#this particular one was an hour and a half away so needless to say I was already mentally preparing for a LOT

[baycitystygian]

guys I just survived a ladder that wanted to kill me. cheers

[literaryavenger]

You Were My Sunshine

Summary: Once a year you disappear for a whole day. Nobody knows where you go or what you do, but the team has learned to let you have your privacy. This year though, Bucky's curiosity gets the better of him and he follows you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death. Grief. Some angst. Fluff. No mentions of Y/N.

Word Count: 3K

A/N: I realize this is a little heavy and you absolutely don't need to read it. This one's mostly for me, but I thought why not post it and let Bucky comfort other people, if you need it. As always, my inbox is always open if you want to even just chat. I hope someone likes this. Also, I promise the requests are coming, a little slowly but they're coming. I'm on vacation for two weeks so I'll spend the time writing, probably.

Masterlist

“Have a good day.” Steve calls after you as you pass the kitchen.

You stop in front of the door to smile at Steve and wave at the team as they all have breakfast together before you keep making your way to the elevator that will take you to the parking garage.

“So, we’re really just accepting this?” Bucky asks the team when the elevators close behind you and he’s sure you can’t hear him.

“Yes, Buck.” Steve says firmly.

“But-” Bucky’s protests are cut off by Tony.

“She’s entitled to her privacy.” He says firmly. “Just let it go, Frosty.”

Bucky ignores the nickname and looks around the team, searching for anyone that might have his back, but nobody else seems to be too invested in your day. Bucky gets up with a huff and makes his way to the training room, resigned that he has to let you be.

You’ve always been an open person, you’re always there for everybody that needs you and you’re not afraid to talk about anything with anybody.

Your life is an open book.

Which is precisely why it drives Bucky crazy that, once a year, you disappear for an entire day and nobody knows where you go or what you do.

You disable all your communication devices, the tracking in your car and you don’t use credit cards anywhere. 

It’s like you cease to exist for a day, leaving no trace that you were anywhere.

At least that’s how the team sees it. 

They’ve all tried to figure out where you go, but that’s the only subject that you never talk about and, every time anyone asks you about it, your answer is always the same:

Don’t worry about it.

After so many years, the whole team has decided to listen to you and stopped worrying about it. 

Everyone except Bucky.

It’s not like you’re that close with him, but he considers you his friend and he trusts you, so it irks him that you have this huge secret that nobody knows anything about.

Needless to say, he worries about it a lot.

That’s why right now he finds himself tip toeing down to the garage. He sees you get into your car and drive away and, without even thinking about it, he jumps on his bike and follows you.

He knows this is wrong, he knows he shouldn’t follow you, that you’re allowed to have your secrets. But he can’t help himself when it comes to you. You make him lose control, you make him go insane. 

He just needs you. to know.

So he follows you, as discreetly as only a trained assassin knows how. He follows you into the city and stops a few cars away when you park in front of a secondhand bookstore. Bucky knows that shop all too well, it’s one of his favorite places to visit when he’s in the city.

He waits until you disappear behind a shelf before going in, watching you as you browse the books. It looks to Bucky like you’re looking for a particular book, when you find it, he can see your face lighting up.

You turn the book to look at the back cover and Bucky can read the title very clearly. ‘Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince’, one of your favorite books. Bucky knows that because he’s talked about it with you for hours, along with all the other books of the series and the Lord of the Rings books, Bucky’s favorites.

You chat amicably with the older guy that owns the shop while you pay for your book and then leave, getting back into your car with Bucky still on your tail.

Next you go to a small bakery and buy a coffee and a cupcake. Thankfully for Bucky you’re too distracted by talking with the nice, old lady that owns the place to notice him buying his own coffee.

He follows you again as you cross the street to the park in front of the bakery and walk until you find a secluded spot. You sit down against a tree and continue peacefully reading your book under the summer sun while sipping your iced coffee.

Bucky sits on a bench nearby where he has a visual on you, but you can’t really see him unless you were really looking for him. But you’re so engrossed in reading that Bucky’s sure he could sit next to you and you wouldn’t even realize it.

He knows you get like that when you’re reading something that captures your attention, and the Harry Potter books always do, no matter how many times you’ve read them already.

Bucky always thought you looked so cute while reading. You make no attempt to hide your reactions and it amuses him. So he spends the next few hours just watching you read, watching your beautiful face shining in the sunlight as you frown and snort and laugh and pout as your eyes dart around the pages.

It’s actually relaxing, he thinks to himself. Is this what you do every year? Take a whole day just to read without the chaos of the Compound and nobody to bother you?

But why would you be so secretive about this? Reading for hours with a cup of coffee is something you’d done countless times in your room, on the roof, in the backyard of the Compound or even in the common room, never really bothered by the noise the team makes when you’re so into the words you’re reading.

So why do it in secret?

After a few hours, around lunch time, you finally come out of the book’s trance and gather your things before getting up.

Bucky frowns when you don’t get back into your car and follows you as you walk to a small family owned Italian restaurant that Bucky’s never been to but always wanted to try. He discreetly follows you in and takes a table in the back where you can’t see him.

He watches you interact with the owner, the waiter and even the cook comes out to talk to you. It’s clear that they all know you and it seems to Bucky like you’re pretty close to them even though he’s never even heard you mention this place before. When you’re done eating, Bucky sees you playfully fight with the owner that doesn’t want to let you pay so you leave a generous tip that amounts to more than your check is and the owner chuckles to himself when you wink as you walk out.

After lunch, which Bucky has to admit was pretty good, he follows you to a flower shop a couple of doors down and he’s surprised to see the owner greeting you like old friends. It looks like she was already anticipating your arrival, a bouquet of blue roses already on the counter and ready to go when you arrive. You chat with the older woman for a few minutes before paying and leaving the flower shop to go to your car.

It’s clear to Bucky by now that you obviously have a routine on your secret day, and everyone you see on this day knows it.

So why don’t the Avengers? 

You looked so comfortable with all the people you’ve met today, Bucky can’t help but think that maybe you don’t feel like you belong on the team.

You drive until you arrive at your destination and Bucky is both surprised and confused when you park in the parking lot of a cemetery, get out of your car and enter it.

He subtly follows you in, watching you walk past a few graves and it looks to him like you know your way around by how effortlessly you walk without needing to check the names, stopping at one almost at the end of the row you were in while Bucky keeps his distance, always making sure to stay out of sight.

He sees you take a deep breath before kneeling in front of the grave and putting down the bouquet of flowers in front of it.

“Hi, mom…” You wipe the dirt off the tombstone and tidy the flowers in front of it with what Bucky’s sure it’s a forced smile. “Happy birthday.”

You take out the cupcake you bought that Bucky now realizes you hadn’t eaten yet and he sees you put a small red birthday candle on it and light it, then you just look at it for a few seconds before you sigh and blow it out.

“So…” You say quietly, looking back at the tombstone and Bucky can see a tear falling down your cheek.

A piece of Bucky's heart breaks seeing you so vulnerable and hurting like this, but he stays put no matter how much he wants to be at your side right now.

Bucky stands there in complete silence, hearing everything you say, hanging on to every word. He hears you talk about everything that happened in the past year, he listens to you talk about missions and parties and holidays. He hears you talk about the whole team and his heart flutters a little when you mention his name too.

You talk for a while and, after he assumes you run out of new things to say, he sees you taking out the book you just bought today.

“So, this year we finally got to the half-blood prince.” You say with a small smile. “It’s our favorite, hadn’t read it in a while.”

Bucky sees you open it and go to the page you left the bookmark in.

“It took me longer than I thought to find your favorite quote, I have to admit.” You say with a small chuckle. “It’s like 400 pages in, don’t judge me.” 

Bucky chuckles quietly at your playfulness, even in this situation. He can’t help but find you adorable.

“It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more.” You read the quote before closing the book and looking back at the grave. “That’s what you told me when I was scared of the dark…” You say quietly with a smile.

“And that’s what you told me before you…” You trail off, not being able to finish your sentence as tears start streaming down your cheeks but Bucky has a pretty good idea where you were going.

That's what she told you before she died, so you wouldn't be scared.

He’s more than surprised that he didn’t know your mother died, and he’s pretty sure the rest of the team doesn’t know either.

Admittedly, families are a very touchy subject for the Avengers.

But Bucky’s even more surprised to see you breaking down, something you’ve never done before. You’re cheery, you’re bubbly, you’re everyone’s little ray of sunshine.

And it breaks Bucky’s heart to know you’ve been falling apart when you’re by yourself all these years.

“I’m sorry I only come here once a year, I just…” You start, so quietly that Bucky’s glad he has enhanced hearing otherwise he's sure he wouldn't be able to hear you. “I miss you so much and I can’t… I can’t bear this.”

He sees you running your fingers gently over the tombstone as you take a deep, shaky breath, but you can’t stop crying.

“I’m trying to be the person you loved…” You say after a moment of silence. “Your little ray of sunshine.” You chuckle softly through the tears.

It makes sense to Bucky now why you always try to be there for everyone else. It’s how you’ve always been, apparently. Always making sure no one feels alone because deep down you feel the most alone, and you don’t want anyone else to feel that way.

You are my sunshine

Bucky’s thoughts get interrupted when he hears you quietly starting to sing. 

My only sunshine

Bucky knows this song. It’s a lullaby that he’s heard you sing once before.

Clint’s family visited him at the Compound and you offered to watch his kids so he and his wife could have a date night.

You probably didn’t realize he heard you, you probably thought you were alone and it’s not like he was spying on you. He just happened to pass by when you were in Clint’s room, trying to get the three kids to sleep by singing to them.

You make me happy, when skies are gray 

You take a breath before continuing but your voice wavers a little. 

You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you

Bucky can see you’re having trouble getting the words out, your voice almost breaking.

Please don’t take… My sunshine… Away

Before you can even get the last word out, you break down completely, burying your face in your hands while sobbing.

Bucky feels his heart break as he takes in your pain. He wishes there was some clear and simple solution to making this all better for you, but there's always been so much he doesn't understand about complex emotions like these. 

Right now, as he's watching how broken you are, though, he knows that he doesn't even care about understanding. He just wants to comfort you, to try and make it better...

Bucky comes to rest beside you, he kneels down to your level and places his hand gently on your shoulder. “Hey…” He says quietly.

His presence startles you and you go into defense mode, taking his hand on your shoulder and bending it, then using your grip on his arm to push him face down on the ground.

Bucky didn’t expect you to react so quickly and aggressively which makes it easier for you to catch him off-guard and pin him down.

“Goddammit, Bucky!” You say after you finally recognize him and let him go, getting up and scrambling back to put some distance between you and him while breathing heavily.

For a moment, Bucky is a little stunned. It's rare that anyone is able to get the jump on him like that. But then he snaps back to reality. He lets you make your distance while getting back to his feet and stands a few feet away from you.

“Did you fucking follow me?!” Your sadness is quickly forgotten and replaced with anger.

“I…” Bucky doesn’t know what to say. He knows he’s in the wrong here and he has no defense for himself when he knowingly violated your privacy. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“You didn’t what?!” You snap at him. “You didn’t understand what the meaning of privacy is?!”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say, he’s never seen you this angry at anyone that’s not an enemy and surely never at him.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He says quickly. “I’m sorry, I was just curious, I didn’t think this would be it, I thought…”

“You thought what?” You say when he trails off, clearly pissed as you cross your arms in front of your chest.

“I thought maybe you were a supervillain…” He jokes weakly, trying to make you laugh. “Or a stripper.”

His last word gets a surprised laugh out of you as you, fortunately, understand he’s just joking before you actually punch him in the face.

Bucky lets out a sigh of relief as he sees you laugh and then takes a tentative step towards you.

“I really am sorry…” He says quietly, reaching out to put his hand on your shoulder. “I know it was wrong of me to follow you, and I didn’t plan on bothering you at all, which doesn’t make what I did better,” He quickly adds when he sees you’re about to say something.

“But when I saw you crying, I just… I couldn’t help myself.” He trails his hand down your arm to your hand and takes it in his. “You’re always there for everybody, I don’t think it’s fair that you don’t let anybody be there for you.”

You look at him for a long moment, processing his words. Of course you know he’s right, you don’t let anybody be there for you, but you also never really believed anyone cared enough to.

But looking at Bucky right now, it feels like he really does want to be there for you...

So you let him.

You look back down at the grave, your hand still in his as you intertwine your fingers together.

“She died when I was 14.” You say quietly. “I only had her, so I was on my own after that…”

Bucky listens quietly, his eyes on your face as he sees the tears starting to gather in your eyeline again.

“A few years later, Natasha and Clint found me during a mission. They saw me knock out a dude that cornered me in an alley and they were impressed…” You have a faint smile at the memory although it’s clear you’re about to cry again. “They offered me a place in the SHIELD Academy and, after that, I don’t know… I wasn’t alone anymore.”

You look back at Bucky to find him looking at you intently, his gaze intent and unwavering. 

“Doll…” He says quietly while cupping your face with his free hand as he sees you holding back tears. “It’s okay to be vulnerable in front of the people you care about. You taught me that.”

His gentle words, the way he softly strokes your cheek and the way he’s looking at you so lovingly, it’s all too much for you and can’t hold back your tears anymore.

With a broken sob, you bury your face in Bucky’s chest and hug him tightly, clinging to him while he wraps his arms around you and hugs you just as tight, kissing the top of your head before nuzzling his face against your hair.

In this moment, while holding you in his arms, Bucky realizes it’s not like you don’t feel like you belong with the Avengers.

This is just something you feel like you have to go through on your own because you’ve always had to.

And he’ll be damned if he lets you go through it alone ever again.

Drabble

[honeypiehotchner]

the open road (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- one shot

Happy 5.5k 🤪🤪 I’ve literally had this idea in my head for a WHILE so I am mf glad to have it out. Enjoy ;))

Summary: All the times you and Hotch spent on the open road, and the one where you couldn’t help yourself.

Warnings: smut 18+ only blah blah we know the drill (pls!), car sex!! blowjob ;)) unprotected sex (don’t be like them, use a condom), lots of teasing, lots of fluff/smut adjacent dialogue

WC: ~2.8k

It started when you saw how Hotch drives when he’s in a hurry.

Your body flung against the car door despite your hold on the safety handle above you. Infuriated, you went to yell at Hotch to slow the fuck down, until you saw the look on his face, the way his hands gripped the wheel, the way his muscles flexed underneath his dress shirt.

Oh.

Oh, the thoughts you had were beyond inappropriate, especially considering the circumstances. You were rushing to catch the unsub, and you were having unholy thoughts about your boss.

You quickly focused your eyes back on the road ahead, chanting cleansing thoughts to calm your mind down from whatever the hell that was.

It worked in the moment, but only just. What truly didn’t help matters was that you somehow always ended up riding shotgun with Hotch, no matter what. Sometimes with Rossi in the backseat, but most times it’s just you two.

Which makes it impossibly hard to hide your staring.

On this particular day, you and Hotch went to a prison about an hour away to interview a serial killer on death row. This sort of thing is routine, but you’ve never tagged along for them. It’s usually Reid or Prentiss, but for some reason, Hotch decided to take you.

It was a boring day, to say the least. Traffic getting there was awful. The checks to get into the prison and then to the specific area took forever. To make matters worse, the killer didn’t really want to talk. He wanted to play games.

Needless to say, you feel like it was a waste of time. But you can’t say that to your boss.

Instead, on the ride back to Quantico, you say, “That was enlightening.”

Hotch scoffs, then laughs. “It was a nightmare.”

“Okay, well, I wasn’t going to say that.”

“It’s alright, you can say it.”

“Fine, it was boring as hell and a complete nightmare,” you blurt, glad to have gotten it off your chest.

Hotch laughs loudly this time. “You were holding that in.”

“Maybe,” you shrug, grinning. “Definitely.”

Hotch goes to reply, but stops himself when he has to slam on brakes. A sea of red taillights are ahead.

“That looks like a nightmare,” you groan, pulling up your GPS. ���Two and a half hours to get home?”

“There must’ve been a wreck,” Hotch comments, angling his head to get a better look and that looks hotter than hell.

“We should probably get off at this exit,” you say. Thankfully, you’re in the far right lane, so exiting won’t be hard.

“Good plan,” he says, putting on the signal to get over to the ramp. “Can you navigate back to the BAU?”

“Sure,” you say. “Take a left up here.”

At first, the traffic is just as bad with everyone getting off at the same ramp to avoid the interstate, but soon it calms down.

You rant about the interview while navigating, not even realizing Hotch is replying to you until he compliments you.

“What?” you blink.

“I said you did good today,” he repeats. “You held yourself well. You should do more of these with me.”

“With you?”

“Well, I wouldn’t advise doing them alone.”

“Why not?”

“It’s better done in pairs,” he says, and that’s all he’ll elaborate.

So, you decide to tease him. “Sounds like you just want an excuse to spend more time with me.”

“I don’t need to make excuses to do that,” he replies smoothly, catching you off guard.

“Oh?”

“I chose you today on purpose,” he says. “Not as an excuse.”

“Oh,” you say, not sure what to make of that. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he says. And the drive is silent after that.

+++

Now, you look forward to riding shotgun with Hotch.

Maybe you shouldn’t, but you let yourself think those wildly inappropriate thoughts. And the more tame ones, which you’re able to voice, because he’s taken a liking to complimenting you, too.

“New haircut?” he says when you knock on his office door. He had barely glanced up at you from where he’s sitting, but one second was all he needed to see the difference.

“First one to notice,” you smile, stepping into his office.

“I just pay a lot of attention to you.” That’s enough to make you swoon, but he continues. “It looks good on you.”

“Thank you,” you reply. You study him for a moment. “New tie?”

“Yes,” he chuckles, lifting the piece of fabric. “A birthday gift this morning from Dave.”

Your eyes widen. “Is today your birthday?”

Sheepishly, he nods.

“Aaron!” you scold, blowing right past the fact that you used his first name. “Why didn’t you say?”

“It’s not a big deal, and serial killers don’t care about birthdays,” he says, grabbing his briefcase. He stands and buttons his jacket. “Are you ready?”

“I guess,” you mutter. “I’m mad that you scheduled this for your birthday.”

“Not for my birthday, it just happens to be on my birthday.”

“Same difference.”

“Alright, let’s go,” he gestures for you to go out the door. “Before we’re late.”

“We won’t be late,” you scoff.

“You just have to have the last word today, don’t you?”

You pause. Well. Those thoughts are definitely inappropriate, and you’re glad you stopped yourself from saying something you shouldn’t have. Especially with the rest of the team staring up at you and Hotch from their desks down in the bullpen.

They’ve been listening to your bickering for the past few minutes. They knew it was his birthday (courtesy of Reid), but they also know he isn’t a fan of huge celebrations.

Still, you’re upset about this, and Hotch has no idea why.

You bid the team goodbye as you and Hotch head out to the garage to pick up a BAU vehicle to take to the prison.

The drive there is smooth on the interstate. The interview is slightly less of a bore than the last few, but also not enlightening. Everything the killer said, you already knew.

Hotch decides not to take the interstate back to Quantico.

“It’ll only add half an hour,” he says. “I’m tired of seeing only interstate signs.”

“Suit yourself,” you say. Normally he can’t wait to get back to work.

You use this as the perfect time to corner him about his birthday, sure that he’ll regret his decision and get back on the interstate.

“How are you celebrating?” you ask.

“I’m not,” he shrugs.

“Why not?”

“Well, for starters, we have work tomorrow.”

“And?”

“I don’t want to be out late.”

“One drink won’t be late.”

“I’m old.”

You snort. “You’re not that old.”

“I’m 44.”

“Not old, I’d still go--” you stop yourself abruptly.

“You’d what?”

“Nothing,” you laugh. Shit shit shit. “You’re not old.”

“What were you going to say?”

“Nothing!” you cry, laughing awkwardly.

“Y/N.”

“Nothing, Aaron.”

“You can tell me.”

You shake your head. “I definitely cannot.”

“Y/N.”

“Aaron.”

You stare at him and he stares back at you, intermittently looking away to watch the road, but it’s wide open. No one is around. And he’s better at staring than you are.

“Fine,” you grumble. “I’d still…I’d still go for you.”

“Go for me?”

“Yes, like, have sex with you— with a 44 year old because 44 isn’t that old— Please watch the road and stop looking at me.”

He grins, but he looks back at the road. One car passes. You’re mortified. You want to jump out of the window and roll into the ditch and stay there.

“Will you say something?” you blurt.

He laughs, and that makes you grimace. This is not how you pictured this conversation happening.

“Thank you. I think,” he says.

“You’re welcome,” you huff. “Even though I shouldn’t have said anything. That was inappropriate.”

“It wasn’t inappropriate,” he replies, and his hand does what it has done this entire trip -- and drives in the past. He gestures into your space on the passenger side, each time nearly connecting with your arm. This time, his fingers graze your skin.

“Okay…” you hesitate for a moment, keeping your arm on the console, not inching away from his touch.

He doesn’t move his hand, either, and it’s strange. His knuckles brush down your arm, over your wrist and to your fingers where he rests his hand over yours. You can feel his own hesitation, wondering how many lines this is crossing and how many rules are being broken.

“So, if I-- if someone my age,” he corrects himself, “asked you on a date, you would go for it?”

“Absolutely,” you reply a little too quickly.

“It seems like you’ve thought about this.”

“I have,” you admit.

“Good to know,” he says, smirking. And that’s the end of it.

+++

It’s a slow progression, your relationship with Hotch. The many car rides together on the open road provide for perfect moments. Here, with no one around, the two of you can be affectionate without worry.

He holds your hand while he drives, occasionally bringing your knuckles to his lips for a kiss. You play with his fingers, tracing his knuckles, the lines on his palm.

Sometimes, when he’s feeling bold, he’ll rest his hand on your thigh. The first time it happened, arousal paralyzed you. Now, it makes you want to climb in his lap.

He has to know what he’s doing.

He squeezes your thigh and you’re done for, squirming in your seat like it’s uncomfortable.

“What is wrong with you?” he asks.

“Oh, don’t you dare,” you mutter.

“What?”

“You have your hand on my thigh and you’re asking me what’s wrong?”

“Do you want me to move?”

“No, you-- Let me just--” You move his hand, only so you can give him a taste of his own medicine. You place your hand on his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch, and his jaw tenses immediately. “See?”

“I see.”

You squeeze your hand, digging your fingertips in, and you see him swallow hard. “Want me to move my hand?” you ask playfully. You begin to take your hand away and he grabs your wrist, keeping your hand right where it is.

Oh?

He says nothing about it, so neither do you. The drive continues in silence, only the radio playing lowly.

After a while, you notice that not a single car has passed by. The two of you seem to be alone again on this road.

Your skin is burning with the anticipation of what you want to do. Your fingers twitch against his leg, wanting to move further up his thigh, but resisting.

He’ll tell you to stop. If it’s too much. You should just go for it.

So you do.

In a moment of reckless boldness, you stare straight ahead at the road and slowly creep your hand up his thigh.

You hear him inhale sharply, but he doesn’t stop you.

You trace slow circles on the fabric of his pants, each time inching closer and closer to where you want to be. His belt will be in the way, though. That’ll have to go first.

“You should tell me to stop,” you murmur, letting your fingers travel to his belt. You begin to tug on it, getting his attention. “Aaron?”

“Keep going,” he says, through a tight jaw. He glances over at you but then back at the road. His left hand tightens on the wheel.

He wore the belt that snaps, so you’re able to open it swiftly. Unbuttoning his pants, you tug the zipper down. He’s already hard, but not fully just yet. His restraint is unbelievable to you, but you know his body well enough now to get around it.

He adjusts his hips to give you better access, but accidentally revs the car when he does.

“Relax,” you chuckle. “You can’t run us off the road.”

“I won’t,” he says firmly.

You hum as you tease him some more, lightly touching him, smirking as he grows. Easy.

He’s uncomfortable, reaching down to move his underwear. If you weren’t so pleased with yourself, you would’ve swatted his hand away. But instead you let him do it, wasting no time in wrapping your hand around him.

“Your hands are always so cold,” he laughs, his voice deeper now.

“You’re always so warm,” you retort, stroking him gently. “Is there anyone around?”

He looks in the rearview and then shakes his head. “No.”

“Good,” you smirk, unbuckling your seatbelt. You lean over the console, glad that this model has such a flat design.

“Shit,” he cusses, realizing what you plan to do. He should’ve known better than to assume otherwise, honestly.

You take him into your mouth with a low hum, loving the way the muscles in his legs tense immediately. Only the tip rests on your tongue, yet you feel his heart rate beginning to pick up.

He talks a big game, acting nonchalant and cool, until your mouth is on him. He’s said before that he loses it all with you. There is no holding back.

Taking him deeper, you feel him hit the back of your throat sooner than expected, causing you to gag. This angle is different, and his hand reaches for your shoulder, a gentle touch, asking if you’re alright.

You suck him down again, better prepared now, and his hand tenses, lifting off your skin to not leave bruises, even though you’d like him to (but you haven’t told him that just yet).

To compromise, you grab his hand and place it on the back of your head, looking up at him. He glances down in surprise, meets your eyes, and groans, letting out the sound he’s been holding inside.

His hand pushes on your head, the pressure igniting something inside of you. You adjust to get a better angle, pulling back to swirl your tongue over his head.

The car speeds up again, but he catches himself, not wanting you to stop. His hand remains at the back of your head, keeping you in place, as if you’d go anywhere anyway.

“I’m gonna have to pull over,” he mutters, barely getting the words out.

You shake your head and he groans loudly. Lifting up, you look at him. “Where’s the fun in that?”

His head hits the headrest and he sighs, chuckling deliriously. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“You say that every time,” you tease.

He continues driving, determined now to not pull over. The thrill goes away if he isn’t driving.

Continuing as you were, you chase his release, desperate to hear him. You take him into your mouth fully again, swallowing with a contented hum.

You feel it when he begins to unravel, the way he twitches in your mouth, the way his abdomen tenses. He keeps your head pinned down, only lightly, but enough for you.

His climax is unexpected even for him, spilling down your throat without much more than a few seconds warning. He lifts his foot from the gas, willing his eyes to stay open enough to see the road.

You swallow it all, coaxing more from him, relishing in his little noises. If it weren’t for the console finally digging in a little too hard to your ribcage, you would stay.

You lift your head with a satisfied smile, squeaking in surprise when his hand on the back of your head pulls you into him for a kiss.

“The road!” you mumble through kisses, keeping an eye on it, even though it’s still empty.

“Fuck the fucking road,” he mutters, swerving to pull off to the side. He puts the car in park and pulls you back in.

“Aaron!” you laugh, letting him haul you into his lap.

“I can’t drive and do this,” he says, putting both hands on your face and smothering you in a kiss.

He grows harder underneath you, especially now that you’re sitting in his lap, grinding your hips against him.

“Thank god these windows are tinted,” you chuckle as he practically rips your pants off of your legs. You hear a seam rip and you give him a tired look. “Seriously?”

“I’ll buy you more,” he says, finishing the job and ripping them entirely. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Whore,” you snicker, but it’s broken off when he enters you in one swift movement.

“You were saying?” he whispers, smirking against your cheek. You can’t answer and he starts to grin, nipping at your jaw. “That’s what I thought.”

+++

When the two of you return to Quantico two hours late, the team starts to wonder what is really going on.

Each time, your excuse is traffic, stopping to get food, gas, or all of the above. But this time, there is no hiding the obvious.

Meaning, the way Hotch has to come into the office to grab your go bag from your desk so you’ll have a pair of fucking pants to wear into the building.

[bellyasks]

do you have buffet stuffing or public stuffing scenarios? 🩷

ok the route i took wound up being a little more open ended than usual but i hope these are alright😭

The Fancy Buffet: This buffet is on the pricier side, and your character was hesitant to come because of the price. They've finally caved and decided to try it out, and after paying a pretty solid fee, they're determined to get their money's worth out of it, even if it means eating more than their stomach can handle.

The Good Buffet: This buffet is the best around. Their food is always hot and fresh, and it's just as good as a nice sit-down meal. When your character visits, they find it hard to stop going back for more plates; they know they should stop eating before they give themself a tummyache but the food is just too good, and there's so many things to try.

The Sketchy Buffet: This buffet's food isn't the best or the freshest. It's enticing enough while your character is picking it out, but it doesn't go down all that easily, and it's not long before they're left with a queasy bellyache. Maybe they even accidentally eat something they shouldn't have; the place is a mess, after all, there's a good chance some of those spoons have been mixed up.

The Huge Buffet: This buffet has an insane variety of food, and it all looks fantastic. There's no way somebody could try everything they have to offer in one sitting. Or could they? Your character just might try. Four plates later, though, their belly is hitting its limit and they've barely made it through half the place.

The Crowded Buffet: Everybody in the state seems to be packed into this buffet, and there's barely room to move around. Needless to say, trying to navigate with an increasingly stuffed belly poking far out in front of them isn't making your character's visit easier.

The Quiet Buffet: It's an odd hour to be out at a buffet, and there's next to nobody in the place. The food might not be at its freshest, but there's little competition, and your character is comfortably tucked away into a little corner with nobody else in sight. With no prying eyes at the neighboring tables, they might even feel comfortable enough to lean back and unbutton their pants after putting away a few plates.

The Lunch Buffet: Your character decides to get crazy and hit up the buffet around lunchtime. They tell themself they won't go too wild because they still have stuff to do today, but lo and behold, they're utterly stuffed by the time they leave. Now they have to go about the rest of their afternoon with an uncomfortably bulging tummy.

The Dessert Buffet: Alright, this is technically just the dessert section of any of these buffets. But let's say that this particular buffet has something special: a decent dessert selection. Your character has been absolutely stuffed to the brim after a couple too many plates of food, but they just can't pass up dessert. They have a bunch of options and they all look so good, your character can't resist trying a little of everything.

[moodymisty]

Hello. I'd like to leave a request. So recently I was listening to "River" by Bishop Briggs so I thought, what if someone danced to this song for Crosshair? The idea is, reader is Batch's doctor and enjoying a few days on land she goes out with some friends to 79. The boys arrive later and they all sit together. It's happening live performances at 79, singers, dancers, but none can really rock the bar, you know? Reader's friends comment on her dancing skills, making Crosshair laugh and daring her to get up on stage and dance. Pissed with him, the reader accepts the challenge and during the performance comes to dance exclusively for him, teasing him. I would be the happiest girl if you could finish it with a smut. xoxo

Author's note: I find it so funny when people come into my asks with such specific prompts, I feel like I'm trying to make someone's daydream come true XD I hope you enjoy kind anon. I'm not a going out night type of person, but I hope I captured that fun confident energy this prompt has :3

Relationships: Crosshair/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, dancing, Mentions of alcohol, Sex in a bathroom, Slightly rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Porn with just enough plot i can barely saw it's not pwp

Sometimes you wonder if there's a specific word for how you feel whenever you get back to Coruscant after a long while away.

Time feels like it passes so fast, but yet so, excruciatingly, slow.

It's been roughly two months since you've been back on solid Coruscanti ferrocrete, and it feels like you've been gone for two years. When you'd once joked about it, Hunter mentioned that it was how they'd all felt shortly after graduating from cadets and being send out into the field, so maybe it had something to do with light speed travel. Or something of the sort.

Either way, unimportant. There's drinks that need to be drank.

Some are just water while some are varying degrees of hard liquor, all spread across the table in a lazy, unorganized fashion.

You'd first told your friends about 79's after the Batch had invited you here for the first time, and you were eager to share. It's a nice place all and all, you enjoy the energy. Some of the other dive bars around the nearby districts, at least the ones that don't charge half a fortune for every sip, tend to attract not so friendly people.

79's is cheap, easy going, and the troopers are flirty- but keep their hands mostly to themselves.

Before you'd left Hunter had mentioned that they might be coming close behind to get a bit of a rare break as well, gods know they probably need it just as much as you do. So you've been glancing at the doors every now and again, looking for that brushed black armor for the past hour.

"Are they even still coming?"

You'd casually mentioned their potential coming a few minutes ago; And one of your friends, the one with a real penchant for bad boys and not the best decision making skills when five or more drinks deep, is very eager to meet them.

They know which one to avoid flirting up, anyways.

"They'll be here. They're usually pretty late anyways. If something came up, I'd be getting the same call as them." You are in their squad after all, so if they have to go out on a sudden mission, it would be extremely doubtful they'd even consider leaving without you.

But speaking of them...

Not minutes later you finally see them enter, easily spotted by their dark palette contrasting with the sea of white plastoid. They always stand out, and at least in this particular setting, they enjoy it readily. Quickly you all move to find a spot where you can all sit together, making sure to bring your drinks, both new and already half down, with.

Needless to say the Batch livens up the party significantly, which was a much needed boost given the slow state of the night so far.

For awhile the live music and show had largely been existing in the background; A good show, but nothing worth maintaining your entire attention. Especially since now that your favorite troopers are here, it's even less so important.

But now that it's currently between acts, it seems one of your friends has gotten herself a devious idea.

"Why don't you get up there and show them how it's done? Like at that one bar on-" You quickly shush her before she manages to regale a tale you don't exactly want retold in this state, rolling your eyes. But it seems the mention of a story has already caught particularly Crosshair's interest, and she quickly goes about spilling the memory once you no longer stop her.

"There was a open mic night at this one bar, and she killed it. Everyone thought she was a paid performer." Quickly she gestures to the stage, which is surrounded by tipsy, flushed faced clone troopers. They're awaiting the next performance, if there's even going to be one. Your friend speaks up again, pleading with you while Crosshair and the rest of the Batch look on curiously.

"Come on! It's open! Go up there!"

You're not exactly opposed to the idea, but you also don't feel like leaving the party behind so to speak. You're just about to shake your head and refuse again, when Crosshair speaks up at your side. He's been leaning back in the seat the whole time, one of his arms lazily against the back of the seat elbow close to your shoulder and forearm dangling down.

"Oh come on, gonna leave everyone guessing now that we know your little secret?"

Crosshair has his eyebrows raised, watching you. It's clearly bait as he sets it out like this all the time, but you're in the mood for taking a bite.

"Maybe I will. The mystery will make me seem even better than I am."

He rolls his eyes, and with a distinctly sarcastic flavor to his voice, responds.

"Whatever makes you feel better, Doll."

Now a little miffed despite you are the one who bit his fishhook, you scrunch your face and look at him, while he seems almost overwhelmingly smug. When you ask why, he responds with:

"Mystery?" A scoff. "Why don't you just say you're too scared?"

Well now he just wants a fight.

You don't know what comes over you at that point; Maybe it's the vibe, the drinks, something else or all of it combined, because it feels like a blink from being there under Crosshair's arm, to convincing the bouncer to let you at the mic.

Thankfully it doesn't require much, as it seem all the rehearsed performances were finished for the night, and now the mic was pretty much open to anyone willing and able to give it a shot.

Considering you that person, you take it into your hands and decide to give it 110, hoping to at least shut Crosshair's fat mouth.

The rest of it is all a blur; A series of sung words and perhaps some dancing that might not of been entirely appropriate, had the crowd not absolutely ate it up.

Whats the point in singing and not dancing anyhow? You think, hips shaking from side to side in a slow but perfect pace with the beat of the music. Once the first song finishes, you feel enough of a high that you decide to do another, and it doesn't seem anyone is going to complain at you for doing so. It's a bit of a slower one, so you can't exactly help the way your body sways unconsciously back and forth with the music.

Mid-song however you take a look upward and spot the Batch far in the back, Hunter, Wrecker and Tech turned at the waist an arm over the back of the seat to watch. Crosshair however as you eyes locked right on you while you sing-

And he is fucking furious.

At least it seems like he's fuming, it's sometimes hard to tell. Though it's pretty safe to say he's more affected by this little stunt, to say the least.

You don't go back to the booth once you finally manage to sneak off stage through demands for more, as by the time you enter the hall to go wash up in the bathroom quick, you find Crosshair is leaning by the wall waiting. When he spots you, his body rises off the way in a way that gives away how tense his body is, shoulders straight.

He must've come back here the moment you left the stage, intent to cut you off and steal a moment with you alone.

"You looked like you were having fun up there." His tone is tense, but you respond to it with your usual quips.

"I did. And did you like the show?"

Normally saying those sorts of things is how you try to disarm his attitude, but it only serves to make it worse this time, as you smile at him with the confident smirk of a job well done. You feel positively bubbly now after having that much fun, and seeing Crosshair stewing over what you assume is his failed dare.

The show had all been for him, so he better have enjoyed it. Not to say you didn't enjoy preforming. Maybe your friend didn't have such a bad idea after all; You wouldn't be so resistant to doing so again if the opportunity arose.

You take a few steps closer to Crosshair, anymore and you'd be brushing chests, seeing his pursed lips.

"What?"

You barely have a chance to say anything else before he grabs you shoulder and kisses you, his other hand reaching for the handle of the refresher door. It's empty, and so he pushes you in, locking it behind him near instantly. By the time he does his mouth is already back against your own, teeth brushing against your bottom lip.

There isn't much room to maneuver at all in here; It's so tight being really only meant for one person. As such in order to get a bit of breathing room you end up on the countertop, knees parted to let him in the moment you're able.

You'd originally come with a coat, but having long since shed it before going up on stage, Crosshair has unimpeded access to the soft skin of your neck.

"Cross!" You say when his hands grip your thighs tight, squeezing the soft flesh beneath his gloved palms.

"Everyone's gonna wonder where we are..." Your sentence fades off, feeling his lips on your skin and the coldness of the mirror on your back. The hem of your skirt has already gotten pushed up nearly to your hips from sitting in this position, and it only takes one tug from Crosshair to fully send it there and reveal your underwear.

"I don't care."

You didn't really expect him to, but his strained comment is still amusing none the less.

His lips roughly trap yours again in a kiss as he fumbles to remove the one piece of armor he needs to, throwing it aside with a loud thunk as it hits the ground. There's not a care in the galaxy for it right now, as all of his attention is on you.

You can't help the soft sigh that leaves your lips as you feel his hand brush over the heat of your cunt, as he tries to tear away your panties. When he realizes you have stockings on over them, he lets out something you can only describe as a growl in frustration.

"How many fuckin' things you got on under there?" You can't hold back the small giggle you let out.

"In a hurry?"

It'll be easier- and faster, if you kick off your heels, doing so before Crosshair loses his patience and just tears runs all the way through the razor thin fabric. The heat of his fingers is palpable through it, as he pulls your stockings and underwear in one bunch down to your hips. You have to rise up on your palms a bit to try and help, before they get yanked down enough that they dangle around one ankle.

Swearing that you can feel his nails make little dents in the skin of your ass even through his gloves, he grasps your hips tight and yanks you to the edge of the countertop and even a bit over, legs dangling precariously before they wrap around his hips. In that moment you can feel his hips grind against your almost of their own accord, and the feeling sends a jolt right to your clit.

The fabric of your dress is a deep red, perfectly matching the splash of worn red paint that adorns his armor; Exactly what you'd thought when you'd bought it. You're glad it's served you so well so far.

"I'm pleased you liked my little dance so much,"

You say with a laugh, feeling him fumble with the fabric of his body glove just out of view. One arm wraps around his neck, fingers playing with the short grey hair at his nape, while the other tries to keep you steady and on top of the countertop. Not as if Crosshair would let you fall, anyhow. But it still is in the back of your mind, within the tight confines of the refresher this isn't much room at all and if you stretched your legs out fully, you'd just be able to touch the opposing wall.

"Everyone did. They couldn't look away from you."

Oh, so he's a little jealous, you think. Never thought you'd hear him near admit he was fuming over some drooling shinies, but there's a first time for everything.

"Who cares about them; It was all for you." You didn't care that anyone else had been looking at you but him, even beyond the stupid dare.

Freeing his cock from his body glove you feel the heat against your bare thigh, stealing a quick kiss and feeling the tiny bit of stubble dotting his jawline. It'll be gone tomorrow so it's military appropriate, but for now you can enjoy the rough feeling on your skin as his fingers brush against your cunt.

You have to inch even closer, more precariously so his cock can press up against you, teasing your entrance as as your cunt drips. Your legs are lazily wrapped around his hips, and only tighten as he slips inside of you, the rough edges of his armor stiff against your skin.

He doesn't really have much else to wear beside it, not that you mind its being on.

"You're the one that dared me,"

He hears you whisper his name under your breath as he pushes his way into your cunt, over the sounds of more random music outside the door. Though you can't hear it for much longer; As it's drowned out by the sound of rough panting and clothed skin on skin, muffled by the fabric of his body glove. It quickly becomes stained a darker black from where your cunt drips onto it.

"I dared you to go up there and sing," He grits his teeth in a rare lapse of stoicism, hissing through. "Not do that." A rough jerk of his hips cause you to gasp, as he feels like he's going to drive right into your stomach. The angle makes everything tighter, so much closer, and your cunt flutters around him.

"So I can't do that again?" You sound breathless, but the mirth in your voice still shines through.

He scoffs, lips on the corner of your mouth.

"Just do it where only I can see you."

The air between you both is thick with hot breath and flushed skin, and you'd love nothing more than to rip this dress off if not for the fact that you aren't at your apartment- you're instead getting railed in the bathroom at 79's.

Your chest feels like it's going to bounce out of your bra from the way he's fucking you; Having to adjust top of your dress to avoid it spilling out. It's not back in presentable fashion and would be quite easy to tell how your evening's been going, but right now you could barely care.

You just want to cum fast and hard, eager to chase that peak as Crosshair tries to drive you into the mirror at your back.

You're going to feel it in the morning if he keeps this up, feeling the way his cock grinds against your already battered, oversensitive nerves. Hell, you're already feeling it right now; Your muscles ache tight, fingers prying at the edges of his plastoid armor. If he didn't have it on, he'd surely have nail marks on his shoulder blades.

"Gods, fuck Crosshair, I'm so close,"

Your stomach is tight and twisting in knots, and your swear you can feel your heartbeat in your cunt your thighs shiver and shake. Your head lolls back hitting the mirror as you moan, legs tightening around him as your orgasm wracks your entire body.

He keeps fucking you through it even if slowly, driving his cock as deep as he can given the position. But even if he did slow, there's still an aggressiveness, a desperation to it all. Everything is in the heat of the moment, even his almost incomprehensible mumblings, some that are your name, and others praises that he'd feel to open saying out loud without an aura of cockiness.

His hand grips the back of your dress enough to leave wrinkles and probably be close to busting one of the seams, pulling you bottom close as he fully bottoms out inside of you. His hips slow to an inconsistent, shallow movements as he finishes inside of you, some of his own cum leaking out around his cock as he slows to deeper, longer thrusts while his body ratchets down.

When he finally stills, body now far loosen and relaxed than he'd been minutes ago, you still feel the way your cunt flutters as your muscles ache from use.

"Let's go back to your apartment." He suddenly utters out, still slightly out of breath. Your head rests against his shoulder, the cold plastoid cool against your flushed skin.

"Can I get my coat and say goodbye to my friends before you usher me into a taxi?" Crosshair rolls his eyes and the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. You don't disagree that perhaps somewhere more private is a better place to be, and you slowly attempt to pull up your stockings and underwear enough to hop off the counter; Crosshair not helping, but ready in case you stumble. Once on the ground you're slipping up your underwear, feeling the slickness of your cunt dampen them ever so slightly.

"Was that dance not good enough farewell?" You roll your eyes. Your one heel is easy to find, the other takes a moment to slip on sounding strained as you bend over to put it on.

"Like I said; That was just for you." Crosshair doesn't respond, looking away as his pursed lips twitch in thought. It takes a moment to adjust the hem of your dress, before you feel ready enough to reach for the door.

You quickly rush to grab your things and say goodnight to everyone, attempting to defuse any curious questions as to your absence post performance. Tech tries to inquire as to Crosshair's absence, but the sniper quickly snips the conversation stating he just needed to tell you something, before saying he needs to grab a taxi and removes himself from the firing line for anymore questions.

And now he needs to bring you home, conveniently enough.

Wrecker seems disappointed that two members of the party are leaving, but once more food and drinks arrive in front of him he quickly gets over it. He'll probably be too drunk to remember most of the night anyways, and Hunter will end up the same if Tech doesn't cut him off.

After getting a 'stay safe' from Hunter it's a quick jaunt outside into the cool evening air, when Crosshair is standing with a hailed Taxi stopped right behind him. He's looking right at you, leaning against the outside as you come closer.

"All finished?" He says, arms crossed. You watch as he moves to the side to let you in, and you just look up at him and smile as you slip in, saying:

"Maybe."

Join the taglist here: @seriowan @simp-legend @nekotaetae @chad-something @coffeyorky @merkitty49 @lokigirlszendaya @totesnothere04 @get-wr3ckered @rebel-finn @mandoloriancookie @therealnekomari @loverofclones @notthatfanfictionwriter @lucyysthings @jennrosefx @fxlsealarm @crosshairs-wife @sinfulsalutations @Rennyboo9 @pb-jellybeans @jediknightjana

[fiftysevenacademics]

I am in the oldest cohort of Gen X. Cable TV didn’t come around till I was a teen, and commercially-available Internet, not until I was well into adulthood with a child of my own. Growing up, the only free media you could enjoy were network TV and radio. If you wanted to hear specific music on demand, read particular genres of writing, or see movies, you had to buy records, subscribe to magazines or buy books, or go to movie theaters. Or, you could borrow books, magazines, and music for free from a library.

It was completely normal, even a point of pride, for people to pay for subscriptions to multiple newspapers, typically, your local paper and a larger regional one, and multiple magazines. If you couldn’t afford to subscribe to stuff, you went to the library. Kids saved up their allowance money or, if they were teens, got jobs so they could buy the records (vinyl) they wanted because radio never played their favorite songs often enough.

You only got the TV channels whose signals were strong enough to reach your TV set, which meant that if you lived out in the sticks (like I did growing up), even with rooftop antenna you still only got one or two channels, and in some places, you couldn’t get any. Everyone my age remembers fiddling with the “rabbit ears” on top the TV or yelling directions at their dad while he was up on the roof tweaking the antenna to get better reception. It was the 70s equivalent of “can you hear me now?”

Needless to say, I took to the Internet like a kid in a candy shop. All the news! All the entertainment! All the knowledge and aesthetics and giggles and drama and tragedy for the price of an Internet connection.

But as the Internet matured, it turned into the grubby capitalist hellscape we have now. It was probably always the inevitable outcome of giving capitalist enterprises and complete strangers unfettered access to our wildest dreams, fantasies, and thirst for knowledge, but we were having so much fun it was easy to think we had some kind of control, or that the party would last forever.

Now, the websites and networks we love the most are shutting down, the music and video streaming websites we’ve gotten used to enjoying for free or minimal cost increasingly dictate what, when, and how we enjoy media and can snatch it away from us at any moment. What passes for news is often just gossip passed around on social media because newspapers are being devoured by hedge funds and being run more like money laundering operations than journalism with integrity.

To those of you who grew up entirely in this era, it might feel outrageous to be asked to subscribe to media you enjoy, or to purchase physical or digital versions of music or movies that you can own forever. I, too, hate paywalls and do what I can to get around them, and I, too, have been badly spoiled by the Internet.

But I do recall a time when I subscribed to a half dozen magazines and the local paper, how much fun it was when one of my magazines arrived, to sit down with a cup of coffee and flip through it, deciding which articles to read now and which to read later, or just enjoying the lavish pictures. I recall going out in the morning to collect the paper and that brief moment of anticipation as the headline and cover photo unrolled in my hand. I remember flipping through the fashion and lifestyle magazines at the library for hours when I had time to waste and wanted to immerse myself in some kind of aesthetic for the day.

It all really wasn’t so bad. In fact, it had its own distinct pleasures and inherent boundaries that are lacking in today’s streaming and digital media.

So now I think we’ve come full circle. The only way we can continue to have an Internet we enjoy is by paying for the services we find most fun or useful. It took some time for me to come around to this because, like I said, I, too, have been coddled and indulged for the past thirty years.

But once I started looking at it as the same thing as subscribing to a magazine, which I used to love to do, it all made sense. If you want Tumblr or any other website, publication, or social network you love to stay around, you should subscribe if you can afford to. If you regularly read a magazine or newspaper online and find it very useful or fun, you should subscribe or donate, even if it doesn’t have paywalls. Buy digital or physical copies of albums, songs, or movies/shows you love—don’t count on Netflix or Spotify to let you enjoy them forever.

[topiamains]

Third peson survival games free

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I had no idea what I was getting myself into, and the moment my eyes met with those of a cannibal, I panicked, and I ran for the hills (well, the beach in this case). I remember the first time that I played The Forest very fondly. Now, if you’re a fan of survival games with a strong story, and you also like horror, The Forest will without a doubt have you hooked. If you are interested in starting this one up, we've got a wealth of Valheim guides for you to peruse. This makes your survival experience have an overarching sense of purpose, and it feels great. Your enemies are also Odin’s enemies, and it’s your job to restore peace to Valheim. You’re not merely thrown into a world with nothing to your name, as is the case with other survival titles, but instead, you’re a legendary warrior who has had their soul transported to Valheim. It’s arguably multiplayer where Valheim truly shines, making those troubling boss fights and constructing sturdy bases a team effort.Īnother aspect of Valheim that draws me to it whenever I think of the survival experience is the story. You can craft to your heart's content, cook away, and team up with friends for the adventure. The world of Valheim is procedurally generated with all the systems needed to craft one impressive beginners base. Valheim is beautiful because it’s core survival gameplay at it’s finest and is heavily inspired by Norse mythology. Valheim comes from a different Swedish developer, Iron Gate Studios, and could easily be crowned one of the best survival titles that we’ve seen in recent year.

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Platforms: PC, Xbox One, Xbox Series X/S.

We have blocky Minecraft frogs, what more could you want? Valheim Sure, this content takes a long while to come out, but it’s usually so worth it when it does. Your Minecraft experience is your own, so it’s up to you if you invite friends, join public servers, or go slay the Ender Dragon solo.Įither way, Minecraft is vibrant and developer Mojang simply keep adding more content.

#Third peson survival games free update

Given the Minecraft Caves update recently, going down to the mines to hunt for diamonds and iron has never been more exciting. You build your base, kill some animals for food, and then it’s time to go down in the mines. Minecraft, typically, revolves around starting with nothing and then destroying the surrounding terrain to gather and craft resources. There's more to this survival game than just blocks. Building and breaking blocks will not be to everyone's tastes, but it is an incredibly charming blocky adventure for those who do. You might not have heard of this one… but Minecraft is arguably one of the best (if not the best) survival game of all time.

#Third peson survival games free android

Platforms: PC, PS4, PS5, Xbox One, Xbox Series X/S, Nintendo Switch, iOS, Android.In no particular order whatsoever, here are some of the best survival games of all time for you to try. Needless to say, survival games will rob you of your time once one captivates you entirely, but they are games that truly keep on giving, and that’s why many of them still proceed to capture so many players. Even then, jumping onto an incredibly old save in an even older survival title is a whole different level of fun within itself: will I find the Minecraft castle I spent weeks building multiple years ago? Probably not, but it’s nice to know that there’s a possibility I could find it while revisiting my game. That is, unless, you closed your game of Minecraft while deep in a cavern surrounded by enemies. You can pick up a survival game with such ease, and there’s no worry about where you might’ve got off last time or whether you need a narrative recap (most of the time). Whether you jump in for an intense day of gathering resources or simply choose to survive half hour at a time (this is how I often approach 7 Days to Die), there’s a survival game out there for everyone to become obsessed with.Īnother wonder when it comes to survival games is their timelessness. There’s something deeply satisfying about starting with nothing and ending with an empire, regardless of whether you pillaged villages or destroyed an entire forest to get there. Survival games are, a lot of the time, about the grind. In fact, we’re spoilt for so much choice when it comes to the survival genre that it can be hard to choose which one you want to plough hours into. Whether it’s the random resurgence of Project Zomboid, more Minecraft updates, or an entirely new title to the scene like Valheim, we’re spoilt for choice. In recent years, survival games have showed no signs of slowing down.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Tableskills: The Proactive DM Voice

One of the most fundamental lesions I learned over the course of becoming a great DM was that it was my job to push the story forward, not my players.  When I was younger I was terrified of taking any agency upon myself for fear of railroading my group, thinking that my job was merely to read out prepared text and design a playground for my players to explore as they saw fit. Needless to say, no matter how much planning i did or how big I made my campaign world it never made my party any more energized, instead bleeding out their attention until they became listless and the group/campaign dissolved. 

Once I made the change to DM driven play, things changed almost instantly. My once distracted players became excited collaborators, looking to steer the runaway engine that was my narrative. Where as before they were directionless, having infinite shallow options, they were now focused on the road ahead of them, trying to dodge upcoming hurdles while reacting to the unexpected ones.  

This change took some getting used to, but became most evident in how I narrated my games, cutting down on extraneous calls for rolls,  chaining together scenes until a big finale at the end of the session, using my infinite power as narrator to push receptive players into interesting situations that progressed both the story and their character arc. Over time I began to think of these changes and a bunch of others as “proactive DM voice”, a skill that I think players and dungeonmaters alike could benefit from learning. 

Lets look at an example, lifted from one of the very first modules I ever ran: The party stands at the edge of a tremendously large fissure, and has to lower themselves a hundred or more feet down to a ledge where they’ll be ambushed by direrats.  You could run this in a rules literal sense: reading out the prepared text then waiting for the party to come up with a solution, likely dallying as they ask questions. Have them make athletics checks to descend the ropes, risk the possibility of one of them dying before the adventure ever begins. Then you do it two or three more times as they leapfrog down the side of the canyon, wasting what was perhaps half an hour of session time before you even got to any of the fun stuff. 

Or you could get proactive about it: 

Securing your ropes as best you can, you belay over the side of the fissure, descending down in a measured, careful pace aiming for the most stable looking outcrop of rock, still a hundred or so feet above the canyon’s base. A few minutes and about two thirds of the way through your decent [least athletic PC] looks like they’re struggling, their hands are coated in sweat and they can feel unfamiliar muscles burning in complaint.  I need [PC] to make me an athletics check

Rather than waiting for the players and the dice to make a story for me, I took the extra step in my prep time to think of something interesting that might happen while they’re venturing through this section of the map. I specifically designed things so that happenstance wouldn’t kill off one of my heroes, but they might end up damaged and in a perilous situation should the fates not favour them that particular moment. 

Likewise, this planning has let me prepare a number of different angles that I could use to prepare the next scene: with an injured player ambushed by multiple rats while their allies dangle a few rounds away or with the party saving their friend and descending together, too much of a threat for the rats to tackle all at once, leading them to stalk the party through future encounters.

This is already getting a bit long, but for those interested in more ways you can adopt a proactive DM voice, I’ll give more examples under the cut

A lot of people talk about “the Mercer effect” new people getting into d&d and begin disappointed that the group they’re playing with aren't like critical role. A lot of creators have talked about how to combat the Mercer effect, but regardless of props or budget, I think the greatest difference between your average d&d table and what you see on shows like Critical role, Adventure Zone, or Dimension 20 is the fact that in those streamed games EVERYONE at the table is using a proactive voice, where as it seems to be a skill that most players and dms never pick up on.

Think about it this way, nearly every streaming show is made up of professional entertainers: Voice actors, comedians, people who understand that time is a finite resource and a lack of momentum can kill their performance. That’s why listening to them play is such a treat, everything they say or do is designed to cut down on dithering and give the greatest comedic or dramatic punch in the shortest amount of time.

You start doing the same when you start using a proactive voice at your table, leaving all the unfun number crunching and arbitrary restrictions aside in favour of telling jokes or modulating the dramatic tension, a habit that your party will pick up over time as you maintain it, which will lead to snappier play and more getting done in a single session.

Momentum is key: you always want to be pressing forward towards the meat of your session, towards the next fun npc or dramatic setpiece, and as such you need to give your party the idea that they’re rolling towards a destination.  The trick is that after a few plot relevant bits of setup, this destination is almost always a bad one, and if the party doesn’t act on the opportunities you’ve given them, they’re they’re going to end up hurdling towards disaster.

After your party has had their fun ask “ Is there anything you want to do before____?” rather than “ is there anything you want to do?”  This gives your party a sense of urgency and forces them to act on their priorities, rather than waiting for them to decide and letting all the tension bleed out.

Be Obvious: you want players to know who and what within a scene is a means for gaining forward narrative progress, so whenever you narrate, be sure to add a liberal dose of scene hooks in with your background description.

The reason that players dither is because they’re not sure what the expectations for a scene are or what they can do: Try to end every one of your descriptions with a prompt for action from your players, restating the problem they’re facing, a few options that they might use to solve it, a reminder of what might happen if they fail. This also helps get past some players who’ve been trained by anxiety bad dms to expect a trap everywhere.

When in doubt, cut it out: unless you have interesting material prepared for a scene, it’s a good idea to skip over a length of time and get to the next bit of content. There’s no reason to detail a party’s night of sleep in the inn after the first night, nor days of travel that aren't particularly dangerous or exceptional. Move them forward unless you feel like one of your players wants to use their downtime as a backdrop for RP

Just let them do it:  One of the quickest ways to speed up your game and get things flowing is to cut out extraneous rolls: if your party figures out who the mystery killer is or identifies the type of monster the villagers only saw a hint of, don’t have them roll to see if their characters figured it out. The same goes for solving a puzzle, or correctly suspecting something might be trapped. Instead give them a gold star for being clever little goblins and move on, rather than locking crucial plot development behind a dc. I take any excuse I can to GIVE my party information, relating it to their character backstory or their time spent in a certain region. Not only does it make things faster, it makes them more immersed.  

They need to be allowed to mess up: When you cut down on extranious rolls, it means those left behind are important, and need to have consequences. The same goes for the party’s decisions, which need to have real and lasting consequences (good or bad). The first time the party realizes they dropped a plot hook and someone they knew suffered for it, they’ll suddenly understand their responsibility to the world they’re adventuring in and the story they’re a part of.

Give your party regular breaks: While it’s important to maintain a steady momentum, sometimes it’s a good idea to let your party wander a bit, especially if you’re about to head into a longer section of action like a dungeon delve or a mystery. Give them an idea when this time will end (a crowning event at a festival, the king’s courier will get back to them in about three days, bad weather rolling in) and then ask if there’s a special way they’d like to spend their time. This designated space to goof off or go on tangents is actually the best way to get stuff out of your more RP shy players, as they’re often self conscious about taking the spotlight away from others.

I hope this gives you what you need to start making the switch over to proactive Dm voice, but if you want more inspiration pay attention to some liveplay artists, especially those who know they’ve got a limited amount of time on camera to get things done. Imitation is not only the sincerest form of flattery, it’s also one of the best ways to improve your skills.

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from what i’ve tasted of desire

first post season 2 fic! of course I immediately wrote a fix-it, because these boys still haven’t talked about their feelings. needless to say, this contains spoilers for season 2 and the season 2 finale in particular. 

read on ao3

~

Jaskier’s coat has a hole in it.

After everything, it should be trivial. The bodies of half the remaining witchers—Geralt’s brothers, his family—are laid across the tables in the main hall. The grey stone is stained with black streaks where they fell, like the veined marble of a mausoleum floor. Beyond the doors, he can see Ciri sitting on the broken rampart, Yennefer leaning close, their heads bent together. Exhaustion and grief press close and heavy around them all.

It shouldn’t matter that his jacket has a hole in it. He’s not hurt. He’s alive, and so is Yen, and Ciri, and—and he’s fine. Compared to what everyone else has been through, no hurts or discomforts of his should even register.

But. This is his only coat. The only thing he owns, really. Geralt plucked him out of that cell and he’s only got what’s on his back: one pair of trousers, a couple of shit boots not meant for the road, one shirt with a badly patched ax hole in it, a tattered vest, and one coat with a massive tear running from the small of his back and halfway up to his right armpit, bursting the seam. He’s lucky that whatever tore the heavy leather open didn’t tear him open with it.

He makes his way back to his room that evening with heavy feet. He knows he should have stayed, probably, to help everyone clean up longer and maybe sing to lift their spirits. But he doesn’t have a lute anymore, and he’s so tired.

The room he found for himself is small, and on the outside wall of the keep. There’s a crack in the ceiling to the right of the bed, and when he looks directly up he can see three pinpricks of light against the blackness of the northern sky. The mountain chill seeps into the room insidiously; he’s only glad it isn’t snowing. Still, the moth eaten blanket he’d rustled up does little against the cold, and his thrice damned fucking coat has a fucking hole in it. He can feel the chill against his back when he curls his feet up under the blanket. He doesn’t have any socks. They’d worn out on the way to Kaer Morhen and he’d finally had to throw them out.

Gods above, it’s fucking cold.

After tossing and shivering for an hour, Jaskier finally pulls himself out of the bed with a groan, dragging the blanket with him. Maybe if he can find a lit hearth somewhere he can get warm enough to pass out. After a moment of hesitation he grabs the bottle on the nightstand. There isn’t enough left in it to knock him out—thanks for nothing, Jaskier of yesterday—but maybe it will at least warm him up. His bones ache with the cold, and his bare feet burn where they touch the icy stone.

There’s still a fire burning in the main hall, but that’s not happening. People might still be there, and the room smells like iron and ozone. He stands in the hallway for a moment, chewing his lip in thought. Maybe the lab, though he isn’t sure it would be that much warmer. Maybe he could just find another room? He wishes, for a fervent moment, that he could just go find Geralt. His fingers are stiff where they hold the thin blanket around his shoulders, and the barely healed burns along his index and middle finger ache along his joints. If he could just find Geralt and curl up next to him with the excuse of warmth, maybe this would all be alright. He knows he shouldn’t want that anymore, because Geralt left him and he’s barely apologized and Yen is back and he told himself he wouldn’t do this anymore, but—

He’s so cold.

The kitchens. There’s an idea.

He makes his way quietly through the halls, though he has no doubt that if any witchers are awake they’ll hear him moving about. The kitchens are tucked off of the main hall, far enough away that he can’t hear whether people are still moving about in there. He doesn’t want to know, entering through the old servants’ entrance in the hall instead. The kitchens of Kaer Morhen are large, as they would be in any keep, but clearly under-utilised. Several work tables line the long room, but only the one at the far end has cooking utensils left on it. Various herbs and spices hang from the ceiling, alongside dark pots and pans worn lopsided with age. On the far end of the room, the hearth emits a gentle glow that has Jaskier sighing in relief.

The fire is banked; only glowing embers remain. A small pile of wood sits next to the fireplace, and Jaskier eyes them warily. He should add a few to the embers, get a real fire going to warm himself up. But his fingers burn, and the memory of a flame licking up the side of his palm and the thick smell of his skin bubbling makes him hesitate. It’s warmer here already. Instead, he sits against the warm stone of the hearth and digs his teeth into the cork of his bottle.

The wine goes too quickly, but it does leave him feeling slightly warmer, fuzzy around the edges. The stone against his back isn’t too cold, but the floor is freezing. He tries to arrange his worthless coat underneath himself, wishing he still had his traveling gear. A bedroll would do him wonders right now. He’s still shivering a bit, and he can’t feel his toes. He should add another log to the fire, but he’s just… tired. He wants to sleep, and forget how heavy and empty he feels for a moment.

He dozes fitfully, for a time. He can’t say why he wakes, but when he does it’s with a racing pulse. For a moment he doesn’t know where he is or what woke him—a flame dancing on the tip of a finger fills his mind—and he flails. A hand catches around his wrist, and it’s so warm he shudders almost violently. “Jaskier,” Geralt says, and Jaskier stills.

He blinks a few times to orient himself, and finds Geralt crouched on the floor in front of him. “Geralt,” he says, adrenalin flashing through his veins and chasing away some of his exhaustion. “What’s wrong?”

“Why are you in here?” Geralt asks, eyebrows pulled low over his unsettling eyes. Jaskier’s stomach turns over nervously.

“Sorry,” he says, swallowing. “I—If you need me to leave—”

Geralt is still holding his wrist. It’s unbearably distracting, burning against his cold skin. Geralt shakes his head. “It’s fine, Jaskier. I just wanted to make sure you’re alright. I was in the hall, I heard someone come in here. Thought it might be Ciri.”

Of course he didn’t come just to check on Jaskier. He forces down his disappointment with age old practice. “Of course,” he says, finally pulling his wrist from Geralt’s grasp. Geralt lets him go easily, and it hurts as much as it ever did. “Well, I’m fine, thank you.”

“Why are you in the kitchens?” Geralt asks, and eyes the empty bottle to Jaskier’s side. “Raiding the wine stores?”

“I did that yesterday. Most of it’s poison,” he grumbles. “I was cold. If you must know.” He wants to snap it, feels irritated enough, but instead it just comes out hoarse and tired. He leans his head back against the wall behind him and wishes the fire was warmer. “My room has a hole in the ceiling.”

“Most of them do,” Geralt points out. “You should wear something warmer to bed.”

Jaskier raises a hand to press his palm to the center of his forehead. “I’ll keep that in mind next time,” he says dryly. “Point me in the direction of the nearest seamstress and I’ll be sure to ask for a pair of her thickest woollen socks. In the meantime, I’m afraid I’m making do with what I’ve got.”

Geralt is quiet for a moment. Jaskier has his eyes closed, but he can feel the witcher’s heavy gaze on him. He refuses to meet it. “You should have said something.”

Now Jaskier does open his eyes, if only to glare. Geralt is soft in the low light of the flickering embers, his eyes dark honey. A cloying feeling rises in Jaskier’s chest, and he wants it to be hate but he fears it’s something else entirely. “And when was I supposed to do that?” he asks sharply. “Before or after your Child Surprise got possessed and murdered half the people who live here? Somewhere on the road between Cintra and Kaedwin? Should I have asked my jailer before we left Oxenfurt? Or maybe I should have thought to pack a bag before I was—” He stops, biting his tongue.

Geralt’s mouth twists. So beautiful, Jaskier thinks with despair, and he hates himself. He hates all of this. He hates that he’s in this stupid drafty dead keep in a coat that has a hole in it. He hates that Ciri hasn’t said more than two words to him since they met. He hates that his lute is gone, even though he couldn’t play it anyways right now with his hands as they are. He hates that Yennefer is easy to get along with, that her hands fit so nicely in his, that he can’t dislike her easily anymore. He hates that Geralt speaks in kind, soft words to Ciri and speaks so plainly to Yen, because why, why couldn’t he ever do that with Jaskier? And he hates that he’s so weak, that he’s here again after he told himself he’d never fall back into all this bullshit, because Geralt said I need your help and Jaskier is weak and wanting. He always has been.

For a moment Geralt looks like he’s going to say something, and then he stands. Jaskier feels something like relief, and also much like grief, leaving him cold and exhausted. But then a hand is thrust down into his face. Jaskier blinks at it and then looks up at Geralt. He wonders if the wine was stronger than he thought, because Geralt is looking at him expectantly and Jaskier can’t for the life of him imagine what he wants from him. He never could figure out what Geralt fucking wants. “Come on,” Geralt says, wiggling his fingers. Jaskier reaches up and takes them on automatic, his head buzzing with empty static.

Geralt’s hand is so warm, almost painfully so, and as he pulls Jaskier to his feet the burns on his fingers drag against old callouses. He hisses, and Geralt reaches for his elbow as Jaskier pulls his hand away to shake it out. “You’re hurt,” Geralt says, all soft eyes and concern. Jaskier wants to scream.

“It’s nothing,” he says, unable to stop himself from holding his injured hand to his chest. It’s not serious. It’s been weeks since the mage, even though at times Jaskier still feels like he’s back in that room, pinned down like an ant under a magnifying glass. His fingers have mostly healed. The blisters broke and scabbed over while he was in the little cell in Oxenfurt, and he was lucky they didn’t get infected. His pointer finger especially is still red and raw around the tip, the underside right where he would pluck the strings of his lute, if he had one. Yennefer has her magic back, so he might even be able to ask her to remove the tender, shiny skin so he can play easily again. He just… hasn’t had a chance to ask.

Geralt pulls his hand towards him, and Jaskier is powerless to resist him. His palm falls open, bare for Geralt’s inspection. “These are old,” Geralt says, surprised. He runs a finger across the burns, gentle. Jaskier resists a shiver.

“Two weeks,” Jaskier admits, not pulling his hand back. There’s no point. “I thought Yennefer told you.”

Geralt’s face is blank for a moment, and then shifts subtly—just a tension in his jaw, around his eyes. Jaskier doesn’t think anyone else would recognize it. Or maybe that’s not true, and he only wishes it were. “She told me you ran into trouble in Oxenfurt. With the firefucker. Damn it Jaskier.”

“I didn’t tell him anything,” Jaskier says, peevishly. “Not that I had much to tell.”

“That’s not what I—” Geralt shakes his head. His shoulders are squared off as if for a fight, but he’s careful as he cradles Jaskier’s fragile fingers. “Come on,” he says again, his other hand pulling to guide Jaskier along by his elbow.

He doesn’t know where they’re going. Geralt leads him from the kitchen and down several halls, up a flight of stairs, beyond the little niche where Jaskier’s derelict room is located. He’s only been in the keep for less than seventy two hours, and it truly is a maze. The wine probably doesn’t help. By the time Geralt has led them down the third hall, Jaskier is well and truly lost.

They finally stop in front of a heavy door, which Geralt promptly pushes open. This part of the keep is in better repair; most of the sconces are lit, and a few dusty tapestries cover the stone walls to keep out the cold that seeps relentlessly from them. The room that Geralt drags him into is dark, but a moment later it springs into shape around them as Geralt twists his fingers into a quick igni. Jaskier does his best not to flinch.

The room is only barely bigger than the one Jaskier left, but it’s better outfitted. A soft fur rug covers the floor, another spread out on the four poster bed. A high wooden table sits against the back wall, the pool of melted wax around its unlit candle threatening its other occupants—loose papers, several quills, an old tome, some empty bottles. Geralt’s armor rests on a stand in the corner, his swords resting in their scabbards against the wall nearby. A tall armoire sits against the closest wall, but Jaskier can see several articles of clothing strewn carelessly about the room—a shirt on the back of the desk chair, a pair of boots next to the foot of the bed, one knocked on its side. This, Jaskier realizes suddenly, is Geralt’s room. The realization wakes him up more than anything else that has thus far transpired, chasing the last of the wine from his blood.

“What—” he starts, not even sure what he’s about to ask. Geralt doesn’t wait, pushing him to sit on the bed while he goes over to the armoire. “Geralt,” Jaskier says, almost distracted by the relief of the warm rug under his freezing toes. “What are you doing?”

Geralt doesn’t respond, only humming softly as he digs through the wardrobe. Jaskier huffs, pulling his knees up to his chest so he can dig his numb toes into the warm furs covering the bed. The room is already warming up with the fire going, and despite his curiosity he can feel himself growing drowsy. His eyes flutter shut of their own accord, only to snap open when something hits him full in the face. He splutters as it drops into his hands, and Geralt’s warm, grovely laugh fills the small space.

“What’s this?” Jaskier asks, spreading the fabric.

Geralt is already turning back to the wardrobe, pulling out a few more items. “It’s a shirt,” he says, voice still loose with amusement. “One that hasn’t been used for target practice.”

“Hilarious,” Jaskier deadpans as Geralt dumps another bundle of cloth into his lap. He tosses the pants aside in favor of the shirt, laying it out so he can start shucking his coat and vest. As he does so, he glances over the proffered loans, expecting to see worn out shirts patched from old fights. Instead he sees a neat cotton undershirt with a high collar and embroidery across the shoulders. The pattern is familiar, a floral motif—

Jaskier stops halfway out of his vest. “Hold on. Is this… mine?”

Geralt also freezes where he’s still digging through the wardrobe, holding one sock in hand like he’s been caught stealing it. He winces. “Erm. Got left behind in my things a while ago.”

“Several years ago,” Jaskier corrects. “These trousers are mine too! Why do you have these? Have you been stealing my good clothes all these years?”

Geralt turns away, head ducked low as he apparently becomes invested in his search for the other sock. “Not my fault you left them in my bags,” he mutters.

“Why do you still have them?” Jaskier wonders aloud. They would never fit Geralt, not with his broad shoulders. He strips his own shirt off, and immediately grimaces. He’d love to burn it, but he can’t afford to, unless Geralt is hiding a few more of his lost wardrobe pieces in there. He quickly changes into the new shirt, sighing in relief at the feel of clean, warm cotton against his skin. He stands to quickly change into the pants, which are worn soft with age. He remembers using them to sleep on the Path, what feels like a lifetime ago.

Geralt finally steps back to the bed as Jaskier sits down again. The fire has warmed the air of the room significantly, but without his coat, patchy though it may be, Jaskier finds himself suppressing shivers again. “It didn’t feel right to get rid of them,” Geralt says, shifting slightly from foot to foot. “I liked…”

“Liked what?” Jaskier asks. Geralt huffs, as if frustrated, and drops to his knees before the bed. Jaskier has a truly terrible moment where he nearly spreads his thighs open on instinct, a frankly implausible wave of arousal rising in him. He presses his knees together tightly, but Geralt isn’t even looking. He’s reaching down to cup Jaskier’s ankle in one hand, pulling his foot forward. Jaskier watches, aghast, as Geralt gently slides first one, and then the other sock onto his feet. They’re warm, and surprisingly soft. Once he’s done, Geralt smooths his hands up behind Jaskier’s calves. He leans his forehead against Jaskier’s knees, like a worshiper coming to prayer. Jaskier doesn’t know what to do; he feels as frozen and immovable as a statue in a temple.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt says, hushed. Jaskier swallows, and the sound is embarrassingly loud in the quiet room. “I know I said it before, but… I’m sorry, Jask. Not just for the mountain. For everything.” He lifts his head, looking up to meet Jaskier’s stunned gaze. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you. I’m sorry I’m still not.” One of his hands pulled away from Jaskier’s calf to hover over his burnt fingers where they’re clenched tightly in the bedsheets. “I missed you.”

Mortifyingly, Jaskier feels his eyes burning. His vision blurs, obscuring the image of Geralt’s open, pleading face. He turns his face up towards the ceiling, trying to keep any tears from falling. “You know,” he says thickly, “when that fire fucker had me tied up to a chair, he kept asking me where you were. And I was relieved, because you never cared enough to show me your home. I wanted you to ask me to come here with you, for years. But you never did, and I was glad because if you had I would have known where you were, where Ciri was. And I thought, isn’t that pathetic, that I’m so happy you cared about me so little, because I still didn’t want to be the reason you got hurt.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, hoarse, but now that he’s speaking Jaskier can’t stop. It’s like it’s cracked him open, and his mouth is moving so quickly he barely knows what he’s saying.

“You left me on a mountaintop. You told me you never wanted to see me again. And you were always—You were always so closed off, and I thought, that’s just how Geralt is, he’s reserved, that’s fine, but it’s not even like that. You talk to Yen, I’ve seen you with Ciri and Vesemir. You just didn’t like talking to me, is that it? We’ve known each other for twenty years. I spent half my life following you around, and you never even told me that you thought I was your friend. I’m sorry I’m always the one getting you into shit situations, I’m sorry I asked you to come with me to the ball and I’m sorry I fucked up with the djinn and I’m sorry I elbowed my way into your life and didn’t leave you alone and that you hated me there so much. But you’re the one who came to find me, alright, so don’t go blaming it on me this time. I don’t even want to be here. I don’t.” He pants, chest heaving. He looks down at Geralt, whose face is carefully blank aside from the slight wrinkle between his eyes. He looks gutted.

“Then why did you come?” Geralt asks, soft. He’s still kneeling before Jaskier, hands on either side of Jaskier’s thighs. The contact is warm through his new pants—his old pants, which Geralt kept.

Jaskier’s throat constricts, and against his will a tear slips free. He can feel the hot trail of it down his cheek. “You fucking know why.”

“You haven’t forgiven me,” Geralt counters, and it doesn’t sound accusing, it’s just a fact. And he’s right. Jaskier feels like an open wound of anger and hurt, and he can’t imagine allowing Geralt close enough to try to apply a salve yet.

“No,” he agrees, mouth twisting. “I can’t. Not yet. But I still—” He sucks in a breath. “I want to help.”

“I don't want to keep you here if it’s not where you want to be,” Geralt says. He’s looking at Jaskier with a deeply familiar expression. Guilt. Always guilt.

“It is,” Jaskier says, even though he knows he said the opposite not half a minute ago. “I don’t want to leave. I just. I want… I don’t want to feel like you think I’m a nuisance to have around. I don’t even know why you want me here anyways. I’m not a fighter, Geralt. I can’t do magic. I don’t even have a damn lute anymore, and my hands—” He has to stop, the tears cutting him off. He feels more slide down his cheeks, but he refuses to let the sob caught in his chest escape.

Geralt lifts his hands, his palms coming up on either side of Jaskier’s face. His thumbs skim over the skin beneath Jaskier’s eyes, collecting the dampness there. His expression is unreadable and enormous. Jaskier takes two shuddering breaths, the force of them racking his frame. “Jaskier,” Geralt says, quiet and demanding and earnest. “I didn’t come find you because I needed someone to fight for me. I needed someone I could trust.” He pauses, staring into Jaskier’s face. It’s probably a mess, splotchy and red from anger and tears. Geralt doesn’t seem to notice. “I missed you,” he says again, not a trace of embarrassment in his face or tone. “I just wanted you with me. If you don’t want to be here, if you can’t forgive me, I understand. But I want you here. I do.”

Jaskier crumples. There’s nowhere to go but further into Geralt—as always, as always—so he ends up falling forward until his face is pressed into Geralt’s neck. Heavy arms come up around him, two huge palms sliding along his back. The tears come in earnest, and the sob he was keeping trapped in his rib cage falls from his mouth in heaving gasps. He’s been cold for so long, and Geralt is so warm, holding him close. He makes soothing sounds into Jaskier’s hair, mouth pressing softly just behind his ear, and if anything that just makes Jaskier cry harder. He can’t remember the last time he felt cared for, wanted.

Geralt holds him until the sobs wind down, until Jaskier is slumped bonelessly against him, exhausted. He’s never felt so tired in his life, he thinks. Not even after walking all the way down that damn mountain. Geralt doesn’t pull away. He just shifts his arms down until they’re under Jaskier’s thighs and lifts. Jaskier clings to Geralt, his fingers clutching at his back, though he doesn’t remember putting them there. The world tilts, and a moment later Geralt is drawing the furs up around them, still holding Jaskier close.

It’s dreamlike. Jaskier feels empty and clean in the wake of his outburst, and the warmth of the furs and Geralt’s body are bliss. He thinks he’s been cold since he turned away from Geralt on that mountain. Sinking into the warmth, he presses a muddled apology into Geralt’s shirt.

“Don't,” Geralt admonishes, and Jaskier can feel the rumble of his voice where they’re pressed together. “I hurt you. You deserve to be upset about it.”

“You didn’t mean to,” Jaskier says, because he knows this. Geralt may be an idiot and he may let his emotions get the best of him, but he didn’t want to hurt Jaskier, not like this. He knows that. It should matter, that Geralt didn’t mean to, didn’t know that he had that kind of power over Jaskier’s heart.

“It doesn't matter,” Geralt says, and that’s true too. “I did it anyways. And I’m sorry. But I’m not going anywhere. Not without you, if you still want to join me.”

Jaskier pushes his face further into Geralt’s chest, breathing him in. He still smells the same. Like horse and iron, campfire, a hint of lilac. Heroics and heartbreak. Just a bit of onion. “I always want to be with you,” Jaskier admits, a bit hopelessly. “I can’t seem to stop.”

“Can’t say I mind,” Geralt says, and he sounds like he’s smiling. “I’ll try not to make it such a chore from now on.”

Jaskier huffs a laugh. “Fat chance,” he says, muffled by Geralt’s shirt. He’s so warm, drowsy and content. It shouldn’t be this easy, but here he is. He’s always been weak when it comes to Geralt. “You’re always going to be a pain,” he slurs.

“Takes one,” Geralt retorts, and his hands come up and smooth over Jaskier’s shoulder blades. One lifts to card through Jaskier’s hair. “Go to sleep, Jaskier. I’ll apologize again in the morning, and you can see if you forgive me then.”

Jaskier shivers awake at that, pulling back a bit. He finds Geralt’s face in the dim light, his eyes bright in the dark. “What if I don't?” he asks, defiant.

“Then I’ll say it again,” Geralt says, and Jaskier’s breath rushes out of him as Geralt leans forward. His lips brush along Jaskier’s cheek. “And again,” skim along his nose, press to his other cheek. Chasing away the tear streaks there. “And again.” A chaste press to his lips, barely a breath. Jaskier feels it in his toes. Geralt pulls back, just enough to look at him. “Until you do,” he finishes. “Or until we die, I guess, or you decide it’s not worth it. I wouldn’t blame you.”

Jaskier laughs wetly. He’s not entirely sure that he’s not dreaming. Maybe he froze to death in his broken little room, or fell into a feverous delirium from his infected wounds in that cell in Oxenfurt. Maybe he tripped down the mountain and broke his neck, and this has all just been the last fleeting imaginations of a dying man. It feels real, though. Geralt’s breath is hot against his face, and he feels so tired it seems unlikely that he could be dreaming. “I guess we’ll find out in the morning,” he says, and lies back down to curl into Geralt’s chest. It feels like a challenge, and he holds his breath as he waits.

Geralt settles back down next to him, with a sigh that sounds fond instead of exasperated. Jaskier wonders if he could find a way to fit the sound into a song. “In the morning,” Geralt agrees, and Jaskier smiles.

It doesn’t feel like healing, not quite. But it feels like the start.

[leiawritesstories]

CHAPTER SEVEN: ROLFE CALLS FOR A MEETING

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: language, guns, lots of angry pirates, ship talk

MASTERLIST

A/N: Although Rowan and Company think they’re chasing the Terrasen, they’re actually chasing a decoy--Aelin’s smaller ship, the Orynth. So they will refer to it as the Terrasen, but as usual, Rowan is wrong. Enjoy!

Also fair warning that I have finals next week and will probably not be updating as much, if at all. Best of luck to everyone who has upcoming exams! :)

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

Rowan Whitethorn was positively fuming with rage over the sacking of Wendlyn. Who the hell does Galathynius think he is, he ranted to himself, sailing into my goddamned port and looting my goddamned city? And why the fuck did he target the liquor? 

Needless to say, the rum shortage had not gone over well.

More than one angry pirate had banged on his cabin door, demanding to know when they could get some bloody rum. He’d had to explain that they would still get their rum, just half rations for the time being, until they could make another stop to restock their life-giving booze supply. The crew had accepted his admonitions, though they still grumbled about the half-rations. However, their anger had proved rather useful in riling them up to chase the Terrasen.

Like they said, take away a pirate’s rum and he’ll never stop hunting you.

The Doranelle was now entering the Iron Isles, everyone who was on watch keeping a sharp eye out for any hints of the Terrasen’s distinctive forest-green detailing. Thanks to Rowan and his lieutenants reminding them that they’d have their rum if Galathynius’s crew hadn’t swiped it, his crew was good and worked up, keeping their eyes peeled for any hint of the bloody goddamned rum thieves. 

Not quite forty-eight hours after they’d entered the waters of the Isles, Vaughan, who was heading the watch, bolted over to the speaking tube that ran from the helm into the captain’s cabin. 

“Captain! Captain! You might want to get up here!”

“Sightings?” Rowan’s reply came within seconds.

“Yep,” Vaughan confirmed.

Rowan was on deck in under half a minute, strapping his pistols across his chest. “Where?”

“Ashryver?” Vaughan yelled at the lookout, whose long glass was trained on a fixed spot. “Captain wants to know your sighting!”

“Dead west!” Aedion hollered. “Sail formation and hints of green detail on the ship!”

“Good work, Ashryver!” Rowan called. “Hold course due west and put up every fucking scrap of canvas we have,” he instructed the helm. “We’ve got us a rum thief to nab.”

The crew leapt into action at those words, hungry for a good chase and maybe even a good skirmish, if the Terrasen decided to stand its ground and fight once the Doranelle invariably caught up with it. Rowan braced his hands on the railing, his eyes trained to the west, watching avidly as the Doranelle swept west, into the maze of the Iron Isles. 

Perhaps it was time young Galathynius learned what a real pirate was like.

~

Two days into the chase, and Aedion, as well as everyone on the Doranelle, had clear sights on the Terrasen. Or at least, what they believed to be the Terrasen. It certainly fit the ship’s description--nimble, sleek, narrower than the typical galleon or brig, probably for better speed, and distinctive green detailing. And a unique flag--it bore a hugely grinning skull crowned with a ring of flames. Unconventional, but Galathynius apparently was not one for convention. 

From his perch in the lookout’s nest, Aedion tracked the other ship’s path, unable to keep himself from snickering when he realized just what his devious, brilliant cousin was doing. She knew her way backwards and forwards around the Iron Isles, as did at least three of her crew, and she was leading the Doranelle on a zigzagging course around islands they’d already passed, through straits they’d already seen, into a sector of the Isles that was just rocky, barren islands and storm-prone waters and--well shit.

This particular sector of the Isles was commonly known as the Graveyard for the sheer number of wrecks that lay on the seafloor, victims of the brutal storms and the devious rocks that lurked beneath the surface near the islands. Aedion shook his head, rolling his eyes. He really should have fucking known Aelin would handpick a sector known for its dangers.

She knew he could navigate them out of there, though, so at least she’d planned ahead. For once.

Aedion trained his spyglass on the Terrasen once more, straining to see if he could pick out any familiar figures on the deck. He couldn’t. Sadly, they were still too far away to make out more than vague shapes on the deck, which of course meant they were still out of cannon range. 

No doubt Whitethorn was less than happy with that.

~

Rowan was pissed that the Terrasen still lurked out of gun’s reach, speeding headlong through the dangerous, twisting straits of the Iron Isles with the kind of easy dexterity that came only to those who were intimate with the paths of a certain area. He had to hand Galathynius that one, the bastard knew his goddamned way around this godsforsaken place. Probably spent a good deal of time here, if Rowan’s guess was correct. 

Though he hadn’t the faintest fucking idea why Ash Galathynius would choose to hole up in the Iron Isles, famed for their barrenness and known to have several sections where being caught in a storm meant almost certain death. He fucking hoped this wasn’t one of those sections, or Galathynius would really have called down his wrath. Maybe he kept a lair somewhere in the labyrinth of islands. Or maybe he was just fucking with the Doranelle, with Rowan, using his obvious expert knowledge of the area to taunt him.

Smug little fucker.

“Pull to starboard!” he yelled at the helmsman, whose brows knitted together in confusion.

“Pardon my asking, sir, but she just went off to port!” he called back.

“Which is why we’re heading the other way,” Rowan replied, curtly. The wind whipped loose strands of his hair across his face. “Either we’ll cut her off or beat her to the next island. At the very least, we ought to get a little fucking closer.”

“Right, Captain! Pull to starboard!” the helmsman commanded, sending the topmen into a flurry of motion, resetting the sails so the Doranelle swung gracefully to the right, taking the opposite direction as the Terrasen, headed around the other side of the island which the Terrasen had just skirted. 

We’ll see how you like that, Galathynius, Rowan chuckled to himself. Oh yes, we’ll see which man is grinning when we crop up within gun’s range. 

As the Doranelle rounded the island, he was immensely smug to see that he had indeed pulled closer to the leading Terrasen. Close enough, even, to probably reach them with his bow chaser.

“Gav!”

“Yeah, Cap?”

“Let’s send the Terrasen a little greeting, shall we?”

Gavriel grinned like a fiend. “That we shall, Cap!” He hurried below, grabbing two seamen as he went. Moments later, the Doranelle’s bow chaser boomed out a shot, sending a cannonball whizzing through the outer rigging of the Terrasen. 

“That got his bloody fucking attention,” Rowan smirked, watching as the other ship burst into motion, little figures scurrying around the top deck. Another muffled boom cracked through the air. 

And a return cannonball whistled through the Doranelle’s port rigging, splashing into the water without harming anyone or anything. 

Rowan jumped, shocked Galathynius had decided to return his little salute. “Gav?”

“Cap?” Gav’s voice echoed up through the speaking tube. 

“Send them another.”

“Aye, Cap!” Another shot from the Doranelle’s chaser. Another splash as the ball fell into the ocean, this time not as close to the Terrasen. The other ship seemed to be…turning around? What?

“Prepare to--shit!” Rowan ducked as another cannonball whizzed through his rigging, this time much too close to the deck--and his head--for comfort. “What the hell?” He raised his long glass to his eye, goggling in utter shock at what he saw. 

The Terrasen had turned completely around and was now sailing…backwards? Except her sails had expertly been flipped to the other side of her masts, and…was that another fucking helm? At the wrong end? Rowan stared, completely incredulous.

The Terrasen can fucking switch sides? he marveled, never having seen the like before.

“Orders, Captain?” 

Rowan jerked back into the present. “Hold fire! Stay hot on the trail, boys, we’ll see just who dares to return our fire!”

A general yell of assent, and the Doranelle sliced forward, chasing down the speeding Terrasen. Rowan allowed a small, predatory smirk to dance across his face as he closed in on the smaller ship, the gap between the two shrinking and shrinking, until--

“Captain! She’s going around that island there!”

“Follow!” Rowan hollered. “Keep to the course!” He gripped the railing, the catch so close he could practically taste it. Oh, how he wanted to see the look on young Galathynius’s face when he captured his ship.

The Doranelle charged around the island the Terrasen had rounded, anticipating to see its quarry ripe for the plucking, and Rowan dropped his long glass in complete and total shock.

“What the fuck?” he roared, unwilling to believe what he saw.

The Terrasen had vanished. Completely and utterly. No evidence that she’d ever been there, not even the faintest ripple of a wake to indicate her disappearance.

Rowan’s jaw locked, rage storming across his face. “Ashryver!”

“Captain?” Aedion’s head popped over the edge of the lookout platform, just as stunned as Rowan’s. 

“Scour the fucking ocean!” Rowan yelled. “Where the hell did Galathynius go?!”

Aedion spent several minutes peering in all directions, his face growing more and more stumped with each turn he took. He slid down the ratlines and dropped onto the deck in front of Rowan, sheepish. “Uhh…”

“Spit it out, Ashryver.”

“There’s…there’s no goddamned sign of anyone else, sir,” Aedion admitted, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “I don’t fucking know what happened.”

“Gods fucking dammit,” Rowan snarled. “Thank you, Ashryver. You did your best.”

Aedion knuckled his brow and returned to the foretop. “Captain?” he called over his shoulder.

“What.”

“I, uh, I can help get us back onto the ocean, if that’s of any use to you.”

Rowan sighed heavily. “Seems to be our only option.” He strode back to the quarterdeck, his posture tense with fury at being led on a wild goose chase. He turned the whole encounter over and over in his brain, trying to figure out how the holy fuck Galathynius had just…disappeared.

It wasn’t possible. Couldn’t be possible. But here they were, alone in some godsforsaken sector of the Iron Isles, no sign of the Terrasen.

~

Aelin and the Terrasen met Manon and the Orynth at their island meeting place, the latter climbing back aboard the ship with a wickedly gleeful grin on her face. 

“Cap, that was the most goddamn fun I’ve had all year!” she exulted.

Aelin grinned wildly. “Tell us all about it, Blackbeak.”

“Well, Whitethorn took the bait hook, line, and sinker, except for the part where he dodged around the other side of one of the islands and got within chaser range for a little while.” She frowned. “That bit wasn’t quite as fun.”

“I imagine not,” Aelin grumbled. “But you seem unhurt.”

“Oh, we are. He just sent a couple shots through the rigging. Warning and all that.”

“As if he would actually have been able to catch you long enough to shoot more than a warning shot,” Aelin scoffed.

“Right.” Manon smirked. “Anyway, he’s probably working his way out of the circles he’s been sailing.”

“Excellent work!” Aelin briefly embraced her lieutenant, both of them wearing matching evil grins. “Should take them what, three or four days to find the open seas again?”

“Or thereabouts, if whatever shithead they call a navigator is worth his salt.”

“You mean Aedion?”

“Yeah, that shithead.” Manon grinned wickedly.

Aelin chuckled. “You’re not wrong, I’ll give you that. He’s always been a little shit.”

“But he’ll navigate them just fine, I take it?”

“Indeed. Then we have a few days to kill. Terrasen!” Aelin shouted, drawing the full attention of her crew. “We’re heading to make port at Perranth! Short liberty for all!”

Whoops and cheers arose from her crew, who flew into motion, setting a course for the Terrasen’s port in the Iron Isles, a thriving center of commerce and piracy called Perranth near the center of the Isles. 

~

Five days later, as the Doranelle left the sting of being outrun in the Iron Isles behind, a sleek grey carrier pigeon landed on the rear deck. Malakai caught the bird, took the tube off its leg, and placed it into the cage, letting the animal rest. He went to the Captain’s cabin, knocking on the smooth, worn door.

“Enter!” Rowan’s voice called, a little less heartily than usual.

“Message for you, Captain.” Malakai extended the tube. “It’s one of Rolfe’s birds.”

Rowan snatched the slender metal cylinder, uncapped it, withdrew the tight roll of paper. His eyes scanned the missive, an oath grunted under his breath when he reached the end.

“Thank you, Malakai,” he said, waving him away. He read the note again, grumbling to himself. Then he went to give the orders to his crew.

“Doranelle!” he called, striding up to the quarterdeck. “Set course for the Keep! His Bloody Majesty has summoned the council of pirate lords.”

Murmurs and grunts from the crew as they set the sails, wondering why in the hell Rolfe wanted all the pirate lords to assemble at the Pirates’ Keep. Such meetings were incredibly rare, usually only reserved for times of great war, either within the pirate ranks or against them.

“He didn’t give any explanation,” Rowan added, “just a summons.” That seemed to settle the crew. “Just a fucking summons,” he grumbled under his breath, returning to his cabin.

Why the hell would Rolfe want a council? Why now?

~

“Liberty call’s over!” Aelin yelled, hastening up the gangplank and back onto her ship. Her boots were only half-laced, her shirt loose, signs of her rush from her offices to the Terrasen. “El! Manon! Lys! Rin!”

“Cap?” the four asked, appearing from all directions. “What?”

“I need you to gather the crew. And quick. We’re on a tight fucking schedule.”

“Right,” her lieutenants agreed, rushing off to collect the crew from various inns and brothels and corners of town. When everyone was once again back aboard, Aelin ordered the gangplank raised. The Terrasen creaked into motion, sailing out of Perranth Bay and back towards the ocean. 

“Okay, Cap, explain.” Lys demanded when they were well underway. 

Aelin sighed, brandishing a rolled-up message paper. “Rolfe--pardon me, His Bloody Majesty--has summoned the council of lords.”

“Why the fuck would he do that?” Elide asked, echoing the thoughts of a good portion of the crew.

“Gods only know,” Aelin snorted. “Could be some lord acting up, could be some monarch or another out for our asses, or could be just because he wants to put us all in the same room and watch us squirm.”

Elide snickered. “He does enjoy making his lords uncomfortable.”

“He definitely does,” Aelin grumbled. “Whatever. Set course for the Keep!” she bellowed to the crew, who burst into movement, setting the sails and turning the ship westward. A smirk curled across Aelin’s face as she thought about their path and just whom they’d likely be following.

It seemed she could continue to spy on the Doranelle. How lovely. She did so want to hear how Whitethorn was reacting to his little jaunt into the Iron Isles.

~~~~~

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[dourpeep]

you asked for albedo stuff yesterday and i forgot to give you some 🥲 here

-Albedo bites the ends of his pencil/pen while in deep thought

-He covers his mouth while laughing

-His hair is a huge problem to becoming messy so he usually keeps it in one style bc he sucks at styling hair

-I believe he would hyperfocus on a meal until he starts to hate it and goes onto another

-Probably sleeps on his back or stomach

-Quietly sings to himself when he's alone doing experiments

-his hands are probably soft as hell

-he probably bounces his leg when stressed

-I cant decide whether or not he's always cold or always hot (wearing his jacket everywhere but seems fine at dragonspine??)

-would break klee out of jail

-he always tries to have at least one meal with klee

WAIT SHIT I FORGOT ABOUT THIS--

definitely a pleasant surprise nodnod always a treat to have more Albedo, thank you for the food, Chi OTL

I'll write a little about each one b/c I have no self control and I'm feeling inspired by ur headcanons so lets goooooo ehehehe

They'll be a mix between imagines and drabbles!

Enjoy the food :3c

Contains: Albedo x gn!Reader, some standalone Albedo, Klee, fluff

-

- Breaking Habits -

"Albedo? You're doing it again-"

He blinks, shifting to remove the tip of his pencil from his lips, frowning when little indents come into view.

"Hm...it appears to be so."

Really, the Chief Alchemist has tried to wean himself off the habit, taking to coating the butt ends of his writing utensils with a horrid concoction of qingxin and jueyun chili, but the moment he slips into his usual daily tasks, it arises once more. The bitter spiciness is a taste that he still has not forgotten.

When his brows crease and his gaze seems to burn into the pencil, you offer a smile. With a kiss pressed to his temple, you take it from his loose grasp, setting it down on the table's surface.

A few weeks later, it dawns on him that the touch of wood to his lips evokes the memory of your gentle reminder. Without fail, he sets his pencil down in search of a sweet to busy himself with instead.

- His Laugh -

I can just imagine him with his hand lifted to cover his mouth, a smile tugging at his lips and his eyes slightly squinted. It's something that'd happen almost instantaneously--he doesn't intend to hide his smile but for some reason he can't help but do it.

An endearing habit that you've come to look for.

Regardless-

If you lower his hand and pepper him with a few little kisses, you'll get another giggle out of him before a kiss.

- Hairstyles -

Albedo only knows two ways to do hair: Klee's twin pigtails and his own half-up braid.

Over the past three years of his residency in Mond, it's become a sort of trademark. The assumption that it's just how he likes to style his hair has long since been accepted as truth--and really, he does prefer the style.

Though...

"Mr Albedo? Perhaps you should try to tie it all up instead...?"

The stray wisps of bangs that escape from the securely tied braid fall into his face and distract him from the task at hand. There's also the ever-present tickle right where the blond locks fall around his jaw. Surely, this shouldn't prove to be a problem considering he always has this style...right?

Needless to say, the smell of singed hair makes him choke and the Alchemist finds himself pulling away to tie his hair properly.

It's simple.

Or at least that's what he has been stuck repeating like a mantra as he stares at his reflection, unhappy with the way there's a strange bit of hair that refuses to stay tied. Sighing, he undoes his pony tail and tries again.

Hm.

No, now it's lopsided...certainly can't have that.

- Mealtime -

First, two little ears peek up above the surface of the counter besides him. Then, two little eyes belonging to a stuff rabbit toy followed by a red hat--

"Klee?"

The little girl stares at the fish steaks sizzling away on the pan, displeasure on her features despite the incredibly enticing smell. With unmatched resolve, she huffs.

"Big brother, Klee doesn't want fish again-"

Ah, right.

He's been in another of those moods, the particular taste and texture of the fish mingling with the salted butter, simple sauce, and lightly seasoned veggies sounding so much more appealing compared to nearly any other dish he's tried to enjoy in the past two weeks. It's without a doubt Albedo's all-time favorite dish. Perfect for someone with a small appetite and a need for something quick, filling, and nutritious.

"What would you like then?"

Ultimately (and truly, Albedo wasn't surprise), the little knight requested a serving of 'Fishy Toast'. Cutting up one of the fillets he'd fried, he laughs and shakes his head.

- Sleep Time -

When you come home, it's already dark, the streetlamps lining the cobbled road illuminating the front door as you fish out your key.

"Albedo? I'm back-"

Soft snoring punctuates the silence.

With a fond smile, you remove your shoes and make your way to the make-shift 'sleep station' set up on the couch. Sure enough, with his face shoved at an awkward angle against a pillow, Albedo lays on his stomach holding a second pillow to his chest.

As much as you'd rather not wake him (after all, he's barely gotten sleep over the past few days with how busy it's been), you kneel besides the couch to gently shake him awake.

"Bedo? Bedo, lets go to bed-"

He shoves his face further into his pillow, muttering something about waiting for results. But the silence that follows only lasts so long until he sighs and opens his bleary eyes.

"Welcome home," he mumbles, carefully shuffling best he can closer to meet your lips.

With a stretch and sigh, he sits up. Blond hair sticks up from the top of his head and to his cheek, some parts tangled despite his attempts to prevent it--your hair shouldn't tangle if you sleep on your stomach, right?

Holding back your laugh, you help him up so that the two of you can get ready to sleep.

- Singing -

Most often if not nearly each day, if you pass by the Favonius HQ's workshop, you might catch the soft sound of singing. A light sound that drifts from the partly-cracked door echoes into the empty hallway. Regardless of the traffic outside, it shows no sign of stopping, so you easily can sit right outside and listen.

It's not shy, though, even as the man's dulcet tone comes out gently, and there are days that the lyrics that slip from his tongue are of other regions.

Perhaps if you ever approach the Chief Alchemist, you might be able to convince him to sing just a short little tune. He'll oblige, though a soft dusting of pink will cover his cheeks as he does.

- Hands -

"My hands?"

Albedo watches as you tug off his gloves, head cocked to the side curiously. The moment his hands are free from their confines, you press a kiss to his palm and intertwine your fingers.

"Do you use lotion or something?"

He laughs.

"...Not that I am aware of...?"

When you squeeze his hand once, he squeezes yours back three times before bringing your joined hand to his cheek. Resting against them, his eyes close.

"Why do you ask?"

He feels you take his other hand as well, turning it over palm-side up, your fingertips tracing over the lines that adorn it's surface.

The tenderness of your touch is enough to make his heart stutter in his chest.

"Mmm...no reason."

- Leg Bouncing -

Whenever Albedo bounces his leg sitting at the Dragonspine workshop, a curse or two will slip out the moment his knee bangs against the wood.

Even being considered short, the table has decided to lay just low enough for him to cause minor injury to himself.

Shaking his head, he rubs at his knee to rid himself of the dull ache before continuing his observations at hand.

- His Jacket -

Wait okay but like...what if he actually has different versions of the same jacket? They look virtually the same but there's some of lighter material for warmer days, 'standard' ones for day-to-day use, and heavier ones lined with warm, soft fabric to insulate heat when he's on Dragonspine.

Same with his tights. I do know for a fact that there are tights lined with fleece that are incredibly warm and comfortable!!

- Escapees -

"You need to be very quiet, alright?"

Once more in the dark of the night, Albedo finds himself awake within the walls of the Favonius Headquarters.

Now...Klee technically wasn't grounded, so technically escorting her out of the so called 'solitary confinement' wasn't against any rule. To be fair, the room itself also wasn't really that either, judging by the child-themed decor, soft bed, books littering the floor, and the little table that sits just off to the opposite side of the room.

So! Albedo was certain that there wasn't any harm in what he was doing.

Not that he wasn't still sneaking around on his little improvised rescue mission.

He looks back to Klee, the little girl now wide awake and hanging on to his hand tightly.

When the morning comes, he sighs, crouched sitting on one of the child-sized chairs in the solitary confinement room, Klee peacefully snoozing in bed.

If only Jean wasn't pulling an all-nighter last night as well.

- Very Early Breakfasts -

Klee wakes up to the smell of sweet berry jam and chocolate in the air.

Clumsily, she slips out from under the covers with Dodoco cradled in her arms, padding along the wooden floors on her way to the kitchen.

"Big brother...?" She rubs the sleep from her eyes waiting for him to turn around.

"Oh, good morning Klee-"

"What time is it?"

That, Albedo decided, was a very good question. Especially considering that he hadn't yet gone to sleep and instead shuffled through the kitchen in the early hours of the day to make pancakes. If he had to guess--and he took a quick peek out the window despite the darkness of the early morning lending no clue--he'd say it was nearing 4am.

"Early. Go ahead and sit down, breakfast is almost ready."

The plate is presented to her with a brilliant smile, the Chief Alchemist satisfied to be able to keep his promise with her to always share a meal. But...the fluffy pancakes and freshly made whipped cream were also a source of his brightened mood.

Even though he knew he'd have no time to sleep and pack for his next Dragonspine expedition, the lack of sleep was worth seeing the sudden widening of eyes and delighted giggle from his younger sibling.

He could always take a quick nap at the base camp, anyway.

[delimeful]

Helpless (2)

the next chapter in the drider virgil fic!

warnings: spiders, slight dehumanizing language, assumptions/jumping to conclusions

-

Logan was certain that he’d tracked down his quarry.

Of course, he’d also been certain the last two times he’d found promising evidence around a swath of woods, but this time was different.

He had learned plenty while traversing through the varied lands of his kingdom, and while physical evidence was ideal, word of mouth was one of the most useful tools a researcher could use to find leads.

That was part of the reason why he’d been so careful to observe typical travelers for weeks before his departure, the reason he was wearing worn, cheap fabric and staying at the second-cheapest room at this town’s inn, despite having plenty of money still hidden on his person. He didn’t want a single rumor about a suspiciously rich noble traveling alone.

The last thing he needed was for his investigative journey to be interrupted by bandits, or worse, would-be do-gooders attempting to return the missing prince to his place in line for the throne.

Logan resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the very thought, putting aside the last half of his travel rations and stopping at the edge of town to stare into the woods beyond. He checked his compass habitually, and he was pointed firmly westward, exactly towards the point of the woods that were occupied by a dangerous monster, according to the barkeep that Logan had plied for information last night at supper.

The whole town knew of it, even the younger residents, which was a point in favor of the creature really existing rather than just being another folk tale.

There was one other potential source on the creature, a town outcast going by the way others’ noses wrinkled at the mention of him, but Logan was more than ready to begin investigating for himself, and the odds that the outcast actually knew anything were low, anyhow.

Decided, he headed into the forest, prepared for the day-long trek that was sure to follow. If he was prone to less scientific notations, he might have jotted down that he had a good feeling about this particular town.

Exactly an hour and a half later, Logan had found himself almost entirely immobilized by layers and layers of gossamer threads strewn about the trees.

Needless to say, he was ecstatic.

Even the foolish manner in which he’d landed himself stuck in such an obvious trap couldn’t dampen his spirits, not when faced with undeniable proof that there was in fact a drider in these woods. He’d been too hasty in his attempt to collect some of the biological material, and by yanking too hard, had ended up pulled forwards into the thick of the intricate spider web.

His immobility was a bit concerning, but mostly frustrating, since he couldn’t reach for his journal to note down the surprising level of the webbing’s tensile strength. Still, proper scientists had to be prepared to hold onto their observations for as long as it took for them to be able to write them down.

Besides, he could hardly complain. His current predicament practically guaranteed that he would actually get to see the creature!

-

There was a person stuck in his webs, and Virgil was freaking out about it.

It had never happened before. Virgil very specifically made the webs closer to town thick and opaque so that any passerby would see them and avoid this exact situation.

Virgil peered around the cluster of bushes he had half-flattened himself behind. The stranger didn’t seem too panicked, at least, going by the way that the web barely swayed with his presence. He didn’t even seem to be breathing hard, which was… admittedly sort of strange.

Skies above, what if this was a trap? Virgil turned his head sharply to scan his surroundings, wary of human hunters suddenly popping out of the undergrowth.

Several moments of silence, and even with all his senses pushed to their farthest, he couldn’t detect anything. It seemed the only one trapped here was the human.

A pang of guilt curled unpleasantly in his first stomach. He grimaced, wishing desperately that Patton was here to mitigate the utter terror Virgil was surely about to inflict on this guy.

No point in drawing it out. He rose up to his full height, grateful that the human had gotten stuck facing the opposite direction, and quietly crept up behind him. All he needed to do was announce his presence and let the human know he wasn’t going to hurt them, but he was immediately distracted at the sight of just how tangled his webs had grown.

“How does one human manage to touch every single support thread at the same time?” he asked, voice incredulous.

The human stiffened, and he couldn’t help but tense in response, cursing his big mouth.

… Really though, he spent hours crafting these, and now this one would have to be completely reconstructed!

“Are you the monster spoken of in town?”

The measured voice snapped Virgil out of his thoughts as easy as a clap of thunder, and he shuffled a bit from side to side nervously. His many steps must have been louder than he’d thought, because the human immediately attempted to twist around and see him.

He failed, naturally, because Virgil’s threads weren’t exactly easy to wriggle free of, but Virgil’s nerves only grew. “I… why do you ask?”

There was a short silence, and then, “Considering my current situation, it’s only natural I would want to know, isn’t it?”

Virgil resisted the urge to wince at his own dumbassery. “Right. Well. Yeah,” he confirmed, already bracing for the fear that nearly every human bore when confronted with him. Even Patton had been afraid at first, though Virgil really thought him braver than any other human, to be so terrified of even normal spiders and befriend a Drider of all creatures.

“Oh, excellent,” the human said with clear excitement. “Would you mind coming around so that I can see you?”

Virgil blinked, befuddled. The last thing most humans wanted was for him to come closer. Maybe it was the natural fear of him being in their blind spot? The guy certainly didn’t sound very afraid, even with Virgil’s less-than-stellar first impression.

“Do you have a weapon?” he asked warily.

“I have a knife,” the stranger offered, “but I can’t exactly reach it at the moment.”

Virgil could see the glint of it, caught bladefirst at the very edge of a web as though it had been used on the threads themselves. He slowly circled around the clearing, watching the stranger closely for any sudden movements, until he stood before him, all eight legs and thorax visible.

“Fascinating,” he breathed, eyes blown wide as they skittered from point to point as though noticing every little detail. Virgil would have thought him afraid had it not been for the prideful little grin that sat on his face. “I thought maybe you were lying to me-- I hadn’t expected you to be so fluent in the common language, living in the woods and all-- but wow!”

Virgil felt his front legs rising up a little bit in an automatic defense against the unexpected reaction. He ran his tongue over his fangs nervously, trying to figure out whether or not he should be insulted about the language thing. And what exactly did this guy mean by ‘expected’?

The stranger’s hands twitched slightly, still stuck firmly in place, and irritation briefly flitted across his face as though he’d forgotten his position. He blinked, as though remembering something.

“Oh, right. Are you planning on trying to consume me, then?” he asked, the question as politely curious as an inquiry about the weather.

Virgil recoiled physically at the idea, skittering back a few strides and baring his fangs despite the difference in size and strength and trapped-ness between the two of them. “What? No!”

The stranger managed to drag his intrigued gaze away from Virgil’s fangs, his hands twitching again almost subconsciously. “In that case, would you mind helping me down? My leg has begun to go numb, and I really would like access to my journal.”

“I-- I mean, yeah, if you aren’t-- I can--,” Virgil stumbled over his words, drawing closer with his body lowered non-threateningly and waiting for the inevitable flinch or shiver of disgust.

It never came. The stranger continued to stare at him with no trace of terror in his eyes, even as Virgil grew close enough to reach out and touch him.

“Take your time,” he offered, despite being the one trapped in a monster’s web. Virgil abruptly felt a bit silly about his obvious wariness, and lifted his front legs to rub them together at the ankles. The stranger’s head tilted to the side slightly, watching the gesture intently.

“... It’s the oils that make the webs not stick,” Virgil explained. “I produce it naturally on my feet so I don’t get, y’know, stuck. I’ll have to touch the webs that are attached to you. With my feet. The spider ones.”

Virgil didn’t have any other kinds of feet, but the stranger graciously didn’t nitpick.

“A built-in solvent… I wonder if natural spiders have similar traits,” he mused instead, and then, “Do whatever you need, I don’t mind. The opposite, really, I appreciate the assistance.”

Sure enough, he didn’t shy away when Virgil began carefully plucking at the threads entangling him, sliding the sides of his legs along them to coat them in the anti-stick oils. Bit by bit, the entanglement loosened, and Virgil had just freed both arms when the human abruptly twisted around to reach for something on his person.

Of course, now that much of the webbing holding him in midair had been removed, his weight was significantly less supported. A few threads snapped, and he dropped a few inches with a startled yelp. If he continued, he’d be in for either a rough fall or getting caught in a whole new layer of webbing, and Virgil wanted neither of those things.

He quickly reached forwards with his human arms and lifted the stranger up and away from further entanglement, batting away any stray threads with his front legs. Belatedly, he realized he had forgotten to check if it was a weapon that the human had reached for. Even more belatedly, he realized that this was the second human he’d picked up in this impromptu carry.

Weird that it had happened twice.

“Perfect, thank you,” the guy said, and then he started writing furiously in a little book, occasionally glancing up at Virgil and locking onto a feature before returning to writing. It was as though he didn’t mind at all being held aloft like a human might lift up a misbehaving cat.

Virgil took the opportunity to continue cleaning any web remnants off the guy while he was distracted, his mind whirring. A stranger who had clearly never done a day of hard labor in his life, who didn’t seem at all afraid of him, and was taking notes.

... Oh, shit.

Virgil set him carefully on the ground while he was still preoccupied with scrawling out a label for a diagram of Virgil’s teeth. He backed up, softening his steps, and by the time the stranger pulled his attention away from his book, Virgil was already well out of sight and planned to keep it that way, regardless of the confused little call the stranger made.

He was not messing with what was clearly a mage out for his parts.

[cali-holland]

Under the Stars- Tom Holland One Shot

Pairing: Tom Holland X Reader

Prompt: When you invite Tom and Harrison to go to a cabin in the woods with your old college friends, Tom devises a plan to finally confess his feelings for you. Little does he know, the cabin belongs to your ex-boyfriend, and he’s also seeking your attention this week.

Word Count: 12k

Warnings: slow burn (ish), swearing, sexual themes (jokes/references), the reader kinda gets sexually harassed (nothing actually happens), fist fight + some blood, tom being a simp

A/N: this was a nine month process, so i hope you enjoy :) also thank you to @duskholland​ for being so supportive and reading through this fic and editing it. love you hannah! + Also reposting this because the tags didn’t work the first time :/ and tag list will be in a reblog!

Masterlist   Tom Holland Masterlist

*Moodboard is mine, pics used are not *

~~~

When you walked into Tom and Harrison’s house, you weren’t expecting to hear odd grunts coming from the living room. You’d heard many strange noises made in that house— a good amount of their sources were still unknown, but you’d never heard such aggressive grunts. For a moment, you considered slowly backing out of the house and knocking on the door. It would be easy to pretend like you didn’t have a key so you didn’t have to walk in on anyone doing anything gross in the other room.

But then Harrison walked into the entryway, smiling at you as a greeting, “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey,” You replied, closing the front door hesitantly behind you. You pointed towards the living room, “Do I wanna know what’s going on in there?”

Before he could reply, there was a loud bang from the living room, followed by a string of curses. Forgetting all worries of what may or may not have been the cause of the noises, you hurried into the other room with Harrison trailing behind you.

Tom laid on the floor, groaning in pain as he clutched his foot. Tessa, who had been checking up on her owner, popped up happily when she saw you, rushing over to greet you at your feet. Tom looked up at you and Harrison in the door, forcing out his best smile. You stared at the large tent that was currently taking up most of the space in the living room, questioningly.

“Why do you have a tent set up?” You asked. Tom hopped up off the floor, standing beside the tent.

“Well, our camping trip is this weekend, so I thought I’d make sure it’s still durable.” Tom said proudly. He put a hand against the tent in an attempt to be smooth, but the tent came collapsing down, making Tessa bolt behind you from the sudden loud noise.

“And he wanted to make sure he could actually set up a tent, which clearly he can’t,” Harrison stated, and Tom glared at him in response.

“Were you going to tell him?” You laughed, turning to the blond beside you.

“And miss the opportunity to see him struggle setting up a tent for forty minutes? No, I didn’t tell him.” He smirked, only making Tom more frustrated and embarrassed.

“Tom, it’s a cabin. You don’t need a tent unless you don’t want to stay with everyone else.” You explained. “I just said camping because it’s easier to call it that.”

“Fuck you, mate.” He grumbled to Harrison, flipping him off before starting to put away the mess of a tent. You stepped in to help him, and Harrison just laughed to himself before leaving.

“I really thought you would’ve known. Did you really think I’d invite you and Harrison to spend several days in the woods with me and my college friends in tents?” You joked, “Besides, I didn’t think you’d come if it was actual camping.”

Tom paused his movements, but you continued to undo the poles, taking no notice of his action, “Why wouldn’t I go if it was actual camping?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged, looking at him with your usual charming smile, “You’re not the outdoorsy, camping type. You don’t exactly go out and rough it in the woods on the weekend, like Will or Tyler; you play golf with Harrison and your dad.”

While your words were well-intended and teasing, Tom couldn’t help but take them to heart. He took everything you said to heart.

It was hard for him to be so helplessly in love with you, his best friend (besides Harrison) from BRIT school, for the past few years while you were completely blind to it. Normally, he’d do little things to impress you because he still wasn’t sure if he wanted you to know about his feelings— if you knew, there was a chance you’d reject him, and Tom wouldn’t know what to do with himself if that happened. Recently though, he’s started to feel like his heart was going to explode if he didn’t tell you soon, but that didn’t mean he knew how to tell you.

So when you asked if he wanted to go on a camping trip with you, of course he said yes right away. His mind told him that, no, he really wasn’t the outdoorsy, “roughing it” kind of guy, but his heart told him it was a chance with you. He was a sap and thought that maybe he’d pluck up the courage to tell you how he felt under a moonlit campsite, maybe even the two of you could share a tent, maybe he could kiss you in the lake— god, did he want to kiss you.

That had all come crashing down when he’d realized it wasn’t a romantic camping getaway. You’d invited Harrison and a few college friends, friends that neither Tom nor Harrison had ever met. And there was one friend in particular who Tom never wanted to meet— Will, your ex-boyfriend. You two ended things mutually, but Tom couldn’t stop himself from feeling like he needed to compete against Will, especially when he discovered it was Will whose family owned the land you’d be camping on; Will who took you on hikes all around your college town; Will who taught you how to fish and how to kayak with the lakes nearby; Will who one time got bitten by a rattlesnake and sucked out the venom himself; Will who could climb any mountain and come back unscathed. Will was an outdoorsy “roughing it” badass fucker that Tom despised.

And now, you had just furthered proved that Tom was a delicate flower compared to the lumberjack prick that was Will. He didn’t care about being compared to Will’s best friend, Tyler, who (from what you’d told Tom) was in a serious relationship with your other friend, Jane. Besides Jane, the other person accompanying you all to the cabin was Rose, your best friend and Will’s sister. Needless to say, Tom was very grateful that Harrison was coming along too— he didn’t think he could handle a Will-centered week alone.

“We can just leave this for now. I know I promised you Nando’s before we leave.” Tom said, getting up from his spot on the floor.

“Are you sure? We can just get it on the way to the airport.” You said, looking at the tent mess before you.

“Come on, it’ll be fine.” He held a hand out to you and you took it, so that he could pull you up. Before you two could make it out the door, Harrison arrived downstairs with a loaded hiking backpack in hand.

“I know you’re not trying to sneak to Nando’s without me.” He said, and Tom glared at him from behind your back. Harrison was very well aware of Tom’s feelings for you— everyone was except for you, and he took every chance he could get at being a little shit about it, which included ruining quality time for Tom to spend with you.

The three of you left to grab your last meal in the UK before heading back to their house. Tom finished putting away the tent, and Harrison loaded up Harry’s car with your bags as well as his and Tom’s. Harry (through bribery from Tom) drove you all to the airport for the first step in your camping trip.

Since you went to school in the US, all of your friends would be meeting you across the pond. Will’s family cabin was located in Maine, so the flight wasn’t too bad for the three of you— though Tom wished it was longer so he could devise a more accurate plan to impress you this weekend. He had to prove that he could be the outdoorsy badass guy you wanted. He had to outcompete Will.

“Why would you have to outcompete him?” Harrison asked Tom after hearing his dilemma. Fortunately, you were getting the rental car for the three of you to make it to the cabin.

“Because it’s clearly a competition.” Tom stated, nervously fidgeting with his fingers as he looked over at you across the way. “She told me I’m not outdoorsy like Will- that makes it a competition and I have to beat him.”

As much as Harrison loved to see his friend fail at keeping it together around you, something felt wrong about telling him, ‘yeah, it’s totally a competition, so go beat up her lumberjack ex’. Instead, he tried, “I don’t think that’s what Y/N meant. You do golf more than you go camping.”

But Tom took no notice of his advice, “Just watch. I’m going to be the manliest man this weekend.”

“Hey guys,” You smiled, coming up to them, making Tom jump very unmanly-like in the process. “You ready to go?”

The journey to the cabin was a fairly long one. After a couple of hours of driving, you parked the car in one of those reserved parking lots off the side of the road. Tom and Harrison both looked around in confusion, spotting nothing but trees and a gas station.

“Why are we stopped?” Tom asked you as you got out of the car. Tom and Harrison followed you out of the car.

“We gotta hike in.” You replied. “The cabin’s down by the lake, so there’s no actual road to get there. It’s only about a mile and a half hike in. Be ready for lots of hiking. I think tomorrow we’re going to hike 12 miles.”

By the time you three got to the little a-frame cabin, it was already dinner time, which was great because that meant you three could sleep soon. The five hour time difference was already starting to hit. Before you could even step inside the cabin, your best friend met you with a bone-crushing hug.

“You’re here!” Rose smiled, stepping out of the hug after a moment.

“We made it.” You laughed. Your other friend, Jane, stepped up next to hug you. “I missed you two so much.”

“We missed you too.” Jane replied. You caught their eyes trailing over to Tom and Harrison behind you, and you remembered that they hadn’t met before. 

“Oh, girls, this is Tom and Harrison; guys, this is Rose and Jane.” You introduced the two parties with a smile. After a polite exchanging of handshakes, you looked at the two girls curiously, “Where are the boys?”

“Will wanted to get in a light swim before dinner.” Rose laughed, and Jane made her way back to the kitchen. “Come on, I’ll show you your rooms.”

Rose gave the three of you a little tour of the cabin. The front door had placed you all in a little entryway room with a simple, wooden staircase taking up most of the room; a fireplace sat beside the stairs with a small loveseat across from it. Besides a rather large bookshelf, it was relatively empty, but elegantly simple nonetheless. There were four doors downstairs, all intricately designed with the same light wood color as the stairs. The first door on the left was explained to be Will’s room, and the second was Tyler and Jane’s. The third stood as the main bathroom, as Rose described it. The fourth door led to Tom and Harrison’s room.

It wasn’t very big— neither of the rooms were according to Rose, but that was the a-frame style of a quaint log cabin. A bunk bed sat on the side of the room with a small wood dresser across from it. There was enough space for the two boys to coexist, and Tom was just grateful he didn’t have to bunk with Will of all people; he was glad he had his best friend with him.

The upstairs of the cabin held the open space of the kitchen and the main living room. With large glass windows covering one of the walls, the living room had a magnificent view of the woods outside, and three couches were set in place to overlook it. Under the couches sat a large bear rug, one which both Tom and Harrison eyed suspiciously at first before Rose laughed it off, reassuring them that it was fake. Behind the couches, the dining room was situated beneath a beautiful antler chandelier and set for eight places, completing the rustic vibe of the cabin. The kitchen, while it was small, seemed to be just as well put together as the rest of the cabin, complete with a breakfast bar. The smell of Jane’s favorite lemon salmon filled the air, making you even more excited for dinner.

Next was your own room, which was just past the kitchen. A queen bed was pushed in a nook with only the foot of the bed accessible. Unlike Tom and Harrison, you and Rose didn’t mind sharing a bed, which is why they got the smallest room downstairs. Right beside your bedroom door was another bathroom.

“You brought stuff for s’mores, right?” You asked Rose as you walked with her, Tom, and Harrison off the cabin’s porch to the nearby shed where they kept all of their hiking and lake gear.

“Yes, absolutely!” She eagerly replied, a happy skip in her step.

“S’mores are a real thing?” Tom questioned in disbelief.

“Of course! You can’t camp without—” You let out a shriek as you felt cold, wet arms wrap around your waist, picking you up and spinning you around. You laughed, immediately knowing it was Will. “Oh my god, Will! Put me down! You’re all wet.”

Will chuckled, setting you back down on the solid ground, “Well, if it gets you wet.”

“Fuck off.” You scoffed, smacking his chest playfully. It was then that you realized he was shirtless— shirtless and dripping wet from the lake and gloriously tan and somehow more built than the last time you saw him. Tyler, on the other hand, was still Tyler; still an attractive young guy, but not attractive to you and that most likely has to do with him dating Jane for as long as you’ve known him.

“Ty!” You smiled, hugging him tightly, not even caring if your clothes got wet and gross anymore. You’d just change later when you could.

Tom straightened up a bit, already feeling uneasy about Will’s presence. Will looked like the lovechild of Zac Efron and Chris Evans, with a hint of Scott Eastwood; he was perfect, there was nothing wrong with him. It made Tom question why you two broke up. Even though Tom knew you’d said it was mutual, he also knew it took a lot for girls to walk away from guys that look like that. Meanwhile, Harrison just bit his lip to keep from commenting on his friend’s ridiculous territorial issues. 

“So, you two must be Tom and Harrison.” Will held out a hand to them, smiling politely. Tom took his hand, trying to subtly shake it sternly as if to prove he was better than Will— childish, Tom knew it, but he already hated this guy with his six pack abs and perfectly white smile. Will didn’t back down though, squeezing Tom’s hand equally as hard. Noticing both guys tensing up, you looked between them awkwardly, having never seen either of them put on the tough guy act.

With introductions out of the way, you all trekked back inside the cabin. While Will, Tyler, and even you changed into dry clothes, Rose helped Jane finish dinner, leaving Tom to frustratedly rant to Harrison in their room.

“God, he’s so annoying.” Tom scoffed.

“He said two words to you.” Harrison stated, “Try to play nice. I don’t think Y/N wants you two to keep having a ‘my dick’s bigger’ contest.”

“But mine is and I know it!” He exclaimed, before realizing he didn’t know how thin the walls were- and how odd that implication was, “Whatever. He’s stupid. This trip’s stupid.”

Harrison was too busy laughing  to even attempt a response to his friend. Instead, there was a knock on the door, pulling both of them from their conversation. Tom opened the door and immediately softened when he saw you, clad in one of his old sweatshirts that he didn’t even realize you still had. It gave him a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t need to worry that much about Will this week.

“Nice shirt.” Tom commented with a smile.

“Thanks,” You smiled back, “I’ve actually been meaning to give it back to you.”

“What? Why?”

“Is dinner ready?” Harrison asked, cutting off the two of you and reminding you both of his presence. As if on cue, his stomach growled loudly.

“Yes, it is.” You laughed, almost embarrassed from forgetting why you had been at their door in the first place. You tugged on Tom’s hand, pulling him out of the room. Harrison grumbled something dejectedly, but you paid no mind to it. Tom sent his friend an apologetic look, though he made no attempt to make Harrison any less of the unofficial third wheel on the journey upstairs to the dinner table.

It didn’t go unnoticed by Tom how you sat beside Will, even if Tom got the free seat beside you. Harrison slipped into the seat next to him with Rose to his right. The dinner of salmon with potatoes, salad, and bread seemed simple enough, but it was still quite possibly the best fish you’d ever had.

“Did you get a bone?” You asked Tom, seeing him awkwardly moving his mouth like his tongue was fishing out a hard piece of salmon. Blushing from you calling attention to his struggle, he held up a napkin to cover his mouth, trying to spit out the bone without it looking too gross.

“Yeah,” He admitted sheepishly, muffled by the napkin.

“I thought you got them all out.” Jane said, looking at Tyler expectantly.

“Don’t look at me, that was Will’s job.” Tyler laughed as he used his friend as the scapegoat.

“Must’ve missed one.” Will shrugged, before joking, “You’re still welcome that I caught these.”

“You caught this salmon?” You said, “I thought you only did catch and release?”

“I still do, for the most part, but this salmon was too good of an opportunity to pass up.” He explained. Tom was already boiling with embarrassment, and now he had jealousy bubbling over- of course this perfect fish was caught by the perfect outdoor man beside you.

“So, Tom, Harrison, we were talking about going for a run around the lake tomorrow morning. Want to come?” Tyler asked.

“Sure. How far?” Harrison replied, and Tom nodded in agreement.

“The loop’s about five miles.” Will answered.

“Are you going to run with us?” Tom asked you, knowing back home in Kingston you’d sometimes join Harrison on runs. Tom wasn’t the type to just go out for a casual run like his best friend was, but he wasn’t about to back down from this.

“Nah, you two can keep up with the cross country runners.” You joked, “I’d much rather save my energy for the hike.”

Once dinner ended and no one choked on any more fishbones, you all migrated to the couches. Much to Tom’s chagrin, you sat in the middle couch between Will and Rose, while Tom and Harrison sat on the couch opposite a very cuddled up Jane and Tyler. The fireplace in the corner crackled, keeping the room comfortably warm. When Rose suggested you all play charades, the entertainment for the evening was decided, especially considering the cabin had very weak cell-signal and no television.

“What are the teams?” You asked, sitting dead in the middle of everyone with three friends to your left and three to your right.

“Let’s do 3 against 4, so you choose who you wanna be with, Y/N.” Jane suggested as Rose stood up to get a boxed set of charade cards from the game cabinet near the kitchen. You looked between the two sets of friends. You wanted to lean towards Tom, Harrison, and Rose, because the two boys were incredible at charades, and Rose was your go-to partner for Password at least.

“Come on, you know you wanna be with us.” Will teased, throwing an arm over your shoulder.

“Just for that, nope.” You laughed and took his arm off you. You stood up from that couch and squeezed in between Tom and the arm. To make room for you and to mock Will, Tom casually put his arm on your shoulder and you made no effort to take it off.

Rose returned with the box of cards and the game began with you and Jane pantomiming first. The words ranged from silly ones like centipede to more inventive ones like lapdance; either way, you all were laughing and enjoying the evening. Tom was highly appreciative of the humor because more than once, you laughed so hard that you fell into him, clutching his knee or completely falling over into his lap. It wasn’t anything out of the usual for him to see you so effortlessly happy, but he enjoyed all the little touches.

“Okay, okay.” You breathed out, doing your best to compose yourself. You stood up from the couch with Tyler so that you two could read the answer and continue the round. Reading over the card, “Catch 22”, you began to think about what you could do to act out the card. As if it wasn’t impossible enough to describe it with words, you had to act it out. But then the lightbulb went off- you had a secret advantage and he was sitting right in front of you, as long as he could figure it out.

“Ready?” Tyler asked you nervously, and you nodded. Tyler started with the usual way of beginning: how many words and what it is. You immediately pointed at Harrison.

“Me?” Harrison spoke in confusion, and you nodded before pointing to your stomach, doing your best to act his death from the series.

“Catch 22?” Tom offered, and Harrison looked at him dumbfounded, still trying to connect how it was him as your main clue.

“Ah, thank god.” You smiled, cheering as he guessed it right. Tyler and the others sighed.

“How the fuck did you get that?” Jane questioned.

“Haz, here, was in the show.” Tom replied, proud of his friend. You were surprised by your college friends’ collective shock, but you were most intrigued by Rose’s reaction.

“Oh my god, I thought you looked familiar.” She said, impressed.

“Wait, you actually saw it?” Harrison asked.

“Yeah, I think I might have cried when you died.” She admitted, brushing a loose hair behind her ear, and that’s when it clicked for you- she was totally into Harrison.

“And you’re an actor too, Tom, right?” Will spoke up, casually taking a drink of his beer. You eyed him skeptically; he knew Tom was an actor. Back when you two were dating, you’d talk about your best friend’s accomplishments, so why was he now asking? Your only answer was it would clearly get a rise out of, at least, you, if not Tom as well.

“Yeah, only been in little indie movies. Nothing anyone’s heard of.” Tom played it off jokingly, causing you to smack him on the arm a little, your hand resting on his bicep.

“My mom loves that movie you did with Ewan McGregor.” Rose commented.

“Ah yeah,” Will laughed, “The one where you’re like 12.”

“I wasn’t 12, but thank you.” Tom replied sarcastically, and you could tell he was biting back a scoff. 

“Well, we’ve all seen the Marvel movies so you can brag a little about those.” You teased, making him blush.

“I know I cried when everyone was getting dusted.” Jane stated in a way to poke fun at Rose’s previous words.

“Never saw them.” Will shrugged carelessly.

“Yes, you did.” You corrected him immediately, and you felt Tom tense a little under your touch. While Tom liked that you were being supportive about this, he couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong.

Will acknowledged Tom’s clenched jaw and decided to press it a bit further, “Babe, if you’re talking about Infinity War, then, no, I didn’t pay attention.” He chuckled, “Don’t you remember we were in the middle of something?”

Tom wondered, at first, what he meant exactly. You dropped your hand from Tom’s arm and covered your face in embarrassment, but before you could comment, Rose let out a whine, “Gross, I was right next to you two.”

“Not like you’ve never gotten it on in a movie theater.” Tyler joked.

“Can we please not talk about this?” You groaned, getting up from the couch. “I’m going to bed. I’m tired.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” Jane stated as she stood up with a yawn. You closed your door, escaping to the privacy of your room, not wanting to think about how your ex just told everyone about that night- in your defense, you’d already seen the movie before so you weren’t missing anything.

Tyler and Will followed after Jane, leaving Tom, Harrison and Rose as they cleaned up the few cards that were left out. Feeling the awkwardness radiating off of Tom, Rose delicately spoke up, “Will’s just being a dick.”

“It’s fine.” Tom reassured her.

“Did you really cry when I died?” Harrison asked her the question that’d been on his mind since the second she’d made the comment. They started talking about the show, and Tom took that as a sign to leave. He thought for a moment about knocking on your door and checking in on you, but then he realized it might be too uncomfortable for you to talk about. There were times, like tonight with charades, that Tom considered maybe you liked him back, based on all your little touches here and there, but then, with Will’s comments floating around his mind, his thoughts were plagued by the doom of the friendzone. Tom didn’t know if he’d be able to sleep tonight knowing that you and your annoying ex ‘got it on’ in the theater during his own movie- what if he was dying on screen but you were too enraptured in Will to cry like Rose had cried over Harrison dying?

Tom only had a few minutes to himself before Harrison came back into their shared room, asking him, “How’re you feeling about the run tomorrow?”

“It’s going to kill me.” Tom sighed, and Harrison shrugged before climbing into the top bunk.

“Should’ve been running with me.” He laughed, “It’s not even that far.”

“I haven’t run five straight miles since Jake nearly killed me at the gym.” He replied, tidying up his bag.

“Why are you cleaning?” Harrison asked, looking down at his friend. “Are you worried Y/N’s going to come into the room or something?”

“Shove off.” Tom grumbled. Harrison took off his sweaty socks that he’d neglected to remove before getting into his bed and threw them down at his friend. One missed Tom completely, and the other clung to his shoulder. “That’s fucking gross.”

“If you’re cleaning, then clean them up.” He snickered. Tom threw the sock back at his friend, but it missed and weakly fell to the ground. A knock came from the other side of the door, and Tom opened it, smiling when he saw it was you, his absolute favorite person on this godforsaken trip. While you looked rather cute in your casual summer pajamas, he frowned when he saw his sweatshirt in your hands.

“Are you returning it?” He asked, and you laughed.

“It doesn’t smell like you anymore.” You said quietly, hoping Harrison didn’t hear your words. You held it out to Tom, “I figured I can give it back to you for a time, and then steal it once it smells like you again.”

“Wait a second.” Tom took the sweatshirt from you and disappeared into the room, rummaging through his once neat backpack to grab out another sweatshirt. He handed it to you, “Maybe this could suffice for now?”

Smiling, you sniffed it a little before tugging it on, “Thanks. It’s so cold upstairs, I don’t know how I’d sleep without it.”

“You could always bring your own.” Harrison said from the top bunk. Tom turned and chucked the other sweatshirt at him. You rolled your eyes at his words.

“Watch it, Osterfield, or your mattress is going to end up in the middle of the lake with you still sleeping on it.” You playfully threatened.

“I’m quaking with fear.” He laughed, laying down on the bed out of sight.

“Well, I should go.” You told Tom, “Thank you for the sweatshirt. Good night.”

“Good night, Y/N.” He smiled softly at you. As you walked away, he slowly closed the door, pleased with himself and his choice in sweatshirts. He turned to finish getting ready for bed, just in time for Harrison to throw the sweatshirt back at him.

“I will kick you out of this room.” Tom grumbled.

“I’d like to see you try.”

You didn’t sleep well that night. Even with Tom’s sweatshirt, your room was unbearably cold, and it didn’t help that Rose snored. With only a few hours of sleep under your belt, you woke up the next morning to the sun streaming in through the large window behind the bed and Rose already up and out of the room. You padded into the kitchen, making yourself some tea with the rustic teapot that was set out on the counter. Spotting Rose and Jane standing out on the balcony, you made your way outside.

“Good morning.” You said through a yawn, coming to stand beside Rose.

“We were wondering when you were going to wake up.” Jane teased. You looked at your two friends quizzically, taking a sip of your steaming tea.

“You already missed part one of the gun show.” Rose joked, sitting up straighter to look over the edge of the balcony, “They should be back any second.”

“Oh God.” You laughed, remembering the boys and their run this morning.

“I know I’m with Tyler, but damn, Y/N.” She teased, and Rose nudged you playfully. “Here they come.”

Seeing motion through the trees, you looked over at the runners. It was obvious they were racing the last bit of the run, considering how triumphant Harrison looked when he arrived first with Will right on his tail. And then came Tyler, and finally Tom. There was probably only a few seconds between their arrival, but it was still amusing to spy the looks on their faces. They were all shirtless and glistening in a layer of sweat, and they hadn’t noticed the three of you on the balcony at all- not that you were complaining. You’d rather not have them catch you all checking them out so unabashedly.

“Look at that. 24 abs right there.” Jane let out a small sigh. While her comment was for all four boys, her eyes stayed trained on Tyler. Rose, on the other hand, had her eyes on Harrison’s figure, which you noted to tease her about later. But you, you couldn’t help but check out Tom’s bare torso- there was a reason you didn’t watch either Spider-Man movie with him- you always ended up a little too focused on his shirtless scenes.

“Enjoying the show?” Tyler called up to the three of you, a cheeky smirk on his face, as they all made their way up to the cabin. You could’ve sworn you saw Tom blush a little when he met your gaze before Harrison playfully shoved his friend, making Tom lose focus on you and shove him right back.

“Boys.” Rose laughed quietly to you. You bit your lip, nodding in agreement.

“I’m glad I didn’t miss part two.”

The boys made their way into the kitchen, seeking out some water and gatorade as you and the girls went back inside to greet them. The sweet smell of salmon from last night was gone, overthrown by the ever lovely smell of sweaty men.

“It smells like a gym in here.” Rose gagged in disgust.

“I would’ve gone for sweaty ballsack, but yours is much nicer.” Jane laughed.

“Janie would know.” Will teased, clapping Tyler on the shoulder as he drank from his water, making the other choke a little.

“So how was the run?” You asked Tom as he and Harrison came over to you, Tom’s bottle of gatorade almost gone already. The other four got engrossed in their own conversation.

“Just a small workout, nothing too bad.” He replied, brushing it off.

“He was dying.” Harrison stated, making you laugh. “I told him he’s got to run with me more.”

“Well, you won, Haz, so congrats.” You replied.

“How did you know we were racing?” Tom asked. His ears turned pink from thinking that you knew he came in last.

“The four of you act like teenage boys; of course you’re going to make a race out of a casual run.” You teased.

“We should probably go stretch before our muscles tighten up again.” Harrison said, already backing up towards the stairs. Tom made his way to follow him, and you spoke up.

“I’ll come with.” You offered, setting your mug of tea on the counter. You followed them downstairs and out to the patio, feeling like you might as well spend some alone time with your two closest friends.

“You two think you can make it on the hike today?” You teased, already seeing Tom walk a little funny.

“Yeah, yeah, we got this.” He reassured you, sitting down on the solid ground to start stretching his legs. You started to stretch with them, and Harrison looked at you funny for it.

“Why are you stretching?” He asked with a laugh.

“It helps with flexibility.” You shrugged, switching legs as they did, all three of you mirroring the same poses. “How was the lake?”

“It was nice. We weren’t exactly looking at it though.” Tom replied with a chuckle.

“I don’t know, you were going so slow, I thought you were.” Harrison joked and Tom kicked his foot out, hitting Harrison in the leg.

“It’s shit like this that made me believe you were racing.” You laughed.

“I don’t do long distance running. I like focusing on my abs a lot more.” Tom defended himself. You flicked your eyes down to his abs, nodding a little, but Tom was so focused on his stretching that he had missed your small action, whereas Harrison fully caught it. He laughed, sending you a wink, and you flipped him off. Tom caught that exchange though, “Did I miss something?”

“Nope.” You replied quickly, only making Harrison laugh harder, “He’s just being a dumbass. Onto hamstrings.”

The three of you laid down to stretch your hamstrings, and you heard Tom let out a small groan from beside you. “I can’t do this. I fucking hate leg day.”

“Need help?” You offered. Before he could protest, you were already on your feet. He held his leg up as high as he could, and you pressed on his foot to stretch his hamstring even more.

“What if I need help too?” Harrison pouted, even though he was stretching his leg just fine.

“Sorry, Haz, it’s just you and your hand.” You joked, making Tom laugh.

“I see how it is. Ha ha, it’s me and my hand, and Tom and your hand, Y/N.” He sarcastically replied, as you dropped Tom’s leg and he bent his knee for you to lean on his shin. You helped him to deepen the stretch through his leg.

“Someone’s jealous.” Tom said, before grimacing a little.

“Was that too far?” You asked, loosening your hold on his leg, not wanting to overstretch his hamstring.

“A little.” He replied.

“God, Y/N don’t be so rough on him.” Harrison piped in, still having no issue stretching on his own.

“Haz, if you’re going to be a pouty baby about not having a stretching buddy, talk to Rose. She was totally checking you out earlier.” You stated, trying to change the conversation off of Harrison’s unnecessary innuendos. You let go of Tom’s leg and reached for his foot to stretch his other hamstring.

“Wait, really?” He asked, dropping his leg to peer at you with a serious look on his face.

“Yeah, why would I lie to you about that?” You laughed, “Besides, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her read a book, so I think she was lying about Catch 22.”

Flustered, Wide eyed and blushing, Harrison mumbled something about grabbing a shower before bolting off. You exchanged a curious look with Tom, but he followed after his friend.

You made your way inside after them and went to fix yourself another cup of tea. When you saw Will alone in the kitchen, you momentarily considered changing your mind and going to your rook, but it was too late, as he had already seen you.

“Want a cup?” He asked, holding up the coffee pot after he finished pouring himself a cup.

“No thanks.” You replied and made your way to the kettle.

“Enjoy the show earlier? Tyler and I started this new training routine that’s supposed to help with bulking up.” Will said. It took everything in you to not roll your eyes at his words.

“And how’s that working out for you?” You asked, not even trying to hide your disinterest. You still hadn’t forgiven him for his immature comments last night. Plus, the more you saw Will interact with Tom, the more justified you felt with your annoyance.

Will stepped closer to you. Slowly, he took one of your hands in his and pressed it to his abs, and you’d be lying if you said you couldn’t feel every part of his toned stomach. As much as you hated to admit it, you felt like you were falling under his trance again. “There’s more where that came from. Why don’t you come by my room tonight?”

He dropped your hand, and you were pulled out of your foggy state. You stepped away, turning away from him to continue getting yourself some tea. You felt his body envelope yours from behind. His head rested on your shoulder and his hands smoothed over your waist. Pressing a kiss to your cheek, he murmured, “I miss you.”

At his words, something inside of you snapped and you jolted away from his embrace, slapping his hands away. Firmly, you said, “I don’t miss you.”

Will left the room without another word, and you were left to ponder what the hell just happened as you stood alone in the kitchen.

It wasn’t until a few hours later that you all left on the hike, trailing through the towering trees to make your way to a nearby peak. You all stopped a few times for water and some food, and to even just enjoy nature. Between Jane’s ornithology degree, Tyler’s botany background, and Will’s forestry knowledge, identifying the different birds, plants, and trees around you was relatively easy.

“Can you imagine if we studied something environmental too?” Rose joked, nudging you in the shoulder as Jane mindlessly went on about the bird that had flown past nearly ten minutes ago.

“God, it would never end.” You laughed.

“What did you study?” Harrison asked Rose, making you look at Tom and roll your eyes at your friends.

“I’m a nurse.” She replied, and the two got swept into their own conversation.

“You sore yet?” You asked Tom, poking him in the side as you all continued the hike uphill.

“Me? Sore? Never.” He laughed. He shook his head to try to hide the slight hurt from the question. First, you didn’t think he was outdoorsy enough and now you think he can’t handle doing some mileage. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Oh sure.” You smiled at him. Tyler pointed out a specific plant as you all passed it, talking about the intricate properties of the shrub.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more confused about nature.” Tom mumbled to you quietly. Since you two were far enough behind Tyler, Jane, and Will, they couldn’t hear his comment.

“Don’t worry. I have no clue what he’s talking about either.” You reassured him before letting out a small yawn.

“Did you not sleep well last night?” He asked, looking over at you in concern.

“Someone was snoring a bit too loud for me to sleep.” You said, loud enough for Rose to hear. She stopped and spun around to face you, face red in embarrassment.

“It’s a nasal condition! You know how I get when it’s cold!” She defended. As much as she tried to sound angry, she still had a small smile on her face.

“Love you, Rose.” You blew her a kiss, laughing at her reaction. She and Harrison turned back around and continued their conversation about who knows what.

“I think Harrison’s got a nasal condition too.” Tom whispered, making you stifle a laugh to not draw attention back to the two of you.

“Rose doesn’t even snore that loud.” You admitted quietly, “Even with your sweatshirt, I was still too cold to sleep.”

“I can give you another one when we get back. You can double up.” He offered, “But it was pretty cold last night.”

“Thanks. I’ll probably take you up on that.” You smiled softly at him. “You know, I’m really happy you came.”

“I’m happy I came, too. Thanks for inviting me.” He replied, and you nodded in response. Tom paused after a moment, stopping his tracks to look at you with furrowed eyebrows, “Wait, did you not expect me to come?”

You looked at him in confusion, before answering, “I mean I did, but-“

“But I’m not outdoorsy, so you didn’t think I’d actually be here.” Tom grumbled in agitation, beginning to walk again quickly to catch up to the group. You ran up after him.

“Is that what this is about?” You questioned, your voice unintentionally raised, “That I said you weren’t the camping type back home?”

Harrison and Rose turned to look at the two of you, and Tom just bit his tongue to keep from exploding about the sensitive subject. He knew he shouldn’t have asked, but he just felt so inadequate with Will going on and on about trees and shit.

“What is going on with you?” You questioned with a huff of frustration.

“It’s nothing. Let’s just keep going.” Tom stated, shaking his head.

“I’m not going one more step until you tell me what the hell is up.”

“What’s the hold up?” Will called back when he noticed the stop in your hike. Tom went to step forward to continue the journey, but missed his footing on a particularly slick patch of leaves. 

A collective, concerned shout came from you and Harrison as Tom hit the ground. He groaned in pain, and Rose came to his side. All frustration at him slipped out of you as worry flooded your system.

“Tom, oh my god- are you okay?” You asked.

“I think I rolled my ankle.” Tom said, cradling his ankle in his lap.

Rose looked at it briefly, no noticeable swelling or bruising yet. “Can you stand on it?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” He replied before pushing himself to his feet. He bit back a grimace, standing on his ankle as normal, and you didn’t seem to be the only one to notice it. “Let’s finish the hike, yeah?” 

“You’re not hiking on that.” Rose shook her head with a small laugh.

“I don’t want to hold you all back. I can manage it, really.”

“It’s fine. We’ll continue on. Y/N can lead you back.” Jane spoke up, a little smirk playing on her lips.

“I’ll go with.” Harrison offered.

“As the house nurse, I feel obligated to walk back with him.” Rose added, and you caught the blush that touched her cheeks.

And just like that, it was settled. You, Rose, and Harrison would walk back with Tom, who was doing his best not to limp, which everyone saw through. Rose and Harrison made conversation the whole walk back, while you and Tom just stayed awkwardly silent. By the time you all made it back to the house, he still hadn’t spoken to you. You went to put away your hiking gear and found Tom a few minutes later, sitting on the porch as he looked at the forest before him, an ice pack on his elevated ankle to help with potential swelling.

“I meant what I said.” You spoke up quietly as you sat in the chair beside him. When he just continued to look straight ahead and not physically acknowledge your presence, you continued, “I am really happy that you’re here, Tom. I didn’t say that because I didn’t think you’d want to come. The only reason I wouldn’t expect you to come is because you’re always busy. I guess what I really meant was that I’m grateful you were able to make time for me this week, especially because I know the countless other, more fun things you could be doing right now. It really means a lot.”

After another brief silent moment passed between the two of you, he looked over at you with a small frown on his face. “Why would you think I wouldn’t make time for you?”

“Like I said, you’re busy. You do one movie after the other, and I feel like we hardly see each other anymore. It’s,” You trailed off, searching for the right word, “comforting that you’d want to spend your free time with me.”

“You’re my best friend. Of course, I’d want to spend time with you.”

You knew his words were sweet and that he meant every single one of them, but you still felt a small, subtle twist in your gut.  Another unnatural silence fell between the two of you until Rose came outside like a true savior.

“We’re planning on making s’mores tonight, are you down?” She asked, a cheery smile on her face.

“I’m offended you’re even asking me that.” You stated, and she rolled her eyes at you. You turned to Tom, smiling, “You’re going to love them. Just don’t burn yourself.”

“Burn myself?” He looked at you as if you were crazy, making you laugh.

“Don’t scare him.” Rose teased, “Besides, my money’s on Harrison burning himself first.”

“I heard that!” He called from inside the cabin through the screen door.

Just as Rose was about to leave to go back inside, Tom spoke up, raising his hand a little, still confused, “How do you burn yourself on s’mores?”

Several hours later, he got his answer.

“Ow, fuck, shit, ow.” Harrison cursed, dropping his burnt marshmallow into the dirt.

“That’s how.” You laughed as Rose clinked her s’more against yours.

“How do you know when it’s ready?” Tom asked, eyeing the marshmallow at the end of his stick. He slowly rotated the stick in his hands just as you had told him to do.

“Golden brown are the best, but they’re tricky to make because you can burn them instantly, which is what Harrison did.” You teased your blond friend beside you before taking a bite of your perfect s’more and turning back to face Tom on your other side. “Burnt ones aren’t bad, they just have a more burnt flavor, obviously.”

“So is it ready yet?” He questioned, but he was looking at you not at his roasting marshmallow.

“No,” You giggled. You finished off your s’more with another bite and scooted closer to him on the log. You placed your hand on top of his on the stick, twisting it so that the marshmallow was a few inches above the flame instead of right by the firewood. “And you just keep rotating it. You can see there’s already a gold hue to it.”

You smiled, looking over at him to find him already gazing at you with a soft smile of his own playing on his lips. The light from the campfire made his brown eyes sparkle with specks of gold.

“It’s burning!” Jane exclaimed, and you quickly retracted the stick and marshmallow, blowing out the fire on the now burned marshmallow.

“Well, it’s golden on one side, but burnt marshmallows are an essential part of the s’mores making business.” You said as you passed the stick back to Tom. You gathered the two parts of a graham cracker as well as some Hershey’s chocolate and set it up for a s’more.

“I think I need help with this part.” Tom admitted with a chuckle.

“So you put the marshmallow here.” You pointed at the graham cracker topped with a piece of chocolate. He moved the stick to put the marshmallow in its proper position, and then you put the other half of the graham cracker on top. Grasping the two graham crackers with the marshmallow in the middle, you finished, “And now pull out.”

“Hah, pull out.” Tyler laughed at the innuendo through a face full of his double stacked s’mores. Tom did as told, his eyes lighting up in excitement when you presented him his very own s’more.

“Ta-da. It’s real rocket science, isn’t it?” You joked, and Harrison elbowed you, still grumpy that he had lost his first marshmallow and burnt his hand trying to catch it.

“Burnt and fallen marshmallows are just casualties of s’more making.” Rose said.

“S’mores have to be the thing I miss most about living here— the U.K. just doesn’t do camping quite as well.” You stated, shaking your head a little in disbelief.

“How could you miss s’mores more than us?” Will asked, a playfulness in his voice, but you could recognize the serious undertones of his words.

“I’d miss s’mores more than I’d miss you.” Rose teased, saving you from having to actually think of a response.

“Hand me a marshmallow. I’m ready to try again for a golden one.” Tom said to you, and you reached over into the marshmallow bag beside you, slipping him the soft treat.

“Good luck.” You encouraged him with a laugh.

Tom’s second attempt ended up burnt as well, and you gladly ate it while he made his third one. By the time it was golden brown and ready to be eaten, Jane, Tyler, and even Will had retired for the night.

“That tastes so much better not burnt to a crisp.” Tom said, impressed by his own marshmallow-roasting skills.

“Camping heaven.” You agreed, finishing off the s’more he’d burned earlier.

Rose stood up with a small sigh, stretching her arms. “I think I might head to bed.”

“Me too.” Harrison stated, getting up after her. Tom looked at him questioningly, and you bit your lip, giving Rose a teasing look. She rolled her eyes at you, smiling to herself as she turned to head towards the cabin.

Noticing how Harrison’s hand caught hers once they were a decent distance from the campfire, you called out to them, “Good night!”

“Night!” They chorused back.

“Haz and Rose seem to have hit it off.” Tom commented once they were inside. Your eyes drifted from the dying fire up to the starry sky overhead. 

“Yeah, they really have.” You nodded, caught up focusing on the twinkling lights above you. Quietly, you admitted, “I’ll never get tired of looking at the stars.”

“I bet your neck will.” He joked, making you shake your head.

“They’re just so beautiful.” You mumbled.

“Really beautiful.” You heard Tom murmur under his breath. Your eyes flickered over to him, noticing how he was definitely staring at you and not the stars in the sky. When he turned to face the campfire, your eyes diverted back up to the stars, trying your best to suppress how fast your heart was racing.

“I used to know all of the constellations too. Will and I used to camp a lot, and I’d just study the stars until I fell asleep.” You confessed, attempting to strike up a conversation to keep you from your thoughts. When Tom said nothing in reply, a small sigh escaped your lips, and your eyes trailed back down to Tom beside you. Staring right into the dying campfire, he looked deep in thought.

“What’s on your mind?” You asked him, nudging him a little with your shoulder.

“It’s nothing.” Tom shook his head, but his attempts to play off his thoughts didn’t work on you. After a moment, he spoke up, barely meeting your eyes as he did so, “Did you and Will really— you know— in my movie—“ he trailed off, not wanting to finish his question. He was already apprehensive about the answer, and yet he couldn’t help himself from asking.

“In Infinity War?” You asked, laughing lightly at his question, or lack thereof. Looking up towards the sky again, you replied, “Unless you count the fastest handjob ever, no, we didn’t.”

Tom was silent, making you look back over at him. His shoulders were shaking as he bit his lip, doing his best to stifle his laughter.

“Shut up.” You scoffed, playfully hitting his arm. “It wasn’t like you were dying in the scene or anything. You weren’t even on the screen.”

“I didn’t say anything.” He insisted, before breaking into a fit of laughter, unable to contain it any longer. In that moment, you felt complete tranquility. Tom’s laughter broke through the silence of the atmosphere, making your heart flutter in happiness. His eyes were shut, and you could count every crinkle by his eyes. With the fire illuminating his features just right, he was positively glowing. If you wanted any moment to last forever, it was this one. Tom settled his laughter, “Sorry, I shouldn’t be laughing, but it’s just-” He paused, and his smile faltered momentarily, “It’s a relief.”

“A relief?” You repeated before you could help yourself, and Tom realized his words.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, thinking on his feet of an explanation, “It would’ve been really awkward if I was dying, and you and Will- yeah.” He stopped himself short, and a comfortable silence overcame the two of you.

“How’s your ankle feeling?” You asked, not wanting the conversation to end. If it ended, then that meant the night was over and your precious alone time with Tom was over.

“It’s fine, now. Honestly, it didn’t hurt that much.” He replied with a bit of a nod. You watched as he sucked in a tight breath, “I’m sorry about what happened earlier on the hike. I got frustrated and a little jealous. I was so determined to prove that I could be like Will that I just ended up being a dick.”

His words took a moment to sink in, but you found a small smile breaking over your face as you understood the layers of their meaning. You reached out and touched his knee. Softly, you admitted, “You have no reason to be jealous over Will. I’d never want you to be like him. The main reason that I broke up with him was because, well, he’s not you.”

You could see Tom think about your words for a moment before, ever so slowly, he started to lean in. Tom’s lips seemed to fit perfectly with yours, tenderly moving in sync as you both caved into your suppressed feelings. With one hand cupping your cheek, Tom’s other hand moved to your waist, pulling you in closer to him. You paid no mind to the uncomfortableness of your position on the log, too lost in the kiss to think straight. For the second time that night, you wished that this moment would last forever.

But it came to a quick, bittersweet end as Tom pulled away. His face stayed close to yours, his breath fanning over your face. A smile crossed his lips, “That took us way too long.”

“Way, way too long.” You agreed. He went to pull you in for another kiss, but the sudden cold of the dying fire pulled you two back to reality. Almost reluctantly, you said, “I guess we should probably head inside.”

It was far too cold for either of you to want to stay outside without the comforting heat. Gathering the food and putting out the last of the fire, you two walked back to the cabin, hand in hand.

“Thank you for the s’mores.” Tom said quietly to you, aware that most likely everyone in the cabin was sleeping. He placed the last couple bags of marshmallows and graham crackers on the kitchen counter (the chocolate was all eaten long ago), and you made a mental note to take care of it in the morning. 

“Any time.” You joked softly. Tom leaned in to give you a quick, but just as sweet good night kiss.

As he made his way over to the stairs, he spoke up again, “Don’t get too cold tonight.”

“Good night, Tom.” You laughed lightly, turning towards your bedroom door.

“Good night, Y/N.” 

With one last exchange of soft, sleepy smiles, you both turned to go your separate ways.

When you entered your quaint cabin room, you were met with Rose’s snores, a sharp contrast to your favorite sound that was Tom’s laughter from moments ago. You quietly maneuvered around the room, getting ready for bed. A smile ghosted your lips as you tugged on Tom’s hoodie. The familiar warmth and scent enveloping you comfortably.

You waited for sleep to overcome you on the cold bed; it felt like hours (when really, it was probably only ten minutes) before you finally decided to get up. With a small sigh, you shuffled out of the bed. Maybe the couch would give you more peace than your shared room.

As you made your way out of your room, you heard a door downstairs open. Curiously, you peeked down the staircase to see Tom emerging from the bathroom, in nothing but basketball shorts.

“What are you still doing up?” Tom asked you with his voice just above a whisper. You silently made your way down the stairs until you were in front of him.

“Couldn’t sleep. The room hasn’t gotten any warmer since last night.” You admitted, subconsciously crossing your arms.

“Come here.” Tom slowly uncrossed your arms, taking one of your hands loosely in his. He led you to his room. The door creaked open and shed some light into the dark bedroom. Wordlessly, he brought you over to his bed and dropped your hand to shuffle the blankets.

“What about Haz?” You whispered as Tom slipped into his bed, laying sideways and as close to the wall as possible to make some room for you.

“It’ll be fine.” He reassured you. You slid into the bed, finding comfort under the blankets. You laid on your side facing Tom, and it was then that you realized just how small the twin bed was— you two were close enough to each other that you could feel his minty breath fan over your cheeks, which still made you nervous even though just ten minutes ago he’d kissed you.

“We’re never going to fall asleep like this.” You teased softly. Tom let out a quiet laugh, shuffling so he was flatter on his back, giving you room to lay in his arms. With your head pressed to his bare chest and his strong arms circling around you, you finally found warmth.

“You’re really warm.” You mumbled into his chest, snuggling into his embrace and letting your legs tangle comfortably with his. It wasn’t the first time the two of you had cuddled, but it was the first time the two of you have cuddled on a tiny bed and with him being shirtless.

“Makes me the best cuddling partner.” Tom mumbled, his chest shaking lightly underneath you as he chuckled. You hummed in agreement, a smile forming on your face.

“Do you two ever shut up?” You heard Harrison question from the bunk above you.

“Do you always have to ruin a perfectly good moment?” Tom replied, and you subconsciously snuggled deeper into his embrace.

“I better not wake up in the middle of the night to noises.” He grumbled. The bed shuffled as he flipped over in his bed to get comfortable.

“Haz, that’s just you snoring.” You teased. He muttered something incoherent and you whispered to Tom, “Let’s wait until he starts snoring and then move his mattress to the lake.”

“Deal.”

Unfortunately for you but luckily for Harrison, you drifted off quickly, listening to the sound of Tom’s heart beating underneath you. You couldn’t help yourself; he made for the best pillow and the best heat source.

The next morning, you woke up with a start, hearing a loud thud from right beside you. Blearily, you leaned over the edge of the twin bed to find the source of the sound; when you saw a groaning, half-asleep Tom on the floor below you, a fit of laughter overcame you. The blankets were falling off the bed, all tangled up in his legs.

“Did you fall off the bed?” Harrison asked, even though all three of you already knew the answer, and you looked up to see him peering over the edge of the bunk bed.

“It’s not funny.” Tom muttered, frowning in faux annoyance at your continued laughter.

You held your hands out to him, offering to help him up even though you were in an impossible position to really help, still laying in the actual bed. Teasingly, you asked, “You got an owie?”

Chuckling, Tom reached up and grabbed your hands, pulling you off the bed. You let out a yelp as you landed on top of him, in a similar position to just last night. Your legs subconsciously fell on either side of his to somewhat straddle him, and you lifted yourself up on the palms of your hands to look down at him properly, a smile etched on your face. The familiar intoxicating pull from last night returned; you almost forgot Harrison was in the room— key word, almost.

“Get up before I come down there and join in.”

And with that, you quickly got off of Tom, and he scrambled to his feet. As Harrison came down the bunk bed ladder, you and Tom put the blankets back onto the bottom bed. You pondered where last night left the two of you, and you weren’t sure how to approach the subject. You were clearly more than friends, but were you more than friends in front of the others?

“What’s for breakfast?” Harrison asked, cutting you off from your thoughts. 

Over the course of the next few hours, you tried to somehow be alone with Tom to talk things over. It felt odd how things ended last night— not a bad odd, but odd nonetheless. Between the guys going for yet another run and you all spending time at the lake together, it just seemed like the opportunity would never come.

“God, I can’t believe it took you that long.” Rose teased, a giddy smile on her face as she cut off your recounting of last night. The boys were outside chopping some firewood while you, Rose, and Jane prepared dinner.

Jane winked at you jokingly, “What was it like?”

“What was what like? The kissing?” You asked, and she nodded.

“We want all the details!”

“In all honesty, it was the best kiss of my life.” You admitted, the butterflies you felt last night returning at just the thought.

As the three of you continued to talk, coo, and gossip about the four boys outside, they were hard at work. The late afternoon summer sun was bearing down on them, and they had stripped away their shirts earlier. Tom decided very early on that he didn’t like chopping wood, even if Harrison was somehow worse at it than him. While Tom and Harrison mainly kept to themselves, Will and Tyler had their own conversations going, despite the others clearly within earshot.

“You and Jane— I don’t know how you do it. One girl for all those years?” Will commented, and Tyler laughed with a shrug.

“It’s been so long, I don’t know what I would do without her. Plus, she’s the best fuck I’ve ever had.” Tyler said crassly, making his friend laugh.

“Mine was by far Y/N.” He stated, loudly, as if to ensure that Tom would hear it. At the sound of your name, Tom and Harrison both began to listen in on the conversation.

“It’s been years. Surely, there’s been someone else.”

“Nope.” Will protested, stopping his work to lean on the axe handle, “She was supposed to come over last night, but she must’ve gotten lost.” Tom couldn’t stop himself from scoffing at his words. Hearing the sound, Will turned to face Tom, “Got something to say?”

“Yeah, I do actually.” Tom said, dropping the axe. Holding himself up straighter, he made his way closer to Will. Harrison hesitantly stepped closer to Tom as the brunet continued, “She didn’t get lost, she just had a better option.”

“Better option? You mean you?” He bit back. “Yesterday, you couldn’t even do a simple hike without hurting yourself, and you’re shit at chopping wood. You may think you’re hot shit in London, but this is my turf, movie star. I’m the one who gets the girl here.”

Harrison went to grab Tom’s balled fist, but he was too late as Tom had already swung, nailing the surprised Will right in the nose. Will responded quickly, throwing a punch back at Tom. Tyler and Harrison exchanged questioning looks, silently wondering if they should break up the fight or just let them go at it, but the pair decided the former was probably a better idea.

Aware of sudden commotion outside, you, Rose, and Jane all rushed to the balcony, wondering what could possibly be happening. The fight between Tom and Will was ending as Harrison and Tyler both successfully pulled their respective friends away from the other. Even from the distance, you could see the new bruises on Tom’s face and Will’s bloody nose; it was most likely broken, but you didn’t have it in you to care. The boys were unaware of you and the others, until Harrison looked up at the balcony. He gave you a sad smile, and Tom was next to look up. Ashamed, he didn’t dare to meet your eyes and, instead, grabbed his shirt from a nearby log and trudged his way down to the lake.

Your eyes flickered to Will, and a pit of anger flamed inside you. Just by the look on his face, you didn’t even need to question who was the antagonist. Not bothering to say a word to Rose or Jane, you marched downstairs and out to where Will, Tyler, and Harrison remained.

“What did you say to him?” You questioned Will angrily. 

“Nothing he didn’t already know.” He replied nonchalantly.

“That’s bullshit, Will. This is all just bullshit. Every chance you get, you bring up something to antagonize Tom and embarrass me. And, every time you do that, you just remind me that you’re half the man Tom is.”

“You’re acting like I was the one to start the fight. News flash, princess, your man threw the first punch.” Will said, bitterly.

You stepped closer to him, your eyes hardening, and you swore you saw fear flicker in his eyes. “Believe me, if Tom hadn’t broken your nose already, I would break it myself.”

Without another word, you turned on your heel and headed down to the lake. You knew they were all watching you-- Harrison, Tyler, and Will from the ground and Rose and Jane from the balcony. The sun was already starting to line the tops of the trees across the lake, and you felt your anger slowly dissipating as you saw Tom sitting on the dock. With his legs swinging off the edge, he looked at peace, but you knew him better than that; a storm was brewing in his head.

You didn’t say anything, and Tom made no effort to look away from his hands in his lap as you approached. Silently, you sat down right next to him at the end of the dock. Now that you were beside him, you noticed the bruise forming on his eyebrow and the cut on his lip. Will definitely got a few good shots at him, but you could tell Tom had gotten him worse. Your eyes trailed down to his hands; his knuckles were red in agony. Slowly, you reached your hand out to grab his injured one.

“It doesn’t hurt.” Tom mumbled, but you could tell he was holding back the truth. You tenderly placed a kiss on each of his red knuckles before intertwining your fingers.

“Wanna talk about what happened?” You asked him quietly, fearing if you spoke too loud the fragile moment would somehow be ruined.

“He was talking about you like you were just a good fuck and nothing more.” He replied, his voice just as soft as yours.

You couldn’t help but smile at him, your heart fluttering at the thought that he was defending you. You let go of his hand and turned to properly face him. The smile never left your face as you cupped his face in your hands. Confused, Tom asked through a laugh, “What are you doing?”

You kissed his bruised eyebrow before responding, “Well, I’ve got to kiss it better, don’t I?”

“I think you missed a spot then.” Tom pointed to his lips with a cheeky grin. You pressed a chaste kiss to the cut on his lip, before teasingly pulling away. You didn’t get far as Tom’s hand went to the back of your neck, bringing you in for another, deeper kiss. Caught up in the moment, you somehow forgot about his cut; it wasn’t until you nibbled on his bottom lip, accidentally catching the cut, that you remembered and Tom pulled away with a quiet groan.

“I’m sorry.” You said through a laugh, though you were still genuinely concerned about him. Your fingers traced lightly over the agitated cut.

“It’s okay.” He reassured you. One of his hands trailed up your arm to your own hand, and he brought it to his lips, kissing it just as gently as you had kissed his knuckles. “You’re cold.”

“Guess my personal heater isn’t working.” You teased.

“Come here.” Tom beckoned you closer to him. You slid into his side, snuggling into his warm embrace. With his arm hanging around your shoulders, you slipped your fingers through his, smiling at the ease of it all.

“I wish we could stay like this forever.” You mumbled, looking at the beauty of the lake and the sunset before you. It was like a scene from a painting, a scene you wanted to memorize forever.

Tom pressed a kiss to your forehead, pulling you in closer to him. “We can stay here as long as you’d like, darling.”

[aries-writingblog]

Brave Enough

Summary: Bucky wonders if he’ll ever be brave enough to admit his feelings to you

Words Count: 1980- ish (I got a little carried away- sorry!!)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: language, characters engaging of age drinking

A/N: gif is not my own, credit to original creator. Happy reading!!

“Bucky, lighten up, man.” Steve griped, flicking through the menu. The brunette didn’t respond, just slumping down lower in his chair and sulking even more. A deep frown etched onto his features. “It’s just a couple hours.”

“Whatever.” He snipped. Bucky could feel his teeth grit together, his jaw aching from pressure. Sam’s foot connected with his under the table, a teasing tilt to his eyebrows.

“He’s just mad that he has to be here instead of lurking ‘round in the shadows back home.” Sam nudged his foot again. Bucky kicked out, but Sam was too quick. Pulling his foot away just in time. “You ever catch him at like three in the morning, just standing around in a dark hallway?”

“Shut up.” Bucky hissed, snatching a spoon from his place setting. The utensil flew across the table, smacking Sam in the chest before falling to his lap. “And I’m not mad I have to be here.”

He truly wasn’t upset he had to be there. He was upset that one person in particular wouldn’t be in attendance. YN was still off on a mission, unfortunately missing Wanda’s birthday dinner. Without her, Bucky would just spend the whole night sulking, no one else treated him the way she did. No one else was her. Without her, his night was already marked as uneventful and boring.

“You are.” Steve corrected, glancing to his watch. “The girls should be here by now. What’s holding them?”

Bucky glanced around the restaurant, eyes scanning over Tony who was animatedly speaking with the owner. Bruce, retuning from the restroom, Peter following him with a million questions. The older man seemed to age further as the teen pestered him- asking questions ranging from science to personal. The kid could be slightly invasive at times.

The door opened- the other half of their party. The birthday girl. Wanda made her way across the room, Natasha behind her and…

“YN.” Bucky felt a weight lift from his chest- possibly his reluctance to be at the table. He watched as she gave him a small smile and wave before Wanda pulled her off to the bathroom.

“Save me a seat!” YN called, meeting Bucky’s eyes. His eyes followed her all the way, until he could no longer see her. Then he was brought back into reality by a cough.

Fuck- he did that in public. His eyes fell to Steve and Sam, their faces schooled into expressions of taunting delight.

“You gonna save her a seat or what?” Steve asked, lips twitching as they begged to smile. Bucky flicked his wrist, giving his friend a very classy middle finger as they snickered in response.

But Bucky did as she said. He unfolded the napkin at the place mat on his right, showing someone was going to sit there. Then he tucked his hands into his lap, waiting anxiously for her return. Sam pursed his lips, leaning his elbows on the table. Bucky groaned, regretting his decision to stay out when Sam sat across from him.

“Won’t you just tell her you’re in love? It would be a lot easier.” He advised, fingers laced under his jaw. Bucky scowled, his foot finally catching Sam off guard, foot connecting with his shin bone. The man cursed, jerking his chair back.

The bathroom door opened, the trio of women hustling toward the table. Natasha was shoving YN playfully, the woman responding with a laugh. Then she turned her eyes to him and he stopped breathing. Stopped living. Oxygen leaving his lungs at an exponential rate when she smiled. Teeth flashing.

“Got a seat for me, Barnes?” She asked- the sound of her voice snapping his consciousness back into the present. Bucky stumbled over himself clumsily, shoving his own chair back to pull hers out for her. “Thank you.” He pushed her back in before taking his own.

“I thought you were still in Arizona?” He kept a constant tab in his brain to focus. There had been several occasions when the pair were carrying a conversation and he noticed, too late, he had just been staring into her eyes. He didn’t mean to- it just happened.

“Just landed. Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner I was back- Wanda begged me to come tonight so I had to rush to get dressed.” She explained, giving a half hearted gesture to her clothes. Bucky saw nothing wrong with them- she looked beautiful as always.

“No worries. You look beautiful anyways.” Bucky smiled. He could see in the corner of his eye- Sam and Steve sharing a look across the table. Bucky always experienced these mood swings around YN.

If he was distraught, she was there to soothe him. If he was annoyed or angry, just seeing her face would brighten his day. If he was happy, which wasn’t too often without her being a catalyst, she only intensified that feeling.

Bucky had met YN three months into his stay at the Tower. They shared a wall- his apartment was the one beside hers. He didn’t know she was his neighbor the night she came stumbling home from a mission- exhausted and dirty. Dried blood on her hairline and a red path dripping from her nose. She didn’t notice him that night as he sat in the quiet common area of floor 48. She brushed past him and dug into the fridge. He watched her shove six slices of cold pizza onto a plate and snatch three beers before disappearing into her apartment.

Needless to say, he was intrigued. But he never spoke to her. Not until two months later, in the middle of the night. She happened upon him sitting in the quiet, wide awake and writing in his journal. She commented that she also journaled- sprinting back to her bedroom to bring back a leather bound journal covered in stickers. She then offered him some of his own stickers, pressing them to the black journal in his hands.

Four months of midnight meetings passed and Bucky was infatuated. He found himself wanting to speak to her all the time- going out of his way to find her and talk. Thinking of her all the time, linking an activity with her. Asking himself ‘I wonder what YN would think of…’ Sitting with her at meals, hanging out when she was home. If he could, Bucky would have her attached to his hip at all times.

When they were together, Bucky would go to any lengths necessary to keep her there longer. To take more of her time. For once in his life, he wanted to be selfish. He wanted her complete and undivided attention. Most times, he received it. She happily gave into him, pouring affection onto the super soldier. And he swam in it- unabashedly. Unashamed to be so intoxicated around her.

“Hey, what are you ordering?” YN whispered, leaning toward his

Bucky snapped back, again, noticing that everyone had taken a seat and began to order their meals. Her eyes were trained on him expectantly. YN had seen him lose focus and attempted to reel him back in. He always seemed to fade away, she noticed. She didn’t know where his mind went when it happened but she was a pessimist- she assumed the worst.

“Me- ordering?” Bucky stuttered, his tongue barely catching up with his mind. He winced as she gave a soft smile- another snicker coming from across the table. He shot a glance over to Sam, the biting glare garnered a snarky reply.

“Smooth.” Sam muttered, propping his menu in front his face, shielding it from Bucky’s wrath.

“Sam.” Steve scolded lightly, voice low. Bucky bit back his embarrassment, clearing his throat before responding. It was gonna be a long night.

~~~~~~

YN giggled again, swaying as Bucky latched an arm around her waist. Keeping her upright. It was a struggle- she was very touchy when she was tipsy. Bucky’s heart did jumping jacks, unsure if he should revel in the affection or be disappointed she was doing it while drunk.

“Oh- Bucky, what if we took Four Loko’s and, and… White Claws!” Her fingers wiggled as she spoke, eyes watery and wide. Bucky chuckled, his body unaccustomed to the motions.

“No more alcohol for you tonight, alright? You’re already gonna hate me in the morning for letting you drink so much.” He tugged her waist gently, allowing his fingers to rest on her hip. YN rested her head against his chest as the elevator slowed to a stop on their floor.

“I could never hate you, you know that, right?” She asked, eyes gazing up at him. Bucky heaved a gentle sigh, meeting her eyes. A soft smile on his lips.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

The pair slowly exited the elevator, YN trying her best to break away from his grip. Her attention span was that of a mouse- hands reaching for things in the hallways and in the common area. Finally, they reached the set of doors belonging to them. He released her very carefully to dig through his pockets. YN had given him her spare key months ago, he had it on his key ring. She had it printed in a bright blue- the loudest color on the ring when compared to the black key of his motorcycle and the silver key of his apartment.

He didn’t really need the color distinction. There were only three keys there but hers was the most important one. He had it memorized the day she gave it to him.

“Hey Friday, unlock Bucky’s main door.”

“What? She can do that?” Bucky whipped around, catching a fleeting glimpse of her wobbling, unsteady body as she stumbled into his apartment. “Fuck.”

Bucky abandoned his task in favor of the new, more important task. Getting YN out of his apartment. He followed her at a quick pace, hand outstretched to snatch her wrist but she made an abrupt turn down his hallway. Toward his bedroom.

“YN!” He hissed, reaching for her again. She shoved the door open and made her way into the room. “What are you doing?”

“I wanted to see your apartment- you never let me in here when we hang out.” She murmured, eyes locking in on the bookshelf in the corner. She made a beeline to it, fingers tracing over the spines of the books. She reached for a book on the second shelf. The second shelf was dedicated to his old journals.

“Okay, maybe…” he gingerly broke her grasp on the book before she could open it, sliding it back into place. Bucky rested his hands on her shoulders, steering her out of the room. “We can do a tour when you’re a little more sober.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want her there- Bucky wanted to show her everything, give her everything. But some part of himself kept pushing it all back, keeping her in the light. He didn’t want her to see the bad parts, and there were plenty. He was terrified she wouldn’t want his broken pieces if she saw them.

YN hummed, breaking from his grasp again. He sighed in defeat, letting her go. She tossed her phone to the rug and flopped face first into the bed. A sigh of content rushed from her lips as she snuggled deeper into the blankets.

“Your bed is sooo comfy…” Her voice was muffled by the thick comforter. “This isn’t fair- my bed isn’t this comfy.”

No one’s slept in it since it was purchased- Bucky but back the comment, deciding it wasn’t a good topic to broach. Considering the circumstances. He stood, watching her for a moment. Allowing her to take control for the time being. The smile from earlier began to creep onto his face as she snuggled deeper into the sheets- fully clothed.

“Alright- enough of that, YN. Let’s get you home.” He murmured, tugging on her ankle. She didn’t budge. Bucky stopped, looking up to her face. She was sound asleep. “YN?”

Nothing.

Bucky sighed.

He reached for her ankle again, unclipping the heels from her feet, allowing them to fall to the floor. He swung her legs around, tugging the blankets down on the bed. Bucky pulled them back over her body, reaching into her hair to pull it out of the tight bun she had it in. The hair tie around his wrist as he tucked her in.

“Goodnight, YN.” He whispered softly. Bucky hesitated, lips close to her temple. He could hear a faint snore coming from her throat, dark lashes resting against her cheekbones.

He allowed himself to carefully lean forward, lips pressing to her temple gently. Then he backed away quietly, turning the lights off as he exited. He couldn’t help himself- stealing another glance at her sleeping figure before closing the door. He also couldn’t help the bittersweet smile that tugged at his lips.

One day… one day I’ll be brave enough for you.

Read Part 2: Courageous

[bunnyywritings]

bubbly s/o opens up about trauma pt. 1

bakugou katsuki & shouto todoroki x gn!reader

word count: 1.8k

requested by anon: Katsu, Sho, Izu, and Eiji headcanons to their bubbly, and sweet crush, and close friend, opening up to them about being abused by their parents growing up? They've gotten therapy and are living with their Grandparents but sometimes they get upset when someone brings up parents or asks about the scars from abuse. They tell them they shared this with them because they refused to lie to them. They hug him close, thanking him for being a good friend. -Morp

[a/n: i hope you don’t mind that I’m doing it in parts anon! i ended up doing scenarios for each one, i'm a bit rusty so i apologize if this isn't very well done. you can read part 2 [ here ] ,thank you for requesting sweet heart! here you go! - yours truly, bunny -`ღ´- ]

TW: mentions of parental abuse & scars, nothing explicit but implied

To an extent, he always knew. Maybe not the specifics, but whenever you were alone and thought no one was paying any attention, you’d let your guard down. The metaphorical sparkle in your eyes would dim, your shoulders would slump as if you were taking a break. Then someone would approach and in the blink of an eye, the sparkle was back and the familiar grin on your lips was present once again. Despite what others may think, Bakugou was a good friend.

He worried about you. A lot.

That may be due to the fact that he has a huge crush on you, but it was unlikely. He values your friendship so much. He’d rather have you as a friend than anything else, really. That was mainly his insecurity talking though. He just thought he wasn’t good enough for you. No one was, really. But that’s besides the point.

He had never explicitly said anything about his feelings for you but he didn’t need to. It was quite clear through his actions. Well...clear to everyone but you, that is. Even Aizawa had caught on. And he couldn’t care less about his students’ love lives. He’s had his fill of teenage angst and drama.

During training, he’d always make sure your water bottle was full or during lunch he’d keep an eye out and make sure you were eating. Sometimes he’d even give you extra pieces of meat from his plate, or if he had veggies he knows you like, he’d wordlessly place them into your rice bowl.

Now this wasn’t one sided at all. You also had your ways of looking out for him.

If you were doing a convenience store run with Sero and you saw the particular snack that Bakugou likes, you’d instantly grab a few. For his birthday, you had gotten him custom earplugs for quirk training. It had been after you and him were paired to spar against each other, he always insisted on not holding back against you out of respect, and you had experienced one of his full blown attacks head-on. Your ears were ringing for about half an hour before you could somewhat hear again, and even then, everything was a bit muffled.

Needless to say, you were worried about his hearing

He scoffed and rolled his eyes when he unwrapped the box. Scolding you for wasting money on something he had no use for.

He always uses them though. Especially when he’s doing stamina training, and it’s explosion after explosion.

Anyways. He notices your strange behavior, one day. You stopped trying to keep up the façade and you were sort of gloomy all day. He was absolutely pissed that no one had noticed the change, and he’d yell at them later for it, but he kept his cool and waited until he could be alone with you.

It had been around 8pm, just an hour before his bedtime, when he made some tea for the both of you and carried it up to your dorm room. He paused in front of your door, looking down at both his hands, a mug in each one, then looking at the door handle. Realizing he won't be able to physically open the door by himself, he awkwardly bumped the door with his elbow.

“Hey idiot, it’s me. Open the door.” He grumbled quietly, frowning when you hadn’t responded. Before he could repeat himself a little more aggressively, the muffled sound of your sniffling made his stomach drop. Panic rising throughout his body as he made up worst case scenarios in his head.

“(Y/n), seriously. Is everything okay?” All attempts to sound calm failed as his voice betrayed him, trembling the slightest bit.

On the other side of the door, you started to panic. Furiously wiping any evidence of tears or snot from your face before you slumped over to the door, turning the lock and tugging it open to reveal a frowning Bakugou. He wasn’t upset, he was worried. It was evident in his red irises.

“Here. Drink it before it gets cold.” He handed you a mug before walking past you and into your room. He admired the decor everytime he was in there, no matter how many times he had seen it already, it never failed to make his heart warm. You had a wall full of pictures of yourself with your friends. There were a few solo photos of your friends as well. Most were candid shots, there were a fair few of him.

It always reminded him that beauty is indeed in the eye of the beholder. You cherished those candid photos because in your eyes, when your friends were carefree and themselves, no poses, no facade, that’s when they were their most beautiful.

He took a seat on your bed and patted the space beside him. Nudging the door shut, you made your way over and got comfortable.

“What’s up with you today? You seemed...not yourself.”

You didn’t respond, opting to take a sip of your tea. He knew there was something up and he wasn’t gonna push you. So he leaned back and got comfortable, waiting until you were ready. It was a solid three minutes of silence before you took a deep breath.

“I-I don’t want to lie to you, Katsuki. It just wouldn’t be fair so uhh, yeah. Here goes.” He could tell that this was overwhelming for you so, wordlessly, he put down his mug and held his hand out to you and you grasped it, like it was a lifeline.

And you told him.

You told him about the abuse from your own parents. He felt his blood boil as you showed him a few scars inflicted by your parents’ quirks. You explained that it was the anniversary of the day you ran away and went to live with your grandparents, and how you had been seeing a therapist on the regular since then.

It pained him to see you struggle through the tears, hiccuping a few times as you attempted to catch your breath. You didn’t even have to say it but he could see it, it was an all too familiar feeling to him. He tugged you to him, letting go of your hand and pulling you into his chest, his arms wrapping you up in a warmth that made the stinging tears return.

“You know, this doesn’t make me think less of you. You’re not weak. Those bastards don’t realize how bad they screwed up. You’re strong, and they’re gonna regret every goddamn choice they’ve made when they see how far you’ll go.”

“Thank you.” You whimpered as you gave in to the new wave of tears, hooking your arms around his shoulders. “Thank you…”

If anyone asks, no...he wasn’t crying. (He was though.)

If anyone was familiar with the signs of abuse, it was him. 

It hurt him so much knowing that you had gone through what he did, maybe not to the same extreme but you had experienced it nonetheless. 

He admired you though. Despite whatever happened to you, you were always bright. Always in a good mood and always choosing to see the good in people. He knows that he didn’t have the strength to do that. Maybe eventually, but not so soon. He had never wanted to pry. You guys were friends, practically best friends and he trusted that you’d tell him when you were ready. 

To his knowledge, no one knew. No one mentioned the way you’d flinch around sudden movements or when someone raised their voice. Honestly, it was a wonder that you had even befriended Iida. He was the epitome of loud and sudden. Always waving his arms around at the randomest times and always shouting to chastise someone for breaking a rule. 

He noticed that you tended to cover up your torso often. Never really wearing anything more revealing than a normal t-shirt. Even on the class trip to the beach, you insisted on staying covered up. No one questioned it, chalking it up to insecurity. Even during training when everyone had to wear their gym uniform, while others undid the top part and wrapped it around their waist, being clad in a tank top or sports bra, you had always kept it on. Even when it was extremely hot. More often than not, he found himself resting his palm against your forehead to cool you off. 

It hadn’t been very hot, but Aizawa decided to run everyone ragged with combat training, so everyone was partnered up. Todoroki had been partnered with Denki and you had been paired up with Eijirou.

As he sat with his classmates, watching the two of you spar, he was quite impressed. Not that he doubted your skill but both fighting styles were drastically different. Eijirou and his quirk relied on close combat while your quirk worked best with long-range. He could see the frustration on your face when Eijirou kept charging towards you and engaging in hand to hand.

As the fight went on, Kirishima had hardened his forearm and hand, kinda like a makeshift blade and as he took you down, he had accidentally cut the top of your gym uniform. As the dust settled and the both of you got up, the tear in your clothes allowed the whole class to see your back and shoulders, skin littered with scars. All were different in size, color, severity, etc. 

Everyone was stunned silent, not having expected anything like this. 

“(Y/n)...what happened?” You could feel the breeze on your back and the pity in Kirishima’s eyes made you angry.

Everyone suddenly snapped into realization. Various questions of; ‘who did that to you?’, ‘where did those come from?’ and whatnot were shot at you from different directions. He could see you slowly being overwhelmed by everything. His heart dropped as he made eye contact with you, your eyes tired and filled with tears. 

“That’s ENOUGH!” Everyone froze and looked at Todoroki with wide eyes, his voice booming.

Sensing the tension starting to rise, Aizawa sighed. 

“Alright everyone settle down. Training is over, get back to class. (Y/n). A word.” 

Reluctantly, Todoroki followed the boys into the locker room and changed into his school uniform.  When everyone was out and he returned outside to the training grounds, you and Aizawa weren’t there so he had gone back to the locker rooms. He knocked and called out to you. 

“Can I come in?” He heard a meek ‘yeah.’ So he carefully made his way inside. 

There you were, dressed in your school uniform and sat on a bench with your face buried in your hands, shoulders shaking. 

“(Y/n)...” He gently placed a hand on your shoulder, he winced when you looked up at him. IIt ached him to see your beautiful eyes tainted by tears. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner Sho…” Your bottom lip quivered. 

“Please, don’t apologize.” He opened his arms. You stood up and basically collapsed into them, clutching onto the back of his blazer. “Just always remember that I may understand more than anyone else will. I’ll never judge you, you know that right?” 

“I know…It’s just, ugh-” You pulled away and wiped the tears from your face. “I don’t want anyone to change how they look at me because of what my parents did to me and when everyone saw, and they were asking all of their questions, their eyes...they were just full of pity.” 

“Then look into mine.”

And when you did, you didn’t see pity. 

You saw admiration. You saw belonging. Love. Understanding. 

“Nothing will ever change with me, (Y/n).” He pressed his forehead against yours, “I will always be here for you.” 

[keichanz]

You're Okay

i had a whole thing written before i wrote this short blurb but i ended up nixing it. because the more times i read it, the more it seemed like i was trying to get you to sympathize for me, or trying to guilt you into helping or something and i never want to do that. i could never do that. not to you guys.

so i'll just say this: i'm struggling. financially wise. i'm sure some of you remember the post about my truck? just had another unexpected expense on top of that so if you could perhaps consider contributing to my kofi, i would be truly, forever grateful and very, very appreciative. please don't feel obligated - only if you can, and if you want to. and please don't feel bad if you can't, i understand. i mean why would i be asking this if i didn't? ❤️ i love you guys. i would be nothing without you.

note: i didn't really write this for any particular reason. i've just been sad and emotional lately and i think this was just a way to sort of get a little of it off my chest. an outlet, if you will. i'm really happy with how it turned out though, and i hope you enjoy it. ❤️

AO3

Inuyasha was the first to arrive home in the early afternoon, but he wasn’t all that surprised. Compared to his wife’s half-day journey with the monk to perform a dual exorcism and blessing of a mid-sized city due east, he’d only been a few hours away in the next village over. Moroha had set off the day before yesterday with Setsuna and Hisui on a demon slaying expedition and there was no telling when she would be back. If there was a bounty involved, which Inuyasha suspected there was given how excited his daughter had been about it, no doubt they’d have to hunt the demon down first and who knew how long that would take.

While he knew his kid could hold her own, having developed into a strong, independent young woman at eighteen summers, he was still glad she was accompanied by two of their best demon slayers. While they may very well be evenly matched whenever they partook in one of their frequent spars, she would always be his little girl and he’d worry about her whether she was ten years old or forty years old. He knew Kagome felt the same way, even if she was as confident as he was in their daughter’s excellent battle skills and sharp wit.

Thinking back on his own mission, Inuyasha grimaced. It hadn’t been nearly as exciting and he was sure both Kagome and their kid would get a kick out of it when he told them he’d been asked to resolve an issue of a slew of nuisance beaver demons that resided in the large river not too far from it. Apparently not only was the dam they were constructing cutting off their main water supply, they were sneaking into the village at night and making off with any and all wood they could find. Barrels, wagons, firewood, carts—everything was suddenly disappearing and nobody knew why. That is until a young boy got up in the middle of the night to relieve himself outside and witnessed a colony of the little bastards chopping away at the wooden fence around their garden before making off with it.

So needless to say, when a very annoyed and frustrated headman had arrived shortly after Kagome and Miroku left and asked for his assistance, he’d been equal parts amused and curious enough to check it out. The headman hadn’t wanted him to kill the damn beavers, insisting there was a peaceful way to resolve this and he’d wasted over two hours arguing over potential methods. It was closing in on the third hour when Inuyasha finally said fuck it and blasted the damn dam with a well-aimed Wind Scar before demanding the pests make their home in the marshlands a few miles west or else he’d keep coming back and destroy each dam they made thereafter.

He was pretty sure the “leader” of the colony, which was one ginormous fucking beaver the size of a small hut, had said some not so nice things to him in a strange growling squeak that was more amusing to hear than threatening before giving a few barks to his colony and disappearing, thankfully, toward the marshlands. The look on the headman’s face had been a peculiar mixture of bemused and resigned as he’d handed over his payment for the job and Inuyasha had been hard-pressed not to laugh.

Overall it had been a strange, but ultimately amusing experience, and he was looking forward to Kagome’s soft laughter and Moroha’s jubilant guffaws when he regaled them with his beaver demon misadventure.

Sending up a silent prayer for both his daughter and wife’s safe return, something he wasn’t at all too proud anymore to admit that he did, Inuyasha heaved a sigh and decided he may as well get a few things done he’d been procrastinating on for a while now. He needed to mend the overhang where they kept their firewood and water barrels, smooth out the freshly installed jagged doorframe that both he and Kagome kept snagging their clothes on, and somehow find a way to grind down that stupid stone step that led to their door that he’d stubbed his toe on for the third fucking time in the last two days.

Kagome was always annoyingly amused when he limped his way inside, silently fuming. Until she herself stubbed her toe one day and suddenly it wasn’t so funny anymore. He may or may not have been unable to stop the gloating smirk on his face. His wife had swiftly retaliated with a firm and crisp sit that successfully wiped it off his face.

Shaking his head in fond remembrance, Inuyasha cocked his head and listened to the muffled buzzing sound coming from outside with a marked frown. Next on the agenda was to somehow find a way to destroy that fucking bee’s nest in tree that hung over their house with minimal damage to…well, himself. At first they hadn’t really been a problem, even when he or Kagome were tending to the garden right next to it, so he hadn’t been really concerned about it. Now, however, suddenly they were dive bombing anyone who dared venture too close to the tree it was located in, and with both his wife and daughter being on the receiving end of some painful stings, in his opinion the little fuckers had signed their death warrant.

So as far as he was concerned, this was fucking war and he was going to enjoy destroying every last piece of that stupid hive. Nothing, not even minuscule asshole insects, got away with hurting his family, and the constant buzzing was getting annoying, anyway. He’d ask Sango for some of her demon slaying concoctions and repellants. Maybe he could smoke them out or something.

But first, before he tackled his short but still annoying to do list, getting food was his first priority. He’d politely declined the headman’s offer for lunch before taking his leave, finding himself eager to return home despite both his girls being gone. There was nothing like the comfort of eating in peace in your own home without having to carry on a conversation. And besides, he’d wanted to be there for when either one or both of them returned.

Procuring some jarred smoked sausage from the little nook he’d dug beneath their house, accessible by a removable panel of wood in the floor, Inuyasha chopped it up with some rice and had a light, but filling lunch. Afterward, he put aside the dishes to do later and decided to tackle the jagged door frame first. That and the stone step shouldn’t take long at all, then he could put his efforts into getting rid of that damn hive.

Fetching a tough leather strip and a handful rough sand he, for some reason, found in a bucket behind their house – Moroha’s doing, he was almost positive because he’d unfortunately been on the receiving end of one of her notorious pranks – Inuyasha splashed some water on the frame, tossed some sand onto it, then used the leather strip to sand it down.

As he suspected, he was done only a short hour or so later. He’d managed to smooth out the nicks and splinters in the wood so their clothes wouldn’t snag anymore if they brushed up against it. Next he started on the stone step, and for this project he borrowed the smithy’s large metal sanding tool. He doubted a leather strip and sand would work on stone.

Another two hours later, he’d accomplished evening it out so no more toes would catch the lip and result in a painful stubbing. He may or may not have flipped off the stone pathway to his house in a brief lapse of maturity before spinning around to return the borrowed sanding file.

Now ten minutes later, he was standing beside the tree and scowling up at the sizable hive attached to a low hanging branch. Already the little fuckers were agitated by his proximity, the buzzing getting louder as more of them prepared to defend their turf. He scoffed. Their turf? Hardly.

“You chose the wrong goddamn tree, assholes,” Inuyasha muttered, flexing his clawed fingers.

“Inuyasha!”

Ear flicking toward the voice, Inuyasha’s gaze followed suit and he turned his head to find Sango and Gyokuto jogging toward them. Tucking his hands into his sleeves, he turned to face him fully and waited.

“Welcome back,” Sango said by way of greeting and he nodded.

Gyokuto grinned at him. “Hi, Doggy.”

Inuyasha sighed. “You and your sister ever gonna stop calling me that?”

“Nope.”

Smiling at the familiar exchange, Sango cut to the chase. “Has Moroha returned?”

“Not as far as I’m aware,” he answered. “If she has, she hasn’t come home yet, but I haven’t picked up her scent, either. What’s going on?”

“There’s a big hole in our fishing net,” Gyokuto explained while her mother sighed, clearly disappointed. “We were hoping we could request her quick netting skills so we can leave it in the water overnight. We’d compensate her, of course.”

Inuyasha’s eyebrows rose. “With what?”

Gyo grinned. “Dango.”

The half-demon snorted. “Yeah, that’ll do it.” It wasn’t a secret his daughter had a weakness for the sweet treat. Or anything sweet, really.

“We know how fast she is at it,” Sango continued, brow knitting into a slight frown, “so it was my hope to get it fixed and in the water by dusk. I suppose it’ll have to wait until she returns.”

Sparing a fleeting glance up at the buzzing hive, Inuyasha shrugged. “I’ll do it.”

Surprised, Sango blinked. “You know how?”

The look he gave her was deadpan. “Who do you think taught her?”

Both mother and daughter blinked that time, clearly having never thought of that. The sheepish smiles they gave him told him as much.

Rolling his eyes, Inuyasha revealed, “I’m not as fast as her, but I should still be able to get it done before it gets too dark.”

“I’d really appreciate it,” Sango said with a grateful smile, but then it faded a little as something occurred to her. “You’re not busy, are you? It can wait…”

He shook his head. “Nah, it’s fine. Little bastards aren’t as active at night anyway so it should be easier getting rid of it later, anyhow.” At their perplexed looks, he gave a notch of his head toward the beehive hanging on the branch.

Sango frowned as Gyo grimaced and took a few not-so-subtle steps back. “It looks even bigger than the last time I saw it.”

Inuyasha snorted. “It probably is. I was actually gonna ask if you had anything to smoke ‘em out or something.”

The former demon slayer bit her lip and nodded slowly. “I think I do have something that can help, but I have to make it first. I’ll mix it up while you fix the net?”

“Deal.” He paused. “I can take some of that dango off your hands, too.”

“Sorry,” Gyokuto chirped as the three of them headed to Miroku and Sango’s house. “It’s gone. I ate it all.”

“Liar. You don’t like sweets.”

“No, Kin’u doesn’t like sweets. I love them.”

“Oh, so you’re responsible for Kagome’s disappearing mochi that she got from the city that she still blames me for stealing even though I swore that it wasn’t me.”

“Uh…”

“Gyo, did you eat Kagome’s mochi? She told me she bought that for Moroha to cheer her up after a failed bounty hunt.”

“Keh. I was picking dirt out of my teeth for fucking weeks from the sit she gave me.”

“I didn’t know it was for Moroha!”

“Cough up the dango, squirt.”

A sigh of defeat. “Can I at least have one?”

“Depends. You got any daifuku?”

“Maybe…”

“Then we’ll split. Deal?”

“Deal!”

Repairing the hole in the fishing net took longer than he anticipated, but Inuyasha still made it home an hour or so before dusk. As per their deal, Gyokuto shared the coveted sweets with him, however he only ate the daifuku and saved the dango for Moroha as a nice little surprise when she returned. He loved seeing her face light up when presented with her favorite treat and if he was lucky, he’d get an enthusiastic hug.

Sango held up her end of the deal and provided him with some poisonous smoke bombs for his buzzing insect problem. All he had to do was either toss them at the hive itself or close enough for the smoke to reach it and they would explode upon impact. However, she’d cautioned to keep his distance until the smoke cleared as it was very potent and would probably knock him on his ass.

After bidding his goodbye, Inuyasha had immediately beat feet back to his house, eager to launch the poison pellets at the little bastards and relish in their death. Then he’d snorted and grinned to himself, thinking that if Kagome could hear his thoughts, she’d call him out on his tendency to be bloodthirsty sometimes. Then his grin softened into a smile at the thought of Moroha probably jumping to his defense and cheering him on as he smoked out the buzzing assholes.

Damn, he missed his girls. He hated when they were all separated like this.

Now, standing on the roof of his house, smoke pellets in hand and malicious grin spreading across his face, Inuyasha cranked his arm back and hurled the poison with probably more force than necessary at the hive. It was nearing dusk, so it wasn’t as active as it was during the daytime, but he still derived some extreme satisfaction from the act all the same. True to her word, within seconds the little bastards started dropping to the ground, dead as a fucking doornail, and unable to help himself Inuyasha threw his hands up in victory and did a little dance right on the roof of his house.

Unfortunately, so distracted was he relishing in his triumph, Inuyasha failed to retreat in time to avoid the smoke that wafted toward him on the breeze and he nearly fell off the roof from the potency of the fumes. Fortunately, however, he was able to regain his balance in time and quickly ducked inside his house to wait out the worst of it. It was then that he discovered the damn smoke had soaked into his suikan, clinging to the fabric, and with a scowl he shrugged it off and tossed it into a bucket to be washed later.

With nothing else to do, he started preparing dinner, fetching some water to boil over the fire for an easy dinner of rice, veggies, and fish. Both his girls knew he wasn’t the most elaborate of cooks, which was why Kagome usually did most of the cooking, but he could at least put together simple dishes. And since he knew his wife would be tired from her journey, he also knew she’d appreciate that he’d cooked so she didn’t have to.

Inuyasha smiled as he chopped up some onions and potatoes with his claws. It was the little things sometimes that he found the most joy in. But then he paused and scowled.

Fucking Miroku liked to tease him about being a “house hanyou.” Inuyasha in turn liked to respond with some variation of “fuck you” or his middle finger. Sometimes both.

Usually both.

Grumbling under his breath, Inuyasha tossed the cut vegetables into a frying pan and set it aside for now before starting the rice since that would take the longest. He had to admit, he was very grateful Kagome had persuaded Totosai to create some cookware based on her modern pots and pans because it made things so much easier. The old coot owned them anyway with how many times Inuyasha had saved his ass from a pissed off Sesshomaru.

It took him only fifteen minutes to prepare the fish, and with dinner ready to go over the fire when the rice was done, Inuyasha ventured back outside. A few tentative sniffs told him most of the poison smoke had cleared away, and thought there was still a distinct odor in the air, it was tolerable. Satisfied, Inuyasha finally started on his last task of the day, the relatively easy job of fixing the overhang. It leaked whenever it stormed or there was heavy rain so oftentimes, he had to venture into the forest to get dry firewood, and needless to say it was rather annoying.

Shoving up the sleeves of his kosode, Inuyasha sighed, cracked his neck, and got to work.

The sun was just sinking below the horizon, bathing the land in beautiful shades of orange and yellow, when he caught her scent. And what timing—he was just about finished, anyway.

Unable to stop the smile from curving his lips, Inuyasha secured the last bit of thatching and double-checked the support beam before hopping down from the wooden ladder he balanced on. Her scent was slowly but surely getting stronger, which meant she was heading this way – toward home. Inuyasha took a deep breath, filling his lungs with her scent and feeling some part of himself relax now that she was safely home. He knew he wouldn’t be able to fully relax until his wife was home safely as well, but he was confident she’d be returning within the next hour or so. Kagome hated traveling in the dead of night, Miroku even more so, so he suspected they couldn’t be very far.

Dusting off his hands, Inuyasha carelessly tossed his tools into the wooden bucket he kept them in and was surveying his handiwork with her scent stopped just before the stone steps to their house. His smile widened.

“Well, if it isn’t another world heard from,” he said by way of greeting and finally turned his gaze toward her. “Hey, kiddo.”

Standing just a few yards away, right before the pathway to their home, Moroha’s head was bowed and she did not reply, immediately tipping him off that something was wrong. She was usually all smiles whenever she came back from a hunt, her brown eyes still alight with the victory of a successful trip. She wasn’t like this when the hunt was a failure, either. Perhaps a little morose and disappointed, but she always bounced back with a cheerful, “Next time for sure!”

This, however, was new. Body tense, head down, arms hanging limp at her sides and unusually quiet—this wasn’t his jovial little girl and an uncomfortable feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

Add to the fact that he could smell blood on her, Inuyasha was very concerned.

The smile dropping from his face, Inuyasha frowned and turned to face her fully. Quickly he racked his eyes up and down her body and only relaxed slightly when it appeared she wasn’t hurt. Another subtle sniff confirmed the blood wasn’t hers, but he suspected it played a large role in her behavior at the moment.

“Moroha?” he said slowly, his tone soft, cautious. “What’s the matter? Are you okay?”

Again, his daughter didn’t respond. Verbally, at least. Inuyasha watched as her shoulders hitched, heard the breath catch in her throat, and to his alarm, he smelled salt—tears. Worse, she started to shake as her scent abruptly shifted, souring from a bitter combination of sorrow and—

Inuyasha’s heart clenched at the realization just as his daughter finally lifted her head and the fear in her eyes, glistening with unshed tears and so much like her mother’s, made a very real ache develop in his chest, constricting his lungs and wringing an involuntary whine from his clenched throat. His ears flattened, his stomach clenched, and without thinking he started toward her.

He didn’t even make it halfway before Moroha launched herself at him, arms snapping around his waist and clinging to him like her lift depended on it. Inuyasha stumbled back from the force but quickly recovered, truly worried now as his arms automatically wrapped around her in return as she trembled and heaved against him, her body wracking with silent sobs as her tears soaked his kosode.

Befuddled and worried out of his mind, Inuyasha held her as she fell apart, biting back another whine as a sudden surge of anger had him gritting his teeth. Who had done this to her? What the fuck happened that had his strong, full capable daughter reduced to a crying mess that reeked of fear and sorrow? He swallowed the growl that welled in his throat and simply held her tighter, rubbing her back and burying his nose in her hair. At eighteen, she reached his shoulders now, the same height as her mother, but that didn’t stop him from gathering her close and curling his body around hers, his instinct to protect, to shelter surging in him something fierce.

“Moro,” he rasped, pulling back and trying to get a glance at her face. “Chibi, what happened? Will you tell me?”

Moroha sucked in a ragged breath and shook her head, more tears leaking out of her eyes as she tightened her arms around his waist. The fact that she was refusing to talk about it suggested that whatever it was had been really bad and the sliver of worry embedded even deeper into his heart.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Inuyasha released a sigh and nodded, dropping a kiss to her head. “Alright,” he allowed. “Come inside?”

After a brief pause, Moroha nodded. Wordlessly Inuyasha bent down and caught the back of her thighs with an arm while the other kept a firm grasp around her back, cradling her against him with her knees tucked against his side. He suspected it might be too much for her to even walk right now so he didn’t mind carrying her in. Any little comfort he could provide for his clearly distraught little girl, Inuyasha would freely give without a second’s hesitation.

With a low rumble emitting from his chest designed to soothe, Inuyasha turned and headed inside. Moroha’s arms were around his neck now and he doubted she was going to release him anytime soon, which was fine. He’d let her cling for however long she wanted since she clearly needed the closeness right now. He still wanted to know what the hell had happened, but he held back from asking. Maybe later when she’d calmed or fell asleep, he would ask Kohaku if he knew anything. Hisui no doubt reported back to him when they had returned.

Sinking down against the wall, Moroha immediately curled up in his lap, tucking herself under his chin and adjusting her arms to wrap around his torso. Again she clung to him, pressing her face into his shoulder, her body still trembling slightly and the scent of her tears had yet to lessen. Inuyasha did what he could, stroking her back, running his fingers through her hair, never ceasing that soothing rumble in his chest as he tried to think of something – anything – that would make her feel better.

“You hungry?” he asked, the gentle tone of his voice one he only used with his family. “Got some dango for you. Managed to get Gyo to share before she ate it all…”

Moroha was silent and he knew she was considering the offer. But then she shook her head and tucked herself closer against him, her hands clutching him so hard he felt the small pinprick of her claws against his back. His worry increased and he simply nodded.

“Let’s at least get you out of this,” he tried, tugging on her scarlet robe. “It’s soaked in blood. I’m sure the smell is a constant reminder you don’t want, yeah?

She sucked in a breath and shuddered before at last giving a slow, shaky nod. Relieved – it was small, but a step forward nonetheless – Inuyasha leaned back and removed her sword, setting it aside while she worked on shrugging out of the bloody robe. She didn’t feel the need to leave his lap, and he didn’t make her, simply grabbing the garment once she got it off and tossing it into the bucket with his suikan to be soaked in lye and hot water later.

Now in just her white yukata, dirty but tolerable, Moroha burrowed back against him, moving her legs to drape over his thigh. Inuyasha settled back against the wall and simply held his daughter, soothing her to the best of his ability, wanting so desperately to take whatever it was that had her so distraught and shoulder it himself. Her pain was his pain, just as he also relished in her triumphs and her celebrated her accomplishments right along with her.

The two of them sat there for the next hour and a half with only the crackling of the fire to break the silence. Every so often Moroha would tense right before tightening her grip around him, as if remembering something unpleasant. Always Inuyasha would squeeze her back, often with a kiss to her head. A reminder that he was there, she was safe, and he’d never let anything happen to her.

He knew the exact moment Kagome returned. Even if he hadn’t caught her scent, the way Moroha suddenly tensed and shifted to look at the door would have immediately tipped him off. The look on her face had his brows dipping into a concerned frown; eyes wide, brows drawn inward, lips parted and trembling just the slightest bit.

His frown deepened as realization hit him. She looked almost scared. Cautiously hopeful, an unnamed worry making her hold her breath as the sound as her mother’s footsteps grew closer until the reed mat was finally pushed aside.

Kagome didn’t even make it a full step inside before Moroha was lunging across the room with a choked sob. She crashed so hard into Kagome, the older woman had to quickly shoot out a hand and grab the doorframe to brace herself so she didn’t fall backward. Moroha barely noticed, arms clamped tightly around her mother’s waist as she buried her face into her chest and cried, shoulders shaking with her sobs and body trembling from a combination of relief and sorrow.

Wide eyed, dumbstruck, and very worried, Kagome stared down at the head of dark hair in wordless bafflement, her free arm automatically wrapping around her clearly distraught daughter. When all Moroha did was continue to cling to her without offering an explanation, Kagome lifted her head and looked to her husband for possible answers, her expression one of mystified concern.

Inuyasha was already getting to his feet, unable to get the quiet, choked cry he’d heard out of his head. It had been too soft for Kagome to hear, but he’d easily heard the whispering cry of “Mom!” as their daughter had flown across the room into her mother’s arms.

Kagome watched as Inuyasha crossed the room over to them, brows knit with her question clear in her eyes and expression. Her husband’s own expression, grim and just as worried as she suspected her own must look, did not make her feel any better.

Mutely she shook her head at him and again looked down at their daughter, using both arms now to wrap around her and return the frantic embrace. Moroha emitted a quiet whimper and pressed tighter against her.

“She won’t tell me anything,” Inuyasha murmured, one hand on Kagome’s back while the other soothingly ran down Moroha’s hair. “I don’t know what happened, but she came home like this a couple hours ago.”

“Is she—”

“She’s fine,” he said, but then grimaced and amended, “Physically, anyway. She was covered in blood, but none of it was hers.”

Biting her lip, Kagome once more directed her gaze to her daughter, her heart aching at the way she shook and cried in her arms. “Oh, baby,” he whispered and pressed her lips to her head, tightening her arms around her. “It’s alright. You’re home. You’re safe. You’re okay.”

Moroha sucked in a shuddering breath and pressed closer.

“I’m gonna go talk to Kohaku,” Inuyasha remarked, brow still wrinkled into a frown of concern as he stared at their Moroha. “No doubt Hisui or Setsuna explained what happened and I can get the full story.”

Swallowing thickly, Kagome silently nodded, her hand running up and down Moroha’s back.

“Try to get her to eat something,” her husband continued, his voice gentle. “She wouldn’t earlier. I’ll be back soon.”

With a kiss to his wife’s forehead and one to his daughter’s head, Inuyasha left their home, praying that Kohaku or his nephew could shed a little on why his little girl had come home nearly inconsolable.

When he returned a good thirty or so minutes later, it was to the sight of Kagome sitting against the back wall with Moroha’s head in her lap and covered with a light blanket. His wife was running her hand up and down her covered back and humming quietly under her breath. Kagome looked up when her husband ducked through the door, the question obvious in her eyes.

In response Inuyasha’s expression hardened and he shook his head while giving a brief but meaningful glance at Moroha. Kagome frowned and sucked in a breath as she nodded in understanding. He’d explain later when she was asleep so she didn’t have to hear and relive the no doubt horrible, and possibly traumatic, experience.

A brief glance at the untouched bowl of food beside the pair told him Kagome had failed to get their daughter to eat something and he withheld a sigh. At least she’d managed to get their daughter to release her long enough to get his suikan and her robe into some hot water and lye to soak. He suspected it might have taken some persuasion however, given how Moroha was once again clinging to her, arms around Kagome’s waist and not looking like she was about to let go anytime soon.

Considering his girls for a brief moment, Inuyasha turned and retrieved a small pouch he’d stashed away in one of their cabinets earlier. He sank down beside them with a grunt, stretched his legs out before him, and with a fleeting glance his daughter’s way, Inuyasha cut the tie securing the package with a claw and let it fall open.

Kagome had to bite her lip to hold back her giggle of amusement as her husband grabbed a stick with some dango on it and took a small bite. Smiling, she looked down at their daughter and sure enough Moroha had taken notice, brown eyes peeking out for beneath the blanket as the scent of her favorite treat reached her nose.

It was an effort to hold back his grin, but Inuyasha pretended he didn’t notice, continuing to munch away on the sweet pastry he’d gotten from Gyo earlier. Then, without looking, he lowered his hand and held it out in a wordless offer. Only a few seconds passed before a hand snuck out from beneath the blanket and grabbed the treat from his hand before retreating back under the blanket to munch in solitude.

Relieved he’d finally gotten her to eat something – even if it was dango and not something more substantial – Inuyasha set the rest of it within easy reach and laid his hand on her head atop the blanket. Kagome sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder. He kissed her head and squeezed her thigh in response.

Thankfully with some food in her stomach and safe at home under the protection of her parents, Moroha finally drifted off not long after finishing off the dango. Both Inuyasha and Kagome were supremely glad to see her finally at peace and hoped her sleep was not interrupted by any nightmares. Nevertheless, they were prepared to be there for her if that happened, neither of them very keen on the idea of being too far away so if she did awaken, she’d know they were right there for her.

Having maneuvered herself so she was comfortably sandwiched between her parents, head in her mother’s lap with one hand thrown behind her to grab a tight fistful of her father’s hakama, Moroha’s breathing was deep and even as she slept on. It was dark in their home; they’d let the fire die out on its own in their reluctance to accidentally wake her up if either one of them moved.

Knowing she was waiting for an explanation now that their daughter had fallen asleep, Inuyasha took a minute to gather his thoughts as he tried to find a way to explain what he’d learned without upsetting his soft-hearted wife.

“The demon they went after,” he began, voice soft as to not disturb his daughter but still loud enough for Kagome to hear. “It was some kind of earth elemental. Could split the ground in two, rip up large chunks of it, cause earthquakes. Dangerous and bloodthirsty. Known to slaughter entire villages and make his victims suffer.”

Kagome blanched and winced, closing her eyes. She knew she wasn’t going to like this, but said nothing and waited for him to continue. She heard the hitch in her husband’s breath, the minute crack in his voice that told her this was just as difficult to stay than it was for her to hear.

“They managed to pick up his trail and tracked him to a village far south of here, but he was already gone by the time they arrived. It was—” He cleared his throat and grimaced as he recalled the details Kohaku had grimly supplied. “It was a massacre. From what Hisui described it to Kohaku, there was blood and bodies everywhere, some still alive, most of them dead. Those still alive were horribly injured with life-threatening wounds, fading fast and unable to be saved. Despite this, all three of them rushed in anyway, searching for survivors that could be saved or to help however they could. Moroha—”

His throat closed and he grit his teeth, ears flattening against his head. He felt Kagome’s hand slide into his own and he grasped it tightly, sucking in a sharp, bracing breath. It had been hard to hear it, but fuck, he didn’t think it’d be this hard to repeat it.

“Moroha found someone that miraculously managed to escape, but had come back for his family after the demon left. A boy. Hisui said he was around their age.”

Inuyasha took another moment to compose himself, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall as he inhaled slowly. “His parents—they were still alive, but barely. The boy was screaming for help, and Moro…she didn’t hesitate. She dove right in, tried to save them, doing whatever she could to stop the bleeding. Apparently both Hisui and Setsuna tried to get her to stop, because they knew the boy’s parents were going to die despite her efforts, but Moroha refused. Even when they tried to pull her away, she shoved them back and kept trying to do that ‘see pea are’ thing you taught her. She kept saying over and over, ‘I can save them,’ and, ‘Don’t die on me.’”

Feeling sick, Kagome closed her eyes. “They didn’t make it, did they.” It was a statement, not a question.

Swallowing the thick lump in his throat, Inuyasha nodded once.

“I think,” he began thickly. “I think experiencing that made her think about…what if that had been us. Someone close to her own age, losing both of his parents in such a horrific way…”

Inuyasha shook his head. God, just the mere thought of their Moroha going through that at such a young age…he couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain, the utter sorrow that would plague her. And judging by how she had come home, bloody and inconsolable, it had been too much for her to handle.

The salty scent of tears reached his nose and he opened his eyes to find his wife holding a hand to her mouth, her eyes bright with unshed tears as she gazed down at their precious girl. No doubt her thoughts were very similar to his own and without a second thought, Inuyasha maneuvered himself so he could hold both his wife and daughter in his arms. Moroha stayed asleep, merely shifting a little and quieting with a sigh, nuzzling against her father’s arm.

“Our Moro,” Kagome whispered, stroking Moroha’s hair away from her face as tears silently rolled down her cheeks, wanting so desperately to be able to take away their girl’s anguish. “Our brave, strong, beautiful girl. I just…I-I want…”

Kagome broke off with a choked cry and abruptly turned to bury her face into her husband’s chest in an attempt to muffle her sobs. Inuyasha pressed his lips to her forehead and cupped the back of her head, letting her cry as his own heart ached in his chest.

“I know,” he rasped, closing his eyes. “Me, too.”

They couldn’t protect her from this. They couldn’t shelter her from the harsh realities of the world, the cruelty of bloodthirsty demons and power-hungry humans leaving a trail of devastation in their wake as they sought to get what they desired. They couldn’t slay these inner demons for her, chase away the nightmares, ensure that her heart and mind would forever be free from prejudice, hurtful words, or evil seeking to corrupt and warp.

But what they could do was be there for her. She would always have a place to come home to, somewhere safe and warm with two people that love her unconditionally, that would comfort and listen and do whatever it takes to ensure that in the end, everything would be okay.

Moroha suddenly made a little noise of distress, drawing her parents’ attention, and they looked down to find a slight frown on her face. Her breathing quickened and Inuyasha could feel the slight prick of her claws where she clutched his hakama. Her lips pursed and her heart rate increased.

Immediately Kagome started making soothing sounds while brushing back her hair with a trembling band while Inuyasha stroked her cheek with his thumb.

“It’s okay,” he rumbled and almost instantly Moroha calmed, her brow smoothing out as her mouth relaxed. She sighed, turning her head to nuzzle into her father’s hand. Inuyasha’s breath hitched and he had to swallow several times to keep himself in check.

“You’re okay, Chibi. You’re okay.”