#he killed one and they stopped rustling around in my closet

[yaknowlikenyah]

The bad news: Mice have snuck in from the outside and have decided to live in my walls (they are adorable but I don't want my room covered in mouse piss)

The good news: My brother's cat saved me, put the fear of god in them, and has been patrolling the hole with the ferver of that dog that found a pie in a bush

[itstheghostofmypast]

Tender Love

Idol Wooyoung x (F)Reader

Summary: His girl really was a work of art, knew all the ways to surprise him and make him feel loved.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2.3K

Est. Read Time: 11 min

Warnings: 🚨PERVERT WOOYOUNG🚨, a lot of skinship (Nothing smexy tho)?

Rating: Mature

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels @illusionnet

Banner: @cafekitsune

A/N: I'm so glad @edenesth kept this Woo pic for research purposes. Hey, ya'll should've seen it coming, we got a Sannie period fic- we were definitely going to get a Woo one too.

Wooyoung walked down the hallway to his room, humming to himself. Since he was alone in the dorm,he could practically walk around naked if he wanted to, not that he did, but he COULD. Anyway, he had just come back after a much-needed lap around the pool, he was alone and somewhat in pain, which is why he decided to follow the instructions of his physiotherapist. Swimming loosened his muscles, and helped with the aches as well, though the smell of the chlorine was the only thing he dreaded.

Opening the door of his bedroom, he walked in, took off his shirt and tossed it somewhere in the room, only for it to land on his bed. He was busy sifting through his cupboard when he froze, an uncharacteristic form of movement catching his eye, hands still stuffed in his closet, he watched from his peripheral, the lump of the blankets he had left on the bed this morning slithered closer to where his shirt was, a hand creeping out from under the covers, clawing at the cotton before snatching it and engulfing it. What the actual hell!?

Did someone break in? Does he call the manager? The sun-kissed skin male creeped closer to his bed, watching whatever was under the blanket move around, a faint whimpering muffled by the rustling of the sheets could be heard, the springs of his bed, creaking in the same horror that led the sweaty-palmed boy to grip the edge of the blanket with trembling fingers.

Maybe watching horror movies alone for a whole weekend was not a good idea. In reality, he had called over someone else too, but his usual company was busy, told him he'd have to spend the weekend alone, and he did, he spent Friday night alone, even Saturday night too- and look where that got him, facing the new monster that hid under his blanket, possibly a psycho stalker, a parasocial fan very much ready to kill-

"YAH!" He yelled at the top of his lungs, ripping the blanket off the intruder,and eliciting a scream from the intruder.

Standing there he blinked at her, not something he'd ever expect to see -not that he didn't welcome the sight, but it was...odd?

"Stop staring!" She hissed trying to quickly pull the shirt -his shirt- over her head, not sure if she was embarrassed because he had caught her half undressed in his blanket or because of her flashy pink bra- though she couldn't come up with an answer when he gripped her wrist, restraining her movement.

"Why have I never seen this before- have you been holding out on me!?" He screeched as she huffed, snatching her wrist out of his grasp and sitting up to push the shirt all the way down, ignoring his incessant whines and pleas.

"Don't be stupid, and hand me your sweatpants or something, I need to change out of my jeans."

"I'm not sure if I should be turned on, or concered by this strange behaviour."

"There is nothing sexy," grumbling she unbuttoned her pants, trying to kick them off, simultaneously kicking the blanket away as well, "About getting your period while sitting- ugh!" She grunted before letting out a whine, flopping on her back as she stared up at the ceiling in defeat, fine she'd just lay here, tangled in her jeans and his sheets, wearing his shirt, letting the cramps take over her, closing her eyes as she let out a sigh, "In the bus."

There was a moment of silence settled between the two, honestly she couldn't tell if he had left the room or was staring at her like a creep- wouldn't be surprised if it were the latter, she had realised she was dating a creep pretty early in the relationship. So why was she still with him? Cause he was an idol? Cause he was rich and good-looking? Cause he was famous? No.

Her lips quirked into a small smile, when she felt her jeans slowly peel off her legs, the blanket that was wrapped around her leg was gently pulled away, causing her to shiver slightly at the chill in the air, man he really liked to blast that AC on full. A pair of lips press faintly against hers, only for a moment, this is why she was still with him, her eyes opening to be graced by the face of an angel, a gentle smile, a chuckle ringing in her ears like a symphony she had been too woeful and in need of- because Jung Wooyoung, was perhaps the most caring, selfless and loving person she had ever met.

He hummed to himself, fingers caressing down her thigh to her knee, tapping her knee aimlessly before he walked over to his closet, going back to his original task. Though this time he managed to obtain the items required, humming his way across the room he turned on the small desk lamp, before turning off the bright light, knowing well how pain causes heightened sensitivity to light, and nothing was going to trigger his baby.

"You need help putting them on?" He asked, showing her the sweatpants, though his eyes never met hers, too focused on another part to notice her face-

"Woo?"

"Hmm?"

"Stop staring at my underwear-"

"You can't wear a set that hot and- wait." Frowning he knelt down, grabbing her ankle, about to lift her leg watching her pull the shirt down and pull her legs away, shaking her head at him, gesturing for the pants, "Why are you wearing such a set- no- why are you here!?"

Sighing she gently rolled off the bed, planting her feet on the cold ground, a hand reaching out to keep her balance, one that was gingerly accepted by his bigger one, smiling down at her when she looked up at him all doe eyed and confused, giving her the signature Wooyoung giggle, followed by a, "Don't worry, I got you baby."

Mumbling a thanks, she put on the pants quickly, hoping he couldn't see an inch of her pad, even for a second - not that he'd mind it, but it was embarrassing. With a sigh she sat back down, turning to look at him, as she began to speak, "Since I couldn't come during the weekend, because of stupid work, I wanted to make it up to you by surprising you today, but on my way here I got my period, " she mumbled, speaking much like how her lover had a while back, staring not at his face, but at the alluring tan expanse of his chest, eying the tattoo, she often wondered if it hurt while he got it done, "luckily I was wearing an emergency one...but I had to change as soon as I came here and I couldn't find you anyway and well, it hurt a lot and I saw your bed so...that's how you found me."

Shaking his head in disbelief, he moved closer to cup her face, angling her head up to meet her eyes, "My eyes are up here...you perv." He smirked, earning an eyeroll before he pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead, turning to leave, "I'll be back with a quick shower-" his words were cut short when she gripped his wrist, her nails leaving small crescents, as she looked up at him, "Stay."

"I smell like chlorine, love, I'll be back before you know it-"

"Please."

.

That's how Wooyoung found himself laying on his side, an arm lazily placed over her waist, the other folded and tucked under his head, while her finger outlined the tattoo on his chest, yes she had asked him to not put his shirt on, not for any perverse reason, mind you, she just liked how warm he was- that was all. He was the weird one, staring at her with an unsettling smile.

"Why are you smiling like that?" Her words were but a whisper, enough for something to tingle down his spine, an involuntary shiver causing him to press his fingertips against her lower back, causing her to let out a sigh at the pleasant pressure.

"That you were wearing something so hot, all for me."

"Oh my god," she sighed, "Yes, I, a grown woman who wanted to spend some quality time with my boyfriend, who till last notice was a fully grown man and not a horny teenager, wore something he'd like." Meeting his eyes she couldn't help but blush at the way he shamelessly stared at her, before his eyes turned into pleased crescents, crinkling at the ends due to the smile that stretched across his face- man, the things he'd do to her.

"Too bad it was ruined, though." Moving closer, she mumbled, pressing her face into his neck, hugging him closer, her fingers gently scratching the nape of his neck, tempted to trail lower to trace the ink.

"What are you talking about?" He sighed, basking in the attention; honestly he had assumed that he'd need to pamper her now, make her tea, bring her something to eat and end up massaging her back, a monthly ritual that he had introduced in their relationship, the first time he'd seen how she'd go pale in pain during the time of the month. What he did not expect however was for her to be all over him like this, perhaps a bit more touchy than he usually was, letting him feel every inch of her, mind you, not everywhere, she'd become as feral as a feline if he touched the no go areas during shark week, but having her pressing against him, tangled under his blanket, having her trail her lips up the column of his jaw, only to end up, pecking the tip of his nose, smiling at him all cute and flushed, with tinted cheeks and a crazy bedhead, on a Sunday evening, no, he did not expect this at all-

"Woo."

"Hmmm?" He asked, staring up at her, admiring the way the warm, dim light accentuated her beauty, fingers feeling her warmth under the cotton, giving it a little squeeze, earning a stutter in response, "W-when I said unclip it, I didn't mean have your way."

"Did they grow big-"

"Sometimes they swell up and become sensitive." She cut him off before pulling back, flopping down beside him as she skillfully took off the undesired, itchy and irritating pink garment he seemed to have liked so much, slipping it out from under the shirt and holding it up, glaring at it in disgust, though her partner next to her was still amazed by how women do this, more importantly he wanted to know more about the fact that he had just learnt, so he watched her toss it across his room, landing somewhere with a soft thud, not that he cared, no one was home so no one could barge in.

Turning to her side, she faced away from him, a soft sigh escaping her when he hugged her, pressing himself against her as he placed a leg on hers, the weight helping with the pain.

It was peaceful...for a good minute before his sneaky hand decided to "conduct an experiment for research purposes"-

"Stop!" She whined, pushing his hand away, huffing when he placed his chin on her shoulder, his cheek pressing against hers, "Does it hurt?"

"Somewhat, yeah!" She mumbled, ignoring him when he hummed seriously in return, her clown was clowning around and she didn't want to partake in his circus for the-

"JUNG WOOYOUNG!"

Her shriek was followed by a sharp smack, earning a whine from the man who pulled back and pouted at her all cute, "Why'd you do that." He asked, referring to the slap his hand had received as he gently rubbed over the stinging skin.

"Because I said no, you moron."

"It was for research purposes! For science! My hand wasn't even in your shirt!"

"I know how scientific you are, and how much you love your research, but unless you want me to leave-"

"No!" He gasped, pouncing at her, rolling them around on his bed causing her to laugh but also let out a whine, asking him to stop, only he did, but this time he was completely wrapped around her. His face buried in her shoulder, arms holding her close, his legs tangled with hers, both wrapped- trapped- in well, most of the bedsheets and blanket, god knows where the pillows were too.

"See, you can get all the love you want," she giggled, fingers carding through his hair as she tugged on it, making sure her grip wasn't hard enough to hurt him, but enough for him to tilt his head up and look at her "If you behave."

"You're very bossy for someone who came to give me her unconditional love."

"You're very touchy for someone who claims to treat his lover with care."

"I am treating you with care." He smiled at her, looking at her dead in the eye before he pressed his forehead against hers, the tip of his nose poking hers, causing her to raise a brow at him, though her heart began to beat like crazy, only leaving her to hope he couldn't hear the passion and admiration that flowed within her for him, "I'm treating you with all the care and," he whispered, his hand slowly maneuvered around her, placing it on the 'subject area', not that she noticed, she was too distracted by him, noting how his lips were barely a few inches away from hers, only to let out a whine when he finished his statement and gave her an experimental squeeze, "tender love."

Wooyoung learnt two things that night as he laughed through the pain, running out of the room -yelling about how he'd take a quick shower then get her something to eat- a hand pressed against his stinging cheek. Firstly, women tend to get all sensitive and tender all over during their period and secondly, his girl could swing like a champion, probably enough to break a jaw- he sure loved his strong, independent, sensitive lady, who would probably require more than just a nice meal to forgive him, perhaps a back rub, or more? Didn't matter, for Jung Wooyoung, lived to please his princess.

Taglist: @edenesth @yessa-vie @mlysalt @the-kpop-simp @spooo00oky @bunnyluvr25 @s-h-y-a

[inez-winchester-cameron]

Run. (18+)

↠Pairing: Soulless!Sam x Reader x Demon!Dean (mentioned Crowley x Reader)

↠Summary: After running into a dark room, you end up in the hands of the Winchesters, one soulless and one a demon (SMUT, WC:3,490)

↠Cw: Threesome, dub-con, rough sex, choking, nipple pinching/twisting, pussy/face/thigh slapping, blindfolding, oral, throat-fucking, squirting, unprotected sex, roleplay, tying up, degradation, hair pulling, cum in places it shouldn’t be, arousal from crying, just very rough sex, very loose but everyone is consenting

↠Notes: I made a vote the other night abt what fic you guys wanted next and this won :) I’ll probably end up doing the other two at some point but this is what ya’ll get for now. Hopefully this makes up for my lack of uploads. Apologies, I’m a loser band kid and have marching band things to do and those tire me the fuck out. Anyways, I quite literally soaked my shorts writing this so hopefully yall enjoy this as much as I did :)

-

Your heart was beating faster than it ever had before, you could feel it in your head, your stomach, everywhere. Your breathing came out panicked, after running across the bunker. Your legs could only carry you so far before you stopped, looking around to make sure you weren’t followed. Slowly, after making sure they weren’t behind you, you turned the handle on the door and stepped in, backwards. 

You were being chased by none other than the Winchester brothers, one soulless and the other a demon. Unfortunately, you hadn’t realized until it was too late and they had you right where they wanted you. You were caged in, no matter where you ran in the bunker they could get to you. You knew you were only delaying the inevitable, they would find you and kill you, for fun. You stepped backwards into the room, slamming the door. You let out a sigh of relief and began looking for the light switch but you ran into something. Someone. 

You let out a gasp as you felt a warm tall body, and then the room filled with the deep chuckle of your ‘boyfriend’, Sam Winchester, “Hey baby.” But he wasn’t your Sammy anymore, he had no soul. He took it upon himself to switch the light on and you were met with his sinister smirk. You gasped again and walked backwards but once again you ran into a warm body. This time, arms wrapped around you and you instantly knew they were the arms of Dean Winchester.

“Did you really think you could run from us?” Dean whispered lowly into your ear. You let out a small whimper, as tears filled your eyes. There was nothing you could do. 

Sam chuckled at the look on your face and moved closer, ignoring your flinch when he cupped your face, “Aw, baby, we’re not gonna hurt you.” He gently stroked your cheeks.

“He’s right, princess, we have other plans for you,” Dean adds on.

“O-other plans..?” You stutter out.

“Oh yeah, baby, you were bad,” Sam says, still stroking your cheeks, “We’ve gotta punish you.”

Dean let go of you and walked over to the closet. You soon realized it was Dean’s room that you had stumbled into and attempted to hide in. Dean approached the closet, opening it. You couldn’t see him as Sam made you look at him but you could hear Dean rustling around in his closet. Eventually he pulled out a box. He approached his bed and pulled out two ropes. He looked to his brother, “Undress her.”

Sam smirked and turned to you, “Just hold still, baby, okay? Make it easy on me.” You whimpered and shook your head and Sam’s eyes got darker, “I said hold fucking still. Do you wanna be hurt? Cause I’ll hurt you, baby.” You whimpered again but held yourself straight. Even though the situation wasn’t ideal, you had to admit, you were kind of into it. Sam undressed you until you were nude and exposed to everyone in the room. This wasn’t a new thing to Sam, you two had sex a decent amount, but the soulless and Dean part was all new. Dean smirked at the view of your backside he got. A whistle left his lips and your face got warm.

“Sammy, your girl’s so pretty. You should share her more often,” Dean said, with a smirk. Sam just chuckled in response.

“Get on the bed,” Sam pushed you forward and you quickly got on the bed, on your back. You didn’t want him hurting you. Dean smirked at the sight of you.

“Fuck, Sammy,” he mumbled, “If I was you I’d be balls deep in this every night of the week.” Dean started tying your wrists to the headboard, not bothering to check if the ropes were too tight before doing the same with your ankles, making sure your legs were spread. Your face was burning in embarrassment, and Dean noticed, “What? Embarrassed? About little old me?”

This situation was still less than ideal, your boyfriend and his brother were heartless. But with how hot the two of them were above you, you couldn’t find it in you to care. Your heart was still beating out of your chest but you found yourself getting into this situation. You slowly nodded, answering Dean’s question. 

“Fuck, you’re soaked, baby,” Sam muttered under his breath, running a finger up your slit. You shivered at the sudden contact, his skin was cold. Sam smirked at this and kept teasing your slit, refusing to touch your clit or push anything into your hole. Dean stood off to the side, watching his brother play with you. As he watched, his lips curled into a smirk. You instantly knew he had a devious idea, and the thought of that both excited and scared you.

“Hey princess, why don’t we play a little game?” Dean purred, digging around in his box of toys. Sam watched Dean with curious eyes, wondering what his next move would be. 

“I don’t know,” you mumble, feeling a bit uncomfortable. You watched as Dean pulled out a blindfold.

“Shhh, it’s okay, princess,” Dean cooed, coming over to you, “We’re just gonna have some fun with you. We’re gonna put this on you and have some fun with you and after a few minutes we’re going to make you guess who it was. You guess right, you get a reward, you guess wrong? Well you’ll see what happens then.”

“B-But I’ve never been touched by you before, Dean,” you looked up at him, eyes wide. 

“But you’ve been touched by Sammy plenty, so if it feels unfamiliar then it’s probably me, hm?” Dean explained.

“You’ll do great, baby,” Sam took the blindfold from Dean and covered your eyes. Everything was instantly dark. It was already scary enough fucking the two heartless Winchesters but the added on loss of a sense made it even scarier. Not that you got a choice in the matter, you knew they would be having their fun, whether you were willing or not. It’s not as if you’ve never thought of this before, being completely at Sam and Dean’s mercy. As much as you’d never cheat on Sammy, you have thought about being taken by both of them at the same time. You even found yourself browsing through some of the ‘Dean x Reader x Sam’ written by the Supernatural book community. There was a specific one you remembered that featured Soulless Sam and Demon Dean, and it turned you on more than you’d ever admit. You were brought out of your thoughts by a set of hands on your body, and a pair of lips on yours. 

The hands were big, rough, but the lips were soft, gentle. You found yourself leaning up to kiss the man on top of you back. His hands roamed your body, groping your tits, your hips, your ass. A low growl was let out as you opened your mouth to let him explore. Soon enough, he was biting your bottom lip, ignoring the gasp you let out. His hands got more and more rough, squeezing at your tits and ass. You let out a whine as he played with you, and a small smack was placed on your hip, as somewhat of a warning not to complain. After another moment, the man stepped away and Dean’s voice, “Okay, princess, guess.”

You thought for a moment, Sam was normally rather gentle with you, unless you’d pissed him off and he hadn’t been pissed off at all today..It had to be Dean.

“D-Dean?” You stuttered out and a low chuckle left Sam’s lips.

“Nope,” Sam answered, “It was me, pretty girl.”

“O-Oh..” you replied, suddenly very nervous and scared. What were they gonna do? The boys chuckled in unison at your fear.

“That’s okay, princess, you have two more wrong guesses until you get punished,” Dean explained and it went silent again for another few minutes before a pair of lips was on your neck, kissing. The man on top of you didn’t touch your body, he just kissed your neck before beginning to litter hickeys all over it. He was relentless, never letting up for longer than a few seconds. He spent a long time sucking hickeys onto your neck and marking you up. Moans and whimpers left your lips but he didn’t smack you like Sam did. That was what you noticed and decided would be the deciding key. Eventually, after what you assumed to be ten minutes, he pulled away. 

“Guess,” Sam said.

“Dean,” you said, confidently and Dean smirked.

“That’s right, princess. Marked you all up so everyone knows you’re ours,” Dean said with a smirk. Another minute passed before you felt hot breath on your soaked core. After a moment, a tongue dipped forward and began circling your clit. You bit your lip and a smack was placed upon your thigh at this.

“Let us hear you,” Sam spoke up, but you couldn’t tell if the voice came from between your legs or from elsewhere. You pondered this for a moment and let your lip go as the tongue on your clit kept going. Eventually the man in between your legs leaned in and started to suck on your clit, flicking his tongue over it as he worked. Quiet moans and whimpers left your lips as he worked on you. After just a minute or two, he had you shaking as you came on his tongue, but his didn’t let up.

“Please-!” You called out, pulling out the restraints but the ropes were tight, it just caused a burning sensation on your wrists. You stopped pulling but whined as the tongue was relentless, “Sam, Dean, please!” But neither of the boys answered you, continuing to work you towards the edge. Soon enough, a finger was pushed into your greedy, wet hole. Your loud moan echoed throughout the room as he did. Soon enough you were clenching around the finger, nearing another orgasm, but just as you were about to go over that edge, he stopped. An even louder whine left your throat, as the man got up. You heard the loud sound of one of them sucking their finger clean. 

“Such a little slut,” Sam muttered, “Guess.”

Your brain malfunctioned for a second, you completely forgot the point of the game. Shit, who was between your legs?

“Sam?” You guessed, genuinely having no reasoning.

“Nope, was me, princess,” Dean spoke up and a light smack was placed against your thigh, “You better start guessing right or you’re in for a punishment, baby girl.” You gulped, waiting for their next move. After a moment, another man was between your legs and above you. You felt the tip of a cock rubbing against your slit. You let out a whine at the teasing and eventually the man pushed in. You instantly knew who it was, you knew that cock anywhere. You were partially relieved, you wouldn’t need a punishment but part of you was also curious. What would the punishment be? Would they get rougher? 

The man bottomed out and just sat there for a minute, before giving a few slow, deep thrusts. The cock didn’t come back out but Dean’s voice came from above you.

“Who is it, princess? Who’s inside your slutty pussy right now?”

You knew it was your Sammy but something compelled you to answer in a different way.

“Dean.”

This time both of the boys chuckled in a sort of sick, twisted way. 

“Wrong,” Dean leaned down and whispered into your ear. You shivered at this and soon enough the blindfold was removed. Sure enough, Sam was in between your legs, balls deep in your pussy, while Dean stood off to the side. You noticed that both of them were fully undressed. Your eyes flashed to Dean’s dick and you found yourself licking your lips. Dean’s hand grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled on it, forcing you to look up at him, “Did ya hear me, slut? You were wrong, you’re going to get punished.” Dean then looked to his brother, “What should we do to her Sammy?”

Sam licked his lips for a second, eyeing up your body, before responding, “It’s hard to pick. We could stick something in her pussy and just leave her here for a while. We could hurt her, I know she’s a little pain slut. We could use these holes until she’s sobbing. We could even call Crowley and some of his demons over, let them have a couple rounds with her.” You made a face of disgust, but your pussy told the truth, as you clenched down on Sam’s cock. Sam chuckled, “What do you think, Dean? Wanna let her be a little cum dump for everyone we know?”

“As much as that intrigues me, she’s ours for right now. Maybe we’ll leave her here after we’ve had our fill and let her be used by a couple of our buddies,” Dean said, laughing when your eyes filled with fear, “But for now, I think our little whore deserves to be treated like the little whore she is.” Sam chuckled, reaching forward and pinching your nipples, hard. A yelp left your throat but Sam ignored it, twisting them. Another sick and twisted smirk formed on Dean’s face as he watched his brother hurt you. Sam slowly started fucking you again, still going in slow, deep thrusts. He kept your nipples in his fingers and he kept occasionally twisting them, ignoring the look of pain on your face because he could feel you clenching down on his cock. You were too focused on the pain to notice Dean speaking to you, “Open up.”

After you didn’t answer right away, a slap was placed upon your cheek and you were instantly looking at Dean with wide, scared eyes. He repeated himself, “Open. your. mouth.” You instantly obeyed, sticking your tongue out and suddenly Dean was forcing his cock down your throat. No minute to adjust, his cock was instantly down your throat. You gagged and sputtered but he ignored it, gripping your hair roughly and making your head go up and down on his cock. Sam sped up his thrusts, continuing to twist and pinch your nipples with one hand while the other came down and smacked your clit.

“Fuck,” Dean groaned out, “She’s such a little whore.” 

“I know, man, she thinks I actually like her but truthfully I just like having a little obedient fuck toy. Just an object to help get my dick wet.”

If you weren’t being played with, that comment would’ve hurt but in your current predicament it just made your pussy twitch. Sam brought his hand down onto your clit again and you moaned around Dean’s dick. Both boys sped up their pace at the same time and you were once again gagging on the dick down your throat. Dean didn’t care though, he was getting his fill. You let out a loud moan, nearly screaming as Sam hit your cervix with his thrusts.

“Aww, is my cock too big for your little pussy?” Sam asked, smacking your clit again. You were pushed over the edge at that and started cumming around Sam’s cock. Sam felt this but he didn’t stop, still thrusting. You whined but they didn’t care.

“Be a good fuck doll, good fuck dolls stay quiet,” Dean commented, wrapping his hand around your throat. He lightly squeezed down and groaned when he could feel himself buried in your throat. He kept his hand tight around your throat and continued using your throat. Squelching noises came from both ends of your body as they used you. Suddenly, Dean pulled out, biting his lip and stroking his cock over your face. Sam watched, smirking. The boys' eyes met and they came in unison, Sam in your wet cunt, while Dean came all over your face. Your eyes squeezed shut as cum splashed in them but Dean just laughed, reaching forward, holding one open and purposely getting his cum in it, “Act like a slut, get treated like one.” Tears fell down your face at the cums in your eyes and a choked out sob left your throat. Sam joined Dean in laughing. The boys laughed at you as you kept tearing up, trying to get your vision back to normal. Cum was all over the rest of your face as well, lips, nose, and even your hair. After a few minutes, you sniffled, and managed to be able to keep your eyes open.

“You done bein a baby?” Sam asked, pulling out. The boys switched position and your eyes went wide.

“W-What’re you doin?”

“Did you think we were done with you, princess?” Dean asked, as he lined himself up with your pussy.

“That’s too bad, baby, because watching your little crying fit just got us hard again. Besides, you wanna give Dean a turn with your pussy, dontcha?” Sam smirked.

You hesitated for a moment but silently nodded, embarrassed. Sam chuckled, and lined his cock up with your lips. The boys made eye contact before entering you in a swift movement, both at the same time. You gagged on Sam’s cock as well. Sam’s cock was bigger than Dean’s, so it hurt more in your throat but Dean’s didn’t hit your cervix as he entered your pussy. You were grateful for this, as Sam had probably arleady bruised it and it already was sore. Dean set a fast pace, and you moaned around Sam’s cock. Sam set a much slower pace, enjoying watching you choke on his cock. 

“Her pussy’s so tight, Sammy,” Dean commented, “You’re a lucky man.”

“I sure am,” Sam said, “I got the best fuck toy of them all. Even if she’s a whiny little bitch sometimes.” You choked each time Sam bottomed out in your throat but Sam didn’t care, whatsoever.

“Ever made her squirt?” Dean asked, smirking

“Once or twice,” Sam replied, speeding up his thrusts into your throat a little bit. 

“Wanna see a cool trick?” Dean asked with a smirk and Sam nodded. Suddenly you screamed around Sam’s cock, at the feeling of Dean pushing two fingers into your pussy with his cock, “Come on, slut. Don’t be a fucking baby.” Tears filled your eyes at the stretch, it hurt. But Dean didn’t care. He kept thrusting, and began to finger you at the same time, finding your g-spot and roughly pushing his fingers against it. You let out a loud scream again at this. Sam smirked and watched intently while you choked on his cock. As Dean had mentioned, after just over a minute, you were becoming a water fountain on Dean’s dick. Sam’s eyes went wide and his dick twitched in your throat. Sam pulled out nearly all the way, leaving his cock to rest on your tongue. He stroked it while watching you squirt all over Dean and he let out a groan, cumming onto your tongue.

 He pulled his cock back, “Stick your tongue out.” You did as told, a pool of Sam’s cum still resting on your tongue, “Now keep that there while Dean finishes his fun with you. Dean didn’t let up after you squirted. Whines and whimpers left your lips as Dean continued to use you, but you were focused on keeping Sam’s cum where he told you to. Sam watched, intently, “Oh and if you spill a drop of that, we’re gonna invite Crowley over and let him have his way with you. All night long.” You couldn’t help it as you moaned loudly and began squirting on Dean’s dick.

“Fuck,” Dean groaned, cumming deep inside you as your pussy convulsed around him again. He let his thrusting stop and he pulled his fingers out, rubbing your clit, hoping to make your squirt last longer, “You like that idea, slut?”

“I bet she does,” Sam said, smirking, looking at your face. Your eyes were crossed, tongue was out, but like a good girl, you managed to keep Sam’s cum resting on your tongue, “Good girl, baby. Swallow.” You instantly swallowed it and pushed your tongue out again to show that it was gone. 

“Andddd scene,” Dean joked, pulling out. A genuine smile appeared on Sam’s face.

“You okay, baby? We weren’t too rough?” Sam asked, while Dean started untying you. 

“Come on, Sammy, she loved it.”

You smiled at Dean and shook your head, looking into the eyes of your loving boyfriend, who was in fact, not soulless. 

“Good,” Sam smiled and stroked your cheek gently, “Had so much fun, baby.”

“Same time tomorrow?” Dean joked, which earned him a harsh glare from you, “Fine fine, no same time tomorrow.” A light laugh left all of your guy’s throats and Sam leaned down, giving you a long kiss. Luckily, these men weren’t a demon and a soulless man, they were your boyfriend and his brother, who just happened to stumble upon a fic you were reading and both cared for you deeply. 

Sam pulled away after a moment, “I love you, baby.”

“Love you too, Sammy.”

[hectorthedoggo]

i made a litte haruka t3 vd based off of an earlier convo w @kani-miso and @chairhahaha that one time (if you guys remember that)

Broken Wings

*The interrogation starts, and Haruka is breathing heavily, shifting around in his seat. It can be interpreted as a panic attack, or some sort of crying.

*The door opens, and the warden doesn’t speak for a bit.

E: Prisoner Number 1. We cannot begin the interrogation when you’re in such a state.

*Haruka’s voice sounds broken, like he’s cried a lot over the past few minutes.

H: Warden… hey, why did you vote Mu guilty? Even though I promised that…

E: You cannot influence our verdict in such a way. We found it fit to deem her guilty, therefore your opinion is invalid.

H: Huh? I don’t… but, i have to, I have to follow through on my promise. I couldn’t do it earlier, because of the guilty restraints.

E: No.

H: Huh? What do you mean?

E: Milgram won’t permit it, I’m sure. Fights between prisoners are prohibited as long as the warden is awake, so you’ve lost your window of opportunity.

H: I don’t… understand.

E: You aren’t allowed to kill yourself, idiot.

H: Hehe… hihihi! Well, you can’t push me around! I have…

*a rustling sound is heard, and the warden gasps

E: Scissors? Where…

H: The supply closet! I can kill myself, you can’t stop me!

E: No! You’re not allowed!

H: I’ll do it now! You’re too weak to stop me.

*Sounds of a struggle, and E keeps making pained noises. Eventually, a clattering noise is heard, and the sound of the barrier rings out.

*They sound physically in pain, speech occasionally interrupted by small gasps of pain.

E: Ow… hah. Haruka. You can’t take the scissors. We have them now. You’re not getting them back. Hm… I wonder if I could ask Milgram to take the supply closet… it’s such a bother.

*H sounds pained.

H: Warden! You have to understand! I made a promise, I have to follow through! Besides…

E: …

H: Besides, the voices tell me that I don’t deserve to live. That I’m too crazy for society, because I killed all of those animals. I was right, earlier. There’s no way that my true self will ever be forgiven.

I'm so tired of this constant talking, they’re right. And… Mahiru didn't deserve to die.. it should've been me.. i should join her, to fulfill my promise.

E: ! Ma…hiru…

* their voice sounds a little surprised, almost like they’ve been struck.

H: It’s hard, without her. She was so nice. I want to join her, and me being here doesn’t help anything. Everyone would be happier if I died.

E: Don’t… don’t…

H: Are you okay? I… I understand!

*A small rustling is heard

*their breathing is heavy

E: Get off… get off of me. Don’t hug me like that, it won’t work. I’m not going to-

H: It’s not for that! Hugs mean to make everything feel better! It’s a goodbye hug. Mahiru always said-

E: Shut up!

*They hit Haruka, but that’s not enough for them. They tackle him, in what is most definitely not a hug, and starts to pathetically beat him up.

H: Ow! Why are you-

E: I hate people like you! First, it was Shidou, now you, stupidly sacrificial, having no regard for the other’s emotions! Don’t you dare insult Mah- no, we’re not… we’re not supposed to… we just hate you. We, the warden, need no justification for beating up rowdy prisoners.

*Haruka makes little noises of pain, matching E’s.

*Suddenly, the door opens.

Kz: Hey! Hey! What’s going on here. Es, get off.

*A little struggle is heard, but Kazui quickly gets them off of their victim.

E: Kazui… why… no, you’re too much of a coward to go into the room yourself. Who sent you?

Kz: I’m not saying. Es, why were you-

E: It was Kotoko, wasn’t it? Guilty verdict wasn’t enough to get her off her high horse? Heh, i wonder why they decided to vote you innocent, if you keep interfering like this.

K: !

E: You stupid prisoners. Always interfering. What we do is not your business.

Haruka: Es…

E: We aren’t Es. K: ! What?!

H: W… what? Then, who are you?

E: The warden. Of MILGRAM. We don’t need a name, Es is simply a label.

K: like… amane-chan… but worse

E: What was that? (rhetorical)

H : He said you’re like Amane, but worse.

E: Shut up, the both of you ! Milgram is much nobler than a group of cartoon characters with a bunch of philosophies attached to them! What Milgram is doing, is fully, absolutely, right. Of course it would be! Otherwise, well…

It would be…

*they lose their spark

I wouldn’t be…

*awkward silence

No, no. what milgram is doing has to be right. Otherwise, I would…

*their voice breaks at the end. they slap themself.

Stop that. No. Anyways, Kazui, please get out of the room. I apologize for my earlier outburst. I will not resort to such violence, again. Haruka. Do not touch me.

K: As long as you promise to not attack Haruka.

E: As long as Haruka doesn’t touch me again.

H: I… I won’t?

E: Alright. Kazui. Leave.

K: If I hear more struggle-

E: Leave.

K: Okay.

* He leaves.

E: Ah… what are we supposed to do with you… 

*The bell rings

ack!

H: Are you alright?

E: Shut up… shut up… you all aren’t supposed to… I thought you-

H: ?

E: Shut up!

* They start to breathe heavily.

H: Is it… the…

E: That’s none of your business! I… we don’t have the same problems as you prisoners- ack!

H: … um… Warden?

E: Shut up!

H: Okay…

E: I- I- get it! Okay!

H: Um, sorry. Who are you talking to?

E: That’s… none of your business. Let’s just get this overwith, I- we can’t be doing this right now.

Now, prisoner number one, sing your sins!

[minawritesfanfic]

You are who you eat

Dexter Morgan x Reader

Word count: 2.8k

Summary: Six months later things are seemingly okay despite Rita being pregnant, but lately Dexter seems to be withdrawn. Is he hiding something?

Part 8

Previous | Next

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Before I knew it, six months had passed just like that, and my relationship with Dexter had been going smoothly, even with Rita ordering him around all the time, though Dexter didn’t seem to mind it and never let it affect our time together. I appreciated and made sure to give him some grace; I couldn’t imagine how hard it is to balance serial killing, work, a pregnant ex-girlfriend, and a new girlfriend all at once. Just thinking about it gave me a headache; I sighed and stood up. It was almost time for Dexter to come and pick me up for our date. I walked over to the mirror on the door of my hallway closet and gave my outfit a once over. My outfit was more formal as we had dinner in an upscale restaurant on the other side of town. I blew myself a kiss in the mirror as I heard my phone ring on the table; I picked it up and stepped out of my apartment.

“Hey, just calling to let you know that I’m here. Are you ready?”

“Yeah, I am; I’m making my way to you now. See you soon.”

I exited my apartment and saw Dexter waiting out front in a car I didn’t recognize; I raised an eyebrow at him as I approached the vehicle: a slick black Mercedes with a blue stripe on the side. Dexter had a slight smile on his face and got out of the car; he kissed my forehead and escorted me to the other side of the vehicle. I was deeply flattered and wooed. It’s not that Dexter wasn’t always well-mannered, but today, he seemed to be in overdrive. Dinner at the fancy restaurant was his idea. Frankly, it wasn’t really my style, but I would never say no to a date with him and an excuse to dress up. Dexter climbed back into the car and buckled himself in. He smiled over at me and grinned before starting the vehicle. It was briefly quiet, with the radio playing softly in the background.

“So why the sudden fancy date? This all seems out of character for you.”

“Truthfully, it was Angel’s idea; he said the least I could do was treat you to something special, considering how patient you’ve been with me and Rita. I do appreciate it, just so you know.” He said, turning to face me. He rested a hand on my thigh.

“I know, but thank you, this meant a lot. It honestly hasn’t been easy, and it’s hard not to feel a bit jealous when I’m your girlfriend but not the one you’re waiting on, hand after foot. So yeah, today was nice; all your attention was focused on me for once.” I said with a smile, and Dexter squeezed my thigh before placing his hands back on the wheel. I looked out the window, and my eyes perked up. “Hey, wait, can we stop somewhere before we go back to my place?”

I had Dexter take us to the beach; it was empty at this time of night, which was perfect. I left my shoes in the car and walked barefoot through the sand towards the shore; I glanced back at Dexter, who was following me with his hands tucked into his pockets. I smiled at him before facing the sea. The air was faintly salty, and the water felt good on my feet, albeit cold. The waves crashed gently, and the wind blew slightly. The moon shone brightly in the sky, and the stars twinkled around it.

“Isn’t it such a beautiful view?” I asked, turning to Dexter, who stood beside me now, but he was only looking at me.

“Yeah, it is.” He said, looking away with a neutral expression; he stared forward with a far-off look in his eye.

We stood in silence for a while. It was a bit awkward for me at first, but after a while, it eventually was relaxing, the sound of the crashing waves, the wind rustling the trees, and the cars driving down the street behind us. It was the Earth's natural symphony, soothed my soul, a good date with my boyfriend, and a relaxing moment on the beach. Sure, our relationship started rockier than most, but it’s not like it was terrible. It was nice being understood and understanding someone wholeheartedly, and I truly hoped that Dexter felt the same. I often wondered what he was thinking. His expressions never gave away more than apathy and faint contentment with life. It didn’t help he rarely talked about how he was feeling, and now that I thought about it, you had no idea how or why he had gotten into serial killing. I wondered if I ever asked if he would tell me, though now didn’t seem like the right place or time. Especially when I wasn't ready to tell him why I’d become the way I am.

I slipped my fingers between Dexters. He glanced at me curiously but didn’t hesitate to lace his with mine. I squeezed his hand, and he smiled a little harder before looking back out at the sea; I rested my head against his shoulder and smiled with a content sigh. He rested his head on mine, and we stood there for a bit longer, but eventually, he pulled us away from the shore and back to the car. He sat in the driver's seat and watched me clean the sand off my feet out the car door as best as possible.

“I know I’ve never said it, but you really are beautiful, " he said as I glanced back at him. I laughed and sat up straight.

“I know.”

★ ✮ ★

Maybe it wasn’t too early to say that I loved Dexter because love is the only logical explanation for why I would ever spend time with Rita. So yeah, it had to be love, I thought as I walked down the aisle, pushing the cart and looking at the items carefully; we were currently in the nearest supermarket, strolling through the baby aisles. In the cart was a variety of baby items; with the baby coming in just three short months, we’d need a lot of things to prepare. It felt weird thinking ‘we’ when this wasn’t really my kid, just my boyfriend’s kid. This whole situation was strange and awkward; I glanced at Rita, who was reading the warnings on a pack of baby bottles. We’d only been here for roughly half an hour, but we hadn’t talked much nor on the ride over. Dexter had asked me to take her as he was busy dealing with something related to his ‘hobby’ that was dipping into his work, and Debra wasn’t available to take her. Why he couldn’t do it at another time was unclear, but I guess it made sense; Rita was showing, and it didn’t look easy. I looked away as she turned around and dropped two packs of baby bottles into the cart, but she didn’t turn away. She just stared at me. I looked back at her, confused and a bit nervous; I mean, what does one say to their boyfriend's pregnant ex-girlfriend?

“I don’t bite, you know. This is as weird for me as it is for you.” I relaxed a bit. It was nice that at least one of us was acknowledging it.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make this any more awkward than it already is. I have no clue what to say to you.” I said with an awkward laugh, and she awkwardly smiled.

“Yeah, honestly, I don’t understand why Dexter just rescheduled for when he’s actually available. It always bothered me that his mind was just somewhere else, and it’s like he never has time for me.”

“Yeah, even though I know he’s working, it still sucks. It’s easier when I have my own work or projects to distract me.”

“You know that he isn’t actually working, right?” Rita said with a straight face as she held the cart's edge. My heart dropped because Dexter had never mentioned she knew.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re that clueless. He’s on drugs. I tried getting him into rehab, but he started banging other girls.” She said pointedly, and I looked away, relaxing a bit, though I would have to ask Dexter about that later.

“Oh… I see, but I’m pretty sure he must’ve kicked the addiction when you sent him away. He’s all good now, I know that at least.” Her expression faltered slightly, and she quickly turned away.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night; I thought so too, and it turns out he was just sleeping with someone else.” I bit my tongue as Rita cradled her growing belly and walked into the next aisle.

“I’m more than sure he learned his lesson after that one, and Dexter isn’t a cheater.”

She glanced back at me, looking me up and down with a sly smile before shrugging, “I’m sure he isn’t sweety.”

I didn’t talk to Rita much after that, but we quickly finished shopping, and I brought her back home. Thankfully, she had a friend who could help her get everything inside; it didn’t make me feel any better that she glared me down the whole time. Like I was some sort of homewrecker, but looking from the outside, I was. I drove home quietly and unlocked my apartment door; I brushed my hair back as I hit the couch, hiding my face in my hands. I hated to admit it, but Rita was right; how could I be sure that Dexter wouldn’t cheat on me as well the second someone new appeared? Rita’s words were eating away at me, and I knew that was precisely what she fucking wanted; the second I drew back and left Dexter, she’ll swoop in and snatch her spot back even after all she said. It irked me cause I knew what she was doing, and it was working; I picked up my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found his number. I put the phone to my ear as it rang.

And rang… and rang… and rang straight to voicemail. I called one more time, and it went to voicemail immediately. This time, I frowned and texted Dexter to call me back. This definitely wasn’t helping his case at all. I screamed quietly into a throw pillow before hugging it to my chest. I stared out the window of my apartment and out at the darkness of Maimi; it was so calm outside, yet inside, I was losing it. What was Dexter doing right now? It couldn’t be killing because I knew better than anyone that it did not take nearly this long. It wouldn’t have kept him busy throughout the day as he didn’t kill during the day. I felt relieved when there was a knock at my door; I scrambled to the door and quickly opened it. I was met with surprise and confusion as a man I’d never met stood at my door, smiling at me eagerly.

“Uhm, can I help you?”

“You are Dexter’s girlfriend, yes? It’s so lovely to meet you. I’m his best friend.” I quirked and raised my eyebrow as I crossed my arms.

“His best friend since when? He’s never mentioned you to me before.”

“Our friendship has only blossomed for a month or so, but it's stronger than ever. I am Miguel Prado. It’s so lovely to make your acquaintance.” He took my hand, placing a kiss on the back of it, and I wasn't sure how to feel.

“Yes, it’s nice to meet you as well. I assume you aren’t just here to make my acquaintance. Is something wrong with Dexter?”

“No, no, nothing is wrong. Dexter is fine. I was just with him, actually. I just wanted to say hello and invite you out with me and my wife since Dexter seems to have no plans to introduce us.”

“Oh well, isn’t that sweet of you? Of course, I’ll join you and your wife. When and where I’ll be there.”

I invited Miguel in, and we chatted for a bit. He told me how he and Dexter had been buddies for the last few weeks and how close they’d gotten super fast. He went on and on, but eventually, his wife called, and he had to leave. I sent him off with a smile and an address for a barbecue they were having later this week. He also had left me feeling more upset with Dexter than I originally was, so this was where he had been all day and several other days. It was news to me he had made a friend, and I was upset that he never bothered to mention it, simply because I wouldn’t ask, assuming he was out killing. I headed to my bedroom to undress and take a shower; it was what I always did when I was upset, and it, without fail, always made me feel better. Around midnight, Dexter finally called me back, my phone ringing and waking me up from my somewhat peaceful sleep. I sat up, answering it groggily.

“Hello…?” I said, fanning away a yawn.

“Hey, it’s me. I’m outside your apartment. Can I come in?” I looked at my clock and saw the time. I shook my head but got up.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”

I got up and opened the door. Dexter stepped inside; his brows were furrowed, and he was clearly frustrated. It was not like my expression was any better; it didn’t help I woke up out of my sleep. I just stared at Dexter, waiting for him to say something, anything, an apology for ignoring my call for hours on end with no communication or for showing up at midnight, waking me up out of my sleep, but he said nothing and wrapped his arms around me. I was taken aback but accepted the hug; we stood there silently. I hated to admit it, but I needed that hug; I could tell from his body language Dexter needed it, too. I figured he had a rough day and felt a little less angry, but I still wanted to bring everything up.

“You do know how late it is, Dexter?”

“I know; I’m sorry. I just needed to see you.”

“Why did something happen? I’ve kind of been wondering since you never called or texted me back. I needed to talk to you, especially after you sent me out with Rita.”

“I forgot about that; thank you for doing that for me. I really had some important stuff come up.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” I pulled away from the hug and stepped back from Dexter. “What important stuff, Dexter?”

“Just a background check and such, you know, the usual.” He replied as he went and sat down on the couch.

“Oh yeah? You sure it didn’t have anything to do with Miquel Prado?” I had his full attention now, and Dexter’s demeanor changed significantly.

“Were you following me?”

“What? No, he came here earlier to say hi. He says he’s your best friend, which was my first time hearing of him.” He frowned as I joined him on the couch, my body facing him.

“He was my friend if we’re being technical, but now he’s an obstacle. He’s not important; just forget about him.

“Forget about him? You haven’t mentioned him for a month and lied about where you’ve been because you were with him. If we’re being technical, I have every reason to think you’re cheating.”

“It’s not like that, you know that.”

“Do I really? You won’t actually tell me what you were doing; it’s even more suspicious! We don’t get to spend any time together on your days off because you’re catering to all of the supposedly helpless Rita’s whims and needs like a little lap dog. Still, we don’t even get to spend time together in the evenings because you’re running around with your ‘best friend.’ If you won’t make time for me, at least be honest about where you spend it.”

Dexter frowned and stood up, “I’m not some lap dog, and don’t talk about Rita like that. You don’t even know her.”

“I learned enough about her today, and she calls on you so often because she’s still trying to get back with you. How do you not see that?” I said, standing up as well, following him as he walked away from me, shaking his head.

“She’s pregnant. Of course, she needs my help; you’re really overthinking it. I think I should go. I’ll call you later, " he said as he opened the door. I stood there with tears forming in my eyes, but he left and shut the door in my face anyway.

“Everyone sees it but you Dexter!” I said with a huff as he stood at the door, looking back at me. He didn’t reply and shut the door behind him.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

[ave09]

that night

note: sooo this one’s kinda like based on the pilot. i couldn’t pull inspiration from the latest episode but if y’all have any ideas let me know!

the next ones gonna be abt how you and harvey met :)

———

that night you’d gone to sleep thinking that tomorrow would be just as good of a day that today was. harvey had taken some time off work so the two of you could spend some time together.

he’d taken you out to dinner at your favorite restaurant, and you two had proceeded to visit your favorite bookstore. why he was being this way? you didn’t know. 

when asked, he merely shrugged, “i’ve been a bit busy lately, just wanted to show you that i love you.”

the two of you had gone home afterwards, and spent a wonderful night in bed. you’d fallen asleep snuggled against harvey, his strong arms wrapped around your frame, holding you as if you were the most precious thing on earth. 

and then the phone rang.

you slowly stirred from your sleep, the sound echoing throughout the dark room. “harv.” you murmured, pulling the blanket over your head. he remained silent. 

“harvey.” you repeated, a little louder this time. he groaned in response, “five more minutes..” he buried his head into the crook of your neck, trying to fall back asleep. 

“beautiful, your phone’s ringing.” 

“let it ring.” 

and so you did. a few seconds later, the sound stopped, leaving a comfortable silence behind. just as you began to drift off to sleep again, the loud ringing filled the air again. 

“jesus, harvey-“

“i’m gettin’ it, i’m gettin’ it.” he assured, retracting his arms from around you as he rolled over to face his nightstand, reaching for the blaring device.

“hello?”

silence.

“this is he.”

silence.

“what?”

silence.

“slow down, what??”

hearing the concern in his voice, you sat up. harvey was quick to climb out of bed, rushing toward the large walk-in closet on the other side of the room, the phone pressed to his ear, “uh-huh. yes. i’ll be there soon.” 

he then hung up. 

“harvey? what’s going on?” 

“god, honey, it’s terrible.” he called from the closet, the sound of hangers rustling overlapped his voice. slowly, you too crawled out of bed, clad in one of harvey’s t-shirts, you approached the closet door where harvey was quickly changing into one of his three-piece suits. currently he was dressed in a white button down, a loose tie around his neck, and boxers. stress and anxiety radiated off of the man as he attempted to knot his tie. 

“beautiful,” you whispered, approaching him, your hands gently grasping the fabric of his tie. the man paused, his cerulean eyes meeting yours. 

“tell me what happened.” you said softly as you began to fix his tie. harvey sighed deeply, running a hand through his already mused hair, “it’s bruce.” 

“what about bruce?” 

“he’s dead.”

you froze, your hands gripping the tie a little tighter at the shocking news. “how-how is this possible? i saw him earlier today, what-what happened??” 

“i-i don’t know. i don’t know, and that’s why i’m heading out there to see.” you remained silent as you perfected the knot, a horrible thought flashing through your mind.

“oh my god-harv-what’s turner gonna say? the thought of the boy being orphaned once more made your heart ache. you and harvey had practically helped raised the kid, and now you’d have to break the news that his father is gone.

“i don’t know honey.” he murmured, now fully dressed, adjusting the sleeves of his suit jacket, “but i am terrified to find out.” 

he glanced at the watch adorning his wrist, “i gotta get going. i told them i’d be there soon.” 

“okay.” 

harvey moved towards you, pressing a loving kiss on your lips, “i love you.” “love you too.” he called back, heading toward the door.

“be safe out there, beautiful.” 

he sent you a gentle smile, “always am.” and headed out the door, leaving you to wonder: who or what the hell killed bruce wayne?

[mutifandomlover]

In honor of fnaf 4's anniversary today, I decided to rewrite one of my stories from the 30-day writing challenge from April. I am mainly doing this, but I don't like how it was written, and I wanted to add to the story that I'm creating within the fnaf universe.

Original story:Storm Blackout.

New story:Survivors' Guilt.

The sound of rain pounded on the house roof. Occasionally, thunder would crack, and lightning would flash through the windows. The house was pitch black and quiet. It was almost quiet. August Robinson stood in front of his bed, flashlight in hand. He was waiting for the monsters to come. The monsters that were haunting him. He went to one of the doors and pressed his ear against it. He heard breathing on the other side, and then one of the monsters began to speak.

"You can't hide in there forever."

The voice was disoriented and glitchy. He peeked his head through the door to see a horrifying version of Bonnie. The blue rabbit had a lot of holes in its suit. Its claws and teeth were sharp. August quickly shut the door on the rabbit and it began banging on the door.

"Why did you let him trick me?!"

"I...I didn't let him trick you..."

"I was trying to warn you, Jeremy."

The banging stopped after a minute. August sighed before checking the hallway. He shined the light down the hallway. He couldn't see Bonnie anymore. As he stepped back inside the room, he heard something on the other side of the room. He went to the other door and peeked through. He was a creepy version of Chica that looked similar to Bonnie with the holes in the suit and the sharp teeth and claws. Her cupcake had sharp teeth like hers.

"You shouldn't have left us behind."

August slammed the door and Chica began shaking the doorknob.

"You let the yellow rabbit kill me. You're a horrible friend for that!"

"Susie, I'm sorry, I didn't know how to help you."

A few minutes passed, and the shaking stopped. August peeked out the door again, and Chica was gone.

"Someone, please wake me up..."

August noticed the closet doors rustling. He headed over to them and shined his light. Foxy was there with his sharp hook and long metal claws.

"You're not getting away!"

Foxy laughed before trying to charge towards August. He shut the closet doors and Foxy banged on the doors.

"You left us!"

"You left us all to die!"

"Fritz, I didn't want to leave you guys but I didn't have a choice."

The banging stopped once more. August slumped down by the bed . He felt something rub up against his skin. He turned around to see Freddy in the same nightmare like fashion as the others. He picked up August and began laughing at him.

"You didn't even try to save us!"

August shined the light in Freddy's eyes before running to the closet and hid in there.

"Where are you, traitor?!"

"Gabriel, please forgive me."

"I don't know how I survived, and I don't know how to help you."

As he was hiding, he felt a breeze of cold air hit his back. He shivered, and something touched his shoulders. He looked up to see a yellow bear with the same sharp claws and teeth as the others. The bear had a purple hat on its head and a purple bowtie around its neck. August began shivering in fear.

"F- Fredbear?"

"We know who our friends are, and you are not one of them."

Fredbear picked him up and threw him out of the closet. August hit his head against the edge of the bed and lost the flashlight. He rubbed his head as Fredbear got closer to him.

"Please, leave me alone."

The other animatronics appeared in the room and surrounded August. He was trapped. The animatronics stood there laughing at him as Fredbear picked him up again by his shirt.

"Why did you leave us behind, Auggie?"

"I thought we were friends."

The bear spoke in a mocking tone to August, calling him by the nickname that his friends called him.

"Gabriel, Jeremy, Susie, Fritz, and me."

"All of us were killed because you ran away and didn't try to help us!"

"How would you like that if you were in danger and we decided not to help you."

"Would you like it, you would?!"

"N no!"

"Then why did you do it to us?!"

"I was trying to find help Cassidy!"

"I didn't want to leave you guys but I didn't have a choice."

"I tried to go back in there, but my dad dragged me out of the building!"

"Liar!"

The animatronic screamed in August's face before the suit turned black, and the purple accessories turned yellow.

"You let them shove me into Fredbear, and then you sat there staring instead of going to get help."

"What's to say that you didn't do the same to them?"

"Evan, I tried to save you!"

"I was scared, I didn't know what to do!"

"I'll show what my pain was like."

The bear began changing from yellow to black as he opened his jaw. August tried to get out of Fredbears grasp. He began screaming at the top of his lungs for help.

"Someone please wake me up!"

"Mom, dad, please, anyone!"

"Wake me up!"

"Wake me up!"

"Wake-"

Fredbear's jaw went down on August's head. He felt the teeth sinking into his body before everything went black.

He woke up in a cold sweat. His heart was pounding, and his hands were shivering and a chill going down his spine. He got up and went to the restroom to check his forehead. There were no bite marks on him. No bleeding, no cuts, he was completely fine. He went back to his room and laid down on the bed. He reflected on the events that led to him having these nightmares. It started on Evan's birthday at Fredbears Family Diner. Evan's older brother Michael and his friends were bullying Evan. They decided to shove him into Fredbear's jaw as a joke. August tried to stop him, but it was useless. Fredbear's jaw went down and crushed Evan's head. August was in so much shock that he let out a scream without realizing it. Then something else bad happened at Freddy's. He was hanging out with his friends. Gabriel, Jeremy, Susie, Fritz, and Cassidy. Spring Bonnie showed up out of nowhere and offered to take Susie to her dog. August didn't trust Spring Bonnie and tried to convince her not to follow him, but she went anyway. Spring Bonnie came back without Susie and convinced Fritz, Gabriel, and Jeremy to follow him. August again tried to tell his friends that following a stranger was a bad idea. They ignored him and went with Spring Bonnie. Spring Bonnie came back and convinced Cassidy to come with him for a surprise. August was practically begging her not to go, but she went with him, and then he came back and dragged August to the safe room. He showed August his friends stuffed inside the animatronic suits. Spring Bonnie attempted to attack August with a knife, but August managed to escape from him. He ran and told his father and Henry, his father's boss, about what he saw. The police were called, and August attempted to go back into the safe room to see if it was his friends, but his dad stopped him. He was questioned by the police about it. It was a long nerve-racking process. The night after the incident was when the nightmares began happening. He started seeing nightmare-ish versions of Freddy and his friends. As well as Fredbear and some black bear. Every now and then, there was a nightmare like version of the Marionette, but it never attacked him. It just watched him.

"Why is this happening to me?"

"What did I do to deserve this?"

"Is this my punishment for failing to save my friends?"

"I know I shouldn't blame myself for what happened to Evan, but I felt like I could've done something to save him."

"I could've pulled him away from Michael and told my dad or Mr. Afton about what Michael was trying to do."

"I shouldn't blame myself for what happened to my friends, but I should've done something instead of running away like a coward."

August folded his arms and buried his head in them as he began crying.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry."

He repeated that phrase over and over for a long time. He spoke till his throat hurt, and he cried till his eyes were dry. From behind him, a voice whispered to him.

"Tomorrow is another day."

23/7/15. Happy 8 years to fnaf 4!

[creepypasta-archive]

Jeff the Killer vs The Rake vs Slender Man (The Operator)

by GodzillaFan1

Haven't posted something in a while! So as a gift here's this story that i had yet to even mention. a 3 way battle. As much as i love figuring out ways for jeff to survive these encounters i dont think i can find a way to do this one. So remains non-canon for now CW// vore?/cannibalism?/eating others, implied necrophilia, blades, violence, blood

Click below to read the original unedited story

The moon was at it's peak in the night sky as Jeff cleaned off his blade from that night's killing, smiling from ear to ear. The moonlight poured through the abandoned house's open bedroom window. It wasn't much, but it was enough to see the young girl's corpse from the corner Jeff was sitting in. She seemed short on the wooden table he'd set her on. She was his third kill this month and he still wasn't satisfied.

Jeff chuckled slightly as he arose from the corner, "Such a shame this happened, huh? I wonder who could've done this!" He uttered a loud, fake gasp and put his hand up to his face, "It was me! AHAHAHAHAHA!"

He stopped laughing and continued to circle the table looking down at the body, noticing all of her features. Blonde hair, thin body, long legs for a short girl. One eye was open and Jeff could see the bright blue in it. Her mouth hung open loosely and her head turned to the side. Her teeth were awfully crooked. Jeff stopped circling once he had reached her head. He rolled it so it was looking at him and he opened both eyes and stared into them intently. He jammed his knife into the table in anger.

"You no longer satisfy me!" He shouted. He cleared the body off of the table and put it in the closet with the other two, "I've got it! I'll kill in this town once more and move on."

He pulled his knife from the table and leapt out the open window into the darkness. The town was right along a lot of wood space and he figured he'd kill in a house along that tree line and use the woods for cover. There aren't any paths in these woods, but that was no problem. Jeff bobbed and weaved in and out of trees and branches not realizing he was moving deeper into the woods. When suddenly a loud screech pierced the night air. A lot like the sound of a metal fork being scraped against the side of a car. Jeff stopped.

"What the fuck?" Jeff said, "It must be my mind messing with me. After all, I am kinda cuckoo in the head hehehahahaHAHA." He stopped his laughter suddenly. He heard rustling behind him and whirled around, knife drawn. A low growl arose from the bush he was now facing.

WHOOSH! A large creature leapt from the bush and tackled Jeff to the ground. It was a pale grey being with no hair and empty, black eyes. The Rake. Jeff chuckled. "Oh, you like to play rough, do ya?" Jeff sneered. The Rake pulled back his razor sharp claws to strike and bared his sharp, blood-stained teeth. "Good. So do I."

Jeff swung his knife at The Rake and missed by an inch. The Rake had jumped off of him. It let out another fierce shriek similar to the one Jeff heard before.

"Damn, you're noisy. How about you say we wrap this up. I've got things to do." Jeff said and lunged at The Rake with his knife. He landed his hit this time and cut The Rake's arm. It hollered in pain as it locked it's sights on Jeff. It jumped at him and struck with one claw and missed, but quickly followed up with another and grazed Jeff's shoulder. Almost black blood was oozing its way out of the wound. Jeff chuckled. "I don't have time for these petty games. I've more important things to tend to." He whipped around and took off hearing the shrill shriek of The Rake slowly fading behind him. He had reached a clearing and he was laughing hysterically. Looking around, he saw no signs of The Rake, nor did he hear the things hollering. "Finally, some quiet." Jeff chuckled. He looked at the ground at a peculiar pattern of rocks.

A circle and an "X".

No sooner could he study the rocks, something struck him hard in the side and he went flying and smacked into a tree. He got up quickly and looked at where he was hit. He saw a tall man in a business suit and a black tie. The craziest part, though, was that the man had no face. Just pale white nothingness. He read about him. He knew he was called Slender Man. "HAHAHA! You look awfully funny there, Slendy. Are you a friend of that thing I fought before?" Jeff questioned. Slender Man cocked his head questioningly and shot out a tendril at Jeff which he easily avoided.

"Hmm.. This must be what struck me!" He exclaimed proudly. Slender Man shot another at him. Jeff sidestepped and swung his knife at the tendril, cutting off the sharp end. It shot back and Slender Man fumbled backwards. A shriek once again pierced the night air and The Rake burst into the opening, but was quickly snatched up by Slender Man. The Rake was held by the legs in one arm and one tendril. The Rake let out one final shriek. A thin line formed where Slendy's mouth should be and opened up exposing skinny, sharp teeth. Slender Man let out a loud hiss and pulled The Rakes legs apart, splitting it down the middle and threw the two halves askew as Slender closed its "mouth."

Slender Man looked back to where Jeff had been standing, but he was gone. No where to be seen. He heard a rustle in the tree behind his head and turned. Jeff leapt out at him shouting, "Go to sleep, Slendy!" But Jeff's attack had no avail. Slender Man had teleported and he hit the ground hard and lost his knife. He lay on his back and looked up. There he was. Slendy. Before Jeff could react, Slender Man picked him up by the throat with a tendril and brought him face level. Its mouth agape. Jeff smiled and tried to utter a chuckle before he met his fate. "Do your worst, Slendy!"

Slender Man showed some emotion and smiled with his sharp, long teeth. "Go to sleep, Jeff. Sleep forever." It whispered menacingly and tightened the grip around Jeff's neck until a snap cracked throughout the forest and The Operator dropped the smiling, limp body of Jeff the Killer.

[messers-moony]

One in the Same | R.B

Paring: Regulus Black X Wife!Reader

Summary: Reader notices Draco going through the same pain as her ex lover and desperately wants fix her faults.

“Mr.Malfoy, can you stay after class, please?” 

“‘Course, Professor Black.”

An average day in second year. Professor Black - Y/n - taught History of Magic after Professor Binns decided his time was up. Too long of teaching sleeping students who could care less about his lessons. However, once Y/n took over the position, kid's grades improved and people were no longer sleeping. She made things fun and inventive.

After class time was up, everyone filed out of the classroom aside from the blond Slytherin boy. Draco has always been on the good side of Professor Black. She was always extremely kind to him despite his rather sour attitude at times. But Draco was always hesitant to initiate a conversation to really speak his feelings to her. But this was the first time she had him stay after class. 

Y/n pulled out the chair in front of her desk as he sat down. His white-blond hair and gleaming blue eyes. His young face, not yet defined. Y/n with her h/c hair and curious glinted e/c eyes. 

“Draco, I want to start this by saying I don’t know what your home life is like.” Y/n began, “I went to Hogwarts with your parents, though, and he wasn’t always kind. Your mother was cordial with me, though.”

“If you don’t find me intruding, what’s your home life like?” 

“I- Um- It’s good.” Stammered Draco, “Father and Mother are always kind.”

Y/n’s eyes glinted with curiosity, “Lucius tolerated me.”

“Tolerated you?”

“I married one of his best friends.” Y/n chuckled, “He didn’t have a choice.”

Draco tilted his head, “Sirius?”

“Oh heavens no!” Y/n exclaimed, “Regulus. Sirius Black's brother.” 

“My- My dead cousin?” He queried. 

She nodded, “Yes. I married Regulus right after graduation. His parents weren’t thrilled, but he loved me so, here we are.”

“May I ask a question?”

“Shoot.”

“What were his parents like?”

“Horrible. The worst.” Y/n spat, “Sirius got the worst of it, but Regulus did occasionally too.”

“Walburga and Orion were awful. Using the crucio curse is not a great punishment for kids.” Draco’s eyes widened, “Both of them had scars from the curse. Sirius ran away at sixteen, and Regulus was used as their puppet. So used that at the age of eighteen, he felt like he had to prove himself. Which inevitably got him killed.”

“How did you deal with it?”

“Well, would you like my honest answer or my Professor answer?”

“Honest, please.”

“Between you and I, I still haven’t gotten over it.” Y/n shrugged, “I see something that reminds me of him, and I’m back at the start all over again. It takes time, and it’s taken plenty of time, but here I am, doing what I love. Teaching kids.”

“Anyways.” Y/n smiled, “You’re dismissed. I’m sorry I took up your time. However, if you ever feel the need to speak with me, let me know. Okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Draco picked up his bag, rustling as he stood up. The blond boy was still digesting all the information he gained. He couldn’t believe that his cousins got the crucio curse for a punishment. He thought his parents were bad. Theirs was way worse. Draco was about to walk out of the classroom but turned last minute to look at his Professor. 

“Professor?” 

“Yes, Draco?”

“There’s-“ He swallowed, “There’s a Quidditch match this Saturday. Slytherin versus Ravenclaw. If you have the time, I’d like you to come.”

“Of course. I’ll be there.” Y/n smiled. 

He walked out of the room without a second stop. He felt better about himself now. He had someone who genuinely seemed to care about him. Draco didn’t trust her just yet, but he wouldn’t be opposed to speaking with her as he had just now in the future. Professor Black had always been open and honest with her students. Perhaps that’s why kids liked her so much. 

Saturday arrived quicker than Y/n would’ve hoped for one reason. She, herself, didn’t own any Slytherin-colored merchandise anymore. But there was a box in her quarters that she brought with her to Hogwarts every year. Regulus’s old clothes meaning all his scarfs, ties, button-ups, pants, hats, etc. Y/n couldn’t seem to get rid of them. Frankly, she didn’t want to get rid of them either. 

Carefully she pulled the cardboard box from the top of her closet. Taking a pair of scissors and breaking the tape seal she had put on it multiple years ago. Inside laid many pieces of the evergreen and silver cloth. Y/n’s hands gravitated to the green and silver scarf. Bringing it to her nose, she was shocked. It still smelt like him. Godric, this was going to be more challenging than she initially thought. 

Nonetheless, she put it around her neck along with her button-up and tight-fit pants. Y/n put on the green gloves, much too big for her but had fit Regulus perfectly, the tie, and the scarf. It brought her a sense of nostalgia. It made Y/n feel like she was a fifth-year going out with Regulus on a date to Hogsmeade. But she wasn’t fifteen or in fifth year. Y/n was a Professor and a full-grown adult. And Regulus was dead. 

The game was going well for Slytherin at the beginning. But like most Quidditch games, things can change rather quickly. Ravenclaw was studious. That was for sure. They played skillfully. Y/n sat in the Professor stands with the rest of her colleagues. She sat between McGonagall and Flitwick. But white-blond hair caught her attention in front of her. Lucius Malfoy was here spectating his son. 

McGonagall nudged her, “Where’d you get the Slytherin gear?”

“Regulus.”

“How have you been, dear?” McGonagall questioned softly, “It’s been a whirlwind, but nothing I can do will bring him back, so ‘m still here for him. It’s what he would’ve wanted.” Y/n replied. 

Minerva placed a hand on the girl's knee, “If you need anything, let me know.”

“‘Course, Professor.”

The game ended tragically. Slytherin had just tied the game when Cho Chang had caught sight of the snitch. Sadly, she was able to grasp it before Draco. Leaving Slytherin with two-hundred and thirty points while Ravenclaw ended with three-hundred and eighty points. Lucius seemed furious with this conclusion and stormed off the stands. Y/n knew something was up, so she followed him. 

She came up in a deserted hallway in Hogwarts. Draco stood - now changed into the usual Hogwarts robes - and his father stood before him. From the view she had, Draco’s back was to her, and his father was towering over the boy. 

Lucius had a cold and icy voice, “You are insufferable!”

“You had one job, Draco! One! Catch the damn snitch.” He scolded, “Perhaps you were too daft to figure that out?”

“‘M sorry, father. I didn’t mean to. Honest.” Draco was pleading and begging for mercy; it made Y/n’s heartache at the familiar words. 

“Mum, Dad, I seriously didn’t mean to!” Regulus had cried after breaking a vase, “Excuses, excuses, they won’t get you anywhere in life, boy!” Orion shouted. 

Tears collected in his silver eyes, “‘M sorry! ‘M so sorry!”

Walburga pointed her wand at him, “Crucio.”

Lucius scoffed, “Malfoy’s don’t cry, wipe those tears.”

“Should‘ve sent you to Durmstrang. You come to Hogwarts and forget everything I’ve ever taught you.”

“Father, I really didn’t mean to! She just got there faster than me.” Draco begged. 

Y/n saw it before Draco did. Lucius raised his palm slowly, and Draco flinched. Y/n saw the pale hand rise into the air, and without a second thought, she ran in front of the young boy, taking the blow that was meant for Lucius’ son. Draco heard the sound but never felt the impact. Carefully he opened his eyes to see Professor Black standing in front of him, a hand on her cheek. 

“How dare you get in the way!” Lucius yelled, “How dare I? How dare you for trying to leave a hand on your son!” Y/n retorted her bright cheek red from impact. 

Draco was appalled, “Draco is your son! Not a toy or a puppet, and I will not stand for this!”

“You don’t have to, half breed.” Lucius seethed, “As you said, he’s my son. Not yours.”

“I could give less fucks!” Y/n exclaimed, “Draco is my student. I will not be having you lay your hands on my students.”

Lucius scoffed, “Where’s your child, mm?”

“Right, you don’t have one.” Lucius answered, “Because your blood-traitor of a husband decided to get himself killed!”

“Regulus was not a blood-traitor for trying to right his wrongs!”

“Regulus and Sirius were no different from each other.”

“Leave them out of this!”

“Oh, so it’s still a soft spot for you?”

“So help me, I’ll-“

“Petrificus Totalus.” Draco stated while holding his wand, causing his father to fall to the ground, paralyzed. 

Y/n stared at the body in shock, “Draco.”

She didn’t even have time to reprimand him before he burst into tears. Y/n turned quickly and embraced him into a much-needed hug while the boy sobbed on her shoulder. Y/n’s hands went through Draco’s white-blond hair gently while he let every emotion out. She pulled away and wiped the tears on his cheeks. 

“You’re going to be okay, I promise.” Y/n informed, and Draco nodded, “Th- Thank you, Professor.”

Y/n smiled and sent him off to the Slytherin common room, leaving her to deal with Lucius. The Professor dragged him to Madam Pomfrey to deal with. Later that night, in her quarters, while brushing her teeth, she noticed the considerable bruise covering her left cheek: Blue and purple hues mixed to create a dark blue-violet looking color, almost grey. 

Sixth year was now here. Y/n’s fourth year of teaching at Hogwarts, and she couldn’t have asked for a better job. On September 1st, she went through the floo-network to arrive in her teacher's quarters. Looking at the time, it seemed that students were just about reaching onto the grounds when a knock sounded at her door. 

“Come in!”

A blond boy, much taller, defined face, and grey eyes had just walked into her teacher's quarters, “Good evening, Professor.”

“Good evening, Draco.” Y/n greeted smiling brightly, “What's on your mind, sweetheart?”

Draco didn’t know where to begin as water collected on his lower lash line, and gently he pulled up his left sleeve. Godric, it felt like deva Vu all over again. 

“Y- Y/n.” Regulus called through his tears, “What’s wrong, baby?” Y/n asked, sitting beside him on the four-poster bed. 

Regulus couldn’t help the tears that helplessly fell down his cheeks. His eyes were silver and blurred. Cheeks flushed and hair knotted. This past summer had been a shit show for him with Sirius running away and just everything that had gone on. Regulus had never felt this hopeless before. 

“I- I need your help.”

“Of course, anything, baby.”

He swallowed, “Just know that I’ll love you forever. Okay?”

“‘Course.”

Gently, he released a breath of air and pulled up his left sleeve. The combined snake and skull only meaning one thing. Regulus was now a death eater to the Dark Lord. Tears sprung in Y/n’s eyes but not because of disappointment but because of worry. She didn’t know what she would do if Regulus were to be gone. 

“They forced me!” Regulus pleaded, “Please, please don’t leave me.” 

Regulus was weeping, and Y/n took him into her arms, “Shh, shh, I’m not disappointed. I’m just worried about you.”

“I don’t wanna- I don’t wanna do this.” Regulus whimpered, “Please help me.”

“I’m gonna help you ‘m love. Don’t worry.” 

“What happened this summer?” Y/n asked as Draco pulled back down his sleeve.

“Auntie Bella.”

Draco was trying so hard to swallow his tears as his Professor was now face to face with him, “Draco.”

How was her voice so sweet and calm, almost like she had done this before, “It’s okay to show emotion. It’s being human. Let it go, darling.”

Just like that, the dam broke, and Draco was a sobbing mess again. How was it that Professor Black had always managed to feel more like home than his actual parents? What had his mum done for him while Bellatrix was giving him the mark? She had just stood there watching pain contort on his face. Y/n felt more like a mother to him, more like family to him. 

“Shh. Shh. You’re safe here, Draco.”

“They- They want me-“ He was choking on his words, and Y/n placed her hands on his shoulders, “Take deep breaths and then explain. Okay?”

He began to inhale and exhale air at a slow pace, “They want me to-“ Draco swallowed, “They want me to kill Dumbledore.”

“Okay.” Y/n stated, letting out a breath of air, “You and I will get through this.” 

“You- You promise?” 

“I promise.”

Perhaps it was instinct now for Draco to stay after in her classroom. After every lesson, Draco would visit her in her classroom just to be in her company or to talk. What was it about Y/n that drew these people close to her? Ones with broken souls who believed that couldn’t be helped. Was it her kindness? Perhaps it was her caring nature—too many variables to pinpoint. 

The moment Y/n heard crying in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, she knew something was wrong. Approaching cautiously, she saw Harry Potter doing the same behind Draco, who stood facing the basin, dried tears on his cheeks. Everything happened too fast for Y/n to understand. But when Harry spoke an incantation that left Draco bleeding out on the floor, everything changed. 

She was jumping into action hastily, falling to her knees beside the blond-haired boy while Harry was almost in tears at his mistake. Y/n took her wand out and began muttering spells to heal the boy's chest. Harry was now in a heap on the floor, tears filling his glorious emerald eyes while the Professor took care of his harm. It took ten minutes before the bleeding stopped, and Y/n turned to face Harry. 

“Harry.” 

“‘M sorry. I- I didn’t know…”

“It’s okay. I’m just glad I was here.” Y/n replied, and Harry looked like a mess, “I need you to go to the Gryffindor tower and not speak of this to anyone, okay?”

He nodded and stood up sluggishly. Harry left the bathroom, leaving Y/n with an unconscious Draco. Sighing heavily, she picked up the boy and lugged him to the hospital wing, where he was taken care of. The following day an owl was pecking at Y/n’s window, leading her to wake up and take the note from the owl’s foot. 

“Draco won’t stop calling for you.”

Y/n freshened up, brushing her teeth, hair, and a change of clothes before making her way to the Hospital Wing. It was quite a ways away from. Her section of the school, but if Draco needed her, she needed to be there even if it was six o’clock in the morning. Her shoes made a light tap along with the wood as she walked and hesitantly opened the big door to the infirmary. 

“Oh, thank Merlin!” Madam Pomfrey said with her hand over her heart, “Draco has been asking for you, my dear.”

She gave a tiny smile as Pomfrey pointed to where Draco was lying. Carefully she stripped back some of the white curtain and pulled a chair beside his bed. Y/n took his hand in his. It was cold and pale. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine holding Regulus’ hand in the same exact way after a horrible Bludger accident. 

An hour later, Draco finally woke up, “Mornin’ sweetheart.”

“Professor, you- you came.”

She smiled, “You called for me, of course, I’d come.”

Draco pushed himself up into a sitting position, his grey eyes locked on her warm e/c ones, “Sorry, I just, didn’t expect you to come.”

“How are you feeling?” 

“I feel okay. Little sore but nothing I haven’t been through.” 

Y/n smiled sadly, “I knew a boy just like you, you know?”

“You did?” Draco asked, and she nodded, “I did.”

“Could you tell me about him?”

“Well, he was strong, smart, and closed off. His home life wasn’t too great either and was forced into being what his parents were too.” Draco looked eager for more, “Eventually, he realized that this wasn’t the life he wanted. He no longer cared about his parent's approval. He just wanted to be him, but by then, it was too late.”

“Too late?”

She nodded, “He was already in too late, so he did the only thing he thought of. Betraying his parents, his family. He was so caught up in what he was doing he didn’t realize what he was doing, and now, because of that, he’s no longer with us.”

“But you aren’t too late, Draco.” Y/n stressed, tightening her grip on his hand, “Let me save you. Let me help you.”

Tears ebbed at the corners of his eyes, “Please.”

Y/n took him in her arms and rubbed his back soothingly, “You aren’t alone. I’m here for you.”

It took months, but everything was over. It felt like time had stopped. Y/n could remember the terror standing outside of Hogwarts as the death eaters stood on the other side. Narcissa was calling for him - the boy who had no choice - and Draco was panicking as Lucius began calling his name. 

Draco swallowed and shook his head. 

It was the feeling of relief that brought Y/n solace. Draco took the step that Regulus took, and she would make sure he didn’t pay for it. The relief felt like a breath of fresh air now that the war was over. Y/n had stepped into the Great Hall panicking, hoping, praying that he was okay. At that moment she saw it. 

He was crouched in the corner. People were glaring at him all around. Draco saw. He saw the Weasleys crying over Fred. He saw Harry look empty, staring at Remus Lupin and Nymphadora. The way Lavender Brown’s parents sobbed over her dead body. He saw the way Dennis Creevey was yelling and screaming in pain at seeing his deceased older brother. Draco could remember how close they were. 

Nonetheless, he stood up and ran into her arms: his solace, home, and safe place. Draco couldn’t remember what it felt like to be held this tight. He dug his nose into her neck and just remembered to breathe. She pulled away to see a small smile playing on his lips. Y/n cupped his cheeks gently. 

“I’m so, so proud of you.” Y/n smiled, “I can't explain how proud I am of you. You did it.”

Draco smiled and leaned into her hands, “Thanks, mum.”

[emyluwinter]

The idea belongs to @alexglitches

I hope you won't mind if I add my ideas a little?

During Chapter 3, when Yuu and Grimm were packing things in a hurry. Ramshackle was puzzled as he picked up Yuu's bag of things. Without giving and in every way preventing the Prefect to gather.

- Hey...Ramshackle...please stop. These eels will throw me out if I don't voluntarily leave. - complained Yuu trying to catch the suitcase on the swaying from side to side of the bed.

- I'm really sorry that it turned out that way. But otherwise Grimm and Ace and Deuce would look like zombies.

Leaving the attempt to catch the suitcase and trying to collect the uniform in the closet, Yuu gets a light slap on the leg with the closet door.

- Ow! Yes!I know! It's terrible and you're against it! I understand!

Exhaling heavily and frustrated, Yuu pressed their forehead against the wall of the room.

- I'm really sorry...I don't want to leave here either...

Ramshackle suddenly quieted down and Yuu felt a suitcase with necessary things gently knocking at their feet.

- Oh....Ramshackle....... - Touched, Yuu gently ran his fingertips along the wall.

- Thank you....really thank you so much for taking care of us... I appreciate it.

Ramshackle quietly began to rustle all the furniture in the room, as if trying to hide his embarrassment.

- Is someone embarrassed?~ Okay, okay.

***

After Jack offered a place to stay for the night, Yuu took only one step away from the building and immediately remembered something.

- Oh, right.....Hey Ramshackle!

Ramshackle puzzledly opened the window in the attic as if waiting for something.

- Since we won't be home.... Kick those three asses!!

The sudden request stopped Ace, Deuce and Jack standing in complete disbelief. Usually Prefect were peaceful students.

Quickly coming to his senses, Yuu added.

- But please don't hit the dishes! And please don't kill them!!

Ramshackle suddenly became very quiet and seemed to be motionless. It seemed pretending that they hadn't heard anything of what was said.

Yuu angrily tapping his foot on the ground and crossing his arms over his chest, staring intently at every movement.

- Ramshackle....I know that you are full of riddles and mysteries. But let's please do without the creepy stories that students disappear without a trace on your territory. Ok?

Ramshackle began to lazily open and close the windows on the second floor, as if not very willingly agreeing.

***

When Azul expected that he would get a new building for his restaurant....

Well, he definitely did not think that he would get so many PROBLEMS.

It was a nightmare for them.

Azul couldn't even go inside the first time! Ramshackle just slammed the door right in their face!

Almost throwing him off the porch to the very gate of the hostel. He barely managed to catch hold of the door handle, which remained in his hands.

With difficulty opening the door with the help of magic. Azul took a few steps

- The conditions here are much better than I expected. Well, if we start, it's worth starting with ..

Without finishing the sentence and immediately under the general fright of the twins, Azul fell into the basement with a scream and screams!!!

(shouting goofy~)

The poor Dorm Leader Octavinelle had to go around all the cabinets and any objects for two meters in order not to get a blow or a slap. The twins, on the other hand, stumbled on their own feet every now and then or got tangled in the carpets and almost fell.

Once Jade slipped on the carpet and made a sharp splits. With a quiet squeak of pain, because he hit himself.

Floyd also got a floorboard on the ass when he stomped hard on the wooden floor that wanted to hit him. As a result, he mastered the principle of the "rake offensive" with a vengeance.

- That's enough! I am your master!!Listen to me! - Azul suddenly shouted, banging his cane on the floor. He was very tired of all these unnecessary movements.

- What is it?A ghost? I will not tolerate some obnoxious ghosts to mock future visitors like this!

Azul was about to cast a spell when an old pillow full of dust and ......flour flew into him face...It was as if it was filled with all the dust that was in the building. For centuries?

Cursing and sneezing, Azul literally growled.

- DAMN YOU, YOU OLD RUIN!!YOU WILL STILL OBEY ME!! JADE, FLOYD!!

Turning around, Azul saw that the Twins were standing on the threshold and trying to get rid of dust and flour.

- Why did you two leave?!

- I've played enough...this dorm is too restless. Annoy. - sniffling from the onset of a runny nose due to sneezing, Floyd hissed irritably.

- I agree. Very lively. - covering his nose with a handkerchief, Jade tried to stop sneezing. Poor Merfolk already had red eyes.

***

Ramshackle has a "little challenge" with Malleus every time it snows.

Under Prince, Ramshackle behaves like a stationary dormitory without even moving. Trying to trick him. But as soon as the night visitor is distracted ...

Ramshackle immediately makes a snowball by rolling shutters and floorboards on the porch and using them as a "catapult" trying to get into Malleus.

Especially stubbornly aiming at his horns.

Only once did Ramshackle manage to get...more precisely, to leave your "footprint" from visiting their territory.

A leaf on one of the Dragon's horns.

Ramshackle makes serifs every time it tries. And loves to rearrange gargoyles in different places.

***

When Yuu or Grimm have nightmares or are sleeping restlessly, Ramshackle sometimes rocks their bed slightly to lull these two to sleep. Yuu is not sleeping well, and this is important for health.

Ramshackle also knows when these two went through the overblot. Both students look creepy and Ramshackle wants to become a "hut on chicken legs" (in Russian folklore there is a fairy tale about a hut on chicken legs. It is literally a wooden structure on chicken legs. It moves and does not let anyone inside without some nuances)

To go and personally beat these offenders.

Seeing how tired these two poor devils are, Ramshackle moves the sofa and first aid kit closer to them so that Yuu and Grimm can just relax and lick their wounds.

Yuu and Grimm get so tired that they fall asleep right in the living room and Ramshackle does not dare to joke about them or wake them up.

***

During the VDC camp, Yuu found an old vinyl record player and records in the attic.

Now Ramshackle was playing beautiful cheerful music after dinner, when Yuu, along with Grimm and the ghosts, washed the dishes and put them in the cupboards.

Ramshackle definitely liked it.

For Jamil, it was hell and he was very in solidarity with Ace. These two were Ramshackle's "favorites" for banter.

Once Jamil screamed so loudly when he saw a huge spider on his pillow when he woke up that he almost broke his voice.

Ramshackle didn't joke like that anymore because they didn't want to hear a lecture about their "bad behavior" for forty minutes.

Of course, the lecture would have ended in 10 minutes, but they threw a pillow at Vil to shut him up.

Kalim laughingly "went down" the slide when it was originally a ladder. He really liked it and was amused.

Ramshackle has a new challenge - to launch a snowball into the Vil at the most unexpected moment. Dorm Leader Pomfiore really wanted to call an exile specialist at such moments.

Ramshackle GAVE A DECISIVE REBUFF TO THE ROOK WHEN HE WANTED TO TEAR OFF THE WALLPAPER FROM THE WALLS for posting photos.

Sending him screaming several times to different parts of the building. And once in the basement.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Some more FNAC Puppeteer please? Basically, instead of Mary, The Reader ends up hiding in the closet (8 years old) and witnesses the whole thing,however,they fall out of the closet. So Vincent kills them and they end up possessing Vinnie. After Vincent gets rid of everything associated with the R&CT (except Vinnie) The Reader ends up tormenting him in small ways. One night, after waking him up, The Reader whispers "I recognize you, but I'm not afraid of you. Not anymore." (Charlie parallels :3c)

First the Rat.

Then the Cat.

You cupped a hand over your mouth in horror as you witnessed their bodies dropping to the floor, never to move again.

One was pushed and stumbled back into the metal table, hitting his head and leaving a splotch of blood before he collapsed to the ground.

Shortly afterwards, the other was strangled to death with his own costume while he tried in vain to dial the police, left slumped against the wall.

Tears brimmed your eyes as you watched the Puppeteer stare at his hands, then to the bodies of his coworkers. He seemed regretful, but not all that devastated at the atrocities he just committed.

“I’m sorry guys..I really am. But...you made me do this!! If only you all weren’t so STUPID AND TOOK YOUR CAREERS MORE SERIOUSLY!!!”

Turning around, he yelled and punched the closet door in anger. You flinched as it shook, before realizing the haphazardly-stacked boxes on the shelf above you were tumbling down.

‘No!! No!!!’

You tried stopping them, but they forced the doors opened and you fell soon after.

Right at the Puppeteer’s feet.

He was shocked to see you, a child, had hidden in there the entire time. Yet it also filled him with rage.

You were a witness.

One that could ruin his whole career.

“M-Mr. Vincent..I’m sorry.” You began to cry, shaking as you got up. “I-I was just trying to hide somewhere..a-and..I didn’t mean it..”

“Oh, I know you didn’t, kiddo. And I'm so sorry you had to see all of that." His frown deepened as he approached you. "But you chose a very, very poor hiding place. You broke a rule...didn't you see the employees only sign?"

"N-No..I should have..I'm sorry.."

"You should be. They’re dead now, all because of you.” He sneered, his tone shifting from understanding to outright cold and cruel. “You know that? How many kids are gonna be sad that their best friends Rat and Cat are gone?! All because of the actions of a stupid child?!”

“I-I didn’t..I-!”

Suddenly he wrapped both hands around your throat, lifting you helplessly off the ground, literally squeezing the life out of you.

The glint in his eyes was murderous. Not an ounce of regret remaining.

"P-Please...! I won't..t-tell...!" You gasped, trying to fight his hold on you, but already you were seeing spots.

“I know you wouldn’t tattle. Why would you? It’s your fault...all of it.” He spat, grinning widely. "Not mine, not that drunk's, yours."

Those words were the last ones you'd ever hear as your vision faded to black.

And you finally stopped struggling

Once you became limp in his grasp, he huffed and checked your pulse, confirming you were dead before he decided to shove you back into the closet, only closing the door halfway. After looking at your body, and then the bodies of his coworkers, he went to the phone and dialed the police.

“Hello? Police? You have to hurry over here! My coworkers..they’re..th-they’re dead. Both of them! And I found a child..d-dead in the closet. I-I just..I heard something, it sounded like a rustle. I just came in and..all of them were dead. The child is about...8? Yeah, must’ve locked themselves in there by accident. Probably for hours...poor thing.."

Vincent told his fib and managed to make a convincing story, having everyone evacuate the theater and cancel the show.

As he collected his acting diploma and quickly left the room, he failed to see Vinnie on the metal table slightly twitching.

His eyes glowing white.

.........

Although Vincent was sad to see the Rat & Cat Theater closing permanently following the three deaths, he considered it a sigh of relief.

He could move onto bigger and better things with his acting career. In fact, it landed him a prominent role in a horror movie, which he absolutely relished in, studying his lines every waking moment.

Everybody loved it. They loved him for his phenomenal acting as the movie’s killer. They wondered how he did so well, but he kept that a secret.

Finally he was a real celebrity! No longer known as the silly man with clown makeup and a dancing life-sized puppet at a rundown kiddie place. He has a job he truly loves--he could get a better house, better car..he could have it all.

Yet..the weight of that day never went away no matter how much fame or money he garnered over the years.

Although he and every former employee got brought in for questioning after he “reported” the incident, he was never convicted. Since there were no cameras in that room due to the theater's cheap budget, they couldn't prove anything and had to take his statement as fact.

It was ruled as a murder-suicide between Randy and Calem and an accident with your death.

Who knew being the “drama kid” growing up would one day help him get away with murder? Of not one, but three people?

Even so, it didn’t stop the strange occurrences that started to go on in his everyday life, aside from the growing insomnia.

First, it was his own reflection--painted in that same clown makeup with blood on his hands. And washing his hands in the sink only turned the water red..even new water coming from the faucet only spilled out red.

He brushed it off as the town’s shitty water supply.

Next he started seeing stray cats hissing at him on the street, despite being on the opposite side of them. And every rat he saw in a dumpy alleyway had seemingly red eyes, glaring at him and watching his every move.

‘Just pest problems..’ He told himself.

Then came a bigger problem that night.

Vinnie..and you. Sharing the same body. Looming over his bed with a sorrowful frown, mask barely lit by the pale moonlight.

“I recognize you..but I’m not afraid of you...not anymore.” You whisper, startling him from his already restless sleep. As your invisible strings creaked, you stared down at him, tilting your head. “Are you proud of yourself, Vincent? Of what you did to me that day? Was it worth it?”

At first, he was astonished. And in utter disbelief.

No way...Vinnie the Marionette was still around?! He could have sworn he discarded all the evidence, abandoning his association with the the company completely. He thought someone cleaned up the rest of the mess, so he didn’t bother to see where Vinnie could have gone.

As long as he was out of his life.

But now he--no...you were back in his life, having turned his puppet into a shell of his former self and your vessel somehow.

You were back, confronting him.

Confronting the problem.

“Y-You..Vinnie..[y/n]..whoever I’m speaking to. Is this all you’re here to do? To torment me for my past sins?” He scoffed. “Save it. I..I-I know you’re not real-”

“You don’t get to decide what’s real.“

Feeling a clawed hand wrap around his neck, his eyes widened and he coughed, grabbing your wrist in an attempt to pry you off of him. But to no avail.

“S-Stop! I-I was your puppeteer-!!!”

“But you abandoned all of that..to hide what you did that day. Tell me, would it have still happened if I wasn’t there? If I didn’t hide like a “stupid child”?”

Vincent grinded his teeth as he thought about your question, still trying to shove you off of him. Yet you wouldn’t budge a bit.

For a flimsy robot you were strong.

Was this how you felt before you died?

“I bet you felt good when you heard his neck snap against the table..when you strangled the life out of him with your own two hands. But you couldn’t get enough of it..the power, the bloodlust. So you killed me, too. Sad to think I was once a fan of your shows.”

“It h-haunts me every goddamn day!” He cried out, tears forming in his eyes. They weren’t the crocodile ones he’d put on for show.

They were genuine, full of very real fear and regret. In the back of his mind he knew karma would catch up to him eventually.

He just didn't expect it to come in this form.

“I-I didn’t want to kill you, [y/n]! I really didn’t!! I just..c-couldn’t let my life go to ruin! I panicked!”

“Didn’t seem like it. I still remember your smile..you SMILED as you watched me die. I had the rest of my childhood ahead of me...and then you took it away.” Glowing white pupils appeared in your eyesockets.

“You don’t get to walk away from what you’ve done to me. You don’t get to do that anymore. You ruined my life. And now I’ll make sure....”

To his horror, he saw your mouth sprout sharp teeth, the hand around his neck sporting long white claws with bloodstains on the tips.

This was more terrifying than any horror film he’s seen in his life. This was real. And he wasn’t playing the villain.

But the victim.

"You'll never be able to sleep again."

[slutfor-fictionalmen]

¥ Pretty boy ¥

Rich! Izuku midoriya x F! Plus size! reader

Hi everyone!!! this is part of @bakugohoex‘s Collab, you should check the rest of the collab and her works out!!! enjoy!!

Izuku comes from a rich family, owns lavish cars and houses upon houses but all he really wants is you. You come from a humble background, refusing wealth but dealing when izuku wants to spoil you. Izu can literally fuck you anywhere because he is that rich; Nsfw, Fluff, public sex(kinda), smut(kinda? dom izu), reader is kinda a cheapskate.

Sorry it’s so bad; I may continue/ revise based on how this is taken!

“Oh, come on, Y/n! It’ll be so fun, I promise! it’s just one trip; you won’t feel like you did last time!” Memories of the past trip flash through the shapely woman's mind: paparazzi, lavish hotels(yes hotels, he wanted a different view every night), thousand dollar meals, designer boutiques, everything that you had avoided in your life as a pro hero was ironical, as it was all tackled at once.

You loved your boyfriend, and you admire his willingness to give, but this was the main reason you gave a lot of your earnings to health organizations and hotlines, you didn’t feel you needed the money, you were doing just fine without it, eating at home, carpooling to save on gas, helping out at your apartment to get a bit taken off of your rent. But Izuku was born into a life of wealth. Heir to the Yagi fortune, but despite his wealth, you wouldn’t know he was wealthy by simply meeting him.

“Oh, don’t patronize me izuku, you know I would hate that trip, I always hate overly expensive trips, I could get the same trip through my booking sites for half the price, and you know that!” You huff leaning over to fold your laundry. Izuku walks behind you, placing his large hands on your hips and leaning his head on your shoulder. You could feel his pleading look without even looking at him.

“Indulge me, baby. I promise I won’t make it too expensive,” You felt him kiss at your neck, making you sigh until he let out the final part of his argument, a simple,” Please?” You took his hands off your hips and walked away. Izuku sat defeated until he heard you rustle around, cursing as you made a mess of your once clean closet, and came back into the room with a defeated look and a suitcase. “How long are we going for?” Izuku smiled widely and spun you around, his eyes full of love.

----------------time skip to the day of the plans----------------

You gave yourself one last look in the mirror before sighing, regretting agreeing to this trip as you fix your sundress, admiring how the fabric hugs your soft curves perfectly. You knew this vacation would be perfect, that you would love it, but your stubborn mind wanted to fight the potential enjoyment.

Your mouth turned bitter as you internally fought with yourself, going from a fight of stubbornness to a battle against your self-confidence. Your mind picked on everything that wasn’t on your mind before as a deflect of being questioned. Your unpleasant thoughts were interrupted by a certain green-haired man as he walked into the room, stunned at how beautiful you looked in that dress. Distracted by the unmistakable twinkle in his eyes, your thoughts soon disappeared and were replaced with wonder.

“What’re you looking at?” He shook himself out of his trance to approach you with a smile. “Just looking at my beautiful baby girl in that dress, she so horribly fought me on. You look gorgeous, by the way.” His rough hands were felt through the sheer material of the outfit as his thumbs rubbed gentle circles on your wide hips.

You smiled softly and kissed his cheek, looking into his eyes. “Are you ready to go? Cause one more minute, and I may just back out of this.” His eyes go wide as he pulls away and rushes to get everything in the car. Your chuckles are short-lived as he soon comes back and picks you up. “You’re the last thing I need so we can go” you squeak as you remember this man can lift nearly 300 pounds. Why shouldn’t he lift you? Still, every time he lifts you, it comes as a surprise.

He quickly sets you into the car, alarming you with the fact that the driver isn’t any driver at all, it’s one of his close friends, todoroki, and this isn’t even your car; it’s his. “I figured we didn’t need to use the driver and waste money on parking, todo’s gonna drop us off, and I’ll have the driver pick us up after!” Your eyes watered, you knew that the rest of the trip would be extravagant but it was these little things that made you fall in love with him, over and over again. You sat with your hand in his all the way to the airport. You were excited to see new places but dreading the paparazzi.

You stood out of the car, taking in the cool breeze and walking around the car to get to the bags in the back. You bring both of your bags out, along with your carry-ons, and wait for him to finish his conversation with his friend to come to collect his bags. You hear izuku bid him farewell and thank him for the ride before he slips a 20 for gas in his friend’s car and walks to you. “Now don’t be mad...” His eyes shift when he bows his head, preparing to be lectured,” I got first class, and I know you don’t-” You laughed, only calming to rub his shoulder with a smile. “It’s ok! I’ll let it pass.... for now. Now, let’s get our free drink on!”

You’re the first to board, ignoring the dirty looks from the other passengers; you made a vow to enjoy this time.... for izuku’s sake. Your smile didn’t falter, even when the check-in lady gave you a surprising look when you gave her the ticket. You walked onto the plane with confidence; izuku could only say that you looked as if you were born for this… that you belonged here.  Your Seats were opened to each other, making a two-bedroom cabin area.

You let izuku walk past you to put your bags to the side and look at the menu. One thing you could never understand is his appetite, he eats more than a group of teenage boys, and he still keeps fit, even if he doesn’t work out. You never found that fair. You shook your head out of the thoughts and sat next to him, searching the tv for a decent channel. You shut off the tv when you saw the news about a new villain, suddenly stressing about the city and what’ll happen if you leave. Your mind flooded with thoughts of the places you love on fire, the people you loved killed and showed as a warning to all the other heroes.

Luckily Deku, who had just finished ordering pretty much the whole menu, sensed your sudden situation and reached over you, pulling the leaver to set your seat back. The sudden movement knocked you out of your daze, causing you to look at the man perched above you with a frustrated look on his face. “You have just been a whirlwind of emotions today, haven’t you? You refuse to calm down; the city will be fine, it’s only a week, and we’re not even going that far!” “but-” “No buts! You don’t want to make me sad, do you?” You sigh, realizing that it was highly improbable for that to happen while you were gone, but that didn’t stop you from worrying. Despite that, you sucked it up, deciding that you might as well enjoy these trips before something happens, after all hero business is very dangerous.

“No Izuku, i don’t” He tilts your chin in order for your eyes to reach his. “Izuku? Really? You know that’s not what i want to hear princess.” You suddenly realize the shift of atmosphere, Izuku’s eyes darkened. “No daddy.” “Good girl.”

He lets his hand drag to the bottom of your dress, pushing up the tinted fabric as he moves his hand to rest on your thigh. Your thighs clench unintentionally when he reaches for the top of your underwear, flinching when he snaps the fabric back onto your skin.

You weren’t used to your soft lover taking the lead, you were the one who took control. You usually calmed your own nerves, with him of course. But you couldn’t think, you couldn't take control, you just had to let him help you, clear your mind and calm you.

You couldn’t help but shiver at the look in his eyes when he’s in control. His eyes darkening,a small glimmer in his eyes is still present but he looks….. Animalistic. You slide your underwear off of your plush form, confidently as he watches you with a ever-growing tent in his pants.

Izuku reached out to your body, holding your soft hip as he moves to slide his form between your thighs. “I don’t think i can be patient much longer beautiful, i may just fuck you like this.” He cups your cheek and uses his thumb to play with your lip, testing how far he can go before sticking his finger in your mouth. You obediently suck on it, watching him bite his lip and shift away to get undressed. “Who says i don’t want you to?”

He quickly takes off his shirt, his scars and freckles littering his tan skin. Izuku's pants are soon to follow allowing his cock to tap his stomach. You always loved how easy it was to get him to get hard, he was always ready for you to fuck him, ready to make love at the mere thought of your full, soft form.

You heard izuku whisper a quick ‘fuck it’ before he grabbed your thighs, wrapping them around his hips and grinding softly onto your soft cunt. Your soft moans fueled the burning fire of his. He grabbed his shaft, lining himself up with your weeping hole. He kissed you deeply before pushing into you, his lips muffling your sweet moans.

His cock throbs as he patiently waits for you to adjust to his girth. Your hips ache, already feeling the pressure of your current activities take it’s toll on your body. Your minds begins to flood with need, processing just how close izuku is, how his muscles feel under your finger tips, how he reacts when you experiment with tightening your smooth walls around him. He waits for you to move, slightly wiggling your hips, before he gives into the feeling, whimpering and keeping a steady pace.

You feel his tip brush against your sweet spot with every thrust, unraveling quicker then you would have liked. Izuku’s blush reaches onto his chest as you moan into his ear, teasing him. He speeds up, ramming into your sweet spot, causing that knot in your stomach to tighten before he shifts to rub at your clit sloppily, letting out lewd noises and tipping you over the edge. Your body freezes, a shaking gasp falling from your lips as you arch your back and your walls flutter and tighten around izuku’s dick. He’s soon to follow, spilling his load over your soft stomach before slowly pulling out and flopping onto his bed besides you.

“That’s one great way to start a shitty trip.” You laugh looking over into his forest eyes. Izuku grabs your hand, kissing your palm and giving you a small smile. “Or just a wonderful way to start a potentially amazing trip. You promised you’d let me spoil you this time, so let me use my money to give you comfort. Ok?” You nod, adjusting your seat to be upright again, and lean over to the champagne. The view out the window is something of beauty as the clouds fold into each other and the sky casts a pink, soft hue onto the white canvas.

Izuku grabs himself a glass, leaning his seat all the way back and putting a complementary eye mask on.

“And besides, the more money we pay, the less people will care where we fuck each other.” He was born into this life, born for it. He was used to this and could be for the rest of his full life.

But izuku would do anything just to be by your side. That’s one thing he can’t pay for.

[wreckmetoji]

idfc

An ongoing fic in which you don't realize you have both Fushiguros at your feet.

↳ Toji Fushiguro/Reader ↳ Megumi Fushiguro/Reader

Part 7/?

Part 1, Part 2 , Part 4 , Part 5 , Part 6

content warning. negative thoughts, self doubt, angst, slight fluff, poor megumi This is part seven of a several part story revolving around smut. **Minors DNI**

1.9k words

You glared at him, only to be met with a shit-eating grin. "Looks like that smart mouth is good for something. Now get out of my car." The exchange was less than desirable. Nothing screams you're worthless more than pleasuring a man and then being told to promptly get out of his sight. There were no more words exchanged between the two of you, once you had gotten out of the car and slammed the door shut, Toji sped off without as much as a glance in your direction. It made you seethe, but at the same time you felt so incredibly disgusted that you let him degrade you like that. It took you a while to clean up, deciding to crumple your only half decent dress and throw it in your closet to be forgotten, and shower away the now dried cum sticking to your legs. You don't know why you were left feeling this way, you knew Toji wasn't a good man. You also knew that whatever you two had going on was supposed to be zero feelings involved. Still, it wouldn't have killed him to treat you decently. Sitting on your bed in nothing but a towel, you held your phone in both hands, staring at the bright screen in stark contrast to your nearly pitch-black room. You needed to talk to someone, you felt vulnerable. You knew Nobara had a date tonight, and Yuuji was taking night classes to make up for failing grades, that only left... A sigh fell from your lips, heart wrenching when your thumb pressed the call button, your heartbeat hammering in your ear as you brought the phone to it. It only rang two times before he answered, like he was already anticipating your call. "Hey," Megumi sounded tired, and you could hear the rustling of his sheets on the other end. It was nearly midnight, the realization that you must've disturbed his sleep making you feel even worse. "Hey..." You answered quietly, unsure what else to say. How were you going to get emotional support from him? It's not like you could say your dad fucked me stupid and made me feel used, I need someone to talk to. You heard his gentle voice call your name, once, then twice, before you placed your hand over your mouth and sniffled, trying to keep your tears at bay. You were human fucking garbage. "Hey, hey whats wrong? Are you okay?" Again, you heard the rustling of sheets, then a click followed by a long creak. "I'm gonna come over, wait for me, okay? I'll be ten minutes." You nodded, even though he couldn't see you, and the line went quiet. He never hung up, staying on the phone with you while he drove. Every time you sniffled, or whimpered, or quietly sobbed, he would croon it's okay, I'm almost there. In much less time than he said he'd take, you heard the phone go silent, followed by his frantic rapping at the door. He knew the code to get into your building, him being one of three people you trusted so dearly with it. You were suddenly very aware of your towel-clad body, but really unable to care at the moment. You just needed someone. Less than a second after the door was opened, Megumi was inside your apartment, kicking the door shut with his heel. When he quickly pulled you into a tight embrace, your hands balled into his chest, accepting the halo of warmth he provided as you quietly sobbed into his shirt. It didn't take long for you to stop crying, standing in the entryway in silence as Megumi held you with such care. Once he could tell you'd calmed slightly, he brought you back to your room, sitting you on the bed and going through your closet to find you something to wear. You didn't see that he noticed the dress you wore tonight so angrily discarded in the corner. He managed to find one of his old graphic shirts he gave you, and a pair of loose shorts, placing them on the bed beside you. "I'll give you a minute. Let me know when you're done." He stepped out of the room, making sure not to close the door completely behind him, letting the hallway light bleed into the dark room so you'd be able to see what you were doing. You softly smiled at his choice of clothes, the faded cartoon dog on the shirt was nostalgic. Once changed, you slowly opened the door, refusing to make eye contact. If he knew whatever was wrong was tied to him in some way, he didn't show it. You sat on the couch with him, legs bunched up, leaning into his side with his arm slung over your shoulders. The silence was comfortable, your tears and sniffles mostly subsided as the two of you absentmindedly watched whatever movie he decided to put on. "So," He broke the silence, taking a deep breath, "Do you want to talk about what's wrong?" This is the part you were dreading. How were you going to say this, if you could even say anything? There's nothing you could say that wouldn't give away who hurt you in what way. You could only imagine how disgusted he would be with you. "Shit, no," Megumi cursed, turning towards you on the couch when you started to cry again. "It's okay, you don't have to talk about it." His arm was still over the back of the couch, his other reaching out to grab yours, hesitating for a moment before he threaded his fingers between yours. "I feel like," You hiccuped, gripping his hand in both of yours. "I feel like if I talk about it, you'll end up hating me. I can't have you hate me, Gumi." You hung your head, tears falling onto your joined hands. Megumi remained quiet, scooting closer to you on the couch, his free hand coming to rub your back. "You know I could never hate you." You knew that was a lie, at least in this situation. "I'm just a pile of fucking garbage, I can't even get my life together for one fucking day! I just hurt everyone around me and–" Your words were caught in your throat, the hand that was previously holding yours now grasping your chin and forcing you to turn and look at him. Despite that, it was still gentle. "Don't say that shit, you know better than that." He firmly scolded, sapphire blue eyes boring into yours. The longer he stared, the more you cried. "I just feel... so disgusting. I feel like everyone would be happier if I weren't around. I feel worthless." Your tears slowed, watching his eyes as they scanned your face, settling on your lips a little longer than anticipated. You wanted to feel like you were worth something. In that moment, and that time, you wanted to feel loved. It didn't matter by who. Leaning into his touch, moving your face closer, your gaze moved between his eyes and his lips, watching them part ever so slightly. When he leaned back, even if just a centimeter, you stopped dead in your tracks. The tips of his ears were flushed, his breaths heavy and slow as they fanned over your lips. "I... I don't know what I'd do without you, so please..." Megumi swallowed, seeming unsure of what to do. His hand moved to the back of your head, cradling it when he closed the tiny gap between you two, kissing you so passionately, and so desperately. You returned the favor, hands fisting the fabric of his shirt, his other arm coming to wrap around your waist and pulling you impossibly close. This was wrong, you were horrible for using him like this, but he was the only one that made you feel wanted, needed. He was the first to pull back, keeping you in place as he rested his forehead against yours. Sapphire eyes were closed, and his brows were knitted together. When you leaned in for another kiss, he turned his head slightly. Your name fell from his lips in a pained whisper. "I don't think this is really what you want." He sounded sincere, but absolutely shattered. "I think you think this is what you want, and I'm sorry I took advantage of that but... I can't have you disappearing on me again because I'm selfish." If only he knew that you were the selfish one. You were quiet for a moment, hands loosening their grip on his shirt. "Please," You begged, tilting your head to kiss him again, only to have him lean back and look at you. His expression was doubtful, like he didn't believe what he was hearing. "Please, Gumi, I need you right now." With the way his jaw visibly clenched, you knew you wouldn't have to convince him anymore. He was weak to your requests and wide teary brimmed eyes, you'd put him in a position he just couldn't refuse. You moved forward again, this time successful in managing to kiss him, just as desperate as before. The feeling of his resolve crumbling made you sigh against his lips, both of his hands coming up and cupping your face. It was nothing like the treatment you'd experienced the last few times with his father, the two seemed like complete opposites in how they handled a partner. Perhaps it really all came down to whether or not they cared about who they were touching. Megumi moved his hands down, moving under your shirt just enough so the flats of his palms came in contact with the bare skin of your waist. He dared not go further than that, you knew he wouldn't even as he pulled you into his lap, never once breaking the needy, now crooked kiss. He had been the first to crack, hesitantly brushing his tongue against the lip of your slightly parted mouth, and you eagerly returned the favor. It was clear he wasn't thinking straight with how firmly he held you against him, chest heaving when he exhaled through his nose. His grip tightened, halting your movements after you had rocked forward on him, causing your clothed heat to rub up against the forming tent in his black pajama pants. Clearly, with how sensitive he was, he wasn't wearing underwear. He parted from you, cheeks flushed and irises blown. "I... we can't. Not yet." "You don't want to?" "No– fuck, I do. I want to, I want you– I just don't want you to regret it again." Maybe, you thought, the disappointed expression painting your face would tell him you wouldn't, but deep down you knew he wouldn't budge. He always had a good moral compass, at least when he was sober. You nodded, and he let out the breath he was holding, leaning up and giving you one, two, three kisses, the third lingering much longer than the others. "I'll stay with you tonight, if that's what you want, but if we're gonna do something like that, I want to do it proper this time." That was admirable, you thought with a bittersweet smile as he carried you to your room, settling you down on your queen bed and crawling in next to you. He didn't have to beckon you once he put his head down on the plush pillow, since you were already making your way over to his side. In this moment, and in this time, you felt loved. You felt needed. You felt respected. And you knew that come morning time, you'd probably regret that too. 

______________________________________________________________

[kassandras-one-braincell]

Abby Anderson x GN!Reader - Please Don’t Leave Me

Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt: Please Don’t Leave Me (I’m creative with my titles)

Can be found on AO3 here.

Setting: before Abby leaves to go golfing. Abby and the reader are in an established relationship.

Warning: angst angst angst, excessive usage of the f-bomb and discussions of murder.

(Y/N) replacer safe.

Word count: 1846

Fuck, she’s really doing this.

Every day since Isaac had granted the Salt Lake Crew leave to hunt down Joel Miller, you tried to bargain with Abby, tried to make her see some sense. That killing him won’t take away any of the pain she feels. The grief. The gaping hole in her heart. But she’d always brush you off, distancing herself from you, suppressing her emotions with bicep curls and crunches as per habit.

Each passing hour, a nail was hammered into the coffin of the woman you love. And this morning is the final nail.

The quaint apartment you call home is filled with a cacophony of rustling and pleas as Abby shovels supplies into her backpack, preparing for her hunt. In her mind, Joel’s death warrant is signed, the execution nigh. And God are you desperate, trying to drill some semblance of reality into her stubborn mind one last time before she embarks on a journey she’ll only regret.

“Abby, please just listen to me for one minute—”

“I need to do this.” She heads to your small shared closet, refusing to look at you from your position by the bed. You frantically try to intercept her path, knowing full well she’s much, much stronger and can reposition you with ease. But it’s worth a try.

“This isn’t going to solve anything,” you implore, clutching the wood.

“Move, (Y/N).”

“Abby, this isn’t going to bring him back. You know that.”

“Move.” Her tone is exasperated, utterly focused on packing her shit and promptly leaving. Your heart sinks to your stomach.

“That girl in the hospital. The immune one. She must have been like a daughter to him for Joel to kill a group of innocent people for her,” you plead, feet firmly planted on the floor. Searching for her eyes, those blue irises alight with a maelstrom of hateful determination. They meet yours. “Killing him will just put her through all of this.”

Abby reaches for the closet door and slowly pulls it open, acknowledging your reluctance to move, deciding to disregard it. The wood begins to dig into your back and you’re forced to step aside. “This isn’t going to end, Abby. You fucking know this.” As she folds some spare clothes and places them in her backpack, you fall gracelessly to the bed, needing to sit down. Bile climbs up your oesophagus. Shit, where was her sense of fucking empathy?

“Abby…” Once again, she doesn’t so much as spare you a glance, folding the garments in robotic fashion. “Abby, you said she was a kid. A kid.”

The final shirt is stuffed haphazardly into the bag. She grits her teeth and turns to you. “He killed dozens of Fireflies, (Y/N). Dozens. And that’s all we fucking know of. There could be hundreds of others because he’s a stone cold killer.” Her face flushes with anger, no remnants of the woman you know left behind. “No one person is worth that many fucking lives.”

You let out a breathy laugh in sheer disbelief. “But it’s not about them, is it? Not to you.” The words escaped you in a hiss, one that didn’t go unnoticed. “Never fuckin’ has been.”

Abby rolls her eyes and grabs her maps from the coffee table, iron fist crumpling the papers beyond legibility. “There could have been a cure. A fucking cure to all this.”

On the surface, her words are rational. One life for a cure that would save millions was a worthy sacrifice, that you would be foolish to deny. But the odds of developing this cure were slim, and the girl would have likely died in vain. You knew this. Abby knew this. Jerry knew this.

With a shaky breath, you cradle your arms, never before having felt the urge to cage yourself around Abby. Fingers firmly gripping at your elbows, you let the cards fold. Unadulterated truth.

“You’re in denial, Abigail.”

A tut. “Don’t you fucking ‘Abigail’ me.” Her previous efforts to maintain a steady tone have been vanquished, anger seeping into each progressing word.

She’s gone.

And it’s this precise revelation that fills your eyes with oceans. Throat closing up, nose burning with the urge to spill over, you attempt – attempt – to articulate yourself, to no avail. Seconds later, rivulets trickle from your eyes to your cheeks, and you find yourself sniffling like some stupid kid… No, not a kid. A grieving adult, bereaved by the loss of a lover. Because the other figure in the room is but a husk of the radiant soul you fell for.

“All…” You pause to inhale, deeply: a futile effort to regulate your breathing, to lay rest to the turmoil suffocating your ability to fucking think. “All that’s going to happen is… You’re going to have to—” Hiccupping, you close your eyes, praying no more tears would fall. “To live with the guilt of orphaning a kid.”

Sentence finally out, you surrender to your sorrows, allowing them to wrack your chest with sobs and heaves until it gets too much, salt freely spilling from the floodgates. You can’t…you won’t bring yourself to look at Abby – the machine in her place, one programmed to kill and kill alone.

It’s wholly terrifying.

Distress flickers in her eyes, her frown slackening for a fraction of a second at the sound of your despair. “No one is forcing you to come,” she puts plainly, as if that has anything to do with the issue at hand.

“You know this – isn’t about that. Fuck, even Owen knows this…this is a bad idea.” Too dejected to cry. Too dejected to battle the hitched breaths you take trying to force out the words.

Words that fall upon deaf ears. “That’s not what Owen told me.” She slots a Swiss army knife into her cargo pants’ pocket, headed with a canteen in hand towards the kitchenette. “He was there, (Y/N). He agreed that Joel needs to die.”

“Because he’s fucking scared of you!” We all are, nearly breaks free from your lips, but that’s not what Abby needs to hear right now. Nothing that will push her away. Further away. The reigns you have on your lover are fraying, leaving you grasping at nought but strings. Frenzied, you attempt a softer, less concrete approach. “Baby, it isn’t normal to be so…hellbent on revenge like this.”

Silence. The delicate trickle of water sounds from the faucet as Abby fills her canteen. Then, a sigh, one of frustration as opposed to defeat. “If you think calling me ‘baby’ is going to erase four motherfucking years of grief, you are sorely mistaken. You’re smarter than that.”

Patience thinning, you stand up, wading through strewn supplies across the apartment floor towards the kitchenette. “Four years and you still haven’t given yourself time to mourn properly,” you reason, deliberately obstructing her path out of the kitchen with your body again. “Maybe if you had you’d see some fucking sense.”

God, that was a mistake. Shit, shit, shit shit shit the last thing you want to do is piss her off, not with her mind in such a volatile state, devoid of all logic.

“I appreciate you’ve lived a fucking sheltered life since the outbreak,” she seethed. What?

“That’s not true—”

“And you have no fucking idea what it’s like to have someone ripped away from you like that.” Volume rising, words a mantra fuelled by detest. “And you know, maybe, just fucking maybe, this’ll be my one chance to put an end to this shit!” The fist not clutching her backpack clenches. And for the first time ever while alone in her company, you flinch.

“He fucking deserves this, (Y/N)! If I can show him a fraction of the pain he caused me—”

“Abby, you’re scaring me,” you whimper, closing in on yourself. Genuinely afraid she’d raise her hand towards you.

Had you a mirror, you’d know truly how perturbed you look in this very moment. Streamlines drying on your cheeks, eyes reddening and puffy from crying, wide with fear like a doe face-to-face with a moving car. Body subconsciously making itself smaller, reducing its surface area, reducing the likelihood for any incoming swings to hit.

She lowers her guard, colour returning to her knuckles as she unravelled her fist. Knitted brows returning to their natural place above her eyes, mouth parted as the horror of her behaviour settles in.

“You know I would never hurt you, right?” Even her previously stern voice cracks at this.

It takes tremendous willpower to not fall back as she takes a tentative step towards you.

Drying your eyes with your sleeves – her sleeves…you forgot you’re wearing her old sweater, the notion sour on your tongue – you break your mutual gaze. “You’re not you right now,” you whisper, not trusting your larynx to produce anything above a mouse’s squeak. “This isn’t the Abby I know.”

For the first time this morning, a sentiment other than bloodlust registers in her face. Hurt.

Either unable or unwilling to respond, Abby recommences her packing in solemn silence.

Shit, you have three, perchance five minutes at best to dissuade your girlfriend from leaving and doing something that will haunt her for all eternity. Yet all you can do is brace yourself against the wall and allow a second tsunami of tears to wash over you, pangs of anguish striking your heart. “Abby—”

“I’m going, (Y/N).” Firm, with a shred less conviction, but firm enough.

A violent sob tears through you as you beg, beg, the vessel of the woman you adore, “Please don’t leave me.”

For a fleeting moment, your heart stops as she hesitates in her tracks. A flicker of hope seizes your mind, that perhaps she has reconsidered, that finally some logic has entered her train of thought.

It all crashes down when she reaches for the spare rifle ammunition by the front door.

“Fuck, Abby—”

“I’ll be gone a month at most.”

Hail-Mary.

Hail-Mary.

Please.

Chest shuddering with each sob that wracks through you, you utter through violently trembling lips and hiccups, “You’re so – fucking blinded – by your hatred – right now – that you can’t – fuck, see – this will – kill you—”

The gravity of the situation threatens to make your knees buckle.

Abby plucks her jacket from the coat hanger and wades over to your crippled stance by the kitchen. A hand brushes your salt-slicked cheek as a lock of hair is swept out of your line of sight. “I love you,” she whispers in pained honesty.

“Abby…” You try to take her hand, to ground her, to remind her of the life she’s leaving behind on her relentless pursuit of this warped sense of justice.

“Goodbye, (Y/N).” She squeezes your palm and lets go, zipping up her pack as the front door to the apartment creaks open and slams shut.

Death is a word that isn’t used lightly, especially not after an epidemic takes the world by storm. But part of your spirit certainly died the moment that door closed behind her.

(I’ll leave it up to you whether she has a change of heart or leaves and scores a few hits above par.)

[queensoybean0724]

Succession Chapter 2

Here is Chapter 2!  I hope y'all like it!

Title: Succession Chapter 2

Characters: female reader, Karl Heisenberg, Salvatore Moreau, lycans, mentions of OC

Rating: PG-13 for images of gore, scenes of terror, possible kidnapping trigger warnings

Summary: You discover a long lost relative from Moldova has died and you are his sole beneficiary.  You are on board a plane to collect your inheritance when your plane crashes in a village in Romania.

Author’s Notes: I do not own the characters from Resident Evil Village.  This is a work of fiction.  Anything remotely similar to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

It’s unusual how your senses come back to you when you regain consciousness after a trauma.  You couldn’t see at first or maybe it was that your hearing arrived before you opened your eyes.  It felt as if a pair of sound cancelling headphones were slowly pulled from your ears.  Then followed your sense of touch.  Blistering cold hit your skin and seemed to seep in and nestle into your bones.  It felt sharp and painful against your cheek as if someone were drawing a scalpel across your flesh.  Pain surged to the forefront and with that, you finally opened your eyes.

It was dark inside the cabin of the plane, the only light being the natural light shining through the damage to the hull.  The window next to you was shattered and you felt cuts along your arm.  The seatbelt had you secured to your seat and it was cutting into your stomach, adding to the all-over pain in your body.  The air mask was still secure over your mouth.  Lifting your hand shakily to remove the mask, you took in your surroundings.

The wind whipping outside the plane was the only thing you could hear.  You listened for the voices of any passengers, whether they be whispers, cries, or shouts for help.  It was as quiet as a tomb.

“Br-Bruce?” you whispered, looking towards his seat.  The darkened plane made you strain your eyes in order to see him.  His body was slumped away from you, his bottom half held still by his seat belt.  You slowly reached for him and grabbed his arm, pulling him towards you.  His body slid against his seat before slumping towards you.  His eyes were open.  The air mask was over his mouth.  You pulled the mask from his head to see if he was breathing.  His mouth hung open.  He was dead.

“Oh god…” you whimpered, your body beginning to shake.  He was the only person you knew on this flight.  You didn’t know what to do or who to call out for.  “Hello?” you croaked as you lifted your head to look over the seat before you.  Your throat was scratchy and sore from the cold air.  “Can anyone hear me?  Help!!”  You were met with silence.  

Surely someone had to be alive.  You couldn’t be the sole survivor in this crash.  Reaching down for the clasp of the seatbelt, you pressed the button and released yourself.  You took one last look at Bruce’s lifeless body as you crawled over him and into the aisle.  “I’m sorry,” you whispered to him, running your hand over the top of his head.

The plane was a mangled mess, suitcases and bags strewn everywhere from the impact.  Bodies were in the aisle and tossed across seats and hanging over the armrests.  “Is anyone alive?” you asked in a raised voice.

You stepped over bodies and suitcases, holding on to the seats on either side of you.  The wind from outside blew into the cabin, blowing your hair around your face.  You were freezing and quaking from the cold.  The clothing you were wearing was not enough to keep you warm.  Thankfully, you remembered the flight attendants taking coats at the beginning of the flight and placing them in a small closet towards the front of the plane.  Finding the closet, you pried it open, finding the heaviest coat inside, and put it on.

Making your way towards an area that had been split open from the crash, you continued looking around for survivors.  You listened closely for any voices, hoping and praying that someone else had survived.

Panic began to set in once you exited the plane.  Snow coated the ground.  Trees stood gangly and devoid of leaves.  The clouds above were thick and vast, hiding any trace of sunlight.  You looked around for houses or buildings...for any signs of life.

You trudged around the debris, searching for a path or road that could lead to civilization.  The village that you had seen from the plane couldn’t be far from where the plane had crashed.  Maybe you could knock on doors and use someone’s phone to call for help.  Or the black box...every plane had a black box.  Surely someone had been notified that the plane went down or where it disappeared from radar.

You continued walking around the plane, looking high and low for anything.  The snow crushed under your shoes.  You slipped and fell a few times from icy patches under the snow.  Pulling the coat tighter around you, you shoved your hands into the pockets, rubbing your body to keep them warm.

As you were coming back around to where you had exited the plane, a noise came from inside.  Suitcases rustled and fell over and you heard an audible grunt. Oh thank god, you thought, someone is alive!  Perhaps someone finally regained consciousness and is trying to get out and get help.  You ran around the plane and peered inside.

A man was hunched over a body, his clothing tattered and torn.  He was pressing on the person’s chest, shaking the body, perhaps trying to perform CPR.

“Hey!” you called out to the man, your voice filled with hope and relief that you were not the only person that survived.  The man stopped and slowly turned towards you.  

What looked back at you was not the face of a survivor...or that of a human being.  Tousled hair laid in a tangled heap on its head.  The lips pulled back showing a row of jagged teeth.  The eyes were devoid of anything that could be described as a soul.  You listened as a low growl slipped from its mouth.  Its mouth and hands were covered in blood and only then did it dawn on you that it was not performing CPR...it was feasting on the body.

“What the fuck?!?” you yelped, falling backwards in the snow.  You scrambled away as the thing crawled from inside of the plane, advancing towards you.  It let out a loud bark and a snarl, its eyes absolutely feral.

You jumped to your feet, turning to retreat and let out a loud scream.  Two other things just like the one behind you blocked your escape.  They were equally as terrifying...eyes, claws, fangs, and tattered clothing.  What the hell were they??

You broke off to your right and ran towards the trees, hoping to lose them in the forest.  A loud howl sounded from one of them and the other two snarled deep in their throats.  Your heart was hammering in your chest as you ran as fast as your legs could take you.  Adrenaline pumped throughout your body.  You did not risk looking behind you for fear that it would hinder your escape.  

The sound of their feet running in the sloshy snow began to increase and you knew they were getting closer.  Oh god, oh god, they’re gonna kill me!

You saw a flash of something from the corner of your eye before feeling a large form shove into you and send you flying into a hill of snow.  Rolling onto your back, you looked as a fourth monster stood before you, drool dripping from its teeth.  It wrapped its hand around the tree next to it and stared you down.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!!” you yelled.  The other three that had been chasing you joined up with the fourth and you knew that you were no match for all of them.  Your heart beat wildly and you were frozen with fear, not knowing when they were going to pounce.  One of them lunged forward, its hand gripping your ankle.  As it leered over you, it let out a howl...and you screamed.

“Stop!” a voice sounded from behind the beasts.  All four creatures stopped and turned towards the voice, standing straight and obedient.  They parted and allowed the person to approach.

Person...the thing that approached you was not a person, but also was not like the feral animals that had been chasing you.  Your eyes went wide and your mouth dropped open as a hunchbacked figure started hobbling towards you and the creatures.  A large black cloak covered its body.  As it came closer, you noticed long, thin arms...a humped back with a rippled form...and thin legs that ambled slowly towards you.  The creatures watched the thing walk past them and closer to you.  The face was grotesque, jagged teeth sticking out from under gray lips.  The skin was pale and appeared sickly.  An intense odor of fish and sweat formed around it.  You had to breathe through your mouth to keep from gagging.

“Are y-you okay?” the thing asked, hobbling closer to you.  Panic and adrenaline still surged in your body and you crawled backwards to keep distance between the two of you.  He noticed and stopped, slowly lifting his hands in front of him.  “Don’t be sc-scared,” the thing stammered, “I won’t hu-hurt you.  And the lycans...won’t hurt...you ei-either.”

You looked back at the four monsters that stood behind the hunchback.  They stood still, snarling and breathing heavily.  The wind rustled the hair on their heads.  The thing before you took another step forward and held out his hand.  “My name...is...Salvatore Moreau,” he said, beckoning you to take his hand.  

You stood on your own, falling backwards a few steps in order to keep your distance.  Moreau whimpered and bent forward, taking a step back in order to respect your boundaries.  “I won’t touch...you...I don’t...w-want you to be...afraid of m-me…”  

His words made you lessen your defenses a bit.  He looked like a monster just like the wolf-like creatures behind him, but none of them advanced on you or tried to harm you.  You finally found your voice.

“I was in a plane crash,” you murmured, unsure of what to do next, “I don’t think anyone else is alive…”

Moreau looked back towards the wreckage and then over at the things behind him.  Upon seeing one of them covered in fresh blood, he turned back towards you.  “My lycans...sm-smelled fresh blood...they always run...towards...fre-fresh blood…”

You winced at the man’s deformed figure and his stuttered ramblings.  Who were these things?  Where the fuck were you?

“Can you help me?” you asked warily, taking a step towards him, “is there a phone? Can we call for help?”

Moreau bent forward in a coughing fit and retched.  Green vomit gushed from his mouth and into the white snow.  Steam rose from the vomit and you couldn’t stop yourself from gagging and putting your hand over your mouth.  He heaved a few more times before looking back at you.  “I’m sorry,” he apologized, “the fish...and my body...they don’t get a-along…”

What the fuck is going on, you thought.  Was this an area that had fallen victim to radiation or poisoning in the water system?  You tried to calculate in your mind how far away you were from Chernobyl...maybe what was going on here was similar to what went on there all those years ago.

“The only...ph-phone is at Alcina’s castle…” Moreau continued.  

The castle?!  The castle that you saw from overhead?!  This was perfect! Maybe you could call for help and find your way to the embassy in this country and let them know that you were on a plane to Moldova.  Surely the airline will wonder why their plane did not touch down at its destination and come looking for survivors.

“Can you take me to the castle, Mr. Moreau?” you asked, the first ounce of hope shining through.

“What the fuck is going on over here?!?!?!”

A gruff voice sounded from behind the lycans and all of you turned towards the sound.  You watched as a man trudged through the snow, making his way over to the motley crew.  He wore a black wide brimmed hat and a long brown trench coat with a tan shirt and brown pants underneath.  A massive hammer sat across his shoulder with one hand gripping the long handle.  The man’s gaze went from each lycan to Moreau...and finally resting on you.

“Well...who do we have here?” the man asked, pushing his way past Moreau.  Upon closer inspection you saw that the man wore a pair of rounded lens sunglasses.  You heard the clang of metal hanging around his neck as he moved closer.  An amused smile spread across his mouth.  You cleared your throat audibly.

“My name is Y/N and I was on the plane that crashed a few yards that way,” you murmured, pointing back towards the wreckage.  Despite not being able to see his eyes from behind his sunglasses, you could feel his gaze.  It was piercing, searching...as if he could see deep inside of you.  It was equal parts unnerving and exhilarating, although you couldn’t pinpoint exactly why.

“Is that so?” the man asked, swinging his hammer around and setting it down in the snow.  He stepped in front of you, holding out his hand.  You kept your gaze on his face as you placed your hand in his.  “My name is Karl Heisenberg,” he greeted, lifting your hand and pressing a kiss on the back of it.  You shivered at his kiss,  not knowing what came over you.  It felt as if electrical charges flowed from his lips and down your skin, making your flesh erupt in goose bumps.

“Poor little pussycat,” Heisenberg remarked, looking you up and down, “the wreckage looks unbelievable.  You must be positively traumatized…”

You nodded your head and lowered your hand back to your side.  A gust of wind shook you to your core and you tightened the coat around yourself.  “Umm...yes...Mr. Moreau here was telling me that there was a phone nearby...we could call for help…”

Heisenberg slowly turned his gaze back towards Moreau.  You looked past him and saw that the deformed man cowered under Heisenberg’s gaze, taking a step backwards as if contemplating fleeing.  Heisenberg turned back to you and flashed you a reassuring smile.

“Of course, my dear,” Heisenberg said, reaching to pick up his hammer, “come with me and we will surely find aid and assistance in the village…”

“We could ask Mother…” Moreau began, taking a step towards you and Heisenberg.

“Shut up, you freak!” Heisenberg snapped at Moreau.  Your jaw dropped as you looked between the two men.  Moreau bowed his head and retreated a few steps.  You felt sorry for the poor man as you looked up at Karl Heisenberg and started to feel disdain for the man.  Moreau was about to offer advice and was met with hostility.  The poor man was not pleasant to look at, sure, but from what you could tell, he was harmless and seemed sincere and ready to help.  You would sooner ask for Moreau’s help than Heisenberg’s help at that point.

“Thank you, Mr. Heisenberg,” you began, “but Moreau was telling me of a phone in a castle not far from here that I could use…”  But as you were about to continue, Heisenberg held his hand up to silence you.

“Forgive me for my brash tone,” Heisenberg interrupted, “but my brother here does not know what he is talking about.  Please, if you would accompany me to my factory, I have a working telephone there that you can use…”

You felt a growing sliver of fear in the pit of your stomach.  The man before you was charismatic and confident, but there was something off about him.

“I think I’ll follow Moreau…” you murmured, moving around Heisenberg to go to Moreau.  A sudden movement and Heisenberg’s gloved hand wrapped around your arm, stopping your retreat.

“Oh, no, ma’am...I insist you come with me…” Heisenberg growled.

You tried to pull your arm from his grasp, but his fingers only tightened.  His grip began to hurt.  “Let go of me,” you said, trying to pull away.  He jerked your body closer to him as he looked down into your frightened face.

“There is no use arguing or putting up a fight, pussycat,” Heisenberg leered, “you’re coming with me…”  And with that, he released your arm and swiftly wrapped his arm around your waist, hauling you against him, and walked back from where he came.

“MOREAU!” you screamed as Heisenberg marched away with you in tow.  Heisenberg turned towards the man and shot him a murderous glare.  “You keep your mouth shut about this…” he spat at Moreau, “...not a fucking word or I’ll kill you…”  The hunchback only nodded and bowed his head.

“STOP!  LET GO!!  MOREAU!” you shouted, wriggling against Heisenberg’s grip on your waist.  The feeble man only stood there helpless, looking down at the snow.  His lycans began their retreat, disappearing into the forest.

“I’m sorry,” you heard Moreau whimper as Heisenberg dragged you off.

[jimlingss]

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.