#i would love if she knew she were on my mind / constant like cicadas in the summer time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jimlingss · 4 years ago

Text

Kale’in Me Softly

➜ Words: 17.1k

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

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

➜ Warning: Strongly implied smut

cr.

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

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

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

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

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

1K notes · View notes

goddessofmadnessheiress · 4 years ago

Text

Barry Allen x Reader - Sleeping beauty's nightmare

Fandom: Flash

Request: @kurtbastianlover said:

Summary: You and Barry are best friends, but he gets up on a fight with a metahuman that put him in a deep sleep. Apparently, you are the only one that can save him. But how? You are only his best friends...

Warnings: Mention of smut

Words: 2607 (Sorry that it is shorter than most my fics)

Notes: Sorry for the late reply, I have this written for one year already. But last year was a hell for me... I only start writting fics at the end of the year. That was the only request I could post. Thanks for requesting and I hope this will one of the many fic I write for you as a thank you for all you done for me my friend.

(y/h/c): your hair color; (y/e/c):your eyes color

Sorry any grammar mistake, english isn’t my first language and I wrote that at the hospital when my aunt got hurt, so maybe the story is rushed...

You do not know which or how the metahuman done that. All you know is that Barry is unconscious and nothing that the team done were successful to wake him up.

When Cisco called you while you were on work you knew something bad had happened. You enter running on the Star Labs, not paying attention at all on your friends.

You almost knocked down your childhood friend Iris to the ground trying to reach the man you loved so much. But he did not know that and do not need to know.

Barry already have so many things to worry about and protecting his childhood friend as a romantic partner should not be on his list.

The thing that you do not know is that he feels the same way with you. He just did not find the right time to tell you and maybe now after the encounter with his metahuman he will never be able to talk to you about this.

Barry is lying down on the medical laboratory with Caitlyn checking his vital from minute to minute. His body have so many wires attached to him that you do not the function of more than a half of them.

Caitlyn smiles sadly to you. She figured it out how you two felt for each other a while ago. She is trying to get you two to start dating but without giving each other feeling, she thinks you need to say each to each other and not get another person pointing them out for you.

You sit across from her monitor and by Barry's side. You automatically put your hand over his. He looks like he is just sleeping.

And that relaxes you. He does not look like dead or physically injured. Cisco said something about him being in an eternal coma or something.

The thing that makes you worry more is the inconstant movements Barry's body is doing. It is not conscious and looks like he is having a nightmare.

And you could not be closer to truth than that. Barry is trapped in a nightmare. An eternal nightmare where his worst fear keeps repeating does not matter what he does.

It always begins different but the end it the same independent of what he does in the middle of it. And that is crushing him. Having to rewatch that over and over again.

This time it begins something heartwarming. The sun light bathing him and the constant light on his eyes makes him wake up even if he does not want that.

And he does not, if he stays sleeping maybe he did not need to watch the disaster all over again.

He turns into the bed and a moaning of his name from a warn body that is close to his makes a laugh escape his lips.

There you are. Hugging him, your form is small close to his. You are naked under the covers just like him.

He does not remember last night, because it did not actually happen but even this way, he feels his checks getting warmer with just the idea of finally making love to you just the way he wished since his teen years.

He cannot help but moan out load too when he feels your chest over his bare skin. A silent promise that you are his.

He does not want to wake you up. But the need to ask with you liked last night even though he knew dawn well that this is not real overtook him.

He kisses your libs repeatedly till your (e/c) eyes open and met his green ones. His hearts skip a beat seeing the lust missed with sleep clouding your shining eyes.

-Hi there. -His voice sounds so smooth that even him do not recognizes it.

-Hey baby. -You answer trying to be sexy, but the sleepiness is all over your tone. Even like this Barry thinks you are the prettiest thing he ever saw. -We need to be up so early?

-No. We do not. -Barry answers smiling. -But I want to be with you for a little longer.

In a blink of an eyes Barry's lips is on yours. Distracted by his kiss you do not feel when his arms snake your waist and pull you to him.

Your naked form over his is heaven. You feel how much he is liking all the make out. His smile when you part is the brightest it ever was.

-Round 2? -You ask malicious already looking for a condom on the nightstand. Knowing dawn hell, the answer is yes.

Because as Nickelback said, ‘Sex is never a question because the answer is always yes.’ You kiss the speedster again, savoring the moment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You feel Barry pulling your body against his while you are trying to do the breakfast. By the minute it passed he was closer to you.

Because every second he wasted he knew what would happen. And he wanted to save you, but he never could.

He lost the count of how many times he was into this loop. This cursed dream put him into heaven when he is with you as he always wished and then crash him into hell taking you again from him in the darkest ways.

He never knows when it will appear, but every loop was a different enemy. The first was Reverse Flash, then Zoom, Savitar, Cicada and a lot more.

Maybe the loop will begin all over again. His arms snakes harder around your waist when he hears the front door opening.

His heartbeat slows down when he sees Caitlyn getting closer. He smiles at her, not caring that you and he are still naked.

He was expecting a murderer. Seeing a friend is a blessing. Maybe this was real after all, maybe he was pulled out of this nightmare.

But his heart tightens when she does not answer his smile. Her expression is sadness and a white strain in her hair makes Barry holds his breath.

-I am so sorry. -She says before losing her conscious and that silver eyes shine with madness.

-Killer Frost please no! -Barry begs trying to put himself in front of you. But she is faster.

An ice dagger hits you on your heart. Blood all over the place and your numb body hits the floor.

Killer Frost disappears with a smile on her lips. Her translucid figure says before completely disappearing:

-It is all your fault. It always is.

Barry is over your screaming to you do not close your eyes. But it is already too late. You are cold. Rigid.

Dead.

His eyes are clouded with tears. In the next moment he is in front of your grave.

Buried with his parents. Cisco is by his side. But he is so serious that I do not look like him at all.

-I am sorry Barry. But I do not want to be the next one. -And then his best friend disappears leaving him all by himself.

No one by his side. Iris and Joe had not given up on him when they discovered you had died.

The trial tried to blame him. He almost went to jail. His father's story being repeat all over again.

Barry closes his eyes. And when he opens it again, he is in Joe's living room. Two kids came running and jumps on him.

-Daddy is back. -Barry look at the twins. The girl has your features and his eyes while the boy has his features and your (e/c) eyes.

-Oh, he is back? -You enter in the living room leaving the kitchen behind. Barry's heart almost leaves his chest when he is in your belly.

You are pregnant again. Oh no, please say that you will not die this time. Not with his child inside of your beautiful bellybutton.

Outside of the dreamland you feel his hands tanning around yours. You feel your heart thinning, you do not know what it is happening on his head.

But you know that must be something bad. And yours suspicious only are confirmed and he starts saying:

-No please. NO. Not her. -His body starts moving around and by instinct you left his hand. -(Y/n) please stay with me...

You have the impression of hearing your name coming out of his mouth, but you cannot confirm that because his body starts shaking.

He is convulsing on the bed and you feel your heart broking. Is he dying? You start crying and want to scream but your thongs are locked.

-(Y/n) leave! -Caitlyn starts screaming at you. -I need to save him.

You want to scream no. You want to say you also wants to save him. You want to hug him still everything passes.

But you cannot talk. You cannot move. You are frozen. Are you going to watch your love dying in front of you?

You feel Cisco pulling you out of the room. And you do not fight it. You let him pull you out of there.

Outside the room you instinctively hug him and buries your face on his chest. His smell helps you calm down.

The genius boy has an idea of entering Barry's nightmare to see what is happening so they could save him the right way.

Cisco passes your shaking body who is still crying but not as much as before to Iris. She hugs you properly.

You two leave the cortex and go to a more comfort place in Star Labs. Joe enters the room where you are in despair. He stops when seeing your puffy and red eyes.

He saw you growing up between his kids. He knew how you felt about Barry, him being your confident.

He also knew what Barry feels for you, after all is his son. Joe is Barry's confident too. So, his hearts tights at the vision of you crying.

You jump from the couch where you were siting by the side of Iris, who knows what is passing on the head of her father.

You two hug strongly and you start crying again. This is the same scene and situation of when Barry was hit by the lightning.

Cisco enters animatedly on the room. His smile is almost contagious. In his most serious tone, he announces:

-It is working. -He shows in his tablet a map of mind and a pair of googles that shined on the lights. -Let's save Barry!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You do not know exactly how this equipment works or how Cisco got this idea. And worst you were not sure if it will work.

The only thing that you know is that you need to need to lay in a bed side by side with Barry while using the googles and then you are into his mind.

With shaking hands, you put the glasses over your eyes and lays down. You cannot see anything because the equipment is not a see through.

A flashlight almost blinds you. And then you are in a church. You look around a like taken aback.

You see Joe and Iris on the Isle smiling. Cisco and Caitlin on the other side of it. Barry on the middle in a beautiful tux.

You run still him. And he is taken aback a little. Before you can register anything, you see yourself entering the church in a beautiful white outfit.

You walk at your own hands and you realize you are a little invisible. Barry is looking that you of his nightmare and the ghostly you are floating by his side.

This does not look like a nightmare. So, his nightmare is marrying you? But then yourself are on the island.

And a shadow emerges on the church's doors. A blade as fast as lighting hits the back of you and the blood stains the white material.

Barry falls to his knees and starts crying. So, his worst nightmare is losing you? You are a little taken aback by this.

You put a ghostly hand on his shoulder. He looks up at you and smiles. The dream restarts.

You two are alone in Star Labs. He explains to you the loop he is trapped in. How many times he saw you dying. How many different ways you died on his arms.

How everyone blames him in all the versions, and they leave him alone. He says that he is losing the love of his life and his family over and over and over again.

He said that the metahuman that put him into this hell recites something similar to a curse before he fainted into darkness and Barry fainting.

"You will fall into a sleep like death! But the speedster can be woken from his death sleep by only one true love's kiss."

Is that a Sleeping Beauty's reference?

But your brain is plain.

And you have frozen. The dream before the nightmare. The peace before chaos. The calm before the storm...

They all were a hint to whom should wake him up.

And it is you. You are the answer. You are Barry's true love.

You feel yourself disappearing. Your ghostly form plants a simple kiss on his lips. But before Barry could kiss you properly you have disappeared completely.

Your body wakes in a shock and you jump out of the bed. You feel Cisco's hand helping you gain your equilibrium back.

-I have the answer. -You announce removing the googles and smiling at them.

You briefly explain what happened when you were on Barry's mind. The dreams, the nightmare, everything.

-So, the metahuman shipped you two? -Cisco asks laughing at the idea.

-I more worried that the used Maleficent's lines. -Caitlyn says out loud and everyone looks at her in shock. -What? I used to like Disney...

-Which was your favorite movie then? -Iris asks playfully.

-Sky High. I always thought that Layla reminded of myself.

You shock your head in a negative gesture.

-Guys. Focus. We need to save Barry. -You say and Joe agrees with you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The gang left you after you finished your story. They have hopes that you are right. And they internally are happy that you two would finally be together.

You are looking at Barry numb body recalling his dream. You smile at the idea of marrying him someday.

And then the conversation comes back to your head. It is now or never it is as simples as:

A kiss.

A kiss would wake him up.

You laugh at the irony but with a fast heartbeat you plant your lips over his firmly.

He does not respond the act and you part from him. His green eyes shout open and they met with your (y/c) orbs.

You smile at him and he does the same.

-Hey there my sleeping beauty. -You say laughing at all this situation now that he is safe.

He kisses you again. Deeper, with so much passion and need. You two part needing air. You try to breath normal again.

-You are my warrior in shining armor, aren't you? -Barry says going for another kiss but you two get interrupted when the door busts open.

Cisco enters cheering and screaming. Happy that you two finally are together and that is best friend is safe.

You shake your head at his childish behavior but you happy seeing Barry fine and liking you just like you like him.

The Latino boy jumps over your now boyfriend and hugs him almost to death. But their laughs warm your heart.

This is the dream after the nightmare. The calm after the storm. And you are genuinely happy.

#Barry Allen #barry allen imagine #barry allen x reader #Flash #flash imagine #flash x reader #barry allen x you #The Flash #the flash imagine #the flash x reader #the flash x you

176 notes · View notes

inkweaver22-blr · 4 years ago

Text

Welcome to lucky chapter 13!

A few announcements before we begin!

First, we got fan art! Shout out to @ooflifeshard for their art of the Jin/Yin/Tang fusion!

Second, I post extra thoughts on my writing process and the chapter in general on my Tumblr! Look up the tag Fanfiction Live Blogging to read them!

Now let’s get on with the story!

AO3 Link

Scattered Cicadas - Chapter Thirteen: Aspects of Arachnids

The Spider Clan is made up of some interesting people. That includes MK this time.

----------

“So what did you want to talk about Mr. Tang?”

They were taking a walk through a secluded park. Tang had asked to speak with the young man privately once he had woken in this cycle to address a recent memory he had received.

“I wanted to apologize to you, MK,” Tang said. MK tilted his head in confusion.

“What for?”

“For the way I treated you last week.”

MK tensed.

“I- I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

“MK.” Tang turned and placed his hands on MK’s shoulders, looking him in the eye. “It’s okay. I know.”

“Know what?” MK was trembling now. He avoided Tang’s gaze, wide eyes darting around as if to look for a place to hide.

Tang gave him a reassuring squeeze and kind smile.

“I know you are the spider demon we saw.”

Last week had been before Tang had woken in the cycle. They had all rushed over to where MK had been fighting a demon alone only to find a spider demon they had never seen before wearing MK’s jacket and bandana while holding the Monkey King’s staff.

The group had, predictably, reacted with hostility. They threatened the demon and attacked him. They hadn’t been able to actually harm him before he got away, and MK had shown up perfectly fine the next day.

Physically at least.

When Tang had gone over the memories earlier this morning, it was obvious to him who the demon actually was. It certainly wasn’t the first time MK was something other than human.

He was also able to see the signs of emotional distress MK was showing over the past week. It was clear that their reaction to his true form was devastating to him.

Tang intended to fix that.

“I didn’t figure it out until this morning,” Tang said when it was clear MK had frozen in fear and wasn’t going to say anything. He pulled him into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry I didn’t see it right away. You are very important to me and I am ashamed to have made you feel like you were unwanted.”

“You- You don’t mind?” MK clung tightly to the scholar, as if afraid he’d vanish at any moment.

“Of course I don’t. What you are or what you look like isn’t important to me. What matters is who you are and I happen to care about the person you are quite a lot.”

Tang held the young man as he trembled in his embrace. He pulled away after a few minutes, wiping his eyes and giving Tang a watery smile.

“Thank you, Tang.”

“Any time, MK.”

“Do the others know?”

“I haven’t told them anything,” Tang said as they continued their walk. “This is your secret and you should be the one to reveal it when you’re ready.”

“But what if they react like last time?” MK kicked a rock out of his path and seemed to fold into himself. “What if they don’t want to be friends with something like me?”

“First off, that would be pretty hypocritical of them considering both Pigsy and Sandy are technically demons as well and Mei is descended from a dragon. That actually makes me the odd one out in our group as the only human.”

“Huh. Didn’t think of that,” MK said.

“Second, I know they all care about you, MK. I sincerely doubt they wouldn’t be able to look past appearances and see the person we all love.”

“Love?” MK stared wide eyed at Tang.

“I like to think of us as a family,” Tang said. “Even if we aren’t the typical kind, families love each other, and you are a part of that.”

“Family…” MK smiled sadly into the distance. “It would be nice to have more family.”

“There is no ‘would be’ about it.” Tang slung his arm around MK’s shoulders. “We are family and you’re stuck with us no matter what.”

MK gave him a wide grin, leaning into the sideways hug as they continued on their path.

“Aren’t you curious by what I meant by ‘more family’?”

“Of course I am,” Tang said. “But it’s not my place to pry. If you want to talk about that then I’d be more than willing to listen.”

“Oh, well okay,” MK said, perking up a bit. He began to enthusiastically speak about his other family, but never giving any names.

Tang was able to piece together who he was talking about rather easily.

The Spider Queen was his mother. It wasn’t much of a surprise for Tang as she had filled that role for MK in the past, but never quite so literally. From what MK was saying, she seemed to still be that lovingly supportive yet protective type that he had encountered in previous cycles.

The fact that she was a much more active villain in this cycle that MK constantly fought was not addressed.

Huntsman was ‘Uncle H’. He seemed to be the type of person that gave small children lessons on knife wielding just so they could protect themselves. MK had learned all his combat skills in his spider form from him.

Huntsman was certainly a focused and skilled combatant, but, as his many friendships with Sandy across time showed, he also knew how to enjoy the quieter moments in life.

That left Goliath as ‘Uncle G’. The large spider may seem like just a brute who relied on his strength, but Tang had witnessed his soft side a few times. MK spoke fondly of the lullabies Goliath had sang when he was still little as well as his delicious cooking.

Tang wondered how it compared to Pigsy’s creations and mused on how he could try and get a cook off set up.

MK did not speak of Syntax. That made sense as it was still somewhat early in the cycle and the scientist hadn’t really joined up with the spiders until after Demon Bull King’s second invasion.

Tang did his best to recall what he knew about the man. They had been friends and colleagues once in a cycle where they had been professors at the city university.

Syntax could be a bit standoffish to those he didn’t know. Once he warmed up to you though, he loved to go on long tangents about chemistry, biology, and computer engineering. He could also be surprisingly thoughtful, having dropped by several times with an extra cup of coffee on those late nights Tang had been stuck in his office grading papers.

Tang never knew why he started working for the Spider Queen. The scientist had always been a bit ambitious, so he supposed working on something as unique as a serum using bits of the Monkey King’s power was more than enough to sway him.

It was a shame the serum was then used against him and he seemed to lose all memories of his human life.

Tang forced himself back into the present as MK finished up an anecdote about Huntsman and Goliath nearly panicking after MK had fallen asleep in his hiding spot during a game of hide and seek.

“They all sound wonderful,” Tang said once MK had finished.

“Yeah, they are.” MK sighed wistfully. “I haven’t spoken to them in a while though.”

“Why not?”

“It’s… Complicated.”

Tang could certainly understand that considering how they fought each other on a nearly weekly basis.

“Well whatever the reason, it sounds like they care about you just as much as we do,” Tang said. “I’m sure they’d be more than happy to welcome you back into their lives.”

“I know that,” MK said with a huff. “I’m just not sure they'd approve of me being the Monkey King’s successor.”

“I see.”

Tang did see. He had been a part of demon families before and knew how leaving one’s blood to side with an enemy could tear relationships apart. He hoped that wouldn’t happen here with MK.

“In any case, I just hope you know that you have people that care about you and if you ever need help to just ask, okay?”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks Tang.” MK gave him another smile before frowning in thought. “I’m still not sure if I want to tell the others though.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” Tang said. “If you aren’t ready then you aren’t ready. I won’t say anything to anyone before you do.”

“Really?”

“I promise.”

The rest of the walk was spent discussing lighter subjects such as the latest Monkey Cop movie and which types of noodles were superior.

Tang decided to not bring up his curse this cycle. He knew he could get around the memory seal by simply stating he had a curse but not exactly its effects, but MK already had quite a lot to deal with this time. He didn’t want to add on to that stress with something that couldn’t be fixed.

He hoped that the Spider Clan would come to accept MK as he was, successor to the Monkey King and all. Not just for his sake either, as Tang could already feel four spots slowly opening up in his heart where he kept his love for his family.

It would be hard to bring them into the fold. Much harder than Macaque, the twins, or even the Demon Bull Family.

But Tang was patient.

He would use this cycle to get to know the spiders better. They were already MK’s family this time around.

Perhaps, in time, they could become his as well.

----------

Things went to Hell rather quickly.

New Years went the same as usual, but this time with the added horror of a mutated Macaque.

The shadow demon had been willingly experimented on by Syntax after he had failed to steal the Monkey King’s powers from MK. He now sported an extra set of arms and eyes, had lavender fur, and was in constant pain from the modifications. Wukong had offered him sanctuary, and Macaque had accepted.

MK hadn’t taken it well when he learned that it was his mother who had convinced Macaque to go through with the procedure.

Now something even worse was happening. This was a cycle that not only changed MK’s background, but someone else’s as well.

Lady Bone Demon was much more impulsive this cycle.

She had attacked them all directly this time, before even gathering up the artifacts she needed. They had all been overwhelmed pretty quickly and everyone except MK had been captured. She had then given him an ultimatum.

Give her the Monkey King’s power, or MK’s family would perish.

Lady Bone Demon then ‘graciously’ gave MK twenty four hours to think about it before teleporting away with her captives.

“Hey, where are you taking him?!”

Tang glanced up as he realized that he hadn’t been placed in the same cell as his family. Pigsy and Mei glared at the skeleton guards while Sandy tended to the unconscious Wukong and Macaque.

“Boss only wants five to a cell,” guard one said.

“Hope your friend here isn’t afraid of spiders,” guard two mocked.

Tang blinked at that as the others began to protest loudly. The guards simply laughed and led him away.

Well, he had wanted to get to know the Spider Clan better this cycle, hadn’t he?

After being marched down many winding corridors, Tang was thrown unceremoniously into a different cell.

Tang picked himself up and was confronted with the scowling faces of the Spider Queen and her entourage. They had certainly looked like they had seen better days.

After demanding why he was there, they had dismissed him and went back to trying to come up with a way to escape.

They had mused about eating him for a bit, Huntsman even going as far as to restrain him and brandishing a knife, before Tang had been forced to break his promise to MK. They were skeptical at first, but once Tang began telling the stories he had heard from MK, they believed him.

Spider Queen was emotionally distraught at the thought of harming her baby, but became more resolved than ever to beat Lady Bone Demon once she realized they were being used as hostages against her son.

Huntsman had been a bit more accepting, bragging about how the only reason MK had beaten them so often was from all the training he had given him. Goliath had just asked if he was eating well.

Syntax had been standing off to the side looking uncomfortable before Tang assured him that MK would be more than happy to get to know him.

The Spider Clan had invited Tang into their scheming quickly afterwards. None of their plans were very feasible, but Tang felt his connection to the four grow stronger.

Strange were the bonds you could make when in prison.

Before they could act on any of their plans, the twenty four hours were up and they were whisked away by the magic of their captor.

Tang opened his eyes to find the ten of them suspended in the air by blue ropes as Lady Bone floated in front of them. On the ground was a horrified looking MK.

“Now it is time you choose,” she said. She reached out and grabbed Tang and Spider Queen by their arms, pulling them forwards. “Your powers? Or your family?”

“Don’t listen to her, baby,” Spider Queen called out. “We’ll be fine! Just get out of here!”

“M-mom?!” MK’s mouth had dropped at being recognized.

“Sorry, MK. I broke my promise,” Tang said. “To be fair, your family was planning on eating me before I told them.”

“We said we were sorry about that-”

“ENOUGH!” Lady Bone Demon’s bellow shook the ground. “What is your decision?!”

“I- I can’t-” MK was trembling as he gripped his staff tightly.

“Wrong answer.”

Tang and Spider Queen screamed as they each had one of their arms shattered in her grip. Lady Bone Demon tossed them behind her, the blue ropes re-materializing to bind them as she summoned a large scythe.

“One last chance.” She pulled back the weapon, preparing to strike. “Give me the Monkey King’s power!”

MK roared in rage and seemed to explode into gold, purple, and green light.

Tang gasped in pain as he tried to stay awake. He stared in shock as the light expanded and formed into a giant figure.

Tang had seen the giant form that Wukong would occasionally become to take on much more powerful opponents. Macaque had access to this power as well and so would MK sometimes. It had no official name, but a scroll he had read many cycles ago had described it in a way that Tang couldn’t help but agree with.

Aspects of Destruction.

It resembled MK’s spider form, but with his human half looking more like a monkey’s instead. He had four arms now and each one held a copy of the Monkey King’s staff. The twelve eyes glowed with a burning green malice as they glared at Lady Bone Demon.

Faster than he could blink, Tang watched as MK swung one of his staffs and batted the white demon away from them. MK roared and leapt after her.

The pain from having his bones crushed soon became too much and Tang passed out.

----------

Tang woke up on Sandy’s airship.

He learned it was a few days later. MK hadn’t been able to defeat Lady Bone Demon, but had managed to buy them all the time to escape. They had also managed to pick up Red Son somewhere along the way.

Now, all twelve of them were out of the city looking for a way to defeat her.

The Spider Clan had seemed to integrate easily into their group over the next few weeks.

Spider Queen had already gotten to know Macaque over the course of the experiments, but once Wukong decided to go through the same procedure and gained two extra pairs of arms, she seemed to start flirting with the both of them.

Neither monkey seemed bothered by this and flirted right back.

Huntsman had decided Mei needed proper weapons training with her sword and whenever he wasn’t giving her pointers was drinking tea with Sandy.

Goliath shared cooking duty with Pigsy. The pair gave each other tips and techniques and their meals only became tastier from the collaboration.

Syntax had seemed a bit lost at first, but after completing one of the internet memes MK had quoted, became fast friends with him. He even got to have stimulating scientific discussions with Red Son.

Tang sighed in contentment at dinner one evening as he listened to the conversations around him.

He had never thought he would have longed for a large family, but this just felt right to him.

Tang hoped he would get to experience it more often in future cycles.

----------

The Spider Clan joins the ranks!

I think that leaves only two characters left out of Tang’s family. Considering who they are, I doubt that will happen any time soon.

This chapter takes place in @strange-lace's amazing Spider Monkie AU! It has some great angst and fluff as well as absolutely lovely spider-monkey designs for Macaque and Wukong! Go check it out!

Now technically this AU doesn't have a kaiju form for MK, but I wanted to introduce the concept to the story and it didn't fit anywhere in the coming chapters.

There’s going to be some plot in the next chapter so look forward to it! Until next time!

33 notes · View notes

wreckofawriter · 5 years ago

Text

The Night Sky

Pairing: Carl Grimes x reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: blood, gore, crude language, torture kinda, usual walking dead stuff

Request: @maryhuffxoxo: Can you write something with Carl Grimes? Maybe where intead of Negan trying to get Rick to cut of Carl's arm he tries to get Carl to cut off Reader's arm or leg maybe? And after Negan leaves he kisses the reader?

A/n: First Waling Dead imagine on here yay! I'm gonna come out with a HP request tommarow probably really late at night, that's like the only time I write, um yeah, hope you enjoy!

You thought you had gotten used to the stench of blood, you had smelt it in the air since you were 11 years old. You had convinced yourself you knew what death was, it had been a constant in your life. You weren’t afraid of guts, you had been smeared in them before, but this. This was so much worse than anything your mind could conjure up.

Glen’s blood splattered across your cheek, it was in your mouth, dripping off your nose. You could taste it, feel it sliding down your face, or maybe that was the tears. You choked back sobs as Negan continued to bring his bat down, again and again, and again. You could hear Maggie screaming and Rosita’s cries in your ears as the sickening thump continued beside you. You clamped your eyes shut, your nails were biting into your palms.

Finally, it stopped, and you heard a chuckle. You opened your eyes, the harsh glare of headlights blinking back at you. You tried to keep your eyes locked straight ahead of you but for some sick reason, they snapped to the mess of blood and brains which had once been someone you loved. You felt your stomach churn and for a second you were sure you would throw up, but you took in another large breath and managed to keep yourself stable. You glanced down the line meeting a sea blue eye. “I love you” Carl mouthed and you nodded a sob ripping from your raw throat. And suddenly you couldn’t stop, your body shook, cries crawling from you as you struggled to stay on your knees.

“Aw, sweetie don’t cry.”

You looked up to see Negan crouched in front of you, his bat, dripping crimson resting on one shoulder as he smiled down at you.

“It’s alright, I ain’t gonna hurt you.” He smirked, “Well for now anyway.” he reached his hand out to you grabbing the side of your face and using his leather-clad fingers to harshly wipe away the tears on your cheeks.

Your face contorted in disgust and you tried to jerk away from him, you were choking on your whimpers, blood and tears hot on your taste bud.

“Don’t fucking touch her!”

Negan’s eyes snapped down the line, landing on Carl who stood only to get kicked back down, his knees buckling, a punch landed across his cheek and he went sprawling across the gravel.

Michonne and Rick yelled.

“Stop! Don’t hurt him!” You screamed voice shattering like glass as you raised it.

Negan was laughing again, a sickening sound you wished to shove back down his throat, “Oh ho ho! Look what we have here!” His hand left your cheek and instead grabbed your hair pulling you forwards. You heard more shouts, your knees scrapping open. Your head was yanked back up, you were looking upwards, you could see the little white dots so far above you, the heavens glaring back down almost mocking you.

“This your girl, kid?” Negan asked his smile was so wide you thought his cheeks might split.

“Leave her alone,” Carl growled. You could see him out of the corner of your eye, his own was narrowed, his hands held behind his back.

“Now I asked you a question boy.” The laughter had left his voice, “Is this your girl?”

Carl nodded, swallowing thickly.

“Well isn’t that just the cutest god damn shit I have ever seen.” He grinned, “Now I’m sure as hell not the most romantic guy out there, but this shit right here, this just melts my fuckin heart. Doesn’t Simon?” His gaze turned to his right-hand man who’s handlebar mustache was twitched upward.

“It’s like a fairytale.” He laughed and you thought you might throw up again.

The fist in your hair tightened and you craned your neck backward in attempts to alleviate the pressure.

“Leave her alone. Now.” Rick spat at the man and you only had to put your head back farther.

“Rick I don’t think you’re in the position to be making demands here.” Negan’s voice was dark again like he had flipped a switch, “You just don’t seem to get it, do you?”

You heard the light scrape of metal on leather and there were more shouts as something cool pressed on your exposed neck.

“I could slice her open right here right now if I wanted to.” He growled and he pressed harder. You felt the bite of breaking skin.

“Leave her alone!” Carl shouted another guy now had him in a chokehold as he tried to break free, “Don’t you dare hurt her!”

“Shut up kid or I’ll come over there and cut out your other eye!” Negan bellowed and you cringed.

“You piece of shit let her go!” he continued to yell and you saw one of the men pull a knife from their belt.

“Shut up Carl!” You cried. His eyes snapped to you, his face softening, “Just shut up. Please.”

“Listen to your girl kid.” He snarled, “She’s clearly smarter than you.”

“I told you to leave her be!” Rick shouted and Negan bit his lip releasing the blade from your neck and letting your head fall forward.

“Simon come here.” The man came quickly, “I want you to hold her head just like I was until I get back. I need to have a talk with Rick.”

“Got it.” He said hand fisting in your hair and pulling you back again. Carl stayed silent.

“Someone get me my ax and get Rick in that RV. We’re takin’ a little road trip.” Negan strutted to the vehicle as Rick was dragged into it and soon it was pulling away and you were left to stare at the stars.

It got quiet. The sound of crickets and frogs finding your ears as you traced the night sky. You could hear feet on gravel, the occasional whimper, or laugh. You heard the snarle of walkers, the squelch of a knife into rotten skulls, twice there were gunshots.

You tried to remember what your teacher had taught you about constellations. It seemed so long ago, so so far away like those memories were hanging hundreds of thousands of miles from your head just like the stars. Your neck had begun to cramp, Simon had switched which hand he was holding you with twice and both times you had the urge to whip around and head but him in the crotch. What you wouldn’t give to kill Negans obedient little dog.

With your head tilted up you felt like you were choking on the blood in your mouth, your vision swayed at times, black dotting the edges of your view. You could hardly see Carl. It strained your eyes to look at him. There was just one man with him now, a gun held loosely in his hand. His gaze was always locked on you. Your knees ached, pebbles digging into the raw flesh. Your nails were still deep into the heel of your palm, your face felt hot and sticky, you wished it would start to rain, clear away the blood that you knew coated you. But the sky was clear, so brilliantly clear.

You watched as the dark hues of night began to drip away, the stars fading as black turned to a midnight blue, into a lilac which reminded you of the color of your bedroom walls a thousand years ago. You tried to crack your neck twice, both times the fist in your hair only tightened and he pulled, earning a soft whimper that you hopped didn’t reach Carl’s ears. As lilac turned to orange your head began to pound and the sicking feeling of vomit leaping up your throat filled you. You wondered for a moment if he would let you choke to death on it, like some 27-year-old rockstar who had seen one too many white lines. But then it passed and the hammer of your head grew.

Orange began to fade into a mucky blue when you finally heard the sound of tires on the road. You began to wonder if Rick was dead if Negan had chopped him up and was now going to shower you in his pieces.

When he stumbled out of the RV onto his knees you felt a rush of relief wash over the group.

“Get back in line.” Negan snarled before he walked back over to you. He crouched in front of you licking his lips. You could hardly see him over the tip of your nose. “Drop her Simon.”

Your head was thrown forward and you heard your neck pop, groaning. Your chin was grabbed and you were forced back up at him, his breath fanning your face, it smelt like rotten fruit.

“How we doin’ little lady?” He grinned, “Hurtin’ yet?”

You spat at him, blood and spit spewing over his face as you sneered, “Fuck you.”

He dropped your chin, gagging. Your head spun and you couldn’t see straight. You were shoved forwards, hands not fast enough to get in front of you as your cheek collided with gravel, palms following in suit.

“You people really don’t get it!”

Your head was being held down, your face pressed into the coursed rock. You could see Carl clearly now, he had fresh tears sliding down his cheek.

“You a righty or a lefty?” Negan muttered in your ear.

You couldn’t think straight, “What?”

“Which hand do you sign your name with bitch! Right or left?” He was leaning over you, you still could barely register what he had asked you. You felt something hit your exposed cheek, “I asked you a question damn it!”

“Don’t hit her!” Carl shouted and you felt yourself get pressed further into the road.

“Get the kid up here. Now.” Carl was shoved to his feet, pushed towards you before dropping on his knees to your right.

Your arm was yanked out from under you, sleeve pushed up. The sound of cicadas were loud in your ears, ringing like an alarm.

“Simon, you got a pen?” Negan asked.

“Matter of fact I do.” You heard. A marker was tossed through the air.

“I’m sorry about this sweetie, this is gonna be real cold like someone dragging a cold ballsack right across your forearm.” You watched as he drew a line on your arm, you could see Carl just past him, his face was hardened, glaring.

Negan stepped out of the way handing Carl his father’s ax, “Now I’m gonna need you to cut off her arm, right there on that line.”

You heard gasps and protests echo around you. The whine of cicadas constant. Carl’s mouth dropped the color draining from his face which was beaded with sweat and tears. You whimpered lightly.

“And I know that you are gonna need a moment to process that but it’s going to happen or she’s gonna die and all these people are gonna die and then I’ll kill you.”

Carl met your eyes and he shook his head, “No.” He sobbed, “No.”

“We have a good doctor, she’ll be okay.” He snickered, “Probably.”

“Please, we understand!” You heard Michonne beg, “We understand just leave them be.”

“You understand.” Negan corrected her, “I don’t think these two love birds do.”

“No, please.” Carl’s plea broke, “No.”

“It isn’t up to you!” Negan laughed, “Now do it,” you heard a hammer click, “or I put a bullet through her.”

You felt the cool metal press into the back of your skull.

“I can’t do it, please.”

“Are you gonna make me count Carl?!” He shouted.

“It can be me.” Carl wept, “It can be me instead.”

You shook your head, tears slipping from your eyes.

“Alright! I’m counting!” The gun only pressed harder. “3!”

“Carl.” You whimpered, “Just do it.”

“2!”

“I’ll be okay.”

“1!”

The ax was raised above his head, you clamped your eyes shut waiting for the pain. You hoped you would pass out quickly.

A beat passed. Then another.

“Do you understand me now?” You reopened your eyes, the ax was on the ground Carl crouching next to you, his body shaking with sobs.

He nodded and you felt the metal leave the back of your head.

“Good. Get back in line.”

You pushed yourself off the ground a fresh wave of pain rolling through your head. Carl scrambled towards you grabbing you and pulling you into his arms. His hands were shaking as he ran them through your hair.

Tears wet his shirt as you buried yourself into his chest.

“You’re okay.” he whispered, “You’re okay.”

“I said get back in line.”

Carl lifted you up, standing to his feet and stumbling back into line before kneeling back on the ground, you still clinging to him.

Negan continued to speak but you couldn’t hear over the sound of your own wails, you felt Carl’s grip on you tighten every once and awhile, his hands combing through your blood-stained hair.

Finally, you heard the rumble of trucks, the clamor of boots on gravel, and then it was quiet and you pulled away to see all of the Saviors had left.

Carl was looking down at you, tear tracks staining his cheeks. You wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him as close to you as you could. “I love you.” You said nestling your head into his neck. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too y/n” He spoke shakily.

You lifted your gaze pulling his lips to meet yours. You could taste tears and blood as his lips danced over yours. His tongue swiped your bottom lip and you tilted your chin upwards allowing him to deepen the kiss as his hands tightened around your waist.

You broke apart panting, “I’m never going to let anything like that happen to you ever again.” he whispered. “Never.”

Masterlist

#twd #twd daryl #the walking dead #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead imagines #carl grimes imagines #carl grimes imagine #carl grimes #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x you #carl grimes x oc #carl grimes x y/n #carl x reader

767 notes · View notes

fandomsonrequests · 4 years ago

Text

gummy bears and jellybeans

fandom: ATEEZ

characters: choi jongho; ATEEZ

reader: gender neutral

word count: 2.4k+

summary: Your friendship with the youngest was different though. It was more… intimate. You two told secrets no one else in the group knew and shared moments that were meant for just the both of you. It was nice, and honestly, you were scared.

a/n: Ahhhh another songfic! This idea has been stuck in my head for a while. i’m sorry if its not so good ;^; its unedited so I apologize for any spelling errors

Based off on the songs: Waiting for You - The Aces; Teenage Blue - Dreamgirl; Prom - SZA

You scroll through the feed of your phone as you look over the various photos of your friends at the special night- specifically senior prom night.

You chuckle at your friends’ posts, seeing them pose in silly ways and “rip up the dancefloor” with their wild dancing. You were currently curled up on the lounge chair by the small pool in your backyard, the bonfire pit lit and keeping you warm in the chilly night. You tucked your legs into yourself and settle your chin onto your knees, sighing as you watch the surface of the pool water ripple in the night breeze.

There were two reasons you weren’t at prom: one- you were never really the type of person to join these kinds of social settings. You weren’t so fond of crowds. The second reason- no one asked you. It kind of bummed you out that no one really thought of you as worth their time. So to save you from any embarrassment, you decided not to go.

Besides, you didn’t go prom shopping so you had nothing to wear. You pick at the fluffy lint of the bear onesie your friend gave you. A small smile makes its way to your lips as you remember the person who gifted it to you.

Jongho and you have been friends since fourth school, ever since you moved into his town. Being friends with him meant that you were roped into his shenanigans along with his other friends. They were an energetic bunch and sometimes they drained all adrenaline from you but you’d always end up happy. Tired but happy.

Your friendship with the youngest was different though. It was more… intimate. You two told secrets no one else in the group knew and shared moments that were meant for just the both of you. It was nice, and honestly, you were scared.

You may or may not have caught feelings for the brunet. (You asked him why he dyed his hair back to brown from a bright red but he just replied with a nonchalant “because I can”). And you were afraid that it could mess up so many things between you. You didn’t want to lose what you had with him and if it meant having to be content with just his friendship- you’d take it.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when your mother called out to you. “_____,” She sang. “There’s a special guest for you~”

“Who?” You ask and sit up, turning to see no one other than your best friend. “Jongho?? What are you doing here? I thought you were at prom?”

The young man smiled one of his rare but soft smiles- one that he reserves just for you- and looked away bashfully. He looked absolutely breathtaking in his dark crisp suit, a white turtleneck under his jacket. The whole look was topped off with some dress shoes and the special pendant you got for him last Christmas. It was a metal caricature of iced coffee since the man would drink that day in and day out.

“Ahh, I was. I just wanted to check up on you, jellybean.” He replies after thanking your mother who slipped away to give you two some privacy.

He looked you over and smirked, hands in his pockets. “You actually wear that?”

You looked down at yourself and pouted, an embarrassed flush on your cheeks. “Yes? You gave it to me of course I’m gonna wear it. You’re wearing the pendant I gave you, gummy bear.”

“Touche.”

You scoot over on the lounge chair to give him some space, both your legs were extended over the side of the plastic chair. A comfortable silence washes over the two of you and you lean your head against his shoulder. Jongho automatically wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you closer to him, his head leaning on yours.

You two sit there like that for a while. Only the sounds of the gentle breeze tickling your nose or the cicadas calling to each other were heard. That was until you spoke up. “...am I not worth spending time with, Jongho?”

He pulls away at the sudden question- looking at you as if you committed the most heinous crime on earth. “Where is this coming from? Of course not, _____. Being with you is worth every millisecond.”

You pick at your fingers and look down at your hands, saying nothing. Jongho’s brows furrow together in concern. You usually didn’t bother too much with how others perceive you but something must be bothering you this much for you to think this way. His warmer and much larger hands take yours, thumbs running over your skin.

“Does this have anything to do with prom?” He whispers over to you. He sighs when you shake your head.

It hurt to see you so down in the dumps. The dynamic between the two of you was that he was the more chill one while you were the more enthusiastic one. So seeing you so lethargic tore at his heartstrings. He wanted you to be happy, he wanted to keep you smiling. Whenever you do he sees your eyes light up and see the world with wonder and excitement. It always lightened his mood whenever he sees you like that- its almost as if the world’s problems don’t exist whenever he’s with you.

He got up abruptly and pulled out his phone. You look up at him, confused at his sudden actions. “What are you doing?” You ask him and receive no response.

Jongho scrolls through his phone and clicks something. A few seconds later, a soft melody plays through the night air. He sets down the phone one a nearby table and holds out his hand to you. “Come on, get up.”

You look at him, still confused, but get up nonetheless. He laces your fingers with his and pulls you flush to his body. A furious blush covers your cheeks at the proximity between you two. Sure, you two had moments where you were up in each other’s faces but this time it was different. It felt more personal, more intimate.

His free arm snaked around your waist, successfully securing you to him. He started swaying you from side to side along with the melody, looking down at you with the softest of gazes. You were practically speechless at what was happening, your mind still trying to wrap around what was happening.

“Dude, what are you doing?” You chuckle nervously but let him guide you.

“I’m dancing with you, dummy.” He teases you. “Now hush. Just enjoy this moment.”

You couldn’t help but huff in amusement at that, shaking your head at his antics. Eventually, your frown melts into the tiniest of grins as you let the moment engulf you two. Despite the soft and tender moment happening on the outside, your insides felt different. Your heart was beating rapidly against your ribcage and your stomach was doing somersaults. This was it- this was the moment that solidified your thoughts on your best friend.

This was the moment you realized that you were so head over heels in love with Choi Jongho.

You tried not to think much of his actions- after all maybe to him it was just some platonic dancing and nothing more. Worry started to eat away at you again, causing you to hang your head and watch your feet. Jongho on the other hand wasn’t having it. He knew something was bothering you and he wanted to help clear it up for you.

He gently cupped your chin and tilted your head up to look at him. “What’s on your mind, jellybean?”

You blank at his question. You didn’t think you’d have to tell him how you felt right now- you weren’t ready. Not yet.

You could feel your throat close up with the pressure of telling him the truth. Your lips move like a fish gasping for air but no words come out- well, none the way you want it to. “I-” You stammer. The sting of unwanted tears glazes your eyes. You feel your chest tighten as pressure overwhelms you, weighing you down by the shoulders and crushing you to the ground.

“Hey, hey,” Jongho whispers to you, pulling you in a comforting embrace. He reached up to stroke the back of your head. He could feel how your hands desperately clutched at the fabric of his dress jacket, your warm tears soaking through it as they drop to his shoulder.

“It’s okay, _____,” He mumbles into your hair. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not comfortable… But I have something I want to tell you.”

He gently peels away from you, cupping your cheeks in his warm palms, thumbs brushing over the apples of your cheeks. The way he looks at you makes your emotions stir with confusion. His gaze held so much love for you. It was tender and held so much emotion- so many things he wanted to say that were just about ready to tip over and spill out for you.

“_____,” He starts out softly as he brushes away your tears. “We’ve been friends for a long, long time. And honestly, I’m glad that you decided to give me a chance to be your friend despite accidentally smacking your face during recess.”

You both laughed at that, with you hiccuping through your tears. Nevertheless, Jongho’s speech never wavered and he continued for you.

“I’ve always wanted to talk to you the minute you moved into the neighborhood but I just didn’t know how. So imagine the horror I felt when I accidentally hit you. But despite that you still brushed it off and befriended me.

“Since then you’ve been a stable constant in my life. You helped me out of my shell and see things on a lighter note. You’ve been to every game I’m in, cheering me on whether I’m on the bench or not. You helped me discover my passion of singing and helped me pursue it. Let’s not forget every time you’ve caught every bug and saved me from it despite you showing it to me-”

“To be fair, gummy bear, they’re just harmless bugs.” You giggle to which he pouts at.

“They’re still insects. They’re monsters in tiny disguise; harmless my ass...” Jongho argues, successfully drawing a laugh from you. The corner of his lips twitch upward at the sound but he continues.

“Anyway moving on- my point is: having you in my life has changed it for the better. I don’t think I’d be the same person as I am today without you if you weren’t here for me. And over years- I’ve realized something that I should’ve done so earlier…”

Jongho tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his hand resting on your cheek afterward. You could only look up to him in wonder- eyes searching his for what he was trying to say.

He took a deep breath and decided to throw all caution to the wind. It was now or never-. Whatever the outcome was- he was going to accept it. He lets out a shaky sigh and holds your gaze firmly, eyes sparkling with a sense of vulnerability.

“_____, I think I’m in love with you.”

Your eyes widen at his words. Was this real? Were you hallucinating? Did he actually just tell you the words you’ve been dying to hear?

“You- I- what?”

“I said I love you.” The brunet replied, desperation seeping into his voice. “I’ve always had. You’re always on my mind when I wake up in the morning and wave to you through the window and before I go to sleep after begging you to quit staying up for your studies.”

You take a few moments to process his words before a grin makes its way to your face. And before you knew it you were throwing your arms around him, catching him by surprise. He responds almost immediately after, hugging you to him as you laughed into his shoulder.

All your worries melted away so suddenly and the weight was finally lifted off your shoulders. “You had me worried there for a second,” You tell him as you pull your head away to look at him. “Because I feel the same way.”

“Is that why you were so nervous earlier?”

You only nod in response to his question, leaning your forehead against his. The music from his phone was still playing, making you sway to the soft rhythm. Jongho follows suit, his gaze flickering over to your lips as he allows this moment to engulf the two of you.

You don’t miss this motion and you couldn’t help but gravitate towards him. “Hey, Jongho- do you mind if I ask you something?” He hums, signalling for you to continue. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

“It’s fine by me,”

You chuckle softly and cup his cheeks. You tease him a little by giving them a quick pinch, making him whine playfully, before standing on your toes to press your lips to his. Jongho sighs blissfully as he tilts his head against yours, deepening it further.

It was a bit of a silly sight from an outsider’s perspective- a guy in his prom suit kissing his childhood friend in their bear onesie. But it didn’t matter to either of you. You wouldn’t trade this moment for any of the riches in the world.

Smiles rest upon both your lips when the two of you pull away, too wrapped up in each other’s presence to notice your mother taking a picture of the two of you. The flash from her phone distracts you two and all color drains from your face when you realize what had happened.

“MOM!” You call out to her. She only laughs and scutters away to the living room, most likely telling your father or siblings what was happening outside.

You groan out in embarrassment at what just took place. “I’m never living this down.”

Jongho shook his head, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “Just think of it as memorabilia or something.”

You blush again for the umpteenth time that night when you feel his lips against your cheek. “Fine… but I’m getting that photo from her or she’ll hold it over our heads.”

The both of you lapse into silence again, the music from Jongho’s phone still playing in the night. “I love you so much, jellybean.” He whispers.

“I love you too, gummy bear.”

#kpop #ateez #ateez x reader #choi jongho #choi jongho x reader #ateez fluff #ateez smut #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #kpop fanfiction #kpop fluff #fandomsonrequests

123 notes · View notes

kumeko · 4 years ago

Photo

A/N: For the Butterfly Estate Zine! Spoilers for later events in the manga, for anime-onlys.

…

Shinobu pressed her fingers against the coin, feeling the imprint of the hard edges on her skin. Even in the warm, spring sunlight, the metal felt cold. “Kanae gave this to you, right?” she asked, idly turning it over on her palm.

Standing next to her, Kanao nodded her head slowly. “To help me decide,” she explained, a fond smile on her face. There was a hint of sorrow in her expression, something Shinobu saw in the mirror whenever she thought of her sister. It was less than it was yesterday, less than it was a year ago, and while it would be ever present, the pain had eased.

Shinobu glanced at her younger sister. A chill breeze blew through, ruffling her hair and the butterfly clasp keeping her locks together. Would she wear a second one, when Shinobu died? A memento from both sisters? Swallowing down the lump in her throat, Shinobu closed her hand around the coin. “Despite how she acted, she always knew what to do.”

Kanao clasped her hands in front of her, nodding. “She did.” Peeking up, she added shyly, “And so do you.”

“Do I?” Shinobu questioned, looking up at the Wisteria trees that bordered her estate. Their sickly-sweet scent lingered in the air, the purple blooms fluttering in the wind, and even after all this time, Shinobu couldn’t get used to their scent. She felt small and impermanent in comparison to the eternally blooming giants. The problem she faced was bigger than her, almost as old as the trees themselves.

A part of her feared it would continue long after she was gone.

A soft touch brought her out of her thoughts and she looked down to find Kanao’s hand wrapped around hers. In front of her, her sister uttered simply, “Yes.”

For once, Kanao looked self-assured, no doubt colouring her voice. Shinobu swallowed. It was wrong of her to lean on Kanao so much, to need this confidence. Despite herself, she raised her other hand, sandwiching Kanao’s between hers. “I guess you’re right,” she finally said, keeping her voice from cracking.

This settled it. Any reservations she had about her idea, Shinobu let go. Her time was limited. It had always been the case, ever since she’d picked up her sister’s sword. No, even before that, when her parents had died, when she’d taken the Master’s hand, her body trembling from fear. It was just more so now; she knew her expiration date better than most.

Only, this wasn’t just revenge. It couldn’t be. Not when Kanao was standing in front of her, love and belief shining through her eyes.

No, this was about protecting. About keeping her family, however small it was now, safe.

“Thanks.” Shinobu pulled her hand free. The coin was still on her hand, heavy as ever.

“Do you need to make a decision?” Kanao asked, her eyes flickering from the coin to Shinobu.

“I guess. Heads, I’ll do it.” Shinobu flipped the coin, watching the bronze gleam in the sunlight. She already knew what side it’d land.

Tomorrow, she’d talk to the Master about the Wisteria poison.

-x-

“AHHHH!” Tanjirou roared, his sword high in the air as he charged forward. Shinobu could almost see the rush of an incoming wave, the clash against the rocks when he struck. If Giyuu’s technique had the tranquility of a pond, Tanjirou’s was the aggressive stream coursing ever forward.

And she was the water spider, gliding above it all. She jumped, flipping through the air and landing behind him. Unable to change his course or stop his momentum, Tanjirou crashed into one of the trees surrounding the training grounds. He rolled backwards, falling flat on his back.

“Good effort,” she praised, tucking a lock behind her ear as she bent over him.

“T-thanks,” he wheezed. He lay there and tried to catch his breath.

“You’re getting better.” Shinobu lifted her right arm and inspected her uniform. Poking her finger through the hole he made, she chuckled. All this from a boy who just learned to keep his breathing constant. “You’re a quick learner.”

Tanjirou’s eyes lit up and he sat up quickly. “Really?”

“Really,” she nodded, humming her agreement.

“G-great.” He’d moved too quickly, and his body struggled to keep him upright before giving up entirely. Falling flat on his back, he closed his eyes and sighed happily. “I can try again in a minute.”

There was something utterly refreshing about his earnestness and honesty. It reminded her a little of Rengoku. Maybe she should have them meet properly after this. Sitting next to him on the cool, wet grass, she leaned back and enjoyed the cool breeze. “It’s fine, take your time.”

“Thanks.” His breathing had yet to even out.

Glancing over to her right, she observed their audience on the veranda. Hidden in the shade, Nezuko was watching them curiously, her pink eyes bright despite the gloom. Kiyo was sitting behind her, braiding her hair, while Sumi and Naho neatly folded their laundry. At first, they’d run away at the sight of her, but now, they looked almost too relaxed next to her.

Nezuko. A demon that didn’t hunger. Shinobu’s eyes flicked back to the panting Tanjirou. “You’re going to kill Muzan for her,” she asked without thinking.

Tanjirou’s eyes flew open and he stared at her in surprise. “How…”

She chuckled. “It’s not like you hide it.” Or, even if he tried, could hide it well. Tanjirou was far too frank for deception.

“R-right.” Tanjirou gave a sheepish smile, his cheeks colouring a light red. No doubt he was remembering past declarations of Muzan’s death. He sat up slowly and waved to Nezuko. “It’s the only way to save her.”

Shinobu imagined her expression was the same whenever she looked at Kanae—tender, soft, a little sad. Picking a strand of grass, she methodically tore it to pieces. “You could die.”

“I won’t,” he replied immediately, filled with the confidence of youth. For a moment, she believed him. There was something in Tanjirou that she hadn’t seen in ages, a hopeful belief in the future mixed with a tragic understanding of the present.

Perhaps Muzan could be defeated in her lifetime.

Still, wishes didn’t make things so, and Shinobu tossed the grass pieces at him. “You could die,” she repeated firmly.

Tanjirou looked at her now. Recognizing the seriousness of the question, he frowned, crossing his arms as he considered it. “I…” He lowered his eyes, taking a deep breath before offering a sad smile. “That doesn’t matter. Nezuko’s family; I have to try, no matter what.” Once more, he looked at his sister. “She’d do the same for me.”

“That, I can understand.” Even now, she could smell the Wisteria, hear the click of her nail flipping the coin. Kanae’s blood had been so warm, her body so cold. There were things you did for family, no matter the cost, and she found herself looking for Kanao even though she wouldn’t be here. “There are some things more important than your life.”

“Yeah.” Tanjirou nodded.

Shinobu turned to him, sizing him up. He’d survived grief, managed to stand even when sorrow threatened to swallow him whole. Kanao would need someone like that when she died. Selfishly, she asked, “Would you be friends with Kanao?”

His eager nod eased the load on her shoulders ever so slightly.

-x-

Sitting on the porch, Shinobu gently swirled the sake in her cup. It was a rare night she got to relax, to just sit here and admire the night sky. The moon hung low in the heavens, full and heavy, and the gentlest of breezes rustled through the grass.

Behind her, quiet footsteps approached her and she smiled. “I thought you didn’t like drinking,” she teased, glancing over her shoulder as Giyuu stepped out into the moonlight.

“I don’t,” he stated, slowly sitting down next to her. As usual, his blank expression and dry tone gave away nothing.

“Could have fooled me,” she muttered, taking a sip. She wasn’t quite sure when this had started, this almost-habit of late-night drinking. At some point, he’d started joining her when she relaxed and watched the moon. At some point, she’d stopped minding it.

“I don’t think anyone could fool you,” he answered bluntly, his eyes on the moon.

She chuckled. For a man who didn’t know how to joke, he was constantly unintentionally funny. “No, I suppose not.” Her wits were the only thing that made up for her stature. Leaning forward, she smiled teasingly. “So did you miss my company or the view while you were away?”

Giyuu’s brow furrowed, the only indication that he was frowning. He fell silent, more so than usual, and she hadn’t expected him to consider her question so seriously.

Perhaps she should let him off easy this time. It had been a while since they’d last sat together like this and despite her attitude, she did enjoy his company. Somehow. It wouldn’t do to scare him away. “You don’t—”

“Both,” Giyuu finally admitted.

“—have to…” Shinobu trailed off, blinking as she processed his answer. Staring at him, she tried not to gape. “Both?”

He merely nodded. Nothing about his straight back, the profile of his blank face, or even his hands, neatly tucked into the opposite arm’s sleeves, gave away his emotions.

Both. Shinobu bit her lip, stopping herself from asking what exactly he meant by that. Did he like this quiet hour together too? Did he just miss the calm of it all? And would it be worth the frustrating hours of trying to pull the words from his lips?

No, definitely not. Still, in a rare moment of honesty, she smiled into her cup. “Me too.”

He glanced at her when she said that but still said nothing.

She swirled her sake once more. The moon’s reflection rippled in the clear liquid. Butterflies danced in the nearby wisteria trees and even when she died, that scent would follow her to her grave. Taking advantage of the atmosphere, she asked, “Why did you spare Tanjirou and Nezuko?”

From the corner of her eyes, she watched as he bit his lip, his frown growing deeper as he grappled with an answer. After a long silence punctuated only by the soft chirp of the cicadas, he finally answered, “She protected him.”

“That was unusual for a demon,” she agreed. His expression was dark and she wondered if that reminded him of some incident in his past, some haunting memory he hadn’t finished wrestling with. For all her talk about becoming friends with demons, she would have killed Nezuko on the spot. Almost had, in fact, if not for the Master’s intervention.

And now this unusual demon and her brother could be the very key to ending centuries worth of conflict. She set down her sake, no longer thirsty. “They’re going to come for her soon.” Shinobu could almost feel it. The new training, the Master’s changed tactics, everything was coming to a head.

Her days were numbered. A year’s worth of poison had to be enough to bring the demon down. Tomorrow, or maybe the day after, she’d have to tell Kanao. She wasn’t looking forward to that conversation.

“Yeah.” Giyuu nodded, finally looking at her. “We’ll be ready.”

Shinobu raised a brow. “That’s surprisingly hopeful of you.” He didn’t say anything but she had a feeling it was Tanjirou’s influence.

Something started changing after Tanjirou had arrived, and it wasn’t just the demons who’d transformed. She heard the quiet clink of a coin, saw gold flipping against the bright blue sky. The coin would land, the die set, and there was no time to say it but now. Fiddling with her sleeves, Shinobu asked quietly, “Could you take care of Kanao?” Impassive eyes stared at her and she smiled, giving nothing away. “If something happens,” she clarified.

“No,” he answered just as bluntly as he normally did.

“How cruel.” Shinobu sighed.

“She has you,” Giyuu continued, as steady as a river, and for all the deaths they’d experienced, it seemed hers had never crossed his mind.

Shinobu took pride in the compliment. She hoped it wouldn’t hurt him too much when he found out he was wrong. “She does.”

There was a small gap between them, a space that had shrunk in the past years. She wondered if it would have disappeared in the coming months, if their fingers would have overlapped and thighs brushed one another.

A question she’d never know the answer to. She felt sadder at that than she’d thought.

-x-

The demon’s strikes were harder than she’d expected. Shinobu lay on the wooden platform, gasping as she tried to breathe. Her ribs were cracked, a trickle of blood escaping her lips, and she barely had the energy to open her eyes, let alone grab her sword.

No wonder he was an upper moon. He was far too strong, and she couldn’t kill him with her weapon.

She’d hoped and hoped, but it seemed there was no wiggling out of her fate.

Shinobu, Kanae stood by her head, her expression sad. You know what to do.

Shinobu closed her eyes. Somewhere, a coin glinted in the sun, flipping through the air. Somewhere, the wisteria trees perfumed the air with their sticky, sweet scent. If she were honest, she’d made her decision long before that. The second she’d picked up her sister’s abandoned sword, rage swirling in her petite body, she’d known one way or another this was her destiny.

Grabbing her sword, Shinobu took a deep breath. Maybe she should have closed that gap, reached over and grabbed Giyuu’s hand. Or prepared Kanao better, there were so many things she’d wanted to teach her.

Damn it all, she thought she’d prepared herself for this, but there were so many things she wanted to do, to say. Her sister stared down at her and Shinobu hoped she wasn’t disappointed that she was going to die the same way she had.

“Is that all?” Doma sighed, his voice grating her ears.

“No,” she gritted out, forcing herself to stand.

It was too late for regrets.

The coin had landed heavily, the symbol digging into her skin. Heads, she had declared, her heart heavy with resignation. I guess I’ll do it.

Shinobu raised her sword and charged.

#shinobu kochō #tomioka giyuu #kanao tsuyuri #kamado tanjirou #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #fanfic #giyushino #if you squint

29 notes · View notes

dragonrajafanfiction · 4 years ago

Text

Yamata-No-Orochi: (Part 4) Erii

ITT: The Mic Drop Heard Round the World.

The sun woke you. Bright light shone through the windows, forming a halo around the curtains and projecting the shape of raindrops from the window onto the carpet. Mingfei had left shortly before you fell asleep of exhaustion and grief.

You’d fought hard and rebelled against the world, but this last rebellion had taken you too far. Z raised, saved, and safeguarded you. But you refused to play his love game, and that was all it took to discard you. Caesar had been at your side, encouraging you to live all this time. But now that the clouds had gathered, and the darkness of the world surrounded you, he realized that, like Chance, life was not in the cards for you. And Chu Zihang? Well, he always was a sword at your throat.

Once again the world was laughing, mocking you with its silent game of keep away. Love? Syke! Happiness? Syke! Companionship? Syke!

You hated this world. Mingfei went to Erii’s room with the Desert Eagle. What was stopping you from planting your mind in the ground and tilting Tokyo into a rift in the Earth, like it was the undersea Takamagahara? To watch its towers topple, and its buildings burn would be a fitting end to a Godzilla movie.

The hotel phone rang, insanely loud. You reached over and picked it up. “Pizza Hut,” you mumble.

Lu Mingfei stammered for a moment. Then he laughed. “Hey. You, me, Erii road trip. Right now. I left some clothes for you.”

His voice over the phone, it sounded like Z’s. You are silent, mind completely inert, spirit aching. “Sure whatever.” You hang up.

You shower and pull a comb through your hair three times, leaving it to fall over your shoulders. You don't bother with jewelry or make up. He left you a pair of skin tight jeans and a shirt that said Wild Thing across the front. White ankle socks and blue low rise canvas sneakers go over your feet.

The phone rings again. Mingfei sounded breathless. “Come now! We have to go!”

You hang up the phone and dash outside. Mingfei is waiting for you in a cherry red porsche. Erii waves with bright enthusiasm from the passenger side as he gets out and folds the seat down so you can get in the back. “Erii this is my friend, MC, She’s sick like you.”

You startle. Mingfei just went out and said it. You hold out your hand and she takes it, examining your fingers with her dark red eyes. You were lighter skinned, but this girl was near transparent. She scribbled on a notepad. “Nice to meet you. You are very pretty.”

“Guys buckle up!”

Your seatbelt had just clicked when Mingfei down shifted and floored it. The engine let out a mighty growl and the car took off like a rocket down the street. But Mingfei was relaxed, with an impish, ‘catch me if you can’ sort of look. Something in your chest stirred awake.

Erii held up her notebook. “Sakura is the best, right?”

Her smile was so sly, not something you expected to see. “Oh yeah, he's awesome!”

Her nod was sassy, like, Damn Straight.

You look at him again. He was smiling like he was angry. He was acting recklessly. The buildings were a blur outside the windows. The car rumbled like a beast underneath you as the accelerator didn't let up. You weave through traffic like lightning and soon the police are tailing you with flashing lights.

If you thought you were going fast before you were mistaken. The car dug deeper, and it felt like you floated over the road. The police car faded into the distance, unable to keep up.

He pulls into a service station and pays the attendant way too much cash. “Where are we going?” You ask.

“It's a surprise!”

“Does MC like gum?” Erii held out a piece and you helped yourself.

You lean forward. Erii was covered head to toe in clothing, despite the good weather.

“MC said that Erii is not stupid, that Erii is smart. MC was right, you knew a lot about yourself. But MC was sad so I wanted to take her too.” Lu Mingfei was saying. “Because she cares for Erii and understands her.”

Erii looks at you for a moment. Then she wrote in her notepad, “Cheer up. Sakura is very lucky. Thank you for caring about me.”

Her expression was so earnest and happy. Did she really understand herself? You hold out your hands for the notebook and pen. You write, “I'm too sick so my friends are scared of me.”

She takes one look at the notepad and her eyes widen. She snatches it back and writes, “Erii is not scared, Erii will be your friend.”

“Please be my friend.” You say softly.

Erii reaches out and seizes your arm. Her face is serious and she nods. When you stop at the supermarket, she drags you along, purchasing snacks and a gigantic stuffed teddy bear. Erii was not interested in herself. She wanted to cheer you up! She understood beyond words the lifelong loneliness, the constant rejection, and growing up in a world that feared you. She forcefully shoves the teddy bear into your hands. And pulls you along. It's so big you can't see around it.

Her image blurs with that of Renata. If Renata had a chance to grow up, she would be this bold.

The bear is so tall it folds against the low ceiling of the porsche. You squeeze in next to it.

“MC is from Siberia. Where she is from, the sun doesn't set in Summer. And in Winter, it doesn't rise and lights dance in the sky.” Mingfei says as you take off again.

Erii swivels in a full body, “What?!” expression and you laugh. “It is true. It's exactly like that.”

“That is AWESOME!” She turns the notepad to you and then writes, “I want to visit your home!”

You recall your promise to Caesar to go dog sledding and feel a pang of regret. But your mind has already replaced Caesar on the dogsled and put Erii there. “Let’s go dogsledding!”

She looks confused.

“Here give me your notebook.” You draw a sketch of a dog sled pulled by a team of panting dogs.

If Erii’s eyes got any bigger they would fill her face. She wrote, “IS THERE SANTA IS HE THERE”

“I… no Santas not there, but we can pretend to be Santa.”

“MC is awesome!”

Before dusk, Lu Mingfei and you two ladies arrived in the town at the southwest end of Shikoku, which is more than four hundred kilometers from Tokyo. The Porsche sports car ran for a full four hours. The whole time Erii peppered you with questions about life in Siberia while Mingfei drove. She had the impression of a magical frostland full of sky and sea. Her sparkling impression was free of brutal reality. For four hours you spoke only of the beauty and wonder of the north. Erii’s notebook is filled with sketches of white quail, snow geese, cute arctic foxes, bears, seals, and whales.

The open-air parking lot was empty. Lu Mingfei found a parking space to park the car, and opened the door to hear the tide. You could not see the sea. A large hill stood between you and the ocean. The waves sounded like reverberating between the sky and the earth.

"The sea?" Erii wrote to Lu Mingfei, with excitement in her eyes.

Lu Mingfei nodded his head as an answer.

Ah the ocean… maybe four hours ago you might have been upset to meet up with the water. Now you just laugh.

Erii looks at you curiously.

“Did you know I got to ride dolphins?”

Erii practically staggers.

“If you're lost in the ocean, sometimes dolphins will rescue you.” You hook her arm in yours. “They're big and strong and won't let you drown.”

“MC knows so much.”

“Erii knows a lot about Erii’s world. I know a lot about mine.”

Erii nods and smiles.

Lu Mingfei pulled out the compass, opened the long-prepared map, and took you to the town not far away. The sign in front of the town reads Umezuji-cho. At this time of the year, the streets of Tokyo must be bustling with people, but in this small seaside town, there are no people on the streets, only a group of elementary school students in school uniforms passing by.

Mingfei seemed to be in a rush, but Erii dallied with you, asking questions and marveling at the tofu shop, or the batik store. More than once, Mingfei had to come back and usher you forward. He clearly had some sort of plan in mind.

You find out that he hurried was so you could catch the last mountain tram, which was built next to the town's shrine and had a 45-degree angle track that made a staccato sound as you climbed.

On both sides of the track there are dense trees. These trees cover the track like thick clouds, and it is as if you are walking through a tunnel of ever-changing colors, a tunnel made purely of foliage and flowers.

Both you and Erii are stunned with wonder. You did not have such dense forests like this growing up. The air is full of birdsong and frogs and early season cicadas. You feel someone take your hand. Erii points to your face. A bright tear shone there like a pearl. You didn't know you had shed it.

"Sakura is not Japanese, right? How do you know such a beautiful place?" Erii wrote in her little notebook.

"I saw a drama made in Japan. This is a very famous scene from that drama. I saw that drama a long time ago."

"What was the name of that TV series?"

"Tokyo Love Story." Lu Mingfei wrote one stroke at a time.

"I liked that Japanese drama so much that I searched the Internet for all kinds of information about Ehime Prefecture, and finally learned that the ending scene was filmed in Umezuji Town, and that the school and the separate stations in the drama were real. I had always dreamed of traveling to Umetsuji-cho and had done a lot of homework.”

You and Mingfei did not really know each other. You did not think he was this level of a romantic so you didn’t understand why Caesar would want to pair you two. Now it made a lot more sense.

Lu Mingfei took out a handkerchief and blindfolded Erii: "You will see a beautiful view when you untie the handkerchief later."

When he handed one to you, your jaw drops. “I can’t believe you.”

He doesn’t say anything, just ties your eyes. You feel his hand close around yours. You can’t see Erii’s expression. “Erii, I’m so excited. This is fantastic!”

You’re smiling, you can’t stop. The memories of the events of the days before roared like angry hordes of monsters in your mind, but Mingfei and Erii have shut the gates on them. His warm hand in yours, the rhythm of the sun's rays between the trees, the crunch of your footfalls on the trail, the constant sound of birds. It was all so soothing.

You walk the decades old mountain mining path, a road with uneven stone patchwork. At the end of the road is a long closed mine. In order to commemorate the mine that raised the town, the residents of Umezuji Town donated money to build a wooden temple-style building over the entrance and exit of the mine. Each rafter is hung with carp flags for prayers, and various porcelain dolls are placed under the eaves. This is a local custom. If the town's family gave birth to a boy, they would come here to hang a carp flag, and if it is a girl will put a porcelain doll.

“It's exactly the same as the Internet says." Lu Mingfei said.

The tracks of the mine car had long been rusted, and weeds grew among the sleepers. You followed the track to the edge of the cliff, and Lu Mingfei helped you to climb a rock that protruded from the cliff.

He pressed his hands on you and Erii’s shoulders and said, "Now you can take off the blindfold."

You untied your handkerchief.

The sunset blooms full in your vision. The huge sun disc had touched the sea. Ten of millions of tons of seawater slowly swirled beneath your feet. The tide broke into white splashes under the black cliffs. The wind blew endless hectares of forest. The evening woods also look like the sea from a distance, a pale red sea, with thousands of treetops swaying with the wind, forming cascading waves.

Small towns are distributed along the winding coastline, Lu Mingfei names of them one by one -- below the cliff is the town of Umezuji, a little farther away is the town of Yamamae, Tsukishita Castle Town and Matsuron Town, and further is beyond his knowledge.

The town's small school was already empty, and the silent playground was empty.

The Ferris wheel spins slowly but does not carry passengers. The Ferris wheel in Umezuji Town is only a miniature version, but it is magnified in the sunset, its huge shadow cast on the undulating sea of trees.

On the track facing the sea, the yellow slow train rumbled through the small unoccupied station, which was enclosed by white railings with the signs "Umetsuji X" and "Tokyo X”. You wonder how long it had to wait for a nostalgic and romantic fan like Lu Mingfei. Music starts playing and you can't help but laugh in disbelief.

Lu Mingfei had pressed play on the theme song of Tokyo Love Story. His phone was the latest and the speaker was good. You couldn't believe it. This nerdy little parrot boy and scared raccoon had somehow managed to comfort you completely. Outside the shadows of Caesar and Chu Zihang, he shined bright. Maybe being on a boat with him would be fun.

Erii held up her notebook. “The world is gentle.”

You look at her, expressionless. She was right. The world in its natural state was quiet and peaceful. You’d fallen asleep in violence and awakened in violence and pain. You didn't get to experience the romantic world like this very much. In your mind, you imagine Renata in her patchwork coat, sitting next to you. In your ears, she whispers.

You open your mouth, “Make a wish!”

Mingfei turns to you in surprise but Erii follows along, pressing her palms together. You pray.

Renata. I am coming soon. Sorry it took so long.

You sat under the roof of the mine. Erii kept writing questions. Lu Mingfei answered one by one. This girl seems to have saved up a belly of questions, and now they all came out. Mostly they referenced Anime and Manga you have never heard of. That was Erii’s world, a world of cartoon fantasy. He confirmed or denied that reality, shaping and creating the world anew as you watched her listen intently. Lu Mingfei had taken to heart your words and was upfront and simple, not lying or trying to say things she wanted to hear. You nod in approval, your eyes serious.

The sun gradually sank below the surface of the sea, the last afterglow scattered on the water. Half of the sun and its reflection form a complete circle.

"So this is what the outside world looks like." Erii wrote to Lu Mingfei to see.

"Yeah, that's what it's like, no Britannia Kingdom and no Celestial Organization… disappointed?" Lu Mingfei asked.

"No, not disappointed, like this kind of world, this kind of world is very gentle." Erii used the word gentle once again. You repeated the word in your mind. Gentle. It echoes there. As if without the constant threat of death and adrenaline, there was just empty space.

"I really like this world." As the sun is about to disappear, Erii wrote to Lu Mingfei. "But the world doesn't like me." Erii went on to write.

You stand up and move to the other side of her. You scoot as close as you can and rest your head on her shoulder. She hugged the huge bear and lowered her eyes like a cat that had done something wrong.

"I'll be a problem for everyone and I've been a problem for Sakura." Erii wrote again.

"I was too willful. So I ran away from home."

"I should have gone back a long time ago but it's still a pleasure."

"It's beautiful here, I should have known I should have come here on the first day. Thank you Sakura, MC, thank you.”

You lower your hand over hers as she’s writing.

"No."

Erii froze for a moment.

"No." Lu Mingfei repeated.

Lu Mingfei cocked his head to look at her with a rare serious look: "Don't think you can know what the world is like by coming out to see it. I'm still confused after living in this world for more than twenty years. You've only run out for a few days and you think you understand?"

His eyes look at you too and you’re just as shaken as Erii. But he is right! You never set foot outside the Port of Black Swan and that was 20 years ago. You saw the whole world through that tiny lens and haughtily walked around like you owned the place. You judged others through that same view as well.

"How big the world is depends on how many people you know, and for every person you know, the world gets a little bigger for you. There are many cities in this world. There are Tokyo, Paris, Cairo, London, Istanbul... but many of them are just names to you, you haven't been there and there are no people there you want to visit, so they don't really belong to your world. There are many, many more people in this world, but you don't know them, and they don't belong in your world. There are also lots of good food and fun and nice things in this world, but the world that really belongs to you is actually very small, just the places you've been and eaten and seen the sunset and the friends who will care if you live or die."

"Whether the world likes you or not only depends on whether your friends like you or not. Everyone has a few really good friends. They like you, therefore, the world likes you."

The world… was not Tokyo, or Cassell or Hydra… The world was Renata, Caesar, Chu Zihang, Lu Mingfei, and now Erii. You turn your head back to Tokyo, unseen in the distance. How could you leave…?

“What is a good friend?" Erii wrote in her little notebook.

"It's the kind of friend that's so crazy about that he'll believe in you no matter what, and he'll be with you no matter what.” Lu Mingfei growled low. "If the world really doesn't like you, then the world is my enemy."

The moment these cold and arrogant words came out of his mouth, you seemed to hear a familiar cold laugh coming from behind you. The demon of the sad world sneering with all its mockery.

Together, you and Mingfei both jerked back, but behind you were only cherry blossoms mixed with fallen leaves swirling in a breeze, and there was no sign of Z. Lu Mingfei stared at you with wide eyes and you stared right back. His mouth opened. “MC. You… heard…?”

"Wanted: a good friend."

He turned back to Erii waiting for him with a small book up.

"I am your good friend, and you will have more good friends in the future." You say.

"But as long as we are your good friends, how can we not like you?" He said softly.

She slowly crawled towards Lu Mingfei like a kitten, vigilantly figuring out his look. Lu Mingfei looks petrified and you cover your mouth with one hand while silently cheering, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

What did he expect? Even your heart was moving and you don’t even like him! Lu Mingfei is sitting here putting Kazama level moves on this girl and now that her arms are around him and her head is on his chest, he looks two seconds away from shitting himself. You ball your fist against your lips and swallow your laughter.

Clouds gathered in the distance and the sun had set, It was time to go. You would have to get up bright and early tomorrow to get on the boat to China. Your heart was relaxed again about Caesar’s decision. After all, he was just doing his best. If you died, you would go to rest. Caesar would be tormented for the rest of his days. He wasn't sending you on the boat to die. He wanted you to live. You still believed the omniscient Z. Leaving Tokyo was a death sentence. But you also believed Caesar had his own parallel script.

It was raining by the time the train came. You stand shoulder to shoulder on the platform. “Call me to wake me up tomorrow.” You say.

Mingfei lowers his head and laughs.

“Oh you’re planning to oversleep? Once again I have to be the mature one.” You roll your eyes.

The train splashes up to the platform and you make sure Erii has her ticket. She sits next to the window and stares outside. Much to your surprise, Mingfei sits you next to her. He gives you a fond smile and passes you a note.

"Dear passengers, this train terminates in Matsuyama City. We are now about to leave Umezuji-cho station. The train is about to close......" A sweet female voice echoed in the carriage.

The doors of the train close.

You open the note in your hand. The words make you squint.

You have to live.

You and Erii gasp at the same time. Mingfei is not on the train. The doors have closed. And he is not on the train!

You leap from your seat and pound on the glass door in front of the smiling Mingfei. “Where am I supposed to go?” You will miss the boat. You won’t go to China.

Your hands slowly slide from the glass. Erii is pressing her notebook urgently against it.

Lu Mingfei tapped on the window, "Someone will pick Erii up when you get to Matsuyama City. MC, find Ruri Kazama.”

"Won't Sakura take me back to Tokyo?" Eriki took the small book and showed it to Lu Mingfei.

"Your family won't like me." Lu Mingfei said.

Erii hugged the furry teddy bear and lowered her head, her long hair like a colored cloak that enveloped both her and the bear.

"Sayonara" said Lu Mingfei.

Erii nodded, finally realizing that this was their parting. The train ride to Tokyo will take several hours, but Lu Mingfei will not accompany her.

Lu Mingfei's face was stern and he didn't say anything more. There was nothing more to say. This was the parting, his carefully designed parting. He NEVER agreed to the boat. He NEVER agreed to kill you. He had carefully pulled the wool over Caesar’s eyes and convinced you that he was going to dump you on the boat. You grinned and shook your head. But the train began to move before you could even think of a comeback.

#Dragon Raja

9 notes · View notes

slasherkisss · 5 years ago

Photo

CABIN FEVER - JASON VOORHEES X READER [CHAPTER 7]

Summary In an effort to remove yourself from your previous life in the big city, you move to Crystal Lake. The cabin you had inherited from your father makes the perfect place for a fresh start, however, there is a secret in these woods (and within yourself) that you must come to accept…and to love.

A/N You’d think I’d be able to write more of this in my freetime but, you know what, we work with what we got here. There’s no smut in this chapter, sorry, but lots of murder and tender fluff to make up for it!

——————————————————————————————

The next two to three days of your existence was relatively unbothered, save for your constant paranoia of the escaping victim.

Every night you swore you could hear footsteps, not yours or Jason’s as the two of you rested in the same bed, and it sent you sitting up in a blind panic as you stared into the empty nothingness of the darkness that enveloped you. Some nights you stood to pace around the house, checking windows and watching over your shoulder in case the figures of people you didn’t recognize snuck behind you. They brushed your shoulder and whispered in your ear, sending goosebumps up your entire body as you incessantly cleaned the house, the phantom stains of blood spots from Jason’s previous murders singing to your paranoia like beacons of sin.

Multiple times Jason stopped you, his hands around your body to pull you close to him and simply hold you back from moving. His grip was so strong that you had no choice but to sit in his arms and calm yourself, matching your breathing with his own as he nuzzled the back of your neck and tugged at you with something, you supposed, was akin to worry. There was guilt in letting your emotions fog you to your boyfriend’s own, but making it up to him with long, languid kisses to his cock seemed to work for the most part as he, too, tried to ease your mind with thick fingers and moans that shook the whole cabin late at night.

You seemed normal enough on your third day in the aftermath of death, going into the garden to tend to your ever-budding crops while Jason left out on patrol around the lake. Though he was reluctant to do so at first, you insisted that you were fine with it. His home was your home, after all, and it was important to the both of you that it remain protected and safe, lest someone discover your home. Lest someone discover the two of you together.

Despite its dangers, the thought made you smile. Oh, how loudly your parents would protest if they saw your current choice in companionship. Oh how the curses would fall from their lips alongside their preacher as they would try (and fail) to drag you home.

Home… No, that place you had left wasn’t home. It never was, was it?

This was your home now.

It was a comforting thing, you realized as you knelt into the dirt and began to dig up a few of the weeds that had dared make their home in the fertilized soil of your potato crop. The trowel you used bit into the earth with ease, its stainless steel edges growing momentarily matte from the dust of the dirt you pushed it through with practiced ease. You pulled each weed with careful precision before placing it to the side, taking a breath as your small pile of invasive plants began to grow larger and larger.

You wondered if you could find a book on natural weed killers and put some in your garden. It would make all of these a lot easier.

Making a mental note of such a thing you stood, wiping the small layer of sweat from your brow as you took a deep breath, feeling the pleasant warmth in your muscles from the day’s work as you kicked around some of the soil to cover the holes you had created before gathering up the weed and moving them to the compost pile you had slowly been accumulating in one of the spots behind your home, neatly covering it with the worms and dead fruit that hung in the same space with a satisfied nod.

Returning to the front of your house, you could only freeze as white hot terror rushed over your entire form.

The woman that was just beyond your fence was familiar, though far more ragged than you had remembered her to be when you had first seen her escape three days ago.

She stood there on the other side of your fence and you could feel your heartbeat still as your eyes met. Your lungs suddenly stopped working and breathing became more and more difficult as the two of you gazed at one another from the mutual safeties of your fence sides. Of all the things to happen, you realized with a dawning grimness in the base of your mind, this was likely one of the worst possible things. You felt it in the way your body trembled and the way your mind went blank as the two of you stood in the discomforting silence of the world around you. The only echo of sound that dared hum across the tense atmosphere was the thrum of cicadas high up in their trees as they chirped on, unaware of the events unfolding beneath their safe haven.

The woman was still caked in mud, the same clothes on her as the day you had watched her escape Jason’s wrath. She must not have been able to get out of the forest on her own, you realized with somewhat of a smugness to your thoughts. She must have relied on those men who fell so easily at Jason’s hands, unaware that Crystal Lake was much larger than others had given it credit for. You could imagine her, starving and shivering in the cold of the night before spotting your cabin in the rising sun, thanking God as she ran towards it in hopes that she would be able to find some sort of respite and rescue amongst good natured, friendly people-

Only to find you.

You.

She knew where you lived.

As if she also realized that same thing, the woman turned around and began to sprint in the opposite direction, her breaths coming in shaky and terrified gasps. You watched in shock for a few minutes, your eyes widening as your hand tightened against the trowel you held in your vice grip. Your heartbeat pounded in your ear and your mind screamed at you in the fiercest voice you think you have ever heard it muster.

Run, run, run! She’s running. Go after her. It’s bad. She’s bad! She’ll take him away. She’ll take you away from him and then what?

And then what?

You didn’t need to hear anymore from yourself before you hopped the fence and sprinted after her.

The trees were a blur around you as you pushed passed them, your breath coming in sharp and succinct pants the faster you pushed yourself. Your boot clad toes hit the forest floor and pushed yourself off of it with as much momentum as you could muster and, oh, you could feel your heartbeat in your ears as you chased after your target. You had the advantage of functionality when it came to outfits, you realized with a moderate source of hope as you began to catch up to the hobbling form out before you. Though her feet were bare, her outfit was a tight skirt and thin tank top that left gashes on her skin as her flesh hit the whipping whirlwind of trees and the biting forest floor cut the edges of her ankles with warning nips, slowing her down for you. Easing her into your trap of movement.

The forest was on your side.

This was proven even more accurate when you saw her trip in front of you, her foot catching between rocks and bending with a sickening crack in the completely wrong direction. It sent bone jutting out from her skin and ankle and caused her to scream, long and loud and desperate, against the blue of the sky in the clearing. There was a mixture of agony and terror deep in the hum of her vocal chords as she attempted to crawl away from the area, even with the shattered bone against her body. Adrenaline and fear pumped in her veins and in yours as you continued to move forward.

You didn’t stop running. You didn’t allow yourself to catch your breath before you descended upon her with your trowel in hand.

Atop her torso, you pinned her arms on either side of her body with your thighs, feeling the way she squirmed and wiggled under you like a maggot as begging, desperate pleas left her mouth in nonsensical babbles.

“Please,” She drooled as she spoke, tears streaming down her face, “I won’t tell-I won’t tell anyone I promise-I promise, I promise I’ll be good I won’t tell a soul about any of this of any of anything not at all! Just please, please don’t kill me please I promise I’ll be good I swea-!”

You cut her off by raising your trowel, gripping it tight in both hands before bringing the steel down into the base of her skull with as much force as you could muster.

Her scream cut off with an even worse sounding squelch.

Blood blossomed from the spot in her forehead where you had sunk your gardening tool into her. The skull of the woman gave more resistance than you were expecting, making you have to wiggle the dull steel into her brain further, watching as parts of bone began to splinter and stick out against the edges of her forehead. There was something of fascination in your eyes as you withdrew the piece of metal and plunged it back in, the initial hole in her cranium helping the item to dig further through her membrane and deep, deep into the grey matter of her mind. The squishing noises accompanied by the gurgles that left her half open mouth as it filled up with blood was near pornographic, making you shudder as you pulled your trowel out a second time and stabbed her again.

And again and again and again and again and again…

Her head was a pulp by the time you decided to stop, your breathing heavy in your throat as you tried to swallow the oncoming trail of vomit that dared push itself greedily to the pit of your stomach. Your hands were stained shades of crimson and gray, bits of skull matter clinging to your fingertips as your pants soaked up the messy, wet dribblings of your victim. Blood pooled out of her nose and mouth, some even spilling from her ears but a majority of it echoing from the gaping hole in the center of her head. She looked, you thought, like a jack-o-lantern someone kicked in on the side of a porch. Only the seeds and guts were replaced with brains and skull as you reached out with one hand, deftly poking at the material.

That was when you actually threw up, the texture sending your stomach spiraling into the distance as you turned your head and allowed yourself to be relieved of your morning’s breakfast.

The scent of vomit and blood combined with the slow rot of the forest around you did little to quell your stomach after you had emptied it. Wiping your face with the back of your hand, you winced as the wetness of smeared blood pressed itself bitingly to your cheeks. You must have looked like a vampire now, you thought with a dull laugh, having fed on a poor, innocent victim. Having used her form as nourishment.

No, you thought as you looked down at the body beneath you with another ragged breath, she wouldn’t have given you any nourishment if you had eaten her.

She was doomed to die like this from the start. From the moment she ran from Jason and into the woods, she was destined to be consumed by them once again. Crystal Lake did not let any of its victims leave once it had decided to claim them.

You felt it then, the slow and steady breathing of the ground beneath you. As if the earth was rising and falling with even movements. You inhaled sharply, pressing your hand into the ground and feeling the shifting movements. Up and down… as though it was resting. Sleeping beneath you as it drank up the offering you had given it, tendrils and mushrooms biting greedily into the flesh in order to eat all the nutrients it could muster.

There was a rustle of wind and you shuddered at it, the trees shaking and groaning as though thanking you for the meal.

You smiled.

Standing up, you walked back to your cabin with uneasy steps in the direction you had ran, the trail of your chase easy to see and easier still to retrace. Still, you remembered the direction you had left the corpse in as you tripped over your own feet several times in your efforts to get back to your home. Shovel, you decided with low desperation, you needed a shovel. To dig a hole six feet under ground and give the earth back what she needed from you.

Give her to it, that sweet little voice in your head laughed as your cabin came into view, the forest needs fertilizer, after all. How else will you raise your crops? Keep your supplies fertile? Give her to it, Y/N, it’ll be alright.

You let out a shaky sigh with a smile despite yourself. Yeah, that was what you would do.

You were almost surprised to see Jason at the front of your house, sitting patiently on the steps and twiddling his thumbs idly as though thinking. You had told him many times that he was welcome into your house, even when you weren’t there, but he didn’t seem to find it ‘polite’. That or he simply didn’t want to be in the house without you, since you were the only reason he visited it at all anymore. Both thoughts made your heart skip a beat and you couldn’t help but smile despite the pain in your sore body and the blood still dribbling from your form.

“Jason!” Your voice came out much more clear than you thought it ever capable of in such a situation and you couldn’t help but be proud of yourself.

At your echo Jason stood up, moving quicker than you had ever seen him move towards you. There was a pause in his body language and you could see moderate panic shine behind that mask of his as his hands were waving around, frantically signing at you with a speed you could barely keep up with. Messy and panicked as they were, you were able to comprehend them enough to understand what he was asking of you as his face checked you over, inch by inch, still signing over and over again:

‘Are you okay? What happened? Are you hurt?’

“Jason, Jason-” You tried to shush him, stopping his movements by reaching out to grab his face in your smaller hands and pull him down so that he was eye level with you. Being so close to your blood splattered face, feeling the way the wet of the blood smeared across his mask and clothes the closer you drew to him. The sight of you, so red and warm, made his chest rise and fall with equal parts worry and arousal. Biting your lip, you found your voice enough to continue:

“I-I’m fine, Jay… I… That woman who got away the other time she… I chased her and… i didn’t want to let her escape so I… We need a shovel!”

As if to remember what you had come in there for, you ran off and away from your boyfriend in favor of entering your home, leaving parts of the doorknobs and floors bloodstained in your wake and a confused Jason staring at the spot where you once were. Slowly standing up, the behemoth of a man could only follow behind you as he watched you scramble around your house with desperation, looking for the shovel you had bought to do yard work. You knew you bought one, anyways. At the very least you BROUGHT one at some point here. Didn’t you? Or did you dream it? Your mind was a whirlwind of memories mixed with hallucinations as you pushed yourself forward. Moved yourself faster. Begged yourself to keep going and going and going and-

Jason’s hand touched your own, resting over it and holding you down with one of the firmest grips he had managed on you.

You took long, shaky breaths as you looked at him and then at your house. You found it both annoying and amusing to see just how many blood stains you had left in your wake, the scent all but permeating your home as it soaked into the wood of the cabin. You had just cleaned the blood up from the last time you and Jason had entered as well, you huffed to your own mind, of course it’d just be fate that you’d get even more on it than before. It would be hell to clean up.

A sudden exhaustion overtook your mind as you slumped forward, leaving Jason to catch you in his arms as you let out a long, tired sigh and shut your eyes tight, trembling in his grip as he helped you to the floor to sit on it. The wood was suddenly too cold and too hot all at once as your fingertips slid across its textured surface with aimless disinterest, your eyes blurring with something between tears and adrenaline as you found your breaths coming slower and slower, as though you were trying to stop breathing all together.

You sat like that for… well… you didn’t know how long you sat like that. With Jason at your side, cross legged in front of you as his hand gently rubbed at your legs and shoulders, tilting his head to observe you without saying a word. The silence was nearly oppressive for the both of you and you could all but hear his breathing through his mask. Did he need to breathe? You wondered just that for longer than you should have before you were, suddenly, moved. Suddenly shifted in a way that made you startled.

Jason had you in his arms now, carrying you as carefully as he could up the stairs of your home and into the master bathroom that housed itself neatly alongside our bedroom. You barely registered the movements as anything other than events outside your own body, as though you were looking down at yourself being lifted up by the man at your side. You were placed in the tub as carefully as he could manage and you watched yourself adjust awkwardly in your clothes as you lay there, stunned into something of a dissociation by the status of the world that you seemed to vaguely inhabit.

You came back to your own body when the water hit you.

You gasped, startling slightly into a sitting position as your hands gripped the edges of the tub. You looked up to see Jason fiddling unsurely with the handles of the water, shifting it from hot to cold at an insanely unpleasant pace that sent chills down your spine as the water soaked your bloodstained clothes and sent swirls of light pink and dirt dribbling down your drain like spit at the dentist’s office. You shuddered and reached out, shakily, to push his hands away as carefully as you could and adjust the water temperature for yourself. Jason simply watched you, allowing it.

Once the water was an acceptable temperature, he returned to your side. Massive hands slid up your body and removed your clothing bit by bit. Your hiking boots fell from your feet along with your socks, soon moving along to your bloody, ripped pants and eventually to your top, your underwear sliding off and into the pile of clothes Jason had amassed and leaving you naked in the slowly filling tub of water that soaked into your core as you curled yourself into a ball and sat there, staring forward in shock.

One the tub was filled Jason turned it off, his hands reaching out with a wash cloth to hand to you in an awkward unsureness of if you needed it or not. It was only then that you became hyper aware of the itchy patches of dried blood and viscera coating the remainder of your skin. Though your clothing had managed to catch much of it, the feeling was still there that you were soiled. Dirty and ragged with the urge to dump bleach on yourself to rid your skin of its sudden imperfections.

Grabbing the cloth, you scrubbed it on your body until your skin felt hot and red and raw with friction. Until spots on your form were no longer covered in brains and bits of skull and you tried, desperately, to rid yourself even of the skin they touched. You had to get clean, you thought with hungry worry in your mind, you had to rid yourself of all of this.

Go away, go away, go away, go away-

A hand stopped you before you could rub your skin clean off, forcefully ripping the cloth from you and putting a hand on your arm to stop you from thrashing to reach out and grab it. When you looked up, all you saw was Jason’s sharp glare from beneath his mask and that, alone, stilled you with surprise. He had never looked at you before in such a threatening way. It made you wonder if you truly had fucked up in one way or another… or was he just worried about you?

You stayed still the rest of the bath. Until the tub was drained and Jason pulled you from the water and wrapped you in a towel, drying you off with rough grips of his hands to your skin that sent shivers down your spine as you clung to him through it all. You couldn’t say when he had picked you up again and moved you to your bed, the sheets soft under your bare skin as he removed the towel, but you were there suddenly and you shifted with a sudden exhaustion in your bones as you sighed.

You looked up at Jason, who stood by the edge of the bed looking down at you.

You lifted your hands up to weakly sign:

‘Are you mad at me?’

He took a long moment to return the question with his own signed answer:

‘No.’

‘Then why did you look at me like that?’

‘Worried.’

‘... She’s dead’

‘I know.’

‘I need to clean what I started.’

‘No. I’ll do it.’

You opened your mouth to protest with your words this time, hands suddenly too heavy to sign with your boyfriend as you let protests rise in your throat. This wasn’t his problem. This was something you had done. You had stabbed her in the head. You had killed her.

Oh god you had killed her.

Jason leaned forward, his mask pressing to your face. The semblance of a kiss where his lips might have been. Your eyes grew more heavy with the comfort, feeling his hands push themselves on you as gently as they could, feeling you and comforting you with his presence before pulling away. Jason’s fingertips flew in the slow and steady movements of signs he had practiced.

‘I love you. I’ll do it.’

The last thing you saw before you gave into the closing of your eyes and the sleepiness of your body was Jason leaving the room, his shoulders squared with determination and the lingering scent of blood and lake water shaking itself through your entire room before it all went black.

#jason voorhees x reader #jason voorhees imagine #jason voorhees #friday the 13th #friday the thirteenth #slasher x reader #cabin fever #cabin fever series #cabin fever chapter 7 #chapter 7

146 notes · View notes

lemonjoonah · 6 years ago

Text

The Shoulder on Which You Cry (M)

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, Namjoon x Reader, Mention of Yoongi x Reader Word Count: 11K Rating: M Genre: Romance, Drama, Hometown AU, Fluff, Angst Warnings: Drinking, Smut Scenes (Unprotected Sex, Fingering, Slight Amount of Thigh Riding)

Summary: After moving away from your hometown five years ago, you’ve struggled on every return. Each trip back being made out of haste due to an unfortunate event in your life. Namjoon has always been there to help you through those moments. But when he can’t be there to support you during your current trip home, Jungkook offers to stay by your side and be the comfort you need.

A/N: Definitely not the typically genre I write in but I thought I would give it a shot, I would love to hear your feedback! I came up this story after listening to Intro: Persona for the first time (it’s been in my head for a couple months now), using the line, ‘I just wanna give you all the shoulders when you cry,’ as my inspiration.

...

“Fuck,” you mutter repeatedly as you grip the narrow armrest next to you. The women sitting beside you throws you a disgruntled look, prompting you to whisper an apology as turbulence continues to rattle the plane.

Flying is by no means your favourite pastime. You knew that it would become an issue when you moved away. You’re almost thankful that your career goals have kept you chained to your desk instead of enduring this torture on a more frequent basis. Now your trips home have become few and far between, returning only when it was absolutely necessary.

This place was once filled with such good memories holidays, birthdays, graduations. But now in the past five years it seems like you’ve only returned for unfortunate circumstances events like, the divorce of your parents, your father’s car accident, or the death of your grandmother. Leaving your hometown to become a grim retreat. You’ve come to fear this town and all that it represents, but there’s always been one bright spot in the form of Kim Namjoon.

...

You slowly shove the last box of your father’s into the back of the truck. That’s it, there’s nothing left between them, what’s his is his and what’s hers is hers. When you first heard the news you wondered what could have gone wrong, why did it have to escalate to this? If you had been home could you have seen the warning signs? Could you have urged them to seek help and work things out?

Your father claps you on the back thanking you for your help before starting the engine and driving off. Leaving you alone in the driveway. Your mother had gone to stay with her sister while your father removed his belongings. You have no desire to reenter the empty house just yet, the emotions of the day are still too raw. At least in the yard with the warm breeze on your face and the cicadas buzzing your world feels a little more full. After the physical and mental toll of the move you take a rest in the shade of a tree, closing your eyes for just a moment.

“You know most people find somewhere comfortable to nap. A bed, a chair, but no you prefer the ground outside.” Namjoon hovers over you with his soothing tone.

“Most people didn’t spend the day lifting heavy boxes,” You groan back at him. “Who called you to say I was here?”

“Your mother.”

“Of course she did...” It’s no secret, she’s had always tried to push you and Namjoon into a deeper relationship than your current friendship. She thought he would convince you to stay, that he might keep you here when you had made a new life elsewhere. Even now she hopes he will bring you back, and at times like this you worry that she might be right.

Namjoon sits down next to you on the grass, pulling the blades of greenery between his fingers. “Was that everything?”

“Yep, he is officially moved out.” You struggle to keep your tone even.

“And how are you doing with all of this?” He asks cautiously as if the question might inflict even greater pain.

“Fine.” You mutter looking down at the ground

“Liar,” Namjoon scoffs back.

“What? It’s not like I’m the one getting divorced, why should it matter?” You retort your tone falling to a whisper as you reach the end of your rational.

“Because this affects you too. You’re allowed to be upset.”

“Not as much as it affects them.” You remain focused on the ground trying to fight the emotions he brings to the surface.

Namjoon lifts your chin to focus his sights on you and your reaction, “Really? You should tell that to the tears in your eyes.” He shifts closer to you under the tree letting your head rest on his shoulder and your tears fall upon his shirt.

...

Namjoon has always been there for you as a friend since you were young. Living just across the street for most of your life, helping you whether your problem be a skinned knee or a difficult test. Even as your feelings for your town grown dim, he refuses to give in, he is that one light which refuses to fade.

When your father had been hurt car wreck, Namjoon was by your side from the second your flight had landed. He stayed at the hospital with you until visiting hours were over and then proceeded to make sure you got home safe. There were tears then too when you realized there was nothing you could do. But Namjoon didn’t shy away, he came in and held you close.

You’ve lost count of how many shirts of his you’ve ruined with mascara. You haven’t been back for two years since your last trip, your grandmother's funeral. He had been the one to take you in then, with all of your family at your house there was little place for you to stay, so Namjoon graciously offered up his spare room.

...

After the funeral you both take a seat on the sofa, the light of the day slowly fading outside. His house is beautiful and comfortable but it’s so large just for him, despite the warmth of the wooden furnishings it feels somewhat cold and empty. However for him this home is a step in the direction of the dream that he’s always told you of, the hope that one day he would have a family. One that he could grow with in this town that he loves.

His arm crosses around your shoulders as a movie plays on the screen in front of you. You tuck into his chest and close your eyes when the strain becomes too much.

His fingers comb through your hair with a soothing touch pulling the strands from you face. Its when his lips touch the top of you head you open your eyes to look up at him.

“Namjoon?”

He looks down at you with a conflicted expression before closing the gap between you. His lips take yours in a desperate fashion. Your mind starts to swim with the possibilities of what could be. The clothes discarded on the floor of his bedroom. Your back pushed into the mattress as Namjoon hovers over you. His eyes meeting yours as he presses himself between your legs.

You gasp at the thought encouraging him to pull you closer, his hands coming to rest on your cheek and lower back locking you in place on top of him. You can’t deny your feelings for him, those have always been very apparent and without question. The problem rests with the cost of staying together. The life you’ve created far away, the one you’ve worked so hard to build, it would all be gone. The thought of staying in this town has never held joy for you, and it’s only gotten worse as you’ve parted. As much as you want to stay with Namjoon, you can’t remain here.

You push away from him. Trying to find a way to explain yourself, when Namjoon opens the discussion for you. “Ask me to go back with you.”

“W-what?” Your breath catches from the shock of his offer.

“Ask me to be with you and I will. I’ll leave this life behind and follow you.”

The selfish side of you is so overwhelmed, so eager to accept his proposal. Screaming at you to say the words he’s requesting of you. But you can’t do it, not with the man who’s always been so supportive of you.

“You’d never ask me to stay, please don’t expect me to ask that of you. It wouldn’t be right Namjoon, you wouldn’t be happy there, just like I wouldn’t be happy here.”

“Do you love me?” His crestfallen face begs the question of you, as if asking for a reason to discard his dream.

The simple ‘yes’ rests on the tip of your tongue but you refuse to let it out. “You have to stay,” Your voice cracks but you hold firm, knowing you would never forgive yourself if you took this dream away from him. You know he’ll find someone who wants this life as much as he does.

...

As the airport comes into view below, you begin to dread the landing, and the arrival home. You’ll cry on this trip too there’s no doubt about it, but this time Namjoon won’t be able to offer his shoulder in comfort.

The customs agent leads with the question you dread most on every return. “What’s the reason for your visit?”

Your throat immediately tightens at the thought, you swallow before spitting out the words, “A wedding...”

Namjoon’s wedding... he called you a month ago to issue the invitation. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, he had already bought your plane ticket and was sending you the information. He confessed that he had a favour to ask of you when he sees you, but you didn’t care at the time the majority of what he said didn’t register with you after the words ‘I’m getting married’.

You knew he was dating someone but he didn’t go into details. That part of his life is rarely shared with you since the exchange after your grandmother's funeral. You should have been prepared for this, it’s what you wanted for him, you know that you did the right thing, but it still hurts so much.

After a short taxi ride you check into the same hotel where the wedding is to take place. Choosing to stay alone rather than reside at your mother’s, where you would be barraged with her constant comments on how it should have been you standing beside him all dressed in white.

...

It’s a large affair, the ceremony and reception rolled into one event, and you are seated at a round table with many of Namjoon’s friends. You recognize several faces from long ago but much to your embarrassment you’ve forgotten many of their names. You sneak a glance at your neighbours place card before greeting them. In anticipation you do the same for the empty seat beside you, reading ‘Jungkook’... yours and Namjoon’s neighbour from when you were kids and one of your oldest friends.

You smile as you recall the scrawny doe eyed child who used to follow Namjoon everywhere like a fawn following a parent. Even though there’s only a few years between them, Jungkook still looked up to his elder with great admiration and in return Namjoon always cared for him like a younger sibling. You remember how you were both eager for Namjoon’s attention as kids. As you grew your dynamic didn’t change much, even when you and Namjoon briefly dated in high school he was a constant third wheel.

You haven’t seen or spoken to him in years, not since you moved away. You tried to keep in contact but it would seem that distance and time had gotten in the way. It’s a shock when a sturdy man, with wavy hair, takes the seat next to you. “Noona, it’s been a while!”

You choke on your water. Finding it difficult to see the boy you used to know in the man sitting next to you. “Jungkook?”

He smiles and you relax, it’s definitely him, you would recognize his bowing smile anywhere. But finding it attached to such a built figure is unexpected and slightly intimidating.

“It’s good to see you,” you return the smile. “How have you been?”

“Good, can’t complain business is going well. How about you, how’s life abroad?”

“Busy, I’m just lucky I was able to make it make it back for this.”

As the ceremony starts the chatter dwindles. Namjoon looks dashing in a three-piece suit and his bride statuesque in white. There’s a brief moment of tears from her which Namjoon promptly wipes away as he had done for you so many times. You’re stunned when you see her reaching to his face, knowing full well that Namjoon would rather bury his than put them out on display, but there they are rolling down his cheeks.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen him cry...” You whisper as you watch the couple. All those years he had been the one to give you strength when needed and yet he’s never shown his own weakness. They might be tears of happiness today, but they are still hers to wipe away. She’ll be there for him in ways you never could, she’ll be his strength.

Out of the corner of your eye you see Jungkook glance over to take in your comment, but he doesn’t press you for any further explanation.

You sit in silence for the rest of the ceremony and throughout the dinner. A mixture of happiness and longing as you watch the new couple take their seats. Friends step up to the microphone telling stories of how they met and moments that you had missed. Wrenching further emotional reactions from you as the speakers recount the love between the newlywed pair.

As the cake is served the table begins to empty and disperse giving you the freedom to leave your seat without rudeness. Jungkook had already slipped away several minutes before when a few of the bridesmaids began to hang around the table.

The door to the garden is open prompting you to grab your glass of champagne and steal a moment of fresh air.

Passing the rows of fairy lights you spot in the far corner a table between the hedges, hidden away from the others, with only one other occupant, the missing Jungkook.

“Can I sit here?” You ask nodding to the seat next to him.

He looks up from his phone with his wide eyes and nods. He shifts in his seat sitting up straighter before looking back down at his phone.

You glance over to see him on twitch watching an Overwatch match. Your happy to see that he hasn’t changed entirely over the years apart.

The door to the event room opens to a gaggle of young women. Jungkook’s head jerks up as they call out his name, but not out of acknowledgement, judging from his expression it’s more so a panic of being found.

You snicker into your glass as you watch him slink back down in his seat hiding from his admirers. He gives you a pleading look as to not reveal his location. You nod and smile back to him, his fear breaks into relief. Once they retreat back inside you begin to pester him regarding his suitors. “Still afraid of girls Jungkook? That’s quite the following you have there.”

“I’m not afraid of girls! They want to drag me back in there, you know I don’t like crowds.”

“Nice try you were totally afraid of me growing up. You were worried that I would steal Namjoon away from you.”

“I wasn’t afraid of you...” He nurses what’s left of his beer in sadness, probably realizing he’ll have to go in if he wants to get more.

You get up from your seat and extend a hand for his glass to take it in. “Another drink?”

His eyes brighten and a grin returns to his face, “Please...th-thank you Noona.”

You chuckle as he continues to call you with such familiarity, despite having been apart for so long.

“Is it okay... that I still you that?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right back.”

...

You hand him a full glass and take your seat once again under the dim glow of the lights.

“So what do you do now?”

“I have a repair shop,” Jungkook mutters quietly.

“Really? How did you get into that?” Hearing that Jungkook actually owns his own business comes a surprise.

“Opened it together with a friend of mine. I never thought it would get as big as it has though...”

“That’s great if it is, I’m sure you’re parents must be proud,” You smile back at him confidently.

“They are...” Eyes look down to the ground. “I think they’re holding out for something like this though.” He tilts his head in the direction of the ballroom.

“I know what you mean.” You scoff as you take a sip of your champagne.

He starts to ask about you own life, but with the sound of the door you pause your answer to warn him, “Looks like your club is going to be making another round for you.” You watch as he winces at the inevitable, “Why don’t you just go home? Everything seems to be winding down.”

“My ride is in there, dancing the night away I’m sure.”

“I have a room,” You blurt out much to your own surprise, slightly bewildered by your own offer. Maybe it’s because you don’t want to be alone, or maybe you took pity on the shy man next to you, but you stick with it despite your own confusion. “I have my computer to stream, full mini bar...” You laugh in spite of yourself, what you definitely did not expect is for him to take you up so adamantly.

“Yes! Get me out of here please.”

While Jungkook practically dashes in and through the ballroom for the exit, you pause to take one last look at the glowing couple surrounded by their family. Namjoon had given you so much throughout the years the least you could do for him in this moment was be happy for him. You lock eyes and give him a bright smile not wishing to intrude on this moment of his before slipping quietly out the door.

Jungkook waits for you in front of the elevator. Finally seeing him in the full light of the lobby is a staggering sight, the suit neatly trimmed against his built form, you find the fabric taut against his chest and thighs. His lips pull back giving you a view of his clenched teeth as he stares around clearly hoping not to be spotted.

“Are you sure there’s nothing else wrong? You honestly look like you’re avoiding more than just a group of giggling girls.”

Jungkook nods, “You haven’t meet Hoseok or Jimin, if they find me no doubt they’ll physically drag me out. Which is why I want this damn elevator to hurry up!” He pushes the already lit elevator button several times for good measure.

The second that the door cracks open he grabs your arm and pulls you in with him. A loud sigh breaks from him as they close.

You give him a smile in sympathy remembering how he used to cling to you or Namjoon in social situations like this.

You unlock the room, and head in grabbing the ice bucket before stepping out again. “Go ahead make yourself comfortable I’ll be back in a second.”

His level of comfortable is far more relaxed than you had anticipated. Your old friend had no problem stripping down to his undershirt and pants, while making himself at home on your bed.

You avert your eyes when you reenter and open the mini fridge finding several small bottles of liquor.

You hand him a strong drink over ice laughing at how he cringes with the first sip. “You don’t have to drink if you don’t want to.”

“No it’s okay it just takes me a bit to get used to it.”

“It’s funny to think, but last time I saw you you weren’t even drinking age... I can’t believe it’s been five years.”

“Do you miss it here?” He asks with a slight worry, looking into his glass, “After being gone so long do you find yourself wanting to come back?”

“No, not really, not anymore. Don’t get me wrong I still miss people but with each trip home I feel more and more like I’m a stranger to this place. There used to be some comfort here for me, but it’s a bit more complicated now...” You can’t help but be saddened by the thought.

“Namjoon hyung, you and he-”

You look to Jungkook with a slight dampness in your eyes willing it to stay in place and not let it cascade down your cheeks. He notices your grief and switches to a more pressing question.

“Noona... do you still have feelings for him?”

You give a slow pained nod, “Please don’t say anything, and don’t tell him that I was upset. It’s foolish really, it never would have worked between us. His life is here, it’s what he’s always wanted, but I wanted to leave, I had other goals.”

He nods in understanding, “How bad is it?”

“Pretty bad, definitely more than one should care for a married man...” You hate every word of your confession. You chose this and yet here you are grieving. A tear falls and you are sick of it, you’re sick of crying over things you can’t change. “Fuck I’m sorry.”

Jungkook’s hand comes to rest on your knee, rubbing circles with his thumb, and lingering far longer than you expected him too. “No it’s okay, I’m surprised you came if you still feel this way.”

“Namjoon was very insistent. I think he thought he was being kind. I figured it would be best to support him.” You hesitate before asking the next question, “Do you know her well? Will she... is she a good fit for him?”

“I do, and I think so. They seem very happy when they’re together.” He pauses and looks to you, “I was surprised when he let you go though, I thought he really cared for you too.”

“No I told him to stay. I could never ask him to come with me.”

“Then he should have gone off his own accord,” Jungkook reasons.

“That’s sweet of you to say,” you chuckle lightly, “but our dreams were both bigger than each other. It was time to let go.”

“But you haven’t let go yet.”

“No... I haven’t.”

“And why is that?” He prods.

“He’s been one of the few people I really connect with, someone who enjoys being with me even when I'm an emotional wreck. I’m doubtful that I’ll find that again...” You give the easier answer failing to mention the fear that’s been holding you back. The fear of finding someone, of falling too deep and the pain that follows when it inevitably comes time to part. You worry that if you let go of Namjoon someone else will fill that void and the cycle would repeat.

You’ve had one night stands and hookups, but nothing beyond that. The longest connection you’ve had with someone is with a man by the name of Yoongi, but that’s purely for physical relief. He’s very upfront about a no strings attached arrangement, and it works for your purposes too.

“You’ll find someone,” Jungkook states confidently.

“And how do you know that?”

“Why do you think I’m here?”

“To avoid your fan base...” You can’t help but snort at him.

But he only rolls his eyes. “Because I’ve enjoyed your company tonight.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Yes it is Noona! I haven’t seen you in years and yet you still feel comfortable to be around. Do you see me running away from you?”

Jungkook’s hand trails up your leg as if to make a point. “Just because it didn’t work out with Namjoon doesn’t mean you can’t find someone else. It doesn’t mean you can’t be happy.”

You’re enjoying his company far too much. The warmth of his fingers on your skin. You should never have invited him up here. He is far too tempting and dangerous of a rebound. “You should go, I’m sure there all finished by now.”

“Why? Because you’d rather wallow away in your pain alone? Stop punishing yourself, you came here to be supportive, you did nothing wrong. You’re allowed to be upset.” Hearing Jungkook speak the words that Namjoon had said before hits you hard, leaving you defenceless as he continues, “What if I want to stay? Are you going to push me away? I didn’t just come up here to hide out Noona. I wanted to make sure that you were okay, you’re awful at hiding your grief and I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to make you feel better.”

He moves in closer placing a hand on your upper chest and softly pushes you down pinning you beneath him. “Look me in the eye and tell me you want me to leave. Tell me you’d be happier if I left you alone tonight.”

How can someone who seems so innocent be so commanding. His legs are strong on either side of your thighs. One hand now holds him off the mattress while the other tilts your chin. His eyes search yours looking for the honest answer. “Tell me what you want.”

“Please stay...” You whisper, ashamed by your need.

He obliges locking your arms behind his neck and lifting you off the bed pulling the sheets back before climbing under the blankets with you. Joining him under the covers adds an unexpected level of intimacy for such a sudden affair. The warm weight of his body presses you down into the mattress as he nuzzles your neck.

“Jungkook...”

“Yes Noona?” He asks in a soft voice.

“Would you... would you kiss me?” He pulls his head up to meet your eyes again and you begin to worry about what you had just requested, “don’t feel like you-”

Before you can finish your panicked thought his lips come down onto yours. His mouth moving with yours as his had palms your cheek. The faint taste of his beer and liquor eases into your mouth along with his tongue.

Your chest pushes back against his as you attempt to draw in deep breaths.

“What else do you want?” He mutters against you.

You fiddle to undo the zipper embedded the side of your dress desperate to feel his warm skin against yours. His fingers join in the attempt to pull it down lifting himself off you so the fabric can be pushed down your frame, with his fingers making sure to trail along the exposed skin as he does so.

He holds the seam of his own shirt and looks to you as if asking if it would be okay. You promptly nod, you had felt the definition muscles as he pressed against you but seeing them is a wonderful sight to behold.

He flips you over to your stomach, your face presses into the pillow, your lipstick no doubt staining the case.

With the clink of his belt behind you find yourself squirming between his thighs, excited by the thought of one less layer between you. While he takes off his pants you reach back to unlatch your bra sliding it off and free from beneath you.

He returns to his lowered position on top of you. His chest resting against your back is so warm, the weight extremely comforting. He kisses the top of your shoulder before moving back towards your neck. You feel almost smothered beneath him with the blanket trapping in the heat.

One of his hands caresses the length of your arm while the other wedges itself between your stomach and the bed. His cock pressed against the seat of your ass ready and willing but Jungkook places his attention elsewhere. He pushes your underwear to the side finding the sensitive nub and devoting a rhythm of shallow circles to the nerves.

He whispers in your ear “Do you just want me to hold you like this, or do you want more?”

You nod for more, your hand reaching back to feel for his shaft beneath the cotton of his underwear.

He moves to pull the concealed erection from the fabric of his boxers. Giving it a quick stroke before lining himself up with your entrance, pushing between your dampened folds with the head of his cock. You return grip the pillow as he plunges inside. A swear drops from his mouth along with a groan.

Your head arches back while a hand comes to grip the apex of your neck, with a commanding grip. Though he takes you from behind you’ve never felt anything so close, so intimate. The full rhythm of his thrust has you aching for more after a few minutes, causing your hips start to buck back into his crotch. “Noona if you keep doing that I’m not going to last.”

You moan as his fingers pick up speed in retaliation. You can feel yourself tighten around him as he draws you closer. There’s a pleading whine in your ear as Jungkook begs you to come for him. His fingers grip tighter on your throat making your head swim as you reach the peak and begin to quake from the tremor that surges through you.

You’re not sure how long he laid on top afterwards, or when he moved to his back tugging you into the nook of his arm. So lost in a daze you don’t care. It just feels good for once to fall asleep in someone else's arms, and to see him still there by the time morning comes around.

...

You slowly dress yourself as he smiles up to you from the bed. “How long before you go back?”

“A few days.” You explain, “I thought I would take some extra time to visit my family.”

“Give me your phone.” He holds out his large hand waiting.

You humour him knowing that even if he puts his number in you should probably keep your distance. You don’t want to give him any mixed signals that you might be looking for more.

...

The second you step into your mother’s house there’s a barrage of questions about the wedding. Who was there? How lavish was it? Did the couple look happy?

“I give it two years tops.” Your mother adds, “He’ll be single again before you know it.”

“Mom?! I’m not having this discussion. Namjoon is happy, he’s made his choice.”

“Sweetheart I’m just thinking about you,” She softens her tone but you still find it difficult to swallow.

Giving up on any civil conversation after an hour, you exit the house to take refuge in the garden. Seeing Namjoon’s childhood house across the street, and the tree in your own yard under which you both sat, is almost as painful as the topic you mother refuses drop.

Looking for a distraction you busy yourself with the weeds that have taken hold of the flower beds. The sun beats down burning the back of your neck as you yank the dandelions from the dusty ground. Your frustration grows over the realization that the only questions she’s asked have been about your love life, with not one thought to what you are doing with your career or if you’re happy where you are. No her focus lies primarily on you obtaining the golden band that has the potential to drag you home. And now the weeds of the garden are paying for it dearly as you take your aggression on them, not giving in until the sun is significantly lower in the sky.

“Jeez what did they do to you?” The joking voice of Jungkook asks behind you will looking to the wilting pile of greenery.

“I kept picking them hoping that one of them could answer my wish, but unfortunately I’m still here.”

“But you’re missing one important step.” He picks up one of the discarded dandelion heads, closes his eyes and blows away the seeds.

The innocent sight brings a smile to your face, “Your right, how could I have forgotten?”

“That’s okay you don’t need to wish on a weed when I can easily grant that for you. Let me take you out for the night.”

“You don’t want to hang out with me right now I’m a mess.”

“Then at least let me give you a ride back to the hotel. I’m heading in that direction anyway, I just came by to see my parents but I’m heading off now.”

You consider his offer, if you left alone your mother would never let you hear the end of it. But if you left with Jungkook... you could possibly kill two birds with one stone and have some form of peace for the rest of your visit.

“Okay, but I’m going to need you to follow my lead for a minute. Don’t say anything, just smile and nod if you have to.”

You step into back into the kitchen for a moment calling out to your mother. “Mom I’m going to head out, I have a date with Jungkook.”

There’s a brief silence and then a flurried rush of steps from the other house before your mother pokes her head out with a surprised grin. “What?! Why didn’t you tell me?” With his parents still living across the street your sure she’s overjoyed by the thought.

Jungkook takes the act very well waving to your mother, “Hi Ms.-”

You push him out the door before he can finish his greeting knowing she’ll want him to stay for her game of 20 questions. “I’ll be by again tomorrow,” You call out to her, before turning back to Jungkook and mouthing a thank you.

He smiles back to you taking his role very seriously he grabs hold of your hand and leads you to his car where he opens the door. If your mom was watching out the window, you’re sure that this would convince her.

You take a deep breath as you get into the car, throwing Jungkook a smug look, “I owe you one.”

“Don’t mention it. This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to forge a relationship”

“Why would the boy with a fan club need a fake girlfriend?” You ask, your curiosity getting the better of you.

“For the same reason you would.”

“Oh, so your mom wanted you to marry Namjoon too?” You chuckle at him unable to contain yourself.

Jungkook bursts into a fit of laughter clutching the wheel. “Not exactly, just family pressures. And me finding it difficult to... commit I guess would be the best way to put it.”

“Lucky for you I won’t be here in a couple days, so that won’t be an issue.” You breathe a sigh of relief, if he has difficulty committing spending time with him shouldn’t become an issue later on.

“Yeah... lucky I guess.”

He parks the car in front of the hotel and thank him for the ride. But you look over in confusion as he gets out too.

“Why-”

“You told your mom we’re going for a date.”

“Yeah but not actually.”

“Oh...” His expression falls looking dejected.

Fuck... why does he have to look like a kicked puppy when he’s sad, it’s not fair. You give a small huff, it would be easier to maintain the lie if you stuck around with him. “Fine, I need a shower first though.”

His face lights up and he follows you back up to your room taking up residence on the bed to wait for you.

You throw your phone and purse down on the desk and before slipping into the bathroom, sliding out of your clothes and stepping into the stream of water behind the glass door.

A few minutes later, Jungkook pokes his head through the door you left cracked to help vent the steam. “Noona your phone’s ringing.” He holds it out to see if you want to take it.

“Who is it?”

“Uhh... it’s Namjoon.”

Your stomach drops, “Let it go to voicemail... I’ll call him back later.” The thought of talking to him now, the day after his wedding, is unbearably painful. You stand still in the shower watching the water flow down the drain as you contemplate why he called. Maybe he just wanted to say hi, or to thank you for coming, as you didn’t get a chance to speak to him yesterday.

Jungkook calls out to you again possibly noticing your stillness behind the fogged glass, “I have somewhere in mind to take you if you still want to go out. I just have to stop by my shop first. Taehyung, my business partner, just sent me a message, he can’t remember if he turned the alarm on when he left the shop today and asked if I was nearby.”

You force a smile back at him, “Yeah, I’ll be out in a second.”

...

Jungkook suggests to walking to his shop since the final destination of the night is a favourite bar owned by a friend of his.

“It’s just right here,” He points to a small building just across the street, taking your hand before dashing across the road.

You smile at the small sign out front, ‘Nostalgia: Restoration and Repair’. “Cute name.”

Jungkook gives an embarrassed laugh, “Taehyung came up with it. It just seemed really fitting.” He unlocks the doors with a large ring of keys, and then looks back to you “Do you want to take a peek before I set the alarm?”

You nod curious of what you might find inside. It’s not really a store but more of a work space with painting backdrops, vent hoods, and a workbench littered with wires and soldering tools. Behind the bench are several outdated electronics old gaming systems and PCs, things that people wouldn’t normally use nowadays except for... well... out of nostalgia. “When you said a repair shop this was not what I expected. ”

“Yeah it’s a little different, we deal with things that you can’t buy anymore, items that hold sentimental value. Some people want them just repaired in working condition, while others hope to get them looking like new again.”

You pick up a brick-like gameboy from one of the tables, your fingers brush over the paint worn keys. Hundreds if not thousands of hours would have gone into this device to bring it to this state, it must have been well loved in it’s day.

“It’s not much,” he states nervously looking around the space, “We specialize in mostly electronics, but I’m hoping to branch out in some other areas too, things like metalwork and woodwork. I still have a lot to learn.”

You’ve seen places like that your own city, those which refurbish antique wagons and linen chests, but this is something new and different. This catered to a whole new generation. “It’s brilliant, it really is.”

Jungkook blushes with pride as he scratches the back of his head. “Thanks Noona, I’m glad you like it.”

...

The bar is only two streets over from his shop. The owner looks relieved as he spots Jungkook come in the door. “Thank god, I was going to call you and see if you still planned on coming tonight. Some drunken idiot knocked into our jukebox and it stopped dropping records.”

“Ah Jin I told you, you shouldn’t be using it as your main system unless you go completely electric with it.” Jungkook scoffs.

“I know but do you think you could take a look at it for me.” The barman spots you behind him, “Sorry I can see you’re with someone, but drinks on the house for you and your date if you can fix it.”

“Deal! I’m going to hold you to it.” Jungkook acts like he’s won big with this agreement.

Jin’s tone verges on exasperation, “Just fix it please.”

“Yeah, yeah, do you have a tool box?”

You take a booth right beside the broken music machine, kneeling on the cushion with your chest pressed to the back of the bench so you can watch as he works. Jungkook pulls away the backing of the player to take a look inside, muttering to himself while he looks over the interior.

“Electrics look fine nothing seems to have disconnected...” He works his way up the machine leaving no spot untouched. “Ah, here it is...”

“Did you find what’s wrong?”

“Yeah,” he reaches into the mechanical portion and tugs on a lever which falls back into place once he lets go. “Looks like the spring for the release dislodged itself... it should be around here... found it...” His nimble fingers latch it back into place. “That should do it.” He reattaches the back and selects a track with success. He glances over to Jin at the bar with a wide smile, who matches it although looks slightly nervous. “Right, I need to go wash up really quick,” He looks down at his hands covered in black grease, “What do you want to drink?”

“A beer sounds good.”

“That’s it, you sure? Jin’s buying, so no need to hold back.” Jungkook gives a wicked grin.

“Yeah I’m sure.”

He returns a few minutes later with your beer while he holds a whiskey for himself. His hands are raw from scrubbing and there’s still a hint of the black grease here and there. He drinks deeply from the cup clearly not caring for the taste but continuing with it nevertheless. You take a couple long drafts of your own drink but know it’s a futile endeavour to try and keep up.

“I’m surprised you went for something so strong considering you had a hard time with the liquor last night.”

“Honestly I can’t stand the stuff,” He laughs. “but it’s the most expensive drink he has and I’m not one to waste an opportunity.” Jungkook looks back with crooked smile to Jin who is found shaking his head. “My skills don’t come cheap.”

“I can see that, I’m almost afraid to ask for your professional opinion on a personal matter, I don’t think I can afford your answer.” You peel at the label of your bottle somewhat nervous, but still hoping to discuss something that’s been bothering you for a while now.

“I have been bought with flattery on occasion... just don’t tell Jin.” Jungkook raises a finger to his lips as he lets out a small snicker.

“May I ask you a question then oh talented one?” You can’t help but laugh as you stroke his ego.

“You may,” Jungkook’s voice sounds confident but you notice a slight blush to his face as he laughs along with you.

“How would you fix nostalgia for a whole town? Say someone only gets to return during the worst periods of their life and the whole view of their former home shifts? How can you save it and bring it back to what it was before.”

Jungkook pauses, the laughter vanishes from his expression as he takes in your question. “That’s a tall order. I don't think you can for something that big. I don’t go around fixing entire blocks, I work with the smaller items. You have to find those things that you still love about this place and hold them tight, bringing them with you when you go.”

You really wish that you hadn’t asked now, for the first thing that pops into your mind is of course Namjoon. “What if you’ve already let it go...”

“Your whole past isn’t linked to just one singularity, you’ll find something else. You don’t always know what you were missing until you find it again. The items that people bring to me have often been hidden away for years in a dark closet or dusty box. All it takes is a little attention to bring them back to their former glory... sometimes they become even better than before...” He stops again looking hesitant to continue but pushes through with his final words. “Namjoon hyung isn’t your only tie Noona... there are other things you can hold on to.”

There’s silence between you as Jungkook brings up his name, you resent how easily he’s able to guess that it was Namjoon in your thoughts.

“I’ll go get another round,” He offers giving you some space.

You excuse yourself to the washroom for a moment while Jungkook fetches the drinks. Checking your eyes in the mirror for any sight of streak to your mascara before returning.

He’s still waiting at the bar when you come back, so you proceed to the empty booth. There’s a loud cat call from one of the tables you pass. You look away trying to ignore who ever thought that would catch your attention. That is until he calls you out as a, “cold bitch.”

Jungkook must have heard the insult because seconds later he’s pulling the man forcefully out from the seat.

You immediately intercede, not wanting for Jungkook to get in trouble on your behalf. “Jungkook, put him down.” He continues to hold the man, and pushes him against the wall with a look of fury.

“Apologise,” Jungkook demands of the drunkard.

“Jungkook it’s not worth it.” You try to calm him down, but to no avail. Resorting to a more forceful method you grab the arc of his ear. A yelp of pain echoes through him but he releases the man. “We’re leaving.”

“Ow Noona!”

You let go once you reach the front step of the bar grabbing his hand this time to drag him back to the hotel. His other hand reaches up to rub his ear.

“What the hell do you think you were doing?” You question him.

“He insulted you!”

“That doesn’t mean you have to throw him against the wall... fuck Jungkook. I told you it wasn’t worth it, a provoked apology means nothing. What if he retaliated and injured you? What then?”

There’s only silence as Jungkook reflects on his actions.

“Do you usually pull shit like this?”

“No...” He mutters in defeat.

“Then why would you try and start a fight?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer instead looking down at his feet as you both walk back.

You anger breaks to empathy at the sight of his sad submission, and you give him a small smile. “It was nice to see how fast he shut up though,” you glance over at Jungkook who lifts his head and grins back at you. “Usually I would just end up leaving the bar if something like that happened.”

Your half way back to your hotel when Jungkook begins to speak again, “Do you ever get scared or lonely in your city?”

“Sometimes, but that doesn’t mean that I was never scared or lonely here. It’s kinda hard to compare the two on that level thought... there just... different. Personally I prefer the city.” You look up to the night sky, “I do miss things like this though. Do you remember when Namjoon tried to teach us the constellations?”

“And you kept making up your own to impress him?” Jungkook guffaws back.

“If I recall you got jealous when he said my koala constellation was adorable.”

“Because it was, and I didn't get to tell you first...” Jungkook confesses his blush even more prominent this time. “You see, you do have something good to remember. It’s memories like that which you need to focus on.”

“I don’t think it’ll be enough though... the lights of the city often hide the stars, so I can’t hold them as close as I’d like.”

“It’s a good thing then that they aren’t the only part of that memory.” Jungkook takes your arms and wraps them around him before stealing a kiss. “You can hold me close Noona.”

You can’t help but be confused for the lack of communication between you two if he felt this strongly about your past together, “Jungkook... I wasn't the one who let go, when I moved away. I sent messages to you but you never replied.”

He looks away in disappointment, “When you left, I didn’t know what to do. Namjoon was sad and I couldn’t help but be angry. For a long time I held on to that... but when I saw you again I realized that it was really because I missed you Noona.”

“Jungkook...”

“I know, it was stupid of me. But I see that now, I shouldn't have left you in the dark. I’m sorry it took so long to find you again.”

...

Your final visit with your family starts off well, your father stops by and it’s almost like things are back to the way they were before, before the wedding, before your parents split, before your move. But then the bubble bursts. You thought your mother would behave, that maybe on your last night she wouldn’t put you through another round of guilt. Questions of when you would return begin to overwhelm you.

You return to your hotel room in tears. When checking your phone your finger hovers over two more missed calls from Namjoon. If he was so adamant to reach you it wouldn’t be wrong to talk to him despite your feelings right? You phone changes screens with an incoming call from Jungkook, you answer but there’s a slight warble in your greeting which he notices in an instant.

“Noona... are you okay, what’s wrong?”

“Just nervous about my flight tomorrow,” among other things, you think keeping them to yourself, “Was there something you needed?”

“I wanted to see you again.”

“I think I might head to bed, I have to get up early.” You voice catches even more tipping him off to a greater problem.

“What happened Noona? Why are you really upset?”

“I-I’m sorry it’s just... my mom asked about you, she said that if I couldn’t comeback for her that I should come back to see you...” You have heard it all before, but when she spoke of Jungkook that tore into you more than anything else. He’s been nothing but kind and now you’ve dragged him into you family affairs. “I’m sorry I pulled you into this, I told her we aren’t dating so she shouldn’t trouble you with anything.”

“Noona that doesn’t bother me. I can tell your upset, please, just let me come see you.”

“Jungkook I’m not going to use you as a shoulder to cry on. It’s not fair to you.”

“Maybe I want you to use me...”

“You can’t be serious. You see how much happier Namjoon is with someone who can be here with him.”

“I’m not Namjoon hyung,” Jungkook raises his voice enough to startle you, “Noona... I don’t want what he has. I want you!”

“No you don’t... Jungkook... Jungkook!” The line goes dead as you try to talk him down leaving you shouting his name to a dial tone. “Fuck.” You know it’ll be harder to convince him than Namjoon that being together would not be the best for either of you, that he needs to prioritize himself over your feelings. You try calling him back but his phone goes straight to a busy tone.

Ten minutes later there’s a pounding fist at your hotel door. “Noona open up!” You move to the door slowly, resting your hand on the knob and your head against the panel debating if you should give in. The pounding stops after a minute with one last thunk, his next plea no louder than a whisper, “Noona please...”

The waver in his voice takes hold of you and throws all forms of self-preservation out the window. You open the door to find stunned and teary eyed Jungkook. Stepping closer to him your hands reach up to his face, thumbs brushing away the dampness on his cheeks, before he crashes straight into you with a fierce need. His lips ram against yours almost to the point of pain. His hands take your shoulders and push you out of the doorway, the door slams shut as you are thrust into a wall.

His mouth continues to feast on yours in hunger, his tongue sweeping in for a deeper taste. If you weren’t wedged between Jungkook and the wall you doubt you would be standing. Your legs start to give way and you slip down a little before he places his leg between yours. A moan escaping you as you come to rest on his thigh.

He presses his leg harder against you, dragging out your reaction. “Why didn’t you answer the door sooner Noona? Why did you make me wait?” he mutters against you.

“I didn’t want to hurt you...” You whisper back.

He tugs your sundress over your hips. His hand roaming down in search of answers regarding state of your arousal. “So you were holding back? If I were to touch you would you be already wet for me?”

You nod adamantly, hating yourself for how quickly you give in to your selfish needs. He relaxes his leg for a moment allowing his fingers to push aside the damp fabric and press inside. As they start to curl inside his leg ramming the back of his hand driving the tips of his digits even further sending a shock wave through you.

You collapse forward head against his shoulder with deep quaking breaths. The palm of his hand folds up pressing firmly against your clit. You can feel the warmth begin to spread through you, his fingers no doubt soaked pressing you to your limits. As he drives more you are forced on to your toes and with nowhere left to go you give in to the wash of tingling heat. All you can do is lay limp against him as he continues to cull your moans with his hands and collect them with his lips.

You gladly accept his arms as they encircle you, supporting your body as he moves you to the bed. He takes a moment to tug off his shirt. Throwing his pants and boxers to the floor before climbing on top. He holds the swell of this cock in his hand, pumping it slightly as his hangs over you. “God I want to fuck you. Do you enjoy this power you have over me?”

He gives you a crooked smile, “Should I make you beg? Should I show you what it feels like to wait?”

“Jungkook... please...”

He buries the head of his cock to your entrance and roughly snaps his hips. “No I have a better idea, I’ll fuck you without end, continuing even when you’re raw and filled. I want you weeping my name.”

His thrusts are slow but determined and impactful, shifting you on the bed each time. His hands take your wrists and pin them beside your head.

He drives himself deeper inside as you writhe beneath him. You cry out with each surge from his cock. He looks down at the sundress and bites his lip. He stops his thrusts and removes his hand to grab the hem, dragging it up and off you. You bra is next to go, barely surviving the forceful removal. Jungkook catches the curve of your breast in his hand his mouth latching on to the stiff peak, and toying at it with his teeth. You take his other hand and bring it to your mouth, you can taste a hint of your remaining arousal but you could care less considering what the sight is doing to him.

His thrusts return and he bites down hard. A squeal of surprise exits much to his pleasure, you release his hand only for him to drag it down your stomach and grip your waist.

His fingers appear so desperate to grasp your flesh, to handle you in any way he can. Never letting go but trailing from spot to spot in a teasing line. You are at your end every nerve you your body screaming to release. “Jungkook...” You whine with desperation.

“What’s wrong Noona? If you think I’m finished with you, you clearly weren’t listening before.”

Your vision clouds as you quake from the climax that hits, but he carries on with a smirk. “I don’t want to let go just yet.”

By the end you’re nearly in tears just as he promised, barely able to move. You lost count how many times you called his name, but on each occasion he would reward you with a harder thrust leading down an endless cycle. He leaves your marked chest with a kiss before turning you over and folding in behind you. You both lay there in the dark for a time, letting the quiet settle as you listen to his breathing.

“Noona,” His mumbles with hesitation, his voice void of all the confidence that he held a few minutes ago, “If I were to come see you in your city... would you still want me? Could we ever have more than this?”

“Jungkook...” You have to cut this off now, you have to lie for his own benefit. Your selfish honesty would only cause him to follow as he admitted before. “No... I don’t think that would be a good idea.” You fill your head with assurances that he’ll find someone better for him here, just like Namjoon did.

...

You step into the airport the next morning in a haze, sleep having escaped you after rejecting Jungkook in such a manner. He surprisingly stayed with you until the early morning before heading off. You in your cowardice you pretended to remain asleep as he bid farewell with a kiss to your cheek.

Your thrown off when you hear someone calling your name from behind you. Turning around to find Namjoon running towards you. “Wait!” He urges as he takes the last few strides which separate you. His heavy breathing accompanied by a smile of relief. “I’ve been trying to reach you...”

“Namjoon, why... shouldn’t you be...” You want to question him and chide him, but all you can give is an apology. “Listen I’m sorry...”

“No, I’m the one who needs to apologize.... I got a somewhat angry and condemning call from Jungkook last night. He told me you were upset, and why you didn’t return my calls. I’m so sorry if I had known...”

“No it’s okay, I’m glad you didn’t.” You can feel the tears brimming to the surface. You plead with yourself to keep it together, just a few more minutes and then you’ll be on the plane. You make a promise to yourself that you can cry all you want then, just not now.

Namjoon pulls you into a hug and whispers. “I wanted to invite you as a thank you, to thank you for being strong, and for allowing me to find the happiness I needed... by telling me to stay.”

You have no hope in hell maintaining your expression now, the dam bursts and your tears spill out. But for the first time it’s not Namjoon that you cry over... but the loss of a future with Jungkook, and the confirmation that you’re doing the right thing by telling him that you’re relationship can’t continue.

Namjoon reacts calmly as always, rubbing your back with his hand. “I’ll be here when you need it, I’ll still give you a shoulder to cry on when you need it. Okay? We’re still friends right?”

You nod lifting yourself away from him.

“I need to ask something of you though. It’s about Jungkook... He doesn’t want me to tell you this but I think you need to know and make your own decision. Do you remember how I wanted to ask you a favour?”

You nod in confusion.

“I need you to look after Jungkook...”

Your heart breaks even further, having Namjoon plead his case. “Namjoon, please don’t say that, he belongs here, for god's sake he has a successful business! I’m not going to drag him to another city, another country with me.”

“That’s just it. He didn’t want me to tell you this but he and his partner are almost certain to by a business out your way. There’s a seller who has a restoration shop for sale and is willing to train him in the areas he wants to expand in if he buys the business. He didn’t want to tell you because he wasn’t sure if he was going to put in the offer, he was scared to make that jump and leave to somewhere new. I told him he should talk to you about it at the wedding, to hear how much you love it there.”

You chest tightness at the prospect, and the fear over the impact of your lie. “When he called you did he say that he if he had decided?”

“No I’m still not sure if even he knows. He was supposed to leave quite soon after the wedding to make an offer. If he does decide to go I wanted to make sure that someone was there for him, to check up on him. He’s probably going to have a tough time adjusting so he might need someone to lean on every now and then.”

You give Namjoon a small smile back, Jungkook clearly hadn’t gone into details about what had happened in the past few days between you two. “If he goes, I’ll gladly be there for him.”

Once you leave to go through security you’re stuck with a dilemma. How much did you affect his choice? You don’t want him to make the decision based on you but at the same time you don’t want to leave him with a bad taste in his mouth regarding the possibility of a move. You would be there for him if he moved, you want to be close to him. But if his dreams fail, if he makes the wrong choice because of you, you could never live with yourself.

You take your seat by the window fastening your belt as tight as it will, before resting your hand in it’s usual in flight position, clutching the arm rest. In your other palm lies your phone, you have only a few short moments before you have to turn it off, and you are still hoping that it’ll make the choice for you. When he calls...

You answer it quickly, and Jungkook leads with a stern question “I need to know, did you lie to Namjoon or did you lie to me?”

You begin to stutter unprepared for his question, “I-I...”

“Do you want to cut all relationship ties even if I come to the city or do you want to see me? Did you just say yes because Namjoon asked it of you? I need to know Noona. You need to tell me what you want.”

All his cards are on the table all of his choices are there, you only need to lay out yours to make this right. “I’m sorry Jungkook, I’m so sorry I lied to you last night. I was just worried that you would follow without-”

“So you want to see me again?”

“Yes.”

“You’re okay if I go the the city alongside you?”

“Yes, I just wanted to make sure if it’s something that you want for yourself.”

“It is... I’ll see you soon Noona.”

“Wait no... don’t hang up on me again...” You plead but the line still goes dead.

You’re about to call him back when you spot Jungkook boarding the plane. His fluffy black hair and masked face peak over the line of people boarding. The phone drops from your hand as you look to him. You may not be able to see his mouth but you can tell from his eyes he’s smiling widely. He sees the empty seat next to you and double checks his ticket, before a man in a suit comes to claim the spot. Jungkook looks across the aisle to what must be his seat and instead taps the man on the shoulder.

“Would you mind switching seats with me,” He points to his own two feet away. “It’s just that’s my girlfriend and she’s terrified of flying.”

The man grumbles but makes the switch. Jungkook plops down in the seat next to you but before he can get a word out you smack his arm. “Ooow what was that for?”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Do you know how painful it was to let you go?”

“I was still deciding, besides I wasn’t sure what you wanted out of our relationship. If you only wanted to have a fling and to cut ties again after this weekend I wanted you to be free to do that. I didn’t want you to have to look after me, I told Namjoon not to ask you but he came here to see you off anyway, and I guess I’m glad he did. I overheard the two of you talking...”

“And what were you going to do if I said I didn’t want to see you just now.”

“I would have taken the next flight,” He smiles sheepishly. “I remembered how much you hated flying, I wanted to be there for you if you needed it.”

He lays his open hand in front of you, his eyes wide and expectant. A hint of a smile graces his lips as you release your grip from the rest. Your fingers graze across his palm before interlocking with his. “Hold on to me Noona,” He comforts you with a whisper before resting his head on your shoulder as the plane takes off.

...

-Three Months Later-

You wait at the airport checking the flight arrival information for the hundredth time. Making sure that his flight did in fact land when you finally see him amongst the crowd. There’s a heavy bag on Jungkook shoulders but even that can’t weight down the massive grin on his face. You run to greet him colliding with his chest and forcing him to take a step back with the impact. He coughs slightly from the hit to his lungs, but then hugs you back just as tight. “I definitely prefer the welcome here, Namjoon only shook my hand when I saw him.”

“So that’s everything, your visa cleared and your belongings shipped? No more loose ends to tie up?” After Jungkook’s offer was accepted it’s been months with him going back and forth for the transition. Helping Taehyung find an additional worker and supply training, plus the time spent packing up most of his life to move it out here. You’ve grown so accustomed to having him here that sending him off each time leaves a deep ache inside you.

“Yep, that’s everything.” He takes your hand and kisses your fingers with a smile, “No more letting go.”

#bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #namjoon x reader #bts fluff #bts angst #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts reader insert #rm x reader #bts x reader #bts the shoulder on which you cry

1K notes · View notes

sarah-bae-maas · 5 years ago

Text

Rowaelin AU! chapter three

AU! where the valg wars never happened, but Rowan and Aelin still stumble upon each other anyway

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Ao3 Masterlist

***

“I’m going to murder him.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I’ll wait until training is over; he’ll be at his most exhausted and he’ll never see it coming.”

“He will see it coming. Not that it matters, we don’t murder our friends.”

“Elide! He is not my friend!”

“He’s mine, I actually quite like him.”

“That’s because he hasn’t been kicking your ass every day for the last week.”

“Well get good enough that you can kick his ass back, problem solved.”

____

Lorcan hadn’t explored much of the castle. He mostly kept to himself, a habit long engrained in him since childhood. Besides, he didn’t really feel like interacting with pointy nosed courtesans and their offspring. He walked around at night, but mostly to wayward taverns with wayward women, Rowan sulking at his side. The male was as annoying as ever, if not more so. Aelin always left him in a grump, and it was near insufferable. Oh no! How hard it must be on the poor baby to want one of the most powerful women to ever have lived! And for her to lust after him so badly any fae with have a brain cell could smell it! They were lucky Gavriel wasn’t here, or he’d have Rowan removed from court.

And where Rowan went, unfortunately Lorcan followed.

Lorcan took a rare moment to himself in the library. It was late at night, the clicking of cicadas a lullaby as he listened to them from the window. He had been eavesdropping on the princess and Gavriel’s son, but they were woefully boring. He had decided to stay once they left, kicking off his shoes and settling in next to a window so high and grand that all of Orynth was on display – much like the palaces you’d find in Doranelle. He didn’t want to read, he just wanted a break.

He was tired. So, so tired.

The sound of light footsteps interrupted him, and he stood up, readying himself to dodge them if need be. His ears pricked, and he walked until he could follow the sound, and the person, as they walked between aisles. He was as quiet as a shadow and peeked in the gap in the shelves to spy on his intruder.

It was a fair woman, probably in her mid-twenties, dark hair tied up messily on her head. She was wearing a red silk robe, half undone as she flurried through the shelves, a navy nightgown peeking through. He had on fur slippers, and she was scanning the shelves and picking up indiscernible titles. Lorcan had never seen her before, but she matched the description Rowan gave for the princess’s closet friend – Elide. This mightn’t be her, but it sure seemed like it.

Lorcan did know one thing as he watched her.

His heart, the moment he set eyes on her, started to beat erratically, and his soul begged to be near her. It was if a God had picked the string of his essence, and wrapped it around this woman, tying him to her. It was a feeling he’d never had before, and wouldn’t ever have again.

Lorcan knew that this woman, whoever she was, was his mate.

___

Elide balked at the man in front of her, stunned by his proposition. There she had been, minding her own damn business, when out of nowhere some sentry had begged her to take him to bed with her. She was sure he meant to be seductive, but she was a bloody lady and would be treated as such.

She shooed him and his hair that was way too blonde away, watching him flee into the morning sun as she continued her walk to the market. Usually she did this every morning with Aelin, but her friend had been too preoccupied lately to come. Elide wasn’t mad, she understood that Aelin’s training was the priority, she was just lonely. She had Ren and Aedion, but both were so busy that she barely saw them either. She just had be content on her lonesome.

She wove through the streets until she made it to the market, where she started moseying along. Baffled by the interaction with the sentry, she let herself be distracted by things she wouldn’t normally be. The flowers particularly caught her eye, but she had to regrettably leave them where they were. She had little personal funds, using most of her money to travel the continent, and she had to live frugally if she were to see as much of this world as she wanted to. All she bought were the small list of items given to her by various palace stuff – herbs, fresh bread, candles, and so on. Nothing for herself, not even the lovely orchids she wanted.

The market smelt like sugar and fresh bread, loose stones jutting into her feet even with her shoes on. She felt odd the more she walked; the back of her neck tingled, and she found herself reaching for it to see if a bug was trying to make a home there. There was nothing, and when she turned all she saw were people milling around as she was. Maybe she was getting sick, she did have a restless night’s sleep – not even her walk to the library and enthusiastic browsing was enough to wear her out. There was something in her blood though that sang, a message saying no physical ailment was what was making her feel this way.

She quickened her pace, but the feeling didn’t subside. Deciding she could forego the rest of her items until she had company, she decided to walk in the direction of the castle. She went a round-about way, suddenly paranoid that she was being followed. But that was ludicrous, surely.

She was in such a rush, that she slammed her basket into a building as she rounded its corner. Saying a word that would make her mother balk, she leant down to pick everything up when a hand joined hers. Her body jolted and she flinched back, looking into dark eyes that were level with her own.

It was a man; his hair, brown and shoulder length, was tucked behind gently curved ears. His face showed the hint of scars, but all were faded with time. His hand, which has just grazed her own, was somehow both rough and incredibly soft. He was dressed in rich silks, and if Elide was to guess, she’d say he wasn’t from Terrasen.

“You dropped this,” he said, gently placing her items into her basket.

“Um, yes, I did.” She noted his beauty, thinking that he couldn’t possibly be real. Maybe she’d also bumped her head and was hallucinating.

“Are you alright? You look dazed, my lady.”

My lady. Be still her beating heart.

“I’m fine, just-” she looked around her, there were a few vendors that had seen her tumble and were snickering, but otherwise no sign of anything nefarious. “Just frazzled.”

“Ah, well we can’t have a frazzled woman exerting herself.” He picked up the basket for her and offered his arm to help her stand. She squeaked as realised his height. He towered over her, his figure not looming but instead like a sea wall – sturdy in an age of constant thrashing.

She gladly took his arm, thrilled by the new turn of events.

“May I escort you somewhere?”

She swallowed, trying not to seem to eager or to burst out you may escort me to your bedroom please and thank you. “The castle, if you’d like. And my name is Elide. Elide Lochan. Elide Lochan of Perranth.”

He tilted his head, his lips hinting at a smile. “I’m actually staying there myself, Elide Lochan of Perranth, what are the chances that we’ve never met?”

She clicked her tongue. “You are? Why?”

“Yes, I’m the, uh, advisor to Prince Rowan Whitethorn.”

“Oh, you must be Lorcan! I’m Aelin’s handmaiden, I can’t believe we’ve never ran into each other.” Elide tightened her hands around his forearm as he guided them to the castle, her heavy basket being effortlessly held in his other. When Aelin had described Lorcan, she had envisioned a brute of man. Rather, she had never seen one so courteous in her life. “Advising Rowan, what does that entail?” she asked, curious as to how she hadn’t seen him at dinner or with Rowan when she’d accompanied Aelin to her training.

“Rowan’s life can be fraught in his profession; my job is to help wade him through any rough waters he might encounter. I’ve been doing it for decades.”

“Did you meet as children?”

“No,” he said, his voice making her spine shiver. “I’m a couple hundred years older than Rowan. We met when he was about forty.”

If Rowan was around the three hundred Aelin claimed him to be, that would make Lorcan, what? Five hundred?

A fae of that age…

Would have lots of experience, know exactly where everything with the female body was.

“Are you also royal?”

Lorcan looked down at her, his head casting a shadow over her face. “I – Yes, I am.”

“Is that how you met Rowan, you ran in the same circles?”

Lorcan paused, looking tentative. “Yes, of course I did. My mother was… my mother was Rowan’s tutor. She was a prestigious scholar.”

Elide noticed his change in tense. “Was?”

“She faded with my father. She was nearly a thousand years old and had me towards the end of her life.”

Elide tilted her head. “But if Rowan is two hundred years younger than you, and she had you at the end of her life, how could she have been his tutor?”

Lorcan coughed. “Well… when you’re fae with such a long life, the last two hundred really is the end. Like a human in their eighties.”

Elide conceded, that made sense.

They chatted idly as they walked, Elide hanging onto his every word as he escorted her back to her chambers. They drew eyes as they walked through the halls of the castle, but Elide barely spared them a thought as she engaged with Lorcan. His well-spoken-ness impressed her as much as his biceps, and she found herself doing what she did whenever a nice, attractive male made eye contact with her.

She made very inappropriate and convoluted fantasies up about them in her mind.

He walked with her throughout the castle, the pricky feeling from the market fully disappeared. She dropped off all the items she had bought, and somehow managed to not jump Lorcan’s bones. They only stopped as the bells rang noon, and Lorcan regretfully had to excuse himself to join Rowan.

“I wish I could stay longer, but Rowan is testy at the best of times.” He glanced away anxiously, biting his lip.

Oh Gods, she also wanted to bite his lip.

“That’s fine, I’m sure I can manage the rest of the day without you.” Her faux confidence was spurred by trying to give him the impression that she was a strong, independent woman. Which she was, she just needed him to definitely know that.

He bowed to her slightly, his smile returning. “Until I see you again, Lady Elide.”

He turned and walked away. He was nearly out of hearing distance when Elide yelled, “I leave for the market at eight!” She had no idea if he’d even garner that she was inviting him to join her, but either way, she knew she’d see him again.

#rowaelin #elorcan #throne of glass #tog #koa #kingdom of ash #fanfic #sjm

124 notes · View notes

athingthatwantsvirginia · 5 years ago

Text

Catherine, Heathcliff, and Shangri-la

PART TEN OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: mentions of death, smoking, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 4.9K

Summary: Though she plans to spend her birthday alone, Ella ends up passing time on the late August evening with Jess, eating old pie and playing cards.

She looked like a dream in her sundress. Late August light bathed the crowds at the summer festival, and Ella practically glimmered when Jess spotted her from across the square. It made him feel like an idiot thinking the way he was, but she had an effect on him which he’d previously only read about in books. He wasn’t sure exactly when the tipping point had been, when he’d truly fallen in love with her, passed the point of no return. But he had. And he was. He loved a girl who didn’t believe in love, who wasn’t into dating, who didn’t feel the same. It had never been so complicated before, and he’d never been so completely screwed. There were moments, times when his heart nearly burst from the hope. When she laughed at one of his wiseass remarks, or ran her fingertips over the notes he’d left in the margins of her poetry books, or let her eyes linger on him for just a second too long. But each time, she would brush it off, act like nothing had happened. And he’d be forced to wonder if he’d imagined the electricity passing between them.

Slowly, over the course of the summer, he was beginning to come to terms with it. Maybe they could just be friends, coworkers. Maybe all he needed was to make out with Shane until his lips were swollen and his mind was blank and his memory would be wiped clean of all the times Ella had made him feel deeper than he ever had before. Besides, he had never fallen in love before, had never uttered the three fateful words in all his seventeen years. A small part of him believed he could snap out of it easily.

He took his eyes back from her form, concentrating on the girl in front of him. The girl who wanted him and nothing more. Who meant nothing but ease and pleasure. Sliding his hands down in her back pockets, Jess closed his eyes and placed kisses down Shane’s neck, the bark of the tree they leaned on rough against his back.

. . .

“She’s back with a vengeance!” Ella exclaimed, wrapping her arms around Rory in a gleeful embrace.

They stood together near a flower stand, the fragrant display adding sweetness to the air. Despite the barber shop quartet droning on in the background, Ella felt her spirits lift at the sight of Rory Gilmore, her confidant missing in action over the summer at an internship in Washington. In the back of her mind, Ella couldn’t help reminding herself that soon, she would have to deal with the constant separation. Rory would be off at Harvard, Lane would be touring with her band (hopefully), and Ella would be stuck. As she always had been. She’d have to fill Rory in on how the college applications were going later.

Rory laughed happily, pulling away from Ella and holding her at an arm’s length. “Yes, and with all the hot DC gossip.”

“I’m intrigued,” Ella said, raising an eyebrow.

From behind them, Lorelai beamed, her own face painted with joy, her daughter back in town. Ella loved that about summer. It had a special kind of magic no other season could manage, positivity radiating from everyone, dampened only by the occasional rainy day.

“Alright, let’s go find Lane, and we are in for a movie night of epic proportions!” Lorelai announced, strolling around the square with the two teens in tow.

Before they departed completely, however, Rory followed Ella’s distracted gaze to the old oak where Jess stood, eating his girlfriend’s face.

“Oh, God!” Rory exclaimed, scrunching up her face in disgust.

Ella blushed, Rory having noticed her staring. She hadn’t meant to. But seeing the two of them together, considering the many fights with Shane the summer had brought, gave her a feeling of irritated uneasiness. Like a car crash she couldn’t look away from. Morbid interest feeding morbid interest in a vicious, voyeuristic cycle.

Tilting her head to the scene in question, Lorelai scoffed. “Guess he’s got his ‘What I Did This Summer’ essay all planned out.”

“I know,” Ella groaned. “America’s youth really does have such admirable modesty.”

Snorting a laugh, Rory shot a knowing look at her mother. “Have they been at that a lot?”

Ella nodded, speeding up in her stride a little to get out of view of the display. “Yep. It’s now part of the Early Bird Special at the diner. Dinner and a show.”

Lorelai faked a gag. “I told you. The kid gives off major Sid Vicious vibes.”

“Looks like he’s found his Nancy,” Rory added.

“And he’s been so weird at work lately. He barely talks to me, just sits on his little stool. Reading, brooding, scaring off small children. Maybe I pissed him off. I don’t know,” Ella said. She fiddled with the chain of her necklace.

“Um….Ella?” Rory began, bringing a hand to the blonde girl’s shoulder. “Do you not realize you’re the Catherine to his Heathcliff?”

Ella scoffed, laughing breathily. “What?”

“He’s totally into you!” Lorelai exclaimed.

Raising a brow, Ella rolled her eyes and kept walking. She crossed her arms over her chest defiantly. “Very funny.”

“Every time he looks at you…” Lorelai said, feigning a swoony look. “It’s sickening.”

“Yeah, right. I bet it’s Rory he’s into,” Ella argued, shrugging them off once more.

“Oh really?” Rory asked skeptically. “Then why does he make those notes in your margins? In the poetry books he said he hated when he first got here?”

“It’s mutually assured destruction,” Ella explained. “If he stops taking a chance on poetry, I’ll stop taking a chance on the beats. The arguments would ensue, the diner would descend into chaos. In an effort to avoid certain death during our shifts together, we compromise.”

“Ah, the key to a strong relationship’s foundation,” Lorelai retorted.

Snorting a laugh, Ella shook her head. Without the flowers and the serenity of solitude, the less desirable aspects of the festival began to wear on Ella’s psyche. The barber shop quartet spun around and around in her head, making her dizzy, and the sun beat down on them. Stray strands of hair, fallen from her bun, began to stick to her damp forehead.

Suddenly, an idea occurred to Ella. “Rory, my dear?”

“Yes?” Rory answered with suspicion.

“You know how you always give me presents on my birthday even though I tell you not to?” Ella asked.

“I’m aware of the annual birthday commiseration,” Rory said, nodding.

“Well, I’d like to request, as a birthday present for your favorite waitress, a moratorium on the Jess talk until I am seventeen years and one day old,” Ella suggested, fluttering her eyelashes jokingly.

Sighing, Rory linked her arm with Ella’s. “Alright, but only because you asked so very nicely.”

“Good to have you back, Thelma,” Ella smiled fondly, pulling her friend a little closer.

“Same to you, Louise.”

Lorelai chuckled and shook her head, watching as the girls ascended the steps to Lane’s door.

. . .

Mercifully, Ella had made it through the day with minimal birthday wishes and no attempts at gift-giving. Lorelai and Rory had teased her about a surprise party, but she knew they wouldn’t truly dare. Instead of going home, where she knew she’d have to brave Fiona’s pathetic attempts at celebration, she wandered around town aimlessly. It made her feel guilty to snap at the woman so much, but she just couldn’t help herself. Watching Fiona, only twelve years her senior, traipsing around in her house, humming the Dixie Chicks songs she knew her mother would’ve hated. Before she could apply any rational thought to the decision, she found her way to the bridge. The greenish-black water sparkled in glowing moonlight. Crickets sung and cicadas buzzed, a low summer tune. She hung her booted feet over the edge, the black cotton of her dress pooling around her knees. Rifling through her shoulder bag to the side, she found a copy of The Grapes of Wrath. A perfect book to sustain her gloomy mood. She laid back against the wooden planks of the pier, holding the novel above her face, blocking out the view of the clear night. The humidity had dissipated, and a cool breeze blew past her.

A few peaceful moments had passed before she heard footfalls thumping heavily, vibrating beneath her back. She sighed as the noise got closer, letting the book fall to her chest and rolling her eyes.

“Stealing my spot, huh?” Jess spoke up as he approached, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“Sorry, didn’t realize you’d bought the property.”

“Touché.”

Though Ella still hadn’t looked over at him, she heard him sit down next to her. She could smell the subtle mixture of hair gel and pine.

“By all means, sit down,” she snapped, sitting up again, placing her scrap of construction paper back in the book to save her place. She stuffed it back in her bag to the left. Fiddling with the end of the loose braid which hung over her shoulder, she sighed again.

Jess scoffed. “Jeez, Daria. Don’t pull your punches.”

“Bite me, Jess,” she replied flatly, staring out across the water. In the light, she knew she would’ve been able to watch schools of tiny grey fish whizzing by. As a child, she’d imagined small mermaids living in a crystalline village beneath the surface of the dull silt and sand.

“Feelin’ pithy tonight?” he drawled, an eyebrow raised.

“You could say that.”

He only nodded, leaning back on his palms. Silence stood between the two of them, heavy in the nighttime air. Ella almost put her nails to her mouth, then thought better of it. When Jess still didn’t speak, she huffed out a big breath and finally tossed him a glance.

“Don’t you have someone to verbally abuse at the diner or a girlfriend’s face to suck or something?” she asked.

Jess shot her a look. Before he could even respond, Ella spoke again.

“As long as you’re here, could you loan me a cigarette?” she asked, a shameful blush coloring her cheeks. As much as the request embarrassed her, she couldn’t stand the way her skin was crawling.

“What?” Jess blurted out, eyes wide. “What happened to the periodic surgeon general’s warnings?”

She sighed, dropping her gaze to her lap and clearing her throat. “I’ve gotta keep you on your toes, don’t I?”

Though slightly flabbergasted, Jess’s eyes shone fondly, remembering the carriage ride they’d taken at the Bracebridge dinner so many months ago. After a moment, he produced a crumpled packet and a lighter from his pocket and handed them to her.

“Thank you,” she muttered, placing a cigarette between her lips. It surprised her that he actually obliged, considering how stand-offish he’d been at work lately. The lighter struck on the first try, the small orange flame flickering warmly in the darkness. And Jess could tell immediately it was far from the first time she’d smoked. She handed the supplies back to him.

He took a cigarette of his own and lit it up.

“Don’t tell Luke,” she said, voice slightly husky as she exhaled the first puff of smoke. Her words came out in dim blue clouds.

“I wouldn’t dare,” he replied, tapping ash into the lake and watching it burn out. “Your secret is safe, Stevens.”

“Thanks. I’ll consider it a birthday present,” she grumbled, feeling the familiar burn of smoke in her chest. She knew she would regret the decision in the morning.

“It’s your birthday?”

“Yep.”

“Happy birthday,” he said reflexively, eyebrows raised.

Scoffing bitterly, Ella flicked ash off her cigarette with her thumb. “Thanks, Mariano.”

“Is that why you’re gonna bite my head off at the next wrong move?”

She laughed humorlessly. “Yeah, birthdays aren’t my thing.”

“Huh. And I guess that’s why no one said anything at work?”

Ella nodded. “Yeah, after a few crying customers last year, Luke ordered the diner a birthday-free zone.”

“Wise of him.”

“It was.”

Regarding her in the moonlight, Jess sighed. “Any particular reason for the birthday allergy?”

Swallowing harshly, Ella brought her free hand to her necklace and a smirk formed on her face. “It’s just...my mom was a big birthday person. Without her here, it just all feels a little artificial. It’s weird. The anniversary of the day she died never hits me as hard as Mother’s Day, or today.”

He nodded, solemn as she continued.

“I try to spend as little time at home as I can. And Rory and Lorelai always try to get me to do something,” she said, pausing to inhale deeply and blow out a stream of smoke. “But I am nothing if not pertinacious.”

“Nice. Ten-cent word.”

“Thanks. Used it in the crossword this morning. I’d say it’s at least twenty cents,” she said, scoffing in mock offense.

Jess chuckled. “Alright, I’ll cave for the birthday girl.”

“How kind of you.”

Crushing the smoldering butt of her cigarette on the weathered bridge wood, Ella exhaled out her nose and crossed one leg over the other. She smoothed her hands over her dress. Somewhere, a loon cried. Jess sat quietly beside her, the last of his cigarette glowing as he inhaled. When he put it out, he stood up and made to leave. Ella didn’t say a word, didn’t even look at him. After a second of thought, he held a hesitant hand out to her.

“Let’s go back to the diner,” he proposed with finality. “We can eat the leftover pie. There will be no birthday talk whatsoever. I promise.”

Looking at his hand, Ella thought of the book in her bag. The hours she could spend alone with nothing but Steinbeck to entertain her. But then, she felt a sudden rush of courage at the thought of Luke’s. Free of people, with pastries under the glass domes on the counters and stale pies in the back fridge. And Jess. She heaved a sigh, then slung her bag over her shoulder and grabbed his hand.

. . .

“No way,” Jess said, shaking his head doubtfully as he took another bite of the pie.

Ella smiled, nodding. “I swear. I was named the worst dancer out of all the little girls ever taught at Miss Patty’s by the Gazette. I was responsible for the domino incident of 1992 which caused two sprained ankles and one broken arm. Suffice it to say, the arm was mine.”

“Jesus,” Jess laughed, his eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, I’m Patrick Swayze’s worst nightmare.”

Jess rolled his eyes and threw his head back with a dramatic groan. “I’ll never understand your fixation with those cheesy eighties movies.”

“You bite your tongue, heathen,” she said lightly, digging another bite from the cold apple pie in the tin between them.

“Well, at least we can agree on Steinbeck,” he shrugged through a laugh.

She nodded and sighed tiredly, brought a hand to her necklace.

The diner shone brightly against the otherwise dark landscape of Main Street. Ella could hear Luke snoring from all the way upstairs, but it was almost comforting if not amusing. With the leftover pie between them, she and Jess sat alone amongst chairs stacked on tables and cutlery put away. It smelled vaguely of disinfectant, but the pine was still there, making her heart feel just a touch less broken. Maybe being alone wasn’t the best way to pass one of the hardest days of her year.

“I’m surprised she still even lets you step foot in the studio, leaving that much carnage in your wake,” Jess said, smirking at the way the tension slowly released from her shoulders.

Snorting a laugh, Ella took another bite of the pie. She could tell it was made from her recipe, heavy on the cinnamon. “Well, the years have improved my coordination a little bit.”

“But have they?” he teased.

“Shut up,” she retorted, good nature in her voice.

A comfortable pause filled the air. Jess’s eyes caught her thin fingers still rolling the silver chain of her necklace. She blew up a long breath and straightened up, putting her fork back down in the tin, the half-pie almost all the way gone.

Nodding, Jess swallowed dryly and bit at his lip. “Why do you wear that necklace every day?”

Eyes widening, Ella couldn’t help but feel taken aback by the question. She let out a self-conscious scoff and her hand immediately dropped away from her collar. The small silver charm, a key, glinted in the yellow diner light.

“My grandmother gave it to me,” she explained, her tone even though she avoided his eyes. “It’s the key to the jewelry box she had when she was little. The box got lost, but the key stayed. She was a singer. Friends with Miss Patty. Pretty fucking cool.”

Jess smiled a tiny smile. “Sounds like it.”

“Yeah,” she replied, the word a sigh. Then, after a beat, she regained her direct nature and looked him in the eye. “Okay, since we’re asking questions tonight: why the hell are there bongos on the shelf above your desk?”

Jess laughed, but his cheeks reddened a touch. “Those were there when I moved in. Scout’s Honor.”

She rolled her eyes. “You are the last person in the world they would ever let into the Scouts.”

“Wow, that one hurt.”

Ella smiled. “Then what’s Luke doing with those bongos?”

“Preparing for a Matthew McConaughey,” Jess shot back knowingly.

“Ugh, that image is gonna be burned in my mind forever,” she groaned, nose scrunching up in disgust.

“You’re welcome.”

“Fuck you,” she said, grinning.

“Right back at ya.”

Suddenly, a loud snore came from the floor above them.

“Speaking of,” Ella grumbled, only in mock irritation.

“Like you don’t snore.”

“Only when I’m drunk,” she said, then looked up at him, accusatory. “But you. Oh my god, it was all night long. Really, the two of you put together could probably break some sonic records.”

Instead of retorting, Jess retrieved his weathered deck of cards from one of his jean pockets. He raised his eyebrows as a challenge and began shuffling. “Just for that last comment, you’re about to be massacred at Rummy.”

. . .

A knot of anxiety sat in her stomach, but work was helping her keep it at bay. It was the last Saturday of summer, Monday the start of senior year. But the waves of butterflies fluttering around in her chest weren’t ones of nervousness, more only of dread. The constant drudgery of school work, the monotony of the day. She liked summer for more reasons than the mood and the weather. Free time to read, to draw, to paint. And she much preferred painting the full greenery over the desolate landscapes of a Connecticut winter. The fact she hadn’t seen Jess since the night before, when she left the diner satisfied with herself for winning three hands in a row, was doing nothing to calm her either. After cleaning up from the breakfast rush, Ella was mindlessly reorganizing the mugs on the cubby shelf to the left of the counter by color and size.

“Alright, this is ridiculous,” Luke admonished, walking up behind her.

She scoffed. “It’s not my fault these mugs haven’t been reorganized since Reagan was president.”

“Because they were the last ones you hadn’t got your hands on. You’re starting to sound like Taylor.”

Instantly, she turned and narrowed her eyes at him. “The next time you say that to me I’m turning in my apron and never looking back!”

Luke scoffed in disbelief at her dramatics. “Just take your break, Ella.”

“You think I’m bluffing,” she warned, untying her apron and leaving it on the hook near the kitchen window, “but I’m dead serious.”

“I’m quaking in my boots,” Luke replied flatly, gathering some receipts from the side of the cash register.

“I bet,” she shot back, rounding the corner and going to dig through her bag, hanging by the front door. “Is Jess here? I’ve got a book for him.”

“Upstairs,” Luke said shortly.

Retracting her hand from the shoulder bag, with a worn collection of Dorothy Parker, she rolled her eyes. She tucked her hair behind her ears and prepared to disappear behind the checkered curtain on the way to the stairs.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a master conversationalist?” she asked.

“Shaddup,” he groaned, waving an annoyed hand at her in the direction of the apartment.

Ella snickered, then bounded up the stairs, the soles of her old converse a little slippery on the creaking wood. She heard the TV droning on from inside, daytime Saturday shows. Only a couple short knocks sounded on the door before she let herself in, as she had so many times before when fetching random items during her shifts.

“Hey, Jess-” she began, turning to the left, Jess’s room.

Cut off by a sudden flash of noise, she watched Jess stuff a blue mesh vest quickly into the top drawer of his dresser. Eyes wide with surprise, he faced her with a scowl, brows scrunched up.

“Ever hear of knocking, Daria?” he snapped.

Processing the scene before her, Ella blinked a couple times and bit the inside of her cheek. “Sorry. Guess I was too quiet.”

“Apparently.” He crossed his arms over his Punk Planet t-shirt and looked at her expectantly. “You need something?”

Ella cleared her throat, looking down at the book in her hands. “Yeah, I had that Dorothy Parker I was telling you about last night and…” she paused, glancing at his dresser. “I’m sorry, Jess, but I simply can’t ignore this. Was that a Walmart vest?”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

He straightened up, defensively. “No.”

“Really?”

“You heard me,” he shot back.

Pursing her lips, she nodded, unconvinced. She stepped a little closer to him, one hand on the hip of her skirt. “So, what was it?”

“A shirt.”

“A shirt with a Walmart logo on it?” she asked, her voice gaining a teasing lilt.

Jess scoffed. “I think you need glasses.”

A momentary staring contest ensued, and she watched him squirm under her hazel gaze. “Do you work at Walmart, Jess?”

Sighing through his nose, Jess glared at her. Then, he ran a hand through his hair and side-stepped Ella, making his way to the kitchen. “Fine. Yes. You happy?”

Instantly, a smile spread wide on her face. “Oh, so very happy.”

“Glad to hear it,” he growled, avoiding eye contact as he popped open a can of soda. He sat down at the kitchen table, facing the I Dream of Jeannie rerun.

Biting back her giggles, Ella came over to take the rickety kitchen chair next to him. Clearing her throat, she put the book in her hand on the table between then. She smoothed her slightly wrinkled Patti Smith t-shirt and tried to appear nonchalant, a smirk ever-present on her lips. Jess sipped his soda, eyes dark and moody, embarrassment underneath a thin layer of irritation. Nearly five minutes passed on the oven clock in the small kitchen, both of them watching Barbara Eden’s foibles in silence. Ella bit a little at her nails, but only to mask her amused expression.

“So...all this time...Shangri-la was Walmart?” she asked.

Jess sighed, rolling his eyes. “Eleanor-”

“You work at Walmart,” she repeated, chuckling a little.

“Whatever. You smoke,” he countered.

“Like, twice a year,” she said defensively. “When did you even start that job?”

Bowing his head slightly, Jess finally dropped the act a bit. “June. When you were in New Britain.”

She sighed, nodding, then brought a hand to his arm. “I’m really proud of you. I mean, you can’t waste all your people skills at the diner.”

Jess shook her off and rolled his eyes again. “Shut up. I move stock around on a fork-lift in the back.”

“Okay, tough guy.”

“And don’t tell Luke,” he said, finally looking her in the eye.

She shrugged. “Fine, I won’t. Cross my heart.”

“Thank you,” he snapped.

“You’re very welcome,” she replied, still grinning. “Seriously, though, it’s not that lame. Trust me. I think it’s cool. You have your own thing going, y’know?”

Jess scoffed in doubt but said nothing more.

Clearing her throat, Ella shifted her eyes down to her lap for a second, the tone of her voice changing. “But enough about your double-life, Mr. Bond. I just wanted to bring you that book. And also thank you for last night.”

Jess raised a brow, eyes on the TV screen. “For what?”

“I don’t know. If you hadn’t come along, my plan was to read Steinbeck at the lake, then sneak home and listen to Nirvana through my headphones,” she explained. “But instead I got to eat old pie and kick your ass at cards.”

“Such a sore winner,” he muttered, cracking a little smirk.

She laughed quietly, her fingers finding their way to her necklace. “And sorry if I was...I don’t usually talk about my mom. Not exactly a crowd-pleasing topic. Just on Mother’s Day and my birthday, I...You didn’t have to listen.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t do things I don’t wanna do,” he said, casting her a momentary glance, a small, lopsided smile on his face. It was more genuine than she was prepared for, and she had to look away as her cheeks heated up.

Rising from the table, she made to leave, hoping not to overstay her welcome. “Anyway, thanks. It was the best birthday I’ve had in awhile.”

Running a hand over his mouth, Jess blew out a breath and faced her fully again. “Anytime, Stevens.”

He looked as though he were about to say something more, but she could practically see him swallow it down. Instead, he got up from his seat and switched off the TV. Going over to his side of the apartment, she watched him grab a CD from the top of a small stack on his dresser. She couldn’t quite read the cover, but could see it was filled with shades of black and red.

“How long do you have left on your break?”

Ella looked down at her watch then back up at him. “Still have about twenty minutes.”

He nodded, gesturing to the CD. “I get fifteen percent off at the store, so I picked this up the other day. Just came out. It made me think of you. I thought you might wanna listen?”

“Oh,” she said dumbly, surprised. She nodded. “Yeah, yeah, sure. As long as it’s not jazz.”

“It’s not,” Jess assured her, chuckling.

As he opened his closet and brought out the small stereo, she took a few steps closer, arms crossed. She couldn’t help the fluttering in her chest or the way her cheeks flushed with heat. In all the time she’d known Jess, she couldn’t remember ever feeling quite so anxious around him. Quite so antsy. She almost couldn’t explain the feeling, but it wasn’t one she minded.

“I would’ve shown you last night if I knew it was your birthday,” he mentioned as he pressed play.

As the music started, he suddenly didn’t know what to do with himself. Sit on the bed? On his desk chair? Instead, he leaned on the desktop itself, hands stuffed in his pockets. He regretted the decision already, showing her the music. He’d meant to do it at some point, during one of their friendly book exchanges. But then the air between them had become charged again, and she was about to walk away from the moment. He wanted it to last just a little longer, time with the one person in Stars Hollow he actually enjoyed being with. Even if she didn’t feel quite the same as him, even if she never would.

Ella felt the slight vibrations of the music in the soles of her soles as she stepped closer to the stereo, picking up the CD case from his dresser. She turned it over in her hands. Turn on the Bright Lights by Interpol. It surprised her she hadn’t heard of them before; Lane usually kept her in the know about such things. They must have been very young, very new. But she liked it, the echoing guitars and the drums. Judging from the back cover, the song to which they now listened was simply called “Untitled.”

“They’re good,” she said, putting the case back down. “Different. I like it.”

Jess shrugged. “Figured you would. What with all that sad shit you listen to. The other songs are a little more lively. They’re no Fleetwood Mac, but…”

Walking closer still, she stopped when she was only a couple feet in front of him. Her heart beat with the music, and she swallowed dryly. Something was clicking in her head.

“Jess?”

He looked up, and his brown eyes locked with hers. “Yeah?”

Before she could rethink it, before she could talk herself out of it, before she could silence her heart with her head, she brought a hand to the back of his neck and kissed him. His shock was sudden but brief. Almost immediately, he wound his arms around her waist. And he was kissing back, sweetly, gently at first, then deeper. She was flush against him, smiling into it. The music beat quietly around them, and his grip was warm, and his lips felt exactly right. Ella wanted it to never end, for the moment to last forever, alive, and never cross over and turn to mere memory.

37 notes · View notes

citylightsbooks · 4 years ago

Text

Exclusive Interview with Sheree Renée Thomas, Author of Nine Bar Blues

One of our booksellers, Caitlyn Wild, had the amazing opportunity to conduct this longform interview with author Sheree Renée Thomas. Her newest book is Nine Bar Blues: Stories from an Ancient Future, published by Third Man Books. Sheree is celebrating her book along with her Third Man “label mates” Alison Mosshart and Robert Gordon (who also have new books out) in our City Lights LIVE events series on Wednesday, October 21.

***

Caitlyn: This book is gorgeous on the inside AND the outside. This is one of my favorite covers of 2020, have to say. As I'm gazing wistfully at it here I see the subtitle, "Stories from an Ancient Future". Could you speak about what that phrase holds and conjures for you? Sheree Renée Thomas: Thank you! I wanted the cover for Nine Bar Blues to offer a visual clue to some of the characters, natural (and unnatural) landscapes, and themes in the stories. Third Man Books did a wonderful job of creating that sense of wonder and the verdant richness (cicadas, Egyptian gods, the moon, aliens, vines!) I was hoping for.

The subtitle, “Stories from an Ancient Future” is my riff on the idea that if humanity continues onward, we’ll someday reach a point where even our imagined futures are ancient. Some of the stories in the collection are set in the near future, alternate futures, the present, and the past. What would life be like if you existed in an ancient future? If time is relative, there is always a place where we can look back at ourselves (or our imagined selves) and see the grand sweep of time. What things remains the same, what falls away, is erased and remade again? The ancient future contains some of the wisdom of our past and some of our hopes for the future. It also contains our mistakes and fears. Will we be better off then, in this imagined future? Perhaps, at least I hope so. But that depends on what we carry with us and how well we learn from the lessons of the past. For me, it’s a blending of Ray Bradbury’s Martian Chronicles and the West African philosophy of Sankofa.

The story that really stayed with me in this collection was "Head Static". It put me in an altered state! I felt like I was watching the earth as it was being created, the deep gods and archetypes of our psyches emerging from the hum of the universe before my eyes, but in reverse. In short, I loved it! Could you tell us about the inception of the character in that story, Claire, and explain how she came to be in your mind and then on the page? That makes me so happy because Claire was one of those characters whose journey really haunted me. When I began writing her, I knew who she was but not why she was, or rather, how she had come to feel the way she did. Music became a way of thinking about the things that people share in common, around the world, throughout time. It is one of our greatest forms of expression. And music contains our deepest thoughts and observations on the world. But our culture is so obsessed with the cult of celebrity, in search of the next great thing. We worship youth and novelty, often at youth’s expense. There’s this constant drive for innovation and acceleration, while holding onto the dream of an endless life span. At what cost? To what end? Writing “Head Static” was a way for me to think about some of these ideas while exploring that deep musical connection. On October 21 we are excited to host you and two of your fellow Third Man Books authors, Alison Mosshart and Robert Gordon. Third Man also publishes another of my favorites, Janaka Stucky. As a reader I'm consistently enraptured with the authors and books they publish. I'm curious as to what the Third Man experience is like from the author's side? It’s been pretty exciting! First of all, if you ever get a chance to visit Third Man Records, go immediately because the space is just amazing. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like a cross between Tim Burton and Ed Wood with a little Willy Wonka mixed in there? Fantastic design throughout and um, Jack White. Yeah, Jack White! Working with Chet Weise and the Third Man Books/Records team has been as close as my non-musical self has ever been to being in a rock band! There is a lot of good energy, great ideas, and collaboration, and the team is insanely supportive and creative. Between the kickass writers—poets, fiction writers, creative nonfiction—there’s a great deal of talent to just vibe with and connect. My fellow press mates are always working on new wonders, the kind of work that impacts the world—and that’s inspiring.

You are the first Black author to receive a World Fantasy Award for the groundbreaking collection you edited, Dark Matter: A Century of Speculative Fiction from the African Diaspora, which was published in 2000. (HELL YES). In another interview, you said you were inspired to put the book together because you were shocked it didn't exist yet. In 2020, is there a book you are shocked that has yet to be published? What books that have come along since 2001 are you glad about? There is at least one marvelous book that I do hope to see in the world before I roll out, and there are a couple of others that seem like their time has come, industry-wise, so we shall see. Back in ’98 when I was thinking on what would eventually become the first volume of Dark Matter: A Century of Speculative Fiction from the African Diaspora, I didn’t set out to create a groundbreaking project. I literally was just looking for more Black speculative fiction to read for fun, and when I didn’t find it in the bookstores, its absence puzzled me. With as many different anthologies that make up the genre, I was surprised that it hadn’t been done before. I’m really grateful I had the chance (and the courage) to do it. It’s been quite a journey! Since that first volume and the second one, Dark Matter: Reading the Bones, that came out in 2004, there have been many, many wonderful amazing books that pretty much put away the old arguments about Black writers not reading or writing this work. One book that I reviewed around the time I was working on the anthology was Nalo Hopkinson’s Brown Girl in the Ring. That novel felt like a game changer to me, because Nalo’s writing got us all so excited about the cultures and worlds we had not seen often in science fiction. She achieved this in a magical way that, while offering all the things we love about speculative fiction, rang true with a rootedness in Afrodiasporic culture. It didn’t feel like she was translating to us. Her writing, storytelling, and world building felt natural and true to itself. Today you could have a whole library of Black speculative fiction (and the scholarship that examines it), and that is beyond thrilling for me.

Between the diverse works of N.K. Jemisin, Andrea Hairston, Tananarive Due, P. Djèlí Clark—they cover a lot of imaginative ground--and a ton of exciting YA authors I cannot even begin to name, readers have a lot of new work and new voices to explore. It’s just an exciting time.

Finally, if you owned a bookstore or small press, what would it be called and what would your bestseller or focus be? I’ve been jotting down bookstore names for years! Here are a few: Beloved Books (this was invented during my Toni Morrison phase), focusing on the books people can’t stop discussing and all of our childhood favorites, too. Echo Tree Books (named after one of my favorite short story writers and poets, Henry Dumas, featuring all fantasy, science fiction, horror, and such).

Haint Blue Books (so I can paint every single wall the most stunning shades of blue, focusing on excellent fiction and world folklore with tons of poetry because sometimes, sadly, people be sleeping on the poetry, lol. Don’t sleep on the poets!). And my favorite, All Y’all Books (Southern lit and more! Plus a healthy selection of regional lit from other parts).

I love the last one the best because I can just hear folks saying, “You know you can get it at All Y’all Books!” or asking, “Where did you get that?” “Girl, at All Y’all’s Books. They have out of print and rare books, too!” Authors can say, “I’m going to be reading at All Y’all’s Books.” You can’t help but smile when you say that!

#sharee renee thomas #nine bar blues #5 questions #third man books #speculative fiction #Black authors

3 notes · View notes

a-secondhand-sorrow · 5 years ago

Text

Dear Evan Hansen Gift Exchange!

This is my gift for the @sincerely-us DEH Gift Exchange for @thatfriendlyanon! Hey @thatfriendlyanon, hope you enjoy :D This is a bit of an amalgam of prompts that you offered but it’s mostly centered on Evan and Zoe a year later. Just for ease of timing/pop culture references it’s set in 2019/2020. Happy 2020! (here’s an ao3 link if you prefer)

Her first night back home, Zoe slips out the back door and just sits on the porch. It’s cold outside, like it always is in December, and it seeps through the old dollar store flip-flops she’d shoved her feet into on the way out the door. She shivers as a chilly gust of air bites through her purple and white sweatpants and old, graduating-class t-shirt. She’s like a collage of new and old school spirit, and some part of her hates it while the rest of her loves it. Sinking into one of the wicker chairs, she takes a breath for what feels like the first time since she stepped off the train in town, letting the hum of the cicadas drown out her other thoughts. She’s almost forgotten the different noise in the suburbs, the noises she was so used to in her first eighteen years of life. It feels disarming to be back in those noises after so long away.

Finally, once she’s sat in the feeling of the cold outdoors, her eyes drift up towards the sky. A smile picks at her lips, drawn by the faint points of light in the sky. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registers names of a few, although had she tried to remember them consciously, she’s sure she wouldn’t be able to say them.

(Maybe it’s two memories, ripe with different kinds of nostalgia, that stop her from truly remembering. Maybe it’s the memory of two different hands in hers under the night sky. The memory of childhood, of wild giggles spilling from her lips, of another protective little hand in hers and speaking in what they thought were whispers but were more like normal volumes, sharing those names with her for the first time. And later, a later memory, of grass underneath her and a once-still hand in hers and warm lips pressed just right of her ear whispering the names he knew and asking her the ones he didn’t.)

She...likes school. She really does. It‘s felt like a fresh start in so many ways, with new people and new scenery and an easier way to breathe. Fewer shadows to haunt her from the corners of her eyes, drowned out by the constant lights of the city.

She just wishes she could see the stars there, that’s all.

Not that the stars at home are bright, exactly. They’re still dulled and hard to see, but they’re a world away from how they look at school. They are visible even if they’re not the strongest.

So Zoe smiles and looks at them, ignoring the lights that spill out from inside the house and the two figures they reveal inside.

After some time, she stands quietly, moving through the air as though it is nothing more than smoke and revelling in how silent she can be just before opening the door to the indoors.

“Everything alright?

Zoe’s head snaps up, locking onto where Larry is seated just beyond the kitchen and into the living room. She shakes her head at her own jumpiness, freeing her feet from the flip-flops. “Yeah, just catching some fresh air.”

Already, that almost-suffocating feeling is back. She can breath, but the air doesn’t seem to quite reach her lungs.

“Yeah, I just wanted some fresh air.” Her eyes scan the rooms. “Where’s mom?”

Larry’s lip quirks at the corner, but it doesn’t really seem happy. “She wanted to stay up to talk with you, but she was pretty tired so she turned in early.”

“Oh,” Zoe says, and for some reason it makes her feel kind of small. She crosses the house, letting her feet acclimate to the warmer temperature through her socks. She studies her father; he has dark circles of his own, and his hand seems to shake slightly where it holds the day’s newspaper. “I’m probably just gonna go to bed anyway, unless you…?”

“No, that’s fine, sweetheart,” he says, and for some reason Zoe’s heart feels heavy. Larry hasn’t called her sweetheart for a long time, and something in the word makes her feel like a little kid again. “I’m sure you’re tired.”

She nods and grabs her phone off of the small coffee table, turning towards the stairs. The light is already off upstairs, she can tell. “Well, ‘night.”

A sound that’s suspiciously like a yawn, and then a “‘night” back.

On the second step, her father’s voice stops her. “Zoe? We’re really glad you’re home.”

She ducks her head back down, forces a smile in his direction, and then continues to her room without looking up from her feet.

Evan’s still working at Pottery Barn.

He told himself, time and time again after senior year, that he’d be out of Pottery Barn in a year. Off to college full-time, maybe commuting or maybe even living on campus. But it’s six months past that year-long deadline, and here he is, on the first night of Hanukkah only just finishing the common app for next fall. Or trying to, rather, around his Pottery Barn shifts and his general fear of opening up to other people.

On one of his shifts, he scrolls through Instagram during a quiet spell, having accepted the fact that his application would not be worked on during work hours long ago. Just his average feed, a few former high school classmates posting holiday pictures (Alana Beck, unsurprisingly, has color-coordinated with her dads, sister, and grandma effortlessly for Christmas photos) and some of those Central Park nature shoots the pretentious photographers he follows are always posting. He’s about to click onto his Explore page when a recommended account catches his eye. His heart sinks as he recognizes the profile picture and the name, simply titled “zo + ev” in place of full names. And there she is, Zoe Murphy, smiling so wide that some of her freckles disappear behind the others and her eyes are smaller than usual. Another girl sits just behind her, her lips angled so her face comes across as more “funny” than “happy,” but that’s on purpose, he thinks. Before he can convince himself not to, he clicks into their account, and it’s revealed that the other girl in the picture must be ‘Ev,’ or Eva, if her main account’s handle is trustworthy. His pulse slowing slightly, his eyes skim their profile.

@stargirlzo_m and @evamillthegreat_ / NYU ‘23 / covers + general goofery / dm to req a song!

From a glance, it appears that they’re roommates. Not that he’s like, actively trying to figure that out, no, it’s just that all of the videos seem to be filmed in the same place, and the previews of the comments have a couple messages like “that’s our fav down the hall neighbors!” and such. Evan’s not even surprised to see that they have a couple hundred followers, since when one of their videos begins to auto play, they definitely sound really good. Zoe’s playing guitar, and something in the familiar curve of her fingers on the strings almost makes him turn his phone off and shove it away to get rid of the deep swell of emotion he feels just seeing her like that.

After...everything, he never really saw her play guitar again. While they were together, it was almost constant, because their coexistence was almost constant. But he couldn’t bring himself to go to the jazz band concerts for the rest of his senior year, and he certainly wasn’t hanging around her house while she figured out a new tune. Hearing her play is bittersweet and nostalgic and he feels...off. But he listens anyway.

Her roommate has a really great voice, and it’s clear that in their few months of knowing each other they’ve played together a lot. He keeps scrolling. Eva, or Ev, has a few videos up of her singing a cappella, or with a background, some kind of...TikTok riff challenge, maybe? Zoe, too, has a few where she strums some jazzy numbers by herself, that familiar old smile on her face in a whole new light. But then he finds one of her alone in a denim jacket and a flower-patterned dress, and she opens her mouth and begins to sing, and Evan swears he could cry. She always claimed she couldn’t sing, but of course he disagreed. He still does, and as she softly sings Dodie Clark and her fingers pluck at the strings in some complicated pattern, he could never disagree more. He hurriedly keeps scrolling, since if he were to continue listening he’s not sure if he’d be able to make it through his shift without crying.

She and her roommate are playing Crush by Tessa Violet, then, and it’s a little easier to hear.

A customer comes into his line of sight and he quickly shoves the phone under the counter before he can hear Zoe come in to harmonize in the background.

Sometime after Cynthia accepted the fact that Zoe wasn’t going to share every detail of her college life with her, she set her the task of going through her closet and cleaning up. She’d already done it before leaving in the fall, but Zoe agrees, mostly just to have something to do rather than thinking about the bedroom across from hers. She still hasn’t really breathed properly, but it’s a little easier when she’s alone.

When her trash garbage bag is already partially filled with old tops from high school, old Harry Potter and Brie Larson posters, and some guitar sheet music she doesn’t remember buying, she catches sight of an old plastic storage bin. Her hand brushes the unmistakable feel of dusty plastic, and her fingers search for purchase so she can drag the container out. It’s heavier than it looks, and the most she can do is drag it out. She falls back onto her heels as she does, eventually crossing her legs criss-cross under her. She pushes her hair away from her face and lets her eyes roam over the container. It looks like it’s filled with paper, and as she opens the lid there’s an overwhelming scent of school glue and cheap acrylic paint. There are old star stickers coming off everywhere.

“Oh, boy,” she mutters under her breath.

She considers just chucking it into the trash for a moment, but thinks the better of it. Tentatively, she plunges one hand into the pile of papers and promptly sneezes. Fucking dust allergies.

A few old math tests from elementary school are in the top pile, for some reason. She wastes no time in setting those into the garbage bag. She’ll sort the recycling out later, but for now she just wants to get the dust into one area. There’s an old, dried-up glue stick under the old tests and a couple of purple and blue markers with no caps. The faded yellow folder beneath them has clearly suffered for it, with big splotches of color on the thin paper. After tossing the markers in her normal trash, she picks the folder up. Immediately upon opening it, she’s hit by an image of herself as a little kid, her hand scribbling some crayon against printer paper with Connor at her side scribbling on the same paper. She lets out a sharp hiss of breath for nothing in particular. It turns out the folder is just full of old drawings, nothing special. Crayon stars on superhero capes, just about her and Connor’s combined interests. Seeing them on the same page feels like less of a gut punch after remembering them drawing together, but it still hurts all the same.

She knows her mom would want to keep the drawings, but she dumps them into the garbage bag before she can think to do otherwise.

The construction paper is surprisingly rough under her fingertips, but she smiles at the glue galaxies she’d created on the page, the letters of each star’s name written painstakingly next to them. She wonders where her good handwriting went and sets the page aside, figuring a little nostalgia won’t hurt.

There are several pages that just seem to be covered in glitter and star stickers, which immediately find themselves in the unforgiving cell that is her garbage bag. Some old book reports reach the same fate, as does a small journal that seems to be dedicated entirely to her writing with her left hand. If some of the handwriting looks like Connor’s, she chooses to ignore it.

“It’s weird,” Zoe says. “Who else writes with their left hand?”

Connor sniffs, looking indignant as he holds his pencil aloft in his hand. It’s held so gently and delicately in his artist’s hand, all long and thin fingers. “I think it’s cool. Right hand writing isn’t special.”

“And you smudge everything you write,” Zoe mutters under her breath. That didn’t stop her from trying to write like him, though. If he saw her, he ignored it.

It’s better to be rid of it, anyway.

The next item appears to be crudely bound by some old thread. It’s several sheets of printer paper bound together, and with a sinking heart Zoe sees the same crayon stars and superhero capes on the page. Monsieur Lumière. One of Connor’s pretentious French phases as a child, probably, fueled by the old English-French dictionary he found in his room.

She’d completely forgotten about the fake superhero they’d created, probably while huddled under one of their beds as their parents fought. A man to take away all their fear and sadness, who would bring the light of the stars wherever he was. Just a silly invention they’d dreamt up. A lot of good it did them.

This hurts more, this creation of their shared crayons on one page. There were probably hours spent on this, and she can’t even bring herself to open it and read a page.

She drops it suddenly as though the very touch of the paper to her fingers scalds her. She pushes it across the floor, away from her. She may leave it on some counter for her mother to find, rather than bringing herself to throw it away. She wants to get rid of it, but she can’t bring herself to pick it up again, not yet.

It’s only as she picks up the next glitter-coated paper that she realizes it gave her a paper cut.

“-right here—oh, isn’t this lovely?” Heidi says, her head turning back in Evan’s direction. She drops down onto the blanket she’s just finished spreading over the grass, crossing her legs under her.

Evan smiles. “It is, yeah, definitely.”

And maybe he’s just a little surprised by how much he means it. Because this is the first year in a very long time, too long a time, where January 6th has felt like something other than a slightly sadder mirror of every other day. When he woke up today, he didn’t feel that same hollow dissatisfaction on this birthday. He felt...excited.

It’s a nice feeling. Unusual, but nice.

He’d probably be excited even if he hadn’t woken up like that, however. Heidi had insisted she take the day off, and she herself was so excited to be off and to be with him that he couldn’t help but pick up on it. His mother was always like that - if she was excited, he was excited.

And she was definitely excited, given the honest-to-God picnic basket she’d packed for them and the new watch she’d given Evan just that morning “so he’d know when to look away from his inbox” (to which he’d feebly protested that it’s never too early to keep an eye out for forward movement, which she’d dismissed with a kiss on the cheek). As Evan carefully chooses a spot on the blanket where he is protected from the sun by the shade the tree branches above them throw, Heidi gets set unpacking everything, from small cans of sparkling water to grilled cheeses to bakery cookies to a bunch of grapes that looked like they’d had a fight with an anemic mouse and lost. Evan smiles as each item gets pulled out.

Almost automatically, his eyes start scanning over the park. It feels like it’s been a while since he’s been here, too, or at least since he’s taken a moment to sit back and observe the park in its entirety. In the time it takes Heidi to finish setting up, he’s not sure he’s discovered the source of the uneasiness deep in his stomach.

But Heidi is happy, and so he is, too. He turns back to her.

“I picked up this cheese from Shaw’s, it’s supposedly super sharp which I know you love, so it should turn out better than the Kraft Singles grilled cheese last week.”

Evan represses a shudder. “Oh, good.”

Heidi lies back slightly, smiling at him. “Here.” She holds out a plate full of food she’d just pulled out.

“Thanks,” Evan says, and when he smiles at her it's more genuine than most of the smiles he'd given her when he was younger.

She reached over and pats his cheek. “I like seeing you happy, you know that?”

“Yeah, I think I got that from the whole motherly affection thing.”

Heidi shakes her head. “I’d tell you to lay off the sass, but this is the one day I can’t, huh?”

“Oh, you love it.”

“Yeah,” Heidi says, picking up an apple and taking a bite out of it. “Yeah, I do.” She leans over, and with her free hand, she ruffles Evan’s hair.

“Hey!” He protests. “What was that for?” The action makes him feel like he’s a little kid again.

Heidi smiles at him again. He can’t remember the last time she smiled this much. “My little boy is all grown up. Twenty. Can you believe it?”

He shakes his head, looking up toward the trees. He really can’t believe it. Three years ago, he’d never have believed it. Seventeen was a bad year. But here he is, sitting in Ellison Park three years later, where he’d felt so helpless before. He’d be lying if he said there wasn’t an edge of that now, but it’s nowhere close to the wide expanse it had once been. He’s made it to twenty, and he knows he’ll make it longer. He smiles back at her. “Not really,” he says.

They eat in silence for a moment. Normally the presence of other people in the park besides them would make him anxious, but not today. He’s just another person, enjoying the afternoon sun with his mother. He blends in with everyone else. He feels like them. He wants to cork it up along with the feeling of the sun on his cheeks and the grass below him. With a start, he realizes his ache a little from the constant pull upwards his lips are engaged in. He’s smiling so much his cheeks hurt.

“I think you’re freckling again,” his mother mentions offhandedly. “I think you’re just about the only person who can’t freckle in the summer but can freckle just fine in January.”

“Maybe I am,” he says. “Like a superpower. Although it’s kind of a dumb superpower.”

“I don’t think so at all, sweetheart.” Heidi says.

He shakes his head, and as his mind fills with the image of someone else’s freckled cheeks, he may be inclined to agree.

“So you play a lot with Eva?”

Zoe looks up from her laptop, her brain unable to really understand the question. “What?”

Cynthia sits at the other end of the couch, and Zoe automatically tilts her screen in towards herself. “Aunt Christie mentioned it. She said that Sarah was talking about your...music Instagram at Christmas?”

Her cousin had ended up cornering her about her instagram account between dinner and desert. She was actually kind of happy to talk about it, since she and Eva do get along better than most roommates and it’s pretty cool to play with other people. She couldn’t really care about their followers, but they certainly had them, that’s for certain. Besides, it was a welcome reprieve from the dreaded “do you have a boyfriend?” questions, since she couldn’t exactly say no, i don’t have a boyfriend, since I’m still caught up on Evan, you know, the guy from junior year who lied about being friends with Connor and completely but accidentally fucked over the family in the public eye? But they didn’t know the half of that story, and she didn’t like to admit to herself how much she still cared for Evan, so the significant other area was a no-go and anything else was boring.

“Yeah, we have an account,” she says, shrugging. “It’s just a habit we’ve gotten into, playing together. It’s kind of fun to share it.”

“Ah,” Cynthia said, in that ‘I’m trying to understand but honestly have no idea what she’s talking about” tone of voice. “I’m glad, Zo’.”

Zoe smiles.

“But are you sure that’s the...best thing?”

The corners of her lips turn down, and she can feel her voice hardening a little. She doesn’t want to be defensive, but she is. “What?”

“Well, after everything that happened with your brother...with the Connor Project.” When she realized that wasn’t a sentence, she continued. “Are you sure the public eye is the best thing?”

She bristles. “It’s hardly the public eye, it’s just an Instagram account, and my full name isn’t on it. And honestly, mom, it couldn't get worse. No one cares anymore. It’s been years. Most of that was taken down. And I can take care of myself.”

“I know, Zoe,” her mother said, and maybe she’s just being placating, but the hand she reaches over and lays on her arm really does lessen her defenses. “I know. But you can’t control those people, and I just want you to be happy and safe.”

“I know,” Zoe says. “I know you do.”

She’s sure they both remember the endless days of calls, coming in a time of confusion and new grief she doesn’t know if they’ve really moved past, yet. Zoe knows that, if she tries, she can probably remember the exact words they said, the exact tone they said them in. It was only worse when she believed them.

Cynthia sits back again. They sit in silence for a little while.

“I’d love to hear some, though,” she says, in that classic mom voice.

“Why don’t you ask Sarah for a link?” Zoe says, sure to make her voice sarcastic.

“Why have a lousy link when I’ve got the rockstar right in front of me?”

Zoe rolls her eyes. “Sure, let me just summon my roommate. She’s not in Buffalo at all, she’s actually been tiny sized and in my suitcase this whole time, just waiting for my mother to ask about my music so she can belt her tiny heart out.”

“Ha, ha,” Cynthia says. “Good thing you can sing, missy. I know this is where you’re going with all of your university sarcasm.”

“I can’t, mom.”

“Don’t give me that.”

“What would you prefer I give you?”

“An accurate assessment of your talents.”

“Sure, I know I’ve got one in my coat pocket somewhere, right with my sky-high self esteem and my 4.0 GPA.”

“Your GPA is more than fine and if you keep talking like that I’m going to worry. Why don’t you go pick it up from your room along with your guitar? Then I can hear the famous musician’s liquid silver voice while she plucks away with the speed of a god at her strings.”

Zoe cringes. “Always so poetic.”

“It’s a gift,” Cynthia says airily, and the two smile at each other. “Go on. I’ll get your father.”

“I'm not a child at a recital.”

“Why couldn’t you be? We just want to hear you play, sweetheart. We barely see you now, and next time it’ll be Carnegie Hall.”

Somehow, Zoe ends up retrieving her guitar. True to her mother’s word, Larry was there when she came back downstairs. She’d never expected to actually play for them, but this is the first time Cynthia has really pushed her on something in a long time. It’s nice, quite honestly, that she feels that strongly about hearing her play guitar.

“I really normally don’t sing,” she protests mildly.

“Nonsense,” Larry says, and Zoe smiles. She shifts the guitar in her lap.

“Eva absolutely loves singing this,” she begins, her fingers seeking out the beginning chords to Crush, because quite honestly she can’t think of anything else to play. Her parents’ eyes on her make her feel nervous. “She’s made me play it a million times. She’d probably be mad if she knew I was singing it without her.”

It’s...nice to play for them. They smile and clap as she plays song after song for them. She can feel their happiness at something she’s accomplished, for the first time in her life. But for the first time since she’s been home, she thinks she can feel the weight of a third gaze on her. She knows it’s just in her mind, but all the same, she hoped she’d left that lurking guilt from Connor far away, in the orchard, at the end of senior year. She doesn’t know how she feels now that it’s back.

He always used to listen to her play. Maybe this is what she gets instead of him, now.

“Zoe?” Evan says.

She looks...small, is the first word that crosses his mind. Which is funny, because although Zoe Murphy isn’t the tallest person you’ll ever meet, she’s certainly got the confidence and gravitas to make up for it. Stage presence, as his mother would say.

Maybe he’s caught her between the first and second act, then.

She looks up at him, her hands practically drowning in her chunky-knit yellow sweater. It comes up to her chin, half-tucked into a denim skirt at her waist, and where the skirt ends a pair of high riding boots begin. Some part of his brain recognizes that she looks impeccable just as she always does, even when the look on her face is so unguarded and shaken that he’s half surprised she’s still standing. Something passes over her face, and in a second it rearranges into something a little happier than before. It’s not happy or okay, not by a long shot, but if he didn’t know her better he may think it was. Barely giving himself a moment to marvel at just how cool it is she does that, concern overrides every alarm bell going off in his brain about being around her and talking to her and hurting her again (not again, not again), because the most important thing is making sure she’s okay, the most important thing is her comfort. “What-” he breaks off, shakes his head. What does he want to say? What are you doing? What are you feeling? What do you need?

What could he possibly say?

(He knows it doesn’t matter what he wants, in the end. It doesn’t matter.)

“What’s...up?” he finishes a second later, cringing internally.

Zoe’s mouth twists and her nose scrunches, and for a second he thinks she’s going to cry, but a moment later she settles on a half smile, and she looks so much like Connor did that day in the computer lab that he feels winded, winded by an image he couldn’t have conjured consciously. At once the weight of where he is hits him squarely in the chest, and Zoe must sense it, because when she speaks it’s gentle, almost, even though every fiber of her being feels like it’s been shifted on its axis. “Well, uh. You know. Not a lot. And a lot, also, I guess.”

Evan nods, and for a second he feels seventeen again, fighting against a torrent of words, because Zoe never talked like that. She always selected every word carefully, and if she can’t, there’s no hope for Evan. “Yeah, no I, I definitely get it. That makes, that makes sense. You’re um, I guess you’re home for break? Winter break?”

Zoe nods once, and for once he detects a hint of ice in the gesture. “Yeah. And you’re…”

“Still home,” he supplements quickly. “I’m, uh, applying, actually, but, you know…”

“Yeah,” she says, and Evan privately thinks that this may be the most painful conversation they’ve had. There’s still a look in Zoe’s eyes, something a little unhinged and a lot hurt, and he wants more than anything to get rid of it. He knows that it’s not his job, but God, he wants to. He wants to grab her hand and press a kiss to her temple just like he used to, to slide his hand along the side of her jaw like he did whenever she was upset. He wants to remind her to breathe just like she used to remind him to do, wants to trace the freckles on her cheeks until she’s giggling and her eyes are dry.

“Are you here to see Connor?” she spits out, as though surprising herself, and Evan finds himself nodding, because oh yeah, they’re at a cemetery. He absolutely could not tell you why he chose to go down to the cemetery, rather than literally any other place. He just...felt like he had to. For some reason, he felt like he needed to go to Connor’s grave to say sorry and maybe thank you for something he couldn’t quite understand. He hadn’t planned on running into Zoe, though.

“You are too? I can...I can go,” he offers, and he’s surprised at how quickly Zoe shakes her head.

“No, I’d...I’d like someone else there.”

“Really?” he says, his voice soft.

“Yeah,” she says, offering him a quick ghost of a smile before steeling herself and turning.

He follows her in silence, choosing to focus on the sound of her shoes on the concrete and examining the back of her head and the trees lining the rows of graves and new clouds that have crossed the sun. They must reach Connor’s plot eventually, as Zoe turns sharply and leads him through the maze of stones until they stand in front of one that is simpler than its neighbors. Classic, he supposes, although he doesn’t know if that’s actually a thing, a ‘classic’ grave. Connor Murphy is cut into the stone, followed by a birth and death date and a short epitaph of beloved son, brother, and friend. He squashes down an unkind thought before it can really grow at all.

Zoe’s sat down on the grass, denim skirt and all. After hesitating, he follows.

“Would you like me to-”

“No,” Zoe says, but her eyes are focused on the grave, and Evan has the feeling she’s a million worlds away from him and it wouldn’t matter what he said. “You’re fine.”

So he sits quietly, and tries to think of something he’d like to say to Connor in the peace of his own head. What would he say, if given the chance? He doesn’t know if it would be worth anything. For him, he grew to learn that he was not who he thought he was on his worst days, no matter how many there were. But he doesn’t know if that’s worth saying to Connor. It wasn’t even really Connor who taught him that, in the end. He forced that message into his own brain, with the help of Dr. Sherman and his mother and even Zoe and the Murphy’s, in some roundabout way. He’s learned he can keep going.

Maybe Zoe still needs to learn that, he thinks, with a glance in her direction. She seems to be deteriorating, her hand absently twisting grass at her side, her face falling just a little more. She’s biting her lip and her brow is furrowing deeper. Or maybe this is just one of her bad days.

She stands up and sways on her feet. Evan clambers up after her, a hand reaching out to steady her almost unconsciously. “I’m sorry,” she says, and it’s only then that he notices the near-silent sobs coming from her, although there are not yet any tears. She just looks...sad. He hasn’t seen her look that sad in a while. Her non-grassy hand reaches up to her face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Evan says, and he aches to reach out and touch her, to comfort her in some way, but he holds himself back. He attempts a joke. “You apologize too much.”

He sees tears on her cheeks, and one indents where he’s sure she’s biting the inside of her mouth.

“Please,” he says, and it’s only then that she seems further away than she was before. “Do you need a ride somewhere?”

She’s in no state to refuse, but she looks like she might anyway. He cuts her off with another ”please, let me do this” and she relents. She looks ready to collapse at any moment, and he’s terrified she will, so he keeps one hand hovering nervously hovering between her shoulder and back their whole walk as though he’s swatting invisible bugs away. He considers opening the door for her, but thinks the better of it and leaves her to fend for herself in that particular field. They’re silent as he gets into the car and shifts the key in the ignition, pulling out of the cemetery parking lot. They stay silent for a few minutes on the road as well, while Evan drives in the vague direction of her house.

“You’re driving,” Zoe says suddenly, and through the thickness of tears Evan thinks he can detect a hint of pride.

“Yeah, that I am,” he replies, shaking his head slightly.

He thinks Zoe may say something like “wow” under her breath, but a moment later she’s sniffling again and that’s all he can think about. “I have some tissues in the glove compartment.”

“Thanks,” she says softly, almost getting drowned out in the sound of tires on pavement, and the sound of her soft consonants breaks his heart. “I’m sorry,” she tries again, but Evan stops her.

“Don’t, Zoe. Don’t ever apologize. Really.” His hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Believe me. You have nothing to apologize for.”

There’s another silence. It seems like Zoe has stopped crying, although she still seems unsteady, albeit less all over the place than when he first saw her.

“I swear I’m doing better than this,” she says. “I really am. I don’t, I really don’t know why that happened. I wish I could explain to you why. Why it’s still happening now, honestly. I’m doing better. I am.”

“You don’t owe me any explanations, Zoe.”

“I know. I mean, I don’t, but. I want to give you one, anyway.”

He nods. “Where to?” He finally says, the words stiffer than he wanted them to be.

Her voice is small, almost fragile. “Could you...maybe go to the orchard?”

He nods again, feeling a bit like a bobble head. “Yeah, of course.” He doesn’t add the anything, anything at all for you, but he thinks she might hear it anyway.

Sitting in the orchard with Evan again, it’s almost...surreal.

Zoe hasn’t been back since she met him a week before graduation. Being in the orchard brings all kinds of feelings of melancholy for her, a tangle of guilt and longing and maybe a little bit of hope, too.

Because when she looks across from her, Evan is there, and her own emotions are reflected on his face. They’re both sitting in the grass under one of the trees. They’re no longer saplings, which in itself is weird. The year has brought a lot of growth for them. Looking at Evan, she can’t help but think that they’re not the only ones.

He’s so much more...something than he was before. Is it happy? Confident? Whatever it is, it fills him from the inside. Even in the orchard, where his brow is furrowed and his eyes are focused on some faraway point in the distance, he’s sitting taller and fidgeting less than before. He’s doing better.

And she meant what she said to him, how she’s doing better too. Getting out and away to the city had really done wonders for her, finally being away from all of the shit that happened in high school.

She pushes her foot out, nudging against his thigh. He angles his head to her, and suddenly she gets the same urge to cry again. Her vertigo has lessened significantly since arriving at the orchard and stumbling to sit, but she still feels unsteady even while sitting. The corner of his lip perks up a bit as his eyes meet hers.

“It’s been almost a year,” she says.

“I know.”

There’s a pause; she lets herself listen to the rustle of the no-longer-saplings.

“Do you ever wish you could go back?” she says, surprising herself.

He takes a moment to respond. “To when?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. Her eyes burn and she’s not quite sure why. “Last time we were here? Last year? The very first time we really talked? This morning?”

Evan shakes his head. “That’s, that’s a lot of times.”

“I know.”

“Maybe I’d go back to this morning,” he said. “So I could...prepare myself for this. So I’d be ready to see you.”

She snorts. “I’d like preparation to deal with me, too.”

“That’s not what I meant, Zoe.”

“Oh?” She doesn’t know where this challenge has come from in her tone. “What did you mean?”

“I meant—I meant that it’s...different seeing you now. Because of...everything. And I don’t want to hurt you more.”

At once, all the fight leaves her. She passes a hand over her face. “God, Evan. I don’t think that’s possible.”

If she had meant to hurt him-and she honestly doesn’t know herself if she did-she certainly succeeded. Evan seems to curl in on himself a bit.

“That’s not what I meant,” she adds belatedly. “I just-you make things difficult, you know? Because this entire—” and here she gestures emphatically to the orchard, “thing is so fucked, and I want to leave it all behind, since it makes me feel fucked. But then I see you, and it’s like…” she lets out a puff of air. “It’s like I’m back to being sixteen again. Which is terrible on so many levels but is really, really great on one.”

He doesn’t say anything.

Her hand picks at the hem of her skirt. “I had you, Evan. And that made everything else okay.” She blinks rapidly against her blurring vision. “And as much as I want to leave everything else behind, I don’t-I can’t leave you. And that.”

“I understand,” Evan says softly.

She doesn’t say the other part that keeps her from leaving, the total guilt that fills her mind every once in a while when she thinks about Connor. She had a feeling he may already know that part.

“And the stars are here, too. I can’t leave them.”

She can hear the smile in Evan’s voice. “No, I bet you can’t.”

She shakes her head, tears slipping from her eyes. As he leans over and swipes them away with his thumb, she represses a choking sob from somewhere deep inside her chest. “I couldn’t either,” he says, his smile morphing into something sadder and smaller. His fingertips brush against her cheeks one last time, and belatedly she remembers those nights spread out on the grass where he traced the stars from the sky on her freckles. His fingers feel just like they did then, almost reverent against her cheek, his feather-light touch sending shivers from where it lands. Her eyes close, and without the hard ground beneath her and the sunlight that’s bright on her eyelids, she can almost pretend no time has passed at all, that she can have this entirely and wholly and painlessly. But Evan’s hand, and then his whole being, moves away from her, and she is left with only the phantom of his touch and the quiet noise of the leaves behind her. She lets her eyes drift open again, once the tears have receded slightly.

Evan stands, maybe sensing that she needs to get away or maybe just wanting out himself. “C’mon,” he says, holding a hand out to her. “I’ll drive you home.”

She smiles, albeit a watery smile, and takes his hand, ignoring just how familiar and easy it feels to slip her hand into his. His palm is warm, and he hoists her up with only a little difficulty. She smiles as she rights herself, and he steps back quickly once he’s sure she won’t fall. The faint blush that steals across his cheeks only makes her vertigo worse, but she manages to walk anyways, the blurriness fading from her eyes.

Just before they get in the car, Zoe reaches out a grabs his sleeve, the fabric of it rough under her calloused fingertips. Time slows down for the barest second, and her world narrowed to the faint, warm brown of his eyes. But the moment passes, and she tugs him in closer to her, wrapping her other arm around his shoulder. She means to say thank you, but the words never pass her lips. Instead she pushes herself up until her mouth is right next to his ear. Zoe breathes, “Watch the stars for me, Evan. Please.”

She feels him nod against her shoulder, and finally his grip around her lower back feels like more than just dead weight. “I will, Zo.”

In a moment, she’ll reach for the car door and step away from him. In a moment he’ll do the same, and they’ll sit in an almost-comfortable silence for the ride home. In a while they will be at her house, and they will say goodbye, and Zoe will go back to NYU the next day and Evan will go to his shift at Pottery Barn. In a moment, this may be the last time they just exist like this with each other, or it may not be.

Either way, she holds him close in this moment and savors the feeling of his heart beating in tandem with hers.

#dear evan hansen #dear evan hansen fanfic #dear evan hansen fanfiction #dear Evan Hansen gift exchange #thatfriendlyanon #bandtrees #deh #deh angst #deh fanfic #evan hansen #zoe murphy #zoevan

27 notes · View notes