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astroboots · 2 years

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RED FLAGS ║ PART 4

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader (hints of Marc Spector x female reader)

Summary: Steven disappears and you fall into a rabbit hole trying to decode Marc’s secret message. Or alternatively: Marc needs to communicate better.

Rating: really gratuitous and detailed sex, writers are clearly super horny.

Warning/content: anxiety, spiraling thoughts, worrying about safety of a partner, clumsy sex-shanigans, the writers being way too obsessed with how freakin' beautiful Steven is.

Word Count: 8.1k

Series Masterlist | Astroboot's Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss' Masterlist

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You can’t believe Steven’s gone.

Flinging the quilt aside, you leap out of bed and dash into the loo. Against all logic, you’re hoping that he’ll be standing in front of the sink with a spare toothbrush in his mouth, ready to wish you good morning through a frothy toothpaste smile.

He’s not.

There’s no one here but you.

Your home is a cramped studio flat with barely enough space for a bed, small sitting area, and an even smaller kitchenette. If Steven were still here, he’d be in plain sight, but somehow you find yourself turning cushions like some kind of madwoman. Inspecting every corner of the room, as if Steven might be hiding behind your washing machine like a goddamn leprechaun.

There’s nothing. No note left on your kitchen counter. No clothing left behind. No promised breakfast. There’s not even a text message on your phone letting you know that he had to leave early for work.

With shaky fingers and your heart beating painfully loud in your ears, it takes you three tries to unlock your phone and select Steven from the list of contacts. You lift the phone to your ear and hold your breath, staring blindly at the mess you’ve made of your flat as it rings and rings and rings.

Finally, there’s a click and then Steven’s cheerful voice in your ear, and for the briefest of seconds, relief rushes through your veins.

“Hiya, this is Steven. I’m not in right now, but leave me a message, and I’ll ring you back as soon as I can. Laters, Gators.”

You stare at the phone in disbelief. Bile rises until you can taste it, sharp and burning, on your tongue.

Steven going missing out of the blue on you is hardly novel, but his random disappearances have never made you feel like this before. Experience dictates that Steven will come back safe and sound in a day or two (or a week or two). Right now, however, that knowledge does nothing to dull the panic clawing at your throat, and it takes you a minute before you realise why this is so much worse than all the times that have come before.

In the past, the worst case scenario was that he’d ghosted you. One more wanker who’d decided to dump you without so much as a courtesy text. But now you know better. Steven wouldn’t do that. He’s not disappearing on you by choice. He’s gone because someone else, Marc has taken over. And taken him away.

Now, you’re pacing the length of your flat, nearly in tears, the worst case scenario something you cannot even begin to fathom.

For all you know, this Marc person has decided that you’ve gotten too close to the truth. Maybe he came to the conclusion that it’s too dangerous to have you around Steven. Maybe, last night was the last time you’ll ever get to see him.

Back and forth you go across the room, wearing down the carpet pile as your mind spirals with worry. You pop the band on your old wristwatch in and out of place as you go, nails digging into your wrist as you tug at it until you slip and the metal pin jabs your wrist.

Then you spot it: the writing on your hand. The long string of numbers, ten digits in all, that Marc had written on the centre of your palm last night.

In a mad scramble, you dig up a notebook and quickly copy them down for safekeeping. You spend the rest of the day trying to decipher their meaning.

Your first thought is that it’s a phone number, but when you try dialling it, you get an automated message that no such number exists.

Your next theory is that the numbers might be coordinates. But when you attempt to plot them using an online grid reference finder, the results are meaningless. Depending on how you input the digits they point you to a handful of different locations—China, Romania, the middle of the Celtic Sea—none of which mean anything to you. The majority of the number combinations you try do not exist at any known map locations.

Panicked by your failure, your mind scrambles for other possible explanations. Thinking that it might be a mathematical equation or a password of some kind, you pull out your calculator and another notebook, trying to make any sort of sense of the only hint you've been given.

By the time you leave for work Monday morning, your desk is starting to look like a landfill. The wooden surface is littered with crumpled up paper and sticky-notes filled with nonsensical scribbles of numbers and letters that were the results of randomly adding, subtracting and dividing the ten numbers on your hand. If anyone walked in on your flat, they would think you’re a particularly unhinged conspiracy theorist.

In all fairness, they wouldn’t be too far off, because you’re beginning to feel a bit like one. Haring off on one pointless wild goose chase after another, halfway to plotting out your suspicions on the wall with pins and string.

More days go by, and you spend every waking moment (and many moments you should be sleeping) trying to solve the mystery. It becomes a consuming obsession. You’re distracted both at home and at work, your poor coworkers forced to pick up the slack while your mind stays firmly on the puzzle of Steven.

Your lack of sleep leads to increasingly wild theories. You’re convinced that those ten digits are somehow the key to everything. An unfounded belief based on nothing but your own desperate hope that if you manage to crack the code, a congratulation banner and confetti will fall from the sky with a big bow-wrapped present containing Steven as the final prize.

Unfortunately, you’re not the best at puzzles, and the galling irony is that the most qualified person to solve this riddle is the very same person you’re desperately missing.

By the time you leave work on Thursday, you’re frustrated, exhausted from sustaining a near-frantic level of worry, and no closer to finding a solution than you were at the start. Steven is still out there somewhere, and you decide that you’ve waited long enough. Maybe even too long. He could have had his kidney harvested and be half-dead in an alley for all you know. Hurt and dying, while you’ve wasted time grasping at straws.

You’ve decided to finally file a missing person’s report with the police when you exit the tube to find a new text notification on your phone.

+x xxx xxx xxxx He’s safe.

You stare at the message for a long time, too overcome with relief to immediately make the connection between the numbers on your hand and your phone screen. When the epiphany hits, you feel like the dumbest person alive. Ten numbers… It wasn’t a puzzle or some obscure treasure hunt to lead you to Steven. It’s Marc’s bloody mobile number. It’s an American mobile number and he didn’t include the fucking country code

He’s safe. Steven’s safe.

Wiping what is close to the beginning of tears on your sleeve, you pull the phone closer and type out a message in reply.

You Is Steven okay? Where is he?

There’s no answer.

Not that evening or the day after. And the relief you felt at first slowly drains away.

The text is a consolation prize. It’s not Steven wrapped with a bow and wrapping paper. This is not the answer you needed, but, you try to remind yourself, at least it’s something.

Steven is safe.

You repeat it like a mantra in your head, and it gives you some comfort… for a while. Soon it's overtaken by an intrusive voice asking a question that you don’t want to hear.

But what if he isn’t?

Any residual consolation you were feeling gives way, and anxiety overwhelms you as you imagine all the terrible scenarios that could have befallen Steven, each more horrifying and improbable than the last.

You can't shake the paranoia that the matching numbers are just a coincidence. There's nothing in the text itself that says it’s from Marc. Or about Steven. It could just as easily be a timely telephone scam.

Is there anyone who hasn’t received a random automated call informing them that someone they know has been in a car accident? There are thousands of these calls a day in the UK, scammers hoping to find some dimwit waiting for a call from a loved one.

Maybe today, you’re the dimwit.

You can count the hours of sleep you’ve gotten since Steven disappeared on one hand.

You need to sleep, but even as exhausted as you are, you just can’t. Instead, you're having a staring competition with your ceiling, and so far you’re winning.

You’re worrying yet again about Steven. You wonder where he is. If he’s really safe. What he—or Marc—has been doing all this time.

A full week has gone by, and you still haven’t heard anything from Steven himself. You haven’t had any further communication from the unknown number that may or may not be Marc either.

Marc.

Rolling onto your side, you stare off into the darkness of your flat.

The concept of Marc is still an enigma to you. As far as you can tell, he’s entirely distinct from Steven. Not only are his mannerisms different, but he calls himself by another name and talks about Steven as if they’re separate people.

There is another person inside of Steven that is markedly not Steven.

In the complete darkness of your flat, your sleep deprived brain tries to make sense of what that actually means, but you can’t. There’s so much you don’t know.

Rolling back across the bed the other way, you reach for your phone.

Midnight is not the ideal time to do research, but what does it matter? You’re not likely to sleep regardless.

Your first pit stop is Google, but that does you no favours. As always, no matter what symptoms you put into the search bar, WebMD is determined to convince you that it’s cancer.

Instead, you end up trawling through NHS’ homepage well past midnight, ending up in a wormhole of health issues until you land on the symptoms for Dissociative Identity Disorder:

They may feel the presence of other identities, each with their own names, voices, personal histories and mannerisms.

The main symptoms of DID are:

» memory gaps about everyday events and personal information

» having several distinct identities

And there it is, written in plain Arial font. The conclusion you’ve been trying not to jump to. The inescapable reality behind all those red flags Steven’s been waving in front of your nose from the very start.

You stare at the words on the page, reading and re-reading them. You don’t know what to think or how you feel about your discovery. The only thing you do know is that you are wholly unqualified to handle any of this.

As far as you know, you've never met anyone—anyone else?—with DID. Your only previous exposure to the disorder has been through movies like Psycho, Split, Basic Instinct… Movies that depict the character with a mental health condition as a psychotic murderer or one in the making with sensationalist glee.

You don’t believe that of course. You know better than to expect sensitive and accurate representation from Hollywood blockbusters. That’s a bit like reading The Sun and expecting truthful and unbiased news reports.

The problem is that knowing all of this doesn’t solve anything.

All you do know is that you miss Steven. You’re scared—terrified for him—and want him back with you.

Fuck Marc for taking him away.

The devil himself must have heard you, his ears burning. Your phone pings out in the silence at that moment, interrupting your thoughts. The screen flashes, and it takes you a moment to adjust to the sudden brightness before you can read the incoming message.

+x xxx xxx xxxx Steven will be back tomorrow. Don’t mention me.

You stare at the phone as you reread the text once and then again. There’s no ambiguity this time; there can’t possibly be.

Back.

Steven.

Steven is coming back to you.

You barely have time to rejoice over the fact before those last three words hit you. Their meaning settles heavily in your gut, burning at the lining of your stomach until you think you might be sick all over your duvet.

It’s a warning. The wolf is at your door.

And just like that, the curtain’s pulled back, and you see Steven’s disappearance for what it is: a sick display of the power Marc holds over him. Over you both. A demonstration of how your life with Steven continues only at his whim. Those three words are an order and a stomach churning threat all in one.

Mention Marc, reveal his existence to Steven, and he will take Steven from you.

For the first time, you understand why Steven has always been alone, and anger burns in your blood. Steven is being held hostage in his own body, and he doesn’t even know it. And you’re being blackmailed into lying to the man you love.

You want to tell Steven the truth immediately. You want to scream it from the bloody rooftops.

But you don’t want to lose him.

Selfish as it may be, you want to keep Steven in your life for as long as you can. At the very least, if you’re together, maybe you can protect him from Marc. Make sure he’s safe.

Isn’t that better than telling Steven the whole truth only to have Marc take him away from you? The only thing that would achieve is to relegate Steven back to a life of loneliness.

No. It wouldn’t do any good to tell Steven now. You can’t go in blindly when Marc has such a strong upper hand. You need more information, a plan, or at least some kind of strategy before you risk doing anything that might result in Steven being spirited away from you again.

With your ear pressed to your pillow, you stare at the text, struggling to keep your eyes open. You turn the brightness up so far that it’s painful to look at, blinking away sleep until you’re unable to fight it anymore.

A knock on the door wakes you.

Squinting one eye open, you find the room flooded with light, bright and blinding. Your mouth tastes like harsh cotton, and your throat is sore when you swallow.

You don’t know when you fell asleep last night, but it’s five to eight now according to your alarm clock. Your shoulders are stiff and aching, body protesting the lack of rest.

Sleep concussed as you are, you fumble towards the door, relying on memory rather than sight to navigate your surroundings. You don’t even make it to the middle of the room before you trip over your ottoman.

Pain shoots out from the nub of your toe, and you barely manage to stop yourself from face planting. With a curse and a pending bruise forming on your foot, you hobble the rest of the way towards your door and unlock it. In your struggle, you don’t even bother to check the peephole to see who is at your door.

You slide the door open, scarcely paying attention. At first, all you see is a much-too-loud novelty print and flowers wrapped in cellophane in the open doorway. Your brain stalls for several heartbeats, before you drag your eyes upwards.

It’s Steven.

Sporting messy hair and an ill-fitting jumper, at least two sizes too large, he’s standing in front of you, hugging a fresh bouquet of flowers to his chest.

“Hiya,” he greets you with a small wave of his free hand, a besotted smile on his face as though everything in his world is just as it should be.

You blink. For a second, everything slows. You’re not sure if you’re ready to allow yourself to believe that this is real. If this is a dream, the disappointment of waking up with him not here will break you.

“I got us some breakfast,” Steven says and steps inside, clumsily closing the door behind him with the side of his shoulder, “and there were these tulips at Sainsburys. Pink, your favourite.”

He's here. Steven's actually here.

His face beams with pride as he looks up at you. “I know you said to stop getting flowers unless there’s an actual special occasion, but I thought spending the morning together after our first official sleepover is pretty special, and more importantly–”

Your stomach drops.

He doesn’t know. Steven clearly still thinks it’s the morning after. Doesn’t realise that a whole week has gone by since he spent the night here.

Putting the flowers down on your kitchen counter, he turns to face you, holding up a wax paper bag with a delighted smile.

“Et voilà! Croissants au chocolat for the lady. I’ll just pop them in the microwave real quick—I know you like them hot—and then I’ll make us some tea, yeah?”

Steven is in your home, standing in the kitchen, smiling at you and spoiling you rotten, like he hadn't just disappeared off the face of the earth for a week. Because as far as Steven's aware, he’s been here with you all night after falling asleep watching animal documentaries.

Right now, in front of you, he’s acting out the morning-after the two of you were supposed to have but a week too late, making you the breakfast he promised.

Your throat closes, and a liquid burn rises in your chest, making it hard to breathe. You can feel the threat of tears behind your eyes.

“Hey, is everything okay?” Steven drops the bag of croissants onto the counter and rushes over to you. “Did something happen while I was gone?”

“No. I just–” You take a shaky breath, trying to collect yourself.

Breaking down now won’t do either of you any good. You can’t tell him what’s wrong. Not without risking him being taken away forever.

“I’m happy you’re here," you say, trying to fake a smile.

You’re a rubbish liar. Always have been. It’s no surprise that Steven doesn’t buy it for a second.

"Those are obviously not happy tears, love. What's going on? Have I done something wrong?"

His hands draw up to cup your face, one thumb skimming gently over the single tear that’s escaped onto your cheek. He tilts your chin up until you meet his gaze, and it’s like something clicks behind those sharp eyes.

"It's because I wasn't here when you woke up, isn't it?" he asks gently.

You bite your lip. It’s such an oversimplification of what’s happened, but you don’t know how else to explain it to him, so you nod. A half-truth at best, but at least it’s only a lie by omission.

"’Course it is,” he soothes. “That would bother anyone, yeah?"

You let yourself collapse against him, hugging him tight around the middle as you bury your face in his chest. He lets out a quiet oof, but you refuse to let go and despite his obvious physical discomfort, Steven doesn't protest. He wraps his arms reassuringly around you, blanketing himself around you in comforting warmth.

“I’m sorry, I should have left a note. Don’t know why I didn’t. I was so sleep deprived that I don’t even remember leaving this morning. I must’ve thought it was only going to take a second, but the next thing I know, I’m in the dairy aisle and this lady with a stroller is looking at me funny."

One large, gentle hand smooths over your shirt at the small of your back, and you shiver pleasantly at the warmth of the doting touch.

"I'm sorry," he says again, voice soft, "I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

Closing your eyes, you take a second to let the comfort of his words and his arms around you seep in. You tilt your head upwards, pressing your nose to the hollow dip of his throat, right below his Adam's apple. He smells faintly of stale air and alcohol, covered up by the unfamiliar scent of cheap hotel soap. Your chest squeezes painfully at the reminder of his double life, one that neither of you know the details of.

Even with Steven here in your arms, you cannot escape the reality that you’ll always have to share him with something you cannot understand.

You don't move, instead, you press your mouth to that same spot on his throat, feeling his pulse beat steadily against your lips.

He's here, the beat says. He's safe, he's alive.

Nuzzling into the delicate skin, you’re rewarded with a keen gasp that makes the small hairs on your neck rise. His fingers flex against your waist with that familiar trademark hesitation, before settling there, hardly even resting against you.

After all this time, it’s like he’s still scared you’re going to tell him no. As if your relationship is some kind of practical joke on him, and if he reaches for you first, you’ll laugh in his face.

He was too afraid to mention the first night in case you’d get upset. He thought you were going to break up with him when you said you two needed to talk. It’s almost funny in a macabre sort of way that Steven doesn’t realise just how deep you’re in it over him. If he only knew of the sleepless nights you’ve suffered. How you’ve been sick to your stomach over missing him. Willing to bargain with the devil just to get to keep him.

You kiss him again, trying to use his closeness to drown out all the things you can’t say. Pressing your lips to that sweet little spot where his jaw meets his throat. You do your best to savour the hint of stubble that tickles against your bottom lip.

Steven shivers and then pulls back slightly, ducking his head to close the distance between your lips. A barely there touch, then Steven’s thumb catches behind your ear, timidly guiding you closer.

That one kiss continues into several small chaste kisses, each press of his lips soft and devoted like he’s thanking you for letting him. It’s so pure, the kind of kisses that have your toes curling in delight and your ears tingling. But it’s restrained in a way that you’ve not got the patience for right now.

Not after a whole week of his absence. Not when you’ve spent those seven days unsure if you would ever get to see him again. You want so much more than this. Can’t bear the fraction of a moment when his lips are not on yours when he breaks up his kisses to allow you to catch your breath.

You want all of him all at once.

Your hand clutches at the collar of his shirt, pulling him in closer. His breath stutters, mouth parting slightly, and you take the opportunity to lick over the swell of his bottom lip before you bite down, trying to be gentle.

It must be the reassurance Steven needs, because he groans into your mouth, his grip on you tightening. His hands dig into the plump flesh above your hips, kneading it with strong fingers, and there it is, that eagerness and hunger for you that you’re heedlessly in love with. The duality of Steven Grant. It's desperate, sweet and almost aggressive. One hand moves to grip the base of your neck, pulling you flush against him, chest to chest, eliminating the last of the physical distance between you.

It’s exactly what you need, and for a long, hot, breathless moment, you’re not thinking of anything except him. When he finally breaks off the kiss, you lean after him, chasing his lips.

“Bed?” he asks, the word a low rasp against your seeking mouth.

You nod eagerly and grab for him, recapturing his lips and giving him a tug in the right direction.

It’s clumsy and desperate as you let Steven manoeuvre the two of you through your flat. You’re blindly walking backwards, guided only by Steven’s outstretched hand fumbling against the surfaces of the wall to make sure you don’t bump into furniture.

You kiss him like you’ve been held under water, deprived of air and his beautiful mouth is oxygen filling your lungs. Every step is an uncoordinated mess that nearly has you tipping over if it wasn’t for Steven holding you upright. It’d be far easier if you only let go. Would only take seconds in your tiny flat to get from the kitchen to the bed. But you’re not willing and Steven is only happy to indulge you.

His mouth is warm and slick, hands large and firm. The warmth of his body against yours, comforting and alive. It’s all you can focus on as you forget your surroundings. Until something heavy and blunt pushes back against the inside of your calf.

The surprise makes you lose your balance. You fall backwards, the whole room tilting as you’re sent sprawling. When things stop moving, you find yourself flat on your back, less than half a foot away from your bed. You’re still staring up at Steven’s shocked face and outstretched hands when you realise what (literally) hit you.

Bloody cockblocking ottoman.

The pitched dark hunger disappears from those brown eyes in an instant. Instead they’ve gone round and doelike with concern as Steven rushes forward, falling to his knees in front of you, and draws your leg into his lap.

“I’m so sorry. I should’ve been more careful and watched where we were going. Bloody stupid of me, I practically pushed you. Are you hurt?”

“It’s fine, Steven. I’m fine. You didn’t push me. It’s alright,” you tell him.

But his eyes are already darting over your lower leg, and his hands quickly follow, gingerly rubbing your ankle and feeling up over your calf with great care, making your skin prickles under his fingers. It’s a credible imitation of Florence Nightingale, but as sweet as it is to have Steven tend to you, it's not the sort of attention you want from him right now.

"Leave off the fussing, please?" you ask him softly.

“Should we–maybe I should get you on the bed yeah? You might be hurt and–”

Leaning up, you place kisses on his jaw, his cheeks, the swell of his lip, hoping to distract him. "I need you, Steven. Don't stop. I don't want to stop right now."

His eyes are still wide and worried, as his hand smooths over the bend of your knee in comfort. “You’re sure you're alright? That I didn’t hurt you?”

“I’m sure.” You grab his collar and lean back, dragging him on top of you as you lie back onto the floor.

Steven follows, letting you pull him down without a hint of resistance, and clambering forward until he’s completely above you. His large frame looms over yours on the floor, thick thighs straddling your waist, and you’re reminded all over again that one of your favourite facets of Steven is how cooperative he is. Always so eager to please you, and you have zero compunction about taking advantage.

“Take this off,” you order, tugging at his jumper impatiently.

He nods hastily. “Right, right.”

Ever so good at following your orders, Steven’s hand immediately reaches for the bottom of the garment. He grabs the hem and pulls, revealing a tantalising sliver of golden skin above the waistband of his trousers. You’re so focused on the slowly widening swath of his bare stomach, that it’s not until he pauses, a clumsy snarl of fabric tangled around his head and shoulders, that you realise he’s attempted to take off his jumper and the shirt beneath all in one go and gotten himself stuck.

Honestly, you’re not even surprised. On any other occasion, you’d be smiling at his adorable ridiculousness, but it's been a week. One hundred and sixty-eight endless hours since you’ve gotten to hold him and touch him like this—uncertain if you’d ever get to—and now each additional second of delay feels like an eternity.

Finally, with another sloppy tug and an impatient groan, the tangled mess of clothing gives, and Steven’s bare-chested on top of you. He’s all strong, sleek muscles, as gorgeous and well-defined as those cut from marble on statues of Greek deities displayed in the very same museums that Steven himself tends to.

It should’ve been obvious from the start. You want to burst out in laughter at your own naivety. Why on earth would a man who works at a gift shop and spends his free time with his nose buried in dusty old books have a body like this? How has Steven never questioned his own physique? Does he think that all men just wake up looking like this without any effort?

The sun from the window shines soft over his shoulder and arms. The thin gold chain dangles from his long neck, glistening in the light. He is all warm and golden, soft for your hands to freely wander over the bare expanse of his skin.

Your hand cups the back of his neck, teasing at those ridiculously soft curls with your fingers, before scraping the base of his scalp with the gentlest strength. You’re marvelling at how prettily his eyelashes flutter and the way he sighs with a blissful shiver makes you smile.

Sliding down, your hand roams over the carved muscle of his shoulder blade, over his back, pressing a line of soft kisses on the column of his neck. They flex under your touch, as Steven keens softly and you take comfort in the fact that if there was ever proof that Steven is here with you, it’s this. The heavy weight of him on top of you. The fast beating pulse of his throat under your lips. The feel of him hardening against your belly.

Reaching for his belt, you fumble with the buckle until it finally gives with a metallic clank. Then you shove one greedy hand under the loose waistband of his trousers, slipping it into his underwear.

He’s hot and hard. Flesh smooth to your touch. Your fingers curl around the thick girth, giving him a firm, indulgent stroke, from base to blunt tip, tracing every ridge. Steven gasps and shudders at your touch, slumping forward like he’s unable to support his own weight and pressing his forehead into your collarbone with a quiet whine.

You close your eyes at the sound of it, feeling him all around you.

This is what you’ve been missing, what you’ve been desperately needing, all week. Immersing yourself in the moment—in him—as fully as possible, you draw in a deep breath and give him another stroke just to hear him make that noise again. You let his reassuring presence wash over you, try to let it convince you that he’s really here.

Wherever he’s been this last week, he’s here, right now, with you.

Then suddenly he’s not.

Out of nowhere, the protective weight and warmth of him is rising away. Alarm crowds your senses, and in a moment of instinctual panic, your hand shoots up, grabbing his arm.

"Don't go!"

You open your eyes to find Steven still right there next to you. He's frozen with one hand outstretched above the open drawer of your nightstand, a look of shocked surprise on his face.

Oh God. He wasn’t going anywhere at all, he was just getting a condom.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassed heat at the realisation.

"Sorry," you mumble, and you duck your chin, "I just–" You don't know how to explain away your massive overreaction, and guilt claws even deeper into your chest as you find yourself offering up yet another half-lie.

"I had a nightmare that you left. Disappeared, and I couldn’t find you.”

You can’t believe it’s your own voice that you’re hearing. It sounds so small. Ugly in its neediness. If this was any other man, you’re sure they’d be running for the hills by now. It’s a miracle Steven hasn’t. “It’s silly. Sorry.”

Steven frowns with sympathy, worry etched all around his beautiful eyes. "You don’t have to be sorry, love." He closes the drawer, condom in hand. Then he's leaning back down to press his lips to your hairline. “It’s not silly.”

"But hey, listen,” he murmurs, resting his forehead briefly against yours. “I’m not going anywhere, am I? No. Not except maybe down to the shops."

One warm hand comes to cup your face, and he’s looking at you with so much sincerity that it takes your breath away.

"I would never leave you. Never. Not ever, I swear. Not so long as you’ll have me.” He says it with such utter conviction that pain washes over you anew.

Because it’s not really up to Steven, is it? He may not be able to stay with you, regardless of what he wants.

“You don’t know that."

The unfairness of the situation, his powerlessness over his own life, has tears pushing hot behind your eyes.

“Then I'll come back, simple as that. No matter what happens. Even if the bloody sky falls down. Even if a fleet of flying saucers brings an army of funny little green men straight out of Mars Attacks to invade the earth tomorrow, I'll still come back to you. Always, alright? I'll always come back to you.”

The lump still sits heavily in your throat, but you choke out an amused laugh at the imagery Steven draws for you. He smiles victoriously in return. It lights the whole room, and you reach for him again, wrapping your arms around his neck because you need to pull him close and kiss him.

In this moment, you allow yourself to believe. Against all flashing red signs pointing otherwise, you choose to believe that he will keep this promise. That whatever circumstances arise, even if Marc takes him away again, Steven will always come back to you.

“Okay,” you say, with a smile stretching wide across your lips, and you can feel the dark weight lifting as you nod at him.

Steven mirrors your smile, returning your kiss and that’s all it takes before the last morsel of doubt lifts.

His hands reach down, shimmying his trousers down his ample hips. You help him, hooking your thumb at the hem to drag them down the rest of the way, and he kicks them off his ankle.

Then finally, the warmth of his bare thighs is against yours, and you both gasp. It’s fucking bliss to feel him like this. Naked and warm, pressed up against every inch of you, his weight holding you down against the floor, the length of him lying hard and heavy against your belly.

He anchors himself on one elbow, as he rips the foil wrapper, lifting off of you slightly.

You miss the contact immediately. It’s like the week apart has left you even more attuned to him, hyper-aware of all the places you’re no longer touching. You watch impatiently as he turns to one side just enough to give himself room, rolling the condom down over his cock with gratifying speed.

His hands are steady, his movements sure, nothing like that first night where both of you struggled to make sense of the stubborn rubber in the near-dark of his flat. By now, the two of you have done this often enough that Steven knows every step of the routine like the back of his hand, clumsy eagerness replaced by practised ease.

Anticipation and longing beat loud in your chest at the sight of him, eyes dark, cock in hand as he positions himself at your entrance. You reach for him, unable to stand the distance between the two of you, and he smiles fondly at you and leans down obligingly, resting his bodyweight on top of yours like a heavy blanket.

It’s fucking perfect. Exactly what you need, and your body opens for him, knees falling outward, hips canting up, heels digging into the floor as you arch up, trying to press yourself closer.

He grinds forward, the underside of his cock sliding slick and wet over your folds. Pleasure rises hot and overwhelming between your thighs at the stimulation, and an unflattering high-pitched noise escapes from the corner of your lungs. It’s like your whole body is strung on a thin line of thread. Overwhelmed by the barest contact after a week of having none. You’re not sure how you’re going to survive having him inside you when this already feels like so much. You wonder if he feels it too.

Opening your eyes, you see the boyish grin on his face, radiating with pride. He does it again, angling his hips to thrust up as the blunt head of his cock glides wetly over your clit and oh fucking–

Your hips jerk up involuntarily, pressing harder against him, and Steven gasps, eyes going wide and dark, that teasing grin wiped right off his face.

“Fuck, Steven–God. I need–” Your fingers dig into the meat of his shoulders, and you don’t know what you’re trying to say—not sure if you want him to stop or do it again—but it doesn’t matter. You never get to finish the rest of your sentence.

The thick ridge of his cock slips wetly inside you, and the sweet stretch of him, white and blinding, crowds out every other thought in your head. Your cunt squeezes around him at the thick intrusion, and you both moan at the tight pressure.

He halts, stilling inside you, and dear fucking god, he’s not even all the way in.

“God, love. You’re squeezing me so tight,” Steven gasps out, “Feels bloody amazing.” The words are soft, but there’s a clear strain in his voice, and his arms are trembling at your sides from the exertion of keeping still.

He still doesn’t move, and you’re not sure if he needs a moment or is trying to give you one. “I feel like I'm going to lose my mind if I can't be all the way inside you. Can I–”

He hovers above you, and you can feel his cock jerking and straining against you, the only part of his body he can’t fully control. You can’t help the way your body clenches and shivers in response, and he groans, resting his forehead against yours for a long moment as you pant heavily against each other’s lips.

“Is it alright for me to keep going?” he asks, eventually.

You try to say yes, but all that comes out is a breathless, choked out sob, as you nod at him frantically.

It’s all Steven needs. His hips push forward, pressing the rest of the way into you in one long, smooth stroke. The feeling is electric, robbing you of the ability to process anything except the way he fills you, stretching you out as he buries every inch of himself inside you. You can’t think. Can barely breathe. He’s embedded so deeply that there’s no space left in your lungs.

After a long moment, he starts to pull out just as slowly, his eyes fixed on yours. The pace is maddening, a thick, glacial drag that makes you feel every gorgeous inch of him. It leaves you gasping and writhing under him as he continues to retreat until only the tip still rests inside of you.

Then he does it all again.

He’s so different when he’s like this. His eyes focused, any trace of timidness gone. Everything else, all his usual hesitation and fear and doubt, seems to fade away when he’s inside you. It’s like you’re the only thing in his world—you and the need to make you feel good.

Drawing two of his fingers to his mouth, he slides them between his plush lips, and you can see his tongue tracing around them before he pulls them out again, glistening with spit for you. It’s entirely unnecessary. You’re so wet it’s leaking down the length of him and onto the inside of your thighs. But the sight makes your heart race all the same.

Steven reaches down between your bodies, hand resting above the apex of your thighs where his cock is still nestled inside you. His fingers slide, ever so gently over the slippery, sensitive flesh where you’re stretched wide around him.

“Feel that, love?” he breathes into your open mouth, “I’m right here. You’ve got me.”

His thumb catches at your clit as he gently presses down, and it has you spasming from the sharp pleasure. He gasps, jerking slightly above you, but doesn’t stop.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He continues to draws small, persistent circles over and over your clit that squeezes the very air out of your lungs, replacing everything, with a needy heat.

Your eyes squeeze shut at the sensation. Tears stinging in the corner of your lids.

It’s still not enough. You want more of him. Need to get closer.

You press your heels hard against the floor, trying to get better leverage, and grip frantically at his back. Nails biting into his skin, you claw at his shoulder blades as though you’re trying to dig your way in so deep that he’ll never be able to tear himself away from you again. It’s selfish, and you know it must be hurting him, but you can’t seem to be able to stop yourself.

Steven doesn’t stop you either. It’s like he knows that you still need more, and he rolls his hips into you, thrusting deep. His hand grips at the underside of your knees, pulling your legs to wrap them around his waist to let you squeeze your thighs around him, heels digging into the curve of his ass.

It feels like another way of telling you he’s here. Yours to use. Yours to have. Just… yours.

“Never gonna leave,” he whispers into your ear, pressing a soft kiss to the lobe as if to seal his promise.

Right now you don’t care if it’s a promise that he might not be able to keep. Not when pleasure, bright and blistering, is surging through you with every roll of his hips. It’s too much, bordering on unbearable. You can’t make out what he’s saying anymore, just soft murmurs and vague shushing.

It doesn’t matter, because his body is telling you all you need to know.

Because for all of Steven’s calm and reassuring words, his actions don’t match. His actions are telling you a different story—a more desperate one—full of grasping hands, deep urgent thrusts, and bitten-off gasps. It’s like his body knows how long you’ve been apart and what it’s been missing, even if his mind doesn’t.

His hand palms at your ribs, fingers digging deep crevices in your flesh, holding you tight like he means never to let go.

Mine, it says. Possessive and hungry.

His mouth, for all its loving dulcet tones and cooing, never seems to leave your skin for long, sliding over your throat and jaw as if magnetised.

Yours, it promises, just as certainly.

He thrusts inside you, his hands find the bare backs of your thighs as he hooks one leg over his arm, and the new angle has him sliding in impossibly deep until it knocks the air out of your ribs. For a long blissful moment, you swear your whole chest cage is going to collapse.

His cock hits somewhere earth-shattering, and you arch up off the floor, curling into him with a shivering gasp. Heat crackles through every limb, swirling and swelling, sweet and insistent in anticipation of your climax. It settles deep in your belly, raw and heavy, soothed only by each insistent thrust.

He’s so deep you swear you feel him everywhere, buried inside you like he’s trying to stake a claim and never leave.

You hope he never does.

Pushing your hips up to him, you chase the feeling of him hitting that perfect spot, as the warm heat of it flutters in your stomach with each deep stroke. It won’t take much, you’re almost there–

But you don’t want this to end. Not yet. You want to keep Steven right here inside of you for as long as you possibly can.

You try to relax the tension in your legs, try to push your hips back down to stave it off. But it’s no good, Steven’s hands are still on you, manhandling you into a position where you can’t escape the perfect, relentless press of his cock inside you.

Not yet, not yet, not yet…

But it’s already there, at the tip of your fingers, so close you can taste it on your tongue. A promise of rapture, whether you want it to or not, and you want to scream and cry and fight the sensation that taunts you as it hangs there. But you can’t seem to do any of those things. It’s like you’ve lost control of your body, your hips lock tight, your throat feels tight and– fuck fuck, you’re–

“Steven, please. Not yet, I’m–” Your eyes squeeze shut, hands clawing at the carpet, searching for something to ground yourself with.

“I’m right here, love,” he murmurs, hand reaching for yours until he finds it and pins it next to your head. He clasps your hand tightly in his, weaving each one of his fingers between yours. “Right here. It’s alright. Let go for me.”

That’s all it takes. The floor underneath gives under, opening up and swallowing you whole. You feel like you’re floating and falling all at once as you clamour for Steven and hold him close as you fall through the cracks off the edge of the earth.

Your legs latch around the middle of his waist as you wring out every ounce and drop of the sensation you can. It rushes through you, ripe and overfull, filling every strand of every vein. You’re disorientated, the world narrowing into nothingness. The only thing that still exists is Steven.

All you can hear is the way his breath is stuttering with effort.

Can feel the way his even pace falters. Can see the way his brows knit in concentration, his face painted with bliss.

God, he’s beautiful like this.

Steven comes with a broken groan.

It’s so much and so deep and somehow you still want more. Want the feel of him raw and bare inside. Even that thin separation of not even a millimetre of rubber is too great of a separator for you to bear right now. All you want is to feel him spill himself inside you, thick and warm.

His body goes still and rigid, and then the strength in him gives under, nearly collapsing over you. He stops himself at the last second with a slam of his fist on the floor next to you, bent arms trembling with strain in an effort to keep himself upright.

It’s a sweet and considerate gesture. He doesn’t want to flatten you with his weight. It’s also completely unnecessary because there’s nothing you want more in this moment.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him down the rest of the way. It doesn’t take much of your strength, his elbow gives in and bends further, until he’s flush against you, sweaty and heavy limbs entangling with yours.

Despite the unbearable stickiness and heat from your exertion, Steven holds you, chest still heaving against yours. His thin necklace slips delicately down over your collarbone, cool where it rests against your overheated skin. The golden pendant is pressed intimately between your breast and his chest.

The morning sun washes over everything inside your flat in a golden hue. Even the dull white of your walls turns into something warm and amber. The only sound permeating the peace is the sound of morning traffic outside. A busted old moped races down the street. Children shouting over a game of tag. The honking of cars trying to get somewhere fast. Outside it is loud, hectic and chaotic.

But right here, inside the safe bubble of your tiny flat, Steven is warm and heavy over you, the beat of his heart drumming against your chest in a steady pace.

“Can we stay like this for a while?” you ask.

He kisses your forehead, uncaring of the way your skin is sticky with sweat, and you can feel the smile on his lips as he squeezes your hand firmly in his.

“‘Course we can, love. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

~ CONTINUE ~

Once again thanks for everyone coming along for this ride. We're hoping to be posting this on a semi-regular schedule of every two weeks. For anyone who wants to be tagged please sign up to the tag list linked on the series masterlist.

We are beyond grateful for all the comments, reblogs and likes and just interest on this series, and while I can be a bit rubbish at replying sometimes, please know that your words and support inspires us to keep going with this series. 🥰

Dedication & Credits:

It takes a village huh, guys?

All my broken dishes to @the-ginger-hedge-witch because when I told her I wanted Steven to get to rawdog it, she went, "absolutely not, not when Marc is out there whoring around for all we know." (I may or may not be rephrasing but that was the sentiment).

To @radiowallet for listening to my insane and uninformed ramblings about Moon Knight and for giving me a firm guide and steering on how to write our beloved Moon Boys and making sure that everything tracks.

To @write-and-buried for inspiring me with the most absolutely deranged filthy suggestions when my smut inspiration well runs dry. I got really stuck in the sex scene for this one when I decided to in the 11th hour add a sex scene because "it felt right" then proceeding to panic cause I forgot how to write smut and she got me back on track.

And always and forever to my co-writer @thirstworldproblemss who had stayed up endless nights with me discussing the finer details of how twitchy a cock should be, how much it should leak. This series would not exist without her, she turns the rubbish I write into diamonds, she goes through every sentence once-twice-three times and she is always responsible for the best lines in every chapter, her voice for Steven is unparalleled, and I find myself falling more and more in love with this world because of her. I would not be writing this story, and most likely, at all, if it weren't for her and our friendship.

#oscar isaac #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #moon knight #moon knight fic #moon knight fanfic #marvel #mcu #moon knight x you #cici writes #moon knight x reader #steven grant x you #marc spector x you #jake lockley x you #cici moon knight

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iwalc · 3 years

Text

Surprise- Brian May x Reader

It was late. You sat on the sofa reading a book in front of the fireplace when you zoned out. You started to look around you and saw how beautiful your life had become. You were married to the one and only person you ever loved and together you had built this beautiful, incredible life. 2 years ago, 3 years into your marriage with Brian, you decided to have a child, a token of your love for each other. It was a rough start. There were numerous times where it didn't work at all, other times when you peed on the stick, soon after seeing a positive test, the excitement was immense and when you told Brian he got so excited, all of this to then be broken by the news of miscarriage. It broke the both of you but somehow you still managed to carry on. And for the reward of not giving in you could finally tell Brian once again that you were pregnant, and that time, all went well. In August 1980 you could finally give birth to a bouncing baby girl. It was a strange feeling, suddenly the gravity of your universe shifted and everything revolved around this tiny human, the beautiful Amanda that you and your husband, the love of your life had created and would cherish forever.

You had Brian, your beautiful girl Amanda, you had a beautiful and warm atmosphere you could call home, and there was nothing more that you wanted in life. Until a few months ago.

Your husband had started to secretly give you hints until he finally sat down with you and spat it out.

"Love?" he called silently since Amanda was sleeping, from the living room as you were in the bathroom catching up some laundry. "Yes, gorgeous" you answered just as you accomplished the task at hand. "Could you come here for a minute, there is something I'd like to talk to you about", "Ofc, I'll just wash my hands first". You thought about it as you washed your hands in the warm water. It must be something that's been on his mind for a while since whenever it's something ordinary he just spits it out, out of nowhere. You were curious.

When you walked towards the living room you saw him sitting on the sofa, his elbows resting on his knees, face in his hands. This worried you quite a bit. "Hey, what's up?" you asked as you sat down next to him, your hand automatically landing on his thigh. "I uh, I... There is something that's been on my mind" he started, looking down at his feet signalling his nervousness. "Well, I figured, I've noticed there's been something on your mind lately, but I didn't want to push you into talking with me if you didn't feel ready to." you gently said as you squeezed his tight gently. "I haven't found the right time to tell you and talk to you about it" he continued. "I want to know what's on your mind, love" you answered, really wanting to know. He turned his head to look at you for a moment, his curls falling off his shoulder, a smile tugging at his lips. "Do you want me to just spit it out or with some background information?" he asked chuckling a bit, "Do you think background information will be necessary?" you asked him smiling while adoring his beautiful features. His hazel, soft eyes, his prominent cheekbones, his jawline, his beautiful dark curls framing his gorgeous face. "No, not really. I uhm", "Brian, love, I know you are nervous but it's just me, spit it out", "I want another baby Y/N" he blurted out, waiting worriedly for your reaction, a small smile daring to tug at his lips. You were quite shocked, to be honest, it wasn't what you thought your husband had been thinking so much about. "You know Amanda is growing quickly, she's almost 2 years old now and I uhm, it would be nice to give her some company and" he didn't get to finish his explanation because of you interrupting him with a kiss. Taking him by surprise.

It was a brilliant idea. It made your stomach flutter with butterflies. You pulled back from the passionate kiss, seeing his chocked state made you laugh. He smiled at you, adoration poured into the gaze that reached your face. "I'd love to expand our family and have another child with you!" you squeaked, flying into his arms, which in turn led to chuckles escaping Brian's throat. The sound filled your heart and once again you thought about how perfect your life had become. You were so in love with everything, but most importantly Amanda and Brian.

The way he got so excited. The way his hazel eyes got deeper with adoration and excitement. The way his smile reached his eyes. The way he hugged you, telling you how happy you made him, how in love he was with you and to share his life with you. The way he existed. Your heart ached with love for this man.

And that day, it was set, you were going to try for a new baby. It wasn't always easy, already having a child to take care of, as well as Brians sometimes strange working schedule. However, to you, it was quite obvious it had worked. You were experiencing some symptoms, which reminded you of your first pregnancy: Absent period, hormonal imbalance, tender breasts, bloated, nausea in the mornings. Even Brian noticed some changes:

You had just gotten out of a late-night shower and were just going to change into your pyjama shirt when Brian suddenly commented something you found very strange. "Love, have you been missing your period?" he blurted out. This was something you never ever thought he'd ever think of, never the less keep track off. You turned around to stare at him, "Yes, in fact, I have, why?". "No, I was just thinking, I reckon you told me last month that we had to buy more pads and tampons til' this time, but neither of us has bought any and you have been feeling quite fine compared to how you use to feel when the time of the month comes around." he said like it was nothing, you just starred at him incredulously, at awe of the attention he had paid. "What? Did I say something wrong?" he asked as his face fell. "No, no you didn't. I'm just amazed by the attention you pay to those kinds of things. I wasn't prepared for the question nor the explanation for it." you said and chuckled as you dragged the shirt over your head. Walking to the bed you smiled to yourself, wow, what a man. As you buried yourself under the quilt, snuggling up to Brian who gladly put his arm around you he blurted out another incredulous comment. "I also can't help to notice that your breast has gotten bigger". You laughed at the comment. "I don't know if they're bigger, but tender they definitely are. How do you notice all of these things?" you couldn't help but ask as you looked up at him. "Well, I don't know, I guess I just do. And I've known you for about ten years now, and we've been together for almost eight of those. I would like to say I know you very well" he stated. "Well yes, you definitely do, and I love you for it!" you said as you reached up for a kiss, he chuckled a bit and smiled into the kiss.

Brian didn't ask anything after that, you know he had his suspicions but neither of you wanted to get the hopes up too early, regarding all of the tries before Amanda. However, after emptying your stomach one morning, you decided that it would be time to take a test. Brian couldn't be with you this time since he had work at the studio that had to be done, and since Amanda was spending time with her grandparents, Ruth and Harold, you figured it would be a perfect time. Since Brian wasn't home, nor did he know you were going to take a test, you decided to keep it a secret until you knew the result and decided to take it from there.

You had pregnancy tests laying around in a draw in the bathroom. You took one, peed on it, and while waiting for a result you went to eat some breakfast. Coming back to the bathroom to look at the test, you suddenly became very nervous, you really wanted it to be positive! You would hate to break the news to Brian, telling him that it was negative and that the symptoms had been a result of something else. You took a deep breath and grabbed the test. You slowly turned it around, feeling the nervousness clearly increase. All the fear suddenly washed away, it was positive.

Suddenly you felt all the emotions in the world all at once. Tears started to drip from your eyes as you smiled like crazy. The excitement was a fact which resulted in several exited screams and runs throughout the house. If anyone could see you they'd probably think you'd be crazy. But you didn't care because you were the happiest. You had more than you would ever wish for.

Before taking the test you were thinking about waiting to tell Brian until you've seen a doctor etc but now, there was no way you could make that happen. You tried not to call Brian at the studio to tell him. Instead, you rushed to the phone and decided to call Ruth and Harold.

It felt like it took forever before anyone picked up the phone. "The May household" you heard Harold answer. "Hi Harold, it's Y/N, how are you?", "Hello Dear, I'm fine thank you, how are you?" he asked, he sounded happy, it warmed your heart. You contemplated whether telling them or waiting. Apparently, you had been quiet for too long, "Is everything alright?" he seriously asked. You hesitated a bit, "Yeah, I uhm I think so", "You doesn't sound too sure about that dear, would you like to talk to Ruth?", "That would be nice, thank you, Harold". Harold was a great grandad and a wonderful father in law, however, you had always had a better connection towards Ruth.

You heard Harold calling for Ruth and some muffled noises. "Hello dear!" you heard Ruth's voice cheering through. "Hello Ruth, how are you? And Amanda?" you gently asked, not really levelling with her enthusiasm. "Oh I'm fine dear, thank you for asking. Amanda just ate some soup, so she's full and satisfied" she laughed. "That's great! I hope you're all having a good time and that she's behaving" you chuckled. "Oh dear, don't worry, she's the best!" you chuckled as an answer. "Now, Y/N, will you tell me what's wrong?", "I uhm, I was wondering if I could pick Amanda up a bit earlier than planned? Like today?", it was quiet for some time before she answered. "Oh, well yes of course you can! Is there something wrong?" she asked. "No, I don't think so at least" you chuckled, "I just want her home for tonight when Brians getting home.", "Y/N, I'm sorry but I can see right through you, there is something on your mind.", "Well yes, there are, I just don't know if I want to tell you before I tell Brian.", "Oh" and with this, you knew she understood. "Ok, I think you know by now anyway, I uhm, I'm..... pregnant, and I wanted to" you didn't get to finish your sentence because there was a scream on the other end and it made you laugh. "Oh my heavens, Congratulations!! I am so happy for you two!" she almost screamed. "Don't get too excited Ruth, it's still pretty early" you voiced your fears. "Oh dear, I understand your fear, I really do, but it will be alright in the end, I promise!", at this you got emotional, tears started to stream down your cheeks and you sniffled, "Oh love, It will be alright! We'll pack Amandas things and then we'll be right over, okay?", "Okay" you sniffled, "Thank you Ruth!", "No worries dear!", "Ruth before you begin packing things up, you don't have too, you can have her back tonight or tomorrow if you want.", "That sounds nice if it's alright with you two, but I guess you would appreciate some time alone to talk and everything, so we'll happily come and pick her up tomorrow again!", "That sounds great, I know she loves being with you two! I won't hold you up any longer, see you soon then", "Yes darling, see you soon!"

You took a deep breath. Wow. This was a rollercoaster.

You were so happy and so appreciative for Ruth and Harold. Brian and Harold haven't always been on great terms but the last year things have been amazing between them and both Harold and Ruth have always been amazing towards you. They are great, amazing! And there is no wonder why Brian is so great.

---

You were in the bedroom and looking for a specific body that Amanda had, knowing that Brian would know exactly when he saw it, when you heard knock on the front door. You quickly ran downstairs and opened to great your baby and parents in law.

"Hi," you both said at the same time as you opened the door. Ruth walked inside first and greeted you with a big smile, embracing you in a hug only a mother could. "You look great!" she happily said as her hands went to your cheeks, you chuckled a bit "Thanks, I don't feel great" you laughed, hoping not to get further questions. Harold stepped inside and handed you your baby girl, oh you had missed her. "Hi baby," you said in a squealing voice before showering her in kisses, making her laugh. Harold walked up to you, and to your surprise leaned in for a hug, he's not a hugging person normally, you gently hugged him and received a happy congratulations wish. "I'm happy for you both," he said, "Thank you so much, Harold," you said and gave him a joyous smile, just as you also felt tears streaming down. "Oh wow, I'm a mess" you laughed as you brushed the tears off. "No worries dear, I was the same when I was expecting Brian" she laughed and Harold agreed, not pleased with the recall of memories. You all broke down in laughs.

You welcomed them inside and as always they made themselves feel at home as you served some tea and biscuits. Ruth was playing with Amanda on the sofa. "Has she taken her nap today?" you asked as you saw how Amanda started to get cranky and sleepy. "No she hasn't, she was about to fall asleep in the car on our way here but we thought it was better to keep her awake so she could sleep here.", "Maybe we should go take a nap, baby girl," you said as you approached them on the sofa. Suddenly, Harold stood up, "I can take her to nap, if that's ok?" he asked, "Yes of course," you said as you walked and picked Amanda up and handed her to Harold. "I'll be upstairs with the bottle in a minute," you said as you walked to the kitchen to prepare the bottle.

---

Amanda was happily asleep upstairs and Ruth and Harold had just left. However, before they left they handed me a little box and you thought that now would be a good time opening it. Inside you could see a yellow shirt, in Amanda's size. When you unfolded the soft material you saw the cutest thing. The shirt had "Promoted Big Sister" embroidered on the front. You chuckled slightly as an idea about how to reveal the news to Brian popped up in your head.

This will be perfect.

---

Amanda was seated in her chair as you finished up the rest of the dinner. For the occasion, you had made Brians favourite dinner.

You had been so distracted by the food that you hadn't heard Brian coming home. You only noticed when Amanda squealed when she saw him entering the large kitchen. You turned around and was treated by a sight that could melt your heart a thousand times over. Brians had picked her up and were showing her with hugs and kisses, making the baby girl let out belly laughs. You felt how you were about to cry but quickly turned around again to brush them away.

Brian put Amanda back in her chair for a moment and approached you. Wrapping his arms around your waist, his lips brushed against your neck and kissed your temple. "Hi" you gently voiced. "Hello, love," he said and kept kissing your cheek. "It smells delicious," he said and placed one last kiss on your ear. "It's your favourite," you said and put down the spatula to turn around and greet him properly. "I noticed, what do I owe the pleasure?" he said as you wrapped your hands around his neck, his hands placed on your waist. "nothing special" you lied. "How was your day?" you asked as you leaned in for a hug, hugging his waist, his hands brushing your back. You could smell his cologne, feel his arms tightening around you. "It was okay, nothing special," he said, his voice low. He pulled away from the hug to look at you. One of his hands stroke some hair behind your ear to then cup your cheek. "How was your day? And why's Amanda home, shouldn't she be at my parents?", "They came to visit earlier and I wanted her home, but she's going back tomorrow," you said as you adored his face. He chuckled and leaned down to kiss you. The kiss was like nothing else, your whole body tingled. You felt the excitement again.

The dinner was nothing special. Brian kept complimenting the food, which warmed your heart. Throughout the whole dinner, you just kept adoring the little family you have and the excitement to reveal that one more was on the way kept getting stronger and you were growing impatient.

Amanda played with a rattle toy while you and Brian both cleaned up after the dinner, stealing hugs and kisses here and there.

When the kitchen was done cleaning you honestly felt exhausted, and Brian, being the wonderful husband he is, sensed that. He walked up to you and kissed your forehead as he hugged you. "You go sit down and relax and I'll take care of Manda" he said and kissed you again. "Thank you" you whispered.

Brian kissed you once more and walked excitedly towards Amanda, "Come here baby girl, it's time for jammies" he said as he picked her up and threw her up in the air, making her laugh once again. You felt at peace and happy as you saw them giggling, making their way down to the nursery.

It was getting quite late. You sat down on the sofa reading a book in front of the fireplace when you zoned out. You started to look around you and saw how beautiful your life had become. You were married to the one and only person you ever loved and together you had built this beautiful incredible life. And the excitement for the news Brian is left to find out is very much evident.

You couldn't focus on reading the book, you just sat there biting you lip slightly and listening to what was happening in the nursery. You heard Brian talk to Manda and her giggles. Until it all stopped.

Silent took over the house, the only thing you could hear was Mandas joller and the fire in the fireplace.

"Love?" Brian called for you. You didn't answer, you wanted to see his reaction without you interfering to early. "Y/N" he almost shouted. Silence took over again.

Apparently, he grabbed Amanda and the shirt he had discovered and worked to the living room. "What is this?" he said, trying to hide his excitement if it weren't true. "It's a new shirt I bought for Manda" you chuckled. He looked so confused. His eyes went from looking on Amanda, to the shirt, to you. "What?" he blurted out, confusion written all over him. You rose up from the sofa and approached him. He had put Amanda down on the floor as he inspected the shirt.

You walked towards him and when there was almost no space between you he looked up at you, studied your expression. You smiled and took the shirt out of his hands and folded it and put it on the table. You walked up to him again and smiled. He tilted his head a bit, once again showing his confusion. You took his hands and brought them up to kiss them and then placed them gently on your lower stomach to get the message through. He caught on immediately. His eyes widened and he let out a breath. "Ooh my lord" he breathed as he adjusted his hands slightly, his gaze fixated on your belly. You chuckled and once again felt tears forming in your eyes. "I'm pregnant, Brian" you said smiling as the tears ran down your cheeks. He looked up at you and a smile spread across his face, "Really?" he asked as he looked at you. "Yes, I took three tests and all of them was positive".

Brian moved his hands and embraced you in a loving, comforting hug. His head was placed in the curve of your neck, his hands wrapped around you, your hands on his back, feeling his warmth, feeling the soft curls against your cheek. What you discovered next melted your heart. You heard sniffles coming from Brian.

You broke the embrace and looked at him, your hands holding his cheeks, your thumbs brushing away the tears, as more tears streamed from your eyes. You both were crying out of happiness, and soon enough you were both laughing. Brian held your waist, "Oh boy I love you!" he said as he laughed and kissed you. "I love you more" you gently said, looking into his hazel eyes. "Thank you" he then said as a wave of more tears streamed down his rosy cheeks. He leaned his forehead against yours, looking into your eyes. "I.. I don't even know what to say. I love you so much and there is no other I'd want to share my life with. You make me happy, you're keeping me on track, you are my universe. I love you so much and I am so grateful for you! You have given me the best gift of live already once, and now again. I... I'm speechless. I love you so much! And I am so excited" he laughed. "I am so excited. Im so excited for all that the future has to bring us. To see Amanda grow up, to see this little bean grow" he placed his hands on your stomach, "I love you, so much!" he started to cry again. This hit you hard. How did you end up with this fantastic man? If only you could show him how much you meant to him so he could really understand.

"Baby, I love you! So much! And I am so happy. I have more than I could ever have asked for. I have a wonderful husband, who's also my best friend. You cheer me up when I'm down, you comfort me when I'm sad, you laugh with me when I'm happy. I am so glad and grateful that I get to share my life with you too. I love you so much it hurts!" you said and kissed his swollen, red lips to then hug him tight.

You were so excited for what the future would bring. You would never want to do this with anyone else. This was perfect.

--------------------

I hope you liked this one! I surely do! If you guys want maybe I could build this story further, maybe to follow them throughout the pregnancy or something? Let me know what you think!

#brian may fluff #brian may x reader fluff #dad!brian may #80s #queen band #love #brian may #brian may fanfiction #brian may fic #brian may imagine #brian may smut #brian may x oc #brian may x reader

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inourselveswetrust · 3 years

Note

Mc is having period pains, how would the ro's comfort them? 😟

I decided to take a different approach to answer this, let me know what you think! It's 2am and my insomnia is kicking my arse, so these ~probably~ suck.

TW: brief mention of blood

August

The pain, no matter its recurring arrival and departure, is excruciating and can only be described as being shredded from the inside out. You’ve sprawled yourself across the sofa, burrowing within a heap of blankets as pain wracks your body.

“I come bearing gifts!” August says cheerily as the near you. They settle themselves on the floor next to you and begin rummaging in the multiple bags, revealing an assortment of items; your favourite foods, your usual cravings and hygiene products are plentiful. “I was thinking we could cuddle and have a chill day, what do you think?” They suggest with a warm smile.

“That sounds wonderful.” You smile blearily, touched by their attentive nature. “But you have to work today.”

“I already called in.” They answer as they open a package of cookies, they take two then hand you the tray. “I don’t want to go to work if my partner in anti-crime isn’t there with me.”

Blair

“Good morning, my love.” Blair greets as you wake, you blink tiredly at their smiling face. “I hope you slept well.” They add, leaning over to press a featherlight kiss to your temple.

“How long have you been awake?” You ask after releasing a yawn, stretching as you speak.

“Not long, only ten minutes or so.” They answer, reaching out and brushing their hand down your bare arm. “I noticed you soaked through your clothing, I just finished running a hot bath for you.”

You groan and shift, lifting the quilted blanket and peering at the cream-coloured sheets. As Blair said, a pool of crimson has formed at your naval.

“I’m sorry, I’ll wash these.” You say as you pull yourself from the bed’s warmth. “Hopefully the stain comes out.” You sigh, staring at the red blotch with a frown.

“Don’t worry, my love.” Blair replies quietly. “Go get in the bath, I’ll take care of this.” They begin removing the bed linen, and a smidge of guilt flutters through you as you make your way towards the bathroom. The scent of lavender essential oil flits throughout the room, the water is a perfect, comforting temperature and Blair has piled your favourite, coziest lounge clothing atop the vanity.

Sometime later, you return to the bedroom to find them in bed typing away on their computer, new bedding sprawled on the mattress and a plate piled with a variety of foods rests on your nightstand.

“I made you breakfast.” They say when they notice you, a small smile on their lips as they stare at you. “Oatmeal and berries can reduce inflammation and constipation, and water will prevent dehydration and cramps.” They explain.

Wren

You groan as another pang of pain torments you, lurching in a repetitive rolling motion in a futile effort to reduce the discomfort.

“Is your uterus revolting?” Wren asks as they enter the room, wearing a concerned expression.

“Something like that.” You grumble, clutching your abdomen and pulling the bed’s comforter tighter to your body.

Wren nods, their brows knitted together. They disappear from the room, their footsteps growing quieter as they move further away. Then, silence consumes your surroundings, though it’s short-lived. The patter of their footsteps begins again, approaching once again. Too disoriented from the pain, you pay little attention to them as they bustle throughout the room.

“Call me Picasso!” Wren exclaims ten minutes later; you glance in their direction and an elaborate blanket fort greets your vision. “Welcome to Casa Crimson, it’s approximately 16 square feet in size and inside it features four blankets, four pillows and one warm compress. I was thinking we could cuddle inside and watch a movie, are you up for it?”

“Of course.” You reply with a large smile.

“Awesome, I’m going to get us some snacks. What genre do you want to watch? I have a list of fifty movies for every genre.”

Neve

You’ve cocooned yourself in the comfort of your bed under a pile of blankets, resting in a fetal position. Unbeknownst to you, Neve leans in the doorframe with a concerned frown and knitted brows observing you silent. Hesitantly and silently, they approach the bed and slide under the com. Neve approaches the bed hesitantly, uncertain of how they should proceed.

“How can I help you? Do you want cuddles or space?” They ask softly.

“Cuddles, please.” You mumble, they carefully slide under the duvet, you shift closer to them, welcoming their embrace and warmth.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” They murmur, nuzzling into you.

“Just be with me.” You reply quietly. They nod gently, one of their hands moves to your back and begins rubbing soothing circles.

“Get some rest, I’ll be here when you wake.” They whisper, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek.

#ro ask

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cheesy09 · 3 years

Text

[CN] Kiro’s Marketplace Date

🌸 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date that hasn't been released on the EN server yet! 🌸

[Note: This date was translated with the help of Google Translate :>]

[PART 1]

Tick... tick...

The clock ticked and chimed. I curled up in bed, staring at the phone screen steadily and stubbornly opened various small videos with my index finger.

MC: Watch for another ten minutes... No, fifteen minutes...

I didn't know if it was the effect of the continuous cold winter weather. As the new year approached, people became more and more lazy.

Even on weekends, I couldn’t bear to get out of the quilt until afternoon.

Suddenly, the sound of the door lock opening overshadowed the exaggerated sound effects from my phone, one step from far to near.

??: Surprise inspection - which slacker is still lying in bed!

The familiar, clear laughter rang out, and before I could sit up, a sudden weight pressed me back onto the bed.

A fluffy golden head was instantly close at hand.

Kiro's coat still carried the cold of outdoor winter, but the breath that escaped was full of happy and carefree sunshine.

The unexpected smiling face startled me for a moment, and in the next second, I smiled unconsciously and looked at his brilliant eyebrows.

MC: Why did you come here all of a sudden? Didn't you rush to make an announcement in the field yesterday?

Kiro: Hmm... Because of a tip, I heard that Miss Chips was imprisoned by a "slacker", so I hurried over to rescue her!

MC: Pfft...

Kiro looked at my smiling face and curled up the corners of his mouth while slowly pulling out the phone from my hand.

Kiro: According to reliable sources, you haven't been out of the house for almost eighty hours. If you continue like this, your head will grow mushrooms.

Kiro: Is it because you've had some troubles recently?

MC: No trouble. It's just those things that happen at the end of each year.

MC: What are the ratings of the New Year's Eve programs, the progress of the New Year's plan, the company's New Year's arrangements...

MC: Thinking of these things, I feel so tired. There is really no Chinese New Year atmosphere.

MC: In addition, the weather has been bad recently. If the weather was good...

Kiro: If the weather was good, would your mood be better?

MC: Of course.

I reached out my hand to hold his face and nuzzled the tip of his nose.

MC: Actually, since you came to find me, I'm in a good mood~

Kiro: But I don't think it's enough.

Kiro: I have to make MC change back into my “little sun”.

Kiro's smile became brighter and brighter. He leaned forward and sat up, and pulled open the closed heavy curtains.

In an instant, the bright sun shone through the room, and the melting warmth fell on my face.

MC: It actually cleared up…

I looked at the blue sky outside the window in surprise, then turned my gaze back in surprise, staring at Kiro's sly eyes.

Kiro: So, does this kind of weather count as good weather?

MC: Of course it counts!

Kiro: What are you waiting for, get up quickly! Let's go and soak up the sun together!

[PART 2]

Stepping under the faint but pleasantly warm sun, Kiro took my hand and walked leisurely. I squinted contentedly and pulled down the scarf piled up next to my cheeks.

MC: I thought it would be cold, but I didn't expect to sweat a little even before taking a few steps...

Kiro: Humph~ This is the charm of sunlight. The heating at home does not have this effect!

Through the mask, Kiro still couldn't cover the triumph in his tone, as if pulling me out today was the most correct decision he has ever made.

Crossing a road, I found that the pedestrians around me had suddenly increased.

MC: Why is everyone holding candied haws and rice cakes in their hands... Is there some traditional snack street nearby?

Kiro: Not a street, but a whole market.

MC: How do you know?

I turned my head in confusion and found that Kiro's other hand had an extra flyer at some point.

Kiro: Someone just handed it over. Here, right there.

Kiro: "Childhood Time - Chinese New Year Limited Fair"...

Kiro read out the slogan on the flyer word by word, and a bright light lit up in his eyes.

Kiro: Mm. It's childhood, it's the new year, and it's still limited. This is a triple “buff” for the "Kiro-Miss Chips Group". Should we not go and see if it is appropriate?

MC: Mm, of course I want to go!

Not long after walking along the road, an array of colors suddenly burst into my sight.

Brightly colored tents stood in the square and pedestrians stood next to each other, like a gorgeous and lively oil painting.

Hawker A: Candy blower! Won't the kids come and blow?

Hawker B: Complete the "Fu Lu Shou Xi" window grill challenge, and you will get a beautiful gift!

Hawker C: Fried rice candy just out of the oven, two for a taste?

Kiro stopped inadvertently. Following his line of sight, I looked at the neatly stacked rice candies on the stall not far away.

The square-cut rice candies were shaped like hills, revealing a faint golden color in the sun.

I vaguely thought of something, and squeezed Kiro's palm.

MC: The taste of this malt smells so authentic! Kiro, should we try it?

MC: I ate it when I was a kid, and it’s been a long time since I saw it being sold on the street.

MC: It’s fragrant, crispy and sweet. I think you will love it!

Kiro sniffed earnestly. His eyes lit up.

Kiro: Mmm! I have never eaten fried rice candy before.

Kiro: When I went to Savin's hometown to celebrate the New Year, I only tasted candied haws and Shaqima.

Kiro: Since it is a sincere recommendation from Miss Chips, how can I miss it! Sir, one of this please!

Along the way, Kiro and I tasted various kinds of snacks while walking. We walked around a golden tent, and a huge lollipop inserted diagonally appeared in front of our eyes.

There was a sandwich of stars reflected in the lollipop, and the colorful prismatic light was reflected in the sun. There was also a beautiful Chinese knot tied under the candy.

MC: Hahaha, this collocation is probably the owner's New Year's idea!

Kiro: Let's go MC, let's check it out! If you like, we'll take one home.

Kiro: Maybe this is a new year-limited candy that can bring blessings!

He took me three or two steps to the front of the tent, and when he saw us approaching, the shopkeeper greeted him enthusiastically.

Shopkeeper: This shop specializes in crystal sandwich lollipops. You can make your own if you like!

Kiro and I became interested in an instant, and the owner continued to introduce it while showing it.

Shopkeeper: In addition to the classic models of tents, there also paper-cut models and firecracker models, all of which are limited to the New Year.

Shopkeeper: What about it, are you two interested?

With the shopkeeper’s display, a more unique lollipop was revealed: In addition to the beautiful star pattern, there was also a bronzing blessing character in the middle of the sandwich.

Kiro and I pointed to the same lollipop at the same time, and spoke in unison.

Both: We want this!

[PART 3]

Inside the tent, the shopkeeper gave us a production tip and explained the precautions to us in detail.

Shopkeeper: The production of crystal sandwich lollipops requires skill. The pattern in the middle is a sandwich of glutinous rice paper, and the time of placing it is very important.

Shopkeeper: The glutinous rice paper will melt if it is put early, and it will not stick firmly when it is put too late. You must grasp the temperature well later...

Looking at the utensils in front of me, I put down the production tips and tried to remember all the main points in my mind.

MC: Boil the sugar water first, then inject the mold. Put in the glutinous rice paper at a semi-low temperature...

MC: Hey, what's the next step?

Kiro: It's pouring the other half of the sugar water.

Kiro calmly accepted the conversation, and the next second he suddenly leaned forward and approached, pointing to his head mysteriously.

Kiro: Don't worry too much, those "tips" are already installed here.

Kiro: Miss Chips can totally trust me.

MC: But I also want to remember the steps quickly, so that I don't drag you down...

Kiro: How could that be?

Kiro: If we made lollipops together, it would be the best experience in itself.

While talking, the owner quickly prepared the utensils and materials, and Kiro and I confidently followed the steps to make it.

After a while, the pot of lollipops was baked, but when we uncovered the mold—

Kiro: ! Why are all the sandwich patterns in the middle blurred...

MC: Did we put the glutinous rice paper too early, so it melted?

Kiro stroked his chin thoughtfully, then clenched his fists tightly.

Kiro: I think so too. It seems that we still have to wait for the sugar noodles to cool down a bit.

Kiro: Miss Chips, let's do it again! With the experience from just now, we’ll definitely be able to do it better the next time.

The sugar water in winter cooled rapidly, and so the new pot of lollipops was ready in a short amount of time.

Lifting the newly baked lollipop, I tilted my head and pursed my lips.

MC: Although the pattern on this one hasn't melted, it looks strange.

Kiro: Ah! The blessing character in the middle is reversed!

Kiro and I looked at the reversed mezzanine together, and suddenly curled our lips and smiled.

Kiro: In fact, it’s quite interesting after looking at it for a while. It can be regarded as Kiro and MC’s exclusive creativity.

MC: Pfft-- So, creative Kiro, do you want to try again?

Kiro clasped the transparent lollipop with his fingers, and nodded confidently.

Kiro: Now we are only one step away from perfection. Through the “hand training” just now, we will definitely be able to challenge it successfully this time!

He rolled up his sleeves as he spoke, and the tips of his golden hair shook obediently. He looked full of energy.

Soon, as the mold gradually cooled, Kiro looked at the time and nodded seriously.

Kiro: The time has come to reveal the results.

Kiro: Are you ready? Countdown-- in three, two, one!

He twisted the mold hard, and I couldn't wait to take out the lollipop--

The crystal-like candy appeared under the light, and the clear pattern was seamlessly reflected in the center of the lollipop. The light shone with starry light.

MC: !!

Kiro proudly raised his hand and held the lollipop in front of him.

Twilight poured in from outside the tent, and through the “stars” and golden “blessings” on the lollipops, they were reflected with the lights on those shining smiling eyes.

All the brilliance penetrated into my heart from the smiling face in front of me, making me suddenly unable to look away.

Feeling my lingering gaze on him, Kiro shook his hair, deliberately leaned in front of me and asked in a drawn-out voice.

Kiro: Is it that good-looking?

The warm exhale rubbed the tip of my nose and dropped a familiar breath. I smiled and let out an "mm".

MC: Not only is it good-looking, but I guess it's also delicious.

With that said, I pointed to the lollipop and winked slyly.

MC: I meant this.

Seeing my intention, Kiro chuckled lightly and turned his eyes back to the lollipop.

Kiro: The results of doing it yourself would be delicious no matter what.

Kiro: Since Miss Chips is so looking forward to it, I will give you the best first bite!

Kiro handed the lollipop to me. He leaned in slightly, the corners of his mouth upturned into a beautiful arc.

I took the lollipop and licked it twice, and my eyes lit up.

MC: The taste is really good! Although it is very sweet, it is not greasy at all.

MC: You also taste--

Before I finished speaking, the next second, a moist and soft touch suddenly fell on my lips.

A pair of bright blue eyes were close at hand, revealing a deep smile.

Kiro: Hmm... you're right, sweet but not greasy, it's really delicious.

[PART 4]

When we left the market, it was completely dark.

Despite the cold wind, the good mood gathered at the market seemed to drive away the cold. Kiro and I held hands and walked onto the flyover.

While waiting for the traffic lights, I glanced down casually and found that I could overlook the entire market from where I was.

MC: Kiro, look quickly, the colored tents from this angle seem to be more beautiful than from nearby.

The street lights flickered onto the colorful tents, and they flowed with ambient light that was completely different from daytime.

Kiro and I glanced at underside of the flyover together. His five fingers were tightly clasped between my fingers, revealing a warm temperature.

The din of the market faded away. I looked up at the dark night sky and couldn't help but wrinkle my nose.

MC: It got dark so quickly. Today's "Sun Bathing Journey" ended before we knew it.

Hearing my mumbling, Kiro turned his head.

Kiro: Let me see, which kid is still unsatisfied?

MC: Of course, it's still not enough. This is a recent, rare sunny day, and it's a sunny day to spend with you. Of course, I hope that time can go slower and let the sun stay longer.

Kiro batted his eyelashes, a deep smile in his eyes.

Kiro: Miss Chips has such a simple wish. As your life magician, I must help you realize it.

Kiro turned sideways, stretched out his palm towards me, and made an inviting gesture. I squeezed his hand subconsciously, and after being dragged by him for a few rounds, he stopped.

Only then did I realize that we had unknowingly reached the intersection we had to pass to get back home.

Seeing me probing forward, Kiro suddenly blocked my vision lightly with his arm. He leaned down, his tone mysterious.

Kiro: Next, is the moment when the miracle is revealed.

Kiro: MC, don't blink.

Kiro: Let the magic begin!

He winked slyly, then stretched out his arm and snapped his fingers loudly. With his movements, one, two, three lights gradually turned on in my field of vision--

Finally, there were clusters and strips of soft light, spread out in sequence.

It seemed that countless bright stars fell into my eyes, but the clear eyes looking at me were brighter than all of those rays of light.

I opened my eyes and found that there were "small lights" on both sides of the road, but when I took a closer look, they turned out to be small frosted cans.

MC: These are...

Kiro: It's called a solar jar, and it has parts for light control and induction, so it can store sunlight well. As long as you bask in the sun during the day, at night, the "sunlight" in the jar will magically radiate.

Kiro: In this way, even at night, you can have sunlight.

I looked around. This piece of ”sunshine" seemed to be invisible, covering every inch of my home.

They flashed with melting warmth, which poured into my heart from the street, and finally fell back onto the figure by my side.

Within a short distance, lay a deep blue sea. Kiro took my hand, and his lips curled up into a soft arc.

Kiro: Did you like this "magic"?

I nodded heavily, the corners of my mouth curling up uncontrollably.

MC: I like it, I like it very much! As expected of Kiro, my exclusive life magician~

Kiro: Haha, I knew you would like it.

My gaze ran over the scattered sun jars, and the warmth of joy, along with the "sunshine", flooded my heart like a tide.

MC: But Kiro, when did you prepare all this?

He tilted his head, and the light in his eyes moved slightly.

Kiro: If you want to know when I prepared it, it was probably when I received the "tip".

Kiro: Since the weather has constantly been bad recently, of course I had to prepare the “sunniest” gift.

Kiro: Only in this way can MC's mood be rescued and my "little sun" can be retrieved.

As he said that, the light in his eyes was gradually stained with a trace of passion, and it lingered on my face tenderly and intently.

Kiro: So now, I have given you the sunshine of the entire city.

Kiro: A lot and lot of sunshine-- that’s my New Year's wish.

Kiro: I hope it will drive away all your worries for you, so that in the new year, only happiness and anticipation surround you.

The familiar voice fell on my ears, and I heard my heart beating faster.

Just as I was about to say something, with a few "whistles", fireworks suddenly rose up in the sky not far away.

Those brilliant fireworks, together with the surrounding sun jars, made this New Year's Eve as warm and brilliant as daylight.

But as far as I was concerned, nothing was more brilliant and eye-catching than the smiling face in front of me.

MC: With such a lot of sunshine--

Taking after his tone from just now, I raised my face and pressed it to the tip of his nose.

MC: Don't worry. In the new year, I will try my best to make every day shine brightly.

MC: Because having your gift and having you by my side is the greatest blessing for me.

MC: Happy New Year, Kiro.

Kiro stared at me steadily, a warm and clear light in his eyes. He lowered his head slowly, his tone light and soft.

Kiro: Happy New Year.

In the next second, that familiar and scorching touch came back softly.

I closed my eyes, hugged him back, and conveyed all my responses within our intermingling breaths.

I look forward to the New Year not just because of these gifts, but because of all the blessings and sunshine that come from you who are in front of me.

Because of you, I believe that every day in the future will be sunny.

Call + Moments: here

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc kiro #the way mc keeps nuzzling against his face 🥺#the flirting is 💯#also #Merry Christmas guys!

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mrskurono · 3 years

Text

title: ｆｅｒｔｉｌｉｔｙ　；| Rintarou Suna x Fem!Reader a/n: here I go again, comfort writing with Suna. And bc my notes have taken a dip and no one likes to reblog stuff anymore I’ll probably never open requests again and just write for myself ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ word count: 1.4k tags: timeskip (duh). real life situations, established relationship (your married), language, fertility issues (either Suna has low sperm count or reader has PCOS reader’s choice I didn’t specificy), medical terminology/situations, angsty, fluffy, IUI, vent writing ish, nothing bad happens just trying to get pregnant unconventionally, unedited character(s): Rintarou Suna (hq)

“As soon as you quit trying it’ll happen!”

“We didn’t even have to think about it and wow three kids later!”

“Your young don’t stress about it!”

“But you don’t look like it’s hard.”

You stare up at a mostly white wall. Textured fine and certainly not as renovated as the lobby. It still feels oddly like home even with the disposable blanket draped over your naked lower half. Perhaps what made it really feel like home was Rintarou’s hand on your thigh.

Staring long gone as your eyes drop onto the dark haired man who’s stare was directed at the closed door. He’s quiet. As always but you’re unsure to attribute it to the fact it was before nine A.M, or because the nurse practitioner said they were going to get the specimen.

“Third times the charm you know,” Rintarou’s voice surprises you. Even though you were staring right at him. When he spoke facing away you couldn’t help but jump. His hand squeezing your thigh tight.

You’re quiet for a second. Third time was supposedly the charm. For a second you wonder how many friends, family and acquittances might have had the same thought.

A sigh leaves you and like the other attempts before you finally relax back into the exam chair, “We were in this room the first time right?”

Rintarou looks at the tapestry on the wall directly behind the two of you. Dark brows pinching a little he thinks for a second, “...I thought the first room had the quilt thing with kids hand paints on it?”

“There’s the flower one I think.” You mention the other piece of art you can vividly recall.

“Was it these or was it that flower one that looks like a vagina that was the first room.”

“Rintarou those were labias.”

“Yeah, and the other one looked like balls.”

“Oh but you remember the pussy looking one?”

“You mean labias.”

You squint your eyes at him and wordlessly mouth a mockery towards him. Forgetting for a second how nervous you were. He doesn’t forget how nervous you are though. Rintarou takes the mocking tease in stride when he bends down and presses a kiss to your scrunched forehead. Timing impeccable as always for the middle blocker as the nurse comes back in just as he stands back up.

Just like the three times before, the nurse stands with awfully ugly blue gloves on, the thickest looking catheter you ever swore you saw and papers clasped in their other hand. And just like the other times there was always a spiel to go with it all.

“Are we ready?” They looked at both you and your husband. Rintarou remained quiet but with a deep breath you nodded, “Good. Well- As always-” They hand the sealed and capped syringe to Rintarou, “You know the drill, body temp so if you don’t mind holding onto this.”

He nods. An otherworldly feeling to be holding onto what was basically the essence of his semen. But the tight grip the EJP middle blocker held it with was far more tight than any volleyball he’d ever held.

“Here’s the papers as always,” The nurse wheeled over to your side of the exam chair in the small room, “Mobility looked great today. A 3.7 for them. Um- Unthawed at 6:34 this morning after the call, everyone looked lively in there and all there’s left to do is send them on their way! Are you ready?”

You take a deep breath. Looking at your nurse. Then looking to Rintarou. The hand on your thigh no longer there. Instead he’d taken your hand in his the second he was handed the sperm. You nod and squeeze his hand before looking at the nurse, “Third times the charm.”

There’s a faint smile on your husband’s face. Something you hadn’t seen once at these appointments. The way it tugs on the corner of his lips and Rintarou looks down at you even as someone gets between your legs, you can’t help but laugh to yourself. You’d be fucking him right now for that smile if there wasn’t KY jelly being smeared on your vaginal opening in preparation for a speculum to being inserted.

“Any plans for the rest of the day?” Utter casualness as someone only a little more than an acquaintance pulls your labias back right in front of your husband.

“Breakfast probably.” You look up at Rintarou who nods, “And then absolutely nothing.”

“Oh no practice today then?” Your overly friendly nurse glances up to Rintarou as the metal dipped down into you.

It’s uncomfortable. Certainly not something you’d ever want to add to your bedroom antics. Each touch of their glove around your bits and pieces is something your not sure you can get use to but as they crank it to latch and your left knowing your cervix is exposed as Rintarou hands them the syringe, there’s something so strange. Your not sure you have an emotion for it actually.

“I just take them off normally,” Rintarou answers the person who’s now readying a thin catheter full of your husband’s separated and washed sperm to be inserted into your uterus on a Thursday morning. And Rintarou is talking to him like he does Motoya at the end of practice like its nothing.

“A couple this morning said they were going to try the new bakery down town,” Their hand goes to your thigh to let them know they’re going to touch you, “Alright deep breath, just a little discomfort and cramp.”

This is always the time you fall silent. Eyes fixated up on the ceiling even as you death grip Rintarou’s hand. It’s not a poke. Not like a needle. It’s cramp worthy but at the same time it’s so foreign that by the time it’s all said and done. They’re tossing the empty contain into the hazard bin and taking off their gloves.

“We have a shop we really like,” Rintarou replies calmly even though you’re sure your crushing his hand, “But I think I heard of the place.”

“Well-” The nurse smiled with their fingers crossed, “Here’s to hoping I can tell you about the bakery in two weeks.”

They of course remind you of the drill. No checking before two weeks. False positives are rampant then. You get handed the papers. Which Rintarou always takes for you as you lay there on the exam table. Told to take your time for the ten minute wait period and then feel free to get dressed and head out. And like always you thank the person who just shot your husband’s sperm directly into your cervix.

Ten minutes. Then you could leave.

Ten minutes you might as well sit in silence.

“...third times the charm you know,” Rintarou reminds you, as well as himself, after the nurse left. Big hand still clasped over yours as you lay there on the exam table.

“...I can feel lube stuck all over me,” You grimace at the coolness. It certainly is the same lube you use at home. An attempt to make this all more light hearted at best but it quickly falls flat.

You think for a second. All that advice you’ve gotten as you both try for your first. Don’t use lube. Use lube. Don’t do it on a Tuesday. Do it on a Tuesday. Don’t eat spicy. Ok maybe eat spicy. It all filters into your mind as you lay holding your husband’s hand in the stillness of the clinic room.

Rintarou snaps you out of it when he leans over. All 6′3 of him bent in half as he rests his ear against your chest and looks up at you. Giant ass head in the middle of your chest and looking up at you. God he looks uncomfortable like that. But doesn’t budge an inch. Instead bringing your hand up to his lips and kissing your knuckles gently.

“Boy or girl?” You ask him the same question as the two times before.

He shakes his head. Lifting himself up to lean down and kiss your lips softly, “Doesn’t matter to me as long as it’s a baby.”

His assurance makes you sigh. Undoubtedly he was nervous too. At least here he kept it together. Though you were sure the staff probably thought your husband was a mute for the most part. You knew different.

Reaching up you cup his face and bring him down for one more kiss, “...Here’s to the third time.”

#hq!!#haikyuu!!#hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq fluff #haikyuu #suna rintaro #suna rintaro x reader #suna #suna x reader #suna rintarō #suna rintarou #suna rintarou x reader #hq suna

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jimlingss · 4 years

Text

Kale’in Me Softly

➜ Words: 17.1k

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

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

➜ Warning: Strongly implied smut

cr.

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

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

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

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

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

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radiosandrecordings · 4 years

Note

i’m almost scared to ask this due to the angst potential but 22 with jm, please?

You blessed me with a Good Martin earlier, I’ll spare you from the angst storm (I have nooo ulterior motives here, me, who doesn’t like writing angst? None whatsoever)

Set in some nebulous no-powers au where they get to go home from a Normal Date. Thank you @horngryeyes for letting me just message him asking for Polish swears

22) Things you said after it was over

“I had a really nice time tonight.”

Martin smiled as Jon leaned closer into his side, joined hands between them stilling from their gentle swing, purely because they no longer had space to with Jon cosied up against him. “I’m glad, I had a wonderful time as well.”

The restaurant they had been to had been close to Martin’s apartment, and so they were currently on their way to the nearest tube station for Martin to see him off safely. They proceeded to walk in a comfortable silence for several minutes, the comforting presence of the other at their side driving off the chill of the early Spring evening.

It was only when they reached the entrance to the tube station and Martin’s eyes drifted to the screen displaying a digital clock did they realise something was wrong.

“Wait, what?” Jon vocalised his concern before Martin, a furrow forming on his brow. “That can’t be right.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and glared at the lock screen. The harsh white light illuminated exactly the same numbers as those staring back down at them in green LED from the wall of the station. 1:06AM. Aka, past the time any of the trains were running in Jon’s direction home.

“How? I checked as we were paying, we were getting ready to leave the restaurant at 11:40, it can’t have taken us over an hour to walk here, it was barely a mile!”

“... Jon what day is it?”

“What?”

“Just, check for me?”

Jon hit the button again and his phone screen lit up. “Just turned over to the 28th. Is that anything?”

“Spring forward, fall back, kurde,” Martin muttered under his breath. “Of course. Just our luck. Clocks just went forward for British Summertime. So we essentially just lost an hour, and it’s now one as opposed to just gone twelve. So... No trains.”

“... No trains”

There was a silence for a moment, breath starting to cloud in front of them as they breathed in the cool night air, rapidly getting colder. The silence was broken by the sound of Jon typing, fingers quickly skimming over his phone as he began trying to search for alternatives. “Buses maybe? I think they’re still running but I’m not sure if there’s any going my route....”

Another few seconds passed of Jon hurriedly typing and Martin chewing his lip. Eventually, he managed to muster up the courage to speak, “I mean.. You could always come back to mine?”

And immediately, his mind was racing with all the different reasons for why he shouldn’t have said that. This was only their third official date, was that too soon to invite Jon back to his house? They weren’t even technically dating yet, there was still a certain degree of casual about their relationship, they weren’t actually boyfriends. God, what if Jon misunderstood what he was saying? They’d had that conversation even before they’d started seeing each other, one friend trusting another with an intimate detail of their life. Martin didn’t want Jon to think he’d forgotten, or worse, was disregarding it. And even past those two points, Jon was technically still his boss - Logically he knew if they were breaking any kind of office conduct they would have done so three dinners ago, but this felt different, to invite someone to your home felt far more vulnerable, and serious.

“Uh- That’s okay, Martin I wouldn’t want to impose...”

Martin isn’t quite sure where he got the courage to continue. Normally he’d take Jon’s response to heart, overthink it, and end up interpreting it as ‘I don’t want to do that and am trying to let you down easy’. Maybe it was the two glasses of wine he’d had at dinner, or some spirit of the moment daring, but whatever it is possessed him long enough for him to say “You wouldn’t be imposing. Actually, I would rather like you to be there?”

Jon looked slightly stunned for a moment, before Martin began to see a faint flush darken his cheeks. “Oh, uhm...” A spike of anxiety shot through Martin as Jon dipped his head to cough into his fist, but when he drew it away again he looked somewhat... Bashful? “Well, if... Yes, okay then. I would like to be there as well.”

“Good.”

There was another few beats of silence before both, tipsy on averagely-priced wine and drunk on nervous energy, lapsed into childish giggles. “Lead the way, Mr Blackwood,” Jon crooned, leaning into his arm again, and Martin knew he was joking, playful atmosphere being allowed to overtake the anxious one between them, but he rather liked the sound of that.

It was another ten minutes of walking further to get back to Martin’s flat, and Jon only managed to stumble over his own two feet once, which may have been partially due to his own three glasses of red setting in, or just the fact that it was rather awkward to walk when trying to merge with the coat of the man beside you.

“It’s uhm, sorry if it’s a little messy, I wasn’t expecting company, obviously,” Martin apologised as he fumbled with the key in the lock.

“’M sure it’s fine.” Jon’s speech was getting a little messier now, but really only to the degree that was notable by Standard Jon English. He wasn’t quite at the swaying on his feet stage yet, but he was blinking sleepily, a small, content smile playing gently at his lips.

As he stepped in the door, Martin shrugged his coat off and hung it by the door, gesturing an invitation for Jon to do the same, which he accepted. Martin took his hand again to lead him inside, but let go again soon enough to step into the small alcove of the kitchen to fetch two glasses and fill them at the sink. “I think we could both use these,” he said softly, handing one to Jon, who took it gratefully. They sipped their water in silence for a moment, enjoying the relative peace and warmth that being inside afforded them. They didn’t sit, both just leaned against the wall while Jon took in the contents of a bookshelf and Martin watched him do so, both with equal levels of intrigue.

Eventually, the silence was broken by the muffled sound of a yawn from Jon, who tried to cover it with one hand. “Right, maybe time for bed then?” Martin suggested, taking the glass from him and putting them both beside the sink to deal with tomorrow.

When he returned Jon was hovering around the couch, like he wanted to take a seat but was unsure how to go about doing so. “You okay?”

“Oh, uhm, yes, I just... You wouldn’t happen to have a spare blanket, would you?”

“What?”

“Sorry to be a bother I just- Never mind, it’s fine. Good night, Martin.”

“...What?”

“I- I’m sorry did I do something wrong?”

“No, just... C’mon, bedrooms this way.”

“Oh!” And there was that flush again, more visible under the lights of the flat than it had been under streetlamps.

“... Jon, did you think I was going to make you sleep on the sofa?” Martin felt his voice trail slightly upwards at the end, struck both by humour and concern.

“I didn’t want to presume!” Jon said, shaking his hands out. “Um... Okay then, lead the way.”

Martin smiled, before doing the mental math and squinting. “Two seconds?” He said, before quickly making his way into the bedroom and doing his best to make the room look as presentable as possible within a short amount of time. A minute or two later he opened the door again, and Jon made his way inside.

His room wasn’t anything special, just a standard bedroom in a low quality apartment, but the duvet and quilt had been straightened and clothes haphazardly strewn about the room had been banished into the laundry basket, and the lamp on his bedside table was casting a soft yellow glow about the room, making the room feel warm and cosy.

Jon just kind of stood there for a moment, like he was trying to figure out what to do next, before Martin realised what was wrong with the picture. “Oh, uhm, clothes, do you want to borrow a shirt or something?”

The words were out of Martin’s mouth before he could really think through the implications of them, practicality and comfort overriding the realisation that Jon borrowing his shirt would mean Jon, in his bed, wearing his clothes.

“That would be good, thank you.”

Martin attempted to keep his composure by going over to his drawers and rooting around for two shirts, one for himself and one for Jon. “I’d offer you bottoms too but I’m not really sure they’d fit, is that okay?” Martin said, turning to hand Jon a shirt. He wasn’t sure what Jon was comfortable with, where boundaries lay yet, he didn’t want to force Jon into something that overstepped.

“I think that should be fine,” Jon said, and Martin breathed a sigh of relief.

“Right, uh, do you want to take the bathroom and I’ll...?”

“Okay, sure, sure.”

Jon made his way through the other door in the room and into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Martin was just finished changing into his own pyjamas when a knock came from the other side of the door, startling him slightly. “Oh, finished!”

The door opened, and Jon walked into the room. Now, Martin had known, theoretically, for the last three minutes that Jon had been gone that when he saw him again he would be standing in his bedroom wearing his shirt. But it was quite another thing to actually see it, soft golden lamplight reflecting against eyes that at this point were losing the fight to stay open, too-large shirt with a faded movie poster on it hanging loosely around his shoulders, panning down to boxers and bare feet on the wooden floor. Martin felt his breath catch in his throat slightly.

“Are you okay?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, fine. Do you, uhm, need anything?”

“No, no, I’m fine thank you, I think I’m just about ready to pass out if it’s all the same to you.”

“I can agree with that.”

Jon kept his eyes on the bed, watching until Martin had walked over to his chosen side and pulled the covers back before padding round to the opposite and climbing in beside him.

There were a few awkward moments where they both got comfortable. Martin hadn’t shared a bed with someone in quite a while, and it was an odd sensation to try and get used to again. “Pillows, do you- Is that enough?”

“Two is more than fine, thank you Martin,” Jon said, cleaning back against them.

“Right, well... Good night, Jon.”

“Good night, Martin.” Jon said, voice barely above a whisper now as his eyes drifted closed. Martin took that as a cue to turn the light off.

Martin had never been aware of how loud the analog clock hanging on his wall was until that moment, dull ticks making themselves thunderous in the silence between them. He must have counted to sixty several times over before Martin heard a rustling beside him, and felt the duvet twitch.

“Martin?” If Jon’s goodnight had been a whisper, this was barely audible, but as it was Martin was so aware of every footstep of his neighbours, creaking of pipes, or car going past outside, it sounded like it was said directly into his ear. Which, really, wasn’t that far off, considering how close Jon was, lying on the pillow next to him.

“Mmmh?”

“I.. Thank you, for today. For this.”

“You don’t have to thank me for a date, Jon, that’s... I mean, not that I’m not tempted to thank you in return but that’s not how that works.”

He rolled on to his side to face Jon, and was greeted by a face only a few inches away him his. “Oh. Hi.”

Jon smiled. “Hi.”

“Can I... Do you mind if...” Words failing him, Martin leaned forward. When Jon didn’t seem to retreat, he leaned further, until he was pressing a kiss to his brow. “Is... Is that okay?”

There was a low rumbling from Jon’s throat, vibrating across the pillow. “More than okay. Encouraged, even,” Jon said, and suddenly he was pressing a kiss to Martin’s cheek in return. He searched under the duvet for a moment, before twining his fingers together with Martin’s, and proceeded to roll over to face away from him, dragging Martin’s arm with him until it was draped across him, gently cradling their bodies together. “Good night, Martin.”

Yeah. Yeah, it was a pretty good night.

#My Post #My Writing #I hate to say it but it's 2:15 if there's spelling errors that's tomorrow oran's problem #The Magnus Archives #Jonmartin #Jonathan Sims #Martin Blackwood #dudeiwannasleep

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lazarettta · 3 years

Text

Misthios VII

Pairing (Mother Miranda x Spartan!Reader)

Rating (M)

Word Count (4.6k)

Warning (probably language right now)

You and Miranda are finally moving on to having that long chat that's separated you both for centuries.

The Queen's eyes fluttered open, finally waking with the morning rays of the sun peaking over the mountain. Her balcony doors were wide open to let the cool night breeze into her personal chambers while the two fireplaces burned well into the night. It was a combination of warm and cool that her majesty enjoyed greatly as it helped her with sleep.

Of course, sharing her bed with you also aided with her troubles with sleep for the past few months since your arrival to the region. Wonderful in all the ways she could never have imagined; a warrior and a lover, the two things that made her life easier—and the lives of her enemies that much worse.

It had been well past dinner time when you returned to the castle along with the squadron of soldiers you'd gone with including a Captain of the military who was leading the raid. Part of your armor had been slashed and torn, stained with blood and whatever else you encountered outside of the castle walls.

But when Miranda stood in the doorway of her private bath watching as you stripped of your amour—she witnessed no open wounds for her to tend to or fret over, but blood stained your skin anyway. Even though she knew that she should have the moment she noticed: Miranda never questioned why you'd always have a new scar every other day or why your shirts had the evidence of a stab wound taking place right above your hip, including a blood stain, but all you could do was smile when asked about it.

“ Is everything alright, your majesty?”

Miranda blinked, her mind coming back to reality now finding herself sitting up in her bed currently being blinded by the morning sun. The Queen sighed heavily, looking down at your sleeping form—as always you were on your back with one arm tucked beneath one of the pillows behind your head and the other was being used as Miranda's pillow for most of the night. As always.

Like herself, you were bare as the day you were born...your entire torso shamelessly revealed for her roaming insatiable eyes...and she smirked when a particularly cool breeze swept through the room. She watched the goosebumps rise under your exposed skin, including your nipples making Miranda hum softly.

“ Y-your majesty?”

Miranda, suddenly remembering just what, or rather who, had bothered her before and looked towards the girl, pleased when she saw that her eyes were on the floor.

“ Everything is more than alright, girl, however you may leave... I'll be out shortly.”

A hand curling around her waist brought Miranda's gaze from the closing double doors where the meek girl disappeared through and back to you. Your eyes were still closed but you were starting to wake up, stretching like a feline and again Miranda's eyes were drawn to your chest.

“ Carved by the Gods,” she mumbled, the tips of her nails tracing your firm abdomen with no particular pattern, simply enjoying the light marks she was leaving behind around your belly button, knowing how much you enjoyed when she did that as well.

You saw the thoughtful look on Miranda's face when you opened your eyes but you couldn't stop the giant yawn from escaping, “Morning,”

Miranda smiled down at you, enjoying the way the sun made your skin glow but you weren't fooled by that smile—you were used to Miranda's smiles and this was one of her worries. The sort of smile where she wanted to reassure you while scolding you at the same time. You pulled away slightly, and sat up a bit so you could give her your full attention. When the monarch remained silent, simply staring at you, all you could do was raise an eyebrow...waiting.

Miranda scoffed at the action, shaking her head, “It's ironic isn't it, how we the others tales...but we do not truly know each other, do we?”

You shrugged, smirking at her—refusing to hint at the nerves beginning to crawl up your spine, “Pretty sure we know each other inside and out, your highness.”

Miranda gave you a look, clearly unimpressed, “Yes, beneath that charm and nonchalance...is something quite fascinating, isn't there? And...it seems that your truth only comes to light during battle.”

“ Pardon?” you sat up a little more now, eyebrows furrowed—unsure where Miranda was going with this but you no doubt that it probably wasn't going to be good for you. Especially since you're naked and vulnerable but not defenseless.

“ Captain Ake came to me last night after I left you to your bath, he seemed quite concerned with something...and quite frankly, I'm curious myself.” Miranda's hand had stopped tracing patterns on your stomach, but her hand still lingered...and the moment her index finger traced over the raised skin right next to your belly button, the brand new one, you knew you fucked up.

“ About what?” You mumbled not daring to look down at her hand, and her eyes burned into yours—playing dumb would only get you so far—probably the dungeons if you were lucky. You knew exactly what Ake was concerned with though you weren't sure if he actually saw you take a sword through your gut as it was so dark and everything happened within a blink or two.

“ What I am going to say next may sound crazy, however, Captain Ake is one of my most loyal subject in this castle, and quite sane...he claims to have witnessed you being impaled,” Miranda exhaled slowly, “By the enemy...and somehow managed to walk away from it, unharmed. Would you mind telling me what happened, my dear?”

You stared at her for a second, “And...you believed him? Could I have really been stabbed by a sword and do what I did last night? Do you know how insane you sound?”

“ Watch your tongue! You're still addressing your Queen, warrior.”

“ I'm sorry, but you seriously don't believe that shit do you?”

“ I've been noticing a few things myself, (Y/n)...and I would really like some answers myself.”

“ Right. I'll take that as my signal to leave, your majesty. Thanks for letting me sleep here last night.”

Miranda's eyes narrowed slightly, reaching out to grab your wrist to prevent you from running from her, “(Y/n), do not run from me...I'm only trying to understand! You can trust me, this I promise you, I'm not going to hurt you.”

You wanted to believe her, but you had to learn the hard way that trust was nothing but a word—a word that can be broken over and over. You were too stupid to learn in the past but you weren't about to do the same thing now. Pushing the covers aside you threw some mundane excuse over your shoulder but before you could actually get to the edge of the bed, you were pulled back and pushed back into your previous position. It didn't actually hurt but it wasn't gentle either but you were pretty sure that it was Miranda that moved you, but you hadn't actually felt or seen her move a muscle.

“ W...how? Miranda?!”

Miranda smiled shyly at your bewildered expression—a very rare expression from the Queen but like yourself, she was feeling quite vulnerable, “You're not alone, (Y/n)...and neither am I.”

“ Neither....are you?” Miranda chuckled at your expression and your inability to put two and two together. When you tried to sit back up, Miranda's shy smile morphed into something more amused and predatory because you realized that you couldn't move—and Miranda still hadn't moved an inch.

“ Ah, now do I have your full attention?”

The closer you got to Miranda's home the more treacherous the path became and you'd lost sight of the woman flying low above the trees ten minutes ago—or what you thought to be ten minutes, you weren't sure. Your eyes were glued to the ground, keeping a firm but relaxed grip on the reign of your stallion, Bruce, whispering gently to him. Alcina called him a gentle giant and she wasn't exaggerating. The path was narrow and very unkempt but you wouldn't expect Miranda to make things easy, especially access to her private home.

There was a point that you weren't even sure you and Bruce were actually going to make it across but there was no way you could've turned the massive horse around either, forward was the only way and you weren't ashamed to admit that your heart was pounding hard enough to crack bones. The moment you cleared the trees, Miranda's home finally came into view—and you were not disappointed. It was a simple two story cabin practically etched into the mountain and you wanted to know how the hell she managed to get this place on the sliver of rock.

You'd brought Bruce to a stop just as Miranda appeared and landed gracefully on her porch even with her heels on (you caught a glimpse of them earlier when she started flying). From her porch alone, Miranda had a perfect view of everything . The village, the manor sitting on the waterfall, the factory and of course the castle. There was a light blanket of fog obscuring most of the view, but it was still breathtaking all the same.

You dismounted Bruce easily, gently guiding him to the post next to Miranda's porch. You fed him a few sugar cubes, gingerly untangling part of his dark mane and pulling free a few twigs and leaves.

“Further up the path I have there's a stable for him, we can take him later.”

You turned to look at Miranda, finding her standing in the door looking at you, her expression unreadable and you were too tired to try and decipher it. You double checked the post before steeling your nerves and joining her on her porch, it was roomier than it actually looked and you spotted a hammock on the other corner—not the usual netted sort, it looked like a quilt and quite comfortable too.

You followed Miranda inside, shutting out the cold—the interior of Miranda's home had you stock still at the front door with your hand still on the door knob. The space was open, having the living room and the eating area open with no barrier, and you could easily see the kitchen from where you stood. It was...cozy and warm.

“Surprised?” Miranda's voice brought your eyes to where she was, now half way up the stairs behind the kitchen wall, she wore a soft smile, the front of her robes already opened (you didn't even realize the fucking thing even had a zipper), revealing the slacks and blouse she wore underneath, “Did you expect me to live in a cave?”

“I expected you to at least have a TV.”

Miranda smirked but it didn't reach her eyes, “Are you going to stand there bitching about the lack of media corruption or do you want that shower?”

Your hand finally relaxed off of the door knob, the light throbbing resulting in just how hard you were holding the poor thing. You kicked off your boots at the door—they were covered in mud, snow and probably horse shit at some point, they were filthy. And the last thing you wanted to do was dirty up Miranda's wood floors.

She waited until you were on the stairs to continue up herself while slipping her robe from her shoulders and casually throwing it over her arm as if it were just a towel. “There are only three rooms on this floor. My own, the guest room and the bathroom.”

You raised an eyebrow, “One bathroom?”

“I don't exactly keep guests, dear.”

“So then why the extra bedroom?” you were being a shit, you knew it, but you couldn't help it—Miranda made it easy for you to tease her sometimes (all the time). You wanted to be more bothered over how easy it was for you to fall back into old habits with this woman.

“The longer you stand there being an idiot, the colder your water gets.”

You raised your hands slightly, moving past her towards the door she pointed to, flipping on the light—it was roomier than you expected it to be, dark and a bit modern but Miranda somehow still managed to keep it grand and medieval. The floor was made of stone, there was a grand shower with a curved glass door and next to it was a bear claw of a tub, melded into the floor like it was a hot spring. Across the floor was a single sink and a mirror, and next to it a door where you assumed you'd find the towels and toiletries. Just past the tub, was the toilet though there was a half wall there to offer some privacy and you spotted your backpack sitting on top of it neatly and that finally gave you pause.

“Figured you didn't want to walk around naked or wearing any of my clothes.”

You hadn't even noticed that you had actually walked into the bathroom, admiring it's simple yet beautiful décor or that Miranda followed you in until the shower sprung to life next to you.

She smiled at you apologetically, not having meant to startle you—but seeing you so easily bothered helped put her at ease. Miranda was good at hiding it, but she was quite nervous. Having you so near and so far from her at the same time in the comfort of her own home, her sanctuary—none of the other Lord's knew where she lived, they probably thought she lived in a cave or a nest or something. You were Miranda's first house guest since she arrived in this village.

She closed the shower door, watching you open your backpack—checking through it, and she couldn't stop the small smile from forming after you smirked, realizing that you were still without your weapons. But you didn't make a comment on it, instead beginning to pull out the things that you needed—until you realized that she was still in the room as well.

You raised an eyebrow at Miranda, and her smile only grew but the blonde simply shrugged her wings and tucked her wings tighter to her back as she exited the room, “I'll be downstairs when you're finished...”

“Miranda—”

She paused and you froze, fuck, why did you do that? You hadn't meant to call out to her, but your mouth was faster than your brain sometimes and now she was looking at you expectantly and all you could do was stare at her like a jackass. There was so much, too much, that you wanted to say but where could you even start? Why were you getting this courage in the fucking bathroom of all places?

“Downstairs.” She reminded you gently when the silence stretched too long—you had panicked and she saw that, and instead of jumping on you like the predator you knew that she was fully capable of being—she left you alone to your thoughts and the hot water steaming the room, calling your name. It was a welcome distraction even if it wouldn't be a forever one.

“Being immortal really is overrated.”

Miranda didn't go downstairs immediately, instead making a beeline for her bedroom and closed the door behind her but left it ajar enough for her to still hear you in the bathroom. Miranda carefully hung up her 'Mother Miranda' robe and began stripping out of the clothes she's been wearing for the past two days along with her rings; finally taking off the crown of Mother and just becoming Miranda with every stitch of clothing she removed from her flawless skin.

Standing naked in front of her full-length mirror, Miranda whispered a delicate but very familiar spell she's known since she was a small child and she winced quietly as her wings folded back into her body for the next six or seven hours. The spell wasn't forever but Miranda often used it when she was home to avoid breaking her things as she often did if she let her wings remain as they were, they often got restless if she stayed home and still too long so she just opted for putting them away to save herself the trouble. And money.

When the last two smaller ones on her lower back finally retreated into her skin, Miranda rolled her shoulders to pop out the kinks. She got dressed in a pair of washed out pants and a v-neck shirt, and at the last minute Miranda threw on her dark wool cardigan before heading back downstairs but not before pausing outside of the bathroom door. She heard you humming over the shower and though she didn't recognize the song, it still made her smile.

Suddenly feeling like a creeper, Miranda moved away from the door and went downstairs to start on the coffee she was craving earlier. She got her fireplace going but that all took less than ten minutes and now she found herself back in her kitchen, pulling ingredients from her refrigerator to give her something to do besides fret.

“ You shouldn't be so comfortable with your champion, in public.” Fritjof complained for the thousandth time in her ear—he was one of her primary advisors, having been employed by her late husband, the former King. He was always a bit of an annoyance, but he often proved himself useful and unwittingly saved his own life time to time from Miranda's ire.

“ I was only congratulating her on another victorious raid on a neighboring kingdom that thought it wise to steal from us, or have you forgotten that little fact, Fritjof?”

He frowned, not liking her tone but he quickly corrected his features knowing that they were still in the halls on their way to the Queen's study, but there were still eyes on them, “I...yes, but it sends the wrong message when you send a blood wolf to handle this kingdoms affairs instead of your loyal officers! You make us all look weak!”

Miranda stopped walking, and whirled around on Fritjof, her coat wrapping around her leather clad legs as she did so, and the frail man jumped back a step, knowing that he overstepped a line severely, “A-apologies—”

“ You will apologize with your tongue!” Miranda hissed, “Though I'm sure (Y/n) would rather have your head for all the times you've questioned her loyalty to this kingdom! We're coming up on eight years, Fritjof, and (Y/n) has helped this kingdom prosper more than you ever could've in your twenty years with my late husband.” Miranda sneered dangerously, edging closer to him and the terrified man could only back up into the table, knocking over a vase but Miranda paid it no mind, “One more word about this and I will have you removed. Permanently.”

Fritjof swallowed harshly, beads of sweat forming at his hairline and rolling down his face, and Miranda's sneer deepened in disgust, “Please, your highness, I'm only looking out for the future of the kingdom! It—it needs an heir and a King! The other kingdoms will never recognize your power without either—” his words were cut off when Miranda struck him down, a single line of blood staining a portrait on the wall behind him. Miranda struck faster than he could react and Fritjof cried out in pain, alerting the guards who came running but stopped when they saw their Sovereign standing over the slimy advisor holding part of his face, blood starting to seep through his fingers.

“ For every brilliant woman, there's always a stupid man thing to be found.” Miranda stepped over his pathetic body and continued on her way, rolling her shoulders back when her back began to twinge in response to her high and irritated emotions, and she needed release. “Get him out of my sight and find my champion; send her to me when you do.”

“ Yes, my Queen.” They both replied, one of them roughly hauling Fritjof to his feet and pushing him forward, but not before the man could cast one last glance at Miranda's retreating back until he was shoved forward. “Move!”

The cabin was filled with the aroma of sweet bread and coffee and your stomach was growling something vicious halfway down the stairs after you put your back in the guest room. Miranda had her back to you and you took the moment to stop at the bottom of the stairs to just observe her. The very first thing you noticed was that her wings were gone and she was more relaxed—it probably had a lot to do with her being in her own home, and it was starting to make more sense why she wanted to be in the comfort of her own home for this conversation. Though her argument for privacy was valid as well.

Your eyes flickered around the open space, spotting something tucked in the corner of the living room and scoffed without meaning to and alerting Miranda of your presence, if she wasn't already. She turned from her task of fixing you both something to eat to watch you walk across the room to where the object of your interest lay with a carefully crafted expression.

“Didn't take you for owning a rifle.”

“It's ten years old, I believe.” Miranda hummed quietly, dusting off her hands before taking down a couple of plates from the cabinet above the stove. You looked at her when she didn't elaborate, really curious now.

“It's in pretty good condition, really beautiful...where did you get it?” you checked the clip and saw that there were exactly ten rounds in there. When Miranda didn't answer you immediately, you found her watching you.

“It's not mine.” Miranda set the plates at the small eating table that could easily seat two other people, “I took it from a witch hunter as he was so kind to come all this way to visit. He tried to kill me in my sleep like a coward. He intrudes upon my home and couldn't be bothered to give me an honorable death. The audacity of men certainly hasn't changed over the years.”

Her tone was not lost on you and you knew that the witch hunter was long dead. You traced the steel design grip, impressed at the detail—and distracted.

“Oh, so now you hate men?” Ah... and once again your mouth was faster than your brain could process, and just like that her eyes were on your back—you felt it.

“I've always hated men, (Y/n). I...” she sighed harshly, her eyes turning into a glare, “Stop doing that, you don't have the entire story so if you're done being an ass and running from this conversation—I would really like to clear the air between us so we can move on from this.”

“You mean your truth that you want me to hear so badly?” You chuckled though it lacked any amusement. You set the rifle down, finally giving her your full attention then sighed heavily—a sudden exhaustion falling over you, “Would it really matter at this point, Miranda? It happened centuries ago...we both moved on, why do you want to drudge this back up?”

“Why don't you?” Miranda moved around the table, the coffee and snack forgotten in the moment, but she didn't try to approach you, “I'm not the only one who was in the wrong, (Y/n).”

“Do you think I cared about your status when I found out the woman I loved married a man behind my back and didn't even fucking tell me! I had to find out in the middle of that stupid ball you wanted to throw so bad after we invaded those rebellion villages. I gave you everything and you betrayed me . I crossed lines for you, Miranda. I thought that would warrant enough decency to be honest with me. I-”

You stopped, your face was hot and you exhaled heavily—doing your best not to sniffle, you hated that you were the type to fucking cry when your emotions bubbled to the surface too fast. Especially when the topic is something you've buried long deep in the dark corners of your mind with no hope for daylight again. You just never thought you'd bump into your past like this. And it's been years since you've had to deal with anything on a personal level after your last child passed away fifty years ago at the tender age of eighty-six.

Miranda saw the emotions playing across your face with a frown but otherwise her own emotions were carefully hidden, she was always better at that than you were, and inched closer, “(Y/n)...”

“We've both obviously lived with this hurt and came out fine,” you cut her off, not looking at her but instead at your bare toes with your hands back in your pockets, “What's closure gonna do besides bring up old hurt?”

“No, that's not it at all, I just...” Miranda coughed lightly and cleared her throat,—your question was valid as she's asked herself this many times before, asking herself why she didn't just let you go in the forest—she could've let you go and saved you both from this reopened wound. But she didn't because she couldn't and Miranda wouldn't apologize for it. Because she's always been a selfish woman, and one of her most selfish needs—even when she first laid eyes on you—she knew that you were hers. That never changed, time could never take that away from her.

“This life is long and lonely, (Y/n)...and I've made many mistakes, most I will never have a chance to atone for...and when I saw you,” Miranda looked into your eyes and bit her bottom lip, you weren't even looking at her anymore, “I've lost so much in this life, and I refused to lose you a second time. The first time I was...I was corrupted with greed and power, but I was stupid and it cost me everything too, (Y/n).”

You looked up, surprised by her words, “He took your kingdom from you, didn't he?”

“ You!” Miranda moved closer, though you hardly noticed because you were focused on her eyes that were duller than they were down in the village but just as clear, bright and brimming with tears, “He took you from me. He took us away from each other, (Y/n). I'm not innocent in it either, I...I could've done something about it, but I didn't and it was the biggest mistake I could've made in my entire existence. And I think about it more than I care to admit, I think about you...wondering what sort of life we could've shared together had I made better choices. I'm...I'm sorry, (Y/n).”

Miranda was close enough to touch you now, and this time she didn't hesitate nor did you pull away when both of her hands cupped your cheeks, making you shiver. “Miranda...”

Miranda's hands tightened on your face, obviously thinking you were about to argue again but you were tired of arguing with her, over this...before she could speak, you took Miranda by surprise and pulled her into a tight embrace, both of your arms around her waist and you caught her when her entire body sagged in your arms. You had no idea what was going to happen after this, but that little piece of you that longed for the closure you never got...began to grow.

“I'll stay.”

#resident evil miranda x reader #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #mother miranda x reader #mother miranda #assassins creed odyssey

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