did happen between you and Cinder? I’m almost afraid to ask, but…”

“Nothing worth mentioning, really. Coco loves to be dominant in the bedroom, and I can say the same about Blake to a much lesser degree. That’s fine! But Cinder… it’s a quite another level. She made me feel awful - like I was just an animal to her. A thing. And alright, she did apologise when I told her later that she made me cry, but she also seemed… irritated?” Her slight shoulders raised and lowered. Weiss noticed Cinder was watching them from her seat beside Pyrrha, but she was far enough away that she couldn’t hear a word over Fats Domino blasting out of the jukebox. “As if I ought to have known my own limits, told her in advance. Which I would have if I’d known how much rougher she was! But she didn’t say that, and didn’t shout at me or argue. Just was irritated, as I said. Like a child who’s had their toy taken away because they’ve been a prat; she knew what she did wasn’t on and apologised, but didn’t like that she needed to.”

“Oh.”

“But she really isn’t a bad person,” Velvet said urgently, as if needing to make up for the character assassination. “Truly! Other than that incident, she’s been rather good to me, and agrees that my parents wanting to leave is tragic. And since her own family life is so… well, it is the way it is…”

Nodding, even though what she wanted to do was ask more about Cinder’s home life, Weiss reached up to pat her on the shoulder. This was more important right now. “I understand. Sorry for having to bring all that unpleasantness up again.”

“Oh, no worries,” she said with a wider smile, even if her eyes were still shadowed by melancholy. “That’s life.”

Weiss barely had enough time to drop the wine off with the bartender and head back over to chat with the girls for a minute or two before a man exited the back room. He must have been a Huntsman, because when Cinder and Emerald started booing he merely laughed and made a rude gesture at them, and they laughed, as well. Then Cinder hopped up and glided back there to check on Salem’s status.

“She’ll see you,” she called over to her, beckoning. “Don’t dawdle.”

Weiss wouldn’t have dared.

As usual, Salem was cloaked in shadow instead of her actual cloak, and smoke hung heavily on the air. Weiss didn’t wait for Cinder this time; she confidently strode to the booth and sat in the bench opposite the High Dragon, trying not to wince from her brand being shifted.

“Well?” Straight to business, apparently.

“My father has been arrested.”

“Oh?” she breathed in mild surprise. “Whatever for?”

“Domestic violence. He…”

Only now was Weiss tripped up. She didn’t want to describe what happened, or relive it. But she needed to find the best and most accurate way to retell the tale so Salem would be aware of the situation.

“It’s written on your face, little one. Literally.” A ghostly hand reached across the table and grasped her chin, thumb rubbing over the welt her father’s strike had left. Hard. It burned, but it was a pain she could weather easily - a lot more easily than the initial strike, or the feeling of betrayal it brought with it. “Did you get him back?”

“No. But my mother did. She smashed a vase over his head - a very expensive one, too.” When she saw Salem’s teeth glinting in the dark from her smile, she couldn’t suppress one of her own.

“Satisfying?”

“Yes. I wish it wasn’t - I wanted him to… be…”

“A father.” When Weiss nodded, she leaned back and sighed. “You still expect too much from men. They’re beasts, incapable of controlling themselves, and should be regarded as such. No matter. What will become of his control of Schnee Communications?”

Though she couldn’t quite agree with the way Salem saw men - her father was simply a bad apple, not a representative of all of them - she knew pressing the point would be unwise. “Well… I’m not sure. There’s only been enough time for me to ask him to look into hiring Mr. Scarlatina; I didn’t think… well, he found me out way too soon, and he lost it. I couldn’t get him to believe I didn’t know what he was talking about, he just… needed me to be a bad child.”

“Your acting skills leave something to be desired, then.” She considered while Weiss tried to ignore the flicker of fear in her stomach. “Not your fault. You’re a babe in the woods, and you have done well so far; saving my warlord, restoring peace between us and the Huntsmen. And we can’t always predict how animals will behave.”

Something about that struck her. First, Velvet was saying Cinder treated her like an animal, and now, Salem was saying the same about the male gender as a whole. Perhaps the teenage Dragon was hanging around with her mentor a little too often.

“Cinder?” The girl approached and dipped her head slightly. “The phone.”

From a neighbouring booth, Cinder retrieved a black telephone with a longish cord, setting it in front of her boss. Salem picked up the receiver and began to spin the dial. “My Duchess seems to be the best one for this job; that business acumen of hers. Ah - Kali?” A brief pause. “I’ll need you to pick up the little Schnee and take her home. And once you get there…”

------------------------------------------------------------------

In very little time at all, Weiss and her surrogate mother were riding through Vale in her Ford, on their way to speak to her real mother. Though Weiss felt guilty about leaving Pyrrha to head home on her own, she privately thought it was smart they didn’t stay much longer; she looked a little green around the gills from having to rebuff so many of Cinder’s advances. The only one who looked greener was Emerald - with envy rather than nausea.

“Mother?” she called out as they entered. “Are you still here?” No response. The living room was empty, so she gestured for Kali to enter.

“It’s a lovely home,” she remarked easily. In preparation for this meeting, she had donned another lovely dress fit for any homemaker, quite modest with its high neck and capped sleeves but very becoming on her figure. The little peep-toe window at the tips of her black heels were the only flirty accent that reassured Weiss no one else had forced her into the outfit against her will.

“Thank you. Will you wait here for a moment, please?”

“Of course.” The tone was overly gentle, coddling. She had been using it ever since Salem explained why Weiss needed a ride, and the reality of her situation. It was maddening, but at the same time, she appreciated having friends who truly gave a damn about her safety and wellbeing.

To her surprise, her mother wasn’t in the drawing room or her bedroom. She was in her room, standing with a handkerchief pressed to her mouth and gazing around at the surroundings.

“Mother?”

“Oh,” she breathed in mild surprise, a watery smile springing up. “I’m sorry, Weiss. How are you?”

“I’m fine. How are you?”

“Fine.” After a moment, she shook her head, sinking down onto the corner of her bed. “And now… we’re lying to each other again. Old habits die hard.”

“I am fine, though. Not great! Not… thrilled that my father is such a… a-”

“Say it.”

“An un-nice person.” When her mother laughed, she smiled slightly. “You know what I mean. But I have a feeling you’re worse off than I am, and today, I got my mother back, and… and I still have my friends. Especially now that I don’t have to hide them.”

The smile on her mother’s face faded. For the first time, she realised how old she looked. Still beautiful for her age, but there were bags under her eyes, wrinkles at the corners and by her mouth. Being with Jacques had obviously aged her quite a bit.

“Your ‘friends’. I… might not have agreed with your father on how he handled the situation, but I agree that it should be handled. They aren’t the type of people I want you associating with.”

“Mother…”

“I won’t do what he did,” she told her firmly, holding up a hand to forestall her complaints. “That was… well, let’s not think about it. And I won’t forbid you to see them, but honey… can’t you enjoy your friendship with the Nikos girl more? It’s… safer. And I’m going to be a lot more worried now that I don’t have the wine to keep me from worrying anymore.”

Frowning, she sat down next to her mother, painfully aware that she was now wearing the jacket. Not hiding. “Sorry, Mommy. I really am sorry that… that the people I care about aren’t people you like. Or that I would have liked before I got to know them. But I can’t turn my back on them now.”

“Can’t you? It’s easy. Your father seemed to have no problem doing so to us.”

“They aren’t those kinds of villains, and neither am I,” she replied harshly, and Willow flinched. “Sorry.”

“No, no… it’s alright. We need to start being honest with ourselves about what kind of man he was, or we… or the lies will only get worse. The ones we tell others, the ones we tell ourselves.” Her voice broke. “I let him hurt you too many times. More than once was too many. And I let him hurt me so much more, but I could tolerate that as long as he- as l-long as he d-didn’t-”

Weiss wrapped her in a tight hug, squeezing as hard as her arms could handle. She wanted nothing more than to march into the jailhouse and stomp on his head with Yang’s boots - or maybe borrow one of the girls’ heavy chains to really give him what for. But that would make her no better than him. She wouldn’t rule it out, but she would try to be the better person.

“Don’t apologise anymore,” she whispered as softly as she could. “I love you, Mommy. Always have and always will. And… I don’t know what I would have done in your place, either. It’s hard; he’s your husband.”

“Not anymore.” The growl in her tone shocked Weiss a little, but it was also heartening.

“Good. I… I don’t know what we’re going to do now, but I agree with you.” Then she sat up straighter. “Oh!”

“What is it?” she asked, sniffling and wiping at her cheeks.

“There’s someone here to see you! And this is good because-” Pausing, she hopped up and began to pull at her mother’s hands to help her stand. “-because she’s one of the Dragons. But, well, she’s not really a Dragon; she’s one of their moms, and cooks for them sometimes.” That may have been a little white lie, but it was more or less true, functionally. Other than the rumble, typically Kali was content to cook food and stay in the background. She could clear up the rest of her roles herself.

“A gangster cook?” They both exchanged a bemused smile, even if Willow’s was a bit watery. “Well, where is she? Downstairs?”

Her mother insisted on nipping into the bathroom to fix her face and hair before entertaining guests. Appearances had always been of utmost importance to the Schnees, after all, and she couldn’t expect her mother to change her spots entirely - not on the same day as they ousted Jacques from their home, tentative as that was. Then they descended the stairs together.

Kali stood from the sofa where she had been waiting, and pressed a hand to her chest. “My goodness, look at these twin beauties gracing me with their presence! Such style, such grace!”

“Stop it,” Weiss laughed. But her mother seemed a little confused by the praise.

“I… I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” she confessed.

“Not at all,” she assured her as they arrived, reaching forward to take one of Willow’s hands and pressing it between her own. “Kali Belladonna. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Willow Schnee.” Then she shrugged, self-conscious. “I look like a wreck and I know it; crying for hours, and… can’t I get you something? Tea?”

Kali led her over to the sofa, pulling her down onto the middle cushion and taking one of the ends. Privately, Weiss noticed that she was sitting very close to her, but it could just as easily have been because she wanted to comfort her as any untoward reasons. “There, there. You’ve had a terrible day; it’s not your fault, please don’t feel like you have to go to any trouble on my account.”

“Thank you,” she sighed wearily. “Ordinarily, I might put up a fight, but… thank you.”

“I must say, if I knew Weiss had such an attractive twin sister, I would have stopped by much earlier than today.”

“What? Oh,” she tutted, rolling her eyes. “Don’t try that flattery on me.”

“You mean you aren’t sisters?” she said with a theatrical gasp. When her mother actually laughed quietly, she smiled. “But don’t worry, I’ll stop buttering you up if it actually does bother you.”

“It doesn’t. I just… I can’t feel very attractive right now. I can’t. Not after-”

“No, no, it’s fine. So! I’ll admit that my visit is not strictly an excuse to pay you compliments.” Barely glancing at Weiss as she seated herself on her mother’s opposite side, she went on, “This is a very tricky time. I’m going to have to ask you some difficult questions about your, erhm… financial situation, business. It’s not fun, but I’m hoping to help you and Weiss avoid having the rug pulled out from under you.”

The sudden topic change startled her. “What? I mean… I’m sorry, I don’t understand. I only take care of managing the bills in the house; my husband is in charge of the finances and our bank holdings.”

“Are they all in his name?” When she only blinked, Kali pressed, “Are any of his shares in your name? Do you have a joint bank account?”

“Sorry again, but I don’t see what business it is of yours.”

Kali didn't even flinch. “It’s not. But do you want me to paint you a picture of what may happen if we don’t try to work on this immediately?”

“No, I don’t. But… I’m curious now.”

Taking that as permission, she went on, “Your husband is a first-time offender. We both know the law, the courts, always favour men - it’s just the way the system works. He looks repentant for striking his wife and child, says he was overworked, under a lot of stress. The judge herds you into court to testify, asks you if he’s done this before. Then he starts bringing up your drinking problem, and well… you’re faced with two choices. Either you leave him, and leave all of his money, and wind up out in the street, or you go back to an abusive husband and suffer. Do those choices appeal to you?”

As horrified as Willow looked, so did Weiss on her other side. “Oh. I… no, be reasonable. He won’t get out - he struck me with a belt. He’s never gone that far before.”

“Exactly; he’s never gone that far before.” Weiss found herself dismayed at how much inflection could change a sentence. “That would make it quite easy for him to convince a judge he never will again, even though that’s exactly what he’s promised in the past about striking Weiss.”

“How much have you told this woman?” she demanded of her daughter, though she looked more stunned than upset.

“Enough, Mommy. I… I know it’s hard for you right now. It was hard for me, too! But I trust her. She helped protect me when Father made the Dragons think I ratted- I mean, sent the police after them. Which wasn’t a very nice thing to do when he knew I was friends with Yang.”

Sighing, she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I know. God, I don’t know what to do right now… I should be telling you never to see them again, but I know that wasn’t fair of him to ask. But I don’t want you getting hurt, either!”

“We won’t hurt Weiss,” Kali told her firmly - conveniently leaving out a certain initiation ceremony. “My Blake and her get along well, and that girl Yang is like a daughter to me, as well. We Dragons may not be ‘safe’, but we are loyal, and we protect our own - and that includes your Weiss now.”

“And me? You really would help me figure out how to… how to avoid living on the street simply because, what, Weiss is wearing your jacket?”

“I would for that alone. But I genuinely like her; she’s a sweet girl. Also…” Kali shrugged, wrapping an arm around the aggrieved woman’s back. “My Ghira was a good and decent man, and I miss him every day since he was K-I-A. I'd give anything to be reunited. For your husband to take advantage of you, to treat you like dirt when he’s lucky enough to still have a spouse as good and loving as you are… that’s simply disgraceful. I can’t let that go on, and if I can help you escape him, then I will. It’s my duty, woman to woman.”

The tears started fresh. Weiss expected them, and already had her handkerchief ready to offer. Kali simply held onto her as she cried, and Weiss took her hand up and patted it again, waiting for the emotional outpouring to pass.

“I’m n-not good,” she finally blubbered. “Or loving! I’m not!”

“You are,” Kali whispered softly, petting over her hair. “And it doesn’t matter right now, anyway. We just need to make a plan and make it work.”

A long sigh issued from her mother’s throat as he brought herself under control again. “Alright. I’m… I’ll try to help however I can. What must I do?”

“Nothing all at once. Find your husband’s business documents and we can get to work. And… you said your name was Willow?”

“Yes, Kali.”

Smiling at their shared memory skills, she kissed her cheek before standing up. “It’s going to be alright. One way or another, you have Dragons at your back now. We’ll get through this together.”

Vaguely flustered by the cheek-kiss, her mother stood to follow Kali upstairs to fetch important paperwork from her father’s den. Weiss remained downstairs, squinting suspiciously up the staircase at the two women. Maybe she shouldn’t be thinking it, especially after everything they had been through over the course of a single day. But she couldn’t help wondering…

‘Did that just go the way I think it did?’

#princess and the dragons #freezerburn fanfic #kali belladonna #rwby fanfiction #rwbyremnants

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