going boneless


those fluttering eyelashes are killing me… and that tiny smile at the end…

A Broken Warrior

Modern AU 
Soldier Ivar x Reader
A Broken Warrior: One-shot, 10,759 words.
(Treat yourself to a glass of wine while reading this. Or two. It really is that long. One day I will learn my lesson. One day…)
Warnings: Angst. Swearing. Amputation. Very, very mild descriptions of sexual intercourse. 
All of the Heathen Army’s amazing Modern AU Ivar fics inspired me to go in all out and write a one-shot for two of my favourite things - Ivar and uniforms!
It was meant to be a little fluff fic, then it progressed onto a medium angst fic but in the end it just ended up being a big, old mess of hurt/comfort because I just can’t quit. It’s ended up being REALLY long so I hope it isn’t too difficult to follow. I realised about 2/3rds of the way through that this should have been a series but I couldn’t bring myself to start again since I have Healing Hands to finish. 

As a little girl, you never knew what kind of man you’d end up loving when you grew up. Sometimes you imagined being the wife of a doctor, or maybe the wild, leather-wearing lover of rock star. Occasionally, you even saw yourself marrying an astronaut or even becoming the glamorous girlfriend of a famous football player. The one thing you’d never imagined was falling head over heels for a soldier but that was exactly what happened when Ivar Lothbrok walked into your empty bar on a quiet Tuesday afternoon.

As a student in a big city, you knew that you had to get a part-time job to help yourself through college. Back in your own home town, your parents had owned a local diner so the logical option was to seek employment as a waitress. It wasn’t difficult to find work tending tables in a place that had both a university and a military base so soon enough, you started working at a local watering hole. It didn’t take very long for you to get a promotion to a bartender and after a few weeks of training, your manager felt comfortable enough to leave you alone on quiet week nights. It was during one of these slow weekdays that a group of three men and two women crashed through the doors, laughing cheerfully as they collapsed into a booth at the back of the bar.

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Torch of Bellona (Part 2)

Originally posted by watchwood

Pairings: Ivar X Reader

Word Count: 2900

Warnings: gratuitous amounts of friendship (none)

-Part 1- -Part 2- -Part 3- -Part 4- -Part 5- -Part 6-

Seeing most of your prediction come true, you still try to gauge the strange people that are the Northman. However it will take tact and cleverness to finally see one for yourself, hopefully it is not as disappointing as the news Alfred gives you.

Judith and Ecbert had been keeping Alfred from you all morning. That hollow bored feeling took you to wandering the grounds waiting for him to be done. Amidst the walking denizens the sight of Aethelwulf walking Magnus caught you. Feeling your blood rush you quickly ran toward, but not directly, to them. Hiding behind the wall you caught the end of the conversation, caught Aethelwulf pull a knife on the boys throat and toss him to the ground. Aethelwulf then walked away, leaving Magnus to fend for himself with nothing but the clothes on his back and a satchel to keep him warm.

“I’d head Northwest.” you announced after Aethelwulf was out of earshot. “Most of Kwenthrith’s supporters fled to the hills. Or so the rumors say. But who am I to truly know. Although the clans of the Highlands are far from short on warriors and rouges. Certainly if one was to unite them under one banner, that would be an army for the ages.”

Magnus wiped down the tears from his face, tossing the satchel around his arm. “This must be real funny to you.”

“On the contrary it breaks my heart. I would have thought it kinder to abandon you to some farm. I would have told you it was to humble and strengthen you for kinghood. Let you realize the truth long after you’ve gotten cozy.”

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Chapter One
Ivar Ragnarsson X Reader
Hvitserk Ragnarsson X Reader

You’re a Northumbrian girl with ancestors that were vikings. You’d learnt Norse as you learnt English, but told to keep it a secret. Your parents loved the Norse side of your family from your father and taught you the gods they believed in. You didn’t believe in the Christian God and never lost your Viking Gods. Meaning that you had to pretend to not be that religious. But being un-religious made you the weird one of your town. People would stare at you in almost disbelief. They couldn’t understand how a ‘Christian’ child could be so sacrilegious. Well, you were supposed to be a Christian child but realistically it was just so your family weren’t ridiculed.

Northumbria on the whole was boring for a woman. You hated everyone in your town and your family weren’t around either so it was so boring. At the age of seventeen you didn’t really see any opportunities for yourself and you longed to be a Viking. To be a shield maiden was your ultimate goal, but you had to escape the more conservative land of England first. You also didn’t want to go with anyone because they’d stop you from going. But your plan didn’t really get into action because the Norsemen reached you first.

They burst into the church where you were at the back, laying down on one of the benches because you didn’t care for stories from the Bible. When you heard the Norsemen speaking, it was like a calling from Odin. He was willing you to speak with them. There were old men, a few Middle Aged ones and women. Then one young man who had blue eyes.

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through the ages

Happy birthday @amalasdraws! I love getting to be your friend, I hope you have an amazing day & a great upcoming year! <3

As a kid, summertime is Tooru’s favourite time of year for two reasons.

The first reason is that his birthday is in summertime. It’s one of the few times he’s allowed to have multiple people over, and he doesn’t have to bug his parents to let a friend stay the night, laughing and playing games and enjoying themselves.

The second reason (and what he likes even more) is when his parents take him and his sister out to spend long weekends at the lake house. Now that they’re old enough - and after much pestering - Tooru’s parents allow him and his sister to each bring a friend along, and Tooru has so much that he wants to share with Hajime.

After a long day of playing out in the sun, catching crayfish and splashing each other in the cool water, Tooru can already feel exhaustion pulling at him, but he brushes it away as he climbs into the futon set up in the living room for him and Hajime. The blankets are cool, but he knows they won’t be for too much longer.

Hajime’s rummaging through their bin of movies, pulling out a tape that he likes and sliding it into the player. He pads back to the futon after turning on the old television set up for them, climbing in beside Tooru without hesitation.

Tooru slides over to give him some more room, laying his head back on the pillow and rubbing at his eyes.

“Tired?” Hajime asks, propping himself up on an elbow. He ignores the trailers for new movies playing on the television and reaches over, brushing some hair out of Tooru’s face.

His fingers feel cool on Tooru’s probably sunburned face. It’s nice.

“A little,” Tooru admits, blinking slowly. Hajime drops back down on the bed and Tooru slides a little closer so that their shoulders are touching. “What did you pick?” He asks, turning over towards the television.

Hajime shifts to move his shoulder so that he can tuck his arm under Tooru’s neck. “That magic one that you like so much.”

“Really?!” Tooru turns towards him and grins, excitement evident in his face.

“Yeah,” Hajime responds, turning to face the television set. “You were sayin’ you wanted to watch it again… so…”

Tooru laughs and shoves Hajime a little, who retaliates by jumping back on him and pushing him back to his side of the futon. They both end up in a pile on the floor with a thump and this starts a tickle war, the both of them laughing and trying to best the other, neither wanting it to end until Tooru’s fighting tears from laughing so hard-

“I give!” he chokes out the words between laughter, clutching his stomach; Hajime’s grinning a mile wide when he pulls back, trying to quiet his laughter so that they don’t wake Tooru’s parents.

“That makes thirty-two for me,” Hajime says, pushing himself up to his knees and offering a hand to help Tooru up. “And-”

“Yes, twenty-eight for me! Don’t worry Iwa-chan, I’ll catch up.” Tooru takes his hand and they both stumble back to their feet. Hajime pulls Tooru back into the futon by the hand, flopping down on top of each other as they catch their breath.

Tooru cuddles up next to Hajime and doesn’t even care that he misses the rest of the movie when he falls right to sleep, happy and warm and safe.

Middle school is where everything starts to change.

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Clashing of Wilds and Blood preview

Originally posted by kikigeorgeworld

Originally posted by ivartheheathen

so, I caved. I caved hard. Besides what could a little Ivar Imagine possibly hurt. Right? This is the preview hopefully I’ll have the rest up later today or sometime tomorrow.

You had come to visit your half-sister, a rare and delightful privilege to escape under the thumb of the King Aelle, they day had been simple and calm. Judith was settled into the corner as you reached over to put Alfred in check upon the board. The ‘clack’ echoed in the room of stone as you settled back in the chair with a smirk, Judith chuckled slightly at the sight.

You were younger than your half-sister, a passing baroness that had taken the king to her bed was your lineage and Aelle had been forced to keep you on condition of her death, a new pawn to use in his political gain, marriage wasn’t suitable for your bastard birth at least for the moment. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that he would find some use for you and your wild nature. Refusing this and that, sneaking away to do as you pleased. Here though? Here was free, as free as you could muster at least.

Ecbert cared little if you roamed the stone halls with feet bare, nor worried of hands that slipped knives and coin from various hips of the guards, the sharp tongue trading insults and wit. You could toss h/c locks over your shoulder loose without care, walk in the streets with the sun beating off your skin. It was amusing and in ways perhaps he encouraged it still thinking of you as Judith’s wide e/c eyed curious baby sister.

Alfred’s groan brought you from musings as he slumped into the seat even further. “You cheated, i don’t know how but you cheated.” Judith laughed as you began to reset the board.

“Pay more attention and you might win this time.” You chuckle was stopped short by yells and the distinct clang of metal, the soldiers, “Judith, Alfred, stay here.”

“Why do you get to g-” Judith silenced her son as you slipped from the room to look into the courtyard, Aethelwulf seemed to be parading around a man in worn clothes almost as if he’d been the one to pry the nails from Jesus’ hands and free him.

The man’s beard was wiry and long, no hair graced his head showing tattoos, scars and age settled into the deep lines of his face. He looked unarmed, and tired. Behind them thrown over a horse was someone. Short black hair, broad shoulders, narrow hips and tossed unceremoniously over a horse. He was crippled.

PT 1 https://easilyaddictedin123.tumblr.com/post/162841562811/clashing-of-wilds-and-blood

Preferences: Cuddling Positions

How the Doctor likes to cuddle…

Eight is like a puppy: all over you. Sitting up or lying down; he doesn’t care. If you’re sitting, then he wants you on his lap, and if you’re lying down, then he's right at your side. Eight doesn’t really have a sense of personal space, so his hands tend to wander. Not inappropriately, but be just likes to touch and make sure you’re in the optimally comfortable position. He runs his hands up and down your arms and your spine before they settle on your hips. He likes to hook one of your legs over his thigh, just to keep you close, not that you could really drift apart, since he makes it his mission to kiss and nibble every inch of your neck that he can get to.

Nine took awhile to get warmed up to cuddling. Not because he doesn’t like to cuddle, but because he didn’t quite trust it. He’d been a soldier for so long that the idea of getting close to someone and taking comfort just for the sake of it didn’t quite compute with him anymore. But, once you got him comfortable, he really liked it. He prefers sitting up to lying down, and he likes for you to rest your head against his chest. He slings on arms over your shoulders or around your waist to keep you close to him, and if you hook one of your legs over his knee, you won’t hear him complain..

Ten, unlike Nine, jumped straight into cuddling. Anywhere and everywhere, preferably lying down. He’ll clamber right on top of you and go boneless unless you tell him to budge over. He doesn’t hold you as much as he just presses as much of himself against you as he can manage. He has the odd habit of rubbing the top of his head against you, which means that cuddling makes his hair a mess, which prompts you to run your hands through it in an effort to un-mess it, which is exactly what he wanted you to do in the first place. You, of course, know this, because he always grins like an idiot whenever you play with his hair, but you let him go through the whole routine anyway because it makes him feel clever.

Eleven loves the cuddles, and he doesn’t even bother to come up with an excuse for it. He just does it. He’ll pull you down onto the bed or couch or chair or hammock or even the floor just so he can snuggle up next to you. How he cuddles completely depends on his mood. If it’s happy, fluffy cuddles, he likes to have you be a little higher than him so that he can rest his head on your chest and wrap his arms around your waist. If he’s sad, he’ll ask you to hold him while he buries his face against your collarbone or the crook of your neck. If he’s feeling protective or romantic, he makes himself the big spoon so that he can kiss the back of your neck and whisper in your ear.

Twelve isn’t very touchy, but that doesn’t mean that he can completely give up on cuddling. He likes to be face-to-face, so that he can so you and you can see him. This isn’t a hug. There’s no hiding. He just needs to be close for awhile, so he’ll hold your hand, and his legs will get all tangled with your legs, and sometimes he’ll rest his arm on your side. Unlike his with his previous bodies, the cuddling isn’t a daily thing, but when he does get himself fully invested in a cuddle, you are not going to be able to get him to stop. Just don’t even think about it. He won’t move. Accept your fate and become one with whatever piece of furniture you’re on.

anonymous asked:

Shifted prompt: I would love to hear more of baby William. Just common daily activities, maybe Jamie helping take care of the fussing baby so Claire can get a job done.

anonymous asked: In the Shifted AU, can we have something where Bree bonds with baby William. Something when the kids are young. :) Thanks!

For the next few weeks I’ll be writing one-shots in the Shifted universe, filling in the blanks that we don’t see in the main story, before we resume the main action with Part 7 - The Visitor.

If there is a particular scene you’d like to see, send me an ask and I’ll see what I can do!

In Shifted, the premise is simple - what if Claire had gotten pregnant with Brianna a month or two earlier in the story, and she and Jamie had re-evaluated  their priorities and decided that the cause was lost, and they were able to slip away from the army and quietly return to Lallybroch?

Previous installments…

Interlude – The Assistant

Lallybroch, Autumn 1753

“…and if the wound continues to be all red and puffy in the next few days, add water to this powder and apply it generously to the area. And don’t hesitate to come back for more, if you need it. All right?”

Rosie MacNab, married to one of Grannie MacNab’s army of sons, enthusiastically nodded her head in understanding. “Aye, I understand. Thank ye so much, milady!”

“*Claire,* please. And I’m not the milady, you know that – ”

“Och, that doesna matter to me!” Rosie’s kind, yet weather-lined face creased into a smile, flashing a set of teeth that (despite Claire’s best efforts) had already started to decay. “We all ken weel just how much yer husband has had to sacrifice, just to keep us all safe on the estate. It doesna matter that it’s Young Jamie’s now – yer Jamie will *always* be the laird to us. As long as my mother-in-law walks the earth, anyway.”

Claire pressed her lips, still so uncomfortable at such outbursts of praise. Even seven years after Culloden, some wounds still felt so fresh. Jamie had never regretted deeding Lallybroch to his nephew – but she wondered if that choice ever grated on him. Especially now that he had his own son.

Said son chose that exact moment to squawk awake in his basket at Claire’s foot.

“Oh! That must be the wee laddie!”

Claire flashed her own smile as she bent to gently lift four-month-old William Fraser to her shoulder. His cries immediately stopped, and he looked around her surgery with wide, bright eyes.

“There, there. You just *had* to join in on the conversation, didn’t you?”

“Isn’t he the most handsome wee bairn! Looks just like ye, too!”

Claire wrapped William’s blanket – knit so lovingly by his aunt – tighter around his tiny shoulders, smiling as he shoved his fist into his mouth. “Well – since my daughter is the spit of my husband, it’s only fair that my son can take after me a bit, hmm?”

Rosie impulsively bent to kiss William’s soft hair, before pocketing the handkerchief in which Claire had wrapped the dried herbs and then standing. Claire rose as well, and the two women exchanged a quick hug.

“Thank ye again! I can see myself out – no need for ye to give the lad a chill!”

Brianna poked her bright, inquisitive head around the corner just as Rosie departed. “Is he awake?”

William jerked in excitement at the sound of his beloved sister’s voice, squirming against his blanket.

“Sshh. Yes, sweetheart – Bree is here!” Claire cooed, turning so that he could watch his sister skip into the room.

“Can I take him?” Brianna, aged six, doted on her brother like nothing her parents, aunt and uncle, godfather, and the Lallybroch staff had ever seen. Caring for him gave her a great sense of responsibility – and she never tired of showing him off, either.

“Of course. But – ”

“But be gentle and keep him warm. Aye, Mama – I ken fine,” Brianna huffed, extending her arms. Claire carefully lay William against her shoulder, swaddling him in an extra blanket from his basket, and Brianna lay a steadying arm against her brother’s small back.

“Aye, *a bhailach*. All comfortable, no? Let’s go see what Da is up to…”

Softly, carefully Brianna padded out of Claire’s stillroom and toward Jamie’s study down the hall.

Claire’s heart soared – so happy to see further proof of the profound love between her children – and happy to finally have some time to herself. She opened her journal to a fresh page and began entering the details around Paul MacNab’s injury – and just how dedicated Rosie was to fix him.

“…barley perhaps? Of course we’ll have the potatoes, but I’m thinking we get that fallow field back into production now, so that we can harvest in the late winter?”

Ian Murray settled a bit deeper into his high-backed chair, rubbing the stump of his leg, thinking. “Aye – I suppose we could. It’s always good to have the variety – and Young Jamie is old enough to really help you out this time.”

Jamie crossed his left leg over his right, balancing a ledger on his knee, forefinger tracing down a long column of figures scrawled in Ian’s spidery hand. “The last time we planted there, the yield was fifty bushels. I think we could definitely – ”

“Hi, Da! What are ye doing?” Brianna burst in, William cradled to her chest, his wee dark head resting comfortably on her shoulder.

“*Ciamar a tha thu, mo nighean ruaidh*?” he greeted her, extending his free hand. Mindful of her brother, Brianna gently settled against his side. “As happy as I am to see you, it isna verra considerate of yer uncle for ye to just barge in wi’out knocking.”

“Oh, it’s nae bother,” Ian kindly insisted, already reaching for his wooden leg to strap it into position. “Might as well let Jamie ken he’ll be expected to help ye till the field. Canna have him grumbling like a bairn to his Mam again.”

William stirred a bit. Jamie closed the ledger, set it on the floor, and in one smooth motion picked up Brianna and set her on his lap. She snuggled, her back to his front, and he lay a gentle arm around them both.

“When will I be old enough to help Jamie wi’ the planting?”

Ian positioned his stump into the wooden leg and looked up at his niece. “Are ye sure ye want to help, then? It’s no’ an easy job. And ye’d have to do *exactly* as yer Da says.”

“I’d love for ye to help me, but ye’re too small to guide the horses.” He felt Brianna inhale a deep breath to protest, but lay a hand on her wee knee. “No – dinna say ye ken how to make them work. It’s verra different than when we go riding – the horses need to focus. And ye must ken what to ask them to do. Otherwise it’s a lot of work and ye dinna get anything out of it. And we dinna like anything to go to waste, aye?”

Brianna sighed against him, but nodded, resigned.

Ian stood – shaky for the first few seconds, but then slowly regained his balance. “It’s verra kind of ye to ask. But does yer Mam no’ need help wi’ the surgery? I thought ye liked doing that.”

“She does need the help – but she doesna let me do everything yet!”

“Ye need to be patient. Enjoy being a girl. Dinna grow into a woman quite so fast,” Jamie said quietly. Thoughtfully. “And did ye no promise to care for yer wee brother? To see him grow safe and strong?”

Brianna nestled her brother closer, feeling him go all boneless with sleep. “Aye, I did.” Her voice was soft – dreamy – far away.

Ian nodded and quietly took his leave of the three Frasers.

Jamie held his miracles – his world – in his lap.

“Can ye tell us a story, Da?” Brianna whispered after a while, turning to rest her face against his shoulder. “I think William enjoys the one about the laird and lady who were living in Paris.”

Jamie shifted in his chair so that Brianna and William – sound asleep now – could get more comfortable.

“Of course. One day, the laird and lady were invited to the most fancy dress party you could dream of. The laird wore his plaid, of course, but the lady wore a red dress that was so beautiful, all the other men at the party couldna help but stare at her…”

anonymous asked:

could you do a bucky imagine or something for the prompts 21 and 33? something cute please

i’ve already done 33, so here’s one for 21! hope you enjoy, i really did :)

#21: “You knocked on my door at 1 in the morning, to cuddle?”

“You knocked on my door at 1 in the morning, to cuddle?” Bucky asks, raising his eyebrows at you.

He’s still blocking the door to his room, leaning against the door frame with his arms folded. You glance behind you, shifting on your feet as you scan the dark corridor for movement. At this point, you don’t even care you’re not wearing pants.

“Not to cuddle,” you snap, glaring at Bucky. He looks far too amused for a life or death situation like this. “To hide. There’s something in my room and it’s either an animal or a ghost, but I really don’t want to find out which. Just let me in, Bucky.”

He grins, and you inwardly groan. You know that grin. It means you’re about to have a really, really long night.

Bucky leans down towards you, eyes flashing in the dark, and says, “Ghosts, huh? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were just making up stories to get in my bed.”

“For the love of God, Barnes, I will make-“

A loud crash sounds from down the end of the corridor - your end of the corridor. The only room down there is yours. Both you and Bucky fall silent, going completely still as the sound peters out. Nothing emerges from your end of the corridor, but that doesn’t mean nothing is there. On instinct, you shuffle a little closer to Bucky.

“Still think I’m making it up?” you whisper. Bucky sends you an unimpressed look.

“Why don’t we go check it out?” he asks, taking a step out of his room. It brings him closer to you, his chest brushing yours, which is good because it puts you in prime position to shove him backwards.

“Are you crazy? I just said I don’t want to find out what it is! I wanna hide, and maybe survive until tomorrow morning, and get some sleep,” you say, waving your arms around like a crazy person. Bucky folds his arms again and watches you with a faintly amused smile.

“You’re cute when you’re scared,” he says, which makes you freeze.

“I’m not scared,” you say, glaring at him. He just laughs, which- so not cool.

“Sure thing,” he says, patting you on the shoulder. You shrug him off, still mad, which makes him bite his lip so he doesn’t laugh again. “Why don’t you stay here and I’ll go see what’s going on.”

“I could do it myself,” you grumble, but allow yourself to be taken by the shoulders and turned so you swap places. Now inside the doorway of Bucky’s room, you’re already feeling a bit calmer, and sleep tugs on your eyelids. You yawn, glare at Bucky, and say, “I just don’t want to.”

“I know,” he says, still smiling in that way that makes you both angry and feel all warm and weird in your stomach. He pushes at your shoulder so you stumble back, further into the room, and grabs the door handle to close it for you. “I’ll be right back.”

“Ok,” you mumble, but he’s already gone.

If it really is something dangerous, you’re sure Bucky could handle it - plus, Steve’s Bucky radar would go off and he’d be down here with his shield in a second flat. So, you don’t feel all that bad about heading directly for Bucky’s bed and snuggling under the covers.

They’re still warm from Bucky’s body, and they smell like him. It’s like a big, warm, soft cocoon of safety and comfort, and it works as well as a NyQuil to knock you right out.

Eventually Bucky comes back, what could be five minutes or five hours later. You’re just so comfortable, you don’t even care. Bucky lifts the blankets to slide in beside you and you whine, turning over to tug them back and keep the bubble of warmth trapped inside. Bucky laughs softly, putting the blankets back down with him underneath them. The warmth and Bucky smell seem to double, and you sigh happily, still half asleep.

“What was it?” you mumble, barely audible with your head smashed into a pillow. Bucky laughs again, and you feel his hand brush some of your hair away from your face.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it,” he says. You frown, about to argue, but he adds, “I’ll tell you in the morning. Go to sleep.”

You hum, in complete agreement with him for once in your life, and snuggle down further into the mattress. Just as you’re about to drop off into sleep, you feel Bucky shuffle closer and tug you into him, his arms holding you against his body. He noses into your hair and sighs, going boneless against you. It feels so good, you’re not even embarrassed by how you burrow into his chest and curl your hand into his t-shirt, keeping him close while you go to sleep.


The next day, you and Bucky head to breakfast together feeling more well rested than you ever have in your entire life, probably. You’re holding hands. It’s not a big deal.

What is a big deal is the way Natasha is holding an icepack to Clint’s nose while glaring at him in that way that means she thinks you’re a high grade idiot. Bucky smirks at the sight.

“Rough night?” he asks, grinning as Clint turns to glare at him.

“Yeah,” he says. “Getting beat up for no reason by a super soldier does that to a guy.”

“You did what?” you gasp, turning to Bucky to hit him on the shoulder. He shies away from you, but not too far considering you’re still holding hands, and laughs.

“In my defence, I didn’t know it was him at the time. I went into your room and found him hanging out of your air duct. I thought he was an intruder, but it turns out he just got the wrong room.”

“Turned left instead of right,” Clint says with a shrug. “Happens to the best of us.”

“Why were you in the air ducts?” you ask, letting yourself be led to the kitchen counter for some waffles and fruit. Bucky begins to pile up two plates, and you instruct him to give you extra strawberries by pointing your joined hands.

Natasha eyes you with a barely concealed smirk, but you ignore her. Clint says, “Why not?”

You shrug. You don’t really care. Clint can break into your room every night of the week if it means you can sneak into Bucky’s. Cuddling with him turns out to be totally worth making up a story for tomorrow night.

there’s a port on a western bay

Read on AO3

Peter’s fine. Really. Sure, his father ended up being a homicidal maniac who liked impaling him through the chest, he almost got everyone he cared about dead and succeeded with one, but really. He’s fine. Just don’t ask his team. 

(More post-GOTG Vol. 2 fic except this one’s angstier because wow Peter watched two fathers die in his hands and I’m still mad about the Walkman.)

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