#window pane cookies | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thebiscuitlabryinth · 1 year ago

Text

"...We're two sides of the same coin, aren't we?"

The whispered confession falls clumsily out of Pure Vanilla's mouth, almost dragged out, bitterly sweet and strange on his tongue. The words are addressed to his own stained candy glass visage, spilling tendrils of bright blue light across the Solarium of Unity despite the almost suffocating darkness invading the rest of the space.

He knows this isn't really the Solarium of Unity, and he knows he isn't just speaking to a window. The lurking shadows, thick like molasses and blinking every once in a while, give that away. Even if it didn't, there is a haziness here that exists only in dreams, and a lack of the deep tiredness that has been plaguing him as of late.

"Oh, are you finally ready to admit that?" Sure enough, Shadow Milk Cookie's voice comes from all sides, far too cheerful. The candy glass melts and warps before him, the blues darkening until Shadow Milk stands in his place, far more detailed than the artisan silhouette he replaced. His grin is mocking as he looks down at Pure Vanilla, who cannot help but feel uncomfortable at the sight of their appearances blurring together like that, even though he had been expecting something along those lines. "Too bad though – you can't admit something that's wrong!"

"Huh?" It catches Pure Vanilla by surprise. It had been difficult emotionally, but logically straightforward to admit they were two sides of the same coin. He couldn't imagine how that could be wrong, and acting upon an old habit from his student days, he finds himself frantically unravelling that conclusion in his head again to figure out the issue.

Shadow Milk doesn't give him the chance, tutting as he shakes his head in mock disappointment. "You must have a brain in there, can't you use it?" He laments theatrically, contorting himself into an odd shape against the edge of the window pane. Then, again barreling on before Pure Vanilla can reply, "Look, think of it like this. To say we're two sides of the same coin means that we have similarities, even if we are otherwise opposites. That is true to an extent, but it makes our differences sound way more clear cut than they actually are. It may be easier for you to believe, but we aren't really opposites. That would imply I am not whole, and I can assure you, Soul Jam aside, I am just as I always was!"

Ah, so it's a matter of wording. Pure Vanilla isn't sure why he is entertaining this - no, it's because he doesn't want to give Shadow Milk the satisfaction of turning away from the truth. Even now, Shadow Milk's eyes squint cheekily at him, daring him to try and end the conversation.

"Then... we are made of the same components in a different composition." Pure Vanilla tries, a little frustrated with his own hesitance, but it is difficult to tell how Shadow Milk wants him to answer when he isn't making it blatantly obvious.

"So close!" Shadow Milk sighs dramatically as he snaps his head to the side so sharply it makes Pure Vanilla wince, imagining the cracks that would cause on any other Cookie. "But you're relying on technicalities. It's much simpler than that."

It dawns on Pure Vanilla, then, exactly what Shadow Milk is aiming for, the realisation making his insides crawl. He doesn't have to say it, not really, but he isn't sure what Shadow Milk will do if he doesn't, and he unfortunately doesn't have the ability to wake himself up on command.

So he takes a deep breath, fidgeting with his staff as he says, even less than a whisper yet twice as loud. "We're... We're the same. Is that what you wanted me to say?"

"Ding-ding-ding!" Shadow Milk trills, suddenly reaching through the candy glass to grip the window frame and lurching forward across the threshold, leaving a mess of shattered glass behind his head like a halo. It startles Pure Vanilla, who instinctively shifts his foot back, only to be instantly locked in place as the reaching shadows soldify around his legs, its eyes winking up at him playfully. His grip on his staff tightens, willing it to shed its light, the beginnings of panic stirring within him at the restraint. The staff does, but the shadows seem to eat the light without a problem.

Pure Vanilla is so distracted by the shadows that he doesn't notice Shadow Milk's hands until they grab his face. His heart jumps in alarm, and his eyes dart up to find half of Shadow Milk leaning down out of the window, far too close. He is grinning at him, wide and self-satisfied, and his hands are cold and harsh. "See, I knew you had a working brain! Yes, the right answer is that we are one and the same."

He pinches and pulls at his cheeks, and Pure Vanilla tries to cringe away, tries to manuver his staff between them. It doesn't work, if only because hands emerge from the darkness to anchor his staff too.

"But that isn't true." Pure Vanilla mumbles when he isn't able to wiggle his way out and Shadow Milk still shows no signs of stopping, hoping the argument will make him lose interest in his face. "I admit that there are similarities between us, but we aren't really the same."

Shadow Milk pauses, his grip tightening until it borders on pain, and for a moment, Pure Vanilla thinks he may have miscalculated.

But then Shadow Milk snickers to himself, releasing his face entirely and pulling back, his hands resting lightly over Pure Vanilla's shoulders. The brush of weight keeps Pure Vanilla from relaxing, but it is a bit of added distance, at least.

"Aren't we? Well, you are the biggest liar, so I should have expected you would lie to yourself too." Shadow Milk hums, almost sounding delighted at this turn in conversation. It unnerves Pure Vanilla, because he had assumed his disagreement would annoy him.

Instead, Shadow Milk smirks, his many eyes glinting gleefully at him. "Listen carefully, Vani, because here's the truth." He says, his voice dipping into a wicked purr that seems to shudder through Pure Vanilla's whole body. "All the things you hate that I have done, you have the capability of doing too. After all, you've already used people for your own gain, haven't you?" Shadow Milk leans closer with a condescending lilt to his words, shifting his hands so he can wrap his arms loosely over his shoulders, and Pure Vanilla freezes under the touch. "Oh, I know you think it was necessary, but you still sent those naive, tiny Cookies off to carry out your errands for you, regardless of the dangers. That's only a few steps behind what I've done, you know, making people dance to my tune. The only difference between us is severity and time."

The words sink heavily to Pure Vanilla's stomach, not quite true but not quite not true, and he feels a little lightheaded, fingers twitching against his staff. Maybe it's because of that, or maybe it's because of his discomfort from the close proximity, but he finds himself distracted by the way Shadow Milk is talking. He carries his usual air of showmanship, but it is nowhere near as exaggerated as during his brief takeover of the Faerie Kingdom. With his insistence of specificity, his mention of technicalities, his structured method of explaining things, he almost sounds like a–

"We are the same," Shadow Milk repeats, tilting his head to the side, the glow of his eyes burning holes through Pure Vanilla, "and one day, you'll end up just like me."

A scholar.

That makes sense – at some point, his virtue had been Knowledge, and nobody seeks it out as fervently as a scholar – but it still feels like a surprise. Pure Vanilla had always known that Shadow Milk was different, once, but only in the sense that the fact existed in the back of his mind.

"No rebuttal, hmm? Are you ready to accept that?" Shadow Milk asks smugly, slightly impatient with Pure Vanilla's lack of response, but mostly watching him expectantly, as if waiting for a bomb to go off.

Pure Vanilla has never thought about what Shadow Milk might have been like, before he became like this. There was no reason to even consider it. But now, he can't help but wonder, because while he cannot imagine this chaotic, brutal Beast, this great unknown evil, as anything else – Shadow Milk still carries echoes from a past life that he doesn't seem to notice enough to hide with his lies.

"...If we are the same," Pure Vanilla finally scrapes his thoughts together enough to reply, carefully, "then doesn't that make the opposite possible too? That, one day, you will become like me and return to the light?"

Shadow Milk blinks once, his face falling blank. He blinks again, all of his eyes in quick succession.

And then he throws his head back and laughs, the movement jostling Pure Vanilla in the process with his arms still firmly around his shoulders. It sounds unhinged, ricocheting across the room, but it is openly amused. It makes Pure Vanilla antsy, especially with how it rings in his ears like an explosion from their closeness.

He wonders if Shadow Milk's laugh was different, before everything. It must have been. He wonders what it sounded like, and immediately realises that he's being ridiculous. The realisation that a before exists seems to have opened the floodgates in his mind, and now thoughts of hypotheticals can't help flitting in.

"You say such silly, silly things." Shadow Milk bites out offhandedly as his laughter winds down, the lingering remnants still dancing on his tongue. Without warning, he pulls Pure Vanilla even closer, the darkness that had been keeping him in place swirling and shoving him forward. Pure Vanilla gasps, the sound catching in his throat, and one of his hands fly off his staff to reach for something to steady himself on. It finds an edge of shattered candy glass, flinching back and falling down to scrabble against its smooth, intact surface.

Shadow Milk is giggling at him and Pure Vanilla is mortified, horribly so. They are far, far too close, Shadow Milk's face taking up the near entirety of his vision and their upper bodies almost pressed together. It feels claustrophobic, which should be impossible in such a wide, open space.

Shadow Milk makes matters worse by pressing their foreheads together, the gesture weirdly tender and doing nothing to make Pure Vanilla any calmer. His bright blue eyes look directly through him, dissecting him piece by piece.

"Why don't you cut down the Silver Tree and find out?" Shadow Milk coos, his voice overlapping with the Light of Truth's in a deeply unsettling way. His presence is overwhelming.

Pure Vanilla's eyes flicker downwards to escape his piercing gaze, and finds their chests so close that their Soul Jams are overlapping. Overlapping, and not touching, because Shadow Milk's Soul Jam seems to fizzle out of existence where the other makes contact with it, as if it were an illusion. Behind it is an empty space, black as the abyss. With the way they are lined up now, it is obvious that Pure Vanilla's Soul Jam would fit perfectly into the crevice with a little turning. He knew that already, but it still feels strange to see it.

Pure Vanilla sighs, a long, thin, shuddering sound. "...You didn't truly believe that would work, did you?"

In the edge of his vision, Shadow Milk smiles tauntingly, all teeth, but he doesn't say a word.

And Pure Vanilla wakes up, off kilter, exhausted and oddly cold.

[next]

#sm flirting: hey wanna debate the fluidity of ur identity and morality and have a crisis? wanna make out over it?#if ur confused dw i was confused writing this too. sm strikes me as the type to say the most convulted stuff for funsies #also he is scheming. idk what exactly but he certainly is!!#and poor pv is just along for the ride #pure vanilla cookie #shadow milk cookie #shadowvanilla #vanilla milkshake #echo paradox au #the biscuit library

489 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 10 months ago

Text

the girl next door 7

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

Your body is stiff. You blame your late-night drawing session hunched over the folding table. You feel it in your neck and shoulder. You sit up and groan, rubbing your muscles as you try to loosen the knots. You roll your arms as you stand up, yawning as you rub your eyes.

A dewy breeze flows in. The air feels like rain but the density has yet to break. You remember vaguely in the middle of the night cracking the window to cool off, your room stagnant and stale.

You near the window in your baggy shirt, dampened slightly with your sweat. It’s caught under your chest as you bulge against the fabric. You pull it free as you stand in front of the pane and blanch as you see movement on the other side. Shoot.

Your eyes meet Steve’s as he closes the window across from yours. He can feel the approaching storm too. He smiles and gives a two-fingered wave. You lift your hand weakly, barely extending your fingers before you tug shut the curtains. How much did he see? How much could he see?

You go out to get the day started. The overhead light of kitchen blares yellow across the space and you put the coffee pot on to brew. As you wait, you tidy the table, once more cluttered with your mother’s forgotten distractions. The crossword book, several pens, a home magazine, and several wrappers.

You slow the pour of coffee into your mug as you hear your mom’s bedroom door. You stare at the doorway until she appears. She limps to the table and sits heavily. You put the cup before her and grab another for yourself. She mutters and leans her head in her hand. She was home late last night.

You go to grab her inhaler from the bathroom. Once more, it’s missing. You return and find it on the counter hidden beside a used plate. It's only then you notice the blackened frozen fries on the cookie sheet. What the heck?

“Ugh, that man,” she croaks, letting it roll into a laugh, “he convinced me to have a little wine after the milkshake.” You put her inhaler in front of her. She raises her head and scowls. She rubs the furrow between her brows. “And then another. And another.”

You don’t even remember her getting home. You were up until one in the morning drawing. She must have been much later. How hadn’t you heard her make all this mess?

You sip your coffee around cleaning up. You wash the glass from the milkshake Steve brought over and set it aside. Your mother hacks and clears her throat.

“Mm, he’s too nice,” she mutters, “told him you didn’t need that. Too much sugar. You don’t even like strawberry.”

You hide your frown. You like strawberry. You’re not sure why she thinks otherwise. She’s never really asked.

“I’ll bring the glass back--”

“You remember your manners,” she girds before she hums into her coffee cup. She gulps through her wet lips noisily. “I don’t need you ruining this.”

“I will, mom.”

“Ugh,” she stands up with a groan, “I need my chair.”

Her hand trembles and the cup with it. She spills a little over the sides but doesn’t pay attention to it. You dump the tray of burnt fries and put it in the sink. You just cleaned this place top to bottom. You don’t think you’re that messy but it’s always a disaster.

You clean the rest of the dishes and put them away. Your mom hollers for more coffee and you bring the pot with you to refill her cup. She leans it on her chest and closes her eyes.

“I’m going to take the glass back now, I guess.”

“Mph, do whatever,” she utters irritably.

You trod back to your room and change into real clothes; straight-legged jeans and a stripped jersey tee. You just want to get this over with. It’s so awkward. You would rather your mom just take it back the next time she goes over but she’s in rough shape. It must be the alcohol. She’s not really supposed to have any.

You grab the glass and put on your shoes. As you come out, there’s a speckling of rain falling from the sky. You go up the walk and around the sidewalk, coming back down the pavement squares to Steve’s porch. You stop and look up at his front door. You climb the steps and drag your feet to the door.

You tap the bell. It’s one of those ones with the camera built-in. You feel overly conscious as you stand before the lens. The door opens before you can prepare yourself.

“Hey, sweetie,” Steve greets, “how are you?”

“Erm. Okay. Here.”

You hold out the glass. He doesn’t take it. He leans on the doorframe and smile.

“Crummy day, huh? Supposed to thunderstorm soon,” he comments, “too bad, I was really wanting to get that pool going.”

“Mm, yeah,” you keep the glass raised before you.

“Oh well, guess I’ll have to figure out what to do all pent up. Maybe a movie night? With all this moving, I’m way behind.”

You look at his chest, staring at the short-sleeved button up with chagrin. What is he talking about? Why is he talking so much?

“You got any suggestions? You youngins always know what’s hip,” he shakes his head and laughs, “sorry, I sound old, don’t I?”

“No,” you answer dully.

“No what? No suggestions or no I don’t sound old?” He challenges.

Your eyes go round and you look him in the face. “I don’t know.”

“I’m teasing--”

“Here,” you wiggle the glass at him.

He takes it, his fingers brushing against yours. You let it go and recoil. You bare your teeth strangely and back away, “thanks, er. Bye.”

You turn and cringe at the grey sky. You trudge off the porch and cut across the lawn, too mortified not to trod over his grass. You clamber up the front steps and quickly shut yourself inside the house. You hiss at yourself as you press your back to the door.

“Don’t slam the goddamn door,” your mother sneers, “Jesus. No wonder this place is falling apart.”

🏠

It’s one of those days where you’re just sad. You can’t pinpoint why. It’s just a vague malaise that won’t leave. Even as the sun beams and deepens to a soft evening hue, you can’t see a light among the dark.

You don’t know how long you’ve been like that. Under your covers, crying for no good reason. It just hurts to be. You keep your arm folded over your pounding head. You just want to sleep and yet you can’t cross the barrier into unconscious.

You give up and roll onto your back, pulling the blanket to your waist. You exhale and stare up at the ceiling. You’re head swims from the deluge of tears. You sop them up with the sheet and sit up. Your head is full and throbbing.

You get up, bleary-eyed, and muddle your way through reality. You pull open your door and find the bathroom on instinct alone. You shut yourself in and blow your nose. The effort has you even more dizzy. You shake your head, trying to clear out the fog, and turn on the cold water. You throw it across your face, holding a wet palm to your forehead to try to ease the tension.

Your ears tickle with a strange noise. A low drone. Like bass on the front television. Now and again, your mom will amp up the TV but it’s unexpectedly loud. You twist off the faucet and stand straight. You dry off and head back into the hall, peering down at the shifting light glaring from the living room doorway.

“Woahhh,” the voice catches you unaware as someone collides with you from behind in the dim hallway. You stumble and turn to face Steve as popcorn scatters onto the floor, tumbling over the brim of the bowl. The smell tugs at your stomach, “sorry sweetie, I didn’t see you there.”

You look at his silhouette, unable to make out any of his features. You didn’t even know he was there. Your mother didn’t even warn you. You suspect that may have been purposeful.

“Sweetie?”

“Sorry,” you back up, “didn’t mean... to get in the way.”

You turn and shuffle back to your room. He follows, “your mom said you weren’t feeling good. Hope you get better soon, but if you’re interested, we’re watching a movie.”

Your bedroom door is wide open. If you’d known, you would’ve been sure to shut it tight.

“No, thank you,” you grab the handle and slowly shift the door behind you.

“No problem,” he calls after you, “offer stands if you change your mind.”

You click the door shut gently and stay on the other side, listening for his footsteps. He lingers, a bit too long, and it’s only as he walks away that you go back to your bed. There’s something strange about him. Or maybe it’s just you.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #drabble #series #the girl next door #au #silverfox au #mcu #marvel #captain america

248 notes · View notes

midnight-shadow-cafe · 2 months ago

Text

Under the Mistletoe

John “Bravo-6” Price x reader

Warnings: fluffy little Christmas special

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy, happy holidays 💜

Word Count: 1k

Masterlist https://www.tumblr.com/midnight-shadow-cafe/764209536727957504/key

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

Snow fell gently outside the window, a quiet rhythm against the frosted panes. The world beyond was cloaked in a pristine white blanket, the occasional flicker of Christmas lights from neighboring homes casting colorful reflections on the icy streets. Inside, the warmth of the house was a perfect contrast to the winter chill, and the scent of pine mingled with the inviting aroma of cinnamon and fresh-baked cookies.

Soft holiday music drifted from the old record player in the corner, its crackling notes adding a nostalgic charm to the scene. John Price leaned casually against the doorframe, his rugged frame silhouetted by the soft glow of the twinkling Christmas tree lights. His sharp blue eyes held a glimmer of amusement as he watched his wife adjust a shimmering silver ribbon for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“Love, it looks perfect already,” he said, his deep voice tinged with warmth and a hint of teasing.

You turned to him, tinsel in one hand and a determined expression on your face. “Perfect? It’s missing something. I just can’t figure out what.”

John’s boots thudded softly against the polished wooden floor as he crossed the room. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the evergreen aroma as he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, his touch firm yet comforting. “You’ve been at it for an hour, darling. Maybe it’s time for a break?”

You sighed, the tension in your shoulders easing as you leaned back against him. Your head rested naturally on his broad shoulder, and the soft knit of his sweater brushed against your cheek. “Maybe you’re right. But this is our first Christmas as husband and wife. I want it to be…” You gestured vaguely toward the tree. “You know, special.”

John’s lips pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, his beard tickling your skin in a way that made you smile despite yourself. “It’s already special. We’ve got each other, don’t we? That’s all that matters.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and a warm flush spread through you. Turning in his arms, you gazed up at him with a playful smile. “You’re too good at this, you know? Saying just the right thing to make me melt.”

He chuckled, the sound rich and full, his chest rumbling against yours. “It’s a gift,” he replied with a wink.

The two of you moved to the couch, its plush cushions inviting after hours of decorating. A soft throw blanket was draped over the back, and John settled in first, patting the spot beside him. You joined him, and he reached for the steaming mugs of hot chocolate sitting on the coffee table. The marshmallows on top had begun to melt, forming a creamy layer that promised sweetness with every sip.

“Cheers, darling. To our first Christmas together,” he said, holding out his mug.

“Cheers,” you echoed, clinking your mug gently against his. The warmth of the drink seeped through your fingers as you took a sip, the rich chocolate flavor paired perfectly with the hint of spice from a sprinkle of cinnamon.

For a while, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the crackling fire in the hearth providing a soothing soundtrack. The room was bathed in a soft orange glow, and the twinkle lights on the tree reflected in the ornaments, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the walls. You could hear the occasional pop of the logs as the fire consumed them, the sound a reminder of the cozy haven you’d created together.

“Got you something,” John said suddenly, his voice breaking the peaceful quiet. His hand disappeared into the pocket of his sweater as he leaned slightly toward you.

You looked at him curiously, setting your mug down on the table. “John, we said no gifts until tomorrow morning.”

“Couldn’t wait,” he admitted with a sheepish grin, his expression softening as he produced a small velvet box.

Your breath caught as you took the box from him, your fingers brushing against his in the exchange. Inside was a delicate gold bracelet, its charm a tiny tree etched with intricate detail. You traced the design with your finger, your eyes growing misty as emotion welled up inside you.

“John… it’s beautiful,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the crackling fire.

“Thought it might be nice to have something you could wear every day,” he said, his tone gentle. “A little reminder of us.”

Tears threatened to spill, but you blinked them away, overwhelmed by the love and thoughtfulness in his gesture. Leaning in, you kissed him softly, your lips brushing against his in a moment of shared warmth. “I love it. And I love you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours for a brief, tender moment.

The evening unfolded in a series of shared joys: laughter over stories from past Christmases, playful teasing during a few rounds of board games, and the occasional pause to enjoy another sip of hot chocolate. John’s competitive streak emerged as he insisted on a rematch when he lost, his gruff protests only adding to your amusement.

When the clock struck midnight, the two of you found yourselves standing beneath the mistletoe hanging in the doorway. The tiny green leaves and bright red berries framed the moment perfectly.

“Merry Christmas, love,” John said, his voice low and full of affection as he pulled you close.

“Merry Christmas, John,” you whispered back, your words a promise as his lips captured yours. The kiss was slow and unhurried, filled with a warmth and tenderness that seemed to make the world fade away. In that moment, wrapped in his arms, you knew this Christmas would be one to remember forever.

#x reader #141 x reader #tf 141 #task force 141 #tf 141 x reader #cod 141 #mw2 141 #john price x reader #captain price x reader #price x reader #john price #captain john price x reader #captain price #task force 141 fanfic #tf 141 x you #141

78 notes · View notes

l0vergirlv0mit · 1 year ago

Text

Christmas with gf!Hazel Headcanons

No one yearns like I do I swear

⭑favorite Christmas movie is obviously Jim Carrey’s The Grinch.

⭑Christmas music has been on since November 1st.

⭑singing “Last Christmas” in the car as if you both had just gone through the most devastating life event anyone could ever go through(a tummy ache).

⭑hugs you from behind and hummus softly to Christmas music in your ear. While your making her homemade hot chocolate that she absolutely NEEDED you to make her that moment.

⭑buys you little ornaments of different random objects like a golf ball cause she thinks they’re funny.

⭑absolutely has to mix the sugar cookies for you cause she wants to seem strong.

⭑makes you a burr basket that’s basically your whole Christmas list cause she’s got MONEY money.

⭑takes gingerbread house construction VERY VERY serious like she’s making melted sugar window panes.

⭑zips you into her jacket so she can use your body heat to warm her up when it’s cold outside.

⭑buys the thickest cutest Christmas blanket specifically to snuggle and have a Christmas movie marathon.

⭑love’s Christmas decoration shopping. Takes you to Christmas markets and loses her shit over everything. She really likes the vintage colorful Christmas theme.

⭑when you go to said Christmas market if there’s a Santa she’s taking a photo with him wearing the brightest smile.

⭑her favorite thing to do right now is to say “Hey, he’s watching.” Very seriously over everything. Don’t wanna take a nap together? Yeah he saw that.

⭑hates boring Christmas themes like White Christmas makes her annoyed cause there’s no color.

⭑getting absolutely blasted together at Christmas parties on mulled wine. Somehow making grinding on each other to “All I Want For Christmas Is You” seem completely called for.

⭑your family loves her cause she came over by herself to help them decorate. Had a photo shoot with your grandma in matching Christmas sweater.

⭑made a dance routine to “Santa Baby” and passionately performs it for you. Like wiggling her eyebrows at you and shimmying.

⭑her cheeks and nose get so red and rosy in cold weather you can’t help but kiss them all over.

⭑she loves homemade gifts with a lot of sentimental value. Once you made her a scrapbook of picture of both you, you put little stickers and wrote her little notes as well. She couldn’t stop crying for like 30 minutes.

⭑she’d definitely get you tickets to see your favorite band or singer cause she literally already bought everything you wanted BEFORE Christmas even happened.

⭑insist on leaving cookies out for Santa even though you literally don’t have children. And yes there will be a cookie with a bite taken out of it when you wake up.

⭑matching pjs are a must.

⭑Christmas eve is like a Hallmark movie. Cuddling the whole night watching movies and giggling.

(I need a soft masc so bad.)

#hazel callahan #hazel callahan x reader #bottoms 2023 #bottoms movie #hazel callahan imagine #hazel callahan x you

329 notes · View notes

bardic-inspo · 1 month ago

Text

Time Well Spent

Pairing: Astarion x Evelyn (Named Tav)

Rating: Mature

Key Tags: Holiday traditions, silly fic, fluff, a tiny touch of angst, overtures of future dadstarion

Summary:

“The Winter Solstice is a vampire’s favorite day,” Astarion drawls, fingers stroking pleasantly through her hair. With her ear settled near his sternum, his voice is a lulling, gentle lullaby. “Do you know why?” “Hm,” Evelyn says, struggling against a yawn. “Because it’s the shortest one?” “Clever girl,” he purrs. “The shortest day. And the longest night.”

Astarion means to make the very most of his solstice spent with Evelyn.

A/N: A server secret santa gift for the ever-lovely @nyx-knox, who is a daily inspiration and a wonderful friend! The Tav (Evelyn) in this fic is hers. I hope I did her justice! Occurs sometime after the final battle with the Netherbrain, and/or in a dream if it better suits Evelyn’s story. :)

Also: Imposing American Christmas traditions on Faerun's solstice for funsies.

ALSO: Huge credit to my wonderful husband for helping me find direction with this fic, and for offering silly (and effective) solutions whenever I got stuck.

Click here to read on AO3 instead

“Well, well,” Astarion smirks with a self-satisfied sway of his hips. “We’re nearly there, aren’t we? Only one more sleep away.”

He looks like sun-kissed marble with the glow of the hearth soaking over his sculpted chest and lining the rest of his bare, stunning figure.

Evelyn sprawls on the chaise where he left her, still panting with the aftermath of their pleasure. A wayward shiver shudders down her naked spine. Even though her lover may be cool to the touch, he has a way of melting the sharp edges of the cold into something pleasant. Something soothing. Like a dip into a cool pond, his embrace brings a weightless calm she’s come to crave. Without him, the chill has teeth that not even the crackling fire can dull.

Six chimes call out across the city, echoing through the walls of their private suite in the Elfsong. The sun will rise in another hour or so. Astarion pulls the curtains closed over the frosted window, sealing them off from the snow and wind whistling against the panes.

“O-Oh?” Evelyn gasps, teeth chattering. “I never knew you were the festive type, Astarion.”

She was sure that this sojourn to the surface, as Astarion called it, was all for her sake. She’d seen the pitying look on his face when Gale’s transmutation scroll arrived in their Underdark settlement. Evelyn had all but run to the nearest towering mushroom, eyes alight with glee as the spell swapped it for an evergreen. Maybe it was her use of frayed rope as garland that compelled him to humor her. Or, the ‘tree’ shedding all of its needles only a day later.

Although they have a supply line to the surface, Evelyn would hardly strain their resources for extra sugar and flour to celebrate a season that doesn’t even really reach the persistent humidity of their Underdark home. Nevermind the fact that none of the other residents of their settlement could enjoy sugar cut-out cookies or other festive delicacies. Vampire spawn don’t care for caramel and cinnamon. Though, she knows a few who would settle for a good spiced wine.

One such vampire stands before her with such an earnest sparkle in his eye. His excitement sets her heart skipping. Perhaps this visit is as much for Astarion as it is for her. They hadn’t made firm plans, other than seeing Baldur’s Gate steeped in snowfall. But she’s intimately acquainted with the mischief lifting her lover’s perfect lips.

Astarion turns to her again, his smile softening in sympathy. He plucks the plush blanket pooled on the floor where they left it. Spent and shivering as she is, she can’t help the fresh heat that sweeps her brow at the sight of him, lithe and licked in light and shadow, sauntering over to her with an effortless elegance. A low chuckle rumbles in Astarion’s chest as he slips behind her on the chaise and shrouds them both in the blanket.

“It’s not just any holiday, darling,” he hums, sighing contentedly into her hair.

“Enlighten me,” she says, snuggling against his chest. A serene sigh leaks from her lips as she settles.

“Hm,” Evelyn says, struggling against a yawn. “Because it’s the shortest one?”

“Clever girl,” he purrs. “The shortest day. And the longest night.”

His scent of brandy, bergamot, and rosemary tingles against her nose. They could be anywhere, and it would still be home, so long as the smell of him still surrounds her. Her eyes grow heavy, gradually slipping shut.

“Sleep well, my little sorceress,” he whispers, sealing the sentiment with a tender kiss atop her head. “We’ve quite the night ahead of us, after all.”

Sleep claims her before she can ponder the promise brimming in his words.

And all too quickly, her dreams are snatched away by familiar hands. Astarion’s touch is firmer this time. He nudges her side insistently.

“Wake up, little sorceress,” Astarion hums in her ear. “We’ve a solstice to celebrate!”

Evelyn groans groggily, turning to tuck back into the covers. She stiffens to the sound of a throat clearing -- one not so near as her lover.

“And,” the warm but stern voice says pointedly, “an old friend to say ‘hello’ to, in addition to a very hearty ‘thank you’. Though, the latter is Astarion’s burden to bear. I have the sense this was hardly your idea, Evelyn.”

Evelyn clutches the quilt for dear life, eyes ripping open to see--

“Gale?!” She blurts.

Sure enough, the wizard stands at the foot of the bed, clad in violet, fur-lined robes, with fresh snowflakes still wetting his windswept hair. Evelyn’s heart leaps. Perhaps this is what Astarion was alluded to -- a surprise solstice reunion with old comrades!

“I’ve already paid you your thanks, wizard,” Astarion says with a scowl. “And it seems it was for naught at all!”

Gale sighs wearily, muttering intelligible words beneath his breath. It sounds an awful lot like a curse, but when he raises his hands, the spell furling between them carries a gentle warmth.

“Astarion!” Evelyn laughs, the flutter of magic brushing her skin with a fleeting, greenish glow. “What’s going on?”

He leans his head against her shoulder. The plaintive pout of his lower lip banishes any inkling she had of chiding his rudeness.

“We’ve only so much nighttime to spend, even on the longest one,” he says earnestly. He fidgets with the sheets bunched in his fist. “I mean to make the very most of our evening together, darling.”

Evelyn huffs softly, but she can’t fight the grin from her cheeks, not with the tentative one creeping over Astarion’s.

“I cast longstrider on you both,” Gale clarifies. “It will help speed you through your festivities. I understand you’ve a lot of them to attend to. I’m less certain Astarion has grasped the concept of quality over quantity.”

He drifts towards the door. Evelyn sits up, still swaddled in the sheets. Melancholy spikes in her chest, the closer her friend slips towards the door.

“Wait!” She sputters. “Gale, I haven’t seen you in ages! Can’t you stay for--”

“No, he cannot!” Astarion interjects. “We've got things to do, darling! Gabbing with Gale is not on the list!”

Evelyn’s jaw drops. The list is literal. Astarion brandishes a curled parchment from his breast pocket. She’d scarcely registered that he’s fully dressed -- and rather handsomely, in a deep burgundy day coat with black trousers. But her admiration is put on hold as her attention sticks to the scroll unfurling down the side of the bed and rolling halfway to the door. Dimly, she recognizes bits of Astatrion’s script: snow angels, sugar cookies, plum pie, mistletoe, hot chocolate...

She blinks, dumbfounded. “You made plans? You made…all of those plans?”

“What can I say?” He preens. “I’m a man of many talents.”

“Including getting Gale to come all the way from Waterdeep so he can make us walk faster?” Evelyn giggles in disbelief.

“And getting him out of our hair after,” Astarion says with a pointed side-eye. The wizard in question shuffles sheepishly for the door.

“Don’t you worry,” Gale groans. “I won’t take up any more of your precious time. Tonight, at least. I expect to see you both tomorrow for supper, or I should consider your debt unpaid!”

“Good!” Astarion smirks, once their friend has taken his leave. “And good riddance! We’re already late to see the lights!”

Without warning, Astarion snatches the sheets, with Evelyn still twined in them, and tugs them towards the edge of the bed. She shrieks as she’s taken overboard, pouring onto the floor with breathless laughter.

Astarion peers down at her, his face haloed in silver curls. “Do get dressed, dear,” he says, his reproach softened with a smug smile.

For a moment, she’s mesmerized. But something tugs on the back of her mind; his coat matches his eyes so brilliantly. And his smile doesn’t reach them.

Evelyn emerges into the nipping night air. The street is alive with glowing lanterns, simmering like coals in deep, velvet dark of only four chimes past noon. Her breath clouds in front of her, mingling in the air with the warm scent of cider and spice. Snow lines the avenues, coating the rooftops in a sugary shimmer. The crunch it gives underfoot makes her think of crumbling wafer cookies.

Hauling every layer they had with them turned out to be a worthwhile effort; her hat, scarf, and boots stave off the worst of the cold from her extremities. The mysterious, fur-lined frock coat she found among her other garments doesn’t hurt, either. It’s the same winey red as Astarion’s, with a stark white fur on the inside so soft, she could melt into it. Fondly, she traces the holly-leaf embroidery across her shoulders with a gloved hand. Astarion hastily snatches it. Evelyn raises a brow as Astarion clutches it tightly, planting a chaste kiss to the leather on her knuckles.

Without warning, he starts off down the street at a jog, his hand still locked with hers, and Evelyn helpless but to follow.

“Astarion! What exactly are we running f-- I -- oh!”

A fizzing sound tears past them. Evelyn tracks the noise, craning her neck up to see dazzling, silver sparks streaking through the sky.

“The lights, darling,” Astarion coos in her ear. Her eyelids flutter to the drag of her lips along its slightly angled edge. The soft sound gives way to a frustrated groan as they come to a crowd clogging the avenue. Evelyn strains, standing on tippy-toes to peer past heads and hats to catch a glimpse of the spiralling magic flaring somewhere in front of them.

“Oh, forget this,” Astarion mutters. “Come on!”

He leads her around the edges of the audience. Her excitement spikes as they duck into a narrow alley and she sees what he intends. Effortlessly, he scales the brick walls to reach the folded ladder on a balcony above. With a few nimble flourishes, the ladder drops down to where she waits. She takes the rungs to the top, and takes Astarion’s hand again once she’s there. With a mischievous grin, he pulls her up above the balcony and onto the angled rooftop.

Her stomach swoops as her feet slide against the slick shingles. A deft grip catches her.

“Steady, love,” Astarion purrs, and she can’t help but blush.

A rosy glow blooms in the air behind him. Eagerly, Evelyn peers past his shoulders to the show unfolding below. Astarion carefully steers them both into a seat along the rooftop. From their vantage point high above the other spectators, she has a clear view of the wizards working their spells at the heart of the crowd. Their magic twines and tangles in mesmerizing patterns. The weave itself dances before her eyes.

And yet, even in the wake of such sparkling showmanship, Evelyn still finds herself turning her cheek to a vision far more striking.

Emerald greens and vivid reds flash across her lover’s face, glimmering in crimson eyes that seem too busy skimming the crowd to soak in the spectacle he hurried them to. A golden orb bursts overhead, breaking into sizzling cinders and setting a tangy static in the air. The magic crackles pleasantly against Evelyn’s skin, but she’s awestruck by the way it seeps over Astarion. For one wonder of a moment, he’s bleached in radiance. The dark circles beneath his eyes dissolve in the brightness.

As if he’s standing in the sun again.

“There!” He points suddenly, breaking her reverie.

“What is it?” She asks, following his finger with a slight frown.

Astarion licks his lips. He says the word with the same rolling, hungry growl he uses when a hunt is on his mind. “Gingerbread!”

Evelyn balks at him. “Since when do you eat gingerbread?!”

“I don’t. But you’re going to,” he says firmly, as if the matter’s settled. Before she can manage a word in edgewise, she’s thoroughly unsettled. Astarion scoops her from her seat, deposits her back onto the balcony, and makes it halfway down the ladder again before she’s managed a breath.

“The show isn’t over yet!” She calls after him. “Don’t you want to--”

“Exactly. We’ll beat everyone else to the bakery, and in so doing, be sure that all sorts of delectable things find their way into that gorgeous mouth.”

Well, when he says it like that…how could she say no? Evelyn swallows hard. Her rakish rogue could make a swamp sound like paradise with all the magic in that silver tongue of his.

She hurries after him, skirting the crowd, and pushing inside the corner patisserie. Astarion’s low, rolling chuckle teases her ears as her eyes flutter shut and a satisfied hum leaks from her lips, unbidden. Sweetness floods her senses: the tartness of sugared plums, the butteriness of fresh pastries, and the warmth of rising dough. Her mouth waters.

“Open up, darling,” Astarion bades her.

She’d follow that man through the hells (again) if he asked. But when she acquiesces to this simple command, it’s heaven she gets in return. Icing melts against her tongue and it's divine. With a plaintive groan, Evelyn takes the cookie from Astarion’s hand and takes a proper bite.

“Good?” He prompts with a raised brow.

“So good!” She replies emphatically.

“And this one?”

“Mmmm.” This one is a thin wafer coated in smooth dark chocolate and tingling with peppermint. It’s good enough to get her toes curled inside her boots.

“You did pay for these, right?” Evelyn asks, brushing crumbs from her coat.

He doesn’t deign to answer. And she doesn’t hesitate to take the third cookie he conjures from seemingly nowhere.

More patrons trickle in, brushing past Evelyn’s shoulders. She shuffles to the side, eyeing Astarion suspiciously as he seems to look anywhere but her. He peers past the shuddering doors, back out into the avenue, searching for something he can’t seem to find.

“Perfect!” Astarion declares abruptly, eyes glinting with fresh mischief. She’s caught in his whirlwind again, his hand latched with hers, dragging her back out into the frosty night.

“Mmmf!” Her protest is muffled by gingerbread. “MMmhariammm!”

This time, he pulls her along down a short footpath to the docks, where the Sea of Swords is sealed in a pearly sheen of ice as far as the eye can see. Her jaw drops slack. Her confusion -- and growing concern -- over Astarion’s hastiness is cast aside in the wake of utter amazement.

“It’s saltwater,” she says, marvelling at the shimmer. “It never freezes like this!”

Astarion offers a conspiratorial smile. “For just one night, and just a touch of magic, it does. Shall we?”

A flash of silver catches her eye. He snags something from the shrubbery behind them -- a pair of skates for each of them.

“Oh!” Evelyn grins, giddy even though her eyes narrow. “Did you pay for those?”

“These are simply borrowed,” he shrugs, unrepentant.

And, of course, they fit perfectly. Astarion knows her every inch like the back of his hand. Together, they pick their way carefully down to the frozen sea. Astarion glides effortlessly across the surface, as if it were easy as breathing. He turns back, offering a hand and the slight lift of his lips that she loves so dearly.

“If I take your hand,” she says with a sly smile, “promise we won’t go tearing off across the sea Alaron? Or to the other side of the city for at least five minutes? I’m sure it’s beautiful, but I think we have our own piece of paradise right here, hm?”

“Hm,” Astarion echoes, though the humor in his tone doesn’t touch the tight corners near his eyes. “I suppose I can manage that.”

She takes his open hand, and out onto the ice she slides.

“You must’ve done this before!” She pants against Astarion’s shoulder.

His other hand presses the small of her back. He leads in fluid, elegant movements. Twined together like this, they could be dancing in some Lord’s pristine ballroom. All the better that out here, away from the hustle and bustle of the city streets, it’s only each other and the quiet woosh of frostfall that keeps them company.

This corner of the world is calm. Serene. Smooth and stunning as porcelain.

“No, I haven’t,” Astarion chuckles softly. The sound vibrates pleasantly against her ear. “Not that I can remember, anyway. But I am good at it.”

And gods, does he look good when he lets himself savor the moment instead of hunting for the next one. The moonlight casts a glowing, ivory crown around his head. Dimly, she’s aware of others taking to the ice, but she’s too swept up in his tender gaze to care. Footsteps crunch through the snow along the banks. Evelyn’s heart thumps within her ribs. The world smears as Astarion spins her out away from him, and then reels her back against his chest. Her lips tilt towards the cool caress of his lips.

But they don’t meet hers. Instead, a burst of sudden, hard, frigid cold breaks against her shoulder. Evelyn’s hand flies to her mouth, muffling her startled shout.

Astarion bristles, eyes tearing after three figures streaking through the dark: two young boys pelting another, younger one relentlessly with snowballs. The one that hit Evelyn must’ve been a stray. They’ve clearly no care for fairness, or collateral damage.

“Oh, the little scamps!” Astarion fumes. “Shall we show them to pick on someone their own size?”

“Let’s,” Evelyn says, magic coiling in her palm. Wind rushes from her fist, barreling towards the snow banks and carving fresh ammo for their arsenal. By the time they’ve reached the shore, a half-dozen snowballs await them. Evelyn redirects her magic, fanning out the gust until it forms a makeshift barricade of snow for them to crouch against.

Up ahead, the pair haven’t let up on their onslaught of the third. The boy cowers, arms shielding his face.

“Excuse me!” Astarion calls out. “You ought to get over here behind cover, no?”

The pair pause their assault, turning towards Astarion, incredulous.

“Oh, not you!” Astarion snaps irritably.

It’s then their newfound ward realizes his luck; the boy’s eyes widen as they meet Evelyn’s. Hastily, he scrambles towards their makeshift shelter.

“That’s better,” Astarion huffs. “Now,” he tells the boy, placing a snowball into his quivering hand, “take this, and take your revenge.”

It falls short -- or it would have, if not for the gust of wind Evelyn sends after it that sends it splatting against their adversaries’ legs.

“Not quite,” Astarion says gently. “Like this.”

He demonstrates with master precision; a pair of snowballs pelt the older boys square in the chest, sending them staggering back. She thinks he means to press his advantage, but instead, he plants another snowball in the younger boy’s palm. Evelyn watches, mesmerized, as he fixes the child’s grip, guides the boy’s arm back, and thrusts it forward with a measured force.

The projectile meets its mark against a gangly shoulder.

“Woah,” the child gasps.

“Cheater!” One of the older boys blurts.

“You’re not cheating,” Astarion tells their new friend firmly. “You’re just…resourceful. There’s no harm in having help. Now, try another on your own.”

The boy’s brow furrows fiercely in concentration. He reels his arm back, and throws. Smack!

“Better,” Astarion smiles.

In no time at all, the tides of battle turn. The bullies flee in short order, their one-time ally tearing after them with a wild cry, pelting snowballs at their heels. Evelyn laughs herself breathless, watching them dart off into the dark.

Astarion leans back against their snowy fortifications with the sort of sated grin he usually wears after feeding. He looks relaxed. Carefree. Happy.

“You’re good with them, you know,” she says softly. It was on her lips as soon as she thought it -- before she could consider if it was a thought that should be said out loud at all.

She always relished seeing this soft streak in him. The way he treats children. The way he treated Arabella, and Yenna. It wakes a warmth in her, the same, hopeful lift in her spirit that comes when winter thaws to spring.

She’d never had to worry about censoring herself with Astarion. But now, she babbles for something, anything else to say to staunch the flabbergasted look on his face.

“I beg your pardon?!” He blurts.

“I-I said, ‘is that mistletoe’?”

His eyes narrow, like a predator fixing on its prey. “Mistletoe!”

Oh, no. Evelyn groans inwardly. That must’ve been another word from the list that’s driven him from every moment she’s wanted to linger in tonight. He’s already feverishly untying his skates when she holds up a hand.

“Astarion, wait!” She pleads.

“Wait?” He whines, a faux pout on his lips. “But darling, I’ve been dying to kiss you all night.”

She feels the static building on her skin from his coat brushing hers. It’s a welcome friend, a familiar, pleasant sensation for a storm sorceress such as herself. One that might just make him listen.

“Then why wait any longer, love?” She says, soft and sultry. Her fingers tug along Astarion’s collar as she leans in and hovers.

He doesn’t disappoint; with a hungry groan low in his throat, Astarion dips his lips to hers.

Snap!

The static bursts across their mouths, the pleasure and pain equally brief and tantalizing. Astarion draws back only slightly, his nose nudging hers playfully.

“Is someone starved for attention?” He snickers. More earnestly he says, “You have mine now, love.”

“Astarion,” she says pointedly, “what is this all really about?”

He eases back, tilting his head. “Whatever do you mean?”

Evelyn raises a brow.

He gestures broadly, as if the motion itself is an explanation. When it evidently isn’t, he adds hastily, “Oh, it’s the solstice! It’s merry and joyous and bright, or whatever!”

Evelyn crosses her arms. “I don’t believe you care this much about the solstice.”

His head bobs sheepishly. “Maybe I didn’t before, but you do, and I adore you thoroughly.”

Evelyn dips her head, finding his eyes again. “Then why are we doing more rushing than we are relishing, hm?”

Her heart clenches as his shoulders slump. Ruefully, he meets her gaze. “I-I know it isn’t -- I mean, I know you said this is what you wanted,” he says, gesturing to himself hesitantly, “but the Underdark can’t be everything you wish for. If only for one night, I wanted you to have everything you long for. Everything a vampire spawn can give you, anyway.”

“My rakish, foolish rogue,” she says, throat thick. “The only wish I have left for tonight is that you enjoy it, too. This time is special because it’s ours. It’s spent together. Starting traditions! Making memories!”

She reaches out a hand to cradle his cheek. He leans into the touch at once, lips pressing tenderly to her inner wrist.

“I want to make all of them with you,” he whispers, reverent.

“Maybe not all in one night,” she says with a fond smile. “And maybe we don’t need the mistletoe, hm?”

She gets to taste that tender, secret smile of his as he leans forward and catches her in an eager kiss. Astarion reels her close, the scent of bergamot, brandy, and rosemary caressing her cheek as he cradles her jaw. Her eyes flutter shut, her satisfied hum thrumming from her lips to his.

The snow, the wind, the world around them melts into dull distance. They could be anywhere, but with him at her side, it could only be called ‘home’.

A/N: Per Mr. Megh, 'ladies love pre-planned activities'. 😆 Specific credit to him for pointing out why vampires might like the winter solstice, the idea of dragging poor Gale into this, and setting Astarion on his quest of holiday over-achievement. Divider credit to @firefly-graphics.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!! <3 <3 <3

#astarion #astarion fanfic #astarion ancunin #tavstarion #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #evelyn hale #my writing

27 notes · View notes

peydawgz · 2 months ago

Note

Hiiii!!! Could you write about hazard and reader bein festive little guys? Iike they r decorating for christmas and stuff!! Just some nice fluff (or anything else you wanna add i dont mind) 🪲

Decorating || Hazard x Reader Headcannons (gender neutral)

I hope you enjoy!!! This was very fun to write!!

December finally approached, the winter season bringing the leaves down with it, with snow carpeting the surfaces outside. For you, this would be a comforting time period, and something to be excited about. You’d already started bringing down those old boxes of decorations, reused time and time again. You were eager to spread your holiday cheer.

For Hazard, the holidays were dark. The icy chill of snow used to feel like burning on his skin, too poor to cover up. He could admire the lights around his hometown, but ma and pop were too busy drinking and fighting to decorate themselves. He’d look through the glass panes of bakery windows, dying to get his hand on some tasty scones… a chocolate yule log… even a cookie crumb would satisfy him. He could steal those treats from the outside, but the joy could never feel genuine knowing he couldn’t have it at home. While all the other kids got to play with their new toys, he had empty bottles.

No matter how hard any of the Phreaks had tried, Hazard wouldn’t participate in any wintertime festivities. He’d just lay around and drink and brood, possibly becoming the very thing he despised. You wanted to try and create a positive experience for your first xmas as a couple, and steer him away from that tortured experience.

While everyone was out, you dragged the boxes into the lair and began setting up a tree. The ornaments were all mismatched but it was cute, and instead of a star at the top there was instead a dog plushy with a little hat. You strung up one set of lights in the main area, but left the rest of the decorations in the box to be put up later. You wanted to start off small with this new interaction.

The last thing you wanted to do was make some festive sweets. Just as you were taking out the variety of cookies to cool, you hear their vehicle pulling into the garage. The Phreaks’ all have different reactions as they enter, surprised, delighted, fearful. Hazard is astonished, like he couldn’t believe his eyes. You approach the members with your cookie tray, and the ones that are able to eat are pleased. Fin looks like he might cry as he munches on his cookie, staring at the tree.

“Why’d ya go and do tha’?” He asks you. “For you.” You respond, leaning up to kiss his jaw. “Wanna help with the rest?”

He reaches the tallest parts of the room for you, putting up more lights and garlands. Little snowmen are placed on the mantle, and everyone has their own little socks hung up. Some of the others helped, too, and put their “ornaments” on the tree. Tools, photos, bottles and other sentimental garbage were scattered on the tree now, making it one of a kind.

The whole group gets together around the television, and you cuddle up beside Hazard under a heated blankie. Susie has on a delightful sweater, Boomslang holds on to a decorative pillow, and Revel has his own little Santa hat. As you’re all distracted by the holiday movie, Hazard has come to terms with his anger towards the season. Finding himself here, with you and his found family, he feels cherished and loved. Getting to enjoy the things he never had, he was a very lucky man to be here now. He looked like he wanted to cry, again.

On xmas day, you put a gift for everyone under the tree, and you were happy to find that other members brought gifts as well. You all sit together and open presents, everyone got something they desired. “No way! Strings for my bass?” “I needed this exact tool, how did you know?” “This is my favorite snack!”

Hazard presented you with a camera, to capture all your memories together with. You took pictures of this day to remember, and maybe you’ll put them all together in a scrapbook one day.

Hazard catches you busy playing with your new gifts, and he gestures up at the ceiling. Your eyes follow his hand and you find mistletoe hanging above you. “Ya know what tha’ means.” He grins before pulling you into a sweet kiss. As he pulls away he strokes your hair.

“Ya really made this special for me… I love ya so much.”

#overwatch #hazard x reader #hazard overwatch #findlay docherty #overwatch imagines #overwatch headcanons #overwatch x reader

31 notes · View notes

choco-scoups · 1 day ago

Text

Through sickness and in health

Seungcheol drabble because why not? And also so self indulgent i feel like that's more of a warning. hope you guys like it. Have a great week ahead y'all!!

idol!husband!seungcheol x wife!reader

au : you were just having a really bad day, and just like always your husband is here to your rescue.

word count - roughly 1000.

genre - fluff

note: pictures are not mine and belong solely to their owners. :)

The rhythmic hum of the ceiling fan, the gentle whoosh of the wind from the windows, slight scent of someone baking cookies wafting in the air, children's little giggles and chatters, and the evening sun filtering through the open panes, stretching across the floor and making the living room look cozy and peaceful.

It all was picturesque and soothing. Familiar, wonderful and everything so on.

But it also wasn’t. At least not for today.

You came back from your hectic day of work, the coffee spilling across your white blazer making you work with just a shirt in the winter, the unusual stutter of yours while presenting a topic regarding a company retreat and the worst of all, the “difficult level” of cold – It was just cold where you couldn’t even do anything anymore- that bumped up your day’s rating.

-17/10. Would not want this on your worst enemy.

That’s the reason why you were standing in the middle of your living room, your bag slumped on the floor as your hands clenched tight and teeth slightly gritting as your eyes teared up because of the extreme overstimulation. The cold was making it even worse, whenever you wanted to sneeze the glasses, you had been making it harder.

You didn’t know if other people with glasses felt this way during cold or it was just you.

“Please tell me you’re alive.” You turn towards the door, where your husband is now standing as he runs his hands through his hair. Probably rushed back from practice because you called him.

“I’m sorry, I caught the “difficulty level” cold, Cheol.” Your voice wavers, eyes turning blurry as your crankiness goes up a notch. It was a word you used to describe it because you didn't know how else to put it. He walked straight up to you leaving his own bag as he did and just held your face in his hands. His gaze turning softer.

“You were fine this morning when I left?” He asks, hugging you now, his chest warm, giving you comfort of familiarity.

You just hum as he cradles you against him.

“Get freshen up, I’ll make you porridge. Okay?” He says pulling back a minute later.

“But you don’t know-”

“Shh. I’ll take care of it, go now.” He gently pushed you into the room and went ahead to close the door behind him, not before winking at you with his huge smile that showed off his dimples.

You shake your head at his antics, somehow getting a bit of calm in the unlimited crankiness in you. It just so happens; you get a very heated amount of crankiness whenever you are sick. Mostly other people would suffer because of your constant outbursts during then, but your irritated self never seemed to chase away Seungcheol.

Your husband always seemed to somehow just get it. How and what kind of sorcery was that was beyond your imagination.

After what seemed like half an hour or so, you came out of the warm shower, wearing your pajamas and tied up hair. The air now seemed chill but embraced you well.

“Salt or no Salt?” You heard Cheol talking to someone as you walked towards your kitchen and there was Mingyu on the phone as he looked annoyed at the oldest for even calling him for that.

“Hyung, this isn’t your first time cooking porridge.” He sighs as he later tells to add a pinch of salt to make it taste better. Seungcheol thanks him and cuts the call before tasting the porridge a bit himself and sets the pot onto the table.

The table was set within a minute, him looking at his own masterpiece and being quite proud at himself. You chuckle to yourself as you look at him.

“What are you doing, MasterChef?”

“You scared me,” He startles a bit before looking at you.

“Sorry,”

“Come here, now.” You go ahead and take a seat as he pulls the chair for you. And just asks you to wait a second before he too takes a seat beside you too look at your reaction for it.

He nods at you to eat and you do so, closing your eyes and letting the soft porridge let you fill with warmly.

“How is it?” You finally look at him and speak, “It is good.” He smiles wide as he sighs and leans back into his chair.

“You worked hard for it, huh?” You tease him and he just acts that way too.

As if he worked the whole day to prepare meals for the whole nation, he pretends to wipe away the sweat on his forehead and talks about how hard it is as his job to cook. You laugh along and feel a lot better just by sitting with him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?” He asks, his head now leaning onto the elbow as he looks at you.

“I think I got a little irritated and got maybe a bit mad at you, the cold isn’t an excuse but I shouldn’t have talked or acted that way with you.”

“It’s fine. If not with me, who else would you get cranky at?” You swat at his arm playfully and he laughs with you.

“It’s just like they say. Through sickness and in health,” he says.

“Yeah, Through bad porridge and good porridge.” He pouts a bit when you say that before leaning closer to you.

“Hey, you should be glad I came home before you were at a police station for killing someone in that mood.” You narrow your eyes at him and he just raises up his arms surrendering.

“Okay, I will say it.”

He does and you smile at him. “I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you too, little firecracker.”

And even through a bad day, your heart felt a lot lighter and more bearable knowing he would always stay by your side. No matter the moods.

Through sickness and in health, remember?

#seventeen scoups #seungcheol #fluff #seungcheolxreader #pure fluff #seventeen #choi seungcheol

17 notes · View notes

friendlylocalwhumper · 1 year ago

Text

“Come here, little light.”

He’s not so little anymore. Lux shifts where he sits against the wall, eyeing the unusually tall silhouette atop the stairs warily. His knuckles rest on the floor at his sides, arms far too achy to even bother to lift them. He had to be chained up years ago, when he was young and sometimes fought back; now he is in his thirties, and carrying the painful consequences of being chained up in one position for too long a decade ago.

“I don’t really want to,” Rasps Lux. It must be sometime in December, he knows. His sweet Penny must be inconsolable about her dad being mysteriously gone around the holidays. Maybe Emory made up a kind lie about where his husband went, and when Lux is set free he can pretend to be coming home from some kind of business trip.

The top stair creaks with a threatening step down into the cellar, and despite his age and experience, Lux feels his breath catch and his eyes fall down and to the side in instinctive submission. It’s never worth hesitating too long to obey. Exhausted from too many years fearing this man, he sets his creaky body into motion, slow and careful not to force any throbbing joints to the point where they lock up in complaint.

He can’t walk up the stairs and they both know it. Lux plants an elbow to the second lowest step with grim determination and pulls himself up enough to set his better knee in place to climb.

A warm chuckle tumbles down from above. His long wavy hair, once curly, falls into his face as he keeps his head tipped down to hide his shame. Broken leg dragging miserably behind him, he climbs, arms shaking with the effort of pressing on in spite of the pain. He learned a long time ago to handle it. He knows it’s possible to get this done. It’s just hard. Hard to wake up huddled on concrete instead of his bed with a warm body beside him. Hard to feel pain in his shoulders that usually is warded off by Emory’s cautious, confident hands. Hard to usually be the one comforting someone smaller, and be reminded forcefully that he was once smaller and weaker than someone standing over him. That he can always be dragged back down to this position on a whim.

He got distracted. He’s sitting, panting between his elbows pressed to the step above. There is a heavy presence above him, and after a beat of silence, a warm hand pressing to his back. Lux shrinks down and away from it.

“Get moving, my light,” The Hunter hums, not unkindly. He can sound perfectly happy while threatening someone.

Lux swallows and nods. He makes it up the stairs and when he finally reaches the hardwood floor and warm lighting of upstairs, he collapses, pale and sweating. The weighty presence of his captor follows from behind, then passes over him, a waft of vanilla and spices following behind him. Bleary blue eyes blink open and long black hair lifts from the floor and for the first time today, Lux really looks at the Hunter.

Red pants, a black belt, white edges to his sleeves, a floppy hat. He’s dressed as Santa.

A turn of the head reveals the colorful lights around the room. The tree in the corner littered with shiny ornaments. Cookies on the coffee table.

“Not already,” He croaks, devastated. White flurries dance outside, glowing softly against the frosty window pane, stark against the night. It’s Christmas day - no, night. Christmas morning is already gone. Poor Penny, worried about her dad, with only most of the presents she was supposed to get. Poor Penny with a worried Papa trying to keep the day magical but secretly scared for his husband, who’s been gone for… for over a month already.

“Yes already, little one.” That name doesn’t work so well anymore, but the Hunter doesn’t seem to mind. “Come on over. I want you to see this.”

Seemingly done with waiting so long for his favorite victim to make his way over, the torturer takes a fistful of knotted curly hair and pulls as he walks along. Lux grunts in complaint and crawls as best he can to keep up, whining lowly as his broken leg drags and catches all along the way.

He’s dropped at the rug before the tree and Lux hides his face to catch his breath, struggling to ward off frustrated tears. Kids only get so many special days in the year where everything is about them having a magical experience, and his little girl didn’t get to have her daddy on the most important one of all. She throws a fit whenever he’s five minutes late picking her up from school, whenever he has to miss a recital because it doesn’t work with his or Em’s schedule. It’s going to ruin her whole week that-

Pain like he hasn’t felt in years erupts in his bad leg, and Lux’s mouth stretches wide to let no sound out at all. He can’t put any voice, any breath behind the silent scream, the pain is swallowing him whole.

Green, red, blue, and yellow lights suffocate his vision into nonsensical blurs as Lux twists to try to see… oh. The Hunter is standing on his leg, that’s all. Not cutting it off or setting it on fire or mangling it with magic. The pain is humiliatingly debilitating. Furious, frightened blue eyes swimming in tears blink up at the torturer, and the killer dressed as Santa laughs.

“Stay with me, light. You keep drifting off.”

“...Sorry.”

“I don’t like this attitude you’ve picked up, you know. Behaving like you are anything…” He leans forward, and Lux’s breath catches as more weight is applied along with it. “...but entertainment for me.”

“-Sorry!” He sounds it, this time. His voice cracks worse when the Hunter presses down harder, the damaged bone seeming like it’s going to creak audibly any second. “S-, I’m s-sorry, I, I didn’t mean…”

“It’s alright,” Says the jolly man, and he steps off, moving somewhere out of sight. Paper rustles.

Lux already knows it’s a gift. Some stupid gift in bright paper that he’ll have to open and act grateful for. He doesn’t want to be here, play this game. He wants to be home.

“I made this for you.” The Hunter returns with, surprise, a small box in red paper and topped with a gold bow. Lux sinks further into the floor with a groan of vague acknowledgement. He can feel every heartbeat in his leg, and sweat sticks frizzy stray hairs to his forehead.

“Want me to open it?” He anticipates. Maybe it sounded too dry, too tired, because he doesn’t even get a warning this time. His shoulder pops out of socket, and even as he screams and his vision whites out, he knows that magic did it. That the Hunter sent that magic with a flick of a finger and a disapproving frown. “S-sorry, I, I-I, I me-ean, s-”

“Shh. You’re getting used to this again, I know. I don’t mind helping you learn.”

He absolutely does mind, he’s the most insecure and bitter man alive. But Lux won’t argue again. He just reaches out with a quaking hand and accepts the gift, lowering it to the floor and picking apart the ribbon holding it shut.

The Hunter sits on the nearby armchair and leans forward, elbows on his knees, watching happily.

Lux thinks about how pathetic it is to have a prisoner instead of a family. To not know what love is. Because you can’t really know what love is, what overwhelming deep inescapable love is, until you have a little kid looking up to you with sparkling eyes.

The lid falls free, and he’s able to pull out a… Lux’s eyes focus fully, his distracted angry thoughts dissipating into a much stronger, formless cloud of rage. Outside the snow slows to a stop mid-air.

“...Okay.” One elbow presses to the floor, firm as stone as he pushes himself up to sitting. His displaced shoulder tries to make him collapse and sob but he refuses. His broken leg, too, wants to make him give up, but no amount of pain can override the feeling that’s caught in his throat right now. The small pair of earrings, little capybaras with diamonds instead of oranges atop their heads, is protected in his fist. These earrings were specifically asked for, and impossible to find online or in any store, so he met up with a jeweler and personally approved of drawn-up designs. They were bafflingly expensive and irrefutably worth it.

“Okay,” Lux repeats, and when his cold eyes meet the Hunter’s, he sees just what he expected - surprised, impressed curiosity. Joy. Amusement. “We’re not doing this. These? I know you summoned them without even bothering to go steal them in person.” They were hidden in a cardboard box in the closet, not wrapped yet. They were safe in the home his daughter sleeps in. “I know you didn’t step foot in our house.”

“Oh?” The Hunter reaches for a mug and drinks from it, setting it back down at a condescendingly relaxed pace. “How do you know that?”

His fist is pressed to the floor to keep himself upright. Lux won’t let himself pass out, he won’t let himself fall back down. “You used some kind of spell to find something valuable and hidden, there, and summoned it here. You didn’t go anywhere near her.”

The man shrugs and glances at a window, happy and calm, about to answer with some coy taunt. The words die before they reach his lips as his expression hardens with cautious focus, and he has to squint to make out the fluffy snowflakes hanging frozen mid-air out there.

“You can keep me here,” Continues Lux. “Do the whole scary Christmas thing, throw me back down there, make me obey. But this was a mistake.” He lifts his arm and holds out the earrings in gesture. They shiver and wobble in his palm. The Hunter’s focus is back on him, now. “Put them back. Never even pretend you went there. Never even hint at even knowing about her. Do you understand?”

“My light, I don’t think you want to-”

The windows shatter. The Hunter flinches - and good, he should - as glass flies in and scores a small cut across his cheek. Outside, the flakes tremble, straining to continue their natural path of falling but afraid to defy the furious magic holding them.

Lux hasn’t moved from where he sits. He doesn’t have to stand, to loom to be frightening. His eyes don’t glow, he doesn’t raise a hand in threat. He’s still quivering with pain and exhaustion. But his eyes are locked on his target, and the Hunter seems to finally feel like the prey that he now is.

“Do you understand?” Lux repeats. The tiny diamonds of the earrings glint beautifully in the light shining from the tree.

“...I’ll wipe your memory. Start the night over. You will obey me,” Says the Hunter carefully. He hasn’t moved since the windows blew in.

“Alright. But these will go back, and you won’t try this again.”

The Hunter sighs, looking down to the little pieces of metal and precious stone, then back up at his prisoner.

“Come here, little light.”

Lux shifts where he sits against the wall, eyeing the unusually tall silhouette atop the stairs warily. His knuckles rest on the floor at his sides, arms far too achy to even bother to lift them.

“I don’t really want to,” Rasps Lux.

The top stair creaks with a threatening step down into the cellar, and despite his age and experience, Lux feels his breath catch and his eyes fall down and to the side in instinctive submission. He sets his creaky body into motion, slow and careful not to force any throbbing joints to the point where they lock up in complaint.

Lux plants an elbow to the second lowest step with grim determination and pulls himself up enough to set his better knee in place to climb.

“Get moving, my light,” The Hunter hums. He sounds happy, calm. But underneath his pleasant warning, it sounds like there is some kind of… worry. Some kind of fear.

#whump #drabble #christmas whump woohoo!#lux #the hunter #mine #captivity #rage! hatred!

98 notes · View notes

asacredthebread · 5 months ago

Text

cover by @no-other-mashter

A Cabin In The Woods - Ch.1

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

Sam x F!Reader

𝙷𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 - 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚌𝚎?

Warnings/Themes: Enemies to Lovers, Douche Sam, Ex Danny, Soft Twins.

wc; 8425

a/n: finally a series!! this little idea was fleshed out with the help of @dannys-dream . please enjoy!

taglist : @musicislove3389 @peaceloveunitygvf @jazzyfigz @sarahbethgvf @fleetingjake

You glance around the room, taking in the scattered reminders of your lives intertwined. A few empty soda cans on the coffee table, remnants of your last gaming session. The stack of board games, some still in their boxes, others half-assembled, waiting for another night of laughter and playful competition. The anticipation thickens in the air, and you can almost hear the sounds of their arrival—a chorus of friendly banter, footsteps heavy with eagerness, the slam of the door as they burst in, bringing with them the energy of a weekend where everything seems possible.

With a sudden burst of energy, you jump up and move around the living room, tidying up just a bit. You gather the cans and throw them away, arrange the games into a neat, crooked pile, and adjust the throw pillows on the couch for an inviting look. As you work, you think about each of your friends and the unique role they play in your little group. Josh, the planner, always with a map in hand and ideas for adventures. Jake, the jokester, whose humor lights up even the cloudiest day. Danny, the quiet but observant one, who often surprises you with his insights. And Sam, the wanderer, whose spontaneous spirit often leads you to places you'd never thought to explore.

After a few minutes, you pause to listen again, straining for any sound of them arriving, but all you hear is the mesmerizing chirping of birds outside. You cross back to the window, pulling back the drapes to peer out at the driveway. The sunlight dances on the pavement, an empty space waiting, just like your heart wants to be filled again with the laughter and camaraderie that only this group can bring.

You think back to the plans you had made, each one a thread weaving the fabric of this weekend together. Hiking in the woods, fishing by the lake, maybe even telling ghost stories around the fireplace. Memories of weekends spent laughing until your sides hurt and sharing secrets that only deepened your bond float to the surface. You can almost picture how it will be: the five of you piled into the cabin, the air filled with chatter and the smell of snacks being prepared, the excitement of adventures awaiting just outside the door.

Time drags as you check your phone again, scrolling through messages but finding none. You switch to your playlists, letting the melodies fill the room, hoping they’ll calm your impatient heart. The music swells, wrapping you in its embrace as you move to the kitchen, the aroma of freshly baked cookies still lingering from earlier. You grab a couple, hoping the smell will entice your friends upon their arrival. You take a bite, savoring the rich sweetness that temporarily distracts you from the ticking clock.

Minutes crawl on, and your imagination takes flight, picturing each friend’s face, their expressions as they step through the door. You imagine Josh already trying to set up the itinerary, Jake’s inevitable quips punctuating the details, Danny’s dry humor, and Sam’s enthusiastic agreement peppering their discussions. The thought brings a smile to your lips, and you allow yourself to get lost in it.

You lean against the counter, glancing again at the clock. The hands seem stubbornly fixed, but finally, you hear it—the soft rumble of a car engine breaking through the afternoon stillness. Your heart skips a beat, and you rush to the door, peering out through the glass pane. It’s not just one car, but two, the familiar shapes of their vehicles parked haphazardly on the gravel.

Adrenaline courses through you, and you throw open the door, taking a moment to soak up the sight. Josh is the first out, already waving excitedly at you, his backpack slung over one shoulder. Sam tumbles out next, nearly tripping over his own feet, laughter spilling from his lips. Jake hops out of the backseat, a mock flourish accompanying his arrival. Then there’s Danny, who emerges more slowly, his presence calm amidst the whirlwind.

You step out into the open air, and as they draw nearer, the energy in your chest ignites into a full flame. Josh is already unfolding a paper with scribbled plans, Jake is regaling you with a story from the ride, and Sam is juggling a bag of snacks like a circus performer. You laugh, your voice mixing with theirs, as the worry of waiting melts away.

“About time you got here!” you tease, gesturing dramatically to your watch as they gather around you.

“Sorry! There was a weird traffic jam. Blame the ducks,” Jake shoots back, somehow managing to sound both sarcastic and sincere all at once.

The laughter that erupts is warm and infectious, wrapping around you like a cozy blanket. You know that this is just the beginning; the weekend stretches out ahead of you, full of messiness and adventure, laughter and shared moments, just waiting for you to dive into it together. As the initial chaos of greetings dies down, there’s a gentle tug in your heart as you catch sight of Sam, now standing a little farther back, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. His expression is unreadable, a mix of wariness and stubbornness that you’ve seen before. It wouldn’t be your first time navigating this peculiar distance that seems to have blossomed between you two since the breakup.

You take a deep breath, trying to shake off the feeling of discomfort coiling in your stomach. You remember when Sam was just a kid, tagging along with Danny, wide-eyed and full of curiosity. He idolized his older brother and you, too. But as the years rolled on, things shifted—the innocence of childhood faded, and the complexities of adulthood crept in. Once an eager participant in your little adventures, Sam now stood at the fringes, a silent observer in a space that used to feel so inclusive.

You flash him a smile, hoping to breach the silent wall that’s grown taller between you over the years. “Hey, Sam! You ready for this weekend?” you ask, trying to keep your tone light and inviting.

He responds with a tight, almost imperceptible nod, his gaze shifting to the grass at his feet. “Yeah,” he mutters, his voice barely audible over the excitement buzzing from the others. The wave of disappointment crashes over you like a cold breeze, leaving you shivering even in the warmth of the sun.

“Awesome! We’ve got hiking and fishing on the agenda. You’ll love it,” you say, keeping your voice steady, even though every word feels like a fragile bridge being built between you and him. You want him to feel included, to remember the fun the five of you shared—but something always seems to break that connection.

He shrugs but doesn't respond, and you can't help but notice how much his demeanor has changed. This is not the same Sam who once giddily climbed trees with you in the backyard or raced across the playground, his laughter mingling with yours. No, this version of Sam stands guarded, like he’s built a fortress around his emotions, and you’re left on the outside, struggling to find an entry point.

Josh, oblivious to your unspoken struggle, throws an arm around you and Sam, pulling you both into the group. “I brought the marshmallows! We need to find the perfect spot for making s’mores, right?” he announces, attempting to lift the mood.

You can feel Sam stiffen slightly against you as Josh continues to speak. You wonder if he even realizes how much the past has influenced his views on you, or if he’s even bothered to tell Danny how he feels. You want to reach out, to talk to him alone somewhere quiet, but the fear of making things worse holds you back. Hadn’t you tried before? You think back to the moments after the breakup, sensing that Sam’s icy glare had been directed at you more often than not.

Danny notices the tension, shooting a glance back at you. He’s always been the peacemaker among your friends, but even he hasn't managed to bridge the gap between you and Sam. He steps closer, trying to draw you back into the group dynamic. “Alright! Let’s load up the cars. I’ll grab the bags,” he says cheerfully.

You watch as Danny hustles away, a familiar sense of comfort and guilt flooding through you at his actions. He’s still your friend, even after everything, making this situation increasingly complicated. You had shared a deep connection, a bond that was special, but now that connection felt fragile, with threads fraying as each day went by. The decision to remain friends with him had been simple at the time, rooted in mutual respect and affection for one another, but you hadn’t fully anticipated how it would affect your relationship with Sam.

“Why does he still talk to you?” Sam’s voice cuts through your thoughts abruptly, and you turn to find him glaring at you, confusion etched across his features.

You blink, taken aback by his straightforwardness. It was a question not merely about your friendship with Danny, but something deeper, one that suggested unresolved feelings.

“What do you mean?” you reply, trying to keep your voice from wavering.

“Just… why? After everything? You broke up. It’s not fair to Danny, you know.” His eyes narrow, and there’s no mistaking the defensiveness that wrapped around him as he stood his ground.

Your heart sinks at his words. You had expected some tension, but you hadn’t anticipated this raw confrontation. “Sam, it’s not like that,” you respond gently, striving for sincerity rather than defensiveness, but it comes out muddled. “Danny and I are friends; that doesn’t change the past, but it doesn’t mean we can’t be there for each other. What happened between us was… well, it was years ago.”

But Sam isn’t ready to ease off. “Then why’s he still so close? Doesn’t it bother him? You just act like nothing happened.”

You feel a wave of frustration and hurt rise within you. “It’s not like we pretend it didn’t happen,” you counter, your voice barely above a whisper. “We’ve moved on. It was a mutual decision. But you haven’t even tried to understand.”

“Understand?” His voice cracks like glass, sharp and brittle. “You think it’s that easy? You hurt him—and you hurt me. Don’t act like you didn’t.”

And there it is, the voice of a protector, a younger brother shielding his older sibling from the pain you had inadvertently caused. Regret gnaws at your heart; you hadn’t anticipated how deep the roots of the past would grow, or how they would fester.

The moment stretches, a fragile silence hanging between you. You want to explain how even though the breakup had been tough, it was healthier for both of you to let go. You want to tell him that your friendship with Danny no longer carries the weight that it once did. But as you look into Sam’s frustrated eyes, filled with the hurt and resentment that he carries, you realize that words alone may not be enough.

You take a step toward him, lowering your voice, “I’m still the same person, Sam. I care about you. I always have. And I never wanted this. If I could take everything back, I would.”

There’s a flicker of vulnerability in Sam’s expression, but it’s quickly masked by a wall of defiance. He shakes his head, the battle between his emotions evident. “But you can’t. You can't erase the past. You’re just… you’re just not the person I thought you were.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air like an oppressive fog. Deep down, you know this isn’t just about you; this is Sam grappling with his loyalty, with the fragments of his innocence being directly affected by choices made long ago, neither of you fully prepared for the landscape of change that followed.

A voice in your head whispers that perhaps this moment isn’t the time to press further. What he needs might be different than what you want. So, instead of pushing, you simply take a deep breath and offer him a small, tentative smile. “I hope one day, you’ll see that,” you say quietly. It’s a promise to yourself, a commitment that you won’t give up on him, no matter how tough he chooses to be.

Josh calls out for everyone to grab their things, pulling you back into the present. The others have wandered off to the cars. You feel the pulsing uncertainty hanging over your head, yet a flicker of hope ignites amid the tension. While things may not settle overnight, perhaps this weekend spent together in the cabin can lay the groundwork, the first tentative steps toward rebuilding what feels broken.

As you approach the vehicles, your heart still heavy with the confrontation but your resolve steady, you glance back at Sam. He stands a little apart, watching as the others prepare for the adventure ahead. You can only hope that somewhere in him, beneath the hurt and the resentment, lies the same Sam who once laughed with you, the one who could still find joy in the shared moments to come. In the complicated web of friendships and past relationships, all you can do is be patient. And for now, that has to be enough. As you gather your things, moving methodically through the motions without allowing yourself to get attached to the feelings brewing within you, you can feel the invisible barrier remaining firmly in place between you and Sam. Over the months—no, the years—you’ve grown increasingly indifferent to his indifference. You’ve learned to encapsulate your disappointment in a box labeled “Sam,” pushing it aside among the remnants of a past that no longer holds the warmth it once did. It’s a survival tactic more than anything, one that helps you navigate the reality of being with the group without constantly feeling the sting of his coldness.

You toss your backpack into the back of the car, and from the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of Sam’s silhouette. He is leaning against the trunk of his own car, arms crossed defensively as he furtively shoots glances your way, as if keeping track of your every movement. The feeling of animosity between you both has morphed into a standoff—one that has grown all too familiar. Civil, yes, but you’d be lying if you didn’t think of him as an enemy of sorts.

“Hey! You ready?” Josh’s voice pulls you back into the moment, a jovial spirit breaking through the tension that lingers over you like a storm cloud.

“Yeah, let me just grab a couple more things,” you reply, pushing away the distractions of the cold exchange with Sam. You put on your friendliest face, hoping it radiates enough warmth to block the chilly vibes from the younger brother.

As you turn back to your car, you can feel Sam’s eyes boring into your back. The sharpness of his gaze is enough to make you almost cringe. In a moment of pure habit, you catch his glance across the distance between you, but instead of engaging, you look away, resignation washing over you. This is your new normal—walking around each other with an almost practiced ease, avoiding topics that felt like landmines, running the motions without the heart.

You join Josh, who is animatedly motioning toward the pile of bags ready to be loaded into the car. He lifts your duffel bag, tossing it into the backseat. “You know what? I think this weekend is going to be pretty epic,” he says with an enthusiastic grin, and there’s a spark in his eyes that suggests he might be cooking up something devious underneath the cheerful exterior.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be fun,” you respond, keeping your tone light, but the spark of excitement doesn’t quite match what you feel inside. You know you’re only here for the rest of them—not for Sam, but for the camaraderie that the others bring. The thought serves as a bitter reminder that this weekend isn't going to be the joyful adventure you once experienced; it’s veiled in complications now.

“You don’t sound too thrilled,” Josh observes, tilting his head slightly as he watches you. His playful smirk hints that he knows you better than you’d like to admit.

“I am! I just— I don’t know. It’s hard with all the… dynamics,” you admit, glancing back at Sam, who is now leaning against the car, scrolling through his phone, feigning disinterest in everything around him.

Josh catches your gaze and follows it. “Ah, Sam,” he says knowingly, his smirk widening. “You know how to handle him, right? Just give him some space. He’s a brat, but he’ll come around… eventually. Maybe.” There’s a lightheartedness in his tone, but you can hear the flicker of truth beneath it as well.

You sigh softly, refraining from saying a whole lot. It’s tiring, dwelling on Sam and the gulf that has opened between you two. “I’m just here for the rest of you,” you finally say, attempting to shake off the weighty atmosphere hanging between you all.

“Oh come on, don’t sell yourself short,” Josh nudges playfully. “You’ll have a good time. Trust me; I’ve got plans. Just wait.” His eyes glimmer with mischief, promising something that you can't quite articulate but makes you feel a sense of intrigue mixed with a sprinkle of apprehension.

“Plans?” you raise an eyebrow, instantly curious. “What kind of plans?”

Josh just smirks and shakes his head. “You’ll see. Just… keep that excitement brewing. You’re going to need it.” He glances over your shoulder at Sam, who’s obliviously shifting his weight between his feet, looking anywhere but at you. “And if you want to help Sam thaw out, I’d say surprise him this weekend.”

You can’t help but snort. “Yeah, because that’s worked so well in the past,” you reply, rolling your eyes playfully. There’s a moment where you and Josh share a genuine laugh, an infectious moment that lifts your spirits—if only for a heartbeat.

But as the laughter fades, you find yourself swallowing the edges of optimism that Josh had carefully woven among your words. Everything feels like it’s wrapped in prickly layers, and you can’t quite shake off the lingering frost that Sam has established around himself. You glance back at the car, the rest of your friends mingling as they load their bags, and you know that whatever happens this weekend, the shadows will continue to linger.

But for now, you focus on the group—the familiar sounds of friends, the camaraderie that still exists, and the small moments where joy can weave through the complexities. If nothing else, you can hold onto that, at least for a little while longer.

The excitement builds as the group begins to finalize the car arrangements, laughter and chatter filling the air like the sweetest of harmonies. Meanwhile, you stand by your car, your bags safely stowed in the trunk, watching as Danny, Jake, and Josh cram themselves into one vehicle. Jake is behind the wheel, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing toned forearms as he adjusts his sunglasses.

“Hey, we’re all set over here!” Danny calls out, giving you a wave with a grin that feels impossibly bright against the growing shadows of your own swirling emotions.

“Great! How's it looking?” you ask, attempting to maintain the upbeat spirit that the others seem to exude.

“It’s a tight fit,” Jake chuckles, shifting a few duffel bags to open up his side. “But I think we can manage. It’s like a fun little challenge. Just squeeze in!”

Your heart sinks a little. There’s no room for you to join the fun trio. There’s the undeniable reality that someone has to ride with Sam, and as fate would have it, that someone is you. The mental calculation runs through your head as Josh leans over. “So, it looks like you’re stuck with our favorite ice-cold brother,” he teases, a smile dancing on his lips.

You force a smile back, but the corners of your mouth barely lift. “Yeah, sounds like a blast,” you say, your voice dripping with false enthusiasm. But you know better; you’ve moved past hoping for a magical transformation between you and Sam. Instead, you brace for the awkward silence that awaits you.

“Just try not to kill each other,” Danny chimes in with a laugh, clapping Jake on the shoulder as he climbs into the backseat. The two of them crowd in with Josh, leaving you standing at the edge of the parking lot, bags in tow, feeling more like a reluctant passenger on a sinking ship.

“Have fun!” Josh throws over his shoulder, a teasing tone layered beneath genuine friendship. You merely nod and turn back toward your own car, steeling yourself for the ride.

As you approach Sam, who has finally peeled himself away from the trunk, your heart sinks a little deeper. He stands there, arms crossed, head tilted slightly to the side, like a statue carved from ice. You wonder if he’s ever going to ease up, but you have your doubts.

“Ready?” you ask, trying to inject a hint of excitement into your voice, but it falls flat, met by a lackluster nod from him. Definitely not the response you were hoping for.

He opens the passenger door for you, the gesture surprisingly formal, but no warmth underlies it. You slide in, feeling the chill envelop you like a thick winter coat. The atmosphere in the car is immediate—stark, heavy with uncomfortable silence. It hangs between you like a thick fog, dense and unyielding.

Sam quietly takes his place in the driver’s seat, starting the engine and fumbling with the radio. He seems determined to ignore your presence, staring straight ahead as if making an escape plan from the vulnerability of sharing a confined space. You wish there was a way to breach the awkwardness, to find a thread that could pull you back together, but as the tires crunch against the gravel, any hope for easy conversation dissipates.

Seeking some semblance of normalcy, you reach for the radio dial. “Let’s put some music on,” you suggest, flipping through the static-filled channels, your fingers finding the familiar rhythm of pop tunes and classic rock. Anything to drown out the suffocating quiet.

You land on a station playing an upbeat track—something that hints at carefree moments and happy adventures. As the music swells in the car, you glance over at Sam, who seems indifferent, his eyes fixed ahead on the road. The contrast between the vibrant sound and his unyielding silence sticks out like a sore thumb.

As the first chorus filters through the air, you attempt to find solace in the lyrics, tapping your fingers on your knee. The momentary distraction feels almost comforting, wrapping you in a bubble of familiarity, but the more you look over, the more the disconnection between you gnaws at your insides.

With each passing song, you steal glances at Sam, noticing the set of his jaw, the way he focuses entirely on the road, as if the scenery outside holds his full attention. It’s as though he’s cast you out completely, maintaining an air of impressive detachment. You feel the weight of his emotions pressing down upon you, and the lack of dialogue hangs heavily in the air, making you painfully aware of how this car ride is just another continuation of the unspoken animosity.

“Can we at least talk?” you break the silence after what feels like an eternity, your voice coming out more tentative than you intended.

A flicker of surprise crosses Sam’s features, but it’s quickly replaced by that familiar coldness. “What’s there to talk about?” he replies, his tone clipped and almost disdainful.

You don’t have an answer for that. Instead, you return your gaze to the road ahead, willing yourself to fade into the background. As the landscape lazily unfolds outside, you tap your fingers absently to the rhythm of the songs, clutching tightly to the momentary escape they offer while the awkwardness seeps into any crevice it can find.

The music continues to play, but the sound no longer feels potent enough to bridge the gap. And so, you sit in silence with Sam, together yet entirely alone, gripped by the cold tension that still looms overhead as the car speeds into a weekend that feels far from the promise of the adventure it should hold.

The thrum of the tires against the gravel grows faint as Sam pulls the car to a stop. The abrupt halt rouses you from your thoughts, your body tense and coiled from the ride. You can sense the anticipation in the air as you sit in silence for a moment longer, taking in the surroundings. The cabin abruptly fills with the chirping of birds and the gentle rustle of leaves—a serene welcome that feels almost surreal after the oppressive silence of the drive.

With a burst of adrenaline, you fling open your door before Sam has even turned off the engine. The cool breeze greets you like an old friend as you hop out, not waiting for any farewell or parting glance. Your feet hit the ground with a thud, and you cherish the feeling of freedom as you stretch your legs and breathe in the fresh, earthy scent of the outdoors.

“Finally!” you exhale, shaking off the lingering weight of the car ride as you make your way towards the others, who are unloading their bags with animated chatter. You spot Danny first, his voice carrying over the excited hum of everyone’s arrival.

“Hey! You made it!” he calls, a warm smile brightening his face as he waves you over.

“Yep! I survived,” you reply, injecting a playful cheer into your words as you approach him. He raises an eyebrow playfully, sensing there’s more to your story than your upbeat tone conveys.

“How was the ride with Sam?” Danny inquires, leaning in closer, curiosity dancing in his eyes. You can’t help but let out a short, bitter laugh.

“It was… cold,” you say, searching for the right words. “I mean, really, really cold. Like, I thought I was going to need a parka.”

Danny’s expression shifts to one of mild concern mixed with amusement. He chuckles softly, his eyes glancing towards Sam, who is now focused on unloading bags from the car with an almost robotic efficiency. “Sounds about right. He can be a snowstorm in human form,” he jokes, but there’s an underlying seriousness in his voice.

You nod, the heaviness of the ride still looming over you like a lingering cloud. “I just don’t get why he has to be like that,” you admit, your voice dropping slightly as you try to keep the conversation light.

“It’s Sam,” Danny shrugs, rolling his eyes. “He’s always been like that. Don’t take it personally. He’ll warm up—eventually.” The reassurance sounds hollow, but you appreciate the effort.

Before you can respond, Josh jogs over, cutting into the moment with a laugh as he slings an arm around your shoulders. “What’s the scoop? Did you two drive the entire way without speaking?”

“Pretty much,” you reply, crossing your arms defensively as if that might shield you from the teasing laughter that’s sure to follow. “It was like a contest to see who could be the most silent.”

Josh pretends to gasp dramatically. “An entire hour spent without banter? The horror! Next time, I’ll bring a competition trophy for you both,” he says, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Despite the playful taunts, you feel a little warmth blossom inside you, a reminder that you’re among friends who know the perfect way to lift your spirits even when the situation feels bleak.

As the rest of the group gathers around, you can sense a change in energy, the camaraderie enveloping you like a well-worn blanket. You watch as Jake unloads the last of the bags, and you can see the excitement bubbling up among everyone, a collective anticipation for the weekend ahead.

Maybe, just maybe, you can set aside the awkwardness with Sam and focus on the fun awaiting you all. But the idea of staying civil with him still nibbles at the edges of your mind, lingering beneath the surface.

“Let’s get settled before we explore,” Josh suggests, gesturing toward the cozy cabin that looms invitingly on the hillside. “I could use a good stretch and some snacks to keep my energy up. Who's with me?”

You follow his lead, feeling the warmth of the group draw you in, leaving Sam behind in the background. The unspoken tension ebbed slightly as you turn away, making a conscious effort to step toward laughter and a sense of belonging.

But even amidst the joyful chaos, you can’t help but glance back toward the car, where Sam is still standing, finishing his task in solitude. His presence is a whispering shadow in the back of your mind, a reminder of the icy wall that still divides you. For now, you shake off the unease, hoping that somehow, the thrill of the weekend can melt even the iciest of barriers.

As the group disperses to settle into the two cabins, excitement crackles in the air, mixing with the sweet scent of pine and earthy undertones of the surrounding woods. You watch as Jake, Josh, and Danny haul their gear inside the same cabin, eager to dive into their music and brainstorm creative ideas for the next tour. Their laughter rings out, a cheerful melody that resonates against the backdrop of chirping birds and rustling leaves.

Meanwhile, Sam stands a few feet away, allowing the warmth of camaraderie to wash over him without fully engaging. His body language is closed off, as if he’s placed an invisible barrier between himself and the rest of the group. You steal glances in his direction, still ruminating over the constricting atmosphere from the car ride. But with all the excitement building around you, a part of you feels ready to push that unease aside.

“Alright, let’s get this party started!” Jake exclaims, clapping his hands together as he leads the way into their cabin. It feels right for them to be together, indulging in what they love best. But then your attention shifts back to Sam as he ambles toward the opposite cabin, the decision clearly marked on his face—he wants out. Out of everything.

“Hey, Sam, you want to join us?” Josh asks, half-joking but clearly hopeful for his inclusion.

Sam shakes his head firmly without turning. “I need a break from all this,” he replies tersely, a dismissal that nearly stings in the air. You can see his shoulders tense, a clear indication he’s not about to open up—about anything. It’s a bark of resistance, a wall of icy resolve that sends a reminder of the distance between you.

As you stand there, the tension in the air palpable, you feel a strange mix of anticipation and dread at the thought of cabin assignments. Jake, Josh, and Danny bustle into their cabin, laughter spilling out like sunlight, while Sam, ever the enigma, remains outside, his posture rigid with resolve. Your heart sinks a little when you hear the casual banter coming from the cabin that’s supposedly supposed to be yours.

“Hey, where’s the other cabin?” you ask, trying to mask the unease creeping in.

“It’s just over there,” Josh points, his demeanor as light-hearted as ever. “You’ll love it! It’s cozy, and the view is killer.”

Sam’s voice cuts in sharply from behind you. “I’m really going to need some quiet.” He slips past and heads toward the other cabin, and you can’t help the irritated glance you shoot Josh.

“What? I’m just suggesting you join us!” Josh grins, unfazed by your discontent. He winks, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

With a resigned sigh, you watch Sam disappear into his chosen retreat. Deciding against further argument, you follow Josh, your heart sinking at the prospect of being ushered into the one space you hadn’t planned on. This was just typical, wasn’t it? The universe had a way of throwing you situations you never asked for.

As you step inside the cabin, you're immediately struck by its rustic beauty. The arching wooden beams overhead give it a charm, while large windows let in soft splashes of golden sunlight. A comfortable couch sits invitingly near a small fireplace, and the kitchen area glistens with warmth and promise of shared meals. There’s an instant feeling of home.

“See? Isn’t it nice?” Josh beams, stepping further in to gesturing for you to join. You can't help but find the ambiance enchanting, the essence of the cabin soothing.

“Yeah, it’s beautiful,” you admit, allowing yourself to be momentarily distracted by the quaint details—an assortment of vintage mugs hung from a rack, a checkered tablecloth draped over the dining table. Everything feels so inviting, and for a heartbeat, the knot in your stomach unravels. Perhaps it won’t be so bad after all.

But then, as you continue to stroll through the space, your gaze lands on the sleeping area tucked in the corner. The moment you realize there’s only one bed—small, rustic, and undeniably charming—you stop in your tracks, your breath catching in your throat.

“What?” You whirl around to Josh, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. “There’s only one bed? Seriously?”

Josh holds up his hands defensively, a playful smirk on his face. “Hey, I don’t make the rules! It’s a cozy cabin, and they weren’t exactly built with… convenience in mind.”

“Convenience?” you huff, incredulity dripping from your tone. “We’re not in a romantic teen flick, Josh! I can’t sleep in a bed with Sam—he can be like a thousand ice cubes!”

“Relax, it’s just for a couple of nights,” Josh chuckles, clearly not fully grasping the discontent rippling through you. “Think of it as an adventure!”

You let out a frustrated groan, rubbing your temples as you try to process this unforeseen development. “An adventure or a nightmare?” Your thoughts race, imagining the uncomfortable moments that lie ahead.

“Look, just make the best of it! You never know, you might actually enjoy it.” He winks again, turning to head for the door. “I’m going to go grab the rest of my stuff. Just—be nice to him, okay? Sam can surprise you.”

As the door clicks shut behind him, you stand in the silence of the cabin, weighing your options. There is a certain comfort in the beauty of the place, but the knowledge that Sam would be your only companion when night descends fills you with dread.

What were the chances of this turning into anything less than awkward? You glance at the bed again, a small, perfect frame draped with a warm comforter, and you can’t help but let out a soft groan. There was no escaping this predicament. Not only would you have to confront the tension that lingered between you and Sam, but you’d also have to figure out how to share such an intimate space without succumbing to the discomfort.

With a cautious sigh, you decide that if you’re going to be stuck in this situation, you might as well make the best of it. Drawing a deep breath, you head back toward the door, determined to find Sam before the night descends—perhaps a little friendly banter could chip away at that frosty demeanor. Or at least, you hope it could. You stand for a moment, wrestling with the urge to chase after Sam. After all, he’s a grown man. This trip is meant to be a break for everyone, and he’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself, even if he seems intent on brooding in solitude. With a firm nod to yourself, you decide against following him.

Instead, you turn back to the cabin, allowing its warm atmosphere to wrap around you like a comforting blanket. Setting your bag on the cozy couch, you begin to unpack, slowly taking out your belongings. You lay out your clothes in the small dresser and set your toiletries on the counter, your fingers brushing over the well-worn wood. Each item finds its place, and with everything finally organized, the cabin begins to feel more like home.

Once you’re finished, you grab your book from the side pocket of your bag, the familiar cover a welcome sight. Plopping down on the couch, you curl your legs beneath you, settling in to read. The cabin is silent, save for the soft sounds of nature filtering in through the open window—the whisper of the wind and the distant call of a bird.

You find your place in the book, the words enveloping you as you lose yourself in the story. Time slips away, the characters pulling you deeper into their world while the sun sinks lower in the sky, casting warm hues of orange and pink through the windows. The ambiance is peaceful and serene, the perfect backdrop to an evening of escape.

But as the sky darkens and stars begin to twinkle overhead, the lure of the outside world beckons you. You set your book aside and decide to venture out. Stepping out of the cabin, the crisp night air hits you, fresh and invigorating. The soft glow of a campfire flickers in the distance, laughter and chatter weaving a warm, welcoming melody.

You make your way toward the group, and as you approach the fire, you spot Jake’s familiar silhouette, his laughter rising above the others. Instinctively, you feel drawn to him—the effortless way he seems to brighten the mood always brings a smile to your face.

“Hey! Look who finally decided to join us!” Jake calls out, his grin infectious. He pats the space beside him on a log that’s been pulled close to the fire. As you settle down next to him, you allow your body to relax, the warmth radiating from the flames washing over you.

“Sorry for the delay. Getting settled took longer than I expected,” you reply, glancing around at the other members of the group. Danny and Josh sit opposite you, animatedly discussing something that makes them all break into laughter now and then, while Sam appears a short distance away, leaning against a tree, arms crossed over his chest, watching the scene unfold.

Jake leans closer, his voice lowering a notch so only you can hear. “You know, touring can be exhausting, but there’s nothing like a campfire to recharge. The stories we gather, the people we meet—it’s all a part of it.”

You nod, intrigued. “What’s one of your favorite moments from tour?”

Jake’s eyes light up as he leans back, stretching his arms. “Oh man, there are so many! But there was this one time in Stockholm. We had a show, everything was fine, and then it just started pouring down. Everything was getting wet, crew were running out to try and cover everything, but we decided to go for it anyway. The energy in that crowd was electric. People were dancing in the rain, completely soaked, loving every minute of it. There’s just something magical about sharing those experiences, y’know?”

You listen intently, captivated by the enthusiasm in his voice. As Jake reminisces, you can see the clear passion he has for his craft, for the stage, and for those chaotic yet beautiful moments that make up a musician’s life.

The comforting glow of the fire creates a warm cocoon around the group, and little by little, you become absorbed in the shared tales of adventures, mischief, and unexpected mishaps. The feeling of camaraderie fills the space as stories pass around like cherished keepsakes—each anecdote drawing you closer to the rest of the group.

You steal a glance at Sam, noticing that he hasn't moved. He seems distant, lost in his own thoughts, but you remind yourself that you are not responsible for him. Tonight is about the warmth of friendship and connection, a reminder of the bonds you share with these people.

As the conversations swirl around you, you find a comfortable spot amid the laughter and storytelling, finally allowing yourself to relax. There may be unresolved tension with Sam lingering in the back of your mind, but for now, you embrace the moment—the crackling fire, the rich stories, and the sparkling stars above. As the evening unfolds, the warmth of the fire ignites a newfound energy in the group. Josh reaches into a cooler nearby, cracking open a few drinks, the sounds of cans popping echoing into the night. The laughter swells as everyone grabs their beverages, toasting to camaraderie under the twinkling stars.

“Cheers!” Jake calls out, holding his can high. The others echo him, clinking their drinks together, the sound of laughter mingling with the crackling of the fire. You take a long sip, feeling the refreshing taste wash over you, a perfect complement to the lively atmosphere surrounding you.

The night deepens, and the glow of the fire flickers and dances across everyone’s faces, creating a cozy enclave of warmth amid the cool night air. The conversation flows easily, stories bouncing back and forth, punctuated by the occasional jeer or hearty laugh. You settle comfortably into the moment, appreciating the ease with which everything seems to be unfolding.

As the evening progresses, you catch sight of Sam from the corner of your eye. He stands at the edge of the clearing, arms still crossed, leaning against a tree. He seems disconnected, observing from a distance, his expression unreadable. Yet, as you continue to watch, it’s clear he’s caught in the contagious vibe that surrounds the fire. You look away, not wanting to give it too much thought.

Just when you begin to wonder if he’d stay withdrawn, he edges closer, his presence almost tentative but still steadfast. Jake waves him over, and to your surprise, Sam steps forward, joining the group but keeping a careful distance from where you sit. He responds to the others with brief smiles and nods, his warmth reserved only for them.

A moment later, Josh stretches and calls out, “Hey, Jake! Switch seats with me!” Without hesitation, he stands and swiftly swaps places with Jake, who falls into a natural rhythm chatting with Danny on the opposite side of the fire.

Now seated next to you, Josh leans in with a grin that instantly eases any lingering tension. “So, I’ve been mapping out a hiking trip for tomorrow,” he says, excitement bubbling in his voice. “I found this amazing trail that leads to this gorgeous viewpoint. If you’re up for it, I think it'll be a blast!”

You perk up, intrigued. “Really? How long is the hike?”

“A few hours, give or take, depending on how much we stop to take photos,” he says, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “I thought it would be a great way to explore the area while also getting some fresh air. Plus,” he adds with a conspiratorial grin, “you can get a step ahead on your ‘adventure’ with Sam!”

You chuckle at the idea, but a part of you feels a little conflicted. “What if Sam doesn’t want to join us?” you muse, shooting a glance toward him. Even as he sips his drink, he seems engaged in casual conversation with the others, yet his gaze is distant, unfocused.

“Oh, come on!” Josh rolls his eyes dramatically, leaning closer, his voice a playful whisper. “He might be grumpy now, but when he gets out on the trail, the fresh air could do him wonders. Besides, it’s all about enjoying ourselves, right?”

You can’t help but smile at Josh’s infectious enthusiasm. “Okay, I’ll join you. Sounds like fun!”

“Awesome! I’ll make sure to bring some snacks. We can have a little picnic at the viewpoint,” he suggests, and just then, Danny breaks out into another story, eliciting laughter from Jake and the rest of the group.

As you settle into the conversation with Josh, a lightness begins to fill the air, and the earlier tension fades. You steal another glance at Sam, noticing he’s still holding his drink, but has started engaging more than before. It’s small, but you sense a subtle transformation with him—something that perhaps indicates that being around the fire is melting the ice a bit.

Everyone’s laughter mingles with the night sounds, the stars shining brightly above as the embers of the fire flicker and pop. You lean back, soaking in the moment. Tomorrow promises new adventures—one filled with hiking, laughter, and the spirit of exploration. For now, you allow yourself to enjoy that sense of belonging, sharing stories and warmth with your chosen family under the expansive sky.

The night begins to stretch on, each minute blending into the next, the laughter and stories creating a seamless tapestry of warmth and companionship. The fire crackles softly, slowly surrendering to the coolness of the evening air as the flames retreat into a pile of glowing embers. The comforting scent of smoke lingers, weaving through the crisp atmosphere around you.

As the group continues to chatter, the energy isn’t quite as boisterous as it had been earlier. Conversations begin to dwindle into soft murmurs, the warmth of the fire drawing everyone closer as shadows dance around you. You can feel the budding fatigue settling in; the day had been long, filled with travel and commotion. Glancing around, you catch sight of Josh and Danny, both leaning back on their hands, eyelids heavy with sleep.

Jake stands up, stretching with a yawn. “I think it’s about time we call it a night, huh?” he suggests, quickly met with nods and sighs of agreement. Slowly, everyone begins to rise from their places around the fire, reluctantly shaking off the comfort of the warmth.

“Goodnight, everyone!” Josh calls out, before he and Danny wander off toward the cabin.

The others follow suit, saying their goodnights as they drift in their separate directions, leaving you and Sam lingering by the fire. He stands nearby, his expression still somewhat distant, eyes flickering briefly toward the ashes.

“Let’s head in,” you say, breaking the silence as you turn to him. Sam nods but doesn’t say anything, still gazing into the dimming fire.

You walk toward the cabin door, Sam following closely behind. He steps through the threshold first, immediately letting out a breath as he brushes off the chill that clings to him. “Man, it’s cold out there,” he remarks, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice.

You smile, turning back to the fire for one last moment before stepping inside. As you linger, you scan the darkened cabin, your eyes drifting toward the dwindling logs stacked in the corner. There aren’t many left for tomorrow, and while it tugs at your mind, you decide it’ll be a problem for a later time. Right now, the warmth from the fire still barely fills the room, and it holds a comfort that you want to stay in a little longer.

The embers crackle softly, glowing like miniature stars against the ashy backdrop, and as you watch, a small wave of peacefulness washes over you. But then, the moment takes a shift. You turn back toward Sam and notice he’s looking around the cabin, a scowl etched on his features.

“Huh,” he says. “I didn't realize there was only one bed.”

His tone is curt, and there’s a flicker of something—annoyance? Disappointment?—behind his eyes. You can’t help but raise an eyebrow, feeling the weight of the night's earlier warmth dissipate slightly at his words.

“Yeah, I guess it’s a small cabin,” you reply, trying to keep the tone light. “We’ll figure it out.”

Sam huffs, hands shoved deep in his pockets, the tension palpable. “What do you mean we’ll figure it out?”

“Well,” you start, taking a small breath, unsure where to steer the conversation, “we can always share the bed, given that all the other beds are... well, nonexistent.”

He rolls his eyes, his dissatisfaction clear. “Great. Just what I wanted—sharing a bed in a cabin that’s apparently meant for couples.”

You feel a flush creep up your neck at the unintended implication in his words. “It’s just logistics, Sam. It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s a big deal to me,” he snaps, his glare holding onto the shadows of the cabin. The air suddenly feels thick with tension, spiraling into an uncomfortable silence between you. You desperately search for the right thing to say, to ease the moment, but it seems nothing fits.

“Look,” you finally say, trying to keep the peace, “we can make the best of it, right? Maybe it’ll just be a fun memory to—”

Sam interrupts, his voice edged with frustration. “Yeah, a fun memory. Because sharing a bed with you will definitely be memorable,” he mutters, sarcasm dripping off his words.

You take a step back, a knot forming in your stomach. The atmosphere that had felt so warm and friendly by the fire now feels heavy and constricted. This isn’t how you wanted the night to end.

“Fine,” you say, drawing back slightly. “If you don’t want to share, you could always sleep on the floor.”

Sam’s expression shifts, caught somewhere between indignation and surprise. “I’m not sleeping on the floor.”

Silence lingers again, thickening the air. You both stand in the small cabin, the only sounds coming from the gentle crackling of the dying fire outside, your voices echoing in the corners of the room.

“Let’s just get some sleep,” you suggest quietly, hoping to soften the moment. He shifts slightly, the tension still palpable as he nods, but there’s an undeniable chill in the air that wasn’t there a moment ago.

As the last remnants of warmth flicker in the embers outside, the cabin darkens around you, pulling you both into an unwelcome reality—the boundaries of friendship challenged by the confines of close quarters.

51 notes · View notes