#Crack Pecans

[cgclarkphoto]

Pecan cracked -  cg photography

[5iren]

this place has gone down hill. I can't figure out how to add tags on rb while in mobile browser and its irking my nerves.

[asteroidtroglodyte]

It’s too late to save the world

Ash trees sprout in cracks in the asphalt. The gutters collect leaves, which become soil, in which dandelions sprout.

There’s nothing you can do

A man plants an entire forest. A young girl teaches a drone to deliver saplings. The elderly volunteer to clean up radioactive waste.

You might as well give up

Wolves return to ancestral hunting grounds. Bison return to the prairie. Otters return to the kelp beds. Young oaks push roots deep into reclaimed farmland.

Who cares anyway?

Children draw pictures of flowers. Festivals are held for cherry blossoms and pecans and apples. A crowd cheers as the last line is cut away from the ensnared creature.

I have disobeyed worse than you

The world does not die on my watch

[ask-archer-idv]

"No, not here thankfully, it would be hard to explain my actions if that was the case," Archer said quietly. "A dangerous person can be one of many - one who has gone ravenous, one who has nothing to lose, and one who has everything to lose - back in the woods where I lived my entire life these were the types I would see. Ones who had everything to lose tended to still remain...rational. Not tempted or whisked away by the spirits but the other two?" The other shifted on their feet a moment as they tapped their finger against their bicep.

"It was never a pretty sight or time."

Ah company. Archer lightened a bit as they shook their head. "I might not know everyone yet....but there hasn't been many bad companies.... more of embarrassing moments of anything and some hateful revenges from the hunters in matches but in the end it isn't the worst," Archer truthfully stated. "As for you? No bad company?" There was a raise of their brow.

//gooooodddddd yeah they sound so crazy and everything!!! But like it's probably easy to stay away from that stuff depending on what you view. I love hearing stories of different reddit forms on YT and the icebergs are always interesting as hell

//wwwweeeeeee ;×; thank hfndbdjd

A small knock is heard at archer’s door. A nervous man stands outside of it, holding a small silver lamp.

“Hello there..Are you The Archer? My name is Wayne Strickland. Miss. Tatya sent me over here..It’s a pleasure to meet you.” - (-⊕ ζ ⊕-) <

(@manor-tea-time You probs know who sent me dhdhdhdh

Usually when the door was knocked on it was one of three people - all silent - but the knocks all had their cadence so this was a new one. Archer had slipped out of their chair to open the door to see who was outside. They blinked slowly before realizing what was going on. Tatya really got a move on trying to get them friends huh?

Archer nodded their head slowly, pointing their thumb to the bow sitting on their desk as a form of confirmation should he still be concerned. They held out a finger for a moment before turning inside the room to grab their notebook and pencil.

Nice to meet you as well. I go by Archer or Ace. She didn't force you too much did she?

[thewriterg]

𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡

pairing(s):spencer reid x gn!reader, mention of spencer x derek

summary:your meanings of a sweet tooth increased to a ten fold when the leaves start to change and the air becomes crisp. however, you have a level of self respect that your boyfriend doesn’t

word count: 650+

warning(s): fluff, pumpkin spice slander, pet names, kissing, and language

A/N: —GIFs; @undertheniall & @chemicalh3arts— im a little rusty give me a break

Spencer eyed you warily at your foreign action. Right before he could press the skin of his lips onto yours, your head turned with a quickness. A passion. The brunette racked his mind of what he could’ve done going down the mental checklist in his head.

Took the trash out, watered the plants, closed the drawer in the kitchen you frequently bump your hip into early mornings going to brew your coffee when he leaves it open, —boxes of tea sitting against each other in tip top shape and organization—

There were established boundaries in your relationship that the two of you silently promised to never cross. However, the doctor couldn’t help but to itch to break your most solid concrete one.

You weren’t allowed to profile one another.

No matter how dire the situation seemed, or how well intended it seemed. No. Profiling

All of this amused you to no end. While you struggled to keep a decent poker face at your boyfriend’s kicked puppy expression, he battled internal conflict on what could’ve changed in two hours. You were fine getting ready this morning, you were fine at the office, you were fine leaving the office, hell you were fine even with him telling you him and Morgan was going to try a coffee shop down the road.

What changed in a mere hour!?

“You’re a liar!” You accuse strongly, it’s funny how your top doctor lover couldn’t pick out the dramatic undertone in your voice. It was only a matter of time before you were going to crack your ‘hurt’ facade.

“What!? Ab-”

“Out of all the seasonal treats… Apple pie, sweet potato pie, cookie butter, pecan everything, apple cider donuts, fritters, cinnamon swirl bread, the list could run forever!” You throw the back of your hand over your forehead in mock distress. It’s comical the way Spencer deflates at the realization.

“You dare try to lay your lips on mine with that horrid, wretched, foul tas-” Before you can finish your sentence the lanky brunette is already plopping down onto the couch surface with a irritable sound of protest muffled by the fabric of your sweater.You smile down at the head full of curls staring back you, running your fingers through them making more by separating the bunches they make.

“Can’t believe I fell for that” He mumbled almost sadly for himself going crazy that he was so weak to your advances… I mean you worked with these types of people everyday! To think you were actually upset with him for a… rational reason. Instead you were ‘hurt’ simply because of his choice of pumpkin spice black coffee Morgan had convinced him to try.

“I can’t believe out of everything you chose pumpkin.” You teased in a matter of factly way while still massaging the back of his scalp. You could feel the curl of the brunette’s lips past the thin sweater you were wearing. When Spencer finally moved his head from being burrowed in your stomach the big guns were out and blazing. A certain pout with his combination of sad eyes made you fold everytime and the brunette knew it too.

“Spencer.” It was your turn to whine now dragging out the final ‘R’ in his name and he hummed satisfied. Pursing his lips and inching towards you. However, he was still to be met with a completely different texture than the softness of your lips by rather the palm of your hand.

“You seriously have to brush your teeth”

“Well studies recorded that if you face your discomforts head on then you’re 20% more likely to be less uncomfortable about it.” You can hear the smirk in his voice as he inches closer, making you squeal. You quickly turn yourself loose from his hold before it can tighten around your arms and you two spend the evening playing catch the cat with smiles on your faces.

©2024 thewriterg spooktober do not copy, translate, or modify.

[copperbadge]

Behold, a slightly longer video of the cheese conveyor belt!

This is at Culture & Co. in Nashville, which is incredibly and delightfully the second charcuterie conveyor belt restaurant I've eaten at in the last two years, the other being Pick & Cheese in London.

As with Pick & Cheese I do know myself, so I set out the rule ahead of time that I could only take three plates, and thus I chose with care. First course: "Bruleed Brie" with passion fruit caramel cultured butter. This is a brie-style cheese from Pennsylvania (where my yinzers at) which has had one open side dipped in sugar and then presumably melted with a culinary torch; it looks like jam, but as you can see in the second image, when you tap the brulee it cracks like toffee.

Both the brulee brie and the butter were fantastic; the acid of the passion fruit cuts the sugar and the fattiness a little, but it also really emerges as its own flavor. I think this is the most imaginative way to upgrade brie I've seen in a minute. I kinda wanna try it at home.

Second plate was a Cumblerland "tomme-style" natural rind cheese from Tennessee (specifically Sequatchie Cove) with house made potato chive crackers and rosemary. The real highlight of this cheese is, honestly, the rind -- it has a flavor unique from the rest of the slice, which is much milder and reminded me of a young gouda, almost. The crackers don't look like much but however they make them they were really packed with this nice earthy salty flavor.

For "dessert" I almost went with a vegan cashew-based "Gouda" with shiitake bacon, mainly for the bacon I'll be honest, and you can actually see that plate go by, it's the first one you see in the video up top. Instead I decided to go with...I'm not sure even what kind of cheese this is because it's called GOAT RODEO BAMBOOZLE. I mean, the menu said it was a semi-soft washed rind goat's milk cheese, so there's that.

Normally I avoid goat cheese because I find it very dry texturally, but this was nice, it had that kind of gamey goaty taste but was much more buttery. It came with two pecan shortbread cookies (sandies) and a little cup of root beer caramel, which you can see dripping down a bite of the cheese in the second image. I don't know how you make root beer caramel (sasparilla in the milk?) but it had a nice peppery note to it. I wanted to down it like a shot but resisted.

Anyway, all three were fantastic, not a loser in the bunch, and the wait staff were super pleasant and knowledgeable, so it was a pretty great meal, especially for $30 (including tip).

I don't know who's setting these cheese conveyor belts up across the world but whoever you are, if you bring one to Chicago I will be grateful and I will eat there and bring visiting friends there. Some of my friends even drink wine, so we won't be cheap dates, I promise. We're so close to Wisconsin! Think what you could do with the curds, man, the curds!

[sopebubbles]

Master List

Sixteen

Synopsis: in a world where alphas, betas, and omegas live along side modern humans as second class citizens, you've fallen through the cracks of a society that wants to take everything wonderful from you. Luckily a timely encounter with the boys just might save your life.

Chapter summary: getting closer with the pack means you'll have to learn to live with Kim Namjoon.

Warnings: drinking, breaking things, yknow namjoon stuff.

WC: 7.6K

After both your heats, you and Hoseok were nearly inseparable. When you were home, you followed him around like a little puppy, and he absolutely adored it. He appreciated how well you had taken care of his home and everyone in it while he was off his feet. When he told you as much, you assured him that it was your pleasure, and you would gladly do any chores he needed from you. 

But your housework wasn't the only thing Hoseok had come to love.

You had become his new favorite cuddle buddy, much to your tiny pack's annoyance. Any time he could get his arms around you, he'd have you settled right against him with a proud smile on his face. And you certainly weren't complaining. You'd never known that omegas' cuddles were the best. Soft and warm and sweet smelling. Being held by Hobi was bliss. You wouldn't admit it to anyone, but you felt a bit of jealousy every time you scented Jin's sweet, nutty smell on Hoseok's skin, knowing that he had gotten to hold your omega all night long.

It wasn't until you came home from work one afternoon a few weeks after your heat and Hobi pulled you onto the couch, insisting you take a nap, that you realized something was different. You could still smell the light fragrance of Hoseok's body wash, so you knew he'd showered a few hours ago. But he smelled like praline pecans. Nutty like Seokjin, and different from Hoseok normal brown sugar. A new blend of the two.

"I'm going to stop working," you said suddenly.

He pulled back so he could look down at your face. "That would be great, but why so sudden?"

You shrugged and nestled back into his chest. "I just want to help you here more. It seems kind of silly to be cleaning for other people when I should be here cleaning with you."

He couldn't argue with that. Yoongi had told him about how you had called their house your home after your last heat, and it made his heart soar. He certainly wasn't going to deny you the domestic bliss he had always wanted to share.

"I like the sound of that," he murmured into your hair. "I would love to keep you here."

You were anxious to tell Yoongi about your decision, but when he got home he looked stressed and dejected. His shoulders hunched in a way you hadn't ever seen before. Seeing him look so weary made your heart ache. You approached him quietly as he took off his shoes in the entryway. 

When you took his hand, one look into your sympathetic doe eyes was all it took to bring a genuine, lighthearted smile to his face. Somehow, one look from you and your tiny hands around his large one manifested energy from thin air. He pulled you closer and cradled you against his chest. Silent, except for a soft happy rumble in his chest, he held you like that for several minutes, but you wouldn't move for all the world, content to gently sway in his arms. 

"Was it a bad day?" You asked softly. He hummed. "Come sit down, and I'll get you something to eat," you told him as you pulled away, ready to take his hand and guide him down the hall to the kitchen. But he pulled you back, unready to allow so much space between you. He picked you up by the backs of your thighs and hoisted you up, leaving you no choice but to wrap your arms and legs around him.

"In a minute," he mumbled into your neck, where he took deep breaths of your scent, allowing it to fill his lungs and soothe his nerves.

You complied and let him carry you to the couch as if you were no more than a child. Even if he was tired, holding you was nothing, not compared to the benefits. 

"What happened?" you pressed gently after a moment.

"Nothing, really." He didn't need to burden you with the DOA he'd had today. Car crashes could cause such carnage, and he didn't need you to think of that. "I asked my supervisor if I could switch to a permanent day shift, but he denied me," he said after a moment of toying with your hair between his fingers.

"Oh. Why did you want to change?" 

"I was hoping it would allow me to spend more time with you," he admitted. "I hate that I'm not able to see you. One of us is always working."

"Oh." A smile tugged at your lips and you cleared your throat. "Well, actually, I was thinking…" He lifted your chin gently with his fingers to see your eyes and waited for you to go on. "I want to quit my job. I-if that's okay."

"Really?" He asked excitedly as he pushed you away to look at your face better. 

"Yeah, if it's not a problem," you answered quietly. 

Yoongi pulled your hips tighter against him. "Of course it's not a problem! I was never going to tell you to quit, but I was always hoping you would. But why now? Did something happen at work?" His expression turned serious in an instant. 

You shook your head. "No. Work is fine. I just feel like it's time to help Hobi out. And I can take care of you and Jimin. You're my pack after all."

"We don't expect you to cook and clean for us, princess," he said, tucking your hair behind your ear. Even though he meant it, he felt his heart flutter knowing you might want to.

"But it's my job."

"It isn't. That's not why we want you here. It's not why we're keeping you around. It never will be." His tone was serious. His eyes looked intently into yours. Heat flushed all over your body, and you tried to backtrack. 

"I know that, Yoongi. I actually wasn't thinking that way, which is kind of funny because normally I would. This isn't a-take-care-of-alpha-before-he-throws-you-out thing. I just care about you and I think about taking care of you a lot. Want to know if you're eating well and sleeping well."

Yoongi's smile returned, and he pulled you closer, resting his forehead against your cheek. "Good. That makes me more happy than you'll ever know."

"Aish. I'm not really doing it for you," you teased. "I want to stay home and help Hobi."

"Ah, yes, you're new BFF," he teased back. "That's fine. I'm sure he'll be happy."

You nodded. "I'll put my two weeks notice in tomorrow."

"Why bother? Just quit. You're never gonna need another job again." He grasped the back of your head and pulled you into a passionate kiss, leaving you breathless.

"Aren't you gonna eat something?" You asked hazily, a long moment later. 

"Yeah," he grinned. "I'll eat you,"

"No!" You screamed amid your giggles as he playfully tried to bite your neck, tickling your sides at the same time. When you were gasping for breath, he scooped you up in his arms again and carried you into the kitchen. He set you down to sit on top of the kitchen counter.

"I'll fix something for you," you told him as he walked toward the refrigerator. 

"You stay," he ordered as he looked inside. "Did you cook this?" he asked, showing you a container of the leftovers from the evening's dinner. You nodded. "Then your work here is done," he said before placing the meal in the microwave. 

"I heard the sound of a happy pup," Jimin said as he entered the kitchen. You blushed when he stood beside you. He had been sitting in the pack's nest with Namjoon and Jungkook when they heard your screams and laughter. He wasn't the only one curious, but he was the only one who ventured out to see what was going on. 

Yoongi beamed. "Y/N has decided to quit her job and stay home."

"Oh, good thing you made that choice before Taehyung started courting you," Jimin responded slyly.

"What do you mean? Court me?" You stared at him in confusion.

Yoongi nodded. "It's true. He asked me for my blessing already. I told him I don't mind. He said he's going to take it slow, not jump into anything. But now you'll have plenty of time to get to know each other." Yoongi wriggled his eyebrows. 

Your voice caught in the back of your throat. Too many feelings swirled deep in your stomach, and you couldn't parse them out. "You don't mind?" you finally asked.

Yoongi gave you a soft smile and lifted your face to meet his eyes. "As much as I love our little pack, I've always known it wouldn't always be the three of us. I mean, I hoped. There's no rush, but I think some day it will probably be all eight of us. And that will be great, too."

You tried not to think about that possibility too often. It made your head spin. Seven packmates. Four alphas. You weren't sure you could handle it. "But I only want you to be my alpha. If Jin–" you cut yourself off abruptly. 

"If Jin what, princess?"

"If Jin wants to claim me, won't he be my pack alpha? But I only want you to be my pack alpha!" 

Yoongi couldn't bear how childlike you sounded. It made his heart hurt to hear you so anxious and confused. He smoothed a hand over your hair and pulled your head to his shoulder.

"It's okay, baby. Jin will never be your pack alpha. I'll always be your number one. You really think I'd let anyone take my place in your heart?" he cooed.

"What are you so worried for?" Jimin chided. "Who's talking about Jin? It's just Taehyung right now. He's a great alpha. You'll see."

You sniffed and pulled away from Yoongi when the microwave beeped. "Why did you say it was good I'm quitting my job because of him?"

Jimin smirked. "Taehyung could never allow his omega to work outside the home."

"Why not?"

"One, it's too dangerous. It would drive his anxiety crazy. Best to keep omegas safe in the den. Two, it would hurt his pride. He makes more than enough money to support you and Hobi all on his own. And three, Taehyung may have the disposition of a golden retriever, but even the sweetest dogs don't like strange dogs looking at their bones." Jimin grinned deviously. 

You pushed his shoulder. "I'm not a bone!"

"Oh, yeah? Just wait until he starts gnawing on you!" Jimin picked up your arm and pretended to bite it much like Yoongi had before, and again, you thrilled them both with your shrieks and giggles.

While the days got longer and hotter with more sunlight, it seemed that each workday dragged on slower than they ever had before. You were diligently waiting your two weeks, but by the time you were nearly there, you wished you'd taken Yoongi's advice to just quit. You were aching to be at home every minute you were gone, and that was a feeling you had never known before.

When Yoongi brought you home on your next to last day of work, you walked into something you'd never seen at the house before. It was something of a party atmosphere, and they were all celebrating the end of the school year alongside Namjoon. Jin and Jimin had yet to return home, but Jungkook and Namjoon had beers in hand, chatting cheerfully at the kitchen table while Taehyung put out snacks on the counter. You walked carefully past them to wash your hands before you sidled up beside Hoseok where he was forming beef patties between his delicate hands.

"Hamburgers for dinner?" You asked. 

Hoseok smiled down at you and gestured to the side with his head. "You can slice those onions and tomatoes," he told you before you could ask to help. 

When the rest of the pack came home, you all accompanied Hobi outside on the patio while he grilled the burgers. Yoongi anxiously held you back from getting too close to the flames, nervous you might hurt yourself. The afternoon was lovely, and you all decided on eating outside to enjoy the spring weather. You spent most of the time clinging to Yoongi, either in his lap or next to him, holding his hand. He didn't mind in the slightest, nor did he mind the jealous looks he received from Taehyung, who tried to make the both of you jealous by fawning over Jimin. All of them were oblivious to the true reason for your clinginess.

Namjoon tended to stand quietly on the fringes of Seokjin's pack. His status was never in question, and he didn't shy away from sharing his thoughts and feelings, but whenever you were all together, he simply allowed others to take center stage. But tonight was different. Tonight was his celebration for another completed school year, and he felt no need to stay to the side and listen to others. For once, he dominated the majority of the conversation, discussing funny memories from the school year and a few complaints he usually tried to swallow. As the night grew longer and he drank more, his voice boomed louder across the large backyard and you pressed yourself closer to Yoongi.

When it got dark and the air turned chilly, everyone moved back into the kitchen. You were exhausted, but decided to help clean up before you tried to excuse yourself to go to bed. Everyone was having a good time, all of them drinking a little even though you didn't, and you didn't want to bring the mood down, but you were growing tired. When you finished washing the dishes you went to stand by Yoongi, who was laughing heartily to the story that Namjoon was telling. You could wait a few more minutes, but you didn't really want to go to bed alone, and you didn't want to miss out, listening to all their laughter from your room while you sat alone. As Namjoon continued his story, he gestured wildly with his hands. The condensation on the beer bottle made it slick, and the brown glass suddenly flew out of his hand, whizzing past your head in a blur. You were hiding under the counter by the time the glass hit the wall, shattering to pieces and dumping its liquid all over the floor. Shards of class popped around the room as you buried your head in your knees and covered yourself with your arms. A scream built in your throat, but you knew better than to let it out.

Don't scream. Don't scream. It'll only be worse if you scream.

The whole room went silent and motionless for two seconds as they registered what happened. Then at once everything was in motion. Yoongi got out of his chair to check if you were alright, but Taehyung was quicker. He didn't take a moment to ask how you were or assess the damage. He simply gathered you into his arms and lifted you off the ground, careful not to bang your head on the granite countertop. He carried you directly up the stairs and to your room, with Yoongi behind him and Jimin bringing up the rear.

In the kitchen, the remaining two alphas stood, frozen in shock, but Hoseok didn't waste any time putting on shoes and grabbing the broom.

"Hobi, let me," Namjoon tried to say, reaching for the broom when he finally came out of his stupor. 

The omega pulled away. "I got it. You stay over there until I get this all cleaned up. There's lots of glass."

The flat, subdued tone of his voice hurt Namjoon as much as the way Hobi wouldn't look at him. "It was an accident," he whispered.

"We know that, Joonie," Jungkook assured him with a light smile. "It's not like it's the first time you've broken something around here. It's just…" His eyes drifted toward the stairs. 

"I would never throw something at her," Namjoon defended. 

"I know, babe, I know. But she doesn't. It's natural for her to be scared. Don't take it too personally. She's just skittish," Jungkook tried to convince him. 

Hoseok felt a tug of war within himself. He was usually always the first one to comfort Namjoon when he accidentally broke something or made a mess. But now he really wanted to check on you, to make sure you weren't hurt or scared. He wanted to hold you in his arms, but he knew if he ran off with the others it would hurt Namjoon, and he knew that it wasn't really his fault. Namjoon was just clumsy, some might say cursed. He never meant to cause chaos, but he did anyway. You would get used to it, eventually, but right now the omega could understand perfectly why you were afraid Namjoon might hurt you without even intending to. His head swirled with competing worries as he swept up the glass and dumped it into the trash can. 

"Are you hurt?" Yoongi asked as Taehyung set you down at the edge of your nest. He shouldered the younger alpha out of the way to examine you. You were still too stunned to answer, but it didn't really matter; Yoongi was going to look over every available inch of you regardless. He gently tilted your face this way and that to make sure it was unscathed before he moved onto your arms, lifting and twisting each in turn to ensure your skin was unharmed. There was a small cut on your forearm and he frowned. It wasn't even from the incident that had unfolded moments before. It was from work earlier today, and the blood was already dry—you hadn't even felt it at the time.

"Jimin, go get the first aid kit from the bathroom," he instructed, holding your arms carefully. 

Feeling Yoongi's steady hands on you helped to ground you and bring you back to your body, out of your shock and panic. You took in a deep breath and breathed out, "I'm okay."

Jimin shuffled back into the room carrying the first aid kit and handed it to Yoongi. The alpha plucked out an alcohol pad and ripped open the packet with his teeth, spitting out the torn piece. 

"It's gonna sting," he whispered, but you didn't react as he swiped it over your skin. "It's dry." You looked down to the very minor wound he was tending to. 

"That was from work. It's fine," you told him, but he didn't seem to hear you. He had already taken a bandage from the kit—neon pink—and gently but firmly pressed it over your cut. "Yoongi?" He looked up into your eyes and you could see his own were full of worry. He shrugged. 

"It makes me feel better."

You cracked a genuine smile and it lifted some of the weight off his chest.

"Are you sure you're okay, sweet little?" Taehyung asked. His hands were still shaking from the course of adrenaline when he thought you were in danger. 

You nodded. "I'm okay. I was just scared. I'm not hurt."

"You shouldn't be scared at home," he replied.

"Come sit with me," you said softly, patting the spot next to you. Your heart ached to see how distressed he was over you. Taehyung lowered his head and came to sit near you, not quite in your nest, but just outside of it. When he got close you realized something the rest of them hadn't. They'd been too worried about you to assess their own well-being. 

"Tae, you're covered in beer."

He had been standing closest to where the bottle had hit the wall and, as a result, had gotten sprayed with the contents as well as some glass. 

"You're bleeding," you added. "Yoongi, your patient is right here."

Your alpha smiled weakly at how brave you were trying to be. He could tell by the way you were still shaking that you weren't as calm as you pretended to be, but he would talk to you about it in a little while when things settled. For now he turned to Taehyung. Without a word, he began to clean the man's wound, and you held his hand while he winced through the burn on the alcohol. You pulled a neon pink bandage from the box beside you and handed it to Yoongi to apply.

"Now we match," you told him, and it brought a bright, boxy smile to Taehyung's face.

"Why are you the one comforting me?" He asked, bumping your shoulder. 

"Why don't you go clean up and get changed? Then maybe you can come cuddle me in the nest?" You offered. "If you want to," you added quickly. 

Taehyung nodded enthusiastically. "Be right back," he said before scurrying out of the room. 

"Yoongi, you need to go downstairs and see if everyone is okay down there," you told him.

He growled softly, mumbling, "They can take care of themselves."

"Alpha," you cooed, reaching out to touch his cheek, "don't be like that." He pouted for a moment, but nodded and gathered the pieces of trash from his work before he took the first aid kit downstairs. 

"What about me?" Jimin stood proudly in front of you, fists in his hips, waiting for his instructions. 

"You come cuddle me until the others come back." He didn't waste a second, shucking off his pants and shirt. You'd gotten used to the fact that Jimin preferred to sleep only in boxers. Who were you to force clothes on him if he slept better without? After your heat, it had ceased to make you the slightest bit uncomfortable. He quickly climbed onto the bed, wrestling you into the nest and underneath his body, where he could get the upper hand on you and make the last of our distressed scent disappear as quickly as it had come.

When Yoongi reached the bottom of the steps, Namjoon turned anxiously to look at him. He was cleaning the last of the beer off the wall, looking rather like a pup with his tail between his legs. This was hardly a rare scenario for him, cleaning up his own mess no matter how Hobi tried to tell him to leave it. It wasn't the first glass he'd broken nor the first drink spilled. Namjoon was a walking disaster. He knew that. It couldn't be helped, and everyone knew that, too. But normally, everyone would stick around to help and cheer him up and comfort him when he made a silly mistake like this. This time, half his pack had disappeared up the stairs with you, and he couldn't help feeling a bit hurt about it. He regretted it. He always did, but he couldn't take it back, and he just couldn't change. He opened his mouth to explain to Yoongi, but nothing came out. 

"Is she hurt?" Hoseok asked from the sink, after Yoongi and Namjoon had stared at each other for several tense seconds. Yoongi's face was a cold mask of stone, revealing nothing but disdain. Namjoon looked utterly crestfallen. 

"She's not hurt. Just scared," Yoongi answered, shaking his head when he finally broke eye contact with Joon. 

"That's a relief," Namjoon sighed, and his face showed his relief was real. 

"Taehyung got cut up a little bit," Yoongi said sharply. It was petty, but he didn't want the younger alpha to feel as if there was no harm done, and he didn't expect Namjoon to care that you'd been shaken up. 

"Is it bad?" Jin asked, looking concerned. 

Yoongi shook his head again. "I patched him up. Y/N invited him into her nest to make him feel better, I think." He paused for a second, thinking about your behavior. "She sent me down here to see if anyone was hurt."

"We're all fine, Yoongi. Come have a seat," Jungkook replied, pulling out the chair beside him. 

"I should go back to her."

"Yoongi." Jin's voice wasn't raised, but it was loud and firm enough to have Yoongi freezing as he turned away. He hugged the first aid kit to his stomach and dropped his chin. "I'm sure Jimin and Tae are taking perfectly good care of her. Come sit for a minute."

Yoongi hated the way it felt like he was in trouble, when he knew he had no reason to be. He hadn't gone and ruined a perfectly nice evening, or spooked his very nervous omega. But he turned and walked slowly to the table to sit anyway. 

"You know it was an accident," Jin said calmly.

"I know," Yoongi answered curtly.

"Just let him apologize." Jin's voice was the slightest bit pleading, as if he were desperate to avoid more conflict between his alphas.

"I really am sorry, Yoongi. I would never–"

"You don't need to apologize to me," Yoongi interjected. "I'm not angry. Maybe if she'd been hurt…but I know you can't control your body. You've never been able to. I get that. But she doesn't know. She's terrified you will hurt her, just by accident. And with you accidents are bound to happen."

"I–" Namjoon began, but the other alpha didn't let him finish. 

"Do you know how it hurts me to see her afraid? After all the horrors in her life, I only want to keep her from feeling afraid. I don't just want her to be safe. I want her to feel safe. And if she can't then we…If she can't feel safe with you…" The look of pure devastation on Yoongi's features hurt Namjoon more than any other thing could have.

"What can I do, Yoongi? Tell me. I'll make it right," he begged.

Yoongi sighed, desperate to keep himself together. "If you and her are going to live in the same house…if you're going to spend the whole summer together, you have to try to be gentler. Please try."

Namjoon reached across the table to lay his hand over Yoongi's where he clutched the kit still.

"I will try. I promise. I'll be more careful," Namjoon assured him. Yoongi merely nodded silently, unsure if that would be enough to settle all your nerves about the pack's largest alpha. As if he could read Yoongi's mind, Jin cleared his throat. 

"I think, maybe, Y/N might feel a little more comfortable with us if she could see that you're comfortable with us," he suggested quietly. Yoongi's eyes flickered to the pack alpha's and then back to his hands. 

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Jin sighed, "you're still holding us at arms length. I get maybe you still want to punish us for what we've done. I don't want to tell you how to feel or to get over it. But how could she ever trust us if she knows you don't?"

"She'll come to her own conclusions,"Yoongi mumbled. 

"So you admit that you still don't trust us? You're still angry with me?" Jin sounded frustrated, but Yoongi could hear that really he was just heartbroken. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, knowing that his distance was hurting Jin. He wasn't really angry anymore. He hadn't found the time or energy to be angry. Any spare thought he had went directly to you. Maybe it was unfair, because he knew clearly in this moment that he still carried plenty of love in his heart for Jin and Namjoon. 

"I'm not angry," he answered. "I just don't know what you want me to do. I've stayed. I've brought her here—sometimes against my better judgment—I don't know what I'm meant to do to fix things. They just have to heal in their own time." He shrugged. 

"But how can they when this is the longest conversation we've had in weeks?"

"I don't know, Jin. It's just not my priority right now!" Yoongi snapped. 

"Okay!" Hoseok interjected, coming closer to the men seated at the table for the first time. He'd been hesitant to interfere in the alphas' problems, but he knew both men well enough to see they were on the verge of saying things they didn't mean and would regret later. As soon as he approached, Jungkook's linen scent fluffed through the room, easing away the alphas' tension. "It's all okay. We don't have to solve it all tonight. It's late, and I think we should all just go to bed. Hm?" Hoseok put his hands on Jin's shoulders and gave a squeeze, satisfied when his shoulders relaxed. 

"Yeah, fine," Yoongi answered. He stood quickly, scraping the box along the table before he picked it up and moved toward the stairs. He didn't want more conflict. He wasn't trying to prolong their distance. But it was impossible not to want to keep them away when he wanted so badly to be close to you, and to keep you safe.

Yoongi stopped in the bathroom, relieved to hear the giggles of you, Jimin and Taehyung coming through your door. After tucking the first aid kit back into its spot under the sink, he brushed his teeth. Hoseok met his eyes in the bathroom mirror when he stopped outside your door, but neither said a word before the omega slipped into your room to see for himself that you were unharmed. Yoongi remained quiet when he joined the four of you. Jimin had managed to get you into a pair of pajamas and your hair was an adorable disaster from being rolled around in your nest. You'd settled now between Jimin's legs with your back to his bare chest, your attention on Hoseok until Yoongi walked in, but you only spared him a glance. He wondered if even Jimin could tell how hard you were forcing your smile and your happy scent. Had he noticed that your eyes lacked the shine they usually got when the beta scented you silly?

"Come to bed so these kids can get to sleep," Hoseok said to Taehyung while Yoongi changed into his pajamas. 

Taehyung whined softly. He'd only just been invited into your nest, and he wasn't ready to leave it already.

"Go on, Tae. Joon needs to know you're not upset with him," Yoongi encouraged quietly.

"Maybe I am," Taehyung mumbled. Hoseok reached for his hand and took it into his lap. 

"You know he can't help himself, Tae. Give him a break, okay?"

The alpha grumbled wordlessly, but you nudged him with your foot. 

"Go on, Tae Tae. I will be okay. My alpha is here." Taehyung's low rumble turned into a real growl, but you knew it was playful. 

"Two alphas are better than one."

"Three are better than two!" Hoseok added. He stood from the edge of the bed and tugged on the youngest alpha's hand to come along. Tae allowed himself to be dragged off the bed, but pulled back to give you one kiss on the top of your head.

"See you tomorrow, sweet little. Sleep tight," he murmured, and then he was gone.

Closing the door, Yoongi turned off the lights before crawling into bed beside you.

"Goodnight," Jimin said, leaning over you to kiss Yoongi, making sure you got properly squished in the process.

"Goodnight," you whispered with a giggle when you received your own kiss. 

You said nothing to Yoongi as the two of you cuddled together. Your head laid on his chest, listening to his slow, steady heartbeat as the house slowly went silent. You laid there, but didn't close your eyes, and Yoongi watched you without saying a word. You let the minutes stretch on until you'd been there for almost half an hour. 

"How come you aren't sleeping?" you asked softly. 

"You aren't sleeping either," he replied. You shifted slightly without moving away and traced his stomach with your fingertips. 

"It's hard for me to sleep without your snoring." You felt his chest rise and fall with a huff and looked up to see his gummy smile for just a moment. Then he looked down at you seriously.

"You don't have to pretend for me. You don't have to pretend for anyone, but especially not me." You shifted again, but this time he could tell you were putting space between you. 

"I don't know what you mean."

Yoongi grasped your wrist gently before you could move away from him. There wasn't far to go before you would run into Jimin, but he could only bare for you to move as far as it would take for you to look at him eye to eye. He rolled over and scooched down so his gaze was level to yours. 

"You don't need to act as if Namjoon didn't scare you. You're still scared now. I don't think I can convince you that you're safe right now, but you are. I'm right here." 

Your chest tightened at his words. You whispered, "I know," but it didn't stop your eyes from watering. Yoongi gathered you close, pressing you into his chest. 

"I'm so angry."

"It was an–"

"I'm angry with myself. I shouldn't have brought you here." He felt you try to pull away, ready to argue, but he held you tight. "I should have taken you somewhere else. The three of us could have gotten an apartment. Shouldn't have kept you here with such clumsy, stupid alphas." At this point he sounded as though he was talking to himself, mumbling out the thoughts he'd been repeating in his head for the last hour. 

"It's okay, Yoongi. I didn't get hurt," you tried to tell him. 

"But you got scared, and that's just as bad in my eyes." You managed to pull away from him enough to look up at his face and touch his cheek. "You're still shaking. Do you think I can't feel that? Jimin and Tae scented you, but you didn't feel safe enough to let yourself get all dopey. Do you even realize? I can't stand this, and I hate that you're pretending just so we don't feel bad."

"Yoongi," you frowned and stroked your thumb over his cheekbone. "I'm not pretending because of that. I'm trying to be brave because I want to stay. Namjoon terrifies me, but I like it here. I like living with Hobi and Tae…and you and Jimin here. I'm still scared, but not enough to leave. So let me pretend, okay?" Yoongi sighed, a sign he wasn't accepting this yet. "I may not feel completely safe, but I feel happy. I'm like a stray dog. I may never feel safe, not completely. I might always be a little jumpy. But that doesn't mean I don't love my new home, or that it's not a good home."

Yoongi laughed almost silently and buried his head in your neck. "Don't call yourself a stray dog."

"That's what I am," you replied, combing your fingers through his hair. "I came up to you with big puppy eyes and asked you to stay."

"That's definitely not how it happened," he mumbled. But when he pulled you closer and inhaled your scent, you couldn't help smiling. 

"I won't let anything happen to you," he breathed as he relaxed against the nest at last. 

"I know," you replied. "So I think we can sleep now."

"Go ahead. I'll watch over you."

Your last shift ended fairly well. The library staff even brought donuts to wish you well. A couple of them who were betas even confessed that they were glad to hear you had settled in with a pack and would be staying home, because they often worried about you. You waited outside the library at your usual spot, pacing and checking your phone as minutes ticked by and terrible thoughts began to creep in.

What if they got into some kind of accident?

What if they dont want you, after all?

Just as you began to spiral into your worst thoughts, a familiar vehicle pulled up abruptly in front of you. Although you'd never ridden inside of it, you could still recognize Namjoon's blue volvo without looking at him, which you only did for the briefest of glances, just to be sure it was really him.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," he said, sounding out of breath as if he'd run instead of driven here. 

I wasn't waiting for you, is what you wanted to say, but you merely stood still and stared at him with eyes as wide as saucers.

"Um," he began awkwardly as he got out of the car without killing the engine and walked toward you until he was only a couple yards away. He scratched nervously behind his ear as he tried to start again. "I know you were expecting Taehyung, but he cut his foot on a piece of glass that wasn't cleaned up from last night, and Hobi took him to the emergency room about twenty minutes ago. Didn't they text you?"

You shook your head, remaining silent.

"Yeah…so I was the only other person home so…here I am." He looked anxiously at the car, like he wished you'd just get in and save him the embarrassment of standing here in front of you. "I promise, I'm a good driver. And we don't have to talk or anything, if you don't want to."

You stared at him for a moment longer before your tongue unglued itself from the roof of your mouth.

"Does Yoongi know about this?" 

Namjoons throat felt like sandpaper, and he seemed to shrink an inch. He shook his head. "I tried to call him but he didn't answer. He must be busy." 

You hadn't moved an inch since he arrived, and he couldn't help wondering if he was really that terrifying.

"I promise, Y/N, I'm not going to hurt you." The idea that you ever thought he would hurt him in a way he couldn't account for. He knew he wouldn't, but the idea that you couldn't believe that cut him deep. What would he do if you never learned to trust him? If you never let him close to you? It wasn't something he ever gave himself permission to want, so why did not having it wound him so? He shook his head clear of the questions. "You can sit in the back and pretend I'm just the chauffeur."

You lifted your chin in his direction and narrowed your eyes. "I think I'll just take the bus."

Namjoons eyebrows raised. You can't possibly think he's that scary, could you? But instead he used what he knew was the only way to convince you.

"Do you really think Yoongi would approve of that?"

Your jaw tightened. You knew he was right. Looking down at your phone, you hoped for a notification from Yoongi, but there was one from Hoseok instead. You swallowed thickly when you read it.

Sorry, pup! There was an emergency. Namjoon should be there to pick you up. I promise it will be okay.

"How do you know you'll take me home and not somewhere else?" You finally asked. Namjoon's eyes grew wide and he actually took a step back. He rubbed his hand over his hair as he tried to process your question.

"What makes you think I would do something like that? What did Yoongi say to you?" Your brow furrowed at the strange question. 

"Yoongi didn't have to say anything for me to know you don't want me around," you answered, an edge of bitterness lacing your words. Namjoon nearly choked.

"Y/n, that isn't true."

"If it isn't then why didn't you ever tell yoongi where I was when you knew I worked here? You and Jin didn't want him to know. You don't want me in your pack. I get it. It's fine. But you should know that Yoongi does want me, and if I don't come home there's no telling what he'll do." You were surprised by the firmness of your own voice as well as how sure you felt of your own words. Yoongi did want you, and you knew that was as fierce an attachment for him as it was for you.

Namjoon took several full breaths before he responded. "Y/N, I promise you, all I'm trying to do right now is take you home. I won't lie to you. I didn't want you to become a part of our pack at first but things have…changed. You're a part of our lives now either way. And I wouldn't risk losing Yoongi over you. I never would. So please. Just come home with me," he begged. While the two of you maintained eye contact—for longer than you had ever done before—he fought the instinct to grab you and put you in the car if you continued to protest, but he knew that would only hurt his cause. Just when he was about to lose this staring contest to you, your phone began to ring with Yoongi's ringtone.

"Hello?" You answered, only dropping your gaze from the alpha in front of you for a moment.

"Princess, are you okay?" He asked, sounding out of breath from the way his heart was pounding.

"I think so," you mumbled.

"I got a message from Joon that he was going to pick you up." You narrowed your eyes on the man in question. 

"Yeah, he's here." Yoongi sighed in relief. "What should I do? I can take the bus."

"No, princess. Just go home with him, okay? I promise everything will be fine."

"I'm scared," you said so softly that Namjoon couldn't hear it.

"I know, and I'm sorry, but you don't need to be. You'll be safe with him, and I'll feel better if you go with him than on your own. I've got your location on. If anything happens to you I'll be there as soon as possible. But you're going to be okay. Trust me?" It was that simple, really. If Yoongi was asking you to trust him, then you would. As long as Yoongi promised you'd be safe, you'd make yourself believe him. He wouldn't let you down.

"Fine."

"Good girl. I'll be home in a few hours and I'll give you a reward for being so brave." Your cheeks heated at his words, but you couldn't deny loving it when Yoongi sometimes treated you like a child. No one had ever treated you with such gentle care before, and it felt like real love.

"I'll be waiting." You hung up and looked at Namjoon again. He looked back expectantly. "Yoongi said to go home with you. So I guess that's that."

You walked around the vehicle to sit in the back passenger seat, as far from him as possible. Namjoon didn't say a word as you got inside his car and buckled yourself in. As he pulled away from the library, you kept your eyes out the window even though you could feel his gaze on you through the rear view mirror. He chewed nervously on his lip as he glanced back and forth between the road and the mirror, but he kept silent until he was on the main road between the library and the house.

"We should try to be civil, at least," he said at last, speaking as if you'd been privy to the conversation in his head instead of coming into the middle. You didn't respond, so he went on. "We're going to be home together a lot this summer, and it would be easier on everyone if we tried to ease the tension." He finished softly, perhaps knowing he sounded ridiculous to you.

"I'll do my best to keep out from under foot, if you try not to throw anything at me again."

Namjoon deflated with a sigh. "I swear it was an accident."

"That's why I said try."

"I'm just clumsy. I never meant to hurt you."

"Do you honestly think I haven't heard every excuse in the book?" You rolled your eyes. "It just slipped. You ran into my fist. You really should be more careful where you're going."

"Y/N," Namjoon interrupted, trying hard not to become distressed as he drove, but honestly, your words were tearing him apart. Did you really have no idea the effect you had on him? "I'm sorry. I realize I haven't apologized to you directly for last night. I'm sorry for being so careless. I really will try to be more cautious. But I'm also sorry that other people have given you reasons not to trust them, or alphas, or me." He pulled to a stop at a red light and turned in his seat to look at you. "I get that you have no reason to trust me, and that I have to work for it. That's okay. I don't mind. But can you give me the benefit of the doubt and trust that Yoongi wouldn't have me in his life at all if you couldn't trust me?"

At last, you turned your head to look at him. "Why does everyone always pull the Yoongi card on me?"

"Because it always works," he smirked.

"Fuck," you muttered, because he was right. For whatever reason, you trusted Yoongi implicitly. And Namjoon had a point. Your alpha wouldn't have a dangerous person in his life, let alone trust them to be around you. So you merely nodded to his request, and the man turned forward just in time to see the light turn green before he drove you the rest of the way home. 

A/n: I don't feel like this has been my best chapter, but I would love to hear your thoughts on it! Thanks for reading!

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[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

You'll Poke Your Eye Out

Prompt Day 25: Christmas | Word Count: 541 | Rating: T | CW: Lingering Upside Down Trauma, Language | Tags: Future Fic, Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, Established Relationship, Christmas at Wayne's, Eating Nuts (Not Like That), Hurt/Comfort

Steve sits on the couch at Wayne's, a large stainless steel bowl in his lap, the nut cracker tool in one hand and metal pick in the other.

Eddie walks by behind the couch, brand new Polaroid camera hanging around his neck. It's been a full morning of Eddie taking pictures of anything and everything, laying the instant pictures out across every flat surface.

"You'll poke your eye out," Eddie says flippantly as he keeps moving. 

Well, that's not the plan, but if he does, maybe it'll have been worth it.

Because nothing, nothing, says it is Christmas like the big bowl of partially cracked open pecans on Wayne's coffee table. Steve had never had anything like it in his house while growing up. A big bowl of in-shell nuts, just sitting in the living room? His mother would have never allowed such a thing. The mess that could have even potentially been created would have given her hives.

Steve doesn't know where Wayne gets the nuts, or why they are such an integral part of the Munson family tradition, but he's grown to anticipate them every year.

The first time he'd seen the metal tools, they seemed kind of like medieval torture devices. Eddie had to show him how to use them: Putting the pecan between the metal claws, squeezing until the shell breaks. Then using the pick to dig out the meat. Eat. Rinse, repeat.

Sometimes it's walnuts, but it's usually pecans.

It gives him something to do with his hands, and he prefers that most of the time. He can't just sit still. Idle hands, and all that. Keeping his mind busy, even in this mundane way, is the best thing he's found to keep everything running smoothly. Steve knows Eddie bounced back from his tangle with the Upside Down almost totally unscathed. 

Steve didn't. 

That's not true. Not totally. 

He thought he was fine. The first year, even the second, he'd had no problems at all. But in time it snuck up on him, and knocked him to his knees. Eddie picked him back up, and he's been picking him up ever since. 

The physical scars he can deal with just fine, but the mental scars that were hidden away where he couldn't even tend to them fucking suck, and he prefers to keep busy.

So, today, he cracks nuts. 

When Eddie finally sits down next to him, Steve starts cracking them for him. One after another, handing over the small slivers of nuts, and occasionally entire halves in perfect condition. He'll be better at it by New Year's. The rust will be shaken off, and he'll be able to crack more without breaking them into small pieces. It just takes time to acclimate, he knows that and accepts it. 

It is what it is. Nothing is perfect, definitely not him, and he doesn't expect to be. Not anymore.

At the end of the night, he picks his empty shells out of the bowl, and tosses them in the trash. Eddie runs the Dustbuster around the couch, and it's like Steve never made a mess at all.

Tomorrow, Wayne will have refilled the bowl and Steve will start the process all over again, Eddie at his side.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!

Notes: I feel like I often explore Eddie struggling after the events of S4, but what if Steve felt it more? What if Eddie bounced back like a cat using one of his nine lives?

[heli0s-writes]

Sweet

A/n: You know how sometimes when you’re having a breakdown and nothing is helping but then something completely unrelated and stupid just does it for no reason. This is that. With pot brownies and kissing. Bucky is recovering and reader is an moron with a heart of gold. Angst, hurt/comfort, humor. Reader/Bucky. 3k words Warnings: Marijuana use; conversations about trauma, particularly food-related; language.

-

The path leading away from the cabin is littered with wet patches of morning. Rime colors of miserable winter in sludge grey are starting to be overtaken by sprouts of green, yellow, and brisk dew, springtime optimism come to life.

Pepper’s got the front of her house looking like a farmer’s market flower stand. Pots of tulips and daffodils explode up the steps and tri-color ribbons connecting porch-light to porch-light. The magnolia tree is soon to bud, and she’s hung hummingbird feeders and birdhouses all around.

When the cars start rolling in for the quarter-yearly potluck, you hang out near the garden, rocking back and forth on your feet. You'd shown up early but didn’t know what to do around a toddler, so outside it was.

The familiar Range Rover halts to a stop, Sam’s door opening as he makes his way out, holding ceramic handles of an enormous crockpot.

You call, “Bring your famous chili?”

“Damn right, I did,” he beams, “you bring your appetite?”

You waggle your eyebrows before looking to the SUV he hopped out of, Steve lingering by the back door with a brown paper box tucked beneath his arm, knocking on the heavily tinted windows with a long-suffering sigh. “C’mon, Buck. Up and at ‘em.”

A loud, decisive knock thumps back at him and Steve rolls his big, pitiful, puppy dog eyes in your direction. Beneath the blue of his left orbital is what looks suspiciously like the fading ochre stain of either an almost healed bruise or a newly forming one, which only makes Steve’s silent call for aid more pathetic and urgent.

Damn, okay. Since you’re kind of on thin ice already, this could go one of two ways.

Sliding up, you crack your knuckles.

“Barnes,” you call, “I got something illegal for you. Wanna see?”

“Dead body.” He responds from behind the still shut door, and you’re not sure if that’s a question. Steve glares at you accusatory, as if you’d actually bring a dead body to a potluck, good grief.

“Uh, no.”

“Knife.”

Steve shoots you another look—which is just ridiculous at this point, the both of them.

“Knives aren’t illegal.”

“Depends.”

Steve shifts the box of what looks to be cherry turnovers and mouths phrase day, which means that Barnes decided to stop talking in complete sentences sometime between when he woke up and probably when Steve over-crowded him and is now reducing all communication to two or three words as both a method of punishment for Steve and self-preservation for Barnes.

“It’ll make you feel better,” you urge, “Loads better.”

“Sex.” He rolls down the window just enough for you to get a glimpse of his eyes, narrowed and steely. “Drugs?”

You mouth bingo, outrightly ignoring the fact that it feels like Bucky Barnes nearly solicited you for sex, and Steve puts his hand over his own face, about to quip until he realizes that he’s probably said too much already—which is what got him in this predicament to begin with—and simply drags himself toward the house.

Barnes watches him go wordlessly before he opens the door and steps out, looking down at you, lightly shivering in the cold, and says, still one-worded, “Okay.”

-

He pops three brownies into his mouth and chews, opening just enough to get out a muffled, “too sweet” before returning to grinding down like he’s cracking pecan shells in there.

“I know you have like,” you make panicked motions with your fingers, snapping the red Tupperware lid back down frantically, “hella metabolism, but pump the brakes or you’re going to flip.”

“Flip,” he concludes, determined. He squirrels about two more in before you can do anything about it.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! I was going to let you take those home later—oh my god, I’m going to get into so much trouble.”

The two of you are stopped at one of those cutesy stone birdbaths around the perimeter, leaning on the lip as Barnes licks remaining chocolate off his fingers, looking as pleased as punch. As much as he can look, anyway, you think, since you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him smile at anything other than the time Steve stubbed his toe bad enough on Tony’s kitchen island that he doubled over. 

“Did you say sex earlier?” You suddenly remember the flash of silver from the darkness of the SUV. “Wait, actually, I wanna go back even before that—did you really think I’d have a dead body?”

He shrugs.

“Cool,” you reply, “cool, cool, cool, cool. I think I should be more concerned, but you know what, I like it. Feels like a vote of confidence.”

A wide grin stretches across your face and you temporarily forget that Bucky fucking Barnes has eaten about half a pan of brownies with 25 grams of pot baked into them, that in about 15 minutes you’re both expected to sit down like normal people and have a nice dinner without anyone doing… whatever it is that he might do when he’s blazed to high heaven.

You shake the thought of Steve’s disappointment out of your head. Maybe it’d be best to keep acting natural, get him into some kind of headspace.

“So,” you whistle, “what’d you bring to the potluck?”

He gives you a sidelong stare and if there were Olympics for how someone can convey eat shit and die without moving anything but their eyes, he’d win every 8 years for the rest of his unnaturally long life.

“Well, I brought myself,” you curtsy, starting back down the trail again, figuring that you’ve got five minutes walking forward before it’d be time to turn back to the house, “and your present,” to which he gives you a short nod, “and an empty stomach. You excited for Sam’s chili?”

“Spicy.”

“Spicy?” you recoil, suddenly finding the prospect of a man who gave Captain America a black eye last week or possibly this morning—the monster who ate half of your most lethal bake—panting and sweating over a bowl of chili astoundingly inconceivable.

“Oh wait, you live with Rogers. What’s he feeding you at home? Steamed chicken?”

“Baked.”

You sigh, “God, you’re fucked. Nat brought something with Carolina Reaper infused honey glaze. Barnes... we’ll have to do a prayer circle for your ass.”

His face twists into a look of disgust before he starts to notice his lips, pressing them together, pulling them apart. After a few more motions like he’s discovering his body, bit by bit, he turns to you, and announces, “Feeling it.”

You laugh, jealous, because although you had a bite about 30 minutes before he even arrived, the brownie hasn’t hit you yet. “Good,” you say anyway, “that’s good, right?”

He only apathetically regards a sparrow flying past. You suppress a chortle when Barnes repeatedly licks his lips and rubs at the sleeves of his sweater.

“Have you ever been high before?” You correct, “In the fun, recreational, consensual way?”

Another listless shrug before he turns his head. You push yourself off a nearby log and make a show of stomping through haphazard piles of sticks and dead leaves, curling your fingers in a come along motion.

He follows, boots crunching, steps short and patternless, making a racket behind your back. He looks like a kid, fingers tucked up into his long sleeves, bouncy knees as he attempts to splash into every puddle as he possibly can before catching up. He’s almost got a grin when he looks at you, remembering where he is again, and there’s a light brush of color along the tops of his cheeks from the chill.

Around a small bend in the path, you duck under a branch, hop over a stone, and when you land back on both feet, the ground wobbles just enough to notice.

The air smells nice. Your eyelids feel heavy in a good way.

“Steve really piss you off this morning, didn’t he?”

Barnes lands a couple of feet away, his face dropping into an exhausted expression at the question, which you can’t fault him for because Steve’s a lot of things. Simple things, on the surface, but Barnes has known him longer than most anyone else and you imagine all of his noble qualities—his longstanding patience and willpower and belief in the goodness in everything and everyone—you imagine that shit gets old.

Hell, it gets at you on occasion, and you’re not even the brainwashed best friend who’s probably hearing a hundred voices in his head and is too tired to hear one more no matter how well-intentioned it might be.

Sometimes, being inundated by language just breaks it all back into foreign, incomprehensible script. And sometimes, being exceedingly plied with something you can’t make any sense of makes you turn inward, makes you bare your teeth in self-defense.

Which makes you realize you probably should ease up, too, talk less, but then he takes a long step with his ridiculous legs and is by your side, walking as if you two do this all the time.

“He’s a fixer.” Bucky’s brows are scrunched together, hands buried in his pockets. You nod quickly, not wanting him to go into any more detail than that because it’s not news that the entire population is still wary of Bucky Barnes’ re-emergence as a United States citizen when he was, up until very recently, a—uh, Russian one.

This, obviously, puts many things at odds with each other, including Steve, who is Mr. United States himself. The Avengers, too, who are mostly Team United States, considering the location and overwhelming population. But most of all, Bucky, who is still cobbling together bits and pieces of his life each day, is faced with the knowledge that everyone in the world knows more about him than he does.

You rub the back of your neck sympathetically because that shit would kill your heart so fast.

“You know what.” You shake the Tupperware at him, “Have the rest of these. You deserve it. And like, a million hugs.”

He barks a laugh, gladly gulps down the rest, and there’s a dapple of fudge on his chin looking so silly and sweet as he chews.

Ah, shoot. You avert your gaze, feeling very bad ideas break out up your arms and neck, and the shudder that is about to overtake you seems less about Barnes’ sweet face and more about Steve’s disappointed one. Like, he’s going to read your mind and know you’re having ideas about his best friend. And he’s going to do that thing where his eyebrows drop and his lips press together as he attempts to hold back a few choice words. Until later, probably, when he corners you somewhere and unleashes them anyway.

What were you thinking?, he’ll hiss. Are you capable of thinking rationally?

“What?” Barnes prods. “What is it?”

“Nothin’” you take a leap forward, herding the both of you back. The closer you are to the cabin the more you’ll remember that you’re at a family event, with friends, who should all stay in the friend territory.

But you blurt anyway, “You said sex earlier!” Because you’re a whole ass idiot.

He makes a small noise, says, “Yeah,” like that’s any help.

“Are you…” what the fuck, your head is spinning, “like, in… need of some?” Your face feels hot.

“Maybe. My body is…” he frowns, so weirdly open right now, and then he looks at you with half is face in a weary grin, the other half lost and confused. “Responding to stimuli in ways I haven’t— responded to in... Trying to fix it. Steve wants me to be fixed.”

He tilts his face to the sky, glaring at it. “Can’t get it out.”

You’re trying to force your rabbiting heart down to a manageable pace. You’ve never had any in-depth discussions with him about anything, much less his sex drive. The most interaction the two of you get is the occasional mission or get-together where you crack jokes and get shitfaced when the job’s done. You’ve been told you’re sort of a pain and haven’t given a fuck too much to change that.

You’re sort of in trouble right now, having been “irrational” during the last mission, running across the iced lake instead of taking the planned route and falling in. It ended up working out, since you got to the enemy helicopter before the enemies, but then there was the stabbing because you were sort of outnumbered and the pneumonia afterwards because you fell into the fucking lake…

There was a massive chewing out. Steve and his many, disappointed words.

Something about motor-mouths and low-object permanence but sure, good on the inside when it counts.

You hope this is one of those times where it counts.

“Listen,” you start. “Take as long as you need, there’s no rush on recovery and pushing yourself too hard is detrimental to your health. It’s not a straight line.”

“I hit him.”

Your wheeling brain is making a sharp left, trying to figure out where Barnes is driving toward. Oh. The black eye.

“Aw, Steve?” You wave your hand, swatting nothing. “He’s a big boy.”

“I’m hungry. Then I’m not.”

“I mean, that sounds normal—“

“No, a lot. Fast. Cyclical. Endless.”

It must be his metabolism adjusting. The realization of his relationship with food comes fast, almost visceral. Scarce when he was young, then rationed during the war before it was taken from him altogether. He was given the bare minimum with Hydra—protein slurry, tube-fed—then purged—stomach pumped—before being put on ice.

For decades.

Starvation must have truly felt endless.

And now with food being a surplus, with his body readjusting to it, yet his mind still struggling with habits—it must be so confusing. Another seemingly natural function to be confused about.

“Ah,” you manage, a lump in your throat like a blockade.

“I get nightmares.” He’s glaring at his hands, one flesh, one metal, opening and closing his fist like trying to get a grip on himself, and his voice is so small and pained. “These thoughts. All sorts. Can’t sleep.”

You extend your hands, shake off the dry sob that wants to erupt from your chest, and declare with flourish, “On the fourth day, God made Purple Kush, and it was good. So, we can—we can fix that.”

He takes another one of those long looks, through his lashes, lips quirked in quiet humor.

“You’re not really a fixer.”

He shakes the container of crumbs in your face.

You gasp, snatching it back in offense. “I can fix… some things! I replaced the utility light in the kitchen yesterday!“

Your cheeks are hot, face twitching like a broken screen because all you can think about is how handsome he is, out here like this, nose blushing, eyes lazy and crescent shaped, the heavy creases beneath them less pained and more relaxed.

And how he’s teasing you—- and he’s kind of a little shit.

“You fucker,” you say.

He grins—all big and silent, and for a second you count your blessings that he’s not going to say anything else shitty until he quips, “Not unless you’re offering.”

He’s staring at you intently, a curious expression winding its way up his face. His eyes are huge and blue and the most alert, glazed-over, pair of bloodshot, redder-than-the-devil’s-dick eyes you’ve ever seen on anyone stoned halfway to the moon.

His tongue darts out, sweeps a slow, careful line over the width of his bottom lip, practically asking, and you’re just the simple idiot who openly gawks at him.

“Ah,” you nod. “Yeah you’re definitely right. I’m—“ you gulp, “more of a fuck-up.”

Because what’s another fuck up to add onto the long-running list of fuck ups you’ve had recently, anyway? Kissing Barnes might count as a really serious one, sure, but at least it’s not pneumonia.

It’d make him feel better, probably, it’d make him feel something, at least. Steve would appreciate that, if Barnes came to the dinner table verbal, maybe even laughing. No one has to tell Steve that his best pal kissed your face off in the woods.

The idea of your face being kissed off is doing a number on you. The idea of Bucky Barnes, this gorgeous, miserable, godly, tragic contradiction, your at-arm’s-length teammate, your quickly-becoming friend, kissing your face off because he needs to feel something soft in the midst of the rest of the horrible, jagged things he already feels every second of his life—and he can get it from you.

You’re stupid and simple and how could anyone say no to that? So you take one last second to steel your heart, push forward, and lean in.

It’s, frankly, bizarre.

He kisses you gently, fantastically, inconsistently, wavering from assured one second to apprehensive the next, like he remembers how but can’t quite execute.

You meet him where you can, respond to the parting of his lips with your own, adjust to his tension with grace, and when he starts feeling like he’s getting the hang of it, like muscle memory has  finally settled into his body, you let him lead.

One hand finds the base of your skull, the other placing itself on your waist. His kisses grow greedy, like he remembers desire is a thing that occurs to him. He tilts his head down, kisses up like he wants to swallow every sigh between your lips, like he’s hungry for the sounds you make—and you’re making, embarrassingly, a lot of them. He’s good—dominant but kind, mouth wide, lips full, tongue cocoa-sweet and clever as it strokes yours again and again.

When he backs you up into a tree, you barely register it. His hand has moved to cushion your head, and he’s urging his entire body forward into yours, grip tight at your hipbone, moving his mouth to your jaw, then your neck, and you stutter a string of letters that refuse to make words.

Barnes is expertly sucking marks beneath your collar, right beneath the neckline, his breath hot and coming out in a near snarl and when he scrapes his teeth down, sinking them into the soft skin of your chest, you yelp loud enough to send a few birds scattering from the trees.

He jumps off like he’s burned you, eyes frantic, afraid.

“No—” you clear your throat, hands out, “Hold on.”

He’s blinking, head clearing, head trying to assess what he’s done, the situation, the pulled loose neckline, the wet shine of his spit up your throat.

“S-sorry—”

“No, don’t be sorry.” You give him his distance but take a small step forward. “That was hot. But,”

He blinks, confused, and this whole thing could easily go pear-shaped, your well-intentioned explanation might turn into unintelligible speech at any moment, but you have to try or else he’ll tailspin into catastrophe, and you suddenly feel so sorry for Steve, the poor fuck who’s doing this every day, clinging onto the hope that what he’s saying doesn’t set Bucky off, doesn’t push his boulder back downhill.

He's still stuttering sorry, starting to pace.

“Listen,” you say firmly, clipping your own panic, “that was wow, let me tell you. But if you don’t stop, I’m going to like— hotwire a car.”

Somehow this stops him in his tracks, “What?”

“Well, I didn’t drive here. Because you know, I was going to like, get really shitfaced.”

“What?”

“Yeah, and like, take you to a hotel or something.”

He frowns, obviously completely lost. “Why?”

It’s your turn to be lost. Both of you open-mouthed and panting at each other like two dumb dogs chasing each others’ tail in an ouroboros of idiocy.

“Huh? What do you mean why? You just tongue-fucked me, do you think I’m immune to getting on my knees for that?”

Now you can see it happening—the incomprehensible speech like a marquee as it runs across Barnes’ brain. Tongue-fuck, immune to getting on my knees. He doesn’t understand any of that, and god bless any soul who can. What language are you even speaking right now other than hot-brained, hot-skinned, hot-hearted to him, who’s still struggling to defrost?

“Never mind,” you redact, “ignore that.” You put your hands on his shoulders to ground yourself, vaguely thinking that maybe you shouldn’t touch him but the firm slap of your palms seems to break him out of his new trance. “Can we kiss again, later?”

He blinks, staring at you, at your hands on him, at your lips all swollen up.

“Yes.”

You sigh, relieved and thankful that other than you, no one’s freaking out, that your plan to get Bucky Barnes high worked out after all, and that he has agreed to make out later because he’s really, really good at it.

“Wonderful. Let’s go back now? Are you ready?”

He mulls it over and shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. “Sure, but I’m not eating chili.”

“Well, you’re in luck, there’s plenty of chicken.”

He grimaces, cuts a sharp look up to you before a twinkle settles in his blue, blue eyes. “Okay,” he agrees, “guess we should do a prayer circle for my ass.”

You clap your hands together and recite Our Father.

-

“It was sex, wasn’t it?”

Sam’s got one hand over his belly, snickering. Everyone else looks your way, gullible, scandalized, and you can’t blame them since the two of you were gone an awfully long time and came back extremely disheveled.

Bucky had walked in dutifully behind you, wiped off his boots, sat down at the dinner table, and asked for seconds saying please and thank you and he even threw in a that was delicious just to watch Steve’s head explode.

And Bucky, who you’ve come to realize is genuinely a shit— still one-worded and knowing full well the repercussions of his one word— only shrugs and responds, “Yes.”

The room erupts into shouting as you throw a buttered roll at his head. He catches it easily and brings it up to his grinning mouth, shimmer of spit glossy and fantastic on his lips.

[feyburner]

hiii, do you have any good fall recipe recs? sweet or savoury I don’t mind I just regard you as a cooking god and am looking for inspiration

Yes! Here is my current To Make list.

Many I’ve made before and some are recipes I want to try.

I’m linking specific recipes just bc I’m copy pasting from my own list. Sorry for all the instagram reels, you can just google the name of the thing and find it.

I’m going apple picking with my friends sometime in early October so I’m already planning all the apple things I want to make 🤤🍎

And Friendsgiving… so many pies…

SWEET

- French Apple Cake/German Apple Cake

- Apple Tarte Tatin

- Apple Crunch Tart/“The Best Apple Tart in Paris”

- My auntie’s date pecan bread, one of my favorite quickbreads of all time. Yes you are reading that ingredient list correctly. This is for real fruit & nut enjoyers only. If you can’t play with the big boys go home.

- Pumpkin Bread

- Pumpkin Pie (I use the Libby’s recipe but double the cinnamon & ginger, brown sugar instead of white, 1 extra egg, and add 1 tsp vanilla, 1/2 tsp cardamom, 1/4 tsp nutmeg, a few cracks of black pepper, and lemon or orange zest. AND let the filling chill in the fridge overnight!!)

- Sweet Potato Pie (my own recipe, I’ll put under the cut)

- Pecan Pie (same)

- Cinnamon Roll Focaccia/Pumpkin Cinnamon Swirl Sourdough

- Orange Cardamom Olive Oil Cake

- Pear Almond Tart (Tarte Bourdaloue)

SAVORY

- Arayes (made already, so good)

- Crispy Pork Scallion Buns

- Coconut Curry Butternut Squash Sheet Pan Soup (+ Any Vegetable Sheet Pan Soup)

- Veggie Filo Crinkle Cake

- Peanut Noodle Soup

- Fall Squash Galette/Butternut Squash & Caramelized Onion Galette

- Crispy Parmesan Carrots

- Garam Masala Roasted Carrots

- Zucchini Cornbread

- Homemade (sourdough?) pizza with roasted butternut or kabocha squash, goat cheese, figs, caramelized onions

- My dad’s red beans and rice :)

- Spicy Korean Fried Chicken

- Potato Tart with Zucchini & Feta

- Thai Red Curry Dumpling Soup

- Channa Masala

MY RECIPES:

SWEET POTATO PIE

MAKES: 1 x 8-9” pie

INGREDIENTS

1 ½ lbs sweet potatoes (2-3 potatoes) (3 cups flesh), whole, to be roasted

1 x 12 oz can evaporated milk

1 cup (200g) dark brown sugar

2 eggs

5 Tbsp (70g) butter, melted

1 Tbsp lemon zest (zest of 1 lemon)

1 tsp lemon juice

1 Tbsp cinnamon

½ tsp kosher salt

½ tsp ginger

¼ tsp nutmeg

a few cracks (⅛ tsp) freshly ground black pepper

+

1 disc (½ recipe) All-Butter Pie Crust*

*I’ve posted my pie crust recipe on tumblr before tagged “recipes”

DIRECTIONS

1. Roast sweet potatoes: Preheat oven to 400°. Line a baking sheet with foil. Wash and scrub whole sweet potatoes. Pierce potatoes all over 3-5x with paring knife. Roast 45 minutes until fork tender. Let cool, then collect 3 cups flesh.

2. Prepare crust: Roll out pie dough (12-14” diameter circle, ¼” thick). Press into tin and crimp edges. Chill shaped shell in fridge or freezer until ready to use.

3. Preheat oven to 350°.

4. Make filling: Put all ingredients in food processor. Pulse 3-4x until smooth. (You can also use a blender, or simply beat ingredients until fully combined.)

5. Pour filling into pie shell.

6. Bake 45-60 minutes until puffed and firmly set (toothpick clean) everywhere except the very center, which should retain a very slight jiggle (but not look liquid). The center will set as it cools. Start checking at 45 minutes and continue baking at 5 minute intervals until set. (If crust gets too brown, shield edges with foil.)

7. Let cool completely before serving, at least 1 hour.

NOTES

Roast the potatoes whole, in the skins, so the sugars & starches properly caramelize. Do not steam or boil potatoes, even whole. They will take on water and make the filling soggy.

You can roast the potatoes up to 1 week in advance. Collect flesh day of.

PECAN PIE

MAKES: 1 x 8-9” pie

INGREDIENTS

2 cups (250g) chopped pecans

1 cup (200g) dark brown sugar

1 cup light or dark corn syrup

¼ cup (56g) butter

4 eggs

1 Tbsp vanilla

1 tsp kosher salt

1 tsp cinnamon

+

1 disc (½ recipe) All-Butter Pie Crust

DIRECTIONS

1. Prepare shell: Roll out pie dough (12-14” diameter circle, ¼” thick), press into tin, crimp edges. Chill shaped shell in fridge or freezer until ready to use.

2. Preheat oven to 350°.

3. Cook sugar syrup: In a saucepan, bring sugar, corn syrup, and butter to boil over medium heat for 1-2 minutes, whisking constantly, to cook sugar. Take off heat. Let cool slightly, 3 minutes.

4. Temper eggs: In a bowl, beat eggs until lightened and frothy. Slowly, while whisking, pour ½ cup of warm syrup into eggs. Whisk to combine. Then, while whisking, slowly pour egg mixture back into the remaining syrup mixture. Whisk until smooth.

5. Whisk in vanilla, salt, and cinnamon.

6. Pour chopped pecans into bottom of pie shell. Pour filling over pecans.

7. Bake 45-60 minutes until fully set everywhere except the very center, which should retain a very slight jiggle. The center will set as it cools. Start checking at 45 minutes and continue baking at 5 minute intervals until set.

8. Let cool completely before serving, at least 1 hour.

NOTES

Many recipes do not require you to cook the sugar before baking the pie. However, pre-cooking the sugar (and tempering the eggs) ensures the ideal gooey, silky, perfectly smooth texture.

Toast pecans if desired: Arrange pecans in a single layer on a baking sheet and toast in preheated oven 5-8 minutes.

[giggly-squiggily]

Hey Squiggly!!! I’m back with another headcanon.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—Giyu is Great at Holding in his laugh. You either have to get a death spot or be tickling him for hours if you want him to crack. EXCEPT. He CANNOT hold in his laugh with feathers. Like. This man is extremely feather ticklish, and it drives him MAD. Surprisingly, Obanai is the one who found out. (Mitsuri was definitely not forcing them to hang out whatsoever, Obanai 100% invited Giyu to his estate of his own accord….) ANYWAY. Giyu and Obanai were both feeding their respective pets (Giyu’s crow and Obanai’s snake, I can’t remember how to spell the names) and Giyu dropped some fruit right into his uniform. And his crow dove in to get it. Obanai let it slip and now everyone TORTURES Giyu.

Anyway, Giyu being feather ticklish to me is so funny. Tough man taken out by soft feather, it heals my soul. Feel free to use the scene I was talking about, or a different scene, up to you!!! Also feel free to decline of course. Take your time and have fun with your event :)

(Sorry I rambled a Bit….)

(Headcanons to Dabbles: OFFICIALLY CLOSED)

And with that- we've reached the last of the Dabbles! Thank you everyone who participated and who read along! I'll be updating the masterlist soon!

OH THIS IS BEYOND ADORABLE!!! Giyu being feather sensitive and Obanai just watching him getting wrecked and not helping is such a vibe jarekarjearkjae I wanna make more "Hashira getting GIyu" things down the road; this was just so fun! I've gotcha covered, friend! :D

Obanai didn’t want this to happen, but given what came out of it, he couldn’t complain.

Invite him over, she insisted. Try to get to know him better before you cast him aside. Tomioka-san just might surprise you!

Mitsuri’s request  was what brought them here today- sitting outside Obanai’s home and…existing. The Serpent Hashira had no idea what they were to discuss, and Giyu wasn’t helping with his awkward silences.

He was just now starting to realize why he hung out with Mitsuri and Sanemi. Both of them could keep a silence at bay.

Heeeeeeh…

“Calm. You’re gonna get some.” Giyu’s voice stirred him from his thoughts, turning his attention to the Water Hashira and his crow. He was holding a handful of pecans- offering them one by one as his crow hopped and squawked, demanding more. “You’re getting older- I don’t want you to get si-EE!”

What happened next was fast and surprising. Obanai watched the crow leap upwards and into Giyu’s face, making him lean back. His handful of nuts went flying- in his face, his lap, and even some on Obanai. The serpent Hashira took what landed on him for a snack.

“Kanzaburou! Behave yourself. Ugh, this is a disaster..” Giyu sighed as he looked down at himself, tugging at his collar when he felt a few nuts stuck there. “I’m gonna be finding pecans on me for days.”

“Hehe. Nut case.” Obanai snickered at his own dumb joke. To his surprise, Giyu was laughing too. “Wow, didn’t know you had a sense of humor.”

When Giyu started laughing harder, Obanai raised a brow. “Come on, it wasn’t that funny.”

“Thahhat’s not ihihiht-aheahhahaha, Kahahahnzahhahaburohohohu dohohoohn’t!” Giyu was grabbing at his shirt, specifically at the lump wiggling its way down. “Gehehhehet ohohohohut! Yohohoohu tihihihickle!”

“Kaw! Kaaaw!��� The bird squawked in glee, it’s feathery butt sticking out from the top of Giyu’s collar, furthering his tickly torture. “We mustn't waste a single ounce of food! Kaaaaw!”

“Gihihihive me a shehehehecond- Aheahahhahah Iihiihgurhoohohho heheheheelp!”

“Huh?” The other man had been watching without realizing it.

“HEhehelp me ghehehheht him ohohohout! Aheahhahhaa! Pleahahhahse!” Giyu cried, cheeks warm and eyes scrunched and misty. It was such a rare sight- seeing the stoic man laugh. Obanai almost didn’t help just to make it last.

Only then Giyu was wincing some as his crow crawled down further, its talons and beat sharp. Obanai tsked before reaching over, working at the buttons with rapid speed.

“Ahehahhaha-hehahahha- thehehhehre!” The second there was an opening big enough, Giyu reached up and gently pried his crow free, holding him carefully in his shaking hands. “Now stahahap thahhat.”

“Kaaw! Kaaaaw!” The bird chirped, flying out of Giyu’s hands and off to who knew where. 

The water Hashira groaned softly as he flopped on his back, arms over his face to hide his flustered expression. “Eheh..heh..th-that was a bit embahahharasing..” When he didn’t hear Obanai reply, he dared a peek- flushing more at the other’s amused stare. “Erm..could we keep this between us?”

“You already know the answer to that.” Giyu groaned and hid in his arms once more while Obanai snickered; delighted by this new piece of information.

He couldn’t wait to tell the others.

[ectoimp]

Ya know......I dont think I ever came out to my family. I just started cracking more and more lesbian jokes about myself until it clicked lolol

Now I get the same flavor of jokes back at me. Like last night when we were eating dinner and I didnt want something with pecans and said "I dont like nuts" and my brother-in-law said "Oh yeah that tracks"

[cherrysurf]

Welcome to the ice cream parlor .ᐟ

here’s what we have to offer…

flavors;

mint chocolate chip: hurt/comf

taro: crack/fluff

pecan: pure fluff

vanilla: pure angst

strawberry: platonic fluff

chocolate: pure crack

cookies and cream: angst to fluff

Napoleon: pure comfort

ice cream cups;

waffle cone: traditional

waffle bowl: smau

regular cup: trad/smau

toppings;

cheesecake bites: for haikyuu

sprinkles: for jjk

carmel sauce: for mha

Second round of toppings;

(necessary)

cherries: your pick of whatever troupe (that isn’t on the list)

chocolate chips: my pick of whatever troupe

Oreos: blind date

Chocolate shavings: arranged marriage

coconut shavings: friends to lovers

cookie dough bites: lovers to strangers

mini m&ms: strangers to lovers

strawberries: strangers to friends

nuts: best friends brother

strawberry sauce: roommates

marshmallows: childhood friends

chocolate sprinkles: next door neighbor

notes: you can pick whatever character from the anime’s listed

rules: you can have up to 3 requests! pls bare with me though as i write all of these it might take a minute

[giveafike]

A Merry Menu in the Making - B.T.S

TLDR: Cooking and preppin' everything for the big day. This is part 11/12 of Azzie's Advent Calendar 2024!

Word count + info: 3.7k + dialogue.

Warnings + Content Ahead: SFW! No warnings : )

Azzie Notes ✚: Semi-finale! I can’t believe the season flew by so quickly :( but…can’t wait to share the Christmas Eve special next!! Also...what's Ben planning? hm, weird.

————————————————————————

The morning had arrived with a sense of bustling energy that could only mean one thing, Lisa Shelton was in full prep mode. The extended family would be coming over for Christmas Eve, which only meant a feast needed to be ready. Things from Lisa's perfected sugar cookies that she had tested earlier during the holidays to big roasted meats and sides that all required an unlimited amount of love and attention, and by no means did she have any intention of delivering anything short of that.

The house was alive with the hum of holiday anticipation. Outside, the Florida sun peeked through a light cloud cover, a crisp but not uncomfortable breeze carrying the faint scent of citrus and pine. Christmas was just around the corner, and the Shelton matriarch had everything running on a tight, cheerful schedule.

Lisa stood in the kitchen, her hair pulled back in a claw clip and an apron tied neatly around her waist. The counters were already cluttered with an impressive array of equipment ingredients: flour, sugar, fresh herbs, canned goods, and every seasoning imaginable. A meticulously written list rested on the island, each item ticked off with a firm stroke of a red pen.

"Okay," she muttered to herself, scanning the list. "Ham glaze, cranberry sauce... prep veggies...still pending."

The sound of footsteps shuffling into the kitchen drew her attention. Ben appeared in the doorway, his hair sticking up in all directions, wearing sweats and a t-shirt that had clearly seen better days.

"Morning, Mom," he greeted, yawning as he stretched. "What's all the chaos about? It's like, 8 a.m."

Lisa shot him a look that was equal parts amused and exasperated. "It's 10:30, Benjamin, and Christmas doesn't prep itself. The entire family is coming before we know it, and if we don't get ahead of this, we'll have to be workin' at sonic speed on Christmas Eve mornin'."

Ben slouched into a chair at the kitchen table, propping his chin on his hand. "You say that every year, and somehow everythin' turns out fine. Can't we just...wing it?"

"Ha!" Lisa exclaimed, pulling a bowl of pecans toward her. "Do you remember Christmas 2015? When your father insisted on 'winging it'? We had half-cooked turkey and unseasoned store-bought sides. Never again."

Ben chuckled, shrugging. "I thought it was fine."

Lisa rolled her eyes, cracking an egg into a bowl with practised precision.

"Well, I didn’t. Now, make yourself useful and grab me the nutmeg, I forgot to get that."

Ben groaned but got up to rummage through the spice rack. As he handed her the jar, Emma breezed into the kitchen, her phone in hand.

"Mom, the cousins texted me, they’re bringing a charcuterie board for Christmas Eve," Emma announced, sliding onto a barstool.

"Perfect," Lisa said without looking up. "That frees me up to focus on the main meal."

"Wait," Ben interjected, his brow furrowed. "What's a cha-coochie board again? Fancy cheese and crackers?"

Emma rolled her eyes, correcting him, knowing he was mispronouncing on purpose for the sake of a joke. "Yes, Ben. A charcuterie board is cured meats, cheese and crackers. Try to keep up."

"Good," Lisa said, ignoring the sibling banter. "That’ll go perfectly with the cooked meats too. Now, you two and your dad need to get the front room and the dining room cleaned and tidied up. Meanwhile, me and my saving grace are gonna be preppin' and makin' them sugar cookies...about 3 dozen?"

Emma raised an eyebrow. "Three dozen?!? Who’s eating all these cookies?"

"Those darn kids," Lisa said with a laugh. "You know how those angels get with my cookies."

Ben grinned. "They're gonna demolish that plate of cookies in five minutes flat."

As the conversation flowed, the house seemed to come alive around them. Bryan was outside, stringing up a few extra lights on the porch and muttering about one particularly stubborn strand. Halo darted in and out of the kitchen, his tail wagging excitedly as he sniffed around for crumbs.

Everyone fell into their tasks, including you being Lisa's "saving grace", spending the day with in the kitchen with her, warmth amplified by the cozy sounds of Christmas music playing softly in the background and the excitement that lingered around you. The faint aroma of spices already hung in the air, promising a feast in the making. Lisa, ever the picture of efficiency, handed you a worn recipe card, the edges browned with years of use and love.

“Here you go,” she said with a smile, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. Her hands were already dusted with flour and oil. “This is my sugar cookie dough recipe. Don’t let the stains fool you; it’s been perfected over time. Just triple it while you make the dough.”

You looked down at the card, the handwritten instructions looping neatly across the paper. “So, let me guess, this is the part where the magic happens?”

Lisa chuckled, reaching for the cutting board where she’d been peeling potatoes and carrots. “That’s the spirit. Just make sure to cream the butter and sugar until it’s fluffy. That’s the trick. The rest? Foolproof.”

You grabbed the nearby mixing bowl and began pulling the ingredients out of the cupboards. “I feel like I’m being let into a sacred family tradition here.”

“You are,” Lisa replied with mock seriousness, pointing her knife at you before turning back to her work. “And there’s no room for error!”

It was lighthearted, but you could feel the gravity of being part of this moment. The preparation for Christmas dinner wasn’t just a task, it was an act of love, a way to ensure everyone who walked through the door tomorrow felt warmth and care.

Meanwhile, in the living room, Bryan scrubbed furiously at the base of the coffee table. A stubborn stain from last week’s cocoa spill refused to yield, and Bryan muttered to himself under his breath as Emma perched on the couch behind him, her legs tucked beneath her. She was writing Christmas cards, one for each of their extended relatives.

"Uncle Tom gets 'Merry Christmas!' or 'Warmest Wishes'?” Emma asked, glancing at her dad.

Bryan paused mid-scrub and looked thoughtful. “Tom’s more of a ‘Warmest Wishes’ guy. Keep it classy.”

Emma nodded, scribbling it down, then turned her attention to Ben, who was dusting the bookshelves and muttering under his breath about how there was "no way" anyone actually looked at these books.

“So,” Emma started casually, her tone light, as she pushed up her glasses, “everything ready for Christmas?”

Ben froze, his dust cloth hanging mid-air. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what I mean,” Emma teased, smirking over the top of her cards.

Ben shot her a look, then glanced at Bryan, who had stood and was now looking right back at him with a knowing grin.

“I’m just saying,” Emma continued, twirling her pen, “I hope you’ve got it all under control.”

Bryan chuckled, folding his arms. “He does. Don’t you, Ben?”

Ben huffed, clearly flustered. “Yeah, it’s fine. Everything’s fine. They're gonna call 'n confirm it all today. Can we just leave it alone? Don't make it weird, y'all.”

Emma ignored his plea, setting her cards aside with a dramatic sigh. “She’s going to freak out. Like, in the best way. It's gonna be the best Christmas yet, I reckon."

Ben muttered something unintelligible under his breath, something along the lines of "great, no pressure" as he dragged a hand over his face, ears turning a shade of red that didn’t go unnoticed.

Bryan clapped him on the shoulder, laughing. “Relax, son. We’re just messing with you.”

Emma giggled, leaning back against the couch. “Seriously, though, it’s super sweet. You’re such a softie.”

Ben groaned, turning back to the shelf. “Can we just focus on cleanin'?”

“Fine,” Emma relented, though her grin lingered. After a pause, she added, “Oh! By the way, I saw what she got you for Christmas.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously as she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand.

Ben spun around, his brows raised. “What?”

“I’m just saying,” Emma teased, dragging out the words with dramatic flair, “you’re going to love it.”

Ben narrowed his eyes, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You’ve seen it?”

Emma nodded, her grin growing. “Mmhmm. And ’m not telling you what it is. But trust me, it’s perfect.”

Bryan chuckled, picking up the vacuum cleaner. “Good to know someone’s ahead of the game around here.”

“Hey!” Ben protested, pointing the dust cloth at him. “I’ve got everything under control, okay? All my gifts are coming today.”

Emma raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying his mild panic. “Cutting it close, aren’t we?”

Ben sighed, muttering, “They’ll be here. It’s fine.”

Bryan shot him a knowing look as he plugged in the vacuum. “It better be.”

Ben ignored him, turning back to the bookshelf with a huff. Emma stifled another giggle as she returned to her Christmas cards, but the teasing lingered in the air like the faint scent of the tree.

Meanwhile, the counters were a mosaic of bowls, trays, and cutting boards with the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg mixed with savoury hints of garlic and rosemary. You stood by the sink, rinsing your hands and drying them on a dish towel after carefully spacing out rows of sugar cookies on the baking trays. Their pale, doughy shapes waited for the oven, a promise of sweetness to come.

Lisa, across the island, was meticulously rubbing a blend of spices onto the beef, setting it away for roasting tomorrow. She glanced up briefly, nodding toward the oven. “All right, cookies are ready to go in. Can you call Ben in to handle them? He’s on dish duty.”

You poked your head around the corner, calling out, “Ben! Your mom wants you in here!”

A muffled groan preceded Ben’s appearance. He shuffled into the kitchen, a dishrag slung over his shoulder, his hands still slightly damp from wiping down the dining room table. “What now?”

Lisa shot him a look, her hands busy kneading herbs into a bowl of softened butter. “Less whining, more helping, mister. Cookies in the oven, timer set, and dishes. Let’s move.”

Ben sighed dramatically but obeyed, picking up the trays of cookies. “I’m just saying, I’m overqualified for this.”

You smirked, folding your arms. “Oh, yeah? And what exactly are your qualifications, Mr. Shelton?”

“Pro athlete,” Ben quipped in a small smiley mumble, sliding the trays into the oven with practised ease. He set the timer on his phone, tossing it onto the kitchen island before heading to the sink. “I’ve got fast hands. You’re welcome, ladies.”

Lisa chuckled, rolling her eyes as she slid a bowl of diced onions toward you. “Here, sweetheart, start working on the mix. And ignore him. He’s only fast when it suits him.”

Ben glanced over his shoulder with a grin. “I heard that.”

As Ben got to work on the dishes, the three of you fell into a comfortable rhythm. Lisa hummed an old Christmas tune as she prepped the chicken, you worked on blending herbs and breadcrumbs for the stuffing, and Ben scrubbed the last of the mixing bowls, offering occasional commentary.

“You know,” Ben said, rinsing a pan, “I feel like I’m doing the grunt work here.”

“Grunt work?” Lisa shot back, her hands now expertly tying twine around a pork loin. “You’re lucky you didn’t get stuck peeling veg for an hour.”

“Fair enough,” Ben conceded with a shrug, his tone light.

Just then, the faint sound of Ben’s phone buzzing broke the flow of conversation. You glanced toward it instinctively.

“I’ve got it,” you said, starting to reach for the phone. “It’s probably just-”

But before you could even read the name on the screen, Ben darted across the kitchen, snatching it up like it was a lifeline. “I’ll take this,” he muttered quickly, his voice tight.

Before anyone could respond, he bolted out of the room, his phone pressed firmly to his ear. The low murmur of his voice faded as he disappeared into the hallway.

You blinked, your hand still hovering midair. “Okay... what was that?”

Lisa, who had been quietly observing the entire exchange, immediately jumped in. “Oh, who knows. You know how he is, probably something from the tour or a last-minute Christmas thing.”

“Right…” You frowned, your gaze lingering on the empty doorway. “But why the rush? He doesn’t usually-”

“Sweetheart, can you grab the garlic powder for me?” Lisa interrupted smoothly, her tone deliberately cheerful. “It’s in the pantry, top shelf.”

You hesitated for a moment, clearly still suspicious, but Lisa’s easy smile coaxed you back into the task at hand. “Uh...sure,” you said, heading toward the pantry.

Lisa exhaled softly, shaking her head with an amused smile as she turned back to her work.

Ben returned to the kitchen a few minutes later, looking slightly dishevelled. His hair was tousled like he’d run a hand through it in a rush, and there was an unmistakable flush to his cheeks. He was smiling, a little too broadly, like someone trying too hard to appear casual.

“Everything okay?” you asked, trying to sound offhanded, but your curiosity was hard to mask.

“Yep! All good,” Ben replied quickly, his voice a touch higher than usual as he leaned down to peck your cheek quickly. He grabbed a clean dishtowel and wiped his hands even though they weren’t wet. “Just, uh... a call from one of the guys. Nothing big.”

You raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but Lisa jumped in smoothly.

“Ben, those cookies aren’t going to check themselves. Timer should be going off soon.” She gestured toward the oven without looking up from the roast beef she was finishing with a final rub of spices.

Ben latched onto the distraction with obvious relief. “Right, cookies. On it.”

He turned to the oven, fiddling with the mitts, and Lisa gave you a knowing smile. “He’s always like this during the holidays,” she said lightly as if it explained everything. “Trying to juggle too much at once.”

You weren’t entirely convinced, but the holiday bustle kept pulling at your attention. Between Lisa needing help prepping marinades and other bits, there wasn’t much room to dwell on Ben’s strange behaviour. Still, the unease lingered. He wasn’t usually so sly and cagey, at least not with you, at least. The way he darted out of the kitchen with his phone pressed to his ear had been uncharacteristic, talking in hushed whispers, and now his overly chipper demeanour didn’t quite sit right.

You shook yourself out of your thoughts and grabbed a small jar of some herb that was listed in a recipe sheet, realising you've been in a trance over the small gesture for the last 20 minutes. C'mon, it's nothing, focus.

Just as you were coming out of the pantry for the second time today, the doorbell rang. You paused for a second, realising everyone was up to their eyes with tasks, so, naturally, you took a step forward.

“I’ve got it!” You called over your shoulder, moving toward the front door.

But before you could take another step, Ben shot past you like a lightning bolt, his phone still clutched in one hand.

“I’ll get it!” he shouted, practically skidding to a stop by the door.

You froze, surprised. “Ben, I’m literally right here-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he cut in quickly, flashing you an almost boyish grin before yanking the door open just enough to wedge himself through the door without giving you a glimpse past his body.

Lisa’s voice rang out from the kitchen, cutting through your confusion. “Hey, can you bring that jar over here? I need it ASAP!”

You hesitated, glancing back toward Ben, squinting. He was already leaning out the door, exchanging a few quick words with whoever was outside.

“Packages! Finally!” Ben’s triumphant shout followed as you reluctantly turned back to the kitchen.

Lisa greeted you with a warm smile when you handed her the jar. “Perfect timing,” she said. “Now, grab that whisk for me, will you? This needs a little extra love.”

You nodded, though your thoughts were still half in the hallway. “He’s acting... so weird,” you said, unable to hold it in.

Lisa chuckled, brushing off your concern as she stirred away, huffing a bit. “It’s just the holidays. You know how he gets, always running around last minute. Let him have his little secrets; it’s part of the fun.”

“Right...” you murmured, but the pit in your stomach didn’t ease.

From the hallway, you heard Ben shouting something about “wrapping presents” as he sprinted up the stairs toward his room, the sound of boxes rustling and his phone still firmly in hand.

Lisa’s gentle nudge brought your focus back. “Trust me,” she said softly, her tone almost conspiratorial. “Whatever he’s up to, you’ll love it. Now, how about we finish this up so we can get those cookies iced?”

Her reassurance was enough to keep you grounded, for now. Whatever Ben was hiding, it seemed like everyone but you was in on the secret. And despite your suspicions, a small part of you couldn’t help but smile, imagining what he might be planning.

As you and Lisa moved onto labelling and planning times and whatever else was left to prep, it didn’t fully register that your "timer" had left the room and cookie duty was back on your shoulders; Ben had been on timer duty, after all, or he was supposed to be, but the sudden hush of his absence echoed as you both worked through the mess of pre-dinner prep.

Lisa moved from one station to another with the precision of someone orchestrating a symphony. “All right, that's the mains sorted. Can you fetch that tray so we have it ready to go? I'd hate to accidentally use it for something else, or worse, misplace it entirely,” she mumbled to herself, pointing off to the side to a large enamel tray.

“Got it,” you said, as you made your way to the the tray, humming along softly to the faint music.

The vague scent of something… off… reached you first as you moved around the kitchen. You hesitated, sniffing the air. It was faintly acrid, barely noticeable over the aroma of cinnamon and butter. But then, Lisa froze mid-step as you caught her eye, her head tilting slightly.

“Wait a second...” she said, lowering the pan she was holding. Her eyes widened. “Oh my- the cookies!”

Both of you scrambled to the oven, the timer now forgotten as the sharp smell of burning sugar hit full force. Lisa grabbed a mitt and yanked open the door. Smoke billowed out, curling ominously into the air. The once-promising golden batch of cookies now sat in the oven, charred and blackened beyond salvation.

“Oh no!” Lisa groaned, waving a towel at the smoke. “I knew something was off, it was going so well-where is that boy?”

You grabbed the trays and set them on the counter, grimacing at the crispy remains as you let out a heavy sigh, failing to believe you forgot the second batch in the oven. “Ben had the timer on his phone… which he took with him.”

Lisa groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Of course, he did. That boy and his last-minute holiday antics…” She sighed, scooping up the burnt cookies and tossing them into the trash with a resigned shake of her head. “Oh well, these things happen, something always goes a bit sideways every year. Better now than tomorrow with a house full of guests.”

You both paused for a moment, catching your breath, recuperating from the unfortunate minor disaster. Then Lisa patted your shoulder. “All right, let’s whip up a quick extra batch and get those in. No sense crying over burnt cookies, sweetheart.”

As she measured out the ingredients diligently like it was second nature, you helped clean up the counters and dishes and prepare the last tray for baking. The third batch went in smoothly, and the kitchen slowly returned to its festive warmth. Lisa began prepping tomorrow’s meal for the fridge while you started assembling a tidy icing station.

When the successful batches cooled, you both set to work icing the cookies. The sugar-sweet scent mingled with the faint hum of holiday music, filling the kitchen with a cozy buzz despite the earlier mishap. Lisa’s hand moved a little slower than before, and her shoulders sagged slightly as she leaned over the counter.

“Hey,” you said gently, pausing mid-icing. “Is it just the cookies left? Or do we still have more?”

Lisa gave a small, tired laugh, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face. “No, sweetheart, just the cookies, thank God. The rest is ready to go for tomorrow.”

“Okay, then,” you said, your tone gentle but firm. “Go rest. I’ve got this.”

Lisa blinked, clearly taken aback. “Oh, no, I couldn’t-”

“You’ve been on your feet all day, Lis," you interrupted with a soft smile. “Go sit down. I’ll finish these, I promise.”

It took a bit of back-and-forth convincing, but eventually, Lisa relented with a grateful sigh. “All right, if you insist. But only if you promise to call me if you need help.”

“I promise,�� you said, watching as she shuffled off to the living room.

You made her a small cup of tea and added two iced sugar cookies to a saucer, carrying it out to her a few minutes later. She gave you a warm smile as she sank onto the couch, sighing relieved, wrapping her hands around the tea.

Back in the kitchen, Emma popped in just as you were finishing the icing on the last tray. “Mom finally let you take over?” she teased, tying an apron around her waist.

“Only after a little arm-twisting,” you replied with a laugh. “You want to help?”

Together, the two of you worked quickly, catching up on the day while piping neat lines of icing and sprinkling coloured sugar and sprinkles on top.

Then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ben reappeared. He strolled into the kitchen with a bit of sellotape stuck to his sleeve, his hair slightly mussed, and his smile suspiciously wide.

“You’ve been... busy,” you commented, raising an eyebrow as you finished the last cookie.

“Just...wrapping stuff,” he said, leaning against the counter with a grin that didn’t quite mask his nervous energy.

You set the icing bag down and crossed your arms. “Ben, you’ve been acting so weird all day.”

“Have I?” he asked, his tone light but his eyes avoiding yours.

“Yes,” you said pointedly, stepping closer. “And I know you’re up to something.”

Ben’s grin widened, his face lighting up with that boyish charm you could never quite resist. “You’ll see soon enough,” he said, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Please... just trust me?”

His words did little to ease your curiosity, but the warmth in his eyes softened your resolve as you nodded softly, studying the sweet, brown eyes that you first fell in love with. Whatever he was planning, it was clear he was excited and nervous about it, and for now, that was enough to hold you over, at least for a bit.

[cherryblossomcowgirl]

Hangman’s First Rodeo part 5

Masterlist pinned

Warnings: Angst; past trauma; parental deaths; fluff; implied smut

WC: 1.8k

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I run out the door and look to see where Jake went. Scotty pulls up on his four-wheeler, “Hey, everything okay?” I start to cry even harder, “I ruined everything. I had something good and I already ruined it.” Scotty hugs me, “Y/n, do you love him?” I nod my head. He sighs, “Then find him and talk to him. Whatever this is, is it worth losing him?” I shake my head, “I can’t lose him. I can’t lose him but I don’t know how to give up the teams. It’s all I have had for so long. Scotty, what do I do?” He wipes my tears, “You decide if you want this job to be your life. You decide if this job means more to you than anything else. You decide if you will finally break free of the box you put yourself in. Y/n, you are so much more than the job. You always have been and you always will be. And that guy, he sees that. He’s down by the creek.” “Thank you Scotty.”

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Jake is sitting on the bank of the creek with his head in his hands. I take a deep breath and clear my throat, “Jake?” He turns around and I can see the red around his eyes, “Yes?” “Can I sit with you?” He nods and I join him on the bank. We sit in silence for a few minutes until he speaks, “Was all of this just going to disappear when you went back? Was I just a distraction for you?” My voice comes out quiet and shakes, “Never.” His eyes meet mine, “Y/n, I have only known you for a few months and I can’t picture my future without you.” Tears spill over and I whisper, “Jake, I can’t lose you. I don’t know how to do this, but I can’t lose you.” He sighs, “You know, I never wanted the whole wife and kids thing. Hell, I never even wanted a real relationship. Always thought of it as a distraction. But now I am getting older and I want it. But I can’t make you want it. You are young. You have so much more life to live. I can’t blame you for that.” “I have already lived that life. It almost killed me. It almost killed me and a part of me still wants to run back to it.” I throw my hands up and motion to the land surrounding us, “I run away from this. From this! What is wrong with me?” Jake shakes his head and throws his arm across my shoulders, “Nothing is wrong with you, darling. If you want to go back to the teams, I understand. Coronado isn’t far. We both do short deployments. This can work.” My eyes meet his, “You would do that, for me?” He pulls me in, “Darling, I would do anything for you.”

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After exploring the land, Jake and I rest on the back porch swing. The conversation from earlier is still on my mind, but we agreed to revisit it another day. We watch as the sun sets over the sprawling oak trees. I trace Jake’s jawline, “So, kids? How many?” He looks at me and grins, “At least a couple. What do you think?” “I’d like a few. Being an only child isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” He twirls my hair in between his fingers, “What about marriage? Ever thought about it?” “Honestly, no. I mean, I told you about my last relationship. It never got to that point. Something was missing. You?” He shakes his head, “That word would’ve run me off before. Now I can’t lie, I have dated. I have also made some poor choices. But nothing has ever lasted, I have never had that feeling.” I furrow my brow, “What feeling?” He smiles, “This.” “Yeah, me either.”

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We spend the next few days on the land. Helping Scotty with the animals, mowing, picking Pecans, and harvesting from the garden. I make a mental note to check what Scotty is being paid, he deserves a raise. Everything is beautiful. As I walk towards the office, I hear him and Jake chatting in the kitchen. Scotty slaps Jake on the shoulder, “You are a good dude. Thank you for being there for her.” “Of course. She means a lot to me.” “I was so worried there for a while. She volunteered for every deployment. Never came back here. I can’t even imagine the guilt she carries, but the thought of losing her too? Couldn’t do it.” Jake’s brown furrows with concern, “What guilt?” Scotty sighs, “The night that her parents crashed? She was supposed to be with them. They were on their way to their beach house. That day she was offered an internship at this huge firm in the city. She stayed back to prepare.” Jake sniffs, “That’s why she joined the military, isn’t it? She was running away.” Scotty nods as I walk into the kitchen. They both start nervously explaining themselves. I raise my hand, “It is okay. Thank you, Scotty. You know I am not good at talking about those things. And yes, Jake, that’s why I joined. I had to start over.” Scotty looks at me, “Still doesn’t make it okay that you act invincible. You have people that care about you.” I give him a hug, “I know. I am sorry. I think the sun is setting on that part of my life.” Jake raised his brow, “Is that so?” I grin, “Yeah. I think so.”

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Our time at the ranch is going too fast. I forgot how much peace there is out here. The simplicity of it all used to drive me crazy, but now it seems to calm me down. I find Jake down by the creek, sitting side by side we watch the water flow along the rocks. I wrap my arm in his, “I know we can’t have this right now. I know our life is in California. But one day, I want this.” He looks at me with wild eyes. I giggle, “What?” His rough palm holds my cheek, “You just said our life. Ours.” He kisses me hungrily. He kisses me like he can’t get enough. My hands run through his hair and down all down his arms. I want to feel him, every part. I want to memorize him. He picks me up and starts carrying me towards the house. I cuddle into his chest, “What are you doing?” “Darling, I am taking you to bed.” I kick my feet and giggle. He sets me down on the corner of the bed and I kiss him, “I love you. I don’t even know how to tell you how much I love you.” His green eyes pierce mine, “Tell me you are mine. Tell me you always will be.” I hold his face, “I am yours, Jake. I always will be yours.”

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I wake up first and hop in the shower. The noise must’ve woken up Jake, because he walks in to brush his teeth. Almost instinctively, I cover myself behind the revealing glass of the shower. He cocks his head and smirks, “Nothing I haven’t seen before, darling.” I roll my eyes, “Peeping Tom.” He winks at me as he walks out, “Looking good. Looking real good.” Heat rises to my cheeks and I finish my shower. When I walk out, Jake has made coffee and already poured me a cup. I kiss his cheek, “Thank you, handsome.” He wraps his arm around my waist, “Of course darling.” We sit on the back porch swing and look out at the beautiful landscape. I sigh, “It doesn’t get better than this.” “It doesn’t. I don’t want to go back.” “I know. I have been thinking about that. You know, what happens when we go back.” Jake furrows his brow, “Baby, you can take time to think about this.” I nod, “I have thought about it. This isn’t about choosing you or the teams. I thought it was, but it is so much more. This is about choosing myself or the teams. Am I going to let my job take over my life forever? Am I going to let guilt drive my entire life? Or will I choose what I want for myself.” Jake caresses my cheek, “And what is it that you want?” “I want you. I want every part of you. I want you to be the last thing I see when I go to sleep, and the first thing when I wake up. I already emailed Mav and the Commander, they’re talking to the leadership at Coronado about officially transferring me to Top Gun.” Jake looks at me with tears in his eyes, “Really?” I grin, “Really.” He holds my hand, “Please don’t just do this for me.” I shake my head, “This is for me, Jake. I’ve chased that high my whole career. I’ve told myself I’d be happy with each achievement, but it has never been enough. This is what I have been missing the whole time.” His kiss is demanding and filled with emotions. The electricity between us is undeniable. He pulls back and has a look of wonder in his eyes, “Y/n, I love you more than you could ever know.”

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I sigh as I drive on to base. How did leave go by that fast? Mav texted and asked me to meet in his office to chat. Jake parks beside me and gives me a big kiss, “Mornin’, beautiful. See you at lunch?” I nod, “Sure thing.” Jake whistles as I walk towards the hangar. I knock on the office door and hear Mav, “C’mon in Rodeo.” Bradley and Mav are sitting on the couch, chatting. I raise my eyebrow, “Hey.. guys. What’s up?” Bradley pats the seat beside him, “Just wanted to check in after your leave with Hangman.” I sit down and chuckle, “My leave with Jake was great, thank you.” Mav clears his throat, “You request was approved. I spoke with your leadership and they talked to me about .. about everything.” I sigh, “So you called Bradley?” Mav shrugs, “You know the circumstances. Anyone else I wouldn’t but this.. you guys.. this is family.” Bradley looks at me, “How could you not tell me you got shot? You didn’t have to go through that alone.” I pat his shoulder, “Roo, I had to do it alone. And I am okay. I did it.” There’s a stretch of silence that Mav breaks, “Is this transfer.. is it for you or..” I grin, “Yeah Mav, it’s for me. It’s for me and for Jake and for a future I never thought I could have.” Mav smiles but Bradley’s eyes widen, “Future? With Hangman?” I roll my eyes, “Roo, he isn’t what you think. Now, can I get to work? I saw the pile of papers on my desk.” Mav laughs, “Of course. Hey kid, you know I am always here for you.” Bradley nods, “Me too.” I smile and hug them both, heading to drown myself in paperwork.

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

In the dream, Dean walked through the bunker, or a facsimile of it, the hallways' angles not quite true, the rooms not quite plumb. His hands were bloody the first time he looked down at them, dusty the second time. It took him long minutes to walk up the metal staircase because there were twice as many steps as usual, with a curling ascent that made him a little dizzy. The heavy door was hard to open. With his weight against it, it opened with an echoing thunk; he fell into a field of knee-high grass and chicory as blue as Cas's eyes.

An empty field. His palms were still ashen.

The sorrow that tore through his body woke him more than the fall did. He blinked up at the wooden beams hatched across the farmhouse bedroom ceiling and tried to catch his breath. A tear slid down into his right ear and made him flinch. After a few swallows, he sat up and stretched. Rubbed his eyes dry. Noticed a strange brightness flaring around the perimeter of the bedroom's window curtain and let the ache behind his ribcage fade.

His feet registered the chill of the floor before the rest of him did and he skipped over to the window on tiptoe. With the curtain open the source of the light proved to be dawn illuminating the skim of snow atop everything in the yard – a powdered sugar dusting, surprising only because 24 hours ago it'd been 60F degrees outside.

He was gargling mouthwash when elsewhere in the house it sounded like someone was fighting off ninjas with a cookie sheet.

"You okay?" Dean asked at the kitchen doorway.

Cas, startled, dropped a metal pie plate (again) and groaned. "I'm sorry." He picked up the wayward pan and inspected it for dents before putting it firmly on the counter. "I didn't mean to wake you." He turned to give a more settled smile. "Hello, Dean."

Dean snuck in and wrapped Cas up in a hug before he could move away. "Good morning," he whispered into Cas's soft hair.

"Happy birthday," Cas said, his voice still smiling. He pulled back enough to look up at Dean, typical earnestness all over his face. "I guess my surprise won't be much of one now."

Dean blinked as the pie plate suddenly made sense. "Are you making me pie?" Delight bubbled up in his chest as Cas mouthed yes; Dean let his hands slide to Cas's waist and held on, anchoring himself there. 

Cas ducked his head. "I was going to try." He glanced at a cookbook cracked open on the nearby table where they usually drank coffee and watched the sun rise, and beside it a bowl, a stick of butter, the canister labeled 'flour' and the canister labeled 'sugar', three loose eggs, a big wooden spoon, and a bag of nutmeats.

"Pecan. My favorite." Dean kissed the side of Cas's head. "Would you like some help?"

After a pause, Cas said, "No." He didn't sound sure of the answer. "It's your birthday. You should take the day off. I can manage." His hands on Dean's chest were another anchor.

"It is my birthday, so I think I should get to choose how to spend the morning." Dean quirked an eyebrow the way Cas often did when he was being bossy. "And I would like to help you make the best pecan pie either of us has ever eaten." He let his expression sweeten as a flush crept across Cas's cheeks. "Please."

Cas nodded, eyes shining. Dean gathered him into his arms again because he could. He was 45 years old and holding the love of his life in their tiny kitchen with the oven ticking, with snow sparkling through the windows. They were living their small, precious lives together in freedom, in peace (what 45 years had taught Dean the hard way: they could have both) and there was nothing empty about it. 

They stood swaying sleepily for a couple of minutes before the desire for pie, and other things, started to eat away at Dean's brain. Low at Cas's ear, he said, "You know, pecan pie is best served room temp. We'll need to let it cool down after it's out of the oven before we can cut into it. Might take an hour."

"We haven't even started–"

"I'm just saying," Dean continued, "we'll need to find something else to do with ourselves in a little while." He cleared his throat. "Some way to pass the time."

Cas tipped his head up. "I don't think figuring that out will be an issue," he murmured, and pressed closer.