Work Text:
Manufacturing dairy products might be a good winter pastime, but the idea of owning cows goes past profit: the ones at Marnie’s ranch are absolutely adorable, and the prospect of petting and taking care of them sends you in a frilly, childlike joy. To savor fresh milk in the mornings you have to fill a simple list: 6000g, 150 pieces of stone, 350 logs; bring them to Robin, and you can finally hire her to build a barn.
You can already feel the clap of hooves on the ground. After a trip to the mines, gold and stone are in your pockets: with an oof , you deposit the last stack of rocks in front of Robin’s house. She must be home, waiting behind the counter for customers, and you can’t help but smile at the thought of having her come over and see your farm. Since the last time she built that coop for you, your crops have flourished: you can look at them with pride and joy, and you can’t wait for someone else to see them, too…
Especially if that someone is an incredibly beautiful woman that seems to appreciate your cooking. You start to wonder if Robin would want you to bring her lunch while she works, and that puts an even sillier smile on your lips. Three days to marvel at her striking nails, picking up heavy planks, fixing her hair in a tighter ponytail… this time, you’ll be sure to bring her a towel to dry the sweat off her forehead. You sigh, lovestruck as always. If only it wasn’t for Demetrius…
Better not get ahead of yourself, now.
It’s time to check the list. You divided the goods into groups of ten: thirteen, fourteen, fifteen - the stone is all there, so you go to check the adjacent pile of wood: there’s ten, twenty, thirty… thirty-one, thirty-two… thirty-three. You count again, and again twenty logs are missing.
Color drains from your face. How’s that possible?! Could it be that you counted them wrong? It’s 4 pm, you don’t have enough time to run back to the farm and chop some more trees! Could you wait until tomorrow? That would halt all of your plans. Tomorrow will be Tuesday, Robin’s day off, meaning that you will have to wait until Wednesday, meaning that she will begin working on Thursday, meaning that the moment the barn will be done, Marnie’s day off will come…! Your shoulders sag. It’s disheartening. Either you find a way to get twenty pieces of wood in less than an hour, or-
A gust of wind ruffles your hair, suddenly reminding you that you have a head to think . It’s the mountains, for Joba’s sake! It’s full of trees around here! Most are on the cliffs surrounding the road, but the rusting of leaves brings you back to Earth: the pine in front of Robin’s house looks especially flourishing , this time of the year. Surely no one will mind if you cut some branches off of it, right? You won’t even try to tackle the whole tree, because all you will need to do is climb and chop at the sides.
You leave your backpack on top of the pile of stone and run to the pine: with that headstart, it’s easier to climb the sturdy bark. Branch after branch, it’s not long until you’re looking down at the road. You set against the wood and take the axe from your toolbelt: it’s a wobbly balance, but you manage to strike twice, thrice, targeting different branches until they fall to the ground. Have you reached ten pieces yet? The fear of slipping and falling doesn’t keep you from trying: you need to have that barn at all costs, and you need to do it now .
That is, until the wind shakes the tree.
You let out an undignified squeak and hug a branch just in time. Your axe is still tightly squeezed in your fist, but it’s bound to fall from your hands; when another chilly gust makes your balance difficult to maintain, you finally let go of the object. It reaches the ground with a horrible sound… the same you’d make if you were to fall. “Fuck…” you whisper, eyes shut in fear, and a realization comes: maybe it wasn’t a good idea.
The violent rustling of leaves overlaps a shout from below the tree. “Oi!” The voice yells, “Careful up there! Get down!”
Your eyes are open before you can fight the urge: down below, with her hands cupped around her mouth, is Robin. Your savior! Just as you’re ready to put dignity to the side and call for help, though, a crack makes your bones rattle: it’s the branch you’re sitting on, ready to fall. What are people supposed to do in situations like these?!
It seems like Robin heard the noise too. She calls your name, “don’t move, only jump!”
“What?!”
“Jump! I’ll catch you!”
She will… catch you? There’s another crack, and this time the branch seems ready to collapse. In a rush of adrenaline, you do the only thing possible: with a scream, you let go and hope .
Luckily, the fall is so brief that you’re still screaming even after Robin catches you in her strong arms. Inconsolable from the fear, tears well up in your eyes and you let yourself be squeezed and carried away from the tree. You’re supposed to be relieved and safe, but the only thing you can do is nervously cry and bury your head against her shoulder: Robin is warm and smells of candles, and you couldn’t care less if she’s married, if she’s a mother or if you’re not supposed to be wetting her shirt with tears because you’re not that close - screw all of that.
Robin lets you down near some rocks. She holds you by the shoulders and checks your body as you sniffle. You must have looked so uncool… Sure she’s older than you, but you’re a good five years older than his son, so for her to fuss over you like a concerned mother makes your face get hot in shame. Goodbye, plans of seduction.
“What did you think you were doing?”
You flinch at the tone of her voice. “I-”
“Look at me.” The carpenter grabs your chin and forces your eyes in her green ones. “Answer, what did you think you were doing up there?”
There’s something so stern and foreign in her tone that you almost recoil, but that same dangerous edge gives you more than one reason to obey. “The barn,” You fumble for words, “I mean, the wood, I needed twenty more…”
Her beautiful, charming face takes an annoyed expression that you never wanted to witness. She leaves your shoulders and steps back, looking around to assess the situation: the pile of rocks and logs, the branches cut from the tree, the axe buried in leaves… it paints a far too clear picture. Robin walks in the axe’s direction and you think it’s to pick it up, but instead, she grabs something else off the ground: a lean, long-ish twig that she keeps under her arm. With her free hand, she takes a pocket knife out of her jacket.
You gulp. She isn’t going to threaten you with it, right? “Robin…” You call meekly, and she doesn’t even look up from her hands: in quick snaps of her fingers, Robin is carving pieces off of the soft branch.
“Never do something so dangerous ever again.” The carpenter scolds you, reigniting your shame another time, “Never climb on trees while it’s so windy, never try to cut branches while hanging from them, and never-” She speaks through her teeth, “never cut them if you don’t know who can be in range.” Robin pockets her knife and for the first time, she tries the twig’s flexibility in the air: it swishes in a weirdly menacing way, but you’re far from putting two and two together. You’re way too occupied in trying to not cry again, now that you know how angry your stunt made her. “Anyone could have been hit by a falling branch while passing in front of the house! Your axe almost caught me! Do you realize how dangerous it was?!”
Now that she’s scolding you, well… yes, of course you realize! “I’m sorry, it’s-” You panic a little when you see her storming in your direction, “I wanted to hire you today, and it was getting late, and it was only twenty pieces!”
Robin grabs you by the arm and drags you to a small rock. “Come ‘ere.” She commands, perching her foot on the stone and pointing at her raised thigh, “I won’t have you risking your life or someone else’s for twenty pieces of wood.”
You’re genuinely lost. “What…?” You whisper, looking back and forth from Robin’s leg to her scowl. It isn’t long until she loses patience: in a moment, your balance is flipped in her strong arms. When you open your eyes, you’re facing the ground while bent over her thigh; a kick of your legs is enough to understand that in this position you can’t reach the ground. “Robin!” You whine, desperately trying to touch the earth with the tips of your fingers.
One of her warm hands keeps you still by grabbing your hip, while the other fumbles with the clasp of your toolbelt until it falls to the ground. Before you can protest, Robin hooks two fingers in the elastic of your comfortable pants and to your horror, she pulls them down to expose your underwear.
Is this what nightmares are made of? “What are you doing?!” You kick the air with more purpose, but your squirming gets you nowhere; worse, you’re forced to stop when something strikes you. It’s thin, and it swishes through the air with vengeance to collide against your backside. The sting that it leaves behind gets you gaping in realization: that twig Robin picked up had a very specific job to do.
“A good switching will make you understand.” It’s the only explanation the carpenter gives before layering swat upon swat on your upturned bottom. It’s like little licks of fire that bloom under the cotton of your underwear, and for a while you’re so overwhelmed that you don’t even know how to react .
Though when the layering starts to become painful, your immediate response is to kick and squirm again. “Robin!” You whine between ow s and sighs of discomfort, but no matter how much you thrash, the carpenter’s aim is sure to catch the target. “I’m sorry!” You repeat to deaf ears.
“Oh, you’ll be.” The redhead scoffs, and through the continuous swish of the switch, you can hear her mutter ‘twenty pieces’ as if it was the most unbelievable thing.
The thin branch lashes across your bottom faster, the blows keep on coming and coming and coming - it only gets worse, but no amount of kicking helps. The stripes of fire burn so bright that you can’t even feel your throat anymore, hoarse from crying already. “Please-” Your wandering hands grab at Robin’s pants, “Please, I said I’m sorry!”
For a moment, it stops. Yet the hopes of it ending fade when you realize the nature of that pause: Robin just uses the moment to pull down your underwear, too, leaving you bare for the autumn breeze. For a precious moment, the cold serves as a distant balm for your ache.
Until the whippy switch comes down directly on your skin.
It literally can’t get worse. It builds and builds and you’re there to suffer and choke on your tears, but after a while, the intensity sets to the same horrible level. Your voice fades in hiccups and sobs, and the sting is so intense that the only thing left to do is hang onto Robin’s pant leg and pray .
You didn’t mean to hurt anyone and you’re never, never going to tackle trees so lightly ever again. Through strings of mumbled apologies, the distant image of a barn flashes in your mind: would cows ever be happy of having such an irresponsible farmer to take care of them? And who was going to feed the chickens if you were to get injured or worse ? Who was going to water the crops, pet your cat, deliver Bok Choy to Evelyn-?!
The pressure against your stomach eases. Still trembling and bared to the mountains, you’re pulled in Robin’s arms: the carpenter brushes her long fingers through your hair and shushes you softly. You can only squeeze her tighter. “I’m sorry- I’m so sorry-” You’re still hiccuping, “I promise I’ll never be so reckless again!”
Robin sighs. “I know.” She pulls your underwear and pants up, uncaring of the fire scratching at your backside. “I’m just glad you’re safe. You scared me.” You… scared her? For the second time, her green eyes look down at you - fond, not angry. “I thought you were going to get injured. Stay safe, farmer,” Robin smiles at you, “life would get boring here if you were to leave this world.”
Your face flushes so hotly that the tear streaks evaporate from your cheeks. It hurts and it sucks, but will she eat your omelettes for lunch?