#but it does mean sometimes I am having a breakdown at the counter trying not to yell at a customer

[judesstfrancis]

fall out boy was so right. WHAT a time to be alive

[maxybabyy]

cross-posted on ao3

Lando is asleep on the couch when he comes in.

His jeans have been kicked to the floor, soaked where a bottle of apple sourz must have tipped over. He looks fine if a little sweaty, hair flat from the pillow but not worse for wear than when Daniel left. Had a night in then, he thinks and pulls the blanket over him.

He heads to the bathroom, breath still rank from the bar.

Lando had wanted to come and almost threw a fucking tantrum when Daniel had told him no. Lando may be allowed in bars now – a proper adult, their father would say –  but that doesn’t mean Daniel is any more inclined to watch him and his friends get sloshed off mixers and shots.

Daniel almost doesn’t notice him as he walks in, head in his phone when he goes to take a piss. Scotty’s trying to settle the bill, the fucking uber ride and bottle of vodka they shared, Chloé conveniently left out of the budget breakdown. He doesn’t care, sends him his share with a quick, ok.

“Hello, Daniel,” someone says just as he’s about to pull his dick out, hand already in his pants. “Lando of course did not say you would be here.”

“Lando’s passed out on the couch, reckon he isn’t up for saying much right now,” Daniel says and turns towards the voice.

It’s one of Lando friends, because of course it is. Max, he decides, watches the kid as he sits on the counter next to the sink. There are two of them he knows, Fewtrell who’s been nipping at Lando’s heels since neither of them knew what it meant. And this Max, the hot one.

“Always he is bad at drinking,” Max says, mouth stretched into a wide smile. “He is very sloppy after one beer only, and then he gets very tired also. Like a little kid, you know?”

“Yeah,” Daniel says with a smirk. He steps closer to lean against the sink, feels the warmth pouring off of Max. “Not like you, right?”

Max shakes his head, touches his tit with an open palm like he’s going to swear on it, sucks in a breath when his nail catches on his nipple. It looks swollen too, hot and pink, heavy against the swell of his pectoral. Daniel’s eyes flicker down to where he also isn’t wearing pants, the pile of clothes just inside the door.  

“Sometimes I think of course that you and Lando cannot be brothers,” Max says, kicks his feet against the cupboard underneath him. His legs look long, strong and tan from the summer sun. He must be bigger than Daniel now, taller too.

Daniel remembers the gawky nineteen-year-old Lando had brought home. Max on exchange from the Netherlands, taking the same courses that Daniel had done only three years before, with the same instructors too. “Let me know if you need anything, yeah?” He had told him just to watch Max blush, cheeks scarlet as he ducked his head, stuttered out a quiet, “Of course, Daniel.”  

“And why’s that, Maxy?” He asks now, touches the side of his knee to watch Max scramble to move, spread his thighs so Daniel can dig into the drawer underneath him.

“Always you are so handsome and funny also,” Max says, waves his hand around like that somehow adds to it. And maybe it does, because Daniel’s chest burns, overwhelmed. He feels almost sick with it, with how easy it is for Max to say, knows then he must be more drunk than he thinks. “Lando is just – Lando.”

Daniel laughs, squeezes Max’s knee. He watches the jolt of the muscle, the buck of Max’s hips up into nothing. Hears the sharp whine that escapes his lips.

He should tell him to leave, to put his shirt back on and go back to Lando’s room. Sleep it off so Max won’t hate himself for running his mouth when he wakes up. But he cannot, asks instead, “Is that a toothbrush in your hand or are you just happy to see me, Max?”

Hazy blue eyes stare back at him as Max squeeze his thighs shut. It’s rhetoric, almost. Redundant at best, and mean at its core, maybe. Because there is a toothbrush in his hand, the bright pink tool held in a slack hand against his thigh. But he’s hard too, obvious in the tight grey boxer-briefs he’s wearing.

“Always I am happy to see you, Daniel,” Max says. He spreads his thighs against and watches with dark eyes as Daniel steps between them, presses against the counter until there’s almost no space between them. “I have a toothbrush also, but I do not think –“

“Want me to brush your teeth, Maxy?” He asks, feels the shame as it flushes his chest, violent. Desperate. But he wants it, can almost imagine how it would feel if it was something else in Max’s mouth. The head of his –

“Please,” Max begs and lets his mouth fall open.

Daniel has done it maybe once before, brushing someone’s teeth. It had been a necessity then, a favour to a friend who had been too drunk to move, vomit still on his shirt. So far away from this, from Max watching him squeeze out the toothpaste and bring it to his mouth, his thighs squeezed tight around Daniel’s waist.

He starts off small, brushes over Max’s front teeth with tiny back-and-forth motions. The movement feels awkward from this end, like jerking someone off when you’ve been masturbating your entire life. Max keeps still, breathes through his nose like Daniel told him to.

Daniel reaches his molars, the toothbrush shoved deep into his mouth when suddenly Max shuts his mouth around it. Daniel is slow to realise it, keeps up the motion of the brush and watches Max move with it. Lips working over the shaft over it until he’s close enough to kiss Daniel’s fist.

“Max, mate. I cannot see what I’m doing,” he says, forces himself to laugh. He pulls back too quick, listens to the way Max chokes on nothing. “Let’s try the other side, yeah?”

It goes great until it doesn’t. Max deep-throats the toothbrush again as he watches him through hooded eyes. His hips rock aimlessly into empty air, pre-come soaking through his briefs.

“Max, no,” Daniel says. He pushes down on his bottom lip to keep his mouth open, ignores the way Max whines. “Be good for me, yeah?” He keeps a hand in Max’s hair, holds him steady as he tries to move with the brush, push it further into his mouth.

The top of the mouth is harder, the angle awkward from where he stands between Max’s thighs. “I don’t think I can do the rest, Max. My wrist,” he says, shows how limited his wrist rotation is.

But Max barely pauses, slides instead to his knees in front of Daniel, “Like this, no?”

Daniel chokes on his breath, feels the way his dick twitches in his pants. There’s barely any room between Daniel’s feet and the counter, but still Max fits perfect. His head tips back against the cupboard, thighs spread wide to make room for Daniel.

“That’s perfect, babe. Yeah,” he tells him softly, cups Max’s cheek in his hand.

Max’s eyes stay closed as he lets himself be moved, tongue wet and pink inside his mouth. Daniel doesn’t know how long it lasts, knows at least they’re above the designated two minutes. His dick strains against his pants when he strokes Max’s cheek to let him know they’re done.

Max is slow to come back, eyes blinking slowly until he refocuses on Daniel. A sweaty hand grabs the crook of his knee, pulls him in until his leg is pressed against the heat of Max’s chest, the tip of his chin resting too close to his dick.

Max tips his head back and opens his mouth, shows off the mess that sits on his tongue. It isn’t – doesn’t really look like come, too foamy with the paste Daniel uses. But it’s enough to pretend, to imagine what Max would look like if Daniel did come in his mouth.

Daniel lets himself look for another moment, soak in the sight before he nudges Max up against the sink so he can spit it out. “That’s it, good boy, Maxy,” he says, watches Max through the mirror.

If he looked drunk before, he looks downright indecent now. Cheeks flushed and chest wide as he sucks in breath after breath. Looks just about ready to pass out too.

Daniel pats his back and nudges him over to grab his own toothbrush, feels the way Max shudders underneath his hand. He’s just about to tell him to go to bed, when Max drops back to the floor, knees loud on the tile.

“Daniel, please,” Max says, begs.

Daniel leans against the sinks, angles his hips away from the space Max has created. He knows what Max wants, mouth open even now. But he can’t. Not when they’re both this drunk. So he does the only thing he can think of, shoves three fingers into his mouth and tells him to be quiet.

It works.

Daniel goes through a condensed skincare routine one-handed, feels the warm, wet suction of Max’s mouth around his fingers. The increase in pressure whenever Max swallows, how he leans into it when Daniel presses down on his tongue, sick with want.

He leads Max down the hall of rooms when he’s done, opens the door last on the left and lets him in.

[tumblingxelian]

Not sure why I didn't get pinged for this but glad I found it. Anyway, I don't have a ton to add that short-wooloo hasn't, excellent breakdown to be sure. Much more patient that I would have been given they opened with:

"Emotional/dishonest claim. It would be considered "manslaughter" at most and even then that's contentious."

Lie, in what fucking world is choking someone in anger after/while they plead with you to stop doing fascism and genocide not considered a murder attempt? Like, I just went to check the definition of voluntary manslaughter and it goes:

The most common type of voluntary manslaughter occurs when a defendant is provoked to commit homicide. This is sometimes described as a crime of passion.

Padme did not fucking provoke Anakin. She outright offered to run away with him after he did a god damn genocide and helped overthrow democracy. Then he strangled her! Him being angry does not mean he was provoked, that's some god damn domestic abuse enabling shit right there.

Then there was how disingenuous the rest of their argument structure was, IE:

"The Jedi did nothing wrong/bear no responsibility etc."

They aren't interested in addressing your actual claim, because on some level they must know they can't actually disprove your points, So they handwave what you actually said away so they can go on to try and bullshit a "counter argument" without addressing anything said.

This also conveniently let's them more easily make shit up or ignore things, like how as you say, Palpatine is the end result of a thousand year long conspiracy. Plus the Jedi were suspicious of him?

They also clearly don't know what ascetic means given the Jedi are overall quite chill and often shown to engage in relaxation or enjoyable tings and to otherwise have friends outside the Order. The Order is their home and community but that's just like, what living in a religious community is like? Also how the fuck can it be considered abduction when Anakin's parent was for it, the word for that is god damn adoption.

Plus given this is one of the most iconic Batman scenes, I'd sat Batman is indeed closer to a cult than the Jedi: Fun fact these are not the only time stuff like this is done and comes off as super weird XD

I am also deeply confused how the Jedi are at fault for what happened to Shmi when she'd become free in the interim? Like are they magically responsible for every bad thing that happens ever but not for ay of the good stuff they actually do?

Also how is it their fault Anakin becomes more volatile after that? He doesn't tell them anything because he knows he shouldn't have wiped out an entire community in rage so he only told people he knew wouldn't be upset with him!

As ever, people failing to grasp the concept of letting go of things outside your control and conflating it with callousness/indifference. Agonizing to read now as it ever is. Obnoxious. Also yeah Anakin barely says shit so Yoda can't give him anything specific to go off beyond the most generalized advice.

Anakin wanted all the perks of being a Jedi but none of the responsibilities or challenges. He wanted his ideal romance with Padme, but not for her to disagree with him in any meaningful way. He wanted Sidious to be his endlessly supportive mentor and enabler. & when he couldn't have it all, he chose the most selfish and destructive things and ultimately ended up with nothing, and cursed everyone with him.

Insisting the Jedi were primarily to blame for Anakin being a fascist traitor and Palpatine ordering their deaths is painfully fucking stupid. Like its so disconnected from reality and victim blaming that it hurts to read. I don't find Anakin's evil relatable at all, I can't envision killing my entire community & family to protect one person. I think that's deeply fucked up. Like even on an instinctual level like they are claiming its fucked up. Also let's be real here if THAT were enough to cause the Order to Fall, if that were even close to true, the Order would not have last as long as it did, or need a mind controlled army and thousand year conspiracy to take hem down.

Ugh, I'm tired ><

Even if all the lies and deliberated twisted misrepresentations of Mace Windu and the Jedi for the purpose of blaming them for Anakin were remotely accurate (THEY AREN'T, END OF DISCUSSION), Anakin's turn to the dark side and all his atrocities are still HIS FAULT, no one else's (and yes, that even includes Palpatine) , regardless of what they did

It was his choice

Anakin chose to turn to the dark side

Anakin chose to betray the Jedi and Republic

Anakin chose to overthrow democracy

Anakin chose to support fascism

Anakin chose to murder children en mass

Anakin chose to join a space nazi death cult

Anakin chose to murder Padme

No one made him do anything, no one could, nothing that anyone did(n't do) forced him to be a monster, it was all his choice, because no matter what a person supposedly suffers, they are the one who chooses what they do

And Anakin chose to be evil

[jiminrings]

i just reread ll (after seeing that yoongi pic on twt..... loml) AND UGH IM SO MAD AT THAT FIGHT WHY DID HE SAY THAT AND OH MY GOD WHERE IS OC SLEEPING OMG DID SHE STAY THE NIGHT AT TAEHYUNGS (not like that ..... nasties 😑) WHATS GOING ON. WHAT IS JUNGKOOK GONNA DO WHEN YOONGI OR SEOKJIN FIND HIM WHAT IF YOONGI KILLS HIM OR SMTH

cold senior!y/n x stem major!koo masterlist :D

you leave jungkook alone in your dorm after a fight — but at the same time, he gets left alone with yoongi and jin, who still aren't sure what to think of him especially now

aka part two of the ll couple's first fight

"i think i'm gonna crash."

seokjin yawns and says out loud without the knowledge that he's speaking out loud, his hands fumbling for the dorm keys amongst the numerous keychains he has a knack for collecting

"you drank one cup of coffee, jin," yoongi snorts because as far as he recalls two hours ago, jin even made him drink his remaining coffee because he couldn't take any more

yeah well sCREW jin for trying to stay awake the whole day alright!!!! he made a roadtrip out of scouring each individual part he wanted to add to his fancy PC setup he's been saving a pretty penny for

he doesn't say it at all but yoongi carries immense happiness in tagging along with errands even if it serves him no purpose <3 sometimes he just likes being a keychain to his best friends and he's happy!!

"yeah, hot coffee — the worst," jin elaborates his dislike for hot coffee even if both you and yoongi heard it a hundred times before

he's noisily trying to find the right key and he's surprised you haven't woken up and just oPENED the door for them, but he's cluelessly and thoroughly entertaining yoongi aka the guy who hAS his own key yet refuses to use just so that he could see his friend suffering some more

at this point, your neighbors probably think you’re getting robbed but thankfully jin finally manages to put in the right key, a satisfactory sigh leaving him when it finally clicks and turns the right way

the dorm is dark and noT dim like what they’re used to, probably something to be blamed to the hellfire of rain that’s going on outside

jin’s carelessly removing his shoes by his own feet, only stopping when yoongi harshly pinches him on the side before he does it to himselF on the inside of his arm

“ow! what was-“

he soothes the sore spot on his side because yoongi can reallyyyyyy put his two fingers close without pinching and therefore make it hurt even more, eyes all around the place before it stops on a familiar figure

a familiar figure, sure. welcome? not exactly.

"huh. you're still here? are you staying the night?"

seokjin asks out loud to jungkook who’s standing by himself beside the couch with his hands bunched, worried eyes fixed on them

"where's y/n?"

yoongi asks and it’s made evident how the both of them have different intentions to acquire for, but they all boil down to you nonetheless

jungkook’s throat dries because it hasn’t even been an hour that he’s left alone in yoor dorm, not expecting it either that your two friends would come home this quick

"that's the thing,” he mumbles and yoongi picks it up first, slithering around jin to confirm if he’s really hearing jungkook

what does he mEAN that’s the thing???

"y/n left."

jungkook’s with the two of them now but oddly enough, he doesn’t feel cornered even if the two of them are positioned as if they’re trapping him

he feels more alone than he is cornered, fresh tears stinging at the back of his eyes that he doesn’t want to show yoongi nor jin

"what did you just say?" yoongi asks more in confusion than in disbelief, narrowing his eyes at your boyfriend

"why would she leave at this hour and at this weather? not to mention, leave you alone with us."

jin raises a valid point to put into everyone’s head how bizarre the situation is and not to spook jungkook out, but it sounds like the latter to him which is why he snorts at the startled look

"calm down, kid. we're not gonna rough you up if that's what you're thinking," he reminds him because they’re not tHAT unhinged when it comes to you, walking to the refrigerator to down the nearest water bottle, ".... not unless??"

he still carries a playful edge to him because as much as he’s worried about you, atleast one of the three of them in this room should be far from having a breakdown to level the others

yoongi’s not done with his questioning streak because he presses further, sitting at the couch in your exact seat that makes jungkook gulp

god it’s now just hitting him that you left

"why did she leave?"

"w-we fought."

there’s slight hesitance in his tone because he’s not exactly surE if he should be telling that he fought with you to your friends, but he sets aside the possible consequences because after all, it’s you that they’re conversing about

yoongi nods to himself, having a hunch that the both of you must’ve fought and when he looks up at him, he only belatedly realizes that your boyfriend’s now blonde

"what did you do?"

he goes straight for it, startling jungkook

he’s not necessarily offended that yoongi asked him what he did because if you ask him, this is really aLL his fault

"i-i'll get to that but uh shouldn't we look for y/n first?"

...

..... okay that was understandable

yoongi knows where he’s coming from, nodding to acknowledge him

"not the first time this happened," he admits quietly and that leaves jungkook speechless, watching him intently which is why it made sense that yoongi’s not out of his mind panicking just like he is, "y/n left the dorm when she and seokjin fought."

yoongi says it even quieter and jungkook gets why, because as low as his mumble went, seokjin still managed to hear it

it must’ve been a sore spot that jin doesn’t want to tell him all about, atleast right now, because he looks down to his feet as if he’s been burnt

"it was a serious fight, but it was long ago,” he mumbles under his breath and the reminder of their fight which he’s tried to bury in the back of his head throws him off his feet slightly, “she doesn't really leave when it's just a petty fight or something."

yoongi somberly smiles at jin as some sort of apology for bringing it up, not wanting to put salt on the wounds as he just redirects his attention to jungkook

"i'm asking you for the last time, jungkook — what did you do?"

there’s no direct pressure behind his words but the three of them know that it would drastically help if he just said so

there’s no moral compass that he tries to steer because he himself wants to tell yoongi and jin, even if it means having to put the little respect and love they have for him on the line

jungkook doesn’t sugarcoat and retells all the way from what happened with the hoseok situation until he finishes with what happened merely an hour ago, almost scared to look up at the both of them

jin humorlessly chuckles and shakes his head to himself, still perched against the kitchen counter

"low fucking blow, kid."

surprisingly, yoongi became the lenient one

jungkook’s head aches because the two of them switched attitudes in a matter of minutes!!!! jin is the one that sounds like he hates being in the same room as him and yoongi is the one that tolerates hin generally

he could oNLY assume that the retelling of the events must’ve hit jin one way or another, somehow connected to what the two of you fought about long ago

yoongi takes the liberty to speak after jin’s remark, nudging jungkook by the knee to sit beside him

"y/n's hurt, of course, because as much as she had flings and casual fucks and whatnot," he trails around but doesn’t look to jungkook who’s wide-eyed thy he’s even letting him sit beside him, “you're her first boyfriend."

...

....

...... what

“i am?”

jungkook asks in confusion and the regret creeps up to him not a second later, the ringing in his ears blocking out the rain and even jin’s announcement that he’ll call you

he nods and kook knows that he’s not only saying this to pull at his tail, simply because he’s aware that yoongi doesn’t joke around with him

with jin entering his room to call you, that leaves him alone with yoongi and it barely registers in his head that this is the first time it’s only the two of them after that time when he threatened to give him a knuckle sandwich and the sort

"was starting to entertain and like the idea of you in y/n's life — our lives, y'know?"

yoongi initiates conversation and kook gets startled even more, tripping over his words because he can’t grasp at the situation fully

"i'm sorry, yoongi. i-i really am."

"hate to say this but," he clicks the roof of his mouth with his tongue, fiddling with his bracelets, "i know you are."

???

jungkook’s confusion at your friend’s words is what distracts him from his remorse, not believing his ears

yoongi believes him??? he knOws that he actually feels sorry for having done what he did??

"y/n doesn't like being accused, i think no one really does," he starts off carefully, “it's not my story to tell but it's for you to understand that y/n, y'know...."

jungkook swallows the lump on his throat for whatever yoongi’s gonna say next, a furrow in his brow as he chooses his words

“she doesn't come from a past wherein assurance is at face value,” he clears his throat, "that's all i can tell you."

jungkook nods and he tries to contain his thoughts because he doesn’t want to assume. he’s only gonna take what you give and he’ll willingly wait for that time you tell him all about his past

he does have a clue about your family because he asked that one time if he’d be meeting your parents because you’re a senior and you’re graduating soon, but you only shaked your head no and said “yoongs and jin are enough” for your ceremony

yoongi feels sorry, but he’s not sure for who :(

all he knows is that his heart aches, even if it’s for the boy in front of him that he swore he’d hate, but is now unconsciously worming his way into his heart

he’s no stranger to what jungkook feels because he felt the same type of territoriality and the insecurity that came along with it — the one he used to have over you, in that platonic soulmate sense he didn’t realize at the time

"it's not my place to tell you either, but sooner or later, insecurity will consume you, jungkook."

the guy in question nods eagerly because yoongi manages to address the struggle he has in his mind, acknowledging the issue at-hand fully

"y/n can't baby you forever,” yoongi sighs, “but you can't be ditched whenever she feels like it either."

:O

did...

did yoongi just take his side.....

jungkook kNOWS in the back of his head that yoongi’s neutral, but it all just registers in his head that for the first time, yoongi’s on his side, even in a sense

"talk it out. just sleep in her room for the meantime. fix it in the morning,” he starts to gather himself to stand, pausing to look at jungkook in the eye, "i'd hate to see my soulmate hurting."

the thing is, jungkook knows that yoongi’s your soulmate :-)

you told him that once and as much as you explained that it was only platonic, jungkook quickly understood it, much to your surprise

he knows he doesn’t know the entirety of you, but he knows that when he looks at yoongi, he’s looking at you too :)

yoongi gives him the ghost of a smile, making jungkook blink twice

"sooner or later, the two of us need to talk."

jungkook’s contented with that, smiling back at him

"good night, yoongi."

"good night, jungkook."

( ♡ )

ok.,.,.

“don’t come home, it’s pouring. or go back to your dorm, whatever. i don’t care.”

okay you dO in fact care!!!

it’s been more or less two hours since you left the dorm and you know this because jungkook’s been texting you without fail, only stopping twenty minutes ago that makes you look at the time

it’s 11 o’clock :O

either he’s asleep like he usually would be at this time, or he walked home

in fact, you don’t even know if jungkook is still at your dorm

your phone rings all of a sudden that it makes you flinch, scrambling to see who it was and you don’t know if it’s disappointment or relief coating you when you saw that it was jin

"and where is my favorite girl at this time of the night?"

you could only chuckle as you share a glance with the person whose dorm you crashed in, sending an eager greeting with his mouth full

"i'm at taehyung's. we're eating brownies right now."

when you knocked on tae’s door just two hours ago, the only thing he greeted you with was with a towel!!

he didn’t ask why you’re practically soaked in front of his doorstep because for whatever it is, it must probably be in good reason

truth be told, you didn’t even knOw where you were supposed to go but then tae popped into your head as the only sane person you know that would let you in at this time of the night without prior notice

it was a simple “jungkook and i fought.” to which he only nodded to, turned on the tv for you, and started baking brownies

"mhmm. what kind?"

you chew on the chocolate fudge, slightly chuckling at what jin’s insinuating

"the kind that doesn't leave you disoriented."

he hums at that and you could picture him swiveling on his gaming chair he bought just a week ago, his phone tucked to his ear closely

"the same kind that makes you able enough to come home tonight?"

"yeah,” you breathlessly agree, fiddling with the matching bracelet you have with jungkook, “same kind."

you could only assume now that they've seen jungkook and he's still saying there, all alone but with them

your heart warms at the thought that indirectly, jin’s making you come home to reunite you with jungkook, knowing that there’s an impending conversation sooner or later

"want me to pick you up? you'll get a cold."

"i'll borrow tae's umbrella. i'll come home when we finish the brownies."

the both of you know that it’s code for you just wanting a little more time before you come back, and also because you really wanna dO finish the brownies that tae warmly made for yoy

"mkay," jin smiled at your response, "i'll lock the door but just send me a text and i'll open it for you."

"won't you be sleeping?"

"i'll stay up. i'm not sleepy."

jin replies just as quick, a complete 180 to what he said when he initially came home that he wanted to crash because of the hot coffee he drank

you wordlessly thank him and he acknowledges it, happy to atleast know that you heeded his concern for you to come home tonight

"get home safe. love you."

it’s not only minutes later than you thank taehyung immensely and promise to take him to the aquarium as your thanks, finding yourself in your dorm that seokjin ushers you into with a peck on your head

you rush to your room and you’re greeted with the airconditioning turned on, seeing a lump beneath your comforter that you automatically know it’s jungkook sleeping

you're still damp from the rain but you change quickly to the first set of clothes you can grab from your drawers, not wasting a second longer

you sneak into your own bed, the same one that’s carrying jungkook

his sleep hasn’t even been the deepest and the moment he feels a shuffle beside him, he’s woken up immediately

“i’m here.”

jungkook realizes it’s you with the way your voice is soft and the way you hold his arm when you climb into the covers, wordlessly embracing him from behind

"i'm sorry. it's all my fault,” he says sincerely as he turns his body so he could face you, caging you in with his arm

"i'm sorry i stormed out on you."

he feels you nuzzle to the crook of his neck and it calms him down, the familiar scent of you enough to make his eyes close without fear

it only hits you now that this is the first time the two of you cuddle, much less share a bed

"love you."

it’s barely audible but it leaves you nonetheless, not expecting a reply in return but you get one anyways from a sleepy yet overwhelmingly-content jungkook

"i love you the most."

.

.

.

as always, lmk what you think!! i love answering asks :D what do you want to see from the lunchbox lovers next? send them here <3

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

have a conversation

for @dadstielweek​ day 4: misunderstandings

So they defeat Chuck, and then Jack fucks off to do celestial entity shit, and then Sam goes on an urgent find-Eileen mission, and Dean is left alone in the bunker.

(Well, Sam is coming back. At some point.)

Dean contemplates drowning himself in whiskey, thinks about what Cas would say, and then decides to deep-clean the entire bunker instead. By the time Sam finally comes back, with Eileen in tow, Dean’s got this awful, jittery energy all the time, so he takes to praying to Jack in the mornings.

(He would do Cas, but, uh. Cas. Yeah.)

On day twenty-three of Dean’s ongoing pray-to-my-weird-godly-son-thing breakdown (that includes a lot of where the fuck is Cas? and please come back, Jack, we still have your room set up), the aforementioned cosmic entity, junior edition, shows up at breakfast.

Sam jumps and Dean spills half his coffee, but Jack just waves serenely. “Hello!” he says brightly. “I’m back.”

“I can see that,” Dean replies, trying to sop up his coffee with his napkin. 

“And he’s not alone,” another voice says, and then Dean spills the rest of his coffee, because it’s Cas and Cas is in his kitchen and Cas is alive and--

“You dumb sonofabitch,” Dean practically growls after he’s been hugging Cas for an embarrassingly long time in front of everyone, “Never do that again.”

“Okay,” Cas says, and Dean believes him. 

Breakfast after that is a joyous affair--Eileen and Cas sign rapidly across the table about something (Dean doesn’t catch all of it but from what he does understand he thinks Eileen is updating Cas on what happened to Chuck), and Sam produces a box of sugary cereal for Jack, and it’s all awesome.

Well.

Mostly. 

Because Jack and Cas are supposed to be in each other’s orbits. Sure, all of them had a hand in raising the kid, but Cas is Jack’s honest-to-god (maybe a little too soon for that turn of phrase) family. Dean remembers vividly how bent up Cas was those times that Jack died--and how Jack took the news that Cas was gone, after that night in the dungeon. That’s a father-and-son duo right there if Dean has ever seen one.

But they won't look at each other.

Dean tries not to read too much into it, but the whole day, they’re never alone in the same room, and when Dean offers that maybe they could take Miracle on a walk, Cas backs out as soon as Jack volunteers.

Dean definitely has ulterior motives when it comes to dragging Cas to his room when Cas tries to slither off that night (namely: kiss him like it’s going out of style in an attempt to make up for the last decade and some change), but after the long-awaited make-out session, Dean can’t help but ask the question that’s been on his mind. 

“What’s up with you and Jack?”

Beside him in the bed, Cas stiffens. “We, uh...had a disagreement.”

Dean cranes his head to look at Cas, who is currently using Dean as a pillow. “You’ve been back for fourteen hours! What did you disagree about?”

Cas sighs. “After resurrecting me, Jack took me first to Heaven to show me what he had done. It was impressive--he started redesigning the whole thing. But, uh, I don’t know how it came up...but he started asking about me dying.” Cas lifts his head, and Dean sees his eyes welling up with tears. “He’s angry with me, Dean. And I don’t know what to do.”

“Okay.” Dean attempts to gather all of the reassurance he can muster. “First of all, he’s not even four years old yet. When Sam was four, he would get mad about someone changing the TV channel. If someone in his family up and died, he would probably be even more upset.” Dean has to stop for a moment as his brain catches up to his analogy and he remembers that he was four when his mom died and he stopped fucking talking for a year. 

“That’s true.”

“And maybe you two just need to get real about it, y’know? A good old fashioned conversation.”

“Ah, yes, something you have often.”

“Shut up,” Dean says, and then he kisses Cas again to make that command stick.

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

Despite the warmth and contentment that come from having someone in your bed, Dean still wakes up at the asscrack of dawn because he can’t sleep, and he finds himself in the kitchen, contemplating making something extravagant for everyone for breakfast since he has the time. French toast, maybe?

He goes on a journey to find suitable bread in the pantry and then drops said bread on the ground when he turns to see Jack standing in front of him.

“Gonna put a bell on you,” Dean mutters, bending to pick up the bread. “What’s up, kid?”

Jack looks nervous. “It’s Cas.”

“Go on.” Dean leads them back into the kitchen and starts rooting through the fridge for eggs and milk. “Spill.” 

“I--” Jack sighs heavily, a twin to Cas’s sigh earlier, and Dean thinks that it really is uncanny how alike they are. He leans against the counter heavily. “We argued.”

“What about?” Dean asks. Nutmeg, that’s what he needs next. Sam was the one to use it last, so it’s probably somewhere really fucking weird.

“...I’m angry.” Jack sounds shattered, and Dean pauses. Jack looks up at him, eyelashes wet and voice small. “Why am I still mad at him, Dean? I brought him back! He’s here!”

Dean remembers being really pissed off when Cas pulled Sam out of the pit, upset that Sam even jumped in. So he thinks he knows what he wished someone would have said then, and he pulls Jack to the kitchen table.

“Sometimes,” Dean starts, “People we love do things that make us upset.”

“Like dying?” Jack asks.

Dean lets out a low laugh. “In this family, yes. But being upset with them doesn’t mean we don’t love them. In fact, it might even make us angrier, that we love them and they pissed us off.”

Jack nods.

“So,” Dean decides to give Jack the same advice he gave Cas. “Maybe you should just try to have a conversation with him about it. Tell him how it felt that he was gone.” 

Jack slowly nods again. “I think I’ll do that.” He gets up and throws his arms around Dean’s neck. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean sits there, stunned, for at least a minute. 

Maybe Cas’s paternal nature is rubbing off on him.

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

Cas announces after lunch that he’s going out, and then Jack says, “Me too,” and they fool absolutely no one. 

Dean spends the afternoon making meatballs for dinner (in addition to becoming Mr. Clean since Cas died, he’s become Martha Stewart), and hopes, when he hears the bunker door slam, that it’s a good sign.

“You’ve got something on your face,” Dean says to Jack when he walks into the kitchen with a smear of chocolate across his cheek.

“We got ice cream!” Jack says.

“It was delicious,” Cas adds, following Jack in. His expression as he looks at Jack is warm and full, not the hard-edged sadness of yesterday, and Dean breathes an internal sigh of relief.

As it turns out, though, they did not bring ice cream for everyone else. Disappointing. 

[darlingpetao3]

House of W (Multiple!Wells x Reader, Chapter 5)

Rating: T

Summary: After having to deal with the deaths of an infinite number of Harrison Wells in the Multiverse, you, a magic-wielding meta, have a breakdown and unwittingly create a happy, fictitious sitcom life with some of your favourite men. In a world of comedy and cameos, can Team Flash and an out-of-town magician break through your powers to save you? And what if you don’t want to be saved...?

Tag List: @fandomdancer @bluesclues-1234 @crissymadlock @firstofficer-tilly @disneyoncerlover815 @marvel-lady10 @thecaptainsgingersnap @noctvrnalmoth @alexxlynn @dontbedumb3 @heyl0lwhatsup @ryou-cosmos @arianalilyblack @sonnensplitter @imagine-yourself-happy @stuckysdaughter​

PROLOGUE | CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4

“Honeyyyyyyys…?” you call out in the house. Naturally, four handsome men come running.

“What’s happening?” Nash, in his jean shorts and Hawaiian themed shirt, asks you urgently.

“What’s happening is I am the worst mother ever!” you yell. Cue four sweet and simultaneous denials of your belief. “But I am—I can’t find the twins!”

How can someone lose two tiny babies? You had only looked away for thirty seconds and poof—Liberty and Belle were gone! They couldn’t even so much as crawl yet!

“Everyone, spread out,” a suspenders-wearing H.R. conducts the family, “they can’t have gone far.”

Harry moves closer to you to rub your back with small circles. “It’s going to be okay. You’re a wonderful mother. We just have a couple of troublemakers on our hands, it seems.”

You give a slight nod and begin to scour every place you haven’t already checked in the house. Everything is going to be fine, everything is going to be fine…

A pair of foreign giggles come from the closet by the alcove. How strange. You follow the sounds, and sometimes you’ll hear a “Shhhhh!” followed by more snickering. When you open the door to the closet, you’re entirely shocked to find two little girls who look to be five years old—one in overalls and the other in a dress.

“Libby, Libby, Libby! I told you to be quiet!” Belle scolds her sister.

“But your hair was tickling my face!” Liberty tries to explain.

Meanwhile, you’re still stunned to see your babies have grown in such a short amount of time. It really should be such a surprise considering the shortness of the pregnancy, but still!

You try to find your voice by beckoning your husbands. “I-I found them!”

“Hi, mommyyyyy,” they say in such adorable unison. Their perfect little faces look up at you and you feel like you’re staring into a mirror-time-portal. You crouch down and open your arms.

“I was so worried,” you tell the girls. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Sherloque, H.R., Harry, and Nash soon appear behind you and gawk at their rapidly aged daughters.

“How are they five?” H.R. whispers his question to no one and anyone.

“A very good question…” Sherloque, in his white trousers and blazers with a sharp purple shirt underneath, strokes his chin.

You wipe a tear from your eye and clear your throat. “Why don’t you two hooligans help your Pops with something in the garage?”

“You got it, dude!” Belle shoots you adorable finger guns before grabbing her sister’s and Nash’s hand. And then, in a flash, they’re gone. Indeed so quick that your voluminous hair flies every which way—books and papers suddenly strewn all over the house.

“Did Belle just…?” Harry starts to ask but falters.

“Run Mach one in my house? Yeah, I think she did…” you reply, figuratively and almost literally blown away. “Oh!”

H.R. holds your hand in comfort at the sound of your weepy noise. “What is it, Honey Bear?”

“I can’t believe it. I missed their first steps, their first words. So many firsts. They’re five!”

“There will be plenty more firsts that we won’t miss,” Harry soothes, “together.”

“If ma Belle ‘as the ability to run vitement,” Sherloque wonders to the rest of you, “what does this mean pour ma Liberté?”

This makes you think—remember things that you’d rather not remember. But, what if…?

You take quick strides towards the garage through the kitchen, your remaining husbands following closely behind. Peering out the window, you spot Liberty using her glowing purple hands to float a socket wrench over to Nash from his toolbox. His eyes are wide, but happily so, at the magic presented by his daughter.

“Little chips off the old block, aren’t they?” H.R. notes, putting an arm around your shoulders and Harry’s (the latter picks up and drops his doppelganger’s arm off of him).

“Yes, I suppose they are.” You sigh in contentment. “What do you three say to a little quiet time on the couch?”

The men don’t even need to voice their approval of the idea, only follow you devotedly out of the kitchen. Sherloque pulls up the rear but stops short at the refrigerator. The appliance is strangely already covered in artwork, with barely any free space available on the appliance. And then… there’s something else that sticks out amongst the vibrantly coloured scribbles.

He leans in a little closer to inspect a piece of paper. Sherloque notes the hurried scrawl of the letters:

You’re on a TV show. This isn’t real. We’re trying to help you.

The puzzled detective continues to analyze the strange message. What does this mean? he wonders.

He tries his best to remember what his life was like before he married you. What was life like? It takes every ounce of brainpower to attempt the recollection, but Sherloque unfortunately comes up short with answers.

Something he is both not known for and hates.

He checks around the room to see if anyone is watching him, but no one is in sight. Regardless of his lack of findings, he waves in the direction of one of the kitchen walls as if someone was watching. Sherloque then marches into the living room where you’re snuggled up with Harry and H.R.

“What is this?” he demands of you, flashing the note in front of your face. You, of course, have no idea and voice as such.

Harry snatches the piece of paper and proceeds to study it. “This is a joke, right?”

“I think someone must be playing a prank on you, my love,” you tell your suspicious French husband.

“And I think you are lying to us, ma petite,” he replies. Sherloque turns his attention to the other men on the couch. “Dites-moi, what is your earliest memory?”

Harry and H.R.’s foreheads scrunch in thought.

“The first thing I ever remember is showing up here for dinner a few nights ago,” H.R. says slowly. “But it feels much quicker than only a couple of nights…”

“And you, (Y/N),” Harry adds, “I feel like I’ve known you my entire life, and yet my first memory was the same as this jackwagon.”

“Aww, Harry, I feel like I’ve known you my entire life too,” you say sweetly. “All of you!”

Sherloque squints at you. “Stop that. You are hiding something. Eet is the way you swallow with difficulty and perspire. Aussi the tapping of your foot.”

“I am not hiding any-”

“-You lie!” Sherloque raises his voice. H.R. and Harry stand up from the couch and face you with crossed arms, pulling his blue plaid shirt tighter against his chest.

“Is it true?” H.R. asks you, looking ever so much like a puppy dog. It pains you to see him look so hurt. They both seem to take Sherloque’s word for it. And over yours?

“Is any of this real?” Harry finishes his opposite-self’s question, then points in the direction of the garage. “Are they real?”

“Of course our daughters are real!” you find yourself shouting at the notion otherwise. “They’re parts of us!”

“Then what have you done to our memories? You’re keeping secrets!”

At this point, Nash enters the room with Liberty and Belle, clearly not expecting an argument from their idyllic family unit. His hands on their shoulders. They must have heard the fighting…

“Listen,” you try calmly, “I did this for us. You don’t want to know what happened before our lives together here. You just don’t.”

“You do not get to choose for us,” Sherloque counters sternly.

The tension can be cut with a knife, and the proverbial knife that does the cutting comes in the form of a sound—the doorbell.

“Who is that, (Y/N)?” Harry asks you.

“I don’t know. That’s not me, I swear it,” you tell him, very much confused yourself. Each of your husbands stands with their arms still crossed, waiting. It hurts you to see them so upset with you. This was supposed to be perfect. This was supposed to be easy.

Your feet that feel like lead somehow manage to carry you over to the door. Twisting the doorknob, you open the door to reveal another extremely familiar face…

“How’s it hangin’, Miss (Y/L/N).”

What? No… It can’t be him?

Looking the epitome of cool—dressed in stone washed jeans, a yellow button-down shirt with a black leather jacket thrown over top—stands the man you never thought you’d see again. Especially in your own safe little world.

Eobard Thawne.

The man walks right in the house like he owns the place with an incredible amount of swagger.

“So, what’s a guy gotta do to get a drink around here?”

[scientia-rex]

I’m having a nervous breakdown but honestly it’s been going pretty smoothly so I feel like I can’t complain. Worst decisions I’ve made have been to eat too much when I’m stoned (which I have been getting almost every night for the last couple of weeks because of The Depression, serotonin machine VERY broke), which gives me heartburn. I bought a used but in good condition Nordic Track elliptical today and we wrangled it into the garage so one of these days I may even get back in “climbing a flight of stairs” shape. (I am currently in “yes, I can twerk, but only for the REALLY good part of the song” shape. Twerking requires a whole lot of quad strength, and also a decent sense for where to begin and end the arc of your pelvis, but it clicked for me about ten years ago and I mostly just do it when I’m dancing in the bathroom every night before I take my shower.)

I know so much. How is there so much left that I don’t know? I spend so much of my life trying to figure out, with obsessive tenderness, how to use as few words as possible to make my meaning as clear as possible. I do this for my patients. They need me to do it. If I don’t do it, who will? Who else is going to sit there and spend days of internal monologues and conversation figuring out the exact right simile to convince someone of something deathly important? To use the right pronouns for a trans kid, to take their blood pressure medicine, to get their booster now and not two weeks from now.

And that’s not what I want to be doing. Or is it? I want to write something complicated. Long, flowing, flowery sentences with deliberately disturbing and ambiguous language. But it gets so hard when so much of my time is about teaching. Explain, explain, explain. Your heart beats like this. An artery does this. It’s a water balloon—it’s a muscle—listen, two things have to be true—I’m full of short, pithy anecdotes and common sense, I talk like salt of the earth, I do it on purpose. Sometimes at night when I’m driving home after dark I talk out loud to myself in my car and I do it practicing “prestige dialect.” These remnants of a series of three linguistics classes I took eighteen years ago. I was such a child. But I still remember how to do it, or at least I think so. Lower and round my vowels. Enunciate. Erase all traces of the country hick from my voice. Because I get tired of only playing one character, one role.

Country doctor. I didn’t realize until partway into medical school that nothing about me would ever be as important as my identity as a doctor again. And now that I’m a country doctor, I get the good things I wanted from it—I love, I am loved, I have the bliss of service, knowing that I am there in a moment when I can offer something any other doctor would not have offered, understanding, validation, the voice of an elder queer who is From Here—but I am also in a fishbowl. And thanks to COVID, I’m trapped in the fishbowl. No vacations. No escape from the doctor identity. I have to maintain it at all times. No being a grody weird little goblin at 3am hitting up the gas station across the street for snacks. We don’t live waking distance from anything anymore, nothing is open at 3am, and I have to look at least relatively composed at all times. Because the person behind the counter might be my patient, or my patient’s cousin, or their spouse, or their parent. Today a guy came out to check on some repairs and I’m his son’s doctor and also the doctor of three of his employees. My patients know what my living room looks like. One used to spend Christmases there. The mother of the person we bought the house from is another one of my patients now. There is no separation and no privacy and I had counted on being able to escape to a city once in a while to get drunk and dance and eat at absurdly expensive restaurants in dresses I can’t wear in this town.

I am going insane, and I can tell because I pulled out most of my eyelashes. I’m alexithymic—I don’t know what I’m feeling most of the time, I have to look at the evidence and put it together—and I imagine it’s because showing any emotion in my childhood bought me punishment, and it’s easier not to show emotion if you don’t even know what it is. But I’m going insane. I’m short a whole lot of eyelashes. But I’m still going to work, I’m still being a good country doctor. I’m still fighting like hell for my patients. I might get too tired to do this, especially since I’ve decided to go back on the call rotation. But I miss the excitement of call. And I miss meeting people in the ED who would become my patients. It’s where I met a teenager after a suicide attempt who, over the next year, gradually came out to me and their family as trans. It’s where I met one of the clinic employees, who, a year later, stopped me in the hall to tell me how comforted he had felt by me. How he felt I never judged him, and how much he appreciated my presence there.

It’s hard not to get a big head, until you screw up so royally you almost kill one of your favorite patients, which I did last fall a few days before Thanksgiving.

I am doing my best. I am putting one foot in front of the other, over and over again. I always tell my patients, baby steps. You’d be amazed how much progress you make with baby steps. When I was 18 I almost killed myself because I hit a truck in my car at a slow speed. No one was hurt, but it was so terrible to me it was almost worth dying over. When I was 18 I failed a class for the first time and almost killed myself over that. I’m more than twice as old now as I was then. I’ve learned more than I could ever have imagined back then. I did it all via baby steps. I slowly learned to work around my anxiety, until now my anxiety barely slows me down.

It does steal my eyelashes. That’s okay. I’m having a nervous breakdown. I’m happier than I’ve ever been. I’m fatter than I’ve ever been, and I’m simultaneously horrified and disgusted by myself, and aware of my internalized fatphobia, and happier than I’ve ever been. I’m worried I’ll regret not having children and it’s not quite too late probably if I changed my mind right now but also I don’t have kids and this is the happiest I’ve ever been. It must be immoral to be this happy in a pandemic. And if I’m happy, why am I pulling out my eyelashes?

I just want to write something and I have to untangle my brain first. This is how it’s always been. Unwind the threads. I have to be my own Ariadne.

[hellonoblesky]

Happy Saturday it’s past 2am here’s Harbinger Angst. Because I’m up late and I’m havinggg thoughts.

So here’s my hcs about the Harbingers reacting to/dealing with the news of Signora‘s death :)

(CW For like. Mental breakdowns and guilt and general emotional instability because no one is having a good time here. Oh also cussing, anddd some familial angst in Childe’s bit? Also I am so sorry about any misspellings n whatever it is. Very late and I already have two other posts in my drafts collecting dust that are also HCs so.)

Dottore:

So if you don’t follow my art blog or haven’t seen my Harbinger hcs (which are under the process of some change with new info being released and whatnot), you don’t know this but I HC Dot and Signora to be like sorta just evil siblings

Now because death is such a commodity in Dot’s uh… specific line of work, he doesn’t register that Signora is dead until like two days after he hears the news

He picked up the phone (rotary perhaps?) to go call up Signora‘a office to see if she has any good gossip and then stopped halfway through dialing because it hit him that she’s never going to be there to pick up the phone on the other end. Ever.

He usually listens to music when he’s working but with the absence of Signora ranting he has to take up listening to the radio on top of the music

Problem is: the radio doesn’t have the same charm and cadence to it that Signora’s rants did, because normal people are boring and it’s going to drive Dot up the walls if he has to listen to one more commercial or one more anxious ramble about how cool and great the Fatui are from some stupid radio host trying not to overstep the Tasritsa’s favor like she listens to some boring ass radio station in her spare time!!!

HE HATES IT. But is forced to make do because if he shows weakness he will be torn apart (or so he thinks)

So this leads to him locking himself away in his office even more than he already did

Because he was already intrigued by the traveller after their actions in Mond and their victory against Childe, but them beating Signora in a duel before the Shogun? Oh now that kickstarted a whole new line of study

Especially because his only coping mechanisms are Be Destructive and Dive So Far Into Work You Don’t Think so within about three days he has a comprehensive analysis of everything he can possibly get his hands on regarding the Traveler (without interacting with other people) and is about to pass out because he hasn’t slept

Oh and the funeral was absolute hell for him.

Mainly because while he was barely conscious he agreed to play violin at the service and then promptly passed out and forgot about it so he woke up and was hit with the consequences of his own actions in the form of sheet notes

He endured, obviously, he’s not going to back down from playing something at the funeral of one of the few interesting people in the organization, that’s what tools and cowards do and this might be the Fatui but if he’d survived the wrath of dead gods he would make it through this

Went right back to locking himself away after that though

He actually got bad enough that the other Harbingers took notice of his state and MADE him come out of his labs and eat (mainly at demand of the Tsaritsa because she just lost the Crimson Witch as an asset, she wants the rest of her Harbingers in good health god dammit, the Traveler is becoming a genuine threat)

Broke down at dinner a week after the funeral

Swears that if any of the other Harbingers bring it up ever ever again he will kill their bodies and keep their consciousnesses trapped in a machine that he controls forevermore

Really he’s just glad that no one immediately pounced on one of his few shows of weakness

Maybe he’ll risk it again if it means he can cry it out for another hour but he wouldn’t dare say that out loud, won’t even finish the thought

But you know what he will do?

What he does best, of course

Look at an oddity in the world (in this case the traveller) and seek to pick it apart until he can put it back together without looking and still have it work

The only way he can actually get through his grieving is by finding something to take the edge off

And it just so happens that the traveller is a perfect candidate

Childe:

By no means has he ever liked Signora, in regards to personality or method, but her death still hit him

He had to travel back to Snezhnaya for the funeral, and it did absolutely cheer him up to see his family again and get to spoil them all silly, but with a mind whirling with thoughts it was genuinely hard for him to keep a smile up

Mainly thoughts about battle, because that’s really the only way he can interpret the world at this point

Like he keeps thinking about weather the Traveler was holding back with him, or if they had gained the strength to fight off yet another Fatui plot just in the month or so since Liyue? And if they had gained strength, how had they done it so fast? If they’d been holding back against him had he not shown himself to be a fighter worthy of their strength? Had Signora even faced the Traveler‘s full strength?

Overall his head is much too full of too many things, and it wears him out to the point that he ends up sleeping in late enough for his family to actually worry because usually he’s up before dawn training and they don’t see him until the afternoon

But he’s back on track as soon as he can, because the training helps him think, and once he can resolve most of his thoughts (or repress them so they don’t bother him too often) he’s absolutely alright and fine and ready to go! Totally. Fine. It’s fine.

The thoughts were very much There during the funeral, especially as the first harbinger read a (somewhat summarized version) of Signora’s life to the assembly of Fatui

(Oh and Pierro didn’t really care weather or not Signor wanted people to know her life after she died because she was dead now what was she going to do??)

The reveal that Signora had been fighting for the Fatui because her lover had been killed by the actions of the Anemo Archon, and she desired nothing more than to see him again… it got to Childe. It got to Childe more than he’d like to admit

Because suddenly the woman who he had always known as the embodiment of frostbite and frozen barbed wire fencing had someone she had cared about, genuinely cared about, to the point where she had become the Mondstadt legend, the Crimson Witch herself

And she had lost that lover to the actions of a fool of a God

He swore silently to himself that when the Tsaritsa‘s future came to pass he would make a little monument for Signora. Nothing big, probably a plaque on a nice stone where Mondstadt would have been before the Tsaritsa’s success, but a monument nonetheless

This promise was a spur of the moment thing, and later he would be like “Man she was a jerk, lost love or not why did I promise her that?“ but he doesn’t go back on promises

Besides, actually watching Dottore break down in a grief and sleep-depravation induced haze was also something that got to him because of course the two people he happened to simply Hate The Most in the organization were close that makes perfect sense but also wow it is weird to see Dottore cry and it feels Wrong because after murdering and tormenting so many people… Signora is gone and he breaks then??? What the fuck

Avoids most of the Harbingers after that, just heads home to Morepesok to spoil his siblings silly before going back to Liyue

Oh and his siblings can tell something is up, Teucer especially because when his brilliant big brother, the greatest toy salesman in all of Snezhnaya, is suddenly struggling to keep a smile even though they’re at home… he notices

Childe’s other siblings are all avoiding the subject, they heard about the death of Signora and all, they just assume the organization is going through it tight now and frankly most of them are a little afraid of him weather they‘ll admit it or not

Not Teucer though, he’s confused just because he still has grasped how Snezhnaya works yet, so he goes ahead and asks anyway

Childe just says he’s sad because he has to leave again so soon! And he hasn’t even been able to take Teucer fishing this time, isn’t that sad?

Teucer can tell that he’s lying

But Teucer is also beginning to sense the danger that lies behind Childe’s eyes, so for the first time? He doesn’t push it or say that they could go fishing now if they hurry

Just a grin and a “Next time!! Promise?” Makes it all better and he doesn’t have to think about why his big brother feels unnerving to look at sometimes

Childe is oblivious to Teucer’s growing awareness

He heads back to Liyue and makes himself focus on work

Scaramouch:

Now he didn’t particularly like Signora either, and didn’t really care about her life’s story, because blah blah blah we get it lady you lost someone, we all did, cry about it or whatever

But he does feel… he feels guilty for leaving her to face the Shogun

He had the Gnosis, he had finished Signora’s mission for her without even meaning to, and he had thought it would be funny to just let her face the Shogun without knowing that

To some extent, it’s his fault she’s dead

And it’s not the fact that she died because he didn’t go get her that weighs on him, it’s that he left her to the Shogun of all things

I don’t know if puppets like Scara can feel things like people and such do, but considering how the Shogun expressed frustration and stress when Ei disabled the majority of her functions, I’m going to assume they can

And because of the meddling of ‘some eccentric scientists’ his emotions are probably toned down a tad but he can still feel guilt all the same

And leaving Signora to the Shogun makes him feel guilty because he and the Shogun are essentially kin

Disowned and disavowed kin, but you know

He may have been able to easily counter the Shogun, or even help Signora prevail in her duel, but he. Ran. Off.

He happens to think that that was very cowardly of him

It causes a spike in his aggression which everyone unfortunately has to notice every time he walks by because the sheer static electricity that snaps in the air when he’s in the room now? Haha. Ouchie

Fun fact: he has no idea how to cope with guilt

He channels ALL of it into SHEER RAGE

Ever seen a couple hundred year old man go absolutely apeshit in the Harbinger‘s shared training arena? Well now you have!! It’s not a pretty sight!!

He’s crying and can’t tell why, which fuels his anger, which fuels stress as a fun side effect which just makes more tears and now he has to snap someone in half because he needs it to stop he hates it here he hates it here he hates it here

And in the beginning the guilt wasn’t even that severe for him, it was just so immensely magnified by his lack of coping skills that he very nearly broke himself down

He tried going to Dottore to get it disabled but Dottore had his doors all locked so Scara couldn’t even get a word through to him

Oh and the funeral was fine with him he just left early because he didn’t want to deal with looking people in the eye at the time because, again, his lack of coping skills with guilt magnified the whole feeling so it was almost unbearable

It’s a lot of fighting and breaking things before he’s able to resign himself to some semblance of how he was

[maira-writes-shit]

I have this habit you know

Haikyuu Tanaka Ryuunosuke x Ennoshita Chikara

Fluff, flower language, getting together, major charecter death

Words: 2758

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1KNwaK5v9gEGeM0WssuFAP?si=caf0308e539f4c14

She had thought him that there was flowers for everything and that you should always give them to the people you love.

She had thought him that there was flowers for everything and that you should always give them to the people you love.

She had thought him that there was flowers for everything and that you should always give them to the people you love.

Wich is why he was here now.

"I got you guys flowers..."

"Huh?"

"REALLY?!"

"...why?"

"They're Peonies. They mean luck."

Nishinoya's eyes seemed to glow as he smiled: "THAT'S SO COOL! THANK YOU RYUU!"

The spicker smiled and look at the rest of the first years.

Narita gave him a small smile, Kinoshita smelled the flower and Ennoshita stared at the flower with a mixture of wonder and admiration.

A year later

"'sup fucker."

"Hey asshole."

He was sitting at the counter of his grandmothers flower shop he sometimes helped out in.A bag landed in front of him and his cousin sat down next to it."you still have my eyeliner." Kyoutani said between taking bites from his sandwich.

"Oh yeah I know. It should still be at home."

Tanaka got up and walked over to the statice.Yeah this one is pretty good. Success.

“You still do that?“ „Yeah, what about it?!“Tanaka‘s cousin looked up at him and raised an eyebrow."Nothing I just don't really get it. I mean what have these people ever done for you? What is it that makes them deserving of these flowers?"

"...what is it?"They're my friends. They take me the way I am without a question."

Kyoutani looked at him with a raised eyebrow in a silent question of "And how do you know that?"

"Noya is my best friend. He gets me without me having to say anything! Kinoshita and Narita might not talk too much but whenever I need someone they got my back!"

"And what about that sleepy guy?"

Ennoshita...he was diffrent."Enno he...honestly I don't know why someone like him is even friends with me. He's amaizing! He's smart, cool, a great player, he is funny and really fucking caring! I feel so lucky to even be allowed to be friends with him..."

"Dude that sounnds like you have a crush on him."Tanaka flushed. Did he like Ennoshita in that way? Honestly he didn't know...

He blamed Tanaka.

He had this habit, you know.

Ever since first year Tanaka would give everyone from their year on the team a flower before games.

When they got into second year these flowers even started to get more personal.

And Ennoshita started to get really intrested in them. Well actually he got really intrested in Tanaka...

He was gay and he knew it. He didn't bother telling everyone, if they found out they found out, if they didn't they didn't.Simple as that.

Tanaka though...he made him want to scream it off a rooftop for everyone to hear.

Ennoshita had it bad.

So what did he do?

Call the two saltiest setters he knew.

The door to his room flew open."What's up?", said the shorter of the two, Shirabu.

Yahaba Shigeru and Shirabu Kenjirou. Pretty, petty and his best friends for ages.

The two were childhood friends while they meet Ennoshita in middle school.

"Ah nothing much..." "This is about the baldy, isn't it?", damm Yahaba and his senior Oikawa for teaching him to be so perspective!

"Yeah yeah, sit down assholes."

The two had been in his room enough to make it feel like he was in one of their rooms and not his own.

Shirabu planted himself on the bed and Yahaba flopped down on the bunch of pillows stacked in the coner.

Ennoshita's eyes went a little big as he remembered what he had put on the bed where Shirabu was streched out on now. Luckly the copper haired setter had noticed it and pulled a small book out from under him.

Or not so luckly.

Ennoshita sadly had fogotten what teasig little bastards his best friends were.

"Ohoho what's this?" Ennoshita did not like the wierd glint in Shirabu's eyes.

Yahaba jumped up only to make grabby hands at the book. Shirabu pulled it away and the other pouted.

Ennoshita looked away and felt his cheeks heat up as his friends opened the book.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Chika? Did you really keep every single flower he ever gave you?" "...Yes. Now shut up Haba."

His friends only laughed.

Ennoshita was utterly fucked.

Yellow rose, frienship. For Noya.

Gladiolus, strength. For Kinoshita.

Iris, hope. For Narita.

Camellia, admiration...For Ennoshita.

He did like him like that.

Tanaka had thought about it a lot. The thought kept him up at night, it distracted him in practice, it was always there when he was in class and he couldn't even hold a real conversation because of it.Tanaka liked Ennoshita. He liked him a lot.

He had never thought about liking men but really it seemed so natural with Ennoshita.

Every snort at Tanaka's stupid jokes, every glare send to the other teams captain while shaking hands before games, every time Ennoshita fell asleep on his shoulder, every look filled with mischief, everything about his fellow 3rd year just made him love him a little bit more.

Love?Is this love? I like it...

Tanaka looked at the flower in his hand and smiled.

If this is love then I never want to not feel it.

Camellia, huh?

Flowers fascinated him.

Ennoshita had been studying them for some time now. Flower language fascinated him the most.

It was so interesting knowing you could express everything just through flowers!Generally, camellia flowers symbolize love, affection, and admiration. ... White camellias symbolize adoration and is given to someone who is well-liked. Pink camellias symbolize a longing for someone and is given to someone who is missed. Red camellias symbolize love, passion, and deep desire.

Tanaka gave him a pink camellia...

Longing? Does Tanaka maybe feel the same way after all? No that couldn’t be...am I just interpreting too much into this again? Maybe he isn’t even aware of their meanings.

“You’ve been staring at that flower for over a minute, dumbass.“

Ennoshita jumped.

“Could you stop breaking into my house, Yahaba? Shirabu?“ „Never.“ Said Shirabu and bit off of something that may be a muffin or a very squishy pice of shit.

“Shut up.“

“Why are you staring at the flower anyway? I mean doesn’t he give everyone one? Before like every match?“ that comment earned a hit over the head for Shirabu from Yahaba.

“It’s just because of the meaning of the flower...“

Yahaba raised an eyebrow but then light up:“Kyou sometimes tells me about flower language! His grandma has a flower shop!“

“Yeah yeah we get you’re in a relationship. Now shut up and let Chika tell us what goes on in that pretty little head of his.“

Karasuno‘s captain sighed and looked back at the flower.

“It‘s a camellia. A pink one at that! They mean adoration and longing...“

“Well that’s great! I guess your lover boy likes you back!“ sing songed Yahaba as he let his head fall off the bed.

“But what if I’m just interpreting too much into it?! What if he doesn’t actually know what they mean?! What if I’m just getting my hopes up for them to crash down?!“

“Hey calm the fuck down, Chika! Just ask him if he knows flower language and if yes then you can be pretty certain he gave the flower to you on purpose. It’s simple as that.“

“Yeah you might be right, Kenjirou...“

“And when you know he meant it you can just ask him out.“

“Omg Shigeru! How are you the one of us that is in a relationship?!“

“...Honestly I don’t know either. Kyou is just stupid.“, chuckled Yahaba but there was a fond expression on his face that made his best friends cringe.

“Hey Tanaka, I was wondering...do you know flower language?“

Tanaka almost spit out his drink.

Does he know? Why is he asking? Oh my god what am I supposed to do? No wait I have to say something! Uhhhhh

“Um yeah. My grandma owns a flowershop. Why?“

Smooth

“Oh that explains a lot! I was just interested because of the flowers you always get us.“

“Do you know it, Enno?“ „Huh?“ „Do you know flower language?“ „Oh.“

Ennoshita turned away and if his eyes weren’t playing a cruel prank on him he saw him blush a little.

“N-No not really...we should get to practice!“ and with that the new captain stood up from their place on the floor and went over to a couple of first years trying to receive Hinata and Kageyama‘s quick.

Some red camellias (love, passion), some light red carnations (admiration), lady’s mantle (comforting love), Stocks (beauty, a happy life and the bonds of affection), lavender roses (enchantment and love at first sight) and Hydrangae (gratitude for being understood).

It was a lot but it still wasn’t enough to express just how Ennoshita felt.

He had thought you could show exactly how you felt but he had been wrong apparently because holy shit...all these emotions could never be expressed in just one Bouquet.

This is stupid...why did I let Shigeru let me talk into this?

Several bad decisions let me to this...ok here goes nothing!

He knocked at the door to the Tanaka residence.

He put some flowers into the vase.

Daffodils

“Here, now it’s officially our new home!“, Tanaka exclaimed.

His boyfriend only chuckled and put down the last of the boxes.

“Come here, dumbass.“

Tanaka slung an arm around Ennoshita.

The flowers stood in front of a window while the sun was going down. It was beautiful.

The man with the shaved head turned to his boyfriend who was smiling slightly and looking out the window. The orange light of the sunset complement him very well.

Yeah...it was beautiful.

This was their home now. He loved it.

„Hey Chika, look at me.“ the groom looked up at one of his best friends as he fiddled with the Asters on Chikara‘s suit.

“You are going to be ok. You are marrying the love of your life. Calm the fuck down.“

“You have no right to say that Shige. You literally had a nervous breakdown before you and Kentarou got married!“ „Not important, Kenjirou!“

Chikara Ennoshita, soon to be Tanaka, chuckled at his groomsmen.

He is right. I’m marrying the love of my life...I’ll be ok.

Chikara was beautiful.

This was like a fever dream.

He was marrying the love of his life.

With a smile and a small tear Ryuunosuke Tanaka joined his husband.

He was happy.

„Your vows now please.“

Ryuu‘s eyes were filled with tears as Chikara looked down at his vows and back up to him.

Here goes nothing.

“It feels different. It’s good. You make me happy. Every word, every laugh, even every stupid little comment. It makes me happy. It’s not the same but I like it. Stupid isn’t it? The smallest little thing...it makes me happy. Every color seems a little brighter with you. I’d like to thank you. For nothing, for just being there, for everything, for loving me and all my flaws no matter what. So here it is...thank you for wanting to spend the rest of your Life with me.“

Ryuu was now just full out bawling while Chikara also started to shed a few tears.

„My turn!“ the taller now said and everyone laughed a bit.

“Love, passion, admiration, comforting love, beauty, a happy life and the bonds of affection, enchantment and love at first sight, gratitude for being understood. Those were the meanings of the flowers from the bouquet you confessed with. And honestly...yeah. All these fit, because damm Chika! I love you. I love you so fucking much. You thanked me for wanting to spent the rest of my life with you when in reality I should be the one thanking you.“

Chikara only shook his head while wiping away a few more tears.

“Even before you confessed- hell even before I knew I liked you, I always thought you were amazing. I always thought that you had to be crazy to let me stay and now...well I guess you are a mad man!“ another laugh from the audience.

“I guess I am...“ said Chikara with a fond smile on his lips and oh how Tanaka wanted to kiss those lips already.

To be honest Ryuu didn’t even know what was said after only staring at the man he was marrying.

“You may now kiss your husband!“

And kiss they did.

He has this habit, you know.

Every Friday Ryuu would try and get his husband at least one flower.

When he saw a pretty flower on the side walk he’d take it home.

When he walked past a flower shop he’d buy one.

When he came by his late grandma’s flower shop, now passed down to his cousin and his husband he’d buy one.

And Chikara would love it.

Every single time.

Because that’s just who Chikara Tanaka was.

And that was just why Ryuunosuke Tanaka loved him.

He has this habit, you know.

Ryuu would get him flowers every Friday and Chikara would keep them.

Every single one of them.

He had done it since first year of high school to be honest.

He would press every single flower he ever got from his husband and glue them into this book he owned.

By now it was almost completely full of flowers and it was already his second one!

Ryuu would love it.

Because that’s just who Ryuunosuke Tanaka was.

And that was just why Chikara Tanaka loved him.

He was in bed.

He was asleep.

He was peaceful.

...

He was dead.

No pulse.

No heart beat.

No breathing.

Dead.

There were tears. Tears everywhere.

No. No. Not yet. Please...

Hey hey! Look at his face...

Ryuu looked up at his dead husband for the first time since he woke up.

Chikara‘s face was peaceful, there was even a little smile on his lips and he was curled up the same way he always was hugging the place where Ryuu usually laid.

He was happy...so please let us be happy for him too...

Ryuunosuke couldn’t bring himself to really do anything at the funeral.

It was just too much.

But a little thing he did say:

“Love, passion, admiration, comforting love, beauty, a happy life and the bonds of affection, enchantment and love at first sight, gratitude for being understood. Those were the meanings of the flowers from the bouquet you confessed with. And honestly...yeah. All these fit, because really Chika...I love you. I love you so fucking much. You once thanked me for wanting to spent the rest of my life with you when in reality I should have been the one thanking you-“

Ryuunosuke broke out in tears.

“Hey Chika! How have you been? I’m pretty good even if it still isn’t the same without you...look what I got you.“

He has this habit, you know?

Every Friday Ryuunosuke Tanaka would go to the cemetery and lay down some flowers at a certain grave. He’d take the old ones back home as well.

Ryuunosuke kept on talking as he laid down a red tulip.

11 years ago he kissed this man and Never thought that in 11 years he couldn’t do that anymore.

But he knew Chikara wouldn’t want him to always grief.

So he tried to be happy. For Chikara.

“What’s this?“ Kentarou said looking at a small book.

“Give me that please!“

„Uh...ok. But what is it?“

Ryuunosuke looked down at the little book with a bittersweet smile.

“Chika put every flower I ever gave him into one of these...I still do it actually! I take home the old flowers from his grave and put them into here...“

Kentarou looked at him with a slightly sad smile and grabbed his husband by the hand.

Shigeru went through a lot as well regarding Chikara‘s death so he at least understood a bit.

Ryuu was happy to have the two.

He was sitting in his chair in their once shared bedroom, the sunset was shimmering through the blinds, there was a chrysanthemum in his hand and a little book spilling flowers on his chest.

A chest that wasn’t moving anymore...

With a smile and a small tear Ryuunosuke Tanaka joined his husband.

He was happy.

(The daffodil symbolizes rebirth and new beginnings.

Aster meanings include love and wisdom.

Tulips are the flower associated with the 11th wedding anniversary, as well.

In many countries in Europe, the chrysanthemum is placed on graves and viewed as a symbol of death.)

[quickspinner]

Month of Miracles Day 8 - Uncertainty

Find the prompt list here!

Hallmark Movie AU Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 (end) | Read Month of Miracles on AO3

Marinette had a lot of experience with embarrassment, and she was well aware that no matter how much she wished it, the odds of the earth opening beneath her and swallowing her up were pretty slim. In fact, at this point in her life she was pretty sure that if it ever did happen, it would be while things were going perfectly fine, just to spite her. 

So as she stood on the sidewalk outside of the library, peeling a sticky bow off her forehead (and probably a perfectly square section of her foundation with it, which she was sure would look just great), trying not to look at the very attractive rock star (former rock star?) beside her, she was annoyed but not surprised that the ground remained solid under her feet.

“Well,” Luka sighed, “I guess since Rose is paying...can I take you to lunch?”

“I, um—” Marinette began, and then shivered, grabbing her arms as the wind suddenly cut through her. 

“Here,” Luka said, and Marinette finally looked at him. He was holding her coat open for her, waiting. He was already wearing his. “Marinette?” he asked when she didn’t move immediately, and Marinette jumped.

“Oh, thank you,” she said, hastily jamming her arms into the coat. It was harder than it should have been, since she still had the big stick-on bow in her hand, and her internal screaming grew louder as Luka continued to hold the coat patiently until she finally got her hand through the cuff. She jammed the bow in her pocket as she turned towards him with a grateful, if embarrassed, smile as she began buttoning the coat. “Um, thank you, but I’m sure you have things to do, and, well Rose didn’t exactly give you notice there, so if you need to, um, go, I understand.”

Luka gave her a slow smile. “Well, since one of the things I have to do is eat lunch, I’m not going to turn down a slice of Sally’s pie on Rose’s dime. And since she kind of played us both here, I think she owes you one too. Unless you don’t like pie?” 

“I love pie,” Marinette blurted, and had to stop her hand from flying to cover her mouth. 

“Well, okay then. Let’s get some pie.” Luka gestured, and Marinette found herself walking alongside him. “Maybe some soup, too. Sally’s tomato bisque is amazing when it’s cold outside.” 

Marinette made a noise that she hoped sounded like agreement. What on earth was she doing? Didn’t this make it look like she wanted to go on a date with him? What if he thought Rose was acting on Marinette’s behalf?

A touch on her arm jolted her out of her spiral. “Are you all right?” Luka asked gently, slowing down his walk. “Look, I know Rose is...a lot. I didn’t mean to enable her pushiness, so if you’re not comfortable—”

“No!” Marinette exclaimed quickly, and then sighed. “Well...yes, a little. Not she’s a lot a little, but I’m a little. Uncomfortable, I mean. N-not that you did anything, or...um…” She clamped her teeth together and fought the urge to scream.

“It’s just that this is a little awkward, because Rose has all the subtlety of a brick to the head and now we’re both trying to pretend that we don’t know we were set up?” Luka smiled, and Marinette actually laughed a little bit despite the vivid blush she was sure was spreading over her face.

“Yeah, kinda,” she admitted, hunching her shoulders. 

Luka shrugged. “Well, we could bail on lunch, walk away and pretend none of this ever happened, and hope that we never see each other again. Buuuuut this is a pretty small town, and avoiding people here is hard, so the chances of recurring awkward are high.” 

“Good point.” Marinette winced. “Um...what are our other options?”

“Well, I’m personally a big fan of just embracing the awkward.” Luka gave her a lopsided smile that looked nothing like his posters. “So I propose that we go have lunch, no pressure and no expectations, ask all the questions we’ve been dancing around until now, and see if we can’t just power through the awkward and come out friends—or at least acquaintances that can greet each other on the street without combusting from embarrassment.”

Marinette laughed. “That...that actually sounds like a plan.” 

Luka’s lopsided smile turned into a grin, and in that moment she could see a flash of the rock star she remembered. 

It was a short walk to the café (it was a short walk just about anywhere on Main Street, really), and before she had quite recovered from that grin, Luka was holding the door open for her and waving her through. 

“Hi, Sally,” he said as he followed her into the café. “Where should we sit?”

“Anywhere you like, hon, just don’t take up the big tables,” Sally replied absently, preoccupied with something behind the counter. “Your usual?”

“Am I so predictable?” he sighed, leading Marinette to a small booth near the windows. 

“You are when it’s this cold out,” Sally laughed, looking up, and noticed his companion for the first time. “Nice to see you again Marinette! Do you need the menu?”

“I’ll have what Luka’s having, actually,” Marinette said, blushing a little as she slid into the seat across from Luka. “Now that he’s talked it up I have to try it.” 

“Sure thing, hon. Tea instead of coffee for you though?”

“Yes please,” Marinette replied quickly, shrugging out of her coat. She raised a self-conscious hand and touched the spot on her forehead where the bow had been, glancing at her reflection in the window. 

“Rose’s treating today, so make it the big bowl please,” Luka called, and got a good natured wave from Sally to indicate she’d heard him. He turned his attention back to Marinette, and she tried not to squirm.

“So,” Luka said, slipping out of his coat and stuffing it into the corner beside him. “Do you want to start?” 

“Why did you retire?” Marinette blurted, and covered her mouth. 

Luka winced. “Wow, right out of the gate.”

“I’m sorry,” Marinette backpedaled frantically. “You don’t have to answer that.”

“No, it was a fair question,” Luka sighed, sitting back and tapping his fingers lightly on the table as he thought. Marinette bit her lip, feeling terrible for asking, but also really wanting to know. 

“Sometimes you take a chance, and things don’t work out,” he said finally. “But...sometimes they do work out, and then you find out it wasn’t actually what you wanted in the first place. I love the music, I thought I loved performing, but that whole lifestyle just...didn’t work for me.” 

Marinette wasn’t sure what to say to that, and was grateful that Sally arrived just at that moment with her tea and Luka’s coffee.

“Okay, my turn,” Luka said, leaning his elbows on the table. “Why are you here? In this town, I mean. No offense, but you kind of stick out.”

Marinette made a face. “The real reason? My mother thought I was on the verge of some kind of breakdown, so she conspired with my grandmother to guilt me into taking a vacation. As if all my problems aren’t still going to be there when I go home.” She glanced up at him, gathered her courage, and said, “Why are you here?”

“My family is here,” he said, pushing the salt shaker around on the table absently. He leaned back as Sally came to slide two bowls of soup on the table. Luka thanked her, and then looked back at Marinette. He gave that lopsided grin again at the slight pout she was aiming at him, and gave in. “So it was the logical place to come when I decided I needed to figure out what I really wanted out of life.”

Marinette raised her eyebrows. “And did you?”

Luka shrugged. “It’s a process, but...yeah, I think I’m on the right track.” He raised his eyebrows back at her. “What was stressing you out so bad at home?”

“My boss,” Marinette groaned, as they both picked up their spoons. “There’s so much she can do for me in the industry but she’s so rude and mean. The words constructive criticism seem to have no meaning for her. It’s like she expects me to read her mind and fix things without any guidance. Why did she hire me, if she hates everything I do so much?” Marinette stirred her soup listlessly, and then finally tried some. She smiled at Luka. “This is good.” His mouth was full but he aimed a wink at her in lieu of an I told you so. “So why a Christmas tree farm?” she asked.

Luka shrugged. “I don’t even really know myself. When my mom bought it I thought it was just another one of her crazy whims, and that she’d sell it again before the next season even came around. But, turns out she likes the farm, and she likes the town, and she runs a kayak rental during the summer that keeps her adventuring spirit satisfied. I still expect her to up and leave with practically no notice someday, but for now she seems happy. Make sure you try the toast on the side, by the way, it’s amazing.” He tilted his head slightly. “Why does Christmas hate you?”

Marinette had to take a moment for that one, taking her time with her next spoonful of soup. Luka didn’t press her, just went on eating his own.  “I’ve never had much luck with Christmas,” she muttered, and then felt like he deserved more of an answer than that. “Not every Christmas, some were fine, but some were...just times when I found out that people weren’t the friends I thought they were. Then last Christmas...” She hesitated, feeling foolish. “My boyfriend dumped me,” she said finally, and then blushed. “It sounds really stupid and pathetic when I say it out loud, and it’s not like he did it on Christmas or anything like that, but...” She shook her head.

“But now it’s Christmas again and you’re having a hard time separating the season from the memories?” Luka suggested. Marinette nodded. 

“My ex, he’s...kind of famous,” she admitted, “And now he’s back in the news because he’s got a new girlfriend, and there’s rumors there’s going to be an engagement announcement soon, and we work in the same industry so we’re still part of some of the same circles, and...yeah.” She shrugged and looked down, eyes suddenly stinging. “It just kind of feels like Christmas isn’t on my side this year either.”

“Hey,” Luka said, reaching across the table to catch her hand. Marinette looked up at him, startled, and he smiled. “What kind of pie do you want?” 

His hand was rough, but warm from where it had been wrapped around his coffee, and for a moment she could only stare at him. He has kind eyes, she thought. 

She hadn’t seen that on his posters, either.

“Blueberry,” she managed to say, and it wasn’t as hard to smile back at him as she thought it would be. 

Fiction Master Post | Month of Miracles

[sign-from-god-complex]

Summary: The two of them were friendly now—the days of hurtful nicknames and angrily putting each other down had long since passed—but even still Virgil was hesitant to open up to Roman. And it seemed as if Roman felt the same.

Pairing: Platonic prinxiety.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Virgil wandered down the stairs, rubbing at his eyes and only catching each step with his foot on sheer luck alone. He was barely even conscious—having woken up from a nightmare not more than a few hours after he'd gone to bed—and in his vaguely uncomfortable and jittery state, Virgil had decided that maybe a snack would make him feel better and started his move down to the kitchen.

The light was already on, he noticed vaguely, but it didn't really seem important until he came to the door of the kitchen and was greeted with a sight that woke him up entirely.

"You're crying."

Roman spun around abruptly, wiping at his eyes like Virgil was earlier but in less of an I'm-tired-and-trying-to-wake-myself-up way and more of a trying-to-hide-the-consequences-of-a-3-am-mental-breakdown way. Virgil would know; he had plenty of experience with both.

"I'm not crying, Charlie Frown," Roman insisted, "Your brain is playing tricks on you. Just go back to bed."

"Low blow, blaming a man's faulty brain for something you didn't want me to see," Virgil said, dropping into the chair across from Roman and ignoring the way he let out a sigh as he averted his gaze.

The two of them were friendly now—banter was easy and they were able to discuss things without it heating up to an argument every time—but there was still a layer of hesitancy when it came to being vulnerable. It wasn't just Roman either. Virgil had more than once entirely played off his anxiety or insecurities so that he could go deal with it himself or, if it got too bad, go bother Logan or Patton with it. It was stupid because they were friends and logically, he knew there was nothing to worry about. Even still, he was afraid. And he had a feeling Roman felt the same way.

"Do you want a hot chocolate?"

Roman blinked at him. "What?"

"I said, do you want a hot chocolate?" Virgil repeated, getting up from his chair. He threw open a few of the kitchen cabinets, rifling through it to grab the chocolate. "I mean, mine are nowhere near as good as Patton's—I really don't know how he does that—but they're still okay, you know?"

He glanced back at Roman to see him staring at him blankly and raised an eyebrow, prompting Roman to clear his throat.

"Uh, I mean, if you want to."

Virgil nodded, switching on the element and grabbing out a saucepan and milk, not bothering to measure any particular amount as he poured it into the pot.

"So... you wanna tell me what's going on?" Virgil asked, keeping his back firmly to Roman.

It's what he'd want, he thinks, to know that someone's listening without the pressure of having them stare you directly in the face—like, he loves Patton, but sometimes that earnest gaze can be a bit overwhelming.

"I promise, it's nothing. I'm just a bit tired-"

"Roman."

There's a long silence and if Virgil hadn't been listening intently for any sound, he would have thought that Roman had just up and left.

Then, there was a shaky inhale from behind him, let out all at once. "I'm... overwhelmed."

Roman paused, seemingly gathering his thoughts and as he did so, Virgil grabbed a rubber spatula from the jar on the counter, stirring the milk. He wasn't actually sure if it was necessary but it was something to do with his hands that wasn't simply wringing them or biting at the nails.

"Our fans expect a lot from us, you know? And the production value keeps getting bigger and we keep coming up with these new ideas but if we don't execute them perfectly it's going to seem like it was ridiculous for us to even try. And there's deadlines and short videos to keep up with and-" He heaved out a sigh. "There's just so much to do."

"There's always so much to do," Virgil interjected, breaking the chocolate into the boiling milk, "I think that's what life is."

Roman laughed but it wasn't particularly joyful, almost more like a sob than a laugh. "Maybe. I don't know. I just... I want everything to go perfectly but I know that's impossible."

There was something in that statement, some underlying insecurity that Virgil couldn't help but pull apart. With all his years being the literal embodiment of a person’s deepest fears, he’d become fairly well versed in feelings of inadequacy and leaving them alone to fester certainly wasn’t gonna do Roman any good.

"You're right. It is impossible," Virgil replied casually, "But why exactly do you think it needs to be perfect?"

"So that people will like it! People need to like-"

"You." Virgil switched off the element, turning around to look at Roman with something soft and sad in his eyes. "Is that right? You think that if the work we produce isn't perfect, if you don't make things that people love then you can't be loved."

Roman stared wide-eyed at Virgil, lips parted ever so slightly. "I- I just-"

And with a sob, he broke off, face crumpling as he failed to hold in his tears. Virgil winced, suddenly flooded with need to shield Roman from anything that could make him look so devastated.

"Roman, come here."

He opened himself up for a hug and Roman dove forward, gripping at Virgil's hoodie and shaking in his arms as they wrapped around him.

"We love you," Virgil spoke insistently but quiet, as if were he to speak any louder something inside him would break, "We will love you the same if you never create another thing ever again or if you create something new every day for the rest of your life. You don't need to do anything to be loved. You're here. That's enough."

Roman nodded into his shoulder. "I- I know that. I do. And you all keep telling me that's it's fine but-"

"I get it. It's hard. It took me a while to accept that you all love me too, you know? But you'll get there. And we'll be happy to remind you of it any time you need."

Virgil pulled away from the hug, leaving Roman blinking at the ground with still watery eyes. He seemed... more solid, somehow—less like he would shatter if Virgil looked at him wrong—and the relief he felt at that was almost palpable.

"And, Ro?" Virgil asked, prompting Roman to drag his gaze back up to him, "Yeah, the stuff you create may not be perfect but I haven't seen a single thing you accomplished that you haven't done a pretty fucking great job of."

Roman smiled—slight but real and filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Virgil."

"Anytime, princey."

Virgil turned to grab a few mugs from the hooks under the cabinet, placing them on the counter. A quick test of the milk revealed it to be plenty warm still and with a great deal of care, Virgil poured the hot chocolate into the cups, having apparently made more than enough for just the two of them.

The silence as Virgil moved wasn't uncomfortable—much more akin to the kind of silence you expect from two people alone in the kitchen at the early hours of the morning—and Virgil was immeasurably glad for it.

Eventually, he passed one of the mugs over to Roman. He hadn’t really put much thought into which ones he’d grabbed but he noticed now that it was one of Roman’s personal ones and written on it, in curling font, read the words, “Imagine. Create. Repeat.”. Virgil tried not to find the irony in that.

"So, uh, how about we finish this hot chocolate and then we head back to bed, yeah?" Virgil asked, picking up his own mug from the counter and taking a sip.

Roman didn't react for a moment except to rotate the mug he gripped tightly in his hands, holding it up by his face so the steam still coming off it warmed his cheeks. Then, he nodded, a smile barely turning the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah. Yeah, Virge, that sounds great."

Taglist: @mutechild @super-magical-wizard @shadowsfromthesun @teadays @sandersships @autism-goblin @camcam774 @deadlyhuggles6 @romanthestarstruckqueer @whispers-stuff-in-your-ear @rainboots-are-for-snobs @sanders-and-sides @spirits-in-my-thoughts @hold-my-hat @goodandbadisallmadeupnonsense @stop-it-anxiety @figurative-falsehood @jadedfantasies231 @idosanderssidespromptssometimes @poisonedapples @sanders-screams @another-sandersidesblog @do-not-just-see-observe @mychemicalpanicattheemo @primaryyblogg @localtransgrape​ @fandomsofrandom​ @gattonero17​ @airiervessel​ @ollyollyoxinfree​ @tired-and-probably-crying​ .

[bakubaewritings]

Home

Bakugo x reader angst/fluff

warning - broken down Bakugo, mental breakdown, sleeping pills, trigger warning, and language

word count 2,541

Love is the feeling of being home when you're not.

That's how you felt when you and Bakugo started dating. Everything was great. You were head over heels in love with the explosive pro hero. After your school years at UA, you and Bakugo finally decided to make it official. Since the beginning, Bakugo had made it clear to you his ambitions, and you respected that his hero work came first. You supported him fully; you told your career was important to you as well. You were a hero, too, though you were a rescue hero. You worked in more in the day time; your quirk involved socking up rays of the sun to heal.

You broke all your walls for him, but Bakugo never did the same, despite you being together for a year. You got close to getting him to tell you that he loved you, but he couldn't say it, and you understood why. Bakugo was very reserved, and you respected that. The most intimate thing you two had ever done was move in together since his apartment was close to both your agencies. Since you were often home before Bakugo, your quirk not being very useful after sundown, you always made dinner for him to eat when he came home later from patrols. Sometimes you'd wake up to help him care for him. In the morning as well, you'd wake up extra early to make him breakfast and kiss him good morning before going to work.

However, the relationship began to become very strained. You were never demanding that Bakugo take a break from his hero work, never asked him to stay home with you. However, when Bakugo began trading breakfast for morning gym workouts was when you decided to tell him how you felt. You were never the confrontational type, but you only ever saw Bakugo when you woke up in the middle of the night to see him sleeping next to you. He had also been growing increasingly distant from you in the last few months. When you had found the time to talk, Bakugo just gave you the cold shoulder, telling you to stop nagging him. You sought out advice from Kirishima and Izuku, feeling like you had no one else to turn to.

"You have to talk to him Y/n, tell him how you miss him. Be honest, I've known Kacchan for years, and he may be mean, but he loves you if you tell him how you feel he'll listen." Midoriya's words of advice encouraged you.

"Bakugo's just really hard at getting close to people, but he does love you." Were Kirishima's words

The Alarm rang at 5 am, and Bakugo groggily stood from the bed. You woke up with after him grabbing his wrist before he could get up. The sun was barely even up yet, "Suki." You called out, tugging him towards you. He looked over his shoulder; his face was far from happy. A scowl formed on his face, eyebrows sunk over his vermillion eyes.

"What? I have to get to the gym." You rose from bed slowly, your eyes glossy at his harsh tone.

"Suki, I miss you, can we please talk." His face contorted as he let out a scoff. You looked at him confused, why was he acting so cold? You asked yourself.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand since your a C class hero, but I have to be at my best to beat that fucking Deku and Shoto and become number 1." He was now facing away from you; he pulled his wrist away roughly from your grasp.

"C- Class Hero?" You raised an eyebrow, your hands balled into fists, collecting the sheets over you.

"Yeah, a C- class hero! Unlike you, I'm important, I have a job to do, and I have to be in the best shape for it." He turned around his face so close to yours as he yelled in your face. Your lip quivered, how could he be so heartless. Tears began to stream down your face.

"I don't have time for this shit."

You looked at him"I can't believe you, I wanted to talk to you, to fix what was wrong in our relationship because I love you and I want to make us work, but you're just an asshole."

"You're what's wrong."

Your eyebrows arched in confusion, "excuse me?"

"You are what's wrong; you come into my life bringing all your shit feelings with you expecting me to fix your problems, you move in here filling my space with your shit. Then you fucking expect me to say I love you, well I don't, and I never will, you're a nuisance." Tears streamed down your face like waterfalls.

"Then I'm sorry for wasting your fucking time." You stood up, "I'm sorry I ever fell in love with you." You screamed at him. Bakugo jut stood up grabbed his gym bag and left, and when he came home, you and your things were gone.

.

.

.

That was two months ago, you had moved out and found yourself staying in your old apartment. You stayed away from Bakugo, who made no effort to contact you. After a year of being together, you couldn't believe it had ended this way. There were many times where you find yourself crying on Mina's couch or during girls night at Ochaco's, but after a while, you realized how strong you were strong, and no matter how much Bakugo hurt you, you knew how good it would feel to see him swallow his words when he saw you again. You were not going to let his words hurt you because you knew you were no C class hero. You spent those two months working on yourself because for the first time in a year you were putting your own needs first. Now you did miss Bakugo extremely, you had gotten so used to him. Sure the last few months were tough, but you missed the good times. "let's go out tonight, Y/N; we can go can you karaoke bar!" Mina's excitement was prominent in her voice. "Yeah, and wear your matching UA Sweater!" Sero's voice called from the background. You giggled. "Alright, I'll catch you guys later." You hung up the phone, placing it down on your kitchen counter. You bit your lip, trying to remember where the sweater was. You looked all over your small apartment, even searching the old boxes of stuff you had from UA you had stuffed into the back of the closet, but with no luck. Sighing you groaned, the sweater was probably at Bakugo's.

Bakugo wouldn't be home this early you sighed as you turned the key in the hole hearing the click. You opened the door gently, feeling the cold air. Bakugo always kept his ac on even in the winter. You placed your key on the coffee table after today. You wouldn't need it. You started to look around for your sweater, carful not to leave a trace. When you opened the bedroom door, you heard the running water of the bathtub.

'That's weird, Bakugo hates baths.' You didn't hear anything except the running water, so you began to get a little worried, you looked onto the dresser and found bottles of prescription sleeping pills. You jiggled the doorknob of the bathroom aggressively, the door flying open. Bakugo's head fell slowly into the water, and he was fully submerged.

"Bakugo!" You rushed towards the bathtub shutting on the water. You pulled Bakugo's head from under the water, and out of the bath, the floor was covered in water from the overflowing tub. He looked awful, deep dark purple bags under his sunken puffy eyes, stubble on his face. You grabbed pulled him close to your neck, your fingers feeling for a pulse. It was weak, but it was there. Bakugo started coughing up water; his eyes opened slowly. Everything was blurry at first, then he saw you, you held him in your arms the bathroom light above you made it look like a halo.

He saw your leaking from your eyes; they ran down your cheeks. "Y/n?" He whispered, bringing his hands to pull his hair. He wiggled out of your grasp, falling to his knees on the floor.

"Wake up, Katsuki! Wake up! You're not real, this just another hallucination; it's a fucking dream." Bakugo was now the one crying. His fist beat down on the wet bathroom tiles, the water splashing everywhere. You grabbed his wrists tightly, pulling his towards you. "Katsuki, stop." You pulled his chest to yours, not caring that your clothes were soaked. "It's me; I'm real." You whispered.

Bakugo broke down in your arms, letting out painful sobs as his body shook violently. His words were almost incoherent as he let out heart-wrenching practically screams of pain. He clung onto you his arms around your waist, face buried in your neck. Your hands tangled themselves in his hair; his heartbeat was pounding against his rib cage.

"Please don't leave." He whimpered, his breath was shakey. "Please, Y/N, I didn't mean anything of that shit that I said." His arms gripped you even tighter. He looked at you, his vermillion eyes wide, face red. "I won't Bakugo, I promise," Bakugo let out a wince, "No, I'm not Bakugo; I'm Katsuki, your Katsuki." He cried even more. You had never seen him like this, not in a million years would you have thought you would see Katsuki Bakugo so broken.

You helped him stand up slowly; he clutched onto you, afraid if he let go, you would disappear right before his eyes. You helped him onto the bedroom and laid him onto the bed. "I'm gonna clean up ok; I'll be back." You reassured him, but he didn't let go. "Please, Y/N, I need to know you're real." He swallowed, pulling you onto the bed. You laid in front of him, your arms around his broad shoulders.

"I missed you so much I-" Bakugo started stuttering, "Y/n, I'm so fucking sorry. I didn't mean anything of those awful things I said to you," He was crying hysterically, "I, I wanted to." You shushed him, gently playing with his hair. "Don't talk, for right now, just relax, ok." You felt his head nod against your neck. Several minutes passed, and you began to hear small little snores against your neck. The bed under you was soaked. You processed that Bakugo was fully bare clinging onto you, his eyes red and puffy from crying. You pulled away from Bakugo and covered him with the duvet covers, moving to the bathroom to clean up. You drained the tub and begun to mop up every couple of moments, checking up on Bakugo to see he was still sleeping. You were picking up all the scattered clothes and towels, throwing them into the washing machine along with your wet clothes. You were putting on one of Bakugo's shirts when you hear him start to thrash around in bed. You raced into the room to find him sitting up his head buried in his hands. You climbed onto the bed, moving towards him, in between his legs.

"Katsuki, I'm here, baby. I'm right here." Bakugo wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

"It's always the same whenever I close my eyes." He breathed raggedly

"Months back, I was fighting this Villian, and I got hit with this quirk and, and I saw you. You died in my arms; I couldn't get to you in time." He closed his eyes tightly, and tears slipped out. "When I became distant, I was trying to get stronger, stronger to protect you. I would wake up early because every time I closed my eyes, I saw you in my arms bleeding out."

"Oh, Katsuki, why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I'm an asshole, I'm awful at expressing and sharing my feelings, I'm supposed to be your hero, but instead I became a villain to you. The dreams started getting worse, and I said that because I thought If you weren't with me, you would be safer. I'm so fucking sorry, Y/N; I should have just told you, I should have told you." Bakugo clutched his chest tightly, "After you left, they got so much worse, I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see you leaving again and again, and it always ends the same, you dead in my arms. I even tried taking those stupid sleeping pills to try and get some rest, but nothing worked. I even tried a bath, a fucking bath because I remembered how much you use to love them, how you said it made you so relaxed before bed, and when I did shit that you did, it felt like you were there., Like I could hear your voice giggling and laughing happily. I missed you. Is still miss you, Y/N I miss you." You looked into his eyes; he was so broken. The man you loved, you admired, was crying, completely broken in front of you. You cupped his wet cheeks connecting your lips. His hands caressed your naked waist pulling you towards him.

When you kissed him, it felt like nothing had changed. The butterflies fluttered in your stomach, and fireworks went off. Everything around you faded away, and it was only you and Bakugo. You felt like you were finally home again. Bakugo pulled away, looking into your gorgeous e/c eyes.

"Y/n I love you, I fucking love you. I've loved you since I met you in UA, but I was too dense to fucking say anything. I should have said it a long time ago; please forgive me."

"Of course I forgive you, Idiot," you cried, kissing him again.

"I said such horrible things, baby; I'm so sorry. You're the strongest woman I know, you're stronger than me, or fucking Deku or that half and half bastard. Stronger than any of us could ever be." His words were shaky, but you knew he meant every single word, he was just trying not to cry again.

"I love you, Katsuki, my katsuki."

"With you, Y/n, I feel safe. I feel like I'm home, and I promise I will always keep you safe, and I'll never let go.

bonus  “Bakugo! You look like a shit dude.” Kaminari laughed as you and Bakugo walked in hand and hand into the bar.  “You guys are back together?” Izuku smiled excitedly, his eyes sparkling. You and Bakugo shared a loving glance at one another. “You bet your ass we are Deku.” He smirked, sitting down inside the booth with your old classmates, pulling you down onto his lap.  “For the long haul.” Your classmates erupted in cheers, Kirishima even states drinks were on him to celebrate.  

[penaltbox]

take her to the moon - ty emberson

this all came from another random idea that @puckyess​ and I had that we ran with lol. if you like it let me know!! reblogs, lines you liked, even a simple ‘good job’ are all super appreciated :)

word count: 4.8k

__

You look around the room at the boys you were familiar with, but not comfortable around. You know them all well enough. In fact, you’d known them since your freshman year. But they weren’t your favorite boys. No, these were more like your obligation due to your boyfriend. 

You check your phone and find yet another ridiculous Snapchat from your actual favorite boys, Ty specifically, and your heart sinks a bit. You’d much rather be with them, where they’re apparently making Brock take shots even though he can’t handle them, than being stuck with your boyfriend and the rest of his team - the basketball team. 

The hockey boys were your actual friends. The ones you’d celebrated big wins with, had breakdowns in front of, and the ones who knew you the best. You look up and see some girl put her hand on your boyfriend’s arm, but he doesn’t shake it off. Of course he doesn’t, but you don’t even want to address it right that second.

You open your messages and respond to the video Ty had just sent, knowing he’d respond quickly.

‘Ugh looks way more fun than here :(‘

‘You know you’re always welcome. I can come pick you up if you want’

You smile, tucking your phone in your back pocket and deciding it was time to go. You’re sick of this little get together so you make your way over to your boyfriend and tap his arm. He turns away from the girl he still won’t turn down and his smile drops. 

“Danny, I think I’m headed home. I have to be up early tomorrow,” you lie, but you know he won’t question it. It was only his lies that ever got questioned. 

He nods and surprisingly takes your hand, “I’ll come with. Make sure you get back safe and everything.”

You smile and take the action at face value rather than trying to read into it like you sometimes did. Danny says his goodbyes as you follow him out the door. He drops your hand though as soon as you both exit and you can’t help but frown. 

He’d been acting odd again and the feeling that something all too familiar was coming was impossible to shake. You try and make the best of things though and smile up at him. 

“Are you excited to not have a game this weekend?” You ask, referring to their first weekend off all season. 

He shrugs and jams his finger into the button for the elevator without glancing at you, “yeah it should be nice. Are we hanging out?”

“Uh, well,” you stutter, forgetting to have told him you wouldn’t be available, “I kind of already had some plans.”

“So cancel them,” he says, like it’s no big deal. Like your plans can’t matter more than one of the few weekends he had off in a season. 

You grit your teeth a little, “I can’t just cancel them. I’m going to Ty’s game since you don’t have one.”

Danny lets out a short humorless laugh then as the elevator arrives, “oh, of course you are. You know you don’t owe him shit, right?”

“Fuck off, Dan. We aren’t doing this again. He’s my best friend and you know that,” you sigh, crossing your arms as you lean back against the wall of the elevator. 

Danny keeps his mouth shut the rest of the elevator ride and the ten minute walk back over to your apartment building, which you welcome after the attitude he copped immediately at the mention of Ty. You knew your roommate was out for the night and so you let Danny in behind you with no hesitation. She wasn’t exactly his biggest fan. 

“Will you flip the lock right away?” You ask as you kick your shoes off and head for the kitchen. 

“Uh,” Danny starts, his tone causing you to stop in your tracks, “are we gonna have sex?”

“Seriously? That’s the only thing you’re concerned with right now?” You ask, jaw dropping in shock. Danny could be brash but this was a new level from him. 

He shrugs like the question was normal and you scoff as you tell him, “maybe you should just leave. I don’t know what your issue is tonight but don’t take it out on me.”

“Cool, see you next week since Emberson is more important,” he scoffs and heads out the door. 

You think you’re quick enough to follow after him, grabbing for the door handle, but it slams just before you can grab the cool metal. Instead you lean your forehead onto the door and sigh. Things had never been quite this bad with Danny. 

With a sigh you lock the door yourself and trudge back to the kitchen. You fill your tea kettle and turn it on before going to slip into some pajamas. Heading back to the kitchen you go to reach for a mug, but your phone starts to buzz incessantly on the counter. 

You frown but pick it up, seeing Ty’s face flashing across the screen. It was late but that was no surprise with him. He called whenever he wanted and you’d always pick up, but he did the same for you with no questions asked. 

“Yes, Ty?” You answer, a little smile spreading across your face immediately. 

He laughs on the other end, the background noise starting to fade, “well hello to you, too. Are you home already?”

Your eyes slip closed as you lean back against your counter, “yeah, I am.”

Ty can immediately hear the tone change in your voice and he sighs, “what did he do?”

You bite your lip for a couple seconds and then release it all. You tell Ty everything. All your worries and the ways you thought Danny had been acting weird lately, as well as the sinking feeling you couldn’t seem to shake. Ty doesn’t interrupt once and he’s so quiet that you have to check a few times that he’s still there and listening. 

Every time you ask you get the same answer, “of course, I’m always here for you.”

You talk to him until you can barely keep your eyes open and he can hear the exhaustion in your voice. He tells you it’s okay if you need to go to bed because he knows you have an early class the next day and he’d feel awful if he contributed to any sort of sleep deprivation. You finally cave and tell him good night, but you make one last mistake before going to bed. 

You get settled in under your covers and open up your Snapchat map. You don’t usually check it for anything, but something that night tells you to look. You see most of your friends in their normal places, but one name makes your blood run cold. 

Danny’s location shows him somewhere that he had no business being at considering how late at night it was - the Gamma Phi house. You zoom in and out a few times, trying to make sure it was the right place. You finally understand why you’d been having that bad gut feeling lately and why Danny was being so weird. 

You don’t know what to do first, and even though your first instinct is to call Ty and break down to him, you decide you should send Danny a text. You type a message just to delete and retry it a few more times. Eventually you decide on something simple. 

‘I know we’ve been fighting a lot lately, but I still care about you. I love you. You know that right?’

To your surprise the little conversation dots pop up after less than a minute. You hold your breath, hoping the map location had been an odd technical mistake. Once the message finally comes in you feel your world crumble a little. 

‘Yep’

You stare at the message and try to process it. That was all he had to say? You’d been together for the better part of two year, admittedly with some time apart, but this certainly wasn’t the reaction you were expecting. You knew then that he was checked out, and as much as your heart hurts to ask him the next question, you needed to know. You deserved to know. 

‘You’re leaving me again aren’t you?’

This time your question goes unanswered, but he reads it. He’d had his read receipts on since the beginning of the relationship and you were pretty sure he didn’t even remember by then that they were still a thing. Knowing that he read the message but refused to say anything only made matters worse. 

You try and take a couple deep breaths but it’s not working, no matter how hard you try. So you do what you always do when you’re scared or Danny does something that hurts you. You call Ty again. 

“Hello?” He asks, his voice scratchy now compared to when you’d just spoke with him less than an hour ago. 

“Oh shit, are you sleeping?” You ask, pinching the bridge of your nose to try and keep your voice calm. 

He sighs and you can hear him shifting, most likely sitting up, “I kind of was, yeah. What’s wrong?”

“Ty, I…” you begin to say but your voice cracks before you can even get through his name, “I think he’s cheating on me.”

Ty doesn’t have to ask what you mean and you easily hear the frustrated grunt he lets out. He never really liked Danny so you aren’t surprised by his reaction. What you are surprised by is his next question considering what time of night it was. 

“Do you want me to come over?”

Your bottom lip wobbles a little over the question, “yeah, I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Ty gently says goodbye and tells you he’ll be over in a couple minutes. You thank your lucky stars then that your apartments were only a couple blocks from each other because you couldn’t hold it together much longer. 

A knock on the front door has you bolting off of the couch you’d moved yourself to shortly after the phone call ended. You open the door and find a very tired looking Ty, but he still manages a little smile for you. 

“Come here,” he mumbles and takes a step inside. 

You’re quick to wrap your arms around his waist and press your face into him. He hugs you just as tight, but reaches behind him to flip the lock on your door. 

It’s a motion you don’t miss because it’s something you always had to remind Danny to do but it’s something that Ty does naturally because he knows it makes you feel safer. 

Slowly, Ty wobbles you backwards to your room and holds up the covers so you can climb in. He lets them drop and grabs the throw blanket you keep at the end of your bed to cover himself up with. He settles in next to you while you press your forehead against his arm. 

“Why am I never good enough, Ty? Why can’t I date someone and not have them cheat for once?” You mumble, voice muffled by the sleeve of his shirt. 

Ty sighs, pressing a kiss to your head, “you’re more than good enough. I don’t get why he does what he does, but don’t think it’s because somethings wrong with you. You deserve the whole world and the moon.”

You smile a little finally and it makes Ty’s heart a little lighter. If he could break Danny’s jaw he absolutely would, but he knows you wouldn’t be happy about it so he’s never done it. He hates seeing you cry and question yourself when he knows how good you could be treated. 

He keeps most of it to himself though. He waits until he knows you’re fully asleep before he lets himself look down at you. He can’t help but smile when he sees you still pressed against him, red cheeks almost matching his Wisconsin shirt. 

He really means it when he tells you that you deserve the whole world and the moon. 

—

You don’t hear from Danny by the next day and Ty is gone by the time you wake up. Your head is pounding and you consider whether skipping class is worth missing out on the lecture. Eventually you drag yourself out of bed but opt for comfier clothes. 

You pull a hoodie from your closet and slip it on, not realizing what one it was until you saw the ‘21’ embroidered on the red sleeve. You shrug and smirk a little. If Danny wanted to let you go then you’d have more time to hang out with Ty and his friends. 

Class drags by and you pick up a coffee on your way home. The boys had a game that night but your homework was piling up so that took precedence. You’d just have to put the game on in the background. You’re quick to bury yourself in your work, but not before sending Ty your traditional ‘good luck’ text. 

You put your phone down after sending it and get lost in your report, not even realizing the game was well underway, or that you’d missed a few calls and even more texts from Danny. 

A sharp knock on your front door and your roommate's annoyed voice when she opens it lets you know your boyfriend, if he even was that anymore, was there to see you. You roll your eyes and keep working, not bothering to go see what he wanted. 

“Hello to you too,” he grumbles, walking in and sitting on your bed next to you. He looks at your tv and notices the hockey game, but instead of insulting it, his next comment shocks you, “I’m gonna go to Ty’s game with you tomorrow.”

Your eyes almost pop out of your head and you choke on air. He had never called him Ty, always Emberson, and his tone was oddly nice. You eye him carefully, waiting for the joke to be over. 

“You don’t have to,” you remind him, hoping he’ll change his mind. What kind of prank was this? What was he trying to prove?

He smiles and shakes his head, “no it’s fine. I’ll go with you.”

“Are we going to talk about that message I sent you last night?” you ask, glancing over at him.

“Babe,” he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, “I don’t want to fight with you. I just had to pick up some notes for a class I missed because of a team meeting.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, knowing you couldn’t prove him wrong, “whatever. I wait after the games for Ty though. I’m not changing that just because you’re coming for once. Got it?”

Danny rolls his eyes but doesn’t say another word. You realize he’s staring at the white ‘21’ stitched in the arm of your sweatshirt and you give him a warning look. He knows better than to argue about it. Ty was in your life long before he was, and would be around long after at this rate.

—

The air in the arena is cold, just like you were used to, and you can’t help but smile as you take your seat. This was your happy place and Danny seemed to be quietly taking things in, not having been too big of a pain in the ass for once. He’d made a small comment about the crowd size when you got there but you chose to just ignore him. The only thing that had you nervous was the fact Ty didn’t know Danny was coming that night. You had decided it might be better not to say anything.

The boys take the ice for warmups and as you’re trying to find Ty you do. Except he’s found you first and you can see how tight his jaw is set. He isn’t looking at you. He’s looking at Danny sitting next to you. You try to shoot him a smile but he ignores it, focusing back on the warmups he needed to lead as you feel your shoulders slump when you let out a sigh.

“So Emberson’s like… good then? He’s captain?” Danny asks, motioning vaguely at the ice.

You smile and nod, looking down near the net where he was passing pucks, “yeah he was super excited when they gave it to him. He deserves it though.”

Danny scoffs a little, “yeah, sure he does.”

You force yourself to take a steadying breath, already knowing this would be the longest game of your life. You were wondering if waiting for Ty after was really the best idea, but you weren’t about to break tradition now. 

Danny sits through the whole game with what you would consider minor complaints from him. He makes a couple comments about some shitty plays Ty’s involved in and you yell at him every time for it. Ty got a lot more playing time than Danny and you were quick to remind him of that fact. That got him quiet in a hurry.

You head for the lobby once the arena clears a little and see some of the girlfriends and ‘just friends’ that were around after most of the games, saying hi to the ones you knew. A couple of them eye Danny, not familiar with him being around ever before. It only takes five minutes before Danny starts to complain and embarrass you in front of people.

“Seriously, how long does this dude take? He doesn’t even skate that fast to need to take that long of a shower,” he whines, tugging on your hand as he takes a step towards the door.

You pull your hand back and hiss at him, “that’s enough. I told you I wait for him and I’m not leaving early. Stop.”

“This is stupid,” he says loudly, making you duck your head, “he’s not even your boyfriend. I am. Why are you wasting your time sitting here and waiting for him?”

“Yeah well your girlfriend wasn’t at the Gamma Phi house last night either but you still went there,” you snap, finally sick of him always picking on Ty for no reason.

Danny’s eye twitches a little and he finally lowers his voice, “I told you what I was doing there. I had to get notes from class.”

“You’re a liar and we both know it. What’s her name, Danny? How long have you been fucking her?” you ask through gritted teeth, staring him down despite the height difference between you two.

“Two months. Are you happy now?” he asks, his temper quickly running out, “did you want me to tell you I’m sleeping around? Huh?”

You feel the tears well in your eyes, but not because you’re sad. You’re about to cry because you’re embarrassed and frustrated. You’re ready to pull back and slap him when someone clears their throat behind Danny. He turns around, giving you both a view of Ty standing there with his hands clenched at his sides.

“I’ll give you two minutes to walk out of this arena before I knock you out,” Ty says, his voice so calm it scares you.

You look up at Danny when he glances your way, “we’re over. Don’t call me or text me. Get out of here.”

Danny’s lip snarls and he glares at Ty on his way out, “have fun with her. She’s a psycho and she’ll ruin your life.”

You don’t even listen to his immature little outburst but as soon as he steps out of the arena you try to reach for Ty, wanting a hug more than anything. He steps to the side and heads for the door, leaving you confused.

“Let’s go,” he mumbles, eyes locked on the ground and not checking to see if you’re following as he walks outside.

__

“Ty, I’m sorry. Will you please just talk to me?” You ask, practically begging at this point. 

You’d been trying to get Ty to talk to you for the last eight blocks as you head back towards your apartments. He refused to say a word, but he stayed close to your side as the two of you made the agonizingly long walk back. You weren’t sure what his issue was so you figured you’d just keep apologizing until he gave you some indication of his issue.

“Just stop,” he finally says, “wait until we’re back at your place and then we can talk about this.”

You blush and look down at your shoes, feeling like a little kid who had just been reprimanded. Ty rarely took such a serious tone with you and it had you scared. You weren’t about to lose your boyfriend and best friend in one night, were you? You didn’t think you could handle that.

But you listen to his request and forgo the questions for the time being. You both fall into a silence that’s usually comfortable, but feels completely opposite this time around. Your thoughts are running rapidly through your head and your overthinking makes you worry. You could lose Danny. It sucked, but he’d hurt you enough times that it was okay to not have him anymore. Ty though? You couldn’t lose him. You’d be so lost without him and you’d hate yourself for it for the rest of your life.

You open up your apartment and find it empty, hanging your keys up on the little hook where they belonged. You aren’t sure where to go so you wander into your kitchen, refolding a towel that was already folded on the countertop. Ty leans on the other end of the little peninsula and watches you, reaching up and loosening his tie. 

“What the fuck was that tonight?” he finally asks, watching you fidget with the cloth in your hands.

Your eyebrows pinch as you look over at him, “what do you mean? Danny finally admitting he’s cheating on me or what?”

“Why was he even fucking there? I don’t go to his games so why was he at mine? That’s kind of fucked up, don’t you think?” he asks, his voice raising little by little.

“I don’t know, Ty,” you shrug, setting the towel down again and crossing your arms, “he said he wanted to go and I wasn’t about to miss your game when I finally was able to go to it.”

“You better not fucking go back to him. If you do, I’m done. I’m not watching you get your heart broke again when you know that’s what he’ll do.”

Your heart starts to beat faster as your voice drops, “stop, I’m not going back to him. Don’t even say you’re done. That’s not fair.”

“That’s not fair? Are you kidding me?” he scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief, “you can bring your cheating piece of shit boyfriend to my games and expect me to clean up the messes he makes, but I can’t tell you that I’m done being your safety net? Please tell me how that’s not fair.”

“Ty, please. I need you in my life. I don’t need him and I’m not going back to him. Why are you so mad about this?” you ask, because honestly you don’t think you’d ever seen Ty this worked up before. Especially not towards you and it makes a lump form in your throat.

“When is it my turn?” He asks, his voice strained and his breathing heavy, “when do I get to show you how you should be treated? When do I get to show you what it’s like to actually be cared about?”

“Ty, don’t,” you whisper, tears starting to spill over. 

“Don’t what? Don’t admit that I’m in love with you? I can’t keep lying. I know you let him lie all the time, but I just can’t do it anymore.”

And there it was. The truth you’d been ignoring for three years. For three whole years while Ty stood by you through everything without saying one sour word. Every long night, every heartbreak episode, every time that Danny cheated. He was finally breaking his silence and it took your breath away. 

“All I ever wanted was to see you in my jersey. At my games. But I never got that and all you got was your heart broken while I cleaned up the damage,” he clears his throat, looking up at the ceiling and swallowing hard. 

You’d never seen Ty act like this. Not in the entire time you’d known him. He was always the calm one, the collected one. Everywhere but on the ice and you’d missed far too many of his games for this friendship to be fair. Enough was enough on both of your ends and it wasn’t fair to keep treating him like you had been. You walk over to him and hesitantly reach for his hands, taking them in your smaller ones. He lets you, but you see his bottom lip wobble a little.

“Ty, I’m so sorry,” you whisper, pulling him down for a hug.

You hold onto him so tight you half expect him to push you away so he can breathe, but he wraps you in his arms just as tight. He rests his forehead in the crook of your neck as you play with the little hairs at the nape of his neck.

“I’m sorry, bub. I’m so sorry I did this to you for so long,” you apologize again, feeling like all the words in the world weren’t enough. You’d ignored your feelings for him for all these years and they were finally bubbling to the surface. You weren’t reading this wrong hopefully.

He pulls back, standing up straight, and moves his hands to cup your cheeks, “I hate seeing you upset. I hate seeing you cry. I hate knowing I can’t fix things because I’m not even the one who broke them. I don’t think we’d be perfect but I know for a damn fact I could be so much better to you than he ever was.”

You nod quickly, knowing he was right, “you’ve always been better to me than him. I don’t know why I stuck around him. I guess I figured maybe you didn’t feel that way about me.”

“Are you kidding?” he asks, a little laugh slipping past his lips, “was getting you ice cream and wine on your birthday and sitting next to you while you soaked in the tub because you failed a test not enough proof?”

“Okay, hold on,” you laugh, putting your hand over his mouth.

“No,” he says, muffled at first but then he playfully bites your palm to get you to move your hand, “or how about the time I stayed on facetime with you my entire road trip back from Minnesota because you decided you needed to watch a scary movie and couldn’t fall asleep until I got back and would come sleep over?”

“I get it! I’m sorry!” you interject, but his hands slip down to your sides, starting to tickle you so suddenly you let out a little scream.

He wraps his arms around you then, laughing as well, “don’t scream! Someone’s gonna think I’m hurting you in here!”

You know he’s trying to be serious but you’re both laughing like mad and leaning into each other so much that you aren’t sure who’s holding who up. It takes a few minutes for you both to calm down, but you finally catch your breath. You look up at him again, but this time you glance down at his lips. You’d be a liar if you said you never wondered what kissing him was like.

He seems to catch your drift and leans down slowly, kissing you like he’s scared you’ll run away. Instead you lean into him, feeling giddy and happy and content all at once. Kissing him is better than any other guy you’ve ever kissed in your life, that much you’re sure of. You press a little further, slipping your tongue along his bottom lip until he lets you in.

You’re breathless and blushing when you finally pull back and Ty’s lips are so red you can’t help but brush your thumb along the bottom one. He tips his head quickly and kisses your thumb, a smile already on his face.

“You know when I said you deserve the whole world and the moon the other night?” he asks quietly.

You smile, still remembering that phrase clearly, “yeah, what about it?”

“I’m the one whose going to give you the whole world and the moon. I promise,” he swears, leaning his forehead against yours. You know he’s telling the truth, too, and you can’t wait to see what that promise holds.  

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part eighteen) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±7450 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family.  Summary part eighteen: A week later Dean and Y/N are training for the Flagstaff Horse Show, a last repetition for Congress. They are enjoying the honeymoon phase of their relationship, until Bobby calls Dean into his office. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music:  ‘Little Boy’ - Barns Courtney (scene Singer house), ‘The Farm’ - Thomas Newman.  Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: I’m excited for this one, y’all! Thank you @kittenofdoomage​, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish​ and @winchest09​ for helping me. You girls are awesome betas and friends. 

Ride With Me Masterlist

     “More leg, Y/N. Keep rhythm in that circle!”      Dean has climbed up on the fence of the large arena. His hands are folded together and his elbows rest on his knees, the heels of his cowboy boots hooked behind the lower bar. He watches a horse and rider in front of him from under his hat, picking up even the tiniest flaw and highlighting what’s done well.      As her trainer gives directions, Y/N pushes her calves a little tighter against Meadow’s flank, her right hand outstretched towards the mare’s ears as they finish their circle at speed. Elevated in her stirrups slightly, she makes sure the circle stays perfectly round while maintaining the constant one-two-three beat of hooves drumming against the earth. She can hear Dean’s strong and clear voice above the noise of the wind.      “There ya go. Nice one!”  

     It’s 6.45 AM and the sun has just risen, its early rays of daybreak warming the headwrangler’s back. The nights are getting colder, even in the valley, so the warmth is pleasantly welcome. Summer has come to an end, which means the ranchers are following a different work schedule now. Downside; their midday siestas are no longer a thing, at least not until spring. Upside, they start an hour and a half later in the morning. When he says ‘they’, he means ‘everyone but him and Y/N’, because they have been training for Congress every day. 

     The perfect final repetition for the big event in Columbus is a local horse show in Flagstaff, coming up this weekend. Gold Canyon ranch is going there with a truckload of horses and both Jo and Dean are competing. The head wrangler  convinced Y/N to sign up as well. They can test the new freestyle and see how Meadow does in competition, since it’s been a while since she last showed. 

     Pleased, he observes the woman who was born to ride. They are ready, no doubt about that. He knows it; the only person who needs to believe it now is Y/N.      “Wanna practise a few stops and call it a day? Wouldn’t wanna overwork her,” he suggests when her horse comes past in a slow canter, or a lope.      “No spins?” she checks, not confident with leaving such an essential element out of her training.      Dean smiles at her eagerness; ever the perfectionist.      “I’ve never seen you two screw up a spin. Don’t worry, they are solid,” he reassures.

     She nods while looking over her shoulder, then straightens her back, following the movements of her horse. When she reaches the short end of the arena, she steers away from the fence, bringing Meadow onto the straight line out of another perfect circle. Y/N doesn’t get the chance to give aid to pick up momentum, because before they are fully straightened out, her partner speeds up already.       “Circle her back. Let her wait,” Dean instructs.      The cowgirl tilts her pelvis slightly and sinks deeper in the saddle, before swerving away from the line. She shakes her head disapproving. Come on, Y/N, you can do better than that.  

     “She keeps taking over,” Y/N ponders, slowing down when approaching her trainer.      “She’s a smart horse. Most of the time that works in your favor, sometimes it doesn't. She wants to anticipate instead of letting you do the thinkin’. You don’t wanna discourage her enthusiasm, so what you gotta do is keep her busy. Give her something to do, vary your patterns. Throw her off her game a lil’ bit,” Dean explains to his pupil, who listens intently.      “Ride down the line again, but don’t do the usual sliding stop at the end. Don’t speed up, don’t even think about the stop, okay? All you’re gonna do is let her wait for your call.”      Y/N nods, feeling a little bit more confident after being given directions. “Okay.” 

     She moves her reins over Meadow’s mane, turning her around, gently aiding her to hustle forward in an easy canter. When she’s back at the short end of the large pen, the rider lets her horse roll away from the fence and onto the line again. She can feel the power under her, so much energy waiting for a release and ready to bolt.      “Steady... Just sit and relax. Let her figure it out,” Dean calls out, loud enough to reach his student’s ears several yards away.      A little confused Meadow pulls at the bit slightly, but Y/N does exactly what she’s supposed to do. Instead of punishing the behavior, she ignores it and lopes down the line, repeating the exercise. The second time around, the American Quarter mare already has her ears perked at her rider, waiting for a cue.      “Change leads. Try the same thing on the right hand.”       Trying to sit loose in the saddle, moving with the thousand pound animal under her, Y/N guides her horse onto the diagonal line and crosses the arena. Normally she would do a flying change in the center, a transition from left to right canter during the brief moment of suspension, almost like the horse is skipping. However, this time the rider decides against it, making Meadow wait until she reaches the other end, where Dean is watching his pupil closely from the fence.      “Smart, well done! That’s riding, Yankee,” the head wrangler compliments.

     With a smile on her face she continues the exercize, working on her horse’s assertiveness and patience instead of the actual pattern. Dean has a point; she can ride the test blindfolded. Hell, blindfold Meadow too and they would still be able to nail it, but only if the mare is willing to wait and follow her lead.      The third time Y/N canters up the simple straight line, the bay mare relaxes, lowering her head a little more and calmly keeping a slow and steady rhythm. It’s exactly the response Dean was hoping for.      “Next straight you do the sliding stop,” he says, just loud enough for the rider to hear, as if he’s worried the intelligent horse might pick up on it and understand what he’s saying. 

     Calm, Meadow turns the corner to the straight line, her breaths even, loose muscles rolling under her damp skin. This time Y/N can give the Quarterhorse an aid before she increases speed, which she does with powerful strides. When the mare is going down the line full throttle, Y/N counts down. Three… two… one…

     The rider sinks deep into the leather of her saddle, pushing her stirrups forward and braces for the sudden stop. She can feel Meadow’s hindquarters lower when she plants her hocks into the soil of the arena. They slide several yards, leaving skid marks in the sand, and when the combination has come to a complete halt, Y/N moves her weight slightly to one side and takes the reins with her as well. The eager horse performs a rollback, a movement right after a stop during which the horse turns on her hind quarters and canters forward in the direction they came from.      “That was awesome!” Dean exclaims. “Cool her down; she’s done for today.” 

     Pleased, Y/N lets her precious four legged friend transition to an easy jog, patting her on the shoulder. She feels beyond relieved that her training went so well. With her former trainer Marcel, the final repetition before a show usually meant bootcamp, pushing Meadow to her limits. But Dean treats her differently. He thinks things through, looks beyond the pattern itself and can really pinpoint what they need to work on, and often it’s not the routine itself, but the preparation and the foundation of horse riding.

     “She felt really good, huh?” Dean looks up at the rider, seemingly content, as they exit the arena and walk back to the tack up area.      “She did. I’m excited for tomorrow,” Y/N returns, halting under the Joshua tree. “Have you seen the starting order?”      Dean nods as he glances up at her, narrowing his eyes when the sun peeks under his hat and blinds him. “I have.”      “I’m fifth on the list,” the cowgirl mutters, not happy about her draw. “Any good riders in my class?”      The head wrangler reads his student carefully, who is clearly fishing for answers. He’s very much aware where this is coming from. It’s a trait of hers, one that used to be much more evident, yet still surfaces every so often, especially in a new situation or uncertain times; she’s insecure.

     “Does it matter?” her trainer reminds her. “Eyes on the ball, Yankee. Flagstaff is just a practice run for Congress.”      “Sure, but I still want to win,” Y/N counters, matter of factly. “Oh, talking about Congress…”       She looks down on Dean, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. “I booked our room.”      His brow perks up, staring at his girlfriend for a second. That seductive look in her eyes is giving him all sorts of ideas. “Our room?”       “Yeah, most hotels were fully booked, and this room is one of the few I could find,” she adds, teasingly, swinging her leg over the front of her horse, making sure her spur doesn’t hurt Meadow’s neck. “And you know what? There’s only one bed.”      “You don’t say,” Dean smirks, stepping closer and running his hand up her denim clad legs slowly.      She nods, not dismounting her horse just yet, but taking off her western hat and hanging it on the horn of the saddle. Instead, she seductively keeps her eyes locked on his green ones, the sunlight bringing out a hint of amber in them. “We don’t have to worry about squeaky bunk beds, or waking half the ranch…”      “Or Garth taking a piss,” Dean recalls.      She laughs, leaning forward now and slipping from the saddle smoothly, but Dean catches her, holding her up.

     The cowgirl folds her arms around his neck. “You know, I read this research paper on how sex actually increases dopamines, which results in the athlete performing better.”       “Interesting,” Dean is barely able to stop his trademark grin from showing, the effort creating dimples in his cheeks. “Would you like to test that theory?”      “I booked us a suite with a queen size bed. What do you think?” she chuckles, so comfortable in his arms.       “Well, in that case I’m more than willing to go the extra mile for my favorite student,” he grins, lowering her to the ground, after which he kisses her sweetly.

     Meadow turns her ear towards the pair when Y/N’s back brushes against the saddle. She doesn’t take advantage of her owner being distracted and waits patiently, even though she’s not tied up to the pole yet. If the cowgirl didn’t know any better, she’d claim her horse has been their matchmaker all along, casually walking a little closer to Dean’s horse whenever they rode side by side, even taking a liking to the wrangler, despite that she has never been a huge fan of men. 

     Dean reels the cowgirl in, letting his hand roam over her hips as he deepens the kiss. He can’t get enough of her, especially now that he has surrendered in the battle he was fighting with himself. Ever since he let his guard down and submitted to the feelings that lay deep, the weight he was carrying seems a little less. To have someone to share his life and his passion with, knowing that she’s his and no one else’s, it’s something he never expected to find. It’s certainly not something he feels like he deserves, but he has managed to push that denigrating voice to the back of his mind. They are in love with each other, that’s all he needs right now.

     Dean watches Y/N after he parts from her, in awe by the joy that radiates from the girl who has such a hold on him. He has seen her beam before, when she’s amongst the crew, when he makes her laugh. But he hasn’t witnessed this level of bliss and fulfillment yet. She’s glowing, and damn, it looks good on her.      Y/N blushes when she notices his captivated stare. “What?”      “You look happy,” he comments, leaving a short kiss on her lips again.      She smiles, her gaze drifting away as she lets her hands slip from behind his neck down his chest, analysing this contentment that she’s experiencing. She’s somewhat stunned by the conclusion; Dean is right.

     “I feel like - like I’m finally at a point in my life where things are coming together,” she realizes. “I spent years of my life in books, riding as much as I could aside from classes, just to get better. I tried to find that ‘click’ with so many horses, fell off, failed...”      She huffs, thinking of all the times she almost gave up. Overwhelmed, overworked. School, ride, sleep, repeat. All while Granddad tried to find her the perfect horse.      “Then Meadow crossed my path.”       She rubs the mare’s withers, earning an appreciative purr as the horse glances over her shoulder. The head wrangler watches the two, the unbreakable bond, the friendship that will last a lifetime. It’s an indescribable feeling to have such a strong connection with an animal, one he knows well. 

     Turning her attention to her horse, Y/N undoes the leather strap under Meadow’s chin and removes the bridle, replacing it with a halter. Meanwhile, Dean takes her hat off the horn and places it back on her head, earning a chuckle. He then continues to loosen the sinch and removes the saddle, humid clouds of warm air coming from Meadow’s back.       “I couldn’t believe it when Grandpa bought her. You should’ve seen me; I went out of my mind,” she says, reminiscing while taking off Meadow’s leg protection.      Dean chuckles at that, able to picture it perfectly. Her reaction to qualifying for Congress offers a good indication. Before he turns the faucet on, he hands the hose to Y/N, noticing the smile fading from her face.      “But then he died. It took me a while to get back from that,” she admits, glad to have something to do to keep her mind occupied. Often the tears still prick in her eyes when she talks about her grandfather, but today she manages to keep them at bay.      Mesmerized, Dean listens. He had guessed before that her granddad had passed away, since she used the past tense whenever she mentioned him. He never pushed her to talk about it, though, knowing that if the roles were reversed, he would appreciate the space too.      “You got back up, though,” he says, hoping she can recognize the willpower it took.       She nods, smiling faintly as she puts the hose aside. “I figured that after everything that he’s done for me, the least I could do was make him proud. I won State, I graduated a year early and cum laude.”      “And then you ended up in this dump,” Dean fills in, trying to lighten the mood.      She chuckles at his joke and shakes her head, untying Meadow.

     “Actually, ending up in this ‘dump’ is probably the best thing that could’ve happened to me,” she states, leading her horse to her box, Dean in tow. “I’m learning a lot here, and not just about ranch work. It has grounded me. Plus, I met this very handsome cowboy, too.”      Dean smirks. “Did ya?”      Y/N hums, turning after she shuts the stable door. “Why do you think I can’t stop smiling?”

     His eyes bounce between hers, only now realizing that he has a big part in her happiness. It humbles him, knowing that he makes her feel this way. Never before has he stood where he is standing now, in a relationship, let alone in a relationship with this one hell of a woman. Most of the time he has no idea what he’s doing, his gut feeling his only guidance, but apparently he’s doing something right. She has a spring in her step when she walks, her eyes shine when she laughs, and he is the reason. 

Wanting to tell her she is his reason too, but not knowing the words to that song, he takes off his western hat to fit under hers and wields his lips to hers. The kiss is less playful than the ones earlier, but all the more meaningful. Her lashes brush against his freckled skin, her hands cup his face, fingertips tracing the stubble on his jaw. The cowboy’s heart grows warm, rising in his chest, the sensation having him light headed. She is everything he never knew he needed, and he’s never going to let her go. 

     They hear footsteps coming around the corner, but both the wranglers are too occupied to pay attention, until a familiar voice puts an end to their private moment.      “Really? Could you not? I haven’t even had breakfast yet,” Jo puts her hands on her small waist and halts when she notices the couple. “This is a lot to muster on an empty stomach, y’know?”      Y/N chuckles after breaking away from her boyfriend, Dean rolls his eyes dramatically at his cousin.      “Get lost, Jo,” he scolds, ignoring her request.      “I’d advise you to get lost, because my dad is hot on my heels,” she returns smartly, before opening the door to the cafeteria, which is situated next to Meadow’s box.

     The cowboy’s eyes grow wide as he quickly distances himself from the woman he held in his arms just a mere second ago, before Bobby turns the corner. Awkwardly, Dean fidgets with the brim of his hat as Y/N straightens out her shirt and wipes her hands on her jeans, hoping her tan will hide the blush that heats her cheeks.       “Mornin’, Bobby,” Dean greets, trying not to act suspicious.      His uncle looks at them now as if he only just noticed them, his weary eyes lingering on the intern for a short second before they focus on Dean.       “Can I talk to you in my office?” he asks the head wrangler, even though it sounds more like an order.      “S-sure,” Dean stammers, gulping nervously.      “I’m getting my coffee first,” the ranch owner announces, before he disappears into the cafeteria. “Meet me there. You can let yourself in.”

     Dean takes an apprehensive breath when the door closes, the tight feeling in his chest not so pleasant now. Y/N’s observing him; he can feel her eyes burning in the side of his head.      “Why don’t you just tell him?” she sighs. “It’s been over a week.”      “I think he might be on to us already,” he says, clearly not at ease with that presumption. “I just wanted to ease him in when he’s not… you know, cranky.”       She frowns at that. “It’s Bobby; he’s always cranky. I thought Ellen--”      “- Ellen said he was gonna be fine with us being together - yes - but Bobby specifically told me not to mess around with you,” Dean recalls, returning his gaze from the door to Y/N.      “Well, I hope what we have going on here is a little bit more than you ‘messing around’ with me,” she returns with a tone.      “Of course it is. Hey...” He lifts her chin up with a curled index finger, pleading to look him in the eye. “This, us… It means a hell of a lot to me. Please tell me you know that.”      Her expression softens. She couldn’t be mad at him if she tried.      “I know. I just wish we wouldn’t have to sneak around anymore,” she admits.       “I’ll tell him.” He presses his lips to hers quickly, glancing at the door before he does, making sure they will not get caught. “Save some bacon for me, will ya?”      “Will do,” she promises, pushing him off gingerly before she opens the door to join the rest of the crew for breakfast.

     He watches her leave, holding on to the sight of her as long as he can. She’s right; he needs to come clean. It doesn’t feel right to go behind Bobby’s back. Plus, with them leaving for Flagstaff this afternoon, he wants to be able to say out loud that he’s spoken for, aware there’s gonna be a few girls who might want to make a move on him. Not by any means is he worried he will not be able to resist the temptation, because as far as he’s concerned, there is none. But he doesn’t want to have to hide their relationship just because his uncle isn’t aware yet. 

     Dean puts his hat back on as he steps outside into the sun, which is steadily rising in the morning sky. Going over different versions of his announcement, he jogs up the stairs of the house, pulling back the screen door before he steps inside. Out of habit, he kicks his boots off and hangs his Stetson on the coat hanger, like he was taught when he moved in with his aunt and uncle at the age of fourteen. 

     The house is quiet, Ellen cooking up breakfast for the crew in the cafeteria at the stables. He crosses the living room and strolls into the kitchen, taking a glass from the cabinet and pouring himself some milk from the fridge. This place still has the same homey feel to it, it even smells the same as he remembered. He still knows his way around, even though he hasn’t slept under this roof since he was twenty. At a certain age, he wanted to be amongst the crew, hang with Benny and the other guys, and have a little more freedom. Jo joined them in the bunkhouse a couple of years later when she got rebellious and never really left, even though she still has a room upstairs. 

     Dean leans against the counter, taking a few gulps of milk. A smile forms on his lips when he notices some of the old photos on the fridge. Ellen always mixes them up, taking them out of albums and putting them in frames, some ending up on the refrigerator or pinned to the board in the office, others are on display in the saloon and in the cafeteria. One of the pictures portrays him on one of the first mustangs he trained, and next to him Jo on her pony, a little fellow called Ghost. He must have been fifteen or sixteen at the time, his cousin not older than ten. There’s another one of him and both Ellen and Bobby at his uncle’s fiftieth birthday; Dean was twenty-one then. The first birthday besides his own where he was allowed to drink, but he has never been a saint. God knows how many times he and Benny and Gabe started the Saturday shift hung over, before he reached the legal age. He grins at the memory.

     His eyes glide over the photos, all seemingly normal snapshots, freeze frames of a country boy’s upbringing. But that’s it, isn’t it? It wasn’t normal to Dean. His life made a complete one-eighty when his aunt and uncle took their nephew in. They did it without question, never once asking for anything in return. They reminded him what it’s like to feel safe, loved, what it’s like to be a kid again. 

     It took him awhile before he could get past the years of worry, fear, and guilt, but eventually he found his way again. Has he forgotten about his childhood, the time he spent with his father and his little brother? Hell, no. He’ll never forget what happened, how the situation escalated and how everyone gave up on family except him, until there was nothing more the loyal son could do to stop the Winchesters from falling apart. But after all the trauma, the lesions on his soul, the nightmares, and endless regret, he found a place he calls home and is surrounded by people who, by blood or by heart, are his family. 

     The hinges of the screen door squeak and rattle when Bobby enters the house. Just like Dean did moments ago, the old man steps out of his boots, knowing very well that his wife will scold him if she finds dirty footprints on the wooden floors when she returns. He hobbles into the house, noticing his nephew in the kitchen.      “Comin’?” he says, nodding at the office, further down the hall.

     Dean empties his glass and leaves it in the sink, following his uncle. When he enters the room, he notices the stack of papers on the desk, open folders littering the flat surface. There’s an open filebox on the floor, numbers and letters scribbled in a notebook. Bobby has never been the person to keep his office tidy, especially with all the extra paperwork that comes with not owning a computer, but right now it looks like a bomb went off in here.       “Take a seat.” Bobby circles the desk and puts down his coffee mug, closing the blinders to prevent curious eyes from peeking inside. 

     Dean does as told, a frown edging lines between his brows. The vibe he is picking up isn’t a pleasant one and he’s sensing this talk will not be about his relationship with the intern. Carefully, he reads the ranch owner, who sits down, rests his elbows on the oak desk and forks his calloused hands together. Bobby doesn’t look up at him, and it’s only now that his nephew notices how the circles under his eyes seem a little darker, his head hanging low between his shoulders, which carry so much weight.       “We’re taking two of the youngsters to Flagstaff,” Bobby announces. “I need you to decide which ones, so I can send in the information to the auction committee.”      “Whoa, what?” Dean says, confused. “I’ve barely haltered a handful. I thought you wanted them under saddle before we sold them?”      “There’s no time for that.”

     His uncle adjusts the worn baseball cap on his head, still not looking at the young man on the other side of his desk.       “What do you mean, there’s no--” Dean stops when Bobby glares at him from under the hat, silencing his nephew with just a look.       “Pick the two who you reckon would go for a good price. And I need you to compete two extra horses as well. The palomino stallion, you think you can show him in the four year old class?”      “Yeah, I - I guess,” Dean says, realizing that riding five horses in competition is going to be a challenge, especially when it comes to time management, but he doesn’t have the courage to contradict the ranch owner.       “Good. I don’t expect them to come home with us,” Bobby acknowledges, picking a folder from the file case next to his desk, flipping through ownership certificates and taking out a file. “I contacted some buyers.”      “Which one’s the fifth you want me to bring?” Dean asks, carefully.      “Joplin,” Bobby states. 

     Dean closes his eyes briefly, cursing internally. He knows Y/N has grown fond of the feisty mare; it’s gonna hurt her to see the little dark horse leave.      “Joplin ain’t the easiest to ride and I can’t use her for the tourists; she’s the obvious choice. She’s good for ranch work and with the cattle, so I’ll sign her up for the cutting competition.” The ranch owner takes out Joplin’s file as well, adding it to the small stack in front of him. “The intern did some cattle work with her, right?”      Dean nods. “Yeah, rode her on the trail too.”      “Y/N can ride her then, they seem like a good fit. Discuss it with her, let me know if she wants to,” the old man decides, looking up at his right hand when he stays quiet. “I contacted Jody Mills; she might have some clients for Joplin.”      “Bobby, what the hell is going on?”

     Dean’s worried eyes study his uncle, an unraveling stare boring through the rancher’s tough armor, who is unable to hold his gaze. The weariness seeps through the cracks when Bobby rubs his forehead, leaning back with a sigh, the old desk chair creaking.      “We’re in bad waters, ain’t we?” the wrangler realizes.      Bobby still doesn’t look up, but nods quietly, admitting to the painful truth. He seems ashamed, as if he - the head of this family - is failing. The man opposite of him can feel the pressure his uncle is experiencing; he knows it well. Just the sheer thought of the ranch being in much more trouble than he originally anticipated has him anxious, his heart rate picking up. These lands, the company, the horses… could they all be at risk?

     “How bad?” he asks firmly, even though he’s not sure if he wants to hear the answer.      “I just ordered stable bedding, hay and pellets without havin’ paid for the last bulk. I can’t pay you or the boys by the end of the month, unless we make a profit in Flagstaff,” Bobby admits. “Then there’s the mortgage, bank loans, taxes...”      Dean leans his elbow on the armrest of his chair, rubs his temple. “What happened to the money we earned on the livestock you sold Rufus?”      “Used it on the electrical bill I was behind on and paid the city and the bank. I owed Caleb a lot of money too.”      The wrangler’s eyes flick up at his uncle again. “So it’s all gone?”       Bobby nods again. “Yeah, ‘fraid so.”

     Troubled, he reaches for his coffee, taking a sip of the hot brew, wishing it was whiskey. From under his cap he watches Dean process the information, the knowledge doing a number on him, even though he acts tough. Bobby knows his nephew. Hell, he’s been living on his land for so long, he considers him a son. He knows how he values this place and the people and animals living here. He knows how much he craved shelter when he stood on the doorstep fifteen years ago. That’s exactly what this place is for him: his safe haven. And now that a storm is coming, now that his world threatens to cave, he’s losing his footing as well.

     Dean leaves his chair, paces up and down the small room twice, his arms crossed and pondering on a solution.      “You can keep my salary,” Dean says, “I know it’s a drop in the ocean, but I’ve got a roof over my head, that’s all I need. I have some savings too--”      “Dean, I don’t want your money,” Bobby makes clear, his voice less stern. “This ain’t your cross to bear.”      “Hell, it ain’t!” he exclaims, raising his arms up in despair. “This is my home too, and I’m not about to lose it!”      “Do you really believe I’m givin’ it up that easy? It’s my life’s work, damn it!” his uncle raises his voice to level with Dean’s, but tones it down when he continues. “No one is losing their home. We’re just gonna have to save and make money before this spins out of control, stay afloat until business picks up again. That’s why we’re gonna bring more horses to Flagstaff, see if we can make some deals.”

     Dean calms down slightly after his outburst, but is nowhere near at ease. He places his hands on his sides now, focusing on the floorboards. After a deep breath he collects himself.      “We can take the large Pinto and the red dun Mustang for the auction,” he determines.       “Alright,” Bobby writes it down, picking up the phone to make the call. “We’re still leaving at three?”      His head wrangler nods, burdened, taking the que and turns towards the door.      “Son?”       Dean halts in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder at the man who has been more like a dad to him than his own father ever was. A few strands of light squeeze through the blinds, illuminating the mess they are in, the rest of the room dark, shadows looming over his uncle.       “We’ll figure it out, okay? Ain’t the first recession this ranch survived,” Bobby reminds him, before he dials the number he wrote down earlier. 

     With a forced smile Dean watches him for a few more seconds before he leaves the office, the mask dropping from his face the moment he’s out of sight. With the unsettling information still mulling over, he puts on his boots again and takes his hat from the hall stand, walking onto the porch. He needs a moment to collect himself and let’s a heavy sigh escape his lungs, his eyes wandering over the scenery before him. Gold Canyon Ranch: sacred ground, their harbor, his church. The barn with the high doors through which he walked countless times, the Joshua tree that has watched over the horses for centuries. The saloon where on a good night laughs roar and beer flows. The bunkhouse, the crooked little prairie shed where he has a room and a bed of his own. And the Singer’s residence, where he knocked on the front door in search of refuge when he was fourteen years of age, standing in the exact same spot where he’s standing now.

     The sun hits him when he descends from the steps, the source of light warming the earth rapidly, despite autumn approaching. A faint headache is throbbing behind his eyes already, the conversation getting to him much more than he wants it to. Bobby tried to lessen the blow and reassure his nephew, but he knows very well it’s ten minutes to midnight. He dismisses the possibility of losing everything all over again; he can’t think like that, it will only slow him down. What he can do is think of a way to prevent this train from derailing. 

     He attempts to leave the worry behind, because he can’t let the rest of the crew know just how grim the situation is. Thankfully, the guys have already started their workday. He can hear the tractor pulling up behind the barn and there’s a wheelbarrow in the stable alley. Garth whistles to a country song on the radio as he empties a box with large scoops, while Jo leads a saddled horse to the arena. A quick glance through the window of the cafeteria tells him Ellen already went to the saloon, probably to start on lunch for the group of eight tourists that are currently accommodating the guest houses, but he does spot Y/N, who’s wiping down the table. When he pushes open the door, a bright smile comes his way, her light burning away the dark clouds hanging over him.

     “Hey! I risked my life defending your bacon, but I managed to save you some. Scrambled eggs and two buns too. Want me to heat it up real quick?” she asks, busy putting away the cutlery and dishes she washed.      “Nah, that’s alright,” he says, slumping down in the chair where Bobby usually sits.       “Here.”       She puts the plate down in front of him, the smell of crispy meat filling his nose. He’s not all that hungry anymore, but he starts cutting the bread either way, knowing she made an effort to make sure he had something to eat.

     “How did he respond?” she wonders after a moment of silence, drying off the frying pan.      Dean was about to take a bite when he freezes, only now realizing what she’s talking about. Shit, with everything going on, it completely slipped his mind why he wanted to talk to Bobby in the first place.      Y/N notices the hesitation, followed by a pair of shameful eyes coming her way. She sighs, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Dean…”      “I know. I’m sorry.” He squeezes the bridge of his nose while he shuts his eyes, feeling like an idiot. “Something came up. He didn’t call me in because of us.”

     The cowboy glances up warely, noticing her disappointment. If anything, he doesn’t want her to think he just forgot, or worse - that he chickened out. But business is blending with personal life here; he’s not sure if he should share with her what his boss just told him.       “Why did he call you in then?” she wonders, unable to hide the discontent in her voice.      “He, uh - he wants me to take more horses to Flagstaff,” he says. “To sell them.”      “Oh…” Y/N puts away the pan in one of the lower cabinets. “Which ones?”      “Two of the youngsters we brought in earlier this month. Bon Jovi - the four year old - and...” Dean hesitates, hating to be the bearer of bad news. “And Joplin.”

     In shock the cowgirl turns to him, staring at the head wrangler. “Bobby is going to sell Joplin?”      “I wish it could’ve been different,” he half apologizes, feeling sorry for Y/N. “I know you like her a lot.”      She hangs the dish towel to dry and turns to lean on the back of the chair. Her airway is closing, but she swallows down the lump that builds. Dean is right; she grew fond of the little dark Quarter. Not everyone can handle her fiery spirit, but the cowgirl could, forging a strong bond between them within a short period of time. Somehow, she never expected Joplin to leave the premises.       “It’s not your fault,” she says after clearing her throat. “I’m the one who gets attached to horses who aren’t my own.”      The wrangler observes her, well aware she’s trying to be professional about this.      “Bobby hoped you could show her at the competition,” he continues.      “I can do that,” she agrees, keeping her voice steady.

     Dean absently eats his bacon and egg sandwich while Y/N tidies up, giving her hands something to do while she processes what he just told her. He watches her rinse a cloth and clean the kitchen counter, rubbing over a spot to make a stain go away. Not sure if he should say anything, he focuses on finishing his plate, but it doesn’t take long before he can’t stand the silence.      “You okay?” he checks, concerned.      “I guess,” she turns to him, finally taking a second to sit down. “How about you?”      Dean wipes his hands down his jeans to get rid of the crumbs sticking to his fingers and looks at her, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m used to horses being sold.”      “That’s not what I mean,” Y/N returns, not at all surprised that he acts like there’s nothing going on. “What’s bothering you?”

     She reads her boyfriend carefully when he looks at her, dropping his gaze the moment her eyes reach too deep into his soul. For a few short seconds he seems to consider telling her what’s going on, but then he shakes his head. Worry swims in circles in her stomach, his inability to open up once again having her question herself.       “It’s not us, I promise,” he says sincerely, reaching for her hand across the table when he notices her doubt. “And I wanna tell you, but I can’t discuss this with anyone other than Bobby or Ellen.”      “Business related?” she guesses.       When Dean nods, it clicks in her head.       “The ranch isn’t doing so well, is it?”

     As if he got caught committing a crime, his eyes shoot up to meet hers. Shit, has he said too much? She might be his girlfriend, but she’s also the intern. She works for Bobby, for God’s sake! This isn’t information he’s supposed to share with anyone.       Unsure of how to respond, he averts his gaze, but she squeezes his hand to call him back.      “Dean, this is kind of my field, remember? I can see the tell-tale signs,” she reminds him. 

     The head wrangler holds his breath, catching his bottom lip with his teeth, but then exhales burdened, accepting she has figured it out. Self-conscious about his own vulnerability, he runs his thumb over the back of her hand as he stares at nothing in particular, focusing on the motion. Bit by bit, the curtain is pulled back, revealing just how much this newfound knowledge worries him.      “Bobby says we’ll figure it out, but things are bad,” he admits after a long silence. 

     She nods slightly, acknowledging his statement. Honestly, she’s not surprised. She wondered how the ranch was able to run on a handful of tourists and trail rides. With only three horses in paid training, it’s impossible to generate an income that covers the dozen others owned by the family, which can’t be sold for a fair price now that the market is at an all time low. She cannot imagine the mortgage on this enormous place. There’s employees who depend on a salary, animals which need to be fed and cared for, machinery that needs maintenance. Selling stock and letting go workers; they seem like desperate measures to her, measures which will not cut it during the economic crisis this country is currently suffering from, one that might drag on for years. It’s a postponement of execution.

     Dean swallows thickly, allowing her to have a glimpse of his crippling concern. He feels weak to admit it, to admit to her that the walls around him are crumbling. But a joke and a laugh cannot save him this time, there is no way he can dance around the fact that he has zero control over the financial situation, and it scares the living hell out of him.      “If we lose the ranch, I wouldn’t know what to do,” he confesses. “This place is all I have.”      Hell, this place is all that I am, he thinks to himself. Because, let’s face it, when you take away the horses and strip him from the opportunities he’s offered here, he’s nothing but a highschool dropout with an old pick up truck. 

     “That’s not true,” Y/N dismisses. “You’ve got family, ranch or not. And you have me now.”      He carefully glances up at her, taken aback by the comfort in her voice. A pair of soft eyes wait for him, strengthening her words. He mirrors the small smile she’s carrying, eased by her promise.      “What if I take a look at the books?” she offers. “If Bobby is okay with that, of course.”      “You - You’d do that?” Dean returns, stunned, his eyebrows raised.      “Yeah, of course. I mean, don’t expect miracles by any means, but I can shed some light on it. Maybe get an overview of the assets and liabilities, set up a balance sheet if there isn’t one, etcetera,” she states, making it sound like it’s no big deal. “I analyzed several large companies for my thesis.”

     Impressed, the head wrangler takes in the young woman who is so wise for her age. He only now realises the intern might be the one who could steer this ship away from the massive iceberg they are heading towards. Of course she can’t magically make money appear out of thin air, but he doubts Bobby has the skill set of someone with a master’s degree in business.      “You’re awesome, know that?” he huffs.      “Don’t you forget it.” She grins at him, getting up from her seat and taking his plate.      Before she can rinse it and reach for the dish brush, Dean’s arms snake around her waist and pull her against his chest, hooking his chin over her shoulder. He kisses her on the cheek, leaning his head against hers and ignoring his western hat when it tilts to the side.      “Thank you.”      She smiles. “You’re welcome.”

     Y/N turns in his arms, trapped between him and the kitchen counter. She looks up to meet his admiring gaze, adjusting the Stetson on the cowboy’s head and letting her hands linger, wrists crossed behind his neck.      “I’m beginning to understand just how much the ranch means to you. And frankly, this place is starting to mean a lot to me too,” she admits.

     The morning light sheds diagonal beams through the set of four square windows, highlighting her hair and her beautiful smile. Dean drinks her in for a couple of solid seconds, before he dips down and kisses her.       How she is able to vanquish his inner panic, just by offering her full support, doesn’t cease to amaze the wrangler. He’s not getting his hopes up, he knows the financial problems are bigger than she can fix with a run-through and a few budget cuts. But she’s trying. She’s doing her part. She’s here to help, not only the ranch, but him as well. And just like that, the future seems a lot less grim than it did a moment ago. They will figure it out and things will be okay, as long as he has her by his side.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part nineteen here

[karliahs]

‘I always come back here,” he says, more because he can’t keep the anger inside anymore than because he really wants to confide in Aizawa. “No matter how long it's been. Even when I do all the right things. I never get free."

Aizawa’s expression is mostly just tired; a knowing kind of tired. Izuku thinks maybe no one ever gets free of anything, that maybe life is just a collection of snowballing consequences that eventually slow you all the way to a stop. If he could pick one person to get some freedom, to get some ease, it would be Aizawa.

"Were you here last week?” Aizawa asks, in his quiet, patient voice. “Were you here in that garden?"

Izuku is crying, because of course he is. All he does is cry and yet he's never cried out. He's never gotten rid of it. He shakes his head.

"I know...I know it's not enough,” Aizawa says. “Maybe you always come back, but the time in between still counts. You get free over and over, just not forever." It’s rare to hear Aizawa raise his voice, outside of trying to be heard over the chatter of twenty kids, but this quiet feels different. Like he doesn’t have anything more to give either. "I'd give you forever, if I could."

Izuku looks into Aizawa's eyes and knows that he means it, knows that one other person gets how unfair it is that you can never really save someone all the way. The experience lives inside of them, and it can survive so much time and so much safety. It makes him think differently about all the villain fights he’s ever watched, all the videos of All Might carrying people to safety - did the people resting on his strong shoulders ever forget? Did they wake up shivering because the ground had fallen apart, the fucking ground beneath their feet, and if that can happen once then you’re never, never safe.

“It’s not fair,” he says, something weak and childish pervading his voice.

Aizawa nods. He doesn’t need to do anything else. The fact that he knows this well, knows this better than Izuku ever has, is written across his whole face, his whole life.

“It’s not fair ,” Izuku repeats, voice breaking, collapsing down and resting his forehead on his teacher’s shoulder. An arm winds its way around his shoulders. Izuku shakes and cries and waits - waits for it to be better, waits for the part of him that knows how to pick himself back up from things like this to come back. Waits for the ground to break again, always.’

from redux, part 5 of rescue

...later even than i said it would be, but here you go! thank you for asking and giving me the chance to ramble!!

‘I always come back here,” he says, more because he can’t keep the anger inside anymore than because he really wants to confide in Aizawa. “No matter how long it's been. Even when I do all the right things. I never get free."

i'm glad you chose this part! i was a little nervous about it since it's maybe the furthest i've taken izuku from his canon characterisation, but ultimately realistic trauma responses + exploring the themes i wanted to explore won over sticking to canon. kid's been through a lot

i'm always interested in how emotion can distort time, and how every breakdown can seem to pull you right back into every other breakdown you've had. in the headspace where negative conclusions are always the largest & most important thing, remembering having felt this way before doesn't equal 'i survived it then, i can survive it now' so much as 'i'm going nowhere, i should have never gotten off the floor the first time, all the trying i do in between is pointless and an embarrassing waste of time'

recovery is hard enough anyway but i think for someone like izuku, whose journey with one for all has been so much about effort equalling reward, it's so frustrating that ticking off every point on your recovery homework checklist may not actually mean that you...feel better

Aizawa’s expression is mostly just tired; a knowing kind of tired. Izuku thinks maybe no one ever gets free of anything, that maybe life is just a collection of snowballing consequences that eventually slow you all the way to a stop. If he could pick one person to get some freedom, to get some ease, it would be Aizawa.

something i tried to capture in izuku's narration is that he is still just a kid figuring out what the world even is, so having these traumatic experiences is absolutely going to warp that profoundly. darken your door deals with that a lot too, the way that as you grow up you start to see that these untouchable far-off adults are actually also unsure and lost and prone to getting pummelled by the world

but he is also so kind. a lot of this series is aizawa and izuku pushing each other forwards by turns like no YOU get better. and this gets hashed out more further on in the fic, to drive home the idea that part of izuku's despair is a loss of belief in heroism since it can't defeat the lingering consequences of experiencing harm, and part of the 'solution' to that is the counter-evidence provided by all the kindness offered between them in this series, showing that while it isn't as straight-forward as picking someone up and carrying them away from danger, there is so much we can do for each other

"Were you here last week?” Aizawa asks, in his quiet, patient voice. “Were you here in that garden?"

Izuku is crying, because of course he is. All he does is cry and yet he's never cried out. He's never gotten rid of it. He shakes his head.

"I know...I know it's not enough,” Aizawa says. “Maybe you always come back, but the time in between still counts. You get free over and over, just not forever." It’s rare to hear Aizawa raise his voice, outside of trying to be heard over the chatter of twenty kids, but this quiet feels different. Like he doesn’t have anything more to give either. "I'd give you forever, if I could."

i saw izuku crying a lot in the fun anime show and decided to project every feeling i've ever had about this inconvenient involuntary stress response and tbh. i am right

'he's never gotten rid of it' it's a mental illness cliche but i do feel compelled to describe it like you're carrying around something awful and ugly that takes away all your joy and breaks all of the things you wanted to do and be. like that sentence doesn't explicitly specify an object/what 'it' is, but i feel like people got it

here is aizawa's inverse of izuku's if he could pick anyone to get free it'd be aizawa. rare that they manage the 'no, YOU get better' switcheroo card within just a couple of paragraphs

and it's also...if i could pick you up and carry you away from your problems forever, i would. if i could change the way pain works to spare you from it, i would.

Izuku looks into Aizawa's eyes and knows that he means it, knows that one other person gets how unfair it is that you can never really save someone all the way. The experience lives inside of them, and it can survive so much time and so much safety. It makes him think differently about all the villain fights he’s ever watched, all the videos of All Might carrying people to safety - did the people resting on his strong shoulders ever forget? Did they wake up shivering because the ground had fallen apart, the fucking ground beneath their feet, and if that can happen once then you’re never, never safe.

talking a bit about time and pain again...the frustration that a short terrible experience can be followed by months of nothing but rest and gentleness, and yet the short terrible experience is still somehow stronger

a lot of this series is about izuku developing from a more innocent understanding of suffering and heroism, or rather having that innocence forcibly taken away and having to deal with what that means for his goals and his future...i also wanted to see if it could be more powerful ultimately to not show a great deal of what happened with shigaraki, but make it possible to kind of read it in reverse in the impact it's had on izuku. shigaraki wanted to break izuku's belief in all might and the heroism he represented, and he certainly succeeded in fracturing it

i distinctly remember as a child hearing that one of the worst parts about having someone break into your house wasn't the experience itself, but always knowing after that that someone breaking into your house could happen. that being added to the list of possibilities in your head, so that being home was ruined even if it never did happen again

“It’s not fair,” he says, something weak and childish pervading his voice.

Aizawa nods. He doesn’t need to do anything else. The fact that he knows this well, knows this better than Izuku ever has, is written across his whole face, his whole life.

“It’s not fair ,” Izuku repeats, voice breaking, collapsing down and resting his forehead on his teacher’s shoulder. An arm winds its way around his shoulders. Izuku shakes and cries and waits - waits for it to be better, waits for the part of him that knows how to pick himself back up from things like this to come back. Waits for the ground to break again, always.

a lot of recovery is work but a lot of it is just waiting. sometimes when you're in a certain place all you can really do is hold on until your resilience or capacity for joy come back. one of the most helpful things i learned was that sometimes when i'm incapable of saying anything nice to myself, to do the equivalent of going 'okay, we'll talk later.' because it always does come back

i love rescue and everyone who reads it, very much

[yikesharringrove]

Hi!! I was just curious about Nancy and Jonathan’s relationship in your mango series! I was wondering if Nancy was an alpha? If she is, does that mean that Jonathan is a Beta or an Omega? Kids??? I have so many questions and am way too invested in this tiny part of this universe lol Please feel free to make this into a part with Steve and Billy talking to them about pups and bonding if you would like.

Masterlist

Part 29

-

I realized I literally haven’t mentioned the Wheelers this entire time rip to them I guess

Also I’m using this part as background to everything esp how Billy and Steve got together. Also no monster au I guess? tbh this part just made me realize NONE of this series is thought out

I literally never established a timeline, so I’ve decided it makes more sense for Billy to come to Hawkins earlier. You’ll see lmao. (this started as a little nonsense thing so the timeline of the whole Mango series is so whack pls no one try and do the math)

+I had traumatic emergency surgery on my uterus several years ago, so I’ve based all of Steve’s stuff on that

-

Steve dated Nancy Wheeler for about a month.

He was always drawn to fiery alphas, liked when they had sharp tongues, weren’t afraid to speak their mind. He liked ‘em smart.

Nancy seemed perfect to him, but Nancy didn’t like how much work omegas were. They needed constant reassurance of love, so much touching and cuddling, and that’s just not how she operates.

They had been casually dating for about a month early in her sophomore year when he asked her to spend his heat with him. She knew that meant he was serious about her, and let him down as gently as she could.

He didn’t take it too hard, and even invited her to a party he was throwing at his big empty house.

That was the first night she really talked to Jonathan Byers.

Their families had always been close, and they had been uncomfortable acquaintances for a long time, but she found him making a pip out of an apple, sat in the kitchen with him and got stoned for the very first time.

They were sitting close to one another, leaning closer, about to kiss when there was a splash outside, there was screaming.

They rushed out to see Steve Harrington, wet and shaking in the cold November night air, doing CPR on, on Barb.

He yelled at Tommy H., told him to call an ambulance.

Barb looked bad. Her lips were tinged blue, her skin pale.

She sank down next to her. Jonathan gently touching her back.

Most of the kids ran when they heard authorities were coming.

She held Barb’s freezing hand until the paramedics arrived.

Steve hadn’t stopped doing CPR the entire time had heard Barb’s ribs crack and splinter from the force.

The paramedics called it.

Steve was never really the same after that. He had become more withdrawn, had quit the swim team and stopped throwing big parties, he started babysitting Dustin Henderson, ended up babysitting most of the party soon enough.

He was still nice to Nancy, would ask her and Jonathan to hang out sometimes. She always thought he was sweet that he was a big heart. Hell, she sat there while he did CPR on her best friend for twenty minutes, but it was easier with Jon. As a beta, she didn’t have to be someone she wasn’t just to keep him from emotional breakdown.

But then Billy Hargrove rolled into town in the beginning of the summer, was all California golden, a big imposing alpha, and she began seeing less and less of Steve.

She thought it was just a summer fling, Billy didn’t seem like the type to stick around for very long, didn’t seem like the monogamous type.

Steve had a bad habit of trusting alphas too quickly, had been with alphas that just wanted to be able to say they’d fucked a male omega.

They were so uncommon, and usually these alphas were just curious, knew male omegas were the only presentation identifiable at birth due to their genitals, had wanted to see for themselves.

But Billy stuck around, starting hanging around Steve wherever he was, joining him when he spent time with the party, or with Jonathan and Nancy.

Billy was starting to grow on her more, as she watched and realized he loved Steve, that he wanted to be as clingy as Steve needed.

They would go on double dates sometimes, and Billy would pull Steve to sit on his lap just as often as Steve would plop himself on Billy’s lap. So she guesses they’re kind of a match made in heaven.

And then Steve got pregnant.

And she expected Billy to run for the hills, but he didn’t. Got kicked out of his house for Steve, changed his whole world for Steve and their pup, and at this point, they were four years in, had two happy pups and we in the process of moving into their first house.

She and Jon hadn’t even talked marriage yet, let alone bonding, were focusing on getting through school.

They had both gone to New York without even consulting one another, decided they didn’t want each other’s college choices to affect the other, that they should pick the best school for themselves.

When they revealed to one another, Jon showed her his acceptance to NYU, his dream school, while Nancy had handed him her Columbia letter.

She got regular updates from Steve, letters stuffed full with photographs and weekly reports. She contacted a bakery local to him to send him a cake when he called and excitedly told her that he had finally gotten his GED, had dropped out of high school in the February of his senior year when he got kicked out of his house, when he was the talk of the whole damn town.

“Letter from Steve.” Jonathan placed the rest of the mail on the counter, ripping open the envelope. “He put in updated pictures of the girls, look.” Nancy cooed over the photos. There was a gorgeous one of all four of them at the beach, Steve had infant Zara strapped to his chest, Billy was holding Mina. It was so cute. “He said they finished painting the house and should be moving in this week.”

“He mention how he was doing?”

“Of course not, have you met him? The only reason we actually knew he almost fucking died was because Billy called us.”

“I guess you’re right.” She was still flipping through photos. “Oh look at this one!” It was Steve caught mid laugh while Mina was doing him hair behind him. “We should go out to California soon to see them. Especially once they’re in their house.

“I’m gonna write Steve back, maybe we could go for New Year’s, or something.” She smiled up at him, stretching on her toes to kiss his jaw.

“I think that sounds nice.”

-

Mina was currently in the process of showing Jonathan every single toy she owned.

His lap was full of plastic food, blocks, dolls, stuffed animals, books, everything. She was talking excitedly about her little toy Camaro, the one that looked just like Daddy’s!

Nancy was just laughing as Jonathan nodded along patiently. He talked to her like she was an adult, asking her details about each toy in a very serious voice.

Steve slowly set himself on the couch. His abdomen still sore from surgery a few months ago. He was holding Zara, all dressed up in a little onesie that looked hand-knitted.

“How are you doing?” Steve rolled his eyes. Jon and Nancy kept asking.

“Nance, I’m fine. Just sore is all.” He kept dodging her real questions. She knew that the doctor had told Steve there was a chance he wouldn’t be able to be pregnant again, knew it was probably weighing on him. She just looked back and Jon.

“How is Mina doing with Zara? I remember when Mike was born I wanted nothing to do with him.” Steve laughed, bouncing Zara a little.

“She loves her. I swear if she could get me and Billy outta the picture, she would rather raise Zara on her own.” Zara gave a little choked off wail. “Sweet Pea, you are fine.” He put her on his chest, patting her back. “How’s school and everything?”

“It’s good! Jon’s going to end up graduating a semester early, so he’ll be finished by this time next year.”

“Oh, wow. Good for him!”

“I hear you left work, how’s that going?” Steve shrugged.

“They could only offer me one month of leave, and with the surgery and everything, I needed much longer. But you know I don’t mind staying home with these two. I mean, Mina’s in full day preschool now, just Monday to Thursday, but Zara is pretty fussy, so it’s okay. Once she’s not breastfeeding anymore, I’ll probably find a new job.”

“And Billy’s school is going okay?”

“Oh you know him, just overachieving at every stage. He had to cut back on his hours at the garage, he got a really nice internship at a law firm in town, and he’s actually getting paid for it.” Billy had been studying pre-law at UCSD, wanted to go into some kind of prosecution, possibly specialize in domestic cases. His internship was more personal assistant work to one of the partners of the firm, but it was better money than the garage, and something to beef up his resume a bit more.

Steve could hear the garage door beginning to rumble and whine as it slid up.

“Speak of the devil.” He smiled at Billy as he came in, kicking off his shoes. Mina sprinted up to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, standing on his feet as he walked over to everyone.

“You talkin’ ‘bout me, Pretty Boy?” He picked up Mina so he could perch on the armrest next to Steve, giving him a kiss.

“All good things. Kind of.”  Nancy doesn’t think she’s ever seen Billy Hargrove in a suit. He loosened his tie, had take off his jacket to place into the coats closet, was currently rolling up his crisp sleeves. She could see edges of a few tattoos. She knew he and Steve had each gotten each others initials on their shoulder blades, adding the pups initials underneath them both. Apparently Billy was beginning to work on sleeves. “How was work?”

“Eh. Same old.” He shrugged, putting Mina down to go back to “playing” with Jonathan. He lifted Zara from Steve. “How are you doin’, Nancy? How’s the Big Apple?”

She waved a hand non-noncommittally. “Oh, it’s good. Jon’s working for some underground paper, shooting for punk shows.” Billy grinned.

“Well done, Byers. I’m sure your kid brother’s plenty jealous.” Jonathan laughed.

“He’s come up for a few of the shows he’s really wanted to see. Which is to say most of them.” The timer went off from the kitchen. Steve went to stand, only to have Billy push him back down, handing Zara back to him.

“Sit tight, Pretty Boy. I got it.” Steve rolled his eyes, but smiled softly at Billy all the same.

“He was a nightmare when we were moving in, wouldn’t let me lift anything over ten pounds.”

-

After dinner, Steve and Billy tag teamed putting the girls to bed.

It was kind of amazing to watch. Billy got Mina dressed for bed as Steve fed Zara, then they swapped, Steve made sure Mina brushed her teeth while Billy changed Zara, swapping again so that Billy could read a book to Mina and Steve rocked Zara to sleep.

They were so practiced and efficient, both girls were asleep with half an hour.

“You get a lot of practice with the bedtime thing. I mean, it’s every night.” They were sitting on the back porch, on patio furniture that had apparently been a gift from Claudia Henderson.

It was a perfect night, the Southern California air was just chilly enough to warrant a sweater, but perfect for just being in.

“There’s a park a few blocks that way that’s doing fireworks, we should be able to see them from here.” Steve had poured them each some champagne. Steve and Billy were sitting one the chairs across the little coffee table between them.

They chattered through as the clock ticked down, getting closer and closer to 1989.

Ten seconds to midnight, Billy helped Steve stand up. Five seconds to midnight, Jonathan was digging in his pocket.

The fireworks began as Steve pressed his lips to Billy’s. Nancy turned to do the same, choking on a gasp as she saw Jon down on one knee. Steve shrieked, scrambling for a camera.

“I wanted this to be the first thing I did this year.” Billy was grinning like an idiot, Steve was taking picture after picture, his big eyes full of tears. “I know you want to establish our lives before bonding or having pups, and that’s okay, we can just be engaged for a couple years, whatever you want.” Nancy had one hand in front of her mouth, tears dripping down her cheeks. “Whatdya say?”

“Oh my god, absolutely yes!” Billy and Steve cheered as Jon stood up, kissing Nancy before sliding the ring on her finger.