#on TOP of this i do strongly feel like lots of my old work doesn’t rlly represent me anymore…

[venusandsaturnsrings]

SO GLAD UR ALIVE VENUS MWAH -CHUBBY DARLING ANON <333

ohhh my dearest i’ve missed u so much :(( my brain has been FRIED for the past like… three months and it’s rlly getting to me ueueue… i AM alive!! nonsense spitballing here but i’ve been considering moving blogs. this one has just felt so cluttered bc on top of it being a side, i’ve been managing it plus numerous other side blogs… idk it’s just felt strangely overwhelming and i don’t rlly know what to do abt it… i ADORE writing SO MUCH!! esp for ppl who are into the same things as me but… every time i open my inbox or drafts i just stare at the text box blankly while feeling kinda nauseous… i’m not 100% on moving blogs mainly bc i’ve curated such a sweet community here and been able to share my thoughts with thousands… i don’t wanna lose that bc i do truly feel so safe with all of you here… just… kind of struggling my way through this weird burn out… maybe my word vomit here will cure me and suddenly my motivation will be back…

[court-jobi]

Hi, lately I came across your blog and I really adore your writting style :3

I was very excited when I saw you have open requests (if I am not wrong, otherwise ignore me hah), so I have request for Bakugou × reader, when they are in established relationship, but lately it got rocky, because he was barely home, trying to climb ranks and just neglecting their relationship, so they barely even talk. Then reader gets kidnapped, due to being Bakugou's SO, but she feels so irrelevant at this point that she starts saying to the kidnapper that they are wasting their time, because Bakugou is not coming for her, whick Katsuki overhears, you know just good old angst with fluff at the end maybe

If this request is too complicated or specific please don't feel pressured to do this, anyway have a lovely day/night

I am very much receptive to asks, and thank you so much for providing one!! super flattered actually and spent my entire afternoon crafting up this bad boy bc I had an instant idea for it

Hopefully I touched all the right notes on this one, enjoy anon! Don't be a stranger~

Do It Scared

Words: 4.9K

Warnings: Pro Hero!Bakugou x reader TW: kidnapping, intimidation, light descriptions of violence, protective Bakugou is protective, language, angst with a happy ending (promise!!) and potential spoiler: Pro Hero!Deku

for my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Dynamight is on top of the world– or at least working his ass off to get there.

With Deku back on the leaderboard, he’s got twice the motivation and has never been in love with being a hero more.

“That’s what -heh- nine for you this week, Dynamight?” the newly suited Pro beams at Bakugou- not unlike the five year old version of him did back a lifetime ago.

Only instead of bashing the twerp upside the head with a gloating tease, Bakugou simple smirks and gives Midoriya a stiff push on the shoulder, 

“Ten, but who’s counting, nerd?”

The winded, black-and-blue villain currently under custody finds the heroes’ track records funny. Midoriya doesn’t necessarily take these villain types’ remarks to heart, but hates the attitude of this one today.

“Yer sidekick keepin’ count?! You wanna badge or a chest to pin it on, smartie pants? –AAGH!”

“HEY- THE ONLY GUY CALLIN’ THIS DEKU A NERD IS ME, DUMBASS!! YOU’RE THE SHITHEAD GOING TO JAIL FOR THAT STUNT– AND HE’S HEADING INTO THE TOP TEN!!”

“HO-OKAY, DYNAMIGHT, I think he’s had enough!!” 

Deku corrals the punk’s restraints a bit, but leaves the remaining process of reading rights and detainment for the police who just rolled up. Deku will proudly share that much prefers this ‘thick as thieves’ treatment to the ‘fight me or die’ dynamic they shared in school, and couldn’t be happier to be Pro Heroes once again.

And if Bakugou were completely honest, so was he. He’s in his element and closer to reaching his goal by the day.

Walking out of earshot from the police unit, the two are heading over to Ingenium and Creati who are deeply engrossed with the intelligence officers who just arrived on the scene. 

“Ten it is, then– you really need to start leaving some to me though; I can handle it, you know,” Midoriya slips his facemask down, exposing a pleading grin Bakugou still kinda wants to punch some days. “Might give you a little time to actually take a rest day now and then!”

“Tch, if you were fast enough, you’d do it, ‘Zuku.” Bakugou straightens out his gauntlet, but misses his best friend’s tilt of a frown. “N’ who said I need a rest day, anyway? I’ve never been better!”

“I can think of one person..” Midoriya hinted strongly at something that truly escaped Bakugou’s focus. Every now and then, he couldn’t quite mindread the nerd like normal, if he was deep in work mode.

“Heh?”

Midoriya raised a friendly, tired brow, “How’s your girl been lately, hm?”

Bakugou tenses a touch, but quips back, “Whaddya mean. She’s fine, been working a lot too.”

“Not as much as you. What’s she up to? You haven’t said much about her.”

Which was an oddity, indeed. Your successes, your insights, and even your random memes were common topics of conversation from Bakugou’s lips. But Midoriya did raise a finer point between the lines– you’d been put on something of a backburner, and he knew better that something must be off for the blond porcupine to rarely speak of you. Bakugou sensed it himself, but the more repeated check-in texts he received, the cycle of his non-answers worsened. This must be what the nerd is getting at.

“She’s fine-” Bakugou pressed, assuring himself and no one else, “Look, we’ve got our flow, and it works. I keep her in the loop when I’m busy and she gets it.”

Midoriya heaves a disbelieving breath, and just fixes Bakugou a look.

“What’s that shitty look for, huh? Whaddyou know?!”

“I know when she texted me yesterday that she doesn’t sound thrilled about your overtime…” the freckled sweetheart touched a personal chord within Bakugou. “Or that she hasn’t even heard from you to talk about it? I mean, I-I know it’s not my business, but Ka-”

“Deku, Dynamight!” Iida waved the two over from their aside, and back into work mode- to Bakugou’s drop in spirit, “We have a bit of a time-sensitive mission to take care of~”

Deku turned to the officer, raring to go and and straightening up his shoulders to address their more formal counterparts, “Of course, officer- how can we help?”

“Well sirs, we’ve got an ongoing heist over on the other side of the riverbank, and need a bit of coordination to respond.”

Yauyorozu had just finished off a protein pack of some sort and had demurely crumpled its trash in her hand while navigating an ipad passed to her. She’d welcomed Midoriya over when he took interest in whatever footage she’d been presented.

“Well shit, we supposed to be standin’ around like this when time’s wasting, or what?” Bakugou asked brusquely.

Ingenium -in his formal, helmeted fashion couldn’t hide his practiced patience well with the hothead in his response;

“The need for firepower is necessary, Dynamight– but caution is as well,” Iida reminded dryly. “We are in a heavily populated area, and must exercise control.”

Bakugou merely purred a low growl and turned diplomatic.

“Fine. We got live wires? Hostages?”

“To our knowledge, only a select few- a dozen at most,” the officer answered, “We can see most of the victims through the bank’s glass lobby. It’s a small, petty theft group- or so we thought, but there are some decent quirk users among them. Seems they are after more than funds, but records as well.”

Bakugou refrained from rolling his eyes, but only barely. Surely there were bigger and better missions to be pursuing than this– something a bit flashier, more suited for his skills with higher civilian rescue numbers to add to his count.

“One guest was able to contact via the emergency text line, and reported that someone did pull an emergency trigger and was taken further back into the vaults as a prisoner.”

Iida empathized, “Hardly fair- I’m sure none of these customers were armed, and they were simply acting as any hero would trying to notify the authorities.”

The officer firmed up a smile in agreement and proceeded to share some more info about how far back into the bank the team would need to infiltrate based on proximity to servers. 

“Sure you don’t just wanna call ‘Tape’, bust in there, strap ‘em up, and call it a day? Y’don’t really need a whole evac team, do you.”

A simple rescue in-and-out should be easy enough, or so he assumed- until Yaoyorozu took a bit of a sharp intake of breath in her nose, alerting Deku to fixate on the screen again,

“Bak- erm. Dynamight,” Yaoyorozu interjected gently, “-you need to see this-”

Bored and still half paying attention to the officer, Bakugou only barely looked Momo’s way, and didn’t really feel like a crowd around a tiny screen -in full sun- was warranted.

“What? It’s frickin’ bright out-”

“Kacchan,” Midoriya shot back icily, “get over here.”

Something alarming had struck him in the face, and he was purposefully putting on a front to those not personally connected to the heroes. Sidestepping ‘Legs’, Bakugou was passed the ipad and played back the security footage of the interior of the bank.

Time stamped at just fifteen minutes ago, a civilian in question had tried dipping around the counter to where some clerks had been bullied up to the opposite wall- but one of the employees jerked her head towards one of the registers- a lightning quick gesture. This cued the civvie -a woman, if the hiked up skirt was a correct indication- in the foreground to feel around the bottom lip of the keyboard for something- likely an alarm switch. Once done so, she’d merely knelt back down, hoping to stay low and sneak back to avoid the thug to lash out at the person who’d tipped her off.

But then -comically enough- the thug sneezed and unfortunately whipped to the side to let it fly. Looking up, there she was in his sightline. With something akin to a spider’s web knocking her flat onto her back, she’d been dragged up and back with the others- trying to ground herself with a squatted stance first, tried to force her elbows back, then bashing her head back in an attempt to hit her captor– until she was ultimately slapped and taken back to the far hallway, hunched over.

Bakugou saw red. His heart stopped then set itself on fire, hotter than Hades. He’d known that self defense response from having taught it, himself.

You pulled the alarm. 

For the first time in his career- he knows the target he’s saving. He’s in love with her, after all.

Damn your neck hurts. If your elbows hadn't been glued up to your sides, you woulda used those instead; but now having jerked your head back, you’d given yourself a healthy dose of whiplash.

And got a punch to the gut. And a slap to the face. Joy.

There’s fight, flight, freeze, and fawn. You’d seemingly gone for the fight route, with your body moving before your self-preservation could catch up, but it seems your fawning tactic of remaining calm and quiet wasn’t working out for you now. At least you took the attention off those poor girls in the lobby who were in near hysterics. 

Only now it seemed you’d taken on the role yourself, back here. You try to breathe deep, drop your shoulders, drop your jaw. You’d think this would double to avoid showing any fear that your captors can use against you, but it’s honestly just to help keep you grounded and not panic and curb the intense need to vomit or cry.

Please. As if you’d even call yourself heroic for pulling the theft alarm– but you suppose it’s instincts. Carry-over bravery: osmosis you assume, from hanging around these heroes. Your hero. Katsuki.

You’re stunned– you’re shocked– and you’re scared. 

Katsuki. You want Katsuki. More than the police, more than your mom. 

You want your hero to come for you, over any other in this entire country. The name pounds behind your eyes when you shut them against a wave of pain, the person you want more than anything else in the world.

–And at the same time, that man’s name hurts at the cry for it: given he hasn’t spared you more than a one or two word response in days. Because he’s overworked by his own volition. By his own drive. And you should be angry. You have been, for this is the longest you haven’t seen each other outside of a trip; considering you’ve all but committed your lives together and he’s typically at your place every other night, the drop in communication is a cold bath.

And you’re scared now- it’s a blurry feeling. Time is wonky when you’re stuck in a room with no windows, no visible clock and just waiting. All those tips they tell you about how to react in an emergency to keep calm? The ones you’ve heard over and over again in security briefings and teacher preparedness days before the school year starts? Man, is it easy for those to go out the window when you’re in actual trouble.

You just want Katsuki. And that’s a silly thought, considering how wide the city is. He could be clear across the district right now.

But just saying the name -thinking of any other pleasant time when he had his arms around you play-fighting that could make these bindings feel more bearable- that’s what you want to cling to.

The villains here are pretty pathetic as interrogators go, but that spares you no calm as they taunt you as if you were a captured magistrate or politician. They’re split into two parties; their head honcho trying to tap into the databanks of the servers two doors down while your immediate captors with the creepy quirks are choosing to go through your recovered phone seeking out blackmail like the assholes they are. Your primary apps for insurance and paying your bills are thumbprint protected, so really what could they get to that's confidential? Nothing, to your knowledge. But it seems your camera roll strikes their interest. 

Oh yeah, they hit low. They see your lock screen first- a sweet photo of your harmless, dopey dog who they snark that you won’t be home to feed on time. Then even more, as your home screen displays a picture-perfect selfie of you and your darling man. You picked it because it’s rare proof of him smiling at some wisecrack you made before snapping the shutter.

Your handsome and infuriatingly busy man. 

“Aww, well just look at little miss hero’s cute lil boyfriend! Bet he’ll be awful proud of you playing the savior~”

“Tehehe, too little too late though, yeah? Gotta be quicker than that for us.”

“Geez, how sappy can you get. This guy’s all over her…and can’t blame him, honestly. Makes me feel a little bad for roughing such a pretty thing up.~”

Gross. Just gross. You act like you don’t listen, your simpering pain turns to nausea the more they talk. Until a renewed sense of fear hits:

“Wait- go back. Oh. Ohhh shit, no.”

“Whuh.”

“Fuck, man, that’s DYNAMIGHT!!” the jerk with the copious amounts of tattoos and chains draping off his arms like whips gets nervous real fast, “We have Dynamight’s girlfriend!!”

Your other guard seems to swallow for a split second, but immediately tips to a feigned dominance,

“Well, ain’t that just icing on the cake~”

“THE HELL DO YOU MEAN? He’s gonna come after her!! You know how scary that guy is?! I’m telling the boss-”

“Don’t wimp out already,” he fires back. “Why do that and waste time- when knowing this, we could get paid double? Heroes ransoms can cost him a pretty penny, and you know he’ll do it for her. Those heroes make bank.”

You flatten your brows angrily. 

“Whaddya think, princess? Big man gonna come and save you, huh?  

You really want Katsuki. But you truly have no idea if he’d know or care to come at this point. The spiral downwards in the mind is dizzying along with your headache, and just makes your heart sick for him. 

When you see him next, you’re not sure if you’d hug him or throttle him. Though now, you just wanna see him. 

“Unless.. He doesn’t!” his mood shifts- patronizing, “Too busy makin’ a paycheck and name for himself and all his hero buddies than to settle down and think about the pretty thing at home? Well, I would fix that real quick–”

A muffled boom sounds on your right. Rooms away.

Another, louder. Two beats after, the guards look at each other.

You hear a yell, a harsh one, then another blast that sounds cracklier than the rest. Someone’s close. But you’re honestly not sure if it’s friend or foe.

You’re excited, but get nervous again when the lackeys move into action. Chains loops a rough swing of his appendages around you and starts dragging you back into the adjoining office, while the muscle goes back to type at one of their private laptops that’s downloading something.

You give off a flare of panic in your voice- a sound you hate but can’t control. 

“It’s-s not him–” you force your pitch lower, but it shakes despite your best effort. “Cmon, there’s too many heroes, s’not gonna be him–  n’there gonna come an’- bust yall anyway!! Whaddya want me for?!”

As you’re dragged, you catch a glimpse of shine from above you. In the vent, you see mustard yellow and teal saturated with shadow- all metal. Then, his voice, through a comm on his wrist that flashes in the reflected light:

“Got her. Light it up, on your left.” 

Both lackeys drop what they’re doing and look up to see the vent kicked into the floor– and the wall totally blown in from your right. 

Dynamight -the Symbol of Victory- and Deku -the Symbol of Peace- are dropping in at breakneck speed, though the former is out for blood.

“ALRIGHT, WHICH ONE OF YOU FUCKERS AM I KILLING FIRST??”

Deku’s landing creates a decent wind with his jump, revealing Bakugou behind where the door usually is, and clocking your position almost immediately. 

It’s a powerful thing, to see him in action- you’ve certainly never seen it in person, and you’ve never heard him this mad. To his credit, he never raises his voice enough for you to fear it.

He spots you and the guy who rushes him, but just snarls, evades his whip of weighted chains entirely, grabs him by the calf, and chucks him into the opposing wall with a spinning throw. Then, he sets straight to you.

“DEKU!!” he shouts to Midoriya, “Trash, at your ten!!”

“On it!” Your angel from the ceiling ducts is currently laying into the other guy, but keeps the reeling villain in his sights before he can get up and strike again. You imagine the sucker has more than a few broken bones (or truly is dead, as promised)… he doesn’t move from his figure on the floor.

While you’re still coughing up a storm from the drywall throwing dust everywhere, Bakugou comes to your side and immediately picks your bound body up in a rush from the chair you were perched on.

“C’mere you-” 

He sounds rushed and spent, huffs it out of the room and into a separate office down the hall. 

You spot Ingenium and Creati moving on to the other end of the hall where you know the final villain remains, but you can already hear the squeals of said wimp once Iida bursts in. This will be quick work for the rest of them, so you weren’t worried Dynamight would be needed anymore.

Inside an executive’s office, Bakugou kicks the door behind him shut with his heel and sets you on the dearest flat surface- a decently sized desk.

“Hey you- you still with me?”

You don’t realize you’re breathing so fast until he’s looking you square in the face with split concern. It’s night and day from when he burst in after one of his more gusty explosions, his voice all cracked and high in pitch.

“Cmon, baby look at me- here, let’s get this crap off of you..”

Your gasps for air turn wet and you can’t keep yourself from crying anymore. It would be notably sweet that he still tries his hardest not to curse wildly around you, but right now you don’t care what font his expletives are in. Every bit of stress leaving your body all at once is a rush for your senses and your emotions.

“Kats~”

After his pocketed knife’s quick, careful work separating your arms from your waistline covered in a still-sticky webbing, he sheaths the blade again and collects you up when you launch yourself at him. 

Bakugou holds you hard and fast and you can’t even be bothered to worry about how his shoulder pauldrons are nearly choking you. He’s got you back in his arms, and he’s just saved your life.

“I’m here,” he grunts to you, relieved beyond measure, “I’m here, sweet’eart. You’re safe.”

You’re so thankful. You’re so happy-

“N’d I am so sorry.

-You’re so confused.

In a flippy tone that betrays what heightened nerves you’d just gone through, you ask, 

“Huh?”

Bakugou’s fingers thread into your hair when you try and pull back-

“Don’t. S’the first.” His iron-sure voice wavers, “I- I haven't hugged you all week.”

Then, you’re both crying into each other, and it’s a healing thing. 

Dragging careful nails across the back of his hero suit, you try to offer a tiny bit of comfort to this mass of man cradling you on this desk. You know you’re still in dire need to talk about his recent absence, but what a reunion this was. Feeling him after a seven or eight day stretch of near radio silence changes the degree of flame you hold against him. Honestly now, you’re in the mind to think he deserves a pass entirely. 

Bakugou finally lifts enough to press a kiss to your head, but makes no move to let go of you. “I’ve missed you, baby.”

Has he? He’s barely texted you past the ‘I’m heading out’ and ‘I’ve gotta sleep’ with no room to offer or reciprocate any form of love between you; so much so, it threatened to make you doubt. 

“Have you? I haven’t heard.”

“No, you haven’t. And that’s all on me.”

You turn your head very slowly- your entire neck is still tender, but you'd rather listen to him with an ear to his chest, where you belong. 

“I’ve missed you too,” you settle on the truth. You might have more to say when you’re not so exhausted, but the truth is you’ll still love him no matter what, and you do always miss him.

You miss every moment, big and small. His wins and losses. Nights where he’s high off a victory or the ones where he’s bone-tired and in his head about how weak he must seem. Nights where he takes out his hearing aids and just wants to fall into your silence to sleep safely, and the mornings where he’s up and ready to go take on the day after he has your kiss and hug to charge him up. Whether he has your chapstick smeared up on his cheek, or the promise of your arms to hold him in whatever state he greets you when he comes home, you just miss him. You notice when he’s not there. The house seeks him out, with lights on for him to find his way inside, and low music to soothe what anger might have followed him home.

You take a few moments to just soak each other in. You hope and pray he’ll come home with you after this.

And thank the Maker, your prayers might just be answered.

“This was a wake-up call, sweetheart.” Bakugou sounds a bit bolder, but still talks softly to you and the dust mites around you, “I’m takin’ a leave. A long one.”

The way he promises time off is something he’s toyed with before, but never followed through on.

“You can’t do that, Kats,” there’s no coldness to the words, but you mean it.

“Yes I can. It’s my race; I can step away.”

You sigh against his pec, “I’m.. I’m not asking you to. I can’t, that wouldn’t be fair.”

To you, sure. But not for his dream. Not the dream he’s worked and fought and lived for since before you met, and long before he fell in love with you. You’d supported him in this chase to save everyone and be the best at what he does from day 1, and you’ve never wavered on that– you still wouldn’t, even if someone asked you now feeling as dejected as you do by his absences–

“Tch. Y’know what's not fair?”

Bakugou finally loosens his grip on you to lift your chin up to him with thick, strong fingers, 

“Leavin’ you for days on end; waiting up, worried sick. Leaving, and just assuming you’ll still be there when I get back. And now you’re getting fuckin’ snatched the minute I turn my back on what we have. That isn’t right.”

The correlation is irrational- this incident today was a freak accident. You couldn’t have planned it- or certainly hope that your identity as his significant other is not going to be weaponized. Shuffle in the hallway beyond tells you that the possibility of that information leaking is sufficiently locked up along with them. 

Surely Izuku would have grabbed your phone– and maybe set you up a new lock screen with a mean mug to poke some fun at ‘Kacchan’.

You slump against him, at the sound that he’s being too hard on himself, and that’s not what you want for him either.

“I just miss you, Katsuki. And I want to see you succeed.” you study the bold ‘X’ across his chest with fondness and heartache mixed, “I want both those things. I just can’t help but wonder if you have to go at it so fast? And so hard, where I never see you? Like you’re racing against the clock to be #1? I just want you there in one piece; I don’t care how long it takes.”

You have no doubt he’s going to land the spot before he’s thirty. You just hope for a balanced ascension to the height of his power and ability. And selfishly… you hope you’re in the picture of his life when he does.

Bakugou hears and you do believe he listens, as he smooths a calming hand up and down your arm all the while.

“And today..” you clam up a bit with an uncontrollable shake, “Today was- scary. But you couldn’t help that. Any more that you can help it from happening t’ anyone. I know that,”

And you look up at him despite the burn it causes you. And -a funny contrast to your still teary eyes- you smile.

“-but you did save me. And that was- honestly one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen in my life.”

The comment strikes him as funny, too, since he gives a little chuckle.

“Me blastin’ in and causing you to choke on my smoke?”

You nodded briefly.

“Kinda hot, all things considered.”

Unbelievable, his headshake and eyeroll at how easily you can -and will- make jokes. Perhaps it is the shock still, deflecting with humor. 

You do realize how fragile it is because when you laugh at the absurdity, you catch his eye again and you look just a little too long before you’re sniffling. 

The reality is that you could lose him at any time: whether by his end or yours. He’s got the more dangerous job by far, but if today was any indication on your part, you shouldn’t just think yourself as a shoe-in for safety.

Bakugou cups your face in his hands to make himself perfectly clear.

“You’re the hero today, angel. Watched you in 16-bit as you snuck back there, taking that bastard into next week. You saved every- single- one of them.” he placed a kiss on each word as he praised you. “I am so damn proud of you.”

Your hands still skipped, limbs jumpy. 

“I don’t feel like a hero.”

His lashes lured you in as he gazed at you through them, “Doesn’t mean you aren’t one. You did it scared. That’s pretty hot, too.”

You huffed your amusement as he thanked you in his own way. Best to let him carry on before he’s whisked away again. 

Just as you thought he might release you in ushering you out of the office, Bakugou takes you by the hands so that you can stand, then keeps you in place by his immovable stance.

“Things are gonna change,” he vows, “because none of this shit matters if I don’t have you. Yeah I want you now, but I’m gonna want you after my fire’s burnt out. Which means, I gotta pay attention. I have to set ‘who matters’ just as high as ‘what matters’ and remember why.”

Touched by every word, your trembling lessens. You take in his warmth and his care and his explosive loyalty with confidence and nod in agreement.

Taking one last selfish hug, you sink into your hero again, standing more as equals than you usually feel being held by him. He’s lifted you up in more ways than one. Enough to let safety back into your heart, enough to tease,

“That can’t be your line. When did ‘Zuzu’ give you that one?”

“Hey,” Bakugou flicked you in the temple lightly, “I can be nice too, dammit.”

“Sure you can,” you kiss the dip of his neck in apology.

“You’re just always nice, you can’t appreciate the difference.” he pouts, taking your hand and leading you out of the office.

“...Sure I can.”

You have to give him a solid shot– he’s nothing if not insistent with what he wants.

Outside the room, there are a host of officers, photographers, medics and heroes aiding in the recovery efforts, so you relax your hand in his to let go,

–only he doesn’t let you.

Bakugou glances to you, “You’re in shock, extra. You need to get checked out.”

“I’m fine, Mr. Dynamight,” you chortle with a little head bobble like you would have normally done, only now the movement makes you wince.

“That’s what I thought. OI, Deku- where’s her sh-phone?”

The iron hero stands with the receptionists, looks to you both and smiles gratefully, before nodding off to his company and joins you-

“This, I believe, belongs to you, maam~” he perks up as he comes around to your other side. It’s not so much that you have to pretend to be strangers, but in this high-traffic place, it seems easier to fall into roles of ‘heroes’ and ‘thankful public’.

“How kind, Mr. Symbol of Peace~ I’d be missing this!”

Double checking your lock screen, he did -in fact- change your cover screen to a playful selfie: pointing at the crumbled remains of the wall they’d broken into, with the caption:

>>Whatever Kacchan wants, Kacchan gets <3<<

Muting your laugh, you simply tilt your phone Bakugou’s way and catch Midoriya’s quick wink back to you, before he sets off running with a screaming boyfriend sprinting after him.

At least Katsuki showed up back at your place at 6:30PM on the dot, fixed you both a salmon dinner, and started getting your baseline of support back on track. With his next two weeks off and barely keeping his hands off of you so far, you believed he was making good on remembering his why.

[butterflyscribbles]

So I haven’t talked nearly enough about Mutant Mayhem yet but I saw it for the second time a few days ago and they have consumed all my thoughts have some random headcanons I’m dying I have to talk about them more:

⚠️(Spoiler warning for MM as well)⚠️

April

- Lives with her mom and grandfather on her mother’s side. Raised by a single mom who’s a veterinarian and her grandpa, a retired tailor and clothing retail manager, moved in after her grandma passed away a few years ago.

- Listens to way too many murder mystery podcasts and thrillers are her favorite movie genre

- Practices doodling a lot in the sides of her journal or class notes. She’s inspired by courtroom sketch artists and old biology journals.

- Swears like a sailor. Even more than Raph. Tries to censor herself around them but it only gets worse the closer they become as friends

- Becomes a sort of ambassador for the turtles and other mutants in the city. Anyone who doesn’t approve of them, goes through her…

- Favorite subject is biology, outside of working on the school newspaper of course

Leo

- Big time book worm. Has read a lot of the classics like The Great Gatsby, Catcher in the Rye, etc. which gives him an advantage heading into high school. His favorite subject is literature naturally as a result.

- Autistic, practically canon but just putting it out there

- Like April, he’s got a sensitive stomach under pressure. Nausea flares up all the time, especially at the sight or smell of blood. They bond over it. Nothing brings two people together like commiserating that your tummy hurts all the time🤝

- Hopeless romantic. Had fallen head over heels for a few other girls he spotted up top even before April came along. She was just…different. He watches a lot of sappy romance movies too they make him feel all warm and fuzzy.

- Love language is words of affirmation big time. He’s always about hyping up the people he loves and will defend them through anything.

Raph

- He’s the team medic in this iteration. He’s no professional but growing up he had so many injuries from being a scrappy lil dude that he picked up on how to take care of ‘em on his own and of course shares that knowledge with his bros and April later. He’s surprisingly gentle when he needs to be.

- He’s the most prone to nightmares/night terrors. The fact that Raph was the one to go seek comfort from Splinter in the tots scene is so important to me.

- He and Donnie are the anime enthusiasts. Hasn’t seen as many as Donnie but it’s close.

- Scratching his shell gently, especially up by the shoulder blades, is like an automatic snooze button. He passes out within minutes.

- Second biggest crybaby to Mikey. It happens when he feels any emotion too strongly whether it’s happiness, anger, sadness, etc. and he hates it. Makes him feel weak, which is why there usually is a lot of punching involved too.

Donnie

- Can’t swim and is the only one who actively dislikes getting into the water.

- He and Leo have been studying how to speak and write Japanese together for years. Don has picked up a lot from all the anime he watches.

- Is the most emotionally open version of Donnie to date. He’s always telling his family how much he loves them without restraint and is the first to ask what’s wrong if he picks up on someone acting weird or trying to hide something.

- To compliment the above hc, he’s insanely observational, like Sherlock level. They don’t know how he’s able to do it but his attention to detail and his ability to take that and create plans and get a read on people is baffling. If Donnie doesn’t get a good vibe off someone, believe him and run the other way. (Makes him really good at those spot the different puzzles too lol.)

- Loves to dance just like his previous incarnation before him:’) Bootyyyshaker9001

Mikey

- Is actually afraid of cats…growing up with Splinter, who would freak out at the sight of them, only taught him to freak out along with him. They are sharp and unpredictable.

- Other than that however he’s an animal lover. Had a few pet fish through the years that he saved after being flushed.

- Practically canon but the most physically affectionate by leagues. Constantly seeking a brother, adopted mutant family member, or an April to cling to.

- Super into musicals and is a actually a decent singer

- Can take a punch like nothing you’ve ever seen and can still be standing….but gets sick constantly his immune system is wack

[lovelykhaleesiii]

I have been going back and forth in posting this, but want to have a clean slate and a clear mind going forward.

this fandom if I am being honest (and from experience in many others) has been the most roller coaster ride. it has been wonderful and blossoming, yet also, toxic and disheartening…

my current state right now, I feel as though I have been shunned from the community from all corners. stranded alone, with only a few friends (I could count them on one hand) to talk to and to trust.

I have been incredibly disappointed in this fandom by people I had considered friends, people that I believed to be sincere and kind, but over time showed a very different and ugly side.

I am not going to sugar coat this topic anymore… and be warned, I will call you out if need be, from this point on. I always had hopes that as a community mostly dominated by adults, we would act more like it, but it seems not. then accountability is necessary, because this school yard behaviour is not it.

I work most of the time, I barely even have time for a social life on top of personal things… tumblr is not my priority. but when I log in on here, I do wish and intend for this to be a space where I can relax and enjoy myself, to be creative and write and share my ideas and stories. to interact with people, to bond over characters and stories that I don’t ever get the chance to in real life, because I barely meet people with similar interests.

this is meant to be my safe haven.

recently it has been quite the opposite…

I have been gaslit, bullied & ghosted/neglected. as someone who genuinely struggles to put herself out there, I have made attempts that I am thankful for yet hurt by the experiences. putting myself in discord chats only to leave in the matter of a few days…

I have said this before and I will say it again. If I ever say anything to you directly or indirectly, and it doesn’t sit right with you. I am open to talk privately about it. I am not perfect, in fact far from it. I have flaws as do we all. I can make mistakes, I am human. if the matter can be resolved, amazing, if not: I don’t expect to get along with EVERYONE on this hellsite. the block and unfollow options are there for a reason!!!

regardless, I understand everyone has their own personal lives and issues… believe me, I DO! I am a huge advocate for life > tumblr. you need a break, take the break. you want to go on hiatus, go on hiatus. you do not owe anyone in this fandom shit, as I have reminded myself as of late. In saying that, showing people common courtesy and decency is not by any means a stretch, it should be the bare minimum.

showing support to your fanfic authors/gif makers and creators is valid and ideal.

I have taken multiple breaks because the stress and exhaustion from my work and personal life has been a lot, that I am able to remove myself from a situation, to not allow anyone else to suffer my ordeal. your actions have repercussions, and you will be held accountable.

to wrap it all up, I will continue to write my little, silly stories, I will continue to read fics. However, I have of recent been so turned off by some of the people in this community, that if I’m being honest (which I also strongly advocate for, and believe I owe whoever read this that), I have no energy to interact with people that have crossed me and made me feel less of the person I am at this point in time. my friends who I respect and admire dearly, know who they are, I don’t need to tell them twice.

when I feel comfortable with this fandom, my interactions may change, but for now. I very much enjoy my small number of friends.

thank you to those who read this entire mouthful, I genuinely appreciate the small things and taking the time out of YOUR day to read and listen to little old me, says a lot.

please take care of yourselves, and I hope that we can create a better more wholesome fandom space.

love always, Hel 🤍

[ciaossu-imagines]

Could I request Mukuro for prompt 1? All or as many as you like of the 20 items ! Thank you!

Of course you can, my lovely anon! Thank you so much for the request and I hope you’ll enjoy!

What’s their go-to fifteen minute meal?

I do see Mukuro as someone who eats out a lot. If he’s not up to going out, I think he survives on junk food – chips and instant ramen are a lot of what he eats. He likes spicier chips and his go-to instant ramen is Ippudo Tonkotsu Ramen.

How would they describe their perfect vacation?

Eventful. Mukuro does have his moments where he wants a little breathing room but mostly, he’s not one to sit around and do nothing. He wouldn’t take true vacations often, since even when travelling, he has plans and things in the works that he’s keeping himself occupied with.

What’s the most read book on their bookshelf?

It’s a tie between Machiavelli’s The Prince and Nietzsche’s On the Genealogy of Morality.

If they had to describe themselves as a type of shoe, which type would they choose? Why?

I think I would compare Mukuro to a worn-in pair of good leather boots. Strong enough to take a beating, practical and long-lasting, but changeable enough to go with a lot of different things.

What song would they choose as their theme song?

I’m going to cheat here but Mukuro has a leitmotif in the anime that I think really fits him perfectly and at least the first five or six seconds play in my head every time he showed up in the manga.

What’s the oldest item in their refrigerator?

Honestly, nobody cleans out the mini fridge in Kokuyo Land enough…there’s a little piece off a block of cheese that is old enough to have filled the entire Ziploc baggie it’s in with mold.

Do they have an emergency treat (ice cream, cookies, candy, etc.) hidden somewhere in their kitchen for bad days? What is it?

It’s ice cream. Mukuro changes his favourite flavour of ice cream up a lot, but he normally does have a tub hidden in the back of the little freezer. Doesn’t really matter though, because no matter how much stuff he piles in front of it, Ken or Fran ends up eating it on him before Mukuro actually wants it…maybe Chikusa once or twice, though Ken still ends up getting blamed.

What’s their weirdest bedtime ritual?

Mukuro has to brush his teeth. Pretty normal, yeah…except he brushes them one by one, first along the bottom and then along the top, going tooth by individual tooth. He always ‘forgets’ to floss though; the feeling of the waxy string kind of drives him insane, especially since he has sensitive gums.

Who/what is the one thing that can make them smile no matter how terrible their day has been?

Honestly, not to get too sappy but it is Ken and Chikusa, and then eventually Chrome and Fran too. As someone who never really had the luxury of a family or of people he could rely on, those four, while they drive him insane and while he isn’t above using them (though they willing consent to it), are really his own version of a safe, happy, warm place.

Where do they go when they need some time alone?

Mukuro is lucky enough in that, when he needs to retreat, he doesn’t need to go far. If it’s safe for him to do so, he simply retreats into his mind. Given the powers he has, his mind is more of a retreat than most other people’s, obviously.

What’s one conspiracy theory that they secretly agree with?

Mukuro has very little faith in the world, honestly, and he could easily be convinced of most conspiracy theories, with the only one he strongly disbelieves in being the whole flat earth theory.

Who’s the person they most want to tell when they hear a funny joke?

Honestly, it’s usually Chikusa or Chrome. Ken is too easy to make laugh so there’s no satisfaction there. Fran will just insult any joke. Both Chikusa and Chrome, while near impossible to make laugh, do both have senses of humour, and there’s a sense of accomplishment Mukuro feels in making either of them laugh.

What’s the first section of the newspaper (or online news source) that they check each day?

Mukuro subscribes to a lot of different news sites and does check them, keeping an eye on both major world news, on smaller news stories in places where the Mafia has strongholds, and in the tabloids, which tell the truth far more than people would think.

Who would they call to bail them out of jail? Bonus points if you describe why they were arrested!

This one is kind of obvious, as it’s shown in canon that he calls the rest of the Kokuyo Gang, including M.M. when he needs to be broken out of jail. He’s likely arrested on one of the many, many crimes he’s wanted for, let’s be honest. Mukuro isn’t exactly the picture of the ideal, law-abiding citizen.

What’s the one scent that most reminds them of home?

Blood. With the human experimentation being such a big part of his youth, and then the infiltration and slaughter of Lanchia’s family being another big part of his childhood, the smell of blood almost permeates all his memories of ‘home’ for him, though he’s learning to replace that smell with the smell of the damp earth, wet dog, apples, and that fancy smelling body soap that Chikusa likes so much.

What do they consider their greatest achievement?

Though he doesn’t consider his greatest achievement accomplished yet, as I do believe that, even at the end of the story, Mukuro does still have an intent to wipe out the rotted, evil parts of the Mafia world, I do think the fact that he has escaped Vindice prison, TWICE, which is supposed to be inescapable, is something he’s definitely a little proud of.

How much time do they spend on the internet each day?

I do think that, while the internet is a source of information for Mukuro, it’s not his main or only source, and that he really does keep his internet time relatively short, no more than a couple hours a day.

What’s their go-to procrastination activity?

Mukuro doesn’t really procrastinate all that often, actually. He’s pretty motivated and ambitious as a person but when he is putting something off, he normally spends a lot of time with the others, letting them drag him into stuff or deliberately provoking odd situations just to have the excuse to put off whatever it is that he genuinely doesn’t want to do.

If someone were to make a movie of their life, who would they want to play them?

Nobody. Absolutely nobody. Mukuro’s story would never get told because it’s not really one he wants publicly told and he would honestly stop it from getting out or ever even being thought of as a movie.

Is there a number in their phone that they should definitely delete but just can’t seem to erase?

He still has Lanchia’s cell phone number and he updates it every time that the man changes it. He really doesn’t need it…it’s just a ‘to be safe’ feeling that having it gives Mukuro.

[thepennedcommandments]

Fuck you. Sincerely, a Millennial

Guys, it’s been a shitshow. Let’s get into it.

What’s your earliest childhood memory? What is the first major world or news event that you can remember?

Mine? I had to stop my VHS of The Sandlot to watch OJ Simpson being chased in his white Bronco per my parents demand. I mean, who could blame them? A former football player murder his wife and her lover and sent the police on a high speed chase only to be acquitted a year later. My childhood was AMAZING, don’t get me wrong, but there was a lot demanded of my generation.

•Adults demanded blind obedience. Don’t you question authority! It’s disrespectful.

•Rules were demanded to be followed.

•Children should be seen and not heard.

•Don’t you ever question an adult.

•You better speak when spoken to.

•Teachers demanded an inhumane amount of homework be completed nightly.

We were demanded to follow a dress code in high school that sounded like it came out before women could even wear pants in public. We were told that bare shoulders were too sexual for school. Ok, Perv. Do you know how long it took me to feel like I wasn’t doing something wrong when wearing a sleeveless shirt? Thanks, Marlboro Academy. 👍🏻

Demands, demands, demands. But no explanation other than “Because I said so.”

How about in 2001 when we watched actual human beings jump from the 50th floor of the World Trade Center, in real time on national television, at 14 years old in classroom with our peers.

What about those mature enough to pursue college degrees right out of high school only to be met with a recession upon completing that degree. There were no jobs, no money, and good luck buying a home.

The transition from a relatively private life to being filmed by cameras in every store, every highway, and every sidewalk. The transition from celebrating your life wins with your family to the pressure of needing to document it for your social media following. There is an electronic footprint of everything we do now.

We are a generation that were hit by our parents for making a mistake. It’s such an odd concept. I’m not talking about being popped on the rear for disobeying. I’m talking about adult strength behind the force of a leather belt. Seriously, y’all. What the actual fuck was that?

We are progressive. We are adaptable. We are resilient. We don’t believe our lives revolve around grinding 9-5. Maybe because it feels like the world has been crashing around us our whole lives so we want to make the most of what’s left. We want others to be heard and feel accepted. We want our children to ask questions and we use alternate forms of discipline. We are tolerant. But we don’t tolerate bullshit.

Our music is top tier. Our pop culture was addicting. Pearl Jam, Alanis, Lil Jon, Lil Wayne, Britney, Freddie Prince, Jr., and Monica Lewinsky. I mean, the diversity that the 90s and early 2000s served. 👏🏻We listened to everything from Tim McGraw to T-Pain. We watched everything from Will and Grace to Jenny Jones.

Hot Takes From an 80s Baby:

I don’t care. Literally. Do what you want as long as it doesn’t hurt others. The idea of caring so much about what other people are doing has been strongly perpetuated by this social media/influencer culture. We didn’t even have the internet growing up, or cell phones.

I don’t care that you and your dad and his dad all worked the same job for 35 years before retiring. If my current job isn’t serving me, I’m gonna find a new one.

I don’t care that you are my aunt or a childhood best friend. I don’t hang on to relationships that are mentally and physically draining. Family or not, if you are toxic then you gotta go.

I don’t care that your feelings might get hurt because our children didn’t want to hug you today and I didn’t force them to. Or force them to have a weird conversation with you. There’s like 50 years between the two of you, find someone your own age to talk to.

I don’t care that you think we are dumber than your generation.

I don’t care that you hate tattoos and piercings and brightly colored hair.

I don’t care that you don’t understand other communities outside of the one you belong to because you’ve never tried to.

I don’t care that you disagree with me. Two opposite opinions can coexist in the same space.

I don’t care that you think your generation is superior. I’m glad you do, someone needs to, I guess.

I just don’t care. Life is too fucked to care too much about any of it.

So, I stand by it. Fuck you. Fuck another war, fuck politics, fuck social media, fuck toxic family members and work environments, fuck recessions and pandemics, fuck blind obedience, fuck inflation, and lastly, fuck off.

Sincerely,

a Millennial ✌🏼

[kinetic-elaboration]

January 8: Grieving

Today was a really long day and I’m feeling it now. I didn’t necessarily feel bad, or stressed, or sad, or tired at work, but it’s just shocking to me that it’s Monday night and not, like, Wednesday. For the most part, my friend and coworker’s passing still feels like just something that happened, an event with certain practical consequences to be discussed, rather than something emotional. There’s still a lot of discussion about things like where the communication is coming from and who wrote the email and what the email did and didn’t say, and what the students will think when they come back, and how to tell our former co-workers, and when the service will be, and what the law school will do, and should we get flowers and so on. On the one hand, I do feel her absence really strongly. But on the other, it feels sort of impossible that I’ll never see her again.

My supervisor’s grief has involved feeling guilty again about the poaching incident from 2019. I understand why that’s coming up again for her and I don’t judge anyone’s emotional reaction but it also means, like, a lot of stupid work drama was being rehashed. For me 2024 is truly the year when I put things in perspective and that is just not something I want to waste my brainspace on, personally. It’s tiring.

And of course the rest of it doesn’t stop. I still have a huge backlog of work that I barely touched today. I’m still moving my office and even though I think I’m doing a damn good job of not stressing about it, there’s still s popping up every 5 minutes wanting to move the filing cabinet into my soon-to-be-old office and all this shit about work orders and stuff I don’t care about. And once I finish moving tomorrow—the worst part, the computer and printers and cables—I still need to unpack, as it were, so the project isn’t really over. I have 2 extra meetings this week and people are wanting help moving furniture and tasks like that. I need to care about oral histories again. I volunteered to help look for photos for the law school memorial service, which I think it’s important for me to do, but it’ll be hard. It’s just a lot, is all I mean. A lot a lot. I’m not really scared by most of it, but I am tired.

As I was leaving, I stopped by her desk to look at the sort of memorial that was sprouting up there. All the personal items she left behind were put up on the top of the desk—a gift from her husband, a couple of awards she’d been given, some old photographs—as well as a candle and some small items. By the end of the day there were 4 or 5 small bouquets of yellow flowers there too. I think it hit me hard in part because I just wanted her to be able to see it. So I was pretty sad as I was leaving work.

Then I had to go shopping. And the thing is, I don’t know if it’s that I would often meet her on the bus on my way back from shopping, or because on my way back I pass by the turnoff to her house, or just because of the desk memorial, but I just felt it pretty hard. Half-crying in the Walmart or whatever. I honestly can’t remember most of shopping or coming home. I’m pretty drained right now. Tired, but in the sense of like there’s nothing in my body except maybe some vague achiness. I know I just need to feel the way I feel but I still hope I am okay at work tomorrow. Gotta take a shower and get to sleep soon.

[cleopatrachampagne]

thank you, i will pass on the love to her. she responded to the screenshot thank you but that she doesn’t think she’s a badass then changed the subject to her cats (she’s not very open with her emotions lol). i learned a lot from her and my grampy about listening, caring, critical thinking and standing up for what i believe in and also about how to take care or myself and live off the land if diplomacy and science don’t work out. my grandfather was an avid hunter and vietnam vet who had some antique guns but he also very strongly supported having less idiots with them and he always emphasized to me that a gun, unlike a knife or a car or other lethal items, had no purpose other than to kill so if i picked one up i’d better be ready to handle that. he also kept them locked in a safe separate from an ammo safe and never had them around the little kids until they were old enough to learn and then be put back locked up and out of easy reach. granted, he was raised very privileged from a long line of politicians who have been here since the mayflower which is in stark contrast to my grandmother but they basically raised me and i think they set good examples for me.

he was an apocalypse prepper who spent far more time learning to build generators and sustainably grow food than he did stockpiling weapons and she survived multiple fascist regimes. i honestly feel sorry for gun nuts here because someone failed them along the way. i don’t think they know much about history or the world outside of their region of the us and even if they do, they fell for the classic misdirection.

what you say about the ridiculous squabbles in our major political arenas and the revoking of our rights is true and although i know the main reason no one does anything about having sensible gun control is because the nra is lining their pockets and funding their re-elections i can’t help but feel like it’s misdirection. a magician tells you to pay attention to the top hat and when you look up your wallet is gone. the politicians tell these people to focus on their guns and when they look up their basic human rights are gone.

i’m glad to have helped inspire you to keep fighting and defending your rights. we really do have to! i feel like it must be so exhausting to keep fighting corporate overreach and for reproductive autonomy for decades but whenever i asked her she said the other option was to stand idly by and let things happen rather than try to make things happen and i can’t argue with that.

and your last line is such fire. you’re right that being apathetic only serves our oppressors (or at the very least being apathetic only serves the people who aren’t, and they may not have the best interests of other people in mind).

💞💞💞

About your thread on gun safety regulations: It's always so scary to see how even the smallest, tiniest little baby suggestion to improve things somewhat triggers such an aggressive response from US American gun nuts. There's millions if not billions of us on earth who've never even touched a gun and certainly don't need 300 bullets in our homes. We thankfully don't even have to think about firearms outside of the context of the US.

But every once in a while I'll see an American go "no actually if I'm not allowed to have 100 laying around my home and a garage full of ammo, I will certainly perish", as they send their kids to school on active shooter drill day.

I've got nothing but respect for people like your grandmother. I'm sure it's scary, having to deal with unhinged, antisocial maniacs who you know for sure are stockpiling guns and ammo at home. She sounds like a badass.

thank you so much for this. i sent a screenshot to my gram over text if you don’t mind that! gun violence isn’t the only thing she’s spent a lifetime fighting against — she’s followed in the footsteps of her parents (soldiers and journalists who were investigated by mccarthy for sticking by their morals) and dedicated herself to trying to stand up for what’s right and leave the world in better shape than she found it — but her work for feminism (burning bras and protesting banks for the right to have her own account rather than one co-signed by her father or husband and more), against antisemitism and the parents in an area heavy on skinheads recently managing to ban the holocaust from school curriculum, her work in conservation especially in the colombia plateau and henry’s fork, caring for a sanctuary farm in her retirement, battling for unions and workers rights, picketing corporations trying to pollute the columbia river, advocating for lgbt people even in the 1980’s and the aids crisis, the kids with special needs she and my grandfather fostered, her time as a special ed teacher, and her years spent with the pdx police force working to lower police brutality, improve responses to mental health crises, advocate for women and weed out the bigots have been almost overshadowed by her work towards gun control in recent years. she spends so much time on it i think because of the level of opposition and she even had to stop posting on facebook about it after receiving mailed threats from local gun nuts and skinheads but she still is a member of multiple activist groups and dedicates time to helping with campaigns and speaking out against it.

i feel so ashamed of how other countries must see america largely due to the fact that we send children to school in bulletproof backpacks but keep allowing the gun nuts and nra run the nation and keep us from doing anything to lessen the harm. mass shootings don’t happen elsewhere the way they do here and it’s embarrassing.

my grandmother grew up in a warzone, she saw people killed in front of her, she had my mom as a baby in her arms as they fled a bombing once, and two of her six siblings were held hostage by a drug cartel and tortured, but i believe her when she says the united states right now is in worse shape than spain under francisco franco or cartel-dominated cities in mexico when it comes to violence and shootings.

i know a lot of our legislation is absurd and unhelpful and performative but that’s because of the people who have been manipulated by western films and the nra pushing back against anything helpful. no one needs more than a basic, single shot hunting rifle and a small amount of ammunition. people put their children at risk, themselves at risk and others at risk by so irresponsibly owning guns and ammo. there are plenty of other forms of self defense that aren’t more likely to kill you than the assailant.

too many people seem to believe that if they have guns and a stockpile of ammo they could take on the government (which is laughable), invading forces or whatever other perverse fantasy they seem to have. in reality, having a gun makes you more likely to commit suicide, for a child to get shot, for a domestic conflict to end in death and so on. i don’t trust any government — believe me — but we have a government for the purpose of keeping our society safe and stable and it’s a display of utter narcissism and overconfidence to believe that your “right” to own a gun is worth more than someone else’s right to live.

not to mention that the frequent argument is that gun control won’t stop criminals from getting guns but the same exact people helped overturn roe v. wade to ban abortion under the assumption that it will stop abortions. absolute hypocrisy.

i not only appreciate the breath of fresh air from my favorite mutual and the compliment to my grandmother (she is a badass: she’s a wilderness survivalist, cowgirl and political powerhouse with a backbone of steel) but also the perspective from someone outside of the united states because i think it’s super weird that so many people here are convinced they’ll die without a rocket launcher and basement full of ammo — or that their 2k hours of fortnite have prepared them to fight an organized armed force — while the rest of the world is doing perfectly fine with reasonable gun control.

thank you, my sweet cheese, my rotten soldier, my good time boi 💝💝💝

[zomb1e-boy]

Paring: Farmer!Negan x TransMasc! reader

Summary: Negan and Y/N start to get a lot closer. Neither sides thought that could happen after the war and lose, but you two defeated all odds. Despite it all you forgive and don’t forget. The two of you are getting closer and it leaves it up to both of you to reveal things about themselves…(I want more trans masc readers so I made one and idk if it’s good or not bare with me)

Warnings:cussing, normal Negan stuff, trans angst, pasta, fluff

“God damnit Negan says frustrated, sweat dripping down his face.Y/N walks out of the shade of the windmill and walks over to Negan. “You alright there buddy?” He says in a playful tone. “I’m fuckin peachy thanks for askin.” Y/N snickers, “Seriously what’s goin on Neegs?” Sweat drips down Negans’ brow, as he wipes it away. “The fucking tomatoes are dyin, I don’t know what’s goin on” Negan’s serious tone is hard to not laugh at, but Y/N keeps his composer. “Well since you’re so distraught about your tomatoes I was gonna ask if you wanted to join me in dinner tonight?” Negan cocks and eyebrow “First off are you askin me out on a date and second off what does that have to do with my tomatoes?” He truly looks beautiful. The glistening of his skin in the hot sun, His fluffy grey locks, and those beautiful hazel eyes that pierce Y/N’s heart every time he looks at em. Realizing he lingered a little too long getting lost in the older man’s beauty Y/N coughs out of embarrassment. The rose color creeping into his cheeks making Negan do a sly smirk. “Well I didn’t think you swung that way and second it’s cause I’m making spaghetti” Y/N says matter of factly. Negan is about to say something but he doesn’t, the younger man can see the hesitation in his figure. “I’d love too you’re one hell of a cook” he says more confident than he just looked. “Awesome, come in an hour or so and for Christ sakes take a shower old man” you chuckle as Y/N walks away to his house. Negan can’t help himself but stare..even back when you guys hated each-other something about Y/N made him swoon. The way you talked, laughed, handled yourself, handled others, and we’ll just you. He always thought he might like guys he definitely seemed like it to others with him comments..but he was too scared. Now it’s the fuckin apocalypse and he’s to scared to say anything to him about it, other than make jokes. It doesn’t help with both their pasts with his feelings. Ever since Lucille he never thought he would care for someone like he did for her again..but there he was…

An hour or so later Y/N gets antsy, thinking maybe Negan got uncomfortable and didn’t want to show up. He wanted to tell Negan how he felt cause god did he feel it strongly. Even with everything and the judgement he’d get he didn’t care. He’s had to deal with that enough for just being how he is. He’s scared, truly scared and not the scared of an unexpected walker or a threat outside the walls it’s internal. The chances of Negan even liking him a guy and being trans on top of that AND IN THE APOCALYPSE. He’s having his work cut out for him. Before the overthinking can take over he hears a knock at his door. Walking up to it shaky and clammy he opens the door.

Seeing Negan’s face calms him; he almost forgets what he was worried about. “Why are you looking at me like that I swore I took a shower.” Negan says with a hint of worry in his voice. Y/N didn’t even notice he spaced out he’s overthinking too much again. “Sorry sorry, I’m scatterbrained like always” he tries to play it off cool but Negan knows something is on his mind but doesn’t say anything. They both walk to the table and sit down. Y/N laid the plates out and put the pasta on the table, he even added a candle. “ I almost didn’t think you’d show up” y/n says. “How dare you think of me like that young man, how would I ever miss out on fucking spaghetti” Negan says picking up a fork and digging in. Y/N laughs a full belly laugh it helps release the tension. “Soooooo..” Y/N drags on “Wanna talk about anything?” Negan almost chokes on his delicious spaghetti. He’s been caught Y/N know he’s a man lover..specifically a him man lover. He clears his throat “Well you caught me…you know my darkest secret…I like men.” Y/N looks at him and it is silent for a solid 5 seconds then he laughs. Y/N is laugh crying so hard he snorts. “That’s not what I thought was on your mind but I’m not complainin.” You say calming down. “What’s so funny did I do something wrong?” Negan asks worried.” Oh god no not at all I just didn’t think that’s what you where gonna say” He says genuinely “thank you for trusting me with that really Negan” Y/N smiles at Negan and He smiles back. They stay like that for a few seconds.

“So you did want this to be a date, you could’ve just asked I would’ve obviously said yes” Y/N taken aback by his own forwardness. “Look kid I don’t got the spunk I had back then I don’t think I got what you want” he side smiles but it’s not genuine. “I’m not sure I’d be what you want either but it works..we work Negan. I’ve known you for what 7 years at this point we’ve come a long way, and plus no one makes me feel the way you do. You’re charm, jokes, and hard work are something I adore, even though you are old.” Negan smiles a huge genuine smile and walks over to you. He sticks out his hand and you take it. “Oh come here you beautiful asshole” he says as he wraps his huge arms around him. Y/N his happy truly happy but he pulls away he doesn’t want to get his hopes up. “Woah woah what’s wrong hun?” You sigh and look at the ground “Negan there’s something I need to tell you and it’s why I don’t think you’ll..” he pause “want me.” Negan looks at him confused and grabs him by the chin “Hey look at me dear nothing could make me not want you” he says with sincerity. Y/N takes a deep breath and starts. “ I’m a man right we know this but, I want born one. I’m transgender and I don’t know if you know what that is but it’s where you’re born one gender but switch to the other and I switched to male. There’s a lot more too it but that’s the basics. Y/N takes a deep breath in and has his eyes closed scared to look and Negan. Negan pulls him into a hug. “I still want you and I’ll always want you you’re still Y/N.” He kisses him on the forehead “Thank you for telling me and if there’s anything I can ever do to help tell me” They both look at eachother. “Negan?” He says looking into his beautiful hazel eyes. “Yes Y/N?” he replies head tilted like a confused puppy. “So does that mean you still want to make us work?” He says with a hopeful smile. Negan wraps his hands around the younger man’s shoulders and leans in for a kiss. Y/N’s hands wander Negan’s back as they deepen the kiss, then he pulls away. “So I’m taking that as a yes?” He asks playfully. “No, not at all” Negan says with a shit eating grin and goes to kiss him again.

[madtomedgar]

Books read in August:

Do Not Say We Have Nothing, Madeleine Thien: Easily in my top 5 of the year, definitely one of my favorites now. She is a master of telling a story in a way that is fragmented and broken such that it conveys how the people, who cannot integrate this event or who cannot put themselves back into something the old them would recognize as “whole” experience or remember the story themselves. She is also devastatingly good at the whole. “your parents and/or grandparents lived through Historical Events which left them deeply scarred in specific ways that you don’t understand because they refuse to talk about it, so you just have to try your best to navigate this mine field.” I particularly love how she refuses the neat or comfortable ending, how she leaves things potentially forever unresolved and broken, because there is only so much you can do. The writing is devastatingly gorgeous. I also really liked how she handled two of her characters being gay. They love each other, and it never comes to anything because Historical Events are happening around them and they just never have room to figure out what that means, what it could look like, and it’s tragic and awful but in the way that so much of life is tragic and awful when you just don’t have the opportunity to live it because you have to keep going to your stupid job and surviving and that’s all there is room for. She handles the internal ideological struggles of her characters very seriously, which I don’t think I’ve seen in a story set in a communist regime before. The belief in their ideology and in the party and the leadership is handled in a way that feels similar to how narratives typically treat “man vs god” ideological internal struggles. The true believers who are active participants in the Cultural Revolution are as human and as sympathetic as the characters they’re beating.

Never Let Me Go, Kazuo Ishiguro: This was a very good book and I didn’t enjoy it. It’s a very effective type of horror, where the narrator doesn’t see the horrific aspects of her life as anything other than normal, and resists to the end any realization of the cruelty and inhumanity of her situation. The banal positivity and shallowness of the narrator, however, drove me nuts. The character and her situation reminded me very strongly of the evangelical/southern baptist girls from extremely controlling (should be labled a cult but they’re technically mainstream christianity so they get a pass) congregations/families I grew up around, who had been so indoctrinated into the idea that their purpose in life was to get married and have babies, that even when they could identify that they didn’t want that, that they wanted something else, or when it was clear that this was going to put their health in serious jeaopardy, still viewed “getting married and having babies” like gravity. The idea that there were other options just couldn’t penetrate. It’s a really effective portrait of that sort of psyche, and works as an allegory for so many things, and deftly illustrates the way we all just accept the unacceptable in order to keep living our vapid little lives. And it also felt very British, in that I think a American author would have had at least one character try something desperate to escape their fate, even just to spite their fate. Having no one try to run away, or commit suicide, or ruin their organs on purpose by taking up smoking or drinking, was both part of the horror and took me out of it a bit. I wanted one of them to have a little of the underground man in them. So. Excellent book, but to me very frustrating and unenjoyable.

The Mother of All Questions, Rebecca Solnit: I have read others of her essay collections that I liked a lot better. This one didn’t age well. It’s very much about the resurgence of feminism between 2014 and early 2016, and it’s hard to read that kind of hope in 2022, post 2016-election, post metoo backlash, post Cosby acquittal, post Amber Heard trial. Several of the men she praises for being feminist allies in their public personas have since been revealed to be serial sexual predators, or just creeps and opportunists. As always her observations about societal misogyny are on point but it mostly served as a time-capsule to that particular progressive optimism of the late Obama years, that things were getting better, and yeah we had to keep working at it, but the tide was in our favor. And being on the other side of what’s happened since, it’s almost embarrassing to remember that that’s where so many of us were, and painful. Wish I’d read it when I first got it years ago and hadn’t put it off until it was mostly just “photos taken seconds before disaster” but for feminism in the 21st century.

[non-un-topo]

College, Car Seats, and Creamy Pasta (ficlet)

(This title, idk.) So I’ve been having feelings lately about the old guard with babies in modern aus, so here’s an experimental, kind of self-indulgent ficlet filled with extreme amounts of softness and bébé feels <3

_______________________________

There’s an infamous story all the way back from college that Joe loves to share which involves Andy drunkenly rolling her ankle on a beach and Joe having to carry her home--though, she could have walked, but Joe demanded to carry her--and fashioning an ice pack out of the only things he could find in his and Nicky’s tiny, decrepit apartment: A condom, and some ice from a small McDonald’s sprite (their freezer was broken when they moved in).

He lives to tell that story every chance he gets. Especially now, as he reaches into Andy and Quỳnh’s (much bigger and much colder) freezer nearly fifteen years later to retrieve a not-homemade ice pack and wrap it in a clean dishtowel for Andy’s poor crotch.

She’s lounging on the couch, even though she’s proven that she can walk, but Joe doesn’t mind, as she reaches back for the ice pack and shoots him a sly smile that says, Yeah, I know exactly which story you’re thinking about. He bats his eyelashes innocently back.

It’s a balmy Friday evening and Quỳnh’s still at work, though likely on her way home, so Joe has taken the liberty of cooking dinner. Andy begged to order a pizza, but Joe was not having it. And he thought himself to be the lax one of the bunch. If Nicky were in the kitchen at the time, it would have been anarchy.

“Thanks, Joe,” Andy says, as she settles into a more comfortable position on the couch with her ice pack, sighing. He adjusts the pillows at her back, which causes her to snort and slap his hand away.

“I’m not dying.”

Joe sniffs. “Yeah, coulda fooled me. How much did that baby weigh again?”

Andy laughs out a quiet, fuck off. “Nine pounds, eight ounces,” she says, quick as a whip.

“God…”

The baby, the reason for Joe and Nicky’s visit to Andy and Quỳnh’s apartment, is fairly chunky, sure, but he looks awfully tiny and pink, especially when he’s wearing his little hat. The hat with little lamb ears that Nicky painstakingly knit for him months ago, when he was barely more than a bump, that rarely leaves his soft little head. Nicky hadn’t even known how to knit at the time.

The baby’s name is Lykon, after a childhood friend of Andy and Quỳnh. Lykon was born at 4:26 AM on Monday. It’s Friday evening. Joe and Nicky have not left the apartment since Andy and Quỳnh brought him home.

And neither Andy nor Quỳnh have physically kicked them out, so Joe is staying right here.

Nicky had disappeared a few minutes ago to go change the baby while Andy napped, but he reappears then, slinking into the living room with Lykon held against his shoulder--he’s so little in Nicky’s hands, they almost swallow him--and Joe smiles at his husband in greeting before doing a double-take.

“Babe,” Joe says, and Andy cranes her neck to try and see Nicky over the back of the couch. “What are you doing?”

Nicky continues his journey across the living room floor--lunges, he’s doing lunges. Deep ones that make Joe’s eyebrows jump up in appreciation.

Nicky releases a finger from his gentle grip on the baby’s head and presses it to his lips. “Shush.”

“You trying to get your ass workout in while carrying my son? Really?” Andy asks.

Nicky’s response is whispered so softly, Joe can hardly hear him. “This is the only way I can get him to sleep.”

“Put him in the car seat,” Andy says, like it’s the most simple solution in the world.

“He likes it,” Nicky argues, still whispering.

Andy only shrugs. “Okay, but if he spits up on you…”

And right on cue, Joe hears a tiny gurgle, and there’s baby puke sliding down Nicky’s back.

Andy doesn’t say, told you so, but she doesn’t need to. Her smug grin is enough. With a poorly hidden pout, Nicky reluctantly hands the baby, who is now crying quiet little wobbly squeals, to Andy.

“You know,” Andy says, “you guys don’t have to stay. You have other commitments, I know.”

It’s the first time since Lykon’s birth that she’s said something like that, and Joe is only moderately surprised to feel a sudden onslaught of tears in his eyes.

“Or not,” she says, quickly. “We really appreciate your help, boys, it’s just… We don’t want to keep you.”

“Andy, shut up.”

She laughs, loud and open-mouthed. “Okay, Joe, okay. I love you guys.”

“We love you too,” Nicky says. Then he leans over the couch to peer into Lykon’s squishy little face. “And we especially love you.”

His voice changes when he talks to the baby. While Joe can’t control the way his voice raises several octaves and the way he coos gibberish, Nicky’s voice softens and hushes to something so comfortable, barely audible. It’s the way he would talk to a fussy toddler, Joe thinks, given the opportunity. He would level his eyes with them and speak to them like a person equal to him, providing the safest and most non-judgemental space for them.

Joe thinks. He hasn’t had many opportunities to see his husband speak with toddlers.

“I would be worried about you guys kidnapping him,” Andy says, “but I think it only counts as kidnapping if you leave the apartment.”

Joe snorts, and then he hears the water boiling over on the stove, so he dashes.

When Joe met Andy and Quỳnh, he had been a wide-eyed twenty-year-old, freshly out of the closet and already hopelessly in love. Well, that hasn’t changed, which always delights him to realize, after all these years. It was the love of his young life--Nicky, of course--who introduced him. Andy and Nicky were family friends, more like siblings, really, and of course Andy and Quỳnh had been together since the dawn of time. It took Joe no time at all to find a family in the four of them, inseparable as they all were.

Andy and Quỳnh had actually surprised him when they started talking about kids. That unexpected and world-changing conversation had been the beginning of a long and at times heartbreaking four years, before they finally got their donor, then suffered through a little over a year of IVF. They had almost given up, Joe remembers, between the frustration and the arguments and doctors telling Andy her eggs were too old. But, there he was, at the end of the journey, coming into the world flipping off everyone who said they couldn’t do it: Baby Lykon, the little warrior.

Joe remembers all of it vividly. The phonecall when they told him and Nicky they were pregnant, the panic to help them find a bigger apartment, the indulgent shopping trips, though Andy tried to keep a cap on those, and the weight and warmth of the baby in Joe’s arms the very first time he held him, barely thirty minutes after he’d been born.

Joe had sobbed, of course (something Andy and Quỳnh had anticipated so strongly they bet money on how long he cried for), and he looked into the baby’s big brown eyes and promised him the world.

They had talked about kids. Of course, they had. He and Nicky. But life was busy, and in the last five years between Joe finishing his dissertation and Nicky’s mother getting sick, the subject of kids just hadn’t come up. Besides, Joe thinks now, he’s only thirty-three.

Quỳnh comes home as he’s dishing up dinner for everyone--a creamy, cheesy pasta, because it’s the best comfort food--and her eyes brim with tears when she gets to hold Lykon again. She hasn’t been able to get a lot of time off work, even after becoming a new parent, which Joe thinks is frankly outrageous, but the work she does as a crisis counsellor is of course monumentally important.

They huddle around the couch to eat dinner, but Nicky pulls up one of the rickety chairs from the kitchen table and sits next to the baby, who is snoozing in his car seat on top of the coffee table. Joe doesn’t know how he does it, but Nicky manages to eat his dinner, drink enough water, and hold a conversation while keeping Lykon’s car seat rocking gently so he doesn’t wake up and scream.

Joe watches him as he chews his pasta mindfully and leans close to peer into the car seat. Beautiful. He’s always so beautiful, especially now. The way he looks at Lykon--their nephew, Joe realizes, elated--makes Joe’s head spin off his shoulders. He feels like he’s twenty.

“Crazy how tiny he is,” says Quỳnh, her voice soft and reverent. She already sounds so much like a parent. Joe’s eyes are still on his husband, so he sees how brightly Nicky smiles at that.

Andy makes an indignant noise. “Shut the fuck up.”

Quỳnh laughs, though she tries with obvious effort to keep quiet. She pulls Andy closer, her arm draped over her shoulder, and presses three kisses to her cheek. Then Quỳnh catches Joe’s eye and winks.

Andy shovels another forkful of pasta into her mouth and moans as she chews. With a full mouth, she says, “Joe, this is perfect. Please, boys, never leave.”

Joe shrugs bashfully, pretending to be shy. “It’s Nicky’s recipe.”

“What did you use,” Quỳnh asks.

Joe hums. He juts his chin to the kitchenette. “Your parmesan, mostly, and that fancy milk.”

“What fancy milk,” Andy asks, absolutely stuffing her face.

“Y’know.” Joe waves a hand. Chews, swallows. “The milk in the fancy bag, from the fridge.”

Andy and Quỳnh both stop eating, their eyes bugging out. Quỳnh slaps a hand over her mouth, poorly hiding a laugh and clearly choking a little, and Andy looks… Oh, Andy looks furious. Her face is red.

“J-” She forcefully lowers her voice, shooting a fearful glance at the baby. “Joe,” she whispers through her teeth. “Did you use my fucking breast milk?”

“Dio.” Nicky sticks his fork back into his dish.

“Oh,” Joe says, like an idiot. “Um.”

Andy’s cheeks puff out and somehow her face turns an even darker shade of red.

“I pumped…” she whispers, low and lethal, slow. “...For so… long…”

“There’s more in the fridge, babe,” Quỳnh says, and Joe fears for her life for a hot second. Then she brings her hand out to hover over Andy’s chest. “And it’s not like the tap is running dry, or whatever.”

“So I’m a milk bag.”

“A badass, sexy milk bag who--oh, who is murdering me with her eyes right now.” Quỳnh turns on Joe, then, scooping another forkful of breast-milk-pasta into her mouth and jabbing the fork in his direction. “You’re gonna be up all night paying my wife back for this, genius. See how skilfully you can wipe meconium from his bum.”

Joe only nods in shame. Fair enough.

Lykon signals that he’s awake, then, with a series of soft little snorty grunts that devolve very quickly into shrieking, wobbly sobs. Nicky launches into action with a speed that rivals the pitcrews at NASCAR. He lifts him from the car seat with such gentleness and oh, Joe’s heart breaks to see the baby’s little lips trembling as he cries, the way his little feet kick out against Nicky’s chest as he holds him over his forearms. Nicky is about to pass him to his moms when Quỳnh smiles softly up at him and says, “Looks like you’ve got him.”

He throws her a glance as if to ask, are you sure, and Quỳnh and Andy both nod. Joe’s sure they’re grateful to have the small amount of rest time and, looking at them now, curled together on the couch in their soft clothes, exchanging light kisses, he knows he and Nicky haven’t come close to overstaying their welcome.

“Look at you, Nico,” coos Andy as Nicky carefully holds the baby against his shoulder to peek at his diaper through the waistband his tiny pants. “You’re making us look bad.”

Nicky only chuckles lightly and shakes his head. The diaper must be clean, because he leaves it be and brings a hand up to cup the back of the baby’s wispy-haired head more steadily, and begins to hum, almost a whisper, and Joe’s heart flutters.

“Do you think he’s hungry?” Nicky asks Andy when the baby continues to fuss.

Turns out he is hungry, because he quiets almost immediately when Andy brings him to her chest. It’s not silent in the apartment--Joe can hear some sirens through the window on the streets far below, can hear the air conditioner groan to life, can hear Quỳnh and Nicky’s forks clink against their plates as they continue to eat the questionable breast-milk-pasta (good lord). And, Joe can hear the soft little grunts and snorts that the baby makes as he feeds.

Joe watches his oldest friends--they’re parents now, he can hardly believe it--as they huddle close on the couch and watch their son. Quỳnh wraps her arms under Andy’s so they’re both holding him, and his little chubby fist twitches and flings out every once in a while against Andy’s rolled-up shirt. His feet look impossibly small. Joe remembers the sounds he made when he and Nicky went shopping for all manner of baby supplies to help shave some stuff off Andy and Quỳnh’s list. He’d nearly sobbed when Nicky came up to the cart holding a pair of incredibly tiny socks (and then he had teared up and nearly passed out when Nicky popped the socks over his thumbs. A lot of people stared).

Joe would be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t been thinking of revisiting that store with Nicky every day since.

Now, he looks at his husband to find him already watching him, his heart in his eyes. Nicky slowly moves his gaze to their friends, to the baby, and Joe follows it. When their eyes meet again, Nicky’s are a little damp with tears, but he’s smiling, and there’s something inquisitive and hopeful in his eyes. Joe matches him and slowly, they both nod.

Yes.

[cowboy-like-mee]

please, just say it

summary: harry fucked up and you’ve had enough

warnings: little bit of smut at the beginning, lots of angst

word count: 2k

a/n: hi! hopefully this isn’t awful lmao. i had fun writing this. sorry it took a bit for me to finish. i kinda hate the end but it’s fine. please reblog if you like!!! and leave me feedback or requests here!!!

and consider buying me a coffee here <3

masterlist

"Fuck, Y/N! Just like that, baby." Harry moans out as you bounce up and down on his cock. Your legs were burning and you honestly weren't that close, You just weren't as into it tonight as you normally are with him. You can tell he was enjoying himself though- his head was thrown back on the pillow behind him and his mouth was open in pleasure. His hands are lazily rested on your ass, not helping you move on and off him at all. 

"Shit, a-are you close?" He speaks out to you, pulling you out of your trance. You think for a second, not knowing if you wanted to lie just to get this done with or if you wanted to make him work to get you off. 

"Not really." You shrug, continuing to grind yourself onto his cock, feeling the coarse hairs around the base of his cock digging into your clit. 

Not expecting that answer, his head snaps up to you as he tries to bite back his moans. 

"Shit, I'm sorry. What do you need me to do?" 

"Um, can you get on top? And rub my clit?" You say shyly, despite the number of times you have done this together.

He flips you both over in one swift movement and begins railing into you, hitting the spot inside of you consistently. His hand reaches right above where you're connected and rubs tight circles into your clit. You can feel a small orgasm building up quickly.

"Is that better, baby?" He says into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine because of the huskiness in his voice. You nod and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to force your release. 

"Come with me, Y/N." Harry groans out, his hips stuttering. You feel a small bubble release in your belly, spreading warmly throughout your lower body. He pulls out as soon as he's done releasing inside of you. He plops down on the bed next to you, his arm resting on his abdomen as he catches his breath. You turn over onto your side and curl up under the covers, feeling extremely vulnerable and small. 

Your throat burns, tears stinging your eyes. You sniffle quietly to yourself, hoping Harry can't hear you. You can't believe you've let yourself get to this point. You're disgusted with yourself. Silent tears spill down your cheeks. You swallow down the sobs bubbling in your throat. You wish you could disappear right now. 

The bed dips next to you, signaling Harry's departure. You're quick to wipe the tears off your face. Harry pulls his clothes on quickly. "I'm gonna head out," he says. When you don't reply he gently shakes your body. "C'mon, I know you're awake." You're frozen. This could be the moment when you finally let him in.

"Alright, whatever. I'll text you when I need you-" He says, but quickly cuts himself off when he sees you roll over to face him with puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. "What's wrong?" He furrows his eyebrows at you as he sits down on the edge of the bed.

You sit up and pull your legs into your chest. "H... can we talk?" You speak lowly. He sighs, almost sounding annoyed. Even though you've known each other for a few years, you don't think you've spent over two hours together in one day in a year. This is pushing the imaginary time limit he set for you two. You know Harry, and you know he likes to fuck you and leave, or fuck you and send you on your way if it was at his place. 

"Sure." He shrugs. "What's up?"

You take a deep breath to prepare yourself for the words you're about to spill out of your mouth. "I don't think I can do this with you anymore." You spit out so quickly it's almost inaudible. He immediately reels back in shock. 

"W-what? Why? Is it something I did? Are you not satisfied? I-I know I can do better. I mean sometimes I don't always try. Have you been faking it? I promise I'll do better-" He rambles on and on and you just sit there in silence as he worries more about his ego than the way tears are welling up in your eyes. You clench your jaw at him.

"Harry!" You yell at him. "Listen to me!" He slowly nods his head. "I...I just-" You sigh, trying to think of the right thing to say. "I just haven't been that into it lately and... I just have a lot of stuff going on in my life right now." Tears spill down your cheek as you speak.

"I can help you-" He tries to intervene.

"No, Harry. You don't understand. It's nothing you can fix. I just need to be left alone. I've had a lot of fun with you, but I think it's best for both of us right now." 

"But how? How is it better for me? I need you." He tries to reach for you, but you flinch back. 

"You don't need me." You mumble under your breath, hoping he didn't hear you. 

"What?" He says, cluing you in on the fact he just heard you say that. 

"You don't need me, Harry! You need my fucking pussy!"

"What the fuck does that mean, Y/N?" He says while clenching his jaw.

"Apparently, I'm only good enough for a quick fuck, Harry." You say mocking the tone he just used on you. 

"Well, that's all we agreed to, is it not?" He raises his eyebrow at you. 

"We agreed to hook up with no feelings! Not using me for your own pleasure every god damn day! You never even greet me or ask how I'm doing! You just push me up against the nearest wall and kiss me! What if I didn't even invite you over for sex and you kissed me without asking, huh?"

"Well, fuck, Y/N, I didn't realize I was supposed to be your therapist before I fuck you! And you ever invite me over for anything other than sex anyway!" He screams out.

"God, you're such a fucking asshole! I'm not saying that! We used to be best friends and now I can't even remember the last real conversation we've had. And I never explicitly say I want you to come over for sex! I just ask for you to come over and you assume that every time. Maybe I just want to hang out with my old best friend!" You scream out. 

His jaw drops in shock and he's quick to defend himself. "You can't put this all on me! It's on both of us, Y/N! You could have tried talking to me too, and if you want to hang out without fucking you should have said something."

"I have tried! You never fucking listen to me, Harry! Everything I have said to you in the past year has gone in one ear and out the other." You scream.

He stares at you in silence, not knowing what to say. He knew he hasn't been the best to you the past year, but he didn't realize it was this bad.

"You fuck me and then leave two minutes after we're done, or should I say when you're done! You can't even look me in the eye when your dick is inside of me. What did I do wrong, Harry? I just miss how we used to be. I want to go out to eat with you again and have movie nights and paint each other's nails. I just want us to be how we used to be! Before we even began hooking up. You never stay over for longer than two hours. It's like your not physically capable of it. Am I that terrible of a person you can't even stand to be around me anymore? You used to be my best friend and now I don't even know if I can qualify as a friend." You say choking back your sobs. 

He tugs on his hair and sighs. "Fuck." He says to himself. "I never thought it would get to this point, Y/N."

You roll your eyes. "What does that mean?" 

"How do you expect me to have sex with you multiple times a week while continuing being your best friend without catching feelings for you!"

"What's so bad about having feelings for me, huh?" You say looking him in the eye with the most heartbreaking look on your face.

"Nothing is bad about that, I just don't need a relationship right now." He explains.

"You're the one that initiated the first kiss between us, Harry. You knew I had just gotten out of a relationship. You knew how sad I was. You took advantage of me."

You stare at him hoping he would say something. You stared at him hoping he would admit that he kissed you that night because he liked you as much as you liked him and not because he felt bad for you. You hoped he would own up to everything he's done to you, apologize, and confess his love for you, or else you might as well just pass away right there

When he said nothing, you continued, "And just because you have feelings for me doesn't mean we have to be in a relationship. I don't understand. You've made me feel like shit just because you don't have time for a relationship right now? Have you ever noticed that you've been doing this or are you just as clueless as every other straight man on this planet?" 

"Of course I didn't notice. I would never purposely make you feel that way! I'm not a complete dick." 

"I just..." You trail off, unsure if you should tell him your next thought.

"What? Tell me, Y/N." He says 

"I just wish you wanted me as much as I want you." You say sadly, letting your head fall into your hands.

"Y/N, I-I don't know what to say." He says sadly grabbing your hand in his larger one. 

"Tell me you don’t want to leave. Say I’m enough to make you stay. I know it’s not true, but please just say it."

"I-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please, don't leave me. I-I will be better. I s-swear. You are enough. I'll stay. I miss how we used to be too. We can go back to how we once were. I swear. " He sniffles, tears welling up in his eye.

"Harry..." You whisper.

"Y/N..." He whispers back.

"I need you to leave." You say as strongly as you can manage.

"W-what? But, I thought y-you..you just said" He stumbles over his words, letting several tears slide down his cheeks. He stands up and looks at you.

"Please, Harry. I can't do this anymore. I need to move on. I've been waiting for over a year for you. You had your chance. You broke my heart." You shake your head as you speak, trying to hold yourself together.

When he stares at you saying nothing with silent tears streaming down his red cheeks, you continue. 

"And you wanna know what the worst part of this is?" You choke out a fake laugh through your hot tears. "You're the one I would usually run to after something like this, but you're the one that did this to me."

You stand up out of bed pulling your t-shirt back over your head along with a random pair of sweats on the ground, not bothering with panties. You quickly make your way to leave your house, before turning around at your bedroom door. You turn around to look back at Harry, he's standing there looking at the spot on the bed where you just were. You shake your head and sigh loudly.

"And please be gone by the time I get back." You say and make your way out of the house, getting in your car and speeding off to clear your mind. 

Fuck him. 

[jimlingss]

Kale’in Me Softly

➜ Words: 17.1k

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

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

➜ Warning: Strongly implied smut

cr.

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

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

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

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

[clubyukhei]

a/n: um there’s 1.3k words in this gangster/dad!au filled with fluff and some basic tattoo aftercare. sorry i got carried away, i was feeling very soft and domestic, nothing new lol <3 reposting this due to tag problems. enjoy!

[10:55AM]

on sunday mornings yukhei would be found deep in slumber, his face buried into your pillow and his body sprawled across the california king bed you and him share. 

unlike the rest of the week where he’d be out early fulfilling his duties in the underworld, he had the weekends all to himself — and he’d usually sleep past noon to get all the rest he needed before spending the rest of his free time with his family.

today’s a different case though. he’s awake and sitting on a playmat in the living room, watching his little girl work on a new watercolour painting — and it’s only eleven in the morning.

moments like these are when yukhei feels like his life isn’t real. 

it’s not that hard to believe that he’s a high-rank, deeply respected member of the triad he’s been with since his youth, and a husband to the love of his life who has stood by his side through all the highs and lows.

but being a father? it’s a role yukhei still can’t quite fathom and struggles with sometimes — even after four years, and even after your countless reassurances that he’s doing a great job. 

“what happened to the dragon, papa? looks like you have a big boo-boo.” 

the innocence of that question makes yukhei smile. he feels the soft pad of a chubby index finger smooth across the nape of his neck, near the layers of cling foil wrapped tightly around his torso and over his shoulders to protect the freshly retouched tattoo on his back.

he hums tentatively, pondering how to explain such an intimidating concept to a child. it’s definitely not the first time she has asked about the tattoos all over his body — but all the answers he gave back then have long slipped his mind. 

“the dragon was… disappearing. it was becoming nothing, remember? i had to draw it again.” 

if only it was as simple as it sounded. 

throughout the past week, he was at ten’s tattoo parlour, enduring a needle bite into his skin as he lay chest down against a leather bed for at least five hours each day. afterwards he’d come home to you, and you — with all the patience and tenderness in the world — would take extra care of the inked dragon on his back. at the start of each day and end of each night, you’d smooth healing cream across the sensitive skin, taking your time to trace the raised lines as he exhaled in bliss.

it was exhausting for both of you. yukhei thought he’d be free after the tattooing process was finished, but that was only because he completely forgot how troublesome the aftercare process was. after seeing how fast you fell asleep last night, he felt terrible. he woke up earlier today so you could sleep in and phoned his colleague chenle first thing in the morning, telling him to take over his work for the upcoming week. 

“it looks like it hurts really bad.” the little girl says softly. 

she looks up at him, her big and curious eyes meeting his own. yukhei will always find it endearing how even though she’s pretty much his mini-me appearance-wise, her personality is almost all you. 

as a kid he was loud when it came to expressing himself — but she’s the complete opposite. she’d make her thoughts known only when she felt strongly about them, and those moments never failed to tug at yukhei’s heartstrings. like that time she openly disagreed with her friends at school who thought her papa’s tattoos and piercings were strange; or that time she refused to sleep until he got home late at night and read her a bedtime story, then confessing that she missed him a lot.

“it hurts a little.” yukhei says, immediately regretting it when he sees her bottom lip pucker into a pout. 

“but it’s okay!” he quickly adds, pulling the little girl closer to him before gently nudging her knee with his thumb. “it’ll be gone soon. when _____-ie fell down and got a boo-boo here, it hurt too but it went away later, right?” 

her eyes widen with hope as she nods. “you have to be strong, papa! like me.” 

yukhei doesn’t even get to react to her precious statement because she’s already crawling into his lap. he watches her trace the various designs of the huge tattoo sleeve on his arm, her fingertips dancing along his skin before stopping on the angel on his bicep. 

“this one’s your favourite, huh?” yukhei presses a kiss to her cheek.

“yeah,” she mumbles, now touching the large wings belonging to the angel. “mama told me it’s her favourite too.” 

yukhei feels the corners of his lips curl into a silly grin. of course it’s your favourite — it’s you. 

she doesn’t know that though. it’s still a secret between you and him since the intricate details of it aren’t obvious to a four year-old. but when she’s older, she’ll hear the story behind it — how yukhei calls you his angel whenever he’s sappy, and how he enthusiastically decided to have you inked onto his body in a drunken stupor. 

“but there’s no colour in it.” the tone of disapproval in her voice makes yukhei chuckle. he rests his chin on top of her head, glancing towards the coffee table where her painting was left to dry. there’s a palette and a few paintbrushes neatly arranged next to it.

“i know, sweetheart. maybe you can help me?” 

“how?” 

and so began another painting session — except this time, his arm is her canvas.

yukhei couldn’t believe he didn’t think of this idea sooner. the watercolour paint was thick enough to not fade away yet easy to wash off after, which already made his life easier. but it also felt strangely therapeutic lying on his side and watching the empty spaces on his sleeve come to life with all sorts of colours. 

a while later, you stroll into the living room in a sleepy state and instantly beam at this adorable scene. 

“look at you two.” you coo affectionately, giving your very busy daughter a good morning kiss on the forehead before doing the same to your husband. “you didn’t wake me up.” 

“i wanted you to rest.” yukhei replies, watching you smile back at him shyly before looking at the colourful masterpiece on his arm.

“i’m tempted to take a picture of this just so i get to see you two look this cute all the time.” you chuckle as your hand lands on his torso, caressing the lion tattoo on his rib cage that isn’t covered in plastic foil.

yukhei gazes at you for a few seconds, silently taking in everything about this moment  — how he’s relaxing in the safety and comfort of his own home, with his two favourite girls close to him, and soaking in the warmth of the morning sunlight falling onto all three of you. 

it’s the complete opposite of his day-to-day at work — it lets him shed the cold and gritty exterior he presents to the underworld. he wonders what he did in his past life to deserve this experience, wonders if he could revel in this airy presence with you two in his next life too.

“and maybe i’ll send it to the boys,” you lean in and whisper to him when your daughter scampers off to get more paint. “and show them what their boss is up to when he’s not huang xuxi, watcher of the lion’s heart.” 

grinning at your silly suggestion, yukhei engulfs your hand with his, intertwining your fingers. he’s so overwhelmed with contentment that it doesn’t even matter if you go ahead with an idea he’d normally roll his eyes at.

“it’s all up to you, my love.”

-

[britishboystm]

The Reunion | The Day We Met: A Fred Weasley Mini Series

Inspired by:

Pairings: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW 18+ (minor dni!) oral f & m receiving, handjob, fingering, unprotected vaginal penetration (please be safe please, for the love of god!) swearing, fighting, arguments, angst, fluff, mentions of possible depression

WC: 7k+

Chapter Summary: A year after that infamous night, will flames be rekindled?

Series Masterlist

***

As promised, George and Y/N wrote to one another.

Fred had excluded himself from the letter exchanges as he felt that it would be too painful to put words to paper. He was also worried that the process would bring up deep unsurfaced feelings of regret and remorse.

George would often ask Fred if there was anything he would want him to add to his letters to Y/N. Fred would always say to write; Fred misses you a lot. But that was it.

It had now been a bit over a year since Y/N last saw the boys fly away into the dark sky that cold April night. Keeping her promise, Y/N continued her studies at Hogwarts and immediately began training to become a healer once she graduated. She was lucky enough to be granted a mentorship with the ever so helpful Madam Pomfrey during her last couple months of classes.

Now, on one hot May afternoon, Y/N found herself with Alicia, Katie and Angelina, walking aimlessly around Diagon Alley. All four girls had been so wrapped up in studies and work that it had been months since they last saw one another.

It was nice to finally catch up with her old schoolmates but Y/N did have an ulterior motive to her visit however. As they strides the cobblestone walkways, sitting at the bottom of Y/N’s tote bag was George’s last letter.

And in that letter, contained what seemed to be a plea for help.

Dear Y/N,

I hope training is going well and you are putting everyone in their place like always. We are so proud of everything you’ve accomplished in such a short amount of time. I’ve got to admit though, things aren’t going that well over here. The store is doing fine, brilliant actually! That isn’t the problem. It’s Fred. He hasn’t been getting any better. I know in our past letters you have said that it would take time for him to adjust and get over everything, but I’m not so sure now. It’s been over a year and nothing has really changed. He smiles and jokes around the shop like he always does and I know he loves what he is doing but it’s the nights that are the worst. He turns into a completely different person. I think it's the quietness. He doesn’t like his brain being the only thing he can hear. In the shop everything is so loud and energetic that he can distract him from his thoughts. But once that closed sign is put up and we head up to our flat for the evening he shuts down, almost like all of that energy has been drained out of him. He doesn’t even come out for dinner anymore. I usually just leave things on the table for him and he hobbles out to grab it when he feels like it, only to go back to his bedroom right away. I haven’t been in his room for months by the way and quite honestly, I’m scared to even try. Who knows what type of monster has formed in there. I’m also finding it hard to sleep. The walls aren’t thin in this place so I can usually hear him cry at night. I’ve been constantly casting silencing spells to drown him out but nothing’s working. I guess what I’m trying to say is, could you come visit? Only for a bit, you have no obligation to stay long but I think he really needs it. He misses you and I know you miss him too. So for my sake and both of yours, could you please find the time to come down here? You won’t regret it. I’ll bribe you if I have to, just name it!

Consider it Y/N,

Love George

After reading that letter she couldn't sleep for an entire week. Tossing and turning, Y/N contemplated on whether it was a good idea to go see them... to go see him and what would happen if they reconnected and all of those old feelings resurfaced? It would just make it that much more painful when she would have to leave. There was no sense in showing up only to give him false hope... right?

Then came the call from Angelina asking if she wanted to join her and the girls for a day on the town in Diagon Alley that weekend. Y/N wanted to say no, but something inside her forced her to say yes.

She instantly regretted it, but didn’t have the heart to cancel. She thought that maybe this was her subconscious telling her to finally bite the bullet and walk through those shop doors.

So here she was, avoiding that part of Diagon Alley. The four girls walked around in the heat, stopping along the way to window shop for what felt like hours. They even took a nice long lunch break at the Leaky Cauldron which provided a nice cool down for awhile. Things had been going fairly smooth sailing up to that point. Then they left the Leaky Cauldron and began walking around again. Y/N’s worries of having to face Fred Weasley started to re-emerge. But even though her brain was setting off red alerts for her to stop and turn around, something kept her feet moving along the path to where she remembered George saying they were located.

“You alright Y/N?” Katie asked as she linked arms with her old roommate. Y/N nodded slightly and let out a shaky breath.

“Hey, we don’t have to go in there if you don’t want to.” Katie said with care as she gently grabbed Y/N’s arm to stop her in their tracks. All of her friends knew how Fred and her left things the year before and that it was a sensitive subject for her.

“I’m fine Katie, really. Thank you for checking though.” Katie gave her a sad smile in response. Y/N didn’t know if she was fine to be honest.

The group continued to walk a little longer before they came to a sudden stop. Looking up from her feet for what felt like the first time in a while, Y/N came face to face to one of the most ridiculous looking shops she had ever seen. The huge robotic head tipping it’s top hat that resembled the boys almost perfectly was the first thing that caught her eye. Then she noticed the etched golden letters that spelled out Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes just above the door. It would also be fair to say that the bright orange and purple paint coating made it the most colourful building in all of Diagon Alley.

Of course this was their shop.

“Fancy a visit with the boys?” Angelina asked cautiously. Y/N could feel all of the girl’s eyes on her, waiting to see if she would agree or not. It was now or never.

“Yeah, sure.” She said hesitantly. Katie gave her a reassuring rub on the back before they all walked up to the loud building, dodging hyperactive children rushing past them in both directions.

The second they stepped through the door, a gust of warmth and the smell of gunpowder hit Y/N in the face. The inside of the shop was even louder then the outside. Kids and parents ran around different displays and shelves of magical toys, trinkets and miscellaneous items.

It was incredible and Y/N couldn’t help but gasp at what the twins had created. Everything started to make a bit more sense as to why they were so adamant about leaving before graduation.

The girls began to walk further into the shop, clearly familiar with the space, unlike Y/N. They had formed themselves in a way that Katie and Y/N trailed behind, hidden from anyone’s view.

“Ladies, welcome!”

Y/N froze in place upon hearing that oh so familiar voice. He did sound a tad older though, almost as if his vocal chords had grown accustomed to constantly yelling over the many ecstatic customers they have gained in the past year.

But it was him.

Her Fred.

She began to turn around before Katie grabbed her, keeping her planted in place.

“Hey Freddie, George!” Angelina chirped before sauntering over and engulfing them into a hug.

From where Y/N was standing, Fred seemed nothing like how George mentioned in his letters. His face was bright and radiated a youthful energy.

She shouldn't be here, she thought. And yet something told her to stay. Something more than Katie’s tight grip on her shoulders.

“Guess who came to visit?” Angelina suddenly said with a cheeky grin. Fred frowned down at her, traces of a smile still evident his face.

“Who?” Once he asked, the girls all moved away from where they were standing, leaving Y/N completely exposed. There was no turning back. She had been spotted and struck. No escape in sight.

The second he laid eyes on her, his smile dropped. Everything was happening in slow motion.

Even though it had only been a year, she looked so different. She looked like a woman. Not that her face had aged at all but just from the way she held herself. Like an adult witch who was making her way in the world. She was no longer the young naive Hogwarts student that he had fallen in love with all those years ago.

That love never disappeared though. He could still feel it dancing within his chest and gut as she shifted awkwardly in place, clutching her canvas tote bag in an attempt to grounding herself.

Fred also looked older to Y/N. He had grown taller since the last time she saw him, if that were even possible. He looked more strongly built, most likely from lugging around all of those boxes of inventory day after day. His face had filled in a bit and the waistcoat he had on hugged his sides nicely underneath his colourful dress jacket. He looked great, amazing actually.

“Y/N.” He gasped out as he dropped the small box of fever fudge he was holding.

“Hi Freddie.” Her face was flushed and the pounding in her chest held a strong presence within her. She wasn’t given any more time to speak as he ran up to her and pulled her in for a bone crushing hug.

“I’ve missed you so much. What are you doing here?” He muffled into her hair. It smelled of the lavender and sage shampoo she used throughout their school days.

Such good memories.

“Girls day I guess.” She awkwardly giggled, pulling away from him and looking down at the floor.

He couldn't help but stare at her intently, happy she had finally decided to come see him.

It didn’t take long for Fred to take Y/N’s small hand in his. He gently tugged her away from the group and pulled her through the chaotic space, showing her everything that him and George had worked so hard to obtain. It was as if he had completely forgotten about the last year.

With every minute, Y/N became more and more relaxed. She watched him intently as he explained things with so much animation while his hands flailed around rapidly. It was really nice to see the childish excitement behind his eyes again, the childish excitement that made her fall in love with him in the first place.

Shit.

“You’re staying for dinner right?” He asked out of the blue while the other girls bid their adieu to the younger of the two twins.

“Freddie I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I have a lot of work to catch up on an-”

“Please.” His big brown puppy dog eyes were exactly why she shouldn’t have come in the first place, but it was too late. She had already been caught in his web.

“Alright. Only dinner though, and then I need to head home.” His face lit up and his eyes formed those same old endearing crinkles in the corners that she adored so much. Not thinking clearly he began to lean in for a kiss before he stopped himself, suddenly remembering where they were in their relationship.

“Sorry.” He whispered bashfully as Y/N shifted away from him, looking everywhere else but his baby browns. She had to set boundaries.

“You coming Y/N?” Alicia asked as the girls started to exit the shop.

“Umm,” Y/N looked between Fred and the girls, finding it difficult to decide on what she should do. Fred’s hand then found itself placed on her lower back, sending a nice tingle down her spine. Her final decision was finally made.

“You lot go ahead. I think I will stay back for a bit.” The girls nodded, grins sitting on all of their faces. This was clearly planned and Y/N had fallen for it.

“Thank you ladies for your help.” George muttered under his breath while he led them out and placed the closed sign on the door. Y/N thankfully didn’t hear him say a single word.

Once the shop had fully settled and filled with quiet, George began to subtly examine his brother's behaviour, already noticing a difference. His shoulders weren’t slumped over and his eyes weren’t hooded with pessimism and exhaustion.

“I’m really glad you came Y/N.” George explained as he finally walked over and went in for a welcoming hug. It had been sort of difficult to do so earlier, since Fred had kept her glued to his side the second she got there.

“Nice to see you to Georgie.” She replied with a small laugh. Once they finally detangled from one another, the twins led the third member of their long lost trio up the stairs and into their shared flat .

It was a good thing that she was there really. The twins couldn’t cook to save their lives, so the minute they began preparing dinner, Y/N shooed them out of the kitchen, only allowing them to approach if she needed help with something small or uncomplicated. It was like the good old days when their mum made meals for them. The scents of cumin and cooking oil as well as the sounds of long lost laughs wafted through the space. Things were going swimmingly, and if anything, solidified the fact that Y/N had missed Fred and George dearly.

“Godric, Y/N. It really is great to see you again.” George beamed as he sat back in his chair, easing into the fullness he was feeling from Y/N’s amazing grilled chicken dish.

“It took me a while but yeah, I’m glad too.” She stated, blushing slightly as she looked over to Fred. With the three of them together, everything was fine. It reminded her of when they would run and hide within the halls and walls of Hogwarts at the peak of their pranking careers.

Y/N being alone with Fred however, was a completely different story. Wounds had yet to be fully mended and deep scars still very much remained.

George took a moment to dart his eyes back and forth between Y/N and Fred as an obvious awkward aura danced around the cozy flat. George knew exactly what to do to remedy the tension.

“Well, I’m stuffed. Should probably be heading off to bed. I’m so glad you agreed to dinner Y/N. I hope we do this more often.” She abruptly looked up at the younger twin with a pleading look in her eyes that screamed; please don’t leave me with him!

He read it perfectly, but chose to simply give the begging girl a sly grin and an obnoxious “good night.” before patting his brother on the shoulder and retreating down the hall to his room.

Damn George Wealsey. Damn him to hell.

The awkward silence remained but it was now so much louder. Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N could see Fred shift around in his seat, trying to calm the uneasiness that they were both clearly experiencing,

Someone had to say something before one of them spontaneously combusted from all of these pent up emotions.

“I’m sorry.” They said collectively. There was a moment of shock that they had spoken the same words at the same time, then small smiles that led to shy blushes.

“I meant everything I said that night you know. About me waiting for you.” He said while staring down at the table, folding his napkins over and over again to busy himself and ease his anxiety.

“Fred I-“

“I’m serious.”

“Then why didn’t you write to me?” Her words were laced with hurt. It was quiet for a moment. He then bowed his head slightly in shame before bringing his hands up and through his red strands of hair, letting out a sigh.

“It would have hurt. Trying to keep something alive that you didn’t want anymore. But the minute I saw you walk through that door this afternoon, I felt like hope was restored.”

She relaxed slightly at his answer, but only slightly. She never wanted it to end, so for him to think she wanted to let go of what they had killed her. This conversation was happening though, and that was all that mattered

“It’s been a weird year. I found myself at times picking up the phone or running to grab parchment to tell you about crazy events that had happened. Then I would remember, remember that you weren’t there.” He frowned, being slightly offended by this.

“I never really left. If you wanted to, you could have. Called and written that is.”

“You’re one to talk.” She scoffed, folding her arms.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He retorted in a state of defensive confusion.

“It means you aren’t allowed to be mad at me when you didn’t contact me once all year!”

“You hurt me Y/N! I had everything planned out for us and you ruined it!” Voices were beginning to rise.

“I’m sorry?” She was this close at screaming at him. The first time they fought, she had been scared. This time was different. She was stronger, maturer and quite honestly, sick of his shit.

“Last time I checked, you were the one that left school to open a fucking joke shop! What? You just thought I would up and leave an actual future so I could be your little housewife? Fuck you Fred Weasley!” They were both standing at this point, moving in closer and closer to the point of them almost touching. He towered over her and she couldn’t help but notice that feeling.

“Oh get off it L/N.” He spat down at her. The image they took resembled a Chihuahua trying to gain dominance over a Great Dane.

“You, are a man child Fred Weasley. When the fuck are you going to grow up and face the real world?” She shoved a finger into his chest, which didn’t even him an inch.

“A man child?” He chortled mockingly with a raised eyebrow and obnoxious smirk.

“Yeah.” She retorted, grounding her feet to make herself feel bigger and stronger. Her Gryffindor was shining through like no tomorrow.

“Say it again.”

“What?” She asked confused.

“Say it, again.” His tone was low and direct. He exerted an intense sense of power and strength that she secretly loved.

“You are a man child Fred Weas-“ Before she could finish her sentence, he grabbed her cheeks into his palms and slammed his lips against hers. Her eyes widened in pure shock but she quickly closed them and grabbed his wrists in her hands, giving into the sensation. It was a sensation that she had been craving for so long. They moaned and groaned into each other’s mouths before he pushed her back and hoisted her up onto the kitchen counter by her arse. His hands then squeezed into her sides, causing her to squeak and squirm.

“Fuck.” She whispered as their mouths seperated for a moment of breath since she had gripped the base of his neck hair and pulled him away from her.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” She continued as he moved his lips down her neck. She was slightly mad at herself for giving in to him so easily. Deep down though she knew it was going to happen eventually. She had just been too proud to admit it.

“Why?” He whispered as he sucked on her jugular, making sure to reach every single beauty mark that painted her neck.

“B-because I-. Fuck Freddie I can’t speak.” Her words were getting lost with each lick and smooch he planted on her jawline.

“Then don’t.” He muttered into her flesh. She dropped the subject and chose to grip on to his hair once again. His hands slowly moved from her hips down to her thighs, stroking them softly. The feeling triggered Y/N’s memories of the night he left. She wanted to yell at the top of her lungs; Don’t leave again! But all she could do was whimper at the touch of his warm and inviting fingers circling against her quads.

The whimpers she was releasing made Fred stop and look into her eyes which he had been dreaming about for over a year now.

“You are so beautiful.” He stated as tears began to form in his lower waterlines. He hated himself for being such a prick and for not fighting hard enough for her. Instead he chose to put his tail between his legs and accept defeat. That wasn’t the Fred Weasley he knew.

But this girl, this stunning girl with her chest heaving and legs open had changed him. She had changed him for the better.

Just from the mere sight of him crying made her tear up herself. Unable to watch him suffer any longer, she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him into her chest as he continued to silently sob.

One of her hands crept up his back in hopes of soothing him. She began to rub gentle circles between his shoulder blades. Her other hand came up to caress his hair as she shushed him gently.

“I’m sorry.” He choked out through weak whimpers.

“I let you down.” Her heart broke at this statement.

“You didn’t let me down. I’m sorry too Freddie. I didn’t mean what I said about the shop. I am so proud of you and all the hard work you have done.” She leaned down to kiss the top of his head. This made him tighten the grip he had on her.

She let him hold her for as long as he needed. Merlin knew just how much they both needed it.

When he finally started to feel the emptiness within him fill slightly, he pulled himself away from her grasp to look into her red puffy eyes.

“Stay? Please?” He was desperate for her. Desperate for her touch, her body, her laugh, her voice, her smell and everything in between.

“Freddie, you know I can’t.” She spoke softly while she closed her eyes, forcing out a tear.

“Just for tonight, please.” She sighed as she laid her forehead against his shoulder in frustration, wrapping her calves around his waist to pull him in closer.

Neither one of them spoke for a while, instead choosing to listen to each other’s laboured breathing, finding that missing comfort in the inhalation and exhalation.

“Just for tonight.” She spoke quietly. He closed his eyes in relief, smiling to himself before pushing her off of his shoulder and gently taking her face in his hands.

“Thank you.” He spoke, lightly pecking her on the lips. She smiled back and removed her hands from his neck.

“I’ve missed you.” She said in a whisper as her right hand grazed down his torso, stopping at his crotch. She began to palm him, making sure not to break eye contact. He sputtered out and buckled at her touch.

“Fuck.” He softly groaned, his face tucking into the curvature of her jaw and neck.

“What do you want, baby?” She asked, speeding up her movements.

“You.” Was all he was able to vocalize. This sent a sensation right down to her underwear.

“Stand up straight love.” He followed her instructions immediately, pulling all of his weight off of her and struggling to find a solid stance. She then hopped off of the counter and found her way down onto her knees, preparing herself for what was to come.

He tried so hard to not go absolutely feral as he watched her look up at him with these soft doe eyes. Her hands then came up to tug at his belt, making it so his hips dipped forward from the force of her pull. Never in his wildest imagination did he think that the sound of a clanking belt would be so heavenly.

“Need you.” He said through a gasp, gently stroking her hair. He could feel her fingers dance along the elastic band of his boxers before tugging them down to above his knees along with his work trousers. The cool air hit his member once it sprung free and lightly tapped his lower stomach. The feeling sent shivers down his spine and caused his leg hairs to stand on end.

His tears had now become dry against his cheeks as he strangled out a new cry. This time from pleasure as Y/N thumbed the tip of his member gently.

Noticing how desperate he was, Y/N continued to stroke him until his cock was covered in any kind of wetness he could offer.

Once she felt it appropriate she leaned forward and took a deep breath, taking him into her mouth and as far down her throat that she could. Everything she couldn’t swallow was dealt with by her hand.

Fred groaned profusely through his bitten lip, trying hard not to be too loud. His brother was just down the hall after all.

“Fuck love.” He encouraged, holding the back of her head lightly in a make shift ponytail as he gently thrusted forward, causing her to gag and slobber slightly. The strangled chokes she let out around his member made him subconsciously quicken his pace. No longer in control, she gave up on taking care of him with her hands and chose to lay them flat agaisnt his tense thighs for support instead.

Her breathing began to shorten and the choking was becoming a tad bit unbearable, so she lightly tapped one of his thighs, making him pull her off of him and up to her feet. She wobbled slightly at the feeling of coming up to fast and from the lack of oxygen as she fell into his arms.

“You alright love?” He asked with concern through erratic pants. She could feel his still rock hard member cuddled up against her hip as she leaned against him.

“Yeah, just thought we should take this into the bedroom.” He nodded in agreement and let go of her for a moment to pull up his trousers and boxers. He hissed at the fabric grazing against his sensitive area but paid it little attention. He couldn’t worry about himself since he wanted to be fully invested in Y/N and her wants and needs. He would be dealt with soon enough, that was for certain.

Once he was fully clothed again, he decided to pick Y/N up, catching her off guard by throwing her over his shoulder and making her squeal out in excitement.

“Shhh, don’t want to wake up George do we?” He whispered through a sly smile.

“Depends.” She spoke seductively.

“You cheeky little mink.” He growled jokingly while placing a palm down on to her arse with a firm smack, making her squeal out once more, this time in pleasure.

He carried her down the hall and into the room right across from the one George disappeared into. Once they were fully inside, Fred threw Y/N down onto his unmade bed.

She took a moment to take in her surrounding, mentally referring back to the letters George had sent her. She thought about how worried he was about the depressive hole Fred had found himself in and that his room would be a good indication of it, even if he himself hadn’t been in there in months.

It wasn’t terrible. Laundry scattered the floor, clearly making it difficult to differentiate dirty from clean. A few bottles of fire whiskey sat in a dark corner by his work desk, almost as though they were being shunned from the rest of the room. Used tissues were placed on his bedside table in the formation of a small hill, making it unclear which ones were used from his nights of tears and which ones were used for his nights of self pleasure to calm the tears, both actions having her in mind.

She observed all of this as he laid on top of her and licked up her neck.

“Freddie.” She moaned out, finally coming back to reality from her thoughts.

“Yes baby?” His lips attached to her upper chest.

“Off.” She said, brain too fried from the pleasure to speak in fully formed sentences.

“ ‘f course.” He mumbled before detaching himself from her collarbone and sitting up to straddle her waist. His fingers traced up and down the buttons on her light summer dress before he started to unbutton it, allowing her bra to be exposed to him. It wasn’t a fancy lace or an elegant silk, but rather a sweet light yellow cotton that drove him absolutely mad.

Because it was her. It was always her.

He took a moment to admire the canvas that was laying below him that he couldn’t wait to paint before tugging the bra down, revealing her breasts to him. She let out a small whine as the cold air struck her bare skin, making her nipples perk up in the process. He shifted his gaze between her face and her chest. She nodded slightly, giving him the go ahead. With her approval, he leaned down and latched his tongue and lips around her delicate areolas.

She hummed with ease and shimmied her hips underneath him. He took a good minute to praise her supple mounds before bringing his hand down and underneath her dress, tapping her hip. She caught the hint and lifted herself up, allowing him to pull the floral patterned fabric from underneath her and toss it amongst one of his numerous piles. She then arched her back, making it so he could remove the constricting bra fully. He let out a small groan before shifting his body, specifically his lips, down her stomach to her navel. His lips littered her skin with kisses but he could tell she was craving a different kind of touch.

“So good f’ me, love. Have always been so good f’ me.” She smiled at this and shut her eyes as he started to tug her underwear down her bent legs. Almost automatically her knees fell open, giving Fred admission to his own personal holy grail. His gaping mouth emitted a hot breath that hit her centre, causing her to squirm.

“Freddie, please, right there, ‘m ready for you.”

God she was so perfect.

“I know baby. I can see it, can see all of it.” His index finger stroked down her wet folds, making her shudder.

“So sensitive.” He tutted softly as he grabbed both of her ankles and tugged her further forward, placing the back of her knees over his shoulders.

“Need it now,” Her whining made it abundantly clear that she was unable to handle much more of his teasing.

He couldn’t torture her any longer, so he leaned in and let a small amount of spit to drop from his lips and on to her sensitive clit. Then he brought his tongue down to swirl the liquid he released around her entrance, making her moan out loud to indicate to him that he was doing his job really well.

All he could think about was the sounds she was making and how she tasted just like he remembered.

So sweet.

“Taste so good love.” She gripped the sheets at the vibrations of his words of encouragement.

“Whenever you’re ready, come f’ me.” He spoke as he stopped his movements against her clit and dropped her legs, allowing her to be laid out for him. He then laid himself on his stomach between her legs and I nserted a couple of digits into her hole, hoping to speed up the process of bringing her to a fully euphoric state.

“Okay.” She whined, along with a submissive nod that was so innocent, he couldn’t help but rut his hips into the sheets beneath him to try and calm his own ache. His fingers sped up and he attached his lips to her once more. She dug her heels into his upper back, pushing him further against her heat.

“Right there, right there, fuck I’m go-going t-” She couldn’t even finish her sentence as she released onto his face. They both wheezed out in exhaustion and once he felt like he could finally move, he sat up, kissing her roughly, making it so her wetness transferred from his lips to hers.

“Too many clothes Freddie.” She sighed out as she weakly tugged at his waistcoat button, while she slowly came down from her orgasm.

He was utterly bewildered by her and what she had just done that he had no choice but to scramble to sit up more and almost rip off his clothing in anticipation.

He moved off of the bed and tried to keep eye contact with her as she leaned back on her elbows, naked and open for him. He could see their mixture of slick fluids covering her thighs reflect in the moonlight.

Once he was fully nude, Y/N stopped him from moving towards her like a dog in heat by pressing her foot against his chest.

“Stay there. Wanna get a good look at you.” He tilted his head slightly in confusion, but obeyed his queen nonetheless.

She just wanted to see how he had changed over the past year. A year since they first made love. His arms were more toned and his abs carried a deeper definition. His thick thighs made her practically salivate.

“Okay.” She breathed out shakily.

“Get over here.” She continued, giving him the come hither motion with her finger. He smirked and quickly crawled over to her, hopping on top of her, pinning her down underneath him and smothering her with kisses.

She laughed out, trying to pry him off of her small frame.

‘Okay, okay enough! You’re crushing me!” She giggled.

He finally stopped, not expecting her to then lunge at him and roll them over so she was on top.

Her naked figure straddled his hips and he couldn’t help but to stare up at her in awe as he stroked her figure gently.

“I’ve missed you.” She said out of the blue. He smiled sadly in return.

“I’ve missed you too.” They both went in for a kiss.

“Want you inside me baby.” She mumbled against his lips. He nodded and shifted so she was hovering right above his erect shaft.

She let out a shaky breath of release from her sweaty, heaving chest as she eased down onto him, making him groan out loudly and grip her hips harder than before.

It had been a whole year since he had felt the touch of a woman but it had been totally worth it in the end. Because it was with her and that’s all that mattered.

“Oh Freddie.” She moaned, placing her hands against his chest as she began to rock back and forth. He could feel his toes curl just from the mere sight of her getting off on his cock. Her lashes sat gently against her soft cheeks and her plush lower lip was stuck between her teeth.

Unable to bear it, Fred began to thrust up into her with a rapid and rough pace, trying to catch up in the chase. The sounds admitting from both of them and their collective wetness grew. He knew neither of them would be able to last much longer. Especially after being away from one another for so long.

“Come ‘ere.” He panted, sweat forming in his hairline and on his upper lip. She nodded and leaned down so he could wrap his arms around her in a hug. They stayed like this for a while as he continued to slam up into her again and again. He made sure to have her ear close to his lips, so she could hear just how good she was making him feel.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He winced as his orgasm began to rise to the surface.

“It’s okay, let go.” She struggled to whisper. He nodded in response and squeezed her arse, pressing her further down on to him with every rough slam of his hips.

He then let out a shuddering sigh as he finished inside of her, all of his muscles relaxing that had been clenching during their heated escapade.

Y/N continued to whine and rut herself against him, making it clear that she hadn’t reached her climax yet.

Fred laid his head back on to his pillow in exhaustion, taking her with down him. He wasn’t done though. This was all about her and Fred be damned if he didn’t make her come at least twice.

His hand crept between their sweaty, connected bodies and pressed his fingers to her sensitive clit. Small ministrations were made to her bundle of nerves and she couldn’t help but kiss up his neck and grind down on him in return, a lot like when she would use her pillow after they broke up, always thinking of him of course.

“Freddie, baaaby!” She cried out, making his body tense up again as well as his cock.

“Yes baby?” He asked while stroking her arse with his other hand.

“Almost there.” She answered through heavy breaths.

“You look so good for me, love. Using me as your personal sex toy. Fuck I love you so much.” His words encouraged her to quicken the pace of her hips which made her clench her thighs against his sides.

“Oh god.” She groaned out as her eyes rolled back slightly before shaking and then relaxing, dropping all of her body weight on top of him.

Hot air deflated from her lungs, hitting his sweaty chest.

“Fuck I’ve missed you.” He quietly chuckled while rubbing her moist back with one hand and combing through his now wet hair with the other. She giggled in return and dragged her lips over the skin of his chest tiredly before reaching up to kiss him.

“I love you.” She hummed.

“I love you.” He responded candidly.

It didn’t take long for sleep to take over the young couple as they held on to each other for dear life.

May 8th, 1997

The next morning Y/N woke up with a jolt. Remembering it was a Sunday she relaxed again.

Her eyes roamed around the space for a moment, recalling that she never made it back home the day before.

Looking to her left, she saw Fred laying naked on his stomach with a leg draped over her torso and his arms tucked underneath his pillow. His face was sunken into the feathery fabric as he emitted soft peaceful snores. The poor bloke probably hadn’t had this good of a sleep in over a year.

She didn’t want to wake him right away. Instead she allowed herself to watch him and enjoy his beautiful features that she adored so much. Almost as if he were a spectacle.

She shifted over so she was laying on her side. Fred’s leg slipped off of her frame in the process. Her hand then came up to his face to caress his cheek.

“Mm, hello there.” He spoke through a dopey smile and deep morning voice, sending her into a tizzy. She chuckled lightly and began rubbing his exposed bicep in a soothing manner.

His eyes stayed closed as he let out a deep sigh, pulling Y/N further into his chest.

“Freddie?” She asked quietly. He hummed in response, pressing her even closer to him.

“I should be going soon.” She hated to break up the lovely moment but she couldn’t stay for much longer.

What would happen after this moment, no one knew. But what was most important was that the year of silence was now finally over.

“No, don’t.” He whined and pouted as he shifted down a bit to nuzzle his face in between her breasts. His favourite place to be.

She let out a sigh and gently played with the hairs at the back of his neck.

“Freddie, you promised.” She warned. He groaned out in a huff and finally let go of her, followed by getting out of bed begrudgingly.

She watched him as he walked around the bedroom, picking out an outfit for the day from the numerous piles of clothes.

“Fred talk to me.” She hated the silence.

“I don’t want you to leave.” He was unable to look her in the eye as he paced around his room, continuing to get himself dressed.

“I don’t know where we go from here.” He gripped his dark oak drawer at her words, frustrated that she was still being so stubborn, even after the events from the night prior.

“Look, I want you here, always. I want to wake up in the morning and have your face be the first thing I see, then have it be the last thing I see before I go to sleep. Is that enough of a forward for you?”

She groaned in aggravation and threw herself back down on to the bed. It seemed as though no compromise was ever going to be made.

“Look Fred.” She stared up at his ceiling.

“We can take it slow. I can make more of an effort to come see you on the weekends and you can make more of an effort to write to me. We will see where things take us, you know… slowly.” He turned at this with a sigh and walked back over to the bed, crawling over to her and placing a loving kiss to her lips.

“If it means the possibility of us being us again, then yes, I’ll do whatever it takes.” She smiled and grabbed his face, kissing him once more.

“Deal.” She sat up enthusiastically and stuck her hand out for him to take. He looked down at it as if she had an extra thumb. She waited patiently and he rolled his eyes, finally grabbing her hand in his and shaking it, almost as if they had just closed a business deal.

He then tugged her towards him by the hand which made her land on top of him. He began to tickle her and she immediately squirmed in his grasp.

“Stop, I need to get dressed!” She squealed.

“Who’s the best shag of your life?” He asked teasingingly.

“You!” She laughed through her struggle.

“What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you love.” He further pushed through a cheeky grin.

“Fred Weasley is the best shag of my life!” She knew this was the only way that he would let up.

“Right answer.” She scoffed at his smug response as he let go of her.

“Only shag is more like it.” She muttered jokingly, just loud enough for him to hear.

“And don’t you forget it.” He winked before smacking her bare arse and rolling off the bed. She yelped and gave him a look of light hearted warning.

She soon got up herself and began to change, noticing out of the corner of her eye, Fred watching her from the doorway.

“What?” She asked in false annoyance.

“Nothing, just looking at you is all.” He was beaming from ear to ear. She rolled her eyes playfully in return.

Once she was done getting dressed, he reached his hand out for her to take. She walked over and grabbed it, allowing him to lead her out of the room and down the hall.

When they reached the kitchen, they didn’t initially notice George sitting at the kitchen table, enjoying a bowl of cereal.

The couple were to busy poking and prodding each other as they looked through the fridge for breakfast.

“Mooorning.” They quickly shot up and shut the fridge, turning to see George smirking at them, who was as it seemed, clearly aware of what had occurred the night prior.

He gave them a wink and a knowing look before going back to his bowl.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 5

Golf

Hannibal and cult girl have a long-overdue conversation about their future.

@wisesandwichshark

Trigger warnings: slight emetophobia, threats of violence, workplace sexual harassment, sexualization of a minor, body-shaming, ED

"[F/N], wait!" Anna called after you, snatching your arm in both hands.

You pulled your arm away and seriously held back the urge to smack her across the face. "What? What could you possibly have to say?"

"You can't just storm out of a funeral like you did my wedding!" She protested. She said this as if you leaving her wedding after being purposefully triggered was the worst affront to her existence to ever happen to her. Given her sheltered life, it very likely was.

She was looking for remorse and you had none to give. "Watch me."

You shoved the heavy doors open, only to find that the room was silent. Everyone's eyes were on you. Hundreds of eavesdroppers who saw your life as their soap opera suddenly caught a glimpse of the defiant, ungrateful granddaughter.

Their faces began to loosen and they started to go back about their business. Just when you thought it was of their own volition, you felt Hannibal's hand on your shoulder. You realized you were witnessing the effect his stony glare had on the room.

You grinned and watched the crowd part in your path. For a moment, you knew what true power felt like, even if it was just vicarious.

"Why won't you give your poor grandmother what she wants?" A particularly bold onlooker blurted out. "If I had a daughter like you, I'd beat some sense into you."

Hannibal fixed his gaze on the man, but you beat him to it.

"If I had a father like you, I'd put you in a home." You snapped back.

The path to the door seemed to stretch further and further away. By the time you reached it, you were practically tugging Hannibal's arm out of its socket.

Outside, the golf course slowly turned white as larger and larger clumps of snow fell from the clouds. In the absence of sunlight, the ocean was black as ink. You suddenly felt very lightheaded. You let go of Hannibal’s hand and clutched your forehead. The courtyard began to spin. 

Hannibal gently guided you to a nearby bench before you could collapse. “Darling, are you okay?” 

You knew it wasn’t what he meant, but your physical wellbeing was far from your mind. “I don’t think I’ve ever been okay even once in my life.” 

“You know what I mean, [F/N].” His voice was firm. “We can talk about the will in a moment, but I need to know that you’re not sick.” 

You wordlessly scooted closer to him, allowing him to examine you. 

He removed his glove and placed his bare hand on your forehead. “You are a little warm.” 

You saw what he was trying to do. You felt a bit comforted by it, but needed to assure him that you weren’t sick. “It’s twenty-five degrees outside. I think I’m going to feel a little warm comparatively.” 

“Weren’t you nauseated this morning?” He asked, feeling your cheek with the back of his hand. 

You released a breath, which froze as soon as it hit the air. “That’s what I said so I didn’t have to say what it really was.” 

Hannibal clicked his tongue. “Menstrual cramps?” 

You nodded. “Yeah. Those.” 

“I was a surgeon before I was a therapist, my love.” He reminded you with a soft smile. “I know what menstruation is.” 

You chuckled. “Yeah, I should hope so.” 

“This is a lovely country club.” Hannibal said after a moment of taking in the view. “Not exactly to my tastes, but the view of the ocean is beautiful.” 

You leaned back in your seat. “It gets old after a while. But I always preferred seeing the golf course all snowed over.” 

“Because it meant you didn’t have to spend your school holiday doing free labor for Beatrice, right?” He asked. 

“Yep.” You said, folding your hands into your armpits to keep them from freezing up.

Theresa was seventeen, Anna was fourteen and you were ten. 

Theresa learned how to drive a drink cart before she could drive a car. She was the only one allowed to make tips, so you coveted her job. You wouldn’t have, if you knew what all those disgusting old men were saying to her as the money passed into her hand. It shocked you, how many of the club members knew the age of consent off the top of their heads. Grandma made her wear tank tops and barely-passing-for-shorts shorts. She said it was empowering to use her ‘blossoming womanhood’ to make money. 

Anna was a student athlete in middle school. She ran track and field and brought gold home to a struggling athletics department. She was made to carry bags of clubs that weighed more than she did. Grandma reduced her to a beast of burden. She said it was to work off all those carbs. That one day, she might receive the honor of taking Theresa’s place on the drink cart, and that she too could be ogled at by men four times her age. But only if she made up for all that weight she had the audacity to put on. 

You were a blank slate. A tablet to be written upon. Grandma decided that she would put you in your place before you could develop a healthy sense of self. You fished balls out of the water trap. Grimy, disgusting golf balls that would just be thrown away regardless. It was Sisyphean, spending grueling hours in the summer sun, collecting perfectly useable golf balls, only to see them tossed out without a second thought. 

“Hannibal?” You said, bringing an end to your pensive silence. 

“Yes?” He answered. 

You kept your eyes facing forward. “I’m really sorry that Beatrice took away the opportunity to have this conversation in our own time.” 

“You are not responsible for your grandmother’s actions, [F/N].” He said, softly.

“But I am responsible for getting you involved.” You bit back a sob. “You’re like, the best thing that has ever happened to me. But every time I try to look forward, my past drags me backwards. And now it’s dragging you down with me.” 

"You've clawed your way out before." He assured you. "You can do it again."

You forced a laugh. "I guess the trick is to stop telling myself that it'll be the last time."

"Would you like to have that conversation now?" He posed.

You shook your head. "You already know my stance."

"Your stance is that you don't know." He corrected.

"So what's yours?" You said, realizing you only talked about this as a doctor and patient. Never as a couple.

He looked away from you. "In the affirmative. Strongly so."

"I didn't realize you had strong feelings either way." You answered.

"Just because I don't talk about them unless asked, doesn't mean they don't exist."

"And you want to do it with me?" You asked. "Or just, in general? Like, someday?"

"Darling, I am not in the habit of planning my life in abstracts like 'someday'." He admitted. "I know what I want, I know what I don't."

"Well," You said, stretching out your legs. "What does it look like, to you?"

"We get married this summer." He recounted. "I whisk you away to Italy for a romantic honeymoon. Then, you return to school. You finish your doctorate. Once you've established yourself as an authority, gotten a job, then we settle down. We'll have a child."

You felt yourself smiling. You rested your head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around you and held you tight.

"I like that. I like it a lot." You whispered. "But you know that means we probably won't get any money, right?"

Hannibal laughed. "We don't need the money."

"I know." You conceded. "But it would be nice to just... burn this whole place to the ground."

He tightened his embrace. "That could still be arranged."

"Please don't buy the golf course just so I can destroy it." You pleaded through laughs.

"Goodness, no." He shook his head. "Who said anything about buying it? I was thinking about some good, old-fashioned arson."