#he refuses to set gene free. he just talks to him

[t4tdanvis]

so ur telling me a gay coded this guy?

#❄.txt #on the topic of mcd vylad #i like to this that he talks like how danny gonzalez does sometimes #he'll out of nowhere say some shit like 'some fair-weather citizens you have' #why does he talk like this? who knows #no one else talks like this. why is he Like That (its because hes gay /j) #anyways. im really thinking super hard about this one fanfic idea i have :) #gene is in the dungeon getting tortured every day and vylad keeps sneaking in through a window to talk to him #he refuses to set gene free. he just talks to him #'i could tell the guards youre here and theyd kill you right now' 'do you think theyd believe you?' '...' 'thats what i thought' #i say 'talk' but really they just kind of say a couple words and then stare at each other for like an hour and then vylad leaves #gene finds vylads daily visits comforting #i mean when ur getting tortured every day u have to have something (or someone) to cling onto like ur an orphaned duckling #for the first week or two gene barely talks. vylad talks to him a bit while gene just glares at him #gene is more focused on being pissy about vylad not freeing him. which there is no way in hell (haha) vylad would do that #vylad just kinda talks to him about random stuff. what its like in the overworld. about things that are going on in his life #gene listens to him since. well. its not like he has anything else to do. hes chained to a wall and cant even walk around #what is vylads plan here u may be wondering. well. he is 100% convinced that he can fix gene #he doesnt tell gene that at all. he makes it very very clear that he has no intention of freeing gene and no amount of persuasion will #change that and if gene tries ANYTHING then vylad will leave and never return #however. gene doesnt know that vylad is intent on making him into a better person #i have so many ideas for this AUGH i love this idea so so much #vylad comforting gene just by being a familiar presence when gene is exhausted and is just so fucking done with everything #gene starts responding eventually. it just takes him a while to stop being petty about vylad not letting him go #eventually hes like. ok fine. ig thats understandable. i HAVE killed many many people. ig it makes sense why u dont wanna let me go #i have more but. im going to stop now and let the 2 people that will read this process it all

[br1ghtestlight]

Have you done Mr.Ambrose headcannon yet?

If not then...headcannons?

🏠 <- this is my home, I live in your asks

NO I HAVE NOT EVEN THOUGH HE IS MY FAVORITE GAY FREAK <\3

he is queer Definitely gay but he's flexible about women in the right situation?? borderline delusional and thinks every straight guy wants him SO BAD (nobody wants him except Me) also he's nonbinary and uses he/she/they pronouns but he doesnt really care he's ambivalent to gender he doesnt give a fuck what u call him

he is a drag queen and does performances at gay bars on the weekends and gets STUPID drunk after he performs. he is shockingly good at doing makeup and costuming. in a better world he wouldve done costumes and wardrobe in hollywood movies

he majored in english when he was in college bcuz he wanted to be either a screenwriter for hollywood movies (fun fact his voice actor directed and acted in a gay romcom and i think thats the kind of thing ambrose would pretend he's too cool for but secretly enjoy) or a novelist (he still writes in his free time) but neither of those worked out as actual jobs so he settled for elementary school librarian. even though he hates kids so much and isnt technically qualified but they were desperate when they hired him

he doesn't have a relationship with anyone in his family like if he died tomorrow everything he owned would go to his dog. his parents were just terrible shitty people and he doesn't get along with them at all refuses to attend family events if they're there. he doesn't talk to his extended family either but he's happier this way!!!! maybe he didnt have a great childhood its not like he would ever talk about it with anyone except for occasionally his roommate when they're up late and he gets very drunk

i also feel like he's either an only child or a younger brother who was always compared to his older sibling but no way his ass is an older sibling SORRY

his roommate is a lesbian and he's gay which is why they live together. no chance of catching feelings (this was agreed upon when they moved in together)

without a doubt he is a functioning alcoholic mostly bcuz he refuses to deal with any of his mental health problems or talk about them with anyone. its going great for him dw

sometimes he likes dressing up in feminine clothing and makeup just for fun and bcuz it makes him feel confident and its a different look than normal. he usually stays home and its just around his roommate but if he feels up to it he WILL be the sluttiest gay at the grocery store or dmv

his full name is william ambrose but he prefers people call him by his last name even outside of a school setting. i think william would be a traditional family name from his great great etc grandfather and he's like ughh im not going to carry the LEGACY of some random dead guy who doesn't even give a shit about me who do you think i am

he is definitely the type to watch shitty reality tv like the bachelor or love island and complain about how stupid everyone is being but also he LOVES the drama and watches every episode. he auditioned once for the gay version of the bachelor but they rejected him and he's still pissy about that if you bring it up

he claims he knows which students at wagstaff are going to grow up to be queer bcuz of his gaydar and he mostly says it to the other teachers in the teachers lounge as a joke but also he is slightly protective of them and won't take bullying from ANYONE if he hears them talking shit there will be an anonymous complaint to the principal. they are his little gay ducklings (gene would be in this category although he's slightly too annoying for ambrose to like him)

#sorry that these are all SO SILLY its impossible to write serious headcanons about him #he is such a freak (affectionate) #bob's burgers #ask #headcanons

[evansblues]

What am I reading now..... Chris's Gene Kelly project is back on IMDb now and Alba is part of the cast? Two things came to my mind -///

Yes and no. So the Gene Kelly project was updated on Chris’ IMDB page and so many assume it means it’s set in stone or whatever or that’s what he got out of this mess, that I do not know.

as far as her….no, she’s not cast in the movie and we don’t even know if this movie will be made.

anyway last night people said she was added back to his IMDB page as his “wife”…..

welp today she’s once again removed from his IMDB page so yeah. I have no idea what’s going on either but I refuse to believe these two are a couple let alone married. 😂 I smell bs PR a mile away, but that’s just my opinion.

also this talk about them having a house together based on some designers follows and posts the past few months….. turns out the house so many claimed chris renovated for her and himself……isn’t even his house. The designers posted this debut of a house that’s based on Upstate NYC and now those believing chris and her have a house together have stated the designers are lying about the location due to privacy. 😂

you really can’t make this crap up. People are reaching. I always said if this were real there would not be any “team” pr or real because there wouldn’t be anything to question, yet all everyone has are questions and wtf is going on moments every time trolling happens from either end.

I think either chris and team will clear this mess up by end of week and he shows up to con as a single and never married man or he cancels and doesn’t show his face until this bs is over. But I could be wrong so we shall sit and wait and see. hope everyone has a wonderful Monday! 😊

Thank for the update. He’s not canceling I don’t think, he’s been adding more photo ops, he wants this for whatever he’s going to do. Logically he might clear things up before then, but on the other hand he might wait until the panel so no one can stop him and it’s on video. I agree if this was on the up and up there would be no speculation but as always there’s not prize for what you believe and you’re free to not think anything or think many things in succession.

[cheri-translates]

Headcanon - Your son isn’t cute at all

Original title: 儿子一点都不可爱

Original author: 君兮耶君兮 (jun xi ye jun xi)

[ VICTOR ]

You’re certain that the strength of Victor’s genes resulted in that little guy at home being an exact replica of him. Even Victor can’t deny that your son resembles him greatly in terms of appearance.

However, this doesn’t mean he acknowledges the resemblance of their personalities. At the very least, he feels that he wasn’t as studious during his childhood years.

Furthermore, Victor has half-jokingly pointed out that your son’s dislike for exercise is exactly the same as his mother’s.

“Victor, your son is bullying me again!” 

Although your opponent is a little brat, you’re still unable to win. In this short round of Go, your white pieces have more or less been “eaten” by your son’s black pieces.

“Dummy. Don’t blame your son if your skills can’t match up to his.” Victor sets down the documents in his hand, walking over to observe.

Is this something he should be saying in front of the kid!? What about your dignity as a mother? 

You turn around with a glare. “You were the one who taught me how to play Go. My teacher didn’t teach me properly!”

In the past, you’d typically respond to Victor’s remarks with a stubborn retort. Nowadays, you simply toss the bucket to someone else.

“If you make that move, you’d be sending yourself straight to a loss,” Victor comments, seeing that you’re once again putting a white piece where it’d definitely be “eaten”.

“Who says that I’m making that move?” You flick your wrist, salvaging the fate of the white piece, along with your pride. With a dignified air, you continue. “A true gentleman keeps silent while watching a game.”

“Mom, putting your piece here isn’t any different from the other spot.” Your son notes expressionlessly. With a thud of his black piece, he is only one move away from “eating” your white piece.

“...”

Despite the truth in his words, being ridiculed by your son truly upsets you. “We’ll continue. What happened earlier was a tiny mistake.”

In the following rounds, your white pieces grow sparse on the board while Victor observes the mother-son battle calmly. Or rather, watching as you get obliterated by your son.

Wanting to prolong the competition despite the lack of prospects, you courageously seek Victor’s assistance. “Hubby, help me out!”

Ignoring his son’s awkward expression, Victor rubs your head in a comforting manner. Picking up a piece and placing it onto the board, he instantly rescues several white pieces from a tragic ending. “Next time, give your Mom a chance. You need to give some confidence to opponents who are weaker than you.”

Your son nods in half-understanding.

“...”

Victor, don’t think I can’t tell that you’re calling me a noob!

[ GAVIN ]

Just as you wished, you had a son. However, there are times when you really think your son isn’t cute at all!

Your son watches you sternly, hands on his hips.

“Mommy, Dad said that you can’t eat ice-cream these days.”

“Be good. If you don’t say anything, your dad won’t find out. Also, I’m not the only one eating. You can have one too~” You attempt to bribe the little fellow who is utterly loyal to Gavin.

He rejects your suggestion decisively. “No way. Dad will get angry.”

This so-called anger is simply Gavin displaying a cold expression momentarily. Away from his son’s gaze, you’d play coy and Gavin would release a sigh of resignation before gently reminding you not to commit this offence again. To you, this isn’t a deterrence factor at all.

Since your son can’t find out about this little secret, you huff while returning the ice-cream into the fridge. Then, you grab a bag of spicy sticks from the snack basket.

Before your fingers touch the jagged edges of the opening, your son stops you.

“Mom, no spicy sticks either.” 

“...”

It truly isn't a good feeling to be ordered around by a child. 

Bored out of your wits, you bury yourself in the sofa, watching as your son stuffs the packet of spicy sticks back into the snack basket. “What other things did your dad prohibit?”

Your son tilts his head as he recalls. “Aside from ice-cream, mala soup, snacks, fried chicken, there’s nothing else.”

“...”

And he called that “nothing”!?

With the loss of snacks, you feel like your entire life has turned dim and gloomy. You get up coldly before walking into the bedroom listlessly. “I’ll take a nap. When your dad gets back, tell him to face the corner and stay there.”

Your son obediently agrees.

Close to dinnertime, your honourable husband returns home. Even before he removes his shoes, his son calls out to him. “Mom asked you to stand at the corner.” The little rascal gloats slightly.

“???”

Gavin is left dumbfounded, and has no idea what he did to anger you. “Where is she?”

“She’s asleep.”

After standing at the corner for ten minutes, there’s no stirring from the bedroom. Gavin pokes his son, who is sitting at the entrance and reading a book. “Go and check if your mom has woken up.”

“Nope.” Your son refuses instantly.

“Why not?”

“Mom said that if I supervise you until she wakes up herself, she’d buy me the latest model aeroplane.” The little child’s eyes brim with anticipation at the thought of the new toy.

“...”

So he abandoned his father for a new model aeroplane?

[ LUCIEN ]

“Mom, do you really not know how to do this question? Dad said that this question is very simple.” Your son looks up with a frown, only to see your frustrated expression as you rip up a sheet of rough paper.

“...don’t listen to your dad’s nonsense.”

The way Professor Lucien defines the word “simple” is completely different from ordinary people, all right?!

“Dad won’t lie to me. Mom can’t do it because she’s too stupid!”

Ever since the little fellow followed Lucien to the research centre, his admiration for his father has risen by another degree.

Having your self-esteem trampled upon, you toss the pen aside. “Why don’t you ask your dad then? I’m done with this!” 

Isn’t making cream puffs more enjoyable than solving problems? Why should you continue torturing yourself?

“...”

The little rascal pinches the booklet and heads into the study room. “Dad, I think I made Mom angry.”

“What happened?” You rarely lose your temper in front of the child.

His son shows him the question in the booklet. “Mom couldn’t solve it, so I called her stupid.”

“Apologise to your mother!” Lucien thinks that aside from him, nobody else can bully his Little Miss. Not even his son.

“Okay.” Your son responds obediently before going downstairs.

By the time Lucien finishes his work and heads into the kitchen, he spots you stuffing a cream puff into your son’s mouth. “It’s fine, it’s fine. Next time, just ask your dad directly if you have any math questions.”

“All right.” The little rascal’s puffy cheeks resemble a hamster’s. When he sees Lucien arriving, he returns to his room to read books, giving the both of you space.

Amused by the mother-son interaction, Lucien waits till his son leaves before entering the kitchen and reaching out for a cream puff. Before he can even touch one, you whack his hand away.

“Hm? It seems that my wife is angry with me too?” Lucien wraps an arm around your waist and nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck. Even though he’s exerting very little force, you're still unable to free yourself.

“I’m so sorry that I can’t do a question which, according to Professor Lucien, is very simple.” While he continues hugging you, you transfer the cream puffs from the baking tray onto a small plate. 

“That’s okay. Having one adult who can teach him is enough.”

You pout. “Your son called me stupid earlier.”

“Nonsense.” Lucien gives you a tap on the head. “My wife is the smartest. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have taken so long for me to win you over.”

Lucien’s sweet nothings are becoming smoother and smoother. Pushing him away with your elbow, you pick up the small plate. “Go and give the cream puffs to our son.”

Initially thinking that the plate was meant for him, Lucien is stunned momentarily. His son had a cream puff personally fed to him, while he hasn’t even managed to touch a cream puff. “What about mine?”

You release an icy “hmph”.

“Considering Professor Lucien’s high IQ, I’m sure he can make them himself. I want to give these to my son, who is also unable to solve that problem.”

“...”

Why does he have to bear the consequences when his son was the one who angered you?

[ KIRO ]

“I’m back~” 

You’ve just returned from a business trip which swept you overseas for close to a month, and it’s been a long time since you saw the two suns in your home.

“Mommy! Welcome home!”

“Miss Chips! Welcome home!”

The father-son duo exclaim unanimously, rushing over to the door with their similar faces and equally dazzling golden hair.

Your adorable son stumbles over to you, and you respond by squatting down and stretching your hands to give him a full hug. The little fellow tightens his grip around your neck to express his joy and how much he missed you.

Apple Box leaps around beside you to convey his welcome, and you can’t help but reach out to give him a pat on his fluffy head. In the time you weren’t around, he had put on quite a bit of weight.

The small entrance hall brims with a warm atmosphere... aside from Kiro.

At this moment, Kiro feels that his position in the home has deteriorated, and he shoots a killer glare towards your coquettish son and Apple Box, who weren’t sidelined by you.

“Miss Chips, did you not miss me... QAQ”

Despite the passage of time, Kiro, who has even become a father, seems to have become more childish.

You purse your lips. “Who said so? I missed you very much.”

“But you hugged him first and even patted Apple Box. You didn’t give me a hug.” The more he talks about it, the more insignificant he feels.

“Dad, you’re so heavy. Mom won’t be able to carry you.” Your son rubs salt into his wound.

Sure enough, Kiro gets offended by this. With a darkened expression, he pulls his son away from your arms, lifting him into the air. “Say that again!”

The little rascal struggles for a while before escaping from his grasp, then buries himself into your arms again. “Mommy, I drew you a picture!” With this, he sends Kiro a competitive glance.

Amused by the usual competition between father and son, you feed off your son’s excitement. “Really? My darling is incredible!”

“I’m incredible too!” Kiro is deathly afraid of falling behind. “Go away.” He pulls his son away from you once again. His left hand reaches behind your knees, and he bends down to carry you up. When he feels your hands tightening around his neck, he lets out a satisfied “hmph”.

“I can pick your Mom up in a princess carry. Can you?”

“Once I’ve grown up, I can do it too!” Your son gives him a glance of disdain. “Also, you’d be old by the time I grow up. I’d also be more handsome than you. Mommy will definitely like me more~”

“Looks like you need a spanking!” Kiro places you down before reaching for his son.

“Kiro, you’re not allowed to hit our son!” You hurriedly stop him before he can do anything.

“He was challenging my authority as his father.”

You tousle his hair in a comforting manner. “Be good. Actually, our son wasn’t wrong. When you’re old, you’d...”

“Miss Chips!”

“When you’re old, you’d still be handsome!” You chuckle gently, tugging him on the sleeve to make him bend down slightly. A sweet kiss lands on the side of his face. “Superheroes are the most handsome~”

[ SHAW ]

“Don’t make a mess out of our house!”

The moment you see the unsalvageable mess on the coffee table, the only thought that runs through your mind is sending this troublemaker back to the oven to be re-made.

“Dad said that an overly neat doesn’t have a homely feeling.” Your son tilts his head upwards confidently, continuing with his work on hand.

“So why are you doodling on the wall?”

The originally pure white wall has been morphed beyond recognition. And why does the style of this abstract art look so familiar?

Your son wipes his hands on a damp cloth at the side, then picks up a crayon. “Dad said that aesthetic sense must be picked up since young.”

Seeing the patches of postmodern art on the wall causes your blood to boil. “Can’t you use paper?”

As compared to your frantic state, your son is much more composed. “Dad said that I should strike while the iron’s hot when it comes to being inspired. I didn’t have time to find paper, so I drew on the wall.”

No matter what, you have to find the main culprit.

“Shaw, get over here!” Your twist your head and roar towards the living room.

“Did you allow him to draw on the walls?” You glare at him fiercely, causing his initial “yes” to quickly turn into a “I did not.”

Your son lifts his head in confusion. “Dad, didn’t you say that I should draw wherever I wanted to? You even said a child’s talent shouldn’t be stifled.”

“...”

With a grim laugh, you toss him a rag. “Since you allowed him to do it, you’ll be the one to clean up.”

“...son, use paper next time. Don’t draw on the walls.” Shaw finds a smaller rag and hands it to his son. The both of them begin wiping off the colourful traces on the wall pitifully, wishing they could travel back in time to stop this from happening in the first place.

Sitting on your son’s small bed while scrolling through your phone, you occasionally look up to supervise their progress.

Once they’re more or less done, your son suddenly pipes up.

“When can we head out to do graffiti?”

“Graffiti?” Why weren’t you aware of such plans?

“...” 

Shaw has a bad feeling about this.

“Shaw. Explain.”

“It’s just... nurturing his artistic side...” His voice dies off at the end.

“Okay. Right now, I’ll be nurturing his mathematical side. Stand at the corner of the wall and count from one to a thousand.”

After tidying your son’s bed, you head out to pour yourself a cup of water.

Shaw tosses a sympathetic glance at his son. “Every man for himself.”

“As his father, you’ll keep him company.”

“...”

More translated and original works: here

-

[ Permission to translate ]

君兮耶君兮: Can, just state the author and the source

#mlqc #cheri shortcake

[slashingdisneypasta]

Jack Bass x Younger!Reader || Oneshot

Title: Bass's.

Notes:

I have no idea when this is supposed to be set. Just go with it.

I have two things to say about Jack in this gif, though. 1. Does he not know how to carry a tray. And 2. I love this statement, here. Its like 'Bart's Dead, Chuck. I can barely contain my joy, Chuck. Its taking all my willpower, Chuck, to keep a monotonous expression. Also Chuck I am carrying a tray, do you see this?'

Plot: Bart Bass decides to be his creepy fucking self (Not that Jack is exponentially better in any way but whatever) towards you, Chuck's best friend- but thankfully, Jack accidentally walks in on the scene and gives you a get out of jail free card.

Good old 'lesser of two evils' shit. I love stuff like that.

Warnings: BART BASS being predatory, and a bit of age difference (You and Jack. I'm going by actors ages though so there's only a, like, 11 year age gap between him and Chuck which is not that bad if you ask me). Sexual references.

~~~

Chuck looks from his phone, that's flashing Blairs name, to you and your big, wide eyes and lips mouthing 'Don't you dare', then to his father quietly tapping away on his phone on the couch a few feet away... then back at his phone.

"Charles- " You hiss, prepared to threaten his very existence but he cuts you off first- slipping off the bar stool beside you and heading for the hallway.

"I'm going to go to the bathroom."

Why am I friends with him again!? You think, but stay quiet and hope that Bart doesn't realise that you're back there despite having said hello to you earlier when he came in. You think, if you stay quiet like a mouse, he will forget your existence and keep texting until Chuck gets back- although, who knows how long he and Blair can go on for.

Depends what its about, honestly. If its about revenge or espionage... well, the conversation could last quite some time.

Should I just leave?

The impulse to run away is a strong one, as you sit there with your cheeks heating up and you start to feel nauseated. You never liked Bart Bass, from the moment you met him. Before that, actually. You had heard Chuck talking about him to Nate before you even became friends with them, and none of what you heard was good. And then you did meet him, one day when Chuck invited you over to do a school project. Or 'school project' as he so obnoxiously put it. You really did end up just doing a school project, though. Hence your friendship nowadays. Bart was creepy towards you even then, at 16 with terribly died hair and the wrong eyeshadow.

You've been very careful since then to never be alone with him like this. You would talk to him at parties if you were forced to, say hello to him when Chuck had you at his place and the man walked by, but that is the extent of your communication with the creep. Always, always, someone would be around. Chuck, mostly. But also staff, or Nate, or random fundraiser ladies, or Jack who Chuck the bastard never left alone with all willy-nilly like this, unfortunately, or Lily, or literally anyone else possible on the earth.

You've even hidden away in the men's bathroom, which is disgusting no matter how expensive the restaurant, with Nate before to get away from this man when Chuck once ditched you both at a dinner with him. And that's the story of how you got your first kiss, too, and it was from Nate Archibald. Hell yes.

That's how much this man makes you want to grab your bag and flee.

But you don't. You stay glued to your seat, super still, listening only to the tap-tap-tapping noises that Bart makes and the bump-bump-bump noises your heart is making right into your throbbing ears.

Until it stops.

Not the bump-bump-bumping, oh no. The tapping. And, nightmarishly, it's replaced by a groan and footsteps coming towards your turned back.

"Y/N," As soon as he says your name, his hands fall on your your shoulders and you literally jump under his touch. Shit- Shit- Fuck- what's happening- "I've been meaning to speak with you recently but Chuck- ah. Well you know him. He refused to share with me your telephone number. But I knew you'd turn up here at some point, so not to worry."

"Uh... right." You cant even force yourself to be your normal, cheery, polite self in this position. You just want him to get. off. of. you.

"Did you want a drink?" He asks, in that possibly cheery (But only because its slightly louder then his usual husk level) but mostly still scary voice he uses to convey emotion, letting go of you thankfully and rounding to the other side of the bar. You shake your head, though. He raises his brows, picking out a scotch for himself. "You don't drink? Shocking, seeing as you're friends with my son."

Oh I drink. You think, giving him a shrug. Just not in situations like this one. Also, what must he think of Chuck? Jesus Christ. For sure, your boy likes debauchery but what's wrong with that?

"Well, I like that." Bart pauses before pouring his drink, to appreciate you. "Mature."

Damn it. It makes your skin absolutely crawl.

"So... " You take a deep breath, tucking your hair back behind your ears rather then ruffling it back like you usually would to get it out of your face- lest that be recognised as some kind of extremely subtle form of flirting. God, fear makes you think weird things. "What did you want to discuss?"

"Oh- Just, your future. Where are you going to school? Will you be sticking close to us?"

Us? US? No, I'll be far far away, from you.

You don't really want to tell Bart where you're going to be going to school, because in your fear addled brain you know that that will just lead to 'Which campus?', or 'Where will you be staying?' and you really don't want it to go there.

You're just taking another, shakier deep breath, when the front door of the apartment opens and shuts loudly and set of feet trample down the hallway towards you. Immediately total relief plashes over you and you wipe your face. Oh, thank god.

Jack Bass appears in the doorway to the living room, looking as put-together yet somehow simultaneously still totally relaxed, as always, and forces aa polite smile onto his handsome face. "Brother. Y/N? Its good to see you."

You have no idea. "Good to see you too Jack. Uh- Chuck's in the bathroom."

"Thanks. For that... enlightening, information, Y/N. I needed that." You cheeks flare up in embarrassment, but ultimately you just roll your eyes as Jack flashes you a subtle wink, and turns promptly to his - much, - older brother. "Bart."

The older brother in question looks less then pleased at his baby brothers appearance in his home. Right now. And he possibly isn't thrilled about that little wink, either. Like you two are in on some kind of joke together. "Jack... What are you doing here?"

"Simmer down, bro. Just visiting." Even you know that that excuse is weak, but anything that comes out Jack's own monotonous voice right now is blessed where you're concerned so you certainly don't say anything. Or make any faces, which would be more appropriate. "Y/N, I don't think Bart-man here's too happy about my presence." Hm, no. You'd have to agree with that observation- not that you've looked up at Bart since Jack came in. You wont risk it. Jack glides through the room with the practised grace of a man who's lived 3 quarters of his life in suits and the other, happier quarter in board shorts, and ends up right next to your chair, an arm resting on the bench in front of you.

If you weren't already so nervous about Bart, you would blush about Jack.

"At least tell me you're glad to see me."

You grin, which is less forced then you thought it would be prior to trying it. Damn, he's good. You think, realising he just swepped in here and made you comfortable in less then 50 words. "Always, 'Uncle Jack'."

"Oh," He groans, like it physically pained him to hear you tease him like that. A tiny smirk even slips through his usually emotionless - well, not emotionless. He has one standing colour, that being sly, - stone statue of a face. "'Uncle Jack'- Please, stop. I'm barely a decade older then you."

That's enough to make anything else possible, inappropriate. Unfortunately. "Hey, I said I'm glad to see you." You wink, a bit sly yourself. "Count your blessings."

His grin widens a bit, like the dangerously charming Cheshire cat-type that he is. Genes that Chuck inherited, clearly, if his track record with girls say anything at all, but that Bart obviously missed out on. "You've got a point."

"She's a remarkable young woman." Bart pipes up, making your stomach tie itself up in knots again, and you immediately revert your gaze to your lap. Remarkable young woman... you want to barf. "Who, I was actually having a conversation with before you burst in here, unannounced." He takes a slow sip of his drink, then mutters. "And uninvited."

"Well that's great." Jack straightens up, clapping his hands together and finally showing his teeth in a smile. They're really freaken white, compared to his skin, deeply tanned by the hot Australian sun. "A visit would be kinda uncomfortable without a conversation; I'll join. I can converse with the best of 'em, Bart. I assure you."

"It was private." The old man sneers, thinking that he's got the upper hand on Jack, and all you can do is hope to god that he's wrong.

Jack turns his head back to look at you, and you meet his gaze tentatively. Your eyes scream, 'Please don't leave me alone with that guy'. He promptly looks back to Bart. "Well Bart why don't we ask the lady in the room what she wants? We are gentlemen here aren't we?" Then Jack makes a face, all crumpled up and unsure, for a moment. "Err. Well actually... 'gentleman' might be a bold faced lie. We'll ask anyway. Y/N! Do you mind if I weigh in here?"

"Not at all." You say quickly, flashing a tiny, thankful smile. He gives you another wink- this time actually subtle. So Bart didn't see it. Your smile gets a little bit bigger, relaxing. He's got you.

"Great." You watch him pull out the stool beside you, that Chuck - who has still not returned from his phone call with Blair. You assume some, likely cruel vengeance must be involved. Possibly involving that Humphrey guy, - had vacated and settles down in it. He then sets his arms firmly on the bench and looks up attentively at Bart, not breaking eye contact with him. Boy these Bass's like their stare downs. "So?" He prompts, expectantly. And a little arrogantly- a Bass speciality that you truly don't mind at all. "What's on the agenda, today?"

Bart glares heatedly, back.

~

Throughout the awkward discussion between the three of you, which your good friend Chuck has yet to return to discover - at this point you're resigned to him having climbed out the window and scaled the building probably, - , Jack constantly, skilfully changes the subject for you whenever Bart rears to close to somewhere uncomfortable. He makes jokes that make you laugh, he nudges you with his elbow at times - but never touches you any more then that, although you honestly wouldn't mind it if he did, - and takes the attention off you a lot. At times you truly thought you saw steam come out of Bart's ears.

When finally Bart gives up and excuses himself, saying he as an early dinner with Lily, you feel exhausted and relieved. After the door swings shut behind him, you cover your face with your hands and deeply sigh.

"So, what was that about? You looked like a trapped mouse. I recognise that look, I invented that look." You pull back slightly from your hands and glance over at him, to see him thoughtful for a moment. "Well, not by making it. By... causing... it... Either way, it was not good." He shakes his head, taking a sip of his own drink - scotch, - that he made Bart pour for him; Raising his eyebrows at you for an explanation over the rim of the glass.

Jack's always been great, like this. Even when he was horrible, he was the lesser of two evils between him and Bart. Good for a laugh and quality eye candy in a pinch- and that counts for a hell of a lot when it comes to surviving Bart Bass and the Upper East Side. And he had the power and pull of an adult, but knew what the hell was going on like one of you.

So he always made you feel at ease.

You ruffle your hair back, and sigh, straightening your back finally from their hunched over position they live in when you're uncomfortable and pushing back your shoulders. "He was just, saying some weird stuff... and Chuck disappeared to talk to Blair." At that, Jack nods in total understanding. Like ah, yeah. Got ya. Finally, you shrug. "He just makes me really uncomfortable. No offence, but I hate your brother."

As you watch Jack's eyes don't even flicker; He's totally on board with what you've said. Then he finishes the rest of his scotch in one gulp. "Ahh- I hate him too."

"As do we all." Chuck's voice suddenly pops up, as he appears in the doorway like Jack had earlier. You have to practice some serious self control so as to not laugh, at Chuck so coincidentally turning up again at the perfect moment to proclaim his hatred for his father. Jack grins back at Chuck coldly, nodding. Yeah. "Anyway, Y/N, I apologise but I'll be having to abandon you. Blair's waiting for me at her, empty, apartment." He pauses for a moment for dramatic effect, in perfect Chuck Bass fashion, and you roll your eyes, grinning. Jack smirks. "But you're welcome to stick around a while and help yourself to the amenities All on my tab, of course. Good to see you again, Jack." Then he pockets his phone and heads toward the door. The second Bass of the day leaves the building.

"Bye, nephew!" Jack waives as the elevator doors close behind Chuck then swiftly turns around back to you, to which you raise your eyebrows. "So, what do we do now?"

"I dunno." Shrugging you grin and turn your stool to angle your legs towards Jack. "When Chuck says those magical words 'All on my tab'," Those words, oh; You speak them with just as much raw, breathy sexual arousal as the man himself would. As the words demand. 'All on my tab'. Good lord, sex if they were words. "I tend to take advantage."

"An easy girl to please; That's what I like to see." Your cheeks flame up at those words out of Jack's mouth as he turns to look down at the room service menu. Yes, Jack Bass has toed the line, between platonic and flirtatious since the very moment you met the man... but that seemed a little bit more then toeing the line.

And you get a far different reaction to him doing it then you do the other Bass brother.

You don't even really mind the implications of his words.

"You're staying back with me?" You ask, feeling hopeful at the idea.

"Yeah well, I cant in, uh, good conscience," He makes a bit of a show to you, of pressing his hand to his chest totally earnestly as those words 'good conscience' come out of his mouth. "leave you here unguarded in case Bart comes back, can I? Besides, the way you said 'All on my tab'- man, you could sell moonshine at an AA meeting with that voice."

"Ha," You laugh, rolling your eyes and shaking your head. "Well, thanks."

"Oh. Don't thank me. You're just using what uh, your mama gave you. I actually encourage you totally, to do that more often- "

"No!" You exclaim, sighing in exasperation; But there is still a smile on your face you cant seem to shake. "For not leaving, today. When you walked in. It would've sucked if you had, not that I would've blamed you at all."

"Hey, just call me your knight in shining armour." He doesn't look up from the menu, flicking through it. Then turns to you with one of those beach boy/politician, toothless grins of his. "Besides you were automatically, my favourite person in the apartment. I mean, anyone with... uhhh- different, appendages to what I have, instantly gets a one-way ticket access to my rare bouts of chivalry. Now come over here, pick out what you want off here."

You just gape at him and that comment, making him stifle a laugh and return to the menu himself.

Bass's.

#Jack Bass #Jack Bass x Reader #Gossip Girl Jack Bass x Reader #Jack bass x Reader Oneshot #Bart Bass #Chuck Bass #Oneshot #Gossip Girl #Gossip Girl x Reader

[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.

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

[blazichu]

#catch me rattling on about GG pt 2 for paragraphs

Please continue when you can. I love your reading your analysis!

Apparently I'm incapable of looking over one half of Good Genes without doing the other, so I guess we get a double feature tonight:

Part 1:

I am, of course, contractually obligated to point out my favorite line from the cold open: "My friend Donatello is one of the gentlest souls I've met, with one of the finest minds I've ever known." It seems especially relevant since, later on, Stockman reduces Don to "The smart one"

One thing I noticed this run through is that Leo's speech is slightly different than usual this arc. My favorite is his response to "It's only a matter of time before [Don] is lost forever"; his tone changes dramatically between the two halves of his line, "That's not gonna happen" and "We can't let that happen." The first is his usual 'decisive leader' voice, but the second has this kind of worried warble to it. It's great, and Sinterniklaas gets an A+

Of course there's the breakfast sequence. I don't really have much that hasn't already been said about it, but there's something sweet and sad about how Mike says that he "Just wanted to give him some food". It's just so little, a basic need that he's trying to fill because he cares, and it goes so wrong so fast.

My fourth point is kiiiinda weird and a stretch, but I've always loved the way Outbreak (as an arc) sets up so many bits and pieces that pay off specifically in AiTS/GG. It's usually stuff Don's been working on-- like the trapper gear, the tunnel to April's, or Stockman's helicopter. It's just neat, kind of setting up how indispensable Don's presence really is if he's able to help without being mentally present.

Anyway, right back to Leo and line delivery. The other part of this is that he keeps hesitating and grasping for the right words when it comes to what happened to Don. He refuses to put a name to it when he tells everyone that the helicopter was the last thing Don was working on, "[...] before... Before."

There's also "Don got infected. He's been transformed into... into a monster."

This is something I've definitely written about before, but idk if I ever posted it. Don's behavior after arriving at Area 51 is remarkably intelligent. He's able to use the guards' taser sticks against one another to get free, take out Leatherhead while he has the element of surprise (notable in that Leatherhead was the biggest threat/the one to subdue him in AiTS), turns on Stockman (who was responsible for the transfer in the first place), uses the glass from the containment unit as a shield, and actively prevents Splinter from doing whatever mind thing he did earlier. It's a far cry from lashing out and snapping wildly, and I've always thought it was interesting.

And the tranquilizer scene. Honestly, I find it kind of hard to watch, but I do like the way Leo kneels down next to Don after he's knocked out.

Part 2

I'm gonna talk about cold opens again, because I just realized that this episode essentially begins and ends with the same message: "It's an impossible mission, but what can we do? Our brother is sick, and there's nothing we won't do to save him."

So. The really cool thing about Good Genes Part 2 is how much it directly highlights the lack of Don's presence without actually saying as much. Raph splits off to handle the technology (albeit in an explosive manner) and is seen hauling the duffelbag around. Leo has the headset and is coordinating with April throughout the mission. Which leads me to...

One of the major set pieces in this episode is a callback: the obstacle hallway, Mystic chamber and elevator from Return to New York. I don't think it was an intentional connection, but part of their plan involves repurposing a mech suit to use against the Foot, which is exactly what Don did with Stockman's robotic body in Return. This bulletpoint is 100% me finding meaning where there probably wasn't any, but still.

This one's slightly off topic, but I've said before that I thought it was a dumb decision to have Leo confirm to Karai that the rest of his family was alive and well at the end of Prodigal Son-- this episode is 99% of why I think it was a missed opportunity. Iirc, Karai doesn't appear between then and now, so this would be the first indication she'd have that anyone survived her assault-- and all the boys are here except Don. I just think there's a lot of potential there.

At one point, as Karai calls the Elite into the fray, Leo tells Mikey to take the Heart of Tengu and run-- that he'd hold them off. 'Them' being the Elite; he's about to face the Elite by himself to ensure that this works out. Just try to tell me that's not a statement and a half.

Idk why, but "Get in get out, right? It's not about Karai, right?" always stuck with me.

It's interesting how the episode also calls back to the old intro sequence, where April's piloting a helicopter and Don's jumping onto the rope ladder hanging down from it. Not much to say here, but it's neat.

I'm really bad at making out overlapping voices (and can't make sense of Mikey's line here at all), but after Leatherhead catches Don, you can hear Raph ask him how he's feeling, and Leo say "It's so good to see you again"

I mentioned Raph helping Don to the helicopter in the tags of that last post, but I'm also going to point out that Leo, who is supposed to be flying the helicopter at the end of the episode, is emphatically not watching where he's going.

And, of course, the big one: "I hope you guys didn't go through too much trouble for me."/"Nah!"

In addition to the first point for this episode-- the implication that NO trouble would have been too much-- there's the fact that, when nobody answers for a bit, you can see Don's expression fall. It's that fact that makes me love Mikey's reaction so much-- the way he grins back and tries to sooth that worry down.

Idk how much of this was really analysis, Anon, but I did promise to rattle on for paragraphs, and had a good time doing it. I hope you get some entertainment out of this ;)

#anon #replies #the never ending ride #sorry it took so long #tumblr was giving me grief re: formatting #and my cats were giving me grief re: being cats

[catxsnow]

LET’S HAVE A BABY B.W.

Request: hi idk if ur requests are open but i saw ur post for bruce wayne! can you do a bruce wayne x reader where they take young damian to a school fair or event and they get to watch him be a kid and then bruce is like "fuck it let's have another kid" and it's all fluff and lovey idk it just seems so sweet ily.

Warning: fluff

A/N: This was just... the cutest fucking request... Thank you for sending it in I loved writing it 

GIF not mine

Word count: 1.9k

Damian Wayne might not have been the best at people skills, but he sure as hell was one amazing soccer player. After you and Bruce had him enrolled in school, you thought it was a good idea for him to join a sports team as well. He was already so athletically built, it made sense for him to do something fun with it.

So, as much as he grumbled about having to join a stupid team to waste his time and lessen his activities as Robin, he found himself enjoying the sport. It was a good way for him to let out his frustration without someone getting maimed or injured (mostly). And even though he didn't like his teammates that much, he tolerated them enough that he could learn from them.

It was great to see him enjoy himself so much. Ever since he arrived at your home, you didn't see him have fun very often. He was always a serious boy and as much as you tried to make him feel welcomed, he was always so cold. Attending his soccer games would at least show him some support - he appreciated it even if he didn't show it.

It took a long time for Damian to finally warm up to you. Once he did though, there was no stopping his unconditional love for you. If anyone dared to insult you, or the press put a bad word towards you, he was there to make sure that they knew that they were wrong. He wanted everyone to think of you highly.

You and Bruce had gotten married not long after he told you that he was Batman. He knew that he didn't want to spend his life with anyone else other than you. You supported him in his decisions, cared for him when he needed you the most, and no matter what the city of Gotham or his own friends thought of him, you were there with him threw it all.

Bruce wasn't perfect, you knew this. He had made lots of mistakes in his life but if there was one thing that you admired most about him, it was that he always was ready to learn from them. Bruce was the love of your life and no matter the kind of mistakes he made, you loved all of his flaws.

On Saturday morning, you, Bruce, and Damian were all loaded up in one of your many cars to take him to his soccer game. While Damian sat quietly in the back, you could tell that he was buzzing with excitement. You never expected him to enjoy the sport so much, but you were glad that he did.

Bruce kept one hand on the wheel and reached over to intertwine you fingers with the other. He brought your hand up to his lips to kiss the back of it. After years of being together, he still craved to touch you in any way possible. In public, he was always grasping your hand or you would have your arm looped around his.

Never in your life would you have thought that the great Batman would have such a need to be close to the one he loved. You guessed that he had already had so many close calls with the people he cared about that he wasn't willing to risk you getting close to the same fate. Bruce loved you more than he had ever loved before.

You were the person that drove him to be better. You were the reason that he got up in the morning. You were the reason that he pushed himself so hard to keep this city safe.

As soon as the car was parked, Damian leaped out of it with his duffel bag over his shoulder and was already running towards the field. You couldn't help but giggle at his excitement.

"Did you ever think Damian would get so excited about something so... normal when he arrived to the Manor?" You asked Bruce as the two of you got out of the car. It was a beautiful sunny day out and you couldn't be more happy to be outside to enjoy it.

"Not even close," Bruce shook his head. He grasped your hand once more as the two of you walked over to the bleachers set up for all the other parents. "I think you changed him a lot. He's so much more easy going then he once was. He looks up to you in ways that he'll never look up to me."

"Guess that's the motherly instincts inside me," you beamed up at him. Bruce stopped walking to kiss you. The eyes of all the other parents were gazing at you and those of them that weren't, certainly were now. As much as you loved Bruce Wayne, you didn't love his publicity and fame. "Everyone's watching us."

"Good," Bruce smirked. He was never shy when it came to showing his love towards you. After being the billionaire playboy for so long, he was used to having people stare at him with girls on his arm. Now, he had his beautiful wife and the only person that he ever truly fell in love with to show off.

"Come on, my love," you tugged on his hand before he could make even more of a scene. The two of you sat right at the front and away from anyone else. Sunglasses rested over your eyes from the glare of the hot sun. "I sometimes miss being so normal like this," you admitted to him.

The life you lived before meeting Bruce was a humble one. He was never used to wondering if bills could be paid that month or having to take the bus to work. Living a life of lavish made you forget your roots sometimes. Being able to sit on the uncomfortable metal bleachers with all these other parents made you remember what it used to be like.

"You're free to leave me any day," Bruce joked. You smacked his chest lightly. He knew that there wasn't a chance that you would ever leave him. You loved him too much to even consider it.

The whistle from the ref blew and the game started. Damian was on the field, his jersey tucked into his shorts and his socks so high they nearly covered his knees. He looked like a regular kid out there. It was a small bit of life that you wished for him. The concentration on his face and the hint of a smile on his lips told you and Bruce that he was enjoying himself.

"We should take him out for ice cream after, it's hot out today," you offered. Gotham city was never kind with its weather, the days that it was truly nice out were the days that you would never be caught inside. Even when Bruce refused to leave his cave and enjoy the son.

"You mean, you want to go get ice cream later," Bruce raised an eyebrow at you. He knew you too well. You shrugged, pretending like you had no idea what he was talking about. Bruce only rolled his eyes at you, but agreed. "We can go, only if Damian wants to." You pouted at his response.

If there was one thing that Bruce Wayne couldn't resist, it was your pout. The second that your bottom lip stuck out, he swooped down to kiss you. "Fine, we'll go either way," he changed his mind. You grinned at him.

Bruce's eyes darted over to the field. Damian had gotten the ball and was darting down the field all while managing to dodge all the defense. He had been bumped up a league when he tried out for the team, it wasn't fair to the other kids with his skills. Even now, he was managing to dodge and weave with all kinds of miraculous tricks that he had never learned during practice.

Damian had passed all the defense and was closing in on the goalie. He was incredible, it was like nothing could stop him. Even the goalie looked nervous as he approached. With a final move, Damian kicked the soccer ball right in the net with it just barely missing the mitts of the goalie.

"Whoo!" You stood up and cheered, unable to contain yourself. "Go Damian! That's my son!" The words passed your lips before you could stop them. Damian wasn't your son, he never referred to you as his mother and you never called him your son before. Damian had a mother, even if she was a terrible one.

You expected Damian to look over at you with a scowl on his lips at your cheer. However, when he locked eyes on you, with his father looking up at you with pride, he couldn't help but beam a smile at you.

Damian ran back to his team, accepting the hi-gives that they were giving him. You might not have been his mother, but hearing you say that he was showed how much you cared about him. It didn't matter if you weren't related by blood, you cared more about him than his real mother did.

You sat back down in your seat with a sheepish look on your face. Bruce grabbed your hand once more, this time playing with your wedding ring. He was just as surprised as you were to call Damian your own child. It had a nice sound to it though, one that he could get used to hearing.

"I'm sorry," You mumbled.

"For what?" Bruce furrowed his eyebrows at your sudden apology.

"Damian isn't my son. Thalia is his mother, I know that," You sighed. Bruce threw his arm around you shoulder and kissed the top of your head. There was no reason for you to feel bad about this. Damian was obviously pleased by your affection, you had nothing to worry about. Yet, you did.

"Let's have our own baby," Bruce suddenly stated. He had adopted so many kids that he always just assumed that you were content with the family you had been given. However, the more he thought about it, the more he realized how much he would love to have a little kid with both your genes in their veins.

"What?" You asked, shocked by his offer. He never spoke of wanting his own kid to raise. Damian was unexpected, he didn't even know about him for over a decade. You always assumed Bruce was just too busy to have an infant to take care of as well.

"Let's have a baby," Bruce said once more. The biggest smile that he had ever seen lit up your face. Your hands grasped the side of his face and you pulled him in for a kiss, not caring that everyone was watching you once more. "I love you, (Y/N)."

"I love you too, Bruce," You grinned. The idea of having your own child with him excited you more than anything else. Taking care of Dick and the others was always something that you loved, but it wasn't the same as having your own child. You never got to see them born or their first steps.

There was no one else in the world that you wanted to have a kid with. Bruce was the love of your life, with his flaws, his crazy life, everything.

"Let's get started on that tonight."

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne one shot #bruce wayne x batmom #batmom #batmom imagines #batmom!reader #batfam #batfam imagine #batfam one shot #damian wayne #dc imagine #dc one shot #dc #fluff

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

I See You, I Know You- and I’m Not Going Anywhere

You're All I've Ever Wanted, All I Want to Know, part 2

Warnings: SMUT! THERE IS LOTS OF SMUT AHEAD!, oral (fem receiving), p in v sexy sex, shitty fiance of reader being shitty, slurs against the french (frog/froggy), angst, LOADS of feels, infidelity, gene mooning over reader to potentially OOC levels, tiny bit of innocence kink referenced, reader gets chatty when horny, untranslated french (bc it’s Gene’s POV so he wouldn’t think process and translate french in his head (let me know if you want me to add them)), unprotected sex (let’s just pretend there’s no risk, yes?), guilt, lots of potty words.

(My fancast for Peter Kelly is Pablo Schreiber but feel free to ignore it.)

Title(s) come from Duet by Penny and Sparrow and Only You by Matthew Perryman Jones

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It had been a relatively calm day in Schoonderlogt. The day was sunny- cold, but sunny- and everyone was taking advantage of the well-deserved break from the frontlines.

Gene was drinking some of the best coffee he’d had in months while watching a handful of Airborne and Army soldiers play some vaguely ruled interpretation of basketball, his eyes darting every so often towards the table a few yards away where you and the other nurses were casually sterilizing the linens and strips of fabric. 

You looked beautiful- your hair loose and your smile radiant as you laughed and joked with your friends. It wasn’t often that all of the company’s nurses were at the same place at the same time, so when the stars aligned and you got to see each other it never failed to bring you joy that would last for days afterward.

Your eyes caught his, and Gene couldn’t help but smile when you shot him a wink.

The merriment didn’t last much longer for you.

While Gene had been lighting a cigarette, he was dimly aware of another Jeep-load of Army men arriving at the mouth of the courtyard, not really concerned with the new arrivals.

Until you screamed.

When Gene and the other Easy men whipped their heads over towards the sound, he saw that someone- some man- had wrapped their arms around you from behind and lifted you off of your feet, a broad smile on the man’s face as he spun you around bodily.

“Froggy!”

Gene hadn’t realized he’d already gotten up and begun rushing for you until he saw Liebgott sprinting past him with balled fists and a fixed jaw. His blood was cold in his veins, heart thrumming anxiously as he catches sight of your pale face when the man sets you down, quickly turning in the man’s embrace and staring up at the grinning intruder.

Everyone comes to a halt when the man grips your bottom and pulls you into him for a deep kiss.

“Hey, Y/N!” Liebgott shouts, Gene watching with angry confusion as you quickly pull out of the kiss but don’t continue to shove the man away. “This guy bothering you?”

With your cheeks blazing, you offer a smile that doesn't reach your eyes, eyes still wide and flickering between Easy and this stranger.

“No,” you manage to say before the man wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you back into him.

“You gonna introduce me, Froggy-girl?”

Gene doesn’t like the way this man is bodily handling you, but what he really doesn’t like is how you seem to be letting him.

You clear your throat before shyly meeting Gene’s eyes.

“Guys, this is Peter Kelly,” you quickly look away from Gene and look to Joe Liebgott. “My fiance.”

You might as well have yanked Gene’s feet from under him.

~

Peter was everything Gene wasn’t: loud and boisterous and gregarious and extroverted, his jovial attitude initially winning over most of the guys.

That approval dissipates the more Peter drinks that night.

For Gene, he’d hated the man instantly. Not only because he was already half in love with you- although that was certainly a contributing factor.

No, Pete lost any respect from Gene the moment he saw the clear hickies hiding just beneath the collar of the man’s shirt. 

One time, when the two of you had been rolling bandages for restocking the soldier’s med-kits, you’d insinuated that Peter had a wandering eye. You hadn’t elaborated, but there had certainly been a tone of sad acceptance in your voice as you’d said it.

Judging by the way your eyes kept lingering on Peter’s throat, Gene knew that you knew exactly what had caused those marks.

It made Gene furious, but for your sake, he kept his seething to a minimum.

You seemed to shrink in on yourself, as if Peter’s presence made you wither from the inside. The more he spoke about you, it was clear to anyone listening that he didn’t respect you. Several times, Peter had referred to your nursing as ‘endearing’, ignoring your reminder that you weren’t doing this as a hobby with a look of faux apology and an admonishment for ‘upsetting your delicate frog-feelings’.

When Guarno had finally taken the bait and asked what all the frog references were about, you’d frowned and excused yourself with a grimace- a glower staining your face when Peter’s arm shoots out to pull you into his lap.

“Well, just look at her face- Doesn’t she look like the poutiest widdle frog?” 

He said this like a praise, Gene’s blood boiling as he watches you glare at a spot on the ground. With a bit of the fire you normally showed, you detangle yourself from his hold and announce that you’re going to refill your canteen- ignoring his childish whine and yelping when he smacks your ass as you leave.

“Also,” Peter says like a secret while hungrily watching you walk away. “Her mama’s second husband was one of those Frenchie types- so sometimes she acts a little spoiled- and all of us used to tell her to stop bein’ so froggy.”

When Peter shoots a wink Gene’s way, Gene gives him a glare before getting up and going the opposite direction you- not wanting to make your life any more difficult than Peter was clearly making it right now.

A little bit later, after Peter and some of the other Army guys invite Easy to join them at their basecamp, Gene overhears you and Peter arguing behind one of the stone buildings.

“I’m basically your husband, how am I supposed to explain to the guys that my girl doesn’t even want me to spend the night with her?”

“Because I know what ‘spending the night’ entails, and that is certainly not happening—”

Gene hears Peter groan, the beer he’d had earlier making him act more immature than before.

“I’m not getting tested. Why can’t you just trust me—?”

“Because you’re not trustworthy!” your voice is shrill, disgust lurking below the surface. “You clearly have been with someone recently, and I refuse to risk my job- my life- because you want to get off.”

Peter scoffs at that, and Gene creeps closer to hear better.

“You’re a nurse, Y/N. it’s not like you’re a medic—”

“Fuck you.”

Gene retreats quickly upon hearing your footsteps, only stopping when he hears a smacking sound. Before he can rush back, he hears you snarl.

“Don’t think you can ever put your hands on me like that ever again- on anyone. Next time, I won’t go easy on you with a slap. Now go away.”

~

With everyone else gone to the Army’s basecamp, Gene joins you in your temporary quarters, where you’re scribbling inventory reports with an angry grip on your pen.

It’s tense- and Gene wonders if you’d somehow known that he’d overheard your spat with Peter earlier. Your shoulders are up by your shoulders, leg bouncing beneath the table as you sit on the seat’s edge.

Gene knows you’re upset, but selfishly he’s upset too and knows he won’t be able to leave you to fester without at least trying to talk to you.

With obvious frustration, you all but throw your finished report towards the pile of completed paperwork by your feet, clearing your throat a few times as you stare at the wall in front of you.

Suddenly you sigh, your head tilting upward as your shoulders slump in defeat.

“Just go ahead and say it, Eugene.”

Gene frowns, staring at the back of your head. “Say what, Y/N—?”

“Whatever you’re trying so hard not to say, I can feel you ruminating all the way from over here.”

He pauses, feeling as if he may be walking into a trap that could make things infinitely worse. 

Screw it.

“You deserve better.”

You scoff sadly, a bitter sound that makes his chest ache in empathy.

“You sure about that?”

“‘Course I am. You deserve someone who doesn’t talk to you like you’re nuthin’. Someone who is kind and good and wants to make you happy—”

“What makes you think that he isn’t all of those things?”

“He’s a pig, Y/N….he is nuthin’ but mean and cruel and you’ve gotta see that—”

“How do you know that I didn’t used to be like him- just like him?”

Now he’s getting angry too, all of his rage from earlier coming back in full force without his permission.

“Stop bein’ contrary jus’ for the sake of it! Jesus, Y/N, you clearly don’t love him, why’re you still married if—?”

You slam down the pen you’ve been tapping aggressively, whirling around to turn the full force of your scowl upon him.

“What makes you think I haven’t tried to end it?!”

Carelessly nudging the chair out of your path, you storm across the room to stand before him and jab your index finger into the center of his chest.

“I hate to break it to you, Eugene, but some women don’t get to change their minds! Some of us could beg until we’re blue in the face and we’ll still be forced to tie ourselves to men who we hate, just because our parents want to reap the benefits of such arrangements!”

Your lip has begun to quiver, eyes shining with unshed tears as you look up at him.

“Some of us don’t get to be happy, don’t get to marry the people we love!”

Guilt makes his stomach feel sour, especially when you bury your face in his shirtfront and bite back a whimper of heartbreak- your breath hot through the layers of clothing as you choke back more cries.

“Hey,” Gene whispers, the anger he’d been feeling sizzling out like a drenched flame. “‘M sorry, Y/N- please don’t cry….”

You allow him to encourage your face away from his chest, taking your face in his hands and brushing the hair out of your face.

You look so defeated, so goddamn hopeless that it almost makes him want to cry, too. 

Unable to bear the sight of you upset for one more moment, Gene interrupts you mid-sob to catch your lips in a reassuring kiss.

It’s rougher than he intended, his desperation to quell your sorrow causing him to pull you into him a bit too quickly and causing your noses to press together uncomfortably for a moment. To his surprise, you don’t make any move to pull away- your hands coming up to grip at the front of his shirt with an anxiousness he hadn’t seen from you in years.

It reminds him of the first time he touched you.

Your lips are slightly trembling as you lean into him to deepen the kiss, and when Gene’s other hand comes up to cup your face he can feel the stick of drying tears on his palm. Seeing how your fiance had possessively gripped your face in his hand earlier had Gene’s blood boiling earlier- the lack of reverence the man had for you painfully clear in the way he spoke to you, the way he seemed to grope at you as if your flesh solely existed for his pleasure.

As if Gene didn't have enough reasons to hate Peter Kelly, the son of a bitch didn’t even appreciate the gift Gene knew you to be.

You were better than any of them, and he was sure that if he were to ask anyone else in Easy they would say the same. And, if the tension between Peter and the rest of the men were anything to go by, the general consensus was that the man didn’t deserve you. How he’d gotten you in the first place was a marvel that Gene couldn’t even begin to fathom.

Right now, all he knew was you, you, you.  

Your hands fisted in his hair offered the most comforting sting of passion, and Gene would be lying if he said that having you so fervent for him didn’t drive him to the brink of insanity. Heightened emotion was something the both of you seemed to have lost throughout this god-awful war, something you’d both had to relinquish in order to survive. 

Any time you showed these sparks of life, Gene felt a warmth in his chest that envied the most golden sunshine.

It reminded him that you were alive and he was alive and there was still a chance for something good to happen after all of this.

All of his thoughts return to you, feeling guilty for reflecting in a moment that demanded- no, deserved all of his attention and gratitude. He could admire you privately after you fell asleep, in his arms.

Right now, he needed to remind you that you were something worthy of worship.  

You whimper against his mouth when he slides his hands up the planes of your back beneath your sweater, breaking away from your lips momentarily to pull the sweater over your head and toss it to the floor. 

“I need you,” you’re whispering, your hands coming to tear at the buttons of his jacket as if it is personally offending you. “I’m so sorry, but I do….Please, Gene! I fucking need you—!”

Gene is quick to shush you, quickly helping you finish divesting him of his jacket so he can swallow your apologies in another toe-curling kiss. Growing up, he’d been taught that marriage was a life-long commitment, that anyone who broke that promise was ungodly or impure.

Of course, he’d also naively believed that people only got married because they were deeply and wholly in love with one another. It wasn’t until he had met you in Toccoa that he’d realized that love sometimes had nothing to do with it, that those sort of things weren't necessarily as clean-cut as he’d been led to believe.

Taking your face in his hands again, he tilts your face up so he can kiss at the warm skin beneath your jaw, liking the way your moan vibrates in your throat as he walks you back to the table you’d been working at and presses your backside against it.  The sound of your open-mouthed panting had him painfully hard already- it’s almost embarrassing how little you have to do to get him like this.

He hadn’t even realized one of your hands had been working at the fastening of his pants until you’ve begun to scratch your nails softly down the skin of his lower stomach, and when his hips jump in surprise he can feel your breath hitch in your throat with heady amusement. When you do it again, he can hear the smile in your exhale.

“Such a perfect cock,” you nearly coo, your touch light as your fingertips brush over the head of him. “Can’t believe how perfect you are….”

You get like this sometimes when you get turned on, Gene has come to learn.- all lust-drunk and babbly as your words switch from thoughtful to stream of consciousness. It’s endearing, so wildly endearing that Gene would go as far as to call this habit cute. 

Cute was the only term you ever showed resistance to, even in jest. Your reaction to the word was so viscerally negative that it had even surprised him- the person who you had frequently insisted knew you the best.

After meeting your fiance and his degrading attempts at ‘praise’, Gene was now able to understand why. 

Your hand was stroking him in earnest now, having used his precum to coat your hand so your movements were smooth and confident. Despite the fact that he’d managed to get your trousers undone and loose around your thighs, Gene hadn’t been able to actually do anything else other than clutch at your hips and gasp into your neck as you rhythmically ruined him.

Normally, this is as far as you two would get- one of you getting the other off with your hands (and sometimes mouths) before someone or something would interrupt the other’s attempt at reciprocation and you’d both have to dive back into your duties to the Company. It was deeply unsatisfying- particularly for Gene because he wasn’t afraid to admit that making you cum wasn’t one of his favorite things to do. Each and every time he didn’t get to return the favor made him feel terribly guilty- like he had somehow exploited your feelings for him.

It made him feel sick. It didn’t matter how many times you insisted that you didn't see it that way, he always was left feeling as if he’d been inexcusably selfish. 

He hated it.

But tonight was different. For once, the two of you weren’t the only medics available for the dozens of men who seemed to have a near-constant stream of injuries and festering wounds. The Army was there with their fourteen medics and nurses and the majority of Easy company had gone to visit their camp in order to mooch some of their beer and US-funded entertainment.

No one would be interrupting his time with you tonight. 

Not even your fiance, who was no doubt dishonoring his vows of fidelity right now.

It didn’t have to stop. He didn’t want it to stop.

“Wait, Minette,” Gene chokes out, reaching down to stop your sinfully-sweet touch before he lost himself in it. “Jus’ wait a second…..”

You make a sound of disappointment in your throat, and when he pulls back enough to look at you he can see a small pout on your lips- as if he’s deprived you of something. The sight makes him feel lightheaded, the implications almost enough to….

Focus, focus.

“You were so close,” your voice holds an undertone of frustration, your other hand attempting to sneak down and finish what the other had started. When he takes that wrist as well, your eyebrows furrow almost comically. “What are you doing, Eugene—?”

You cut yourself off when he suddenly drops to his knees, hands hooking in the waist of your pants and underwear as he does so and shucking them down to your ankles. Your eyes are wide now, cheeks flushed and eyebrows high in surprise.

Keeping his gaze on you, he leans forward enough to press a kiss to your freshly bared thigh. By the time he moves to give the other the same treatment, he can see that your eyes are becoming soft once more.

“I wanna take your boots off,” Gene says as evenly as he can, electricity crackling in his veins at the smell of you. “Can I do that, Y/N?”

At your hurried nod, Gene kisses a ‘good girl’ to your skin quickly before bowing his head to unlace your boots with shaking fingers. He’s thankful for the time it takes him to do so- it gives him the opportunity to get his thoughts together and regain some semblance of control over himself.

Maybe one day he could be impulsive when it came to you, when neither of you had the threat of death hanging over your heads like a heavy cloud.

But now, with each moment commonly understood as having the potential to be your last, Gene couldn’t afford to leave you as anything other than satisfied…..worshipped.

By the time he has your boots removed and one of your legs freed from your trousers, he wants nothing more than to make you come apart beneath him. Because of him.

Looking back up at you, he can see that you’ve unbuttoned your shirt and thrown it open so he can see your nipples harden beneath your once white t-shirt- the weather was far too cold to consider undressing to complete nudity. Your mouth is pink and swollen, shiny from your tongue having recently darted out to wet them.

For a moment, Gene is stuck- too awed by your beauty to risk moving and missing a moment of it. Your heated whisper of his name is the only thing that shakes him free, and he can’t help but lean into your touch when you card a hand through his hair again.

Bringing his rifle-roughened hands to your knees, he purposefully slides them up your thighs until he can rub his thumbs over your hip bones. When he presses on them lightly, you follow his touch and perch yourself on the edge of the table with a quiet curse. The action parts your lower lips slightly, a movement he is quick to chase with his mouth. 

He wastes no time shouldering his way between your thighs, using his hands to guide them over his shoulders as he starts to lick gently at the seam of your sex.

“Fuck,” you whimper, your other hand coming down to scratch lightly at his scalp. “Fuck, Eugene….you don’t have to—ohh!”

Your unnecessary reassurance is lost in a sigh of arousal the moment his thumbs open you up more for him so he can circle the tip of his tongue around your clit before laving it more purposefully. You always tried to reassure him that using his mouth on you wasn’t necessary, clearly not accustomed to having a partner who enjoyed doing so.

Not that Gene was an expert, not by any means.

But, between having mapped out your sex with his fingers and the limited experience he’d had before the war paired with his- er, considerable knowledge of the human anatomy- he knew enough to take out most of the guesswork.

He hasn’t had many opportunities to go down on you- three on the boat ride to England, five times during your time in Alderbourne, twice since dropping into Normandy. You’d dropped to your knees for him far more than that, and now that he had more perspective on what your relationship with Peter had probably entailed Gene was determined to make up for each and every indulgence you’d offered him.

The tremor of your thighs tells him that you’re getting close, and he can tell by the way the muscles of your stomach clench beneath his greedy palm that you’re starting to have a hard time keeping yourself up as you watched him devour you. He hadn’t realized how vigorously he’d been attending to you, too lost in your taste and smell to hear the interspersing chant of his name being showered upon him as praise spilled from your lips once more.

With a groan, brings you to orgasm, refusing to cease his suckling despite the blooming ache in his jaw. It isn’t until your foot raises to press at his shoulder that he allows you to push him away, and he can tell that he’s exhausted you by the way you fall back and writhe while your release works itself through your bloodstream.

“Oh my God, Gene,” you keep repeating, chest jumping with adrenaline. “Why are you….how are you so good?”

He chuckles at that, his cheeks darkening at the praise. Gene watches as your eyes skate down his body to look at his cock, swallowing audibly before looking into his eyes once more. Before he can assure you that he understands if you don’t want to keep going, you carefully sit up and look up at him bashfully, biting the inside of your lower lip and bringing your hand to his cheek.

The look you’re giving him starts to make him nervous. He’s about to ask you what’s wrong when you clear your throat and tell him.

“I...I don’t know if I’m good at it.”

Gene frowns, searching your face for clarification as to what you’re trying to say.

“What’re you mean, ma cherie? What’s got you so worried?”

Your shoulders nearly slump as you sigh, giving him a weak smile as you clear your throat once more. 

“At sex, Gene. I’m worried—I don’t know how to make it good for you...”

With a shake of his head, he brings his crooked index finger under your chin to stop you from hanging your head in embarrassment. You look so lost right now it breaks his heart.

“Minette, you are the best thing to ever happen to me.”

When you open your mouth to rebuke his statement he’s quick to kiss you, using his free hand to bring yours from his cheek to press against the middle of his chest. It takes you a moment, but you do kiss him back, inhaling sharply as he nips carefully at your bottom lip.

Pulling back, Gene traces his thumb over your lips and gives you a soft smile.

“Never worry about me, ‘cause there isn’t a damn thing you could do that wouldn’t make it ‘good for me’.”

You narrow your eyes at that. “I doubt that’s true—”

Gene snorts and shakes his head admonishingly. “Doubt all you want, darlin’. Don’t make any of what I said change one bit.”

You look at him for a bit, eyes softening again and your hand smoothing down his chest with a hum. He thinks you’re going to require further reassurance until he watches as you purposefully part your mouth enough for his thumb to slip between your lips. The sight of you watching him paired with the drag of your tongue along the pad of his finger goes straight to his cock, reminding him of just how hard he’s become.

When you release him with a gentle nip to his fingertip, Gene stares at you in disbelief.

“Jésus Christ, cherie,” he can’t help but murmur. “Vous ne jouez pas juste…”

You tilt your head slightly, clearly aware of what he’s said but seeming to understand the gist of it.

“Show me what you like,” you whisper, scooting your hips to the very edge of the table and brushing your lips against his. “I’ve wanted you for so long….”

Gene kisses you as he slips inside of you, your gasp of pleasure sweet on his tongue. Unprompted, you bring your legs up to find some purchase around his hips and squeak as you take all of him in at once.

Bon Dieu, tu te sens comme le paradis….

You are clutching at him, your hands dancing for the best place to grip him before settling on one arm hooking around his neck and your other hand bracing at his left bicep. It’s an awkward position- probably because neither of you had ever tried to fuck on a table before- so Gene tries to get past the near blinding pressure building in his loins and wraps one of his arms around your hips to slightly adjust the bend in your spine.

“Shit, I’m sorry—!” you being to apologize before he cuts you off.

“Non, non, non, non Minette….just let me try and—”

You both cry out as he suddenly ruts deep, your nails digging into his flesh through his shirts you gape up at him in surprise.

“Oh, oh!”

“‘S that okay?” he grits out, resisting every fiber in his body that is begging for him to piston his hips and just fuck you already. You nod quickly, rolling your hips experimentally and kissing him quickly when he keens before he can stop himself. Gene grits his teeth at the sweetness you’re showing him. You’re just so good. “I’ll stop if it’s—”

“More than okay….do that again- please don’t stop!”

There’s something so…. overwhelming about the way you’re looking at him, with your eyes wide and lips parted. The whimper that comes from the back of your throat at his next thrust combined with your bewildered expression makes you appear so beautifully innocent that Gene momentarily forgets how to breathe. Maybe innocent is the wrong word. 

Honest. Yes, that was it.

It was your honesty that was overwhelming him, the lack of theater in your reactions to him and his touch so genuine and open that he almost didn’t know what to do with himself. Having you- the most glorious creature he’d ever met, would ever meet- gaze at him as if he’s hung the stars in the sky was just so bewitching and unexpected, particularly because of how highly he regarded you.

Your eyes have a glossy look to them, almost as if you were drunk. Rather than the babble he’d anticipated hearing from you, you’ve gone almost silent aside from the sighs and gasps of pleasure that accompany each piston of his hips into your tight velvet heat. Head lolled back, you watch him from under heavy lids while meeting his thrusts with careful pitches of your own, your eyelashes fluttering in response to his punched-out breath washing over your face.

If he didn’t know any better, Gene would say that you had undersold your experience on purpose. You had to know what you were doing to him.

How devastatingly close you were to unmanning him.

“Is it good, Ma Chatounette?” he can hear himself ask, his head already swimming with the initial signs of orgasm. “Am I making you feel good?”

You nod shallowly, mouth opening to reply but no sound coming out. The hand you’ve braced on his arm now has started to claw, and he can feel you tighten around him. 

You’re close, too.

“Please,” you nearly weep, your hips starting to rut against him. “Please please please please—!”

“D'accord,”’ he nods, taking your words as permission to allow his body to chase that fire that’s been burning him alive for quite some time now. “Je te donnerai ce dont tu as besoin, chérie. Je vais le rendre meilleur….”

Gene moans as you allow him to put a hand on your shoulder and press you back so you’re laying back on the table, your back arching sinfully as you mewl for him. Your legs tighten around his waist, and he feels his jaw go slack at the sight of your rolling hips coming to meet him thrust for thrust. You’ve begun to chant his name again, the sheen of sweat on your skin making you look like some carnal divinity sent to him for the sole purpose of ruining him.

And who was he to deny an angel?

Your arms wrap around him as he hunches over to brace his elbows by your shoulders, pressing your hot cheek against his - nibbling at his earlobe as his rhythm becomes punishing.

“Ma ruine, mon ange, je ne veux jamais être sans toi—”

“Come for me- please, please, I’ve never felt so good—”

It’s the catch of his pelvis against your clit that snaps both of you into oblivion, Gene’s vision going white as he clutches at whatever parts of you he can get his hands on, choking on his own breath as the bite of your fingernails adds the perfect amount of pain to his release. He’s aware of you crying out in release, but it’s swirled into the sound of blood racing in his ears as your tightening walls milk him for all he’s worth.

As his vision returns to him, he laboriously removes his head from the curve of your shoulder to look at you, his heart freezing midbeat when he sees tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Y/N?”

You’re shaking your head, hands finding his cheeks to bring his mouth to yours so you can kiss him syrupy-slow, the action throwing him for a loop.

“I’m happy,” you insist between kisses. “It was so good…. I-I don’t know why I’m crying, I’m sorry—”

Gene calms instantly, kissing you back and sighing into your mouth.

He understood what you were trying to say, knew exactly what you were experiencing. It made him stupidly happy that he wasn’t the only one overwhelmed by this….connection you two had.

He’d never had a lover who had reciprocated his feelings so fully. Then again, he’d never felt this with anyone else before, either.

“Don’t be sorry, Minette….I feel it, too.”

It takes the two of you a while, but you do eventually manage to move to the small mattress in the corner of the room, tangling yourselves together beneath the moderate warmth of the blankets and coats you’d scavenged earlier while avoiding Peter.

You must’ve thought he was asleep, because he has a feeling you wouldn’t have dared to say the words aloud.

“I love you,” you whispered against his shoulder in the darkness. “However terrible that makes me, I’m in love with you Eugene Roe.”

Gene is thankful for the pitch-black surrounding you. That way, he can allow himself to smile without fear of you seeing it.

Je suis amoureux de toi depuis des années, (Y/N).  J'ai hâte de te le dire un jour.

But for now, this was enough.

~ ~ ~

(*hides under covers for the rest of the day* OK THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME THIS HAS BEEN MY FIC DO WITH IT WHAT YOU WILL)

Taglist: @mrseasycompany​ @itswormtrain @mrsalwayswrite​ @happyveday​ @sunsetmando​ @ricksmorty​ @liebgotttme​

#band of brothers imagines #band of brothers x reader #eugene roe x reader #eugene roe imagines #problematicfavesareproblematic

[sunnysidekit]

Summary: All is fair in love and war. And boxing, too, apparently.

Pairing: Ben ‘Benny’ Miller x F!Reader (no y/n, reader’s boxing nickname is ‘Nyx’)

Warnings: Language, mentions of violence.

Word count: 2.2k

My masterlist

Everyone likes a good mystery. Don’t even try to deny it; whether you like Sherlock Holmes or if you’re more of an Agatha Christie fan, none of us can really escape the allure of a good conundrum every now and again. Some people can stare in the face of their mystery and not recognize it for quite some time, while others can practically smell them from a mile away. Ben Miller is part of, well, both groups.

Personally, he likes mysteries and surprises and such, but his army days have taught him all of those are a bad thing. A mission can collapse after the smallest detail changes, after all. Sometimes those missions are called off; other than the fact that he can’t do his job when that happens, he’s not really bothered by it. But when something catches him and his team by surprise during a mission and they have to get on with it anyway, things tend to… let’s say, not end well for everyone. And that’s gently put, of course.

Which is why when he’s at home between deployments, he likes his simple habits. They provide joy and adrenaline, and boy does he need both to function well. One of those habits is boxing. He likes it because of its simplicity; you punch your opponent, they punch you back, and so on and so forth until one of you stops. He’s good at it, too. Will always says that’s because he practiced a lot on him when they were younger. Ben says he’s the one with the good genes. Their mother was a fighter, too, after all.

The other reason he likes boxing is because your opponents always try to surprise you with a little mystery move. It’s fun for him to figure out how to respond in a split second, and the rush he gets when he does so successfully is almost unparalleled. Today, though, the only real surprise is the sudden appearance of his very own mystery. And, hey, you might know where this one’s going: it appears in the shape of a woman…

Benny whoops when he kicks open the door to his old high school gym’s changing room, but it sounds a bit less enthusiastic than it did after his last match. He knew he should have listened to Will and gone somewhere, anywhere else than back to Red Feather Lakes, but he’s not about to mention it when he can already imagine the smug grin spreading across his brother’s face.

He won, that’s what counts. And it’s not that bad to have done so after what is sure to be America’s easiest boxing match. That just means he’s good at it. The crowd went just as wild as it usually does, even though there were significantly less attendants than two weeks ago. Somehow, none of the arguments he tells himself really convinces him.

“All right!” Catfish says triumphantly from behind him. “Looks like all that training paid off, didn’t it?”

“Yeah…” Benny trails off as his slightly blurry vision comes back into focus. There’s someone sitting on one of the benches, someone he doesn’t know. It’s a woman; her aura tells him she’s all business, but her clothes tell him she also definitely plays. “Who’re you?”

The woman doesn’t respond immediately; only after half a minute of casually typing away on her phone does she look up and meet his eye. “Name’s Val,” she says, her facial expression one he can’t quite place. “And I’m about to ask you something you won’t be able to ignore.”

It’s important to notice that Benny isn’t particularly patient in his post-fight high, something Frankie knows very well. He becomes a bomb of electric energy that, once set off, won’t stop until every single muscle in his body gives out. And he’s about to be set off.

“Val, is it?” Frankie smiles at the woman, swiftly moving his friend to the showers. “Why don’t we talk while he cools down, hm?”

“You’re not the one I want to ask a question,” she says calmly, not taking her eyes off Benny. “You’re a Delta boy, aren’t you? I can see it in the way you fight. It takes regular boxers years to develop such a sensitive, quick response capability.”

“Yeah, and?”

“And that makes me think that oaf out there’s a long way from even thinking of acquiring your skillset. It’s impressive how easily you had him on the mat.”

“Ma’am, if you want an autograph-” Frankie tries, sensing the ticking time-bomb next to him is about to blow, but Val immediately interjects.

“Which is precisely what caught my eye. These men are no challenge for you anymore, but I think I know someone who could be. Should you accept their invitation, that is.”

“Do I know him?” Benny narrows his eyes at her, trying by god to figure out her angle in all of this. She smirks and closes her eyes a few seconds longer than a normal blink would take; touchy subject, maybe? Or perhaps he’s right and he has seen the guy before.

“You might have seen them around, sure. But I doubt you’d remember them.”

“So, what? I say yes and I’ll fight your friend here next week or something?” Benny snatches his towel from his bag and snaps it against the wall in annoyance.

“I’m afraid my friend’s a little more… complex than that, Mr. Miller.”

“Hey, uh, no thanks,” Frankie cuts in, waving his hands as if to dissipate the words in the air. “He doesn’t do illegal fights.”

“He’d have plausible deniability,” Val says with a slight tilt of her head, then turns back to face Benny and hands him a business card. "Anyway, the choice is yours, Mr. Miller, not your friend’s. I don’t need an answer right now. Do take your time to think it over, sleep on it a bit. Once you’re a little more comfortable with the idea, give this number a call. I’ve got a feeling they’d very much like to bruise that pretty face of yours until it looks like a Monet.”

She gets up from the bench and walks out of the changing room without looking back. Benny slips the business card into his jacket pocket, something that catches Frankie’s attention.

“Don’t do it, Ben,” he sighs. “I’m serious. You could get arrested, get your ass thrown in jail. You’ll get kicked out of the army.”

“Stop whining, Fish. I’m not gonna do it anyway.”

Despite explicitly telling Frankie he wouldn’t do it, here he is, standing outside his local gym with his phone in one hand and the curious looking business card in the other. There’s not a lot of info on it, but, hey, what did he expect? That an illegal streetfighter would publish their own name, address and contact info on a bunch of business cards?

There are only two things printed on the grey little card: Nyx, which must be the fighter’s nickname or something, and a phone number. It’s been in his jacket pocket ever since he left his old high school, but it felt like it’s been burning a hole in it the entire time. It’s exactly as Val said it would be. He can’t get her proposition out of his mind, no matter how hard he tries.

She’s right about the competition. They’re no match for him, not the ones here in Red Feather Lakes. And, sure, he could always just sign up for something three towns over, but it wouldn’t matter much. How she found out he’s in the Delta Force is beyond him, though. It’s policy not to broadcast such a position if you want to stay in it. Maybe she has connections in the army…

That’s another thing; his place in the army. It would be gone as soon as he gets caught, and it’s not like he’s got great job prospects waiting for him back home when all he’s done for the past ten years is train to get where he is now. No college degree, no other jobs to list on his resume, no wealthy parents to fall back on… His whole life would go up in smoke.

But it does entice him. He technically does illegal things for his job all the time, and the matches he engages in when he has some down time aren’t really scratching that one particular itch anymore. Let’s face it: one phone call can’t hurt, right? He can still refuse, say no, put his foot down. Maybe even convince this guy to go legit.

He pushes the little green receiver on the screen, then puts his phone to his ear. The dial tone beeps three times before someone picks up. He opens his mouth to say something, but the person on the other side is quicker.

“Ben Miller, I presume?” It’s… a woman. But not Val. “Val told me you’d be giving me a call.”

“And you’re…” he quickly flips over the card just to be sure, “…Nyx, then?”

“Got it in one. I do so hate it when Val forgets to mention my name in the initial interview.”

Benny huffs out a confused laugh. “Interview?”

“You aced it, by the way. Not saying too much is best when talking with my… let’s call her my associate,” the woman says. Her voice is softer than Val’s, and a lot smoother. It sounds like what taking a sip of hot chocolate feels like. “Shall we get on with it and discuss the rules of this little arrangement?”

“I don’t-- rules? I haven’t even given you an answer.”

“Oh, don’t fool yourself into thinking you’ve got any restraint left,” she chuckles. “You want to tell me you called just to say hello to a total stranger?”

“No, but-” Benny splutters, but he doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

“Then your answer, even if you haven’t given it to me yet, is as clear as the Pope’s Holy Water. Now then, the rules. In order to keep you in the warm, sunny, light side of the law, I’ll arrange a time and place. All you have to do is show up.”

He can’t help but grin. She’s clearly on top of this whole cloak and dagger operation, that much he can tell. Who she is, though, he can’t say. Not yet. Maybe he’ll recognize her when he sees her. “What about my gear?”

“Do take it with you, please. I’m not a charity, giving away free gear to any John, Charles or Mary.”

“All right,” he says, clicking his tongue. “Anything else?”

“Val will pick you up and get you back home safely, so don’t worry about the whole transport situation.”

“This doesn’t sound very... safe. I mean, you do realize this sounds a lot like kidnapping, right? Or murder, or something like that?”

The woman laughs. It sounds like the melody to a song he knows but has never heard at the same time. It’s the kind of laugh that makes everyone around laugh as well. “Why would I tell you all this and then still proceed with it if my intent was malicious? You can easily call the cops and have my dear Val arrested for whatever crime you think me capable of, and that wouldn’t be very good for my business.”

“Fair enough.”

“Speaking of Val, she’ll pick you up next Wednesday at nine.”

Benny kicks a piece of gravel onto the street next to him and swallows away the last of his pride and dignity. “All right, I guess I’ll see you then.”

“Good lord, I can’t believe Val forgot to tell you that, too,” she laughs again, then clears her throat and continues a lot more seriously. “I only dance in the dark. Have a good night, Mr. Miller.”

Usually, waiting takes ages, but not this time. For Benny the rest of the week practically flew by him and before he knows it, it’s already Wednesday. He went training with Frankie just like any other week, only this time he accidentally forgot to mention his fight with Nyx. He told himself that the less people know about his, uh, date, the better, but he also knows Frankie would have immediately pulled the plug.

Val arrives at nine o’clock sharp in the front seat of a cab, which is no surprise. The drive that follows doesn’t take very long; he also isn’t blindfolded or anything like they do in the movies. The car stops in front of an old warehouse in the east side of town, and that’s when Val turns around in her seat and very concisely tells him to get his ass out of her cab himself, since she’s not going to hold open the door for him.

Instead of driving off, Val simply pulls the keys from the ignition and tosses them to him, calling it his ‘insurance policy’. Then she waves her hand as if to tell him to hurry up and get inside, which he promptly does.

Well, that whole dancing in the dark reference seems to have been meant literally; as soon as the warehouse door closes behind him, an inky, suffocating darkness envelopes Benny and makes a shiver run up and down his spine. He takes a few tentative steps, holding out his arms and moving them around to make sure he doesn’t hit anything while he walks.

Suddenly, a voice calls out to him from a bit further into the sole, big room this warehouse seems to consist of.

“Good evening, Mr. Miller. Let’s get swinging, shall we?”

A/N: Hey there, you made it to the end! Thanks for reading through the whole thing, I hope you liked it. If you’ve got any suggestions or spotted a mistake or two, don’t hesitate to tell me so that I might fix it. I hope you’ll stick around for round two!

#ben miller x you #ben miller x y/n #ben miller x reader #benny miller #frankie morales #triple frontier #garrett hedlund #garrett hedlund fic #garrett hedlund fanfic #my writing

[erin-bo-berin]

Thing 1 and Thing 2

MASTERLIST

This was a requested fic of Garvez meeting Spencer’s twins for the first time and oh MAN did this fic make me want to incoporate Garvez more in future Spencer fics. I hope this incredibly fluffy, daddy Spencer fic will brighten your Monday. Happy reading!

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: G (fluff)

Word Count: 2,420

“Out of my way, I’ve got babies to see!”

You laughed, hearing the outburst of your friend Penelope Garcia coming from the living room. 

You grabbed the dirty diaper you’d just changed and threw it out, picking up the cooing, wriggling baby off the changing table.

Two weeks ago, you and your husband Spencer welcomed two little bundles of joy into your lives. A set of fraternal twins, fondly known to his work family as the Reid Twins, had come into the world in the middle of the night.

Thankfully, with no complications you had been fortunate to avoid a cesarean and were able to deliver both vaginally.

At 3:33 a.m. Spencer Alexander Reid—Alex for short—had come into the world with a powerful cry. All 5 pounds 8 ounces of him was perfect.

Eight minutes later, his sister Abrielle Jade Reid—Abbie for short—followed. She was the quieter one, taking a few moments to begin to cry and with less volume than her brother. She was 5 pounds 3 ounces of perfection, as well.

Spencer’s coworkers had been dying to meet the babies, Penelope Garcia being the most eager. Spencer had refused you any visitors for at least two weeks. Labor had been rough, even though it wasn’t a C-Section, you’d had a lot of pain and newborn twins were definitely a challenge. Finally though, Spencer gave the green light for visitors and of course Garcia had to be the first. 

You walked out to the living room, carrying Alex in your arms. There on the couch was Penelope and her boyfriend, another coworker of hers and Spencer’s, Luke Alvez.

It was no surprise that she’d already snatched Abbie from Spencer. You chuckled, greeting them.

“Hey guys.”

Penelope looked up, hearts in her eyes. You could tell that from across the room.

“Is that Alex? Let me have him too.”

You laughed, handing Alex to her as well.

“It’s like double the love! Double the cuteness!”

“She may have a brain aneurysm over all the cute,” Luke laughed.

“Y/N, you make the most beautiful babies,” she said, in awe as she stared down at them.

“Hey!” Spencer protested from across the room, “I helped too.”

“Yes but you’re already a pretty boy, your kids were gonna be beautiful regardless. Besides, Y/N carried them for the last eight months. I’m giving her some much needed credit.”

Spencer held his hands up in surrender, smiling. It would do no good to argue with Garcia.

“Keep an eye on her, she might try to slip one out with her when we leave,” Luke joked.

“I would if I could,” she beamed, “I claim babysitting rights.”

Garcia looked at you knowingly and you grinned.

“You will always be our first choice of babysitter,” you chuckled.

“I want to hold one of them, if that’s okay,” Luke said.

“Yeah, of course,” you nodded, picking up Alex out of Penelope’s arms.

“Do you even know how to hold a baby?” Garcia asked, brow quirked.

“No, but it can’t be that hard, can it?”

“It’s really not,” you assured, “But just don’t be afraid to hold onto them tightly because they squirm.”

You placed Alex in Luke’s arms and he held him awkwardly.

“Don’t be nervous. They can sense when you’re nervous and uncomfortable,” you said.

“Support his head!” Penelope said, “You’re squishing him.”

“No I’m not, look. He’s happy,” Luke grinned.

Alex’s hands were curled into tiny fists, resting on either sides of his face as he gave a big yawn.

“They’re a little milk drunk right now,” you laughed, “I made sure to feed them before you came over so they wouldn’t be as cranky.”

Alex’s eyes opened, staring at Luke, his brows creased as if confused.

“Yeah you don’t know that face, do you?” Penelope cooed to him, “That’s uncle Luke and I’m auntie Penelope.”

She tickled one of his feet with her free hand.

“These kids are going to be so spoiled by you alone, Garcia,” Spencer said.

“Of course! It comes with the territory of being an auntie,” she scoffed.

Abbie stretched and wriggled in Garcia’s arms, beginning to fuss.

“Oh I’m sorry, sweetie,” she cooed, repositioning Abbie in her arms, “I wasn’t paying any attention to you and that’s not cool, is it?”

“Dude, how the heck did you manage twins?” Luke asked, incredulously.

“Actually,” Spencer began, but you interrupted him.

“Don’t get him started. I asked him the same thing a few months ago and ended up learning more about sperm than I ever thought I’d know.”

“Hey, you asked,” Spencer shrugged.

Alex gurgled in Luke’s arms and he looked up, wide eyed.

“What’s wrong? Is he okay?”

“Relax,” Garcia side eyed him, “He’s just making baby noises.”

“What is it with men and panicking at their every sound?” you asked, flabbergasted.

“I feel like there’s a story behind this,” Garcia looked just as amused as she sounded.

“Oh, there is.”

You sat down in one of the arm chairs across from them, ready to tell your story. Spencer already looked sheepish before you even opened your mouth.

“A couple of weeks ago, when they were only a day or two old, I had finally gotten them to sleep and had just gotten to sleep myself when apparently one of them made some sort of noise. Spencer practically pounces on me, afraid something is wrong with one of them. They were literally just sleeping.”

Penelope cackled, Luke looked amused and Spencer looked even more sheepish, if that was possible.

“What did you tell him?” she asked.

“Well in my defense, I was sleep deprived, sore as hell from childbirth and cranky so I told him that they were sleeping and to go back to bed before I knocked him out with my fist.”

This time both Luke and Garcia died laughing.

“Hey, so I was worried! They’re my first kids. It’s not like they come with instructions,” Spencer protested.

“Ah man, that’s hilarious,” Luke grinned.

“Hey Spence, remember when you were so terrified to hold Henry when he was born?” Garcia asked.

“No way. Really?” You looked from Garcia to Spencer, curious.

You hadn’t met Spencer until five years ago. After dating for two years, you got married. So most of his early days at the BAU were stories to be told to you.

You loved Jennifer Jareau’s sons, Michael and Henry. Spencer, of course, was their godfather. He was amazing with them and loved those kids like they were his own, so you knew he’d be an amazing dad. It was just hard to believe there’d been a time when he was actually afraid to hold a baby. 

You and Spencer had been dating about a year when JJ’s second born, Michael, had arrived. You clearly remembered Spencer holding him with no issue. Apparently, he’d come a long way.

“Oh yeah, JJ put him in Spence’s arms and he looked like a fish out of water, he didn’t know what to do. Ironically, he was a natural and Henry was such a laid back baby,” she answered.

“Dude, I’m telling you, your genes are strong,” Luke commented, looking back and forth between the twins, “They look exactly like you.”

“Unfortunate, isn’t it?” Spencer teased.

You hit his stomach lightly.

“They’re adorable, hush.”

“Never said they weren’t,” Spencer beamed.

“How do you guys tell them apart?” Luke questioned.

Garcia stared at him blankly before turning to look at you.

“You see what I have to deal with?”

You couldn’t help it, that made you laugh. You were still partially giggling as you tried to answer him.

“Alvez, they’re fraternal twins. Besides, one’s a boy and one’s a girl?”

“Yes, I realize that, but right now they both have short, fuzzy hair, wrinkles and squirm. They look exactly alike. If it wasn’t for the pink and blue clothes, I wouldn’t know who was who without taking their diaper off.”

“Don’t worry,” Garcia assured you, “When I babysit them, he’s not touching them.”

“I’m just saying! Spence, help me out here,” Luke pleaded.

“You’re on your own for this one,” he smirked, “Besides, when they’re your own kids, you can tell who is who. There’s actually plenty of accounts of mothers who have said they can tell their identical twins apart from as early as the day they were born.”

“So in hindsight, let’s just hope you don’t have twins when you two have kids,” you said.

“Oh no. No kids for a long time. Between Henry, Michael, Roxy and now these two, we’ve got our hands full,” replied Luke.

“I’m definitely going to be getting my allotted baby snuggles and cuteness in for a while with these two,” Penelope grinned, playing with Abbie’s hand.

“Oh my goodness,” she suddenly looked up at you, “We’ve been talking all about the babies and I haven’t even had the chance to ask about you. How are you, mommy?”

You grinned, appreciating Garcia’s concern for you.

“Sleep deprived. Ice packs are a wonder right now.”

Garcia nodded, “That was JJ’s recommendation, I remember that.”

“All in all, pretty good. They’re quite laid back. But man, when they’re hungry they’re little terrors. They want food now.”

“Sounds like dad,” Luke quipped with a smirk.

“What? I’m not like that!” Spencer protested.

“Spence, you get hangry. You kinda are,” Garcia nodded.

Just then, Abbie started to wail.

“Well that’s my cue,” you said, moving to stand up.

“No ma’am. You rest,” Garcia ordered, “It feels like she needs a diaper change. I got this. You. Stay.”

She pointed her finger at you like an owner teaching its dog to stay.

“Yes ma’am,” you grinned, sitting back.

“We’ll be back,” she said, Abbie’s cries fading as they disappeared down the hallway.

“Would you like a beer, Luke?” you asked.

“I thought you didn’t drink?” Luke glanced at Spencer questionly.

“I don’t,” he confirmed, “Doesn’t mean I don’t keep stock for our guests though.”

You were aiming to get one from the kitchen, when this time it was Spencer who ordered you to sit.

“Okay, okay I get the picture guys,” you shook your head, amused, but grateful.

“You need to rest anyway. Your body is healing, Y/N, let it.”

Spencer kissed your cheek.

“Just relax. You’ve got help right now anyway, take advantage of it.”

You nodded and settled back as you watched the two men—plus Alex, still in Luke’s arms—disappear into the kitchen.

•

Spencer opened the fridge, grabbing a bottle of beer for Luke. It was one of his buddy’s favorite brands. 

Luke noticed and grinned big.

“You know me well.”

Before he could hand the drink to Luke, Alex started fussing.

“Oh. Nope, nope. Once they start crying, they go straight back to mommy or daddy,” Luke said, passing him back to Spencer.

Spencer smiled, settling Alex against his chest. Alex’s tiny fist laid against Spencer’s throat, his head comfortably nestled on his chest. With the other hand, he handed the beer to Luke. He took it with an appreciative thank you.

“So, wow. You’re a dad now. I mean I knew you’d make a great dad, it’s just weird, now that they’re here.”

“I know,” Spencer smiled, looking down at Alex, almost asleep on his chest.

He ran a hand over the baby soft tufts of deep brown hair that he’d been born with and kissed him on the head. There really was nothing like the feel and the smell of a new baby. It was a slight mixture of formula—or breast milk, depending on the situation—baby soap and baby powder wrapped up with the smell of sunshine. Spencer realized how crazy that sounded, but maybe it was just the overwhelming happiness and probably exhaustion that made him think of that.

His newborn twins had the softest skin too. Their tiny hands and feet still slightly wrinkled and pink from birth, something that was slowly turning normal the more they were out of the womb and in the world. Their cheeks were so smooth and it always amazed him when he ran a finger over them, stroking them as they slept or as they looked up at him. Their heads, more normal shaped than coned now, due to birth, had the downy soft hair that only adults could wish for. It was the perfect place to kiss them repeatedly, whether it was in comforting them or just to express his love for them.

“It’s so different when they’re still hiding behind layers of skin, fat and muscle. Still hiding from the world, even if their presence is known,” Spencer chuckled.

“Are you doing good then? Adapting okay?” Luke asked.

“It’s a change, especially with two, but I love it. I’m telling you, you and Garcia should at least have one someday. It’s such an amazing feeling watching your child, or in my case, kids,” he paused, grinning, “Come into the world. Then having them peer up at you when they finally open their eyes long enough to check things out. Their little hands wrapped around your finger so tightly as if they’re afraid you’re gonna go somewhere.”

Luke smiled.

“Yeah, you’ve definitely embraced the whole thing, I can tell.”

“Watch out, by next week I’ll be in a daddy and me group,” Spencer joked.

“Touché,” Luke raised his bottle, taking another swing of beer, “You know the team is gonna be all over these little ones when they meet them.”

“Well, at least there’s a lot of helping hands,” Spencer said, moving towards the swinging door.

“You got that right.”

Spencer and Luke left the kitchen, heading towards the living room when they were stopped by Garcia.

She shushed them.

“If you dare wake her up, I’ll come after both of you,” she threatened.

Spencer peered over Penelope’s head and saw Y/N sprawled across the arm chair, head in her hand, fast asleep.

“Here, let me take him too. I was going to take them to the nursery and hang out with them there so she can sleep. Come on, Luke,” Garcia motioned first him to follow her.

“I’ll be right there,” Spencer said.

He waited until they walked off before tiptoeing into the living room, grabbing a blanket. He gently laid it over her before kissing her head.

“Sweet dreams, baby girl.”

He silently left his wife sleeping and headed to the nursery, back to his friends and his two little bundles of joy. 

It was then he couldn’t help but think just how lucky he really was.

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#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid gifs #spencer reid gif #spencer reid fics #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #daddy spencer #dr spencer reid gifs #dr spencer reid gif #dr spencer reid imagine #dr spencer reid smut #dr spencer reid fluff #dr spencer reid fic #dr spencer reid fics #Dr Reid #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds gif #criminal minds gifs #criminal minds characters #criminal minds fic #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

The gang on their wedding days

[Been meaning to post this one for a while — since I’m applying to get married today, now seems like the time.]

Jake steps into the room like a child wandering into his parents’ dinner party.  His bow tie is askew, seams of his jacket misaligned for all that it’s a custom-tailored tuxedo.  If the buttons of his shirt aren’t one hole off from their intended placement, they still manage to convey that impression from across the room.

Rachel feels a rush of affection for him, her first best friend.  The boy who’d run and fought and splashed through mud with her, back before adults started telling her to be careful of her dress and him to be careful of her.  Only he could show up to his own wedding looking like he’s ready to be expelled at any moment.  Only Jake.

And yes, she gets mushy at weddings.  Sue her.

Tom steps up next to Jake, far more elegant in an off-the-rack suit.  Some people actually got the fashionable genes in this family.

Rachel surges across the room.  Tom gets a quick hug, and then she turns all her attention on Jake.

“You only have to look nice for the next three hours,” she tells him briskly.

“Three.  Hours,” Jake repeats.

With expert motions she realigns his… everything, until at the very least the clothes are sitting the way the tailor intended.  She tries to finger-comb his hair, thankful for the heels that put her at an inch above his height, but it’s obvious that he has also been running his hands through it and the style is hopelessly deformed.

“You can survive anything for three hours,” Rachel says as she does all this.  “I’ve seen you do it.”

“But if I mess it up—”

“Then stop, go back, and do whatever it is over.  We’re not exactly on a time pressure, here.  Nobody’s gonna die if you trip at the altar or forget your lines.”

“Okay.”  He stuffs his hands in his pockets, deforming his jacket again.  “Okay.”

She can see him starting to relax as he glances around, shoulders coming down.  Cassie’s place isn’t quite like they remember — it’s been repaired since the war, the Wildlife Rehabilitation Clinic expanded to nearly five times its original size — but it still feels as close to home as any place does.

“Have a glass of water,” Rachel says.

“But what if I have to pee during the ceremony?”

She rolls her eyes.  “Babysit him,” she mouths at Tom.

Tom gives her a gesture in response that approximates What do you think I’ve BEEN doing?  Whether he means the last four hours or the last twenty-six years is, really, a moot point.

Rachel leaves him to it, and charges off to go check on the others.

************

Marco leans against a tent pole, trying to roll one of the rings across his fingers the way Vegas poker players do with chips.  So far it’s not going well.

“Canapé,” Ax is saying carefully.  He attempts to lean next to Marco, nearly going all the way over.  “Can-nap-peee?”

“Uh, no.”  Marco catches the ring as it makes its third or fourth bid for freedom, stuffing it back into his pocket.  “That…”  He tilts his champagne flute to point.  “…is a canopy.  Or a chuppah, I guess.  Canopee.  Canapay is the little pastry thing you’ve already filched in bulk, don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“Ah,” Ax says.  And then, “This temperature and rate of precipitation is within optimal survival parameters for humans, is it not?”

“Nuh-uh, Ax-Man, I will not be pulled in by your smooth small-talk skills.”

“Did you not wish to make conversation?”  Ax frowns.  And then he stuffs another canapé in his mouth.  “This is making conversation,” he adds through the mouthful.

Marco squints.  “Is it, though?”

“It is indeed.  Did you know that the rotating-wheel can opener was patented in 1870?”

Marco’s response to that one gets cut off when Rachel comes charging across the open tent space like a small freight train.  Tobias is balanced on her shoulder, flaring slightly as she runs.  She yanks the champagne flute out of his hand.  Marco makes a squeak of protest, but Rachel just sets it firmly on a bussing tray and turns back to glare at him.

“What did we agree?” she asks sternly.

Marco rolls his eyes.  “That I’d stay sober-ish for the toast, and not do anything too embarrassing.”

“You’re the best man.  You have one job, Marco.”

“Excuse you, the best man’s one job was that banger of a bachelor-slash-ette party we did Wednesday night.  Did you like the part where we all dived out of a helicopter and flew clear through the lower atmosphere to that rooftop bar?  Because—”

“So you got the drinking out of your system.  You promised.”

“Sober-ish, come on, it’s just one wine-spritzer-thing!”

Rachel turns away from him, looking Ax over.  “You realize you’re going to have to demorph and remorph at some point before the ceremony, right?” she asks.  “And that when you do, someone’s going to have to go through the whole kit and caboodle of getting you into that tux all over again?”

“Yes,” Ax says.  “Yes, I do.”

She stares at him.  He stares back, looking as innocent as it is possible to look while also chewing three jalapeño pastries at the same time.

«You should probably just listen to her,» Tobias suggests.  «By the way, where’s your date?  Not that I quake in fear for the wedding cake or anything, but, uh…»

“Menderash has been instructed not to eat anything on a human plate without seeking my opinion first,” Ax says, somewhat stiffly.

“Yeah,” Marco says.  “So far he’s only eaten two earthworms, a candle, some decorative sand, and part of Collette’s bouquet.  You two have nothing to worry about.”

“Part of Collette’s bouquet?” Rachel demands.  “We can’t send a bridesmaid up the aisle without—”

“Already replaced it, I am on top of this.”  Marco flips his hair back from his face.  “I am a flower master.”

«So where is Menderash now?» Tobias asks.

“Helping Cassie’s mom,” Marco explains.

«And Cassie’s mom is…?»

“Delivering a baby cow.”

Rachel makes a noise like she’s choking on air.  “Doesn’t Michelle have vet techs for that kind of thing?  She’s supposed to be getting ready, not, not…”

“It’s cool,” Marco says.  “She’s got her makeup on, her hair is done perfectly, she’s got an apron-thing to keep her dress nice and gloves over her nails, it was a breech birth so they needed a real doctor and Walter was busy supervising the caterers, she’s got Menderash and Steve helping her out—”

“She kidnapped Jake’s dad?” Rachel demands overtop the continuing babble.

“He said he had never delivered an offspring outside of his own species before, and expressed deep curiosity on the subject,” Ax offers.  “Menderash is a certified medic with andalite training, so they should be well-equipped to assist.”

Marco makes jazz hands in the air.  “It’s a free pre-dinner show!  Cow birth.  Better than icebreakers.”

There’s a very long pause.  Rather than dignify that with a response, Rachel turns and stalks away.

Marco watches her go, halfway awed at her ability to navigate an open yard so well while not only wearing six-inch heels and a multi-layer floor-length dress, but also balancing an enormous updo on top of her head and a red-tailed hawk on her left shoulder.

“Is it just me, or did Jake and Cassie make a monster when they asked her to be maid of honor?” Marco says.

«You wanna take over her responsibilities, then?»

Of course Tobias heard that.  Stupid hawk hearing.

“No thank you!” Marco yells after them.

Cassie, meanwhile, is currently picking her way across the open space under the tent, bunches of dress hiked up to above her knees.  This last is, of course, the source of Rachel’s consternation.

“Here.”  Rachel attempts to pull the wads of skirt out of Cassie’s hands and drop them back to the ground.  “You’re going to wrinkle it.”

Cassie stubbornly refuses to let go.  “You told me not to let it drag on the ground.  If I let it down, it’ll drag.”

“Cassie, Cassie.  That is a hand-tailored Christian Dior gown that I commissioned to be custom-fitted to your measurements.  There is no way that it is too long if you let it…”

Cassie drops the bunches of tulle.  The end of the skirt falls all the way down, where the bottom two inches rest, unmistakably, on the muddy ground.

Rachel somehow manages to wince with her entire body while also not moving at all.

«It’s a look,» Tobias suggests, by way of consolation.  «Kind of.»

“How…?”  Rachel peers closer at Cassie.  “Wait, where are your shoes?”

Cassie shrugs, embarrassed.  “Uh, inside somewhere.  I was having trouble balancing in them.”

“Well that’s why!”  Rachel’s emphatic gesture almost dislodges Tobias.  With years’ experience, he dodges her waving arm and retains his perch.  “The dress was tailored to fit you with shoes on.”

“They were getting stuck in the grass—”

“They’re kitten heels!”

“Yeah, and they’re still heels.”  Cassie looks stuck somewhere between amusement and embarrassment.  “I don’t really do heels.  Sorry.”

“Hey Tobias?” Rachel says, as if to thin air.

«Nuh-uh, leave me out, I want no part in—»

“Remember me telling Cassie that we should really try the whole outfit on before the wedding?”

«Uh.  Yes?»

“Do you also remember Cassie agreeing to it, and then the day of, haring off to go try and save a bunch of vultures instead?  Remember how we tried to reschedule, and there was that ALF mission on the same day so she never showed?  Remember that?”

Cassie clears her throat loudly.  “I think it’s a very nice dress.  It’s fluffy and also comfortable, and look!”  She tucks her hands away.  “It has pockets.”

«Vultures are actually fundamental for waste disposal in ecosystems all over the world, and the poisons used on livestock—»

“Do you think you could at least wear the shoes long enough to go up the aisle?” Rachel asks.  “And maybe even for a few photos as well?”

 “Uh.  I’ll try.”  Cassie hikes her skirt back up (Rachel full-body winces again) and starts picking her way across the lawn back toward the house.

“There’s no way I’m going to be able to un-wrinkle it in time,” Rachel mutters.

«Yep.  So you’re just going to have to live with it.»

“I hate living with it.”

«Wanna go check on whatever monstrosity of a replacement bouquet Marco probably inflicted on Collette?»

“Fine, fine.”

**************

Cassie walks up the aisle in a custom-tailored gown, an edelweiss and valerian flower crown, and slightly muddy Timberland work boots.  The sole on the boots is apparently tall enough that the skirt does, not, in fact, drag on the ground or get tangled in her feet.

«Somewhere out there,» Tobias comments, «Christian Dior is crying into an overpriced silk handkerchief and doesn’t even know why.»

Marco has never more deeply felt the utter unfairness of Tobias being able to use thought-speak while human, because they’re currently standing at the front of the aisle and he can’t even respond.

But Rachel should still count this one as a win.  The gown looks stunning on Cassie, lacy and princess-ruffled while also having the kind of practical cut that allows her freedom of movement.  And, Marco notes with a smirk, freedom to wear her morphing leotard underneath; the purple spandex is just visible peeking out from underneath the white silk neckline.  He’s got morphing clothes under his own tux — never leaves home without ‘em — so really, he can’t judge.

Plus, Michelle’s got her dress and just her dress on by now, and her locs are still tucked into their silver-beaded updo.  Really, the cow birth was just a momentary inconvenience.

“Hi,” Jake whispers, when Cassie reaches him.

She grabs his hand.  Then she stuffs her bouquet into one of his jacket pockets, and grabs his other hand.  “Hi,” she whispers back.

“This is pretty exciting, huh?”

“Yep.”

Ax clears his throat delicately, and they stop talking.

“There is an Earth tradition,” Ax says to the entire assembly, “that the captain of any ship may perform a wedding ceremony at will.”

In the front row of seats, Michelle laces her fingers through Walter’s.

“Although there is no legal precedent for this custom,” Ax continues, “it is nevertheless possible to become ordained as a wedding officiant if one just completes the proper applications.”

One of Jake’s great-aunts mutters something loudly about the lack of rabbi.  Sarah leans over and kicks her in the ankle.  Rachel beams her approval.

“Therefore, I am here to make official through human custom that which has already been forged through affection and respect.”  Ax looks from Jake to Cassie and back.  “The bond between warriors who have fought and faced death together can be neither lessened nor improved upon by mere ceremony.  The honor shared between two such beings who have chosen to risk loving each other in spite of knowing the reality of loss is one that we recognize today.  We can recognize it, but not sanctify it beyond the sanctity of what these two humans have already shared.”

Rachel lets out an audible sniffle.  Marco does his best not to smirk at her.  It’s not that sappy a speech.

“I have been assured that the bond between two humans who like each other far exceeds the bond between those who merely enjoy each other’s company,” Ax says.

And now Marco has to fight the urge to bang his head against the nearest support pole.

“I have witnessed this myself.”  Ax stares around the room.  “I have witnessed compromise and forgiveness, compassion and challenge between these two.  I therefore believe it is correct and proper that this bond be formally recognized by the State of California.  Is there anything you would wish to add?” he says to Jake and Cassie.

Cassie leans up on tip-toe.  Jake bends to meet her.

She whispers her vows into his ear, not bothering to share with the rest of the gathering.  After a moment, tears on his face, he leans in and whispers back.

Recognizing his cue, Marco grabs the rings and passes them over.  They’re boring-looking, in his opinion, plain silicon bands without anything shiny.  But they’re also easy to morph, easy to shovel manure while wearing, easy to wear without catching on anything.  Very Cassie.  Very Jake.

Speaking of which, the Timberlands prove to be a good call.  When the time comes, Cassie stomps the shit out of that ceremonial glass.

**********

In a slight break with tradition, Rachel and Tobias are actually the first ones to go back down the aisle.  Then Marco wheels Collette out, followed by Tom and Melissa, then Jake and Cassie go.  That way, Rachel’s got time to sprint back over to the main tent and check on the banquet.

Most of the tables are arranged correctly, the centerpieces in place and the cards arrayed.  Rachel does a mad sprint of the room, straightening decorations and confirming with the caterers that they got all the instructions about who needs what in their diet.  Between the number of kosher eaters on Jake’s side and the number of vegetarians on Cassie’s, Rachel made the call to go all the way to a fully vegan buffet.  That’s probably going to get some of the relatives complaining about kids these days and rabbit food, but there’s no pleasing everyone.

Rachel deftly switches a few of the placecards, thereby putting Jordan on point to deal with their great-aunt and grandmother who have both already overindulged at the open bar, muttering an apology as she does.  She puts Tobias to work making sure the bows on the backs of chairs are straight, and rushes up to the long table at the front to confirm that the armless chair meant to accommodate Cassie’s bulky skirt is in the correct place.

D.J. is here, playlist at the ready.  Dance floor is clear of grass.  Weather’s holding, but tent covers are on standby.

Slightly sweaty, she rushes back out with a chair under each arm just in time to catch the guests coming across the lawn.

“Everyone except the parents, head off to the cocktail hour!” she calls.  “Jake, Cassie, moms and dads, with me.”

While Marco’s date (a photographer named Dakota) sets up the camera, Rachel goes into a flurry of motion straightening bowties, adjusting hairdos, and touching up makeup.  Steve’s got a spot of cow blood on his forehead, she discovers to her horror, and by the time she’s done scrubbing that off Jake’s managed to get his tuxedo jacket misaligned again.  Finally she steps back, breathing hard, and nods to Dakota.

Everyone smiles.  The camera goes off.

“Okay.”  Rachel claps her hands loudly, because Jake and Cassie are looking ready to stand up and go join the reception.  “That’s one down, just twenty-three to go.”

********

Rather than tossing her whole bouquet all at once, Cassie picks it apart and gives a single flower to every single guest she can find.  When the bouquet itself runs out, she disassembles her flower crown and hands that out piece by piece until everyone’s got at least one blossom.  It just seems fairer that way, she says when Rachel asks.

Several of the traditions, Rachel reflects, seem to be lost on Jake and Cassie.  They cut the first piece of cake… and immediately hand it to Ax.  And then they cut the second piece, and the third piece, and keep right on cutting slices of cake and handing them out to people until Rachel has to step in and wrest the knife away.  She’s grateful that they refrain from any of the food-fighting nonsense, since both their wedding outfits are headed to a charity auction first thing tomorrow morning, but honestly.  They’re supposed to eat the first two slices, not drop half a tier of cake into the black hole of hungry andalite.

Cake served, Marco clinks a fork against a glass.  “Ladies, gentlemen, and proletariats!”

There’s a general murmur as people look around, trying to spot who’s speaking.

With a hand from Jake, Marco climbs bodily onto the banquet table.  “Everyone!” he shouts, and now they’re all looking at him.  At him, and at the champagne flute in his hand.  “Jake and Cassie!”

It gets a polite round of applause.

“Gotta start at the beginning, right?”  Marco looks around the room, grinning.  “So there I am, some snot-nosed three-year-old, minding my own business.  And this chubby, dorky-looking little white kid comes running up to me and is like…”  He leans in.  “‘You wanna be my best friend?’”

He grins at Jake, who is flushing bright red.

“I shit you not, that was his opening line.  ‘You wanna be my best friend?’  So I’m like…”  Marco pantomimes reeling back in shock.  “I dunno man, seems like a lot of commitment to make to a total stranger.  You want explore our options first, maybe get a prenup, see if we’re compatible?  I mean, for all I know five years from now you’re gonna find some younger, hotter best friend and then there I’ll be out on my ear with nothing to show for it.”

There’s a smattering of laughter throughout the room.  Marco visibly draws strength from it.

“But you know what?”  Marco leans down to look around, smiling like he’s got a secret.  “Little dork kept right on showing up to my house and letting me use his television and getting his mom to give me fluffer nutters, and next thing I know it turns out he really is my best friend.  I think he was onto something.

“Anyway, you think that one was bad…”  He raises his eyebrows.  “Couple years later, there we are in first grade, and this girl in teeny-tiny first-grader overalls comes into the room like…”  

Marco claps one hand over the top of his champagne flute and clamps the other under the base, and actually walks a few steps down the table with the determined air of a very small and klutzy version of Cassie.

“And her opening line is…”  Marco raises the flute to his mouth like it’s a microphone, dropping his voice.  “‘You wanna see my moth?’”

Again, there’s a smattering of laughter.  Cassie has a hand over her mouth, halfway doubled over in giggles at the memory.

“Now, us being minuscule and all, I’m like ninety-nine percent sure that there was no double entendre going on here,” Marco says.  “And I have to admit, no one has used that line on me since.  So I say ‘sure,’ because I’m like six years old and this seems like a reasonable question.  She lifts her hand up…”

Marco accompanies this with a pantomime of peering through his own fingers into his champagne.

He looks up.  “And it’s not even a freaking moth!” he cries out.  “Turns out, it’s just some little worm thing.  So I tell her.”  He puts on a snotty voice, mocking his younger self.  “‘That’s not a moth, that’s just some little worm thing.’”

There’s a pause.  Marco glances around the room.  “See if you can tell where this story’s going.”

Marco and Cassie glance at each other.  Cassie’s grinning smugly.

“She puts it in the classroom’s terrarium,” Marco drawls.  “It turns into a rock.  Two weeks later, rock cracks open and out pops a moth.”

The room cracks up again.

“So fast forward another few years, and she’s standing there holding this eight-eyed, venom-fanged thing.  And she’s all like ‘just touch the spider, Marco.  Don’t you want to be a spider, Marco?  Isn’t it cute and fuzzy?’  As if she is completely unaware that she’s holding a giant-ass eight-legged freak.”  Marco takes a sip for strength.  “And right then, I look at Jake.  And I’m thinking Jake, don’t ever let this girl go.  Because if she doesn’t even think wolf spiders are ugly, then she’s got no idea about you.  So here’s to Jake and Cassie.  Made for each other, because no one else will have ‘em.”

Jake pokes Marco in the ankle, but he’s laughing as he does it.

“All right,” Marco says, “brace yourselves, and someone get some more tissues for my second mama, because I’m about to get sappy.  I love you, Jean!” he calls.  “I know we all gotta cry it out sometimes.”

She laughs and flaps a dismissive hand at him, but she’s also misty-eyed already.

“Dudes, I gotta be honest.”  Marco is looking at Jake and Cassie.  “I didn’t think we’d get here.  I honestly did not believe, for a good long while there, that there were gonna be any weddings or graduations or driver’s licenses in any of our futures.  Just seemed like a good idea not to bet on any of us having any futures, you know?  Seemed like it might be the surest option.”

Cassie laces her fingers through Jake’s.  Silently, her mouth pressed into a line, she nods.

“So, uh.”  Marco sniffs, spinning back around and thrusting his champagne flute into the air.  “Here’s to me being wrong, yeah?”

“To Marco being wrong!” Jake echoes, and tosses back his glass.

“To Marco being wrong!” the entire room calls back.

Marco jumps back down, Cassie and Jake catching him as he lands.

**********

After everyone but Menderash and Ax has finished eating, it’s Tom who becomes the next one to tink a fork against a glass for attention.

“In the spirit of full disclosure,” he tells the room, strolling slowly toward the head table.  “I promised my brother there wouldn’t be a horah.”  Tom stops, directly next to Cassie.  “But what he didn’t know is that I’d already made a promise to my new sister-in-law that there would be.  So what’s a guy to do?”

He snaps his fingers.

At this cue, several things happen at once.  The DJ switches to “Hava Nagila.”  Several people mob Jake at once.  Tom grabs Cassie and lifts her bodily over his head, carrying her chair and all to the middle of the dance floor.

With a squeak of laughter, Cassie grabs the top of Tom’s head for balance.  Jake is being hauled out next to her on a chair of his own, supported by Tobias and Menderash and Rachel and James.  Marco and Ax are herding the rest of the gathering, shoving people into a circle and linking arms together as they go.

“I hate you!” Jake calls over the sound of the music and his own fit of giggles.

“Gotta keep the in-laws happy!” Tom yells back, unrepentant.

*********

“You sure you’ve got everything you need?” Rachel asks.

Cheyenne, the head caterer, gives her a double thumbs-up.  The staff are tipped and most are ready to go, having divvied up the several extra schaeffers’ worth of falafel and butternut squash puree and other entrees that Rachel’d set aside for them.  Melissa is set to take over tending bar from here, as planned, and she’s going to keep the groomsmen after for a few minutes for cleanup duty.

“Okay.”  Rachel glances around at where the last of the countertops are getting a quick once-over with disinfectant.  “Okay.  If anything comes up…”

“I have your number.”  Cheyenne smiles and nods.

Pushing back out of the room, Rachel heads for the gift table.  Everything looks like it’s in good order, but she wants to make sure it all gets packed up properly and that none of the cards get lost in the kerfuffle.  It’s mostly donation receipts, at Jake and Cassie’s request, but some of the traditionalists on both sides came with soup tureens or the like —

“Hey.”  Jake catches her by the arm.

Rachel turns to look at him.  “What’s wrong?  Is it the great-aunts?”

“Nothing’s wrong.  It’s all perfect.”  He’s smiling shyly.  “Thanks.”

“I need to check on the gifts,” Rachel says, because she’s a coward who doesn’t know how to do mushy conversations, especially not with Jake.

“The gifts are fine,” he says.  “It’s all fine.  Because you made it that way.  So… thanks.”

When he pulls her into a hug, Rachel can’t resist straightening his hair one last time even as she returns the embrace.  “You realize I do this for fun, right?” she asks, holding him at arm’s length and looking him in the eye.  “Like, I could’ve hired a wedding planner, but honestly why bother?”

He shrugs.  “Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate everything.  All of it.  Without you, Cassie and I wouldn’t even…”

Then, because this is all getting too honest, Rachel links her arm through his and drags him onto the dance floor for, he’s about to realize, their middle school gym class’s favorite godawful square dance.

*********

When she has do-si-doed Jake within an inch of his life, Rachel tosses him at Cassie.  She pivots around and gives Tobias a flourishing courtesy; he returns it with an equally ridiculous bow.

“It is marvelous, how well they have adapted their balance to compensate for their lack of legs,” Menderash comments to Ax.

“Very true.”  Ax leans next to him against the bar.  They are currently sharing a delicious beverage Melissa has made for them, simply by unscrewing the lid from a nearly-empty jar of olives and handing over the remaining liquid.

It is true, some of the dancers are more talented than others.  Michelle and Walter are synchronized with each other and the beat of the music, even if their choice of moves is not nearly as audacious as the spinning thing Marco and Dakota are doing.  The bride and groom, meanwhile, are looking at their own feet and keep bumping into each other as they move.  Between their relative unconcern with anyone but each other and the broad hem of Cassie’s dress, the other couples are giving them a wide berth.

“Do you wish to attempt such feats?” Ax asks, glancing at Menderash.

Menderash gives a full-body shudder.  He flaps one hand in an andalite gesture that, if translated to English, would approximate fuck that.

Ax grins, drinking more olive juice.

“Have you done such a thing?” Menderash asks.

“Never for very long,” Ax says.

Jake and Cassie have given up on dancing entirely, descending into a giggle fit in the middle of the dance floor as they both attempt to disentangle Jake’s cuff link from the lace of Cassie’s hem.  Rachel swirls by, briefly blocking their view.  She’s switched partners.  Dakota is doing their best to teach Tobias how to waltz while Marco and Rachel are now swing-dancing their way across the dance floor.

As both andalites watch in awe, Rachel spins Marco in a circle, swinging him out and then drawing him back close to her body.  Marco pirouettes, throwing his head back so that his hair flares around his face, and then throws himself backwards.  Rachel catches him neatly around the waist, dipping him nearly to the floor.  Marco braces on her shoulders and she flings him upward with her whole body so that she actually lifts him off the floor for a second before gracefully sweeping him back down.  They separate until just the tips of their fingers are touching, and then spin back together until Marco suddenly swoops under Rachel’s arm, coming up on the far side as she pivots around in time fro him to fall back against her.

Ax is reminded of the way they fight.  There’s something almost joyful in their ferocity on the battlefield.  There’s something almost frightening in their enthusiasm on the dancefloor.  Neither of them seems to know how to do anything by half measure.

One by one the other clusters of dancers have stopped to watch as well.  Jake and Cassie, now sitting hopelessly tangled up in each other, seem quite happy to have the spotlight stolen.

Rachel swoops an arm around Marco’s waist and slides into a back-and-forth tango step.  Within two beats he’s caught on, falling into the same rhythm as her.  When the tempo of the song changes he grabs her shoulder and nudges her into a circular waltz.  They’re unrehearsed, and inexpert, but moving with such force and communicating so rapidly that it doesn’t really matter.

“Yes,” Menderash says softly, “I very much do not wish to attempt to dance.”

Ax smiles at him over the rim of the olive jar.  It’s empty, and in the time it takes him to set it back on the bar and catch her eye, Melissa has replaced it with maraschino cherry liquid.

The song crescendos; Marco leans his full weight back as Rachel flings him into a long spiraling turn that ends with him sliding on his knees clear between her legs, popping up behind her just in time to brace as she tips backward into him.  She spins once, twice, four times, then swings him into a dip so low that his hair brushes the floor.

As the song ends they freeze like that, chests heaving, hair damp with sweat.

They both seem to become aware at once that the whole room’s watching them.  Marco opens his mouth to say something, when Rachel’s smile turns wicked.  That’s the only warning he gets before she opens her arms and lets him drop.  Marco squawks indignantly, throwing out both elbows to catch himself.  He gets ahold of Rachel’s arm and tries to yank her down as well, but ends up pulling himself to his feet as well.

The whole room breaks out into clapping.  Marco sweeps into a low bow.  Rachel visibly considers pushing him over again before deciding against it.  Instead she runs to try and rescue Cassie’s hand-sewn lace hem and Jake’s antique silver cufflinks from their respective owners’ incompetence.

*********

“Hey Tobias?” Rachel says around a yawn.

«Uh-huh?»

Idly they watch as Tom waltzes Cassie’s grandmother around the dance floor.  She’s 4’11” to his 6’4”, so it’s pretty hilarious to witness.  But at least they’re not totally mismatched: each has a single sprig of valerian from Cassie’s bouquet tucked behind one ear.

She and Tobias are sitting on the ground at one corner of the dance floor.  Rachel’s got her shoes off to massage her aching ankles, and Tobias is perched back on her shoulder.  With clever motions of his beak he’s fishing the pins out of her hair one by one, dropping them into her hand as he slowly disassembles her updo.

“How do you feel about never, ever getting married?” Rachel asks.

Tobias drops another bobby pin into her hand.  «Best idea you’ve had all year.»

#animorphs #animorphs ficlet #animorphs au #(sadly) #long post #weddings #jake/cassie #cake #alcohol mention #rachel berenson #is the canonically biggest cassie/jake shipper on the planet #do it for her #anonymous #asks

[kookies2000]

My thoughts on the final. 8 out of 10 for me and here's why.

Positives first.

The villains. I love Bradford as a villain and his plan really was flawless. To me, Bradford is the scariest type of villain there is. Scrooge trusted this man for almost his whole life. Trusted him enough to be in charge of his money, and secrets. Only to get betrayed at the end. This is an actual thing that happens in real life. People we love, people we know for our whole lives, could just suddenly become horrible people and our love and trust in them breaks. And it hurts like crazy. And that's Bradford right there. He was close to Scrooge and betrayed him. Now the fact that Bradford never saw himself as the villian adds more to why these types of people are horrible. They blame others for their misfortune or for their bad traits. Like how Bradford told the family to look what they made him into after he grew into a monster. He's trying to put the blame on others instead of acknowledging that he's doing this to himself. Like at least the other villains like Glomp Gold and Magica know their villains. They're self aware unlike Bradford. Bradford doesn't like the thought of being a villain so he blames those that see him as the villain. Like dude! You imprisoned Gandra for indefinitely, trapped Ludwig Von Drake who just wanted to talk things out with you, imprisoned innocent people like Panchito and Jose. Why those two? Just because they were tricked into performing a concert at The Feast of the Flower? He straight up murdered his agents, and threw Donald in too. Not to mention he played a part in tearing the family apart once. And he keeps justifying it by saying "I'm not a villain". Which makes it worse! You can't just say you're not a villain or that others are trying to make you look like the villain. If you're not the villain then there's no need to say it. So yeah, I enjoy Bradford as a villain because he's the most realistic of the three main villains we had. Someone who has some good points but executes them poorly.

I also enjoyed the other villains like Phantom Bot and Pepper. I ship these two so much. 💖. Pepper being her talkative self and speaking her mind while Blot is being the strong silent type. My favorite line is also from Pepper "Look Blot! He's a full grown man with the strength of a baby!" I LOVE YOU PEPPER!!! And Blot being his aggressive self is enough for me. And thank you Lena for setting Gene free! Rockerduck being his spoiled self was also a treat. Having his servant fight for him and ordering a drink while he fought. 😂 Don Karnage was his lovable singing self, also he is dead now right? No way he survived that plane crash. Congratulations Dewey, you murdered a man while singing just like I always knew you would. Heron was also great. There's no doubt in my mind that she had some kind of attraction to Bradford after that "Oh Bradford, how villainous 😏" before dying. There's just something hilarious about Heron gracefully accepting betrayal and death like that. 😂 Steelbeaks was great. Finally using that smart ray on himself and still being the imbecile he is! Glomp Gold, Magica and the Beagles special appearance was also a treat.

Ok so our heros! I have to talk about Drake, Fenton and Launchpad! I love Drake for his balance of goofiness and heroicness. He's clearly a man who wants what's best for everyone and loves to be in the spotlight as well. Not to mention just how much fun it is to watch him being all goofy. He may have a child-like side and loves being the goofy hero he is, but he has his serious moments. Showing that just because you have a child-like personality doesn't mean you're not mature enough to handle serious situations. Just the way Drake comforted Fenton by telling him he isn't alone on this, to let others help him warms my heart. He knows Fenton so well and grew a personal connection with him. To the point where he refuses to believe Fenton is Gizmoduck. 😂 Poor guy is in denial. I feel bad for him because he's always in GizmoDucks shadow, which is why I screamed so loud when he and GizmoDuck shared the spotlight in the beginning of the fight with Steelbeaks. Great moment! And Fenton! I adore him and I love him so much more after this episode too! He was always the man with a heart of gold and always put others first. And they added even more to his character by making him such a romantic towards Gandra. I'm 100% sure she was on his mind throughout this whole adventure. Just the fact that he says it out loud that he wants to rescue her and his first reaction when they landed at the Lost Library was to rescue the prisoners was adorable. We all know he wanted to go save the prisoner's to find Gandra. Yeah I know he also cares for everyone else just as much but Gandra will always hold a special place in his heart. And then we have the moment with the two in the end credits. Just pure adorableness! Falling together, Fenton becoming GizmoDuck and catching her like he always does!!! Ah I can't help it! These two are cute!!! I also like how Fenton never did get to rescue her but it was Huey and the others that did and then she helped on rescuing the others. Breaks that whole damsel in distress cliche. I'm so sorry Fenton that you didn't get your shining armor moment, maybe next time? Then we have Launchpad. That guy finally had his shining moment. He was so insecure about not being a superhero that he couldn't see he was the one that inspired Fenton and Drake to become heros. That moment was so sweet and the fact that Launchpadpad became Gizmoduck was what made it perfect. And I loved how he crashed the suit too. 😂 and even the Gizmo Suit has an attitude "Eh, close enough."

Then we have the kids. Each one had their moment and I loved it. Violet was under used I'll admit, just wish they used her more. Like her woodchuck knowledge or her book smarts to find their way out of a maze, open a certain door to another room or help Lena out. Lena had her moment as well, making the airplane invisible showing just how powerful she has become. And let's consider that she nearly got killed by Phantom Blot in the first battle but this time she was able to battle him much better. Friendship really is her magic. Boyd is my favorite! I just love how him being just a head didn't even bother him one bit. Instead, Lil Bulb just uses his body to create a bobblehead Boyd. Let's not forget that "Take care of your brother." line. That one line made my heart sing. Louie was very realistic, "That is not at all comforting. I do not want to die." and he was also the same sharp boy we all know and love. I love the scene where he's pep talking Dewey into winning the battle against Don Karnage. And then we have Dewey flying the Sun Chaser by himself, fully embracing his talent. I'll talk about Huey and Webby later. Scrooge, Donald and Della also had their moment to shine as the original three! Loved it so much, just watching these three fight one last battle together was enough to almost make me cry. Beakly also had her moments like getting the chance to tell Webby the truth, even though it was a trick. I love how she wanted to make sure everyone was safe and went to fight F.O.W.L on her own only to learn her lesson near the end. The lesson that she can't keep secrets forever and she has to have trust in her family in order to win. And sure enough this lesson came from her oldest friend Scrooge Mcduck.

The humor was also the best! I loved the fact that Manny is actually some world ending monster and what does he have to say? "People change man! I just want to live a normal life!" 😆 I never expected Manny to talk let alone his voice sounding like that. And then we have the Gargoyles reference "I live again!..... Again!" Loved that, gold right there. Then we have Von Drake who admits that he isn't dead all because he doesn't have time to die! Oh if only life were that easy! Gyro was comedy gold as well with his line "When they do something right, they're heros! When things get too hard, we're children!" 😂 Love you Gyro!

Ok so one thing I have an issue with. You all know what it is so I'll make it as short as possible. Webbys backstory. I didn't like it. I have no issue with her being a clone and that Beakly found her, but Scrooge's daughter? It was unnecessary and here's why. Scrooge was already her father. He took care of her as his own, protected her, kept het happy, and was a wonderful role model to her. She was already his official none blood daughter. Making her Scrooge's blood related daughter does nothing to improve her character. If they wanted her as a clone, they could've done something else. Like maybe she could've been the clone of a well known F.O.W.L agent that died or disappeared. So F.O W.L tried to clone that agent by creating Webby. Nothing would need to change either, Beakly could've still found her, took her in and kept her safe with Scrooge. Webby would still have an identity crisis thinking she's the clone of a F.O.W.L agent and is destined to be a F.O.W.L agent. If they wanted to add June and May in, then use that same reason. Cloning F.O.W.L agents and raising them to be the evil like them. Or what about this? Use Beakley's story about her daughter. How Beakley wasn't there for her as much as she wanted to and maybe one day F.O.W.L talked Beakley's daughter into joining them. Making Beakley regret not being there for her daughter more. When her daughter tries to leave F.O.W.L she disappears all of a sudden. But then Beakly finds a baby clone of her daughter (Webby) and she takes this as a second chance to raise her daughter again. I'm just saying, anything would've been a better back story for Webby other than being Scrooge's clone. And as for Huey, he should've been the one to find the papyrus. Branford had him in his grasp. He had managed to manipulate Huey into helping him, so why not have him grab the papyrus. He is a direct descendent of Scrooge so why complicate things by having Huey talk to Webby? They weren't even sure if the papyrus was going to show itself to Webby!!! HUEY WAS RIGHT THERE BRADFORD!!!! It was so easy!!! Kidnap Huey, manipulate him into helping, then lock him up with Gyro, Drake and Gandra!!! I'm not saying I didn't enjoy Huey and Webby here, I did. Huey using his woodchuck knowledge allowing his brothers to find him and Webby using the skills her granny showed her made me proud. I love seeing these two using the skills they learned while living in the mansion.

Other than that, the final was great and I loved it. I just wish Webbys background was different and more unique than being Scrooge's daughter. Oh! And the end credits were wonderful! I love how the poster was basically a foreshadow of it!

 8/10 I loved the finale!

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #dt17 #ducktales spoilers #dt spoilers #dt #dt 2017

[snaggletooththecryptid]

Yandere Bruno’s Gang

Hello, I’m Snaggletooth. I’m a bit new to Tumblr but I’ve been reading on it for quite some time and I thought that I should contribute to the beauty of the reader inserts here. Before I try anything serious I thought I should give off a sample of my work. If you enjoy this and want to make a request then feel free to do so, my asks and requests are open.

Now, to get what you came for.

____________________________________________

WARNING: The following piece has yandere themes, mentions of manipulation, mentions of abuse 

If you are not comfortable with these then I suggest that you click away from this post 

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Ever wondered out of the members of Bruno’s Gang who would be the best to have yandere for you? And who would be the worst? This list will give you an idea to an answer for those questions

So let’s start this list

1- The best yandere

Bruno Bucciarati

Bruno is very sweet and motherly, even when mad with love Bruno still keeps these characteristics. But don’t let that think you’ll be able to do very much, as Bruno is still an extremely strict person. His rides are clear and he is of corse disappointed in you for breaking said rules. His punishments aren’t extreme, he just guilt trips his you for your disobedience. If things got too out of hand he’d use Sticky Fingers to zip off your legs, but it would not be for long and he’d apologize afterwards of corse. 

“I’m sorry cara but this is for you, I can’t believe you wouldn’t trust me after all this time...”

2- 

Guido Mista 

Mista is rough, where Bruno was motherly Mista comes off as brash. However even though Mista is rough he is very considerate. He will try to take your feelings into account, key word being try. He will try but he mostly fails, sometimes just forgetting about your feelings all together. His rules are simple but he enforced them. If you brake them then he’ll just give you the cold shoulder, but if you keep breaking his rules then a bullet or two to the foot should do the job to get you to stop.

“You like this right amore? I know your foot hurts like hell now but this should help, right?” 

3-

Narancia Ghirga 

Narancia is really confused, he doesn’t understand why he’s in love. But he does know that he really loves you and wants you to stay by his side. When you don’t listen to him or he doesn’t get the attention he wants from you he’ll act bratty. And trust me when I say that he’s easily pissed, he’s easily pissed. He’ll start thinking you don’t love him, which of corse leads to punishment. He’ll starve you thinking he’s doing what he has to do. He just wants you to love him, and when you still refuse he’ll threaten your life. Holding a knife to your throat threatening you if you don’t love him back.

“What’s so hard to understand? All you have to do is love me! It’s not that hard!”

4- 

Trish Una

Although Trish is more calm then the other three, I cannot deny that Trish truly has some sick and twisted morals. I mean, she’s the child of the Diavolo, it’s basically in her genes. She’s fairly strict her rules and despite her calm demeanor she is easily angered. Her punishments are harsh from the get-go, death threats from the first time you even break a rule slightly. She comes very close to killing you at some points, hell if you continue to break rules then she might just actually kill you one day.

“I don’t understand your need to test me, I’m not afraid to take your life. I’ll do it, right here, right now”

5- 

Leone Abbachio

Sorry to say this but... Abbachio is a complete mess. He loves you but oh boy is he unstable. He’s jealous as all hell, even you saying hi to someone can drive him up a damn wall. Not to mention that he’s an extreme alcoholic, which leads to him breaking wines bottles everywhere. Some time he’ll break them on you, which leads me to the abuse. It’s mostly emotional abuse but there is physical abuse. Physical is mostly just him breaking wine bottles but other then that it’s very little. He’ll try to apologize but I can only say then it’s not the best...

“Listen, I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t seems like it but I’m sorry... please don’t leave me...”

6-

Pannacotta Fugo

Fugo is abusive, no questions asked. You’ve seen how he treats Narancia, a fork to the face when Nara gets a question wrong. What do you think Fugo would do to someone he would do to someone he has a strict set of rules for, rules that can be broken by accident. And this isn’t even mentioning his temper tantrums. It’s hell trying to talk him through those his tantrums, and sometimes you can’t even talk him through them. He says he loves you, but is that really true? It comes off way more as lust then love at this point.

“I swear I love you... I love you so much... Tell me that you love me too. You have to love me too! You have to!”

7- The worst yandere

Giorno Giovanna

Why is Giorno the worst? Well, let me explain why.

Giorno, son of Dio. Giorno is a damn psychopath. Once you pay attention you can see that Giorno hardly shows any emotion, do you think he really feels much for you? He’s stressed and purely focused on being a mafia boss at the age of 15. Giorno’s will to keep you is a product of obsession and lust, not love. It’s also clear to tell that he has issues, which makes him abusive. Emotional abuse? Physical abuse? Mental abuse? He’s abusive in all ways he can be. Sorry to say dear but he’s an unstable abusive with little-to-no care for you.

“I do enjoying your company cara, I enjoy it very much... Love? Cara, why would I love you?”

#yandere-jjba #yandere-jjba-x-reader #yandere-bruno #yandere-bruno-x-reader #yandere-mista #yandere-mista-x-reader #yandere-narancia #yandere-narancia-x-reader #yandere-trish #yandere-trish-x-reader #yandere-abbachio #yandere-abbachio-x-reader #yandere-fugo #yandere-fugo-x-reader #yandere-giorno #yandere-giorno-x-reader

[bbyx]

ripple effect - part nine

Summary: During her fourth year at Hogwarts, (y/n) Deauxville falls for none other than Cedric Diggory. But it's not easy when you have to deal with protecting your family's fortune, keeping your father's illness a secret and having two of your closest friends catch feelings for you.

Pairings : reader x cedric, reader x draco, reader x harry (y/n) walks to care of magical creatures, worried lines creasing her face. 

You were planning on seeing Harry first thing this morning so he could explain how the fuck his name ended up in the Goblet. But Harry hadn’t shown his face at breakfast. You were a little disappointed, knowing the shoe prank would have cheered him up a slightly.

 (y/n) had started getting very worried when Ron said he “didn’t give a rat's ass about where Harry was.” Hermione was nowhere to be found and all your other friends were too hungover to be of any help. You regretted never going to sleep, you and Draco had stolen some Wideye potion from Snape’s cabinet, but the potion made your mind feel foggy. On second thought, maybe that was just the hangover. 

The fresh air doesn’t help much at all, the wind makes you dizzy and your eyes can’t seem to focus with all the light sweeping through your sunglasses. If it weren’t for Harry, you would have done the same as Cedric and Nick, who both didn’t bother to go to class today. 

“Harry!” You croak, wincing at the pain growing in your head.

“(y/n)! Uh what’s with the sunglasses?” Harry says, glancing up quickly at the cloudy sky.

“I think it’s pretty self explanatory.” You say, inching the glasses down to show him your bloodshot eyes. 

“Harry, what happened with the Goblet.” You say, your tone becoming more serious.

“ I’m not sure, somebody must have put my name in somehow. Moody thinks somebody’s trying to kill me again.” Harry sighs running his hand through his hair. “ And Ron's jealous, and half the bloody school hates me.” He looks so exasperated, you wish you could just take all his worries off his shoulders. You missed the happy boyish glint in his eyes.You grab his face in your hands. 

“Hey, I don’t hate you.” You say softly, which finally brings a small smile to his lips.

Draco’s blood boils as he walks the grounds to Hagrid’s hut, seing (y/n) and Potter’s silhouettes. She’s resting her head on Harry’s shoulder and laughing at his stupid jokes. Draco knew that should be his shoulder. And to make matters worse she seems to only have eyes for that big Hufflepuff oaf. Finally (y/n) breaks free from Harry and joins the rest of the Slytherins. Draco motions for Crabbe and Goyle to shut up as he nears Potter.

“Ah, look, boys, it’s the champion, got your autograph books? Better get a signature now, because I doubt he’s going to be around much longer. . . . Half the Triwizard champions have died . . . how long d’you reckon you’re going to last, Potter? Ten minutes into the first task’s my bet.”  

Before Draco could pull anymore insults from his brilliant mind, Hagrid arrived carrying huge crates filled with those disgusting skrewts. The giant man explains that students will be paired up to take the skrewts on a walk. Draco takes a leash attached to the grey slug like thing and joins (y/n)’s side.

“Be my partner?” A voice breaks you out of your thoughts.

“Of course.” You answer, sounding even raspier than before. 

“Bad hangover huh?” Draco says as the creature starts venturing off.

“Hmm” Is all you managed to say back, your head hurting from all the thinking you’ve been doing about the Goblet mystery.

Walking the skrewts was a disaster, everytime one of their ends exploded it would send the skrewt, and the poor student walking it, flying forward a couple feets. Lavender Brown was constantly screeching because apparently her skrewt was “trying to kill” her.

Yeah I'm rooting for its success.

Draco wouldn’t even let you near the skrewt, holding it out as far away from you as he could. 

“Why can’t I walk it? It’s just like a dog.”

“Dog?! Have you seen this thing? No, I'm not letting you near this death machine. It’s already burned you once...”

“You’re so annoying Dray.” You say playfully shoving his shoulder.

“(y/n) you can’t even walk straight yet.”

Just at the right moment his skrewt’s end blasted and sent him flying in the mud. You laugh so hard falling to the floor, bracing yourself for the next wave of pain. 

“I’m dropping this class next year, I swear.” He grumbles, getting up and glaring at the creature.

You were mad, furious even at Draco for making those stupid Potter stinks badges. Draco was furious at you for jinxing most of them to say Malfoy stinks instead. The two of you weren’t speaking anymore, making the atmosphere with your Slytherin friends very awkward. You took some consolation in knowing that Millicent and Daphne had refused to wear the badges, but for the past week you had been spending most of your time with your brother’s friends or Harry and Hermione. To add fuel to the fire, Draco has gotten into a fight with Harry and jinxed Hermione’s teeth. It also  didn’t help that Cedric was now followed by a group of girls everywhere he went, preventing the two of you from having a private conversation.

On your way to charms, Jeremy appears next to you, fixing his yellow tie. 

“What do you want?” You say slightly angrier than you had meant to.

“Nothing. Um Cedric wanted me to give this to you.” Jeremy says, pulling out a small envelope from his robes.

“Oh thanks.” You say but he’s already ducked inside a classroom.

You rip open the envelope. It reads:

Picnic tomorrow?

Miss you, 

Cedric.

P.S: there will be chocolate frogs.

(y/n)’s bad day had just gotten a great deal better.

You were waiting by the Black lake for Cedric, while everyone else had gone to Hogsmeade. It was a surprisingly nice day for early november, you weren’t cold in your hoodie but you weren't warm either. You spot, from across the grounds, Cedric clumsily balancing a huge basket in one hand and levitating a couple other objects with his wand. You can’t help but notice how dashing he makes the Hufflepuff uniform look. He sets down a checkered blanket on the ground and throws a couple pillows on top.

“Ta-da!” He says opening the basket, filled with warm butterbeers, little pastries and fruits.

“Ced, you’re too nice.” You say giving him a long hug.

“Wait, I'm not done,” He says reaching into his pocket and pulling out a chocolate frog. “As promised.”

“I brought you something too.” You say, ruffling through your bag and handing him a small pin with a gold butterfly. “In French culture, butterflies are supposed to bring good luck, and since the first task is coming up and-”

Cedric’s lips crash into yours. Warm. He tastes warm.He tastes like cinnamon, honey and ginger. He slides one hand in your hair and holds your waist firmly with the other. Finally, you break apart for air. 

“I love it.” He whispers in your ear, grabbing the pin from your hand and securing it to his sweater. He’s wearing his usual lopsided grin.

“I’m glad.” You say, a huge smile spreading on your face.

The rest of the afternoon was one of the nicest you could remember. Cedric had brought bread for the ducks and you laying on his chest, finding shapes in the clouds while he played with a baby duckling. Suddenly he stops humming, waking you up from your dazed state. Cedric shifts, sitting up slightly.

“(y/n) what’s your wand core?”

“Veela hair, my grandmother’s. Why?”

“Just wondering if you had the same as Fleur. She mentioned it  at the weighing of the wands.”

“What’s yours?” You say not wanting to stay on the subject of your breathtaking cousin much longer.

“Unicorn hair.” He says twirling his wand around. He stops. “So if I put your hair inside a wand it would work?” He wraps a strand of your hair around his wand. You ponder his question for a couple seconds.

“Probably, but it would be a weak wand. I don’t think I have a lot of Veela genes.” You say smiling as Cedric plays with your hair.

“You’re always underselling yourself, you know.” He chuckles before planting another kiss on your lips. Then an idea pops up in your head. Cedric looks confused when you suddenly get up. He catches your wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Calm down Romeo, i’m getting flowers for your flower crown.”

“My flower crown?”

(y/n) comes back a little while later, holding dozens of brightly colored flowers. You sit down crossed legged and start knotting the stems together. Cedric puts his head in your lap.

“Are you nervous about the first task? It’s only a week away.” You say looking down at him.

“A little, but i’ve got this now.” He runs his fingers over the golden butterfly. You smile softly. After that, you and Cedric debate about Quidditch as he feeds you sweets because your hands are busy braiding the flowers together.

“Ta-daa!” You say holding up the finished product. The crown was full of daisies, daffodils and carnations.

“Can I put it on?” He says excitedly.

“Of course, I made it for you.” You answer, placing it on his head. He darts like a little kid towards the lake to gaze at his reflection.

“I’m never taking it off.” Cedric says quietly as you walk towards him. He turns and hugs you tightly. “Thank you, it’s beautiful.”

“We should head back.” You say motioning to the group of girls, back from Hogsmeade, giggling behind a tree.

“Well shit.”

Cedric pulls his wand out of his pocket, mumbles a spell and the blankets that tidied up the blankets and basket. Wingardium leviosa he whispers, making the objects levitate. Then he flings you over his shoulder and makes a mad dash towards the castle.

“Ced! Aah put me down! I swear Cedric! CEDRIC AMOS DIGGORY put me down!” (y/n) says laughing wildly.

Draco was in a particularly bad mood at dinner. All anyone would talk about was stupid Diggory and his stupid flower crown. A number of girls had tried to replicate their own flower crowns but Draco knew exactly where the one on Diggory’s auburn head was from. He had worn multiple of those as a child and was always amazed at the skill of her nimble fingers.

Yeah, keep grinning you big oaf. Little do you know she’s made a dozen of those for me.

“Dragons?”

“Yes (y/n), try to keep up please.” Hermione says quickly, walking to her next class. “He says he saw dragons in the Forbidden forest. And Karkaroff used to be a death eater.”

“Oh. my. god.” You say, your brain piecing everything together.

“What?” Hermione says, glancing at her watch. “What? Please I haven’t got all day.”

“Hermione, remember at the World cup, when I rented that property to the ministry? Remember? Dragons! That’s what they’re using it for.”

You can practically see the wheels turning in her mind. “That makes perfect sense. How did we not figure that out.” She says shaking her head wistfully.

“Nevermind that, how is Harry going to fight a fucking dragon.” You say, racking your brain for spells. Another worry hits you. ”I have to warn Cedric.”

“That’s what Harry’s doing right now.”

“Cedric, do you have a plan? For the dragon, I mean.”

“Yeah, I’ve thought about it, but i’ve thought about this more.” Cedric says, kissing your neck softly. A smile tugs as your lips as you mumble “You’re so cheesy Ced.”

You and Cedric were in a small alcove near the potion classrooms. His warm tongue grazes your lower lip, making you unable to focus 

“I’m serious, I can help you if you want.” He pulls you into a hug, resting his head on top of your hair.

“There is one way you can help.”

“How?”

“What’s your favourite type of dog?” 

“What?” You say, incredulously.

“Just answer.”

“Labrador.”  

“Concentrate, Harry, concentrate” Hermione says.

“What d’you think I’m trying to do?” says Harry angrily. “A great big dragon keeps popping up in my head for some reason. . . . Okay, try again. . . .” 

(y/n) and Hermione were in an empty classroom, trying to teach Harry a summoning spell.

“You need to flick your wrist more.” You say, your nose buried in Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed. 

After what seemed like hours, Harry finally got the hang of the Summoning spell.

“That’s better, Harry, yeah that’s loads better,” Hermione said, looking exhausted but very pleased. 

“Well, now we know what to do next time I can’t manage a spell,” Harry said, throwing a rune dictionary back to Hermione, so he could try again, “threaten me with a dragon. Right . . .” 

He raises his wand once more. “Accio Dictionary!” 

The heavy book soared out of Hermione’s hand, flew across the room, and Harry caught it. “Harry, I really think you’ve got it!” you say clapping. He blushes a little. 

 “Just as long as it works tomorrow,” Harry says. “The Firebolt is going to be much farther away than the stuff in here, it’s going to be in the castle, and I’m going to be out there on the grounds.”

 “That doesn’t matter,” said Hermione firmly “Just as long as you’re concentrating really, really hard on it, it’ll come.”

 “Harry, you’d better get some sleep . . . you’re gonna need it.” You say motioning at the window, where the sky was a moonless pitch black.

The next morning, you woke up in blind panic. Dragons. It seemed so much more daunting than it had yesterday. The sick feeling in your stomach only got worse when the champions were escorted out at breakfast. Everything seemed to be going so fast. Next thing you knew, you and Draco were walking towards the forbidden forest. (y/n) and Draco were on speaking term again because he had agreed to do her potions homework for the month.

“Go get a good spot Dee, i’ll join you soon.” You say before running forward to the champion’s tent.

When you enter, you see Krum looking sulkier than usual on a stool and Fleur  fiddling with her hair nervously. You almost felt bad for her before she rolled her ice blue eyes at you. Harry was talking to Hermione and Cedric was pacing back and forth, his skin greener than usual.

“Hey,” You say touching his shoulder. He jumps slightly at your touch. “ Are you okay?”

“Of course!.” He says, but his voice wavers a little. “ What are you doing here?”

“Came to wish you good luck” You say tapping the little golden butterfly gleaming on his chest. “And give you this.” You say standing on your tiptoes and pressing a lingering kiss on his lips. He grabs your waist tightly, not wanting to let you go.

The sight of you and Cedric kissing makes Krum even surlier than before and Harry is now the one who looks green. At the same time, Ludo Bagman walks in.

“ Ah, young love.” He says, which makes you both pull away breathless. “I’m sorry to break this up but i’m going to have to ask you girls to please step out.” Ludo Bagman says to Hermione and (y/n), who was blushing furiously.

“Good luck Harry.” You say, squeezing his hand right before exiting the tent.

A/N: I’m gonna make a taglist for ripple effect so send me an ask to be added xx. ALSO this is my ABSOLUTE FAVOURITE gif he’s just so cute.

#cedric diggory #harry potter #draco malfoy #hp and the goblet of fire #cedric diggory x you #cedric diggory x reader #cedric x you #cedric x reader #harry potter x reader #draco malfoy x reader

[beardycarrot]

I, lying awake in bed because that’s how it always is the day before you have something important to do... am going to try to guess what the plot of Bioshock Infinite is, based on what I’ve seen in the first few hours and with knowledge of the other two (and a half?) games. Spoilers for the entire Bioshock series, except maybe Infinite, but I intend to knock it out of the park.

So. The first Bioshock is set in a futuristic (by 1950’s standards) city at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, created by a hardcore libertarian named Andrew Ryan as a way to once and for all live in a society free of government regulation. I won’t get into all the “sea slugs that produce a gene-altering wonder drug” and “child slaves brainwashed to drink corpse blood” stuff; very interesting, very important to the plot, but if I tried to explain the world of Bioshock I’d be lying here typing on my phone until the sun comes up. That stuff aside, the major plot points are that you’re not actually a guy who just happened to crash-land near the entrance to the city but are, in fact, Andrew Ryan’s son, and the guy who’s been guiding you through the city was actually using a Manchurian Candidate-style activation phrase to manipulate you into doing whatever he wanted. It’s a big, mind-blowing reveal (as is the realization that your character is actually about four years old... science fiction, man).

Bioshock 2 didn’t really have any big plot twists... or plot, for that matter ...but it was developed by an entirely different team, while the original’s team also did Infinite, so I’m expecting a return to form. Just as an aside, Bioshock 2 had a short DLC campaign called Minerva’s Den, which had a fantastic story, and a twist that the player can figure out on their own if they’re paying attention. Your goal is to get a very smart computer (for 1968) out of the underwater city and back to the surface so you can use it to cure all the victims of the slug-borne gene manipulation, and you’re guided over radio by the computer’s creator. At the end, you learn that the one guiding you was actually the computer itself, and that you’re its creator, slowly recovering from brainwashing. For the record, the endings to all three of these have made me cry.

So! With those kinds of twists in mind, what am I expecting from Bioshock Infinite? Well, I went into the game only knowing the names of the protagonists, that rather than underwater it was set in a floating sky city, and that there was some kind of religious theming but also a lot of old-timey Americana. As it turns out, the people of this city worship— no, have DEIFIED the founding fathers, and are lead by a man called Father Comstock. I’m pretty sure that name is a reference to the Comstock Act, similar to Andrew Ryan being named after Ayn Rand... but he could actually be called Father Cornstalk and I just haven’t been paying attention.

Anyway. Just a few minutes into the game, I noticed that a statue of Comstock looked suspiciously similar to my character... before deciding that I didn’t actually have that clear of a mental image of my character, they wouldn’t pull the “secret son” thing twice, and as much as I love it there probably isn’t going to be any time travel. Le sigh.

UNTIL!

So, your goal is to get a girl named Elizabeth out of the city, and there is some legitimately weird stuff going on with her prison. Like, they have some of her personal possessions from various points in her life in containment: a teddy bear, a diary, and a bloody cloth labeled “menarche”. Gross. Why would you keep that. Well, when an electric current (or something visually similar) is applied, the bear and diary change color, and the blood disappears from the cloth. The reason I’m not sure if it’s electricity is that there’s some kind of siphon system set up, it looks like a bunch of subwoofers, and it’s absorbing... something? When she sings, maybe? Is the energy being siphoned what changed the quantum states of those objects, or whatever was happening? There was also a chart showing that when she hit puberty... something, really spiked, which is what forced them to build the siphon. I can’t claim to know what’s happening here, but when I finally saw her she was day dreaming about Paris, and.. I guess opened some kind of portal, TO Paris? But then a bus or something barreled towards her, so she quickly closed it. In the couple seconds that the portal was open, I saw the marquee on a movie theater that... well, was in French, but I’M PRETTY SURE said “Return of the Jedi”. I should probably mention that this game is set in 1912. That smells like time travel to me, baby!

So, this is where it gets interesting, and confusing, and complicated. I think Elizabeth is Comstock’s daughter, from various signs and posters about Comstock’s seed being their salvation, and The Lamb of God being locked in the tower, and such... and signs about a “false shepherd” who would try to take her away (again, lots of weird divergent Christian sect stuff). One sign showered the false shepherd’s hand as having the initials AD branded on the back, which the protagonist Booker does indeed have. Before rescuing Elizabeth, Comstock confronts you, and seems to know all about Booker’s past, including his wife Anna (who died in childbirth), and claims to know his future as well. Being a prophet and such. Thing is, the way it’s presented, that whole thing could’ve all been in Booker’s head...? Shortly after rescuing Elizabeth, you run into someone who mistakes her for someone named Annabelle. Hmm HMMM. I’ve also run into a diary by someone named Rosalind Lutece (I think she’s one of the creepy twins who keep popping up everywhere) talking about physics and what sounded like the concept of quantum superpositioning, as well as a little informational kiosk in which she claims quantum mechanics are what enable the city to float. There were also a couple diaries that seemed to imply Elizabeth came from... somewhere else, and a part of her might still be there, or something?

SO. Finally, we get to the part where I theorize on what’s going on. In short... iunno.

Okay, well, I feel like my idea should be obvious by now. I think Comstock might be a future, or ALTERNATE REALITY FUTURE, version of Booker, and Elizabeth is... either a past version of his wife, before she went back in time and married him, or an alternate-reality version of his daughter? But then who is the Annabelle that the girl thought Elizabeth was? Did Booker’s child not die along with his wife, and was secretly wisked away to skytown? Comstock’s wife is consistently referred to as Lady Comstock, but what if her name is Annabelle too? Maybe it’s the same concept as the Heinlein story By His Bootstraps, with the protagonist only realizing that he IS now the old man from the beginning, and has to get his younger self into this weird time loop in order to live the life he’s lead?

I might be going a little off the rails; I mean, I’m pretty sure that the statue of Comstock I saw earlier actually reminded me of Handsome Jack, a character from another game I haven’t played who happens to wear an outfit similar to Booker’s. That said, there’s DEFINITELY some kind of time travel or dimension-hopping shenanigans going on here. There are good writers on this game, and I refuse to believe the Annabelle/Anna thing is a Batman v Superman-level coincidence.

The weird part is that in the tower where they were keeping Elizabeth, they have documentation of her dating back to one year old, so she was clearly exhibiting... something, unusual, even as a baby. The game also has yet to explain Vigors, its versions of the Plasmids from the first two Bioshock games, which were basically superpowers granted by the substance produced by those sea slugs. If I had to guess, Vigors are... a result of some kind of quantum something-or-other, which they made from whatever it is they were siphoning off of Elizabeth? Maybe it’s a Scarlet Witch kind of thing... you don’t actually change yourself, you just find yourself in an alternate reality where everything else is 100% the same, except you’re a version of yourself who can shoot crows out of your hands.

Right, so. My... official theory is... that... I have no idea what’s going on. Yeah, sorry, something in that mess up there is bound to be close, but when you get into time travel and/or dimension-hopping, all bets are off the table. Or all bets, a literally infinite number of bets, are on the table. Which is a lot to try to comprehend.

#bioshock #bioshock infinite #bioshock spoilers